The Long Trial, Part One
Chapter Seven: Assassination
by R. Bernstein, November 8, 2002

I’m so outta here! Havah thought, fastening the last clasp on her red satin Chinese dress. Goin on a da-ate! It had been ages, it seemed. She’d had other concerns, lack of current interest, maybe, until Dylan approached her, the night after the Ingata had left. She’d been sitting in the Zocalo when he’d sidled up to her, his security uniform accenting the broadness of his shoulders. Always been a sucker for a man in uniform. And he is totally hot! Tall, big sienna eyes, defined jaw, high cheekbones. The only problem was that, while he had been quiet around her, she had noticed him adopt a bit of a swagger later that day, around other guys. She hated that! Well, I don’t have to marry him, it’s just a date! Besides, maybe he’s just insecure. It’ll wear off. She put on her slippers and shook out her long hair and took a quick look in the mirror. A sultry geisha girl looked back at her. She threw on her wrap and hurried to the Fresh Air restaurant, where he was already waiting at a table, in a stunning olive suit. He stood up to pull out her chair, flashing a brilliant smile. "Wow, you look gorgeous! May I?" Mmmm.Chivalry isn’t dead. He took her wrap and hung it delicately over the back of her seat, and pushed in her chair, glancing at the sheer black-hosed leg that peeked out from the slit in her dress. He took a seat across from her and handed her a menu. "I’ve had the jok’aa tenderloin, and the flarn, and they’re both amazing."

"Yeah, I’ve been here once before, and had one of the pasta dishes, it was very good. Homemade."

The waiter came and since they both knew what they wanted, they both ordered the tenderloin. "I’m a creature of habit. I find something I like and stick with it," he explained. Then his face grew serious. "And while I don’t know you well, I think you could become a serious habit." He finished, gazing at her intently.

Oh, you did not just feed me that line? She stifled a cruel laugh. Who the hell says stuff like that? Her incredulousness must have been visible because he turned red and backpedaled. "I’m sorry. I know how stupid that sounded. It’s just…well, at the risk of sounding like I’m giving you another line, I get nervous around beautiful women. You are really beautiful and I am really nervous. Sorry. The truth is…I’ve been trying to work up the brass to ask you out for a while." He finished, his face flaming, wiping his palms surreptitiously on his napkin.

She squelched an uncomfortable giggle. He was trying to give her a compliment after all, at least she could be gracious. "It’s all right, thank you. And I don’t mean to make you nervous…"

"No, I mean, it’s ok…I’m just going to change the subject since I’m just a bozo about stuff like that, hehehe, so, how is public health? I know you work with Carmen Santana."

"It’s ok, hectic." She paused. "Do you really want details? Epidemiologists are notorious for regaling people with gross stories during meals."

He laughed, "As long as you don’t mind security talk." The tension dissipated, as their drinks arrived. "So, how did you get into public health, anyway? What made you decide to get out of the military? I heard about you, you could have been on a fast track."

"I was discharged, honorably. They never gave me the reason. Well and also, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be in the military long-term really. I was really bummed that they let me go at the time, but then when I thought about it later, I was ok with having left. It’s not that it was that bad, it’s just that the Commander-in-Chief is the President, and since we don’t usually get the guy I vote for, I don’t like the idea of being at that person’s whim, although I was really happy with the president we had during the war. I haven’t been so happy with all of our choices since then. And we got really xenophobic after the war. I really didn’t like some of the things I was hearing, despite all of the motions towards peace."

"Understood," he smiled, "But the Commander-in-Chief can’t do anything without the consent of the Senate."

"Yeah, that’s true."

"So what made you decide to join?"

"I knew we were being killed and that the enemy was real."

He tilted his head, "Fair enough."

"Also, the military requires that I go wherever I am posted. I moved all over the place with my parents when I was a kid, and I have no desire to continue that trend, at least not without some say-so. This way, I go where I want."

He laughed. "I understand, I was a military brat, so we moved a lot too. I guess that’s how I wound up here, doing security." Their food came, and they dug in. The tenderloin was gamey, but delicious. "So…" she said between bites, "How do you like security here? I imagine it can be quite a ride at times."

"It’s all right. I like working with Garibaldi, he’s not a bad guy, although I wish he’d handled the Minbari differently. The last week has been a pain in the ass!"

"Yeah, no doubt!…"

"He shouldn’t have given in to that arrogant Minbari commander. Made us look weak." He took a swig of beer.

Havah felt a twinge. "What would you have had him do? I mean, it seems like he didn’t have much of a choice. It was a diplomatic thing too, you know. The Minbari were grieving, if Commander Sinclair hadn’t made concessions, it would have appeared disrespectful of their grief."

"Well, first of all, they were supposedly grieving when they tried to destroy Earth too, and second, they haven’t demonstrated in the time since then, any great respect for us. I think we cater to them too much as it is. It’s all about who’s paying the bills, I guess. That’s the name of the game. They help fund the station, so they get to do whatever they want, and screw the people who they hurt during the War." The words came out with more vehemence than he intended.

She stared at him. This conversation was beginning to wear on her. He saw the look of dismay. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so heavy, and upset you or anything. I understand what you’re saying, I just have a lot of reservations about the Minbari still, and I figured that you might also, considering your history with them during the War. I mean, I know they’re not bad, they seem polite enough around the station, but I didn’t buy that surrender for a second and it’s going to take more than they’ve done to convince me of their good-will. I guess some people are more forgiving than others. You’re a nice girl, not a paranoid cop like me."

She laughed uneasily. "I don’t know, I had reservations too, but I’ve been talking to Ambassador Delenn, and her interest in us seems genuine. So does her remorse for what happened. She expressed that to me once, and I really don’t think she was faking it."

"Maybe not, although trust me, people can fake anything they want. But even if she was for real, it may be her own interest, her own remorse. Who’s to say what the interest of her government is. Diplomats are supposed to represent their people, but a lot happens that diplomats aren’t privy to."

"Well, I guess…but you know what? Until then, I’m not going to spend time worrying about it. If the Minbari I run into seem nice, I’m going to take it for what it is. And I don’t think…no I’m fairly certain, that our own government isn’t exempt from having hidden agendas or machinations that the rest of us aren’t privy to either."

"Ooooooh, a conspiracy theorist are you?" he laughed. "I guess I’ve been out of the loop for a while, I don’t quite remember how to have conversations that don’t involve checking weapons or booking someone, or politics. I get caught up in work."

"It’s easy to do."

They talked pleasantly for the remainder of the meal. After he got over his nervousness, his verbal bloopers diminished and he was really quite charming. He was also an old science fiction buff, and loved Greek lyric poetry, old Charles Addams cartoons, and old South Park vids. What a rare find! At the end of the meal, he walked her to her quarters. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, and then left.

How sweet! She went in and leaned against the door, with a warm fuzzy feeling. Maybe he’ll soften about the Minbari, given enough time. She went to bed, feeling like she was still in high school.

* * * * * * *

He kicked off the covers, turned over and looked at Havah. The past several weeks had been marvelous. He leaned over and stroked the shining hair haloed across her pillow. She murmured and rolled over. I think I’m in love, he thought. He watched the back of her head, his eyes traveling over the curve of her hip. Her breathing had been steady and deep. Now it was shallow. She tossed to face him, breath ragged, brow furrowed. He reached out to smooth the lines in her forehead and to chase away whatever dream troubled her. But it didn’t help. He tried to shake her awake, but she didn’t awaken, only slipped deeper into the morass. Her teeth ground in pain or anger, he couldn’t tell. And then she called out. It was a foreign language. What language is that? It sounded almost familiar. He traced the curious contour at the bridge of her nose, wiping away a bead of sweat that trickled down near her eye. He didn’t know what to do to wake her, just keep trying. She screamed strange syllables and jolted awake of her own accord.

"Havah, are you OK? You were having one hell of a nightmare!"

"Yeah," She sat up shakily, mopping her face with the comforter.

"I tried to wake you but you didn’t wake up."

"I know, that’s the way it always is."

"This has happened before?"

"Yeah, people have nightmares all the time! Look, it’s no big deal. I’m used to it."

"I get nightmares sometimes too, about the War. Why don’t you see a doctor?"

"Because it’s no big deal," she said forcefully, looking at him. "Did you see a doctor when you had nightmares?"

"No, but I figured it was my problem and they couldn’t help me."

"So why do you think they could help me?"

"All right, all right, sorry. I was just worried."

She threw the covers off and went to the bathroom, splashing water on her face. She came out and leaned back against the wall. "Sorry for snapping, and sorry for waking you."

"Don’t apologize for having a bad dream, honey. It was kind of interesting actually, you started speaking in tongues or something. Hey what foreign languages do you know? Man, one of the guys I bunked with during the War used to have doozies too, but he either yelled incoherently, or in plain old English."

She smacked the back of her head against the wall. Terrific! So now the dream world is leaking into my love life.

"Hey." He walked up to her, caressing her arms and tilting her face up to his. "Are you really ok?"

She met his eyes reluctantly, but steadily. "Yes, it was just a bad dream."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

He kissed her forehead. "Ok."

"I just want to go back to bed." She went over to a drawer and dug out a prescription bottle, the pills the counselor had prescribed. She hated the stuff, but had hesitated to throw them out, just in case they could come in handy. They did, because she was done with dreaming tonight. She popped one of the pills and tossed the bottle back in the drawer.

"Sleeping pills?"

"Yeah, I don’t use’em much."

He laid down next to her and drew her into his arms. She laid against his chest and tried to sleep, listening to his heart. Morning didn’t come for a long time, for either of them.

* * * * * * *

She had been using the pills for a week. She wasn’t letting these damn dreams waste any more of her sleep. But Dylan didn’t like it. He was very vocal about that. He’d argued with her about going to the doctor all week.

"Why don’t you deal with the problem instead of dosing it?"

"And who do you think gave me those pills? The person I went to, to deal with the problem! They’re sleeping pills, not dust! And I’ve been using them for a week." She really wasn’t into guys trying to dictate what course of action she should take in her own damn life! She fell asleep fitfully. Again, he laid next to her, looking at her unconscious form. He was done arguing about this. He slipped out from under the covers and pulled open the drawer quietly. There was a mess inside. Havah wasn’t the tidiest person. He sifted through papers, sketches, a book, a dozen or so receipts for various sundries. He dug under them all and found the bottle where it had slipped, and looked at the label. Zolpidem, at a dose that could put out an elephant. He set the bottle back in the drawer, and started closing it, and then one of the sketches caught his eye. A curve of headbone. He pulled the sketches out and unrolled them. Havah stirred slightly, then rolled over. He ceased all motion, then resumed when her breathing steadied. The sketches were of a Minbari male. An aggressive-looking one, with spikes reminiscent of those he had seen on the warriors. In fact, he looked like the commander who’d been aboard the station weeks ago. There were a couple of nudes, almost like an anatomy study. What the hell! There was a name. Neroon Calear. Neroon. That was the name of the commander, wasn’t it? Alyt Neroon? When had these been drawn? Had Havah drawn these? He picked up the book slowly. It was cloth-bound, like a journal. He was beginning to feel like a heel for snooping, but at this point, there was something strange going on, and he needed to know what it was. A picture fell out. It was of a beautiful dark woman with golden eyes. She looked slightly like Havah. He started reading, compulsively, from start to finish. He leafed through it again. Impossible. There was a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He glanced over at her prostrate form, and continued to finger through the papers in the drawer. There was no mention of her name directly, but the implications were very clear. The woman laying in the bed was the child in the diary. He fumbled more loudly through the drawer, risking discovery. Here, a data crystal touched the tip of his finger. He slid into the chair in front of the computer/vid screen, and slipped the crystal into the port. It took him a second to figure out what he was looking at, the results of a genetic test. Two genomes. One of them was Havah’s. The other, a Minbari male’s. And the two were matched by enough markers to confirm their relation. She was the child. His child. Their whole codes were plotted. Amazing! How? She had no head crest, not even a vestigial one? How could Humans and Minbari even reproduce? Unless…she was engineered, as the journal had indicated. He reviewed the screen for a few more minutes, then pulled the crystal from the port, and sat, absorbing what he’d just seen. That was why she got so defensive when we talked about the Minbari. She knew. She’s known all along. No, she didn’t know during the War. And what if she had? Would she have fought against the Minbari like she did? Havah shifted again, snoring. He placed everything back in the drawer, and then sat, watching her until morning. When her face turned towards him, he could see the alienness in her facial structure now. How had he not noticed it before? She obviously didn’t trust him enough to tell him. She’s been shutting me out ever since the dream, and now…That must’ve been the language she spoke. I knew it sounded familiar. Why does she know Minbari? How much does she know about them? About the War, about their surrender? When she awoke, he was sitting in a chair, staring at the bed.

"Dylan? What are you doing? Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he said distantly, "Couldn’t sleep." He didn’t offer anything else. "Look, I have to go, I‘m on duty soon. I’ll give you a call later." He wasn’t meeting her eyes. But she wasn’t going to press the issue. If he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him, he would eventually.

* * * * * * *

Havah was done with relationship melodrama. Dylan had been acting strange for a week. What is it with guys? Why can’t he just talk to me? She went to the docks to find him, and encountered a security team, poring through boxes, but he wasn’t there. Garibaldi’s second-in-command, Byers, looked up as she approached, fixing her with intense brown eyes. He stood square-shouldered in front of the wares and asked testily,

"You looking for Dylan?"

"Yeah, have you seen him?"

"He’s not here. He’s on Gray Four." He said nothing else, merely eyed her stonily.

On a normal day, Byers made her skin crawl. He was one of the few security people she hadn’t really gotten on with. She’d encountered him a couple of times while talking with Garibaldi or Dylan. It was his eyes she didn’t like most. They were dead eyes. It was as though he wore a mask when talking to people, like a vid recording being played on cue. Sounded like a live person, seemed like a live person, but with a canned hollowness to his voice, that just didn’t respond with quite the right tone to real stimuli. And then there was this glimmer in his eyes, underneath the deadness, like a stirring demon, or maybe just a lier. He frightened her. But if Garibaldi and Dylan trusted him, she supposed that everyone else should too. It was quite a feat for anyone to pass Garibaldi’s creep-o-meter. Still…today Byers’ creepy-rating went right off the chart. Rather than stay and inquire further into Dylan’s whereabouts, she opted to leave and wonder later, if Dylan had shared his burden with everyone in security instead of talking to her.

* * * * * * *

He was sleeping in his own quarters now. During the past week, she went up to him a couple of times and asked if they could talk. She decided to try again.

"Hey, can we talk?"

His demeanor was chilly. "Uh, well, now isn’t a good time."

"Why not? You’re not on-duty. Look it’s important. Please?"

"All right. What’s up?" He said, nonchalantly.

"I just wanted to know what’s going on? You’ve been acting strange for a week. I just…I was wondering if it was something I did? You seem distant, and if you’re mad at me, I need to know why."

He just stared at her, dumb or mute, she didn’t know which.

She buried her face in her hands, and then looked up at him and yelled, "What? What is it, Dylan? Am I too much of a slob for you? Do you have a problem with my snoring? What did I do wrong? Why won’t you talk to me? You just stare at me like I’m a complete stranger and then run away! Well, if you’re going to make me into a stranger, I deserve to know why!"

He bristled. "I just haven’t had time."

She threw her hands up in surrender. "All right fine! You know what? I’m not going to pull teeth. When you decide that this is important enough, let me know, and I’ll decide if it’s still important to me." She turned to leave, resignedly.

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?"

She whirled to face him, indignant. "What? No! You can do whatever you want, but the point is that if we’re not both equally invested in this relationship, then it’ll be imbalanced. One person will always feel shorted and taken for granted, and the other person will resent the time they are putting in. That’s not a healthy relationship, and there’s no point, if both of us don’t want this. I do, but I don’t know about you. Trust me, I’ve been in enough crappy relationships, and we both need to be into this thing for it to work. I don’t want to do this again, nor do either of us have the time. Let me know." She stalked down the hallway, jammed the button on the lift and stood, arms crossed.

* * * * * * *

It was New Year’s Eve tonight. Things were still strained between Dylan and her. Very strained. He’d come to her last week after she’d had that fight with him, and he’d seemed conciliatory, so she’d thought everything might work out. But a day later, things had gone back to the same unspoken tension, and she still didn’t know why. God! Why can’t I ever have a good New Year’s with a boyfriend? Or Valentine’s Day, or birthday, you name it? Why is that such a tall order? Maybe I should just try batting for the other team? That would be so much simpler. Sigh…that would require an attraction to women, and I just ain’t got it! She sat at her desk, sulking and playing with the stapler. It was lunch-time. Dylan came out of the lift as she was about to get on. "Hey, do you have a minute?" He asked.

"Yeah, I’m on lunch, wanna come?"

"Ok." He followed her back onto the lift, looking sideways at her from under his long black lashes. She started to get a shaky feeling. He’s going to break up with me. I know it. She said nothing, got a burger at one of the burger joints in the food court and sat down, taking a sip of pop. The greasy smell of the burger was overwhelming, and she’d been starving, but she wasn’t so hungry now. "Let’s talk."

He started slowly, darting his eyes to his lap, and back up at her face, apologetically. "You’re right that you deserve to know what has been going on, why I’ve been distant. You’re a nice girl…and I really like you…"

"But…" She knew it, just the way he was phrasing it was a preface to burning a bridge and setting fire to the buildings. Oh, this is such a nice rustic village, perfect vacation spot, but you’re not exactly what I wanted so I’m afraid I’ll have to plunder it and salt your fields anyway. No, no baggage there, she thought bitterly.

"But…I don’t think I can do this right now…I don’t think it’s you. I think that I’m not ready to get close to anyone."

She sat and stared at him. What a fraggin’ load! ‘It’s not you…it’s me…’ Just like that he’d decided that he didn’t want to get close to anyone, after ardently pursuing her, and wasting two months of her life. Just like that. But it was futile to argue if he’d made up his mind. Her lips were tight. "Fine. If that’s what you want." She picked up her burger and fries and wrapped them up to go.

"Hey, are you ok? I mean–"

"Dylan, we just broke up. No, I’m not ok, but you can’t do anything about it, so just let it alone. You just stated that you needed space, so take it. You need to go now. I need to not be around you. If you really want to be friends at some later time, maybe we can talk, but nothing is going to happen right now." Her eyes pierced him.

He shifted and stood up, tugging at his uniform uncomfortably. She grabbed her paper bag and returned to her office, leaving him to stand there. She nibbled at the burger and then rolled pieces of the bun into little bread balls, and burst into tears. After the spate, she aimed and shot the little bread pellets into the waste can like BBs until the little cluster was gone, and she buried herself in reports.

* * * * * * *

"YEEEEEHHHHHAAAAAAA!" Havah bellowed, jumping up and down with the ravers in the Down Below taverns, music pulsating around them. It was about a half an hour to midnight and she had long forsaken the vanilla jazz of the Zocalo, for the grittier tones of the Soiled Dove. She had been pounding hot chocolate like a Mayan king all night, and she watched the trails her hands made as she exuberantly howled to the music with the rest of the crowd. She grabbed a nearby Drazi, packed in with the rest of them, and wheeled him around in a clumsy waltz. The noise abated slightly as the television came on line to broadcast the President’s New Year’s speech. It had been quite a year, and Havah gazed up at the television, awaiting the speech. The bartender turned down the music. There appeared to be three screens, right next to one another and then another series of screens posted at intervals throughout the place. "It’s the one in the middle." Someone leaned over to her. "Been there." He said with a grin, recognizing the goofy look she wore, trying to determine which of the screens was real. He’s cute. She wasn’t particularly interested in lengthy conversations with men, but it was better than being alone on New Year’s Eve. Dylan is such a bastard. He didn’t even give a real reason for dumping me…on New Year’s! What kind of jerk does that? Well, that’s why you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Anyone who does something like that, isn’t worth your time anyway, honey! That’s what she thought. She smiled back at the tousle-haired young man. He slung his arm around her shoulder, and they all waited for the speech, still hopping to the music at a lower volume. A couple of people shushed everyone. "Shut up! Listen, she said there’s something wrong! Y’all better listen!" Everyone was watching the screens now. The ship was visible in front of the moon. Then, the giant disc blossomed into capillaries of fire and dissolved as though it had never existed. Everyone stared numbly at the screen as though the unreality of the moment might mean that at any second the real ISN report would link in and everything would continue as normal. But it didn’t. Time remained as it was, except that there was a ship missing. Io stood alone, and the President was gone. There was a moment of horrible silence, and then "The President’s dead!" As Havah watched through her haze, a freezing hand reached into her heart, oozing chilly fingers into every part of her body and mind. This is what it feels like to stand at a cross-roads. To believe in nothing, and then see the Fates, spinning, weaving the tapestry, and ending the tale. As she watched empty vacuum where a ship should have been, she felt the eyes of the Fates on all of them, through the atoms of space. Whatever the President would do for Earth, he could no longer do it. The transfer point on Io was a road to somewhere else, but someone had decided that it would be closed. The irreversibility of it sat on all of their heads and was written in all of their faces as they watched. I have seen this before, Havah thought. That movie, JFK, those depictions of horror in the faces of the waving crowds, as the President was shot in front of them, whispers of smoke dissolving on a nearby grassy knoll. The residents and patrons of Babylon 5 never got to see Santiago die, only the ship explode, and there was no smoking gun, not even any bullet-holes. After all, explosions happened occasionally with no one to cause them, but it didn’t matter. The effect of his death was the same. People had liked Santiago, many had expressed doubt in the beginning of his term and at election time, but he had come into his own. Many appeared to be in favor of his progressive foreign policy and had even spoken of him that he might hail a new term of prosperity and treaty with other governments. Havah stared at the screen, not hearing anything further the woman said. No one spoke much, frozen, with the music still playing absurdly. Someone moved from their collective rut and shut it off. The New Year came and went in eerie silence, as people melted back into the places from which they had come, in Down Below or other decks. The young man took his arm from Havah’s shoulder. He looked angry. "Man, someone always has to mess things up! I liked him, first time in a while I’ve liked anyone from EarthGov! I’m tired of people who always claim to help down-and-out people and then just pull us out of space and stick us in worse situations on Earth! This is where we need to be, man! This is where it all happens!" He shook his head and tottered towards the door. He hesitated for a moment and Havah called out, "It’s the one in the middle." He nodded and followed a small muttering crowd out.

* * * * * * *

So what now? The bar was almost empty. Some aliens remained, but even most of the aliens had vanished after such a catastrophic event. She left too, after some of the shock had worn off. She went up to the observation deck. It was deserted. The stars twinkled, unaffected. No one was here, so she kneeled, sitting on her heels in a meditative pose, her hands in loose fists on her thighs, breathing deep to her dantien, the area just below her navel. Nothing would ever be the same again, and she needed to prepare for the inevitable changes coming. She was still slightly woozy from the chocolate, and her motions still left trails before her eyes. She heard a sound next to her. Her pilot friend, Greg Seymour, he was stationed here, but she knew him from the kung fu school back home, silently kneeled next to her. He’d had the same idea. They sat for a few minutes, then bowed their foreheads to the floor before the stars, then stood up, one leg after another. Still taking deep breaths, she said, " Empty-handed forms?"

"Sure…Three Cranes?"

"Sure." They stood next to one another, bowed, and began White Crane Spreads Its Wings. Her flicks and sweeps were way off-balance at first, nearly sending her stumbling to the floor, partly because of the chocolate, partly because she was distracted, but as they cycled through the other sister forms, she steadied, focused.

"Three Birds?"

"Yeah." Their practice grew more intense, with more force as they snapped out finger jabs and elbows. Lien Wu Chan , whirling palms and whirling legs. Chei Chen, Connecting Fist, pummeling the air in front of them. Chi Kung Fu Hu Chen, Tiger Descends Golden Mountain, the rending claws and primal rage of the great cat. They took cleansing breaths to control the reactions of their bodies to the exertion, sweating and panting.

"Pakua?" He said. Eight Changes of the Palm.

She nodded and took a place across from him on the edge of an imaginary circle, him facing the wall, her facing the stars. They began the dance, circling one another, palms extended, walking the round. They sidestepped and wove, motion flowing like water around one another, always symmetrical, always closing the circle. The movement was slow, vibrating with muscular tension like wire cables. That was what was ahead of them. The future is inevitable. You cannot resist it, the circle. Flow around it like water. Yield. It was one thing to think this and understand the principle. It was another to practice it in a difficult time, to take this awareness into their bodies and understand it in the serenity of motion, balance, thought. They completed the form and stepped back, and bowed. They stepped through Yang Tai Chi, meditation in motion, trying to relax muscle fibers. She normally tried to do the form with her eyes closed, but there was no way in her current state that she could manage it without falling on her face. Then they stood looking at the stars.

"Do you think he was assassinated?" He asked.

"Yup." She answered, both pairs of eyes in space.

"Yeah. Looked like it to me too." After another minute or so, "Well, I’m going to my quarters. It was cool going through forms with you. Good Night." He said amiably, neither of them knowing what to say next.

"I’ll walk out with you." They wandered through hallways, passing pensive faces all the way.

* * * * * * *

When she returned to her quarters, she got ready for bed and then realized that she hadn’t checked her messages. There was a message waiting. It was from Ambassador Delenn. "Havah, I must speak with you about an important matter. Please come to my quarters as soon as possible. Thank you." The message had come at 800 hours. She had already left for work, deciding to be in early that day. Why hadn’t Delenn simply come to her office? She knew where it was and hadn’t been shy about coming before. But Havah had been out in the field most of the morning and afternoon, returning briefly before lunch, and then out again for her ordeal with Dylan. If Delenn had stopped by, she may have missed her, and not left a message, or Havah simply had not gotten it. She headed for Delenn’s quarters, and was met by the ambassador’s aide, Lennier. He bowed politely to her.

"Hi, Mr. Lennier, I’m Havah Lassee. I got a message from the Ambassador to come see her, and that it was important. Is she around? I’m sorry to call so late, but I just got the message."

Lennier gave her a thoughtful look. "Yes. But I am afraid that the Ambassador is now indisposed and will be for some time."

"Oh, is everything all right, is she well?"

"I do not know."

"…Well, is there anything I can do? Do you know what she wanted to speak to me about?"

"Thank you for your concern, but unfortunately, there is nothing to do but wait. She must speak with you herself."

"Oh, well, can you let her know I stopped by, and let me know when she’s no longer indisposed?"

"Of course. I believe she will contact you as soon as she is able."

"Ok, thanks…Have a happy New Year." She paused and peered around Lennier’s shoulder. There was an intricate glass structure standing in the middle of the room, like one of those old puzzles from the science museum gift shops. It appeared to be constructed of dozens of colored glass pieces, culminating in a peak at the top, bracing a delicate triangle that looked unlike the others. The triangle was made of three slender glass rods strung together with a web of fragile wire, ensnaring a rhomboid chunk of pyrite crystal in the center. She had seen it before. Where? Even stranger, there was a giant egg sac in the corner. It looked like either the egg sac of a giant spider, or the chrysalis of a giant butterfly, a great grey shell strewn with fine silken filaments binding it to the wall. Something glowed and pulsed inside. A life form. She brushed past Lennier and walked closer to the cocoon, and Lennier moved protectively towards it. Closer up, she could see that the material was slightly translucent and through it she could discern the outline of a humanoid nose, chin, face. A person. Realization dawned on her and she looked incredulously at Lennier. "Indisposed?" Her most immediate horrible thought was that Delenn had been trapped by a gargantuan insect. But then, Mr. Lennier had done nothing to try to break through the cocoon. Perhaps the predator was still there. Were these the kind of bugs they were breeding in between decks? Like the legendary giant sewer alligators of the Earth metropolises?

He bowed affirmation to her, trying to mask his distress.

"Have you called the doctor?" She asked.

"The doctor cannot help."

"Have you tried to get her out of that thing?"

"No, that would be too dangerous for her. She must remain until she is done."

"Done what, being eaten?"

Lennier looked slightly exasperated. "No." He paused, clearly not wanting to divulge too much. "Changing."

"You mean that’s hers, that cocoon?"

"Yes." Lennier was squirming, at least as obviously as the young Minbari could, within his formal demeanor. So Havah swallowed the rest of her questions, resolving to ask more later.

"Oh, well, let me know if you need anything." I’ll just check back tomorrow or the next day, see if she’s out…or alive.

"Thank you." He bowed, and she left him to his prayer or whatever he’d been doing to deal with the situation. WOW! I wonder if she’ll recover? I wonder what she’ll be when she comes out? Is this part of the life process of the Minbari, or is this something random? Her head buzzing with unpleasant questions, Havah went to bed, wondering also, what mystery Delenn had sought her out for, and if it had been related to her process of transformation.

* * * * * * *

She found out about Garibaldi’s injuries the next day, and went to Med Lab. He was still unconscious and his recovery was uncertain. There were guards posted because he had been shot. She could see Garibaldi lying there, his functions regulated by a respirator and other mechanical monstrosities, attended by medical personnel. And then she noticed that one of the men standing guard was Byers. That was entirely appropriate since he was Garibaldi’s second-in-command, but every time she looked at the man she repressed a shudder. If it were her lying in Med Lab, she’d rather take her chances with the assailants. She watched Garibaldi for a few more minutes, trying to send good wishes at him, and then left. Some New Year’s Day!

* * * * * * *

It had been nine days since the death of Santiago, and Sinclair was gone. He’d been called suddenly to Earth and no one knew why. James Hauth believed that it had to do with the evidence Garibaldi had discovered here on Babylon 5 indicating that the President had indeed been assassinated.

"What did he find?" Havah asked.

"Triangulation devices, set for the transfer point off of Io, the same place the President blew up."

"Wow, that’s pretty conclusive! So then it had to have been a conspiracy, because triangulation involves different locations. And if Garibaldi was attacked by someone here, then someone on Babylon 5 was involved."

"Yep." He looked nervous and lowered his voice. "You can’t pull off something like that alone. That was proved after the release of reports back in 2017, about the Kennedy assassination. Lone Gunman, my ass!"

"So you think Sinclair was called back to provide information on that?"

"That, or to keep information that he knew under control. You remember what I told you about Earthgov’s view of him. They have less control over him while he’s here, and he’s tenacious. When he wants to get information, he goes after it. And here, he’s in a key position to do so. He also doesn’t play games and isn’t easily manipulated. Better to keep someone like that either very close, or too far away to have any effect."

"You think Earthgov has information on this?"

"Maybe, or certain people do. Plausible deniability. Also, keep in mind, that they don’t have to be involved in an assassination to benefit from it."

"How would they benefit from it?"

"Santiago was proposing some pretty radical programs, very heavy in alien government collaboration. That posed a huge threat, or at least a huge perceived threat, to Human-run corporations, particularly ones with multi-planetary investments. Too many other players. They wanted to be the only game in town for Humans and Earth-related business. Also, you have to think about how xenophobic people are getting. If we’re more involved with alien governments, and they’re more involved with us, and with non-Human businesses and cultures, that’s more opportunities for interference. That scares the hell out of people accustomed to laissez faire politics and decentralized government. New business, new ideas, new competition, input from outsiders." He counted them off on his fingers.

"That seems awfully simplistic. That’s been the story for ages, every time something like this happens. There has to be something more. I mean, it’s got to be more complex than the same old issue over and over."

"Why? The fear of being replaced, and the fear of interference from people who don’t share the same interests or views, are compelling fears. That’s why they’ve survived centuries, across hundreds of cultures. So why would you think that the same issues wouldn’t crop up? Watch people. People, whether they are Minbari, Centauri, Narn, or Human, they all hate change. I mean, why do you think there’s such an emphasis on marketing strategies to push messages telling us that newer is better? They know that they have to present their products in ways that alter people’s perceptions of change. So they neutralize our perception that change is bad by utilizing the other idea that people cling to, which is that they have to do what everyone else is doing, status quo. People’s fear of change is transformed into the status quo, making it normal. People who market products are very clever, but governments usually are not so astute in advertising their policies. So every time something changes, we go into convulsions all over again because the same fears have to be tackled for each new phase of change. The situations people face don’t look the same each time. Each step looks new to people, even though it is the same, because it might have a Minbari face on it, instead of a Jewish face, or Asian, or Black. That’s why we saw prejudice for every new wave of immigrants in the old United States. Each wave looked different, and re-kindled old fears that we had overcome as soon as we learned to trust another group. That trust had to be earned for each group separately. I mean, look at how long it took us to get over our nationalistic humps enough to make an international Earthgovernment work. And we still haven’t ironed it out completely, there are still significant problems and turf wars, even from agency to agency, which are all entirely Human. If we still get nervous about sharing within, and between Human agencies and businesses, why would it be unusual to see the same lack of acceptance of completely foreign agencies."

Havah sat, gnawing on the end of her pen. "Yeah, that’s true. Santiago was pushing for some pretty radical reforms, just like Robert Eagle-Elk with the formation of Earthgov, and JFK in his day, and they were all assassinated."

They both let their thoughts wander. James fiddled with his computer. Havah breached the silence. "So what now? Is Sinclair coming back, or is this for good?"

"For good. John Sheridan is coming in a day, although I don’t know if it is a permanent post, or if he is merely attending to some business here. You remember that name, don’t you?"

Her eyes widened and she sat up straight. "The guy that blew up the Minbari flagship, the Black Star, during the War! That John Sheridan?"

"The same." James lifted his eyebrows and tapped his desk with his pen.

"…I wonder what he’s coming for? Where is Sinclair going?"

"I don’t know yet."

"Won’t Sheridan’s presence piss off the Minbari?"

"Maybe, but they’re not thinking about that right now. They’re thinking about re-gaining some semblance of control after what happened with the President."

"Do you think they’ll post him here? I mean, if they do, won’t they lose the support of the Minbari, funding for the station and stuff?"

"Babylon 5 is mostly EarthForce funded now. Building it wasn’t. Also you gotta remember that they are going to be focusing on maintaining Earther control, and it’s likely that they are going to re-double their efforts on that. They may even look to certain groups to blame for what happened. Finding a scape-goat for this assassination is going to be more important than which alien groups are offended by their decisions. Haven’t you noticed how they’ve been cracking down on the Marsies? Fear, control, that’s what this is about. Resistance to change."

Havah sighed. "Well, have you met Sheridan? What’s he like?"

"Never met him. He’s got a good record with his men though. I know a guy who served on the Agammemnon with him. And I know Lieutenant Commander Ivanova served with him."

"Huh. Well, I wish I could’ve said goodbye to Sinclair. I liked him."

"You can always write to him. I’m sure when he gets reassigned, they can give you his post address."

"Yeah, if you hear anything let me know."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks." Havah tapped the lintel and wandered down the hall.