The Long Trial, Part Three
Chapter Twenty: Bureau Thirteen
by R. Bernstein

Particulates clogged the air, blowing in dust-devils around the walls of a concrete bunker in the heart of the San Diego wasteland, as a small dark woman screamed and screamed in a tiny cell. Her hands, arms, and face were bloody, where she'd been scratching at the invisible insects, and raking the rough walls with broken nails and raw fingertips. She called prayers to a Semitic deity in Hebrew, English, and a dialect of Minbari no one had ever heard in this millennium. In the file room, Agent Li easily blocked the waves of anguish engorging the entire complex from the little cell. The Corps is Mother. The Corps is Father. The Corps knows what is best.

He looked at his superior, waiting for instructions. But this woman is a normal, she isn't Corps. The thought slid in, making his eye twitch slightly. All the more reason why she must be dealt with. The Corps is what matters.

"Is there something wrong, Agent?" The sharp eyes of his superior officer scanned his face.

"No, sir."

Another man entered and whispered to the officer. His protuberant eyes widened, and an unpleasant smirk lifted the corner of his lip slightly. He nodded curtly, and the other man left. "It appears that our prisoner may be of more value than we knew. She'll be a useful shell, yes, but we may be able to get some more interesting information from her before death. She was one of the pilots captured by the Minbari during the War, on the Line. And apparently, she herself is half-Minbari. Samples of her tissue will be extremely enlightening. It's time for her to be transported to Agent Sedgwick for reconstruction. The process itself may prove to be a motivator. It is so much easier to get information from subjects when they are properly influenced. It is draining to have to wade in through anger and resistance." He left, followed by Agent Li, trying to still the tic in his eyelid.

* * * * * * * *

Havah was blinded by bright light, blaring into her eyes, turning the corners of her vision red with swimming spots. Beyond the light, a cold passionless voice described her sentence.

"What do you know about Mary Kirkish? What do you know about Mohan Satmahari?"

Havah just stared at the light. And a slow pressure started to build on her brain and heart. Something was squeezing it, or was she imagining that? A spider sunk its chelicerae into her cheek and she was unable to move to brush it away as the venom pumped in. She screamed, the only muscles left under her control. She used every last bit of control to imagine the motions of Yang Style Tai Chi, focusing on every move, concentrating on tai chi push-hand sparring, making her thoughts move like the form, melting away from scans she was not sensitive enough to feel, eluding.

The whir of a bone saw interrupted her concentration. "We will get the information from you as you die. Your body will be restructured and programmed to our needs."

She felt the skin and muscle of her left wrist being drawn back after the scalpel slipped through. Her vocal pipes were shredded and hoarse with screaming. Then you will never get it! She vowed, and redoubled her focus on mental evasion, trying to ignore the vibrations of the saw melting into her ulna. The Shadows surrounded her and Kuraal. 'Run' she cried, but the child wouldn't move. Blood from her wrist pumped into the dust. 'RUN, CHILD!'

"We have something! Did you see that? Who is Kuraal?" Li's superior officer grimaced triumphantly.

Li had seen it. But the twitch in his face was getting worse. The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father! Nothing matters but the Corps! Nothing matters but the Corps!ŠIt does matter. This matters! Something that had been building for months broke in his mind. The twitch was shuddering through his face, as his superior officer concentrated on ravaging the prisoner's death thoughts, and shutting down her organ functions. He looked at his commanding officer, and at the woman agent, the dead face directing the surgeon with the bionics, and decided that there was no way back to Project Lazarus.

Two of the occupants of the room were psi-cops, and while he was a strong P13, visual illusions would not work against both of them. He ambushed all three of the telepaths in the room with a brief flash of light, drew his side-arm and shot his superior officer, the woman director, and the P5 surgeon in succession as they recovered from the flash. They fell and lay still, heads fatally burned. The subject wriggled and flopped on the table, like an earthworm after a rainstorm. He tried to talk to her, but she was shrieking and fighting any hand he tried to put near her, and so he shut her consciousness down, but left her alive. He cuffed her partly severed wrist to keep her from losing too much blood, heaved her body into a body bag, leaving a small space open for her shallow breaths, repositioned her on the table and wheeled her out. The lock from the outside of the room gave him time to get away before the bodies were found. These procedures always took time. He kept his mind shielded as he rolled her down the hall. The tic had ceased, and the couple of technicians he passed did not spare him a second glance. He headed for the waste-processing unit. Bodies occasionally came in which were not reconstructable for Project purposes, and had to be disposed of. Her body slid into the chute and he over-rode the controls and shut down the auto-incineration, timed to go on every three days. He brought a shuttle around to the back disposal hatch and climbed in. The unit smelled like rancid meat and ash. And the only animals that were left to feed in the badlands were roaches. During the three days before each burn, they found their way in from the outside, although not into the facility. He choked on the dust of their droppings and ash, as he climbed up the pile to reach the newest lump. He dragged her out and into the flyer, and took off towards Death Valley, unzipping her bag as he piloted.

* * * * * * * *

Neroon jolted upright on his pallet and almost toppled onto the floor. Something was wrong. His skin was freezing and the fine hairs at the base of his headbone were standing on end. He could not shake the harrowing scream he had just heard in his dream. It was his daughter's voice. There would be no more sleep tonight. He dressed in his uniform and made a beeline for Sinclair's office. Upon finding no one there, he went to Sinclair's quarters and roused the baffled Human from his horrible flat bed.

Before the Human could speak, Neroon interjected. "Where is my daughter? Where is Anlashok Lassee?"

"She's on a mission, Alyt, you know that. Is there something I can help you with now? WhatŠ?"

"I must speak with her. I must know where she is."

"I'm afraid that's not possible right now. She contacted Garibaldi a few days ago, and she's not anywhere that we can reach her. She'll have to contact us, when she's ready."

"Unacceptable! How can you lose track of one of your officers? Why is there no means for contacting her?"

"I haven't lost track of her, Alyt," His voice had an edge. It was one thing to deal with Neroon's cantankerous demands during the day, but this was pushing the envelope. "It is the nature of her mission that she may be out of contact for periods of time. I trust her."

"I do not care if you trust her!"

"What is going on, Alyt? What is behind this sudden need to speak with her. I thought that you had worked out those details with her before she left?"

Neroon turned his back on the harried commander. He said nothing.

"Is something wrong? Did you hear from her?"

He paused, not wanting to involve this man in business concerning family, but he supposed that the commander was involved already. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. I have reason to believe that she isŠin mortal danger. You have no idea of her whereabouts?"

"No, I'm sorry, I don't. I hope that you are wrong, but I will look into it and do everything I can."

Neroon left before the commander could say anything more.

Sinclair stared after him, worry furrowing his brow. There was no more sleep for him either.

* * * * * * * *

When Neroon returned to his quarters, his aide was leaning on the door, sensing that something was unusual. "Prepare my ship. Stock it with rations for three weeks, and be ready to leave in two hours."

"Alyt?"

"Do as I say!"

"Yes, Na! It will be ready." He left.

* * * * * * * *

Li stopped once at a Good Will to pick up clothes that he didn't have to use a credit chit to get, and discard his uniform before going into hostile territory. Jurgen was where Li expected to find him, in a tavern in Nederland, Colorado. The man who he had been about to expose and capture, along with an entire branch of a rogue network, was now the one man who could help him. Jurgen was drunk, wearing plastic Viking horns in celebration of the approaching holiday, Frozen Dead Guy Day, and singing 'Whiskey in a Jar' along with a bawdy cluster of normals, reeking of marijuana. Ever since marijuana had been legalized in 2147, the whole town smelled like the aromatic leaf every spring, when the crops grew, and every holiday, when people ate it in communal cakes and other pastries. It was difficult to walk into a bakery at Christmas in that town without feeling at-ease with good will towards men. Li was banking on that good will now.

"Li! What brings you here to the back-end of the mountains? Here to celebrate?" Even through the haze of Tullamore, Jurgen's eyes were sharp.

"Celebrate?"

"Frozen Dead Guy Day! You won the Bride-of-Grandpa contest last year! Or were you too hammered to remember?"

"No, I remember." He winced at the things he had been willing to do to win this ruddy man's confidence. "I was stone sober, unfortunately."

"Well, we can fix that now, you know." He slung his arm across Li's shoulders.

Li held up his hand, and at his solemn look, Jurgen withdrew his arm and the smile faded. "What's up?" He moved in closer, to hear whatever Li had to say.

"I need your helpŠI have a girl. She's in bad shape, and the Blood Hounds will be after her again soon."

"Re-education camps?"

"No. Worse."

Jurgen's copper brows lifted. "Where is she now?"

"In my flyer."

He nodded, turned to his chums, drained the last beer from his horn and theatrically bid them adieu, to a rousing collective groan. He turned back to Li, and beckoned him through the back of the pub. "Bring her in through the back here."

Li pulled the still unconscious woman from the bag and shook her. She opened dull eyes that instantly clouded with fear, pupils contracting. She started to struggle.

"No." He told her. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe. For now."

She glanced skeptically at him, and then appeared to decide on believing him, for now. "Why?" She asked him, recognizing his face from the room in which she had been tortured.

He didn't know what to say, didn't even have the answer himself. How could he explain what had happened? "They want information. They‹"

"No. Why did you help me?"

"I don't knowŠ" He didn't. "'Amazing Grace,'" was all he could say.

She looked at him quizzically. He pulled her arm up across his shoulder as she staggered. He steadied her, and painfully, she tottered towards the back door, and down the paneled stair. "Who were they? Who are you?"

"Not here."

She put her head down and fell onto the basement couch near the kegs.

Jurgen brought her a glass of water, and looked at the cuff on her wrist. As Li turned, Jurgen grabbed him by the back of his shirt and shoved his face up against the wall, pistol muzzle to the back of his head. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't barbecue your head, cop!"

Li felt the characteristic pressure at his temples, in addition to the gun. Jurgen was strong, very strong, almost as strong as Li. "Because I'm not a cop anymore." Honesty was all he had left. "Go ahead. Scan me." He grimaced as Jurgen did as Li had suggested. The hand released him and he turned around.

Jurgen studied him. "It's real then. The Bureau, the Lazarus Project."

"Yes."

Jurgen jerked his chin at Havah. "What about her? Who is she?"

"A normal. They wanted her because she knows about the ship IPX found. They've another one on Ganymede, and they want it kept quiet. They also want to know more about the Minbari. The Minbari are too dangerous to anger openly, so they want to collect data on them more quietly. She's half Minbari, and she was captured by them on the Line. Everyone wants to know what really happened. They know she knows other things about them too, and about the creators of those ships. The Corps is working with them, has been for years, but we still don't know anything about them."

"And what does she know?"

"We never found out. She's seen them before."

Jurgen looked thoughtful and still distrustful, but he glanced at Havah, at her head lolling off the side of the couch. He had a weakness for small exotic women, and she had done nothing to deserve this. "I'll get her out. She needs a doctor though. We'll do what we can here."

Li nodded his head in gratitude. A blonde woman came in and began tending Havah's wrist and trying to rouse her to drink some water. Li was led to accommodations and watched by a couple of young men.

"If he tries to run, kill him. If he tries to contact anyone, kill him." Jurgen shot him a look.

* * * * * * * *

They moved on finding a route of escape immediately. The following day was Frozen Dead Guy Day, a holiday founded to celebrate the resurrecting of the first local cryonic institute for the average Joe, and its first real client, Grandpa Bredo Morstoel in 1989. The whole affair had begun when his son Trygvie, who had been keeping Grandpa dutifully frozen in his Tuff Shed, angered INS and was deported, leaving his widowed mother to look after the body. In a fit of worry, she mentioned the difficulty of looking after 'the bodies in the shed' (Grandpa now shared accommodations with his deceased roommate), in a media interview. After the largest media ruckus the tiny town had seen since the Gold Rush finally died down, assistance was offered by a leading technology firm. And Grandpa was celebrated evermore. His day was replete with theatre, costume contests, snow-sculpting contests, pub crawls, and of courseŠcoffin races complete with an obstacle course. Costumes were encouraged. Jurgen and a couple of friends prepared their costumes, and finished attaching Havah's wig and full grizzled beard. Her wrist was unusable, and she still swayed, but that appeared to be a common problem among the largely intoxicated crowds. The stretch of obstacle course between the start, in front of the Rough Rider Saloon, and the point in the woods where a contact would be waiting, was a mile through heavy snow, the last of the season. She would have to push through until then. Li was dressed, once again, as the Bride of Grandpa, and took the right front of the coffin, flanked by Jurgen in back. Keep your friends closeŠThey scanned the crowds. Li spotted a couple of men, ill-fitted to the rest of the festivities. "Over there. Blood Hounds. I recognize those men, we have files on them."

"How did they find us so quickly? Her?"

"I don't know. Maybe you have a leak you don't know about."

But they didn't appear to sense the fugitives yet. The race began and Havah half-stumbled, half-ran with her good hand on a handle, braced by the telepath behind her who was dressed as a hillbilly with fake 'Billy-Bob' teeth. They maneuvered the coffin through a pub, up a hill, slogged through a narrow, and a deep snow-drift, to the cheers of the waiting crowds. Havah's wrist was throbbing and clear fluid had seeped through the bandage. Her vision blurred, but, feeling a strong telepathic energy boost from the telepath behind who was watching her, she kept moving. They neared the section of the woods too thick for people to gather to watch the race, and the contact led her away through the ravine to a flyer on the other side.

Jurgen and the others returned to the race and ran on to the finish. But as the crowd was dispersing, the Blood Hounds had found them. Men in black slipped through the crowd towards them as they tried to back through the street. The second of two astounding moments of clarity bloomed in Li's mind. This is it. There are two of us, against six of them. Jurgen is the head of the resistance cell. He knows where the half-Minbari has gone. I do not. If he dies, the resistance here may fall, and the normal will be found. He must escape, and he cannot fight them. The only option for him is to run. The only option for me is to delay them. But they know now that I'm a rogue. What is this worth to me? He had to make them believe for at least a moment that he was turning himself in. And Jurgen had to believe it too. He held his hands up and got down on the ground, and broadcast the thought that the resistance was here and that he was turning himself in to the Corps with the intention of revealing everything. He could feel Jurgen's rage and contempt as the resistance leader fled. Li caught the Blood Hounds about to give chase and fed them vivid information about the basement of the pub, the now-empty headquarters, knowing they would distract themselves with a fruitless raid, knowing that Jurgen would not go there. Jurgen had already disappeared.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like meŠThe melody of the ex-slaver's song tinkled in his head as he punched the cop trying to put cuffs on him, grabbed the man's sidearm, and shot a blast through his own temple, before they could break into his mind.

* * * * * * * *

As Neroon was about to leave, a dainty blonde woman with huge eyes approached him, and introduced herself as Mary. He waited impatiently for her to speak.

"I just heard that you were looking for information on the woman named Havah. I saw her. It's because of her, her and Marcus and Sheridan and your Delenn that I'm here.‹"

"Just because Delenn is Minbari does not make her mine."

"Yes, well, sorry. I meanŠthe point is, I know where Havah was, although I don't know where she is now. She was with me on the freighter to Babylon 5. She found me on Mars, when I was attacked. I think it was men from IPX who attacked me. And then we were attacked again on the freighter just before it docked at the station. It was called Kendall's Ox, I think that was the name of the freighter. But the men who attacked us there weren't from IPX. They were Psi Corps. I think they may have gotten her. She didn't come back to the shuttle, and she never showed up on the station."

"Psi Corps. Isn't that the Human telepath guild?"

"It's not a guild, but yes. They control all Human telepaths. At least they try to."

"Why were they after you? What do they want with Anlashok Lassee?"

"They wanted to make sure I didn't give any information to anyone about the ships I saw, or about the ship they have on Ganymede. And Havah was with me. She had information about them too."

"What ships?"

"Delenn called them Shadows."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh. THAT. And why does your Psi Corps have an interest in the Shadows?"

"I don't know. I think they might be working together."

"You don't know. You think they might be working together." The sarcasm dripped from his voice. "Well, and the conspiracy grows. How convenient."

Kirkish didn't understand why this soldier seemed so exasperated by her mention of the Shadows, but she supposed she had to expect not to be believed sooner or later. Cassandra was ignored after the hundred-thousandth time she spoke about the fall of Troy.

He resumed. "And you know nothing of Anlashok Lassee's whereabouts now?"

"AnlashokŠoh, Havah? No. If it was Psi Corps who took her, they may have taken her to headquarters, or to one of their bases. Except that she's a normal. They have a habit of losing track of the normals they apprehend."

"Losing track. I see. Where are their headquarters? Where are their bases?"

"All of them? I don't know. There are a lot. I can tell you some of the more mundane ones."

This did him very little good, since it was likely to be one of the hidden ones she would be taken to if she were indeed captured. "And how might I learn of the others?"

"Babylon 5 has a commercial telepath who might be able to tell you, although I don't know if she will be willing. She's with Psi Corps."

"How many were chasing you?"

"I don't know, I never saw them. They don't usually go after normals. When they go after telepaths, they usually send a couple of Psi-Cops. Psi-Cops are strong. I don't know how strong though. If they are after someone dangerous, they might send a Blood Hound Unit. I saw them hunt someone down once." She shuddered.

"This Blood Hound Unit, is it composed of Humans?"

"That depends on your perspective. But technically, yes. There were six of them that I saw after this runaway a few years ago."

"Are they trained in physical combat as well?"

"It looked that way."

"I will deal with this." He nodded to her cursorily. "Thank you for your information." He turned on his heel began to leave.

Kirkish interrupted. "How do you knowŠAnlashok Lassee?"

"That is not your concern."

He ignored her, and headed for the central office of the Telepath's Guild.

* * * * * * * *

The first person he sought was the warrior caste member of the Telepath Master Council. The man took one look at him and didn't have to be a telepath to know that the Satai was here about grave business.

"I need eight of the strongest telepaths that you have trained."

"Yes, Satai. What do you need them for? You see, they all have different skills, and it would help to know their purpose so that they can be selected appropriately."

"What do you know about the Human Psi Corps organization?"

The telepath's expression darkened. "Not a great deal. Only what we have learned from ourŠexchange student, Alyssa Beldon. She had not had a great deal of exposure to them either, but some of the information she related to us from Commander Ivanova of Babylon 5 was extremely disturbing. I will let you speak with her yourself, since she is more familiar with Earth, and Earth laws. This matter concerns them?"

"It may. The Human Delenn sent here recently to 'escape capture' on Babylon 5 believed that individuals from this organization were chasing her and one other."

"One other?" Here was the crux of the request for aid. Master Lohann blocked out the thoughts from other minds, but such a wave of trepidation exuded from Satai Neroon at the mention of this 'other', that it was difficult to ignore.

"Anlashok Lassee. It is possible that she has been captured and held by this Psi Corps."

"Ah." Neroon's daughter. It was not widespread knowledge yet, but Lohann was warrior caste, and close with the Star Riders. They all knew, and so did most of his own clan. "Have you any other information on the Psi Corps, on where they might have taken her?"

"Not reliable information, no. It was suggested that I speak with the 'commercial telepath' on Babylon 5. But since she works for Psi Corps, I cannot consider her to be a reliable source. She is likely to have their interests in mind. Although I will see what she has to say. I was told that the persons who apprehended Anlashok Lassee may be telepathically strong and trained in combat. There are often six such individuals, according to the Human, Mary Kirkish."

Lohann inclined his head. "I will select accordingly and send my people to you as soon as you are ready."

Neroon saluted and waited to speak with the student Alyssa Beldon, and it was recommended that she be the one to speak with Talia Winters, the commercial telepath, since the woman had shown a fondness for Alyssa, and was Human herself. Alyssa had promised to keep in touch with Ms. Winters, and promised to share knowledge of the telepathy and practices of other races, so such a request for an information exchange concerning the practices and location of various Psi Corps installations may not seem out of the ordinary. Alyssa was also a stronger telepath than Ms. Winters and could block any stray scans with ease. Alyssa was counseled on what to ask, and Neroon waited silently at his quarters while Alyssa contacted Ms. Winters.

After a few hours, the diminuitive teenager poked her head in the door. "Um, I talked to her, and so Master Lohann told me to tell you what she said."

"Yes, go on." He stood, and she subconsciously took a step back. It was hard to keep out the anger that radiated from this man.

"Well, um, she couldn't tell me where some of the bases wereŠuntil, umŠuntil I told her why I was asking. I swear I didn't say much, just that I thought that they might beŠmight be trying to kill someone who hadn't done anything wrong, a normal person. She kind of got really upset, I could tell, and then she told me that there is a base on Mars, near Syria Planum, that no one knows about. She also said that Dr. Franklin knows a lot of rogue telepaths, and they might know more about where Psi Corps took that Ranger, or how to find her. So, I called him. And he said that he would find his contact and see if he knows anything."

"When?"

"I don't know. Soon, as soon as he talks to this guy."

Neroon's fingers clenched on the edge of his desk. If he heard the phrase, 'I don't know', one more timeŠ"Notify me as soon as you hear from him. In fact, I would like to speak with this contact."

"I will. I'll tell Dr. Franklin."

"Thank you, Ms. Beldon." He dismissed her.

* * * * * * * *

Dr. Franklin responded within a few more hours, with information from his contact. The window during which they could exchange information was too narrow for Neroon to have an opportunity to speak with the contact himself. But the news was good. She was alive, and had escaped the Psi Corps via the underground railroad. She was being brought by a couple of telepaths to a doctor at the Drazi outpost Belosi Ten, for treatment, before making the jump to Babylon 5, and then Minbari space. Felshenn had prepared the Ingata and crew, and seen to quarters for eight members of the Telepath's Guild. He had barely spoken since they boarded. The two of them, he and Havah, had experienced something of a personality clash before, but Felshenn's mood was thoughtful.

* * * * * * * *

When Neroon and Felshenn arrived at the doctor's small office, a stooped Human with large muddy eyes looked up at him in fleeting surprise, and then realization dawned on his face and he ushered Neroon and Felshenn into an inner room. The telepaths remained in the anteroom. The two Minbaris' breath hitched slightly, adjusting to the smell of sick flesh, barely masked by the odor of disinfectant. Havah lay in a bed with monitors surrounding her. She was barely conscious, and her face was peaked with dark hollows under the eyes. Sweat poured down her neck and she was shivering uncontrollably. The monitor read her temperature at 104 degrees. Considering her normal core temperature was a degree or two lower than most Humans, as a hybrid, the fever was dangerously high. Her wrist was bandaged, dark red streaks running out from under the bandage.

"The wound is septic. She has developed a systemic staph infection, and osteomyelitis. I am treating her with the most powerful antibiotics available."

"Will she survive?"

"It is too early to tell."

"And her arm? Can it be saved?"

The doctor looked at the large warrior with apprehension. "I'll know within a day if the antibiotics are having enough of an effect. When she came to me, the infection was already advanced. If she does not show improvement soonŠ"

"Can she be moved?"

"I would not advise it. I will let you know." He left.

Felshenn went into the anteroom with the telepaths.

Havah moaned and lay still.

"Daughter."

She didn't reply.

He moved closer, and spoke a little louder. "Daughter."

No answer.

He reached out a hand and touched her stringy hair. She didn't move again. He exhaled slowly. "I will bring you to Minbar for training, after you recover, of course. This can no longer wait. This would not have happened if you had received proper training as a Star Rider. Delenn and her Shadows will have to function without one of her minions until I have decided that you are ready to return. In the mean time, I order you to focus on healing. I have no wish to lose my child so soon after losing her mother. I could not prevent that. I can prevent this." I have seen Human suffering before, and smelled Human mortality in all manners, and yet this is worse. She looks like her mother. The infection is bad, and the doctor is doing everything possible already. And if she lives, I do not think she will be whole when she wakes up. Parents are not supposed to survive their children. The anger was building again, and he left the room that had become stifling. But he sat, in the anteroom, not leaving for food, drink, or rest for the remainder of the night. Her fever went up another degree around nightfall. Neroon paced, sat, and stood by the door, arms crossed, refusing to speak in more than monosyllabic answers.

* * * * * * * *

Felshenn slipped into the room, dark save for the blinking instruments. It was silent. His heart quickened and he pulled off his glove and held his hand above her mouth. Her breath barely touched it with warmth. But it was still there. He stared at her marbled eyelids, and realized that the thought of her death gave him no pleasure, as often as he had wished for it in the past. We tried for three years during the War to kill you, Human! Who are you to change your mind now! He sat, staring at her face for another hour or two. Her breathing was labored now and she was gasping out words, a jumble of delirium-induced hallucinations. But a couple words caught his ear. They were Minbari words. She was muttering in Minbari, and he realized quickly that her monologue held descriptions of features of Z'hadum. Features that she had seen, like a maze that she visited every night. He had heard the rumors fostered by the Religious Caste and the old Grey Council, but had dismissed it as over-zealous political rubbish. But regardless of who believed what, she was describing the legendary home of the Shadows in a language that she could not have known. His mind spun as he watched her.

The doctor entered, moving quietly around Felshenn. He fixed the settings on a laser lister. He was going to take the arm, just above the elbow. Felshenn's stomach turned. For all his years in the service, he still twinged at the thought of amputation. He fled into the anteroom. The doctor placed a mask over her face, to make certain she stayed unconscious.

Felshenn entered again, just before the doctor began. "Is there no other way? Can you wait no longer?"

The doctor paused to answer. "The antibiotics have not halted the infection. It is almost certain that the tissue will necrotize, it has begun already, so she will lose the arm anyway, and if I wait much longer, the septicemia will kill her."

"But she is half-Minbari. Our immune systems are different than Humans. Have you ever treated a Minbari before?"

"No, but septicemia is fatal for all known races. Do you understand?"

He nodded, but persisted. "Can you give her one more hour, or one half-hour to see if her fever breaks?"

The doctor shook his head wearily, but shut down the laser. "I will debride the wound again, and see if that helps. If the fever breaks in a half an hour, we will see. If not, or if there is any change for the worse, I will have to take the arm." He waved the young man back out, so that he could finish the procedure.

Within a half-hour, the fever broke and decreased slowly. Felshenn heaved a secret sigh of relief and was peering at her sweaty face, when a Human runner burst into the anteroom. Neroon was on his feet instantly.

The man gasped between breaths. "They're here! The Blood Hounds! They know about us, we have to clear out."

"No." Neroon stood, immobile.

"You don't understand! These are Blood Hound units. Do you have any idea what they can do?!"

"Yes. And neither they, nor you, have any idea what we can do." He nodded at the Minbari telepaths. "The Minbari have had telepaths for thousands of years before Humans touched the sky. Do you think their minds are any threat to us? And as for any other type of combatŠThey are not an obstacle to me. I will deal with them, in any manner I see fit."

The runner goggled and looked uneasily at the tall warrior. "Well, alright then." He stepped in. "I'll stay too, I guess. The enemy of my enemyŠ"

Neroon merely waited.

* * * * * * * *

It wasn't long before the Blood Hounds hunted their way into the office and came face to face with eight Minbari telepaths.

"Did you really think you could come after my daughter and be allowed to live?" Neroon said softly. The Blood Hounds, every one of them P13s, were paralyzed by the focused energy of the Minbari unit. Neroon laughed bitterly and walked around them slowly, and then motioned for them to be backed into the alley. These Humans had come between an old gokar and his whelp. "Perhaps this woman is a nuisance to you. That is why you are here, is it not? I will heartily agree that she is trying of the greatest capacity for patience. But she is mine. If anyone is going to take her out of existence, it will be me! If you wish to dispute this issue, it should not be in the office of an innocent physician, although he will be available to properly attend to what is left of you. I believe the Humans have a phrase you will have heard. Check. Mate."

The arrogant contempt frozen on the faces of the Blood Hounds began to falter. The Minbari telepaths had not even expended any effort yet. Perspiration beaded on the foreheads of the Human telepaths.

Neroon shook his head. "No, it will not be so easy for you. Humans do not learn quickly, do you? My telepaths could kill you instantly, but I want you to ponder the gravity of your error, and deliver a message to your Psi Corps, that if anyone within this organization ever thinks to come near the Minbari people again, the misfortune befalling you in a moment will seem like the gentlest enlightenment." He motioned to the Minbari unit, and they released the minds of the Blood Hound unit, almost. Their telepathic abilities were being blocked. He knew they carried side-arms. And as predicted, all six drew them. But he was too close. He stepped easily up under the closest man, brushing the firearm up and rolling the cop over his shoulder and onto the ground, palm-striking into his nose, just hard enough to break it, but no harder. He had been looking forward to a good cathartic fight for too long to let this end quickly. He held the man's wrist still gripping the gun, and drove a palm into the side of the elbow. The man yelled and dropped the gun, elbow shattered. Neroon caught the firearm and swung behind another man, holding the gun to his temple, and using the man as a shield in front of him. "Oh, come now! Is this the extent of your physical skills? Have you become so reliant on your mind-bending abilities that one old man can render you helpless in a fight?" He was easily twenty years older than any of the men attempting to kill him. He shoved the man away from him and tossed the gun contemptuously to one of the Minbari unit, who pocketed it. Other than evening the telepathic playing field, Neroon did not require assistance.

Neroon opened his arms and beckoned them. They hesitated for barely a second out of shock, and then all opened fire. Anticipating this, he dive-rolled low under the blasts to the man directly across from him, blocked the gun up and thrust a claw hand into the groin, and yanked, feeling something tear. The man doubled and Neroon caught him by the throat, black-gloved fingers gouging into the soft points on either side of the trachea. His hand closed around the windpipe, and he tugged enough so that the man could feel the suffocation and control of the hand. Neroon closed his hand and then let go, resisting the urge to yank and squeeze the tissue into liquid. He thrust the choking man in front of him to take one of the blasts, careful to make certain that his Human shield did not take a fatal shot. The blast hit the man in the stomach. Unable to scream without choking, he squirmed, but Neroon's grip on his arms bit deep into the muscle. The telepath was utterly helpless, as Neroon mule-kicked into another assailant's knees who was trying to maneuver behind him, and then hook-kicked the hand with the gun, snapping two of the phalanges and a number of bones in the wrist. Neroon dropped his current shield and side-stepped behind the man he had just kicked, grabbing his broken wrist, twisting the bone-fragments and fingers up with one hand so that the man's hand was bent and his arm was extended behind him. With his other hand, Neroon grabbed the man's hair, tearing some of the skin loose from the scalp. One of the remaining two men standing had been firing, and the shots rained into the arms and bellies of the men Neroon had been using as shields. But as the next blast came in, Neroon decided that it had come too close to his head and shoved the current Human in front and sideways, so that the next blast burned off most of the man's face, but didn't hit a major artery or damage the brain. The man who had just fired ran out of caps, and paused to reload, hands trembling so hard he almost dropped the cartridge. The other man paused, not wanting to make the same mistake and shoot his fellow officer again.

"Please, take your time to reload. Your friend is waiting!" Neroon shook the Human he held slightly, who had gone limp, shuddering occasionally. Neither of the remaining telepaths moved, eyes wide. Neroon was going to have to make this easier for them or they would be here all day. "Fine. Perhaps I overestimated even your sparse talents." He dropped the third man, who moaned slightly as he hit the ground, and Neroon kicked him out of the way. They fired again, and Neroon ducked under the blasts, stepped to the left and side-thrust one man in the ribs, sending him toppling into his partner. While they struggled to get up, Neroon was upon them like a dark hurricane, planting a heel into the small of the fourth man's back, which had been facing the sky. Vertebrae crunched and the Human screamed as bone shards sliced into his spinal cord. Neroon grabbed him by the hair and tossed him backwards, onto his fractured spine, paying him no more attention, and stood above the other man, who looked up at the Minbari with dread. "You should have fallen first. I might have been easier on you." His dark eyes flashed with cold battle rage. The man feebly held up his gun, pointing the muzzle at Neroon. The warrior snorted and grabbed the gun, jerked it out of the man's fingers and pinned him to the ground, knee on his right leg folded over the left, elbow on his right shoulder immobilizing the other arm. And then Neroon drew his knife. "You fought somewhat bravely, so I will not disembowel you. But I cannot have you capable of following us. With a swift motion, he sliced through the man's hamstrings, and the ligaments and tendons on the back of the wrists, avoiding the major veins. The Human screamed. Neroon stood and re-sheathed his knife. "Before you lament your disability, remember what you attempted to do to my daughter." Without another word, he left them there, followed by the Minbari telepaths and the Human runner who had stood openmouthed at the entrance to the clinic.

"It is time to leave." He said brusquely. "How is Havah?"

"Better. The fever is still high but going down." The doctor fiddled with the monitors. "Alright. She really should remain here longer, but I suppose that it would be better for you to leave now." He had been shaken by the fight too. "What shall I do about the bodies. I have clients who need someplace innocuous to be treated, someplace that won't be noticed. This place can't be used anymore."

"They are all still alive. I will send them on their vessel back to their own base. And I will find you a new place to treat your refugees, one that is less easy for this telepath organization to find. My telepaths will remain behind, to help you and find a place that suits your needs. It is not our practice to involve ourselves with Humans, but you have risked your business and welfare to save my daughter's life, and perhaps her limb. We do not forget such gestures."

The doctor nodded tentatively. Felshenn attended to payment, arranged for the Minbari telepaths to stay, and gathered another crew-member to help him take the maimed Blood Hounds back to their ship, and put it on autopilot back to the coordinates from which it had come. Neroon put his arm under Havah's shoulder, and one under her knees, lifted her carefully, and carried her through back streets to the ship.

 

End Part III, The Long Trial

*Author's note: I cannot take credit for the invention of Frozen Dead Guy Day in any way. It is a real holiday in Nederland, Colorado, and began in 2001 around the freezing of Bredo Morstoel and the efforts of his son Trygvie Bruge. Nor can I take credit for the listed activities like the coffin races. The resourceful community of Nederland created those and has participated in them for the past two years with gusto. 'The truth is stranger than fiction.'

 

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