This story was based on the Babylon 5 universe by J. Michael Straczynski. The Long Trial, Part Three (chapters 15-20) Chapter 15ŅThe Dreaming By R. Bernstein He remembered her now, the woman with the golden eyes. He had helped her to escape that cursed Stribe ship thirty-two years ago. How had he forgotten? After his rescue in the life pod, he had completed his report, and once heÕd had the details down, had put the whole miserable experience far from his mind, so he could concentrate on his duties. There had been horrors on that ship that made even his warrior sensibilities balk. And there had beenÉwhat was her name? The memory of the old description he wrote of her made him uneasy. There had been hair on her headÉlike a Human. It would be typical for those base creatures to characterize one of the greatest moments of horror in his life. She had tried to speak to him, had called herselfÉHe pushed the screen away in irritation. It hadnÕt been like him to forget any detail about a person he met. That was part of a warriorÕs skill set, to notice everything about people, their vulnerabilities, their characteristics, in case that information was needed later. But that name, if that was what she had been trying to tell him, was one of the few details he had left off of the report. She called herselfÉFÉIt had been an alien sound, ÉFÉHe must know! There was something about her, about this woman, some unfinished part of his memory and she was going to plague him with those liquid eyes until he remembered! And the images of her were getting stronger, without any revelations as to why. They tinkered with my mind, those animals on the ship. I will have my past back. I will see what they would hide from me! He reviewed his options. A telepath? No. This was his past. My mind is my own, and these events were mine! No Mind Bender will go in and take them. I will go in and bring them out. There was only one other way, a very traditional way, and he believed in traditional ways. The Dreaming. * * * * * * * * He stood before various assembled Warrior Caste Elders. "Why do you wish to undergo such a ritual, Satai? Neroon replied evenly. "As you remember, I was a hostage of the Stribes, thirty- two years ago. In reviewing the files I have learned that there is history that has not been accounted for, and in the interests of security, I must uncover the remaining details. You must agree that such security is a priority, especially considering that our borders have been so indiscriminately opened to off- worlders!" They all muttered and nodded in assent. "And," he added, "I want the truth. A warrior should not fear the truth." "Very well. We will prepare the hall tomorrow evening in 18 solar hours. Who will stand for you?" Felshenn stepped forward. "I will." Neroon nodded to his aide. "I am appreciative of your loyalty, but it is not required in this." "I understand. My decision remains." Besides, you have no idea what waits for you. I do. No one else will be so prepared. "I thank you, then." Neroon turned to the Council awaiting their acceptance. "Then prepare yourself for the Dreaming." Neroon and Felshenn bowed and left. * * * * * * * * The following evening, the two soldiers waited apprehensively. The chamber was oppressive. An elder in full dress uniform boomed. "The Dreaming begins." Neroon and his aide were led to a small ornate panel with muted rhomboid abalone designs, behind which was a fluted chalice. He knew what was inside: shaÕ at, the minor death, the death of boundaries. The alkali liquid was extracted from the root of the chorka. It opened certain memory pathways in the mind, those targeted by the individual during the Dreaming. Another property it possessed was the tendency to temporarily activate latent telepathic receptors, due to the enhanced production of trace neurotransmitters in specific quantities and combinations, so that whatever memories the Dreaming individual was able to access could be witnessed by his or her companion. No one was truly alone during the Dreaming. And it was the deepest truth that whatever one had to fear, was what one brought with him in his own mind. We seek out our own traps. Neroon thought as the bitter resin coated his throat. His aide gulped in his turn and replaced the chalice in its alcove. They entered the fog behind the sliding doors as though stepping into the deeps of time itself in some ancient gas nebula. The fog clung to their clothes, the vapor webbing them around in a snare for whatever NeroonÕs visions had waiting. It penetrated his eyes, nose, lungs, tasteless, odorless, but he could feel every droplet as though all of his senses were amplified. Felshenn was beside him. He knew this because he could hear the boyÕs heartbeat, every breath whistling past the hairs in his nose, every push of blood through every capillary in the boyÕs extremities. He could feel the mumble of FelshennÕs thoughts, but not quite hear them, like a low inaudible hum. And then he could hear his own, the exhalation and inhalation of nutrients in every cell, every neuron. And then time convulsed, and flowed backwards. Images flew through his mind so quickly that he had no time to focus on any one in particular until a few moments later, although it could have been days for all he could tell. He was on the ship. The mechanical claw and its torturous instruments, poked, probed, sensed. His dream body couldnÕt move in the restraints and he saw and felt a needle pierce his neck. Neroon-in-the-dream relaxed into unconsciousness. Another needle snaked into his leg and injected another fluid. Instead of a soporific, this time it was something else. Something he could not have felt but for his newly enhanced memory, right down to the cellular level. Whatever they had injected him with was alive, and invading his cells. They were being transported through his blood, masked from the immune system within his own macrophages. They finally released themselves from their hosts in his testes, and invaded the zygotes. They infected me with a disease! His present watching self raged. He could feel the flu-like ache in his body, as the microbes replicated, and the intolerable itching in his genitalia for the next few days as they completed their journey and cellular conversion, and then the symptoms subsided. None of this he had remembered at the time, only the haze of the tranquilizer. A device was fitted to his temple, just beside the bone, with some kind of adhesive gel. He could feel the pulse of its energy but had no other indication of what it did. His dream self was too groggy to notice it, as he was transported into a room with another being. It was the woman he remembered. She was unconscious. And his dream-self faded in and out of consciousness. After a few minutes and total silence, she stirred. Wisps of long hair escaped from under a black shimmering veil, and her face was sculpted and graceful. She opened her eyes, confused and dismayed, and realized she was not alone. She slipped lightly off the table and approached him, laying her warm hands on his shoulder. His dream self felt nothing at the time but an approaching alien, and he was through with aliens. His present self felt the warmth of her hands a second before his dream self trapped her arms and picked her up by her neck. She was terrified. He could see that in her fire-colored eyes. She was no threat to him. He could feel the arteries pulse in her soft throat, and dropped her. The fire in her eyes was in her spirit too, as she backed away from him, intent on gouging out his eyes if he neared her again. He held out his hand to demonstrate peace. Not too close. Who knew what this feral alien might do? She eyed him cagily. He had frightened her. He could see her trembling, and repressed a pang of regret. Whatever she was, she was really quite beautiful, the most exotic creature he had ever seen. Her purple dress hung slightly open as she moved, and he averted his eyes, but not before glimpsing smooth bronze flesh and feline curves. She noticed the content of his stare and he could feel the heat in her face as she blushed and closed the folds of fabric, tugging and straightening the headdress. Modesty, perhaps she was sentient after all. What in ValenÕs name was I thinking? Why was I not thinking harder about escape? As if in answer to his present selfÕs indignation, Neroon-in-the-memory regained his awareness of their unfortunate surroundings, touched his temple and motioned to her forehead, at which was affixed a device like the one he wore. These devices could not bode well, placed there as they were by their captors. They should be taken off. Perhaps they wereŅbefore he could finish the thought, a force penetrated his brain originating from the device. It was a trigger of some sort, a direct electromagnetic trigger to the hypothalamic center of his brain and endocrine system, stimulating an overwhelming surge of male hormone with more strength than he had ever felt. No coherent thought was possible in the events that followed, only emotion. The woman had been affected too. He could see it and feel her pheromones across the couple of feet between them. Stay away from me, stay away from me! You do not know what you do in coming near me now! Either she could not hear his thoughts or didnÕt care, because she slid off of the table again and approached him fearlessly, her hungry breath in his ear and seeking fingers on his chest, pulling his tunic from his shoulders. His body responded as he grabbed her arms and met her full lips hard, pulling the veil off. She put her hands on the edges of fabric as if to stop him, but then laced them around the back of his head, running her fingers across his crest. Underneath the covering was a regal black mane, the color of the veil that shrouded it, but wilder. Fire ran through his groin as his fingers weaved through the soft tangled strands. His hands moved down her back, desperate for every inch of her skin, as he pulled her tighter against him, feeling the press of her curves. His only thought apart from the demands of his body was a tender hope that he wouldnÕt hurt her with his ferocity. But she was stronger than she looked, far stronger, and every bit as fiercely desiring of him. Four times he knew her like this, relentless, savage, and exquisite. And then they either exhausted themselves, or the devices shut off. He cradled her head, as she sighed contentedly against his chest, every muscle fiber shaking. She reached to grab the head-dress, shyly, but he pulled her to him again. She smiled and curled against his chest. He stroked her damp mane, smelling a faint fragrance, like moonflowers. As he began to gather his thoughts, a drug was piped into the room. He realized it at the same moment that he realized it was too late, and clutched her to him protectively, as consciousness slipped away again. Neroon-in-the-present saw his body being transported again into another room and the mysterious woman being taken somewhere else. His body was bound and his mind, even unconscious was raging. What have you done with her!? If you harm her, I will spill every last drop of your blood! A telepath sliced into his mind as he lay helpless, and stole even the memories of his sea-nymph. Neroon-in-the-present tried to loosen fists that were clenched with fury, his breathing was ragged, and the Dreaming continued to unfold. They floated him again into a room with another alien woman, this time a Centauri by the look of her bare scalp. But this time, as he awoke, golden eyes filled his mind as he looked at the woman. He had no idea who they belonged to, but they were a warning. He reached instinctively to his temple, as if finishing a thought and ripped off the device there, parts of skin came off with it, but he flung it across the room. The woman screamed as he grabbed her and tore the device from her head, freeing her from some danger he wasnÕt certain of. She clawed at his face, and he blocked her hand and she ran from him just as he could feel the colorless gas fill the room. There was no time to follow her and try to explain. He had to find someone else, another woman, the one who had warned him. Perhaps she had been a telepath, one with yellow-green eyes. When he burst out of the room, he encountered large-headed gray aliens with glassy eyes, his captors. Their flesh was broken before him. He had to find her! Find who?! And then he forced his way into an examining chamber, and there she was, strapped to another table. Sleeping or drugged. He didnÕt understand how, but knew that somehow this was the woman who had just warned him. The harshness of her restraints only made him angrier. What if she didnÕt awaken? He shook her, hard. She stirred and he masked his relief as those huge limpid eyes opened on his face in bewilderment. He broke the bindings on her wrists and ankles, as she struggled to free herself, glancing at him gratefully. Her face was familiar, but recognition edged out of his grasp. He tossed her the garments heÕd acquired, grabbed her wrist and they ran down corridors ending up in a dimly lit storage room. It was storing test subjects, just like themselves, but many were far worse off. Some appeared to be infected with one or another illnesses, some appeared to be missing limbs, some, the nature of their maladies, insults, or injuries were unseen. The womanÕs beautiful eyes filled with horror and resolve, and she began trying to free as many of the captives as possible. After only a few moments, he caught a whiff of the nerve gas and turned to grab his companion, but didnÕt have to tell her. She had figured it out and was trying to herd the freed subjects towards the door. They were thronging the now-closed entrance, barring his access to the panel that may release the catch if he could only get into it. Golden Eyes was looking faint, and she understood what was happening, as she pulled at scrambling aliens to let him through. He wrenched at the panel, tearing his palms, methodically testing crystals and wires. He glanced at the woman to see how she was faring. More time, I need more time! Hold on, just a littleŅShe collapsed, strands of her hair spilling across his feet, like unwoven zyrka silk. NO! Two of the wires triggered the door release and it slid open. He was waiting for their captors on the other side, two of them, with bulbous gray heads and elongated black eyes. He knocked their guns from their hands as he came from around the door where he had hidden as the hatch opened, and tore their windpipes from their throats. Another neck he snapped in a full 180 degree twist, and anotherÕs heart he stopped by punching clear into the chest, although that had been a fortunate guess. He pulled the limp woman onto his shoulders and grabbed two other prostrate test subjects and dragged them into the hall and behind a wall before more grays came. Golden Eyes looked up at him half-drugged. He needed her awake, or he would have to carry her and two other aliens, and that would be considerably more difficult if he couldnÕt find escape pods. He slapped her before he could think about his reluctance to hit her. Shock livened her eyes. Her demeanor as she glanced around said she understood his purpose, just as more shots came at them. After what he had just seen in the holding chamber, the puny bolts seemed to offer a much preferable death, and he dodged the fire easily, sidestepping and making short shrift of the ill-prepared grays. They were obviously not fighters. And neither was Golden Eyes, by the look of it. She was flailing her arms and legs, clawing at the faces of the grays, a couple of whom were torn and beaten, and she kept raking. She had clearly never been taught to fight in any skilled way, but her spirit almost made up for what she lacked in training. Perhaps she has the blood of a warrior yet. He thought with admiration, as he pulled her off a ravaged gray body, casting her against the wall before she could turn her nails on him. She realized who had grabbed her, and looked confused as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down a hallway that he had passed in his search for her, leaving the uprising behind them. The grays were occupied. They no longer had control, and the doom of vengeance was upon them. Something made him think there were escape pods there. He was right. An explosion shook the floor. There was no time. He shoved Golden Eyes into one of the pods. At least I can keep her alive, for the next few minutes. As he went to shut her door, she grabbed him. What are you doing, woman?! ThereÕs no time! She placed her hand on her chest and spoke foreign syllables, her name. Fatima Lassee. He didnÕt know whether Fatima or Lassee was her family name, but it wouldnÕt much matter since they were not going to the same place, and would not be rescued from the pods before their oxygen ran out. Sigh, futile courtesy in the face of death. But it is nice to have known her name. He returned the answer more curtly than he meant, "Neroon, of the family of Callier." Now you must go! Before he could shut the door again, and before he realized her intent, her slender hands slid around the sides of his face and she kissed him sensually on the lips. Regardless of her alien-ness, there was no mistaking that gesture among any race he knew. He was so shocked that he could only stare for a moment, a moment neither of them could spare, wishing not for the first time that this oddly persistent woman had been Minbari. He stole one more second and ran his fingers through her remarkable hair and down the soft skin of her face, knowing that he would never see the fierce gold light in her eyes again. He allowed himself one twinge of sorrow, smiled at her and shut the door. The past rebounded and Neroon was back wholly in the present, surrounded by swirling mist. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a stone bench, completely drained by what he had seen. They infected me! I joined with aÉa Human! That woman was Human, I have seen enough Humans by now to know. And my heart was joined to her as well as my blood. He could no longer deny that. Her eyes had appeared to him on the ship in the time of need and for years afterwards because they were burned into his soul. It was those eyes that had kept him from taking a Minbari wife, or even lover. There had been a determined young woman a few cycles ago, and he had tried. He had agreed to continue the relationship through three dedication ceremonies. And then, on the first night of the Secret Face ritual, she had risen mournfully, tears in her eyes, after shaking him awake to let him know she was leaving and ending their courtship. When he asked if she was alright, what he had done to drive her away, she replied that it was not his fault, but his heart belonged to someone already, and it was not her. Now he knew. His heart had belonged, since that dark day on the alien ship in the wastes of space, to a golden-eyed woman named Fatima Lassee, a Human. How dreadfully ironic! How could she have come from such a race? Weak, inconstant peculiar creatures. But there are those who shine among every race. She was the best of them, had been. Where was she now? She was not Minbari, so it mattered little. All he could hope for was that she was alive and well, but that part of their lives was over before it even began. What happened between them was an atrocity. It should never have happened! That is Minbari law! Minbari only take Minbari as mates. It was neither of our faults that we were joined, but I must move on now, now that I know the truth. But a dullness crept in when he thought of the future events of his life spanning before himÉwithout her. * * * * * * * * That moment was perhaps the most vulnerable Felshenn had ever seen his teacher and superior officer. The older manÕs ashen face looked old now, and weary. He sat down beside him and waited for the shock to wear off. The HumanÕs words in the glen had not prepared him for the intensity of events he had just witnessed. Still, no matter how terrible the events he had just seen, Felshenn could not look at the man beside him as a victim of the abomination that had been visited upon him. He was one of the strongest and greatest men Felshenn had ever seen, under such circumstances, to have endured so much, and still kept his name and his honor! He was filled with a swell of pride in the old soldier. * * * * * * * * Neroon had her name. He could at least find out her status, alive or dead. Fatima LasseeÉLASSEE! Was this a common human family name? Was she a distant relative of the annoying youngÉAnla Shok. He shuddered to call that queer little mercenary by that title. But something in the pit of his stomach turned over. His bizarre dream of Havah came back to him, strong in the ethereal fog, the sense of loss he had felt when she vanished amidst the Shadows. She looked a little like Fatima. It was the long black hair, the arch of her nose, her eyebrows, the curve of her lips. He shook off disgust at the comparison. She didnÕt have the golden eyes. Her eyes were more like hisÉmarble-darkÉShe was half MinbariÉIn ValenÕs Name! NO!ÉHe leaped up, with suddenly renewed agility and rushed from the chamber, and past the waiting elders. One called to his quickly receding back, "Satai Neroon, now is the time for rest!" He whirled. "I do not need rest. I need an investigation." He turned and charged on, dogged by Felshenn. "Na! You seek information about the girl!" Neroon turned again, slowly. "YesÉHow did you know?" Felshenn took a deep breath. "I know about her. I overheard her talking to someone, a friend. She had just had an encounter with you and was very upset. She told this friend about you, about what she was. She wished to keep it a secret, but her distress made her indiscreetÉThat is one of the reasons I wished to stand for you. I already knew." Neroon stopped, drew a long sigh and stared at him, pondering. "I seeÉAnd this friend?" "It was her wish that he tell no one. He will keep his promiseÉI have other assurances as well." He nodded slowly. "Well, it is now your duty to tell them what you saw. I must confirm this by blood." He stalked into the gloom before Felshenn could respond. Felshenn returned to the elders and made his report. They were flabbergasted. But why should they have been. Really, he thought, Satai Neroon was captured after all, with no memory of what had happened. We know that there are races who engage in such truck as genetic engineering, the Vorlons have already done it to DELENN, while she was a grown Minbari! The pieces do not require an engineer to put together. Once such an event occurs onceÉThe elders discussed amongst themselves what the next actions should be. "This is for Satai Neroon to handle. We are sworn to silence in this matter for now." They agreed, leaving one another with significant stares. A Human woman! * * * * * * * * Neroon roused Koplann from bed. The old man gazed groggily at him as though he had grown another head. "Have you taken leave of your senses?! What do you require at this hour?" "Tell me what you know about the Human, Havah Lassee." Koplann frowned at his driven friend. Neroon was clearly agitated, and there were dark caverns under his eyes. "You know most of it already. We brought her aboard during the Line. We tested her, and the Triluminary indicated, as did the telepath, although you have your reservations about this, that she had a Minbari soul. And as it happens, she also has some Minbari genetics. She is a half-breed. If you are looking for an answer as to how and by whom, we have only speculation, and very little of that even. Perhaps she is another of the VorlonÕs twisted experiments. As you know their hold on us is too strong, hence our appointment of another warrior to the Council." "You know nothing of her parentage?" "Well, her records say that she was adopted after her Human mother diedÉduring the birth, as I understand. The fatherÉwe meant to search the genetic records of all military or merchants known to be off-world months before her birth, but as you also know, most non-essential inquiries of that nature have been postponed for now. We have been somewhat too busy with controlling the damage done to our political system by would-be religious caste prophetesses. It is unlikely that the father was religious caste. They rarely left homeworld in those days." He spat dourly. "What was the motherÕs name?" NeroonÕs face was intense, hovering over an abyss for an answer. "In the name of Valen, what is going on?ÉI donÕt rememberÉI will retrieve the record. Why is it so important at this moment?" Koplann trudged to his computer, shaking sleep from his limbs, not liking how much effort that was taking these days. "I may know the identity of the father." Koplann looked up at him. "YouÕre serious." He pulled the record. "The motherÕs name was Fatima Lassee." He turned the screen around so that his agitated peer could see the picture of the woman. The weight of a neutron star crashed into NeroonÕs chest, and he fought to remain standing. It was her, his beloved Golden Eyes. She had survived! She had survived and then died giving birth..to his childÉto that halfÉthat experiment of Stribe perversionÉthey killed Fatima after allÉI killed herÉHavahÉFatima had come to life again in his mind, and now she was gone for good this time. "Neroon!" Koplann stood before him. He had never seen the warrior look like this before. His face was haggard with the effort of controlling some great agony that had hit him in the last few moments. "Are you ill?" Neroon looked at him with haunted eyes, boiling rage just one layer underneath. "She was mine." "What?" His friend was no longer making any sense, and then the realization dawned. "WHAT?ÉYou canÕt beÉ" Koplann lost all ability to finish his sentences in his disbelief. "Think. You remember when I was captured. I didnÕt remember everything. Well, I have gone though the Dreaming, and now I do. I remember the womanÕs name. I remember everything. Havah Lassee is my child." He sat exhausted, looking into KoplannÕs amazed eyes. "Do you have blood proof of this? Are you certain?" "Not yet, but I will be. And I know already. I feel it, Koplann." He related everything, the content of the Dreaming, the content of his more pedestrian dreams about Golden Eyes, and about Havah, and what his aide had discovered from HavahÕs confidence. After listening to the whole tale, Koplann nodded. "I swear my silence, old friend, unless you request otherwise. I will have her genetic records pulled for you tomorrow, so you can confirm this discreetlyÉWhat will you do?" Neroon stood, painfully. He was not so old for a Minbari, perhaps middle-aged, but he felt millennia older than that now. "I do not know." * * * * * * * * Three-quarters of the way to Earth, Havah stared at the console without seeing it. Alien words and phrases whirled in her head like a coriolis storm. Minbari words. The world and its people had had a far more profound effect on her than she had anticipated before returning to Earth. And her role in whatever came was becoming more and more unsettling to her, pieces of a dark fresco emerging from under centuries of grime with swipe after swipe. Shok duolÕaa, NeroonÕs lanky aide had muttered as he strode off, his breath cast to the whispers of air around them, after threatening to shame her. But she had caught it. ShokŅessence/soul, duolŅdarkness, ÔaaŅthe clicking word deep in the throat, she hadnÕt been familiar with. She had asked Trel about it and watched a flush come to his face as she spoke the phrase. He had hesitated, unsure of how to explain. "There are legends among Humans about non-Humans who share your world, yes? Called sometimes faeries? And these legends featured beings that took the place of Humans, and that no one could tell the difference until it was too late? You called themÉChangelings, yes?" "Yes." The hairs on HavahÕs arms quivered. "Well, we do not have the same legends exactly, but that would be the best comparison for the expression shok duolÕaa. Do you remember anything you learned about the Cold Times?" "Yes. The Minbari came ashore and made homes." "And fought with another race for dominance, you remember this?" "Oh yeah." "Well, even though none of those beings, the Kal Ôtot, have been seen for centuries, perhaps millennia, it was believed that they could return to destroy the Minbari in secret. My mother used to tell me that I must always tell the truth, all Minbari must, because if we did not, then the Skin Stealers would come and take our bodies and bring about the end of the Minbari. ÔTotÕ means theft. Shok Ôtot, soul hunter/stealer, Kal Ôtot, Skin Stealer. You see? They are also called shok ÔduolÕaa, a soul who wanders through time and infects other bodies. In essence, it means someone who is not what they seem, whose true face is always masked, even in sleep. ThatÉ" His color deepened. "Éis what you were called by some after Proxima Three, because you appeared to be a Minbari warrior, but were an enemy. And after the Battle of the Line, the mystery about you deepened, because it was said that even as a Human, you were not as you appeared, except to the Grey Council, and they revealed nothing." "A demon. A changeling." "In our sense, yes." * * * * * * * * She had mulled on this most of the way to Earth. Another memory joined it. She had stopped briefly on Babylon 5. An uneventful trip really, except for one feature that stood out like a flare of light in a murky cave. On her way to DelennÕs quarters she had bumped into a Centauri woman, in the characteristically ornate dress of their race. She had reached out to steady the woman, who had stumbled, and as the woman grabbed her arms to keep from falling, she looked into HavahÕs eyes. The physical contact must have acted as an electric jolt to the woman because she gasped, and her voice was sonorous. The womanÕs Centauri male companion and a few others, including a passing Minbari male, looked on curiously at the sound of the womanÕs voice and the change in the air. "A formidable past you have, and a more formidable future, child of Callier. Shok shaÕesh thean,. Across centuries you have traveled, and you will remain until you have ridden the darkness that you have returned to finish." Havah could only stiffen at the words and start to withdraw. The woman let go of HavahÕs arm, and backed up, dark eyes boring into her, tripping the memory of HavahÕs dreams, dreams of battle and annihilation and the scream of the soul- destroying ships. She glanced at the Minbari who stood watching. His face had gone pale, paler than usual for a Minbari, and he was staring not at the strange woman, but at Havah. The Centauri had spoken a Minbari phrase. A very interesting one. The womanÕs companion had nodded apologetically to Havah, the fan of his hair bobbing slightly, and put his hand on his partnerÕs arm. "I apologize for my sister. Some of our people think she is gifted with Sight, but she has never learned to wait for people to ask their fortune instead of casting their boons at them. Darisha!" He ordered and pulled her away down the hall. Only the Minbari remained, searching HavahÕs reaction. Then becoming aware of the impropriety of his stare, he nodded to her and retreated to his business. Shok sha-esh thean. Soul-Lost-in-the-Deeps-of-Time. Not an encouraging message. The phrase had a particular distinction. In Minbari belief, all beings had a purpose, but shok shaÕesh thean was a lost soul, someone who could be lost for any number of reasons: capture by a Soul-Hunter, or a losing of unconscious purpose which guides all beings through life, a disturbance in the passage of space-time which alters future possibilities, a soul-sickness. Shok shaÕesh thean was someone lost in the maze of time and infinite possibilities, who has yet to find their way back to the world-soul. Havah shivered in the cramped quarters and shook off the memory. * * * * * * * * It had been a few weeks, and Havah was as settled in as she was going to get. This federal office was nothing like the position she had been in on Babylon 5. This place was lavish in accoutrements, the offices furnished, with obscene amounts of space, mahogany paneling, and ornate moulding in imitation of Victorian-age architecture. The atmosphere was tense, officious, and impersonal. In comparison, despite its status as a federal office, the epidemiology department on Babylon 5 had been woefully cramped, but it had been somewhat casual despite the frenetic pace. This office was in the thick of the politics. It was the perfect place to keep her finger on the pulse of Earth Gov, in fact, there was no avoiding it. Her supervisor, Edward Jensen was an austere man in his late forties, impeccably dressed in a non-descript wool suit. Her time was closely watched here. She had arrived a minute late that morning and he had asked her in his clipped speech, after giving her a pile of papers, "So, did you run into traffic?" "No, just running late." "I see. Please have these drafts reviewed by noon." "Yes, sir." "IÕll be in a meeting for the remainder of the morning. Take all calls. Have you reviewed the internal emergency readiness plan for the tabletop exercise next week?" "Yes sir." "And the progress report from the last exercise, the presentation?" "I sent it to you, sir, you have to review it and give it back to me." "Oh, of course." He left for a meeting. She scoured the room, feigning organization and filing duties, scanning for bugs, in order to place her own. She took down one of the kitchy oil paintings next to the door. The canvas in the frame was slightly frayed. Her camera was a baby-hair filament easily lodged in the canvas fibers. The picture hung to cover the hair, leaving enough space for a full view of the entrance to his office. Every time he came in, every time anyone came or went into his office, she would have a record of it. This would have to do until she could wire a decoder into JensenÕs office access panel. She popped outside for a breath of fresh air. It was late spring and the climate control was already blasting frigid air throughout the buildings. The sun felt warm as she crossed the quad to the cafeteria. As she sat down amidst clots of people, talking and eating, she noticed again how homogenous they were. She had never been in this complex until a few weeks ago, so this could have been the case all along, but after the stay on Babylon 5, there was to her a striking lack of alien presence. The Minbari had been nearly as homogenous throughout their entire planet. But that was different. They had never had Humans or any other race present before. If her memories of Earth in the past served her, all kinds of species had been wont to visit Earth. Well, this was a federal installation, so perhaps it was not surprising that there was little variety. It was a Human government, and her building was emergency management, in which there was high security and little alien interaction. The place felt so closed. She ate her lunch alone, pretending to read a book, but listening to the tone of conversations around her. A woman was complaining about her current love interest, and her children, and her ex-husband. At the table to the side of her, a crisp-looking man was remarking to an older man on the establishment of the Ministry of Peace, and the new foreign policy. "Éjust what we needed. I think weÕre headed in the right direction. Our economyÕs really suffered in the past year." "Yeah, but do you think cutting out our foreign interests is going to help that? WonÕt it cut down our revenue?" "WeÕre not cutting off foreign interests. WeÕre just reserving Human businesses for Humans. No reason the other races have to stop buying from us, theyÕll just buy from Human owned businesses. And weÕll be re-investing in Earth. ThatÕs the way things should be. If all these other races start coming in and taking over spots formerly held by Humans, then Humans lose because that business goes off-world and our people are cut out. This is still our planet. Besides, the new focus on Earth is good because weÕre returning to older values. ThatÕs all gone to hell in the past few years, ever since weÕve been pouring money into the Babylon Project. Look at the kids these days! Always imitating aliens, alien fashions, alien shows, alien ideas. Do you know what I saw the other day?! A young woman with her head shaved just like the Centauri! She was dressed Human alright, but no daughter of mine would shave her head! And then, in the same day, in the same high school no less, I saw a boy dressed like a Minbari! My brother fought in the war, and boy, if thatÕd been his kidÉI donÕt know what theyÕre teaching kids today!" "I donÕt think itÕs so bad, kids are kids. They experiment with all kinds of things, always have." "Yeah, but thereÕs something wrong with our methods if all they can find to experiment with are alien cultures. WhatÕs wrong with Earth cultures, thereÕs plenty of them?!" "I really donÕt think that itÕs as thought out as all that. Kids always want the most exotic and most unlike what they see around them, so of course theyÕll choose alien cultures. The foreign is more appealing than anything you can get at home, simply because it is foreign. When they get older, theyÕll appreciate their home more. I was like that when I was a crazy kid too." "But you grew out of it." "And so will they." "I donÕt know, I just think itÕs good that weÕre considering more what weÕre giving them on television and in our media and all. The Ministry of Peace has the right idea in funding this Nightwatch organization. ItÕs irresponsible of the media to keep tossing all of these dissenting ideas out there without framing the context for people. They donÕt get a coherent idea of whatÕs right or wrong or what Earth is all about. ItÕs too confusing. People like simplicity. WeÕre lazy, and so be it. When I come home from a long day at work, I donÕt want to be bombarded with political agitants or all kinds of nouveau-philosophy. I want to relax." "Eh, I rather like the variety. And there are some interesting ideas out there." "IÕm sure there are, thatÕs not the point. Some ideas can be dangerous. Look at the rumor about our President being an assassin. How absurd! Smaller things have gotten people impeached and disrupted the whole government. All functioning comes to a complete halt when nonsense scandals like that are allowed to grow. And the people who foster them, thatÕs exactly what they want, counter-productivity." "Ok, now I agree that such things are a nuisance, but I donÕt think they are indicative of some kind of subversive plot to undermine the functioning of Earth Gov. ThatÕs a little extreme. And people have a right to think what they want." "But not to say what they want. You canÕt shout ÔfireÕ in a crowded theater. It threatens the lives of others. What about our right to be safe? And President Clark is only doing what is best for Earth." "ItÕs up to Earthers to decide whatÕs best for us. He works for us. ThatÕs what a government Ôof the peopleÕ is. You canÕt limit peopleÕs ability to use their voice because thatÕs the only way that we have to express what is best for us instead of letting someone else make all the decisions based only on their own views. Our system of government is supposed to protect against that. And I really donÕt think that people voicing their opinions is threatening the well-being or lives of the general populace. You just canÕt take that away." "ItÕs not being taken away. The Ministry of Peace isnÕt threatening anyone. TheyÕre not arresting people or even blackballing anyone in media or entertainment. They are just asking innocent questions to get a feel for the landscape and what people need, and making suggestions as to the direction of media and business content. And theyÕre trying to assist in containing damaging unfounded rumors that donÕt benefit anyone. ThatÕs it!É*Sigh* You are such a liberalÉ" They both chuckled. And the older man spoke. "Well, see, now, weÕve taken up the whole lunch with this debate. Care to argue again tomorrow?" "Maybe. IÕd prefer to talk about more satisfying things." "Eh, wuss." They both laughed again, gathered their things and left. HeÕs trying to sweep SantiagoÕs skeleton under the carpet. ThatÕs one of the tasks of the Ministry. To use nationalism as a smoke-screen against anyone who asks their own questions. How clever. ThatÕs never been done before! Havah thought sarcastically. She tossed the rest of her lunch and headed back to the office. * * * * * * * * That night she met her cousin at Big JohnnieÕs Barbecue. It was an old Southern barbecue place presided over by Big Johnnie. Big Johnnie had earned his name, a cheerful Black man weighing in at over 400 pounds. He had lugged his antique charcoal-pit barbecue from Mobile, Alabama to the rolling hills of Geneva because nothing could duplicate the taste of his grill. And nothing could. His warm restaurant was as much soul as it was food. It had broad booths and tables with colorful plastic tablecloths, and license and vanity plates from all over the galaxy on the walls. Old Detroit blues, jazz, and hard rock piped from the crystal port speakers, and kids yelled from the VR games in the corner as people smacked their lips, chowed, and talked. And chowed and chowed and chowed. It was one of those places that you could sit all day, if you had the day, and eat, talk until you were hungry again and order more as Big Johnnie thundered out to say hi and check on his flock. And the shop was situated at the back of a cul du sac flanked by two chocolatiers and a tavern, for which Havah had dubbed the entire strip Heart Attack Alley. "Hey, Butter-head! This way!" Her cousin Karen waved jubilantly from a table near the back. The place was packed. Karen shrieked and grabbed Havah in a bear hug. "Hay, cuz! What are you doing here? I thought you were in outer space! Hahahaha!" "I sort of got transferred here." "What did you start a plague or something?! Hahaha! WeÕre going to see Monkey Brains later. Now you must come with us!" "Maybe. I gotta get up early though." "Oh, Dude! You havenÕt been back to Earth for a while, you must take time and party!ÉI understand. So whatÕre you doing in Biohazard Land?" They stopped to order their food. Havah got two orders of hot wings, a Kansas City beef brisket sandwich, and a slice of sweet potato pie. Karen ogled at her. "Dude! Where are you storing that food, man! Havah was starting to store it everywhere. In the few weeks she had been home, she mustÕve put on all of the weight she had lost on Minbar, and then a couple more pounds. Her pants were rapidly growing more snug than she liked. And the truth was that while she had enjoyed Minbari food much more than she thought she would, still, nothing had compared to Human cuisine. And the only comparable fare on the station had been Centauri food. Those people loved to eat, almost as much as they liked to drink and screw, three points of similarity that they seemed to share with Humans. The smell of the fire-seared chicken and barbecue sauce was maddening. And when the food came a few moments later, Havah began snarfing the wings as soon as they hit the table, engaging in conversation with smears of spicy buffalo sauce ringing her mouth. Karen laughed and dug in. "Dude, you had better call or go see your mom more often. You know why? Because every time you donÕt, I get to hear about it from my mom! SheÕs freaking out, man. Ok, thatÕs it! I told her I would tell you. So, that was my two cents." Karen was the daughter of Rebecca GoldmanÕs sister. Havah was struck suddenly by what a Minbari name Karen was. But Karen herself was nothing like a Minbari, nothing like any other Human for that matter. She was a force of nature really. A sharp-eyed county attorney who moonlit as a bartender, Karen had a laugh that could be heard for miles, while she could often only be glimpsed as a blur of constant motion, Guinness pint glasses and grins. She lived life at the pace of hyperspace in real-time. "So, what are you doing now? Are you still doing your epidemiology?" She sucked the meat off a wing. "Sort of. Not really. I guess IÕm sort of a coordinator for emergency readiness. I organize stuff for the director, sort of like an admin assistant. The only thing IÕm doing related to public health directly is that I had to go for this vaccine a few weeks ago. ItÕs experimental. WeÕre the first group to get it in a while. For the Grey-Wind Fever." "Man, I thought that was eradicated, like 75 years ago wasnÕt it?" "Yeah, on Earth. They have this idea that it may have survived in a couple other species, so theyÕre immunizing people in health and emergency offices. That way if it hits again, we can tend to the rest of the population. ItÕs a new vaccine though, and I think weÕre the guinea pigs." "Wow." Karen took a slurp of pop. "Do they think something might happen?" "I doubt it. I think itÕs just in line with the renewed interest in emergency management. ThatÕs getting all the funding right now." "Ahhha. Money, baby. ThatÕs what talks. Actually itÕs good that you got that job. Surprising because of where you worked. TheyÕre kind of down on the Babylon Project here, and theyÕre not crazy about your old boss." "Who Carmen?" "No, the other guy, he was on Babylon 5, Sinclair. Man, theyÕve been spouting all kinds of stuff about him." She nodded and tapped her head. "I hear all the dirt." She snapped her fingers. "What kinds of stuff?" "Oh, like that the Minbari have him in their pocket and are trying to use him to get into Earth Gov. Paranoid stuff." She whirled her finger at her temple. "Hello! TheyÕre allies! So, Germ Girl, are you coming to Monkey Brains?" "Ah, I donÕt know." They talked about other things, her aunt, her other relatives, her other cousin JulieÕs doctoral tribulations, and how they both wanted to break JulieÕs ex-boyfriendÕs legs for being a schmuck. And finally, Havah was artfully badgered into seeing the band, and she was glad she did. It was nice to get out amidst the blare of music. SheÕd get plenty of sleep at the end of her life. Besides the Anla Shok were trained in going long stretches without sleep, after all. * * * * * * * * After having been away from Earth for two years, she finally took a weekend and visited her family, figuring it would be a while before sheÕd get another chance. "Well hello, darling!" HavahÕs mother came towards her with her arms outstretched. "Oh itÕs been far too long since IÕve gotten hugs from my children, with your sister away at Peabody, and you across the galaxy! At least I can visit her on the weekends, for the few minutes a day that sheÕs not rehearsing, but you! Give me another hug! IÕm saving them up for when you go away again." HavahÕs father poked his white-ringed head out of the study and limped down the stairs to greet Havah. "Hi!" "Hi Dad. How have you been?" "OhÉgoodÉgood. How are you doing?" "Ok." Havah could hear him wheezing across the distance between them. "Dad, have you been doing your walking?" "No, he hasnÕt. HeÕs been burying himself in work." Her mother cast him a meaningful glance. Her father just looked at his wife, gave a sheepish smile and stared into space for a second. That was all either one of the women said about the matter. They had both tried to get him to take care of his health, but he was going to do what he was going to do. Her mom had spread out bagels and lox, noodle kugel, and tuna salad with the peas and crunchy Chinese noodles they all liked. Tovah was still away at school, so it was just the three of them. "Oh, IÕm so glad youÕre home! So tell me about your new job!" Oh boy, here it goes. "ThereÕs not much to tell really. IÕm just doing emergency management, IÕve been involved with that before." "I know, but it sounds like this is a really big job, working in the central federal offices." Havah shrugged. Her dad inhaled his food and looked at her quizzically, and then asked her, "So, Dr. Hermele said that this Ministry of Peace is really taking off. Boy, itÕs a good position to be in, where you are. Will you be working with them at all?" Havah cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably. "I might." Her motherÕs eyes were sharp. "Havah, are you alright?" Havah sat in silence. And then, "Yeah." More silence, except for the sound of her dad slurping his beer. "Is there something worrying you?" "No. Just starting a new job. My new supervisorÕs kind of uptight, and I donÕt always get along so well with people like that." "I know. ThatÕs why I was surprised when you joined Earthforce out of school. But you had some things to work out." "YeahÉSorry." "Well, teenagers are teenagers. And you havenÕt even started this job yet. You thought Carmen was going to be uptight too, and then it turned out that you were crazy about her. You were working for the federal government on Babylon 5, and on Minbar. The people there werenÕt too uptight were they?" "No. But IÕm not sure about the Ministry of Peace." Her parents were both fairly liberal and very vocal about politics, particularly while eating, but sheÕd never had the chance since all of this started to find out their take on the new administration. "Oi," Mrs. Goldman waved her hand and rolled her eyes. "Well, you know what we think. ItÕs starting to sound like the foundation of Psi Corps, and the McCarthy era, all this paranoia about aliens and purity of Human culture. But you know what? The pendulum swings all the time. This wonÕt last. People are just shaken up by the assassination. He was very popular here, you know, with good reason. He was one of the most innovative leaders Earth Alliance has seen for decades. I was really happy with him." "Yeah, so was I. You really think thingsÕll turn around? What about Clarke?" "What about him? Och, heÕs atrocious, but thatÕs why there are term limits. I donÕt think heÕll get re-elected and the next person in office will probably be more like Santiago. IÕm telling you, people havenÕt forgotten his popularity, even the conservatives. There are a lot of people who are very unhappy with Clarke right now, for abandoning SantiagoÕs ideas and I donÕt think that the changes heÕs making will last." "But heÕs claiming to be loyal to Santiago, and playing all that nationalistic garbage and using SantiagoÕs memory to distract people. Ooh, look at the shiny new Ministry logo!" "Oh Havah, stop being so melodramatic! I know he is. But you know what? People arenÕt that stupid." "Really, IÕm not so sure about that. IÕve been hearing a lot of people just coasting right along with everything the Ministry of Peace says." "For now maybe, but it wonÕt last. You can only use jingoism for so long before people start wanting to hear some substance, and if you have nothing worth saying, then you lose your constituency." "I wish I had your faith." "I know youÕre angry. YouÕve always been angry. But IÕm a lot older than you, so IÕve seen more, and I know that getting angry about things like this doesnÕt do anything but make you miserable. You do what you can, and then try to deal with the world the way it is. Will you have to work closely with the Ministry people?" "I donÕt know." "Well, that might be something you want to consider. I assume you have a probationary period, like any other federal position." "Yeah." "Remember, that probationary period is for you to figure out whether you want to be there, not just for them to decide whether they want you. It sounded like Ambassador Sinclair was very fond of you, and it will take him a while to find another attachŽ. So you may have another option, but why not see what this is like before you make any decisions." Her dad piped in. "So you donÕt like Clarke. ÔHuman people should be in charge of Human businessÉÕ" Her father lapsed into an uncomplimentary high tenor imitation of Clarke and then let out a good-natured belly laugh, shaking his finger at an imaginary crowd. "ÕThe Ministry helps Earth Alliance citizens have pride in EarthÕÉSo youÕre not buying it, eh?" He guffawed again. Boy, he just cracks himself up. "Not really. What about you?" He swatted the air with his hand dismissively and took a big bite of food and shook his head. "HeÕs a meshugenahÉSo, how did you like Minbar? You know Arthur Yazzie took his family a couple of months ago. He said that everyone is on time there, just like in Germany, and that they pray between every bite of food. The Chassidim do that here, donÕt they?" "Oh Larry, they do not!" Her mother rolled her eyes at his tall-telling. Havah laughed. "The Minbari donÕt either. The religious caste do have certain rituals, but they donÕt do them for every meal, it would take all day and then they wouldnÕt have time for anything else." He grinned and nodded. "I suppose thatÕs true. IÕd like to go sometime, get some pictures. Boy, the crystal cityÉthatÕs remarkable." "It is beautiful." Havah felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for the prismed lawns. She told them about the city and about Katani, Sorail and Nohri, about the New Years ritual and their Thanksgiving, and about Birin and Trell, avoiding carefully any talk about the Anla Shok. After the meal, she wandered upstairs. The pictures of their family were where she remembered them, all over every wall. Zeity Mayer and Bubbi Ruchel and her dad and uncles as youngsters, grinned out at her, lighting candles. There stared her motherÕs father as a young man with his hooked nose and patient gaze. None of these people are really related to me, are they. I wish they were. There were pictures of them in solemn proper photographic poses, and pictures of them laughing, singing, eating, dancing. There were pictures of Havah and Tovah and their cousins too. Havah could remember being a child and not being able to turn around at any given moment without her fatherÕs holocamera in her face. At times she would be impatient, because he took forever to go anywhere with that blasted camera when they were on vacations, and five year old Havah wanted to see everything NOW! Other times she had enjoyed showing off, climbing a tree or striking a pose for the pictures. When she turned eleven, she had rued every single one of those photos, revealing as they did the growing alienness of her face. The differences, like any other feature she didnÕt like, had seemed stupendous and exaggerated, like a caricature of a normal adolescent face. And to top it off, sheÕd been chubby, or so sheÕd thought at the time. Now, the pictures of her seemed completely average, and she secretly thanked her dad for being so persistent. Suddenly, she had the desire to see the old albums again. Her mother used to have them in the closet and flip through them with her or some relative every once in a while. The condo was new, but they were probably in the closet here too. Havah pulled down a box that was still packed and labeled ÔPicturesÕ. There were more than pictures in the box. Underneath the albums was a bundle of old school assignments collected by mom from her two daughters, probably every single one they had ever completed and brought home. One of them had belonged to Havah from kindergarten. At least that is what the childish crayon scrawl said. But the drawing had been done by no kindergarten brain. The crayon lines were shaky, a sophisticated idea being channeled through a five year old hand, but the forms were unmistakable to Havah now, Minbari war- cruisers, and not Sharlin-class either. These were old, very old, de- commissioned a century after the end of the Shadow WarÉnine-hundred years ago. HavahÕs hand trembled. This alter-ego had been slipping out even then. How long could she remember back, to the beginning of these intrusions? She had remembered curdling nightmares, but they had been growing in intensity. Over how many years? Had her parents recognized these ships as the regurgitation of some alien genetic memory, or had they chalked it up to HavahÕs already hefty imagination? She sifted through more papers, and pulled up letters, some of them in a loopy hand she recognized, her real motherÕs, some of them in a hand she had never seen. She pulled open one with the strange handwriting. It was to her mother from her uncle Mohammed, who had been stationed on Mars. Dear Fatima, I know you have been through a great ordeal in the past several months. Allah has been watching over you and knows the goodness of your heart. You are fortunate to be alive! Please do not be so angry with me! When I said that what happened was not your fault, I only meant that you are not a loose womanÉnot thatÉI cannot think of any way of saying what I mean without you getting mad at me again. I was only joking when I called your friend a djinn. I am the one who went into Earth Force, but you are the one who always seems to run into the strangest people. Maybe I am a little jealous. But I am also concerned about the child. Do you not think that she will bear the mark of her father as she grows? And you really do not even know what he was. She will not be like other children, and they will not be kind to her. You should give that some thought. Is there no way of finding your mysterious friend? I will ask around about the description you gave me. Please do not push me away. The astounding power of your silent treatment is breaking my heart. You are my favorite niece, and I very much miss you. Love, Mohammed Havah didnÕt read any more. She just sat absorbing. Her motherÕs family had been interesting people. They had been devout Muslim in many ways, and very relaxed in others. Her motherÕs favorite uncle had died shortly after writing the post, his fighter destroyed by a leftover Dilgar mine. She had no other data about her motherÕs family, or why they had not claimed her. She replaced the letter, feeling sad, and returned downstairs. "Havah dear, do you want some dessert now?" "No, IÕm alright. Thanks." "Are you sure? Are you ok? You went upstairs and now youÕre looking sort ofÉI donÕt know, deflated." "Yeah, IÕm ok. Maybe IÕll have some cobbler." As soon as she spooned into the cinnamon crust, she started feeling better. She looked at her dad poring absentmindedly through papers. I could have sprouted a full head-crest at any time in the past thirty years, and I doubt he would have even noticed. And if IÕd called it to his attention, heÕd say ÔOhÉuh, you got a haircut?Õ" * * * * * * * * Upon her return to the grind, she found that the cam-filament had captured something of interest. At eleven-thirty-five Friday night, Jensen had entered his office with two Psi-cops. This may have meant nothing, of course. It was an emergency management office, and Psi Corps was a legitimate government agency, with whom they were required to coordinate. But something in the vid had made her shudder, aside from the slick black uniforms and leather baldrics. One of the Psi-cops, a dark-haired woman had turned slightly and almost stared right at the filament. She couldnÕt have seen it, but could she have sensed it? It wasnÕt sentient. It was her eyes that caught HavahÕs attention. She had seen the eyes of other Psi Cops. They were canny with the stolen awareness of others. These eyes were blank. * * * * * * * * A couple of weeks later, Havah sauntered past the scruffy night guard who was snickering at an old Looney Tune. It was the one with Wiley Coyote and Sam the Sheepdog, saying hello, punching in their timecards and beating the snot out of each other. "Evening, Havah." The guard smiled up from the screen. "Evening, Ralph." He didnÕt even ask her what she was doing there so late. He had seen her there before until nearly midnight, working on revisions and drafts of documents for Jensen. "ArenÕt you going to frisk me and violate my workbag?" "Do you want me to?" He grinned lasciviously. "You shouldnÕt tease me like that, girlie. Nah, I know youÕve been working extra hard for Jensen on those deadlines, and I see you several times a day." "Okay. I had dinner at Big JohnnieÕs, and I have almost an entire order of leftover wings. Want Ôem?" "Aw, you know I do, darlinÕ" She reached into her pouch and handed him a plastic bag. He grinned. "Night, Ralph." "Night, Havah." Sam on the screen unzipped his sheep suit and sling-shot Wiley off a cliff using the coyoteÕs own neck. Havah shivered, around the corner, thinking of the ÔAcmeÕ mini-TIG welder and sander in her bag. She scoured her office again for any devices but her own, broke into the panel, wired the decoder, and welded the panel back. His office, like his personality, was immaculate. She would have to be meticulous, or he would notice the presence of even a single dust mote. In an urn she placed an antiquated solid-state recorder. No one bothered looking for those anymore. Most of them were in museums, and jamming devices focused on more recent technology, she hoped. * * * * * * * * Jensen called her in at 700 hours. "ThereÕs been an incident. Not here, but on the Markab home-world. TheyÕre in the middle of an epidemic. WeÕre sending assistance. Since our resource inventory has you down as having epidemiology experience, IÕm sending you on one of the research and recovery teams. When can you be ready to leave?" "In an hour and a half, sir." "ItÕll have to do. Meet up with Dr. Satmahari and his team at docking bay 12 with your materials." "Yes sir." Template1 Last printed 0/0/0000 0:00 AM Created on 6/26/2001 4:02 PM