Thirdspace, p.5
Thirdspace, page 5
And he would have been right.
But still... it was his brother. His brother.
The stern expression of their father, long gone, hovered in his mind. It was as if Lyta Alexander, in mucking around in his mind, had stirred up memories long forgotten. He wasn't sure whether he should be appreciative or not.
And he decided-----One chance. He would give Leo one chance. Not that he would tell him this was it, of course, or that he was being handed one opportunity to try and make some sort of repairs to this screwed-up existence he called a life. He would walk over to Leo and stand there, just... stand there. And if Leo said anything that was at all hurtful, or mean-spirited, or ... well, anything typically Leo, really ... then Alex would turn and walk away with a clear conscience and without a second thought.
He was certain that that was what was going to happen. People as embittered as Leo didn't change, not really. So when Alex walked slowly toward him, he knew that-even now-Leo was probably going to come up with one excuse after another to explain his own behavior, or to reinforce his long-held conviction that Alex and Sheila had been stepping out behind his back. Leo had spent his entire life finding excuses for his own shortcomings and failures. He'd drifted from one job to the next, never settling on anything, never finding his niche, and had always managed to come up with reasons as to why it was someone else's fault.
Alex walked up to the table and, as he'd planned, just ... stood there. Leo didn't seem to notice him at first, but after a time, he did. He looked up at Alex and at first no words passed between them.
And then, in a voice so soft that Alex could barely hear it, Leo said, "Want a drink, Alex?"
Alex made no attempt to hide his incredulity. "You're offering to buy me a drink?"
"No, I was talking to the Alex behind you," said Leo, and for a moment the remark-and the man-bore a passing resemblance to his old self. But then he looked up and said, in that same hushed voice, "Yes, I'm offering to buy you a drink. It's the least I can do. And what was it you always said? I always do the least I can do."
Slowly Alex sat across from him. "I ... didn't mean anything by that," he said.
"Of course you did," Leo replied, and naturally he was correct. "You meant exactly what you said. And you were right. You were right about... everything," and he lowered his head. "You were right," he said once more. "And I've... wasted my life."
"Not yet." Alex leaned forward. "Sheila, she'd... she'd like to come to see you."
Leo looked up at him with undisguised amazement. "She... would?" Then his face darkened. "You're joking with me. This is a joke."
"No! Not a joke, I swear! She's been married and divorced twice since you broke up. You ask me, she never really got over you." "I don't believe it," Leo said skeptically, but the truth was clear on his face: he wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe it with all his heart.
"It's true," Alex said firmly. "Tell you what: you get me a scotch and soda, I'll call Sheila. Believe it or not, she's not too far from here. She's on a colony maybe a day or two away at most."
"Sheila is?" Leo clearly couldn't believe it. "Sheila hated to travel. She swore she'd live and die on Earth."
"That was many years ago, Leo," Alex told him. "She's changed a lot since then. About ten years ago, she decided she wanted to get out, get away. Took additional courses, took training. She's quite a woman, Sheila is."
"I know. And I let her go. I pushed her away ... drove her away," said Leo, as much to himself as to Alex.
And Alex, to his own surprise as much as anyone else's, rested a hand on his brother's forearm. "If you want to sit here and feel sorry for yourself, then tell me right now and I'll leave you to your unhappiness. On the other hand, if you want to try and make your remaining time-a year, two years, however, long you've got-if you want to make that meaningful, then Fll help you. What's it going to be, Leo?"
Leo stared at his brother for a long moment, and then he turned and called across the Zocalo. "Waiter! A scotch and soda for my brother!"
Nodding approvingly, Alex clapped Leo on the arm, then rose and headed out to find a Babcom station, his work cut out for him. Because he was going to have to convince Sheila, who had made it quite clear to him that if she died without ever seeing Leo Rosen again, she would go to her grave a happy woman, that she was not only anxious to see Leo but had, in fact, never gotten over him.
He did not envy himself the task.
Sheridan drummed his fingers impatiently on his armrest as the shuttle from the White Star approached Babylon 5's docking area. He wished that he could somehow will it to move faster while still remaining within the safety limits. From where he was sitting, he was able to see the jumpgate, and likewise applied that same force of will to try and get Ivanova, along with her find, to emerge from within. Unfortunately he had about as much luck with that will-fueled attempt as he had with the first one.
When his ship docked, he moved through customs with his usual briskness. The customs agents waved him through, and he made a mental note that they shouldn't really do that. The presence of someone impersonating B5's commanding officer wasn't unprecedented in the station's history, and someone looking like Sheridan shouldn't be exempt from grilling at customs, any more so than anyone else. Still, at the moment, the captain decided to take advantage of the perk because he was, indeed, in one hellacious hurry.
As he emerged from the customs area, Corwin was waiting for him. "Any word from Ivanova?" Sheridan asked without preamble.
"She's about to come through the gate."
Sheridan felt a small burst of relief. Whenever anyone endeavored to do something the least bit tricky with hyperspace, there were risks involved... and this one seemed to pose more dangers than most. Still, his relief was tinged with apprehension. "I thought she'd be here by now."
Corwin shook his head. "We're having to move the struts of the jumpgate far enough apart to allow the artifact through."
Sheridan hadn't stopped moving, but this pronouncement did throw him slightly off step. "It's that big?"
"Bigger," Corwin told him.
Sheridan was about to continue the conversation when he saw Vir Cotto heading his way, exuding that familiar dogged determination intermingled with what was a clear reluctance to bother anyone. Apparently Vir had him in his sights, and Sheridan knew better than to try and stall him. Still, he could try and keep it as brief as possible. "Yes, Mr?" he said, anticipating Vir's speaking to him.
"Ah ... Captain, yes," Vir replied, "I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time..."
"Thirty seconds."
"That's even better," Vir told him. "The League has asked me to speak with you about taking definitive action toward these Raiders..."
It took a moment for Sheridan to realize that word had not spread about Ivanova's successful trap, nor of the fact that the Raiders had just taken a major hit. To Vir's surprise, Sheridan clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "Mr. Cotto ... you can go back to the League and inform them that, thanks to your strident urging and persuasiveness, the Raiders problem has been attended to."
"It has?" said a mystified Vir.
"Even as we speak, the core of the Raiders' operation is being shipped to a Drazi penal colony. Good work, Vir," and Sheridan nodded once more in approval. "Anything else?"
"Well, uhm... no! No, I guess not! And... thank you." He gestured widely. "If there's anything else I can do ..." "If there is, we'll be in touch," Sheridan said, and he walked away with Corwin at his side, leaving Vir to head off with uncharacteristically jaunty step to report back to the League.
The jumpgate struts were normally kept closer together for the sake of energy conservation. The farther apart the struts, the more energy was expended to power the jumpgates whenever someone came through. Minimal distance meant minimal discharge.
This was, however, a special case, and the bottom line was that there was simply no choice. If the struts weren't moved, the artifact wouldn't emerge, period.
In the B5 command and control center, the technicians were hard at work readying the struts, making it possible for them to part sufficiently for Ivanova, her people, and the artifact. Ivanova waited patiently-albeit not too patiently-for clearance. This was quite possibly the longest period of time she'd ever spent in hyperspace, and once this maneuver was done, then she would be most pleased if she didn't see the place again for quite some time.
A tether had been extended from her Starfury to the artifact, and the other Starfuries were attached as well via a variety of tethers and cables. Ivanova flashed on an image of Gulliver's Travels, a story that her mother had read to her many, many years ago. Specifically, she thought of the scene in which the tiny Lilliputians endeavored to tie down the castaway Gulliver, utilizing all their-for them-considerable resources ... only to have the sleeping "giant" awaken and prove to be beyond their capacity to restrain. She couldn't help but wonder if, like the Lilliputians, they were now in the process of gamely hauling in a sleeping giant. And if that was the case, heaven only knew what would happen if the giant woke up.
Then she received a communique from Babylon 5, as C&C informed her, "Optimum distance achieved. You're clear for jump, Commander."
"Jump" hardly seemed the word. She felt like she was trying to wallow through hip-deep mud. It wasn't a jump so much as a shlep.
She'd wondered if it was even possible to move the struts sufficiently away from each other to allow the artifact through. The answer was yes-that was one problem down. Ivanova, however, being Ivanova, was naturally certain that the next problem- whatever that was going to be-would be forthcoming quite shortly. "Roger that, C and C. We're coming in."
She signaled the other Starfuries to begin and, firing on all thrusters, the ships strained against their tether lines and endeavored to haul the artifact. Now they seemed more like a hundred tiny fishermen trying to use a hundred fishing rods to reel in the carcass of a humpback whale.
Objects in motion tend to stay in motion unless acted upon by another force, and objects at rest tend to stay at rest. There were basic laws of physics, and the artifact-for all its age, and whatever its strange nature-was as bound by those laws as anything else. Consequently it proceeded to stay at rest, sitting there stubbornly as the Starfuries redoubled their efforts.
Finally, after what seemed an agonizingly long interval, the artifact began to move. It was almost imperceptible at first, and then Ivanova became aware that she had actually managed to advance by a few inches. Inches was a ludicrously short distance to be concerned with in space, where distances were mea sured in terms of light-years, but at this point she was going to be satisfied with whatever she could get. She felt as if all she had to do was just get the thing moving in the first place, and then it became a matter of keeping it going. After all, it wasn't as if there were friction in hyperspace that would act as a drag. She suspected that if the Starfuries were capable of moaning a protest, they would do so. As it was, the ships silently and diligently proceeded upon the path that had been set for them, and slowly-ever so slowly-they started to haul the artifact in the direction of Babylon 5. Word had begun to spread throughout the station, and people were finding whatever windows they could to gaze out in the direction of the jumpgate, to see for themselves this bizarre and fascinating new discovery. At first, all they saw were the Star-furies emerging from the jumpgate in record time-a record long time. It was something to witness, really. There were no ships more deft, more agile, or more nimble than the Starfuries, so it was unusual to see them deployed like so many tugboats hauling the ... the whatever-it-was.
From within the Babylon 5 sanctuary, Lyta Alexander was watching, as well. Anyone looking at her would have been hard-pressed to know what was going through her mind.
Lyta had been in an accident once.
It was back in the earliest days of her training in Psi Corps. There had been a hotshot telepath whose eye had fallen upon her, and he had wanted to do whatever he could to impress her. One day he had taken her out joyriding on a speeder of his. The autonav system had failed and the thing had crashed. He'd been killed instantly; she'd been hospitalized for two weeks. The thing that she remembered most distinctly was how time had seemed to stretch out, almost to infinity. Faced with a disaster, something that really occurred within a moment had seemed subjectively to consume a far longer period. It was as if the laws of time and space had slowed down, just for her, giving her one final protracted moment of existence. Since that time, she'd spoken to other people who had been in similar situations, and they had described having the same sorts of experiences.
She felt as if she were living such a moment now.
The irony was that this historic event really was slowed down to a crawl. There was a disaster happening right in front of her eyes, a calamity that she knew she was helpless to avert, and the occurrence of that catastrophe was taking forever.
[And she is in the Zocalo....]
Lyta staggered, putting her hand against the wall, and in a low voice she murmured, "Please ... not again ..."
[... And she should not be able to smell anything in a telepathic flash, but she can nonetheless. She smells death. She smells it in the burned and scarred flesh, she smells it in the evacuation of bodily fluids and waste that occurs at the time of death, and it is all around her, yes, the smell hits her first and then she sees it....]
"Make it stop," she whispered, and a single tear rolled down her face....
[She is in the Zocalo, yes, and her sleeves are torn, her hair is disheveled, and she is covered with blood. She cannot tell whether it is her own blood or someone else's. She stumbles through and she has trouble finding where to walk, because there are bodies. Bodies everywhere, everywhere she looks, piled up like firewood, stacked three deep. Furniture is wrecked, blood spatters the walls, and no one is moving.
Why has this happened? Her mind calls out, but there is no answer. She doesn't know the hows or the whys, she only knows what is. And what is, is an utter disaster. She skids slightly and doesn't look down to see what exactly it is that she almost slipped in. She doesn't want to know.
She had felt relief after the Shadow War, convinced that a bullet had been dodged, that now there would be peace and safety. And it was all a lie, a sick joke, be-cause there is no peace or safety for these people, there is nothing but darkness and blood and oblivion.
She senses it behind her.
There is a shadow there, there on the wall, and she turns to look behind her and sees something that appears to be a massive, hooked claw. And there is another smell, the smell of something aged and rotting and evil... which should be impossible, for evil is merely a concept, a state of mind and being, and it could not possibly have its own aroma, except it does, and it is advancing upon her, and she hears the clicking of claws coming together, or perhaps it's teeth...
[She pulls away with a shriek....]
Lyta was serene.
It happened upon her all at once. She had gone from barely contained panic to a calm so consuming that it was almost frightening. It was as if something had been switched on within her, filling her with a disconcerting calm. The calm, perhaps, before the storm.
She looked back out at the jumpgate, not at all certain how much time had passed. However much it was, it was sufficient to have allowed the Starfuries to do their job. Not only had they emerged from the jumpgate, but the artifact they were dragging was almost through, as well. Within another few seconds, it would be out completely.
There is no danger. . . .
She was startled as something else was now within her. It seemed to echo as if her head was hollow-and wasn't that just a charming bolster to the old self-image and ego.
There is no danger, no danger, nodangerno-dangernodanger . . . just peace, just happiness, and you will welcome us, we will welcome you, there is nodangernodanger, none none, nonenone-nonenone. . ..
She put her hands to her head to try and push out the new thoughts that had come to her, unbidden, unwanted. She sought the solace of the peace that she had known only moments ago, moments that now seemed an eternity. She felt as if something was warring within her ... no. No, two somethings, and they threatened to tear her apart. She could practically see herself, lying on the floor, blubbering and sobbing like a mindless fool, drool trickling down her face, and her eyes wide open and staring at horrors which only she could witness.
She moved away from the ironically named Sanctuary, because there was no sanctuary there at all. No hiding, no escape. She bolted out the door, almost knocked over one passerby, did indeed bang into a second.
The name of the second passerby was Deuce, and he was one of the shabbier inhabitants of Babylon 5. There are some types of people who manage to put together a facade that nicely camouflages the type of person they truly are. Deuce was exactly the opposite. He was short, scruffy, shifty eyed, and the type of person who-if you spotted him-prompted you to check your pockets to make certain that you still had all your belongings, even if he was across the room from you. He had no particularly admirable qualities, but at least you knew where you stood with him: as far away as humanly possible.
"Hey, watch where you're going," Deuce started to say, even as his fingers deftly touched her jacket to see if there were any pockets ripe for picking. But then he saw her eyes, and something within them froze him where he stood. He had no idea what exactly it was that he was seeing deep within her, but he knew that it terrified him. He pulled away from her quickly, trying to shake off the chill that had fallen upon him, and when she turned and walked away from him he couldn't help but feel that he was somehow fortunate.
