Thanks to Aris Merqoni for her great proofreading job, and for giving ideas, though more for part II than for this one, and to Boadicea for fixing a hole in a character's mind (yeah, I know, Sinclair was the one with the hole in his mind, not Sheridan, but it sounded good so I used it).

    Disclaimer: The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father. WB is owner, WB is distributor.

    I'd like to hear some feedback from you at whtstar2@sandwich.net. I am always waiting for praise and dreading but still listening for comments about what I did wrong (or any information I'm missing).
 

Corps of Tears

    By White Star 2

    Back on Babylon 5, Susan was waiting for the Captain's return. And with the Captain came Bester. Susan sat in the briefing room for two hours, listening to everyone's opinions about what happened at Z'ha'dum. Bester kept looking in her direction. Or was he looking at Lyta, whom she was sitting next to? She slowly convinced herself it was all in her mind.
Her worrying returned when, a few hours later, she found herself with Bester again.
    She was escorting him to his starfury, along with two armed guards. Zack was supposed to do this, but something came up. The guards were, as she instructed them, equipped with extra ammo. After telling the Captain that she's not going near Bester otherwise, he agreed to order the guards to shoot on sight if Bester scanned her. For a moment, she considered telling them to shoot anyway. She had a bad feeling about this.
    They entered the hanger. "Be seeing you, Commander," Bester gave her the Psi Corps salute, and climbed into the starfury.
Susan walked away from the hanger, a chill going down her spine. Bester had given her that salute four times, with the same smug grin on his face. But this time the statement sounded more sincere. It worried her.

    John Sheridan found the night shift in C&C relaxing. It had been a week since Bester had left the station, and nothing unusual had happened since. While that in itself was unusual, John decided to enjoy the quiet. There was little enough as it was.
    Nothing happens late at night. Yes, there was the occasional brawl in Down Below, and a theft or two, but those were Zack's problems, not his. And, to further the relaxation, there was the view. Being able to stare out into infinite space without being interrupt-
    "Captain, a ship is coming through the gate. It's an Earth transport," Corwin announced, surprised. Sheridan was, too. Since the embargo began the week before, the only Earth ships around were their own fighters and transports. "They're requesting permission to dock." Corwin looked to Sheridan. Sheridan nodded. "Earth Shuttle Damia, you are cleared to dock in bay 4."
    Sheridan stood in front of the window watching the shuttle near the station. As it passed below them into the docks, Sheridan cursed silently. On both sides of the shuttle was painted a Greek letter. One that he had come to loathe.
    The Psi Corps. What were they doing here?
    Delenn was right. He wasn't meant to live out the twenty years he had left in quiet. But couldn't he have one night of peace? He exited C&C and headed for docking bay 4.
    Two black clad figures disembarked the shuttle. Their silver pins shone in the dim light from the customs area. When they had made their way through almost half the empty room, Sheridan stormed in. "Is Bester here?" he asked.
    "Mr. Bester is otherwise engaged," the man said.
    "We are here on his behalf," the woman added.
    Their amazing calm began making Sheridan nervous. "They're doing their job, then," he thought. He looked at them. The usual Psi Cop uniforms, the blank faces. He stood and stared from one to the other. "What do you want?" he asked them. Even after the Shadow War it seemed the right thing to ask.
    "A Psi Cop's job is to track down rough telepaths," the woman repeated what Sheridan had heard so many times.
    "There is a rouge telepath on the station," the man added. "We are here to find her and take her back with us."
    "I'm sorry," Sheridan told them both. "Ms. Alexander is under the protection of the Babylon 5 Advisory Council. There's nothing I can do in the matter."
    He thought he'd enjoy seeing their faces when they realized that three of the most powerful races around were backing the single telepath, but instead, they smiled. "Not Ms. Alexander, Captain. Someone far more valuable to Mr. Bester."
    "No." Sheridan thought. "It can't be."

    Ivanova hurled a pillow in the door's general direction when it beeped for the fifth or sixth time. "Can't I have one night of uninterrupted sleep in this madhouse?" She got up, and put on a robe. "Yes, who is it?"
    "Susan, it's me." It was John. And he sounded rattled. Badly.
    "Open," she ordered the door, still facing away from it. "John, what the hell is it? It's 3 in the morning. Couldn't this wait until-" she spun around to face him. He was looking like he saw a ghost.
    "No, it can't," he replied to her unfinished question. "There are two Psi Cops on the station."
    "Don't they ever go away?" she snapped. He paid no attention to her. He had a look in his eyes--she knew that look. His mind was elsewhere, considering options. "What is it?" she asked.
    Sheridan studied his shoes for a moment. What he had to say was not easy, and had terrible implications. The possibilities started racing through Susan's mind, but she was purposely avoiding one.
    A few moments later, Sheridan drew a deep breath. "They came for you," he said simply. "We can try to fight it. We'll do anything we can-" he watched as her expression changed from tiredness and lack of interest to that of unbridled horror. "Susan, I--" he didn't know what to say. What could he say to her? That it'd be all right? Promise he'd make whoever was responsible pay?
    "This isn't possible!" she cried. "How did they know?"
    Sheridan went back to studying his shoes. The unbearable possibility that it was his fault, that the information was taken from him, from his mind, kept coming up. When Susan told him she was a telepath, she entrusted him with enough information to destroy her life. If they got it through him... "They said Bester sent them," he said finally.
    "Bester! I'm going to kill that son of a bitch! How..." she began pacing around the room.
    "When he was here, did he have any opportunity to scan you?"
    "I... I would have noticed." She paused for a moment, both in speech and in movement. "Except for--"
    "What?"
    "Last year, when you sent me in to talk to him. He got me angry. Furious. And I slapped him."
    "You slapped Bester?" Sheridan wiped the amused smile off his face when Susan's voice brought him back to reality.
    "He would have had a window of maybe a fraction of a second, and both strong emotions and physical contact to help. He could've scanned me and I wouldn't know it."
    "And he found out," Sheridan concluded.
    Susan stopped pacing and sank into the sofa. "My life, my job, everything I've worked for... It's all gone." She buried her face in her hands in frustration.
    "We can fight it," he repeated his earlier statement.
    She looked up at him. "No, you can't. The Psi Corps has jurisdiction over all human telepaths, with the exception of those working for alien governments."
    "There must be some other option."
    "I won't take the sleepers," she snapped. "Not after what they've done to my mother."
    "No one expects you to," he said calmly. After a moment of silence, he stated, "That leaves two options."
    "Psi Corps or prison," she finished dryly.
    Sheridan carefully considered his words. "Susan," he said in the closest thing to a commanding voice he could muster "We will fight this."
    "Suit yourself. You're wasting your time."
    This was not working. He hadn't expected it to. She was, after all, one of the most stubborn, most unreachable people he had ever known, second only to Kosh, when he was alive. But she was a fine officer and a good friend. And he'd blame himself if he didn't at least try. He couldn't give up.
    "Perhaps, Commander," he said, emphasizing her rank. "Still, when I'm done 'wasting my time', I'll see you in C&C."
    He couldn't decide if the look on her face was surprise of disbelief. "Captain?"
    "You are on duty at 0600, aren't you?"
    "But-"
    "Then I expect to see you there."
    On any other occasion, she would have laughed. At his posture, at his forced smile, at the way he was attempting to single-handedly tackle an impossible situation, like he always did. But not now. Now her life, the last 14 years of it, was falling apart. She knew this day would come sooner or later. She just preferred later. She dragged herself toward the counter and poured herself a drink.

    "Captain Sheridan?" Sheridan looked up to face the two Psi Cops to whom he was about to lose his executive officer. Not if he could help it.
    "Sit down," he ordered them. "We need to talk."
    They both remained standing. "All right," the man said, "I'm Sean Walters. This is my partner, Dana Norton."
    "Sit," Sheridan repeated. They complied.
    "What is it you wanted to discuss?"
    "Babylon 5 is no longer a part of the Earth Alliance. Since we are an independent state, I am claiming jurisdiction over Commander Ivanova." Walters chuckled. Norton had the same calm expression of smug superiority she had since she arrived. "What's so funny?"
    "Captain," Norton was quick to reply, "I don't know what you're thinking,"
    "I find that hard to believe," Sheridan muttered.
    "But back home Babylon 5 is not considered an independent government," She continued, ignoring Sheridan. "Your 'claim' means nothing."
    "I don't think so."
    Sheridan gave a mental sigh. This was going to be a long, hopeless conversation.

    Susan was perched on her couch, finishing off another drink. "This isn't happening," she kept repeating to herself. "Any minute I'll wake up and realize it was all a nightmare." But when the computerized wake up call sounded, she was still on the couch, a glass in her hand. Shortly after, the door beeped. "Yes," she shouted, "What? Who is it?"
    "It's me," a voice said in a heavy British accent.
    "Open," Ivanova ordered the door. "I'm sorry," she apologized to the ranger who let himself in.
    "Bad day?"
    "You can say that again," she smiled. He seemed to have that effect on her.
    Marcus paused, hesitating. "I heard about the Psi Corps."
    The silence hung over the room. Susan downed the remainder of her drink in one gulp. Twisting the empty glass in her hand, she asked, "Who told you? The Captain?"
    Marcus shook his head. "No. I have my own sources." He looked around for a moment, then sat down next to her. "You never told me you're a telepath," he pointed out the obvious just to make conversation.
    "Until a not very long while ago, only one other live person knew. Though I doubt he'd remain alive for very long." She sighed. "I just wanted to avoid all this."
    "How did they find out?" She didn't answer. He didn't expect her to. "I'm sorry," he said as he rose to leave. "I'll see you."
    After he left, she whispered, "No, you won't."
    She looked at the time. 0520. Her shift would start in 40 minutes. She grabbed her link from the table. "C&C, this is Ivanova. Patch me through to Sheridan."
    "I'm sorry, Commander," Corwin's voice came through. "He's in a meeting."
    "With who?"
    "Two Psi Cops came on board last night. They've been in the Captain's office for the past two hours."
    "Thank you, Lieutenant. Ivanova out." He wasn't giving up.
    Neither should she. Like she said, in the Minbari War and the Shadow War, "If I go down, I go down fighting." She sighed when she realized, once again, that he was right. Her version of the rulebook used to start with "Ivanova is always right." That was before Sheridan came on board.
    As she put on her uniform, she tried to remember everything about it--its feel, its Minbari style, the way she could look in the mirror and be proud of herself while wearing it--because she knew that when this is over, she will never wear it again.
    The year before she had done the same with her Earthforce uniform, before giving it away as part of the rebirth ceremony. She still remembered everything about it. Now she wanted to remember everything about this uniform, since it meant a hell of a whole lot more to her. She was entrusted with it, and with all the responsibility that came with it, by Ambassador Delenn, but now she felt that she had let her down. Along with Sheridan, Franklin, and everyone she cared about. She had let them all down. She lied to them, sought protection from her worst fears by them, and now, now they had to suffer when it all blew up in her face.
    It was inevitable. She knew it all her life. But only now she had to face it. She attached her link to the back of her hand.
    "I belong here," she thought. "No one, not even the Psi Corps can change that."

    C&C, even during the day, was quiet. The embargo by President Clark had hit them, and it hit them hard. Susan liked quiet days, normally, though days as quiet as this one made her worry. This time, the fear was justified. The captain had been in his office with the two Psi Cops for almost 8 hours. How could he retain his sanity for that long? What if they scanned him? Everything they planned could be discovered. She realized after a moment that she was thinking in Russian. It was a good language to be paranoid in.
    After leaving Corwin in charge, she took off in a quick stride toward the captain's office. When she was a few feet from the door, she expected to hear Sheridan. She expected to hear him from down the hall and across the station. But it was silent.
    When she walked in, three pairs of eyes pierced her. She looked at Sheridan, who stared down at the space between his hands and shook his head. The Psi Cops rose to their feet. "Hours wasted," said the man, then looked at Susan. "We will leave tomorrow morning." Susan stood, frozen, as they left the room.
    "I... I'm sorry Susan," Sheridan said, not looking up from his hands.
    She nodded. "I'm okay. I'll live," she managed to say. She turned on her heel and walked out.

    When the door to Susan's quarters opened in front of Sheridan, it revealed a few bags by the door, the back of her head on the couch, and a half empty bottle on the table. "Don't you need to finish packing," he asked, since all of her possessions were still where they had always been.
    "I took what I need," she said, setting a glass down. "You can dump the rest."
    "Susan-"
    "Which should it be?" She asked sarcastically, getting up. "Psi Corps or prison?" It was clear by the tone of her voice that she had already made her choice. That just made what he had to say harder.
    "Joining the Corps might be the better of the two," he said finally.
    "H... How can you say that?" Sheridan wandered by the expression on her face weather she was going to cry or take his head off. Perhaps both.
    "We need a contact there," he tried to explain his position rationally. "Someone we can trust."
    'Rationally' had never worked with Susan Ivanova. Now was no exception. "John, I can't. I've been running away from this my entire life, and now you expect me to go willingly?"
    He gritted his teeth and nodded. "I know this isn't an easy thing I'm asking, but--"
    "I can't. I CAN'T!"
    Sheridan closed his eyes and begged whatever Supreme Being ran things up there to forgive him for what he was about to do. He opened them. "You will," he told her in a commanding voice.
    "What?"
    "For the next few hours, I'm still your commanding officer. Consider it your last order."
    She jumped to attention and saluted for every reason but respect. "Yes sir."
    Sheridan nodded and turned, letting the door hiss open in front of him. Leaving quietly, he prayed that someday she'd be able to forgive him for what he had just done.
    After he left, Susan began considering her real two options, though neither one seemed very appealing. The first was to run. To run like a coward. Maybe, before she joined Earthforce, she would have. But now, her pride and honor were getting in the way. They were the only things she had left. Her other option stripped her of her honor, dignity, and pride, but she wouldn't live long enough to notice. She opened the door of the dresser and took out the small, shining, standard issue PPG. It was there with her link and her station ID. Apparently, the captain forgot to ask her to turn them in. She ran her fingers across it, her index finger always ending up on the trigger somehow.
    Finally, it made sense. Her dream from years before, when Colonel Ben Zayn was on board with a military telepath named Harriman Grey. She had seen her mother being given the sleepers by two masked men. And she kept murmuring something. Then, it was Susan in the chair, saying the same thing. And now it finally made sense. "Only one way out," she repeated her own words from the dream. Drawing deep breaths, she slowly brought the gun up to her head.
    Her hand was trembling. Her other hand was clenched into a fist so tight that her palm began bleeding, her close-clipped nails tearing her skin. The gun was ice cold against her temple and burning hot against her hand. "Only one way," she said. She had pulled the trigger back a quarter of an inch. Any more and it would fire. She silently said goodbye to everyone she cared about, a list from which Captain Sheridan has been excluded.
    Only one way out.
    She pulled--
    The doorbell chimed. Startled, she dropped the gun. She picked it up hastily and placed it back in the drawer, which she shoved closed on her way to the door. Her bleeding hand left a smear of blood on the drawer, but she ignored it. "Open," she said.
    The door slid open to reveal the last people she wanted to see. "Good afternoon, Ms. Ivanova," Walters said. As he spoke, Norton's eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.
    *She would try such a thing?* Susan listened in on the telepathic conversation in front of her. *She is as Al described her.*
    *We'll have to watch her carefully.*
    Susan took a shaky breath. There was no use.

    Sheridan watched Susan's face on the screen. A recorded message. He hadn't realized she was that upset. But he shouldn't have been surprised. It was only expected.
    A simple goodbye. Nothing more. Her expression, or lack thereof, hurt more than any harsh words she could say.
    The last he'd spoken with Mr. Walters, he was told they'd be leaving at 0700. His was the night shift. He'd have an hour to get ready once he was out. That was in an hour.
    The first officer of the station was leaving, and no one cared. Franklin was working with the telepaths they had found the year before--the last time when Bester arrived, when he sent Ivanova in... Delenn and Lennier were dealing in Minbari affairs. Marcus was nowhere to be found. Garibaldi probably didn't care; too busy with his newfound independence. Zack didn't know either. He was put in charge of security, but there were some things he didn't have to know. Not yet, at least.
    He could try to ask for her forgiveness before she left. Sheridan shook his head and decided against it. It would bring the thoughts on the subject to the surface. It would be too risky. He knew what he was sending her into. He had to. There was a job to be done.
    If the Psi Corps ever found out... he quickly rejected the thought. They wouldn't. They couldn't. Their luck couldn't run that bad. But if it did, he'd be sending his commanding officer and best friend to die. He wouldn't be able to live with that.
    But for some reason, he just had a gut feeling. He couldn't explain it, it had no reason to be there, but he had the feeling it would all turn out all right.
    He cleared the next shuttle for launch. It was just making sure that everything is safe and hitting a button. His mind was too preoccupied to do anything else. He jumped, moments later at Corwin's announcement. "Shuttle Damia, you are cleared for jump."
    "Damn!" he thought. "She wouldn't!"
    "Of course she would," he replied to himself. "And she just did."

    Susan watched the jumpgate get nearer and nearer until hyperspace closed around the little shuttle. It was over. Her life as a soldier was just a memory. She'd miss it, she knew. She'd miss it very much. But there was no going back, and forward didn't seem very appealing right now. She wished that she hadn't been so hesitant to pull the trigger.
    You are a stubborn one, she tried springing to her feet at the sound of Walters' voice ringing loud and clear in her mind, and was stopped by the straps. She had only heard one voice like that before--her mother's.  She never wanted to hear anyone's voice in her mind again. But now it was inevitable. It will take work.
    What will take work? Her telepathy? Her loyalty? She will never give them her loyalty. She thought she heard one of them mutter "Yes, you will." She ignored it. She may belong to the Corps by law, but never, never by heart. But where, then, did she belong? She had nowhere to go. No one to trust. No one but herself.
    The mothership is ready and waiting came the statement from Walters. She had the feeling they'd be joining up with another ship. They it was a long trip to Earth space, and the shuttle couldn't do it alone, at least not safely. Walters and Norton exchanged glances. Then Norton unbuckled her safety belt. She advanced toward Susan with one hand behind her back. Stopping beside her, she pulled out a syringe and injected her with something. At first, Susan looked about, confused. Then darkness surrounded her.
    When she came to, everything was the same. But the shuttle's window now showed Mars, instead of hyperspace. Norton yawned. She looked like she'd been up for the entire two-day jump from Babylon 5. Walters looked at her and smiled. "Just in time, Ms. Ivanova. We were just about to land." She looked at the red planet with fear. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself it was only a nightmare, the nearer they were to Mars, the more the truth sunk in. It was real. All of it.

    Susan stood in front of the large mirror. Over the past few days she had been poked, examined, and scanned. Deep scans. She had always thought that the three or four surface scans she had gone through were intrusive. But after what she had just gone through, they paled in comparison. Deep scans felt like having her mind stripped bare and examined with a fine toothed comb. She could still feel the headache they caused.
    The tests, the medical examinations, were almost worse. Blood tests. DNA. If it could be done with a medical instrument, she had gone through it. What they needed it for, she didn't know. She didn't want to know.
    After hours of testing, and days of her mind being poked in order for her suppressed talent to be 'released', she was classified as a high P3 with much potential. "I'm probably not even a P1," she had told Sheridan. If she had been, she probably would've been left alone. She was to immediately begin training to reach her maximum ability. Making the most out of people's talents was what those people were here for. They were supposed to care even if she didn't. She didn't.
    Tell no one, her mother had told her again and again. Everything her mother had done for her was to ensure that the Psi Corps wouldn't find her. But what was she supposed to do when it did?
    If her mother only knew. If her mother knew, she'd be yelled at, lectured, but most importantly, she'd be comforted. But her mother wasn't there. Her mother had been killed by the same people who now had jurisdiction over her.
    In all the turmoil of the past few days she had seen only one familiar face. One that she did not want to see. Bester had come in while they were administering a sample of some sort of drug. He had stood there for a while and watched quietly. She didn't know exactly when he had come in. All she knew was that she had looked up and he was there.
    For a moment, he looked as if he was going to scan her. He she had a feeling he wanted to. She knew he was tempted to. But he didn't. Not even lightly.
    The look in his eyes was one that she has never seen before. It was that of understanding and almost of forgiveness. He had shaken his head lightly. "And all this time you were one of us," he had said, as if to himself, before turning and leaving her field of vision. One of us, the words echoed. A telepath. One of them.
    At least they hadn't picked up on her mission from Sheridan. Or, at least, they hadn't seemed to. If they had, she'd be dead. The Corps did not look kindly on spies. Thinking it over again, she decided it was something she wanted no part of. She had no love for the Corps, but Babylon 5 was no longer a part of her, and Sheridan's orders no longer mattered.
    Life as she knew it was over now. And the new life that was beginning was going to be... What was it going to be? She didn't know. She didn't know anything anymore.
    She felt tears stream down her face and wiped them off with glove covered hands. Then, disobeying the last of her beliefs, she pinned on the badge.

    Susan winced as the needle, as if in slow motion, penetrated her arm.
    "She's doing well," Ms. Mora, her 'teacher', told the face on the screen, almost out of hearing distance, "for someone who refuses to learn." For someone who refused to learn, she'd been put through countless exercises that had pushed her ability up to a P4, and left her with a constant headache.
    "How long before you can bring her up to a P5?" the voice belonging to the face asked.
    "She needs time, Sir," Mora replied.
    "How long?" the voice demanded.
    "I don't know, Sir."
    There was silence for a moment, as Susan waited to hear her fate. "You have three weeks to bring her up by training. Then I want you to start her on the drugs."
    "Sir, she's not ready. If she won't cooperate--"
    "Three weeks," said the voice and the screen went blank. Mora turned to face Susan, and with renewed effort attempted to reach her.
    The room was dark and cold, hardly a medical environment. Susan reflexively tried to rub her temples when her head began throbbing, forgetting her arms were restrained.
    "This is your home now," the expert from the psych department repeated. "We are your family."
    She didn't want to hear it. She never wanted to hear it again.
    "Your family is gone. Your friends betrayed you." With every statement she felt like she had been punched in the stomach. "We are all you have left."
    She felt a sharp pain run up her spine-- a small side effect. "A small price to pay," they said to her, "for enhanced telepathic abilities."
    "You have a duty," Bester paced around the room. She looked up at him from her chair. "You have an obligation to the Corps. This is a place all telepaths can call home, something that you have to respect." He was circling her, like a vulture. "You need the Corps," he said. Suddenly she had the very strong urge to spit at him. "You need us and we need you. You belong here. You are one of us."
    The pain began fading into drowsiness, then into nothingness. The first of many treatments had begun.

    Sheridan stared at the charred and crumpled piece of metal on his desk. The last remains of the Black Star, the Minbari warship he had destroyed during the war. The Christmas present Ivanova had given him almost two years before. It'd been six months since Susan had left, under his orders. He hadn't heard anything from her in that time. She would've called, or tried to send information through. Unless they wouldn't let her, or if something was wrong. "You're starting to think like her," he told himself. "Stop it."
    He had been without a second in command for six months. There was no one to help share the workload. There was Delenn, and Zack and Franklin--each one had done more than their share, lately--but the running of the station was left to him. And now that they had Earth to deal with... He couldn't remember the last time had more than a few hours off. He'd give the world to spend a day with Delenn. Even to go through one of those Minbari rituals of hers. But he couldn't.
    His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the doorframe. "Captain, mind if I come in?" Franklin asked.
    "Go ahead," he said, getting up to put the fragment of the most powerful Minbari Ship he has ever gone up against back on the shelf. 'A reminder that the impossible is possible,' Ivanova had called it. With what's ahead, he thought to himself, they needed it. He sighed and turned back to the pile of reports he was trying to avoid. He could at least skim at them while talking to Franklin. He couldn't waste any time.
    "Wasn't your shift over a while ago?" Franklin asked, motioning at the papers.
    "Yeah, about a half an hour ago. I stayed behind to--"
    "Try four hours," Franklin interrupted. "Captain, you've been overworking yourself."
    Sheridan looked up from the security report he was looking at. "Doc, don't even start. Ever since Ivanova left--"
    "You've been doing all the work by yourself. You've been avoiding promoting someone." The office was silent for a while. Sheridan put down the paper and picked up another, as if trying to chase Franklin away by rudeness. "We all miss her, Captain," Franklin said slowly, quietly. "But Major Atumbe deserves that promotion. And if we're going to take care of Earth you need to take it easy. Look at everything we've gone through in the past year. In all that time, you haven't taken a single day off. You need that promotion as much as Atumbe does."
    Sheridan nodded. "I know. I'll take care of the paperwork."
    Franklin left, finally, after getting Sheridan's word that he'll just finish up and quit for the day, a promise Sheridan had no intention of keeping. There was too much work to be done and not enough time. Earth was closing in on them, trying to force them to make a move.
    They all missed her. But none of them were responsible for what she must be going through. None of them understood. Except for one.
    Marcus was taking it very hard. He felt as responsible as Sheridan did. Never before did Sheridan realize how much Marcus cared about Susan. He liked her, that was more than obvious from the start, but it was more than that now.
    It seemed like no one else cared. No one else worried. If they found out about the mission he gave her, it was the end of her time with the Psi Corps. No one left the Corps unless it was feet first, but from all of the secrets he had collected over the years, he knew that usually they wouldn't leave. Usually it would be worse. It was a possibility he hadn't considered before. The consequences were too horrible. Susan might be interrogated. Maybe even tortured to death. Maybe that was why they hadn't heard from her. He just hoped she was all right.

    Alfred Bester found Susan on a patch or grass in the small park. She was lying on the ground, hands beneath her head, looking up. When he got closer, she sat up. In more than one way, it wasn't the same Susan Ivanova that come from Babylon 5 nine months before. The hatred toward him that used to be in her eyes was now gone. And there was almost nothing left. What remained was extremely calm, even around him.
    He needed to know whether the soldier in her still lived. The passion she had for her work and the discipline that came with the military were some of the reasons he chose her. She was, according to the people around her, well adjusted to life in the Corps by now, and accepting his offer would be the sign that she was fully Psi Corps. It would be, more than a not-so-minor victory for him, a gain for the Corps.
    He tapped into her unprotected mind. He admitted to himself, he was curious. When she was on Babylon 5, he never tried scanning her, and the only thing he could sense from her was a deep hatred, for him and for the Corps. But now that the hatred was gone and regulation permitted the scan, he went ahead and took a peek.
    It was all still there. She missed the military life. She missed the action. But she has given up. To her, it was all in the past. She no longer hated the Corps-- the people from the psych department made sure of that. And she no longer hated him. That was a surprise. She remembered her 'mission' from Sheridan. Walters and Norton did a very good job of slipping the idea into his mind. Mundane minds were soft, easy to manipulate, and time after time, including this time, Bester found the consequences satisfactory. Pulling out, he tripped over a memory in her surface thoughts.
    "What's our ETA?" she asked. The trip seemed too long.
    "Two, three hours," a Ranger walked to the chair behind her. "All this technology and it still takes forever to get anywhere. Ask you a question?" she didn't even look in his direction, knowing he will ask anyway. "Assuming we live through this, what do you want to do when the war is over?"
    She thought for a moment. "Go home. See St. Petersburg. Paris. I want to visit my father's grave. I didn't make it to the funeral. Couldn't take it at the time. Then travel," she smiled, breaking the mood. "I want to walk outside. I think the last time I looked up and saw a sky was six years ago."
    So, that's what she was doing...
    She didn't resist the scan, but she didn't like it, either.  The rest of that conversation didn't interest him. The part he saw didn't, either. Bester stopped. He didn't want her in a bad mood. His proposal should do that, and he didn't want her to get too angry. Worrying about a knife in the back was not something he had time for.
    "Mr. Bester," she rose to her feet, a blank expression on her face.
    "Ms. Ivanova, we need to talk."
    "What about?" she asked with the same blank expression. She thought of him as a small burden-- someone disturbing her peace and train of thought, nothing more. That would change, for better or worse.
    "I have a proposal for you. A business proposition, if you will." She raised a brow. "I have been following you for a few months. You've been working commercial."
    "So?"
    "Do you like it?"
    "Not particularly. I'm not that fond of poking around people's minds for money."
    "Well, then, you might just find my offer interesting." He paused for a moment. He found it always achieved at least one of two desired effects. First of all, it made what he had to say appear important, and that was never a bad thing. It also made the person he was speaking to extremely nervous.
    "I'm listening," she said coldly.
    He considered his words for a moment. They'd have to be incredibly persuasive to get her to come from her own free will, and a convincing speaker was one thing he wasn't. When he had an advantage over the other person, something to threaten them with, it made his job easier. And this time he had an advantage. A big one.
    "Well?" She pressed.
    "I thought you might be missing the military life. The action, the excitement."
    "And?"
    "I have the solution for you. Level Twelve Investigators such as myself are always looking for field assistants, someone to tag along on missions and help."
    "No," she refused flatly. He had suspected she would.
    "Why not?" he smiled. "I'm giving you a chance to be a part of the action again."
    She looked down at her Psi Corps insignia, thinking. "I would rather be spaced," she said and began walking away.
    "It's a shame you probably will be," she stopped before taking another step and just stood, her back to him, her weight still forward. "You know, ever since you got here, Clark's office called us a few times. They've asked us to turn you over to them since you *are*, after all, wanted for treason." He watched her turn around, her blank expression slowly turning to that of horror. "So there is some emotion left in her after all," he thought quietly. "We told them, of course, that you are a part of the Corps now, and they know that if they force us to do anything they may lose the political support they get from us, but if you refuse to comply we'll be forced to--"
    "All right! All right."
    "I knew you would be reasonable," he said, grinning. "You'll have to start training immediately."
    "Who will I be working with?" she asked.
    He had the answer, but if he told her right away, she might change her mind. Deep down she was still as stubborn as she was when she came from Babylon 5. She no longer hated him, but she might not want to work with him, or more accurately, for him. "Me," he finally admitted. She did nothing, said nothing.
    A moment passed in silence. Then she left, calm on the outside, but almost running away on the inside. He remained, looking after her as she left, wondering if he'd regret choosing her.

    Susan looked at her superiors. Bester and his superior, Drake. She'd been in this office many times before, being briefed or briefing others before they left for a mission. And this time was no different, in most aspects. "And you have traced the terrorist?" Drake asked Bester.
    "Yes," Bester replied. "Apparently, he's not going anywhere. He's been there for a while, too. Like we thought, he is an amateur."
    Susan was getting annoyed. Bester was purposely keeping important information from her. She didn't know where they were going or who they were after, although Bester seemed to know very well. She told him she couldn't work unless she knew all the details, but he insisted. So now she was here, listening to the two men go on without mentioning any helpful information.
    "When should we leave?" Bester asked.
    "Immediately," was the reply. Bester rose to his feet, gave the Psi Cop salute, and left, Susan following.
    "I can't work unless I know where we're going," she repeated. Being obnoxious did her no good, but she still had to try.
    "You'll see when we arrive," he said.
    She continued questioning, "And who are we after?"
    "I'll point him out to you when we see him." Bester stopped and turned to face her. "I assure you, you will have all the information you need when the time is right."
    She nodded "All right." Looking up, a sign on the wall caught her eye.
    Obey.
    Obey the Corps. Obey Bester. Obey what you are told. "I will," she thought, as she walked away.
    "Finally," Bester said to himself, smiling. "She's ready."

    Susan was extremely calm as the shuttle launched. She was calm when it docked inside the mothership in hyperspace. She was calm during the two day jump. There was only one place she could think of that was a two day jump from Earth space and that the Corps would want to deal with, but she put it out of her mind quickly. She was calm when the shuttle left the mothership and headed out into hyperspace. She was calm as Bester approached the beacon.
    Her calm was disappeared in a flash the moment she caught sight of what was through the jumpgate. A revolving blue and gray tin can. Her revolving blue and gray tin can. The headquarters for the new interstellar alliance. They had a telepath problem a while back. Bester was the one to take care of it. She didn't go along. He didn't feel she was ready. She was glad.
    But now she was here.

    President John Sheridan sighed and turned the page on the report. Jack Manyard, captain of the Cortez was right. This place turned him into a bureaucrat. His office was just around the corner, where another stack of paperwork was waiting for him. The whole president idea was a nightmare since day one. But sometimes it was worth it. Rarely.
    Sheridan entered his office in silence. "Li-" he stopped in mid-word. A loud buzz rising in frequency cut him off. He looked up into the barrel of a PPG. He changed his mind. The whole president thing was a bad idea.
    If he only knew who or why, maybe he could reason with them. As his eyes began adjusting to the darkness, he could make out a feminine figure, but nothing more. His eyes wandered in search of something usable. He found nothing. She was too far away to try to grab the gun. A thought passed through his mind, as if implanted there, that there was nothing he could do. A telepath. Even now, when his eyes were adjusted to the dark, he couldn't see a face. But he could make out a hexagonal pin shining in the dim light from the hall. Psi Corps!
    "Got it in one, Mr. President," a familiar voice said. A voice he thought he'd never hear again. "Lights." The computer complied, and the bright light flooded the face of Susan Ivanova. She was holding on to her PPG with both hands. It was aimed straight at his head.
    "It's nice to see you, Susan," he said, thinking of it as a joke, expecting her to drop the gun. After all, her sense of humor has always been on the edge of good taste. But she still held the gun up. And she was angry. She had a good reason to be. He had sent her into the Corps, into her worst nightmare. He understood why she'd want revenge, but killing him was overdoing it just a bit.
    "Why?" she asked. "You're just a mundane."
    "Stay out of my head," he ordered.
    "You're in no position to make demands, Mr. President," she said, her voice compassionless.
    For a moment, Sheridan was sure she was going to fire. Suddenly, her focus moved to the door, as if she heard something from that direction. Then she scowled, disappointed and angry. Slowly lowering the PPG, she murmured, "You got lucky this time," and left in a hurry.
    He felt all the tension leave his body and a flood of relief come over him. But he still couldn't believe Susan would actually try to kill him. What was she doing on B5 anyway?

    "What were you doing?" Bester almost yelled. "Did you think you could get away with killing one of the most famous people in the Alliance?"
    "I was angry. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."
    He frowned. "All right. Let's get going. We're here to do a job, not to sit around." She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender and they set off.
    When they reached the Zocalo, Susan broke the silence between them. "You said that when we got here you'd point out who it is that we're after."
    "Yes, I did," he replied shortly. Stopping by a sidewalk cafe, he pointed to a figure sitting down. "There he is."
    Susan's heart jumped. Bester was pointing at Marcus Cole. She didn't believe it. For one, she didn't believe that Marcus would do something like that. But then again, he was known for doing idiotic things for a cause. She wondered what his cause was this time. Marcus looked up from his plate, and after a moment spotted her in the crowd. Suddenly she was ashamed to be there, standing next to Bester, wearing Psi Corps insignia.
    Bester tapped her on the shoulder and motioned to leave. She complied. "You two know each other?"
    Susan nodded. "He was a good friend."
    "Good," Bester muttered. Susan wasn't sure of the meaning, but didn't ask. "We'll apprehend him tonight," he said. "But first we need to find out whether anyone on the command staff or the advisory board of the Alliance knows about what he's been doing. We'll be meeting with them this afternoon."
    "Damn," Susan thought. This was the last thing she wanted. Everyone will be there. The command staff. The station's new captain-- Lochley, was it? Mr. Allen, Dr. Franklin. And the alliance's advisory board. Sheridan, who she had just threatened to kill, Delenn, G'Kar, Ambassador Mollari, and Mr. Garibaldi. All the people she didn't want to see again in the same room.
    But, that was life. Her life, to be precise. Too much was going wrong. Typical.

    Walking down the hall back to Sheridan's office, Susan glanced at Bester. Confidant, straight faced-- the exact opposite of her. She really didn't know why she was nervous. It was just a few people that she hasn't seen in more than a year and a half. As they walked through the door, glares struck her on all fronts. Apparently, they were only expecting Bester.
    "Commander," Ambassador Mollari started.
    "No," she stopped him, rather rudely. She realized at that moment how much she missed being called that. Whatever side conversation the ambassador going to make could wait. The matter at hand couldn't.
    "If you have business here, I suggest you get to it," Sheridan said before she could give it another thought.
    "Where's Michael," Dr. Franklin asked. Garibaldi wasn't present. Very unusual. She was half glad, though. With his attitude about telepaths... But he'd understand. They'd been friends for four years. He'd understand.
    "I guess we should start," Bester suggested. Sheridan nodded. "Over the past couple of months--"
    "Well, well," everyone's attention turned to Garibaldi, standing in the doorway. "Looky here. There's one couple I never expected to see."
    "Michael, we were just starting," Sheridan motioned for Garibaldi to sit.
    "The traitor and the creep. Perfect match." He was drunk. Susan could sense it. She didn't know why. If Garibaldi was drunk there was a reason. But it didn't matter. An intoxicated mind would be a lot easier to penetrate, although less pleasant.
    "Michael, sit down," Sheridan said, more abruptly.
    "And what are you doing for your beloved Psi Corps today?" Garibaldi kept talking over Sheridan as if he wasn't there or wasn't objecting. "Hunting people down?"
    "That's enough," Sheridan exclaimed.
    "Messing with people's minds?" Garibaldi didn't even stop. "Why can't you stop bothering us? Why don't you just take that entire damn organization of yours and--"
    "THAT'S ENOUGH!" Garibaldi stopped. Quietly, he took his seat next to Dr. Franklin.
    "Thank you, Mr. President," Bester said. "Mr. Garibaldi, you may not realize it, but like I told Mr. Allen last year, we do have a life that does not involve Babylon 5." Susan wasn't sure how to take that statement. She wanted to think B5 was no longer a part of her life. But she was there, wasn't she?
    Bullshit, Garibaldi thought, rather loudly.
    "Mr. Bester," Sheridan looked at the two telepaths, "Please, proceed." To himself he added, The faster you're done, the faster you leave.
    "Thank you," Bester said, less than half-heartedly. "As I was saying, over the past couple of months, since the end of the Civil War, actually, Universe Today and several magazines have published a few articles that, according to them, have been received from an anonymous source. Those articles illustrate some things about the Psi Corps--"
    "That you wanted to keep to yourselves," Garibaldi cut him off. "The truth came out. Can't say I have anything against that." Franklin shot a glare at him, and the room silenced again.
    Get ready, telecast to her. He was going to stay open for strong emotions and loud thoughts. It was her job to probe each person individually. He then continued speaking as if nothing happened. "Also, lately, there have been several bombings on Psi Corps facilities on Mars and Earth. The person responsible for both has been traced here to Babylon 5. We have authorization from Earthdome to track him, arrest him and take him back to Earth with us."
    Susan carefully probed every one of the persons in the room. Nothing. Some of them, like Garibaldi, liked the idea of the bombings, and she found out some things that she really didn't want to know about Ambassador Mollari's personal life, but none of them knew anything about it, aside from what they've seen in the news.
    "If you give us a name," Zack spoke up, "We can find him for you and turn him over."
    "I'm afraid we can't do that," Bester replied shortly.
    Same old story, Sheridan thought. They can't give us that information. They could be here for any reason, or going after anyone. Hell, for all we know, they could be going after Marcus, and they won't tell us. Susan slowly retreated from his mind. He was the last. She looked at Bester and shook her head.
    The meeting was concluded rather quickly. Bester got from them their 'permission' to carry out the job. Not that they wouldn't anyway. She told herself again that it had to be done. Mundanes lacked the unity and mutual regard that existed between telepaths, and tried to inflict that chaos upon the telepaths. What she was doing was for the good of telepaths. For the good of her people.
    The group vacated Sheridan's office, only her and Garibaldi remaining. Bester had things to take care of, and she had nowhere to go. Garibaldi moved up to her, hatred spilling from his mind. "Ooh, look at you," he grabbed the Psi Corps insignia from her chest and examined it. "Both a teep and a traitor. And to think I used to trust you." Grabbing the pin and placing it back on her suit, she walked a safe distance away from him. Perhaps staying behind wasn't such a good idea. She had hoped maybe she could find a moment of quiet, but instead, she found an angry drunk. "You think you're so great, so superior, you and your Psi Corps. But you know what?" he was advancing toward her. She began retreating, until her back was against the wall, and he still kept coming. "I'm going to prove you wrong. There's one teep I can't hurt, but no one said anything about the rest of them. You included."
    Susan mentally winced as he swung his arm back. She did nothing to stop it from striking her face. He was drunk. He missed. She didn't move, but his fist passed in front of her face, less than an inch from striking her nose. He immediately tried again with his other hand. She didn't know how, but it looked like it hurt him a hell of a lot more than it hurt her. When he raised his arm again, she did nothing more than blink. Then, with a sudden rush of what seemed to be a combination of adrenaline and anger, she took her best shot.
    And she didn't miss.
    She left swiftly, leaving him behind, holding his head. There was one problem she wouldn't have to worry about anymore, at least for a while. Ignoring her own pain, she set off to find Bester.

    Susan pulled her gloves on tightly. This is it. The final stage of the chase. The kill, Bester told her telepathically. She kept going. It'd been more than a year and a half, and she still remembered everything about the station, even Down Below.
    They walked through the dark corridor--just her and Bester. Suddenly, behind her, he stopped cold in his tracks. Then, in the darkness, she heard his PPG warm up. Puzzled, she looked toward him, seeing only his shadow.
    Do you hear it? he asked with the utmost urgency.
    Hear what? She was confused. Aside from their silent footsteps, the corridor was almost peaceful.
    You still think too much like a mundane. Open up. Drop the walls.
    As soon as she did, she heard what he had meant. A distant, weak thought. And the mind--what she could make of it--was familiar.
    Damn, she thought. She hoped they could somehow avoid this. But he was a danger to the Corps. And the Corps was home. It's him.
    Get ready, Bester told her. He may be closer than he seems. Moments later, she heard a fighting pike open in the distance. Bester advanced toward a lit area, but stayed behind the circle the old lamp in the ceiling made on the floor, in the shadows. Susan joined him, her PPG in her hand. She didn't load it. The sound would be too clear. Are you ready?
    I think so. She has done this before. They had tracked down rogues before, countless times, and the mundanes that helped them escape. But this time it was different.
    Their prey stepped into the light. Long hair, black uniform. Same as ever. Bester gave the go order, and they performed as if they had rehearsed the movements for this very occasion. They had. In one movement they held out their PPGs, Susan loading hers, and stepped into the circle of light. "Susan," Marcus started, but never finished. Susan just stood there, PPG raised.
    What are you waiting for? Bester asked.
    What do you mean? Isn't this the part where you arrest him She stood there, every muscle in her body tense.
    Bester sighed. You still have much to learn about Level 12 Investigations. No. This is the part where you put a bullet in his brain.
    Bester's words stabbed her like a hundred knives. She couldn't. She looked up at Marcus, who was observing her expression change for what seemed like no apparent reason. If he only knew.
    She swallowed. Her PPG was still aimed at Marcus. When she was about to drop it, she looked back a bit. She hadn't noticed it before, but Bester's PPG was now aimed at her. The angle was slight enough that she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't sensed it from him as well. I... I can't.
    Pull the trigger, Bester smiled, mentally, and probably physically, too, then added what was probably the most commonly used phrase in level 12 investigations. He's just a mundane.
    "No." She said, still facing Marcus.
    When she began lowering her PPG, Bester said what she had expected him to say. Do it, he ordered, Or I'll shoot.
    You wouldn't, she was unable to hide the nervousness in her thoughts.
    Are you sure?
    Susan gritted her teeth. There was no way out. She couldn't shoot Marcus. He was too good a friend. She couldn't turn around and shoot Bester. He'd kill her before she was halfway around. He sensed that she was considering it. She felt a sharp pain run down her spine--a warning signal.
    Her finger tightened around the trigger, so close to pulling it. Good, he said. Now pull the trigger. A moment passed. She did nothing. She was awaiting the burst from his PPG to go through the back of her head at any moment. It didn't. Pull the trigger, he repeated.
    Susan looked at the defenseless Marcus. Not very long ago, she had worked beside him. They had defeated the Shadows together. They were friends. And now she'd have to kill him. He was prepared for her to fire. Maybe he even understood, though she doubted it. He looked straight into her eyes, fearless. She didn't have to be a telepath to know what he was thinking--We live for the One, we die for the One.
    Bester's eyes drilled holes in the back of her head. You have a duty. You have to execute your mission. It was a part of your life when you were a soldier, and it's a part of your job now. You put your feelings aside where the mission is concerned. He paused and scanned her. It was one privilege of his that she couldn't get used to. He wasn't satisfied, so he continued. You are a part of the Corps, and your mission is to protect it. His calm was wearing off fast. So you will do as I tell you, you will protect the Corps, and you will pull that trigger!
    Her head was pounding from the volume and the hostility in his words. He took advantage of her moment of weakness of mind and shields, and grabbed on to her mind. It hurt. She fought him for a moment, despite the pain, until she realized it was hopeless. She was a P5, he was a P12. There was nothing she could do against him.
    As she watched helplessly, he adjusted the aim of the PPG. Then, he pulled the trigger. She shut her eyes as tightly as she could. This was the one thing she couldn't watch. She wished as hard as she could that the shot would miss. It was impossible. Bester's aim was perfect. But she still wished.
    She winced when the PPG fired. She opened her eyes slowly. Marcus was on the ground, motionless. And the bloody PPG wound on his chest was there because of her. Because she was too scared to run and too weak to fight. "Is he--" she began.
    "No. But he will be, soon. Now we just have to make sure we're not linked to this." He turned on his heel and began leaving, silently.
    No, he turned around to look at her, undecided about the comment's meaning. This way, she looked over to a passage. Shorter. Leads straight to the garden. And less chance we'll run into anyone. He nodded and followed her. Before long they were in the garden. The fresh air, the light. Compared to the dirty darkness of Down Below, it was wonderful. But she couldn't enjoy it. Not after what she'd done.
    A part of her kept telling herself it wasn't her fault. Bester was the one who had pulled the trigger, really. But she shut it out. She had let Bester in, or he wouldn't have been able to do anything. Not as easily as he did.
    She let Bester get ahead of her once they reached the more crowded area. She didn't plan on disappearing. She just wanted to be out of his range for a while. He understood, and let her. She stopped for a moment by a security guard, and with a small poke of a mind sent him on a trip to Down Below. Hopefully, he'd find Marcus and call for a med team before it was too late. After that, she decided not to give it another thought. If she did, Bester would find out about it.
    He waited for a moment until she caught up. "I know it's not easy," he said to her. "I've been through it once." She found that hard to believe.
    "So, did I pass?" she asked. He looked at her. "Your little loyalty test. Did I pass?"
    "Yes, and no." They turned into an empty corridor. "I didn't expect you to do anything. I understand he was your friend. But you have to know that you will have to go up against friends, other telepaths, and relatives. Don't feel, just act. If you hesitate for only a moment, you can end up the one dead."
    "And the yes part?"
    "Anyone else would've turned around and tried to shoot me, or would've gotten their brain fried trying to struggle with me. As soon as you decided not to try that you passed." She tried to decide whether or not that was a good thing. "You are a very good field assistant. You have military logic, good aim, and the right attitude for level 12 investigations. If you had the Psi rating to match, you could be a lot more than you are now. You are a very valuable resource for my team. I, for one am glad you passed. This way, you stay a part of my team. If you were to fail, I would have had to kill you." She decided then, that it was a bad thing.
    They continued down the corridor in silence.

    Susan stepped into the isolab. Marcus' inert form was hooked up to machinery that filled half the room, monitoring every vital function. "He'll live," Dr. Franklin had told her before she went in. "The security guard who found him in Down Below found him just in time. Another twenty minutes, and there would have been nothing I could do." He still trusted her. He was too much of an optimist. He still thought of her as a friend. She only thought of herself as a... a passerby. A mundane. "We still don't know who shot him, or why. But the real mystery is how the security guard found him. In the report he said he just felt a sudden urge to go there." He paused for a moment. "I don't mean to offend, but we both know trouble travels with Bester. Maybe it was your guy who did it."
    "I don't know," she replied. "But I can find out."
    And now she was in the isolab with Marcus.
    She touched his mind lightly, afraid. She heard stories of telepaths who were inside a mind at the time of death. There were rumors she heard, people saying that was what had happened to Bester. She didn't want it happening to her. A part of her had already died on this station. She didn't want to lose another.
    But Dr. Franklin had said he'd live, and Susan trusted his judgement. This was something she had to do. She pulled off a glove and placed a hand over Marcus'.
    There was a disquieting sensations as for a moment she wasn't sure what was happening. An image seemed to form around her, like a dream. It was completely dark. In front of her was a circle of light, and in the circle stood Marcus. He smiled at her, warmly, as if he didn't know about what she has done. Maybe he didn't remember. She looked in his eyes. He knew.
    She searched for the right thing to say. "I'm sorry," was all she could come up with.
    "I understand," he said. That was the last thing she expected him to say. She expected him to yell, to insult, to maybe forgive, but not to understand. To understand was something she'd never wish upon anyone. "We protect our own." That was Bester's motive, not hers. But it was the reason he was shot. She let it go at that.
    "But why did you do something like this? You knew we'd come after you."
    "I knew *they*'d come after me," he paused. "Not you." She looked away into the darkness. "I had to do it."
    "Why?" she repeated, confused.
    "For you," he said softly. Her gaze soared straight to him.
    She didn't know what to say. She didn't know why he'd do anything for her. She didn't deserve it. "Why," she asked for the third time.
    "Because I watched them take you away, and I had to do something about it." He paused for a moment and drew a deep breath. "I love you," he said quietly and softly.
    Tears filling her eyes she simply said, "I know." She always knew, she just didn't want to admit it. Silently, he reached out his hand. She slowly moved her arm into the light to take it. When their fingertips were millimeters apart, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Her real one. As quickly as it had come over her, the image disappeared, and she was in the isolab again, facing Bester.
    "Does he still remember?" Bester asked. Susan nodded. "We have to make sure he doesn't." Remove the memory, he meant. It was simple enough, but Susan imagined that Bester would also want to implant some blocks to keep Marcus from doing anything else. "I will need your help," he said.
    And again she was facing Marcus, Bester at her side. "I'm sorry," she said. "We have to protect our own."

    Susan looked at the gate. Customs was full of security to see Bester off. Their dislike of him must've doubled since the last time she was here. There were twice as many armed guards. Sheridan was also there, and he had brought Delenn with him. They were not going to make it easy for her.
    The security guards glared at her. She looked at them, and recognized most, if not by name, then by face. She had hired them. But they proved Bester's point to her. She no longer belonged here.
    Sheridan and Delenn were waiting by the gate. She tried to walk by, pretended not to notice them. "Susan," Sheridan grabbed her arm. She stopped and turned to face him. Nothing he could say could touch her. "I guess," he started nervously, "With everything that's been going on, I didn't get the chance to tell you how much we've missed you around here. The station hasn't been the same without you." Almost nothing, then. She missed Babylon 5. She--she shouldn't listen to him.
    "I need to go," she said. "The shuttle is waiting for me." She turned away so they wouldn't see the tears that began filling her eyes. She walked, slowly, into the darkness of the docking bay, where the shuttle was ready to leave.
    "Susan," Sheridan called behind her. She ignored it.
    This time, she didn't look back.

Back to the main page