Babylon 5 07 - The Shadow Within (Cavelos, Jeanne)

by The Shadow Within (Cavelos, Jeanne)

  She was wondering what she would do if John ever died. It was a constant danger in his career. Yet she couldn't imagine it.

  "I don't think it's so much that you cross the border as that your love transcends the border. Wherever they are, they must know you love them. That love can comfort them. Just as their love can comfort you."

  The words seemed so empty. She felt like a bad pop psychologist.

  "I'm afraid our interpretations, as well as our translations, differ, Dr. Sheridan."

  Morden drank his tea, all in one long draft, and set down his mug, the smile back on his face, though in diluted form.

  "You can just call me Sheridan," Anna said.

  "We like to go by last names in our group. It distinguishes us from the IPX execs, who like to use first names as if they're your best friends."

  "Then you can call me Morden. Let's get back to the expedition. Is there anything I can do to help prepare?"

  Anna gave him a few jobs, and they talked some more about the expedition. By the time Anna left, she had decided to make Dr. Morden her secondary project. Sh e would help him begin to move on with his life by the time they returned from the rim.

  * * *

  John stood in the entrance to the weapons bay. Just inside, to his right, the status monitor displayed battle alert. Another day, another dozen drills. But he'd decided to take the direct approach this time. Lieutenant Watley was the weapons officer on duty, assisted by four gunners whose names John was still trying to keep straight. When the ship's status had changed to battle alert, John had started his timer. At ten seconds, Watley had put down her book and called up to the command deck for confirmation of the battle alert.

  After receiving confirmation, at thirty-two seconds she'd begun making the appropriate adjustments to the weapons control system. At fifty-three seconds Ensign Timmons, the youngest weapons officer and the only one who hadn't been brought from the Athena by Best, pushed his way past John in his haste to get to his post. As he stumbled into the room and saw whom he had shoved, Timmons came up short, his mouth gaping.

  "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize. I was just. I didn't know."

  John raised a hand.

  "It's all right, Timmons. It's your job to get to your station as quickly as you can under alert conditions. I appreciate your-enthusiasm. Carry on."

  Timmons gave a gap-toothed grin. His hair was pressed flat against one side of his head, probably from sleep.

  "Thank you, sir."

  He rushed to the targeting system. Watley had now realized John was here and was going about her duties with a greater show of concern. John repositioned himself inside the doorway to the bay. At one minute, ten seconds, gunners started rushing into the bay.

  At one minute, forty seconds, Lieutenant Ross arrived. The weapons chief wasn't setting much of an example. He didn't appear to be out of breath or unkempt. There was a hesitation in his gait when he saw John, but then he continued to the weapons diagnostic system. He asked the other officers their status, double-checked their settings, directed the gunners. Thirty-five years old, Ross was a mountain of a man, six foot six and burly, who walked with a swagger and boomed his orders in a strong, intimidating voice. Yet something in the set of his muscular frame, in the quick snaps of his head at any change, in the occasional halt of his hand in the middle of a gesture, conveyed unease. His features were sharp, delicate, an odd contrast to his burly build.

  Ross confirmed the tube hatches were closed, then had Watley bring optics on line and trigger primary ignition. At two minutes, twenty-two seconds, the last two gunners arrived, apparently in no rush. At three minutes, three seconds, Spano strolled in.

  "I was right in the middle of a very hot letter from home. Can't we time these things more..."

  Spano stopped when he saw John.

  "Captain."

  That word didn't sound a whole lot nicer than sir. Spano's opaque, flat eyes radiated contempt. John held up the timer.

  "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, Lieutenant."

  Spano continued to his station, beside Watley at the weapons control system, where he reset several controls. Spano made no effort to hide his bad attitude. His tone was insubordinate, his actions careless, lackadaisical. Ross got on the link to the command deck.

  "Weapons bay battle-ready."

  "Stand by weapons bay," Corchoran responded.

  John stopped the timer.

  "Three minutes forty-one seconds to battle-ready status. Timmons, how long does the manual say you have from the initiation of a battle alert to reach battle-ready status?"

  "Two minutes, Captain."

  "Two minutes. And yet you took three minutes and forty-one seconds. Three minutes and forty-one seconds during which an enemy ship could be blasting us out of the sky. Lieutenant Ross, what would you suggest caused the delay? Were there unforeseen hardships , such as damage to the ship due to a sneak attack?"

  "No, sir," Ross boomed.

  "Lieutenant Spano, what adversities kept you from reaching your post for three minutes and three seconds? I'd like to make the path as smooth for you as possible."

  Spano shot a glance at Ross, said nothing.

  "Spano!"

  Spano's nostrils flared.

  "I didn't hurry, sir, because I knew it was a drill, sir. And we're all pretty sick of drills, sir. We know there's really no point to it all. Everyone in the galaxy is our friend now, right? Whether we like it or not. It'll be a cold day in hell before we'll be using any of this equipment. We're just Earth's friendly envoys now. All we have to do is grin and keep our fingers off the trigger."

  "I'm surprised that someone who's been to war," John said, "would be so anxious to return to it."

  Spano let out a laugh.

  "You're a hero. What do you need with another war?"

  Why was that always so important to everyone he met? The damned war had ended eight years ago. He'd done what he'd had to do, nothing more.

  "Whether you imagine the alert is a drill or not..."

  -and he walked from one of them to the next, making eye contact with each-

  "...your duty is to get to your station as quickly as possible and bring us to battle-ready status. If any of you are incapable of fulfilling your duties, then I can relieve you of them."

  He stopped in front of Ross.

  "I want results. And I want them now. Lieutenant Ross, are you capable of making your section perform up to standards?"

  "I'll try my best, sir," Ross boomed.

  John could see the resistance in the hard line of his mouth.

  "And is your best better than what I saw here today ?"

  He could see Ross puzzling out how to answer that one. The line of his mouth thinned.

  "Permission to speak freely, sir."

  "All right. Get it off your chest, and then let's get on with it."

  "Sir, I think a number of the crew in the weapons section feel you're coming down hard on them because you feel your combat record is superior to theirs. You destroyed the Black Star, and we served under Captain Best, allegedly the coward of the Battle of the Line."

  "That's ridiculous," John said, immediately regretting his words.

  Tact, Anna always reminded him.

  "That's right," Spano said.

  "It is ridiculous. He's no hero. Spreading mines and then sending out a fake distress signal aren't a hero's methods."

  Spano had no discipline whatsoever. He shouldn't have lasted a minute in Earthforce. Obviously Captain Best had let him get away with all sorts of inappropriate behavior, perhaps even encouraged it. John should have charged Spano with insubordination, should have made him face a court-martial. Chances were he'd have to do that, not only to Spano, but to Ross, Watley, several of the gunners, and several of the crew in other sections. But he felt, first, that he had to give them a chance to reform, or perhaps, as the general had suggested, to transfer.

  These weren't new recruits. They had spent years and years in Earthforce. They were beh
aving as they had been taught to behave. Earthforce should have taught Spano what it meant to be an officer. Earthforce, in the person of Captain Best, had failed him.

  Politics and influence had put Best in command and allowed him to damage the officers under him. Now Earthforce, in the person of John Sheridan, was responsible. If Spano, Ross, and the others could adapt, he wanted to Captain -Best, had failed him. Politics and influence had put Best in command and allowed him to damage the officers under him.

  Now Earthforce, in the person of John Sheridan, was responsible. If Spano, Ross, and the others could adapt, he wanted to give them that opportunity. They had to learn what it meant to wear the uniform of Earthforce. And he had to learn what behaviors Captain Best had rewarded in his crew.

  "I meant it when I said we would all start here with a clean slate. No charges were ever made against Captain Best. And I certainly hold none of you responsible for any actions that he may or may not have taken."

  He made a chopping motion with his hand, his voice rising.

  "I'm coming down hard on you because your section's performance is unacceptable and deteriorating. And you don't seem to care. This uniform means something to me. Serving Earthforce means something to me. Doing my best every time out. Running this ship to the best of my abilities. Not giving up, no matter how tired, or frustrated, or bored I might be. Devoting myself to something more important than me, a larger cause. And I intend to make sure everyone on this ship upholds those standards."

  Spano's face had flushed red.

  "You think you can teach us how to handle laser cannons when we've been doing it for years. Maybe you'd be better off teaching us how to handle mines. We know how to handle laser cannons."

  "Lieutenant Spano," John said, his voice darkening, "you are insubordinate. You are confined to quarters until further notice, effective immediately."

  With a flare of his nostrils Spano snapped to attention and marched out.

  "The rest of you, except for Lieutenant Ross, are dismissed."

  John waited until the gunners and other officers had left. Ross straightened the mountain of his body in preparation for an assault. Spano needed discipline, hard and fast. But Ross was a different story. Something was eating at Ross, something that had been eating at him for a long time. Having been in the military for so long, John could sense it through his regulation posture, through his sharp, strictly composed features, through the loud boom in his voice. John positioned himself right in Ross's eye line.

  "Lieutenant, I understand that living in the shadow of the rumors about Captain Best's performance at the Battle of the Line may not have been very pleasant for you and the crew. It seems to have put a giant chip on everyone's shoulder. But the resistance I'm sensing has a deeper base than that. It goes far beyond just those officers who served with Captain Best on the Athena. As

  I've become familiar with the various members of the crew and reviewed their records, I've found that my evaluation of just about every crew member is in direct opposition to Captain Best's. What is your opinion of Captain Best's methods of crew evaluation?"

  The sharp line of Ross's mouth shifted as he hesitated.

  "I'm asking for your frank opinion, Lieutenant."

  "Captain Best had his own personal criteria, Captain."

  "And as weapons chief, did you often find yourself in agreement with his evaluations?"

  "Sometimes, sir. Sometimes I felt Captain Best must have had more information than I did."

  John's voice rose.

  "More information on the weapons crew and how they carried out their jobs than you, their immediate superior, did?"

  Ross averted his eyes.

  "Captain Best was a real hands-on commander, sir."

  This was getting him nowhere. Ross was stonewalling. John took a step closer, drawing Ross's eyes back to him.

  "My sense is that Captain Best did not have more information-not about the crew's performance of their duties, anyway. He seemed to reward some of the sloppiest, laziest crew members and to punish some of the most efficient. Which leads me to believe he did have his own personal criteria in evaluating his crew, criteria that have nothing to do with those laid down by Earthforce. Would you agree, Lieutenant?"

  "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

  Ross's burly frame shifted, the sharp line of his mouth hardening. John felt he was very close to a breakthrough with Ross. Spano could spout off all day and John didn't think he'd learn any more than he already had. It was all surface flash. But Ross's troubles ran deep, and if he could break through to them, find out what was eating at him, perhaps he could forge a link. Ross had been resisting his authority indirectly until now, performing poorly, unwilling to initiate a direct confrontation. If there was a direct confrontation, perhaps the issues could be resolved and the need for resistance would disappear.

  "I mean that I have to look at all my highest ranking officers and ask why? What did they do for Captain Best to get promoted?"

  He extended a hand.

  "Let's look at you as an example. You started out with Captain Best nine years ago as an ensign third class. Now, here you are a lieutenant and the weapons chief. When I look at the state of your section, Ross, and at your own behavior-your negligence, your resistance, your failure to follow procedure, your poor motivation-I wonder what criteria Captain Best was using when he recommended you time and again for promotion."

  John tilted his head.

  "What criteria do you feel he judged you by?"

  John saw the decision happen on Ross's face, the catastrophic decision to throw a punch at his superior officer. Ross's sharp features twisted, and then his right shoulder dropped as his huge right hand closed into a fist, his elbow drawing back like a piston. This wasn't the kind of breakthrough John had been hoping for. As he raised an arm in defense, Ross's windup fizzled, his aborted punch shooting down in a jagged arch to his opposite hip. Ross's head had jerked nervously from John to the doorway.

  "Captain?"

  General Lochschmanan said. His aide was with him. John lowered his arm.

  "We-were just running a drill, General. What can I do for you?"

  "A drill."

  John's link chimed.

  "Excuse me, sir." John brought the link near his mouth.

  "Sheridan. Go."

  "Captain," Corchoran said, "you have an incoming call from your wife."

  John glanced at the general.

  "Tell her I'll call back. I'm busy."

  Relaying a personal communication to him during battle alert was a clear violation of procedure. Corchoran should have known better.

  "Take the call, Captain," Lochschmanan said.

  "I'd like to talk with the lieutenant about this drill."

  John hesitated, then realized he had no choice.

  "Yes, sir."

  He spoke into the link.

  "Put the call through to the weapons bay corn station."

  John went over to the com station near the door, snatching a nervous glance over his shoulder at the stiff back of the general.

  "Hey, handsome."

  He turned, saw Anna in the hotel room.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I can't talk now."

  The general was consulting with his aide.

  "I just felt so bad about how guilty you looked yesterday..."

  The general was turning to Ross now, was saying something.

  "...decided to accept a position as science officer on an expedition with Dr. Chang to the rim. It's a six-month assignment."

  He turned back to her.

  "You're going away?"

  "It's a great opportunity. I'll be back before you know it."

  He felt as if he'd driven her off.

  "I'm sorry things didn't work out."

  "It's okay. Just bad timing."

  Ross was responding to the general now, his booming words obscured by Anna's. "Listen-can we talk about this some other time? I've got the general here, and I'm in the middle
of a crisis."

  "Yes. Sorry. I'll send you the expedition specs."

  "Great."

  Ross, standing tight-lipped before the general, made eye contact with John.

  "I've got to go."

  He terminated the communication and rejoined the general.

  "Perhaps you'd like to explain this drill, Captain Sheridan,"

  Lochschmanan said, enunciating deliberately.

  "I can't seem to get a clear answer from your officer."

  John clasped his hands behind his back. He wanted to keep this between him and Ross, for now, anyway.

  "It was a standard battle-alert drill, sir."

  Throughout the general's silence, John maintained a pleasant expression.

  "I see," he said at last.

  "I've checked on the progress of your upgrades. The technicians should be completed with their upgrade of the ship's systems in three days. I expect at that time that your crew will be capable of performing some training maneuvers."

  "Yes, sir."

  Three days to get this mess called the Agamemnon straightened out. He'd heard they had a job available freezing hell over.

  "No trouble at home, is there?"

  John closed his eyes for a moment. Lochschmanan was a spit-and-polish general. Having Anna's call come through while they were under a battle alert looked about as unprofessional as you could get.

  "No, sir."

  "Glad to hear it. Accompany me to the engine room, would you? I'll brief you on the upgrades."

  John turned to Ross.

  "We'll finish our discussion later, Lieutenant."

  "Yes, sir," Ross boomed.

  It was then, as John left the weapons bay with the general, as he wished that Corchoran had never relayed Anna's call, as he wished that Anna had chosen some other time to call, that he realized: he'd forgotten to tell her he loved her. Well, he'd do it next time.

  CHAPTER 6

  At was late afternoon and nearly time for their mission briefing when Anna found Dr. Chang aboard the Icarus. His transport had arrived early, so she'd missed him at customs, instead running into Favorito and Razor, the self-appointed party gods of the big dig. They were obsessed with planning a Gigmosian New Year's Eve bash, allegedly a re-creation of the actual Gigmosian ceremony, with a statue of the Gigmosian tree goddess of the new year, authentic fermented Petraki, nose horns, and ceremonial dewlaps.