A sleek black shape plunged through the red maelstrom of hyperspace. Twin obsidian wedges flanked a cruel arrowed prow and tapered nacelles. The destroyer Gâshad hunted in the void, searching for an exit point in the chaos. On the command deck, lit only by the dim yellow sodium glow of panel readouts and the red glare of the deeps between the suns, her commander, Drakon, strode to the navigator’s station. His lean body was clad in matte black as well; the shipboard combat suit favored by his people. His boots rang faintly on the perforated deck plates. Around him, the crew went quietly about their tasks.

"Status of exit?"

The navigator looked up from the collection of displays and readouts before him.

"Twelve minutes."

Drakon stepped into the command bubble and its dark arms whined closed about him. He slid a delicate microphone, no more than a filament of silver, down around the right side of his head-ridge. The air around him came alive with distant voices, muttering and whispering. With a soft tap, he switched the mike on.

"Captain to all crew. Reemergence into normal space in eleven minutes. Prepare battle stations. All gun batteries, all missile platforms to standby."

Translucent panels dropped silently around him, gleaming with yellow telltales. One by one, the weapon station lights flickered to blue. Forty-five seconds passed while he ran through his own pre-emergence checklist. Complete, he cleared the command channel again.

"Gear fighters for launch. Load all tubes. Prepare power-plant for switchover."

Trails of blue light crawled across the panels. Beyond the forward viewports, a surging billow of deep red and black parted before the prow of the ship. Drakon settled back into his chair.

"Internal gravity field to maximum compensation. All decks seal hatches."

The command bubble flexed for a moment as the bulky shape of Shagat, the arms-master, entered the compartment to Drakon’s left. On the XO channel, Drakon heard his companion double-checking the state of crew compartments, weapon stations and stowage.

The Navigator raised a gloved finger; a countdown icon flickered to life on the panel to Drakon’s upper left. Eight minutes to emergence. The Engineering channel woke up.

"Hyperspace generators on spin-up. Marking emergence gradient."

Drakon activated the command push on all channels, "Captain to all crew. We are entering hostile space, all weapons will be hot — you are not to fire save on my command. Crew chiefs, any itchy fingers will be removed." The channel was silent.

The gleam of red and blue lights reflected from Drakon’s narrow cranium, highlighting the bone ridges that tapered up from his shoulders. For a moment he closed his eyes and breathed in a soft irregular pattern. Faintly, he was aware that Shagat had also taken a moment to clear his mind. Drakon’s eyes, a deep violet, flickered open. He was ready.

"Gradient secure," whispered Engineering. "Ready for insertion into normal space."

"We have gate beacon and lock confirmed," echoed Navigation.

Drakon flexed his right hand in the battleweave glove, then slid back the engine control surface. Deep within the ship, the main fusion core switched into high output, flooding the hyperspace generators with power. The emergence gradient spiked and physics changed around the ship.

Gâshad shuddered and a blue disk spun open in the red darkness. A tunnel of white-blue light appeared and the ship seemed to leap ahead into it. A momentary disorientation passed over Drakon and then the gate pylons whipped past. Normal space was suddenly around them, replete with stars and the huge disk of a dun-colored planet in the forward displays.

Before them, the cylinder of Babylon Five spun in darkness, all alone in the night.

"Jump-gate activation on Akkad. One ship incoming."

Commander Susan Ivanova, second in command of the Babylon Five station, looked up from the main control deck of the station Command and Control center, her long dark hair falling forward over her shoulder in a severe pony-tail. Unconsciously she flipped it back over her shoulder. Her dark eyes glanced over the station operations pit behind her. The crewmen were busy at their tasks, carrying on a dozen low conversations. The volume of shipping that moved through Eridani space was large, almost as much as Mars Prime, or even some of the orbital stations off of Earth.

"ID signature? Status?"

The watch ensign hissed in alarm, his right hand tapping the level one alert icon on the panel in front of him. The station intercom began to bleat in a low tone.

"She’s coming in hot, Sir, I have active weapons signature on multiple hard-points. No ID yet."

Ivanova glanced calmly around the command and control deck again. Everyone had already moved to battle stations as the alarm klaxon gave a prepatory bleat. She toggled the intercom, "All command staff to stations. Captain Sheridan, we have a situation incoming from the Akkad jump-gate."

Her fingers danced on the control panel. Deep in the station, another, more strident, klaxon went off in the ready room for Delta Wing, and pilots scrambled from their couches and bunks, dashing down the tunnel to the Starfury launch bay.

"I have an incoming transmission, Commander, Earth Alliance pattern." Said the communications tech, "It’s … it’s a standard hail, Sir."

Ivanova nodded, her face impassive. "On my screen."

The panel flickered, stabilizing on a graphic of a scarlet circle bisected by a narrow rust-colored trapozohedron. The two comm systems chuckled to one another, then the video display cleared again and a starkly handsome humanoid face appeared, suspended in blue-lit darkness.

"Greetings, Babylon Five traffic control, this is the kotain starship Gâshad requesting a clear approach and docking protocol. I am Drakon of the clan of the Iron Tower, Captain of the Gâshad. I bring greetings from my people to yours."

Ivanova raised an eyebrow, "Commander Susan Ivanova, Earth Alliance. Where I come from, Captain, we do not bring greetings with live armaments. My sensor array reads that you have powered missiles in the tubes and live plasma cannon. You will not be allowed to enter Babylon Five space in such a state."

Through the soles of her boots Ivanova felt the distant thump of Starfuries launching from the number three fighter bay. On the screen, the alien’s violet eyes flickered sideways to an unseen panel and a smile threatened his lips.

"I have heard that your people have given the Mimbari such good greetings, in past time, Commander." Ivanova’s eyes narrowed as she winced internally. A good hit. Does everyone know that story?

"No matter," the kotain continued, "my readouts show that there are no gaizain spacecraft in the vicinity, so we may be better guests." He turned his head to the side, speaking offscreen, "Power down all batteries. Go to standard running." Drakon turned back to Ivanova. "May we proceed to a docking approach, Commander? I bring nothing but goodwill for Earth."

Ivanova glanced over the plotting board. Delta Flight was already boosting outbound between the station and the kotain ship, the defense grid was on-line and tracking. She paused, staring down at her display. The tracking array readouts were showing an intermittent double-pattern. Still, the Gâshad was powering down its weapons and was holding station just outside the jump-gate. She looked back to the video display, where the alien was patiently waiting.

"You may proceed on vector nine-nine-seven, docking bay twelve. Synch your navigation signal on my … mark." Susan nodded, "Welcome to Babylon Five, Captain Drakon." She shut off the video feed.

Gaizain? Who are the gaizain?

"Mister Corwin!" Susan glared across the command and control bay. "I’m showing a doubled sensor array signature on my panel — why would this be?"

Crowin blanched, touching his ear-phone feed nervously.

"I have it too, Commander, but I don’t think that it’s a hardware problem. I’m showing a secondary generator system having come on-line in the Mimbari embassy at the same time as the doubled signal. I also show a surge in system usage in their internal computer net. I think the Mimbari are running a duplicate feed off of our sensor array. Sir."

Susan frowned, thinking a neat trick and well within Mister Diplomatic Attaché Lennier’s technical skills. Her fingers flew over the surface of the control panel as she shut down the mainline sensor net. For a moment, all of the panels on in the command bay jerked, flickering off and then on again. As the main sensor net dropped away, the ghost of a secondary net was exposed for a moment, then it too vanished.

"Higuchi, did you get that shadow-image of our net?" barked the Commander.

"Aye, sir! I’m running a hardware trace right now."

"Good, I want a tech team on it immediately and I want it torn out, every bit of it. Clear?"

Higuchi, a sinking feeling in her stomach telling her she’s just drawn a second shift, nodded.

Mister Lennier, personal assistant to the Mimbari ambassador Delenn, folded his hands into his lap and stood up from the control panel set into the wall of his quarters. Somewhat discomfited, he adjusted the fall of the meditation robe around his shoulders. Embarrassment was clear on his smooth-skinned face.

"Command and Control has shut down the main sensor net, Ambassador. I have done so with our net as well, but I fear that we may have been noticed."

The ambassador, her face grim and cold, nodded. "Do not concern yourself, Lennier, you have done as best as can be expected." She sighed, marshaling her thoughts. "I have expected this day for some time. I will have to speak to the Captain…"

The comm screen beeped, and Delenn turned to it.

"Accept message," she said.

The Babcom logo cleared to show the face of John Sheridan, Captain Earthforce, Commander of the Babylon Five station. His short blonde hair was mussed, a baseball cap in his hands. The wall of the Garden arched up behind him, canals and orchards climbing up into the sky. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his batting-glove.

"Ambassador Delenn!" he growled, "I’d like to speak with you in my office if I may. At your

earliest convenience."

The ambassador smiled back, the skin around her eyes crinkling up. "Of course Captain, I will be there presently." She made a small half-bow, and Sheridan nodded, closing the channel. With the comm off, Delenn sighed again, her smile vanishing. She arched an eyebrow at Lennier.

"Contact Mimbar at once, file the standard report and copy it to frontier command. Tell them that we have kotain in the helissa."

Lennier bowed as she left the room. His eyes followed her, though; he was troubled.

John Sheridan, Earthforce Captain and commander of the Babylon Five station, sat at his desk still dressed in his jersey and shorts, a cold pastrami sandwich on a plate and a half-drunk iced tea next to the piles of printout. Ivanova’s image moved on his number two intercom monitor, relating the intermediary progress report from the tech section.

"Well, so far they’ve found six cutouts on the exterior traffic tracking array, all of which are routed into the main communications relays just inside the secondary shell of the station. Our best guess is that Lennier and whoever was helping him worked for months to get these in."

Sheridan grimaced. Nothing like a presumably friendly power to put you in a tight spot with some old-fashioned espionage. "Can we just turn them off, or do we have to pull them all out by hand?"

"Right now I’ve got the techs just shutting them down, but I don’t think that Earthdome is going to want us to leave them in place. They are a continuing security risk."

"I understand, Commander, though I’m sure that Mister Lennier would hate to have all of his work go to waste. Get a schematic of all of them, Susan. Turn them off now, we’ll have the techs remove them as part of standard maintenance over the next repair cycle."

"Aye, Sir. Ivanova out."

Sheridan sighed gustily and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to clear some of the grit of batting practice away. Why do we have to have a snit with the Mimbari now? he wondered, things are bad enough with the Narns and the Centauri going at it… The door chimed.

"Come in," he muttered, then repeated it louder "Come in!"

Delenn entered, a half-smile on her face. She bowed once, upon reaching the front of the desk. "I would like to apologize, Captain …"

Sheridan waved her off, "Oh save it, Delenn, I know that you’ve probably had that secondary network in place since the station was built. My concern at the moment is why you should choose to activate it today, of all days, and interrupt my batting practice."

Delenn straightened her back, looking Sheridan squarely in the eye.

"The … network … as you call it is a standard defense mechanism for any Mimbari embassy, on Babylon Five or anywhere else. Though we are a powerful people, Captain, we are not without enemies that would do us harm. We have learned from unfortunate experience that we must always be on our guard."

Sheridan sat up in his chair, his hands cupping a baseball from the drawer under his desk.

"Who are you on guard against, Delenn? These new visitors, the, ah … what are they called…"

"The kotain. Yes, Captain, I know them well. All of Mimbar knows them well. There is a long history between our peoples; a dark history, filled with betrayal and murder." The ice in her voice gave Sheridan pause, this was an unfamiliar Delenn.

The ambassador shook her head and stepped back from the desk. "Again, my apologies. I will direct Mister Lennier to provide you with the schematics of where he installed his devices. I know that the kotain will wish to speak to you, Captain Sheridan, and to the Council as well — but I warn you, do not believe the things that they say. Good day, Captain."

Well, isn’t that a kick in the pants, thought Sheridan as Delenn stalked out of his office. I wonder how my next interview will go? He stared at the closed door. These kotain must be pretty rough customers to put Delenn so on edge.

He commed the C & C. "Ensign, what’s the ETA for the, ah, kotain ship?"

The four-winged frame of the Earth Alliance Starfury shivered a little in his hands as it swung into a slow roll-over on escort approach to the main station docking tunnel. Wing jets flared, responding to his touch on the control stick. Squadron leader Lieutenant Warren Keffer snarled in anger to himself, seeing that the two other fighters abeam of him had not matched his move exactly.

"Carter! Hall! Get in line, now! Keep that separation constant, gentlemen, or there will be hell to pay."

The black obsidian shape of the alien ship glided in silence below them. Keffer eyed it with professional concern. Overly large exhaust fairings on the two engines mounted aft of the central wedge bespoke a high rate of acceleration and turn in-system. Nothing about the flinty shape indicated any task but warfare in her operational plan. Still, she was small enough to fit in one of the larger shuttle bays on the station. He throttled back on his own maneuvering jets, turning left onto the fighter recovery platform. The visitor swung right in turn, deploying docking clamps, her engines cut down to a mere glimmer of flame. Then the platform deck rushed up and Keffer cut the jets, settling the Starfury into her landing cradle.

His helmet banged on the side of the boarding door as he stepped out into the ready bay. Still on edge over the performance of Delta during the afternoon scramble, he scowled at his pilots as they filed into the ready room airlock. The last in, he stalked the length of the locker room, noting the placement of gear, helmets, repair tools. At the end of the line, he found Carter and Hall at their lockers. Both were doing their best to ignore him. He sighed inwardly, things had been a little out of hand the last couple weeks.

"Ah… look guys, sorry to snap at you out there, it’s just … we need to stay sharp, allright?"

Neither pilot looked at him directly. Both nodded, "yes sir."

Keffer closed his eyes for a moment, counting to ten. At eight, he hissed in disgust and stowed his own gear. He needed to have a drink, maybe two drinks.

Sheridan’s office door chimed again, and he guiltily put the baseball away in the desk drawer. Standing, he walked around to the front of his desk. Unconsciously straightening his uniform, he called "Enter!". The door swung up and away and a tall figure stepped in. Drakon smiled as he came into the room, a slow effect, the left side of his face quirking up.

"Captain Sheridan?"

"Yes," answered Sheridan, his eyes narrowing as he took in the thin figure that now stood at ease before him. Easily Sheridan’s own height, dressed in a deep, almost velvet-black body-suit, with reddish highlights on the metal-work, the kotain Drakon was smooth-skulled, with a fluted bone ridge along the sides of his face and neck. Small dark tattoos marked his forehead and eyebrow ridges. His bare hand, outstretched in the Earth greeting, was narrow and fine-boned with pale gray nails and the faintest trace of scales in the webbing between the fingers. His eyes were a deep violet color and filled with humor. Fine wrinkles spidered out from them, eventually losing themselves in his tattoo markings.

"I am Drakon of the clan of the Iron Tower, of the kotain people. I am honored by your pleasant welcome, as well as the escort that your Commander Ivanova accorded myself and my people to your station."

"Oh," said Sheridan, realizing that the kotain was referring to Delta Wing riding herd on the alien ship as it came inboard. "Well, we’re glad that you found it so. Please, sit. Your secondary transmissions to the station indicated that you’ve already made preliminary contacts with my government."

"Yes, we thought it best, given past history, to approach one of your consulates on the Rim first, before we just barged in to say hello. In the past, there have been a number of misunderstandings, if you will, between my own people and other races. Particularly when we appear uninvited." Drakon paused, crossing one of his long legs over the other as he sat. Sheridan, watching him move, was momentarily reminded of someone that he knew, but the feeling passed just as quickly as it had come.

"That past history would involve the Mimbari, it would seem," said Sheridan, seating himself as well.

Drakon nodded, his long skull giving him an almost reptilian grace. Another half smile flickered momentarily, then it passed and he became quite serious.

"Captain, please understand — I come here on a mission of peace, of goodwill. It is my great hope that my people and yours can come to an understanding. But know also that my people have been at war for a very long time, and that the enemy that hunts us is Mimbar. We have done nothing but fight to survive for centuries; always running, always hiding from an implacable foe. These things have marked us as a race — we are not well suited for peaceful discourse and diplomacy."

Sheridan pursed his lips, saying "So you have come here, to this station, in search of peace with Mimbar?"

Drakon slowly shook his head. "No, that is a futile effort. We have tried it again and again, through direct contact, through intermediaries. No, we come today to seek an alliance with Earth, a strong alliance to offset the power of Mimbar." He drew a dark rust colored case from one of the pockets of his suit, placing it on the desk.

"Here are the details of an economic arrangement between the realm of the kotain and the Earth Alliance. I helped to draw it up; it is both quite comprehensive and quite lucrative to both our peoples. Too, we propose the construction of a series of Earth Alliance specification jump-gates out beyond the Akkad gate, the better to reach kotain space. Construction that we desire your people to build, and which we will finance."

The kotain ambassador went on, "Some of my compatriots on the homeworld would also like to propose a military alliance, but I think that is a little premature at this time."

Sheridan hefted the case of data-crystals. It seemed very heavy in his hand. He was filled with an undefined uneasiness. Something about a used starship salesman passed through his mind. He put the case down with a little clank on the desktop.

"If you’ve come to make an alliance with Earth, one that the Mimbari will doubtless protest in all possible terms, why come here, to this station that boasts a strong Mimbari presence? An alliance like this should have gone directly to Earthdome."

Drakon nodded, "I know — but we are tired of running and hiding. We have no need to hide at the fringes of civilized space any longer. We are strong enough to stand up for ourselves, strong enough to come here and request a place on the Babylon Five Council."

Sheridan’s eyebrow quirked up.

"As a member of the League of Independent Worlds?"

"No, as a full voting member of the Council, alongside Narn, Centauri, Earth, Vorlon and, yes, even Mimbar. As it happens, I am not only the messenger, but the presumptive ambassador to Babylon Five." He gave a slight half-bow.

Susan Ivanova was crossing the Zocalo when she chanced to see Lieutenant Keffer bellied up to the bar by the entrance to the gambling hall corridor. Glancing at her link she frowned — Keffer was still on the scramble roster even though Delta Wing had been recalled after the arrival of the kotain ship. For a moment she paused amid the rush of people in the square. Yes, he was ordering another drink. Gritting her teeth, she linked into C & C.

"Corwin, could you inform the Brakiri delegation that I will be about ten minutes late for our meeting about sanitation concerns?" She cut the link before Corwin could respond and angled through the milling crowd of humans and aliens to the bar. With a semi-cheery smile, she slid into the space next to Keffer.

"I’d like a cranberry juice, please," she said to the bartender, who grunted and turned away. "Well, Lieutenant Keffer, so good to … Lieutenant?" Keffer continued to stare into the amber depths of his shot glass with great concentration. Ivanova tapped him on the shoulder, then took his right ear in her hand and drew it close to her mouth.

"Lieutenant, I know you can hear me, so you will speak to me or I will have you cleaning bilges in the Pak’mar’a sector for a month." She smiled sweetly.

Keffer gave up and pushed the glass away, turning towards her. "Commander," he glumly acknowledged.

Susan’s eyebrows crept up alarmingly at the sight of his face. He was an unhappy Lieutenant Keffer.

"So, Warren, what’s troubling you? What’s causing you to sock back whiskey like a stevedore while on duty?"

Keffer winced. The Commander had her determinedly cheerful expression on, the one she trotted out when the fusion core was cracking open.

"Ah, nothing really, Commander, I’m just … having a problem with my flight. Nothing serious, just trying to figure out how to make this command thing work out. I … " He paused, his eyes filled momentarily with disgust and pain.

Susan stepped into the moment. "You’re riding your pilots really hard, aren’t you? I’ve been reading your readiness reports, and listening to your people in Earhart’s. They wonder why getting a command causes such a case of pig-headedness in a fellow officer. Your flight in Delta is as sharp a unit as we have, yet every day you’re all over Carter and Hall and the others for the smallest stuff imaginable."

Keffer nodded morosely, "I know, I just feel this terrible compulsion to make everything … perfect. Every time. I … I don’t know what’s bugging me."

Susan stood up, charging her cranberry juice and Keffer’s drinks to her link. She clapped him on the shoulder. "Get back on duty. Don’t drink again during duty hours, or I’ll have you up on charges. Take it easy … they’re a good unit, let them be." Keffer nodded and slouched off towards the lift tube. Susan sighed and strode off in the other direction; the Brakiri were waiting. She would finish with Keffer later.

Drakon paced back and forth in front of Sheridan’s desk, his mobile hands filling the space in front of him with fluid gestures. Sheridan leaned back in his chair, rolling the baseball between his fingers, listening.

"A long time ago," continued Drakon, "Mimbar was home to more than one sentient race. The gaizain and the kotain shared its u-shaped valleys and cities of crystal. Though we are related, we are not the same species, and during the adolescence of our peoples there was intermittent trouble. At last however, things seemed to have settled themselves. Both races reached out to space, seeking a new destiny among the stars.

"Each race made an effort to accommodate the other, to respect each other’s traditions and, most importantly for the peoples of Mimbar, their religions. But then a new prophet came among the people of Mimbar, and while his message was like fire amongst the dry grass for the gaizain, exalting them, it was anathema to the kotain. That religious difference became a political difference, and the political differences became a war. Mimbar burned then, with neighbor turning upon neighbor. The skies were darkened with the smoke of the ruin of a hundred cities and towns.

"The Gray Council, which had been formed to moderate the differences between our races, became a wholly gaizain institution. My people were slaughtered and driven from Mimbar. Those of us that were in space, or on our orbital colonies, survived the war — and even they were forced to flee, escaping in what ships they could scrap together.

"Our long exodus began, a dark time of pursuit and escape, of constant fear and ambush. They hunted us then with a hatred unlike any they have experienced until … quite recently."

Drakon paused, and Sheridan looked up, his face showing dawning realization. Drakon nodded and leaned forward over the desk, his face grim.

"Yes, Earth has felt that insane rage too. How many millions died in your war? How many of your comrades perished at the Battle of the Line? Now, Captain, imagine if that dark time had never ended — imagine if the war had gone on and on, down through generations. Imagine that your people, for centuries, were forced to hide and skulk and cower in the depths of seas, or in marginal systems far beyond the edge of known space. No civilization to call their own, no world to call home. This has been our existence until quite recently."

Images blossomed, unbidden, in Sheridan’s mind. The cities of Earth perishing in the orange flash of orbital bombardment. The unstoppable onrush of a Mimbari cruiser, lightning lashing from its flanks, devouring the Agamemnon. Human space stations cracking open in a bright blue flower, spilling thousands of bodies. His own hands, scrabbling in a pool of blood covering the command deck of his ship. The incredibly vast bulk of the Black Star prowling through the tumbling asteroids towards them while he and his men drifted silently, helpless in the tiny penumbra of Ceres.

"You saved us, you see. You humans saved my race, my people from annihilation."

Sheridan started, his attention focused again on the present.

Drakon turned towards the window. His face, shrouded in shadow, revealed no clue as to the depth of his emotion. Yet Sheridan could feel the kotain ambassador striving to pierce the barrier of otherness between them.

"When your scout ships destroyed the great leader Dukhat’s ship and plunged your own people into the abyss, it saved ours," Drakon said. "The long struggle between gaizain and kotain was about to end. Our last strongholds had been found, our few pitiful worlds overrun. The Council, at last, was turning its full strength against us. Scattered and weak as we were, there was little that we could do. Then, of a day, they abandoned their operations against us. They turned upon you, in this ‘madness’ of theirs. On that day, my people breathed again."

Drakon paused, his voice thick with emotion. Sheridan started to speak, but the ambassador forestalled him with a raised hand. He removed another case, this one of a pale silver metal, from his suit. Fumbling a little, he opened the case and removed a lozenge of pale blue crystal from it.

"This is a small token, sent by the lords of the Council, to you, as representative of Earth. A small portion of the thanks that we owe the Earth Alliance for the aid that you, all unknowing, have rendered us."

Sheridan accepted the lozenge and turned it over in his hands; it was delicately fluted, with a matching circular design on each face, paired with a reasonable facsimile of the Earth Alliance logo. It was beautiful.

"Thank you, Ambassador. You will want to address the Council, then, to bring your petition before it?"

Drakon nodded, "Yes, Captain Sheridan, I would indeed. Would you and your staff like to meet with mine — perhaps tomorrow? I wish to avoid any possible misunderstandings during our tenure here."

"Of course, that would be fine. Please contact Commander Ivanova to arrange it."

Drakon bowed again, and left. Behind him, Sheridan scratched his head and put the lozenge on his desk, next to the twisted piece of Mimbari battle-alloy that had come from the Black Star.

Well, two down … I wonder what surprises wait at the staff meeting?

Delenn gripped the archaic-style vase with an uncharacteristic ferocity. Lennier, who had just entered her quarters, pulled up short in shock. The ambassador was eyeing the opposite wall, replete with glass sculptures from Okobor III. She snarled and whipped the vase across the suite, smashing it squarely through the neck of a flightless bird poised over a small pool of water. There was a loud smashing sound, followed by a patter of broken glass on the decking.

"Ambassador…?"

She shrugged out the sleeves of her robes, shaking her head in disappointment. She turned to Lennier with a sad smile.

"Do not be alarmed, I was just … testing … something that I had seen in a human video transmission. For them it seemed to bring relief from anger. I, however, am still quite irritated."

"I understand, Ambassador." Lennier bowed. "Is there any way that I can be of assistance? Perhaps if I brought more vases?"

Delenn shook her head. "I have tried a variety of objects, and surfaces to hurl them into. Though the sound of the impact and the debris pattern varies, its effect on my mental state remains the same. I will meditate and perhaps find peace in that way.

"However, this is a minor concern. Has the foreign office replied to our messages?"

Lennier bowed again, smiling, "Yes, they accepted your recommendations."

"Good, then we will see the Captain as soon as possible."

Michael Garibaldi, the somewhat rumpled head of station security, arrived late for the command staff meeting and slid into the one remaining seat at the table. Steven Franklin, the elegant chief of staff of the medical lab, moved aside a little, his dark face smiling in greeting. The Captain acknowledged Michael’s presence with a nod and cleared his throat. The other command staff straightened in their chairs and turned slightly towards the far end of the table.

"Ladies, gentlemen. We have — as is usually case on B5 — a situation with these new arrivals. As you may have heard, there is an old antagonism between the Mimbari and the kotain . So far I have had the kotain ambassador, Drakon, in my office once and twice on the comm. Delenn has been in my office twice, and the Mimbari foreign office on gold channel comm once. So things are running pretty even. The short version of the story is this:

"The kotain are requesting a permanent presence on the station, in the form of an embassy and more than just that, a seat on the Council. And not just any seat, but a full voting seat, the equal of Earth, or the Centauri, or the Mimbari."

Opposite the Captain, Susan Ivanova buried her face in her hands and made a whimpering sound. Garibaldi started to itch under his collar and really wished that he could untab it. But that was not a good idea in a formal staff meeting. He settled for rubbing the short gray brown buzz that passed for his haircut.

"At the same time, the kotain have proposed what seems to be a very lucrative trade arrangement with the Earth Alliance, and the Mimbari — to counter that — have threatened extreme displeasure with Earthdome and, possibly, restricting trade in their dominion.

"The Council will have to deal with the kotain diplomatic requests, and though I have requested clarification from Earthdome about our position, I suspect that they’re not going to get on the bad side of the Mimbari. Now, our job here is, as ever, to keep the peace. Mister Garibaldi!"

Michael looked up, "Yessir?"

"The kotain ambassador, Drakon, has requested liberty for his crew on the station. I see no reason to refuse him that at this time, but it will mean that your people will have to keep an eye out for friction between the Mimbari and the newcomers. Ambassador Delenn has agreed to ask her people to remain calm and to refrain from any interaction with the kotain."

Garibaldi nodded, "I’ll brief the guys on patrol about the problem and I’ll ramp up our presence in the Zocalo and the more likely places these kotain will want to visit. From what I’ve seen of Drakon and his bodyguard already, I’d imagine that it’ll be a pretty short list … the library, the chapel of contemplation, the … well, you get the idea."

Sheridan grinned fleetingly, then turned to other business.

"One more thing," he said, "Ambassador Drakon has requested a meeting between his command staff and ours, which Commander Ivanova is coordinating for tomorrow morning. Please make room for that in your schedules."

Franklin was the last to leave, after clearing a new station air-testing regime with Sheridan. Ivanova and Garibaldi remained; Susan standing at ease next to the long table, Michael leaning back in his chair.

"Yes, Commander, what is it?"

"I wanted to discuss the situation in Delta Wing with Lieutenant Keffer, if you’ve got a moment."

Sheridan nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "Actually, Susan, I happened to run into Lieutenant Keffer in the mess just after lunchtime and discussed it with him. I think he’ll work out. He just needs to lighten up a bit. I’ve seen this before, it’s a common problem for a new commander."

Garibaldi glanced from Sheridan to Ivanova. "Problem?"

Ivanova nodded, pulling a readiness chart from the pile on the table. She pushed it across to Garibaldi, who spun it around with his finger. The face of a handsome young Angolan man stared up from the personnel report.

"Three weeks ago Keffer took Delta out on a sim of a hostile asteroid sweep. The opposing force was supposed to be Centauri raiders. The Captain was in command. While Delta was making the third part of the sweep, Alpha jumped them and one of the newbie pilots, Lieutenant Ikopane, lost the handle and piled his brand new F-27 into the side of an asteroid."

"Ouch," said Garibaldi, wincing at the thought.

Susan frowned at him. "That’s putting it mildly. We had to do a particle sweep to pick up enough of him to send home. We’ve had training accidents before; we’ve lost pilots, Starfuries, even a whole shuttle once. The problem now is that Keffer’s reaction to the accident is so extreme that it’s burning morale for the whole flight. Rather than drawing together, they’re being driven apart."

She sighed and straightened up, squaring her shoulders.

"Captain, I recommended Keffer for promotion to flight leader. That might not have been a good idea. I don’t want to just pull him out, though. In my opinion that won’t do his career jacket any good, and I don’t have a ready replacement for the flight leader slot."

Sheridan nodded, and Ivanova took a deep breath.

"I’d have appreciated it, Captain, if you had told me you were going to talk to him. Usually, I prefer to handle this kind of thing myself."

John raised his hands, palms out.

"I understand Commander, I should have left it to you. My apologies. Still, we have to do something about it. We can’t afford even one flight out of synch or unable to trust each other. Perhaps if we…"

Garibaldi coughed, breaking the Captain’s train of thought.

"A suggestion?" he said, raising a finger. "I see from the Lieutenant’s jacket here that he has not taken any leave in almost a standard year. Certainly none since he was assigned to the station. Why don’t you convince him to take a little vacation, see the sights, go back home. Forget about things for a bit. While he’s gone, you can put someone else in from another squadron and see if Delta settles out. When he gets back, maybe everyone will have a clearer head about it."

Ivanova drummed her fingers on the table-top. "It could work. Maybe. If I can convince him that it’s his idea to take a break."

Sheridan picked up his own papers, saying "do it."

Garibaldi stood, smirking widely at Ivanova. "And they say I have no talent for command."

Keffer sat on the end of his bunk, slowly shuffling through his dress shoes. He found a pair that were scuffed and pulled them out of the locker. With little enthusiasm, he unrolled a stained brown towel and put the shoes on it. More rummaging in the locker produced polish and a small stiff brush. He twirled the brush end around in the tin of polish and then stopped, staring at the shoe in his other hand.

I hate shining my shoes, he thought. Why am I doing it then?

Another part of his brain whispered, So you don’t have to go out, and meet anyone from the squadron.

He grimaced and began brushing polish on the sides of the shoe.

The door chimed. He looked up, feeling relief and a dull apprehension.

"Come in," he said.

The door swung up and Commander Ivanova strode in, a packet of papers in one hand. She smiled, her best "I have a lovely job for you, sailor," smile and slapped the papers down on the little writing desk built into the wall beside the bunk. She gestured at the packet as she sat down in the tiny chair.

"Congratulations Lieutenant, you’ve drawn a two-week leave. To make your life easier, I’ve booked you passage on a Horang cartel transport to Dodekhan that leaves tonight."

"Dodekhan? That’s a Mimbari system — why would I want to go there? And sir, Ah, I didn’t put in for any leave."

Susan put her hand on his shoulder, nodding sagely.

"I know Lieutenant, but your name came out at the top of the list, and it is your turn out of the barrel. At Dodekhan you’ll change ships at the transport station, and catch a Earth Alliance transport to Simonsen, where — if I am not mistaken — your sister and her family live. I already called her and she’s expecting you in three days. Oh, and your niece wanted a present, so … " She reached behind her and pulled out a bag with a teddy bear’s ears poking out of the top.

Keffer stared at the Commander, eyes wide. He felt like an ore hauler had rolled right over the top of him.

"A bear?"

"A very special bear, Lieutenant. I only have this one left." She put a finger to her lips. "Just don’t tell the Captain. He really doesn’t like teddy bears."