Thirdspace, p.2
Thirdspace, page 2
Vir blinked in surprise. He'd completely lost track of time.
"It is?" he said incredulously. "One in the afternoon? Really?" He realized he'd probably fallen asleep in front of the mirror and hadn't even realized it. "Well... what can I do for you? And whatever it is, can it be done at a later time?"
"We aren't entirely sure that Sheridan is putting the needs of the League at its appropriate level of importance," said the Bra-kiri, coming straight to the point. "We think you can do something about that."
"M-me?" asked Vir in confusion.
"We want you to talk to Sheridan," said the Drazi. "He listens to you. You are one of his inner circle." "I... don't think I am, no," Vir said, shaking his head violently ... which proved to be a rather drastic mistake, as he leaned against the wall and waited for the room to cease spiral-ing about him. "Londo, he listens to. I'm not Londo."
"You're not?" asked the Drazi, and when the others gave him a look, he shrugged. "All Centauri look alike to Drazi," he said by way of explanation. "No offense."
"None taken," said Vir, who hated to admit that all the Drazi tended to look alike to him, as well.
"That doesn't matter," the Brakiri told him. "In fact, that might be something of an advantage. Mollari always has his own agenda. If you speak to Sheridan on our behalf, you'll just have ours."
"Thank you, I guess," said Vir, uncertain whether he should be flattered or insulted by the observation. "And may I ask what your, uhm ... 'behalf ... consists of?"
"We want Sheridan to listen to us."
"He doesn't listen to you now?" asked Vir in confusion, certain that he remembered Sheridan always willing to make time for whomever needed to speak with him.
"No. He hears us. But he doesn't listen," the Drazi said.
"How do you know he's not listening?"
"Because if he were," the Brakiri said reasonably, "then he'd always do what we asked him to."
Vir rubbed the bridge of his nose, coming to the realization that the day was not going to get any better. And those fantasy sultry women who could ease his cares seemed very, very far away indeed.
Chapter 2
No boom today... boom tomorrow... there's always a boom tomorrow....
Those words of wisdom went through the mind of Commander Susan Ivanova, who was ensconced in the cockpit of her Starfury and staring down the gun barrels of the Raider ships, which were swarming around the transport vessel like remoras around a shark. She hoped that tomorrow had not chosen to incarnate itself as today, although with her typical Russian bleakness of mind, it was half what she expected. But expecting something at fifty percent does not automatically translate to accepting something at one hundred percent. Ivanova had no intention of going quietly into that good night. There were too many people-a quarter million, to be precise, to say nothing of her own squadron-who were depending upon her.
At the moment, the Starfuries, their dramatic open-X configuration distinct despite the chaotic flurry of ships, were deftly keeping the Raiders at bay. She supposed she should count her blessings, as few as they were. If the Starfuries had been going up against EarthForce vessels, the Earth ships would likely be perfectly happy to just blow the transport to kingdom come. The goal, after all, would have been to stop materials from reaching Babylon 5, period, and the transport-because of its size and lack of maneuverability-would have been the perfect target, no matter how many Starfuries were swarming around it protectively. These, however, were Raiders, determined to board the transport with as minimal damage to her as possible, the better to obtain the cargo intact. Consequently they were keeping their shots as much away from the transport as they could, instead engaging the Starfuries in single combat. And considering that the Starfuries presently outnumbered the Raiders, it put the advantage solidly on the side of Ivanova and her squadron.
As near as she could tell, all of the attacking pilots were Humans. For some reason, she took personal umbrage over that. If it had been alien invaders ... well, okay, it's aliens, with their own priorities and concerns. But when it was Humans on the attack, well, hell... she couldn't help but take it personally. It added to her overall sense of being beleaguered. All the forces of Earth were arrayed against them. She couldn't help but wonder if the only Humans on her side were those who were residents- however unwilling, in some cases-of Babylon 5. Weren't there any Humans who were simply outside observers, and just the least bit willing to cut B5 any slack at all?
The old axiom went through her mind: Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that everyone isn 't out to get you.
It wasn't just her, of course, as-out of the corner of her eye- she saw several Raiders angling in toward one of her wingmen. Delta 7 was being piloted by the normally reliable Marlette, but there was every likelihood that he was distracted by some other part of the battle.
"Delta Seven, they're coming in behind you! Watch your twelve! Watch your twelve!"
Marlette, alarmed but steady, glanced at his instruments and realized that he'd allowed himself to be distracted by a firefight near the transport. This-if there had been a less adept squadron leader handling the engagement-could easily have proven fatal. The Raiders swooped in behind him and Marlette gunned the ship to a ninety-degree angle, barely avoiding the blasts that cut past his flank. He breathed a quick sigh of relief and then set his jaw in annoyance. Sloppy, he chided himself as he looped back around to try and return the favor by coming in behind the Raiders. Realizing what he was doing, though, they split off formation, giving him too many targets to choose from. He grunted in annoyance, picked one and fired off a volley. He struck the Raider's rear stabilizer, not quite nailing it but at least severely hampering its maneuverability.
Ivanova didn't like what she was seeing. She wanted to see more teamwork, more consolidation of effort. "Form up!" she ordered over the comlink that connected her to the others in her squadron. "Keep them away from the transport! We can't afford to let them get their hands on it!"
Delta 7 said, "Roger that, Group Leader."
Quickly assessing the situation, the rapid-fire fighting machine that was the mind of Susan Ivanova chose a strategy and implemented it. "Deltas Two and Seven, I'm going to lay down suppressing fire, cover me!"
"Right behind you," said Delta 2, the always unflappable Watkins. Watkins habitually exuded an almost supernatural calm. It was as if he knew the exact time, day, and place that he was going to die, and because he knew it he embarked on any given battle with utter confidence, convinced that he would come through the conflict unscathed because it wasn't his time yet.
Ivanova's ship hurtled forward, Deltas 2 and 7 acting as her wingmen. She saw that Raiders were diving down behind them, but this time she didn't have to say anything because her men spotted the pursuers and acted in perfect accord with one another. The covering Starfuries flipped completely over while slamming on their reverse thrusters so that, in essence, they were flying backwards, pacing Ivanova while gaining full targeting access to the space behind them.
The Raiders were startled to find the Starfuries suddenly facing them, but they didn't have much time to be surprised as the
Starfuries fired away. Two of the Raiders desperately darted out of the way, while a third proved less fortunate. His ship exploded into flaming shards, which spiraled away from the scene of the battle.
Ivanova didn't have time to issue even a terse word of congratulations as she assessed the battlefield in front of her and prepared her own weapons array. What she had in mind was going to be tricky because the last thing she wanted to do was blow up her own transport. If that occurred, it would be the textbook definition of "Pyrrhic victory."
The time for her maneuver was now, though. The Starfuries had momentarily herded the majority of the Raiders together into one clustered area. She knew she had a good team with her on this outing. They'd been handpicked for their ability to more or less read her mind, and this allowed her the opportunity to operate with minimal chatter, and consequently, minimal chance of an opponent tapping into their transmissions and getting a tip ahead of time as to what she was going to do. Indeed, she narrow-casted her intentions only to her intended wingmen, certain that the remainder of her squadron would figure out what she was about to do.
Her faith wasn't misplaced. The Starfury pilots saw her angling down toward them at high speed, her wingmen moving in formation, and they knew that something was up. And when their instruments recorded that Delta Leader had gone completely weapons hot, they knew precisely what was going to happen.
"Stand by ... stand by ...," Ivanova warned not only the wingmen, but all the Starfuries in the area. The instrumentation aided her, but the bottom line was that she was doing much of the calculations rapid-fire in her head. She adjusted the angle of her ship ever so slightly, nodded to herself in satisfaction, and then bellowed, "Break! Fox two!"
All the Starfuries banked to either one side or the other, parting before her like hypochondriacs at a leper colony. And in one burst, Ivanova unleashed everything she had. A combination of pulse cannons and missiles, blanketing the vicinity around the transport like a shroud of napalm. Thanks to Ivanova's pinpoint targeting, the transport itself was completely untouched.
Definitely "touched," however, were the Raiders, as the frontal assault enveloped a good number of them. They tried to bank away, tried to bail, but there was nowhere for them to turn as Ivanova's attack run completely cut off their retreat. An entire unit of Raider ships simply vanished into explosive balls of flame, becoming indistinguishable from the roaring, burning assault that Ivanova had laid down. Within moments, all the flame that had blossomed in space had been extinguished by the unforgiving, airless vacuum. But not before a large number of Raiders simply vanished from consideration.
Ivanova knew that now was the time to try and put an end to this, while there was still some flickering light left from the flaming remains of the destroyed Raider vessels. "Commander Ivanova to raiding party. We're too evenly matched, you can't win." At that, she was being gracious. If she hit the Raiders with the indisputable fact that their fight was hopeless, they might just be perverse, arrogant, or stubborn enough to respond with useless bravado and a determination to fight to the last man. It was hardly in the best interest of profit, but Ivanova had learned never to underestimate the stupidity that pride could generate. "I suggest you surrender or withdraw before you're destroyed." It would have been too much to hope for, she supposed, that they would go for that. And she was promptly rewarded by the sharp and rather arrogant retort from the apparent leader of her opponents. "Not a chance," came the harsh and somewhat guttural-sounding reply. "We know there's Quantium 40 aboard that ship. That stuff's going for millions of credits an ounce... and we're not leaving here without it."
There was something to be said for his dedication. If only he weren't a thieving slimeball, he might actually have been of some use to the cause. Ah, well. "Tough," said Ivanova, not exactly exuding gobs of sympathy. "You're not getting it."
His voice turned wheedling. "We could make a deal... give you a piece of the action..."
Her opinion of him dropped even lower than it already had been, which was impressive. What did he think, she was bone stupid? As if she would be defending the damned transport if she was interested in stealing from it. For that matter, as if she would be ignorant enough to turn around and trust a thief. Her thumb hovered over her targeting device as she weighed the emotional satisfaction she would take from simply blowing this idiot out of space. But she restrained herself. "Forget it," she said tersely. "Look, there's no way you're coming out of this a winner. At best it's a standoff."
Despite his situation, the Raider replied with what sounded like a satisfied chortle, "You mean ... it was a standoff."
At that moment, Watkins' voice came through on the com system. It carried a tone of observation rather than alarm, as he reported, "Commander... jump point forming."
Sure enough, a jump point had leaped into existence a mere two hundred thousand kilometers away. The Starfiiries automatically cleared the area as what was clearly the Raiders' base ship came roaring out of hyperspace and into normal space. It was bristling with weapons, and if an inanimate object was at all capable of projecting pure attitude, then this one was doing so.
Ivanova's expression would have been completely inscrutable to any onlooker as she observed the mother ship bearing down on them, clearly ready for battle if the demands of the
Raiders were not met. She heard the same arrogant voice coming over her com system as the Raider said smugly, "Now about that surrender..."
Ivanova wasn't certain, of course, precisely what the Raider expected her to say in reply. A quick surrender, perhaps, or maybe some bluster to cover fear in her voice. He was probably expecting anything, in short, except what he got, which was a tone even more smug than his as she replied, "Funny, I was just about to say the same thing." She pushed a button on her console. As she did so, she murmured to herself, "Say cheese."
Seconds later, in response to the signal that she had sent, several more jump points flared into existence, and leaping out of them came several White Star vessels. The White Stars were Minbari vessels that were utterly at the disposal of the elite Minbari-trained fighting force known as the Rangers. The Raiders, particularly those aboard the mother ship, couldn't believe what they were seeing. The vessels looked far too small to be capable of carrying the massive engines required for the formation of jump points, yet here they were. The perfect battle machines, the sleek, hawk-like White Stars were already firing even as they shot out of hyperspace and squarely into the midst of the confrontation.
The Raiders' mother ship, on the other hand, was big and bulky, as was normally required for ships equipped with jump point engines. And it was totally unprepared for getting out of the way of the White Stars, try as it might. The White Stars peppered the mother ship with concentrated bursts and salvos, targeting the engines first, so that the vessel couldn't run. Next they targeted the mother ship's weapons facilities, and those quickly fell beneath the assault of the Minbari ships.
There was a momentary lull in the barrage, and the White Stars began to converge menacingly around the remaining Raiders. The mother ship was helpless, no longer even able to maneuver on its own, much less create a jump point and escape into the relative safety of hyperspace. Ivanova, in a burst of self-restraint, opted not to say "nyaah nyaah" over her communications band.
And then, seconds later, the familiar voice of John Sheridan came over not only her comm links, but those of the Raiders as well.
"This is the White Star fleet to raiding party," Sheridan said, never more sanguine than when he knew he held all the cards. "We've just cut off your means of escape and the nearest jump gate is several hours from here. You've got nowhere to go and we have locked our weapons onto your ships. Surrender and prepare to be boarded." When no answer was immediately forthcoming, he added, "I won't ask again."
Ivanova wasn't sure if the Raider was getting instructions from his own people ... or just giving himself a moment to fully come to terms with the hopelessness of his situation before surrendering to it. "We hear you," he said with a sigh. "Standing down."
"A wise move," Sheridan informed them. Then, without missing a beat-as if their capitulation were so certain that it was merely a formality to be dispensed with as quickly as possible- Sheridan continued, "Commander Ivanova..."
She perked up immediately upon hearing her name, and nodded, before realizing that nodding wasn't an especially useful response. "Yes, sir," she said crisply.
"Since this particular mousetrap was your idea, you get to go on home while we escort these gentlemen to the penal colony in the Drazi Freehold."
Ivanova was renowned for many things. Her loyalty, her boundless confidence, her quick thinking. But there was one aspect of her personality that was truly legendary: her ability to recognize that someone felt bad about a situation... and make them feel even worse. She was so accomplished at turning the screws that one disgruntled, and to this day unknown, crewman in Command and Control had once left an entire screwdriver kit sitting at her station. She had appreciated the compliment.
"You sure I can't go with you?" she asked, her voice laced with disappointment. "I want to see their faces when they get a sniff of Drazi cooking."
Sheridan endeavored to keep the amusement out of his voice as he replied, "Negative, Commander. And make sure everyone hears about this," he added after a moment's thought. "If we can make the Raiders worry that every valuable cargo might be another mousetrap, it'll help discourage them from hitting more ships bound for Babylon 5. With this embargo against the station, we need every supply ship we can get."
She made no endeavor to hide her disappointment. She particularly wanted to meet that one snotty Raider and rub his nose in his own former smugness. "So basically, I should take my cheese and go home, is that it?"
"Affirmative, Commander. You got them to risk exposing the battlewagon they've been using as a base. Now you're entitled to some rest."
Ivanova was positive she heard a low moan that sounded suspiciously like the Raider who'd just surrendered. It was one thing to suddenly find oneself faced with unexpected offensive forces. To realize that one had been set up from the beginning and never had a chance, well... that hurt. Knowing she was going to have to settle for whatever satisfaction she could garner from that, Ivanova said, "All right, we'll see you back at the barn. Let's go, Delta Squadron, we've got a long way to the nearest jump gate. Maximum burn."
The Starfuries followed as she angled away from the scene of their triumph, not yet realizing that she was heading toward still another situation-one that would prove not only less than triumphant, but to have the potential to turn into a defeat of cosmic proportions.
