In Valen's Name
Part 7
= = =
Confirmation that Sheridan and Delenn were safely in the Tuzanor camp came
through before Michael had brought the White Star to its mooring. Relief moved
through him like a drug. His body felt heavy in the command chair, his legs
unwilling to hold him when he tried to leave.
Back on the ground, Drew was waiting for him. "Michael!" Other voices swirled
around him, words of congratulation and concern echoed, hands patted his back.
"I was glad you were there, buddy," Michael said softly and simply when he
reached the young blond.
Drew nodded and laid an arm around Michael's shoulders. "Makes me feel good to
know I'm starting to think like you." Both men smiled sheepishly.
"Michael." This voice was Navain's. Garibaldi was surprised to find him here
among the hubbub of shaken, bewildered, relieved trainees. "You are wanted in
the Entil'Zha's office." The voice was as emotionless as the face.
Michael swallowed hard and nodded. "Thank you, Sech Navain, " he said with a
bow. "I'm on my way."
Garibaldi left at a trot without another word. Drew had to push a bit to catch
up.
"What are you doing?" Michael challenged with a scowl. "It's me they want."
"Just along for the walk," Drew shrugged. "You could walk, you know," he
chided. Michael slowed his pace only slightly. "What's this about, Michael?"
Garibaldi shook his head. "Aw, I was way out of line up there. I had no
business barking orders."
"You did what needed doing, Michael. For god's sake, we were under attack ...
"
"Chain of command, kid. Sheridan was the ranking officer." They stopped in
front of the administration building, and Garibaldi straightened his uniform.
"Thanks for the company. I can take it from here."
Drew's frown spoke his disapproval, but he made no argument. Michael left him
in the courtyard and made his way briskly to the Entil'Zha's office. The door
was open and Delenn welcomed him inside before he could offer any greeting.
"Michael!" Sheridan strode toward him, brow furrowed, voice sharp. "What the
hell just happened up there?"
Garibaldi froze in place, right hand on his heart. He attempted a bow, but
aborted it to avoid knocking heads with Sheridan. "Mr. President," he began.
"Who were they, Michael? Could you get an ID?" Sheridan stretched an arm
around Michael's back and drew him over to the desk where Delenn waited.
Immediately Garibaldi was reporting. "They show up as Star Furies, but they're
unmarked, and that organic black surface looks suspiciously like Shadow
technology."
"Are you suggesting they're EarthForce?" Sheridan demanded.
"I don't think so." Michael shook his head rapidly. His eyes narrowed as he
remembered. "I think that black skin was laid on over an EarthForce design Star
Fury, but I don't think those babies were EA. When we went in close on the last
one, I got a glimpse -- I thought I saw markings shining through the skin."
He looked at Delenn, her eyes wide with anticipation and fear, then at the rage
and determination in Sheridan's steely eyes. "I think they were Black Omega."
"Black Omega?" Delenn's brows knit in confusion as she made the inquiry.
"An elite squadron attached to PsiCorps," John explained. "Answerable directly
to the EarthGov President."
"And now, maybe not even to her, " Garibaldi pointed out. He turned to face
Sheridan. "John, I think they've gone rogue -- not that they were much better
than that before."
The other man nodded. "You may be right. If they were Black Omega that would
explain how they seemed to know where we were and what we were going to do.
Telepathic fighter pilots." He shook his head. "Helluva weapon."
"But why?" Delenn interjected. "Why did they attack us?"
The two men looked at her for a moment, then Sheridan glanced to his left at
Michael. The President's jaw was set, his eyes hard. "You thinking what I'm
thinking, Michael?"
Garibaldi met the glance, then his eyes dropped to the floor, as he sighed,
"Bester." He shook his head. "This one's never gonna be over, is it?"
"Bester?" Delenn asked. "John?" She looked to her husband for clarification.
"That confrontation we had with him the other day, in Stephen's office?" John
laid his hands gently on her arms as he spoke. Delenn nodded to urge him on,
but he looked to Michael before he spoke again. "He threatened us," he
whispered to Delenn.
Fear and fury mingled in her face. "Then you think he ordered this attack?"
she asked Michael. When he nodded she went on. "But how did they know where to
find us?"
The men were silent for a moment. "John?" Garibaldi studied the man, but his
mind saw a memory. "You said you came to Stephen's office to find me, to tell
me you were coming here. Is it possible Bester scanned you?"
"And that's how they knew where and when to attack." Sheridan completed the
thought. "It makes sense. With all that was happening, he could have, I
suppose. Susan always said strong emotion made it easier."
Strong emotion was obvious when Sheridan looked at his wife. He draped a long
arm around the tiny Minbari. "But it's over now," he said soothingly. "They
made an attempt on us, and were routed. Hopefully, Mr. Bester will learn
something from this."
Garibaldi straightened as the subject returned to the battle. Clearing his
throat drew Sheridan and Delenn's attention to him. "Mr. President, Entil'Zha,"
he said with a small bow, "I apologize for my behavior up there. I had no right
to give orders like that. I recognize that it was a serious violation of the
chain of command."
Sheridan looked down at Delenn, his brows arched in question. "Chain of
command. Yes. That is something to consider."
Delenn's eyes widened and she nodded. "Discipline is essential." The corners
of her mouth twitched. "Such actions should not go unremarked," she agreed.
Through a long silence, both Sheridan and Delenn looked thoughtful. "We could
have him court martialled," Sheridan suggested abruptly.
Delenn looked concerned. "Valen made no provision for such action when he
established the Rangers," she explained.
"Oh," Sheridan said flatly, stepping away from his bride. "Well, then, reduced
in rank?" he asked after a moment, looking back over his shoulder.
Delenn shook her head. "We do not have ranks."
"Really?" Sheridan asked in surprise. The Minbari nodded as her husband turned
to her. "Is that true?" Sheridan addressed the question to Garibaldi.
"Yes, sir, " Michael answered, staring at the wall over Delenn's head, and
suppressing a smile. "There is the designation of Anla'shok Na -- Ranger One --
but otherwise no rank."
"Who assumes leadership?" the President pressed him, stepping up to the desk.
"Leadership shifts according to situations, talent, experience," Garibaldi
explained, eyes straight ahead.
"Hmmm. Interesting, "Sheridan mused. He turned back to Delenn. "We have to do
something."
Entil'Zha nodded, a look of puzzled intensity on her face.
"Drum him out of the Rangers?" Sheridan asked.
Delenn began to nod, then stopped abruptly. "Technically, he is not yet a
Ranger," she pointed out, head tipped to the left, brows knit in confusion.
Sheridan pursed his lips in mock serious contemplation.
"Perhaps a stern talking to ... " Delenn suggested, her face lighting up.
Sheridan looked up with interest and pleasure. "About respect ... " he agreed
with a nod.
"And what it means to be a Ranger," Delenn continued, stepping closer to him.
The President interrupted. "You should handle that one."
"Yes, of course," Ranger One agreed, nodding vigorously. "And some serious
words about the consequences."
"Yes, if something like this were ever to happen again," John concurred. After
a moment of thought , he asked, "Shall I start?"
"Yes, fine." she answered.
Michael sensed he was being ribbed, but he bit his cheek and said nothing.
Sheridan and Delenn came around the desk and took position directly in front of
him. Sheridan spoke first.
"I understand that respect is one of the principles Rangers hold sacred." His
stare challenged Michael's resolve. "Your behavior today sure as hell earned my
respect, Michael, and I'm willing to bet, the respect of every trainee up
there." Grinning broadly now, he continued. "You clearly demonstrated your
leadership ability, your talent for strategic thinking, and the benefits of
experience in battle."
As Sheridan paused, Delenn began. "Every Ranger swears an oath, a solemn vow
which guides all action." She had to look up at him, and Garibaldi dared not
peek at the tiny figure with the solemn voice. " 'We live for the One. We die
for the One.' Your actions today made clear that those words are inscribed upon
your soul. You were willing to risk your own life to protect us, and you
expected the same from every one who aspires to the title of Anla'shok."
"And if anything like this ever happens again, Michael," Sheridan admonished
him, stepping even a little closer, "I will personally kiss you right on the
lips."
Garibaldi's resolve buckled. Laughter exploded through the carefully set face
of humility, laughter that Sheridan and Delenn quickly joined. Handshakes and
hugs and whispered words of gratitude and affection stayed with Michael's heart
as he went back to his training.
= = =
Evening and morning were filled with the buzz of nervous talk about The Visit
and The Attack. Michael could hear the capital letters in his colleagues'
voices. Cooler heads spoke soothingly. It had been dealt with. Move on.
Routine finally helped to quiet the mood. Back in the normal daily schedule,
the Ranger candidates settled into the last few days of their training. Lunch
table talk wavered between the anticipation of the final ritual and the
curiosity about the President's role. Would he conduct an inspection? Would he
take part in the commissioning ceremony? Michael wondered with some amusement
how comfortable John would be with all this ceremony.
Jhevnak was always the authority on the rituals; he would know if there were a
role for Sheridan. Michael scanned the room for the Minbari, but he was nowhere
in evidence. Garibaldi made a note to ask him later.
There had been no sign of the visiting dignitaries by the time they settled down
to meditation, and Michael had begun to think the John had begged off. He'd
never liked that kind of thing anyway, and if he could plead that he was shaken
up from yesterday ...
Michael's mind turned back to the attack as he eased into his rhythmic
breathing. Though he tried to let go of the disquieting thoughts, they returned
again and again. He relinquished the attempt to control, relaxed, and let his
mind take him where it would. Images came and went, dreamlike. The black Star
Furies. Telepaths. Mars. Sheridan. Bester.
'This one's never gonna be over, is it?' His despair echoed. Alfred Bester's
face stayed before him, but he wasn't afraid now. He knew who and what he was.
He wasn't afraid of himself anymore. There was nothing Bester could use against
him.
Even the rage had dissipated. The face in his mind, its dark eyes and twisted
smile, no longer stirred blood lust in him. Why? In his mind he heard the
voice, the sick, evil voice. A part of his gut twisted but he felt only ...
what?
Michael Garibaldi centered himself, reaching down to quiet his soul, to focus on
the nameless something. The image of Alfred Bester played in his mind again,
and he named the feeling: pity. Somehow here in the quiet of his heart, even
against the backdrop of all the horrors Bester had perpetrated, Michael
Garibaldi saw him as a pathetic little man, locked in a prison of hatred and
unhappiness.
And so what? a voice in Michael's mind challenged. Why does that matter? What
do you do about it? Michael released the questions and focused on his
breathing. He let his mind soar and dive with the images that danced there:
scenes of a life, his life, joys, sorrows, friends, missions.
His mind came home to his heart like a bird to roost. Bester would not change.
And this wouldn't be over. Not for a while, anyway. Maybe once he pressed
charges. Maybe not even then. But he had changed. And he was free. His life
was rich with people who loved him, and he had work to do that mattered.
Gratitude filled him, a little corner held out to feel just a bit of sympathy
for a one time enemy who would never know this kind of joy.
Garibaldi exhaled slowly, and opened his eyes. Rising, he moved on.
The martial arts class was well underway when the party of dignitaries arrived.
Sheridan and Delenn, with Navain and Ardret behind them, entered without
fanfare. They moved around the edges of the room, observing, stopping from time
to time to watch an exercise. No one gave any indication that they noticed the
couple's presence, save for the breathless, electric edginess that rippled
through the room.
When the group of visitors had reached the platform where Sech Durhan stood,
greetings were exchanged. The teacher signaled an end to the drills in progress
and the denn'bok appeared. One of Durhan's assistants produced two more of the
metal cylinders, offering them to Delenn and Sheridan. Michael smiled at the
awkwardness in John's face, and though he couldn't hear the words he could
imagine the exchange: John struggling to find a way to decline without offending
anyone.
Eventually, both the Entil'Zha and the President accepted the weapons, and the
trainees shamelessly watched and waited. Sheridan jumped as Delenn snapped the
weapon open. Amidst the ensuing giggles the Minbari demonstrated for her
husband the subtle movement that extended and retracted the pike. It did not
come naturally for the President. When finally Sheridan succeeded in mimicking
the move, the snap of his weapon startled them all.
Durhan set the trainees to work finally, and the group began the form practice.
Sheridan watched with interest, and Michael guessed he was trying to gauge how
like their EarthForce training in staff fighting this art form was. Durhan
approached the guests and said something, gesturing toward the training floor.
Michael saw the worried look on John's face again. After some resistance,
Sheridan could be seen to laugh, and nod, and offer something that seemed like a
scolding look to the amused Delenn. She held his pike as he removed his coat .
Durhan halted the form practice and motioned for the trainees to gather around.
He wasn't really going to do this, was he? Michael snapped his pike closed and
maneuvered through the group for a better vantage point. His sparkling eyes met
Sheridan's frantic ones. Garibaldi shook his head and grinned.
Durhan himself instructed the President, taking him through several
combinations. The circle of onlookers were encouraging and forgiving. Perhaps
that was what made Sheridan do it. Michael winced as he heard John agree to
take an opponent. Sheridan looked to his friend, seeking a bit of inspiration.
Garibaldi cocked an eyebrow, dipped his head a bit, and slowly shook it left and
right. A guffaw escaped the President, part delight, part anxiety.
An opponent was called forth to do battle with the President, and Jhevnak
stepped up without a trace of reticence. He bowed stiffly, without greeting,
and assumed a fighting pose. Durhan moved aside, and Sheridan tested the heft
of the pike in his hands, then he too took his stance.
Jhevnak struck first, his weapon crashing down toward the older man's left
shoulder, but Sheridan managed to block. The effort cost him his balance and he
stumbled sideways. Old training rose to the fore as he spun round into a solid
footing again. They traded blows, the encircling onlookers cheering every solid
hit on either side. Michael watched Sheridan's eyes. He knew firsthand the
pain of those blows, and knew too that John would never admit it.
Jhevnak struck out at Sheridan, leaving John an opening to thrust the pike under
his opponent's weapon, a blow to ribcage that knocked the air from Jhevnak's
lungs with a grunt. The Minbari staggered back a step or two, and Michael saw
concern sweep over John's face. He shifted the pike to one side of him as he
stepped forward to inquire about the trainee's well being.
The question was lost in the blinding shot of pain as Jhevnak's pike caught him
hard on the unprotected right side. Sheridan staggered now, right elbow close
in to his rib cage. Figures stepped forward: Durhan, Delenn, Michael. Sheridan
waved them all back, flashing a weak smile at Delenn. He had something to say
about not babying himself before he nodded to Jhevnak to begin again, but
Michael met Delenn's frightened gaze, remembering John's injuries on Mars.
The group gathered round was quieter now but the combatants took nothing away
from their efforts. The metallic clang of the weapons meeting echoed in the
training hall, punctuated by Sheridan's grunt each time the Minbari landed a
blow. Those vocalizations became more frequent as the President grew weaker.
He backed away from his opponent, defending still, but unable to strike an
aggressive blow. It was time to stop this. Michael looked to Durhan, whose
widened eyes and upraised hand reflected the same concern.
Durhan called out in Adronato, but neither of the men took notice. Jhevnak's
next thrust sent Sheridan's pike flying upward, only a desperate lurch by the
older man keeping it within his grasp. The Minbari never paused, but swung his
weapon round on the backs of John's legs, tumbling him. The Earther tried to
tuck and roll, but the effort was not wholly successful. He came up kneeling,
disoriented, hanging on to his weapon with one hand.
Michael heard Durhan's voice again, frantic this time, and joined by others. He
saw Jhevnak raise the denn'bok, and in that instant, Garibaldi saw the intended
path and purpose of the move. He heard a single English syllable echo somewhere
far off; "NO!" reverberated as if through a temporal rift. His own pike, long
clutched in a sweating palm, snapped open as Garibaldi launched himself out of
the crowd and injected his body between the fallen man and the pike bent on
severing his neck.
It struck instead on the flashing metal of Garibaldi's staff, that weapon
thrusting back against the blow, setting the Minbari off his balance. Michael
saw fury in the eyes of the trainee he had counted friend as Jhevnak steadied
himself and charged again. Standing his ground, Michael watched as though in
slow motion. When the Minbari was hard upon him, he sidestepped, bringing the
tail of the pike up into Jhevnak's midsection, driving up and forward to lift
the trainee's feet off the floor and tumble him. Jhevnak's pike clattered
across the floor as he landed hard on his back, the resulting breathlessness
sapping his consciousness.
Several trainees moved to restrain the Minbari as Michael turned to look into
the ashen face of Sech Durhan. The teacher said nothing, and Navain, with a nod
to Michael, guided him out of the area. Assistant teachers dispersed the
trainees, as Delenn dropped to her knees at John's side. Michael snapped the
denn'bok closed and moved toward the pair. Delenn believed not one word of
John's assurances that he was all right, and from the look of the man, Michael
thought that showed the Entil'Zha's wisdom.
Garibaldi stood over his fallen comrade, and silently extended a hand.
Sheridan's eyes followed hand to arm to shoulder, to solemn face with stormy
blue eyes. Wordlessly, Sheridan clasped the offered hand, and together the two
men raised him up.
"Let's not make a habit of this, OK?" Sheridan whispered before he released
Michael from his grip. Garibaldi smiled, and nodded, at John, and at the young
Ranger candidate hovering nearby.
= = =
It violated every instinct in his soul. Garibaldi had tried, sincerely tried,
to go about the normal business of the evening. Jhevnak had been detained in
the administrative offices, he was certain of that, and he suspected, assumed,
that the trainee had been questioned: by the master teachers, by the Entil'Zha,
probably by Sheridan. It was under control. It wasn't his job.
It made him crazy. He was a security agent. It wasn't the job, the title; it
was who he was. And the idea that an investigation was being conducted without
him drove him nuts. If he were honest with himself, it went beyond that. He
thought of Jhevnak as a friend. He needed to understand what had happened.
He excused himself from dinner, the Adronato for his apologies forming
thoughtlessly. The silent glance he exchanged with Drew before leaving the hall
was enough to put that night's jog on hold. Drew nodded his understanding.
Michael made his way quickly to the administration building, once more to
Entil'Zha's office. He did not know where Jhevnak was, but he was certain he'd
need permission to talk to him. Might as well go to the top.
Through the open door, behind the glass desk, he found only Navain. Delenn and
Sheridan had gone to the residence, the Ranger explained, to rest, and to eat
something. Michael put his request to Navain.
"May I see him?"
The Minbari was silent, his eyes searching the office for a place to light.
"Please," Michael pressed, "I'm not looking for a fight. I just want to talk to
him."
Navain moved his eyes slowly to Michael's. "No," he breathed, "you don't."
Garibaldi's eyes widened as he stepped closer to the teacher. There was in
Navain's face more emotion than Michael could ever remember. "What are you
saying?"
The Ranger turned his back on Garibaldi and walked a few steps away. He paused
there and when he turned back Michael detected a greater composure but no less
distress. "I understand that you want to investigate, Michael. It is your way.
You will not like what you hear." Navain brushed past Michael on his way to the
door. "Come," he prompted, resignation in his voice.
Navain led the way down the corridor, around a corner, to a door where two
Rangers stood guard. On Navain's authority the door was unlocked, and Michael
was admitted to the small office where Jhevnak sat. "Not long," Navain
whispered as he withdrew.
The young Minbari sat stiffly in the slender high-backed chair, his impassive
face reflecting in the black lacquer table top. Michael looked long, hard, and
deep, searching that face for something he couldn't name, something his
investigator's eye would know when he saw it, something that would make sense of
what happened today. Jhevnak gave no acknowledgment of his presence, even when
Garibaldi crossed to the table and sat in the chair directly opposite the
trainee.
"Why?" The question snapped out with a harder edge than Michael had intended.
Only then did Jhevnak look at him. After a moment the face before him was the
young trainee whose departure he had averted that first night. "Why what?"
Innocence dripped like honey from that voice, but Michael couldn't lose the
bitter taste of the venom he had seen flashing in those eyes the moment before.
Garibaldi tried to maintain an investigator's dispassionate tone. "You were
ready to strike a blow you knew would be lethal. Why?"
In the long pause, Michael could see the Minbari appraising him. " I became a
Ranger to defend my people against those who would destroy them." Garibaldi
strained to hear the coldly uttered words. "Starkiller destroyed my people. He
cannot be allowed to gain control."
Michael fell back in his chair, open-mouthed. He stared at the figure across
from him, the resolute face that looked through him. "You're serious," he
muttered, as disbelief ebbed. There was no reply.
Garibaldi swung himself out of the chair and began to pace. He stopped to look
again at the young Minbari. He shook his head and sat down again. Leaning
across the table, he spoke the trainee's name.
"Jhevnak ... " Steel grey eyes stared over Michael's left shoulder. "Jhevnak,
do you know what you're saying?" No reaction.
Garibaldi slapped a palm on the table, and the stony figure jumped
involuntarily. "You look at him and say 'Starkiller' and the man in front of
you is easy to hate." Michael was on his feet again, towering over his
companion. "But we all wear a lot of labels. I look at him and say 'friend.'
Delenn looks and says 'beloved.' " He bent down to the Minbari's eye level,
palms on the table. "Is it still simple to hate him?"
No response was offered to his question. Garibaldi began to pace again. " You
talk about 'your people.' Don't you get it yet? Don't you see it's 'our
people?' We're all in this together. We have to be. We aren't enemies, not any
more." Garibaldi searched the stoic face, horror and confusion contesting
within him. "The war is over," he said softly. "Put it behind us."
Jhevnak lifted his eyes to Garibaldi's face. "If the enemy is not destroyed the
battle is not over." His voice was icy.
Michael's body dropped into the chair with a thud. "I was wrong," he said, each
word slowly and separately enunciated. "It was hard for me to learn, but I
found out it is possible to forgive, and to accept forgiveness." His brows
pressed down so low they hurt, but he could not find reaction in the face across
from him. Michael pushed the heels of his hands across his forehead. "I found
out," he continued softly, his hands still shading his eyes, "that where you see
an enemy, if you look close enough, you can find a flawed, suffering, struggling
being." Garibaldi spread his palms on the table and looked again at Jhevnak.
"Not unlike yourself."
The Minbari's eyes scoured him, searching beyond his eyes, hope fading into
disappointment. "I had thought you might be different, that knowing Entil'Zha
Sinclair would give you the vision to see the Starkiller for what he is."
"Whoa!" Michael snarled. "Time out! Sinclair, Sheridan, and Delenn worked
together to make Valen's vision real -- his vision of peace."
"There is no peace."
The words, his own words, razored into Garibaldi's gut, far too close to a far
too fresh wound. He forced a breath to the bottom of his lungs and let it leave
him slowly. Behind closed eyes, he remembered, but his jaw still trembled when
he opened his eyes and spoke.
"The night we met you were ready to leave here." Michael opened his eyes. "You
said you weren't prepared for what was required." Garibaldi leaned forward,
trying to force eye contact. "But you chose to stay, to fight against the
darkness." With a sigh, the older man rose again, stood behind his chair and
continued.
"Sometimes the greatest darkness is within us. There is peace, real peace, but
each of us has to make room for it inside himself, has to drive out the darkness
and the hatred, and make a place for the light and the peace. That's the choice
we have to make every moment, every day."
The swift shush of the door drew Michael's eye; the sight of Navain at the
threshold told him it was time to leave. He looked again at the friend who
would not look at him, then crossed wordlessly to the entry. In the doorway he
stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Jhevnak?"
The silent figure shifted just a tremor in his chair, but Michael knew he was
listening.
"Choose the light."
_________
The twin moons of Minbar had shone over the compound when Michael and Drew took
their last circuit together. Now Garibaldi stood alone in the lemony light of
the sun that rose on his last day in Tuzanor.
The final days of training had passed quickly, a haze of business as usual and
immersion in new ritual. The Ranger candidates were not told what action was
taken against Jhevnak; they knew only that no place was held for him in their
rehearsals for the commissioning ceremony.
And now rehearsal yielded to reality. Garibaldi had not slept, and his attempts
at meditation had only added new images to his already racing mind. He
surrendered, dressed, and walked out to the courtyard where the ceremony would
soon take place. He strolled in the sun's soothing warmth, passing in and out
of the shadows of the platform where shortly Entil'Zha would accept their oath.
Do not speak the words, Navain had said that first day, unless you speak from
your soul. For three months now his soul had moved in and out of light and
shadow, and today, in just a few minutes, he would be called upon to speak that
oath. Was he prepared?
Other figures appeared in the courtyard, men and women, human and Minbari, all
dressed in a common uniform, all sharing that kindred sleeplessness. As the sun
cleared the horizon they returned to classroom building, and took their places.
They marched silently out into the compound again, moving as a body, taking
their places before the platform, candidates in front, Rangers to the rear. The
master teachers assembled next on the platform, to the candidates' right:
Ardret, Durhan, and the others. Michael was startled by Navain's absence. Why
was he not here?
Finally, Delenn appeared, and with her, Sheridan. The Alliance President took
his place at the rear of the platform, with no role to play save that of
interested onlooker. Delenn moved to the podium and began to address them,
words about delight, and respect, and compassion. Words about the Light and the
battle to preserve it. Words about the new Alliance and a shared future. Words
about honor and courage and certainty. Michael heard them with half a mind.
Within him, the ceaseless self-examination raged. Could he truly take that
oath? I am a Ranger. Could he pin that label on himself? Did he believe it
all, all the philosophy, all the mysticism, all the tradition that was The
Rangers? We live for The One. We die for The One. Did he even understand
that, before he could say he meant it? Did he deserve to speak those words?
Had he done the work, as Navain put it? And it didn't end here. If he became a
Ranger, he would be a Ranger forever. This was a commitment to a life, and a
helluva lousy time to think about changing your mind.
And then they are called upon to speak the oath. Many voices as one voice,
candidates and Rangers alike, they pronounced the solemn words. Michael
Garibaldi heard his voice within that voice.
"I am a Ranger."
The oath begins with this. Not ends, begins. I am a Ranger. It is who I am,
what I am, and have always been. I came to this because, in my soul, I am a
Ranger. That was what Jeff knew.
"We walk in the dark places no others will enter."
The dark places of drunkenness. The dark places of fear and pain and rage. The
dark places created by the Shadows, and the PsiCorps, by Clark, and Edgars, and
Bester. The dark places of betrayal, the ones he had known both as betrayer and
betrayed.
"We stand on the bridge and no one may pass."
Michael's eyes fell on Sheridan, there at the back of the platform, and memory
stabbed. I failed you, John. I failed you, betrayed you, when I should have
been protecting you. I am so sorry for that, John, and so grateful for your
forgiveness. I swear to you, today, as solemnly as I swear this oath: I will
never fail you again. I will guard your life with even greater care than I
guard my own. You have my word.
"We live for The One."
These are the words that must come from your soul. But who is The One?
Entil'Zha? Delenn now. Sinclair before. Valen once upon a time. And where
does President Sheridan fit in? They said the little Zathras guy, the one that
went with Jeff, that he had called Sheridan The One Who Will Be. Sheridan?
Entil'Zha?
"We die for The One."
So who are you willing to die for, Michael? What are you willing to die for?
The One. What is The One? Unity. Wholeness. Perhaps the person is only the
sacrament of the idea. Valen. Jeff. Delenn. John. Perhaps, someday, others.
Each of them a sign of something greater, something more important, something
worth dying for. The One. Our oneness, the reconciliation of all peoples in
peace. Something I can be a part of, something I have been a part of.
Something that is inscribed on my soul.
I live for The One. I die for The One. I am a Ranger.
Silence descended on the compound, an awed hush that even the birds dared not
break. Slowly, soundlessly, a procession began, each new Ranger climbing to the
platform in turn. Once there each offered a solemn salute to the Entil'Zha,
who, with a smile and a word or two of welcome, accepted them into the corps of
Rangers. This greeting done, Delenn turned to a table carefully placed behind
her, spread with rows of Ranger badges, the symbol of their new role. For each
she selected one pin, affixing with ceremony the symbol of Minbari-Human unity
over the new Ranger's right breast. A handshake then, and the Ranger moved past
her, to be congratulated by Sheridan, who likewise shook each one's hand. A
solemn bow to the masters, who bowed in turn, and the Ranger left the platform.
Again and again the ritual was repeated, a new face each time, but the same
mantra of motion. And then Michael's feet were on the stairs and the shiver of
joy told him it was real. He stood at attention in the brilliance of that
morning, looking down with respect and affection at the petite figure before
him. His right hand pressed to his heart, then extended to her. "Entil'Zha
veni!"
Delenn's smile widened as she mimicked the salute, and she spoke of her joy in
lilting Adronato. Michael's thanks, for all that had gone before, floated
gently back in the same tongue.
The Entil'Zha turned toward the table on which a scattering of badges remained,
turned and looked, then looked back at Michael, and turned further to face
Sheridan. She spoke softly to him, and the President jumped, patting at his
suit jacket. With a look of relief, he reached into a pocket, extracted a small
package, and opening it, presented it to Delenn.
With the box in hand, Anla'shok Na turned back to Garibaldi. There on his
chest, above her own eye level, the tiny Minbari attached the Ranger badge that
had belonged to Jeffrey Sinclair.
= = =
The courtyard erupted in celebratory noise when at last the ritual was concluded
and the Rangers dismissed. Delenn and Sheridan and the master teachers left the
platform by the rear stairs, and were no sooner out of view than the ranks broke
in a flurry of congratulation.
Michael searched the crowd with his eyes, his quest repeatedly interrupted by
the greetings of his comrades. The face he sought he could not find. He moved
through the crowd, offering and accepting best wishes, his peripheral vision
still keeping watch. The group moved gradually toward the dining hall, where
the day's first meal awaited. Garibaldi's path took him another way.
Inside the little temple he found the one he sought, off to one side, on a
bench, in the cool blue light. Michael approached quietly, not to disturb the
Ranger's meditation, and gently lowered himself to the bench as well. He closed
his eyes, and turned his mind to his heart. He was not sure how much time had
passed when the greeting came.
"Congratulations, Michael," the familiar voice intoned. "Welcome to the
Rangers."
The joy that rumbled through him made him giddy, but even as he spoke his
thanks, concern seized Garibaldi's heart. "Why weren't you there, Navain?"
The Minbari smiled faintly. "I was there, Michael. I would not have missed
it."
"You weren't on the platform," Michael protested.
"Because I did not belong there," Navain completed the thought. "My teaching
here was only a temporary assignment, Michael, as I told you. I return to
active duty tomorrow." He rose, and Michael followed suit. "I was in the ranks
of the Rangers, where I belong." Navain smiled proudly. "There is no place I
would rather be."
Garibaldi studied the face of the Minbari who stood opposite him, his own smile
gradually growing until it matched the one he saw. Memory and promise were in
that moment, soul imprinting on soul. Michael's lips formed 'thank you' but no
sound made it past the lump in his throat.
Navain extended a hand, which the new Ranger clasped eagerly, then spoke a soft
goodbye. "I leave tomorrow on a new assignment."
The hurt ambushed Michael's heart. He shook his head. "I don't want to lose
touch with you."
"You've done the work, Michael. You don't need me."
Garibaldi nodded. "I understand." Then with a shrug, he added, "but we both
miss him very much."
Navain closed his eyes and nodded. "That will always be true."
They embraced one another, colleagues, friends, brothers. Then together they
turned and together offered the traditional salute to statue of Valen above
them. Finally they saluted one another. "In Valen's name!" It was a single
voice.
Navain left him there in the temple, and Michael's eyes and his heart returned
to Valen, to Jeff. Words were useless, pointless, inadequate; all he could do
was to be here, to savor this moment.
"I thought they were crazy when they told me to look in here for you."
Garibaldi couldn't help but smile at that greeting, as he turned toward
Sheridan's voice. John strode across the room, hand already outstretched.
"Congratulations, Michael!"
The new Ranger accepted the hand and the wishes it represented with a broad
smile. His left arm wrapped around the President's shoulders, clasping him
close in friendship, an embrace heartily returned. When they stood back to look
at each other, Sheridan was full of questions.
"How does it feel, Michael? Is it all that you hoped for?" Garibaldi began to
chuckle as he realized there was no pause long enough for an answer. "Who else
knows you've done this? Stephen? God, he'll be proud of you."
John stopped for breath finally, and Michael cycled back to the first question.
"It feels good, John. It feels right." He laughed aloud. "And I don't intend
to let the good doctor rest until he admits I was right."
Sheridan joined him in the laughter, but then his smile faded. Garibaldi cocked
his head, concern and curiosity mingling in his narrowed eyes. "What, John?
What is it?"
John began hesitantly."Michael, there's something ... " His voice trailed away,
and he shifted uncomfortably.
Garibaldi's face became serious, his voice compassionate. "Just say it, John.
Truth between us."
John looked, gauging Michael's reaction. "Michael, there were calls ... from
Lise." The Ranger winced. "C&C told her you weren't on station, but she was
convinced you were. Finally she demanded to speak to me. "
"I'm sorry, John. You shouldn't have gotten dragged into it."
Sheridan shook his head. "That's all right, Michael. It's just that I didn't
know how you left it with her, or what you told her. I didn't know what to say
to her, or whether I should tell her you were here."
"I'm really sorry, John." Michael sighed. "What did you say to her?"
John took a few steps away, added his own sigh, turned to look again at his
friend. "Not much, Michael. She did most of the talking." He closed the gap
between them and laid a hand on Garibaldi's shoulder. "She said that she and
Franz had been talking through a lot of things. She said she wanted you to know
they were going to try to begin again."
Michael's eyes squeezed shut and he choked out a bitter laugh. "Were those her
words?" he asked. "Begin again?"
John's hand gripped Michael's shoulder as he nodded, "yeah, that's what she
said. Michael, I'm sorry."
Garibaldi laughed in earnest. "Don't be, John. I appreciate it, but it's all
right." He shook off Sheridan's concern and sat down to consider this news.
"Lise couldn't accept my choosing this life. She needs something very
different." He stared at the floor as he shared his reflection. "I love her,
John, and I hope she's happy, but I'm not the man who can make her happy. It's
better this way."
Sheridan searched the blue eyes, looking for assurance that there was truth in
the words. Michael stood, patted him on the back and smiled. "It's OK.
Really."
Almost convinced, the President was nonetheless uncomfortable. Eyes averted, he
asked, "What now, Michael?"
"Now?" He didn't really know. He was a Ranger now, with all that meant. "I
guess I'll be given an assignment."
"That," Sheridan replied, stretching the word out over a long breath, "is what I
wanted to talk to you about."
Michael's head tipped forward, left eyebrow and corner of mouth dipping down in
challenge. "Mr. President?"
John laughed awkwardly, then he sobered. "Michael, the events of the last week
have proven that we still have enemies. I wish I didn't have to think in those
terms, but it doesn't pay to be naive. Security is still an issue, and as long
as there are covert operations launched against us, I need -- the Alliance needs
-- someone looking out for our safety." Sheridan took a step closer to his
former security chief. "I believe in going after the best, Michael. I want you
in that role."
It was Michael's turn to feel awkward. "John, I appreciate it. I really do.
And I don't think you understand how much it means to me to know I have your
respect." The words emerged in an intimate whisper. Flushing, Garibaldi
brushed past Sheridan's left shoulder. "But I'm not ... available, John." He
stopped, turning to face his friend. "I'm a Ranger. I'll be given an
assignment. It's not my choice to make."
"Yes, well," Sheridan stammered, his face coloring, "I have a certain amount of
influence with Ranger One." The two men laughed, even as Garibaldi began to
shake his head. John raised a palm to silence him.
"Delenn and I have talked about this at length. We both want you handling
security and intelligence for the Alliance. Now, it's going to be in your
orders one way or another ... " He dropped his hand to his side. " ... but I
was hoping you'd want to do it."
For a long time Garibaldi looked at him: without guilt, without remorse, without
anger, without pain. He simply looked into the eyes of a friend. Neither spoke
until Michael put forth a hand. "I do, John, very much." Relieved and
delighted, Sheridan clasped that hand as Michael added a whispered word of
thanks.
Sheridan took his leave, extracting from Michael a promise to return to Babylon
5 as soon as the official orders came through, and offering the promise that no
surveillance tags would be slapped on him when he did. "Lochley be damned," the
President laughed. "You work for me now."
Michael watched him leave, then sat, feeling for the first time the effects of
his sleepless night. His eyes went again to Valen, his heart to Jeff. He let
himself drift into meditation. Or perhaps it was sleep.
His eyes snapped open as the hands touched his shoulders. "We missed you at
breakfast." The voice was as gentle as the touch. Drew took a seat beside him
on the bench. "I missed you."
Michael searched for the right words: an apology for not sharing this special
morning with his friend, an explanation of his need to be here, congratulations,
and thanks. Most of all, thanks.
Drew turned his head to look as Michael sucked in the breath to start his
speech. "Don't start with me," he quipped, one eyebrow arched.
To Garibaldi's open-mouthed stare, he explained, "You're gonna start talking
about honor and courage and respect. You'll start in about the meaning of being
a Ranger, about how significant what we've done is, and pretty soon you'll be
going on about friendship and how important we've been to one another."
Drew looked away, wrinkling his nose as he bit his lip. "Next thing you know,
I'll be bawling -- probably you too -- and won't we look impressive marching in
to get our orders with puffy eyes and runny noses?"
The first guffaw echoed off the walls of the temple, and soon, in truth, the
tears were flowing, as the two dissolved in helpless giggles. Garibaldi caught
his breath with some effort. He turned his body sideways on the bench, folding
a leg out of the way. "Drew?"
The young Ranger looked at him. "I know, Michael," he whispered. "Same here."
The older man showed just a trace of a smile. There were no other words needed.
"Orders, you say?" Garibaldi raised an eyebrow.
The blond stood and straightened his waistcoat. "We can pick them up in the
Entil'Zha's office. Word is she's handling it personally."
Garibaldi got to his feet. "Well, then," he said as he brushed himself off, "we
should present ourselves." Smiling, they headed for the door, falling naturally
into step. At the door they paused, looking backward to the image of Valen.
Michael's eyes lingered there, but Drew turned to look at his companion. "He
was right about you," he whispered when Michael met his gaze.
"Yeah," Garibaldi answered, finally secure in that knowledge, "he was."
They left the temple and strode briskly across the sunlit compound. "Would you
be interested in working in security and intelligence?" Michael inquired of his
companion.
"I'd be interested in working," the young man laughed, "anywhere they want to
put me. I can't imagine newly commissioned Rangers get any say in their
assignments."
Garibaldi held the door of the administration building open for his friend.
"Yeah," he said grinning broadly, "but I have a certain amount of influence with
Ranger One."
In Valen's Name 1
Part 7
= = =
Confirmation that Sheridan and Delenn were safely in the Tuzanor camp came
through before Michael had brought the White Star to its mooring. Relief moved
through him like a drug. His body felt heavy in the command chair, his legs
unwilling to hold him when he tried to leave.
Back on the ground, Drew was waiting for him. "Michael!" Other voices swirled
around him, words of congratulation and concern echoed, hands patted his back.
"I was glad you were there, buddy," Michael said softly and simply when he
reached the young blond.
Drew nodded and laid an arm around Michael's shoulders. "Makes me feel good to
know I'm starting to think like you." Both men smiled sheepishly.
"Michael." This voice was Navain's. Garibaldi was surprised to find him here
among the hubbub of shaken, bewildered, relieved trainees. "You are wanted in
the Entil'Zha's office." The voice was as emotionless as the face.
Michael swallowed hard and nodded. "Thank you, Sech Navain, " he said with a
bow. "I'm on my way."
Garibaldi left at a trot without another word. Drew had to push a bit to catch
up.
"What are you doing?" Michael challenged with a scowl. "It's me they want."
"Just along for the walk," Drew shrugged. "You could walk, you know," he
chided. Michael slowed his pace only slightly. "What's this about, Michael?"
Garibaldi shook his head. "Aw, I was way out of line up there. I had no
business barking orders."
"You did what needed doing, Michael. For god's sake, we were under attack ...
"
"Chain of command, kid. Sheridan was the ranking officer." They stopped in
front of the administration building, and Garibaldi straightened his uniform.
"Thanks for the company. I can take it from here."
Drew's frown spoke his disapproval, but he made no argument. Michael left him
in the courtyard and made his way briskly to the Entil'Zha's office. The door
was open and Delenn welcomed him inside before he could offer any greeting.
"Michael!" Sheridan strode toward him, brow furrowed, voice sharp. "What the
hell just happened up there?"
Garibaldi froze in place, right hand on his heart. He attempted a bow, but
aborted it to avoid knocking heads with Sheridan. "Mr. President," he began.
"Who were they, Michael? Could you get an ID?" Sheridan stretched an arm
around Michael's back and drew him over to the desk where Delenn waited.
Immediately Garibaldi was reporting. "They show up as Star Furies, but they're
unmarked, and that organic black surface looks suspiciously like Shadow
technology."
"Are you suggesting they're EarthForce?" Sheridan demanded.
"I don't think so." Michael shook his head rapidly. His eyes narrowed as he
remembered. "I think that black skin was laid on over an EarthForce design Star
Fury, but I don't think those babies were EA. When we went in close on the last
one, I got a glimpse -- I thought I saw markings shining through the skin."
He looked at Delenn, her eyes wide with anticipation and fear, then at the rage
and determination in Sheridan's steely eyes. "I think they were Black Omega."
"Black Omega?" Delenn's brows knit in confusion as she made the inquiry.
"An elite squadron attached to PsiCorps," John explained. "Answerable directly
to the EarthGov President."
"And now, maybe not even to her, " Garibaldi pointed out. He turned to face
Sheridan. "John, I think they've gone rogue -- not that they were much better
than that before."
The other man nodded. "You may be right. If they were Black Omega that would
explain how they seemed to know where we were and what we were going to do.
Telepathic fighter pilots." He shook his head. "Helluva weapon."
"But why?" Delenn interjected. "Why did they attack us?"
The two men looked at her for a moment, then Sheridan glanced to his left at
Michael. The President's jaw was set, his eyes hard. "You thinking what I'm
thinking, Michael?"
Garibaldi met the glance, then his eyes dropped to the floor, as he sighed,
"Bester." He shook his head. "This one's never gonna be over, is it?"
"Bester?" Delenn asked. "John?" She looked to her husband for clarification.
"That confrontation we had with him the other day, in Stephen's office?" John
laid his hands gently on her arms as he spoke. Delenn nodded to urge him on,
but he looked to Michael before he spoke again. "He threatened us," he
whispered to Delenn.
Fear and fury mingled in her face. "Then you think he ordered this attack?"
she asked Michael. When he nodded she went on. "But how did they know where to
find us?"
The men were silent for a moment. "John?" Garibaldi studied the man, but his
mind saw a memory. "You said you came to Stephen's office to find me, to tell
me you were coming here. Is it possible Bester scanned you?"
"And that's how they knew where and when to attack." Sheridan completed the
thought. "It makes sense. With all that was happening, he could have, I
suppose. Susan always said strong emotion made it easier."
Strong emotion was obvious when Sheridan looked at his wife. He draped a long
arm around the tiny Minbari. "But it's over now," he said soothingly. "They
made an attempt on us, and were routed. Hopefully, Mr. Bester will learn
something from this."
Garibaldi straightened as the subject returned to the battle. Clearing his
throat drew Sheridan and Delenn's attention to him. "Mr. President, Entil'Zha,"
he said with a small bow, "I apologize for my behavior up there. I had no right
to give orders like that. I recognize that it was a serious violation of the
chain of command."
Sheridan looked down at Delenn, his brows arched in question. "Chain of
command. Yes. That is something to consider."
Delenn's eyes widened and she nodded. "Discipline is essential." The corners
of her mouth twitched. "Such actions should not go unremarked," she agreed.
Through a long silence, both Sheridan and Delenn looked thoughtful. "We could
have him court martialled," Sheridan suggested abruptly.
Delenn looked concerned. "Valen made no provision for such action when he
established the Rangers," she explained.
"Oh," Sheridan said flatly, stepping away from his bride. "Well, then, reduced
in rank?" he asked after a moment, looking back over his shoulder.
Delenn shook her head. "We do not have ranks."
"Really?" Sheridan asked in surprise. The Minbari nodded as her husband turned
to her. "Is that true?" Sheridan addressed the question to Garibaldi.
"Yes, sir, " Michael answered, staring at the wall over Delenn's head, and
suppressing a smile. "There is the designation of Anla'shok Na -- Ranger One --
but otherwise no rank."
"Who assumes leadership?" the President pressed him, stepping up to the desk.
"Leadership shifts according to situations, talent, experience," Garibaldi
explained, eyes straight ahead.
"Hmmm. Interesting, "Sheridan mused. He turned back to Delenn. "We have to do
something."
Entil'Zha nodded, a look of puzzled intensity on her face.
"Drum him out of the Rangers?" Sheridan asked.
Delenn began to nod, then stopped abruptly. "Technically, he is not yet a
Ranger," she pointed out, head tipped to the left, brows knit in confusion.
Sheridan pursed his lips in mock serious contemplation.
"Perhaps a stern talking to ... " Delenn suggested, her face lighting up.
Sheridan looked up with interest and pleasure. "About respect ... " he agreed
with a nod.
"And what it means to be a Ranger," Delenn continued, stepping closer to him.
The President interrupted. "You should handle that one."
"Yes, of course," Ranger One agreed, nodding vigorously. "And some serious
words about the consequences."
"Yes, if something like this were ever to happen again," John concurred. After
a moment of thought , he asked, "Shall I start?"
"Yes, fine." she answered.
Michael sensed he was being ribbed, but he bit his cheek and said nothing.
Sheridan and Delenn came around the desk and took position directly in front of
him. Sheridan spoke first.
"I understand that respect is one of the principles Rangers hold sacred." His
stare challenged Michael's resolve. "Your behavior today sure as hell earned my
respect, Michael, and I'm willing to bet, the respect of every trainee up
there." Grinning broadly now, he continued. "You clearly demonstrated your
leadership ability, your talent for strategic thinking, and the benefits of
experience in battle."
As Sheridan paused, Delenn began. "Every Ranger swears an oath, a solemn vow
which guides all action." She had to look up at him, and Garibaldi dared not
peek at the tiny figure with the solemn voice. " 'We live for the One. We die
for the One.' Your actions today made clear that those words are inscribed upon
your soul. You were willing to risk your own life to protect us, and you
expected the same from every one who aspires to the title of Anla'shok."
"And if anything like this ever happens again, Michael," Sheridan admonished
him, stepping even a little closer, "I will personally kiss you right on the
lips."
Garibaldi's resolve buckled. Laughter exploded through the carefully set face
of humility, laughter that Sheridan and Delenn quickly joined. Handshakes and
hugs and whispered words of gratitude and affection stayed with Michael's heart
as he went back to his training.
= = =
Evening and morning were filled with the buzz of nervous talk about The Visit
and The Attack. Michael could hear the capital letters in his colleagues'
voices. Cooler heads spoke soothingly. It had been dealt with. Move on.
Routine finally helped to quiet the mood. Back in the normal daily schedule,
the Ranger candidates settled into the last few days of their training. Lunch
table talk wavered between the anticipation of the final ritual and the
curiosity about the President's role. Would he conduct an inspection? Would he
take part in the commissioning ceremony? Michael wondered with some amusement
how comfortable John would be with all this ceremony.
Jhevnak was always the authority on the rituals; he would know if there were a
role for Sheridan. Michael scanned the room for the Minbari, but he was nowhere
in evidence. Garibaldi made a note to ask him later.
There had been no sign of the visiting dignitaries by the time they settled down
to meditation, and Michael had begun to think the John had begged off. He'd
never liked that kind of thing anyway, and if he could plead that he was shaken
up from yesterday ...
Michael's mind turned back to the attack as he eased into his rhythmic
breathing. Though he tried to let go of the disquieting thoughts, they returned
again and again. He relinquished the attempt to control, relaxed, and let his
mind take him where it would. Images came and went, dreamlike. The black Star
Furies. Telepaths. Mars. Sheridan. Bester.
'This one's never gonna be over, is it?' His despair echoed. Alfred Bester's
face stayed before him, but he wasn't afraid now. He knew who and what he was.
He wasn't afraid of himself anymore. There was nothing Bester could use against
him.
Even the rage had dissipated. The face in his mind, its dark eyes and twisted
smile, no longer stirred blood lust in him. Why? In his mind he heard the
voice, the sick, evil voice. A part of his gut twisted but he felt only ...
what?
Michael Garibaldi centered himself, reaching down to quiet his soul, to focus on
the nameless something. The image of Alfred Bester played in his mind again,
and he named the feeling: pity. Somehow here in the quiet of his heart, even
against the backdrop of all the horrors Bester had perpetrated, Michael
Garibaldi saw him as a pathetic little man, locked in a prison of hatred and
unhappiness.
And so what? a voice in Michael's mind challenged. Why does that matter? What
do you do about it? Michael released the questions and focused on his
breathing. He let his mind soar and dive with the images that danced there:
scenes of a life, his life, joys, sorrows, friends, missions.
His mind came home to his heart like a bird to roost. Bester would not change.
And this wouldn't be over. Not for a while, anyway. Maybe once he pressed
charges. Maybe not even then. But he had changed. And he was free. His life
was rich with people who loved him, and he had work to do that mattered.
Gratitude filled him, a little corner held out to feel just a bit of sympathy
for a one time enemy who would never know this kind of joy.
Garibaldi exhaled slowly, and opened his eyes. Rising, he moved on.
The martial arts class was well underway when the party of dignitaries arrived.
Sheridan and Delenn, with Navain and Ardret behind them, entered without
fanfare. They moved around the edges of the room, observing, stopping from time
to time to watch an exercise. No one gave any indication that they noticed the
couple's presence, save for the breathless, electric edginess that rippled
through the room.
When the group of visitors had reached the platform where Sech Durhan stood,
greetings were exchanged. The teacher signaled an end to the drills in progress
and the denn'bok appeared. One of Durhan's assistants produced two more of the
metal cylinders, offering them to Delenn and Sheridan. Michael smiled at the
awkwardness in John's face, and though he couldn't hear the words he could
imagine the exchange: John struggling to find a way to decline without offending
anyone.
Eventually, both the Entil'Zha and the President accepted the weapons, and the
trainees shamelessly watched and waited. Sheridan jumped as Delenn snapped the
weapon open. Amidst the ensuing giggles the Minbari demonstrated for her
husband the subtle movement that extended and retracted the pike. It did not
come naturally for the President. When finally Sheridan succeeded in mimicking
the move, the snap of his weapon startled them all.
Durhan set the trainees to work finally, and the group began the form practice.
Sheridan watched with interest, and Michael guessed he was trying to gauge how
like their EarthForce training in staff fighting this art form was. Durhan
approached the guests and said something, gesturing toward the training floor.
Michael saw the worried look on John's face again. After some resistance,
Sheridan could be seen to laugh, and nod, and offer something that seemed like a
scolding look to the amused Delenn. She held his pike as he removed his coat .
Durhan halted the form practice and motioned for the trainees to gather around.
He wasn't really going to do this, was he? Michael snapped his pike closed and
maneuvered through the group for a better vantage point. His sparkling eyes met
Sheridan's frantic ones. Garibaldi shook his head and grinned.
Durhan himself instructed the President, taking him through several
combinations. The circle of onlookers were encouraging and forgiving. Perhaps
that was what made Sheridan do it. Michael winced as he heard John agree to
take an opponent. Sheridan looked to his friend, seeking a bit of inspiration.
Garibaldi cocked an eyebrow, dipped his head a bit, and slowly shook it left and
right. A guffaw escaped the President, part delight, part anxiety.
An opponent was called forth to do battle with the President, and Jhevnak
stepped up without a trace of reticence. He bowed stiffly, without greeting,
and assumed a fighting pose. Durhan moved aside, and Sheridan tested the heft
of the pike in his hands, then he too took his stance.
Jhevnak struck first, his weapon crashing down toward the older man's left
shoulder, but Sheridan managed to block. The effort cost him his balance and he
stumbled sideways. Old training rose to the fore as he spun round into a solid
footing again. They traded blows, the encircling onlookers cheering every solid
hit on either side. Michael watched Sheridan's eyes. He knew firsthand the
pain of those blows, and knew too that John would never admit it.
Jhevnak struck out at Sheridan, leaving John an opening to thrust the pike under
his opponent's weapon, a blow to ribcage that knocked the air from Jhevnak's
lungs with a grunt. The Minbari staggered back a step or two, and Michael saw
concern sweep over John's face. He shifted the pike to one side of him as he
stepped forward to inquire about the trainee's well being.
The question was lost in the blinding shot of pain as Jhevnak's pike caught him
hard on the unprotected right side. Sheridan staggered now, right elbow close
in to his rib cage. Figures stepped forward: Durhan, Delenn, Michael. Sheridan
waved them all back, flashing a weak smile at Delenn. He had something to say
about not babying himself before he nodded to Jhevnak to begin again, but
Michael met Delenn's frightened gaze, remembering John's injuries on Mars.
The group gathered round was quieter now but the combatants took nothing away
from their efforts. The metallic clang of the weapons meeting echoed in the
training hall, punctuated by Sheridan's grunt each time the Minbari landed a
blow. Those vocalizations became more frequent as the President grew weaker.
He backed away from his opponent, defending still, but unable to strike an
aggressive blow. It was time to stop this. Michael looked to Durhan, whose
widened eyes and upraised hand reflected the same concern.
Durhan called out in Adronato, but neither of the men took notice. Jhevnak's
next thrust sent Sheridan's pike flying upward, only a desperate lurch by the
older man keeping it within his grasp. The Minbari never paused, but swung his
weapon round on the backs of John's legs, tumbling him. The Earther tried to
tuck and roll, but the effort was not wholly successful. He came up kneeling,
disoriented, hanging on to his weapon with one hand.
Michael heard Durhan's voice again, frantic this time, and joined by others. He
saw Jhevnak raise the denn'bok, and in that instant, Garibaldi saw the intended
path and purpose of the move. He heard a single English syllable echo somewhere
far off; "NO!" reverberated as if through a temporal rift. His own pike, long
clutched in a sweating palm, snapped open as Garibaldi launched himself out of
the crowd and injected his body between the fallen man and the pike bent on
severing his neck.
It struck instead on the flashing metal of Garibaldi's staff, that weapon
thrusting back against the blow, setting the Minbari off his balance. Michael
saw fury in the eyes of the trainee he had counted friend as Jhevnak steadied
himself and charged again. Standing his ground, Michael watched as though in
slow motion. When the Minbari was hard upon him, he sidestepped, bringing the
tail of the pike up into Jhevnak's midsection, driving up and forward to lift
the trainee's feet off the floor and tumble him. Jhevnak's pike clattered
across the floor as he landed hard on his back, the resulting breathlessness
sapping his consciousness.
Several trainees moved to restrain the Minbari as Michael turned to look into
the ashen face of Sech Durhan. The teacher said nothing, and Navain, with a nod
to Michael, guided him out of the area. Assistant teachers dispersed the
trainees, as Delenn dropped to her knees at John's side. Michael snapped the
denn'bok closed and moved toward the pair. Delenn believed not one word of
John's assurances that he was all right, and from the look of the man, Michael
thought that showed the Entil'Zha's wisdom.
Garibaldi stood over his fallen comrade, and silently extended a hand.
Sheridan's eyes followed hand to arm to shoulder, to solemn face with stormy
blue eyes. Wordlessly, Sheridan clasped the offered hand, and together the two
men raised him up.
"Let's not make a habit of this, OK?" Sheridan whispered before he released
Michael from his grip. Garibaldi smiled, and nodded, at John, and at the young
Ranger candidate hovering nearby.
= = =
It violated every instinct in his soul. Garibaldi had tried, sincerely tried,
to go about the normal business of the evening. Jhevnak had been detained in
the administrative offices, he was certain of that, and he suspected, assumed,
that the trainee had been questioned: by the master teachers, by the Entil'Zha,
probably by Sheridan. It was under control. It wasn't his job.
It made him crazy. He was a security agent. It wasn't the job, the title; it
was who he was. And the idea that an investigation was being conducted without
him drove him nuts. If he were honest with himself, it went beyond that. He
thought of Jhevnak as a friend. He needed to understand what had happened.
He excused himself from dinner, the Adronato for his apologies forming
thoughtlessly. The silent glance he exchanged with Drew before leaving the hall
was enough to put that night's jog on hold. Drew nodded his understanding.
Michael made his way quickly to the administration building, once more to
Entil'Zha's office. He did not know where Jhevnak was, but he was certain he'd
need permission to talk to him. Might as well go to the top.
Through the open door, behind the glass desk, he found only Navain. Delenn and
Sheridan had gone to the residence, the Ranger explained, to rest, and to eat
something. Michael put his request to Navain.
"May I see him?"
The Minbari was silent, his eyes searching the office for a place to light.
"Please," Michael pressed, "I'm not looking for a fight. I just want to talk to
him."
Navain moved his eyes slowly to Michael's. "No," he breathed, "you don't."
Garibaldi's eyes widened as he stepped closer to the teacher. There was in
Navain's face more emotion than Michael could ever remember. "What are you
saying?"
The Ranger turned his back on Garibaldi and walked a few steps away. He paused
there and when he turned back Michael detected a greater composure but no less
distress. "I understand that you want to investigate, Michael. It is your way.
You will not like what you hear." Navain brushed past Michael on his way to the
door. "Come," he prompted, resignation in his voice.
Navain led the way down the corridor, around a corner, to a door where two
Rangers stood guard. On Navain's authority the door was unlocked, and Michael
was admitted to the small office where Jhevnak sat. "Not long," Navain
whispered as he withdrew.
The young Minbari sat stiffly in the slender high-backed chair, his impassive
face reflecting in the black lacquer table top. Michael looked long, hard, and
deep, searching that face for something he couldn't name, something his
investigator's eye would know when he saw it, something that would make sense of
what happened today. Jhevnak gave no acknowledgment of his presence, even when
Garibaldi crossed to the table and sat in the chair directly opposite the
trainee.
"Why?" The question snapped out with a harder edge than Michael had intended.
Only then did Jhevnak look at him. After a moment the face before him was the
young trainee whose departure he had averted that first night. "Why what?"
Innocence dripped like honey from that voice, but Michael couldn't lose the
bitter taste of the venom he had seen flashing in those eyes the moment before.
Garibaldi tried to maintain an investigator's dispassionate tone. "You were
ready to strike a blow you knew would be lethal. Why?"
In the long pause, Michael could see the Minbari appraising him. " I became a
Ranger to defend my people against those who would destroy them." Garibaldi
strained to hear the coldly uttered words. "Starkiller destroyed my people. He
cannot be allowed to gain control."
Michael fell back in his chair, open-mouthed. He stared at the figure across
from him, the resolute face that looked through him. "You're serious," he
muttered, as disbelief ebbed. There was no reply.
Garibaldi swung himself out of the chair and began to pace. He stopped to look
again at the young Minbari. He shook his head and sat down again. Leaning
across the table, he spoke the trainee's name.
"Jhevnak ... " Steel grey eyes stared over Michael's left shoulder. "Jhevnak,
do you know what you're saying?" No reaction.
Garibaldi slapped a palm on the table, and the stony figure jumped
involuntarily. "You look at him and say 'Starkiller' and the man in front of
you is easy to hate." Michael was on his feet again, towering over his
companion. "But we all wear a lot of labels. I look at him and say 'friend.'
Delenn looks and says 'beloved.' " He bent down to the Minbari's eye level,
palms on the table. "Is it still simple to hate him?"
No response was offered to his question. Garibaldi began to pace again. " You
talk about 'your people.' Don't you get it yet? Don't you see it's 'our
people?' We're all in this together. We have to be. We aren't enemies, not any
more." Garibaldi searched the stoic face, horror and confusion contesting
within him. "The war is over," he said softly. "Put it behind us."
Jhevnak lifted his eyes to Garibaldi's face. "If the enemy is not destroyed the
battle is not over." His voice was icy.
Michael's body dropped into the chair with a thud. "I was wrong," he said, each
word slowly and separately enunciated. "It was hard for me to learn, but I
found out it is possible to forgive, and to accept forgiveness." His brows
pressed down so low they hurt, but he could not find reaction in the face across
from him. Michael pushed the heels of his hands across his forehead. "I found
out," he continued softly, his hands still shading his eyes, "that where you see
an enemy, if you look close enough, you can find a flawed, suffering, struggling
being." Garibaldi spread his palms on the table and looked again at Jhevnak.
"Not unlike yourself."
The Minbari's eyes scoured him, searching beyond his eyes, hope fading into
disappointment. "I had thought you might be different, that knowing Entil'Zha
Sinclair would give you the vision to see the Starkiller for what he is."
"Whoa!" Michael snarled. "Time out! Sinclair, Sheridan, and Delenn worked
together to make Valen's vision real -- his vision of peace."
"There is no peace."
The words, his own words, razored into Garibaldi's gut, far too close to a far
too fresh wound. He forced a breath to the bottom of his lungs and let it leave
him slowly. Behind closed eyes, he remembered, but his jaw still trembled when
he opened his eyes and spoke.
"The night we met you were ready to leave here." Michael opened his eyes. "You
said you weren't prepared for what was required." Garibaldi leaned forward,
trying to force eye contact. "But you chose to stay, to fight against the
darkness." With a sigh, the older man rose again, stood behind his chair and
continued.
"Sometimes the greatest darkness is within us. There is peace, real peace, but
each of us has to make room for it inside himself, has to drive out the darkness
and the hatred, and make a place for the light and the peace. That's the choice
we have to make every moment, every day."
The swift shush of the door drew Michael's eye; the sight of Navain at the
threshold told him it was time to leave. He looked again at the friend who
would not look at him, then crossed wordlessly to the entry. In the doorway he
stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Jhevnak?"
The silent figure shifted just a tremor in his chair, but Michael knew he was
listening.
"Choose the light."
_________
The twin moons of Minbar had shone over the compound when Michael and Drew took
their last circuit together. Now Garibaldi stood alone in the lemony light of
the sun that rose on his last day in Tuzanor.
The final days of training had passed quickly, a haze of business as usual and
immersion in new ritual. The Ranger candidates were not told what action was
taken against Jhevnak; they knew only that no place was held for him in their
rehearsals for the commissioning ceremony.
And now rehearsal yielded to reality. Garibaldi had not slept, and his attempts
at meditation had only added new images to his already racing mind. He
surrendered, dressed, and walked out to the courtyard where the ceremony would
soon take place. He strolled in the sun's soothing warmth, passing in and out
of the shadows of the platform where shortly Entil'Zha would accept their oath.
Do not speak the words, Navain had said that first day, unless you speak from
your soul. For three months now his soul had moved in and out of light and
shadow, and today, in just a few minutes, he would be called upon to speak that
oath. Was he prepared?
Other figures appeared in the courtyard, men and women, human and Minbari, all
dressed in a common uniform, all sharing that kindred sleeplessness. As the sun
cleared the horizon they returned to classroom building, and took their places.
They marched silently out into the compound again, moving as a body, taking
their places before the platform, candidates in front, Rangers to the rear. The
master teachers assembled next on the platform, to the candidates' right:
Ardret, Durhan, and the others. Michael was startled by Navain's absence. Why
was he not here?
Finally, Delenn appeared, and with her, Sheridan. The Alliance President took
his place at the rear of the platform, with no role to play save that of
interested onlooker. Delenn moved to the podium and began to address them,
words about delight, and respect, and compassion. Words about the Light and the
battle to preserve it. Words about the new Alliance and a shared future. Words
about honor and courage and certainty. Michael heard them with half a mind.
Within him, the ceaseless self-examination raged. Could he truly take that
oath? I am a Ranger. Could he pin that label on himself? Did he believe it
all, all the philosophy, all the mysticism, all the tradition that was The
Rangers? We live for The One. We die for The One. Did he even understand
that, before he could say he meant it? Did he deserve to speak those words?
Had he done the work, as Navain put it? And it didn't end here. If he became a
Ranger, he would be a Ranger forever. This was a commitment to a life, and a
helluva lousy time to think about changing your mind.
And then they are called upon to speak the oath. Many voices as one voice,
candidates and Rangers alike, they pronounced the solemn words. Michael
Garibaldi heard his voice within that voice.
"I am a Ranger."
The oath begins with this. Not ends, begins. I am a Ranger. It is who I am,
what I am, and have always been. I came to this because, in my soul, I am a
Ranger. That was what Jeff knew.
"We walk in the dark places no others will enter."
The dark places of drunkenness. The dark places of fear and pain and rage. The
dark places created by the Shadows, and the PsiCorps, by Clark, and Edgars, and
Bester. The dark places of betrayal, the ones he had known both as betrayer and
betrayed.
"We stand on the bridge and no one may pass."
Michael's eyes fell on Sheridan, there at the back of the platform, and memory
stabbed. I failed you, John. I failed you, betrayed you, when I should have
been protecting you. I am so sorry for that, John, and so grateful for your
forgiveness. I swear to you, today, as solemnly as I swear this oath: I will
never fail you again. I will guard your life with even greater care than I
guard my own. You have my word.
"We live for The One."
These are the words that must come from your soul. But who is The One?
Entil'Zha? Delenn now. Sinclair before. Valen once upon a time. And where
does President Sheridan fit in? They said the little Zathras guy, the one that
went with Jeff, that he had called Sheridan The One Who Will Be. Sheridan?
Entil'Zha?
"We die for The One."
So who are you willing to die for, Michael? What are you willing to die for?
The One. What is The One? Unity. Wholeness. Perhaps the person is only the
sacrament of the idea. Valen. Jeff. Delenn. John. Perhaps, someday, others.
Each of them a sign of something greater, something more important, something
worth dying for. The One. Our oneness, the reconciliation of all peoples in
peace. Something I can be a part of, something I have been a part of.
Something that is inscribed on my soul.
I live for The One. I die for The One. I am a Ranger.
Silence descended on the compound, an awed hush that even the birds dared not
break. Slowly, soundlessly, a procession began, each new Ranger climbing to the
platform in turn. Once there each offered a solemn salute to the Entil'Zha,
who, with a smile and a word or two of welcome, accepted them into the corps of
Rangers. This greeting done, Delenn turned to a table carefully placed behind
her, spread with rows of Ranger badges, the symbol of their new role. For each
she selected one pin, affixing with ceremony the symbol of Minbari-Human unity
over the new Ranger's right breast. A handshake then, and the Ranger moved past
her, to be congratulated by Sheridan, who likewise shook each one's hand. A
solemn bow to the masters, who bowed in turn, and the Ranger left the platform.
Again and again the ritual was repeated, a new face each time, but the same
mantra of motion. And then Michael's feet were on the stairs and the shiver of
joy told him it was real. He stood at attention in the brilliance of that
morning, looking down with respect and affection at the petite figure before
him. His right hand pressed to his heart, then extended to her. "Entil'Zha
veni!"
Delenn's smile widened as she mimicked the salute, and she spoke of her joy in
lilting Adronato. Michael's thanks, for all that had gone before, floated
gently back in the same tongue.
The Entil'Zha turned toward the table on which a scattering of badges remained,
turned and looked, then looked back at Michael, and turned further to face
Sheridan. She spoke softly to him, and the President jumped, patting at his
suit jacket. With a look of relief, he reached into a pocket, extracted a small
package, and opening it, presented it to Delenn.
With the box in hand, Anla'shok Na turned back to Garibaldi. There on his
chest, above her own eye level, the tiny Minbari attached the Ranger badge that
had belonged to Jeffrey Sinclair.
= = =
The courtyard erupted in celebratory noise when at last the ritual was concluded
and the Rangers dismissed. Delenn and Sheridan and the master teachers left the
platform by the rear stairs, and were no sooner out of view than the ranks broke
in a flurry of congratulation.
Michael searched the crowd with his eyes, his quest repeatedly interrupted by
the greetings of his comrades. The face he sought he could not find. He moved
through the crowd, offering and accepting best wishes, his peripheral vision
still keeping watch. The group moved gradually toward the dining hall, where
the day's first meal awaited. Garibaldi's path took him another way.
Inside the little temple he found the one he sought, off to one side, on a
bench, in the cool blue light. Michael approached quietly, not to disturb the
Ranger's meditation, and gently lowered himself to the bench as well. He closed
his eyes, and turned his mind to his heart. He was not sure how much time had
passed when the greeting came.
"Congratulations, Michael," the familiar voice intoned. "Welcome to the
Rangers."
The joy that rumbled through him made him giddy, but even as he spoke his
thanks, concern seized Garibaldi's heart. "Why weren't you there, Navain?"
The Minbari smiled faintly. "I was there, Michael. I would not have missed
it."
"You weren't on the platform," Michael protested.
"Because I did not belong there," Navain completed the thought. "My teaching
here was only a temporary assignment, Michael, as I told you. I return to
active duty tomorrow." He rose, and Michael followed suit. "I was in the ranks
of the Rangers, where I belong." Navain smiled proudly. "There is no place I
would rather be."
Garibaldi studied the face of the Minbari who stood opposite him, his own smile
gradually growing until it matched the one he saw. Memory and promise were in
that moment, soul imprinting on soul. Michael's lips formed 'thank you' but no
sound made it past the lump in his throat.
Navain extended a hand, which the new Ranger clasped eagerly, then spoke a soft
goodbye. "I leave tomorrow on a new assignment."
The hurt ambushed Michael's heart. He shook his head. "I don't want to lose
touch with you."
"You've done the work, Michael. You don't need me."
Garibaldi nodded. "I understand." Then with a shrug, he added, "but we both
miss him very much."
Navain closed his eyes and nodded. "That will always be true."
They embraced one another, colleagues, friends, brothers. Then together they
turned and together offered the traditional salute to statue of Valen above
them. Finally they saluted one another. "In Valen's name!" It was a single
voice.
Navain left him there in the temple, and Michael's eyes and his heart returned
to Valen, to Jeff. Words were useless, pointless, inadequate; all he could do
was to be here, to savor this moment.
"I thought they were crazy when they told me to look in here for you."
Garibaldi couldn't help but smile at that greeting, as he turned toward
Sheridan's voice. John strode across the room, hand already outstretched.
"Congratulations, Michael!"
The new Ranger accepted the hand and the wishes it represented with a broad
smile. His left arm wrapped around the President's shoulders, clasping him
close in friendship, an embrace heartily returned. When they stood back to look
at each other, Sheridan was full of questions.
"How does it feel, Michael? Is it all that you hoped for?" Garibaldi began to
chuckle as he realized there was no pause long enough for an answer. "Who else
knows you've done this? Stephen? God, he'll be proud of you."
John stopped for breath finally, and Michael cycled back to the first question.
"It feels good, John. It feels right." He laughed aloud. "And I don't intend
to let the good doctor rest until he admits I was right."
Sheridan joined him in the laughter, but then his smile faded. Garibaldi cocked
his head, concern and curiosity mingling in his narrowed eyes. "What, John?
What is it?"
John began hesitantly."Michael, there's something ... " His voice trailed away,
and he shifted uncomfortably.
Garibaldi's face became serious, his voice compassionate. "Just say it, John.
Truth between us."
John looked, gauging Michael's reaction. "Michael, there were calls ... from
Lise." The Ranger winced. "C&C told her you weren't on station, but she was
convinced you were. Finally she demanded to speak to me. "
"I'm sorry, John. You shouldn't have gotten dragged into it."
Sheridan shook his head. "That's all right, Michael. It's just that I didn't
know how you left it with her, or what you told her. I didn't know what to say
to her, or whether I should tell her you were here."
"I'm really sorry, John." Michael sighed. "What did you say to her?"
John took a few steps away, added his own sigh, turned to look again at his
friend. "Not much, Michael. She did most of the talking." He closed the gap
between them and laid a hand on Garibaldi's shoulder. "She said that she and
Franz had been talking through a lot of things. She said she wanted you to know
they were going to try to begin again."
Michael's eyes squeezed shut and he choked out a bitter laugh. "Were those her
words?" he asked. "Begin again?"
John's hand gripped Michael's shoulder as he nodded, "yeah, that's what she
said. Michael, I'm sorry."
Garibaldi laughed in earnest. "Don't be, John. I appreciate it, but it's all
right." He shook off Sheridan's concern and sat down to consider this news.
"Lise couldn't accept my choosing this life. She needs something very
different." He stared at the floor as he shared his reflection. "I love her,
John, and I hope she's happy, but I'm not the man who can make her happy. It's
better this way."
Sheridan searched the blue eyes, looking for assurance that there was truth in
the words. Michael stood, patted him on the back and smiled. "It's OK.
Really."
Almost convinced, the President was nonetheless uncomfortable. Eyes averted, he
asked, "What now, Michael?"
"Now?" He didn't really know. He was a Ranger now, with all that meant. "I
guess I'll be given an assignment."
"That," Sheridan replied, stretching the word out over a long breath, "is what I
wanted to talk to you about."
Michael's head tipped forward, left eyebrow and corner of mouth dipping down in
challenge. "Mr. President?"
John laughed awkwardly, then he sobered. "Michael, the events of the last week
have proven that we still have enemies. I wish I didn't have to think in those
terms, but it doesn't pay to be naive. Security is still an issue, and as long
as there are covert operations launched against us, I need -- the Alliance needs
-- someone looking out for our safety." Sheridan took a step closer to his
former security chief. "I believe in going after the best, Michael. I want you
in that role."
It was Michael's turn to feel awkward. "John, I appreciate it. I really do.
And I don't think you understand how much it means to me to know I have your
respect." The words emerged in an intimate whisper. Flushing, Garibaldi
brushed past Sheridan's left shoulder. "But I'm not ... available, John." He
stopped, turning to face his friend. "I'm a Ranger. I'll be given an
assignment. It's not my choice to make."
"Yes, well," Sheridan stammered, his face coloring, "I have a certain amount of
influence with Ranger One." The two men laughed, even as Garibaldi began to
shake his head. John raised a palm to silence him.
"Delenn and I have talked about this at length. We both want you handling
security and intelligence for the Alliance. Now, it's going to be in your
orders one way or another ... " He dropped his hand to his side. " ... but I
was hoping you'd want to do it."
For a long time Garibaldi looked at him: without guilt, without remorse, without
anger, without pain. He simply looked into the eyes of a friend. Neither spoke
until Michael put forth a hand. "I do, John, very much." Relieved and
delighted, Sheridan clasped that hand as Michael added a whispered word of
thanks.
Sheridan took his leave, extracting from Michael a promise to return to Babylon
5 as soon as the official orders came through, and offering the promise that no
surveillance tags would be slapped on him when he did. "Lochley be damned," the
President laughed. "You work for me now."
Michael watched him leave, then sat, feeling for the first time the effects of
his sleepless night. His eyes went again to Valen, his heart to Jeff. He let
himself drift into meditation. Or perhaps it was sleep.
His eyes snapped open as the hands touched his shoulders. "We missed you at
breakfast." The voice was as gentle as the touch. Drew took a seat beside him
on the bench. "I missed you."
Michael searched for the right words: an apology for not sharing this special
morning with his friend, an explanation of his need to be here, congratulations,
and thanks. Most of all, thanks.
Drew turned his head to look as Michael sucked in the breath to start his
speech. "Don't start with me," he quipped, one eyebrow arched.
To Garibaldi's open-mouthed stare, he explained, "You're gonna start talking
about honor and courage and respect. You'll start in about the meaning of being
a Ranger, about how significant what we've done is, and pretty soon you'll be
going on about friendship and how important we've been to one another."
Drew looked away, wrinkling his nose as he bit his lip. "Next thing you know,
I'll be bawling -- probably you too -- and won't we look impressive marching in
to get our orders with puffy eyes and runny noses?"
The first guffaw echoed off the walls of the temple, and soon, in truth, the
tears were flowing, as the two dissolved in helpless giggles. Garibaldi caught
his breath with some effort. He turned his body sideways on the bench, folding
a leg out of the way. "Drew?"
The young Ranger looked at him. "I know, Michael," he whispered. "Same here."
The older man showed just a trace of a smile. There were no other words needed.
"Orders, you say?" Garibaldi raised an eyebrow.
The blond stood and straightened his waistcoat. "We can pick them up in the
Entil'Zha's office. Word is she's handling it personally."
Garibaldi got to his feet. "Well, then," he said as he brushed himself off, "we
should present ourselves." Smiling, they headed for the door, falling naturally
into step. At the door they paused, looking backward to the image of Valen.
Michael's eyes lingered there, but Drew turned to look at his companion. "He
was right about you," he whispered when Michael met his gaze.
"Yeah," Garibaldi answered, finally secure in that knowledge, "he was."
They left the temple and strode briskly across the sunlit compound. "Would you
be interested in working in security and intelligence?" Michael inquired of his
companion.
"I'd be interested in working," the young man laughed, "anywhere they want to
put me. I can't imagine newly commissioned Rangers get any say in their
assignments."
Garibaldi held the door of the administration building open for his friend.
"Yeah," he said grinning broadly, "but I have a certain amount of influence with
Ranger One."
In Valen's Name 1