Whatever warm reunion Alwyn was anticipating, he would be disappointed. Galen had changed too much, and no longer had the ability to be close to anyone, nor the desire to be. Alwyn would not make the encounter easy. He restrained himself for no one, spewing out his feelings and opinions without regard for his audience. He was sure to bring up the past.
But Galen would not revisit it. The air lock's control panel showed that the docking bay was fully pressurized. Galen took up his valise and left the ship behind, passed out of the docking bay, into the corridor that led to the security checkpoint.
Passengers from other ships joined him. After spending so much time among mages, he found them strange and unsettling. Their words were poorly chosen, their conversations loud, overlapping, their movements erratic, ill-considered.
A woman with a large embroidered bag banged into him and continued, not pausing in her monologue to her companion. A boy broke out in a high-pitched laugh and raced ahead of his parents. A tall Narn limped ahead, his clothes hanging off his frail body.
As they neared the security checkpoint, they formed into an unruly line, most gazing eagerly toward the customs area beyond. A security officer ran each passenger's identicard through a scanner. Galen recognized him as Sergeant Zack Allan. Zack had a craggy face, a scratchy voice, and an expression that had grown more and more grim over the last year.
He wore the standard green uniform with a padded brown flack vest. Beyond Zack and the weapons scanner was a large, noisy room filled with beings of various species. They moved about, taking leave of loved ones, or business contacts, or meeting the new arrivals. Since it was mid-afternoon, station time, activity was at a peak.
Screens covered the walls, displaying a variety of information and images, listing arrivals and departures, describing the layout of the station. A particularly prominent screen showed a man's head bidding visitors "Welcome to Babylon 5."
He scanned through frequencies, searching for any sign of Shadows, found none. The woman carrying the large embroidered bag was passed through security and with a happy shriek rushed into the arms of a man. He picked her up, swayed her from side to side.
There were 250,000 beings on this fragile station. It would be so easy for him to lose control here, just as he had on Thenothk. He should never have left the hiding place.
The line moved forward until the Narn in front of Galen reached the checkpoint. From the customs area, the chief of security for Babylon 5, Michael Garibaldi, strolled over, hands in his pockets.
Michael tried to present himself as someone relaxed, confident, and in control. In actuality, he was a compulsive worrier and suffered recurring doubts about his ability to do his job. He kept his receding hair cut extremely short, which, like obsessive neatness, reflected a feeling that the world threatened to spiral out of control. He often buried both hands in his pockets, indicating truths or feelings withheld.
In Michael's case, Galen believed it was the insecurities that were withheld, along with a recovering alcoholic's constant desire for a drink.
"Heavy traffic today," Michael said, with an appraising glance at the frail Narn, who was swaying.
Galen listened carefully to Michael's words; he had spent a fair amount of his journey studying the security chief's speech patterns.
"War is good for business," Zack said unhappily.
"We could use a couple more men here."
Michael nodded, then leaned closer, reading off Zack's scanner.
"Narn transit papers authorized by Abrahamo Lincolni."
With a heavy sigh the Narn collapsed. Galen dropped his valise and caught the Narn under the arms. He found himself face-to-face with Michael, who had also grabbed the falling Narn.
"Tell medlab to get a team down here on the double," Michael said to Zack.
His appraising gaze returned to Galen.
"Let's put him over to the side."
They moved the unconscious Narn out of the way, and Zack crouched beside them.
"I'll take care of it, Chief. And I'll talk to her."
Michael glanced nervously over the crowded customs area, and he kept his voice low.
"You better talk to her. Because if I talk to her, I'm going to do something a hell of a lot louder than talk."
They were speaking of Susan Ivanova, second-in-command of Babylon 5. She used the false identity of a Centauri named Abrahamo Lincolni to smuggle Narns off their occupied home-world in an underground railroad. The Narn's collapse would threaten to expose the enterprise.
Michael glanced at Galen.
"Good reflexes."
He took Zack's scanner and returned to the security checkpoint. Galen followed. Back at the head of the line, Galen reached into his jacket pocket for his identicard, dipping his index finger into the fine dust of the probes. He held the card out to the security chief with his finger extended along the underside.
When Michael took it, he brushed Galen's finger, and several of the probes passed to him. Michael ran the card through the scanner.
"So you're a trader, Mr. Phillips."
"Yes."
"Do you have anything to declare?"
"No."
"A trader with nothing to declare. That's a new one."
Galen looked out across the customs area, as if the conversation were of no concern. Alwyn and G'Leel were watching.
"I'm here to meet with possible clients. I cater to special requests."
"I'm sure all those special requests are legal ones."
"Of course."
Galen turned back to Michael, extended his hand.
"Since you helped out a minute ago, I'll give you a heads up. First-time visitors to this station enjoy my special attention. You may not always know I'm there, but I am."
Michael returned the identicard.
"I'll look forward to seeing you, then."
Galen retrieved his valise and moved into the customs area, approached Alwyn and G'Leel.
She looked just as he remembered her, skin a brilliant gold with black spots, white scar across her nose, intense red eyes. She wore a sleeveless tunic, gloves, and pants all of black leather. Her arms were sharply defined with muscle. All that was missing was her gun case, since weapons required a special permit. Her lips tightened as he stopped before her.
"G'Leel."
They shook hands.
"Hello."
Galen extended his hand to a smiling Alwyn.
"Mr. Alecto."
Alwyn seized him in an embrace, crushing his arms against his sides. Galen's body went rigid, as it always did. He did not like to be touched.
"How I've missed you, my boy."
With a disorienting flash it was not Alwyn embracing him, but his father, the choking smells of sweat and resin soap, and Galen wanted to shove him away, to encase him in scouring fire. Frantic energy welled up in him, echoing his panic, urging him toward action.
He abandoned his current exercise and began a more difficult one, calculating square roots. He'd never been able to sustain one so demanding – keeping all the numbers in his mind, figuring the solutions to five decimal places. He held desperately to it.
1.
1.41421.
Finally Alwyn released him, and Alwyn's eyes were bright with tears.
"It's so good to see you."
Galen nodded.
1.73205.
2.
No more of the past must leak through. He must retain control.
"Good to see you. Is there somewhere we could talk?"
"We have a suite of rooms."
Alwyn hesitated, as if still absorbing the fact of Galen's presence. At last he seemed to come to himself. His smile widened, and he led the way out of the customs area.
"I'd like to know where you're getting your fashion advice these days."
"Federico."
Alwyn released a hearty laugh and laid a hand across Galen's back.
2.23607.
A feverish chill circulated through him. As they passed down the corridors, his old sense of claustrophobia returned. He had exchanged one set of passageways for another.
These were wider and more ornamented than those he'd left behind, but still nothing had changed. He could not escape the two things that kept him prisoner: himself and the tech.
* * *
Through the currents of time and place Kosh sensed it. He sensed very little now, beyond the thoughts and actions of Sheridan. He would feel his aide, when she came close, and occasionally a faint echo of his replacement, Ulkesh, which would prompt him to become still and silent. Ulkesh could not know of his presence.
The one time Sheridan had met the new Vorlon ambassador, Kosh had prepared ahead of time, burying the fragment that remained of himself deeper into his host. He had nearly lost himself then. Eventually, though, he had reemerged, separating himself enough from Sheridan that he regained his own thought, and some slight sensation of the world beyond.
And so he sensed it, something beyond Sheridan. Not any Vorlon or touched by Vorlon. Instead, the opposite. An increase in the stench of chaos. Another of the ancient enemy, or one touched by them.
They had never realized that the Vorlons could detect them with such ease. So infused were they with chaos, they did not smell their own stench, nor that of their servants.
He studied the sensation farther. The energy was familiar. A fabulist.
But for the two that served the enemy, he believed they all had withdrawn from the galaxy. The energy's intensity was greater than normal, and he recognized the peculiar dissonance of its pattern. The one called Galen.
He dared not reach out farther, to see if there were others. He did not believe their entire group would have returned; not after all they had sacrificed to leave. Not while war raged through the galaxy. But they had sent at least one, their most powerful.
Galen had proven himself to Kosh before, fighting the maelstrom both without and within. The fabulists would have sent him to strike, at something.
Although their way of thought did not come naturally to Kosh, he hoped that they had sent Galen, finally, to stop those two of their kind who had stayed behind, who had chosen to serve the forces of chaos. Perhaps they had learned what Kosh had learned, that the two fabulists were at the center of a growing darkness, rebuilding an ancient force that had not been used in many millennia.
If that was Galen's purpose, then he was in the wrong place. In any case, he must not remain on the station. Although the enemy would not sense his presence immediately, if the fabulist drew their attention, they would quickly learn his true nature. Then the war, which had remained at a distance, would erupt here, at the heart of Sheridan's alliance.
Kosh's powers were weak. Communicating would cause great strain. But he had to show Galen the correct path to follow, had to send the fabulist on his way. On Babylon 5, he could bring only destruction.
* * *
Alwyn used a keycard to admit them to their suite.
The sitting room was small, with just enough room for a couch along one wall, two chairs opposite. Several doors led to other rooms.
Galen stood holding his valise. He was anxious to complete his task, but he had to deliver his news to Alwyn, and he knew Alwyn would not let it go at that. He would want to talk.
"Your bedroom's through there," Alwyn said. "Why don't you put your things down, get comfortable. Want a drink? We could order some food in. Are they even feeding you?"
Galen slid open the door to the dark bedroom, set his valise inside.
2.64575.
"No, thank you."
He had to get this over with. He sat in one of the armchairs, scanned the room for any probes the Shadows might have planted. He found none. Alwyn took two bottles of water out of a refrigerator built into the wall. He held them out to G'Leel.
"Which one?"
She pointed to his right hand. He tossed the one in his left toward her, but she made no move to catch it. In mid-arc, it vanished: an illusion. He tossed her the other. She caught it, twisted off the top, and took a drink.
"She's over eighty percent now. It's driving me crazy. I have no idea how she can tell."
It was just the kind of game Alwyn used to play with Carvin.
2.82843.
3.
"I have some news."
Alwyn sat on the couch and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, an eager smile on his face.
"Couldn't stand another minute with those pompous old cowards, could you? Hiding away with their excuses and their precious Code. I knew you'd come to your senses once you had time, but I didn't think the Circle would ever let you go."
G'Leel stood between them, arms crossed, bottle resting in the crook of her elbow.
"I have a task to accomplish," Galen said. "Then I will return."
The smile fell from Alwyn's face.
"A task."
He enunciated the word with obvious contempt.
"You're still running their errands."
Galen said nothing. Anger whispered at the back of his mind, and the tech echoed it.
"What could be so important that they would allow their greatest weapon to leave them? What task has the Circle sent you on, Galen?"
If Galen told Alwyn his entire task, Alwyn would try to talk him out of it, and when that failed, Alwyn would insist on helping, no matter the risks. Galen could not allow that. He took a moment to steady his breathing, his heart rate, hiding the partial lie.
"I must gain information from Morden. It is critical. That is all I can say."
Alwyn gave him a hard stare.
"The Circle sends you out to gain information. So that what? You can return with it, and they can sit on their hands and do nothing?"
"Alwyn," G'Leel said.
3.16228.
"I cannot explain."
"They're still playing their little games, while the galaxy is burning. Don't they understand? This is no clever illusion or magic trick. The war is growing worse every day. You don't know."
Alwyn stabbed his finger at the door, his face turning red.
"People are dying out there, by the millions. The Shadows have got everyone turning against everyone else. We need you here. With your help, we can turn the tide. Give John Sheridan's alliance hope. They haven't had a victory since the Vorlons fought. They're going to collapse if they don't get one soon. You could give it to them."