Personal Demons by sidewinder




      (c) Copyright 1998 by sidewinder
      This story is set immediately following the episode "Gray 17 is Missing", and is a sequel to the story "Shadowplay". Some references are made to events described in "Shadows Past and Present" by Tim DeHaas, Babylon 5 comic issues #5-8.

      With much thanks to Range Ryder for beta-reading assistance, and everyone who commented on "Shadowplay" enough to convince me to continue writing this storyline... 

      Don't ask me why I'm doing this      A bridge is not a high place
You wouldn't understand              The fifty-second floor
You're asking the wrong questions    Icarus would know
You couldn't understand              A mountain isn't far to fall
                                     When you've fallen from the moon...

There's murder on the street         I have fallen
I'm ashes on the water now           Fallen
Somewhere far away                   From the moon
                                     Falling...
(Marillion--"Fallin' From the Moon")

      I.


      It was late when Michael Garibaldi finally got free from the captain and was able to call it a night. He'd left Captain Sheridan in a rather satisfying state of utter disbelief over the events that had transpired while everyone else had been preoccupied with the Rangers' ceremony that afternoon. Part of Michael almost wished he hadn't told the captain about what he'd found on the mysterious "missing" level Gray 17, considering Sheridan's past interest in getting himself in trouble bumming around the worst sections of the station just for the heck of it. Still, the captain had been ready to chew Mike's head off when he'd first stumbled into the office simply to check in, so he hadn't seen that he'd had much choice in the matter but to tell all.

      Mike remembered telling Zack just that morning that he enjoyed a good mystery every now and then. Well, a mystery was one thing--a group of religious fanatics, a deadly alien predator, and tranq-shooting, obnoxious dummies was entirely another beast altogether. He could use never having a day like this one ever again, and would stick to mysteries of the old "paperback" kind from now on if he could.

      He stepped into the lift with a tired yawn and rubbed the back of his neck, where a nasty headache was unsurprisingly starting to take root. His stomach was complaining from neglect now as well, and he realized he hadn't had the chance to eat since breakfast and now it was, what...almost 2100 hours. Going back to his quarters for a long shower, and calling in for some pizza delivery sounded good, he thought. Bad for the diet, but good for the spirit--nothing says comfort better than an unhealthy dose of grease and cholesterol.
      In times past after a day like this one, he might have stopped by Stephen Franklin's quarters for a while, to wind down with a little mutual venting over the frustrations of running their respective departments on the station. But Stephen was still off on Walkabout, and according to Susan, who had seen him last, in no mood to talk to anyone. Still, Michael had a thought about stopping by to see someone else for some company, and he gave the lift new destination instructions before it stopped on his level. Maybe he could find someone else to share that pizza with tonight.

      He stepped out on the appropriate level, then stopped outside one door along the corridor. Ringing the buzzer, he called, "Amis, you around? It's Mike."

      After just a brief pause, the reply came back, "Yeah, come on in."

      The door slid open and Michael entered the small economy-class apartment. He spotted his friend lounging on the sofa, watching the news on the vid. Michael sniffed the air, noting an appealing aroma from the small kitchenette in the unit. His stomach complained a little more insistently. "Smells good," he commented, heading over to investigate.

      "Just some soup. There's plenty left, help yourself."

      It sounded like a more appealing plan than the pizza, so he did. After taking a large bowl of the thick broth, he settled on the sofa next to Amis and took a sip. It had a salty, miso-like taste, and various items he couldn't identify easily floating in it. Still it was warm and soothing, just about what the doctor ordered.

      Amis gave Mike a critical once-over while the chief eagerly downed the soup and listened with partial interest to the evening news summary. "So what's up?" Amis asked. "Looks like you had a bad day."

      "Bad day? The mother of all bad days is more like it." After finishing his soup, he went through, for the second time that evening, the ugly details of the day. "I'm tellin' you, I've seen some weird stuff go down on this station before, but this business was just about the prize winner of 'em all."

      Amis shook his head and smiled with some obvious amusement at what Michael had described. "You should've asked me about that place before you went stompin' off to investigate on your own. Down Below, there were rumors about a group like that bein' on the station, gettin' a Zarg smuggled on board and hidin' out somewhere 'secure'. And trust me, there are even weirder things going on in the nooks and crannies of this station that would probably make what's left of your hair fall out if I ever told you about 'em."

      "Gee thanks, that's just what I needed to hear right now," he muttered, not wanting to think about that prospect at the moment even though he was sure Amis was right. With a friendly nudge of the elbow, he added, "And don't be giving me a hard time about my hair. You try keeping this station from going to the dogs for a few years and see what happens to your stress levels." He stood up to put away the dishes in the kitchen. "So now that I've ranted about my day, what about you? Anything exciting and interesting happen in customs today?"

      "I wish. No wonder that's usually a short-rotation job, I'm goin' nuts bein' stuck there. You know, I'm feeling perfectly fine, why can't I--"

      "Doctor's orders, my friend. You remember what she said: limited duties and no unnecessary physical exertion until she says you're ready for it. It's only two days 'til your re-exam. And considering you got yourself messed up thanks to me, I'm not gonna be the one responsible for you getting messed up again because you didn't give yourself enough time to recuperate."

      "All right, all right," Amis cut him off, giving up in defeat. "A few more days on customs duty is better than being back in MedLab with you playing mother hen over me."

      Mike returned to the sofa and sat down, his expression turning serious for a moment as he remembered the still-recent events. It was true, he had spent just about every free minute he'd had visiting Amis in recovery after the drug bust gone bad in Down Below that had nearly cost Amis his life. It had been a rough turn of events right after what had just felt like the first good turn of events to come Garibaldi's way in a while--an increased, if casual, intimacy between the two of them. Only days after he'd listened to and somewhat grudgingly agreed with Amis' stressing their need not to become too close, he'd found himself suddenly visiting Amis in MedLab and thanking all the gods he usually ignored for not taking one of the few still-important people in his life away from him.

      "Something wrong?" Amis asked, pulling Mike out of his remembrances.

      "Nah, just tired I guess, worn out after today. Wishing I had a little quiet time to take it easy for a while."

      "So take a day off," Amis suggested matter-of-factly.

      "Oh yeah, no problem. Just call in sick tomorrow--sick and tired of working my ass off."

      "Exactly. Can't the head office function without you for one day? Didn't it today?"

      "Yeah, and the captain nearly chewed me out good as a result of it until he heard what happened."

      "So? Anyone else would take a day off after what happened. When was the last time you took any sort of vacation? Even only for a day or two."

      "Maybe you're right," Mike conceded. "But, tomorrow's no good because I've got to--"

      "Forget it. Get someone else to take care of it. You 'n me are gonna go on a little adventure."

      "Please, I think I had enough adventure today to last me for a while. Nah, maybe I'll just stay at home, watch some vids..."

      "...And not get any decent rest 'cause you'll be worrying about work all day," Amis argued. "How about instead I show you some of those...more 'interesting' places around the station I mentioned...No Zargs, no crazy cults, nothin' like that, I promise. You said yourself, I should be takin' it easy a few more days, so we'll both call in sick." There was a slight spark of enthusiasm in Amis' bright brown eyes at his own suggestion, even a faint hint of affection letting itself show through that was quickly winning Mike over to the idea more than anything else.

      "Okay, you're on. Tomorrow I'll take The Lurker's Grand Tour of Babylon 5, and find out what a space bum like you knows about this station that I don't." Michael held Amis' gaze, not wanting to see the self-protective wall close over those eyes too quickly, the one he was used to seeing ninety-nine percent of the time. It didn't, and instead Amis leaned in to give Mike a quick kiss.

      "You want to stay over and start your vacation tonight?" he asked.

      Mike found his aches and tiredness evaporating away quickly at the idea. "Hard to refuse an offer like that," he answered, as he leaned in close for another kiss.


      The early morning hours brought a cascade of unsettling images to Michael's dreams. There was only one common element to them: Shadows. He saw them everywhere he turned...

      They were lurking in the dark corners of Babylon 5, where he knew someone was waiting with a raised gun, simply waiting for him to turn his back...

      ...in the dark void of space in Sector 14, in a broadcast from a future he still wasn't convinced they had avoided...

      ...buried in the red, choking dust of Mars, rising from a jagged pit, unfathomable black creatures swirling with sickened light...rising, turning towards him...

      ...towards him...piercing the thin atmosphere with a horrific scream--

      He jerked awake, blinking in disorientation and trying to calm the pounding of his heart in his chest. His movement caused the man lying against his side to stir, mumbling something too soft for Mike to understand in his confused state. Bad dream, nothing to get so upset about, he told himself, wiping sweat from his forehead. Had enough of those before. It had probably been brought on by all the stress of the day, and sleeping in unfamiliar surroundings.

      His body was damp and growing chilly in the cool air--a little cooler than he usually kept his own quarters. He pulled the covers up higher and wrapped himself around Amis' warm body, finding comfort in the long-forgotten luxury of sleeping with someone else.

      Thanks to the dream, however, Michael's thoughts were still trapped back on Mars. And other dark places and times, things he tried his best to forget most of the time. Io...Frank Kemmer and his family. "You're a marked man, Garibaldi...Watch your back...No one else can. You're alone on this one." Lives destroyed when all he had meant to do was help. The dark pit of alcoholism that had almost destroyed his life, until he had met Jeffrey Sinclair. That mission that had nearly cost them both their lives...stumbling through the dust and the alcohol-induced haze, trying to find Sinclair before his air ran out...not another life on his conscience, he couldn't let that happen...

      He couldn't get the cold, disturbing thoughts out of his mind, as if there were something driving him to remember them in agonizing detail when all he wanted to do was forget.

      Amis stirred against him, murmuring again; Michael could feel his body twitching, growing tense against him. Looked as if Mike wasn't the only one having bad dreams that night. His murmurings grew louder, more distinct...Mike froze when he could make out the words...

      "...coming to get you, Frank...Frank, no...should've been there...the shuttle pad, the bomb was meant for me!...no...no..."

      Suddenly Amis jerked awake, his eyes flashing open. His expression was of pure horror. As Michael leaned closer and Amis saw him, Amis gasped and tried to back away, still screaming, "No! No!"

      Garibaldi backed off, trying to give Amis space until he came down from whatever he was seeing in his mind still. "Easy, easy! It's just me, Mike. It's okay..."

      It took a moment for the words to sink in, but then Amis seemed to get his bearings, his shoulders slumping down slightly as he relaxed. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his face with his hands, running his fingers through his tousled brown hair. "Ugh. Sorry. Bad dream, I guess," he rasped, his voice sounding even rougher and more gravelly than usual.

      "That wasn't just a regular bad dream," Mike answered. Amis looked at him. "I heard what you were saying in your sleep. What were you seeing?"

      "Nothing," Amis evaded him. "Nothing important. I don't remember. Didn't make any sense..."

      "I need to know. Somehow you were seeing things...things that happened to me. You were talking about a shuttle pad, and a bomb, and I'd just been thinking about how my friend Frank had been killed on Io because of a bomb meant for me. C'mon, talk to me..." He paused before asking, "You're not a rogue teep, are you, Amis?"

      Amis shook his head resolutely. "No. Hell no, Mike. Must've been a fluke. I mean, I guess I could be latent or something."

      "You ever have this happen before?"

      Amis shrugged, and again was evasive in his answer. "Maybe."

      "What, 'maybe'...Either you have, or you haven't. Did this just start recently? Or..."

      "Yeah, I guess it started after...after we got rid of that thing, last year, every so often...sometimes when I'm close to someone, I'll just get a flash of something. I guess somethin' from their mind. It's usually too quick for me to really figure it out, and then it's gone."

      "I guess it could be some sort of latent telepathy," Mike said, through he didn't really know. Advanced abilities of the mind wasn't exactly a subject he had studied too well before--except wrapped in the package of a particular beautiful, cool blonde named Talia Winters. "Maybe that creature triggered something, since it did have a psychic connection with you on some level. Maybe when you see the doctor next time you should--"

      "Let it go, Mike. It's not important," Amis insisted. "I've had weird things goin' on in my head a long time. I'm used to it. I can handle it."

      "But it could be important. If you don't want to talk to the doctor, what about Lyta Alexander? She could scan you and maybe figure out--"

      "No! No, just drop it for now, all right?" Amis snapped, laying back down and rolling away from Michael. The discussion, apparently, was closed.

      "Okay, for now." Mike rested a hand gently on Amis' side. "But if it keeps up or gets worse..."

      "Then we'll talk about it some more. Go back to sleep. I promise I'll stay out of your head."

      Knowing he'd get nowhere with his sometimes incredibly stubborn friend tonight, he acquiesced, though he was increasingly disturbed by what had happened the more he thought about it.

      There was one thing that had worried Michael ever since they had--as far as they could tell--destroyed the shadow creature from the Copernicus. The creature had been responsible for Amis' mental torment for so many years, when no one would believe what he told them had happened. Amis had said that part of himself had been trapped inside the creature because of its feeding on him, leading to the psychic connection between them when the creature ended up on Babylon 5. When the creature was killed, Amis had said he felt that connection was gone, severed...

      ...But what if the creature had left a similar fragment of itself inside Amis, years before? Or even only when they had encountered each other again on the station? Could that be the reason for these strange psychic talents suddenly appearing? What if that fragment or the creature was still alive, but somehow dormant, inside him still?

      On one hand, it seemed to be quite a conclusion to jump to.

      And yet...

      Well, Michael reasoned, he was going to have to work on Amis a while before getting much further on investigating this. He hoped that it wasn't important. With a sigh, he finally let himself drift off back asleep. He was supposed to be on holiday from worrying for the next 24 hours, after all.

      II.


      Morning came with a later alarm than Mike was used to, and he felt slightly groggy from oversleeping. The feeling dissipated when he smelled the strong aroma of coffee, even if it was just artificial brew, coming from the kitchen.

      "Mmm..." He stretched and sat up, seeing that Amis was already wide awake and busy getting breakfast ready. "This is the life--nothing like sleeping late and getting room service."

      "It's also self-service. Come and get it yourself," Amis replied, as he took a bowl of hot cereal and the coffee over to the sofa and turned on the vid to catch the morning news.

      Michael crawled out of bed and grabbed his shorts, heading off to the bathroom for a quick shower before dressing and trying to put any solid food on his stomach. He was feeling the effects of the previous day's trials, and wished he was back in his own quarters so he could get a real, scalding hot water shower instead of a dull sonic one.

      Shuffling out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he grabbed some of the breakfast and made sure to call in to Zack that he was taking the day off. Zack had no problem with that and told him to try to enjoy himself a little.

      "I intend to," Mike answered, and ended the communication. "So, where to first?"

      "Back to your quarters, to get you some civvies. Preferably some rather worn out ones."

      Mike sighed. "So, it's off to Down Below, is it?"

      "Where else do you think all the fun stuff is going on? But...not everything is in Down Below. Ready?"

      "As I ever will be, I suppose."


      "I can't believe we're down here," Michael said, coughing at the dirt and dust that filled the stale, heavy air. "This is just about the worst place on the station--hell, probably one of the worst places in the entire galaxy." The corridor was dark, deserted...though Mike felt sure there were eyes following their progress from somewhere back in the shadows. He didn't like it. Not even Security bothered patrolling around here.

      "Take it easy, we're almost there," Amis reassured him, leading the way towards their first stop on his "tour". "Now, if I remember correctly, the place we want is...right here!" Amis stopped and knocked triumphantly against a sealed access door. Moments later, it slid open. Michael peered inside, and saw only more of the same--dirt, dust, and gloomy shadows. He looked back to Amis, who was leaning against the wall and looking at him expectantly. He looked particularly scruffy in his "Down Below" clothes, though the fedora he'd borrowed from Mike was actually a good look for him, Garibaldi decided.

      "So?" Mike asked.

      "So, after you."

      Mike looked inside again. "In there?! What's in there?"

      "Something...unexpected," Amis replied cryptically, eyes going even wider than usual.

      Mike rolled his eyes. "Great, you and the captain, both starting to talk like a Vorlon."

      "Actually, Ambassador Kosh was the first one I saw down here. After he rolled away I decided to check it out myself. Come on, let's go."

      "All right, all right." Shaking his head, Michael stepped inside, finding it necessary to stoop down to continue as the ceiling was so low. The heavier gravity of Down Below weighed on him, making him feel even more uncomfortable. He turned back to see Amis following him, and indicating they should keep going. It was tricky footing, and he found it necessary to lean against the large objects draped in dusty dark red sheets that were everywhere. He thought he saw something...was it someone?...up ahead, and he figured that was who or what they were there to see.

      He pressed onward, until he was in front of the sitting figure. He could see nothing of the individual's face under the large hooded robe he wore. By that point, Amis was next to him and had taken a sitting position. He yanked at Mike to do the same. The figure before them did not move.

      "Okay, what now?" Mike whispered to Amis, not having the foggiest clue why they were there in the first place.

      "Offer him something," Amis whispered back.

      "Like what?"

      "Anything--you must have some hard cash on you or something."

      To illustrate, the figure finally shifted, pushing forward a small bowl with an ancient, wrinkled hand.

      Great, and I don't even know what I'm paying for. Michael dug through his pockets, trying to check if he even had anything on him to give. Amis got impatient and finally said, "Forget it, here, I've got it," and clanged some coins into the bowl. Though it was only a small amount, it seemed it was sufficient, as the bowl was pulled away.

      The chamber came to life.

      The sudden movement around him nearly caused Michael to jump, but the objects on the floor that were moving turned out to be more individuals like the one sitting before them. They lifted their hooded heads and began to sing. The words meant nothing to Michael, but he recognized it as an ancient religious chant of some kind. The eerie music transported him back to his childhood, his grandmother dragging him in to Mass on a chilly Boston Sunday morning in the middle of winter. Echoing all around them, the beautiful sound reverberated through him as surprise just faded into wonder and enjoyment.

      At some point later, he realized that the singing had stopped. He blinked his eyes to clear his head, wondering just how long he'd been sitting there, completely zoning out to the music. He turned to look at Amis, who was watching him with a bemused smile, obviously pleased by Mike's reaction.

      He really wished he'd brought something with him now to leave these people, whomever they were. They deserved more payment than they'd been able to offer, much more. But the figures had all returned to their resting positions in the darkness. The solitary figure in front of them did not offer the bowl for a second donation.

      Not knowing exactly what to say, Michael just stammered a "Thank you," and "I'll...have to come back some time," before looking back at Amis, who nodded that it was, in fact, time to leave. As he stood up and started to turn towards the door, he heard the head figure say something. He turned back around, not having understood the words--and saw the figure had reached out to grasp Amis' arm before he could get up to leave.

      "Freedom awaits you...on the eve of the final darkness," he repeated, his voice clearer and startling now in the chamber. Amis' eyes were wide, transfixed upon the strange man. Michael, still feeling rather disoriented by the entire experience, did not know if he should interfere with what was happening. But then the ancient hand slipped away from Amis' arm and Amis stood, looking somewhat shaken but avoiding Michael's questioning stare until they were back outside.

      "What was that about? What he said to you in there?" Michael asked.

      Amis shook his head, still looking pensive. "Just an answer...to a question I'd asked some time before."

      "Care to elaborate?"

      "Not really."

      "The eve of the final darkness"? What exactly did that mean? Not exactly a cheery prophecy, no matter what the question, Michael thought. "Okay. But who are those guys? How long have they been there? Why are they there?!"

      "No one really knows exactly when they arrived. They've just...always been there."

      "Hmm. Well, so long as they keep their enlightenment Zarg-free, I guess there's no harm in that. We ready to move on?"

      "Yeah, yeah. Speaking of enlightenment, have you ever visited the Tarot-reading Chicken?"


      Michael, indeed, had never heard of the chicken that predicted the future by pecking at Tarot cards (until now). Nor had he visited the Spoo-That-Looked-Like-Jesus, nor many of the other highly unusual sights and people they came across that day. Some were just amusingly bizarre, but others were breath-taking. There was, for instance, the beautiful iridescent blooms of the Xardru flowering vines--native to Centauri Prime, somehow a large garden of the plants had established itself in a faulty water recyc tunnel. Many other forgotten places had been turned into special places of refuge and entertainment--not just the usual dens of iniquity that Michael was used to noticing whenever he was forced to travel through Down Below. The station was only so big; it surprised him that there would be so many things here that after so many years he had somehow never discovered. Yet he supposed much of that had to do with the fact that his visits to Down Below usually were spent searching for specific scumbags and thieves--not chanting monks and misplaced flower gardens.

      Lunch, it turned out, was going to be real "local" fare as well. "This is the best undiscovered place you can show me?" Garibaldi asked as they approached the busy lunch counter off one of the busier market-areas. They had to push their way past a gaggle of prostitutes and other assorted lowlifes to get up to the counter, where an overweight, middle-aged woman hollered at them for their order.

      Amis ignored Garibaldi's protests and indicated two unidentifiable items in the woman's cooler. She threw them over her "grill" for a few minutes, then wrapped the steaming meat and a gooey sauce in some flatbread. Amis gave one to Garibaldi and said, "You don't want to know what it is, but trust me, it's good."

      Garibaldi sniffed his cautiously while Amis dived in with a hearty bite. The smell was not unpleasant, only heavily spiced and unfamiliar. "Just answer me this: one, is it toxic; two, is it legal; and three, will I end up hallucinating that I'm Chiquita Banana after I eat it?"

      "No; more or less; and not as long as it's fresh," Amis answered, finding a place to sit down along the thoroughfare. "Just eat it."

      Garibaldi shook his head and wondered why they couldn't have just gotten Thai if they had to eat exotic. Finally he dared take a bite, chewing the somewhat stringy meat slowly, cautiously. Against his better judgment, he swallowed. Then he had to pause as he discovered it didn't taste half bad after all.

      "And the verdict is...?"

      Garibaldi took a second bite, and announced, "Sort of like jerk chicken crossed with a gyro. Actually...it is pretty good!"

      "It's more than pretty good, come on, admit it."

      "It's still mystery meat, and I don't care, unless I know whether it comes from something that quacks, clucks, moos, or hisses, mystery meat can only rate a 'pretty good'."


      The last stop of the afternoon proved to be the biggest surprise.

      Station external maintenance was generally taken care of completely by the maint-bots, but environmental-suit stations were located all along the inside of the outer hull in case manual repairs needed to be performed. They now stood outside the entrance to one such station, long forgotten about in a quiet corner of Down Below.

      "Want to take a walk?" Amis asked non-chalantly.

      "You need an access code to get in there," Garibaldi stated, then watched as Amis entered a seemingly random selection of numbers on the keypad and the access doors slid open. "How the...?"

      "The lock's been off-line as long as anyone can remember. No one ever runs computer-checks on the systems 'round here, or if someone knows about it, they didn't think it was worth the time to repair it." Amis stepped inside, and tossed a helmet over to Michael. "Suit up, it's a great view out there."

      Ten minutes later, the air lock opened, and they stepped out onto the catwalk railing that snaked around the hull. Michael had to take a moment to get his bearings: it was one thing being out in space in the relative security of a Starfury, where somehow vertigo was not as much of a problem. Here, all he could see was the emptiness of space beneath his feet, through the grate of the catwalk, and the looming presence of Epsilon 3 in front of him.

      Amis was walking gingerly along the catwalk, then he stopped about ten feet down the walk, turned back towards Michael, and waved him along. "Come on, you're not afraid of heights, are you?" his voice came through their suits' speakers.

      Not about to fall victim to his squeamishness, Michael walked the path slowly, eyes staying on the grate as he took one solid step after another, the boots holding him anchored to the station. He stopped a foot or so away from Amis, who was grinning and looking like an overgrown teenager proud of just leaving a stinkbomb in the principal's office. "Helluva sight, isn't it?"

      Michael finally dared to look out at the view, holding onto the railing in front of him. The hull was rotating slowly, making all sense of direction--up, down, near, far--lose relevance. A Starfury peeled around in front of them, followed by four others, going through some sort of training maneuvers.

      A small block jutted out from the hull behind them, and Amis leaned up against it. "Whenever I'd start feelin' really out of it, once I found out about this spot I used to come here all the time. The silence...it's the only place where you could go and find real silence around here...even the voices in my head, the dreams...they just seemed to fade away."

      Michael turned to Amis, whose voice had a soft, serene note to it he'd not heard before. He had to ask, "Did you ever not want to come back inside?"

      "All the time," he answered simply. "Never had the nerve to do it in the end, though, even though it seemed...so easy..." Letting the line of conversation drop, Amis remarked, "Let's sit for a complete rotation. See the full view."

      So they did. With all the ships from the different worlds now in orbit around the station, it was an amazing sight. Most impressive of all was a Minbari warcuiser, circling around them like a giant, menacing blue-gray angelfish. They might be allies now, but the sight still sent a shiver down Michael's spine from this view. Anyone who had gone through the war no doubt had a similar reaction. It was going to take time, still, for the wounds to heal among those who had witnessed the war first-hand.

      They sat in silence for a while longer, then finally Amis stood up abruptly and said, "Ready to go?"

      "Yeah, I'm ready." As carefully as before, he walked along the railings, eager to get back inside to the relative security of the station interior.


      That evening, feeling pleasantly tired from all their walking around, they decided to stick with a take-out pizza back in Mike's quarters, and a few of those cartoon vids Mike hadn't watched in ages. All in all, it had been an entertaining day. It reminded Michael of just how large the station was, how many different people were here...He always was used to just looking after the troublemakers, focusing on the bad stuff, so it was nice to be able to take a breather and enjoy things around here for a while, especially in the most unexpected places.

      These thoughts crossed his mind as he stretched out on the sofa, letting out a contented sigh. "Told you a day off would be good for you," Amis remarked, cleaning up the few plates and glasses from dinner.

      Michael patted the sofa and said, "Come here." Amis came to sit next to him, and Michael pulled him close for a quick kiss.

      "What was that for?"

      "For today. I had fun." He paused and then asked hopefully, "You wanna stay over tonight?"

      Amis thought it over very briefly before leaning in for another kiss as his answer. This one was warm, inviting...the type that promised an evening of intimate pleasure lay ahead. Michael's hands grasped at the lean body pressed against him, loving the feeling, the excitement of knowing what was awaiting his fingertips beneath the rough fabric...curves that were already becoming familiar to him. He felt Amis' hands on his own body, caressing with similar intentions obviously in mind, and sighed.

      This isn't supposed to get serious, Michael tried to remind himself, but that was hard to keep in mind at a time like now, when all he wanted was to get lost in the pleasurable sensations and satisfaction he knew this man could deliver to him. The sensual warmth of his mouth, the rough touch of his fingers; the intensity that he infused their lovemaking with...Michael was finding he could easily become addicted--or at least, seriously accustomed to--spending much of his free time like this...with this person. It somehow just felt natural, their being together.

      His hands slid under the bottom of the long-sleeve T-shirt Amis was wearing, arousal intensifying at the enticing feel of the soft, warm flesh of his back, the taught muscles that curved down so elegantly to his backside. He felt the other man's body shudder under his touch, a soft groan escaping from the lips pressed against his own.

      "Mmm...got an idea..." Amis murmured, kissing Michael teasingly on his neck, then pulling himself up off the sofa before they could become too wrapped up together. "How about sharing one of those real water showers of yours?"

      "You're just full of good ideas today, aren't you? Come on." Michael got up, shedding his own clothes haphazardly as they proceeded into the bathroom. The shower stall was a very cozy fit for two, but that simply made it all the more interesting as they both finished undressing and then stepped inside.

      The warm water felt delicious streaming over him after the long day hiking all around, mucking about in the grimier corners of Down Below. Amis' strong arms around his waist, holding their bodies close together, felt even better. Slick, soapy hands thoroughly worked over his torso, massaging away the tension in his shoulders (though quickly increasing the tension in another part of his anatomy). Michael just closed his eyes and lost himself in the wonderful attention he was being granted.

      After a while, those hands moved lower, down to gently circle his thighs, in and around, then up slightly to massage his balls. Amis' hard cock was pressed up against him from behind, rubbing against his thighs, obviously eager to find release. Michael could barely stand it anymore when finally one of the hands moved up around his own stiff erection, gliding around it and stroking him expertly. He grasped the walls of the stall for support until the blinding release came, leaving him gasping for breath, thoroughly spent.

      Turning around, he pulled Amis to him for more kisses, his mouth tracing down the other man's neck as best as he could standing up. Damn, one of the disadvantages of being so fraggin' tall--this ain't so easy! He lathered up his own hands and took his time, wanting to make sure he did as thorough a job on Amis' body as he'd just had done to his own. It felt as if he hadn't indulged in this much fun, simple physical pleasure, in ages.

      He was just starting to get to that part of Amis' anatomy that was demanding his undivided attention when the hot water decided to give out. "Yow!" Mike cried, a sudden stream of cold water shooting down his back. "Lousy fragging conservation settings!"

      "S'okay, let's just continue this somewhere warmer," Amis answered, jumping out after Michael and quickly grabbing a towel. A hasty retreat under the covers of Michael's bed seemed the wisest choice.

      Snuggling down though still slightly damp, Michael ran his hand along Amis' side, growing desirous again as he saw the fire of need burning in the other man's deep brown eyes. "Now, where was I..." Michael teased, "I think right about...here..."

      Michael's hand sliding down around Amis' cock soon brought it back up to full, hard attention. He let his hand work it a while longer while his mouth teased a very sensitive stiff nipple. With each flick of his tongue or playful bite, Amis groaned and dug his fingers harder into Mike's back, urging him to move downward. When the pressure grew so painful he feared he'd end up with black and blue marks if he didn't give Amis release, he finally shifted his body lower so his mouth could caress the other man's cock.

      The erection filled his mouth as he sucked it down greedily, his eyes focused on enjoying Amis' responses to his actions. Growing playful again, he stopped sucking and instead let his tongue swirl around the sensitive tip, then up and down the shaft repeatedly. He drew out the other man's state of anticipation until he gasped, "Oh man, quit fuckin' around and finish it...can't take it anymore..." Michael obliged him, and it didn't take long before he was rewarded for his actions with an explosive, warm burst in his mouth which he savored in satisfaction, along with the exhausted but definitely contented expression on his friend's face.

      Sliding back up the bed, he nudged Amis to roll over, as he was burning hard again and longing for some deep, penetrating relief. Amis just let out a little sigh and teased, "You're as randy as a tomcat, you know that, Michael Garibaldi?"

      "Yeah, well, you're the one who makes me so damn horny," Michael answered, rubbing a slick lubricant over his cock and then straddling his companion. He gently pressed his way inside, and let out a long moan as the sensation overwhelmed him. He never wanted to leave that tight, inviting place, where each small thrust rewarded him with waves of intense pleasure. But soon the thrusts grew deeper, harder with his aching need. Despite his intentions to want it to last, soon he was trembling and crying out incoherently as the orgasm flooded his senses and made everything else fade away into nothingness for a blinding instant.

      Finally feeling completely spent, he pulled out, and collapsed onto the bed. Amis rolled around to hold him close, finishing off the evening "exercises" with a round of lazy kisses and gentle caresses.

      Lying there together, Michael started thinking again about how natural this felt. His hand traced along the healing ridge of scar tissue on Amis' back, from the shooting only days before. He flashed back for a moment to that time, not quite two years past, when his second-in-command had betrayed him and shot him in the back. Everything in life was so fleeting...could be over in the blink of an eye. In some ways he felt as if he still barely knew the man lying next to him. Amis seemed good at drawing out Michael's secrets, but never seemed keen on talking much about himself. Maybe it was time Michael tried to get out a few answers.

      "You ever think about going back home?" Michael asked.

      "Home?" Amis repeated.

      "Y'know, Earth, Mars...wherever you grew up."

      Amis shook his head. "Grew up bouncing from one hell-hole mining colony to another--me, Mom, my brother Ian...Dad, 'til he died in an accident. But there wasn't anywhere in particular that was home. The colonies were all miserable places. Ian and I both got out as soon as we were legal age to recruit. During the war, the Minari hit the mining post Mom and her new family had been workin'. No one got outta there alive."

      "Sorry." As terrible as it was, it wasn't an uncommon story for any human of their age. Most people had lost some, if not all, of their family during those two years of the war, as difficult in retrospect as it was sometimes to believe how close the human race had come to extinction. And those who worked the mining colonies already had lower life expectancies than most, due to hazards both natural and mechanical in nature.

      "Ian, he was lucky," Amis continued. "He was injured in a ground fight but managed to survive, was back on Earth in recovery 'til after the Line. Wasn't no good for service no more so he got a regular job on Earth. I stayed with him, between trips to the psych wards, least 'til he got married. But his wife wasn't too happy 'bout putting up the crazy brother, havin' me around the house all the time. Haven't heard from him since I took off and ended up on B5, lookin' for work with the construction crews before this place went operational...somehow I just never left after that. ...What about you?"

      Michael shrugged. "I burned most of my bridges long ago. Been pretty much on my own for a long time now too, I guess. Some family back home, but after my grandmother passed away, then my pop...they were the only ones still alive that I was close to--that weren't sick of putting up with me or picking up the pieces whenever I screwed up. And friends...? Never been good at makin' 'em, and even worse at keepin' 'em for very long. So Babylon 5 seems like a good enough place for me, at least for now."

      Amis yawned and muttered something in agreement, though clearly he wasn't interested in continuing the conversation. That was okay with Mike; he was feeling pretty exhausted himself.

      "Lights out?"

      "Hmm mmm," was the only answer, so Mike took that as a yes.

      III.


      Michael returned to his office the next morning, right on time and for the first time in weeks even feeling eager to get to work. He had to agree, it was amazing what one day's "vacation" could do to put life a little bit back in control.

      He entered to find Zack already there, in the middle of a discussion with someone else on his link. Zack glanced up and looked a tad embarrassed about being in the chief's chair, so he jumped up immediately and said to the other party, "Just take care of it, all right? Look, I gotta go." Then he said to Michael, "Hey, good to see you back, Chief. Wasn't sure if you were coming in today or not so I got in early to finish up some business from yesterday."

      "Thanks, Zack, so what's the situation? Did this place manage to survive without me for one day?"

      Zack gave Michael a quick briefing on the events of the previous day and then left. Michael sat down at his desk to figure out a few changes to the regular day-shift assignments. He called in one of his more trusted officers, Carlos Cruise, who had been on Babylon 5 almost as long as he had.

      "Morning, Chief, what's up?" the stocky man asked when he entered the office several minutes later.

      "Cruise, I know it's a bit of a drag, but I'm gonna put you on general patrol for this next week with Amis, if he checks out clear from MedLab today. He's been on limited duty since the incident with Nefron, and he's itching to get back to regular assignments. But I want someone backing him up who can keep an extra eye on him--make sure he's not trying to do more than he's really up for yet, you know what I'm saying?"

      "Sure, sure, Chief, no problem. It's been gettin' a little aggravating dealing with the refugee situation, so I could use a little change of pace for a few days. Bustin' up a bar fight or two, might not be too bad instead." He grinned and Mike smiled back in perfect understanding.

      "Great, thanks. Just...let me know if anything...well, anything odd happens."

      "Sure, no problem. Just call me in when you need me. See ya, Chief."

      "Later," Garibaldi dismissed him, wondering if he wasn't worrying too much. But he couldn't get rid of the hunch that something more was going on than Amis was letting on. For his own peace of mind--and knowing that Amis would throw a fit if he tried to keep too close tags on him himself--Mike decided this was the best solution for now. And he really hoped that his concerns would all be proved to be for nothing.


      Mike grabbed a simple lunch in the cafeteria that afternoon, eating while scanning over security reports of various degrees of urgency. He didn't notice that Commander Ivanova had joined him at his table until she cleared her throat loudly and very indelicately, nearly causing him to spill the water he was holding in his left hand all over the tabletop.

      "Susan! Jeez, how about not sneaking up on a guy like that?"

      "Sorry," she apologized. "For a guy who's supposed to have eyes in the back of his head, you look like something's got you a bit preoccupied."

      "Nah, just trying to catch up on some annoying paperwork I'd rather avoid. Nothing compared to the business I had to deal with the other day while everyone else was busy with the Rangers' ceremony."

      She smiled, poking a fork into the unidentifiable mound on her plate that was theoretically chicken parmigian. "I heard about that from the captain not long after your little tirade in his office, actually. Sounds like a story for the record books all right." She swallowed some of the food and made an appropriate face. "I also hear there's a new man in your life," she bluntly stated, getting back to hacking away at the rubbery chicken.

      Michael nearly spit up the water this time. "What's this?" he asked.

      "I woke up with a killer migraine this morning so I stopped by MedLab. Ran into your friend Amis there getting checked out by Doctor Hobbs, and she was teasing him about where 'Nurse Garibaldi' was. Naturally, I pressed for all the dirty details." She gave him a naughty grin.

      "Gee, glad to know my private life gives you such jollies."

      "Don't get all haughty on me, Michael, I'm happy for you. I know...I know it was hard when Jeff got reassigned, and then...Well, we all felt like we were losing a good friend, but I know it was worse for you. And of course, both of us struck out big time with Talia..."

      He had to laugh when she put it that way. "Yeah, neither of us have been very lucky in the love department lately, have we?"

      "So, it is love, then?" she asked, still nosing around for details.

      "Ah, I don't know about that. We haven't...He's a good friend. Anything else...it just doesn't seem right to think about it just now. We're both still workin' through our own separate problems."

      Susan nodded in understanding. "Sounds like the prudent thing to do--if you can get your heart to listen to your mind. I tried to tell myself that about a relationship a while ago, that we were only friends...but when things didn't work out, suddenly I realized there was so much more there on my part, and I'd never even had the chance to say anything about it."

      Garibaldi raised an eyebrow. "This isn't about Talia, is it? Someone else?"

      Susan bit her lip as if she'd just revealed something she hadn't intended to, and then nodded. "Some other time, maybe I'll tell you about it. Still burns a bit." Just then her link beeped. "Damn, I'm due for a meeting, I almost forgot." She looked down at her barely touched lunch. "You want...?" she started to offer Michael, but he shook his head. "Smart man. I'll talk to you later."

      "See you. Don't work too hard."

      "Hah!" she snorted in reply, getting up from the table.

      Garibaldi watched her leave, thinking back on the past few years of their acquaintance. When she'd first arrived, it had taken a while but eventually she'd warmed up to him. He'd made one or two passes her way, quickly got shot down into a smoldering pile of rubble, and forgot about it--and then everything went fine. Somehow, since Sheridan had arrived, they'd drifted into other circles; she and the captain were good friends from long back, that was just they way things went. Still, he rather missed more chances to talk as they had even for a few minutes today. Maybe things would change after the business of the war straightened itself out.

      With a sigh, he got up and took the last of his lunch over to the recyc disposal, and headed back to work.

      IV.


      Life seemed to return, as much as possible, to "normal" for the next few days. Station business kept Michael busy, though he managed to make time one night to cook dinner for Amis and himself and get in a little "quality" relaxation time. All in all, he was almost beginning to agree with Amis that he was just over-reacting about things. But of course, he should have known that as soon as he started thinking along those lines, he was just asking for the avalanche to begin.

      Michael got the warning signs of trouble on Amis' fourth day back of full duty. Cruise came into his office at the end of the day's shift and announced, "Hey Chief, got a minute?"

      "Sure, something up?"

      "Well, you asked me to keep an extra close eye on Amis the past few days, and...well, more or less there've been no problems."

      "'More or less'," Mike repeated, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

      "Well, I don't know if I'm making too much of it, but...a couple times he seemed to totally zone out on me. We'd be in the middle of a conversation, just walkin' around, or even in the middle of questioning someone, and he'd just get this weird look on his face and get totally unresponsive...like he was a million miles away or somethin'. Only for a few seconds maybe, but it was...weird. When I'd ask him about it he just shrugged it off, said it was just the painkillers he was still on, makin' him a little out of it."

      "How many times did this happen?" Mike asked.

      "Once, maybe two days ago, but then twice today. Thought I'd ask you about it, I mean..." Cruise gave a shrug, then continued, "Look, I know the guy's a vet--my older sister is too, and sometimes she'd sort of space-out on us at home, have these flashbacks out of nowhere..."

      Man, how I wish that was all there was to it, Garibaldi sighed to himself. "Maybe that's all it is, or the medication, but I'm gonna look into it," Garibaldi said to Cruise. "Thanks, Carlos, and...keep this conversation between us, okay?"

      "Hey, sure thing, Chief. Have a good one." Cruise left, and Mike suddenly felt that confidence and sense of control fading away. He had another hour or so before he would be able to call it a night...an hour in which he would have to figure out what he was going to do with Amis.


      He'd gone over the situation about a hundred times in his head before he found himself outside Amis' quarters. He rang the buzzer, and shortly therafter the door opened. Mike stepped inside to find Amis sprawled out on the couch, looking half asleep. The lights were down and the vid was playing at low volume. "Tough day?" Mike asked, sitting down next to him.

      "Mmph," Amis answered ambiguously, getting up into a sitting position. "Same old same old."

      "That's not exactly what I heard." Mike paused, debating one last time whether to just let it go or not. His conscience wouldn't let him. "I had a little visit from Cruise this afternoon. You've had a couple more of those telepathic flashes."

      "Just one this morning, no big deal."

      "Yes, big deal, and don't lie to me. Cruise said there were three since you've been back on duty, and those were only the ones he noticed."

      Amis glared at him angrily. "So, you put a watch dog on me now, is that it?"

      "How often are they coming--tell me the truth. I'll take you off duty completely if you're not gonna play on the level with me."

      Amis held his angry glare for a moment, then closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine. It's been once...maybe twice a day, the past week or so. Today I had three."

      "So they're getting more frequent, aren't they? You said before it was only something that happened 'every now and then'. Unless you were lying to me then, too."

      "I wasn't lying to you, Mike. I just...you're right. Okay. It's getting more frequent."

      "Will you come with me to see Lyta, then? Will you at least let me do something to maybe put an end to this, or find out what's causing it?"

      Amis didn't answer right away, so Mike continued to press. "This isn't something you can just ignore, and don't tell me it isn't bothering you."

      The expression on Amis' face confirmed that Mike wasn't wrong. He looked scared. "I guess it was one thing when I just had to relive my own nightmares all the time. I don't need other people's nightmares in my head as well. It is startin' to get to me. Just didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to talk about it..."

      Michael reached out to hold Amis' hand, caressing it for reassurace. "It's gonna be okay. I promise."

      "Don't make promises, Mike," he answered, looking up with haunted eyes.


      Ten minutes later, they were outside Lyta's quarters. Mike buzzed her and called inside, "Lyta? It's Mike Garibaldi, and a friend. Can we talk to you for a minute?"

      There was a brief pause, followed by, "All right...just give me a minute."

      While they waited, Mike turned to Amis. His unease was radiating so strongly Mike had no need for telepathy to feel it. With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, Mike said, "Take it easy. If she can figure this business out, don't you want to know what's happening?"

      "Truthfully? I'm not so sure." Before the conversation could continue, the door swung open and they both stepped inside.

      Miss Alexander looked as if she'd just been awakened from sleep--perhaps her own nightmares, given the weariness of her expression. Her red hair hung loose and somewhat disarrayed, and she was dressed in simple blue pajamas. Dark circles lay beneath her too-large, dark eyes, but she attempted a smile to greet them.

      "I'm sorry if we dragged you out of bed. If this is a bad time--" Mike started apologizing, but Lyta waved his concerns off.

      "It's all right, Mr. Garibaldi. I'm used to Ambassador Kosh calling me off whenever he feels like it, so frankly at the moment I'm just glad it's you and not him." Michael understood, being one of the few people on the station who knew, along with Lyta, that "Kosh" was no longer the same Vorlon to whom Lyta had originally served as aide. The new Vorlon Ambassador gave just about everyone the creeps; "Kosh I" had been perplexing enough at times, but "Kosh II" seemed an entirely more threatening entity all-together. Only Lyta, perhaps, knew the true motives of the replacement Ambassador, though she of course kept such information to herself. Nevertheless, the strain on her was apparent.

      She looked to Michael and his friend, getting a sense of both of their worry as she opened her sensitivity just slightly. "I take it there's some problem you need my help with?"

      Michael sighed. "Maybe. More like I'm hoping you can just find out what the problem exactly is. This is a good friend of mine, Amis Greer," Michael introduced.

      Lyta nodded hello, and got a sense from Garibaldi that Amis was perhaps more than just a "friend", as he said. "Why don't you both sit down and tell me the details, and I'll see what I can do--if anything."

      Amis and Garibaldi both took seats across from Lyta in two neighboring chairs, while Lyta settled on her small sofa and looked at them expectantly. Michael debated, and decided not to mention the details of Amis' past problem with the shadow creature. There was no need to necessarily connect the two events--unless Lyta found the connection herself. "Amis seems to be developing some strange...telepathic abilities all of a sudden."

      "Strange...?" Lyta prompted, and looked towards Amis. He didn't look like he was too eager to elaborate. Nothing concrete could be found in the surface thoughts the telepath could receive without deep scanning--nothing but strong unease and fear...fear of something in the past...

      Garibaldi turned to Amis as well, watching the former lurker until Amis decided he wasn't going to get out of speaking. He started hesitantly. "I...sometimes, close contact with...another person...seems to open up their thoughts to me. Usually not just any thoughts, but memories...bad ones... I start seeing...flashes...it just comes intermittently. That's all. I don't have any control over it, and it's starting to happen more frequently."

      "...And you want me to scan you, to try to find the cause of this? Hmmm..." She thought for a moment, before commenting, "Sometimes--rarely--it has happened that an accident or an illness has triggered a person's latent telepathy. It can be very disconcerting, especially if it happens later in life. Tell me, was there anything that happened to you recently that might have triggered this?" Lyta prompted.

      When Amis hesitated, Garibaldi answered with a simple, "Maybe."

      Lyta looked back and forth between them. "But you're not going to tell me." Garibaldi shrugged. "You realize, it's harder to do a scan if I don't know precisely what I'm looking for."

      "I know, but I don't want to jump to conclusions about what might be the cause," Garibaldi answered. "Listen, Lyta, I know we're asking a lot of you, but..."

      "It's okay, I'll do it. I am the resident telepathic troubleshooter around here, right? I can try now, if I have your permission, Amis," she asked. She could see the man really didn't want to do this--he was definitely afraid of something--but he nodded in reluctant agreement. "Okay. I'll give it a shot. Just try to relax, and I'll try to focus in on these 'telepathic flashes' as you call them. I'm not going to poke around all your secrets. Hopefully I won't have to do too deep of a scan, otherwise you shouldn't feel anything," she tried to reassure him.

      Amis nodded in understanding. Lyta closed her eyes for a moment to clear her thoughts, and also to steel herself against any difficulties that she might encounter. Jumping "feet-first" into another person's mind was not generally a very pleasant experience--it was much easier when she only had to surface scan someone to monitor a business meeting or something equally mundane. Still, she could do it, and would do it now as a favor to a friend. She began lowering her own blocks gradually, allowing herself to reach out to the mind behind the dark eyes locked on her own...

      "Show me what happens..." she said to herself and to Amis--or rather to his mind. She had to find a focal point through the jumbled images on the surface of his thoughts to steer herself towards...she found it, and suddenly...

      "All right you two, break it up! Break it up now!"

      She--Amis--grabbed the angry, drunken Narn who was hurling threats and insults at a young and equally inebriated Centauri. "C'mon, buddy, let it go if you don't want to spend the night in detention," she warned, as he struggled against her hold on him.

      "Filthy, stinking bastards!" the Narn spit out.

      "Stupid animal! That's all you Narns are--animals!" the Centauri responded, struggling against Cruise's grasp of his hands.

      Cruise shook his head as the two continued to try to fight it out. "These two are gonna go right back at it if we don't get 'em in isolation for a while. Let's cuff 'em and dump 'em."

      She did just that, while the Narn started hurling insults at her again. Yet as she started to walk him towards the nearest lift, behind Cruise and the Centauri, she suddenly staggered as a wave of horrific images and emotions assaulted her mind...

      ...she felt his hatred towards the Centauri burning through her veins, making her want to rip the man before her to bloody shreds...

      ...she was watching a group of Centauri soldiers brutally assault and kill her mother--No, his mother, not mine. These are his thoughts, not mine not mine,       she reminded herself, not even Amis' but the Narn's. It was a struggle to remain centered in her own identity while reliving the confusing memories in Amis' head, the tangled web of thoughts...

      Then the images stopped as suddenly as they began, and she stopped dead in her tracks, shaking, wondering what the hell had just happened. She could barely even remember what she had just seen--only felt a residue of terror and pain, and worse, something dark and cold on the edge of her consciousness that seemed...satisfied?...

      The Narn nearly struggled free of her grasp during that brief pause, and Cruise turned around to look at her in concern. "Amis? You okay?"

      Can't let him know..."I'm fine. Just...little dizzy there."

       Then suddenly the world transformed around her. She was...

      ...lying in bed with Michael...falling into a peaceful sleep as he held her, a warm current of affection and desire passing through her...

      ...then she was assaulted by another violent flash of images, memories...Garibaldi's? It was so easy to become lost in here...Lise, Jeffrey, Amis--the blast of a PPG hurled her forward, fear of death...my death...? No, there is a body in my arms, God, no, not Amis...Where was she?...Then Mars, looking down upon a Shadow vessel, hearing the cry of the trapped ship and the shiver of fear it invoked...
      She pulled out quickly, the swirling, confusing images too much for her to process. She had not expected something this severe. This was far from the typical mental "chatter" an untrained telepath heard until they developed blocks. This was beyond the surface images and flashes a stronger telepath would similarly sense on physical contact with another unless they had all their defenses down, and were specifically looking for certain memories, scanning as she was now. But Amis was receiving these flashes without conscious probing, and afterwards could barely remember what had happened. She could certainly understand his fear and Michael's concern.

      "It's not a normal manifestation of psi talents, that's for certain..." she said, using her own voice not just to explain what she was seeing to Garibaldi and Amis, but to help keep herself anchored in her own identity. Amis' mind as she was experiencing it was so chaotic she felt the need to proceed cautiously. "I'm going to have to scan deeper...try to find the possible cause for this..."

      The words seemed to open up another path, this one connected to that fleeting sense of satisfaction after the encounter with the Narn. She chased after it, tried to discover what it was...

      But something suddenly didn't feel right--something was cutting off the memories and thoughts, mental blocks blocking her progress that seemed to spring up out of nowhere.

      "Something's blocking me, all of a sudden! I can't..." She narrowed her eyes in concentration, knowing something was very wrong. An untrained telepath should not have blocks like this. She had to push harder. If she were still only a P-5, she wouldn't be able to do it, as the blocks were too strong. But Vorlon training--and advanced science--had heightened her abilities to an extent no one outside of that alien race could imagine.

      I'm sorry if this hurts, Amis, she thought to him, as she tore through the blocks with all of her advanced abilities. And suddenly a chill unlike any she'd ever felt before fell upon her as she found herself in an incredibly dark, awful place. She gasped, startling Michael.

      "The darkness...it's...so cold in here...there's....another presence, in your mind...!" Her voice was strained, though she spoke barely above a whisper, as if afraid to awaken a sleeping monster. Michael held his breath as she revealed exactly what he had been fearing.

      "Something hiding...lurking...in pain...wounded, separated before from the whole, but now..." Her eyes, wide with sudden terror, clouded over darkly and her voice changed in tenor. "Seeds planted for return, revenge. Healing-time almost complete...When time comes I will be strong again, waiting. Ready. Fear and terror sustain me. Nurture me, for now. Your presence here disturbs. Go...Your thoughts--it knows me, it knows I'm here!--I will take your terror..."
      Lyta felt the dark tendrils of the presence reach out for her, faster than she could attempt to pull away or run from them. She was frozen, unable to even scream or retract as it reached into her own mind and scavenged brutally for what it wanted, flashing her worst memories through her mind. She tried to block it but it fought back, revealing itself in its full horrific form to her in her mind...revealing its nature, its allegiance...Servant of darkness, Soldier of the Shadows. One goal, one aim--destruction, chaos, pain.
      The touch of the Shadow creature finally stirred something else deeply hidden within her--programming, left by the Vorlons. Something she had no idea was there, but now was triggered to strike out against the enemy.

      Garibaldi watched, unable to understand what was going on mentally between the other two. They were not moving, not even blinking. Lyta had stopped speaking, but now the dark glaze over her eyes faded and was replaced by a growing, glowing fire. Man, what the hell did the Vorlons do to her? Michael wondered.

      "The darkness must be eliminated." She now spoke in a commanding voice that seemed almost like Kosh's. The strange glow in her eyes intensified. Acting on instinct, Garibaldi didn't pause to think. He dove at Amis, knocking the two of them to the ground just as he heard a strange thrum of energy crackle through the room. When he got up from the ground, the chair Amis had been sitting in was reduced to a smoking pile of dust. The two shocked men looked at each other and then to Lyta, who seemed to be released from her trance and was trembling violently in shock.

      "Lyta? What happened--what did you see? Why the hell did you do that?!" Mike shouted.

      "I didn't--I don't know...something took control of me...I can't explain, but...Amis, you have to stay away from Kosh," she warned, unable to look at him, for fear that the connection would be re-established. "I...I don't know how I'm going to be able to keep what happened from him, the next time he reads me. There's...something inside you...something from the Shadows..."

      As she paused, Michael's heart sank. This was just what he feared. He looked to Amis, whose expression was unreadable.

      Lyta continued, her large eyes wide as she forced herself to retell what she had seen and felt. "It's growing stronger, whatever it is...you tried to kill it before, apparently, but it still left a fragment in you...enough to try to rebuild itself. It feeds off terror and pain vicariously for now, and it's feeding off other people's memories and fears through you. That's why you're having those strange flashes, and why they're growing more frequent. It's getting stronger, and it wants and needs more...it needs more so it can break free, become again, what it once was..." she shivered just thinking about it.

      "Then we have to get rid of it completely," Mike insisted. "Somehow we have to kill what's left of it, before it can grow any stronger."

      "You can't," Amis finally spoke, and he stated more than asked Lyta, "You can't kill it without killing me, isn't that the problem? It's here inside me forever--or until it decides it's strong enough again and doesn't need me anymore."

      Lyta shook her head. "I...I don't know. It's hard to know...an alien mind, it's difficult to understand clearly, but... Look, please..." she stood up and turned away from them. "I know this must be a lot to take, but I'm afraid you'd both better leave. I have to figure out a way to keep this knowledge from Ambassador Kosh. The Vorlons...have a none-too-subtle way of dealing with anything tainted by the Shadows, especially now. You can see...I think they've programmed certain instructions into me, that were triggered when this thing tried to touch my mind. It's too dangerous for you to stay here--I'm frankly not sure what might happen next. I'm sorry I can't help any further than that."

      "It's okay, Lyta, I'm sorry I put you through this. I just...we had to know what was happening," Michael answered, and the two men walked towards the door. "Thanks for the help, we owe you one. Good night."

      She didn't answer until they were almost out the door. "I..." she paused, then simply said, "Good luck to you both."

      Amis stepped outside, Michael following a step behind after taking a moment to try to collect his thoughts. Amis was walking away so quickly Michael had to practically jog to keep up with him. "Amis--"

      "You happy now, Michael, huh? You got what you wanted out of that?"

      "We're gonna figure out how to get rid of this thing."

      "How? How?!" Amis demanded, spinning around to glare angrily at Michael. "You heard what she just said--there's nothing you can do!" He clutched at his chest, his face contorting in pain. "It's here, inside me, and soon it's going to come back and that whole nightmare is going to start all over. It's going to be just like before, and there's no way to stop it--"

      "Amis, come on! Amis!" Michael grabbed the panicking man by the shoulders. This was no time for Amis to freak out on him. "We're going to stop it. We're going to make sure that doesn't happen. One way or another, there has to be a way." They both fell silent for a moment, waiting to continue speaking until a few people got off a nearby lift and passed by them.

      Amis spoke again, his voice now even, measured, as he told Michael, "Then you're going to have to kill me."

      "No. That is not even an option."

      "That's the only way to stop it-- to get rid of it before it gets too strong. Kill whatever is left inside me."

      "No way, uh uh," Mike insisted. "There's got to be another way."

      "Oh, there is. If you can't do it, I'll do it myself. You can't stop me, Mike."

      "You wanna bet? You want me to escort you over to holding right now, throw you into a padded cell until you come back to your senses?"

      "If you weren't letting your personal feelings for me get in the way right now, you'd know I was right. I told you it would be dangerous to start to get too close to me. If you won't do what you need to, to protect the safety of this station, let me do it."

      "Dammit, Amis!" Mike cried in exasperation. The other man was trying to slip away from Michael's grasp, but the Chief responded faster, locking Amis' hands behind him and pulling the cuffs off his belt and around Amis' wrists. "You really are gonna make me do this the hard way, aren't you?" he asked, forcing the other man towards the lift.

      Amis stopped fighting and just shook his head miserably. "You're going to regret not listening to me. I'm not worth it."

      "Yeah, well, you may not think so, but I do."

      V.


      Michael barely slept that night, feeling guilty as hell over what he'd had to do and trying to figure out some solution to the problem. He'd spent several hours with, even falling asleep over, the Book of G'Quan, hoping for another clue like the one that had led them to using telepaths against the Shadows' ships. Unfortunately, the previous day's encounter with Lyta had proven that telepaths weren't necessarily going to help with this situation.

      The next morning he tried to get back to work but could barely keep his mind on the job. He'd looked for Susan at lunchtime, for at least a little moral support, but she was busy with the captain and Delenn all day with strategy planning sessions and going over reports from several Ranger patrols.

      And so, afternoon came, and after putting Zack in charge of the most pressing matters because he knew he was useless for dealing with them himself, he found his eyes continually drifting back to the solitary figure in the holding cell on one his video monitors. The man, Amis, sat curled in a protective ball, rocking slowly back and forth sometimes; otherwise he simply sat unmoving, haunted eyes gazing out into nothingness, revealing little of whatever horror only he could see. No doubt, he was living every horrific moment of the terror that damn creature had inflicted upon him in the past, certain it was all going to happen to him yet again.

      Every so often, the eyes would lift to focus on the security cam in the far corner of the ceiling. In those moments, he glared out at those watching him--Michael--with such pleading desperation, it made Michael feel as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He needed no telepathy to hear the plea Amis was sending him, that plea for release of the most permanent kind.

      Dammit! Michael, unable to take it any longer, pounded his desk in frustration, then dropped his head into his hands. Why'd I have to get so involved? he moaned to himself.

      But wouldn't this still be as hard if we were "just friends", like before? Before that one night a few weeks back, Mike had already invested so much time into helping Amis straighten out his life and get on solid ground again. Their connection had been made over a year ago, the bond formed that one night when he'd told Amis he believed in his personal demon and wanted to help him beat it. He had not been able to get that night out of his head, nor let himself simply move on and forget about that one lurker after it had seemed the major threat to the station was over. So many damn lost souls in Down Below... something had compelled him not to let Amis slip back through the cracks again. But he never would have believed back then just how close he would become to this man...how their lives would become so intertwined.

      And now, with each passing moment, he felt like Amis was slipping away from him, slipping back away from reality and into the darkness he'd wanted to save him from before. The messed-up lurker he'd met last year and felt sorry for was replacing the strong friend he'd grown to trust, who had saved his life, and who had started to get him to believe that he might still have a chance to find true companionship.

      So far, he had hesitated telling the captain about what was going on, and still believed he couldn't. Sheridan probably wouldn't have any better suggestions than Amis himself had. They were in the middle of a war; anyone who could be connected to the enemy could not be trusted, and should therefore be..."removed". Jeff would've understood, Michael sighed, momentarily feeling the pain of his loss again. Hell, Jeff cared too damn much about everyone except himself sometimes. He would've charged in there and demanded that the demon get out of Amis and take over his body instead!

      That morning, Michael'd had Amis sedated and taken over to MedLab for a complete exam, had him put through every test imaginable. But they could come up with no physical signs or traces of anything unusual. The results didn't surprise Garibaldi, who remembered that the creature had seemed to consist more of some form of psychic energy than anything of pure matter. Still, he had hoped for something tangible, something that medical science could take care of, and now that chance was lost.

      Another hour passed while he was lost in his thoughts and watching Amis, until he found he couldn't take it anymore. Maybe the time in solitary had given him a chance to think a little more rationally about the situation. Michael left the office and headed right for the detention cells.


      Amis looked up with a now angry glare when Michael entered the cell. "Hey," Mike called, walking over towards the bed that was the only piece of furniture in the small room. Amis didn't answer, except to turn away in feigned disinterest. "Yeah, thought so. I'm on your shit list right now for putting you in here instead of letting you off yourself. Well, I'm sorry for not wanting to see you dead."

      He sat on the edge of the cot when no response came. "Okay, if you're not gonna talk, you'll just have to listen to me 'cause I'm not leaving just 'cause you don't feel sociable. I need you to hear what I have to say.

      "Look, this isn't about you 'n me--our relationship. This is about me trying to figure out what's best for everyone. I won't just throw one person to the wolves, not if there's even the slightest chance I can avoid that.

      "No one outside of you, me and Lyta knows exactly what's going on. We've got time to figure this thing out--to find a solution we can all live with--before things get out of control."

      "How do you know it's not out of control already?" Amis answered sharply. "You're not the one inside this head. You don't know...I've tried to ignore it for so long...tried to convince myself I was just crazy...crazy to think it was still there...the great darkness, the heart of darkness still beating within me, screaming for revenge..."

      "Can you tell how strong it is now? Do you know what it's thinking?" Michael pressed, trying to draw Amis back to the here and now, away from the edge of madness he saw creeping into the man's mind. Don't fade out on me, Amis. Don't let yourself fall again... he pleaded silently, awaiting an answer to his question.

      Amis closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if he too realized what was happening and was trying to force himself to stay in reality as well. Finally, he shook his head. "No. I only see the visions, the memories it steals from others. That's the only time I know it's there...I can...sort of feel its reactions to them. They aren't pleasant." He paused for a moment again, and this time looked at Mike without the anger from before. Just desperation. "I just know, they're getting so much more frequent, so strong...Michael, if it doesn't kill me--if you don't kill me to get rid of it--it really is gonna drive me insane. I can feel it happening already. It'll be like before, only worse...and I don't want to go back to that place in my head ever again. I won't be able to get back out next time, I know it."

      Michael took Amis' hand tightly in his own and said, "I know. I understand. And I'm not gonna let that happen. Can I trust you enough not to run and do something stupid, if I let you out of here? Will you stay with me, where I can keep an eye on you without keeping you locked up 24 hours a day?"

      Amis wouldn't answer right away. But he finally let out a deep sigh and nodded. "Okay. I'll give it a chance. For now."

      "That's all I'm asking. C'mon, let's get you out of here."


      Michael took care of the necessary paperwork, and soon they were back at his quarters. While Amis disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, Mike made sure to take care of one thing immediately--securing his PPG somewhere Amis couldn't get to it without Mike's personal access code. Just in case.

      He went to his closet to pick out some more comfortable clothes, changed, then stepped back into the living room area. Amis was sitting at the far end of the sofa, not looking any less defeated than he had back in the holding cell. Michael knew they weren't going to get anywhere until Amis started believing there was some chance things were going to work out.

      "Hey..." Michael said softly, sitting down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Look at me." Michael used his other hand to lift the Amis' head when there was no response, letting his thumb stroke the underside of his chin affectionately. He smiled slightly, realizing how much those familiar features facing him were starting to grow on him. He could look into those deep brown eyes and probably never be able to fathom exactly what was going on behind them. He did love a good mystery now and again, and Amis was certainly a mystery to him on many levels, compelling him to want to learn more.

      He feared Susan was right; sometimes the heart and the mind didn't listen to each other very well. This wasn't the time or place to start developing serious emotional attachments--hadn't he figured that out by now? No, he supposed not.

      "You know," he said, "one time I told Jeff that it was easy to find something worth dying for, but a lot harder to find something worth living for. You've got to try to find...to realize that you've got a lot to live for yet. And no matter what--I'm here for you." ...And I think I might be starting to love you. And right now I couldn't handle losing another person I care about so much.

       Amis nodded, but didn't say anything in response. He looked as if he had let himself be completely defeated by this thing already. Michael pulled him closer for a hug; it was all he could think to do, as there was nothing more he could think to say--nothing he was ready to admit to, at least. After some time, he felt Amis finally relax slightly against him, his own arms reaching around Mike's body for support. Neither of them spoke nor moved, though Michael felt Amis shudder against him as though he might be crying. Michael simply held on tighter, stroking his shoulders, the back of his head, wanting to do anything, whatever he could, to make the hurting stop. If only he knew how to make it really stop--not just offer simple comfort.

      With the shudders passing, Mike nuzzled his head down against Amis', lips brushing gently against the soft brown curls. "Don't give up on me, not yet," he murmured softly. "Come on, let's get you to bed. You and I could both use some rest."

      "Yeah, sure," Amis answered softly, a single sniffle the only reminder of the emotions he was battling to keep under control.

      Michael climbed into bed, after pulling out some nightclothes for Amis to borrow. Amis followed, and with the lights out, Michael held him close, hoping they could both fall into the restful sleep they needed. The weight of Amis' head resting on his chest, body draped across him, was nothing compared to the weight of responsibility he felt inside. In many ways he had saved Amis' life--or at least tried to give it some meaning once more. According to many ancient traditions, that meant that his life was now Michael's responsibility to support and protect. But how could he protect it from an enemy he could not directly confront?

      He could feel the building pressure in his temples threatening a bad headache if he didn't stop going around in mental circles on this, so he willed himself to try to relax. His fingers gently traced though Amis' hair in a steady, rhythmic pattern, and he tried to think about the good times they'd shared, only days before. Tried to imagine that none of this was happening. He hovered on the edge of sleep, peaceful for one long moment...

      Then the nightmare images began again.

      They were the same ones he'd been haunted with in his nightmare that first time, and more. More vivid now, as if he was living through those hells all over again. Mars. Europa. The faces of Frank's horrified family; his wife's terrible cries of grief. A young girl's voice taunting him through a cloud of alcohol and pain ("Drunk again, Uncle Mike?") Slogging through the battlefields screaming for retreat, with the Minbari right on their heels...

      Another cry, this one jarring him out of the depths with its proximity. "STOP, no!" Amis was screaming, as he wrenched away from Mike and broke the flood of memories.

      Once Michael himself recovered, he saw Amis curled on the floor away from him, shaking. Damn it, can't even have a few minutes' peace, he thought sadly. He got up and went to the bathroom, pulling out an old prescription for sleeping pills he still had sitting around.

      "Here, take these," Michael told Amis, getting down on the floor next to him.

      Amis looked up, the terror still fresh in his eyes. "What is it?"

      "Just some sleeping pills--maybe they'll let you have a deep enough sleep even that thing can't bother you."

      Amis took them after a pause, and the offered glass of water.

      "Come on, let's try this again. Tomorrow, we'll...we'll figure out what we're gonna do about this, okay?"

      Amis nodded, still looking more than a little shaky, then followed Michael over to the bed.

      "Lights off," Michael ordered once more, and the room plunged into darkness. He curled up against Amis and said, "We're gonna beat this thing, I promise."

      Softly, after flicking the pills out of his mouth that he'd pretended to swallow, Amis whispered, "Don't make promises you can't keep."


      Perhaps it was the creature invading his head again, but Michael slept uneasily. His mind wouldn't completely shut down, as he couldn't give up trying to figure out a way to defeat the creature. How does one combat and kill something that seems intangible, or is so closely locked into another person's existence that it cannot be separated? It was a parasite, or symbiote of the worst kind, concerned only with its own survival...how could they free Amis from its grasp?

      Freedom...a remembrance, a voice from days before echoed in Michael's dream:

      Freedom awaits you...on the eve of the final darkness."
      The eve of darkness, death...the eve of death, but not death itself...From somewhere in his half-sleep, an idea suddenly came to him, pulling him sharply out of the dream before he could lose the thought. He sat up abruptly, and shouted, "Damn it, I've got it! I've got it, Amis!" He reached over to quickly wake up his friend--but he stopped abruptly when he found no one there next to him.

      "Lights!" he demanded, blinking and quickly scanning the room. Amis' uniform was gone from the chair where it had been tossed casually before. All that remained was his commlink.

      "Shit! Aw no, don't do this to me," Michael groaned, jumping up out of bed and trying to find his own clothes. He caught the blinking display of his vid-panel, indicating a waiting message. "Computer, display messages."

      "One text message. Displaying now."

      Michael fixed his eyes upon the panel screen, where the text scrolled out: Sorry, Michael. Can't risk it. Thanks for trying.

      "Damn! Damn it to hell! ...What time was message received?"

      "Message received at one-hundred hours, fifteen minutes."

      "Transmission point?"

      "...Message sent from this same communications terminal."

      Checking the current time, he saw Amis had an almost thirty minute lead on him--thank God he'd been sleeping restlessly. Still, if Amis was really determined to do something drastic, those thirty minutes could be more than ample time.

      Mike removed his PPG from where he'd locked it last night and ran out the door, not sure where he was going. Think think think, what would Amis do? Where would he go? Come on Michael, think! he yelled at himself as he headed for the nearest lift. Okay. He's doing this because he's afraid it's going to hurt other people on this station if it gets control of him. Or gets out of him. So he's gotta do this somewhere remote--somewhere he'd know he'd be able to do it without getting caught in the act...or had planned it before. Before...

      "Did you ever not want to come back inside?"

      "All the time. But I never had the nerve to do it in the end, even though it seemed...so easy..."
      Michael cursed the lift as he awaited its arrival, praying that he had enough time to get there.

      VI.


      He stood clutching the railing tight though thick-gloved hands, the only sound that of his own breathing inside the suit, coming slow, steady. Perfectly calm. He watched the many ships that circled around the station, many of types he'd never seen before and could not recognize. All these different races were joining together and using this place now as the center for the Army of Light--the army against the Shadows.

      These people and aliens were all here to put their lives secondary to the greater cause at hand. Now it was his turn to do the same. Why couldn't Michael see this was necessary?

      ...And why was he suddenly finding it difficult to finally do what he knew he had to do? What he'd made up his mind to do hours ago?

      Just one good jump, he told himself. Like you thought about doing all those times before. Fall away from the station, and simply keep falling. Simple. Yet for some reason, he couldn't quite take that last step. Not yet. Just want to watch the stars for a few minutes more. One last time...The stars look like angels overhead, observing me, observing all of us...Will they cry for this one fallen soul--vessel for the fallen angel, the soldier of darkness...

       He closed his eyes, tried to stay focused on what he must do. Tried to hold onto that tenuous grip he held on reality. Must be that damn thing, turning me coward. Doesn't want to lose me. Can't afford it. Well, my old friend, it's time you finally left me the hell alone. I'm tired of being your servant. I won't help you any longer, let you use me to stay alive. It's been too long...far too long. I'm just too tired to fight you any longer.
      He leaned against the railing, looking down beneath him where the station fell away, and where there was nothing to see except the field of stars below. It was time. Freedom awaits me here. If he just leaned further forward...let the boots release their magnetic hold on the deck beneath him...

      He heard the crackling come through the suit's speakers, startling him. "Amis, don't! You gotta listen to me. There is another way out."

      Garibaldi's voice was strained; Amis could hear his breath coming in fast gasps between his words. He didn't even turn towards the air lock to see where Michael was. "No, I told you, there is no other way. You've got to leave, Mike, I came out here so no one else could get hurt."

      "I'm not leaving, not until you listen to me. I figured it out--there's a way, I know there is. It's what that guy said to you, in Down Below: 'on the eve of final darkness, freedom awaits you.' You don't have to die. We just have to convince it that you're going to die. Force it to let go, and then scrag it good it before it goes for someone else."

      "But how?"

      "Doctor Franklin had a machine. An alien healing device. I know where it still is, and that it works. It lets you transfer one person's life energy into another person. We can drain your energy just to the edge of death into someone else. The thing will probably try to detach itself from you and jump into the nearest person--but we'll blast it with the biggest goddamned PPG blast we can before it does. Then we transfer your energy back into you. It's risky sure, but--"

      "It's crazy, Mike! What if it doesn't work? What if it just passes itself from me to whoever else you strap up to this 'machine' of yours?"

      "Then we'll do what we have to--worst comes to worst I'll tell Doc Hobbs to put us both into cryo if it looks like it's not working. But you gotta give me the chance to try it, Amis."

      "You?! Uh uh, Mike."

      "Who the hell else? I can't ask anyone else on my staff into such a dangerous position."

      "You shouldn't ask anyone, period. Let me do this, Michael. I have to. Your idea might work, but if it doesn't..."

      "For Chrissake, what have you got to lose if it doesn't?! You don't really want to die, Amis. If you did, you wouldn't still be here. You would've been long gone. But you couldn't jump, could you?"

      "...I was going to...I'm going to do what I have to..."

      "Amis, look at me. Look at me, dammit." Amis turned, seeing now that Michael was closing the distance between them. Panicking, he backed away, but his eyes met Michael's, through the thick glass that separated them both from the vacuum outside. A wave of emotion Amis didn't want to feel swept through him, seeing the desperation in Mike's eyes.

      "Whether you like it or not, you're important to me now. If I mean anything to you, you'll give me the chance to try this. Come on, you don't want to throw your life away now, just when things are getting back on track. ...Besides, I haven't had the chance to cook my famous Bagna Cauda for you. No one walks out on me until I've at least cooked it for them once."

      The bad joke somehow broke Amis' resolve, and he let out a laugh before he could stop himself. "Aw hell, Mike..." he trailed off, suddenly finding his desperation dissipating itself in a nervous fit of giggles.

      "That's exactly where we're gonna send that thing--straight back to hell. Come on, let's go." Michael slowly finished making his way over to Amis, and quickly tethered himself to the other man's suit, just in case he tried anything still. "We're going back inside now. And we're getting that thing out of you, one way or another."


      "I am stating for the record right now that I'm agreeing to assist in this procedure completely against my better judgment, and under severe duress. This alien device has not been properly tested and evaluated--"

      "--It worked fine on me, Doc, check my records. Franklin's gone over the thing thoroughly and can attest that it works. Even if we don't understand exactly how."

      "Regardless, Mr. Garibaldi, you're asking me to watch you use this equipment to bring another man--a man who appears to be in perfectly fine health--to the edge of death?! While a goon squad of your men stand by with fully charged rifles, to take out a supposed alien entity that has...possessed him? This is completely outrageous!" Doctor Hobbs glared around MedLab angrily.

      "If anything goes wrong, I've told you what to do. If I'm right about this, we'll be saving a Helena lot of lives on this station with what we're about to do. You can report me to the captain as soon as we're finished, or if anything goes wrong. Just let me do what I need to do right now."

      The doctor was unconvinced, but the fact that security men were standing around, armed to the teeth, and the rest of her staff had been dismissed by them already, made her feel as if she had no choice. She was one woman against an army. "Very well. Get this over with. I'll have no part in it, except to monitor this man's condition and hope you don't kill him with that...thing."

      Garibaldi nodded, thankful for even the most reluctant assistance. The machine had, in fact, been designed as a means of corporal punishment: the criminal was drained of his life energy, which was then used to cure individuals suffering from terminal illnesses. No one still knew the origins of the device, which had originally been brought to the station by a doctor who had learned how to operate it at less than full power to cure simpler ailments without killing the energy "donor". However, after Franklin inherited the device from the doctor, he determined it to be too dangerous to use until it could be fully understood. But Michael had studied Franklin's notes thoroughly after the device had been used by Franklin and Captain Sheridan to bring him out of a coma once. He understood it enough--he hoped--that he would be able to operate it himself. Even if Franklin would've given him a worse chewing out than Doctor Hobbs had just now if he ever found out about this.

      He turned now to Zack Allen, who was ready with three other security officers around the tables where they had set up the Life Giver. "Okay, Zack, I told you what to watch for. Even if you don't see anything, when I say go, I want you, Julie and Mark to fry the air right above us, or wherever I tell you to."

      "Got it, Chief. Whatever you want us to do, we'll do it." Mike knew Zack would not question his orders, no matter how crazy they seemed. The others appeared equally intent--he had chosen them because they had been there during the last battle with the Shadow creature the year before. They had at least some idea of what they would be facing.

      Michael looked over to Amis, sitting on one of the examining tables, already connected to the equipment. "You ready?"

      Amis nodded. "I don't know if you're right about this, but I guess there's no harm in trying."

      No harm? Michael thought. If the damn creature didn't kill him, a slip on this machine could finish the job in an instant. "Listen...I understand basically how to operate this, but...there is a chance..."

      "I understand," Amis finished for him, looking up at him with understanding eyes. "It's okay. No matter what happens. And...just don't blame yourself if somethin' goes wrong. You hear me, Michael Garibaldi?"

      Michael forced himself to swallow down the emotions he was feeling--hell, it was no time to get mushy, not here and not while he had to stay focused. He just reached for Amis' hand and squeezed it tight for a moment. "I hear ya...Let's do it."

      He went to his own bed and sat on the edge, facing the machine, and hooked his arm up to it. Amis laid down, the security men positioning around them both as Michael made final preparations. Dr. Hobbs drew near with equipment to monitor their vital signs, though her face was drawn tight in displeasure over the situation.

      Taking a final deep breath to clear his head, Michael activated the machine, and pressing a few buttons he initiated the flow of life-energy from Amis towards himself. Almost immediately he felt the surge of energy pouring into him. His own senses seemed to grow sharper with each passing moment. He felt electrified. It continued to grow more intense and he continued to allow the energy to pass for several minutes...then longer...

      It was Doctor Hobbs that drew him back off the high of the machine by announcing firmly, "All right, his vital signs are dropping quickly. That's as far as you can push him if you want to give him any chance to recover. Stop the transfer."

      Michael did so immediately and waited for an apprehensive, agonizing minute. Maybe it wouldn't work. Amis lay unconscious now, looking deathly pale...Fear gripped Michael as he worried that he was already dead, or that the thing was so attached to him that it could not break free until he finally was dead.

      Zack asked softly, "Chief...?"

      "Not yet...give it another moment or two..." His hand hovered over the control that would reverse the device's energy flow...

      And then it began. He saw the sickly, pale glow starting to flare out of Amis' chest, lifting itself free, sluggishly...a shapeless blob of light, with the blackest void of night at its center.

      "I see it..." Zack whispered unnecessarily. The others all did as well. Doctor Hobbs stepped back, a sharp gasp escaping her lips before she froze in surprise.

      "Wait...wait till it's completely off him...make sure you don't hit him..." Michael's eyes were drawn into that small, dark void, and he could sense it was studying him, somehow, turning towards him. A chill passed over him as it reached out to him on some mental level, and suddenly it lifted itself completely off Amis' body.

      "Now!" Garibaldi hollered, dropping down on the bed and flinching his eyes shut as the blasts roared overhead. The heat of the intense plasma fire scorched the air above him. The blasts continued until he nearly screamed, the heat becoming almost too much to endure. But his own voice was drowned by a terrible shriek--the same shriek he'd heard in his dreams: the cry of a Shadow ship...the cry when they had first tried to kill the Shadow creature. He opened his eyes to see the dark void fading, collapsing onto itself...then it was gone. He hoped completely and finally, this time.

      Not waiting an instant, he sat up and got back to the machine, reversing the flow of the life energy back to Amis. "C'mon, c'mon," he impatiently breathed, ignoring the others' mixed cries of "What the hell was that thing?!" "Did we get it?" "Chief--you okay...?"

      He felt himself growing weary and tired as the device drained him. But he wouldn't release the controls, not until, for a moment, Amis' eyes flickered open. There was a look of confusion there, then his eyes found Michael's, and he smiled. Then the eyes closed again.

      "Doc, is he..."

      Hobbs was already busy at work, monitoring both their vitals. "You can stop the device now, Mr. Garibaldi...your friend appears to be in...unconscious but otherwise stable condition, and if you continue you could be endangering your own health."

      He breathed a deep sigh of relief, powering down the machine, feeling drained and incredibly tired. Maybe, finally, it was all over now. Zack asked him again, "Chief, are you all right?"

      "I'll be fine," he answered. "I think we'll all be fine now."

      VII.


      "I'm getting the worst sense of deja vu," Amis declared upon waking sometime later, finding Michael at his side watching over him.

      Mike smiled. "Yeah, this is one annoying habit you've got, getting yourself nearly killed every few weeks. If I didn't know any better, I'd start to think you were doing this just to slack off duty."

      Amis managed a small laugh and looked around. He was back in his own quarters, not MedLab, where he last remembered being. Michael continued to explain, "Since the Doc thought you should be fine--and she couldn't wait to see the whole lot of us get the hell out of there--I had you brought back here and decided to wait for you to come to."

      Amis started to sit up, feeling a little disoriented, and a little strange. He didn't feel bad at all--hell, he actually was feeling a lot better, more...well, alive than he had in a while.

      "You feelin' okay?" Michael asked anxiously.

      "I'm feeling...great, in fact."

      He looked at Mike, who shrugged and said sheepishly, "Yeah, well, I must've slipped a little bit with the healing device or something, maybe gave you a bit extra of mine. Ain't that familiar with the way the thing works."

      Amis gave him an exasperated look. "Mike, what the hell am I gonna do with you?"

      "I don't know, guess I'm a hopeless case." He reached over to scruff up Amis' hair. "I'm just glad we finally got rid of that thing. You're gonna be okay now. For real."

      Amis searched inside himself, trying to confirm what Mike was saying. "It's really gone?" he asked dubiously.

      "Everyone saw it pull out of you, then they hit it with enough PPG blasts to take out an army. Weren't no signs of it after that. I'm pretty certain that's the last we'll ever see of it."

      "But you don't know for sure," Amis insisted. "Suppose it still left a trace of itself in me?"

      "Why? It thought you were dying and didn't want to go down with a sinking ship. Probably took everything it had to break free and try to find a new host." Amis looked as if he wanted to believe that, but wasn't completely sure. "Look, if we can talk her into it, we'll get Lyta to scan you again just to make sure. Hell, we could ask her to scan all the personnel that were in the lab to make sure it didn't jump into any of them. But for now, believe me, we got it. Okay?"

      "Okay," Amis agreed, though still a bit reluctant to believe it.

      "So, you're back to being the only one in that head after all these years. How's it feel?"

      "I don't know yet. The first time, when we thought we killed it, guess part of me always knew something still wasn't right. Now...something feels somehow...empty. Raw."

      Michael nodded, trying to imagine the hell his friend had been through all these years since the war. Now, perhaps, it finally would be finished. Michael caught Amis looking at him with great concern, and his expression turned troubled. "Something else bothering you?" Michael asked.

      Amis looked away, and got up in the bed enough to swing his legs over the side. He kept his eyes down on his hands as he chose his words carefully. "I guess I owe you a big thanks. I tried to push you away, to keep you from helping me...I was afraid if we couldn't stop this thing, and it got complete control over me...that you would be the first person who would end up getting hurt. And I couldn't be responsible for that." He looked up now, an apologetic look on his face.

      "Are you trying to tell me that against your better judgment, you actually care about me?" Michael teased gently.

      "Of course I care about you. You're my friend."

      "And that's all?"

      Amis shook his head. "All right, that's not all. Maybe you're starting to get under my skin, Michael Garibaldi. I wasn't expecting that. I wasn't planning on letting that happen."

      "So, neither of us were. Look, I remember what you said before to me, about not getting too involved. But we're grown ups, aren't we? Things don't always happen the way we think they should...the safe way. I just know...I like being with you. And I care what happens to you. And that...it feels good right now to have someone to feel that way about again."

      Amis accepted Mike's words with a small smile. "I know. Maybe I'm the one who's still gun-shy. I haven't...let myself get really close to anyone like this since...hell, I can't even remember. Lost so many friends, and more, during the war...the only way to get through it was to keep my distance. It's...hard to stop feelin' that way."

      "I know. But sometimes it's worth taking a risk." Michael pulled him close for a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug. "Listen, I got to get to work. There's been some sort of major development and I need to get my butt over to the war room before the captain chews me out. You gonna be okay?"

      "Yeah. Yeah, just need some rest, I think."

      "Good. 'Cause you're usin' up all your sick days fast, my friend, and you'll be needed back in customs tomorrow. So enjoy the time off while it lasts."

      Amis just groaned and fell back into bed. Grinning, and feeling ready to take on the universe (even a cranky captain!), Garibaldi left and got back to his job.


      Back to customs duty, joy, joy, Amis sighed to himself, trying to keep up a cheerful demeanor as he processed the arrival of a ship of new refugees from the battle lines. Even working short shift, it was a tedious, irritating job, but at least it was better than being bed-ridden and having Mike watching over him every second. It was his second day back on the job after their attempt to get rid of the Shadow Demon, and Amis was finally starting to let himself believe that maybe it was gone for good this time. He hadn't had any more of those flashes, no sense of the creature being with him. It was an odd feeling, no longer knowing that something else was there, sharing his thoughts and his body.

      As he finished with one Drazi family, their documents thankfully all in order, he suddenly became aware of a tingling in the back of his neck, a strange sense of unease. Someone was watching him--it's wasn't telepathy, just survivor's instinct. He turned around and saw Ambassador Kosh, encounter suit looming in the background of the bustling crowd around him. Amis knew even with all these people around, Kosh was the one setting off his warning signals.

      Amis swallowed nervously. "Avoid Ambassador Kosh," Lyta had warned quite plainly--but that had been before they'd gotten rid of the creature inside him. Apparently Lyta hadn't been able to keep their secret, as she had feared.

      Well, somehow I don't think running right now will help, Amis decided, and he passed over his duties to another officer for a moment to go over where the ambassador was waiting for him.

      "Ambassador. Can I help you?" Amis asked, and he waited with growing apprehension as the Vorlon simply studied him silently for a long moment. The prickle at the back of his neck turned into an electric hum, then suddenly he felt a strong snap in his mind, disorienting him. He staggered back slightly, feeling dizzy and faint.

      "You may go," Kosh finally spoke.

      Amis stared at him, puzzled. "What was all that about? What did you just do?"

      "Verification," the Vorlon replied simply. "Cleansed, but still broken. Irrelevant...for now."
      With that, the ambassador turned and glided away.



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