A Face in the Crowd

By Sarah Bloy

Notes: Let's start with the legal stuff. I am, in no way, shape, or form, connected with the creation, making, producing, etc. of Babylon 5. It's not mine, neither are the characters, places, events, etc. This work is just for fun and not meant to honk anyone off. So don't take me for a serious writer, I'm not.

Now then. I've reamed every little fact I have on Zack from the show and tried to keep this concurrent, so there may be some spoilers if you haven't seen from the end of season one on (in which case, you have no clue who Zack is, and are no doubt confused). Most of the more obscure facts I got, such as when Zack signed on and why he was there instead of somewhere else, are from passing remarks made by the characters in the third and fourth seasons. I also completely made up stuff not mentioned in the B5 universe at all.

Lou Welch is from the first and second seasons. I don't recall seeing him after that. If I'm wrong, someone please tell me.

Leslie Templeton is based on the minor character we only knew to be Templeton in the fifth book.

Annette Torres is based on the security officer we only knew as Torres in the second book.

Like I said, reamed.

***

Nov. 29, 2258

"Passengers from Earth transport Nivin please have Identicards ready on exit," the voice of the docking bay announcer drawled out.

Officer Lou Welch of Babylon 5 had the laboriously annoying job of customs that day. "Next," he called. A passenger from the Nivin handed him an Identicard and he slipped it into the slot in his hand-held computer.

"Allan, Zachary; Earthforce corporal," the card said.

"No station right now, eh?" Welch asked. "Lookin' for a new contract?"

"I hope," the private responded.

"Well, good luck to ya'. Next."

This is my last chance, Zack thought to himself as he moved through the crowded waiting area, if I can't find a job here, I resign and find a new line of work. Doing what, you idiot? Giving out advice as the world's foremost expert of stupidity? Yeah, right.

Another person bumped into him. "'Scuse me," they said.

"Sure," said Zack, and he continued on his way. Moments later, a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to see a slightly balding, middle aged man in an Earthforce security uniform. The strip of dark leather down the front indicated he was command level. He had his other hand on the person who'd just bumped into him.

"This yours?" the security officer asked, holding out Zack's Identicard and credit chit.

"Uh, yeah," responded Zack, suddenly aware of another act of stupidity on his part.

"You still stink at this, Trumper," said the security officer to the assailant, to Zack he said, checking the Identicard, "you'll have to find a more secure place for your valuables, Mr. Allan. But for now, you're a key witness. Can you come with me please?"

Zack sighed, nodded, and followed the security officer out of the waiting area.

"Trumper, you've gotta find yourself a better line of work," said the officer, "working for N'Grath just isn't workin' out for you."

"Geeze," said Trumper, "have a heart Garibaldi. If I don't pay off my debts-"

"Wait a sec'," Zack interrupted the whining lurker, "you're Garibaldi?"

"Yeah," said Garibaldi, "what of it?"

"Swell," Zack sighed. I must be setting some sort of record.

"All right," said Garibaldi pressing a few buttons, "thanks for the statement. You can have this back now." He handed Zack his Identicard and credit chit.

"Thanks," said Zack, and prepared to exit Security Central.

"Wait a sec'," said Garibaldi, "your Identicard said you didn't have a contract. You lookin' for work?"

Zack gave an exasperated shrug. "After that, I don't really think I'm much use to ya'. So, no, not any more. Unless you want advice as to what the complete morons would do."

"Well there sure are a lot of them around here and I've actually been lookin' to hire a few more guys. Why don't ya' come back tomorrow, and, uh, we can try it again."

There was some indication in Garibaldi's eyes that said "hey, I've been where you are." This wasn't a pity offer, it was genuine. Garibaldi really had been looking to hire. So, Zack did what seemed right at the time.

"Sure," he said, and exited as quickly as possible.

After booking a room, F size, the smallest and cheapest they had, Zack made his way to the Zocalo. The room was too quiet. For some reason, he needed noise around. Perhaps it reminded him of the mistakes he didn't want to forget so he wouldn't repeat. Maybe it was because it was possible to lose himself in the noise. Or maybe to remind him that happiness was possible, like it seemed so long ago. He didn't know which it was, he only knew he needed the noise.

He wandered the Zocalo for a few hours, losing all track of time, until the crowds thinned out and there wasn't really much noise left to make a difference.

"Forget it, Londo," Garibaldi's voice came from somewhere near the casino, "not this time. You pay off your own debts, and don't involve me in them."

"Come now, my good and dear friend, Mr. Garibaldi," the thickly accented voice of the Centauri ambassador retorted, "all I ask is a little money. Just a few credits. I have a fool proof plan."

"No, find someone else," said Garibaldi, "there are plenty of other suckers inside the casino."

"Why Mr. Garibaldi," said Londo, "I'm hurt that you think of my plans as ways to, as you so quaintly put it, sucker someone."

Their conversation faded into the dwindling crowd.

Well, now I feel a bit better, Zack thought, this is one interesting place.

He returned to Security Central late the next morning, but found Garibaldi inexplicably absent. Something was going around the station about Babylon 4, but Zack hadn't heard any specifics. Something else about a pilot that had returned from Sector 14 only to die of old age was going around, but Zack dismissed that as an urban legend.

He was instructed by an officer who the other officers only called Jack to return later that evening. So he did and found Garibaldi doing a bit of paper work at his desk. He looked as though he'd been dragged the wrong way through a thorn bush a few times.

"It's Zack, isn't it?" Garibaldi asked, not even looking up from his papers.

"Yes sir," he responded.

"Had a feeling you'd be back. 'Course I had that about two other people who haven't shown yet, but what the hell. Sometimes ya' got it, sometimes ya' don't. I took our little meeting yesterday as an application and checked your background." Garibaldi put down his paperwork and got up from the desk. "I got somewhat, uh, colorful references. Especially about a certain incident."

Zack sighed and nodded. "I see," he said, preparing to leave, "thanks for your time anyway." He turned to leave.

"I'm, uh, not done yet."

Zack stopped short and turned around puzzled. Garibaldi had his hands in his pockets and was smiling in a knowing manner.

"Same old song, eh? It's been my experience that those pencil-pushers are dumber than a box of hair and I know a few others who'll agree. They like to look at the past and peoples' mistakes, I figure I'd be a hypocrite if I did. You can start next week." He fished in his pocket and handed Zack a data crystal.

Zack, dumbfounded with amazement, stared at the crystal. For the first time in his life, he felt that there was the dim hope of a God in Heaven.

Dec. 31, 2258

"Mornin' Zack," said a young woman in a security uniform from across the Zocalo.

"Hey Les," he responded as she took up a position next to him.

"You ready for your first New Year's Eve around here?"

"Can't see how it'll be any different than anywhere else."

"Sure sign of a B5 rookie," she warned, "I'll see ya' later. Remember about Earhart's with Lou and Ann. Twenty-one-hundred."

"Yeah, I'll be there."

Leslie Templeton walked off into the crowds of the Zocalo. She had been the first to befriend Zack a month ago when he signed on. Through her, Zack had met Annette Torres and actually had a chance to talk with and befriend Lou Welch, who had greeted him at customs. The foursome were getting together to celebrate the new year that night, as well as to celebrate their fortune at not having the night shift this particular night.

Things were finally starting to look better for him.

It was Twenty-fifty-five and Zack was heading through the Zocalo on his way to Earhart's. The place was abuzz with new year's excitement. He'd gotten off a few hours earlier and the place hadn't looked quite so colorful as it did now. Balloons were anchored to the corners of shops and inside booths, a few salespersons wore silly hats or masks. A few lurkers had dressed in their best and come out to sell noise makers and other little trinkets to children and a few adults still in touch with their childhood. The place was suddenly a festival ground.

There was, of course, the darker side of things. A few Narn and Centauri had begun to duke it out in a corner and a few security were left with the unpleasant job of breaking it up.

Zack suddenly recalled something about Quadrant 37.

Out of the melee of balloons and hats, he suddenly caught sight of Garibaldi rushing out of the Fresh Aire restaurant. He was going the same way as Zack and the junior officer caught up with him.

"Where's the fire, chief?" he asked.

"Just following up on something, Zack," Garibaldi responded.

"Something with that Devereaux guy?"

"Yeah, he went missing. If you see him, link in, huh?"

"Sure thing. I'm meeting up with Lou, Les, and Ann. Want me to tell 'em?"

"Good idea. The more eyes, the better."

"All right. I'll see you later, chief."

"Yeah sure."

They began to part ways and, as an afterthought, Zack added "Happy new year."

"Yeah, you too," the security chief called back and continued on his way.

This Devereaux guy's sure got him rattled, Zack thought as he continued, I wonder what it is. Oh well.

"And so the cow says 'twenty bucks, same as in town,' " Torres finished her joke and the rest of the foursome went into laughter.

Zack checked the timepiece on his link and noted the time. "Hey, it's almost midnight."

"We better get over to watch the ball drop," said Templeton.

"Ball drop?" Zack asked.

"Kind of become an Earhart's tradition," said Welch, "they drop a bowling ball that has one of those old can openers on the bottom and open the last of the vodka from the previous year."

"Open's a relative term," said Torres as they all got up, "usually the bottle just shatters and makes a big mess."

"That's completely crazy," stated Zack around a laugh.

"What around here isn't," Templeton retorted.

The crowd began a countdown, all eyes on the clock placed above the ball drop area. When the crowd shouted "happy new year" the ball dropped and, sure enough, the bottle of vodka shattered. A few sprays of champagne in the crowd responded in kind and noise makers fulfilled their lot in life. Jokingly, Torres held out a glass. The only things it caught were some slightly moist streamers.

They retreated back to the table they had been sitting at and sat down once again.

"Where's a shower when you need one?" Zack joked.

"If you wanna try breaking into the commander's quarters, I'm not promising I won't report ya'," Welch responded.

"Very funny."

Simultaneously, their links all chimed and called them away from their celebration. They toggled them on and listened.

"This is C&C to all security," Ivanova's voice came over, "we need a search on Mr. Garibaldi. Possible danger. Search on Mr. Garibaldi."

"The chief?" Templeton asked.

From just outside the club, there was a scream. The four security officers went into work mode and headed for the door. Outside, they came upon a small crowd gathered near an elevator and staring, terrified, at a form on the floor. They pushed their way in and saw the horrifying sight.

Garibaldi was unconscious and injured.

"Oh, shit," said Zack, toggling his link, "Zack Allan to C&C. We found Garibaldi in the elevator just outside Earhart's. We need a trauma team down here stat. He's unconscious."

"Copy that," Ivanova's somewhat worried voice responded.

The entire rainbow of swear words went though Zack's mind at the same time.

Jan. 1, 2259

Zack stood in an assemblage of security officers just going on duty for the day. Jack, Garibaldi's second, was speaking to them.

"Now, I know between this and the death of the president last night, we all have a few things to work out right now. But, we can't let that get in the way of doing our job. We all know the chief wouldn't want anything to happen to the station, so we have to keep just as close a watch as normal, when he's with us. We'll find whoever it was that shot him, sooner or later. And when he wakes up again, hopefully he'll be able to tell us. I don't want any of you to go searching specifically for this guy. Just do your jobs, and if you happen across anything, tell me. But other than that, just leave finding the guy to me. All right?"

"Yes sir," a few officers mumbled, disorganized. Others only nodded.

"Good," Jack responded, "dismissed." As an afterthought he added "Welch, Allan, Torres, Templeton. I need to talk to you for a second."

The four puzzled officers looked at each other nervously for a moment and as the rest filed out of the room, they approached Garibaldi's second.

"Sir?" Welch was the only one with courage enough to inquire.

"They tell me you four found the Chief last night, is that true?"

"Yes, sir," said Templeton.

"Well then. I know that could be a little rattling and Torres you look a little green around the gills."

"One too many last night, sir," said Torres.

"Well it seems everybody is in a big hurry to work today. I don't know if it's because they're trying to forget hangovers or if they wanna find the Chief's would be murderer, but we're a bit overstaffed today. So I want you four to take the day off. Gather your thoughts, work things out, sleep off hangovers." Torres blushed a smiled a tad, embarrassed. "Just take it easy. I'm gonna need you guys. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Zack. He couldn't help but feel a strange something around Jack. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew it as there. His mother used the term "rubs one the wrong way." Zack never really understood that until he met Jack.

"Good," said Jack, "now go on."

Jan. 6, 2259

The place was a mess.

Garibaldi was still in a coma, Commander Sinclair had been recalled to Earth a few days ago, and Lieutenant Commander Ivanova was constantly being stalked by unruly ambassadors.

To add to confusion, Narn Ambassador G’Kar had left the station and gone missing.

And not to forget Minbari Ambassador Delenn. Rumors weren't always true, but there was definitely something going on with her.

And Zack was one of the multitudes of people in security trying to keep things from blowing up, sometimes literally.

The Narns and the Centauri were at each others' throats with a vengeance and a few small bomb scares had occurred, but nothing major had come of them.

Zack was currently in Medlab getting a few stitches in his forehead. A few Narns and Centauri had gotten into it in the Zocalo and Zack had been on the receiving end of a glass bottle meant for a Narn.

Yep, the place was definitely a mess.

Dr. Hobbes skillfully worked on the stitches. When she wasn't in his line of sight, Zack was left with the view of Garibaldi's prone form, laying on a bed in intensive care, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Finally unable to stand just watching, Zack asked "will he be all right, doc?"

"Who?" Hobbes asked, then noticed Zack's line of sight, "Oh. Well, we're still not sure. We're hoping he comes out of the coma soon. Were you close?"

"Not very, I just met him a little over a month ago. He gave me one heckuva gift though."

"Really? What was it?"

"A chance."

"Well, I guess we could all use at least one of those," said Hobbes as she placed a bandage on his forehead.

"Yeah," Zack agreed a little quietly, "at least."

Later, he sat nursing a drink in a far corner of Earhart's, back to the wall. He'd been taken off duty for the rest of the day.

He hated that. Lately it seemed every time someone in security stubbed a toe, Jack took them off duty for the rest of the day. Maybe it was only the weird feeling he had lately, but he couldn't help but think that something was going on.

A hand carrying a purple glass bead in the shape of a heart appeared in front of him. He looked up and saw that the hand belonged to Torres. She pressed it into his hand and sat down.

"Hey, hero," she said, "here's your purple heart."

"What's this for?" Zack asked. "It was only a scratch."

Torres held up a string that had five identical hearts on it. "Every time you need one or more stitches in your head, add a bead. Just to keep track, you never know when you'll lose count."

"Has anyone ever told you you're crazy?"

"Constantly. That's the excuse the Chief gave for hiring me."

"You should start a string of nuts for that."

"I wouldn't have room in my quarters after two days."

"You're still crazy."

"Thank you."

Zack chuckled and took a sip from his drink. "I sure hope another month doesn't turn me into one of your type."

Torres flagged down a waiter and ordered a scotch on the rocks. Then she noticed Zack's half full glass. "How many does that make for you?"

"One."

"And how long have you been sitting here?"

"A couple of hours."

"You sure know how to live it up. You hear we're gettin' a new CO?"

"Well, it's good to hear they aren't lettin' Ivanova play diplomat. We'd be at war in a week. Who're they givin' us?"

"Remember during the war, how we couldn't find a way to destroy a Minbari ship to save our lives, which was why we were losing, I guess. Then someone hit on mining an asteroid field and sending a distress signal. Remember?"

"Yeah, Commander John Sheridan. The Minbari still call him Starkiller, you know."

"He was promoted to captain after the war and has been out patrolling the League worlds in the Agamemnon, but the word is, he's commin' here."

"Aw hell. You know what the Minbari are gonna do when they find out?"

"Yeah. It seems the brass back home are trying to make life a pain for us grunts, hey?"

"Geeze. Pretty soon they're gonna decide they can honk off the Vorlons. Then we'll have a real mess."

"They just about did once when the place first came online."

"Say what?"

Jan 19, 2259

Zack was dumbfounded at the strange occurrences that were happening today. He had gone to check on Garibaldi and found that Dr. Franklin had taken the day off, with his medkit. There was something going around Medlab about the diplomatic attaché Lennier being worried about Ambassador Delenn, but that was sketchy and limited to what he overheard.

Figures. Minbari. Almost as secretive as the Vorlons.

He'd also overheard something about that alien machine, but that was just as sketchy.

Must be more rumors.

Zack was patrolling the Zocalo. It seemed to be a particularly busy day, well, except at the Pak'ma'ra food stand.

Among the hustle and bustle, Welch came trotting by in a hurry.

"Hey, Lou," Zack called, "where're you goin'? I thought you had Green Sector today."

"Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Chief's awake. He woke up about an hour ago. He wants to see Miss Winters 'cause he can't remember who shot him." Welch paused as if warning that the other shoe was about to drop. "He was shot in the back, Zack."

"Hell, Lou, we already knew that."

"Yeah, but he's takin' it kinda hard. I think he's doubtin' himself. I gotta run. I'll see you later."

It was Jack.

The whole time, it had been that snake in the grass, weird feeling, keep people guessing about their daily assignments Jack. That unfeeling, smarmy, back stabbing, treacherous SOB with delusions of Human superiority in the universe.

Needless to say, it wasn't only Garibaldi who felt as though he'd been betrayed. All of the station's security personnel felt the betrayal.

Zack finally understood that weird feeling he'd had around Jack. It was pure gut instinct, plain and simple. His gut knew more than his brain.

The story of his life.

"You guys should have seen him," said Lou. The usual foursome was sitting at a table in Earhart's after hours discussing the latest atrocity. "He was just sitting there, smug as all Hell. As if he knew something we didn't. I just wanted ta haul off and deck him!"

"You know I figured it'd be some drug trafficker or that Devereaux guy," said Torres, "I never thought it'd be Jack."

"Same here," agreed Templeton, "and the whole thing about the President. Everything's a mess now."

"What I wanna know about is why'd they ship the Commander back home," said Zack, "it all seems a bit too, I dunno, timely. I mean, think about it. Santiago's killed, they call Sinclair back, and Vice Pres-... I mean, President Clark sends us this hard-nosed jarhead, who the Minbari despise I might add, to play diplomat."

"Now you're just gettin' paranoid," said Torres.

"Yeah, I suppose," Zack agreed.

Jan. 27, 2259

Drazi, Drazi everywhere, and not one that was sane. They were all bashing each others' skulls in over pieces of cloth. Random pieces of cloth.

The crazy things some aliens did.

Zack had no choice but to pity newly promoted Commander Ivanova for having to deal with the problem.

He, of course, wasn't going to tell her that. She had been in a particularly bad mood since her leg had gotten broken and there was no way he was going to get on her bad side.

Word was, however, that a solution to the fighting had been found. For some reason, Zack never saw another Drazi wearing a green scarf after that. And the Quartermaster had made a complaint about running out of purple fabric.

Garibaldi had come back to work that day and was absorbed in the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated in the past few days. They had finally eaten what had become known as "Lou's Cake" in celebration of the chief’s return and the rest of Security had left one by one for duty.

One of these days, I'll forget my head, Zack decided. He'd just left Security Central after the welcome back party when he realized he'd left his weapon behind.

He rounded the corner and heard voices at the other end of the hall.

"I dunno, Susan," said Garibaldi, "it's not really something you decide on over night."

"You're going to have to decide soon, Michael," came Ivanova's voice, "you can't just keep putting it off. You need a new second."

"It's not an easy decision, any more. You can't just pick anyone, you have to know you can trust 'em. And after what happened with Jack... Oh I dunno anymore. I think I have it narrowed down to these three."

There was a pause as Ivanova was apparently looking over the list.

"Him?" Ivanova exclaimed. "You have to be kidding me. He's the last person on your team I'd pick for a second. Have you checked his references?"

"Yes I have. And I really don't care. He hasn't given me any problems since he came here a few months ago."

"That's another thing I'd like to point out. He's only been here a few months. What if he doesn't know the place well enough?"

"Oh he knows the place all right. Last week there was a perp hiding out in Grey sector and he was the first to suggest looking there."

"I just think Welch would be a better choice than Allan. He's been here since the place went online, you know you can trust him, and he doesn't have quite so colorful a background."

Zack felt crushed. God, he'd tried. He'd tried so hard to gain the trust of the B5 crew. Even though the majority of them didn't know about his "colorful background," it had proved somewhat difficult. He'd thought he'd done it, proven himself trustworthy again with the people who knew.

But except for Garibaldi, he now found otherwise.

"C'mon, Susan," said Garibaldi, "I've had just as many problems."

"Yeah, but you're different," argued Ivanova, "you've proven you've gotten past all that."

"Only 'cause Jeff gave me the chance. Besides, I haven't quite made up my mind yet."

"Well, tell me when you do. And I hope you don't end up making a mistake on this one."

Realizing the conversation was over, Zack scurried to the other end of the hall and turned the corner away from the lift. After watching Ivanova get on and disappear behind its closing doors, he made his way back to Security Central to get his gun.

As he entered, a black and silver object came flying at him from the side. He caught it and recognized it as his PPG.

"Sorry you heard that," said Garibaldi from the side which it had come.

"Nothin' new," Zack responded instead of dwelling on the obvious how'd-he-know question.

He turned and left the office.

Apr. 23, 2259

Zack sat monitoring the main console in Security Central. A call had come in a while ago about something in the recycling system. He wasn't certain of the specifics, Officer Taosome was manning the console when the call came in.

He tapped his finger tip on the console waiting for something to happen, other than good old tactful Commander Wallace raging through the command structure like a wild bull on a witch hunt. Zack's gut told him that this Ortega situation wasn't going to end well for this guy.

Garibaldi entered the office followed closely by Torres. A strong smell seemed to exude around them both and instantly began filling the room.

"Whew!" Zack exclaimed, wrinkling his nose, "you guys find a new cologne or something?"

Torres paused by the console. "Zack," she said, "stick a foot in your mouth."

Garibaldi seemed to cringe.

"What?" Zack asked, puzzled. Torres and Garibaldi only smiled a couple of lope-sided grins. "What? Wha-what'd I miss?"

Dec. 28, 2259

(Templeton tries to convince Zack that something's up w/Nightwatch)

June 16, 2260

Zack strolled down the hallway towards his quarters, looking foreword to the much needed down time after the hectic day.

Martial law on Babylon 5.

Boy he was hungry. It sure had been a long time since lunch. Not to mention a riot in the Zocalo to add to the weariness.

Martial law on Babylon 5.

He finally decided to dwell on the subject and his possible involvement. For the past few weeks, stranger and stranger things had been happening with the Nightwatch. The little black and yellow armband had turned out to mean so much more than fifty extra credits a week. Remembering the only history lesson he hadn't slept through or purged after graduating high school, he felt a little like he was annexing Sudetenland.

He reached his quarters and, sighing, took out his keycard and slipped it through the slot. He put it away again as the door opened.

Zack started to enter but was brought up short under the watchful gaze of Ivanova, Garibaldi, and G’Kar.

"Get in," commanded a voice behind him.

Startled, he turned and found Captain Sheridan only about a foot away from him. There was something in his eyes that seemed urgent and almost frightening, so Zack obeyed and entered.

The door closed behind them and Sheridan surpassed him, entering his quarters. For a moment, Zack stood there, feeling small and wondering what he'd done now to get the entire command staff and the Narn government pissed off at him.

"Please sit, Mr. Allan," said Sheridan, joining the others and gesturing towards a chair.

This wasn't good. The last person to call Zack "Mr. Allan" was Julie Musante, B5's "Political Officer" for a short time. Hoo-ahh, the rumors had flown about her!

"I assume you've been keeping up with the news lately," said Garibaldi as Zack sat.

"Well, yeah, but I don't see how..."

"And we can assume you know that the Nightwatch is supposed to take control of the station," Ivanova continued.

"Yeah, otherwise I wouldn't have ta'..."

"And we can assume you know that order is illegal," Sheridan put in.

"What?"

"Who told you about the order, Zack?" Garibaldi asked.

"Well, our liaison to the Nightwatch back home, but I assumed..."

"Do you know who gave him the order?" Sheridan prodded.

"Well, I assumed it came right from the President."

"Nope," said Ivanova, "it came from the Political Office."

"The Political Office? But that's not in-"

"Not in the chain of command," finished Sheridan, "which means the order's illegal."

"But the Nightwatch is part of the Ministry of Peace, Captain," Zack argued, "orders that come from Nightwatch stay Nightwatch orders."

"Then why are guys that aren't Nightwatch being thrown off?" Garibaldi asked. "Think Zack. Since when does the Nightwatch have control over normal people? That's not extra security, that's the beginnings of a dictatorship."

"Well what the Hell do you want me to do about it, Chief?" Zack snapped, standing. "Snap my fingers and make it go away? Right now, there is nothing I can do that won't get me thrown off of Security."

"That's not entirely true," said Sheridan, "As long as it stays an illegal order, we can do something about this."

"Like what? In case you haven't noticed, that's half our team out there. I can't just walk away from all of this. There has ta' be a way I can stop it."

"We've been trying to find a way all day," said Garibaldi, "but unless we get all the Nightwatch into one place at a time, there isn't a thing we can do."

"We have a plan in mind, and we'll need your help for it," stated Ivanova, "but you have to make up your mind, now."

"Think about it," said Sheridan, "are you going to cross the line with the rest of Nightwatch, or are you going to play it by the rules?"

Zack sighed and started pacing the room. "You're splittin' the hair real thin, Captain. I mean, how do I know which rules to play by, huh?"

"All right," said Garibaldi, "if you didn't work for the Nightwatch, only for station Security, which set would you follow. Which set doesn't violate due process?"

Zack paced the room some more, thinking. He turned back to the command staff and saw that they were eagerly awaiting his answer. "Damn it, I must be outta my mind," he said, yanking the armband off.

Jun. 17, 2260

"PA off," Sheridan commanded into his link. He then turned to Dr. Franklin. "I'll need you to stick around for awhile doc, just in case someone doesn't listen to my warning about the doors."

"We'll do," said Franklin, "but one thing worries me."

"What's that?" Sheridan asked.

"Well, with all of them locked up in Quarters, our security team's gonna be cut in half," stated Franklin, "doesn’t that worry anyone."

"Not really," said Garibaldi, then he moved to speak around the corner, "we have some help for a change."

A bunch of Narns came around the corner with G’Kar in the lead. G’Kar smacked his fist into his palm and waited attentively.

"You're kidding," said Franklin as more Narns rounded the corner, "you're not kidding."

"Always plant a lie inside a truth," said Sheridan, "it makes it easier to swallow."

"Hoo-boy," Franklin exclaimed, "Londo's gonna love this."

They all shared a short mutual chuckle and Sheridan and Ivanova left the docking bay entrance.

"All right people," Garibaldi intoned, "let's get set up. I need two people by the door, two by the weapons cart, and the rest of you spread out in the corridor. Heat 'em up."

Zack took up a position close to Garibaldi. "What about trainin' all of them?" he asked.

"We'll just rotate 'em through the standard training sessions, until then we'll just have 'em on patrol. Okay, open it up!"

Up came the door and the Nightwatch could plainly be seen lined up single file to leave. In the lead was the liaison, stalking out angrily, looking for someone's hide to tan. After leaving his weapon, link, and Identicard with a Narn, he spotted Zack standing with Garibaldi.

On his way past, he spat at Zack's feet. "You're a fraggin' traitor, Zack," he said and continued on his way followed by a security grunt.

June 26, 2260

"Blue seven," Zack ordered the elevator.

"Oh, man, go up go down," responded the computer, "this is starting to make me sea sick. Can't you people stay in one place for a while?"

"Blue seven," Zack repeated, slightly irked at the machine.

"I heard you the first time," said Sparky, "I'm on break. So just hold your horses."

"Blue seven or I upload a computer virus into the system."

"Fine, sheese. Talk about a chip on your shoulder. Have you considered decaf?" The lift doors closed and the car started moving. Zack slumped against the wall.

"Hey, stand up straight," said Sparky, "you're learning bad habits from Mr. Garibaldi."

"Shut up."

"Whoa, someone's had a bad day. We have to find a way to turn that frown upside down."

"Say another word and that virus will be slow."

"Another word."

"Go away."

Finally off the elevator and beyond the influence of Sparky, Zack made his way to the Zen Garden. So much was happening these days and every once in a while, after his shift was over, Zack would go to the garden and get away from everything that was going on.

As he entered the garden, he saw a patch of odd color out of the corner of his eye. He parted the plants surrounding it and found it to be a small disk of orange, curved in design. He pulled it from the planter and started spinning it on the end of his finger.

Delenn entered the Zen Garden, hoping to leave behind the madness of the Shadow War for only a moment, if nothing else, to keep her sanity.

Inside, she found Zack Allan, sitting on a bench, twirling a small plastic, orange disk on his finger and tossing it up in the air every once in a while.

"Evenin', Ambassador," he said in between tosses.

"Mr. Allan," she responded. She started wandering around the garden, smelling the flowers, admiring the view, and generally losing herself in the garden's beauty. But she was often drawn back to the station by the constant "thunk, thunk" of the disk in Zack's hand. Finally, her curiosity peaked and she was left with only one option. "Excuse me. If I may, what is that?"

Zack smiled a little, still tossing the disk. "It's a Frisbee," he said, "I used to have one just like it when I was a kid. You toss it around, do tricks." He started laughing. "And get smacked in the face if you miss catchin' it." He stopped laughing and sighed. "It's not quite the same on a station with centrifugal force."

"May I?"

"Oh, sure," Zack responded, handing Delenn the Frisbee. She thew it up, intending to catch it again with the same hand, but the disk curved in mid-air and ended up in her other hand. "Just hafta' compensate, I guess," said Zack, "you get used to it after a few tosses. Just another way this place can change a person I guess."

"A place alone does not change a person," said Delenn, "a person often decides to change themselves to match their surroundings the same way a warrior would carry a gun or a priest would carry a candle. Sometimes, the other people around a person help to change a person. And sometimes, it is the lack there of. But it is never a place alone."

"Yeah, I suppose." Zack's curiosity had also peaked in the last few days. "Hey, Garibaldi tells me you're having some kind of rebirth ceremony."

"Yes, the Nafak'cha. It commemorates a change that is coming, or one that is already here. Everyone who participates gives up something of great value and tells something to someone they have never told anyone before." She paused in her explanation and noted Zack's expression. He was looking at the pavement, seemingly lost in thought. "But this all must sound so foreign to you, it does to many other races."

"Oh, no, actually, it doesn't. Not quite sure why, but it makes a bit of sense to me."

"Strange," said Delenn, sitting next to him on the bench and handing him the Frisbee again, "that is what Mr. Garibaldi said."

"Really? I must be hangin' around him too much." He fingered the disk for a while as they both sat in silence. "I'm, uh. I'm afraid of what I've been before."

"In many societies, what we have been before what we are now is carefully examined under a proverbial microscope to try and determine what we are now. But very rarely is it accurate. The past is nothing more than a point of origin, but because others take great stock in it, it has the power to frighten us from the true path of our soul and many times the problems of the past create problems in the present." She paused. "I have not yet fulfilled my part of the Nafak'cha to its entirety. So I will tell you, I share your fear."

There was silence between them for almost two minutes as they both just sat and thought.

"Well," said Zack, getting up, "I better get going." He turned and left the Frisbee on the bench where he had been sitting and started for the entrance. " 'Night Ambassador."

"Mr. Allan," she called after him. He turned around. "It is very rarely that I simply sit and talk with anyone other than fellow Minbari and even that is becoming a rarity. Thank you."

"Any time," he responded and exited the garden.

Delenn again picked up the Frisbee and started tossing it up in the air over and over.

July 7, 2260

Despite all the flack from Earth lately, the station had actually been quiet for a few days. The most exciting thing had been an attack linked with Vir Cotto and his would be wife.

Zack's mind boggled. Vir, with a wife. One as good looking as that, no less! Well, for a Centauri. At least the whole mess had gotten him a glimpse out the C&C window. That was the most excellent view of space he'd ever seen

On top of everything, he finally had a uniform that actually fit. All in all, he was having a very pleasant day.

After stopping at his quarters for his batting glove, he would be on his way to the baseball diamond to meet Lou for some batting practice. He slipped his Identicard through the lock and the door obediently opened.

He walked in and the door closed behind him. In the dark, he tripped on a pair of shoes he'd left in the path that morning and let out a profanity.

"Computer, lights," he ordered.

Nothing happened.

"Computer, lights," he repeated.

Nothing.

"Computer, respond."

No response. Now a little creeped out, he groped his way to the comm panel. His knees connected with several corners of furniture and once even the ground when he tripped on another shoe.

I don't remember that being there.

He felt along the wall for the activation switch for the comm panel. Finding it, he flipped it on.

Instead of the blue menu screen, the panel showed a blinding white static. He blinked once then squinted. Embedded in the middle of the screen was a knife with a Nightwatch armband wrapped around its handle.

Zack was about to turn around and survey any other damage to his quarters when a pair of strong arms reached out, twisted his arms behind him, and tore his link from the back of his hand. A moment later, one of the hands let go and quick as lightning had him in a choke hold. The other hand let go soon after. Barley able to breathe and hands now free, he reached up and tried to pull his attacker's arm off his throat.

"Traitors can't hide," a voice whispered in his ear.

Suddenly, he felt something cold and sharp penetrate his stomach. The initial stab had more of a hot, tingling sensation. Then the pain hit and he would have cried out if he hadn't been in the choke hold.

His knees gave way and he dropped to the ground, banging his head against the wall. He didn't feel that, because he was too busy feeling the excruciating pain in his stomach. He saw a light that looked like it came from the door appear and a figure rush out. The light disappeared again afterwards.

Zack struggled to stay conscious. Every time he tried to breathe in, there was a sharp pain from somewhere in his abdomen so he tried to keep his breathing shallow and even. He tried to sit up and the movement was pure agony. The process left him drained. He sat there for an indeterminate amount of time before placing a hand on the knife sticking out of his stomach to pull it out.

He pulled his hand back almost immediately. As soon as he had touched the knife handle, a pain spread throughout his body, filling every part of him. For the first time, a sound of pain escaped his voice. The pain subsided after a moment and he again had to struggle to stay conscious as the room tipped and swayed under him.

He suddenly started to get cold and a violent shivering started up. He could no longer move, helpless and terrified.

Alone.

Lou Welch walked into Security Central dressed for batting practice and found Garibaldi sitting at his desk doing some ever present paperwork.

"Hey Chief," he said, "is Zack still around here?"

"No," said Garibaldi, "he went off duty almost an hour ago. Weren't you two gonna meet at the baseball diamond?"

"That's just it. He never showed up. I tried paging the comm panel in his quarters, but it was off line. And Chief, so was his link. I thought he might be doing something up here."

Garibaldi pushed away the paperwork, an obvious concern on his face. "That's not like him. He wouldn't just go to ground like this." He turned to another officer in the room. "Hey Morishi, can you keep an eye on the place for a while?"

"Sure thing, Chief,"

"C'mon," said Garibaldi to Welch, "let's go check out his quarters. Maybe he fell asleep or something." The comment was partially to calm himself down as Welch who seemed to be on the verge of rampage from worry. Garibaldi could tell he'd been waiting around for a while, in any case.

Zack had no idea how long he'd been sitting there. He only knew it hurt to breathe, that he was cold, and that he couldn't move any more because he was shivering. The room tipped and spun like a life boat near the eye of a hurricane where the winds were the worst.

He tried to concentrate on his breathing so the pain would lessen. He became so absorbed in the process of breathing in and out that he didn't notice the doorbell ring twice and the door open, spilling in light from the corridor.

He was pulled back to the real world when he heard to voices talking to each other and trying to get a response from the computer. His first thought was that his attacker had been sent back to make sure he was dead and the fear that had paralyzed him before returned. But that thought completely dissolved when he heard a familiar voice say, "what do you think happened, Chief?"

Chief? Garibaldi? Is he here?

Zack wasn't sure if it was his imagination. Wishful thinking, perhaps. But at that point, wishful thinking was about all he had left. On sheer willpower alone, he moved toward a piece of furniture and tried to lever himself off the floor by putting a hand on it. The pain was immeasurable and he once again had to concentrate on not blacking out.

Then he heard, or thought he heard, a second familiar voice. "Zack!" He felt hands lowering him to the floor. "Lou, call Medlab. Tell 'em we need a trauma team down here, now!"

Zack forced his eyes to focus on the face above him.

It was Garibaldi.

The fear from before was finally able to leave completely and Zack was able to finally succumb to the black of unconsciousness.

Garibaldi all but tackled Dr. Franklin when he emerged from the Isolab in surgical garments. "How is he, doc?" he asked.

Franklin sighed, removing the dopey looking hat. "The knife was lodged between two ribs, just below the diaphragm. I imagine it hurt to breathe, but it missed the vital organs. He'll be up and about again in about a week."

The Security Chief let out a breath he'd been holding for an afternoon. "Good," he said, with a bit of anger in his voice.

"So, d'ya' find out who did it?"

"We found a Nightwatch armband in a pretty prominent place, so, as they say, three guesses. I am getting sick and tired of these guys."

"If you don't mind my saying so, you sound just a little peeoed about all this."

"Ya' damn straight, I am! Every time Zack tries to do the right thing involving these guys, he ends up taking the flack for it! He's a good guy, Stephen. He doesn't deserve all this."

"Well, it's a known fact that life isn't fair. My advice, talk to Marcus, he's got a pretty good view of it all."

"He would. Listen, I gotta go take care of a few things. I'll be back in a couple of hours, but if he wakes up before then, call me."

"You got it."

Zack awoke to an abnormal rustling noise next to him. He begrudgingly forced his eyes open and saw a figure holding up a current copy of Universe Today and reading behind it. Not seeming to notice, the figure closed the paper to turn the page, allowing Zack to identify the reader.

It was Torres.

"Oh, God," he moaned.

Torres collapsed the paper into her lap and looked at him. She put the paper aside when she realized he was awake and smiled, leaning over from her chair. "Hey, don't be so happy to see me. So how're ya' feelin'?"

"Like crap. What time is it?"

"0500. You were out all day yesterday."

Zack's eyes widened and he tried to sit up. "Are you tellin' me it's Thursday?"

"Whoa, easy," said Torres, pushing him back down again, "some Nightwatch cretin stabbed you. It took the doc' almost an hour to get the knife out. You have to rest for a while. Do you remember anything?"

Zack searched his fuzzy mind for anything he could remember. Finally he shook his head. "No, it's all a blur. I never saw the guy."

"Anything about him?"

"I don't even know if it was a him. How long were you sitting there?"

"A couple of hours. Lou, Les, the chief, and I were taking shifts. Les was in before me."

"Damn, always knew I had bad timing."

"Very funny. Look, I'm gonna go get the chief. Maybe we can make this guy get the, uh, point." She started leaving.

"Lame, Annie," Zack called after her, "real lame."

Zack had a distrust of telepaths. He wasn't sure if it came from working with Garibaldi for so as long as he had or if it was just having run into Bester once too often.

He decided it was Bester. After all, with Bester, once was too often. Twice was points in Heaven, and three times? Well, let's just leave it at that.

So it naturally came as a surprise to him when he decided to ask Lyta Alexander do a scan.

He'd been reading some security reports (to keep him up to date, as the Chief said, but he knew it was really to keep him sane) that Garibaldi had brought him when the two of them walked in.

Lyta was clad in a black jacket and leggings number that seemed to be cut to flatter her shape. Her red hair was pulled back neatly with hair pins and black shoes finished off the look.

Simple, but really, really good looking.

The thing that Zack noticed most, though, were her eyes. They were set deep and gave her a rather unique look. Besides that, they looked like they had seen a lot; mostly things that she had not wanted to see.

But she sure was cute!

"Hey, Zack," said the Chief, "how's it goin'?"

"Just... going nuts with boredom. You know."

"Yeah, I know how ya' feel. You remember Lyta, the telepath in the corner when we found out about Talia?"

"Abraxis," said Zack.

Lyta seemed to raise an eyebrow. "Where'd you get that?"

"Dunno. It just seemed familiar when I saw ya'. You wouldn't happen to know what it means, would ya'?"

"Uh, no," Lyta answered, almost too quickly for Zack's liking.

He decided to let it pass. "Well, I assume, since you're a teep, you know why I asked the chief to bring ya' here."

She gave him a look that seemed to say "I don't need to be a teep to figure that one out" then folded her arms across her chest.

"Standard commission, 30 credits plus a ten per cent stress fee if I relieve the attack."

"Done."

"Okay. Do it now, or do you want a few hours?"

"You better do it now, before I change my mind," Zack answered, suddenly regretting the choice of words. He thought she might get mad and not do it, but the remark didn't seem to phase her. It was as if she'd heard it a million times before.

Lyta pulled up a chair next to his bed and sat. "This may have to be a deep scan," she informed him, "you might feel some discomfort."

Zack took a deep breath. "What's new," he quipped, nervously.

She took his hand in hers. "Just relax and concentrate on the memory."

(*)

December 30, 2260

Zack hated the night shift. All the weird stuff happened on the night shift. But someone had to be in charge during it and it might as well be him.

The day had been quiet around the station, luckily, so things were still quiet. The big stand against the Shadows had just taken place out in sector 83, so everyone was happy and no one was bashing each others' skulls in.

For once it looked like it was going to be a quiet night.

Zack went over passenger manifests on the computer, making sure no name stuck out as far as crimes went.

One name caught his eye, but not for anything involving station security.

The name was Anna Sheridan. Wondering if she was any relation to the captain, he punched her up.

The time said she'd arrived just a few minutes ago. She hadn't yet rented quarters. She was a xenoarchiologist with IPX. She was the wife of John Sheridan.

She was dead.

The beeping and blinking red "deceased" on the profile was all too prevalent and, considering she was apparently here, disturbing.

He went over to one of the securecam records and rewound it to a few minutes ago to make sure no one was trying to use her Identicard to get around.

Sure enough, the face matched up. Anna Sheridan was not, in fact dead.

Zack almost called the captain, but decided he should tell some one else first and see what he should do about it.

The chief? No, he'd just gotten off a particularly long shift. This wasn't Doctor Franklin's area. The only one left was Commander Ivanova.

On the other hand, maybe he'd just wait until morning.

Sighing, he braced himself and tapped the comm on the panel. "Commander? Commander Ivanova?"

"Yes," came the groggy and unhappy voice at the other end.

He just didn't know how to put this. "I just thought you'd like to know," Zack answered, "we just had someone come on board."

"Zack, this is a space station," said Ivanova, exasperated, "we get fifty ships a day."

"Yeah, but this is major," he responded, "it concerns the captain."

"Well who is it?"

Damn, knew it would come sooner or later. "Well, at first I thought okay maybe it's someone with her Identicard, but I checked the securecam and it's her all right."

"Zack it's three in the morning. Spit it out."

Here it came. "It- it's his wife."

"His wife. His wife? His dead wife?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause at the other end of the comm and Zack momentarily wondered if the connection was working. "Did Garibaldi put you up to this?"

"No, ma'am," he answered, then decided he sounded too quick about it.

" 'Cause if he did, you are both going to catch Hell over it."

Zack sat in silence for a moment, considering possible reactions such as "what are we crazy?" or "do you think I've got a death wish?" but decided against it.

At the other end Ivanova sighed. "All right, don't do anything until I get there. I'll be a few minutes."

"Yes, ma'am. Security out."

So much for the quiet night.

January 5, 2261

That Narn was completely off his rocker.

Sure, he had sanctuary there, sure the Centauri were just waiting to find out he'd left the station, and sure if he was captured, it would mean certain death, slowly no doubt.

And what was he doing? Leaving.

G’Kar was going to go find out whatever happened to Mr. Garibaldi.

He'd even taken the chief's hat.

And yet, Zack couldn't help but admire the Narn and be glad that something was being done. G'Kar's reasons for the search were sound. In fact, if he wasn't acting head of security at the time, Zack might have gone himself. But he was up to his eyes and had to settle for information he could get on-station. So in a way, he envied G’Kar.

He was also happy anything was being done at all. With all the concern over Captain Sheridan, the concern over Garibaldi had gotten lost.

He wished him luck. He'd sure need it.

January 6, 2261

Zack had been walking around in a trance for the last six days. The captain was dead. Garibaldi was missing, possibly dead. The biggest dark cloud he'd ever seen hung over Ivanova. Things were once again falling apart, but in the darkest, most sullen way possible.

And what really got to him was the fact that he was one of the people who had to keep a stiff upper lip, as it were. He was one of the people who had to try and keep everything together.

That was really depressing.

Zack sat in Garibaldi's chair in Security Central, going over some reports. Apparently, things were falling apart in everyday life, too. Mass thefts, a few armed robberies, even a couple of suicides.

He put down the flimsy and sighed, his head in his hands.

"Zack!" he heard someone call the next moment. He was startled and immediately found he was slumped over the desk, head in arms, atop a pile of flimsies.

"Wha- I'm awake!"

"I'll take your word on that, if that's what you call drooling on a pile of reports."

"Oh, Commander," he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "you're up late."

"Actually, I'm on time. You're asleep late, in the wrong place."

Zack checked the chronometer on his link. "Oh shit."

"I checked the logs," said Ivanova, beginning to pace the room, "you've only gotten a total of nine hours of sleep in the past four days. You're taking your shift and Garibaldi's too."

"I have to keep things together until he gets back, Commander. There's reports to file, paperwork-"

"So, I'm taking you off duty until you go and get some sleep. Eight hours minimum."

"Commander!"

"I mean it, Zack. You're no good to anyone completely exhausted. I want you to get some rest, now."

Zack sighed and rose from Garibaldi's seat. "I know, I know. I just hate it when people are logical at me. 'Course, I suppose I should be grateful; it's the first time anything's been logical around here in a while."

Ivanova raised an eyebrow at him. "Welcome to my world. Get going."

He tossed off a quick salute and was on his way. "G'night, Commander."

He didn't even change when he got to his quarters. He was so exhausted he just flopped down on his bed and sighed from weariness.

"Computer, hold all messages," he ordered.

"Confirmed," the computer responded.

He sighed again, let his eyes close, and allowed his mind to wander aimlessly.

The commander sure looked like crap. And she thinks I need sleep? 'Course, no one's found her asleep on a pile of reports. Just shoot me now, I can't believe I did that. Geeze, what was that last one about? Something about a transport. Oh well. How does the chief keep it all straight anyway? Man, I wish I knew where he was. Wait, that report. The chief.

Zack sat bolt upright. The report said that a transport had found Garibaldi's fighter. It was the information Marcus had brought back from following G’Kar.

He suddenly had a brain flash. Quite amazing considering that he was half asleep. He got up, grabbed his link, and headed back out the door.

He made his way to Security Central at a run.

"Where do you think you're going?" a stern voice asked him from a few yards behind. Zack stopped short and saw Ivanova behind him with that look on her face. "When I said eight hours, I didn't mean two."

He was momentarily astonished. "Two hour- geeze. Can't talk. Brain flash." He started off down the corridor again.

Ivanova followed. "Now I know you need sleep. You're not making sense."

"So I'm one more loony in this mad house."

"Sergeant Allan," she emphasized his rank, "if you don't start making sense I may have to haul off and deck you. Maybe then you'll get some sleep. Start talking."

"G’Kar went out after the chief and Marcus went after him. Later Marcus comes back with some information. Seems G’Kar found the guy who found the wreck of the chief's fighter. If I can track this guy's transport back from the place he was at before G’Kar found him, I can find out where he found it. I find that, I can cross reference with other ships that came through there and maybe get lucky. It's a long shot, but we're grasping at straws anyway."

"Good plan. Why not do it later, after you get some sleep, and can focus better?" Ivanova's statement wasn't exactly a question.

At the end of his rope, Zack stopped short in the corridor and whirled on the shorter XO. "With all due respect, Commander, you should be talking."

" 'Scuse me?"

"Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like you've been dragged through the air recycler and back again."

"Well thanks for that note of confidence, Zack. Next time I need to be cheered up I'll come to you."

"If you're serious, I'm serious. This is something I have to do. I won't be able to sleep until I do it anyway."

"All right, but I want you to promise you won't leave the station on a wild goose chase until you've gotten some sleep."

"All right, but you gotta get some too."

"You bargain like a Russian. Commendable... Done. Now get going."

"See ya' later, Commander," said Zack as he again started off down the hall.

"Hey," Ivanova called after him, "you give Garibaldi this much trouble?"

Zack turned around a bit puzzled and found a small smile on the Commander's face. He gave a lope-sided grin back and they both continued on their way.

He entered Security Central and found the place in complete disarray. Reports were stacking up and multitudes of officers were standing about arguing about who was supposed to have this assignment and who was to go check out that complaint and a number of other things.

Zack's jaw hit the floor. He couldn't believe these were grown-up professionals.

He started moving from one small group to another, trying to sort everything out. But as soon as he'd left a group, they started arguing again so nothing was accomplished.

"Hey!!" he finally bellowed at the top of his lungs.

The whole room went silent and seemed to notice him for the first time.

"What the Hell is going on here? You're all arguing like children. What the Hell has gotten into you people. This isn't household chores to divide up between siblings, this is a job that has to get done. Damn it, you people are professionals. And here you are arguing over who goes and checks up on a theft report. None of you would dream about acting like this while the chief’s around, and I will not have it on my watch. So if you object to doing your jobs so much, I'll send you to clean the methane toilets. Now you get it together and do your jobs before I get cranky."

The group silently dispersed and a few papers were passed back and forth.

Zack sighed, sat down in the chief's chair and placed his head in his hands again, trying to forget the scene he'd just witnessed.

"You look wiped," said Templeton from behind him.

"I don't know if I can do this, Les," he responded from behind his hands.

She patted him once or twice on the shoulder. "You'll manage," she said and silently left the room.

Caffeine.

That's what it was. That was the only thing that had kept Zack going while the computer ran check after check on transport routes, the paths of salvage ships, even a few known raider routes. Nothing but caffeine.

In the past few hours, he had come to a realization. That green stuff wasn't so bad when you got used to it.

Of course, it still didn't beat a good cup of real coffee. It was rumored that somewhere in hydroponics, Ivanova had managed to start a small crop of the small, dark, glorified beans. He briefly thought about asking her for some, but decided he'd better not push his luck.

So the green stuff it was. He reached over and took another gulp from his cup.

For some reason it suddenly tasted like machine oil.

Sighing, he pushed it aside and resolved to get some sleep before he went entirely bonkers.

"Computer, how long until current analysis is finished?"

"Ten minutes, forty-seven seconds," the computer replied.

Zack leaned back into the chair and yawned into his hands, closing his eyes for just one small amount of time.

"Analysis complete, match found," the computer announced the next moment, snapping Zack back to reality.

God, he needed sleep.

"All right, display results."

The screen came alive and lit up the path the ship had taken. Off to the side was a window displaying its information.

The transport Puppeteer, cargo unknown, destination Io transfer point.

Zack decided that the universe's dubious factor had just overloaded.