posted here June '02

Title: "Look to Here, Look to Now" (1/1)
Author: Gok (feedback to list, or to h_raelynn@hotmail.com. PLEASE!)
Disclaimer: jms owns it all. I'm just playing in his sandbox, though I brought most of my own action figures. (Ask me nicely and I'll let you play with mine.) The WB company technically owns the B5 universe, though I'm sure they'll never get around to using it wisely.
Dedication: For Aubrey, for being precise; and for Jesse, for being jealous. :) You both are good beta's, thank you thank you thank you!

Archiving: This is going on my page when the last beta is done on it. If anyone else wants a copy, all they have to do is ask me first. :)
Summary: Um. Well this is hopefully good enough to stand on its own, but it is set in the early parts of my series 'Ice Breaker'. Went A.U. mid-season 5: no telepath flambé, they ended up with a homeworld but got the stuffing kicked out of them along the way.
Parings: Zack and Lyta (Byron is gone by now ANYWAY, hahaha!)
Rating: G. Nothing here the kids don't already know. Nice and clean.
Setting: Proxima (not the Telepath Homeworld), late 2267. (Crusade's S1)

Notes: Um Um Um. I'm trying to decide if I should post this in two parts, even though the story takes place as one part. There is a 'fuller' summary that explains what's been going on to the poor telepaths, but most of it you can glean from the actual story. If you've read 'Homecoming' and 'Ice Breaker' then you'll know exactly what's happening, but if not, stampede over, because I re-edited Homecoming. And I will probably re-write all of 'Ice' when I'm done anyway! I've tried to keep the spoilers in here down to a minimum. *IF* there is anything in here that confuses you, AT ALL, please let me know so that I can fix it. Please?

Big Fat Summary: here

*****

"Look to Here, Look to Now" (part one of one)

*****

*shows emphasis*
[thoughts and telepathy]
italics show another language

*****

To begin with, it wasn't a party, though the trade team had gathered together as they always tried to do. Anyone who was on Proxima on any given day would always assemble in Lyta's rooms. The simple fact that there would be friendly faces present was as much the reason for this as the fact that Lyta was the one organising everything. She needed to be kept up to date with the progress, if any, that had been made since they last saw her. She could provide the weary team members with news and a comfortable place to sit for a few hours, at least, and to the members of the team who were telepathic, their life's blood to sanity. She was a reminder of their home, a reminder that it was possible to survive and maybe even thrive, despite all the odds being stacked against you. Most days there might have been two or three others there, friends to talk with and commiserate the hardships of existence. But on this day, by a stroke of luck and timing (and a major one of the ships departing Proxima down for sudden repairs: another assassination attempt that was foiled, thank goodness, by the Rangers and Lyta's own Uber-cautious protective streak of 'her team'), 17 of the 29 envoys were able to gather together that day. It was a number only surpassed in those first few days the team had been in Alliance space, intact and before they had scattered to the worlds where their work was taking place with agonising slowness. It would prove to be one of the last times such a comparatively large group would be able to gather, but that is for later and this is for now.

It wasn't a party; almost half of the envoy team (and therefore the Ranger guards accompanying them) were away in other systems. Those that were there had taken advantage of the fact that they *were* there, and had assembled semi-formally for a few hours early one afternoon. They would all have to scatter again the next day, because the work required that they be in as many places at once as possible - more places than they had people, even. The fact that some of the team could - or would - work only in a pair was an added hindrance. But the team had been unrelenting on this fact from the first day, and by the second, none of the Rangers would have suggested otherwise. There were *reasons* why they kept to working in teams.

Rashelle Drenn, the youngest by far of the team, now stuck to Lyta almost like she had been glued there. Although most of the surviving supporters of the former Psi Corps were penned up by Earth's quarantine, the fact that some were *not* trapped far away had persuaded Rashelle to keep close to the strongest of their little group. The second, and larger, reason was that during an early interview Rashelle had made the mistake of openly admitting that she was indeed an active telepath, and that she had been inside of at least one Corps 'hospital' undergoing experimentation against her will. The death threats against her had suddenly jumped, even to the point where certain illicit - and unknown - groups had offered a sizeable cash reward to whoever killed the girl. Rashelle, who had more reason than most others to fear uniformed guards about her, was no longer allowed to go out in public. She was not allowed to be *anywhere* without at least two on-duty Rangers near her. Deveax had tried to compensate for this by keeping her guards limited to fairly handsome human males, or smaller and rather soft-spoken females. It was not a suitable compromise, but Rashelle put up with it quietly, saving her tears for night-time and the minutes when Lyta would make the guards keep to another room so they could talk privately.

Levi Steele and Shannon Ramsey, another example, were never more than a few paces apart; but the calm, deep-wrought bond that kept them close was not happiness, lust or even passion. That they *were* bonded was instantly evident, and that they cared for each other very much, but few that knew them would mistake them for being romantically in love. Fewer still knew the reason, but those that did kept their mouths and minds clamped shut as to the reason. They had come in the evening previous from a collection of fringe-world agricultural colonies, an 18 plus 12 days for transit frustrating waste of time. Those worlds, like so many others, had been willing to consider trade with another colony - metal ores for livestock and crop flora, hopefully even hiring out a few dozen or few hundred skilled workers to assist in teaching the struggling farmers back on Teep. But upon finding out the colony was composted partly of telepaths *on* *purpose*, they had all refused, even breaking off mid-negotiations with threats of imprisonment or even death. It did no good at all to point out that neither Levi or Shannon were active telepaths, and no threat to the backwater politicians who assumed it was their supreme right and duty to keep such interlopers in line. They'd had some success in small one-to-one bargains struck with individual ranchers and farmers, but never with anything even resembling a useful authority, and nowhere near the amounts that the struggling young colony wanted to acquire. The unfair prices demanded of the trade envoys were another dark matter altogether.

The colonists might survive just fine with nothing else imported, of course, but as it was now, people were often going hungry - even starving to death - from not having the skills or experience needed to keep the animals and crops required to survive in an agrarian world. They needed teachers. They needed medicines: the hundred-plus different species newly gathered together had all brought diseases and infections with them, and even though most of the ill had died off simply getting to Teep, there was still rampant sickness in some parts of their new world. They needed advanced metal alloys to make workable tools; they needed tradesmen and scholars. They definitely needed cargo-transport ships and crews to fly them; they needed books; they needed doctors willing to work with aliens and telepaths . . . the list went on and on. That was the sticky part. There were many qualified people, of course, and some of these might have been willing to move to a new colony, even one as far away from 'known' space as Teep was, but a colony where they might have to encounter a race not their very own? A colony that welcomed - was even created by and for - telepaths? Those few that had been willing to help, it seemed, were not to be found; or they had already left for the Sanctuary system those years past - many of whom had died getting there.

Skilled, willing people were in short supply. The team members from other races were faring little better. They had hoped to have the first convoy ready to go after two or three months, and the second - perhaps later a third or maybe even more - ready as soon as the emptied ships returned. They had braced themselves for worse, however, and it was the pessimists who were rewarded. It had already become evident by this gathering, little over a month into the actual mission, that it was going to take much longer - and that a fourth convoy would never be feasible. A third was suspect, but they had plunged ahead with getting and refitting the few pre-owned cargo vessels they could afford, and did their best to hire and then hopefully fill other cargo ships for the months required, trying to hire *trustworthy* gun ships to protect what was looking to be a rather small convoy. The trustworthy part was looking very gloomy, even more so than the other factors. If nothing else, they would be able to strip down and reuse the metal in the very cargo ships they themselves now owned, once their load was delivered safely to the colony - the few surviving refugee ships that the colonists had used to get to their world had all been dismantled in such a fashion. But the trade team had hoped for better.

Ravenna, an elderly but still bright-witted and charismatic Minbari woman belonging to the religious caste, was having no luck at all - good or bad - in securing anything even resembling a treaty with any world. She would soon be handling threats made on behalf of those individuals who thought the Alliance itself should not have made a treaty, never mind granting an entire system (set among dozens of barren stars, many days travel from even their closest sentient neighbour) and world (poor in metals, and with a environment that tolerated no electronics) to the runaway telepaths who had dared leave the confines of a guarded and controlled service to the mundane masses. Richard Tarington, Ecathe Keewatin, and Toral Ishal had all faced a pair of assassination attempts - each! - and 72-years-old-with-a-heart-condition Moriane Hawk had received over a dozen death threats, but even the gathered number of all 28 other team members did not match the sheer number of attempts made to harass or kill the team's leader, Lyta Alexander. She and young Rashelle Drenn were the only two on the team who had openly admitted to being active telepaths. The Rangers who had agreed - even volunteered - to look after their safety had their work more than cut out for them. Talk of the repeated failures - and the aborted assassination attempt on a still-rattled Caen Ailith earlier that day had consumed the small group present.

About half an hour into the gathering, a frustrated Lyta had gotten everyone's attention by stepping up onto a chair and whistling loudly. It took a shout and a well-aimed throw of the small but heavy object she had been holding against the wall between the Fidgies to finally get the last of everyone's attention. "Enough!" She bellowed as the assortment of shocked faces all turned towards her.

"No matter which direction in life you face, it is our fate to see hardship in the distance. So, adjust your eyes. There is a holiday coming up soon, is there not? So we'll celebrate it now, here, *tonight*, whether or not any of you ever have before. I say that we look to this place, that we look to *this* *time*. Our world has enough to get by, with or without this mission succeeding. We have each other - tomorrow we scatter again, it is a familiar enough scene. So look to here, look to now - no more talk of work! No more *thought* of work, good or bad or indifferent! Simply, we relax. Tomorrow will not come sooner for worrying."

Eldara Berren, a Centauri who was standing wearily beside her brother, asked after a moment of complete silence, "What holiday is coming?"

"Christmas. Earth-based, but spread to many other worlds in some form. You have all heard of it, so now live it - we cannot be together for the day itself, that is next week, but we will do all we can tonight. Food, decorations, songs. Gifts, even."

"It's December then," Rashelle had commented to herself, if loud enough to be heard by those standing right next to her. "The second half of December already?"

"Break for lunch, all of you, go! Clean off, dress up, put the reports and papers away, no matter how urgent you think it may be. It does not matter anymore, not today. You're to be away from these rooms for at least a local hour - by two hours, I will be ready, and by 3, I will have started. Expect a *feast* and bring your best singing voice. Open your financial accounts, and get a small gift for someone - no, for EVERYONE, whether or not they are here - the others can have theirs sent. You are to purposely search for things with good meaning, do you all understand me? Good - and I include you, Levi! I have a special task for you, in fact. Stay a moment - the rest of you - GO! Now! Move it, Shi-vass-ha DEH!" They scattered in seconds, moving with a quickness learned from years on the run.

Levi, who shuffled his feet while he waited, looked distinctly uncomfortable as Lyta regarded him levelly for a few long seconds. He looked terrible, in plain fact. Though he had not appeared to be especially healthy when he had arrived on Proxima with the rest of the team, two days after arriving his spirits had plunged and his appearance had quickly followed suit. In the month since then, he had lost 30 pounds that he hadn't had to spare, all of the colour in his hair, and even most of his hair, period. What Lyta whispered to him was too softly said for even Zack's sensitive ears to pick up for the first minute, then - "No!"

Levi had suddenly blurted out the monosyllable, but with such force that it even startled Zack Allan. "You *will* - and you'll bloody well make sure it works, too, haul Shannon along if need be. But you *will* do this. Letting yourself die will not bring your family back, any more than it will bring my own. I have faced this, and you must too. Go now." The man left, silently, his usually sober face turned down with tears streaming to the floor, his stoic-faced guards showing their surprise at his unusual display of emotion. When the door was opened on his way out, Zack could see that Shannon had waited for him in the hallway, but the door closed again before he saw any more.

Lyta was not done yet, though. "Lisette? A moment, please. Tell any ranger who is off-duty that they are welcomed as well, be they a guard for our little family or not. Try to keep them from coming in full uniform if you can. They are guests, and should try not to work. I know too well the ones on duty will not be able to join in, but with a touch of luck, I will keep everyone for enough time that yours might trade off, and get a few spare hours of their own. I'll contact the kitchens for you, don't worry, I checked their readiness for this yesterday, and I was not wrong to assume it would be needed. There is a deposit already made on the meal's behalf. I will pay for this myself. It is as needed as the musical scores we are collecting, perhaps all the more so for it's haste. . . yes, you can go oversee, I will be just fine after I breathe a few times." The human Ranger nodded her agreement and gave a small, formal bow before tucking out the door, gesturing that the few other rangers still present should follow her.

A minute more and the only one still the room besides Lyta was Zack himself. It had been a rare time that they were ever alone, and he wasn't quite sure what to do at first. Lyta had solved his dilemma by turning to him and burying herself in his arms, her tension evident as she cried against him for several long minutes. Uncharacteristically, her steel-trap tight mental blocks were cracking apart, and he could feel - actually *feel* - her grief. "They're dying, Zack, being out here is killing them. The nightmares are getting worse, and I'm not sure I can keep us together long enough to get them back home, supplies or not. I need a miracle that isn't coming. What's going to happen?"

He didn't have an answer. Lyta wasn't really looking for one, but he gave her the best hug he could. It seemed to help, a little. She had eventually pulled away, muttering something about calling the kitchens before Lisette took over her job, but she had paused when only a single step away, turning back to him. "Thank you."

"Fer what?"

" . . . everything . . . for being here." She had actually blushed then, and added in a business-like tone, "You're invited too, you know, and if I'm going to pry myself into a pretty dress and smile I want you there, spiffed up, to be smiled at. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." He had given her a full smile at that, and she had grinned back, sincerely if still tiredly.

****

Just over an hour and several hundred scattered candles later, the team had started to reconverge. The beginnings of a meal had already begun drifting in, catered by the hotel - though from the looks of some of it, they had also gone to the expense of hiring some of the treats from outside sources: fancy chocolates with the trademarks visible in the brown cream, decorative baskets stuffed with meats and cheeses, small stuffed pastries that were the speciality of a nearby bakery - most of which were immediately claimed by Rashelle and Eldara as they entered; the first of whom had not been able to get back to visit the bakery after a wandering gunman had tried to stuff *her* with a plasma salvo, nearly burning the place down in the process.

None of the food was especially healthy, though they did cover the favourites of every team member there regardless of species, plus several that Lyta had noticed the Rangers seemed to really like. Sweets and special foods, desserts and treats, a good selection of nuts and snack-seeds (the Fidgies had managed to manoeuvre an entire bowl of raw cashews from the table to a corner to hoard between them, though none there could remember them doing so), vegetables and fruits and simple sandwiches; several small tables were covered, and as one spot was emptied it was unobtrusively replaced with one full of new treats.

All of the lights had been turned off, but the candles were shining brightly everywhere and a gas-fuelled fire roared softly in the fireplace. The doors to the balconies were open and small charcoal braziers held light and warmth, keeping back the slight chill of the overcast afternoon. A few well-placed jammers kept the noises from the city away, as well as keeping any of the omnipresent listening devices from getting anything coherent. Lyta had also dismantled (carefully, because in the morning she would have to repair them back to functioning) all the nearby electric devices, from the comm screens to the little clocks in the bedrooms for herself and the guards who had to stay near her; it was all hunted down and turned off.

Lyta's invite to any off-duty Rangers had brought several dozen, and Lisette had made sure that the lot of them - on duty or off - had worn civilian clothing, and well-tailored civvies at that. The fact that none of the guards were immediately visible *as* guards did wonders to un-tense the stressed envoy members. A sudden delegating of tasks as people arrived had led to a small collection of holiday decoration - most of it was not Christmas-like, but it was slightly festive and entirely amateur, to excellent results. While the team was still outnumbered, it was not so great that it seemed threatening. And, while few of the non-team members knew why (though the whole team could instantly recognise and rejoice in the sensation), they all felt like there was choir singing - or an orchestra playing, they could not be sure - just inside the range of audible sound. Not enough to tell what it was - not the tune or words, nothing but a certainty of rhythm (though if you asked anyone there to pick out what the rhythm was, they'd be at a complete loss to explain it) and the fact that they could hear some sort of music: absolutely beautiful, completely enthralling music.

Lyta was broadcasting it, letting down all her shields in a momentous effort, pushing back the unending roar of half a hundred minds and the psi-screeches of the electronics and all the other sources of artificial EMs that were too far away for her to have otherwise disrupted. There was audio music as well, soft in volume though not in intensity, coming smoothly from little sound crystals scattered about in a manner that seemed random but was not. Lyta had carefully chosen the songs in just a few condensed minutes before her guests began to arrive, selecting those that matched fairly closely to the psi-rhythm. It worked quite well, even if it wasn't very holiday-like music, it served better than that for how well it meshed with the mental flowing of rhythm. The smell of fresh bread and beeswax, charcoal and flesh, mild perfumes and light flowers, cinnamon and chocolate; the sight of the little gifts that piled up to be given away to people who were there and to people who were not there but were still part of the team; the sound of laughter and ethereal sensations of the addictive bright-eyed zeal of the telepaths who needed the psi-music now like they needed oxygen, everything added up with everything.

Rashelle, openly joyful and playing, was flirting - completely shamelessly, but unreprimanded - with the primary Ranger (dressed in a casual dark blue suit that had several women admiring him openly) that guarded her, a human named Charles Anderson. She had dragged him - though he gave little fight - under all of the small ties of mistletoe that Levi had uncomfortably crept in with and had hung with Shannon's gleeful assistance and practice-tests. Others had tested the small green bundles out as well, with John Fidgie somehow convincing Brenner to eventually take one down and tie it to the bird's head - and the aviarian had promptly asked every female being there to kiss his beak. Two had even done it before Jane Fidgie found out, chased him down, and pinned him squealing to the back of a chair with her talons. After Lyta had sorted out the mess (and all the drifts of brightly-coloured lost feathers had floated down), the pair had settled onto a handy picture frame and twittered peaceably to each other for the rest of the evening, their translator jewels turned off. Lyta, for her part, had to retire briefly to her bedroom where she could laugh without hurting anyone's feelings.

Zack hadn't realised the laugh part, and after a few moments had followed her out of concern, closing the door behind him in case she was about to cry again. It only took a glance for him to clue in, however, but she stopped him from leaving again with a light hand on his arm. Though hesitant, she was smiling, both at him and at the evening.

That's when she kissed him. Not a quick sisterly peck on the cheek, like he'd gotten on a rare occasion to say goodnight, but a full, deep, lips to lips kiss, standing on her toes just enough to reach easily and before he could think, he was returning it with just as much passion. He forgot to block, he forgot to think, he forgot to breathe as she kissed him. He was dizzy and his vision was blurred by bright lights that seemed to swim around him when she pulled back, but a few deep breaths cleared both. Lyta was looking at him, still held tightly in his arms: she did not seem upset at what they'd just done. Thus encouraged, Zack kissed her again, little light kisses all over her face until she grabbed his jaw and directed it precisely. This kiss went even deeper, tongues touching and bodies pressing closer in starvation, hot breath on the other's cheek as neither one was willing to be the one to stop.

Aware of about a thousand bad consequences that were sure to result from her actions but not caring in the least about later, Lyta's hands had already slid under his jacket, fingers spread to out feel the warmth of his body and the softness of his shirt over layers of firm muscle. Zack's hands, no less idle, had snaked up along her trim sky-blue dress; from holding her waist to caressing her silk neck-scarf, then running his fingers along the smooth ripples of her hair and his callused fingers were unfastening the small ties holding her braid together almost without needing his thought to do so. When her hair had been freed, she helped him shake it out, their hands touching for a few seconds that played out in slow motion. Her own mental blocks were down as well, and it was beyond clear to Zack that she no intention of stopping. Which was fine by him. He let his fingers play through the thick mass of her hair, revelling in how soft the silk-like strands were.

Just as they were leaning back in, someone - Zack never saw exactly who - suddenly knocked on the door, causing them to jump apart in surprise. Keeping his back to the door to hide a rather unprofessional expression at his being caught, he only heard a low voice saying something that was apparently aimed at Lyta. A deep sigh from Lyta and a glance over his shoulder showed that the door had been left open.

[Damn!]

That sudden thought - a summary of his apparent luck combined with a curse - startled him. Then he realised that the word hadn't been his own thought; but it did match his own feelings, muddled as they were. Taking a step back to pull his wobbly mental shields back up [no reason to bother her unnecessarily], he tried to sort through the pulse-pounding emotions that were rearing up and charging around in his head. Both excited and embarrassed - by having kissed like that with the woman he was supposed to be protecting, and because he was caught. Knowing he probably shouldn't have started but they both *really* seemed to want it and wishing he hadn't stopped. Not knowing what Lyta was thinking right now but completely certain that if they hadn't been interrupted at least one of them would have started to take the others clothing off and by then there would have been no stopping at *all* [-god, she tasted good-]!

He was fairly sure she hadn't scanned him, but that didn't matter because he hadn't been thinking one darn thought the whole time anyway. But, he knew that his own emotions had a tendency to leak all over the place and that she *must* have noticed those - what had she felt from him? And more importantly - what did she feel *for* him? She had been kissing him back, definitely, just as much (and likely more) than he was kissing her, and she had started the first kiss. In all, he was rather confused and it probably showed as she looked at him. She had retrieved one of the ties and pulled her loosened hair back into a simple, low ponytail - she never let it stay loose anymore. Though he had not asked why, he suspected that Byron must have preferred it loose.

She glanced at him as she finished, pausing as she did so. Then she stood on her toes and gave him another quick but very firm kiss - lips sealed demurely - before heading through the open door. Zack became a little flustered - this last kiss was evidently seen by several people in the next room, but he quickly regained control, and before he had moved back in the main room he'd realised that Lyta wasn't regretting the new level of intimacy. He felt exquisitely happy.

****

Back among the low chatter of voices, Lyta was again the image of restraint and calm, a perfect hostess. She wasn't fooling any of them, though, because within a few more minutes everyone there (apart from the Fidgies, who were still oblivious to all things external) knew exactly what had been going on behind the closed doors. Disson, a fairly young (at 58 earth-years) Minbari woman, was no help *at all* to Lyta's pride as she started to wander about quietly collecting her winnings from the betting pool. But the member of the worker caste was almost sedate in her smug glee compared to the crackling-static mental energies of the human girl with glossy crow-black hair who moved towards Lyta with a stride closer to skipping than walking. Rashelle had been eating and drinking sweets for the entire time, and was currently operating under the haze of a sugar buzz strong enough to flatten a whole crowd of diabetics, even as she carried a plate of more goodies to be consumed. The young active was not even pretending to be discreet as she jabbed a mental elbow against the shields that once again wrapped Lyta's mind in a protective layering and slid down into the seat next to the redhead. Lyta, for her own part, did her best to ignore the distraction from her mug of mulled cider.

[Hey! Hey, can you hear me? Helllllooooooo Lyta!] Rashelle was not even able to sit still, her foot was jumping up and down like a less-than-sober puppeteer had gotten the strings to her ankle tangled up and was trying to free them by brute force.

[Shhh! Stop yelling,] someone hissed in her direction.

She looked up to give Ecathe a brief but intense glare as he rubbed his temples to ward off the sudden headache. [I - was - not - Psi'ing - to - you!!]

[Rashelle, hush, I can hear you very well,] Lyta laid a restraining hand on the girl's arm even as she sent the message. Several other actives, a few of whom were clear across the room, sent grumbling comments towards their direction about the noise level.

[Speaking of noise,] Rashelle suddenly flared up with unrestrained giggling, [*I* know why you suddenly stopped sharin' the music. Tryin' to lick his tonsils out, weren't you? I could SEE! Hehehehe - you can't exactly tell me no more to quit flirtin' with Charlie, now can you, huh huh?]

A sudden and completely unamused stare from Lyta made the giggles abruptly stop mere seconds before Lauren Kyle commandeered her sugar-laden plate; a heartbeat later Shannon had separated her from the rest of the group with a yank on Rashelle's arm, pulling her into the side room that served Deveax as an office. The protests - both mental and verbal - were quickly silenced as that door was sealed behind the irritated pair.

"Bit too many sweets, I gather," Lauren mentioned offhandedly.

"Bit too much attitude," Lyta countered quickly, then stopped to control her breathing for a few moments. "Though that was not unexpected." She looked up, motioning with her eyes that the team members who were still paying attention should come closer for a talk.

The Ranger made a soft sound that might have been agreement, and moved off to put the plate away. Lauren likely had no idea as to the exact cause of her young charge being yanked off, but she could guess that Rashelle had made a rude or inappropriate comment. None of the non-envoy members had been told the exact nature of the addictive psi-music, as much because the team did not understand it themselves as they did not want to admit - to anyone - that they had such a serious weakness. The Rangers involved all suspected something, of course; but beyond the long discussion Lyta had held the third day with just Deveax and Zack Allan, none of them knew the details. The risk was just too great to share. Any small slip of a tongue to an eavesdropping stranger might be enough to clue in an enemy that Lyta was more than just the team's organiser - she was enough of a target as it was. They simply knew that the actives could not go for more than a day, at most two days, between visits to their fearless leader. The latents on the team could go several days, even weeks, between needing to see her, and the normals did not seem to worry excessively about the timing of their visits. The Rangers knew better than to ask 'why' of people who would not answer.

[Not to interrupt,] a much gentler voice sounded just inside of Lyta's ear, [but she did have a slight point. We could notice when you - erm - became distracted.]

Several others murmured agreement, either out loud or by psi.

Lyta sighed and glanced around at the small crowd that was gathering around to sit nearby. Not all of them had come over, but she could tell that they all were paying attention. Shiok Berren had taken it upon himself to distract Zack and several of the Rangers, in what sounded like a discussion of some recent sporting event. [All right, out with it. I am sure I already know what you're going to say.]

There was a rather extended pause, as they all suddenly found something else to be terribly interesting. [Spit it, folks - you could start with which of you are responsible for those DNA screenings on the man.]

That got several faces to jump upwards at her. [You knew?] Tarington send, radiating astonishment.

[How could you know that?!] This was Caen protesting, at the exact same moment.

"I was very careful to cov- wait. Why are you two answering?" Brenner asked suspiciously.

Lyta again sighed, deeper this time. "If you had all bothered to just check with each other," she explained softly, "You'd have realised that you were being very redundant. If you wanted to check Zack's genetic history, you might have done it together. 4 different screenings are a bit noticeable. Who's going to confess to stealing his hairbrush for that day, hmm?"

There was no answer to that.

[I might add,] she sent gently to them all, [that he had already done one himself. The very day he heard of the method Byron used to hurt me, even. You are all a bunch of mother hens!]

[I only did it because I like him,] Caen grumbled. The Brakiri man looked a little put out. [He actually cares about you; it's very deep and extremely genuine.]

[And he's been willing to apologise when he screws up,] Tarington sent. Then out loud, "We were just trying to keep you from getting hurt again. From - well - if you do decide to let him and you - if you do have children later, to make sure they at least had the chance to survive. We wanted to make sure there wasn't anything harmful. And there wasn't. He's clean. But you must already know that," he added hastily.

"The brutality I have endured," Lyta said slowly, making her point clear by tone and psi-sending, "is my own to deal with, and I have. Try not to add extra fears to the ones we already endure. I'm going to assume he's passed all your little tests - so do *not* make any more for him. It will be my choice if I pursue a relationship, and it will not be a hasty decision. He would *never* hurt me, especially on purpose, but that is not enough for long-term commitment. This discussion, however, is not the purpose of this evening. Now go; find something else to brood over. I'll make you all get up and give speeches if you don't wise up!"

They got up and shifted off, pretending at nonchalance. Lyta, after just sitting there wearily for a few minutes longer, got to her feet and sought out Rashelle.

****

. . . Who was sprawled out in an overstuffed chair in yet another room, her foot still twitching. A small bowl of plain crackers and a glass of water sat on the table next to her sulking form. She didn't look up from the window as Lyta set down a second glass near her. "Feeling calmer yet?"

"Pffft."

"Rashelle," Lyta said dryly.

"Uh?"

"Pick the goblet up, you'll be making the first toast in a minute or two. Everyone's together now."

A gloomy pair of eyes swivelled around. "That's wine," she observed.

"With a slight sedative, to help with the hangover tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay." And Rashelle got to her feet. "A toast to what?"

"Whatever you decide, mia cara. Just don't say anything else to get yourself into trouble. This is supposed to be fun," Lyta smiled and went back to the gathering. Rashelle sauntered behind her a few paces, deep in thoughts that were hidden behind her snug mental shields.

****

It was closer to five or six minutes afterwards when a slight nudge prompted the girl to refill her emptied wineglass. Then she tapped it gently to get everyone's attention. "Is everyone here?" She looked around as she held up the glass, and paused to allow a ranger time to pick up a fresh cup of coffee. He'd just lost a wager that he could make one of the smaller candles float in his previous cup, and was looking abashed enough that she decided to wait for him. "Since I seem to have been volunteered to do so, I get to make the first toast. Tonight is a celebration of what we have. So I-" she lifted her wine to where Anderson was standing with a knot of other Rangers - "offer a cheer for the excellence of the security."

A murmur of assent sounded from the others on the team, and Anderson got a well-meant elbow in his ribs for the comment. Then Brenner held his tea up, and made his own toast, followed by Marrat, then Shannon Ramsey gave a light-hearted little speech, her clever use of a pun making several near her laugh.

A ranger, a Minbari assigned to Levi and Shannon, felt obligated to outdo her with his own joke. That promptly started a flurry of jokes and anecdotes from almost the whole crowd, and within another hour, everyone there had laughed out loud at least a few times. It reached a peak when, after several minutes of a hysterically funny retelling of avoiding his species' own version of the former Psi Corps, Ecathe had reduced many of those near him to happy tears. When his audience was again able to pay attention, the Brakiri's smile was still on, though he was a little more serious-minded now. He was psi'ing as well as speaking verbally, making sure he could be heard by everyone. "A toast," he said in English before changing to his own language, "About all that could ever be wanted or needed. Look to here, look to now, and rejoice in all you have!"

A small explosion of whistles and cheers sounded, especially from those on the trade team. Lyta blushed slightly at having been quoted, but she repeated the words back along with everyone else, grinning.

It was a good evening, and a great party. After it had all worn down a few hours later, and most of the company had drifted off to their own rooms to catch some sleep before morning and responsibilities both returned, Deveax stood at a wall, leaning against it with a casualness offset by the elegance of her sleek dark-grey evening gown. Lyta stood next to her, having just woken up the bird pair and sent them off to their own suite for the rest of the night. "This was a good thing," Deveax mentioned. "If you find a few minutes, I've gotten a few ideas. They probably match your own, I'd wager on it."

"You should know better than to bet against someone like me," Lyta chuckled. "One thing first - Lauren?" She called out, just loud enough to be heard.

After the other Ranger had walked over, Lyta continued. "She's asleep, yes?"

"I laid her down on your bed like you suggested. You were right, she did crash once the sugar energy wore off, but my guess is that the 4 glasses of wine helped. Nodded right off in her chair. Are you sure we shouldn't move her to her own room?"

"Not unless you want her to pitch a fit in the morning for having been 'babied'. She'll be fine here, and your guess was almost correct. I put another sedative in the last glass - her hangover will be intolerable enough, we didn't need her drinking any more. Her actions were already becoming excessive. To put it politely." Lyta gave a slight bow, which Lauren returned before she left for the night.

"Anderson has already been reprimanded," Deveax scowled. "He's already been warned off twice, but you might want to have a private chat with the other half of the equation. I'm almost sure she's been provoking his advances, never mind the mistletoe tonight."

Lyta nodded agreement, swirling cold cider dregs around the bottom of her mug. "You mentioned having ideas?"

"I had noticed how much better you all seemed, with the guards not being obvious."

"I noticed - and felt, from myself and the others - that as well. Your suggestion would be?" Lyta let her voice trail off in a question.

"Well, as much you would like it, we cannot simply remove the guards. They are for your own protection, cliché as it may be."

"Mmm," was Lyta's only reply.

"But! Although I will have to bounce this idea off Entil'zha as well, you realise, there is no reason the Rangers need to be dressed as such. At least in private - and when the guard is already known to the individual, because the threat of infiltration by an impostor."

There was a short pause as Lyta considered this. "Go on."

"I could even *encourage* them to not wear the full uniform around your team," Deveax added. "Meaning there might be no uniforms around the more - sensitive - envoys. But we cannot decrease the actual number, it is already bordering dangerously low."

"And when in public, for those few times we must risk exposure? You have already been using plainclothes security for some of the functions, I have noticed. Could their number be increased, trading off from uniformed Rangers, during meetings and interviews?"

"Just as a rough guess? I could split the numbers, half and half. All still fully armed, with weapons, body armour, and comm units. But fewer uniforms."

Lyta let out a long breath. "That would be a remarkable improvement."

"I had another idea about plainclothes, too," Deveax added slyly.

"Oh?"

"Your unsuccessful efforts to acquire livestock, seed crops."

Lyta made a growling sound, suddenly frustrated again. "Do not bring that up."

"No, this is good. If it will work, you'll have a bootfull of help. You know, of course, that some of the crew from the Sophocles have combined their savings to help with buying horses, corn and cacao seedlings, and the like?"

"Those that were friendly to us telepaths, or were family to some of the colonists, yes. But their good will won't do much if we cannot actually *buy* the stock."

"What if some of my Rangers did the buying?"

"Excuse me?"

"For you, not in uniform, maybe even some of the crewmembers would be willing to help as well. *We* purchase the items, no need to list them on your inventory sheets that the Alliance keeps checking. Then we have our cargo haulers join your convoy, tiny as it will be, en route. No one need know, no one but us. None of this inflated price crap your team has been putting up with, none of the threats. They are willing to trade, they would not have lasted in the business otherwise, just not with you - the media has splashed your images and descriptions everywhere, this hinders you. But many of my Rangers are quite anonymous. They do not need to log their every step, every purchase, as you do. And you have already hidden most of the money received from us Anla'shok for the ores, there is no need to dip into the funds the public knows about. You won't be able to stop trying on your own, of course, if you suddenly stopped people would become even more suspicious of you, but *we* might actually be able to accomplish something. Think about it." Deveax had a smirk on that could only be described as 'evil mischief'.

Lyta ran the idea around in her head for a few minutes. "We could only get supplies that way," she pointed out. "The doctor and teacher roles will remain almost empty."

"That is a drawback, yes, but that would be the case even without us sneaking around on your behalf."

"True. The only luck we have had so far has been with Edgars Industries, and those few races and individuals who do not despise or fear telepaths."

"You cannot call Garibaldi's dealings 'luck', Lyta. He might be helping with the most essential medical supplies - starter vats, equipment, base cultures - but he balks at anything that might affect his precious profits or contacts with other mega-corporations. And of what he can supply, it is of use to humans only. He was barely accepting of your introduction of medicinal plants and potion recipes. Many companies have been balking at the introduced items, though that is their own loss as much as yours - the lost income you might have had otherwise."

"The greater loss, Lisette, has been the lack of business connections which would have resulted from the medicines we tried to share, and knowing there are ill people out there who could have been helped. Still, his hesitant assistance is better than no help. With Earth quarantined and Centauri Prime under self-exile, it is better than it might be. Our biggest potential suppliers, both gone." She heaved another sigh. "The colony will just have to depend on non-alliance sources, and breeding our own from the few stock we have already."

"Which was your plan, before the Sophocles found you. Double luck, the Captain being an old friend of yours."

"True."

There was an extended pause, but neither woman was willing to be the one to end the conversation, tired as they were. Finally, Deveax asked, "I didn't get to the latest reports yet. Has Rashelle had *any* success with the publishers?"

"Not a single viable contract. It has been extremely frustrating for her. The traditional songs and stories, the folk music, anything not copyrighted she has been gathering at best speed. But her open requests for anything else . . . there have been less than 200 protected titles, out of the hundreds of thousands requested, that she has been able to obtain the reprint rights to. Only one company was willing to accept the offer, which was Earth-based and otherwise about to go bankrupt. And the price we had to pay was beyond horrid. That is one field your hidden rangers would not be able to work in, either. No books, no music, no plays. Nothing from a legitimate source."

Deveax hmm'd. "There is an answer there, too, but I suspect you will not like it."

"Buying copies, and reprinting illegally once the texts are back home."

"Exactly. It's very unlikely that anyone from here will be going to your world, and the idea of leaving the Port Island might terrify even those willing to reach that far. If you were careful about marking the reprints, it might be worth the risk. I know that you will be very cautious about who, and what, is granted access to and from the island."

Lyta stared down at the patterns on the carpet. "I do not like even thinking about that option, but if things do not improve, we might consider - only consider - trying that solution. But *only* on the very most needed-yet-unavailable texts. I do not want to be part of a pirating situation. I want to keep this as legal, and as honest, as is possible. Though the rest of the universe tries to stop us, I will not reduce myself, or this team, to their standards."

"I did not think you will. But it is something to think upon, at least. Subterfuge has kept you alive in the past, perhaps you should not abandon it without so much as a parting thank-you."

"Perhaps. Thank you for helping with tonight, Lisette. It is greatly appreciated."

"You are most welcome." Deveax gave a slight but very respectable bow, and took her leave.

Lyta, left basically alone, blew out the few remaining candles and prepared for bed. Zack had already gone into his own room, and she was not quite willing to breach the sanctity of that threshold.

Not yet, anyway. But Lyta knew that there was still many months left of her mission, and that he would be around for all of it. She smiled as she thought of that.

Time enough for her to get more of his wonderful kisses in, certainly.

******

(end)
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