NINE

General Smits opened the door and they entered a small outer office. An officious-looking secretary in a woollen slate grey suit sat behind a trio of monitor screens that ringed her curved desk. Her hair was flecked with grey and cut in a bob. She pushed the half-moon glasses back onto the bridge of her nose as she looked from Smits to the screen directly in front of her and then over to Ivanova.

A carton filled with framed photographs sat on the chair facing of the secretary’s desk. Leaning against the wall, too big to fit in any box was a painting of Starfury squadrons in orbit around the planet, ringed like a crown of steel atop the blue sphere of earth rising behind them. Ivanova recognised it as one of a celebrated series of paintings commemorating The Battle of the Line. Books had been taken from shelves and piled on the carpet.

“You can go straight in,” the secretary said in a heavy Swiss accent. She took a thick folder from the desk and handed it to Smits. He briefly glanced at the cover and passed it to Ivanova.

The General walked across to the door behind the secretary and gently knocked.

“Enter,” a voice called from inside.

“Good luck with your new command, Captain,” Smits said as he opened the door and ushered Ivanova inside ahead of him.

Ivanova stepped into the inner office. The door closed behind her. She turned quickly, surprised to see that the General had not followed her inside.

“Please, take a seat,” President Luchenko said. She sat behind the desk at the far end of the room. Her hair was tied up in a bun just as it was in the photographs, although the style had been relaxed slightly so as not to make it so severe. She was, however, wearing the same black trouser-suit. Ivanova wondered whether, with everything that was going on, she had ever had time to change.

“I should not be more than a few minutes,” she added, not looking up from the paperwork that required her immediate attention.

Ivanova sank down into one of the deep leather chairs. She glanced around the bare office. A pale rectangle on the wall indicated where the painting had hung. Labelled cartons lined the walls, some with their lids askew where they had been packed full of mementos or too many files from the cabinets.

“This was my old office before I took office,” Luchenko added, “I’m keeping in on in the interim to conduct business away from any prying eyes.”

Finally Luchenko put down the pen let out an audible sigh. She shuffled the papers together and closed the folder, transferring it to a stacked out tray.

“And that is for me, I assume,” she said with a smile, indicating to the file Ivanova held in her hands. Ivanova handed her the file, which the President spun around on the desk to face the right way and turned to the first page.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting. It was not intentional,”

President Luchenko explained. “There is so much to put right. These things do not happen overnight, much as people would like it to be that way.”

Ivanova nodded and accepted the apology for what it was.

“So, Captain Susan Andrejevna Ivanova...” Luchenko said, letting the words hang.

“Madam President,” Ivanova replied, waiting to see which way the conversation was heading.

“You have had time to visit the home country?”

“A few days in St. Petersburg, back where I was born. My father died during my first year assigned to Babylon 5 and I was unable to return home for the funeral. So this was the first time I’ve had to go back and visit his grave.”

“And your mother?” Luchenko asked.

“Sleeping beside him. She died when I was fourteen,”

Ivanova explained.

Luchenko turned the page of the open file, scanning the material in front of her.

“Sofie Ivanova. She was a latent telepath.”

Ivanova nodded.

“We found out on her thirty-fifth birthday,” Ivanova told her. “As unexpected presents go... it wasn’t the nicest of surprises for any of us. When she refused to join Psi Corps they

put her on a program of sleepers to suppress her abilities. She stayed on the medication for ten years before she took her own life.”

“How did that make you feel?” Luchenko asked.

“I was a child and my mother had died,” Ivanova said.

“And now?”

“The Corps is not exactly at the top of any New year greetings card list,” Ivanova explained. “but I doubt that makes me unique around here.”

Her answer elicited a smile from Luchenko who flicked through the next couple of pages.

“It says here you were schooled in Tel Aviv, Buenos Aries, here in Geneva.”

“That’s right,” Ivanova replied.

“Your parents did not find the Russian educational system up to their standard?”

“I think they both believed I would get a more rounded education if I experienced the different cultures,” Ivanova explained.

“I have many old family friends,” Luchenko told her, “One couple, quite some years back now, discovered that their child showed signs of emerging telepathic abilities. To keep him out of the grasp of our friends the Psi Corps they sent him around the world, always trying to keep one step ahead. Of course I should have reported them immediately, but when it is personal you are apt to maybe bend the rules, are you not?”

“I would say that depends on your conscience,” Ivanova concluded. Across the desk Luchenko smiled.

“And you had a brother,” she said.

“Ganya. He died the year after my mother. He joined EarthForce and was assigned to the Lexington. He was killed when it engaged the Black Star during the Earth-Minbari War.”

Luchenko nodded. She took one last look at the pages in the file before finally closing it. Pushing the folder to one side, she sat back and studied Ivanova.

“I am still trying to fathom the logic of our Commandersin-Chief,” Luchenko freely admitted. “It is something I have struggled long and hard with, even before I took over the presidency. If I may be candid, do you see this promotion of yours as a thank-you or their way of keeping you out of the way?”

“Until I know better I’m happy to take it for what it is,”

Ivanova said. Luchenko considered her answer.

“Well you have General Smits to thank for that. He appears to have fought your corner very well, and he was not alone. Just between us, one Susan to another; we’re not back in at a time where people will believe what I tell them to believe,” President Luchenko explained. “That age is long over. The crew of the Titans will have their own opinions. You’ve won me over, time to work a bigger room.”

“With a tougher crowd,” Ivanova added.

Luchenko shrugged. “They may be a tough crowd, but I’m sure you’ve stood up to worse.”

“I’m a Russian Jew,” Ivanova told her. She didn’t need to say any more.

President Luchenko smiled. She settled back in her chair and nodded to herself.

“Would you like some tea?” Luchenko asked as she reached for the intercom. “And then you can tell me what it was that made you not want to stay on Babylon 5.”

TEN

Lieutenant Kyle Wynant sat in the austere transit lounge at the landing field due south of EarthDome. He had spent just over two hours waiting there and was doing his best not to fidget. He took the slim leather document case embossed with the Earth Alliance symbol off his lap and tucked it firmly under his arm as he stood to stretch his legs. Since becoming its custodian two days ago it had never left his sight.

Wynant walked over to the windows for a clearer view of the steady stream of shuttles taking off from their assigned pads and rumbling overhead. One shuttle sat waiting on the pad, unmoving. He could read the registration numbers from where he stood: EANS398G. From the moment it touched down he had been waiting to oversee the transfer of the storage containers and hand luggage that had been from the earlier flight in to Geneva. Everything was stowed away safely onboard. All it needed now was the human cargo.

He turned at the sound of the glass doors hissing open, just as he had done every time since arriving here. It was an automatic response now. Just as automatic was his resigned look at discovering it was not who he was waiting for. Instead a quartet of Army Warrant Officers in green uniforms walked though the lounge. He watched them disappear out the other end, their conversation and laughter all but obliterated by the throaty roar of shuttle engines at full burn.

Wynant doubted that the Captain would be such jovial company. His fellow crewmembers had ragged him mercilessly when they discovered he had drawn what they considered the short straw of being given the detail of accompanying their new Captain from EarthDome to the shipyard.

When the news of who had been assigned to take command of the Titans was announced, audible groans had echoed throughout the corridors of the ship. It had been virtually the only conversation for the next few days. As last-minute transfers reported to the ship, amongst the lower echelons it was sometimes the first thing they were told, bypassing all military protocol. Wynant himself had stayed on the periphery of the discussions but made it a point not to become actively involved in the debates that raged through the mess hall with such ferocity that few people actually got to eat a full meal before returning to duty. The initial announcement had raised some concerns, but once people began to see that they had been fed a

steady diet of lies and half-truths by the old administration, views subtly changed.

He was determined to bide his time and wait to make his own decision. The real benefit of the duty was two whole days back on Earth. Even though he was kept on base for most of the time, his one scheduled appointment was when he received the document case from the Chief of Naval Operations Office. On the second evening his parents had flown over specially to see him. The glass doors hissed open again. This time the waiting was over.

“Captain Ivanova, Lieutenant Wynant,” he announced with a salute.

“Lieutenant,” Ivanova said, as she returned his salute.

“Junior Grade,” Wynant added.

“Junior Grade?” Ivanova repeated, unsure whether to feel slighted or not that such a lower ranking officer had been sent to meet her.

“Everybody is busy preparing the ship for launch,” Wynant blurted out as if to make excuses for himself.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long?” Ivanova said.

“Two days sir,” Wynant said. He shook his head as he realised his mistake. “I’ve been Earthside two days. And no, I haven’t been waiting long.”

He was young and nervous and he made Ivanova smile.

“The shuttle is this way,” Wynant said, directing her to the departure gates. “All your luggage is already onboard so we can leave when you’re ready.”

Wynant remembered he was still in possession of the leather document case. He reached to hand it over only to find Ivanova walking ahead of him. He quickened his step to catch up.

Ivanova entered the shuttle first and took a seat directly behind the cockpit compartment. Wynant sat across the narrow isle and buckled himself in.

“This is for you,” he said, finally handing over the pouch. Ivanova partially unzipped the case. She bent the leather back just enough to study the top sheet and flick through the pages underneath. There would be time to study it in detail on the journey.

Through the cockpit door Ivanova heard the pilot requesting clearance to take off. Once it was approved she felt a deep vibration rise up through the seat. Outside the landing field dropped away as the shuttle rose up into the sky. He looked over and saw Wynant staring wistfully out the viewport on his side.

“It’s nice to get back to Earth once in a while,” Ivanova said. “Remind yourself of the things you’re missing.”

Wynant nodded.

“So what do you miss most?” Ivanova asked.

“The sunlight,” Wynant said. “Real sunlight, where you feel the heat on your face.”

It was such an honest and innocent answer that Ivanova had to smile.

For Ivanova it was snow, or even rain. She had forgotten how much she missed the rain. As a child she could play happily in the snow for hours. When it rained she would always run for cover, squealing. If she had known where her life would take her, Ivanova was sure she would have stood outside more often, arms outstretched as the rain washed down her face.

“It’s a shame then to come back in the winter when the days are shorter,” she said. “So where are you from, Lieutenant?”

“Sarasota, sir,” he said, “Although originally I’m from St. Petersburg.”

“Really?” Ivanova said, showing a sudden interest.

“St. Petersburg, Florida,” he said.

The shuttle raced up through the layers of cloud until it was high into the mesosphere. As she looked through the viewport Ivanova saw a convoy of large Condor troop transporters heading for Earth.

“GROPOS coming back from Fort Redstone on Mars,” Wynant observed. “Now that its been granted independence, EarthForce is scaling back on the numbers of troops deployed there.”

Ivanova nodded.

“I see them,” she said.

Before Clark had started throwing his weight around, even before the Shadow War had started to escalate, Babylon 5 had the unenviable pleasure of playing temporary host to a fleet of Condors, and the 25,000 Ground Pounders they were carrying. The marines were on their way to assist in attacking a rebel stronghold on the Sh’lassen world of Akdor IV. Ivanova was assigned the task of finding them billets. Typically, in the calm before the expected battle, the troops found every conceivable way to let off steam. It had taken everyone weeks to recover once they had shipped out.

“And this?” Ivanova asked.

After Wynant’s comment about Mars’ long sought after independence she wasn’t sure if he was simply innocent and eager or whether there was something else going on. She sat back from the window so Wynant could see a collection of cargo shuttles huddled together in orbit.

The payload bay doors were open and figures in cumbersome EVA suits were clambering around, gently manoeuvring solar panels and large cubes lined with empty missile silos toward the bulky, bulbous satellites that had already been deployed.

“That’s the GOD-squad at work,” Wynant said. “The Global Orbital Defence. They’re replacing the Prometheus defence platforms the rebel fleet destroyed...” The words trailed off as Wynant realised what he had said and who he was saying it to.

“...Destroyed to save the planet,” Ivanova finished. “A year of changes,” she added, repeating the last words President Luchenko had said to her.

Wynant nodded in agreement.

“How was the news of my appointment greeted by the crew?”

Ivanova asked.

She watched him squirm in his seat. Although she did not mean to put him on the spot, if he considered them rebels, Ivanova could only guess what the more experienced crew thought. Wynant didn’t answer immediately, which was an answer in itself.

“It provoked a lot of debate,” he finally announced, attempting to sound as diplomatic as possible.

“I bet it did,” Ivanova replied.

She looked over to Wynant who was trying, and failing, to formulate a better response. He looked relieved to hear the muffled voice of the pilot in the cockpit requesting an approach vector.

“This is our ride,” he smiled, looking past her. Through the viewport, Ivanova saw the rotating centresection of an Omega-class Destroyer. She tried to look cheery but instead a shiver ran through her.

After Sheridan’s capture she had personally taken command of the White Star fleet in the campaign to retake Earth and Mars from Clark and his followers. In his absence she had ordered the ships to open fire on Omega-class Destroyers whose crew had refused to stand down and surrender their vessels. Ships like the Damocles and the Orion had been no match to the superior firepower of the White Stars. Weapons systems and engines had been targeted, allowing the crew time to evacuate. The ships had attacked innocent civilians on the outer colonies of the Beta 9 System. She had coldly ordered the crews to be picked up and returned to the authorities there to stand trial for war crimes.

From one of the Damocles’ officers Ivanova had been informed that not all the Earth Alliance vessels that defected to their side really defected. Clark’s forces knew of their plans and were waiting for the rebel fleet at their rendezvous point in Sector 300. Even worse, the ships were an elite force of advancemodel Destroyers, loyal to the President’s new order. This time there would be no defection and no surrender. Ivanova had taken only the White Star fleet. What came out of the jump points that blossomed around them was dark and ugly. The hulls had a horrifying familiarity to them. Black and fibrous, they rippled with a synthesised version of the Shadow bio-armour. Later she had learnt that they were the Omega-X class and for a while it looked like even the White Stars had met their match.

Sitting in the shuttle, Ivanova remembered how she had been unwilling to let any of the ships get away for fear they returned with reinforcements. She had urged Marcus to keep firing. The beams from the White Star’s cannons tore through the Omega-X’s hulls. She had got up out of her chair, watching as a Destroyer was torn in half by the explosions. Then something went wrong. The navigational system had gone down, unable to take evasive action. Marcus called her name, warning her. She had looked out the forward viewport to see a chunk of debris, torn away from the destroyer’s centre-section tumble through space towards her. Oxygen escaping from ruptured compartments fed the spluttering

flames made it look like the blackened debris from a spent firework. But it was something more deadly than that, coming straight for her.

She jerked back in her seat. Across the aisle, Wynant stared at her with a look of bewilderment.

“We’re here,” he said as Ivanova took a deep breath. As the shuttle turned on its final approach she saw the large blue and gold Earth Alliance logo. Above it, written across the front section in large block letters was the name APOLLO.

APOLLO