ELEVEN

General Robert Lefcourt arrived in the landing bay just as the shuttle was coming through the final set of space-lock doors. The overhead lights directed on his close-cropped grey hair created a white halo around the crown of head as he stood waiting for it to gently touch down.

“Captain Ivanova,” he said, as she stepped off the shuttle.

“General,” Ivanova replied, somewhat taken aback by Lefcourt’s presence.

Lefcourt smiled as he waited for Wynant to pick up the carry-on luggage, which had been dropped on the deck as he stood to salute alongside Ivanova.

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised to see you here,” Ivanova said as they left the landing bay.

“This is only a temporary command,” Lefcourt explained.

“John Sheridan was one of my star pupils when I taught at the Academy. EarthDome surmised that I would know him better than anyone and understand his tactics. So as he came full tilt toward Earth, the put me in overall command of the destroyer group defending Mars.”

“That must have been difficult,” she said.

“Morally? Yes. When you have to reduce friends and fellow officers to targets to be destroyed, there are feelings of guilt you have to overcome. It’s not a day I would want to repeat too readily in my lifetime, if at all. But as a soldier you have to take your orders without question and do the job.”

Ivanova knew that Lefcourt was an honourable man serving an unjust regime. From the look on his face as he relived that moment in his head, it was obvious that Lefcourt was relieved by the eventual outcome.

“Of course, in the end, we were proved wrong. When it came to a fleet-to-fleet engagement, Sheridan certainly showed that he had become even more inventive since the Academy,” Lefcourt continued. “The day eventually comes when the master becomes the pupil.”

General Lefcourt had always expected Sheridan to have an ace in the hole, but even he had not been prepared for what happened. Prior to the fleet’s arrival, the resistance had

smuggled telepaths onboard each EarthForce destroyer loyal to the current regime. Once awake they crippled the ships, effectively leaving them dead in the water as Sheridan’s fleet appeared out of hyperspace.

“But you’re still onboard,” Ivanova said.

“With the shake-up in the command structure still ongoing back home, they’ve left me up here to oversee the replacement of the Prometheus platforms. If a General’s giving the orders, they think everything will be done that much quicker.”

“I appreciate you taking the time out to see me to my ship,” Ivanova replied.

“There are few ships in the fleet at present that are fully operational. The Apollo’s been given a clean bill of health, but it’ll give us the chance to wring her out a little,” Lefcourt replied. “We should have you at the shipyard in just over a day.”

Lefcourt stopped outside a door.

“These are your quarters,” he told Ivanova. He turned to Wynant, in step behind Ivanova. “Lieutenant, if you carry on straight down the corridor, Master Chief Fuchs will find a rack for you.”

“I’ll catch up with you later, Captain,” Wynant told Ivanova as he set her luggage down outside the door. Standing at attention he saluted both her and Lefcourt then followed the General’s directions.

Lefcourt punched in the code and the door slid open.

“It’s not much,” he admitted as he looked around the spartanly furnished room. Ivanova followed his gaze. It was exactly what it was, an empty room for people passing through.

“I won’t be here for long,” Ivanova observed, tossing her bag on the bunk. Lefcourt nodded. With the door closed he looked more relaxed.

“So, how are you finding it, back in EarthForce?” he asked.

“It has its good points and bad points,” Ivanova admitted as she placed the EA pouch on the table. Lefcourt understood and nodded.

“They don’t have to like the person, only respect the rank,” he told Ivanova.

“That’s what President Luchenko said. I ran into General Crossley before I left Earthdome. He had other ideas.”

“Crossley’s old school,” Lefcourt said, “Or rather he’s from the school they tore down to build the old school. The way he sees it, the military executes the orders that emanate from the heads of government, down through the chain of command.”

“Like you?” Ivanova asked. Lefcourt nodded.

“As for setting policy or overthrowing Presidents, that’s what the Senators are elected for. But if I was hard pressed, and it was strictly off the record, I’d say it had to be done,” he told her. Considering his words, he ran his hand over his clipped grey hair.

His link chimed.

“General, we’re ready to break orbit,” Captain Mitchell announced.

“Get us underway Charlie,” Lefcourt replied. He turned to Ivanova. “You’re welcome to join us on the bridge,” he told her.

“Thank you General, but I still have to review my new crew profiles,” Ivanova explained as she picked up the leather pouch.

“Do you know who you’ve got serving under you?” Lefcourt asked.

“Not yet,” Ivanova replied.

“Join me in the Officer’s Mess at nineteen-hundred hours. Bring the material with you. After we’ve eaten we’ll go through the personnel list, see who you have, and see if there are any ringers.”

When she arrived at the appointed time most of the officers were already sitting down to eat. The last of the late arrivals were being served and the murmur of conversation was gradually rising above the clatter of knives and forks on the china plates. Ivanova hesitated in the doorway until Lefcourt saw her out of the corner of his eye and looked her way.

“Captain, please join us,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin as he stood to welcome her. The room fell silent as the other officers quickly put down their cutlery and turned in her direction. They pushed their chairs back to stand up as she walked around to the empty place setting beside Lefcourt at the head of the table. A couple of officers across the long table caught Ivanova’s eye and nodded hello. Some pointedly looked down at their plates or focused across the room. Others glanced toward Lefcourt, waiting to follow his lead.

As she stood behind the chair, the officer directly across the table reached out his hand.

“Charles Mitchell,” he said in a clipped English accent.

“Susan Ivanova,” she replied shaking his hand.

“Charlie here is the captain of the Apollo,” Lefcourt explained. “And being very patient with me usurping his chair, here and on the bridge.”

Mitchell grinned as Lefcourt brought Ivanova’s attention to the blonde-haired man standing on her left.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Robbie Fairclough,” the General said.

Fairclough nodded and shook Ivanova’s hand.

“Captain,” he said.

“Next to him is Martin Kenwood,” Lefcourt continued.

“Lieutenant,” Ivanova said as Fairclough stepped back, giving Kenwood enough space to lean forward to shake Ivanova’s hand.

The rest of the officers were too far away and simply nodded when Lefcourt introduced them. Only Hans Rudi Niebisch, the Apollo’s Head of Engineering who was seated beside Mitchell and last to be introduced, reached across the table and squeezed Ivanova’s hand in a firm grip.

“Good to meet you,” he announced with the slightest hint of a German accent.

“Likewise,” Ivanova said.

“Shall we,” Lefcourt said to Ivanova, indicating to her chair. The General resumed sitting and the officers around the table followed suit. Mitchell poured Ivanova a glass of water as a member of the kitchen staff carried a plate to the table. He removed the metal warming lid as he set it down in front of her.

“How long were you back on Earth?” Mitchell asked.

“Two days back home in Russia, plus a morning in Geneva,”

Ivanova replied. “Long enough to get reacquaint myself with the homeland.”

“And get your taste buds back,” Mitchell added. She looked down at the plate in front of her, cutting through the chicken breast then spearing green beans and a cauliflower head with her fork.

“Hydroponics on Babylon 5 still couldn’t capture the full flavour of the fresh vegetables. That’s what I missed.”

“Fresh milk and fruit,” Mitchell said.

Ivanova nodded appreciatively as she chewed her food, remembering the bowl of ripe, fleshy plums Rabbi Koslov had offered her as he poured the glasses of hot tea.

“It must make a change from some of the alien dishes,”

Niebisch commented.

“Well, there is Treel, which is a sort of Centauri fish. That’s exceptionally good. There is another Centauri dish called Spoo,” Ivanova said.

“Spoo?” Niebisch repeated, getting his tongue around the word.

“That’s something certainly to try once.”

“Only once?”

“So you know never try it again,” Ivanova said. She took another bite as Niebisch brought his napkin up to his mouth to help contain his laughter.