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One of the advantages of being multilingual was that one could pick the best language for a given situation. This late at night,
on the border between Blue and Brown sectors after being dragged out of bed for what had turned out to be a complete non-event, called for profanity. And if
ever any human language had been optimized for wearily cursing the universe's neverending campaign to destroy what little remained of Susan's sanity,
her native Russian was it.

She had just rounded a corner in the deserted corridor, mind more fixated on reaching the nearest lift and getting back to her
cold and empty (but at least soft) bed than on her surroundings when it happened. Mere meters ahead of her, a sudden shimmer in the air, like a solid heat
haze, blurred the corridor for a moment before splitting apart like a theater curtain, opening onto a momentary sight that reminded her jarringly of the view
through a jump point.

Then a machine shot out of the opening, hit the deckplates, and plunged towards her on two narrow wheels with the whine of some
of king of engine Dopplering in her ears. Combat-honed reflexes dulled by shock and sleep deprivation, she stumbled backwards, slammed into the bulkhead, and
had just enough time to realize that there was no way she could dive down the angle of the corridor quickly enough--

-- before the howling machine screeched to a stop mere inches from running her down, leaving dark streaks on the decking and
probably giving its rider whiplash, judging from how his head snapped back and forth.

...the rider. The machine was an archaic -motorcycle-, Susan realized belatedly, which meant... "GARIBALDI!!! YOU'RE A
DEAD M--"

Her voice cut off as several facts finally registered in her brain.

??????: The motorcycle's rider was the wrong size and shape to be Michael Garibaldi.

??????: Despite the full-body protective suit, the open-faced helmet and goggles still left the rider's chin visible, and
that was definitely -not- Garibaldi's jawline. It was too clean-shaven, for one thing.

??????, and most important: Whatever near-tecnomagery the Security chief might be capable of when in pursuit of ever greater and
grander pranks (usually aimed at herself), teleportation wasn't one of them.

Not to mention the fact that for the past five seconds it had taken her to work through all this, the nameless rider, whom she
now realized was -strapped- to his machine, had hung limp and unmoving as a rag doll, either unconscious or--

She steeled herself and reached out to carefully poke one pale cheek below the goggles. Clammy, but warm. She dangled her hand
in front of his face and was rewarded with the sensation of shallow but steady respiration drifting past her fingers.

Great. She rolled her eyes upwards. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but are you sure I was -that-
bad?"

There was, of course, no reply. Fortunately, her native tongue had a perfect word for this situation as well:
"Nichevo," she sighed, and activated her Link.

"C&C, this is Ivanova."

The response was startled. "Commander? What are you doing up?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Don't ask, Corwin. Call Chief Garibaldi and Doctor Franklin. Tell them I need them and an
incident team at--" she stopped to double-check the wall markers. "At Brown Twenty-Seven, Section Eighteen. ASAP."

"Um, Commander, I'm pretty sure they're both asleep, and I know the Chief had a bad day--" Corwin sounded less
than enthused at the idea of of waking the cantankerous head of security, which roused scant sympathy in Susan's heart. If -she- were going to have to pull
an all-nighter, then she might as damned well share the joy. "I don't care what kind of day he had," she cut the lieutenant off. "I want
them both down here, NOW. And don't worry," she added with just a bit of cheerful malice, "we'll be pulling in the Commander pretty soon
too."

"Yes, ma'am." Corwin somehow managed to sound brisk, efficient, and like a man being lead before a firing squad
all at the same time.

"Ivanova out." She killed the Link and propped her hands on her hips, glaring at the latest Weird Thing to hit Epsilon
Sector's infamous Weird Magnet (known officially as Babylon 5). Just one more damn thing that proved that the universe was out to get -her-, personally,
that's what it was. Just one... more....

Irritation gave way to bemusement. The motorcycle's engine had shut off after it stopped, the rider's legs were limp was
wet noodles, and she could see that the, uh, kick-stilt? Leg-strut? The whateveryoucallit that was supposed to hold the motorcycle upright... wasn't. So
-why- wasn't the darn thing tipping over?

"Who -are- you," she murmured, wide eyed. "And why are you -here-?"

If some stroke of divine precognition had given her the answer to those questions just then, Lieutenant Commander Susan
Ivanonva, Earthforce, second-in-command of Babylon 5, would have run for the cobra bays and taken her Starfury straight through the jumpgate on a course Away
From Here at the fighter's best possible speed. But since that would not have suited the whims of the universe, or the designs of the Powers directing the
path of the motorcycle's nameless rider, she was left in a state of blissful, if potentially lethal, ignorance.

For a little while longer, at least....
I like...

You are going to write the rest of this Stagger, aren't you?
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
D'you know, I'm somewhat disturbed by the fact that even though I only watched one episode of Babylon 5, I'd no
sooner read the fact that Susan's native language was Russian than I was all but certain -- correctly, as it happens -- of who she was and therefore where
Doug was winding up this time. (I'm not even sure Commander Ivanova made an appearance in the episode I saw.) I don't know
quite what that sort of accurate S.W.A.G. says about the workings of my mind, but I have the feeling it's nothing printable.
-----
Big Brother is watching you.  And damn, you are so bloody BORING.
Oh my oh my, that's a wonderful beginning.

I have about 2K of notes for an abandoned B5 Step, but they're mostly snarking at Psi Cops. I never really developed a real plot. So I'm so very interested in seeing how this comes out.

(ETA, about 12 hours later) I went and looked up that old material. Not much there of use, save for one very Doug comment I'll throw your way:

Quote:"*This* is one of your vaunted psi cops? This half-crippled
brainburner? He couldn't even get into the Bonded Telepaths
with that so-called talent. I mean, from the way you guys
talk, I thought they were supposed to be *scary*. Hell, when
I bother to be a telepath, I'm more powerful than this runt --
and don't get me started on what a *real* teep like Psyche
could do. This... this is pathetic."

The simple fact is, if you intend to involve the Psi Cops, V&V telepathy makes even a P12 look like a crippled slug. Let me know if you want to know more.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
Curse you people. Curse you all! [Image: smile.gif]

This was never supposed to be more than a throwaway plotbunny. But now you got me *thinking*....

What happens when Doug and Garibaldi discover their mutual love of Warner Bros cartoons? I dunno, but predict mobs of helpless bystanders screaming and
running with their hands over their ears...

And the first time Doug meets Kosh...

One problem is *when* to land Doug in the B5 arc. If I *do* continue this, I need to keep it fairly short and compact, otherwise I'll bog down. So I want
some period when Doug wouldn't feel honor-bound to stick around, but things are still unsettled enough that he can leave a major mark before he leaves.
I'm leaning towards the run-up to the Shadow War and the Earth Alliance Civil War, before things went hot, but I'm open to suggestions.

Bob: Wow, I was *wondering* just how much of a threat the Psi-Cops might pose to Doug. It sounds like, aside from the risk of choking over Bester's name,
not much.

In fact... I think I have an idea about how the major plot arc (and the Three's hidden agenda is sending him to B5) might just pan out.....

WengFook

you know, you could make his exit gateway song have a specific departure time [Image: happy.gif] as in he has to leave now or wait X amount of years/months/days before he can
go again [Image: happy.gif]

This way you could plunk him down wherever you want, but even if he feels honor bound to stick around... would mean he would be sticking around for a really
looooooong time.
_________________________________
Take Your Candle, Go Light Your World.
I highly recommend putting him somewhere in season 2. For several reasons:

1 - we've got the brand new captain sinclair and the still happy-go-lucky Garibaldi.

2 - Kosh and the Shadows are circling each other warily.

3 - None of the big reveals have started yet.

4 - Mr. Morden is asking everyone important on the station The Question.

Ok, really, it's all about #4.
"Not this again!" Minerva said. "Albus, it was You-Know-Who, not you, who marked Harry as his equal. There is no possible way that the prophecy could be talking about you!" - Harry Potter and the Method of Rationality, Chapter 84
I always liked Vir's answer to Morden. [Image: glasses.gif]
___________________________
"I've always wanted to be somebody, but I should have been more specific." - George Carlin
"What do I want, Mr. Morden? I want to go home, back to the universe where I was born, free of any claims on my soul by gods other than my Commanding
Officer. Can you do that? No? Go bother someone else, then."

Well, that's a little confrontational.

Doug would more likely give a nasty little smile and say something like, "What I want, no mortal agency in this universe can give me."
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
...closely followed, after Morden's attempt to talk up the capabilities of his patrons, by: "You mean those clowns? The invisible spider things
following you around? Sorry, I know a god when I see one and gods they ain't."

--Sam

"Why am I here? Why does my mind have wings? Why do blue midgets hit me with fish?!"
Oddly enough, I was imagining an almost identical line for when Doug first looked at Vorlons -- "Celestials, you ain't."

While we're talking lines.... This is something I jotted down in a file tagged "Stargate SG-1", but it's the only thing in it. If Doug wakes up in any kind of custody situation (as opposed to, say, simple hospital care), you might get something like this when he does the name-rank-serial bit:

Quote:"Douglas Q. Sangnoir, Colonel, United Nations Metahuman
Peacekeeping Force Warriors Alpha. My serial number is...
12."

"Twelve?" mouthed at .
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.