Disclaimer: same as chapter one. Death. Ivanova-fu. Teek slamming. WWF style indignities. introduction of surprise guest star--whose portrayal will not be canon. i'll not be following the B5 novel version that contained the fate of said guest star. Russian translations will be listed in Endnotes section. Centauri goodies courtesy of Dining On Babylon 5: Human Edition. Beta-read by the incomparable miss calliope-2000, who has my most sincere thanks. :) enjoy!

CHAPTER FOUR: ICARUS

New York City, Earth

February 8, 2262

MeccaCorp: Bringing Out the Best in Medicine for Your Mind.

Susan Ivanova gave the poster the most cursory of glances. She followed her tour group down the sleek surfaced corridor that meandered through one of the many office levels of MeccaCorp's signature skyscraper building. Her plastic badge was securely fastened at the black lapel of her overcoat, proclaiming 'Visitor!' in bright, welcoming letters. The tall, aloof Russian was finding the guided MeccaCorp tour remarkably boring--no, make that downright mind numbing. The tour hostess was irritably cheerful this early morning. However, that attitude did little to lend appeal to the tedious information that left her upbeat mouth as she pointed out the popular drugs and current research projects meant to further the health of the human mind. Ivanova barely acknowledged the holovids spinning molecules and brain functions before her disinterested eyes. She paid scant attention to the view windows her tour group passed of display labs harboring diligent scientists bent on bettering the human brain. Frankly, what the dark haired woman would have liked this very moment, as she waited impatiently for her tortoise paced tour group to further infiltrate the MeccaCorp building, was a good, hot, stimulating cup of black coffee.

Coffee was how she liked to start her day. It was a magically brewed elixir that somehow made the expected tribulations in her life--at least the less life shattering ones--easier to handle, if not surmount. This morning, she had been roused abruptly from her slumber on the hotel suite's couch to the blare of ISN on three different com screens, her blonde bodyguard efficiently digging into a pile of pancakes--courtesy of the well laden service trolley the construct had obviously rung up from room service. Ivanova's first and only thought had been of the welcome pleasure of her favorite hot beverage. However, when the captain finally sat down to breakfast herself and had poured a drink into her mug from the gleaming carafe, she had found the hot liquid filling her cup not to be coffee, but of all things......hot chocolate.

At the thought of the telepath, Ivanova sent a casual glance about her and among her tour members, once again. The AP, was of course, nowhere to be found. For a one-time spy, the construct was not particularly careful about disguising her absences. The hostess had already inquired twice as to where the captain's blonde companion might be and Ivanova was finding the old excuse of 'the restroom' wearing thin.

Ivanova had no idea where the construct went to on her quick jaunts away from the group nor what she might be doing. Before they had entered the building, the captain had specifically ordered Talia to not pursue their Psi-Cop until Ivanova herself was in a position to be present. Susan had to worriedly assume that the telepath was on...reconnaissance. But even if Talia were not on a mission for the captain, the telepath would have made herself quickly scarce anyway, considering the company they were keeping. The captain's fellow tour mates were a respectful, albeit, elderly bunch who found the dark haired Russian of keen interest, as their frank and rather bold stares in her direction would attest. Talia had been most unkind in the lobby earlier this morning and had referred to the rest of the tour members as 'the gawking geriatric gang'.

Ivanova smiled diplomatically, if not distractedly, as she endured yet another of the overly interested gazes belonging to the elderly couple nearest her. It was entirely unfair of her to think this, but old people, in her opinion, especially ones interested in tours of stuffy pharmaceutical conglomerates, had to be political conservatives. She was certain that any one of the 'geriatric gang' was just dying for the opportunity to grill her for her radical participation in the civil war.

"Wonder where she got the shiner," Ivanova overheard the husband--obviously quite deaf--'whisper' loudly to his wife.

"Probably from jumping out of that train car," his wife loudly whispered back, all the while regarding Ivanova with a doting fascination. When the woman began to survey the captain up and down like a mother hen, Ivanova privately questioned if it had really been a good idea to try discreetly placing herself in the back of the tour group.

"You must take a lot of vitamins," she heard the elderly woman say knowingly.

"Yes ma'am," Ivanova responded respectfully, then pretended to listen attentively to something the tour hostess was rambling on about, in an effort to distract the couple beside her. Talia, to Susan's great relief, took that moment to reappear at the end of the hall and saunter casually to the captain's side.

"Here," the construct said curtly, thrusting an unexpected cup of office coffee into Ivanova's hand as several pairs of eyes avidly turned to view the black overcoated blonde. It became a ritual for every male head in the tour party to turn whenever the curvaceous form of the telepath deigned to rejoin the group once again. Even the elderly female couple, grinning indulgently, would get into a nudge match any time Talia reappeared by the captain's side. Ivanova really wished they would stop doing that.

She took a sip of the too hot coffee and found it horrible.

"Herbal teas and refreshments will be served at the end of the tour," the hostess suddenly announced brightly as she arched her neck to direct her information to the back of the tour group--and especially to the telepath. Talia's constant disappearances from the tour had been infuriating for the hostess, but Ivanova was not about to do anything to rein in her wandering bodyguard. Talia only smiled sweetly in response then turned to saunter off again, disappearing once more around the corner. The hostess' eyes now sent a fierce, pointed message in Ivanova's direction, but the captain pretended to be too preoccupied with enjoying her horrible coffee to notice.

"Mm," she murmured aloud, as if in approval, and felt her tongue get thoroughly scorched.

Talia moved quickly down the corridor and entered the office maze that held MeccaCorp's management divisions. Had the AP been able to conduct this mission her way, she was certain she would have found Icarus, otherwise known as 'Mr. John Jacobs', an hour sooner, 'persuaded' the psi-agent to accompany her, and then would have deposited the man before Ivanova for questioning. But the captain would not hear of the telepath entering the MeccaCorp building alone and again illegally, nor would she allow Talia to move ahead of the tour group for the accounting area, where her target would be located. Instead, the construct had to wait until Ivanova herself could reach this floor before the AP was allowed to make her move.

So of course it took forever for the tour to reach the accounting area. To distract her thoroughly bored self in the meantime, Talia had trespassed about the MeccaCorp building, amusing herself with leaving inexplicable office accidents and confusing malfunctions in her casual wake, as only a telekinetic could.

As Talia approached the glassed division that had 'Accounting' discreetly etched into its clear surface, the construct privately decided that she was an independent field agent who really was not suited to having bosses. Especially bosses who disagreed with her efficient and direct manner of handling things. How utterly ironic that here she was now under the irritatingly controlling and watchful eye of the most disagreeable Boss of bosses, Susan Ivanova.

The people in accounting looked up with some surprise as a very attractive blonde woman wearing the brass badge of Psi-Corps strolled into their offices.

"May I help you?" the nearest man asked, giving the blonde a pointed gaze where her visitor pass was clipped to the front of her open overcoat.

"Inspection," the woman stated in an interestingly low, husky voice, which brought a keen look to the man's eyes. "Don't mind me," she added with a smile.

The man and his co-workers decided not to inquire further and returned to their work, eyeing the well formed figure of the telepath as she breezily passed. If MeccaCorp was doing impromptu security or quality checks using Psi-Corps telepaths, they were not even going to question it.

Talia began her sweep of the office sector, running her cool, almost gray eyed gaze over each person she encountered in her walk. She personally thought that this was an inefficient way to go about tracking down the elusive Psi-Cop agent. Her own plan had entailed going directly to where he was sure to complete his mission and wait for him there, but Ivanova wanted to do it this way, to take the official building tour in order to find the man.

"Excuse me," she heard said to her for what seemed the hundredth time this morning. This time the interruption came from a mid management office stiff with a controlling regard and a need to impose such control, as evidenced by his tense posture. Talia gave the man a cursory glance, moved for the beverage machine nearby, and tapped a black gloved finger upon the buttoned surface.

"May I ask what business you have here?" the man continued tensely as the telepath leisurely filled a cup with steaming coffee. "This department does not allow visitors without prior approval and I was not notified that a Psi-Corps rep would be here."

The floor manager watched the blonde woman turn casually to him, cup in gloved hand. She had a cool, detached regard that made him feel like her beautiful, pale features were acknowledging him with all the interest one would pay to a tiny bug.

As the Psi-Corps woman raised the cup to her red lips, she gave her coffee cup a sniff, all the while coldly watching the expectant, tense man. Then her surprised nose wrinkled with utter disgust.

A panel of the beverage machine buckled and burst with a frightening explosion of hot liquid, splattering the manager and sending a stream of steaming coffee right at the front of his pants. He cried out and cursed hotly, stepping back.

"You shouldn't buy your staff such bad coffee," he heard the blonde's low, sultry voice utter over the sound of liquid spilling noisily to the floor. She airily dumped the offending cup in her hand.

"Or cheap machines," she added as she passed the shocked and angered manager. As a parting gift, Talia implanted the irrational fear directly into the man's mind of his superiors disciplining him for the bad coffee.

Leaving the now coffee soaked floor boss to the gawking regard of his semi concerned co-workers, Talia continued her hunt through the maze of work partitions, quickly scanning each unwary mundane for their recent recollection of the face or presence of a Mr. 'John Jacobs'.

* * *

The man presently called Mr. John Jacobs made his discreet way through the office maze of MeccaCorp's accounting floor towards the back supply room. He never liked the pretense of a cover and utilized it only as long as he had to. This was his second day on the 'job', and already his co-workers--especially the women--had taken a shine to him. Despite his mental blocks he could still catch their surface thoughts when they caught sight of him: 'nice', 'warm', 'sensitive' was what they thought. 'Cute' was also quite a popular thought--and he won't reflect on the more negative thoughts of his male co-workers.

John Jacobs smiled at the verbal greeting of an older woman at her desk, whose beaming face and maternal gestures did not register any of the loneliness he could plainly see radiating in her private thoughts. It was against EA law to scan openly without permission and it was dangerous to a telepath's sanity to always have his or her blocks breached by surface thoughts, but sometimes the Psi-Cop, when undercover, allowed his unique perceptions some free rein. It helped him to move among normals with better knowledge. It helped him to understand them, and, though this attitude was not entirely condoned or taught in Psi-Cop Academy, it made aiding normals that much easier.

As a Psi-Cop, he knew he was an anomaly. Psi-Cops did not concern themselves with the well-being of normals. Normals had their own police to help them. Yet the young man never discriminated in his sense of duty. The Family came first, always, but when he could, the agent did what was right for normals as well.

He was certain that this was an attitude he had held since he had first developed a sense of duty as a child; he was certain that this was a sincere expression of his true self. This realization was a comfort, a personally validated truth he could hold on to. Especially when he was completely aware of the fact that The Corps had tampered with his memories. He could not recall any of his experiences in the past year before his assignment in Geneva, nor whether he ever had a real name.

The agent finally entered the accounting supply room and secured the entrance behind him. He approached the far wall and quickly unfastened the air vent cover close to the floor. Slipping his slim body through the opening, he brought the cover with him and secured the vent grating once again.

* * *

Talia's blue-gray eyes fell upon a pleasantly featured older woman, seated at her desk and softly smiling to herself as she worked. The telepath clearly saw the mental image of the pale eyed, slim man who had put the woman in such a good mood. After picking up the last memory the woman had of the dark and curly haired 'John Jacobs', Talia immediately scoped the area around her, hunting for the physical form of the Psi-Cop. The AP noted the closed door of a supply room. She made her way to the back room, found it locked, telekinetically forced the slide door open, and entered.

* * *

The agent carefully slid down the air shaft to land in the narrow ventilation corridor between the floors. Crouched low, he worked his body forward and began to crawl, moving silently and easily, as if this were something he did every day. Perhaps he had, during that lost year. The Corps had been completely frank about his memory loss. Waking up in Syria Planum's secret research facility, apparently recovering from wounds he did not remember receiving, his debriefing by superiors who were strangers to him had been unnervingly matter of fact and dry.

"This past year you experienced severely traumatic events which affected your performance as an agent," they had informed him. "You are a valued member of the Psi-Cops division. It was necessary to have you undergo psychic surgery to repress these memories. After three months of active status we will review the possibility of returning your memories to you. Do you consider yourself ready for active duty?"

There was no other reply he could give; he said yes.

Repression of memories was something he understood. The Corps practiced it often, along with other psychic surgical procedures. However it did not explain why he could not recall his own real name beyond that of a code name whose sound was as reaffirming to him as recognizing what values were truly his and not implanted by the Corps.

He found a ceiling vent and gazed down to survey the deserted, dark lab below. As the building's security files had stated, MeccaCorp had temporarily shut down this secret research level. Satisfied that the room was truly empty of any personnel, the agent removed the vent grating.

* * *

Talia knelt contemplatively by the open supply room air vent, the cover easily removed and tossed aside. She placed a gloved hand within the dark space, leather clad fingers spread. She let her eyes defocus and concentrated.....

She could not risk a search scan; the Psi-agent might have his blocks down as well and become aware of her presence. But telekinetically, she could try to 'taste' a movement...a sound, a vibration....

It was faint, but she 'felt' it. There it was again. The rough vibration of metal scraping metal. Someone was within the shaft.

Talia quickly placed the air vent cover back and took to her feet. She quickly exited the supply room.

* * *

The Psi-Cop frowned, his clear eyes suspicious. The MeccaCorp security file and his own assignment specs had indicated that this was an abandoned med research level, yet the tables, work stations, and other remnants of lab equipment seemed to attest to recent use, despite their disarray. The agent put a bare finger to a table top, finding no dust. The facility appeared more hastily abandoned, rather than formally closed down. Standing warily in the middle of the dark room, he sent a searching scan out, checking for thought signs beyond his line of sight or hearing.

Outside in the darkened hall, a small, circular device affixed to the wall began to blink, its tiny red light silently signaling....

"What about xeno-medicines?" piped up the quavery, demanding voice of the most elderly, but most curious tour guest in the group. "Under President Clark, Earth went and cut all contact with the other sentient races. Did MeccaCorp continue with xeno-pharmaceutical research?"

The tour hostess' perfectly coifed head bobbed energetically in response--more in acknowledgment that she had heard the question rather than in affirming it. Ivanova knew that it was a loaded inquiry. It all depended on whether the old man asking was xeno-phobic, which unfortunately became an accepted prejudice under President Clark's government. It was really hard to tell with this crowd what their general sentiment was, as they leaned in to hear what the hostess had to say.

"MeccaCorp's principle interest is in the furtherance of humankind's health and well-being," the hostess helpfully informed. "And that means utilizing the knowledge and materials available within the ethical guidelines established by EarthGov."

"But now that President Clark is gone, will you make new medicines using xeno-research?" came the insistent voice of another tour member.

"Yes," the hostess affirmed readily. "MeccaCorp is committed to xeno-research to give you the best in mind and health welfare for the future."

Hearing the positive murmurs that ran through the small crowd, Ivanova entertained some private, cynical assessments. Certainly the promise of newer and better medicines outweighed any possible political sentiments one might have of where such medicines originated from. Susan suddenly bit down to suppress a laugh as she remembered the sarcastic comment Talia had made in the lobby when she first saw the people making up the tour group.

"Are they here for free samples or to be research group A?" the construct had derisively observed as Susan tried to hush her.

At that moment, that same telepath reappeared once again in the corridor and stood where she could catch Ivanova's eye, giving a discreet head shake in answer to the captain's silent question. The blonde woman tapped her wrist, indicating an imaginary chronometer.

"I apologize," Ivanova spoke aloud, interrupting the tour hostess. "But something has come up and I must leave the tour at this time. Thank you."

"I'll call someone to escort you back to the lobby--" the hostess volunteered.

"No need," Talia interrupted smoothly, her voice deep as she smiled sweetly at the hostess. "We know where the lifts are."

Ivanova felt a surprising pat at her coat sleeve and looked down to see the elderly wife who had spoken to her earlier, smile expectantly as she held up a holo cam....

The Psi-agent's fingers activated a com station, its surface black and dead until the screen brightened to life before his pale, watchful eyes in the darkness of the room. Satisfied that his telepathic scans had affirmed that the level was indeed empty, the agent decided to continue with his mission. He inserted the data crystal that would run the program to bypass MeccaCorp security measures..

The break-in program took its time. The agent straightened from his regard of the screen to assess the room further. Data retrieval, he knew, was not his usual work. He could still remember the covert missions he had accomplished before his lost year. The psych-surgeons might have left those intact in his recall so that he could retain his experience and training as an undercover Psi-Cop. He was definitely overqualified for this present mission. But the Corps gave him this assignment, and he had no reason to protest it. He had to trust the Corps in at least this because they held the key to who he was. Until he could figure out his own next move with regards to retrieving his memory, he could at least feel some sense of accomplishment with what good he did independent of being undercover.

The dark-haired man's thoughts turned to a certain, extremely stubborn Earthforce captain, and he had to smile. It had been quite a relief to learn from ISN News that Ivanova had managed to save herself from that assassination attempt. He had to admire a woman who could do so by jumping from an exploding rail car.

The program chimed its successful completion and the agent returned his attention to the com. It displayed an odd...pulsing pattern. Then the screen reverted to the staid MeccaCorp logo. The Psi-Cop frowned, unsure of what he had seen. He decided to disregard it.

He keyed his entry into the com unit's classified research files. He found the one he had been ordered to retrieve and copied it to his data crystal. He gazed a moment at his hands upon the keys and noticed again that faint, near imperceptible tan line on the middle finger of his left hand, where a ring had once been. Had he worn gloves most of his lost year, he would not have had such a mark.

He wondered once more, what he could have been doing to remain ungloved, and therefore not within the confines of the Corps. What had he been working on--who had he been with? What final conflict had him end up in Syria Planum's secret high security research facility, severely injured and subjected to psychic surgery?

The agent popped the finished crystal out of its housing. The Corps now possessed the necessary information on MeccaCorp's classified research project, 'Silver Tears'. The dark haired man quickly pocketed the crystal and headed for the darkened room's exit, intent on leaving the facility, and the building, by its emergency stairwell.

He stopped in his tracks--

That odd pattern--

'click'

Like the 'snik' of a key turn, something went 'click' deep in the recesses of his consciousness. 'Click' like the breaking of a psychic lock combination, mental tumblers sliding effortlessly into place and finally allowing the psychically constructed vault doors imprisoning his lost past to swing wide open. The memories burst forth and rushed his brain, brilliant in thousands of cacophonic forms and feelings--

He--was--remembering--

everything--

The Psi-Cop fell to his knees as the weight and force of his own sudden recollections buried his mind...

For a long while, there were only the sounds of his sobs as the dark haired man wept into his hands. Finally, he raised his head, feeling dim shadows fall upon him and the floor, obscuring what little light was in the room.

A man, an immense, thick necked, dark suited man, towered silently over him. His smooth head glinted in the dim light. Beside him stood a small, slim woman with intense green eyes, her body suited in darkness as well.

The agent recognized the two standing silently over him. In one year he had come to know both these individuals so well.

"Icarus," spoke the large man, his voice deep as it slowly, contemplatively, drew the name out in solemn finality.

The large man's huge hands shot out, a blur for the agent's throat. Icarus sought to break the grip even as he felt his shoulders crash hard to the unyielding floor. He grappled frantically with the vise grip at his throat. The woman above him removed a vial from within her black jacket. She carefully unscrewed the top, revealing an eye dropper. Icarus struggled harder upon the floor. He tried to twist his head away as the woman placed a firm hand to his face, using her fingers to pry one of his pale eyes wide open. In the dim light he could see the dropper hover above his vision, and then felt the silky splash of oozy liquid hit the surface of his iris, obscuring his physical sight like opaque silver paint.

Tendriled fire seeped behind his ocular perception, invading poisonous filaments that spread like newborn veins into the depths of his brain, disRuptiNg mind/San--ity/thought--Icarus had one--one, last coherent thou--ght--he remembered his--h-is--real name--

then his mind shat--tt--Ter/ed--

* * *

"He might have left the building already," Ivanova heard the construct toss back at her as the captain hurried after the telepath. "If you hadn't stopped to be Miss Popular."

"So he wasn't in--"

"No." came the telepath's curt reply.

"Then where did--"

"Airshaft," came Talia's second terse answer.

"And you didn't?--"

"This body," Talia interrupted once again, hardly slowing in pace as both her gloved hands swept in a presentational gesture of her swinging hips and torso. "Was not built for going down airshafts."

Ivanova was almost ready to snap at the telepath for her constant, though informative interruptions of her questions, but the blonde's last remark elicited a surprisingly unrestrained and rather evil grin to the Russian's wide mouth. She acknowledged the assessment with appreciative eyes.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," Susan quipped in her rich voice, blue eyes dark and merry.

As they passed several office divisions, Ivanova got the distinct impression that some interesting incidents must have occurred. Office workers seemed upset for some reason or were fighting among each other. She could have sworn that when the tour had walked by earlier, business within these offices had been quiet and normal.

When the lift doors opened, Ivanova was startled to see several security men, along with maintenance and repair personnel, disembark.

"Trouble here and on nine and eleven," she overheard one of the security hosts mutter. "What a morning this is turning out to be!"

As the lift doors hissed shut with the telepath and Ivanova safely within, the captain noticed the smug expression on the blonde's lips. Susan decided not to ask for an explanation.

Talia suddenly hit the 'stop' control.

"Now for my plan," her husky voice declared as she turned to trap a surprised Ivanova in her corner of the lift. "Have elevator sex with me."

"WHA--mmhmmph!" was all Susan managed to interject as she felt the telepath's soft mouth descend to kiss her thoroughly senseless. As the captain responded--for the moment, hands finding their firm places at the telepath's slim waist--Talia cocked one blue-gray eye to regard the hidden security cam above Ivanova's head.

usan heard something metallic break above her.

Ivanova made a questioning sound in her throat only for it to turn into a girlishly high squeak as she felt the telepath's raised thigh contact her squarely between the legs.

As the AP assaulted Susan's lips once more, the telepath stared into the mirrored surfaces of the lift's walls and sighted the security cam right behind her. She decided to end the show for the boys and girls in MeccaCorp security.

Susan heard another distinct crack, then the telepath broke off mouth contact.

"Good," Talia said with congratulatory self-satisfaction as she pulled her warm body off the now rapidly breathing captain's. She suddenly flashed a 'borrowed' MeccaCorp security identicard before Ivanova's eyes, then went to the lift com to insert the card. An access panel hissed open, revealing additional floor buttons.

"To the secret floor," Talia stated, hitting number 13.

Five seconds. That was all Ivanova had to regain her composure--so effectively disassembled by one, now oblivious telepath--before their lift car moved from floor fourteen to the now not so secret thirteenth floor. As the lift doors hissed apart, Ivanova managed one last calming breath and pushed all thoughts of what MeccaCorp's cameras had recorded just one minute before, entirely from her mind.

"If that gets sold to ISN, someone is going to pay me big for it," she muttered under her breath.

Talia thrust a hand out to prevent Ivanova from disembarking. The telepath went first, much to the captain's concern and ire. As she followed the AP out into the deserted corridor, she noted the letters on the glass of one of the empty offices: Xeno-Medicine Research.

Ivanova glanced around, frowning.

"I thought you said this floor was no longer in use," Susan whispered to the telepath's back, having noticed that some of the lab rooms appeared fully stocked with equipment, though they seemed hastily abandoned.

"Shh," the construct hushed. Blonde eyebrows furrowed delicately as she took in the same visual information. Even if some personnel still remained on this floor she could not chance a broad scan ahead.

"Can you sense him?" she heard the captain ask.

"What do I look like--one of Bester's Bloodhounds?" Talia retorted in a harsh whisper, still concentrating on visually assessing their surroundings. The 'bloodhounds' she referred to were Alfred Bester's uniquely trained telepath unit who specialized in tracking rogues. "If he's blocking right now, as a P-12 he's practically invisible--no different from the furniture unless you look right at him. I can only 'tag' him if he's scanning while I'm scanning."

Ivanova held up her hands in a gesture to appease the telepath.

Talia spied something of interest, attached discreetly to the wall of the hall they made their careful way down. She moved before the metal disk that had caught her attention, with its blinking, tiny light, and frowned darkly.

"What is it?" Ivanova decided to ask, also giving the disk a good look. It had the tiny engraving of the Psi symbol.

"A T.A.D.--teep activity detector. It's a prototype test disk, used to measure the distance capability of a high level teep. Only P-10 and above can trip them....." Talia's voice trailed off as she then looked intently to the side, spotting the facing doorway nearest to the activated detector. As the telepath turned for the room, she popped the small device off the wall with one gloved hand, pocketing it.

"Your Psi-Cop's inside," Ivanova heard Talia say as the telepath disappeared within the dark doorway. "He's dying."

Ivanova rushed into the dark room, spying the prone, convulsing body of the slim Psi-agent and the AP standing silently above him. As Susan knelt quickly by the barely breathing man, grabbing the stiff hand that seemed to grasp for some invisible savior--or assailant--she placed her other beneath his dark head. She felt Talia leave their side.

The eyes--those pale, darkly lashed eyes she had remembered--now stared sightless, filmed in an iridescent, shimmering silver.

Ivanova stared back, speechless, wanted to clear the young man's eyes somehow. She heard lights hum into existence, partial strips of illumination that now revealed the Psi-Cop's pale, stricken face and the eerie, all too real mercuric substance that swirled on the surface of his wide orbs.

"What happened? Who did this??" Ivanova harshly whispered, realizing that the young man now spastically clutching her hand was beyond any possible ability to answer her. At any moment, his small futile attempts to breathe were sure to cease. Whatever was killing him--whatever was causing the mysterious clouding of his eyes--Ivanova was helpless to stop it. She saw elegant, gloved fingers suddenly touch the Psi-Cop's face.

"His thoughts are fragmented--like they're disintegrating. His mind feels blown apart," the husky voice to her left matter-of-factly assessed. The AP removed her hand, standing up.

"He can't help you anymore, Susan," Ivanova heard the construct declare as she moved for the door. "I'm getting you out of here."

A protest rose to Susan's lips, as she looked away from the Psi-Cop to Talia's retreating back. She could not just leave him here. Suddenly the young man pulled hard upon Ivanova's hand, his strength born of last desperation. Through skin upon skin--bright blue eyes riveted to silvery milkiness--Ivanova felt abrupt psychic contact made--she stiffened as if shot. Her mind's eye burst with the pounding, sudden sensation of frantic image and sound bits--screaming bullets of broken data --

Swept up in the mad, turbulent connection, Susan was barely aware of her clenched hand being forcibly pried from the Psi-Cop's dying grip until she felt warm, gloved fingers replace the desperate grasp. Abruptly, the assault of shard-like memories ceased. Susan's stiff body collapsed, and she clung to the anchor of Talia's steady, gloved hand.

Talia now firmly held the agent's hand, her eyes intently and inwardly focused as the man's slim, contorted body finally went limp.

"He's gone over," the AP stated, releasing the lifeless fingers. "If you had held his hand while he died, you would have died too."

"But you...you held it," Susan managed to gasp as she gazed in bafflement up at the construct, her dark brows furrowed in pain. Talia turned almost amused blue-gray eyes toward the shaken captain. Despite the situation, Susan could not help noting that her former lover's eyes actually seemed, for the moment, warm.

"I'm not human, Susan," the construct informed, as if to a child. "I don't identify with your deaths."

She stood up, releasing the captain's hand as she did so, and Ivanova found she missed the reassuring grip.

"We've got to leave," the blonde woman imparted over her shoulder as she moved once more for the doorway. "I'll secure an exit."

Susan took a shaky breath, and looked one last time at the dead Psi-Cop. This was a mess--a real, seven-tiered mess. All she wanted to know was why her ship had been sabotaged and how that might have connected to her assassination attempt. Now it looked like she and Talia had stepped into a whole other intrigue scenario all together, and despite the argument of her sensible side--the side that wanted her own problems addressed first--she couldn't help wondering what the hell was going on right now as well.

As she stared at the still face of the man once known as Icarus, the silvery substance that shimmered in his blank gaze began to coalesce and exit gently, running droplets along the surface of his cheeks; silvery tears.

"Talia..." Ivanova murmured, thinking that the telepath should see this. "Talia--"

Susan stopped.

The back of her neck prickled with buzzing alarm.

She turned her head and went utterly still.

A huge, behemoth of a bald headed man stood within the room, clutching Talia by the throat with one beefy hand. His other was raised into a giant fist. Neither the blonde or the bald man were moving--tense and wound in muscle and limbs as if freeze framed in that instance of action, yet still completely aware of their bodies' imprisonment by the absence of real time. Susan could see Talia struggle to breathe, the telepath concentrating flat, gray eyes balefully into the bald man's impassive face. Her gloved hands clutched at the thick fingers at her throat--one tense leg was back, bracing her body--Talia was fighting the man's advancing attack telekinetically--

With a loud snap! Susan saw the large man's upraised arm break at the forearm. As if released from its telekinetic imprisonment, his entire body unwound into a blur of action. Before Susan could take to her feet the big man had Talia aloft in the air by one fist and then slammed the telepath's body hard into the floor.

CRASH!!! Ivanova didn't know when, but an office chair had found its way into her hands and now lay like a shattered skeleton over the big guy's head and shoulders. The man's black eyes didn't even blink as he stared right into the captain's wide eyes. A beefy hand shot out for her face--

Ivanova back pedaled, using the chair bits left in her grip to cross and block the hand's advance. The big guy smacked the shards away. Ivanova spun, leapt neatly over a table top and then jackrabbited back again, using her hands as support upon the table surface as she swung an arcing, fast kick for the man's head.

"HAHH!!" It felt like her foot had collided with stone, the big man's face snapping to the side only a moment. Ivanova landed on her feet and tried to press an advance, shooting a knife hand for his thick throat then a hammering right into the big man's side--each blow was blocked by the silent giant--Ivanova let her fists fly--again, blocked--blocked--her limbs and hands smacking only into the one good arm of her opponent as it effectively kept her attacks at bay. Then his hand shot out once more, huge and filling her vision--

Ivanova threw herself back, arching. She felt herself land upon the table and rolled quickly off, hearing it loudly break as the man's giant fist hammered into it. She scrambled onto another table top and then another, feeling each table swept out from under her by the big guy's trunk like arm. Susan used some counter tops to scamper away from his reach. He slapped more equipment and furniture out of the way, sending the articles crashing.

For such a huge man he was deadly, silent, and fast--Ivanova felt vise-like fingers hook her ankle and pull hard--she went to her back as she fell, the back of her head banging against the counter top, then the counter edge, and then the floor--

"Yadrona mat'!!--" she swore hotly as she found herself held aloft by one ankle, the topsy turvy lab room spinning neatly before her flailing arms.

BAM!!

Her teeth rattled as she was swung directly into some metal cabinets.

"Yadrona MYSH'!!--" she cursed as her body accelerated into another set of furniture targets.

BAM!! BamBAM!!

Ivanova flailed, to no avail. Like a human pendulum she felt herself swinging right into an unyielding com station.

BAM!!

"YADRONA VOSH'!!!"

As her tormentor brought her body up, obviously intending to end this cruel round of 'clear the room with the Russian' with a final drive of the captain's head into the floor, Ivanova took a deep lungful of air. With a harsh snarl, she swung her body up hard for a dead lift.

As she rose up she took one desperate shot, sending a searing back fist raking across the big man's brow--right where a sharp Earthforce ring could whip a clean long cut. Blood immediately burst from the long thin slice, spilling into the man's eyes. His one good hand opened, and Ivanova fell messily to the floor.

As she scrambled away, she felt the big guy's good arm shoot out for her leg, striking the floor and narrowly missing her.

Sukin syn he should be blinded!! Ivanova thought frantically as the big man's blood shut eyes turned in her direction. As the silent giant moved for her location Ivanova scurried out of reach, spying a tall metal shelf unit she hadn't noticed before. She got around the unit and put her back to it, hoping to push it down upon her approaching opponent. Then she noticed Talia standing before her--

The telepath's tense, beautiful body bristled with an aura of anger and energy naked only to the mind's eye--the AP's grayed eyes widened--

"W-wAIT--" Ivanova protested, but it was too late. She felt the heavy shelf unit fall back and she with it. As the captain landed upon the metal with an audible thud, she realized it hadn't fallen completely--it was lifting--floating upwards momentarily--

CRASH!!

Ivanova's entire body rattled like a toy as she and the shelf case landed square upon the stalwart bulk of the big man, collapsing him down. She felt the unit lift again and hung on for dear life--

CRASH!!

Ivanova's brain did a dance in her head cavity and she wondered when this teek carnival ride was going to end--

CRASH!!!

The telepath decided that three was the charm. She stared intensely at Ivanova, the captain lying battered and bruised on top of the now inert shelf case.

Suddenly the front of the Russian's overcoat shot up as if snatched in the tight grip of an invisible and unshakable 'hand'. As Talia turned quickly on her heel and moved for the doorway, Susan felt herself inexplicably propelled up by her overcoat and dragged front first right off the shelf unit to follow the telepath out the door.

And the captain's feet slipped frantically to keep up all the way.

The slim, green eyed woman in the black suit moved quickly up the emergency stairwell. She wondered what was keeping her partner, but did not risk contacting him. It was unlikely, but Icarus might not have come alone. She heard a door activated above her, and then the sudden clatter of two sets of feet rushing downwards. The woman moved quickly for the exit door nearest her.

"Talia let go!! I can move on my own power!" she heard a woman's voice angrily snap above her. The black suited woman slipped behind the exit.

She heard the bodies pass, then risked a glance by slipping the door open an inch; hurrying down the stairwell and nearly out of her line of sight were two tall women in black overcoats--one blonde, with black gloves. The other a brunette, and strangely familiar.

The blonde was obviously Psi-Corps.

The green eyed woman slipped back into the stairwell and hurried silently up the stairs.

Ivanova's head was still mentally rattling, even as she did her captain-like best to appear cool and collected when the AP led her off the emergency stairwell for one of MeccaCorp's lifts. She had only a moment to straighten her coat and put some order to her long hair before the reflected surfaces of the lift doors slid open upon the building's black marbled lobby.

As the captain and the telepath disembarked and walked coolly and quickly down the length of the long lobby, stopping only briefly to drop off their visitor badges, Ivanova noted with some wariness the extra security hosts loitering about with seemingly nothing better to do.

Wary, that is, until she became aware of their barely supressed grins in her and Talia's direction.

Ivanova decided that the MeccaCorp lift security vid would be one of the most embarrassing alibis she will ever have to swear to.

* * *

Departure from the scene of their unfortunate 'adventure' within the MeccaCorp building went without further incident; Susan found herself and Talia easily escaping the sky-touching edifices of Mid-Town Manhattan for the more densely packed habitat quarters of the Lower East Side. Actually all of New York was one big, odious, loud habitat, griped Ivanova privately. Susan gritted her teeth as a jack hammer pummeled the concrete alongside the crowded walkway she and Talia made their way down. Not only did the pounding remind her of just what her own head nearly did on a lab floor less than half an hour before, but its aggravating vibrations were rattling her sore brain to new levels of pain.

Susan put a hand to her throbbing forehead, barely aware that Talia had finally led her to a small, neighborhood side street lined with small shop fronts and worn living levels. She nearly ran into the telepath's back. The AP glanced back briefly, then stopped walking. Whatever she saw in Susan's face instantly brought a narrowing to her cool eyes.

A deliberate black gloved hand pushed Susan back towards a living level's grafitti adorned wall.

"Let me into your head," the construct said simply, gazing intently into the captain's eyes.

"What?" Susan exclaimed, her old fear ringing klaxons within her. "No! No, Talia!"

Talia bit her lip, as if to summon patience.

"I can fix what was hurt when the Psi-Cop 'connected' with you. It wasn't pretty, how he did it. Tell me to do only that and that's all I'll do," the AP finally insisted.

Susan shook her head. "No," she answered emphatically.

The telepath's withdrawal from the captain was palpable. Talia straightened and a wedge of ice the size of a glacier seemed to form right between their standing bodies.

"Talia," Susan attempted. "We have to talk--"

"Not now," the construct curtly answered and turned away. She put a gloved hand to the throat of her coat, closing it further against the cold, then walked deliberately to the busy Polish hot dog cart on the street corner. Susan loudly sighed her frustration and let herself lean heavily against the wall. She could barely think. Her head throbbed to a personal, painful beat.

Talia dismissed Susan's physical suffering and insultingly obstinant attitude from her awareness. The steamy hot dog cart with its warm, greasy smells was far more inviting to her attention. The captain would not know this, but the telepath's body often desired some sort of sustenance after a session of strenuous telekinesis, and that of course would mean food. It had taken some effort to rip that steel shelf unit from its wall and floor bolts, drag it telekinetically from the wall to the middle of the lab, then beat that mountain of a man with it.

As Talia neared the cart, two New York City policemen approached, the vendor welcoming the cops heartily. Talia eyed the men in thick blue jackets, their shields gleaming. She had no money and obviously now the option of telepathically 'convincing' the vendor to give her free food was out. She stepped close to the cart anyway, eyeing the sizzling, greasy hot dogs and warm buns she remembered 'having' when the other one was a child....

"Hey, how you doin'," one of the officers greeted as he bit into his Polish dog.

"All right. How's it goin'?" Talia replied with a smile, easily falling back into New York speak.

Susan watched the telepath loiter about the hot dog cart and put the back of her hand to her throbbing forehead again. She was sweating--this was not good. Thanks to her fear and obstinate pride, she could have a brain aneurysm right here on a run-down East Side street and effectively end her illustrious career on an ignominious note. Perhaps that would beat a tabloid style death in some cheap motel cube by alcohol poisoning, but she wasn't sure.

"You just want to suffer, don't you?" she heard Talia's low voice suddenly address her. Susan started, surprised to find the telepath already returning to her. The blonde was huddled a bit in her coat as she neared Susan's side. She stared at the captain like she were an embarrassment. "People are starting to notice."

"I'm Russian, that's what we do," Susan managed to state, like one delivering a maxim of the universe. "We suffer." She put both hands to her head. "Talia how about finding me some--"

She never finished her demand, as the throb in her head exploded into a sudden bomb burst of foreign sensations.

"Wh-whwh--" Susan's head jerked back, her eyes wide and unseeing except for what rapidly shot before her mind's vision--

"What--Tali--my--"

ImageImageImageImageImageImagefast--rapid--rapid--memoriestelling--ImageImageImage--

"OW!! TALIA!!" Ivanova yelled as she felt her foot being stomped on by a determined heel, hard. The explosion of images in her head instantly ceased, as if they had never been, and Susan bowed over courtesy of a new acute pain. It felt like the telepath had broken her foot.

"Did you have to do that??" Susan demanded of the construct, blue eyes bright and incensed as she hobbled about on her one good foot.

"Yes," Talia informed coldly. Her gray-blue eyes intently watched the captain limp back and forth. "Intense pain or intense pleasure disrupts brain activity, and since you decided to have a 'recall' moment right here on the street I couldn't just give you an instant orgasm in front of an audience, could I?" Susan's face grew appropriately crimson.

Talia turned to pick up the steaming coffee cup she had set down on the railing of the living level's stoop. She offered it to Susan, who finally ceased walking off her stomped on foot. The AP stared at the dark haired woman with the icy sharpness of a hawk watching prey--a hawk keen to delve a surgical gaze into its prey's brain.

"The next time your eyes roll back into your head, it better be because of something I did, and not because of what some dying Psi-Cop pushed into your mind," Talia added softly, and her light eyebrows arched in emphasis. Susan only answered by hastily drinking the coffee, feeling her cheeks blush fully once again.

"Talia, the--" Susan gestured to her head. It felt like a company of EF marines had stomped through it, but she needed to tell the construct what she had 'seen'.

The telepath subtly shook her head.

"How's it goin'. Everything all right?" spoke a deep male voice behind the two women. One of the policemen walked up casually, friendliness in his demeanor. He had obviously waited until he was certain that everything had seemed all right between Talia and Ivanova before approaching. The telepath turned to give him a smile.

"Sure," she replied, surprising Susan with the New York style drawl that entered her husky voice. "Everything's fine, officer. The Captain'd like to thank you for the coffee."

"I very much appreciate it, thank you," Ivanova stated with a gesture of the warm cup, quickly realizing that the cop had bought the coffee for Talia.

"What's good for New York's Finest is good for the Captain," Talia added, all easy charm as she faced the officer. Susan nearly blinked, witnessing the sudden transformation of the AP from a cold constructed personality to a pleasantly warm and engaging woman. It was like seeing--Susan's teeth came together in her mouth, clenching. She immediately pushed the realization away the moment she thought it.

"Sure, sure," the officer grinned, creases lining his smiling face as he turned to Ivanova. "It's a real pleasure meeting you Captain, if y'don't mind my saying. I'm Mike Clancy."

"Mike," Ivanova readily greeted, taking the cop's big hand in a firm handshake.

"Talia's told us about your problem with the paparazzi," Mike continued, hooking thumbs into his heavy police belt. "Well I can pretty much say this neighborhood won't attract many of those types, but my partner and I'd like to offer our ops van if you need a place to have a hot dog or knish in private." Mike indicated the squarish police van--used as a mobile operations unit for patrol officers--sitting at the street corner near the food cart. "We've got it parked for foot patrol, since that's what my partner and me'll be doing. Talia was saying how you were looking forward to some real New York style street food."

Mike grinned broadly at the telepath, huddled in her black overcoat beside Ivanova. Talia smiled engagingly back.

"And we got a heat unit," he added.

"Mike, thank you," Ivanova acknowledged sincerely.

"Ma'am", Mike said, and touched the brim of his officer cap. He pulled out his notepad and a pen. "If you don't mind, can I get an autograph? For my little girl."

When Mike finally left the two women to rejoin his partner, Talia turned to the captain.

"Give me some Earth money," she demanded in a low voice. " I want to get my Polish dog."

* * *

Talia keyed the van's heat unit to full setting. She sat back and bit into her mustard and kraut hot dog, savoring the sinful, cheap taste of processed 'meat' textures and sour sauerkraut. The medlab doctors back on Syria Planen would have locked her up if they had seen the construct abandoning their prescribed high protein diets for junk food. The AP's lips chased some cabbage bits escaping the end of her bun. She never thought their super drinks had helped her perform any better as a teek anyway.

Ivanova's pen squeaked under the captain's authoritative hand and Talia glanced up from her meal. The dark haired woman sat opposite her in the crowded van space, busily scribbling away with a broad, black marking pen at the hot dog wrapping she had unraveled and flattened on the small work top. Another cup of hot coffee sat by her hand. Talia tilted forward, peering.

"You should clean off that ring. You've got blood all over it," She noted casually, leaning back again to bite into her hot dog. Susan looked up from her scribbling to study her ringed hand by the coffee cup, alarmed. The construct was right, the intricate, bright carvings of the EF service emblem was now obscured with dark blood. She promptly slipped off the ring and pocketed it.

She finished another drawing and then spun the wrapping paper in the telepath's direction.

"What do you think?" she asked, as the blonde put a gloved hand out to bring the paper closer for her scrutiny. The AP gave the paper, with its hasty series of cartoonish, primitive drawings, a cool glance before she raised her lidded eyes to regard the captain pointedly. For a while she said nothing, the telepath taking her time to clear the side of her mouth of food.

"You really do hate telepaths, don't you?" the construct finally announced with a bemused, incredulous air. She returned her attention to her hot dog. "It would have never worked out between you and her," she murmured under her breath, though the captain could easily hear her.

"Talia--" Susan's temper rose. There was no way in hell she was going to let the AP scan her in order to share what Icarus had pushed into her head. Even if it was more difficult, the construct was going to look at her drawings and not complain about it--

"It's obvious Icarus wanted you to know about this," Talia smoothly interrupted, before Susan could launch into her outburst. Her gloved finger indicating a drawing. "You drew this three different times. I don't recognize the rest." Talia bit once more into her hot dog. She wouldn't mention that the captain was an exceptionally bad cartoonist.

Susan spun the paper back. The three different drawings the telepath had referred to were of a humanoid figure, sitting like a broken object in a large chair.

"The image is of a man," Susan tried to describe, her eyes looking inward. "With a..destroyed face. His head lolls to the side." She pointed to the drawing where she had tried to indicate it. "He sits in one of those med chair units...like for the infirm."

"Maybe it's Icarus' dad," Talia suggested, looking disinterested as she put the last bit of hot dog bun into her mouth. She crumpled her napkin and tossed it into a small basket.

"You're almost right, because that was the sensation I got," Susan continued. "Like this person was a father figure."

"What's the other stuff?" Talia inquired.

"An Earth style logo, like on the side of a commercial ship," Susan indicated, pointing at each drawing. "This one's an alien script, inscribed on metal. Nothing I recognize among the races I know. The building--"

"That's a building?" Talia flatly interrupted.

"Yes," Susan affirmed with patiently gritted teeth. She pointed again at the drawing that looked like a fat, short cigar. "That is a building. Like a hangar. The sensation I got from it was that it was 'home'--a home base. It had a Russian designation but that was obscured to me." Above the 'home' drawing were the few Cyrillic letters Ivanova could recall.

The captain glanced up and suddenly realized that the construct had activated the small police monitor. She had ISN on. The sound was muted but the images playing on the tiny screen occupied the telepath's cool attention as she sat relaxed and utterly dismissive of Ivanova and her paper.

"Talia!" Susan snapped, hitting the table.

"Yes, Susan," the AP automatically replied, reluctantly tearing lidded gray-blue eyes from the monitor.

"Tell me what you think happened," Ivanova ordered. She waited, frowning darkly as she watched the telepath. The AP was smart and as a former spy, she knew more about Corps intrigue than Ivanova could even surmise. The construct would have a better understanding of what had happened at MeccaCorp. However, there was one good reason why Talia was being rather difficult and feinting disinterest in the situation at hand; Ivanova was a mundane, and was perhaps already learning far more about the inner workings of the Corps than any outsider should.

Talia resigned herself to the order given and sat deep in her chair, her hands folded across her abdomen as she gazed unseeing and contemplative.

"The Corps sent Icarus to MeccaCorp, but only to retrieve information," Talia finally spoke thoughtfully. "I don't think his killers came upon him, I think they were expecting someone from Psi-Corps. They killed him in a manner that was unique and obvious. They left him that way as a message...one the Corps would find when they came looking for him."

"You don't think Icarus had other orders not given in his file? If he was just retrieving information why did he put a teep detector--"

"That wasn't his, he had no receiver on him," Talia clarified.

"But you said it was a Psi-Corps prototype--" Susan stopped. A deeper realization was forming. She had assumed Icarus had placed the Corps issued detector to alert him to alien telepaths; often if individuals or corporations wanted to circumvent EA laws, they turned to the Centauri guild and used their members instead of Corps telepaths. But Talia's version of events was pointing to more shadowy and malevolent movements.

"The big guy was a telepath. He read my every move," Ivanova said quietly, dread filling her as she recalled her opponent's uncanny ability to fend off her attacks.

"A high level telepath. Moved like a Psi-Cop," Talia added, a near amused look to her gray-blue eyes as her mouth curled slightly. She had come to that realization herself when the big man had surprised her and effectively blocked her psychic attack. She had already realized, upon seeing the dying Psi-Cop, how deep a situation she and Ivanova had walked into. The construct could at least take a little amusement in letting the captain finally know how serious the situation might be.

"What's going on in the Corps, Talia," Susan demanded, and her eyes were bright with a near dangerous glint.

"What goes on in any organization, Susan. There are different personal interests... factions," the telepath casually related. She put her feet up on the heat unit, enjoying its warmth. "All the little groups make their little moves and try to win the big game...whatever that is."

"Are we game pieces, Talia?"

Ivanova's fingers on the small work top curled slowly, like digits intent on strangling an invisible foe. One with a face like Bester's.

"I don't know, Susan," the construct answered simply. "I think Icarus inadvertently got us into this by trying to be a hero when he warned you of that assassination attempt. It was your decision to follow him to New York."

Damn it, Ivanova swore silently. She put a frustrated hand through her dark hair. Damn it.

"It's possible Icarus was set up by someone in the Corps," she heard Talia's husky voice note slowly with a deep, contemplative rumble. Ivanova looked up and saw the small cynical smile that tugged at the corners of the telepath's mouth, her gray-blue eyes introspective. "For a Psi-Cop he had died too easily, and if he really had other mission orders beside information retrieval, he had failed them too quickly. No," Talia shook her head. "He didn't know what hit him. He was bait...just to see if the other side meant business."

The AP suddenly reached into her coat pocket and fished out something, displaying it in her gloved fingers for Ivanova; a data crystal.

"From Icarus' pocket," she elaborated.

"Why didn't you mention it in the first place?!" Ivanova exclaimed, unable to believe that the possible answer to their baffling situation might have been in the construct's possession and she hadn't bothered to bring it to the captain's attention.

"Well I had to wait for you to explain your silly little drawings didn't I?" The blonde retorted. She reached up and pressed the release for a small, portable data crystal viewer, set on a slim swing arm above their heads. She tilted it for their view and inserted the crystal.

When the contents appeared, Talia immediately opened the MeccaCorp file. Detailed accounts of medical research and formula data flashed before their scrutiny. Ivanova pointed, a realization clicking into place.

"That's 'Silver Tears'--that's what killed Icarus," she stated with conviction, her finger hitting the view screen.

"Besides the project name, the rest of the file has to be bogus info," Talia surmised. "They left the crystal on Icarus to reinforce what was done to him. All they had to do was leave a body to show the Corps that they can do it."

"Do what?"

The construct took a breath, killing the viewer and plucking the crystal out.

"Shatter minds," she answered. She turned her head to gaze into Susan's eyes. "Kill telepaths," she added simply.

* * *

Ivanova had to take a walk. Often on the station, if things troubled her, she walked it off. If they were matters beyond solving--like a war lost, a death--she drank. But this was a situation where she definitely needed her feet to do the thinking. There were too many unanswered questions, and Susan had the instinctive hunch much could get answered--or even more baffling questions raised--if she further pursued this aggravating, yet deeply dangerous game.

She growled fiercely beneath her breath, actually startling a few New York City passerby--who should be used to any sort of growling women--it was New York, after all. Talia walked easily beside her and touched the captain on the arm whenever she wanted the dark-haired woman to change direction. They had already walked more city blocks than Ivanova could keep track of, having left the police van far behind. The construct didn't seem to mind; she no longer huddled in her coat, enjoying the warming effects of their exercise.

"Why would telepaths want to kill telepaths?" Ivanova finally asked.

Talia shrugged, cool and beautiful beside her. Susan had the sudden desire to put her arm around the telepath as they walked. She immediately dropped the thought.

"I would guess 'Silver Tears' is leverage. A power play for some control of the Corps," Talia volunteered. Susan began to notice that some of the pedestrians they passed were alien--a Brakiri; a Narn with his two pouchlings. She felt a touch on her arm and the telepath steered the captain down a street alive with more eclectic shops and eateries, their neon signs depicting alien writing. They were in the alien residence neighborhood of the West Side.

"That's not leverage. It's a true threat. And what makes you think it's just a weapon against telepaths?"

Talia slowed their walk and worked a path between shoppers, outdoor tables, and carts laden with off world merchandise. She took her time to formulate her answer.

"Because when I was in Icarus' mind," she answered thoughtfully. "I looked at his entire mindscape, and what the silver attacked were the psychic functions that make us teeps. With the teep ability destroyed, Icarus' mind followed soon after."

"The silver's a teep poison," Ivanova clarified.

"Or a virus," Talia murmured. The comment was casual, but the telepath's eyes darted about in contemplation and recall, as if replaying what she had seen in Icarus' head.

"So there are Corps members trying to kill Corps members," Ivanova stated.

"I don't think so," Talia remarked with a slight shake of her head.

"The big guy's a rogue?"

"He's Psi-Cop trained, but yes, I think he was a rogue."

"A former Psi-Cop is no common rogue," Ivanova interjected, remembering the desperate fugitives she had met in Dr. Franklin's telepath Underground Railroad network back on Babylon 5. The motley bunch of escapees hardly looked like a resistance group that could organize with MeccaCorp to make medically sophisticated teep killers. "And Psi-Cops don't just go 'rogue'," Ivanova added with firm emphasis.

"No," Talia commented thoughtfully, pausing before a cart's street wares of hanging crystal sculptures faceted with refracted light. "No, they don't."

As the blonde stood before the dangling array of hung prisms, seemingly fascinated by their construction and the play of light upon their surfaces, Ivanova took that moment to fold her arms in utter resignation and sigh. None of this had anything to do with her ship and its mysterious saboteurs. The E.A.S. Orpheus seemed like a far off, ultimately unattainable fantasy right about now; a figment of crazy Earthforce career dreams. Two weeks was a hell of a long time to wait and find out her inevitable fate in the EF. Icarus had been her only lead.

The Psi-Cop's pale eyed, earnest visage back in Geneva replayed in her mind's eye. She wished they had been there in time to save his life; he had already done the same for her, and for that she had great respect for the dead, unfortunate telepath. It was only right that she see this business through somehow, yet this mysterious conspiracy she and Talia had inherited might prove beyond her capacity to solve. Garibaldi was the detective, not she. Sheridan was the one who liked to wrap his mind around a piece of sinister intrigue. All Ivanova was interested in was running a solid operation and getting the job done. She was best at following orders and giving them, and the only one around to follow her orders right now was a rather recalcitrant former Psi-Corps spy.

Ivanova dropped out of her contemplation to pinpoint bright blue eyes on her own telepath, who held her coat closed at the throat as she studied a complex arrangement of slowly spinning, shining crystals.

"Talia, don't you want to inform the Corps of what's going on?"

"No Susan," The AP answered automatically, her breath puffing white wisps as she focused on her facet gazing. Susan waited for an elaboration, but got none.

"Why not?" the captain finally demanded. The telepath pursed her lips, obviously irritated that Ivanova was interrupting whatever the AP was privately witnessing in the facets of the crystals.

"I've got my orders," the construct finally muttered under her breath, her low tone sarcastic with a dark, self deprecating humor only she understood.

"And what were your orders?" Ivanova pressed. The captain waited, but the telepath did not bother to answer. "Talia," Susan added with emphasis.

"I have orders," the AP nearly grated out through tight lips. "To do only two things. Protect you, and to be 'silent'. I'm cut off from the Corps. I'm not to contact them or to ask for help, Susan."

The AP finally straightened, her eyes bold and challenging Ivanova's.

"Mother and Father call it being 'orphaned'. Icarus also had 'orphan' status. You saw that in his file."

Talia's gaze half closed in iced regard.

"And in mine," she added softly.

Susan stared back. She wasn't surprised that Talia knew she had looked at her file. But what did surprise her, as her dark brows knitted in consternation and some anger, was this callous Corps attitude towards its own Children. The 'orphan' designation in Icarus' and Talia's files was set apart from their history stats, but Ivanova had not realized the significance other than it had seemed to reiterate that both telepaths had no known biological parents. If this 'orphan status' was really what the AP described, then the construct was completely dependent on the captain.

"I thought you said the Corps takes care of its own," Susan finally joked carefully, arching an eyebrow.

"They do," Talia affirmed. She turned, her body gracing the bustling scenery with a sleek black shape as she stepped away from the captain and the cart with its crystals. "They gave me to you," the telepath imparted.

And for several heartbeats, Ivanova could do nothing but stare at the AP's retreating back. And what a gift from the Corps indeed. This, the Russian decided firmly, was yet another insidious way for the Corps to finally kill another Ivanov. Send Susan Ivanova a woman who looked like everything the captain had ever wanted, and watch the hapless Russian fall for this cruel trick, hook, line, and sinker.

The body so achingly familiar to Susan, moved into the street throng just as such a beautiful body had once, in another place, of Zocalo crowds and docking bay swarms, and prompted a familiar lump of poignancy in the captain's throat. As Ivanova stepped forward, obedient follower to the now brief sight of her former lover among the oblivious shoppers, she had one realization. This was strangely, a situation that somehow resembled what Susan secretly and profoundly wished she could have, and it was a surreal, dark circumstance she was willing to endure just for that reason and for as long as she could stand it.

Ivanova found her blonde charge sitting prettily at a heated outdoor cafe table, the picture of sensual womanly innocence with a straight, proper back and folded gloved hands. The telepath was raptly engrossed in the stylish com unit on the tabletop before her. Ivanova was dead certain, without having to look, that among all the complimentary com units which graced the cafe's crowded dining tables, Talia's would be tuned to ISN.

"Centauri restaurants are all the same, they never bring a menu until you've starved," Talia commented offhandedly, her brightened, blue-gray eyes fixated upon the small com screen as the captain seated herself opposite the telepath. Ivanova immediately cast a brief, stern look about for some table service. Like magic, a young Centauri male appeared, producing menus and an attitude that was slightly more accommodating than snooty.

As the server disappeared, with a nonchalant flourish that obviously expressed his desire to be in the theater rather than to be a waiter of human customers, Ivanova gave a glance over her menu at the com screen and saw a news report with the MeccaCorp building as a backdrop.

"Not about us, I hope?" Susan joked a bit worriedly. Icarus' death had been under such covert circumstances, she had been certain that even if she and Talia were connected with what had happened, nothing lawful or public would have been allowed to pursue them. It would have been in MeccaCorp's best interest to keep the situation quiet.

"No," Talia replied, finally glancing away from the news to open her menu. "And we've not been followed or monitored since this morning. There are several undercover cops in the area, a private investigator, and three plainclothes security types over there tracking someone, but none of them are interested in you. The only people who have thoughts of you at the moment are secret gawkers trying to not show that they recognize you."

Ivanova raised an incredulous dark brow at the telepath's assessment. She was impressed that Talia had maintained psychic surveillance of their surroundings even while appearing to be watching ISN. Despite herself, the captain was developing a secret, smug appreciation for having a law-breaking telepath as her protector and partner in intrigue.

"Are you always 'watching'?" Susan inquired, amusement sneaking at the corners of her mouth.

"When I'm not watching you, yes," the telepath drawled cooly, but there was a charm to the tilt of her blonde head as she directed lidded blue eyes at Susan, and the captain's mouth broke into a full grin.

"Thank you for your work today," Susan suddenly stated with sincerity. "You did well."

The telepath stared for a moment, light brows arching in surprise and contemplative bemusement at this unexpected compliment from the captain.

"Good," was all the construct finally contributed under her breath, and she returned her attention to her menu.

Ivanova dropped her own menu casually upon the table top. As if the gesture were a signal, the server rematerialized to set out a bowl of snicks--a Centauri tree nut snack--and await their lunch request.

"Hot Jala, two," the captain requested. The telepath continued to peruse her menu, oblivious to the waiting server, who then took the hint and left to fulfill their drink order.

Susan sat back, and for the first time since beginning this eventful day, relaxed. The sun was finally breaking through the dreary, overcast winter sky and brightening the street environment around the two women. Susan began to appreciate the pleasant activity of their surroundings; the vibrant sight of the alien culture shops, the bustling movement of shoppers, and of course the pleasing form and face of the company she was seated with.

Talia's brass Psi-Corps badge flashed at the collar of her black overcoat in the sudden, bright sunlight that graced the telepath's golden head, and Susan was reminded once again of her ironic and paradoxical situation. Only a few months ago, she would have never, ever, considered spending even a moment in the presence of this Talia.

The Centauri server returned with their hot drinks, spinning their drink napkins onto the table with adept nonchalance. As the waiter turned to Ivanova, the captain shook her head, declining to order. She did not feel hungry--eating did not seem to be the solution for a sore skull still tender from being bounced off furniture like a basketball, nor for her equally sore brain. The after effects of a forced 'sharing' was like a nagging hangover not quite ready to fade away.

Susan ignored her physical woes and contented herself with sipping her Jala and watching the telepath. She had been terribly frightened when she had seen Talia slammed into the lab floor, but the AP had acted, by all appearances since then, entirely unaffected by the attack, so the captain chose not to ask how the construct was feeling.

"Japoti," Talia finally ordered, dropping her menu carelessly on the tabletop. The server quickly disappeared with a parting of rehearsed, courteous words, and Susan grinned.

"A dessert, Talia?" she commented, referring to the sinfully rich Centauri pastry.

"Yes Susan," the construct murmured, her voice like the low rev of an engine. "I like sweet things."

Susan chuckled and it brought a broader smile to her wide mouth. This fascinated the AP, who absorbed this appealing picture the captain made, relaxed and smiling in the chair across from her. To see such unaccustomed sparkle in Susan's eyes piqued the construct's curiosity.

"What are you planning?" Talia demanded in a bemused tone.

"Not a thing," the captain protested, gesturing with both hands. "If you mean about this business we're mired in, I don't even know where to begin."

"Mm," was the AP's monosyllabic response. She picked up a snick and put the fried nut in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she studied Susan.

"There's only you and me. You can go only so far with this," the construct finally assessed, picking up another nut.

"Well whatever we find out further, I'll somehow take to the Corps for you."

"You'll actually do that?" the telepath remarked, incredulous. A mocking smile broke upon her lips, evidence of how ludicrous she found the captain's suggestion to be. "You were practically shaking when I made you come to the HQ in Geneva."

"My sensible side is certainly arguing against it," Ivanova retorted, finding to her further embarrassment that she was beginning to blush. "But I do have the option of giving your Corps an anonymous communication. I can't ignore the fact that there's a weapon out there that kills telepaths."

Talia casually opened a gloved hand near her face. Three snicks suddenly shot up--one two three--from the bowl to hit home in the palm of the telepath's hand. She closed her fist and put another nut between her lips.

"It can kill me," she noted simply.

Ivanova felt a depth charge of dread punch a hole in her stomach at the construct's casual comment. She could not even envision it.

"I'd never let that happen," Susan finally said, and her face and words were stark with deep emotion.

The chuckle that rumbled in the telepath's throat in response was richly taunting and sexy.

"Sentimental," Talia finally pronounced, a cold glitter of mirth in her eyes, and she ate the last of the nuts in her hand.

What little comfort Susan had enjoyed at this table fled from her body and now vulnerable heart. Like razor blades, was Susan's bleak thought. Only words, but they were the sharpest of small weapons in the AP's deft possession.

Talia took a sip of her hot Jala and was pleased to find that it contained alcohol. Mother and Father, Susan was easy to hurt today, she privately surmised as she stole a glance over her glass at the now tense captain. The dark haired woman before her shuttered her face into brooding contemplation. Talia took her drink in both gloved hands, enjoying its comforting warmth as she drank. That should teach the captain for mistaking the construct for her again.

With Ivanova in an apparent dark mood once more, the telepath turned her attention to the small com screen, noting that the celebrity news was now on. She only watched that frivolous program when Ivanova was the subject. Otherwise, noone else interested her, as the cult of personality had no value to an artificial identity like herself, created without social context or cultural desires. Perhaps if she didn't own the recollections of a previous relationship...a previous sexual relationship with the Russian captain, the AP would not find Susan of personal interest either. A surprisingly familiar face appeared on screen and Talia recognized it as one she had not seen in a very, very long while.

"Your former boss' lover is on the news," the construct decided to inform the captain with, and then gave all her attention to the approaching Centauri server and the very appealing plate he carried.

Ivanova slid brooding eyes to the com screen, her self-absorbed orbs transforming into an intense, bright eyed stare as she recognized the woman being discussed--and the suddenly familiar emblem of her ship.

"Volume, up!" she commanded the com.

"....Catherine Sakai triumphed in EA high court as all charges of wartime smuggling were dropped. The founder of Sakai Inc. heads out today from Kennedy Port for the farther colonies, where she'll continue her shipping service to these far-flung outposts. Reputed to be a notorious rebel ally during the civil war, Sakai--"

"Cut channel. Talia," Susan began eagerly, turning to the telepath. The construct's fork was raised to pierce the flaky crust of her Japoti. "Talia," the captain repeated, this time contrite as she addressed the wary regard of the blonde.

"Susan," Talia responded tightly. "This has Tawloo cream. Can it wait?"

"ISN Celeb News, revert, fifteen seconds, then freeze," Susan ordered the com instead. When the requested image appeared the captain swiveled the screen in the telepath's direction.

Talia took one look, then emitted a deep sigh of frustration. Catherine Sakai's space vessel was in full view, and upon its proud side was the emblem of Sakai Inc....looking disturbingly similar to a crude, cartoony drawing by an EF captain who should wisely never consider a career as an artist.

"We can take a helo-cab directly to Kennedy Port," the construct finally, begrudgingly allowed, and broke her fork into the finely layered Japoti crust, hoping for at least one bite of the sweetly fried Junjoos smothered in Tawloo cream.

* * *

NEXT: CHAPTER FIVE: SILVER TEARS