Disclaimer: same as chapter one. My interpretation of Ms. Winters as a former native New Yorker is personal, not B5 canon. Ivanova two-fisted action. Blood. Neat pet teek tricks. Telepathic nudity. The shower scene is accompanied by the lyrical melody of "Everloving", by Moby. beta'd by calliope 2000, who also enjoys Moby ;). Not only that, but she did one heck of job editing this thing, so my most sincere thanks to her. thanks and enjoy! :)

CHAPTER THREE: ICARUS

Geneva, Earth

February 7, 2262

Ivanova scowled behind her dark glasses, her wrist flicking to free itself elegantly of the cuff of her suit. She turned to yet another page of the Universe Today that made her scowl even deeper.

She and Talia sat under the bright, blue morning sky, its expanse streaked only with a few of the breezy clouds that had brought rain last night. They sat, leisurely eating breakfast at one of the balconied cafes overshadowed by Earthdome. The telepath had easily scared off the paparazzi who had tried to trail them this morning. Now, Earthdome's stately garden park, which the cafe overlooked, harbored not even one, furtive telescope lens.

Except what a telekinetic could spot.

*crack*

Talia removed the small, slim binoculars from her eyes as Susan's head swiveled suspiciously to regard the park below. She spotted a woman emerging from behind a tree, examining her cam lens in obvious dismay.

"That sounded like an expensive camera, don't you think?" Talia commented with satisfaction, pocketing the now folded binoculars, and returned to eating her breakfast.

"You don't need proximity to do that?" Susan inquired.

Talia paused a moment in her chewing, shaking her head. "It's called 'focused sight'," she explained. "If I can clearly see an object, I can will some kind of effect. The longer the range, the less effect I have."

Susan curtly nodded her understanding and returned to her paper, only removing a slender, long fingered hand to absently unbutton the civilian dress coat she wore. The lapel-less suit--this one, a deep red sienna--was one of several business suits she had made at the tailor shop on Babylon 5. Right after Sheridan had declared the space station an independent state, Ivanova had prudently picked up some conservative business attire in case things didn't work out. If she had found herself without a space station to command, she would have sent resumes to corporations looking for military advisors or pilots. That would have been the option, of course, if she weren't tried for treason first.

She had felt guilty about her lack of confidence in the future success of the station's independance, but then she had found Garibaldi, the station's security chief, picking out civvy wear in the same shop for the very same reason.

Talia watched the arc of Susan's well-shaped hand rise to cradle the newspaper's edges again, the large gold mass that was the captain's Earthforce ring flashing alluringly in the morning's crisp light. The only adornment Susan wore was her ceremonial service ring--and in Talia's private opinion, it was all the dark-haired Russian needed to state to any who saw it, that she was a woman who had earned her position and power. That the captain now had to wear civilian clothes made things no different. Talia liked the strangely illicit thrill the observation gave her.

She was experiencing things about Susan the other one had not; how Ivanova's pleasing, womanly lines carried the tailored fit of a civilian suit as assertively as her command uniform; how the sunlight--the real, direct sunlight and not the stolen, reflections of pale starlight that had lit the night interiors of Babylon 5--actually brought burnished red highlights out in the deep, dark brown of Susan's hair. Over the rim of a juice glass, the AP's smoky blue-grays narrowed, calculatingly memorizing the sensations and visual details of the woman before her and cataloguing them away as her own, new possessions. Talia broke the silence.

"Why do you read that if it makes you grumpy?" Ivanova heard the light, husky tones ask. Susan closed her eyes briefly, allowing only a fleeting moment to indulge in a precious fantasy. Susan brought the paper down to catch the cool, frank gaze of this Talia.

"Reading this only makes me grumpy when it's about me," Ivanova informed matter-of-factly. "I can't believe how many senators and spokespeople have built some kind of campaign around their 'personal' opinion of my attempted assassination. I'd like to suggest that they all take a flying leap from an exploding rail car and see what re-election votes that gets them."

"Does all their talk affect your getting you ship back?" Talia asked, neatly wiping up the last of her egg yolk with a bit of toast. Susan noticed that the telepath had thoroughly and quite efficiently tucked away the very large breakfast she had ordered. Seeing the blonde eat her food so eagerly made the captain realize that she had neglected to ask Talia if she had anything to eat last night. Ivanova resolved to be more conscientious; this Talia was alot skinnier than the one she had loved--remembering the feel of her lighter weight upon her body last night--and that was a condition that definitely needed to be rectified.

"It doesn't look good," Ivanova finally responded, and raised her black coffee to her lips. She flipped the newspaper over. She had keyed its printout for Earth Alliance and universal political news. She might as well read what Sheridan and his newly formed Interstellar Alliance were up to out there. Seeing the captain now engrossed with her paper again, Talia decided to acquaint her fork with Susan's untouched fruit platter. She liked how the foods served at this cafe were real and not substitutes. Real, fresh eggs with real grounded pepper and salt had tasted wonderful, as did the toast, hash browns, sausage, orange juice......juicy, sweet melon. Her fork quickly emptied the captain's plate. This also would be her new personal memory as well, and not just that of tasteless, protein med-lab meals......

Seeing the captain's juice glass also left untouched, Talia efficiently polished that off.

"I need to go to the ladies room," Talia stated. "Come with me."

Susan peered over her dark glasses in surprise. "I don't need to go."

"And I have to keep an eye on you," Talia replied. She looked the captain over, noting how firmly set the Russian's tall frame was in the cafe chair. "You're not going to budge, are you."

Susan smiled, returning her attention to the paper. "I'll be fine. Go to the bathroom, Talia."

The captain actually could feel the harsh, cold gaze of the telepath bore through the layers of paper she held. Ivanova heard the blonde's chair scrape slowly on the cafe balcony as she stood up.

"Yes, Susan," came the icy tones, and the captain flinched.

As the telepath left the table, Susan mentally kicked herself; she had not meant that to sound like an order, but the way the telepath's program parameters had been set up, Susan could not mention Talia's name in addition to an innocent statement or request without the construct being forced to automatically obey her.

Susan's teeth ground together, believing she could hear the phantom laughter of a certain diminutive, glittery eyed Psi-Cop in the background of her mind.

The painted, and precisely manicured nails of a well tanned hand slid the captain's check into her view, interrupting her black thoughts. As Ivanova absentmindedly reached into her breast pocket for her credit chit, the owner of that hand surprisingly plopped into the seat nearest her--effectively blocking Ivanova's ability to leave the cafe table.

"Robin West, local ISN Geneva," a large eyed, lipstick-mouthed woman with the stiffest hairdo Ivanova had ever seen introduced herself energetically. "Do you have a moment to answer a few questions, Captain?"

"What--" Ivanova started, suddenly feeling the remnants of her hangover pounding to the fore--God dammit--

"Captain, what do you think of 'Die Ivanova', and how their actions may have affected your captaincy?"

"Look--" Ivanova interjected.

"Do you believe, as former Senator Hiro Nagasaki has radically stated, that it may not be possible for former Resistance and break-away colonists to peacefully reenter the fold of the EA, and that they should consider pursuing independence?"

"Get--"

"What about the pro-Clark people among your fellow EF officers? Some have broken military protocol and actually been vocal in their opinion that former Resistance leaders should not serve in the EF. Ever heard of a Capt. Teddy Atlas, Captain?"

The captain aimed a deadly, double-plasma cannon stare at the attentive reporter that could have decimated a starfury squadron.

"No. Comment." she whispered in low and deadly tones.

And to the captain's surprise, the reporter's bright red mouth smiled widely, revealing glossy white teeth.

"I expected as much," the woman remarked. "I'm familiar with your rep, Captain, and just wanted to get the worse of your fears out of the way. I'm not looking for sound bites from you." Still smiling warmly, she fished out a business card, handing it to the dumb struck captain. "What I'm really after is an exclusive interview; no strings, no demands, and anything you don't like, we won't ask. 'An Intimate Look at Ivanova'--a chance to give your side of everything that's being said. Wouldn't you like that opportunity, Captain?"

Ivanova wasn't sure if this was a strange dream or just a funny nightmare. She also didn't know why she chose that moment to tear her disbelieving eyes from the reporter's surgically enhanced features to the balcony's doorway but she was glad she did. A tall, blonde telepath now stood there, an icy, focused stare in her flat blue eyes which clearly expressed a malevolent intent.

"Wait!" Ivanova exclaimed in the telepath's direction, surprising the reporter by thrusting out a warning hand before her. The captain turned to the woman.

"I think it's time you left," Ivanova quietly suggested, removing her dark glasses and making it clear in her own bright eyes that the reporter take her words seriously. "My companion is very protective of me and will not hesitate to do what I am being too polite to do right now, myself."

Wide-eyed, Ms. West nodded her understanding, getting up slowly but all the while casting a far too interested gaze back and forth between the seated figure of the captain and the attractive blonde. She glanced humorously back at Ivanova before discreetly squeezing by the immobile telepath.

"It's a good thing my shtick is the political arena and not the social news, Captain," she volunteered good-naturedly. "I'd have a field day with this one." And with that, the reporter made a wisely quick retreat.

Even at the furious pace Ivanova was burning across the empty park the telepath followed easily beside her, their breaths decorating the crisp, winter air as the edges of their black overcoats wafted in their hurried wake. Ivanova's dark scowl behind her dark glasses seemed proportionate in intensity to the light beauty of the bright early morning sun, the stark, elegant tree branches, and the smooth blue sky they walked rapidly beneath to their destination -- the Psi-Corps Headquarters complex that lay across the park from Earthdome. Surprisingly, it was not the tall, white tower front of the prominently displayed Psi-Corps emblem and edifice that elicited such a foreboding look upon the captain's face, although anything resembling Psi-Corps would ordinarily do that. This morning, it had everything to do with a certain annoying reporter and her particularly annoying information.

"Someone needs a good dose of my wrath," Ivanova griped, managing to find the only rock in an otherwise immaculate park to kick.

"How about them?" Talia smoothly suggested, and indicated with a casual gesture of her chin a group of three men in Earthforce blue wool overcoats, walking along the high bank of a bridged waterway. As the men disappeared down the concrete bank to the river, Ivanova noticed the last man's short, but formidable figure.

"Why do you mention them?" she asked the telepath, having easily identified the last man.

"Who's Teddy Atlas?" Talia asked in return. Ivanova decided not to pursue her own question. She had been too focused on reaching the HQ complex to notice the men, but the group had been in close enough visual range for Talia to pick up surface thoughts--the telepath may be listed as a P-5 close proximity telepath, but Jason Ironheart's gifts had expanded Talia's mind in many ways. Her own Talia had kept a tight reign on her enhanced telepathic power back on Babylon 5, but it appeared the construct had no ethical compunctions whatsoever about utilizing it casually.

"A man who has a severe drinking problem around former resistance leaders," Susan finally answered as they approached the bank. In the far distance and across the low bridge that arched over the small waterway, lay the distinct, white front of the Psi-Corps HQ.

"He certainly has a colorful way of referring to you," Talia lightly commented, cocking her head a bit as if listening to an invisible broadcast. They had reached the bank; Talia apparently had a range of ten to twelve meters without maintaining line of sight. "Do you want to hear what he thinks of my body?"

"Not if you want me to add 'murder' to my list of accomplishments," Ivanova muttered, as they skirted the bank's edge and followed it to the bridge. Below them, next to the sparkling water and within a hair of the bridge's shadow, stood the three EF men who now glanced up at the sound of the women's footsteps. Teddy Atlas' broad and smug face was a grinning beacon.

"Well if it isn't the rebel!" his gravelly voice called up from the water's edge.

"No pissing allowed in public, gentlemen," Ivanova answered as she and Talia followed the bank. The two men laughed good-humoredly at the Russian's remark as Atlas snorted.

"Talks like a good civilian," Atlas remarked to his comrades. He tossed a comment Ivanova's way as she approached the bridge. "I think Earth has made it clear who they want for captain here."

"When Earth needs captains for desks, I know they'll look for you, Atlas," Ivanova tossed back as she began to cross the bridge, and below her, the short captain's buddies couldn't help laughing again.

"Unlike some so-called soldiers, I don't need a Psi-Corps freak to baby-sit me," came the taunting response.

The Russian's body was a blur that hopped the low railing of the bridge to land twelve feet below right at Atlas' backyard, which was where Ivanova was only too happy to be.

She was primed for kicking some Teddy ass. Like lightning, an eager, ringed fist shot out to kiss an inviting pug nose, and the first bloody crack of the morning sounded.....

"Why'd you let him hit you?" Talia asked rather derisively, as she leaned on the water fountain. Susan reapplied the soaked handkerchief to her now swelling eye.

"I didn't let him," she ground out. "He got lucky." She was feeling a bit weary of talking, having gone through her sizable repertoire of curses already. Atlas had proven a formidable little bulldog in their brawl beneath the bridge. If his friends hadn't finally separated them they would have happily beaten each other into bloody pulps. Ivanova was certain she would have won though; Teddy knew how to grapple, but noone could outmaneuver a Russian.

She bent slowly to apply more cold water to the handkerchief and heard the painfully audible pop of her spine. Atlas had gotten lucky too with the body slam to the bank. If her neck wasn't giving her trouble already from jumping from that train car, the little spinal adjustment from this recent encounter was sure to make its protestations known to her later.

Inquisitively, the blonde telepath bent forward to study Ivanova's now swollen left eye, and then poked it--right at the sensitively pudgy part below the lid.

"OW!!" Ivanova cried out in pain as well as surprise as her hand quickly covered the stinging injury.

"Humph," the construct snorted as she left the fountain. "All you did was break his nose."

"You're welcome," Ivanova retorted, feeling a bit sorry for herself as she followed the telepath. She personally had felt smug that Atlas had looked far worse than she did at the end of the confrontation, but apparently the AP didn't watch the same fight. Talia glanced back coolly with lifted blonde eyebrows.

"Oh, so you allowed him to beat on you for my honor?" her husky, mocking voice inquired, and then a low, contemptuous laugh broke from the same lips as Talia tossed back her golden head. The throaty sounds held the captain's fascination even as she shivered at its cold delivery. She remembered that the AP had actually been laughing throughout Susan's altercation with Atlas--leaning with obvious glee upon the bridge's railing as Ivanova and the little captain had exchanged blows. Talia again glanced back coolly and with a quick flick of her wrist, removed Ivanova's dark glasses from where they sat in her blonde hair--the glasses Susan vaguely remembered chucking before her eager leap from the bridge--to toss them at the captain. Susan fumbled in her catch and then hurriedly put the dark glasses on.

"I don't need anyone to fight for me," Talia added in disdain, and ignored Ivanova as she walked with her casual, sensual style, back down the tree lined walkway in the direction of the Psi-Corps HQ. After a while, she could hear the captain follow in silence behind her.

"All right," she heard Susan finally say. "I won't try to impress you with my fighting skills in the future. Would flowers do?"

Talia stopped, incredulous at Susan's response, and laughed once again--but this time the smoky sound was--lighter, and very much how Susan remembered it. The telepath resumed walking again.

"Fool," she tossed back over her shoulder.

Before the vast thoroughfare that fronted the Psi-Corps complex Ivanova halted, forcing the telepath, who noticed the captain's reticence, to do so as well. The white, clean surface of the HQ rose benign and serene before them, radiating an exterior of social goodwill and positive psi-identity. Ivanova turned her back on the sight.

"What are you going to do?" she asked worriedly, finally glancing back at the waiting telepath.

Talia let out a tolerant sigh.

"Retrieve the information you wanted," she answered. "That is what you want, right?"

"Yes," Susan responded. "Do you remember his designation?"

"I may not have your eidetic memory, but I can easily remember Psi-Corp code," Talia answered with some impatience. She swung around once again to cross the thoroughfare for the gates of Psi-Corps HQ. The blonde then hesitated, turning with a frown.

"What are you waiting for?" Talia demanded.

Which was how Ivanova found herself behind those gates, in Psi-Corps' brightly sunlit, white courtyard, waiting beneath the shadow of a hideously huge, Psi-Corps 'Family' sculpture. The captain had probably spent the good part of a quarter of an hour arguing with the telepath about her not stepping foot in the complex--until some paparazzi types appeared in the park, eyeing the captain and the telepath curiously. Now Ivanova stood--'safely' behind Corps gates, she added to herself in dire sarcasm--beneath the centrally located sculpture proclaiming Corps idealism. Telepaths of who knew what level of scanning ability milled casually in the courtyard around the paranoid captain.

"Be careful," Ivanova managed to caution nervously as the blonde left her.

"Don't move," Talia ordered in response, and Ivanova watched with ill-concealed, anxious attentiveness--almost like that of a dangerous, yet loyal guard dog--from her spot beneath the sculpture as the telepath disappeared within the stately entrance of the Corps HQ.

Talia's heeled shoes clacked a casual beat as they crossed the marbled expanse of the lobby. She gave the com directory a passing glance and entered a lift. When the lift reached the fifth level, she exited.

Everywhere, telepaths were working and moving about their duties. Some spoke, utilizing their physical voices, but for the most part, the complex had a calm, near constant silence about it, with only the sounds of moving bodies and equipment disturbing the quiet. Everyone wore black gloves, and at the lapels of professional business suits or uniforms--as the Corps prided itself in its formal appearance--were pinned the small, bronze faces of Psi-Corps badges. Here, the telepaths who did not possess the telepathic strength level to work commercially for the Corps handled the Family's administration. Personal records, medical coverage, Corps pension plans, budgets, housing, job assignments..... whatever a telepath needed to manage his or her life, the Corps provided for in its headquarters. There were Corps HQs located in every major city and colony of the Alliance.

Every person and child of psionic ability was clothed, fed, and cared for by the Corps. Talia Winters had known this all her life, having been raised since the age of five by the only Family she had ever known. Now, however, the young blonde telepath who walked with cool indifference down the halls of Psi-Corps Headquarters had no need for the other one's pension, her savings, her assigned apartment on Mars, her Psi-Cop aide's pay, or even the status and seniority that had been so painstakingly earned with years of dedicated Corps training and an earnest service record. Unknown to the administrative telepaths the AP walked amongst--telepaths with lives, homes, ambitions--this Talia Winters was no longer a Family member to be cared for as a contributing individual. She was completely, incontestably, a Corps tool, utilized to execute her orders to whatever end they might take her. That she conducted herself with utter disregard and a rather strange independence while within those parameters did not weigh as even a concern to the construct's Family-loyal conscience. Her orders were to obey Susan, and she would.

Talia made her way past desks and offices to the glass walled area she knew her level of clearance would not gain access to. As she breezed nonchalantly by the glass entrance, she noted the location of the director's office. She walked on, found the emergency stairwell, ascended to the next floor, and emerged to an office corridor that was, for the moment, empty.

Spotting the security cam, she stopped short of its range and eyed the emergency alarm panel that was located on every floor of the complex--usually situated between the restrooms and the emergency stairwells. Her blue-gray eyes rose to the cam once again.

In her solitary med-cell in Syria Planum, Talia had spent hours memorizing and visualizing the inner workings of security cam units under her mentor's supervision. The man, a doctor and pioneer researcher in telekinesis, trained her tirelessly in the--at that time--theoretical application of 'self-visualized focused sight'.

You cannot see the mechanism physically, but through memory you know that it is there, he would state, flashing holo diagram after holo diagram before Talia of security cam interiors. He would point at the cam unit lying on the table. Now focus upon this cam unit and disable it.

Talia stared at the security cam gazing impassively from its remote ceiling recess. The blink of the cam's power indicator winked out. She moved for the alarm panel and opened it.

Concentrate on the cut you make with the knife, and the pain will remind you of the blade, the doctor would instruct. When Talia did as she was told, the doctor took the knife into the next room. She would concentrate on the memory of the knife's sharp edge, staring at the wound it had made......and the blade in the next room would move.

Taking a spare pin from her lapel, she carefully pricked her palm beneath the cuff of her leather glove--concentrated on the pin's thin, metal length as it sharply stung her skin and formed a drop of bright red blood. She licked the drop away, then pulled the emergency lever down to rest against the carefully erected metal pin. She shut the panel, walked away, then stared at the security cam. A distinct click, and the cam's power indicator gleamed once again. Talia continued down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

Ivanova paced to and fro at the base of the Family sculpture, and when that grew old, she paced fro and to. She should have gotten details from Talia--what should Susan do if something went wrong, what should Susan do if Talia got caught, what should Susan do to help Talia if something went wrong and the telepath got caught and the captain could not even bring herself to step foot into a Corps HQ's lobby?? Ivanova glanced up at the God awful, abstract stylization of a Mother, Father, and baby Psi-Corps member intertwined in Family embrace above her. There were only two things in this universe that could render Susan Ivanova helpless by their very presence: the Corps, and Talia Winters. The Corps, she feared for so many reasons, but Talia had won her heart, and it had been frightening, how fast and deeply Susan had fallen for her....

Ivanova rose a hand to where the construct had poked her eye.

Another black eye, another fight, from a night on Babylon 5 so long ago.....it had all the incongruous logistics of an unfortunate Red corridor shortcut, one angry Narn, three drunk Centauri, and a station commander dressed for an evening out finding herself in the most inconvenient of situations.

"How did this happen?" Talia's husky voice had asked in deep concern, applying the cool wet cloth to the commander's bloodied lip.

One outraged Narn and three unconscious Centauri were escorted away by security, but not before the equally outraged commander's physical appearance had been severely compromised before a third dinner date with the telepath.

"It's all right Susan," Talia had soothed, her tones deepening to an endearing rumble. Gently, she kissed Susan on the side of her mouth that wasn't split. Pleasantly surprised, the commander smiled--and winced, having felt her lip give a big bloody twinge.

"Did I mention--" she had spoken through the cloth Talia had pressed once again to her mouth. "That Narns are very big and hard to subdue?"

"Did he give my Susan a hard time?" Talia had tsked, as she cupped the commander's face with a look of deep concern--and with a warm, delightful twinkle in her soft blue-gray eyes. Susan had managed a partial pout.

A beautiful, white grin, a slow press of a soft, curvaceous form, and the drop of mischievous, warm eyes closer to a commander's smittened, wide blues, and Susan knew then that all was lost.....

If any telepath detected the vibration of sadness emanating from the dark haired woman waiting beneath the sculpture in the middle of the courtyard, they politely pretended not to notice. Ivanova wiped furtively at her eyes beneath the dark glasses, as telepaths silently passed. Quietly, she mourned the realization that she had refused to allow herself to recognize until now: The Corps and what was once her Talia were now one.

Talia stood in the bright sunlight, feet perched on the thin ledge outside a sixth story window. She took only a moment to regard the view--this side of the building faced the complex's meditation gardens, which were edged by tall, thick trees. If anyone bothered to look up, they could spot her, but at this point she hardly cared. She stepped out and dropped to the fifth floor. Utilizing her telekinetic power, she slowed her body's descent to land without a sound outside a large, office window. She glanced in.

A tall, thin man sat at his large desk, regarding his com unit. Talia took a moment to study the Corps director's office. She removed her binoculars from her pocket, then flicked her wrist up, exposing the pinprick in her palm. Her eyes defocused, staring intently at the tiny wound, and visualized the thin pin that had caused it....

On the floor above, a metal pin vibrated imperceptibly, then fell over, the lever it held up now finishing its decisive descent into its new position. Immediately the insistent, loud clamor of an emergency alarm filled the complex air.

As the director's head rose in surprise to the shrill noise, Talia placed the binoculars to her eyes and focused upon the man's com unit....

The director gave a verbal order to his unit, the screen blacking out. He rose and exited his office. Talia removed her binoculars. The keys she had activated to mute the com and darken the screen, depressed. She unlocked the antique window latch with a telekinetic command, hopped into the room, and rapidly typed her request into the com. As the information Ivanova had sent her to retrieve loaded to the screen, she immediately sent it to print to hard copy at a com terminal on the sixth floor. She logged the machine out, returned to the window, and with a quick motion, leapt up.

Susan had been watching with some degree of interest as a Corps tour guide assembled her non-telepathic visitors for a sight-see of the complex. Susan had already shaken her head at the young woman when she had attempted to approach her. Ivanova was surprised to see the Corps allow 'normals' into their facility, but then this was Geneva, and possibly this was yet another new propaganda maneuver on the Corps' part to persuade the general public that telepaths could be trusted....

The repeated sound of an emergency klaxon filled the air.

Susan stared at the building with a concerned frown, as the telepaths around her stopped, then, with civilized calm, moved to designated spots about the courtyard. As more telepaths exited the building, Ivanova watched as they joined fixed groups and waited patiently. It was a remarkably precise, ordered evacuation, the captain could not help noticing with some admiration. She wasn't sure if such efficient organization was due to Corps training or telepathic communication. Then she saw the stream of black uniformed Psi-Cops exit the building.

Susan hardly needed to think twice. She immediately turned around and with some semblance of coherent control, tried to keep her frantic flight from the Corps courtyard down from a fleeing run to a more manageable, harried retreat......

Talia emerged from the building entrance, right behind the evacuating Psi-Cops, and strolled innocently into the courtyard with a copy of The Psi-Journal neatly tucked under her arm. Her fair head gazed about in cool, superficial concern and some humor, seeing the result of her handiwork. The humor died from her attractive features however, as the blonde came to a stop and realized the conspicuous absence of a certain EF captain.

When she found Ivanova, the dark-haired woman was pacing to and fro once again in the park across from the complex.

"Good," Susan exclaimed as, to the telepath's surprise, her hands came up to touch the blonde's arms. "You're safe."

Talia shrugged out of the Russian's relieved grip.

"You moved," she responded with a touch of icy anger.

"What?" Susan replied, her one bright eye widening in question behind the dark glasses.

"You moved at the hospital and now you moved again," Talia continued, obviously incensed. "How am I supposed to do my job when you don't do what I ask?"

"I'm sorry," Ivanova's rich voice apologized. She was genuinely contrite. Behind the irate telepath, familiar, black uniforms stepped into view at the HQ's gated entrance. Susan grabbed the surprised telepath's gloved hand.

"C'mon," was all the captain had time to say, and she walked at a near run back into the cover of the trees......

Under the bright shine of a midday sun, Talia sat munching contentedly on the fresh, hot, salted pretzel in her gloved hands. Ivanova sat across from her, bared forearms pulling easily upon the long oars of their boat. They glided on the sparkling waters of the park's ornamental lake with other gaily painted boats, the cool winter breeze ruffling blonde and dark brown locks. Ivanova's overcoat and dress coat lay at the boat's bottom, the wind's cold hardly bothering her body's growing warmth beneath the bright sun as she pulled on the oars again.

"Needs mustard," Talia suddenly commented, her words working around a mouthful of pretzel.

"Sorry," Susan replied, giving the oars another easy pull. "I didn't know how you'd like it."

The telepath glanced around, squinting at the reflective sparkle of the water. More boats with couples bobbed in the distance, but so removed from her and the captain's own craft, they appeared like toys on the artificial lake's gently rolling face.

"I think this is far enough, I can't 'hear' anyone anymore," she observed.

"Not even if you were P-12?" Susan asked, pulling on the oars again.

"Yes," Talia answered with some exasperation. "Even if I were P-12."

Susan dropped the oars.

"Let's have it," she stated, and the telepath reached down to where her copy of The Psi-Journal lay and pulled out the printouts.

Susan removed her dark glasses to scrutinize, with her one bright eye, the information on her mysterious Psi-Cop. The general bio and classification she already knew from the Psi-Corps database but the service history she did not. The last page revealed her Psi-Cop's present assignment and whereabouts.

"Have you read this?" Ivanova asked as she committed the information to memory. Talia shrugged.

"Only the facts of his current assignment," Talia responded.

"He has service commendations from the Psi-Cops for several missions," Ivanova related as she looked over the printouts. "Many of which are classified."

"Black-ops," Talia clarified, taking Ivanova's dark glasses from the captain's dark hair and placing them on her own blue-gray eyes.

"He also received merits of distinction from the government of Proxima colony for saving a group of non-telepathic school children during a kidnapping--and from the Narn regime for rescuing a Narn refugee ship from Raiders while returning from a Psi-Corps mission."

"Must have a 'hero' complex," Talia muttered.

Ivanova looked up with her one eye, her face pensive.

"Why is an agent who has successfully completed black-ops missions now given simple information retrieval assignments?" she wondered, referring to the nature of the Psi-Cop's last mission in Geneva and to his present one.

"Why is a captain now without her ship?" Talia answered.

Ivanova folded the printouts, intending to destroy them somehow. She reacted with surprise as she saw the papers taken by one of the telepath's gloved hands and the smooth disk of a med derm stimulator presented in the other.

"Here," she heard Talia's husky voice declare. "I'm tired of looking at your one eye--and it's embarrassing."

Ivanova gratefully took the disk and placed it at her shut eye as the telepath turned, lit a match from a complimentary match book taken from the cafe they had eaten breakfast at, and set the documents on fire. Derm stimulators, like the derm regenerator units, were exclusively doctor prescribed to discourage their misuse in hiding physical abuse or sustained injuries. Talia must have lifted the disk from the HQ's medlab. Already, Susan could feel the puffy, painful throb of Atlas' southpaw gift reduce, allowing her to blink again. From the telepath's black gloved fingers, the last of the printout's paper flamed, and Talia dropped the bits into the lake's water.

"Now what?" the telepath asked, turning her dark shaded gaze to Susan.

"We go to New York," Susan stated.

* * *

Ivanova moved briskly about the bedroom and smoothed down the coverlet of the neatly made bed once again, plucking up the telepath's black overnight bag as she did so. Heading for the living room, she could see the telepath bent in curiosity over the new portable com Ivanova had just purchased--the Elite HoraComm GoNote 3000. It was the current, popular status accessory for the businessperson on the go. The construct was already putting the portable com unit through its paces, her black gloved fingers dancing lightly over the keypad. Ivanova remembered that the HoraComm was the unit her own Talia had been working hard to save for back on Babylon 5.

When she glanced over the telepath's shoulder, the GoNote's screen held the serenely revolving holo-image of the Psi-Corps' information net.

"Did you just configure the HoraComm for a Psi-Corps interface?" Ivanova demanded, rather irate that the AP had commandeered her new purchase in this fashion. The construct threw her an equally irritated look in return.

"I like my ISN news daily," she stated flatly, completely surprising Ivanova. "You've still got room to partition it for Earthforce use." And with that, Talia shut the GoNote and stalked coldly into the bathroom.

For once Ivanova was suitably perplexed. So this Talia.....liked to watch ISN? It seemed strange that a personality that was artificially created should have, and actually pursue, specific interests. The construct's simple directness and genuinely uncomplicated behavior--albeit, rather unpleasantly impolite and negative behavior--reflected the man-made origins of her efficient-minded design. As Ivanova was coming to discover however, there was also present in the AP a surprisingly lively intelligence, and the captain was finding it quite....intriguing.

Susan picked up the GoNote and heft its slim black case reflectively in her hand. Making an obvious and silent decision, she took the com unit and slipped it into an empty outside pocket on the telepath's overnight bag.

The bag was so light, Ivanova noted as she set it down next to her own larger suitcase by the couch. The Psi-Journal casually protruded from a small outside pocket. Ivanova wondered if Talia had anything more than a change of uniform and her essential toiletries. She turned and entered the bathroom suite.

Years spent in boarding schools and in EF service made Ivanova a disciplined person when it came to tidiness. Her own Talia, having grown up in a group environment, had also been remarkably neat. They had that in common. The construct however, conducted herself entirely differently.

Ivanova shot the telepath a disapproving glare as she hurried to wipe down the shower unit and gather up the wet towels from the tile floor. How one could get so much water outside the unit Susan could not surmise. The culprit in question easily ignored the diligent efforts of the captain to clean up the morning's mess and continued her bored, blue-gray regard of the antique tub. She trailed a lazy, gloved finger along the cool, porcelain edge as she slowly walked around the sloping, white-bright walls of the gleaming receptacle. When the telepath circled the tub for the third time Ivanova had to suppress a grin, thinking on whether she should toss rose petals in Talia's path during this strange and subconscious supplication to the bathing deities. From the press unit in the wall, a chime sounded.

A smirk of satisfaction lighting her attractive mouth, the blonde immediately abandoned her tub circling and opened up the cleaning press unit, removing the neatly pressed and fresh garment of a dark green Psi-Corps uniform. She quickly folded it and exited the suite--but not before she gave the tub a parting, mindful tap, as if to say, next time.

Two, Ivanova noted to herself, actually following the telepath out the suite to stop at the bathroom's entrance and observe her former lover open her rather empty black bag. She has only what she is wearing and the one uniform from last night.

"If you need--" Ivanova quietly volunteered, but Talia shut her bag and left for the bedroom. Susan shook her head, and turned back to cleaning up the mess that lay before her.

A temporary goal had been set, a plan, short term at best, had been made. In a few moments, they would be leaving Geneva, heading for New York, and soon be -- hopefully--on the trail to the answers she sought. Susan wiped up the last of the water and efficiently disposed of the used towels. She no longer felt so much a powerless pawn in this mysterious game now that she had gained some control over what she would do. And since when had she ever had control--done or decided what she, herself, wanted? While serving Sheridan and Babylon 5, Ivanova had become caught up in events so much larger than one station commander's personal needs. There seemed never a moment when duty had not called upon her. When Sheridan had disappeared at Z'ha'dum, she had taken over his responsibilities on the station. When he had ordered her to find the First Ones and become the Voice of the Resistance, she had done so to the best of her ability. However, it was when John had been captured, and Ivanova had led the Resistance's final assault approach to Earth, that duty had manifested into another, horrifying lesson from the universe that Ivanova had never wanted to know: that her death--her death as a soldier--was not even her own to control.

Susan finished putting the suite into a reinstatement of immaculate order and moved for the bedroom. The telepath was coolly flipping through the captain's closet rack, regarding each article of clothing with a quick, critical eye. When Susan had found herself miraculously alive again, on Babylon 5, she had never thought that anything could surmount that one moment, in her adult life, she had ever felt so utterly, devastatingly, helpless in the face of: Losing her.

"Where's your black uniform?" Talia's deep and husky voice suddenly demanded, as she reached the end of Ivanova's hung clothes.

"What?" Susan responded dumbly, knowing what the telepath meant, but completely baffled as to why she was asking.

Talia turned, frowning at the confused look on Susan's face.

"The uniform you wore as the Voice of the Resistance," the blonde clarified. She stepped forward, blue-gray eyes staring intently and wondering for a moment how the captain had gotten so stupid.

"That uniform," Ivanova finally answered, "didn't make it through the Resistance advance at Mars." Susan had left Babylon 5 soon after, trying not to think of what had happened to the command garb that had signified her transition from a defender for Earth to one who served the Universe against the Darkness. She was certain that what was left of it had been cut off her mangled body when she was transported back to the station from Mars.

"Really," Talia merely drawled in reply, ignoring the emotion the captain's voice was obviously concealing. A gloved hand casually reached back to finger the gray wool sleeve of Susan's tattered dress uniform. She had found the black command uniform, with its intricate Minbari threading and rather formidable, black, draped overcoat, quite dramatic. Pity, Talia thought. In that uniform, Susan had looked the worth of ten Psi-Cops.

Maybe even more, Talia decided, giving the gray sleeve a final caress. She turned at the sound of a drawer opening. Susan stood with her back to the telepath, focused on manipulating something in her hands.

"Do you have any kind of com link?" the captain asked. She glanced back to see the telepath shake her head. "You're not even linked with the Psi-Cops division?"

"I'm on the field," Talia explained, dropping upon the edge of the bed carelessly. "It's required that I be independent."

"No calls to Mother and Father," she added with a sweetly cold smile up to the captain.

Susan tossed her something, which the telepath caught neatly. She regarded the thin, flat Earthforce handlink in her gloved hand.

"This is genetically coded to you," Talia remarked almost suspiciously. "Can I access the military database with this?"

"No," Ivanova answered more harshly than she intended. Just the thought of the construct possibly obtaining clearance for starfuries or any kind of weapon made the captain unusually alarmed. "It's linked only to my handlink and to E.A.'s universal emergency access com."

"Humph."

The Corpsman Com Link was a small, flat device worn adhesively on the back of one's bare hand, but the telepath obviously could not wear it there when she had on gloves. Talia pulled up the sleeve of her uniform, revealing bare, pale skin. She adhered the flat metal piece to the inside of her slim arm, above the cuff of her glove.

"The Corps takes care of its own," Talia murmured off-handedly.

"If police or medical aid is needed for any reason, use the handlink, Talia," Susan instructed emphatically.

"Yes Susan," Talia automatically muttered under her breath. She watched as the captain removed a box from the bureau drawer and opened it, revealing an EF issued PPG and its spare caps.

"One for me?" The AP asked brightly.

"I doubt a telekinetic needs one," Susan answered dryly. She checked the gun's safety, then replaced it in the box.

"Like an E.A. Scout--be prepared," Talia rejoined with a snappy, mock salute that had all the right, though sudden, enthusiastic platitude of an eager-to-please team player. A reluctant grin played around Susan's wide mouth in response to this surprising humor of the construct's. She must really want her own gun, the dark -haired woman reflected to herself.

In the living room, the com unit chimed, signaling the arrival of their cab.

Susan left the bedroom to safely stow the gun box in her suitcase.

"Maybe if you're really good," she finally replied, as Talia followed her out and watched with more than required interest where the case was being placed.

"Oh," the telepath's husky, deep tones thrummed back. " I'll be really good, Susan."

Geneva's afternoon sky was a bright, expectant blue as the captain and the telepath disembarked from their cab at the commercial shuttle terminal. Ivanova heard the familiar scream of starfury class Thunderbolts streak above and she glanced up to catch their silhouettes cut a precise formation through the wide open blue.

"Come on soldier," griped the familiar husky voice by her side.

"Talia," Ivanova ventured as they entered the hustle and bustle of the shuttle terminal. "What is our man's codename?"

The telepath glanced back, required by her conditioning to answer, yet pausing long enough for Susan to deduce that what she had asked was definitely privileged Corps information.

"Icarus," Talia finally replied, and approached their check-in gate.

* * *

New York City, Earth

February 7, 2262

Ivanova had seen many different Earth cities; her father had made a point of having her and Ganya experience schools across the European continent--not just for their education but to get his troublesome children out of St. Petersburg. New York City had never been one of those places, and the captain did not feel particularly neglected by that oversight of her father's.

The transatlantic shuttle flight from Geneva was its usual, efficient, thirty minutes to the east coast of the American Consortium. As she and Talia left the hellish chaos of Kennedy shuttle terminal for the cab ride to their hotel, the urban decay and vibrant cacophony that was this immense, dense, and smelly city's charm unfolded before the captain's unimpressed regard, even as their car wound resolutely through the sky-conquering corporate edifices that made up glitzy midtown Manhattan. Talia, however, sat beside the captain in an alert state of keen interest, swinging her fair head suddenly to catch a detail in the urban jungled distance or gaze down some neighborhood street Susan could not guess the significance of, though if she had asked the construct, the telepath might have volunteered an explanation. Then Susan remembered.

Talia Winters had grown up in New York City.

Before Ivanova could somehow broach the subject, their cab pulled into the gleaming concourse of their hotel.

At the front desk, Susan immediately noticed the absence of the telepath from her side. Her intense, blue eyes searched the busy lobby, gazing past marbled columns and decorative vases and plants for the familiar, womanly form. When she finally spotted Talia, the blonde was at the glass entrance, her wide and cool eyes staring out in rapt attention upon New York's raucous, rapid street scene. Like a slim, fair-haired hound, the telepath's figure was in a state of quiet, yet excited attentiveness, weight resting on the balls of her feet as she leaned close to the glass. Ivanova knew that the only thing keeping the construct here, in this lobby on some invisible, restraining tether, was Susan.

An urge welled up within her, to caress that slender, taut back.

Susan stepped silently to the telepath's side.

"Let's take care of business," she softly spoke.

The MeccaCorp security host who sat in stoic, sphinx-like silence could have been a permanent fixture of the cool, black lobby he monitored. The pharmaceutical conglomerate's ground floor entrance was in a constant state of human traffic. Having done ten years in EF service and another fifteen in private security for this, one of the most prominent corporate structures lining Manhattan's midtown, the security host was certain that he had seen every size, shape, and attitude of person one could imagine walk past his unblinking gaze....therefore, when his steady, calm attention experienced a rare jolt at the striking entrance of a beautifully formed blonde woman through MeccaCorp's revolving glass entrance, he merely made a mental note that this more-than-usual beauty could get an instant, mercurial rise out of any ordinary man.

He had also noted the entrance of the tall, attractive brunette who followed closely behind the blonde. Her regard was cool and authoritative, flaunting an impressive presence usually exhibited by some of the more powerful suits within the building--except that this one with the bright and steely gaze obviously had what her assertive stride promised.

He watched dispassionately as the two overcoated women approached the imposing black block that was the security lobby desk. The blonde one stopped short to lean upon the shiny, reflective top with a carelessly placed elbow. Her grayish blue eyes widened to stare with a strange fascination into his. She wore the badge of Psi-Corps.

"May I use your ladies' room?" she asked in a voice that was rough and low and gave the security host another inadvertent....jolt to his professional calm.

"Down the lobby to your right, ma'am," he informed in polite monotones. "It will be adjacent to the lift area."

He watched the blonde's departing walk for precisely four seconds, then returned his attention to the brunette, who watched the telepathic woman for longer.

"So this is the signature building of MeccaCorp?" her deep-toned voice suddenly asked as her sharp eyes turned back to the host.

"Yes ma'am," he replied evenly.

"Is MeccaCorp's research and development also conducted here?" the brunette additionally inquired. Her right hand rested on the desk's surface, revealing the ostentatious gold of an Earthforce service ring.

"MeccaCorp has many different business responsibilities which it executes in this building," the security host informed calmly. "May I ask why you are asking, ma'am?"

The woman's wide mouth quirked, possibly in good humor, as her blue eyes beneath the frowning, dark eyebrows regarded him. Faintly rimming the left eye was the telltale yellowing of a fading dark bruise.

"I've been off-world for a number of years," she explained. "I'm curious about some of my investments."

"This building conducts general tours if you are interested in an explanation of MeccaCorp and its industry," the security host evenly responded. "Would you like to make a reservation?"

He watched the fingers of a strong right hand tap a reflective beat as the woman considered the offer. He had known who she was the moment she had entered with her striking companion. ISN played her face often enough. This was Captain Susan Ivanova.

"Yes," she answered, and then suddenly the calm lobby air was disrupted by the shrill blaring of an emergency alarm.

Really, this will be the last time we do this, Ivanova resolved silently as she paced on the now crowded sidewalk of evacuated MeccaCorp employees. New York City was far colder than Geneva, with no sun breaking the dreary, overcast sky and Ivanova paced faster as she huddled in her black overcoat. In Earthforce, before the breakaway of Babylon 5, she had been known as an officer with an impeccable and unblemished service record. Such a record seemed to reflect an honest and 'by-the-book' soldier, but it really only meant that Ivanova was particularly adept at sliding certain solutions to certain situations under the radar. A bending of the rules never hurt in Ivanova's professional opinion. But there were certain ethical lines she would always draw and certainly enforce, and allowing Talia to illegally scan the MeccaCorp security man had crossed one very important line.

"Do you want the information or not?" the construct had asked her only moments before in the cab. "Because unless you have a brilliant plan of your own, I will do it this way."

Ivanova had sat in stony silence as she reflected wildly on the circumstance before her. By the amused smile that began to play on Talia's lips, she knew that the AP's avid regard of her eyes could read her raging inner turmoil.

"Do it," Ivanova had harshly commanded.

The dark-haired woman swallowed, recalling how Talia had stood at the lobby desk and blatantly scanned the man for nearly a full minute. She had assured Susan that the security host would not be aware of the nonconsensual scan...or that it would cost him a near minute of his immediate memory. It still made the action no less a crime--especially to Ivanova who had always steadfastly refused any sort of violating scan of herself. She remembered how a wrathful Sheridan, ready to pursue any means necessary to find out what had happened to his wife on Z'ha'dum, had tricked the original Talia into conducting an illegal scan. This had resulted in the hurt and angered telepath slapping Sheridan in return for the deceitful manipulation.

Oh what would you think of me now? Ivanova bemoaned in deep dismay and spun on her heel in frustration on the chilly concrete. Before her worried sight, Talia's trim, black overcoated form finally appeared at MeccaCorp's revolving entrance and descended quickly down the few marble surfaced steps to Ivanova's involuntarily raised arms.

"Missed me, lover?" The telepath breathed low and husky in the cold brisk air as she actually entered the captain's arms to give Susan a hard sensual kiss. Ivanova did not close her surprised eyes--she was completely taken aback by the intimate contact. As Talia's mouth broke from hers, she saw the brilliant excitement that sparkled in the blonde's now shining blue depths.

Without another word, the telepath took Ivanova's hand and led her quickly through the sidewalk throng, and without a question, the captain followed.

It was a zigzag game of mischievous flight that would have made any chased fox deviously proud. Talia led Susan through subway tunnels and on to trains; emerged onto harried, crowded streets to hail cabs and then hit the streets on foot once again. Their flight finally ended in the mind-boggling confusion of giant neo-holos, touristy gawkers, and street hawkers that converged at Times Square. The telepath stopped and stared inquisitively into a tacky, side storefront selling every little thing from lottery ticks to bootleg vids, then led Ivanova in.

They squeezed into a worn, dingy holo-view booth big enough for two and Talia quickly shut the opaque door panel behind them. She fished a palm-sized holo-cam from her overcoat pocket and handed it to Ivanova, who was already busy trying to cut the automatic ad-vid playing on the box.

"...play the latest entertainment holo-vid and download to data crystal with just an insert of your credit chit!" proclaimed the attractive vid-host cheerfully. "Or manipulate, print, or download your latest holo-pics for friends and family--"

With a decisive Ivanova-smack to the side of the stubborn machine, the ad-vid finally ceased and Susan inserted the data-crystal she had removed from the holo-cam.

"Why did the emergency alarm sound?" Ivanova immediately asked as she keyed the worn board of the display panel. After Talia scanned the security man for access codes, she was to find the nearest intra-com unit in the building and break into the security net and employee files. Hacking the system and downloading to an outside, independent com would have been feasible if either the captain or the telepath had been knowledgeable in that illicit approach--but neither weren't, so they relied on an old tried and true, and ultimately untraceable, spy technique: taking holo shots of the information brought up on the intra-com screen. It was a very risky plan, considering that they were entirely unfamiliar with the building and the movement of its employees. Also, Talia was not exactly the sort of woman whose appearance blended into the background. Susan could not tell if their elusive flight from MeccaCorp had been a precaution, a real necessity, or even just the construct spontaneously indulging in the old Talia's memories of the city's layout.

"I started a fire," the telepath answered simply, and Ivanova jerked to gaze at her in surprise--finding her face quite close to the blonde's smirking, pale features. Susan turned back.

"You were found out?" She inquired further, realizing that the fire was probably a decoy ploy by the telepath. She felt Talia's shoulder shrug against hers.

"Close call," her husky voice murmured matter-of-factly near Ivanova's ear.

"But in the end they remained clueless," her deep tones added with a self-satisfied purr and Susan actually shuddered as the telepath behind her suddenly slipped her hands into the captain's own overcoat pockets, hugging the dark-haired woman close with a low, coldly amused chuckle.

Ivanova swallowed as she felt the telepath's chilly nose and face bury into the nape of her neck. Successfully skirting whatever danger she had nearly confronted within the MeccaCorp building was making the construct feel amorous; it was the same kind of sexual thrill Susan herself would experience whenever she led a harrowing mission in her starfury. With a shaky intake of breath, she tolerantly indulged Talia's intimate contact and tried to focus on the holo-cam pic the view box now displayed.

"Mr. 'John Jacobs'," Talia breathed behind her.

"Assigned a desk job in accounting," Ivanova read, gazing intently at the unassuming, employee holo shot of the Psi-Cop she had been seeking. "Start date was today. His 'home address'," she added, pointing.

She felt the quick shake of Talia's head against hers.

"This is an information retrieval assignment with a two-day limitation," the telepath explained. "One day to establish 'normal' identity, locate the information, and devise a retrieval plan. The second day is for procuring the information and disappearing. That address is a fake--he's probably checked into a motel cube by now."

Ivanova frowned darkly, already advancing to the holo shot of the building's floor plans. It was near the end of the day; a logical time for MeccaCorp employees to head home, and were it possible to stake out all the exits and actually spot the undercover Psi-Cop, she would have tried it. She felt Talia suddenly stiffen behind her.

"What are you thinking?" the construct demanded suspiciously. By the telepath's icy tones, Ivanova knew a probable plan of staking out the building in the freezing, early morn for the Psi-Cop's arrival for work was definitely going to be unacceptable. Concentrating, she committed the information of each holo snapshot to her eidetic memory, realizing that what Talia had chosen to obtain for her had completed half of the Psi-Cop's intended mission already. They had all the information needed to anticipate what 'John Jacobs' would possibly plan to do tomorrow to finish his assignment.

"I want him," Ivanova declared, a decisive edge to her rich voice. "And we'll get him by going in tomorrow."

A throaty chuckle was the response to Ivanova's words and Talia quickly keyed the now thoroughly viewed data crystal for erasure. Plucking the crystal from the panel socket and handing it to the captain, she squeezed from behind Susan to force the display panel up from its hinges. The telepath glanced intently inside the vid-play machine. There was a distinct pop, and Talia reinstated the panel.

A small, wisp of smoke began to waft from the display as the telepath and the captain emerged from the small booth.

"Now let's fill up that holo-cam with pictures of me," Talia stated.

* * *

Night in New York, Susan reflected silently, gazing out the high-rise restaurant window that revealed the brightly lit panorama of the never resting city. Oddly enough, she felt pleasurably at ease, despite starting the day squaring off with a diminutive yet annoyingly stocky captain and continuing with abetting the furtive break-ins of two different organizations. She had even squeezed in some sight-seeing at the end of the day, and fulfilled her tourist obligation by dutifully snapping the telepath's holo at each location the beautiful blonde had led her to. Susan's eyes slid from the window next to their table and came to rest upon her dinner companion, who was busy reducing a thick, rare cut of expensive filet mignon and its staunch, potato sidekick into invisibility. Bemused, Ivanova sipped her red wine and watched as Talia ate, her fork and serrated knife working with deadly efficiency. She had never known her own Talia to eat red meat--or with such apparent, thorough....gusto. Talia's white teeth suddenly flashed into a quick smile at the captain as she bit down on a juicy piece of beef that still bled.

Ivanova's heart jerked painfully.

"Y'know," the construct commented casually as she raised her own wine glass for a drink. The extravagant dinner and the red wine was loosening up the AP considerably. "For all this effort you've put into pursuing this Psi-Cop agent, he may just be a dead end. Then what'll you do?"

Ivanova shrugged.

"I'll take you some place with sunsets and beaches," she joked casually. It was out of her mouth before she could prevent it. Idiotka Ivanova, the captain swore silently to herself and the deep, incredulous laugh from across the table almost made her wince.

Cool, blue-gray eyes sparkled like shards before Susan's own guarded regard, and Ivanova felt her emotional defenses rise.

"Love makes you such a sick fool," came the deceptively gentle, husky observation. Talia raised another piece of steak to her lips once again, a small smile curling the edges of her mouth as she chewed deliberately and watched Ivanova with a bright, almost clinical, fascination. Susan's eyes shadowed, and she busied herself with slow moves of her fork from her fish to her own mouth. Patiently, she waited.

"Don't you remember how it was--or are you selectively remembering only the good times?" came the soft, rough stroke of Talia's voice, caressing Susan like an icy burn. Ivanova ceased moving at the sound. "How can you know if your memories were truly sincere moments with her--when they could have been manipulated by me?"

"Huh," the construct commented more to herself as her fair head tossed and cast her amused glance to the side for a moment, relishing a personal realization. The smoky, blue orbs slid back and suddenly they were soft--warm, the pale features of her face relaxing into a look--oh God, that look--

"I love you Susan," breathed the beautiful, sudden sound, floating like a grotesque surprise upon the air to directly--perfectly, pierce Ivanova's loudly pounding heart. The captain gripped the table edges to keep from rising--striking that insincerely gentle face watching her so intimately...lovingly. Mocking her love--mocking her dead love--

It took the most supreme exertion of her will, but Ivanova managed to remain seated, staring at the telepath with murder in her eyes. The painfully familiar, adoring gaze began to fade from the construct's face as it dawned on the AP that Susan was declining to react. Suitably perplexed at this rare exhibition of....reticence from Ivanova to respond either with violence or words, the construct begrudged the captain her point in the round and returned to her steak. She thoughtfully contemplated Susan as she polished off the last piece, savoring its juicy, bloody flavor.

"I made sure she had you irrevocably, and you couldn't even deny her one thing," she informed the captain. "Knowing all that, you still let me walk into a Psi-Corps HQ with your plans and you don't even know what I really did in there.....who I met. Who I......spoke to."

Talia smiled anew, beautiful and wide, and her fair head cocked slightly as she gazed curiously into Susan's eyes.

"I could be working with the Corps to guide your every step--just like I did on Babylon 5. Why do you trust me now?"

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine," came the equally soft, yet subtly threatening challenge.

The construct sat back, eyes sparkling with a keen, bright interest.

"All right," she agreed. "Ask."

"When you were a secret operative on Babylon 5, you seemed to know alot about the deeper intrigue going on with the Corps," Ivanova spoke quietly. "I had gotten the impression that you were a major player. How is that now you're just an aide, doing bodyguard duty?"

Talia's fine boned visage shadowed as she sat silently across from the captain. A cold mask of regard slipped over her features; remote, yet furious. Her full lips twisted and then the plate before her suddenly rose in the air to smash rapidly down on the table. The other patrons jumped in surprise at the sudden noise.

"You're not the only one who has been manipulated from your calling, Captain," Talia's now icy voice addressed her. "The ones who created me found themselves maneuvered from their positions of influence, and the value of this--" and both her gloved hands rose, gesturing at the table in disgust. "This gift Jason was kind enough to give me, had become more valuable to the Corps than what I was originally created to offer."

A silence fell between them, as the blonde scowled at the now messy table top. The captain was still a pillar of dark, deadly calm before her, but Talia hardly cared anymore to pursue the little game she had started, wrapped up now in her own self-righteous anger. Finally, Susan spoke.

"I'm not at all sorry that you've been manipulated out of your true calling," she softly said.

The AP snorted derisively and tossed her head, fair hair swinging in indignant exasperation.

"Now my question," she demanded.

"Why do I trust you?" the captain's rich, soft voice repeated, as Susan's intense regard caught the telepath's still stormy eyes and held them. "Because you didn't do the easiest thing."

Susan's voice was gentle.

"Pretend to be her."

The light-colored eyebrows suddenly knit together over eyes that displayed, for the first time, something akin to a guilty, self-conscious dismay in their smoky depths. For a moment, the dark gray blues dropped, and when they flicked up again they had returned to their familiar, remote coolness.

"My mistake," she conceded coldly.

* * *

Talia kicked off her shoes and leaned back in the reclined, chaise lounge that sat on the balcony of their hotel suite, listening to the sounds of traffic and agitation this sleepless city endlessly expelled into the wintry night air. She had keyed the outdoor enviro controls to full blast, and now felt as snug and warm as by a roaring fire, the air around her pleasantly buzzing of heat. She felt remarkably satisfied; a full belly, the languid stimulus of a glass of very good wine and a thoroughly perused Psi-Journal now tossed aside by the chair. She had done a very good job today; Ivanova had not said anything, but she could tell that the captain had been pleased with her accomplishments. She had performed intelligence-retrieval assignments for the Corps before--trial missions meant to test her fledgling, telekinetic abilities, but a recent set of high-profile missions gone horribly wrong had not done much for the construct's...sense of accomplishment. She had been created to do her job well--a qualitative need that had apparently been placed in her programming by her original creators, and she could assuredly confirm that today had been a well accomplished day indeed.

She pulled out the Cuban cigar that was hidden in her uniformed front and bit down on one end with determined white teeth. Working the bit end off, she leaned off the chaise to spat the piece off the balcony, and then smoothly drew a match from the quaintly archaic, novelty matchbook she had procured from this morning's breakfast place.

As the matchhead flared to bright life, she felt the first suck of thick, sweetly flavored smoke hit the back of her throat and her senses went light with nicotined giddiness.

Her exhale into the night air was a gorgeous sensation of release.

Talia rolled her fair head to the side and lazily regarded Ivanova through the glass separating them. Suit jacket tossed aside; the button of the dark, banded-collar shirt now unfastened. They revealed the line of a soft throat, and wrists bared and slimly vulnerable beneath loose cuffs....the dark-haired woman was working, lightly touching the board of the Horacom GoNote with the elegant, tapered fingers of one hand. The subtle glint of gold flashed on one of the fingers....Talia remembered the sickening crack of Teddy Atlas' nose when that ring had contacted his face and the recalled memory caused the construct to laugh aloud suddenly. Absorbed in her personal mirth, Talia chuckled and rolled back to regard the city's brightly lit vista, not noticing Ivanova's sharp glance from within the hotel room.

Susan looked up at the sudden, husky sound of laughter from the balcony, only to see the telepath loll lazily in her lounge chair and take a long drag on the cigar Fidel Bassa had given her. Susan frowned, fretting a little as she tried to gauge whether Talia was recklessly inhaling past her throat. Damned things were bad for her.

The sight of Talia happily smoking on the balcony brought a reluctant, small smile to Ivanova's wide mouth, however, and the dark haired woman shook her head at this mix of reactions she seemed to be constantly experiencing in the construct's presence. Psi-Corps' well trained, fair-haired hound could bare her beautiful teeth one minute and rent chunks out of Susan's very soul, then inadvertently do something so unconsciously.....innocent as to inspire the captain's instinctive affection.

For almost two years, back on Babylon 5, Ivanova had not even allowed such personal, tender reactions with regard to her own Ms. Winters. To be honest, she had been downright hostile to the woman who, from their first meeting, had only offered friendship. Susan could not believe that in less than two days, she had indulged in more respect and tolerance for the AP than she had her own, deserving love....

Why do I trust her, indeed, Ivanova reflected, returning her subdued, darkened eyes to the com screen. When I wasted so much precious time not trusting you.

Susan found her hand sadly caressing the data picture that flickered on the screen of the HoraComm; the Corps member file of Talia Winters. It was an old photo, the same, softly smiling visage that had been in Babylon 5's data banks for potential clients to access. Here now, for Susan's perusal, was her former love's life: Talia's personal history, her service record, the letters of commendation and notes of distinction. The information all ended at one last entry: October, 2259, transfer to the Psi-Cops division; duty assignment, Syria Planen research facility, Mars.

As on Icarus' file, below the entry was the Psi-code combination that gave Talia an agent's designation.

Ivanova ended her access to the Psi-net, and returned to watching this Talia laze on her back and playfully blow puffy rings up into the night sky. She remembered another time--a far happier time, when she and the telepath had left the troubles of the Corps and Earthforce behind at the door, and finally relaxed in each other's presence...

Michael Garibaldi, Babylon 5's security chief, had left Ivanova a message to join him after duty in his quarters. Despite how that sounded, Ivanova knew it was an invitation to fill out a seat in one of his clandestine poker games--leave it the chief of security to host an illicit pastime Sheridan could not participate in. That night she had decided to stop by to see who was playing--she never cared to join in when the Centauri ambassador, Londo Mollari was at the table. She'd always had a sneaking suspicion that he cheated. Entering the chief's quarters, she saw a sight that made her stop dead right at the door.

Ms. Winters, the station's resident commercial telepath, was seated at the table with Garibaldi and Dr. Franklin, relaxed and laughing at something Stephen Franklin had just said. A couple of cards were casually held close in one pale hand as the other wielded the astonishingly long, thick length of a lit cigar. Ivanova could not believe her eyes.

The telepath wore no gloves, nor her Psi-Corps badge, her dress collar bare as she turned in her seat to see who had entered. Realization made the blonde's lightened blue gray eyes widen, and a soft, hesitant smile touched her full mouth as she placed the cigar to her lips--perhaps to conceal the reaction.

"Ivanova!" Garibaldi's voice broke into the commander's surprise, and Susan could see his nervous glance from herself to the telepath. Michael knew about her dislike of Ms. Winters, what the hell was he thinking--

"Garibaldi. What's the occasion--you've got the cigars out," Ivanova commented casually. She watched the telepath cross her long legs nervously beneath the table, swinging their length to rest beneath her chair. Talia had slipped off her shoes, and the stockinged toes of her feet brushed the chief's carpeted floor.

"Actually, they're Ms. Winter's cigars," Garibaldi explained earnestly, causing a sharp eyebrow to rise incredulously on Ivanova's brow. "The scotch too," he added, hefting up the golden liquor in it's heavy glass bottle.

"Damn good scotch, too," Stephen declared, and knowing that the health conscious doctor was not one for casual drinking, Ivanova took that assessment as a serious endorsement indeed.

"They were a gift from Taro Usogi," Talia finally spoke, her husky voice soft as she volunteered the information. She was smiling but Ivanova knew that the telepath still mourned the unexpected passing of her friend and mentor, the rich business entrepreneur whose patronage had meant so much to Talia when she worked on Mars.

"Cigars and aged scotch, Ms. Winters?" Ivanova inquired, her skeptical look causing the telepath and the security chief to exchange humorous glances.

"Seems Mr. Usogi liked to corrupt young impressionable telepaths in his care," Garibaldi remarked with a devilish gleam to his eyes as he flicked ash off his own cigar.

"Mr. Usogi felt that it was imperative for women in my profession to learn how to do three things," Talia informed, mirth in her own eyes as she glanced from Ivanova, to Garibaldi, then to Franklin.

"And they were?...." Franklin's smooth, smiling voice inquired as he leaned in on the table.

"Smoke a cigar," Talia answered, giving the thick length in question an elegant flick. "Drink hard liquor and..."

Talia paused to take a small puff from her cigar.

"And?...." Garibaldi wheedled, anticipating the answer.

".....play poker," Talia finished with a humorous grin. The laughter that rose from the table was infectious and Ivanova couldn't help a slight smile.

"So, Ivanova, can you join us?" Garibaldi suddenly asked, and the commander realized that she was still standing in the chief's entry way. "Ms. Winters has assured us that there would will be no 'mind reading' afoot," he added jokingly, and Ivanova watched the telepath's eyes drop.

"No tricks," was her soft assurance, and there was a hidden weight to the words that the commander could not miss.

Michael had framed the question in a manner that gave Susan a way out; she could plead that she still had duty to attend to, and so avoid making up a more transparent excuse in order to decline spending time with the Psi-Corps telepath.

Garibaldi fiddled with the deck and appeared to wait with some agitation for Ivanova's answer. Franklin's gaze held a mild interest in his smooth, handsome features, and Ms. Winters....

Ms. Winter's eyes were downcast, gazing intently at her scotch glass on the table, her cigar idle in her fingers as it curled smoke near her light gold hair. She was waiting.....her apprehensive, slim frame motionless in a kind of expectant fear, waiting for Ivanova's answer.

"Deal me in," Ivanova threw casually out into the air, and unhooked her EF jacket.

Relief broke on the chief's face as he grinned widely and crisply shuffled the deck of cards. The telepath's eyes rose, warm with a soft gratitude. As Ivanova approached the table, stripping off her jacket to toss it carelessly over Garibaldi's couch, Talia's eyes widened appreciatively......

That night, they had been only women, Susan remembered, closing her eyes to touch the memory once again. No Earthforce, no Psi-Corps present. The jovial banter of their male companions had faded from their awareness as she and Talia played cards, often ending up the last to try to out bluff the other for mutually growing piles of playing chips. Each chip that clinked on the piles before them had seemed to reflect each precious moment accumulated where they learned just a little bit more about each other. Through the haze of cigar smoke and the accompanying, pleasant buzz of expensive, well aged scotch, Susan had stared into Talia's warm eyes and realized that she wanted her. She had always wanted her.

And she had wanted her so much.

On the hotel terrace, in the icy unforgiving night rendered powerless by the hum of overworked enviro controls, the blonde luxuriously stretched to her full length, slender limbs uncurling to taut rigor with sleek, pantherish languor. The thin fabric of her Psi-Corps uniform stretched and rode up the prominent curves of her chest, tugging insistently at the breasts. Ivanova watched the arched, slender back tremble slightly with the tension, then settle languidly back into the reclined chair.

The long lines of her body looked so soft, so yielding in their repose.

Ivanova stood up, and left quietly for the bathroom.

She stripped down, not caring where her clothes fell and entered the shower unit, keying a hard, hot, massage burst. As the water pounded her, drenching her head and body, she allowed the torrent of emotions and longing raging in her heart to release the long held tears from her eyes. For a while, she cried.

The AP could boast however much she wanted, of how she had manipulated the circumstances of Susan and her own Talia's love. Susan had known the undeniable truth the first time she had truly looked deep into her Talia's eyes and beyond even that; their love had been real, and nothing the construct could profess could make that less so. But knowing this did not make the longtime lost any less painful....

Wearily, Susan finally switched the controls from its relentless downpour to a fine, widespread, misty rain, the gentle drops now flowing softly down the surfaces of her flushed skin as she turned and welcomed the more forgiving spray. Sighing heavily, she moved her hands to slick back the thick, wet strands of her dark hair and allow the water to flow through their length. The woman sitting out there was going to be the death of her, Ivanova decided, emotionally exhausted.

It had been far, far too long a day, with their having gained more hours of daylight from crossing the Atlantic. Perhaps it was because she was so tired that she did not realize someone was at the shower door before it was too late.

The panel slid back abruptly, Susan's head snapping up in surprise as her large blue eyes took in the sight of the telepath, fully unclothed, stepping deliberately into her shower. Like a virginal school girl, Susan's hands suddenly moved to cover herself--

A foolish gesture, she knew, but the rapid pounding of her heart was far too loud for her to recognize any such wry observations by her mind....

The shower's fine cascade lightly struck Talia's gold hair, possessing strands of the soft, billowed substance with the clinging weight of water. Her smoky, blue eyes were narrowed, softly intent and shining with a profound, knowing quality. She seemed to approach with an agonizingly sensual slowness, taking all the time in the world for Ivanova to comprehend the frank desire in her gleaming eyes.....

So like her, Susan's baffled brain affirmed like a mantra. So like her so like her so like her--

She was becoming lost to this heady, euphoric conviction--to droplets beading jewel-like on a welcoming, smooth, pale throat, to the irresistible pull of her own mouth's parched desire to lick the moisture gathering on a beautifully turned upper lip--somewhere, in the recesses of her awareness, Susan's hand somehow fumbled at the water temp's control--

And keyed it for ice cold.

The beat of one second, and Ivanova found her wet, nude self unceremoniously ejected from the bathroom, the door shutting with a loud impact into her behind.

"OW!! Talia!!!" Susan exclaimed turning to find the unit locked and its handle rattling fruitlessly in her insistent hand. Groaning, Susan gave up and beat her forehead in frustration on the door, realizing that the discomfort of her wet body becoming clammy from the room's cool air was doing nothing for the visions that still flashed in her head of an equally wet, naked telepath.

So Susan beat her head some more on the door.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: ICARUS

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