“Come forward Captain Queeg.” he beckoned. “Come, sit with me.”
Queeg sat on the chair opposite Nightland.
“All goes well my lord.” he said. “The rendezvous with our allies went well. We agreed upon their time of arrival.”
“I hope Boglob doesn’t blow it.” said Nightland. “He can be very impatient at times.”
“And what of the weapon?” asked Queeg.
Nightland turned to his side and motioned. A few seconds later the mysterious Mordin came out of the shadows. He was still wearing his black robes.
“This is Brother Mordin.” said Nightland. “It was he who laid his hands on the weapon, and it was he who smuggled it aboard the station. Show it to him.”
Mordin reached into his robes and pulled out a large rectangular-shaped box. He placed the box on the table and opened it. A red glow began to emanate from it. Mordin took the contents of the box out. The weapon seemed to resemble a blaster of some kind.
“Who will use it?” asked Queeg.
“Mordin is the only one with the skill and knowledge.” said Nightland. “We will use the weapon while your men and Boglob’s warriors will create the diversion.”
“I hope this weapon of yours will work.” said Queeg. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble convincing people about this.”
“I still don’t get it!” said Garibaldi. “The sensors show that someone was trying to get into the computer, but the computer itself says otherwise! How can that be?”
“If someone did break into your computer the only way they could disguise the fact is by covering their tracks.” said Ro.
“How many people have the knowledge to do this?”
“You mean that are currently on the station? It must be at least two hundred people. Anyway, we haven’t time to worry about that now. We’ve still got to finalise this evening’s arrangements.”
Garibaldi sat in his chair and began to rub the tiredness from his eyes.
“I know. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Maybe I should set a trap in case someone else tries to gain unauthorised entry in the system.”
“At last.” said Ro. “But don’t take too long. We may actually get some work done around here.”
Not every part of the station was looking forward to the evening’s events. In some parts of the alien sector they couldn’t care less about the new president. All they cared about was making a dishonest living. These, of course, were the dregs of Babylon 5, those who cared about only one thing: cold, hard cash. It was in this area of the station that one of the visiting dignitaries entered. This was hardly the place you would have expected a member of the Federation senate to visit, but visit it he did. In the Senate Lord Hargen was known as a very tough customer, able to make even the mightiest of senators cringe under heavy questioning. It was this skill he hoped to use in this sector of the station.
As Hargen approached the air chamber that separated the air breathers from the methane breathers he was greeted by many strange looks, mainly because of his robes. They hardly expected a member of the Senate in this area. As he came to the air chamber he took one of the many oxygen masks that hung on the wall and then entered the chamber. Waiting for the light to change from yellow to purple he then entered the sector for the methane breathers. Mist swirled around at knee height as he continued to get many strange looks from the aliens. This did not bother Hargen as he soon found the alien he was looking for. The alien was at least a foot taller than he was, and he though it stood upright it resembled a preying mantis, an insect that could be found on Earth. This alien was obviously born on Hybernoptia, the same planet as the Valkyrie’s chief engineer, Lt. Commander Lom.
“What brings one of the senate to this sector?” asked the alien. “Those here are not interested in the new president.”
“I know of your lack of interest in these matters.” said Hargen. “But I did not come here because of that. I want a map of this station.”
“What sort of map?”
“A map of all the secret places on this station. All of the passageways, everything.”
“I must know the reason you want this map.
Hargen reached into his robes and took out a small pouch.
“Ten bars of gold press latinum is the only reason you need.”
If the insectoid could have smiled he would have. He reached out for the pouch but Hargen snatched it away.
“Only on receipt of the map. I am no fool. Do not treat me as such.”
The insectoid paused.
“Meet me here in one hour. The map will be ready for you.”
It was half past ten in the morning now, and the new President had allowed himself the luxury of a lie-in, and on this morning he needed it. Like many of those at the previous evening’s reception Watt had drunk too much, and he was feeling the worse for wear. It seems that even immortals were capable of getting hangovers.
Watt slowly walked into his bathroom and washed his face with ice cold water, hoping that this would get rid of some of the pain. It did not. He slowly walked into his bedroom again and over to his communications panel.
“Presidential quarters to Med-Lab.”
“Dr. Franklin here. What can I do for you Mr. President?”
“Can you come over here Stephen and bring something for a hangover?”
It was five minutes later when Dr. Stephen Franklin, chief medical officer of Babylon 5, arrived. He arrived with a rye smile on his face.
“You’re the twentieth hangover I’ve treated today.” he said. “The only one of your staff who seems sprightly is Commander Ro.”
“It was probably the Romulan ale we had when we first arrived.” said Watt.
Franklin reached into his bag and pulled out an injector. After checking the dose he injected Watt in the arm.
“There, that should do it.” said Franklin.
Watt began to rub his temples.
“Four hundred years ago I would have been drinking egg yolks!” said Watt. “Thank you Doctor.”
Watt began to get to his feet but suddenly felt very dizzy and groggy.
“What is it Mr. President? What’s wrong?”
Watt placed his hand on his head.
“I suddenly feel…dizzy…weak!”
The only thing that stopped Watt from slumping to the ground were Franklin’s arms. The Doctor managed to move Watt over the bed and lay him down. He then took out his tri-corder and began to scan Watt. He moved the instrument up and down Watt’s body.
“The tri-corder shows you have a slight temperature, but nothing more. Yet I can tell form just looking at you that you’re feeling weak! Have you ever felt like this before?”
Watt found it difficult to speak. Nevertheless he tried.
“Only…one time…before…in the year…2001.”
“What happened? What treatment were you given?”
“I wasn’t given any treatment. I was killed by a cavourite
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