Chapter 24: Conference Room Alpha

The doors to Conference Room Alpha slid open with their familiar whisper, revealing a space that Ivanova remembered from countless briefings during the Shadow War. The same polished table, the same holographic display system, even the same slightly uncomfortable chairs that had somehow never been replaced despite years of complaints from the command staff.

Michael Garibaldi was already there, looking older and more battered than she remembered, with fresh bruises on his face and the kind of weariness that came from too many fights in too many dark places. But his smile was genuine as he stood to greet her.

"Susan Ivanova," he said, moving around the table with his arms outstretched. "Still making everyone else look bad, I see."

"Michael," she replied, accepting his embrace with the warmth reserved for old friends who had shared impossible dangers. "You look terrible. What happened to your face?"

"Long story. Involves Drazi, bad intelligence, and my continuing inability to duck fast enough." He stepped back, studying her with the practiced eye of someone who had spent years reading people. "You, on the other hand, look like command agrees with you."

"Most days," Ivanova said, then turned her attention to the woman who had been watching their reunion with polite interest.

Captain Elizabeth Lochley was younger than Ivanova had expected, with blonde hair pulled back in regulation style and the kind of steady gaze that suggested she didn't miss much. Her uniform was immaculate, her posture perfect, and when she extended her hand, her grip was firm without being aggressive.

"Captain Ivanova," Lochley said. "It's an honor to finally meet you. Your reputation precedes you."

"Captain Lochley," Ivanova replied, studying the other woman with the same careful attention she might give to a potential opponent. "I hope it's not all bad."

"Depends on who you ask," Lochley said with a slight smile. "Though I have to say, the stories about your diplomatic skills are probably exaggerated."

"Which stories would those be?"

"The one about you threatening to throw the Drazi ambassador out an airlock comes to mind."

Ivanova felt her own smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That wasn't a threat. That was a promise. And technically, I was going to use the waste disposal system."

"Ah, my mistake. Much more civilized."

Garibaldi looked between the two women with obvious amusement. "Are you two going to keep circling each other like a couple of cats, or can we get down to business?"

"I like her," Ivanova said to Garibaldi, though her eyes remained on Lochley. "She's got spine."

"I like her too," Lochley replied. "She's got style."

"Now that we've established mutual admiration," Garibaldi said, settling back into his chair, "maybe we can talk about why we're all here. Because I have a feeling this isn't just a social call."

Lochley's expression grew serious as she activated the room's security protocols, ensuring their conversation would remain private. "President Sheridan briefed me on the situation with the Excalibur and the Drakh stronghold. I've also been informed about the... complications you both encountered en route."

"Complications," Ivanova repeated. "Is that what we're calling assassination attempts these days?"

"Someone really doesn't want this mission to succeed," Garibaldi added. "The question is who, and how far they're willing to go to stop us."

"That's what we need to figure out," Lochley said. "But first, there's something else we need to discuss. Dr. Franklin."

The mention of their old friend's name brought a moment of silence to the room. Ivanova felt her chest tighten with worry that had been building for months.

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

"Not good," Lochley replied. "The last communication we received from Earth was three weeks ago. He's been working around the clock at Earthdome Medical, trying to coordinate the plague research efforts, but..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The stress is taking its toll. He's lost weight, barely sleeping, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion."

"That sounds like Stephen," Garibaldi said grimly. "He always was too stubborn to know when to quit."

"It's worse than that," Lochley continued. "According to my sources, he's been taking stims to stay awake, using his medical knowledge to push his body beyond its limits. He's convinced that if he just works hard enough, long enough, he'll find the answer."

Ivanova closed her eyes, remembering the brilliant, compassionate doctor who had saved so many lives during their time on Babylon 5. The man who had fought his own addiction to stims years ago, who had learned the hard way that some battles couldn't be won through sheer force of will.

"He's killing himself," she said.

"Slowly but surely," Lochley agreed. "And the worst part is, he knows it. But he can't stop. Won't stop. Not while Earth is dying and he thinks he might be able to save it."

"Then we'd better make sure this mission succeeds," Garibaldi said, his voice hard with determination. "Because if we don't find that cure, Stephen's going to work himself to death trying to create one from scratch."

Ivanova nodded, feeling the weight of another life added to the scales. It wasn't just about Earth anymore, or the billions of people facing extinction. It was about their friend, their colleague, the man who had patched them up after countless battles and never asked for anything in return except the chance to help.

"All right," she said, straightening in her chair. "What's the plan?"