Voices Page 7

  “It’s all right,” Talia assured the woman. “I was just coming to help you. Sorry breakfast dragged on.”

  “Terrible service,” Malten added. “I will have to speak to the captain about it. I’ll see you both later.”

  The dapper telepath started down the corridor, then he turned abruptly. “Oh, Ms. Crane, I won’t be needing you to come to the budget meeting with me tomorrow. Ms. Winters will be coming with me. So you can concentrate on scheduling, the newsletter, and such. Thank you.”

  He walked away with a jaunt to his step, and Talia could feel Emily’s eyes drilling into her.

  “That was f-fast,” said the small woman.

  Talia slipped into Emily’s guest quarters, where the smell of paint was still strong, and she shut the door behind her. “Hey,” she began, “if there’s something going on between you and Arthur, just tell me. In fact, I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me about him.”

  Emily Crane went back to her bed, upon which were spread reams of transparencies. She was stacking them together into different combinations of names, panels, and meeting rooms, preparing to run off corrected transparencies.

  She swallowed and waved helplessly at one of the piles. “The moderator of the sleep deprivation seminar has c-canceled,” she said. “He says that his equipment was lost. Can you think of anyone?”

  Talia folded her arms. “Is that all you want to talk about?”

  Emily lowered her head and screwed her face into a bitter frown. “I love Arthur. He doesn’t think of me … in that way. When I heard that the two of us would be coming here alone, I hoped, being away from the office, we could …” She swallowed and couldn’t finish her thought.

  Talia felt like putting her arm around the young woman, but she didn’t really know her very well. Besides, the answer was - no, they weren’t an item. And one awkward, unexpected relationship at a time was more than enough.

  “Come on,” said Talia, picking up a stack of transparencies. “We’ve got a show to put on. This kind of conference isn’t only about tax laws and penal code - there’s a sexual undertow that’s difficult to avoid.”

  Talia gazed at herself in the small mirror over the vanity, and she saw an attractive woman, flushed by the power she was having over people. Yes, she was only a P5 among P1Os and P12s, but let’s face it, she was better adjusted and better looking than most of them.

  “It’s about control,” said Talia, fluffing her blond hair. “And what’s better for control than sex? You planned to use it, didn’t you? I like Arthur, but I would have to think twice about getting involved with another telepath.”

  “I’m already involved,” said Emily.

  “I would forget about him, in that way,” Talia advised. “Unless I’m totally wrong about him, I would guess he plays the field.”

  “Will you be going to the budget meeting with him?”

  “Yes. I may never get another chance to meet these people. Arthur calls B5 a backwater, and maybe he’s right when it comes to these kind of high-level contacts. So I should meet as many of them as I can, before they go away.”

  The small woman gave her a knowing smile. “Watch yourself.”

  “These Minbari,” said a portly telepath from the military, “we’ve got to get all of them off the station. Immediately!” He looked around at the bustling dock area and lowered his voice. “They could be spies.”

  Garibaldi also looked around and lowered his voice. “I’m pretty sure some of them are.”

  “Then why don’t you get them off?” the telepath demanded.

  The chief shrugged. “We aren’t at war with them, for one thing.”

  “That’s temporary,” scoffed the military telepath. “With the Wind Swords and the Sky Riders and their other warrior castes getting the upper hand, it’s only a matter of time. I’m an expert in Minbari intelligence, and I tell you we have to get them out of here. They’re vicious! They could try to kill us!”

  Garibaldi looked at the portly man and sure hoped that he didn’t look like that in his similar uniform. “This is your basic free port,” he explained. “Our charter is that we’re diplomatic - we like everyone. Even Psi Corps. The Minbari helped to finance B5, and this is their most important diplomatic mission with the EA. We can’t just throw them off B5”

  The telepath muttered, “What a stupid place to hold this conference.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Garibaldi. “So is there anything else I can do for you?”

  The military liaison bumped the security chief with his stomach and glared at him with piggy eyes in a florid face. “I’m serious, Mr. Garibaldi. I won’t stay on a station with Minbari present. My life would be worth nothing!”

  Garibaldi looked around in desperation and spied a savior. “Lennier! Lennier!” he called.

  The friendly Minbari strolled over in his rustling satin robes. He crossed his arms and smiled angelically, the shell-like crowns on his head looking like a halo.

  “Lennier, do you want to kill Mr… . What’s your name?”

  “Barker,” said the man in shock.

  “Why, of course not,” answered Lennier. “I don’t even know Mr. Barker, and I’m sure if I did know him, I would lay down my life for him.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” answered Garibaldi. “Mr. Barker, meet Mr. Lennier, who is the aide to Ambassador Delenn and a member of a religious caste, not a warrior caste.”

  Lennier smiled beatifically. “Quite pleased to meet you.”

  The portly telepath glowered at the Minbari. “I was just telling Mr. Garibaldi that I wanted your people cleared off the station.”

  “What a novel idea,” answered Lennier thoughtfully. “If this would be in the manner of a paid vacation, as you call it, I’m sure we could negotiate it. Would you like to go to the casino and discuss the arrangements? Where would you be willing to send us? Acapulco? Io?”

  Mr. Barker looked helplessly at Garibaldi as Lennier led him down the corridor. The security chief gave him a shrug and added, “He does it with kindness.”

  The chief stifled a yawn and tried to unglue his eyes. If he didn’t get some sleep soon he would probably say or do something that would start a war.

  He handed his computer terminal to a subordinate and told him, “Just agree to whatever they want, and contact me in an hour to explain it. If it’s not too unreasonable, we’ll give them whatever we can. But don’t contact me before an hour unless it’s an emergency.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the officer.

  Garibaldi looked around briefly for Captain Sheridan. Not seeing him in the crush of dignitaries, quadrupled security, and regular traffic, he gave up and wandered off. The simple act of rounding a corner and walking away from those oppressive black uniforms and that holier-than-thou attitude made him feel ten times better.

  Just to relax for a few moments, to watch a few old cartoons, and forget all about Psi Corps - it probably wasn’t possible, but it would be nice to try. He had done all he could, put all the people he had right where they ought to be, alerted them to all the possibilities. Sure, something could go wrong - it wouldn’t be B5 if it didn’t - but a major breakdown in security wasn’t likely. With a little cooperation and a lot of luck they could get through this. Then Sheridan would owe him one. Big time. There was still an awkwardness between them, born of unfamiliarity. This would go a long way toward easing that.

  Garibaldi was feeling pretty good about himself as he got out of the transport tube and headed into the homestretch of the corridor outside his quarters. He didn’t even hear the footsteps pounding up behind him until it was too late.

  A bearlike body whirled him around and shook him by the shoulders. In his blurred vision it looked like a scarlet monster, seven feet tall! Garibaldi tried a karate chop, but a brocaded forearm knocked his hand away and gripped his arms.

  The alien sputtered as he talked. “How on Centauri Prime could you close down the gambling! What’s the matter with you? You call yourself a host?�
��

  Garibaldi focused on the big spiked hair, the throbbing dome of a forehead, and the jagged teeth, bared in a snarl. “Londo,” he muttered, “if you knew what kind of day I’ve had, you’d have some pity on me.”

  “And what kind of day do you think I’ve had?” countered Ambassador Mollari in his peculiar accent. “First, I come within a hair of breaking the dice table, but my, er, escort was getting sleepy and I had to tuck her into bed. Then I go back to the casino, thinking I will double my jackpot, and what do I find? Gaming tables shut down, by order of Mr. Big Shot Garibaldi!”

  The Centauri poked Garibaldi in the chest with a stubby finger. “They cannot even give me my winnings until you - you personally - open up the tables again! So what is this, huh? A conspiracy? Did G’Kar put you up to this?”

  “Please,” Garibaldi begged, “just give us a few days without gambling. We’ve got all these Psi Corps telepaths on board, and they can’t gamble.”

  “Well,” scoffed Londo, “they don’t have to gamble if they don’t want to! Let them play fish, or old maid, or whatever they do in Psi Corps. In case you hadn’t noticed it, Garibaldi, I am not in Psi Corps. I do not wear those drab, funereal outfits. I wish to frolic. I wish to gamble. I wish to do whatever I was doing before they got here!”

  “Amen to that,” said the chief. “But it’s only four days. I’ll tell them to release your winnings to you, and maybe we can open up the tables for a few hours while they’re in their seminars.”

  Londo grinned and narrowed his eyes slyly. “You know, Garibaldi, if these Psi Corps are not allowed to gamble - and they are in charge of everything else - then gambling is the one activity they are dying to do. Why don’t you arrange it, and get some compromising visuals on them. Excellent opportunity here, Garibaldi, for what you might call a little office politics.”

  “I’m too tired to blackmail anybody today,” yawned Garibaldi, backing to his door. “But thanks for the idea.”

  “I could do it for you,” offered Londo. “Might be a bit of fun.”

  “Don’t mess with these people,” Garibaldi warned. “Take that as an order, and a good piece of advice. Humans who are full of themselves - you want to stay away from.”

  The Centauri frowned. “What does that mean? ‘Full of themselves’?”

  Garibaldi took out his identicard. “Well, they’re people who are pompous, who think the universe revolves around them, who think they’re better than everybody, and deserve special treatment.” He pushed his card into the slot, and the door opened. “Like nobody you would know.”

  “I should hope not,” said Londo with mock horror.

  Before Garibaldi could seek refuge in his dark cave, his link rang. He rolled his eyes, debating what he would do, although he knew he would answer it. “Garibaldi here.”

  “Chief, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a major incident in the casino.”

  “Who? What?” he snapped.

  “It’s G’Kar. He’s beating the crap out of one of the telepaths. Captain Sheridan just waded in to break it up.”

  Londo shouldered past him on his way to the lift. “Tell the telepath I am on my way to help him!”

  CHAPTER 7

  The muscle-bound Narn lifted a squirming, black-suited Psi Cop over his head and bounced him off the bar. He rolled into a glass shelf and brought a row of bottles crashing down all around him.

  “That is enough!” barked John Sheridan, stepping in front of G’Kar and pushing him back.

  “Unhand me, Captain,” snarled the alien, his spotted head pulsating with agitated veins.

  “No!” said Sheridan. “This is a public place, and we have guests aboard the station. If you want to fight someone, then how about you and I step outside?”

  “Wait, sir!” called Garibaldi, charging into the hushed casino. He pushed his way through the crowd that was pressing around the action.

  “G’Kar, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded. Londo peered over the bar at the bloodied Psi Cop and pointed back at G’Kar. “I will help you press charges against this ruffian, if you like.”

  The Narn shook his head and got flustered. “Well, it … it was an overpowering feeling I got from him that he wanted to kill me.”

  “All you got was a thought?” asked Sheridan.

  “It was a very clear threat,” answered G’Kar.

  The security chief snapped his fingers and pointed at his staff. “Get a medteam on that man.”

  “Already called,” the officer replied.

  Garibaldi glared around at the blank-faced telepaths surrounding him. “Were any of you with the wounded man before the fight started?”

  A young female Psi Cop stepped forward, the black looking good on her. “Hoffman offered to bet us that he could plant a thought in the Narn’s mind, as a sort of experiment. I don’t know what he mistakenly put there, but the Narn jumped out of his seat and commenced to pulverize him.”

  The medteam, led by Dr. Stephen Franklin, rushed into the casino, and this distraction killed the possibility of further interrogation. Captain Sheridan leaned over the bar and noticed that the Psi Cop was bloodied but moving about, even fighting the medics who were waving smelling salts under his nose.

  The captain narrowed his eyes at Ambassador G’Kar and was still angry at the Narn for starting this battle. Or did he start it?

  “Listen, you hotshots!” called Garibaldi, demanding the attention back. “Even counting all of you, humans are the minority on this station. We also had an incident last night, so be careful!”

  “Rest assured, that man will be punished!” crowed a voice from the back. Heads turned as Mr. Bester shouldered his way through the crowd. He peered over the bar at the wounded man with a smile of satisfaction. “He will be stripped of all his rights and duties.” Bester smiled. “After a proper hearing, of course.”

  The Psi Cop turned magnanimously to G’Kar. “My dear Ambassador, please don’t allow this incident to spoil your evening. Even telepaths sometimes forget that every gift has a price. Their price is responsibility and discipline. Gambling, abuse of power - these are things we do not tolerate.”

  Bester bowed and clicked his heels. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, Ambassador G’Kar.”

  Londo leaned against the bar and muttered, “Oh, brother.”

  But G’Kar smiled and bowed, looking like he was imitating Bester. “Apologies accepted. Communications are our greatest difficulty, I have always said.”

  “I hope you’re going to attend the reception tonight,” said Bester.

  “Why, yes, I am.”

  Dr. Frankin poked his head above the bar and told Sheridan, “He’s sedated. He has a broken wrist and a lot of cuts, but his injuries don’t appear to be serious.”

  “Throw him in the brig,” suggested Bester.

  Franklin frowned. “I think medlab would be better.”

  “Medlab it is,” ordered Sheridan. “With restraints and a guard.”

  The doctor nodded, and they lifted the unconscious Psi Cop onto a stretcher and took him out. This gave Captain Sheridan a chance to look around at the strange gathering. Garibaldi looked exasperated and exhausted; Londo was eagerly absorbing a description of the fight from the bartender; and Bester and G’Kar acted like old college chums. Strangest of all, thought the captain, he was surrounded by a roomful of humans who seemed more alien and unpredictable than the aliens on the station.

  Sheridan realized he had been quite mad to allow this conference on B5. The longer it went on, the more likely something dreadful would happen. There was just too much tinder, too many matches lying around. He heard a voice in his mind, that same little voice that alerts the captain just before his ship hits an iceberg or an asteroid. The danger, said the voice, was just under the surface, waiting for the right moment to rip them apart.

  Garibaldi and Ivanova had tried to warn him, thought the captain, but that didn’t do them much good now. He had pigheadedly plunged ahead and let Psi Corps bring t
heir conference, and all their baggage, right to his doorstep. Their first site had been bombed, as if that shouldn’t be hint enough! Despite all their hard work and dedication, B5 was by design a sieve, a zoo without cages. Whatever was he thinking about?

  Well, it was time to make amends and stop depending on his staff to get him out of this mess. “Garibaldi!” he called.

  “Yes, sir?” The security chief didn’t bother to salute.

  “Go back to your quarters and sleep until you have to get dressed for the reception. I figure that will give you almost three hours.”

  “But, sir,” said Garibaldi, “there’s so much going on here …”

  Sheridan lifted his hand. “Link, have all calls for Mr. Garibaldi routed to Officer Lou Welch until twenty-hundred hours. He will assume Garibaldi’s duties. Captain Sheridan out.” He looked sternly at Garibaldi. “Before you go, is everything all right for the reception on Blue-16?”

  “We’re shutting down the cafe in about an hour, and we’ll reopen with full security.”

  “Good,” answered Sheridan. “Tomorrow I want everyone searched who is going in and out of the conference rooms.

  Garibaldi looked thoughtful. “We were going to do a hand-scan on anyone who entered Green-12. Plus, we were going to eyeball for Psi Corps insignias. Did you have something more elaborate in mind?”

  “I don’t want a strip search,” said Sheridan, “but look inside handbags, briefcases, backpacks, handheld stuff. Pat them down, if need be.”

  “That’s fine with me,” agreed Garibaldi. “I was going to suggest it, but I didn’t think they would let us get away with it.”

  “As long as it’s by the book,” said Sheridan, “let’s use whatever means are at our disposal. This may discourage them from going in and out of Green-12 too much.”

  “What are we looking for, sir?”

  The captain smiled wistfully. “Some peace of mind. But I don’t think we’ll find it until they leave.”

  He hated prowling the corridor waiting for her, but he didn’t know how else to approach Susan, without making it look something like a coincidence. Fortunately, Harriman Gray was one of those people who blended in. He didn’t blend in very well when he was playing the odious role of the hard-boiled telepath, ready to leaf through a person’s mind like a nosy visitor snoops through a person’s medicine cabinet; but he could blend in well enough when there were crowds and a swirl of people.