Voices

Chapter 11

Garibaldi pounded his knuckles together and looked at the bulk of his security staff, most of whom had been on duty the morning before in Green-12. He prowled around the briefing room, peering at their dour expressions.

“I know we’re pretty down now,” said Garibaldi, “but that assignment is over. Let’s move on to the next one, which is to find out who had anything to do with that bombing. Now, who inspected Ms. Winters when she entered Green-12 that morning?”

“I did, sir,” said Molly Tunder, a young woman who looked mostly Asian.

“What did you find in her bag?”

Tunder shrugged. “Nothing that struck me as odd. Cards, a conference program, notes on a transparency.”

“And a data crystal,” Garibaldi put in.

The young officer shook her head. “No, sir, I don’t recall a data crystal.”

“But she told me she had one,” the chief insisted.

“I suppose,” said the officer, “she could’ve been holding it in her hand.”

“How did she appear to you?” asked Garibaldi.

“Out of sorts, distracted. But then, it was a stressful situation—the searches and pat-downs. And I couldn’t spend much time with her.”

Garibaldi knew the feeling. He would rather be down in the brig now talking to Talia, but he couldn’t hold her hand and find the real culprits at the same time. There were a million things he wanted to do at once, but he had to calmly step through them.

“Detail one, you’re at the beginning of your shift,” he said. “As soon as we’re finished here, you head Down Below and shake the trees. See if anybody knows anything about anything. And see if you can find Deuce, although I suspect he’s already left the station. Deuce has the good sense not to get caught in a bombing.”

His link buzzed, and the chief answered curtly, “Garibaldi.”

“This is Rupel in the brig. Ms. Winters has a visitor, and she’s demanding to see him.”

“Who is it?”

“Ambassador Kosh,” came the answer.

“Kosh,” muttered Garibaldi. Relationships between humans and aliens were hard to explain, but he knew there was one between Talia and Kosh. Maybe the ambassador could help her get good legal counsel. On the other hand, the Vorlon often lived by his own rules, and who knew what they were?

“It’s okay,” he said. “But have someone present. I’m going to be down there in a few minutes to talk to Ms. Winters. Out.”

He turned off his link and looked at the expectant faces. “I’ve already got Jenkins’s report about finding Ms. Winters in the corridor after the blast. Did anybody else see anything?”

There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence before Garibaldi realized that even the professional observers hadn’t seen anything. They were as mystified, sickened, guilt-ridden, and angry as he was.

“All right,” he concluded, “you’ve got your assignments. We’re looking for Martians, the forensic team is at the scene, and some of us are going Down Below. The good news is that all the telepaths are either gone or on their way off the station, except for the Psi Cops. There are still about fifty of them on B5, so stay away from them. Don’t argue legalities with them. If they try to provoke anything, send them to me or Captain Sheridan.”

Garibaldi nodded grimly to each of them in turn. “Dismissed.”

The word “brig,” decided Talia Winters, must have been a euphemism for a kennel. That was the way it felt to her—an airy, roomy, and bare cage for a person, with as much personality as a slab of concrete. She had lots of privacy due to the fact that there was nobody else in B5’s neglected brig. Had the place been crowded and the dozen-or-so cells full—she didn’t want to think of the bedlam.

Talia prowled her cell like a panther, ever moving, watchful, and ready to spring. At what? The cells were protected by a double cardkey system—first mechanical locks on each individual cell, then a barred doorway operated by cardkey. She didn’t know how many guards waited outside the barred door, but she had seen several already.

Suddenly the door opened, and a massive figure filled it. Talia’s heart pounded with hope, although this figure was a very strange savior. A bundle of exotic fabrics and armor as smooth as porcelain, Ambassador Kosh glided into the room and stopped a few meters in front of her cell. The head-gear nodded, and little tubes and orifices sniffed the air.

“It is the Hour of Longing,” said Kosh in his twinkling, synthesized voice.

Talia snorted a derisive laugh. “You’ve got that right, Ambassador Kosh.” She shook her head in amazement. “Everything going fine, and somebody lowers the boom on you. But I’m glad to see you. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, including a time just before the bomb went off.”

She could see the guard edging closer to overhear them.

“Excuse me,” she said, “can we have some privacy?”

“I’m afraid not,” the guard answered politely. “Mr. Garibaldi’s orders.”

“Oh, is that right?” she seethed. “Bless Mr. Garibaldi for keeping the deranged terrorist under a close watch!”

“Anger is a blue sea,” said Kosh.

Talia blinked at him, suddenly realizing that she could try to talk to Kosh in that cryptic language of allusions that he often employed. If only she understood it. Well, there was no time like the present to give it a try.

“This pickled herring would join the other ones,” she said.

Kosh’s bulk leaned forward. “The wings fly at midnight.”

“I want to see the World Series,” Talia remarked.

The guard squinted at both of them and leaned forward curiously.

“Apple pie,” said Kosh, “and hush puppies.”

“Inna Babylon, do you know Babylon?” she asked in a Jamaican accent.

“Gone, like the pickled herring.”

“The eagle flies on Friday.”

“Invisible Isabel,” answered Kosh. He turned to the guard and bowed. “Our business is concluded.”

The guard stopped scratching his head long enough to go back and open the door to the outer chamber. Ambassador Kosh swept out with grandeur, even in this place.

The guard gave Talia a quizzical look and said, “I don’t know what happened there, but Garibaldi is on his way down. He wants to talk to you.”

“I refuse to see him,” she declared.

“I’ll let you tell him that,” said the guard.

“Tell me what?” asked Garibaldi, sweeping into the detention center.

“I refuse to talk to you without my counsel present,” Talia claimed.

“Not even if it’s to clear your name?” he asked incredulously.

She crossed her arms and regarded him warily. “If it’s not, I’m going to clam up. I’m tired of talking, because nobody listens. What is it?”

“You told me you had a data crystal in your bag. Is that correct?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Was it a real crystal, one you had accessed before?”

“Yes, it was,” answered Talia. “It had statistics for the meeting, and I was studying it the day before.”

Garibaldi frowned, as if he didn’t want to hear that. He continued, “The officer who checked you in didn’t find a data crystal in your bag. Did you have it in your hand, or a pocket that we might have missed?”

Talia frowned, trying to remember bits and pieces of that terrible morning. “Oh, yes,” she answered slowly. “Somebody had borrowed it and then given it back to me.”

Garibaldi leaned forward. “Who?”

Talia started to speak but paused. After what she had gone through, she was reluctant to give out Emily Crane’s name and put the poor woman through the same thing. Besides, she was certain that Emily Crane wasn’t a terrorist bomber. In fact, the blast had nearly killed her beloved Arthur Malten, and that let Emily out of the equation completely.

“I’ll remind you,” said Garibaldi, “whoever put that bomb in your bag meant for you to die, too.”

Talia screwed her eyes shut and tried to keep from losing it. “Are you sure the data crystal was a bomb?” she asked.

“No,” admitted the chief. “But it’s an object that we know somebody else gave you. Since that’s what you say happened …”

“It is what happened,” she insisted.

“Okay, then,” said Garibaldi, “this is information you need, for your defense.”

“Listen,” said Talia, “I don’t want to unleash Bester and his people, plus all of Earthforce on this poor woman. I really believe she couldn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Maybe,” conceded Garibaldi. “We think the same way about you, but …” He didn’t finish the thought.

Talia nodded bitterly. “That’s why I’m not going to put this woman through what I’m going through.”

“Come on,” begged Garibaldi. “I promise, I’ll check her out personally. Listen, you’ll need to talk to her, anyway, for your own defense. I won’t give her name out until I’ve checked her out first.”

“You really promise that?” asked Talia. “Because if I see her in this cell next door, and we’re both innocent, I’m coming after you.

“I promise,” said Garibaldi with a lopsided smile.

Hoarsely, the blond woman said, “Her name is Emily Crane. All I know about her is that she works in the Mix with Mr. Malten.”

Garibaldi pressed his link. “Ivanova, it’s me. Can you tell me if Emily Crane has left the station? She was one of our recent guests, a commercial telepath.”

“Hang on,” said the second-in-command. Several long seconds ticked off before Ivanova reported, “She left in the first transport out. Her boss, Malten, was shaken up, and she was taking him home.”

“And where might home be?” asked Garibaldi.

“The destination of the transport is Earth. That’s as specific as it gets. They should be there in a day or so.”

“Thanks. Out.” Garibaldi shook his head. “Earth. Not much chance of me going there real soon.”

Talia laughed nervously. “Me either.”

“I’ll look up her branch office,” said Garibaldi. He leaned against the bars of her cell, looking like a sad basset hound. “I’d love to get you out of here, but we’re in enough hot water already. Besides, you’re safe here. So, is there anything I can get for you?”

“A hacksaw.”

Garibaldi had a pained expression on his face. “How about some reading materials?”

She slumped onto her bed and yawned. “Not tonight, okay? I had my dinner, and I think I just need to sleep.”

“I’ll bring you some books in the morning,” said the chief. He started out and turned. “I’m sorry about this. We’ll find some way to get your life back to normal.”

“Or what passes for normal,” said Talia. She stretched out on a thin mattress resting atop a metal frame that was welded to the deck.

“Say, what time is it?” she asked.

Garibaldi checked his link. “Let’s see, twenty-three-forty.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you have a nice visit with Ambassador Kosh?”

“Good night.”

She rolled away from him, and her eyes darted about frightenedly as she waited for him to leave. Finally, she heard the door ooze shut. She sat up in bed, looking around. There was a surveillance camera in each corner of the room, with its own area to cover, but otherwise, she was alone.

Or was she alone? What had Kosh meant by Invisible Isabel? That had been a game, right? A practical joke. There were no invisible people, really. Although who knew what there was in the Vorlons’ advanced culture? She knew she had picked up the trace of a voice on Red-3, after she had eliminated all the visible people in the cafe. Whatever it was, it had been real to Kosh, too.

There were only twenty minutes left, she remembered, before Kosh was going to make his move. But what was his move? What was her part in it? How could she get off the station, even with the Vorlon’s help? She had to calm down, Talia told herself, and stop asking questions for which there were no answers. If indeed Kosh had agreed to help her escape in twenty minutes, then he would. If she had misinterpreted his signals and he didn’t help her, she was no worse off. One way she was a fugitive, but in the other way she was a prisoner with a celebrated murder trial ahead of her.

She half-expected some calm voice of reason and responsibility to take her aside and tell her that escape from Babylon 5 was crazy. Not only that, but it would make her look guilty. Even the people who defended her now would stop defending her, and probably chase her. But for some unfathomable reason, Talia knew that she could get off B5, and that she had to get off, if she wanted to stay alive. Moreover, she bad to go to Earth if she wanted to clear her name. It was mad, but she had to do it.

In the clear light of madness, Talia stopped to think about Emily Crane. What did she really know about the small woman who stuttered? She was a licensed telepath specializing in the ad business, but maybe she had deep roots to Mars and the separatist movement. Maybe, in fact, the dark-skinned woman had actually tried to kill her, plus Bester, Malten, and the ones she had succeeded in killing.

What was that old expression, “the banality of evil.” Ms. Crane was a banal person, a cipher among the rampant egotism of Psi Corps. Maybe that was just the sort of person a terrorist agency depended upon to infiltrate and do its dirtiest work.

Talia rubbed her eyes and plucked at the white jumpsuit and white gloves she was wearing. It had seemed a logical choice in clothing when she had put it on in her quarters—something comfortable for lounging about the cell—but now it seemed too flimsy and insignificant to get her all the way to Earth. What had she been thinking?

Without really knowing the time, Talia looked up, knowing that something was about to happen. If, she asked herself, there was an invisible being name Isabel in this detention center, what should Isabel be doing? That was easy—she should be unlocking the cell door.

The lock was on a box about two meters beyond the door, and it was operated by an electronic cardkey. In addition to the electronics, a mechanical bolt held the door shut. Talia concentrated on the bolt. Although she wasn’t a locksmith, part of her espionage training at Psi Corps had involved the picking of locks and a few other counter-intelligence measures. She knew how a lock ought to work and how it ought to look inside. She couldn’t get her hands inside the lock—but that was okay, she had Invisible Isabel. She was beginning to suspect that Isabel was tied to the telekinetic powers given her by Ironheart.

Concentrating very hard, Talia thought about being an invisible person who could slip into a small place and turn the tumblers. She could see her tiny hands running over the miniature components, bypassing the electronics to go directly to the mechanism. When the tumblers tripped, the bolt would spring back. Move the tumblers, pull the bolt, she told herself, just the way you move your lucky penny. She ignored the sweat running down her face, slicking strands of blond hair to her pale cheeks. Talia thought only about Invisible Isabel and her tiny fingers. She was real, the telepath told herself; she was real, and she could move those small tumblers. She could, she could …

When the click sounded, it was like waking up from a dream. Talia heard her cell door creak open before she could even focus her eyes on it. She stood and pushed it wide open. There was no overwhelming sense of freedom as Talia stepped out of her cell, only terrible fear of what she was about to become. All her life, she had toed the line, done the right thing—a good daughter, a good student, a willing recruit to Psi Corps, and a hard worker ever since. There had been one or two romantic lapses, but youth had to be served. Since then, she had trod the straight and narrow.

She told herself that she was already considered a terrorist, a murderer, and a traitor, and she was about to add fugitive to the list. And rogue telepath. Of all the terrible labels, that one frightened her the most. Maybe she could clear herself of the other charges, but once a rogue telepath

Talia had wandered to the front of the outer door, wondering if she was supposed to open it the same way. There was a small window in the door, and one of the guards jumped up and looked at her in amazement. She didn’t hide from his startled gaze. What was the point?

The guard ran to his desk and started to pick up his PPG pistol and a cardkey, but he suddenly did a very strange thing. He started to move like a man who thought he was weightless, like a man who couldn’t decide how to put his feet down. A second later he staggered and collapsed to the floor.

Talia pressed her face against the small window and could see two more guards lying unconscious on the anteroom floor. She looked instinctively at the air vents—if there was a gas, it was invisible. Just like her friend.

The seconds seemed to drag on, and there was nothing to do but stand there and wait for the next act of this surreal drama. In a few moments, the door on the other side of the anteroom—the one to freedom—opened, and Ambassador Kosh glided in. If the Vorlon was surprised by the sight of three guards lying unconscious on the floor, it didn’t show in his movements. He went straightaway to the desk. When he stopped, a small mechanical claw issued from his ornate robe and picked up the cardkey. Then it extended over a meter to insert the card into the slot, and the door opened.

Talia walked into the anteroom. When she didn’t faint, she knew the gas had dispersed even if its effects remained in force. She looked at Kosh, wondering what he would do next. The Vorlon’s robe opened, and a little shelf slid out.

Upon the shelf was a Minbari robe and hood. She took the hood and put it over her head. It not only hid her face, but it hid the fact that her head didn’t look like the hairless, crested dome of a Minbari.

“I’ll be tall for a Minbari,” said Talia with a humorless smile.

Mr. Bester was sitting up in his bed. He still looked terrible, thought Mr. Gray, and his mood was even worse. Gray almost felt sorry for the man who stood in front of him, getting a dressing-down.

“Captain Sheridan,” growled Bester, “how dare you defy me! You cannot delay justice forever. I will get that woman in my custody—it is inevitable. If you persist in blocking me, it will mean the end of your career! After that pathetic show of security, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Senate was already picking your replacement. And if you defy me, and the will of the Senate, by letting Talia Winters elude justice—nobody in the Earth Alliance will be able to save you!”

Sheridan’s lips thinned. “Are you done?”

“No!” shrieked Bester. “I’m just beginning. By tomorrow morning, my people will have talked to the senators on the judicial committee. We will have a reversal of your foolish policy so fast that you won’t know what hit you!”

“As a matter of fact,” said Sheridan, “I’ve already heard from several Senators. They are putting the pressure on me, and so is Earthforce. But I told them exactly the same thing I’m telling you—this crime was committed on Babylon 5, and that’s where we’ll try it. We won’t rush to trial either. Our investigation isn’t complete, and Ms. Winters deserves the best legal counsel we can find, It may take weeks, or months.”

Bester twisted in anger and followed it up with a grimace and a howl of pain. Dr. Franklin, who had been hovering nearby, stepped between them.

“Captain Sheridan,” said the doctor, “this man is due to receive artificial skin grafts in one hour. If you can’t talk to him without aggravating him, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“But he summoned me!” protested Sheridan.

“That doesn’t matter,” said the doctor. “He’s the one who’s lying in bed, wounded.”

Bester croaked, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m calm. Sheridan is fighting a losing battle here, and he knows it. If he wants to go down fighting, that’s his business. I’ll be happy to take him down.”

There was some commotion in another part of the medlab, and Gray looked up to see Garibaldi and another security guard rush into the room. Garibaldi had been looking terrible for days, thought Gray, and now he looked worse than Mr. Bester.

“Captain,” said the security chief, “we have a major breach in security.”

Sheridan visibly blanched. “What’s happened now?”

Garibaldi sighed and looked at Bester. “I guess we can’t keep it a secret.” He turned to the security guard who accompanied him. “Tell them what happened, Rupel.”

The guard shook his head, as if he still wasn’t sure. “It was peaceful at the brig, nothing was going on. And I looked up and saw Ms. Winters standing on the other side of the door, out of her cell!”

“What did you do?” asked Sheridan.

The man shook his head. “I started to go for my weapon and the cardkey and … that’s all I remember. The next thing I know, I wake up on the floor, and the other two guards are out cold, too. She got clean away.”

With horror, Gray glanced down to see if Mr. Bester had been seized by fits of anger, but the Psi Cop was unaccountably smiling. In fact, he looked pleased with the shocked expressions all around him.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Garibaldi,” said Bester. “Your incompetence has just ended a lot of pointless debate. A telepath who is fleeing prosecution is automatically classified as rogue.”

Bester smiled with the delicious irony of it. “Now that Talia Winters is a rogue telepath, we don’t need anybody’s permission to go after her. Mr. Gray, call my subordinates in. We’re going to bring down a rogue.”