Voices

Chapter 3

“Well,” said Garibaldi, leaning over a stack of diagrams, “we’ve got the Blue recreation room. You can have that. Unless our work crews fall asleep, a couple of Blue meeting rooms will be ready. The cafe in Blue Sector is under private contract, but the proprietor says he’ll have it open in time for the reception.”

“We’ll want to run a security check on the proprietor,” said Talia Winters. “And we’ll need more than a couple of meeting rooms. The idea of this conference is to break off into smaller discussion groups. Intimate gatherings.”

Garibaldi cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll bet.”

Talia pursed her lips, but she let it pass. “What about the meeting rooms on Red and Yellow?”

The security chief scowled. “I’m trying to keep all of your people in the Blue Sector, and pretty much seal it off. For their own safety.”

Talia smiled even while she shook her head. “No way, Mr. Garibaldi. These people don’t like to be told that certain places are off limits. No place is off limits for them.”

“Wait a minute,” he protested, “I can’t give them complete run of the station! You don’t want them Down Below, do you? With that element. Or in the Alien Sector. What if they meet up with the carrion-eaters? I can’t protect them on every square centimeter of every cargo bay of B5.”

“I think you will find, Mr. Garibaldi, that most telepaths are capable of taking care of themselves. Besides, most of them have never been to Babylon 5. They’ll be disappointed if they don’t receive the full experience.”

“Is that so,” grumbled Garibaldi. “You know, Ms. Winters, we’ve had our share of murders and disappearances here, and a couple of the other Babylon stations were blown to bits. The full B5 experience is not what I really want them to have. I want them to have a safe, boring experience. I want them to go back to their slimepits and say, ‘Gosh, that B5 was the most boring place I’ve ever been. There is certainly no reason to go back there again.”

Talia’s icy-blue eyes burned into him. “This is only our first day of planning, Mr. Garibaldi, and I will not allow you to start insulting the Corps. If we have a problem we can’t resolve, I suggest we get Captain Sheridan to arbitrate it.”

“I’m doing exactly what the captain wants,” the chief countered. “He wants us to look like grown-ups, no more Wild Frontier stuff. He wants B5 to look like a proper place to hold a high-level tкte-а-tкte, and I don’t blame him. The more money we can bring in by ourselves means the less we have to rely on our allies and the Senate.”

Now Garibaldi looked into Talia’s eyes, something he did not mind doing whatsoever. “Look, Talia, B5 is not a swank resort, and that was their first choice. Security is going to be stretched like we’ve never been stretched before, just dealing with the arrivals. We haven’t had time to get the word out, so all of our regular traffic will be piling up at the docks. I’m not saying we can’t do it, but have a heart!”

“All right,” conceded Talia, “we will label certain areas, such as Down Below, cargo bays, and the Alien Sector as ‘Travel at Your Own Risk.’ In the handouts, we’ll advise the attendees not to go there. Satisfied?”

“Not exactly,” muttered Garibaldi. As Talia was not going to back away from him, and her closeness was making him nervous, he found a chair and began to go over the diagrams again.

“Okay,” he told her, “Green Sector has a business park that hasn’t been opened yet. It has a lot of standard offices and meeting rooms, even a few larger rooms for light manufacturing. Hey, that’s nice—a few of these offices have dual-atmosphere. Anyway, I guess your folks could take over the whole business park. So you’ll sleep in Blue-16 and party, or whatever you do, on Green-12.”

Talia sat on the desk and crossed her legs, and the tight gray skirt rode up to midcalf. “Panels mostly. I’m moderating a panel on currency exchange, and I’m going to attend two seminars on mining law. You know, everybody thinks when telepaths get together, they study telepathy. Hell, we already know about that. We have to bone up on the other stuff, that everybody else knows.”

“Okay,” said Garibaldi, “so maybe this won’t be so bad. And if it gets too boring, we can always send for some Martian terrorists to liven things up.”

The telepath sat forward, looking grim. “You won’t let that happen, will you?”

Garibaldi lowered his lofty forehead at her. “Let us say that nobody will get into Blue-16 or Green-12 except your people and my people. But you had better give the attendees an advisory about the rest of the station.”

He frowned. “And I’ll give the rest of the station an advisory about them.”

“We do want to be able to use one more room,” said Talia. “The casino.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Telepaths aren’t allowed to gamble. Why would they want to go there?”

Talia insisted, “Just to have someplace fun and cheerful to go. Would you like to be cooped up in a bunch of boring offices and crew quarters? You said it before, this isn’t a luxury hotel, but we should go the extra centimeter to make it pleasant. The casino would simply give them someplace to go, to mingle with the populace. As for the gambling, shut down the games.”

“Shut down the games?”

“Out of consideration.” Talia tossed her sleek blond hair and leveled him with her firmest gaze. “Look, Garibaldi, I’ve given in on everything. You are getting it as easy as I can make it. Don’t you think you can give me one thing—a place to party, as you call it. I will go to the captain with this, if you insist on fighting me.”

“No, no, leave the captain alone,” said Garibaldi. “He’s up to his eyeballs in VIPs, and they’re not VIPs I want to see.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Talia, pulling up the flap on her leather glove to check her timepiece. “I really should be going to meet them.”

Garibaldi pushed the link on the back of his hand. “Link, take a memo. For the benefit of our conference guests, the station is assigning extra security to Blue-16, Green-12, the docking area, connecting corridors, and connecting tubes. Oh, and the casino. The attendees will be told that all other areas are to be entered at their own risk. They are not protected in the other areas.

He lowered his hand and smiled at Talia. “I believe in getting things in writing.”

“So do I,” agreed Talia. “Make sure you mention that gambling in the casino will be prohibited all weekend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Garibaldi. He spoke into the back of his hand. “Gambling will cease in the casino in exactly twelve hours, not to be resumed except by my authority. End memo. Priority distribution.”

Talia grabbed the diagram of the business park in Green Sector and studied it. “Are these spaces expensive? Maybe I’ll lease one, when this is all over.

“Lady,” said Garibaldi, “you get me through this, and I’ll make sure you get the nicest one—for free.”

Talia gave him her professional smile, the one that dazzled the opposition and made them realize they had been beaten. Garibaldi was suitably dazzled.

“Thank you, Michael,” she replied. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” Talia sauntered to the door and tossed over her shoulder, “I’ll get you a schedule of the panels.”

“Thanks!” he said, as if he really wanted one.

When the door finally shut, Garibaldi rolled his eyes toward the heavens. As miserable as this black cloud was, even it had a strand of silver lining. No matter what else happened in the next six days, he was going to be spending a lot of time with Talia Winters.

“Be still, my heart,” he told himself with a chuckle.

Talia Winters was a bit surprised to find no one waiting at the docking bay except for Captain Sheridan and half a dozen extra security officers. She didn’t expect a brass band exactly, but a small show of ambassadors or dignitaries would have been in order.

“Captain,” she said. “Are more people coming?”

“Hello, Ms. Winters,” he said, not dispensing with the niceties simply because she had. “We’ve got everyone working double shifts down in Blue Sector just to get it ready. Mr. Bester will have to be content with you and me.”

“What about Ambassador Mollari?” she asked. “Or Ambassador G’Kar?”

“What about them?”

Talia started to say that Commander Sinclair would have gotten the ambassadors to come, but she squelched that thought before it left her lips. Odd, she mused, how you didn’t notice certain qualities in people until they were gone. On the face of it, Captain Sheridan was a cultured, charming man; but underneath he was intractable, like a sword in a supple leather scabbard. Commander Sinclair had been intractable on the surface, but underneath he was open-minded, ready to sympathize and take risks. Perhaps too ready.

The captain gave her a pleasant smile. “Are you scanning me?”

“No,” she said defensively. “But I was comparing you to Commander Sinclair. I’m sorry.”

Sheridan nodded. “That’s understandable. When I came here, I was surprised to learn how popular my predecessor was. On Earth, they said he was crazy, a loose cannon, but here people thought he was a saint. Now compare that with the way General George Armstrong Custer was perceived during the conquest of North America. His commanders in Washington thought he was brilliant, but in the field, everybody knew he was crazy.”

“Perceptions are not what they seem,” remarked Talia. “That’s why we need telepaths.”

“You’ve never regretted joining Psi Corps?”

“No,” she answered, taken aback by the very idea. “Do you regret the training you had? Does a musical prodigy regret his musical training? We are seeing the emergence of a new talent in thousands of people, and it must be nurtured and regulated. Psi Corps is everything anyone could hope it would be.”

“But Psi Corps has become an issue,” the captain declared. “People fear it, people discuss it. People try to stop it. My predecessor at this station became an issue, and that’s what ultimately hurt him. That’s where I’m different—I want my presence here to be neutral, just enough to make the station run efficiently. So don’t expect me to go overboard, on anything.”

“Understood,” said Talia. “I sincerely appreciate your cooperation on this conference. However, Captain, I don’t think that Psi Corps can take a backseat any longer. We have a certain destiny to fill, and we need to be up-front about it.”

Sheridan nodded thoughtfully. “I would suggest you remember one thing, Ms. Winters—when you’re up-front, they’ll shoot at you first.”

Talia nodded curtly and stared down the walkway at the closed air-lock. On the eve of this important conference, she didn’t need to hear ominous warnings from her Station commander. On the other band, it was evident that they wouldn’t be here if terrorists hadn’t bombed that Martian hotel. Was Sheridan trying to tell her the same thing Garibaldi had been trying to tell her? Keep it safe. Keep it low-key.

Talia had been thinking just the opposite. She wanted to show the world that Psi Corps was more than a few failed cases of telepaths gone rogue, or sleepers getting depressed. Psi Corps meant commerce, diplomacy, military preparedness, and, yes, a more efficient government. Telepaths had their place everywhere, in every endeavor. That was the message she wanted the conference to spread.

But maybe Sheridan was right. Talia often ignored the backlash against Psi Corps as being mere jealousy from the mundanes. Perhaps it was more ingrained than that—perhaps people really did want to stop them. Although she didn’t agree with Captain Sheridan, she would heed his warning. The affair would be low-key, manageable, without controversy. Maybe it would even be slightly boring.

Sheridan’s link chimed, and he lifted his hand to answer it. “Yes?”

“Captain,” said Ivanova, “transport Freya has just docked. Your party should be disembarking any moment.”

“Thank you, Commander. Any word from the ambassadors about our invitation?”

“No, sir.”

“Sheridan out.” He lowered his hand, looked at Talia, and shrugged. “I did invite the ambassadors to attend the reception tomorrow night. But I never know what they’ll do. If you would like to talk to them …”

Talia shook her head and smiled. “No, Captain, let’s keep it low-key, shall we?”

He nodded. “I agree.”

The air-lock opened, and a man in a black uniform strode off the dock and down the walkway. He was followed by a slight man, who looked expectantly around the docking area, as if he was looking for someone. A handful of other passengers followed, and a few of them were also wearing Psi Corps insignia. None but Mr. Bester wore the black uniform of the Psi Police.

“Captain Sheridan,” said Bester as he produced his identicard. “Congratulations on your new command.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bester.”

The security guard nervously finished with Mr. Bester and sent him on his way. “Ms. Winters,” said the Psi Cop with a nod.

She smiled. “Mr. Bester.”

Talia was waiting for Bester to scan somebody, anybody, because he hardly needed any preparation. He did it with as much effort as it took to brush the lint off one’s sleeve. Plus, he had the authority to cut corners, which usually meant that he took what information he needed, from wherever it was in people’s minds. But the famed Psi Cop was on his best behavior; he waited patiently for the other members of his party to be checked through.

“Mr. Gray, how are you?” Captain Sheridan called to the young man in a chummy tone.

The military liaison stopped looking around long enough to smile. “I’m fine, Captain, thank you. Let me also congratulate you on your new post. Everyone at headquarters is pulling for you.”

Bester looked at the telepath with amusement on his ageless face. “Come now, Gray, not everyone. You were thinking about a certain general, for instance.”

Gray bristled. “I don’t believe I was. Excuse me, Captain, but where is Commander Ivanova?”

“Busy,” snapped Sheridan. “You won’t be seeing much of her, I’m afraid.”

Talia looked away from the flustered Mr. Gray to see who else from Psi Corps had arrived on the Freya. There was a small, dark-skinned woman, who fumbled with her identicard. Instead of her making the guard nervous, the guard was apparently making her nervous. Behind her, waiting patiently, stood a tall man with a professorial air to him, no doubt helped by his graying goatee. He looked older than the last photograph she had seen of him, but there was no mistaking the profound intelligence in his sad, dark eyes.

“Mr. Malten?” she asked.

He smiled apologetically but boyishly. “Pardon me, but I’m terrible with names. Isn’t that an awful thing for a telepath to admit?”

“Not at all,” she said, extending a gloved hand, “because we’ve never met. I’m Talia Winters, resident telepath on B5.”

The guard motioned Malten through as quickly as he could, so that he could complete their handshake. The distinguished telepath was beaming. “I was hoping I would run into you right away, Ms. Winters! May I present my associate, Emily Crane. She’ll be assisting you this week.”

The small, dark-skinned woman held out her gloved hand, and Talia took it. “Very p-pleased to meet you,” stammered Emily.

Talia smiled. “Likewise.” If it hadn’t been for the Psi Corps insignia on Emily Crane’s collar, Talia would never have guessed she was a telepath. She barely seemed the type who could tie her own shoelaces.

“Yes,” said Malten, “I’m turning Emily over to you. You’ll find her quite a whiz with newsletters, press releases, and such. I always find that a conference goes better when there are plenty of newsletters to keep everyone abreast of changes. Don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Talia.

Malten smiled proudly at the tiny woman. “Emily’s real job is chief copywriter for our firm.”

Our firm, Talia repeated to herself. It was amazing how blithely Malten could refer to Earth’s biggest and most prestigious conglomerate of commercial telepaths. The Mix, as it was known across the galaxy, had offices in virtually every corner of the Alliance, and on some nonaligned worlds.

Talia turned to Emily. “I’ve been reading about telepathic copywriting. How does that work?”

“Well,” said Emily, “say the client has an advertising campaign in mind, but they c-can’t express it in words. Or it’s only half-formed in their minds. We d-do a scan. We learn what they really want, even when they don’t know what they really want.” She grinned, happy to have gotten that speech out.

“Yes,” said Malten, “we started out thinking we could do the finished ads in-house, but it turned out to be more cost-effective to contract our services directly to the ad agencies. By the end of the year, we’ll have seven branch offices doing nothing but this.”

“You’ll have to c-come to my panel,” Emily added. “We’ll d-do a demonstration.”

Malten gave both women a gentle push down the corridor. “Looks like they’re leaving us behind.”

Talia turned around to see Captain Sheridan, Mr. Bester, and Mr. Gray walking briskly down the corridor about fifty meters ahead of them. All of a sudden, none of those three men seemed very important to Talia, not when the man beside her was pioneering the invasion of telepathy into everyday life and business.

“They’re just going to look at security grids and the like,” said Talia. “But I know a great place where we can get a Jovian Sunspot.”

Arthur Malten laughed. “I presume we can pick up our luggage from customs later tonight. Lead on!”

Needing the computer consoles, Garibaldi turned the briefing room into his temporary headquarters. For the umpteenth time, he rubbed his eyes and squinted at his screen. “Come on, Baker, are you going to tell me that you need four guys around the clock on one lousy access port?”

“That’s the primary access port for Green-12,” answered Baker. “If we’re going to seal it off, but let the VIPs through, we’ve got to have lots of eyes.”

“I’ll give you two guys,” growled Garibaldi, “and that’s only because one of them might have to go to the bathroom.”

Seeing the young woman’s crestfallen face, the chief added, “After we get most of these jokers through their arrival and customs, we can free up some people. I’ll give you backup as soon as possible.”

Baker smiled. “Thanks, Chief”

“One more thing,” said Garibaldi, “that is a crucial spot, and your people can’t leave it for anything. I don’t care if they have pee running down their legs, or bug-eyed monsters are eating everyone in sight, they cannot leave that post.”

Baker swallowed nervously. “Is it true they can make us see things that aren’t there? Put suggestions in our heads?”

Garibaldi nodded glumly. “I imagine they can. We won’t have much control over the people at this party—all we can do is keep other people from crashing it. I mean, if somebody from Psi Corps flips out and decides to blow up his buddies, we’re in a world of trouble.”

That thought was strong enough to put an end to all conversation in the briefing room. After a moment, Garibaldi waved wearily to the half-dozen subordinates who were still with him. “Go to bed. That’s an order.”

“Good night, Chief. ‘Night,” they muttered as they quickly filed out.

The security chief might have sat frozen in the position lie was in all night long, just worrying, too tired to move. But the lack of oxygen and sleep made him yawn. That yawn was enough to make him stand up, stretch his arms, and reach for his jacket.

Just when he was about to escape to his own quarters, his link buzzed. “Security,” he muttered into the back of his hand.

“Mr. Garibaldi,” said a voice. “It’s me, Talia.”

Oh, Lord, thought the chief, the ice queen. “What can I do you for, Ms. Winters?”

“I’m down in Red-3, with a couple of friends. I was wondering if you could take us on a little tour of the Alien Sector. Maybe Down Below.”

“What?” snarled Garibaldi. “Didn’t we just agree that your friends were not supposed to go down there?”

“Aw, come on,” said Talia. “The conference hasn’t even started yet, and these are real VIPs.”

No kidding. VIPs. Garibaldi knew he was going to get tired of hearing that real fast. On the other hand, it was Talia Winters. Late at night, in a party mood. Maybe he would get lucky.

“Red-3, you say?” He yawned and checked the PPG weapon hanging on his belt. “Order me a cup of coffee—I’ll be right there.”

And so it begins, thought Garibaldi, as he buttoned his collar and slouched out the door.