Voices

Chapter 6

Garibaldi still hadn’t managed to escape from the docking area. He was assaulted from all sides. “Excuse me, Mr. Garibaldi,” sneered a cadaverous-looking woman in a black uniform. “These arrangements are simply not acceptable. I can’t possibly share a bathroom with somebody!”

“The person in the next room is another woman,” explained Garibaldi, checking the manifest and room assignments on a handheld computer. “You see, Blue-16 is crew quarters, and we haven’t got unlimited water or space. The only doors that open to the bathroom are from your two rooms. You just lock the other door when you’re using it and leave it neat, and …” He waved his hands. “Pretend you’re at summer camp.”

The older Psi Cop batted her eyelashes at him. “It’s my security I’m thinking about. I don’t know if you know this, young man, but I’m a VIP on the Mars Colony. The terrorists would like my head.”

A dozen snappy comebacks competed for attention in Garibaldi’s mind, but he didn’t use any of them. “Lady,” he said slowly, “everybody here is a VIP. A VIP and half a credit will get you a cup of coffee. We threw this shindig together for Psi Corps in two days, and we’re not the Ritz-Carlton on our better days—the least you could do is be gracious about it and sleep where we tell you.”

The lady Psi Cop snapped to attention. “I see that your overriding concern is for our safety, and that’s enough for me. Who is my bathroommate, if I may ask?”

Garibaldi checked his miniature screen. “That would be Ms. Trixie Lee.” He blinked at the name in remembrance. “Didn’t she used to be a stripper?”

“Yes, she was. It will be good to see her again.” The woman smiled slyly. “I was a stripper, too, at one time. It’s good training for a Psi Cop. Their minds are rather blank when you’re right in front of them, and you can …”

Garibaldi laughed nervously. “Yes, well, enjoy your stay. We are serving refreshments in the casino. Just follow the signs.”

“Casino?” said the woman, impressed. “Surely, we wouldn’t break the taboo on gambling?”

“Surely not,” answered Garibaldi. “The games are shut down.”

The woman lifted a heavily mascaraed eyebrow. “Mr. Garibaldi, do you consider strip poker to be gambling?”

“Yes,” he answered, pushing her along. “Next?”

Before he could prepare himself, Mr. Bester was in his face, oozing niceness. “Mr. Garibaldi, this is my colleague, Mr. Becvar. He has a security matter he needs to discuss with you, and I would appreciate it if you could accommodate him.”

Garibaldi smiled obsequiously. “We aim to please.”

With that, Bester left him with a handsome, dark-haired man who spoke with a Spanish accent. “Mr. Garibaldi,” he said, lowering his voice, “have you heard of the Shedraks?”

“Shedraks?” repeated Garibaldi, shaking his Head. “Sorry, that’s a new one on me.”

Mr. Becvar pointed to an air shaft. “They come in through the air ducts, and they strangle a person in his sleep. I insulted them when I was on Tyrol III, and they have been following me ever since, waiting to get me alone.”

He grabbed Garibaldi by the collar. “I am not making this up!”

“No, of course not,” said the security chief, calmly removing Becvar’s gloved hands. “How do we stop these … these Shedraks?”

“The air vents,” the man answered. “You must plug them up, do you understand?”

The chief consulted his handheld device. “Let me see what room you’re in, Mr. Becvar.” He paused a moment. “Oh, that’s excellent! You have room 319, which is one of the quarters equipped with special baffles on the air vents. We can close those from central command!”

Mr. Becvar groaned with relief “Oh, I am so glad.”

“And I’ll have my people keep an eye out for Shedraks here at the dock,” Garibaldi assured him. “Are you okay with sharing a bathroom?”

The man shrugged. “As long as there are no air vents.”

“We’ll close them up, too.” Garibaldi pretended to make a note. “Just follow the signs to the casino, and have a good time, Mr. Becvar.”

The handsome man nodded and shuffled off, glancing worriedly at the air vents over his head.

Bester sidled up to Garibaldi. “Thank you, Mr. Garibaldi. Mr. Becvar had an unfortunate assignment several years ago, and he suffers some aftereffects. If you can believe it, he is a brilliant instructor on blocking techniques. He works at our center at Syria Planum. I understand you know about that facility?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” asked Garibaldi cheerfully.

Bester’s face darkened. “No, they do not. I would advise you to keep that information to yourself.”

“I don’t know why a training facility on Mars should be such a big deal.”

Bester scowled. “Everything about Mars is a big deal. I need your assurance on this matter.”

“Okay,” said Garibaldi, “I won’t mention it again.”

Bester nodded curtly. “That is wise. Oh, hello, Mr. Pekoe, welcome to the conference!”

Garibaldi breathed a sigh of relief as Bester moved off to greet an Asian contingent of telepaths. Captain Sheridan stepped next to him and smiled.

“How is it going, Chief?”

“I love Psi Corps.”

“Have they asked you to do anything you can’t handle yet?”

Garibaldi considered the question for a moment. “Actually, they have, but I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing it.”

Sheridan patted him on the back. “You’re doing a fine job, Garibaldi. Opening the casino to them was a stroke of genius. I think that’s the key to our success, to keep them busy.”

“The casino was Ms. Winter’s idea,” admitted Garibaldi. “I wonder where she is?”

“I hope she’s enjoying herself,” answered Sheridan. “She’s an attendee at this conference, remember that. We’re the hired help.”

As Talia Winters and Arthur Malten dallied outside Emily Crane’s quarters, Talia lifted her mouth to meet his. She worked around his goatee and moustache to give him a kiss that she hoped showed interest, but not too much interest. Malten was divorced, she knew, and he could do more for her career than anyone she had ever met. Nevertheless, she had to go slowly.

Talia decided to detach her mouth before their thoughts started intermingling, and she pushed him away gently. She was blocking for all she was worth, and so was he. That was good. It showed a healthy amount of distrust on both their parts. She wasn’t sure she could handle another full-blown relationship with a fellow telepath. The last one had nearly torn her apart.

“I have to get to work,” she said. “Don’t you have some sort of high-level discussion to go to?”

He smiled boyishly. “I suppose I should go to the casino and see some old friends. Will you be there later?”

“That’s my plan,” she answered, “after I check out the arrangements on Green-12. If I don’t make it, I’ll see you at the reception.”

“Fine.” Malten bent to kiss her again, and the door slid open. Emily Crane peered out, not hiding her shock and disapproval.

“Excuse me,” she said, starting to close the door. Her hand fumbled around on the unfamiliar wall panel, trying to find the right button.

“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 c-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 shelllike 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!”