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!”