Delenn smiled knowingly. “Ah, that is often the case. Although you are the one who has to make the decision, my opinion is that B5 will remain a most advantageous base for your career.”
Talia looked down at her drink. The greenish liquid seemed to mimic her murky thoughts, and she wanted to throw it out and get something clean.
But a thought touched her mind, a sweet one, and she looked up to see Arthur Malten, now dressed in a very conservative dark-blue suit. Even his eyes were smiling.
“You look lovely tonight, Talia,” he said. He turned to Delenn and bowed. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Ambassador Delenn?”
“You do,” she replied.
“Arthur Malten,” he announced. “Of the Mix. I have spoken to many of your colleagues.”
“Yes,” said Delenn, “and we must talk about the proposed branch office you wish to open on Minbar.” She smiled at Talia. “But not tonight.”
“Yes,” said Malten, grabbing Talia’s hands through her black velvet gloves. “I’m afraid I must take Ms. Winters away for a moment. Mr. Bester is here, and he’s in a very good mood, granting favors left and right.”
“Right this moment?” asked Talia hesitantly.
“No time like the present,” Malten replied. “At least that’s what I’ve always heard.”
“Haste makes waste,” countered Delenn. “Isn’t that also one of your proverbs?”
Malten glanced at the Minbari. “I’m very decisive,” he told the ambassador. “When I see what I want, I go after it. I’m patient, too, if need be.”
“An admirable trait,” said Delenn. “It is easy to be decisive, difficult to be patient.”
But Malten was already whisking Talia Winters away.
Chapter 8
Talia stiffened her back as she strolled across the Blue-16 cafe. Part of it was the touch of Arthur Malten’s bare hand on her wrist. Why wasn’t he wearing gloves? she wondered. Probably just another example of his well-known penchant for rebellious behavior.
She wanted to tell Arthur that she hadn’t made her decision yet—but then she was dazzled by the sights, sounds, and voices of a roomful of influential telepaths. Many of them turned to look at her and Malten, and the attention was alluring in its own right.
Did she really want to bury herself on a station full of alien life-forms and alien concerns? Or was this where she belonged—with her peers, in the midst of important decisions that affected the entire Earth Alliance? These were the people who made the Senate and Earthforce jump, the ones chosen by natural selection to lead.
She put on her most placid smile as Arthur steered her toward Mr. Bester. He was surrounded by his usual black-suited band of sycophants, with a handful of military and commercial telepaths in attendance as well.
When Bester saw Talia and Malten approach, he smiled expectantly, the scorpion waiting for the beetle to come closer.
“Good evening, Mr. Bester,” said Talia.
“Good evening, Ms. Winters, you look lovely.” He glanced with disinterest at her escort. “Hello, Malten.”
“Hello, Mr. Bester,” said the tall man. He gestured around at the gayly decorated cafe, jammed with people. “Don’t we owe Ms. Winters a debt of gratitude for pulling all of this together so quickly?”
“Yes, we do,” agreed Bester.
Talia shook her head politely. “Captain Sheridan, Mr. Garibaldi, and the entire staff of B5 are the ones who did it. I merely asked them.”
Bester smiled. “Don’t underestimate your powers of persuasion, Ms. Winters.” He glanced at Malten. “I’ve seen them at work.”
Malten bristled slightly but kept a polite smile on his face. “I think we all realize how valuable Ms. Winters is. Although Babylon 5 is an important post, it’s rather removed from the action. There are many of us who feel that Ms. Winters is being wasted here and could better serve Psi Corps in another capacity. Closer to Earth.”
Bester shrugged. “She would make a wonderful rogue-hunter, but with a P5 level, what can we do?” Several of the Psi Cops chuckled.
“We could use her in the Mix,” said Malten.
Bester continued to smile, but he looked more threatening than friendly as he fixed his dark eyes on the entrepreneur. “One would almost think, Mr. Malten, that you were trying to get a monopoly on all the talented commercial telepaths.” His eyes narrowed. “Getting greedy is not a good idea.”
Well, thought Talia, this conversation was certainly going downhill. “I see Ambassador G’Kar,” she said, “and I wish to hear his side of the incident, which I missed. If you’ll both excuse me.”
Walking off, she heard Malten hiss to Bester, “That was uncalled for!”
Talia took a deep breath and decided not to bother G’Kar after all. He could be a bombastic sort, and she didn’t really want to hear a blow-by-blow account of some bar fight. Despite the cheerful dance music that was playing, Mr. Gray looked lonely, standing by himself at the bar. So she headed his way.
“Hello, Mr. Gray,” she said, grabbing a seat at the counter. As an afterthought, she added, “Do you mind if I sit here?”
He blinked at her from his dazed reverie. “Not at all, please have a seat. Are you having a good time?”
Distastefully, she set her glass of wine on the counter. “It’ll be better after I get a new drink.”
Gray twisted his hands nervously. “Ms. Winters, you’ve spent more time among aliens and even regular humans than I have. Can I ask you something?”
She smiled at him. “Certainly.”
“Can a telepath and a nontelepath love each other?”
Talia smiled, thinking about Garibaldi. “I’m sure it happens all the time, on a superficial level. Whether a telepath and a mundane could stay together for sixty years and watch their grandchildren grow up, I don’t know. I would think the odds are against it. On the other hand, I haven’t seen many nontelepathic couples stay together for a long time either.”
She motioned around the room. “Don’t you find it amazing that so many of our kind are either single or divorced? We’re all lone wolves.”
“Yes,” said Gray worriedly. He took a seat beside her and lowered his voice. “When I signed up for Psi Corps, I didn’t know it would preclude living a normal life. They told me they would bring out my abilities, not kill everything else.” His shoulders slumped. “I suppose, as long as one party is telepathic, there will always be distrust.”
“And when both are telepathic,” Talia added, “it’s too intense to last long.”
“So all we have is each other,” said Gray, “and we can take very little solace in that.”
“None,” answered Talia.
She looked up and saw Arthur Malten headed their way, a peeved look on his face. She grabbed Gray’s gloved hand. “Would you like to dance?”
He beamed with surprise. “Thank you, I would.”
They escaped to the dance floor moments before Malten caught up with them. Talia could see him by the bar, sulking. She guessed that Mr. Bester had turned down his request to have her reassigned. Drawing on her usual optimism, Talia wondered if this wasn’t for the best. The conference had barely started, and people were fighting over her. She supposed that was good, although it felt rather vulgar to be fought over like a head of cattle.
Mr. Gray was actually an accomplished dancer; he didn’t step on her toes, and he kept a respectful distance. Talia used the roving platform of the dance floor to survey the other attendees at the reception.
Garibaldi and Sheridan, both of whom looked like they were at a wake, gave in to moments of polite laughter followed by long periods of somber realization. Of the ambassadors, G’Kar had the biggest following, and most of them were military telepaths. Apparently, bashing a Psi Cop could make you very popular with the military. Londo had brought an attractive Centauri woman with him, and they had quite a retinue of telepaths following them from one hors d’oeuvre table to another. The Psi Cops gravitated around Bester, and the commercial telepaths had broken up into small groups and couples. Hmmm, thought Talia, if she could find Emily Crane, perhaps she could introduce her to Mr. Gray. But the small woman in the peach dress was not in her line of sight.