On her second pass around the dance floor, Talia was glad to find Arthur Malten talking to Ambassador Delenn. The Minbari would be a good distraction for him, keeping his mind off matters that were up in the air. Up in the air was right where she wanted to leave those matters.
“Thank you for coming,” said Captain Sheridan. “It was a pleasure. We are pleased to have you here. Think of us during the appropriations. Have a good conference.”
To his credit, thought Talia, he managed to say the same thing a hundred times without sounding like a broken soundchip. She was reduced to a simple smile as the conference attendees filed out of the reception on Blue-16. They’d closed the place down, at the preset hour of 23:00. Almost no one had left early, save for Ambassador Delenn, and the proprietor of the cafe was tallying up the bar tab with a smile on his face.
“Detail two,” said Garibaldi, “escort as many of these folks as you can to their quarters. We don’t want them wandering off to other parts of the station.”
“Technically, they could go to the casino,” said Talia.
Garibaldi scowled. “Do everything but read them bedtime stories,” he told his people, “I want them in bed. I’ll go with you.”
The security chief and his officers took off after a knot of attendees who had halted in the corridor to study their door keycards. Soon those who needed help were taken underwing, and no one was left in the cafe except the workers, tidying up. Talia yawned, and Captain Sheridan looked at her sympathetically.
“I feel the same way,” he admitted. “The conference business is not for me—too much conversation. But I think it’s been successful, so far.”
Talia nodded. “Captain, they are having a grand time. For this group, they were doing handstands they were so happy. Some of these people never feel welcomed anywhere, and you put them at ease. After a few rough spots, the ambassadors fit in very well, too. Although I was disappointed that Ambassador Kosh didn’t come.”
The captain shrugged. “Well, you know Kosh.”
Talia shook her head and laughed, because both of them knew that was a very dumb remark.
“I’ve got to get to bed,” said Sheridan. “My mind is a jumble. I suppose a few hundred telepaths will do that to you. Good night.”
“Good night, Captain.”
Talia watched the captain go, feeling good about shutting the place down, being the one to turn out the lights. Despite a few personality conflicts, this was a successful conference so far. Of course, she reminded herself, this was only the first official function out of two hundred and sixteen panels, seminars, luncheons, and meetings. So there was plenty of time for something to go wrong. But each day without incident was a feather in her cap. Now Psi Corps knew who she was and what kind of territory she had, and B5 was more than an acronym to them.
She stepped down to the corridor level and took a slow stroll toward the exit. All things considered, it was good to know that there was an upward path for her in the commercial sector. But what price did those paths have? It wasn’t just the obvious pitfalls that had her worried, but the hidden ones, the ones worked out between Malten and Bester while her back was turned.
And what exactly did they want with her interspecies experience? While it had commercial applications galore, it also had military applications. She didn’t want to become an experiment gone awry, like the only man she had ever loved. Nor did she want to become a spy against alien races, such as the Minbari. She had to tread very carefully, eyeball everything, and get it all in writing.
Talia wasn’t particularly surprised when she felt his presence waiting for her around a bend in the corridor. He was being sweet again, trying to be apologetic. He would make it up to her, he promised, for those several awkward moments. All his fault, he assured her. Talia smiled and was about to tell him to buzz off for the night, because she really was tired.
“Arthur,” she began, rounding the corner. But it wasn’t Mr. Malten.
It was Mr. Bester. She glared at him, and he smiled at her.
“That is anatomically impossible,” he said. “But a popular sentiment.”
Talia sputtered, “You … you pretended to be …”
“Yes, I know,” Bester conceded. “It is very difficult to work around a corner, and the signal is weak—but I can do it, if I know the person. The advantage, as you saw, is that you can pretend to be someone else.”
“I don’t appreciate that,” said Talia.
Bester’s smile faded. “Now you sound like your boyfriend, always whining. This is the big leagues the two of you want to play in, so you had better come ready to play ball.” He smiled at her. “Do I make myself clear?”
Talia swallowed. “Okay, what do you want to approve my reassignment to the Mix? If that’s what I decide to do.”
Bester licked his lips. “We shouldn’t talk about this out here in the corridor. My room is right down there.”
Talia smiled. “I know exactly where your room is, and there’s a recreation room even closer. It’s perfect for talking. Or a quick game of Ping-Pong.”
“Of course,” said Bester with a disgruntled expression. “Lead on. I could use some recreation.”
The room was empty, and Talia had to wipe her gloved hand over the wall panel to activate the lights. As she had specified, the Ping-Pong table had four new paddles and a package of balls; there was a chess set on one of the card tables, and decks of cards on the other two. In the corner was a compact weight-lifting machine with a video screen for instruction.
“How are you at Ping-Pong?” she asked.
“I react very quickly,” answered Bester. “I used to be quite good. But that wasn’t the game I had in mind.”
Talia sat at one of the card tables and opened up a deck. “Isn’t it odd, but everywhere you look there are invitations to gamble. You would think members of Psi Corps would be above temptation, but it comes after us just as much as anyone.”
“It is the resistance that makes us strong,” answered Bester, making a fist to dramatize his point. He took a seat opposite her and smiled. “Again, that is not the game I had in mind.”
“How much will it cost me to work for the Mix?” asked Talia point-blank. “And leave Mr. Malten out of the equation.”
“That is wise to leave Mr. Malten out,” said Bester with approval. “He started the Mix, but now it has outgrown him. It could perform as well without him as with him.”
Talia stared evenly at the Psi Cop. “So it has to be something I can pay for, on my own. How much?”
Bester leaned forward and asked hoarsely, “How badly do you want to go?”
Talia smiled. “Not that badly.” She leaned back in her chair. “Is there an economy rate?”
Bester laughed. “You still haven’t found the game I want to play yet. I want to play show-and-tell.”
“How do you play that?” asked Talia suspiciously.
“It’s very simple,” said Bester, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I show you a picture of your Uncle Ted—that would be Theodore Hamilton—and you tell me where he is.”
Bester tossed a photo of a rakish man with long blond hair onto the table, and Talia was stunned by the juxtaposition of her Uncle Ted and Mr. Bester. One was a ne’er-do-well lady-killer, and the other was, well, Mr. Bester. She laughed with both relief and amazement.
“I can get into the Mix by telling you about my Uncle Ted?” she asked puzzledly.
“You don’t have to tell us anything about him, except where he is.”
Talia looked helplessly at the Psi Cop. “I think, when I last saw him, I was about fourteen years old. He was just headed for Mars.” She peered at Bester. “Oh, I see—this has something to do with Mars.”