He turned to go, and he nearly bumped into Lennier, Delenn’s aide. The Minbari jumped sprightly to get out of the way.
“Excuse me, Mr. Lennier,” said Sheridan, “I’m sorry. Did I step on your foot?”
“It’s fine,” said Lennier. “I keep forgetting, human hearing is not very good, and I should clear my throat when I approach.”
“Well, if you’re waiting to see Kosh, he’s not receiving visitors.”
“No,” answered the Minbari, “I was waiting to see you, Captain Sheridan.”
The captain shrugged. “I have a few minutes. But I warn you, it hasn’t been a good week. So I hope you or the ambassador don’t have some terrible problem.”
They walked slowly down the corridor, and Lennier replied, “We have no complaints, but I’m very aware of your problem. This propensity toward violence is most regrettable.”
Sheridan bristled slightly, knowing that was a gibe. He had seen the Minbari in warfare, close up, and he knew they could be as violent as anyone.
“Can you get to the point?” he asked bluntly.
Lennier stopped and gazed at him. “I may have some information for you.”
“If it’s about the bombing,” said Sheridan, “I’m listening.”
Lennier grimaced with minor embarrassment. “I became rather well acquainted with one of the attendees, a Mr. Barker. I gather he is a well-placed military liaison.” The Minbari smiled. “He considers himself an expert on Minbari affairs, and he is indeed a wealth of information. Most of it over a decade old.”
Sheridan waited patiently. He had learned a few things in his life, and one of them was that the Minbari could not be hurried. Whether you were listening to a story or setting up a counterattack against them, they would take their time doing whatever they were doing.
“At the reception,” said Lennier, “Mr. Barker had a considerable number of refreshments, and he took me into his confidence. At the time, what he said to me sounded bizarre, but considering the events of yesterday, his remarks were eerily precognitive.”
“What did he say?” Sheridan almost screamed.
“He said that he wasn’t worried much about Mr. Bester and the Psi Cops, because they were going to be aced out. That was the exact phrase he used, ‘aced out.’ I asked him who would take their place in the pantheon of Psi Corps, and he said the commercial sector would come out on top, because they had the money behind them. Mr. Barker wasn’t too happy about this one way or another, you understand. He envisioned the military getting the short end of the stick either way.”
Lennier cocked his head and frowned. “He said that Bester was history, which at the time seemed mere wishful thinking. But the next day, Bester was almost history, wasn’t he? And the suspected bomber is from the commercial sector.”
“Yes,” said Sheridan thoughtfully. “Everybody wants to blame Martian terrorists, but what is B5 to them? That’s been bothering me this whole time. Thank you, Mr. Lennier, you’ve given me something to think about.”
“Can I ask one thing in return?”
“Sure,” said the captain, fearing the worst.
“Can you explain to me what that means, ‘getting the short end of the stick.’ A stick has only two ends and is joined at the middle—how can one end be shorter than the other?”
Sheridan sighed. “Actually, it means getting the short end when you draw sticks—I think. Why don’t you walk with me to my office, and we’ll figure it out.”
Garibaldi gave a pained grin and held out his hand. “After you, Mr. Gray.”
The slim telepath nodded his thanks and hoisted his flight bag onto his shoulder. Garibaldi followed several paces behind him on their way through the air-lock and onto the transport Starfish. It was the essential red-eye flight with about half the seats empty, and most of the other seats occupied by people who would soon be dozing.
The only passengers who looked wide awake were six black-suited Psi Cops sitting in the first row. They gave Garibaldi a look of unbridled malice as he walked past them with Gray, and he tried not to look their way.
The telepath stopped in the middle of the passenger cabin and asked, “Is this one all right?”
“No,” growled Garibaldi, “in the back.” He almost asked Gray if they had to sit together, but that would have been a churlish thing to ask in a half-filled cabin: Later on, he would claim to be tired, then he would head off in search of some privacy and elbow room.
They sat in the next-to-last row. Behind them a Centauri was already snoring, his hair sticking up from his pillow like a row of porcupine quills.
Gray opened up his briefcase and took out a stack of transparencies, dossiers, and photographs. Garibaldi couldn’t help but watch the telepath arrange these materials in meticulous order. Then the telepath looked expectantly at Garibaldi and asked, “What have you found out?”
The security chief smiled smugly. “I haven’t got a stack of files, but I’ve got one name. And that should be enough.”
Gray pursed his lips. “The name is?”
The security chief smiled. “First, you tell me what you’ve got.”
“All of these files,” said Gray proudly, “are a record of the bombing at the Royal Tharsis Lodge on Mars.”
“Mars?” mused Garibaldi. “I thought we were trying to solve the bombing on B5?”
“But they are related. The Free Phobos group claimed responsibility for both bombings, and Mr. Bester and myself were present at both.”
“You saw the bombing on Mars?”
“Thankfully, at a distance,” answered Gray. “Although if it hadn’t have been for Mr. Bester’s quick reactions, both of us might have been casualties. Do you see why I think they’re related?”
“Yeah,” said Garibaldi thoughtfullly, “unless it’s some kind of conspiracy against the places themselves. What if somebody had a thing against this hotel on Mars, and they also had a thing against Babylon 5. So they picked the two places just to wreak havoc there. What I’m saying is, whoever the idiot was who picked B5 may have also had something to do with the bombing of the hotel.”
“No,” said Gray, chuckling. “That was me. I suggested Babylon 5.”
Garibaldi jerked up in his seat. “You brought them here!”
His hands were reaching for the telepath’s throat when a feminine computer voice made an announcement: “Welcome to Earth Transport Starfish, serving the routes between Babylon 5, Earth, and Centauri Prime. The first leg of our journey—Babylon 5 to Earth—will have a duration of forty-eight standard hours. Please settle back in your seats, and relax. A robotic cart with food and drink will appear in the center aisle after departure. You may signal for it by pushing the service button on your armrest. Credits are accepted. Enjoy your flight.”
Still seething, Garibaldi slumped back in his chair. Forty-eight hours was too long to sit next to a dead body, and that thought was the only thing that kept him from throttling Mr. Gray.
The little man looked embarrassed. “In retrospect, it was a mistake bringing the conference to B5. At the time, it seemed a logical choice. Removed from Mars, good security, a new place for most of them. I was very surprised when the violence followed us from Mars. This makes me believe even more strongly that the two bombings are related, and not just by the claims of a mystery group. I don’t see how we can solve the second bombing without starting with the first.”
Garibaldi muttered, “But Talia Winters was nowhere near Mars when the hotel bombing happened.”
“Precisely,” answered Gray, “which is an indication of her innocence, or the possibility that she was used as a dupe. Now tell me about that lead you have?”
Garibaldi smiled and closed his eyes. “When you show me something really good, I’ll show you mine.”
“Prepare for departure to Earth,” purred the synthesized voice.