Thirdspace, p.11
Thirdspace, page 11
But judging from the way Lyta was looking into the monitor, it seemed that all had not exactly gone as planned. Trent said with certainty, "She knows she's being watched."
'The security camera is carefully hidden," Sheridan pointed out, but even he was ninety percent convinced that, somehow, Lyta was on to them.
For Trent, there wasn't even the ten-percent uncertainty. "That may be. But she knows where the camera is, and she knows we're watching. Look at her," and she pointed at Lyta's unwavering gaze. She paused a moment, and then said, "Is there another camera in there?"
Sheridan started to say, "Yes, but..."
"Humor me," requested Trent. "Switch to the alternate view." Sheridan shrugged and touched his link. Instantly the angle on Lyta changed to a side view. And to the astonishment of all present-even Trent, who was more or less expecting it-Lyta immediately shifted her gaze from the previous view to the new camera position. She quickly realized that she'd erred, that tipping any observers that she was aware of being watched was probably not the most intelligent thing to do, so she returned her gaze to its previous position. But it was too late; her startling perception had already been witnessed by the observers in Sheridan's office.
"That's a neat trick," observed Zack.
Trent pointed at Lyta and said, "A low-rated commercial telepath can't sense electronics like that. Only a P9 or above can do that."
Ivanova shook her head. "Lyta's a P5."
"Yes, so you told me," said Trent. She came across to Sheridan like someone who had been privy to some secret knowledge, had known all along that Lyta might have greater capabilities than they'd been led to believe, and was now doing everything she could not to gloat over it. "But that rating was determined before she went to the Vorlon Homeworld, as you very well know."
Her words rang like a thunderclap through the office. Ivanova, Sheridan, and Zack glanced at each other as if to say, "Did you tell her?" If they'd considered trying to continue hiding the truth from Trent, they had no hope of succeeding. Their reactions to her little bombshell left no doubt that her comment had been right on target.
Sheridan said, "How do you know about that part?"
Trent said, "IPX tracks every long-range ship that approaches the rim of explored space. We probably know more about what happened than you do."
Clearly, Trent was smugly in control of the situation, which was exactly how she liked to be. The degree of her self-satisfaction wasn't lost on Sheridan; he had a sneaking suspicion-accurate, as it so happened-that she was viewing this little moment as a bit of payback for their earlier discussion. In that instance, it had been Sheridan who was in charge. He'd had something that she'd wanted, and he'd driven a rather hard bargain while making sure she knew every step of the way that it was he, and only he, who was running the show.
Now, however, it was Trent who had the upper hand, for it appeared that she might have some insight into what was going on with Lyta. Sheridan couldn't help but wonder if she was going to take the opportunity to hold him up for the information... start spelling out the price it would cost him in order to learn
vat she knew.
They looked at each other, and he saw amusement in her eyes. An amusement that seemed to say, Got you, Sheridan. You know it, and I know it... and in this case, the knowledge alone is satisfying enough for me. This one will be a freebie. But remember this moment next time you want to play Mr. Tough Negotiator, because in the future it could come back to bite you.
"According to our records," began Trent, "two years before the war between the Vorlons and the Shadows heated up, Lyta was on Mars, on the run from the Psi Corps. While there, she arranged to meet a starship captain, David Slayner."
Sheridan glanced at Ivanova and Zack, who shrugged. The name was news to them. Trent ignored their reaction and circled the office in leisurely fashion, her hands casually clasped behind her back. "According to information we received from Slayner, she told him she felt drawn to the Vorlon Homeworld, the result of a previous encounter with the Vorlon Ambassador Kosh. Until this time, anyone who entered Vorlon space never came back, so the captain was understandably reluctant. But the money was right, so they went. He took her as far as their border."
She paused a moment, looking at Lyta, who was in the process of taking the medication that Franklin had handed her. She wondered momentarily just how powerful Lyta Alexander was. What if her power went beyond sensitivity to technology? What if she was actually able to detect their thoughts? What if she knew that they were talking about her?
And what if she got angry about it?
Trent shook off those musings as being not only counterproductive, but downright spooky. She continued, "They sent a continuous signal, inviting the Vorlons to appear. After severe* days, when the Vorlons didn't show, the captain decided to he -^ back. At that point, Lyta commandeered a life pod and eject into Vorlon space. The captain wisely took off and nevetf >^ her again. We suspect that was what they were waiting for. *^^ Sheridan looked to Ivanova this time, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. This part, at least, jibed with information they already had acquired about Lyta. Information with which she herself had been forthcoming. It gave them some small comfort, knowing that she'd been straight with them, at least.
"Life pods are short-range craft," Trent noted. "She was ten days from the nearest jumpgate with only three days of food, air, and water. There was no way she could have survived unless the Vorlons came for her. Other reports since then indicate that the Vorlons ... altered her. Increased her ability."
There were further details about Lyta that the command staff of Babylon 5 already knew, but none of them felt any particular inclination to volunteer them. Ivanova said, "Assuming for the sake of argument that you're right, I'm surprised you haven't been keeping an eye on her."
To which Trent replied blandly, "What makes you think we haven't?" Then she turned to Sheridan, her voice and demeanor becoming completely no-nonsense. It was very much the tough-as-nails inner woman that Sheridan had glimpsed earlier during their initial negotiations. "Captain, in the past, the Vorlons have done everything they can to prevent Humans from getting hold of advanced technology. If she's still under their influence, she may have tried to destroy the artifact to keep us from figuring out what it is. She may not even know she's doing it. Nonetheless, she's a danger to this project. I suggest you keep her under house arrest until we've done a little more groundwork on this thing."
The comment certainly struck a chord with Ivanova. She remembered the time several years before when Jha'Dur, one of the Dilgar-and a nasty piece of work in her own right-had caused a major stir on the station. She'd shown up on Babylon 5 carrying a formula that would provide immortality. As she had prepared to leave the sector in her ship, the Vorlons had blown her to bits before she could enter hyperspace.
And there had been Ambassador Kosh, hidden beneath the confines of his encounter suit, making no bones about the fact that the Vorlons were responsible. The Vorlons, above the law, above judgment, above mere mortal standards of good and evil ... or so it seemed. "You are not ready for immortality," Kosh had told them in that quiet, implacable tone of his.
So what Trent was saying now had some definite resonance. Who really did know, at any given moment, what the Vorlons were up to? Even though they were ostensibly gone, the entire race having departed "beyond," wherever the hell that was, their influence and impact could still be felt. And if they'd taken some sort of interest, from beyond, in the artifact and were using Lyta as an agent to ...
Ivanova shook her head. It all seemed too farfetched, somehow. Besides . .. the notion of arresting Lyta, after everything she'd done for them, starting with the fact that-if it weren't for her-they'd still have Talia Winters there as a sleeper agent for the Psi Corps. Lyta had uncovered that, under threat of tremendous personal risk, and ever since then she had been a reliable ally, not a threat.
Still... there was a truism, that around Babylon 5, no one was what they appeared.
Sheridan, meantime, appeared to be giving consideration to Trent's words. But after a pause, he told her, "I'll... consider your suggestion." He said it with a tone of finality that suggested he would consider it shortly after Satan and his cohorts were at home ice dancing.
That tone was not at all lost on Trent. "That's it? You'll 'consider it'?"
Ivanova spoke up, pointing out, "We do have this little thing called 'due process,' Dr. Trent. We'll keep an eye on her... bir there's no proof that this was anything other than an isolated in cident." She looked to Sheridan, who clearly agreed. "If that should change," she continued, "we'll take action. But not before. Meanwhile, I suggest you attend to the artifact and leave the station to us."
Trent seemed about to argue the point further, but then shrugged. She did so with the air of a woman who was content that she had done everything she could at this point, and whatever happened next was on the head of those who had made the decisions. "Suit yourself." She headed for the door, but paused a moment to make one matter quite clear. "But if she endangers my crew, we'll stop her ourselves and worry about due process later." And she walked out before they could say anything else.
"Was that supposed to be a threat?" asked Ivanova.
"More of a warning, really," replied Sheridan, "although I can't say I was ecstatic about her tone."
"Yeah, but I'll bet she wasn't ecstatic with Lyta trying to send a squad of robots to clobber her overgrown puzzle box out there," Zack commented. "I hate to say it, but I see her point. She's got reason to be nervous."
"We've all got reason to be nervous," said Sheridan. "We're already dealing with a colossal unknown out there, and Lyta's actions only feed into that uncertainty. Susan, do me something: before Lyta's brought back to her quarters, take a look around there."
"You mean invade her privacy?"
"We're in the process of cutting her a tremendous break, Susan. That entitles me to send my second-in-command on a mission regarding station security. Just see if there's anything there that gives you any clues as to her state of mind."
"Aye, sir." She didn't look or sound entirely thrilled, but an order was an order.
He shook his head. "You know, Susan, I hate to say it," and he gestured in the general direction of the artifact, "but part of me wishes you'd never found the thing."
"I don't feel that way at all, Captain." "Really?"
"Nope. All of me wishes I'd never found the thing." And she walked out of the office.
"That woman picks the oddest times to indulge her sense of humor," murmured Sheridan, and then he said to Zack, "Keep an eye on Lyta, Zack. You don't have to assign someone to follow her. In fact, considering we're dealing with a telepath, that would probably be a colossal waste of time. But nonetheless, spread the word among your people, and make an effort to have a general sense of her whereabouts. If there's a recurrence, or other odd behavior on her part, let's head it off. Got it?" Zack nodded and then said, "Anything else, sir?" "Yeah," said Sheridan uneasily. "Watch your back." Tossing off a very casual salute, Zack said, "I always do." And he departed, leaving Sheridan alone in his office. Sheridan went to the monitor, toggled the controls, and a moment later had an image of the artifact in front of him once more. The same artifact that had prompted him to chortle to himself, "Besides, it is mine," so smugly.
Now it seemed that he might be paying for that overconfi-dence. He just hoped that others wouldn't pay as well. That Lyta's stunt was nothing more than some sort of fluke, never to recur. That it had nothing at all to do with the artifact. And that all of this confusion and mess would somehow manage to resolve itself.
As much as he liked having the artifact be his ... he was starting to wish that it had, in fact, been someone else's.
When Sheila Morris Rosen Blumberg O'Sullivan arrived at the quarters rented by her former husband, Leo, she hadn't been entirely certain of what she would find. But she certainly hadn't expected to encounter what she, in fact, did. Namely, Leo lying there, passed out on the bed, fully clothed and smelling of liquor.
Alex paled when he saw his brother that way. He knew that Leo had been at the Zocalo for a long time, but he'd been unaware that his brother had drunk himself into a stupor. How was this going to look to Sheila? She'd be repulsed by it. She'd take one look at him, wonder what the hell she was doing here, turn around and head for the nearest shuttle out of B5.
With great trepidation he glanced at Sheila.
She was smiling.
Smiling and shaking her head. "He never could hold his liquor," she said with what sounded like a surprisingly soft laugh. "That's how we met, you know. Remember? Started chatting at a bar, and he said that he could drink anyone under the table. I took his challenge. He wound up passing out, and I got stuck getting him home, even though I could barely see straight myself."
"Ohhhh, yeah," Alex recalled. "I'd forgotten about that."
"Those were good days," she sighed. "Who knew? Who knew what we would come to? How it would ail turn out."
She stood over Leo's sleeping form and, in spite of herself, reached down and stroked his hair. "So peaceful like this," she said, looking at his face, which was relaxed in repose. "None of the bluster there. None of the anger or jealousy. Just a sleeping, peaceful man."
She felt a stinging in her cheeks and was startled, and annoyed, to find hot tears running down her face. She'd had no idea that she was going to react in that manner, and she wasn't particularly happy about it. "So tell me again how you're over him," came Alex's gentle voice from behind her.
"I am over him!" she insisted. "I just... I... I feel sorry for him, that's all. To waste your whole life... to realize that you've wasted it, and it's too late to do anything about it...."
"Well, maybe it's not too late," said Alex. "That's why I brought you here, right?"
Leo was hanging half off the bed. She gripped one of his legs and turned to Alex with a grunt. "Help me here, would you, Al?"
Alex promptly complied as they hauled the insensate Leo fully into bed. Sheila pulled off his shoes, and then put a blanket over him. "I'll talk to him in the morning," she said, "when he wakes up."
"Okay. I've got you a place to stay.. .."
"I think ... maybe I'll stay here." He looked at her in surprise. "This is a fast turnaround."
"It's not a turnaround of anything. But if we just leave him on his own, when he gets up he's perfectly likely to just head back out and drink some more. What would be the point of that? By the time we catch up with him he'll have crawled back into a bottle. I think that if it's the first time that we've exchanged words in twenty years, he might as well be sober when we do it."
"If you're here in the morning, he'll be sober but hungover."
"Hungover I can deal with." She stood up on her toes and kissed Alex on the cheek. "You're a good brother, Al."
"And you're a great woman, Sheila." He paused, seeming as if he wanted to say something else but was unsure of how to doit.
"What?" she prompted him, sensing it.
"Ah, what the hell," he said. "It was so long ago, who cares now, right? Right. But I was just thinking that sometimes I think the reason Leo was so convinced that you and I were having an affair was because, deep down ... I sure wouldn't have minded it."
"Aw, Al ... that's so sweet." She squeezed his hand affectionately. "Good night."
" 'Night, Sheila," he said. And as she headed for the couch, to try and find someplace comfortable on the cushions, he added, "You did a good thing by coming here."
"I got a feeling, Al," she said, "that how good or bad it is, is going to be decided by how it turns out."
"True," he agreed. "But that's not all that different from life, is it?"
"Except life always turns out the same: we die."
"Hopefully not too soon," laughed Alex.
Unfortunately, he wasn't necessarily going to get his wish. Ivanova stood outside Lyta Alexander's quarters, tapping in a security override code that would grant her access. The door slid open and she stepped in ... and stopped.
She looked around, her eyes wide. Not only did the place look like a hurricane had hit it, but there was writing everywhere. "Danger, Don't Forget There's Danger," written in an increasingly tired but determined hand. It was the work of a woman who seemed to be in a complete state of panic, as if faced with something so terrifying that she was searching desperately for any means of coping.
"I think," Ivanova muttered, "I've found a clue to her state of mind."
The support structure around the artifact had been completed. Forklifts and other sensor arrays had been placed around the object, and lights had been rigged in the superstructure surrounding it. The comparison was complete: the IPX techies now looked exactly like ants swarming about an anthill.
First technician Kuehler, from his station inside the superstructure, announced, "Probe One to Base, we're ready to proceed." He thought privately that all the code names and nifty identifiers were something of a waste of time. His inclination would have been far less formal, something along the lines of, "Doc, it's Kuehler. Let's do it." But Dr. Trent did so like her little formalities.
"Stand by," replied Trent, who was speaking from backup C&C on Babylon 5. She was busy studying a jury-rigged arrangement of consoles and monitors with which she would monitor the process of the examination. She scanned once more to make certain that everything was on line. One monitor looked a little fuzzy and she adjusted a connector to bring it clear again. Another suddenly went off for no reason, but she was familiar with this particular model, and simply gave it a quick punch. The monitor came back on line again. Satisfied with all the readouts, she took a deep breath, reached over, and touched one of the controls. "Activating light grid," she said. She knew that, in his office or quarters or wherever he was skulking about, Sheridan was probably keeping track of their progress. If the damned thing didn't go on now, she was going to look like a complete idiot.
