Voices - Vornholt John - Страница 11
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“And he’s back. That’s not what I’m worried about, because Deuce was bound to come back sometime to check his enterprises. But why now? Could it be because of this conference? Believe me, Deuce wouldn’t be against taking money from terrorists.”
Sheridan asked, “You’re sure he’s back?”
“I’ve got a passenger from a tramp freighter who just sort of disappeared after he came aboard yesterday.”
“Can’t we find him?” asked the captain.
“With what resources? I’ve got everyone on my staff committed to the conference. And Deuce is The Man down there. Even if we didn’t have this conference to worry about, we might not find him.” Garibaldi sighed and rubbed his eyes. “At this point, I don’t think I could find anything but a bed.”
The captain’s link sounded, and he lifted his hand. “This is Captain Sheridan.”
“Ivanova here,” came the familiar voice. “The Glenn is docking in bay six. The manifest says they have fifty-three Psi Corps members aboard, and Mr. Bester has requested that you greet them personally. He also wants Garibaldi to be present to answer questions about security.”
Garibaldi winced and grabbed the last piece of toast.
“I’ll tell Mr. Garibaldi,” said the captain. “We’re on our way.”
“Oh,” said Ivanova, “another transport arrives with twenty-seven VIPs at 8:40, another one with thirty-eight at 9:21. A heavy cruiser with nineteen military telepaths arrives at 10:58, and two transports …”
“I will stay in the docking area,” Sheridan assured her. “Have the work crews vacated Blue-16?”
“Yes, sir. Although they say the paint is still wet.”
Sheridan nodded somberly. “We can take them to the casino for a couple of hours, give them lunch.” He looked at Garibaldi and smiled encouragingly. “Very wise to have halted gambling there. We’ll get through this, people. Remember, you love Psi Corps!” “We love Psi Corps,” Garibaldi muttered with disbelief.
Talia Winters sat down to breakfast in the newly opened cafe on Blue-16, and Arthur Malten sat across from her, looking dapper in a checked suit with patches on the elbow. Befitting its location, the decor was mostly blue, with a bit of burnt orange. It wasn’t so bad, thought Talia, except for the faint smell of paint.
“I feel so guilty,” said Talia, “leaving Emily with all that work. Are you sure we shouldn’t be greeting people as they arrive?”
“And deprive Mr. Bester of all his fun?” Malten smiled and poured some coffee for them. “Don’t worry, Talia, we’ll have plenty of time to hobnob at the reception, and all weekend.”
“Besides,” he said cheerfully, “this may be my only opportunlty to get to know you, before I get dragged off to breakfast meetings and high-level discussions.”
“As for me,” said Talia, stirring her coffee, “I’ll have plenty of panels to attend, but no high-level discussions.”
“That’s a pity,” answered Malten. He stroked his graying goatee. “Babylon 5 is a backwater, you know. I realized that last night, after that ugly incident. You could do much better than this.”
Talia sighed. “Mr. Malten …”
“Please call me Arthur.”
“Arthur, you should know that I’m only a P5. I’m lucky to have this assignment.”
“Nonsense,” said Malten angrily. “Your success on B5 has shown that psi ratings are worthless when it comes to judging aptitude for a given job.”
He lowered his voice. “That’s why I’m against giving so much power to a class of telepaths who have nothing going for them—except that they’re P12s and P11s. Being P12 doesn’t mean you’re well adjusted, have common sense, or good communication skills. In most cases, it means you’re neurotic as hell.”
Talia shifted in her seat, once again nervous with this sort of talk. All of this was easy for Mr. Malten to say. He was a P10 himself and the founder of the biggest conglomerate of private telepaths in the Earth Alliance. Although the Mix was created under the internal security act of 2156, which meant the corps had technical jurisdiction over it, the Mix was relatively independent; he didn’t have to kiss up to Psi Corps for choice assignments.
Malten smiled apologetically. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s true, I’ve carved out my own niche. But in the commercial world, we’re not so wrapped up in who’s got the biggest number. We look at long-term results. Talia, you’ve got proven interspecies skills which we could use in the Mix.”
The young woman blinked at him in amazement. She didn’t even see it coming! After all, B5 already was her dream job—to get a chance to leap up another rung so soon was beyond her expectations. And what a rung this was—the top! It seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know what Psi Corps will say.”
The scholarly telepath patted her hand. It was leather on leather, but his touch tingled her skin for a moment. “Let me worry about Psi Corps,” he assured her. “We have a great opportunity ahead of us. We’re going to take telepathy into every corner of this universe, not as an object of fear and control, but as a valuable service. We’ll say, ‘Let telepathy be on your side, not just the other guy’s.’”
“It sounds wonderful,” Talia said truthfully. But she felt a pang of regret over the idea of leaving B5 so soon. It had barely been a year, and she was finally building up her practice. Despite her loyalty to Psi Corps, she was used to being her own boss, a lone operator. Sort of like Garibaldi. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be one of thousands of telepaths in a gigantic firm with hundreds of branch offices.
“In the meantime,” said Malten, reaching into his pocket, “I would appreciate your attendance at one of those high-level discussions I was talking about. It’s a secret budget meeting.”
He set a data crystal on the table. “Ms. Crane put some information together about the budget. I rely on her, but she’s essentially a writer and researcher. She’s not at her best when there’s a debate, and this could become a fiery one. You and I will have to defend the needs of the civilian sector against Mr. Bester and the military. Will you come?”
Now Talia was afraid her jaw was hanging open. If a job offer had been a shock, the invitation to a high-level budget meeting was a two-by-four to the head. “Why me?” she asked. “I can’t argue these points like you can. In fact, I’m not even sure I agree with you.”
Malten smiled. “Do you want an honest answer?”
She nodded.
“Because you’re beautiful, and you’ll be a distraction.” He pointed to the crystal. “And I expect you to read what’s on there and remember the statistics better than I do. Besides, you’re practical proof of what I’m talking about. If you can be a success in this depot for aliens, it just proves that commercial applications can succeed anywhere!”
Talia took a deep breath and pushed a streak of blond hair off her cheek. It still felt as if she had been bludgeoned by a two-by-four, but she picked up the data crystal and put it in her handbag.
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
At that same moment, a hand encased in a grimy glove with the fingers cut off at the knuckles placed a similar data crystal on top of a dented filing cabinet. A cat jumped out of one of the drawers, rocking the cabinet and nearly knocking the crystal to the floor.
Careful! whispered a voice in his head. If we lose that, we lose all.
“We’re not going to lose it,” purred Deuce in a jaded Southern twang. “I just wanted to show it to you, because a deal’s a deal.” It looks like any crystal, the voice said.
Deuce lifted the data crystal to eye level and studied it. “That’s the beauty of it, ain’t it? One of a kind. Speaking of crystals, you got the diamonds?”
The voice answered, Yes, and Deuce was told to look down at the floor. He saw a black briefcase in the dim light of the storage room and smiled. As soon as he set the crystal back on the beat-up cabinet, a gloved hand snatched it away.
“You’ll need this, too,” said Deuce, pulling a remote control device out of his coat pocket. “You know how to operate this?”
Yes.
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