Babylon 5 11 - Psi Corps 02 - Deadly Relations - Bester Ascendant (Keyes, Gregory)

by Bester Ascendant (Keyes, Gregory)

The waiters lips pinched tight, and then he twitched a Gallic shrug. As you say, monsieur, he growled, and stalked back into the café.

  Al returned his attention to the square. He gazed up at the little statue of Liberty, covered with pigeons and the white streaks of their droppings. Evening had arrived on pastel wings, and as it came lower and darker there was a vague sense of being in a city sunken beneath the waves. Everything had a bluish tint, a sense of depth, a little melancholy. Over the rooftops and beyond, a great ivory cathedral was visiblethe Sacré Coeur? It might have been an Atlantean temple. Across the square, a trio of musicians started playing Peruvian music, the soft but insistent trills of their quenas twining up from a solid foundation of guitar.

  The minds around him were still busy, but the city seemed to be taking a long, deep breath. As if Paris and its inhabitants werent quite the same thing. It seemed, too, that once he had tuned out the particular thoughts of those around him there was a sort of pattern, or series of patterns, quite beautiful in their own way.

  He thought once again of the moment he had spied upon, only the day before, the manting of Brett, Julia, and the others. This was so much more vast, and so much more unconscious.

  Geneva had always been there, in the background. Not something he had noticed, really, or thought of as singular. But Paris wasdifferent from Geneva, its psychic air as distinct in flavor as its physical atmosphere. Did cities have a sort of mental gestalt, a psionic fingerprint, as identifiable as a person, once apprehended?

  It was an intriguing thought. Beautiful, even.

  His coffee came, and he sipped it He ordered a sort of sandwich of thick bread and oysters. He waited, and like so many before him, tried to understand Paris.

  The waiter had begun to glare at him for overstaying his welcome at the café, and it was quite dark, when he suddenly became certain that Brazg was on the move again. He let the waiter credit his account, but remained sitting for the moment

  The city was alive with light now, but once again, Paris didnt meet his expectations. That was okay, he mused. He had found his fairy constellation in the subtle mind of the city, if not in its lamps.

  A figure passed through the shadows on the plaza and then through a streetlight To the eye, it might have been a man or woman, in shapeless sweater and baggy pants. The hair was short and looked black.

  The mind was Brazg, though. He was certain of it.

  He rose as she reached the far side of the square, where she vanished, bit by bit into the groundfirst feet then knees, then shoulders, finally head.

  The canal. She had gone down the steps into the canal.

  He followed, trying to keep his pace casual, but feeling it quicken anyway. He did not want to lose her again.

  Centuries of feet had worn a shallow trough down the steps. He almost stopped to stare at it, astonished by the signatures of age. There was nothing like this in Teeptown. Were there such places in Geneva? Not where he usually went

  As he reached the walkway, Brazg was moving out of the circle of one of the lights picketing the canal. The shadow she moved into stretched some hundred feet or so, and beyond that lights on the ceiling of the tunnel picked up again. The ones nearest the tunnel mouth seemed to be malfunctioning.

  There were only a few people out and they were walking far ahead of Brazg. He made out three small craft coasting silently down the waterway.

  Now was the perfect time to apprehend her.

  Or maybe he should wait and see where she was going? He might find an entire underground cell.

  He slipped into the darkness, trying to decide.

  A soft sound, a whisper of mindhe whirled, adrenaline stabbing through his heart Something weighty and fast jacked up the point of his chin, and he hurled back. The stone wall caught him. As he steadied himself against it, still amazed at the weird click his teeth had made when they snapped together, he reached for the pistol in his waistband.

  Ah no. Stay very still, or I will bleed you like a pig .

  It was strongly cast, and Al found himself looking a bit crosseyed down the narrow tube of a fléchette pistol.

  Behind it, a half-shadowed face grinned at him. Though he had seen it only in photographs, he recognized it instantly by its scars, by its stone killer eyes.

  Portis Nielsson.

  * * *

  chapter 5

  « » Look, Lara, Nielsson said. Got ourselves a regular John Trakker,here.

  Brazg approached from the left Even in the dim light, her face seemed haggard, with crescents under her eyes nearly as dark as her newly dyed hair.

  Why have you been following me? she asked wearily, then frowned. Port, hes just a boy.

  But what kind of boy? Nielsson wondered, following the question with a quick, brutal scan.

  Al met the scan and brushed it aside. Nielsson gritted his teeth and went again, using his mind like a sledgehammer. It was strong, but nothing Al couldnt handle.

  When Portis stopped, his breathing had quickened noticeably. His breath stank.

  I guess that answers that question, he said, grimly. Boys a regular prodigy. So what are you doin followin my good friend, Prodigy? I dont take kindly to it.

  IallI want to join the underground.

  The what?

  You know. The underground. I want to be a Blip.

  A Blip, huh? Funny thing about that wordonly people Ive ever heard use it were from Psi Corps.

  I was raised in the Corps, Al said, trying to hide his dismay at the blunder. I ran away.

  Did you.

  Port, hes just a kid, Brazg repeated.

  Yeah. Ramie was just a kid, and Jio, and what did the Psi Cops do to them?

  Cant we justtie him up or something?

  Hes a pup, but hes got a bell of a mind. Can you be sure he didnt pick your brain? Can you be sure what he knows?

  Brazg regarded Al for a long, moment. Her eyes were unreadable. Lets get in the boat, she said at last.

  Nielsson nodded and gestured with the weapon. A small powerboat drifted at the edge of the canal. Not seeing that he had any options, Al stepped into the rocking craft.

  In a few moments, Brazg had the motor humming, and they plowed quietly down the canal, away from the tunnel, leaving a wake like ripples of black glass.

  Whats your name? Brazg asked.

  Al.

  Al, if you really want to join the underground, youll have to let us scan you. You know that, dont you? Her voice took on a slightly pleading tone. If you dontwell, Port is right, we cant really risk letting you go.

  No, we cant, Nielsson affirmed.

  I just wanted

  Let us scan you. Let us see what you wanted for ourselves.

  The boat was leaving the end of the canal, joining some larger waterway. The Seine? The quays along it were broad, tree-lined. Farther down he could make out crowds of people. Would they hear him if he shouted? Would they pay attention? Probably Nielsson would just shoot him.

  I guess I have to, huh? he asked

  Yeah, Al, ydo, Nielsson answered, grinning in a thoroughly humorless fashion.

  Okay, then. Im ready. He had one very small chance. He tried not to think about what would happen if he failed. Nielsson was a killerthey both were, really, but Nielsson probably enjoyed it.

  Al dropped his guards.

  They both came in.

  Al knew full well that if they combined their efforts, they likely more than doubled the strength of their probe. It took training, but some telepaths could weave their minds together, intensifying the results. And he might be able to use that against them.

  These two would have to be compatible with him and with each other. What he had in mind he had to do against their will, and it still might be for nothing.

  Oddly, he was calm. His heart was beating just like a clock, though he might be an instant away from floating dead in the river. Part of him was distantly amazed at his composure.

  As Al dropped his guard, he pulled something else up.

  Help me.
Help me. I fear the Corps. The Corps is chasing me. And Im afraid of you. I have no one.

  A trained P12 would see through that in a nanosecond. He was hoping it would take Brazg and Nielsson just a bit longer.

  It did, and Brazg actually moved to meet him, which was good. Well help you she thought

  And then the three of them howled like the damned, as Al fused their minds to his and screamed. Amplified through two minds, he sent a shock wave racing into the night, carrying on its crest a single word.

  HELP.

  The wave rang out for a quantums worth of time only, then their guards snapped down, severing the brief union with what felt like twin lightning bolts to his brain. He had been as open to them as they were to him.

  He used the pain, rode it up to take command of his muscles, and jumped.

  Arcing toward the water, he gulped a deep breath, which went somehow wrong, as if he had sucked in an icicle. They were only about thirty feet from the bank, and as he plunged into the chilling wet, he felt something burn his ear, a crescendo of ragefrom Nielssonand shocked betrayal from Brazg. And something else, something that had come out of the fusion with them.

  A place.

  He swam frantically, unwilling to come up because he felt Nielsson trying to find him, knew that he had the fléchette gun. Normally he could hold his breath for quite a long time, but his lungs hurt already, which didnt seem at all right. In fact, the pain was really, really bad.

  He managed the quay, though, and glyphed himself rising from the water, back nearer the mouth of the canal. He didnt know if it was enough, but he couldnt wait: he heaved himself from the water.

  Something whined by him, struck sparks from a wail. He bounced to his feet and ran, suddenly filled with an almost electric energy. He hadnt gotten very far when he heard the boat bump behind him, and then footsteps pounding on stone.

  He sprinted down an alleyway, turned a corner, took a right, a left. Nielsson was still behind him, but Al was drawing farther away, he could feel it.

  Cops and blips again, just like when he was a kid. He could do this. He could win.

  He wondered where the Paris Psi Corps station was. He should know that, shouldnt he? He should have checked during the train ride. He didnt have the faintest idea where he was running, only that he had to lose Nielsson or die.

  His lungs felt full of molten tar, some of which was bubbling out of his nose, so he had to open his mouth to get enough air. But he couldnt get enough, not nearly enough

  He came hurtling down the end of the street and found himself back at the broad, tree-lined quay along the river. He almost ran headlong into a group of revelers, toasting one another with champagne. They laughed curiously at him as he staggered past, found his stride again, and dug in.

  He stayed on the quay because there were a lot of people on this section, walking dogs, jogging, going from bar to bar and coffeehouse to coffeehouse. He tried to quiet his mind, draw the seared edges of his blocks back together, knowing they were leaking, knowing also that if Nielsson could get a clear shot he would take it, even with all of the witnesses. The fléchette gun was silent, and besides, Nielsson was a psychopath.

  He felt as if he ran on a rapidly spinning disk now. The lights of Paris werent points, but the tails of orbiting comets. His feet were becoming slabs of duracrete.

  He no longer had any idea where Nielsson was.

  He passed through a large crowd, ducked up a street into an alley, and finally, wheezing, hid in a recessed doorway.

  As he collapsed against the brick wall, the dark alley strobed, and anothersunlitscene replaced it. He was back in Teeptown, at the spot the Grins had burned into his mind. The vision shivered with unnatural color, as if the walls, trees, grass, and sky were producing light instead of reflecting it, as if their very atoms were tiny arc lamps

  The specter faded, and he was in the alley again, trying to be quiet to make a quiet place

  Quiet, quiet

  He could barely inhale now. Water was still bubbling out of his nose. He wiped at it. It was sticky.

  He was never sure if it was the realization that what he was exhaling wasnt water at all, or a simple lack of oxygen that took him out. One moment he was sitting, back to the wall, trying to brace himself to face Nielsson. The next his face was pressed hard against the street. Then nothing.

  A conversation woke him. Two black rats were discussing where their morsel had gone off to.

  A tasty corpse it looked, not long dead. It was here somewhere.

  Maybe not dead at all. Maybe hell squirm a little when we start chewin on him.

  Then he really woke. His face was in a sticky puddle on the stone. The rats from his nightmare were still talking, though their conversation was a bit different

  I can feel him. I think hes out of it. This way . Nielsson.

  Lets just get out of here, Port. That call

  No. You felt him get it, the safe house. He knows where it is. Hes here, somewhere. He wont be any trouble.

  Hes already been too much trouble. This is taking too long.

  And he could hear their footsteps now, not through their ears, but through his own. This wasnt good. He had to get up, to run some more.

  He told his muscles to do so. They told him they had the night off.

  He dimmed his mind, made it seem as if it were going out, as if he were dying. He was, of course. That seemed obvious. Still, he had no intention of going peacefully.

  He wondered what Cadre Prime would think of him now. Stupid or brave or justsuicidal?

  They came closer. He held imagoes of their minds, now. Nielssons was simple, and if he had to draw it, it would be a knife. Brazgs was her face, simplified almost as much as a Grins, mournful, hopeless.

  Closer, closer he let them come. But once they saw him he would have to

  They saw him. He used every bit of will he had left to raise his head and establish line of sight. Nielsson was a blurry shadow, but that was plenty. He hit him with everything he had, just a simple burst to the pain center. Nielsson screeched, his knees buckled, then straightened. He laughed harshly. Still got some left, eh? This ends it. Tell the Devil I said hello.

  Then a confusing thing happened. Nielsson spun on his heel and fired the fléchette away from Al.

  At the same moment, the alley flickered yellowlike someone lighting a cigaretteand the walls seemed to slap together like giant stone cymbals. That was the sound he heard, anyway.

  Then Nielssons knife mind was shattered. Al saw what looked like a door crack open, and white light stabbed through, and something yanked at him

  He yanked back. The door slammed, the light went out. There were some scuffling sounds. Al coughed, and something large and wet came up.

  Then a hand touched him, warm, and he suddenly felt reassured.

  Ambulance. Now. A mans voice, a rich baritone, very precisely articulated. What sounded like a British accent

  Youll be all right, the voice said, gripping Als hand Dont worry, son. Youll be okay.

  Al opened his eyes to see sterile, white walls, comforting and familiar. At first he thought he was back in the academy, until he raised his head enough to see an unfamiliar skyline beyond the window.

  Well, a mans voice said. I wondered if you had gone into some sort of hibernation cycle. The voice he remembered, the cultivated baritone from his fevered nightmare. He started trying to turn his head, but then the speaker walked into view.

  The first thing Al noticed about him, of course, was the black uniform and brass-and-copper badge. A smile quirked seams in a dusky, broad face with a nose as large and proud as the beak on an eagle. A salt and peppermostly saltmustache and goatee gave him a look that Al tentatively assigned as Shakespearean. Few Psi Cops had facial hair.

  Sir?

  My name is Sandoval Bey, Mr. Bester. You may call me Mr. Bey.

  That name rang a bell. Bey Dr . Bey, if he remembered correctlywas a high-level instructor. Why was he in the uniform of a Psi Cop?

&n
bsp; What happened, sir?

  Not a very precise question, Mr. Bester. What happened today, yesterday, a thousand years ago? Here, in Spain, on the moon?

  Al detected no actual remonstrance in his gentle, jovial tone or merry eyes.

  I mean, what happened with the Blips, sir. He paused an instant and then modified that. Lara Brazg and Portis Nielsson. I was chasing them

  Yes, yes, Mr. Bester. I think I can guess what you meant from context. Lara Brazg is in custody, thanks to you, on her way, hopefully, to be reeducated. Portis Nielssonwell, Im afraid he didnt make it.

  Im sorry to hear that, sir.

  Are you? He did try to kill you. Put a neat hole through your left lung with that fléchette pistol of his.

  Yes, sir. But he might have been reeducated, if

  If what, Mr. Bester? If we had captured him alive? Yes, the odds of that would have been increased greatly if you had done the proper thing, and called Psi Corps the moment you picked up their trail.

  Al winced. Then it dawned on him. Will I get a reprimand on my record, sir?

  That would seem to be appropriate, wouldnt it? An ambiguous smile ghosted Beys lips. But no, the test of intelligence is in the evaluating of its mistakes. That test is one you must take now, but it wont be Psi Corps that judges your scoreit will be the universe, and her executioner, evolution.

  Al smiled weakly. Yes, sir. Natural selection almost got me, I suppose.

  Almost, Mr. Bester. But dont forgetwhatever doesnt kill you makes you stronger. He cocked his head thoughtfully. Of course, in actual fact something that almost kills you can leave you crippled for life, mentally and physically, and greatly hasten your death. I find that Nietzsche engaged in a lot of wishful thinking, not a trait I associate with strength, really. Despite the grim topic, he smiled broadly.

  That made Als head swim, ever so slightly. In the that queasy at-sea state he remembered something, however. Sir, I got something from them. They were headed for a safe house on the rue the Rue de Pépin. 1412, Rue de Pépin.

  I see. Well, very good, Mr. Bester. That will be seen to, and your cooperation noted, Im sure. Youre a very lucky fellow.