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

by Bester Ascendant (Keyes, Gregory)

  * * *

  chapter 6

  « » Heres to Mr. Bester, who took us to the lair, who smoked out the quarry, who made us well and truly hunters! Gavriil Kichgelkhuts face split in a wide grin as he raised his glass.

  Al acknowledged the toast with a modest bow of his head. Gavriil was a romantic who imagined himself in the days of his Koryak ancestors, but he was a good hunter for all of that. Al would teach him to be a great one.

  Al raised his own glass. To the Corps, our mother and our father! he said, and they all drank again. Al, of course, drank very little.

  After that they rehashed the hunt, the long chase through the elaborate and crumbling subways of Brasilia, the moment when they had almost lost the quarry, the final firefight. Gavriil sang a Koryak hunting song, and they got even louder as the patrons of the Common Flamingo gradually drifted out of the place. Al watched them go with quiet pride. Early on, a few of the bar patrons had looked as if they might become belligerent toward the telepaths in their midst. Al had fixed that with a dark stare and a thought. Even with their crippled senses, mundanes knew he was a cobra while they were mice.

  The last of them was leaving as his tel-phone vibrated for his attention. He pulled it out and thumbed the contact. Bester here.

  Mr. Bester? This is Dr. Juan Koabawa. The Blip is dying.

  I see.

  Weve been cleared for a deathbed scan. I understand you have some experience with them.

  Indeed I do.

  Your record shows that youve already done six, so Ill understand if you dont want to do another. But the brain damage is extensive, and shes going fast. Ms. Calderon was unable to make good contact

  Say no more, Doctor. Ill be there in five minutes.

  He closed the phone, stood, and took a bow. Duty calls, gentlemen. Enjoy yourselves, but I want to see you all clearheaded by ten-hundred. Is that clear?

  He left, buoyed by their earnest cheers. Ten-hundred gave them three hours of sleep more than they had any right to expect. He knew his menthey would drink, but they would not get drunk. To do so would be to put themselves at the mercy of normals, and he had taught them better than that.

  He felt good. It was good to be back in the hunt.

  Another scan, thoughsince his marriage to Alisha, his desire to do them had waned. Erik had been righthe had been looking for something that lay beyond the liminality, though he wasnt sure what it was. Something missing, a lost piece of himself.

  Yet every time he stood with the dying at that doorway, he saw less and less. He came back feeling not more whole, but diminished, as if part of him had gone with the dead.

  Each time the liminality manifested differently, depending, apparently, on the person who was dying and the person who was scanning. The truth of the threshold was probably beyond human understanding, but it was that old primate brain again, operating by analogy, trying to make sense out of the inconceivable.

  He would not have gone out of his way to volunteer for another, but when the Corps called, he answered. Especially as he was coming up for promotion, soon, to senior detective. Seven deathbed scans would make him a legend, after a fashion.

  Her mind was shredded by approaching death. She had not allowed them to take her gently. Al had hated to use such force against another telepath, but she had been very strong, and in the endwhether the younger man knew it or notit had been her or Gavriil. She could have shattered his mind. In such a case, you had to make decisions.

  Gavriil had mindblasted her, not subtly but with all of his strength. Vessels had shattered in her brain, and the once life-giving blood now drowned all she had ever been.

  She stood, quivering, at the liminality, a sort of storm front in which each of many lightning bolts was a dying memory, blazing out one last time. In the storm, a black eye was opening, waiting to swallow her forever.

  Khol , he said softly. Khol. I have to know why you went rogue. I have to know who led you to your death .

  She turned toward him. Her face came and went like a bad transmission. It shifted from large-eyed child to the hollow, gaunt visage they had hunted. It distorted from abstractlike the face of a Grinto photographic as she tried to hang on to herself. She wasnt succeeding.

  I was a good cop. I was .

  I know. You loved the Corps. What happened?

  I was I was good

  A shrieking, then, a terrible inhuman sound that tore into him, that set his teeth on edge, that threatened to rip open his mind. For an instant he knew a terrible attraction in despair, in destruction, and yearned for oblivion so much that if he had had a PPG in his hand he might have turned it on himself.

  Lightning struck, and he was on Mars. The sky was still a hurricane, the eye bigger than ever.

  It struck again, and they were fingering a small object, a black fragment of something

  which was now somehow huge, arachnoid, hideous, looming over him

  Together, he and Khol screamed, and she was shrieking away from him, into eternity, and he was following, grasping the trail of her dying mind, riding the current of her spent life toward toward

  Something that called him. A womans face. A mans voice. Answers

  Answers he no longer wanted. He felt his ruined hand spasm with the effort of wrenching free, of abandoning Khols desperate flight into nothing. She wanted to die, and he did, too, to know what was beyond, oblivion or solace. The storm had him, he had gone in too far, and he was glad

  Then the eye dilated, rushed away, and she was gone. Too late, he redoubled his efforts to catch it, but it was like the old problem of taking half a step toward a door, and then half of that step, and half of that. He could get closer, but never reach it.

  And he was withdrawing his bare, trembling fingers from her dead face. He was weeping.

  Im sorry, Mr. Bester, Dr. Koabawa said. I shouldnt have asked this of you.

  No, he managed. Ill be all right in a moment. Justgive me a moment. It felt as if something had been cut out of him, something he couldnt even remember anymore. Was it true, what they said? That a part of your soul went with those who died? How much of him was left?

  Later, on the plane back to Geneva, he felt better. It was Khols loss he felt, her trauma. The illusion of damage had been just that, an illusion.

  Still, he didnt think he would do another deathbed scan. They wouldnt ask him again, not after seven. They probably wouldnt let him if he wanted to, after this performance.

  He took deep, calming breaths, as Bey had taught him. He would be better soon.

  He distracted himself by thinking of Alisha, how good it would be to see her, to not be alone.

  Maybe this time she would conceive. That would please everyone. He knew she wanted a child, and he himself had begun to think of it as more than a duty. He had seen a lot of deatha bit of life would be nice. A new life that was a part of him, a continuation of him.

  The liminality represented the past, threatening to draw him to his doom. Alisha, childrenlifethey were the future, and for the first time in many years it was the future that he wanted. His future, Alfred Besters future, not some vague and nameless legacy of parents he had never known.

  He squeezed that thought away even as it formed. He had no parents. The Corps was his parents, and that was all he needed, all he cared for.

  He slept. There were nightmares, of course, but when he awoke, it was to hope.

  Back in Teeptown, he bought some flowers and headed straight for his apartment. Alisha probably wouldnt be therehe was too early for her to expect him, and he didnt remember her work schedulebut she might be in. If she wasnt, he would put them in a vase and see what he could do about making a meal, something Alisha would like. Coq au vin, maybe, or duck with olives.

  Smiling in anticipation of her reaction, he keyed the door open.

  He was so distracted by his plans, he didnt catch what was in the air until too late. Then he saw the table settings, the wine, and smiled. The smile faded as he understood that the bottle was empty, the fo
od eaten, and only then did he feel the faint palpitations coming from the next room.

  In one jarring instant he was a child again, on that mountain, eavesdropping on Julia and Brett, feeling their lips brushing as if against his own. But this time he already knew the feel of one of the pair, the peculiar way she knotted her hands together across a back. It was his had been his

  The flowers slipped to the floor. He looked down at them dumbly for a time, then knelt to gather them up. He placed them in a vase and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  He didnt look down when he heard the approaching footsteps. He kept his eyes on the stars, on the thin films of clouds, on the vague secrets the patterns of light and darkness implied. Mysteries, cryptograms. Secrets.

  ImIm sorry, Al.

  He shrugged. I suppose I should have expected it. I had no right not to.

  You dont believe that.

  No, he admitted. Then he asked, Why did you marry me?

  You know why.

  No. There was no need to marry. We could have conceived a child for the Corpsthrough artificial insemination, even. Its done every day. But you wanted to marry. Why?

  Because they asked me to.

  He sat back against the pedestal that supported the statue of William Karges. I see. Another attempt to save poor Alfie Bester. To put him on the right track.

  They said you were becomingerratic. And II admire you, Al. I like you. I wanted to help.

  Whats his name?

  Do you really need to

  What is his name? Now he met her eyes. She had been crying, but he found he didnt care.

  Jared. Jared Dawson.

  Well. Another P12, at least.

  I knew him long ago, Al. We were lovers before I ever met you, but our genetic profiles showed a lower compatibility. And She broke off. Al, you dont love me. We both know that.

  That doesnt mean you have to make a fool out of me. A laughingstock in front of the whole Corps.

  Is that what worries you? Ive been very careful about that, Al. No one knows. I swear it. She knelt in front of him, reached her hand to touch his chin. It wont happen again, Al. I swear. I told him it was over.

  Spare me your pity, Alisha. Youre rightI dont love you any more than you love me. I just thoughtI just thought we could be friends. I thought we could trust each other.

  Im sorry. Its all I can say. I wont do it again.

  Oh. Good. Now I trust you completely. That was easy.

  Al

  Go home, Alisha. Go home. Ill be there after a while.

  Their words served only to ease them from one silence to another over the next week. They lived in the spaces. Al tried to come home as seldom as he could, but it was a slow week. The underground was quiet, and all incidents were local enough not to require the intervention of an external investigator. Al kept his feelers out, waiting, hoping for a distraction.

  Alisha triedhe could tell she was trying. For the moment, at least, she was sincere about making their marriage work. But he knew he couldnt trust her, knew he never should have. The Grins had taught him that, long ago. Why did he keep forgetting? Was it some animal instinct, this blind desire to trust? Some chemical necessity?

  It was ten days before he got the call he had been waiting for. Alisha was in the kitchenette.

  Who was that? she asked.

  He left without a word.

  His name is Karl Jovovich, the young medic said. Massive trauma; his heart took a bullet. We have him on a mechanical pump, but hes rejecting. Weve got a heart for him, but I dont expectwell, the collateral damage is extensive. He took five hits in the upper chest.

  So you want me to stand by during the operation.

  Yes. A scan right now would kill him for certain, and would violate his rights

  Im aware of the law, Al said softly.

  Im sure you are. The medic was a normal. He didnt like Al, that much was clear. He didnt like the whole situation.

  Ill wait, Al assured him. Ill wait until you give the word.

  If I give the word. Goddamn vulture .

  Al smiled, very thinly. You have your job, and I have mine. I hope your man lives. But if he doesnt, isnt it better that we catch his killer? He was lying. The man in the bed was a mundane. Al didnt care if he recovered. If he had been shot by another mundanewell, what better justice than that they should all kill one another? But, in these situations, it was best to be diplomatic. Mundanes were better off believing that the Corps was, as advertised, their friend.

  He waited impatiently as the fellow was taken into surgery. He had chosen a mundane, in a mundane hospital, volunteering through the court system. That likely meant that MetaPol didnt yet know he was doing this. If they did, they might try to stop him, and he couldnt have that. Every moment he had to wait increased the chances someone in his division would realize what he was up to.

  No matter what, this was the last time. The Corps couldnt possibly risk one of their bestand yes, he was one of their best, there was no need for false humilityon an eighth deathbed scan.

  That was okay. One more was all he needed.

  They worked hard, deep into the night. He watched the earnest young surgeons, tasted their desperate faith, their passion for saving life, and wanted to laugh at them. Everyone died. Who did they think they were? But they sweated and cursed and finally wept when the heartbeat went flat, and they reluctantly called him over.

  He worked fast. Once the pulse was gone, there was no time to spare. He pulled off the resuscitator, stripped the glove from his right hand, and touched the clammy brow. The man was young, a little weak-chinned. He had crows-feet, despite his youth perhaps he had laughed a lot.

  Al closed his eyes, and set foot on a dark highway. He was walking next to the young man, who turned to face him.

  You the angel of death?

  Maybe. You know youre dying?

  I know. I can feel it. You see the end up ahead? He laughed bitterly. End of the road.

  Anything you want to tell me first? Who killed you?

  No. Why does it matter?

  I would think you would want revenge.

  The young man shook his head. You know that poem? I forget exactly how it goes. Death is the enemy, not my fellow man. I wont betray someone else to death.

  Even the one who killed you?

  Nope.

  How noble. But you are scared.

  Im terrified. Who wouldnt be? The road had begun to move beneath them, like a slidewalk. Landscape whipped by themsights, sounds, eventsAl ignored them. The young man didnt care who had killed him, and neither did Al. Thats not what he was here for.

  You dying, too? the fellow asked.

  No. But Im going with you.

  How bout you just take my place, if youre so damn eager?

  I thought death was the enemy.

  Yeah. But you seem so all-fired anxious.

  I am.

  Why?

  I want to see whats out there. Beyond that.

  The liminality was approaching; Al had come to recognize it, whatever its form. The road was curling up at the edges as it raced along, black walls going higher and higher, and finally closing, becoming a tunnel of nothing. Their pace was fantastic now, and the young man was starting to blur, to coruscate. Bits of his form were streaming behind him like the tail of a comet.

  This isnt so bad, the young man whispered. I guess I can use the company. You want to take my hand?

  Al didnt want to, but that seemed the surest way. He reached out and did so, just as direction seemed to change, as horizontal motion became verticaldown, like falling toward Mars, like falling in a nightmare. For an instant he knew the sheerest terror he had ever known. Then the universe seemed to flatten, as all of him squeezed into a ribbon, a globe, a single, dimensionless point then, nothing, save a humming like wind, and lights like stars, and the most interesting sensation of turning inside out, like a sock.

  The young man was gone. Everything was gone. But he wasnt. He remained, somehow. And
he spoke to himself.

  He spoke to himself, but he spoke in voices. He spoke first in the voice of Sandoval Bey.

  What did I hope to find here?

  And he answered in the voice of Elizabeth Montoya.

  The truth. The truth about my parents.

  But I know that truth , Beys voice replied. I didnt have to come here for that. And it doesnt matter. It doesnt matter who or what my parents were .

  And now he spoke in the voice of Stephen Walters, the rogue he had killed. There is nothing here. The only thing here is what I bring with me .

  And in the most ancient voice he knew, the voice of a woman. Of his mother. I only bring what is in my heart. That is all that survives beyond the liminality, the contents of the heart .

  And finally, in his own voice. And there is nothing here. There is nothing left in my heart at all .

  There wasnt. There wasnt. His skin was all that remained, inside out, empty.

  He awoke with his back arched, the surgeon standing over him, sweating, mask down. A sparkling numbness was just working through his toes, presumably from the heart-lung stimulator on his chest.

  Got you, the surgeon said. Goddamn it, I got you.

  Congratulations, Doctor, Al said, weakly. You seem to have saved my life.

  They still wouldnt let him out of bed the next day, when Alisha came to see him.

  Hello, my dear, he said, pushing himself upright against the pillows.

  Are you okay? What happened?

  Ohnothing much. I lost control of the scan. I guess I shouldnt have tried to do it so soon after the last one.

  You shouldnt have tried another one at all.

  He patted her hand. Your concern is touching. It really is. But theres nothing to fearI wont be doing it again.

  I hope not

  How did you get here so quickly?

  The hospital called the Corps, and they informed me. I took the first flight.

  Yes. They informed my loving wife, of course.