Bester glanced at Lyta every now and then during the questioning. For the most part she kept her eyes fixed firmly on her notepad, undoubtedly working on the time-of-death problems, but just as certainly trying to pretend she wasnt aware of what was happening.
Anne was better, and even helped him. A few years of isolation from the rest of the Corps might have made her a little timid, but she remembered who she was. She understood that minor damage to some mundanes wasnt important compared to saving the life of every teep the killer might have targeted.
He got quite a lot from the intervieweesimages of delivery-men, repairmen, details about their own household duties. None seemed to have an explicit knowledge of the murders.
He scanned them, erased the knowledge of the scan, and sent them out. Let them worry about the blank places in their memorieshe didnt have time to.
By the afternoon he was tired and frustrated, but Lyta managed to cheer him up.
Sir, I think I have something.
Whats that, Lyta?
There is a regularity in the time of murderit was so obvious I dont know why it took me so long to get it.
Well?
The murders are all on record in local time.
Of course.
The first murder happened around 10 p.m. The next happened a week later a little after 3 p.m. The next was two days later around 8 p.m.
And you see a pattern in this?
Yes, sir. If you add a little wiggle-room for the forensic uncertainty, you get a factor of 2.5that is, for each day after the first murder, you add 2.5 hours.
He got it. The local day is 2.5 hours shorter than Earths day.
Exactly, sir, she said, triumphantly. Hes killing them all between midnight and one oclock in the morningEarth time.
The witching hour.
Yes, sir.
And he had to rush the copshe had to do one, then drive to the house of the other and do him, too, before the clock struck one. Brilliant, Lyta. Im impressed. He rubbed his chin. So far that doesnt tell us any more about who our killer is. But that settles one problemhe didnt pick the cops as victims because they were teeps, but because they were cops. He followed his MO as best he couldbecause they were teeps. Ill bet he imagines he feeds on their souls, or sends them to hellsomething like that. That would explain why Finn was killed without the ritualhe wasnt a teep. Check the station log. See if either or both cops had paid a visit to Finn.
She nodded and worked at her terminal for a moment. No, sir but She looked up, excitedly. But they did visit the information ecology office. Something about the flow grids.
Thats it. Thats it. He clapped his hands together. Finn was helping him, all rightbut they werent accomplices.
Idont get it.
Imagine youre Finn. You hate telepaths, despise them. Your father came all of the way to Beta Colony to keep you away from them, and you grew up in a religion that preaches their destruction. And now, suddenly, in your own lifetime, the colony council votes to start letting business teeps in. You watch them become wealthy while you, a public servant, have to scrape by on what you always have. You hate them, but youre too timid to do anything about it, so your frustration builds up.
Then you read about the first killing. You understand this killeroh, hes a little wacko, what with the way he kills them but you dont really care. At least somebody is doing something. Only, when you go back over your information flow records for that night, you notice he almost got caught.
Well, this is your job, this is what you do. You can help him. You can fix it so the security calls just disappear somewhere.
But Finn was dead, for the last murder
Yes, but it doesnt matter. You were right about the difficulty of breaking individual systemsthats not what he did. After the first few murders, Finn figured out the same thing you didthat the time for the killings was always midnight, Earth time. He put the whole city on a timer. Ill guarantee you that when we check, well find that at twelve midnight, Earth time, the whole system does a little hiccupgoes off-line for just a second, then comes back on. In other words, Finn opened every house for a minute or so every night, knowing that only one person would take advantage of it the killer.
No one noticed this?
No reason to. It didnt shut down banks or businessestheir systems are smart enough to know when they arent online. Most home systems arent.
On the other hand, our two cops did figure it out. So did Detective Stesco. He knows why Finn died.
But he doesnt know who killed him. Or care. Her eyes widened. We could set a trap!
We could, but its risky. We might still not know the whole story. How did the killer find out he was being helped? How did he know to kill the cops after they went to the office of information ecology? Thats the missing piece, Lyta. If we know that, I think we know who our killer is.
Well, it could just be someone Finn knew. In the end, they might still have been in it together.
I dont believe it. And how did Stesco know these killings were connected?
That parts simple. He knew Finn was covering for the killer.
Which means that either Stesco is a better detective than I gave him credit for or
or Finn bragged. To someone. Somewhere.
Bester smiled slowly. He was an Adamite. Who might an Adamite brag to?
Other Adamitespeople he was certain wouldnt tell.
Bester nodded grimly. I think its time we see our friend Detective Stesco one more time.
* * *
chapter 5
« » Bester glanced at Stescos quivering body. Hell need to be cleaned up, this time, he said.
Lytaashennodded.
He heard Finn bragging in a barIll make you good odds that its an Adamite bar and that the killer frequents it, too. He thought for just a moment, then flipped open his tel-phone and entered a code.
Annie? he said when the station chief picked up. Why dont you let me buy you a drink?
The bar fell silent like a scene from a bad western. The place didnt really look much like a saloonit was a scrubbed-clean-looking place. There were perhaps thirty patrons. Some of them looked tough enough to play the cowpoke rolemost did not. They all watched Bester and Lyta with less-than-friendly expressions.
Stop me if youve heard this one, Bester said, loudly enough for everyone to hear him. A telepath walks into a bar. He goes up to the bartender and says, I want to talk with each of your patrons, one at a time, in the back room, starting right now.
The bartender, a tall, slight man with a thin horseshoe of hair, frowned, gaped, then said, Hey, you cant just come in here and and
Replied the very articulate barkeep, Bester continued. But the place is surrounded, the telepaththat would be me responded. And if you dont do what I say, youre going to be very, very sorry. On the other hand, all I want to do is to ask each of you a few questions, out of earshot of the rest. It wont take long.
They commandeered the bartenders office. Bester and Anne started with the bartender. They didnt waste time asking him anythingthey just scanned him. Then they started working through the patrons, taking turns to keep from wearing out.
Lyta, he noticed, seemed more and more uncomfortable. He began wondering, again, if she might be a problem. Sometimes it took a little nudge to get someone to see the big picture. A bit of personal involvement.
Lyta, he said, as patron number six exited. Would you scan the next informant, please? I need to catch my breath.
Her eyes widened, and for a moment he thought she would refuse, until Anne added, quietly, Intern .
She did it, though Bester monitored the whole thing and helped her excise the memory.
Next.
The next fellow was a middle-aged, paunchy fellow. He drew a PPG almost as soon as he entered.
Well, hello, Bester said softly. We were expecting you.
The man looked at the three of them with curious eyes. I had to do it, you know, he said.
Of course you did, Bester replied. Nasty tel
epaths, always screwing around with your head.
Its not like that, the fellow said. I want you to understand, I loved them.
Oh, I dont really care to understand that, Bester said. I dont care about that in the least.
The killer turned and pointed the PPG at Besters face. Bester seized his nervous system, felt him trying to depress the contact. Such a little motion, one that would close the gap between life and death.
For a second, he thought he might lose the contestthe mans thoughts were like greased roaches, disgusting, slippery, distracting. But he held firm, which was unfortunate, because that put him far enough in to see the life going out of their eyes, the victims, one by one, feel an almost crushing affection
This is really him, he said. Lyta, if you could take his gun?
Lyta gingerly removed the weapon. The hand stayed out, trembling.
Anne, could you cuff him?
As soon as that was done, Bester blacked him out.
Lets take him to the station, Bester said. I want to take my time.
What do you mean? Lyta asked. Dont we turn him over to Earth security now?
Lyta, surely you understand that all of the evidence we have indicating this mans guiltall of the evidence leading to us even finding himwas obtained illegally. He wont be going to trial. He patted the man on the head. No, I have very special plans for him.
What did you do? Lyta asked, staring at the prisoner. He wore a straitjacket, and his eyes bulged. His breath came in quick, animal pantsthen he would go an entire minute without inhaling at all. Now and again his eyes would dart exactly like those of a person in REM sleep. A rubber ball was strapped into his mouth.
If he could only escape his jacket, Bester said, he would know a moment of perfect, absolute pleasure. He would tear out his own eyes, bite off his tongue, render himself by degrees into one of his own victims. Its the only thing he can imagine that might give him peace, allow him to escape from the things he seesand he can never do it. Hell stay bound for the rest of his life or hell die. Its that simple.
Its horrible. And what you did to all of those people
Five doctors go duck hunting, Bester said. A general practitioner, a pediatrician, a psychiatrist, a surgeon, and a pathologist. A bird comes flying over. The GP is the first to see ithe raises his shotgun, but he doesnt shoot. He thinks, Maybe its not really a duck. I should get a second opinion. By then the bird is long gone. Another bird flies overhead, and this time the pediatrician gets it in his sights. But he thinks, Im not sure if thats a duckbesides, it might have babies. And so, on flies the bird. Next bird flies over, and this time the psychiatrist sees it first. Being pretty sharp-eyed, he knows for sure its a duck, but he thinks, I know its a duck but does it know its a duck? and while hes worrying about that, the duck escapes. Now along comes a fourth bird, and this time its the surgeons turn. Boom! He shoots immediately. Down comes the bird. The surgeon turns to the pathologist and says, Go see if that was a duck, will you? He smiled. Im the surgeon, Lyta. Sometimes you just have to call one in.
Youll pardon me if Iif I dont think thats at all funny.
Was what I did somehow more horrible than what he did? Worse than what he would have done again, if he had escaped, or the courts had released him? Now theres nothing to fear. The second hes unrestrained hell start killing himself. You dont find it poetic?
No.
I hear youve applied for a transfer to business.
Yes.
That might be just as well, if you dont have the stomach for police work.
Mr. Bester, I just cant believe this is what police work is supposed to consist of.
Lyta He sighed. One day, sooner or later, you will understand. In a way, Im sorry for that, because the truth wont set you free. It will circumscribe you. It will make you understand what has to be done, and that what has to be done isnt necessarily pleasant. I dont enjoy what I do. But I know that its the right thing.
Youll pardon me again, Mr. Bester, if I cant take your word for all that.
Of course. Its been a pleasure working with you, Lyta. I trust well meet again.
No offense, Mr. Bester, but I sincerely hope not.
He smiled indulgently, wondering if he ought to do something about her. There was little chance she could cause him any harm, unless
He rubbed his jaw. What if she worked for Johnston and his cronies? He was more certain than ever that this whole situation had been a trap, set by the director. The assassination attempt had confirmed that, at least to him.
But what if the assassin were merely a feint, a distraction? What if the real attacker was Lyta Alexander, who might now level charges against him? Such charges wouldunder ordinary circumstancesbe buried by the Corps.
Unless the Corps wanted to bury Al Bester instead.
The defiance in Lytas face had become mingled with uncertainty. Sir? she said, questioning. He realized that he had been staring at her, silently, for quite some time.
Nothing, Lyta, he said softly. Just wondering if you are a shovel.
I dont understand.
No, he said, with some relief, I really dont think you do. Good day.
He watched her go. He would ask Anne to arrange to have her things searched just in case she had been carrying any recording devices. He still had Anne to back him up.
Unless Anne
No. Paranoia was healthy, but if he went too far in that direction, he would be as mad as the man in the cell, and Johnston would have won.
Let it go this time. Lyta would come around. She wasnt his enemy, she was one of his own, and someday she would realize it.
He peered back at the man in the cell, and he calmed down, like a troubled child recognizing its father.
Bester smiled, and the man started trying to scream around the rubber ball. Bester left him like that. He was humming a phrase from The Rites of Spring as he strolled up the corridor. Stravinsky.
* * *
chapter 6
« » Bester killed most of his velocity. The Black Omega Starfury retained a bit of spin, but he left it so he could watch stars wheel glacially by. Even though his sub-Doppler was watching for unexpected ships, he disliked the idea of not being able to see all approaches, of blind space at his back.
Besides, he liked the cold beauty of stars. He liked the irony, even, of that characterization, that the very furnaces of creation, in whose life and death all of the elements were born, consumed, reborn, should be, at a distance of poetry and literature, described as cold.
He studied his sub-Doppler radar. The other shipthe one expectedwas still decelerating on a plume of newborn helium, but it was a bare exhalation now. Through the view port he could just make out the ship, moving into eclipse behind the asteroid. He saw no others.
He gave it time to reach its destination, then nudged his thrusters to life. His sleek mechanical steed responded, moving now along the curve of the potato-shaped chunk of planet-that-never-was, coasting up the kilometer or so of its length. At the end, a neat hole came into view, no more than thrice the diameter of his Starfury. He maneuvered into the hollow core of the stone.
Fifty years ago, just after the turn of the century, miners had claimed this rock, hollowed it out, refined its metals for Earths Malthusian hordes. In the twenties, the bottom had dropped out of the domestic metals markets. The miners had cut their losses, broken down their machinery, and pulled out, leaving an empty shell of stone.
Another time, the old mine might have become the basis of a colonymany such hollowed-out asteroids had been sold to idealistic world-founders just a century earlier. But with jumpgate technology and much more hospitable colony worlds awaiting, this rock languished.
Until Bester had found it, on an old claims chart. Now it had uses once again.
He coasted along the axis until he reached the far end, where several narrow docks waited. The other shipa battered, unmarked vesselwas already there. He hooked up to a cylinder that connected him to the air lock, making certain that there wa
s pressure on the other sideand that that pressure consisted of an oxygen/helium mix. Then, still in his pressure suit, he moved from the ship into the inner lock. It was a small place, with ladders leading in three directions, each down. He stepped into one and let the gentle tug of an eighth of one Earth gravity drag him down the rail.
He emerged like a slow-motion fireman into a cramped, unadorned room. The walls had been melted and smoothed. There were already three people in the room, all in shirtsleeves. Two nodded greetings to Bester. The thirda man strapped into a chair with steel bandsmerely looked at him with a sort of awful understanding. The only light in the room was a deliberately unpleasant actinic cone directed at the man in the chair.
Bester removed his helmet and, in an unhurried fashion, the rest of his pressure suit. Then he walked over to the prisoner.
Hello, Mr. Jackson. He sat carefully on a small stool and rubbed his hands together. I want to explain something to you. Come, look at me. Dont be afraid.
Jackson reluctantly dragged his gaze around to focus on Bester. He was a young man, only twenty-five. He had grey eyes and clean features. He looked a little like Brett had, when he had been that age, a Psi Corps poster boy.
I dont want to do this, Bester said. I truly dont. We are both telepaths, you and I. We are both Corps, and the Corps is our mother and our father. Youre like my own child, in a deeper sense of the word than any mundane could possibly comprehend.
The Corps is mother, the Corps is father, Jackson whispered.
You see? We are the same. Frankly, if you were a mundane, we wouldnt be having this discussion. I would have already started doing unpleasant things to you. But you are one of mine, Timothymay I call you Timothy? You are one of mine, and I dont want to hurt you. Even though you serve the other side, I still consider you one of mine.
I dont want to hurt you, but if you make me, I will. There is something happening at Syria Planum. There is something happening in EarthGov. They are linked. Do you understand, Timothy? Something is happening to my telepaths, my people, my brothers and sisters andchildren, and I dont believe its anything good.
Babylon 5 11 - Psi Corps 02 - Deadly Relations - Bester Ascendant (Keyes, Gregory) Page 25