Babylon5: The Short Stories

by J. Michael Straczynski

  "Lyta?"

  "G'Kar?" The voice came again, but smaller this time, more distant. He ran toward the sound of it, calling her name. But she was nowhere to be found.

  Shrock! G'Kar thought. He cursed himself for getting so lost in thought that he could lose sight of her. He believed she could take care of herself under almost any circumstance, probably better than he could himself, but—

  He stopped at the sound of a voice. It called to him not in any alien tongue, but in his own language.

  "Who are you?" the voice asked.

  "Citizen G'Kar of Narn," he answered. "Who are you?"

  A form stepped out of the trees, a Narn like himself. "Ka'Dath," he said. "We are honored to have you among us, Citizen G'Kar."

  Lyta called again for G'Kar, but there was no answer from the forest that pressed in around her. She pscanned the area, but couldn't pick up even the whisper of his thoughts.

  Damn, she thought. How could he have gotten so far away that she couldn't feel him, even without a clear line of sight?

  She moved thought a thick strand of trees and stopped at the sight of several Humans— two young men and a woman— working a small plot of ground that might eventually become a garden. They looked up as she approached.

  One of them touched her thoughts. Have you come to take us back? He asked.

  No, she psi'd back.

  He stood, joined by the others. Then you're welcome to stay.

  What is this place?

  Home, the woman psi'd back. Freedom. A world of our own at last.

  Home.

  G'Kar entered the small series of huts that had been constructed deep in the forest, and quickly understood why he had not seen them from orbit. They were built of native material and carefully camouflaged to conceal them from prying eyes. As they entered the village, they passed other Narns who emerged from huts and the line of surrounding trees to study the newcomer.

  "What are all of you doing here?" G'Kar asked his companion.

  "We are the only survivors of a Centauri slave ship that crashed here three years ago," Ka'Dath said. "We built this place out of the wilderness and hoped that one day we might be found and returned home, so that we could rejoin the fight to free Narn."

  "Narn is free," G'Kar said. "Two years ago we drove the Centauri from our home. We are now at peace."

  "Peace," Ka'Dath said, as though unwilling to believe it. "Is it possible? After so long...?"

  "Possible, and real," G'Kar said. "I was ..." he stopped, did not choose to say, I was responsible. I helped in the plan to kill the Centauri emperor Cartagia and overthrow Centauri rule, even though it was true. He had come far to avoid that kind of attention. "I was there when it happened," he said.

  "Bless G'Quan," Ka'Dath said. "The elder will be pleased."

  "The elder?"

  "Yes. That is who I'm taking you to see," he said, and indicated a hut in the center of the village, larger than the rest. "Afterward, there will be a feast in your honor. For bringing us this news, for offering us the chance to return home, you shall be hailed a hero."

  G'Kar shrugged. Was this his lot, to be forever elevated above what he felt was his position? Were people so quick to find heroes these days that they would choose someone who just happened to stumble onto their existence?

  Every time he thought he had the universe figured out, it did something like this to him.

  And perhaps that is the point, he considered.

  "Aside from our people, are there any others here?" he asked as they approached the elder's hut.

  Ka'Dath seemed to hesitate before answering "I would not be surprised," he said.

  Lyta came out into another clearing where makeshift quonset huts had been erected, bright white corrugated plastisteel reflecting the sunlight. She recognized Drazi, and Centauri, and other races as well as Humans.

  "Are they all telepaths?" she asked.

  Her companion nodded. On their way here he had said his name was Samuel.

  "How do you all get along?"

  "By respecting one another's privacy. There are no unauthorized scans here, not because we are forbidden by rules or regulations, but because we respect one another. This is a place where telepaths from every world can gather and be safe."

  "What about the crew of the Psi Corps mothership that came here?"

  He stopped. "You know about that?"

  "We found it floating dead in space."

  He nodded again. "They heard this was a sanctuary from the kind of persecution the Corps represents, and they came to take us back to Earth with them."

  "What happened?"

  "We resisted. And when the others aboard saw what we had there, the kind of life we had created for ourselves, most of them joined us."

  "The survivor we found said this was a terrible place. He said his crew were all dead."

  "Freedom is always terrible to those who would impose their will on others. As I said, most of them joined us. The rest struck off on their own, thinking that if we were here, then others must be as well. They hoped to find another group they could enlist in their cause. Last I heard, they were running out of supplies and lost.

  "The survivor you found probably said what he said in hopes of convincing others to come here in force. I can imagine how easy it would be to believe a story like that."

  He looked over at her, saw the expression on her face, saw that she had indeed believed him. He smiled. "Some of those who joined us are away hunting, but you'll find most of the rest here. They'll confirm what I told you if you have any doubts."

  She smiled back. "It's not that I doubt you, Samuel," she said. "It's just that I've never heard of a whole ship of Corps telepaths changing sides like that before."

  "Meaning it could have happened, and you've simply never heard about it ... or the world we've carved out for ourselves is more attractive than even we realized."

  "Maybe so," she said, looking around. This was the kind of environment she had dreamed of creating for her people, a place of safety and mutual respect. No one here wore Psi badges, or gloves, or was forced into a kind of slave labor by normals.

  "One other thing," she said. "I had a companion with me when I landed, a Narn. His name is G'Kar. We got separated in the forest. We've been though a lot together, and I'd hate to lose him now. If you could send out a scouting party to look for him—"

  "Of course," he said. "I'm sure he'll turn up. Meanwhile, would you like something to eat? You must be starved after all that walking."

  A tray of food was spread out before the pallet where the elder half lay, half sat, considering his guest.

  "You do not eat, Citizen G'Kar," he said.

  "In due time," G'Kar said.

  "You have questions."

  G'Kar smiled. "It seems questions are all I am fated ever to have, it seems," he said. "Nothing would please me more than to stumble across an answer from time to time, but that does not appear to be a real possibility."

  "Then perhaps you are intended to be an answer for others, rather than to have answers given to you by others."

  "I don't understand."

  "As the eldest among us, I have led our people here since we were freed from captivity by the crash of the Centauri vessel. But I am not well; I do not believe I will survive the coming winter."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Do not be. My only regret was that I had not yet found someone who could lead my people, guide them in creating a new world for themselves here."

  "Don't you want to return to Narn?"

  "At first, that was all we dreamed of. But in truth, we will always be a target for our enemies, who dream only of our eventual extinction. It would be our ultimate revenge to create a colony totally unknown to everyone, so that if one day our people are attacked again— if our Homeworld should fall—our race could rise from the ashes here in this secret place and fight to reclaim our home and avenge our people."

  G'Kar smiled and paused. He picked up one of the fruits on the table and co
nsidered it for what seemed a long time before he finally spoke. "I have only one other question," he said.

  The elder smiled back. "Just one?"

  "Yes," G'Kar said, and fixed the elder with a gaze that he hoped would penetrate whatever was between him and who he was actually looking at. "Who are you?" he asked. "Who are you ... really?"

  "...and that was the last we saw of our ship." The man speaking had identified himself as Nathan Delcompte, first officer of the Psi Corps mothership they had found dead in HyperSpace. He had the uniform (now kept in a box beneath the crude wooden bed) and the documents to prove it.

  Others had been assembled in the modified life pod that they used as a meeting room, each confirming the other's story, just as Samuel had promised. So far the place seemed to be everything it was advertised to be.

  And yet ... and yet there was something that troubled her. Perhaps it was the way in which their stories so closely corroborated one another. For all their ability, teeps were no more perfect or consistent than mundanes; they saw things in different ways, at different times, and interpreted those things in uniquely personal ways.

  Yet all the stories she had been told since arriving had a curious sameness about them ... as if they had been coached, or ...

  She frowned and took a bite from another of the exotic-looking fruits in the bowl in front of her. It was delicious, but she felt scarcely less hungry than when she had eaten the first one. However, that was a minor matter; something here wasn't adding up, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

  You know what to do about it, she thought to herself. What only you can do. She shook her head. That she could do it wasn't the issue; she didn't want to do it. But under the circumstances, she couldn't see any other solution.

  With her Vorlon-augmented abilities, Lyta could touch another telepath's mind, even a P-12, and leave no trace of ever having been there. The thought did not cheer her; this place, if it was what it appeared, embodied all the things she said she believed in, all the things she believed she was fighting for ... a place where the privacy of all telepaths would be respected. To get the information she needed, she would have to violate that privacy. That they wouldn't know it was happening was not the point; she would know she was doing it.

  She didn't like it. But it was necessary.

  Funny how quickly Paradise passes away in the face of personal convenience, she thought.

  Hating herself for doing it, she reached out and touched the thoughts of the man who had just finished speaking. Just a gentle surface scan... She reeled back from the contact. There was nothing there! But that was impossible, it was—

  He turned, met her gaze, and suddenly the mental pattern appeared in her thoughts, like a light switch being turned on again. But not even a highly trained telepath could simply turn his neural patterns on and off like that. They had been not there, then they had been there.

  And as she caught the impression of his mind, she realized something else: It was familiar.

  Every mindprint is as individual and distinct as every fingerprint; no two are alike. Telepaths are taught to recognize such patterns instantly in order to find each other in large crowds, and to sense potential enemies.

  But the pattern she detected in this new mind was identical with the pattern of Samuel's mind.

  As she widened her probe, she felt the mental patterns snapping on in all the people in the room. All the same. Identical.

  One mind. Not many minds. One mind.

  She found Samuel's face in the crowd.

  "Who are you?" she said. "Who are you?"

  "I don't believe I understand what you are asking," the elder said.

  "Of course you do," G'Kar said. "For every Narn, there is no greater imperative than the need to return home. It's understandable that an outsider, however well informed— telepathically, perhaps?— would not know that. It's not in our history, it's not something we think about— it's who and what we are. The need to return home is in our blood and our bones and our emotional makeup.

  "A true Narn would never say what you just said, never write off the Homeworld, never concede even the possibility of extinction. Therefore, although you look like a Narn, you cannot be a Narn. From this I can only conclude that what I am seeing ... is not what is. And if you are not what you appear, then I must wonder how much else is real. This room, this table, perhaps even the fruit which I believe I am holding in my hand ... but which almost certainly does not exist any more than you do."

  The elder—or what appeared to him as the elder—regarded him silently for a moment before speaking. "You do not seem concerned by this conclusion of yours."

  "Concerned? No. Troubled? Yes. I wonder how many came before me, how many others have seen what you wanted them to see, eaten what they thought was nutritious food that did not, in fact, exist ... causing them to starve to death without ever realizing what was happening."

  The elder rose, limbs that had previously appeared infirm now strong. He approached G'Kar and met his gaze. G'Kar did not look away. "You are a most remarkable Narn," he said.

  G'Kar shrugged. "So I am told."

  "In the time of my existence, few have ever discovered what you have just discovered, and then only in the last moments of their lives. You are the first—"

  He looked off, seemed to be concentrating on something far from here. "—yes, the first, but now there is another also discovering this, not far from here. Your companion." He looked back at G'Kar. "Perhaps this was a good thing. From both of you I can learn what I did wrong that allowed you to discover what was going on so quickly."

  "I've been a teacher before. I'm sure I can be of assistance," G'Kar said. "Lyta, however, might not be quite so amenable."

  "We will see," the elder said. "It is a strange thing, to meet another mind openly, and ... talk. Even if only for a little while."

  "Why just a little while?"

  "Because regardless of how our conversation goes— and make no mistake, I am looking forward to it—neither of you will leave here alive."

  "Perhaps," G'Kar said. "But until then, if you want to learn from me, first I must learn from you. So I ask you again: Who, or what, are you?"

  As soon as she asked the question, the other telepaths—or what appeared to be telepaths—went silent. She went though the possibilities. It's impossible for two people to have the same mental imprints. Therefore they cannot exist. I am seeing that which does not exist.

  She closed her eyes, and for the first time became aware of the slight telepathic pressure on the base of the optic, tactile, and auditory nerve bundles, sending false signals back to her brain. She shut down the misleading impulses and opened her eyes. The room was empty.

  She closed her eyes and chased down the last of the impulses, hidden expertly from detection, and opened her eyes.

  The room was gone.

  She stood just inside a forest, the high branches forming a vast canopy above her. In front of her were spread the rusted husks of shuttles and personal starships from hundreds, perhaps thousands, of worlds. They were overgrown with vines and covered in leaves. Some of the vines had left tracks in the dirt where they had been used to pull—or had themselves pulled—the ships in, where they could not be seen from orbit.

  The more recent shuttles, still new and untarnished, bore Psi Corps symbols.

  Lyta felt sadness for the multitude of passengers—now all gone—that had once occupied these vessels, but quickly pushed the thought away. She started toward the ships ... and heard movement among the distant trees. As she watched, animals, birds, and insects of every shape and description seemed to bleed out of the Shadows. They crawled, hopped, slithered, stalked, and galloped out of the forest, moving together, utterly silent, and looking straight at her with uncommon intelligence.

  She pscanned them from a distance.

  They all registered the same mental imprint.

  No, she corrected herself, not hundreds of creatures with the same imprint, the same imprint overla
ying their own neural patterns.

  The words came to her from her earliest days of Psi Corps training, a phenomenon often discussed at the Academy but rarely encountered in the real world: hive mind.

  "I am this world," the elder said.

  "Not possible," G'Kar said. "Planets are not sentient creatures."

  "No? Perhaps not the soil, or the metal, or their component molecules, but what of the lifeforms themselves? Branch and leave, hoof and claw?

  "There is no memory among us, even the oldest, that tells us how it happened. Some who came here long ago and discovered our nature had their own ideas about it. They believed that in a time long past, links began to occur between all the forms of life there. Telesymbiosis, they called it. Individually, none of those who live in this place are sentient, as you mean it. But collectively, there is a group mind, a flash of consciousness that links all forms of life here into one great entity that, one day, long ago ... woke up.

  "Ours is a world of unrivaled peace and cooperation. The flower tells the insect when it is most suited for pollination; the wounded animal calls out to the carrion eaters when it is about to die so that the food is not wasted. We are One.

  "But from time to time over the years, others came here, others whose intentions were not peaceful. They would destroy the land, tear down the forests, kill the animals. We responded by becoming even stronger, until we could impose the telesymbiotic pressure on those who came here. They would become lost in illusion, as you almost did, eventually starving to death. Their bodies would be moved into areas requiring fertilization, to serve the greater self.

  "It is easier for us to deal with your kind this way," the elder said. "But we do have other means at our disposal.