Babylon 5 - Voices_玖贝云文库

Blurb

M IND GAM ES

OF THE DEADLY KIND

Telepaths to the left of them. Telepaths to the right of them. And danger is all around Commander Susan Ivanova and Security

Chief Michael Garibaldi w hen a Psi Corps Convention is held on Babylon 5. Someone w ill turn this meeting of mind readers into a

real blast...as a bomb makes Babylon 5 a death trap.

VOICES

The prime suspect is resident telepath Talia Winters. With Talia's old foes, thought-cops Bester and Gray, calling for her head,

Ivanova and Garibaldi can't openly help her. Now she's running for her life through a perilous universe, and her psychic talent is

her only w eapon w hen her path is blocked by staggering intergalactic horrors: psi-cops closing in....and a killer w aiting.

BABYLON 5

"A port of call, a home away from home

for diplomats, hustlers, entrepreneurs, and wanderers."

The perfect setting for an electrifying series

of original, breathtaking outer space adventures!

Based on the Warner Bros. television seriesBabylon 5 created by J. Michael Straczynski.

CHAPTER 1

"WELCOME to Mars," said the sultry, automated voice. "The time is 24:13 Martian Central,

and the temperature is currently 201degrees Celsius. Tomorrow's high temperature is

expected to be 274, with light winds and dust. Please watch your step as you disembark, as

Martian gravity is thirty-eight percent that of Earth. Have a pleasant stay."

Yes, thought Harriman Gray, his step did indeed feel springier as he negotiated the moving

walkway. A shy, reserved person, Gray did not usually have a bounce in his step, nor did he

whistle while he worked. His job as a telepath for Earthforce required a demeanor slightly

less serious than that of an undertaker.

But he couldn't help feeling rather chipper tonight, as he was about to embark on a new

assignment - liaison to Mr. Bester. Bester was the top Psi Cop, the one who got the tough

cases chasing down rogue telepaths. But he was much more than a Psi Cop, as Gray well

knew. Bester was one of the most powerful figures in Psi Corps, the closely guarded

organization charged with training and regulating both military and civilian telepaths.

Although Bester's name did not appear on any list of prominent citizens, a more powerful

man in the Earth Alliance would be hard to find.

Gray was distracted by some children bounding several strides ahead of their parents in

the light gravity. He was glad that he didn't have any ofthose to worry about, although, lately,

he had been feeling unaccountably paternal. It was Susan, he thought, Susan Ivanova from

Babylon 5. She had brought out these strange feelings in him, and what had he brought out

in her? Loathing and disgust. He was afraid to give himself encouragement when it came to

Susan, but toward the end of his eventful visit to Babylon 5, there had been a twinge of

sympathy, a smidgen of understanding in her response to him. Or so he imagined.

After all, nobodychose to be telepathic. Better than anyone, Susan Ivanova should know

that. She could have unlimited sympathy for her mother, a rogue telepath, so why couldn't

she have some for him? Was he any different, just because he had chosen to accept his gift

and allow the Corps to train him and place restrictions on his behavior? Was he any

different than a soldier, trained to kill one moment and keep the peace the next? They lived

in a society that had rules, and the rules were for the good of everyone.

Okay, Mr. Gray had to admit, the rules worked better for some people than for others. But

nobody wanted anarchy, such as the revolt on Mars a few weeks earlier. The fighting was

over, he reminded himself, and most of the real damage had occurred on another part of

Mars, not this region. Stopping the dissension on Mars would be easier than winning

Susan's heart. If only he could return to B5 and have another chance to talk to her, to

convince her that he wasn't a monster.

A moment later, another female intruded into his mind. It was the security guard at the end

of the walkway, and Gray separated her voice from the innumerable voices which babbled

inside his head whenever he was in a crowded place. They weren't real voices - they were

thoughts - but his mind translated the thoughts into an interior monologue. If he concentrated,

he could pick out the voice he wanted, amplify it, and even look behind it at the motions and

motives which informed it.

He produced his identicard a moment before she asked for it. Then he felt a jab of fear from

her in response to the card and his Psi Corps insignia, although her smiling face said,

"Have a pleasant stay on Mars, Mr. Gray."

Many telepaths loved that instantaneous fear they inspired in total strangers. They got off on

it and were

disappointed if a person's psyche didn't cower before them. Gray only found it depressing.

With his guard down, he was struck by a mind-scan so severe that it staggered him. If it

hadn't been for the Martian gravity, which bounced him harmlessly off a wall, he would've

fallen to the floor.

"Are you all right?" asked the guard as she grabbed Gray's elbow and steadied him.

"Yes, yes," he rasped, trying to clear his head. Who the hell had donethat to him?

A small, middle-aged man in a black uniform stepped from behind a pillar. He smiled, trying

to look friendly, but he only succeeded in looking heartless.

"Your friend will look after you," said the guard cheerfully, literally pushing Gray into the

man's gloved hands.

"So pleased to meet you," said Mr. Bester without speaking a word.

Gray blinked in amazement and answered telepathically, "I didn't expect you to meet me

personally, Mr. Bester."

"You'll find," said the Psi Cop in spoken words, "that I believe in the axiom 'If you want

something done right, do it yourself.' "

Gray almost protested over the way he had been scanned without permission, or warning

for that matter. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. Bester was above the law, if anyone

was, although he preferred to work from behind pillars and politicians, not in front of them. In

a privileged class, Bester was the most privileged.

Harriman Gray was a slight man, and he took some comfort in the fact that Mr. Bester was

no taller than he. In fact, without the considerable amount of hair that Bester possessed, he

might have been even shorter.

The Psi Cop frowned. "Yes, but I'm a P12, and you're only a P1O."

"I didn't mean anything by that," said Gray apologetically.

Bester smiled and started down the corridor. "Of course not. Do you know, there have been

studies showing that shorter men are actually more predisposed toward telepathy. Do you

suppose that could be evolution making up for a height disadvantage?"

"I read the Berenger Study, too," answered Gray, "but I didn't think that he proved his

hypothesis. For example, the same study showed that taller women were predisposed

toward telepathy. It looks to me like a statistical aberration."

"That's why I wanted to pick you up myself," said Bester with satisfaction. "To have some

time to talk with you. You know, this assignment won't last very long, just until we iron out the

details of the conference and get the weekend started. However, I am looking for a new

assistant."

Gray was caught off-guard by Bester dangling a ripe promotion in front of his nose, but he

blocked his reactions as best he could. He could feel the Psi Cop probing his mind for a

reaction, but he thought he had a very effective way to shut the probing down.

"Yes, I heard about poor Ms. Kelsey," said Gray, shaking his head. "Terrible tragedy."

Bester shrugged and stopped his scan. "She knew the risks. We got our man, that was the

important part. Of course, whenyou went to Babylon 5, you also came back minus one."

Touché, thought Gray. "Yes, that was also a tragedy," he said with all sincerity.

"Nonsense," snapped Bester. "Ben Zayn was a weakling, a war burnout. Just like Sinclair."

The man in the black uniform swept down another corridor, and Gray hurried after him.

Except for the ease of moving in the light gravity, there was no indication that they were on

Mars. The docking area looked like any other space facility designed for oxygen-breathers;

there were the usual crowded corridors, gift shops, florists, news-stands, restaurants, and

credit machines. One had to go to an observatory dome to see anything of the red planet.

Bester went on with his diatribe about Babylon 5. "Neither Sinclair nor Ben Zayn was right

for that post on B5. Now we've got another war hero there - John Sheridan. That's the trouble

with the Senate and the President, always appointing war heroes to positions of command,

just because they're popular."

"You don't think much of Captain Sheridan?" asked Gray with surprise. "Everyone at

Earthforce think it's finally the right move."

"At least Sheridan is by the book," conceded the Psi Cop. "An honest plodder. But he may

find that Babylon 5 is not covered in the book. I'll reserve judgment until I see how he handles

the pressure."

"You would rather have someone from the Corps running B5?"

"No," answered Bester. "We work better behind the scenes. But it would be nice to have a

friend in that post."

Gray cleared his throat and thought that he had better turn the conversation back to the

promotion. "If you get a new assistant, doesn't he or she have to be a Psi Cop?"

"That has always been the conventional thinking - Psi Cops sticking with other Psi Cops.

But it's not official

policy. In some respects, it would be better to separate my assistant from my backup

person. I can always find new cops to go after the rogues, but an able assistant is a bit

harder to replace."

After negotiating another corner, Bester continued, "My assistant has to be a member of

the Corps and be willing to undergo a deep scan. That goes without saying. Otherwise, it

could be anybody."

The older telepath turned abruptly, stepped in front of Gray, and looked him squarely in the

eyes. "I've done a lot of research on you, Mr. Gray. I especially like the way you manage to

come out on the winning side of every skirmish. That quality, plus your military background,

is very appealing to me."

Gray waited for the blast of a deep scan, but it never happened. Bester just looked at him, a

satisfied smile on his surprisingly youthful face. It was as if he was saying he could jump his

mind anytime he wanted to, but he wasn't going to, for now. So the liaison official took the

offer at face value - he was on a trial period to be Mr. Bester's full-time assistant.

However, Gray couldn't forget the fact that he had a job to do, and that was to promote the

military's needs in the upcoming conference of high-level telepaths. Press releases claimed

the focus was on commercial applications for telepaths - and there would be

representatives from the commercial firms - but everyone knew who really controlled the

Corps these days. Military and corporate telepaths were fighting for crumbs of power

compared to what Bester already had. They controlled their own domains, but Bester and

the Psi Cops controlled them.

"The monorail is this way," said Bester. "We have a private car."

"My luggage," said the young telepath.

Bester smiled. "It's being delivered to your suite. I think you will find that the Royal Tharsis

Lodge is being quite accommodating."

Once inside the security of the sealed monorail car, Harriman Gray finally relaxed and took

in the sights, such as they were on a dark Martian night. The angry red planet didn't look so

angry when it was crisscrossed with monorail tubes, prefabricated dwellings, and shielded

domes. It looked like a giant gerbil habitat on a dusty parking lot.

A canyon yawned beneath the monorail tube, lit up by a science station perched on the rim.

The canyon was, Gray estimated, about six kilometers deep, or about three times the depth

of the Grand Canyon. The canyon faded into the distance before Gray could get a very good

look. With a minimum of gravity and friction, the monorail was breezing above the surface of

Mars at a speed of four hundred kilometers per hour.

Gray shifted his gaze toward the distance and their destination, the famed Tharsis Rise - a

jutting plateau of volcanic ridges that was five kilometers high. It was lit up like the Pyramids,

but the lights failed to convey even

one-tenth of its size. By daylight, it was a monstrous thing that seemed to go on forever, but

Gray knew it was only about three thousand kilometers across.

Tharsis Rise was a bona fide tourist attraction, no one could deny that. And the Royal

Tharsis was a posh resort, so posh that both the manager and the chef were Centauri. Fine,

thought Gray, but once you got past a few Centauri luxuries, there wasn't anything out here to

see but a big flat rock. He would have preferred an Earth setting for the conference - with

greenery and water - not hot, dusty rocks.

Bester was quiet and thoughtful as he gazed out the convex window. "You don't see

anything of interest out there, do you," he remarked.

"I'm afraid I don't," answered Gray. "I've always found the mystique of Mars to be sadly

lacking. Behind all these sleek tubes, there's a lot of poverty, dissension, and nothing.

People came here looking for something, and only a few found anything of value. Now they

want to blame the planet they came from for all their problems."

"Yes," said Bester, staring at the vast, rose-hued horizon. "But if you find something of value

here on Mars, it may be priceless."

Even though the two men were totally alone in the private car, Gray leaned forward

conspiratorially and whispered, "There are rumors about what's going on at our facility in

Syria Planum. If I may ask, Mr. Bester, what's going on out there?"

The little man bristled. "That information is on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to

know."

"Sorry, sir," said Gray, straightening in his seat.

Actually, the military had a good idea what was going on at the Psi Corps training center,

and Gray had been secretly briefed about it. But this was not the time or place to pursue the

matter.

Bester relaxed a bit, but he still looked preoccupied. "Don't you see," he explained, "we

can't tell anyone about Syria Planum, becausewe're the only ones who can keep a secret."

"Yes," admitted the young telepath, nodding his head sagely.* It was their burden, in a way,

that all the mundanes, the nontelepaths, were doomed to become a second class under the

telepaths. He didn't really like it, but he understood it as a sort of natural evolution of society.

Who could stand in their way?

"It's late," said Bester, "but I can arrange a tour of the hotel for you right away, if you like."

"I've been here before," answered Gray, "although I was only here for the day. It's a beautiful

facility."

"Secure, too," said the man in the black uniform. "The monorail is the only way in or out.

Except for overland, which would be insane. During the weekend of the conference, we can

make sure that only the Corps and our handful of invited guests even get off the rail."

Gray shook his head apologetically. "I've been travelling around so much, I haven't kept up.

Are we still worried about the separatists?"

"Bloody idiots," muttered Bester. "They haven't got a chance. We're not going to give up

Mars to a bunch of illiterate miners, I can tell you that."

Gray cleared his throat. "Of course, the military would have preferred to go to Earth for the

conference. West Point or Sparta, some place like that."

Beater smiled. "Have you ever played Martian basketball?"

Now Gray sat forward eagerly. "No, but I've heard about it."

"It's just like Earth basketball," said Bester, "only with the low gravity,everybody gets to

dunk it. They have

some lovely courts here, and perhaps you and I can take some time for a match in the

morning. We don't have to

sign the contracts with the hotel until tomorrow afternoon."

"I'd like that," answered Gray, beaming.

* For six generations since telepathy had been scientifically proven, Psi Corps had been

testing and monitoring telepaths. It had grown from a minor subdepartment into the most

feared organization in the Alliance, and most telepaths considered themselves genetically

superior.

The young man was feeling more relaxed already. Certainly all those terrible stories about

Mr. Bester were simply not true. He could see the hotel very clearly now, an art-deco

monstrosity that looked nothing like a lodge, as he thought of a lodge. Only the jutting ridge

of Tharsis gave the complex any perspective whatsoever.

An explosion suddenly lit up the jagged rock face, and a flaming section of the hotel

spewed outward, along with tables, chairs, and other objects that were sucked into the thin

atmosphere.

The flames went out immediately, but debris continued to fly out. The shock wave jarred the

monorail and would have knocked them out of their seats, if not for their restraints. Lights

flickered in the car, and the monorail screeched to a bumpy halt.

The oxygen wasn't gone yet, but Gray was already panting for breath.

"Stay calm," ordered Bester. "Whatever you do, don't take your restraints off. What's the

matter with this thing?"

He pounded on the panel over his head, and a dozen oxygen masks fell out, hanging from

the ceiling like the tentacles of some bloated jellyfish. Swift changes in air pressure made

papers and cups fly around the room.

"Put a mask on," ordered Bester, although Gray already had four of them in his hands.

They secured their oxygen masks and waited in the flickering lights. Gray felt a tug at his

clothing, and the hair on his arms and neck seemed to rise with the drying of the air. They

were going to be in oxygenless, 200-degree heat in a few minutes, he thought in a panic! He

glanced at the gaping hole in the Royal Tharsis Lodge, and he saw things still flying out of it -

things that might be human bodies! Or Centauri bodies. The voices started to bombard his

head, and Gray closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.

Bester ripped his mask off and sniffed the air. "Stay in your seat," he barked. "That is an

order. I am going to loosen my restraints and try to get this thing into reverse."

Gray lifted the lip of his mask. "No, Mr. Bester! If the air gets sucked out, you might, too!"

"Do you think I want to sit here and bake to death?" asked Bester, unsnapping his

restraints. He sprang to his feet and ripped out an entire bank of panels over his head.

"Although," he remarked, "dying of dehydration is supposed to be one of the more pleasant

forms of death."

"I wouldn't know!" shrieked Gray. He gulped and drew the oxygen mask back over his face.

Bester was like a man possessed, ripping out panels in the ceiling, on the floor, in the

storage bins, and the

bathroom. He occasionally had to grab a mask for a hit of oxygen, but he never faltered

from his task. Finally, in the panel above the water dispenser, he found what looked like a

pair of old-fashioned levers.

"Manual override," he panted. "Undocumented feature. It's amazing what you learn when

you read people's minds all day."

Bester took one more breath of oxygen from a nearby mask and reached over the water

cooler to grab the levers. His normally coiffed hair was plastered across his forehead in

dripping ringlets, and the sweat drooled off his chin. The Psi Cop braced himself to give the

levers a forceful jerk.

He needn't have tried so hard, because the levers moved easily in his grasp. There was a

comforting clunk, and the car shuddered on its overhead track. One second later, the car

flew into reverse so quickly that Bester was dumped on his backside. Gray considered

himself fortunate that he was still strapped in.

Bester sat up groggily and staggered like a drunk into a seat, any seat. He strapped

himself down, reached for a gas mask, and gratefully sucked oxygen.

Gray suddenly realized that he was a quivering rag of sweat, too. He tried to remain

composed, but it was difficult with the dark hotel and its gaping wound in his direct line of

vision. That was when the voices, the screams, and the agony grew louder! Gray put his

hands over his ears and shrunk down into his seat.

"Don't give in to them!" growled Bester. "Block it. You can't help them now."

The assured words helped to calm Gray and give him some control, which he used to push

the voices into the background while he tried to concentrate on his home in Berlin. His home

was a grim little apartment, on the second floor, with stark furnishings and one window with a

flower box that looked down upon a koi pond. He loved it. Gray had just gotten the apartment

a few months ago, and he was very proud of it, even though he had only spent a handful of

nights there between assignments.

He wanted to bring somebody to his apartment for dinner. Somebody like Susan. He tried

to concentrate on Susan Ivanova until the terrified voices faded from his mind.

Bester coughed and cleared his throat. "Well, the Royal Tharsis Lodge is off the list. Where

do you think we can hold this conference on short notice? No, do not suggest Earth or the

training center at Syria Planum."

"If not Earth," said Harriman Gray, "I was going to suggest Babylon 5."

Bester took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Hmmm. You want to go to B5, eh?"

"Yes," said Gray, straightening up in his seat. "We'd both like to see how Sheridan is

getting along there. The station is self-contained and relatively secure. I know Mr. Garibaldi

has an attitude problem, but he gets the job done and has a good staff. We have a resident

telepath there, Talia Winters, who can act as our coordinator."

"Let me get this straight," said Bester. "You'd like to invade B5, on a few days' notice, with

the four hundred

highest-ranking telepaths in Psi Corps?"

"Yes, sir."

Bester tapped his finger to his lips and smiled. "Even though we can't play Martian

basketball there, that does sound like fun. You approach Ms. Winters, and I'll work through

my channels. We want her to ask Captain Sheridan for permission, but we want to make

sure he won't say no."

Gray swallowed and started to say, "Commander Ivanova . . ."

"Will be difficult as always." Bester clicked his tongue with disapproval. "A spotless record,

except for her strange aversion to Psi Corps. You would think her mother was the only

telepath who had ever been put to sleep."

Gray shook his head and decided not to mention Susan again. Bester didn't have to know

about his personal life, although he might have already found out about his crush on Susan

during that unexpected mind-scan. Well, thought Gray, he was on a new assignment and

headed back to B5, and that was all that was important.

The young man chanced another look out the window. Half of the hotel on the great ridge

was illuminated again, which was encouraging. The emergency systems and airlocks must

have kicked in. Best of all, thought Gray, the voices had died to a whimper.

"Do you think the Mars separatists did that?" he asked softly.

"Who else?"

"I wonder how many people died in that explosion?" Gray mused.

Bester closed his eyes. "I counted twenty-six."

CHAPTER 2

"27 PERISH IN MARS HOTEL BOMBING!" exclaimed the banner headline in theUniverse

Today newspaper.

Talia Winters paused in her stroll down the mall to stare at the newspaper displayed on the

newsstand of a small gift shop. The statuesque blonde only had to glance at the first few

paragraphs to know that her all-expenses-paid trip to Mars was in serious jeopardy.

The report began:

"The Royal Tharsis Lodge in Central Mars was the target of a terrorist bombing early this

morning, in which 27 people, mostly hotel employees, died. Authorities have yet to make an

arrest, but a previously unknown terrorist organization has claimed responsibility.

"The organization, calling themselves Free Phobos, issued a communiqué saying that the

purpose of the bombing was to prevent a scheduled conference of Psi Corps officials at the

hotel. A Psi Corps spokesperson said the hotel was only one of several facilities under

consideration.

"Authorities believe the attack was made overland, because suspicious tracks were found

on Tharsis Rise."

Talia Winters looked away, wondering if the problems on Mars would ever end. She had an

appointment, so she couldn't dwell on her own little problems. With a sigh, she continued her

stroll down the main corridor.

As usual, beads turned to watch Talia, but she paid them no attention. She was a beautiful

woman, with sleek blond hair, an intelligent face, and a long-legged body wrapped in a

tailored gray suit. Her P5 psi-level was only average, but her classy presence at a meeting

or negotiation was as much in demand as her telepathic abilities. Even when both sides

were friendly and had no intention of lying to one another, Talia brought an aura of

professionalism and importance to the meeting. And she knew it.

However, her confidence was at a low ebb this particular day. Not only was she upset about

the conference on Mars having to be postponed, in all likelihood, but she was mystified by

the client she was going to see.

Talia was accustomed to not understanding the intricacies of every business deal - that was

normal. In those cases, she would merely concentrate on trying to decide if the opposing

party was sincere and truthful. Did they want to make a deal for mutual gain, or were they

running a scam for their own personal gain? On most occasions, she didn't need to know

the difference between a Brussard hydrogen scoop and an ice cream scoop.

This client was different. Not only didn't she understand Ambassador Kosh or his

negotiating partners, but she often didn't understand the purpose of their meetings. For a

telepath, being in the dark was the most irritating sensation in the universe. She had hoped

to ask for opinions about Kosh from her colleagues at the conference, but now that was off.

No conference, she thought glumly, and nothing to look forward to but a mind-bending

encounter with Ambassador Kosh.

The attractive telepath finally reached the small cafe on Red-3. It was a local place,

frequented by residents of the Red Sector looking for refreshments that were simple and

quick. Why Kosh liked it so much, she didn't know; his ambassadorial quarters in the Alien

Sector were on the other side of the station.

But she had a theory as to why he called the time they often met the Hour of Scampering.

Briefly, between shifts, the cafe on Red-3 did turn into a pick-up bar, especially for the

people who lived there and were headed home. Even Earthforce personnel felt comfortable

on Red-3 during the Hour of Scampering.

Talia sauntered in and stopped. Kosh always stood out like a statue in the park, covered

with a tarp to keep the birds off. He was right there at his usual chest-high counter. Rather

his ornate, bulky encounter suit was there - no one on the station had any idea what he

looked like under it. Talia envisioned Kosh to bebig, because a weakling could never carry

that enormous suit around. She had no proof that he was big, but that was her theory.

The suit had a collar, carved from a gorgeous marblelike stone, and the collar was bigger

than most of the tables in the restaurant. A mountain of rich fabrics cascaded off this

neckwear, including a breastplate festooned with lights. The breastplate looked like an

Babylon 5 - Voices

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: