Criticism is welcomed. Address criticisms to [xazqrten@cox.net]
******************************
Earlier that day, Lyta had been met by a young Japanese woman when she and
Bob Bryson had exited the arrival gate of their flight. It had been
ridiculously easy to get Bob through customs and immigration to the outbound
flight that took him to a waiting ship in orbit over Tokyo. A few well-placed
mental suggestions had allowed Bob to use one of his fake passports without
anyone questioning him. Tokyo would be a dead end for anyone trying to track
them via credit card usage or customs/immigration transactions. Before leaving
the woman who had met them, Lyta emphasized that contrary to Bryson's orders,
she didn't need anyone to keep an eye on her. "People trying to protect me
could find themselves in situations they can't handle. If that happens they are
on their own. I won't say this again - so tell me that you understand exactly
what I mean, when I say trying to stay close to me can be extremely hazardous
to your health - if not fatal."
The young woman replied, "I understand trying to protect you could get me
and my associates into situations that could lead to our severe injury or
death, and that you will not be responsible."
"As Garibaldi would say, you got it in one."
******************************
Later that day in Lyta's hotel room:
Lyta had taken a very relaxing hot water shower and was laying on the hotel
bed watching the news. She didn't speak Japanese, but she had lifted enough
from the minds of people she had come in contact with to get a working
knowledge of it. Watching the news helped her reinforce that knowledge.
She perked up and paid attention, after telling the display unit to record
the news item. The announcer was voicing over an image of Susan Ivanova, at a
state dinner, being honored for her leadership in saving the Mars colonies from
destruction by the Drakh. She thought it odd that Bryson had not mentioned it
when she arrived on Mars a month ago. As the news item continued, it showed
Susan being presented a medal by President Luchenko. [That must gall Luchenko
no end.] She was followed by the Minbari and the Mars ambassadors, both
presenting Susan awards for her actions in combat and support services to
wounded personnel. Captain Louise Harris was also honored for her lifesaving
efforts on behalf of injured rangers from several different races. As she
watched the item, Lyta felt immense pride that she could call Susan a friend.
She didn't have many real friends, but all of them were very good people. Then
the announcer belittled the story by going into a story about Susan being sued
by Arkland family. At that point Lyta lost interest in the piece.
After the news item ended, Lyta turned off the display and the lights. Lying
back down, she relaxed and let her mind wander. In a few moments her senses
were revealing what was happening in the street in front of her hotel. She
smiled as she thought about the Vorlons who had the ability to do this remote
sensing. Her fleeting smile was driven by her recognition that she was a
thousand times better at it than they were. She could do a ‘Lorien’ and
actually be on the remote spot while being undetectable to ordinary senses.
She could even hide her presence from telepaths. She let her senses wander down
the street, taking in everything that was happening. To her surprise, she found
herself wanting to actually walk these streets. For some reason she had a taste
for roast meat.
Lyta got up and dressed in a snug fitting black pants and blouse outfit
including her leather vest, and headed out of her hotel room, already tasting
the food. An hour later, after having ridden a half-dozen local trains and
busses, she found herself in one of the parts of Tokyo that was not recommended
for savvy tourists. In fact, this section of the city wasn't even recommended
for the local Japanese people. It was just what she was seeking, a place to
wreck some havoc, without anyone in authority really caring. She was aware that
she had been followed by several people. Even after the fiasco in San
Francisco, Bryson apparently hadn't gotten it through his head that she could
take care of herself. She had bought what could only be barbecued rat-on-a-
stick. Watching her tearing off pieces with her teeth with obvious relish, one
of her 'protectors' dumped the contents of her stomach into a pile of garbage.
As her retching ended, she asked her associates, "How can she eat that? She
must know what it is."
"I'm sure she does," replied one of her male companions. "Our job is to
watch her back, not approve of her eating habits."
They became aware that Lyta was leading them down a very dark alley. She
appeared to be completely unaware of her location, until a small group of men
appeared out of the shadows in front of her. Her 'escorts' suddenly realized
that their exit out of the alley was also blocked as more men appeared out of
the shadows behind them.
Lyta looked over the men in front of her. They were nondescript, and you
could pass them on the street in the daytime and they would not stand out.
Since they were not filthy, she decided that they were just people wanting to
make a living without working. Their weapons seemed to consist of knives, a few
PPGs and at least two slug throwers. They were a motley crew. She said nothing,
waiting for the leader if there was one - and there always was - to identify
himself by making demands.
One of the men spoke to her in Japanese. She pretended that she didn't
understand him. He tried American English. His was pretty good, which led her
to believe he had numerous occasions to use it.
Lyta didn't respond to the demand that had been spoken in American English,
and this angered the gang leader. "Maybe you'll respond to pain?"
At a hand motion by the leader, one of the gang stepped forward, and
attempted to backhand Lyta across the face. His hand stopped just short of her
cheek as if it had hit an invisible wall, and the man muffled a cry of pain as
his fellow gang members heard bones in his hand break. The leader motioned, and
another man threw a kick toward her head. Lyta never moved as the man's other
leg gave way beneath him with a resounding snap. This time the broken bones
elicited a definite outcry of intense pain.
"Enough of this! Shoot the bitch!" ordered the leader.
A gang member pulled a PPG from a jacket pocket and aimed it at Lyta's head.
Before he could pull the trigger, he found himself aiming the weapon at his
leader's head. "What the hell are you doing? I said to shoot her."
"I'm trying, but I can't move my arm or hand. If feels like someone is
holding it in a vise." This conversation was being carried on in Japanese, but
Lyta had no trouble following it. She was scanning the minds of the gang
members and learning a lot about their activities. They had killed so many
unfortunate people that they were an effective population control agency for
the local area. The people who had been following Lyta were paying close
attention to the conversations and the other events transpiring just ahead of
them. They were realizing that they were in real danger.
Another gang member stepped up the one holding the PPG and plunged a wicked
looking knife into his belly. Then he ripped it across and up and down. The
resulting cuts opened the thugs belly up allowing his sliced intestines to fall
out on the filthy pavement. Without further delay the gang members fell to
butchering one another. Blood and guts were spilling out all over the pavement,
as Lyta's 'escorts' watched fascinated by the horror they were witnessing. The
odors beginning to assault their nostrils caused the queasy female to start
puking again, until she had nothing left in her stomach to upchuck. Several of
her male associates were losing their stomach contents as well.
Lyta continued to look at the gang leader. Then she asked in a quiet
voice, "Exactly what was it you were demanding? As you can see, pain wasn't
necessary to elicit a response from me. Don't you agree?"
The gang leader's eyes were filled with terror. He managed to say, "I may
have made a mistake."
Lyta smiled and replied, "Yes, I believe you have. I think I can remedy that
problem. We can't have you running around making mistakes like this in the
future."
Overhearing the conversation between the man and Lyta, her 'escorts' began
to feel horror at her tone of voice, and the direction her statements were
taking. They watched as one of the butchered gang members who was obviously
dead pulled himself up from the pavement, and with the light glinting off the
knife in his hand, drag himself in a horrifying shuffle up to stand beside his
leader. The gang leader looked into the dead eyes of his former gang member and
screamed at the top of his lungs as the knife the dead man was carrying found
its way into his intestines, ripping and slashing back and forth and up and
down until what spilled out onto the offal encased pavement looked like chopped
sausage and smelled horrendous.
Still smiling, Lyta looked into the dying man's eyes and said, "Now there we
are. See, just as I said, you won't be making these kinds of mistakes again."
As the last member of the gang fell to the filthy pavement, Lyta's 'escorts'
frozen in place by the horror they had just witnessed, heard a soft voice in
their heads, "Leave while you still can."
Lyta stepped over and around the mess in the alley and continued on her way,
ripping pieces of meat off her treat with gusto. Before the night was over,
the previous scene or variations on it would be repeated all over this part of
the city. It would be some time before the criminal element felt any safety
plying their trade in the area. Her lack of remorse at what she had just done
should have bothered her, but she chided herself when she considered that she
had not actually done anything. She had only redirected the thugs actions at
their associates.
******************************
0700 in a Tokyo back alley:
"What do we have here, Sergeant Yeng?" Asked police Lieutenant Lee.
"Holding his nose, Sergeant Yeng replied, "It looks like they butchered one
another, Lieutenant. They had PPGs and slug throwers, but only knives were
used. It wasn't an easy was to die."
"I assume there are no witnesses."
"None that we've been able to find. Truth is, sir, we at first thought it
might be the result of a gang fight, but all these men are members of the same
gang, and it is evident that they did it to themselves. If there had been
another gang involved, the PPGs and slug throwers would have been used."
"You do know that this isn't an isolated incident, don't you, sergeant?"
"Yes Sir. We have heard the reports of at least a dozen more since we
started this morning."
"What do you think, Sergeant? Do we have someone moving in and trying to
take over? I mean, if we do, how are they managing this?"
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I don't have a clue."
"Wrap this up, and get a report to me as soon as possible, and get a team
down here to remove this mess."
As an afterthought, Sergeant Yeng asked, "Do you think the department would
spring for hiring whoever is responsible for this?"
"What, and put us out of a job? Not likely," answered Lee.
******************************
0800 in an office in a better part of Tokyo:
"She told you what?"
"She projected into our thoughts and told us to get out while we still
could."
"The six of you just meekly left. Is that about it?"
"Mister Long, you didn't see what she did to those guys. When she got done
there were guts, blood and gore everywhere."
"You will shadow the woman, whether she likes it or not. That is an order."
"With all due respect, Mister Long, We quit. If you want her followed, you
do it. We watched her make twenty men butcher one another. One was dead, and
she made him get up and cut the guts out of the leader, and she did it while
eating a damned barbecued rat-on-a-stick. She never stopped chewing, except to
talk to the leader just before he was killed. No, sir. You want her shadowed,
you do it."
Incensed, Niksi Long called two of his best musclemen in and dispatched them
to bring Lyta Alexander to his office, even if they had to bring her in kicking
and screaming.
******************************
On the planet Glenthor:
Maya Alexander had worked very hard to fit into her classes. She had been
nice to her classmates, even though some of them treated her rather badly. She
didn't liked being called names, but she ignored it. Her refusal to rise to her
classmates ridicule had seemed only to enrage them and cause them to redouble
their efforts.
Her class work had been pitifully simple, and Maya spent most of her
classroom time surreptitiously using her portable computer. That it was more
advanced than any of the computers used by the school had gone all but
unnoticed. The headmaster had known and approved her use of it. In the back of
his mind, he hoped to be able to get something like it for school use. He had
been keeping an eye on the Alexander girl. Her being human made her an easy
target for her classmates and the inevitable class bullies. He liked the fact
that she never returned the abuse. She continued to help anyone who needed
extra help with his or her class work when they asked for it, even some of the
children who picked on her. He had to admit that she was keeping her word to
her mother, and she was setting a sterling example for her classmates and even
the older children.
"Why do you put up with the stuff that Kile does to you, Maya?" asked her
friend Sila.
"Responding in kind would accomplish nothing, Sila. By not responding, I
make him look silly. He can't win. Besides, I really don't care what the others
think of me. I know who and what I am and what I can do."
"And just what are you?"
"I'm the smartest person in this school. After that, nothing else matters."
"Why do you help Kile with his school work?"
"I do it because it shows everyone that I am smarter that he is. As far as
I'm concerned, that makes me better than him."
"Is that why you work with me?"
"No. I work with you because I like you and you’re my friend. Besides,
you’re smarter than Kile. You’re smarter than everyone else in class except me.
I mean that as a compliment, Sila. You’re ahead of all the others in our classes."
Sila considered that statement and believed her. She had seen Maya reading
stuff on her computer screen in languages never seen or heard of on Glenthor,
and she read it many times faster that she had ever seen anyone at school read
anything. She kept what she had seen to herself. Maya was a good friend. She
wished she could be more like her. She knew, as did most of the other children,
that every week Maya had to take some kind of tests that no one else had to
take. When she and her classmates had asked about this, they were told it was
something that Maya's mother required.
Maya had been studying the minds of the children and adults around her. It
was interesting to note the different ways their brains handled information,
depending upon the age of the person receiving the information. There were no
Glenthorian telepaths, so she didn't have to worry about anyone becoming aware
of what she was doing. She liked these people as a population, but there were
individuals she would not have missed if they had left and never returned.
After several weeks of abuse, she had decided to do something about it.
"Good morning, freak," said Nigel Gloth. He was a third grader that had
taken it upon himself to be Maya's personal tormentor. This morning he made the
mistake of shoving Maya to the ground.
From her position on the ground, Maya glared at Nigel. "What are you going
to do about it, freak?"
Maya decided in a second, and entered Nigel's mind. He was unaware of this
event. He only noticed that he felt a headache coming on. The more he railed at
her the worse the headache became. Finally, he started to walk away.
Maya waited until Nigel had walked about five meters before she began to get
to her feet. Nigel turned to see her getting up and said, "I never said you
could get up, freak." He felt his head start to pound. Furious at the human
female, he started back toward her. As the distance between them decreased, his
headache intensified. By the time he had come within one meter of her, his head
hurt so badly he couldn't even see where she was.
Innocently, Maya asked, "Are you okay, Nigel?"
Without answering, Nigel started to run toward the school's nurse's station.
By the time he got there, his headache was almost gone. When the nurse called
him into her office he told her he had a headache, but it had gone away. The
nurse said nothing except that should he feel it coming back, he should return.
"Why do you take that from him, Maya?" Asked Sila.
"Don't worry about it. I don't think he’ll be pushing me around anymore."
"What makes you so sure of that?"
"Just a feeling, that's all."
Sila observed over the next few weeks that Nigel did not push Maya around
anymore. She also noticed that every time Nigel laid into Maya, his headache
returned with a vengeance. Somewhere inside, she knew Maya was somehow
responsible. She had no idea how, but Nigel's reactions when he tried to pick
on Maya were just to convenient to be coincidence. She never asked Maya about
her suspicions.
******************************
The headmaster had called a meeting of Maya's teachers a month after she had
been admitted to discuss the human child.
"I think we should get a feeling for how she is fitting in with our other
students. She is alone, in being the only non-Glenthorian student in the
school. Who wants to be the first?"
Miss Egnla, Maya's councilor and house-mother, was the first. "She seems to
fit nicely into the campus lifestyle. She shares a room with student Sila
Hather. It is always neat and clean. They study well together, and I haven't
heard a cross word between them. I have caught Maya staying up very late using
her portable computer. I'm not surprised though considering she has weekly
tests she must take. For information purposes, just what is she studying,
anyway? I have seen the computer display several times, but I don't
recognize anything I have seen on it."
"I'm not surprised Hlelna. Most of what she is studying is beyond anything
we teach here," replied the headmaster.
"I don't suppose you could show us an example of what she studies?" asked
Mister Dhan Henton, Maya's math teacher.
"Yes, I can, but don't blame me if it doesn't make any sense," replied the
headmaster.
The general discussion lasted thirty standard minutes, and then the
headmaster set up a small projection unit. "This unit was provided for us to
project the questions for Maya during the tests that accompany each set of
crystals. The one I'm going to show you was the first one she completed."
After viewing some of the data crystal's contents, the headmaster asked, "Do
any of you have any real idea what we just saw? Now I'm going to show you the
questions."
He put in a second crystal and started projecting the contents on the wall.
It was a list of questions, all in the various Glenthorian languages. The staff
members read the questions and wondered what they meant. They couldn't read all
of them due to the various languages being used. "This is what Maya must read
and answer to prove that she understands the material presented on the first
crystal. She must answer five-hundred questions covering all aspects of the
study material. If she gets even one answer wrong, she must restudy and retest
on the material, answering a different battery of questions."
"Why is she even going to school here? She is obviously beyond anything we
can teach her," noted Henton.
"She is going to school here because her mother wants her to learn the
social skills she will need in everyday life. She feels that being exposed to
children her own biological age will enhance her skills," replied the
headmaster. "While she is here she gets treated like a child her age. So far
she seems to be adapting. I note that she is quite adept at helping her slower
classmates."
"Sometimes she seems condescending about assignments," complained Maya's
language arts teacher.
"How would you behave if you were forced to sit in a kindergarten class?"
asked Henton.
"She behaves herself and helps her classmates. I think she is doing just
fine," commented the headmaster. "We will review her situation again in a month
or so. I really don't expect any trouble. I also think that the opportunity she
gives our other students to be exposed to a real live alien is invaluable."
******************************
0800 in Lyta's hotel room:
The pleasure was sweeping over her. The strong arms of the Minbari warrior
were holding her tightly, just barely below the crush level of her ribs. She
was kissing him and feeding back his pleasure on him until he was barely
conscious. His thrusting increased in intensity even though his awareness was
almost gone. As he finished, she released his mind and he was swept through
pure ecstasy into unconsciousness. Lyta felt him slowly release her and she
pulled away from him. She opened her eyes only to find herself alone in her
hotel bed sweating profusely. She had again dreamed of her last experience with
Sheraun, and now she was lying on her back, breathing as hard as she would
after extensive heavy lovemaking. She was fooling herself that she didn't need
anyone. She might not need him, but he would surely make life much more
pleasant.
Shaking off the last remnants of the dream, she hit the shower and let the
hot water run down her sweaty body. She thought about the night before and was
disappointed. It had been fun enough when she was doing it, but somehow it had
no lasting effects. True, there were a few less thugs in Tokyo, but that was
only temporary. The lure of easy money would bring in their replacements in
short order. She also wondered where her liaison was. The woman should have
been knocking on her door by 0700.
She had finished her long slow shower and was just putting on her underwear
when the knock on the door sounded. "One minute!" she shouted, then went to the
closet and selected her standard black slacks, blouse and leather vest. The
knock came again. This time is was more insistent. "I said, wait a minute!"
Buttoning her blouse, a now irritated Lyta Alexander opened her room door.
Two rather large men immediately pushed their way into the room. "Who are you?"
"Are you Marsha Benton?" Asked one of the men, using the name Lyta was using
in Tokyo.
"What if I am? I asked who you are. I expect an answer."
"You expect nothing. We are taking you to see Mister Long," said the man.
"What if I don't want to go?"
"You don't have any choice. We can do this easy or hard. Personally I'm
hoping for hard."
"Really. Well, who am I to disappoint you?"
The man reached for Lyta's left arm. Before he could reach her, he appeared
to jump as if he had been shocked. His face began to sweat and a look of pain
worked its way across his face.
"Is this as good for you as it is for me?" Asked Lyta. "I don't want you to
be disappointed."
The second man looked at his partner and at Lyta. "What are you doing to
him?"
"I'm giving him what he said he wanted. Do you want some?"
The man reached into his back pocket and pulled what appeared to be a
leather container filled with shot. Lyta smiled. It had been a long time since
she had seen one of them. It was an old fashioned blackjack. "If that's what
you want, it's all right by me. Why don't you hand that to your friend?"
The man handed the blackjack to his partner, who looking terrified, took the
weapon and immediately smashed him across his mouth. "Does that feel as good as
you expected. I mean, I wouldn't want to disappoint you. Now you take it, and
return your friends generosity. Within five minutes the men had reduced one
another to bloody messes.
"It’s impolite to bleed on someone's carpet. I'll have the hotel send the
cleaning bill to your boss. Now, if you don't mind, lead the way to your boss.
He and I have some talking to do."
Everyone in the lobby stared at the two men, bloody from head to foot
walking in front of the gorgeous redhead as they exited to the sidewalk in
front of the hotel. The doorman signaled a taxi for them. As Lyta waited for
the taxi, she told the doorman, "Tell the desk that room 1202 has blood on the
carpet, and it should be cleaned before the stain dries."
******************************
0930 in an office in a better part of Tokyo:
People in the office looked on in shock as Lyta walked down the passageway
between their cubes. What had gotten their attention was the buzz caused by the
two men walking in front of her. They were leaving blood spots wherever they
walked on the carpet. They came to a halt in front of Niksi Long's secretary's
desk.
"I'm here to see Mister Long," said Lyta.
She and the two men were ushered into Long's office. She looked at Long and
immediately developed a dislike for him. She looked around the office and saw
that it had a fully functional long haul communications interface.
Long stared at his musclemen and then looked at Lyta. "Just what is this
supposed to be?"
"They told me that you said to bring me here, kicking and screaming if
necessary. I see in your mind that is exactly what you told them. However, you
didn't specify who was supposed to be kicking and screaming," Lyta shot back at
him.
"You warned my people to leave while they still could last night, and
earlier in the day you warned Miss Chong to make sure no one shadowed you. You
don't give my people orders. I don't care if you do know Garibaldi."
"Please put through a call to him. We will see if I erred, or not?"
"Miss whatever your name is, you don't tell me what to do."
"It was a request, but have it your way."
She thought for a minute and the communications panel began to function.
Long looked at her confused at what was happening. It took almost a minute for
him to regain his composure. He started to move to shut the system down, and
found that he couldn't move.
"It was a request. Now it's not."
"You can't do this!"
The bloody men standing across the room, said as one, "Oh yes she can."
Long looked at them again. It finally became obvious, even to him, that she
was probably responsible for his men's conditions.
The communications panel changed its display to show a middle-aged woman who
asked, "How may I help you?"
"I'm trying to reach Michael Garibaldi," answered Lyta.
"Whom shall I say is calling?"
"Just tell him, Lyta."
A few seconds later, the woman's image vanished to be replaced by Michael
Garibaldi's. He was looking perplexed. "What's the problem, Lyta?"
It only took her two minutes to explain her call. At the end of which he
directed one question to Long, "Is this correct?"
Long hesitated too long for his own good. "I take your silence as a yes. You
can collect your pay, Mister Long. We no longer need your services. Lyta,
thanks for letting me handle it. Your way would generate too many questions."
"I aim to please, Michael."
"Speaking of which, how long will it be before you get back here? Also, I
saw Bryson late last night. That's a damned good repair job."
"I'll be finished in about three more weeks, if nothing else goes wrong.
However, Michael, I won't be seeing you in person again. I'm going to disappear
in a manner of speaking when I'm finished. You'll hear about it on the news.
Now, tell me about this lawsuit thing Susan is involved in?"
"I'll have one of my people put you in contact with her attorney before you
do your Houdini act."
"Take care, Michael."
Garibaldi broke the circuit.
******************************
In Garibaldi's office on Mars:
"You heard. Long disregarded our instructions, and almost got several of our
people killed. If I hadn't fired him, who knows what punishment Lyta would have
come up with. It wouldn't have been pleasant. What's going on with her, Bob? I
don't like the sound of that disappearing act thing."
"I don't know. I spent a month with her, not counting my time in the
hospital, and I learned a lot that will be useful, Mike, but I honestly don't
have a clue."
"Our Tokyo office sent up some interesting police data from last night."
"What kind of data?"
"I'll show you in a minute, but first I have some pictures I want you to
look at." He then passed one of two forty-eight by sixty-two centimeter
envelopes to Bryson.
Bryson pulled the flimsies out of the envelop and realized they were
pictures of medical scans. "Who's are these?"
"Yours. Look at them in numerical order. They were taken during your recent
stay in that San Francisco hospital. I find them fascinating."
Bryson studied them thoughtfully. "Looking at the first one, I would have to
ask how could anyone survive injuries like those?"
"I have to ask, how did you live long enough to fall to the pavement? I have
pictures of the little girl's injuries in the other envelope. Would you care to
see them. They're even more interesting than yours, but the cake-taker is the
results of the blood tests they ran on the two of you. Pay particular attention
to that data."
"What's the point. Mike?"
"You hustled back here pretty quickly. Why did you leave Lyta?"
Bryson sat looking at Michael for a long minute rapidly blinking his eyes.
It was a facial tic that Michael had long ago learned to associate with Bob's
not wanting to discuss a subject. "Lyta said that people would be looking for
me because of my 'miraculous' recovery, and that it wasn't safe for me on Earth
anymore. Besides, she was beginning to scare the hell out of me, Mike. I've
been scared before. I lived with the fear of immediate death everyday during
the rebellion. But frankly, she terrifies me."
Getting up to pace around his office like a big jungle cat, Michael
responded, "Really! And you believed her? Where is your brain, Bob? While you
were with her, nothing and nobody would have been able to do any permanent harm
to you. San Francisco proves that. Look at yourself in the damned mirror...
and how did you get back here so fast?"
"PADL, pure dumb ass luck, Mike. I caught a transport that was leaving Earth
orbit for Mars about an hour before it left. I was back here before supper.
Lyta just walked me up to the customs and immigration people in Tokyo
spaceport, and they stamped my passport and waved me through."
As they talked, Bryson stepped in front of the full length mirror that
adorned the back of the door to Michael's office.
"Now, open your shirt. I want you to look at your chest." As Bryson opened
his shirt, Garibaldi fitted a data crystal into a socket on his desktop. "What
do you see?"
"Just my chest."
"Watch the video," said Michael tossing a data pad to Bryson. "And then,
read those reports."
Bryson could see that Michael was upset. In fact, he was getting pissed-
off, seeming hell-bent on working himself into a lather.
Bob finished reading the data pad information and was studying the pictures
that accompanied the reports. "My God, Michael. The alleys looks like the
floors of mismanaged slaughterhouses. Are you saying she is responsible for
this carnage?"
"Now, that should bother you, because it's the way she would do it. She
would, simply, mentally give them some guidance, and watch the blood flow.
She's not very forgiving of people who want to do her harm, and she's seen
enough horrible deaths that the carnage in those pictures isn't going to bother
her."
"What does that have to do with us?"
"Did you pay attention to what Lyta said a few minutes ago?"
"Yes. What she's doing is about as ruthless as anything I can imagine."
Working his head around like he was trying not to be sick, Bryson
continued, "She put images in my mind trying to explain herself, her relation
to the Psi Corps, Vorlons, Shadows and to the powers to be on Babylon 5. It was
enough to make me feel sympathetic toward her, but after seeing the pictures
from Tokyo, I think she is the coldest and most compassionless person I've ever
met, and like I said, she terrifies me. And if I didn't have reason enough to
feel that way before, I do now!"
Seething at Bryson's sudden inability to deal with what he saw as cold
reality, Garibaldi exploded, "For God's sakes Bob, grow up! The people who
care for her are cared for. Hell, even people who don't care for her are cared
for. You're a prime example. The people who intend her harm are harmed
themselves. That 'ruthless symmetry' appeals to me. I've watched her over the
years, and it has cost her...dearly. But, damn it, she deserves respect and
has earned - from me at least - admiration."
"Sometimes, I wonder if I really know you, Mike!" shot back Bryson, on the
defensive.
"Don't give me that crap, Bob! I showed that video and those medical
pictures to several of our doctors day before yesterday. Want to know what the
told me? After watching the video, they said that all four of the people who
were shot were dead before they hit the pavement. It seems they don't watch the
network news, or any other news programs for that matter. When I told them the
only fatality was the fellow who lost his head, they said I had to be out of my
mind. Either that or the video was a fake, and we both know it isn't a fake.
When they saw the medical pictures and the other data, they were at a complete
loss for any explanation. Did you find any holes in your chest?"
"No!" replied Bryson, irritation and defensiveness in his voice.
"Of course not. Now watch the display." Then he replayed the video.
Bryson watched the display and saw the same scenes he had already seen
before. "I still don't see your point."
"All things considered, I find that to be very damned odd! If not for her,
you would be fertilizing grass by now! How can you still claim to be terrified
of her?"
"I don't know, unless it is the way she wants me to feel After all, who, in
their right mind, is going to get close to someone who terrifies them. It
could be her way of making me or anyone else keep his distance. It's as if she
doesn't want anyone close to her."
"That's pure crap, Bob! Susan Ivanova, Delenn Sheridan and I are all close
to her, or at least as close as anyone, except Sheraun or Maya is likely to
get. She saved you, Bob! Why? What did she have to gain? There isn't one good
reason for her to do that! She saved that child! Why? Surely, she had even less
reason to save her than she did to save you! I've known Lyta Alexander for
about ten years now. I've never trusted telepaths. Hell, I trust very few
people at all, but I have always trusted her. Ask me why, and I'll tell
you I don't know. But there is one thing that is a fact, and that is that she
has never let me down. When the crap hit the fan, she was there and helped me
duck."
"She's a cold-blooded killer, Mike!"
"And that bothers you, because?"
"Mike, she killed a fellow in New York by causing him to trip over his
shoelaces and hit his head on the corner of his secretary's desk."
"How do you know she did it?"
"She zonked out on me on the street in front of your cousin's restaurant, at
exactly the same time the guy was being 'accidentally' iced."
"And that proves exactly what?"
"She never gave me an explanation."
"Big deal, Bob. If every time I had a thought that distracted me in public,
I was accused of killing someone, who happened to die somewhere in the city,
I'd have probably been mind-wiped or even executed long ago. Jesus Christ, Bob.
I'd think after San Francisco, you'd at least give her the benefit of the
doubt."
"Well she did explain that he had a couple of mild to serious heart attacks
and bypass surgery within the last two years. She even explained how giving him
a heart attack would be attributed to natural causes."
"If you were in her place, would you go with the fancy shoelace scenario, or
for a simple acceptable heart attack in his sleep? One thing is for sure, Bob.
She may or may not have been responsible, but you can bet that when she offs
the rest of them, she'll be in another city or even on another continent. Hell,
she could even be off the planet."
"Let's talk about something a bit more pleasant, Mike."
"How did Lyta react to meeting her family?"
"She said they weren't her family, and that we made a mistake."
"There was no mistake, Bob. That was her family. Did she say what was wrong?"
"No, only that they didn't know her, and they denied having a daughter named
Lyta, or that their name had ever been Alexander."
"I won't try to guess what went wrong, but you should know that Lyta's an
expert liar. Just don't tell her that to her face."
"I have a list of targets we were working with, but she added a whole bunch
of new names to it. I think that there is going to be a slaughter before she is
finished."
"She does take a dim view of people who try to kill her or have her killed.
She is just not the forgive and forget type."
"I got that impression."
"She's only a hazard to those who intend her harm. It can't be that bad,
after all, she was eating when it happened."
"I'm almost afraid to ask, what is rat-on-a-stick?"
"Exactly what it says. They skin and gut a rat, push a stick through him
lengthwise, slop barbecue sauce on him and roast his carcass over a large
hibachi. It isn't considered high class cuisine. Lyta does have some different
tastes."
"Remind me to never buy her a pet rat for a present."
******************************
END PART 7
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