The Paths Not Taken

//Private Thoughts or mental argument - when one person is trying to decide something.//
*//Thoughts broadcast to/from (another) telepath//*
~Emphasis marks~
~~~~ scene change - small (or POV change)
******** scene change - large (or POV change)

The Paragon of Animals Part 3 (Alternative then missing scene - end of Episode)

Walking down the corridor away from the happy noise of the Council Chambers, Lyta was lost in her thoughts, not always a good place to be lost in, but right now it was a welcome distraction. //I did something right . . . something really right. I was able to help again. :) So why do I feel so sad?// One of the guards at the other end of the hall nodded at her as she passed them and entered the transport tube, all four radiating levels of respect even greater than usual, but they also felt just a very slight bit of nervousness. They were aware she was the one who'd been able to pass on the information that had saved an entire ~species~, among many other vitally important things, but she wore the Psi Corps pin - and the hatred and fear they'd been taught from birth could not be totally removed.

"Core Shuttle."

Not that the Day of Terror hadn't done an immense amount for every (remaining afterwards) member of B5's security in terms of respect for the beautiful teep. //At least all of them keep their brains on the job and not on me . . . finally. Speaking of the Day of Terror, the senior trainees are overdue. Oh joy. :( // Lyta thought grimly. She wanted to sleep, not think about the upcoming training sessions.

A fairly new part of training, first the established members of the troops had gone through it, then they'd called her in, making a set date twice a year for the recruits to pass and continue, or fail and be quietly sent home. There was no disgrace in not passing (many failed). It just meant you were either unable to put theory into practice, or too close to the average to avoid temptation. //I just wish there were other, easier ways for Gari - Zack, now - to be absolutely sure about professionalism and trustworthiness, rather than use me like that . . . well . . . I'll admit it, I enjoy their expressions afterwards - and they've always more than made up for it afterwards. Besides, I agreed last year to do it only because of the 75% deposit made in advance for this time when I was paid. I needed the money desperately, and doing that kept me in my room, and eating, for months. I hope Garibaldi has time to do a repeat of his week of dinners. Yum . . . he promised, I'll have to hold him to the promise. But they'll need more than that to apologize afterwards, if it's half as bad as last time.//

Lyta suddenly blinked and wondered when the lift had arrived at Red 22, since the doors were waiting for her, open to the corridor. //Red 22? When did I get on then off the shuttle? Jeez, I must be losing it.// She walked down the hallway to her quarters.

She sat down on a stool and leaned onto the counter, too tired to even make a meal. Not that she was hungry. //What a terrible day.// She closed her eyes and rested her head on her arms. //I want Kosh to be here again to sing for me. I want to be held by him, believe in serving ~God~ again. I want to be able to BELIEVE again!//

She suddenly raised her head. She knew what she wanted. Despite his harsh 'greeting', Byron's words . . .

. . . maybe . . .

She left her room, returning to the lift, starting on the route to the part of brown sector that Sheridan had granted the rogues use of. Not that downbelow was much, anyway, besides harsh. She should know, she'd spent enough time there, both surviving after uncovering Talia Winters as a sleeper spy; then later - on errands for and lessons from Kosh. But for her, downbelow was safe. As it was for Byron and his flock.

//"No, not human. Better!" Are we? I know I am not human anymore. I know what the Vorlons did - or at least some of it - the changes are accelerating and I don't know how much further I can push and still go. But . . . am I better than they are?// She remembered that today Sheridan had actually thanked her. He'd never bothered to before . . . although both Delenn and Ivanova had, often cheerfully, and once very colorfully . . . Susan did tend to get dramatic with a battle, and the drinking she'd been doing afterwards hadn't helped.

~~~~

Susan had all but dragged her into Earharts, enlisting a passing Zack Allan's assistance to 'Hey, Sarge, help keep her here while I immortalize our friend into B5's history, she friking deserves it after today!'. There were dozens of people there already, half of which had witnessed the battle personally, all of which eagerly listened to her dramatized tale, and all of which raised glasses afterwards in the loud toast to "the best damn fighter of a teep in the whole fraggin Galaxy, the best damn weapon walking, AND THE GREATEST F*CKING ALLY I'VE EVER SERVED WITH!" The cheering had been almost deafening (Rangers weren't ~always~ the silent type) but Lyta, sitting a few feet away from where the speaker was standing and terrorizing the others with the story, could still hear Susan laugh, "Whose skin just went the same shade as her hair."

Although being put in the spotlight wasn't the greatest feeling in the worlds (despite Susan's good intentions), having been sat next to Zack made it a bit more bearable somehow to hear the event relived. He'd put his arm around her waist to keep her from 'escaping' at the start, but his posture (and grip) changed during the recount to move himself closer to her protectively. Confirmation of telepathy being able to slow down, if not stop a Shadow ship was what had seemed to turn the tide of opinion towards her being there. Zack never would have bought her drink for her, or moved so that their sides touched, if he hadn't temporarily overcome his stated dislike of telepaths.

She startled out of her reminiscing when she noticed the doorway into Byron's domain a few feet away. As she moved past the latticed walls, she could see him (looking just as impressive as her first glimpse of him had been), and quite a few others. She could feel the sense of community, even through her shields, making her ache worse with the terrible loneliness she had felt for many months. //I want to have something to believe in . . . //

Byron noticed her as she came through the hatch and down the stairs, slowing down cautiously and waiting for him to finish the mental conversation he was involved with. *//Our next convert shows manners, my friends. Despite what the mundanes have done to her, I feel she is trustworthy - and we can heal her torn spirit. Help her see the Corps is ~NOT~ the answer.//* Then he spoke out loud for the new woman's benefit, since her blocking was as impossibly tight was ever. "Excuse us."

Byron smiled briefly to her as the others moved away, watching her with trained eyes. She was nervous, tired, but had come here of her own will this time. Slender, red hair - face similar to one of his former lovers/followers, perhaps young Tyler would finally be willing to link to this one, his mother had been the only one he had let in - minimal accessories (not uncommon in the Corp's servants), and grieving eyes that said she'd been too close to death recently.

"What you were saying earlier . . . about telepaths. I've decided. I'd like to hear a little more about your ideas."

He nodded, "Of course," and turned to lead her into the rest of the sanctuary. "This way . . . please?" He held out his hand for her, a smile returning.

She placed her gloved hand into his, and he led her in, walking beside her, talking to her about the future, gently testing her blocks to see if she was willing to share in the web that bound his community together. //Not yet, but you are letting the other's emotions in. Soon I will be able to show you. I can see your attraction to us, to me,// Byron thought with self-confessed arrogance. //I can also see your fear. I've read the files on you, 'Miss' Lyta Alexander. Including the secured ones I pulled the codes for out of Chief Allan's mind. You would be a formidable enemy, but under my guidance, you will be a strong ally. And since I know neither you, nor the others, will hear this, Mr. Allan, despite saying he despises telepaths, somehow thinks you are the most gorgeous woman he's ever set eyes upon. His luck with women has been suitably low. I might agree with his decision that you have too much class to ever consider him a potential lover - he used the word 'wife', as if anyone uses such an outdated concept as monogamy anymore - anyone advanced enough to be telepathic should never associate with a mundane human.//

Byron led her through the maze of hallways, alcoves, rooms and corners, talking with her and the others. He'd broadcast that she was to be welcomed, and not to press her blocks too harshly this time. Care was required to convert her, bring her into the fold. As a result, the hostility her badge and gloves would have otherwise brought to her never even was mindwhispered as he introduced her one by one to his telepaths.

Lyta was a fellow telepath. She would not be loyal to the Psi Corps if she was willing to enter this place alone. Byron thought he could break her blocks if he had to - any unnamed 'enhancements' the Vorlons had made to her wouldn't stand up to his own Psi levels, especially with almost half a hundred of his followers backing him up. They'd stopped bloodhounds before, many normals, and now they were in greater numbers than ever before.

Not that he wanted to face Alfred down again . . . Byron hoped he could counter that threat, when it arose, without fear stealing his people from his control.

He finally moved back along the main hallway, where he led Lyta down a short side corridor, which appeared to be a dead end. They were outside the room where the future waited. In most of them, it was his future, and Byron was ferocious about protecting them from Psi Corps. He stopped and faced her, an impassive mask to anyone not mindlinked to him. "Now I must ask you to remove this." He placed his hand over her Corps badge, feeling her stiffen under his touch, her heart beating with an unfamiliar rhythm that he could pick up through the quivering of her breast.

He kept his hand on her, pushing at her mental blocks, as her discomfort rapidly climbed to the point where she suddenly pulled back with a tiny whimper, looking at the floor.

Byron continued his intense stare at her, the attempts to scan continuing. "Station records are available if you know how to break the codes. I know what you said to the command staff when you first returned, and I know the reports on you since then. I am also aware of how the Corps treats those who have secrets they won't give up. I've also been in a 're-education facility'. There should be no reason for you to be the least bit loyal to - "

"I am NOT loyal to the Corps!"

"Then why do you wear that?"

Lyta turned away from him and removed the badge, placing it in her pocket. "Please don't ask me that. I had no choice in the matter, it was wear this - this illusion, or . . ." She refused to continue.

"I know how much you've done for them, for the Alliance. Have they so much as said thank you? Mundanes never do. You have been used. You are not a tool, to be stuck on a shelf or in someone's pocket, to be pulled out and used only when it's convenient for them!" He held her shoulders, making her turn around to face him. "You are a telepath! You are better than them and deserve to be treated better than a slave. You don't have to feel alone!"

He must have pushed just the right button, because Lyta began to tremble all over, tears forming in her eyes as she clenched her arms into her belly and backed away until stopped by the metal wall behind her. Byron reached out, took her arms and gently pulled her closer to him, holding her as she stiffly, quietly sobbed. He could sense her shields lessening, her emotions beginning to leak out. *//We can help each other, Lyta Alexander. We can help each other by being together. Without restrictions, without boundaries or blocks or shields.//*

*//I'm afraid, Byron. I can't trust anyone!//*

Byron stepped back slightly and removed her gloves, placing them in his own pocket. "If you don't want to be a part of this, I cannot show you the rest. But if you do want to belong with us, and you should, all telepaths deserve a better life than what they have, if you want to believe in this, in ~us~, you have to let us in. Let ME in." //She is used to being forced, orders are a comfortable cell for her. So be it,// Byron decided.

Lyta's eyes met his, and then she slowly, fearfully, let down the walls she had kept up behind her eyes. Byron immediately began to push in, gently but firmly, digging deeply until she cried out in pain. He continued to scan until she began to beg him to stop hurting her, then he withdrew slightly, but stayed in her surface thoughts. *//I am sorry, but I had to confirm your loyalties. Here.//* Byron triggered her endorphins to rise, felt her gradually relax as the natural painkillers took hold. *//Is that better?//*

*//Yes. But it still hurts, and you know it. You have had Psi COP training, I can tell,//* she whispered mentally.

Byron ignored her insinuating comment on his past and Psi-level. *//You are still blocking me in some areas. But the memories are for you to deal with - I can tell when you're keeping something from yourself, not just others. You're not just a P5. I'd guess at least a P10 . . .//* He dug in again.

*//Please don't guess, please don't hurt me, I don't want any more pain, please get out pleaseget out getoutgetoutget-//*

Byron broke the connection. "It's all right. I just had to know, to protect what you are about to see next."

She blinked away tears as she looked around. Surrounding them were bare metal walls, the faint vibrations of heavy machinery above them, nothing that Lyta could easily pick up with her mind, besides Byron's powerful presence, and the faint whispers of the others, dimmed by metal and distance and her own shielding - thin now, but back up.

She looked confused. "I've met everyone, and you couldn't have smuggled aboard any type of cargo here, could you?"

"Not cargo. A legacy of freedom, that must be protected no matter what."

Byron led her down the last few feet of hallway, to what appeared to be a blind corner. He closed his eyes, and broadcast a tight signal to the other side. Then a section of wall parted on an invisible seam, opening to the inside. Byron placed his hand on hers and led her in.

Lyta did a slow, surprised survey of the large room. Colors. What had been absent from all the rest of the colony, was here in abundance. Colored cloths on the walls and ceiling, bright handmade clothing on the ones inside, colored pictures painted right onto the metal walls, colored handmade toys.

Children.

Children?!?

*//How did!? But how could anyone escape the Corps with young children?!//* She sent a tight thought to him through the skin connection, not letting the bewilderment leak out to the curious little ones moving to surround them.

Almost two dozen children, 3 of which were being nursed by their mothers, none looked more than 6 years old, and full of the verbal and mental chatter of babies - not many words, but a barrage of images and concepts and ideas and questions of ones too young to understand words, a few of which were broadcasting: welcome who's she hi Byron daddy's back!

Lyta had very little contact with children, Psi Corps rules kept them segregated in crèches until full Psi-potential was reached (usually 8 or 9 years was the earliest since it took many years of training to properly control telepathy), and usually afterwards as well. Lyta herself had been crèched until she was the usual 21, legal adult age, when she had been informed of what she's already had to personally accept: She would likely never live up to her genetic inheritance, and she could either leave the corps (the only family she'd ever known, she'd only met anyone who was ~not~ corps once, and it had terrified her, but hindsight later showed that the 6 year old would have been terrified even if the normal hadn't been there, except then she would have died as horribly as he did), or she could serve as a mundane assistant for PR purposes to someone who had to deal with normals publicly. Fortunately for her (or so she had thought at the time), a faint flicker of Psi lit up at the impossibly late age of 26, and she was fully inducted into the corps the same year.

Questions, surprise, love of Byron, the usual racket youngsters make, but through it all Lyta felt one weak, bewildered thought touch her.

*//Mama? No - no prettylady not mama Tyler want mama WANT MAMA!//* A tiny fair-headed boy who'd been staring at Lyta with huge brown eyes suddenly screamed out loud, clutching the nearest person for support as he fell over, broadcasting a terrible flashback of seeing a redheaded woman, kneeling, restrained and bleeding profusely, begging to let her go, she'd done nothing wrong, please, please while a pair of black suited, gold pinned Psi Cops laughed and shot her in the face at point-blank range, feeling her die, having his mental and verbal screams jammed as another rogue stuffed a hand into his mouth and ran, barely escaping, the taste of blood as his few teeth broke skin, and terror.

Byron had moved to pick up the terrified toddler, mentally shhhing him, rocking him physically while Lyta reeled from the unexpected power of the emotions she felt in herself. One of the women there, after calming down the other children, explained. Lyta bore a strong resemblance to his mother, who had been caught on Mars less than a month ago. Tyler had refused to communicate with anyone, didn't speak didn't broadcast didn't scan, shut them out, as a result of the trauma. Lyta's similarities must have kicked him out of his shell.

Byron moved to sit next to Lyta, holding Tyler as the boy slept fitfully after the seizure. "My son. He turned one earthyear old a few weeks before what you just saw. I was there when he was born, already a telepath. All of these children were born while their mothers were rogues, the Corps has no record of any of them. I intend to keep it that way." Byron watched the youngsters playing, felt the ones who were born Psi practicing under the adults tender supervision. He quietly continued, "Tyler is now the strongest child here, since Simon- . . . He was born at least a P-8. He'll undoubtedly be a P-12, possibly a telekinetic as well, long before puberty. Without training, he is a danger to himself, the other children. But we do all we can to help him, and the others, whether or not they are still latent. There are two down the hall who carry telepaths in the womb, already active, plus those still latent in pregnancy. We will never let the corps take away our children as they have done in the past. Only here has it been possible to let the children gather, for we have the President's assurance of asylum. There are a few young ones still coming. Would you like to hold him?"

Lyta was still quite astonished at it all, but she nodded, and Byron showed her how to hold Tyler, supporting him properly on her arms.

She'd never held a baby before.

She decided she liked it. A lot.

Lyta stayed there, even after Byron had left to speak with others, holding Tyler as he slept and dreamed, the other children making a game of hopping over her legs and the legs of the two mothers still in the room. Two had left after feeding their multiple charges, but a new one had come in just as Tyler yawned and woke up hungry. Afterwards he had struggled back against the higher gravity (he'd been on Mars most of his life, until a few days ago, and the near-earth gravity was a strain on him) into Lyta's lap to play with her long red hair joyfully, concept-words being flung about like a new throwing-toy, willingly letting Lyta damp down on his intensity to keep from hurting the others, active for the first time since watching his mother's execution.

Because of Lyta.

It wasn't nearly as hard as she's always assumed it would be, being near a child. The other kids had adopted her without a second's hesitation, with the pure love only children knew. Tyler . . . Tyler had accepted that this new, kind lady wasn't his missed mother, but he couldn't (and didn't want to) refuse her company. She 'hugged good'. The fact that Tyler could let her know what way to hold him he liked the best, the pure ideas of his thoughts, untainted by many actual words to hinder meaning, made for a fast bonding. She rocked and cuddled him for several more hours, well into the evening, until she had to leave for a late business meeting. Work was scarce, she couldn't avoid any of it, despite the clients both being Pak'Ma'Ra . . . well, she could shower afterwards. Her departure was marked by multiple small hugs (oh the joy in human contact!) and just as many promises to visit before her appointment tomorrow morning.

She also promised to visit every day that she could. It was a promise Lyta would keep very faithfully.

********

next part