Babylon 5 11 - Psi Corps 02 - Deadly Relations - Bester Ascendant (Keyes, Gregory)

by Bester Ascendant (Keyes, Gregory)

  He discovered that two of them were nobodies, but the third was Anthony Selto, one of Walters lieutenants.

  Selto wasnt in a good way; he had been in cardiac arrest twice. They hadnt questioned him yet because he wasnt strong enough. Probably he never would be.

  Al immediately put in his formal request to do the deathbed scan. They came to get him the next day.

  I dont like this, Dr. Mandle told him, but we dont have a choice. There isnt another P12 who can get here fast enough, and you did volunteer. I hope you know what youre in for.

  Tell me what to do. Al remembered the brief taste of death with Walters, the door opening and slamming. It had made him wonder, Did the universe remember people? Was there anything on the other side?

  Probably not, but it was worth exploring.

  Just make contact with him. Talk to him. A violent scan will push him over the edge and you may get nothing. Be his friend, play along with whatever illusion his mind has constructed to help him die. At some point you will see a liminalityit may appear as a door or the mouth of a cavern. Youll know it when you see it. Thats when you break off. Dont follow him beyond the liminality.

  Why?

  Because we might lose you, too. Its happened before.

  Oh.

  Al removed his gloves and reached out to touch Seltos face.

  Then he was on a plain made of black clouds, beneath a sky teeming with ravens. The sun hung eclipsed in the sky. He sat on a black horse; Selto was beside him on another. Selto was a short, fierce-looking fellow dressed like a Napoleonic hussar.

  Well, the fellow said, leaning on the pommel of his saddle. Are you death?

  No, Al replied cautiously. He was inside of Seltos dying dream, and Selto didnt know him. Perhaps he could play off his confusion. No, he said, Im Stephen Dexter. The lie clung, weird and bitter in his throat, and he was sorry he had said it. Saying it made it feel real.

  It had the desired effect, however.

  Holy smokes! Walters found you! Hes been looking for you for years. At times he thought you were dead. He cocked his head. You look like your motherthe pictures anyway.

  Al ignored the chill that sent up his spine. He sent me to talk to you. He escaped, but he was mindblasted. Hes forgotten a lot about the locations and ID codes of some of the cells. Hes hoping youll remember.

  Selto shrugged. I only know the one, the Baltimore cell through the Retrograde Hotel, room 661. Does that help?

  Yes. Thank you.

  They were approaching the gate, a sort of trilithon made of gigantic stone slabs. The horses kept the same pace but somehow seemed to approach the gate with exponentially greater speed Selto drew a saber. This is it, he said. Into the valley of death rode the six hundred, and all of that. Are you going with me?

  No, I have to go back and talk to Walters.

  Tell him I went down swinging, will you?

  There was no time to answer. He was rushing at the portal at breakneck speed. Selto was actually charging through, saber held high, the wind from his ride sucking Al along like a leaf behind a tornado. He fought to disengage, but a blinding light suddenly burst forth from the liminality. Selto stretched toward it, his saber becoming a line infinitely long, a shadow falling in the wrong direction and he was gone.

  Al had caught a glimpse of something beyondthere was something thereand then the portal had slammed shut. The world dissolved, and he was back in the hospital, his trembling fingers still on the dead mans face.

  * * *

  chapter 5

  « » He awoke screaming, as he often did. The phantasms of night came with him to the waking world, and for long moments he remained surrounded by them, frantically trying to understand where he was, to banish the faces he had never known, the memories that werent his.

  In time, he succeeded, as well as he could. He rose, went to the sink, filled a glass with water and drank it He stretched his arms, legs, and back until blood warmed his sleep-stiffened muscles and was silently thankful that he now rated quarters of his own. That no one but he himself was witness to these shameful awakenings. He closed his eyes, trying to feel the motions of the city outside, but behind his lids the nightmare still lurked, so at last he bundled into a coat and went outside to watch the sun kiss the snow-cloaked Alps awake.

  The doctora long-faced man with a mustache that might have been penciled in by a mischievous childlooked him over with clinical suspicion. Have you slept, Mr. Bester?

  Some, Ive had a little trouble with sleep, lately.

  Do you want me to prescribe something?

  No, thank you. I prefer to make do without drugs. Im sure in time my body will sort things out. Im probably still readjusting to the day length on Earth.

  Unlikely. Hows the hand?

  Al held up the useless club his left hand had become. The knuckles were white. No change. Nerves dont heal, I guess.

  The nerves are not damaged, Mr. Bester, so far as I can tell. Weve been through this before.

  Maybe you should go through it with my hand, then, Al replied, lightly.

  There are a few more tests we can do, the doctor said. But as it stands, you seem to be in perfect health. Your leg has healed up nicely, and the minor burn on your arm shows no sign of having caused your paralysis. He consulted his chart. I see youve been doing deathbed scans.

  Yes. I started them on Mars, when I was confined to the hospital. It seemed a useful thing to do.

  Yes, but youre still doing them.

  I am. Someone has to.

  The doctor set the chart down on the examination table. Deathbed scansare something we dont understand very well, Mr. Bester. The one thing we do understand, from experience and observation, is that it isnt healthy to do very many. Youve done four already, which is three more than most will do willingly and as many as most can stand without suffering permanent disability. I suggest its time for you to retire from this particular activity.

  Is that an order?

  No, Mr. Bester, it is a heartfelt suggestion. You dont show the usual signs of stress associated with multiple scans, unlesstell meis your insomnia due to nightmares?

  No, Al lied.

  Hmm. Well, until you show clear signs of debility, I cant write you off, because willing scanners are hard to come by. But they cant make you do them.

  No one is trying to. I just feel its my duty to the Corps.

  There are safer ways to suck up to command, Mr. Bester.

  I resent that implication, Al replied tersely. Is my examination over? May I go?

  The doctor rolled his eyes. Yes, Mr. Bester. But Im making a note of my objections.

  What is it, Al?

  Im just tired. I did another deathbed scan this morning. Poor girlbut I got a clear image of her killer. I hope they catch the bastard.

  Thats number five, isnt it? Erik picked at his food and kept his eyes down, but Al felt the concern behind his wordsand maybe something else.

  You arent going to start, too?

  Al, nobody does five necroscans.

  Al shrugged and poked his fork into his pierogi.

  What are they like? The scans?

  Its always a little different, he replied. Theres always a threshold of some sorta door, the edge of a cliffa sort of event horizon. The dying person hangs there for a time, and thenthey go. They recede infinitely.

  Recede infinitely?

  An illusion, I guess, since it only takes a short time. But thats the only way I can describe it.

  But its like they pass through a doorway.

  Something like that.

  Can youcan you ever see whats beyond? Where they go?

  No. Some fear it, some welcome it, but they dont know either, because theyre still on this side when Im with them. When they leave the liminality, I lose them.

  Dont you wonder whats there? I mean, if there is a door, it implies something on the other side.

  I wonder, I suppose. But as to the symbolism of the doorway, it doesnt necessarily mean anything. Its a mental const
ruction, a way of conceiving of whats happening. It could well be wishful thinkingnone of us can conceive of just ending, of not being anymore. Whats more natural for a dying person than to pretend theyre going somewhere else, even if they dont know what they will find there?

  Or maybe they are going somewhere else.

  Sure. Maybe.

  I know you, Al. Youre looking for something, beyond that doorway. You think somethings there, or you wouldnt keep doing it. What are you looking for?

  Al uttered a harsh chuckle. Im not looking for anything. Whats got you so interested in this? Why all the questions?

  Theyve been asking about you. The evaluators.

  Asking what?

  Leading questions. Theyre worried about you.

  Al swirled a chunk of the potato and cheese dumpling in sour cream and brought it to his mouth. He remembered his first taste of pierogi, his delight at its simplicity, its unexpected mixture of textures and taste. This one didnt seem to taste like anything at all.

  You get the impression people fear Im unstable?

  Yes. And thats not good, Al. Im telling you this as a friend.

  A friend who perhaps hasnt been promoted as much as he would like? Al asked, mildly. Who thinks maybe Ive been promoted too often? What did you tell them about my stability, Erik?

  Erik could turn an amazing shade of red at times. This was one of those times. Look here, Al, Im trying to save your career, not ruin it. You know the Corps wont risk an unstable cop. Why do you think all of your assignments since Mars have been domestic? Why do you think theyve been keeping you away from the underground, or any shooting assignment?

  And lest you forget, it was me who covered your ass in the IA investigation of that mess on Mars. If it had been anyone else whod found you, raving, shooting a drained PPG over and over at an unarmed dead manhell, a one-armed, unarmed dead man youd be in area 5 even as we speak. So dont you dare He broke off. Al had never seen him so furious. Screw you, Al, I dont need this. He pushed his chair back violently and stalked off.

  Al frowned and, after a bit of consideration, took another bite of his pierogi. It tasted no better than the last.

  Al wasnt particularly surprised when Assistant Director Babineau called him into his office a few weeks later. If he had been both observant and honest with himself, he would never have doubted Eriks word. But over the years, Al had gained the knack of ignoringno, not ignoring, but disregardingthe opinions of those around him when they concerned him. When he worried about what people thought of him, it invariably led to grief. He sought excellence, and that rubbed people the wrong waypeople didnt want you to be excellent, they wanted you to be mediocre, to keep expectations low, and make life easier for them.

  This time, though, he should have been paying attention. The Corps could tolerate a lot in an officer if he was efficientbut it could not tolerate instability.

  He half expected that Babineau was going to announce a hearing to determine his fitness to serve. In his mind, he was already preparing his defense.

  But for today, at least, it was just Babineau, his diminutive form doll-like behind an overlarge desk.

  Ah. Mr. Bester. If you would? He gestured to a chair, which Al stiffly accommodated to.

  Mr. Bester, I am a plainspoken man, and a busy one, so Ill come to the point, if you dont mind. Do you know Alisha Ross?

  Sir? Yes, sir, weve met.

  What do you think of her?

  Think of her, sir?

  Did you find her attractive? Ugly? Interesting? Boring? Flaky?

  She is not unattractive, sir. I cant say whether I find her interesting or notweve never really spoken, and I know very little about her.

  Well, Ill tell you a bit. Shes a P12, like yourself. Doesnt have the temperament for fieldwork, so she mostly does forensics, building psychological profiles, that sort of thing. Shes a decent soccer player, twenty-four years old, single. Do I have to draw you a picture, Mr. Bester?

  I see, Al said, feeling more than a little disoriented. She and Iwe have a good genetic match?

  Very good. Mr. Bester, weve already spoken to Ms. Ross. Shes agreed, in principle, to consider a match.

  And you want me to

  First you should meet, I should think. Talk about it But quite honestly, Mr. Bester, there are many who think marriage would be good for you at this time. If it isnt hate at first sight, the Corps is much in favor of a union between you and Ms. Ross. Such thorough genetic compatibility is actually quite rare.

  Yes, sir. I would be happy to meet Ms. Ross.

  Youre a credit to the Corps, Mr. Bester. I expected nothing less from you.

  They met in a restaurant in the city, having been assured that the bill was on the Corps.

  It was a somewhat awkward moment, the first in a series.

  Alisha was quiet. She had a conventionally pretty face, with hair not assertive enough to be called either chestnut or auburn, and eyes that could be called nothing but brown.

  I heard you were on Mars, she attempted.

  Yes.

  How did you find it?

  Well, once we were near enough, it was pretty easy, Al replied. We just fell onto it. She smiled at the joke and took a rather large sip of her rosé. And you? he continued. Have you been off planet?

  Twice to the Moon, she answered. No farther than that, Im afraid. I really dont do well with zero gravity.

  Oh. Thats too bad. He sat there trying to think of something else to say, wishing the food would hurry up. Iahmyoure from the United Statesfrom Seattle?

  She nodded. Yes. I dont remember much about it, though. I was brought into the Corps when I was eight. Have you been there? Seattle?

  Oh. No. Almost, oncePortland. It rained a lot.

  Thats what I remember.

  The appetizers chose that moment to arrive, for which Al was grateful. He picked at his mussels, trying to make them last and keep his mouth too busy to talk at the same time. With someone you knew, that wouldnt stop conversation, of courseyou could psi with a full mouthbut by mutual consent, neither of them initiated mind-to-mind communication. It seemed too intimate.

  Al noticed as Alisha finished her wine and poured her some more.

  Thank you.

  Youre welcome.

  Soare you horrified? she asked.

  Horrified of what?

  Of marrying me.

  A mussel went down the wrong way, somehow ended up halfway into his nose. He took some wine to try to clear up the problem and nearly choked a second time. In the end it was quite a mess, and Alisha was laughinga soft, appealing, genuine laugh.

  Sorry, he said, when he could speak. I suppose I thought we would avoid that subject for a while longer.

  I did, too. I guess the wine went to my head faster than I thought.

  The wine went in my head, Al said, and smiled again. It felt real on his face, an unfamiliar sensation. He looked curiously into her eyes. Im not horrified, I find. I always knew that the Corps would eventually suggest marriage, I just suppose I never thought it would be so soon.

  Well, you are over thirty.

  Youve seen my file.

  Im in forensics, remember? I can tell you what your cholesterol level is, if you want.

  Hmm. Well, at least you go in with eyes wide open.

  Are you in love with anyone else? she asked.

  No. If I were, it wouldnt make any difference, not with a match approved by the Corps. He thought of Elizabeth, remembered her objections to all of that, despite their compatibility.

  What? Alisha asked, reading something from his face or surface thoughts. I dont mean to pry

  An old girlfriend, he said. Very old. To be honest, its been a long time since I thought about anything but my career.

  The two of you werent compatible.

  Yes and no. Genetically we were, and I thought we were in other ways. He smiled, and this time it felt normalthat is to say, false. We were very young.

  Im sorry it didnt work out for you, especially since you w
ere genetically matched. I think thats really the most important thing, dont you?

  He remembered Montoya, the flame in her that had nearly consumed him. There had been ecstasy, yes, and excitement, and love. It had made him stupid, nearly ruined him. Yes, he said softly. Yes I do.

  She smiled back, and Al realized that he liked Alisha Ross, that he might manage to like her very much. But he would never love her.

  That was fine. That was more than fine. He didnt want to be in love again.

  They were married in April. Alishas parents came, but they seemed lost among her Corps friends. Erik agreed to stand for Al, but it was clearly out of dutywhatever friendship might have been developing between them was gone.

  They went on their honeymoon to Bali. They climbed mountains and sunned on beaches. For Al, it was mostly a boring business, vacationing, but at times he genuinely enjoyed himself. Alisha wasnt bad company, even if she wasnt exciting company. Their lovemaking was pleasant and companionable, if not inventive. He grew to like the idea of a wife more and morethe comfort of having someone to go home to.

  And his nightmares retreated, though they didnt go away. Alisha didnt ask about them, though he was sure she knew.

  They changed, his nightmares, even as they lessened in intensity. For some time he had been haunted by fragments of the lives of those he scanned. Now he dreamed that he himself stood on the liminality, alone. In this case the threshold was the pinnacle of a mountaintop, terribly high, and low mountains receding to every horizon, fading with distance but never actually ending. It was almost pleasant.

  He would stand there, feeling that all of the answers were somehow out there. He would hear familiar voices, just below the level of intelligibility.

  A womans voice, low and soothing. A mans voice.

  The voice of the rogue on Mars. Of Bey. In the drifting clouds, from the corner of his eye, he would catch hints of the faces, but when he focused on them they dissolved, even as he felt his left arm stiffen, his fingers fusing together into a single mass.

  He would wake, not screaming, but indescribably sad. And then he would find Alishas warm body next to his, a living thing among his dreams of the dead. A warmth. And he would fold against her in the night. And he was gratefulto her, to the Corps. To the Corps, which had seen what he needed and had given it to him.