"I want to see results, remember."
Her smile was slightly crooked. "Well, I always did say I wanted to see more flight time, didn't I? Thank you, sir."
The first thing she did was turn on her link to contact Garibaldi. "This is Ivanova. I think ... I know what it is!"
"What what is?"
"The . . . connection. The real reason they're trying to frame me! It's Mars!"
Garibaldi had a sudden paranoid image of Wallace, listening in through some patch in the station's communications system. "I think we'd better talk about this face-to-face," he warned Ivanova.
A moment of puzzled silence from the other side of the link. Then, "I'm just outside C&C."
They met there, decided to talk in Ivanova's quarters. Before he would let her say a word, he deactivated her computer and swept the rooms for bugs. "All right," he said finally, "what's this about Mars? You mean Ortega, that he was part of the Free Mars movement?"
"No! You remember, that report I didthe raiders, the hijacked transports. What you warned me about. Well, those transports all shipped out of Marsport!"
"You mean the . . ."
"Morbidium shipments. Morbidium shipments from Mars! That's the connection, I'll bet on it!"
Garibaldi's eyed widened. "I think you just might have hit on it. Why did Wallace and his crew pick on you when we all know there's no real connection between you and Ortega. When you're not from Mars, you've never been on Mars, there was nothing to link you to Mars, just a couple of holiday cards.
"Until you went and figured out that somebody on Mars is leaking shipping information to the raiders."
"Not just that," Ivanova explained. "Or they would have figured it out a year ago. Somebody in charge is sitting on the information. Keeping it quiet. Whoever's involved in this is someone high up in Earth Alliance."
"All right," said Garibaldi enthusiastically, "so where's the link to the terrorists? Where does the Free Mars movement come in? And your friend Ortega? How does it all fit togethermorbidium . . . raiders . . . terrorists."
"Weapons," said Ivanova. "Terrorists need guns, and morbidium is essential in the production of plasma weapons. And the sale is restricted."
"Except on the black market," Garibaldi added. "Where terrorists would buy. Terrorists with a link to the raiders. Somehow they get the transport information, pass it to the raiders, who hijack the morbidium, sell it on the black market, and Free Mars takes their pay in the finished product."
"So maybe I stumbled onto something bigger than I thought." Ivanova shook her head. "But if this is true, you know what it means!"
Garibaldi nodded slowly. "Wallace. He might be a part of it. If Earthforce officials are involved, even just in covering this up, then the first thing he's going to do is try to get rid of the person who uncovered it."
Ivanova raised a hand. "But wait a minute. That can't be it. Earth Central sent Wallace here to investigate even before I sent that report. They couldn't have known about it."
Garibaldi frowned in thought. "All right. They didn't know at first. They just sent Wallace to investigate Ortega's death. Then they get your report. They don't know how much you know, but you're a loose cannon. Too dangerous to be allowed to go around probing into things they don't want to get out.
"But that's another thing!" Ivanova said eagerly. "If Wallace is part of the cover-up of the link between the terrorists and the raiders, then why go to so much trouble to track down Ortega? It has to mean that J. D. wasn't involved with the terrorists at all!"
"Maybe ..." Garibaldi shook his head in confusion. "It turns everything around backward. All right, let's think it through. Say that Ortega's a good guy, like you say. He's found out something. About this link between the terrorists and the raiders. He contacts the authorities, but they're involved, too. They try to shut him up. He runs. They put out a fugitive alert on him. He comes here to Babylon 5, tries to contact you, you're the only honest Earthforce officer he knows. But he gets killed before he can pass you the information. Only, the bad guys don't know that. They think you know what it is."
"That makes sense," said Ivanova slowly, "except who was the murderer? It can't be Wallace or either of his aides, they were on Earth. And ... if they killed him, then wouldn't they know I didn't have the information? So why all this?"
"Yeah, what are they still looking for?" Garibaldi asked himself. "And why did they kill the other guy?"
"What other guy?"
"Oh, I forgot, you don't knownow we've got two murders."
"By the same murderers?"
Garibaldi's voice betrayed his frustration. "I wish I knew! I'm not any closer to knowing who killed Ortega since the day we pulled his body out of that locker. And I won't be, if Wallace has his way.
"And as for this other guy, Yang, I don't know anything for sure about him except that part of him's missing. His name might not even be Yang. But I think he came here from Mars."
"He was killed after Ortega was?"
"We don't even know that. They had him frozen. Who knows for how long?
"I hate this, you know. Here I am, head of security on this station, and I'm groping around in the dark, blind and deaf. I can't try to connect Yang's murder to the Ortega case, because if I do, Wallace will come down out of the sky like a harpy and snatch it away."
Ivanova couldn't resist. "I thought harpies were supposed to be women."
"You know what I mean."
"So what can we do?"
"You? Be careful, that's what. Watch your back. I'm going to be watching it, too."
"And you?"
Garibaldi took a breath. "So far, I've kept the Yang thing quiet." He bit his lip. "I mean, I've kept it out of the computer files."
"Because of Wallace?"
He nodded. "Once he finds out, once he makes the connection, then it's all over. I won't have anything to go on. So it's a race. I've got to find out who killed Yang before Wallace does. I've got to dig so deep I might just end up in the fusion core, but that's the only way."
Ivanova frowned. "You could get in trouble. Your job"
"Never mind my job. I'll take care of that. Remember, I've been in this business a long time, and I'm still around. I've learned a few tricks. Trust me on this, all right?"
Ivanova still looked dubious, but she was interrupted by the sound of his link. "Mr. Garibaldi, would you report to the captain in the Command Office."
"I'll be right there." And to Ivanova as he left, "Just trust me."
Alone in the lift tube, on the way to see Sheridan, Garibaldi wondered how much he should say about Wallace. What he and Ivanova had cooked up between them was raw speculation, nothing but. He didn't want to go to Sheridan with no proof, no evidence, nothing but a crazy conspiracy theory. The captain would probably kick him out of the Command Office, and rightly so.
No, this was something he was going to have to handle on his own, his own way. For Ivanova's sake. She was young, she still had everything ahead of hera brilliant career if he could just prove those charges were part of a frame-up. As for himself, he knew the risks. But Mike Garibaldi had had his chances and, mostly, blown them. What he had to look forward todidn't really look all that inviting, the closer he got to it.
If he could have made it up with Lise . . . but that was over.
For Ivanova's sake, then.
He paused in front of the door to the Command Office, making sure he knew his own mind.
"Captain Sheridan, you wanted to see me."
The captain turned slowly in his chair. "Mr. Garibaldi. Have you ever seen a Code Ultraviolet message?"
"Not too often, sir."
"Well, take a look." He keyed a code into the computer console. The ultraviolet security logo appeared on the screen, and a familiar face.
"That's . . ."
"Captain Sheridan, this is Admiral Wilson of the Office of the Joint Chiefs. Commander Ian Wallace has been sent by this office in order to conduct an investigation of the utmost importance to the securi
ty of Earth Alliance. As commander of Babylon 5, you and your staff are to afford him every degree of cooperation. His authority in all matters pertaining to this investigation is not to be questioned.
"I trust this clarifies the concerns you expressed."
The image blanked on the screen, leaving Garibaldi stunned. "Direct from the Joint Chiefs?"
"You saw it for yourself. The personnel of this station are ordered to cooperate with Commander Wallace in the conduct of his investigation. That's a clear order. Isn't it, Mr. Garibaldi?"
"Yes, sir. Very clear."
CHAPTER 15
There was trouble in the casino, a fight had broken out, and it was still going on when Garibaldi arrived on the scene, despite the security agents already pulling the combatants apart and threatening them with shock sticks. The security chief himself waded into the middle of it, hurt his knuckles on some alien's bone-armored gut, and after a few more minutes, order was restored to the point where he could try to find out what the hell was going on.
"All right, what is it? What's the problem here?"
Accusations from all sides: "He started it."
"No, he did!"
"She cheated!"
"I cheated? I? You cheated! You're the one!"
"You were reading my mind! That's cheating! That's against the law! She oughta be under arrest!"
Garibaldi didn't have anything against aliens, not really. But there was something about pokerplain, old-fashioned Earth pokerthat in his opinion made it a human game. Human mind against human mind. You got aliens playing poker, especially with humans, and this kind of thing always seemed to happen. This time, the argument was between a human and an alien tourist, a Hyach. The Hyach was a female, backed by a larger version in male who seemed to be her mate. The female had claws. Her human antagonist's face had bleeding scratches, which he was wiping with the sleeve of his shirt.
From the senior security guard on the scene, Garibaldi learned that the fight had spread to the spectators and other casino patrons, basically along racial lineshuman against alien. This factor increased the potential for further violence and made a quick, fair, open solution imperativenow.
"He was cheating!" the Hyach kept insisting. "He was making marks on cards!"
"You see any marks on those cards? Huh? You see any?" the human yelled back with considerable heat, playing to the spectators. "She's the one who cheated! Crawling around inside my mind, spying on me, reading my hand! Sneaking, cheating telepath!"
As the crowd pressed in, muttering in hostile tones, Garibaldi noted the number of credit chips spilled over the tableand more on the floor. He made a look out gesture to the nearest security guard, who nodded and stepped over to keep the space clear, shock stick held openly across his chest.
As for Garibaldi, he didn't need to be a telepath to know that the human gambler had been cheating, and how. On one of his fingers there was almost certainly an E-Z MarkR implant, favorite device of amateur card-sharps. A matching implant behind his eye would pick up the faint electromagnetic trace left as the player marked the cards. More sophisticated gambling establishments on Earth scanned the players as they came through the door, and anyone caught with a MarkR implant was usually taken out to the back of the casino for a short, painful discussion on gambling etiquette.
But this was Babylon 5, and Garibaldi had his own views on dealing with gambling etiquette. He grabbed the protesting gambler by the wrist and dragged him a short way across the floor of the casino to the manager's office. "I think we've got a MarkR implant here, do you have a scanner?" The scanner was duly produced, and when Garibaldi switched it on, the flashing light and loud alarm as much as branded the gambler on the hand: CHEAT.
Immediately a small group of people began loudly demanding their money back, as Garibaldi turned the squirming gambler over to one of the security staff. Dumb amateurs, they never learn. The only people who ever make any money with those implants are the cheats who sell them.
But there were still a number of voices loudly declaring, "Hey, what about her? What about the telepath? Yeah, I'm not going to gamble with any telepaths around."
Followed by the manager, Garibaldi intercepted the Hyach as she was starting to gather credit chips from the card table. "Wait just a minute." Her mate behind her glared. Garibaldi glared back for an instant before he turned to the female. "Lady, are you aware that house rules in this casino prohibit telepaths from taking part in games of chance?"
"What you mean? You prove it yourself. He was cheating, he was the one. Not I. Not I."
She reached again for the chips, and again Garibaldi stopped her. "But are you a telepath? Because if you are, I'm afraid your winnings will have to be forfeited."
"What is this four-feet? What do you mean? He was the one who cheat!"
"Just because he was cheating, doesn't mean he was the only one." Garibaldi tapped on his link. "Ms. Winters, this is the chief of security. We have a situation here that may involve a telepath. Can you come to the casino, please?" He glanced up at the surly crowd, clearly unwilling to disperse before the issue was settled. "Yes, I'd say it was a sort of an emergency. All right, yes, definitely an emergency."
While they waited, the Hyach continued to protest, shrilly demanding to see her ambassador, the commander of the station, a lawyer. On Garibaldi's other side, the casino manager made nervous noises. He kept sending urgent mental messages to Talia Winters: Hurry up, will you? Before this situation gets out of hand? Before she ruptures my eardrums?
On Earth, of course, or in any territory under Earth Alliance law, this situation would have been unusual. The Psi Corps ruled its members with a firm hand, and activities like poker were strictly forbidden. No one wanted to gamble with a telepath.
But this was Babylon 5, where the rules were different. Earth law wasn't the only system that counted here, and the Psi Corps had no authority over an alien telepath. But the house rules of the casino applied to everyone, even to members of alien races who considered telepathic powers perfectly normal and placed no restrictions on their use.
Finally Ms. Winters arrived, looking fragile and weary. Garibaldi realized she'd probably been asleep when he called her. But as the surly crowd parted to let her through, her expression grew serious.
"Sorry to bother you, but I was afraid this situation might get out of hand. I don't want to have to put down a riot," he apologized. "This lady just won a lot of money at poker, and she denies that she's a telepath."
Talia turned to the Hyach, met her eyes, held them a moment. Then the alien furiously turned her head away.
"She's a telepath," Talia said flatly.
Garibaldi nodded. He'd had a hunch it was so. "Sorry, lady, but I'm afraid you can't take that money. Using telepathic powers is considered cheating here. You're forbidden to enter the casino again as long as you remain on Babylon 5." He gestured for a couple of guards to remove her from the room, screaming and protesting all the way to the door, her surly mate following in silence.
The crowd, mollified and under the eyes of the rest of the guards, began to subside.
"Thanks, Ms. Winters," Garibaldi told her, sincerely grateful. "I wanted to settle this thing down without using weapons. We don't need more human-alien tension around this station." He paused. "It's a good thing they were both cheating."
"You're sure she was cheating?" Garibaldi's eyebrows went up. "She wasn't?" Talia rolled her eyes back. "Oh, of course! Why else would a telepath ever want to play cards? What other amusements do we have, besides prying into other people's minds?" She sounded bitter.
"Hey, sorry. But I was fairly sure she was cheating some way or other, even before I knew she was a telepath," Garibaldi said cautiously.
Talia pressed her hands to her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit on edge lately. But, no, I don't know for sure if she was cheating. We don't probenot even each other. Not without permission."
"I know. You've told me that. I guess I just thought ... I don't know."
"I co
uld feel her shielding, and her anger, and that's all I needed to knowthat she was a telepath. That was all you needed to know, wasn't it?"
"You're right. And I am sorry. Look, if you want to get back to your quarters, I'll walk you thereor at least to the lift tube. Unless you'd like a drink?"
She shook her head. "No, I do need some sleep." He walked with her through the crowd, now mostly returned to their own various devices. As they reached the lift, he said, "If there's anything I can do, any way I can help . . ."
"No. It's an internal matter of the Psi Corps. Thank you, though, for asking."
The lift door opened, and she stepped inside. As it closed, Garibaldi wondered: why was she so exhausted? It was Wallace, he was sure, but what was the bastard doing with her? What kind of secrets was he fishing out of people's minds?
With order restored, Garibaldi decided to stroll down to the lockup and check out his newest prisoner. If the guy didn't have a prior record for gambling offenses, he'd just as soon simply kick him off the station as haul him in front of the Ombunds for formal sentencing. And he didn't really think this particular cardsharp had a prior record. He just wasn't good enough at it.
But Garibaldi also wanted to make sure that whoever sold him the stupid implant wasn't operating here on Babylon 5. That was one more kind of trouble he didn't need.
A call-up of the guy's record revealed no priors for gambling offenses, several arrests for brawling, and one conviction for taking indecent liberties. He was an asteroid miner named Welch, his ship was stopped-over here on Babylon 5 for a crew R&R, he came from the Mars Colony, he had no war record. A more-or-less typical spacer. Buthe came from Mars Colony. It was a long shot, but maybe he knew something.
Welch, when Garibaldi got another look at him in the interview room, did not look happy. He tried to conceal his hand behind his back when the security chief remarked, "E-Z MarkR implant, huh? I'll bet you saw their ad: Make Colossal Credits playing cards with your friends! They'll never know your secret! Is that so?"
Welch squirmed.
"Look, friend," Garibaldi said, deciding to teach this fellow a few of the basics, "do you know how lucky you are that you didn't try to use that thing in some high-powered casino on Earth or Mars? The enforcers in those places aren't nice guys, like I am. First . . ." He grabbed hold of Welch's hand, forced it down flat onto the table. "First they'd whack this thing off. Then they'd feed it to you. One finger at a time. Whether you were hungry or not. Next . . ." He pressed a thumb up next to Welch's eye where the visual implant was. "They'd pop this right out. And feed it to you for dessert. And after that, if you were lucky, they might leave one or two working parts. Do you get my drift, Mr. Welch?"
Babylon 5 02 - Accusations (Tilton, Lois) Page 10
