The guy swallowed nervously. "I'll walk you back there," he said.
Garibaldi watched them go. So maybe he'd been out of line, maybe Ivanova was entitled to a little harmless fun. Maybe this Rick Morrison or whoever was really a nice guy.
And maybe the Narn and the Centauri would kiss and let bygones be bygones.
God, he hated to see Ivanova like this! But how else could he help her? What could he do?
Commander Ivanova, the time is now 06:05 hours.
The mercilessly cheerful computer voice repeated the time again. Ivanova moaned.
"Commander, your reply was not understood. Would you repeat?"
She tried to raise her head, moaned again, and finally managed to form a couple of semicoherent words: "Go away."
"Acknowledged, Commander. Have a nice day!" Ivanova hoped that if she only lay very, very still, she wouldn't be sick. Or was it that she'd already been sick and was just waiting to die? She hoped in that case it wouldn't be long.
There was a foul taste in her mouth, her stomach was threatening to heave itself inside out, and her head refused to lift itself off the pillows. She made herself think of the medical dispenser in the bathroom. Relief, if she could just get herself there without being sick on the way. She managed to sit up, to stand, to grope her way across the room, because opening her eyes would have been too much.
"Sobertal," she groaned, and clutched the tablet released by the dispenser. She swallowed it dry, stood holding herself upright, waiting for the pill to take effect.
At last she could open her eyes. She confronted her image in the mirror and quickly shut them again. Oh, no!
What was I doing last night? she asked herself.
A cold shower helped some. Enough to get her brain powered up to remember the night before. Going to the casino. By herself. Feeling damned sorry for herself. A sympathetic someone. His nice, warm hands supporting her as he brought her to the door . . .
Only suddenly the notion didn't seem all that nice at all. The conviction that she'd been acting like a fool was taking firm hold in her mind.
On her way back across the room she almost tripped over the dress lying on the floor. The red dress. Ivanova closed her eyes. Why did I decide to wear that?
Sober enough by now to feel completely disgusted with herself, she got into her uniform, braiding her hair as tightly as possible until it felt like it was pulling the remains of her headache out by the roots. She ignored the rest of the crowd still in the mess hall for a late breakfast and headed mindlessly to the line for coffee, only remembering at the last minute as the bitter, chemical-flavored synthetic poured into her cup that there was no real coffee.
She shuddered, but took it, unable to face this particular morning without something containing caffeine. At least it was hot. And equally unable to stand the thought of company, she sat down at a table by herself.
She only glanced up when her half-lidded eyes caught sight of a cheerfully replete figure heading in her direction. She closed her eyes completely. No, not Garibaldi, not this morning!
He grinned wickedly. "Well, Ivanova, how was your night out?"
She didn't look up. "I don't want to hear about it, Garibaldi, I really don't."
'Really?"
There was something in his tone. Now she did look up. "What did I do? Take off all my clothes? Challenge the Minbari Wind Swords to a duel? Has the casino got a warrant out for my arrest?"
His voice went more serious. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. "Nothing like that. Really. I was worried about you, that's all. That guy you were with"
"What guy?" she demanded defensively, vaguely recalling that there was some guy or other, but not who.
"Hey! I'm sure he was a perfect gentleman! Look, I'm not saying you can't go out and have a good time. You've earned it. I just . . ." He hesitated. "I just remember when I started thinking that a few drinks might help me face my problems. I don't like to see you ..."
He looked down at the table; she stared into her coffee mug. Finally, "He was a perfect gentleman, huh?"
"After I promised to break his arm." He paused, saving the best for last. "He was calling you 'Susie.' "
Ivanova winced, took another sip of black synthetic stuff. "Thanks," she said at last. "For caring what happens to me now. Sometimes ... I'm not sure I do, anymore."
He stood up with a squeal of chair legs. "That's horsehockey. And you know it." And left her there to think it over by herself.
Alone again, she watched the last tendrils of steam from the mug die away. Garibaldi was right, she still cared. That her career was ruined, yes, there was nothing she cared for more than that. If there was only something she could do about it ...
As she stared glumly into the black sludge in the mug, she saw another figure sit down at a solitary table with her tray. Talia Winters. Garibaldi's polar opposite in the food department. She probably had two pieces of dry toast on her tray, at the most. And these days she was looking so thin she was almost gaunt.
But now Ivanova recalled what Garibaldi had said about what Wallace had put Talia through, what a strain on her the ordeal had been. At least they had one thing in common, she thoughtneither of them could stand Wallace. Guiltily, she remembered how she'd added to the telepath's workload, insisting that she should scan Zaccione, the raider. And how she'd reacted, afterward.
She lifted the mug, shuddered, put it down again and went back to the line for a fresh mug. She stopped at Talia's table. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
The telepath looked up sharply, startled. "Uh, why, no! Please do. You're just having coffee?"
"If you can call it that." Ivanova stole a glance at Talia's tray. Two pieces of toast. Not dry, though, there was some kind of spread on it. And a dish of fruit.
"I want ..." Ivanova's throat closed up. This was hard. "I want to thank you again. For helping out during that testimony. I'm sorry I ... reacted."
"That's all right, I understand. I didn't mean to criticize. Your personal life."
"No. I guess I was thinking, if I could just drag the truth out of that guy, it'd all be solved, all the conspiracies, everything. It'd all be over. Make up for everything. And then, it wasn't."
"I'm sorry it didn't all work out. I mean, for you."
"For my career. I know. That's what I want ..." She swallowed. "I want to ask you. If you could help me again."
"If I can, yes, of course," Talia said, puzzled.
"I suppose you know that Earth Central doesn't want me reinstated. I think it's because they don't trust me, because of Ortega, because of that note he wrote, the information nobody's ever foundI think they still think I know something about it." Ivanova's speech was hesitating. She wondered if she was making any sense at all. Normally, with Talia, she did everything she could to push her away, away from her mind. Now . . .
"What I want is, what was on that note. It was just one word. I'm sure it should be something I remember, but I just don't. And the harder I try, the more it just doesn't mean anything. And I was wondering ..."
Her hands were sweaty, and she put down the coffee mug before she dropped it. She could feel the rapid stutter of her heartbeat, the nervous tingle of fear. "I was wondering if you might be able to ... find it . . ."
Talia spoke very softly, carefully. "I think I probably could, yes, if it's part of your memory. The mind retains many, many memories that the consciousness can't access." She looked dubiously at Ivanova. "But it would require something more than a simple surface scan. With Zaccione, for the most part, I was only skimming the outer surface of his thoughts. In your case, in the case you're discussing, I'd need to go deeper than that. Do you understand?"
Ivanova couldn't speak. If she could, she would have wanted to scream, to run, or strike out with every power she possessed: Keep out of my mind!
But instead, she stiffly nodded that she understood.
"It would be best to do this in a place where we can have complete privacy, with no interruptions
. May I suggest my quarters?"
Ivanova nodded again, managed to whisper, "That would be fine."
Talia looked down at the half-eaten breakfast on her tray. "Do you want to go now?"
"No!" Ivanova took a quick, nervous sip from her mug. "Finish your breakfast. Please. I still have this coffee." Anything, she thought, to put it off, just another couple of minutes. She took a deeper drink from the mug and shuddered. God, this stuff is awful!
Ivanova had never been in Talia's quarters, and she looked around with some curiosity while she moved around the room, adjusting the placement of pillows, pulling a dead leaf off a plant. The telepath seemed almost as nervous as she was.
"Well," Talia finally said, "should we start this?"
Ivanova would have rather stepped out the air-lock. But it was her career. The only thing that could save it. "Yes," she said.
Talia gestured to a couch. "I think this would be the best place." As Ivanova stiffly sat down, Talia began, self-consciously, to remove her gray gloves. "Direct touch makes the mental contact easier," she explained, slightly embarrassed.
Ivanova nodded as the other woman sat down next to her. "Sit back, please. Try to relax. Close your eyes. Try not to resist my presence." They were almost the same words that Talia had used when preparing to scan the captured raider, but this time her tone was different, less impersonal.
The telepath carefully placed a hand over Ivanova's. It felt warm and slightly damp from the glove. Talia closed her eyes for a moment. "Now, I want you to think of the time you spent with J. D. Ortega. Don't try to remember any specific thing. Just picture his face in your mind, listen to some of the things he used to say to you. He was your flight trainer. Think about the time you spent with him in the cockpit of the training ship. Think about learning to fly. Yes, that's good."
Ivanova kept her eyes closed. Talia Winters's voice was very soft, a soothing voice. There was no reason for her to be nervous about this. She was going to help her remember, that was all.
She couldn't quite discern the moment when the spoken voice ceased and gave place to the voice in her mind. The touch of Talia's hand was warm, comforting, and reassuring. It was as if Talia were sitting with her in the cockpit of the training ship, with J. D. in the copilot's seat. Talia's bare hands were on the ship's controls, but they were also her own. They were wearing the gray cadet uniform instead of those long, concealing dresses that Talia always wore. You don't like the way I dress? I'm sorry. I've always been sorry you didn't like me, Susan.
Next to them, J. D. was talking about the use of the tactical screen. "You all know how to use a computer screen. But you can't use this the way you do an ordinary data screen."
He's really quite good-looking, I think. Too bad he was so much in love with his wife.
"You don't see the screen, you don't see through the screen. You see with the screen. It's like your eyesdo you stop and think about how to use your eyes? You don't, you simply see. Well, the screen is your eyes and the screen is your brain. The processing has to be immediate, instantaneous. You don't have time to stop and think."
He was a good pilot. But he didn't like the military. Just the flying.
"You know how they're saying that one day there'll be a direct interface hardwired between our brains and the ship's computer? Well, here's the secret: you have to learn to fly as if there already werehardwired into the ship, all together."
Susan, isn't that it? The key to the message? Hardwired?
And now Ivanova heard the words, distinct from the thought in her mind: "Susan, isn't that it? The key to the message? Hardwired?"
Talia Winters's hand squeezed hers tightly. Ivanova jerked it away, jumped up. "Yes! Yes, that's it! I remember now!"
"I'm so happy for you! What does it mean, though?"
"It means ... it means the secret is somewhere in my ship! My fighter! On the tac screen! It means he put it someplace where a pilot would see it and not really see it!"
She was almost at the door before she turned around and said awkwardly, "Thank you. Thank youvery much."
CHAPTER 29
Ivanova ran all the way to the Cobra bay, barely able to stand still while the lift tube descended. No wonder, she was thinking, no wonder I couldn't remember. "Hardwired." It was J. D. who was always interested in strange new technologies, things like direct ship/brain interfaces. In those days, all she could think of was getting into the cockpit of a fighter, somehow taking over from her brother and avenging his death all mixed up together in her mind.
She ran past the startled dockworkers, who yelled, "Hey, Commander! Is there an alert on?"
"No, it's nothing!" she shouted back. "Is my ship ready?"
But there was no need for them to answer, she could see it there, the familiar ship in the familiar cradle. She had a thought, turned around to see the shift foreman looking at her with a concerned frown. "Everyone knows which one is my ship, don't they?"
"Why, Commander?" A look of sudden alarm. "Are you thinking of sabotage?"
"No! I mean, there's been no sabotage threat or anything like that. I was just wondering."
"Good. Then there's nothing wrong?"
"No, I just wanted to check out something I forgot last time I was out."
She slid into the seat inside the cockpit, stared around her at the controls and display screens, more than familiar, almost extensions of herself by now. The tac display was dark. She closed her eyes, then opened them again.
She switched on the computer, and the screen glowed into life: rows of controls, the targeting array. J. D. had been desperate. He wouldn't have had much time. Whatever he'd hidden, it was too dangerous to keep it on him, too valuable to risk its loss . . .
Suddenly, she knew. "Computer, keyword search: Hardwired."
"No file accessed."
She thought an instant. "Keyword search: J. D."
"Accessing: file J. D."
"Display file."
But what flashed into sight on her screen was nothing she could comprehend. A diagram of some kind. A code. Maybe the map of a new star system. So complex that the pattern only emerged after she fined down the resolution. It meant something, certainly. But she had no idea what, and the tactical computer knew no more than she did.
So this is it, she thought. J. D., this is what you died for? And the rest of them? What secret could this possibly be to be worth so much?
He'd known she was on the station, somehow found out which ship was hers (from some secret Free Mars sympathizer on the Cobra bay's crew?). And he'd copied the informationas a backupto her tac computer. Hidden in with all the other files, where no one would ever be likely to notice its existenceunless they had the keyword to search for it.
Ivanova felt a profound sense of loss and sadness. What had happened to her old flight instructor? What kind of person had he become, that he was involved in all this? "Dammit, J. D.!"
But this wasn't getting her anywhere. She had the computer transfer the data to a crystal, then slipped it into a pocket of her flight suit. Now to find out what exactly she had here.
The same old janitor was mopping the hall outside the Cobra bays, and Ivanova stepped aside to get out of her way. She barely caught a glimpse of sudden movement in the corner of her eye before the blow struckshock stick, not mop handleshorting out her entire nervous system, reducing all her senses to blinding white static.
When they returned, the first thing she felt was hands on her, someone tearing at her uniform, tearing it off. And her first incoherent thought was rapesome maniac had attacked her. But then the voice came clear, and she recognized it.
"Where is it? I know you've got it! I knew it all along! Ms. Perfect Record! Ms. Full Commander at twenty-eight! Ms. Hero, capturing raiders single-handed! He passed it on to you! I knew he did! I knew
"Yes! This is it! This is it, isn't it! The crystal! You knew the code, I knew you did! I knew it!"
Ivanova forced open her eyes. For a moment, she thought her brain wasn't functio
ning right after the shock, because the voice was Miyoshi'sit had been in so many of her recent nightmaresbut the face was the little old cleaning woman from the ready room. Then they merged, the old woman's face and Miyoshi's, and she could see through the fake wrinkles, the disguise, to the lieutenant from Earthforce Command standing over her, the data crystal clutched in her hand, and her eyes bright and face glowing with triumphant success.
Of course. Khatib's crime and Wallace's failure had tainted Miyoshi. Her own career was ruinedat least as ruined as Ivanova's. Finding this data crystal was the only way to redeem herself.
And Ivanova's career? There didn't seem much of a chance that Miyoshi was interested in redeeming it, too.
Up to me, then, she thought groggily. But how could she do anything now, with the effects of the shock still barely worn off? She wondered how much she could move, slowly flexed the fingers on her right hand, then her left. If she could switch on her link . . .
But Miyoshi's eyes were on her like a hawk's. She bent down, held the crystal out, directly over Ivanova's face. "I've got it now! I watched you! I watched you go to the telepath, I knew it'd come out, sooner or later! If you only knew how long I waited ..."
Suddenly she straightened, snatched the crystal away, tucked it into one of the inside pockets of the Maintenance coverall she was wearing. Then, from another pocket, she took out something else, which Ivanova couldn't quite make out, a thin cylinder. Miyoshi was smiling, and Ivanova didn't like the looks of that smile, didn't like it at all.
"You know where we are, don't you?"
Wherever it was, Ivanova didn't think she was going to be as happy about it as Miyoshi was. She blinked her eyes, turned her head, trying to place the plain, utilitarian wallsof one of the heads. And she'd been on her way to the Alpha Wing ready room . . .
"Yes, I thought you did. Nice touch of irony, isn't it? And just think how much fun your friend Mr. Garibaldi will have, figuring out this one! He likes to play detective, doesn't he?"
Ivanova knew she had to take her chance now. She swept with her legs, not sure until the last instant if they even worked yet, and sent Miyoshi staggering. At the same time she reached for her link, to call for help, to call Garibaldi
Babylon 5 02 - Accusations (Tilton, Lois) Page 23
