Babylon5: The Short Stories

by J. Michael Straczynski

  "It ate your ship."

  "Yes, as in time it will find and absorb the remains of the crashed shuttle." He stood. "That's a little better. I'm feeling up to moving again! Would you like to see something?"

  "Oh, sure, why not," Garibaldi replied. Somewhere, he felt another shoe dropping. Maybe a whole sky full of them. Big, metal shoes, full of nasty Vorlon surprises. He made sure his PPG was charged.

  Vacit led them into an adjoining room and waved his hand. Several glass-faced alcoves lit up. "This is why I came here," he said. "I've spent the last few years studying them."

  In each alcove stood a skeleton, articulated on a wire stand. One looked Human, another had to be Narn. One might be Minbari. The others he didn't even want to guess at. It was hard to tell, when they weren't dressed up in skin.

  "These were the inhabitants of this planet," Vacit said. "I call them the Nephilim. Do you know the reference? In Hebrew tradition, the Nephilim were the bastards of angels and Human women — the giants in the Earth destroyed by the Biblical flood. I've been piecing their story together."

  "The bones on the shore," Lyta said.

  Vacit nodded. "As you have probably guessed, none of these species originated here. This planet's truly native ecology did not include any land animals larger than a cat." He pointed at the skeleton that appeared most Human. "This fellow, for instance, had ancestors from Earth. Probably archaic Humans, Homo erectus."

  "Those lived — what? A million years ago?" Garibaldi asked. "How old is this skeleton?"

  "Ten years or so. But don't mistake me — this is not a Homo erectus. It's something the Vorlons made from them. Something that you or I would scarcely recognize as Human."

  "It looks Human," Lyta said. "Or mostly so."

  Vacit shook his head. "Human beings are weak creatures. We have no claws, our teeth are relatively inoffensive when compared to those of, say, a tiger. As animals go, we are not strong, or fast. Instead, we developed tools and intelligence to help us survive. The best tool-users had the most children, and their children were better tool users. Our brains are built around ingenuity, curiosity, experimentation — tool use."

  "Monkey see, monkey do. Human evolution in a nutshell," Garibaldi said. "So?"

  "Here," Vacit replied,"the Vorlons were interested in none of those qualities.These cousins of ours were bred for only one thing — as hosts for telepath genes." He cocked his head."Did you know that there are no intelligent races in which telepathy evolved naturally?"

  Lyta frowned. "I thought there were a few."

  "There weren't — for good reasons. A race that develops telepathy and telekenesis doesn't need intelligence. If you can sense any predator, then convince the predator you aren't there, why develop weapons to protect yourself from them? If you can sense game and call them to you, why develop complex hunting skills? Like claws or teeth, telepathy is too much a tool for direct-action. Once a species commits to a built-in weapon, evolution tends to continue the process of specialization , building around the weapon. That isn't the road to intelligence — the road to intelligence requires a commitment to generalization, not specialization. Human beings are the most general animals of all, physically. We have the same four kinds of teeth our most remote mammalian ancestors had. We have the same five-fingered paws that we inherited from reptiles. Not claws, hooves, or flippers, but hands, specialized in being unspecialized. We make our claws. If something comes along we can't eat, we don't' evolve new teeth or more stomachs — we pound it or burn it or soak it until we can digest it."

  "But telepath genes were developed," Lyta objected.

  "Yes, but not by evolution. The Vorlons manipulated and bred, experimented, pushed. The creatures they brought here were just germ plasma to them. They made them telepaths, yes, at the expense of every other trait. These poor creatures, I believe, had telepathic powers that couldn't be rated even by the Vorlons, but not one of them could have figured out how to build a fire or to put the round peg in the round hole."

  "Lyta was pale, studying the skeletons. "That's horrible," she said. "What happened to them?"

  Vacit waved his hands, and lights went off. The skeletons vanished in darkness. "The Vorlons killed them, of course, so they wouldn't fall into the hands of the Shadows. They had already gotten what they wanted — the genes to implant in other races, to create beings that were both telepathic and intelligent. You see what I'm saying? Those two traits had to come separately, then be combined. An intelligent race can develop naturally, a telepathic beast can develop naturally. But you can't have both together without intervention."

  "You still haven't told us why you came," Garibaldi noticed. "Or how you knew about this place."

  Vacit smiled again, his thin, skull-like grin. It did not seem to reflect good humor.

  "I knew the Shadows were coming, and I knew we telepaths were going to be needed. I made Psi Corps what it was to meet that need. I had nearly reached the end of my life, and everyone I had ever cared for was gone. My enemies in the government and the corps were legion, and I understood that in time they would catch me alone, with my guard down. I felt there was one last thing I could do. Like you, I came here expecting to find the secret of enhancing our abilities, and I thought I would make one last discovery for my people. As you see, I did. But it's all gone. Nothing remains of the Vorlon records or laboratories, only the bones. I suppose those could be scraped for DNA, but I suspect all you would find is the same sequence every telepath has."

  Garibaldi nodded, sickened. They had once thought the Vorlons were the good guys. As it turned out, ideas like good and evil were as irrelevant to beings like the Vorlons and Shadows as they were to the low-life scum he had busted as security chief.

  Something suspicious in Garibaldi had been demanding his attention for awhile, but he just now saw what it was. "Mr.Vacit, tell me again how you know we beat the Shadows.You've been isolated here since before the end of the war, and you had to have been out of touch before that. So how did you know all of this recent history?"

  "He hasn't been entirely forthcoming with you," a new voice said.

  They all turned. For an instant, Garibaldi thought it was Bester standing there, but it wasn't, only some middle-aged Psi Cop he had never seen, in uniform complete to the gloves. Seven more appeared, from various doorways Garibaldi hadn't noticed or which hadn't been there. They were all armed with PPGs.

  "Don't blame Mr. Vacit," the fellow went on, a bland smile on his roundish face. "He really couldn't help himself. My name is Mr. Diamond and I want both of you to keep very still. Mr. Garibaldi, I would not count on your troops for help. They have all been subdued. Ms. Alexander, the same goes for your blips."

  "What's going on, Vacit?" Garibaldi snapped.

  The old man inclined his head. "There was another landing craft. It's hidden below this installation, near the reactor, where they knew you would have trouble detecting it. I'm sorry for the deception,but they were monitoring my thoughts, of course. Lyta,I'm truly sorry. I owe your family better than this, but I've grown weak."

  "Baloney," Garibaldi said. "You've cut a deal with the corps. They're your babies, after all."

  "That's enough from you, Garibaldi," Diamond said. "I'll need you to send some messages to your ship, and —" he suddenly turned fired his PPG. The blast grazed Lyta's shoulder. She gasped in pain and fell back, half stunned. Garibaldi swore and moved to help her, but a warning shot hissed into the floor at his feet.

  "Stop there and live, Mr. Garibaldi," Diamond snapped. "Ms. Alexander, do not try that again. I may not be as strong as you, but I am a P10, and full trained. I've read your file — you can probably stop me from firing this weapon again. You can probably stop two or three of my people as well. You cannot stop all of us."

  "I can," Vacit said, quietly. "Mr. Garibaldi, you should take their guns, quickly."

  Garibaldi blinked. "What?" But then he saw Diamond was sort of frozen, like a statue, and Vacit was trembling, his face gone white.

&nbs
p; "Hurry!" Vacit said. "I can't—"

  Then Diamond moved again, firing his PPG. The blast struck the old man in the chest. The Psi Cop changed his aim to Garibaldi. Garibaldi shot him in the heart. Another cop fired at him, missed by a mile as Garibaldi ducked behind the couch. Garibaldi popped up, missed his first shot, then nailed the telepath on the second.

  The rest of the cops were down, blood leaking form their eyes. Lyta swayed weakly to her feet.

  "Jesus!" Garibaldi said,still not sure exactly what had happened. He walked around the room, kicking PPG's from motionless hands and taking pulses. They were all dead.

  When he finished, he joined Lyta, kneeling with the old man.

  "I guess I had a little left," Vacit managed. He blinked his eyes slowly, as if seeing Lyta for the first time. "Natasha?"

  "It's ok," Lyta soothed. "You'll be okay. We'll get you to the ship."

  "Nonsense." Vacit's eyes cleared. "You've done death bed scans, haven't you? You know what death looks like on the horizon. So do I." He coughed. "Leave my body here. This is where I belong. This is where I want to stay — where it all really began. Where it all ended. Promise me."

  "I promise," Lyta said. For the first time in many years, Garibaldi saw tears in her eyes.

  * * * * *

  "I'm sorry to have dragged you out on a pointless trip, Michael," Lyta murmured. The Toreador had come out of Jump, and Mars was a red marble in the upper right hand of the viewport. The nameless planet was half a galaxy away.

  "It wasn't pointless," Garibaldi said. "I'll sleep easier knowing what the Psi Corps doesn't have."

  "And that we don't have it, either."

  "Yep. However the Vorlons enhanced you, whatever plans they had for Human telepaths, I'd say it's all a moot point now. Unless they come back. But—" he trailed off thoughtfully.

  "What?"

  "Our earlier discussion about a homeland for telepaths. Are you still sure it's a good idea?"

  "Of course."

  "But think about it for a minute. If Vacit was right — I mean, if telepathy is antithetical to intelligence..."

  "You said it yourself, Michael. We haven't gotten any better as a race since the stone age. Better tools, yes; as a culture, maybe. But as individuals? No. Evolution is adapting to an environment. Human evolution stopped when we started changing the environment to suit us. Normal or telepath, we aren't evolving any more. And we aren't like those creatures back there. We had intelligence first."

  "Still, after a million years or so on your own ..." Garibaldi shrugged.

  "A chance we'll have to take," Lyta replied.

  "Yeah." But Garibaldi couldn't get the image out of his head. A planet full of being with powers like gods and the brains of chimps. It stuck with him long after that conversation. Years later, when the question of a telepath homeworld came up again, he would remember it, vividly. It would make a difference.

  * * * * *

  "Director Vacit," Diamond said, his voice shaking slightly. "The Jumpoint is closed.They've gone."

  "Very good, Mr. Diamond." Vacit sipped the odd, greenish tea the Vorlon food maker had learned to supply him with. It usually did a good job of working from his memory of how things tasted, but somehow had never managed coffee, as such. He glanced back up at the Psi Cop. "You and your men played your parts well," he told Diamond. "I know it was difficult for you."

  Diamond bit his lip. "Sir, I urge you again — let us go. We're needed back home in the fight against the rebels. Psi Corps needs us."

  "I need you here," Vacit countered. "We've already discussed this."

  Diamond's face hid his anguish well, but to Vacit's senses it flamed like a fusion drive.

  "Yes, sir," he said.

  Outside, a powerful thrumming began. It was not sound, not air vibrating, but something more wonderful, deeper, a music greater and more poignant than any symphony.

  "Listen, Diamond, they're singing again."

  Diamond was new to this, and weak besides, so he was wincing. "Please, sir — it hurts us. They are — too loud. Can't you make them stop?"

  "I could. Why should I? It means they're happy. After what the Vorlons put them through, they deserve whatever happiness comes their way. You'll get used to it."

  Vacit rose and walked outside. Several troops of the Nephilim were gathered about, wide, guileless eyes greeting him, offering him their limitless strength unselfishly and unselfconsciously. If the Nephilim knew one thing, it was obedience to Vorlons, and Kevin Vacit was enough of a Vorlon to command their unthinking affection.

  Diamond stood behind him, shivering at the raw strength of the broadcasts.

  "Imagine how it was when I first arrived here," Vacit said. "There are more than a million of them, scattered through the forests and savannas of this world. The Vorlon attack killed all but a few thousand here. They would have exterminated them if I hadn't acted. The Nephilim gave me their strength, and with me guiding them we were able to fool even the Vorlons. They left thinking their creations were all dead." He smiled at Diamond. "After the Vorlons, your people — and even Ms. Alexander — were child's play."

  "But sir—" Diamond was still troubled. He still had hope of going back to Earth. "What do you want us for? Why won't you let us return home? Or better yet, come with us, bring some of these — creatures — with you. With them, we could decimate the rebels in a matter of days. The normals, too. All of Human space could be ours."

  "You think too small, Mr. Diamond," Vacit said, mildly. "The future of our kind isn't back there. The nautilus does not move backward in its shell. Our future starts here, and moves forward." He swept his hand at the sky, at the countless worlds once controlled by the Vorlons, past them to the galactic rim beyond which the elder races had retreated. "It's there." He clapped the weeping Diamond on the shoulder. "Now, come. We've much to do."

  True Seeker

  by

  Fiona Avery

  ~November, 2269~

  "But I thought I was 200 people down the list." Jerrica, a young female Narn, sat across the table from Alisa Beldon at the Red River café.

  "Well, you were," Alisa Beldon lingered on the last word, flipping over the papers in her hand.

  "What happened?" Jerrica tried to get a reading off of the Human's impassive face.

  The True Seeker looked over at the young Narn, who was 16 Earth years old, and studied her for a moment before continuing. "You have a very unique case. There are not many adopted Narns in Earth territory."

  "My parents wanted to do something when the Centauri bombed Narn. I mean my ... Earth parents. They took me in."

  "Yes, that is exactly what the documents here describe. Tell me, Jerrica," Alisa leaned in an their gaze locked, "Do you remember anything before you arrived at San Francisco?"

  A pause, hesitation, discomfort. Jerrica fidgeted a bit. Then said, "No, nothing."

  Alisa sat back. Her light, mental touch against Jerrica's thoughts had detected surface memories so scant that they were considered dreams and fragments of illusion by the Narn. Memories of a warm place, a cold steel ship, explosions, and that was all. That was the handy part of being a telepath in this business. Sometimes you would help your clients without them even knowing it, as long as you used your abilities to their benefit and never against them. She had taken the Minbari Oath on this matter. As a True Seeker among the Minbari elite, to do other than aid the helpless was dishonorable.

  "So then, you think you can find my real parents soon? Is that why you're helping me first?"

  "Yes." Alisa saw so much of herself in Jerrica. The Narn girl was young and nervous, the way Alisa had been as a young thief living in Down Below on the Babylon 5 Space Station. That's when Alisa's latent telepathic ability had manifested itself,leading to a confrontation with the Psi Corps which was only resolved when she was chosen to study with the Minbari, thanks to Entil'Zha Delenn, who was now a close friend. In the years since then, she had learned more than just to control her talent and harness the power of t
elepathy. Delenn had wanted her to bridge the gap between Earthers and Minbari, which was in part what had prompted their close friendship. The great Entil'Zha had many questions, as did Alisa, and they shared knowledge often.

  Because of Delenn's friendship, Alisa propelled herself to do more than just a bridge a gap between two worlds. She had dedicated her life to bridging the gap between other worlds.

  "I do a lot of investigative work," she told Jerrica,who stared at her with those stark, crimson eyes. Narn eyes were so alien, so cold and seeking. Jerrica's were nervous and wide today, showing just the rims of white beyond the large red irises. It was unnerving.

  Alisa continued. "I learn identities, find biological parents, and sometimes uncover missing children."

  "Sounds very difficult," Jerrica replied.

  "It's exhausting and yet so very rewarding. Sometimes it's even—"

  Dangerous.

  Alisa sat up as a Narn waiter approached and set a strange concoction down on the table. Alisa heard his thought before she could utter the very same word.

  She's dangerous.

  As he turned to leave, she asked Jerrica, "Does anyone else know you're here looking for your parents?"

  "Yes," Jerrica replied. "I told the Totem Master—"

  Before she was even finished, Alisa grabbed the waiter and pointed to the strange brew in front of Jerrica. Green mist was curling from the square, ridged cup. "Take that back," she said.

  The waiter froze for a moment, glanced between the cup and Alisa, and tried to speak. "Madam, I—"

  "Now!" Alisa cut him off.

  Being Narn, he foolishly continued his protest. "I assure you there's nothing wrong and that she has ordered it. It comes steaming!"