Voices - Vornholt John - Страница 13
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Garibaldi also looked around and lowered his voice. “I’m pretty sure some of them are.”
“Then why don’t you get them off?” the telepath demanded.
The chief shrugged. “We aren’t at war with them, for one thing.”
“That’s temporary,” scoffed the military telepath. “With the Wind Swords and the Sky Riders and their other warrior castes getting the upper hand, it’s only a matter of time. I’m an expert in Minbari intelligence, and I tell you we have to get them out of here. They’re vicious! They could try to kill us!”
Garibaldi looked at the portly man and sure hoped that he didn’t look like that in his similar uniform. “This is your basic free port,” he explained. “Our charter is that we’re diplomatic—we like everyone. Even Psi Corps. The Minbari helped to finance B5, and this is their most important diplomatic mission with the EA. We can’t just throw them off B5”
The telepath muttered, “What a stupid place to hold this conference.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Garibaldi. “So is there anything else I can do for you?”
The military liaison bumped the security chief with his stomach and glared at him with piggy eyes in a florid face. “I’m serious, Mr. Garibaldi. I won’t stay on a station with Minbari present. My life would be worth nothing!”
Garibaldi looked around in desperation and spied a savior. “Lennier! Lennier!” he called.
The friendly Minbari strolled over in his rustling satin robes. He crossed his arms and smiled angelically, the shelllike crowns on his head looking like a halo.
“Lennier, do you want to kill Mr… . What’s your name?”
“Barker,” said the man in shock.
“Why, of course not,” answered Lennier. “I don’t even know Mr. Barker, and I’m sure if I did know him, I would lay down my life for him.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” answered Garibaldi. “Mr. Barker, meet Mr. Lennier, who is the aide to Ambassador Delenn and a member of a religious caste, not a warrior caste.”
Lennier smiled beatifically. “Quite pleased to meet you.”
The portly telepath glowered at the Minbari. “I was just telling Mr. Garibaldi that I wanted your people cleared off the station.”
“What a novel idea,” answered Lennier thoughtfully. “If this would be in the manner of a paid vacation, as you call it, I’m sure we could negotiate it. Would you like to go to the casino and discuss the arrangements? Where would you be willing to send us? Acapulco? Io?”
Mr. Barker looked helplessly at Garibaldi as Lennier led him down the corridor. The security chief gave him a shrug and added, “He does it with kindness.”
The chief stifled a yawn and tried to unglue his eyes. If he didn’t get some sleep soon he would probably say or do something that would start a war.
He handed his computer terminal to a subordinate and told him, “Just agree to whatever they want, and contact me in an hour to explain it. If it’s not too unreasonable, we’ll give them whatever we can. But don’t contact me before an hour unless it’s an emergency.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the officer.
Garibaldi looked around briefly for Captain Sheridan. Not seeing him in the crush of dignitaries, quadrupled security, and regular traffic, he gave up and wandered off. The simple act of rounding a corner and walking away from those oppressive black uniforms and that holier-than-thou attitude made him feel ten times better.
Just to relax for a few moments, to watch a few old cartoons, and forget all about Psi Corps—it probably wasn’t possible, but it would be nice to try. He had done all he could, put all the people he had right where they ought to be, alerted them to all the possibilities. Sure, something could go wrong—it wouldn’t be B5 if it didn’t—but a major breakdown in security wasn’t likely. With a little cooperation and a lot of luck they could get through this. Then Sheridan would owe him one. Big time. There was still an awkwardness between them, born of unfamiliarity. This would go a long way toward easing that.
Garibaldi was feeling pretty good about himself as he got out of the transport tube and headed into the homestretch of the corridor outside his quarters. He didn’t even hear the footsteps pounding up behind him until it was too late.
A bearlike body whirled him around and shook him by the shoulders. In his blurred vision it looked like a scarlet monster, seven feet tall! Garibaldi tried a karate chop, but a brocaded forearm knocked his hand away and gripped his arms.
The alien sputtered as he talked. “How on Centauri Prime could you close down the gambling! What’s the matter with you? You call yourself a host?”
Garibaldi focused on the big spiked hair, the throbbing dome of a forehead, and the jagged teeth, bared in a snarl. “Londo,” he muttered, “if you knew what kind of day I’ve had, you’d have some pity on me.”
“And what kind of day do you think I’ve had?” countered Ambassador Mollari in his peculiar accent. “First, I come within a hair of breaking the dice table, but my, er, escort was getting sleepy and I had to tuck her into bed. Then I go back to the casino, thinking I will double my jackpot, and what do I find? Gaming tables shut down, by order of Mr. Big Shot Garibaldi!”
The Centauri poked Garibaldi in the chest with a stubby finger. “They cannot even give me my winnings until you—you personally—open up the tables again! So what is this, huh? A conspiracy? Did G’Kar put you up to this?”
“Please,” Garibaldi begged, “just give us a few days without gambling. We’ve got all these Psi Corps telepaths on board, and they can’t gamble.”
“Well,” scoffed Londo, “they don’t have to gamble if they don’t want to! Let them play fish, or old maid, or whatever they do in Psi Corps. In case you hadn’t noticed it, Garibaldi, I am not in Psi Corps. I do not wear those drab, funereal outfits. I wish to frolic. I wish to gamble. I wish to do whatever I was doing before they got here!”
“Amen to that,” said the chief. “But it’s only four days. I’ll tell them to release your winnings to you, and maybe we can open up the tables for a few hours while they’re in their seminars.”
Londo grinned and narrowed his eyes slyly. “You know, Garibaldi, if these Psi Corps are not allowed to gamble—and they are in charge of everything else—then gambling is the one activity they are dying to do. Why don’t you arrange it, and get some compromising visuals on them. Excellent opportunity here, Garibaldi, for what you might call a little office politics.”
“I’m too tired to blackmail anybody today,” yawned Garibaldi, backing to his door. “But thanks for the idea.”
“I could do it for you,” offered Londo. “Might be a bit of fun.”
“Don’t mess with these people,” Garibaldi warned. “Take that as an order, and a good piece of advice. Humans who are full of themselves—you want to stay away from.”
The Centauri frowned. “What does that mean? ‘Full of themselves’?”
Garibaldi took out his identicard. “Well, they’re people who are pompous, who think the universe revolves around them, who think they’re better than everybody, and deserve special treatment.” He pushed his card into the slot, and the door opened. “Like nobody you would know.”
“I should hope not,” said Londo with mock horror.
Before Garibaldi could seek refuge in his dark cave, his link rang. He rolled his eyes, debating what he would do, although he knew he would answer it. “Garibaldi here.”
“Chief, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a major incident in the casino.”
“Who? What?” he snapped.
“It’s G’Kar. He’s beating the crap out of one of the telepaths. Captain Sheridan just waded in to break it up.”
Londo shouldered past him on his way to the lift. “Tell the telepath I am on my way to help him!”
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