“I’ll remind you,” said Garibaldi, “whoever put that bomb in your bag meant for you to die, too.”
Talia screwed her eyes shut and tried to keep from losing it. “Are you sure the data crystal was a bomb?” she asked.
“No,” admitted the chief. “But it’s an object that we know somebody else gave you. Since that’s what you say happened …”
“It is what happened,” she insisted.
“Okay, then,” said Garibaldi, “this is information you need, for your defense.”
“Listen,” said Talia, “I don’t want to unleash Bester and his people, plus all of Earthforce on this poor woman. I really believe she couldn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Maybe,” conceded Garibaldi. “We think the same way about you, but …” He didn’t finish the thought.
Talia nodded bitterly. “That’s why I’m not going to put this woman through what I’m going through.”
“Come on,” begged Garibaldi. “I promise, I’ll check her out personally. Listen, you’ll need to talk to her, anyway, for your own defense. I won’t give her name out until I’ve checked her out first.”
“You really promise that?” asked Talia. “Because if I see her in this cell next door, and we’re both innocent, I’m coming after you.
“I promise,” said Garibaldi with a lopsided smile.
Hoarsely, the blond woman said, “Her name is Emily Crane. All I know about her is that she works in the Mix with Mr. Malten.”
Garibaldi pressed his link. “Ivanova, it’s me. Can you tell me if Emily Crane has left the station? She was one of our recent guests, a commercial telepath.”
“Hang on,” said the second-in-command. Several long seconds ticked off before Ivanova reported, “She left in the first transport out. Her boss, Malten, was shaken up, and she was taking him home.”
“And where might home be?” asked Garibaldi.
“The destination of the transport is Earth. That’s as specific as it gets. They should be there in a day or so.”
“Thanks. Out.” Garibaldi shook his head. “Earth. Not much chance of me going there real soon.”
Talia laughed nervously. “Me either.”
“I’ll look up her branch office,” said Garibaldi. He leaned against the bars of her cell, looking like a sad basset hound. “I’d love to get you out of here, but we’re in enough hot water already. Besides, you’re safe here. So, is there anything I can get for you?”
“A hacksaw.”
Garibaldi had a pained expression on his face. “How about some reading materials?”
She slumped onto her bed and yawned. “Not tonight, okay? I had my dinner, and I think I just need to sleep.”
“I’ll bring you some books in the morning,” said the chief. He started out and turned. “I’m sorry about this. We’ll find some way to get your life back to normal.”
“Or what passes for normal,” said Talia. She stretched out on a thin mattress resting atop a metal frame that was welded to the deck.
“Say, what time is it?” she asked.
Garibaldi checked his link. “Let’s see, twenty-three-forty.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you have a nice visit with Ambassador Kosh?”
“Good night.”
She rolled away from him, and her eyes darted about frightenedly as she waited for him to leave. Finally, she heard the door ooze shut. She sat up in bed, looking around. There was a surveillance camera in each corner of the room, with its own area to cover, but otherwise, she was alone.
Or was she alone? What had Kosh meant by Invisible Isabel? That had been a game, right? A practical joke. There were no invisible people, really. Although who knew what there was in the Vorlons’ advanced culture? She knew she had picked up the trace of a voice on Red-3, after she had eliminated all the visible people in the cafe. Whatever it was, it had been real to Kosh, too.
There were only twenty minutes left, she remembered, before Kosh was going to make his move. But what was his move? What was her part in it? How could she get off the station, even with the Vorlon’s help? She had to calm down, Talia told herself, and stop asking questions for which there were no answers. If indeed Kosh had agreed to help her escape in twenty minutes, then he would. If she had misinterpreted his signals and he didn’t help her, she was no worse off. One way she was a fugitive, but in the other way she was a prisoner with a celebrated murder trial ahead of her.
She half-expected some calm voice of reason and responsibility to take her aside and tell her that escape from Babylon 5 was crazy. Not only that, but it would make her look guilty. Even the people who defended her now would stop defending her, and probably chase her. But for some unfathomable reason, Talia knew that she could get off B5, and that she had to get off, if she wanted to stay alive. Moreover, she bad to go to Earth if she wanted to clear her name. It was mad, but she had to do it.
In the clear light of madness, Talia stopped to think about Emily Crane. What did she really know about the small woman who stuttered? She was a licensed telepath specializing in the ad business, but maybe she had deep roots to Mars and the separatist movement. Maybe, in fact, the dark-skinned woman had actually tried to kill her, plus Bester, Malten, and the ones she had succeeded in killing.
What was that old expression, “the banality of evil.” Ms. Crane was a banal person, a cipher among the rampant egotism of Psi Corps. Maybe that was just the sort of person a terrorist agency depended upon to infiltrate and do its dirtiest work.
Talia rubbed her eyes and plucked at the white jumpsuit and white gloves she was wearing. It had seemed a logical choice in clothing when she had put it on in her quarters—something comfortable for lounging about the cell—but now it seemed too flimsy and insignificant to get her all the way to Earth. What had she been thinking?
Without really knowing the time, Talia looked up, knowing that something was about to happen. If, she asked herself, there was an invisible being name Isabel in this detention center, what should Isabel be doing? That was easy—she should be unlocking the cell door.
The lock was on a box about two meters beyond the door, and it was operated by an electronic cardkey. In addition to the electronics, a mechanical bolt held the door shut. Talia concentrated on the bolt. Although she wasn’t a locksmith, part of her espionage training at Psi Corps had involved the picking of locks and a few other counter-intelligence measures. She knew how a lock ought to work and how it ought to look inside. She couldn’t get her hands inside the lock—but that was okay, she had Invisible Isabel. She was beginning to suspect that Isabel was tied to the telekinetic powers given her by Ironheart.
Concentrating very hard, Talia thought about being an invisible person who could slip into a small place and turn the tumblers. She could see her tiny hands running over the miniature components, bypassing the electronics to go directly to the mechanism. When the tumblers tripped, the bolt would spring back. Move the tumblers, pull the bolt, she told herself, just the way you move your lucky penny. She ignored the sweat running down her face, slicking strands of blond hair to her pale cheeks. Talia thought only about Invisible Isabel and her tiny fingers. She was real, the telepath told herself; she was real, and she could move those small tumblers. She could, she could …
When the click sounded, it was like waking up from a dream. Talia heard her cell door creak open before she could even focus her eyes on it. She stood and pushed it wide open. There was no overwhelming sense of freedom as Talia stepped out of her cell, only terrible fear of what she was about to become. All her life, she had toed the line, done the right thing—a good daughter, a good student, a willing recruit to Psi Corps, and a hard worker ever since. There had been one or two romantic lapses, but youth had to be served. Since then, she had trod the straight and narrow.
She told herself that she was already considered a terrorist, a murderer, and a traitor, and she was about to add fugitive to the list. And rogue telepath. Of all the terrible labels, that one frightened her the most. Maybe she could clear herself of the other charges, but once a rogue telepath
Talia had wandered to the front of the outer door, wondering if she was supposed to open it the same way. There was a small window in the door, and one of the guards jumped up and looked at her in amazement. She didn’t hide from his startled gaze. What was the point?
The guard ran to his desk and started to pick up his PPG pistol and a cardkey, but he suddenly did a very strange thing. He started to move like a man who thought he was weightless, like a man who couldn’t decide how to put his feet down. A second later he staggered and collapsed to the floor.