Voices - Vornholt John (читать хорошую книгу .TXT) 📗

Garibaldi pounded his knuckles together and looked at the bulk of his security staff, most of whom had been on duty the morning before in Green-12. He prowled around the briefing room, peering at their dour expressions.

“I know we’re pretty down now,” said Garibaldi, “but that assignment is over. Let’s move on to the next one, which is to find out who had anything to do with that bombing. Now, who inspected Ms. Winters when she entered Green-12 that morning?”

“I did, sir,” said Molly Tunder, a young woman who looked mostly Asian.

“What did you find in her bag?”

Tunder shrugged. “Nothing that struck me as odd. Cards, a conference program, notes on a transparency.”

“And a data crystal,” Garibaldi put in.

The young officer shook her head. “No, sir, I don’t recall a data crystal.”

“But she told me she had one,” the chief insisted.

“I suppose,” said the officer, “she could’ve been holding it in her hand.”

“How did she appear to you?” asked Garibaldi.

“Out of sorts, distracted. But then, it was a stressful situation—the searches and pat-downs. And I couldn’t spend much time with her.”

Garibaldi knew the feeling. He would rather be down in the brig now talking to Talia, but he couldn’t hold her hand and find the real culprits at the same time. There were a million things he wanted to do at once, but he had to calmly step through them.

“Detail one, you’re at the beginning of your shift,” he said. “As soon as we’re finished here, you head Down Below and shake the trees. See if anybody knows anything about anything. And see if you can find Deuce, although I suspect he’s already left the station. Deuce has the good sense not to get caught in a bombing.”

His link buzzed, and the chief answered curtly, “Garibaldi.”

“This is Rupel in the brig. Ms. Winters has a visitor, and she’s demanding to see him.”

“Who is it?”

“Ambassador Kosh,” came the answer.

“Kosh,” muttered Garibaldi. Relationships between humans and aliens were hard to explain, but he knew there was one between Talia and Kosh. Maybe the ambassador could help her get good legal counsel. On the other hand, the Vorlon often lived by his own rules, and who knew what they were?

“It’s okay,” he said. “But have someone present. I’m going to be down there in a few minutes to talk to Ms. Winters. Out.”

He turned off his link and looked at the expectant faces. “I’ve already got Jenkins’s report about finding Ms. Winters in the corridor after the blast. Did anybody else see anything?”

There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence before Garibaldi realized that even the professional observers hadn’t seen anything. They were as mystified, sickened, guilt-ridden, and angry as he was.

“All right,” he concluded, “you’ve got your assignments. We’re looking for Martians, the forensic team is at the scene, and some of us are going Down Below. The good news is that all the telepaths are either gone or on their way off the station, except for the Psi Cops. There are still about fifty of them on B5, so stay away from them. Don’t argue legalities with them. If they try to provoke anything, send them to me or Captain Sheridan.”

Garibaldi nodded grimly to each of them in turn. “Dismissed.”

The word “brig,” decided Talia Winters, must have been a euphemism for a kennel. That was the way it felt to her—an airy, roomy, and bare cage for a person, with as much personality as a slab of concrete. She had lots of privacy due to the fact that there was nobody else in B5’s neglected brig. Had the place been crowded and the dozen-or-so cells full—she didn’t want to think of the bedlam.

Talia prowled her cell like a panther, ever moving, watchful, and ready to spring. At what? The cells were protected by a double cardkey system—first mechanical locks on each individual cell, then a barred doorway operated by cardkey. She didn’t know how many guards waited outside the barred door, but she had seen several already.

Suddenly the door opened, and a massive figure filled it. Talia’s heart pounded with hope, although this figure was a very strange savior. A bundle of exotic fabrics and armor as smooth as porcelain, Ambassador Kosh glided into the room and stopped a few meters in front of her cell. The head-gear nodded, and little tubes and orifices sniffed the air.

“It is the Hour of Longing,” said Kosh in his twinkling, synthesized voice.

Talia snorted a derisive laugh. “You’ve got that right, Ambassador Kosh.” She shook her head in amazement. “Everything going fine, and somebody lowers the boom on you. But I’m glad to see you. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, including a time just before the bomb went off.”

She could see the guard edging closer to overhear them.

“Excuse me,” she said, “can we have some privacy?”

“I’m afraid not,” the guard answered politely. “Mr. Garibaldi’s orders.”

“Oh, is that right?” she seethed. “Bless Mr. Garibaldi for keeping the deranged terrorist under a close watch!”

“Anger is a blue sea,” said Kosh.

Talia blinked at him, suddenly realizing that she could try to talk to Kosh in that cryptic language of allusions that he often employed. If only she understood it. Well, there was no time like the present to give it a try.

“This pickled herring would join the other ones,” she said.

Kosh’s bulk leaned forward. “The wings fly at midnight.”

“I want to see the World Series,” Talia remarked.

The guard squinted at both of them and leaned forward curiously.

“Apple pie,” said Kosh, “and hush puppies.”

“Inna Babylon, do you know Babylon?” she asked in a Jamaican accent.

“Gone, like the pickled herring.”

“The eagle flies on Friday.”

“Invisible Isabel,” answered Kosh. He turned to the guard and bowed. “Our business is concluded.”

The guard stopped scratching his head long enough to go back and open the door to the outer chamber. Ambassador Kosh swept out with grandeur, even in this place.

The guard gave Talia a quizzical look and said, “I don’t know what happened there, but Garibaldi is on his way down. He wants to talk to you.”

“I refuse to see him,” she declared.

“I’ll let you tell him that,” said the guard.

“Tell me what?” asked Garibaldi, sweeping into the detention center.

“I refuse to talk to you without my counsel present,” Talia claimed.

“Not even if it’s to clear your name?” he asked incredulously.

She crossed her arms and regarded him warily. “If it’s not, I’m going to clam up. I’m tired of talking, because nobody listens. What is it?”

“You told me you had a data crystal in your bag. Is that correct?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Was it a real crystal, one you had accessed before?”

“Yes, it was,” answered Talia. “It had statistics for the meeting, and I was studying it the day before.”

Garibaldi frowned, as if he didn’t want to hear that. He continued, “The officer who checked you in didn’t find a data crystal in your bag. Did you have it in your hand, or a pocket that we might have missed?”

Talia frowned, trying to remember bits and pieces of that terrible morning. “Oh, yes,” she answered slowly. “Somebody had borrowed it and then given it back to me.”

Garibaldi leaned forward. “Who?”

Talia started to speak but paused. After what she had gone through, she was reluctant to give out Emily Crane’s name and put the poor woman through the same thing. Besides, she was certain that Emily Crane wasn’t a terrorist bomber. In fact, the blast had nearly killed her beloved Arthur Malten, and that let Emily out of the equation completely.

“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.”