Hand in Glove 1/4
-------------------------------------------------
She shivered as she slipped into the gloves. So
much of her life had been spent with her hands
sheathed in leather, but so rarely had it been to
protect against a physical cold. The mark of a
telepath, the ever-present gloves did nothing to
temper the iciness with which mundanes received
her.
Cold seeped through the insulated parka,
slithering between the layers of clothing Lyta
Alexander wore. The network of tunnels that
cobwebbed the Martian underground had a
breathable atmosphere, but little else to make it
hospitable. She would make the trip back to
Babylon 5 alone. Sheridan's forces had gone on to
Earth, Garibaldi and Halloran had turned back to
their own lives on Mars, and Franklin had raced
to intercept a Ranger on a lover's quest.
She made her way through the tunnels to the
docking bays. Left to find her own transportation
when little was moving, she had booked passage on
a cargo ship bound for the outer colonies with a
stop at Babylon 5. Three days later, she was off-
loaded, after the food supplies but before the
machine parts.
The bulky clothing was an annoyance now:
unnecessary in the controlled climate of Babylon
5, unwieldy to carry. She kept the parka on as
she passed through customs, though sweat soaked
the clothing beneath. Finally at the front of the
line, she offered her identicard to the agent.
The thickness of her gloves muffled sensation and
muffed the hand-off. The card tumbled to the deck
plate, bouncing once with a rather
inconsequential click, she thought, for something
that held her whole life. She dropped to her
knees to retrieve it, sliding off a glove as she
did. Even without that padding around her
fingers, she still struggled to coax the thin
plastic badge from its resting-place on the
floor, snapping a fingernail as she pried it up.
Still on her knees, she extended the card to the
security agent, watched him place his fingers
carefully on the far edge of the card from hers.
She had not been listening to the psychic noise
of the place; blocking such background noise was
habit. She heard it now, however: the annoyance
and restlessness of those behind her in the line,
and the apprehension of this young man, who
recognized her as a telepath, and feared to touch
her. For a moment, she considered saying
something, something to let them know she could
hear them, something to prove they had no secrets
from her. Something stopped her, though she could
not be sure if it was her ethics or her fear of
their reaction. Silently, she rose, swallowed her
anger, accepted her identicard, and moved on.
She caught glimpses of the ISN reports as she
passed through the Zocalo: the battles between
the Army of Light and Earthforce, Clark's
suicide, Earth's rescue by Sheridan's forces.
Nowhere, of course, was there any mention of the
telepaths. Few, even in high places, would know
about them; none would admit it. There was talk
of the new government, of amnesty for Sheridan's
officers, and of the Interstellar Alliance.
Sheridan, Delenn, G'Kar, even Londo, all gave
bold speeches. They spoke of peace and of
protection, of rights and of respect.
Her quarters seemed colder and darker than she
remembered them, and suddenly her winter attire
felt more welcome. She dropped her little bag
just inside the door and called for lights,
waited for them to flicker to life, and assessed
her surroundings. A memory shivered down her
spine, a room bare save for a mattress, and
though the space still seemed spare and
inelegant, it was better now. Perhaps she would
fix it up a bit, when she found work. If she
found work.
She had moved on to wondering if she should stay
on Babylon 5 at all when the door chime sounded.
A quick glance at the viewer showed Zack Allan on
the other side of the door, fidgeting just a bit.
She called the open command and realized, with
the recognition of regret that he had not brought
a pizza, that she was hungry.
The door slid back. Zack's gaze shifted from his
own feet to woman before him, and he started to
stammer. "Oh…uh…hi…I… I can…"
"Hi, Zack."
"I'm sorry. Were you on your way out? I can come
back."
Only then did Lyta realize she still wore her
full arctic gear. Her cheeks warmed further as
she fumbled with the fastenings on the jacket.
"No, Zack, actually I just got in. Come in,
please," she said as the parka slipped from her
shoulders onto the chair behind her. "What can I
do for you?" She winced as she heard herself,
automatically, use the language of a servant.
Zack's grin peeked out on one side of his face,
and he shifted his weight as though the balancing
the new expression he carried. "I just heard
you'd come aboard, and I thought I'd come by and
say hi."
She wondered, cynically, if the Chief of
Security was notified of all arrivals, or only
those of telepaths, but even as the thought
prickled at her brain, she motioned him in. His
first footfall kicked her abandoned bag, throwing
him off balance, making him lurch forward
awkwardly. She jumped forward to steady him, her
gloved hands like paws on his arms. She fell back
as he caught his balance, stooping to move the
offending luggage out of the way, shedding the
gloves and tossing them atop the bag.
"So, how did everything go on Mars?" Zack was
asking.
She was unsure how to respond. Zack clearly knew
the outcome of the mission. How privy he was to
the details, she could not say.
"Well, from what I've seen on ISN, it went
well." Perhaps he was just making small talk.
"Yeah, well, it was pretty scary there for a
while. EarthForce gave us a harder time than we
expected," he said.
She felt the clawing in her solar plexus climb
her spine. Spinning toward the kitchen, she let a
question float in the air. "Would you like some
tea?" She did not look back to see if he heard
her irritation.
"Yeah, sure, thanks," Zack mumbled, following
her to the nook. "What happened with the
telepaths anyway?" he pressed. "Did you get 'em
on the EarthForce ships or not?"
The kettle clattered onto a burner no hotter
than her temper. "Yes." Her tone was almost even
when she turned back to him. "One cryotube was
smuggled onto each EarthForce destroyer."
Allan cantilevered his long frame to rest his
forearms on the counter. "So what happened?
Didn't it work? Why'd they give us so much
trouble?"
The water had not yet begun to bubble, but her
temper boiled over.
"Do you have any idea how much 'trouble'
Sheridan and his people would have had if those
telepaths had not been on the EarthForce ships?
They crippled all the EarthForce ships near Mars.
Sheridan's offensive would have been over before
it started without them. And I'll thank you not
to talk about three dozen of my people like they
were some kind of collective parlor trick.
Telepaths died in that offensive, and not by
their own choice. "
"Hey, now, just a minute! We weren't the ones
who wired up those telepaths and put them in the
deep freeze. The doc did everything he could to
try to bring them out but there was no way around
the Shadow tech. Those teeps were as good as dead
when we found 'em."
"They were used as weapons – cannon fodder.
That's all we've ever been to you, isn't it?"
"What? Now that's not fair. And what's with this
'we' business? Or are you back in the Corps?"
"Oh, excuse me! 'We' can be Sheridan's people,
but 'we' can't be telepaths? Sorry, I forgot!
We're only supposed to remember we're telepaths
when it's useful to you!"
"Yeah, well I thought 'we' were Sheridan's
people. I thought you were with us, part of the
stand we took. But I guess maybe I was wrong. I
thought I was coming here to welcome home a
friend, but I guess maybe I was wrong about that
too. "
The kettle broke into an insistent whistle, and
Lyta spun abruptly to silence it.
"Maybe we should forget the tea. I have to get
back to work," Allan said.
On the edges of her mind, Lyta could feel a
sadness in him, even more powerful than his
anger. She did not turn when the door opened.
"See ya, Lyta."
-------------------------------------------------
She shivered as she slipped into the gloves. So
much of her life had been spent with her hands
sheathed in leather, but so rarely had it been to
protect against a physical cold. The mark of a
telepath, the ever-present gloves did nothing to
temper the iciness with which mundanes received
her.
Cold seeped through the insulated parka,
slithering between the layers of clothing Lyta
Alexander wore. The network of tunnels that
cobwebbed the Martian underground had a
breathable atmosphere, but little else to make it
hospitable. She would make the trip back to
Babylon 5 alone. Sheridan's forces had gone on to
Earth, Garibaldi and Halloran had turned back to
their own lives on Mars, and Franklin had raced
to intercept a Ranger on a lover's quest.
She made her way through the tunnels to the
docking bays. Left to find her own transportation
when little was moving, she had booked passage on
a cargo ship bound for the outer colonies with a
stop at Babylon 5. Three days later, she was off-
loaded, after the food supplies but before the
machine parts.
The bulky clothing was an annoyance now:
unnecessary in the controlled climate of Babylon
5, unwieldy to carry. She kept the parka on as
she passed through customs, though sweat soaked
the clothing beneath. Finally at the front of the
line, she offered her identicard to the agent.
The thickness of her gloves muffled sensation and
muffed the hand-off. The card tumbled to the deck
plate, bouncing once with a rather
inconsequential click, she thought, for something
that held her whole life. She dropped to her
knees to retrieve it, sliding off a glove as she
did. Even without that padding around her
fingers, she still struggled to coax the thin
plastic badge from its resting-place on the
floor, snapping a fingernail as she pried it up.
Still on her knees, she extended the card to the
security agent, watched him place his fingers
carefully on the far edge of the card from hers.
She had not been listening to the psychic noise
of the place; blocking such background noise was
habit. She heard it now, however: the annoyance
and restlessness of those behind her in the line,
and the apprehension of this young man, who
recognized her as a telepath, and feared to touch
her. For a moment, she considered saying
something, something to let them know she could
hear them, something to prove they had no secrets
from her. Something stopped her, though she could
not be sure if it was her ethics or her fear of
their reaction. Silently, she rose, swallowed her
anger, accepted her identicard, and moved on.
She caught glimpses of the ISN reports as she
passed through the Zocalo: the battles between
the Army of Light and Earthforce, Clark's
suicide, Earth's rescue by Sheridan's forces.
Nowhere, of course, was there any mention of the
telepaths. Few, even in high places, would know
about them; none would admit it. There was talk
of the new government, of amnesty for Sheridan's
officers, and of the Interstellar Alliance.
Sheridan, Delenn, G'Kar, even Londo, all gave
bold speeches. They spoke of peace and of
protection, of rights and of respect.
Her quarters seemed colder and darker than she
remembered them, and suddenly her winter attire
felt more welcome. She dropped her little bag
just inside the door and called for lights,
waited for them to flicker to life, and assessed
her surroundings. A memory shivered down her
spine, a room bare save for a mattress, and
though the space still seemed spare and
inelegant, it was better now. Perhaps she would
fix it up a bit, when she found work. If she
found work.
She had moved on to wondering if she should stay
on Babylon 5 at all when the door chime sounded.
A quick glance at the viewer showed Zack Allan on
the other side of the door, fidgeting just a bit.
She called the open command and realized, with
the recognition of regret that he had not brought
a pizza, that she was hungry.
The door slid back. Zack's gaze shifted from his
own feet to woman before him, and he started to
stammer. "Oh…uh…hi…I… I can…"
"Hi, Zack."
"I'm sorry. Were you on your way out? I can come
back."
Only then did Lyta realize she still wore her
full arctic gear. Her cheeks warmed further as
she fumbled with the fastenings on the jacket.
"No, Zack, actually I just got in. Come in,
please," she said as the parka slipped from her
shoulders onto the chair behind her. "What can I
do for you?" She winced as she heard herself,
automatically, use the language of a servant.
Zack's grin peeked out on one side of his face,
and he shifted his weight as though the balancing
the new expression he carried. "I just heard
you'd come aboard, and I thought I'd come by and
say hi."
She wondered, cynically, if the Chief of
Security was notified of all arrivals, or only
those of telepaths, but even as the thought
prickled at her brain, she motioned him in. His
first footfall kicked her abandoned bag, throwing
him off balance, making him lurch forward
awkwardly. She jumped forward to steady him, her
gloved hands like paws on his arms. She fell back
as he caught his balance, stooping to move the
offending luggage out of the way, shedding the
gloves and tossing them atop the bag.
"So, how did everything go on Mars?" Zack was
asking.
She was unsure how to respond. Zack clearly knew
the outcome of the mission. How privy he was to
the details, she could not say.
"Well, from what I've seen on ISN, it went
well." Perhaps he was just making small talk.
"Yeah, well, it was pretty scary there for a
while. EarthForce gave us a harder time than we
expected," he said.
She felt the clawing in her solar plexus climb
her spine. Spinning toward the kitchen, she let a
question float in the air. "Would you like some
tea?" She did not look back to see if he heard
her irritation.
"Yeah, sure, thanks," Zack mumbled, following
her to the nook. "What happened with the
telepaths anyway?" he pressed. "Did you get 'em
on the EarthForce ships or not?"
The kettle clattered onto a burner no hotter
than her temper. "Yes." Her tone was almost even
when she turned back to him. "One cryotube was
smuggled onto each EarthForce destroyer."
Allan cantilevered his long frame to rest his
forearms on the counter. "So what happened?
Didn't it work? Why'd they give us so much
trouble?"
The water had not yet begun to bubble, but her
temper boiled over.
"Do you have any idea how much 'trouble'
Sheridan and his people would have had if those
telepaths had not been on the EarthForce ships?
They crippled all the EarthForce ships near Mars.
Sheridan's offensive would have been over before
it started without them. And I'll thank you not
to talk about three dozen of my people like they
were some kind of collective parlor trick.
Telepaths died in that offensive, and not by
their own choice. "
"Hey, now, just a minute! We weren't the ones
who wired up those telepaths and put them in the
deep freeze. The doc did everything he could to
try to bring them out but there was no way around
the Shadow tech. Those teeps were as good as dead
when we found 'em."
"They were used as weapons – cannon fodder.
That's all we've ever been to you, isn't it?"
"What? Now that's not fair. And what's with this
'we' business? Or are you back in the Corps?"
"Oh, excuse me! 'We' can be Sheridan's people,
but 'we' can't be telepaths? Sorry, I forgot!
We're only supposed to remember we're telepaths
when it's useful to you!"
"Yeah, well I thought 'we' were Sheridan's
people. I thought you were with us, part of the
stand we took. But I guess maybe I was wrong. I
thought I was coming here to welcome home a
friend, but I guess maybe I was wrong about that
too. "
The kettle broke into an insistent whistle, and
Lyta spun abruptly to silence it.
"Maybe we should forget the tea. I have to get
back to work," Allan said.
On the edges of her mind, Lyta could feel a
sadness in him, even more powerful than his
anger. She did not turn when the door opened.
"See ya, Lyta."