A Telepath's Prelude
February 7, 2246 - Early in the Earth-Minbari War. In the swirling chaos of Hyperspace, a patrolling Sharlin cruiser detects a signal using an Earth Alliance frequency. The Minbari warship turns towards the source.
Derrick Hastings was inquisitive by nature. The boy's curiosity led him to bend or outright break the rules, but his cleverness allowed him to avoid the worst of the consequences, whether it was a tonguelashing from his mother or the sting of angry sandvipers. Now, he weighed his options - go to the deep shelters with the others as he was ordered, or stay here. He decided that disobeying this particular order would have no consequences, since they would all likely be dead in a few minutes.
Peregrine Outpost wasn't set up to be a military base. It was a scientific listening post, looking for cosmic anomalies. It was also a supply depot for deep-space patrols. Only a couple of years ago, his mother had assumed command of the small station and the rock it squatted on. It housed a rotating staff of about a dozen scientists and technicians, that many engineers, and about six Earth Force personnel to deal with raiders or other minor threats - though considering the distance from a jump gate, such threats were unlikely.
Things changed in 2245, when first contact with the Minbari precipitated the war. Civilian Nora Hastings was reactivated by Earth Force; now, Lieutenant Commander Hastings commanded a military listening post and deep space supply depot. She tried to get her young son sent to Earth, to Io, to anywhere safe, but no transports would go so far for one civilian, and any military ships were on patrol and wouldn't take him on. So Derrick watched and waited with his mother.
And now they were discovered. A cruiser shaped like a great fish appeared in the jump point that bloomed in the starlit tapestry. The station's jury-rigged defense grid spit a shower of hypersonic slugs at the advancing ship, but with a few quick plasma blasts the guns fell silent. An antiquated EF fighter pulled free of the thin atmosphere, only to fall back, slowly spinning, its stabilizers shot away. All resistance vanquished, the cruiser simply sat against a background of a million stars. Derrick saw all of this from the south observation dome. His mother would have a fit if she knew he was here instead of safe in the underground chambers. But if all the rumors were true, they were all doomed from the moment the jumppoint opened. He felt fear at the prospect, but it was surprisingly dull. Any other ten year old might have been in tears. But he spent most of his life in space, first as a military brat and then an explorer's child. It made him, not hard, but resilient.
So why don't they finish us off? he wondered. As if on cue, a shuttle detached itself from the cruiser, flanked by curious-looking fighters. A claxon sounded, then was quickly cut off. Everybody knew they were about to be boarded, siren or no siren. Derrick scrambled to the hatch and vaulted down in; in the low gravity he managed the ten-foot drop with no more than a bending of the knees. Then, it was on to Command and Control.
"-Data cache three, dumped. Data cache four, dumped. Systems wiped, Lieutenant Commander."
A handful of people sat at consoles; the civilian population were hidden down below, hoping to escape notice. His mother was turned away from him, watching a large monitor from her central chair. Unnoticed by all, Derrick slipped to his own station - a spot under an unused console. Only Ensign Lydia Ragavan seemed to notice him; a slight, forced smile was all the greeting she could manage. There he watched the drawn faces, felt the tension in the air. He could feel the fear like it was a physical thing. The fear touched him lightly, however. They had gotten out of many dangerous places before. Perhaps they would do it again.
"They've landed in Bay Three. Surveillance cameras damaged, switching to Bay corridor; Evans and Warwoman are on station there."
Reports ceased as all turned towards their monitors. By craning his neck, he could just see. . . flashes, smoke. . . Neddi's face exploding soundlessly. . . a Bonehead leap into view, taking three shots to the chest, grabbing Nan's head and snapping her neck as casually as if he was unscrewing a bottletop. The camera flickered out. Now Derrick could hear distant gunfire. "Second team is under fire, third team in position."
Hastings straightened, pulled the little PPG from her belt. "Close the blast door -"
Suddenly, two large, armored Minbari filled the doorway.
Nazeel stepped carefully around a soldier's body, avoiding the female's glassy stare. She could not share in her comrades' joy of battle. On Minbar she was more interested in using her telepathic gifts to heal the rifts between clans, not causing rifts in bodies. And yet she had volunteered for this assignment after learning of Dukhat's death at the hands of the savage Humans. She gathered intelligence on the enemy, an unpleasant task to begin with, but almost unbearable now. In the minds she scanned, she found fear and rage, but beneath that . . . she had learned much about the species. They were relatively primitive, true, but more complex than her people suspected. Their minds harbored love, respect, and loyalty for family, race and. . . ideals - certainly a civilized trait. Their spirituality, while crude, could at times be quite profound. She even glimpsed snatches of alien music as complex as anything on Minbar. Militarily, Humans were no match for the Minbari. Yet they fought on, hopelessly, some for love of battle, some for hate, some for oaths of duty. . . but most for their families, for their race. Was that not a sign of sentience, if not civilization, to sacrifice your life for another?
A short while ago, she was one with the rest of her people, unified in thoughts of revenge against the Humans, to teach a lesson to a race too dangerous and heedless to live. Now, though, she knew that genocide would accomplish nothing. It was a waste of a gifted species. What good is a lesson if no one lives to learn from it? And how can it truly be a lesson, when the punished isn't even aware of the crime? For few she scanned had any idea of the war's genesis in the murder of the age's greatest Minbari.
But for all her personal misgivings, the high command still expected to perform her duty. And so she walked on, heedless of the gunfire in the next corridor, or of the warriors who charged past her, seeking glory against a doomed people.
Lydia fell without a sound, knocking Derrick back into the alcove. A brief flurry of gunblasts, a scream, shouts in an alien tongue. But the boy could see nothing but Lydia, her eyes wide, frantic, fixed on him; her mouth, rimmed in blood, open but voiceless; her body quivering, her chest covered with blood, acrid with smoldering flesh. Then her eyes dulled, and the quivering stopped. Only then could he look up and see the huge Bonehead, standing over the limp form of his mother as she sprawled across the command chair. He gasped. The fighter looked at him. Why? he wanted to ask. Why are you killing us? What did we ever do to you?
Ships. Earth Alliance and Minbari. Bolts sailing across space, connecting with the blue alien cruisers. Death. Surprise. Grief. The Greatest of Us, struck down! Greatness falls. . . Hate! Revenge! Images, feelings tumbled through the boy's mind. Then, with a sharp shock, the flood cut off, leaving him reeling
Nazeel stepped in the moment firing ceased. She knew from experience that the zealous warriors were frequently careless with prisoners. And as expected, the dead crew lay in crumpled heaps across the deck, or slumped over consoles. But the commander of this post seemed alive, merely bruised. A concussion would make things more chaotic in the prisoner's mind, but no matter. Kutaan was hovering over the limp form of the commander, while Lithat, kneeling beside an obviously dead body, shrugged at her. "I'm sorry, Nazeel. He would not submit." The telepath nodded resignedly as Lithat walked out, headed towards the last pocket of resistance.
Kutaan's head snapped to one side, and Nazeel saw a young Human hidden in an alcove. Then she felt the scan - strong but poorly focused. She grasped at the images the child was taking from her comrade's mind. She gasped as she saw the bitter strike, the death of most of the Nine, the fall of Dukhat - images sent by the ship's telepaths, passed to Minbar and all the colony worlds. She felt the rage and the grief anew, as when she first learned of the tragedy.
The young boy stared vacantly, stunned, overwhelmed by the passions and images that streamed into his mind. He was inexpert, this was obvious - an untrained telepath of considerable talent. With a touch of her mind, Nazeel severed the stream of thoughts. Then she pursued the retreating link into the boy's own path, scanning him quickly. In a flash she learned his name and place on the station.
"You are supposed to scan the military prisoner, not children." Nazeel blinked, then glanced at Kutaan, who watched her with impatience.
"This is the commander's child. Children see more than their parents think, and are often easier to scan." She returned to the frightened eyes watching her from the shadows. Making soft reassuring sounds, Nazeel eased closer. Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. See nothing but me. Hear no voice but my own. You will be all right. With gentle mental brushes she calmed the young alien's mind, took control of it, began to carefully read the story within. When she had gleaned what she could, she soothed the boy into a torpor. Turning to the mother, she did a quicker scan. As expected, the alien mind was jumbled, but she discovered what she needed to know: the history of the base, its purpose, and the fact that until now it had detected nothing of use to the enemy. She also noted two things more: several noncombatants were hidden deep beneath the station, and a final distress call had warned the enemy of the Minbari's advance. This meant one of two things. If the Earth Force had ships nearby, they might come to the rescue; if not, the base would likely be given up for lost.
She relayed the station information to her clanmate, with a few important omissions. "These were the last of the crew. I think it would be important to leave the station habitable, however. Destroy communications, but we should otherwise leave it intact."
Kutaan, who was itching to move on, frowned. "Why would we do that? We don't want the enemy to rebuild -"
"- The Humans will think this place destroyed. It is too far from their core territory to be worth rebuilding." She paused. "And I think it will be of value to the Minbari in the future."
"Care to explain how?"
She considered. "You must trust my instincts, Kutaan."
His sigh came out as a growl. "The Religious Caste are very fond of their instincts. My instincts are to level the place, but as we have a rendezvous with the Black Star in a few hours, we don't have the time to be thorough. I will pass your recommendation to the captain. . . but I'll make certain he knows whose suggestion it was." His gaze fell on the still-unconscious form on the command chair.
"Leave them to me," the telepath said, coloring her voice with resignation. "I will follow you shortly." Kutaan knew that she, like most of her caste, found killing at an arm's length distasteful. She hoped he would accept her deception.
"You offer them a peaceful death, Nazeel? I do not understand how you could be so merciful with these savages."
"There may be glory in slaying a foe in battle. What glory comes in killing the vanquished?"
Kutaan gave no reply; he simply walked out. Nazeel bent to the boy, her first contact with a telepathic Human. The images she saw told him he was a bright and curious creature, who faced alien races with interest rather than fear. If - as she fervently hoped - the warriors' rage cooled before the race was utterly exterminated, they would need those willing to bridge the gap between cultures, to foster understanding where before there was only fear and hate. This boy might be such a one. But there were things she must do first. If the intelligence reports were accurate, telepaths were a rare and vital commodity to the Earthers; they tracked and enlisted the more talented mentalist without fail. If she were to have any hope of getting to the boy before the Earth government did, his power must remain hidden.
So, mental brick by mental brick, she build a wall in his mind. Locked away behind the psychic barrier were the recent knowledge of Dukhat's death, and of her. The most difficult part was walling away his telepathic powers, returning him to latency. This, she thought, she had accomplished with no permanent damage to the rest of his mind. And in the wall, was a lock, and the key was a word. . . and the word was hers. "I will find you, Derrick Hastings, when the time comes. And I will show you what you are." She was suddenly aware of the explosions elsewhere - radio relays and scanners being destroyed. She dragged the commander to the floor, then placed another body on top. Minbari never left survivors; surely the Humans knew this. Yet the child must live. And his mother must live, for her death at the hands of the Minbari would poison his heart against her people. So her survival must look "accidental," a stroke of luck. Both she and the boy were to be overlooked in the heat of battle, as were those hidden deep underground. Satisfied with her deception, she left for her transport.
The few survivors of post's contingent were marooned on the station until a week before the Battle of the Line, when a Drazi scavenger ship discovered them. By the time they reached EA territory, the war was over.
Nearly eighteen years would pass before Nazeel fulfilled her promise.