My seventh annual Halloween contribution. I know it's Christmas, but I decided to be different, and life has been very hectic this year. I did have the idea back at Halloween, but have not had the time to write it until now.
As usual, I don't own anything you recognise as from B5. All hail to JMS, the great maker.
Who do? You do?
By
Hilary Weston
Michael Garibaldi did sometimes wonder if he was becoming psychic.
Whether it was because of the neural block or not, he always knew the moment Bester stepped onto the station. Something just seemed to change; that almost subconscious hum that tickled the back of his mind. Normally, it was torture, knowing that he was so close, but he could do nothing about it.
Until now.
The former security chief and now head of intelligence for the IA sat in the Zocalo and calmly sipped his coffee like beverage, watching the black clad Psi-Cop in his peripheral vision. Of course Bester knew he was there, but his arrogance meant that there was no acknowledgement given, save a self-satisfied smile.
"You think you are so safe from me." Murmured Garibaldi, before he reached into the bag beside him and drew out a very roughly made doll.
Garibaldi would never have admitted before about believing in things like voodoo. But that was before he had spent five years on a space station that defied logic six times before breakfast. He still couldn't believe that he was actually doing this even now.
It was only last month that Zack had been grumbling about the number of complaints of alien curses that had suddenly sprung up. They had laughed together about the mass hysteria that was obviously gripping the station, but Michael made his own quiet enquiries amongst the citizens of downbelow. What he had found was certainly more than hysteria or coincidence. He didn't know how it worked; didn't want to know how it worked; didn't want to tell himself he was clutching at straws.
But now, he would see if the alien mystic was right in his power.
Holding the doll below the level of the table, out of sight of the general populace, Garibaldi hoped that his murderous thoughts would be ignored by Bester as his normal reaction to the Psi-Cop. He held the long pin in his free hand and positioned it above the torso, ready to ram it home.
Nothing happened.
Again, and again, he commanded his arm to move, to plunge the thin piece of metal into the crude likeness. It trembled with the effort, and Michael felt himself begin to sweat.
Then with an almost silent cry of frustration, he threw both doll and pin to the ground.
It should have worked!
He wasn't anywhere near Bester. He wasn't going to harm him personally, just stick a pin in a doll. He didn't believe in voodoo anyway, so why couldn't he do it?
Pushing the chair he was sitting on back so hard that it fell over, he stormed out of the Zocolo, unable to stand the presence of Bester any longer. The Psi-Cop, if he had noticed, didn't show it.
Some minutes later, he paid his check and got up to leave for his appointment with the Captain. Suddenly a sharp pain gripped his chest and for a moment he couldn't breathe. He had to hold on to the bar to stop himself from falling to the floor. Then as quickly as it had come, the pain stopped.
Bester took a few seconds to compose himself, then with a mental note to have himself check out when he got back to Mars, he continued on his way.
What neither he or Garibaldi saw was a young boy idly playing with a rag doll he had found discarded among the tables.
End
"True Magic is done with the mind and the spirit. Chants and potions are just a way to focus the magic, but they will not work without the magic of your spirit. Every wizard that you may encounter has a vast imagination, and a mind that can fly free. You still have that great gift. When you go home, you can use your imagination to see this world and us. Your mind is free from all bounds. You can travel anywhere, meet anyone and do anything, all within your mind. That is the first gateway to magic." - Nala, Wizard of T'Tenneb.
Any comments to
Ranger Hilary