Chapter 3: The Naked Mind

Lyta Alexander sat in the bed, contentment filling her body. Never in her entire life had she felt this good before, and the man sitting in the chair next to her was more than enough reason. Alfred Bester held up a single black-leather gloved hand, and in her mind things, flashes of emotion, images, sensations, assaulted her body. The Psi Cop was trying to train her to control her mental block and strengthen it, but within the first few seconds he had not only gotten her to undress herself, but also to be satisfied.

He listened to her sighs and moans of pleasure, and if he wasn't such a disciplined mind, he could have taken real advantage of her. He was not so petty as all that. And despite her pleasant body to look at, and indeed, it was very pleasant, a scowl was creasing his forehead. Harder he pushed with his mind, and she was soon gasping for air in her pleasure. With a snarl and shake of his head, he pulled out.

Lyta's body trembled as she took a few quick gasps. Sweat streamed down her body, listening like a mirror. Her heart's racing slowed down ever so slowly. It took a full minute to regain her wits. It was then that she looked and realized her clothes were missing.

"What?" she asked with trembling breaths, glancing at her clothes lying in a crumpled pile on the floor, "How?"

"So disappointing, Miss Alexander," Bester shook his head, "You don't even remember what happened."

Lyta glared, "Perhaps it's best I didn't."

"I pretty much raped you," Bester said, then after a slight pause added, "Mentally of course."

"But why?" she asked, humiliation pouring through her now.

"As I told you even before we started," Bester replied, folding his arms into his black uniform, "With every telepath Earth can provide being sent to help in the war against the Minbari, we've discovered they might have telepaths amongst them. They have not yet shown themselves, but if they do, who knows how powerful they could be. We must build our mental defenses against such an event as them showing themselves. And you..."

"I failed," Lyta dropped her eyes, "Didn't I?"

"I could have taken advantage of you and impregnated you," Bester said, and she looked up with shocked incredulation, "Your defenses are terrible. You are Psi Corps. Have you really been taught so poorly?"

"I was trained as a P5," she retorted, feeling the heat rise to her face, "You are a Psi Cop."

"True," Bester smiled viciously, "But that is no excuse. You are part of the Psi Cops yourself. Unless you have changed your mind. You should have been able to hold out much longer, or been able to push back. I had you dancing like a puppet on its strings."

The words hurt. They stung like that off a bee sting. But, she knew it was true. What was the saying? The wicked taketh the truth to be hard.

Bester flicked a hand dismissively. "You may leave now," he said, and didn't look away as she hurriedly dressed herself.


As Lyta stepped up to the lift to wait for it to finally arrive, a young man, roughly her age, in a green and black security suit walked up to her side. He took a quick side glance at her, then she could feel his eyes linger on her. His piqued interest couldn't have been any clearer had he shouted it at her. Not terribly professional of him.

"You in some kind of trouble?" he finally asked after a minute of silence passed.

"Why do you ask?" she inquired, just wishing he would go away.

"I have a very good gift with spotting people in distress," he said with a quirky smile, "And I see you are not entirely well."

Lyta rolled her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"The dried tears on your cheek," he shrugged, "The red, puffy eyes. The pouting lip."

"I do not pout," she said, turning to him.

"Your lip says otherwise," he said, folding his hands in front of him.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Really?" he asked.

"I'm positive," she said.

"Really really?"

She glanced over at him with furrowed brow. "You are a persistent young man," she shook her head.

"I have to be," he smiled toothily, "I'm not a Tep. How else can I get to know about anyone?"

"You could carry on a conversation like a normal person," she replied, "And not bug people who don't want to talk."

"You want to talk," he said confidently, his smile closing around his teeth to make it closer to almost a smirk.

"Oh really?" she asked, turning fully to him now, "And how do you come by that assumption?"

"You're still talking to me," he said with a wink.

A tiny smile played across her face as the lift door opened and a large man stepped off the tube, mustard stains on his shirt. His thoughts were being shouted all over the place, and she knew the man's lunch wasn't quiet sitting right with him. That he didn't want his wife knowing he had splurged again on unhealthy foods. She blocked him out, and inclined her head slightly to the lift.

"This is my lift," she said, stepping into the lift.

"My name is Zack Allan," the man said, not stepping in with her, "Your name?"

"Lyta," she said with an annoyed smile, "Lyta Alexander."

"Well Lyta Lyta Alexander," Zack said, making her chuckle, "What would you say to meeting me for dinner tonight?"

"A little hasty aren't you?" she asked with raised eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes," Zack said, and turning walked off.

She frowned slightly. The kid hadn't even arraigned the time and place. She shrugged as the door closed. Maybe for the best. This could have been interesting.


Lyta folded her laundry and put it away into her dresser. The mundane task of folding laundry, the folding of pant legs, the way the sleeves of a shirt came together. The soft feel of blouses. They were calming.

As she closed the last drawer, her doorbell chimed.

"Yes?" she asked.

And through the door, holding two pizzas and a large bottle of soda in his hand, was Zack Allen. He wore a big boyish grin on his face. Her eyebrows rose at the sight of him.

"How did you find me?" she asked, intrigued by his being at her apartment.

"I'm security here," he said, putting the pizzas onto her table which was near the door, "It wasn't too hard to find you."

All she could do was smile. Either she was going to kill Mr. Allen, or she might just start to like him.