His official title was Chief Warrant Officer and Head of Security. His unofficial title was Spymaster General. He listened, he watched, he observed and he remembered.

His last important task had been the interrogation of Satai Delenn. He had been doing well, until Captain Sheridan had taken her away. Welles had tried to object, but he didn’t mind really. He was patient.

To all things, there is a time.

At present, he was watching Clark bandy words with Bester. He didn’t like telepaths – their abilities made a mockery of his work – but he had learned to use them. He had been studying Bester for over an hour and his mind had tallied a great deal of information.

Short, but acts as though he were taller. Acts as though his height doesn’t bother him, but it still rankles. Psi Cop or not, he’s still human, with all a human’s weaknesses.

Doesn’t use his left hand. An affectation or a disability? Connected to his height, perhaps? Birth deformity? Check details, may have other infirmities. Possible weapons.

Still wears Psi Cop uniform. Why? Psi Corps destroyed with Earth. Gloves serve practical purpose. Badge and uniform do not. Engender fear, perhaps? A constant reminder of what he is? What he can do? Reminder to whom? Himself – or others?

And on and on. Voice, stance, actions, words. Welles recorded it all, for later use. But he was growing increasingly distracted.

Clark was acting differently, and had been doing so for a while. It was nothing solid that Welles could identify, but it was there, and it was unknown, and it was irritating him that he couldn’t spot the source.

The door opened and a security guard ushered someone in. Welles noted the guard. It was Boggs. A good man. Efficient. Dedicated. Did what needed to be done.

He turned his attention to the newcomer. Lyta Alexander. Telepath. Sixth generation. P5. Height. Weight. Age. A number of reprimands for inappropriate use of psi-powers. Had formed liaison with Sheridan’s bodyguard, who was now serving as Lieutenant Ivanova’s aide. Had helped in his interrogation of Satai Delenn.

“Ah, Miss Alexander,” Bester said. “A pleasure as always. You’ve been keeping well, I trust.”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. Too quick. Too nervous. Has something to hide from her superior. What? Liaison with Cole? Usage of psi-powers? Something else?

Her Psi Corps badge is crooked. A sign, perhaps, of slipping allegiances.

“We will have to talk later in private,” Bester said. Then he turned to Welles himself. “Many thanks for the transcripts of your interrogation of Satai Delenn. I was wondering however, why they stopped so abruptly.”

Surprise question. Out of the blue? Trying to find something? “Captain Sheridan felt that Satai Delenn would be better off kept aboard the Babylon, for security reasons.”

“What about the ships we asked for?” Hague said, and Welles looked at him. No subtlety. No guile. An honest man among politicians. An honest man whose honesty is destroying him. He’s not sure about our new allies. He’s the only one in this room who’s faced down Minbari in battle. He knows what they can do.

“I’m afraid our own defences are looking quite rocky at present, General, but I will see what I can arrange.” An admission of weakness? No, a lie. For what purpose? What does he know about our new allies?

“About Captain Sheridan?”

“He has returned,” Clark said. “But he said that it will take him a while to handle the aftermath of his mission. Bureaucratic details and so forth. Owing to security reasons, he feels it would be unwise to bring Satai Delenn down here. Would the Babylon be suitable for you to meet her?”

“Oh yes. Perfect.”

“Well then, Captain Sheridan said that 1500 hours would be a fine time for him…”

“Over two hours. Perfect. It will give Miss Alexander and myself time to discuss things. Thank you, all. It has been a pleasure.”

Welles watched Bester and Alexander leave, and he felt eyes on him. Looking up, he saw Takashima watching him. She had said very little during the meeting, evidently preferring to watch.

Just as Welles had.

He had a feeling that she was a more powerful protagonist than Clark, Hague or Bester.

She was dangerous.

Sheridan had not been sure what to expect in Bester. He had never met the Psi Cop before – although he had had dealings with a few of Bester’s aides – but he had heard a great deal about Alfred Bester. Psi Cop. Diplomat. Leader.

He hadn’t been expecting the short man with a useless hand who shot glances everywhere. But then one look in Bester’s eyes and at the telepath’s quietly mocking grin proved that Bester himself was exactly what he had been expecting.

He wondered what Bester had been expecting. The Psi Cop gave no sign of whether he had been expecting anything at all.

“It’s good to meet you at last, Mr. Bester,” he said. He’d held meetings with various dignitaries – usually Narns or from the League – before, but this one put a sour taste in his mouth.

“Likewise, Captain Sheridan.” Bester did not extend a hand. “This is an impressive ship. Destroyer class, isn’t it?”

“She… used to be. She’s had so many modifications and alterations done to her over the years that she’s now in a class of her own. We prefer to think of her as a Babylon-class ship.”

“Ah, yes. The ancient tower of Babel, which ascended into the heavens as all of mankind worked together to one singular purpose. A fine ideal, don’t you think? Do you know much about ancient history, Captain Sheridan?”

“I’m more familiar with the twentieth century.”

“Ah, it is a fascinating subject, although I have always preferred Greek history myself. We managed to rescue two damaged destroyer ships from the end of the war. We repaired them and renamed them. The Ozymandias and the Parmenion.”

Sheridan turned and stared. “You have two destroyers?”

“To all things a time, Captain Sheridan. This is a fascinating ship. I would quite like a tour.”

He refrained from gnashing his teeth. “Of course. I also understand you wish to question Satai Delenn.”

“I would. Miss Alexander is a gifted telepath, but she may have missed something in her scans. I miss nothing, Captain Sheridan.”

“Of course. If you would care to come to my office first, so that we can sort out a few details.”

Sheridan was tense as he led Bester up to the ready room. Bester was a P12, the best and the strongest. Corwin had wanted to be here for this, but he had refused. Delenn had said that this was not necessary, but he knew it was.

This was too important for anyone, even Bester, to ruin, but if what he was planning went wrong… He was surprised that Bester didn’t have guards, or any form of escort. Apparently he had flown here alone in one of his Psi Corps Black Omega Starfuries.

But then why would Bester need guards, when he possessed one of the most powerful minds in existence? The Minbari hadn’t touched his power at all. Perhaps he’d made a deal with them.

They reached Sheridan’s office and stepped inside. No one else was there.

“So, Captain, what are these little details…?”

Bester stiffened, and there was a cause. Sheridan had drawn his PPG and placed it at the base of the Psi Cop’s skull.

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Captain.”

“You Psi Cops always think you own everything. Maybe you aren’t getting an explanation. Maybe I’ll just blow your head off right here.”

“Oh? And what would murder do to your career?”

“They can’t do anything to me. They need me too much, and I’ll say that you attacked me. Or did you think that they actually trusted you?”

“I’ve never needed to be trusted, Captain, but I see your point. What if they don’t believe you?”