From cstokes@aladdin.co.ukSat Jan 20 15:26:08 1996 Date: Sat, 20 Jan 1996 15:35:09 GMT From: Chris Stokes Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Outlaw: chapter I proof-read it, but I can't guarantee it'll be free of mistakes. Feel free to comment. Outlaw: Chapter I "Have a nice day, Sir," the Babylon 5 official said. I smiled to myself: you didn't need to be a telepath to realise that the facade of cheeriness was extremely thin indeed. Even keeping to the Psi corps rule of not scanning anyone without permission (which I frequently abused), he was simply *radiating* frustration: I could gather that he was overloaded with work. There was a personal problem in there too. I moved off towards customs, ignoring the thoughts behind me, and prepared my hand luggage for searching. I was a telepath, but had never, in any of my ten year career been controlled in any way by Psi corps. When I discovered my ability, at the age of fourteen, I did not know much: but I knew I didn't want *anybody* controlling me. Of course, without teaching, my skill did not develop as much as it could have done, but I paid for some illegal training that enabled me to protect myself. This meant that whenever Psi corps caught up with me, I could at least shield my mind reasonably well. Levels were irrelevant to me: I did not want to be graded against others. Someone had once said I was a level 6 in shielding, but only equivalent to a 3 in other disciplines. The character who was searching my bags was taking his time: I risked a quick scan to see if he would react, and then probed for his current thoughts specifically: "Looks fairly normal. Don't like the look of that guy: better ask him for ID. Just check the rest of this, first, I guess. God, when is this shift going to end. I must have been doing this boring job for an hour. Okay, let's check this ID, then." "Excuse me, Sir. Have you got any ID?" I handed him my pass: it was forged, of course. He ran it through a small, handhold device, and then gave it back to me. I thanked my luck: it had been risky coming through passengers, but a old liner had been all I had been able to find at such short notice. Once again, the Psi cops had found me, this time in a ghetto on Mars. Looking back, it was a stupid place to live. Teeming with illegal immigrants, it was obvious the authorities were going to intervene at some point: I had promised myself it would be a temporary measure, but I had stayed there for a month. After being pulled in, the cops investigated me, and devoid of any ID, they put me forward for further questioning. They soon uncovered my Earth background, and I jumped bail whilst I could. It was not a new experience: I had been chased from system to system for most of my life. Escaping from Earth at the earliest possible moment, I had moved to Mars. Psi corps control was still tight there, and I managed to con my way into a job on a space freighter. It lasted a year, sending me light years away from Earth, but then the Captain had recruited a telepath for some business deal or other: the results were disastrous. Unknown to me, the deal was going on in the very next room from where I was cheating over a game of cards. Sporadic scanning had alerted him, and he suddenly burst in and confronted me. I was more worried about the crew, who now knowing what I was, came to the obvious conclusions and were not going to let me go easily. I narrowly missed being sent back to Earth, and then smuggled myself on to a cargo hopper, which was going to a remote mining planet. I intended to spend the rest of my days there, safe from any marauding Psi cops. However, life was boring, the only interesting things being the local wildlife: being an arachnophobic, I was suitably distressed to find, through experience, that a certain member of the local fauna was one metre wide with eight legs. I promptly left. At this point, being eighteen, I decided to move into one of the alien sectors of space, where I could have the immunity from Psi corps, whilst not becoming a hermit. The League of Non-Aligned Worlds was out: they were far too obedient to Earth. So too were the Minbari, with the memories of the War still fresh in many minds: an Earther would draw suspicion. That left the Narns and the Centauri. After a rather unfortunate experience with a six-foot, very angry Narn *female*, I decided that a move to Narn would not be a good idea. The Centauri Republic also had the advantage that many of its citizens were gamblers, and there were not too many telepaths. I booked a liner out to Centauri Prime and arrived for the first time on a planet not under any earth influence. It was fun while it lasted. I spent three years on that world, enjoying the fruits of the Republic. I was eyed with natural suspicion, of course, but I kept to the capital, where outworlders were accepted. Life was good, Centauri girls developed an attraction all of their own, and gullible, drunk nobles provided ample opportunity for exploitation, whether at the gaming table or not. Particularly useful was the 'dirt' I could dig up on Great families, by using telepathy. Being the pillar of Centauri politics, selling this information was very profitable: too profitable, unfortunately. I came to the attention of the government, and was swiftly deported. As my talents grew, I returned to Earth space, and spent some time with the criminal fraternity. By posing as a legitimate telepath, I would volunteer my services to oversee 'deals', in the way many legal telepaths do. Then, when asked about legality I could lie and the unsuspecting customer would fall for the con. The criminal in question then paid me, and walked away laughing. Of course, the 'unsuspecting customer' soon found out the deal wasn't so legal after all. I stopped after a few months, but not because I had any guilt problems: the people conned were usually criminals themselves. Instead my reputation grew, and after turning down the offer of permanent employment by a crimelord, two rather tall, strong looking aliens started following me. I did not want to fall into the same trap as on Centauri Prime: I headed nearer to Earth. I had a few more brushes with Psi corps, but I was never in serious danger. On Mars, I had wondered what to do: I was going home, only a two hour shuttle trip from the planet I had left ten years ago. My future was still in the balance when I was arrested. Babylon 5 was not my own choice: it was the only small passenger liner route with available, cheap tickets. So, now, I had arrived about a year after the station had opened. Firstly I had to find accommodation: after ten years I had a precise set of criteria. Official apartments were no good, and personal owners were risky. The best was a small company letting rooms. The criminal areas were useful in some circumstances, but I preferred to start with average areas: less suspicion. A quick consultation with an information terminal allowed me to discover a likely section. I set off towards it. I had already downloaded a set of rooms for hire (matching my specifications, of course) and I soon came to the first contact mentioned: Red 15 D, room 12. This reference stunned me: B5 was *massive*. Red sector, section 15, deck D... I pressed on the pad by the door, and a vague sound emanated from inside the room. There was a scuffling, and then a middle aged woman appeared. "Jensen Suites?" I queried. "Yes. Do you want a room?" "Yeah. Doesn't have to be anything fancy. Just a single, please." "Okay," she muttered, producing a datapad, and tapped in a few numbers. "We've got a few available. Have you any preferences? Price? Location?" "Not really. Something fairly cheap." "Right: got just the place. I'll show you to it." We walked down a maze of corridor, with me struggling to follow the woman's fast pace. I blocked out her thoughts, which seemed to be as frantic as her walking. After going down two levels, with the decor changing for the worse, we approached a door, and the woman sliced a keycard through the reader. The door slid open, and I followed her in. It wasn't exactly luxury, but I'd had my fair share of poor living places in my time, and the Mars ghetto made this look like ambassadorial quarters. Still, first impressions can be deceptive. I scanned her quickly for anything interesting: I had once been caught out into renting a room next to a psychotic Cascor. No wonder it was so cheap. It took a few seconds to move past the surface thoughts, and after checking she wasn't telepath sensitive, I did a brief scan: there was nothing, except that the computer terminal had failed a few times. I didn't care. "I'll take it." "Good. Contact me if you need me. Can I have your identicard, please." A few minutes later, and I was alone. I booted up the computer terminal, which worked first time, and logged in. Selecting voice input, I walked around, examining the room, whilst commanding the computer. "Get me the station personnel list." "Done." I walked over chewing a snack bar and peered at the screen: I needed to know who the telepath was to this station: Talia Winters, Psi Corps representative. "Okay, get me Talia Winter's file." "Processing..." A public information file, which was more of an advert in this case, appeared on screen. An attractive blonde filled the monitor. Not bad, I thought, finishing my snack bar. Skim reading the text, I found out that she was a level 5 telepath and set the face in my mind. I would have to avoid her. It was a pity: she looked like someone you wouldn't want to avoid... Two hours later I was discovering the delights of Red sector: it happened to be full of casinos, which was very fortunate. I strolled into the 'Moonlight Casino', which despite the name looked slightly less tacky than any of the other establishments. It wasn't that I was worried about image, just that richer gamblers tended to use the more lavish casinos. And that meant I could win more without gaining a reputation. There were about four circular gaming tables, each with a different game playing. I looked around and discovered that two were alien games, that I hadn't come across very often. Of the remaining two, both were playing Earth favourites. One was the immensely popular, and dangerous, game of 'jumpgate'; a bit like a cross between the old Earth games of roulette and blackjack. Vast amounts could be won and lost, but for me too much depended on luck. I passed the throng of excited gamblers by. Luckily, the last table was a version of Poker: it was perfect. I joined the group and handed a credit tablet to the croupier, who transferred a large sum of money to my position. Five cards shot out of a slot beside me, and I flipped them over: four eights, and the three of diamonds. That made 'four of a kind'. I scanned everybody at the table, and only one person had a higher hand than me. The croupier opened the betting. I played for nearly an hour, and quadrupled my money: that would sustain me for two months of easy living, at least: I walked to the door, and stopped only to cash in my winnings. As the computer collected my chips, I sensed anger very near to me. Normally, I wouldn't have noticed; it was a very common emotion in casinos. In this case, I suddenly realised the anger was directed at *me*. Again, I wasn't worried, because after beating my opponents so thoroughly I didn't expect much of a spirit of friendship. It was only as I stepped through the door that I bothered to listen in. I froze. "That guy's cheating. I don't know how, but I don't want *anybody* walking away with that amount of cash. I'll put Xerog on to him. Now where is that stupid brute?" Whoever (or whatever) Xerog, that stupid brute was, I didn't like the sound of him one little bit. Images of past victims floated into my mind as I very hurriedly scanned the thinker. As it turned out was a Narn. Great, I thought. My favourite alien race. Heading for the crowds, I rushed through Red sector, pushing through the late night revellers. "Hey, where are you goin' so fast, mister." I stared up innocently into the face of a patrolling security officer, and then looked nervously behind me. I was glad I didn't play cards fairly: with my luck I couldn't have won anything. "Um. Nowhere, really. Just like to, er, hurry." The look of scepticism increased on the man's face. "No, seriously: I've got to get back to my room, for an, um, appointment." I looked back again: there was a disturbance through the crowd. "Yeah, right. You just said you weren't...." I caught sight of a weaving reptilian body and decided to risk it: the security man stumbled back confused as I pierced his mind. Searching frantically through his memory, I tried to erase his recollections of me. It was hard; I had only done it a couple of times in my life, but as the Narn burst through the last line of onlookers I determinedly cleared the last few thoughts, before sprinting off. I heard the security officer say: "Hey, where are you goin'?" to the pursuing Narn, his mind having no memory of *our* encounter. There was an angry thud, and then a shout: the Narn had no concept of subtlety. As I raced on I saw excited spectators lining the corridors as the Narn began to gain on me. Suddenly, I slipped, and cried in pain; my ankle sprained. There was a flash of armour and then I was sprawled out on the floor, with ugly, brown hands roughly searching me. I squirmed underneath his solid grip. It was worth one more try, I decided, and heartlessly tried a technique I had used even less then erasing of memories. My teachers had labelled it 'mind blast', and that was essentially what it was: a blast of psychic energy designed to overpower someone's brain, thereby disorientating them for up to ten minutes. Of course, it was expressly forbidden by Psi Corps. Feeling the energy surge through my head, all my senses began to mingle (mind blast was painful to the 'blaster' too) and I discharged it violently. I caught the end of a scream, as my senses returned: more distressing was the vile Narn breath that poured over my face. Pushing the heavy, unconscious body away, I made to leave. Chris Stokes cstokes@aladdin.co.uk From cstokes@aladdin.co.ukWed Jan 24 22:12:56 1996 Date: Tue, 23 Jan 1996 18:50:34 GMT From: Chris Stokes Reply to: b5-creative@blob.best.net To: b5-creative@blob.best.net Subject: Outlaw: Chapter 2 pretty much a dead end. I'm sure there would have been ways to continue the story, but I feel like moving on to something different (very low boredom threshold) :) Anyway, Outlaw has ended up as only a two parter, and although I'm not particularly pleased with this ending, I felt obliged to wrap the s However, I feel the character is good and, like Sherlock Holmes, may *return to fight another day*, or at least i might outline events of his past life. The reason for this is I've left him in a pretty luckless situation at the end of this, so continuing his life storyt may be pretty boring. Note: For some reason my intro for Chapter 1 got 'cut off'. It should have mentioned about this being a first season story. Oh well. BTW, thanks for your comments anout Chapter 1. Outlaw: Chapter 2 Half an hour afterwards, I was sitting in a questioning room, with Security Chief 'Michael Garibaldi' pacing angrily in front of me. After stumbling back to my apartment, it came as no great surprise when a security officer turned up at the door. There was no point offering resistance: if I could have, that is. I was physically and mentally exhausted after the mind blast. Garibaldi paused, and turned to me again. "I'll ask you one more time: what did you do to that Narn." "Nothing." "Yeah, right! Look, he was unconscious for the best part of ten minutes, and he's still recovering in Medlab. On his body there were no sign of physical injury: no bruises, no stun marks, nothing. Now are you telling me he just collapsed. Rather *convenient* wasn't it?" "I don't know why he attacked me." "Look, we've got witness statements: you were seen at the Moonlight Casino, and after winning a *considerable* amount of money, you left. Minutes later, you had a Narn chasing after you. There was a short struggle - various people described your resistance as 'pathetic' - and suddenly this Narn just went out cold. Why?" "I don't know." I really couldn't be bothered to answer his questions: when they found out who I *really* was, then this would be the least of my worries. Psi Corps would be informed. I would be taken back to Earth. I had heard stories of what they did to rogue telepaths, and didn't want to be in the latest one. "Okay: one more try..." Vaguely, I heard someone outside, and then Garibaldi. Too tired to scan them, I had to rely on my hearing to pick up the words. It was hopeless; I couldn't hear anything. Finally, the door opened and Talia Winter's walked through. The security chief poked his head round the door after her and said: "Are you sure you'll be alright in there?" She nodded. "Okay, I'll get on to Medlab to check it out." "You mind blasted him, didn't you?" she said. It was a statement not a question. "Yes," I said weakly. It came out as scarcely more than a whisper: I was desperately trying to shield my mind. She could sense it too. "It is pointless. Why are you?" "Rick Gallagher." "Your *real* name." "Rick Gallagher." "We'll find out: you know that." "Rick Gallagher," I repeated, unnecessarily. "How long have you been rogue?" "Long enough to know I *still* don't want Psi Corps." Some of my strength was returning. "Why? We will help you." "Shut up. I've heard it...heard it all before." "You can't evade forever. You must have known that. *No* human telepath as ever evaded Psi Corps for their whole life." "Maybe. Maybe not." "The Psi-Cops will come." "I know. I have met them before." "And escaped?" "Yes. What have you told Garibaldi?" "That you are a telepath. And to check that Narn for signs of neural overload." "He'll live." "Mind Blast is forbidden." "I know." We paused, and I looked into Talia's eyes. "Don't you ever doubt Psi Corps," I asked feebly. "*No*," she said, turning to leave. She was hiding her face. But I could tell she didn't mean it. I spent the rest of the day relaxing, or trying to as much as you can in a holding cell. It was at about nine 'o clock, when the 'day' had ended, that I heard, or maybe sensed, scuffling outside the door. I silently cursed the noisy guard who had disturbed my sleeping. Then, a series of muffled beeps sounded, and the door slid open. A silhouetted figure was standing there. "You: come on," he whispered. "What?" I said, slipping out of bed. "Hurry up," the shadow urged. "Okay, okay," I hissed. I didn't know who this guy was, but I wasn't going to turn down an opportunity like this. I was surprised to find, that when the shadow melted back into the lit corridor, it was a security guard. "I've shut down the vids: it'll be two minutes before they come back on line. I've rigged everything up to like a technical hitch. Now, we've got to get you outta here." "Why are you doing this," I whispered, as we stole along the corridor. "They were going to turn you over to Psi Corps, right?" "Yeah." "I hate the Psi Corps. They took my girlfriend away." I decided not to point out what would happen if the Psi Cops scanned him, just in case he decided to return me to my cell. "Okay then," he murmured. "Change my memory." "*You what*?" I hissed. "I can't do that." "Why not? They say you did it to that security guard. "That wasn't a proper wipe: it was only temporary. I erased the immediate thoughts, but the deep memories are still there. He'll have remembered it all by now. I'm not skilled enough to do a *proper* wipe." "You mean the Psi-Cops could still scan me, and get the truth." "Yeah: even if I wiped *your* immediate thoughts, a scan would reveal the deep memories to *them*, whether *you* had got them back or not." "Right, that's it then..." He started towards me. I took my chance, and smashed a fist into the guard's stomach. He fell against the wall heavily, and I grabbed for his PPG. A shout came from down the corridor, and as I turned another security guard rounded the corner. I had only killed once before in my lifetime; shooting a Psi-Cop who had cornered me. Now, I stood trembling, pointing the weapon at the other guard. I had no qualms about breaking the law, that was just me, but killing was a moral issue. I tried to neogatiate: "Just let me go alright..." "You can't get out." "Look, I don't want to shoot..." The ventilation system whirred, breaking the unatural silence. I suddenly remembered about the winded guard behind me. "*Into* the cell!" I cried on impulse, "Come on! Or I'll shoot your friend here too." I started to pick the other man up. As soon as I did I realised my mistake: there was a click and a PPG clicked out of its holster. Only one option now, I thought, turning my own PPG on the armed gurad. I fired and a beam lanced out, catching the target on the stomach: he stumbled back clutching his wound. "Hey, what's going on in there?" I heard someone shout from behind a locked door. I had to move fast. Skidding on the shiny floor, as I ran away, I tried to remember at least some of the layout of the station. Of course, it was impossible. Even so, I knew roughly that I wanted criminals who would shelter me: and that meant Brown sector. As I sprinted through the labyrinth of passageways, I began to see that it was futile: at virtually every turn there were the shouts of security, far too close for comfort. There was nowhere I could take refuge, and my stamina was stedily decreasing. I stopped, listening to my heavy, whooping breaths. The cries grew nearer and I consigned myself to failure. Suddenly, I noticed a sign at the far end of the corridor. Stumbling towards it, I read the words: docking bays. The security teams were nearly here. Worth one last chance, I thought. I reached the bays with seconds to spare, and as I slipped inside the guards were rounding the last corner. Silently, I crept over to the ship that was in the docking bay: it looked like a transport. Still, no choice now. I had experience at this kind of thing: it took me five minutes to deactivitate the reasonably poor locks. It was as I headed for the cargo door, I heard a voice behind me. "Perhaps you should stop." I spun round. Oh no, I thought. "How did you find me?" I asked lamely. "You were easy to find: fear is a very strong emotion," she replied. Talia Winters was standing there, with my fate, and quite possibly my life, in her hands. "Don't tell them. Please," I implored. "I'm sorry." "*Please*." "I'm sorry," she said again. The Psi-Cop stepped through: "Good work, Talia." Talia shook her head at me. "I told you. Nobody ever evades the Corps for their whole life. Nobody." Chris Stokes cstokes@aladdin.co.uk