Teletha wondered if this had been a really good idea. She had doubts at this point.
For one thing, she was sipping on a coffee drink of some kind she could not readily identify other than a faint taste of hazelnuts. Her eyes flicked to the mountain of beer cans in front of Melissa.
Of course, this taking place in space aboard B-5 - the metal would go into recycle bins where it would end up being flash-fried and reformed to other uses. Maybe a spar on the OPS (orbital power satellite) they were trying to build at one of the other LaGrange points. THAT was going to be towed and assembled in the L4 position where Babylon IV had disappeared. Nobody wanted something MANNED to be built there until they understood what the heck had happened.
L5 was the "trailing the moon" LaGrange position and was where B-5 was.
She sat back and looked around the room. It was... loud. The flashing lights, the music played at volumes that were similar to active airport runways, the gyrating and clearly intoxicated dancers. Well, except for that one dancer who had apparently just collapsed.
There were a few others who looked clearly uncomfortable in this environment. Not the West German contingent - they looked like they embodied the "work hard, play harder" ideal that had developed. Was that Hans Rutger over there? Okay, there was one exception.
The noise level was such that Teletha hadn't even heard the beeping from her minicomp that would have alerted her to something being up.
Chiyo-chan sat and looked as miserable and dejected as she could. Which was very.
The investigator left her room and went into the observation area.
"She doesn't know anything," said the investigator as soon as she'd joined her fellow.
"I could have told you that," said Psi Corps Operative Dunkirk. "When can I take her?"
"This is a US base, you don't have jurisdiction," said Inspector Washington.
"You will let me take her," said Dunkirk, reaching out with her mind.
"Don't even try that," warned Inspector Washington. "Yeah, you're a P-9. Given time, you can beat a little ol' P-4 like me in psychic combat. On the other hand you're 5'6" or so and I'm 6'2" AND I did pretty good in boxing at the Academy."
Ludmilla Dunkirk considered the tall black man and considered it briefly. Given a distraction, she could make the physically imposing fellow believe he was a six year old girl playing with dollies. Of course, by that time the damnable Americans would have determined what was going on and put enough bullets into her that if they'd shaken her she would rattle. It certainly wasn't worth the risk for an Ani-path.
The Corps was Mother and Father, it was Lover and Teacher. There was no risk she would not take for the Corps if the Corps would not best be served by it.
An Ani-path though, a talker-to-animals, was not worth much of a risk. They could not contribute that much to the Corps. Useless, compared to a Telepath like herself. It required time and effort to work with animals to where they actually were able to do something. She couldn't imagine anyone who would actually WANT such a useless Talent.
"ACHOO!"
"Ahhh, Sakaki-san has a cold!"
Meanwhile:
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(Posted Thu, 18 Jan 2007 08:48)
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