Garibaldi stood on the concourse of Boston’s Travel Center, staring at a blank viewer and waiting to link up with Babylon 5, as hundreds of commuters rushed behind him, headed toward bullet trains that would take them up and down the eastern seaboard. Gray stood to his left, fidgeting.

Finally, there was a chime and Captain John Sheridan’s handsome face appeared on the viewer. Garibaldi sighed with relief “Captain, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get through, but I thought I’d better report in.”

“That’s fine,” answered the captain. “Have you turned up anything?”

Garibaldi glanced around to make sure nobody but Gray was eavesdropping. “Yeah, I think we found the bomber. But I don’t know bow we’re going to prove it without having Talia Winters to testify. Her name is Emily Crane, and she works for the Mix in Boston. She handed Talia a data crystal just before they all went into that conference room.”

“Interesting,” mused Sheridan. “She’s a commercial telepath, and that corresponds with some information that Mr. Lennier gave me. At the reception, he was talking to a military liaison named Barker.”

Gray interjected, “He’s high up.”

“I gather that,” said Sheridan. “He told Lennier that Bester would soon be history, and that the commercial sector was going to make a grab to control Psi Corps. I can’t imagine how they would go about doing that, but it ties together.”

Garibaldi frowned. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t clear Talia, because she’s also in the commercial sector. But it does let us concentrate our search.”

The captain’s link buzzed, and he lifted his hand to answer it. “Excuse me,” he said. Over the long-distance connection, Garibaldi couldn’t make out every word of the captain’s conversation, but he clearly heard “Mr. Bester” mentioned several times.

“Out,” said Sheridan. He turned back to the viewer and shook his head. “I’ve got to go. Our prize patient is making life difficult for everyone again. Now he’s demanding to have his own doctor flown in! Dr. Franklin is about ready to walk. Keep me posted.”

“Right, sir.” Garibaldi pushed the button to sign off, then he nodded to Mr. Gray. “Time to call your friend.”

“But he’s only a clerk in the Senate,” Gray protested.

“That’s good enough. Those guys do all the work, and they know everything. Call him up, and ask him about Senate bill 22991.”

Reluctantly, Gray pushed his creditchit into the slot and dialed some numbers on the commlink. After a few moments, a clean-cut, bookish-looking man about Gray’s age came on the viewer.

“This is Senator Donaldson’s office.”

“Marlon, it’s me—Harriman! How are you?”

“Harriman, what a surprise! My gosh, how long has it been? Was it the frat reunion in Montreal? Was that the last time I saw you?”

“I believe so,” answered Gray. “You’re an old hand now—five years working for the senator.”

“And you look great,” Marlon replied. “Where are you living these days?”

Garibaldi sighed and gave Gray a hand signal to hurry up. “Berlin,” answered Gray. “Listen, Marlon, I need some information about a Senate bill. I believe it’s still in committee and hasn’t gone to the floor yet.”

Marlon smiled helpfully. “Whatever you need.”

“I think the bill has something to do with telepaths. It’s number 22991.”

A pall fell over Marlon’s face, and he looked as if he had been struck by a severe case of gastrointestinitis. He glanced around nervously and lowered his voice. “How do you know about that? I can’t talk about it.”

Garibaldi stepped into the picture. “Oh, I think you can, Marlon, or we’re going to come down to the senator’s office and ask everyone who goes in and out until somebody tells us.”

“Who are you?”

Gray rolled his eyes with embarrassment. “This is Michael Garibaldi, Chief of Security for Babylon 5. We’re working on a case together.”

“Is he serious about what he just said?”

“Yes,” answered Gray with a sidelong glance at Garibaldi. “He’s impatient, rude, and has very little tact.”

“None,” agreed Garibaldi.

The Senate clerk was still shaken. “I can’t talk about this on a public comm. Do you still have my address? It hasn’t changed since I’ve been in Washington.”

“Yes,” said Gray, consulting a small electronic device.

“I’ll be home by six tonight. Why don’t you meet me there? And don’t go asking anybody else. I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Great,” said Garibaldi, “we’ll buy you dinner.”

Looking very glum, Marlon signed off.

“Well done,” said the security chief, slapping Gray on the back. “You just have time to buy me lunch before we hop the rails to Washington. Let’s go.”

Talia Winters felt somebody toying with her hair, and she woke up with a start to find a teenage girl leaning over her. The girl jumped away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “you have such beautiful hair. We’re not allowed to cut our hair short like that. I wish we could.”

Talia sat up, disoriented, and looked around the humble adobe hut, with the strange machine in one corner and the smells of cooking wafting from the other room. Once again she thought about how her life had taken on such a surreal quality that her dreams seemed normal by comparison. In her dream, she had been back on Babylon 5, conversing with tentacled aliens. Awake, she was a fugitive from the law, a rogue telepath, reduced to hiding out in the desert with a group of neo-primitives.

“My name is Rain,” said the girl, stroking her honey-blond hair over her naked shoulder.

Talia almost answered the girl in spoken words, saying she was Rain, too. But she didn’t have to say it. The girl laughed in a lilting voice.

“Yes, I know, you are Rain. When Brother Sky names the girls, they are almost always Rain. Some of the people place great significance in this, others say he is misogynistic, but I say he just doesn’t like to remember names.”

The teenager stroked her hair again, and her green eyes drilled into Talia’s. “I think we should call you by your real name. It suits you so much better.”

Talia almost cried out, but she forced her tongue back into her mouth as she stared into those vibrant green eyes.

“Winters,” said the girl. “Sister Winters is so perfect.”

The telepath fought back questions that tried to stampede out of her mouth. She shook her head vehemently, and the young Rain surprised her by nodding in sympathy.

“Yes, I know, you have to be Rain like all the rest of us. It’s not fair, when Winters is better for you. I’m sorry.” She shrugged and scrambled to her feet. As she dashed out the doorway, she whispered, “I’ll see you later.”

Talia tried to still her initial impulse to bolt from the pueblo and keep running. Where would she go? she asked herself. It’s not surprising for the Bilagaani to know her real identity, she reasoned. They weren’t as cut off out here as they seemed, not with that battery of antennae and dishes on the plateau. Lizard was out there now, stealing data off a secured link. It wasn’t panic time yet, Talia assured herself, although it wouldn’t take much to push her to it.

Young Rain had been so innocent about knowing her real name, and threatening at the same time. Talia couldn’t believe they were scheming to do her harm. Would an adolescent be allowed to blurt something like that out, if the tribe was planning to turn her in? The Bilagaani simply knew who she was, and they didn’t care if she knew it.

Hey, she reminded herself, these people were breaking serious laws themselves. They didn’t want Psi Cops around. By running, she had naturally fallen in with people like Deuce and this weird offshoot of the underground. These were the people who lived in the cracks in the sidewalk, who lived in places like B5’s Down Below. Like it or not, she was part of their world now, and she might visit more way stations in the underground before her journey was through.

If she didn’t clear her name, she would have to live in the cracks forever.

No! she told herself. She wasn’t going to let that happen. Talia wanted her real life back, and she resolved anew to keep her mouth shut, to keep to herself, and to keep moving. She wouldn’t admit to anything. But she desperately needed to dye her hair or get a wig to go along with her new identicard. Hell, she thought, these people had enough hair to make her a hundred wigs! She wondered if they could improvise a wig or a dye-job for Sister Winters.

Talia glanced at the mat where Deuce had been sleeping and wondered where he was. She wanted to know how soon they would be getting out of the pueblo, and by what method. She might opt to make her own travel arrangements if what Deuce had in mind was too dangerous. Of course, she thought glumly, she didn’t have any money. She could get Emily Crane’s business address at any public terminal, and then she would at least know her destination. She figured she could play it by ear after she confronted Emily Crane, but first things first—where was Deuce?

She got to her feet and shuffled out the doorway. Shielding her eyes from the intense sunlight, Talia peered into the courtyard formed by the crude semicircle of stacked adobes. The courtyard looked brown and dusty, like an old coin, and nobody was visible. Even the chickens and goats were sleeping under mat lean-tos. It was hot, but it was the kind of dry heat that didn’t leave her sweating so much as parched and enervated.

Talia sidled around the corner of Sky’s adobe and saw a ladder leaning on the wall and leading up to the next level. She heard some muted voices coming from above, so she decided to climb the ladder and try her luck. It was either that or sit around and go crazy, waiting for something terrible to happen.

The handmade wooden ladder creaked under her weight, but it was just the leather stretching; it never felt as if it was about to give way. She climbed up quickly to the next floor, which was the top of Sky’s roof, and saw several scattered wooden toys—crude wagons, blocks, and noisemakers. Through an open door, she saw three children asleep, as she had been until a few minutes ago. It was siesta time, she concluded, the hottest part of the day when anyone with any sense would be sleeping. It was amazing how cool the adobes stayed compared to the outside temperatures.

“We build the adobe walls with bales of hay in the center,” said Lizard.

She whirled around to see the handsome Bilagaani poking his head out of the low doorway of the neighboring adobe. His chestnut hair framed his face in sweaty ringlets.