“Mr. Cotto, I am very sorry, but I am a businessman, not a government official. I don’t wish to give away the patent to my prosthetics to the Alliance, no matter how well meaning they are,” independent millionaire Corusca purrs, and Vir swallows. The man lights up the room like a delicately cut gemstone; unlike the politicians in Centauri court, he doesn’t use his power like a cudgel but as a perfume, lining every gentle refusal with an iron lining.
The skinny telepath next to him rasps, “On Earth, the path to hell is made of good intentions.”
Vir nods quickly. “I certainly understand, Lord Ci, but to be frank - the Alliance finds your sudden riches suspicious.”
“And you’re here to talk Centauri to Centauri to help me out?” Corusca snorts. “Everyone deals with suspicion now and then. If someone wants to cut a deal with me, they’ll need to do it with money like everyone else, not with political pressure.”
“It will become more blatant.” Vir keeps his hands very still so they don’t wring or rub his temples - the Drazi and the Narns were going after off-world Centauri business enterprises with accusations of working for the Mollari regime or being built on former colonies. While the Narns almost always had a legitimate complaint, the Drazi … did not, and they were the ones gunning for Lord Ci. “Your generous donations helped a lot of veterans on Babylon 5 last year. This embassy tries to help where it can.”
Corusca smirks - perhaps glad about sending in a donation that would put Vir in debt to him. Not that he wasn’t grateful with the amount of people missing limbs after the Shadow Wars and the Earth Civil War, but duplicity through money rather than information was a game whose rules Vir was having to learn very quickly.
“Then I will contact you if the kitchen becomes too hot to handle, as the Earthers say.” Corusca hands Vir a velvety business card. “As for you, Ambassador - if you’re near my system or you’re in need of my corner of the medical field, feel free to give me a call. My door is always open.” His delicate lips purse. “Send my regards to the emperor, if he calls.”
“Of course.” Vir shows Corusca the door, and he sweeps out in a stream of violet velvet and diamonds. The telepath shadows him, but pauses before they crosses the boundary outside to look at Vir.
For a human, they’re surprisingly doll-looking, short with a white streak in black hair and sharply carved features. The only reason why looking at them gives Vir a curl of wariness is the knowledge that they’re a telepath - and the intensity of their gaze on him.
“You. Centauri Prime, the palace, two years ago?”
Vir blinks. “Yes. How did you know?”
The telepath huffs, self-deprecating. “Emergency landing in the Shadow War. Injured. Only place to land was Centaur Prime. The boss patched me up.” They flick the white streak in their hair. “Memory’s got more holes than the human Swiss cheese right now. A traditionally hole-y food, you see. Thought I saw you on the landing.”
Vir blinks. “I don’t remember any human ships passing over the palace then… ” But he’d been busy with an assassination plot and trying to keep G'Kar alive, so perhaps he missed it?
“Not in a human ship.” A shrug and a sheepish smile. “No matter. Got a name to a face. Thanks, kid.” They offer a finely manicured hand. “Bardot. Professional telepath. Corusca is my lord, but he might tell me to go loansies sometime.”
Vir shakes it, blinking. “Kid? I’m probably older than you. Centauri age slower than humans.” And the telepath was at least a good three inches shorter than Vir.
“If I say you’re a kid, you’re a kid.” The telepath reaches up and boops Vir’s nose, then strides off before Vir can react.
Vir watches the duo leave: the lord with shining silver hair and the telepath in dull black. The moon and the sky, he’d say if he was more of a romantic.
What was up with them?
~~~
@plotdesigner I love your little fanfics :)