Garibaldi, propped his feet on his table, finally getting a chance to relax after the fight in the Laundromat. First he checked his email. Up on the screen came a half dozen messages. Things he'd seen before, things that were new.

"Make credits FAST!!!...."

"For sale : Unmarked PPGs..."

"Help little Craig Shergold, send postcards!!!"

Nothing much going on, so he opened up his latest issue of Play Gourmet magazine and immediately went to the foldout of Miss Arrowroot. "Nice recipes" he was thinking to himself when Ivanova interrupted his train of lust.

"Garibaldi, put down that dirty magazine. A friend of yours has arrived and has something to say". On the viewer was the pale, drawn face of none other than Al Bester, looking like a 60s television icon who has seen much better days.

"Hello Mr. Garibaldi. I can sense your teeth grinding even out here."

"Bester, you look like some washed up 60s television icon. So what do you want
now?"

"Oh, simply your cooperation. It would seem that there is a rogue telepath loose onboard the station and I may need some help tracking him down".

"Yeah, likely story. Last time it was a rogue organ grinder, but it turned out all you were after our secret plans."

"Which secret plans?"

"The ones in which we blow up Earth Dome and seize control from Clark".

"Ohhh, no I hadn't heard of those. Trust me, I'm telling the truth this time."

"Well, if you put it that way, the station is at your disposal". Garibaldi replied, going back to his magazine.

"Mr. Garibaldi, while I am here I think we should get to know each other a bit better. It would be nice to know you"

Getting to know you
Getting to know all about you!

Getting to scan you
Knowing you can't scan me
Getting to know you
Gives me that delightful feeling..
That I'll be ab-le to report on you
Able to manipulate you,

Eve-ry day!

"So, when was it you plan on blowing up Earth Dome??"

---

The smoke hung low in the Happy Daze Bar and Grill like a pair of stretch to fit Levi's on an overweight plumber. The usual mish-mash of down below denizens were draped loosely over the tables discussing their various dubious activities in low hushed and very serious tones.

A Phlftzqrig near the door was whispering to a three legged Qwertyuiop. "I keep on telling ya, right now's a good time to buy Apple, the stock has flattened out while people are waiting for Copland to be released, but when it does, you could see 10% increase by years end!"

Vir and Lennier sat at the bar both with the woebegone expression that shouted out to all around "second banana". Vir clutched a glass of warm milk and Lennier his tea. Lennier was crying..

"And then, and then, as I walked by Delenn's apartment, I swear I could hear Sheridan's voice saying ' here have some pizza!'. I never knew that the captain could speak Minbari. Do you know what 'pizza' means in Minbari? DO YOU!" He shouted, grabbing Vir by the lapels and lifting him upward.

Vir tried to comfort him as Lennier dropped him down and sobbed uncontrollably."But that's not all! Then I heard Delenn say "in Valen's name! Anchovies!' Do you know what 'anchovies' means in Minbari??"

Vir shivered, for in the Centauri tongue it could only mean one thing : The wax tadpole is flying away in a 57 Chevy". He shuddered at the thought.

Over along the side of the room, sat a young couple facing each other. In between them was a friendly looking man listening intently to their conversation. Kevin Hansen was tired of the Psi Corp. Their regimentation, their bland colorless uniforms, their cheap gloves that caused his tender skin to chafe and that really stupid anthem they would have to sing every morning. "I'm a Telepath and I'm OK...". He did think the badge was kinda cool though, but he still wanted out. And so decided to escape and start his own business. "Kevin's Bucket o'Thoughts" had been running for several weeks now, giving people "Quality Psi Services at Half the Price". Kevin was proud of that slogan.

Of course being a P1 didn't do much for ones career choices in the Corps. One day he might be "reading" the lawn in front of his building to see if it needed water, the next moment he could be called away to scan the office looking for the boss's missing car keys.

This morning's session consisted of a couple, who wanted to find out what they really thought of each other. A simple enough task. A small line was forming behind them showing that it would be a busy day.

The man was speaking. "And, like, Michelle? I think you're really, like, whatever".

Kevin preferred clients such as these. Their neural activity tended to be on the same level as watercress, giving him some much needed peace and quiet. The woman now spoke, after what passed for deep thought. "Like, I think you're cool too!". They then both looked at Kevin.

"She's lying. She wouldn't want to go out with you even if you were fumigated and checked for ticks. That will be 10 credits. Next?".

A woman came up clutching a nice knit sweater. "I have this gravy stain, that I just can't get out".

Closing his eyes, Kevin took the sweater and after a few seconds stated "Club Soda, try some Club Soda. That oughtta work. 7 credits please."

Kevin was happy to provide services to those who might be too poor to afford the higher priced government telepaths. The poor needed mind-scans too, he always said.

Kevin's attention was briefly distracted by some sobbing from the bar, but then noticed that an older woman with her poodle.

"My little Pookie here won't eat. What's wrong with him?"

Kevin took off one of his gloves and touched the dog's head. He strained and strained and finally managed to peer into the thoughts of the little pooch. It would be so much easier if he was at least a P2 like his older brother. "Why can't you be like Jim" his mom would scold. He can dust the furniture with his mind."

Kevin came back to the present. "He wants a girl poodle. That will be 10 credits. Next?"

Still looking down he recognized the black suit as it approached. Then there were the nicely tailored gloves, custom made only for P3s and above. He didn't look up but, but instead strained his mind. He furrowed his brow. He could make out a name, "Alfurd" something or other. Rats he thought and looked up. There was Bester staring down with his "I got you now boy" grin he had heard mention of so many times.

"So, Mr. Hansen, reading domestic animals I see. Without proper training, that could be very dangerous Mr. Hansen." Bester liked saying "Mr. Hansen".

Meanwhile Lennier was sobbing even harder now. "And then he said 'want to rent a video?' Do you know what 'video' means in Minbari!!". The bartender refilled Lennier's glass with some brandy, hoping that it might make him forget his problems, at least for a little while.

"Mr. Hansen, you're coming with me I'm afraid. But first you must sing the song!"

"NO!" yelled Hansen, covering his ears while humming the theme to Mr. Ed.

"Come on Mr. Hansen, you know it,. SING WITH ME : 'I'm a telepath and I'm OK'". . .

The Qwertyuiop was talking with his broker now about pork belly futures and suddenly tensed with a sight that made his blood run ice cold and the short hairs on his back stand on end.. He saw the bartender pouring Lennier the liquor, and had remembered the dire warnings handed down from his mother "if you should see a Minbari drunk, shoot yourself first. And don't use Stun!". The Qwertyuiop momentarily froze, watched the young aid unconsciously pick up the glass and bring it to his lips. In a rare moment of courage, a moment that would be immortalized in song and verse and videogames for the next 10 thousand years on his homeworld (his was a very dull homeworld with little to do), and without thinking of himself or the danger he could be in, the Qwertyuiop selflessly leapt up from his table. He flew though the air in slow motion, shouting "NOOOOOOOO!" (also in slow motion). All he could think of was to get the glass away from the Minbari at any cost. He landed on the bar with a delightful thump, annoying several other patrons, scooted past Lennier and off the far end onto a poker game currently being won by a guy named "Bedsore". You didn't want to mess with Bedsore. But it was too late. The last thing Qwertyuiop saw was the now empty glass going down onto the bar.

Oblivious to this Bester was walking Hansen out the door when he heard a loud crash (is there any other kind??) behind him. Lennier was standing on a table.Bedsore looked up from throttling Qwertyuiop and his jaw dropped in terror. He had seen a Minbari drunk only once before and the memories rendered him insane for 4 days following. Others were not so fortunate. He knew what to expect. Lennier was up on one of the tables, twitching uncontrollably, his head snapped back, his arms shot out in front of him. Bedsore barely had time to shout to all of the other patrons "Run for your lives!! He's going to do the MACARENA!!!!"

The stampede of the crowd shook Hansen away from Bester's icy grip, where he would set up a telepathic auto-repair service on Finagle 7. Bester stared in horror and disbelief . Frozen with fear, unable to move he observed the awful spectacle with a strange unearthly fascination, then collapsed.

---

Two days later, Bester woke up in Medlab. He was blind and babbled uncontrollably causing much hilarity among the staff as he drooled. They took advantage of this by putting funny party hats on him, propping him up in bed and getting their pictures taken together. Finally the spell broke, just a little bit. All Bester could manage was "now I know what hell is like". This he would repeat over and over again for the rest of his film career.

Bester was loaded onboard an asteroid atomizer departing for sector 3.14, never to be seen again.