From Amazon
Babylon 5 is a rarity among SF TV series in having a thoroughly worked out future history, even if parts of that history are only hinted at on TV. Which is where this novel comes in. Based on an original outline by series creator J. Michael Straczynski and following Dark Genesis: The Birth of the Psi Corps, it is the second novel of a trilogy detailing the history of the Psi Corps. Yet it is sufficiently self-contained to be accessible to readers unfamiliar with B5.
The book chronicles the life of the Psi Corps Alfred Bester from boyhood to the dramatic events that will first take him to the eponymous space station. As befits the show, Deadly Relations is complex and well characterized, aware of SF history, and filled with fascinating background detail. J. Gregory Keyes portrays Bester's paradoxical nature: a man haunted and lonely, able to read the thoughts of others, and capable of betraying those closest to him out of a sense of duty to the greater good. A sinister, ruthless figure becomes a sympathetic, almost tragic antihero as the book ranges from Earth to the Beta Colony and Mars.
The fictional Alfred Bester had a real-life namesake who authored several major SF novels. These include the still extraordinary 1953 thriller of murder and psychic detection, to which Deadly Relations pays due homage. If you enjoy B5, try The Demolished Man by the original Alfred Bester. It's a genuine SF classic. --Gary S. Dalkin, Amazon.co.uk
Book Description
The child of their greatest heroes--
he was destined to become their darkest enemy . . .
In the twenty-second century, the discovery of human telepaths led to terror and bloodshed, and to the creation of the Psi Corps--a government agency of elite telepaths who were used to control their own kind. Under the command of a power-mad politician, the Corps became a ruthless tool of oppression, and the telepath underground was formed.
Matthew and Fiona Dexter led the resistance to its greatest victories. But when they were martyred for the cause, their only child was claimed by the very forces they had died opposing.
Raised from infancy within the Psi Corps, Alfred Bester was a telepath of exceptional ability, determined to make his mark by transforming himself into a master of deceit. Schooled in hate but tormented by shards of conscience, he wrestled with the seductiveness of the sinister cause he served. But slowly stripped of humanity by the war between decency and betrayal, he surrendered his soul--and rose to become the most dreaded figure of his time . . .
Book Two in the gripping new epic trilogy that uncovers the secret history of the Psi Corps.
he was destined to become their darkest enemy . . .
In the twenty-second century, the discovery of human telepaths led to terror and bloodshed, and to the creation of the Psi Corps--a government agency of elite telepaths who were used to control their own kind. Under the command of a power-mad politician, the Corps became a ruthless tool of oppression, and the telepath underground was formed.
Matthew and Fiona Dexter led the resistance to its greatest victories. But when they were martyred for the cause, their only child was claimed by the very forces they had died opposing.
Raised from infancy within the Psi Corps, Alfred Bester was a telepath of exceptional ability, determined to make his mark by transforming himself into a master of deceit. Schooled in hate but tormented by shards of conscience, he wrestled with the seductiveness of the sinister cause he served. But slowly stripped of humanity by the war between decency and betrayal, he surrendered his soul--and rose to become the most dreaded figure of his time . . .
Book Two in the gripping new epic trilogy that uncovers the secret history of the Psi Corps.
About the Author
Born in Meridian, Mississippi, in 1963, J. Gregory Keyes spent his early years roaming the forests of his native state and the red rock cliffs of the Navajo Indian reservation in Arizona. He earned a B.A. in anthropology from Mississippi State University and a master's degree from the University of Georgia, where he did course work for a Ph.D. He and his wife, Nell, live in Seattle, where, in addition to full-time writing, he practices ethnic cooking--particularly Central American, Szechuan, Malaysian, and Turkish cuisine. Since moving to the Northwest, he can no longer participate in his favorite sport--Kapucha Toli, a Choctaw game involving heavy sticks and few rules--so he has taken up fencing. Greg is the author of The Waterborn, The Blackgod, and Newton's Cannon.
J. Michael Straczynski is one of the most prolific and highly regarded writers currently working in the television industry. In 1995, he was selected by Newsweek magazine as one of their Fifty for the Future, described as innovators who will shape our lives as we move into the twenty-first century. His work spans every conceivable genre--from historical dramas and adaptations of famous works of literature (The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) to mystery series (Murder, She Wrote), cop shows (Jake and the Fatman), anthology series (The Twilight Zone), and science fiction (Babylon 5). He writes ten hours a day, seven days a week, except for his birthday, New Year's, and Christmas.
J. Michael Straczynski is one of the most prolific and highly regarded writers currently working in the television industry. In 1995, he was selected by Newsweek magazine as one of their Fifty for the Future, described as innovators who will shape our lives as we move into the twenty-first century. His work spans every conceivable genre--from historical dramas and adaptations of famous works of literature (The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) to mystery series (Murder, She Wrote), cop shows (Jake and the Fatman), anthology series (The Twilight Zone), and science fiction (Babylon 5). He writes ten hours a day, seven days a week, except for his birthday, New Year's, and Christmas.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Al Bester strained his small body to its limit, reaching on tiptoe for the next branch. The tips of his fingers just brushed it. Above, the waxy leaves of the oak danced in a sudden warm breeze, tantalizing him with glimpses of the beckoning sky beyond. Al loved the sky. In the shapes of clouds--sometimes in the stars at night--he thought he could see the faces of his parents.
He steadied himself and looked down. The ground seemed unreasonably far away. Maybe he should be happy he had managed to get this far--most kids his age couldn't. After all, two branches down, you had to swing around the trunk, hang in space by one hand for a moment to grip the next limb up.
This limb he simply couldn't reach, and the trunk was still too thick to shimmy up. He was stuck. He would have to wait until he grew taller. If he ever did.
Or--he looked up again, speculatively. Or he could jump. The branch was thick, and he would have to jump pretty high, but if he could snag it, he might be able to pull himself up.
But if he missed, he would probably fall.
He was still staring wistfully up at the unattainable heights when he felt minds stirring below.
Hey, Alfie! Come down! We're gonna play cops 'n' blips.
Why were they bothering him? Couldn't they see he was busy?
C'mon, Alfie!
He looked down reluctantly. Seven kids from his cadre stood below. Way below. He suddenly felt a little dizzy.
"Give it up, Alfie," their leader--Brett--called up. "Even I can't get that one."
Like Al, Brett was six years old, but Brett was a good head taller. And everyone liked Brett.
Yeah, come on. Before you hurt yourself. That was Milla. Milla was his
height, and he secretly--very secretly--admired her golden hair and blue
eyes. He liked the way she laughed--when she wasn't laughing at him.
"Oh, Milla is worried about Alfie," another girl--Keefa--said. "Woops. Anyone catch that? What she was just thinking?"
Al strained, but caught nothing. He would love to know what Milla thought about him.
But then he did catch something. An interweaving mant from below.
ALFIE & MILLA
SITTING
went IN
up
A
TREE
to
fetch
a
pail
of
K
I
S
S
I
N
uGh!
He turned his face to the bark, so they wouldn't see his angry and embarrassed blush. His feelings were harder to hide, but he squeezed them in tightly, balling his left fist as he did so, for concentration.
He wouldn't be a baby. He wasn't a baby--he was too old to wet the bed, too old to go in his pants, too old to bloop his feelings all over the place. If the teachers caught you blooping, they made sure everyone knew. That was the next worst thing to being punished by the Grins.
Frowning, he looked determinedly back up at the branch and jumped as hard as he could. That would show them.
But his timing was a little off. He got his arms around the branch all right, but his fingers never quite met up around the thick bough. There was nothing to grab onto, and only pressure and his nails in the bark kept him there--pressure he couldn't keep up for long.
He looked down, and that was worse. He was hanging above and off to the side of the limb he had been standing on. He would never land square if he dropped--no, he'd fall the whole way, and probably break something.
One nice thing, at least--he had shut the others up. Or rather, stopped their stupid manting. Now what he got was a shim-shimmer of worry and excitement, with at least two strong desires to see what would happen when he fell.
"Hang on, Alfie, I'm coming up to get you!"
Brett. Brett was coming to save him and be the hero. The taller boy was already clambering up the tree.
No way, Al thought. No way.
He swung himself and dropped. The kids below gasped like a crowd watching a circus performer as he hit the branch feet first, teetered for a long, terrible moment, and then found hi...
He steadied himself and looked down. The ground seemed unreasonably far away. Maybe he should be happy he had managed to get this far--most kids his age couldn't. After all, two branches down, you had to swing around the trunk, hang in space by one hand for a moment to grip the next limb up.
This limb he simply couldn't reach, and the trunk was still too thick to shimmy up. He was stuck. He would have to wait until he grew taller. If he ever did.
Or--he looked up again, speculatively. Or he could jump. The branch was thick, and he would have to jump pretty high, but if he could snag it, he might be able to pull himself up.
But if he missed, he would probably fall.
He was still staring wistfully up at the unattainable heights when he felt minds stirring below.
Hey, Alfie! Come down! We're gonna play cops 'n' blips.
Why were they bothering him? Couldn't they see he was busy?
C'mon, Alfie!
He looked down reluctantly. Seven kids from his cadre stood below. Way below. He suddenly felt a little dizzy.
"Give it up, Alfie," their leader--Brett--called up. "Even I can't get that one."
Like Al, Brett was six years old, but Brett was a good head taller. And everyone liked Brett.
Yeah, come on. Before you hurt yourself. That was Milla. Milla was his
height, and he secretly--very secretly--admired her golden hair and blue
eyes. He liked the way she laughed--when she wasn't laughing at him.
"Oh, Milla is worried about Alfie," another girl--Keefa--said. "Woops. Anyone catch that? What she was just thinking?"
Al strained, but caught nothing. He would love to know what Milla thought about him.
But then he did catch something. An interweaving mant from below.
ALFIE & MILLA
SITTING
went IN
up
A
TREE
to
fetch
a
pail
of
K
I
S
S
I
N
uGh!
He turned his face to the bark, so they wouldn't see his angry and embarrassed blush. His feelings were harder to hide, but he squeezed them in tightly, balling his left fist as he did so, for concentration.
He wouldn't be a baby. He wasn't a baby--he was too old to wet the bed, too old to go in his pants, too old to bloop his feelings all over the place. If the teachers caught you blooping, they made sure everyone knew. That was the next worst thing to being punished by the Grins.
Frowning, he looked determinedly back up at the branch and jumped as hard as he could. That would show them.
But his timing was a little off. He got his arms around the branch all right, but his fingers never quite met up around the thick bough. There was nothing to grab onto, and only pressure and his nails in the bark kept him there--pressure he couldn't keep up for long.
He looked down, and that was worse. He was hanging above and off to the side of the limb he had been standing on. He would never land square if he dropped--no, he'd fall the whole way, and probably break something.
One nice thing, at least--he had shut the others up. Or rather, stopped their stupid manting. Now what he got was a shim-shimmer of worry and excitement, with at least two strong desires to see what would happen when he fell.
"Hang on, Alfie, I'm coming up to get you!"
Brett. Brett was coming to save him and be the hero. The taller boy was already clambering up the tree.
No way, Al thought. No way.
He swung himself and dropped. The kids below gasped like a crowd watching a circus performer as he hit the branch feet first, teetered for a long, terrible moment, and then found hi...
