" Garibaldi said, still not sure exactly what had happened. He walked around the room, kicking PPG's from motionless hands and taking pulses. They were all dead.
When he finished, he joined Lyta, kneeling with the old man.
"I guess I had a little left," Vacit managed. He blinked his eyes slowly, as if seeing Lyta for the first time. "Natasha?"
"It's ok," Lyta soothed. "You'll be okay. We'll get you to the ship."
"Nonsense." Vacit's eyes cleared. "You've done death bed scans, haven't you? You know what death looks like on the horizon. So do I." He coughed. "Leave my body here. This is where I belong. This is where I want to stay - where it all really began. Where it all ended. Promise me."
"I promise," Lyta said. For the first time in many years, Garibaldi saw tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry to have dragged you out on a pointless trip, Michael," Lyta murmured. The Toreador had come out of Jump, and Mars was a red marble in the upper right hand of the viewport. The nameless planet was half a galaxy away.
"It wasn't pointless," Garibaldi said. "I'll sleep easier knowing what the Psi Corps doesn't have."
"And that we don't have it, either."
"Yep. However the Vorlons enhanced you, whatever plans they had for Human telepaths, I'd say it's all a moot point now. Unless they come back. But -" he trailed off thoughtfully.
"Our earlier discussion about a homeland for telepaths. Are you still sure it's a good idea?"
"But think about it for a minute. If Vacit was right - I mean, if telepathy is antithetical to intelligence..."
"You said it yourself, Michael. We haven't gotten any better as a race since the stone age. Better tools, yes; as a culture, maybe. But as individuals? No. Evolution is adapting to an environment. Human