Toasty Toppers

When Sheridan realised someone had been stealing his toasty toppers, direct from the fridge, historians say he immediately blamed the telekinetic powers of the telepaths. But that's not true.

"Only *3* strawberry Toasty Toppers? By god, Garibaldi will pay for this."

Lockley is surprised.
"Why Garibaldi?"

"Because he's the only one with the necessary security clearance... to my fridge."


Had Garibaldi not covered his ass by not admitting to the fruity theft, he could have prevented a war. But he didn't.

"Chief, we've known each other for, what, how long now?"

Sheridan counts on his fingers.
"Ooh, I'd say, about a 1000 years."

Gari shrugs.
"Whatever, Chief. Now, have I ever, directly or indirectly, eaten your Toasty Toppers, or by inaction, allowed your Toasty Toppers to be eaten?"

Sheridan shakes his head.
"Not that I can recall. All I can take is your word. My fridge doesn't have access logs."

Gari lays out his hands, a gesture of peace.
"So, it's not me. But who else could have removed them from your fridge? I mean, that's one secure fridge, but if someone turned the electro-magnetic lock by using *Telekinesis*, they could raid your fridge while you were away, and you'd never know..."

Sheridan gets angrier.
"Telekinesis? What is this thing that spoils my breakfast?"

Garibaldi smiles.
"I suppose you've heard of the 'Hiddens?"


"Yeah, they're telepaths so powerful that they can't be detected. The only way to find out if they are or not is by sucking all the oxygen out of the room. If they die, they aren't Hiddens. If they live by using telekinesis to suck all the air back into the room, they are."

Sherry nods.
"And then what?"

Gari chuckles quietly.
"Then we turn them over to the PsiCorp."

Bester, listening just outside the door, rubs his hands together and chuckles.
"Excellent, Mr. Garibaldi. Excellent..."

And thus begins the TP war. Don't believe everything you're told... Nag nag nag etc.

Ha bloody ha etc...

1997 Jeremy Smith.