TM: Who is your personal role model?
It was getting dark outside when Bester sat in his "room" (they never called it a cell, despite its purpose being absolutely clear to all parties involved), silently watching the passers-by on the streets of Teeptown outside. He couldn't open the window to smell the fresh air of Spring, but he remembered what it was like. A lot had changed in recent years, but at least he could trust in Earth herself not to disappoint him. To his tired mind this was comforting; few things were consistent these days.
A couple of children were crossing the green grass of the small park nearby, running after a ball and completely oblivious to the dark eyes that were watching them. He could neither hear nor p'hear their laughter, but he remembered what it would feel like. Most of his current life seemed to consist solely of memories. It had been a long time since he had been this innocent, not knowing how cruel the world outside the protecting walls of Teeptown was. With a sigh he realized that he actually missed that time.
Nowadays these children didn't have to be here, unlike him at their age. For a while after the destruction of Psi Corps, many parents had tried to raise their telepathic children themselves, even if they were mundanes. It hadn't worked, obviously. As much as most telepaths didn't want to realize it, or accept the truth, they needed structure and rules to be able to handle their new powers. It hadn't lasted very long, their so-called "freedom". Soon the parents had found out that a telepathic child, if not properly trained, was a danger to both itself and the people close to it. There had been a couple of very nasty accidents, even attacks on these children, and soon more and more children had returned to the newfound protection against the mundane world they could only find here, among their own.
One part of him took a dark pleasure in this fact. It also saddened him, however. Maybe he was getting mellow in his old days, but it seemed so wasteful to him that thousands of telepaths had died to fight for this crazy dream, and in the end, things had never really changed. He was sure that most of them actually believed that they were free now, without Psi Corps, but he knew that in reality they were still as much slaves of the mundanes as they had been before Psi Corps had been founded to protect them. The only difference was that now they were weak and scattered, without the power of Psi Corps to watch over them. Hadn't it been better to follow the rules of Psi Corps, enforced by their own people, if that was needed to be safe, instead of being at the mercy of the mundanes?
In a way he felt sorry for them. He knew that he didn't have much time left, and that he wasn't likely to live to see the next war that would have to happen soon. But it would come, that much for sure. The final war, the war between mundanes and teeps. And when it happened, they would be alone. They would be defenseless, and maybe the impossible would happen, and they would loose. He didn't want to think about that possibility, but he couldn't help it. Alfred Bester wasn't someone to admit such a thing easily, but the thought scared him. A world with the normals on top, or even worse, a world without telepaths, was unthinkable. It couldn't be, because it mustn't be.
His thoughts returned to the present, to the children outside, and he realized that a couple of centuries ago, they would have admired him. Once most of the youth of Teeptown had looked up at him in awe, and aspired to be like him. He had been a role model to many young telepaths. Most of them were dead these days, killed in the past war that had gotten him to were he was now; those that weren't probably called him a murderer and a traitor now. Ironic, wasn't it? From a prime example of a good telepath and member of Psi Corps, he had turned into a dark figure to scare children with. And all that without changing one bit about his demeanor.
Somehow this reminded him of a man he had once considered a mentor, a good friend, even a surrogate father. He had admired him, had wanted to be like him, until one dark day, when Sandoval Bey had been found dead, allegedly killed by his own hand.
He had never believed any of it. Had refused to believe that the one man who had ever truly cared about him as a person had betrayed Psi Corps. He had trusted him, and silently defended him. Yet he had never dared to openly show his feelings and thoughts. He had been scared for himself, for his career, his future.
With a start Alfred Bester realized that now, more than seventy years later, he was ashamed of himself for this. He should have fought for Bey, shouldn't he? Even if that had meant to endanger himself.
Bey might have lived, had he only said one single word all those years ago.
Maybe, just maybe, someone like him was out there nowadays, thinking the same thoughts. Only that they hadn't spoken up during _his_ trial, hadn't fought for _him_, hand told the truth about _his_ life.
Was this his penalty, after all these years?
If so, he was almost ready to accept it.