Out of the Darkness

chapter 23

Delenn sat in the dank cell, her legs curled up under her chin, rocking back and forth while softly chanting a prayer, and certain that she would never see her husbandalive again.

“We’re bringing him down,” a guard had growled. “We know how much you’d like to have a last moment with him.” From the tone of his voice, it seemed to suggest that there was some cruel surprise in store for her, and she was sure she suspected what it was.

When the door was yanked open, she was positive they were coming for her. That first they were going to bring in John’s corpse as part of their perversity, allowing them “one last moment.” Or perhaps they would present her with his head or some other identifiable body part—just so they could see her reaction. Perhaps they hoped that she would break down crying, sobbing, into a hopeless mess, wailing Sheridan’s name and cursing her captors. If that was their plan, then they would be sorely disappointed.

Then, to her astonishment, Sheridan was thrown in, and the door slammed shut behind him. At first she could scarcely believe it was he. The fact that it was hard to see did not simplify matters, for the only illumination in the cell was a pale light coming in from a grated high window. Sheridan looked around as a man befuddled, leaning against the wall for support. Then he squinted into the darkness, and said, “Who… who’s there?”

She could hardly speak. She was almost afraid that, if she said something, her own voice might break the spell of the moment. “John?” she managed to say.

She emerged from the shadows, and Sheridan turned and looked at her.

Every year she had dwelled on the dwindling time available to them. She had cursed it, cursed the fate that had given them so little time together. Now… now the three or four years that remained seemed an eternity. She would sell her soul just to have the opportunity to live out even one of those years by his side, instead of ending in this horrid cell. She rushed to him, embracing him with all the fervor of her passion for him.

“Delenn? What’re you doing here?”

Yes, he was definitely confused. Perhaps a blow to the head had robbed him of some of his memory. But all she had to do was remind him of what was happening, and it would all come clear for him. “I didn’t tell them anything. They tried to make me… but I didn’t. There’s nothing they can do to me. They know that now. They’re allowing us one last moment together, before…”

She tried to finish the sentence, and couldn’t. So instead, with determination to present a brave front, she managed a smile. “It’s all right, John. I accepted this fate a long time ago. They cannot touch me. They cannot harm me. I’m not afraid. Not if you are with me. Our son is safe. That’s all that matters. John… I love you.”

And she kissed him.

He seemed startled, as if she had never kissed him before. But then he returned it, as if it was something that had always been meant to happen.

Then Sheridan gently pulled her away and looked earnestly into her eyes.

“Delenn… listen to me,” he said intensely. “This may not make any sense… but I’m not supposed to be here… I’m not really here… the last thing I remember I was on Babylon 4, and my time stabilizer was hit, then suddenly I was here.”

She was thunderstruck. Could this be? She stepped back further, studied him for a moment, and gradually the truth sank in. It was so absurd, and yet so obvious, that she almost wanted to laugh. Here she had been producing a tortured rationale as to why he seemed so disoriented… and yet she should have realized it instantly.

In the latter half of the year 2260, the lost space station, Babylon 4, had appeared like a gigantic phantom in space. Swept up in all manner of temporal flux and time anomalies, several people had braved that mysterious and ostensibly doomed station and found themselves caught in a bizarre unfolding vision of the future. Among those people had been Delenn, Sheridan… and Jeffrey Sinclair, the first commander of Babylon 5.

One dark night, long after they were married, and after Londo had risen to the post of emperor, Sheridan had told Delenn most of what he had experienced. He had been vague about the details of the encounter. Now she was beginning to understand why. How could he have told her that they would be trapped together in a Centauri prison, facing almost certain death?

In an amazed whisper, she said, “In Valen’s name… it is true, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes. You told me, long ago, that you had seen this moment. But until now, I never really believed…” She was overwhelmed. There was so much she wanted to say to him. So many things… and her mind recoiled from the possibilities. One wrong word and her entire reality might come unraveled.

More than twenty years ago, she had held the fate of humanity in her hands. With the fallen body of her beloved mentor in her arms, and explosions of shorted circuitry all around her, it was she who had cried out in pain, “They’re animals! No mercy!” Thus had the Earth-Minbari War begun. On her head. On hers.

Now, once again, the fates of untold millions were hers to do with as she wished.

Don’t go to Z’ha’dum, she wanted to scream at him. He wouldn’t know what she was talking about. You ‘II die there! You ‘II come back, but changed, and your life will be reduced to but an instant! But she reined herself in, knowing that she did not dare. “Oh, John… there is so much ahead of you, so many changes, so much pain and grief…” She shook her head, still finding it hard to believe. “I look in your eyes now, and I see the innocence that went away so many years ago. But then… you don’t know any of what’s happened, do you?” Like a man trying to catch up with a play, though he had walked into the middle, Sheridan said, “From what Londo said, I get the impression that we won the war… but not completely.” She shook her head. “The war is nevercompletely won. There are always new battles to be fought against the darkness. Only the names change.” She saw that there was a bleak sense of despair creeping onto his face. She couldn’t let him return, thinking that their grand endeavor had failed—would fail. “We achieved everything we set out to achieve… we created something that will endure for a thousand years…” she said proudly. “But the price, John, the terrible, terrible price…”

Don’t go to Z’ha’dum!

She bit her tongue, kept the words in. “I didn’t think I would see you again, before the end.”

There were footsteps approaching briskly down the hall, moving with purpose. He pulled her close and spoke to her with a ferocious intensity that had within it hints of the man he would become. “Delenn… is there anything I can do to prevent this? There’s still a chance…”

“No,” she said forcefully. “No. This future can be changed only by surrendering to the Shadows, and that price is too high to pay.”

The door opened. She knew that it was their time. She knew they were going to be brought to their execution.

“But we have a son…” Sheridan said. There was a touch of wonder in his voice.

“Yes. David…”

“Out!” the guard barked. “Now!” She held him close, and then they faced the light. They walked to the door and through it, out into the hallway. Sheridan held her close…

…and staggered.

“John?” she said, and then more alarmed, “John!”

He collapsed, and at that moment, another guard—a more highly ranked one—strode down the hall and called out in an noyance, “New orders. The emperor said to wait an hour!”

“Why an hour?”

“Who knows?”

There was some muttering that Delenn couldn’t quite make out, although the words “crazy old man” might have been bandied about. At that moment, though, she cared about nothing except her fallen husband. “Please… he needs help,” she said.

“Why? You’re both going to die soon anyway,” one of the guards pointed out, but they helped Delenn and Sheridan back toward their cell.

At that moment, Sheridan suddenly roared, “No!” His eyes were wild; there was nothing but confusion in them. And for a moment she thought she actually saw some sort of glow around him. Instantly she realized what was happening; it was some sort of temporal backlash. The Sheridan of the past and the present were, in some way and on some level, colliding. They were struggling for possession of the one form.

And it was nearly tearing them apart.

Sheridan’s knees gave out, and he collapsed to the floor of the cell. Delenn instantly fell at his side, pulling him to her, but he had passed out. “John… it will be all right… I swear to you, it will,” she whispered over and over again as the cell door slammed behind them, their destiny postponed a short time longer. And as she kept assuring him that all would be fine, she thought bleakly, Who says Minbari never lie?

Note to historians: This is the one entry of the emperor’s chronicles that is not strictly from his physical chronicles. It is a combination of written notes he was making at the time that he dictated his history of Babylon 5, and audio records that were made secretly, by the emperor himself, at the time. It is believed that, knowing his final hours were upon him, he was taking extensive pains to leave as thorough an accounting as possible. That would be in keeping with the character of Londo Mollari, whoas anecdotal evidence indicates—had dreamt of this moment for so large a portion of his adult life that he likely considered it the defining moment of his existence. We of the Centauri Historical Institute believe that what follows is an accurate depiction of the emperor’s state of mind. It has been approved by Emperor Vir Cotto for inclusion into the historical records, and we wish to believe that Londo Mollari himself would likewise have endorsed it as accurate.

I looked at the lady Senna, and in a low voice, a voice that might once have been alluring when spoken by a young and handsome man, I said to her, “Dear lady… I would love to walk with you on a beach… somewhere. For just five minutes.” I felt tears welling in my eyes, and I fought them back. It was the single greatest battle of my life. “How strange… to have come this far, and to want so little.”

I turned away from her, for I did not know how much longer I could keep my eyes dry. A dear, sweet woman. Two lovely children. They could have been mine. They are the life I turned away from—the life of a different man… a lucky man.

“Children.” My voice was low and hoarse. “Will you remember this story? Will you remember me?”

“All my life, Majesty,” Luc said in wonderment.

I nodded. It would have to suffice. “Then go.”

But Luc suddenly seemed less than willing to depart. “What happened to Sheridan and Delenn?” he asked. “What about the end of the story?”

“Sheridan,” I said slowly, “became the president of a great alliance, Delenn ever at his side. And the story… is not over yet. The story is never over. Now go.”

Senna took one child in each hand, and she started to head out of the room. Then the girl, Lyssa, stopped, and inquired, “Did they live happily ever after?”

“Lyssa!” Senna said in surprise.

“Did they live happily ever after?” she repeated more insistently.

“That… remains to be seen,” I said after a moment.

And as Senna ushered them out… I remembered her. For a brief moment, I remembered who Senna was… and then it was gone.

As was she.

I used a spy device to watch Delenn and Sheridan in a tearful reunion down in their cell. Very moving.

Not everything was in place, though. Not everything was ready. Everything had to be done just right.

I picked up a bell I and rang it. Moments later, I said to the guard standing there in response to it, “I need another bottle. I will need several more bottles. Then wait one hour… and bring the prisoners here.”

He nodded and left me alone… a state to which I have become accustomed. Sometimes I think I have been alone my entire life.

I had a bit of one bottle left, and I emptied the contents into a glass. I raised it and said, “To the future… my old friends.” And I drained the contents.

I heard footsteps, and I recognized the stride. How could I not? After all these years, it was impossible for me not to. I looked up and there he was, holding several bottles on a tray. I waggled my fingers, and said, “Come here.”

Vir approached me. He had obviously encountered the guard returning with the drinks and decided to bring them to me himself. Whether the guard had turned the drinks over willingly or not, I did not know… or particularly care at that moment.

There was so much to be said between us… but it was necessary to concentrate purely on matters of historical record. “You will drink with me, Vir?” I asked.

“No, if it’s all the same to you,” he said. I think of the old days, when his voice always seemed to have a slight tremor to it. No more. Now he speaks with confidence… and just a hint of perpetual sadness.

“I have decided to work on a history, Vir. And I have decided that you will write it with me.”

“I will?” He seemed most surprised. Of all the things he probably thought we would discuss, I doubt this was listed among them. “Oh, yes. It will be quite comprehensive. Unfortunately, I do not think I will have overmuch time to complete it. I would like your help in achieving that. You were there for most of it. I think you are fit to do the job. If youwish, you may put your name first in the credits. For I strongly suspect, you see, that it will be published posthumously.”

“I see,” he said. “I shall spend the next hour,” I told him, as I proceeded to pour a drink, “giving you some details… some highlights… for I have been discussing it at length recently, and it is all fresh in my mind. You may record it however you wish. Expand upon it, put it into chronological order at your convenience. Then you will leave me, for I will meet with Sheridan and Delenn.”

“Are you… are you…” He could not even frame the words. I shook my head. “I… do not wish to discuss it, Vir, for reasons I cannot explain at the moment. For I am watched, you see, all the time… even here. So let us instead discuss matters ofscholarship… and let the rest sort itself out.

“And Vir… you will let the people know. Let them know there was to be more than a world in flames. That there was supposed to be… should have been… greatness. With all the sacrifices, with all the people who have died, you would think we were entitled to that.

“You will carry on for me, Vir. It will be among the last orders I give. You will carry on and tell the story to others. It will be uplifting… or a warning… or simply a rather Byzantine adventure, depending upon how it’s told and who is listening, I would imagine. And in this way, the story will never end. You will do this thing for me, Vir?” With true tragedy in his voice, he replied, “Of course I will.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, my old friend.” I patted him on the hand and leaned back, feeling the warmth of the liquor already beginning to fill me. I shall drink myself into oblivion… and shortly thereafter, my soul will follow. Vir waited for me to speak. He had found a recording device, and held it in his hand. “Where… where do you wish to start?” he asked. Where to start? Where else, of course? In the beginning… I looked out upon the burning remains of Centauri Prime, steadied my hand so that I could permit the liquid to cascade down my throat…

…and I began to speak.” I was there, at the dawn of the Third Age of Mankind. It began in the Earth year 2257 with the founding of the last of the Babylon stations, located deep in neutral space. It was a port of call for refugees, smugglers, businessmen, diplomats, and travelers from a hundred worlds. It could be a dangerous place, but we accepted the risk because Babylon 5 was our last, best hope for peace… It became a dream given form… a dream of a galaxy without war, where species from different worlds could live side by side in mutual respect… a dream that was endangered as never before by the arrival of one man on a mission of destruction. Babylon 5 was the last of the Babylon stations. This is its story…” I had such dreams. Such dreams…