Gareth D. Williams From the Ashes
The Minbari have an old saying: 'There can be no peace with the Shadow'. But what if there could be? How much would peace be worth, and what would it cost? And who would pay?
Chapter 1
'There can be no peace with the Shadow.' An old saying now, almost proverbial, used mainly by members of the warrior caste when placed in a situation which, for them, admits of only one course of action. The saying however is incorrect. There were numerous attempts at peace during the Shadow War. They all failed, but that does not mean that we can pass them off as anomalies. Each in its own way was significant.
The closest attempt at a settlement of sorts came a few years after we, the Minbari, had entered the war. At the time we knew very little about the circumstances in which we found ourselves. We had been in tentative contact with other alien races for some years, most notably the Ikarrans, the Tak'cha and the Markab. Agreements had been made with these races, slow and cautious, tentative at first, when emissaries from the Markab had arrived at our capital, claiming that they were under attack by a strange alien race who gave no reason for these incursions. None of our treaties included mutual defence clauses, but we were prepared to assist. Our warrior caste was not prominent at the time, but each of their clans was anxious to prove its mettle. The religious caste contemplated diplomacy, but the leaders of at least three of the clans were in favour of military action on behalf of the Markab. They won out, in the end.
Our first few engagements with this…. Enemy did not go well, however. Many ships were destroyed, and the warrior caste was thrown into disarray. Warleader Hantenn of the Wind Swords clan committed ritual suicide to atone for his rashness, and the militaristic fervour died down. Matters were confused for many months afterwards, especially as the Ikarrans were invaded soon after Hantenn's death. Their invaders were not the same race as the Enemy, but a different one we did not know. They called themselves the Streibs.
The Ikarrans requested aid from us, aid that we had to refuse. Our generals were smarting from the losses they had sustained defending the Markab and unwilling to take any more such risks for a cause that was not ours. We lost all contact with their area of space about three years after they were invaded. We did not learn of the tragic solution they had found until it was too late.
Not long after that the attacks resumed, against both the Markab and the Tak'cha. The Tak'cha, who were never much given to diplomacy at the best of times, began intensifying their military programme. They spoke enigmatically of a race called the Vorlons, whom they believed to be messengers from their Gods. When pressed, however, no living Tak'cha could recall ever having seen a Vorlon.
The entire situation was growing more and more tense, and then, suddenly and strangely, a visitor came to our leaders of both clan and fane. He was an alien of a race we had never seen before. He called himself Shryne, and asked each leader a simple question. 'What do you want?' He spoke each of our dialects perfectly, he knew all our customs, and once he had heard the answers he smiled, bowed and left. Later, approximately half the clan and fane leaders, the majority from the warrior caste, were invited to a meeting in neutral territory. There they met with this Shryne and others of his race, and he made grandiose promises of aid. We would be strong, he said. We would have the power to achieve all that we desired.
All that we had to give in return was the promise of a simple favour. The Warleaders of the Star Riders, Moon Shields and Night Walkers accepted Shryne's offer. The new Warleader of the Wind Swords, full of pride, did likewise. Shuzen of the Fire Wings displayed honour above ambition, and refused. The religious caste were split, but most turned down the offer.
Within three months, all who had turned Shryne down were killed. Accident, disease, poison, assassination. The clans were soon at war.
It was then that the Vorlons arrived. They convinced our generals where the real enemy lay, and we went to war alongside the Markab and the Tak'cha, against the race we now called the Shadows. Shryne, whom the Vorlons referred to as a Ragg'hia, a race that served the Shadows, tried to call another meeting for peace with our leaders. He was captured and executed, and from that moment on the saying 'There can be no peace with the Shadow' began to be heard. Despite this, some of our more pacifist religious leaders still pushed for peace. Many went to the Shadows' homeworld, a grim, dark world called Z'ha'dum. When we took the place we found them there, changed irrevocably, beyond our capacity to undo.
It was not long after Shryne's death that Valen came to us…. and we were united. And from that point on, there truly was no peace with the Shadow.
Excerpts from The First Footsteps To The Stars: A History of Minbari Space Travel, by Sech Turval of the Temple of Tuzanor, published in the Earth Year 2232.
* * *
'There can be no peace with the Shadow.' An old saying now, almost proverbial, used mainly by members of the warrior caste when placed in a situation which, for them, admits of only one course of action. The saying however is incorrect. There were numerous attempts at peace during the Shadow War. They all failed, but that does not mean that we can pass them off as anomalies. Each in its own way was significant.
The closest attempt at a settlement of sorts came a few years after we, the Minbari, had entered the war. At the time we knew very little about the circumstances in which we found ourselves. We had been in tentative contact with other alien races for some years, most notably the Ikarrans, the Tak'cha and the Markab. Agreements had been made with these races, slow and cautious, tentative at first, when emissaries from the Markab had arrived at our capital, claiming that they were under attack by a strange alien race who gave no reason for these incursions. None of our treaties included mutual defence clauses, but we were prepared to assist. Our warrior caste was not prominent at the time, but each of their clans was anxious to prove its mettle. The religious caste contemplated diplomacy, but the leaders of at least three of the clans were in favour of military action on behalf of the Markab. They won out, in the end.
Our first few engagements with this…. Enemy did not go well, however. Many ships were destroyed, and the warrior caste was thrown into disarray. Warleader Hantenn of the Wind Swords clan committed ritual suicide to atone for his rashness, and the militaristic fervour died down. Matters were confused for many months afterwards, especially as the Ikarrans were invaded soon after Hantenn's death. Their invaders were not the same race as the Enemy, but a different one we did not know. They called themselves the Streibs.
The Ikarrans requested aid from us, aid that we had to refuse. Our generals were smarting from the losses they had sustained defending the Markab and unwilling to take any more such risks for a cause that was not ours. We lost all contact with their area of space about three years after they were invaded. We did not learn of the tragic solution they had found until it was too late.
Not long after that the attacks resumed, against both the Markab and the Tak'cha. The Tak'cha, who were never much given to diplomacy at the best of times, began intensifying their military programme. They spoke enigmatically of a race called the Vorlons, whom they believed to be messengers from their Gods. When pressed, however, no living Tak'cha could recall ever having seen a Vorlon.
The entire situation was growing more and more tense, and then, suddenly and strangely, a visitor came to our leaders of both clan and fane. He was an alien of a race we had never seen before. He called himself Shryne, and asked each leader a simple question. 'What do you want?' He spoke each of our dialects perfectly, he knew all our customs, and once he had heard the answers he smiled, bowed and left. Later, approximately half the clan and fane leaders, the majority from the warrior caste, were invited to a meeting in neutral territory. There they met with this Shryne and others of his race, and he made grandiose promises of aid. We would be strong, he said. We would have the power to achieve all that we desired.
All that we had to give in return was the promise of a simple favour. The Warleaders of the Star Riders, Moon Shields and Night Walkers accepted Shryne's offer. The new Warleader of the Wind Swords, full of pride, did likewise. Shuzen of the Fire Wings displayed honour above ambition, and refused. The religious caste were split, but most turned down the offer.
Within three months, all who had turned Shryne down were killed. Accident, disease, poison, assassination. The clans were soon at war.
It was then that the Vorlons arrived. They convinced our generals where the real enemy lay, and we went to war alongside the Markab and the Tak'cha, against the race we now called the Shadows. Shryne, whom the Vorlons referred to as a Ragg'hia, a race that served the Shadows, tried to call another meeting for peace with our leaders. He was captured and executed, and from that moment on the saying 'There can be no peace with the Shadow' began to be heard. Despite this, some of our more pacifist religious leaders still pushed for peace. Many went to the Shadows' homeworld, a grim, dark world called Z'ha'dum. When we took the place we found them there, changed irrevocably, beyond our capacity to undo.
It was not long after Shryne's death that Valen came to us…. and we were united. And from that point on, there truly was no peace with the Shadow.
Excerpts from The First Footsteps To The Stars: A History of Minbari Space Travel, by Sech Turval of the Temple of Tuzanor, published in the Earth Year 2232.
There was nothing but death where once there had been hope. Everything was gone, scattered to the four winds.
Epsilon 3 was destroyed, torn apart by the stress of the Great Machine. Somewhere, in pieces, amongst a sea of rock and metal and machinery a millennium old, lay the body of Michael Garibaldi. Just one of the many who had died at the Battle of the Third Line.
A great many ships lay in ruins, sacrificed to preserve the future and the past. Shadow ships were dead there also, their wordless screams silenced at last.
The temporal rift was closed, the past forever the past now. The Vorlon Kosh had sacrificed himself to ensure it fulfilled its purpose, returning the great hero Valen where he belonged.
And somewhere, amidst all the death and the carnage and the chunks of floating metal, shuttles moved cautiously, accompanied by beings in space suits, moving through the devastation, seeking survivors, hoping against hope that someone might still be alive.
It had only been a few hours since the battle's end. It was possible that some sections of the ships were still pressurised, possible that people still lived, trapped and alone in a dead prison.
But more than that, they were searching for a body, the body of one among so many who were believed to be dead.
Captain John Sheridan. He was there…. somewhere.
"He is not dead."
Commander David Corwin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. How long had it been since he had last slept? He had grabbed a quick three or four hours after the attack by Clark's forces, during the preparation of the station. But he had awoken from that feeling just as tired as he had been before.
With Mary, the night Bester's recall signal had been given. How long ago had that been? Three days or so…. Maybe a little longer. He couldn't tell any more. But then, the woman with him could not have slept much either. Of course, she wasn't human…. well, not entirely, and for all he knew she did not need to sleep.
But still….
"He is not dead."
Corwin gave her credit. She almost sounded as if she believed the words she was saying. He was sure he did not. The Captain…. had known what would happen. He had chosen to stay on the bridge of the Parmenion. He had chosen to order the evacuation of his crew, and to give the order to launch a ramming action.
In some way, he had wanted to die.
"He is not dead."
"I'm sorry, Delenn," he said, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. He was thirsty. "There are people out looking, but…. No one could have survived that, Delenn. The ship was destroyed, completely wrecked. Delenn…."
She raised her head and looked at him. He was trapped by her piercing eyes, and he contemplated her for a minute. He had never really been comfortable around the former Satai Delenn, but he could see just what it was about her that made her able to rule dynasties, to lead leaders, and to capture the heart of the great Starkiller.
Corwin admitted he did owe her slightly. She had once helped the Captain free himself from a difficult situation, at Corwin's request. He supposed he might have helped push them together by asking that of her, and he was not entirely sure how he felt about that.
Still, the Captain had been happy these last few months. That was something, at least.
"A part of the bridge could still be pressurised. You said yourself that communications on the Parmenion were down before the…. end. He could still be alive, trapped in a pressurised section of the ship, unable to alert us to his position." She was speaking calmly and rationally, explaining each point precisely. He did not want to listen. He had run over every argument he could think of, and he could still not believe anything other than the fact that Captain John Sheridan was dead.
"Delenn," he said, interrupting her. "I want him to be alive just as much as you do…. but…. it's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible," she snapped, her voice firm. She sounded angry. "Nothing is impossible while there is hope, and faith. We have a saying, one John heard and understood. Faith manages, Commander. Faith manages."
"It hasn't done a very good job for me so far," he muttered angrily, but then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Delenn. I didn't mean that."
"No, Commander. It is I who should be sorry. John…. liked you a great deal. He respected you."
Corwin nodded and looked around, trying to avoid the lure of those green eyes. The quarters were not very luxurious, but then Drazi ones never were. They were on board the Drazi Sunhawk Stra'Kath, one of the few ships to remain in the Epsilon Eridani area. Most of the fleet that had fought in the Battle had gone back to Kazomi 7, for repairs and to off-load the wounded.
Captain Smith had taken his Babylon there and was now in detention, awaiting the decision on his fate. Susan was also there, and Corwin definitely did not want to think about her. So was Mary, and…. and he had something to ask her. He had been trying to build up the courage for a long while, but the battle had sharpened his focus. He would ask her….
But first he had a duty to his Captain. He would stay here until the body was found, and he would ensure it was taken back to Kazomi 7 and buried there. It was not really what the Captain would have wanted, but a burial on Earth was impossible now, as was one on Proxima.
"You should return to Kazomi Seven," he told Delenn. "The Government will need you now. G'Kar has also requested to see you. He…. he seems to be recovering well from his injuries."
"I am glad," she replied, her voice hollow. "But I will not leave here without John."
"Delenn, this is not rational. You…. you have responsibilities. The Captain would have wanted it this way. He…."
"I know what he would have wanted! But I will not let you send me away. I loved him…. I love him, and I will not believe him dead until I see his body. Not until then." She fell silent, and bowed her head.
"I…. know. And he loved you too." It was hard for him to admit that. He had never been able to reconcile himself to the Captain's feelings for this…. this Minbari.
"He is alive, Commander. I know that. I…. know."
"Faith manages," he muttered.
"Exactly," she replied, deadly serious. "Faith…. manages."
"What…. what is to do be done with me?"
Her guards did not reply. She was not even certain they could understand her words, but a vague legacy of senses she could not explain seemed to indicate that they had. Her telepathy was now once again barely present. It appeared that everything the Shadows had done to her had been erased by Kosh's sacrifice.
Everything they had done to her, but nothing she had done to herself.
The events of the last few years were clearer to her now, crystal clear as if she were looking at them through a lake of still water. Everything she had done…. breaking open Delenn's chrysalis, her part in Anna's death, her part in Laurel's death, her attack on Ambassador Sheridan and…. everything she had done on board Babylon 4.
"He couldn't have taken them away too, could he?" she muttered to herself. Not that anyone was really listening. Only the two Narn Rangers guarding her were present, and they hardly looked at her. Ta'Lon had told them she was powerless now, and they had believed him.
"No…. he had to let me remember everything. Every single damned thing."
She sighed, and bowed her head. As she slowed down the Narns turned to glare at her angrily, and she resumed walking again. All of these corridors seemed much the same. Whether that was typical of Drazi architecture or a sign of the limited budget of the United Alliance she did not know. Or particularly care.
What was waiting for her? A cell…. or a place of execution? She supposed what she had done might merit death, at least…. to the Drazi perhaps. Maybe the Narns, too. G'Kar wouldn't be exactly kindly disposed to her at the moment. Not after her part, however unwilling, in his removal from the Great Machine. She was the only one of that squad still alive.
She supposed that a lot of what she had done was wrong, but she had never intended to do harm. All she had wanted was to save humanity. That couldn't be so bad, could it?
And then her Russian pessimism returned. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Bad ones too, probably.
The Narns stopped in a section of corridor seemingly identical to the ones they had been tramping down for the past half an hour or so. There seemed to be a few more security cameras around, but little else was different. She did not even know which building this was. She'd never been to Kazomi 7 before, and she doubted she'd have much time for sightseeing while she was here. Not that there was much to see, apparently.
One of the Narns stepped forward and raised a strange-looking card. He placed it against the wall, and it slotted into a indent she had not noticed before. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a small, well-lit room containing a bed and…. well, nothing else.
"Narn cells?" she asked. "Or Drazi ones?" The Drazi had been responsible for much of Kazomi 7's design, hadn't they? She was sure it had been a Drazi colony at some time in the past. From the looks of the corridors it didn't seem as if Delenn had had a hand in the design, though. Susan had been in Minbari cells before, and they were a little…. less accommodating than this one.
Not gently, she was pushed forward into the cell. She crossed the threshold with a soft sigh and a resigned grace. Turning, she saw the door slide shut.
With a gentle sigh and a click of her tongue, Susan Ivanova lay down on the bed and began to await her judgement.
Londo Mollari looked at his council of advisors, the nucleus of his new Government, and felt a sudden and quite inexplicable surge of pride. There was a long way still to go, yes, but the earliest obstacles had been overcome. They were past the beginning of the long journey.
"The Palace Guard have, almost to a man, sworn fealty to you, Majesty," Minister Durano was saying. The new Minister of Intelligence was a canny man, always acutely aware of the way the political winds were blowing. He was also however a principled man, and a meticulous one. If he said he would do something, then it would be done.
"Those who have not done so are under arrest. It would of course be foolish to assume that all such conversions are genuine. I recommend our own guards from Selini, or if that is not possible, then those from Gallia or Sphodria. They are in our debt, after all. A list of all such persons is appended to my report."
Londo shifted his gaze to his nephew. Carn Mollari, captain of the warship Valerius, new Commander of the Imperial Guard, and recently appointed Minister of Security. "There are a number of guards I do not entirely trust, but between myself, Minister Durano and Guards-Captains Kerrik and Volga we will soon have an efficient force answerable only to you, uncle." Kerrik and Volga had been the captains of the guards at Selini and the Court. Both were loyal men, woefully overlooked by the previous regime. That was not a mistake Londo could afford to make. For one thing, good and loyal men were far too rare, and for another…. he had a promise to an old friend to fulfill, and this was as good a starting place as any.
"The Court itself is…. er…. well, in a state of chaos, as you might expect," spoke up Virini, or rather, the 'Minister for the Court'. In the past the timid little man had been the butt of many a joke by those who failed to see that he heard everything, saw everything, knew almost everything and yet said very little. Rare attributes indeed. Now that he had returned to his former position, he preferred his former title, that simply of 'Minister'. The fewer people who knew his name, he argued, the more inconspicuous he was.
"The majority of Prince Cartagia's followers are either dead or under arrest. The body the guards…. uh…. recovered from the warehouse district has been confirmed as being that of Lady Elrisia, although some people do not appear to believe this. The…. uh…. the old guard faction are in disarray with the…. er…. incapacitation of Lord Kiro. Depending on the treatment of those responsible for the attacks on his estate, they may well decide to align themselves with you, Majesty. They are at least not openly hostile."
Londo said nothing about that, and everyone knew why. One of those responsible for the attack on Kiro's estate had been his wife, Mariel, involved in some futile and hopeless plan to attain power. Strictly speaking her actions deserved execution, but Londo had not yet made up his mind and few people dared broach the subject with him.
"Regarding the remaining slots in our Government," said Durano again, "I recommend Minister Vitari for the post of Minister of the Interior. I admit to not trusting him, but he is efficient and dedicated, and he will undoubtedly be able to cope with the responsibility."
"So," said Londo, "what positions are we missing, then?"
"All the details are in my report," Durano said. "Myself, as Minister of Intelligence. Your nephew for Security, and the…. ahem, the Minister here for the Court. Vitari for the Interior. Lord-General Marrago, of course, is the Minister of War as well as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. We do not yet have a Minister for Transportation, Culture, Agriculture, Resource Procurement or a Head of the Diplomatic Corps." He paused and looked down, a most uncharacteristic gesture. "And there is the post of…. First Minister."
"There will be no post of First Minister yet," Londo said firmly. "If I am to be Emperor, then I will operate in the way I see fit. All of you here, as well as Marrago, I trust as I trust no other. A First Minister is not needed at present.
"As for the others…. Vir Cotto will be the Head of the Diplomatic Corps. He has…. certain skills and contacts that will be very useful. And as for Resource Procurement…. I do think my dear wife Timov will be perfect for the role."
"Oh dear," whispered the Minister. Londo smiled.
Durano, to his credit, recognised that protest would not be the wisest of options. "A fine choice, Majesty. If a little…. unconventional, not to say controversial."
"There you have it, Durano. You have just hit upon two of the best reasons for appointing her. The other vacant positions can be filled later. They can be used as convenient…. incentives to those whose support we need.
"And now…. matters for the future. The Centarum must be reformed as soon as possible, and the Emergency Measures passed at the beginning of the year phased out. We need order and effective communications across the planet as well as to the rest of the Republic. Engineers and technicians are looking at the damage done to the main signal relay satellites. What caused the damage…. is a concern for another time.
"We also need these…. Shadow Criers dealt with, and soon. And there is the matter of posting Ambassadors to the major powers. We need to let the galaxy know we are returning to strength again, and we need to end this war with the Narns. Quickly. We will soon, I fear, have even greater problems on our hands.
"Minister Cotto will oversee the establishment of embassies to the Resistance Government of Humanity, the United Alliance at Kazomi Seven and the remains of the Minbari Federation. At a later date, appointments to the rest of the former League worlds will be possible, but they can wait. Negotiations with the Narns must be our first objective.
"And the army…. well, that is a matter for the Lord-General, and for my nephew here."
"Ah, yes," spoke up Durano. "Majesty…. where is the Lord-General?"
"Attending to something," was the only reply. "Attending to something…. very important."
Victory!
Sonovar threw his arms wide and laughed, revelling in the glory of the moment. It was over, and the entire mission had been a success. Not a thing had gone wrong. He had been a warrior in too many campaigns not to recognise the rarity of that.
The Government of Tarolin 2 had been punished for their treason, a message of defiance had been sent to the traitor Sinoval, the Tak'cha had proved their combat worthiness and Kozorr…. his laugh faded. Yes, Kozorr. A success there also, but only a beginning.
He was alone on the bridge of his ship, the flagship of the new warrior caste revival. A true warrior caste, a return to the old days of glory and honour and a worthy war, days that had been taken away from them by the weakness of the priestlings and the treachery of those like Sinoval.
He was alone. None of his colleagues, those who had been a part of Kalain's Grey Council, would come here with him. They had all requested other duties, other responsibilities. They were cowards, all of them, unable to see the rightness of his cause, and that disappointed him. Sinoval, for all his wrongs, at least had followers who would obey him unto death.
Such as Kozorr.
Sonovar suddenly felt very lonely. Every leader needed someone to confide in, with whom to share the moments of weakness and indecision. Every great leader had doubts and fears, it was only natural. Any man who claimed to be truly fearless was either a liar or a madman. And yet Sonovar had no one. He was beginning to understand why Sinoval kept such a pathetic worker as Kats around him. He could explain to her all his doubts in the knowledge that she was too weak to act on them.
Sonovar had no one like that.
There was no sound of his coming, no rustle of his robe or rasping of his breathing. Sonovar was a trained warrior, his every sense honed to its utmost degree, and yet the being who had once been Forell managed yet again to sneak up on him.
"You look fatigued, my lord," he said. "Are you well?"
"I am…. fine," he muttered. He was beginning to develop a headache actually, but he was not going to admit that to this loathsome creature. Every leader needed someone to confide in, true, but that someone was definitely not Forell.
"You have not taken your medicine these last few days, lord. It is for your own health." Something from Forell stank, and Sonovar could see he was carrying that ridiculous antique goblet. Inside it was a thick, dark red liquid.
His 'medicine'.
"I needed to concentrate on the mission," he explained. "That stuff makes me…. sluggish. I don't like it."
"Medicine is not meant to be liked, my lord. You should take it. It does you good."
"I do not need to…." He stopped, and wondered why he was explaining himself in such an apologetic manner. He did not have to justify himself like this! Forell moved forward, taking this pause as an invitation to continue. He held the goblet with the foul medicine up before Sonovar, who gagged.
The warrior brought his arm up, knocking Forell back. The goblet tipped up and the medicine fell over Forell's already stained and worn robe. There was a hissing noise. "You are not my nursemaid, Forell! How many times must I explain that to you?"
"My apologies, my lord," he replied, sounding distinctly unapologetic. "I tripped and spilt your medicine. I will prepare a fresh batch, and bring it to you personally."
Sonovar readied an angry retort, but he stopped and nodded. His throat was feeling very dry, and his headache was worsening. Say what you liked about that concoction, he did feel better afterwards. Well, a bit better.
"Yes," he ordered. "Do that. I will be in my chambers shortly. I have something to check on first."
Without waiting for a reply he stormed from the chamber, and so missed the expression on Forell's face. Truly though, he would not have cared if he had seen it. His senses might have been heightened through years of training and meditation, but in many ways Sonovar was terribly, terribly blind.
He made his way through the corridors and hallways of the ship, and everyone he met turned aside, shrinking away from his furious gaze. He could not explain the reason for his anger, but he did know it would have to be vented in some way. There was one thing he could use to divert it elsewhere. A symbol of his greatest triumph to date, and his greatest challenge to come.
He found himself at the door he wanted. At his orders four guards were posted there at all times, with another two at each end of the corridor. All were armed, and all were among his best warriors. Two of them were Tak'cha, and they attended to their duties with a diligence that not even the most loyal Minbari warrior could muster.
"How is he?" he asked.
"The same, lord," replied one of the guards. A Minbari warrior. Star Riders clan. A long heritage. A proud ancestry. A fine service record. A true warrior in every sense of the word.
"Open the door. I wish to see him."
"Your will, lord."
Sonovar drew in a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. The guards remained outside. They knew who was within, but not the circumstances of the prisoner's fate. They did not seek to question either. That was not their place.
He was there, seated in silent meditation. He looked up and then scowled, turning his gaze back to the floor. Sonovar was impressed. There was a one-way mirror. He could not be seen from within the room, and yet the prisoner had noticed his arrival anyway.
Yes, Sonovar thought as he looked at Kozorr. Yes. I chose right after all. He will be my greatest challenge…. and my greatest weapon.
It was a fine room. Luxurious, comfortable, warm. Tapestries from poor, dead Camulodo adorned the walls. Carpets woven on distant worlds were beneath his feet. Minbari pottery stared at him from every direction. There were the finest books ready for him to read; fiction, both romantic and epic, poetry, histories, and accounts of military campaigns. His food was prepared personally by the finest cooks remaining in the palace, and the brivare he drank was the most priceless of vintages available.
And yet, the former Lord-General Valo thought acidly, a golden cage is a cage nonetheless.
He knew what fate awaited him. He had known ever since he had been forced to surrender to that bastard Marrago. Death by execution. Execution in the manner of a commoner, as well. His head to be cut from his body and placed on a pike on Traitors' Row. The fate, not for a traitor to his Republic, but for one who had reached too far, and fallen just short.
He could, with a little more luck, have been sitting on the throne now, strengthening the Republic, beating back the Narns, claiming lost territories and pressing forward to the stars. Instead he was trapped in a gilded cell, waiting for death.
Such was the hand he had been dealt, but he had always believed that the Gods helped the strong, the brave, and the resourceful. He had tried, because it was more than anyone else would. He had shown the weaklings of the Court his strength and that…. and that was almost worth it all. Lead by example, and he would teach them by example even in his death.
The door opened, and Valo looked up from his seat. He had made an arrogant pledge to remain standing all the while he was here, but the injury in his side had plagued him too much for that, and he had been forced to sit. At least he sat on the floor, and not on the soft couch.
Two men stepped inside, both wearing the uniform of the Palace Guard. They made a formal salute and ushered in a new figure, one Valo recognised instantly. The guards left, and closed the door behind them. There was the sound of a bolt sliding shut.
"Marrago," he said. "I'm surprised. I thought you'd be wearing a new uniform, one tricked out with gold and jewels and all sorts of medals."
"I'm not a vain man, Valo," came the reply. "You know that. And I have not been promoted, merely returned to my former position. I am once again Lord-General of the Armies of the Centauri Republic. It is nice, is it not, to have an Emperor who appreciates the talents of those who serve him?"
"Mollari is a fool," Valo snapped back. "And you know it. He'll be dead before the century's out, and you'll all be dead with him."
"I doubt that very much. But in any case, Valo, you have no right to comment on the political actions of this new Government. I am here to attend to the matter of your death."
"Ah." He smiled. "I've been waiting for this. How is it to be, hmm? My head on a pike? A silken rope around my neck, perhaps? Or nothing so…. quick?"
"The manner of your death…. depends on you. Perhaps you can serve the Republic better through your death than you have done with your recent actions."
"I don't understand."
"There is a great deal of confusion about what has happened here these last few days. Very few people are able to state clearly and exactly who did what, and why. Those who could are either dead, like Prince Cartagia and First Minister Malachi, or loyal to Emperor Mollari. What happened…. is for us to decide."
"And what did happen?"
"The Court was attacked…. by the group of terrorists known as the Shadow Criers. They were funded by aliens…. possibly the Narns, or maybe not. That has not been decided yet. They managed somehow to influence certain leaders in the military, to make their attack easier. First Minister Malachi was grievously wounded in the attack, and succumbed to his injuries. Prince Cartagia bravely gave his life defending the First Minister. Emperor Mollari and myself managed to gather together the military, draw on our forces, and drive the Shadow Criers away.
"Naturally, the Emperor will want to hunt down and destroy these…. terrorists."
Valo laughed. "Have you become a courtier, Marrago? I always knew they could take dung and make it smell of perfume, but I never thought you'd sink so low."
"Oh…. most of it wasn't my idea, I'll admit. Still…. it is a sound plan. We need unity now, and revealing to the galaxy that our nobility has been busily killing one another…. would give away too much, and risk exposing our weakness."
"So…. where do I fit in?"
"As I said…. that depends on you. After this conversation is over, I will leave this room. I will return after your next meal, and when I do, I will find either…. a dead hero, who bravely and courageously fought the Shadow Criers, concealing the full extent of his wounds until it was too late, or…. a living traitor, who cowardly betrayed his Court to these evildoers and fought against his own Government.
"The choice is yours."
"And how is this…. how are you going to manage this?"
"Your next meal will be a very tasty recipe involving spoo in…. some form or another. I know next to nothing about cooking. What I do know is that the spoo will contain a considerable quantity of Paromide powder. Odourless, tasteless, colourless…."
"And one of our Republic's deadliest poisons," Valo finished. "So…. I am to be given an easy way out, am I?" He turned away, looking at the tapestry on the wall behind him. It depicted the fourth Emperor's glorious victory over the rebels at Immolan.
"If you choose to take it. You will also be given a full state funeral, your place in the Hall of Renown, and…. immunity for your commanders."
"And if I don't? What if I decide it might be more entertaining to…. shatter the scabbard on this little fiction of yours."
Marrago did not blink, did not hesitate, did not miss a beat. "Then you will die anyway. And so will your wife, and your daughter, and her son. How old is he now? No more than a year, is he? Your first grandson…. you must be very proud."
Valo spun around. "You bastard!"
Marrago did not stop. "All those men who elected to follow you will be stripped of their rank and tried as traitors to the Republic — and make no mistake, they will all be executed. Your entire House will be purged, and your name removed from history."
"You bastard!"
"We are creating a new Republic here, Valo. We are in…. dire straits. A certain harshness is necessary for the good of all, would you not say?"
Valo sank, falling back on to the couch. "I…. I want to be able to write a letter…. to my wife and my daughter."
"Of course. You have everything you need, and I will ensure it is delivered to them. I will…. have to read it first, of course."
"You will…. you will not let them know. They had nothing to do with this."
Marrago nodded. "You have my word, Valo," he said softly. "From one soldier to another."
"I…. I can believe you, Marrago. Once I have written these letters, I will take your damned poison, and if you or the Emperor break your word, then my ghost will haunt you for the rest of eternity."
"Everything I have told you today is true." Marrago bowed, and turned to the door. "Goodbye, Valo. May the Gods have mercy on you." He knocked at it, and the guards outside pushed it open.
"Marrago, wait!"
"Yes?" He did not turn around.
"Did Mollari come up with this whole little plan?"
"Yes…. yes…. he did."
Valo began to laugh. "Then the Republic might just survive after all. I underestimated him."
"We all did. Goodbye."
"Yes…." he looked at the closed door. "Goodbye."
What is he thinking? Just…. what is he thinking?
Ambassador David Sheridan could not tell, and that irritated him. He had always been able to read people as easily as a book. One of many skills acquired from long years as a diplomat. And yet here, on one of his most important tasks yet, so many of his skills were failing him.
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Ambassador," President Clark said sincerely. "I hope you'll be able to return to us soon."
"I shouldn't be gone for more than a few months at most, Mr. President," he said smoothly. "I am afraid I am needed at Z'ha'dum for consultation with our associates. I have been away from there for too long and they wish a status report and…. other matters. Important work, yes, but nothing dangerous, certainly."
Clark gave an odd little laugh. "No, of course not. We couldn't lose our Ambassador, could we?" He smiled, and chuckled to himself. "Still, I understand that you must do as your…. associates request. What if…. I need to get in touch with them urgently?"
"Oh, there is nothing to worry about there, Mr. President. Most of my aides will be remaining here, as will the Zener attached to our Sciences Divisions. They will all be able to get in touch with Z'ha'dum at a moment's notice should anything major require our attention." This was all information the President should have been given of course. Standard diplomatic protocol, but this was anything but standard, and Sheridan had begun withholding information from Clark the instant he discovered the man's Keeper was not working as it should.
"However, Mr. President, I must say that I do not expect anything major to happen soon. This will be a time for rebuilding and consolidating positions. Our agents do not expect any sort of major action by any of our main adversaries until the end of the year, at least."
"More than enough time for us to hunt down and finish off Sinoval, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh…. more than enough time, Mr. President, but I would be…. wary of antagonising him overtly. He can be a very dangerous opponent when cornered, as we have seen." And more to the point his associates wanted Primarch Sinoval very much alive. He was far more use to them alive and properly channelled than he could be dead.
"Well, our generals will be able to attend to that." Clark rose to his feet. "Good luck, Ambassador, and a safe and speedy return to us. This place will…. hardly seem the same without you." He extended his hand.
Sheridan took it. "I will miss Proxima greatly, but my duties carry me elsewhere. Goodbye for now, Mr. President."
As he left, he resumed running through his itinerary for the next few months in his mind. Reports at Z'ha'dum and consultations with his colleagues in other fields. The engagement at Proxima 3 had been a major turning point and future events had to be steered in appropriate directions. And after Z'ha'dum a trip to somewhere else, for a very important task.
He almost scowled. Of all the places he had been to in his career this was the one he wished to see the least. He was not looking forward to going to Kazomi 7, that was beyond doubt.
The Darkness is coming.
Lord Kiro sat alone in the place where his aunt had been murdered. His wounds did not pain him any longer. The mark of the brands seared on to his body had become an illumination, not a torture. He had looked into the hateful faces of his tormentors and been renewed.
The Darkness is coming.
Ladira had wished to see him a few hours before the attack. He had not been home for very long, and he was tired. He was also angry with Lord Jarno, and had been musing on a plan for a counterattack against the Court. He had reacted to her invitation with annoyance, but he had gone promptly enough.
She had had a prophecy for him. He had listened, confused, not understanding a word, but then he had shrugged and left. She had said very little of substance to or about him. While her prophecies to others were quite accurate, those directed at her nephew had been universally gibberish.
Now, he understood.
You will be burned in fire, and purified in pain. You will see new lights and return from the lands of the dead. You will lead those who see as I do. The Darkness is coming, Kiro. It is coming for you, and I will not be at your side when it arrives.
She had been right. He had been burned by the fires of his torture, and purified. They had thought they had killed him, and left him there chained in darkness, his body mutilated and torn.
But he had lived, and he had brought a vision back from death.
He knew where he had to go, and whom he had to find. They would listen to him, because they would see in his eyes the same madness and flames that burned in their own.
His house burned down that night. Those who investigated it put it down as an attack by the Shadow Criers. Minister Durano heard this theory, and took it to both the Emperor and Lord-General Marrago. They listened, and resolved to keep it quiet. The Shadow Criers would have to be dealt with soon enough, but there were many other things to do first. The Court had to be reunited and the nobles had to accept Londo as Emperor. Lord Valo's state funeral might go some way towards doing that, but matters were still precarious. Kiro had been a prominent figure, and the fate of those who had attacked his estate had yet to be determined.
All word of the fire at the ruins of his home was hushed up. Few lived in that area of the city anyway these days, and secrets were not hard to keep in the capital now.
And Kiro ran alone and haunted through the streets of the city until he found the ones he was looking for. He spoke to them, and they heeded his words.
And they fell to their knees at his feet. They had found the one who would lead them to the coming Darkness.
And beyond….
Lyta Alexander breathed out slowly as she walked towards her goal. She knew what she had to do, and she knew how.
She should be in the medical bay now, she knew. Her efforts at the Third Line had almost killed her. As it was she had been drained to the point of exhaustion, pushed beyond her limits, her body almost too weak to push blood, to draw in air, to stay alive.
The light in her soul had gone, and she was alone, for the first time in over two years. She could only remember feeling this alone once before, after Marcus had died. It was for him that she was doing this. She knew that it was wrong, illegal certainly. She did not care. To let this go, to abandon this chance…. it would be as if Marcus had not mattered, and he had been almost everything that had mattered.
Her last act as a mortal woman was approaching. She knew they were coming back for her. She could feel the slow-growing light returning to her mind. It was not Kosh, but it was like him. Another Vorlon. They were almost ready now, stretching their influence across space to her. They were ready to move. A bargain had been made, and Kosh's death had been the first part in the sealing of it.
They had awoken her. Whether that was intentional or an accident she did not know. Nor did she know whether the act she was about to do was by their will, or her own. What she did know was what she wanted to do this thing. She wanted to do it very much.
For Marcus, if nothing else.
There were Narn Rangers guarding the doors, of course. She had expected that, but she had avoided the doctors at the medical centre, and she would evade the guards the same way.
They stepped forward, and with one sudden thought, both of them fell. She knew the pass-code to get her into the prison complex. Her head was aching now, blood pounding in her ears and before her eyes, but she carried on. Her new-found strength was fading fast, but she managed to drag herself onwards. This was almost over.
She stopped outside the door she needed. Few of these cells were occupied, and this particular occupant was very special indeed.
The cell door opened, and Lyta Alexander entered. She looked down at the sleeping form of Susan Ivanova, and lightly fingered the gun in her hand.
I will ask her. I…. will ask her. I will…. ask her.
But first, duty. But first, responsibility. But first…. but first, to relay the news he had learned mere moments before.
Commander David Corwin knew a great deal about bad news. But he had never in his life imagined he would have to deliver the information he had just been given. He was not sure he believed it himself. He supposed he should have told Delenn instantly, but there had been…. complications with the salvage, and he had wanted to be sure.
Now he wished he was not.
And he was still thinking about Mary. His silent promise to himself seemed so hollow now.
There was no answer to his call at Delenn's door. He paused, then rang the chime again. Well, it was not a true chime, but a cacophony of hideous screeches and bangs. Drazi hearing was much less refined than human, and he had no idea just what Minbari hearing was like. Still, they seemed to have toned it down for Delenn's quarters, which was just as well. He remembered a time when he and the Captain had been visiting the Drazi homeworld for a few days, staying in the Government buildings, and the noise….
He breathed out, calming his thoughts. Complete gibberish. He was more afraid of the next few minutes of conversation than he had been at any other moment in his life.
There was still no answer, and he closed in eyes in silent thanks. Maybe she was asleep. He would not be able to tell her now, then. Good. Put it off, don't worry about it now. Maybe…. maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe everything had fixed itself while he was gone. Maybe….
"Yes?" came Delenn's voice, and he swore to himself. "Who is there?"
"It's…. me, Delenn. Commander Corwin."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Open."
He entered, and took only the briefest step into the room. He could see her there, still sitting in exactly the same position she had been in the last time he had spoken to her. How long ago had that been? Four hours? Five? Longer?
"Commander. Is there…. is there any news?"
This will break her heart, he thought. She loves him. She really, truly does love him. She's not the enemy. She's not a monster. She loves the Captain.
And I have to tell her. She was right. He's not dead, but there are worse things than death.
Faith manages. It hasn't managed very well here.
"Delenn," he said softly. "They've found him."
Chapter 2
He is running. He is not sure why. He does not know where he is running from, or where he is running to, but he knows he is running.
Something is chasing him. He does not know what. He knows only that he must escape from it. And it is gaining on him. It is faster than he is.
There is a brief flash of light, and he sees himself standing there on the bridge of the Parmenion, feeling the force of the impact. Something is falling. He is falling. It hits his back, and there is a snapping noise. He was unconscious when this happened, he knows. Or was he awake in some sense? Why was he still alive? He had tried to die, tried and prayed that his death would be an easy one, a purposeful one. His contagion would never affect his colleagues.
Yes, he must be dead. Oh, people had survived accidents like that, but that was rare. He had tried so hard to die. Why…. why had the universe not granted him his wish?
He was still running. It was just behind him. It was so much faster than he was, but he was confident. He could escape. He had endured worse than this. He could not be defeated. He was the Starkiller, the legendary hero of humanity. Nothing could defeat him.
He suddenly stopped, and fell. He struck the ground, and instantly tried to scramble to his feet.
He could not do it.
He could not move. Not at all.
It was upon him now. He could almost see it. He could….
His eyes opened. There was no darkness. In fact, the room was quite light. There was no monster chasing him, there was only Delenn, asleep in a chair at the side of his bed. Her position looked awkward. She did not even like sleeping in a horizontal, human bed.
He tried to reach over and touch her, but he could not. In fact, he could hardly even move his head. Straining his eyes, he gazed as far down as he could, and saw the straps and restraints holding him down. There was even some sort of framework immobilising his head. That explained it. He must have been injured worse than he had thought.
Worse than he had thought? He had died, surely? He….
No, he was alive. In a strange way he was relieved. Yes, he was still a threat, both to her and to everyone else he cared for, but that was a problem for another day. He'd have more time with her. Maybe Sinoval would manage to find a cure. Anything was possible.
He couldn't feel his legs.
The realisation suddenly hit him. He couldn't feel a thing. No itching, no numbness, no sensation at all. He had countless old injuries there, old wounds that throbbed or itched. Nothing. An anaesthetic of some sort, perhaps?
He couldn't feel his arms.
He couldn't feel anything below his neck.
What had happened? He had been standing on the bridge of the Parmenion, alone. The ship was going to ram one of the Shadow vessels. He was going to die. Something…. something had exploded. He had turned, and the whole ship had shaken. He had fallen, hitting the floor, and something landed on top of him.
Something…. something had snapped.
"De…. Delenn!" he said, suddenly very afraid of what had happened. He knew he should let her sleep, but she was the only person he could see here. Perhaps the only person around. How had the battle gone anyway? Did Babylon 4 get safely back to the past?
"Delenn!"
She roused and sat up, rubbing at her eyes. Then her hands fell. "John," she whispered. "You're…. you're awake!"
She moved to his side and began touching his arms and fingers, caressing them gently. He could not feel her touch.
"Did…. did we win?"
"I…. It is hard to say…. truly. But yes…. we won."
He tried to nod, before realising he could not. He could not even sigh. His breathing was steady and regular, but quite independent of his control.
"What happened to me?" he whispered.
Tears in her eyes, she told him.
"I warned you about him. I knew he could not be trusted."
Alfred Bester sighed and leaned back in his chair. It had been a gamble, all of it. A desperate gamble, and it had failed. It had failed very badly, and that failure had quite possibly cost him everything.
"Sheridan's thrown his lot in with them now. Completely. It won't even make a difference if he's dead. His crew will follow his example. Damn him!"
He turned to look at his companion. Captain Ari Ben Zayn, an Earthforce veteran. A highly decorated soldier, survivor and leader of countless campaigns. He had always been a ground-based soldier however, and so had missed much of the action of the Minbari War. He had always been a useful friend and servant to Bester, and he had made a point of saving the man when it became clear that all was lost on Earth. Ben Zayn had been his most valued advisor, an expert on all things military, and the captain of the first of Bester's starships.
A mundane only, and that was sad. Were he but as gifted as the weakest of Bester's telepaths, he would have all the authority Bester could give him. As it was, he was kept ill-informed. He was still however the highest ranking of all Bester's mundane accomplices.
It was good that he had got away from Babylon 4 before the battle had begun. Exact news of what had happened was scarce, but early reports indicated that the devastation had been catastrophic, the death toll immense. Babylon 4 was gone. There was no word from the Great Machine. Donne was almost certainly dead. Garibaldi was either dead or had defected. A pity. Bester had actually liked him. A true shame.
A desperate gamble, and it had failed, but all was not over yet. It was true that Bester had made many enemies with that particular move, but he had other options.
He was running them through in his mind. Almost certain: G'Kar knew of his treachery, and that particular alliance was very dead. That would definitely mean Garibaldi was lost, as was everyone else who had been stationed at Babylon 4. Fortunately Donne had been the only telepath, at least the only one of his telepaths. Lyta Alexander had never really been his for a long time, not since the Vorlons had done something to her.
Probable: the United Alliance and G'Kar's Rangers knew he was not to be trusted. It was likely that they would have other concerns at present, especially if the fighting had been as bloody as reports indicated. Still, they might very well decide to come for him here at Sanctuary.
Possible: Ambassador Sheridan and the Resistance Government knew he had double-crossed them. That would depend on how many of their assault party was still alive. If they knew, retribution was almost inevitable. He knew full well just what a threat his people posed to the Shadows, and if he could not be their ally, then he was their enemy.
He sat forward. "Are you loyal to me, Ari?" he asked. He did not have to ask. He knew the answer even without scanning his mind.
Sanctuary was the key. It was too open and vulnerable. The Corps — and therefore he — had resources elsewhere; resources no one else knew about.
"Of course, Alfred," he said. "You don't need to ask that."
"Sanctuary is vulnerable at the moment. Very vulnerable. We may have to evacuate to…. other places. If that happens, I may need you to fight a holding action. We need an increase in the number of probes monitoring hyperspace from all directions, even the ones off the main channels. We will also need the Ozymandias in constant combat readiness. Make sure there are at least three…. no, four, telepaths on the ship at all times. Keep Harriman as your main telepath, but it is imperative that we have others."
"Of course," he said.
That was the beginning. Start moving out the most important things. Files, certain experiments….
And Talia. Yes, get her away from here as soon as possible.
She was, in his eyes, the most important thing not just on the station, but in his life.
His eyes.
They were what she remembered most clearly about him.
His eyes.
To any telepath a person's eyes were the mirrors of their soul. One look, and she could see everything she needed. His vulnerability, covered by a hardened shell of cynicism. A lost yearning for protection and a cause. He had been one of the first to join Sheridan's little war, and one of the first to die in that cause.
He was all that had mattered to her. She had accepted her loss, had resolved to continue, taking his cause for her own. The Vorlons had influenced her, manipulated her, but it had been the memory of his eyes she had seen every time she pushed herself forward.
Kosh was gone now as well, and she was alone again. She would not be alone for long, she knew. Another Vorlon would come for her soon, but there was a moment before that would happen, a chance to complete one last duty from the life she was soon to leave behind.
Lyta Alexander raised her PPG and pointed it squarely at the head of the sleeping Susan Ivanova. She would not wake up. A simple telepathic nudge would see to that. It might be…. better if Ivanova could see her death coming, but it would be easier this way.
There was a buzzing sound as she readied the weapon. Her grip firm and her posture straight, she kept it pointed at the slumbering woman.
She could not pull the trigger.
She swore silently and lowered the weapon. She was not a murderer, not in cold blood like this. She had thought she could, but…. It was fortunate her resolve had lasted her even this far.
"You deserve it," she whispered. "You deserve all this…."
But she could not do it. Not kill someone like this.
There was another way.
She stepped forward, and pocketed her gun. She was not sure how much time she would have, but there would be time enough for this. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she removed her gloves. She had to see, had to be sure.
Lightly, she touched her fingertips to Ivanova's forehead.
She was in a room somewhere. She did not know where. It was cold. Not uncomfortably so, but chilly all the same. There was only a young girl here. She was sitting on the floor, playing with an old-fashioned, raggedy doll.
"Where am I?" she asked. An image from Ivanova's childhood, perhaps? The decorations looked Russian, she supposed.
The child stopped playing and looked up. She was about…. ten, perhaps. Maybe a little younger. Lyta had never really had much to do with children.
"Are you here to see Mama?" she asked, deadly serious. "You're one of those bad people, aren't you? One of the…. the telepaths."
Lyta looked down, and was startled to see she was wearing the uniform of a Psi Cop. That was strange. Some sleeping memory, perhaps? She did not bother trying to change it. This was Ivanova's dream after all. Not hers.
"Where's your mother?" she asked.
"She's ill at the moment. She sent me here. She said she'd come for me. She's…. I've been waiting a long time. Have you brought her medicine?"
"What medicine?"
"The bad men bring it for her. It makes her sleepy, and not feel well. They say she has to take it. Is my Mama all right?"
Sleepers. Now Lyta understood. Her mother was a telepath who had refused to join the Corps. That was in the old days, of course. Before Earth fell. Things were…. a little different now.
"Dadya says she'll be fine. Where is she?"
"I…. I don't know."
There was the sound of a door opening behind her, and Lyta turned. The young girl cried out. "No! Don't let them take me. Please…. they're the bad men. They're here for me. Mama said she'd protect me. Don't let them…."
Two Psi Cops came in through the door, but these were different even from the people Lyta had trained with. They were huge, twice her size, and they looked like monsters. One of them smiled, revealing an impossible number of fanged teeth. The other one lifted up a net.
"Mama!" cried the young girl. "Mama! Where are you?"
"She can't help you now," said the first Psi Cop. "You've got to come with us. We're your parents now."
Lyta shook as she returned to her own mind. She was swaying gently. Steadying herself, she looked at Ivanova again. Her sleep was more fitful, but Lyta could clearly see an older version of the young girl.
"Damn you," she whispered to herself. Tears in her eyes, she turned and left the room.
Study an enemy's weaknesses, and thou shalt know him.
Sonovar had heard those words many times during his training, first from Warleader and Satai Shakiri, and later from Sinoval himself. And he had taken them to heart, remembering them and acting on them.
But he had added another piece of wisdom to his learning, one he had developed after learning of Shakiri's death. Sonovar alone had worked out who was responsible, and he recognised Shakiri's folly in not turning his teachings inwards.
Know your enemy, true, but know your friends as well. They are just as dangerous to you.
Friends, and potential friends.
And so, as Sonovar walked into the room that had been serving as the cell of Shai Alyt Kozorr, he went armed not only with two fighting pikes, but with all the knowledge he had been able to gather about the man. Information, rumours, and a fascinating device created by Forell to pry into Kozorr's dreams.
The warrior leapt to his feet as Sonovar entered, and his grace was startling. Sonovar let his gaze rest on his companion's injuries, particularly his hand. Kozorr was wearing a glove to disguise the damage and to provide some support, but Sonovar knew just how maimed the limb was. He had been there, after all.
"Your weapon," he said, handing Kozorr's pike back to him. And a strange weapon it was, too. It was a shorter version of the traditional denn'bok, adapted so that it could be wielded with only one hand. Sech Durhan's work, no doubt. A better weaponsmith Sonovar had never known.
"You said you were going to kill me," came the angry reply.
"I have said many things, at many times, to many people."
"Minbari do not lie," he said. "You said you would kill me, and let her go. I am still alive. Did you break your promise concerning Kats as well?"
Sonovar smiled. "Why do you care? She is a worker, an inferior class. By all rights she should not even be permitted to set foot on a warship like this. There was a time when her caste would lower their eyes as we walked past, would grovel at our feet. A time when the warrior caste ruled all, and the workers and the priestlings served our will."
"We never ruled anything. We spent all the time butchering each other."
"It was a golden age. A time of glory, and legends…. and heroes. Would you like to help me bring it back?"
"Kill me, Sonovar, or let me go. I have no interest in your delusions."
Sonovar took a quick step back and extended his pike. "Fight me. Kill me, Kozorr, and I will let you go. I will let her go as well."
"Minbari do not kill Minbari. You may have forgotten that, but I have not."
"You were willing to kill Kalain to save your worker whore. Are you not ready to do the same now, to save her again?"
"Where is she?"
"Maybe she is on this ship, maybe she is with Sinoval, and maybe she is dead. Fight me, and I will tell you."
"I have no interest in your lies!"
"Minbari do not lie. You said as much yourself."
"You have lied to me, Sonovar. If you cannot keep that law, then how can I believe you will respect any of the others? You are no warrior. You are a killer."
"Maybe I am. Maybe I am not. Fight me, Kozorr. Earn for yourself…. or for me…. a true warrior's death. Beyond the wild, impartial skies…. a true and glorious end. To die in battle, can there be any greater glory? Fight me."
He lowered his pike, and stood silent.
"Dare you take the risk of letting me live? What if you kill me, Kozorr? Your…. Primarch Sinoval will be happy with you, will he not? And regardless, you will have ended a threat to his people. Or are you a coward? Has that worker bitch of yours sapped all your will? You were willing to die before! Why not now?"
Anger filling his eyes, Kozorr lifted his pike and sprang forward.
Sonovar smiled as he raised his own blade to block it.
A rope around the neck. A death for peasants, for farmers, for the lowest dregs of Centauri society. Certainly not a death Lord Jarno had ever expected for himself. He was after all a noble of the mighty Centauri Republic and as such he was entitled to certain…. privileges.
He stood at the window, looking out at the gallows in the square beneath his cell. His status brought him one advantage anyway; his last days would be spent in a luxurious palace room, rather than a dark and cold prison.
"You do not have to go through with this, Jarno," said a voice from behind him. Normally, anyone who heard that voice would be expected to be honoured, to snap to attention, to answer and reply with all the respect due to the Emperor of the entire Republic, but if there was one advantage impending death conferred, it was the right to defy certain…. conventions.
"No, I know," he said softly, not turning round. "But it is…. the right thing to do. No noble of this Court has attacked the household of another in centuries…. until me. I saw what was happening in the Court and I did nothing, letting weakness swing me forward and back, never able to take any decisive action.
"No…. I am ready to die."
"Yes," replied the Emperor, "I understand that. I do not agree with it, perhaps. Our new Government could benefit much from you, Jarno. A great deal."
"I have nothing to offer, and my presence at your side would only alienate Kiro's followers. With my death you at least stand a chance of bringing them over to your side. Consider this…. my last service to the Republic."
There was an exasperated tutting from behind him. Jarno still did not turn around. Partly this was because he did not want to see the face of someone who had been…. never a true friend, but always a respected peer. But also he could not take his eyes from the means of his execution. It was a truly sobering sight.
"Yes. I understand that, and I commend you for it, Jarno. But…. why like this? I could…. arrange for something to be placed in your food, or your drink. It would be quick and painless. You will drift away in your sleep, and you will be buried with all the status your rank deserves."
Jarno was silent for a moment, speculating on the manner of Lord Valo's death. He had heard the story being disseminated, but he did not believe it for a moment. He knew the truth, and he wondered if Valo had been more…. accommodating than he was.
"No. I do not deserve such a quick death, or such a…. noble funeral. A rope around the neck at dawn, a pauper's pyre. Nothing more."
"That is…. not fair…. You were misled and manipulated. We both know who is to blame."
"I…. have no idea of whom you are speaking," Jarno lied. He knew very well.
"Mariel. My dear, loving wife. The attack on Kiro was her idea, was it not? Come, Jarno. We both know the truth. Why do you defend her?"
"Defend her?" He laughed. A bitter laugh, with no genuine mirth. "I am not defending her. She has…. she will pay for her actions in her own way, and I assure you, Majesty, I will escape far more easily than she will."
"What are you talking about?"
"A prophecy…. A dying prophecy. One third of it has already come true. At dawn tomorrow, another third will have come to pass. Destiny will not allow Mariel to escape her part." He paused and flicked his gaze to the ground, away from the gallows. He then turned to look briefly at his new Emperor. Londo looked…. tired. He could barely have been sleeping even before his inauguration.
"Where…. where is Mariel now?" Jarno asked tentatively.
"Under close guard…. for her personal safety of course," Londo replied bitterly. "I regret I can take no real action against her…. not so soon in my reign and not without constructive proof. As it is, I will send her to one of my outlying estates. Perhaps among the rebuilding projects at Camulodo. She will of course be under heavy armed guard all the time. For her own personal safety.
"It is preferable to the fate Timov would have in mind for her."
Jarno smiled, and nodded. "I…. thank you for coming to visit me, Majesty. I hope I can serve the Republic better in death than I did in life."
Londo nodded, and then turned and left. His strange Minbari companion at the door waited for the Emperor to depart, and then stepped outside. There was the sound of a bolt sliding shut.
Jarno did not care. He had returned to gaze at his gallows, and his death.
I am not afraid. I've faced down ancient ships that screamed in my mind. I've stood against Minbari warships that wanted to destroy me. I've looked at aliens that made me want to run and hide in terror. I've looked into the eyes of my best friend, both of us knowing he'll never move again.
I've done all that…. and I've never been so scared in my entire life.
I will ask her. I will ask her.
Commander David Corwin sighed and leaned back against the wall. He had been planning this for a long time, but he had never been able to find the nerve before. It had been so easy just to put it off. But then, fighting a desperate, doomed struggle to defend Epsilon 3, he had realised just how close he had come to death, and had made a silent promise to ask her.
But now it was all in ashes. He had survived, yes, but why him? Michael was dead, the Captain would never move below his neck again. Bester had betrayed them all. Susan was…. here….
What right have I got to think of a future, when there are so many people who don't have one any longer?
But that was it, surely? There were so many who had lost their futures, and he hadn't. He had to recognise his good fortune, had to live for the moment of life he had gained by surviving the battle. He had to….
"Yes?" came the voice through the comm. "Who is it?" She did not sound well. He supposed he couldn't blame her.
"It's me, Mary," he replied. "It's David."
"Oh," she said softly. "Come in."
The door opened and he entered, patting at his pocket to be sure the small box was still there. It was. It seemed so heavy.
Mary was seated on the couch, a book lying open at her feet. She rose as he entered, and he could see just how dreadful she looked. Her eyes were heavy, her face gaunt and haggard. She was still in her nightdress, which was rumpled and dirty.
"Haven't seen you in…. a while," she said, coughing. "Do you want a drink? I've some Narn wine here somewhere…."
"No, thank you," he replied. "Ah…. you…. are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied, flatly. "I haven't been…. sleeping very well recently. Not for the last few days in fact. The beds here are a little…. hard. Not very comfortable."
"Drazi design probably," he said, apologising lamely.
"Yes. That's it. Anyway, I thought I'd do a little reading. I…. What time is it anyway?"
"Coming up to midday, Kazomi Seven time. I…. couldn't say what time it is EST."
She nodded. "I haven't quite adapted to…. the time here. It's…. Why did you send me away?"
He stopped as if poleaxed. "Wh…. what?"
"From Babylon Four. You sent me away."
"We…. we sent all civilians away, Mary. The place was…. at risk. We had to get you all out of there."
"A civilian. Is that what I am? David, you didn't come to see me. You didn't come to check if I was all right. You didn't…."
"I was busy!" he replied. "I was…. I was afraid. I…. heard things about what had happened on the planet. I was worried about you! I wanted to get you to safety as quickly as possible!"
"I can look after myself, and I don't need you protecting me." She paused. "I'm the one who had to talk to Lianna after all…. explaining why her husband won't be coming home."
"Lianna." He sighed, and swore silently. "I'd completely forgotten…. oh…. How…. how did she take it?"
"How do you think she would have taken it? We didn't get to speak long. Something's…. up at Sanctuary. But…. I knew what she was thinking. He ran away from her. She loved him too much to see that, but I could see it. And so could you, and you did nothing!"
"I…. what? Mary, what are you saying?"
"They were having problems. Difficulties with Frank, disagreements over Bester. Lianna wanted to get out of there, start somewhere new. Michael…. he wanted to stay with Bester. Felt he owed him. But rather than talk it out, he…. he ran away. He came here, he stayed here for months on end, and he…. he got himself killed because it was easier for him than staying around!"
"I had no idea," David whispered softly. "Mary, I…. I swear to you…. I had no idea." He moved forward, but she pulled away from him.
"I'm just so…. so angry…. at him, at you, at Bester, at…. at everything! At everyone! At this whole pathetic little war of yours! It isn't some game. It's not heroic, or glorious, or…. or…. People are dying, and people are being left behind to mourn…. and I just…." She took a deep breath.
"I'm leaving, David. I'm leaving this place. I hate it. The sky's wrong, the time's wrong, the air doesn't smell the same…. I'm going back to Sanctuary to pick up Lianna, and from there we're going to one of the outlying colonies. They're free again now, and some of them are a long way away. Far away from the Minbari, and the Narns and…. everything!"
She paused and looked at him intently, folding her arms. "You could come with us. I…. I want you to."
"Mary, I…." He took a deep breath, and kept feeling the box in his pocket. "I…. I came here to ask you to marry me."
She smiled, and then shook her head sadly. "I was wondering when…. No, it doesn't matter. I'd love to, but not here. Give all this up, David. Give up this war, give up fighting this hopeless cause. You can't win. There's always another enemy. Give it up…. and come with me. I do want to marry you, but I won't sit at home like Lianna, waiting for news to come through that you've been killed somewhere, fighting for some cause no one understands."
"I…. Michael…. his death was…. It wasn't…."
"It doesn't matter, David. He's dead, and how or why won't help at all. You…. know what I want."
He picked the box from his pocket, and looked at the ring inside. He had bought it in the market here on Kazomi 7. It was a Brakiri design, and he had had it altered a little so that it would fit a human finger. It was…. beautiful.
"I love you, Mary," he said pathetically. "I love you…. but…."
She sighed, and looked down. "That's what I thought. Go away, David…. please. I…. I can't sit and wait by the news reports every night like this. Go away."
"I…." He closed the box and gently laid it down on the table. He made to take a step towards her, but then sighed and turned away.
He left the room without looking back. Only then did he start to cry.
Time passed, neither slowly, nor quickly. It simply was. For Delenn of Mir, the few months after the Battle of the Third Line were hard. The year wove its way slowly towards an end and work became harder and harder. She slept even less now than she had before, and her few brief hours of slumber were normally spent in a chair at John's bedside.
The state of affairs on Kazomi 7 was not especially good, but neither was it especially bad. Much of her time was taken up in helping with the reorganisation of G'Kar's Rangers. The loss of Epsilon 3 and Babylon 4 had hit them hard, but G'Kar had been canny enough not to place all of his resources in one area. He was recovering from his injuries as well as could be expected, and he and Ta'Lon were working closely with Taan Churok and Vejar to make Kazomi 7 the new base of the Narn Rangers.
A few weeks after the battle word came in from Centauri Prime, news which was most welcome. Londo had become Emperor. He was dealing with the wreckage of his bloody ascension, and would appoint an Ambassador to Kazomi 7 as soon as he could. He specifically requested no outside assistance. The presence of aliens on the planet now might well make matters far worse.
There was no word from Alfred Bester. None at all.
John's condition did not improve, and the initial prognosis had proven distressingly accurate. His spine was irretrievably broken, and he would never move below the neck again. He could not even breathe without artificial help. How he had remained alive until he had been found, nobody knew. Delenn spent as much time with him as she could, holding his hands that could never feel hers. When she was not there, Commander Corwin was, relaying reports of the defensive capabilities of the system, of the field testing of the commandeered Babylon, and various other matters. Sheridan listened, and gave back advice when he could.
Unfortunately as time passed he suffered more and more violent headaches. The lights in the ward hurt his eyes, and he frequently suffered bad dreams. Neither he nor Delenn spoke about it, but the doctors had been given all the available information on his virus, and they were beginning to speculate that quarantine might soon become necessary.
There was a brief reply from Sinoval, stating that he would need to remain behind at Tarolin 2 to help rebuild, and to increase security at the other colony worlds he controlled. He said little else, but Delenn knew that someone was threatening the remaining Minbari worlds. The number of Minbari refugees coming to Kazomi 7 increased briefly for a month or so. Few of them were possessed by Keepers though.
The crew of the Babylon were given safe passage to neutral territory, from where they could travel on to human space. Only two of them chose to stay behind: a Lieutenant Franklin, who had at last regained his long-lost vocation for medicine. Here had could practice as he had always wanted, and strive to heal, not to kill. Captain Dexter Smith stayed also, fulfilling his promise to give his life for those of his crew.
Susan Ivanova remained imprisoned. Medical reports and a study by Vejar confirmed that the Keeper she had been given had been completely removed from her system. Who, or what she was now…. was unknown.
It was on a day slightly over two months after the battle that Lethke received an interesting and unexpected message. He promised to consult with the remainder of the Government and reply later. He then instantly went to see Delenn.
"It is a lie," she said. She had been with John, and her eyes were haunted. He had lapsed briefly into delirium during her visit. It had been for less than a minute, but it was a troubling development all the same.
"They mean nothing but to sow dissent and suspicion, Lethke."
"So I thought, but what if they do speak the truth? Can we afford to pass over such an offer?"
Delenn shook her head. "'There can be no peace with the Shadow'," she quoted. "They are lying."
"But he does not speak just for the Shadows," he countered. "He speaks for humanity as well. Can there be peace with them?"
She hesitated, lost momentarily in a world fifteen years gone. "Perhaps…. but humanity is…. they are too closely linked with the Shadows now. There cannot be peace, Lethke. I wish it were not so, but…." She bowed her head sadly.
"He says he will come only to speak of peace. He is a true diplomat, Delenn. I have known many, and I can see it in his eyes. His words…. they are genuine. Delenn…. dare we turn away this chance? I do not want to spend the rest of my life devoted to war. I want to build this Alliance so that it protects and shelters the entire galaxy, and we cannot do that if we are constantly worrying about battles and fighting. We…. prefer not to fight, we Brakiri. I have always thought it is a far more pleasant option to choose."
She sighed, and thought again of that moment fifteen years ago. She had been too ready to embrace war once before, and it had cost her dearly. Could she refuse this option now? Even if it were only the merest possibility….
"We will bring the matter to the Council," she said at last. "If you all say yes…. then I will assent."
Lethke smiled and bowed, but then he looked worried. "There is one other thing, Delenn. The diplomat who contacted me…. he was human. The Shadows do most of their dealing through intermediaries of other races…. so I was not surprised. But…. he gave his name as Sheridan."
She paused. "Sh…. Sheridan? No, it cannot be," she said finally. "All of John's family are dead. It is a…. coincidence, and nothing more. Still, it would be best, I think, if John were not told of this."
"As you say, Delenn. When shall we convene the Council?"
She paused, and thought for one brief moment about the man she loved. "As soon as possible," she said finally. "As…. soon as possible."
They all agreed, and Lethke sent back the reply in the affirmative. Ambassador David Sheridan received it, and nodded. Everyone did what they had to do, what was necessary, and however much he disliked the thought of going to Kazomi 7, he knew that he had to do it.
But he had one important person to see first.
Londo was tired, and he had a headache, and he wanted very much to have a steaming cup of brivare and go to bed.
But he was the Emperor, and contrary to what he had believed as a child, the Emperor did not get to do whatever he wanted. He had his duties to the Republic, and if those duties meant he had to stay up all night with Marrago and Durano, then so be it.
In the preceding two months the situation had improved slightly, although not as much as he might have hoped.
The Centarum had been reconvened, and its first actions had been the passing of motions recognising Londo as Emperor and accepting his story as the official history of events. The second motion had passed substantially, as almost all of those who knew the truth about Valo's attack on the Court were either dead or firmly allied to the new regime.
The first motion however was more difficult. Many remembered that Londo had been accused of murdering Emperor Refa, and that he had raised rebellion against his own Government. Denials of the first had been expected, if not entirely believed, and the same had been the case with explanations for the second. Nevertheless, the placing of the blame for everything that had ever gone wrong in the Republic since the dawn of creation entirely at the door of the Shadow Criers…. that had been generally accepted.
In any case, Marrago and Durano had separately exerted considerable pressure on the dissenters, and the first motion had been passed. Londo's inauguration as Emperor had been a pitiful thing by previous standards, but in respect of the lying speeches, futile thanks and insincere hopes for the future, few things ever changed.
That, however, was only the beginning. The homeworld was now fairly secure, but the Republic itself was very shaky.
"We have lost all contact with Beta Centauri Two," Marrago reported. "The communications satellite might be down, but I fear it is more likely either that the Narns have taken the colony, or that there is another rebellion there, as there was at Gorash."
"A rebellion is possible, but unlikely," acknowledged Durano. "My sources there informed me that there was considerable ill-feeling towards the Court here, but that matters were improving. The lowering of taxes, the replacement of the planetary Governor, and the improved weather conditions and harvesting mean that the economy there is recovering strongly. Any uprising would have been more likely to occur two or three months ago."
"The Narns then," muttered Londo. "Again. They are seeking to destabilise our economy, aren't they?"
"It seems likely," admitted Marrago. "A very different strategy for them. I am not sure if they are receiving outside assistance or if Warleader G'Sten is simply having flashes of genius."
"I fear we will need to begin peace talks soon, but will they accept anything other than unconditional surrender? G'Kar might be able to help, but he is sorely pressed by other concerns. I fear an Ambassador to Kazomi Seven is more essential now than it has ever been."
"We have spoken about this, Londo," said Marrago. "We need to be strong and secure as a Republic first. If we go on bended knee to this…. G'Kar, then we risk exposing our vulnerabilities. The Narns may be more reckless than they have been, but to some extent there are still elements of caution in their strategy. That caution is buying us time. If we reveal our weakness…. then they may launch a direct attack on the homeworld, and we would be defeated easily."
"G'Kar…. is not like that."
"I accept that, Londo, but can you speak for all the Narns he commands? What about the other aliens on Kazomi Seven? Can we trust the Minbari…. or the humans? No, I say again that we need to be as strong as we can be. Then we will go to the Narns as equals, not defeated and on our knees."
"Yes," Londo muttered. "Good advice, again. Ah, Gods…. I am tired. Sooner or later, Marrago, we will have to go there, and I would rather it be sooner. That is it…. if I stay here any longer I will fall asleep. Do you have anything else to report?"
"No," said Marrago. "Nothing else."
"Durano?"
The Minister for Intelligence had been silent throughout the exchange between Emperor and Lord-General. His gaze had been firmly fixed on Marrago, but he now slid it away smoothly. "No, Majesty," he said. "The Shadow Criers have been very quiet of late. Perhaps whatever madness has gripped them has simply…. died down."
"Or maybe they are all dead. Burning yourself alive in the middle of the street is unlikely to bring in many new converts. In any case, they are a problem for another time. I am to bed. Gentlemen." He rose, as did both of them. They bowed as he left, and then stalked from the room through opposite exits, not exchanging a single word.
The silent Minbari who had stood alone in the shadows in the corner of the room waited until they had gone, and then followed Londo.
The Emperor passed six separate groups of Palace Guards on the two-minute walk from his personal study to his bedroom, a fact he found most distressing. When he arrived at his bedroom he closed the door firmly and found Timov already in bed, pretending to sleep.
"I know you are awake," he said, undressing and changing into his night attire.
"You know me too well," she said acidly. "Do you know what time it is?"
"I am sorry I was out too late, Mother," he said, in smiling sarcasm. "I will try to be home for supper tomorrow."
She sat up. "That is not funny, Londo. You are up working until past midnight every night, and up again at the stroke of dawn every morning. You cannot keep up this pace. Leave it for younger men."
"There is…. too much to do," he said, sighing. "Too much…." He finished changing and walked over to the bed. "May I come and join you, lady Empress?" he asked, smiling. "Or are you still angry with me?"
"Idiot," she whispered. "I don't know. My husband will return soon, and I do not know what he will say when he sees me in bed with the Emperor."
"I am sure he loves you too much to remain angry with you for very long," he said, climbing into bed.
"I wonder if I love him that much," she replied. "Good night, Londo."
"Good night, dear."
Sleep was a long time coming. It always was these days.
He was sleeping. At least, his eyes were closed, so she hoped he was sleeping. The lights in the room were down as low as they could be: it was almost too dark for her to see him, and the most Delenn of Mir could make out of John Sheridan was a vague outline, marked by the slow, regular movements of the machinery that sustained his paralysed body.
The Ambassador from the Shadows would be arriving soon, within a few days at most. A thought had struck her not long after she had been told of his request to visit.
A cure. The Shadows had a cure for John.
She had contacted Sinoval again, in desperation. He had received her message, and he had replied in no uncertain terms that he had studied Deathwalker's files all he could, but he had found no trace of her cure. The Shadows had it, but that was all he knew. He then ended the conversation, pointing out that he had his own responsibilities to his own people.
Was it worth it? Would it truly be worth asking the Shadows for their cure? She had thought not. She and John had spoken of it once, and he had said he would not enslave himself to them for any cure. She had agreed, but that had been long ago, before the battle.
What if there could be peace? Was the Ambassador genuine? Could she…. ask…. him…?
She sighed, and tried to clear her head. The virus was not yet contagious, at least not according to the physicians here. They had managed to trace its progress to some extent and had constructed a hypothesis as to its effects, but they were a long, long way from a cure. All they could say for certain was that John would have to be placed in strict quarantine within two weeks at most.
And not long after that, he would be dead.
He moaned slightly, and she thought she could see his eyes flicker open. They looked…. so bloodshot.
"Delenn," he whispered. "Are…. are you there?"
"Yes," she replied softly. "Yes, I'm here." She was holding his hand, but she knew he could not feel it. "How…. how are you?"
"I was dreaming. I…. don't remember what about. It…. wasn't…. a nice…. dream though."
"You should sleep," she whispered.
"Sleep? Why? It's not as if I'm exerting myself here. I'm kept alive by machines, and…. medicines and I'm just waiting to die."
"John, you shouldn't…. talk like this."
"Why not?" He sounded angry. "Why not, Delenn? Why are you…. still here? What…. use is there tying yourself to a…. dead man."
"I am here because I love you," she said softly. "I will never leave you, John. Never."
"I…. I know. I'm sorry. I just…. are you holding my hand?"
"Yes."
"How is…. David? I haven't seen him…. in…. a while."
She hesitated, trying to think of what to say. Commander Corwin had been to see him only that morning. "He's…. on a scouting patrol," she lied. "He's still breaking in the Babylon." He was on board the Babylon, that was true. He rarely left it these days. Corwin too had been looking almost haunted recently.
"My ship," John said, almost proudly. "Not…. my ship any more. They…. changed it…. did…. things…. to it…. Gave it to someone else…."
"It wasn't altered as much as you thought," she said, hoping that would comfort him. Compared to some of the other human ships they had fought, the Babylon had contained remarkably little Shadow technology. "It was just…." How had Commander Corwin put it? "It was just beefed up a little. Improved hull integrity, navigation, weapons…." She had told John this before. Several times.
"My ship," he said, his voice growing quieter. "My…. ship…." His eyes closed. "Love you…. Anna," he whispered, as he fell asleep.
Delenn did not cry. She wanted to, but she could not. She had no more tears left.
Speeches. He had made so many, to so many different people. They were all much the same really. Empty promises, pledges and assurances that he knew he would not be able to meet, hollow guarantees and offers of friendship. All the while people back home would be preparing their own actions, completely indifferent to every word he was saying.
The situation here was a little different, but the speech was largely the same.
"We do not wish further violence between our peoples," he said, addressing the Inner Council of the United Alliance, and making sure to study each figure in turn. "The tragedy of the altercation at Epsilon Three only shows the true horror that can arise from such a conflict."
They were listening, some more patiently than others. Minister Lethke was most attentive, and the Narn Ambassador G'Kael seemed quite interested. The two Drazi frequently snorted and tutted under their breath, but they made no interruptions.
And as for their leader, the blessed Delenn…. Ambassador David Sheridan had no idea what she was doing, for he was not looking at her at all. Not even a glance.
"We must not let zealots on either side blind us to the possibilities of a strong, working peace. The race you call the Shadows, and that I call friends, have much to offer you all. They have helped humanity return to security, they have helped protect the borders of humanity's space, and have provided technology far in advance of anything else currently available.
"The 'Shadows' wish only to help the other races, and live in peace and understanding with them. Their actions have been purely defensive on all occasions, aimed at countering threats to their welfare by others. All you have heard about them are half-truths and misconceptions, spread by their enemies. Spread by ignorance.
"They will be happy to show such people as Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, his…. Rangers, and even Primarch Sinoval the error they have been labouring under." G'Kael started briefly at mention of G'Kar's name, but he said nothing. "Any or all of you are welcome to come to the Shadows' homeworld of Z'ha'dum, or if you would prefer, to Proxima Three. They wish only peace…. and a better understanding between us all."
He would not be believed of course, not with both Delenn and G'Kar here. The Narn might be possible to circumvent, but it would be difficult; he had been surrounded by Vorlons for too long. And as for Delenn…. Well, with her there were a thousand years of Vorlon indoctrination to get through, and that was simply not going to happen. But he had another trump card to play with her.
"We wish only peace," he repeated. "They wish only…. to help."
He does not respect you.
She does not love you.
I will make you stronger. I will make you better than him. I will make her love you.
Kozorr sat alone in his cell, thinking. He was alone, but by his own request. He was also, as strange as it may sound, not a prisoner, save by his own will.
All the time he had been here he had been sparring with Sonovar, each of them testing their skill with the denn'bok, unarmed, and with other weapons. They were evenly matched, despite Kozorr's injuries. Neither had been able to kill the other.
"Imagine you were not injured so," Sonovar had said. "What could you accomplish then? More even than Sinoval, perhaps."
He thought of Kats, and wondered ever so tentatively where she was, and what she was doing now. She would be with him, the Primarch, the greatest warrior of this generation, and perhaps of any other.
He had told her at last that he loved her. He had been prepared to give his life for her.
Would Sinoval have done as much?
She will never love you.
Sonovar had said so. He could be lying. He had lied about a great many things, but Minbari did not lie. Did Kats love him? Could she truly love him?
Could she, with Sinoval there? Knowing that the Primarch was greater than him?
She will never love you, not while she is with him. I can help you become greater than him.
He rose to his feet, moving awkwardly. The injuries to his leg seemed more crippling than ever. He raised his arms wide and roared in defiance. He did not know what to do, or what to think.
She will never love you.
"She will love me," he roared. "She…. will."
This, more than anything, he did not want to do. Bad enough his duty had brought him to this pathetic planet in the first place, but to be placed here, in this position, to confront his greatest failure….
David Sheridan had thought about his son continually for sixteen years, ever since the war had started. He had not seen him for over thirteen of those years, and now he would see him again, fully paid for all the wrong choices he had made.
He did not want to, but ties of blood were greater by far than ties of water. He had one last duty to perform for his son.
The guards did not see him. The doctors did not see him either. It was late at night. Delenn was not here. He had chosen his time carefully.
He was not truly certain who to blame. John had made his own decisions, and the choice to betray his people and his wife had been one of those. He was a man now, and had been so for many years. He had a right to make those decisions.
But it was a father's duty to tell his son where he had gone wrong.
But then…. how much of this had been Delenn's doing? John had been loyal and true before he had met her. He could not decide. There was another fate in store for Delenn, a fate that should serve as a reminder to John of what happened to those she claimed to love.
He paused and looked down at the figure in the bed. It hardly looked anything like the young man he remembered. Thirteen years, almost fourteen now…. that would change anyone a lot. But this much…?
John was asleep, or so it seemed. Jha'dur's subtle revenge was close to claiming him. A few more months at most. Ambassador Sheridan hated Jha'dur for a great many things, but for this more than anything else.
His son should not have to die this way, and if Delenn chose correctly he would not have to.
Placing his son's fate in her hands…. that hurt. In spite of everything that John had done…. to Anna, to humanity, to his crew and his Government…. in spite of all that, John was still his son.
John was beginning to wake up. It was dark in here, but certain…. changes had been made to David in order to help him see better. He could see his son's face all too well. He wished he could not.
John blinked, and strained to look round. "Wh…. who's there?" he asked. His voice was hoarse, rasping. "Who…? Not Delenn…." He fell silent, and his breathing continued as regular, as unnatural as always.
"D…. Dad," he breathed.
"Hello, John. You certainly messed everything up this time, hmm?"
Chapter 3
He had always wanted to be a father, always wanted the joy of bringing life into the world, of watching his child being born, growing, learning, and over time becoming greater than him. He had believed that there could be no greater joy for a parent than to be surpassed by his children.
And no greater pain than to watch his children fail.
Ambassador David Sheridan looked down at his crippled, dying son, and he was not sure what to think. He had not seen John in over thirteen years, but he had never been far from his thoughts. To see him like this….
Still, he knew who to blame, and she would receive her own punishment for her part in this.
But that could wait.
"D…. Dad?" whispered the pathetic figure in the life support system.
"Hello, John," he replied, using every iota of his skill and experience not to reveal his true emotions. Some things had to be said here, and he had to say them. If John was to live, then he had to understand what he had done, and where he had gone wrong.
And teaching him those things was a father's duty, was it not?
"You really messed things up this time, hmm?"
"Dad," he whispered. "Ah…. d…. dreaming. You're dead."
David shook his head. "No, I'm not dead, John. There have been times I wished I were, but…. I'm still alive, more so than you are by the looks of things."
"Where's…. Mum? Liz? I'm dead…. aren't I? This is…. Heaven?"
"Trust me, John. I've never been to Heaven, but I hope it's better than this place. You're still alive, and so am I. I was one of the lucky ones, John. I got away. Your Mum and Liz…. they didn't."
"What…. happened? Why…. why didn't you…. come…. earlier?"
"If I could have done, I would." He walked around the bed slowly, looking at the paralysed body of his only son. The virus that was killing him was of no concern. Slowly, David sat down, noting with considerable distaste that this was where Delenn would sit while she was here. "I've…. been busy. I've had a lot to do. I've been putting all my old skills to good use, John. Brokering alliances…. helping out at Proxima…. doing what I could…."
"Why…. here?"
"Business with the Alliance. I don't suppose she told you. No, of course not. She's the one who got you into this whole mess in the first place. She's not likely to want to get you out of it. Her, and all the Minbari. It was thanks to them you were infected with this…. awful virus, wasn't it? I know where it came from, John."
"How…?" He was blinking slowly. His eyes were vague and unfocussed.
"I've…. access to important information. I can help you, John. We can help you. We have a cure. We might even be able to do something with your injuries. I can't promise that…. but we can do more for you than they can here. And even if we can't…. what sort of place is this for you? You should be with your own kind…. not these aliens.
"Come with me, John. Come home."
"Where? Come…. where?"
"Proxima. We can cure you there. We can help you. You were just…. led astray. Brainwashed, even. The President might not like the idea of your coming back, but he understands. You're no threat to him any more. Come home."
"Cure…? Oh no. Dad…. tell me…. you didn't…. The Shadows…."
"Shadows? What sort of name is that? Yes, I work for them, John, but they helped me. They help all of us."
"They…. did this…. to me…."
"No. Delenn did that to you. And G'Kar, and all of these aliens here. John…. the Shadows…. are our friends. They helped me. They saved my life. Without them, I'd be dead. As dead as your mother is."
"No…. Don't want to hear this."
"What choice do you have? John, listen to me! The Minbari have got to you, and they've brought you here! Jha'dur infected you thanks to them! They caused you to rebel against your own Government…. to fire on your own ships…. to kill your own people.
"And as for Anna…."
"No. I'm just dreaming." The cry was pitiful, almost too painful for him to bear, but he continued. Some things had to be said.
"They did that to you, John. I don't…. understand how you could do…. what you did to her…. but you're my son, and you always will be. I forgive you. Just come home."
"No. Who are you? My Dad would never work for…. those things. I don't…. I'm dreaming. You're not real. Go away."
He sighed softly, and then nodded. "I see. I'm sorry, John. I'm…. really sorry. But you're still my son." He rose to his feet, and slowly walked to the door. "Goodbye, John." Then he left.
John Sheridan stayed awake long into the night, wet tears on his face.
Alfred Bester had once thought of his greatest virtue as being that he always knew where his priorities lay. As he contemplated the end of Sanctuary he weighed them up in his mind and found that they were accurate, as always.
Sanctuary had been a great asset to him, but it was now in danger, and if it must be lost, then lost it must be. There were greater things to worry about.
His people, his friends, and his loved one…. not necessarily in that order.
By necessity he had trusted very few people in the course of his life. His own people, of course, he had always known and wished to trust implicitly. All telepaths and telekinetics were his siblings after all, and they would one day inherit the galaxy together. Sadly, however, he had learned through bitter experience that too many of them were more like wayward children than attentive brothers and sisters. Too many of them did not understand, and wanted to do things…. differently.
Although he wished for little else than to trust them all, he knew that as a practicality he could trust very few. It was truly sad, but they were his people and he could forgive them anything. He had even forgiven Donne, for her…. misguided actions that had caused her failure, and his current predicament.
But while his own people could be forgiven anything, mundanes were a different matter entirely. They bred like rabbits, they had no regard for themselves or others, and they killed indiscriminately. He did not hate them, but as far as he was concerned they were simply a lesser breed. He did not hate animals for failing to understand how things truly worked, so why should he hate mundanes, who were after all only animals?
Two of them however, much to his surprise, had become his friends.
One of them was by now almost certainly dead, and he was as saddened by Michael's death as he would have been had any of his own people died. A sad, unfortunate waste of life. He had gone to break the news to Michael's widow Lianna as soon as he was sure. He owed his friend that much at least.
His other mundane friend was with him now, putting into action one of the final stages of a safety plan both of them had conceived in anticipation of things going as badly wrong as they had.
Captain Ari Ben Zayn, one of the most talented and experienced soldiers in these troubled times, listened carefully to Bester's requirements, interrupting every so often with a comment or advisory of his own. He had helped devise this plan, but that did not mean he was comfortable with it.
When Bester was finished, Ben Zayn spoke up: "I still think you're taking too much responsibility for this upon yourself," he said. "Surely another of us can take on your role."
"Impossible, as I said. Our enemies know me. They do not know the rest of us. Firstly, we must conceal from them our true strength and numbers, and secondly…. if anyone else takes on my role then they might decide on an alternative strategy and our plan will be wasted."
"It's too risky."
"Life is a risk. Come now, Captain, we do not even know if the Government at Proxima will attack here. They may not know of the exact circumstances of my betrayal. All these preparations may not be necessary."
"Only a fool spends all his time hoping for everything to work out for the best," the scar-faced Captain said bluntly.
"And neither of us is a fool. No…. if they come for us we will know, and we will be ready. Sanctuary is not our only line of defence. You know what to do, Captain."
"I know." He rose from his seat, and saluted. He then turned and made for the door. Just as he reached it, Bester suddenly halted him.
"I…. I have been thinking recently. I wish to thank you for all the loyal service you've given me over the years. I appreciate it, and I do not know if I say that as often as I should."
Ben Zayn thought about this for a moment, and then nodded. "I always know, even if you don't say it. Besides, I owe you far more than this, remember?" Without saying another word, he left.
Bester chuckled wryly. True friends were rare indeed, and he supposed he was fortunate indeed to have one there. But then he sobered up. True friends might be rare, but true love was even rarer.
That was another matter to be dealt with. He had to get Talia away from here before everything fell apart, but he could not tell her. She had never wanted to know about all the darker things he had been forced to do to preserve his people, and he had never wanted to tell her. She claimed to love him for who he was, and nothing more.
"Talia," he said over the comm channel. "I need to see you." He received her acknowledgement and then sat back, thinking about her. He had never been in love before he had met her, and it had been a very frightening experience. Genetically, they were completely incompatible. She was only a P5 after all, and had this been the old days the interests of the Corps would have kept them apart.
But these were not the old days, and he was the Corps. He loved her with all that he was, and the two of them would not be apart.
That was why he hated sending her on these missions, but this was what she had been trained to do. Infiltrate and exploit. The last major mission she had been on had been last year, and had been just as much for G'Kar's benefit as for his. An infiltration mission on the bridge of the Babylon, to observe the progress of humanity's alliance with the Shadows, and later to sabotage their final attack on Minbar.
This mission was for his benefit, and hers. There was an important matter on Proxima Donne had been looking into, but with her death someone else had to fulfill the role, and more importantly it would get Talia away from here. He knew it would be dangerous for her, to be in the stronghold of his potential enemies, but where better a hiding place?
The door opened and she entered, and as always his breath was taken away by the sight of her. She looked so beautiful. He sighed softly.
"You've got something for me, haven't you?" she said as she entered.
"You can read me too well, dear," he said, smiling as she sat down. "Yes, I have. I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer, but…."
"No, don't. I know where my responsibilities lie. I got to see Abby again…. for a little while anyway. And I can tell that something's up here. Something big."
"Ah, yes…." He sometimes forgot that she could pick up on little background details and mesh them into a constructive whole. It was a very useful skill while on a mission, but very inconvenient here, especially when he was trying to keep from her just how serious the situation might be.
"No, don't tell me, Al. I don't want to know." She sat forward, resting her elbows on the edge of his desk. "So," she said, her eyes gleaming. "What's this mission you've got for me, then?"
"What do you know about a human company called IPX?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Interplanetary Expeditions. An archaeological company. Before the war they used to visit dead alien civilisations and try to find useful bits of technology in the ruins. After the war they got a load of juicy Government contracts and refined their searches to anything that might be used to make weapons. They've absorbed a fair number of smaller companies in the last ten years or so. I believe they're one of the top three MegaCorps in what's left of the Alliance."
"Well done," he replied, smiling.
"Do I pass the exam then, teacher?" she said, her eyes dancing. "What about them?"
"They have…. secrets. Fairly big ones. Donne reported back on some very mysterious activities going on, particularly concerning their CEO, Mr. Orin Zento. They have a definite interest in our people, and may have highly confidential links with alien Governments. Find out what, where, why, how and when."
"No problem," she said simply. "How secret is this?"
"Very. Use whatever secret ID you want. Once you've got it worked out, I'll have fake documentation drawn up. You'll likely be based on Proxima at the start, anyway. Do not under any circumstances reveal that you're a telepath to anyone official. Matters for our people on Proxima may just…. get a little unpleasant before long."
She raised an eyebrow. "Been up to something, have you Al? It all sounds reasonable to me. When do I leave?"
"As soon as you can." He hesitated. "Ah…. one other thing. You'll have a bodyguard assigned to you."
"What? Al, I work alone. I always have. It's safer that way."
"Not here. I worry about you, and…. the way things might develop on Proxima, an assistant might be necessary. I trust him implicitly. He's been one of my personal aides for a long, long time. He's a P twelve and a Psi Cop, although he's been specialising in military and personnel protection recently.
"You do remember Byron, don't you?"
Assassination was an easy thing to arrange among the nobility of Centauri Prime. By means of poison, knotted rope, knife or gun, there were always those who would be willing to kill their fellows for money. Some of course were more professional than others.
And some worked not for money, nor for political gain or personal power, but from a fanatical sense of determination. Such people did not care if they were captured or killed in the process, so long as the target was killed. Three Emperors had died at the hands of such people in the course of the Republic's history.
Little more than two months after his ascension, Emperor Londo Mollari very nearly became the fourth such Emperor.
He was on a tour of the devastated cities of the homeworld, taking in the repair work of areas badly damaged during the rioting and bloodshed that had accompanied the near civil war. Gallia had been an important city, centrally placed, straddling several vital trade routes and containing many of the nobility's private estates. Londo's soldiers had saved the city from assault by the fanatical and insane Shadow Criers, and Gallia had been spared the fate that had engulfed Camulodo and others.
Despite the stability and safety of the city however, there were some who heard the whispers of a greater power in their mind, those who worshipped fire and darkness and who in an enlightened madness acted on the whims of lunacy.
"The Darkness is coming!" cried the ragged figure as he burst through the ranks of the crowd. Guardsmen moved forward instantly, shielding the Emperor, only to be barged aside by the insane strength of the Shadow Crier. A plasma blast seared his shoulder and leg, but still he charged forward.
"The Darkness is coming!" he cried again, as he bore down upon the unmoving Emperor. A small blade glinted in his hand.
"The Darkness is coming!" he cried, lunging at Emperor Mollari, heedless of the guards nearby.
At the last moment a blast struck his arm, tearing the weapon from it. He fell, and the swift actions of the guards succeeded in restraining him.
He continued to spit and cry out as he was led away, but the Emperor did not notice. He turned to the person who had fired the shot that had saved him, and let out a short laugh when he saw who it was.
"Mr. Morden," he said, looking at the smartly dressed human before him. "Well well. I have not seen you for some time. Very propitious timing there."
"A pleasure to see you again," the human replied. "Congratulations on your elevation, your Majesty. I come with what may be an interesting proposition from my…. associates."
Captain Dexter Smith waited patiently outside the door, ignoring the suspicious glances of the Security Forces watching him. He was more than a little perturbed by the climate here however. He knew he had been away from Proxima a long time, but things hadn't been this divided before, had they? It seemed as if factions were developing, increasing gaps between the Security Force and the military itself.
Symptoms of something larger, perhaps?
Truthfully, he had not really wanted to return to Proxima. He was fully aware of the mistakes he had made, and he had been truly willing to surrender himself for his crew. He had in fact been expecting trial on Kazomi 7, but for whatever reason that had not happened.
And then, when Ambassador Sheridan arrived, one of his purposes had been to release all those imprisoned after the battle. An exchange of prisoners had been made; Smith and a few others for a group of Drazi 'terrorists' and Brakiri merchants who had unwittingly fallen foul of some of the more stringent Wartime Emergency Provisions.
What had happened to the other humans freed from Kazomi 7 he was not sure. Most of his crew had been released voluntarily not long after the battle. Lieutenant Franklin had elected to stay behind, and as far as the Government was concerned, he was dead. There was one other transfer involved, but that was conducted in the utmost secrecy.
The door opened, and President Clark's personal secretary stepped out. "The President will see you now," she said.
Smith nodded and walked through the door, glad he had not been required to don his full dress uniform. It would have felt even less comfortable and fitting to him than the standard uniform he was wearing now.
There were three people seated at the table before him. In the middle was President Clark himself, his face carefully expressionless. Smith had met the President before, when he had been awarded the Silver Star for Valour in the final stages of the campaign for Minbar. That meeting had been awkward and unpleasant, and it would doubtless be even more so now.
To the President's right sat General Edward Ryan, former aide to the deceased General Hague and currently head of the military operations of humanity. He was also in personal command of the Morningstar and had been present at the Battle of the Third Line. He looked…. disappointed, but also uncomfortable. It was no secret that he was personally held in little esteem by the Government.
And to the President's left sat Mr. Welles, Chief of Security and holder of various unofficial and secret positions within the Government. Smith was not truly certain how he felt about Mr. Welles. He had come to him shortly before his departure for Epsilon Eridani, and had sought to determine the strength of Smith's loyalty to humanity in a confusing conversation. Smith had been under the impression that, whatever Welles had wanted from him, he had not received it.
"At ease, Captain Smith," said the President.
"Yes, sir."
Clark then fell silent, reading from the notes in front of him. It was an exercise in intimidation, obviously, but it wasn't really working. After witnessing the arrival of those massed hordes of inky black, screaming ships in the skies above Epsilon Eridani, very little could intimidate him again.
"Explain your actions at the Epsilon battle, Captain Smith," said Clark, finally.
"I made…. errors of judgment, Mr. President," Smith replied carefully. He had rehearsed this nonstop, but actually saying the words came harder and harder. "I accept full responsibility for the failure of the mission."
"I see. I have received a full report from General Ryan, who has described your behaviour as…. 'erratic' prior to the beginning of the battle, but he comments on your bravery and courage in forming a rearguard to allow General Ryan, the Morningstar and the Marten to escape once it became clear that all was lost.
"I have very little doubt that you are a good soldier, Captain Smith, and you are clearly a brave man. Your decorations declare as much." The President looked directly into Smith's eyes, and sighed. "However, there has been a great deal of…. controversy surrounding you and the Babylon. Numerous minor faults and damage, the mysterious engagement at Beta Durani last year, and of course the presence of a dangerous saboteur among your bridge crew, a saboteur who subsequently escaped from confinement in this very building."
Mr. Welles looked less than pleased at this.
"However, very little blame for this can be attached to you, Captain. In retrospect, making the Babylon our flagship was a mistake on my part. I had hoped that it would have positive connotations for the public, and serve as a useful rallying point. In doing so, I overlooked the fact that it is an old ship, and too closely associated with the…. famous, or perhaps I should say infamous, Captain Sheridan. Expecting you to take over his position was too great a burden for any man.
"You are not to be court-martialled, or called to account for any of your errors of judgment, Captain Smith. Many…. strange decisions can be made in the heat of battle. You will be honourably discharged with full rights and pension. You have been a good and loyal servant of humanity in this difficult time, Captain, and all humanity owes you great gratitude.
"You are dismissed, Mr. Smith."
Faith manages.
Delenn had always believed that, and she had faith. But as she went to keep her appointment she was wondering just to what extent her faith was helping her here.
Ambassador David Sheridan had been on Kazomi 7 for over two weeks now, and some preliminary deals had been agreed. A prisoner exchange had been the most concrete evidence that he meant what he said, and the establishment of trade pacts between the Alliance and Proxima 3 seemed promising, but the larger issues were only now being dealt with.
What did the Shadows want? Could there really be peace? She wanted to believe it, but everything she had been taught, by Kosh, by Dukhat, everything she had seen with her own eyes at Proxima, at Minbar, at Epsilon 3…. all those things argued against it.
But to hope, perchance to dream…. Lethke had been right. Peace would be a truly great thing, if it were possible.
But she was still worried as she entered Ambassador Sheridan's personal quarters, the base of the delegation.
He was seated at a desk, looking over various documents. He looked up as she entered, and for one brief moment she saw in his eyes the same light that burned in John's, and she was troubled. John had rarely spoken of his family to her, and she did not even know his father's name, but there were similarities — in expression, tone of voice, posture; little things that came and went, and that she only just caught.
"Ah, Madam President. Come in. Thank you for coming. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you," she said, sitting down across from him. "My title is not President, by the way."
"Of course not," he said smiling slightly, as if at a private joke. "Forgive an old diplomat for being a little…. set in his ways. I'm not used to people in positions of authority such as yours…. not having a title. It makes those moments of formality a little easier, doesn't it? What is your proper title, then?"
"I have never needed one. My name is Delenn, Ambassador. You may use that if you wish."
"No, I don't think so," he said, and then he paused, shaking his head. "That would…. hardly be appropriate."
"Why did you request this meeting, Ambassador?" she asked, feeling ill-at-ease. The room…. seemed far darker than would normally be the case. Oh, on the surface it was little different from any of the other diplomatic quarters in the building: comfortable enough, large enough for an Ambassador and his staff. But there was something just below the surface. A hint of darkness, of corruption.
Or was it just her imagination?
"I…. ah…. wanted to present a proposal to you, and to show you something. You in particular, partly because you're the leader and the focus here, but also because…. of who you are. You're Minbari, the only Minbari on the Council here, and as yet I believe Primarch Sinoval has not deigned to provide an Ambassador here."
"Primarch Sinoval…. has his own concerns."
"Yes, I believe he does, but…. that's a matter for another day. Of all the races currently alive and active…. Of all the younger races, I meant to say, the Minbari have had the most contact with us. You are the only one of the younger races still in a position of power after fighting in the…. troubles a thousand years ago. The Ikarrans and the Markab are all dead…. the other races, such as the Tak'cha, have…. faded away somewhat.
"But the Minbari…. they are still…. not as powerful as they were, but they still have influence. You have influence, particularly here."
"I do not represent my people here in any way at all," she replied, with just a hint of anger. "I speak for the Alliance, not for the Minbari."
"Of course. And that is why I asked you here. You…. the Minbari I mean, have long had contact with the Vorlons. You have been…. indoctrinated, shall we say? Indoctrinated with their belief system.
"I invite you to come to Z'ha'dum and see things from our perspective."
Delenn rose to her feet and made for the door. "I am no fool, Ambassador. I recognise a trap when I see one."
"No trap, just a genuine offer…. such as one diplomat makes to another."
"If matters proceed well, then we might consider placing an Ambassador from the Alliance to…. Z'ha'dum, or to Proxima Three…. but I will not go there."
"Ah, but such a person would not be Minbari, you see. Whatever we say here, you will never be able to overcome a thousand years of Vorlon influence. Come to Z'ha'dum…. and we can show you."
"No."
"Even now you are succumbing to their brainwashing. The Vorlons are not your friends, Delenn! They are far more your enemy than we could ever be."
She ignored him, and continued towards the door.
"Well, then…. before you leave, there are two other concerns. One involves a certain…. Captain John Sheridan." She spun on her heel and turned back to face him. "He is in a critical condition, I understand. The Shadows, as you call them…. they have great expertise in biogenics. They can cure him. He can come with you to Z'ha'dum…. and be cured."
"And what would be the price of this cure?" she asked, her voice hollow.
"He is my son," the Shadow Ambassador said simply. "He belongs with me, and with his people. Bring him to Z'ha'dum…. and he will be cured. He will be alive. You claim to love him…."
"I do love him!"
"You claim to love him," he continued, as if she had not spoken. "If you do, surely you can see that this is an opportunity for him to live. Can you risk that simply because you have been so much influenced by the Vorlons? Can you let them kill my son?"
"I love John more than anything," she whispered. "But…. I was told that the cure you possess…. it would mean he would be enslaved to the Shadows…. forever."
"You've been listening to the Vorlons for too long. We don't want slaves."
"Then what do you want?"
"Come to Z'ha'dum and all will be explained."
Slowly blinking away her tears, she turned and left.
He waited until the door was closed, and then sighed. A figure appeared from the next room and walked over to the human still sitting at the desk. "Well," Sheridan asked, "what did you think?"
"She is…. different," came the halting reply. "She has changed a great deal."
"The entire galaxy has changed since you last met her. Will she listen if we tell her what we have told you?"
"I…. don't know. Possibly. Possibly not."
"Well…. there's nothing more I can do about it. Damn her stubbornness!"
"Being stubborn is her prerogative."
He said nothing. He was thinking about his son…. He wanted John to recover, but that could not happen unless Delenn changed her mind and came to Z'ha'dum. They had made that perfectly clear. He had tried pleading with them, but to no avail.
Either she came to Z'ha'dum…. or John would die.
His life in the hands of the Minbari who had ruined him. An altogether unpleasant thought.
The bargain had been made, and the agreement had been carried out. The past was now dead, and the future…. that began now.
Secure and safe within the bowels of its ship, a being as old as it was, the being who sometimes thought of its name as being Ulkesh pondered its situation. This moment had been planned for a long time, long even by the standards of the Vorlons. Victory at last was within reach.
And it would begin here. A place with the unpleasant name of Kazomi 7. A place where an alliance of races had been formed, haphazardly, by the merest chance, without rhyme or reason, simply rising awkwardly from the happenstance of history and the whims of the Enemy.
It was here now, and it would create order from the chaos. It would bring about the future, and the ultimate victory. A thousand years ago they had failed, due to the weaknesses of certain members of their race. They had had a chance for absolute victory, and it had slipped from them. That would not be so this time.
The Enemy were here already. That did not matter. That was irrelevant. They would fail. They would be defeated and destroyed, and all trace of them wiped from the galaxy.
The Vorlon cruiser emerged into the skies above Kazomi 7, and at that exact moment, across the planet, certain people noticed. Delenn of Mir sat up in her chair by the bed of the unconscious John Sheridan, who moaned in his delirious sleep. Ambassador David Sheridan swore loudly, but accepted that he had gained more time than might have been expected.
And Lyta Alexander started, her eyes glowing with an immortal light, as she awaited the arrival of the one she would have to follow.
"So, Mr. Morden, what have you been up to since our last meeting? A fair few months ago, was it not?"
Londo slowly poured a drink of brivare for himself, and held the container up towards Morden as an offer. With a shake of his head, the human refused. Londo nodded, and walked back to his seat.
"It's been over a year and a half by my calender, Emperor Mollari. I've been…. busy. Business here and there. You know how it is. I had a fair amount of meetings and arrangements on Proxima. I spent some months as a…. guest of Primarch Sinoval and his charming people. Exquisite hospitality there, let me assure you. Anyway, I heard of your recent…. troubles here and thought it prudent to come and offer my assistance."
"We could do with some, let me tell you. But…. to be honest, Mr. Morden?"
"Honesty is the foundation of all lasting partnerships, Emperor."
"Not among my people, it isn't." Londo smiled, and sipped at his drink. "We are gravely weakened by our recent…. how did you describe it? Troubles, yes. We cannot let word of this weakness leak out to the other races, least of all the Narns. When the time is right, we will make our presence known to the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven and to…. the other races. But for the time being….
"Well, you understand, I am sure…. we cannot go on bended knee to other races. Not even to your associates, Mr. Morden. And I am afraid I still do not know nearly enough about you…. or them."
"Ah. You weren't this…. cautious before."
"I was a landless and rootless wanderer when I accepted your offer on Sanctuary. Now I am the Emperor, and the lives and souls of every single Centauri rest on my shoulders. A little caution is understandable, is it not?"
"Oh, indeed. And I respect your candour. Very well then. What do you wish to know? Ah…. is this room…. secure?"
"It is my personal, private audience chamber. Which means of course that every noble in the Republic has tried to bug it at one time or another." He chuckled, and sipped some of his drink. "But for the moment…. there are no listening devices. There are five guards outside the door, and twelve more at various strategic points along the corridor. The only other person in this room is my personal bodyguard there…. Mr. Lennier, whom I trust with…. my life, amongst other things.
"Trust me, Mr. Morden. Everything you tell me will be in the best of hands."
"Shaal Lennier, yes." Morden looked at the Minbari, standing silent and still in the corner of the room. "Yes, of course.
"Well…. what do you wish to know?"
"Who are your associates, for a start? And what do they want with me? Nobody ever offers something for nothing."
"True enough, and they will benefit from this deal just as much as you will, Emperor Mollari.
"But…. to begin at the beginning. I was once an employee of an Earth company called Interplanetary Expeditions. Have you heard of them?" Londo shook his head. "They were an archaeological company who investigated alien ruins on dead worlds, looking for leftover technology and so forth."
"Ah yes. Sounds rather like some of the departments of our Ministry of Resource Procurement. A bunch of corrupt megalomaniacs to a man."
Morden chuckled. "Well, IPX was not quite that bad. Anyway, when the war with the Minbari came we suffered badly, but we recovered during the aftermath and absorbed certain other smaller companies. All rather boring business history stuff.
"About seven or eight years ago, I was part of a Government sponsored team, looking for alien technology on certain worlds in uninhabited areas of space. We needed anything that could help us oppose the Minbari. One of the worlds we visited was on the border of Narn space, in a fairly backward area. It was called Sigma Nine-five-seven.
"Something…. lived there. Aliens…. ancient ones. They contacted us, in a spirit of…. interest, I suppose. They explained to us what they were, and what they wanted, and we did the same. In exchange for certain…. services…. they provided clandestine help for my people, and my company.
"You do know of the Vorlons, don't you, Emperor Mollari?"
"The Vorlons? They are your…! Great Maker. Yes, I know of the Vorlons. But…. this raises a few more questions than it answers, Mr. Morden. The Vorlons are…. from what I was told, anyway…. enemies of the race called the Shadows, correct?"
He nodded.
"Then why did they do nothing when your Government made an alliance with the Shadows?"
"They didn't exactly do nothing. Unfortunately a different faction from the Vorlons who greeted me were in power for a long time. They were more…. peaceful, and did not want to risk a direct confrontation with the Shadows — except for the engagement at Proxima a few years ago."
"I was there," Londo muttered.
"Well, this…. peaceful faction recently lost power, and my associates among the Vorlon hierarchy took over. They are more inclined to direct action. In time…. they will try to remove the Shadow influence from my Government…. but they wish to help as many other races as they can first. Including yours."
"I see…. Other races? What about the Alliance?"
"A Vorlon Ambassador is being posted there as we speak. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar has had a long and beneficial relationship with my associates, so he should welcome their assistance."
"And so would we. But…. here is the question, Mr. Morden. The sixty-four thousand ducat question. What will this help cost?"
"We wish only to benefit the younger races in the galaxy. But…. there is a small price. They would like to post a permanent Ambassador here. They may also require…. at some point in the future…. assistance from your Government, should they elect to go to war with the Shadows. They will definitely not ask anything more than you can pay. Supplies, perhaps. A garrison for their vessels here. Support ships, maybe.
"But they can offer you a great deal. Help in ending this war with the Narns…. and military assistance should it be needed. They will also be able to rid you of these…. problems…. with the Shadow Criers. They have as much interest in that as you do."
"Hmm…." Londo looked deep into his glass, swilling the remains of his brivare around. It had gone cold by now. "You make an interesting argument, Mr. Morden. I assume you have full authority to conduct a formal treaty?"
"Oh yes. Completely."
"An alliance with the Vorlons…. It is a more than tempting offer, Mr. Morden, but I must discuss matters with my Government. I assure you that only they will know of your offer. In the meantime, you may feel free to treat this palace as your home."
"I would be honoured, Emperor. I leave you to your deliberations, then. Good night."
"Good night, Mr. Morden."
Londo was deep in thought as Morden left.
There is a finite level of rage that most people can manage: a built-in limit to just how angry they can get. For some, this level is higher than for others.
Delenn very rarely rose to the upper levels of her anger, certainly not in the way that people such as Sinoval did. In fact, she could recall having been this angry only once before, and she was well aware of the terrible mistake she had made then. This time was different though.
There would be no mistake this time.
She sat in silence, looking around at the Council members. Each of them was as determined and as convinced as she herself. Taan Churok was on the verge of open violence, but then he and Vizhak had been opposed even to the idea of negotiations almost from the start. What they had learned today had only heightened their anger. 'I told you so's' would be flying around soon enough, but in Drazi fashion, which was much more dangerous. The Narn Ambassador G'Kael looked a little uncomfortable. He was after all a newcomer here. Vizhak had argued for leaving him out of this meeting, but Lethke and Delenn had overruled him. If the Narns were to be fully involved in this, they had to understand.
And as for Lethke…. he was calm, but inwardly he was just as angry as the rest. More so, even. Brakiri were a trading people, and always had been. They took great offence at being approached in anything less than good faith.
And there was one other. He was silent, still, unmoving.
The door opened and an aide appeared, a Brakiri, formerly a member of the Trading House here. "Ambassador Sheridan is here," he announced.
"Excellent. Send him in," Delenn said, keeping her tone neutral.
The Shadow Ambassador entered, looking unruffled and perfectly at home despite the abruptness and timing of his summons.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, entering. "It is an honour to meet with you again. May I infer from my summons to this meeting that you have reached a decision?"
"You may infer whatever you wish, Ambassador," Delenn said coldly, rising from her seat. "But you are right. We have reached a decision…. and that is this.
"There can be no peace with the Shadow. None at all."
If they were expecting a reaction, they did not get it. "Ah. A grave disappointment."
"Is that what you call it, Ambassador? You should consider yourself fortunate that you are merely…. disappointed…. and not receiving a much worse fate."
"I do not appreciate being threatened."
"I am not threatening you! I am making a promise. A complete…. and total promise. There will be no peace with the Shadow. Not now…. and not ever."
"May I know the reasons for…. this…. hostility?"
"Indeed you may. I believe you know Merchant-Captain Kullenbrok?"
"The name rings a bell." He sat still for a moment, seemingly lost in memory. Delenn realised that he knew full well of whom they were speaking. "Ah yes. One of the individuals we exchanged for Miss Ivanova and Captain Smith."
"Indeed. He was a prominent member of a Brakiri Merchant House on this world before the Drakh invasion…."
"As I have said…. my associates did not sanction that attack in any way, shape or form. The assault on this world…. was carried out by an independent faction of the Drakh warrior caste. My associates…. both human and Shadow, merely managed to use their contacts with the Drakh to release the prisoners."
"Yes…. you have said as much. I do not believe you, Ambassador. The Drakh attacked this world on the direct orders of your…. associates. But that is not the issue here. Merchant-Captain Kullenbrok killed himself last night in his room. As was inevitable…. we investigated his death, and our ally Vejar here…. discovered something. Do you know what?"
He shook his head, smiling.
"Vejar."
The technomage stepped out from the shadows in the corner of the room. He was carrying a small, transparent box, constructed from some sort of crystal. Inside the box was a small grey mass. It stirred, and something opened, revealing a malevolent, brightly-shining eye. It burst into a flurry of motion, extending limbs from its body and thrashing against the side of its prison.
"It seems to recognise you, Ambassador," Delenn said, as Vejar laid the box down on the Council table. Vizhak surreptitiously slid as far away from it as possible. "You know what it is?"
"I am sure you have no interest in my answering that question."
"I am sure I already know the answer. It is a Keeper, a foul device created…. or harnessed by your associates. We have detected countless numbers of them upon our citizens here…. a legacy of the Drakh occupation, and of your passing. We checked out the other…. prisoners freed in the exchange. Two of them have disappeared, but the other three were all possessed by these Keepers.
"You have acted in considerably less than good faith, Ambassador…. and we reject your offers of peace, because we know they are false. We do not want war with either of your associates…. but if that is the only choice we have, then that we shall choose."
"I have full diplomatic immunity," he snapped quickly. "But in the grand scale of things, my life means nothing."
"Calm down, Ambassador," Delenn said slowly. "We will not harm you. Not because of your…. 'diplomatic immunity', but because we are better people than you." Taan Churok growled softly. "You have one hour to gather your belongings and leave Kazomi Seven. And after that, if you or any members of your staff are found within Alliance space…. you will not leave it alive.
"Am I clear?"
"Perfectly. In that case, I wish to make just one point." He looked around the table, pausing at each figure. "Brakiri. Drazi. Narn. Minbari. You are all dead. Each and every member of all your races. We offered you peace. We offered you assistance…. and understanding.
"There will be no peace now. Your choice. Not mine. Not ours. There will be no peace. There will be only death, and the worms and the rats will crawl through this room when we are done, and your Alliance of paper and string will consist only of the dead.
"A sad loss, to be sure. And an unnecessary one. But with you gone…. perhaps the other races will listen. No one ever said we could win all the time."
He turned and stalked from the room. When he was gone Delenn sat down, shooting a warning glance at Taan Churok as he leapt up. "No," she said. "We have given him an hour. Vejar…. I think you had better follow him…. Be sure he does not…. do anything inappropriate. If he is still on this planet after an hour, kill him."
The technomage nodded and left the room. The air seemed to crackle with each movement.
"We should have killed him," Vizhak said angrily. This was one of the few things he and Taan Churok had agreed upon since the Alliance had been founded.
"We should never let our enemies live," growled his Drazi companion.
"We are not murderers," Delenn said firmly. "And this Alliance will not be built upon the callous shedding of blood. But it seems we will have to prepare for war. Ambassador G'Kael, will you be able to arrange a meeting for me with G'Kar? I had…. hoped he would be here."
"He wished to…. avoid too firm a link with the Alliance. Precisely to avoid this sort of situation."
"Well, the Alliance and the Rangers are moving in the same direction now. As we should have been from the start."
She sat back in her chair and looked around at the other members. "Well…. we have lasted over a year, and but for two major battles it has been a peaceful time. I am very much afraid that none of us will ever see peace again in our lifetimes."
Vizhak muttered something in the Drazi language, and Taan Churok chuckled. Delenn took a moment to translate, and then she smiled sadly.
It was an old Drazi proverb. 'Peace comes only with the grave. Yours…. or theirs.'
"And how did the meeting go?"
"As…. well as could be expected, I suppose." Delenn looked at G'Kar carefully. He had spent the last few months slowly recovering from his injuries. She had spent as much time as she could with him, but that had been sadly very little. The business with the Alliance, the peace talks and…. John had kept her away. A shame. She felt there was much to learn from this Narn. He had somehow embraced an inner peace that had escaped almost everyone else. In all the galaxy, he alone was sure of his place, and his direction.
And now he was running around, packing, behaving with considerable energy.
"I would have liked you to have been there."
"Ah…. no. You did fine without me, from the sound of it." He stopped, and looked at her carefully. "You are sure about this choice? It will not be an easy war."
"Wars never are," she replied sternly. "But yes, I am sure. I want peace, yes…. but not the peace we would have had by surrendering to them."
"Hah! Exactly. But still…. things will be difficult. They have a considerable start on this, but all is not yet lost. We have allies out there. All we need do is find them."
"Allies? Such as who?"
"Well…. before the battle I would have said Mr. Bester…. but it seems that particular relationship has well and truly run its course. Oh well…. but even without him, there is Primarch Sinoval, if no one else. If we can get him on to our side…. then…. In him we could have the greatest friend we will ever need, or the worst enemy. And Emperor Mollari, of course.
"I do not think we are anywhere near as alone as it might seem."
"Perhaps. I…. You look as if you are preparing to leave."
"Oh, I am."
"Was it…. something I said?"
"No. I have…. certain obligations to various allies and contacts I acquired before entering the Machine. I spent two years trapped in metal and rock, and now my body is my own again. It is time I started fulfilling my obligations. There are people I have to see, and things I have to do…. and I have to do them alone."
"You cannot leave now! Your injuries…."
"I can see…. I can speak, I can touch, I can walk and I can think. I need nothing else."
"We need you. We need your Rangers."
"Ta'Lon will fill in here for me. He is a good man, and he will lead the Rangers some day…. if not all of Narn."
"A prophecy, G'Kar?"
"Simple wisdom. It is something we all have, but few of us know how to use. All the knowledge I have gathered is with him, and he will be able to use it just as well as I could. And…. he will follow you."
"Me?"
"Of course. Neroon would have followed you anywhere. And Ta'Lon will honour his friend's memory. Neroon loved you deeply, and Ta'Lon will honour that love. As do I."
"Neroon…. yes. I…. I have missed him."
"We all have, but he is with us, Delenn. All of the fallen are."
She blinked, and smiled slowly and sadly. "Where will you go first?"
"Hmm…. There is an old Narn legend of the prophet G'Quan, that when he went seeking wisdom, he first went into the lair of the…. ah, it is hard to translate. Humans have legends of beasts called 'dragons', I believe…. and they are as close as any other. G'Quan went into the lair of the dragon on the first stage of his quest for wisdom. And so shall I."
"And where will you find this…. dragon?"
He smiled. "Centauri Prime, of course. Where else?"
"She does not love you. She will never love you. Not while he is there."
"Do you think I don't know that!?"
Sonovar smiled, dancing slowly around Kozorr. He had spent the last few months observing his fighting style, noting the adjustments made to compensate for his injuries. Kozorr had developed something new, and very interesting. But as for Sonovar's other purpose, that was working as well.
"Tell me about Sinoval," he said slowly, making sure to keep just out of reach of Kozorr's charge. That shortened pike of his could make a very deadly stabbing weapon, but it lacked the range of a full denn'bok.
"What is there to tell?" He was not moving very far. His weak leg saw to that. No, Kozorr had become the rock, sure and steady, willing to let the enemy come to his ground, come to where he could deal with them. "You know him just as well as I. He trained you, after all."
"Indeed he did. But the Sinoval I know is long gone. Maybe he died when we besieged Earth, or maybe a little afterwards. Or maybe it was during our attack on the Earthers at Proxima. It doesn't matter. The Sinoval who trained me would never have done the things this…. Primarch Sinoval has done."
"He is the same person he always was."
"You think? Tell me, Kozorr…. what were your feelings when you heard he had been made Holy One…. leader of our Grey Council?"
"I…. What does it matter?"
"Then I will tell you what you thought." He darted inwards, lashing out at Kozorr's legs. The shortened pike came down in a strong parry and then darted out in a riposte. Sonovar dived back, and only just dodged the attack. "You were exultant, overawed…. at last a warrior had come to lead us again. Our greatest warrior. We would be strong as a people, triumphant over our enemies. No more would we suffer the whining platitudes of the priestlings or the weak-willed inferiorities of the workers.
"We would be the strong, the brave, the mighty.
"We were betrayed."
Kozorr was silent, moving slowly and stealthily, each motion an economy of effort. His face was expressionless.
"Shagh Toth in our highest counsels. The Grey Council destroyed. Our world in ruins. The return of the Prophet cast aside as a mere rumour. A worker one of his most trusted allies, setting policy for warriors born! Sinoval has betrayed us!"
Kozorr's eyes flashed with anger. He had a weakness, and it was Sinoval's worker whore. Sonovar had seen that long ago. He did not despise Kozorr for his feelings, but he did despise Kats for manipulating them.
"Kats is as much a warrior as we are. She merely follows a gentler way."
Sonovar chuckled. "Ah, Kozorr," he said, straightening. "I know of your feelings for her, and there is nothing wrong with them. But not even you can claim that a worker belongs in a position of authority such as she holds. She is Sinoval's pet…. and she will never love you the way you love her."
"That…. does not matter to me."
"Why do you follow him anyway? He has betrayed us all. Do you honestly agree with everything he has done? Shagh Toth? Fleeing from Minbar and leaving it for the enemy? Are those the deeds of our great warrior leader?"
"He…. had…. reasons."
"Of course he did. But are they our reasons? Are they the reasons of the true warriors, or the motives of a power-hungry traitor?"
"I follow him because I swore I would. As you say, he is a warrior, and…. while I do not agree with all he has done…. he is a warrior, and my leader."
Sonovar smiled, and nodded. "Then help me make him the leader we all want him to be. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than to see a true warrior leading us. I want only to ensure that happens."
"He is a true warrior."
"You think? Help me, Kozorr. Help me make me the leader we all want."
"I…." He bowed his head. "I concede the fight to you. Let me return to my cell."
A dry chuckle. "Of course. But first…. some refreshment?"
Exactly on cue Forell shuffled into view, bearing a tray containing two goblets. Sonovar was not sure how he had known the priestling was there. He simply…. had. He was somehow getting a feel for where he was.
"I bring you your elixir, my lord," Forell said humbly. "And…. something for your guest?"
Sonovar grabbed one of the goblets and held it to his mouth. The liquid inside was a thick, red elixir. It smelled of something he could not quite identify. He paused slightly and lowered it, acting on an impulse he could not quite understand.
"Where are my manners?" he asked. "A glass for you, my guest?"
"I am not thirsty."
"You should drink, my lord," Forell said. "It is a medicine of sorts."
"I…. Ah, very well." He pointed to the goblet in Sonovar's hand. "I will take that one," he said seriously.
"It is not poisoned, I assure you," Sonovar said, handing it over. "What would be the point of that? But yes, here you are." He took up the second drink and downed it. It tasted…. sweet. Very sweet. It was also slightly warm.
Kozorr sampled his delicately. Once he was sure that Sonovar had finished his, he drank it all and handed the goblet back to Forell. "What was that?" he asked.
"A refreshing and invigorating serum from my home, my lord. I was born in a small village on Owari Nine. A herb grows there in the mountains, and it was made into this drink to benefit our warriors."
"Well, Kozorr…. you wanted to return to your quarters."
"I think…. I think I am ready for another sparring match. Tell me more about your intentions for Sinoval."
Well. It was over. He had failed.
He was not angry. Well, not much. He had not been expecting a great deal, to be honest, and he had thought this a fool's errand from the start. Too much influence on Delenn from the other side. Without her…. the rest of the Alliance might be swayed, but as it was….
Oh well. Things were shaping up. Battle lines were being drawn across the galaxy. The Alliance on one hand. Humanity on the other. The Narns were still undecided, and negotiations were still going on amongst the Centauri. The…. other side had one of their representatives there, but then there was an eminently practical man fairly highly placed who was willing to make deals with Z'ha'dum.
And then there were the undecided. The tiny worlds. The small, little empires. The Sh'Lassan Triumvirate. The Gaim. The Vree. The Hyach. The Abbai. Either members of the Alliance but with very little tie, or completely neutral. All small, easily snapped up by whichever side chose to go for them.
But there was one thing none of them could count on. The cosmic wild card. Sinoval. Influencing him to join either side was a futile effort. Oh, not that they hadn't tried. The other side had attempted assassination, but…. there had been other ways, originating from Z'ha'dum. They had failed so far, but…. things were progressing well enough.
How long did he have left? An hour, Delenn had given him. Hmm…. no, they would not be likely to let him see John again. A shame. He wanted to see his son again. It might be for the last time. Delenn would not be at all interested in coming to get the cure now. Well, if she saw what the cure was doing to certain Minbari, she would not want it anyway.
He sighed. He missed John. He was all that was left of his family. A man should always have a reason for fighting, for striving. Oh, the betterment of the race, liberty, fraternity, equality, freedom…. all of these were good buzzwords and slogans, but he knew that none of them meant anything. A family. Blood. Love. They were things worth fighting for.
So why was he still fighting? Why hadn't he retired and gone back home to die in peace, and be free from all the errors of his past?
He had another reason for pursuing this war. Something else he had said when asked his fatal question.
"What do you want?"
Peace. My family safe. An end to the nightmares. My people safe.
And revenge on the ones who did this to us.
With a soft sigh, David Sheridan fixed the memory of his son and only surviving child in mind as he went to catch the shuttle that would take him away from John's deathbed.
Someone else was at John's deathbed, someone who had just begun a terrifying war that would no doubt create many more deathbeds, and ensure that there were too many people to fill them.
As she looked at him, Delenn gently touched his forehead. He was sleeping. At least she thought so. His skin was very hot, almost painful to the touch, but she kept contact with him. Before long she would lose the chance.
"Delenn?" he whispered at last. "Are you…?"
"I'm here," she said softly in reply. His eyes flickered open. They were bloodshot and haunted.
"Had…. dreams…. Dreaming now…. See…. things…."
"What things?" she asked. According to the reports she had received, Kalain had been delusional for many months as the virus coursed through his system. He might well have suffered hallucinations.
John chuckled softly; a hideous sound, entirely devoid of laughter. "My…. Dad…. I…. saw…. my Dad…. He was…. working for…. for…. them…." The sweat was standing out on his brow. "A…. stupid…. dream…. wasn't it?" The last two words were a plaintive cry.
Delenn blinked away tears. "Yes," she lied softly, thereby making the second greatest mistake of her life, one that would be even harder to atone for than the first. "Yes. It was just a dream.
"Just…. a dream."
The next day the new Vorlon Ambassador came before the Council of the United Alliance. He gave his name as Ulkesh Naranek, and Delenn shivered as she recognised him from a long time ago, another life. Lyta walked before him, as his herald. He had been here for some time, and he had been waiting. Waiting for the mortal beings to make their own choice as to where they stood.
Elsewhere, Ambassador David Sheridan returned to Z'ha'dum and reported his failure sorrowfully to his superiors. He provided as full reports as he could on all the members of the Council, save one. The report on Delenn of Mir was left to his aide, the one person who had once known her better than anyone else alive. Neroon's analysis was most comprehensive.
Captain Dexter Smith went out into the cities of Proxima 3, and inevitably found himself among the people of his old home. Sector 301. The Pit. It had changed very little since he had last seen it. He found an apartment and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling long into the night.
On Centauri Prime, Mr. Morden met with an old acquaintance, and was delighted to hear that Vir Cotto had gone up in the world slightly since their last meeting. Much was said about Emperor Mollari and about Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. Meanwhile, Lord-General Marrago and Minister Durano continued their graceful, elegant dance around each other, gambling their lives, their future and their planet on who would win their little contest for power over the other.
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar was somewhere out in deep space, making preparations for his arrival on Centauri Prime. He was somewhat surprised to discover that Mr. Morden was already there.
Alfred Bester sat alone in his dark chair, thinking about the day when Sanctuary would become anything but.
Kozorr and Sonovar spoke long into the night; about Kats, about Sinoval, about the Soul Hunters, about honour and duty and the warrior's code. By the time the night was over, Kozorr had unwittingly agreed to Sonovar's plans. It would merely take a little longer to reinforce the suggestions. Forell hung ever-attentive in the background.
Ulkesh Naranek spoke of war.
And somewhere in deep space, at a vital crossroads on a Brakiri trading route, four Shadow vessels shimmered out of hyperspace and attacked the three Brakiri trading ships they encountered there.
There were no survivors.
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