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| Volume 2: The Death of Flesh, the Death of Dreams | Part I: The Cost of Alliances |
THE black and terrible storm which we have predicted for so long is coming at last. We can see it raging across the galaxy, bringing chaos and terror where it passes. The recent battle at Proxima Three has merely confirmed our fears. Others may see it as simply an extension of the Earth / Minbari War which began fourteen years ago - just another battle, albeit one which showed that the Minbari can be defeated. A significant event now, perhaps, but one which will soon be forgotten in ten or twenty or fifty years.
We know differently.
Knowledge always has a price, and as our knowledge is greater than any others', so must we pay more than any other. Power has a cost, and that cost is power.
We know. The Ancient Enemy has returned. It was their strength, not the pitiful defence force of the human Resistance Government, which cut the Minbari fleet to shreds in the skies above Proxima Three. And were it not for the arrival of the other Ancient Race then the Minbari might well have been annihilated there and then. Humanity may delude itself all it wishes, but their actions here have damned them.
Incidentally, I do not count myself as being human any longer. I have moved beyond that.
And so we are going. We have always known that one day we must. Power has a cost, and that cost is power. For good or ill, power is always used, and we must make sure that it is used correctly. We are not pawns in the struggle between Vorlon and Shadow. We are not the Younger Races, too concerned with our own struggles to note the cost of our actions. We are not human, or Minbari, or Narn, or Centauri. Though our numbers come from many races, we have all put aside what once we were.
We know, and that is all.
But even knowledge is finite and ephemeral. While it is our task to preserve power, it is the task of others to preserve knowledge. We cannot leave without them, without knowing that they are safe. While we did not create them, we have always worked together. Technomage and Vindrizi. They hold the knowledge that we use. The Vindrizi have been lost, scattered, broken even. We must find them, and free them. Their knowledge is as valuable as our power.
I merely hope that we find them in time, and I find myself wondering that even one such as I, even a technomage, can still find time for such an emotion as hope. I feel that that particular revelation frightens me more than any thought of my death.
The personal thoughts of Elric, leader of the technomages.
* * * * * * *
The Narn was trying to run. At least, that was the closest analogy he could find for his current situation. G'Dan was no stranger to flight. He had been raised, had he not, during the dying days of the Centauri rule of his people. He had fought them, had worked in the resistance against them, had been involved in the war afterwards. No, he was no stranger to blood, to death, to fear.
G'Dan was a member of a proud people. Flight did not come naturally to him, but during his time in the military he had been blessed to be led by one of the greatest heroes Narn possessed. G'Kar. Leader, warrior, orator, dreamer. G'Kar had been a focal point in the First Centauri War. G'Dan had recognised that greatness and he had listened to G'Kar, followed his advice, heeded his words.
There is no shame in fleeing from a superior force, G'Kar had said. We can each only die once, and while none of us should ever be afraid to give our lives for a great cause, we must be sure that the cause we are giving our lives for is worth the sacrifice. For our deaths can only serve once, but our lives can last many years.
G'Kar had said those words during a speech he had made to his crew just before the epic Battle of Gorash, when the Narns attacked the Centauri supply lines in the dying stages of the war. G'Dan had listened and roared his approval, truly convinced that, on that day, he could do anything.
The Battle of Gorash had been a bloody stand-off, but eventually the Narns had been driven back, even with the help of the human Captain 'Starkiller' Sheridan. The war had ended shortly after that, but G'Dan had never forgotten G'Kar's words.
After the war G'Kar had left the military and the Kha'Ri, and he had ventured into the G'Khorazhar Mountains, becoming a preacher of G'Quan. G'Kar was rumoured to be dead, ever since a mysterious attack massacred everyone at his temple. G'Dan did not believe G'Kar was dead. He did not believe G'Kar could ever truly die.
Unfortunately, he did not believe the same about himself.
It had been a routine mission, a simple scout into neutral space, information the Kha'Ri needed to plot out their next attack against the Centauri. The Second Centauri War was only a few months old and already things were showing signs of stagnating in the same way as the first war. G'Dan's mission had been part of a plan to prevent that stagnation.
He hadn't expected to run into a strange alien ship. Not Centauri, and it didn't match any of the ships from the League of Non-Aligned Worlds. The Tuchanq, whose space was nearby, had no ships of this calibre.
G'Dan did not know whose ship this was, but that was not his responsibility. His task was to escape to the jump gate and return to Narn, reporting this to the Kha'Ri.
But his shuttle was too slow, and the alien ship was too fast.
An energy beam sliced past his shuttle, narrowly missing it. G'Dan frantically initiated evasive manoeuvres. He began silently reciting some of G'Kar's words, knowing that if G'Kar were here, then everything would be all right.
His shuttle was suddenly trapped, held frozen and motionless in space, an insect suspended in black amber.
Then the alien ship began to pull it inwards. G'Dan closed his eyes as he blacked out.
And the Streib ship sailed on, into the night.
* * * * * * *
It was quiet in the ready room aboard the Parmenion. Far too quiet, as Captain John Sheridan noted to himself, half in depression, half in anger. This room did not.... feel right. Sheridan had spent years on board the Babylon, a ship that had almost been an extension of his essence. He had been comfortable there. Here....
There was no denying that the Parmenion was a far more impressive ship than its predecessor. The Babylon had undergone so many battles, hasty repairs and last-minute botch jobs that it had almost evolved into a different category of ship from the destroyer class it had once been. The Parmenion was newer, fitter, stronger, deadlier. The Babylon had been the best the Resistance Government on Proxima 3 had been able to manage. The Resistance Government had not been aware of the existence of any other destroyer class starships, and yet here they were - on Sanctuary - two of them. The Parmenion and the Ozymandias. And where they had come from was anyone's guess.
Sheridan mentally corrected himself. Two that he knew about. For all that Alfred Bester had saved his life and given him and some of his old crew a place here on Sanctuary, he did not trust the Psi Cop one little bit. He didn't know quite what it was. So much of what he did was based on instinct, and he instinctively did not like Bester. His forced involvement at the Battle of the Second Line was more than reason enough. Sheridan appreciated accurate information, and when he was thrown into a situation like that without being told who he was supposed to be fighting, it grated.
Still....
For the moment he and Bester had the same enemy. Later, that would undoubtedly change, but for the moment, it would do. As long as G'Kar was here. He did not understand the exact specifics of the relationship between the human Psi Cop and the Narn prophet - although he did know that telepathic DNA was involved somewhere - but he did trust G'Kar.
There was a limited list of people Sheridan trusted. Admittedly it had grown in recent months, but it was still limited. G'Kar. Commander David Corwin, his second, and....
And one other, one who was perhaps both more and less deserving of trust than anyone he had ever met.
"Reaction times are getting faster," Corwin said, reading off the reports of their latest effort at drilling the crew of the Parmenion. Sheridan might still not be familiar with the ship or its crew, but he was determined to get familiar with them, and soon. Before they were pushed into battle again.
"Ko'Dath's got her Narn Bat Squad working at one hell of a pace. They can get to pretty much any area of the ship in minutes. I've never seen a Narn run so fast. There should be no repeat of the time the Minbari boarded us during the Second Line." Sheridan nodded. The Minbari had of course received some unofficial help. He had been betrayed before, but that time things had been different. Seeing the results of that betrayal had erased any of his attempts at anger.
Ko'Dath, however, had been very angry, and had taken his abduction from the ship as a personal insult. The Narn Head of Security aboard the Parmenion was a fiery woman, strong-willed and disapproving of anything and everything. Sheridan found he quite liked her.
"Both Starfury squadrons are up to speed, although Squadron Alpha is still displaying some erratic tactical decisions. I've decided to post Neeoma over to Squadron Alpha. She'll soon sort them out." Neeoma Connally had been one of the old crew from the Babylon, an efficient and talented Starfury pilot. She had stuck by Sheridan out of loyalty, and perhaps because she had nowhere else to go. Her dream had been of championing the cause of the common worker, but the war had ended that for her. The war had ended a lot of things for a lot of people.
"Captain Ben Zayn has been filling us in on a few of the matters you asked about earlier. He's been more than just a little unco-operative, but.... it's better than nothing."
Captain Ari Ben Zayn was the captain of the Ozymandias - Bester's other ship. A dedicated and decorated officer, Ben Zayn was an old friend of Bester's. Sheridan did not trust him either - although he found he quite liked Ben Zayn's telepath, Harriman Gray - but there was no harm in benefiting from Ben Zayn's skills and experience.
"What about Bester? Is he still on our backs about a new telepath?" he asked. Bester insisted that all his ships carried telepaths - the stronger the better. They provided a useful weapon against the Shadows. The Parmenion's telepath, Alisa Beldon, had died from burnout at the Second Line, and Bester had been trying to find a replacement ever since.
"Oh yes. Garibaldi relayed a list of possibilities not long ago. Kelsey, rating P twelve, former Psi Cop. Jason Ironheart, rating P ten, former instructor. Matthew Stoner, rating.... something weird. Abby...."
Sheridan couldn't help but repress a grin. "And did you tell Mr. Garibaldi that we already have a telepath?" Michael Garibaldi was Bester's Executive Officer. Corwin had had dealings with him. Sheridan had not.
"Well.... yes. He doesn't mind, but Bester wasn't happy. I don't know what's been going on between him and Miss Alexander, but he says that her loyalties are a little suspect...."
"Meaning she's not loyal to him. She's staying."
Corwin shrugged and spread his arms. "If you say so. You do realise of course that she hates you?" Sheridan nodded. Lyta Alexander had good reason to hate him. He had been the one, after all, who had sent her lover Marcus Cole to his death, albeit unknowingly. "Well, you're the Captain, I suppose."
"I know full well that she hates me, David, but she's the only telepath here who isn't loyal to Bester. That's worth a little hatred. How is she, by the way?"
"Out of Medlab. Walking around. Dr. Hobbs says that her telepathic powers haven't been lessened by.... whatever happened on Proxima. In fact they seem stronger. She couldn't explain it, but...."
Sheridan shrugged. Dr. Hobbs was one of Bester's people. Until he had reason to do otherwise, he wouldn't trust a word she said.
"Final report?"
"My best guess.... we're ready. Of course we can't be certain until we've actually taken this ship out for another test run - hopefully one where we know what we're doing, this time. But I think we're ready."
Sheridan smiled. If Corwin thought they were ready, then they were ready. He had every trust in his second. "Has Major Krantz indicated anything's going to be up?" The Parmenion's third in command was directly linked to Bester, and therefore not to be trusted one inch. Krantz was a fine soldier, however.
"Not yet."
"Well.... something will find us soon enough, David. Something always does."
* * * * * * *
Her steps are faltering and slow, her breath is harsh and hurts her chest, her head and muscles ache, her sight is unfocussed and often clouded, her hearing unpredictable. For the past three months the woman who was once Satai Delenn of the Grey Council has been a stranger in this new body in which she has found herself. But she has been no less a stranger to her new status.
It has been over three months since she entered the chrysalis, completing what she saw as prophecy, a need to unite the human and Minbari races. It has been three months since her chrysalis was broken open prematurely by the Shadow agent Susan Ivanova, and Delenn of Mir was thrust back into a cruel and unforgiving world.
It has been two weeks since she discovered that she has been made outcast for this action. Pronounced Zha'valen by the same Grey Council on which she once stood. A sacrificial lamb for the ambitions of its powerful leader Sinoval, she has now been stripped of everything she ever held dear. Even the Grey Council is no more, destroyed by the wrath of the Dilgar warlord Deathwalker.
She is a stranger both to her body and to her surroundings, and it is little surprise that she has very few points of reference. She has always believed that she was integral to the war against the Ancient Enemy, that her people would lead that war. This place.... all of this has proved that to be a lie. Human. Narn. Working together in a Circle of Light, following the path that her people had been too blind and arrogant to follow.
The woman who is now just Delenn has never been more lost.
She has tried to comfort herself with the hope that there is one point of focus for her - one place of stability. The man who is in many ways responsible for her being here in this place and at this time. Captain John Sheridan. The Starkiller.
But she has not seen him in over a week. Not since they came so close to kissing. Not since she collapsed, her unpredictable half-human heart betraying her. He has not come to her bedside, has not come to see her.
She winced as she took an unsteady step forward. She was feeling increasingly light-headed and her vision was swimming. She knew she needed to rest, but she had to push herself forward one more step. Just one more.
She managed it and then collapsed on to the chair, her breath coming in deep, painful rasps. Ten steps. That was all the once-Satai had been able to accomplish before collapsing. Still, it was an improvement. Yesterday it had only been eight.
She looked up with eyes clouded over by pain - both physical and mental. A person was stepping into view. A human. She recognised him. It was Michael Garibaldi. He worked for the one who ruled this place.
"Hi," he said awkwardly. "How.... are you feeling?"
"Better," she said hesitantly. "I.... better." There was a pause. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "Listen. The.... ah.... the Boss wants to see you. He says it's something important. In his office. Can you...?"
"I will make it there," she whispered. And she would. All she had left was herself, but any hope that she could still serve, still make a difference.... it had to be seized. She suddenly realised something. "Surely you did not have to come all this way simply to tell me that?" She felt suddenly pleased that not all her perceptions were deserting her.
"Ah.... no. I just thought that.... well.... you might need.... help.... getting there."
He was uncomfortable about something. There was a lot about this that he did not like. "I will need no help," she said softly. "But.... I thank you." He shrugged again and stepped forward slowly, evidently ready to support her if she fell.
She would not fall. Although she was lost in both her body and in her surroundings, she still had something to cling to. Her purpose had gone, her people were lost, her health was fragile, but she was still Minbari, and she could still feel her father's gaze upon her. Her father's, and that of one other.
That of John Sheridan.
And she did walk to Bester's office, and although Garibaldi was close by always, she did not fall.
* * * * * * *
"And Lord Refa survived an assassination attempt last night," said the calmly practical and slightly bored voice. "A fairly simple matter of poisoned brivare, apparently."
"Amateurs," snapped Londo Mollari, former Minister of the Centauri Royal Court, now in exile on Sanctuary, and not to mention dead to most of the Centauri. The powers that ran Sanctuary had finally managed to get hold of a communications link to Centauri Prime, although only through the Valerius - the Centauri warship commanded by Londo's nephew Carn that Londo had somehow managed to involve in this mess.
"Amateurs. And peasants to boot. Great Maker, one does not poison brivare. Besides, Refa does not drink brivare. Let that be a lesson, Timov. Never trust a man who does not drink. It shows he has something to hide."
"Yes, Londo," Timov replied tiredly. Londo missed many things about Centauri Prime, but his wife was not one of them. "Would you like me to continue, or would you rather give me life lessons?" Londo made an angry gesture. "Yes, well. It appears that a Mr. Vir Cotto foiled the plot. He is of course Refa's aide."
"Vir? Bah!"
"The rest of the Royal Court is somewhat subdued. They are still supposed to be in mourning following Emperor Marrit's death. They are of course busily plotting behind closed doors while the Centarum debates his successor. Marrit's cousin Cartagia seems the best bet."
"I've met him," Londo snapped. "If he becomes Emperor then may the Great Maker help us all. What about my other two dear wives? I am sure you are having so much fun dividing my estate up between the three of you, yes?"
"Very funny, Londo. In fact, Mariel and Daggair don't seem to be interested in your estate. Mariel is still plotting with Lady Elrisia and Daggair is busily embezzling as much of your money as she can before the investigators from the Ministry of Taxation get involved."
"Nothing new there, then. Keep me informed, Timov. And.... thank you."
For the first time he could remember, Londo saw Timov completely speechless. She was about to say something, but then she shrugged and the screen went blank.
Londo sat back. Things were not good on Centauri Prime, and they were almost as bad here. He turned to look at his companion. "And where do you fit into all of this?" he asked.
"Me?" replied the human called Morden. "I told you. I'm just a simple trader."
"You will forgive me if I do not entirely believe you. The information you obtained for me.... matches Timov's almost exactly. You must have a very fast means of gaining intelligence."
"Just.... lucky, is all."
"Ah. And then there was that whole business with Lady Morella."
"I didn't kill her."
"No, I'm sure you didn't, but if you did not, then who did? And I would very much like to know how you escaped from that cell back in the palace."
"Yes. I'm sure you would, Minister. And as for the first, I'm afraid I don't know. It wasn't me, though."
"You know what is strange about all this, Mr. Morden? I actually believe you. But that does not mean I trust you. And I suppose you aren't going to tell me how you got on to Sanctuary? Does Mr. Bester know you are here?"
Morden smiled. "No."
"'No' to which question?"
"Just a general no. I'm afraid I'm going to have to be going now, Minister. Things to attend to. You know how it is. I just wanted to come to you to establish that I can be of help. If you need me again, then I'll come to you." Morden turned and walked to the door, and then he suddenly stopped and turned back. "Oh, by the way, Minister. This recently fell into my possession. I thought you might appreciate it. I understand you were going to see Lady Morella on the night of her murder."
"Yes."
"It appears she had a vision that night, concerning you, which she wanted to relay to you. Fortunately she took time to record it first." Morden tossed Londo a data crystal. "You might find that interesting. Good day, Minister."
"Mr. Morden.... just one thing. Nobody ever does anything for free. What do you want?"
Morden's carefully crafted composure slipped a little. "That's a very dangerous question to ask, Minister. Very dangerous indeed. But.... for the moment, I just want to help. We can talk about payment later." He bowed, and left.
"Yes," Londo hissed at the closing door. "I'll bet we will." He would also bet that no one aboard the Valerius noticed Morden as he left. Mr. Morden had a talent for not being noticed. Londo slid his gaze down to the data crystal he held. Lady Morella's final prophecy. Some distrusted prophecies, but Londo found them to be an intriguing, if unpredictable source of knowledge. Had he not had his dream of dying on the steps of the Imperial Throne, strangled by G'Kar, he doubted he would have joined the Narn's little crusade so willingly. Londo was certain he had prevented that death by working with G'Kar, providing no reason for the two to kill each other.
At least, that was what he hoped.
His communications console suddenly beeped and he started, looking up. Carn's face appeared on screen.
"Uncle Londo, I just got a message from Mr. Bester. He wants to see you. He said it was something about what G'Kar had mentioned earlier. Uncle, what are you getting us into now?"
Londo groaned. If it wasn't one thing, it was another.
* * * * * * *
Delenn did not know what to make of most of the humans she knew. Many hated her - and with good reason, she had to admit - and even those who knew about her new status here ignored her as much as possible. She had only found any hint of friendship with John and with Lyta Alexander, who had risked a great deal to help free her. Bester, however, was something very different.
There was a fundamental darkness within him - a submerged pride and an overt arrogance. Among Minbari, telepaths were expected to use their power for the good of all their race. Among humans - or at least, among the new society of humanity she had helped create - the situation was very different.
Still, for the moment, Bester was opposing the same Enemy as she was.
She was uncomfortable in his presence, and the other two people in the room did not make her feel much better. Michael Garibaldi was another human, an official of Bester's. He was unfailingly polite to her and had helped her on her way here, but there was still a vast gulf between them. He was doing his duty in looking after her, but Delenn knew that if his duty ever meant he had to kill her, then he would do it.
As for G'Kar - here in holographic form, only - he exuded a spiritual serenity which embodied everything that she had had, and lost. He was patient, but still bore the inner light which had made him almost a messiah to his people.
The door opened and in walked a Centauri. Delenn did not really know Londo Mollari, but she did know that he had been one of the first members of G'Kar's Circle of Light, and was a man also recently lost to his people. If nothing else, Sanctuary was becoming a gathering house for exiles.
"Apologies for my lateness," Londo said. "I was.... attending to business with Carn. You know how it is. So, Mr. Bester.... G'Kar, what can I do for you?"
"You had better sit, Minister," Bester said, indicating a chair with his right hand. Bester, G'Kar and Garibaldi were all standing, but Delenn's condition would not permit her to do the same. Was Bester only being polite to her? Londo sat down beside her, and shot her a curious look. Then he shrugged almost imperceptibly.
"I called you here because you are one of the few people in this galaxy with any experience of the matter in hand, Mollari," G'Kar said. Bester did not look happy that G'Kar was speaking. "And I requested your presence, Delenn, because what will happen here will have a direct influence on your life. Mollari, you know of the beings known as technomages?"
"Great Maker, yes! I met one once, a long time ago now. They were more common then than now. I doubt that any have been seen for decades."
"No longer," Bester said. "We have recorded sightings of them, many of them, moving in League space. They have been moving slowly, gathering more of their number during their travels. They have recently stopped, and are congregating on a Drazi colony world called Kazomi Seven. We...." and here he looked at G'Kar, "we have been trying to initiate contact with them, but have always been rebuffed."
"I see your mind is hard at work, Mollari," G'Kar said, with a hint of irony. Delenn saw that Londo was indeed thinking.
"The technomages have long been associated with my world," Londo breathed. "Three of them blessed our first Emperor. Their word.... even their presence.... at my side.... that would be a powerful endorsement. Maybe even enough to end the strife on my homeworld. Maybe enough to decide a new Emperor."
"We had hoped that would be the case," G'Kar said. "They are well known in the galaxy, and if they were to join the Circle of Light, then that would be a powerful symbol. There is also the matter of their power, and knowledge. What they can teach us.... about the Enemy, the War, our best means of survival, perhaps even the future. We have been trying to arrange an audience for some time, but we have always been refused. Perhaps your experience with them can elicit another reaction?"
"Perhaps," Londo muttered, still deep in thought. "Great Maker, it might be possible."
"And where do I fit into this?" Delenn said softly. She could feel G'Kar's gaze on her, tinged with pity despite all the light years it had travelled.
"There is no way to reverse your condition, Delenn," he said quietly. "Nothing we know of can halt your genetic degradation. Nothing we know of. The technomages might be able to do something. We cannot save your life, but they may be able to."
"And if my life is not worth saving? I am little use to you now."
"You do not know that, and it is surprising where worth may be found. Ask yourself this, Delenn. Do you have anything worth living for?"
A pause, almost tragic, and one soft, almost silent, reply. "Yes. I think so."
"Then you must go with Minister Mollari. You have knowledge that may be of use to him, and.... you might not survive any wait it would take for them to come here."
"So little time?" she whispered.
"Perhaps. Nothing is certain."
"Then I will go," Delenn said. "Not for what I have done, but for what I may yet do in recompense."
"We cannot send a fleet, or a full emissary," G'Kar said. "The technomages would not accept us if we did, and besides, our ships are needed elsewhere. This is a critical time for the galaxy. We are all holding our breath."
"We can however send one other along with you," Bester said. "He has.... certain skills, but more than that, he has sworn to protect both of you."
"When should we leave?" Londo asked.
"As soon as you can. Time is not a commodity we have much of."
"I will need to deal with a few things first," Londo said, "but I can be ready within a few hours." G'Kar nodded. "And you, my companion?"
"The same," Delenn said haltingly. "There is something.... someone I must.... A few hours."
"Good," Bester said. "I have arranged for a shuttle to take you to the jump gate at Sector 203. From there, you should be able to obtain passage to the Kazomi system. Once there, the technomages should not be difficult to find. I will alert the other."
"Good hunting to you," G'Kar said. "We need their help, but so do both of you, if you are to fulfil your dreams. May G'Quan favour you."
"I hope somebody does," Delenn heard Londo mutter as they left. Her every step felt like a mile, but she kept walking.
She would not fall.
* * * * * * *
"And you will do this.... You will.... accept this!"
If she ever needed proof that the Song and the Land were irrevocably dead, all nuViel Roon had to do was listen to the venom in the voice of noMir Ru. Neither of them was a warrior. None of the Tuchanq were. Not even when the Narns had destroyed their Land, destroying the Song with it. Not even then.
It had taken a war to free them - a war between Narn and Centauri. The Narn had bigger concerns, although it was still a mystery as to whether their departure from the Land was due to the need for economy or was some, belated, gesture of acceptance.
nuViel Roon did not care. All that mattered to her was that the Land was free. She had tried to raise the Song again, but everywhere she had looked she had found only bitterness and anger, as she was seeing now.
"What choice do we have? He has offered to help us."
"As he offered to 'help' us before! Have you forgotten so much?"
"I have forgotten nothing! What matters is the Land, and the Song. The ships we took from the Narns have taken us into space. We are beginning to forge new relationships with our partners. They have a different Land from us, a different Song perhaps, but it is through them that we can return the Song to our people."
"Do not treat me like a songless one! All this I know."
"Then why do you not know what I am telling you? These invaders.... whoever they are.... they threaten what few ships we have. They threaten the bonds we are slowly forging with our neighbours. I do not know who these.... Streibs are, or what they want. But I will not see the Land enslaved again."
"Then why do you return it to the ones who enslaved us before?!"
"Because he will help, and no other will."
"Your Song is twisted.... Perhaps you need a new one. I am sure the.... monster there will help provide you with one. He has 'helped' us before."
nuViel Roon made no sign of sorrow as her friend left, shifting her body so that she walked on four legs, loping away through the shattered ruins of what had been their Land. She did, however, watch as her friend disappeared from view.
"I am sorry that you had to hear that," she said at last.
"Every word of it was true," said the shimmering figure who had been watching in silence. "But my offer is sincere, and my words genuine."
"I did not doubt it, G'Kar. Your Song has changed greatly. Perhaps there is hope for our people yet."
"We can but hope," whispered the holographic image. Countless light years away, his body was trapped in the Great Machine, unable to move from it, unable to leave it. He wished that he could stay there forever and never again have to gaze upon the legacies of his past.
But G'Quan does not reward the still, or the silent.
* * * * * * *
Never a day passed when Lyta Alexander did not remember the sight of his eyes, that one last time as he died.
She had loved Marcus Cole, a fact she had not realised until it had been too late. He had loved her too, and now he was dead.
During her early years in the Psi Corps, she had been assigned a companion to help her adjust, a kindly man named Xavier. She had never forgotten perhaps the greatest piece of advice he had given her. "The curse of the telepath is loneliness. We are forever isolated, not just from normal humans, but from each other. None of us will ever know true companionship in this life, Lyta. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be."
She thought she had.
She rose from her bed and rubbed at her eyes irritably. She was not sleeping well lately. The injuries she had sustained at the hands of Susan Ivanova still niggled at her, but they were not the reason. She dreamt. Of Marcus, of Delenn - she could feel Delenn's pain, almost like a phantom injury - of the Vorlon who spoke to her, and who had refused to help when she was on the verge of death.
Lyta Alexander had tried to accept her solitude, but some days it was hard. So hard. Whenever she was alone, she saw Marcus' eyes.
And reflected in them, she saw the dark heart of the Enemy. The Enemy incarnate in Susan Ivanova. The Enemy who had killed the only person she had ever loved. The Enemy whom she knew she was being forged to be a weapon against.
Lyta's mind could see across the galaxy, even to the dark, dead planet from whence the Enemy came. Lyta's mind could see so far, but her thoughts were always on Marcus, and the sight of his dying eyes....
* * * * * * *
Delenn thought she was used to harsh glances by now. She thought she was used to whispers of accusation and to bitter glares. She had, after all, been among humans for almost a cycle. After enduring Mr. Welles' coldly sadistic torture, after enduring the horrific destruction of her chrysalis, and the pain of being made Zha'valen - outcast.... after enduring all of that, she had dared to believe that nothing could ever hurt her again.
She had been wrong.
She was not crying. She did not know why she was not crying. She certainly felt like it.
It was a few hours since she had returned from seeing Captain Sheridan. She had made the long, difficult journey on to the Parmenion, wincing with every breath and trembling with every footstep. The shuttle ride from Sanctuary to the Parmenion had given her a chance to rest, but once on board the ship, her pain commenced anew.
She had no idea where John would be found, and she found no one willing to talk to her. The security guard who had admitted her at the ship's docking bays alerted the Head of Security - the fiery Narn Ko'Dath - to Delenn's presence, and she had curtly been given permission to be on the ship. Ko'Dath claimed not to know where Captain Sheridan was.
Delenn's first target had been the bridge, for obvious reasons. After a torturous journey there, she found it in the command of Major Krantz. He told her that Captain Sheridan and Commander Corwin were performing a tour of the ship, running more drills. Perhaps she should check the weapons bays? There was nothing unfriendly in his voice, but there was no hint of compassion there either. It was just a simple matter-of-fact brusqueness.
Could he try to contact Captain Sheridan through his link, she had asked. Oh no, he couldn't do that. It might disrupt the drills.
And so she had travelled to the weapons bays, and from there to the mess hall, and from there to the Starfury drop points. There she met Commander Corwin, who told her that Captain Sheridan was out flying one of the new type of Starfuries they had inherited with the Parmenion. At least Delenn had been given a chance to rest, although Corwin was, in many ways, worse than Major Krantz. Corwin's gaze was openly distrustful. It was probably just concern for John, she thought. After all, David had come to her for help once before.
When John returned, Delenn started and rose shakily to her feet. He noticed her and momentarily came to a halt. Then he resumed walking past her as if she did not exist. Corwin looked at her, less warily than before, but he said nothing either.
Slowly, Delenn managed to speak John's name.
"Not now, Satai," came the reply. "I'm afraid I'm very busy."
And then he had walked on, leaving her perhaps more alone than ever.
* * * * * * *
"You didn't have to be so brusque with her," Corwin said finally, after several moments of uncomfortable silence broken only by terse questions about the ship and her crew.
"She shouldn't even be on this ship. It's a security risk. What was Ko'Dath thinking of?"
"Sir.... I'd like to think that you wouldn't let personal matters get in the way of your responsibilities. I understand that a lot has happened for you lately.... for all of us, but...."
"Why is it you only call me 'sir' when you're telling me off? I am fine, David. I have no problem with Delenn. I have no problem with what has been.... 'happening for me lately'. The only problems I have at this moment involve getting this ship sorted out just the way I like it."
Sheridan's link suddenly chimed and he started, as if very surprised. He made a rueful face. "Untrue," he whispered to himself. "Whoever invented these things should be dragged out into the street and shot." He activated it. "Captain Sheridan here."
"Ah, Captain." Both Sheridan and Corwin subconsciously straightened. Ari Ben Zayn - the captain of Bester's other destroyer class ship, the Ozymandias. A veteran of all kinds of warfare, it was rumoured that he only lived for fighting. What ties he had to Bester were uncertain, but he was definitely loyal to the Psi Cop. "Having any problems with the ship?"
"None whatsoever, Captain. A fine ship. A fine crew."
"It's been my experience that a ship and a crew are only as fine as the ones who lead them."
Sheridan's eyes darkened. "Yes, mine too," he replied.
"Anyway, we'll soon be given a chance to find out just how fine that ship of yours is. Mr. Bester has a mission for you and the Parmenion. I requested to be assigned it, but he evidently feels you need a little time to grow into the ship. Report to his office as soon as you can. Then report to the bridge of the Ozymandias, where I'll brief you on the current situation."
"What situation?"
"Tell me, Captain. Have you ever heard of the Streibs?"
* * * * * * *
"Ah, Satai Delenn. All ready, I see?"
"I.... am as really as I will ever be, Minister Mollari." Delenn had not needed to pack, she had little worth packing. Minister Mollari evidently did. Delenn was certain she detected the faintest whiff of alcohol about him.
"Well, this is where we are supposed to meet the third member of our little party, is it not? You Minbari do believe in doing things in threes, do you not? I suppose this must feel very.... appropriate?"
"Perhaps."
"Ah, well. This is going to be a fun journey, I see." Delenn started as a figure suddenly moved out of the darkness around them. Londo started too, but then he smiled, and let out a loud laugh.
"Mr. Lennier! Well, I'll be a triple-damned son of a Xon! When did you arrive here at our little gathering house for exiles and refugees?"
Lennier bowed. Now that he was nearer Delenn could recognise him. A keela poet of great skill. Although she had never met him before, she had heard of his work. She had not known that he was another agent of this Circle of Light.
"I arrived yesterday morning, in secret. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar felt that my presence here should remain that way. It would not.... do for me to be seen to be linked here."
"Oh?" Delenn said softly. "And why not?"
Lennier did not look at her. It seemed doubtful if he was even going to reply. "If we are questioned, then I am myself, travelling on a tour to some of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds. Kazomi Seven is a Drazi colony and Drazi have little fondness for my people, or our poetry, but I understand it is a growing.... fashion among some of the Llort and Brakiri worlds. You, Minister Mollari, are to be my patron, although in reality, of course, I am your bodyguard."
"And I?" Delenn said softly. "What am I to be?"
Lennier again did not look at her, although this time there was less hesitation before he answered. "You are to be kept hooded at all times. If questioned, you are Minister Mollari's servant. To me, you are Zha'valen, and therefore of no interest at all."
Delenn actually looked up and met his eyes boldly. His gaze was firm, but then he looked away, and turned back to Londo.
"Ah, an adventure!" the Centauri was saying. "Just like in my youth! Ah.... I feel almost young again. This.... ah, Mr. Lennier, this is going to be such fun!"