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| Volume 2: The Death of Flesh, the Death of Dreams | Prologue: And What is Yet to Come |
IT was the dawn of the third age of Mankind, at a time when it seemed Mankind would finally have a future once again. For over ten years we had been running scared, our home planet gone, our people scattered, enslaved, pursued. The Minbari's holy war had all but destroyed us, and for ten years our last, best hope had been one man - Captain John Sheridan, the Starkiller.
But now everything had changed. To save themselves, humanity had destroyed themselves. Offered the assistance of the Shadows, we had taken it, and begun the strike back. Demoralised by their defeat at the Battle of the Second Line, the Minbari were in retreat, in disorder.... in chaos.
It was the year when darkness reached out its hand across the galaxy, a time when light, if it even existed, flickered only in small, brief corners. And yet.... and yet there is always hope.
The year was 2259, the dawning of the new age in the galaxy.
Commander David Corwin, personal diaries.
The skies were quiet now, containing only the silent, shimmering, dying ships which humanity had feared for over a decade. The Minbari had assembled the mightiest fleet they could, and had brought it to Proxima 3 to crush the last vestiges of humanity. They had found unexpected opposition and their great fleet had been cut to ribbons. Their Grey Council had been betrayed and killed by one of their own, and small matter that the guilty one was dead, for the legacy would live on.
The Minbari had fallen in the skies above Proxima 3 and the ruins of their spaceships were testimony to that. Only the mysterious and unexplained arrival of a Vorlon fleet had allowed any Minbari ships to escape at all.
To the Minbari, these ships were memories of a great loss and symbols of a great shame. To the humans, they would be the key to the new age they were creating with the assistance of their allies.
President Clark steepled his fingers and looked at the figure before him. Clark was many things, and ambitious was one of them. Even before the Minbari had arrived at Proxima, he had been preparing for what would happen after their defeat, and then for what would happen after that, and after that.... Clark had his own plans for the human race, plans to transform them from the slaves and frightened outcasts they had been for the past eleven years. He was very aware that he might not live to see the completion of his vision, but he would begin it at least. That was something.
And of late he had been growing more and more convinced that he would survive. The voice that spoke to him at times, the visions he saw in his dreams, the resurrection of a determination he had thought lost with the fall of Earth....
President Clark had a Keeper. He might not realise it, but he was a slave, and a slave who does not see his chains is no less a slave.
"Well?" he said.
"I think I've managed to understand their shielding system," said the man before him. "It's not as complex as we'd thought. I'll need to perform a few more tests, but once I've managed to re-modulate our tracking systems, our ships should be able to target theirs easily. This isn't really my field, but...."
"We all learn to adapt, Doctor," Clark said tersely.
Dr. Vance Hendricks chuckled. "I suppose so."
Clark was slightly irritated at the man's casual attitude to him, but he did not let it show. Vance Hendricks was a genius, after all - albeit in the field of exo- and xeno-biology. Analysing alien technology was not new to him - although the technology he analysed was usually several hundred years old.
"The Narns have been pressuring me again," Clark said. Strictly speaking, the Narns were humanity's masters now - granting mankind sanctuary in their space in exchange for heavy taxes and political power. The Narns were always anxious to gain new technology, and the knowledge of a wrecked Minbari fleet floating free in space had aroused their acquisitive instincts. They wanted the technology, they wanted the ships.
Clark smiled slowly. The Narns would get their technology, but they would have to pay for it. Humanity would not go on bended knee to alien races any more.
"But.... the Narns will have to wait," he finished. "Find out as much as you can, Doctor. You have time, but not an infinite supply of it. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to contact me."
Clark had his vision, of a humanity spreading out among the stars, not as slaves, but as masters, bringing the alien races to their knees.... and the Minbari.... bringing the Minbari to their deaths.
Inesval was running, his breath hard in his mouth. He had never thought that he would see this day. He had never dreamed that he would see this day.
He stumbled, and scrambled to his feet, his normally graceful Minbari footsteps abandoning him in his fear.
He had lived in Yedor for many years, working peacefully, content with his place, content with his life, a life that had been taken from him. He still remembered the day when word had reached Yedor. The Grey Council was dead, only Satai Kalain and Holy One Sinoval surviving. The others were all dead, slain by one of their own, slain by Satai Hedronn. Inesval did not believe that could be true, but there was said to be evidence, a recording made by the Centauri Ambassador, Refa, before he had left for his homeworld.
Inesval still did not believe it, evidence or no, but what he believed did not matter. What the warriors believed did. Satai Kalain was filled with a holy blood rage, so like that which had destroyed the Earthers ten cycles before. Only Holy One Sinoval could rein Kalain in, and Sinoval was gone, simply disappeared, a phantom in crystal.
Minbari were killing Minbari, all across the Federation. The worker caste was being hunted down in retribution for Hedronn's murder of the Grey Council. All across the Federation workers were appealing to the religious caste, but their pleas were being ignored. All across the Federation, workers were being killed.
A shadow fell across Inesval and his hopeless flight ended. He accepted his fate at last, whispering a silent prayer to Valen.
"In Sinoval's Name, worker," blasphemed the warrior before him. The Holy One's name was never to be spoken, and certainly not in the same way as Valen's. "In Sinoval's Name, face justice."
Inesval pushed back his fear. "Minbari do not kill Minbari," he said. "Not since before Valen's time. Valen said...."
"Valen is dead," snapped the warrior. "And his ways have finally died with him. In Sinoval's Name, worker, face his justice."
Inesval did not see the warrior's pike move. His eyes were closed, but had they been open he would still have seen nothing. The motion was simply too fast.
The warrior's pike crushed his throat.
Minbar was burning....
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar had been many things in his eventful life - slave, outlaw, leader, warrior, prophet. He had seen a great deal, done a great deal, had forged the beginnings of an alliance that he hoped would long outlast him. The Circle of Light, it was called - a light to oppose the Darkness which was sweeping the galaxy. He did not have the nerve to call his soldiers Rangers, although he did hear that that was how some of them referred to themselves. Neroon might have made objection to that - of all of G'Kar's Circle of Light, Neroon alone had served with the real Rangers - the Minbari had inherited a legacy centuries old, a legacy G'Kar was trying vainly to fill.
Neroon might have objected, but the Minbari was now dead, having given his life on Zagros 7. Ta'Lon - Neroon's partner and friend - had told G'Kar everything in person - here, at the heart of the Circle of Light - but there had been no need. G'Kar had known.
He was tired.
Neroon had been more than a servant, or a soldier. He had been a friend. One of the few in G'Kar's life, and certainly one of the small number who were not Narns.
The war was escalating. Shadow involvement in the Battle of the Second Line had been far greater than G'Kar had expected. He had not been anticipating an action like that for months - even years to come. This was not how G'Quan had said they worked. They hid, waited behind the scenes, starting smaller wars, bringing darkness and chaos.
This whole business with the humans and the Minbari bore their mark all over it. There had been no need of Shadow involvement to start this war, but its savage escalation at the Battle of the Second Line, and the inevitable human counterattack.... they were behind this.
G'Kar's plans would have to be altered. He had not been accustomed to planning over a long period of time. During his days as an outlaw on an occupied Narn, and afterwards in the Kha'Ri, there had been time for short-term solutions only. He had made many enemies that way.
But still.... he was learning to adapt. Long-term plans would be needed. Very long-term. Perhaps so long that he would not live to see their completion, but he could accept that. He was beginning something here, something which would last for a thousand years....
He delved into the infinite memories of the Great Machine and sought some records. From a human secret mission. Ships had flown above this planet and the Great Machine had recorded their presence. The Machine recorded everything.
G'Kar began to study the files of the Babylon Project: Mission 4.
"Well?"
Alfred Bester resisted the urge just to pick the information he needed out of Lillian Hobbs' mind. Not for any moral or ethical reasons, mind you, just because it would be a lot of effort, and he didn't really feel like it. Besides, he wasn't a doctor and doubted he'd understand much of the situation. After all, cases like this were pretty rare.
"Her genetic structure is degrading," Dr. Hobbs replied. "I have no idea what was used to mix human DNA in with hers in the first place, and I doubt I'd understand it if I did. Her current collapse was caused by temporary respiratory failure, which I've managed to stabilise. She should be able to come off the respirator in a few days. Unfortunately there's no way I can fix her condition. Odds are it'll just keep on getting worse as her cellular structure falls apart. Her biology is an odd mix of human and Minbari and it's not cohabiting very well."
"I see." Bester didn't need to read her mind to know that Dr. Hobbs was telling him the truth. He had been talking about this matter a lot with G'Kar. Both of them recognised the importance of their patient, even with her recent.... demotion.
Bester was allied with G'Kar out of necessity, not belief. Oh, he didn't want the Shadows ruling the galaxy any more than the Narn did, but ultimately their goals would lie in opposite directions. Still, that was for the future....
For now, it was a simple matter of supply and demand. Bester could provide the telepathic DNA that G'Kar needed to create his Narn telepaths to use against the Shadows, as well as the highly skilled manpower of his small fleet - two heavy class destroyers, the Ozymandias and the Parmenion, and a handful of smaller ships. Bester had plenty of telepaths in his service, and if G'Kar was right, then telepathic powers were like gold dust in this war. Not that Bester had any intention of letting his telepaths be used as cannon fodder, mind you.
Oh yes, and he also had two very skilled captains in his service. Captain Ari Ben Zayn, veteran of countless battles and a former member of the Earthforce Special Intelligence Division, and Captain John Sheridan, the Starkiller, probably the only human the Minbari actually feared.
And speaking of Captain Sheridan.
"Strange, I thought he'd be here."
"I'm sorry?"
Bester waved his useful right hand in negation. He then turned and left. He'd have to talk to G'Kar about this. Hopefully the Narn would have uncovered something. He left Delenn behind him, trapped motionless in the medical equipment which was preserving her life, a statue in crystal and glass....
"You see, Vir. There is no place like home." Lord - until recently, Ambassador - Refa took a good look around the throne room of the Royal Court. It was empty, the entire court supposedly still in mourning for that dead idiot Marrit. The late Emperor - and it felt so good thinking that - had only done one sensible thing in his life, and that was rescind Refa's exile on Minbar. But then, his appointment as Ambassador there was largely worthless now that there was no Grey Council to be Ambassador to.
Behind him, his attaché and dogsbody Vir Cotto followed, eyes downcast. Vir had been depressed ever since they had left Minbar. Refa supposed that he had learned about that leaked evidence of the Grey Council being murdered by one of their own. Well, it had been payment for services rendered. That strange alien woman - the Dilgar.... she had performed a certain favour for Refa in exchange for that payment. Refa had not seen her since. Rumour had it she was dead.
Refa looked at the throne, empty and shrouded in black. He smiled slyly, unable to resist it.
He sat down.
"Very comfortable, Vir. You should try it." He rested his arms on the side and kicked his legs out. A precursor of things to come, perhaps? And why not, he thought. These were troubled times for the Centauri. Surely, an able, talented, ambitious man could rise to the top? It had been done before.
It was all a matter of how many you were willing to kill.
"We've got a good crew here, Captain. They're fast, loyal, they know what they're doing...." Commander David Corwin looked up at the man he had dedicated his life to serving. Captain John Sheridan - the Starkiller - had that distant look in his eyes again. It was there less than usual lately - the aftermath of the Battle of the Second Line had been filled with a flurry of repairs, replacements, drills.... The crew and the Captain of the Parmenion were still getting used to each other.
"Loyal," Sheridan said. "That's the point. Loyal to whom? How many of the old Babylon crew are here?"
Sheridan and Corwin had escaped Proxima 3 on board their previous ship - the Babylon - a few minutes ahead of charges of treason. They had only managed a bare skeleton crew, and Bester had insisted on returning the Babylon, and some of its crew, back to Proxima. Ostensibly because he didn't want humanity's last major colony to be defenceless. Actually, because.... well, who knew why Bester did anything?
"Not that many. Franklin went back on the Babylon.... We've got Connally and a few of our old Starfury pilots. Zack was left behind on Proxima. Only a handful. Unless you count Miss Alexander, of course. And then there's Delenn...."
Sheridan ignored the mention of Delenn. "How much do you trust Bester?"
Corwin looked around. Conspiratorial conversations were not exactly new to him, and the first thing he knew was to exercise caution. Captain Sheridan was known for many things, but caution was not one of them.
"He won't have this room bugged," Sheridan said, evidently noticing Corwin's train of thought. "He's a telepath, for God's sake. Besides, I checked. So, how much do you trust him?"
"Honestly.... not much, but at least he's against the Shadows as well. And there is G'Kar."
"Yes. G'Kar I trust.... sort of. Bester.... nope. Not at all. And as for that old saying - 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' - I don't believe it. Bester has his own agenda. So does G'Kar for that matter. As for what it is.... we'll have to see. God! I hate conspiracies. What do you think about Miss Alexander?"
"I don't know. She's one of the few people here who isn't a part of Bester's power structure. We still don't know what happened to her on Proxima and she doesn't want to talk about it. On the other hand, we need a telepath here if we're going to run into any more of those Shadows, and I'd rather her than any of Bester's people."
Sheridan smiled. "Right."
Corwin looked at his Captain again and swallowed harshly. "Captain.... what about Delenn?" It had been eight days since she had collapsed and been taken to Medlab, and in all that time Sheridan had not even mentioned her once. Corwin didn't like Delenn - for all her change in appearance she was still a Minbari - but the Captain did. Corwin had been watching their growing bond with a mixture of distaste and mistrust, but he had to admit that when he had had need of Delenn - when the Captain was nearly suicidal after Anna's death - she had come through.
"I don't want to talk about her," Sheridan said.
"But...."
"That is final."
Corwin looked at Sheridan again. The Captain's face was stern and gritty, but Corwin had not risen this far without being able to read people. That was not his final statement regarding Delenn. Not by a long shot.
Londo Mollari, the late Minister of Centauri Prime, was not drunk. This was something of a new situation for him, but Sanctuary only had that revolting Narn liquor and he would honestly rather drink his own blood, so he was managing on water.
Ever since his lunatic action at the Battle of the Second Line, throwing his nephew Carn's warship - the Valerius - into battle against the Shadows, Londo had found himself unofficially co-opted into the little conspiracy here at Sanctuary. Of course, he had been a member of G'Kar's Circle of Light for a long time, but only as an agent, an informer - he would provide the odd bit of information here and there, assist a fellow agent where he could, whisper a few words in the right ear.... Now he was stuck slap bang in the middle of things, and he did not like it.
He was supposed to be dead, of course. Assassination attempts - a regular and natural occurrence in the Centauri Royal Court - were getting a little too frequent and close for his comfort, and so, on the advice of his dearly beloved wife Timov, he had pretended to be dead and had retreated from Centauri Prime. And now he was stuck here. And he was bored.
Carn was busily integrating the Valerius into the military here at Sanctuary, running drills, getting rid of any crew members he didn't trust, liaising with Captains Sheridan and Ben Zayn.... all the usual military stuff that Londo had rejected as being too much like hard work. Londo meanwhile was left with nothing to do. He was cut out of the loop regarding matters at home, as G'Kar now did not have a permanent agent on Centauri Prime. That was being rectified, and once Vir had fully set up business there, then Londo would actually have something to do, but for the moment, he was bored, and he didn't even have the pleasure of getting drunk to fall back on.
The door opened, and Londo turned. Ah yes, there was something he could do.
"Hello, Minister," said the mysterious human called Morden. "You're looking well."
He looked at the rubble before him, prodding at it absently with one toe. He could sense the death everywhere. It flooded the area. It was not a matter of smell, or taste, or sight, just a.... feeling. He sighed. He would be turning into a Shagh Toth before long.
He had been hearing a lot about this Circle of Light recently. He did not believe in using agents as such. Spying was beneath such as him. Still.... look where his pride had got him. He had learnt a valuable lesson recently. You cannot fight the Darkness while remaining in the Light.
But as his soul was already damned, then what did it matter?
He had believed himself pure, he had believed himself just, holy, ready.... the figure who would lead his race to their prophesied glory.
He had been wrong, as had been abundantly proved to him. He had led his race only to disaster, and only to death.
He still remembered the vision he had experienced as a child. He had thought it had come from a pure, holy source. He must have been wrong. His destiny had surely not led to the glory of his race.
But this Circle of Light.... they were intriguing. He had not imagined before that any other race could fight against the Enemy - save for the Vorlons, of course. The other younger races were weak, impure, corrupt, dishonourable. The Second Line had proved him wrong.
Centauri, Narns, even humans.... all had fought the Enemy at the Second Line. As they would have to fight the Enemy again. His people surely could not any longer. He had damned them.
And what would she say to all of this? She who had always known the way, been as convinced in her rôle as he had been. She, whom he had sacrificed on the altar of his ambition.
He did not care.
Sinoval, formerly Holy One of the Grey Council, formerly Entil'zha of the Anla'shok, formerly Satai, formerly Shai Alyt, formerly warrior, turned and walked away, now none of those things. Now, just a humble pilgrim before Valen's eyes.
What would her God say to her if He could see her now, her life measured in numbers and amounts, and maintained by machines? Does He even care, or does she? Did she stop believing when the life was torn away from her home, or perhaps when she had landed on that dread, dead planet and forever lost her soul? Or maybe she had stopped believing earlier, when her mother took her own life?
Only one person could answer those questions, and Ambassador Susan Ivanova was in no condition to do so. Her injuries were severe and her life was at the mercy of that self-same God who had cast her here.
Silent, staring eyes were fixed on her. It was hard to see the woman beneath the mass of machines and tubes, harder still to see the woman behind the façade she had always erected around herself. General Laurel Takashima thought she could.
Takashima did not know why she was here, only that she was drawn here. She put it down to instinct, a feeling that had rarely betrayed her before, except at the Battle of the Second Line. Takashima still did not know why she had led the Babylon against the Shadows that were, after all, humanity's allies. She did not know why President Clark and Mr. Welles had not mentioned it to her, had not even seemed to be aware of it.
There were many things that Laurel Takashima did not know, but she was at last discovering one thing - that there were things she did not know. And she was determined to find them out.
And she had a feeling that the first clue lay with the comatose woman whose life lay in the balance before her.
Alfred Bester was a telepath, and a powerful one at that. He did not surprise easily, and even the sight of a Narn hologram appearing out of nowhere in his office and walking through his table caused him only a moment's start.
"Greetings, G'Kar," he said. "What news?"
"Oh, bits and pieces. Nothing major, as yet. I've been studying Delenn's condition."
Bester looked up. "And?"
"The technology which caused her change is present on Epsilon Three. How, I don't know, but it's there. I suppose it would be possible to use it to replicate another chrysalis, and complete the procedure."
Bester shook his head. "Not possible. I've had my doctors looking over her. We can stabilise her condition, but she's too unstable to risk a repeat of her change. My doctors assure me that she wouldn't survive a second transformation. At least not that way."
"Ah." The Narn looked concerned. Bester found himself wishing it wasn't just a hologram. He would dearly love to meet the real G'Kar one day. What information would be found in that alien's mind, he wondered.
"So if she dies, then she dies," Bester said. "One life more or less can't matter that much, and she doesn't have any political power with her people any more."
"No," G'Kar said. "She is important. She has information that would suit us very well, and she could provide a rallying point when it comes to confronting the Minbari."
"The information I can get easily enough...."
"No!" G'Kar snapped. "How we do this is just as important as the fact that we are doing it. Do not violate her mind, Mr. Bester. That would not be.... suitable."
"G'Kar, may I remind you that she is in my custody here, and on Sanctuary I may do whatever I like?"
"And may I remind you that you exist here only on the sufferance of the Kha'Ri? One word from me in certain receptive ears there could lead to that sufferance ending."
"You need me too much for that."
"The question, Mr. Bester, is do I need you more than you need me?"
Bester smiled. "My congratulations, G'Kar. You are of course right."
The Narn made a motion very like a sigh. "Mr. Bester, I have survived an occupation, a war, innumerable assassination attempts and three years on the Kha'Ri. I am neither a novice nor a child. Do not treat me like one."
Bester smiled. "Of course, my friend. I offer my sincere apologies. No mind scan of Delenn, then. That leaves...."
"We always knew we would have to try to enlist their aid sooner or later. Doing so now may reveal our plans, and our existence, but leaving it any later could result in our missing them altogether. Not to mention Delenn's death. How long before she is able to travel?"
Bester raised an eyebrow. "You want her to go in search of them?"
"She is one of the few in this galaxy they will talk to, Mr. Bester. Trust me on this."
"Oh, a week perhaps. Assuming nothing else goes wrong. Even if it doesn't, then she will probably only have a month or so at best."
"Then we had best move swiftly. A week, then. I will contact Mollari. He, more than anyone, has experience with them. We will need another to keep them safe, but no more. A smaller party will travel easier, and Minbari do believe in doing things in threes.
"All we can do after that is hope that the technomages are willing to lend us their assistance, because I fear that many lives may end if they do not."
"You look a little uneasy, Mr. Welles." President Clark regarded his Head of Security and Chief of Information. Welles did look a little uneasy, and that was rare. He had always possessed an iron bearing and an unflappable composure. Perhaps the recent evidence of his frailties - Miss Alexander's escape, the assault on Ambassador Ivanova, Captain Sheridan's escape - had unnerved him.
"Not at all, Mr. President," came the carefully worded reply. That was Welles to a fault. Always careful. With everything.
"You do accept the need for a new Ambassador from the Shadows, don't you? After all, Miss Ivanova will be unable to perform her duties for several months, at least."
"Of course, Mr. President. I am just.... concerned about security measures surrounding the new Ambassador's arrival."
"Worried that Captain Sheridan might appear? He does have a habit of walking through your defences, doesn't he? It is too late to worry about these things. You see, the ship is docking."
The new Ambassador's ship was indeed docking, and Clark's attention was fixed on the new Ambassador. Miss Ivanova's injuries were tragic, but perhaps they were a result of her own carelessness. In particular, her infatuation with that Marcus Cole. The late Marcus Cole. Clark had a feeling that the new Ambassador would be much more efficient.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador," he said, extending his hand. Clark supposed he should be surprised by the figure in front of him, but somehow he wasn't.
"Likewise, Mr. President," said Ambassador David Sheridan.
He was a Minbari warrior. He was a Ranger. He was a member of the Circle of Light. He would not scream.
He was an Alyt. He was Second to G'Kar. He was friend to Ta'Lon. He was beloved of Delenn. He would not scream.
He was Neroon of the Star Riders clan. He would not scream.
But as the Zener began to work on him, changing him, twisting him body and soul, perverting his spirit to perform the will of their masters, Neroon of the Star Riders clan, beloved of Delenn, found that he was screaming after all.
And beneath the planet, at the heart of it, a lonely figure paused and stopped in his wanderings, as if hearing the screams through two miles of rock. Then he resumed his journey, and his wait. Waiting for the one who would come to him here.
Always waiting....