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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part IV: A Line in the Sand |
THERE is a darkness coming, a great and terrible darkness. It is there, hovering just at the edge of our sight, moving on the horizon, coming out only at dusk, biding its time, making its preparations, readying itself for its time to rise.
And there is hope. There is a place of refuge, technology centuries old that built a place crafted in dreams, belonging to the past and to the future. Look at it now, ships flying around it, ships flying towards it, hearts raised in anticipation of the beginning of the fight back.
A gate opens and a ship, and a soul, comes in. One who has been touched by this darkness in a strange and terrifying way. One who has let it corrupt him in a way not of the flesh or of the mind, but of the spirit. One who has hardened, who has made deals with devils, who has bartered his very soul to serve his cause.
He looks out at the place of refuge and sanctuary before him. He sees it, he knows what it stands for, but he sees the darkness as well. He sees the great and terrible darkness touching this place.
He sees a construct of parchment and kindling and he visualises the match being set to it.
Watch it burn.
Such are the fragile hopes of fragile hearts.
Watch.... it.... burn....
* * * * * * *
Sinoval looked at the space station intently, trying to purge himself of such pessimistic thoughts. He supposed that for some the place was indeed what it was meant to be, the last hope of the lost and the lonely. Of course, he had heard that Kazomi 7 had tried to undertake that rôle.
Neither was right though. Both were born out of war and bloodshed. The United Alliance of Kazomi 7 had been brought about by the genocide of the Drakh invasion, and this.... Babylon 4....
Well, Sinoval had seen it before, and he knew what its fate would be. This was a place for the waging of war, not for the bringing of peace.
Peace. Such a rare thing in his life, but one he had experienced these last few months. Almost half a year had passed since the bombardment of Minbar, six entire months of rebuilding, relocating and constructing tender trusts between peoples. The Soul Hunters he now commanded, the Vindrizi in all their wondrous alien hosts, and the members of the warrior and worker castes who had chosen to follow him to the last few free colonies.
Not that he was alone. He had friends and allies, probably more than he deserved. Durhan, the wise general watching from the shadows, always content to remain there and let his former student steal the glory while he himself whispered encouragement and advice. Kozorr, whose relentless enthusiasm and conviction had not been undermined by the terrible injuries he still bore. The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus of the Soul Hunters, quite possibly the wisest individual Sinoval had ever encountered. And then there was Kats.... his conscience, his compassion and everything of beauty he had ever known, wrapped up in one form.
It had been hard, and it would get harder. Sinoval had no illusions about his future. He currently ruled three of the many colonies the Minbari had once owned. Centred on Otosan 4, and spreading out to Tarolin 2 and Owari 9, it was a small empire, but it was a beginning. He would take back the other colonies now occupied by the humans. He would also deal with the Vorlons and their infernal machinations, root out and destroy the hidden renegade Satai, Sonovar, go to war against the Shadows....
It was to be a life he knew would be engulfed in war, but he had no objection. He was a warrior, it was what he was born to.
Babylon 4 came closer and closer, and Sinoval wondered what they would be seeing from their little floating bauble. Cathedral was a massive craft, constructed by technologies and wisdoms not even he understood. It had been the home of this group of Soul Hunters for over a millennium, and Sinoval had not yet uncovered half its secrets. But what he had seen.... the Well of Souls; the tower on which he now stood surrounded by images of the space outside the ship; weaponry of a bygone age....
"It is an impressive sight, is it not?" said a familiar voice; old, and strangely patient, as if the speaker had all the time in the world.
He did, though. Sinoval turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus ascend the final few steps to the pinnacle on which he stood. He nodded once in greeting, and turned back to the scene around him.
There was much about the Primarch that Sinoval did not understand. Not least his age. He had known Valen in the times before, which made him at least a thousand years old, and perhaps even older. He was an invaluable ally, perhaps the most useful of all those who followed 'Primarch' Sinoval.
"Of course," the Primarch continued, "we have both seen it before."
Sinoval nodded. "Yes. I know exactly what will happen to this station. I only wonder if this G'Kar does as well."
"He must. He has access there to one of the greatest repositories of knowledge in existence. The Great Machine. You know, many of my people would have given half the souls in their collection just to step inside that planet. Less than a year since we gave you leadership, and here we are. I must say that life with you is, if nothing else, entertaining."
"It is doubtful we will see the Machine itself. This.... summit we have been invited to is to take place on the station." He shivered. "I do not like it. I fear it is not long for this world."
"For this world, perhaps.... but for another, many years in the past.... who can say? What of the summit ? How do you see that developing?"
"It will be difficult, but necessary. There has to be some sort of unity against the Darkness, both the one at the Rim, and the one.... elsewhere. The cause of freedom needs a leader, and for there to be a leader, there must be an alliance."
"And who is that leader to be?"
"Me, of course. Who else is there?"
The Primarch smiled, and nodded. "Who else indeed? And what of the.... rumours that Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar has a Vorlon advisor?"
Sinoval's hand slipped down to the weapon hanging at his side. A Minbari fighting pike, a denn'bok, one of the deadliest close-combat weapons ever. Sinoval was a master, and better than master. This pike, however, was different. Forged in part to contain his own essence, his own anger, his own passion, his own conviction, the blade was unique in a way that no one could truly understand. He called it Stormbringer. It was a weapon to fell even a Vorlon.
"We shall see if they are true. And if they are.... we will deal with it."
The Primarch nodded, but fell silent. He knew about the Vorlons as well, of that Sinoval was perfectly aware. He was also aware that some details were being kept back. Fine, let him have his secrets. Trust was the foundation of all alliances. In time, they would both know all they needed to know.
"It is time," he said at last.
"Yes. Well, then. Let us go and impress this.... Army of Light. I think we have much to tell them."
* * * * * * *
Delenn of Mir, former Satai and current leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, found Babylon 4 very.... disquieting. Like Sinoval she had seen images of this station a thousand years in the past, in the ancient archives of the Grey Council. She knew what it represented, what it meant and what it would do. Being here, walking in this place she knew as a legacy of times long gone.... It made her think of the past rather than the present, and the past was not a topic she enjoyed considering.
But then at the moment she did not want to think about the future either. How much longer now? Six months, maybe eight. Not long enough, not nearly long enough.
The past.... to a large extent, the past was the future. She remembered seeing this station, travelling backwards in time, backwards to fulfil its great and terrible destiny. She had stood in this very place and borne witness to the presence of Valen himself, and his acceptance of his destiny.
All the things that had seemed so far away two years ago were very real now. Babylon 4, Valen, the destruction of Minbar, her own change. There was only one detail missing, and she was terribly afraid that that too would happen soon.
His grave. His grave on a ruined Minbar, with her own altered face looking at it.
Six months, maybe eight. Would he live long enough to see this station achieve its destiny?
She reached the door she had been making for and stopped, breathing in slowly. It had been a few weeks since the last time they had been together. They tried to share as much as possible now, but both of them had their responsibilities; she to her Alliance and he to his war.
Fortunately they had been brought back together by G'Kar's summit. Delenn had arrived some hours before, pleased to see the powerful warship next to Babylon 4. Once her spell of unpacking and organising and placating unhappy diplomats was over, she had gone in search of her one true love.
And now she had found him.
She activated the chime, and waited. "Who is it?" rasped a faint voice from within. Not like him at all, she thought, and her heart began to beat faster. Too.... quiet, too pained.
"Delenn," she whispered. "John, are you...?"
The door opened and she stepped inside, stopping the instant she was through the door. As it closed behind her, she could not see anything. The room was dark, with only a faint light visible. Her night vision had improved since her transformation, but it was still not as clear as most humans'. "John, are you here?" she asked, a cold sensation gripping her.
"I had a headache," he replied from the far side of the room. "The lights were hurting my eyes."
"I can't see you."
"I'm here. Follow the sound of my voice. I can see you.... a little." Slowly, awkwardly, she stepped forward, guided by his voice, her arms reaching out to feel her way. Finally she felt the warmth of his hand touch hers and she let him guide her on to the bed, next to him.
The first thing she did was reach out to his face and kiss him, deeply and lovingly. He responded, his hand on her waist. "I missed you," she whispered.
"Me too," he replied. Now that she was closer she could hear the hoarseness in his voice. Tenderly, she touched his face, her motion obviously betraying her concern. "I'm all right," he said. "Just a headache. Besides, Sinoval promised me another six months at least. Remember?"
"Yes, but still.... He is here, you know. Sinoval. I saw him arriving as I came here. He has brought some of the.... Shagh Toth with him."
"That'll be fun tomorrow. I gather none of the other races likes the Soul Hunters either."
"No. They do not hate them quite to the extent that we do, but.... G'Kar obviously thinks they are a part of this war. He is the host here, after all. Perhaps...." She swallowed. "Perhaps Sinoval has found a cure, or something to arrest your virus."
"He promised us he'd look, Delenn. We can't ask any more of him than that. He has his own responsibilities, too."
"I know. I.... know. I just.... I just hope, that is all."
"What was it you once told me? Faith manages?"
"Yes. Faith.... manages." There was a long silence as the two simply rested against each other, listening to each other's breathing, occasionally touching or caressing. Delenn rested her head on John's shoulder, feeling his breath on her cheek.
"Delenn.... one day.... One day I'm going to have to leave. You know that.... don't you?"
She nodded, unwilling to speak, unable to speak.
"I don't know where I'll go. Maybe I'll just grab a couple of nukes and head off to Z'ha'dum or something." He laughed on a false note. "Maybe.... But, Delenn.... you can't come after me when I go. Please, don't try to follow me, or find out where I've gone. Please. I'm doing it for.... everyone's safety, but especially yours. I couldn't.... hurt you again."
"I know," she whispered, her heart almost breaking.
"Thank you." He paused, and then, softly: "I love you."
Even softer: "I love you too. I always will.
"Always."
* * * * * * *
Sinoval took a moment to adjust his uniform and took a deep breath. Appearances mattered after all, especially when impressing aliens. Pure black tunic and leggings, covered by a tabard emblazoned with his personal crest - the sword of his clan bisected by the diagonal red and silver sash of the Soul Hunters, coupled with his own sigil, the column of light of the Grey Council cut in half by a lightning bolt from a tempest-cloud. Symbolism mattered just as much as appearances.
Beside him the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus watched in silence. He was wearing his own black robes, imitating in many ways the traditional garb of the warrior caste. The only clues as to rank were the red and silver sash across his chest and the golden tiara around his forehead, framing the red stone embedded there.
"Are you ready?" the Primarch asked with a faint smile. Sinoval nodded, and the two stepped into the past.
As he walked into the reception area of the station, Sinoval's mind was thrown back a thousand years. It was here that Valen had first met Marrain and Parlonn, here that he banished the Tak'cha, from this place that he co-ordinated the war against the Darkness. This place.... so steeped in history, so immersed in the past, so very alive in the present, and in the future....
He could see an honour guard lined up to meet him. His own guard of two Soul Hunters was walking along behind. He looked at those flanking him; Narns, Drazi, a human or two. All bore a badge of a flaming sunburst. These then were the new Rangers G'Kar had been assembling these past few years. Sinoval was almost amused. They were not Minbari, but they.... would do.
G'Kar himself was just ahead, or rather his holographic projection was. Behind him was another Narn, wearing the prominent sunburst badge and carrying a long sword on his back.
Sinoval took another step forward, his movements seeming to drag him back. It was taking all of his strength to move closer to G'Kar, each step requiring more energy than he could muster. He looked up and....
.... and took the step into the column of light. He knew where he was, in the Hall of the Grey Council. He was alone, but he was carrying Stormbringer. One by one the columns around him lit up, and each one contained a figure. Minbari, some he knew, some he did not. All were armed.
As the last column lit up, he found himself looking at Sonovar. A body lay slumped at his feet. It was Kats. She was quite still.
Sinoval whispered her name softly, knowing he would never speak it again.
"It is over," said Sonovar, no malice in his voice, just a finality. "You will not leave this place, traitor. Your allies have fled, your servants are dead, and now I.... I will take our people on the path we were always meant to tread."
"No," was the only reply.
Sonovar raised his pike, and Sinoval could see it clearly. Durhan's blade, the one he had wielded all his life. Sonovar charged. The other eight charged. Sinoval raised Stormbringer....
.... and the central column of light went out.
Sinoval suddenly realised he was standing directly in front of G'Kar. Regaining his composure instantly, letting no hint of what he had seen show on his face, he bowed smoothly. "Greetings, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," he said formally. "This meeting has been long overdue."
"Indeed it has," replied the Narn. "What did you see?"
If Sinoval was surprised, he gave no sign of it. "A vision. Perhaps the future. Perhaps nothing. It does not matter."
The image sighed. "We shall soon know." Then, in a more formal tone, "I introduce my aide and lieutenant, Ta'Lon." The Narn, the real one, bowed. Sinoval did likewise.
"And my companion, the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus of the Order of Soul Hunters." The Primarch nodded once, a faint smile on his face.
"We welcome you both to Babylon Four, and we hope this summit will be successful," G'Kar continued. "All but one of those expected are here, and he should arrive later today. The first meeting will begin tomorrow morning. We hope it will be a productive one."
"As do we. Tell me, is Captain Sheridan here?"
"He is. Do you wish to meet him?"
Sinoval paused. "No.... no. It can wait. A lot of things can wait." He fell silent, thinking. Sheridan here.... and Delenn as well.
Yes, this would be a very.... productive few days. Or so he hoped.
* * * * * * *
Michael Garibaldi was not in a good mood. He was stressed, distressed, aggravated and heavily overworked. It was at times like this that he seriously doubted his place in the universe. Perhaps something was playing a big cosmic joke on him.
He had been on Babylon 4 virtually permanently since G'Kar had begun shifting his base of operations there six months ago. In all that time he had hardly seen his wife, his son, his friends.... he had spent the whole period co-ordinating matters between the inexplicable and the incomprehensible, otherwise going by the names of Bester and G'Kar.
And now this summit, a mess of organisation, of supervising security, of checking who had and who hadn't arrived, even of arranging the seating. Apparently the Vree delegate from the United Alliance would not be arriving, which was a good thing at least. They really needed a separate room for their catering, unless G'Kar wanted a cleaning bill that would amount to more than the cost of the entire station.
Now this....
He moaned and rubbed at his eyes, reaching instinctively to the bottom drawer of his desk. It was empty, of course, but old habits and all that.
He blinked, and a voice suddenly screamed at him, his own voice, coming from somewhere, nowhere, anywhere....
"I can't hold it any longer!"
He trembled for a moment and it took several minutes for his composure to return. This was hardly the first time, and he was sure it would be far from the last. Dreams, images of things that couldn't possibly be there, voices crying out at him....
As if life here weren't hard enough. Garibaldi was seriously beginning to think that the station was haunted. He was not alone in that. Too many of G'Kar's staff had left, especially the humans from Sanctuary. It had hit the telepaths harder than most, not that he had a problem with telepaths not sticking around much, but it did mean he was the only one - the only 'mundane' - Bester trusted to run his affairs here.
He stretched, and considered informing G'Kar. Would he have finished his introductory meeting with that Minbari bloke yet? Garibaldi groaned. No. Walk first, fresh-ish air, stretch his muscles and find somewhere with something non-alcoholic for sale.
There was a chime at his door and he muttered something vile under his breath. "I'm busy," he snapped. "So unless it's an alien invasion or a beautiful woman...."
"It's David," came the reply. "Commander Corwin."
Garibaldi snorted and opened the door. Corwin came in cautiously, poking his head round the door first, and then stepping in. "Is everything all right?" he asked.
"Tense. This job was made for a masochist, you know that. And devised by a sadist. How's your day been?" Corwin and the Parmenion had been here for a few days, adding security to the station. Sheridan had spent most of that time in his room, but Corwin had been quite visible.
"Starfury practice formations. G'Kar passed on the fancy flying as a welcome.... and most of us didn't want to do it for a Minbari anyway. But I've been trying to teach the Narn Rangers how to fly a 'Fury. Well, that, and wondering why a station pretty much run by Narns has Starfury bays at all." He sat down.
"I asked G'Kar the same thing. He shrugged and said something about the demands of history. And you don't want to know what Zathras said. Either of them. Any of them. I'm telling you this...." Corwin suddenly shivered, almost convulsing. "You saw something?"
He nodded, shaking. "Again. I don't know what, but.... The sooner we're out of here the better. This place...." He paused. "Michael, I've.... seen it before."
"Of course you have. You were here when we were moving stuff in. Several times."
"No. Before it was even built. It just.... Ah, nothing. I was just wondering if you wanted a bite to eat or something."
"Yeah, why not? But I thought you'd've been seeing Mary. She's here, you know.... somewhere."
"I.... Yeah. I know. I'm seeing her tonight. I'm just.... Ah, never mind. You don't want to be bored by my problems. You ready then?"
"Who, me? Sure thing. Let me grab my jacket...." As he rose to his feet he looked down at the message on his commpad, something he knew he had to tell G'Kar, but didn't really want to tell him. There was trouble brewing there, a great deal of trouble, and he didn't want to get involved in any sort of power struggle between G'Kar and his boss.
After all, there could be any number of perfectly normal reasons why Bester would suddenly be unable to attend at such short notice, couldn't there?
* * * * * * *
Elsewhere:
"Death.... is as much a part of life as birth. It is the end, but it is not the end. Souls.... go on. The great souls endure, not just in our legends and in our memories, but in fact and in truth. He will live again, of that we can all be sure."
The speaker fell silent for a moment, head bowed, not wanting to look out at the audience. They would.... not understand. How could they? They had not known him.... the way the speaker had.
"And his was a great soul. I know this, for I was with him always. I listened to his words and, to my regret, I could distill only a fragment of the wisdom therein. I followed his ways and tried to understand his teachings, but I am only an imperfect student. So much has gone beyond with him.
"But more than his teachings or his words.... there were his deeds. They can be criticised by some, I know, but not by me. Old ways are for old times, and this is the present. We need new beliefs to live by, new philosophies to follow, and he showed us all these. The things he did.... he did for the good of us all, not because they were popular, or political, or convenient.... but because they were right, because they needed doing and because only he could do them."
Softly: "I will miss him, but he has now gone beyond, so that his soul can be reborn to us. But if we follow in his footsteps, and live as he would have wanted us to live, then he will not have departed from us.
"But life.... goes on, and we have to live it without him. Now, with his eyes upon us, with his words in our hearts, we will begin the plan that he would have so wanted to be here to see. We are ready now, and if not now, then we never will be. We will retake our people, our colonies, our worlds. We will bring fire and death to all those who will oppose us, in his name.... and to those who betrayed him, and in so doing betrayed us...."
Sonovar raised his eyes from the bier containing Kalain's body. To the audience it seemed as if they were glowing, both with passion and with fury. All knew of Kalain's enlightenment. Others might call it madness, but here the truth was known. Minbari and Tak'cha were together in silent mourning, and in anticipation of the future.
"And to those who betrayed him," Sonovar repeated, "to them we shall show the true wisdom of his words. And they shall see his truth before they die."
* * * * * * *
Elsewhere still:
"Ready?"
"Yes, we're ready. We've been ready for days. Captain.... what are we waiting for?"
"The signal."
"What signal?"
"We'll know it when we get it."
"Why can't we just go in now?"
"Lieutenant.... Franklin, isn't it? Lieutenant Franklin, we are soldiers. It is not our place to set policy. There are.... plans afoot of which we know nothing. It is not for us to question them. It is our place only to serve, and to obey."
"So what are we waiting for?"
"Allies.... elsewhere. If this works, they'll be doing all the hard work and we'll just sweep in and tidy up the mess. But not until we get the signal. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon sighed and looked around his bridge. All of them.... except Franklin somehow.... all of them eager, ready, waiting. Too eager. If they knew everything.... Smith himself did not know everything, but he knew enough.
And he kept casting his mind back two weeks, to a very strange conversation, one that might come under the definition of treason, but one he could not forget.
For everything Welles had said echoed in his mind, speaking more and more to him of wisdom with each recollection.
Treason.... such a heavy word, really.
But one he could not forget.
* * * * * * *
Elsewhere again:
As he slept that night, the one who now sometimes thought of himself as Valen felt a chill fall across his soul. He awoke from his slumber, but found himself unable to move, trapped and paralysed in the darkness.
He was not afraid, at least not in any way he could define. There was more a sense of.... waiting. The world was turning around him, faster, faster than he could endure. His life was mapped out, controlled, determined. No matter where he went or what he did.... he knew what would happen.
"Footsteps in the sand," he whispered, and it was then that he realised he could move again. Rising from his bed - horizontal rather than the traditional Minbari slanted - he walked to the window and paused there. It was the one thing he had insisted on having in his room. He did not care for opulence, for furniture or luxuries.... but he needed a window. Looking out over the city, even in the grey shadows of night.... it renewed his faith.
It is coming, boomed a voice in his mind, and he shivered. He could.... remember them, at least a little. They were his guardians, his allies, his.... friends. He knew that.
"No," he said softly. "There's too much to do here first."
Destiny compels.... There is no time.
"I.... I need to be here. There's.... so much still in the balance. So much that needs to be done, that only I can...."
No. Your place is elsewhere. Are you ready?
"No," he replied. "No, I'm not! I.... I...."
Be ready. You will know.... when the time is right.
The voice left him, and he gripped the edge of the window tightly. Destiny.... compelled him, but he did not want to surrender. He wanted.... to stay here, to stare at the future and not know what was to come, to be with friends, to....
To be out of time. This had always been his destiny. The past. This was not his world. His world was that of Marrain's betrayal, the Tak'cha's fatal misinterpretations, Parlonn's fall, Derannimer's.... love....
"Holy One," said an anguished voice from behind him, and he turned to find a young Minbari there. She had appointed herself - or been appointed by someone, he was not entirely clear - to be his servant and aide and.... well, confessor probably. She would not tell him her name, insisting that it did not matter.
"Holy One, I heard you cry out. Are you.... all right?"
"I am fine," he replied, silently cursing himself for waking her, if she had ever been asleep at all. He had insisted many times that he did not need a servant, and yet she remained. All serve in their own ways, he had once said, and her place seemed to be here.
"Would you.... stay and talk?" he asked. He knew he would be unable to get back to sleep this night and he welcomed the company. The more souls he could touch before he.... left, the better. "Unless you.... are tired?"
"Oh no, Holy One," she replied, her eyes seeming to light up. "I will obey everything you ask of me."
He sighed. "I do not desire obedience.... It was a simple request, no more. I do not order or compel anyone." But that had not always been the case and he knew it. He had tried to force the Tak'cha into changing their views on his teachings. He had attempted to sway Parlonn from the path of darkness he was walking.
"First.... what is your name, child?" An old voice, the one he called his 'teacher' voice, was rising to the fore. A personality constructed within him by the Vorlons, as were many others. It was strange, but each facet of the whole that was Valen had a different voice, tone, timbre.... everything.
"My name...? I.... I live only to serve you, Holy One. It is a matter of honour, not of glory. My name draws only too much of your glory on to me...."
He smiled. "I wish to know your name so that I know how to address you. I cannot keep calling you 'child' all the time."
She bowed her head. "Cathrenn, Holy One. My name is Cathrenn."
A shiver suddenly tore through him. Cathrenn.... His daughter's name. His daughter....
"I apologise, Holy One," she said quickly, evidently noticing his expression change. "I have offended you in some way. I seek your forgiveness.... or your punishment if I have wronged you. I...."
"No," he said firmly. "You have not offended me. You just.... reminded me of something, that is all. Tell me.... Cathrenn.... which caste are you from?"
"The.... worker caste, Holy One. I was formerly of the Fane of Heimin."
"Ah yes.... A noble lineage. An old one, too. I remember one of my staunchest allies.... before. Yasuki.... he was of the Fane of Heimin. Yes, I remember...." A smile of memory flitted across his face, but then he realised what she had said, and it faded. "Formerly? What happened?"
"We were.... stripped of our positions by Satai Kalain...." She obviously noticed the look of horror on his face, and added quickly, "as atonement.... for our sins."
"Sins?" he said quietly.
"Yes. Satai Hedronn destroyed the Grey Council, and the rest of us had to pay for his sin. My family were lucky.... we were permitted to live, but as outcasts. Too many died."
"I.... see.... Sometimes we never learn from the past. I am.... sorry for your loss, Cathrenn. The sin.... whatever sin there was, was not yours. You suffered needlessly. So many did. I hoped I would be able to prevent such.... mistakes from happening, but if there is one thing the past has taught us, it is that we can never stop making mistakes." He shook his head softly. "Pride. Too much pride. Mine.... Kalain's.... Sinoval's.... Marrain's...."
"I am sorry, Holy One. I have disturbed you. I.... apologise."
"Will you please stop apologising?" he said, just a hint of exasperation in his voice.
"Of course, Holy One. I am sor.... Oh...."
He chuckled. "My name is Valen.... or Jeffrey if you prefer. Holy One is too formal. I would prefer it if you would use my given name. I am a man, Cathrenn, not a God."
"But you are, Holy One. You are the greatest figure in our history, our saviour, the focus of everything that makes us what we are. In every way that counts, you are our God."
He sighed. "It is so.... interesting the way different people react to my words. Space may exist in a vacuum, but the things I say obviously do not." He fell quiet after the words finished, recalling in a flash saying those words to another.... another who understood so little.
"I am sorry, Holy One? What...?"
He shook his head. "Never mind. Talk to me, Cathrenn. Tell me about.... anything. Your home, your family, your dreams, anything. I wish to take a great deal with me before I.... pass beyond. And all, from leader to servant, none is so unimportant as to be neglected. Talk to me, Cathrenn. Just.... talk...."
"As.... you say, Holy One," she said.
And she began to talk, and the rest of the night was swallowed up in words, and for some hours at least Jeffrey Sinclair did not see his own footsteps stretching out before him. Rather he saw the footsteps of others, heading on into the future he knew he could not share.
* * * * * * *
It was never night on Babylon 4, or perhaps it was always night. Beneath the bastion of hope lay the architect of that hope, trapped in the array of machinery and power which had given him the ability to realise his dreams. Beyond that world lay others, dead and lost, and beyond them a sun, hidden from view at the moment, but always there, its light shining upon the living and the dead alike, upon the hopeful and the despairing, the lost and the damned.
There was one soul aboard who was both, both lost and damned, and had been throughout the thirteen years since the first spirit had departed the mortal world courtesy of her will. A mundane, of course. A human, one of billions, just one grain of sand that no one would ever miss.
Donne looked at the darkness outside her window and paused. This was the first time she had set foot on this place, and she already knew that she did not like it. Filled with mundanes and aliens and ants, running around living their own pathetic lives. They spoke of hope, but their minds were filled with terror. They spoke of the future, but their thoughts were fixated on the past.
There is a future, she thought, but it belongs to us, not to you.
"So, this is Babylon Four, hmm?" muttered the mundane sitting in the corner of the room. "I don't like it." Donne heard the words but made no response. The words of mundanes were less than dust. Bester had said that these mundanes were special - skilled in their own particular ways - but a special insect was still just an insect to Donne.
Fools, all of them. But then so were the guards here. Donne had arrived late this evening, when there had been only a light guard on duty. G'Kar had been unable to be present to greet her, and she had been able to get her 'staff' on board with a minimum of effort. She was expected after all - the representative of an important ally of this.... Army of Light, sent here to be Bester's voice until he recovered from his 'illness'.
She turned from the window and looked around at the members of her 'diplomatic staff'. Number One was sitting in the corner, idly reviewing the contents of the room. She looked.... bored. Donne had no doubt she was skilled at her work, but that was an irrelevance. Her appearance had changed recently. Her short hair had grown a little longer, her eyes had been disguised with lenses, and subtle throat implants altered the tone of her voice. It had been a while since she had been the infamous terrorist, but some precautions were necessary.
The other figure was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, seemingly obsessed by the wickedly-serrated knife he was carefully sharpening, although it did not seem to need it. A meditative ritual, perhaps? Tu'Pari was one of the few people Donne had ever met who had.... disturbed her. Mostly, alien minds meant even less to her than human ones, but his was.... different. Sharp, hard, brilliant. A cold-blooded, utterly deadly killer. Almost as much so as she herself.
The viewscreen suddenly chimed and she turned to it. Tu'Pari took a look at the screen and smiled, while Number One merely shrugged. Donne went to it and activated it.
It was another of her little cabal of conspirators. The human. Boggs. One of the security guards on Proxima. Just another mundane, albeit one who moved with a predatory grace. His mind was intriguingly different too. It spoke only of hatred, screaming it out at the top of his voice. He had insisted on coming over to the station, despite the risk of being noticed. Donne had argued against it. Both Sheridan and his Minbari doxy would recognise him, and he had stubbornly refused to wear a disguise. She herself did not care if he was noticed. There were only mundanes here - how could they possibly foil Bester's plan? But still, the reward waiting was too important to risk.
"We got it down there," said Boggs on screen. "There were no problems." The message was triple-encoded, changing frequency every three seconds, but still, the shorter it could be, the better.
Donne nodded. The less she said, the harder it would be for anyone to trace the destination of this message.
"We're waiting for the signal now. That's all." The screen faded and Donne stepped back.
"So when will we get the signal?" asked Number One.
"There are.... things the other parties have to do first. Not tomorrow. Maybe the day after. This.... summit has to be well underway first."
"Why?"
"That does not concern you," Donne snapped. "When the time is right, and not before."
Yes, when Bester is ready to make his move, and the Resistance Government ready to make theirs.... How long until they realise.... those foolish worthless mundanes realise.... just how far out of their hands this is all going to be?
* * * * * * *
It was two days later that everything began to collapse. And when it did, it was the ironic words of G'Kar's first speech to the assembled summit of leaders that would ring in all their ears.
It had been a triumph just to get everyone together. As G'Kar, in holographic form, walked around the circular table where sat some of the most powerful political leaders in the galaxy, he marvelled at just how far everyone had come.
"This meeting," his speech began, "is a victory for everyone. The Darkness we have fought has been strong, and has had much time in the preparation. We however.... have been divided, fractured, riven by misunderstandings and wrongs and retribution. This meeting will be the beginning of the end of those divisions, and the dawn of a new unity."
He looked first at Delenn. She was the very essence of the unity that this summit was aimed at achieving. A bridge between two worlds, a focus for all those who resisted hatred and opposed prejudice. The way she leaned close to Sheridan proved as much. She had endured greatly, but would endure more.
Fitting that this would begin with her.
"We have all made mistakes, but as G'Quan once said, to err is mortal. To learn from those mistakes, to rise above them, to seek atonement and redemption.... that is the true struggle. Past quarrels must be forgotten in the name of the future. The wrongs of the past.... should never be stronger than the needs of the future."
She smiled once, and nodded. G'Kar had always regretted not being able to know her better. The future would come through her just as much as it would through him.
* * * * * * *
On Minbar, on a devastated world, the Vorlons began to move. On the spot where Valen had once triumphed, and later been returned to his place, these angels of light were at work.
And a slow and deep darkness began to seep from the Temple of Varenni, and the Starfire Wheel - which purified the lost and saved the souls of the damned - was silent once more.
* * * * * * *
From Delenn to Sheridan, next to her. His hand gripped hers under the table, and he occasionally cast a quick glance in her direction. G'Kar knew about the disease that would soon tear him apart, but he would not let it be an issue. Sheridan was a warrior, prepared to fight and die for what he knew to be right. If Delenn was to rebuild the galaxy after the war, it would be the likes of Sheridan who would ensure that a galaxy remained so that there could be a rebuilding.
"Some of us have been enemies. Some of us have clashed and fought in the past, but the past is over. Everything must be put aside in the name of the common good, and what more common good can there be than the salvation of us all?"
Sheridan nodded, but did not smile as Delenn had. Perhaps his mind was on his own future, and how short it might yet be. G'Kar knew however that if there was a way it would be found. While there was hope, there was always a future.
* * * * * * *
In a pocket of hyperspace, less than an hour from Epsilon 3, four ships waited, each one the hope of its people, each one crafted by and containing technology a millennium old, each one ready for the task for which it had been created.
Captain Dexter Smith sat in silence on his bridge, haunted by the ghost of another, and waiting for the signal that would send him forth.
* * * * * * *
And then to the Drazi and Brakiri who spoke for their sections of the United Alliance. Ambitious and talented, both of them, yet they had been willing to put aside their disagreements in the name of the future. An alliance born of tragedy, yes, but an alliance for all that.
"Each of us has endured great pain, great suffering, great loss.... and yet our trials have made us stronger. The tragedies of the past have given birth to the accomplishments of the present. As long as we remember those who have fallen before us, then they will not have died in vain."
* * * * * * *
On Kazomi 7, a young Minbari painter, implanted with a Keeper months earlier after the fall of Beta Durani, killed sixteen people in one day of madness, including a poet of his own race. He was finally brought down and killed by Bulloxian security guards.
There was a tear in his eye as he died.
* * * * * * *
To an empty seat, where he had hoped would sit a representative from the Centauri, perhaps even Mollari, who had been present when G'Kar had birthed his dream and dreamed his nightmare. There had been no word, no news, no sound. Centauri Prime was engulfed in a darkness entirely of its own making.
"Not all are here who should be. Some have fallen, and others are consumed by their own thoughts, their own worries, their own fears. But a few can see that if we are united, then no one person need fear anything. We will fear together, and together we will find a way to destroy that fear."
* * * * * * *
On Centauri Prime, in the streets of the capital itself, as nobles partied and caroused in their opulent palaces and peasants starved and bled in their hovels, a madman preached to the passing crowd for hours on end, not stopping to drink or eat or rest.
Then, at the end of his speech, he set himself alight and stood there, his screams ascending even to those palaces and hovels as he cried out that the Shadow was coming, and that the Centauri would be consumed by it.
* * * * * * *
To Sinoval, who listened to the speech with a ready ear, but whose eyes were filled with pride. Ambition and conviction were plain upon his face. He watched G'Kar carefully, absorbing every word. A warrior, one who had strode into darkness and emerged free.
"Nothing and no one is more important than the needs of the many. No one soul can mean the damnation of a multitude. No one race can work alone to the exclusion of all others. If we cannot live.... and fight.... together, then we will surely die apart."
Sinoval's eyes brightened for a minute, and his mouth twitched in a smile. The warrior recognised the meaning behind G'Kar's words, and understood them.
* * * * * * *
Sonovar had spent much of the night in conversation with Ramde Cozon of the Tak'cha. They had spoken of the past, of the future, of Valen, of the sin that was not understood, of atonement.... They had also spoken of Tarolin 2, and of the redemption of the Minbari race, of their transformation from heretics who allied themselves with monsters, into a race who followed once more the teachings of the Z'ondar.
The conversation over, Cozon gathered his ships and his priests and his inquisitors and set out.... to convert the faithless. Or to kill them.
* * * * * * *
And finally, G'Kar came to the place of his oldest ally - Bester. He was not there, but others were. Captain Ben Zayn, warrior and law keeper, and Donne, telepath and emissary. Both listened and neither gave any outward sign of their emotions.
"If there is one thing we must have learned from our pasts, it is that nothing ends. Life endures, hope endures, faith endures. No matter how great the setback, no matter how devastating the defeat, the struggle can continue. It will continue after my death, it will continue when this place here is gone.
"But for the moment.... the hopes and dreams of us all are vested here. I welcome you all to Babylon Four, the hope of the future.... and to the beginning of the Army of Light which will finally drive back the Darkness.
"An old saying runs thus: there is but one thing necessary for evil to triumph, and that is for good men to do nothing. Here.... let us do something. Let us create the future."
The speech ended, and G'Kar looked around. There was indeed a beginning here. But he could not possibly know that there was to be an ending here as well.
And that it would be his.
* * * * * * *
The day after this speech, its words still in Donne's mind, she and five others stood facing the heart of the Great Machine, wherein lay the body of Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. The beauty of this place was not lost on any of them, but neither was their purpose or their reason for being here.
And so it would end....
* * * * * * *
If anyone wishes to pray for them, then now is the time.