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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part IV: A Line in the Sand |
LIGHT.... and darkness. The two merged into one in her eyes, whatever boundary had existed between them fading effortlessly away.
Screams.... pain, mercy, shame, humiliation. She remembered them all. She remembered his eyes, oh so different from his voice. His words spoke of redemption, forgiveness, atonement, mercy.... even as he listened to her screams and ignored her pleas. His eyes.... they were sane, a startling, shocking sanity that she knew she would never be able to comprehend.
Kats slowly breathed out, looking at the column of light before her. This was a holy place, a very special place, imbued with a thousand years of history, of deeds, of leaders. Few ever even saw this hall, and many of those who did said that they had seen ghost-images of those who had walked here before. Nemain, Derannimer, Varmain.... figures of old, of legend.
Not Kats. She saw only one face.
His.
The technology Kalain had perverted for the purpose of her torture had long since been removed, destroyed at Sinoval's order. The Hall itself had scarcely been used since Sinoval had broken the last Grey Council. The ship was largely useless now.
But Sinoval had found a purpose for it. As a symbol the Valentha was second to none. It had been the focus of the entire nation for so long that some still believed that whoever controlled this ship ruled the Minbari people.
It would be so easy for things to slip away from them. Her people were fragmented and factionalised. If Sinoval were to remain in power, then he would need the support of the Governors of the last few independent colonies which had survived the war. Among the Vindrizi and the Soul Hunters his leadership was unquestioned, but among his own people....
She closed her eyes, imagining a tear rising. She reached out, and felt the light break at the touch of her hand.
No pain. Of course there would not be. But just for a moment....
"You're in here again," said a soft voice, and she started. Not.... him, no. But few others had ever spoken to her in this Hall. The new arrival was one of the few who had.
"Again. Kats.... this is.... not healthy for you. You should not.... You...."
Pulling her hand from the column, she turned to watch Kozorr hobble into the Hall - former Satai, now Shai Alyt, a position he regarded as far superior. Some - almost all warriors - called him 'the Primarch's Left Hand' with a near-reverential awe. No need to state who the Primarch was. Among the Soul Hunters that title might hold some special significance, but to those warriors who had elected to stay, 'Primarch Sinoval' was their God.
'The Primarch's Left Hand'. Kats looked at Kozorr's own left hand. It was hanging limp, hidden from sight by a black glove, but she could still see it. She could see the flesh melting away, the bones shattering, the entire hand rendered useless as a result of one wholly courageous, wholly stupid action.
At least the injuries to his leg were healing. His limp was less noticeable now, and he leaned less on his staff. Something to thank Valen for, anyway.
"I am just.... exorcising the ghosts of my past," she said softly, looking at him. His concern was writ large upon his face, as was something else. She wondered if he thought her unaware. "Merely.... visiting old haunts."
"You're dwelling on the past," he chided. He reached her side and stopped. "It's.... over now, Kats. You won't have to go through that again. You...."
She reached out and touched his shoulder gently. She smiled. "I remember you here, Kozorr," she said. She did not. She remembered nothing but Kalain. "You were the only one who thought about me. I don't know if I ever thanked you for that, but I always meant to." He nodded. She could see the guilt plain in his bearing.
"I should have done more. I could have done more."
"You did what you could, and I am forever grateful. Besides, if we are apportioning misplaced guilt, then I have some as well, remember?" She let her fingers slide to his glove, only just brushing over its harsh fabric.
"Oh no!" he said instantly. "This.... is not your fault. If I had acted sooner then, perhaps.... No, Kats.... you mustn't...." He stopped, realising she was smiling. Her fingers, that had so recently bathed in the light of her pain, touched his lips, and were cleansed.
"Shush," she admonished. "How much longer until we arrive?"
"An hour or so," he said, still looking directly into her eyes. His.... longing was so open in him that she almost felt like crying. "I just wish the Primarch could have been here."
"Sinoval - or the Soul Hunter?" she asked. She was one of the few who dared refer to Sinoval by name, not title.
"Sinoval, of course. He's the leader. I'm.... no diplomat. I'm going to forget my speech, and start stuttering and...."
"You are his left hand. There is no one else better suited for this than you are, so stop worrying. Besides, you know how important this summit of his is, and who else could he send to Tarolin Two? The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus? Sech Durhan will not leave the Vindrizi world."
"I know all that," he replied. "It is just.... I was uncomfortable as Satai because I did not feel my talents were enough for the position. I am a soldier, and a leader of soldiers, and that is all."
"You will be perfect. This is nothing more than routine. Important, yes.... but still routine."
He nodded. "And are you to fulfill the same rôle for me as you do for the Pri.... for Sinoval, in his absence?"
"What rôle?" she asked, her voice hushed.
"They say you are his sounding-board, his speech writer.... and his confidante."
"He has no need of any of these things," she whispered, her eyes filled with pain, and a lingering horror. "Yes, I do serve a rôle for him. I pray to whomever I can that I need never fulfill such a rôle for you, Kozorr. Please, I hope you will never need me in the way that he does."
"What rôle is that?"
Dead certainty, a complete conviction. "His conscience."
* * * * * * *
"The Shadow is coming! The great and terrible Darkness that will fill our skies! We will burn under its gaze.... we will all burn!"
"The Shadow is coming!"
"We will all burn!"
"The Shadow...."
First Minister Malachi of the equally great and equally terrible Centauri Republic suppressed an involuntary shudder even here, deep beneath the grounds of the Royal Court. The words of the madmen preaching in the city streets still reached his ears. There were more of them now, and their words were reaching more receptive ears.
Shadow Criers they called themselves, heralding the arrival of the Shadow.
Foolishness. Such.... terrible.... foolishness.
"Almost there, Excellency," said the guard formally. The Captain of Guards, a figure who had been present at the Royal Court for decades, guiding and shaping his own vision of the Republic. And yet no noble in the Court knew his name. Not even Malachi. He had asked, but the Captain had said it was an irrelevance.
Malachi sighed. So much wrong with the Republic, with their people, with.... everything. Turhan, his dear dear friend, had once told him gently, "You can't change an entire people." He had been wrong. Malachi would change an entire people because he knew how to manage it. Turhan had been too afraid to try, and there lay his weakness. Malachi was not afraid, and there lay his.
"Here, Excellency," said the Captain, unlocking a dark door and ushering Malachi in. "I will wait outside. I am not permitted to enter." Malachi nodded sadly and set foot inside one of the bleakest, most oppressive rooms he had ever seen. He had been here once before, with Turhan. The Emperor had vomited and fled. His First Minister had remained, transfixed by a stark terror.
The man hung suspended from chains of corillium. There was little sign left on his body that he had ever been a man at all. Flesh lay sliced from him in a way that spoke of delicate artistry. Muscles were slashed and bisected, veins carefully bypassed. There was very little blood.
The man raised his head weakly as Malachi's footsteps betrayed his presence. His face was.... difficult to look at, but the First Minister endured.
"Excellency," said a polite, surprisingly soft voice from the other side of the room, next to a rack of instruments that did not want to be considered. The torturer stepped forward into the light of the lantern Malachi carried. There had been no other source of light down here. The torturer apparently needed none, and after what had been done to his eyes, neither did the prisoner.
"Do you have a confession?" Malachi asked, his voice hoarse.
The torturer - another nameless, faceless figure - looked surprised. "I had that days ago, Excellency. He is a member of the Shadow Criers, that he said without even threat of coercion." At the mention of the Shadow Criers, the prisoner looked up again.
"The Darkness is coming!" he cried. Of course, nothing would have been done to harm his voice. "We will all burn when the Darkness comes to us. We will.... all.... burn...." His head slumped back again.
"Anything concerning the murder of Minister Dugari?" Malachi asked, his face pale. Dugari's death some weeks before had shocked the entire Court. The consensus was that only a maniac could have done such a deed, such was the extent of the Minister's mutilations. A maniac or an animal. Malachi had looked closely at Lady Elrisia and Prince Cartagia during Dugari's funeral and nodded once.
The Shadow Criers had been quick to claim credit for the murder. Their reason for doing so was irrelevant. As far as the Court was concerned, that was the matter resolved. Capture the leaders, execute them, and they could then return to their little parties and drunken games.
"I am afraid not, Excellency. In fact, obtaining any information from him at all has been difficult. All he speaks of is the Darkness coming, and that everyone will burn before it. I.... ah.... apologise for this lack of success, Excellency."
"Has he told you anything at all?"
The torturer looked down. "Ah yes, he has, Excellency. Merely unsubstantiated hearsay, as like as not a ploy to bargain for his life." Malachi, who knew full well that the Shadow Criers did not care about their lives, nodded and gestured to the man to continue. "He claims that the leader of this group is a noble of the Court. He claims that this noble ordered Minister Dugari's murder and has promised all his fellows that they will rule after the Darkness has come and transfigured the land."
"Darkness...." hissed the prisoner.
"Complete untruths, of course, Excellency," continued the torturer quickly. He looked nervous, as well he might. For such an accusation to be made against the Royal Court.... well, the torturer himself might be taking the Shadow Crier's place in the chains.
"Of course," Malachi said gently. "I am sure he will say anything if he feels it will bring him surcease. You are doing well. You are to be commended. What...." He paused. "What is your...?" He stopped, and shook his head. Why bother asking the man's name? He would be unable to give it. What did the name of one of 'lesser' station matter?
"Never mind. It was nothing. Continue." The torturer bowed formally and returned to his rack of devices. Malachi left quickly. The Guards-Captain was waiting for him, of course.
"What information do we have on the Shadow Criers?" he asked, as they began the long journey back to the surface, past other cells. From some of them came pitiful cries for recognition, low moans, harsh sobs. From others.... nothing. Who were these people? Why were they here? The Captain could no doubt supply the names and 'crimes' of each and every person here, as could the torturer and others of the guard. But the nobles - they who had no doubt sent these people here and could free them - they would not care.
"Very little that is solid, Excellency," the Captain said. He did not sound surprised to be asked, but he might have been, had the question come from anyone else. There were few men who paid any attention to the doings of the Royal Guards - the Minister for the Interior, the Minister for the Court, and on occasion the First Minister and the Emperor. Few others cared.
And at present the Minister for the Court had been sent back to his estates in the south in humiliation, there was no Minister for the Interior, and the next Emperor had yet to be elected - which left only Malachi.
Just as he wanted.
"Piecing together the most likely information, it seems that someone somewhere had a particularly vivid dream-prophecy. Whether it is true or not we cannot say, but whoever this first dreamer was, he must have been driven mad by it. Whether he simply told others or others had the same dream we are not sure, but a small core of madmen has taken to setting themselves aflame in public and preaching of the coming Darkness.
"There are precious few of these genuine lunatics, I believe. There can be no more than a few hundred on the whole planet, and perhaps a few hundred more in all the colonies. But there are many who have joined up with them, seeking.... anything. The winter has been harsh and the recent poor conditions, famine and revolts have caused widespread disillusionment. And then, news of the Gorash situation has somehow leaked.... Put simply, Excellency, the people feel they need something to believe in."
He had carefully avoided mentioning the lack of response from the Court to these problems. The peasants starved, the crops failed, the army weakened, colonies were lost to the Narns.... and still the Court celebrated and caroused.
And now people were burning themselves in the streets.
Malachi spent the rest of the journey in silence, thinking about each person who had died in that hideous fashion. He knew about the Shadow Criers and he had already known every word the Captain had told him. He could even place the first person to dream of the Darkness, a mad seer who had been unaccountably freed from his institution only to preach to the people and then kill himself in flame. From him the word had spread.
Malachi also knew the truth about the noble backing the less.... zealous Shadow Criers. They had truly had nothing to do with Dugari's murder, but they had taken part in other.... acts of terrorism . They had been 'directed' in those as well.
Malachi himself had been behind them, almost from the beginning.
There was a Darkness coming, but not from outside, as they preached, but from within. Unless everything changed, it would consume the Centauri Republic. And everything had to change.
Malachi would see to it that it would.
* * * * * * *
Failure was a bitter sting for Sinoval, Primarch Nominus et Corpus and leader of the free Minbari peoples. He had experienced it before, but each time he had been able to rationalise away the causes of his failure. There was a saying of Valen's that had always been appropriate. There are two groups of people in this life: those who refuse to believe they are capable of making mistakes, and those who know they have done so, and work to avoid making any more.
Sinoval had always believed himself to be in the second group, but as he sat alone in his chambers on Babylon 4, he was beginning to doubt.
His greatest mistake, without a doubt, had been Jha'dur. Dead now for over two years, still she reached out from beyond the grave to plague him. If only he had killed her earlier, and freed himself from the shackles he had inherited from the foolishness of his predecessors.
But he hadn't, and as he recalled his conversation with Delenn and the Starkiller he was brutally aware of the depth of his mistake.
He had not been avoiding them, in truth. He had simply been busy, hearing reports from the surviving colonies, subtly sounding out the other dignitaries here, being present at meetings designed to establish this new alliance.... He had been busy, but unfortunately not busy enough to avoid Delenn and the Starkiller forever.
They had found him at last a few hours ago. They had just left this room, the anger in Delenn's voice still permeating the air.
He knew what they would ask for. A cure. The answer to Jha'dur's fatal virus threatening Sheridan's life. A virus he had unknowingly allowed to be created.
He had known they would ask, and he had known his answer.
"No. I have found no cure. Not yet."
And then.... accusations. "How hard have you been looking? Just how hard?"
"What do you want of me, Delenn? Would you like to explain to my people why their leader is too preoccupied to tend to their concerns? On Tarolin Two there has been a plague these last few months. In the Owari system raiders have been threatening our pitiful shipping lanes. Sonovar and his renegades are still hidden, still plotting something. The Vorlons are still active, the Shadows are still active.
"Should I ignore all these things to seek to aid a former enemy of our people? Would you like to explain this to them?"
"I have foresworn Minbari concerns, Sinoval. You know that."
"And yet there are many who come to you at Kazomi Seven." A subtle sting there. One unworthy of him, it was true.
"They come for aid. We will turn away none who genuinely need help. It is your politics in which I refuse to involve myself."
"Could you transfer the relevant files over to G'Kar's people?" The Starkiller. "Perhaps they might be able to help."
"No. There are.... details there not to be seen by others. Secrets that should never be revealed."
"Then keep your secrets, Sinoval! I merely hope we do not all burn because of them." Those words in the air, Delenn had left.
Mistakes.... far too many made, pitifully few atoned for.
Sinoval tried to meditate, but peace would not come to him. Not at all. He could see the darkness rising and he knew just how fragile was the light raised against it.
And for the first time in years, he knew fear.
* * * * * * *
Kazomi 7, a place of hope, a triumph of light over darkness, a testament to optimism over despair. Until recently it had meant nothing to Catherine Sakai. The ISN reports back on Proxima had been sparse in their coverage of alien affairs, and any news about the rise of a new Alliance would have been very carefully edited. Especially one arising from the chaos of the Drakh invasion. The Drakh had been humanity's allies, and it would hardly do to reveal to the people that their allies had slaughtered and massacred an entire colony.
Still, not all humans had been as ignorant as she, and Catherine had had the (mis)fortune to find transport to this place with one of these.
It had been a long journey from Proxima. Even now, with humanity slowly taking back its rightful place in the galaxy, interstellar traffic was.... limited. Generally the only accepted destinations were the other human colonies, and perhaps some of the Narn worlds.
From Proxima, Catherine had gone to the old colony at Vega 3, a former mining base growing in importance since the Minbari attack that had destroyed Vega 7's base. From there to the Narn homeworld, and around in a circuitous path to Kazomi 7.
The journey had been everything to her, and now that she was here, she was beginning to wonder why. Why had she abandoned her job and her friends to travel to a place where few of her race lived? Was it something to do with IPX...? Possibly, but then why had the company not simply sent her here?
Too many questions, and no clear answers. But still, musing on them had succeeded in distracting her from the constant babble of her pilot.
"Oh yeah.... been to Kazomi Seven loads of times. Even back in the days when it was just a trade stop-off point, a neutral place between territories. Lots of dodgy dealing going on in them days, let me tell you. Why there was this one time when I was drinking in one of those Drazi places, just minding me own business, when this Brakiri lady comes up to me. Now I starts to worry, because well, you hear all about some o' these alien women, don't'cha. Well, she says to me, 'Are you Captain Jack,' she says. Captain Jack bein' me name o' course. Couldn't remember if I'd told you before. But anyway, I says...."
And now she was here. Kazomi 7. And as she stepped out into the entrance hall of the docking bay, she realised she had not the slightest idea of who to see, or where to go.
Looking around she could see little to jog her memory. Some Drazi arguing with a Brakiri customs officer. Some massive Bulloxian guards. A Llort merchant with two Drazi bodyguards.
"You again?" said a tired voice. Catherine turned to see Captain Jack talking to a Drazi, who was wearing a sash that she was sure indicated some sort of rank.
"Ah well, you know me," Captain Jack replied. "Can't keep away from the place. Always wheeling and dealing, you know the sort of thing. Just a little business, that's all. Oh, and can I introduce my very lovely companion here, heh heh.... Catherine Sakai. Here for the nightlife, I'll bet. Ha ha!"
The Drazi turned to look at Catherine, and shrugged. "Vejar will have to look at her."
"Vejar? Who's...?" She stopped, sensing a presence approaching. Turning, she saw a human, a young man dressed in black robes. There was a sense of great power in his bearing, but now.... he seemed more curious than anything.
"New arrival," said the Drazi. "Give her the once-over."
"Why are you here?" Vejar asked her, looking intently into her eyes.
"Are you from customs or something?"
"No. I'm a.... more specialised sort of guard. Who are you?"
She tensed, a part of her recognising that question. "I'm.... Catherine. I'm just a.... traveller."
"Where from?"
Don't tell him Don't tell him Don't tell him. "Proxima," she said, the name almost dragged out of her.
"Proxima." He seemed to be sampling the name on his tongue. "Proxima.... Why are you here?"
"Just.... I'm just.... I.... don't know."
"Something wrong?" asked the Drazi guard. His hand was on his weapon. Some of the Bulloxians began to move ominously in their direction.
"She's not.... tainted," Vejar said, looking pensive. "And I can't detect.... anything noticeably wrong, but...."
"We can arrest her," suggested the Drazi. "Expel her?"
"No," Vejar said, shaking his head. "It's nothing I can put my finger on. Let her in. I.... can't be.... sure. Let her in."
The Drazi shrugged. "If you say so." He did not look very certain. To Catherine: "That way there. You'll be met by one of the customs officers and admission arranged." She nodded, and followed the path indicated, acutely aware that Vejar's eyes were boring into her back.
It was only when she was talking to the customs officer that she remembered something very important. "Tell me," she asked him, "do you know where I can find Valen?"
* * * * * * *
It had been a busy few months by any estimation. Compared to the ludicrous pace of the last two years, recent events had been a little.... more sedate and less violent, but then this was Centauri politics. In theory high office on Centauri Prime was less dangerous than running through a devastated colony pursued by Drakh, but then theory and practice were two very different things.
Londo was more than a little amazed that he had got this far. His arrival and petition before the local Parliament of Selini had been based on a careful study of the political climate, and not a little blind luck. Events after that, however, could have gone in any number of directions.
He had been very pleased to discover three very real allies in the Selini court. Virini, former Minister of the Court. A risible, almost hyperactive little man, he was nevertheless very well versed in the politics and scheming of the Royal Court. Too many people thought him no more than a joke, and his general - and questionable - code of ethics had prevented him using the vast repository of knowledge he had accumulated. At Londo's side, he was more than willing to share his discoveries.
Then there was Durano, who had served in the Ministry of Intelligence for years. A precise, meticulous, ordered man, it seemed that he knew someone to talk to about anything at all. Contacts back in the capital, and indeed everywhere, kept him aware of what was happening, and his investigations had turned up any number of interesting facts. He had been stripped of his position in the Ministry for being too efficient, and banished to his estates in Sphodria. Hearing of Londo's election, he had come to Selini to volunteer his services.
And finally there was the Speaker of the Court, a hereditary and almost forgotten post on Selini, a legacy of the days of independent rule. The Speaker had already helped Londo in his bid to become Governor, and now he was perhaps the most vital part of this little coalition. As long as he recognised Londo as Selini's new ruler, then most of the others would too.
Most of the others. Former Sitter Vole - Londo's first act as Governor had been to strip him of that now-redundant position - had fled back to the capital immediately following Londo's ascension. Durano's agents had confirmed that he had arrived at the Court, reported on everything that had happened and then.... promptly vanished. His current whereabouts were unknown.
Londo looked around at his former cabal, now in a sense his Government. He did not smile. It had been a while since he had been able to do that with any real pleasure. Still, he did feel pleased by the number of allies he had been able to assemble. And most of them were more than allies - they were friends.
There was a creed among certain races that the strength of an individual was based on the quality of their friends. If so, Londo thought, then he was one of the most blessed people in the galaxy.
Durano, Virini and the Sitter were there of course. They all had formal positions in the new Independent Parliament of Selini. The holder of a somewhat less formal position was there as well - Shaal Lennier, Londo's bodyguard. The presence of a Minbari in such august circles had shocked some people, but nowhere near as much as the presence of Londo's wife, the Lady Timov.
"But.... but.... she's a woman!" the conservative Virini had protested.
"Why, I do believe she is!" Londo had replied. "Amazing, isn't it? You're married to someone for over thirty years and you discover new things about them all the time. Let us hope you are absolutely sure that any wife you take, Virini, is a woman. It would not be good to make an unfortunate discovery during the wedding night."
Centuries of tradition prevented Londo from giving her a formal position, but she was always present at meetings and discussions. As he pointed out, it saved her the trouble of spying on him.
And at this current meeting there was a new arrival, a very old friend, recently returned from abroad. And the bearer of some very bad news.
"The whole Gorash system is lost," said Lord-General Marrago, former leader of the entire Centauri military. "The Constantine and the Hadrian were destroyed. The Claudius managed to escape but is severely damaged. It is expected to be out of commission for at least six months. And that is if the repairs begin immediately. So far, no one has seemed interested in that."
"Reasons of face, perhaps," spoke up Durano. "The expense of such a repair would be enormous, and it would be hard to hide. At the moment very few in the Court know the full extent of the defeat. The story that is being disseminated is that the Gorash system is now under martial law."
"I wonder how long that façade will last," muttered Londo. "Can the war effort survive long without the supply centres at Gorash?"
Marrago shrugged. "It is hard to say. I anticipated this eventuality during the last war, when Gorash was attacked and almost fell. There are several smaller supply centres spread out on hidden bases, so it is not the disaster it could have been. Still, the situation is very bad. I would say that short of a major turnaround we have a year or so at most. And that does not include any.... attempts by certain individuals to shorten that time."
He did not need to say more. Marrago had been present at the recapture of the Quadrant 37 base. A complicated and lengthy military campaign - and victory - had been reversed in hours thanks to orders from the Court. Incompetence at best: treason at worst. No one wanted to believe that some elements of the Court wanted the war to be lost, but the facts seemed inescapable.
"But anything I could say about the Narns might be entirely inaccurate," Marrago continued. "They are.... employing strategies I had never thought them capable of."
"How so?" asked Timov.
Marrago looked at her, and began making gestures to explain his points as he spoke. "The Narns are guerrilla fighters, my lady. They always have been. That was how they forced us to leave their homeworld. They simply made it impossible for us to remain. Their strategy was always a war of attrition.... nibble at supply lines here, assassinate a leader there. They work by spreading chaos a little at a time. A very alien concept to us. They do not fight as we do.
"But recently.... their tactics have changed. The retaking of Quadrant Thirty-seven, and now this open attack on our biggest supply centre.... It is bold, aggressive and very unlike them. They rarely go in for direct attacks unless they are certain they can win, and they are more inclined to retreat rather than suffer heavy losses, biding their time for another day. At Gorash their losses were apparently hideous, especially on the ground.... but they stayed, and they won."
He shook his head. "I cannot explain it, but they have changed their tactics, and for us.... definitely for the worse. They dared to attack one of our primary colonies in the heart of our territories, and they mean to hold it. What if they attack here?"
"A troubling thought," said Londo softly.
"Yes, troubling indeed, but as there is nothing we can do about it now, we must return to matters we can deal with. What of Lord Valo? He did escape from Gorash, yes?"
"Oh yes," replied Durano. "Publicly he is regarded as a hero. Privately.... amongst those who know the truth.... it is a very different matter. There are speculations about a sideways promotion for him. Somewhere.... out of the way."
"He is also sure to become a very unpopular figure," supplied Timov. "As far as the common people are concerned, he crushed their revolt and instituted martial law. It cannot have helped his popularity."
Most of the others looked stunned, but Londo smiled. "Now you see why she is here, my friends. Sometimes we need a woman's help to examine topics no sane person would even contemplate." She jabbed her elbow in his side and he grunted. "Perhaps that was the point. Some nobles may be just as distrusting of Valo now as the common people are."
"A possibility," acknowledged Virini. "But who cares what the common people think? They have no political power."
"No." The Speaker rose to his feet, his firm voice addressing his social superiors with the same authority he would have used in speaking to a group of farmers. "No, they do not, but they do possess far greater power than many realise. They feed you, clothe you and supply you with almost everything you need."
"He is right," admitted Londo. "We have.... not treated the lower classes as well as we probably should have done. That is just one of many mistakes we will have to correct." He shook his head sadly. "But now.... the next plan of action. The loss of Gorash may force us to intensify matters and speed up the timetable. If the Narns are, as Lord Marrago supposes, altering their tactics, we may have less time than we thought.
"Virini.... We need more allies in the local Parliaments at Gallia, Sphodria and Camulodo. They are the nearest cities to us on the mainland, and if we are to push our influence forward to the capital we will need them on our side first. Anything you can gain for us from the nobles there - blackmail, bribery, even an appeal to their better natures. Anything. A vote of recognition of my status here would be perfect.
"Durano.... I am worried about Lord Valo. He has never been a temperate man, and this defeat may push him over the edge. Find out what he is doing, and what the Court plans to do with him. If possible have some of your agents sound him out about coming here. He may be an ally for us. You never know.
"Marrago.... Return to the Court and carry on influencing the military in the way you have been doing. Despatch the Valerius and the other ships we have to watch our borders with the Narns. We will need at least some warning if they try something else unexpected. But they must not engage unless victory is certain. We cannot risk any more warships.
"I wish I could say things are improving, but gentlemen.... we have at least made a start. Good day."
They all rose, bowed, and filed from the room, leaving only Lennier and Timov. With a brief nod, the Minbari took up his position by the door.
"Ah, Timov," Londo sighed. "I am tired. So.... very tired. How did we fall so far?"
"By good men doing nothing," she said, coming over and sitting on his lap - a most un-Timov-like gesture, but then both of them had been changing a great deal lately. "That will change. We are at least doing something now, Londo."
"So I am a good man, am I? Thank you for the compliment."
"Don't let it go to your head," she said, smiling sadly. "Are you really going to go through with this?"
"I have no choice, dear wife. The sickness that infects us comes from the Court. Sooner or later.... and with Marrago's news it will most definitely be sooner.... I will have to go there and cut it out."
She shivered slightly as he said that, and held on to him all the tighter.
* * * * * * *
"May Valen forgive me.... for what I have done, and for what I am about to do."
Sonovar, once of the Night Walkers clan - in a time when such distinctions had meant something - stood on the bridge of his warship, his mind lost in thought, and in prayer. He had never been one for faith as such, always trusting in his strength and his courage, and in his leaders. Now, however, he had no leaders, and nothing to rely upon but himself.
"What Sinoval has done is wrong. Very wrong. Too wrong to let it stand, and yet.... in opposing him, have I become as wrong as he? Did his path begin with thoughts like these? Is there someone there waiting to make me pay for what I am now doing?"
"Heavy questions, lord."
Sonovar turned and cast dark eyes upon the new arrival. Forell hobbled into view. For one brief moment the extent of his mutilations was hidden by darkness, but as he emerged into the light they were clear to see.
Sonovar had always considered himself a strong man, but the sight of Forell's wounds unnerved even him. Marks of torture from the Earthers and their Shadow servants by all accounts. The priestling would not speak of his ordeal, but Sonovar's opinion of him had risen slightly. Anyone who could endure what he had endured deserved respect, at least.
"Can you answer them?"
Forell stopped and shrugged. "Not I, but the universe, lord. It will fall to history to judge us, as it does to us all."
"History. Yes. And who writes history, Forell? The fallen.... the defeated.... the dead? No, it is the victor of course, and that is why I am here. Sinoval cannot be allowed to write his own history, to justify the.... things he has done. No." He shook his head sadly. "He has turned from the true faith and rejected the True Valen. For that, he must atone."
"I know, lord. But.... why here? Why attack Tarolin? I had heard that Primarch Sinoval was at...." His words died as Sonovar turned on him, dark eyes flashing, hand reaching for his pike.
"Never call him that!" he barked. "Primarch! What is that? It is a title of those cursed Shagh Toth! It is no title for any Minbari, much less a warrior."
"My apologies, lord. I.... meant no offence."
There was a scornful snort in response. "You are a priestling after all. What can you know of warrior sensibilities? No, you are forgiven, Forell. Just do not use that title again."
"Of course, lord."
Sonovar fell silent and looked out again at his tactical displays. Tarolin 2. An old colony, rich in history. The Earthers had skipped past it during their assault. Perhaps the loss of their Drakh allies at Minbar had prevented them from returning to finish the task. The reigning Administrator had sworn fealty to Sinoval - out of fear, probably.
Sonovar was a warrior, and as such he understood fear. He also understood that fear was to be fought, not surrendered to. By surrendering to that fear, the Administrator and his Government had damned themselves. They would die, and their souls would be reborn to greater wisdom and courage in their next lives.
"A question only, great lord." The prattling priestling again. Why Sonovar tolerated his witless talk, he did not know. Respect for his endurance.... or something greater? Something in Kalain's words, perhaps?
"Ask."
"Why send so few of your warriors on this assault? Why attack the colony with only your alien allies?"
"Minbari do not kill Minbari." The words were level and flat, without emotion. "All know that. Sinoval, it seems, has forgotten it. But if I am to oppose him, I must be better than him. Those I command will not shed the blood of my people at my word. They are there to guide and.... restrain the Tak'cha. Only those who swore fealty and service to Sinoval will be killed. My men are there only to ensure that innocents do not die."
"A fascinating answer, lord, but.... one thing more. How exactly do you define an innocent?"
"An easy answer for you, priestling." In one smooth, frighteningly swift motion, Sonovar drew and extended his pike, lunging forward as if to attack his companion. Forell did not start, but remained stock still. The pike gently tapped his shoulder.
"An innocent is one without blood on his hands.
"Leave me."
Bowing, Forell left.
* * * * * * *
"I'm.... sorry. I'm just.... I'm just scared."
She said nothing, looking at him closely, waiting for him to speak. The words were hard for him, she knew that. Not the admission of weakness, but the.... experience. He had seen a lot. Too much.
"It was.... horrible. There were people screaming, children just running down the streets, their skin burning. Warriors huddled in a corner, eyes burned out, rasping prayers I couldn't understand. Buildings.... ancient, beautiful buildings reduced to rubble in seconds. Centuries of history.... so much culture we just couldn't understand.... and it was all gone. Everything.
"But.... do you know what's worse? I did it. Me. Every single one of those ships had me on board."
"You couldn't have done that," whispered Dr. Mary Kirkish quietly. "David, you wouldn't have done that."
Commander David Corwin sat up in bed, the blanket falling around him. He put his hands on his head. "No. I could have. I know I could have. There was someone like me on each of those ships. And after it was over, after the battle and the bombing and the death, they went back to Proxima, they went back home to their loved ones and their children and their friends and.... and what? People. Real people. Good people. I know some of the people on those ships. Hell, the Babylon was almost there and I was on that ship for years.
"I always thought we were the good guys."
"We are."
"Are we? How can we be.... having done that? I just don't know any more.... and that's why I'm scared. We were on Minbar for months and all the time I was thinking that I could have done that, and wondering.... just.... wondering...." He fell silent.
"Yes?" She touched his shoulder gently.
"I was wondering how I'd be able to look at you again if I had."
She said his name slowly, with exasperation. "Look.... I don't know what you saw. How can I if I wasn't there? But I do know that if you'd been in the same situation as those people, you'd have done the right thing. I have faith in you, David. I know you're a good man."
"Thank you. But I...."
"Shush." She kissed him gently. "Be afraid until you aren't afraid any more. It's as simple as that. I love you."
He smiled pathetically. "You know.... I think I'm getting to understand that."
* * * * * * *
"Captain Sheridan. This is Bester. You and Captain Ben Zayn are to return to Sanctuary immediately. You are needed here. I repeat. You are to return here immediately.
"There will be no dissension on this matter. Bester out."
* * * * * * *
Worms in the brain. The mighty Centauri Republic.... masters of the galaxy, lords of all that moved....
Worms in the brain.
Lord Valo sat, alone except for the one who kept serving him brivare. He was looking at the liquid and in it he could see all his failures reflected. The Gorash system. One of the Republic's oldest and strongest colonies, taken just like that. He had been sent there to defend it, and he had failed.
And they had done nothing!
He could see their faces. Interchangeable, they were all the same. Minister this.... Lord that.... General the Other. Pathetic, the lot of them. All smiles in public, twisted lies in private.
They were doing nothing. They had let the Narns take Gorash, that could be the only explanation. Too weak to rule. The Republic had been too weak for decades. Turhan had been weak, but he at least had had strong men serving him. All gone now. Every last one of them.
Gone, or traitors. Marrago, Mollari, Jaddo. Gone, the lot of them.
But what other options were there? The Court was the centre of the Republic, had been since the days of the second Emperor. When the Court and the Emperor were strong, the Republic had been strong. But now.... What other option was there?
Treason.... such a.... tempting word, but where was the true treason? To stand against a weak and foolish Government set on destroying your people through incompetence.... or to watch all this, knowing, and doing nothing?
"More brivare!" he cried.
"I think you've had enough, my lord," said an unfamiliar voice. Valo turned, and there was a knife at his throat.
"Who dares? Where is my servant?"
"Asleep. I do not kill those who do not deserve it."
Valo looked up into the face of his assailant. A young man, his eyes prematurely old. And that voice.... something familiar about it. "Mollari," he hissed. "Minister Mollari's nephew. We were told you were.... gone, had betrayed us all."
"Who knows, perhaps in a few months they'll be saying the same of you, my lord. That you just.... went."
"Probably. Fools and weaklings the lot of them. Not a real man in.... too long."
Mollari nodded. He pulled his knife back from Valo's neck. "Too true, my lord. So tell me.... what will you do about it?"
"What do you think I should do about it?"
"That is for you to decide. I came here seeking a strong man. It looks as if I haven't found one."
"Wait! We need strength. Now more than ever. We need a man like the Emperors of old.... soldier-kings, uniting the republic with strength and will."
"A man.... like yourself?"
Valo's eyes widened. "Aye. A man.... just like myself."
"Ah. Well then.... you have my support, my lord."
Valo sat back, the haze of brivare passing from his mind. Emperor. A strong man. A man.... like himself.
"Emperor," he muttered. Then he laughed. "Yes.... Emperor!"
* * * * * * *
Alfred Bester did not look nearly as ill as he was supposed to be, but he certainly did not feel well. He strongly disliked not being in control of events, and any number of things outside his control could be happening now.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being manipulated. Of course, both Ambassador Sheridan and Mr. Welles had tried that with this scheme of theirs, but he had added his own touches to their plan, putting matters squarely under his own control - that was, if Donne did not fail him. She had never failed yet, but that did not mean she would not fail here.
Well, it was too late now. Sheridan and Ben Zayn had received his message - more for Sheridan's benefit really. Bester did not want any misplaced loyalties floating around when everything went down at Babylon 4.
"Where is he?" he asked himself impatiently. Donne would be making her move any time now, and it was imperative that G'Kar was not around to interfere, at least not in spirit anyway.
"I am told," said a quiet voice, "that talking to oneself is the beginning of insanity." G'Kar's holographic form glided through the wall. Bester shivered. He would never get used to that. "Why have you called me here? I thought you were ill."
"Recovering nicely, thank you for asking. There was just one little matter to discuss."
"Yes?"
Bester raised a small hand-held device and clicked a switch. G'Kar's holographic body spasmed. "A jamming device," he explained. "Jamming, in this case, the signals that transmit your holographic form here. You see, something very special is about to happen back at Epsilon Three, and we can't have it interrupted. You're trapped here now. At least, until everything's done."
"Wh.... Why?"
"Loyalty to my people, G'Kar. I am sure you would not hesitate to sacrifice me for the sake of one of your people. I am no different."
Bester sat back in his chair, breathed out.... and waited.
* * * * * * *
Donne had never seen the Heart of the Great Machine before. Oh, she had been briefed as extensively as possible by Bester, but then he had never seen it either. A few of his men had - construction experts and the like, present at Epsilon 3 to help with the building of Babylon 4. Their information had been.... useful, especially as Donne was able to access it directly from the mind without it passing through the mouth.
But nothing.... nothing could compare to the sight before her.
The compound had not been deserted, which actually made it easier for Donne and her team to get around. She was an acknowledged representative of one of G'Kar's oldest allies after all, and her companions were a team of experts in various fields, come to study the Machine. The Narn guards had admitted her almost without question. She wondered if they regretted that nonchalance when Tu'Pari emerged from the shadows and slit both their throats in an instant.
The Narn was good at his job, Donne had to allow that.
None of them knew how much time they had. Bester had promised some disruptions up above, but the real fireworks wouldn't be able to start until the Machine was secure.
Number Two coughed briefly. "Damned air," he muttered. Donne marked him down for a protracted, painful death. Still, he had a point. There had been some atmospheric modifications down here, and unfortunately they had been made with Narn physiology in mind. It was breathable, just a little.... thick.
There was a sound of someone approaching. Donne started, but then relaxed when she saw that her allies had reacted faster than she had. That was what they were here for after all, wasn't it?
A Narn, wheeling in a human-sized container unit. It had been brought down here a few days before and safely hidden away. Bester had taken the precaution of bribing one of G'Kar's staff. There wasn't a Narn alive who wouldn't sell out his own grandmother for enough cash to buy a sheep.
"Here you are," the Narn said quietly. Even he looked a little awed by the sight of the machinery before him. "Now.... the matter of my payment?"
Donne smiled and nodded. Tu'Pari flicked a small projectile which burst into the Narn's eye, piercing his brain. He died instantly.
"Impressive," Donne muttered as Number Two and Boggs began opening the box.
The Narn grinned, a hideous image. "A Thenta Ma'Kur weapon. A.... memento of more pleasant times, let us say."
"That thing gives me the creeps," muttered Number One, nodding her head in the direction of the Machine, and the Narn held within it. "Are you sure he won't wake up?"
"Trust me. He's kept suitably.... distracted. Can we have that thing open today?"
"We could have it open in two seconds," replied Number Two, not looking up. "But it'd kill her in the process. I'm up for it if you are."
Of all the arrogant.... No. Donne forced herself to calm down. Duty now. Murder later.
"Why the need for this rigmarole anyway?" he asked. "Couldn't we just have got her down here the same way we did?"
"No," she said, as calmly as she could manage. She did not bother explaining that Susan Ivanova was a very recognisable figure to too many people on Babylon 4, or that there was a possibility that some system might have noticed the Keeper affixed to her. That was not for them to know about.
Donne's heart was beating faster and faster. There were any number of things which could go wrong now. What if some of them suspected...? What if...?
No, they were all mundanes after all, apart from Ivanova, and her psi-talents were too negligible for words. According to Bester it had taken a great deal of surgery to make her suitable for this task - a formality Donne would not need. Nature, not science, had made her special.
"Done," said Number Two triumphantly. The box opened and a faltering figure clambered out. Donne looked at her intently. Weak. It was written all over her. Far too weak. She could have been one of the special, but she had chosen to reject that destiny.
Pathetic.
"Do you know what you have to do?" she asked Ivanova. No you don't. You don't have the slightest idea. Not of the truth, anyway.
She nodded. "I.... know...." Those creepy aliens back on Proxima would have made sure of that, Donne supposed. Well, they would have made sure she was aware of their side of the plan.
"Good. Time to deal with Narn van Winkle here."
"My turn," said Number One. She walked slowly up to the Heart of the Machine, wherein rested the comatose body of one of the greatest Narn leaders ever. She hated Narns. They had descended upon a weakened humanity like vultures and stripped away their lands, their resources, their self-respect.
Donne walked up alongside her, and smiled. She was screaming her hatred out at the top of her mind. So incredibly predictable.
Number One drew her PPG and fired one shot directly into the shoulder of the Narn in front of her.
The reaction was immediate. G'Kar's body spasmed and a lurching agony flared in his eyes. His consciousness was being transferred back here, wrenched away by the pain. The wound was not fatal, of course. He would be needed alive for later.
The machinery began sliding back from his body, whatever symbiotic link they shared severed. The Narn slid from the Heart and fell to the floor. He tried to turn, tried to call for help, anything, but Number One's booted foot connected with the side of his head and he fell limp.
"There you go, love," said Number Two, beaming. "All yours now." Ivanova, responding haphazardly to his words, began to shuffle forward.
Suddenly she collapsed, her eyes rolling up in her head. There was the merest hint of a scream.
Smiling, Donne stepped into the Heart and let it embrace her. Her mind linked with it and she was suddenly.... aware.
"As you can see," she said, in a voice that did not sound like hers at all, "there's been a change of plan."