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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part IV: A Line in the Sand |
THERE were times, he knew, when every soldier thought about death. How it would come, where, when, what would he have done just before? Would he have remembered to say goodbye, or would the thought simply have slipped his mind?
Captain Dexter Smith found himself wondering who there was he could have said goodbye to. Other than his crew there was no one, and his crew was here with him. They knew the situation as well as he did. They knew how his haste and foolishness had betrayed them all and brought them to this. Brought them to their deaths.
He had managed to save the other ships though. That was something. The Morningstar and the Marten had gone, the energy from their jump points just fading. Smith stood alone, staring out at the ranks of his enemies - the Parmenion and the Starkiller, the Drazi ships, the station itself, and whoever now ruled supreme on the planet below.
He wanted to say that he was sorry, but the words would not come, and he was not sure if anyone would listen. He found himself thinking, almost absurdly, of Lieutenant Stoner. He had always believed he would see her again one day. An absurd notion. She had betrayed him after all, him and every one on board this ship. Still, he had wanted to see her.
"What's their status?" he asked Franklin. Franklin had been on this ship longer than Smith himself had. He had been here in the days of Sheridan, whose ghost hovered even nearer than it had before.
"They're not attacking. The Parmenion is approaching slowly with gun ports open, but they do not seem to be powering up. The other ships are holding back. There's no sign of any further activity from the planet."
Smith nodded, sitting back. Sheridan then. Fitting enough that he'd want to end this.
"A message is coming through, Captain," said Franklin. "It's.... it's from Captain Sheridan."
Smith's mouth felt very dry. "Put.... put him on." He closed his eyes, and pressed his hands together as if in prayer.
"This is Captain Sheridan of the EAS Parmenion, to the Babylon and its captain. You are alone and outnumbered. Surrender now, and we will spare you."
"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the Babylon. I demand an amnesty for my crew." It seemed so easy to say it now. It was simply what had to be done. He had got his crew into this, and now he would have to get them out. "A complete amnesty and the right to return to Proxima Three unharmed."
"You're in no position to make any demands at all, Captain."
"Nevertheless, those are my conditions. Such an amnesty would not extend to myself of course. I.... I will agree to stand trial and submit to whatever fate you see fit so long as my crew are permitted to leave."
"Captain!" breathed Franklin, but Smith silenced him. There really was no other option.
"I see," said Sheridan. "Well then, Captain, I cannot promise to accept your offer, but I will speak on your behalf to others. You have my word on that."
"Well then. It seems that is all I can ask for. The Babylon stands down."
"Prepare to be boarded, and we will escort you to Babylon Four."
Smith nodded and began to give the necessary orders. His bridge crew carried them out in stunned silence. He did not look at them as they did so. He could not bear to see their faces, knowing his fate to come.
* * * * * * *
Some words, once spoken, can never be taken back. Some offers, once made, can never be withdrawn. Michael Garibaldi, staring at the scenes of carnage before him, knew that he had made just such an offer.
"You want someone to go in that thing? I'll do it."
There was silence as he looked at the few people still alive and conscious in the room. G'Kar, the Narn who had previously occupied the Heart of the Great Machine, was leaning heavily against his servant Ta'Lon, who was himself covered with blood. The mass of torn tissue around Ta'Lon's eye seemed a mark of his inner strength. Dr. Kirkish, her face pale, was swallowing harshly, trying to speak perhaps, but unable to do so.
The first to speak was in fact none of those, but a strange, clicking voice just out of sight. "Yes. Good good. Enter. Hurry. We be having very little of time. Well, what Zathras mean to say is that time is, infinite of course. Hah yes, infinite. Everyone knows that. Zathras knows that. But.... ah.... Zathras forget what he be saying. Ah, cannot have been important."
"Zathras," G'Kar breathed. "I thought that she.... We.... thought...." He coughed.
"You be thinking Zathras being dead. Ah no. Zathras not as easy to kill as some think. Zathras is hiding. Zathras be hiding himself when nasty telepath woman was distracted, yes. Zathras very smart. Yes. Well, no. Ah, does not matter. Zathras know just what to do."
"Where are you?" G'Kar asked.
There was a motion from within the cryogenic storage box that had brought Susan Ivanova down to the planet. The box was shaking a little, and there was a sound of banging from within. Finally the lid slid back and a small, rodent-like alien scurried free. Garibaldi had met Zathras before, several times, always assuming this was the same Zathras of course.
"See. Zathras know when hide. Is why Zathras still alive." He looked up at the empty Heart, and then at the body on the floor next to it. "Yes. Is not good to leave Machine empty for too long. Bad things happen then. Very bad things. Much badness. Great deal of badness will happen."
"Yeah, yeah," Garibaldi said. "We get the idea. Look, G'Kar, you can't get in there at the moment, right."
The Narn tried to rise, but was quite unable to get to his feet. "No, he cannot," said Ta'Lon. "The Machine requires.... great strength, which unfortunately neither the Ha'Cormar'ah nor I can manage at the moment."
"So let me do it. Look, someone's got to take over that thing, and we've no idea what things are like up on the station."
"But.... Michael," Mary said at last. "What about Lianna? What would she say if she were here?"
"Oh, look, it's not going to be forever. I'll.... do what I have to for the moment, wait for G'Kar to get better, and then I'll hand it back to him. No problem. Besides.... sometimes, I've just.... got to do what's right. I hope my son understands that one day. You've got to do what's right.
"Anyway, there's nothing to worry about. I won't need to be in there forever. You'll be able to take it back later, won't you, G'Kar?"
The Narn bowed his head. "Yes," he said softly.
"Good. Is decided. Hurry hurry."
Garibaldi nodded and stepped forward, looking down at Donne's body uncomfortably. "Uh.... it won't do to me what it did to her, will it?"
"No no," Zathras said. "She.... very bad person. Use Machine wrongly. Machine not like that. You use Machine well, Machine like you."
"Okay.... what do I do?"
"Step.... inside," G'Kar coughed. "Open your mind to it.... let it.... instruct you."
"Uh.... all right." He stepped inside and felt a great warmth embrace him. He reached up with his arms and tried to open his mind, as G'Kar had instructed. As he did so, he caught Mary's eyes. They were angry and accusing, but above all, resigned.
"Are you sure it's working? Nothing seems to be...." His mind filled with light.
"Whoa!"
* * * * * * *
Londo Mollari took little satisfaction in his current situation, but the one small ray of hope he could find was the knowledge that his campaign would not fall with him. Between them Marrago, Durano, Virini and dear Timov could continue, and somehow bring this planet and their race back from the brink of disaster.
That was one small gleam of optimism. It was not much, but in a situation like this a man took whatever he could get.
He wondered how long he had been imprisoned. There was no light in his cell, and no way to measure the passage of time accurately. That was part of the point of course. He tried to remember the hour it had been when he had left Selini, but working from there left him with only an approximate guess.
The only objective sign of the passage of time was the ranting from the next cell down, or wherever it was coming from. A Shadow Crier no doubt, or a plain simple madman. Durano's agents had reported that some of them had tried to attack the Court and that a couple had been arrested. They had not gone easily, many preferring death to capture. Londo could entirely understand the feeling.
"The Darkness is coming!"
He had little idea of who the Shadow Criers were, or what purpose they claimed to serve. The best Durano's agents and Dugari had been able to discover was that they were a group of madmen, probably all either seers or psi-sensitives. Other than that, and their disturbing propensity for burning themselves alive in public, nothing was known about them. Not a thing.
At some point during the night - if it was still night - the madman stopped shouting. Londo could not remember if that was before or after he had gone to sleep, or even if he had gone to sleep at all. It was hard to tell.
He remembered dreaming about Timov, or.... thinking about her? He did not know. Probably both. Maybe. He missed her, very much. Strange really, considering all the years they had spent apart. He also found himself wondering where Mariel and Daggair were. The last reports had them trying to wrap themselves around Lord Jarno, with varying degrees of success.
The door opened and a dull, muted light filled the room. Londo moaned softly as he shielded his eyes, mumbling curses to himself. Two silhouettes stood framed before him, and two rough arms seized him and hauled him to his feet, propelling him forward.
The corridor was lit, although not well. Still, it caused Londo's eyes some pain before he managed to adjust enough to see the two guards beside him, pushing and prodding him in one direction. Deeper into the prison, he noticed, not away from it. Any hopes of Malachi putting in a word for him evaporated.
But then why would Malachi want to? It was he who had got Londo into this mess in the first place, by framing him for Refa's murder. And it was because he had trusted his old friend that Londo had returned to the capital, and wound up imprisoned instead. He supposed it was his own fault, but he would far rather be guilty of trusting someone too much than of trusting no one at all. Trust was a commodity he had only recently rediscovered, and he found himself rather enjoying it.
He was taken down some winding steps which were even less well lit than the upper corridor. He stumbled and would have fallen, had the guard not roughly grabbed his shoulder, keeping him upright. He was not bound or restrained in any way, but escape was clearly impossible. Even should he somehow manage to get past two guards half his age, he would have to face countless more before getting outside. He should know, he was one of the few nobles ever to have taken an interest in the prison and how it worked.
There was one room at the bottom of these stairs, and he knew full well what it was. He tried to breathe, but the air seemed so thick here. This had always been a possibility, but he had tried not to believe in it.
At the bottom of the stairs there was the door, a massive, dark, imposing gateway to what could very well be another world. There was a faint light just above it, and the flickering shadows only seemed to heighten his sense of despair.
I am not a hero. I just tried to do what was right, what I knew to be right. I'm not a hero. Damn you, Malachi, what have you done?
The guards stopped and one of them opened the door. There was no creak as it swung open, no sound at all in fact. Londo was pushed inside and the guards followed him, closing the door behind them.
Just over the threshold, Londo took in the scene. He had never been in here before, but he could surmise what would happen. He had tried to have this place closed down, but to no avail. It had been used only rarely in recent years, and had generally been reserved for the truly special cases. The False Prophet had allegedly died in considerable agony in this room.
In the middle of the room, suspended from the ceiling by chains and hooks and rope, was a man Londo did not recognise. But then, looking at the state of his mutilation, he doubted the man's own sweetheart would have recognised him now. From the rags of clothing he wore he seemed to be a commoner, but there was really not enough evidence remaining to be certain.
Just behind the hanging man was another man. An innocuous figure, dressed plainly, looking so average and normal he would not be out of place on any street.... the high torturer of the Court. By tradition a younger member of the Imperial Family was appointed to the position, more often than not against their will. All who served the Emperor had to be willing to do anything for him, the saying went, and that applied to the infliction of pain just as much it did to the killing of enemies.
And in the shadows at the far corner of the room was a small figure. Petite and not unattractive, she moved forward, lifting her long dress carefully to avoid the noxious mess of fluid and dirt on the floor.
"Londo, dear," she said. "A pleasure to see you again. We didn't really get much of a chance last time. I thought you might need a little.... time to think."
"I've had enough time to think these last few months, Elrisia," he said, feeling his hearts sink.
"Yes. We've been hearing all about your.... activities down south. Most impressive. Oh, by the way, thank you for murdering my husband for me. I'd been planning to do it myself, but I was just waiting for the right time."
He snorted, and bowed his head. "How was Refa's funeral anyway? I'm sorry to have missed it."
"Oh, the usual. Lying platitudes about what a great man he was, how we shall not see his like again, blah blah blah. A bunch of lying hypocrites who were glad to see him go. And I was one of them, I'll freely admit. I didn't speak, you know. I was just too.... grief-stricken to find the words. You'd have been very proud of me, Londo. I used those acting lessons very well."
"I didn't kill him, you know," he said, ignoring the reminder of their past. "Refa, I mean."
"I'm not surprised. You're far too.... honourable to have done anything like that. I don't really care who did, to be honest. The list of suspects, my dear Londo, is as long as your hair."
Londo shook his head. He knew who had killed Refa, but Elrisia evidently did not. He would not tell her. Not yet anyway. He knew that in this place anyone would reveal their deepest, darkest secrets with merely the right amount of persuasion.
"Have you brought me here to torture me, Elrisia?"
"In a manner of speaking. Actually, there are two things I want to do to you." She walked up close to him, very close. She released her hold on her dress and let the folds fall to the floor. Reaching out, she touched his face with surprising gentleness and bent down to him.
He knew better than to try to shy away from her, but he tried to respond to her kiss as little as possible. It was hard. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, and memories of certain events in their past kept returning to him. He tried to think of Timov.
Elrisia bit his lip savagely and pulled away. He swore, spitting blood. She backed away from him carefully, smoothing out her dress. "I know you too well, Londo," she said, a trifle breathlessly. "I am the only woman you are ever going to see down here, and before long I will be the only woman you'll remember even in your mind. With every thought, I want you to think of me, and the chance you could have had if only you'd been strong enough to take it."
"If I'd been strong enough to take it," he shouted, "I'd be dead in Refa's grave by now! I knew what you were then, Elrisia, and I still know what you are now."
She laughed, and made a casual gesture with her hand. One of the guards struck Londo in the small of the back, and he collapsed with a cry. At Elrisia's signal, they pulled him to his feet. "And I know you, Londo. Always the romantic, the idealist, the dreamer. Well.... dear Londo, let me show you what a dream has done to our world."
The guards pulled him forward towards the centre of the room, and held his head so that he was staring directly into the face of the suspended prisoner. The man's eyes were closed, and he looked unconscious.
"This man calls himself a Shadow Crier. The guards picked him up after he gave a speech in the Old Quarter several days ago. He was calling for the downthrow of the Court, but he was speaking with an intense madness. He's made a number of startling accusations, most of which he's recanted now. Isn't it amazing what can be done with a little effort? But there is one thing he cannot recant, which he will be willing to show you.
"This man, Londo, was your companion in your cell corridor. I'm sure you'll have heard him. He's quite, quite mad, and it wasn't our.... attentions that turned him that way. He's seen something, and now so will you.
"Wake him up."
The torturer gave a silent sign of acknowledgement, and raised a hideous-looking device. Moments later the Shadow Crier awoke with an anguished cry. "The Darkness is coming...." he breathed. "The.... Darkness...."
"Show him," Elrisia ordered.
The Shadow Crier's eyes seemed to dilate and twitch, changing colour and shape and form, drawing Londo into them. Londo's head was held tightly by the guards, but he would not have been able to tear his gaze away even had he been free. The sight was mesmerising.
And then he was inside them....
The Darkness is coming!
The Darkness!
He was standing staring up at the sky, a sky filled with smoke and fog and shimmering, moving Darkness. He could hear the sky screaming, a scream that cut to his soul, to old memories and older dreams.
Lights began to blaze in the heavens, moving against the Darkness. Another noise arose, harsh, invasive music, a chord that pierced his soul and left him in agony.
The Darkness was the scream, and the Light was the music. He knew that much. They were warring, fighting for this world, for these souls. The Darkness had arrived first, would come here soon, and the Light was trying to drive it away.
He was suddenly aflame, as the Light retreated and the Darkness claimed him. His mind opened to them, and he could hear their whispers. Fire was the tool, he knew that. Fire, and chaos.
Let the lords of chaos rule. Let the fire claim all it touched.
He laughed as he set himself alight, burning, and watching the heavens. It was not far off now, this battle for his planet and his soul, and the Darkness would be here soon. Very soon.
"The Darkness....
".... is coming!" he screamed, realising that the vision had faded. He was breathing fast, too fast. He was shaking.
"You saw it, Londo," Elrisia said. "You saw his madness, and now you've taken a part of it into yourself. You'll be one of them before long, and if you aren't, I'll make sure you succumb. Won't that be nice, hmm? To sit alone in your cell, crying out to the Darkness, weeping constantly, thinking of me always. A fitting reward, Londo."
"Have you.... seen.... it?"
"No, but I know what it is, and I'll stop it. When the time is right, Londo. I'll claim this planet for my own, but only when I feel like doing so. I have the power to save this world, Londo, with something as simple as order and peace.... but I won't use it. Not yet. Not for a while. Let it burn first, and pick up the ashes."
"What do you mean? Elrisia, you can't...."
"Oh, I can. I can do anything I want. You taught me that. You, and Refa. Goodbye, Londo.... for the moment at least."
Hours later, when only the Shadow Crier remained in the room, trapped both by his chains and by his madness, the door opened again and a lone figure entered.
"Hello again," he said. "I understand you had visitors recently. Did you show them what you showed me?"
Blood filled the Shadow Crier's mouth and he let it dribble from between his lips, not saying anything. He had probably not enough sanity left to be able to utter anything but that one refrain, and the new arrival had heard that often enough in recent days.
"I suppose you did. It doesn't matter." He walked to the centre of the room, heedless of what he was stepping into, or over. Lesser worries were for lesser people.
"Show me. Again."
The prisoner continued to drool blood, but in his eyes, and in his mind, something stirred, again. Prince Cartagia felt his hearts quicken in anticipation, as he was once again projected into a world that not even his demented mind could have envisaged unaided. He stood there for many minutes, basking in the glory of the visions, whispering the words of the Shadow Crier's prophecy to himself.
Then, the vision over and the prisoner slumping back into unconsciousness, Cartagia left. There was no sign of his presence there, no trace of his parting....
* * * * * * *
John Sheridan broke into a run the instant he left the shuttle, racing for Babylon 4's Command and Control. Corwin followed at a brisk walk. They had been met in the docking bay by a group of Narn Rangers, many sporting fresh wounds or hasty bandages.
The first person Sheridan saw on the command deck was Delenn. Without slowing his pace he ran to her and hugged her, lifting her up into the air. She smiled and kissed him intensely, holding on to him even as he let her down.
"What's the status here?" he asked, not taking his eyes from hers.
"The men Captain Smith left on board are secure," she replied. "We have had no word from the planet. We were just on the point of sending another party down there to investigate."
"A good idea," he said, and she smiled. "Do you know anything about whether Bester was involved there or not?"
"No. Not for sure."
"Well, whether he was or not, I think we've pretty much cut all our ties to Sanctuary now." He broke his gaze away from her to look at Corwin, just arriving. He was talking with the leader of the group of Rangers, a Narn named G'Dok.
"You have a place at Kazomi Seven," she said. "All of you, and Mr. Bester can...." She paused, and blushed. "G'Dok, what word from the Babylon?"
"Captain Smith has surrendered and will be brought back on board as soon as possible. The shuttle to the surface is also being prepared."
She nodded. "We have to...." She started, and there were gasps and the gentle sound of drawn swords from the Rangers.
A holographic Michael Garibaldi appeared before them. "Uh.... hi," he said, somewhat awkwardly. "This thing ain't easy, you know."
"Where is the Ha'Cormar'ah?" snapped G'Dok.
"He's alive. Ta'Lon as well, although they're both in bad shape. A medical shuttle would be a nice idea, as soon as possible. Don't worry about me. I'm only a fill-in. He can have this thing back as soon as he wants it. But.... we've got a problem here. A big one."
"You don't say," Corwin replied.
* * * * * * *
Vorlon ships were hardly commonplace anywhere in the galaxy, at least not in the areas occupied by the younger races. Other than their unexpected and largely unexplained arrival at the Battle of the Second Line at Proxima 3 a year and a half ago, sightings had been extremely rare and often disputed.
What was not disputed was that, a little less than a year ago, one such Vorlon ship had arrived at Kazomi 7, at a time when the United Alliance had barely flown from its nest. Someone had disembarked, a human by all accounts, however absurd such accounts were. He had spent some time on the planet and had then left. No one on the planet had seen the Vorlon itself.
Another Vorlon ship had now arrived. It was in fact the same one, although no one was aware of this. But for two people on the planet, touched more intimately by the Vorlons than almost any other, this arrival was not a surprise.
The Alliance council was hastily summoned, with much debate about who was to chair it in the absence of both Delenn and Lethke. Vizhak, Drazi Minister of the Interior, was eventually elected. Valen was formally requested to attend the meeting, although he had no official capacity on the Council. He insisted on Catherine attending also, and no one dared to contradict him. Vejar the technomage declined to attend. He was in fact, as later testimonies would reveal, conspicuous only by his absence throughout the Vorlon's stay on the planet.
When the Vorlon swept majestically into the Council chamber, there was a single united gasp of sheer awe. Valen rose to his feet, recognising something familiar in some way he could not identify. Catherine remained seated.
"We bid you welcome to our world," said Vizhak, in a moment of uncharacteristic politeness. "It is good to know our.... messages.... were.... received...." The Vorlon seemed to be ignoring him, staring - if that was the right word - at Valen and Catherine.
Then, after a moment of agonising silence, the Vorlon's headpiece nodded once as if in satisfaction. He surveyed the others in attendance. Vizhak, the representatives from the Abbai, Llort and Mutai, even the new Narn Ambassador, who was seemingly on the verge of apoplexy.
<Kosh,> the Vorlon said. <I am Kosh.>
"Welcome, Ambas.... er.... Ambassador Kosh," Vizhak said.
<Are you ready?> he asked, and Valen felt a chill.
"We're ready," he said softly, painfully. He could see his own footsteps before him.
"No!" Catherine cried, leaping up. "What do you want here? What do you...?" She fell silent as the Vorlon's gaze rested on her.
<There is no more time. Destiny awaits. The past calls you.> A brief hesitation. <Both.>
"What do you want of us?" asked Vizhak tentatively. He was ashamed of himself for wishing Delenn or Lethke were here. Or even Taan Churok, may all his Gods blight his soul for thinking so.
The Vorlon spoke only one word, and it was filled with emotions none but Valen could detect, for he felt them too. Anger, yes, but more than that, a sadness so intense it swamped almost everything. A deep and regretful sense of longing, of sorrow, of knowledge of what would soon be lost.
<War.>
* * * * * * *
Ambassador David Sheridan had been a career diplomat in his former life, and he still retained skills from that time which were beneficial to those he served in this new life. The foremost of those skills - particularly useful now - was knowing when the local leader was in a bad mood, and just how to soothe that bad mood.
Never forget where your loyalties lie.... that was the essential rule of the diplomatic official. Loyalty, the greatest virtue anyone could ever have.
"The President will see you now," said the secretary. Sheridan looked at her with a cold and forbidding gaze. Never before had the President failed to admit him immediately and directly. The man was changing, becoming.... less amenable. Damn Ivanova! If she had done her job properly then there would be no need for this battle of wits with Clark. A Keeper-controlled President should be their greatest tool, but somehow.... somewhere.... something had gone wrong.
Not even the Zener could identify what it was, but admittedly they were working from old medical records. The President resolutely refused to be examined directly.
Sheridan stormed into the room, trying desperately to calm his furious anger. Whatever was wrong with the President it was not something he could solve today, and there would be enough trouble just getting this piece of news past him.
Clark was there, seated at his desk, his face expressionless.
"Mr. President," Sheridan said. "I've.... received some disturbing news from Epsilon Eridani."
"I know," Clark said, not looking up. "General Ryan contacted me a few minutes ago.... You see, Ambassador, there are some people who think that the President of the Resistance Government of Humanity should know something this important before a foreign Ambassador."
"The battle was a setback, yes, Mr. President, but we...."
"A setback! We had everything within our grasp.... the station, the planet, that blasted Delenn, and we lost it all!"
"We were betrayed, Mr. President. Bester was playing his own game."
"And that surprises you? Ambassador, you're not half the observer you think you are if that was a shock to you."
Sheridan took the rebuke and mentally stored it away. There would be a time for repayment later. "Mr. President, our allies are ready to take the matter into their own hands. A large force of their capital ships will be in a position to assault Epsilon Three within a few days."
"You once said that you did not want to bring your allies deeper into this affair, for fear of what the Vorlons might do in retaliation. This is so important to them, to risk doing that?"
"It is. I regret that their objectives will be destruction rather than capture, but even that will be a boon to us. We will never be in a position to take over the Great Machine again. Better it should be destroyed than serve the enemy, don't you think, Mr. President?"
"I do not think. This attack is not to go ahead. And nor is there to be any form of reprisal against Bester. Not yet. Both of these problems will be dealt with in time, when it is right to do so."
Sheridan gave no visible sign of shock. He wished right now he could strangle Ivanova for her incompetence. He should have been given charge of this project from the very beginning. "Then what do you plan for the next engagement? We have too many enemies to leave them all unattended for another day."
"Indeed we do, and we haven't yet finished off one of our old ones. Sinoval, and the Minbari. I want him captured or killed, and his body brought before me. I took the risk of a direct assault on Epsilon Three because it seemed a likely chance, but it failed, and it was a costly failure at that. Two of our capital ships lost....
"Sinoval is our next concern, Ambassador. Direct your.... allies to him if they have so many ships lying around doing nothing. No action is to be taken against either the Great Machine or Bester for the time being. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly, Mr. President. I will relay your.... instructions to my allies. Good day." He bowed his head slightly and left, his face completely empty of his anger. Disputing the issue would be pointless. Clark was obviously working to a different agenda. But why protect Bester.... or the Machine? There was something.... something here he just could not work out.
But that could be dealt with later. This scare might very well prompt G'Kar to open the temporal rift as soon as possible and send Babylon 4 and Valen back in time now. For the salvation of the present.... and the past.... he must ensure this did not happen.
Sheridan began to formulate plans to speed up his timetable. A call to Kazomi 7, a report to Z'ha'dum.... and a very important set of orders to Ivanova.
This was not over yet.
* * * * * * *
He looks at his face in the mirror, and the image that stares back at him is that of a stranger. He no longer knows himself. He no longer understands himself. He sees only the ghosts of the past, and the nightmare he has made of his future.... of all their futures.
The future is lost now, all his grand plans, all his dreams.... all the dreams he had once shared with his best friend. They are now as dead as Turhan.
Last night had shown him that, in all its bloody glory. The blood, the flames, the screams.... not all of it had been his doing, but how would the Shadow Criers have fared without his discreet support? How much of the carnage could have been prevented if the nobles and Guards had not been so paranoid as to regard the slaughter as a personal assault on them?
And how much could have been prevented if Londo had been permitted to carry out his own plans?
Londo was lost to him now. Everything was lost.
"First Minister," said a voice at his door. His personal servant. A young man named Kiron Maray. Malachi was saddened that he knew nothing of the young man beyond his name. "First Minister, there is a runner from the Court here. Your attendance is requested."
"I am ill," he croaked, trying to make himself sound unwell. It did not take a great deal of effort.
"Yes, First Minister. I will tell him so."
Malachi raised his head once more to look in the mirror. Where had it all gone so wrong? Where had one man's noble dream turned into a nightmare which consumed the entire planet?
Where?
* * * * * * *
She was not afraid, no matter how alone she was, how trapped by darkness, how expectant of their arrival, no matter how she could see her fate, she was not afraid.
"My lord," she whispered softly. "I am sorry. Forgive me." That was what hurt her most of all - the knowledge of how Sinoval would react. Without her around, without her to bear the burden of his anger and his pain.... without her, what would he become?
She was his conscience, his confessor, everything that would help him become the leader he should be, the leader he wanted to be.
It was too dark in here, and she did not like the dark these days. But then she did not like the light either, preferring a muted half-light.
She remembered Sonovar standing over here, watching in silence as she was broken at Kalain's hands. He had done nothing, said nothing, just watched.
Meditation was rapidly becoming impossible. She rose to her feet, wondering how long she had been here. She had never been good at gauging time, and after her imprisonment in the Hall of the Grey Council that handicap had got worse. She guessed a day or two, but she just could not tell.
The door opened, and someone entered. At least, she thought someone entered. There was a brief silhouette in the doorway, and then it vanished. "Is anyone there?" she asked, trying to calm her breathing.
There was no answer. No sound even. Not even breathing.
Sighing softly, she closed her eyes. "Lights," she ordered, opening them again.
Someone was standing opposite her, at the other side of the bed.
He smiled, and she let out a strangled cry. She did not recognise him, but there was something about him that was familiar. "Who are you?" she asked.
"Death," he said, in an almost lyrical tone. "Death, death, darkness and death. You know these things, don't you? I can see it. How much did you beg to die? It tells me you did, you know. It tells me."
She breathed out slowly and began to back away. The same madness she had heard in Ashan's voice. A similar tone, although more certain, less divided. "Who are you?" she said, trying to remain calm. "How is.... it.... speaking to you?"
"It is there. Always there. Would you like it to speak to you too? That can be.... ah. No. It says that cannot be done. You're too.... too strong now. Perhaps earlier. You were not so strong then, were you?" He began to circle around the bed, moving towards her. "On your knees, begging for mercy, crying, weeping.... screaming.... Perhaps then you might have been worthy, but.... there was no opportunity, and now it's too late. Now you've got to die."
He smiled, a hideous sight, and cocked his head. "You're beautiful, you know. I think so. Very beautiful. It would be a shame to mar that beauty, but.... it tells me I must. It tells me that.... it tells me that this should be very messy. Very ugly. Very.... Oh. That isn't nice. Not nice at all."
She found herself backed up against the wall, and looked around frantically. There had to be somewhere she could go, something she could use as a weapon. No, of course there wouldn't be. Sonovar would have made sure of that. Had Sonovar sent him here to kill her? No, that was stupid. If Sonovar wanted to kill her, he could have done so before. He could have killed her at the shelter. He could....
She started, and her throat suddenly went very dry. The door was still open!
It was at the far side of the room, and she would have to get past him to get to it, but.... that was not impossible.
"This won't hurt," he said. "I'll not make it hurt. You've been hurt enough already. Kalain saw to that, and Sonovar, and all the others. Don't worry. Just close your eyes, and it will...." He closed his eyes, still moving forward. His gait was swaying and uncertain, as if he were hypnotised.
Now! She sprang forward, charging directly towards him. He started and raised his hand, something bright gleaming in it. He swung at her, but she reached him first, throwing her whole weight at him. His foot slipped and twisted, and he fell. Recovering her balance and stepping around his frenzied efforts to grasp at her, she made for the door as fast as she could.
Two steps outside the door, she literally ran into Sonovar. Reeling from the impact, she stumbled and would have fallen had he not caught her. Swaying in his not particularly gentle grip, she saw that he was accompanied by two warriors. All three of them were armed.
"Trying to reject my hospitality, my lady?" he said harshly. "I am afraid I cannot accept that."
"He was trying to kill me," she whispered. "What sort of 'hospitality' is that?"
"He? Who?" He gestured to his guards, and they entered the room. A few moments later they emerged, with Kats' mysterious assailant walking between them. There was no visible sign of a weapon.
"Ah," Sonovar said. "Forell. Yes, I understand your.... mistake that he may have intended some harm to you. He is not an easy man to like."
"He tried to kill me," she protested. "He.... he is corrupted somehow. I don't know how, but something is influencing him, something...."
"Silence!" Sonovar barked. "I trust him more than I do you, my lady. He has not betrayed our people, but you will pay for that crime shortly. In any event, Forell, you are not to go near her again, do you understand?"
"Of course, lord," he said, bowing his head. His voice was much more polite and refined now. Almost as if he were an entirely different person from the one who had attacked her.
"And now, my lady," Sonovar said. "I wish to discuss certain matters with you, in your quarters, if you have no objection?" She shook her head, still looking at Forell, and returned to her cell. He followed her.
"I apologise for your treatment, Lady," he said smoothly. "My aides misheard my instructions as to your welfare. They have been corrected. I also apologise if Forell startled you. I sent him ahead to see you were ready to receive me. I understand how he may have.... startled you."
She said no more about just how much he had startled her. He was corrupted in some way, the same taint that had consumed Ashan. Did Sonovar know about it? Was he corrupted as well? She turned to look at him. He stood tall above her, strong and powerful, an arrogant strength shining in his dark eyes.
She said his name softly, trying to infuse as much respect as she could into it.
"Yes, Lady. I suppose I still bear the title Satai, as do you, but such distinctions mean little these days. My name is title enough." He paused, studying her. She did not shift her posture, but she did avert her eyes from his piercing gaze.
"Are you comfortable here? Have you been brought enough food? Drink?"
"Neither," she replied. "But I wish only to be freed."
"Don't we all?" he replied enigmatically. "In any event, that is impossible at the moment. Sinoval will be here soon. It is a long journey from Epsilon Eridani, and that has bought me enough time, but I regret I will not be able to talk with you as much as I would like."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Oh? Nothing? Nothing at all?"
"What have you done to our people.... your people? What possible reason could you have for this?"
"I have many, but here is one. Sinoval will destroy us. Oh, under him we may be able to defeat the Enemy, and the Earthers, perhaps even win every battle we face, but where will that victory bring us? Our people are dead anyway. Sinoval has torn down everything that made us Minbari, and he will not be able to rebuild us. Not in the way he wants. A victory under him will be every bit as dark and terrible as if we had been enslaved by the Earthers.
"I will provide an alternative. Sinoval has committed too many wrongs for him to be allowed to remain."
"Minbari do not kill Minbari. And yet you did. Is that not a wrong?"
He shrugged. "Of course. I know what I have done here, and I accept it, but I punished only those who swore fealty to Sinoval.... only the weak and the cowardly. My actions may have been wrong, but my motives were pure. Can he say the same?"
"I don't need to bother arguing that. Were those in that hospital you killed guilty? Did they deserve to die?"
"They were sheltering you.... and you, Lady, are guilty."
She shook her head and tried to restrain a sob. "And there it is. A high and mighty worker aspiring to a position above her station. Only the warriors should rule, yes? Only they are fit to rule, and let the rest of us stay down in the gutter where we belong. You have no idea how many times I have heard that."
"You wrong me, Lady. Sinoval raised you to whatever position you hold because he thought you were deserving of it. I do not dispute that, but surely you more than anyone are intelligent enough to see the evil in what he has done. You have seen that, and yet you continue to serve him. That is why you are guilty."
"Yes, Sinoval has done a great deal that was wrong, but I believe in him. I chose to serve him not out of weakness, but because I know he is right, and...." She fell silent, and shied away. "I believe in him, and I always will."
"Truly? Or are you merely grateful to him for saving you? I saw you, remember.... begging on your knees, screaming.... tears running down your face...."
"Stop it!" She was crying again. "Yes, you saw me.... and you did nothing! You stood there and watched. How can you justify that?"
"I followed Kalain. He was my superior then, and I believed in him. Whatever madness afflicted him, it is gone now. It died with him. In a way, Lady, you are responsible for my actions now."
"Me?"
"Your.... ordeal showed me that the ones who rule can be as wrong and as flawed as any of us. After Kalain died I chose to embark on my own path instead of following Sinoval's. Had I not witnessed your torture, I would probably still be as those sheep on the planet, following Sinoval simply because he has claimed the right to rule. You and Kalain showed me that I did not have to follow blindly."
"You're.... you...."
"I'm sorry, Lady. I've obviously overwhelmed you. Rest here. Sleep if you wish. I will have food and drink brought to you, and I would like to talk with you again when you are feeling better. I.... I can see why Sinoval thinks so highly of you." He turned, and began to walk away.
A few moments later, he stopped. "Tell me, Lady, what is your definition of a great man? One theory could be that a great man is someone who takes his own path rather than meekly following others. What do you think of that?"
She said nothing. There was nothing to say. He left.
* * * * * * *
There had been no time for explanations, little time for questions, or answers. The next few hours passed hurriedly aboard Babylon 4.
Captain Dexter Smith was brought on board the station under heavy armed guard. He was met at the docking bay by Taan Churok.
"I was right," he said in harsh English. "I should have killed you."
"Yes," came the muted reply. "You should have."
The rest of the crew of the Babylon remained on board, although the ship was now operated by a large number of Narn Rangers. Captain Sheridan did not go near the ship, nor ask about anyone on it.
The survivors of the chaos on Epsilon 3 were brought up to the station. G'Kar was immediately rushed to the medical bay for extensive emergency work. Later reports said that he was stable, albeit with extensive internal and external injuries. Healing would take months at least.
Attempts were made to keep Ta'Lon in the medical bay as well, but he politely refused. He did consent to having his eye bandaged and disinfected, but then he insisted on meeting G'Dok and the other Ranger lieutenants. His second act was to tell them about those who had died on the planet. His first act was to rebuff all allegations that he was too weak to lead.
"I trust that scratch hasn't made you unfit to fight?" asked G'Dok.
"Hardly," came the reply. "It's just an eye, after all. I have a spare."
Ko'Dath and G'Dan came over from the Parmenion to liaise with the Narns on the station. Neither made any remark about Ta'Lon's injuries.
Dr. Mary Kirkish was also taken to the medical bay, and was diagnosed as suffering from extreme stress and trauma. She was sedated and left to rest. Commander David Corwin went to see her while she was sleeping. He whispered three words to her, words she did not hear, and then resumed his duties on the Parmenion.
Zathras remained on the planet for a while, advising and coaching Michael Garibaldi as much as he could. He frequently clicked and muttered in his own language, but it was clear that something was definitely not good.
Susan Ivanova was brought to the station. She was now semi-conscious, and seemed aware of her surroundings. Lyta Alexander, remaining on the Parmenion to scan for the presence of Shadow ships, gave a slight shudder at this time, although she would not explain why. Ivanova was taken to a cell and left there to await the attentions of those in authority.
No one dared touch the bodies at the Heart of the Machine.
A few hours after the ending of what would later be called the first stage of the Battle of the Third Line, a council was called. It was not attended by quite the number of dignitaries who had been present at G'Kar's doomed summit, but there was still enough power wielded in the room to influence a considerable portion of the galaxy.
It was Ta'Lon who spoke first. "Our current situation here is one of great danger," he explained. "The threat to this place has not ended with the surrender of the human forces. This station has a greater purpose than as a mere command centre for the war in the present. It has.... another destiny."
"This station was built to go backwards in time a thousand years, and serve a vital rôle in the last war against the Darkness."
Some of those present knew that already, but a great many did not. Lethke and Taan Churok in particular looked astonished. "You will.... forgive us...." Lethke said, "But that sounds a little.... uh.... hard to believe."
"It is true," Delenn said. "This station.... this very station was used by Valen a thousand years ago. It was in the archives of the Grey Council, information known only to us. No one knew where the station had come from or how it had got there.... until now."
"Two years ago, we saw this station going back in time," spoke up Sheridan. "It's true."
"Then if that was this place's intended purpose, why not send it back immediately on construction?" asked Taan Churok. "Why build a command station if it's going to have to be.... hah, sent back in time?"
"It was hoped that we would be able to take advantage of the station for the duration of this war," Ta'Lon explained. "We did not have the resources to build two stations, and so we.... risked a great deal. But at the time we planned this there was no sign of Valen, who would take the station back. How were we to know that he would appear on Minbar?"
"So what is the problem?" asked Lethke. "The station is secure. I will admit we could use some extra defences, but a quick message to Kazomi Seven will solve that."
"Problem?" barked Zathras. Lethke looked at the strange creature with a hint of surprise and a lot of condescension. "Problem. Zathras tell you where problem is. Problem is that great Darkness will be coming here. Soon. Now. If Enemy destroys station now, it will never go back, if station never goes back, goodness loses the war then, and.... big temporal paradoxes. All reality be rearranged. Very bad."
"Weakness!" snapped Taan Churok. "If these Shadows come, then we will fight them."
"Drazi, yes," noted Zathras. "Skulls block out brains. Very sad. Poor design. Listen, Machine is damaged. Bad woman did bad things to it. Opening temporal rift needs.... much energy. Very difficult. Some alignments need correcting, much machinery needs to be repaired. Machine may not be powerful enough after bad things done. Very unstable. What will happen later.... Zathras cannot say, but Zathras not like to think. Could be very bad."
"What he means," said Ta'Lon, noting bafflement on the faces of the Drazi and the Brakiri, "is that the Machine is growing very unstable at the moment. The forced rejection of Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar.... the weapons raised against us here.... the death of its previous host.... We cannot be sure if the Machine will be able to maintain its integrity for much longer. If we are to send Babylon Four back into the past it will have to be done now, or we risk losing the chance for a long time to come."
"When can we.... manage this feat?" asked Lethke. He looked at Zathras.
"Ah, G'Kar being very clever, yes. Temporal rift already open. A little. Important machinery already attached to station. Very clever indeed. But.... temporal rift now a little.... out of synch. Need to be realigned. Mr. Garibaldi doing that, yes. Zathras will soon attend to finishing off work there. Zathras be good at doing that.
"Zathras think.... couple of days. Besides, be not forgetting one thing.... we need Valen as well. Is being no point sending station back without sending Minbari back with it. That be very foolish."
Lethke suddenly seemed to realise something. "This.... temporal rift is already open?"
"In part, yes. Very clever of G'Kar, as Zathras said."
"Then is that what has caused all the.... unexplained events here? Dreams, strange voices from nowhere, visions of things in the past, in the future?"
"Ah. Yes, is possibility." Zathras paused, deep in thought. "That is not so clever." None of them noticed the frantic look Sheridan gave Delenn, a brief remembrance of a dream long past.
"Perhaps we should discuss this with the rest of the Council," Lethke said. "This sounds.... um...."
"No," Delenn said firmly. "We will do as Zathras has said. We must. We will send a message to Kazomi Seven, asking for every ship that can be spared to help defend this place while the damage is repaired. We.... will also need Valen. It is vitally important that our defence is secure until both the station and Valen have gone back in time."
"As you say," Lethke said, nodding. "How much time are we likely to have until the.... Shadows arrive?"
"Maybe none at all," replied Delenn, and they all fell silent.
* * * * * * *
The fires had at last stopped burning in the capital city of Centauri Prime. The night of madness had receded, leaving the survivors to count the cost, to try to rebuild, to mourn loved ones lost, to take stock of what had happened.
"A hasty Court session has been called," reported the agent. "First Minister Malachi has apparently been invited, but is too ill to attend. Rumours have it Lord Jarno is to be arrested on charges of treason. It is said that he personally attacked and murdered Lord Kiro last night."
"Lord Kiro?" barked Lord Valo. "Well, who'd have thought that coward Jarno had it in him? Won't do him any good of course. What else?"
"Something is happening in the southern territories. Reports are unclear at best, but from the sound of it Sphodria and Gallia have been overwhelmed by an outside force. Some say Narn sympathisers. My best guess is soldiers loyal to Governor Mollari."
"Governor? Another weakling, far too many of them. Still.... I heard he had Marrago on his side. Anything on that?"
The agent shrugged. "Rumour does suggest that, but then rumour has placed him almost everywhere in the galaxy since Quadrant Thirty-seven was lost. Some say he's living on the Narn homeworld right now. We haven't been able to get accurate information out of Selini for months. One thing I do know is that Minister Durano was there, which.... might explain that."
"The military?"
"The frontier regiments are still patrolling the border, although skirmishes with the Narns have been rare lately. They will follow whoever sits on the throne, although a few of the captains have expressed.... concerns about the current leadership, and would not be averse to a change. Several ships have disappeared and there has been a big increase in the number in orbit around Centauri Prime itself, although no one has admitted to ordering this. There has still been no official appointment of a new Lord-General."
One question left, the important one, the one which would decide the future of the Republic. "Do we have enough guards on our side to mount an assault on the Court?"
"Yes. We do."
"Thank you. Go." The spy nodded, bowed and left. An invaluable find, one of Durano's protégés, he had recognised the need for strength and order in the Court, and had chosen to throw his hand in with Valo. A wise choice. Valo was one of the few nobles in the Court who had seen real combat, who knew how to lead, how to fight, how to be strong.
A military coup. That was what was needed. Jarno had had the right idea, unusually for him, and so had Kiro, but they were all feinting around the sidelines, striking at each other. If any of them had had half the military mind Valo had, they would have known that the way to win any battle was to go for the head, and where was the head? The Court itself.
"You heard all that?" Valo asked. His companion stepped out from hiding and nodded.
"What do you think? What is your uncle up to?"
"I have no idea," replied Carn Mollari. "I haven't spoken to him in years."
"Well, we'll soon find out. A few days at most, and then we'll make a stab at the Court. Once we control it, the rest of the military and the Guards will fall in with us. It'll all be over, Carn."
Carn smiled, and nodded. "Indeed it will.... Majesty."
* * * * * * *
Delenn hesitated as she looked at the quiet form seated before her. She was not entirely sure why she had come here, but she did know that words needed to be said, and that she was the person to say them.
"It is strange how things can change in a handful of hours," she said, and noticed Captain Smith start, raising his head to look at her.
"Yeah. 'Let no man be called happy or great until he be dead,' hmm?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Something someone said a long time ago. It doesn't matter. So, have you decided what to do with me? Sheridan promised an amnesty for my crew, remember."
"Yes, he told me.... and that amnesty has been accepted. Some of the alliance were.... unappreciative, but we convinced them. Your crew will be permitted to return home as soon as the current crisis is over."
"Well, that's something. Thank you. I.... wait.... what current crisis?"
"A.... topic for another day, I believe. Tell me, Captain, why did you offer yourself as compensation for your crew?"
"There's no reason why they should pay for my mistakes. Besides, I could hardly return home. Do your people have a word for scapegoat?"
"I.... am familiar with the term, yes. I have been used in that position myself. Your people would do the same to me if they could. No matter what either of us may feel, Captain.... my death would not undo what has been done."
"Nor will mine, but I'm willing to give it a try anyway. Tell me, what are you going to do with me?"
"Some people wanted you dead, yes.... but I have had another idea. I am going to make you an offer, Captain. A chance to buy your freedom. And your life.
"How would you like to fight alongside us?"
He laughed.
* * * * * * *
Lord-General Marrago knew all about responsibility. He had been born to it, trained almost from birth to the duties that were his heritage as a member of a noble line. He had learned the hard way about the responsibilities he owed to the soldiers who served alongside him and under him. He knew about his duties to his family, and to his family name. He knew about the bonds of loyalty to old friends - one had compelled him to marry a woman he did not love, and another had forced him to raise arms against his own Government.
But as he sat alone in a room stinking of blood, he pondered on his responsibilities to his people, his planet, his friends.... They had never seemed heavier.
He had just received word that Londo was missing somewhere in the capital. None of Durano's agents could find him, or indeed find any trace that he had even arrived.
This had always been a possibility. In a war fought primarily by poison in the wine cup or knife in the dark, Londo had always been aware that he might be lost before the capital and the Court could be taken, and he had planned accordingly. Marrago knew enough of his plans to continue and conclude this campaign. He might even be capable of becoming Emperor himself, although he had no wish to be so.
He looked around the room that had once been the study of the Governor of Gallia, a room where several of his servants and family had been butchered by a blood-crazed mob who had carried the terrified Governor away.... Marrago had had the bodies removed, but he could do nothing about the smell. He was a soldier. Death was a constant companion.
He was thinking about death as well as responsibility. Londo's death and his responsibility to him. Marrago had had to tell a great many people that those they loved would never be coming home, but it would be so much harder this time. How to tell Timov?
A beeping sound came from his coat, and he started. With a soft sigh he realised what it was: Londo's personal communicator. Londo had given it to him before leaving for the capital, knowing that it could conceivably be used to trace important conversations.
Marrago pulled it out and activated it. A face he knew showed up on the screen. Carn Mollari, Londo's nephew and one of their most trusted agents in the capital.
"Lord-General," he said. "Where.... where is our leader?" No names. Names could be very dangerous if anyone were to overhear.
"He is.... unavailable at present. What do you have to report?"
"Events here are moving faster than I'd expected. The city has calmed down, but the tensions in the Court are on the verge of exploding again. My.... friend is going to attack the Court openly within a few days. You have to get here soon, or there won't be anyone left to rule over."
"We don't have the time, or the resources. We're spread thinly as it is, just trying to secure our hold on the territory we control now. You have to delay things."
"I can't! He's moving too fast. I never thought he'd be this ready for it. He really believes he can make himself Emperor."
"There is nothing we can do. Our original plans didn't envisage a march on the capital for months. Even allowing for the acceleration, we won't be able to reach you for weeks at least. Do whatever you can.... whatever you must, but save the Court."
"I'll do what I can, but get here quickly, or there'll be nothing left to save. Out."
The viewscreen went blank and Marrago sat back. Responsibilities.... duties.... loyalty. All the hallmarks of a good soldier, and he was a good soldier. He knew he was, and he would save his people.
He rose to his feet and began a number of very important communications.
* * * * * * *
She had sat alone since he had left, thinking. At first she had believed this was a simple power struggle between a dissatisfied warrior and the leader of the Minbari, but now she was beginning to suspect something more. Forell's corruption, his words to her, Sonovar's evident madness....
Kats was not afraid to die, but she was afraid of being so helpless again before she did. She was afraid of being trapped in a column of light and suffering humiliation, degradation and pain while warriors watched and did nothing.
Without ceremony, without warning, the door opened and Sonovar walked in again, his bearing proud and arrogant. His two guards waited just outside.
"You are to come with me now, my lady. My last reason for remaining here has just been accomplished. There are two little details I must attend to, and then I will leave. Your 'Primarch' Sinoval will be here soon. I would rather not still be here when he arrives. Follow!" He left the cell and began to walk down the corridor.
In trepidation, Kats followed Sonovar along the twisted corridors of his warship, the guards by her side. She found herself thinking of Sinoval, and wishing he were here. Forell had said she was stronger now than she had been, but she did not feel stronger. She felt.... useless. Unable to fight, not born a warrior. She had never regretted her allotted rôle in life, until now.
They passed into a darkened room, with just one column of light in the centre. Trembling slightly, she stepped inside it, but only after seeing that Sonovar stood within it as well.
"You swore fealty to Sinoval," he said, his voice harsh. "You chose willingly to ally yourself with one who has violated some of the most sacred laws of our people, who deliberately rejected the return of the True Valen, who betrayed those who wished only to serve him, and who has thrown down the rightful Government of our people, choosing instead to claim all power for himself."
"He's not like tha...." she began, but he stopped her.
"Silence! These facts are undeniable, and your guilt is plain. Your punishment will be decided here, but I will not be the one to decide it. Rather.... another will."
He made a gesture, and another column of light became visible. There was someone within it. Someone she knew. Someone she had hoped to see here, but not like this, not forced on his knees, arms and legs bound, head bowed.
"Kozorr!" she cried, and he looked up. His face was heavily marked with wounds and scars. He closed his eyes when he saw her, and whispered her name softly.
"He was captured by the Tak'cha recently. Apparently he had learned that you were in my custody and was seeking a way to free you. He sent many of them to their ancestors before he was subdued." In a puzzled tone, he continued. "They regard him with great respect actually, for his prowess in battle and evident strength."
"Free her, Sonovar!" Kozorr cried. "Let her go, now."
"That is not my decision to make. Both of you have committed crimes against our people and against our religion, and both of you must be punished. This is the judgment of your fate."
He paused, and looked intently at them both. His expression when he looked at Kozorr was one of almost anguished despair. There was only pity in his eyes as he looked at Kats.
"One of you will be permitted to return to Sinoval, to tell him what has happened here, and to deliver my message. The other will die here, now. The choice is yours."
Kats tried to speak, but the words would not come. She knew with a terrible sense of horror that Kozorr would speak first, and she knew what he would say. She would forever after curse herself for not speaking sooner, although she never knew what she should have said.
"Kill me!" Kozorr cried. "Let her go."
"Very well," Sonovar proclaimed. "So shall it be." He shook his head. "I am not surprised, although I wish I were."
"No!" Kats cried. "You can't do this! You...."
"Please," Kozorr said, addressing Sonovar. "Let her come over here. I want.... I want to speak to her." Sonovar nodded once, and, not ungently, pushed her down before Kozorr.
She touched his heart lightly, feeling his breath on her face. "You can't do this," she whispered to him. "There's another way. There must be another way. Please...." She was beginning to cry.
"No, there isn't. Go, my lady. Never look back, and take your future. Tell the Primarch that.... tell him my soul waits to serve him in the next life." Then he reached forward ever so slightly, and gently touched his lips to her own.
"I love you." He bowed his head. "Take her away, Sonovar. I don't want her to see this."
"Neither do I," he replied, as one of his guards pulled her away. "You have my word, by the way. I will do as I said."
"I never doubted it. Farewell, my lady."
"No! Kozorr, you...." She was dragged away by the guard. As soon as Kozorr was out of sight she went limp. She was still crying.
Sonovar then gestured to his other guard, who freed Kozorr from his bonds. Puzzled, the warrior rose to his feet, rubbing at his wrists. Sonovar pulled an object from his belt and showed it to Kozorr, whose eyes widened. It was his fighting pike.
Sonovar extended it, and then threw it to the floor at Kozorr's feet. He smiled.
* * * * * * *
Time passed in a flurry of activity. Ships came from Kazomi 7 within hours of Delenn sending the message. Warships from the Drazi, the Llort, the Vree, others.... They had been convinced of the importance of this, of protecting the place that was so vital to all their futures. Few of them understood the details, but with a Vorlon and their Blessed Delenn on their side, victory could only be certain.
Messages were also sent surreptitiously to Councillor Na'Toth on the Narn homeworld. Despite a waning of her power in recent months she was able to contact a few captains loyal to G'Kar, and two Narn heavy cruisers arrived at Epsilon 3 eight hours after the Alliance fleet.
Messages were sent to Sinoval, but there was no reply. Reports were coming in of fighting on one of the colonies, but there was nothing definite.
Many non-essential personnel were evacuated back to Kazomi 7. Lethke was one of these, as he knew he would be able to do more there. The dream of unity at Babylon 4 might have been lost, but it could still be recreated at Kazomi 7. G'Kar went there as well, to recover from his wounds. Before he left he spent more than an hour in discussion with both Ta'Lon and Garibaldi - considerably against doctors' advice.
Between them Captain Sheridan, Delenn, Ta'Lon and Taan Churok managed to co-ordinate the defence of the station and the Machine. Wherever possible telepaths were placed on the capital ships. Lyta Alexander instructed them thoroughly on how to spot and paralyse the Shadow ships. Few of the others had any experience in such matters.
A great deal happened in those two days. Some of which is known to history....
<Are you ready?>
Lyta looked up at the Vorlon before her, and nodded. She knew his name, Kosh, even without being told. He was a part of her, after all.
"Yes," she said. "I'm.... I'm ready...."
<I will not be returning.> There was a great and terrible sadness in his voice.
"Why?" she asked, walking up close to him, touching his armour. It seemed so warm, almost alive.
<A bargain was made. It is time for me to pay. Another will come for you soon.>
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
<You will.>
Light blazed up around her and she screamed, her mouth wide open. Her eyes glowed pure golden, slowly returning to normal as the light passed through her and into him. When it was over she slumped to her knees, looking up at him. "I.... I can't feel you any more," she whispered, horrified.
<I need to be whole. You will not be alone for long.>
"You're.... Oh my God. You're going to die."
He turned to leave, and as he reached the door he stopped and looked back. <Remember me.> She could not be sure from the tone, but it sounded more like a plaintive request than an order. He then left.
She never saw him again.
Elsewhere, work on the Babylon proceeded apace. The damage to the ship was repaired. Losses were replaced as far as possible.
Captain Smith sat in his ready room, Captain Sheridan and Commander Corwin with him. "It's a fine ship," Smith said.
"It should be," acknowledged Sheridan. "But it was a fine ship before. What have you people done to it?"
"I didn't do anything. It was.... repairs, upgrading. I only supervised the final stages. The rest of it was all done before I was appointed."
"Why are you doing this?" Corwin asked suspiciously.
Smith studied him. "Why do you trust me enough to make the offer?"
"I don't," said Sheridan. "Delenn does, and I trust her. Still.... you made a brave offer.... yourself for your crew. I don't think many people would have done that."
"It was the right thing to do. You'd have done the same."
Sheridan nodded. "Maybe I would."
"Even so, there aren't many people who would trust me to fight alongside you."
"Delenn explained the significance of this?"
"Oh yes, she did. But I can't help but feel she left something out. That's if I even believe her. Time travel? Am I really expected to understand that this.... Babylon Four must go back in time or the whole fabric of whatever will be torn apart?"
"That's as much as I know," Sheridan lied. "It's not our place to question such things. We're soldiers. We obey orders, and that's it."
"True enough. But I'm helping you here for the good of my crew. Don't forget that."
"I won't."
And on the station maintenance workers and Rangers hurried around under the seemingly omnipresent direction of a strange little alien everyone deferred to, making repairs and alterations to technology they did not really understand.
"Yes yes. Do that. That is good. No no, not that tool, never use that tool, use this tool.... ah, no this not right tool. Ah yes, this right tool."
"That's the one I was using before!"
"Yes. Zathras know that. Do as Zathras says. Ah, everyone listen to Zathras. Zathras knows what Zathras is saying. Trust Zathras."
Sometime during this frantic charging around Zathras managed to meet with Valen, who had been mainly talking either to Catherine or Kosh, or both together.
"Zathras be going back with you. Yes. You need Zathras to help you, you see. Zathras has.... great destiny in past, yes. Not as great as Valen's destiny, but almost. Zathras must make sure Valen does not trip over own feet, yes."
Valen smiled. "I would be honoured to have you with me, Zathras."
"I'll be going too," announced Catherine.
Of all those gathered there, only Valen seemed surprised. "What? Catherine, you...."
"Don't you dare try to say I can't. I will not be separated from you again. I'm going, and that's the end of it."
"But...."
"Don't, Jeffrey. There's nothing left for me here. I'm going with you."
Zathras looked at Kosh, with a knowing sense of sadness in his eyes.
There was an equal fluster of activity on the planet, in the heart of the Great Machine, where Michael Garibaldi's physical body was enshrined surrounded by technology immeasurably old and powerful.
"Isn't that.... weird?" asked Commander Corwin, looking at both his friend's real body and the holographic form Garibaldi had created.
"No. Well, yeah, but.... It's hard to explain. I'll be glad to see the back of it, though."
"This is only temporary?"
"You bet. G'Kar said he can take this thing back once he's recovered. I'd prefer it if I didn't have to do this temporal rift thingy, but its mostly done anyway. I'm just following the instruction manual."
"Er.... yeah. Michael, what about.... Bester?"
"What about him?"
"He betrayed us all. You as well as the rest of us. And.... well, with Lianna on Sanctuary and everything. You've known Bester a lot longer than the rest of us, but...."
"I don't know why he did what he did, but he had his reasons. He's still a good man, and he must have had his reasons, whatever they were. I'll.... take it up with him later."
"Later, yes. What about Lianna? What should we tell her?"
"Tell her? Nothing. I told you, I'll only be in this thing a couple of weeks at most. Nothing can go wrong, so.... what's to worry?"
"What happened to the person who was in here before you.... that's a pretty major thing to worry about."
"Won't happen to me. Trust me, David. Nothing's going to go wrong."
Alone and almost forgotten in her cell, Susan Ivanova was sitting bolt upright, long-forgotten memories returning to her, a part of her soul that had been taken away coming back. She remembered Marcus, she remembered Laurel, she remembered her mother.
And she heard the voice of the Shadows in her mind, telling her that they would be coming soon, and telling her what she would have to do when they arrived....
* * * * * * *
Two days later, all was done. The temporal rift was open, the machinery on Babylon 4 was complete. Valen stood alone in the command centre and breathed out slowly. Footsteps in the sand.
And then he could hear the gentle music of the Vorlons in his mind, and he went to join Catherine, Zathras, Kosh and the Rangers who would be protecting him until he was at his destiny. They all seemed to accept that they might not be able to return to this time.... their own time.... and yet they seemed not to mind.
A few hours before everything was finished the hyperspace probes picked up some activity moving in the direction of Epsilon 3. All the probes were destroyed quickly and efficiently, but that only served to confirm what they all already knew.
The Shadows were coming.
The temporal rift burst into life.
Space shimmered.
And then the Shadows were there.