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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part IV: A Line in the Sand |
COUNTLESS souls lay suspended in the balance. The destiny of the galaxy hung by the slenderest of threads. The fate of the future, and the past, rested on a few painfully mortal beings.
Consider: Jeffrey Sinclair, transformed into the Minbari prophet Valen. Facing the path of his own footsteps leading backwards in time to his destiny, and to his death. He stands on the control deck of the space station Babylon 4, readying himself for a time a thousand years gone, and committing those he knows now to memory, certain that he will never see most of them again.
Consider: John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller himself. Seated at the bridge of the EAS Parmenion, he looks out at the fleet of Shadow vessels advancing on him, a fleet so huge and powerful that it will black out the sky in every direction. He thinks about mortality, and about the terminal virus even now developing within his body. He thinks about his love, about the last words he said to her, and the first lie he has ever told her.
Consider: Delenn, former Satai, leader of hope in the galaxy. Head of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, she stands at the bridge of the Drazi ship from which she will observe the battle. She is no warrior, but she knows war, all too well and all too bitterly. She thinks about the man she loves, and she knows that he has lied to her. She thinks about the ruination of Minbar, about the countless dead, about the carnage at Kazomi 7. She thinks about the race that has done this, and her heart fills with anger, and a black, remorseless fury.
Consider: Michael Garibaldi, a human, one who never wished for anything but a home, a family, happiness and to do the right thing. That last wish has torn him away from the other three. His heart is beating fast, his head is pounding, and he looks out at a million things at once. His is the will that holds open the rift that will carry Babylon 4 to its destiny. But his will is weak, sapped by years of failure and alcohol and loss and self-doubt, and he wonders if he has the strength to carry this through.
And many others: Catherine Sakai, Zathras and Kosh, standing beside Valen; Ta'Lon, leading the Narn Rangers on Babylon 4; Dexter Smith, facing an enemy he was told was his friend, alongside allies he knows to be his enemies....
The Shadows swoop forward, and, seemingly acting as one, they open fire.
* * * * * * *
The Shadows were coming.
He listened as they died, and as they killed. His friends were dying in his name, were fighting a last stand so that he could complete his destiny. He wanted to be there with them, this one last time, but he knew that they were dying for his sake. He could not render their sacrifice worthless.
Are you ready? said the voice in his mind.
He turned to look at Kosh. The Vorlon was still, almost a statue. He wanted to hate Kosh. They were the ones who had done this to him, who had placed him here. He could not.
He did not know what to say, but the voice knew. Good. You are the closed circle returning to the beginning. I cannot be with you then.
He gasped as he felt its pain. It was light and beauty and agony all in one. The Vorlon was going to die, and both of them knew it. The sacrifice would be made willingly. Could he do any less?
"Are you ready?" said the voice from the commscreen. "Are you...?"
He turned to look at Delenn's face in the screen. She was.... beautiful. Her eyes, her bearing, everything.... was marked by a vibrant beauty and a passionate anger. She had taught him a lot since his.... return. He wanted to remain here, to talk with her, to share in her wisdom and to learn from her. It would not be possible.
"I.... think so," he said hesitantly. "I.... thank you. For everything."
"It was no more than my duty, and no less than my pleasure. Be well, and walk with.... Oh. Of course."
He chuckled. "It is all right. For you, it will always be all right."
"Remember me?" More of a question than a request. He smiled, sweetly and sadly. As if there were any other answer.
"Always," he whispered, and touched the image on the commscreen gently. It faded and he straightened, now aware, wondering how he could never have noticed before. She was his descendant, a part of him that had lived on. He felt so much better.
It was time now. After so long, he at last knew his destiny. He was the arrow that springs from the bow. No doubts, no fears. Just certainty.
"Are you ready?" said the voice by his side.
"Yes," he said simply.
"Good, good. Yes, is being very good to being ready. Now is right time to being ready, yes. Zathras is being ready for long time, yes. Zathras has grown tired of waiting sometimes, but Zathras is used to it. Zathras is patient. And now you are ready, yes. Good."
"What about the Enemy?"
"<Click, click> Is being not good. Enemy is being very strong. May get on board before we leave. That is being very not good, but have idea, yes. We get help. That is idea. We get help."
"Help? From where?"
"Past, of course. Two years ago, just as Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar entered Great Machine. There is ship there. Special ship."
"Which ship?" He was told, and then he smiled. "Ah, of course."
"Besides," Zathras added. "We have to stop them. It already happened, and if we do not, then.... time not go well. Paradox. Not good."
"No. I guess not."
* * * * * * *
"Well well. Greetings, my Minbari friend."
Shaal Lennier, Minbari poet, Ranger and long-suffering companion to Governor Londo Mollari, looked up from his meditation. He was not in a good mood. Peace had been hard to find. Of course, ever since Kazomi 7 it had been hard for him to achieve the necessary spiritual equilibrium, but in a darkened cell, filled with the soft cries of the dying, it was harder still.
And the voices were louder than usual. Something was happening. Something that the.... others regarded as being very important. It was possible that that related to Centauri Prime in some way, but he did not think so.
The instructions being relayed to him were becoming harder to ignore, but Zicree had been true to her word. He could control it, with enough effort and enough meditation. He was beginning to wonder if the price of that control was truly worth it.
And then the door had opened. A dull lantern shone in the room, hurting his eyes. A figure stood there, just beside the now-closed door. He did not know who this figure was, save that he was definitely Centauri, and his hair was very short. Lennier thought that indicated he was not a noble, but he seemed just too self-confident to be otherwise.
"Well," he continued. "Nothing to say? I know you've been alone in this cell for a bit too long, while all the attention has been on dear Londo, but I didn't think we should neglect you altogether." A pause. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
Firmly: "No."
"Not at all?"
"I have nothing to say."
"Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much. I think you have a great deal to say. Do your friends know about your.... ah...?" He stepped forward and gently tapped Lennier's shoulder. There was a brief surge of pain, and a hissing sound only he heard.
Lennier made no move to attack this person. There was really no point.
"I don't think they do, somehow. Although I am puzzled by just how you've managed to keep it under control this long. Some sort of Minbari meditation, perhaps. Hmm.... you'll have to teach me that."
"Are you...?" He swallowed. "Are you working for them?"
"I'm working for me, I think you'll find. Not the.... ah.... what's your name for them? The Shadows, that's it. Such a wonderful name. I've always liked the way Minbari describe things. Anyway, I'm.... fulfilling my own destiny, but it happens to be on a similar path to theirs at the moment. They do have someone here, you know. So do their opposition for that matter. I don't know who, and I really don't care. I'm just trying to clean up the mess."
He paused, and seemed to be replaying that last line.
"Oh, sorry. I meant to say that I'm just trying to clean up from the mess."
"What do you want?" Lennier asked.
"Ah. I think I'll leave that one for another day."
"Who are you?"
"Both questions at once. And neither of them holds any power over me. I know exactly who I am, and what I want, and I'm in a very good position to get it at last. And you're going to help me, my bald friend."
"I very much doubt that."
"Ah.... but Shaal Lennier, you do not know what I want."
There was a knock at the door, and the Centauri muttered various unpleasant-sounding things under his breath. Lennier was very glad he couldn't translate them. "Yes?"
"Your Highness, you are called to the Court. Immediately." The voice that came through the thick door was filled with respect, and a not-inconsiderable dose of fear.
"Who dares?"
"The Lady Elrisia, your Highness."
"Elrisia? Oh well, that's different then. I'd better go. Open the door." The door was pushed open and the Centauri stepped into the rectangle of light. He turned and looked at Lennier. "I'm sorry this talk was cut short, but I have a feeling we'll see each other again.
"Guard?"
"Yes, your Highness?"
"You will tell no one that I was in this cell. In fact, I was not in this cell, and I was not talking to this prisoner."
"I won't breathe a word, your Highness."
"No. You won't." There was a brief glint of metal, a swift motion, and a bloodied gurgling, followed by the sound of a body falling. "The Minbari had a weapon, so he did. And the guards didn't search him properly. You really can't get the staff these days, can you?"
He tossed the bloodied knife into the cell and closed the door, not fully, but so that it was slightly ajar. "I'll hide the body. Wait.... ooh, half an hour or so, and then make your way out. You can go and free Londo if you like. He's two floors down, in cell thirteen I believe. The guards will be on duty there, but a resourceful person like you will be able to think of something, I'm sure.
"Oh," he said as an afterthought, over the sound of a body being dragged away. "If you do see Londo, tell him his old friend Cartagia would like a word. Whenever he has a free moment, of course."
* * * * * * *
They did not know where she was. That was good. She did not know where she was. That was bad. But then Susan Ivanova had known very little in the months since she had been changed for a purpose that had been denied her. Now that she was awake for the first time since Laurel had died, she could sense things she had never before known existed.
Whatever they had done to her, augmenting her telepathic powers had been included. She could sense their thoughts now. Everyone on the station, although that was not very many people at the moment. The Narns, the valiant defence force. She felt like laughing. Just what were they fighting for? What did they know? What could they know? She could sense their loyalty and their devotion, and it made her ill. Such emotions simply did not exist in her any more.
And she could feel him. The Minbari. Valen. They said she had to kill him. She knew why, as well. Not in words, exactly, but she could see Earth again, and she could see her brother. Do as we say, spoke the voice of her masters, and that will never have happened.
The station shook, and she almost fell. What was happening out there?
The nauseous feeling was stronger. Reeling against the wall, she began to swallow harshly. How long had it been since she had last eaten? Did she even need to eat any more?
There is no time for such things. We are here now. Trust in us and there will be nothing to fear.
"You! Halt!" cried an unfamiliar voice. She was sure she did not know the language, but somehow she understood the words.
Turning, she saw a Narn before her. He was dressed in a uniform she had seen a lot these last few days, but had only barely noticed. A golden sunburst badge indicated very clearly just whom he served, but there was something else, a strange metallic disc she did not recognise.
The Narn moved forward slowly, drawing a long sword. It was afraid of her. This.... this big, strong alien was afraid of her.
It is afraid of us. Do not worry. We are here now. Can you see us?
She could, and for one brief moment she saw her master shimmer into view just as it raised a limb and tore through the Narn's chest. A spray of dark blood came from his mouth and he fell. The sword made a very loud noise as it hit the floor.
The disc. Take it and attach it to your clothing.
For the first time she took notice of the clothes she was wearing. A casual mix of civilian and military. Wondering idly just who had chosen this for her, she bent down beside the dead Narn and removed the metal disc. She held it up and looked at it curiously. It was not an insignia, not a designation of rank. There seemed to be some machinery attached to it, but she could not work out what it was.
Attach it to your clothing.
Her master was angry this time, and she hastily did as she was ordered. The disc clipped easily on to her jacket.
Now. This is what you must do.
She listened attentively, and then made her way as she had been directed. She had not much time, and the fate of the entire human race depended on her.
* * * * * * *
"How do I look?" Lady Elrisia asked, pondering her reflection in the mirror. She knew perfectly well how she looked, but a little extra flattery made all the difference. Not that Cartagia would notice, but a lot of the other nobles would. Not all of them were like her husband, thank the Gods.
Elrisia was a creature of the Court, and she always had been. Trapped first by her father and then by her scheming, single-minded husband, she had learned a great deal about power and how to gain it. Oh, of course women could have no official power within the Court or the Centarum, but unofficially, that was another matter....
Now if only Cartagia would do as he was bid. He was enough to try the patience of a saint! She thought Refa had been bad enough, but Cartagia was almost exactly the opposite. Where Refa had been concerned only with power and glory and nothing else, Cartagia seemed.... hardly bothered about anything. He wrote poetry he would not let her see. He kept a diary no one else could read. And he talked to himself. Frequently. Loudly. In gibberish.
But insanity had never stopped anyone else becoming Emperor, had it? The thirteenth Emperor had made a small fruit tree his Minister of Defence after all, and hardly anyone had complained. But then, compared to most of the other Ministers at the time, the fruit tree was probably the most efficient of the lot. It was the only one never to try to seize power for itself.
"You look beautiful, Mistress," said her maid, bowing her head. Elrisia's mood lifted a little. Of course she looked beautiful. She knew that. As long as the Court knew it too. Appearances were important, after all. If only Cartagia would see that.
She looked at the maid, trying to remember her name. Adira something.... Oh well, it didn't matter. Truthfully, Elrisia didn't like this maid. She preferred ugly servants wherever possible, so that her beauty would shine the better, but Adira had been foisted on her. Besides, she was one of the few servants left in the Court who hadn't run away or been burned alive.
Elrisia snorted and turned back to the mirror, contemplating her reflection again. The door suddenly opened, and she sighed. A guard stepped in.
"Master Vir Cotto, from the Court, my lady," the guard said, and in came a bumbling little man Elrisia had hated for years.
"The.... um.... the.... uh.... the Court is.... uh.... ready for you.... um, my lady." Elrisia sighed. What a pathetic person. Still, he had put up with Refa for quite a while, and amongst Minbari as well. That would be enough to drive anyone insane. Elrisia more than half suspected that this.... Vir's appointment with Refa to Minbar was an offhanded insult from Mollari.
"About time," she muttered. "Has word been sent to Prince Cartagia?"
"Yes. Oh yes, Lady. He is.... um.... he is.... ah.... on his way, yes. He's on his way to the Court."
"Well. That is a pleasant surprise. I was half expecting him to be at the other side of the city or something." She suddenly noticed Adira was still beside her. "What are you still doing here? Go away." The maid curtsied and left. She flashed a nervous smile at Vir as she did so, and he made a pathetic sort of wave in response.
Elrisia paused next to the mirror for a moment, and then smiled. Perfect. "Is my escort ready?" she asked.
"Oh, y.... y.... Yes, Lady. Just as you requested."
She sighed. "Tell me, just who exactly made you a Runner for the Court?"
"The Emperor Refa, Lady. Just before he d.... just before he, um, died, Lady."
Ah. That explained a lot. Refa obviously had understood the insult, and was seeking to pass it around. "Well, then. Let us go." She paused and looked at him carefully. "That is a delightful brooch you're wearing. Where did you get it?"
He fingered the circle-of-light badge pinned to his jacket. "Ah yes, Lady. I.... um.... I.... er.... bought it in the marketplace.... Lady. A.... er, Minbari fashion, I believe."
"Ah. A pity. I can't see many people wearing those lately." Elrisia then swept past him, and went on her way to meet her destiny.
* * * * * * *
Kats was alone, surrounded by a great and terrible darkness. Not a physical darkness, but an emotional one. He would be dead by now. Dead, because he had spoken up, and she had remained mute, silent.
He is dead.
She had given up trying to meditate. The necessary peace of mind just would not come. All she could think of were Kozorr's last words. He had said he loved her. Somehow she had always known that, but she had never dared to speak. He had already risked so much for her: his hand, his health, his position.... and now his life.
The sound of footsteps outside her room roused her, but she did not turn. It would be either Sonovar or Forell, and she wished to see neither. She had tried to warn Sonovar about Forell's corruption, but he had not listened. Was he corrupted as well? Obviously. He acted.... he seemed insane. Or was that nothing more than ranting warrior caste honour? She could easily see Sinoval behaving the way Sonovar had if he felt he needed to, and that scared her more than anything else she could think of.
"He died well." It was Sonovar, with an almost.... accusing tone to his voice. "A noble death. He did not flinch, or cry out, or beg for mercy. He did try to say something as he died. I believe it was your name. I couldn't be sure, though." He was inside her room now, his footsteps approaching directly behind her.
"Yes, a fine and noble death, indeed. A warrior's death." There was a flurry of movement, and his pike thudded into the ground less than an inch from her side. She cried out in shock, and recoiled, noticing that it was stained with blood.
He grabbed the collars of her robe and hauled her roughly to her feet. Some of the fabric tore, but she did not notice as she looked into his eyes. They were blazing with a powerful fury.
"A true warrior's death. A better one than you deserve, you worker coward!"
In desperation, and a considerable portion of terror, she reached out and slapped him across the face. Another blow was aimed at his gut, but he blocked that one and tossed her back.
"You said you would let me go!" she snapped.
He smiled, a surprisingly warm and friendly smile. "Indeed I did, and I will keep my word. I am a warrior, and my word is my life. Warriors.... do not lie. A shuttle will take you to the surface now. A few Tak'cha will accompany you. We have.... a message to leave for Primarch Sinoval when he arrives."
"No more killing!" she cried. "Haven't you...?"
He slapped her across the face and she reeled, falling back. "I am not a murderer! I killed only those who had knowingly, and willingly.... betrayed their people by allying with Sinoval. The common people of Tarolin Two were innocent of that particular crime. They will live."
"And the people at the shelter? What were they guilty of? You're not making any sense.... not to anyone." A sudden realisation struck her. "What has happened to you? Is it.... is it.... Oh, Valen."
"That sounds very much as if you are accusing me of something, worker whore. What?" His voice was icy cold, and he advanced on her. "There was a time when any worker who spoke as you did to a warrior would have been executed. Kalain sought to bring that time back again, and it was only through the treachery of those he trusted that he failed to do so. I.... will not fail. What did you say to me?"
"Nothing.... Nothing."
"Answer me!" He raised his pike high above his head.
"Kalain was a monster and a madman, and you have become just like him! I saw your face while Kalain was.... hurting me. You knew it was wrong, and yet you stayed there. You watched and watched, and you knew.... You.... knew!"
"Kalain was a great man, a true visionary. He.... fell into over-excess, perhaps, but I will not condemn a great man because of one.... minor.... flaw." He lowered his pike and compressed it, fixing it back to his belt. "Come, my lady. Your shuttle back to freedom awaits."
Without saying another word, he turned and stalked from the room.
* * * * * * *
"Impressive, isn't it?"
"Yes, my Lord."
Valo looked out at the assembled soldiers. Impressive wasn't quite the word for it. Magnificent would be more appropriate. He had been told there were not enough resources for the war. He had been told the army did not have enough men. He had been told a great many things.
But here he was, having assembled a force like this in mere weeks. Former soldiers, disaffected Guards, mercenaries.... What could be accomplished if the Republic was led by someone with the will and the strength to do what was necessary? The Court was populated by the weak, the foolish, the selfish, the mad, and combinations of all four. There was no Emperor, and there never would be if matters continued like this. And the only man all of them could look up to.... Malachi was a traitor who would sell his entire race out to the Narns.
Better by far that a strong Emperor took over. Take the throne by force, hold it by strength and will. And then he could work on the Narns. Drive them back to their homeworld and blast it into oblivion. And then perhaps the humans.... Or.... well. Time for that later.
A good soldier always knew how to prioritise.
"Are we ready, Mollari?"
"Yes, my Lord. Our agents indicate that Lady Elrisia has called together a meeting of the full Court, near enough. Lord Jarno is not likely to be in attendance, nor First Minister Malachi, but everyone else should be there."
"Good," Valo grunted. Jarno, eh? Who'd have thought a runt like that would have demonstrated such backbone? He might have to give the weakling a place on his staff if he was capable of repeating what he'd done to Lord Kiro.
"Good. Catch them all at once, eh Mollari?"
"Indeed, my Lord. Do we have your orders?"
Valo smiled, imagining himself as Emperor. Strength, willpower, courage. That was what an Emperor needed.
"Yes."
By the end of the day he would be Emperor. He had a feeling for these things.
* * * * * * *
Like a black cloud they come, blotting out the stars. They shimmer, and scream, and kill.
And they are met by a pitiful handful of ships, an alliance of races working together in harmony, once sworn enemies now fighting side by side.
On the bridge of the Parmenion, Lyta Alexander screams in agony as she hears their whispers to her. She fights them as best she can, holding them off, paralysing their ships with her power, but it is hard now. So very hard. Kosh is gone. He is going to die. She knows it, and yet, somehow, from somewhere, she hears his soft words of encouragement, and she perseveres. Despite the sweat pouring from her brow, despite the ache in her muscles and bones, despite the churning in her belly.... she holds them off.
Beside her Captain Sheridan directs the ship forward, targeting the paralysed Shadow vessels and damaging them, forcing them to retreat or pull back. Some are caught in a massive co-ordinated attack with other ships and are blown apart. But taking the entire battle into account, it is plain that the Alliance ships are losing and cannot hold out much longer. But all they have to do is to allow the station to reach its ultimate destination.
John Sheridan is not thinking about Babylon 4. He is thinking about his love, and that he will never see her again. He knows what he must do, what all of them have to do. He thinks about his crew, and he hopes there will be a way for them to escape.
Captain Dexter Smith, on the bridge of the Babylon, holds his ship back. He made a bargain for the safety of his crew, and he is not willing to render that bargain useless by a meaningless death. He does not know the truth about Babylon 4, or Valen, or their destiny in the past. He only knows that he is fighting those who should be his allies, alongside those who should be his enemies.
But he remembers the man who occupied this chair before him, and he knows just how far a foolish ambition can take him. He will survive this battle, both he and his crew. He will protect the planet that houses the Great Machine, because he knows it is right.
And to his surprise, his ship is quite capable of taking on the horrific creatures that swoop and scream and destroy.
And in the Heart of the Great Machine, Michael Garibaldi is screaming....
* * * * * * *
Concentrate!
His heart is pounding, his head spinning. He can see many things, but none of them with his eyes. He watches as Babylon 4 passes into the temporal rift. He can see the brilliance of the colours, the sheer force of the energy that can tear a tunnel back a thousand years.
And the only thing keeping that tunnel open is his willpower.
Come on, Garibaldi. Don't foul up here. Everyone's depending on you. Everything's down to you.
But it is hard. So hard. He remembers what this Machine did to Donne.
Somehow, through many distant layers of senses, he feels something wet trickle down his cheek. He can taste a coppery warmth in his mouth.
He does not want to think what either of those things are.
"I.... I.... can't...."
And the rift slowly, ever so slowly, begins to slip away from him.
* * * * * * *
Lyta Alexander screams and falls to the floor. Her strength is gone. Her will is gone. She can hear Kosh imploring her to continue, but she cannot move.
The Shadow ships come forward now....
* * * * * * *
They came to the Court, called by one they hated, or feared, or wanted to be close to. There had been a great deal of speculation on who would be the next Emperor, but the matter was by now resolved, at least in most minds. All the other viable candidates had been removed from contention.
Malachi was rumoured to be very ill, and in any case he had refused the honour when it was offered. He had done a magnificent job of holding everything together through such difficult times, and he would no doubt have a place in the new Government, but he was old and ill. Younger blood was called for. Jarno, a former First Minister, had overplayed his hand. In attacking the estate of a fellow noble he had become too dangerous for the Court. He was currently in hiding, evading charges of treason. Kiro, a popular choice among such of the old guard as had supported Refa, was dead. Marrago and Valo were both dead, or disgraced, or missing, or combinations of the three. Londo Mollari was a traitor and a regicide.
That left only one, and of course he had been the natural choice, everyone muttered to themselves. I've always said so. The blood of the old Emperor in him. Young blood. Enthusiastic. Just the type we need. Oh, those rumours are clearly false, base accusations. A young, vibrant leader, yes, just what we need to lead us into the next century (some eight years away, by the Centauri calender).
Cartagia listened to all this, and smiled knowingly. He knew perfectly well that they believed him to be a madman, and they were all secretly planning how to advance their own ambitions around him. Elrisia was receiving all manner of gifts, promises and favours.
Cartagia watched this little dance, and smiled to himself. Let Elrisia do as she wished, he did not care any more. There might have been a time he would have liked her at his side, but his plans had.... changed recently. Knowledge is power, as the Centauri say, and so Cartagia was the most powerful man in the Republic.
He even had a faint idea of what the old man Malachi had been up to. It hadn't taken too much working out, either. Everyone knew the one little detail they needed to work it out, they just.... pretended not to know. People did not apply themselves properly, that was the problem.
He considered calling a meeting with Malachi before this was all over. Tell the old man what he knew. No, let him suspect. Malachi had practically written the book on Courtly life after all. Better by far to let him suspect and wonder, than know.
Cartagia nodded and smiled at the nobles fawning at his feet. He spoke to each one briefly in turn. He accepted numerous offers from not entirely unattractive ladies, offers that he had no intention of following up. He made promises of promotion and recognition, and gave thanks for support.
And he waited patiently.
Elrisia was looking particularly beautiful. It must have taken her a great deal of effort. Not to mention time. And such a pity, it would all be wasted.
How was that Minbari doing? Cartagia hoped his timing had been accurate. It would be very embarrassing to have Lennier running around free before the festivities started.
Covered in blood, a guard half-ran, half-hobbled into view. "We are under attack," he gasped. "The Palace is.... is under attack!"
There was pandemonium. Cartagia smiled. Ah. About time.
* * * * * * *
"People of Tarolin Two! Hear my words, and thank me for your lives!"
Sonovar stood in his column of light, a deliberate replication of the Hall of the Grey Council, now long since despoiled and desecrated. He knew this would be broadcast all over the planet. His words would be heard. Whether they were understood or not, heeded or not.... well.... not even Valen had been perfect.
"You chose to side with one who has abandoned everything from our past. You have turned your backs on the Grey Council, on Valen's wisdom and laws, on centuries of tradition, and duty, and honour. Some of you did so through weakness, others through cowardice, others through fear. And some of you.... those who are now dead.... they did so because they shared in the sacrilege and the wrongs of Sinoval."
How long until Sinoval arrived? Not long, according to the probes. He had made the journey at a considerable pace. It was after all a very long way from Epsilon Eridani to the Tarolin system. The very outlying nature of the colony was what had saved it from the Earthers in the first place.
"I am a kind and benevolent leader. I have punished only those who acted deliberately in their wrongdoing. Those of you who were weak, or afraid, or cowardly.... You, I have let live, to reflect on your flaws. Remember me, and remember what brought me here. I am Sonovar, of the Night Walkers clan, and I will redeem my people in Valen's eyes.... before we can be ready to embrace him once more."
The signal stopped, and Sonovar stepped from the column of light. He felt the faintest tinge of a headache developing. The stress of the last few days, obviously.
Kats was on the surface now. What she was doing, he had no idea. As long as she lived to present her message to Sinoval, it hardly mattered. In many ways, he reflected, she herself was the message.
"You are finished here, my lord?"
Sonovar started and turned, an angry curse on his lips. Forell. He breathed out harshly. "Yes, I am finished. Put me through to the Ramde, and then we will be ready to leave. All the Tak'cha have been recalled from the planet?"
"Yes, lord. Are you well? You look...."
"You are not my nursemaid, Forell! Do not forget your place here!"
"Yes, lord. As you say, lord. It.... it has been a productive trip here, has it not, lord?"
"Yes," Sonovar said, reflecting. "A very productive trip."
* * * * * * *
Lord-General Marrago stood amidst the ruins of a dream, and pondered the future. Debts of loyalty had bound him his entire life: to friends, to those who served under him, to the young woman he had taken as his daughter. He did not even know if Lyndisty was still alive. Given the news coming in from the capital, it seemed doubtful.
He was listening silently as Durano relayed his information. The man had agents everywhere, a great many of them in the capital.
Durano, Virini and Timov had come to Gallia almost immediately after the city had been secured. Marrago would have much preferred it had they stayed in Selini. For all their respective eminence they were all civilians, and they could not understand the ways of warfare. He did, all too well.
Durano finished, and Marrago looked around at his companions. He had been able to work out much of what Durano had just told him. Marrago himself had only one real agent in the capital, but given Carn's current placing in affairs there, that was enough. In any case, all that was truly needed was a good mind, and Marrago had that. Unfortunately, so did Durano. And Timov and Virini for that matter....
"We have to do something," said Timov quickly. "Londo could still be alive in the capital."
"That is doubtful," Marrago said softly.
"You don't know that."
"No, but I promise you, Timov, I pray that Londo is still alive, but I am a soldier, and a soldier's hearts have no room for futile hopes."
"Ah, but Lord-General," said Durano, "Lord Valo is also a solider, is he not? His attack on the Court would seem to indicate that he is convinced he can win."
"Maybe not. Valo was always a little over-confident. Still, in this case his ambitions do not far outreach his capabilities. If our information is right about the size of his forces, he should be able to take the Court."
"And if he has the Court, then he has the Republic," spoke up Virini. Marrago looked at him, and could see just what it was Londo liked about the little man.
"Which brings me back to my point," snapped Timov. "We have to do something. Not just for Londo, but for the Republic itself. Bad enough we had to abandon Camulodo, but if we cannot act now then we will lose the capital.... or there will be nothing left to save."
Marrago sighed. "My lady.... our forces are stretched too far as it is. We are barely able to hold the territory we have at the moment. Should any sort of counterstrike be mounted we would be hard pressed to defend ourselves. We simply do not have the military strength necessary to take the capital. I had.... hoped that we could destabilise Valo from within and bring him over to our side, but it seems that is a futile hope now."
"Then I will go alone," Timov announced. "You were a good friend of Londo's, Marrago, but you have lost sight of what we are trying to achieve. We are going to save this planet, not let it burn and pick up the pieces."
"She is right, Lord-General," spoke up Durano, his piercing gaze locked with Marrago's. "If we do not act now, there will be little left to save."
"Londo gave me full authority on military matters, if you remember? If we go for the capital now, we will literally be throwing everything on one roll of the dice. Londo may have been a gambling man in his younger days, but I am not. No true soldier is."
"Sometimes we have to gamble to win," said Timov.
Marrago looked slowly into the eyes of each one of them: Timov quietly determined, blithely convinced; Virini afraid, but certain; and Durano silently mocking. One day, he and I will clash.
"Very well," Marrago said finally. "I will gather all the resources I can and we will launch an assault on the capital. I only pray that we manage to emerge from this safely."
"So do we all," added Durano.
Yes, one day.... but not today. A good soldier always knew when to wait.
* * * * * * *
"Help is coming. There is nothing to fear, Ta'Lon."
Valen knew the value of all the weapons at his disposal, as did any good leader. He knew how to use a fighting pike, how to wield a sword, a shanmari and any one of countless other alien weapons, some of which had not been used by any living being for centuries. Of course he had not yet been taught how to use such weapons, but that hardly mattered.
His greatest weapon, however, was his voice. This one he had used before, and he had witnessed its power even in this time. Seldom before, though, had his weapon of choice had so little effect.
"Help will be coming, yes.... but the Enemy will be here sooner. We must regroup."
It was almost refreshing not to know what would happen next. Or it would be refreshing if the situation were not so serious.
"Where is the Vorlon, anyway?" Ta'Lon asked. "We could need him."
"He has.... gone somewhere," Valen acknowledged. He did not really know, in truth, but he trusted Kosh. "He will return when we need him."
Babylon 4 had entered the temporal rift with little problem, save for those Shadows which had already got on board. Somehow they were unaffected by the temporal instabilities of the rift. Also aboard was their agent, Susan Ivanova, who had managed to escape during the frantic preparations for the trip. Ta'Lon and his Rangers had been fighting a desperate holding action against them, but it was clear that they were losing.
And then the station had emerged from the rift, two years in the past, above an Epsilon 3 and a Great Machine that had yet to witness the sheer bloodshed being delivered in its skies. A ship was there, a human ship. And there were two very special people on board.
"Oh, dear," said Zathras. "<Click, click> This not good."
"What?" asked Valen. "What is it?"
The little alien looked up from the consoles. "Temporal machinery is damaged. Stray blast from battle, Zathras thinks. We must repair, and quickly."
"Where is this piece of machinery?"
"Outside. Near ion engines. Very delicate area. Yes. Must repair."
"Outside the station? Can you manage to repair it?"
"We have parts, yes. We have tools, also. But.... ah.... we not have space suit to fit Zathras. Zathras cannot breathe in space, and there not be space suits to fit Zathras. Therefore, Zathras cannot go outside. Zathras needs to breathe. Most unfortunate, yes. <Click, click> Great inefficiency, yes. Zathras should have been designed better."
"What space suits do we have? We have to fix that machinery somehow."
"Mostly Narn, or human," replied Ta'Lon. "We took some of the human space suits from the Parmenion and the other ships. Most of the technicians who worked on the final components of the temporal machinery were human."
"We have Narn space suits as well. Do you know how to fix it?"
"I do not, no.... and I am needed here. If I or any of my men leave to try to repair this, then we will be unable to hold off the Shadows."
"I can do it," spoke up a new voice suddenly.
"Catherine! No, I am sorry."
"Yes, I can, Jeffrey. I've done space repairs before, back when I was working for IPX. I used to do a lot of emergency repairs to my shuttle. This can't be that much different, if Zathras will explain to me what's involved."
"Ah, yes. Zathras happy to explain. Problem is that central magnetic lock needs to be replaced. Now you...."
"You can't do this," interrupted Valen. "I'm sorry, Catherine. You...."
"Don't, Jeff. I said I was coming along on this, and I've got to pull my weight. You need this fixed, and I'm the only person you can spare to do it."
"I.... I...."
"Let her go," said Zathras, his face very serious. "She will be fine."
"Damn," he whispered. "Fine, go on, Catherine. But come back."
"Of course I will."
"Ta'Lon, can you spare any men to escort Catherine and Zathras to the docking bays? We need to get them there as soon as possible."
"I will see what...." The door to the command centre suddenly opened and two Narns ran in. Both were bleeding heavily. "They're coming. We can't hold them any longer."
"I will have to escort all of you," Ta'Lon said seriously. "We must hurry."
A few minutes later Susan Ivanova walked into the empty room and looked around. They'd gone. Oh well, it didn't matter. They couldn't hide forever. "What do I do now?" she asked.
They told her.
* * * * * * *
Londo knew that something was wrong. He knew the palace compound as well as any place he had ever been. Most of his life had been spent here: as a young idealist, as a cynical hardened politician, as one of the most prominent figures in the Government, and now as a prisoner.
But in all that time, he had never known the Court like this.
From his cell he could not hear the screams of panic or the terrified pleas or the cries of the wounded, but he could feel the death hanging in the air.
"Great Maker," he whispered to himself. "What has happened out there?"
He was tired of pacing up and down the cell. He was tired of staring at the walls, or the door, or the window. He was tired of reliving that terrible vision of the war in the heavens. He was tired of being a prisoner here!
"How is it going, I wonder?" He preferred talking to himself. The sound of his voice eased the anger he felt, although not by much. "Marrago, and Durano, and Timov.... ah.... I have faith in you all. Yes. You will do well, I am...."
He paused and turned, just as the door to his cell opened. A bright light filled the room, and he winced. "If this is my lunch, you are very late," he snapped, trying to suppress a surge of fear. What if he was to be taken to see that.... vision again? What if...?
"Minister Mollari," said a familiar voice. "Come quick. We do not have much time."
"Lennier! Ah, Great Maker, I could kiss you!" He rushed to the doorway of light and crossed the threshold into the corridor.
"That will.... not be necessary. But I thank you for the offer all the same. We should hurry now. I.... believe something unpleasant is happening at the Court."
"Yes, I can feel it. How did you escape, anyway?"
"I was.... freed. By Prince Cartagia."
"What? I do not like the sound of that. No, I do not like the sound of that at all. Why would he do such a thing?"
"I.... do not know." Londo looked at his friend. The Minbari was lying. Oh, it was well known that Minbari did not lie, but Londo was a career politician, and he knew a falsehood when he heard one. Still, he decided to keep quiet. Lennier had his reasons, and it was unthinkable that he was working for.... them.
"Well then, we had better get out of here, and quickly, as you said. We...." He looked around. "Where are all the guards? This is a high-security prison. They should be all over the place."
"I have not seen any since I was freed. Perhaps they have been called away?"
"Cartagia again? Or something else? Well, we shall have to see. Anyway, we have a brief opportunity here, and we should not waste it. Come on, my friend. I know where to go."
"To the spaceport, hopefully. Or perhaps to some allies or agents you may have in the city?"
"No. To see Malachi. He will be at the Court, and I have to see him. I have to know.... I just have to know."
"And.... it will undoubtedly do no good to point out that it was this need to know that put us both here in the first place?"
"He is my friend, Lennier. And he is a good man. A very good man. He would not do something like this unless he had a very good reason. I need to know."
"Ah, well then. You will lead, and I will follow."
"Good."
* * * * * * *
A flash of light, a scream of agony in the mind.
The Parmenion shook with the impact, redirecting its broadsides to the monsters before it. The Shadow ship recoiled, spinning backwards, but recovered effortlessly.
"We're losing hull integrity, Captain," said Commander Corwin. He was thinking about Mary. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to ask her....
"And the jump engines are down, possibly permanently. Normal engines at little better than forty percent capacity, and we're going to lose rotation any minute now."
Captain John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller, was thinking about dying....
* * * * * * *
"I can't hold it any more!"
* * * * * * *
"I can't explain it.... but they don't seem to be targeting us. They're going for the other ships, but they've been going straight past us."
Captain Dexter Smith frowned. "There could be any number of explanations, Lieutenant Franklin. We don't have time to consider this now."
"Captain, what are we doing here?" asked a new voice. "These.... aliens are our allies. Why are we fighting them, alongside our enemies?"
"I made a promise, Mr. Ericsson." Smith looked at his Chief of Security, and couldn't disagree with the truth of his words. What was he supposed to say? That he had been told a lot of gibberish about the future, and the past, and a legendary Minbari God? He was not sure he believed it himself. He just knew that fighting here was something he had to do.
"I assure you, Mr. Ericsson, that this is for the best. I promise you that you and all the crew will be permitted to return to Proxima once this battle is over, and I further assure you that I personally will take all responsibility for this action."
"If you say so, sir." Ericsson did not look convinced.
"Captain," spoke up Franklin, "the Parmenion is in big trouble. They may be going down."
Sheridan's ship. Smith thought for a fraction of a second, and then gave his order. "Bring us around to support them. At their flank."
"But, Captain...."
"Do it!"
"Yes, sir."
* * * * * * *
The Machine was in pain. It did not want to hate its bearer. It wanted to love all who possessed it. It had a function, a duty, a sentience almost, and it wanted to guide its bearers to fulfill that duty.
And yet it had been abused and violated. It had been used to kill, and its magnificent beauty had been tainted by the mind of a madwoman, a murderer, a monster.
And now its current bearer, its third in as many days. It can feel his doubts, it can see his self-hatred, his self-destruction. What remains of Donne within it is happy.
He will not be able to control it. His doubts are killing him. He came here to escape them.
Michael Garibaldi screamed, his heart almost wrenched from his chest. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, and his head slumped. He hung limp in the Heart of the Machine.
The Narn bodyguards set to watch over him ran forward, knowing they had a duty, a duty greater than their lives, a duty to see that the rift remained open, and that Babylon 4 returned to its destined past.
The floor became a carpet of electricity, and in the space of a few seconds they all died.
The cavern became to crumble, the planet began to shake, and the Machine began to seek solace in oblivion.
* * * * * * *
The temporal rift shook.
* * * * * * *
Cartagia drifted through the Court like a ghost on glass. No one seemed to notice his presence there, and he did nothing to alert them. He watched as guards fought and killed each other. He smiled slyly as he looked at the bodies of nobles he had known since birth. A true house-cleaning, all very necessary. It should have been done a long time ago, and perhaps if it had the Republic would not be in this state. That was the Court for you.... never could do anything right.
He could not see Elrisia, but he was not particularly looking for her. If she survived this it would suit his plans perfectly. If she didn't, he did not care. Malachi was the important one, but then Valo would see that as well. Should he trust Valo to do the right thing, and kill Malachi? Rely on Valo's intelligence? Hmm.... better not.
He began making for Malachi's quarters, casually stepping over the bodies as he did so. From the sound of it the fighting had drifted over to the far end of the palace. He wondered who was winning, but then realised he really didn't care. It would all be the same in a few years.
He turned the corner and came face to face with none other than Valo himself. Malachi was lying on the floor, covered with blood. He reached feebly out to Cartagia, who glanced away.
"You," Valo snapped. "Well well well."
"Lord Valo. A great pleasure. So nice to see you again, but I had heard you'd been killed."
"Aristocratic bastard. I should have...."
"Should have what? You're a fool, Valo, and you'll be dead before the century is out. So will all of us. One giant conflagration of fire.... and you've only brought it all the closer."
Valo lunged forward with his bloodstained kutari, but to Cartagia he might as well have been swimming through treacle. In one swift motion the Prince had drawn his sword, knocked aside Valo's thrust, and delicately sliced open his side.
The general fell.
"Get that wound seen to, my Lord," Cartagia advised. "It shouldn't be fatal. Malachi's.... on the other hand.... should be." He stepped aside Valo's body, careful not to spill any blood on his clothing, and approached the stricken First Minister.
"What a clumsy attempt at killing you, Malachi," he said, in an almost friendly tone of voice. "Ah well.... you can never rely on anyone to do anything important. A simple truth, but one so many people forget. You knew it, didn't you?
"Oh.... I know exactly what you've been doing.... and I can hazard a good guess as to why." Malachi's eyes widened and he tried to whisper something, but Cartagia cut him off. "All it took was a lot of information, and a little use of intelligence. I helped you. To a certain extent our plans lay in the same direction. The only difference was.... you were planning for a future, and I am working towards the absence of one.
"Smile, Malachi. The Court is in chaos. Just as you wanted.... It's such a shame there won't be anyone to rise up from the ashes, isn't it?"
"No...." the fallen noble rasped. "Cartagia.... no...." The prince raised his sword.
"Malachi!" cried a new voice, and Cartagia gave a silent curse to Gods he didn't believe in. "Cartagia."
"Londo." Mollari and his Minbari companion were coming from the other side of the corridor. "Your timing is.... as ever.... impeccable."
"It's over, Cartagia. You can't win."
"I know. I've never wanted to." Without taking his eyes from Mollari's, Cartagia took a few careful steps back. He knelt down beside Valo's body and picked up the general's fallen sword. Valo swore at him with appreciable malice. Good, the wound hadn't been that deep after all then. He had been starting to worry.
Cartagia hefted the sword. A good balance, finely made, not one of these darning needles the courtiers carried. Say what you like about him, Valo knew a good sword when he bought one. It was just a pity he couldn't use the damned thing.
Cartagia tossed the sword at Londo's feet, and raised his own in a mock salute. "You want me, Mollari. Come and get me."
He turned and darted around the corner.
Londo paused only to scoop up the sword, and then went straight to Malachi's side. The wound was deep, and it looked serious.
"Lon....do...." gasped Malachi. "I.... I.... tried to do.... what I.... thought was.... right. I...."
"Shush. Don't speak."
"I.... must. Must.... explain...."
"You'll be able to explain later. Lennier, try and stop the bleeding. Keep his head up, and.... and...." There must be something else he could remember about first aid techniques. Timov would skin him alive if he'd forgotten. "Ah yes.... and make sure his pulse is as steady as possible. Both hearts need to be working."
"Lon....do...."
"I'm going after Cartagia, Malachi. I'll be back soon."
"Londo," said Lennier, suddenly, looking up from his position next to Malachi. "He is a very dangerous man. He wants you to follow him."
"I know."
Londo turned and ran after Cartagia. He knew where the Prince would be going, but that didn't matter, as Cartagia had conveniently left marks.... streaks of blood on the walls and doors. Lennier was right, he does want me to follow him.
Sure enough Cartagia was standing in the throne room, surrounded by the bodies of guards, nobles and courtiers.
"You took your time, Mollari."
"I had things to do. What have you done here, Cartagia?"
"Me? I did nothing. Malachi did a lot.... and these poor foolish morons did something as well.... but me? All I've done is prepare for death."
"What do you mean?"
Cartagia smiled and lunged forward, his sword clipping the edge of Londo's hair. The Prince stepped back, smiling. "Come on, Mollari. Death is a truly wonderful thing, and she's waiting for us."
* * * * * * *
"There. Done it." Catherine looked at the piece of machinery in front her and double checked it against the description Zathras had given. "Catherine to Zathras, are you there?"
She hoped this would be enough. Her space suit was very uncomfortable, and she did not even like the colour. She had always hated blue. On top of that she was developing a nagging headache and a very uncomfortable sensation that someone, or something, was watching her.
"Yes, yes, Zathras here. Zathras not be going anywhere." There was a pause, and then the signal came back. "That is fine. Machinery is all fixed now. Return to inside. Help will be reaching us very soon."
"I hope so." She risked a look over her shoulder, and dimly, beyond the cloud-like wall that surrounded the station, she could see the faint traces of a spaceship. A shuttle was approaching. "I.... Wait a minute. Zathras.... when did you call for them?"
"Zathras did not call for help."
"Then.... Jeff didn't. Who did?"
"Ah.... not good to be thinking about that. This is.... history. Everything will come out fine."
"Oh no." A sense of pure terror came over her. "They know help is coming aboard. The.... the Shadows. They know!"
"Zathras not worry. Zathras...."
The signal cut dead, and a brilliant light filled her mind. She almost screamed. <Your task is done,> said the voice.
"No," she whispered. "You can't.... you.... Jeffrey!"
<You must leave him. His destiny will be reached alone. He does not need you.>
"Jeffrey!"
The temporal rift shuddered, and the entire station trembled. Catherine screamed as the Vorlon's light filled her mind. She felt the magnetic clamps giving way from the side of the station. Knowing what was going to happen, and powerless to stop it, she could see once again the awesome majesty of the Vorlon that filled her soul. It was finished with her. Events had conspired to make her intended rôle worthless.
It needed her no longer.
She was thrown away from the station, consumed by the mist of time that engulfed her. The passage of the ages took her, and she was lost to everything.
* * * * * * *
"It's over, Captain! Hull integrity is practically nothing."
Sheridan sighed, and rubbed at his eyes. He could see Delenn. She knew he had lied to her. She knew he would not be returning.
What other option was there? He was a dying man anyway, a man cursed to doom all he knew and loved before he went. A twisted, hateful legacy. He would not let Deathwalker have her last, black laugh at humanity's expense.
Everyone has to die sometime. Better to do it as a hero, saving everything.
But his crew? His friends? What about them? David.... he had a right to live. He had so much to live for. So did all the others.
"Parmenion, this is the Babylon. You cannot survive many more hits. Get to the life pods, and we will bring you aboard. This is the...."
"Parmenion hears you," replied Sheridan. "We will be evacuating now." He looked up at David. "You heard him. Get as many of the crew as you can to the life pods, the shuttles, any remaining Starfuries.... anything."
"What about you, Captain?"
"I've.... I'll just stay here. I'll leave after the rest of the crew."
Corwin's eyes narrowed. "You've never lied to me before, Captain. This would be a really bad time to start."
"I'm not. I'll see you at Kazomi Seven. I promise. Now go!"
"You heard the Captain," he snapped to the rest of the bridge crew. "Guerra, issue a ship-wide evacuation order. Ensure the life pods and shuttles are prepared. Go!"
John Sheridan visualised the scene outside. He thought about dying....
* * * * * * *
Delenn had gone so far beyond anger that she did not know what she was feeling. Beyond fear, beyond fury, beyond revenge.... she was in a white calm, in a place where she could be completely at peace. She observed the battle with a clinical detachment, directing things as much as possible from far in the rear. She needed to survive, Taan Churok had told her. She was important, Lethke had said.
She knew all these things, and yet it still felt so wrong.... being here when people were fighting and dying. She could see the reports about the Parmenion.
"Delenn!" barked Taan Churok. "The planet...."
She looked at the instruments, and gasped.
Epsilon 3 was shaking, trembling, tearing itself apart.
"The Machine.... Valen's Name. Can we get word to anyone there?"
"Tried. Signal couldn't get through."
"What about the rift? Is it still functional?"
"Do not know."
She closed her eyes, and thought about death. She thought about life. She thought about Minbar, about Earth, about the untold millions who had died in the time since she had made her fatal mistake.
She would not let more die here. The Machine was dying. When it was finally gone, the explosion would destroy everything in the area. There was nothing more they could do to protect the past. The Shadow ships kept coming, and coming.... endless waves of black, screaming nightmares.
"Issue the order to withdraw. We have done all we can. Whichever ships are not too badly damaged should form a protective screen. I do not know if they will simply let us leave."
"We've done all we can."
"But was it enough?" she whispered, looking at him intently. "Was it enough?"
* * * * * * *
Whatever Delenn might have thought, the Shadow ships did not try to stop the fleet leaving. Those ships that were still firing on the Shadow ships were destroyed, mercilessly and efficiently, but those that fled were unharmed. The Babylon managed to enter hyperspace with no problems, all the crew from the Parmenion taken aboard.
The Shadow ships bore down on the dying world, obviously intending to hasten its demise. No one seemed to know just how long the temporal rift would last after the death of the Great Machine. Better to be sure, for them.
John Sheridan stood alone on the deck of his burning, battered ship. He had given one last order, and it had been obeyed just before the remains of the engine crew had left the ship.
The doomed and dying Parmenion soared forward, heading directly for the mass of screaming, inky darkness before it. The ships turned towards its inexorable advance. They turned, and fired.
The Machine died. Epsilon 3 died, and become a billion pieces of shattered rock, and machinery, and weapons.
John Sheridan stood quietly as the Parmenion tore into the Shadow vessels, just as the explosion of the planet tore into his ship.
His world exploded.