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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part V: From the Ashes |
'THERE can be no peace with the Shadow.' An old saying now, almost proverbial, used mainly by members of the warrior caste when placed in a situation which, for them, admits of only one course of action. The saying however is incorrect. There were numerous attempts at peace during the Shadow War. They all failed, but that does not mean that we can pass them off as anomalies. Each in its own way was significant.
The closest attempt at a settlement of sorts came a few years after we, the Minbari, had entered the war. At the time we knew very little about the circumstances in which we found ourselves. We had been in tentative contact with other alien races for some years, most notably the Ikarrans, the Tak'cha and the Markab. Agreements had been made with these races, slow and cautious, tentative at first, when emissaries from the Markab had arrived at our capital, claiming that they were under attack by a strange alien race who gave no reason for these incursions. None of our treaties included mutual defence clauses, but we were prepared to assist. Our warrior caste was not prominent at the time, but each of their clans was anxious to prove its mettle. The religious caste contemplated diplomacy, but the leaders of at least three of the clans were in favour of military action on behalf of the Markab. They won out, in the end.
Our first few engagements with this.... Enemy did not go well, however. Many ships were destroyed, and the warrior caste was thrown into disarray. Warleader Hantenn of the Wind Swords clan committed ritual suicide to atone for his rashness, and the militaristic fervour died down. Matters were confused for many months afterwards, especially as the Ikarrans were invaded soon after Hantenn's death. Their invaders were not the same race as the Enemy, but a different one we did not know. They called themselves the Streibs.
The Ikarrans requested aid from us, aid that we had to refuse. Our generals were smarting from the losses they had sustained defending the Markab and unwilling to take any more such risks for a cause that was not ours. We lost all contact with their area of space about three years after they were invaded. We did not learn of the tragic solution they had found until it was too late.
Not long after that the attacks resumed, against both the Markab and the Tak'cha. The Tak'cha, who were never much given to diplomacy at the best of times, began intensifying their military programme. They spoke enigmatically of a race called the Vorlons, whom they believed to be messengers from their Gods. When pressed, however, no living Tak'cha could recall ever having seen a Vorlon.
The entire situation was growing more and more tense, and then, suddenly and strangely, a visitor came to our leaders of both clan and fane. He was an alien of a race we had never seen before. He called himself Shryne, and asked each leader a simple question. 'What do you want?' He spoke each of our dialects perfectly, he knew all our customs, and once he had heard the answers he smiled, bowed and left. Later, approximately half the clan and fane leaders, the majority from the warrior caste, were invited to a meeting in neutral territory. There they met with this Shryne and others of his race, and he made grandiose promises of aid. We would be strong, he said. We would have the power to achieve all that we desired.
All that we had to give in return was the promise of a simple favour. The Warleaders of the Star Riders, Moon Shields and Night Walkers accepted Shryne's offer. The new Warleader of the Wind Swords, full of pride, did likewise. Shuzen of the Fire Wings displayed honour above ambition, and refused. The religious caste were split, but most turned down the offer.
Within three months, all who had turned Shryne down were killed. Accident, disease, poison, assassination. The clans were soon at war.
It was then that the Vorlons arrived. They convinced our generals where the real enemy lay, and we went to war alongside the Markab and the Tak'cha, against the race we now called the Shadows. Shryne, whom the Vorlons referred to as a Ragg'hia, a race that served the Shadows, tried to call another meeting for peace with our leaders. He was captured and executed, and from that moment on the saying 'There can be no peace with the Shadow' began to be heard. Despite this, some of our more pacifist religious leaders still pushed for peace. Many went to the Shadows' homeworld, a grim, dark world called Z'ha'dum. When we took the place we found them there, changed irrevocably, beyond our capacity to undo.
It was not long after Shryne's death that Valen came to us.... and we were united. And from that point on, there truly was no peace with the Shadow.
Excerpts from
The First Footsteps To The Stars: A History of Minbari Space Travel,
by Sech Turval of the Temple of Tuzanor, published in the Earth Year 2232.
* * * * * * *
There was nothing but death where once there had been hope. Everything was gone, scattered to the four winds.
Epsilon 3 was destroyed, torn apart by the stress of the Great Machine. Somewhere, in pieces, amongst a sea of rock and metal and machinery a millennium old, lay the body of Michael Garibaldi. Just one of the many who had died at the Battle of the Third Line.
A great many ships lay in ruins, sacrificed to preserve the future and the past. Shadow ships were dead there also, their wordless screams silenced at last.
The temporal rift was closed, the past forever the past now. The Vorlon Kosh had sacrificed himself to ensure it fulfilled its purpose, returning the great hero Valen where he belonged.
And somewhere, amidst all the death and the carnage and the chunks of floating metal, shuttles moved cautiously, accompanied by beings in space suits, moving through the devastation, seeking survivors, hoping against hope that someone might still be alive.
It had only been a few hours since the battle's end. It was possible that some sections of the ships were still pressurised, possible that people still lived, trapped and alone in a dead prison.
But more than that, they were searching for a body, the body of one among so many who were believed to be dead.
Captain John Sheridan. He was there.... somewhere.
* * * * * * *
"He is not dead."
Commander David Corwin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. How long had it been since he had last slept? He had grabbed a quick three or four hours after the attack by Clark's forces, during the preparation of the station. But he had awoken from that feeling just as tired as he had been before.
With Mary, the night Bester's recall signal had been given. How long ago had that been? Three days or so.... Maybe a little longer. He couldn't tell any more. But then, the woman with him could not have slept much either. Of course, she wasn't human.... well, not entirely, and for all he knew she did not need to sleep.
But still....
"He is not dead."
Corwin gave her credit. She almost sounded as if she believed the words she was saying. He was sure he did not. The Captain.... had known what would happen. He had chosen to stay on the bridge of the Parmenion. He had chosen to order the evacuation of his crew, and to give the order to launch a ramming action.
In some way, he had wanted to die.
"He is not dead."
"I'm sorry, Delenn," he said, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. He was thirsty. "There are people out looking, but.... No one could have survived that, Delenn. The ship was destroyed, completely wrecked. Delenn...."
She raised her head and looked at him. He was trapped by her piercing eyes, and he contemplated her for a minute. He had never really been comfortable around the former Satai Delenn, but he could see just what it was about her that made her able to rule dynasties, to lead leaders, and to capture the heart of the great Starkiller.
Corwin admitted he did owe her slightly. She had once helped the Captain free himself from a difficult situation, at Corwin's request. He supposed he might have helped push them together by asking that of her, and he was not entirely sure how he felt about that.
Still, the Captain had been happy these last few months. That was something, at least.
"A part of the bridge could still be pressurised. You said yourself that communications on the Parmenion were down before the.... end. He could still be alive, trapped in a pressurised section of the ship, unable to alert us to his position." She was speaking calmly and rationally, explaining each point precisely. He did not want to listen. He had run over every argument he could think of, and he could still not believe anything other than the fact that Captain John Sheridan was dead.
"Delenn," he said, interrupting her. "I want him to be alive just as much as you do.... but.... it's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible," she snapped, her voice firm. She sounded angry. "Nothing is impossible while there is hope, and faith. We have a saying, one John heard and understood. Faith manages, Commander. Faith manages."
"It hasn't done a very good job for me so far," he muttered angrily, but then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Delenn. I didn't mean that."
"No, Commander. It is I who should be sorry. John.... liked you a great deal. He respected you."
Corwin nodded and looked around, trying to avoid the lure of those green eyes. The quarters were not very luxurious, but then Drazi ones never were. They were on board the Drazi Sunhawk Stra'Kath, one of the few ships to remain in the Epsilon Eridani area. Most of the fleet that had fought in the Battle had gone back to Kazomi 7, for repairs and to off-load the wounded.
Captain Smith had taken his Babylon there and was now in detention, awaiting the decision on his fate. Susan was also there, and Corwin definitely did not want to think about her. So was Mary, and.... and he had something to ask her. He had been trying to build up the courage for a long while, but the battle had sharpened his focus. He would ask her....
But first he had a duty to his Captain. He would stay here until the body was found, and he would ensure it was taken back to Kazomi 7 and buried there. It was not really what the Captain would have wanted, but a burial on Earth was impossible now, as was one on Proxima.
"You should return to Kazomi Seven," he told Delenn. "The Government will need you now. G'Kar has also requested to see you. He.... he seems to be recovering well from his injuries."
"I am glad," she replied, her voice hollow. "But I will not leave here without John."
"Delenn, this is not rational. You.... you have responsibilities. The Captain would have wanted it this way. He...."
"I know what he would have wanted! But I will not let you send me away. I loved him.... I love him, and I will not believe him dead until I see his body. Not until then." She fell silent, and bowed her head.
"I.... know. And he loved you too." It was hard for him to admit that. He had never been able to reconcile himself to the Captain's feelings for this.... this Minbari.
"He is alive, Commander. I know that. I.... know."
"Faith manages," he muttered.
"Exactly," she replied, deadly serious. "Faith.... manages."
* * * * * * *
"What.... what is to do be done with me?"
Her guards did not reply. She was not even certain they could understand her words, but a vague legacy of senses she could not explain seemed to indicate that they had. Her telepathy was now once again barely present. It appeared that everything the Shadows had done to her had been erased by Kosh's sacrifice.
Everything they had done to her, but nothing she had done to herself.
The events of the last few years were clearer to her now, crystal clear as if she were looking at them through a lake of still water. Everything she had done.... breaking open Delenn's chrysalis, her part in Anna's death, her part in Laurel's death, her attack on Ambassador Sheridan and.... everything she had done on board Babylon 4.
"He couldn't have taken them away too, could he?" she muttered to herself. Not that anyone was really listening. Only the two Narn Rangers guarding her were present, and they hardly looked at her. Ta'Lon had told them she was powerless now, and they had believed him.
"No.... he had to let me remember everything. Every single damned thing."
She sighed, and bowed her head. As she slowed down the Narns turned to glare at her angrily, and she resumed walking again. All of these corridors seemed much the same. Whether that was typical of Drazi architecture or a sign of the limited budget of the United Alliance she did not know. Or particularly care.
What was waiting for her? A cell.... or a place of execution? She supposed what she had done might merit death, at least.... to the Drazi perhaps. Maybe the Narns, too. G'Kar wouldn't be exactly kindly disposed to her at the moment. Not after her part, however unwilling, in his removal from the Great Machine. She was the only one of that squad still alive.
She supposed that a lot of what she had done was wrong, but she had never intended to do harm. All she had wanted was to save humanity. That couldn't be so bad, could it?
And then her Russian pessimism returned. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Bad ones too, probably.
The Narns stopped in a section of corridor seemingly identical to the ones they had been tramping down for the past half an hour or so. There seemed to be a few more security cameras around, but little else was different. She did not even know which building this was. She'd never been to Kazomi 7 before, and she doubted she'd have much time for sightseeing while she was here. Not that there was much to see, apparently.
One of the Narns stepped forward and raised a strange-looking card. He placed it against the wall, and it slotted into a indent she had not noticed before. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a small, well-lit room containing a bed and.... well, nothing else.
"Narn cells?" she asked. "Or Drazi ones?" The Drazi had been responsible for much of Kazomi 7's design, hadn't they? She was sure it had been a Drazi colony at some time in the past. From the looks of the corridors it didn't seem as if Delenn had had a hand in the design, though. Susan had been in Minbari cells before, and they were a little.... less accommodating than this one.
Not gently, she was pushed forward into the cell. She crossed the threshold with a soft sigh and a resigned grace. Turning, she saw the door slide shut.
With a gentle sigh and a click of her tongue, Susan Ivanova lay down on the bed and began to await her judgement.
* * * * * * *
Londo Mollari looked at his council of advisors, the nucleus of his new Government, and felt a sudden and quite inexplicable surge of pride. There was a long way still to go, yes, but the earliest obstacles had been overcome. They were past the beginning of the long journey.
"The Palace Guard have, almost to a man, sworn fealty to you, Majesty," Minister Durano was saying. The new Minister of Intelligence was a canny man, always acutely aware of the way the political winds were blowing. He was also however a principled man, and a meticulous one. If he said he would do something, then it would be done.
"Those who have not done so are under arrest. It would of course be foolish to assume that all such conversions are genuine. I recommend our own guards from Selini, or if that is not possible, then those from Gallia or Sphodria. They are in our debt, after all. A list of all such persons is appended to my report."
Londo shifted his gaze to his nephew. Carn Mollari, captain of the warship Valerius, new Commander of the Imperial Guard, and recently appointed Minister of Security. "There are a number of guards I do not entirely trust, but between myself, Minister Durano and Guards-Captains Kerrik and Volga we will soon have an efficient force answerable only to you, uncle." Kerrik and Volga had been the captains of the guards at Selini and the Court. Both were loyal men, woefully overlooked by the previous régime. That was not a mistake Londo could afford to make. For one thing, good and loyal men were far too rare, and for another.... he had a promise to an old friend to fulfill, and this was as good a starting place as any.
"The Court itself is.... er.... well, in a state of chaos, as you might expect," spoke up Virini, or rather, the 'Minister for the Court'. In the past the timid little man had been the butt of many a joke by those who failed to see that he heard everything, saw everything, knew almost everything and yet said very little. Rare attributes indeed. Now that he had returned to his former position, he preferred his former title, that simply of 'Minister'. The fewer people who knew his name, he argued, the more inconspicuous he was.
"The majority of Prince Cartagia's followers are either dead or under arrest. The body the guards.... uh.... recovered from the warehouse district has been confirmed as being that of Lady Elrisia, although some people do not appear to believe this. The.... uh.... the old guard faction are in disarray with the.... er.... incapacitation of Lord Kiro. Depending on the treatment of those responsible for the attacks on his estate, they may well decide to align themselves with you, Majesty. They are at least not openly hostile."
Londo said nothing about that, and everyone knew why. One of those responsible for the attack on Kiro's estate had been his wife, Mariel, involved in some futile and hopeless plan to attain power. Strictly speaking her actions deserved execution, but Londo had not yet made up his mind and few people dared broach the subject with him.
"Regarding the remaining slots in our Government," said Durano again, "I recommend Minister Vitari for the post of Minister of the Interior. I admit to not trusting him, but he is efficient and dedicated, and he will undoubtedly be able to cope with the responsibility."
"So," said Londo, "what positions are we missing, then?"
"All the details are in my report," Durano said. "Myself, as Minister of Intelligence. Your nephew for Security, and the.... ahem, the Minister here for the Court. Vitari for the Interior. Lord-General Marrago, of course, is the Minister of War as well as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. We do not yet have a Minister for Transportation, Culture, Agriculture, Resource Procurement or a Head of the Diplomatic Corps." He paused and looked down, a most uncharacteristic gesture. "And there is the post of.... First Minister."
"There will be no post of First Minister yet," Londo said firmly. "If I am to be Emperor, then I will operate in the way I see fit. All of you here, as well as Marrago, I trust as I trust no other. A First Minister is not needed at present.
"As for the others.... Vir Cotto will be the Head of the Diplomatic Corps. He has.... certain skills and contacts that will be very useful. And as for Resource Procurement.... I do think my dear wife Timov will be perfect for the rôle."
"Oh dear," whispered the Minister. Londo smiled.
Durano, to his credit, recognised that protest would not be the wisest of options. "A fine choice, Majesty. If a little.... unconventional, not to say controversial."
"There you have it, Durano. You have just hit upon two of the best reasons for appointing her. The other vacant positions can be filled later. They can be used as convenient.... incentives to those whose support we need.
"And now.... matters for the future. The Centarum must be reformed as soon as possible, and the Emergency Measures passed at the beginning of the year phased out. We need order and effective communications across the planet as well as to the rest of the Republic. Engineers and technicians are looking at the damage done to the main signal relay satellites. What caused the damage.... is a concern for another time.
"We also need these.... Shadow Criers dealt with, and soon. And there is the matter of posting Ambassadors to the major powers. We need to let the galaxy know we are returning to strength again, and we need to end this war with the Narns. Quickly. We will soon, I fear, have even greater problems on our hands.
"Minister Cotto will oversee the establishment of embassies to the Resistance Government of Humanity, the United Alliance at Kazomi Seven and the remains of the Minbari Federation. At a later date, appointments to the rest of the former League worlds will be possible, but they can wait. Negotiations with the Narns must be our first objective.
"And the army.... well, that is a matter for the Lord-General, and for my nephew here."
"Ah, yes," spoke up Durano. "Majesty.... where is the Lord-General?"
"Attending to something," was the only reply. "Attending to something.... very important."
* * * * * * *
Victory!
Sonovar threw his arms wide and laughed, revelling in the glory of the moment. It was over, and the entire mission had been a success. Not a thing had gone wrong. He had been a warrior in too many campaigns not to recognise the rarity of that.
The Government of Tarolin 2 had been punished for their treason, a message of defiance had been sent to the traitor Sinoval, the Tak'cha had proved their combat worthiness and Kozorr.... his laugh faded. Yes, Kozorr. A success there also, but only a beginning.
He was alone on the bridge of his ship, the flagship of the new warrior caste revival. A true warrior caste, a return to the old days of glory and honour and a worthy war, days that had been taken away from them by the weakness of the priestlings and the treachery of those like Sinoval.
He was alone. None of his colleagues, those who had been a part of Kalain's Grey Council, would come here with him. They had all requested other duties, other responsibilities. They were cowards, all of them, unable to see the rightness of his cause, and that disappointed him. Sinoval, for all his wrongs, at least had followers who would obey him unto death.
Such as Kozorr.
Sonovar suddenly felt very lonely. Every leader needed someone to confide in, with whom to share the moments of weakness and indecision. Every great leader had doubts and fears, it was only natural. Any man who claimed to be truly fearless was either a liar or a madman. And yet Sonovar had no one. He was beginning to understand why Sinoval kept such a pathetic worker as Kats around him. He could explain to her all his doubts in the knowledge that she was too weak to act on them.
Sonovar had no one like that.
There was no sound of his coming, no rustle of his robe or rasping of his breathing. Sonovar was a trained warrior, his every sense honed to its utmost degree, and yet the being who had once been Forell managed yet again to sneak up on him.
"You look fatigued, my lord," he said. "Are you well?"
"I am.... fine," he muttered. He was beginning to develop a headache actually, but he was not going to admit that to this loathsome creature. Every leader needed someone to confide in, true, but that someone was definitely not Forell.
"You have not taken your medicine these last few days, lord. It is for your own health." Something from Forell stank, and Sonovar could see he was carrying that ridiculous antique goblet. Inside it was a thick, dark red liquid.
His 'medicine'.
"I needed to concentrate on the mission," he explained. "That stuff makes me.... sluggish. I don't like it."
"Medicine is not meant to be liked, my lord. You should take it. It does you good."
"I do not need to...." He stopped, and wondered why he was explaining himself in such an apologetic manner. He did not have to justify himself like this! Forell moved forward, taking this pause as an invitation to continue. He held the goblet with the foul medicine up before Sonovar, who gagged.
The warrior brought his arm up, knocking Forell back. The goblet tipped up and the medicine fell over Forell's already stained and worn robe. There was a hissing noise. "You are not my nursemaid, Forell! How many times must I explain that to you?"
"My apologies, my lord," he replied, sounding distinctly unapologetic. "I tripped and spilt your medicine. I will prepare a fresh batch, and bring it to you personally."
Sonovar readied an angry retort, but he stopped and nodded. His throat was feeling very dry, and his headache was worsening. Say what you liked about that concoction, he did feel better afterwards. Well, a bit better.
"Yes," he ordered. "Do that. I will be in my chambers shortly. I have something to check on first."
Without waiting for a reply he stormed from the chamber, and so missed the expression on Forell's face. Truly though, he would not have cared if he had seen it. His senses might have been heightened through years of training and meditation, but in many ways Sonovar was terribly, terribly blind.
He made his way through the corridors and hallways of the ship, and everyone he met turned aside, shrinking away from his furious gaze. He could not explain the reason for his anger, but he did know it would have to be vented in some way. There was one thing he could use to divert it elsewhere. A symbol of his greatest triumph to date, and his greatest challenge to come.
He found himself at the door he wanted. At his orders four guards were posted there at all times, with another two at each end of the corridor. All were armed, and all were among his best warriors. Two of them were Tak'cha, and they attended to their duties with a diligence that not even the most loyal Minbari warrior could muster.
"How is he?" he asked.
"The same, lord," replied one of the guards. A Minbari warrior. Star Riders clan. A long heritage. A proud ancestry. A fine service record. A true warrior in every sense of the word.
"Open the door. I wish to see him."
"Your will, lord."
Sonovar drew in a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. The guards remained outside. They knew who was within, but not the circumstances of the prisoner's fate. They did not seek to question either. That was not their place.
He was there, seated in silent meditation. He looked up and then scowled, turning his gaze back to the floor. Sonovar was impressed. There was a one-way mirror. He could not be seen from within the room, and yet the prisoner had noticed his arrival anyway.
Yes, Sonovar thought as he looked at Kozorr. Yes. I chose right after all. He will be my greatest challenge.... and my greatest weapon.
* * * * * * *
It was a fine room. Luxurious, comfortable, warm. Tapestries from poor, dead Camulodo adorned the walls. Carpets woven on distant worlds were beneath his feet. Minbari pottery stared at him from every direction. There were the finest books ready for him to read; fiction, both romantic and epic, poetry, histories, and accounts of military campaigns. His food was prepared personally by the finest cooks remaining in the palace, and the brivare he drank was the most priceless of vintages available.
And yet, the former Lord-General Valo thought acidly, a golden cage is a cage nonetheless.
He knew what fate awaited him. He had known ever since he had been forced to surrender to that bastard Marrago. Death by execution. Execution in the manner of a commoner, as well. His head to be cut from his body and placed on a pike on Traitors' Row. The fate, not for a traitor to his Republic, but for one who had reached too far, and fallen just short.
He could, with a little more luck, have been sitting on the throne now, strengthening the Republic, beating back the Narns, claiming lost territories and pressing forward to the stars. Instead he was trapped in a gilded cell, waiting for death.
Such was the hand he had been dealt, but he had always believed that the Gods helped the strong, the brave, and the resourceful. He had tried, because it was more than anyone else would. He had shown the weaklings of the Court his strength and that.... and that was almost worth it all. Lead by example, and he would teach them by example even in his death.
The door opened, and Valo looked up from his seat. He had made an arrogant pledge to remain standing all the while he was here, but the injury in his side had plagued him too much for that, and he had been forced to sit. At least he sat on the floor, and not on the soft couch.
Two men stepped inside, both wearing the uniform of the Palace Guard. They made a formal salute and ushered in a new figure, one Valo recognised instantly. The guards left, and closed the door behind them. There was the sound of a bolt sliding shut.
"Marrago," he said. "I'm surprised. I thought you'd be wearing a new uniform, one tricked out with gold and jewels and all sorts of medals."
"I'm not a vain man, Valo," came the reply. "You know that. And I have not been promoted, merely returned to my former position. I am once again Lord-General of the Armies of the Centauri Republic. It is nice, is it not, to have an Emperor who appreciates the talents of those who serve him?"
"Mollari is a fool," Valo snapped back. "And you know it. He'll be dead before the century's out, and you'll all be dead with him."
"I doubt that very much. But in any case, Valo, you have no right to comment on the political actions of this new Government. I am here to attend to the matter of your death."
"Ah." He smiled. "I've been waiting for this. How is it to be, hmm? My head on a pike? A silken rope around my neck, perhaps? Or nothing so.... quick?"
"The manner of your death.... depends on you. Perhaps you can serve the Republic better through your death than you have done with your recent actions."
"I don't understand."
"There is a great deal of confusion about what has happened here these last few days. Very few people are able to state clearly and exactly who did what, and why. Those who could are either dead, like Prince Cartagia and First Minister Malachi, or loyal to Emperor Mollari. What happened.... is for us to decide."
"And what did happen?"
"The Court was attacked.... by the group of terrorists known as the Shadow Criers. They were funded by aliens.... possibly the Narns, or maybe not. That has not been decided yet. They managed somehow to influence certain leaders in the military, to make their attack easier. First Minister Malachi was grievously wounded in the attack, and succumbed to his injuries. Prince Cartagia bravely gave his life defending the First Minister. Emperor Mollari and myself managed to gather together the military, draw on our forces, and drive the Shadow Criers away.
"Naturally, the Emperor will want to hunt down and destroy these.... terrorists."
Valo laughed. "Have you become a courtier, Marrago? I always knew they could take dung and make it smell of perfume, but I never thought you'd sink so low."
"Oh.... most of it wasn't my idea, I'll admit. Still.... it is a sound plan. We need unity now, and revealing to the galaxy that our nobility has been busily killing one another.... would give away too much, and risk exposing our weakness."
"So.... where do I fit in?"
"As I said.... that depends on you. After this conversation is over, I will leave this room. I will return after your next meal, and when I do, I will find either.... a dead hero, who bravely and courageously fought the Shadow Criers, concealing the full extent of his wounds until it was too late, or.... a living traitor, who cowardly betrayed his Court to these evildoers and fought against his own Government.
"The choice is yours."
"And how is this.... how are you going to manage this?"
"Your next meal will be a very tasty recipe involving spoo in.... some form or another. I know next to nothing about cooking. What I do know is that the spoo will contain a considerable quantity of Paromide powder. Odourless, tasteless, colourless...."
"And one of our Republic's deadliest poisons," Valo finished. "So.... I am to be given an easy way out, am I?" He turned away, looking at the tapestry on the wall behind him. It depicted the fourth Emperor's glorious victory over the rebels at Immolan.
"If you choose to take it. You will also be given a full state funeral, your place in the Hall of Renown, and.... immunity for your commanders."
"And if I don't? What if I decide it might be more entertaining to.... shatter the scabbard on this little fiction of yours."
Marrago did not blink, did not hesitate, did not miss a beat. "Then you will die anyway. And so will your wife, and your daughter, and her son. How old is he now? No more than a year, is he? Your first grandson.... you must be very proud."
Valo spun around. "You bastard!"
Marrago did not stop. "All those men who elected to follow you will be stripped of their rank and tried as traitors to the Republic - and make no mistake, they will all be executed. Your entire House will be purged, and your name removed from history."
"You bastard!"
"We are creating a new Republic here, Valo. We are in.... dire straits. A certain harshness is necessary for the good of all, would you not say?"
Valo sank, falling back on to the couch. "I.... I want to be able to write a letter.... to my wife and my daughter."
"Of course. You have everything you need, and I will ensure it is delivered to them. I will.... have to read it first, of course."
"You will.... you will not let them know. They had nothing to do with this."
Marrago nodded. "You have my word, Valo," he said softly. "From one soldier to another."
"I.... I can believe you, Marrago. Once I have written these letters, I will take your damned poison, and if you or the Emperor break your word, then my ghost will haunt you for the rest of eternity."
"Everything I have told you today is true." Marrago bowed, and turned to the door. "Goodbye, Valo. May the Gods have mercy on you." He knocked at it, and the guards outside pushed it open.
"Marrago, wait!"
"Yes?" He did not turn around.
"Did Mollari come up with this whole little plan?"
"Yes.... yes.... he did."
Valo began to laugh. "Then the Republic might just survive after all. I underestimated him."
"We all did. Goodbye."
"Yes...." he looked at the closed door. "Goodbye."
* * * * * * *
What is he thinking? Just.... what is he thinking?
Ambassador David Sheridan could not tell, and that irritated him. He had always been able to read people as easily as a book. One of many skills acquired from long years as a diplomat. And yet here, on one of his most important tasks yet, so many of his skills were failing him.
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Ambassador," President Clark said sincerely. "I hope you'll be able to return to us soon."
"I shouldn't be gone for more than a few months at most, Mr. President," he said smoothly. "I am afraid I am needed at Z'ha'dum for consultation with our associates. I have been away from there for too long and they wish a status report and.... other matters. Important work, yes, but nothing dangerous, certainly."
Clark gave an odd little laugh. "No, of course not. We couldn't lose our Ambassador, could we?" He smiled, and chuckled to himself. "Still, I understand that you must do as your.... associates request. What if.... I need to get in touch with them urgently?"
"Oh, there is nothing to worry about there, Mr. President. Most of my aides will be remaining here, as will the Zener attached to our Sciences Divisions. They will all be able to get in touch with Z'ha'dum at a moment's notice should anything major require our attention." This was all information the President should have been given of course. Standard diplomatic protocol, but this was anything but standard, and Sheridan had begun withholding information from Clark the instant he discovered the man's Keeper was not working as it should.
"However, Mr. President, I must say that I do not expect anything major to happen soon. This will be a time for rebuilding and consolidating positions. Our agents do not expect any sort of major action by any of our main adversaries until the end of the year, at least."
"More than enough time for us to hunt down and finish off Sinoval, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh.... more than enough time, Mr. President, but I would be.... wary of antagonising him overtly. He can be a very dangerous opponent when cornered, as we have seen." And more to the point his associates wanted Primarch Sinoval very much alive. He was far more use to them alive and properly channelled than he could be dead.
"Well, our generals will be able to attend to that." Clark rose to his feet. "Good luck, Ambassador, and a safe and speedy return to us. This place will.... hardly seem the same without you." He extended his hand.
Sheridan took it. "I will miss Proxima greatly, but my duties carry me elsewhere. Goodbye for now, Mr. President."
As he left, he resumed running through his itinerary for the next few months in his mind. Reports at Z'ha'dum and consultations with his colleagues in other fields. The engagement at Proxima 3 had been a major turning point and future events had to be steered in appropriate directions. And after Z'ha'dum a trip to somewhere else, for a very important task.
He almost scowled. Of all the places he had been to in his career this was the one he wished to see the least. He was not looking forward to going to Kazomi 7, that was beyond doubt.
* * * * * * *
The Darkness is coming.
Lord Kiro sat alone in the place where his aunt had been murdered. His wounds did not pain him any longer. The mark of the brands seared on to his body had become an illumination, not a torture. He had looked into the hateful faces of his tormentors and been renewed.
The Darkness is coming.
Ladira had wished to see him a few hours before the attack. He had not been home for very long, and he was tired. He was also angry with Lord Jarno, and had been musing on a plan for a counterattack against the Court. He had reacted to her invitation with annoyance, but he had gone promptly enough.
She had had a prophecy for him. He had listened, confused, not understanding a word, but then he had shrugged and left. She had said very little of substance to or about him. While her prophecies to others were quite accurate, those directed at her nephew had been universally gibberish.
Now, he understood.
You will be burned in fire, and purified in pain. You will see new lights and return from the lands of the dead. You will lead those who see as I do. The Darkness is coming, Kiro. It is coming for you, and I will not be at your side when it arrives.
She had been right. He had been burned by the fires of his torture, and purified. They had thought they had killed him, and left him there chained in darkness, his body mutilated and torn.
But he had lived, and he had brought a vision back from death.
He knew where he had to go, and whom he had to find. They would listen to him, because they would see in his eyes the same madness and flames that burned in their own.
His house burned down that night. Those who investigated it put it down as an attack by the Shadow Criers. Minister Durano heard this theory, and took it to both the Emperor and Lord-General Marrago. They listened, and resolved to keep it quiet. The Shadow Criers would have to be dealt with soon enough, but there were many other things to do first. The Court had to be reunited and the nobles had to accept Londo as Emperor. Lord Valo's state funeral might go some way towards doing that, but matters were still precarious. Kiro had been a prominent figure, and the fate of those who had attacked his estate had yet to be determined.
All word of the fire at the ruins of his home was hushed up. Few lived in that area of the city anyway these days, and secrets were not hard to keep in the capital now.
And Kiro ran alone and haunted through the streets of the city until he found the ones he was looking for. He spoke to them, and they heeded his words.
And they fell to their knees at his feet. They had found the one who would lead them to the coming Darkness.
And beyond....
* * * * * * *
Lyta Alexander breathed out slowly as she walked towards her goal. She knew what she had to do, and she knew how.
She should be in the medical bay now, she knew. Her efforts at the Third Line had almost killed her. As it was she had been drained to the point of exhaustion, pushed beyond her limits, her body almost too weak to push blood, to draw in air, to stay alive.
The light in her soul had gone, and she was alone, for the first time in over two years. She could only remember feeling this alone once before, after Marcus had died. It was for him that she was doing this. She knew that it was wrong, illegal certainly. She did not care. To let this go, to abandon this chance.... it would be as if Marcus had not mattered, and he had been almost everything that had mattered.
Her last act as a mortal woman was approaching. She knew they were coming back for her. She could feel the slow-growing light returning to her mind. It was not Kosh, but it was like him. Another Vorlon. They were almost ready now, stretching their influence across space to her. They were ready to move. A bargain had been made, and Kosh's death had been the first part in the sealing of it.
They had awoken her. Whether that was intentional or an accident she did not know. Nor did she know whether the act she was about to do was by their will, or her own. What she did know was what she wanted to do this thing. She wanted to do it very much.
For Marcus, if nothing else.
There were Narn Rangers guarding the doors, of course. She had expected that, but she had avoided the doctors at the medical centre, and she would evade the guards the same way.
They stepped forward, and with one sudden thought, both of them fell. She knew the pass-code to get her into the prison complex. Her head was aching now, blood pounding in her ears and before her eyes, but she carried on. Her new-found strength was fading fast, but she managed to drag herself onwards. This was almost over.
She stopped outside the door she needed. Few of these cells were occupied, and this particular occupant was very special indeed.
The cell door opened, and Lyta Alexander entered. She looked down at the sleeping form of Susan Ivanova, and lightly fingered the gun in her hand.
* * * * * * *
I will ask her. I.... will ask her. I will.... ask her.
But first, duty. But first, responsibility. But first.... but first, to relay the news he had learned mere moments before.
Commander David Corwin knew a great deal about bad news. But he had never in his life imagined he would have to deliver the information he had just been given. He was not sure he believed it himself. He supposed he should have told Delenn instantly, but there had been.... complications with the salvage, and he had wanted to be sure.
Now he wished he was not.
And he was still thinking about Mary. His silent promise to himself seemed so hollow now.
There was no answer to his call at Delenn's door. He paused, then rang the chime again. Well, it was not a true chime, but a cacophony of hideous screeches and bangs. Drazi hearing was much less refined than human, and he had no idea just what Minbari hearing was like. Still, they seemed to have toned it down for Delenn's quarters, which was just as well. He remembered a time when he and the Captain had been visiting the Drazi homeworld for a few days, staying in the Government buildings, and the noise....
He breathed out, calming his thoughts. Complete gibberish. He was more afraid of the next few minutes of conversation than he had been at any other moment in his life.
There was still no answer, and he closed in eyes in silent thanks. Maybe she was asleep. He would not be able to tell her now, then. Good. Put it off, don't worry about it now. Maybe.... maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe everything had fixed itself while he was gone. Maybe....
"Yes?" came Delenn's voice, and he swore to himself. "Who is there?"
"It's.... me, Delenn. Commander Corwin."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Open."
He entered, and took only the briefest step into the room. He could see her there, still sitting in exactly the same position she had been in the last time he had spoken to her. How long ago had that been? Four hours? Five? Longer?
"Commander. Is there.... is there any news?"
This will break her heart, he thought. She loves him. She really, truly does love him. She's not the enemy. She's not a monster. She loves the Captain.
And I have to tell her. She was right. He's not dead, but there are worse things than death.
Faith manages. It hasn't managed very well here.
"Delenn," he said softly. "They've found him."