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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part V: From the Ashes |
HE is running. He is not sure why. He does not know where he is running from, or where he is running to, but he knows he is running.
Something is chasing him. He does not know what. He knows only that he must escape from it. And it is gaining on him. It is faster than he is.
There is a brief flash of light, and he sees himself standing there on the bridge of the Parmenion, feeling the force of the impact. Something is falling. He is falling. It hits his back, and there is a snapping noise. He was unconscious when this happened, he knows. Or was he awake in some sense? Why was he still alive? He had tried to die, tried and prayed that his death would be an easy one, a purposeful one. His contagion would never affect his colleagues.
Yes, he must be dead. Oh, people had survived accidents like that, but that was rare. He had tried so hard to die. Why.... why had the universe not granted him his wish?
He was still running. It was just behind him. It was so much faster than he was, but he was confident. He could escape. He had endured worse than this. He could not be defeated. He was the Starkiller, the legendary hero of humanity. Nothing could defeat him.
He suddenly stopped, and fell. He struck the ground, and instantly tried to scramble to his feet.
He could not do it.
He could not move. Not at all.
It was upon him now. He could almost see it. He could....
His eyes opened. There was no darkness. In fact, the room was quite light. There was no monster chasing him, there was only Delenn, asleep in a chair at the side of his bed. Her position looked awkward. She did not even like sleeping in a horizontal, human bed.
He tried to reach over and touch her, but he could not. In fact, he could hardly even move his head. Straining his eyes, he gazed as far down as he could, and saw the straps and restraints holding him down. There was even some sort of framework immobilising his head. That explained it. He must have been injured worse than he had thought.
Worse than he had thought? He had died, surely? He....
No, he was alive. In a strange way he was relieved. Yes, he was still a threat, both to her and to everyone else he cared for, but that was a problem for another day. He'd have more time with her. Maybe Sinoval would manage to find a cure. Anything was possible.
He couldn't feel his legs.
The realisation suddenly hit him. He couldn't feel a thing. No itching, no numbness, no sensation at all. He had countless old injuries there, old wounds that throbbed or itched. Nothing. An anaesthetic of some sort, perhaps?
He couldn't feel his arms.
He couldn't feel anything below his neck.
What had happened? He had been standing on the bridge of the Parmenion, alone. The ship was going to ram one of the Shadow vessels. He was going to die. Something.... something had exploded. He had turned, and the whole ship had shaken. He had fallen, hitting the floor, and something landed on top of him.
Something.... something had snapped.
"De.... Delenn!" he said, suddenly very afraid of what had happened. He knew he should let her sleep, but she was the only person he could see here. Perhaps the only person around. How had the battle gone anyway? Did Babylon 4 get safely back to the past?
"Delenn!"
She roused and sat up, rubbing at her eyes. Then her hands fell. "John," she whispered. "You're.... you're awake!"
She moved to his side and began touching his arms and fingers, caressing them gently. He could not feel her touch.
"Did.... did we win?"
"I.... It is hard to say.... truly. But yes.... we won."
He tried to nod, before realising he could not. He could not even sigh. His breathing was steady and regular, but quite independent of his control.
"What happened to me?" he whispered.
Tears in her eyes, she told him.
* * * * * * *
"I warned you about him. I knew he could not be trusted."
Alfred Bester sighed and leaned back in his chair. It had been a gamble, all of it. A desperate gamble, and it had failed. It had failed very badly, and that failure had quite possibly cost him everything.
"Sheridan's thrown his lot in with them now. Completely. It won't even make a difference if he's dead. His crew will follow his example. Damn him!"
He turned to look at his companion. Captain Ari Ben Zayn, an Earthforce veteran. A highly decorated soldier, survivor and leader of countless campaigns. He had always been a ground-based soldier however, and so had missed much of the action of the Minbari War. He had always been a useful friend and servant to Bester, and he had made a point of saving the man when it became clear that all was lost on Earth. Ben Zayn had been his most valued advisor, an expert on all things military, and the captain of the first of Bester's starships.
A mundane only, and that was sad. Were he but as gifted as the weakest of Bester's telepaths, he would have all the authority Bester could give him. As it was, he was kept ill-informed. He was still however the highest ranking of all Bester's mundane accomplices.
It was good that he had got away from Babylon 4 before the battle had begun. Exact news of what had happened was scarce, but early reports indicated that the devastation had been catastrophic, the death toll immense. Babylon 4 was gone. There was no word from the Great Machine. Donne was almost certainly dead. Garibaldi was either dead or had defected. A pity. Bester had actually liked him. A true shame.
A desperate gamble, and it had failed, but all was not over yet. It was true that Bester had made many enemies with that particular move, but he had other options.
He was running them through in his mind. Almost certain: G'Kar knew of his treachery, and that particular alliance was very dead. That would definitely mean Garibaldi was lost, as was everyone else who had been stationed at Babylon 4. Fortunately Donne had been the only telepath, at least the only one of his telepaths. Lyta Alexander had never really been his for a long time, not since the Vorlons had done something to her.
Probable: the United Alliance and G'Kar's Rangers knew he was not to be trusted. It was likely that they would have other concerns at present, especially if the fighting had been as bloody as reports indicated. Still, they might very well decide to come for him here at Sanctuary.
Possible: Ambassador Sheridan and the Resistance Government knew he had double-crossed them. That would depend on how many of their assault party was still alive. If they knew, retribution was almost inevitable. He knew full well just what a threat his people posed to the Shadows, and if he could not be their ally, then he was their enemy.
He sat forward. "Are you loyal to me, Ari?" he asked. He did not have to ask. He knew the answer even without scanning his mind.
Sanctuary was the key. It was too open and vulnerable. The Corps - and therefore he - had resources elsewhere; resources no one else knew about.
"Of course, Alfred," he said. "You don't need to ask that."
"Sanctuary is vulnerable at the moment. Very vulnerable. We may have to evacuate to.... other places. If that happens, I may need you to fight a holding action. We need an increase in the number of probes monitoring hyperspace from all directions, even the ones off the main channels. We will also need the Ozymandias in constant combat readiness. Make sure there are at least three.... no, four, telepaths on the ship at all times. Keep Harriman as your main telepath, but it is imperative that we have others."
"Of course," he said.
That was the beginning. Start moving out the most important things. Files, certain experiments....
And Talia. Yes, get her away from here as soon as possible.
She was, in his eyes, the most important thing not just on the station, but in his life.
* * * * * * *
His eyes.
They were what she remembered most clearly about him.
His eyes.
To any telepath a person's eyes were the mirrors of their soul. One look, and she could see everything she needed. His vulnerability, covered by a hardened shell of cynicism. A lost yearning for protection and a cause. He had been one of the first to join Sheridan's little war, and one of the first to die in that cause.
He was all that had mattered to her. She had accepted her loss, had resolved to continue, taking his cause for her own. The Vorlons had influenced her, manipulated her, but it had been the memory of his eyes she had seen every time she pushed herself forward.
Kosh was gone now as well, and she was alone again. She would not be alone for long, she knew. Another Vorlon would come for her soon, but there was a moment before that would happen, a chance to complete one last duty from the life she was soon to leave behind.
Lyta Alexander raised her PPG and pointed it squarely at the head of the sleeping Susan Ivanova. She would not wake up. A simple telepathic nudge would see to that. It might be.... better if Ivanova could see her death coming, but it would be easier this way.
There was a buzzing sound as she readied the weapon. Her grip firm and her posture straight, she kept it pointed at the slumbering woman.
She could not pull the trigger.
She swore silently and lowered the weapon. She was not a murderer, not in cold blood like this. She had thought she could, but.... It was fortunate her resolve had lasted her even this far.
"You deserve it," she whispered. "You deserve all this...."
But she could not do it. Not kill someone like this.
There was another way.
She stepped forward, and pocketed her gun. She was not sure how much time she would have, but there would be time enough for this. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she removed her gloves. She had to see, had to be sure.
Lightly, she touched her fingertips to Ivanova's forehead.
She was in a room somewhere. She did not know where. It was cold. Not uncomfortably so, but chilly all the same. There was only a young girl here. She was sitting on the floor, playing with an old-fashioned, raggedy doll.
"Where am I?" she asked. An image from Ivanova's childhood, perhaps? The decorations looked Russian, she supposed.
The child stopped playing and looked up. She was about.... ten, perhaps. Maybe a little younger. Lyta had never really had much to do with children.
"Are you here to see Mama?" she asked, deadly serious. "You're one of those bad people, aren't you? One of the.... the telepaths."
Lyta looked down, and was startled to see she was wearing the uniform of a Psi Cop. That was strange. Some sleeping memory, perhaps? She did not bother trying to change it. This was Ivanova's dream after all. Not hers.
"Where's your mother?" she asked.
"She's ill at the moment. She sent me here. She said she'd come for me. She's.... I've been waiting a long time. Have you brought her medicine?"
"What medicine?"
"The bad men bring it for her. It makes her sleepy, and not feel well. They say she has to take it. Is my Mama all right?"
Sleepers. Now Lyta understood. Her mother was a telepath who had refused to join the Corps. That was in the old days, of course. Before Earth fell. Things were.... a little different now.
"Dadya says she'll be fine. Where is she?"
"I.... I don't know."
There was the sound of a door opening behind her, and Lyta turned. The young girl cried out. "No! Don't let them take me. Please.... they're the bad men. They're here for me. Mama said she'd protect me. Don't let them...."
Two Psi Cops came in through the door, but these were different even from the people Lyta had trained with. They were huge, twice her size, and they looked like monsters. One of them smiled, revealing an impossible number of fanged teeth. The other one lifted up a net.
"Mama!" cried the young girl. "Mama! Where are you?"
"She can't help you now," said the first Psi Cop. "You've got to come with us. We're your parents now."
Lyta shook as she returned to her own mind. She was swaying gently. Steadying herself, she looked at Ivanova again. Her sleep was more fitful, but Lyta could clearly see an older version of the young girl.
"Damn you," she whispered to herself. Tears in her eyes, she turned and left the room.
* * * * * * *
Study an enemy's weaknesses, and thou shalt know him.
Sonovar had heard those words many times during his training, first from Warleader and Satai Shakiri, and later from Sinoval himself. And he had taken them to heart, remembering them and acting on them.
But he had added another piece of wisdom to his learning, one he had developed after learning of Shakiri's death. Sonovar alone had worked out who was responsible, and he recognised Shakiri's folly in not turning his teachings inwards.
Know your enemy, true, but know your friends as well. They are just as dangerous to you.
Friends, and potential friends.
And so, as Sonovar walked into the room that had been serving as the cell of Shai Alyt Kozorr, he went armed not only with two fighting pikes, but with all the knowledge he had been able to gather about the man. Information, rumours, and a fascinating device created by Forell to pry into Kozorr's dreams.
The warrior leapt to his feet as Sonovar entered, and his grace was startling. Sonovar let his gaze rest on his companion's injuries, particularly his hand. Kozorr was wearing a glove to disguise the damage and to provide some support, but Sonovar knew just how maimed the limb was. He had been there, after all.
"Your weapon," he said, handing Kozorr's pike back to him. And a strange weapon it was, too. It was a shorter version of the traditional denn'bok, adapted so that it could be wielded with only one hand. Sech Durhan's work, no doubt. A better weaponsmith Sonovar had never known.
"You said you were going to kill me," came the angry reply.
"I have said many things, at many times, to many people."
"Minbari do not lie," he said. "You said you would kill me, and let her go. I am still alive. Did you break your promise concerning Kats as well?"
Sonovar smiled. "Why do you care? She is a worker, an inferior class. By all rights she should not even be permitted to set foot on a warship like this. There was a time when her caste would lower their eyes as we walked past, would grovel at our feet. A time when the warrior caste ruled all, and the workers and the priestlings served our will."
"We never ruled anything. We spent all the time butchering each other."
"It was a golden age. A time of glory, and legends.... and heroes. Would you like to help me bring it back?"
"Kill me, Sonovar, or let me go. I have no interest in your delusions."
Sonovar took a quick step back and extended his pike. "Fight me. Kill me, Kozorr, and I will let you go. I will let her go as well."
"Minbari do not kill Minbari. You may have forgotten that, but I have not."
"You were willing to kill Kalain to save your worker whore. Are you not ready to do the same now, to save her again?"
"Where is she?"
"Maybe she is on this ship, maybe she is with Sinoval, and maybe she is dead. Fight me, and I will tell you."
"I have no interest in your lies!"
"Minbari do not lie. You said as much yourself."
"You have lied to me, Sonovar. If you cannot keep that law, then how can I believe you will respect any of the others? You are no warrior. You are a killer."
"Maybe I am. Maybe I am not. Fight me, Kozorr. Earn for yourself.... or for me.... a true warrior's death. Beyond the wild, impartial skies.... a true and glorious end. To die in battle, can there be any greater glory? Fight me."
He lowered his pike, and stood silent.
"Dare you take the risk of letting me live? What if you kill me, Kozorr? Your.... Primarch Sinoval will be happy with you, will he not? And regardless, you will have ended a threat to his people. Or are you a coward? Has that worker bitch of yours sapped all your will? You were willing to die before! Why not now?"
Anger filling his eyes, Kozorr lifted his pike and sprang forward.
Sonovar smiled as he raised his own blade to block it.
* * * * * * *
A rope around the neck. A death for peasants, for farmers, for the lowest dregs of Centauri society. Certainly not a death Lord Jarno had ever expected for himself. He was after all a noble of the mighty Centauri Republic and as such he was entitled to certain.... privileges.
He stood at the window, looking out at the gallows in the square beneath his cell. His status brought him one advantage anyway; his last days would be spent in a luxurious palace room, rather than a dark and cold prison.
"You do not have to go through with this, Jarno," said a voice from behind him. Normally, anyone who heard that voice would be expected to be honoured, to snap to attention, to answer and reply with all the respect due to the Emperor of the entire Republic, but if there was one advantage impending death conferred, it was the right to defy certain.... conventions.
"No, I know," he said softly, not turning round. "But it is.... the right thing to do. No noble of this Court has attacked the household of another in centuries.... until me. I saw what was happening in the Court and I did nothing, letting weakness swing me forward and back, never able to take any decisive action.
"No.... I am ready to die."
"Yes," replied the Emperor, "I understand that. I do not agree with it, perhaps. Our new Government could benefit much from you, Jarno. A great deal."
"I have nothing to offer, and my presence at your side would only alienate Kiro's followers. With my death you at least stand a chance of bringing them over to your side. Consider this.... my last service to the Republic."
There was an exasperated tutting from behind him. Jarno still did not turn around. Partly this was because he did not want to see the face of someone who had been.... never a true friend, but always a respected peer. But also he could not take his eyes from the means of his execution. It was a truly sobering sight.
"Yes. I understand that, and I commend you for it, Jarno. But.... why like this? I could.... arrange for something to be placed in your food, or your drink. It would be quick and painless. You will drift away in your sleep, and you will be buried with all the status your rank deserves."
Jarno was silent for a moment, speculating on the manner of Lord Valo's death. He had heard the story being disseminated, but he did not believe it for a moment. He knew the truth, and he wondered if Valo had been more.... accommodating than he was.
"No. I do not deserve such a quick death, or such a.... noble funeral. A rope around the neck at dawn, a pauper's pyre. Nothing more."
"That is.... not fair.... You were misled and manipulated. We both know who is to blame."
"I.... have no idea of whom you are speaking," Jarno lied. He knew very well.
"Mariel. My dear, loving wife. The attack on Kiro was her idea, was it not? Come, Jarno. We both know the truth. Why do you defend her?"
"Defend her?" He laughed. A bitter laugh, with no genuine mirth. "I am not defending her. She has.... she will pay for her actions in her own way, and I assure you, Majesty, I will escape far more easily than she will."
"What are you talking about?"
"A prophecy.... A dying prophecy. One third of it has already come true. At dawn tomorrow, another third will have come to pass. Destiny will not allow Mariel to escape her part." He paused and flicked his gaze to the ground, away from the gallows. He then turned to look briefly at his new Emperor. Londo looked.... tired. He could barely have been sleeping even before his inauguration.
"Where.... where is Mariel now?" Jarno asked tentatively.
"Under close guard.... for her personal safety of course," Londo replied bitterly. "I regret I can take no real action against her.... not so soon in my reign and not without constructive proof. As it is, I will send her to one of my outlying estates. Perhaps among the rebuilding projects at Camulodo. She will of course be under heavy armed guard all the time. For her own personal safety.
"It is preferable to the fate Timov would have in mind for her."
Jarno smiled, and nodded. "I.... thank you for coming to visit me, Majesty. I hope I can serve the Republic better in death than I did in life."
Londo nodded, and then turned and left. His strange Minbari companion at the door waited for the Emperor to depart, and then stepped outside. There was the sound of a bolt sliding shut.
Jarno did not care. He had returned to gaze at his gallows, and his death.
* * * * * * *
I am not afraid. I've faced down ancient ships that screamed in my mind. I've stood against Minbari warships that wanted to destroy me. I've looked at aliens that made me want to run and hide in terror. I've looked into the eyes of my best friend, both of us knowing he'll never move again.
I've done all that.... and I've never been so scared in my entire life.
I will ask her. I will ask her.
Commander David Corwin sighed and leaned back against the wall. He had been planning this for a long time, but he had never been able to find the nerve before. It had been so easy just to put it off. But then, fighting a desperate, doomed struggle to defend Epsilon 3, he had realised just how close he had come to death, and had made a silent promise to ask her.
But now it was all in ashes. He had survived, yes, but why him? Michael was dead, the Captain would never move below his neck again. Bester had betrayed them all. Susan was.... here....
What right have I got to think of a future, when there are so many people who don't have one any longer?
But that was it, surely? There were so many who had lost their futures, and he hadn't. He had to recognise his good fortune, had to live for the moment of life he had gained by surviving the battle. He had to....
"Yes?" came the voice through the comm. "Who is it?" She did not sound well. He supposed he couldn't blame her.
"It's me, Mary," he replied. "It's David."
"Oh," she said softly. "Come in."
The door opened and he entered, patting at his pocket to be sure the small box was still there. It was. It seemed so heavy.
Mary was seated on the couch, a book lying open at her feet. She rose as he entered, and he could see just how dreadful she looked. Her eyes were heavy, her face gaunt and haggard. She was still in her nightdress, which was rumpled and dirty.
"Haven't seen you in.... a while," she said, coughing. "Do you want a drink? I've some Narn wine here somewhere...."
"No, thank you," he replied. "Ah.... you.... are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied, flatly. "I haven't been.... sleeping very well recently. Not for the last few days in fact. The beds here are a little.... hard. Not very comfortable."
"Drazi design probably," he said, apologising lamely.
"Yes. That's it. Anyway, I thought I'd do a little reading. I.... What time is it anyway?"
"Coming up to midday, Kazomi Seven time. I.... couldn't say what time it is EST."
She nodded. "I haven't quite adapted to.... the time here. It's.... Why did you send me away?"
He stopped as if poleaxed. "Wh.... what?"
"From Babylon Four. You sent me away."
"We.... we sent all civilians away, Mary. The place was.... at risk. We had to get you all out of there."
"A civilian. Is that what I am? David, you didn't come to see me. You didn't come to check if I was all right. You didn't...."
"I was busy!" he replied. "I was.... I was afraid. I.... heard things about what had happened on the planet. I was worried about you! I wanted to get you to safety as quickly as possible!"
"I can look after myself, and I don't need you protecting me." She paused. "I'm the one who had to talk to Lianna after all.... explaining why her husband won't be coming home."
"Lianna." He sighed, and swore silently. "I'd completely forgotten.... oh.... How.... how did she take it?"
"How do you think she would have taken it? We didn't get to speak long. Something's.... up at Sanctuary. But.... I knew what she was thinking. He ran away from her. She loved him too much to see that, but I could see it. And so could you, and you did nothing!"
"I.... what? Mary, what are you saying?"
"They were having problems. Difficulties with Frank, disagreements over Bester. Lianna wanted to get out of there, start somewhere new. Michael.... he wanted to stay with Bester. Felt he owed him. But rather than talk it out, he.... he ran away. He came here, he stayed here for months on end, and he.... he got himself killed because it was easier for him than staying around!"
"I had no idea," David whispered softly. "Mary, I.... I swear to you.... I had no idea." He moved forward, but she pulled away from him.
"I'm just so.... so angry.... at him, at you, at Bester, at.... at everything! At everyone! At this whole pathetic little war of yours! It isn't some game. It's not heroic, or glorious, or.... or.... People are dying, and people are being left behind to mourn.... and I just...." She took a deep breath.
"I'm leaving, David. I'm leaving this place. I hate it. The sky's wrong, the time's wrong, the air doesn't smell the same.... I'm going back to Sanctuary to pick up Lianna, and from there we're going to one of the outlying colonies. They're free again now, and some of them are a long way away. Far away from the Minbari, and the Narns and.... everything!"
She paused and looked at him intently, folding her arms. "You could come with us. I.... I want you to."
"Mary, I...." He took a deep breath, and kept feeling the box in his pocket. "I.... I came here to ask you to marry me."
She smiled, and then shook her head sadly. "I was wondering when.... No, it doesn't matter. I'd love to, but not here. Give all this up, David. Give up this war, give up fighting this hopeless cause. You can't win. There's always another enemy. Give it up.... and come with me. I do want to marry you, but I won't sit at home like Lianna, waiting for news to come through that you've been killed somewhere, fighting for some cause no one understands."
"I.... Michael.... his death was.... It wasn't...."
"It doesn't matter, David. He's dead, and how or why won't help at all. You.... know what I want."
He picked the box from his pocket, and looked at the ring inside. He had bought it in the market here on Kazomi 7. It was a Brakiri design, and he had had it altered a little so that it would fit a human finger. It was.... beautiful.
"I love you, Mary," he said pathetically. "I love you.... but...."
She sighed, and looked down. "That's what I thought. Go away, David.... please. I.... I can't sit and wait by the news reports every night like this. Go away."
"I...." He closed the box and gently laid it down on the table. He made to take a step towards her, but then sighed and turned away.
He left the room without looking back. Only then did he start to cry.
* * * * * * *
Time passed, neither slowly, nor quickly. It simply was. For Delenn of Mir, the few months after the Battle of the Third Line were hard. The year wove its way slowly towards an end and work became harder and harder. She slept even less now than she had before, and her few brief hours of slumber were normally spent in a chair at John's bedside.
The state of affairs on Kazomi 7 was not especially good, but neither was it especially bad. Much of her time was taken up in helping with the reorganisation of G'Kar's Rangers. The loss of Epsilon 3 and Babylon 4 had hit them hard, but G'Kar had been canny enough not to place all of his resources in one area. He was recovering from his injuries as well as could be expected, and he and Ta'Lon were working closely with Taan Churok and Vejar to make Kazomi 7 the new base of the Narn Rangers.
A few weeks after the battle word came in from Centauri Prime, news which was most welcome. Londo had become Emperor. He was dealing with the wreckage of his bloody ascension, and would appoint an Ambassador to Kazomi 7 as soon as he could. He specifically requested no outside assistance. The presence of aliens on the planet now might well make matters far worse.
There was no word from Alfred Bester. None at all.
John's condition did not improve, and the initial prognosis had proven distressingly accurate. His spine was irretrievably broken, and he would never move below the neck again. He could not even breathe without artificial help. How he had remained alive until he had been found, nobody knew. Delenn spent as much time with him as she could, holding his hands that could never feel hers. When she was not there, Commander Corwin was, relaying reports of the defensive capabilities of the system, of the field testing of the commandeered Babylon, and various other matters. Sheridan listened, and gave back advice when he could.
Unfortunately as time passed he suffered more and more violent headaches. The lights in the ward hurt his eyes, and he frequently suffered bad dreams. Neither he nor Delenn spoke about it, but the doctors had been given all the available information on his virus, and they were beginning to speculate that quarantine might soon become necessary.
There was a brief reply from Sinoval, stating that he would need to remain behind at Tarolin 2 to help rebuild, and to increase security at the other colony worlds he controlled. He said little else, but Delenn knew that someone was threatening the remaining Minbari worlds. The number of Minbari refugees coming to Kazomi 7 increased briefly for a month or so. Few of them were possessed by Keepers though.
The crew of the Babylon were given safe passage to neutral territory, from where they could travel on to human space. Only two of them chose to stay behind: a Lieutenant Franklin, who had at last regained his long-lost vocation for medicine. Here had could practice as he had always wanted, and strive to heal, not to kill. Captain Dexter Smith stayed also, fulfilling his promise to give his life for those of his crew.
Susan Ivanova remained imprisoned. Medical reports and a study by Vejar confirmed that the Keeper she had been given had been completely removed from her system. Who, or what she was now.... was unknown.
It was on a day slightly over two months after the battle that Lethke received an interesting and unexpected message. He promised to consult with the remainder of the Government and reply later. He then instantly went to see Delenn.
"It is a lie," she said. She had been with John, and her eyes were haunted. He had lapsed briefly into delirium during her visit. It had been for less than a minute, but it was a troubling development all the same.
"They mean nothing but to sow dissent and suspicion, Lethke."
"So I thought, but what if they do speak the truth? Can we afford to pass over such an offer?"
Delenn shook her head. "'There can be no peace with the Shadow'," she quoted. "They are lying."
"But he does not speak just for the Shadows," he countered. "He speaks for humanity as well. Can there be peace with them?"
She hesitated, lost momentarily in a world fifteen years gone. "Perhaps.... but humanity is.... they are too closely linked with the Shadows now. There cannot be peace, Lethke. I wish it were not so, but...." She bowed her head sadly.
"He says he will come only to speak of peace. He is a true diplomat, Delenn. I have known many, and I can see it in his eyes. His words.... they are genuine. Delenn.... dare we turn away this chance? I do not want to spend the rest of my life devoted to war. I want to build this Alliance so that it protects and shelters the entire galaxy, and we cannot do that if we are constantly worrying about battles and fighting. We.... prefer not to fight, we Brakiri. I have always thought it is a far more pleasant option to choose."
She sighed, and thought again of that moment fifteen years ago. She had been too ready to embrace war once before, and it had cost her dearly. Could she refuse this option now? Even if it were only the merest possibility....
"We will bring the matter to the Council," she said at last. "If you all say yes.... then I will assent."
Lethke smiled and bowed, but then he looked worried. "There is one other thing, Delenn. The diplomat who contacted me.... he was human. The Shadows do most of their dealing through intermediaries of other races.... so I was not surprised. But.... he gave his name as Sheridan."
She paused. "Sh.... Sheridan? No, it cannot be," she said finally. "All of John's family are dead. It is a.... coincidence, and nothing more. Still, it would be best, I think, if John were not told of this."
"As you say, Delenn. When shall we convene the Council?"
She paused, and thought for one brief moment about the man she loved. "As soon as possible," she said finally. "As.... soon as possible."
They all agreed, and Lethke sent back the reply in the affirmative. Ambassador David Sheridan received it, and nodded. Everyone did what they had to do, what was necessary, and however much he disliked the thought of going to Kazomi 7, he knew that he had to do it.
But he had one important person to see first.
* * * * * * *
Londo was tired, and he had a headache, and he wanted very much to have a steaming cup of brivare and go to bed.
But he was the Emperor, and contrary to what he had believed as a child, the Emperor did not get to do whatever he wanted. He had his duties to the Republic, and if those duties meant he had to stay up all night with Marrago and Durano, then so be it.
In the preceding two months the situation had improved slightly, although not as much as he might have hoped.
The Centarum had been reconvened, and its first actions had been the passing of motions recognising Londo as Emperor and accepting his story as the official history of events. The second motion had passed substantially, as almost all of those who knew the truth about Valo's attack on the Court were either dead or firmly allied to the new régime.
The first motion however was more difficult. Many remembered that Londo had been accused of murdering Emperor Refa, and that he had raised rebellion against his own Government. Denials of the first had been expected, if not entirely believed, and the same had been the case with explanations for the second. Nevertheless, the placing of the blame for everything that had ever gone wrong in the Republic since the dawn of creation entirely at the door of the Shadow Criers.... that had been generally accepted.
In any case, Marrago and Durano had separately exerted considerable pressure on the dissenters, and the first motion had been passed. Londo's inauguration as Emperor had been a pitiful thing by previous standards, but in respect of the lying speeches, futile thanks and insincere hopes for the future, few things ever changed.
That, however, was only the beginning. The homeworld was now fairly secure, but the Republic itself was very shaky.
"We have lost all contact with Beta Centauri Two," Marrago reported. "The communications satellite might be down, but I fear it is more likely either that the Narns have taken the colony, or that there is another rebellion there, as there was at Gorash."
"A rebellion is possible, but unlikely," acknowledged Durano. "My sources there informed me that there was considerable ill-feeling towards the Court here, but that matters were improving. The lowering of taxes, the replacement of the planetary Governor, and the improved weather conditions and harvesting mean that the economy there is recovering strongly. Any uprising would have been more likely to occur two or three months ago."
"The Narns then," muttered Londo. "Again. They are seeking to destabilise our economy, aren't they?"
"It seems likely," admitted Marrago. "A very different strategy for them. I am not sure if they are receiving outside assistance or if Warleader G'Sten is simply having flashes of genius."
"I fear we will need to begin peace talks soon, but will they accept anything other than unconditional surrender? G'Kar might be able to help, but he is sorely pressed by other concerns. I fear an Ambassador to Kazomi Seven is more essential now than it has ever been."
"We have spoken about this, Londo," said Marrago. "We need to be strong and secure as a Republic first. If we go on bended knee to this.... G'Kar, then we risk exposing our vulnerabilities. The Narns may be more reckless than they have been, but to some extent there are still elements of caution in their strategy. That caution is buying us time. If we reveal our weakness.... then they may launch a direct attack on the homeworld, and we would be defeated easily."
"G'Kar.... is not like that."
"I accept that, Londo, but can you speak for all the Narns he commands? What about the other aliens on Kazomi Seven? Can we trust the Minbari.... or the humans? No, I say again that we need to be as strong as we can be. Then we will go to the Narns as equals, not defeated and on our knees."
"Yes," Londo muttered. "Good advice, again. Ah, Gods.... I am tired. Sooner or later, Marrago, we will have to go there, and I would rather it be sooner. That is it.... if I stay here any longer I will fall asleep. Do you have anything else to report?"
"No," said Marrago. "Nothing else."
"Durano?"
The Minister for Intelligence had been silent throughout the exchange between Emperor and Lord-General. His gaze had been firmly fixed on Marrago, but he now slid it away smoothly. "No, Majesty," he said. "The Shadow Criers have been very quiet of late. Perhaps whatever madness has gripped them has simply.... died down."
"Or maybe they are all dead. Burning yourself alive in the middle of the street is unlikely to bring in many new converts. In any case, they are a problem for another time. I am to bed. Gentlemen." He rose, as did both of them. They bowed as he left, and then stalked from the room through opposite exits, not exchanging a single word.
The silent Minbari who had stood alone in the shadows in the corner of the room waited until they had gone, and then followed Londo.
The Emperor passed six separate groups of Palace Guards on the two-minute walk from his personal study to his bedroom, a fact he found most distressing. When he arrived at his bedroom he closed the door firmly and found Timov already in bed, pretending to sleep.
"I know you are awake," he said, undressing and changing into his night attire.
"You know me too well," she said acidly. "Do you know what time it is?"
"I am sorry I was out too late, Mother," he said, in smiling sarcasm. "I will try to be home for supper tomorrow."
She sat up. "That is not funny, Londo. You are up working until past midnight every night, and up again at the stroke of dawn every morning. You cannot keep up this pace. Leave it for younger men."
"There is.... too much to do," he said, sighing. "Too much...." He finished changing and walked over to the bed. "May I come and join you, lady Empress?" he asked, smiling. "Or are you still angry with me?"
"Idiot," she whispered. "I don't know. My husband will return soon, and I do not know what he will say when he sees me in bed with the Emperor."
"I am sure he loves you too much to remain angry with you for very long," he said, climbing into bed.
"I wonder if I love him that much," she replied. "Good night, Londo."
"Good night, dear."
Sleep was a long time coming. It always was these days.
* * * * * * *
He was sleeping. At least, his eyes were closed, so she hoped he was sleeping. The lights in the room were down as low as they could be: it was almost too dark for her to see him, and the most Delenn of Mir could make out of John Sheridan was a vague outline, marked by the slow, regular movements of the machinery that sustained his paralysed body.
The Ambassador from the Shadows would be arriving soon, within a few days at most. A thought had struck her not long after she had been told of his request to visit.
A cure. The Shadows had a cure for John.
She had contacted Sinoval again, in desperation. He had received her message, and he had replied in no uncertain terms that he had studied Deathwalker's files all he could, but he had found no trace of her cure. The Shadows had it, but that was all he knew. He then ended the conversation, pointing out that he had his own responsibilities to his own people.
Was it worth it? Would it truly be worth asking the Shadows for their cure? She had thought not. She and John had spoken of it once, and he had said he would not enslave himself to them for any cure. She had agreed, but that had been long ago, before the battle.
What if there could be peace? Was the Ambassador genuine? Could she.... ask.... him...?
She sighed, and tried to clear her head. The virus was not yet contagious, at least not according to the physicians here. They had managed to trace its progress to some extent and had constructed a hypothesis as to its effects, but they were a long, long way from a cure. All they could say for certain was that John would have to be placed in strict quarantine within two weeks at most.
And not long after that, he would be dead.
He moaned slightly, and she thought she could see his eyes flicker open. They looked.... so bloodshot.
"Delenn," he whispered. "Are.... are you there?"
"Yes," she replied softly. "Yes, I'm here." She was holding his hand, but she knew he could not feel it. "How.... how are you?"
"I was dreaming. I.... don't remember what about. It.... wasn't.... a nice.... dream though."
"You should sleep," she whispered.
"Sleep? Why? It's not as if I'm exerting myself here. I'm kept alive by machines, and.... medicines and I'm just waiting to die."
"John, you shouldn't.... talk like this."
"Why not?" He sounded angry. "Why not, Delenn? Why are you.... still here? What.... use is there tying yourself to a.... dead man."
"I am here because I love you," she said softly. "I will never leave you, John. Never."
"I.... I know. I'm sorry. I just.... are you holding my hand?"
"Yes."
"How is.... David? I haven't seen him.... in.... a while."
She hesitated, trying to think of what to say. Commander Corwin had been to see him only that morning. "He's.... on a scouting patrol," she lied. "He's still breaking in the Babylon." He was on board the Babylon, that was true. He rarely left it these days. Corwin too had been looking almost haunted recently.
"My ship," John said, almost proudly. "Not.... my ship any more. They.... changed it.... did.... things.... to it.... Gave it to someone else...."
"It wasn't altered as much as you thought," she said, hoping that would comfort him. Compared to some of the other human ships they had fought, the Babylon had contained remarkably little Shadow technology. "It was just...." How had Commander Corwin put it? "It was just beefed up a little. Improved hull integrity, navigation, weapons...." She had told John this before. Several times.
"My ship," he said, his voice growing quieter. "My.... ship...." His eyes closed. "Love you.... Anna," he whispered, as he fell asleep.
Delenn did not cry. She wanted to, but she could not. She had no more tears left.
* * * * * * *
Speeches. He had made so many, to so many different people. They were all much the same really. Empty promises, pledges and assurances that he knew he would not be able to meet, hollow guarantees and offers of friendship. All the while people back home would be preparing their own actions, completely indifferent to every word he was saying.
The situation here was a little different, but the speech was largely the same.
"We do not wish further violence between our peoples," he said, addressing the Inner Council of the United Alliance, and making sure to study each figure in turn. "The tragedy of the altercation at Epsilon Three only shows the true horror that can arise from such a conflict."
They were listening, some more patiently than others. Minister Lethke was most attentive, and the Narn Ambassador G'Kael seemed quite interested. The two Drazi frequently snorted and tutted under their breath, but they made no interruptions.
And as for their leader, the blessed Delenn.... Ambassador David Sheridan had no idea what she was doing, for he was not looking at her at all. Not even a glance.
"We must not let zealots on either side blind us to the possibilities of a strong, working peace. The race you call the Shadows, and that I call friends, have much to offer you all. They have helped humanity return to security, they have helped protect the borders of humanity's space, and have provided technology far in advance of anything else currently available.
"The 'Shadows' wish only to help the other races, and live in peace and understanding with them. Their actions have been purely defensive on all occasions, aimed at countering threats to their welfare by others. All you have heard about them are half-truths and misconceptions, spread by their enemies. Spread by ignorance.
"They will be happy to show such people as Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, his.... Rangers, and even Primarch Sinoval the error they have been labouring under." G'Kael started briefly at mention of G'Kar's name, but he said nothing. "Any or all of you are welcome to come to the Shadows' homeworld of Z'ha'dum, or if you would prefer, to Proxima Three. They wish only peace.... and a better understanding between us all."
He would not be believed of course, not with both Delenn and G'Kar here. The Narn might be possible to circumvent, but it would be difficult; he had been surrounded by Vorlons for too long. And as for Delenn.... Well, with her there were a thousand years of Vorlon indoctrination to get through, and that was simply not going to happen. But he had another trump card to play with her.
"We wish only peace," he repeated. "They wish only.... to help."
* * * * * * *
He does not respect you.
She does not love you.
I will make you stronger. I will make you better than him. I will make her love you.
Kozorr sat alone in his cell, thinking. He was alone, but by his own request. He was also, as strange as it may sound, not a prisoner, save by his own will.
All the time he had been here he had been sparring with Sonovar, each of them testing their skill with the denn'bok, unarmed, and with other weapons. They were evenly matched, despite Kozorr's injuries. Neither had been able to kill the other.
"Imagine you were not injured so," Sonovar had said. "What could you accomplish then? More even than Sinoval, perhaps."
He thought of Kats, and wondered ever so tentatively where she was, and what she was doing now. She would be with him, the Primarch, the greatest warrior of this generation, and perhaps of any other.
He had told her at last that he loved her. He had been prepared to give his life for her.
Would Sinoval have done as much?
She will never love you.
Sonovar had said so. He could be lying. He had lied about a great many things, but Minbari did not lie. Did Kats love him? Could she truly love him?
Could she, with Sinoval there? Knowing that the Primarch was greater than him?
She will never love you, not while she is with him. I can help you become greater than him.
He rose to his feet, moving awkwardly. The injuries to his leg seemed more crippling than ever. He raised his arms wide and roared in defiance. He did not know what to do, or what to think.
She will never love you.
"She will love me," he roared. "She.... will."
* * * * * * *
This, more than anything, he did not want to do. Bad enough his duty had brought him to this pathetic planet in the first place, but to be placed here, in this position, to confront his greatest failure....
David Sheridan had thought about his son continually for sixteen years, ever since the war had started. He had not seen him for over thirteen of those years, and now he would see him again, fully paid for all the wrong choices he had made.
He did not want to, but ties of blood were greater by far than ties of water. He had one last duty to perform for his son.
The guards did not see him. The doctors did not see him either. It was late at night. Delenn was not here. He had chosen his time carefully.
He was not truly certain who to blame. John had made his own decisions, and the choice to betray his people and his wife had been one of those. He was a man now, and had been so for many years. He had a right to make those decisions.
But it was a father's duty to tell his son where he had gone wrong.
But then.... how much of this had been Delenn's doing? John had been loyal and true before he had met her. He could not decide. There was another fate in store for Delenn, a fate that should serve as a reminder to John of what happened to those she claimed to love.
He paused and looked down at the figure in the bed. It hardly looked anything like the young man he remembered. Thirteen years, almost fourteen now.... that would change anyone a lot. But this much...?
John was asleep, or so it seemed. Jha'dur's subtle revenge was close to claiming him. A few more months at most. Ambassador Sheridan hated Jha'dur for a great many things, but for this more than anything else.
His son should not have to die this way, and if Delenn chose correctly he would not have to.
Placing his son's fate in her hands.... that hurt. In spite of everything that John had done.... to Anna, to humanity, to his crew and his Government.... in spite of all that, John was still his son.
John was beginning to wake up. It was dark in here, but certain.... changes had been made to David in order to help him see better. He could see his son's face all too well. He wished he could not.
John blinked, and strained to look round. "Wh.... who's there?" he asked. His voice was hoarse, rasping. "Who...? Not Delenn...." He fell silent, and his breathing continued as regular, as unnatural as always.
"D.... Dad," he breathed.
"Hello, John. You certainly messed everything up this time, hmm?"