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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part V: From the Ashes |
HE had always wanted to be a father, always wanted the joy of bringing life into the world, of watching his child being born, growing, learning, and over time becoming greater than him. He had believed that there could be no greater joy for a parent than to be surpassed by his children.
And no greater pain than to watch his children fail.
Ambassador David Sheridan looked down at his crippled, dying son, and he was not sure what to think. He had not seen John in over thirteen years, but he had never been far from his thoughts. To see him like this....
Still, he knew who to blame, and she would receive her own punishment for her part in this.
But that could wait.
"D.... Dad?" whispered the pathetic figure in the life support system.
"Hello, John," he replied, using every iota of his skill and experience not to reveal his true emotions. Some things had to be said here, and he had to say them. If John was to live, then he had to understand what he had done, and where he had gone wrong.
And teaching him those things was a father's duty, was it not?
"You really messed things up this time, hmm?"
"Dad," he whispered. "Ah.... d.... dreaming. You're dead."
David shook his head. "No, I'm not dead, John. There have been times I wished I were, but.... I'm still alive, more so than you are by the looks of things."
"Where's.... Mum? Liz? I'm dead.... aren't I? This is.... Heaven?"
"Trust me, John. I've never been to Heaven, but I hope it's better than this place. You're still alive, and so am I. I was one of the lucky ones, John. I got away. Your Mum and Liz.... they didn't."
"What.... happened? Why.... why didn't you.... come.... earlier?"
"If I could have done, I would." He walked around the bed slowly, looking at the paralysed body of his only son. The virus that was killing him was of no concern. Slowly, David sat down, noting with considerable distaste that this was where Delenn would sit while she was here. "I've.... been busy. I've had a lot to do. I've been putting all my old skills to good use, John. Brokering alliances.... helping out at Proxima.... doing what I could...."
"Why.... here?"
"Business with the Alliance. I don't suppose she told you. No, of course not. She's the one who got you into this whole mess in the first place. She's not likely to want to get you out of it. Her, and all the Minbari. It was thanks to them you were infected with this.... awful virus, wasn't it? I know where it came from, John."
"How...?" He was blinking slowly. His eyes were vague and unfocussed.
"I've.... access to important information. I can help you, John. We can help you. We have a cure. We might even be able to do something with your injuries. I can't promise that.... but we can do more for you than they can here. And even if we can't.... what sort of place is this for you? You should be with your own kind.... not these aliens.
"Come with me, John. Come home."
"Where? Come.... where?"
"Proxima. We can cure you there. We can help you. You were just.... led astray. Brainwashed, even. The President might not like the idea of your coming back, but he understands. You're no threat to him any more. Come home."
"Cure...? Oh no. Dad.... tell me.... you didn't.... The Shadows...."
"Shadows? What sort of name is that? Yes, I work for them, John, but they helped me. They help all of us."
"They.... did this.... to me...."
"No. Delenn did that to you. And G'Kar, and all of these aliens here. John.... the Shadows.... are our friends. They helped me. They saved my life. Without them, I'd be dead. As dead as your mother is."
"No.... Don't want to hear this."
"What choice do you have? John, listen to me! The Minbari have got to you, and they've brought you here! Jha'dur infected you thanks to them! They caused you to rebel against your own Government.... to fire on your own ships.... to kill your own people.
"And as for Anna...."
"No. I'm just dreaming." The cry was pitiful, almost too painful for him to bear, but he continued. Some things had to be said.
"They did that to you, John. I don't.... understand how you could do.... what you did to her.... but you're my son, and you always will be. I forgive you. Just come home."
"No. Who are you? My Dad would never work for.... those things. I don't.... I'm dreaming. You're not real. Go away."
He sighed softly, and then nodded. "I see. I'm sorry, John. I'm.... really sorry. But you're still my son." He rose to his feet, and slowly walked to the door. "Goodbye, John." Then he left.
John Sheridan stayed awake long into the night, wet tears on his face.
* * * * * * *
Alfred Bester had once thought of his greatest virtue as being that he always knew where his priorities lay. As he contemplated the end of Sanctuary he weighed them up in his mind and found that they were accurate, as always.
Sanctuary had been a great asset to him, but it was now in danger, and if it must be lost, then lost it must be. There were greater things to worry about.
His people, his friends, and his loved one.... not necessarily in that order.
By necessity he had trusted very few people in the course of his life. His own people, of course, he had always known and wished to trust implicitly. All telepaths and telekinetics were his siblings after all, and they would one day inherit the galaxy together. Sadly, however, he had learned through bitter experience that too many of them were more like wayward children than attentive brothers and sisters. Too many of them did not understand, and wanted to do things.... differently.
Although he wished for little else than to trust them all, he knew that as a practicality he could trust very few. It was truly sad, but they were his people and he could forgive them anything. He had even forgiven Donne, for her.... misguided actions that had caused her failure, and his current predicament.
But while his own people could be forgiven anything, mundanes were a different matter entirely. They bred like rabbits, they had no regard for themselves or others, and they killed indiscriminately. He did not hate them, but as far as he was concerned they were simply a lesser breed. He did not hate animals for failing to understand how things truly worked, so why should he hate mundanes, who were after all only animals?
Two of them however, much to his surprise, had become his friends.
One of them was by now almost certainly dead, and he was as saddened by Michael's death as he would have been had any of his own people died. A sad, unfortunate waste of life. He had gone to break the news to Michael's widow Lianna as soon as he was sure. He owed his friend that much at least.
His other mundane friend was with him now, putting into action one of the final stages of a safety plan both of them had conceived in anticipation of things going as badly wrong as they had.
Captain Ari Ben Zayn, one of the most talented and experienced soldiers in these troubled times, listened carefully to Bester's requirements, interrupting every so often with a comment or advisory of his own. He had helped devise this plan, but that did not mean he was comfortable with it.
When Bester was finished, Ben Zayn spoke up: "I still think you're taking too much responsibility for this upon yourself," he said. "Surely another of us can take on your rôle."
"Impossible, as I said. Our enemies know me. They do not know the rest of us. Firstly, we must conceal from them our true strength and numbers, and secondly.... if anyone else takes on my rôle then they might decide on an alternative strategy and our plan will be wasted."
"It's too risky."
"Life is a risk. Come now, Captain, we do not even know if the Government at Proxima will attack here. They may not know of the exact circumstances of my betrayal. All these preparations may not be necessary."
"Only a fool spends all his time hoping for everything to work out for the best," the scar-faced Captain said bluntly.
"And neither of us is a fool. No.... if they come for us we will know, and we will be ready. Sanctuary is not our only line of defence. You know what to do, Captain."
"I know." He rose from his seat, and saluted. He then turned and made for the door. Just as he reached it, Bester suddenly halted him.
"I.... I have been thinking recently. I wish to thank you for all the loyal service you've given me over the years. I appreciate it, and I do not know if I say that as often as I should."
Ben Zayn thought about this for a moment, and then nodded. "I always know, even if you don't say it. Besides, I owe you far more than this, remember?" Without saying another word, he left.
Bester chuckled wryly. True friends were rare indeed, and he supposed he was fortunate indeed to have one there. But then he sobered up. True friends might be rare, but true love was even rarer.
That was another matter to be dealt with. He had to get Talia away from here before everything fell apart, but he could not tell her. She had never wanted to know about all the darker things he had been forced to do to preserve his people, and he had never wanted to tell her. She claimed to love him for who he was, and nothing more.
"Talia," he said over the comm channel. "I need to see you." He received her acknowledgement and then sat back, thinking about her. He had never been in love before he had met her, and it had been a very frightening experience. Genetically, they were completely incompatible. She was only a P5 after all, and had this been the old days the interests of the Corps would have kept them apart.
But these were not the old days, and he was the Corps. He loved her with all that he was, and the two of them would not be apart.
That was why he hated sending her on these missions, but this was what she had been trained to do. Infiltrate and exploit. The last major mission she had been on had been last year, and had been just as much for G'Kar's benefit as for his. An infiltration mission on the bridge of the Babylon, to observe the progress of humanity's alliance with the Shadows, and later to sabotage their final attack on Minbar.
This mission was for his benefit, and hers. There was an important matter on Proxima Donne had been looking into, but with her death someone else had to fulfill the rôle, and more importantly it would get Talia away from here. He knew it would be dangerous for her, to be in the stronghold of his potential enemies, but where better a hiding place?
The door opened and she entered, and as always his breath was taken away by the sight of her. She looked so beautiful. He sighed softly.
"You've got something for me, haven't you?" she said as she entered.
"You can read me too well, dear," he said, smiling as she sat down. "Yes, I have. I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer, but...."
"No, don't. I know where my responsibilities lie. I got to see Abby again.... for a little while anyway. And I can tell that something's up here. Something big."
"Ah, yes...." He sometimes forgot that she could pick up on little background details and mesh them into a constructive whole. It was a very useful skill while on a mission, but very inconvenient here, especially when he was trying to keep from her just how serious the situation might be.
"No, don't tell me, Al. I don't want to know." She sat forward, resting her elbows on the edge of his desk. "So," she said, her eyes gleaming. "What's this mission you've got for me, then?"
"What do you know about a human company called IPX?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Interplanetary Expeditions. An archaeological company. Before the war they used to visit dead alien civilisations and try to find useful bits of technology in the ruins. After the war they got a load of juicy Government contracts and refined their searches to anything that might be used to make weapons. They've absorbed a fair number of smaller companies in the last ten years or so. I believe they're one of the top three MegaCorps in what's left of the Alliance."
"Well done," he replied, smiling.
"Do I pass the exam then, teacher?" she said, her eyes dancing. "What about them?"
"They have.... secrets. Fairly big ones. Donne reported back on some very mysterious activities going on, particularly concerning their CEO, Mr. Orin Zento. They have a definite interest in our people, and may have highly confidential links with alien Governments. Find out what, where, why, how and when."
"No problem," she said simply. "How secret is this?"
"Very. Use whatever secret ID you want. Once you've got it worked out, I'll have fake documentation drawn up. You'll likely be based on Proxima at the start, anyway. Do not under any circumstances reveal that you're a telepath to anyone official. Matters for our people on Proxima may just.... get a little unpleasant before long."
She raised an eyebrow. "Been up to something, have you Al? It all sounds reasonable to me. When do I leave?"
"As soon as you can." He hesitated. "Ah.... one other thing. You'll have a bodyguard assigned to you."
"What? Al, I work alone. I always have. It's safer that way."
"Not here. I worry about you, and.... the way things might develop on Proxima, an assistant might be necessary. I trust him implicitly. He's been one of my personal aides for a long, long time. He's a P twelve and a Psi Cop, although he's been specialising in military and personnel protection recently.
"You do remember Byron, don't you?"
* * * * * * *
Assassination was an easy thing to arrange among the nobility of Centauri Prime. By means of poison, knotted rope, knife or gun, there were always those who would be willing to kill their fellows for money. Some of course were more professional than others.
And some worked not for money, nor for political gain or personal power, but from a fanatical sense of determination. Such people did not care if they were captured or killed in the process, so long as the target was killed. Three Emperors had died at the hands of such people in the course of the Republic's history.
Little more than two months after his ascension, Emperor Londo Mollari very nearly became the fourth such Emperor.
He was on a tour of the devastated cities of the homeworld, taking in the repair work of areas badly damaged during the rioting and bloodshed that had accompanied the near civil war. Gallia had been an important city, centrally placed, straddling several vital trade routes and containing many of the nobility's private estates. Londo's soldiers had saved the city from assault by the fanatical and insane Shadow Criers, and Gallia had been spared the fate that had engulfed Camulodo and others.
Despite the stability and safety of the city however, there were some who heard the whispers of a greater power in their mind, those who worshipped fire and darkness and who in an enlightened madness acted on the whims of lunacy.
"The Darkness is coming!" cried the ragged figure as he burst through the ranks of the crowd. Guardsmen moved forward instantly, shielding the Emperor, only to be barged aside by the insane strength of the Shadow Crier. A plasma blast seared his shoulder and leg, but still he charged forward.
"The Darkness is coming!" he cried again, as he bore down upon the unmoving Emperor. A small blade glinted in his hand.
"The Darkness is coming!" he cried, lunging at Emperor Mollari, heedless of the guards nearby.
At the last moment a blast struck his arm, tearing the weapon from it. He fell, and the swift actions of the guards succeeded in restraining him.
He continued to spit and cry out as he was led away, but the Emperor did not notice. He turned to the person who had fired the shot that had saved him, and let out a short laugh when he saw who it was.
"Mr. Morden," he said, looking at the smartly dressed human before him. "Well well. I have not seen you for some time. Very propitious timing there."
"A pleasure to see you again," the human replied. "Congratulations on your elevation, your Majesty. I come with what may be an interesting proposition from my.... associates."
* * * * * * *
Captain Dexter Smith waited patiently outside the door, ignoring the suspicious glances of the Security Forces watching him. He was more than a little perturbed by the climate here however. He knew he had been away from Proxima a long time, but things hadn't been this divided before, had they? It seemed as if factions were developing, increasing gaps between the Security Force and the military itself.
Symptoms of something larger, perhaps?
Truthfully, he had not really wanted to return to Proxima. He was fully aware of the mistakes he had made, and he had been truly willing to surrender himself for his crew. He had in fact been expecting trial on Kazomi 7, but for whatever reason that had not happened.
And then, when Ambassador Sheridan arrived, one of his purposes had been to release all those imprisoned after the battle. An exchange of prisoners had been made; Smith and a few others for a group of Drazi 'terrorists' and Brakiri merchants who had unwittingly fallen foul of some of the more stringent Wartime Emergency Provisions.
What had happened to the other humans freed from Kazomi 7 he was not sure. Most of his crew had been released voluntarily not long after the battle. Lieutenant Franklin had elected to stay behind, and as far as the Government was concerned, he was dead. There was one other transfer involved, but that was conducted in the utmost secrecy.
The door opened, and President Clark's personal secretary stepped out. "The President will see you now," she said.
Smith nodded and walked through the door, glad he had not been required to don his full dress uniform. It would have felt even less comfortable and fitting to him than the standard uniform he was wearing now.
There were three people seated at the table before him. In the middle was President Clark himself, his face carefully expressionless. Smith had met the President before, when he had been awarded the Silver Star for Valour in the final stages of the campaign for Minbar. That meeting had been awkward and unpleasant, and it would doubtless be even more so now.
To the President's right sat General Edward Ryan, former aide to the deceased General Hague and currently head of the military operations of humanity. He was also in personal command of the Morningstar and had been present at the Battle of the Third Line. He looked.... disappointed, but also uncomfortable. It was no secret that he was personally held in little esteem by the Government.
And to the President's left sat Mr. Welles, Chief of Security and holder of various unofficial and secret positions within the Government. Smith was not truly certain how he felt about Mr. Welles. He had come to him shortly before his departure for Epsilon Eridani, and had sought to determine the strength of Smith's loyalty to humanity in a confusing conversation. Smith had been under the impression that, whatever Welles had wanted from him, he had not received it.
"At ease, Captain Smith," said the President.
"Yes, sir."
Clark then fell silent, reading from the notes in front of him. It was an exercise in intimidation, obviously, but it wasn't really working. After witnessing the arrival of those massed hordes of inky black, screaming ships in the skies above Epsilon Eridani, very little could intimidate him again.
"Explain your actions at the Epsilon battle, Captain Smith," said Clark, finally.
"I made.... errors of judgment, Mr. President," Smith replied carefully. He had rehearsed this nonstop, but actually saying the words came harder and harder. "I accept full responsibility for the failure of the mission."
"I see. I have received a full report from General Ryan, who has described your behaviour as.... 'erratic' prior to the beginning of the battle, but he comments on your bravery and courage in forming a rearguard to allow General Ryan, the Morningstar and the Marten to escape once it became clear that all was lost.
"I have very little doubt that you are a good soldier, Captain Smith, and you are clearly a brave man. Your decorations declare as much." The President looked directly into Smith's eyes, and sighed. "However, there has been a great deal of.... controversy surrounding you and the Babylon. Numerous minor faults and damage, the mysterious engagement at Beta Durani last year, and of course the presence of a dangerous saboteur among your bridge crew, a saboteur who subsequently escaped from confinement in this very building."
Mr. Welles looked less than pleased at this.
"However, very little blame for this can be attached to you, Captain. In retrospect, making the Babylon our flagship was a mistake on my part. I had hoped that it would have positive connotations for the public, and serve as a useful rallying point. In doing so, I overlooked the fact that it is an old ship, and too closely associated with the.... famous, or perhaps I should say infamous, Captain Sheridan. Expecting you to take over his position was too great a burden for any man.
"You are not to be court-martialled, or called to account for any of your errors of judgment, Captain Smith. Many.... strange decisions can be made in the heat of battle. You will be honourably discharged with full rights and pension. You have been a good and loyal servant of humanity in this difficult time, Captain, and all humanity owes you great gratitude.
"You are dismissed, Mr. Smith."
* * * * * * *
Faith manages.
Delenn had always believed that, and she had faith. But as she went to keep her appointment she was wondering just to what extent her faith was helping her here.
Ambassador David Sheridan had been on Kazomi 7 for over two weeks now, and some preliminary deals had been agreed. A prisoner exchange had been the most concrete evidence that he meant what he said, and the establishment of trade pacts between the Alliance and Proxima 3 seemed promising, but the larger issues were only now being dealt with.
What did the Shadows want? Could there really be peace? She wanted to believe it, but everything she had been taught, by Kosh, by Dukhat, everything she had seen with her own eyes at Proxima, at Minbar, at Epsilon 3.... all those things argued against it.
But to hope, perchance to dream.... Lethke had been right. Peace would be a truly great thing, if it were possible.
But she was still worried as she entered Ambassador Sheridan's personal quarters, the base of the delegation.
He was seated at a desk, looking over various documents. He looked up as she entered, and for one brief moment she saw in his eyes the same light that burned in John's, and she was troubled. John had rarely spoken of his family to her, and she did not even know his father's name, but there were similarities - in expression, tone of voice, posture; little things that came and went, and that she only just caught.
"Ah, Madam President. Come in. Thank you for coming. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you," she said, sitting down across from him. "My title is not President, by the way."
"Of course not," he said smiling slightly, as if at a private joke. "Forgive an old diplomat for being a little.... set in his ways. I'm not used to people in positions of authority such as yours.... not having a title. It makes those moments of formality a little easier, doesn't it? What is your proper title, then?"
"I have never needed one. My name is Delenn, Ambassador. You may use that if you wish."
"No, I don't think so," he said, and then he paused, shaking his head. "That would.... hardly be appropriate."
"Why did you request this meeting, Ambassador?" she asked, feeling ill-at-ease. The room.... seemed far darker than would normally be the case. Oh, on the surface it was little different from any of the other diplomatic quarters in the building: comfortable enough, large enough for an Ambassador and his staff. But there was something just below the surface. A hint of darkness, of corruption.
Or was it just her imagination?
"I.... ah.... wanted to present a proposal to you, and to show you something. You in particular, partly because you're the leader and the focus here, but also because.... of who you are. You're Minbari, the only Minbari on the Council here, and as yet I believe Primarch Sinoval has not deigned to provide an Ambassador here."
"Primarch Sinoval.... has his own concerns."
"Yes, I believe he does, but.... that's a matter for another day. Of all the races currently alive and active.... Of all the younger races, I meant to say, the Minbari have had the most contact with us. You are the only one of the younger races still in a position of power after fighting in the.... troubles a thousand years ago. The Ikarrans and the Markab are all dead.... the other races, such as the Tak'cha, have.... faded away somewhat.
"But the Minbari.... they are still.... not as powerful as they were, but they still have influence. You have influence, particularly here."
"I do not represent my people here in any way at all," she replied, with just a hint of anger. "I speak for the Alliance, not for the Minbari."
"Of course. And that is why I asked you here. You.... the Minbari I mean, have long had contact with the Vorlons. You have been.... indoctrinated, shall we say? Indoctrinated with their belief system.
"I invite you to come to Z'ha'dum and see things from our perspective."
Delenn rose to her feet and made for the door. "I am no fool, Ambassador. I recognise a trap when I see one."
"No trap, just a genuine offer.... such as one diplomat makes to another."
"If matters proceed well, then we might consider placing an Ambassador from the Alliance to.... Z'ha'dum, or to Proxima Three.... but I will not go there."
"Ah, but such a person would not be Minbari, you see. Whatever we say here, you will never be able to overcome a thousand years of Vorlon influence. Come to Z'ha'dum.... and we can show you."
"No."
"Even now you are succumbing to their brainwashing. The Vorlons are not your friends, Delenn! They are far more your enemy than we could ever be."
She ignored him, and continued towards the door.
"Well, then.... before you leave, there are two other concerns. One involves a certain.... Captain John Sheridan." She spun on her heel and turned back to face him. "He is in a critical condition, I understand. The Shadows, as you call them.... they have great expertise in biogenics. They can cure him. He can come with you to Z'ha'dum.... and be cured."
"And what would be the price of this cure?" she asked, her voice hollow.
"He is my son," the Shadow Ambassador said simply. "He belongs with me, and with his people. Bring him to Z'ha'dum.... and he will be cured. He will be alive. You claim to love him...."
"I do love him!"
"You claim to love him," he continued, as if she had not spoken. "If you do, surely you can see that this is an opportunity for him to live. Can you risk that simply because you have been so much influenced by the Vorlons? Can you let them kill my son?"
"I love John more than anything," she whispered. "But.... I was told that the cure you possess.... it would mean he would be enslaved to the Shadows.... forever."
"You've been listening to the Vorlons for too long. We don't want slaves."
"Then what do you want?"
"Come to Z'ha'dum and all will be explained."
Slowly blinking away her tears, she turned and left.
He waited until the door was closed, and then sighed. A figure appeared from the next room and walked over to the human still sitting at the desk. "Well," Sheridan asked, "what did you think?"
"She is.... different," came the halting reply. "She has changed a great deal."
"The entire galaxy has changed since you last met her. Will she listen if we tell her what we have told you?"
"I.... don't know. Possibly. Possibly not."
"Well.... there's nothing more I can do about it. Damn her stubbornness!"
"Being stubborn is her prerogative."
He said nothing. He was thinking about his son.... He wanted John to recover, but that could not happen unless Delenn changed her mind and came to Z'ha'dum. They had made that perfectly clear. He had tried pleading with them, but to no avail.
Either she came to Z'ha'dum.... or John would die.
His life in the hands of the Minbari who had ruined him. An altogether unpleasant thought.
* * * * * * *
The bargain had been made, and the agreement had been carried out. The past was now dead, and the future.... that began now.
Secure and safe within the bowels of its ship, a being as old as it was, the being who sometimes thought of its name as being Ulkesh pondered its situation. This moment had been planned for a long time, long even by the standards of the Vorlons. Victory at last was within reach.
And it would begin here. A place with the unpleasant name of Kazomi 7. A place where an alliance of races had been formed, haphazardly, by the merest chance, without rhyme or reason, simply rising awkwardly from the happenstance of history and the whims of the Enemy.
It was here now, and it would create order from the chaos. It would bring about the future, and the ultimate victory. A thousand years ago they had failed, due to the weaknesses of certain members of their race. They had had a chance for absolute victory, and it had slipped from them. That would not be so this time.
The Enemy were here already. That did not matter. That was irrelevant. They would fail. They would be defeated and destroyed, and all trace of them wiped from the galaxy.
The Vorlon cruiser emerged into the skies above Kazomi 7, and at that exact moment, across the planet, certain people noticed. Delenn of Mir sat up in her chair by the bed of the unconscious John Sheridan, who moaned in his delirious sleep. Ambassador David Sheridan swore loudly, but accepted that he had gained more time than might have been expected.
And Lyta Alexander started, her eyes glowing with an immortal light, as she awaited the arrival of the one she would have to follow.
* * * * * * *
"So, Mr. Morden, what have you been up to since our last meeting? A fair few months ago, was it not?"
Londo slowly poured a drink of brivare for himself, and held the container up towards Morden as an offer. With a shake of his head, the human refused. Londo nodded, and walked back to his seat.
"It's been over a year and a half by my calender, Emperor Mollari. I've been.... busy. Business here and there. You know how it is. I had a fair amount of meetings and arrangements on Proxima. I spent some months as a.... guest of Primarch Sinoval and his charming people. Exquisite hospitality there, let me assure you. Anyway, I heard of your recent.... troubles here and thought it prudent to come and offer my assistance."
"We could do with some, let me tell you. But.... to be honest, Mr. Morden?"
"Honesty is the foundation of all lasting partnerships, Emperor."
"Not among my people, it isn't." Londo smiled, and sipped at his drink. "We are gravely weakened by our recent.... how did you describe it? Troubles, yes. We cannot let word of this weakness leak out to the other races, least of all the Narns. When the time is right, we will make our presence known to the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven and to.... the other races. But for the time being....
"Well, you understand, I am sure.... we cannot go on bended knee to other races. Not even to your associates, Mr. Morden. And I am afraid I still do not know nearly enough about you.... or them."
"Ah. You weren't this.... cautious before."
"I was a landless and rootless wanderer when I accepted your offer on Sanctuary. Now I am the Emperor, and the lives and souls of every single Centauri rest on my shoulders. A little caution is understandable, is it not?"
"Oh, indeed. And I respect your candour. Very well then. What do you wish to know? Ah.... is this room.... secure?"
"It is my personal, private audience chamber. Which means of course that every noble in the Republic has tried to bug it at one time or another." He chuckled, and sipped some of his drink. "But for the moment.... there are no listening devices. There are five guards outside the door, and twelve more at various strategic points along the corridor. The only other person in this room is my personal bodyguard there.... Mr. Lennier, whom I trust with.... my life, amongst other things.
"Trust me, Mr. Morden. Everything you tell me will be in the best of hands."
"Shaal Lennier, yes." Morden looked at the Minbari, standing silent and still in the corner of the room. "Yes, of course.
"Well.... what do you wish to know?"
"Who are your associates, for a start? And what do they want with me? Nobody ever offers something for nothing."
"True enough, and they will benefit from this deal just as much as you will, Emperor Mollari.
"But.... to begin at the beginning. I was once an employee of an Earth company called Interplanetary Expeditions. Have you heard of them?" Londo shook his head. "They were an archaeological company who investigated alien ruins on dead worlds, looking for leftover technology and so forth."
"Ah yes. Sounds rather like some of the departments of our Ministry of Resource Procurement. A bunch of corrupt megalomaniacs to a man."
Morden chuckled. "Well, IPX was not quite that bad. Anyway, when the war with the Minbari came we suffered badly, but we recovered during the aftermath and absorbed certain other smaller companies. All rather boring business history stuff.
"About seven or eight years ago, I was part of a Government sponsored team, looking for alien technology on certain worlds in uninhabited areas of space. We needed anything that could help us oppose the Minbari. One of the worlds we visited was on the border of Narn space, in a fairly backward area. It was called Sigma Nine-five-seven.
"Something.... lived there. Aliens.... ancient ones. They contacted us, in a spirit of.... interest, I suppose. They explained to us what they were, and what they wanted, and we did the same. In exchange for certain.... services.... they provided clandestine help for my people, and my company.
"You do know of the Vorlons, don't you, Emperor Mollari?"
"The Vorlons? They are your...! Great Maker. Yes, I know of the Vorlons. But.... this raises a few more questions than it answers, Mr. Morden. The Vorlons are.... from what I was told, anyway.... enemies of the race called the Shadows, correct?"
He nodded.
"Then why did they do nothing when your Government made an alliance with the Shadows?"
"They didn't exactly do nothing. Unfortunately a different faction from the Vorlons who greeted me were in power for a long time. They were more.... peaceful, and did not want to risk a direct confrontation with the Shadows - except for the engagement at Proxima a few years ago."
"I was there," Londo muttered.
"Well, this.... peaceful faction recently lost power, and my associates among the Vorlon hierarchy took over. They are more inclined to direct action. In time.... they will try to remove the Shadow influence from my Government.... but they wish to help as many other races as they can first. Including yours."
"I see.... Other races? What about the Alliance?"
"A Vorlon Ambassador is being posted there as we speak. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar has had a long and beneficial relationship with my associates, so he should welcome their assistance."
"And so would we. But.... here is the question, Mr. Morden. The sixty-four thousand ducat question. What will this help cost?"
"We wish only to benefit the younger races in the galaxy. But.... there is a small price. They would like to post a permanent Ambassador here. They may also require.... at some point in the future.... assistance from your Government, should they elect to go to war with the Shadows. They will definitely not ask anything more than you can pay. Supplies, perhaps. A garrison for their vessels here. Support ships, maybe.
"But they can offer you a great deal. Help in ending this war with the Narns.... and military assistance should it be needed. They will also be able to rid you of these.... problems.... with the Shadow Criers. They have as much interest in that as you do."
"Hmm...." Londo looked deep into his glass, swilling the remains of his brivare around. It had gone cold by now. "You make an interesting argument, Mr. Morden. I assume you have full authority to conduct a formal treaty?"
"Oh yes. Completely."
"An alliance with the Vorlons.... It is a more than tempting offer, Mr. Morden, but I must discuss matters with my Government. I assure you that only they will know of your offer. In the meantime, you may feel free to treat this palace as your home."
"I would be honoured, Emperor. I leave you to your deliberations, then. Good night."
"Good night, Mr. Morden."
Londo was deep in thought as Morden left.
* * * * * * *
There is a finite level of rage that most people can manage: a built-in limit to just how angry they can get. For some, this level is higher than for others.
Delenn very rarely rose to the upper levels of her anger, certainly not in the way that people such as Sinoval did. In fact, she could recall having been this angry only once before, and she was well aware of the terrible mistake she had made then. This time was different though.
There would be no mistake this time.
She sat in silence, looking around at the Council members. Each of them was as determined and as convinced as she herself. Taan Churok was on the verge of open violence, but then he and Vizhak had been opposed even to the idea of negotiations almost from the start. What they had learned today had only heightened their anger. 'I told you so's' would be flying around soon enough, but in Drazi fashion, which was much more dangerous. The Narn Ambassador G'Kael looked a little uncomfortable. He was after all a newcomer here. Vizhak had argued for leaving him out of this meeting, but Lethke and Delenn had overruled him. If the Narns were to be fully involved in this, they had to understand.
And as for Lethke.... he was calm, but inwardly he was just as angry as the rest. More so, even. Brakiri were a trading people, and always had been. They took great offence at being approached in anything less than good faith.
And there was one other. He was silent, still, unmoving.
The door opened and an aide appeared, a Brakiri, formerly a member of the Trading House here. "Ambassador Sheridan is here," he announced.
"Excellent. Send him in," Delenn said, keeping her tone neutral.
The Shadow Ambassador entered, looking unruffled and perfectly at home despite the abruptness and timing of his summons.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, entering. "It is an honour to meet with you again. May I infer from my summons to this meeting that you have reached a decision?"
"You may infer whatever you wish, Ambassador," Delenn said coldly, rising from her seat. "But you are right. We have reached a decision.... and that is this.
"There can be no peace with the Shadow. None at all."
If they were expecting a reaction, they did not get it. "Ah. A grave disappointment."
"Is that what you call it, Ambassador? You should consider yourself fortunate that you are merely.... disappointed.... and not receiving a much worse fate."
"I do not appreciate being threatened."
"I am not threatening you! I am making a promise. A complete.... and total promise. There will be no peace with the Shadow. Not now.... and not ever."
"May I know the reasons for.... this.... hostility?"
"Indeed you may. I believe you know Merchant-Captain Kullenbrok?"
"The name rings a bell." He sat still for a moment, seemingly lost in memory. Delenn realised that he knew full well of whom they were speaking. "Ah yes. One of the individuals we exchanged for Miss Ivanova and Captain Smith."
"Indeed. He was a prominent member of a Brakiri Merchant House on this world before the Drakh invasion...."
"As I have said.... my associates did not sanction that attack in any way, shape or form. The assault on this world.... was carried out by an independent faction of the Drakh warrior caste. My associates.... both human and Shadow, merely managed to use their contacts with the Drakh to release the prisoners."
"Yes.... you have said as much. I do not believe you, Ambassador. The Drakh attacked this world on the direct orders of your.... associates. But that is not the issue here. Merchant-Captain Kullenbrok killed himself last night in his room. As was inevitable.... we investigated his death, and our ally Vejar here.... discovered something. Do you know what?"
He shook his head, smiling.
"Vejar."
The technomage stepped out from the shadows in the corner of the room. He was carrying a small, transparent box, constructed from some sort of crystal. Inside the box was a small grey mass. It stirred, and something opened, revealing a malevolent, brightly-shining eye. It burst into a flurry of motion, extending limbs from its body and thrashing against the side of its prison.
"It seems to recognise you, Ambassador," Delenn said, as Vejar laid the box down on the Council table. Vizhak surreptitiously slid as far away from it as possible. "You know what it is?"
"I am sure you have no interest in my answering that question."
"I am sure I already know the answer. It is a Keeper, a foul device created.... or harnessed by your associates. We have detected countless numbers of them upon our citizens here.... a legacy of the Drakh occupation, and of your passing. We checked out the other.... prisoners freed in the exchange. Two of them have disappeared, but the other three were all possessed by these Keepers.
"You have acted in considerably less than good faith, Ambassador.... and we reject your offers of peace, because we know they are false. We do not want war with either of your associates.... but if that is the only choice we have, then that we shall choose."
"I have full diplomatic immunity," he snapped quickly. "But in the grand scale of things, my life means nothing."
"Calm down, Ambassador," Delenn said slowly. "We will not harm you. Not because of your.... 'diplomatic immunity', but because we are better people than you." Taan Churok growled softly. "You have one hour to gather your belongings and leave Kazomi Seven. And after that, if you or any members of your staff are found within Alliance space.... you will not leave it alive.
"Am I clear?"
"Perfectly. In that case, I wish to make just one point." He looked around the table, pausing at each figure. "Brakiri. Drazi. Narn. Minbari. You are all dead. Each and every member of all your races. We offered you peace. We offered you assistance.... and understanding.
"There will be no peace now. Your choice. Not mine. Not ours. There will be no peace. There will be only death, and the worms and the rats will crawl through this room when we are done, and your Alliance of paper and string will consist only of the dead.
"A sad loss, to be sure. And an unnecessary one. But with you gone.... perhaps the other races will listen. No one ever said we could win all the time."
He turned and stalked from the room. When he was gone Delenn sat down, shooting a warning glance at Taan Churok as he leapt up. "No," she said. "We have given him an hour. Vejar.... I think you had better follow him.... Be sure he does not.... do anything inappropriate. If he is still on this planet after an hour, kill him."
The technomage nodded and left the room. The air seemed to crackle with each movement.
"We should have killed him," Vizhak said angrily. This was one of the few things he and Taan Churok had agreed upon since the Alliance had been founded.
"We should never let our enemies live," growled his Drazi companion.
"We are not murderers," Delenn said firmly. "And this Alliance will not be built upon the callous shedding of blood. But it seems we will have to prepare for war. Ambassador G'Kael, will you be able to arrange a meeting for me with G'Kar? I had.... hoped he would be here."
"He wished to.... avoid too firm a link with the Alliance. Precisely to avoid this sort of situation."
"Well, the Alliance and the Rangers are moving in the same direction now. As we should have been from the start."
She sat back in her chair and looked around at the other members. "Well.... we have lasted over a year, and but for two major battles it has been a peaceful time. I am very much afraid that none of us will ever see peace again in our lifetimes."
Vizhak muttered something in the Drazi language, and Taan Churok chuckled. Delenn took a moment to translate, and then she smiled sadly.
It was an old Drazi proverb. 'Peace comes only with the grave. Yours.... or theirs.'
* * * * * * *
"And how did the meeting go?"
"As.... well as could be expected, I suppose." Delenn looked at G'Kar carefully. He had spent the last few months slowly recovering from his injuries. She had spent as much time as she could with him, but that had been sadly very little. The business with the Alliance, the peace talks and.... John had kept her away. A shame. She felt there was much to learn from this Narn. He had somehow embraced an inner peace that had escaped almost everyone else. In all the galaxy, he alone was sure of his place, and his direction.
And now he was running around, packing, behaving with considerable energy.
"I would have liked you to have been there."
"Ah.... no. You did fine without me, from the sound of it." He stopped, and looked at her carefully. "You are sure about this choice? It will not be an easy war."
"Wars never are," she replied sternly. "But yes, I am sure. I want peace, yes.... but not the peace we would have had by surrendering to them."
"Hah! Exactly. But still.... things will be difficult. They have a considerable start on this, but all is not yet lost. We have allies out there. All we need do is find them."
"Allies? Such as who?"
"Well.... before the battle I would have said Mr. Bester.... but it seems that particular relationship has well and truly run its course. Oh well.... but even without him, there is Primarch Sinoval, if no one else. If we can get him on to our side.... then.... In him we could have the greatest friend we will ever need, or the worst enemy. And Emperor Mollari, of course.
"I do not think we are anywhere near as alone as it might seem."
"Perhaps. I.... You look as if you are preparing to leave."
"Oh, I am."
"Was it.... something I said?"
"No. I have.... certain obligations to various allies and contacts I acquired before entering the Machine. I spent two years trapped in metal and rock, and now my body is my own again. It is time I started fulfilling my obligations. There are people I have to see, and things I have to do.... and I have to do them alone."
"You cannot leave now! Your injuries...."
"I can see.... I can speak, I can touch, I can walk and I can think. I need nothing else."
"We need you. We need your Rangers."
"Ta'Lon will fill in here for me. He is a good man, and he will lead the Rangers some day.... if not all of Narn."
"A prophecy, G'Kar?"
"Simple wisdom. It is something we all have, but few of us know how to use. All the knowledge I have gathered is with him, and he will be able to use it just as well as I could. And.... he will follow you."
"Me?"
"Of course. Neroon would have followed you anywhere. And Ta'Lon will honour his friend's memory. Neroon loved you deeply, and Ta'Lon will honour that love. As do I."
"Neroon.... yes. I.... I have missed him."
"We all have, but he is with us, Delenn. All of the fallen are."
She blinked, and smiled slowly and sadly. "Where will you go first?"
"Hmm.... There is an old Narn legend of the prophet G'Quan, that when he went seeking wisdom, he first went into the lair of the.... ah, it is hard to translate. Humans have legends of beasts called 'dragons', I believe.... and they are as close as any other. G'Quan went into the lair of the dragon on the first stage of his quest for wisdom. And so shall I."
"And where will you find this.... dragon?"
He smiled. "Centauri Prime, of course. Where else?"
* * * * * * *
"She does not love you. She will never love you. Not while he is there."
"Do you think I don't know that!?"
Sonovar smiled, dancing slowly around Kozorr. He had spent the last few months observing his fighting style, noting the adjustments made to compensate for his injuries. Kozorr had developed something new, and very interesting. But as for Sonovar's other purpose, that was working as well.
"Tell me about Sinoval," he said slowly, making sure to keep just out of reach of Kozorr's charge. That shortened pike of his could make a very deadly stabbing weapon, but it lacked the range of a full denn'bok.
"What is there to tell?" He was not moving very far. His weak leg saw to that. No, Kozorr had become the rock, sure and steady, willing to let the enemy come to his ground, come to where he could deal with them. "You know him just as well as I. He trained you, after all."
"Indeed he did. But the Sinoval I know is long gone. Maybe he died when we besieged Earth, or maybe a little afterwards. Or maybe it was during our attack on the Earthers at Proxima. It doesn't matter. The Sinoval who trained me would never have done the things this.... Primarch Sinoval has done."
"He is the same person he always was."
"You think? Tell me, Kozorr.... what were your feelings when you heard he had been made Holy One.... leader of our Grey Council?"
"I.... What does it matter?"
"Then I will tell you what you thought." He darted inwards, lashing out at Kozorr's legs. The shortened pike came down in a strong parry and then darted out in a riposte. Sonovar dived back, and only just dodged the attack. "You were exultant, overawed.... at last a warrior had come to lead us again. Our greatest warrior. We would be strong as a people, triumphant over our enemies. No more would we suffer the whining platitudes of the priestlings or the weak-willed inferiorities of the workers.
"We would be the strong, the brave, the mighty.
"We were betrayed."
Kozorr was silent, moving slowly and stealthily, each motion an economy of effort. His face was expressionless.
"Shagh Toth in our highest counsels. The Grey Council destroyed. Our world in ruins. The return of the Prophet cast aside as a mere rumour. A worker one of his most trusted allies, setting policy for warriors born! Sinoval has betrayed us!"
Kozorr's eyes flashed with anger. He had a weakness, and it was Sinoval's worker whore. Sonovar had seen that long ago. He did not despise Kozorr for his feelings, but he did despise Kats for manipulating them.
"Kats is as much a warrior as we are. She merely follows a gentler way."
Sonovar chuckled. "Ah, Kozorr," he said, straightening. "I know of your feelings for her, and there is nothing wrong with them. But not even you can claim that a worker belongs in a position of authority such as she holds. She is Sinoval's pet.... and she will never love you the way you love her."
"That.... does not matter to me."
"Why do you follow him anyway? He has betrayed us all. Do you honestly agree with everything he has done? Shagh Toth? Fleeing from Minbar and leaving it for the enemy? Are those the deeds of our great warrior leader?"
"He.... had.... reasons."
"Of course he did. But are they our reasons? Are they the reasons of the true warriors, or the motives of a power-hungry traitor?"
"I follow him because I swore I would. As you say, he is a warrior, and.... while I do not agree with all he has done.... he is a warrior, and my leader."
Sonovar smiled, and nodded. "Then help me make him the leader we all want him to be. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than to see a true warrior leading us. I want only to ensure that happens."
"He is a true warrior."
"You think? Help me, Kozorr. Help me make me the leader we all want."
"I...." He bowed his head. "I concede the fight to you. Let me return to my cell."
A dry chuckle. "Of course. But first.... some refreshment?"
Exactly on cue Forell shuffled into view, bearing a tray containing two goblets. Sonovar was not sure how he had known the priestling was there. He simply.... had. He was somehow getting a feel for where he was.
"I bring you your elixir, my lord," Forell said humbly. "And.... something for your guest?"
Sonovar grabbed one of the goblets and held it to his mouth. The liquid inside was a thick, red elixir. It smelled of something he could not quite identify. He paused slightly and lowered it, acting on an impulse he could not quite understand.
"Where are my manners?" he asked. "A glass for you, my guest?"
"I am not thirsty."
"You should drink, my lord," Forell said. "It is a medicine of sorts."
"I.... Ah, very well." He pointed to the goblet in Sonovar's hand. "I will take that one," he said seriously.
"It is not poisoned, I assure you," Sonovar said, handing it over. "What would be the point of that? But yes, here you are." He took up the second drink and downed it. It tasted.... sweet. Very sweet. It was also slightly warm.
Kozorr sampled his delicately. Once he was sure that Sonovar had finished his, he drank it all and handed the goblet back to Forell. "What was that?" he asked.
"A refreshing and invigorating serum from my home, my lord. I was born in a small village on Owari Nine. A herb grows there in the mountains, and it was made into this drink to benefit our warriors."
"Well, Kozorr.... you wanted to return to your quarters."
"I think.... I think I am ready for another sparring match. Tell me more about your intentions for Sinoval."
* * * * * * *
Well. It was over. He had failed.
He was not angry. Well, not much. He had not been expecting a great deal, to be honest, and he had thought this a fool's errand from the start. Too much influence on Delenn from the other side. Without her.... the rest of the Alliance might be swayed, but as it was....
Oh well. Things were shaping up. Battle lines were being drawn across the galaxy. The Alliance on one hand. Humanity on the other. The Narns were still undecided, and negotiations were still going on amongst the Centauri. The.... other side had one of their representatives there, but then there was an eminently practical man fairly highly placed who was willing to make deals with Z'ha'dum.
And then there were the undecided. The tiny worlds. The small, little empires. The Sh'Lassan Triumvirate. The Gaim. The Vree. The Hyach. The Abbai. Either members of the Alliance but with very little tie, or completely neutral. All small, easily snapped up by whichever side chose to go for them.
But there was one thing none of them could count on. The cosmic wild card. Sinoval. Influencing him to join either side was a futile effort. Oh, not that they hadn't tried. The other side had attempted assassination, but.... there had been other ways, originating from Z'ha'dum. They had failed so far, but.... things were progressing well enough.
How long did he have left? An hour, Delenn had given him. Hmm.... no, they would not be likely to let him see John again. A shame. He wanted to see his son again. It might be for the last time. Delenn would not be at all interested in coming to get the cure now. Well, if she saw what the cure was doing to certain Minbari, she would not want it anyway.
He sighed. He missed John. He was all that was left of his family. A man should always have a reason for fighting, for striving. Oh, the betterment of the race, liberty, fraternity, equality, freedom.... all of these were good buzzwords and slogans, but he knew that none of them meant anything. A family. Blood. Love. They were things worth fighting for.
So why was he still fighting? Why hadn't he retired and gone back home to die in peace, and be free from all the errors of his past?
He had another reason for pursuing this war. Something else he had said when asked his fatal question.
"What do you want?"
Peace. My family safe. An end to the nightmares. My people safe.
And revenge on the ones who did this to us.
With a soft sigh, David Sheridan fixed the memory of his son and only surviving child in mind as he went to catch the shuttle that would take him away from John's deathbed.
* * * * * * *
Someone else was at John's deathbed, someone who had just begun a terrifying war that would no doubt create many more deathbeds, and ensure that there were too many people to fill them.
As she looked at him, Delenn gently touched his forehead. He was sleeping. At least she thought so. His skin was very hot, almost painful to the touch, but she kept contact with him. Before long she would lose the chance.
"Delenn?" he whispered at last. "Are you...?"
"I'm here," she said softly in reply. His eyes flickered open. They were bloodshot and haunted.
"Had.... dreams.... Dreaming now.... See.... things...."
"What things?" she asked. According to the reports she had received, Kalain had been delusional for many months as the virus coursed through his system. He might well have suffered hallucinations.
John chuckled softly; a hideous sound, entirely devoid of laughter. "My.... Dad.... I.... saw.... my Dad.... He was.... working for.... for.... them...." The sweat was standing out on his brow. "A.... stupid.... dream.... wasn't it?" The last two words were a plaintive cry.
Delenn blinked away tears. "Yes," she lied softly, thereby making the second greatest mistake of her life, one that would be even harder to atone for than the first. "Yes. It was just a dream.
"Just.... a dream."
* * * * * * *
The next day the new Vorlon Ambassador came before the Council of the United Alliance. He gave his name as Ulkesh Naranek, and Delenn shivered as she recognised him from a long time ago, another life. Lyta walked before him, as his herald. He had been here for some time, and he had been waiting. Waiting for the mortal beings to make their own choice as to where they stood.
Elsewhere, Ambassador David Sheridan returned to Z'ha'dum and reported his failure sorrowfully to his superiors. He provided as full reports as he could on all the members of the Council, save one. The report on Delenn of Mir was left to his aide, the one person who had once known her better than anyone else alive. Neroon's analysis was most comprehensive.
Captain Dexter Smith went out into the cities of Proxima 3, and inevitably found himself among the people of his old home. Sector 301. The Pit. It had changed very little since he had last seen it. He found an apartment and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling long into the night.
On Centauri Prime, Mr. Morden met with an old acquaintance, and was delighted to hear that Vir Cotto had gone up in the world slightly since their last meeting. Much was said about Emperor Mollari and about Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. Meanwhile, Lord-General Marrago and Minister Durano continued their graceful, elegant dance around each other, gambling their lives, their future and their planet on who would win their little contest for power over the other.
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar was somewhere out in deep space, making preparations for his arrival on Centauri Prime. He was somewhat surprised to discover that Mr. Morden was already there.
Alfred Bester sat alone in his dark chair, thinking about the day when Sanctuary would become anything but.
Kozorr and Sonovar spoke long into the night; about Kats, about Sinoval, about the Soul Hunters, about honour and duty and the warrior's code. By the time the night was over, Kozorr had unwittingly agreed to Sonovar's plans. It would merely take a little longer to reinforce the suggestions. Forell hung ever-attentive in the background.
Ulkesh Naranek spoke of war.
And somewhere in deep space, at a vital crossroads on a Brakiri trading route, four Shadow vessels shimmered out of hyperspace and attacked the three Brakiri trading ships they encountered there.
There were no survivors.