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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part VI: Through Darkness and Fire |
THEY were light and beauty, and majestic power personified. She knew that she should fall to her knees and give thanks for their very presence. These beings had been worshipped by races such as hers almost since the beginning of their recorded histories.
She hated them now, hated them with a passion she had never been able to muster for any other living thing. Not even when she had made her fateful, terrible mistake to order the beginning of the war with Earth, had Satai Delenn felt such sheer loathing for any being.
And yet she stood there, still and unmoving, watching as their light filled her world, and as their power healed the broken body of the man she loved.
A single tear ran down her cheek, but she gave no voice to her pain. She had accepted this choice. They had presented her with the options, and she had accepted the offer they had made.
Her life, for his.
She cast her mind back many years, back to when she had still been Satai, had still been Minbari. It had been in the Hall of the Grey Council, when there had still been a Grey Council. Sinoval had been there, when he had still been a warrior and a leader, not a dictator who bargained with aliens.
They had been discussing the status of the new Rangers. It had been shortly after Branmer's death and Neroon's disappearance. Delenn, Rathenn and Hedronn had been arguing for caution, only to be butted aside by Sinoval's arrogant and all-powerful confidence. He had said something that had always stuck with her, and she had mentally sworn to prove his statement wrong.
She had failed.
He had been right.
"This is a time for warriors, not healers."
This time did need warriors. The healers would come later, but what was there to heal with everyone dead? You could not bring peace to an enemy concerned only with your destruction. She had once believed it might be possible, but not now. And it might never be again.
John was a warrior. Even Sinoval had acknowledged as much, in his own way. Delenn would never be a warrior. She could fight when she had to, but her heart was never in it. The terrible mistake she had once made always haunted her whenever she was at war.
John was a warrior, and she was not. At this time, in this place, a warrior was needed. There would be other healers after the war, but warriors were needed to end it.
She hoped he would understand. She would leave a message, try to explain what she felt, why this had been necessary. She had composed the message in her mind, remembering all the things she could never say to him.
She had no idea how long she had been standing there. She had preparations to make, things to do.... for the future. But she could not tear herself away from this place. She had to watch, had to be sure.
Finally there was a movement beside her, and he was there, light and power and beauty and malice and conviction all in one form. She understood now why Sinoval hated the Vorlons so, why he would risk everything to destroy them. At this moment, she felt the same.
<It is done.>
"He is...." She swallowed. "He is healed?"
<Yes.>
"Of the virus?"
<Yes.>
"Of his injuries?"
<Yes.>
"Of his pain?"
<Yes.>
"One night. You promised us that much, remember? We will have one night together."
<Yes. We promised.>
"Good." She breathed out, harshly. "Is he...? Will he need time to recover?"
<He is well.>
She turned away from the being she hated more than anything else in the universe, and walked through the door to the chamber where she had last seen John. He had been trapped by wires and tubes and glass, a prisoner in his own body. She did not want to continue, afraid of what she would see now. What if the Vorlon had lied? What if they hadn't been able to cure him? What if...?
There he was. He was.... Oh, blessed Valen. He was standing.
She ran forward and he saw her there, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Delenn!" he cried. He stepped forward and spread out his arms to welcome her. He could move. He could touch her, feel her warmth and her tears and her love.
She held herself against him tightly, crying with joy and sorrow and terror.
He said her name over and over again. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.
* * * * * * *
Narn and Centauri. For so long these two races had been linked by bloodshed and hatred and war. A cycle of vengeance that would never end. The Narns sought preservation and freedom for their race and their world. The Centauri wished a return to greater glories and higher victories.
The karmic wheel had spun around and around these two races many times before, and now it looked as if the war would finally be over, and one side would achieve total victory.
The Narns had taken many of the Centauri colonies, including their biggest supply worlds. The Centauri Royal Court had been torn by in-fighting, by civil war, by an insane group of fanatics and by chaos spread with the best of intentions. A desperate Centauri fleet had been assembled to try to hold off the Narns.
Each side was confident of victory, but the price in blood and lives would be high.
The Narn fleet bore down on the Centauri homeworld.
And then a third side intervened. Space shimmered, and they were there, ancient vessels built for the dissemination of chaos. They screamed as they came into sight, and without the slightest hesitation they made for the Narn fleet.
The first Narn warship died within moments, torn apart by the Shadow ships. A second soon followed. In those few moments the Narn war machine turned from disciplined order into anarchic chaos.
Aboard the flagship Pride of the Kha'Ri, Warleader G'Sten quickly managed to regain his grasp of leadership and began barking orders. He had never seen these ships before, but he knew someone who had. His nephew had once tried to warn him of their terrible evil, but he had not listened. He now wished he had.
The Centauri fleet took no action, obeying the orders of its commander, the Lord-General Marrago. He sat on the bridge of the Valerius and watched, reassuring his stunned captains. Soon, word of their Emperor's power spread throughout the fleet. The Emperor had promised them safety, and here he was, fulfilling his promises, bringing these ancient and powerful allies to their cause.
Marrago watched, and reported, and did not smile. Not once.
More Narn vessels fell before the onslaught, and G'Sten soon realised that victory was impossible. The enemy ships were uncountable, and beyond them lay the Centauri fleet. Better now to save as many of his ships as he could. Better to save as many of his soldiers as he could.
The order to retreat was given, and acted upon desperately. The Shadows were content to let the Narns flee. They had wreaked enough damage. Once every Narn invader had left the heavens of Centauri Prime the Shadows themselves disappeared.
A wild cheer rocked the fleet. Only two people abstained. Carn Mollari, nephew of the Emperor and Captain of the Valerius. He had seen, and fought, such ships before, and he knew what they meant.
And Lord-General Marrago. After a fashion, he had seen these ships before as well.
Once the Shadows had gone he rose from his seat and left the ship, not saying a word to anyone. He was Lord-General of the Centauri Republic, and he had duties. One of those duties was to report what he had seen to the Emperor, who was also his friend.
Another duty was to find and intercept one person who would learn of these events far sooner than anyone should. This person, this human, was to be found, and dealt with.
Marrago made his way to the nearest shuttle, and from there to the capital.
* * * * * * *
Kozorr drew his pike slowly and looked around him, his expression hardening. This place, for all its wonder, was a sign of the corruption and evil that had overtaken Sinoval. It was not a temple of wonder as he had first thought. As he looked around he saw the Well of Souls for what it truly was: a prison, holding the trapped souls of the dead, denying them the chance to progress on to the next life.
Kozorr had never been a true believer. He had never been a priestling. He had believed only in the intricacy of battle, in the sure and certain knowledge of what was right and what was wrong. As he looked around at this ancient prison, however, he believed. He believed everything.
Leave us, boomed the voice of the Well. You have no place here.
He ignored it, and continued his search. There was something.... that would mark the heart of this place. The globes in the walls around him were the souls, he knew that, but which one was the central soul? Where was the key?
If you will not leave, then you will be destroyed.
Before him, the air shimmered. He stepped back in silent wonder as a being materialised in front of him, an alien he had never seen before. It was half again as tall as he was, and covered with hard scales, from some of which burst long, wickedly-serrated spikes. It had one single eye, as large as his own fist, and from within its inky blackness there gleamed a fierce, feral intelligence. It had no arms as such, but six long tentacles emerged from its side. One of these wielded a weapon Kozorr could never have imagined.
Your soul will join us here and become part of Cathedral, as did his, in the millennia gone.
In silence the monster darted forward, one long tentacle lashing out with astonishing speed. Any doubts Kozorr might have has as to its tangibility ended when the tentacle wrapped around his legs and pulled him forward, sending him crashing to the ground. He kept a tight grip on his pike with his good hand.
His head jarred as he hit the ground, and the old scarring beneath his bone crest began to break open. He fought past the pain to remain conscious as the monster raised its weapon, which shifted form before his eyes to become a long spike. It thrust the spike down.
He brought his pike up and knocked the spike aside. Striking out, he broke the creature's grip on his legs and rolled aside. Scrambling to his feet, he darted away from the creature's advance.
Another tentacle lashed out, but this time he managed to jump over it. Ignoring the pain as he landed on his weak leg, he drew back his arm and threw his pike directly forward. It struck the creature squarely in the eye, and there was a vicious, psychic howl that sent Kozorr to his knees in agony.
When the pain had gone he looked up. The creature had gone, and his pike was lying on the floor. He crawled forward to reach it, but just as his hand touched it a booted foot came down, trapping the pike. He looked up and saw Sinoval standing there in his full glory.
"Why, Kozorr?" he asked simply.
"What happened to the monster?" he asked, rising to his feet. His head was aching.
"That was no monster," replied another voice, an ancient, civilised one. Kozorr turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus walking forward. "He was the last member of a race that died over seven hundred thousand years ago. They were an intelligent, artistic race, destroyed by natural disasters and plagues. We saved the last of them, and brought him here to add his essence to the Well of Souls."
"Why, Kozorr?" asked Sinoval again. "Why betray me?"
"I did it to save you," he replied simply. "You have been bewitched by these.... creatures."
"You swore to follow me forever."
"I want to follow you! My lord, I would follow you to the gates of oblivion and back.... but not these things. Cast them from your side, my lord, and all Minbari warriors will follow you for eternity."
"I made a bargain, and it is not for me to break it. I am sorry, Kozorr. More than you can know."
"Sorry! You have destroyed our people by your foolish bargains with these monsters! Can you not see that?"
"I am sorry, because I will have to explain this to Kats." Kozorr fell silent. "What should I tell her? I saw her when she thought you were dead. Her heart lay in pieces, her soul was drowning in a terrible blackness. She is not warrior as are we. Her caste were never prepared to accept the deaths of those they love.
"I think it would have been better for her to believe you dead, than for her to learn this."
"Damn you! Damn you all! Tell her what you wish. She will never love me."
"You are a fool, Kozorr. A stupid, arrogant, blind fool! She has loved you since the beginning, and you have not seen it." Sinoval kicked Kozorr's pike across the floor to him, and he picked it up. "Go from this place. Go to your new master and tell him....
"Tell him that if one more Minbari life ends at his hands, then I will hunt him down throughout the galaxy. I will destroy him and all who follow him, and his dream will be in ashes. We should be fighting the Enemy, not each other.
"See that he learns that."
"I will tell him."
"Oh, Kozorr.... think yourself fortunate. You could not have destroyed the Well of Souls. It is eternal and immortal. You would have died here, and your soul would have become just one of the countless thousands bound into the structure of Cathedral."
"Have you taken on the power of prophecy now, Primarch?" He spat out the title as if it were an insult.
"Yes," was the simple reply.
Kozorr left, and did not look back.
"You should have killed him," sighed the Soul Hunter.
"No. That is my way no longer. But as for you, my friend.... I think there are some questions you need to answer. This place.... will it talk to me?"
We welcome you, our Primarch.
Sinoval looked at his companion, and smiled.
* * * * * * *
Strangers were not entirely unknown in Sector 301, the area less than flatteringly dubbed the Pit. There were many inhabitants of Main Dome, Business Dome or the other, up-planet domes who came to the Pit for various reasons. Secret business deals, perhaps. Dark and unmentionable services that could not be obtained elsewhere. A need to find someone willing to kill or steal or kidnap for an appropriate price.
Or to find information. It was whispered that all knowledge was available in the Pit, for the right price, and if the seeker was willing to risk life and sanity looking for it.
Talia, née Winters, formerly Stoner, and currently whichever surname suited her situation best, was certainly willing to risk life and sanity seeking the information she needed. There were a great many trails leading from IPX to the Pit, and she fully intended to follow them back out.
She was not worried by her surroundings. She had been in far worse, and she was still alive. This time she also had a bodyguard, which was unusual. Byron was less comfortable in the Pit. For one thing, he had to disguise his rank as a Psi Cop. Talia had long since got used to passing as a mundane, but then she was only a P5. Byron was a P12, and a powerful one at that. For him, badge, uniform and gloves were everything. There was simply nothing else.
"He's late," Byron snapped angrily. He was pacing up and down irritably, casting angry glances all around him. The street was quiet. This was a back alley in an area that made the rest of The Pit look normal and safe. The only place their contact would agree to meet them.
"He'll be here," she replied. She was much calmer than he was, her mind gently preparing itself. She ran through everything she knew about Mr. Chase, and she was convinced that he would show up. Her training in human psychology had been very thorough, especially mundane psychology. Chase was on the run; desperate, hunted and alone. He wouldn't pass up an offer of help.
"We shouldn't have to be waiting for mundanes. They should be waiting for us."
She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him sharply towards her with a strength he clearly found surprising. "Listen to me," she hissed, her voice low. "That attitude will get us both killed, and a mundane can pull the trigger of a PPG just as well as we can. We do not let anyone know what we are. We meet him, find out what we need to know, and that will be that. Understand?"
"This will all change once we take over and kick all these worthless morons into the gutter where they belong."
"Look around you, Byron. This is the gutter. Anyway, that day hasn't come yet, and until it does, we're going to have to play by their rules." She released him and returned to her relaxed pose. "Don't forget that." She was almost, but not quite, leaning against the wall. The muck on there would quite ruin her jacket.
There was the sound of a throat being cleared not far away, and Talia turned to look. There he was, Chase. A little more dirty and ragged than the last time they had spoken, but it was unquestionably him. "Miss.... Shaughnessy?" he asked. She nodded. Bridget Shaughnessy was an old alias of hers, one she had used the last time she'd been on Proxima, some years ago now. There was in fact a full history and background for Bridget Shaughnessy in the Hall of Records, very kindly planted there by Al. In many ways she was more real than Talia Winters.
"Yes. Come on, Mr. Chase. What do you have for us?"
He moved forward, and Byron began, very circumspectly, to move around behind him. "You can get me.... off Proxima?" he asked nervously. "Out of human space altogether?"
"Yes," she promised. "I told you. I'll be able to arrange a shuttle to get you into Narn space, and from there you can go where you like."
"Good. I've always liked the Narns. They'll protect me. I think.... I think someone's looking for me. I think...."
"Then the sooner you tell us what we need to know, the sooner you'll be able to leave Proxima and get away from them."
He nodded. "Yes. Yes. Good. Well.... um.... I used to work for IPX, as you know, and.... I accidentally stumbled across some of their.... projects they weren't telling anyone about. I mean, they own a couple of the lesser Ministers, and they've been trying to get more power over someone like Welles or Ryan for some time now, but that's.... common knowledge. At least," he giggled, "common knowledge amongst those of us in the business, anyway."
Talia could see Byron's face. His expression was hardening. He was getting impatient.
"Anyway," Chase continued, "I came across a bit more.... presumably what you're looking for. It was an accident, really. I was approached by some.... freedom fighters.... who wanted to buy some very useful items from us. IPX had a weapons contract from the Government a couple of years back, so I managed to siphon off some of the weapons and get them to these.... individuals."
"Which group?" Byron asked softly. Chase suddenly noticed that someone was behind him, and started.
"Uh.... some of the anti-Narn lot, mainly. Trying to.... ah.... kick the Narns off some of the newly liberated colonies. Acts of revenge.... stuff like that."
Byron nodded, a slight, ironic smile spreading across his face. That smile managed to unnerve Chase even more than he was already.
"Anyway, they wanted to make all the arrangements here.... in the Pit. It wasn't unusual. I mean, nobody really cares what goes on down here. The security forces are being paid off by everyone in existence, including some high-up people at IPX, and, well....
"It was through my dealings with the Security Chief here a couple of months back that I first discovered something was wrong. Allan, I think his name was. He was already getting a substantial pay-off from IPX, but he dug his nose into my business a little more than usual. He was expecting weapons to be coming through here, but for some reason the weapons I was helping supply weren't the ones he was expecting, or going to the people he was expecting them to go to.
"I did a bit of back-checking, because his attitude was starting to make me a little nervous. It turns out that for the past several years IPX has been funnelling a substantial amount of weapons and funds into the area, working through a man called Trace. Now I've heard of him, and I'm.... well.... put it this way, I'd rather stay as far away from him as I can get. I'm not certain what he's doing with the weapons and tech, but I can guess, especially since something goes back the other way, from here to IPX."
He fell silent, and mopped at his sweat-stained forehead.
"What's going back?" Talia asked softly.
"Bodies. In cryogenic suspension. Not many, but a fair number. Of course, no one can do any sort of census in the Pit, and Security don't investigate missing persons. Some of these people came from outside the Pit though; they're lured here somehow, and then disappear. Things are still chaotic up at Main Dome, and some people do vanish. But all these people had something in common, and that's what blew my little enterprise. As I said, Allan wasn't surprised that weapons were coming through here, even if they weren't going direct to Mr. Trace, but it was the type of weapons that tipped him off and caused him to report to IPX."
He shuddered, and looked at Talia carefully, as if seeking confirmation of something he suspected but didn't know to be true.
"What?" asked Byron angrily. "What tipped him off?"
"Well, the weapons I was funnelling through here were for use against the Narns, right. And Narns don't have telepaths. Almost every other weapon or piece of tech coming to Trace from IPX was for use against telepaths. I'd say that those missing people were all teeps."
"Ah," Talia said. That did explain a lot. She was about to say something when there was a sudden movement behind her, and she spun round. There was someone there. People, a lot of them, shimmering into view.
This was impossible. She should have been able to sense them. She heard Chase let out a wild cry and saw Byron start forward. She stepped back quickly, counting the new arrivals. Seven, at least.
"M.... M.... M...." Chase was spluttering.
"Shut up, Chase," snapped an angry voice. "Did you really think you'd evaded us all this time? We wanted to see who you planned to contact, and now we've found them.... Well, many thanks. Thanks to you, we're all getting extra bonuses this month."
"Mr. Trace," Chase said, finally managing a coherent sound. "Ah.... It's.... ah.... You don't want to hurt me.... You don't...."
Talia became aware that Byron was beside her, and suddenly realised what he was planning. So far this Trace and his companions hadn't tried anything aggressive, and she knew it was best to let the other person make the first move, sucker them into revealing more than they intended.
Byron didn't plan on waiting for anything at all.
She reached out to warn him, but it was too late. She could feel his telepathic invasion of Trace's mind, and his psionic suggestion to him.
You will leave this place. You will leave us alone.
Trace smiled slightly. "No," he said, in a friendly tone of voice. "I don't think so." He raised his hand, and revealed a small black box. He pressed a button.
Byron screamed and fell to the ground. He was unconscious by the time he hit it, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. There was blood welling from his nose.
"He'll have a headache for a while," muttered Trace. "Are you going to make this easy, Miss.... Winters, isn't it? Because let me tell you, between the two of us and at the risk of jeopardising my hard-man image in front of my men here.... I really don't like hurting women. We've all got to have some sort of moral code, don't we? Otherwise we're nothing better than savages, howling in the wilderness."
"This looks pretty much like a wilderness to me," she replied, edging back slowly, careful not to trip over Byron's body. He was alive, she could sense that much, but there was nothing she could do to help him now. She would be lucky if she could help herself. Chase stood stock still, as if paralysed. He was still blubbering.
"Well, yes, it is." Trace was standing still, but two of his men were moving forward. They were wearing the same black clothing as he was, and Talia recognised a Light Refraction Belt. Some of the science labs in Main Dome were working on them, and they were nearly perfected. Obviously Trace and his men had first dibs on any interesting new tech to come this way.
"This is a wilderness, but it's my wilderness. Are you going to surrender?"
"What do you think?"
The nearest of his men darted forward and she reacted instantly, whipping her slender knife from its sheath in her sleeve and lashing out. It caught him straight across the face and he fell back in a shower of blood.
The other man hesitated slightly, just long enough for her to drop the gas bomb she had been holding clenched in her other hand. The instant it hit the ground and cracked, she turned and ran as fast as she could.
Trace waited patiently for the gas to recede, and then looked around. The male teep - the powerful one - was still unconscious. He could be sent on to the Boss without any problem. The female teep - the interesting one - seemed to have got away.
"Well don't just stand there," he barked. "Go find her. What am I paying you for?" Only Nelson stayed behind. He would be needed to make arrangements for the body, and anyway, a simple search-and-locate was a bit beneath him these days.
And then there was Chase. Trace actually liked the pathetic little weasel, but still.... He'd killed people he'd liked before.
Chase was still whimpering, trying futilely to beg for mercy.
Trace raised his PPG.
* * * * * * *
There was one person on Centauri Prime who knew of the Shadow involvement in the battle before anyone else. Mr. Morden had sold his soul to a higher power than humanity, and that power had given him certain advantages. He knew that the Shadows had come, and that he had arrived here too late.
He had not hesitated. All transport off-planet had been halted by the news of the upcoming attack, and so he could not have left even if the jump gate had not been disabled. On the other hand, that would not last forever. He had to be clear of the palace, to somewhere safe. The Vorlons knew of the problem here and they could help him escape.
The Centauri Republic was not lost yet. It could still be redeemed from the errors it had made. It would be a hard road, and a difficult one, but it could be done. The Centauri would escape far easier than humanity for their lapse in judgement.
It was a shame, though. He liked Mollari. He really did.
Oh, well. The burden of power was never an easy one. Mollari would understand.
Morden turned the corner, not quite running, to find Lord-General Marrago standing there with a sizeable number of the Palace Guard.
"There he is," Marrago said flatly. "He is under arrest by order of the Emperor. He is to be detained in the special cells in this building. Do not try to resist, Mr. Morden. Their orders are to shoot to kill if you try."
"The Emperor gave no such order," Morden said smiling. "I'm one of his most trusted allies."
"That alliance, and the need for it, has just been terminated. I am a soldier, and I serve and protect my Emperor."
The guards encircled Morden. He did not plan to resist. There were more of them than of him, and they were also considerably stronger. He could have used some of his more.... esoteric talents, but there was little point. He knew now who the Shadow agent here was, and there was no cell that could hold him for long.
He went along with them quietly. Centauri Prime had been given its chance for salvation, and it had been refused. They would pay for that error. With a great fire and a terrible fury, the whole Republic would suffer because of the actions of one man.
Morden almost smiled.
* * * * * * *
"I can't believe it."
The pain was gone. The inner torment had receded. Delenn was filled with a joy all the more powerful because she knew it was limited. She had bargained with Ulkesh for one night with John before she would leave this place for Z'ha'dum. He had agreed.
That one night would be a reminder to her of why she was doing this. She loved him more than life itself, and she had once made a mistake which had cost him everything. This was one small form of recompense.
But she had seen a way to grab another triumph from this bargain. She had left four messages. One for John, explaining what she had done, and why. One for Lyta, her greatest and truest friend. She was not sure that message would get through, but she had at least to try to explain just how much Lyta's friendship had meant. One for Lethke, handing over command of the Alliance to him. She could trust him to make the right choices.
And the fourth.... That would be the most important message of them all. A warning of a sort, but so much more than that. He would know what to do with it, and he was the one person she could trust to act on what she had learned.
She had needed time to do these things, time apart from John, time she did not want to lose. But they were necessary, and now they were done.
There was one other thing she had needed to do as well. That accomplished, she could begin to make herself ready.
His face on seeing her had been all the reward she could need.
The dress was white and gold, a mixture of human and Minbari design. She was not sure if its cut was flattering or ludicrous, but John certainly seemed to like it. She had begun its commission before the beginning of G'Kar's fateful summit on Babylon 4, and she had quite forgotten it until now.
He had said nothing, as if he had been entirely struck dumb. Then he had smiled, and stepped into her quarters. "You look beautiful."
He was wearing a uniform much like his old one. He had showered and shaved, and he looked just as he had for those first months, before his virus had become dangerous and after they had finally managed to acknowledge what they felt.
"How do you feel?" she asked, not wanting to take her eyes from him, fixing everything in her memory.
"I.... strange," he admitted. "But in a good way. Everything tingles. But.... look." He reached out his hand, and took hers. "Isn't that a miracle?"
"Yes," she swallowed. "A miracle."
"I don't believe it. I really don't believe it. I never knew the Vorlons could do that. Repair all the damage.... and the virus. I...." He shook his head, smiling in wonderment. "I just don't believe it."
"What will you do now?" she whispered.
"Oh.... stay here, I suppose. David's doing fine with the Babylon.... at least, from what I can remember he is. I'm inclined to let him keep it. Maybe take a higher position. If we're going to take the war to the Shadows, after all, we'll need all the soldiers we can get."
Yes. Soldiers. Not healers.
"You would be welcome. I know Taan Churok will appreciate your assistance."
"It won't be easy," he admitted. "But I really think we can do it now. Especially with the Vorlons to help us." He smiled. "This is a turning point, Delenn. Everything's going to be all right now."
"Yes," she whispered, reaching up a hand to touch his face. "Everything will be.... all right."
There was a comfortable silence as she stared into his eyes. All the innocence and compassion and love.... everything that had been there before was there again now. All the horror he had seen was gone from his gaze. It was filled only with love for her.
"John," she said. "I love you."
His smile widened. "I love you, Delenn, you know that. I always love you.... even if I forget to say it from time to time."
"I know. I always knew."
She leaned in for a kiss, and he received her happily. She thought she might be beginning to cry. "John. Will you.... stay here tonight?"
"Are you...? I mean...."
"John, I love you. Stay with me?"
He reached forward and kissed her again in reply. She did cry at last, but her tears were of joy, not sorrow. They would have this time together, and no one - not the Vorlons, not the Shadows, not Deathwalker or Sinoval or Bester - would be able to take this night from them.
She now had something to take with her to Z'ha'dum.
* * * * * * *
Warleader G'Sten evaluated the remnants of his fleet and bit back a profanity. He did not in fact have the energy for anger anyway. He felt nothing beyond a profound depression, and a realisation that chances he should have taken in the past had now slipped away from him.
He should have listened to G'Kar, but he had not, and now his men had paid the price.
The Kha'Ri would be furious of course. At the least, they would demand his head. Perhaps they would even ask for the heads of his captains.
He would resign. He would accept responsibility. It was all over; the galaxy was doomed now, and everything would be washed away in darkness and fire. He had seen those Shadows, and they were all but invincible. The entire might of the Narn fleet had been unable so much as to scratch them. It was over.
They could not win. No one could win.
He would resign before the Kha'Ri, and go to the estate his family had once owned before the Centauri had come. He would tend the tree his brother had died on, he would sit and look at the sunsets, and he would wait for the end.
It was over now. The war was over. Life was over.
He would simply wait for the end.
* * * * * * *
There were a number of skills any good secret agent needed, but foremost of all was the ability to know when to run, and when to stop running. Sooner or later everything fell apart, and when that happened the best thing to hope for was a good head start, and a better hiding place.
Talia was still running, although only in a metaphorical sense. She was sure she had managed to shake off the initial pursuit, but they would still be tracking her. She needed an immediate place of sanctuary, and after that a new base of operations. At least now she knew what was happening here, and she could take appropriate action. Maybe move out of 301 and up into Main Dome. She didn't have much more to do here after all.
She pressed herself as hard into the alcove as she could. It was heavily shadowed and there was enough rubbish and débris strewn around the street that she should remain inconspicuous. She could hear her pursuers coming this way. Normally it would be possible to alter their perceptions slightly so they would not notice her, but they had very advanced tech that seemed able to resist telepathic influences, so she simply remained very still.
There were three of them, all people she had seen with Trace.
"I'm telling you, she came this way," snarled one of them.
"Well, I'm telling you there's no one in sight. I mean, who'd come through a dump street like this, least of all a classy bit like her. She'd get that nice skirt of hers all messy."
There was a reply Talia really hadn't wanted to hear, and guttural chuckling.
"Yeah," said the first voice. "Well, maybe, with a mouth your size. Look, we go back without her, and Mr. Trace is going to have us nailed to the wall and used for target practice. She came this way."
"There's no one here. Listen, and think about this for a moment." The voices were coming closer. "Anyone who pisses off Mr. Trace ain't going to want to stick around in his den, is she? Now you saw what she was wearing. She ain't from the Pit, so she'll be running off to the tube stations and get out-sector. I'll bet she's halfway to Main Dome by now."
"She came this way," persisted the first voice.
"Hang on," said the third. "What if you're right, Roberts?" said the third thoughtfully.
"What of it?"
"Well, what's the quickest route from here to the tube station?"
"Left down that alley, across and then left at the Security building. If she's going there, she won't have come up this street."
"But," said the third. "What about that narrow walk we just passed? With a bit of effort you could get through that hole in the wire fencing, right? And then from there it's a couple of minutes to the tube, taking all the back roads where no one could spot her."
"Well, what do you know?" said the first in wonder. "It's looks like we're both right, Roberts. She did come this way. Come on, I think we're going to owe you a drink, Petrov."
"Once we've found her," grunted the second, Roberts. "Let's go."
Talia waited for a few minutes as their footsteps receded, then breathed out slowly and emerged from her alcove. So, they'd be watching the tube station. That meant she'd have to stay in 301 for a few days and try to sneak out later. She....
She felt a presence behind her, but just as she made to turn an arm caught her around the neck and a hand clasped firmly down over her mouth. Something was wrong. She hadn't sensed him coming.
She let her assailant half-drag her away from the street towards a door in the nearest wall. He nudged it open, and then pulled her inside.
Then, once the door was closed and she was satisfied that her attacker was alone, she acted. Her telepathic abilities might or might not be useless against this person, but a good elbow in the stomach dealt with anyone.
She lunged out and he staggered back, gasping. She pulled a long, slender blade from her other sleeve and waited for him to move. The door she had been pulled through did not lead to a house, but into a small tunnel. There was light at the far end of it, enough for her to see her attacker clearly. She did not recognise him as one of Trace's men, he was not a security guard, and he was a little too well-dressed for an average denizen of Sector 301. She was almost intrigued, realising he was faintly familiar.
"Why did you attack me?" she asked, willing to trust her intuition and not take further action. Besides, she was armed and he wasn't, and she wasn't winded.
"I didn't," he gasped. "I'm a friend. At least.... I think I am."
She knew that voice. She closed her eyes, breathing out silently and sheathing her knife. "Captain Smith," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"That's funny," he replied, looking up. "I was just about to ask you the same question. The last I heard you'd somehow escaped from your holding cell and just disappeared. That was after sabotaging my ship, of course. I didn't expect to find you in The Pit, but it makes sense, I guess. Oh, and it's private citizen Mr. Smith now. Or Dexter, to all the friends I don't have."
"Talia," she replied.
"Is that what the T stood for? Ah, I never knew. I had you guessed as more of a Tabitha, personally."
"What are you doing here?"
"I live in three-o-one. I grew up here, and trust me, I know this place better than most people. Better than you, it seems. You looked to be in a spot of trouble."
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
He moved forward. "Are you going to give me any straight answers, Lieutenant Talia Stoner? You can read my mind if you like, to satisfy yourself I'm not working for Trace. Yes, I know you're a telepath, and I know who Trace is. What I don't know is why he's chasing you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me any more! You did enough of that all the time you were on my ship. How long was it? A year? I want to know the truth."
"No," she replied softly, a little sorrowfully. "You don't." He might have been expecting a psychic attack. He might even have been expecting a physical attack. He certainly wasn't expecting both together.
Very few people stayed conscious through a combination of a psi blast and a kick to the chest, and he wasn't one of them.
"I'm sorry," she said to no one in particular, and then she continued in search of her place of sanctuary.
* * * * * * *
Sinoval had always held it one of his greatest gifts that he never regretted any single decision he had ever made. He did not spend time in pointless recriminations and self-doubts. He merely accepted that he had made a mistake, and resolved never to repeat it.
Leaving Minbar had led to disastrous consequences, but he had needed answers, answers that could not have been found on Minbar. To be certain of his destiny he had needed to seek wisdom and enlightenment elsewhere, and that had brought him here.
Trusting Kalain had been a mistake also, although one that could not have been foreseen. Sinoval had known Kalain as he had known and trusted none other. He had not known of his insanity, or of his infection.
He had made many other errors, but all had been committed with full regard to all the information he had had available. He accepted that, and moved on. The words 'if only' had never held any power over him.
Until now.
The realisation of Kozorr's betrayal was a bitter one, and for the first time in his life Sinoval gave thought to the past, and wondered what he could have done to prevent it.
He had been foolish not to recognise another Marrain. The First Ranger had betrayed Valen out of the pettiest of motives, jealousy, and the greatest of tragedies, love. In conversation with that haunted, tortured soul, Sinoval had learned the depth of Marrain's feelings for Derannimer, who had married Valen and borne his heirs. Marrain had been tortured by his inadequacy beside Valen. In every way he was a little bit less than the one he followed. Without Valen he would have been pre-eminent. With him, Marrain was nothing but a shadow.
And so it was for Kozorr. He was not the leader of his caste, or the greatest warrior alive, because of Sinoval himself. Kozorr loved Kats with a true and powerful passion that he had tried to restrain, only to have it burst forth.
The gentle worker had been much in Sinoval's thoughts of late. Her bleak depression after Kozorr's 'death' had inflicted deep wounds in the Primarch he had not been able to reconcile. He did not love her, for he did not know how to love. Her malady was beyond his power to fight, for it was beyond his experience.
But he could not deny just what she brought to his life. She was everything of beauty he had ever known, and a constant reminder of why he fought as he did. There was someone to whom life was more than a struggle, more than an eternal war against forces that could not be seen, more than a never-ending challenge that could never be met.
He had never in his life wanted to avoid something as much as he wanted to avoid that meeting with her, but he could not do so. He was a warrior, and a leader of warriors. He had his duties, and his responsibilities, and he would face up to the things he feared.
Slowly, tentatively, he explained to her what had happened. Kozorr was gone now, having taken his shuttle and returned to his corrupt master. He had not tried to make contact with Kats, which was the one thing Sinoval had feared.
She said nothing throughout his explanation, and her expression was still.
When he finished, she bowed her head.
"I knew it somehow," she whispered. "I saw it in his eyes when he came to see me. There was a darkness that had not been there before."
Sinoval said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"He saw me when I was in pain, when I was crying, screaming to the heavens. He saw my weakness, and called it strength. He held me when I cried, and loved me.... I could not.... I could not tell him. I was afraid of losing him, of him losing me. He had already given so much for me. How could I ask for more?"
She was silent, but then she looked up. Her eyes were cold and dead. Sinoval had always thought them the most beautiful thing about her.
"I have shed too many tears," she whispered. "I will shed no more." Then she turned and left. He wanted to follow her, but he could not. There was nothing he could do to comfort her. He knew nothing of love, or loss.
But he knew a great deal about war, and revenge, and he planned to utilise all his knowledge, every last piece of it.
* * * * * * *
John was sleeping now. He looked so peaceful. So happy.
Delenn wanted to remain there watching him all night. It was an old Minbari ritual, in which she would hope to discover his true face. Not that she had any need to, now. She had renounced a great deal of what had made her Minbari, and their courtship had passed beyond the sleep-watching stage a long time ago. A year now, it must have been. A year since Minbar, since they had discovered he was dying.
She was suddenly aware of a presence behind her, and she turned. He was there. The Vorlon, Ulkesh.
The Vorlon was silent, simply watching. Delenn could hear the faint traces of music in the air invoked by his presence.
"I'm ready," she said softly.
The Vorlon's eyepiece shifted, as if nodding. <Good.>
Delenn looked back at John. He was still sleeping. She would never forget him; his face, his voice, his hands, everything would remain in her memory for the rest of her life. However long that might be.
She slowly moved away from the bed, out into the main room. Ulkesh followed her. "What will happen now?"
<You will go to Z'ha'dum. You will die. He will live.>
"Why?" she whispered. "I still don't understand. Why?"
<Understanding is a three-edged sword. That is not required of you. Obedience is.>
She looked directly at him, her face hard. She knew what he required of her. She just did not know why. It didn't matter. Others would, and they would carry on. She had made all the preparations she could. There was nothing more to do now but go.
She left the rooms that had been her quarters ever since she had taken on the rôle as leader of the Alliance, well over a year ago. It had been after the arrival of the Inquisitor, something she only now understood. It hadn't been a test, as she and John had believed at the time. The Inquisitor had been sent by Kosh, whom she knew cared about her, about all the younger races. Kosh would never have demanded this of her, but he had given his life for them all.
He had known that might happen, and so he had sent the Inquisitor, as a warning. She had not listened, and now she had to pay the price.
She did not turn back to see if the Vorlon was following her as she walked through the streets of Kazomi 7. Either he was, or he wasn't, and she did not care either way. The streets were quiet. It was early in the morning, and even the nocturnal Brakiri were not about. The few patrol guards she saw ignored her, as if she were not there.
With each step she took, she remembered the images of these streets after the Drakh invasion. It was a true wonder that they had managed to create this hope from the chaos and despair of those dark days. It was a great triumph, and one that must surely be placed against the wrongs she had done.
Kazomi 7 and the Alliance spoke of hope, of order, of peace. They would carry on doing so after she was gone.
She reached the spaceport to find that no one there seemed to notice her either. As she walked down the docking bays towards her shuttle, past unseeing officials, she turned round and saw Ulkesh almost at her shoulder. "This is your doing, isn't it? You're why they can't see us."
<Yes.>
"And you need to make sure that I'm gone, of course. For all you know I could have let you cure John, and then stayed here and told him everything."
<No.>
"No? Why not?"
<No.>
She shook her head sadly, and walked away from him towards her shuttle. She had seldom needed a flyer, but when she had, one had been provided. Normally it was heavily guarded of course, but the guards could not see her. She hoped they had been equally blind to certain.... preparations made earlier.
She boarded the shuttle, and took a quick glance back. Ulkesh was there, watching. Angrily, she turned her back on him.
And then she left Kazomi 7, knowing she would never see her new home again this side of death.
And on to Z'ha'dum.
* * * * * * *
Mr. Trace received word of his men's failure to catch the female telepath with a calm demeanour. He thanked them for their efforts and dismissed them for the night. No doubt they were in a terrified rush to flee the sector - or possibly the planet - to escape his wrath. He didn't care if they did or not. There were very few people he trusted absolutely.
He had set them a task. They had failed. Miss Winters was simply smarter than they were, that was all. Where was the point in punishing someone for coming up against someone better?
Still, this did have to be reported to the Boss, and Trace was not sure how he would react. There were times when he thought he was afraid of the Boss, and other times when they could talk together like two old friends.
He did not really need the old man any longer. He could make a perfect living just from 301 alone. The protection, the drugs, the holobrothels and all his other little deals were enough to keep most men happy and rich for life, but he was not in this merely for the money. Trace wanted respect. He wanted status. He had power here, but he wanted to be a power.
Only the old man could help him with those things, and he would. Sooner or later he would move up from this worthless rat-infested dump and become a power in himself in Main Dome, or maybe off-world.
His signal was received, and the old man's voice came over the comm channel. Audio conversations only. It had always been that way, as far back as Trace could remember. He didn't even have any idea what the old man looked like. He had looked out of simple curiosity, but there were no pictures available at all.
He did know the old man's name, but it was a good idea not to let on that he knew it. The old man valued his privacy.
"Ah, Mr. Trace," came the voice. "What do you have for me?"
"We got another one. A pretty powerful one, too. I'd reckon P ten, P twelve maybe. There might be a problem, though."
"Yes?"
"He's been trained. He knows how to use what's he got. The psi-jamming tech you provided us with kept us safe though, and he only got mildly damaged when we took him down. He had a companion as well, another telepath, and she managed to escape. I'd put her at P five or so, but she's good. Very good. She knows much more than just how to read minds. Infiltration techniques, and pretty good at self-defence as well."
"A woman? Describe her for me."
"Ah, let's see. Blonde, fairly tall I'd guess. Pretty, in a.... posh sort of way. I'm uploading a picture with this. Her name's Winters. T. Winters"
"Ah, yes. I know of her. Well well. It appears we have someone out to investigate our little activities here, Mr. Trace."
"Yeah, I'd say so. They were talking with Chase when I found them. He was telling them what he knew."
"And where is Chase now?"
"Dead. Very dead."
"Good. I think, Mr. Trace, it is imperative you find Miss Winters as soon as possible. She might just pose a significant threat to us."
"We're on it. She won't get out of three-o-one, trust me on that one, Boss.
"There is one other thing, might be just a coincidence, but maybe not. There's someone poking his nose into my business. Had a run-in with one of my men in a bar, and went to see the Security Chief to talk about me."
"Mr. Allan. Is he...?"
"Oh, still bribed. He told me as soon as the guy left. You might know him, Boss. His name's Smith. Dexter Smith. Used to be captain of the Babylon."
"Smith. Ah. Yes, I had heard he'd returned to Proxima, but not that he'd made for your area, Mr. Trace. As you said, it might just be a coincidence, but I don't believe in coincidence. Find him as well as Miss Winters. If you can get Miss Winters in the normal course of things, so much the better. If you can't, then kill her. Definitely kill Mr. Smith. It really won't do to have them running around Sector Three-o-one finding out things they really shouldn't be finding out. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Trace?"
"No problem, Boss. I'll get back to you once we've found them. Trace out."
In a far more expensive and luxurious area of the colony, Mr. William Edgars, unofficial head of Interplanetary Expeditions, turned to his companion. "You heard that?"
<Yes.>
Edgars nodded. "Don't worry. Nothing's going to interfere with the scheme. You'll get all the telepaths you need. Trust me on this."
<Yes.>
* * * * * * *
Dexter Smith could not sleep. He had not been able to sleep since he had heard the ISN broadcast. He was not alone. All across Proxima people were not sleeping, staring up into the heavens through the clear surface of the domes, waiting for the first sight of the arriving allies.
Parents were keeping their children awake to see this once-in-a-lifetime event, just as they once had for comets or other astral phenomena. Smith could imagine the children now, excited, pointing up into the skies, waving and cheering. For many of them this would be their first glimpse of humanity's former saviours and current allies.
Not for him. He had seen them before, and he was chilled by the thought that they would be coming to Proxima permanently.
And to confirm earlier reports, President Clark and his Cabinet have assured us that our allies for these past three years will be setting up a permanent garrison in the Proxima system, both to provide extra protection for Proxima, and as a lasting symbol of our alliance. A ceremonial fly-by is expected later tonight....
Smith wondered if anyone in the Pit knew about this, or even cared. As he looked out through his window he could see that some of them obviously did. There were people congregating in the streets, talking nervous chatter and looking up expectantly. So, there was something that could make even the Pit trash all happy at the same time.
They have no idea. None at all.
There was a cheer, and then a sense of hushed awe. Smith could not help but look up, and what he saw chilled him to the bone.
They were there, not just one ship, or two, or five, or ten. Countless numbers of Shadow ships soared overhead. The people were watching; spellbound, awestruck, humbled.
Smith ducked inside his apartment and looked at the dull walls and the grimy floor. He clenched his hands into fists and felt a far greater anger than he had ever thought possible before. Did any of them have any idea what they had just done, or what they had just seen?
The Shadows had come to Proxima.
* * * * * * *
And at the same time, a few hours after Delenn of Mir had left the world she had taken for her home, jump points had opened and out had poured a vast fleet of ships older and more powerful than anyone on Kazomi 7 could imagine.
On the surface, Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek and Lyta Alexander waited for them, waited for his people to come and talk with him.
Everything was ready. Now the war could truly begin.