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| Volume 4: A Future, Born in Pain | Part III: A Universe of Majesty and Terror |
BLACK against the blackness of night they came, screaming their cries of warning. Fear us, they cried. Fear us, for we were masters of all that was, before the stars themselves gave birth to light, before your races rose to ascend to the heavens.
Fear us, for we are the death of worlds, the death of flesh, the death of dreams. We are the death of all who stand against us.
We are death itself.
Space itself opened up, bright shining gateways into other worlds. The Shadow ships turned from their wanton destruction of the helpless Brakiri trading ships. They turned to face the fools who would dare oppose them.
The new ships were much smaller. They were fast and strong and powerful. The Shadows recognised within their form the timeless machinations of their ancient enemies.
We do not fear you. You should fear us.
The Shadows swept forward. A beam of energy lashed out and struck at the nearest of the new ships. It spun off course, tumbling and rolling. It should have been destroyed.
The other ships acted together, an invisible link between them. They cried out, and the Shadows heard the voices of their ancient enemies. They heard the single word, amplified through the minds of pawns and tools.
STOP!
And the Shadows did, held still and helpless, their ships paralysed. The living floor and walls around them trembled with something akin to fear. Deep in the heart of their ships, at the heart of their Machine, the sentient mind that gave them power was crumbling, assailed by the might of their enemies.
Then the new ships began to fire. The Shadows struggled to break free of the blockade, but to no avail.
We do not fear death.
You should fear us, came the reply.
Then the Shadows died.
* * * * * * *
Once Minbar had been the jewel of planets, a world of beauty, of culture, of cities millennia old, of shining rivers and glowing crystal, of high mountains and ancient libraries.
But it had changed, as all things must. Devastated by the wrath of a vengeful and arrogant enemy, Minbar had been reduced to rubble, the fine and ancient cities either destroyed utterly or reduced to abandoned ghost realms. The rivers had become polluted with dust and ash. The air had become thick with the poisons and toxins of the enemies. Bodies had been left to rot in the streets.
It had been over a year since Sinoval, Primarch Nominus et Corpus, still leader of the Minbari people and the man who was at least partially responsible for this devastation, had been on his homeworld. He remembered leaving it, seemingly forever. He had not looked back as Cathedral had departed from the dying world. He and Delenn had saved all those they could, all those they could find. Surely, if any still lived on the world, then starvation and disease would claim them soon enough.
Minbar had changed. It was not as clear and beautiful as it had been, and Sinoval knew it never would be again, but he could see that much was different now. The world lived again, the toxins erased. The air could be breathed, the water could be drunk, the ground could be sown. Never again would the planet be as it had been, but people could live here now.
Such power was beyond Minbari technology, beyond even that of the Soul Hunters. No, Sinoval knew who was responsible, and that made him distrust this seeming miracle. No Vorlon ever did anything without a reason, usually selfish.
He stood on the pinnacle of Cathedral, staring down at his world. But while he stood far above Minbar, he was also there. He could feel the heartbeat of the planet, stronger now than before. He could see the beings that lived there. His own people, those he had left behind.
And others. Vorlons. At least one, based in Yedor. He could sense something strange in the southern cities, areas he had thought destroyed utterly by the Earthers' bombardment.
"You will not reconsider this?" said a soft and ageless voice from behind him. Sinoval turned, not remotely surprised by the appearance of the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, seemingly from nowhere.
"No," he said firmly.
"This is not our way. This has never been our way."
"It has never been the way of Minbari to deal with Shagh Toth either," Sinoval reminded his companion. "Laws and customs bind only weaker men. It is the great man who casts aside such things for the sake of what must be done."
"Examine your own motives," the Primarch warned him. "Do you do this because it must be done, or for your own private revenge?"
Sinoval raised his arm in anger, and suddenly his pike Stormbringer was in his hand. "We fight the Shadows. We fight the Darkness.... and maybe we will win, and maybe we will lose.... but what if we win, and find ourselves slaves to the Vorlons? What then? No, this must be done."
"As you say," said the Primarch softly. He did not seem at all afraid. "I told you once that you were only the second Primarch Nominus et Corpus, did I not? Only the second ever to bear that title."
"Yes, you did."
"The first was a mistake. He fell, consumed by the darkness of his own pride and his own convictions. His soul was saved by the first of our order, and preserved in a globe sealed in the gateway to Cathedral at the top of the highest archway. It was a reminder to all of us that no one is beyond temptation, no one cannot be corrupted, and there is darkness within us all."
Sinoval took in the message. "I saw no such globe when I came here," he mused. "I have never seen such a globe."
"It is still there, but now it cannot be seen. The light died the day you came here. The soul of the first Primarch Nominus et Corpus has escaped and gone.... somewhere. The Well of Souls told me only that the need for his presence here had passed."
"Was that a lesson, Primarch?"
"I don't know," he said softly. "Was it?"
"I do what must be done, and if it means I must sacrifice my own life, my own soul.... or the lives and souls of those who follow me, then so be it."
The Primarch sighed. "You do not understand."
"I understand more than you think. You know the plan."
"Yes."
"And you will perform your part.... you and those who are needed. I can kill the Vorlon, but this entire exercise is useless unless you take its soul. Will you do that?"
"I will do.... that which is required of me."
Sinoval nodded. "Good." He looked down at the planet for a long minute. "It knows we are here. It is waiting for us. I think it is trying to set a trap for us."
"I believe the same."
"It is welcome to try." Sinoval's eyes, always dark, seemed to become deep pits of blackness. The Primarch looked into them and felt a moment's fear in his near-immortal soul.
"Yes.... they are all welcome to try."
* * * * * * *
Mr. Welles was more than willing to admit that he possessed a number of character flaws. He was perfectly willing to accept the many things he had done in the name of a greater good, all the sins he had committed that would no doubt damn him forever. He might have lapsed now, but he had been a religious man in his youth and he knew full well the cost of the things he had done: torture of innocents, brutal suppression of dissidence, sending good people to die, turning a blind eye to murderers and sadists.
All in the name of humanity. All for the greater good. Not that these were excuses, merely what was.
He could feel everything beginning to collapse around him, and as he looked at the two men before him he could see the architects, willing or not, of that collapse.
"It is a pleasure to have you back with us, Ambassador," said President Clark. He looked happy, as well he should. He had just been presented with a considerable victory. Humanity's worst enemy was now safely imprisoned and helpless. Clark was one of the most popular Presidents of all time, and no doubt his name would go down forever in the history books.
"We've missed you."
Ambassador David Sheridan nodded in acknowledgement. His expression was one of happiness and satisfaction, but then that meant nothing at all. He was a career diplomat, and disguising his true emotions was one of the first things he had learned as part of that duty. Welles was perfectly aware just how little regard the two had for each other.
"I have missed this place," Sheridan said. "My work elsewhere was necessary, but there is no place at all like home, is there?"
"Indeed not," laughed Clark. "And you come bearing gifts as well. Delenn is.... safe, is she not?"
"She is securely placed in one of our waiting rooms," Welles said. "The room and surrounding corridors are under complete surveillance, there are two guards within the room, two directly outside and a further four just down the corridor. She was thoroughly checked for weapons, passkeys or lockpick devices and any form of listening or communications machinery. She is not going anywhere."
"Good," said Clark. "See that that remains the case. We do not want a repeat of what happened last time, do we?"
"That was due to the treachery of Miss Alexander, as you well know, Mr. President."
"Yes, yes," said Clark irritably. "It really does not matter. What does matter is that she does not escape. Ambassador Sheridan here has given us one of the greatest opportunities we have had in a long time. Delenn is going to go on the stand before a war crimes tribunal, once one can be assembled of course. There is no hurry, however. It is vital that when she is put on trial she says and does the right things.
"That, Mr. Welles, is your responsibility. She is now your top priority concern, taking precedence over anything and everything else. Delegate other matters if you have to. When Delenn goes on trial, she is going to plead guilty to numerous counts of genocide, torture, murder of civilians, use of illegal weaponry and.... well, we can draw up a complete list later. You get the gist, though."
"I will.... see that she is fully prepared," Welles said, choosing his words carefully. "How long will I have?"
"As long as you need. Take your time. There is really no hurry. Better that it be done properly than immediately. Ah.... but first.... we will need to run an extensive battery of medical tests. Her physiology is.... ah.... unique. We must know her limits and her weaknesses. The last thing we need is her dropping dead of a.... 'weak heart' during some of your more rigorous.... 'preparations', is it not?"
"Indeed," said Welles obediently. "But.... word of this will get out. Her capture has been made public, against my advice, need I remind you? The Alliance will find out about this and...."
"The Alliance will not be a threat," said Ambassador Sheridan firmly. "Our allies are more than capable of dealing with them, should the need arise."
"Merely covering all the bases," said Welles. "With your permission, Mr. President, I will go and attend to matters immediately."
"Of course. You may go." Welles turned to the door. As he reached it, Clark said. "Oh, Mr. Welles."
"Yes."
"We have every confidence in you. You will see that we are not mistaken, won't you?"
"Of course, Mr. President." He left. "Of course."
* * * * * * *
David Corwin, Commander no longer but now Captain, sat down in the Captain's chair on the bridge of his new ship and ran his hand across the armrest. There seemed to be a slight warmth under his fingers as they brushed the leathery texture. A faint hum sounded in his ears.
He had often dreamed of having his own ship. For so long that dream had been an impossibility. The Babylon had been the only ship the Resistance Government possessed, and it could not afford to build any more. He had served on that ship, as he had on the Parmenion.
But then, after the destruction of the Parmenion and the near-fatal injuries of Captain Sheridan at the Battle of the Third Line, Corwin had known command, and he had not liked it. He had understood the loneliness, the responsibility, the hardships of waging a war against an almost invincible enemy.
Then the Captain had recovered miraculously, and the balance of the war had tilted drastically. These ships were to thank for that, the ships provided by the Vorlons, built with their own strange technology, and called Dark Stars.
There was a fleet of them, enough to wage this war. And Corwin had been one of the first to be given command of one.
"Captain Corwin," he said, trying the conjunction. "Captain David Corwin." It sounded suitably.... impressive, he supposed. Not that it really meant anything. He wasn't a part of Earthforce any more. He wasn't being paid by the Alliance, and his new rank had no greater benefits in terms of accommodation or supplies.
But it was still important to him. He was a Captain now.
He sat back in his chair. It wasn't as comfortable as it looked. Still, it would do.
He had had pretty much the pick of the former bridge crew from the Parmenion. The Captain had taken a few for his ship, naturally the flagship of the Dark Star fleet, but most of them, the more experienced members, he had left for Corwin. Dark Stars were smaller than EAS capital ships and needed less crew. Those who had taken the ships out for the first few engagements had reported back that they seemed to fly themselves.
Corwin shivered at the thought. He had heard plenty of strange stories about Vorlon tech.
His thoughts, however, were on much more serious matters. A question of great importance had been weighing on his mind for some days now, and he was still no nearer answering it than he had been at the start. Ideas had come to him at various times but had been rejected, and he was growing irritated.
He turned suddenly, his reverie interrupted. Someone had come on to the bridge. He hadn't heard them at all, or seen them. He'd just.... known.
"Captain now, I see," said a familiar voice, and he smiled. "Good to see you again, sir."
Neeoma Connally, Starfury pilot aboard the Babylon for years, and on the Parmenion after that. She had been spending the last few months helping train the Drazi and Brakiri one-man fighters in cohesive techniques. She had more experience of fighting the small Shadow flyers than almost anyone else here.
"Dared to surface again, hmm?" Corwin said, still smiling. "How are you?"
"Just about ready for some real work," she replied. "Trying to teach the Drazi anything is not my idea of a good time. When I heard about the fleet, I thought I'd come and see if you needed any Starfury support here."
"Well, we're still trying to assess the full technical capabilities of these things. There don't seem to be any fighter bays for one thing, but I doubt we'll be taking the Dark Stars into combat alone. I'm sure we'll need backup from the Babylon and some of the Drazi and Brakiri capital ships, to say nothing of the Narn cruisers G'Kar's on about providing. Starfuries will be as useful as ever."
"Thought so. I'm ready to start running training drills whenever you are."
"Glad to hear it. The more we know about these things the better." He smiled again. "And you came to me first. I'm flattered."
Her expression darkened. "Ah.... no, I'm afraid not. I went to the Captain first. Or at least I'd planned to. I saw one of his new aides, who told me that Captain Sheridan didn't need fighter assistance and I should come here."
Corwin frowned. "He hasn't been himself lately. He's.... been through a lot."
Neeoma shrugged. "I guess." She winced and rubbed at her eyes. "Another blasted headache," she moaned. "I've had one for hours, and it gets worse every time I come aboard. I guess I'm just meant to be in a 'Fury."
"Well, before you head back out, any chance of helping me with something? I've had a problem I've been trying to sort out for some time now. It's been worrying me."
"If I can," she replied. "What is it?"
"This ship needs a name."
"I thought it had a name?"
"Yes, Dark Star Three, and what sort of name is that for a ship? It sounds like a bad B movie sequel."
Neeoma chuckled. "I see your point. And you want me to help you think of a proper name?"
"Well, there was the Babylon, of course, but I thought the Captain might want that for his own ship. And I've thought about the Victory, the Endeavour, the Bounty, the Revenge.... The Resistance Government has already nicked most of my ideas or I'd have used the Morningstar."
"Hmm.... I see. What about the.... No, not that.... Um.... the Spartan, no that's not quite right. The Heracles, no I'm sure someone's used that.... I like Greek history," she said, to Corwin's bemused expression. "Something of a hobby of mine." She smiled. "The Agamemnon. How's that?"
"The Agamemnon," he mused. "I like it." He tapped the armrest of his chair. "I guess you're the Agamemnon now."
Neeoma set her hand on the armrest as well. "The Agamemnon," she said.
Corwin was not entirely sure what happened next. A shock seemed to strike his arm, and a voice cried out into his mind. A flash of bright light burst in front of his eyes. Tainted! roared the voice. Corrupted!
He shielded his eyes, and saw Neeoma on the floor. Her eyes were rolled up into her skull, and she was shaking. He leapt from the chair and reached out to touch her. As he touched her wrist she started and blinked, looking at him blankly.
"Are you all right?"
"For a moment, I thought.... I could hear something and I...." She trembled. "No offence, but I'm getting off this ship now."
"What do you think it was? An electric shock?" He was breathing more heavily, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart. "Some sort of.... loose wiring?"
"I.... don't know. Anyway, I'm going. There's something about these ships.... Let me know when you want to begin the training. I'll see you later...." She left the bridge as fast as she could, without looking back.
Corwin watched her go, and then sat back down gingerly. He touched the armrest, but there was no shock, no flash of light. He could feel the faint warmth again, and a gentle throbbing beneath his palm. Almost like.... a heartbeat.
"Did I hear you?" he asked softly. "Is there someone there?"
There was no reply.
* * * * * * *
"Do you know what you have to do?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Are you afraid?"
"I don't know. Should I be?"
"Everyone feels fear, my lady. That is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a sign of a great warrior that he does what must be done in spite of his fear. Everyone has known fear."
"Then.... yes.... I think I am afraid. But.... But I will do as you ask anyway."
"Good. Kats has not overstated your virtues then. Do this for me, my lady.... and then you will be safe. I promise you that much."
"I believe you, my lord. Kats believes in you."
"She.... does?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I see. Very well, my lady. Go.... and fortune favour you."
"Yes, my lord."
"All will be well. The souls of history are watching us. All.... will be well."
* * * * * * *
Of late G'Kar had begun to wonder if there had ever been a time when he had been able to sleep for more than a few minutes together without being awoken by some important news, or message, or meeting. While his body was a part of the Great Machine of course he had had no need for sleep. Now, he did.
Everything had changed so fast, faster it seemed than he could keep up with. He had formed his Rangers following Neroon's guidelines. They were to be agents, saboteurs, gatherers of information and warriors. They would be the leaders of his crusade against the Enemy.
The events of the past half a year had thrown many of his plans into disarray. The greatest loss had been the Machine itself. With it, G'Kar could contact all his agents across the galaxy. Now many of them were cut off and abandoned, lost, with no way to get to them. He felt blinded.
Not that that meant no information was coming to him. On the contrary, he was receiving far too much information, and none of it was good.
The war between his people and the Centauri had dissolved into a series of short skirmishes. The Kha'Ri was trying to hold every world it had taken during the course of this war, and it was spreading its forces too thinly. Lord-General Marrago had retaken a number of lost Centauri colonies and military bases with highly skilled and successful punches, risking almost his entire fleet on one engagement.
There should be peace, of course, but neither side could agree on terms. The Kha'Ri was stubbornly insisting on retaining all the worlds it had taken, in spite of the obvious evidence that it had not the resources to do this. The Centarum was advocating nothing less than the return of all lost worlds, and that was just the members who were even talking peace. Many were declaring they should take the war all the way to the Narn homeworld.
And, if that weren't enough, the two races had nowhere to negotiate a deal. For obvious reasons neither Government wanted to send an emissary to the territories controlled by the other, and Kazomi 7 was the only place both parties would accept as a neutral venue.
But G'Kael was finding he had less and less power here. The Kha'Ri rarely listened to him and refused to support his actions regarding other matters, most notably the war with the Enemy. Since he could not promise any official Narn military aid, the Council was growing steadily more displeased with him.
Mollari on the other hand did not even have a representative here yet. If G'Kar had been a gambling man he would have laid a large pile of money that there was no one Mollari trusted enough to be sent here who was not too valuable to be spared from the homeworld.
And then.... there was the Enemy. There was progress there, which would at least be something to smile about, if the seeds of suspicion Sinoval had planted were not growing into something much larger. The Dark Star fleet was proving to be almost a match for the Shadow battleships, and with sufficient numerical superiority they would, and were, winning engagements. Just skirmishes at present, but they had proven the efficacy of the ships. At the Council meeting Captain Sheridan was once more going to present a plan for taking the war to the Enemy.
There. Now G'Kar could put his finger on what was troubling him. Sheridan. He seemed.... different since his return from Z'ha'dum. He rarely spoke to anyone, even his closest friends. He spent almost all his time on the Dark Star flagship. He seemed.... distant.
Of course, grief could do these things, not to mention those long months paralysed and helpless, but.... there seemed to be something.... more....
Or was Sinoval's paranoia just affecting G'Kar more than he liked to admit? He had been wondering about the Vorlons recently. His attempts to meet with Ambassador Ulkesh had largely met with failure, and when the Vorlon attended the Council meetings he said even less than was normal. He simply.... watched everyone. Something in his cold glare troubled G'Kar.
But then, did it matter if the Vorlons were playing their own game? They were still offering help, and that help was sorely needed. Without the Dark Star fleet, then.... this would all be for nothing.
What was the price of our lives, he pondered to himself.
He set down the report. Details of the power struggles going on in the Kha'Ri. Kha'Mak was losing favour fast, and H'Klo ascending. Neither was particularly receptive to G'Kar. With Na'Toth's dismissal he had lost his eyes, ears and voice on the Kha'Ri.
He looked up at the timepiece on the wall, and started. The Council meeting was about to begin. How long had he been daydreaming?
With muttered imprecations he began gathering up his papers. He dared not be late.
* * * * * * *
The old man was thinking about his childhood again. Thinking about a time when he had not been a man of destiny, not had the burden of the future of humanity on his shoulders, not had all the responsibilities and duties he bore now, was not buried by all these secrets.
There were precious few people he could confide in, even fewer he could talk to as a friend. Zento meant well, but he could not understand. He saw all of this as a sort of game, a simple pattern of the movement of pieces on a board, with profit just the means of keeping score.
The old man sighed. Zento did not understand, but he was necessary where he was. He was the public face of IPX, the representation of all the things the company was meant to stand for. He provided a convenient cover for the.... true face of the corporation.
Very few people did fully understand. Morden was one of them. The old man supposed that was one of the reasons he enjoyed Morden's company. He was a good friend, and a useful sounding board. He also understood clearly the true stakes of this game.
Morden entered the room, smiling in his usual fashion. "Good morning," said the old man. "I trust you slept well."
"Like a baby, thank you."
"Good, good. Help yourself to some orange juice." A little legacy of his childhood, one he was vainly trying to recreate. Morden poured himself a glass. "I suppose you saw the news last night."
"Which piece of news were you referring to?"
"I think you know."
Morden sipped at his drink, sitting down. "Yes. I was under the impression Delenn was not to be our concern any longer."
"You and me both, but no.... it seems we were mistaken about her, or about the Enemy perhaps. Everything we knew about her indicated that she would take some sort of suicide device with her when she went to Z'ha'dum. She had a meeting with the technomage before she left, so we assumed all would go as planned. Ah...." The old man sighed again. Nothing seemed to be going right any more. "Either we were wrong, or the Enemy discovered her plan."
"So what do we do now? I take it we can't let out the truth about her journey to Z'ha'dum."
"Not at all. Word is definitely going to get out that she is still alive. Well, that will only accelerate the timetable a bit. If the Alliance needs any more reason for war than that we're holding their leader here on war crimes charges, then I don't know what else will do it."
"Are we ready for that?"
"A few more months would be nice, but we'll have time before the Alliance gets here. In fact, with a little.... careful timing we might be able to arrange things just right.... We need to keep Delenn alive just long enough for the Alliance to think they might be able to rescue her, but ensure she dies just as they get here. Anyway, we're working on delaying the trial for the foreseeable future, so that's something."
"Is the Alliance going to.... co-operate?"
"They must. Sheridan will be able to push them in this direction even if they don't already have enough of an incentive. The Enemy has let itself be drawn into an all-or-nothing now, and a war between humanity and the Alliance is in their best interests anyway."
"And Byron?"
"May well find himself awoken a little sooner than we had planned. Ah well, the best-laid plans of mice and men, so to speak.... How long will you be staying? Have you received any orders yet?"
"No, not yet. There was talk that I might be needed on Minbar, but conditions there are.... a little hazardous at the moment. The...." Morden smiled. "The Sinoval Project is all set to go ahead, and it might not be a good idea to hang around when everything hits the fan. I might need to go in later and help clean up. And the Centauri of course.... they're going to have to do without me for the time being.
"So," he set aside his empty glass. "For the moment, I'm all yours."
"Good. It's.... nice having someone to talk to. Like old times, almost." He suddenly looked up, an instant before his interior commchannel activated. Audio only, of course.
"Sir, you wanted to know when the guest awoke."
"Ah, yes," said the old man, smiling. "Thank you, Lise. See that he is given food and drink and whatever else he might require, then send him to the interview room."
"Yes, sir." The commchannel went dead, and the old man smiled. "The best secretary I've ever had."
"Pretty too," Morden noted dryly. "So who's the guest?"
"Someone who.... might be useful. In a long-term capacity. Do you want to sit in on the interview?"
"I don't have anything else to do. I'd love to."
The old man smiled. It was strange, he thought, how a glass of orange juice and a moment's conversation with an old friend could ease a troubled mind. He was feeling much more confident now, so much the better to deal with life's trials and tribulations.
He stretched, and began mentally to prepare himself for the 'interview'.
* * * * * * *
"I am a warrior.
"I ride amongst the stars. My sword clashes in the winds. I dance at the height of the storm. The moon is my shield. My wings are of fire.
"I am a warrior. I shall not fall. I shall not let an enemy pass from my sight. I will walk in the dark places and I shall know no fear.
"On death, my soul shall ascend to be judged by my ancestors and those who have come before. If found worthy...." Kozorr's rendition faltered as he stumbled over the words. He took a deep breath and continued. "If found worthy I shall be reborn, with no memories of my past life, but with the knowledge that I am a warrior in more lives than this."
He paused, and drew in another breath. The traditional meditation ritual of the warrior, spoken three times - once in darkness, with his pike in his hands; once in light and in motion, in the thrill of battle; and finally seated, at peace, in repose, the pike before him.
He had performed the ritual countless times in his life, but never more often than in recent months. Ever since his return from his failed mission to destroy Cathedral, his mind had been filled with disquieting thoughts and dark obsessions. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw Kats weeping, he saw Sinoval standing tall and proud and whole and unharmed.
He heard the booming voice of the Well of Souls, condemning him for his treason.
"I am a warrior," he said wearily. Meditation brought him no peace these days. Sleep brought no rest, only dark dreams.
He leant forward and picked up his pike. He looked at it. Reforging it had been difficult. Many held that a fighting pike was a holy, sacred thing, not to be touched once the perfection had left the bladesmith's soul and immortalised itself in metal. He had had no choice. A denn'bok was a two-handed weapon, and he had only one.
He raised his ruined, crippled right hand and tried to move his broken fingers. He could not, of course. The skin had been burned, the muscle flayed away, the bones shattered beyond all hope of repair. To a casual observer there might appear to be nothing wrong. His hand and fingers were wrapped tightly in thick bandages and covered with a warrior's glove, much as he wore on his left hand. He had the semblance at least of full strength.
Until he tried to move it.
He had been a fool. Not in sustaining the injuries. He still heard Kats' agonised screams and he would willingly have suffered such wounds again to free her, a thousand times over. No, he had been a fool to think she could love him, a cripple, a weakling. He had hesitated for too long in acting against Kalain, and when he had acted he had failed miserably. He was not worthy of her, not fitting to stand beside her, to protect her. She deserved a true warrior.
Someone like Sinoval.
He scowled, and bit back that thought. Sinoval was a great warrior, yes, but he had betrayed the Minbari people. He had brought great enemies down upon all their heads, he had abandoned the homeworld....
But he was a true warrior, not a cripple.
"I am a warrior!" Kozorr cried.
"Of course you are," said a soft voice. He looked up, realising at last that he was not alone. He knew who was there even as she came into the flickering light cast by his candle. "We all know that," said Tirivail, as she sat down opposite him. "It is only you who seems to need convincing."
"I will make you poor company," he said.
"I would rather be the judge of that. In fact, I think you will make very good company indeed."
"Go away, my lady. I am in the mood for solitude."
"No, I do not think you are. I can sense your.... division. You are a fine warrior, no one questions your bravery, or your skill.... no one save yourself, anyway. Why are you here?"
"To meditate."
She shook her head in mock exasperation. "No, why are you here? Why have you joined with Sonovar in this crusade of his? I came because my father did, and it is not the place of a warrior to refuse to obey the head of her clan. Why did you come here?"
"Because.... I do not wish to talk about this."
"And that is why you must."
He sighed. "To prove myself worthy of her. To prove myself better than him.... at anything. To prove to myself that I was more than just a cripple lackey who followed at his heels and obeyed his every word. To.... prove something to myself."
"Sinoval.... and your little worker?"
"Yes."
"I am sure she thinks you are worthy of her. And as for.... him.... well, I am equally sure he appreciated your worth. Sonovar does." Softer: "I do."
He cast his eyes down. "My lady Tirivail.... I am a cripple. I have betrayed one to whom I swore fealty. I have had my doom pronounced to me. I am not worthy of your.... affections, any more than I am of hers."
Tirivail sighed. "You do not understand at all. If you are the coward and oath-breaker you claim to be, then surely your.... true face will show that to me. When you sleep."
He looked up and caught her eyes clearly. They were deep, and filled with sincerity. He said her name softly. "I wish to be alone."
She nodded, and rose angrily to her feet. "You do not see yourself as you truly are. What will it take to show your true soul to you?"
"My judgement.... at the day of my death."
She shook her head and left, not saying another word. Her anger was all too evident, just as her sincerity had been. She believed he was more than he was, and that hurt. Why did people keep holding him up as a hero? He was a coward, an oath-breaker and a traitor.
He hefted his pike in his good hand, and blew out the candle. In complete darkness, with only his demons and his voices for company, Kozorr, coward, cripple, oath-breaker and warrior, began the ritual again.
* * * * * * *
They looked so lost.
G'Kar cast his red eyes around the table at those who were sitting in on this meeting of the United Alliance Council of Kazomi 7, and that was all he could think of.
They looked so lost.
Of course, without Delenn, they were lost. Each person here brought unique skills of their own to the table, but only Delenn had been able to weld those skills into a cohesive whole. Without her, they were simply individuals.
Sheridan was here today, for the first time in weeks. He had been out testing the efficacy of the Dark Star fleet against the Shadows. His report had been delivered to all the members a few days before. G'Kar had read his copy, and he had to admit the results were encouraging. The Dark Stars could fight and beat Shadow ships without needing the incredibly rare telepaths. Of course support from heavier ships with telepaths would be needed as well, but now at least they had the nucleus of an effective response team.
All they needed now was a strategy, and that was what Sheridan was going to present to the Council.
He walked in a few minutes after the full meeting had convened. He had not missed much, just some worried chatter among the members. G'Kar had been asking hurried questions of G'Kael, about his latest communications with the Kha'Ri. They had not been welcoming.
All conversation stopped as Sheridan entered. G'Kar looked at him with a critical eye, and he did not like what he saw. Sheridan's eyes seemed hollow and deep-set. There was several days' worth of unshaved fur on his face. G'Kar admittedly had little experience with the human habit of 'shaving', but he did recognise it as a symptom that Sheridan had been taking very little care of himself.
G'Kar then switched his gaze to Comm.... Captain Corwin. He knew Sheridan better than anyone else here. He looked every bit as concerned as G'Kar felt.
Sheridan stopped by the computer console at the head of the room and turned to face the Council. His eyes touched briefly on Delenn's empty chair, and then he looked behind them all to the figure at the far end of the room. Ulkesh was standing there, silent and still.
"Thank you all for coming," Sheridan said. His voice at least showed no sign of fatigue or grief. It was as firm and authoritative as always. "You've all had a chance by now to read my reports on the new Dark Star fleet. As you have seen, they are a match for the Shadow capital ships, in sufficient numbers and with adequate support. According to Ambassador Ulkesh a second wave of ships will be available to us by the end of the year, but it is my belief we need to act decisively before then.
"For too long now we have been reacting to the Shadows, not acting. That was necessary at a time when we had no adequate means of opposing them save by entrusting to luck and miracles. These have got us this far, yes, but at great cost. We cannot afford to keep going on luck. Believe me, I found that out against the Minbari. There comes a time when we must stop reacting, and start acting."
He paused, and drew in a deep breath. Turning to the computer console, he called up a map of the human sector of space.
"G'Kar and his Rangers have managed to discover the location of many of the Shadow bases. A great many of course are near their stronghold at the Rim, Z'ha'dum. I have been there, and I know it is well fortified. However, it is my belief that we can take Z'ha'dum.... eventually. I know it seems impossible now, but I assure you it can be done. They are not Gods, and they are not legends. They can be beaten, their ships can be destroyed, and they have been suffering losses since the start of this war just as we have. Eventually they will run out of resources.
"I'm not saying it will be easy, and I'm certainly not saying we can take Z'ha'dum straight away. First, we have to deprive them of their bases and outposts between here and there. It's the oldest military rule in the book: never leave a live and ready enemy behind you.
"Most of their outposts are on uninhabited or low-tech worlds. Staging points, mostly, at convenient locations for assaults on shipping lanes and so forth. We plan to drive them off these, but G'Kar and his Rangers have only been able to discover so many. There will be more we haven't found, so.... that will not be our major priority. If we have to destroy an outpost on the way to our immediate concerns we will, but I am not going to spend all my energy on a game of hide-and-seek.
"The Shadows have one significant base this side of Z'ha'dum." He called up an image of Proxima 3 on the screen. "The Resistance Government has made a deal with the Shadows, allowing them a complete and permanent presence within human space. Much of this is on the border of Narn territory, in areas formally controlled by the Narns. Other than installing a few perfunctory fortifications along these borders, the Narns have made no effort to guard against the Shadows.
"Do you know why that is, Ambassador G'Kael?"
The Ambassador shifted in his seat. "We have not been attacked by these Shadows. Also, we are on good terms with the Resistance Government."
"That will end, as of today. I do not expect the Kha'Ri to participate fully in our war with the Shadows, but they will not be their allies. Whatever deals you have brokered with them.... they end."
G'Kael started. "Are you suggesting we have allied ourselves with the Shadows?"
"The only Narn ships that have been attacked are those loyal to Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. I do not know why your trade routes and shipping lanes have been left safe, and I do not care. If any Narn ship comes to defend any area of human space, we will destroy it. The Kha'Ri can choose to be our ally, or it can choose to be neutral and pursue its own private war with the Centauri. It will not be our enemy."
G'Kael's eyes darkened. "I will tell them so."
"See that you do. If they do not officially agree to lend solid military aid in this campaign, then you will no longer be welcome at military meetings. You are free of course to attend regarding domestic matters and issues of foreign policy, but if you are not our ally, I will not tell you anything you can use to inform the Shadows. Leave, now! Go and speak to your Government and tell them what I have just told you. When you come back with solid promises of aid, military or support-based, then you will be able to resume your position."
G'Kael's anger was clear in his face, but he said nothing. He simply rose to his feet and left the room.
"Perhaps I should leave as well, Captain," said G'Kar softly. All eyes turned to him.
Sheridan actually laughed, although it was a patently false chuckle. "You, G'Kar? Of course not. You've been fighting the Shadows longer than any of us. I trust you."
"But not my Government?"
"I have spoken to your Government, remember? There are snakes I would trust more. No offence, but until they come down firmly on one side or another I don't want to be within a million miles of any of them. They're going to have to choose what's more important to them; their personal vendetta with the Centauri, or the struggle to protect all civilised life in this galaxy.
"Anyway.... to return to what I was saying before. The Shadows' only major bases are the ones in human-controlled space. Proxima of course, but they also have a large military presence at the colonies of Beta Durani and the ruined Orion Seven. We're going to take them, starting as soon as possible. I have prepared a list of support ships, which has been presented to your aides. I will understand if your Governments cannot provide them all, but we will need every ship we can muster.
"The Shadows have tainted my people for their own purposes. A corrupt, power-hungry Government has embroiled the whole of humanity in this war. They are my people, and I am the one who brought them to this fate.
"I will not have it! Humanity will be free, and the Shadows will lose their major stronghold this side of the Rim. Then.... we will make for Z'ha'dum.
"Any questions?"
There was a brief moment's silence, and then a flurry of voices. G'Kar stayed silent, not because he had no questions to ask, but because he was afraid of the answers he would receive.
* * * * * * *
Sinoval walked through the ruined streets of his city. He showed neither remorse nor pain over what had happened here. True, it had been his decision to abandon Minbar and leave her open and vulnerable to the Earther fleet, but the planet had been indefensible by that time. Had he stayed, he would have lost both himself and the few ships under his command.
It had been over a year since last he had trodden here. He remembered it as it had been, broken, devastated, filled with the bodies of the dying and the dead. A humbling reminder that nothing was eternal, nothing was so strong it could not be broken, nothing so well built it could not be torn down.
There were no bodies here now, and some effort had been made to clear the rubble from the streets. He paused, deep in thought. Sherann had spoken of survivors being herded here by the Vorlons. He and Delenn had believed they had rescued everyone. And if they had not, then Sinoval's practicality had won out over Delenn's soft heart. Any who remained would die from the poisons in the skies and water, or from simple starvation, probably before they could be found.
But it appeared they had both been wrong. The Vorlons had worked their usual miracles here. The air was clean of poisons, if not of dust. The water was dull and muddy, but not acidic.
Sinoval could not work out why they would want to do such a thing. What purpose could they have for Minbar? Perhaps they intended to bring the Minbari back here, to bask in the glory of their victory.
He looked up and saw his destination, in gleaming domes and spires. The Temple of Varenni. One of the few buildings completely untouched by the bombing, thanks, so the people believed, to the benevolent presence of the Vorlon saviour within its walls. Sinoval put it down to strong foundations, and the safeguards incorporated there by its builders, many thousands of years ago. The power of the Starfire Wheel too was not something to be taken lightly.
He had spoken to the Vindrizi in Durhan's care, as well as to the Soul Hunters. No one knew the truth behind the Starfire Wheel or the Temple of Varenni. The Grey Council records indicated it was at least as old as the city, and probably older. It was even possible that Yedor had been built around the temple.
In the days before Valen, it was said, the leaders of warring clans had come to settle their disputes in the Starfire Wheel, each one willing to give his life that his clan be victorious. They had surely not invented the Starfire Wheel, merely harnessed its power.
And it had considerable power. No one knew exactly how it worked, but it somehow managed to amplify the radiation from Minbar's sun and focus it into one, powerful burst capable of destroying utterly anything that stood within it. Except, of course, those clever enough to provide shielding of their own. Sinoval gently patted the pike that hung at his side. Stormbringer had saved him before, with a few minor modifications. It would do so again, channelling its own energy to create a shield, so that the radiation slid past him.
He continued walking. The sound of his footsteps was the only thing that could be heard. Yedor was to all intents and purposes utterly dead. He wondered idly where the other survivors were, but then concluded that it did not matter. They were hiding no doubt, or imprisoned somewhere by the Vorlon. Sherann would find them if she could, and tell them that their deliverance was approaching.
Then she would do one other thing, one very important thing.
She would bring the Vorlon to its doom.
Sinoval did not know exactly where the Vorlon was, but he knew it was not in the Temple. Not yet, anyway. He had dispatched Soul Hunters there, to.... prepare matters. The Primarch was there also. A Vorlon soul was a rare and powerful thing. It would probably take someone with the power of the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus to capture one.
Sinoval reached the Temple and stopped, looking at the vast doorway before him. There was a symbol engraved at the top of the archway. He looked at it, and started. He had seen that symbol many times before and not known what it meant, but now he knew. He had spoken to the Vindrizi about the Temple, and one of them had been here in a Minbari host, many thousands of years before.
It was a word in the Vorlon language. It was the symbol for a tomb.
Sinoval smiled, and then began to chuckle. How very appropriate.
He walked up the steps and entered the Temple, making for the Inner Sanctum and the Starfire Wheel. He touched Stormbringer, and felt through it the hum of the Well of Souls.
Today was a day that would be long remembered.
* * * * * * *
Dexter Smith's head ached. He knew that he was covered in bruises, and there was a sharp, stabbing pain in his side whenever he tried to breathe. Lights flickered in front of his eyes.
He could.... remember.... Pain, that was it, for the most part. And there was someone else, wasn't there? A woman. Where.... was she?"
He had woken up in a dark room, his whole body aching. He had called out for someone, anyone, and a few moments later someone - he thought it was a doctor - had come in and looked at him. The doctor had seemed reasonably satisfied, but he had given him an injection. He had not said a single word throughout the examination. At least the lights that had come on with his arrival remained on after he had left.
And after him, someone had arrived bearing food. He recognised nutri-glop when he saw it, but it had been a while since his last meal and he had eaten it quickly, albeit with a certain lack of enthusiasm.
And not long after that security guards had arrived, although he knew instantly that these were not the official Proxima Security Forces. Their uniforms were darker, and they were much too professional for Sector 301, or most other sectors come to that. He had also recognised the high-tech trank guns at their sides. They were the newest model, and bordering on the illegal.
They had led him to another room and left him there. Neither of them had said a word.
He winced at the pain in his side and sat down, looking around him. Flashes were beginning to come back to him now. He and Talia had tried to escape from Allan's apartment, but Security had caught them. There had been a fight and.... He sighed and rubbed at his head. This was all so pointless. Why even bother fighting? They weren't going to win.
He looked around, a dark mood settling over him. He did not know where this was, but it was not a Security holding cell or an interrogation room. It looked more like a private living room, albeit one carefully cleared of everything apart from the most basic furniture.
"Feel free to make yourself comfortable, Mr. Smith," said a voice from nowhere, and he started. Looking up, he saw the commconsole high in the wall, and sighed. The screen was blank and the voice electronically distorted. "My doctors have assured me you will recover well. Nothing is broken beyond repair. I apologise for the.... over-zealousness of the security guards who arrested you."
"Who are you?" he asked. "This doesn't look like a Security cell."
"It isn't. I am.... merely a private citizen with a certain influence in various parts of the Government. My name, I fear, must remain a secret for the time being, although a time may come when that will change. Feel free to make yourself at home."
Smith sat back. "So, what's this all about then? What do you want with me?"
"A dangerous question, Mr. Smith, but to answer.... I merely wish to talk. There are certain matters to be negotiated concerning the long-term future of our race. You may have a vital part to play in such a future."
"Yes? Where's my friend?"
"You mean Miss Winters? Or whatever name she happens to be going by at present. There is no reason to worry, Mr. Smith. She is perfectly safe, and in good hands. I felt it better that this be a private discussion, at first anyway.
"So.... let us talk...."
* * * * * * *
Talia's eyes flickered open, and her first instinct was to try to move. She could not. Her arms and legs were secured. She looked down and saw green vines holding her body in place. She pulled at them, and a sudden shock tore through her body.
"Where am I?" she asked, not so much expecting an answer, but more to discover if there was anyone around to hear her. There was no audible reply, not even the sound of breathing. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind.
Something burst open, and in an instant all her psi blocks and walls collapsed. A brilliant flash of light filled her mind, and all her thoughts and memories were laid bare.
<Show us,> said a voice. <Show us.>
There was an agonising burst of pain, and she shook with the intimacy of the violation. An instant before she passed out she did something she could not recall ever having done before.
She screamed.