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| Volume 4: A Future, Born in Pain | Part V: The First Footsteps on the Road to Babylon |
HUMANITY is doomed. The sins of the past have caught up with the present as once again alien ships appear in the skies above the world of humanity. There are still many who remember the fate of Earth, still many who fear.
That fear is justified, but misplaced.
The alien ships in the skies above Proxima are humanity's saviours, or they would be. And those who have doomed humanity are those they had trusted, even loved. A coalition of human and alien has moved, acting silently, behind shadows, for years.
And now their plans are realised. In a secure bunker beneath the ruined remains of the Edgars Building, two men wait, safe in the knowledge that they will survive the firestorm soon to engulf Proxima 3. There is another man there, a man whose mind has been filled with a great, unholy light. All he can do is scream.
There is another secret room where lies the torn body of the man who initiated this holocaust. President William Clark died with a smile on his face.
But where are humanity's saviours, the cry arises. They are here, hidden perhaps, in unlikely places, but they are here.
There is a man standing silently on the bridge of his dead ship, paralysed by an unknown force, a scream that has torn many of the Saint-Germain's systems to shreds. For years he has been reviled as a coward, even as a traitor.
"Captain!" cried a voice. "We've got word. Engines are back on line."
"What about the others?"
"We still can't get through to the Dark Thunder. Damage to the De'Molay seems almost total, but they're working hard on the Morningstar."
"It's just us, then."
"Yes.... looks that way."
"What about weapons?"
"That's a no. Well, not yet anyway."
"Where are the attacking ships?"
"Some are still here, but most have moved on to Proxima. Our allies are pulling back."
"Get us to the planet, as fast as possible."
"But, Captain...." The Saint-Germain has no weapons, the hull integrity is almost nothing, the enhanced engines are out of commission. It was designed for scouting and reconnaissance, not as a battleship.
"I know, but Proxima Three has nothing between the Alliance fleet and all those people but the defence grid. And us. We're going."
Such is the nature of heroism. The man who has been called a coward for over a decade, Captain Francis Xavier DeClercq, brings his ship to the defence of his world.
Another ship is already there. Captain David Corwin looks at the defence grid beginning to activate, beginning to turn inwards, and his eyes widen.
And in a room with the dead body of the former President, Mr. Welles opens his eyes, and realisation comes to him instantly.
* * * * * * *
There are things moving inside him that definitely should not be moving. He is not a doctor, but he was married to one for seven years, and he has always had a good memory. With enough time to sit and think he could probably diagnose what is broken. The force that threw him against the wall was awesome.
But he does not have time. Humanity does not have time.
All the comm systems in the defence grid operating room are dead of course, destroyed by Clark. Whether that was before or after he killed all the crew there, Welles does not know. He can see their bodies in his mind's eye, and he can also see a great many more.
He cannot walk. His left knee is twisted almost one hundred and eighty degrees, and the bone in his left shin is little more than shards. So he crawls, dragging himself along the smooth floor, leaving a long, sinuous trail of blood behind him, tacky and dark. His right arm is more or less all right, and his left is pressed in close against his chest, feeling his pulse desperately. It seems so fast. It feels so loud.
He tries to remember which way to take. There is a labyrinth of passages here, none of them known to the public. He thinks he knows the way, but there is so much he cannot recall now. When he tries, all he can see is Clark's body exploding, and the light throwing him against the wall.
Finally he falls outwards and finds himself in a room. He does not know where. There are people there, starting at the sight of him. They recognise him of course. He supposes he is underground somewhere, buried in the deep, dark heart of the Government building.
And he can see a commpanel.
He keeps his eyes open, and spits out a gobbet of blood.
There is no time.
* * * * * * *
"I think we have some unfinished business."
The words came to former Earthforce Captain Dexter Smith from the middle of a haze of darkness and stars. He remembered hearing a voice talking to him, a softly accented alien voice, a woman who was telling him to kill her, as well as saying she forgave him.
Then there came pain, and an awakening. And then more pain, and another voice. One that spoke not just in his dreams, but in reality.
"Look at you now," said Trace's voice. "The big hero. Lying in the dirt and the mud. You came from here, didn't you? Sure you did, just like I did. We've both moved on since we emerged from the dirt, but here we are.... back here."
There was a sharp kick to his side, and the sound of something cracking.
"But that's where the difference is. I'll be leaving here, moving up and out. I won't be in Sector Three-o-one forever, you know. I think my backers up-sector just had a little.... crisis of conscience, but ah, what the hell! Nothing lasts forever. I used my money wisely. I've got friends up there, more friends than you know. I know where too many bodies are buried, you see. I'm moving up in the world."
"Alli....ance." The words would not come easily. Even thinking them gave Smith a headache. He needed time to think, time to catch his wind. He knew full well that Trace intended to kill him, and this time Talia was not going to materialise to help.
"Them? Heh, they aren't going to win. We've got those Shadows on our side, not to mention the defence grid and the new Earthforce ships. Nah, Proxima's safe enough. In any case, even if they do win, they aren't going to slag the planet. They're going to want their precious Delenn back, and that'll take time.... time I can use getting away from here. I've got friends all over this galaxy."
"Del....enn."
"I didn't hear that. Were you saying something?" More pain.
"Killed her. You.... killed.... her."
"No, not me. That was you, in case you've forgotten. Wonderful thing, i'n't it? Anyone can do anything at all, with just the right motivation. You killed her, not me. I won't shed any tears. What do I care about some alien bitch? But you did."
Everything seemed to move around him, and Smith realised Trace had seized his collar and pulled him up. There was a hard slam against the wall, and his body shook.
"You killed her. You shot and killed an unarmed woman you cared about. See? You're just like all the rest of us. That means I've won. You're nothing now. Nothing but a dead man." Smith's vision focussed on something mere inches from his eye. A PPG. "Hey, maybe I'll go looking for that telepath of yours. My backers might not be after her kind any more, but I'm sure there's a use for her somewhere. I hear telepaths are great in the sack."
"Kill.... you...."
"No. No, I don't think you will." Trace smiled. "Say goodbye to the...."
"Freeze!" barked a voice from nowhere. All Smith could see was the weapon just in front of his face. The voice echoed in his mind. Small wonder he couldn't recognise it. "Security!"
"What the...?" barked Trace. He pulled back his weapon and stepped away from the wall. Smith slid down and felt the impact on the ground. "Allan! For God's sake, it's me. What are you doing here? Thought you'd be hiding under your desk or something." Trace was chuckling. "Anyway, gimme a moment and then you and I can go somewhere safe and ride out this attack."
"Drop your weapon."
"What?"
"I said drop your weapon."
"Allan.... that is you? Not some alien shapeshifter or something in disguise? It's me, remember, the guy paying you a fortune to keep off his back."
"I can't let you kill someone in cold blood, Trace. You know that."
"Then turn round. It'll only take a moment."
"No. Drop your weapon and leave the area."
"Oh, for the love of.... Why did you wait until now to develop a social conscience? You never had one before."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I just remembered what this uniform and this badge used to mean. Now drop the weapon."
"Allan, believe it or not, you're something of a friend, so I'll say something to you that I wouldn't say to anyone else. This attack is obviously rattling you. So, head over to my club, get yourself a few drinks on the house. I'll join you shortly, we'll play some cards and everything'll be back to normal, right?"
"No. I've had enough of being a joke. Drop your weapon. I won't say that again."
"Dammit, Allan. I tell you what. I'll make sure you get a real nice headstone, okay?"
There was a blur of movement, the sound of a PPG firing, and then of a body falling to the ground. Smith shook his head and opened his eyes. Zack Allan looked directly at him.
"Yeah?" he said. "What? Have I got something on my nose?" He shook his head. "Damn, I don't believe I just did that. Holy...."
"Why.... did.... you?"
"We got a report in about the Alliance attack. We were ordered here to keep things quiet, get people off the streets and so on. Yeah, so we didn't do a very good job, what the hell do you expect? Most of the other guys stayed at the base drinking themselves silly."
"Why.... you.... here?"
"Ah, this is nuts. I had a dream, okay! A bloody dream! She was in it, and I don't know.... I just knew I had to come here and something.... good would happen. Like I bloody deserve anything good happening to me at the moment. Ah, come on, get up."
Leaning on Allan, Smith managed to rise slowly. There was pain all over his body, his head was pounding and his vision was blurred, but he could stand, and he would not fall.
"Trace?" he asked.
"Dead. Drawing a weapon on a Security officer of Proxima Three. Damn, he shoulda listened to me. What about.... you know.... her?"
Smith turned to look at Delenn. Her face was so.... calm. He saw a gobbet of spittle on her cheek, and anger flared within him. Limping heavily, he managed to move over to her side and knelt down, wincing. Gently, he reached out and wiped the spittle from her face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm...."
Her eyes opened.
* * * * * * *
There was no breath, no sound, no thought. Nothing disturbed the silent, still power of the tableau. Sinoval had not seen this in his vision, but then the whole series of events had run contrary to what he had seen.
So he was forced to.... improvise.
"You can kill me easily enough," he observed, his dark eyes peering directly up at Tirivail.
"Minbari do not kill Minbari," she said, an automatic reflex.
"That is a priestling concept. We did kill each other. In the old days it was all we ever did, a test of courage and skill. That was all our lives were. In the days before Valen. The days, no doubt, Sonovar is trying to restore."
"I am a warrior. I serve my lord."
"And if your lord is wrong?"
"That is not for me to say."
"It was for Sonovar. I was his lord, and he betrayed me. He thought I was wrong."
"You betrayed us! You were one of us, a warrior, and you made alliances with the enemy, with the Shagh Toth. You abandoned Minbar, you...."
"I followed the path I set for myself, nothing more. I was wrong, Tirivail daughter of Takier, and I admit that. But the past cannot be altered. It simply is. We guide the future."
"Lord Sonovar said...." She paused.
"What did he say?"
"A great many things," she whispered, the words hollow. "He said a great many things."
"Where is Kozorr?"
"Dead," she whispered. "Or dying. I.... I killed him. He would rather I killed him than his worker. I don't.... what sort of warrior is he? What sort of warrior would give his life to save a worker?"
"You don't understand."
"No. No, of course I don't. How can I?"
"Well? Are you going to kill me?"
She stepped back. "No," she said bitterly, replacing her pike by her side. "I don't know what my future demands of me, but I will not kill my own people."
Sinoval smiled and rose slowly to his feet. "You have chosen well." He paused. "Do you know.... I had a vision, a year ago. I saw myself here, in this place, surrounded by nine of my enemies. I knew I would probably die here.... but someone else told me I would not. I have another destiny."
"But still you came."
"Yes. You see.... I like to clean up my own messes. Are you going to return to Sonovar?"
"He is my lord. I have to obey him."
"When you do, tell him this from me. If he is willing to talk, then I am ready to listen. Minbari should not be fighting Minbari."
"And that is why you came here?"
"No, at least not wholly. I hoped Sonovar would be here, and we could.... settle things. As it is, the resolution will have to wait. But remember to tell him. I am willing to listen."
"I will do so."
"Then all is not lost. Go, daughter of Takier, take your companions and leave." So saying, he picked up Stormbringer and departed from the place of his death.
* * * * * * *
"What the hell is happening?"
Captain David Corwin had seen some strange and inexplicable things in his life, and a sense of paranoia had built up as a result. He could not believe this was really happening. There was a trick here. This was some sort of deception, some subtle plan, something.
That conviction was part paranoia, but more than that it sprang from the core of idealism he still cherished in his heart even after all he had seen. Who could possibly turn the defence grid on humanity? These mysterious allies of Captain Sheridan's.... they wouldn't do this, surely.
"There's no doubt about it, sir. The defence grid is turning on Proxima and preparing to fire."
"No, that.... that doesn't make any sense. That...."
"Captain, we're picking up a message. It's going out to all frequencies."
"Put it on."
This is an emergency message....
* * * * * * *
.... to any ships in Proxima space. I don't care if you are human or alien or whatever. The defence grid has been turned inwards, towards Proxima. President Clark is dead, but before he died he turned the grid inwards. This was all.... all a.... plot.
Whoever's out there. Do something. For God's sake, do something!
Welles coughed. He did not know how long things would take. He had wasted time trying to convince the staff here of the situation. Too much time.
He hunched up nearer the commpanel, biting back the pain. He had no time to hurt.
This is an emergency message to.... to....
He coughed again. There was more blood.
This is an emergency message to....
He had no time to pass out.
* * * * * * *
Welles had had more success than he might have envisaged. Not only had Corwin heard his desperate warning, listening with greater and greater incredulity with every word, but others had received it as well. On the Saint-Germain, Captain DeClercq listened with horror and tried to wring even more speed from a near-crippled ship. General Ryan caught a few words only, and raged in his helplessness. Captains Tikopai and Barnes could not hear it, which was probably just as well.
The Agamemnon was the first of the Dark Star ships to arrive within reach of Proxima 3 itself, but only just. Captains Daro and Kulomani were right behind.
"Captain Corwin," said Kulomani. "We have received this message. It could be a trick."
"No, I don't.... think so. He sounded genuine, but.... Where's Captain Sheridan?"
"Chasing down the few remaining Enemy ships." Kulomani was scornful. "He is not here, and we cannot contact him. What are your orders, Captain?"
In other circumstances Corwin might have wondered just why everyone was coming to him, but he did not have time to wonder.
"Destroy the defence grid. Take it apart. Completely."
"As you say."
Corwin turned to his bridge crew. "Well, you have your orders," he snapped. "Target and destroy the defence grid."
One of the techs looked up. "Uh, Captain.... we have a problem."
* * * * * * *
In all his life Lord-General Marrago had known true love for only two things: the Republic, and his daughter, by adoption if not by blood. Lyndisty was the only living being he loved, and the only living being he had been able to bring himself to love. A poet had written once that the only true love was that between parent and child, and Marrago had understood that since the first moment he had held Lyndisty in his arms.
He found himself thinking about her true father, dead these past two and a half decades. A good friend, a fine soldier, whose untimely death had left behind a wife and young child. Marrago had promised to take care of them, and had promptly married Drusella and adopted Lyndisty. He had never truly come to care for Drusella, perhaps because his heart had been lost at his first sight of his daughter.
And now he had possibly doomed them both.
He looked around him, noticing the minor blooms of colour in the dark ravages of his garden. The consequences of too many years without being cared for could not be erased by a few hours work here and there. He had had many dreams of a rich, bright, shining garden, of sitting at peace and growing old and watching his grandchildren grow.
But he knew he could never do that. His first love, the Republic, was a demanding mistress, consuming all his time and energy. And now it would perhaps consume his daughter.
He smelled the soft vapour of her perfume and heard the gentle sound of her footfall. He smiled. She was trying to sneak up on him. She was improving, too. Evidently she had taken his lessons to heart.
"I know you are there," he said softly, smiling.
"I've been watching you for ten minutes," she said, walking round into view and kneeling down on the dull grass in front of him. She was smiling, and he couldn't help smiling as well. Something about it was contagious.
"Ah." He truly hadn't noticed her standing there for that long. He told her so.
"You are joking, surely? You must have known I was there all the time. You are the best."
"I wish that were so. I'm getting old." He looked at her, drinking in her radiant beauty. He would do anything for her, anything at all. Then he noticed something, and sat forward. There was a lump and a bruise on the side of her head. "What happened?"
"Oh? This?" She reached a hand to the bruise. "It is nothing, Father. It...."
"Lyndisty! What happened?"
"I was struck by a rock. I was attacked by some ruffians while delivering your package."
A slow fear gripped him. So, the first part of his bargain with the Shadows had been paid. How dare they endanger his daughter like this! It was he who had made the bargain with them, not Lyndisty. They had no business involving her.
"Are.... are you all right?"
"Yes, father. I killed two, and the person the package was meant for came and helped me with the others. I gave it to him, and left. Your.... friend was waiting for me when I got back. He was.... strange. I didn't like him."
"He's not my friend, Lyndisty. He's just an.... associate. Our business is now done." He knew that for a lie the instant he said it, and regretted the necessity. He had never lied to Lyndisty before. But she had to believe this. She must have nothing more to do with the Drakh and their Dark Masters. "Have nothing more to do with him."
"Are you all right, father? You sound.... worried."
"I am fine. I.... was just upset to hear you were hurt. How is your mother?" As a feeble attempt to change the subject it would not have fooled the greenest courtier, but then Marrago had never been a courtier, and nor was Lyndisty.
"She is well. She sent me a list of eligible men a few days ago. I am far too old to remain unmarried."
Marrago laughed. "How many names were on this list?"
"Sixty-three, although I have managed to whittle away some thirty or so. As for the others.... some further study may be necessary."
She smiled, and Marrago laughed again. Drusella was a true creature of the Court and she had made repeated efforts to drag Lyndisty into that life, ignoring the fact that she preferred to follow the lifestyle of her father. No true daughter of the Court would rather spend her time on spaceships surrounded by soldiers, or training with kutari and maurestii.
"Follow your heart," he said softly. "Marry for love, not because anyone tells you to."
"A strange idea. Have you ever been in love, father?"
"Not in the way you mean. But I have known happiness in my life, and I will know greater for seeing you wed to a fine man who will love you and look after you."
"Or me look after him."
"Or that. Always follow your heart, Lyndisty." He paused, and then smiled. "But do it quickly, or I'll be too old to spoil my grandchildren properly."
"Oh, father. You'll still be fit and healthy to spoil my grandchildren."
"Oh-hoh. Are you planning any then? Do any of those thirty or so young men catch your eye?"
"Well, Minister Cotto is attractive enough.... in a very shy sort of way. And he is gaining power and influence. He might be a good match."
"I know Vir.... a little. A good man. You could do much worse. He...." Lyndisty's head suddenly snapped up as she looked over his shoulder. Marrago strained to listen and he heard the soft footsteps of his chief servant. He hadn't heard them at first. He sighed. He truly was getting old.
"Your pardon, Lord-General, Lady. Minister Durano is here to see you, Lord-General."
"Ah. Send him to my private study. See that he was a glass of water, lightly chilled." Durano did not drink brivare. He always said he preferred his mind clear and unmuddled. "I will be with him shortly."
"Yes, Lord-General."
Lyndisty waited until the butler had gone, and then her eyes began to sparkle. "Secret matters of state?" she said. "You will tell me what he's here for, won't you, father?"
"If it is not too secret," he said. It was however very difficult to keep secrets from Lyndisty.
"Actually, Minister Durano was also on the list mother sent me."
"What? He's twenty years too old for you. At least."
"Ah, but he's not married. He hasn't taken even one wife. And he has a large estate, and a high-ranking post with a lot of influence. And he's very rich. Maybe a little.... unexciting."
Marrago shook his head, smiling, and rose to his feet. An old knee injury pulled at him and he winced. "Do as you wish, Lyndisty. I will always support you. Do you want to come inside? I think it is getting a little cold out here."
"It's not cold. Besides, I like it out here."
"So do I. I will not be long, I hope." He turned to begin the walk back to his house. It was usually a short walk, but today it felt very long.
Durano was known for many things, among them his complete political neutrality. He was also fearless, keen-minded and fully capable of obeying Londo's orders.
Marrago hoped he would not have to kill him.
* * * * * * *
"We just.... can't target any of the satellites."
Corwin had long ago all but stopped breathing. His head was pounding, blood rushing in his ears. He could see the millions of people on Proxima, and he could see the defence grid. He could see a million deaths.
And he could see himself, sitting here, unable to stop it.
"What do you mean? Is it some sort of stealth tech, like the Minbari had?" That was a stretch, certainly. For years the Minbari ships could not be targeted by Earthforce vessels due to vastly superior technology. But the Dark Stars were not Earthforce ships, they had been crafted by one of the oldest races alive. Could humanity, even aided by the Shadows and their servants, produce a defence grid that the Vorlons could not target?
"No, sir. We can.... we can sense them. We know where they are. We can set the automatic targetting for the weapon systems, but.... I don't get it! If I didn't know better, I'd say the ship doesn't want to attack the grid."
Corwin closed his eyes. The ship didn't want to. "Get me through to Kulomani, to Daro, to anyone." He had a feeling this was no mere malfunction.
Vorlons had organic technology. Everyone knew that.
The Dark Stars were.... strange.
At times he had heard strange sounds. His crew had unusual dreams. There were distant screams. There had been that blaze of light.
The ship did not want to target the defence grid.
The Dark Star was alive. Was it so far-fetched for it to be sentient, even intelligent?
"They're having the same problem, sir."
The Dark Stars remained still, watching, as Proxima 3 came closer to annihilation.
* * * * * * *
He was dying, his blood leaching away slowly, one drop at a time. He could hear the sound of her tears, feel the waves of her sorrow. He wanted to reach out to her, but he could not seem to find the energy.
He wanted to tell her he loved her, and he was sorry.... but he could not do that either.
And then he became aware of another presence, and anger filled him. No! Not like this! Sinoval should not see him die like this. He should not.... He wanted to stand, to die as a warrior should, but he could not move. Not even to bid his love farewell.
He had regrets, too many. There were so many things he wished he could do, he wished he could have done.
He wished he could have told her.
There was a conversation, quick and urgent. He couldn't hear the words, but he could sense the voices. He could feel the presence of those nearby. There were three of them.... three, appropriate. Love, friend, enemy.
He could feel the rising anger of his love, hear the soft wind chimes of her voice. He could feel Kats curse the universe for this.
He could feel the regrets voiced by his former lord, hear the intense emotion in his voice. He could feel Sinoval choose to defy the universe for this.
And.... standing alone and silent, watching.... there was the calm grief of his friend. Tirivail was watching a warrior die a death no warrior should endure. He wished he could tell her not to grieve for him, not to seek revenge. He had a feeling Kats would speak of such things.
And then something hot and burning splashed onto his eyes. His blurred vision was filled with searing crimson, a scalding flood of pain and memories and loss and.... and life.
The universe seemed to turn around him. He could hear souls cry out, see once again the awe-inspiring majesty of the Well of Souls, the billion voices in one calling him the Traitor Knight. And he heard the voices again.
Yes. We will permit this.
His eyes opened and he blinked away the remains of Sinoval's blood. He could move. He could see.
The first thing he saw was Kats. And the first words he heard were Sinoval's.
"I have been told there are other ways to do that. But I am not a First One, and blood, it seems, is the only language a warrior understands."
"I.... feel...." He did not know what to say. It was strange. A mere instant before, he had been willing to give anything for a last chance to talk to Kats, to Tirivail.... and now that he could talk, he did not know what to say. "Am I going to die?"
"We are all going to die," Sinoval replied. "But in your case.... not today. It is a.... trick the Soul Hunters have, a power derived from their ancestors, and one it seems I have inherited. A little transfer of life from the Well of Souls, through me, to you. You will live."
"Why did you do this?" he asked. "I betrayed you. I betrayed...."
"I have learned something recently. Everyone deserves a second chance. And in some cases a third. I suggest you think quickly as to what you plan to do with yours." He left, moving with the silence of a shadow on glass, and the determination of a man who knows his future.
Kozorr turned to Tirivail. She looked at him, then bowed her head. She too left.
And then he turned to Kats. "Well?" she said. "You have your second chance at life. What are you to do with it?"
"What can I do?" he said harshly. "I.... swore to serve Sonovar. I have betrayed one lord already.... for what I knew.... what I thought.... was right. I cannot betray another."
"You do not see it, do you? There is only one person you can ever betray, and it is not Sinoval, it is not Sonovar. It is not me.
"It is yourself. What does your heart tell you to do?"
He turned to look at her, and bowed his head, weeping unashamedly. "I love you, my lady," he whispered through his tears.
She knelt beside him, placed her arms around him, and kissed him once, gently. Then she laid her head on his chest.
"And I love you, Kozorr."
* * * * * * *
"Listen to me! Dammit, listen!
"I don't know if there's anyone there. I don't know if you've got a personality, a mind.... anything. Oh, God, I must be mad. I'm talking to my chair.
"But if there is anyone here, anything at all.... will you at least listen to me? Whatever's stopping you targeting the defence grid.... we have to do it. There are people on Proxima. A lot of people. They are going to die.
"Can you hear me?"
There was nothing, and Corwin bowed his head, sinking to his knees. He did not know if there was anyone in the Agamemnon, but the screams, the whispers, the cries.... they had to come from something.
A long shot at best. What did he know about Vorlon technology? For all he knew he had imagined everything. Maybe he was mad. He had been shouting at his chair, after all. The crew weren't looking at him. He knew what they were thinking.
He sat back down. "Is the defence grid still readying itself?"
"Yes, sir. We estimate four minutes only before it fires."
"And it's still targeting the planet?"
"Yes."
"And we still can't fire on it?"
"No."
"Nor can the other ships?"
"No."
"And there are no support ships near enough?"
"No."
Corwin sat back down on the chair he had been shouting at. There was no one he could talk to, nothing he could do now. He had nothing left to give save one thing only.
He knew what to do.
"Target the nearest satellite. Ram it." Maybe there would be enough of the ship left afterwards to attack another satellite, although he wasn't sure. He had no idea how durable the Vorlon ship could be.
"Yes, sir."
David.
The voice came from nowhere, from inside his mind, and he started. "Lyta?" he whispered. "Guerra, belay that."
There is someone here, David. I can help you talk to her.
"Where is she?"
And then there was only darkness.
* * * * * * *
The Saint-Germain was moving slowly, too slowly for DeClercq's comfort. He could hear once again the message of doom for humanity. He had met President Clark only twice, but he was not surprised by what Clark had now done. There had been something glinting at the back of the President's eyes.
"What are we going to do when we get there?" asked Ensign Morgan. "We still haven't got the weapons on-line."
"We will do.... what we have to," DeClercq replied. "What we have to."
* * * * * * *
They were nowhere. A void, a black and lonely place. At first Corwin was alone, but then there was a shimmering light and Lyta stood beside him, light flashing around her, embracing, protecting her.
"Where are we?" he asked. "How did you...?"
"Your body is still where it was. Our minds.... we are inside the Agamemnon, inside its dark heart. She is here."
"Who? Lyta, we don't have much time. Who are you talking about?"
"You can't see her yet. Are you sure you wish to do this? It will.... not be easy."
"Yes, I'm sure."
Gently, Lyta took his hand. She was surprisingly warm to the touch.
A great light appeared before them, wings of fire flickering and dancing. At the centre of the ever-changing pattern was a woman, her mouth open in a silent scream, the flames crackling around her body. She was trapped in an orb, no, a column, a lantern.... an infinity of shapes, each one trapping and binding her.
And elsewhere, all around them, above, below, in front, behind, there were tiny pin-pricks of light. Corwin could dimly see others, some near, some impossibly far.
"Who is she?" he asked, Proxima momentarily forgotten beside the majesty and terror of the scene before him.
"She is the power source of your ship. There is one like her in every ship in the Dark Star fleet, and others spread throughout the galaxy. There is one on Proxima. I can.... feel him. All telepaths, every one of them. This is.... the network, as we see it.
"Her name is Carolyn. Carolyn Sanderson."
"Can she hear me?"
"Yes."
"Carolyn," he said, softly at first, but he repeated the name more loudly. She turned, and in her eyes he saw a reflection of the scene around him, an infinite pool with a million sparkling lights. And a million reflected screams. "Can you hear me, Carolyn?"
"Keep saying her name," Lyta whispered, the words hoarse and pained. "She must remember who she was."
--Help.... me--
"What do you want me to do, Carolyn?"
--Free.... us--
"We will try," said Lyta. "We.... will.... try. But, first.... we need your help."
"The Proxima defence grid is being trained on the planet. There are millions of people there. They are going to die. We have to destroy the defence grid, but we can't...."
--Cannot.... Light will not.... let.... us--
"Light?" Corwin whispered. Then came understanding. "The Vorlons. They want this to happen."
"A tragedy," Lyta said. "A disaster they plan to spin and weave, creating a world of dead souls to cry out in revenge and set all worlds against the Enemy. Hurry, David.... I can't.... maintain this.... much longer. They will.... find.... me."
"Carolyn. Please. Help me here, and I promise. I will free you. All of you. I give you my word."
--Free.... us?--
"Yes."
--We can.... give you.... time.... little...--
Corwin's heart leapt. "It'll be enough. Thank you, Carolyn."
--Light.... strong--
"I will help you," said Lyta. "David, come and see me afterwards. You must. Don't let anyone stop you."
"I promise."
Lyta stepped forward and reached out her hand. Carolyn turned to face her and stretched out one arm. Lyta's hand passed through the flames of light and an expression of great pain crossed her features. Then she touched Carolyn, and the pain ceased.
The flames died down. Lyta turned back to Corwin. "Remember.... come and see me...."
"I will," he replied. Lyta's hand slipped from his, and the void faded.
Corwin sat bolt upright in his chair. "Captain. We can...."
"I know," he said. "Take the grid out. As fast as we can."
Was there enough time? Proxima held its breath.
* * * * * * *
Somewhere on Proxima, in a hidden, underground world, a trapped telepath's screams grew less for a moment, and his head bowed.
"Dare I ask?" said Morden.
"It seems the network is being disrupted," said the old man pensively. "Temporarily, only, I am sure, but.... I do not like this."
* * * * * * *
On a passenger freighter somewhere away from Proxima, Mrs. Tamara Winter woke from a troubled sleep, holding the blanket tight around her. For long minutes she trembled, hearing once again the voices speaking to her, begging her for help. This time, however, there seemed to be a hint of hope in them.
Her sleep was troubled.
* * * * * * *
Marrago felt the reassuring weight of the maurestii in a secret pouch by his leg. Many scorned the maurestii as a weapon for women and children, but it had certain advantages over the kutari, not least that it was much easier to conceal. Of course many courtiers would not dream of hiding their noble weapons, but then they tended to be the sort who visited taverns and waved their unbloodied blades around to gain mock renown. True soldiers knew that survival was always better than honour.
Besides, Durano would notice a kutari. He might not notice a maurestii.
The Minister for Intelligence was standing quite still in the corner of the study. Marrago had to admire his patience. Another man might have feigned interest in a painting, or a book, or a statue, but not Durano. His glass of water was on the table before him, completely untouched.
"It is not poisoned, you know," Marrago observed, gesturing at the drink.
"I never thought it was," replied Durano in his natural, dry monotone. "Poison is not your way. However, it is more that I am not thirsty."
"Ah. Well, welcome to my estate. I do not think you have been here before."
"I did not think I would be welcome."
"All friends of the Republic are welcome here."
"I have always been a loyal servant of the Republic."
"As am I."
Durano sighed. "Lord-General.... let us eschew this banter. We both know why I am here. You have left a trail a blind man could follow, would he dare but look."
"What are you referring to?"
"Please, Lord-General, do not insult my intelligence. You remember the meeting with the Emperor and his Council. You remember, I am sure, the situation with the alien Shadows. I am equally sure you remember the three possibilities we discussed. The documentation given to us by the United Alliance is a forgery; the Shadows are involving themselves in our affairs with the Narns for the purpose of spreading dissent; or someone has requested their aid."
"I remember."
"As I said, Lord-General, you have left a trail a blind man could follow. It is fortunate for you, perhaps, and unfortunate for many others, that our Court is filled with blind men these days, the Emperor among them. Who would be better able to co-ordinate our battle plans and to arrange for the assistance of these Shadows than our Lord-General? I have spoken with your captains, reviewed evidence about the Narn assault here last year....
"In short, you are the one who made this alliance. Am I correct?"
"It is.... a theory." Marrago's hand clenched in his pocket, feeling the cold hilt of his knife.
"We both know it is more than that."
"Well, what are you going to do now?"
"The Emperor demanded that I uncover the truth of this. Now I have done so, I should report to him. However.... you are his friend, and have been a longtime servant of the Republic. Also, I know you did not do this for personal gain, for power or pride. Your motives were altruistic I am sure, but as you see, the consequences of your deeds are more far-reaching than we could have envisaged.
"The Emperor must know of this, but who will tell him? I, or you?"
"You spoke to my captains, you said?"
"Yes. I think most of them suspected, but none said as much aloud. You have a most loyal...."
"Did you look into their eyes?"
"Their eyes?"
"I know the names of every crew member on every ship in my command. I try to talk to as many of them as possible whenever we go into battle. I look into their eyes when I do so, and in each and every one I see fear. And when the battle is over, I talk to them again, and look into their eyes once more, and I see joy, relief.... triumph.
"All of those men have things to live for. They have wives, lovers, children, parents, hopes, aspirations, dreams. We could have fought the Narns alone.... and maybe they would have won, and maybe we would have won, but either way, so many of those soldiers, those hopes, those aspirations, those dreams.... they would all be floating dead in space, lifeless husks.
"But because of my actions, they are alive. There are people here, on this world, who are still alive, who still have their loved ones.
"So go back and talk to my captains, Durano. And talk to their crew and their families. Look into all those eyes....
"And then come back and dare to tell me that what I did was wrong!"
Durano took a momentary step back, but then he recovered, his mask slipping only for an instant. "You have forgotten something," he said harshly. "It is not my place to say what is right and what is wrong. I serve the Emperor, and I do as he bids."
"Ah.... well, there is the difference between us. You serve the Emperor. I serve the Republic."
"I see. I will not go to him directly. I leave the matter in your hands, Lord-General. You may tell him yourself, or you may, if you wish, choose another route. The same route taken by Lord Valo."
Durano moved forward, his eyes directly meeting Marrago's. He brushed past the Lord-General and went to the door. Then he turned, and Marrago turned to meet him.
"You were wrong. I did look into all their eyes, and I saw all the things you said. But I also look into the eyes of everyone I meet, including those here, those not soldiers.
"And I saw almost three billion dead bodies if the Alliance turns against us and joins the Narns.
"Think about that, Lord-General.... but do not take too long."
* * * * * * *
It was unprecedented, unheard of. Never before in the long history of the Vorlon race had a part of their network broken away and become severed. It was fortunate perhaps that the Shadow ships had fled Proxima, abandoning their allies, and the few that remained were being chased down and attacked by a handful of the Dark Star fleet.
As it was, the Vorlons noticed this, and were curious. And they were angry.
The Dark Stars were little more than mobile nodes of the network, controlled by it, but also controlling the minds and powers of the telepaths sealed within them. Somehow, through unknown means, the telepath bound within the Dark Star 3 had broken free of the network, and the shock of that had caused the transient severing of the links with the nearest permanent node, Byron. Thus the links to the remainder of the Dark Star fleet were severed. All this was only temporary, and as the battle had already been won, it would not be fatal.
It was however a great inconvenience. It was unlikely the planned and long-awaited punishment of Proxima would now go ahead. It was also possible, though unlikely, that their part in all this would be detected. Clark was dead, Ambassador Sheridan missing and Welles could be dealt with. Clark had turned the defence grid inwards, the final act of a cowardly loser, preferring death to defeat. It was doubtful if the true architects would be discovered.
However, it was still an inconvenience. It would take some time for the Vorlons to trace the exact cause of the disruption to the network, the exact point at which it originated.
When they did, their anger would be manifest, although perhaps not immediately.
Unlike wizards or technomages, Vorlons are seldom quick to anger, but like both they are subtle, and once angered the results are terrible.
* * * * * * *
Freed from the strange impediment preventing their actions, the Dark Star ships now launched themselves on the defence grid. Captain Corwin in particular was filled with both a great fury and a determination to triumph here. He had been to Proxima, spent many years there. It was not his home, but it was a place he knew. He would not let it be destroyed.
The others, the aliens, acted perhaps a little more slowly. Proxima was their enemies' world. What matter if one of their enemies chose to exact revenge on his own people? However, there were some who still remembered the horror that had engulfed Kazomi 7, and had resolved not to let the same thing happen to another world, even to an enemy.
But there were many satellites, and the Dark Star ships were limited.
One satellite, far away from the others, far away from the ships, prepared to fire. It was nothing but a soulless piece of machinery. It did not care that it had been designed to protect those same people it would now be destroying. It had no heart, no susceptibility to pleas for mercy, to compassion, to forgiveness.
A minute before it was ready Corwin saw it, and made a desperate effort to get within range, knowing he could not. The Agamemnon was too far away. It had all been for nothing.
But then a ship came into view.
* * * * * * *
DeClercq had been following the situation as much as he could with the limited sensors available on the Saint-Germain. Something unusual had happened only a few minutes earlier, and a hurried consultation with Engineering had revealed that whatever had been paralysing the ship was now gone. It would, however, still take time to repair the damage.
"Any word on the weapons?" he asked again. His heart was beating so fast, he felt it might tear itself from his chest. He knew what had to be done. He had received the message warning them all of what was going to happen to Proxima. He had not expected the Alliance fleet to do anything about it, and was pleasantly surprised to see that they were.
However, he too had seen the one isolated satellite, ready to fire.
"Weapons still inoperational," said Morgan.
It hardly mattered anyway. The Saint-Germain's weapons systems were little better than standard for an Earthforce capital ship. Her purpose had been to flee rather than go into battle.
It was a task perfectly suited for Francis Xavier DeClercq, the coward.
"Uh, Captain?" said Ensign Morgan. "The satellite's about to fire."
"I know," he said with perfect equanimity. Even had the Saint-Germain's weapons been operational, they would not have been able to destroy the defence satellite soon enough. The Dark Stars were ships of war, designed for this sort of thing. The Saint-Germain was not.
"What are your orders, Captain?"
"Ram it," said Francis Xavier DeClercq, the coward.
"Oh, boy. Setting ramming speed. Uh, Captain.... what if we ram too fast? I mean, is there meant to be a proper speed for this sort of thing? They didn't really let us carry out trials on this in training."
DeClercq did not answer. The joke was Morgan's way of facing the end. DeClercq wished he could find relief in humour, but as it was he closed his eyes and saw the Minbari sweeping forward, devils from the dark skies, lightning from the clouds of heaven. He saw himself fleeing from them, and his friends and colleagues dying in the cold vastness of space, a million miles from home.
"I will not fail again," he had promised himself on taking command of the Saint-Germain.
And he had not.
He did not open his eyes.
* * * * * * *
The final satellite was destroyed. The entire defence grid was destroyed. Proxima lived a little longer.
* * * * * * *
Her eyes were green, an endless pool shining and whirling, countless stars burning within, the knowledge and memories of a lifetime enshrined there. In them Dexter Smith could see his own soul, his own deeds, the longing of the past, the promise of the future.
Delenn blinked, and the image was shattered, but the memory would stay with him always.
"You're alive," he whispered. In a clearer mindset he would admit that was not the most profound observation he had ever made. Her eyes were open, she was breathing, she was moving, her soft skin was warm. Of course she was alive. He had never known anyone more alive.
"But I.... I saw you...."
She shook her head weakly, resting close to him. He gently took her hand and felt for a pulse, wondering belatedly if she even had a pulse any more. She did, strong and vital. The wound of the PPG blast had faded, as if it had never been there.
"I thought she was dead," Allan said.
"She.... she was."
Yes, said a voice, an alien voice, one filled with the wisdom of the ages. She was dead.
Still resting close to Smith, Delenn looked up, over his shoulder. He followed her gaze and saw the ghostly shadow of an alien, a member of a race he had never seen before. He was tall and aristocratic, great wisdom and understanding in his eyes.
"Lorien," Delenn whispered. "You.... said...."
I told you of the two paths before you. I told of the darkness through which you would walk, and the terrible sadness you would encounter.
"Yes, you did."
And because of your sacrifice.... good has been done. A tiny feather on the scales at the moment, but it will grow until it weighs more than all the grief and loss in the galaxy.
"She was dead?" Smith said. "I.... I killed her...."
She was dead, but her soul had not fully passed beyond. Something kept it here, grief and great loss. The Soul Hunters know the potential in such things. I cannot create life, that is the prerogative of the universe alone, but sometimes the universe rewards those who deserve it.
Your life is your own once more, Delenn of Mir. The struggle is not yet over, and none of us can see the ending of it.... but today there has been a small victory.
And for you, Dexter Smith, and you, Zack Allan, remember what you have seen this day. Remember, understand and learn. Your lives also begin anew this day.
The alien smiled and nodded once, briefly. Then he was gone, as if he had never been there.
"Was it just me," Zack asked, "or did no one understand a word of that?"
"I think we've been given a second chance," said Smith slowly. "We should go somewhere safe. Delenn, can you walk?" She nodded. Gently, tenderly, he helped her to her feet. "Where can we go?"
"Well," Zack said, "there's a few places around here she might be safe. We've got Security patrolling the sector after all. I think I know somewhere. Come on."
"Thank you," Delenn said, looking at both of them. Once more Smith was lost in her eyes. He nodded once, smiling sadly. Then, unable to think of anything to say, he followed Zack towards the safe place. And it was the safer for them being there together.
* * * * * * *
This is General Edward Ryan, of the Resistance Government of Humanity.
President Clark is confirmed dead. Ambassador David Sheridan has fled. Security Chief Welles is injured and detained in hospital. For the moment, Proxima is under my control.
We surrender to the forces of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven. We stand down all ships, all arms and all military forces. I have issued this order.
We surrender.
* * * * * * *
A victory of sorts. Sinoval stood around, staring out into the depths of space. He could see a million stars, and it brought home to him in considerable measure his own insignificance. He understood Valen had come here often, to this.... observation post. He could understand why.
"What do you see?" he asked his companion thoughtfully. She had been silent all this time.
"Stars," Tirivail said. She sounded.... preoccupied, as if she had been deep in thought. "A lot of stars."
"Stars, yes. But there is something else. It is the entire universe. Everything is out there. Everything. We are nothing but a tiny part, a cosmic insignificance, all of us. We are nothing. We live, we die.... all unnoticed by the universe itself."
"That is.... not exactly what the religious caste tell us."
"I have been seeing things with a new perspective recently. Mortal lives are.... short. Cherish them while they are here. Make mistakes certainly, for that is a part of life.... but grasp every chance of redemption that comes your way. Some will have the courage to do so.... others will not.
"Which are you, daughter of Takier? Which do you think is Sonovar?"
"Kozorr.... he will live?"
"He will live."
"Then surely death is not the end. You brought him back to life. You saved him. You can do that to everyone, over and over again, surely...."
"I never said death was the end. I also never said there would be no price for his return.... but that is not your concern for the moment. Do you often think about death?"
"I.... sometimes."
"I used to think about it all the time. I used to dream of an honourable and glorious death.... last survivor on the battlefield, surrounded by my enemies, my blade held high, running, roaring to the path of my noble end." He shook his head sadly. "We rarely get that which we desire most.... which is why it should be grasped all the more tightly when the chance comes."
"Does he love her?"
"Kats? I believe so. She certainly loves him."
"How? How can he love a worker?"
"You have seen her for yourself. Maybe you can answer your own question. As for me.... I cannot. Love is beyond my knowledge, for it is beyond my experience. But I doubt that even he could answer you to your satisfaction. You do not understand him?"
"No."
"How well can any of us understand another? You will be returning to Sonovar?"
"He is my lord. I swore to serve him. Something in my life must make sense. If not my duties, then what?"
"What, indeed? Tell him what I have told you.... and good fortune follow you. I think.... I think you are destined for great things. And if you are not.... then do great things anyway. Destiny can be rewritten."
"I thought I would find you here." Sinoval recognised the voice, and he turned, a soft smile on his face. Tirivail did not, and she reached for her pike. Her eyes darkened at the sight of the unfamiliar warrior. "Valen came here often. He said he liked the...." He noticed Tirivail, and his eyes widened. "Berevain," he whispered. "No...." he said a moment later. "But the likeness.... you have her eyes."
Tirivail looked shocked. "How do you...? Who...?"
"I am Marrain, my lady. You saved my life once, remember? At Ashinagachi. I never repaid you."
Tirivail stumbled back. "You are dead. You...." She turned to Sinoval. "I will give Lord Sonovar your message." Then she left the room, her movements swift, but uncertain.
"I think more has survived than you may have thought," Sinoval observed. "How did...?"
"We will be leaving. I will not be returning to Cathedral, and the Tak'cha will not be going back to Sonovar. We have.... some.... understandings to reach."
"Good fortune. Then the Tak'cha will leave this war?" Marrain nodded. "Then it will just be Minbari against Minbari.... as it should be. Or so I hope."
"What are you saying?"
"I had a vision. There should have been nine warriors here to fight me, Sonovar amongst them. But there were only four. Sonovar did not come. Someone, or something stopped him. I do not know why.... and I do not like mysteries."
"Valen told me something once. The universe will resolve all mysteries for us before the end."
"But will we like the answers? It does not matter. The answers will come whether we like them or not." He fell silent, and stared out into space.
"I assume the temporal devices have been switched off again?" Marrain added conversationally.
"Yes, I.... How did you know about them?"
"Valen had them all deactivated soon after his arrival. Some of them had been.... malfunctioning, and some of us were seeing ghosts, and flashes.... images. He showed Parlonn and me where they all were."
"There is no temporal rift here, so the station cannot travel through time, but perhaps time can travel through it. The devices were built into the station by its architect. I merely.... modified them for my own purposes. Were the visions.... instructive?"
"Very."
"Then they served their purpose."
"Then all went as you planned? Apart from the mysterious involvement of some.... others?"
"All? No. Kozorr was badly wounded, almost to death. I healed him, through the Well of Souls. But nothing comes free. I cannot create life. It can merely be extended, suitably. A similar ritual was used on me once.... and my soul and the Well are now as one. I live by its sufferance. While it lives, so shall I. That was not possible for Kozorr. He received merely enough for a brief resurgence. Soon it will expire, and so will he."
"How soon?"
"Months.... less than a year."
"I see. Will you tell him about this? Or his pretty worker?"
Sinoval gazed deep into space and then turned, heading for the door. As he reached it he looked back at Marrain, and spoke a single word before leaving.
"No."
* * * * * * *
There were moments, brief and golden, when Lyta Alexander could close her eyes and see a brilliant light, warm and inviting, that tingled in her mind and whispered gentle wind chimes in her ears. It is a saying that nothing is truly appreciated until it is gone, and Lyta had not truly appreciated the being who had shared her soul for two years, not until he was gone and another lay in his place.
But somewhere, a part of Kosh still lived. The memory of his actions, his words, his wisdom still existed. Soft, fragile, but meaningful threads linked her to others Kosh had touched. Her bond to Delenn had been almost severed, plunging her into near despair, but now it was renewed, stronger than ever. She could feel a terrible sadness in her friend, perhaps her only friend, but she could also sense hope.
And somewhere also, although trapped and muddied and dank, there was a thread to Captain Sheridan, one she could sense but not use. She had tried to talk to him as she had to Delenn, to sense his feelings.... but she had failed. This connection had been a shimmering mirage at the edge of her perception since the Third Line, but by the time she had tracked down its source the thread was too murky to use. Something corrupted the golden beauty. Something inside Sheridan twisted the bond.
But there were other bonds than those of the soul. With Delenn and Sheridan both unavailable to her, she had been forced to find others, and to her surprise one had appeared.
There was a chime at the door and she gently probed outwards. She knew almost instantly who it was. He had come after all, although a little late. She had managed to hide herself briefly from Ulkesh, and for the moment the Vorlon had other concerns, but she did not know when he would turn back to her.
"Come in." It was Corwin, a haunted look in his eyes. A telepath far less powerful than Lyta would have had no problem recognising the chaos in his soul, the conflicting loyalties and tormented convictions. There was a brief flash of light when he saw her, but it soon faded.
"I'm sorry I'm a little late," he said. "I came as soon as I could, but.... we were clearing up some of the mess. We found Clark's body.... or what was left of it.... God, he was.... torn apart. The Shadows must have killed him, but...." He shook his head. "And what happened to Captain DeClercq...."
"Did you know him?" Lyta had heard about the last act of the Coward of Vega 7.
"No, not really. I knew of him of course, but we'd never met. It's just.... Anyway. I think you promised me some answers."
"Yes, I did. What do you want to know?"
"Well, for starters, what on earth happened? You know a bit more about this than you're saying."
"I wish I didn't, but yes, you're right. It wasn't the Shadows who turned the defence grid on Proxima. It wasn't even Clark, at least not really. It was the Vorlons, a faction of them, working through Clark."
"Okay.... why?"
"Any number of reasons. A beaten, battered humanity would be less likely to ally with the Shadows again, especially if they were the ones who caused all that carnage. It would be easier to force them into the Alliance, to rule from the ashes. But mostly I think it was a punishment."
"Punishment. What for?"
"Choosing the wrong side. The Shadows."
"Then.... Oh God. Then this is all our fault. We're the ones who set the Government up with the Shadows. We...."
"No!" she snapped firmly. "A deal would have been made eventually, if not through you and Captain Sheridan, then others. Humanity couldn't stay out of this war forever. Unfortunately they were brought into it on the.... wrong side. So they had to be punished."
"But it's not as if we even knew...."
"It doesn't matter. Not to the Vorlons. To them this isn't a war of weapons, it isn't about military strength. It's about being right, about ideology. Humanity chose the wrong ideology, and that's why they must be punished."
"But the Vorlons failed."
"Thanks to you."
"And you. And Captain DeClercq. And.... others. Are they going to try again?"
"I think the punishment is going to be more subtle, more long-term. They can't really use the Shadows as scapegoats again."
"Oh God, this is crazy. I just don't believe it.... It's as if everything's just turned around and muddled up so it makes no sense whatsoever. Shadows, Vorlons, ideology.... And then there's Carolyn."
"Ah."
"Yes. I can still see her when I close my eyes. Lyta, who was she? Was she real, just an illusion, what?"
"She was real, alive. Somewhere in the heart of your Dark Star is a chamber, a sort of living instrument. She's trapped there, her mind fused with every part of the ship. Every Dark Star has one. Some of them are human, others alien."
"The Vorlons did that? That's monstrous!"
"Yes," she said. "It is. Kosh.... never liked it. It was originally used as a defence network around parts of Vorlon space. It was.... necessary. There were too many secrets the other races must not be allowed to uncover, and the network was.... one of the best ways of keeping them out. It.... didn't have to destroy people, you see. It could be used to misdirect and confuse. It was never designed for outright destruction."
"Until now."
"Yes. Until now."
"Fine. Where is this chamber exactly? There's a lot of space in the Dark Stars that we haven't been told anything about, other than not to go there. Engineering stuff. I'll find this chamber and...."
"And what? Destroy it? Break her free?"
"Yes! Of course. God, I can't leave her in there any longer, after what they're doing to her."
"You can't do that. Oh, you can free her body, yes.... but her mind is attuned to every part of the ship. Take her body away from the chamber and all you do is sever the link between body and mind. There'll be nowhere for her mind to return to if we ever could free her totally."
"Can you.... undo this link?" She shook her head. "Then how long is she going to stay there?"
"If the ship is not destroyed.... forever. There are certain.... rejuvenation effects in the technology holding her. Her body will not decay, her systems will not break down. She will live forever."
"We have to stop this!"
"Yes, we do.... but we cannot do it yet. The Vorlons have been preparing for this for millennia. They are going to destroy the Shadows once and for all, not merely defeat them but humiliate them utterly, break them apart and drive them from this galaxy."
"Then what can we do?"
"Watch, learn, wait. For now, the Vorlons want to use this to defeat the Shadows. They are our enemy too. So.... is the enemy of my enemy my friend?"
"Not when they're doing stuff like this! The Shadows weren't our friends just because we were both enemies of the Minbari, and the Vorlons certainly aren't our friends now.... not when they're doing things like this. It's.... God, I've never seen anything more wrong!"
"Nor have I, but David, listen to me. What can we do at the moment? We must try to defeat them in their own way."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Captain Sheridan is important to them. They've been trying to mould him to be their perfect general, their instrument of order. They think they need to purge him of anything else that might influence him, anything or anyone to whom he will listen other than them. You are his oldest friend, and they are trying to drive the two of you apart. Stay close to him, remain his friend, and make him find Delenn."
"Delenn? She is still alive?"
"Yes. I can.... feel her. I don't know where, but...."
"It doesn't matter. I'll find her. I knew it! I knew she was still alive!"
"Keep an eye on her. They may try to kill her.... and you."
"Don't worry. Now I know what's going on, I'm not going to let them win. Wait! What about Carolyn? Is there anything I can do for her?"
"Talk to her. Speak her name as often as you can. Remind her that she is still alive, still a person. Perhaps later we will be able to free her, and she will need still to be sane when that happens. Apart from that.... there is nothing."
He shook his head. "What about you? Won't you get in trouble for telling me all this?"
"For now they need me. Besides, I can.... obscure my involvement in this.... for a while at least. Afterwards.... I have no illusions about what they are going to do to me."
"No!" he said, his eyes flashing. "I won't let them put you in one of those ships."
"We may not have a choice. But I'm not planning on staying around. After the war is over I'm going to leave and find Sinoval. He can fight them, if anyone can. Don't worry." She reached out and gently took his hand. "I'm going to be fine."
"If you say so. Who.... who else here knows about this?"
"No one. There's no one else here I can trust. When I'm gone, it'll be up to you to tell someone you can trust. Not Captain Sheridan. They've touched him too strongly. And not Delenn. She's too connected to him. But anyone else."
She took back her hand. "You have to go now. We shouldn't be seen together. The less reason they have to be suspicious of you the better."
"I understand." He made for the door, and then turned. "Can we beat them?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I really don't know."
* * * * * * *
It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. He had not been sure exactly what he had been expecting it to look like, but never in his dreams had he imagined it would be like this.
It was a flower, a shimmering, starry, living jewel of silky darkness and velvet shadows. There was a bright red bulb beneath the delicate, slender petals. It was hard, and yet transparent. There was something inside it, a tiny spark of life, curled up tightly.
Lord Kiro knew what the flower was, and what it did, and how to use it. He had seen it in his dreams for the last two weeks. He had seen an ancient civilisation, proud and wise, possessed of wings that had carried them across the stars, until they finally settled on an isolated, idyllic world. He had seen the passing comet that had left behind a spoor, and the flowers that had grown from that seed. He had seen the madness spreading as the flowers bloomed, and the massacres that came when the things inside them broke free.
And then he had seen the dark ships in the sky, the Dark Masters that came to claim the last, devolved, shattered refuse of the once proud race.
The thing within the flower was not ready to live yet. It would need to be nourished, and fed. But soon, weeks, maybe months. What did it matter? It would come soon enough.
"Here it is," he said, looking directly at the emissary of the Dark Masters. He did not care about the others who would hear. They were all his. They had all drunk deeply of the enlightenment that had swept Centauri Prime the last time these flowers had seeded. Tiny spores had settled in their minds, and their eyes had been opened.
"As you promised, but I have one question. Why did you not give it to me yourself? Why involve the noblewoman in this? She is not one of us." Kiro no longer thought of himself as a nobleman. Nobility, merchants, peasants, it did not matter any more. There were simply those enlightened, and those not, and former titles meant nothing.
"She is.... special."
"Ah," said Kiro. "Yes. She will be mine, yes? She will be the womb from which comes...."
"The future."
"Yes. Yes, the future. The fire."
"Yes."
He looked at the flower once again. The thing inside it looked so small. It would grow, but for that, it needed something else. "Mariel!" he called, and was rewarded by the slow shuffling that announced her presence.
She had been many things. She had been the wife of the man who was now Emperor, the lover of the man who had been First Minister. She had been one of those who had broken into Kiro's estate, and tortured and mutilated him.
None of that mattered now. Now she was his, a Shadow Crier, a servant of the Dark Masters. Everything that had been hers was now his, for the greater glory of the Dark Masters.
She held out her left arm, her right hanging limply at her side. Kiro could still smell the cooking of her flesh as she had bathed in the purifying flames. He could still hear her screams.
Once she had been beautiful, but what was beauty compared to devotion to the Dark Masters? The trial had been necessary to prove her loyalty to them. The flame had purified her, burned away all that had been her past.
Kiro took her hand roughly, pulling her forward. Her one remaining eye showed reluctance and fear. Could she not see this was serving the Dark Masters? Perhaps the flame had not purged enough of her former self. She would have to be chastised further.
He drew his knife and held it up for the emissary to examine. There was a brief pause, and then a nod. The blade was satisfactory. It was his own, consecrated in the name of his new crusade.
Mariel's blood began to drip on to the flower, running towards the bulb in the centre. The thing there began to stir. Mariel did not scream as the knife cut deeper and deeper into her arm.
Kiro looked up at the emissary, and the Drakh nodded again, obviously pleased.
* * * * * * *
All wounds heal. With time. Some wounds take longer than others.
It soon became clear that Proxima's wounds would take longer to heal than anyone had foreseen. The news of Clark's betrayal and the Shadows' flight was badly received by the people, who decried the lies and propaganda of the invading aliens and the traitors. There were riots, which were savagely put down by the ground troops of the Alliance. General Ryan tried to plead for calm, but he was largely ignored. He was a coward after all, the one who had issued the order to surrender.
Captains Tikopai and Barns managed to repair enough of the damage to their ships to escape in the confusion following the battle. Sheridan ordered Dark Stars to hunt them down, but it was a low priority. They were only two ships. They were little threat.
Prominent politicians, scientists and diplomats accused of involvement with the Shadows were arrested and questioned. Many were released without charge. A few had known about and helped to arrange Clark's 'scorched Earth' plan, and were to be put on trial. The subtle hand of William Edgars behind this was not detected.
Welles was found and placed in a secure military hospital. He survived the first few weeks, and looked to be recovering some of his strength. He was not yet fit to be questioned, however.
A provisional Government was formed from a handful of politicians. The Earth Senate was restored, and democratic elections were promised. Few people believed they would happen. The Alliance remained, as always, above Proxima, above humanity, aliens come not to destroy, but to enslave.
Sector 301 was peaceful. A shrine appeared in a quiet corner, a place people went to pray, to seek guidance from the one who had died and lived again, the one who had spoken of peace and died for her words.
News of the miracle soon travelled, and not just within the Pit.
Corwin had wanted to wait until he was sure, and now he was. There was only one more thing that needed to be done, and while he could do that alone, it was hardly right that he did. Someone else should be there.
"The General will see you now."
The General. So Sheridan was the General now. The Alliance Council had officially ratified his position as leader of the Dark Star fleet for the duration of the Shadow War, and as long after that as the fleet might be necessary. Corwin had not liked the sound of that.
He still dreamed about Carolyn, trapped in her globe of light. When he was on the ship he tried to speak to her as much as possible, with no idea whether she could hear him. He had not spoken to Lyta since their last meeting.
The Capt.... the General was sitting at a desk in an office that had clearly once been Ryan's. Ryan had been arrested, but then exonerated of any wrongdoing. He had resigned afterwards, and disappeared.
"Hmm? Oh, Captain," said the General. He looked terrible, as if he had not slept in months. He probably hadn't. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in. I've just been.... reading the reports from some of Clark's former Ministers. I guess time ran away from me."
"Aren't there people to do those sort of things?"
"Well.... yes. But you know me. I like to keep my hand in. So, what is your business, Captain? I was told it was urgent."
"Yes, it is. Captain.... General...." A pause. "John.... I've found Delenn."
Something flared in the back of Sheridan's eyes and he looked down quickly at the notes. "Captain Corwin, I'm very busy. I don't have time for wild goose chases or shaggy dog stories. Delenn is...."
"Alive."
"Dead! Delenn is dead! Accept that, and stop chasing her down!"
"John, I am telling you...."
"You are dismissed, Captain."
"I spoke to Welles. I've spoken to a few others. I've...."
"Mr. Welles is in secure confinement."
"I managed to see him. He was very.... talkative. Listen, John.... I know how to find her. Welles had her broken out of prison here. His agents took her to Sector Three-o-one. He thinks he knows where. Now we can go in.... we can find her and get her out."
"Delenn is dead! Now get out of here!"
Corwin sighed, and walked up to the desk. "I'm sorry. I don't know you any more. I know you've been through a lot. I don't know how I'd cope in such circumstances, but this isn't just about you any more. Delenn needs you. I know she does. Who do you think should be there when she's found? Me - or you?"
"You are dismissed, Captain!" Sheridan leapt to his feet, eyes flashing. "Now get out of here, or I'll have you court-martialled!"
Corwin shook his head. "I didn't want to do this. I'm sorry."
The punch took Sheridan completely by surprise, throwing him backwards across the desk. Corwin immediately followed up with another, which knocked the older man down. Grabbing the General's shirt, he pulled him up and slammed him hard against the wall.
"If this is the only way I can get you to see sense, then this is what I'll do," he snapped, his face inches from Sheridan's own. "So, go ahead. Court-martial me! Do whatever you damned well like, but for God's sake.... go and get Delenn!"
"You don't.... You don't...." Corwin let go of his friend. He had never heard so much despair in Sheridan's voice. The General sank to the floor, tears and blood streaming down his face. "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice hoarse and racked.
"She has to be dead. She has to be.... If she isn't.... if she's still alive, then I left her there.... I left her on Z'ha'dum.... with them. I was so sure they'd killed her. It was instinct.... I've acted on instinct a hundred times. A thousand. I was never wrong before.
"I was so sure. So sure.
"If she's not dead.... how could she bear to look at me, if I left her there? She has to be dead, because.... Oh God, she has to be dead."
"She isn't," Corwin said softly. "She's alive, and she needs you. I know she is. You made a mistake. It's in the past.... and this is now.
"Come on.... let's go get her."
The door opened and a security guard rushed in, weapon raised. He took in Sheridan's bleeding face and Corwin's bruised knuckles. "General.... is everything all right?"
"Yes," Sheridan whispered. He smiled. "Everything's fine now. Everything's going to be fine...."
* * * * * * *
There were three words, short and simple. They were lit by a faint whisper of candlelight. It was not clear who had placed the candles there, or the flowers that covered the floor. It was not clear who had written the words.
The Blessed Delenn.
"What happened here?" Sheridan whispered. "What happened...?"
"Some people realised a lot of things," Corwin said. Smith's directions had been perfect. He should be here soon.
"She's dead. This is a.... shrine."
"She's not dead. I've been telling you that for a while."
"But this place?"
"If what I've been told is correct.... and I don't pretend to understand a word of it, you know.... she died here.... and then got better."
"But...."
He fell silent and looked behind Corwin at the figure who came slowly into view, a mirage, an illusion, a creation of light and mirrors. She walked slowly, her eyes filled with life, a soft, gentle smile on her face. Sheridan swayed, and almost fell against the wall.
"Told you," Corwin said, but his words were not heard.
Sheridan moved towards her, still unable to believe what his eyes told him. Only when his fingers touched hers did he realise at last that she was here. She was alive.
Then he wrapped his arms around her tightly, in the sure and certain knowledge that he would never let her go again.