Chapter 3

DARKNESS.... an absence of light, a force reaching out from dead worlds at the Rim, an essence of the spirit, an all-consuming essence which feeds as it moves, corrupting and spreading....
Darkness is found in many forms, small and large. In the last great bastion of humanity, Proxima 3, darkness is found in more places and in more ways than might be believed possible elsewhere. Darkness, both in the absence of light and in the corrupt soul of one person. One among many corrupted.
Ronald Quantrell was a nonentity. A former politician of some talent and promise, he became one of many consumed by the darkness of the Minbari destruction of Earth. Unable to live with the aftermath, he had fallen, and now occupied a minor position in the Ministry of Information, little more than a flunky, forever tormented by nightmare images just beyond the horizon.
His sleep was restless, as it usually was, but soon he would sleep the peaceful sleep of the dead.
The knife flashed once, and he knew no more.
Darkness.... the soul of one person. One among many.
Donne looked down at the dying body and smiled, removing her gloves, not caring about the risk of detection. She too had been consumed by the destruction of Earth, but her particular darkness had been present long before. A gifted and powerful telepath, she had been involved in operations which few people knew about, and when those who were not meant to know learned about them, she was assigned to make sure they did not spread that information.
She had grown to like killing, had grown to like touching the minds of the dying. There was no Psi Corps any longer, only Bester, to whom she paid lip service, but he was countless light years away. There was only Clark, and Welles and others, whom she ignored. Nothings, all of them.
Quantrell was dying, and as Donne mixed her mind in with his, she sighed softly. Such.... purest.... bliss....
Darkness....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elsewhere darkness thrived too, and nowhere more so than in the souls of those who might have been noble, great, who might have fought and served with distinction on either side, and who now found themselves on the wrong side.
Captain Dexter Smith, EAS Babylon, found himself somewhat uncomfortably occupying a position which rightfully belonged to another. The Babylon was Captain Sheridan's ship - always had been, and always would be. Perhaps when Sheridan was captured and brought to Proxima, then the ghost would be exorcised.
"Any word from the Drakh yet?" he barked. The alternatives here were clear. Kill Sheridan by destroying the enemy vessel, or capture him, using the Drakh to board it. Smith was not at heart a kind man, but even he was entertaining thoughts that destroying Sheridan's ship might be better than letting the Drakh take him.
"Not yet, sir," replied Lieutenant Stoner. Smith looked at her. There was something about her that had been.... nagging at him for some time, but he was damned if he could place it. He'd been meaning to check her record for a while, but something had always come up to prevent him. Still, rather her than Franklin. Franklin had served here with Sheridan, and his loyalties might be a little.... suspect.
"Engines taking damage, sir," she said. There had been a discharge in one of the reactors earlier. Not a breach, fortunately, but Medlab was being overrun. Franklin had gone down to see what he could do. He'd trained as a doctor originally.
"What about Sheridan's ship?"
"Still largely in working order," she replied. "Their jump engines are down, but apart from that...."
Smith looked at her, wishing he could identify what it was about her. "Bring Starfury Squadron Gamma around. Maybe they can...."
"Yes, sir," she said, issuing the signal before he had finished.
And there it was.... A sublime revelation, what it was about Lieutenant Stoner - if that was her real name - that was bothering him. One word:
Telepath!

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally fought the urge to throw up. She didn't have anything left to throw up, of course, but still.... Early stages of radiation poisoning, apparently, but the doctors here were busy with other patients and had been able to do little more than administer some drugs and slap a few regen packs on her burns.
She.... remembered the battle. She remembered being distracted, and the feeling.... the Drakh were boarding. She had lost concentration for a moment, and had only just managed to eject in time to save her life. The Parmenion's automatic systems had managed to bring her aboard.... she thought....
There was a buzzing noise at the back of her skull, almost a whispering. She could see the skull-faces of the Drakh floating before her.
We.... are.... coming....
Connally staggered up from her bunk. She could feel them, hear them.... almost taste them.
We.... are.... coming....
She knew it as soon as one of them came into view, reaching out a long, slender arm towards her. She could sense the medical staff staggering away, along with those patients who were able to move.
You.... will.... be....
She did not plan on giving it time to finish. Instinctively, somehow knowing what to do, she delved into the pocket of her flight jacket and pulled out a ball. It changed colour from time to time, but now it was blue, a deep, electric blue. She held it in front of her, letting it soothe her. The Drakh before her looked at it and then let out a cry somewhere between a scream and a plea for help. Then it scurried away.
Then, as if the ball were pulling her, Connally set off after it, her wounds and pain forgotten. This was important.
.... Drakh....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The enemy is not the enemy we think we see. Evil has many faces, and the faces do not always agree, and seldom act as one. Sometimes the evil even fights amongst itself, but does that make it any less evil? Trust nothing. Only that way will you survive. The evil.... the greatest evil comes not from the stars, not from Darkness, but from the heart, and from the soul.
This I foresee. It is neither pleasant nor welcome, but the future reveals itself only reluctantly, and only to a chosen few, and never without reason.
Our people hang suspended over a precipice. One person.... one word can send us toppling over, or pull us back. Our doom is upon us, but it may yet be averted.
There are three things I see; three things which may yet save or damn us. History has changed, drifting somehow. Not all is as it should be, but this I see.... this the future has permitted me to see.
First, the paths to the summit are paved with daggers. The step from second to first is a short one, but many have fallen in its taking. To save our people, this step must be taken, not by the one who wishes to climb, but by the one who fears to fall. Remember this. A short step, but one harder than can be imagined.
Second, there is an eye which cannot see, but there is also a blind eye which can see. In the realm of the blind, he with one eye shall rule. To save our realm, the blind who sees must give up sight. Remember this. Sight without seeing is our greatest curse.
Third, and finally.... if these first two cannot save us, this one will, but the cost.... the cost will be so great as to make the salvation almost worthless. We all have our fears. Sometimes the conquering of our fears is what brings us victory. Other times, our fears must be surren dered to.... no matter what the cost. Remember this. That which brings us victory will not always bring us salvation.
Londo Mollari sat back. This was the fourth time he had listened to the recording, and it made him more and more uncomfortable each time. The last prophecy of Lady Morella, apparently recorded mere hours before she had sent for him, and not long before her brutal murder.
Lennier was absent, arranging transport to their next destination, and Londo was glad of it. He had thought about letting him see this - the Minbari had their own way with prophecy, after all - but he had decided against it. Not only would it inevitably entail revealing his association with Mr. Morden, it would also reveal certain.... cracks in his society. Lady Morella had spoken correctly when she said that they were all standing at the edge of a precipice.
He wondered how long it would be until Lennier returned. Long enough, probably. He inserted the data crystal back into the recorder.
The enemy is not the enemy we think we see. Evil has many faces, and the faces do not always agree, and seldom act as one....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

A moment.... frozen. John Sheridan stared across the bridge at the monstrous aliens opposite. He could see that several of his bridge crew had backed away, seeking to escape from the.... almost primaeval horror generated by these things. Sheridan knew how they felt. He felt the same, and yet he did not move. Hatred kept him fixed.
He had heard about what the Drakh had done to Kazomi 7. He had even seen some of the consequences of that attack. He had heard what they had done on Beta Durani. The sight of these.... things as humanity's new allies. It sickened him. And so he could not move.
"Sheridan...." one of them hissed. The voice was.... chilling. Absolutely terrifying. And yet still he didn't move. His PPG was in his holster, but he did not reach for it. He simply sat, staring at the monsters opposite him.
One of the technicians tried to scramble away, screaming at last, finally giving way to the fear. Casually, in a motion which seemed.... jarring, one of the Drakh raised its arm. A small blue ball flashed for a minute, there was a burst of what looked like lightning, and the technician was down, the stench of smoking flesh hanging in the air.
"Sheridan.... come.... or die...."
Slowly, almost without knowing what he was doing, he rose to his feet, his hand sliding down towards his weapon, as if he had only just remembered it was there. I will not open fire on my own people, he had said, and yet these were not his own people. These seemed just as bad as the Shadows. Worse, maybe.
The four Drakh began drifting forwards, around the circuit of the bridge, towards him. Technicians scattered away, scrambling from the monsters of their nightmares. Even Corwin staggered back a little, fear on his face. The Drakh ignored them, their intention set.
A figure appeared silhouetted in the frame of the destroyed door. Not a Drakh - it was human - but for a brief moment, it almost looked like one....
One of the Drakh turned, spinning around with a grace which belied its bulky and grotesque form. Sheridan thought he caught what might have been a look of concern on its face....
There was a burst of light and another flash of lightning. The Drakh which had turned fell, its body disintegrating away, emitting a horrific, acidic odour which almost burned Sheridan's nose. He ignored it, swiftly drawing his PPG and opening fire. The leading Drakh staggered back, seemingly unaffected. Sheridan kept up the barrage, raining shot after shot on the thing. With each strike, it staggered backwards.
Sheridan's gaze was fixed on the creature almost paralysed under his onslaught of fire, but he was seeing something else. Delenn's face, the sight of the dying on Kazomi 7, the image of Minbari suffering and dying at the hands of these things, the hope and the future of humanity.
The Drakh finally fell, its body decomposing like the other. Sheridan glanced around the bridge, only to see everyone looking at him. The other two Drakh were dead. Corwin's own PPG was drawn and he was resting back against the wall of the bridge. Standing in the doorway, holding one of the same blue balls used by the Drakh, was Flight-lieutenant Connally. She looked.... exhausted.
"I don't know what happened," she was saying. "It.... just.... seemed to flow through me. It.... just...."
Sheridan shook his head. Time for mysteries later. "How many more of those things on board?" he barked, looking at the patches of bile and acid which were all that remained of the four.... creatures.
"None, sir," replied Guerra. He had not left his post, although he still looked shaken. "Ko'Dath managed to manouevre the others into an airlock, and she spaced them. Those four must have got away from her."
"Hah. I think they got the better end of the deal. I'd rather be spaced than have Ko'Dath mad at me. What's the status?"
"Jump engines back on line at last. Hull integrity more or less stable. Some of the weapons are still giving trouble."
"And the Babylon?"
"Engines down. Most of the weapons too. I think they were relying on the Drakh to win this one."
"Good. Open a jump gate. Get us out of here."
"But.... Captain?" It was Major Krantz, the third in command. Bester's man through and through.
"I won't destroy her. I will not kill my own people."
"Mr. Bester's orders...."
"Said nothing about destroying my own ship, Major. And believe me, I'll have words with Bester about this later. For now, pull in the Starfuries and get us out of here, Mr. Guerra."
"Yes, sir."
Sheridan sat down in his chair and tried to ignore the acidic stench of the slain Drakh. He swivelled round to look at Connally, but she was gone. Oh well.... time to question her later. Whatever her blue ball had done, it seemed to work just as well against the Drakh as it had for them. Time to question her later. For now, he just wanted to get as far away from here as he could.
And deal with Bester later. Oh yes, there'd be words there later. Definitely.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"They've gone, sir." Smith looked across at Stoner, hardly able to credit it. They were more or less helpless. Surely Sheridan could have followed up!
"Get the auto-repair crews to work," he ordered. "Engines and weapons top priority. We don't want to be a sitting target if they return. Get a communications channel open. I'll have to report this to General Ryan and the President. General Ryan and the Morningstar might run into an ambush on their way."
"Yes, sir," she said.
Smith was not looking forward to his conversation with the President, but his mind was already focussed further than that. Was it just a coincidence that Sheridan had turned up here, at this precise moment? Why had he pulled back? Yet another failure to exorcise the ghost Smith felt he would always be living under.
One day, Sheridan. One day, this'll be over. He glanced across at Lieutenant Stoner, wondering how he could have failed to see it before. Smith's mother had been a telepath, and while Smith himself possessed no psi talent, he had grown up around these people. Their movements, their body language.... Now that he knew, he could not believe he had not noticed it before.
And yes, one day soon, I'll have to figure out what your secret is. One day soon.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"No, I will not wait, Mr. Garibaldi! Get me Bester now!" Sheridan was not in a good mood, far from it. On the journey from Beta 9 back to Kazomi 7 he had been simmering, and now he had finally exploded. He wasn't sure if it was the stains where the Drakh had died, or the reports on the numbers lost from the Narn Bat Squad, or the return to the place that the Drakh had so violated, but now he was in a rare fury. It was just as well he was more or less permanently posted to Kazomi 7 these days, otherwise he would have gone straight to Sanctuary and had Bester torn into little pieces.
Finally, Bester's face appeared on the commscreen. "Ah, Captain," he said smiling. "I apologise for the delay, I was in a meeting. The mission debriefing could have waited until...."
"You knew the Babylon was going to be there."
"I'm sorry?"
"At Beta Nine. No Drakh ships. No supply centre. Just the Babylon. A human ship. My human ship! You knew it was going to be there!"
"Captain Sheridan, I think you are overestimating my intelligence...."
"No, I'm not. Why did you send me? You could have sent Ben Zayn. You know that my place is patrolling the Kazomi Seven region at the moment, and Ben Zayn handles whatever you're doing with the war. The only reason you could have had for sending me is because you knew the Babylon was going to be there. I don't appreciate being used, Mr. Bester, not even by you."
"Captain, I appreciate your concern about firing on your own people. I even share it. Really I do.... but the fact remains that there is a war. A dark and terrible war which is, according to G'Kar, only a precursor of something much worse to come. Now any victory we can achieve now, is one step closer to surviving the darker war that is to come. I intend not only to survive this war, but to thrive in it. And to do that, I need all the tools at my disposal to be ready for anything.
"This is war, Captain! You will fight whom I tell you to fight, and kill whom I tell you to kill. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly. Just in this new spirit of understanding.... if you do anything like that to me again, I'll string you up and throw you out the nearest airlock. Do you understand me?"
"You're looking tense, Captain. I'd recommend a rest, or perhaps Lurid Litzi? Remain berthed at Kazomi Seven, and continue your patrol duties there. For the time being. Sanctuary out."
Sheridan sat back, swearing. He was tense, and he shouldn't let a little jerk like Bester get to him. He knew that what Bester said was right, but.... the Babylon was his ship, his crew.... To see it co-opted for.... this.... to see it allied with things like the Drakh, to see it used in the way it was.... to hire to fire on her....
He rose to his feet and walked down to Engineering, to see how the repairs were doing.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Bester sat back, holding his good hand underneath his chin. "You heard?"
"I heard," replied Ari Ben Zayn. He was seldom in a good mood at the best of times, but his current scowling expression, emphasised by his long, jagged scar, made him look even angrier than usual. "I always said bringing him in was a mistake. You should have left him at Proxima."
"He landed in my lap mere days after the Parmenion was completed. The timing fits him like a glove. Besides, my.... partner approves of him."
Ben Zayn snorted. "And you know what I think of him."
"For the moment, he's a useful asset. Both of them are. G'Kar has resources I can't even begin to contemplate. For now, we need both him and Sheridan. Later.... well, that's another matter entirely."
"If you say so." He did not look convinced.
"Oh, I do. I do."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn sat back, smiling softly. The Brakiri girl who had been in a coma for weeks had recovered sufficiently to start walking today. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. For the first time since the invasion, she was beginning to feel hope for the future of those in her care. Almost enough to make her forget her own pain. Truly, this human body took some getting used to. She was simply thankful she had friends, and a purpose here.
There were footsteps beside her. She did not look round. She knew who it was.
"Are you.... doing anything?" he asked.
"Just resting, thinking.... wondering," she replied. She did not ask how his mission had gone. She sensed that he did not want to talk about it.
"Mind if I join you?"
She smiled. "Please do."
John sat down beside her. Tentatively, hesitantly, he reached out and put his arm around her. Still smiling, she settled back into the circle of his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.
There was a peaceful, contented silence, while all around them the rest of the galaxy moved on. A moment's peace was all either of them could ask for, and all they were ever likely to receive.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

One.... of.... us.... You will be.... one.... of.... us....
Neeoma Connally tossed and turned in a restless, fitful sleep. She was still officially on sick leave, recovering from burns, radiation poisoning and stress. Her Drakh crystal - she was still thinking of it as a crystal, despite the lack of resemblance - was still with her, but only for the present. The Captain had spoken of getting it sent to Sanctuary for Dr. Kirkish to look at. She was the only one likely to have any knowledge of what the object might be. Connally did not know what it was, only that it spoke to her in her dreams, and that she was half-excited, half-terrified of it.
One.... of.... us.... You will be.... one.... of.... us....
She fell into an uneasy sleep.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

And in the dark infinity of space, humanity's makeshift fleet sailed on. Surrounded by Drakh allies, they moved, taking back their fears and their glories, one world at a time. One step closer to Minbar each day.
One step closer.