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| Volume 2: The Death of Flesh, the Death of Dreams | Part VII: The Death of Flesh, the Death of Dreams |
THE world had been nameless, silent, forgotten save for the whispers of legend.... It was forgotten no more. The world where Valen once brought light to the Darkness had been the home of three groups of exiles and refugees in recent years. First were the Vindrizi, who had fled here hoping to keep their repositories of memories, images of millennia gone and times lost, hoping to keep them safe and untainted, fleeing the hints of a vast storm on the horizon.
Second had come Durhan, once the greatest warrior of his age. He had come here to wait for the fulfilment of a prophecy, secure in the knowledge that it would come to him in time, and where better place to wait? He had lent his skills and tactics to the Vindrizi, helping secure their place of refuge, content to reside here until the one warrior more tactically gifted than he arrived.
And now.... fleeing to this nameless world came the Minbari. Evacuated from their own homeworld, seeking a place of rest and respite from a war of their own making, a war that threatened to consume them entirely, and probably would.
They came.... primarily worker caste, who had been given priority, a minor, pathetic repayment for the near-genocide of their caste. But not just workers. Along came warriors - largely the wounded, the cowardly or the old - and the religious caste - mostly the afraid, the healers or the leaders.
Sech Durhan, once the greatest warrior of his age, looked out at the ship that arrived, disgorging the frightened, the arrogant, the grieving, the injured, the lost....
"Ah, Sinoval," he whispered, thinking once more of the man he had pledged to serve. Sinoval, Holy One, Primarch Nominus et Corpus, Entil'zha.... a man to shake the suns and the moons and the stars with his fury. A man determined to change the universe through force of will.
A man bowing to the inevitable....
That the Minbari were doomed.
Durhan knew the situation as well as any. Sinoval had kept in constant contact, and both of them had access to almost all knowledge since the dawn of time - Sinoval through the Soul Hunters, Durhan through the Vindrizi. Both of them knew the situation.
Minbar was doomed. Even now the ships of the Earthers and their ancient allies were moving in on the homeworld, intent on a savage retribution. They had lost their own homeworld, and had every intention of dealing payment in kind.
Durhan knew he was looking at the twilight days of the Minbari Federation. He was a warrior, he had lived a long and fulfilled life....
Sometimes he just wished he could have died before seeing this.
* * * * * * *
"May you live in interesting times."
"Pardon?"
Captain Sheridan turned. "Oh, I'm sorry." He looked at his second, Commander David Corwin, and was struck by how.... old Corwin looked. He was a good ten to fifteen years younger than Sheridan - he shouldn't look so old. But then, how old must Sheridan himself look?
"It's a.... it's a curse of sorts. May you live in interesting times."
"I'd say these times are interesting enough, wouldn't you?" Sheridan nodded. "Still," Corwin continued, "this is the time to be alive.... to see it all.... to.... to be aware of the events around us, the changing of states and stars. It makes the blood race."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Sometimes. Not always. There are times when I think how great it would be to talk to my grandchildren, telling them of the time I fought at the Second Line, of how I did this and did that.... and they'll look up at me in awe, and my wife would tell me not to bore them all with old war stories again, but.... Well, then I wonder if I'll ever get that far, or how many others will make it with me."
"People die," Sheridan replied. "All the time.... people die."
Their mission had been simple and straightforward. Delay the human advance on Minbar. Not take on the fleet as a whole, just delay it. Enough for the Minbari to get some sort of order established. According to G'Kar there was some kind of revolution taking place on Minbar, apparently resulting in the 'right' people coming to power. All Sheridan and his Parmenion and Ben Zayn in his Ozymandias had to do was delay things enough to give this faction time to get matters in order.
Oh, it had gone well enough at the start. The first hit-and-run attack had been perfect. It appeared that Bester or G'Kar had agents on board some of the human ships, and one of them had done something to incapacitate the Babylon. Witnessing the temporary stop, Sheridan and Ben Zayn had jumped in, shot down a few Drakh, damaged a few human ships, and then jumped out. Perfect.
The second such attempt had not gone as well, and the Parmenion had suffered potentially serious losses against a horde of Drakh ships. The third attack had been disastrous, with the Ozymandias almost destroyed and only just managing to escape. Ben Zayn refused to return to Sanctuary for repairs, however. He and his crew had done what little they could, and were heading on with the Parmenion for the next rendezvous point.
It was quiet, the lull between the storms. Sheridan was on edge, uneasy, uncomfortable. He did not like the thought of having to fight his own ships, least of all to save the Minbari. He didn't know why.... no, that was a lie. He did know why.
Delenn. Damn! Who would have thought he would have found himself this close to falling in love with a Minbari?
"Do you ever think about the future?" Corwin asked.
"No, not really." That was a lie. Sheridan thought about the future constantly, the future as it might have been.... with Anna, and Elizabeth, and Mum and Dad and Lizzy. He thought about a future in an Earthforce whose uniform he was proud to wear, working for a Government he was proud to serve....
Dreams of the past, or dreams of the future.... He did not know.
"You never know," Corwin said, "if we do this right, we could be heroes. I suppose.... Captain John Sheridan, the Starkiller.... hero of the galaxy. Commander Corwin, saviour of races.... defeater of evil.... Um...."
"Man of steel?" Sheridan suggested wryly. "Honestly, where do you come up with these things?"
"Just.... thinking. A hero, eh? That would be something to tell the grandchildren."
"You don't have grandchildren!"
"I might do. Sooner or later."
Sheridan raised an eyebrow. "Ohhh. Things with Dr. Kirkish going that well, eh? So, you popped the question yet?"
"What? That's a bit of an invasion of privacy, isn't it?"
"Oh, I'm your Captain.... I can ask you whatever I like."
"I don't have to tell you."
"You do if I order you to."
Corwin suddenly laughed. "Oh, all right.... No, I haven't asked her. I haven't even seen her in person for months. I was just.... imagining what it would be like, you know.... Just.... I don't know. I told her I'd have to save the galaxy before I could make anything secure for her."
"And what did she say?"
"She laughed and said she'd have the doughnuts ready for half-time."
Sheridan shook his head sadly. "Listen to me, David.... If you think you've got something good there.... then take it. Never mind how messed up the world is, or how the galaxy's falling apart.... If you love her, and she loves you.... then take it. You never know just how long you might have."
"Oh? Then is there something you aren't telling me about Lady Delenn?"
"Lady Delenn?"
Corwin shrugged. "She seemed to deserve some sort of title, and that was the only one I could think of. Well?"
"Well what?"
"You haven't answered my question."
"I.... Oh.... this is.... I.... well." There was a beep from Sheridan's commscreen. "Saved by the bell."
"We aren't through with this."
Sheridan got up and went to the commpanel. "Oh yes we are."
"Oh no, we're not."
"Oh yes we...." He activated the panel, ".... are." G'Kar's face appeared. He looked serious.
"Captain.... I am afraid there will need to be a change in your orders. You will not like this...."
"May we live in interesting times," Sheridan muttered.
* * * * * * *
"Why?"
Silence.
"Why?"
Still silence. Captain Dexter Smith, EAS Babylon, looked at the face of the woman in front of him and wanted to scream, to shout, to rage. He did not, of course, but he did not know why.
God knew he had enough reason to. Lieutenant Stoner - he still did not know her first name, except that it began with a T - had been a member of his bridge crew here since the beginning, since the first 'new' engagement with the Minbari. She had been recommended by the Generals and had performed admirably and ably in the course of duty.
So why had she sabotaged the Babylon, taking it out of the battle which would mark humanity's greatest victory? Smith and his ship were now on their way back to Proxima 3, in need of extensive repairs, and not advancing on Minbar with the rest of the fleet. And it was her fault.
"Why?"
Oh yes, and one other thing. She was a telepath. Of that he was sure. It did not show up on her records, in her family history, her prior service.... nothing. But she was.
He looked at her. She was sitting on her bunk here in the brig. She was tall, refined, attractive in an elegant, distinguished sort of way. There were hints of inner vulnerabilities in her expression, but it would take someone more perceptive than Smith to be able to identify them fully. There were also hints of other things.... little motions, minor giveaways.... all betraying her as a telepath.
"Why?" Smith asked for the last time. She still did not reply, did not in fact say a word.
Snarling, he left. Time enough for her to answer questions later. He just hoped she realised that Welles and his guards would not be anywhere near so easy on her.
* * * * * * *
"An ancient place, dating from the days before Valen, before the Grey Council, from the times when Minbari still warred with Minbari. It was a sort of solution, so that only one or two need die, and not hundreds of thousands, but as ever.... the solution did not quite work as its designers had envisaged. Remember after all, the disaster that was Tuzanor...."
Sinoval remembered the words spoken, long ago, by his teacher in history and politics. Sech Varan had been taught by the best of all - his mother Varmain. Sech Varan had - apparently at the behest of his mother - taught Sinoval everything about the history, the politics, the culture.... everything that was Minbar.
His teachings had never prepared Sinoval for this.
He wondered absently where Varan was now. He should still be alive, unless he had gone to the sea while Sinoval had been.... away. Would he soon end his life, wondering at the bright flash in the sky, or had he escaped to another world, becoming a piece of flotsam in space?
Sinoval found, much to his disgust, that he did not really care. All of Varan's teachings had not prepared him for this. No teachings could have done that. He was about to tread unknown ground.
His surroundings were silent, completely still. The Starfire Wheel where leaders had died and lived, where Marrain had challenged Valen and failed, where Valen had survived the Wheel.... it was all silent. The product of an ancient and forgotten time.
A time to which Sinoval would shortly be returning his people.
He wondered about the state of the evacuation. Between them Kozorr, Kats and Durhan should be able to oversee most matters, but there were too many things that could go wrong - premature arrival of the Earthers, action by Kalain or Sonovar, friction between the Minbari and the Shagh Toth.... any number of things.
But this was important. Sinoval would not be here were it not so.
The merest hint of a noise behind him alerted him, and he turned. His two ever-vigilant Soul Hunter guards rustled in the shadows. They were little more comfortable with this than was Sinoval himself.
Ulkesh Naranek, Vorlon Ambassador to Minbar, shuffled into view.
Sinoval studied the figure approaching him carefully, fighting down the urge to retch and vomit. He detested Vorlons, and had done so for as long as he could remember. Something about them.... smelled wrong. They hid from others within their encounter suits, remaining in the shadows, emerging only when it suited them, helping only when it suited them, speaking in riddles and allusions and cryptic paradoxes.
Nevertheless, they were a power in the galaxy. A substantial power. Now that Sinoval was a power himself, he intended to alert the Vorlons very closely to their.... new relationship.
The Vorlon stopped next to Sinoval and regarded him, its headpiece twitching, almost like a puppet whose string was shaken.
The Vorlon was silent, of course. They rarely spoke. "I rule here now," Sinoval said flatly. Stormbringer was fully extended, and he was holding it casually. The Vorlon could not fail to notice it.
"You will leave Minbar. The planet will shortly be devastated in any case, but you will leave because I order you to leave, and you will not return. None of your race will ever come near my people again. We will fight the war against the Enemy ourselves.... without you." Sinoval paused. He was expecting.... some sort of reaction. Something, anyway. He breathed out, and straightened, looking the Vorlon directly in the eye.
"We need you no longer. Do you understand?"
The Vorlon made a strange noise. If Sinoval did not know better, he might have called it a chuckle. The Vorlon turned away. <Impudent,> it said, in what was very probably meant to be an amused tone. <Child.>
A faint smile crept across Sinoval's face. This he had been expecting. He waited for the Vorlon to turn its back and begin to shuffle away. He raised Stormbringer....
The pike tore into the Vorlon's back, piercing the encounter suit. Rays of light began to stream from the opening. Stormbringer seemed to hum as it made contact. The Vorlon turned.
<Disobedient,> it rasped. Sinoval drew back his pike, and thrust it forward. The headpiece shattered, the eyehole caving inwards. Stormbringer's hum grew louder. Ulkesh actually seemed shaken. More and more light poured through the damaged armour.
"Go away," Sinoval said calmly. "Our destiny is ours now. You are not a part of it any longer. Go away!"
The Vorlon seemed shaken, almost trembling. Stormbringer's hum was growing so loud the noise almost blocked Sinoval's ears. He faced down the Vorlon, every atom of his power, of his confidence, of his Valen-granted certainty.... everything concentrated into that one gaze.
The Vorlon shook and shuffled off into the distance.
Sinoval let out a huge laugh. "I knew it!" he cried, looking down at his pike. It was still now, just a bit of metal, just a weapon, but for a moment there....
No, just a weapon.
The two Soul Hunters came into view. "Come on," ordered Sinoval. "We aren't done yet, not by a long way."
And in the shadows nearby, holding himself and shaking, a trembling Kalain watched the confrontation. "Chosen of Valen," he whispered. "Show me your light, show me the way. Chosen of Valen, show me your light, show me the way. Chosen of Valen...."
The worst part was, he did not know whether he was addressing Sinoval.... or the Vorlon.
* * * * * * *
Most Centauri nobles were inherently paranoid as a matter of course. After all, in a society where one of the preferred methods of gaining promotion was dead men's purple boots - with not all that many questions being asked about the manner of their emptying - anyone who wasn't instantly suspicious about things such as, for example, mortal enemies offering one a drink of something a funny colour, wasn't really likely to live long enough to pass on the naïveté, innocence and vulnerable genes. Although things had evened up over the last fifty years or so, the recent.... troubles had brought everything back to the way it had been.
Worse, if anything.
Timov, daughter of Alghul, first (and always harassed) wife of Londo Mollari, was paranoid even by the standards of most Centauri nobles. Living with two other 'sister-wives' who would like nothing better than to rip her apart, growing up with a father who was a worthless dreamer and a mother who was a scathing harridan, and inheriting her mother's infamous scathing wit, had all conspired to produce a person who had all the kindness, compassion and sentimentality of a Jovian slime-strangler.
Still, there were times....
Much to her surprise, she had been discovering over recent months that she actually missed her idiotic husband, and not just because it meant his estate was now being divided up by Mariel and Daggair. She missed the verbal sparring, the casual insults, even the odd bout of drunken idiocy from him.
No matter how often she reminded herself that it had been her idea to have him pretend to be dead, she still found herself cursing him for devising such a foolish plan.
Still, she had to continue with his work, even with all the annoyances from Daggair and Mariel.
No sooner had she finished the communiqué with one of her agents in the Royal Court - a sweet little maid of Elrisia's named Adira - than the commline flashed again. Recognising the identifying signal - and letting fly a series of choice epithets she had learned from Londo - she answered it.
"Why, Timov dear," said Daggair, looking as pristine at the dead of night as she did at midday. Timov idly wondered how long it had taken Daggair to put her face on this morning. "I've been trying to contact you all day, but you've always been out or talking to someone else. I do hope you haven't taken a lover.... not so soon after dear Londo's death. Why, the scandal!"
Timov put on her best false expression. Daggair was one to talk! She had been entwining herself around Minister Jarno for months (and his wife was not best pleased) and Mariel's antics with half the soldiery were common gossip.
"No dear," Timov replied, as condescendingly as she could. "I've just been.... working, that is all."
"Oh, working. Sometimes I think that's all you ever do. I never had the head for any of it myself. That's why I spend so much time here, where the action is. Still, I suppose I can't expect you to know much about what's hot at the moment. You just stick to what you do best, dear."
Timov sighed. "Did you have a reason for calling, or was it just to crow about the stimulating social life in the capital?" Londo's personal estate was quite some way from the capital - a fact which suited Timov perfectly, Mariel and Daggair not at all.
"Now, there's no need to be petulant, dear. I just wanted to tell you that First Minister Jarno thinks we've been holding out on our contributions to the war effort. That new.... Emergency.... Taxation.... thing. It's all for the war of course. Anyway, I told him that couldn't possibly be correct, but he insists. So, he said he'd send a representative over tomorrow to investigate things. Please have all the accounts in order for him, won't you?"
Timov put on a pleasant face. The new tax dreamed up by the Centarum for 'the war effort'. Daggair had no head for numbers, but Timov did and she recognised opportunities for embezzlement when she saw them The wording of the regulations had enough holes to pilot a warship through and she doubted that even a tenth of what was raised went to the war effort. First Minister Jarno was probably having some very entertaining parties in the capital.
"I'll do what I can, Daggair," she said in reply. "Are you sure you're getting enough sleep? You're really looking very.... peaky."
Daggair started. "I feel fine!" she snapped. "Why.... why should I not be feeling fine?"
"Oh, nothing really. Good night, Daggair."
Timov switched off the commscreen and felt like screaming. Ever since Londo had 'died' she had been charged with the management of his estate until his nephew Carn returned, or until Carn's brother Marn came of age. Running the estate was hard enough without Daggair and Mariel pinching bits of it right and left, and First Minister Jarno and his damned 'emergency taxes' everywhere. Timov had already had to lay off most of her servants.
And where was Londo? She had not heard from him in over six months.
"It will serve him right if the stupid fool has got himself killed," she muttered, as she made her way to her bedroom. It was late, and the accounts would have to wait. Besides, they were already suitably fudged to avoid drawing attention to Mariel and Daggair's little.... 'unauthorised expenditures'.
It was strange how empty the house felt now. Hardly any servants, no Mariel or Daggair - thank the Great Maker! - and no Londo. It seemed....
She paused, experiencing a tingling feeling at the back of her neck. Someone was.... She paused, looking at the door to her right. It was Londo's personal sanctum. Not his study, but the place he went to.... well, to generally be Londo without the world around to get in the way. It was full of his worthless trinkets, memorials, medals, several bottles of that revolting brivare stuff. Generally Londo's place of.... Londo. Timov, Mariel and Daggair had all been refused admittance, and even the servants went in only for very brief periods for essential cleaning.
Someone was there. The door was slightly open and there was a hint of light visible. Slowly, Timov tiptoed forward and pressed her ear against the door. She did not feel afraid. For some reason.... it felt right.
She could hear the muffled sound of muttering, although not exactly what was being said. She shuffled closer to the door to try to hear better....
The door opened sharply and she fell inwards, stumbling and only just managing to maintain her balance. Turning round to frame a brave retort, she found all the air leaving her lungs.
Literally.
"Ah! Timov!" cried Londo. Londo! Here! "It is good to see you! Ah, you do not know how good it is...."
For a moment she felt as though her wits were leaving her, but she soon recovered. "Put me.... down, you barbarian," she gasped, still being swung around in Londo's arms in a massive bearhug. "Put.... me...." He did, and she found herself gasping for breath and precariously balanced. So precariously in fact that she had to cling to him in order to save herself from falling over.
"You big.... brute," she breathed. "I swear you broke some of my ribs."
"You missed me," Londo said in tones of wonder. "You did. You honestly missed me.... Hah!"
"I most certainly did not!" Timov replied emphatically, stepping back and patting down her clothing. She was feeling flustered. Very flustered. "I.... that is...." He was laughing. Curse him, he was actually laughing! "I did not!"
"I missed you too," he said softly, and he smiled.... actually smiled at her! "Who would have thought it, hmm? Just do not tell anyone. I have a reputation to protect, after all."
"Trust me, I won't. So why are you back? I thought you were going to stay away until...."
"Something came up. Several somethings in fact. It's a very long story. Very long. Let's see.... there were the technomages.... strange people, them.... and the Drakh - a very nasty people.... no, they're not legends. All too real, trust me. Oh, wait. I'm getting ahead of myself. After I left here, Carn and I headed for.... well, somewhere I shouldn't be telling you about, but on the way, we...."
"Londo!" He stopped, looking hurt. "Fill me in on the details later. Why are you back? Have you discovered something?"
"Yes.... well, several somethings, as I said. First, is that it's time to stop running. Second, there's always hope, no matter how dark things look. Third, you acquire friends in the most unexpected places.... Hmm, yes, and First Minister Malachi is still alive. I've been trying to get my agents to look for him, but I've been out of touch with most of them for a while, and.... All right, Timov. You have that look. What is it?"
"I know First Minister Malachi is alive," she said, in deadly seriousness. "He presented himself before the Centarum this morning."
"What?! How.... why.... but...."
"Oh close your mouth, Londo. Unless you are actually hoping to catch a fish in it. I know.... I was quite surprised as well. To say nothing of the Centarum."
"But he was.... he.... I mean.... the technomages said...."
"Oh, I'll fill in the questions for you, Londo. Mind if I take a seat? Good." She pulled out Londo's favourite chair and sat down. He was still wearing that shocked expression. She found it quite amusing, or she would have done were the subject not so serious.
"He just arrived in the capital this morning and went straight to the Centarum. They've been deadlocked on choosing a new Emperor for some time now, not helped by the fact that many of the major candidates seem to develop nasty - and usually terminal - afflictions. Our dear Minister of Transportation, for example, developed a sudden attack of walking off a very high balcony.
"Anyway, Malachi arrived and said he'd help sort things out. He said he'd been away for a while.... he needed to 'renew himself' after Emperor Turhan's death. No, he didn't know why someone had seen fit to fake his death, and he was somewhat aggrieved at pointed suggestions that he'd done it himself, and Londo, please close your mouth. That really is a most unbecoming posture."
Londo's incredulous gaping turned into a sharp smile. "Well well!" he cried. "Well, that was easier than I'd thought. It explains why I hadn't heard of it though. My companions and I have been.... well, let's just say we weren't in the habit of meeting anyone." Timov flashed him a questioning look. "They're in the city, staying with some agents of mine. I came back here to.... well, to do a few things, but mainly to see you."
"Oh?" Timov found she was actually blushing.
"But still, now that Malachi's back, all the troubles are over. He'll sort the Centarum out in no time. Hah! May the Great Maker himself spit on me if Malachi isn't the next Emperor. Good.... all we need to do is go to the Royal Court, talk with Malachi and get down to serious matters. Let's see.... Kazomi Seven first, I think. We really should get a representative of some sort there. It really is kind of important. And then G'Kar. I'd better contact him. And...."
"Londo!" Timov suddenly shouted. He blinked. "You've been away for almost a year. You deserve to rest a little before trying to change the Republic. And, well.... perhaps we could...."
"Timov.... you did miss me?"
"Of course I did, you stupid oaf! And I have every reason to want to skin you alive for leaving me here.... with Mariel and Daggair up to all sorts, and bleeding this estate dry, and Minister Jarno and his cack-handed taxes and all the officials coming over here, inspecting your affairs and.... no, Londo, they didn't find anything. I'm not totally stupid, you know."
"I never said you were, dear."
"And don't call me that. You need a bath, and a chance to relax." Timov sniffed the air. "Definitely a bath. Come on. I'll draw it myself."
"Will you wash my back for me?"
"Don't get your hopes up, dear."
"Oh, Timov.... not even to wish me a happy return?"
"No, Londo. Londo.... don't.... no.... I mean it.... Londo!"
* * * * * * *
I am the very model of a modern Major General....
Bester blinked and rubbed at his forehead. Welles was sitting opposite him, expression neutral, fingers steepled before his face, simply waiting.
From Marathon to Waterloo in order categorical....
"Have you quite finished?" asked Welles dryly. Bester shook his head, trying to maintain a neutral expression himself.
And many cheerful facts about the....
Bester started, and pulled out of Welles' mind. He dropped his head for a minute, shaking, but then he looked up directly at the Security Chief. He knew! He knew I was scanning him!
"You would be surprised at the amount of useless detail I can clog my thoughts up with," Welles remarked. "Gilbert and Sullivan, Wagner, the plots of old soap operas.... even advertising jingles. I am not stupid, Mr. Bester. When I talk with a telepath, there is always the possibility I will be scanned. So, I.... developed this little technique. Is it working?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Bester lied.
"Hmm. Very well, to begin at the beginning. You are allied with alien forces plotting the defeat of humanity. The 'anomalous ships' present at the Second Line came from you somewhere along the chain. You are aware of Captain Sheridan's current whereabouts.... I am not, I'm afraid, but I will find out. Somehow, former General Takashima is working for you, and I would imagine that is why she turned against our allies at the Second Line, not from any 'stress-related illness'. I would also guess that there are a fair few others here working for you, directly or indirectly, although not many have any real power.
"And.... your representative here, Miss Donne.... is a serial killer with at least fifteen murders in the last year and a half, most recently Ronald Quantrell, a secretary in the Ministry of Information.
"Have I left anything out?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Bester tried slipping into Welles' mind again.
Hey Reebo! Hey Zooty! Zooty! Zoot-zoot.
"I never really liked Reebo and Zooty," Welles said dryly. "But my wife thought they were hilarious. We actually saw them live once. I guess the experience was useful after all."
"What do you want?" Bester snapped. "Nothing you say can be proven."
"On the contrary. Your Donne has overstepped herself this time. Quantrell was a figure of.... middling importance in the Ministry. Clark is wondering if his death was part of a conspiracy against him. Now.... there is already enough evidence linking Donne to his murder, and to a handful of others. If I arrested her, it would take less than five minutes to get a Presidential Decree permitting me to study her files and records. I wonder what they would turn up...."
"You're lying, Mr. Welles. You wouldn't let someone you have proof of being a murderer go free."
"Practicalities are more important than principles, Mr. Bester. I did not make the world. I only live in it. I am the voice of order in a galaxy collapsing into chaos. I will not let humanity be harmed. Not by anyone. Not the Minbari, or the Narns, or the Vorlons, or that little monkey on our throne, or that damned shadow behind him. And I most especially will not let any Narn preacher or would-be telepathic dictator add to the chaos.
"I have the power to bring you down, completely and utterly. G'Kar as well. I don't have everything, but I have enough."
"Very well, then. Returning to my original question. What do you want?"
"A great many things. For the moment, I want to know what you are doing here."
"Routine inspection of my people here, as well as wishing to congratulate the Resistance Government on their successes against the Minbari and be present when President Clark issues the order to bomb their homeworld with mass drivers."
Welles smiled, and lowered his hands. "And the real reason?"
"Oh, to kill President Clark of course." Welles raised an eyebrow, but he did not look especially pleased. "Well, not me personally, of course."
"Takashima, right? I knew it. So what did you offer her? She's always seemed to me to be completely incorruptible."
"Of course she is. That's how I made her. The human mind, Mr. Welles, is a wonderful thing. It is as strong as a mountain, and as vulnerable as glass. By one who knows, it can be broken, shattered and rebuilt in any shape you desire. General Takashima is the perfect agent, because her conscious mind does not even know she is an agent."
"I see."
"Well, Mr. Welles. You are now privy to my secrets. What will you do with them?"
"Do? I'm going to help you of course. What did you think? I think you're overestimating Clark's importance though. Sheridan's the true threat."
"Oh, once Clark's dead, he'll have no power here."
"Well.... I suppose I can deal with him well enough if I have to. It should not be difficult. Especially when I have evidence that Clark is responsible for poisoning his predecessor."
"Oh? I wasn't aware she was dead."
"She isn't. She's in hospital somewhere attached to a life support machine, with mere minutes of rationality a day. Clark managed that, and if that information should come out, it would discredit the current administration completely, and provide me with the means of getting rid of Ambassador Sheridan."
"Ah.... You're a more interesting man than I thought, Mr. Welles. One last question.... what exactly do you want?"
"A free, safe and ordered humanity. What about you?"
"Oh.... the same. More or less."
"I'm so glad we understand each other, Mr. Bester."
"Yes, me too...."
* * * * * * *
Well, we've had longer than I would have thought possible. We are each given our own gifts, and it falls to us to make use of them.
Sinoval had been expecting the arrival of the Earther ships for some time now. What had delayed them he did not know, and he did not waste time thanking Valen or trying to find out. As he stood on top of his pillar in Cathedral, all of space laid out before him, he mentally surveyed the positioning of the ships.
There were two main objectives to protect - Minbar itself, and the jump gate through which refugees were still being ferried. The Vindrizi's sanctuary world would not be able to hold them all, but then neither would Minbar shortly. The more ships that escaped, the more Minbari would survive.
Sinoval idly wondered if this was how the Earthers had felt at the destruction of their home. In their case they had not had the chance to escape, as their jump gate had been neutralised by the Minbari before their assault on Earth. He did not think back and wonder what if.... He was a warrior, doing what was right, what was ordered and what was necessary. Nor did he hate the Earthers. They were only doing what they felt to be right also. Ah, but allying with the Enemy, that.... that was understandable, but unforgivable.
"This will not end here," he whispered. "I doubt if this will ever end."
Defending the jump gate was Cathedral, as well as the two medium-class cruisers they had been able to salvage. There were also five of the early White Star prototypes. They were nowhere near as reliable as the fleet they had spawned, but that fleet had been cut to ribbons above Proxima.
Defending Minbar was.... nothing. Oh, there were the satellite defence systems, but they were weak and unready. Essential repairs had been neglected, and half of them would probably burn themselves out before they could even engage the enemy, but still.... there was always hope.
No, there was not. Minbar was lost. Sinoval might not have been born there, but it was still his home, the centre of Minbari history and dreams. The Starfire Wheel, the Dreaming, the Place Where Valen Waits.... all lost.
But it would go on. The Valentha had gone, packed full of as many as would fit. Kozorr and Kats were overseeing that. Kozorr had protested at not being allowed to fight, but Sinoval needed him where he was. Kats as well. Perhaps those two would provide hope for the future of the Minbari.... If anyone could, it would be them....
The Earther fleet was advancing, their small fighters launched. Two capital ships - both heavily modified with Enemy technology. Four medium ships. A lot of one-man fighters. And the Drakh.... They swarmed around the Earthers, immeasurable. They were fast, powerful, deadly. Insects which had grown strong.
Sinoval brought Cathedral forward.
The space-castle was not really built for combat. As the Primarch had said, it could take on one or perhaps two Minbari war cruisers. Adequate, but not overly powerful. Sinoval had plans to change that, but for the moment....
For the moment it would have to do.
Battle was joined, as the Drakh surged forward, a black mass of clouds, blotting out the stars behind. Their weapons firing, their souls infused with the lust for killing. Blood and fury.... the greatest desires of the warmongering races.
The first war cruiser came forward, lashing out with forward cannons, tearing into the mass of the Drakh advance. It had little effect, the Drakh ships soaring out of the way and then clumping together again, combining blasts for devastating effect. The war cruiser took blow after blow, one of the White Stars coming to defend it.
Sinoval could see that the battle was lost, but it had to be fought long enough for the refugee ships to escape. That in mind, he ordered Cathedral brought forward, past the Drakh, towards the nearest Earther ship, the one with dark spikes jutting out, that gleamed in the black skies, that seemed to ooze like oily skin....
The entire ship could have been one of the space monsters he had heard of during his childhood, beasts which devoured the sun, and dwelt in the dark places where Minbari dared not go. It was a ship, a construct of metal and sweat and toil. It was crewed by people.... people with the same thoughts and dreams and desires as he. No monsters. In the greater scheme of things, perhaps such monsters did not exist.
Cathedral fired both broadsides. The first tore into the side of the Earther ship. The second was taken out by its interceptor fire.
This was the first chance he had had to witness Cathedral's firepower in close combat. Judging from the damage to the Earther ship, Cathedral's weapons were not insignificant. They were not powerful enough.... yet. But for this battle, they would probably do.
All around them the battle raged. Drakh ships were taken out by the White Star prototypes, only for others to swarm over the war cruiser, engulfing it and cracking apart its armour piece by piece. The other Earther ship sustained damage from a White Star, only to lash out and destroy its attacker with two blows.
The battle was lost, and Sinoval knew it. Cathedral itself had been hit twice, and was being forced to retreat slowly, back towards the jump gate. Its broadsides were holding off the Earther ship, but the damage it was inflicting was becoming less and less.
It was when the second war cruiser exploded in flame and débris that Sinoval saw his delaying tactics had not worked. How many had those few minutes of combat saved? More than they killed? Everyone manning the defending ships knew the risks, and accepted them. Still.... warriors had died. How many had they saved? He wished he knew.
"It is over," he whispered. "We leave. Now. We have done what we can, may Valen have mercy on our souls."
The jump point opened with pinpoint accuracy and Cathedral sailed through, untroubled by any sort of fire as it left. The Earthers did not care. They had what they wanted now.
As his view changed to the swirling colours and mind-bending illusions of hyperspace, Sinoval shot one last look back at Minbar. The planet seemed to know its fate, and it accepted it.
Or so he thought anyway....
* * * * * * *
Delenn looked at the scene before her, and did not know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.
"The decision has been made, then?" said Lethke, Chief Treasurer, general conciliator and voice of the Allied Council of Kazomi 7. There was a general chorus of nods, 'ayes' and other signals of affirmation, some more enthusiastic than others. Vizhak and Taan Churok were probably most enthused; the angry fury in Vizhak's eyes was mirrored by the simmering urge for revenge in Taan Churok's. Even Vejar had a glint in his eye.
"I plead with you...." Delenn said, finally able to speak. "Do not do this. I...."
"I am sorry, Delenn," said Lethke firmly. "But your objections have been heard and overruled. You lead here, yes, but when the rest of the Council is unanimous, as, thank the Maker, we are.... then there is little you can do to sway us."
"It is the right action," added Vejar. "Surely you can see that?"
"With my heart.... maybe. But my head.... We have built so much here. Why jeopardise it by committing ourselves to a war?"
"Because it is right," replied Lethke. "Because our presence must be seen and known. In a galaxy of chaos, we must be order. We have done a great deal here, and we must now be seen to spread our works abroad."
"Military reasons also," grunted Taan Churok. "The Drakh invaded us. Then they left. We are not finished with them."
"But.... surely you can see that we are not ready...."
"We are ready, Delenn," replied Vejar. "You must want to see your homeworld protected. Surely?"
"Yes.... but not at the cost of everything we have built. Not...."
"Objections heard," said Vizhak, in a supremely bored tone of voice. "Objections overruled."
"He's right," said Lethke. "We will help defend Minbar, Delenn. It is right, and it is expedient that we do so."
Delenn looked across the table at them all, and she thought maybe she would cry after all. "I thank you all," she breathed. "I wish I could say that I believed you were right in this, but.... I thank you all."
"Good," grunted Vizhak. "Speeches over. Let's go."
* * * * * * *
"Londo.... this is not a good idea."
"Trust me, dear. I know what I am doing."
"Well, there's a change."
"Pardon, dear?"
"Nothing, Londo."
The capital seemed to glow in the night as Londo and Timov neared it. Londo could feel the comforting presence of his home envelop him as he neared the city. He had been born here, had lived here, had loved it.... each street, each building, each tower, tenement and palace.
It felt good to be returning, especially now. He genuinely believed that it was all over.
"Let me see...." he was muttering to himself. "We will have to try to end the war with the Narns as soon as we can. I think G'Kar has agents in the Kha'Ri and this war is sapping both our strengths. Hmm.... And then to Kazomi Seven...."
After an.... entertaining diversion at his estate, Londo and Timov had set off for the capital, sending a quick message to Marrago and Lennier. They were remaining hidden for the moment, as Marrago was calling in a few old debts and Lennier was.... not feeling well, apparently. Typical Minbari, they just could not handle a decent climate.
"And then to...."
"Oh, shush, Londo, and listen to me for a minute. You still have a lot of enemies in the Royal Court. Do you think presenting yourself to them publicly like this is really a good idea?"
"Of course it is. You said it yourself, the Centarum are still debating who is to be the next Emperor. There are no true heirs as such, and a great many nephews, cousins, and various other nobles with links to the throne. It could be anyone, and so the Centarum will take their time. All I need is a chance to speak with Malachi and we can sort all of this mess out."
"But Lord Refa is still in the Royal Court, and Lady Elrisia, not to mention Mariel and Daggair."
"Well, I am sure my last two beloved wives would be overjoyed at seeing me returned safe and sound. I wonder if they will greet me with the same enthusiasm you did.... Timov, you're blushing again."
"I am not, and I still think this is a stupid idea."
"You are...."
"Pah."
The carriage came to a halt and the footman - or these days a more general servant type - opened the door. Londo stepped down, and lent a very extravagant arm to Timov. Tutting under her breath, she took it.
Londo paused as he looked up at the palace complex that housed the Court, the Centarum and the Emperor. It truly took his breath away, the wealth of history washing over him. Thousands of years, countless Emperors, Gods, heroic deeds. Let the other races have their barbarian customs. The Centauri were truly the mightiest race in the galaxy.
Timov on his arm, still tutting, Londo walked in.
He was expecting a few people to be around - the Royal Court was always filled with aspiring nobles, sycophants and general hangers-on. The outer atriums were quite empty aside from the guards however. Londo strolled through the opening rooms, a faint feeling of anxiety creeping over him.
And then he found everyone.
The throne room itself was literally thronged. He could just about see some familiar faces within - Lord Jarno, Lady Drusella, his dear wife Daggair, draping herself all over Lord Valo. Londo began to smile, an idea manifesting itself.
"Oh, dear," Timov muttered. "I do not like that look."
And so it was that, ten seconds later, the entire population of the throne room was thoroughly shocked to hear the guard at the door announce, in a very loud voice, "Lords and Ladies of the Court, we bid arrival to Lord Londo Mollari and his wife, the Lady Timov."
Several jaws dropped.
Londo wandered into the room, putting on his best smile and waving at a number of people who would have been very happy never to see him again. "Lord Jarno.... First Minister now, is it? I always knew you'd go far." "Ah, Lady Drusella, as ravishing as ever." "Daggair. Well.... missing me already. Tut tut." "Dead, Lord Valo? Ah well, I was, but I got better, you see."
And then one very self-satisfied voice spoke up, "Londo.... A pleasure. I always doubted, you know."
The crowd parted and Londo found himself face to face with Refa. Londo smiled broadly, completing missing all Timov's carefully placed warnings. She had seen what he had not. "Yes, well, Refa. I always was too stylish to kill. You're back, I see. How was Minbar?"
"Oh.... interesting, but duty called. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, I do."
"And now I have the highest duty of them all." Refa stepped back, revealing Malachi standing beside the throne. He looked at Londo as if he had been expecting this all along. "A.... once in a lifetime opportunity you could say."
The Court fell silent. "Malachi," Londo whispered. He was finally sensing something wrong. "It is good to see you again, my friend." Malachi nodded briefly.
"In fact," Refa said, sitting down on the throne and lounging back very comfortably. "You could say I have the highest duty next to Godhood.... which should be mine after I die anyway."
Londo gasped, and looked across at Malachi. The old politician said nothing in reply.
"This has been a day for two very surprising returns," Refa said, continuing. "First, our esteemed and former First Minister returns from the dead and makes a wonderful and stirring speech recommending me to the Centarum as the next Emperor, and next you.... my dear, old friend.... return just in time for the end of my first day holding court.
"Well, Londo. Aren't you going to swear fealty to your new Emperor?"
* * * * * * *
Sinoval arrived at the Vindrizi's sanctuary world with a heavy heart. He knew that he had done as well as he could have expected, but he could not escape the fact that he had abandoned his homeworld and millions of people there to destruction.
"The battle is not over," he whispered to himself, as he walked through the corridors of the Valentha. Kozorr had Kats would be here, and he needed to speak with them concerning the details of the evacuation. Durhan would be on the surface.
These three.... with these three I will build a new Minbar. As Valen did before, so shall I do now.
As he arrived in the Hall of the Grey Council he was greeted by Kozorr, who lowered his head and spread his arms wide, indicating that he was carrying no weapons. Sinoval was moment arily surprised - that was the ancient method by which warriors greeted their leader, stemming from the times before Valen. However, he ignored the significance of the gesture. Time to worry about that later.
"Minbar is lost to us," he said. "We will build a new world here, and wherever we can. We will endure."
"Yes, Lord. The evacuation went well, but our supplies of food here are limited. Sech Durhan and the Vindrizi managed to grow food for themselves, but their population was small."
"We will trade for what we need. I know it is not our way, but we are a part of the universe now, Kozorr, not above it as we always thought. We must seek out allies, develop our own industries here, build a power base of sorts. The Soul Hunters will help where they can, because I order it, but...."
Sinoval paused. A message was coming through. Here.... to the Hall of the Grey Council itself. He looked at Kozorr, but the other warrior was just as puzzled. No Minbari would dare send a message directly here.... the place still held too many of its old associations.
"Display," he ordered. The message was audio-only, but that was enough for him.
"Captain John Sheridan of Parmenion to Minbari. We need to arrange a meeting. Repeat, we need to arrange a meeting."
Sinoval said just one word.
"Starkiller."
* * * * * * *
President Clark had never been so pleased to receive any single message as he was to receive this one.
"Confirmed.... their defences are destroyed, the jump gate has also been destroyed, all defence satellites destroyed.... A few vessels did manage to escape, but the system is now empty of enemy ships. The mass drivers are affixed and readied. Your orders, Mr. President."
Clark smiled. Typical of Ryan. Too honest for his own good. He was barely able to restrain the anger from his voice. He did not want to do this. Mass drivers had, after all, been banned by almost all civilised peoples in the Post-Dilgar Accord of 2241. Of course, the Minbari had not signed....
And besides, these were no ordinary mass drivers. The Drakh had made some interesting modifications.
"I hear, General. You have done well. Continue with your orders. Begin orbital bombardment."
"Yes, sir." Ryan definitely did not sound happy. "Morningstar out."
Clark sat back, and smiled.