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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part IV: A Line in the Sand |
HIS spirit was everywhere, even now. It permeated this room, all the rooms, the entire ship. The EAS Babylon, his ship, Sheridan's ship, always. Dexter Smith, Sheridan's replacement on the Babylon, was always aware of that. He had lived in Sheridan's shadow for the year he had been on board, and now at last he was within sight of ending that curse. They had clashed once before, an inconclusive fight at best. This would be different. There would be no retreat here.
Matters hung suspended, in the balance. On their side, four Earthforce capital ships, the Babylon, the Morningstar, the Corinthian and the Marten. Plus, hopefully, the resources of the Great Machine. The signal indicated that the Machine had been taken, but there had been no word since. This had not been unexpected, but Smith was still troubled. He had been readying a crew to visit the planet and ascertain its status when he had received word of Sheridan's arrival.
On their side, one human capital ship, one Drazi Sunhawk, and one Brakiri vessel. Plus the greatest human captain of recent times.
"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," came the voice over open comm channels. His voice. Smith straightened when he heard it. He was still breathing heavily from his mad dash back to his ship, but his exhaustion did not bother him at all. "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three are under my protection. You are to leave, now."
"Captain Sheridan," came a reply. A voice Smith recognised. General Ryan. He had command of this mission, but it was very clear that he was in some disfavour with the Resistance Government. "You are wanted for war crimes against the Resistance Government. Stand down your ship now, and we promise to spare those of your crew who are innocent of any wrongs against humanity."
"That is not an option, General."
There was a silence. Smith waited, visualising his opponent. He had never met Sheridan personally, but he knew everything about the infamous Starkiller. He was reckoned the greatest human strategist alive. He had saved the day at the Battle of Mars, many observers held that it was his intervention that had saved the Narns during their first war with the Centauri, and while reports of his more recent activities were highly confidential, Smith had heard rumours of skirmishes with the Streibs and Drakh.
"Launch all remaining Starfury squadrons," came Ryan's order over a coded channel. Two of the Babylon's four squadrons had been launched already, upon arrival at the station, and the other two were held in strict readiness. Something similar would have been done on board the other ships. Smith gave the order.
"Do not engage unless we are attacked first," Ryan ordered. "Repeat.... do not engage unless engaged. If conflict does begin, targets are: the destruction of Sheridan's ship, no survivors taken or mercy offered; the disabling or destruction of the Alliance ships, with survivors taken on board and treated well; and attacks on the station are to be directed at weaponry and Starfuries only. The destruction of the station should come as a very last resort.
"Smith, how is our presence on the station?"
"Enough to hold the command deck, hopefully. I ordered my men to secure and control it, but whether it can be held is uncertain, sir."
"And Satai Delenn?"
"In custody, but on the station, sir. I.... thought it imprudent to bring her on board the Babylon. She has been here before after all.... and there may be sympathisers among my crew."
"Can your men guarantee that she will be kept safe on board the station?"
"Not for certain, sir."
"Damn! You may have to answer for that, Smith, but there's nothing we can do now. It was your task to secure the station and placate the ambassadors there, remember?
"Philby, what signs of activity from the planet?"
Smith closed his eyes and leaned back heavily in his chair. What Ryan had said was true.... he should have remained on the station, he should have taken more security on board, and he should have brought Delenn to the Babylon when he came. But how could he tell Ryan just how much he had been haunted by Sheridan ever since taking over this post? How could he explain how much humanity he had seen in Delenn's deep green eyes? How could he...?
He started as Franklin looked up, speaking. "Captain, something's coming up from the planet. It's...."
The ship rocked, shaking in a blast that seemed almost to tear it apart. Smith fell forward, his head smashing against his forward commpanel. His ears started ringing. Desperately he scrambled to his feet, wiping away the blood from his forehead and glancing at Franklin.
"What was that?"
"A missile of some sort.... from the planet, somewhere below the surface."
"Something powerful enough to come from below the planet's surface.... and reach this high into orbit? What sort of...?" He grimaced, wincing as his head pounded. "What's our status?"
"Hull integrity pretty much intact, engines intact, jump engines at eighty percent capacity.... ship-to-ship communications are down entirely. The missile didn't impact on us, but it did send out some sort of pulse which shut down the comm."
Smith sat back, trying to take it in. "Are the sensors working?" What was happening? The Machine was supposed to be under control.
"Yes.... it looks like it anyway.... Captain, the Drazi ship has started attacking the Corinthian!"
Smith closed his eyes and whispered a swift prayer. "You heard the General's orders, Lieutenant.... we attack."
* * * * * * *
This was not what Michael Garibaldi had been expecting when he arrived on Babylon 4. He remembered Bester's orders, as well as the manner in which they had been delivered: cursory, peremptory, and to-the-point.
As he looked mutely at the scene before him, he began to feel very sick at the thought that Bester might have been involved in this. Garibaldi recognised Donne, one of the Boss's favourite telepaths, given the plum job of head of the embassy at Proxima. She had been recalled from there amidst much speculation. Garibaldi now knew the reason for that move.
Everything fitted together too neatly. All of it. Sheridan's recall to Sanctuary.... the Boss's supposed 'illness' preventing him from being at G'Kar's summit.
How long had the Boss been planning this?
Garibaldi tried to think, tried to recall the moment where things had changed. Bester had been kind and.... his old self when Frank had been born. He had seemed almost.... touched by the child. He had also been happy ever since his return from Proxima. Few people knew the details, but Garibaldi did know that he had brought someone back with him.
So when had he changed? Perhaps it had always been like this, and he just hadn't noticed before.
But still, it was hard to reconcile the Boss who had cried when holding a newborn baby with the man who could so callously have ordered this great betrayal. Garibaldi looked on in stunned horror, unable to think or do anything, while two Narns were tortured right in front of his eyes.
How am I going to tell Lianna what I saw here? And Mary, she looks.... I don't know, but she can't have anything left in her stomach to throw up.
There was a sudden movement, and a loud scream that brought his mind back to the scene at the Heart of the Machine. The scream did not come from either of the Narns, however, but from the other man there.
He was hovering in mid-air directly before Donne. His arms and legs were spreadeagled and his mouth was wide open.
"This Machine has so many attributes," Donne said, smiling. "I'm so happy it's finally sharing some of them with me. Tell me, Number Two.... did you know that one of those attributes is enhanced telepathy? I could read your thoughts as if you were screaming them across the room at me. Do you think I'm a fool?"
"I.... I...." He was trying to speak, but each time a word left his mouth his body jerked and his next words were lost in choking fits.
"Telekinesis as well. I was never able to master that art.... it's a pity. I always felt I disappointed Al by not being a teek as well as a teep. But look at this, and without even trying.... This is a truly wonderful device you have here, G'Kar. You can't have been using the half of it."
"You.... can.... not...." the Narn rasped, but then his head fell forward.
"And you.... thinking about killing me. What's your name? I can't just put a number on your grave.... assuming I give you one. It will mess up my records something chronic. I do like to maintain a good inventory of my victims."
"Put him down," cried the woman. "This was not what we came here for!"
"What you came here for? That hardly matters. And if you want me to put him down.... I'll be happy to...."
Garibaldi saw what was coming next and closed his eyes in a hurry. Mary didn't, and he heard her scream as well as the damp sound of a falling body. When he opened his eyes again the mass on the floor did not look like anything that had once been human.
"Murderer!" cried the woman, charging forward. Donne smiled, and she fell as if she had run directly into a brick wall.
"Why, yes, I am."
"You want me to kill her?" asked the Narn torturer. He was covered in blood, and was playing with a small ball in his right hand. Garibaldi did not want to think about what it was.
"No. We'll save her for later."
The Narn nodded, and then looked up. "One question. You said you were working out how to use that thing." Donne signalled affirmation. "Then why am I torturing these two?"
"You looked to be having so much fun I didn't want to stop you. Besides, I'm enjoying watching you."
"Oh.... well, that's good to know, at least. How's the battle going up there?"
"Ah.... lots of people dying. I think it's time they became aware of my presence once more, don't you think?"
Garibaldi looked at her, and wanted to throw up. He had never before seen such evil in one form. But there was something about her he couldn't quite fathom. Her eyes....
They were bleeding.
* * * * * * *
Great men, men such as history will revere forever, will remember with words of hushed awe, will speak of with reverence, will even worship.
Am I such a man? Is Sinoval? Was Kalain? Did greatness leave us forever with Dukhat's death, or is this the emergence of a new age? Just as Valen heralded a thousand years ago, is the dawning of a new Minbar within sight?
Sonovar straightened and turned as a figure arrived behind him. Half-expecting it to be Forell, he was ready with a sharp retort. The priestling had been.... unnerving him recently. Something about him felt wrong, but his advice was sound, his presence a moral victory and his soul possessed of a very warrior-like practicality.
It was not Forell, but someone he found much easier to tolerate. Ironic, wasn't it? That the leader of one third of the Minbari Federation found more kinship with an alien whose race was banished by Valen long ago than with one of his own people.
"Ramde Haxtur," he said, making the ritual gesture of greeting. An archaic motion, now practised only by some of the more traditional priestlings. There was much about the Tak'cha that was archaic though, and Sonovar saw fit to acknowledge the beliefs of his allies. "How goes the attack?"
"We report that all is as you wished, Zaron'dar." Sonovar noted the title. He had never heard it before, and had no idea what it meant. The Ramde's tone, however, indicated that it was one deserving of respect. "The rebel leaders have been defeated and punished for their sins."
"Already? Faster than I had anticipated."
Haxtur looked pleased. "Thank you, Zaron'dar. We act with the strength the Z'ondar once praised in our people. They have not followed your crusade, and therefore they have rejected the will of the Z'ondar. As such they deserved punishment."
"Indeed, Ramde. I thank you for informing me."
"Then you will go there now?"
"Yes. They have to see, and know who it was who did this to them. They also have to see that I can be merciful. Your men did only attack military and Government targets?"
"Of course. They obey my orders, which are your orders, and thus, the Z'ondar's will."
"Of course they do. They are to be commended for their skill. Now, Ramde, it is time to show them to whom their loyalties must now belong. They have erred once in agreeing to serve a weak and traitorous Government, and that is only mortal. I will give them a chance to change their allegiances. To reject me again, however, would be treason itself, and for that...."
"Death. Never let it be said that we are not merciful, Zaron'dar."
"Indeed not." Sonovar imagined the planet nearby, and his soul felt the presence of the two he sought. "And also.... they are there. Sinoval's servants. I will find them, and...." He left it hanging.
Haxtur bowed, and left. He understood completely.
* * * * * * *
The Parmenion swept forward, making for the nearest enemy ship, the Marten. Left broadsides fired, striking the newest of the human ships across its dark and glistening hull. The Marten turned, looking predatory, almost alive. Its eerily organic surface seemed to gleam.
"Looks a bit familiar, doesn't it?" asked Commander Corwin, looking at his Captain. Sheridan's eyes were dark, his expression hard. Both of them had seen such augmented ships at Minbar, but the Marten was more advanced than either the Morningstar or the Corinthian. It appeared that the engineers were perfecting the process.
"What are they doing to our ships?" Sheridan asked. "People like us are having to work and live inside that thing." He remembered all too well the mental screams of the true Shadow ships as they flew overhead. He wondered if these ships screamed as well.
The Marten fired, and the Parmenion rocked with the blast.
Sheridan staggered to his feet. "That thing offends me. Destroy it."
The Parmenion's Starfuries blazed forward, swarming over the mockery of a human ship, raining their blasts upon it. It seemed to have no Starfuries of its own, but those from the Morningstar and the Babylon were rushing forward to help out.
"Lyta," cried the Captain, "is there enough in that thing for you to block out?"
"I.... I don't know. I'm trying." The telepath appeared to be in agony. She was shaking and her face was very pale, especially compared to her dark eyes. These suddenly turned bright gold, a brilliant light that engulfed the room, almost blinding the bridge crew.
"I can see it now," she said, in a voice not her own. "I can see it...."
The Marten suddenly came to a halt. The ship was screaming.
The Morningstar moved forward.
* * * * * * *
They talked for hours, their words filling the air. They walked through the city together, he showing her the myriad wonders of this place of hope. It was a far cry from the blood and terror at Epsilon 3.
For him, for the Minbari prophet known as Valen, it was a chance to remember who he had been. Jeffrey Sinclair was known to him only in a garbled haze of memories, a brief flash here, a snatch of conversation there. No one had known Sinclair better than the woman he had loved, and walking with her, talking with her, he came more to life within Valen than he had ever been.
Perhaps that was the intention, a more paranoid and suspicious person than he might have thought.
For her, it was a similar connection to something long lost. Since the fall of Earth she had been wandering, drifting aimlessly. She had been alive, but she had not been living. Now she was. She gave him comfort, and was comforted by the very fact that she did so.
And something watching in the back of her mind welcomed the relationship.
They stopped just as dawn was breaking, finding themselves at a small site set aside from the general flurry of construction and repair that marked the city. Valen gently stepped forward, and paused.
"What's this place?" Catherine asked, smiling. "Where they're going to put your statue?"
"No," he said softly. "A shrine. To all those who died here during the invasion. I wanted to show you this last of all. This.... all this.... everything I've shown you tonight, it was paid for with blood.... so much blood. I don't think they told you that back on Proxima."
She shook her head. "No. No, the media was still heavily controlled by the Wartime Emergency Provisions. At IPX we heard a little more than most, but.... none of the true details. Nothing...." She bowed her head.
"Innocents. Everything, no matter how great or how small, is paid for with the blood of innocents. We must make sure that their sacrifices are never forgotten. This place is a start, but only a start. Tell me, Catherine, what has the blood of all those who died at Earth bought for our people?"
"I don't know," she said, shocked.
"Neither do I. I would like very much to walk amongst my people once more.... one last time."
"Maybe you will be able to."
He shook his head. "Footsteps in the sand, remember. They are coming to an end now. Soon. I can feel it. I'm going to have to go back soon. And then I'll never see another human face. I will be Minbari, once and for always."
"Go away? But Holy One, you...." Both of them turned to see a young Minbari slowly emerge from a side alley and walk towards them. "I.... forgive me, Holy One. I did not mean to alarm you. I.... I just came here to.... Forgive me. I will leave."
"No," he said quickly. "What is your name?"
"Findell, Holy One. My.... wife was killed on Minbar, and I brought our daughter here.... to be near to you, Holy One. I could not follow the Primarch, and I wanted to be with Delenn.... and you...."
"Ah. I see. I am sorry, Findell, that I have not met you until now."
"Oh no, Holy One. There is no need to be sorry. It is.... an honour...."
"The honour is mine. How do you find this place, Findell?"
"It is.... strange to my eyes, Holy One. But there is much that is good here. I grieve only because it is not Minbar. But our old way of life is gone now, that I know. And we will never be able to recover it."
"Never is a strong word, Findell, and you may yet see your home again. As will I. You heard me correctly before. I must leave here, travelling beyond as I did before. My.... destiny compels me. But just because I am absent in body that does not mean I am absent in spirit. I will always be with my people, Findell. Always."
"Then you will return again, Holy One? When you are most needed?"
"I...." Valen looked at the glowing, reverential eyes of his young companion and nodded. "I will return when I am most needed. But if my words are never forgotten, then I will never truly have left."
"Of course, Holy One. I understand. I.... thank you, Holy One." Findell bowed, stepped back and bowed again. He then scurried away, back into the streets. Valen sighed.
"You really creep me out when you do that," Catherine noted. "You sounded almost Minbari for a minute."
"I am Minbari. But I am human as well. Two souls.... in one body. The Vorlons did that to me."
"The.... Vorlons. Yes."
"But I have realised something. Simply because they have manipulated me for their own ends, that does not mean there is no good in what they have done. I may be their puppet, yes.... but I can still help. I can still heal, I can still build, and pray, and fight. Not everything they do is wrong, Catherine, whatever some may say." He paused, and looked at her intently. "I am not yet sure if what they did to you was wrong or not."
"I.... what? What do you...? What do you mean?"
"I can see their mark on you. It is so.... bright. At first I feared that the Catherine I knew.... once.... was gone, but I do not fear that any more. You have returned to my life, Catherine, and for that I am grateful to them."
"Ah.... I.... I don't...." She trembled, and then straightened slightly. "What are you going to do now?"
"Whatever their plans for you, and for me.... it does not matter. Events.... elsewhere are running away from them. From all of them. I will be here for a few more days at most. Then.... I will have to pass beyond again. And this time, I know I will not be able to return."
"How do you know this?"
He smiled, and pointed up towards the sky. "They're coming for me. I can feel them."
And for the second time in this world's history, a Vorlon ship arrived at Kazomi 7.
* * * * * * *
She could see it all now.... weaponry, defences, knowledge.... the histories of centuries come and gone, of decades yet to be.... All of it was hers, save for that one little part blocked off from her eyes and mind. She did not know what it was that could be hidden from her like this, but she did know that it was the greatest power of the Machine, and she was determined to find it.
"Tell me!" she screamed. "Tell me!"
G'Kar could not hear her. He was still, perhaps dead, she did not know. She supposed she could ask, but a part of her did not want to make the effort. G'Kar's servant, Ta'Lon.... he was still awake, whispering something in his own language. The Machine did contain translation devices - she could sense them, literally within sight - but they did not interest her.
"What is he saying?" she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her.
Tu'Pari looked up. She could see him there, his every thought laid out before her. He was steeped in blood even as much as she, but he did not possess her strength. He was only a mundane. His whole race were only mundanes.
"He is praying," came a calm, matter of fact reply. "He is calling upon G'Quan to grant him strength in protection of his lord."
"Is that likely to happen?"
Tu'Pari chuckled. "I very much doubt it."
One of the mundanes at the far end of the room stepped forward. The man. She had known his name once, she was sure, but could she still remember it? She trawled through his thoughts, ripping into memories and ideas as casually as she would flick through an address book. Lianna...? Frank...? Garibaldi! Of course. She knew him now. She had no idea who those other names belonged to, but they hardly mattered.
"Look, Donne.... this is taking things a bit far. I can't believe the Boss authorised this. Why don't you.... just.... give him a call at Sanctuary? I'm sure that machine can do that."
The Boss? Al! Alfred Bester! Yes. She was.... meant to.... do something.... tell him something.... It couldn't have been important.
"I will do as I please. You live by my sufferance, mundane. Don't forget that. You...." Her attention was diverted by the sound of G'Kar coughing. "Tu'Pari, wake him up!"
The assassin nodded and pulled out a small vial from a pocket of his tunic. Applying its contents to a cloth, he held it to G'Kar's face and pressed it against the fresh, deep wound across his cheek.
The prophet screamed as his body spasmed, forcing him back into consciousness.
"What is the secret, Narn?" she asked. "Tell me!"
"You.... are doing.... more harm.... than you know.... Give.... up.... the.... Machine...."
She laughed. "Give up all this? Tu'Pari, you've obviously damaged his mind somehow with those knives of yours. G'Kar.... tell me or...." She smiled. "They're fighting above our heads, you know.... fighting for control of this planet, this Machine.... and your precious station.... So many people.... so many to kill. I must confess, my experiences of killing are usually one on one. I've never done anything like this before.
"Tell me, Narn."
"No...."
"Then I'll kill them all!" Oblivious to the blood pouring from her eyes, her nose, her mouth, Donne threw back her head and sent instantaneous thought-messages to the Machine that engulfed her.
Missiles shot forth from the belly of the planet, seeking the warring factions above.
* * * * * * *
What have they done to my city?
Londo Mollari loved Centauri Prime. He loved the capital. He loved the Court, the temples, the offices, the libraries, the barracks buildings. He loved every street, every corner, every alley. He had spent the best part of his life there and there was nowhere he would rather be.
Words did not exist to describe his sadness as the transport flew over the city.
He had been in touch with his agents in the capital for some time and they had reported that matters there were bad, but he would never in a million years have believed it was this bad.
Buildings burned, the Guard - the Royal Guard - were fighting each other in the streets. Shops were being looted, people cut down, children murdered, women raped.... The whole city seemed to have gone insane.
Great Maker, what have we done? Malachi, what have you done? Can any power be worth this?
His nephew was there somewhere. Carn. Londo had sent him to manipulate the factions, to make things easier for when they needed to push north and take the capital. All those machinations seemed so hollow now. Where was Carn? A victim of this insanity? Or a part of it?
The flyer docked at the heliport and Londo disembarked with Lennier. This was where Malachi had said he would meet them.
"Stay here as long as you can," Londo instructed the pilot. Clearly afraid, the pilot nodded.
"What have they done to my city?" he asked, looking about him. The heliport was largely untouched, but the glow from the fires was bright and the screams of the victims could be heard even here. They were on the outskirts of the city. Perhaps the rioters had simply not yet reached this far.
"There is a madness here. Something.... someone perhaps, is affecting their minds." Lennier was looking around distastefully. Those were the first words Londo could recall him saying since they had left Remarin.
"Then why are we not affected?"
"Perhaps we are too strong for it? Perhaps you are anyway. I.... can feel it there. It is close, but.... my meditations will protect me."
"That is reassuring," came the sarcastic reply, but his heart was not really in it. His Minbari friend was hiding something, but he did not press him on it. Lennier had earned his privacy. "What will protect me? Large amounts of brivare, perhaps?"
"Your faith," came the simple reply.
"Faith and I parted ways a long time ago."
Lennier only nodded in reply. He looked distracted.
A few minutes later a squad of guardsmen appeared, walking towards them. Londo stiffened, and Lennier stepped in front of him, adopting a fighting stance. The guards stopped a fair distance away.
"Governor Mollari," said the leading guard, "we are to escort you to your meeting with First Minister Malachi. Please hurry. The streets are not safe."
"I noticed. But would I be any safer with you?"
The guard seemed insulted. "My orders are to escort you to the First Minister, and that is what I will do. He intended to meet you here, but conditions have worsened since he last spoke with you and he fears to travel the streets. We will provide a safe escort for you and your companion." Londo hesitated, and the guard continued. "He also said, if you proved suspicious, to remind you of your shoes. He hopes they are not too tight any more."
Londo relaxed. "Well, that means at least that you came from Malachi himself. Stand down, Lennier. We will go with these men." He went back to the flyer and turned to the pilot.
"Take up a safe position some distance from here. Come back and check this place every hour, on the hour. If we are not here in six hours, then leave and tell the Government at Selini that we are lost."
"Yes, Governor."
Londo turned back to his escort. "Merely a precaution. Well, then, Captain.... let us go."
* * * * * * *
She has seen death, too much death. She has known war, far too much of it. She has stood, high and imperious, as others bled and fought and died in her name. She has tried to renounce these old ways and embrace a new path, but conflict seems to follow the fallen Satai Delenn wherever she goes.
She remembers the title she gave to Captain Smith. Zha'valen. Outcast. A shadow upon Valen. She has not thought of that title in months, not since she took on a new position of power, one which she swore not to abuse in the way she had the last.
And yet she has brought her people, her followers, her friends, and the man she loves above all else, to this place.... and the war seems to have followed them.
Her incarceration in the brig had been short-lived, as some of G'Kar's Narn Rangers had managed to free her within hours. The fighting for the station had been brief, but bloody. Captain Smith had left many of his Security officers here, and Delenn had no doubt they were trained to the pinnacle of human efficiency. But this was not their home, they did not believe as the Narns did, they had not been trained to give their lives for the greater good, as the Narns had....
They were not Rangers.
Looking at them, talking to them, being with them, Delenn felt a brief surge of pride. These were truly as the Rangers of old, of Valen's day. She and those like her might have failed in their duties, but the gauntlet had been picked up, and was being wielded with the iron glove of the warrior and the open palm of the peacemaker.
But for all the pride she felt, there was an equal amount of guilt. The gauntlet should never have been thrown down in the first place. How different would things have been if the sin of pride had never overtaken her people?
She walked on to the command deck of the station, to find Lethke already there. He turned to greet her, and managed a faint smile. "Delenn.... it is good to see you are safe."
"Are any of us truly safe? How is it going?"
"Ah, I chose to study economics rather than warfare, and so I can't really say. The odds, however, look to be against us. Taan Churok has taken his personal flyer and is joining our ships, but.... there seems to be rather a lot of them."
"Anything from the planet?"
"No. Not a word. I fear it has been compromised."
Delenn closed her eyes, and thought of G'Kar.... warrior and peacemaker in one. If he had fallen, then.... No. Time for doubts later. She knew full well the importance of this place, and just how much it had to be protected.
She turned to the leader of the Rangers who had rescued her. "G'Dok, how much control do we have over the weapons?"
"All we need."
"Good.... we have to try to take out the weapons systems of the enemy ships. Drive them away if possible. Is.... is the weaponry here capable of doing that?"
"Babylon Four was built as a place of war just as much as a place of peace. We can do that."
Delenn nodded and smiled, noting that some of the Rangers were already on post. She did not involve herself, but she did walk to the front of the control room, the better to see the state of the battle, and those who were dying.
G'Dok barked out something in his own language. He was evidently concerned. Delenn was about to ask him what he had discovered, when she suddenly realised she did not need to.
There was a blur of light, streaking towards the Brakiri ship. Before her eyes it exploded in a brilliant burst of flame, the hull torn apart, the engines bursting into flames, the entire ship consumed in the space of a few seconds.
Lethke cried out and turned away, reeling.
"What was that?" Delenn asked, unable to comprehend what she had just seen.
"From the planet," said G'Dok. "From the.... Machine."
Delenn trembled and fell back against the wall.
* * * * * * *
From Selini, the soldiers moved. North, across the sea, on a mission of mercy and salvation, to the aid of their people on the mainland.
Sphodria, a port city. A vibrant place of trade, a cosmopolitan town where few looked out of place. Records had once put the alien population of Sphodria at thirty-nine percent, more than twice that of any other city save the capital. None of them was here now, everyone who could having left before things got this bad.
The soldiers arrived from Selini by airship, flyer and boat, moving through the city, establishing order and peace wherever they went. Had they been a few hours earlier they might have had more effect, but they were still the only hand reaching out to the city in this dark hour.
They found the Shadow Criers, lunatics crying of the coming Darkness. Those they found, they killed. Some surrendered after the first shot, pitifully begging for mercy on bended knees. Others stood staring at the soldiers, began to laugh, and lit the torch to burn their physical shells. Those who could be taken alive were imprisoned swiftly. Trials could wait.
The hospitals were secured and the surviving staff rescued. Medical staff from Selini were rushed in quickly and tried to deal with the wounded and dying as best they could. The numbers needing help were overwhelming.
Two hours after entering the city Lord-General Marrago stood in the Governor's house, looking at the mess of flesh and bone that had once been the Governor's wife, children and servants. The body of the Governor himself had been outside the house.
The Darkness is coming.
The words had been written countless times on the walls, on the floor, the furniture. Marrago felt those words, and shivered.
Then, the city in reasonable peace and order, Marrago handed it over to the captain of the Selini Governor's Guard, and took half of the occupying soldiers north-west, making for the heartland, and Gallia. That city needed their help as well.
The entire planet needed their help.
* * * * * * *
Lyta Alexander screamed as the golden light engulfed her. The cries of the Brakiri and human and Drazi and Narn dying echoed in her mind, but rising above them all were the sonorous tones of the Vorlon, reminding her of the necessity of her rôle, and the need to protect this place.
Her will stopped the Marten head on, paralysing the vessel. Captain Walker Smith shouted furiously at his technicians and engineers, but they could do nothing. The only beings on the ship with the knowledge to correct the block were paralysed themselves, the instructions of their Keepers shut out by Lyta's telepathic pulse.
The Parmenion swept down on the Marten and with swift, measured shots, blasted away both broadside cannon, front and aft weaponry and as much of the jump engines as it could. Then, leaving the beautiful, terrifying ship dead in space, it moved on.
On a smaller scale the Starfuries clashed, human against human, perhaps friend against friend. Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally guided the Starfury squadrons from the Parmenion against those of the Corinthian and Morningstar. Thankfully those from the Babylon were largely engaged in skirmishing with those from the station. She did not think she could have borne fighting them. The face of her father ever before her, she pressed onwards.
On board the Babylon, Captain Dexter Smith could feel the ghost in his chair very close to him, as he tried to manouevre his ship into a position to meet the Parmenion. Elsewhere on the bridge, Lieutenant Stephen Franklin was not displeased that they were not able to do so yet.
Taan Churok and his Drazi companions rained devastating blows on the Corinthian, only to be met with equal and more savage response.
From the surface of Epsilon 3, terrifying weapons of mass destruction soared into space.
* * * * * * *
She slept without dreams, for the first time she could remember since Kalain and the Council. No dreams of pain, of him mocking her and her caste. No dreams of Sinoval, or Kozorr, the two truest friends she had ever had in her life.
No dreams at all.
Until she was awoken.
Sonovar strode past the cringing wounded as if they were not there. To him they truly were not. Workers, mostly, priestlings, some.... a warrior here and there. Not a true warrior, but an aspirant to that title. He was somehow disappointed, but then he remembered that Tarolin 2 had survived the war more or less intact, a survival brought about by cowardice, deception and weakness. They had joined Sinoval for the same reason.
Unfortunately that meant that most of those here were guilty only of cowardice, not treason. Still, when fate took him to Owari and the other worlds Sinoval claimed, the situation would be very different. True warriors at last.
Someone stepped forward to meet him, a man wearing the brown smock of a worker. He actually dared to meet Sonovar's eyes, and although he was obviously afraid, he stood and spoke anyway. Sonovar found himself liking this man.
"We are a hospital here. We care for the wounded only. We mean you no harm. We mean harm to no one."
"You build, yes? We fight, and they pray, and you build. Tell me, worker, which path is strongest, do you think?"
The worker cringed, but Sonovar had to admit he would look frightening to such a man. As well as two of Kalain's former Grey Council beside him, there were three Tak'cha, glaring around angrily at those they saw as having denied Valen's will. They probably had denied Valen's will, but they had also denied Sonovar's will, and that was more serious.
"We mean you no harm, lord," the worker said hesitantly. "There is no reason for you to.... harm us in return."
"The way of the river, hmm? You flow through life, passively accepting what is thrown at you, what lands on you, accepting it all into your soul. You bring life to the land, and harm no one and nothing." Sonovar smiled. "Does it surprise you that I know worker philosophy? I have read the works of your poets, your dreamers.... I know your caste as well as any. You see, I am a student of all aspects of our race.... which makes me fit to lead you.
"Now, where is Kats, of your caste, a traitor to our race? I.... discovered that she was brought here. Where is she?"
She awoke at the sound of her name, uttered in a voice she took to be Kalain's. Disorientation and surprise took her and she stirred, looking around at her surroundings.
"We.... we have no one of that name here, lord. Perhaps.... perhaps.... somewhere.... else?"
Sonovar's eyes darkened. "I like you, little man, but never forget that you are a little man. I, on the other hand, dare to consider myself a great man, and do you know one of the symptoms of a great man?" The worker shook his head. "Neither do I. No one can. But.... to refer to a mark of a great leader, then I refer to you the words of Valen himself."
A quick gesture and his warriors picked out a wounded patient at random. Sonovar turned to look at the figure as she was brought forward. A priestling, her leg broken. Her eyes were glazed, the evidence of some drug in her. Sonovar supposed it was better that she was drugged. It added to the power of what he was about to do.
"A great general...." He raised his fighting pike and extended it, enjoying the worker's dawning horror. "A great general will never give an order to his men that he will not carry out himself."
A blur of movement, and the priestling woman fell, her skull crushed. There were cries of shock from those conscious enough to witness the act. He felt no satisfaction in them.
"We mean you no harm," the worker cried. "Please, lord.... there is no need...."
"Kats. Where is she? Tell me, or another will die, and then another. The dying stops when I find her. I mean you no harm, little man, but I will not be stopped in this. Another mark of a great general.... doing whatever is necessary to finish the task."
Kats heard the cries of shock, and tried to rise. She heard her name spoken again, and Sonovar's threat.
"Very well, then. Another, if you please." Another was brought forward, a warrior this time. She glared at him with a fierce anger that made him smile with pride. "If the Lady Kats does not appear for me now, then this one will die."
He waited, and Kats began to scramble forward. She tried to speak, but the words would not emerge. She could sense Kalain before her, laughing again. Visions of Sonovar mocking her at his side plagued her, but she kept moving.
Sonovar raised his pike.
Her wounds were burning, and blood still stained her robe. She felt so heavy, her body so cumbersome.
Sonovar paused to look into the eyes of the warrior he was about to kill.
"Stop!" Kats cried at last. She stood before him. "I am here."
* * * * * * *
A brilliant burst of light, and thousands of tiny, unheard screams marked the end of the Corinthian, blown apart in one shining moment of madness, and an arrogant, oh-so-terrible power.
* * * * * * *
Michael Garibaldi knew that something was very very wrong, and he knew that the Boss was involved in it. What he did not know was how he would explain this to Lianna, how he would tell his son, how he could look at his friends knowing that he had been a part of this.
Donne now looked awful. Her black Psi Corps uniform was soaked in her blood. Scarlet tears were dripping down her face, blood was spilling from her mouth.
"What is it doing?" she cried out, crimson spittle flying from her lips. "What is it...?"
"It is rejecting you," whispered G'Kar hoarsely. "It is...."
"I'm going to burn everything you ever cared for, you smug Narn bastard! Tu'Pari, kill the other one. Cut his throat out. Soak the bastards in his blood. Do...." She coughed, and her body trembled. "What is it doing?"
Tu'Pari raised his knife, and turned the prone Ta'Lon over. The Ranger's face was a mass of bleeding tissue, especially his left eye. Now that Garibaldi could see what had been done to it, he felt like retching. He didn't. He had to remain clear-headed. What was being done here was wrong. Very wrong, and it was coming to an end. If he didn't do something now....
Tu'Pari placed his knife on Ta'Lon's throat.
Garibaldi started forward, charging at the two Narns. He had no weapon, but he had to do what he could.
A solid wall of nothingness appeared before him. He ran into it and fell sprawling, only partly conscious. "Naughty, naughty," whispered Donne. "I can read your mind, remember. You're working for Al, so I suppose I shouldn't kill you.... but maybe I will...." She coughed again, her body shaking.
The ground beneath them shook, and everything happened at once.
Tu'Pari plunged his dagger downwards. Ta'Lon's hand shot upwards and wrenched the blade from his hands.
Susan Ivanova staggered to her feet, voices crying out in her mind.
Something burst at the back of Donne's brain. The Machine rejected her physical body as it had long ago rejected her soul, and she fell from it, dead before she hit the ground.
The planet rumbled.
* * * * * * *
It had turned. Captain Dexter Smith could see that. The Marten was disabled, the Corinthian gone, the Morningstar sorely pressed, the station lost, and the Machine....
He sat back in his chair, the chair that had marked out his ghost for the past year. That spectre had now finished any hope for success in this mission.
"God forgive me," he whispered.
"Babylon.... this is Ryan. Do you read me?" The voice over the comm channel was filled with desperation. He knew it as well. The battle was lost.
"Babylon here," Smith replied. "Get out of here, General. It's over. Try to free up the Marten and leave."
"Negative, Babylon.... we have to fight on."
"It's over, General. We've lost. Don't let this defeat become a disaster. We've recovered from worse than this. We'll be back."
Smith could imagine Ryan's expression, a terrified resignation, a slow nod, an acceptance that the words he was hearing were true. "Confirmed, Babylon. The Marten has managed to fix up engines, but not yet weaponry. It can leave. A full retreat. Repeat, we...."
"I'll stay here, General. I'll cover your escape."
"But Captain...."
"You know what will happen to me if I go back, General. I'll hold them off long enough for the two of you to get out of here. Go!"
"Understood, Babylon. Good luck."
Duty. Duty and leadership. Smith knew he owed a duty to those under his command, to those he had betrayed with his pride and tunnel vision. Too obsessed with Sheridan to safeguard properly the station or the planet.
He had to redeem himself, first to his fellow captains, and then to those under his command. They would be safe, he would ensure it. He would buy their safety with his own life.
He looked at Franklin, and bowed his head sadly.
"Take us forward. Cover them."
He shook as he heard the reply. "Yes, sir."
* * * * * * *
"The Darkness is coming! The Darkness is coming! You can feel it, you can hear it, you will embrace it so that it may claim you.... The Darkness is coming!"
Londo grimaced and put his hands against his ears. "Will that person shut up?"
He had no idea who it was who was talking. The person in the next cell presumably. Or the one down. Or across the corridor perhaps.
He had no idea where Lennier was. He had no idea where Malachi was either. He had not managed to see his old friend, and he was still no nearer the answers to his questions. He was however much nearer his execution.
"Londo," had exclaimed the smiling countenance of Lady Elrisia. "Such a pleasure." Cartagia was next to her. "Imagine our surprise at hearing you were coming here. Imagine our.... pleasure."
"I need to see Malachi."
"He is ill," Elrisia had said with considerable satisfaction. "Very sad of course, but then he is an old man. The.... rigours of recent months are bound to have taken their toll on him."
"What have you done to him?"
"Nothing. Yet. We don't need to. You see, Londo, I've learned a great deal about politics recently. You, and that dear, dead husband of mine taught me a lot, and the main thing you taught me was that power comes from the top. Everyone else is scrambling around trying to get hold of bits and pieces at the side, working from the bottom up.... but we.... we just went straight for the heart. We control the Court now - the Court, the guards, most of the Centarum, and now you."
"Then why have you not been doing anything? For the Emperor's sake, Elrisia.... look outside! The city is burning.... The Empire is burning! Why are you not doing anything?"
"Far better to let it burn, and then pick up the ashes.... don't you think?"
Londo stood alone in his dark cell, remembering that conversation; remembering the eyes of his old friend, so very old; remembering the light touch of his wife; remembering the glee in Elrisia's expression; and remembering above all the sight of his beloved city in flames.
"The Darkness is coming!"
No, Londo decided. The Darkness is here.
* * * * * * *
With a strength born from suffering, Ta'Lon knocked Tu'Pari aside. The assassin fell sprawling and tried to roll over and up to his feet. The Ranger was too fast for him however, darting forward and charging into him. Blows rained down on Tu'Pari's face.
Tu'Pari had served with the Thenta Ma'Kur for many years and it had taught him a great deal about the art of killing, but that was killing by stealth, through secrecy, the thin blade in the night, the poison in the wine cup.
Ta'Lon had been forged in the fires of war and occupation. He had wandered, rootless and without direction, until he had met G'Kar, and then he had gained a purpose. He had been trained in war and fighting as well as in many of the same skills as Tu'Pari, but there was one crucial difference.
Ta'Lon believed, and that belief gave him the force to survive, to prevail, and to triumph.
He rose above the assassin, lifted Tu'Pari's head, and dashed it to the ground.
There was a crack as his neck broke.
"Ta'Lon," breathed G'Kar's hoarse voice. "Help.... me.... up.... The.... Machine...."
"You cannot, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Ta'Lon replied as he tried to limp forward. The ground beneath them was shaking and trembling. The planet itself seemed to be in revolt.
"You are too weak, Ha'Cormar'ah. You.... need to...." Ta'Lon swayed and almost fell. "You.... must...."
"The Machine needs me! It.... needs...."
Garibaldi stood up. He seemed strangely centred, all his problems falling away. "You need someone in that thing? I'll do it."
* * * * * * *
Somewhere.... in a place unvisited by any human, unknown to all of the younger races, two Vorlons were speaking, in a conversation that was not carried out in words....
The bargain?
I remember. I will comply.
We were not ready.
You were ready. Who else could have done this?
We knew nothing. We do not control all the mortals.
You control enough.
The bargain?
I remember. I am going. All will be done as it was done. He will accomplish his destiny. The past will be served, and all hope for the future will be lost.
The future is ours.
And the past is ours. A fair trade.
And your fate?
I remember. I accept.
Good.
* * * * * * *
"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."
Susan Ivanova began to stir from her torpor, the instructions in her mind becoming clear again.
"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."
A part of her that had been lost for so long began to return. She knew what must be done, and what part she would play in it.
"The Shadows are coming."