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| Volume 4: A Future, Born in Pain | Part I: The Fiery Trial Through Which we Pass |
THE oldest being in the galaxy had been waiting for a very long time. He had come here originally to speak to his children, and to try to help them to understand. None of his other children had, but he had hoped beyond all hope that these would.
They had not.
However, he remembered the way the planet had seemed to react to his setting foot on it. There had been a tremble, and then a soft whisper. As he sometimes did, he had experienced a revelation of the days yet to come, of a crucial change in the endless war, of someone who would come to help end the combat.
Someone who would come here. There would be a meeting here, a meeting that would change the galaxy forever, and herald the beginning of the end times for him.
And so he had remained behind. The children who lived here had been overjoyed at this, perceiving it to be an honour. He had sighed at their lack of understanding, and had resolved to spend as much of the time as he could trying to teach them the truth that they had long since forgotten.
But he had forgotten a crucial truth as well: the universe is the master of time, not any beings forged of its soul. He had deluded himself into believing that, because he was immortal, he had all the time he would ever need.
War had come to this world, and the children here had been forced to flee. They had begged him to come with them, but he had refused. He had wondered idly if the meeting he had foreseen was nigh.
Alas, he had been wrong. The other children, the Vorlons, had come here, winning their phase of the war, winning the hearts and souls of those even younger who would be led by them for the next thousand years. They understood even less than those who had left Z'ha'dum.
Only one of them seemed even to want to understand. Its name was Kosh, and it had come to him, to talk and to learn. It had learned, something at least, but then it had left, ready to go back into the galaxy.
The Shadows had returned of course, and he could feel that the war was starting up again, as it had countless times since the beginning.
This time, though, he could sense that things were different. The ancient Cathedral had risen again, and the Well of Souls had chosen a mortal to be its next keeper. The oldest being in the galaxy remembered both, and dared risk a smile in memory.
The other First Ones.... they were moving, preparing. They could also sense that something was changing. They had tried to talk to him, only to be politely rebuffed. He was still waiting for the one who would come to him.
And now someone was here.
A choice would have to be made, of course. He wondered what the decision would be.
His wait was almost over.
* * * * * * *
"I have learned a great deal since I last met one of your people. I have seen much, and done much.
"I am not afraid of you. I am not awed by your power. I am not intimidated by your voice. I do not tremble at your footsteps."
Sinoval raised Stormbringer and extended it. The air seemed to crackle around it. He thought he saw the Vorlon flinch.
"This can hurt you. Forged with fire, forged with fury, forged with the essence of myself within it. It can hurt you. I can hurt you.
"You sent Delenn to her death. You tried to erase all records of this, but you failed. I have a message from her. Tomorrow I will show it to the Council of this United Alliance. Let them see what you are, and what you plan.
"Your day is done, yours and all of your foul race. I will break you."
The Vorlon's eye stalk swivelled and looked directly down upon him.
<You do not understand.>
"But I do. You are one of the First Ones, a race older than almost anything we can hope to understand. You are millennia in advance even of we Minbari. You are powerful, ancient, possibly even immortal. You think you know all there is to know. You are the masters of order, the keepers of stability and stasis and discipline."
Sinoval smiled softly.
"There are older ways than yours, Vorlon. There are paths far darker than any you have ever trod. There are riddles you have never heard, and questions that you cannot answer.
"I am not afraid of you. I will destroy you.... each and every one of you."
<We do not fear you.>
"You should."
The Vorlon looked at him, its eye stalk moving slowly. A glowing, golden light began to emanate from it.
<Leave this place. Leave the thoughts of mortal beings. They are not for you.>
Sinoval chuckled. "I was going to tell you the same thing," he remarked. "Pray to whatever Gods you worship that we do not meet again. The next time we do, I will crack open that armour of yours and turn the light within you to darkness.
"Do you understand me?"
<We do not fear you.>
Sinoval turned and left. He could feel the voices in the Well of Souls rise in concern, but he ignored them. He had nothing to fear from the Vorlon. Nothing at all.
* * * * * * *
Corwin sensed something was wrong from the instant he set foot inside the compound. He couldn't explain it as anything other than instinct, which irritated him no end. He just had a feeling that something was happening.
Ambassador Sheridan showed the two of them into a small but comfortable waiting room, while he went off to get Delenn. Corwin looked around at the chairs, the desk, the pots of tea, and was struck by the complete absurdity of it all. He had not been sure what to expect on the homeworld of the enemy, but it had not been this.
Just to be sure, he had remained standing and passed up the opportunity to sample some of the tea. He had always been a coffee drinker anyway.
He looked at the Captain, who seemed to be perfectly at home here, and that was even more worrying. He was sitting on one of the chairs, flicking idly through an old issue of Humanity magazine that had been discarded on the table. Corwin caught a glimpse of the picture on the cover, and read the tagline. "Lieutenant Commander Ramirez - One of the New Generation of Earthforce."
"I wonder if they get a subscription out here," he muttered. The Captain looked up.
"Oh," he said. "Yes. Last October's issue, I think. Da.... He must have brought it with him when he came here. Something to read on the way, no doubt." He chuckled. "They're talking about the proposed line of ships for the new year. The Saint-Germain, the Dark Thunder and the De'Molay. According to the dates here, the Saint-Germain must be done by now." He shook his head. "I've missed a lot. All those months...."
"Who's the bloke on the cover? I don't think I recognise him."
"Oh, Earthforce's up-and-coming new star apparently. I don't remember the name, but that's not surprising. He'd be one of the new generation.... since Earth. God, he looks so young."
"He looks older than me. I think."
"The more things change, the more they stay the same," the Captain muttered. "I bet my superior officers were saying that about me when I joined. God, I never thought I'd get to be this old. Coming up to forty-five this year. That is old, isn't it?"
"Oh, ancient," replied Corwin dryly.
"And when I look back.... Just how did we get here? In rebellion against our Government, fighting a war against one of the oldest races in the galaxy.... in love with a Minbari.... Was there anything we could have done, do you think? Anything that could have prevented this.... all this?"
"I don't know. It's hard to look back and pick out one moment where everything went wrong. We did all we could, I guess. We did what we had to do."
"Yes, I suppose." He tossed the magazine aside. "It's just weird. I can't get my head around it all sometimes. I can see.... all the roads of the future stretching out before us, and I've no idea which one to take. Just what do we do now? If we took the wrong path before, then can we bring things back to where they should be? Is that even possible any more?"
"I think.... I think we just have to hope for the best. We can't give up. We have to keep trying."
"There must be another way. There.... I think you're right, David. You're a good man.... a good friend. How's Mary? I completely forgot to ask before."
"She's.... gone. I haven't spoken to her for months."
"Ah.... I'm.... sorry."
"Don't be. It's.... better for her this way. She's alive, and she's not worrying about whether I'm not going to come back one day."
"Oh, you will. You're going to outlive all of us."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
The Captain smiled, and for the first time since his revival he looked like himself. Corwin was about to say something when the door opened, and he turned. The Captain rose from his seat, obviously expecting to see Delenn.
It wasn't Delenn. It wasn't even Ambassador Sheridan.
It was a humanoid figure, an alien, dressed in long, flowing robes. Its head was scaly and high, with little horns rising from the back. It did not shimmer, and it did not hold a glowing orb, but Corwin still knew what it was.
"Drakh," he whispered.
"Yess," it replied. "Drakh."
"You're all dead," he protested. "We destroyed you at Minbar."
"You destroyed our fleets, our orbs, our magi. Our warrior caste is broken and gone. The rest of us.... remain. We bid you welcome.... to our home...."
"Where's Delenn?" asked the Captain. "Where is she?"
"She will be here.... soon. Yess."
"No," whispered the Captain. "Damn you. Damn you!" A weapon appeared in his hand, and he raised it. The Drakh's eyes twitched as if in surprise, and then its body was thrown back against the wall, a smoking hole in its chest.
"Captain, what...?"
"They killed her," he whispered, tears rising in his eyes. "They.... they killed her. Damn them! They killed her!"
"What? How do you know...?"
"I.... I just know. Come on. We have to get back to the ship."
"What are we going to do?"
"We.... we can't do anything here. I swear I'll be back, though.... and I'll blow this entire planet straight to Hell! Come on.!"
Corwin let the Captain pull him towards the door, and then his instincts took over and he started to run alongside him. "I thought you gave up your weapons," he said, as they began hurriedly strapping on their breathing masks.
"Something my.... my father taught me," he whispered. "Always be prepared for anything. I brought a spare."
Beneath their feet the ground began to shake. Almost as if the planet itself was shouting. Corwin stumbled and almost fell. As he staggered to his feet he saw another Drakh come round the corner towards them. This one was not alone.
* * * * * * *
"Congratulations," said Smith hurriedly. "You've just won the award for most irritating cliché of the day."
"What can I say? I'm an old-fashioned sort of guy. You aren't going to resist, are you? Only, I just had the place recarpeted, and blood would be very hard to shift. Play along nicely, and I promise you a reasonably easy demise. Try to kick up a fuss, and.... Well, there's a lady present, so I really can't go into details."
"I think my stomach's strong enough for the details," Talia replied. "Who's your contact at Interplanetary Expeditions?"
He swiftly raised his gun and shot it in her direction in one fluid motion. It struck her arm and she fell, wincing. "Not that old trick," he snapped irritably. "It's an 'ooh, let's ask him a sudden question so he thinks about the answer and you read his mind and find out everything' sort of thing, isn't it? Well, that was a 'let's shoot the telepath with a sleeper bolt so she loses her telepathic powers and couldn't read the mind of a Shredded Wheat' sort of response."
"What can I say?" she replied, trying to struggle to her feet. There was blood on her arm, and her eyes were unfocussed. "I'm an old-fashioned sort of girl."
"Actually, that's a fairly new response. There are other ways around telepathic scans, of course. Filling your mind with all sorts of gibberish, I'm told that works. You know, humming stuff, advertising jingles, maths. But then I was never any good at maths and I got fed up with all the jingles staying in my head. There's the psionic jammer I showed your friend of course, but that gives me a bloody awful headache, so I took it out. No, these work much better. Leave you with unpleasant reactions as well, or so I understand. Well, nausea, headaches, that sort of thing. How are you, anyway?"
"Just.... fine...." she replied.
"Good. I always like to hand on the merchandise in good condition. My contact gets very upset with me if they're a bit beaten up."
"We couldn't have that now, could we?" muttered Smith. Trace turned his gaze on him.
"Oh, look. It's the social crusader. What brings you here, then? Her, I can understand. She's poking around in my private affairs to see what I'm doing with her people, but you.... Just trying to impress a pretty lady, is it? Get inside her skirts, hmm?"
"I was looking for evidence I could use to bring you down," he said calmly.
"Why do you care, for God's sake? I've never done anything to you. At least, I don't think so. What, did I kill your brother or something and this is a revenge gig?"
"No. It's just knowing what's right. You're abusing these people. You're a coward and a sadist who lives off other people's misery, and I won't rest until you're finished."
"Oh, I was right the first time. A social crusader. Listen up, Superman, nobody cares! Sector Three-o-one is a dumping ground. It's where Main Dome throws everyone they can't be bothered sorting out. The Government's got enough problems up there without having to worry about a mass of gormless morons. I know these people, and they can be split into two groups: the people at the top, and the people at the bottom. It'll always be that way, and I'm damned if I'm going to be at the bottom. It's that simple.
"Now, people like you don't understand that, and you never will. Boys, take him outside and get rid of him. Don't do it in here, I don't want blood on the carpet. As for the body.... no lakes around here. Damn! Call me old-fashioned, but there's nothing like a good lake to dump a body into. Oh well, go for the second best. Find a construction site and lay him in the foundations or something.
"As for me...." He looked at Talia. "I've an appointment with a pretty lady."
* * * * * * *
Delenn's breath burned her throat, her blood seemed to have thickened in her veins, her mind was fogged, her vision unclear.
The whole planet seemed wrong to her, especially as they moved deeper and deeper into it, as if they were making for the very centre of Z'ha'dum itself. Ivanova seemed convinced this was the way to go, even when Neroon had to admit he had never been this far into the depths of the Shadow cities. Not even they liked going this far down.
There were no alarms, no klaxons blazing, no sounds of running feet chasing or cries of 'Hey, you!' Still, Delenn knew they were being chased. She could feel it, hear the whispered cries of the Shadows in her mind, feel the wrath of the ancient Enemies at her escape.
"He's this way," Ivanova kept saying. "I can.... I can hear him. He's been waiting for us. Damn, he couldn't have been a bit clearer with the directions, could he? How about arranging a taxi for us?"
Delenn did not stop to wonder at the wisdom of trusting someone who had tried to kill her so many times. Ivanova had her own personal demons to fight, and they had conquered her. It seemed that only now was she beginning to find some surcease from her private pains.
Neroon was silent, his face dark. The third betrayal. The completion of his doom. He would not leave this world alive, he knew that. So did Delenn, although she did not want to admit it even to herself. He had made his decision, but it hurt.... Oh, Valen, it hurt....
The tunnels they were in seemed to be growing narrower, and hotter. The downward slant had become less pronounced now, and the path was more level. They might even have been ascending slightly. There was a faint light, but barely enough for Delenn to see by. Neroon seemed to be managing better, although she did not have time to wonder about that.
There was a scuffling noise from above them, and a muttered curse from Ivanova. "Tripped over something," she explained, as Neroon helped her to rise. Delenn could feel a strange sense of.... of holiness. Something she had only experienced before in the shrines at Yedor and Tuzanor. She walked forward slowly, and knelt down.
There was a stone slab there, with a candle raised above it. There was something engraved on the slab, in a bold hand, but an ancient style. It was her own tongue! It was an ancient dialect of the warrior caste. She strained to make out the words.
"'Here was slain Parlonn, of the First Fane of the warrior caste of the Minbari peoples, at the hand of Marrain, now of no fane, no caste and no people. May Parlonn's soul ascend to the old Gods of his fane, to join his brethren there. May they forgive him his choices, just as they will surely never forgive mine.'" Neroon's voice grew still, as he looked at the last sentence.
"'Thus he was saved from his third betrayal, and thus his doom is averted, and taken upon my shoulders instead.'"
"This is where Marrain killed Parlonn," whispered Delenn. "A thousand years ago."
Neroon bent down over the candle. It was untouched, having never once been lit. "Marrain knew he was not worthy to light this," he said softly. "He set it here for someone to come and light for him." He raised his hand, and the candle burst into flame.
"Ascend, Parlonn," he said. "Find some peace at last."
"Very pretty," said Ivanova. "They're coming for us. We don't have much time."
Delenn turned and closed her eyes. She could feel the pursuit nearing. "She's right. There is nothing more either of us can do here, Neroon. How much further is it?"
"Not much, I think. Just around that corridor and through that archway." Ivanova ran forward with Delenn and Neroon chasing after her. "Here we...." There was a sudden, startled cry, and as Delenn reached the archway she understood why.
There was a small balcony overlooking a vast chasm. Ivanova was perched precariously, trying to regain her balance. Slowly Delenn stepped out onto the balcony, very much aware that there was no parapet. She glanced down into the chasm and could see no bottom. Looking up, she saw faint glints of light a vast distance above their heads. A dome leading to the sky.
The sounds of pursuit neared, and Neroon stepped out to meet them. "They are here," he said in a hollow voice.
* * * * * * *
Corwin was limping and clutching at his arm as he arrived back on the Babylon, muttering angry epithets under his breath. That had been one journey he never wanted to repeat. The Captain had not been hurt, which would be a good thing if Corwin wasn't so unsure about just what exactly had happened.
"Captain," said Ko'Dath on their return to the shuttle bay. "We got your message." She did not make any reference to just how unclear the message had been. "We will provide an escort for you and Commander Corwin to Medlab...."
"No!" snapped the Captain. "I'm fine. I need to get to the bridge as soon as possible. Have they readied the jump engines?"
"They are warming up now. The Chief Engineer estimated a few more minutes before they're ready."
"Damn! The Shadows will be on our tails any minute now. Get David to Medlab. I'm going to the bridge."
"I'm going with you, Captain," Corwin said. The Captain looked at him for a minute, then nodded.
"Can't this thing go any faster?" he snapped at the transport tube. "Come on!"
"It's going as fast as it can. We'll be at the bridge any minute, and they've got your instructions. Captain.... what happened down there?"
"We got ambushed by about a million Drakh and a couple of the Shadows, and we managed to punch our way out and get to the shuttle."
"No, I mean.... before that. About.... Delenn?"
"They killed her, David," he said softly. "I just.... I just knew it somehow. They killed her. I could hear her screaming, begging for mercy, and I.... I just couldn't do anything to save her. They probably killed her the instant they got her there."
"You're sure she's dead?"
"Yes! Dammit, David, stop questioning me!" He reached up to rub at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just.... I wish I could have saved her. The least I can do is avenge her."
"First things first," Corwin said, trying to disguise his shock. "We won't be able to avenge anyone unless we get out of here. You think they'll try to stop us?"
"I know they will. Don't worry, David. We've cut our way out of worse than this." The transport tube came to a halt and the Captain charged through the doors and rushed on to the bridge. Corwin followed as fast as his injuries would let him.
The first thing he saw was Lyta, just standing patiently next to the Captain's chair. Of course, the Captain's hurried message from the shuttle would have led to her being hastily called to the bridge, but she looked perfectly composed, almost.... almost as if she'd been expecting all of this.
The Captain took his seat and activated his link. "Engineering, get those jump engines working as soon as possible." Without waiting to hear the reply, he looked around the bridge, barking out orders.
"Captain," said one of the technicians. "There's an incoming signal. It's from the surface."
"Put it on. Audio only."
--- John, what's going on? --- came the angry voice of his father. --- What's happened? ---
"You know what's happened. You killed Delenn and expected me to fall into the same trap she did."
--- What? We didn't kill her. She's still alive. I promise you.... ---
"Then prove it. Let me talk to her. Let me see her. Now."
--- We.... We can't do that. She isn't.... ---
"I knew it. We're getting out of here, and if you try to stop us we'll cut a path straight through anything you put in the way. We'll be back though, and then we're going to blow that entire planet of yours apart. I'll turn each and every one of your ships into a funeral pyre for Delenn!"
--- Son, listen to me! ---
"My father's dead. I don't know who you are, but you're not him." He flicked a quick glance at the technician. "Shut off the signal. How much longer for the jump engines?"
"They're almost on-line."
"Almost isn't good enough!"
"Captain," said Lyta, her eyes glowing. "They're here."
A moment later one of the techs said, "I'm picking up their ships, Sir. A lot of them."
The Babylon was surrounded.
* * * * * * *
"What do you think this is all about, then? I mean, he could have been a little more descriptive about just what could possibly be so important as to be worth dragging me out of bed at this hour of the morning. I don't know about you, and I certainly don't know about him, but I am an old man with a great many responsibilities, and I need my sleep!"
G'Kar sighed, looking at his companion. Their relationship might have become a little chillier in recent days, but there were some things that had not changed. One of these was his exasperation at his friend's never-ending habit of finding something to complain about even at times of great wonder.
"Mollari, do not think that just because you wear fancy clothes and expensive trappings of power and sit on a big chair, that you have seen everything there is to see. For myself, the chance to set foot inside a place such as this is worth getting up a little bit earlier than usual.
"Besides, I can assure you I was still awake working last night long after you were snoring in your cups."
"I do not snore, and if Timov were here she would be happy to confirm that for you. Trust me, you will never get a chance to find out for yourself. And yes, I will admit to some curiosity, mild curiosity mind, about Cathedral, but all I have seen so far is a large docking bay and a very dark waiting room, populated by some of the rudest servants I have seen this side of Lady Elrisia's last candlelit dinner." He shivered. "Now there is an experience I would not want to repeat. Fortunately, I do not have to."
"I wonder what he wants."
"I dread to think. Which side is he even on in this war of yours, G'Kar?"
"He follows the same path as you, I think. He is on no side but his own."
"I am not on my own side, G'Kar. I made that very clear. I do what it best for my people, nothing more."
"I misspoke myself. My apologies, Great and August Emperor."
"You left out a title or twelve. But I accept your apology all the same." He looked around, not that there was a great deal to look at. "I swear, all my advisors would have panic attacks at the thought that I was here, alone, with a member of a race with whom we are still at war. Not even Lennier was permitted aboard." He paused. "How old do you think this place is?"
The air seemed to rise at that moment, the floor beneath their feet trembling, and the dim light sources blazing up. The first Londo knew about the arrival of the lord of this place was his voice, a deep, booming tone filled with power and strength.
"Cathedral is older than any of our civilisations," came the reply. "It existed when the earliest foundations at Yedor had yet to be laid, when the Narns were struggling to use edged weapons and when the Centauri were still living in mud huts."
"Mud huts might be an improvement over the places we live in at the moment," muttered Londo under his breath.
"And I apologise for requesting your presence so early. I.... do not sleep these days, and I sometimes forget that others have the need to do so. However, I hoped to keep this meeting secret from certain eyes and ears, and the only way to do that was to hold it here, on Cathedral."
"Oh, no need to apologise, Primarch Sinoval," said G'Kar. "I wanted very much to see Cathedral when you came to my summit at Babylon Four. Alas, events ran away from us. I am very glad to have the opportunity to set foot inside it now."
A slow smile crept over Sinoval's face. "You will soon have an opportunity you never dreamed of," he said. "And you may not thank me for it, but.... there is something I need to show you first. What do you know about Delenn's disappearance ?"
G'Kar thought briefly before responding. "The current belief is that she was abducted by an agent of the Enemy and taken to Z'ha'dum. However.... no trace of her abductor has been found, and.... No, foolish suspicions, that is all."
"You have suspicions?"
"Everything seemed too easy, the abduction too clean. Unfortunately I was not at Kazomi Seven when the kidnapping occurred, or I might have been able to prevent it. However, my Rangers have been turning up some.... disquieting details. There was no sign of force, no trace of where she was taken from.... I am sure that something will have been discovered by now. Perhaps we will know more when Captain Sheridan returns from Z'ha'dum."
"If he returns. Your suspicions are entirely accurate, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. And there is a very good reason for them. Delenn was not abducted. She went to Z'ha'dum willingly, to fulfill a bargain and save the life of another."
"What? How do you know this?"
"She sent me a message before she left. Here, listen to this...."
"I am sending you this message because I will soon be dead.
"I do not understand the full details, Sinoval. I do not fully understand why my allies should wish to kill me, or what they can hope to gain...."
G'Kar listened to the message with mounting horror. He flicked a glance at Londo, whose eyes were wide. When it was finished, he sat back.
"You are sure this message is genuine?"
"I would stake my soul on it.... if someone else did not have a prior claim."
"She spoke of other messages. Do you have any idea to whom they might have been sent?"
"I could guess, but I could not say with certainty. I assume no one else you know has received any such message?"
"I would have heard if anyone had. This.... is disturbing. The Vorlons are our friends.... our allies. They have stood beside me for.... ever since I began this. Why.... why would they do this?"
"I have my suspicions, but nothing definite. I am sure Sheridan is the key. I had hoped to catch him here and show him this message. He and I have never been.... friends, but I do respect him. Once he learns the cost of his cure, then he might be more inclined to trust me on this one." Sinoval turned his head and focussed his dark, infinite eyes on Londo. "And you, Emperor Mollari, what do you think of this?"
"I.... I do not know what to say. Delenn is very dear to me, and if this is true.... And yet, how much can I trust you, Primarch Sinoval? I would wager.... well, the entire contents of my treasury, that you have a personal stake in this, and I am not sure just how objective that makes you.
"However, I have been approached by an emissary of the Vorlons. He has been.... in and out of my life these past few years. He offered the Republic an alliance with his associates, but at considerable cost. He disappeared while I was debating the issue.
"The Vorlons have given me precious little reason to hate them, but equally little reason to trust them.
"But then I could say the same of you, Primarch Sinoval."
Sinoval smiled and nodded. "The Centauri reputation for paranoia is not overstated, I see. Very well, I asked you here to show you two things. You have seen the first; it is time you saw the second, I believe.
"Has either of you heard of the Well of Souls?"
* * * * * * *
One of the finer arts of the street fight is knowing when to fight, and when to stand back. In the section on when definitely not to fight was marked a diagram of exactly the situation Dexter Smith now found himself in. To wit: being surrounded by six heavily-armed men much bigger and stronger than he was. Especially when they were dressed in suits.
With dark glasses.
The only thing missing was the inane chatter about music or films or the relative merits of Choc-A-Mint over Choc-A-Mocha.
Trace and Talia were nowhere in sight. Smith had been literally pulled from the room, and was now being pushed down the corridors to the door they had entered by. They eventually set foot outside to find the doorman he and Talia had slipped past before. He had woken up now and was looking around, confused.
"Mr. Trace is not happy," said one of the men surrounding Smith. "He is very not happy."
"Hey, Roberts," said the sleeping doorman. "What's.... what's the matter? Is there some sort of problem?"
"When Mr. Trace pays people to watch his club, he expects them to watch it, not to fall asleep and let any old passerby wander in."
"Hey! I never fall asleep. I was right here...."
"Look, go and tell it to Mr. Trace." Roberts smiled. "You never know. He might believe you. He might be in a good mood and let you keep a few fingers."
"What?" The doorman looked visibly shaken. "I wasn't asleep."
"You were," observed Smith dryly.
"What?!"
"You were so asleep. And snoring."
"I don't snore! I mean.... not that you'd know, because I wasn't asleep!"
"All we needed was a blanket and a little hot-water-bottle and you'd have been home away from home."
"Less of it," said Roberts, but the doorman evidently hadn't heard him.
"Shut up, you...!"
He moved forward.
Several things happened at once. The doorman made to punch Smith. Smith got out of the way by ducking down, grabbing at the nearest pair of ankles and pushing hard. The doorman hit the guy who had been standing directly behind Smith. Smith rolled across the ground and leapt to his feet. The other 'businessmen' moved into action, but the doorman stumbled into their way.
At that point, normal time reasserted itself.
Normally, Smith's solution would have been that discretion is the better part of valour, and he would have run. Anywhere. Very fast. On the other hand, Talia was around here somewhere and in a lot of trouble, and if there was anything guaranteed to make him stay around and get into a fight, it was the hope of impressing a pretty lady.
He backed off slowly, edging himself into a small alcove, so that only two of them could come at him at once. The first one to try it was the recipient of a very painful kick to the kneecap, and then a punch to the face which took him down. The second one had taken time to draw a knife, and he slashed it across Smith's arm.
There was a burst of pain and he fell back, wincing. A punch crashed into his jaw, and he fell. Rough hands seized his collar and he was thrown forward, away from the alcove, to land painfully at the feet of the 'businessmen' still standing.
A hard foot came down on his back.
"Get him up," snarled Roberts. "And you!" To the doorman. "Get in there and see Mr. Trace, and say goodbye to all your fingers on the way. Idiot!"
Smith was dragged roughly to his feet, and hauled directly before Roberts. A punch landed solidly in his belly. "You're only making it worse."
"Worse?" he spat. "What? You mean I'm going to get dumped in the foundations of a Kwik-E-Mart rather than a block of luxury flats?"
Something seemed to rise in the back of his mind, a signal he could only faintly hear, almost a sound far away on the horizon. He slumped in his captor's hold and closed his eyes.
There was a flurry of motion from behind him, and he burst into as much action as he could. An elbow in the ribs of the person holding him, and another kick out at Roberts. Tearing himself free, he lurched forward, breathing hard.
"Come on!" cried Talia from beside him. Her hand on his arm steadied him, and all he remembered was running frantically, her presence always at his side. It was some minutes before either of them spoke, and when she did, all she said was, "Lost them."
He considered this for a moment. "Oh," he said, wheezing. "Good."
* * * * * * *
"They're here," whispered Lyta. She could see them all in her mind, hovering outside the Babylon, waiting. How many there were she could not be certain, but this was their home, the ancestral seat of their power. They were strong here.
Then you will be stronger, hissed the voice in her mind. It brought with it a great light, a painful light, a light that seemed to burn through her skull.
Wait, the Vorlon instructed her.
"Captain," said a voice. She wasn't sure whose. It didn't matter. The message was important, not the messenger. "Jump engines are ready."
"Good," said another voice. Lyta turned her head to look at him. The air seemed so thick, or her head was so heavy. It was Captain Sheridan. She could see.... his soul. It was filled with light. No, it was surrounded by light, an aura, a halo.
"We're getting out of here, and if any of them try to stop us, blast our way out."
"There's a lot of them," said another voice. Sheridan's friend. Sheridan's second.
"All we have to do is get into hyperspace. We'll be safe there."
No, they will not. They will not reach the gateway. You know what to do.
And she did. This.... this was why he had insisted on her coming along. They needed her to keep him alive. They had great plans for him. He was their future.
"Captain," she said. Her voice sounded so strange, as if it were coming from a very long way away. "Let me deal.... with...."
The light was burning her more fiercely now. She opened her eyes as wide as she could. She could see them all, the Shadow ships, the living beings within them, their masters on the planet below.
Delenn!
Lyta could see her. She was on Z'ha'dum. She was alive - in danger, but alive. She was with two people.... Lyta could not see them clearly. They were in danger, but they were standing at the entrance to paradise. There was someone there, waiting for them.
"She's...." Her throat clenched. She could not say the words. She looked to the voice in her mind for guidance.
You will obey. Now.
She tried to scream, but it was not a scream. The light burst from her soul, throwing her body forward. She could not feel it. She could feel the Shadow ships recoiling before her assault, recoiling and hissing and screaming. Their screams were hers.
There was a crack from her arm, but she did not feel any pain. All she could feel was the burning, the light.... it was burning her, it was taking her to pieces....
Blood filled her eyes, and she slumped. Her last image before her head struck the floor was of the Shadow ships falling back, and of Captain Sheridan giving the order to take the Babylon into hyperspace.
Her last sensation before unconsciousness was of the mocking voice that came from the centre of the light in her mind.
You have done well. Rest now.
And she did.
* * * * * * *
Sinoval had been master of Cathedral for over a year and a half. He was acutely aware of just how few of its secrets he understood, even now. There were many chambers he had never entered, there were countless soul globes he had not seen or spoken to. There were towers and turrets and parapets he had never walked. There were voices he had not heard.
But he had seen the Well of Souls, and that sight had thrown all others into perspective. He did not entirely know what it was, but he knew that he would understand when the time was right, and so he did not ask. He could feel it in his waking dreams, growing stronger and stronger each day. Soon, he would know everything.
And he would wish he did not.
He walked up to the vast door, noticing that it looked.... different from the last time he had been here. A subtle change, but a change all the same. Still, he raised his hand to the glowing seal in the centre of the door and felt its spirit wash over him.
The door then disappeared. It did not open, it was merely as though it had never been.
He walked in, aware that G'Kar and Londo were only a few steps behind him.
The chamber was vast, impossibly so. As he looked out across it he wondered if it was even bigger than Cathedral. There were a billion tiny lights glinting into the horizon. The perspective of the room seemed so extraordinary, so out of place, as if he could take one step and be at the far end of the room, and yet walk forever to reach something within arm's length.
He made for the altar. It was a stable point, and possibly the centre of the room. Lights seemed to brighten as he walked past them, over them, beneath them. He could hear their soft whispers, individual voices of those dead for millennia, now joined into one form.
The shrine was there now, directly before him. Kozorr's flower was there no longer. He had brought it in offering, as custom and law demanded. The Well of Souls had rejected it, and him, knowing he had come to betray them.
Welcome, Primarch, spoke the booming voice of the Well itself. The voice changed frequently, but now it was strong and authoritarian, an old and wise king who had been a warrior in his youth, now welcoming a young and arrogant princeling to his throne room. Welcome, Preacher. Welcome, Emperor.
Sinoval turned to look at his companions. Both seemed astounded by their surroundings. Mollari appeared to be muttering prayers under his breath. "Great Maker," he breathed. "Where...?" He looked around. "Where is that voice coming from?"
"As well ask where the air or the water or the earth comes from," replied G'Kar.
"The voice comes from the stone beneath our feet," said Sinoval. "And from the air around us. It comes from the bones and the heart and the muscle of Cathedral."
True, Primarch.
There was a sudden shimmering, as one globe seemed to glow brighter and the others faded. A figure appeared before Mollari. It was a Centauri, tall and proud, and dressed in a fashion that seemed, to Sinoval's eyes at least, to be old.
Does this form please you better, Emperor? asked the image of the Centauri.
Londo looked at it in mute horror. "Great Maker," he breathed again.
Do you know who I am?
"I recognise you, yes. I have seen your image in paint and tapestry. You are my however many times great grandfather, the first Emperor Mollari."
In a sense. I am the part of him that lives on eternally, the part that did not slip away beyond the dark wall that is the end of all things.
"I never knew.... I never knew you took him. His death was.... not a matter of public record. He fled, yes? He.... you.... abandoned the homeworld after the revolution, to seek allies elsewhere, and.... never came back."
Death claims all. He was found and saved.
"And you are now.... here? A part of this Well of Souls?"
We were complete long before his death. He is a part of Cathedral, sheltered and protected from storms by the walls around us. He is a part of Cathedral, and thus a part of us.
"I.... Please, take that image away. It does not exactly put me in an optimistic frame of mind." The image faded. Sinoval saw G'Kar look at Mollari. The Centauri was shaking. "It is a good job for you that I am sober," he said hollowly. "If I were drunk, I would have a word or two to say to you, my ancestor."
"Why did you call us here?" asked G'Kar. "What.... do you have to say to us?"
We know the answers to all questions ever asked, save one alone. We see what is to come, as we see what has been. The accumulated wisdom of the galaxy is ours to wield and command.
This was not to be our time. We were to be a remnant, a legacy once all others had passed from this realm to the next. We were to be a reminder of the covenants forged of old. We were to be memory.
But that is not to be. We have returned early. This galaxy is changing. The times of the First Ones are fading, but they will not go easily. You two.... you two are the sole hopes of your peoples. Preacher and Emperor. Be warned, and be ready. Accept what has been shown must come to pass.
Our Primarch has denied his destiny, and it has led him here, to a fate he does not yet understand. Deny yours, and a similar fate will befall you.
And.... we wished to see you. We wished to have memories within us of those who may be the last true leaders of your peoples. There are Centauri here. There are Narn here. But you two.... you may be the last. Now, if your people die, something will live on.
The voice faded. Londo swore. G'Kar whispered a prayer.
Sinoval stood alone.
"My people will not die!" roared Mollari at last. "I will not let them die! Do you hear me?"
The Well of Souls did not respond, although it was a question to which it surely knew the answer.
* * * * * * *
"I will defend you, Delenn," Neroon said. "No shadow will touch you while there is breath in my body."
Delenn looked past him to the creature walking towards them. She recognised it as a Drakh. Not one of their warriors, or a magus, but a Drakh all the same. She remembered the carnage they had wrought at Kazomi 7. She saw again the children they had killed, the hopes they had destroyed, the people they had made mad with their Keepers.
She had found it difficult to hate anything or anyone since she had seen what had happened to Earth, but she did hate the Drakh.
Behind it walked two Shadows, their inky-black carapaces seeming to meld and dissolve in the flickering shadows cast by Parlonn's candle.
And yet she could sense that they were uncomfortable here. There was something about this place they disliked. Maybe Ivanova had been right after all. Maybe her mysterious friend was here.
"Come from this place," hissed the Drakh. "This flight is futile."
"Step no closer," said Neroon. "You may come no closer."
<Did you think we would let you betray us?> came another voice, a different voice. Delenn knew it was the voice of one of the Shadows. The Drakh was now directly in front of Neroon. <We made you ours. You.... are ours.>
"D.... Del...." His throat was tightening as he tried to say her name. She could see his grip on his pike grow loose, until it slid from his nerveless fingers. With a strangled cry he fell to his knees, head bowed. Delenn took an anguished step back.
The Drakh stood over him, studying him closely. It looked back at its masters, and then turned back to Neroon, a faint trace of a smile on its face. It was the most hideous sight Delenn had ever seen.
The Drakh reached down and plunged its hand into Neroon's chest. The warrior stiffened, a terrible cry leaving his mouth. His head was thrown back, his eyes wide and staring. His face was very pale, all the blood draining from it.
"Delenn!" he cried, and then the Drakh withdrew its hand and Neroon fell slumped to the ground. Delenn did not need to go to him to know that he was dead, but she went anyway, cradling his head in her lap and looking into his dead, oh-so-pale eyes.
"No!" cried a voice from behind her. Ivanova. "You promised me I'd be safe, dammit! You promised!" Delenn was not sure who she was speaking to - the Shadows, or her mysterious friend.
<Yes,> said the voice of the Shadows. <We promised.>
"Stuff your promise!" she shouted. Delenn watched in horror as Susan turned and took a lurching step towards the edge of the chasm. She rose from Neroon's body, trying to reach out, but she was too far away.
Susan Ivanova disappeared off the edge of the precipice, vanishing into open space.
Delenn felt the cold, clammy hand of the Drakh touch her arm, and she pulled away, stumbling forward as she scrambled for the edge of the cliff. Her arm was burning, and she could hear the Shadows whispering in her mind.
Something burst in the back of her knee and she fell. Warmth ran down the back of her leg, and she landed awkwardly, striking her head. She tried to rise, but her body would not obey her.
Turning, she saw the Drakh advance on her. It was saying something, but she could not hear the words over the roaring of her blood in her ears.
Darkness took her.
* * * * * * *
He sat alone in his office, a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him. Proxima's Chief of Security and Spymaster General had found something more interesting than his coffee.
Mr. Welles had once wondered what it would be like to be able to see the future. Then he had remembered the tale of someone who had been able to see the future, but been unable to prevent it or to warn anyone else of it.
He knew how she felt.
He could see it all happening, everything unfolding before him. Clark talking about war with the Alliance. War with the Alliance! What foolishness was that? War with the Minbari, yes. Even against G'Kar. That made some sort of sense, but what reason to attack the Alliance?
What reason but that humanity's allies demanded it? What reason but a wish for suicide?
He was alone, without allies. For three years he had been fumbling, desperately trying to get someone to listen to him, someone to work with him. Nothing had worked. Bester had betrayed him, had betrayed them all, for some little game of his. Bester was rumoured to be dead now. Welles did not believe it. He would always turn up again.
But then, just when everything seemed lost, help could come from the least likely of places.
He put down the piece of paper he had been reading and picked up his coffee, taking a sip. He very quickly spat it out.
He looked back at the paper. It was a warrant for the arrest of one Dexter Smith, last known location Sector 301, on a charge of murder.
* * * * * * *
Delenn could hear the voice as she recovered consciousness. Slowly she rose, looking around. This place seemed little different from any other in Z'ha'dum, but she could feel something different. An air.... almost of holiness.
"Where am I?" she asked, not realising she had spoken aloud.
"A very good question," said another voice, an old voice, filled with loss and wisdom and wonder. "Who are you? That is another good question. What do you want? I wonder if anyone up there can answer them. Can you?"
"I know the answers," she replied. "Who are you?"
"Someone welcoming a guest to his home. Welcome, Delenn of Mir. I believe we have a great deal to talk about."