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| Volume 4: A Future, Born in Pain | Part III: A Universe of Majesty and Terror |
"IT has been a while."
Welles' tone was as casual as he could make it. He could have been talking to an old friend he had not seen for years. He was not.
Slowly he approached the table at the centre of the room and sat down, not taking his eyes away from the woman before him. She was seated in a chair very similar to his, but there were strong clasps fixing her wrists and ankles to it. Neither seat was very comfortable.
"Still," he said, continuing. "It is good to have you back. I hope your accommodation is.... satisfactory."
Delenn nodded slowly. "There is no need for the.... small talk, Mr. Welles," she said in her beautifully accented voice. "We can proceed to business whenever you wish. I am.... ready."
He did not reply immediately, choosing instead to look at her. She was very different from before. When he had first seen her three years ago she had been fully Minbari, an alien to him, filled with her own mannerisms and habits. The little signs that he could read in humans had not been there in her, and it had bothered him, but not unduly. He had adapted.
And then she had changed. He remembered the last time he had seen her, a twisted hybrid of human and Minbari, her wide headbone split open to reveal a tail of hair, her features distorted. He had never been entirely sure of the details of what she had gone through, but he knew that it had been.... interrupted somehow.
Looking at her now, he realised that the transformation had been completed. She was now the best of both human and Minbari. Her eyes shone with wisdom and compassion and pity.
He sat forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers as was his habit. He seemed to be drowning in those green eyes, but they were not critical or accusatory as he had expected. They were.... patient, resigned. She expected her fate.
"Do you know what is to happen to you?" he asked at last. She blinked, once.
"I was led to believe I would not be told. Ignorance is.... a potent weapon, I believe."
"True, in some cases. On the other hand, that is not an issue here. You are an intelligent person. I am sure you have been able to work out what will happen to you."
"I will be.... killed, or maybe put on trial. Probably tortured."
"The second. A trial for war crimes. The exact charges haven't been worked out yet, but they will be. The President was throwing around various ideas. Mass murder of noncombatants, torture of prisoners, use of illegal technology."
"The Minbari never signed any treaties regarding the use of technology," she said flatly. Welles sighed.
"True, in a legal sense, but it sounds more impressive when you list these things in threes, and the President could only think of two. It doesn't matter anyway. By the time you take the stand you'll confess to anything we want you to. You'll admit to mass murder, torture, sedition, treason, anything we care to name."
"Mr. Welles, I will tell the truth. I will admit the things I have done, but I will not lie. I did not come here to lie."
Come here? Implying a degree of free choice? Welles shook his head. "You have no idea what I have been told to do to you. I.... am more than capable of torturing people, both physically and psychologically. It is not something I am proud of, but it is a necessity in the service of my people, and like all things I do I endeavour to do it well."
"I.... am not.... afraid."
"Oh? I am." He rose to his feet. "Please do not lie to me. I really do not like it, and I am in a situation where I really need to hear the truth. I have been ordered to torture you, to break you, to.... No, you do not want to know.
"For the past two years I have been trying to stop the madness that is claiming us all. I have tried, and I have failed. I don't know what Clark is planning, but between him and those.... Shadows, I am afraid there won't be another human being left alive in this galaxy by the end of the century. We made the alliance with the Shadows initially to safeguard our holdings, and to protect our people."
Softly: "I know."
"But then it became a matter of taking back what was ours, taking the war to the enemy, preventing ourselves from being threatened again." He began to walk around the room, his hands behind his back. "And now it's.... what? I don't know. We're being pushed into war again, against someone we have no reason to fight, for an aim that's not even ours. Humanity is finally safe again, for the first time since we met you, and that madman up there is planning to plunge us into another bloody war!
"I.... cannot act alone in this. I do not know whether Clark is mad, a megalomaniac, a puppet or what, but he must be stopped, and I cannot do that alone." He stopped next to Delenn and knelt down beside her. "How do I contact G'Kar?"
"What?"
"Please. He knows more about the Shadows than almost anyone else. He has the power structure to help me. He can help me, I am sure of it. Where is he?"
"Kazomi Seven," she replied. "He and the Rangers are working with the Alliance."
Welles bowed his head. "Damn.... Well, that makes him the enemy.... Hah! And I really thought...."
"He is not your enemy."
"He's with the Alliance, and Clark's pushing us to war with them. That makes him my enemy. No offence, but we've spent too long at war with aliens to believe in any chance of.... peaceful negotiations during wartime. Damn." He shook his head.
"Mr. Welles," she said, softly. He looked up. "I came here willingly. I could have gone elsewhere. I could have returned to Kazomi Seven, to my friends, to.... I chose to come here. Fifteen years ago I made a mistake, and I helped create the evil in your society that you hope to fight. I came here to try to undo that."
"How? By becoming a martyr?" The blood drained from his face. "That's it? You were going to become a martyr.... You were willing to give your life.... why?"
"I will be given a trial, yes? It will be in public, to display your.... 'victory' over me. I will have the chance there to say.... to say sorry."
He rose to his feet again, and continued walking. "Yes, you will be.... but not for a while. Clark wants me to take my time. Medical tests first, and so on. He's given me complete authority to look after you. Maybe.... maybe there is still hope.
"Help me! Help me depose Clark, help me get rid of the Shadows and talk to the Alliance. Someone there must be willing to see sense and talk to me."
"What do you plan to do?"
"I don't know. If.... no, when.... there is war with the Alliance, I'll need someone to speak up for us to them. I don't know your military might, but we have the Shadows. With them.... maybe we can win. Without them, we don't have a chance. If I get rid of the Shadows somehow.... then I'll need someone to speak to the Alliance and convince them that humanity isn't the enemy, Clark is.
"I'll need you."
"I came to try to.... do something to purge the darkness within humanity, the darkness I put there."
"It was always there, Delenn. Do not blame yourself for merely bringing to the fore what was already present."
"If I can do anything to purge that, anything to help.... then I shall."
"Good." He sat down, almost giddy. "I need to talk to some people, find out certain things, have a look at some reports. You've got to go for medical tests first anyway. I'll make sure they.... take a while. There isn't war yet. We have time."
"Anything I can do to help.... I will. I believe in you, Mr. Welles. You are not an evil man."
"You have no idea.... Anyway, there's no such thing as good or evil, there's just us. We're all evil. I must go. I'll come back later. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?"
"I have not eaten or drunk anything for days, but I will endure."
"Right. Try to sleep, if you can. I would undo those straps, but.... Be strong, Delenn. I think you will have an unpleasant few weeks."
"I will endure. I will have to."
"Good." He nodded, as he left. "Good."
* * * * * * *
Minbari do not kill Minbari.
An old law, a thousand years old. Valen had instituted it. He had said it was necessary for the war, and for its aftermath. Minbari should fight the Enemy, not each other.
Minbari do not kill Minbari.
Sinoval stood alone on the pinnacle of Cathedral, a glittering array of stars laid out around him, above and below. He felt he could take a step forward and throw himself into space. It would not work like that, of course. This was an image, no more real than the holographic imaging devices used in his warships.
Stormbringer lay in his hands. It looked still now, no more than a simple weapon. Sherann's blood was slowly drying across the silvery blackness of its blade. He had not been able to clean it.
Minbari do not kill Minbari. Sinoval was a warrior, he had always known he would have to kill, but he would do so for his people. He was their defender, their protector.
He had killed two of his people, not in the heat of conflict, but in cold-blooded murder. Shakiri's death had been.... necessary. He was leading the Minbari down a dark and perilous road, and he had to be stopped. Sinoval had killed him as he lay in his bed, recovering from injuries. Shakiri's eyes had opened, and in a split second he had realised what was going to happen.
"Proud of you," he had whispered.
Sinoval had killed him, and not thought about the matter for years.
He would not be able to forget Sherann so easily. His blood had been boiling with rage and fury and pain and the heat of battle, but he had made that decision entirely in cold blood. He had damned himself. It had been the Vorlon's trap, but Sinoval had sprung it upon himself, walking into it willingly.
It had cost the Primarch his life. Apparently Cathedral was now Sinoval's, and for the first time in his life he had no idea what to do.
"Maudlin thoughts, my friend," said a voice, and he turned. A figure ascended the final step to the top of the pinnacle, and the summit seemed to widen, allowing enough space for the two of them. The newcomer pushed back his hood and the ancient, wise gaze of the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus looked at him.
"You are dead," Sinoval whispered softly. "I saw the Starfire Wheel take you."
"I am dead, yes. My flesh is dead, my soul.... has gone elsewhere."
"You do not save the souls of your own."
"No, such is our punishment. The gift of immortality that we provide to others is denied us. Save for me. Such is my punishment. I am.... of Cathedral now. I am as much a part of it as its stones and towers and turrets and battlements. Cathedral has allowed me.... a little longer to explain matters to you. We will not speak again after this."
Sinoval reached forward to touch his companion. His hand passed straight through the figure before him. "A ghost."
"Not a ghost. A revenant. A memory, perhaps. This form would be.... easier for you. Cathedral could choose others."
"You speak as if Cathedral is alive."
"It is, in a sense. Is your body alive? Of course it is, and yet what is it that gives your body life? What is it that animates a wall of flesh and bone and blood? Your soul. Cathedral is the body which protects and feeds the Well of Souls. In every way that counts, Cathedral is alive."
"Then why has Cathedral let you come back?"
"To explain matters to you. There are things you must know now that you were not ready to know before. You must know of our oath, our sacred and binding duty. You must know our secrets, for you will guide us now. You will carry on my rôle."
"I'm not the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus. Surely there is someone in your order who can be promoted?"
"It is not a matter of 'promotion'. Cathedral has chosen you. It chose you the instant you came here. Before then, even."
Sinoval sighed. "I am not worthy. Choose another."
"You are worthy, and there is no need to choose another. I must tell you so much, so that you may understand. Your predecessor, the first Primarch Nominus et Corpus.... he thought he understood, but he did not. He thought he could abide by our vows, but he did not. He fell, thousands of years ago. We were too eager to interpret our part in our prophecies. We were determined to wait, and not to make the same mistakes as in the past."
"Who are you?"
"We are the lost, we are the damned, the oath-breakers.
"At the beginning of time there was one race born of the universe, the first race, the first of the First Ones. The first of these were born naturally immortal. The wheel of time did not touch them, they lived and did not grow old. Oh, injury or sickness could claim them, but not time.
"Then something changed, and later generations began to die. They had been caught by time, and been bound within it. No one knew why this was so, and in panic they went to the first and asked him why they were dying. He said.... he said that it was the universe's way. To appreciate life, it must be finite. There must be borders, and limitations.
"There must be mortality.
"We did not accept that, and we began to research ways to live on. Time passed, and each new generation of scientists and philosophers and magi and scholars grew filled with terror at the thought of passing beyond, of dying. All the while, the first watched us disapprovingly. He warned us that what we were trying to do was wrong. We thought he did not want to share his immortality with us, and so we pressed on the harder. We became obsessed with death.
"Finally, we managed to isolate the soul. It was the body which grew old and died. The soul would not, not while there was a body to support it. We began to capture the souls of the dying, placing them in globes to keep them alive and conscious while we worked at stopping the process of time. We thought.... there would come a time when we could recreate the bodies of the flesh, and implant in them the souls we had saved.
"Our knowledge became vast. We lived a long time, by the standards of your race, and this took many millennia. We had all the knowledge of the past to call upon, and so we continued to work. Immortality was drawing closer to us now. Oh, we had eternal life of a sort, the souls preserved within the globes and laid within vast walls, that they might commune in death as they had in life.
"Finally we found the way to return the soul to the body, and we recreated the prison of flesh, restoring to life our oldest and greatest leader. We watched as his new form trembled and arose, as light came to his eyes. Our wonder.... We had triumphed. We had turned back death.
"The first came to us that night, with all those who were left. There were still a few of those who had been born immortal, and with the passage of time many had turned their backs on this quest and accepted their mortality. They urged us to stop this. We were not meant to be immortal. We were never meant to defy death.
"We refused, and continued to bring back the souls we had saved, creating new bodies for them. These new bodies would decay over time of course, but what matter? We would simply create new ones, over and over again, an eternal placing of the soul in new constructs of flesh.
"To die once is one thing, and a simple matter, but we began to die over and over again, many times, watching each prison of flesh collapse and wither. It seemed we were dying.... faster and faster with each new body. Again the first came to us, and warned us against this path. We scorned him, and our leader, one of the greatest of us, the first to be revived.... he told us that the first and his allies planned to destroy our work.
"We believed this, and gathered our forces, fortifying our laboratories and libraries. We built a mighty fortress around them, and used our powers to create a ship, a place that could travel between the stars and thus never be in danger of destruction. A stationary base is a target, an ever-moving one is not.
"We built Cathedral, and took to the stars in flight. There were many other races in the galaxy then, countless peoples, among them those you now call Shadows, and Vorlons, and others you know as First Ones. They were young then, and were being greeted and taught by the first and those who followed him. Carefully they were aided, assisted, given knowledge and wisdom, and raised to the stars.
"But there were many races, and the first could not find them all. We found some, hidden in dark places, where the first could not find them. We spoke to them, and promised them immortality if they would follow us. We told them how we could preserve their souls, and grant them new life in new bodies. We taught them how to do this.
"Many races accepted us, and swore fealty to us. Each race sent some of their number to come here and learn the ways of preserving souls. These became the first true members of the Order of Soul Hunters. Our leader, the first to be revived, named one the Primarch Nominus et Corpus, and to him fell the rôle of ruling the Soul Hunters. They would go out into the galaxy to find the great and the powerful at the point of death and preserve their souls, bringing them back to us that we might help them live again.
"Alas, we fell into darkness. Our leader, and all those who were continually returned to life were.... changed by their experiences. They had died hundreds, thousands of times, and each time they were reborn into the flesh, a part of their soul was missing. Our leader became mad. He became convinced that the first was gathering armies to destroy us, and deny to all the knowledge of immortality.
"Fleets were mustered, great ships that blotted out the stars, and we went to war. We killed billions, and we took their souls. Armies were raised against us. We landed on primitive worlds and subjugated their people to our whim. We landed on your world, before your first flight into space, and we hunted you in the night. It is small wonder that your people now fear us so much.
"Our Primarch believed in everything our leader said, utterly. He shared in our leader's madness. It was a terrifying time. We destroyed, and took those who did not wish to be preserved. We broke oaths sworn by our Order. We plunged the galaxy into horror.
"But there were some of us, some who still remembered. We knew there was a way to stop this, and so we began to act. We gathered together the souls of those we had taken, willingly or unwillingly. Leaders, thinkers, poets, dreamers, blessed lunatics. We brought them here to Cathedral, to the centre of the laboratory where we had first learned to stop death. We sealed the area and began to speak to them. These souls.... they were alive. We had placed them in bodies to make them immortal, but we had no need to. They were immortal, preserved in their soul globes. They could speak to each other, talk, dream....
"We began to bind these souls together, creating a.... sentience composed of them all. A unity, one single mind made up of a billion souls. We felt a sense of wonder as we heard this force speak to us. We had created the Well of Souls, a union of a billion lives. We let the Well of Souls judge us. The voices spoke to each other for long months, years even, as they reasoned. Finally, there was a consensus.
"By this time both our leader and the Primarch Nominus et Corpus had fallen in battle, and their soul globes were brought back to Cathedral to be given new form that they might continue the war. The Well of Souls refused to do that. The soul globe of the Primarch was implanted in the arch that marked the gateway into Cathedral. The soul of our leader.... was released, passing beyond the wall of death, never to return.
"The war was now over, and certain promises were forced from us by the Well of Souls. We were only to take the souls of the dying. We were never again to kill and then harvest. We would be preservers, not warriors. We would cease giving the souls bodies of flesh. They would instead be placed in wells of their own. Some here in Cathedral, others in small wells within our personal ships. Some we hid in places of sanctuary throughout the galaxy, where they would not be found.
"And above all, we were not to preserve the souls of our own Order. We were to die, to pass beyond. It had been our determination for immortality that had doomed us all, and so we would be denied what we gifted to others.
"Those who serve you now are the descendants of the Order of Soul Hunters first assembled by the second generation of the first race born to the universe. We live many lifespans, many thousands of years, but still we die."
"You did not."
"Ah, but I am not mortal as they are. I was once a mortal being, a mortal being who fought in that terrible war. I was born of the first race of the universe, and I was the first to swear my loyalty to the leader who cast us into damnation. I stood beside him in all things. When his soul globe was broken, I was still alive. I feared I would be killed, but another fate had been reserved for me.
"I became the conduit for the Well of Souls. I was the voice through which it spoke to our Order. I was a part of it, and hence a part of Cathedral. What you have seen and spoken to and called friend these last two years was merely a shell. My body is Cathedral, and now that you will take on my rôle I can return to it, my soul becoming one part of many."
"Wait! Why me?"
"You were.... known to us for many years, almost from your birth. You remember at the climax of your assault on Earth, you were attacked and wounded and killed?"
"I remember."
"One of our Fhedayar sensed your departure, and hurried to find you. He came upon your form and saw that a part of your soul remained, a tenuous connection to the body, a link formed by your anger and your determination to live. It was passing, though, and your soul finally departing.
"But I spoke to him. The Well of Souls spoke to him, and instead of preserving your soul as it fled, he helped guide it back into your body, renewing your life to fulfill a greater destiny.
"You are now our Primarch Majestus et Conclavus. The Well of Souls now speaks through you. Although it is everywhere within Cathedral, you should visit its chamber. The link will grow stronger with time."
"Then.... I will become a Soul Hunter?"
"You always have been. You simply have not realised it."
"I was.... the second Primarch Nominus et Corpus. The first was not of your race either. Who was he?"
"His soul globe died the day you came to us. His soul passed beyond, given rest at last. Among his own people he was a mighty warrior and a skilled diplomat, a poet even. His race was the one you now call.... Shadow."
"Have I done any better than he did? I broke your sacred law."
"All things change. Nothing can escape time. The Well of Souls has chosen you, in part because you can break laws in a noble aim.
"I must go now. Good fortune, Primarch. We will meet again I trust, a million years from now, when you too join Cathedral." The image of the Primarch shimmered, and he stepped forward, walking off the edge of the pinnacle. Sinoval rushed forward and looked over. There was no sign of him, only the darkness of space.
He sat down and closed his eyes. He could feel the Well of Souls, he could identify the billion voices within it, he could even name them all. This knowledge came to him, and something within the spirits of Cathedral smiled.
He opened his eyes, and began to clean Stormbringer.
* * * * * * *
Consciousness returned slowly. That was not a mercy, not with the voices returning with it.
Help us! Help us!
Some of them Talia thought she recognised. Friends, comrades, old lovers, whispers of forgotten pasts. Flashes of a life she had thought had passed her by.
Because of her disoriented state it took her a while to realise she was not secured. Twitching, she found the energy to raise her arm. It was not bound, nor the other one, nor her legs.
She had been laid on a small bed, a normal-looking hospital bed this time. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to focus her gaze on something, anything. It glared at her, a cold, sterile, barren sight. She looked around, and slowly, awkwardly, moving as if she were drunk, or as if her body were suddenly four times its age, she swung her legs over the bed and lowered herself awkwardly to the ground.
Her legs almost gave way. Leaning against the bed, she managed to hold herself steady. For the first time she noticed the foul taste in her mouth, and grimaced. She had been drugged. Some sort of tranquillising agent. A second booster injection probably, meant merely to keep her unconscious and prevent any earlier injections from losing their effect.
She forced a weak smile. Whoever these people were - IPX was the most likely candidate, but she had long ago learned never to make such blanket assumptions - they were not to know that she had been thoroughly inoculated against most drugs, poisons and tranquillisers. Not sleepers, unfortunately. Her system metabolised drugs much more quickly than normal.
That was not as pleasant as might be supposed.
Still, she knew she had an advantage now, and she had to get out of here. She might not have much time. Whatever was being done here, being done to her people, she would not let it be done to her. She knew something now. She - Help us! - had to get back to Al. She knew enough to know she could not do all this herself.
She swallowed the foul taste in her mouth and looked around. There was only one door in this room. It was a small room, pretty much dominated by the bed she had been lying on. There was some sort of equipment at the far corner, and as she hobbled towards it her clouded mind recognised it as a cryogenic storage case. It was empty, but it had been activated. It was 'warming up' now.
She felt a momentary flash of anger, and that only made the voices stronger. Her knees almost buckled, and it took a moment's concentration to force the voices back, swearing at her own stupidity. Strong emotions always made it more difficult for her to block the voices, well, the normal ones anyway. She had a feeling these would be even harder.
Beware! screamed one of them suddenly, louder than the others, and she sensed someone arriving. As fast as he could, she threw herself hard against the wall beside the door. It opened, and a figure stepped through. He was wearing a long white doctor's coat, and his head was bent over a datapad. She tried to skim his thoughts gently, but she could hear nothing over the cries of terror in her mind. This man had hurt her people. He had done all these things to them.
He raised his head and looked at the bed. He had a moment to register it was empty, before Talia lashed out with an elbow to the back of his neck. With a correctly-aimed blow, that should be enough to put most people down. Her aim was slightly out, but he fell anyway, dropping his datapad.
She was at his side, pressing her knee against his chest and her hands to his neck. Her movements were slower and more sluggish than she was comfortable with, but she would be fast enough to deal with him.
His eyes widened with pain at the pressure on his neck.
"Who are you?" she hissed at him. Her people were crying to her, some telling her to flee, others to kill him. She tried to shut them out enough to read his mind, but they were too loud for her.
"Dr. Vance Hendricks," he replied, wincing as she inadvertently increased the pressure on his neck. "How did you...?"
"What is happening here?"
"We.... we prep telepaths. We...." He coughed. Her vision was too blurred to notice the specks of blood at his mouth. "We.... we check their.... cryogenic tubes. We...." He coughed again. His mind was shielded somehow, she could sense that now, but still she persevered. "We.... add the machinery.... linking them.... to.... the.... the...."
She could feel the shields weakening. Her head was beginning to pound. "Linking them to the what?"
"The.... net....work...." For the first time she noticed the blood trickling from his mouth. "The...." He coughed once more, and then he noticed the blood as well. "You've...." And then the strangest thing happened. He began to laugh. Blood-drenched spittle flew from his mouth as he continued his laughter.
Run! screamed one of the voices. Run!
They all fell silent, every voice in one instant. She felt a sudden terror emanating from them all. Hendricks blinked, and his eyes were suddenly glowing orbs of light. The same light began to pour from his mouth.
<Did you think we would let you know all our secrets?> he said, in a voice not his own. She could hear her people screaming.
<You are ours, you and all of your blood. We made you, and now we claim you once more.>
His body suddenly exploded, torn apart from within. Talia instinctively dropped backwards and covered her eyes with her arms. A great wind seemed to be blowing through his mind, and she could feel something of Hendricks passing.... beyond, into a great tunnel. There was a light at the end of it, and something there waiting for him.
He looked at her, and his eyes showed his terror. "Help me," he whispered, but she could do nothing.
He chose wrongly, said the voice that had come from his mouth. You all chose wrongly, and soon you will pay for your choice.
The voice faded, the wind died down, and Talia managed to struggle to her feet. She looked at the gobbets of flesh and meat and bone that had once been the body of Dr. Vance Hendricks, and fought the urge to vomit.
All the voices of her people were telling her to flee, to find Al and get help. They were her people, they were telepaths, and they deserved the protection of the Corps. The Corps was mother, the Corps was father, and her children needed her help.
Talia decided to heed that advice.
* * * * * * *
Of all the many battles in the four-year period that would later be described as the Shadow War, the second Battle of Beta Durani was one of the bloodiest. The first had been two years before, in 2259, when the forces of Proxima 3's Resistance Government, led by the Babylon and the Morningstar and assisted by the Drakh war fleet, had liberated the colony from its Minbari occupiers. It had been an easy victory for a humanity filled with righteous anger and opposed by an enemy weak, divided, leaderless and distracted.
The second battle was nowhere near as easy. This time, unlike before, the Shadows themselves were actively involved. They had set up a garrison near Beta Durani, ready to defend the world on behalf of their human allies. The Shadowtech capital ship, the Marten, was also present, and the planetary defence systems had been hastily rebuilt and repaired after the liberation of the colony.
Opposing them were the forces of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, consisting of the first major deployment of the new Dark Star fleet, with support from Drazi, Brakiri and such Narn vessels as had been commandeered by Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar.
In terms of military death toll, the battle was matched only by the Third Line at the Great Machine, and by the bloody exchange that marked the end of the long month known as the Death of Hope, long after the end of the war.
The Dark Star ships had already proved their competence in numerous minor skirmishes, but this was a full-scale deployment of nearly the entire fleet, and while the ships were almost a match for the Shadow vessels, too many of them did not have adequately trained captains. It was widely held that were it not for the near-suicidal courage of Captain John Sheridan and the newly-promoted Captain David Corwin, the battle would have been lost.
However, the jamming technology of the Dark Stars served to paralyse the Shadow vessels, and also to destroy certain vital systems within the Marten. The human ship found its power supplies drained and its weapons systems rendered inoperable, and was easily destroyed. Its captain, Walker Smith, was posthumously awarded the Silver Star for Valour.
The Shadow ships themselves were considerably harder to defeat, but finally they withdrew, heavily outnumbered, but satisfied with the casualties they had inflicted upon their enemies. There would be other battles, and the Dark Star fleet had not been unharmed.
Captain Sheridan's actions on Beta Durani were swift, and meticulously planned. Governor Young and her staff were promptly arrested and detained. A new provisional Government was formed, answerable to the Alliance Council. Martial law was instituted on the colony.
It did not take long for the news to reach President William Morgan Clark on Proxima. His immediate reaction is perhaps rather better imagined than witnessed.
* * * * * * *
It is said by some that knowledge is power. Sinoval had always held that to be a quaint and amusing statement. Power was power, and nothing else. Oh, knowledge was a useful tool, and often essential, but without the will to do what others would not, without the determination, without the vision, or the dream, or the inner fire....
Without those things, knowledge was nothing but dusty words in dusty books in long-forgotten rooms.
He stood at the vast archway that led to the Well of Souls. It seemed different from the last time he had been here, although he could not place the difference. It was merely that his perceptions of it seemed.... askew somehow. Whereas before he had seen stone and mortar, now he saw a million sparkling lights, and he could hear the voices within. He could close his eyes and pick out the individual souls that had been joined so long ago into one form. He could recognise members of long-dead races, the ancestors of those who now walked among the stars.
He stepped through the archway, and let the calm of the Well of Souls wash over him. He was the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus now, or so he had been told. He was the voice, the conduit, the link between these souls and the world of the living.
He was beginning to understand what that meant. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel his essence drawn here. He had to come, to confront the sentience here.
We welcome you, Primarch, said the ancient voice of the Well. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and that was because it did. The sentience here was not within the infinity of tiny, twinkling soul globes, nor focussed on the altar, nor in the vast orb floating in the centre of the room, nor in the eternal white flower laid out on the altar.
The sentience that was the Well of Souls was the room. It was the air, the stones, the light and the shadow.
"I am the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, then?"
Did you disbelieve that which you were told?
"I am.... a cynic by nature."
That is known to us. Yes, you are our voice now. It was said, long ago, that another would come, and he would erase the wrongs of long years past, and bring us to our next age. We knew not when he would come, whether now, or in a thousand years, or a million. But now you are here, ready to fulfill your destiny.
"I do not believe in destiny."
Destiny believes in you.
Sinoval bowed his head, feeling the power wash over him. He could not but be awed by this place. He had watched the expressions on the faces of G'Kar and Mollari as they had come here. No one could help but be awed. No one.
Sinoval was awed, but he did the only thing that was possible in the circumstances. He threw back his head and laughed.
"I came here," he said, still laughing. "Full of arrogance and power and belief in my own mastery of all. The deal I made.... my soul for leadership of this Order.... I meant nothing by it. I intended to find a way around it, for the short-term goal of finding Valen.
"And now.... and now you have my soul, don't you? I can no more run from this than I could run from my own soul. You knew. You knew."
We knew you might be the one for whom we had waited. We were prepared for failure, it has happened before, many times. But this was no failure.... You are the one we foresaw.... in this place, in this time. You were told, this is a time for warriors, not healers. Hence fate pulled you forward, and brought you here to us.
Sinoval shook his head. "What will happen to me now? What must I do to.... fulfill this destiny of yours?"
You will become one with us. You will become one of us. You will lead us beyond the world we know. We will take the knowledge we have here, and the legacy we have assembled. We will be the protectors, the guardians.... until such time as we are no longer needed, such time as the younger races can protect themselves. Then.... you will lead us beyond.
"I will become a Soul Hunter. I, a Minbari, will become a Shagh Toth!"
You will become Primarch.
"Well.... I made a deal, but I never thought...." He shook his head. "He knew, you knew. I never thought...." He raised his head. "You know the answers to every question ever asked, yes?"
Save only one, that is true.
"Then answer me this. What must I do.... to save my people? What must I do to reunite them, and end this war amongst ourselves?"
You know the answer to that question.
"Tell me!"
He heard the answer, and his body shook, trembling with the realisation of just where his choices had brought him. Slowly he sank to his knees, touching his hands to the stone floor beneath him. The warmth of Cathedral flooded through him, as if welcoming him home.
"Is...." He bit back his fear of the answer he knew he was about to receive. "Is.... there any other way? Anything at all?"
No.
He wept.
* * * * * * *
Ambassador David Sheridan waited patiently for the President. Patience was a skill he had been forced to develop of course, but it came easier some days than others. Now it was coming with great difficulty. He had a feeling Clark was deliberately making him wait.
He was thinking about the future. Not, as was usual, about the distant future. No, he was not pondering the beginnings of empires, the large-scale construction of political blocs, alliances and treaties. He had the next fifty to a hundred years planned out in his mind, knowing full well he would not live to see it all come to pass. Another would carry on.
But he was not thinking about that now. He was thinking about Clark, and about how it might become.... necessary to fix that problem. Another Keeper was a possibility, but the first one had inexplicably failed. There was no guarantee a second would fare any better.
He had spent over two years wondering just what had happened to cause this, and he had formulated and discarded a number of theories. Ivanova could simply have botched the initial implantation, but she had remained adamant that she had acted as instructed. Well, she had dropped off the face of the galaxy now, and was of no more importance to anyone.
Could Clark have found a way to destroy the Keeper? No, impossible. Nothing short of suicide would do that. Besides, only alcohol could break the Keeper's control for long enough to manage that, and Clark was noted for his abstinence.
A rare genetic condition? That had happened, and Clark was keeping his medical records very secret.
"The President will see you now, Ambassador," said the secretary, and he looked up from his musings. Nodding to himself, he picked up his briefcase and wandered through the door and past the security guards, who saluted as he passed. He paid them no attention.
When he entered the cabinet chamber he was very irked to find that everyone else was already there. Well, he noted as he cast his gaze over those present, not quite everyone. Taro Isogi, who showed up infrequently as the voice of small business, was absent, as were the representatives from IPX and a few of the other leading MegaCorps.
In fact, he noted as he sat down, this looked very much like a council of war. He should have been happy, but he was not. He was suspicious.
His eyes met Welles' as he sat back in his chair. The Spymaster had his elbows resting on the table and his fingers steepled to form a mask of his face, as was his habit. Sheridan recognised Welles' desire to hide as much of himself as possible. He was suited to walk in the shadows, that one.
"Gentlemen," said Clark soberly. "I regret to report that the colony at Beta Durani was attacked and captured some hours ago. The early reports from our Shadow allies indicate that the garrison there has been destroyed, including the Marten. There is no word of Governor Young, and no one, civilian or military, has been yet able to escape from the area."
This was news to precisely nobody. Sheridan himself had been notified almost before Clark.
"The attacking ships are of unknown configuration, but the Shadows have informed us that they were composed of Vorlon technology. Also, they were supported by Drazi, Brakiri and Narn ships. It seems clear that this was the work of the United Alliance, perhaps in retaliation for our capture of their leader, perhaps simply the beginning of a war of aggression.
"Either way there is no time for diplomacy, and I doubt they would listen. I personally tried to speak with a member of the Alliance Council earlier today, only to be rebuffed.
"Where words will fail, force must be employed. We will retake Beta Durani, and push this war to Kazomi Seven itself if we have to. General Ryan, how long before we can launch a mission to liberate Beta Durani?"
The general shifted awkwardly in his seat. He was wearing his uniform of course, Sheridan had never seen him in anything else. He seemed to have lost weight recently. The uniform looked particularly ill-fitting, and his skin was acquiring a cadaverous hue. He bore all the signs of little sleep.
"It will not be easy, Mr. President. Even with the De'Molay and the Dark Thunder, our forces are limited. Of our capital ships, we now have only the Morningstar of the veterans of the Minbari War. We lost the Corinthian and the Babylon at Epsilon Three, and now the Marten. The Saint-Germain of course was designed purely as an exploratory vessel, and while she has greater combat capabilities than many of our pre-war ships, she is.... largely untested. And.... there is the matter of her captain.
"To launch such an offensive we will need heavy support from the Shadows, and a good number of Gropo units. A ground battle may be necessary.
"To be honest, Mr. President, I recommend strengthening security around Proxima and our other key colonies. Yes, we have been victorious in recent years, but we have still not fully recovered from the loss of Earth, and I doubt we will do that for many decades. We should...."
"We have skulked here in Proxima for too long!" Clark snapped. "We will not hide in the dark with our heads buried beneath a pillow. The Alliance has invaded our territory, attacked our ships, and killed our people! We defeated the Minbari, we will defeat them. Anyone who attacks us, we will destroy.
"The official declaration of war with the Alliance was sent to Kazomi Seven some minutes ago."
Sheridan knew he should be excited. This was what had been inevitable since the alliance with the Shadows. This was what the Shadows had wanted, a war, survival of the fittest, strength through conflict and growth through chaos.
But something in Clark's bearing made him ill-at-ease. And openly attacking Beta Durani! Ryan was right, they were not ready. Not yet. Warfare and chaos, yes, but not to the point of insanity and ruin. Sheridan planned to make humanity the dominant force in the galaxy, and that would not be accomplished with a madman as President.
"What about Sinoval?" asked Ryan suddenly, and Clark looked at him sharply. "Our previous standing orders were to ready our forces for a full assault on his base, believed to be somewhere in the vicinity of Tarolin Two. I assume those orders are rescinded?"
"They are not. Has the Saint-Germain any accurate star charts of the Tarolin Two area?"
"Not yet. They have reported some sort of conflict there, but details are scarce, and they are having to move secretly and stealthily."
"Well, if there is a war of some sort there, then we should capitalise on it." Clark smiled again. "General Ryan, we will have enough time to go bowling, and destroy the Alliance and Sinoval too."
Sheridan frowned. A war on two fronts. Even he knew how insane that was. Any minute now Clark was likely to suggest they invade the Centauri or something, although God only knew why anyone would want to.
"Mr. President," spoke up Pierce Macabee, the recently promoted Minister of Information, known locally as Dr. Spin. "How would you like this reported on ISN? I was thinking, maybe a posthumous medal for the captain of the Marten? What was his name?"
"Smith," said Ryan. "Captain Walker Smith."
"Smith?" Macabee sighed. "How very.... uninspired. No wonder I forgot it. Oh well, a posthumous.... Silver Star perhaps?"
"Yes, yes. Do whatever you see fit," snapped Clark. "Welles, what word on Delenn?"
Welles looked up, as if he had suddenly realised where he was. "She is.... currently undergoing the medical tests you ordered, sir," he said, slowly and cautiously. "The medical staff seem to think it will take a while. They are trying to be very careful and record as much information as they can."
"There is no hurry." Clark smiled. "We have all the time in the world, after all.
"Yes, we have all the time in the world."
His smile, thought Sheridan, was like that of someone who has just got the joke that no one else could understand.
* * * * * * *
Drugged, sluggish, deafened and half-maddened as she was, Talia still managed to make her way slowly out of the laboratories in which she found herself. Skills of evasion, concealment and disguise that she had been forced to learn over long years of training served to save her life now. Instinct took over as she navigated her way through laboratories, past chambers filled with cryogenic storage units and regular patrols of security guards in black, wearing no insignia.
It was the cryogenic units that concerned her most. The majority of them were occupied, and she knew that every person within them was a telepath. Strangely, not all of them were human. She knew that most of the other races had telepaths - except for the Narns, and Al had been working to see that the telepath gene was reintroduced into their race - and she even had some idea of their relative strengths and the training carried out by the other races.
She had no idea what these alien telepaths were doing here. Were they a part of this network as well?
Such thoughts would have to wait for later. For now, she had to escape from here. She had to find.... Dexter. For the first time since their capture she thought about him. Was he all right? Was he even alive? He was wanted on a charge of murder, she remembered.
Then another thought struck her. He was a telepath, albeit a weak one. Had he been made a part of this network as well? A momentary pang of fear struck her, and that made the voices all the louder. With a considerable effort of will she forced them out, and concentrated on the mission at hand. If Dexter could not be saved, then he would have to be avenged. She had to get to Al. He had to know about this.
After some time, her subconscious skills navigating her through the complex, she came to realise she was underground. That made sense, Proxima was filled with tunnels and caverns, a legacy from its old days as a mining colony. There was room down here to hide.... an army?
It was also much more likely that there would be an unguarded way out here than through the surface. There would be a respectable surface building above this, possibly even the Edgars Building itself. But underground.... there would be a secret way out. All she had to do was find it.
And so Talia, unseen by guards, unnoticed by any alarm, her fogged mind unable properly to realise the strangeness of all this, disappeared deeper and deeper into dark catacombs. Guards passed infrequently, letting her know she was still heading in vaguely the right direction. Some of them even seemed to be looking for her, although their thoughts made it clear they thought it was a fool's errand; surely she could not have got this far underground?
The sound of movement ahead caused her to duck down into the shadows, hiding herself from the guards she had been following at a safe distance. Probably just another patrol.
"Who's there?" said a sharp voice, loudly. It was a member of the patrol she had been surreptitiously tailing. "Give the pass.... Oh." He paused. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know it was you. You were expected earlier."
The reply was much softer and quieter, and as much as Talia strained to hear, only a smattering of words reached her ears. ".... detained.... emergency.... state...."
"Yes, sir, of course. Come this way, we'll provide an escort into the complex."
Talia pressed herself even harder into the shadows, her eyes following the flickering light source as the patrol turned about and headed back towards her. A man was following them. He was wearing a long black cloak with a hood which hid his face. She tried to reach out and gently skim his mind, but she could not even find it. It was as if a curtain had been drawn across his thoughts, not just shielding them, but hiding them completely.
The voices were still, a terrified whispering passing among them.
The man stopped suddenly, and began looking around. Talia restrained a gasp. It was almost as if he was looking directly at her. Could he see her in the shadows? Surely she was well enough hidden. She tensed her muscles, ready to move.
"Something wrong, sir?" asked the guard.
"No," said the man. "I just thought.... I saw a rat down there."
The guard nodded. He looked a little nervous, and very overawed. "Possible, sir. Would you like us to check and make sure?"
The man shook his head. "No, forgive me. A little nervousness, that is all. Come, I do not want to be any more late than I am already."
"Of course, sir."
Talia did not breathe again until she could no longer see the light source. The voices began to return, but she closed them out.
Not long afterwards she found a way out of the catacombs. The exit was not guarded, but it was very well concealed. Still, she managed to stumble free, and the light of the sun on her face awoke her slightly. Looking around, she knew where she was, in one of the old mining domes, long since abandoned with the mineral resources all but played out.
Breathing slowly, she closed her eyes and thought of Al.
* * * * * * *
I have returned, in a sense. In another sense, the man who left this world has gone forever and an imposter come back in his place. An imposter with the blood of an innocent on his hands, a Minbari no longer, a warrior always but now also a priest.
There has never been any self-doubt in my life. I was master of my own destiny, lord of my own demesne. Let the priestlings babble about the divine will, and the placings of the universe. I was a warrior. I lived, I fought, I killed. I felt each breath in my body, each beat of my heart, and I knew I was alive!
Now.... I am not sure. I know what must be done. The Well of Souls told me some, but the rest I worked out for myself. I know what I must do. It will not be easy, but it is necessary, and I have never shirked from what must be done simply because it will be hard.
I have time. Enough time to.... prepare matters, to finalise certain things, to.... deal with certain situations that must be dealt with.
There will be those I leave behind. They must be ready.
Tarolin Two is a dead place for me now. I see my people around me, those who have called themselves my guards, those who have pledged themselves to my side. I wonder what they would say, if they only knew.
I admire many of these people. They have fought a war every bit as great as mine. They have rebuilt from devastation, they have forged new lives where I forged weapons, they have fought hunger and despair and suffering where I have fought the humans, and the Vorlons, and Sonovar.
Yes, I admire many of them, but for only one person here is there anything more in my heart than mere admiration or respect. She is the bravest, wisest, kindest person I have ever met. I know she will forgive me, her beautiful soul will not let her do anything else, but I wish more than anything else this were not necessary.
I look into her eyes, feeling the fear there. She has avoided me for many months, since Kozorr's.... betrayal. I do not blame her.
I tell her about what I have done, and she begins to cry. I want to hold her and comfort her, but I cannot. If I could feel love for any living being it would be for her, but I do not have that capacity. Another does, and it will be he who must share her life.
"This is my fault," she whispers, her head bowed. "He came to me.... The Primarch.... and he told me.... he tried.... to warn me...."
"You are not to blame, my lady. Her blood is on my hands."
"I said I would be your conscience! I said I would.... guard your soul. I failed you."
"No, I failed you, but that is past. I promise you, my lady.... I will make a better future, but I cannot do so alone. I need you at my side, my lady. I need you."
She nods. "Whatever you need me to do, I will do. My life is yours."
"Your life belongs to no one but yourself. I have.... been distracted recently. I have broken one of the simplest rules of warfare: never fight a war on more than one front. Sonovar, the Vorlons, the Enemy, I thought I could destroy them all.
"Perhaps I can, but I will do so one at a time, my lady. First, I must deal with Sonovar. It was I who created him, I who ravaged this world every bit as much as he did. I will end this, and re-unite our people."
Her eyes look at me with renewed hope. I smile to see it.
"And, my lady.... I will return Kozorr to you. That, I promise you."
I am many things, few of them complimentary, but I have never been an oath-breaker.
I have many skills, and one of them is mastery of war. I know what to do to deal with Sonovar, and I swear by those who once swore to me.... I will do all I can to finish this.
* * * * * * *
The old man poured two glasses of orange juice and passed one over to his guest, who took it gratefully. He sat down and began to sip at it. Yes, it was definitely better. Whatever new processes had been applied to it, the taste was definitely improved. He preferred the all-natural flavour of course, but that was sadly impossible these days.
"I'm sorry I'm late," said his guest, also sitting down. "There was.... pressing business."
"Yes, I heard. Has the declaration of war reached the Alliance yet?"
The guest made no sign of surprise at the information the old man possessed. He had got used to it by this time. "Not yet. There are lawyers framing the exact terms and so forth. Media reasons and legal sophistry, you know how it is."
"Oh, exactly. The timing is.... not bad, all told. I think we've more or less sucked Sector Three-o-one dry by now. Our little social crusaders have thrown up a few too many problems, and the underground telepath railroad running through there is going to fall apart very quickly, I fear. Ah well, we've done well enough out of the area.
"A pity though, I actually almost liked Mr. Trace. Such.... naked ambition, and complete lack of morals. On the other hand, all men need some moral centre, don't you think?" He took another sip of the orange juice. "We all have a purpose we work towards, the greater good of the race." The old man looked at his guest, who was still and unmoving. He sighed softly.
"Telepaths," the old man said again. "They're the key. Every war has.... some great strategic weapon, something that will turn the tide, and the side that gets that advantage is sure to win. It could be.... control of a trade route, an important river, perhaps a mine, or a piece of powerful technology.
"In this war it is telepaths, and whoever controls the most telepaths will win. It is that simple." He finished his drink and placed the glass on the table. Rising, he stretched, and began to pace up and down.
"Miss Winters will no doubt have escaped by now. Let her escape, let her go running to Mr. Bester, and we will follow. We will find him wherever he has holed up and...."
The door opened and the old man turned, breathing a soft sigh of relief when he saw who it was. "Mr. Morden, always a pleasure."
"Likewise," he said. "I heard you had company, so I thought I'd.... make myself available."
"Indeed. Well, Mr. Morden, I would like to introduce you to...."
The guest began to speak. "Call me Wi.... Oh, that might be a little confusing, mightn't it?"
"A fine name," the old man said with a soft smile. "Well, you know who he is, anyway. This is Mr. Morden, a longstanding and valued employee and.... agent of mine."
"A pleasure to meet you at last," Morden said, smiling.
"Likewise," said the guest. They shook hands.
* * * * * * *
It was victory of a sort, although as Captain David Corwin thought about the death toll and pondered the faces of those who greeted the victorious liberators of Beta Durani, he wondered whether this victory might not have been worth the winning.
He could see fear on their faces. Some cried out insults and hurled projectiles, but most merely watched, horrified, numb. Children were shaking and crying.
For so long humanity had been terrified of an invasion by all-powerful aliens they could not hope to defeat. For a few brief years they had thought they were free of that fear, only for the hope to be torn from their grasp and shattered.
That is the way of things. Hope is ephemeral. Fear is eternal.
The Captain was not here. He preferred to remain on the Dark Star flagship, ready for any attempted counterattack. Corwin had been given the task of securing the colony itself, although there was very little to do. Governor Young had tried to flee, only to be caught and arrested easily. Her fate was still undecided.
Corwin sat in her office, thinking about victory. Would this war ever be over? Would there ever be a time he could sit, and rest, and raise children in a world free from harm?
"It's just as well you left, Mary," he said idly. "You wouldn't like what's happening here."
He wished he'd kept the ring he'd bought for her. He had thrown it away.
Sighing, he reached for some of the papers on the desk. The Captain had asked him to look for any important points relating to military matters in Governor Young's office. She had been a favoured protégée of President Clark, and had been reckoned for swift promotion. She was likely to have been involved in a number of matters the Alliance should know about.
Her desk, however, was a mess. There were obvious signs that she had tried to grab as much as she could before she fled, and she had understandably not bothered about tidying up after herself. Routine maintenance reports were mixed with census records and private letters. Corwin buried himself in the work, anxious for anything to take his mind away from the dark thoughts that were plaguing him.
As he dug into a mound of reports, he found a newspaper and pulled it free. A copy of Proxima Today, dated a few days ago. He made to throw it on a rubbish pile, when he caught the headline, and started.
"Oh, my God," he whispered, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He swiftly activated his link. "Get me Captain Sheridan," he said in a hurry. "This is urgent."
He looked back down at the front page.
DELENN CAPTURED. WAR CRIMES TRIAL PREPARED.
* * * * * * *
Mr. Welles was a man of iron will, not given to showing his emotions lightly. The truth was that he was an intensely guarded and private person, unable to show his inner self for fear of rejection. Only his wife had ever glimpsed his true self, and with her death there was no one who could claim to know him properly at all.
As a result of this intense privacy many people interpreted him as cold and emotionless. This was not true, it was merely that he kept his emotions firmly under control for fear of revealing his true anger and grief, for fear of letting his true self-loathing manifest itself in horror at the things he had done over the years in the name of a good cause.
Displays of rage were very rare. When she heard the sound of crashing and breaking, his secretary initially thought he was being attacked, or had possibly suffered a heart attack. Rushing to see what was wrong, she was horror-struck at the sight of Welles tearing down pictures and books from the walls of his office and hurling them around, seemingly in a drunken rage. He turned to look at her, and she recoiled from the fury of his gaze. Whatever was wrong with him, she knew he was as sober as any man ever born. She retreated, in need of something to drink herself.
His rage sated, Welles sank slowly to the floor, bitter tears running down his face. This was crazy. He knew he should keep his emotions private, but he could not. Clark would find out, Sheridan would find out.
He didn't care.
He had done many horrible things in his life. He had tortured, he had lied and deceived, he had destroyed lives and reputations, he had broken hearts and minds.
But it was all in a good cause, all for the good of humanity, all for the greater good, so that was all right.
He had done many horrible things, but this....
He could not do it. No, he had to. Too many lives were.... He could not! He had to!
He stood up and swayed over to his desk. Papers had become strewn across it in his rage, but as he sat down it was easy enough to find the one he was looking for. Preliminary medical report on Satai Delenn.
Please let the words not be there. Please let them not be there. Let this be a dream, an illusion, a joke, anything!
They were there. Black against the page, unassuming, innocuous, innocent.
He leapt to his feet and smashed his chair against the wall. Then he slumped to the floor and began to sob.
Why had she not told him? For God's sake, why? If he had had some warning, then maybe.... maybe he could have done something. Now it was too late. A copy of this report had been sent to Clark at exactly the same time he had received it. Sheridan would find out not long after, and he would take great delight in watching Welles do what he would have to do. Ambassador Sheridan hated Delenn.
Welles was not sure if he hated her, or loved her.... or what? He simply knew that she did not deserve this.
He looked back at the report. The words were still there. They had not disappeared, or faded away, or changed in any way.
Five simple words. That was all, but they were enough to damn him, to damn whatever pitiful speck remained of his soul.
His eyes skipped over the first four and settled on the last. He half-cried, half-laughed. He wanted so much for that word to not be there, for there to be a mistake, something, anything.
Eight little letters, a word many reacted to with joy. A word he had longed to hear all these years ago from the mouth of the woman he loved more than life itself. A word he was hearing now, and one he could not bring himself to accept.
One little word.
Pregnant.