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| Volume 4: A Future, Born in Pain | Part V: The First Footsteps on the Road to Babylon |
IN almost a hundred and fifty years, since telepathy was discovered amongst humans, a wide range of tests had been carried out to determine the extent of the powers, skills and abilities telepaths could possess. The first human encounter with aliens and the discovery that they had telepaths too only heightened the urgency.
One early theory was that a network of telepaths could be set up to provide completely secret, near-instant communication between any number of strategic locations. Experiments were marginally successful, but the limitation of most telepaths to line-of-sight range ultimately proved too problematic. Similar ideas were later broached regarding telepathic communication in space, when it was discovered that hyperspace extended telepathic range. Here, however, it was lack of knowledge regarding hyperspace itself that caused the problems.
There were secret reports filed in certain places speculating that certain alien races might be able to utilise telepaths in this fashion. Psi Corps managed to obtain most of these reports.
William Edgars was no scientist, but he had always possessed a quick mind and a willingness to accept ideas that others would regard as.... unusual, or even impossible. He was also more than willing to listen when it was explained exactly what would be needed of him.
Telepathic signals did travel better through hyperspace due to the strange properties of that other universe, properties not even the Vorlons understood well. The Vorlons did understand telepaths, however, very well indeed. They understood enough for their purposes.
All that was needed was a powerful telepath, of any race, at certain key locations in the galaxy, bound to a machine. Vorlon technology was organic, and so better able to siphon and direct telepathic powers than the cold harshness of machinery. Then hyperspace corridors were created, linking these nodes to each other, direct links from one to another, focussed in little pockets. Human technology could not do this, nor could most other races.
But the Vorlons had the knowledge, the power and the cold-hearted will to do whatever was necessary. They had created telepaths as weapons, and it was as weapons they would be used.
The effect of this network was to allow telepaths to draw on the powers of other telepaths, building exponentially, the whole far greater than the sum of its parts. With a little proper direction.... the effects could be devastating. Much of Vorlon space had been protected in this manner, but never before had the network been extended outside Vorlon territory.
Never until now.
Byron's eyes opened. Light filled him, filled his mind. He had no consciousness now, save a little voice that might once have been his, screaming, a tiny echo in a mass of other screams.
His body shook as the hyperspace conduit opened behind him, in front of him, all around him. He was the gateway between the two worlds, the minds of a billion telepaths forming the telekinetic shield that protected against the gravity distortion.
His every muscle burned, stretched beyond breaking-point. His bones shook and were shattered by the stress. His blood boiled. None of that mattered. His mind was all that was important, his body was just a vessel, and now that he had been welcomed into the network, the network itself would be a ready vessel.
Edgars and Morden watched this, the older man smiling, the younger marvelling.
"You know what to do," Edgars said.
Byron did not, but the network did.
A scream left his mouth, one too high for the humans to hear. But the Vorlons heard it. The Shadows heard it.
And the Shadows began to die.
* * * * * * *
It was the Shadow ship that had shattered the dome that felt the wave first. The Shadows had known about their vulnerability to telepaths for a long time and had tried various strategies to counteract this weakness. They had had limited success with some forms of shielding, but they had decided by far the best approach was caution and stealth, and to use force only when absolutely necessary.
The destruction of the Edgars Building had been absolutely necessary, but unfortunately for the Shadows, and indeed for all humanity, the shields and fortifications had held just long enough.
The Shadow ship screamed as the full force of the telepathic network tore through it. Its organic shielding was shattered before the sheer power of a million telepathic minds working as one. Every living thing on the ship was driven mad in one terrifying instant, and it fell from the sky.
Buildings were smashed to mere piles of rubble as the Shadow ship crashed through them. The Edgars Building was already all but destroyed, and as the ship crashed through it the remains were utterly ruined. Again, however, the bunkers held.
And the telepathic power expanded outwards, tearing up through the skies of Proxima, sensing and targeting the other vessels of the hated Enemy. Byron might have been the focal point for the network in this area, but there were a good number of lesser nodes, points of focus and direction.
The wave swept onwards, enhanced and directed and shaped.
And with it came madness and chaos and destruction....
.... and death.
* * * * * * *
Captain Bethany Tikopai of the De'Molay caught the feeling that something was very wrong the instant before her ship began to fall apart. There was a brief flicker of light flashing before her eyes, and she blinked, a nagging itch suddenly developing inside her brain.
She opened her mouth to say something, but was not sure what.
Then everything collapsed about her. There was a scream, coming from the walls around her, from the floor beneath her feet, from the ceiling above her head. It tore through her mind and her soul and she recoiled from the sheer pain carried within it.
A terminal mere feet from her exploded, throwing the technician backwards. His body was burned and charred by the time it hit the floor. The lights on the bridge shattered one by one, as more and more terminals tore apart. In the weapons bay all the crew died in one instant of shock, not even realising what was happening as the targeting systems exploded around them and the hull was ripped open as though it were paper.
The engines were blown apart. The transport tubes collapsed around each other. The navigation systems were filled with white noise and a golden light.
Captain Tikopai was thrown forward as the ship rocked beneath her. Her head struck the floor and she heard the ship screaming once more before she blacked out.
The De'Molay hung dead in space.
* * * * * * *
Her eyes were closed. She might have been sleeping, but it was clear to everyone that she wasn't. She was dead, she must be. Human or Minbari, no one could take a PPG shot at point-blank range to the chest and survive.
For a moment everyone was still and silent. This was not what any of them had expected. They had come here for revenge on the monster who had killed their families, their friends, their homeworld. They had found a woman who had spoken earnestly of forgiveness and peace and sorrow, and who had gone to her death willingly.
Smith looked up from Delenn's body, and the only thing he could see was Trace. He was standing back, his arms folded high on his chest, a smug smile on his face. He had won. He had proved his power. He had ended a life that meant nothing to him, and destroyed that of a person he hated.
"It's good being the hero, i'n't it?" he said. "This must be how you felt, before you threw it all over and decided to become the champion of the down-and-outs."
"Shut up," Smith hissed. "You don't know anything."
"No? I know more than you think. I know about power, and about pain, and how anyone will do anything you want of them, if you just push them right. They all wanted her dead, all these people here, and I'm the one who helped them with that.
"I'm their hero."
"Oh?" said Smith. "I don't think you know them as well as you think."
Trace prepared to say something, but then he stopped and looked up. There were no warning systems here in the Pit. Why should there be, when no one cared who lived or died here?
But there were certain instincts, ancient and primaeval, that spoke within all humanity - ancient genetic memories. They spoke of danger.
"Oh hell," Trace said softly, all the colour draining from his face.
A good many things happened at once. There were cries of terror from the crowd, angry panic from Trace, and a desperate scuffle to escape, to get away from here, away from the invaders who would surely seek revenge on those who had murdered their leader. There were pleas for forgiveness, prayers to Gods worshipped and Gods ignored.
The crowd surged forward, trying to move somewhere, anywhere. Smith threw himself on Delenn's body, desperate to protect her now as he had not before. A sharp pain exploded in his leg as someone trod on it. He tried to raise his arms to protect his head, but a foot slammed into the side of his skull, and he was thrown into a world where all he knew was his nightmares.
* * * * * * *
The Dark Stars had always been slightly.... unusual ships. They were of Vorlon design and manufacture of course, with their systems crafted to be useable by many of the younger races. There were some who were uncomfortable being in them, and some, such as Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally, who refused to set foot on one unless absolutely necessary.
Many however, were beginning to find an odd sense of peace on board a Dark Star. Captain John Sheridan hardly left his flagship at all these days.
A probable cause of this was the sheer effectiveness of the Dark Stars in combat against the previously superior Shadow ships. Advanced jamming and shielding techniques coupled with powerful weapons systems made the fight much more even.
But the Dark Stars still held mysteries, and they had certainly never done this before.
"What the hell?" whispered Corwin.
For one instant, a mere handful of seconds after Byron began to scream, a brilliant light filled every room of the Dark Star 3 - the Agamemnon. The entire ship was bathed in a pure and perfect rejection of the darkness, and somewhere, in a lost and forgotten place, another scream was added, a slight and almost imperceptible echo of Byron's own. And then another, and then another. But no one heard them.
The light soon faded, but Corwin's attention was quickly drawn away from the unusual phenomenon, as he mentally filed it at the top of a very long list of unusual phenomena.
"Captain," said the tech. "Something.... something's happened."
"What?"
"The Earthforce ships.... they've.... stopped."
"Stopped what?"
"No, Captain. Just stopped dead. They're not moving, not powering weapons. Nothing. The De'Molay and the Dark Thunder might as well be floating hulks. The Morningstar is just turning in circles, and the Saint-Germain looks to be operating at about quarter-strength."
"What about the Shadow ships?"
"Some are paralysed, a few others are moving sluggishly. Some of them are still advancing."
"He knew this would be too easy," muttered Corwin. "Whatever's happened.... he knew about it."
"Sorry, Captain? What are your orders?"
"Hit the Shadow ships that are still moving. Do not fire on Earthforce ships unless they pose a threat to us."
"Aye, sir."
Corwin sat back, feeling something throbbing beneath him, above him, all around him. He did not know what had happened, but he had a very uncomfortable and unpleasant feeling.
For one brief instant he thought he heard a scream, coming from somewhere far, far away.
* * * * * * *
In a place far from the fates of men and nations being decided at Proxima, Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, was talking to people who had been dead for ten centuries.
"I wonder if he understood," he was saying, walking slowly around the first Hall of the Grey Council. Memories of the terrible bloodshed and torture that had occurred in the second Hall still touched him, as did the vision of his death in this place. He was thinking about Kats, and her part in his vision.
He was thinking about Sonovar.
"I wonder if he understood why they betrayed him. I would think not. Marrain and Parlonn were warriors, raised in a different culture, a different world from him. I have no idea what the Vorlons put into his mind, but hypnosis, subliminal influence, years of lessons.... all of these are no match for a lifetime of training. Marrain and Parlonn were born warriors, in the days when the word meant something, when you served your lord unto death, to the last breath, to the last whisper.
"Whatever else Valen was, he could not be a warrior like that. The histories show it. He abolished the Morr'dechai, elevated the workers, ended the rite of denn'cha. His coming was a hurricane of change. And still.... I wonder if he truly understood why they betrayed him. I certainly did not know why I was betrayed.
"Until now, anyway.
"Love is a strange thing, would you not agree? I have never understood it myself, but then I am told that those who have experienced it themselves rarely understand it either. Hatred is something I do understand, all too well. That is where Valen mis-stepped. He understood love, but not hatred.... and it doomed him. It also doomed Marrain and Parlonn."
Stormbringer tapped slowly against the side of his leg as he walked around the circle. "How many of you understood? How many of my Grey Council would understand? The religious caste have always made a show of not understanding, and claiming that they are wiser in doing so than are we who claim to comprehend. It is possible they are right, although this is the first time I have ever accepted that as a possibility."
Slowly, he walked into the centre of the circle. The ghosts of nine Councillors watched him with silent eyes.
And one moment later, one of the columns was no longer occupied by a ghost of the past, but by a harbinger of the future. And then another. And another. And another.
And that was all.
Eyes darkening, Sinoval glanced quickly around the circle. Four. Only four. He could not see Kats' body, and that was welcome. Maybe Lanniel and the others had managed to save her. He hoped so.
But then he could not see Sonovar either. Or Kozorr.
He did not like this. He had seen the future, and known it for what it was. Had his careful manipulations come to nothing, or was this just a simple.... flux?
"I was expecting more of you," he said softly.
"We will be enough," said the first warrior. He recognised her, although by reputation only. Lanniel's sister, the daughter of Takier of the Storm Dancers clan. Tirivail, that was her name. Takier had been the most influential surviving lord to ally with Sonovar. He was not here either.
"Where is Sonovar?"
"Lord Sonovar thought this beneath his attention."
Now Sinoval was confused. His careful efforts to force the truth of his vision did not seem to have worked. Or maybe they had been about to.... and someone, or something else had interfered.
"And Kozorr?" he asked, casually.
Tirivail extended her pike. "No more words," she said.
They charged forward. The columns of light went out.
* * * * * * *
"Scorched Earth." Welles laughed, a sound entirely devoid of humour. "Scorched Earth, but who's going to do the scorching, hmm? Him, or you?"
David Sheridan did not reply. He was still holding the piece of paper in his hand, looking at it, trying to think. The Vorlons were based in the IPX headquarters. If the building could be destroyed, then so would they. And Clark if he was there.
But what was their plan? They couldn't do this directly. They would want to blame the Shadows for this. For one terrible moment, Sheridan wondered if he had not done exactly what Clark had wanted. The destruction of an entire dome at the hands of the Shadows would be a powerful tool.
But then he calmed himself. No. Clark had said humanity needed to be taught a lesson, as a punishment for choosing the wrong side. There had been something in his words that had implied.... more....
Much more.
"Scorched Earth," Welles said again.
"Will you stop staying that?" snapped Sheridan. "Do you have any idea what it means, or are you just trying to drive me crazy?"
"It's.... I don't know. It's a bit familiar. Clark's.... what is Clark up to?"
"He and the Vorlons want to punish humanity. They want to teach us all a lesson for choosing the Shadows instead of them."
"I wasn't aware we had a choice."
"Then you try explaining that to them. The Vorlons don't care about fair. They only care about what's right.... what's right by their twisted logic anyway. Anyway, they were going to punish humanity, and try to blame it on us."
"How long do you think they have had control of Clark?"
"A few years at least. I've been noticing.... unusual behaviour in him for a while, things that weren't connected to.... what we were doing to him. He was obsessed with Sinoval, if you remember, and eager to push for war with the Alliance, to bring things to this point."
"The Alliance, yes. This timing can't be a coincidence. The attack on Proxima was rushed. He wanted it to happen now. Just when he was ready. The attack is a distraction, something to draw all the Shadow ships away, all our ships away.
"Why?
"Because what he's doing is going to be public, and not instantaneous. There would be time for someone to stop it, if they weren't distracted." Sheridan started, and Welles smiled. "Clark isn't going to lay the blame on the Shadows. You're an abstract. This isn't about you, or me, or the Alliance. It's about the man in the street, and to him the Shadows are just our alien protectors, powerful, but distant. How many of them have even seen a Shadow?
"But Clark.... He's real. He's known, and he's our leader, someone who's been behind the alliance with the Shadows from day one. He's going to take all the blame on himself, and he's left that note as proof.
"He's going to turn the defence grid inwards. To the planet."
"They wouldn't," Sheridan breathed.
"If what you've told me is true.... then they definitely would. They...." Welles stopped, and paused.
There was a sudden shriek, and the air around them shimmered. The remaining Shadow flickered into view, screaming alien sounds, its alien body thrashing. Sheridan stumbled, moaning, pain tearing through his mind. He shrank to his knees as the Shadow fell, bone and joint torn apart.
Welles went to Sheridan's side and helped him up.
"I think we'd better hurry," he said, his voice deadly serious.
* * * * * * *
To His Most August Majesty Emperor Mollari II of the Centauri Republic, Keeper of the Four Gates of the Temple, Master of the Starless Sky, Bearer of the Purple Shroud;
From the Council of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven, authorised by Ministers Lethke zum Bartrando, Kullenbrok, Taan Churok, Vizhak, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, and, in absentia, Captain John Sheridan.
Evidence has reached this Council of an alliance between the military forces of the Centauri Republic and the race of First Ones called the Shadows, with whom we are currently at war. We have studied this evidence in some detail and found it to be entirely convincing. We therefore have no hesitation in dismissing your application for a Centauri embassy on Kazomi Seven.
In addition, all ambassadorial staff on Kazomi Seven have been exiled. No Centauri trading vessels, military ships or diplomatic envoys will be permitted to pass through space controlled by the Alliance or any of our races. Any ships that break this blockade will be fired upon.
Furthermore, should the Centauri Republic employ the assistance of the Shadows in any further engagements with the Narn Régime, we will come instantly to the defence of the Narn Régime and assist them against you in any way possible. Any Centauri assault on Alliance ships, stations or territories will be considered an act of war.
If you can provide conclusive proof before this body that your alliance with the Shadows is over and permit such observations and investigations as are necessary to confirm this, and agree to a substantial Alliance military presence in Centauri space and certain restrictions on the size and use of the Centauri military, we will end the blockade and exile and resume diplomatic relations.
Signed and authorised this day by the members of the Council of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven.
The more Londo read the contents of the message, the less he believed them. What were they thinking? He looked at the names at the top of the page and found it impossible to credit that any of them could have written that. By the Maker, he had helped rebuild Kazomi 7 after the Drakh invasion. He had promised any assistance they might require as soon as he was in a position to give it. He had been one of their most loyal supporters.
And now this. Lethke, Vizhak, G'Kar! That they would believe.... this! That he would make a deal with....
He had been one of the first of G'Kar's Rangers. His bodyguard was one of G'Kar's Rangers.
He had known anger in his life. He had known sorrow and loss and determination to do what must be done. He had never known all four simultaneously, as he did now.
Lethke's face appeared on the viewscreen. Finally.
"Emperor Mollari," the Brakiri said. "This is.... not a good moment."
"Not a good moment?" Londo replied. "Not a good moment?" He held up the message, the contents of the diplomatic pouch. "Tell me, Lethke, when would be a good moment for all my friends to turn on me?"
"Emperor Mollari, we have seen...."
"You have seen? Oh well, then everything is all right! Yes, you have seen some pathetic amateur forgery created by the people we are at war with, and that is enough to convince you to turn against me! How long have we known each other, Lethke? How long have G'Kar and I been working together against the Shadows?
"By the Great Maker, do you honestly think I would authorise something like this?"
"The evidence is.... irrefutable, Emperor Mollari," Lethke replied uncomfortably. "It is not a fake, not a forgery. The Shadows assisted your ships in a battle against the Narns."
"It is a lie!"
"It is no lie."
"I saw what their servants did at Kazomi Seven. Do you think I would...?"
"What I think does not matter. I am one voice among many. We are at war with the Shadows, and that war will continue until they are destroyed and gone. By whatever Gods you worship, please.... don't make us go to war with you as well."
"War? Why not, Lethke? Join with your good friends the Narns and come and invade us. We have the homeworld left, you know. And maybe Immolan. Perhaps a few other worlds you can divide up between yourself and the Narns."
"That is unjustified."
"And this is not?! We are a free and sovereign race. We have made no deals with the Shadows, and any evidence that says otherwise is a lie. If any Alliance ships come into our space, we will not hesitate to deal with them, understand? We have fought the Narns for long enough. We will fight you as well if we have to."
"You know our conditions, Emperor Mollari. Do not talk to me again unless you are willing to agree to them." The screen went blank and Londo let out a great roar of anger and fury. He staggered away from it and hurled the diplomatic pouch into the far corner of the room. Moving swiftly, a shadow emerging from the darkness, Lennier stepped into view and caught it effortlessly.
Londo frequently forgot his bodyguard was there. Lennier was developing a habit of not being noticed.
"You heard all that?" Lennier nodded. "Once word gets out, and it will.... it may not be.... safe for you to be here. Perhaps you should go back to Kazomi Seven. I will have to expel all Alliance personnel from our space anyway. I can do no less in view of their actions. I would rather you left.... voluntarily."
Slowly, silently, Lennier removed his sunburst badge and laid it on a table. "I am your bodyguard," he said with absolute conviction. "I would not be doing my duty if I abandoned you in a moment of difficulty."
"Then you believe me? I swear I did not do what they think I did."
"I believe you."
Londo smiled. "I thank the Maker someone does! When is Marrago due back from Tolonius? I would not be surprised if you were present when he contacted me."
"I believe he said.... before nineteen hundred hours tonight. He was going to be leaving your nephew in charge of the area and returning here to provide a full briefing."
"Good. I will have to contact him and let him know I am calling a full meeting of the Government. I do not like the way this is developing. Someone.... someone is playing a very large trick on us, and when I find out who...."
Londo suddenly stopped, and looked at his companion. "Do you know, I have not heard you speak so much in months?"
Lennier smiled and bowed his head. Londo laughed, but it was one laugh, and no more.
* * * * * * *
Trace was not sure of the exact moment he realised everything was truly over, the instant he discovered at last that his mysterious patron had his own agenda. It did not really matter. He had risen this far not through the efforts of others, but by his own will.
"There is one thing that makes us winners," he said slowly. "It isn't talent. It isn't strength, or intelligence, or guts. It's the willpower to do what the other guys won't."
He was not sure exactly who he was speaking to. There was no one here who was not dead or unconscious. The crowd had fled as soon as news had come of the attack. How it had got here Trace did not know, but he was willing to believe in primaeval instincts of survival. He had always trusted his instincts.
Plus, of course, everyone had fled to escape from the place where Delenn had died. Their guilt and horror had been clear in all their eyes, even the eyes of people Trace had thought he could have trusted. They had come here hoping to execute an alien freak war criminal and murderess and instead they had found.... something else.
Trace looked at Delenn's still body. There was.... peace there. Her dying expression had been one of acceptance. He chuckled. She could be as peaceful and accepting as she liked. She was still dead. He spat on her and walked slowly over to the far wall, leaning against it, arms folded.
People didn't understand. They just didn't understand anything. People were stupid, that was their problem. They saw what they wanted to see, and when they were confronted with the truth their minds became a little.... dazed. They had always thought of Delenn as one thing, but then they had seen her as something else, and they weren't sure which was true. The attack had distracted them from thinking about this, but in the next few days a consensus of sorts would be reached. Delenn would either be a murderous war criminal justly killed by a righteous population or a near-saint murdered by callous, unfeeling monsters.
Trace chuckled again. The final decision would be reached by following the lead from above, and for these people, that meant him. Assuming he survived all this, and he had every confidence in Earthforce's ships, he would ensure which judgement prevailed.
It wasn't as if he even cared about Delenn one way or the other. She was a political tool of the leaders, and a woman mildly pretty in an alien sort of way, and that was that. He had only got involved with this to prove a point, to justify his own beliefs about humanity.
Oh, yes.... and for one other reason.
He looked over at Smith. He was still out. Trace really hoped he would wake up soon. Smith had interfered in his business, broken into his property, killed Nelson. Now Nelson had been a true friend. He would never have run away to some antiquated shelter to hide from the sky, like these idiots Trace had working for him these days.
But more than that, Smith believed there was something good and selfless in humanity. Trace had just proven him wrong, and himself right, and if there was one thing Mr. Trace wanted, it was always to be right.
Smith moved and coughed, turning over. He had taken a nasty blow to the head, painful yes, but nowhere near fatal.
Yet. Trace moved forward and waited until Smith raised himself to his knees. His foot came down hard on Smith's back. Smith fell and rolled over, looking up with gummed-up eyes, seeing through a maze of stars and dots and memories.
"Howdy," said Trace. "I think we have some unfinished business."
* * * * * * *
You are a fool.
This is not the time for this.
No, this is the time.
The flames were licking around him, scalding his skin, blackening and burning his soul. Marrain could feel himself burning, hear his own dying screams, remember the sheer.... relief.
It was over. Thank everything that moved and breathed, it was over!
But it wasn't. He would burn forever. He was still burning now, a thousand years on. He was still burning.
They murdered innocents! The Yolu would not support us, it was true. And why? Did you think about that? Did they think about that?
The Yolu are cowards!
No! They are afraid. Fear and cowardice are not the same. I am afraid. Every single day, I am afraid. There is no shame in fear.
You are not a warrior.
The warrior's code. We fear only failure. That was the code. Marrain had felt fear, and not of failure. He had never feared death, never once, but at the end, as the flames of his own creation consumed him, he had feared life.
The Yolu are not as powerful as we are. They are not as strong, they have less military might. And no, they are not as brave as we are. They are not to be hated for that. They are not to be reviled! Do you not see, Marrain? For what do we fight, if not to protect those who cannot protect themselves? What is the point of the strong, if they do not protect the weak? We should defend the Yolu, not attack them.
Zarwin did not understand that.
And do you? If you do.... then this will all have been worthwhile. He will understand in time, whether today, or in a thousand years. But do you understand today, Marrain?
There had been a moment.... one single moment's pause, when something had touched him, something had touched his mind, some hint of.... comprehension.
But it was there for only a moment, and then it was gone, and all the old ways returned.
He had seen his eyes reflected in Valen's own, and there had been a great darkness in them. As a child, he had once dreamed about being pursued by a horrible monster, a creature so much taller and stronger than him. The instant before he woke he had looked into that monster's eyes.... and now he saw that sight again, an adult, not a child. He saw his own eyes, reflected in those of a friend, a mentor, a leader.... a friend.
No. I do not understand.
And Valen had turned away.
The flames died, and Marrain sank to the floor. A dull, echoing noise ceased, and he realised it had been his own laughter. He looked up, and thought for a moment he saw Zarwin, across the ages, but then he realised it was Vhixarion.
"We have seen the Z'ondar," Vhixarion said. "We have seen him and Zarwin, the first Sah'thai.... He who Atoned. Zarwin did not understand...."
"Valen said he would," Marrain whispered. How wise had he been? Just how much had he known?
"We have not a tenth of Zarwin's wisdom. We have not a hundredth of the Z'ondar's wisdom. You knew them both. You are he who stood at the right hand of the Z'ondar, returned to us through the chariot of ages.
"Tell us.... Help us to understand."
"I do not understand," Marrain whispered. "I am not a God, not a prophet. I am just a man. I do not understand." He met the alien's eyes, and saw Zarwin in him once again. There had been one moment when Zarwin had teetered on the edge of comprehension.... just one moment. It had faded quickly, but it had been there.
"But together.... perhaps.... we can."
He held out his hand.
* * * * * * *
It is a strange habit of many races to want to name and record battles. The reasons for this vary. The Narns grimly remember those who died and speak their names with vengeance and dark determination, recalling often their ancestors or family or friends who fell at this battle, or at that siege. The Centauri constantly recount vainglorious tales of long-distant glories and great deeds of the past, distancing themselves from the smell of blood, the pitiful cries of the dying and the grieving relatives.
The humans.... they like history. They like to study it, record it, remember it. To study anything it must be recorded, and so the battles need names, dates, generals.
Humans like history, but they very rarely learn anything from it.
Immediately after the battle some scholars suggested the title of the Third Line, echoing of course the First Line at Earth and the Second Line at Proxima. That name fell out of use in a few years, when it became apparent that the Alliance used the name 'Third Line' to refer to an engagement at Epsilon 3 the year before.
A rival school preferred the Siege of Proxima, but that never gained widespread acceptance. Some pro-Alliance historians suggested the Battle to Reclaim Humanity, but for too many that title was too ironic and painful.
Finally, after some fifty years or so, the Battle of Proxima was accepted, giving rise to considerable disappointment at such a boring name for such an eventful occasion. But that was fifty years in the future.
And this is the present.
Most of the Dark Stars were puzzled by the sudden near-collapse of the enemy ships, but their captains reacted swiftly enough to the sight of a few Shadow ships still operating. Captain Sheridan was the first, leading from the front as always, but Captains Corwin, Daro and Kulomani were also quick to move.
The engagement was still difficult, but much less so than if the Shadows had been at full strength. Without the support of their Earthforce allies they were unable to hold the gateway to the Proxima system, and mounted a cautious retreat. The Alliance ships moved nearer and nearer to Proxima 3 itself, knowing the defence grid was waiting for them.
Of the four capital Earthforce ships, the Saint-Germain possessed limited capabilities and the Morningstar was struggling to regain some sort of combat readiness. For the Dark Thunder and the De'Molay , however, the damage was much more comprehensive.
* * * * * * *
The captain of the De'Molay could hear a million voices screaming as one, coming from a far-distant place. Beneath them she could dimly detect the hissing agony that came from around her.
And above them all, behind the screams, were the triumphant whispers of an ancient race she had never met.
Then all she could hear was her name.
Her eyes opened and she stirred, wincing at the pain in her head and side. Her second, Commander Paul Telleride, was beside her, shaking her gently.
"It's all right," she whispered, blinking past the pain and looking up at him. There was a long deep crimson gash across his forehead. "I'm awake. What the hell happened to us?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied, stepping back and awkwardly helping her up. "We're floating here. Jaiena in Engineering is doing what she can, but...."
"Damn." Bethany activated her link, patching in the signal. "Engineering," she said. "Jaiena, can you hear me?"
The familiar voice of the Chief Engineer answered a moment later, through a confused and patchwork signal. "Captain.... Engi...ing.... here."
"What's our status, Jaiena? Please tell me we can do something!"
"Ship-to-sh.... comm.... active.... Engines are.... dead. Weapons.... dead. Navigation.... We're working on...."
"Ship-to-ship comm is active?" Bethany looked up at Paul, who was bent over one of the panels, frantically working at something. "Do what you can, Jaiena. Tikopai out." She hobbled over to her second, wincing with every step. Her bridge was in complete chaos, covered in débris, small fires still burning, smoke filling the air.
And with each step, the ship itself seemed to cry with its suffering.
"Can we get through to any of the others? Are they in any better condition than we are?"
"I'm trying," muttered Paul. "Our last sensor reading was of the Dark Thunder practically falling apart, but as for the others, we.... Hallelujah!"
"Didn't know you were a religious man," she observed, and then her humour faded as she heard a clipped, precise voice.
"Saint-Germain to De'Molay. Anyone there, De'Molay?"
"This is De'Molay. What is your status, Saint-Germain?"
"Good to hear from you, Captain. We are changing coding signals every three seconds, so keep up."
"If we can."
"We are operational. Whatever hit us seems to have affected the Saint-Germain less than the rest of you. However, our enhanced jump engines, superior sensor array and all the other engine enhancements are inoperational. Our targeting systems and hull integrity are also not good. Our weapons systems are completely off-line."
Tikopai stood back, trying to think. The Saint-Germain's weapons systems had never been over-powerful in any case. It was a sign of desperation that the ship was here at all. What weapons they had were special Shadowtech dispersion fire, designed to distract and hinder pursuing forces while the ship fled. It was a scouting and reconnaissance vessel after all....
Tikopai paused, a dark thought rising.
A scouting vessel, designed with enhancements to the normal jump engines enabling it to enter hyperspace much more quickly and efficiently than normal Earthforce ships. With a superior Shadowtech sensor array, aimed to scan at much greater distances. With considerable Shadowtech engine enhancements designed for greater speed and manoeuverability.
"Good God," she whispered. "It's the Shadowtech. Whatever they hit us with has paralysed all the Shadowtech in our ships."
"How on earth...?" asked Paul.
"I've no idea. DeClercq, did you hear that?"
"Confirmed."
"Can you get through to Ryan and the Morningstar?"
"Negative."
"Damn! What are the Alliance up to? We're sitting blind over here."
"As far as we can tell from normal sensor functions, the Shadows are beginning to pull back. Some of the Alliance ships are heading for Proxima itself. Our normal jump engines should be on-line again soon according to the engineers. We will follow them."
"And what are you going to do when you get there? The defence grid should still be operational. It was only enhanced with Shadowtech, like the Saint-Germain, not completely built from it as we were. Oh God, let's just hope it holds. Keep trying to get through to the Morningstar and the Dark Thunder. We're going to get as much back on-line as we can. De'Molay out."
Bethany stepped back and activated her link.
"Yes?" came Jaiena's voice.
"You'd better hurry down there. I think we're going to have even less time than we thought."
* * * * * * *
Captain David Corwin had been fighting the Shadows for over two years, starting with their first appearance here, defending the Proxima system from the Minbari attackers. Now he had returned, and once again the Shadows were defending Proxima, but this time he was in the attacking force.
And this time the Shadows were being defeated.
He didn't know how or why this was happening, and that annoyed him. He had a very unpleasant feeling about all this, but he knew his duty. Whatever had hit the Shadows, seemingly focussed through the Dark Star ships, had not paralysed them completely as it had the Earthforce ships. They were still moving sluggishly; weakened, but still deadly. The Shadows were ancient and fell, their lives dedicated to warfare.
But, slowly, they were being beaten back. Clearly they were less willing to relinquish Proxima than they had been to concede other defeats, but inexorably they were being forced back.
And the Dark Stars followed them.
Corwin turned to the viewscreen and saw the face of the Brakiri there, Kulomani. "Captain," Corwin said, puzzled as to why the captain of the Dark Star 4 should contact him.
"Captain Corwin. Our battle plan has.... as Captain Daro put it, fallen completely apart. Are we to move on Proxima Three itself as originally planned?"
"Why haven't you asked Captain Sheridan about this?"
"We have.... or to be more precise, we have tried. There is no response from Dark Star One."
Corwin swore to himself. Captain Sheridan was his oldest and dearest friend, but he had changed in recent months, and not for the better. If he wanted to ignore his allies, then so be it. They had a mission here, and that was to save humanity from the consequences of their bargains.
Just why the other captains had elected him as the one to turn to, he had no idea.
"Yes, we move on Proxima Three, as per the original plan. Destroy any Shadow ships there, disable any further Earthforce ships, take out the defence grid, and then.... hopefully by then, Captain Sheridan will be able to proceed."
"And what about these four Earthforce ships here?"
"Leave them. They are disabled and dead. God alone knows what happened to them, but they're no threat to us. Proxima Three is our target, Captain. Let's go for it."
And the Dark Stars moved closer to Proxima 3.
* * * * * * *
Power in the Centauri Royal Court was a fragile and temporary thing at best. With an advancement system heavily and unofficially based on dead men's purple boots, assassination, blackmail, poison, bribery and so forth were all common. During the brief reign of Emperor Refa I and the following months, the Court had been in a state of near civil war. For almost a year, things had been quiet.
Oh, there were still the usual manoeuvrings, a few notable disappearances and various minor power struggles, but the first year of the reign of Emperor Mollari II had been marked more by struggles against alien threats than internal ones.
A false sense of security had settled over the Court. All it took was one message to revive the sense of paranoia and mistrust that had gripped them for years.
Lord-General Marrago was the last to arrive at the meeting of the Emperor's Government Council, and no one could deny he was an imposing figure. For centuries his family had protected the Centarum and the Throne. Few families boasted such an honourable and eventful past, and Marrago's own career had been distinguished in plenty.
He nodded briefly at the few of the Council he was on good terms with and then took his seat at the left hand of the Emperor. The others were of course already here, and Marrago cast his gaze across at them. First, there were those Londo trusted implicitly: the First Consort Lady Timov, Minister of Resource Procurement; Vir Cotto, Minister of Foreign Policy; Durano, Minister of Intelligence. Somewhere at the back of the room was Lennier, the Imperial Bodyguard. And there was Marrago himself, the Lord-General and Minister of War.
Then there were the others, men Marrago neither liked nor respected, but who were here by the demands of politics. He despised men of politics, and the feeling was largely mutual. No one ever forgot, or allowed him to forget, that it had been a member of his family who had murdered and deposed an Emperor.
"I take it," said Minister Vitari slowly, "that the occupation of Tolonius is proceeding as planned?" He was a precise man, of few words, and always carefully chosen. News of the victory there had come through already.
"It is," said the Emperor quickly, not allowing his Lord-General time to speak. "Lord-General Marrago and I have spoken and I have received his full report. However there is a more urgent matter to discuss. A few hours ago I received a message from the United Alliance Council, and communicated with Minister Lethke of that body.
"Our emissaries have been expelled from Kazomi Seven, our embassy is rejected, all our ships and personnel are ordered to leave Alliance space and we are not to enter their territory. There are various other matters, but the fact is, the Alliance and this Republic are now no longer allies. They may even join with the Narns in their war with us."
There was pandemonium among the lesser Ministers, but Vitari managed to break in. "If such an event occurs, can we defeat both the Narns and the Alliance?"
"No," said Marrago simply, his face shrouded with concern. "As it stands, our war with the Narns is far from a sure thing. They are currently over-extended, and weakened as a result, and this is allowing us to punch holes in their lines and reclaim our captured colonies. However, with the support of the Alliance behind them, they will be able to hold the lines and advance on the homeworld once more. I have also heard some things about the Alliance Dark Star ships. I am convinced they are more than a match for an equal number of our capital warships."
"The Narns were beaten back easily enough when they attacked here," boasted one of the junior Ministers. "We can surely defeat them again, and the Alliance with them."
"The Narns were beaten because they underestimated us," Marrago replied smoothly. "They did not bring enough ships, thinking no doubt we were still in the state of chaos we were in some months earlier, before Emperor Mollari's ascension. They underestimated us and overextended their own resources. They will not make such mistakes again."
"What reasons has the Alliance given for breaking off diplomatic relations?" asked Durano, a thoughtful expression on his face. The Minister of Intelligence was known for being coolly calculating, with a kutari-sharp mind. He was also renowned for being politically impartial, which was why he had survived the troubles.
"The Kha'Ri have fabricated evidence to suggest we are allied with the Shadows. The Alliance Council is convinced of the truth of this." Emperor Mollari shook his head. "As the Alliance is at war with the Shadows at present, they obviously cannot maintain relations with someone allied with their enemies.
"But of course we are not. I have made no deal with the Shadows, and I am convinced that no one here would do such a thing. This is a lie by the Kha'Ri, or a trick by the Shadows to cast doubt on us."
"Lord-General," said Durano, looking directly at Marrago. "Is there any truth that the Shadows assisted your forces at Tolonius?"
The Lord-General shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "There were some.... anomalous forces present. Some Narn ships were destroyed in.... unusual circumstances. Whatever these forces were, our scanners could not accurately detect them. It is possible they were Shadow vessels."
"And you did not try to ascertain what these.... 'anomalous forces' were?"
"Enough, Durano!" snapped the Emperor. "The Lord-General is not under interrogation here. The Shadows have rarely acted openly, if this is indeed them. They are many thousands of years in advance of us. When a few of our ships fought them at the Battle of the Second Line, there were scanning problems then."
"Well then," said Durano, enunciating clearly and obviously deep in thought. "There are three options. Firstly, this evidence concerning the Shadow involvement is a forgery by the Kha'Ri or others, and this may or may not be known to the Alliance. They may be taken in by the forgery, or they may be in league with the forgers.
"Secondly, the Shadows may be intervening here, not to assist us in any way, but to sow discord and mistrust between ourselves and the Alliance.
"And thirdly, someone has made such an alliance with the Shadows, without the knowledge or consent of this body. This alliance may have been made as part of a personal quest for power, possibly a legacy of the Shadow Criers, or may be for purely altruistic reasons, a genuine desire to help our people."
"Have we been able to examine this evidence?" asked the Empress Timov in her clipped tones. There were several who looked at her uncomfortably. No woman had sat in government for centuries, and she had a most unpleasant habit of saying exactly what she thought.
"The Alliance have.... ah.... refused to forward us a copy," said Foreign Minister Vir Cotto. "I hope to be able to discuss matters with Ha'Corarm'ah G'Kar and other members of the Council, with the aim of obtaining one."
"Are they willing to help us uncover the truth behind this?" asked Vitari. "We have been closely linked with them since your ascension, Majesty. Surely there are some there who trust you."
"There are some there, I believe, who trust me. However, reasons of politics prevent them from working with us except under certain conditions. They desire a military presence in Centauri space, observation teams and various other means of assuring no such alliance exists. I will not under any circumstances compromise our security or our sovereignty, even to people who are meant to be our allies."
"Then what do you recommend, Majesty?" asked Durano.
The Emperor looked directly at him. "Durano.... find the truth here. Do whatever you must, talk to whomever you wish. Uncover the truth behind this. Marrago, our plans for further expansion into Narn-held territories will have to be curtailed. The homeworld, Tolonius and Immolan must be defended. Vir, you will have to try to talk some sense into the Alliance.... and Timov, my dear.... trade will be vastly diminished by this. We will have to find another way to provide the necessary income."
"No problem, Londo darling," she said airily. "Maybe I can sell my internal organs on the black market?"
He did not laugh. "This meeting is over. These matters are our highest priority. The Centauri people need us all.
"We must not fail them."
Marrago's eyes were dark.
* * * * * * *
"We should have brought some Security along."
"And told them what?" Welles snapped. It was dark here. It was meant to be, of course. This way it was less likely that anyone would be able to follow Clark's trail. "'Hi, remember me? I'm the one who was arrested a week or so ago for breaking Delenn out of prison. We're going to find the President who's trying to blow up half the planet.' Besides, none of the guards here are my men any longer. Clark will have had a purge, no doubt. And...." He paused.
"And what?"
"I've seen how careless you are with other people's lives. The fewer people you have a chance to send to their deaths, the better."
"You actually believe that, don't you? You're just a child. I don't believe it! Behind all that darkened cynicism, you're a political child. You have no idea how the universe works."
"Oh, I understand how the universe works all too well. I've just got tired of playing along. Everything's falling apart here quite nicely without my help."
"Then why are you helping me?"
"Because.... what Clark's doing is based on a lie. I don't like lies."
"There's something else, isn't there?"
"You could say that. There are.... two people who would want me to do something."
Ambassador Sheridan made as if to say something, but then fell silent. None of this really mattered. It was an intellectual exercise that was irrelevant at the moment. In a way, Welles represented the Shadows' viewpoint - he faced trials and ordeals and emerged strengthened as a result. He would be stronger still if he survived this. He might even recognise the irony in that.
The darkened corridors continued to loom around him, and he wondered at the manufacture of these escape tunnels. He had never even known of their existence, yet Welles navigated through them with clear precision, despite not being able to see where they were going.
He felt very alone. For the first time he could recall, he was without his Shadow companions. Clark and his pet Vorlon had killed one, and the other had been destroyed by whatever weapon the Vorlons had unleashed. Even now, Sheridan's head was still pounding with the telepathic scream that rang in his ears. He wondered what they had done, but realised this was not the time for questions. He trusted and believed in his alien allies, and this was how he served them.
"Here we are," Welles said, stopping by a part of the wall that looked to Sheridan in the dim light to be exactly like the rest of it.
"How are you so sure?"
"One of the many wonders of a near-perfect memory. As Security chief I had access to all these maps and studied them very carefully. Unfortunately I don't have the access codes to deactivate the defence grid, although I may be able to delay it for a bit." He paused again, thinking. "Clark knows all this of course. I wouldn't be surprised if he was expecting me to show up."
Welles touched a small pad and a doorway swung open. A dead body fell out to meet him. The Security officer's face was filled with blood, and a million things crunched inside his body.
"Of course I've been expecting you," said a voice from inside the room. It was light in there, and as Welles and Sheridan stepped through, Clark was visible, sitting comfortably on the one chair in the room. A mass of bodies decorated the floor. Every one had been cut apart.
"Was all that necessary?" Welles snarled as he stepped inside.
"Well, it wouldn't have been if they had agreed to my doing what I have to do. For some reason they were.... not receptive. The security guard even tried drawing a weapon on me.... his President. They all became casualties of war I'm afraid, but it won't matter. Shortly no one will even notice."
"So.... when were you planning on activating the defence grid?" Welles asked, stepping forward to confront Clark. Sheridan sidled slowly into the corner.
Clark laughed. "How stupid do you think I am? Do you think I would just be sitting here if there were things still undone? I activated everything seven minutes ago. Oh, I understand you may still be able to delay it, maybe get word to the Alliance ships who will arrive just in time to watch the last act of a falling dictator, turning weapons of destruction on his helpless people. They might even be able to do something, but they'll be too late for anything significant."
Clark rose to his feet and walked around the desk. "I am a dead man, a walking corpse. Once the Alliance got hold of me.... but no. I have to die here. My new friends have promised me that it will be for a good cause, and I even agree with them. I just wish I could stay behind to watch what all this will achieve. I really would like to see the aftermath of this, but.... ah.... such is life, I suppose.
"There is just one more thing I have to do." Clark stopped directly in front of Welles. Sheridan began to move slowly towards him.
"And that is?" asked Welles.
"Say goodbye."
There was a sound like a million hearts beating as one, and then a blaze of light. Clark's body literally exploded, and Sheridan heard a million voices shouting in his mind. It took him a moment to realise that they were all Clark screaming. A gust of air strong enough to shatter empires tore into his body and threw him back against the wall. A million things inside his body shattered, and his last sight before unconsciousness was of Welles being similarly broken.
And in his mind as darkness took him was the mocking, triumphant voice of the Vorlon.
* * * * * * *
Death. There was a time when Sinoval would have liked nothing better than to die in battle, surrounded by an army of his enemies, his weapon raised high, his ancestors watching. He had believed he had been born into the wrong time. He belonged in the old days, the days before Valen. He could have been a warlord, a general, a hero. Instead, he tried to restore something of the old days to the new days.
And now he realised just how wrong that was.
He swivelled on the balls of his feet and darted back out of reach of a thrust. One of his attackers was trying to creep up behind him, another to flank his other side, while the other two, including Tirivail, came at him from the front. They were all good, all well-trained and skilled.
Had there been nine, as he had foreseen, he would probably have fallen, and that had been his plan. This whole fight did not matter. He was nothing but a distraction. He had intended to draw Sonovar and his allies away to let Marrain talk to the Tak'cha. Then Sonovar's military might would collapse, and this would be as it always should have been: Minbari against Minbari.
Stormbringer moved with a sentience of its own, a weapon crafted to reflect its bearer, a personification of the dark side of Sinoval's own personality. His dark side now isolated and drawn apart, Stormbringer moved fluidly and smoothly.
One of his attackers went down, his pike smashed aside. He was not dead. Sinoval would not kill his own. Not again.
Minbari did things in threes. Sinoval had killed his own kind twice: Shakiri and Sherann. He would not do so a third time.
There was a burst of pain in his side, and he shifted his bearing to confront the one who had flanked him. In the darkness neither of them could see the other, but Sinoval had a lifetime's instinct moving him. There were noises and smells and.... a sense of where his attackers were. Two blows and the warrior fell. Spinning and leaping back, Sinoval narrowly dodged a clever thrust by one of the remaining attackers. Not Tirivail - it was the young warrior, Rastenn.
As part of his training, Sinoval had been blindfolded and forced to fight against foes he could not see. Minbari had notoriously poor dark vision, but warriors were trained to compensate. They should not fear the dark after all, for they had sworn to follow Valen into it.
Stormbringer parried Rastenn's attack and Sinoval darted in on the offensive. A savage blow against the middle of Rastenn's pike was followed by another, and another. The third tore it from Rastenn's hands, and the follow-up sent him down.
There was an explosion in the small of Sinoval's back and he fell. Tirivail's foot descended on his hand, and he lost his grasp on his blade. Stormbringer was kicked clear.
There was a column of light, and Tirivail became visible above him. The bodies of Rastenn and the other two could be seen also. None of them was dead.
Tirivail rested her pike on Sinoval's throat. His eyes met hers.
* * * * * * *
President William Morgan Clark is dead, his body torn apart by the explosive emergence of the alien that has lived within him for over two years. For two years he has been guided, helped and protected by the Vorlons, fulfilling their work under the noses of his Government.
His last work is done. Now he can rest, although his dying wish was to be able to observe the aftermath of his actions. Not enough is left of his head to be sure, but there had been a smile on his face as he died.
They all thought him a nonentity, a nothing. Now they would know otherwise. All their plans had been sent tumbling down around their ears.
There were a number of bodies in the room with him. There was also a large hole where one body should be. Of Ambassador David Sheridan, there was no sign.
But from one of the bodies there was a hint of movement. Welles' fingers twitched briefly, and his eyes opened.
Far above his head the satellites of the Proxima 3 defence grid began to turn slowly and inexorably towards the planet they had been created to defend, and towards all the helpless people cowering there.
Somewhere, in whatever realm his soul has ascended to, President William Morgan Clark is laughing.
* * * * * * *
The Agamemnon, the Dark Star 3, under Captain David Corwin, moved forward, pursuing the withdrawing Shadow ships.
He moved nearer and nearer to Proxima 3.
The unwitting lives of millions of humans moved with him.