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| Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants | Part VIII: Among the Stars, like Giants |
THERE are legends about all great men and women. Every race and civilisation has its own hero, a legendary figure they declare will return when his people need him most. They speak of heroic deaths and glorious deeds and great tragedies. The details vary, but much of it is the same.
Some attribute this to the Vorlons meddling with the development of the younger races. That is possible, but I think it is more than that. We all have a desire to believe in heroes who do not die, in someone who will return to save us if we are unable to save ourselves. In the harsh light of day such dreams are revealed for what they are: nothing but wishful thinking. But they are comforting and pleasant all the same.
Sinoval was a hero to very few people. He was not liked or trusted, and he had few friends. However, the legends have already started growing, and people have forgotten to spit at the mention of his name, or glance into the shadows in case he is listening. He has not become a true hero, not yet, but the seeds of it are there.
I think he would be amused by this. I would like to think so.
The rumours, of course, are fuelled by the mystery of exactly how he died, or even if he died at all. It is known that he led a part of his fleet into the universe of the Aliens, and it is known that none of those who went there returned, and it is known that the Aliens have not been seen in this universe since then.
There are many possibilities. Sinoval is dead and the Aliens are here in hiding. Sinoval is dead, but he destroyed the Aliens in the process, or destroyed their means of returning here. He lives and is trapped there. He has killed the leader of the Aliens and has taken his place, ruling there as a dark God, waiting for his chance to return.
Many rumours, and I do not know what to think. I would like to believe I am perceptive when it comes to reading people, for G'Kar taught me well. I have also seen a great many terrifying things, and I am no longer easily frightened.
But I could never read Sinoval, and he did terrify me. There was a void at his heart, so that the emotions that afflict and bless the rest of us did not touch him. Such a trait could bring him to greatness, or irredeemable evil, and I feel it was only by his whim that he fought alongside us rather than the enemy.
But I digress, again. Those who have remained with me throughout my feeble writings will know that is a fault of mine. I will return to the point, and remain with it so far as I am able.
As I was saying, there are legends that Sinoval will return when this universe needs him again, but there are also rumours that he has already returned. Far too many of them. A Minbari woman living in Yedor claims to be bearing his child. A human freighter owner named Captain Jack said he had given Sinoval a lift during which time they had talked of human sports and gambling games.
Sinoval has been seen in low places and in high, but there is one story I have heard that I think deserves more credence than most, for I have spoken to the woman concerned, and her daughter, the focus of this so to speak. I have been permitted to relate this story, but their names I will keep to myself, if I may.
She was Minbari, living on the colony world of Tarolin 2. That planet suffered badly during the wars, but no worse than many and less than some. She was married, and had recently given birth to a daughter.
One night she was awakened from her sleep by a strange chill she could not explain. Her husband was away, and so she and her child were alone. She crept to the child's room, moving in almost complete darkness.
When she reached the room, she saw a stranger there. He appeared to be Minbari, but there was a glowing third eye in the middle of his forehead, and he wore robes of red and gold, that shimmered, and sometimes became black and silver. He seemed almost insubstantial. He was holding her child in his arms. She was not crying, but instead cooing softly.
He turned to the woman, and she was ready to warn him off, or attack him, or threaten him with her husband or her friends, when something stopped her.
"I mean her no harm," the stranger said. "I owe her everything I am, and everything I have ever been. In fact, I come to give her a gift.
"When she is of age, tell her to seek the man who bears the chain to this necklace. She will know him when she sees him, and he likewise."
"Who will that man be?"
"The other half of her soul."
He then laid the child back down, and simply disappeared. She ran forward to her daughter, to find her fine and smiling, holding the pendant of a small necklace in her small hands. It bore a design of a hammer and a star. She tried to pick it up to look at it, but the child snatched it away and would not be parted from it.
I have seen the pendant, and heard the story, and I believe it. That means little, however, but for one other thing.
A few months later, on Kazomi 7, there was another Minbari mother, with another child, a son this time. She found him one morning with a strange new gift; a long chain entwined with a metal flower. She cut her hand on the flower when she tried to pick it up, but the child had not so much as scratched himself.
I hope they find each other, these two. Sinoval was fond of saying that nothing is written in stone, and even if it were, stones can be shattered. But I would like to believe that some things are preordained.
Love being only one of them.
L'Neer of Narn, The New Age of the Worlds.
* * * * * * *
"A nice place, don't you think?"
Sheridan looked around again, just to be sure. He was not terribly sure what to think. The place looked dead - quiet and peaceful and grey. There was no life here, just death and the memory of life. "If you say so," he muttered.
"You do not seem surprised to see me."
"I'm not."
There was a pause, as Sinoval stared at him. That gaze had once been intimidating and terrifying, filled with mysteries and knowledge the like of which he could not even begin to comprehend. The look had not changed, although there was a tinge of amusement, even contentment, to it.
It was Sheridan himself who had changed. He no longer cared. About Sinoval, about the war, about anything.
Sinoval did not speak. He simply stood there, spectral arms folded high on his spectral chest, waiting. Lights and colours blurred inside him, and Sheridan was sure he was seeing through a window. Space swirled within him, vast and new and....
Alive.
"Fine," he snapped, irritated. "I'll ask."
"Ask me what?"
"Whatever it was you wanted me to ask. Tell me, and then get out of here and leave me alone."
"If you truly want to be alone, Sheridan, that I can provide. I had some business to attend to in this universe before I depart again, this time for good. I wanted to see you again before I went."
"So? What happened?"
"We won."
"I remember once, during the war, sending a battle report like that to my commander. General Hague almost had me court-martialled. A bit more information?"
"The Aliens are gone. Dead, in fact, if such things can truly die. Their universe is alive again. Worlds, stars, galaxies, everything. Old life is returning, new life is forming. There are no gateways left here, I have made sure of that. There will be no more crossings between this universe and mine. We will have to live apart."
"I thought Bester had some of the gateways on the Vorlon worlds."
"They had," Sinoval said, emphasising the past tense. "My agreement with the telepaths gave them the planets for their own. I said nothing about the gateways. They are too powerful and too dangerous and who knows what they might end up calling here. There are stranger and older things in many universes than either of us can imagine."
"An agreement, yes. You didn't think twice about giving them the Vorlon worlds, or all their technology, did you? It was all just a game to you, wasn't it?"
"My task was to finish the war, Sheridan. Yours was to lead the peace that would follow. I fulfilled my duty, but all I see you doing is moping around a graveyard feeling sorry for yourself."
"How dare you? What gives you the right to...? No, to hell with it. You are who you are. Arrogant and boastful and much too fond of toying with other people's lives."
"They are alive thanks to my 'toying', as you put it."
"Delenn isn't."
"Ah. Yes. Delenn."
"Did you know? Did you know she was going to die?"
"Would you believe my answer?"
Sheridan paused. "I heard a story once," he said. "About the Devil. He never lies, never. When he wants to hurt people, to really destroy them, he tells them nothing but the absolute truth."
"You think I'm the Devil?"
"You're the nearest thing to it I've ever met."
"I am almost hurt, but yes, I do tell the truth. I did not know for sure that she was going to die. The prophecy, the vision - it was meant to be you."
"Then why bother? Why go to all that effort if...?"
"Nothing is written in stone, Sheridan. If I believed the future was inviolate, I would never have left Minbar. I was convinced the two of you would find a way. As it was.... Delenn found one. She sacrificed herself for you. I did not see that coming, I admit, but I am not surprised by it."
"I miss her."
"I know."
"Everything in this life has just.... gone. There's nothing without her. Do you realise that? Nothing."
"Not your duty? Not your friends? Not the prospect of leading the free peoples of the galaxy to their destiny? Not the ability to define the galaxy for the next thousand years to come."
"No. Nothing."
"Ah.... You know, I thought that would be the answer. That's partly why I came to you - not to fill you in, not to torment you, nothing like that.
"I came to undo a mistake I made, one of many."
"You're here to kill me."
* * * * * * *
He was exhausted, his every muscle aching, his hearts pounding furiously, his hands shaking. But he had never felt so happy in his life.
Marrago paused in his work and stepped back, looking around his garden. It was not yet finished, far from it, and it would probably never be back to the way he had remembered it, but it was enough. He had cleared the pond, trimmed the grass, pulled out most of the weeds.
He had saved this task for as long as he could, but he did not feel able to put it off for much longer. The silverthorn.
The tree had been in this garden for as long as his family had owned it. Legend said that the first Lord Marrago after the first and only Emperor Marrago had planted it himself. It had been he who had written the motto of the House.
We guard Emperors. We do not make them.
And in all the time since then, House Marrago had served loyally and well. Jorah was not the first to be Lord-General, nor even the twenty-first.
But he would be the last. The House would die with him. He had no heirs, no sons, no true-born children at all. Lyndisty was gone and would never bear any children. There was no more House Marrago.
He thought of Lyndisty often now, and Senna as well, who could have become Lyndisty in his affections if she had only wanted to. Sometimes he woke with his face wet with tears, sometimes he smiled at memories good and bad.
The dead were dead, and would not return. It was not right, and it was not fair, but there was little he could do about it. He had avenged Lyndisty at last, at long last, and that had not brought her back, as he had always known it would not. He did not feel pleased about Morden's death, nor particularly regretful. It had been something that had to be done, nothing more.
It had been his last act as a servant of the Purple Throne, or perhaps his first act as a free man. Now he was no one at all, bound to no one, in service to no one.
The old ways were done and gone now, and would never return. There might not even be a new Emperor after Londo. There were rumours about having a series of Lord-Protectors, or Regents, or a Council. There were rumours about the Government moving from Centauri Prime to another planet, even abandoning this one altogether. He heard them all, and others besides, but he did not care.
His war was done, and his life too. He would live it out in this garden, and dream of the things that had never been or never would be again.
With a sigh, he returned to the silverthorn.
Its branches were overgrown, and needed trimming. It plunged the plants beneath it into shadow. It would be a delicate job. There had been a time when the household had stocked many tools that made lopping a branch a task of a few seconds. As it was, little remained but a serrated sword he had found hidden in the armoury. He had spent hours sharpening it, and had put it to a use far removed from that of cutting men.
He resumed his hard work, humming softly to himself. He was thinking of Lyndisty, and Londo and Urza, and the dreams they had dreamed as young men, each convinced they would change the world for the better.
What had Londo said once?
"I wish to leave behind nothing but smiles and wit and a reputation all men envy."
Jorah smiled at that thought. Londo would leave behind far more than that.
He was not looking as the branch cracked, and he did not notice it begin to fall. He looked up at the last moment, but the thick wood smashed into his head, knocking him off the small stool on which he was standing.
He hit the ground, and collapsed. His fingers were numb and he.... couldn't.... seem.... to.... see....
.... clearly....
.... at all....
The sun filled his mind, its light blinding him to all else. He thought, for a brief instant, that he saw Lyndisty's face smiling in it, and with a tear rising in his eye, he no longer thought of her, or anything else, ever again.
* * * * * * *
It was the news of Jorah's death that finally gave her the will to do what she had always known must be done. It gave her no pleasure, but there was an odd sense of liberation to it. She had been worrying about this for too long, but now she had a plan of action.
Timov sat awkwardly on the Purple Throne as she waited for Durla to attend her.
She thought about Jorah. She had never known him well, but he had been one of Londo's oldest friends, the last of them still alive. She had taken the news to Londo herself and watched his face turn ashen. He had wanted to be alone then, a depression coming over him that not even she had been able to alleviate. She had sent G'Kar to him, in the hope that he might be able to do something. Timov herself had spoken to L'Neer, and found an odd sort of wisdom in the girl's words.
Such a stupid way to die. After all the wars, all the battles, the Great Game, the Shadows, the Vorlons, the Aliens, bounty hunters.... to be felled by a tree branch falling the wrong way....
It made no sense, none at all.
Durla entered, standing fully to attention as he always did. His eyes blazed. Timov had spies, of course, in the Court. They all did, and hers spied on Durla more than on anyone else. He slept no more than two hours a night. He spoke with his advisors and soldiers, with lords and ladies. He formulated plans. He worked on budgets and resources and defence.
He would be a great Emperor, one of the finest in recent centuries. He would protect and shelter the Centauri people. He would make them strong and proud and independent.
He would be a great Emperor.
She had agents elsewhere, of course, and they had told her about what the rest of the galaxy was doing. Even so, she had been surprised when an invitation had come to the Imperial Court, offering them a place at a council being formed to discuss matters affecting the galaxy.
A new Alliance. She could read between the lines, and so could Durla. He had laughed when she told him.
"We have walked that road before, lady," he had said. "No, for the future, we can rely on ourselves and no one else. We will not go begging to aliens for succour, and we will not go to them weak and fawning. When we are strong, then I might consider it, but not before."
"My lady," he said.
"I have some news for you, Durla," she said. "Two pieces, in fact. The first is sad indeed. I have received word that Jorah Marrago died recently. In his garden in his estate."
"Ah," Durla said. "I am sorry to hear that. Did you know I hunted him once? To claim the bounty on his head and buy my way back into the Court."
"No," she said. "I did not. Or if I did, I have forgotten."
"I failed, of course, and I am a little glad of it. He was a fine man, an honourable man. One of the last of the old breed of giants."
While you, of course, are one of the first of the new breed of giants, she thought, but she did not say it.
"And the second, lady?"
"My husband is much better. He is not as fit as he was, of course, and he will never again be strong, but he is healthy. He will speak to the Centarum tomorrow."
Durla smiled, thinly. "I am glad to hear that, lady. Your retirement has been long-delayed and long-deserved."
"Yes," she said. "So much left undone, so much that a thousand lifetimes could not achieve. Londo had such great dreams once. He wanted to do so much, and all he had time to do was lurch from one crisis to another." She sighed. "So many dreams."
"I shall fulfill them all, lady."
"Yes," she said, sorrowfully. "I am sure you would be capable of it." She rose from the throne, feeling not just old, but ancient. She walked towards Durla, very conscious of the trapdoor beneath her feet as she crossed it. She had sent more than one victim to his death in that pit.
What had she said once?
If you cannot play the Game properly, you should not play it at all.
She walked up to Durla and embraced him tightly. He was puzzled, but he quickly returned her embrace.
"I will miss you, lady," he whispered.
"And I you," she replied, her voice hoarse. She broke away and took a step backwards, returning to her throne.
"You will be remembered, Durla. I will be sure of that." She took back her seat.
"I know," he said. "The greatest Emperor we will ever have."
"The greatest Emperor we never had," she corrected him. Then she gave the prearranged signal.
The shadow in the corner of the room moved in a fantastic blur of motion. One moment it was on the other side of the room, the next it was directly in front of her. Durla was a fine warrior, and quick, but even he barely had time to move before the Faceless thrust two claws into his chest. His eyes widened and he slumped. His head tilted and he looked up at Timov. There was blank incomprehension on his face.
The Faceless let the body fall, and turned to Timov. It kneeled before the throne.
"You are a servant of the Centauri Republic," she told it, formally.
"Servant," it hissed in agreement.
A shiver went through her at that. She looked down at Durla. "He will receive a full state funeral," she said. "The finest we can afford. He deserves no less." She closed her eyes and sighed. She did not even try to hide the tears now.
She rested her head back against the throne, and wept.
* * * * * * *
"Are you sure about this?"
Even after all this time, she lacked the senses truly to comprehend her new home. Nothing here was natural to her eyes. The sky was gold and silver, the stars barely visible at all, except in the ground, where the hyperspace corridors of the network remained.
The Vorlon homeworld had had no name that any of them could pronounce or even imagine, and so their world had no name. One would come, in time, she had no doubt.
There were many of them now. Telepaths from many different races, gathering here in their blessed sanctuary. Most of the races had treated their telepaths better than the humans had, but that hardly mattered now. Telepaths of all races were different from mundanes. Minbari telepaths were different from Minbari mundanes, Brakiri telepaths were different from Brakiri mundanes. The species did not matter.
"Yes," Talia replied.
She was with Al. Where exactly she could not say. There had been a great deal of reconfiguring going on recently, and her senses were having trouble adapting after her trip to Kazomi 7. Al had adapted better than she had, but then all those who had been freed from the network had done that.
There was a great deal of upheaval going on, and a lot to sort out. Some sort of Government, what to do about the newcomers, what to do about the old ones.
Some of the prisoners of the network had been there for millennia, and were of races Talia had never even heard of. Some of them arrogantly demanded that they should rule, for they had both age and power. The very old ones were bodiless, their flesh having decayed and rotted away, and they now existed by nothing but pure will. Others wanted democracy, or religious enlightenment, or to take revenge on the mundanes, or to seek transfiguration and become First Ones themselves.
'The oppressed love the oppressors and seek to follow their example,' Al had said to her once, or had it been Dexter? Whoever it had been, they had been right. So many of them wanted to become Vorlons, in everything but name.
Most of them looked to Al. It had been he, after all, who had destroyed the network, who had destroyed the Lights Cardinal, who had helped win the war. Most of them, but not all.
There was a lot to do, and she had been gallivanting off to Kazomi 7 on personal business. Al had not been impressed.
"Well," he said. "It's your decision, of course. What are we if not free beings?"
But he understood. He did not like it, but he understood.
"Anyway, we have some other matters to deal with, something you may be interested in, given your recent excursion back to the land of the mundanes."
"Yes?"
"We have received.... an invitation. It appears that a meeting is being called at Kazomi Seven. A.... 'community' of races. A new Alliance, basically."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Who are we sending?"
He laughed, or she thought he did. "I am not altogether sure we are sending anyone. We have no Government, no leader, no policies. We must be unified before we can begin to take our place in the galaxy. That is if we even wish to. They are mundanes. They have done nothing but oppress and exploit us since they have known we existed. We have our own world now. We do not need anything to do with them at all."
"You are wrong."
"Oh? Would you care to explain that, dear?"
"They are our people, our children, even. We have a duty to protect them, to.... shelter them. They abused their power over us, but that does not give us the right to do the same to them. And if we abandon and neglect them, then what are we doing but abusing our power? Power not exercised is to no purpose at all. You know what we have found here. You know what exists out there, and in here.
"Who to save them except us?"
"Mundanes? Why should we care?"
"Sinoval was a mundane. And Sheridan. And Delenn. And G'Kar and...." And Dexter, she nearly said, except of course he had been neither one nor the other.
"You think we owe these people, our genetic inferiors, anything at all?"
"I think we owe ourselves everything."
"And you would wish to go yourself, I suppose? You want this.... duty for yourself."
"No," she whispered, reaching out for him. "My place is here.
"With you."
* * * * * * *
A year had passed - one day, one minute, one second at a time. And before he really knew it, Sheridan returned to their prearranged meeting place, as dark and grey and.... dead as it had been before.
It had been an interesting year. He had seen so much of the galaxy that he had missed before. There was so much of beauty there, so much he had never imagined.
He had been at the summit of power for so long that he had not been able to see anything below him but clouds. For the last year he had been a wanderer, someone of no consequence or importance, as much in the dark, as lost, as ignorant as everyone else.
He had liked it.
Delenn had spoken sometimes - not often, and with reluctance - of her months travelling with Londo and Lennier, so long ago, searching for the technomages to cure her. For her, it had been a difficult and traumatic time, but Londo, by all accounts, had loved it. Sheridan could now see why. There was something so.... free, in simply travelling, in being answerable to no one but yourself and responsible to no one but yourself.
He had seen.... such a lot. The shrine to Delenn that still existed amongst the ruins of Proxima. He had walked through the haunted and ravaged domes, and imagined the Aliens drifting through them as well. Every shadow, every corner, every alleyway, could have concealed a monster. And then he had come to a globe of light, and countless candles, and such a sense of peace and tranquillity had fallen over him. He had wanted to stay there forever, but he had eventually torn himself away.
He had seen the burned and devastated capital of the Centauri Republic. There had been a funeral taking place while he was there, and he had stopped by and watched solemnly. Some lord or other had died. He had listened to the gossip about trade and the new Alliance, and the moving of the Government off-world. He had seen a Shadow creature there, a black, shadowy, faceless thing, and he had not stopped shaking for hours.
He had visited a hospital on the far edges of Minbari space. Delenn had been there for a long time, while he had been dead. He spoke to the some of the people there, who had known her. A Drazi had told him so much about her. There were twelve years of her life he knew nothing about, and it was nice to fill in some of the blanks.
He even made his way to Golgotha, although it took most of his wits, resources and even a little bit of name-dropping (which went against the spirit of his travels, but he thought it an acceptable rule to break). He was disappointed by what he saw there. Everything was dead and still, the place once again given over to the ghosts. He left within an hour.
And so he had returned to Kazomi 7, to his meeting.
"Did you have a good time, Sheridan?" asked Sinoval, from nowhere.
He was not alarmed. He turned, and Sinoval was there, standing like a misty, ethereal shadow. Again, Sheridan had the feeling of an entire universe alive inside him.
"Yes," he said. "I did."
"You must have seen a lot."
"I did. Only a fraction of what there is to see, but.... When I was a child, I used to look up at the stars and wonder what was out there. I imagined so many things, and I dreamed of finding them all. I lost that.... that childish sense of wonder, over the years. It was good to find it again."
"Then you wish to reconsider?"
"No. There's a lot of beautiful things out there, and a lot of ugly things as well. It just.... feels wrong not sharing it with Delenn."
Sinoval smiled, an irritating smile of understanding.
"You know, right? You must know," Sheridan asked.
"Know what?"
"What happens after you die."
"I was linked to the Well of Souls for many years. The Well knew the answer to every question ever asked, save one alone. I know all they knew."
"So, what question don't you know the answer to?"
Sinoval smiled again. "Which question do you want answered, Sheridan? Do you want the secrets of death, or do you want to know what the Well does not?"
"I've been dead. I didn't understand it then, and I probably won't now. Pique my curiosity. What question can't the Well answer?"
Sinoval's smile was thin, his dark eyes almost sparkling. Sheridan was sure he could see a star burst into life inside them.
"That one," he said simply.
Sheridan thought about it for a moment, and then laughed.
"Yes," Sinoval said. "That was L'Neer's reaction as well."
Sheridan continued to chuckle.
"Of course, that was the first Well. The second can answer that, although not many others."
"Second?"
"You've seen the wonders of this universe, or a tiny fraction of them at least. I am seeing the wonders of an entirely new universe. So much that is new there. So much that is old there. I like being a God, Sheridan - and please, no jokes."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"I am immortal, through the Well. At the end, as the God-Emperor died and the universe returned to life, so did I. Stars, worlds, beings.... everything lives again. It is...." His eyes took on an almost reverential glow. "It is beautiful, Sheridan."
"And you?"
"There can be no more crossings. I've found all the remaining gateways. I alone can cross, and once this last piece of business is done, I will not. I have an entire universe to protect and shelter and harvest. I think my time will be very full from now on."
"I bet."
"One last chance, Sheridan. Are you sure this is what you want?"
What he wanted.... what did he want? What had he ever wanted? It had seemed an easy bargain to make, a year ago....
A year....
* * * * * * *
"You're here to kill me."
"In a sense. Truthfully, I am here to undo a mistake."
"I am a mistake?"
"You were dead, Sheridan. Your death had meaning, purpose. I have no doubt there were things you would have wished to live on to do, but is that not always the way?"
"Delenn...."
"To bring you back.... it was dangerous, and it was an unnecessary complication. It was also wrong. Long ago, the Soul Hunters did just that. They returned the souls of the dead to life for their own purposes - immortal, undead soldiers. It was a violation of the boundaries of life and death, and it almost destroyed them. They swore never to do such a thing again. I broke that oath once.... but that was different. Then I did it again.
"I was wrong, Sheridan. It is a hard thing to admit, but I was wrong."
"What about needing me here?"
"The war is over now, and the Others are no longer a threat. It is no longer for me to dictate anything. Whatever is to become of this universe is for those living in it to decide. The decision is yours, as it always should have been. I was wrong, Sheridan. The First Ones have left you alone, all of them. I must do so as well."
"Well, I've seen a lot of strange things, but that's something I never thought I'd see."
"What?"
"You admitting you're wrong."
"Hmm. Well, what do you say, Sheridan?"
* * * * * * *
He had bought himself some time, time to see this galaxy, time to see if he could find a home for himself without Delenn. He had seen a lot of beauty and a lot of ugliness, but he had found his answer.
There was nowhere, not without her. He did not want to be in a world without her in it.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Will I.... will I see her again? You know, right? Will I see her again?"
"What do you think, Sheridan?"
"I don't know."
"What do you believe in, Sheridan?"
"I'd like to believe that all this meant something, that I'd get a second chance - even a third, a fourth, or a fifth. I'd like to believe that things can be better the next time around.
"Do it, Sinoval."
Sinoval waved his hand. Sparkles of light followed him slowly, a rippling coruscation of shadows. When they had all faded, then it was done.
"Not bad, as last words go," Sinoval said to himself.
Then he was gone, and nothing remained but memories and ghosts and the promise of the future.
* * * * * * *
Somehow, he'd been made the leader of all this. It was not something he wanted, but it seemed as if everyone had just started looking to him.
This had been his idea, after all, but that hardly meant he should be the one to be in charge.
Corwin was nervous. Very nervous. He believed in this more than he had ever believed in anything. It was right. It felt right. It was necessary.
And yet there was so much that could go wrong. There was a lot of responsibility he wasn't sure he wanted.
There was so much to work out. They didn't even have an agenda yet. Trade rights, border demarcations, even something as simple as agreed representation from all the Governments. Many of the races involved, most notably the Narns and the humans, didn't even have proper Governments any more.
This was mad. It had to be. Humanity didn't have a Government, didn't have a leader, didn't even have a home. Proxima was all but abandoned, and they didn't really have anywhere else to go. Humanity had fled from Earth, Mars, Orion, Proxima.... all in the space of one lifetime.
Which made it all the more important for this to work.
The sheer logistics of it had been mind-boggling and it gave him a whole new respect for everything Delenn had achieved the first time around. Of course, then all the representatives had already been here, and she had started from the ground up. Now, they had to gather as many disparate leaders and races as possible.
Fortunately Kulomani was on board, and without him, Corwin did not know what would have happened. The Brakiri had managed to convince Vizhak, and they had got to work on what remained of their respective Governments. That had taken a while, and there had been many potential pitfalls to sidestep, but eventually the Brakiri Merchant-Lords and the Drazi Military Junta had given cautious approval to the idea, at least in theory.
Contacting G'Kar had been more difficult than he had anticipated. He was on Centauri Prime, that much was certain, but he evidently did not want to talk. Finally, after a great deal of trying, David had been contacted by L'Neer. They had spoken over the commchannel for almost an hour, and L'Neer had promised to do all she could. The Narns had no real Government these days, dispersed as they were over many different colony worlds, some only founded in the last twelve years, but L'Neer had managed to get some of the Governors of the larger colonies to agree to this meeting. Corwin had no doubt Ta'Lon played some part in that. Apparently L'Neer and the one-eyed Narn were seldom apart these days.
The Centauri had also been difficult to convince, busy as they were with the process of moving their Government away from Centauri Prime, and preoccupied by the ill-health of their Emperor. It had taken David a great deal of persuasion to manage to talk to the Lady Timov, and even longer to convince her that this was every bit as important as resolving domestic issues. She had called him 'young man' eight times in the space of ten minutes, but she had agreed to approach the Centarum.
The Minbari would not talk to him at all, not surprisingly. They were undergoing their own form of Governmental re-organisation. Their homeworld had become incredibly insular towards the end of the war, and that state evidently suited the Minbari well enough. Still, some of the renegades who had followed Marrain and Tirivail away from Minbar during the war had attached themselves to this meeting. The Witch Hunters had even sent a representative, although she had been even more enigmatic and mercurial than most Minbari. David could not even grasp whether the Witch Hunters had a leader any more, after Tirivail's disappearance. It seemed as if they were waiting for her to return.
And sometimes assistance appeared from the most unlikely source. The Tuchanq, a people he had forgotten about since his disastrous diplomatic mission to them twenty or so years ago, had come to Kazomi 7 of their own volition. They said a lot about the Song, and their Saviour, and about how they had promised to come at his call, and how they could help to spread the Song, and a great deal of other nonsense. Still, they had been left remarkably unscathed by the war, and had spent that time strengthening their defences and industries. As a result, they were fairly rich and willing to trade. The Brakiri had latched on to them immediately and not let go.
There were other, less welcome, races arriving. He had spent three days wondering whether or not to reply to a cautiously worded message from the representative of a group called the Z'shailyl Council-in-Waiting. He knew that some of the Shadow vassals had taken to serving the Centauri, but some of them had formed their own Governments. He had finally replied, and carefully helped broker their presence here. Vizhak in particular had not been happy, but Kulomani had talked him round.
Word had spread throughout the galaxy faster than he had believed possible. Some races ignored it, others saw it all as a threat to them. Some replied cautiously, were fearful or anxious, but some were open for the opportunity.
Many wanted peace. The galaxy had known only war for so long, a greater and more terrifying war than anything that had happened in thousands of years. Worlds had been destroyed and rendered uninhabitable. Races had been annihilated, and billions had died.
It was a surprise that anyone dared to hope for anything better at all, but many of them did hope, and many of them wanted to work on that hope.
This dream had failed before, but that had not been any fault of the dream itself.
This time, everyone was determined to make it work.
There were so many of them. They had been arriving here for weeks, ready to broker deals and start politicking. This would be looser than the last Alliance, more of a.... a....
A community.
More of a community than a single Government. There would be no secret agendas, no plans for galactic domination, no ideologies.
Nothing but the many working together for a greater good.
At least, that was the dream. Whether it would work or not, he could not say.
A year. It had taken the work of a whole year to gather them all here, and at some point during that year, all of them had started looking to him. It was not a position he had wanted, and certainly not one he had asked for, but there it was.
His.
He walked forward, trying to remember how to breathe and walk at the same time.
They were all waiting for him.
"Welcome," he said.
There was a lot more talking after that.
Most of it productive.
* * * * * * *
The war ended in 2275, of course. Any history book can tell you that. But history books are just words, and legends, and accounts of events.
Real history is about people, about emotions and fears and feelings.
And in real history, the war only ended when it was forgotten from the minds of those who experienced it.
G'Kar never forgot it. He never forgot the part of himself that had become a raging beast, willing to butcher his oldest friend. But he came to terms with it, and he returned to doing what he did best: preaching. He was offered a place in the Community, but he turned it down and began to travel, talking and preaching and helping. It was my honour to be by his side.
Ta'Lon remained with us for a time, until he went to Kazomi 7 himself. Like G'Kar, he had been transformed by the nightmare which engulfed Centauri Prime, but he was far less introspective. He never spoke about it, not even to me, but I do not believe he ever let it trouble him either.
He never wanted to be involved in politics, but he found another purpose there. One of the first acts of the Community was to recreate a military force, whose purpose was to defend against a possible return of the Aliens, or the Shadows, or the Vorlons. They were called the Rangers. As one of the few survivors of G'Kar's original Rangers, Ta'Lon took on the rôle of training and preparing them.
The Community prospered, by and large. There were disagreements, and arguments, and a great deal to be worked out. Border resolutions alone took years. Trade routes took longer.
People still went to war, still resorted to violence. There were still assassinations and intrigues and betrayals. But for the most part, things were quiet and peaceful. Everyone remembered the war, and no one wanted to return to those days.
David Corwin led the Community, although I do not think he really wanted to. He never assumed a formal title, and always let it be known he would step aside if someone more worthy appeared to take his position. No one did.
I visited Kazomi 7 myself on many occasions. I spoke with David, remembering the bond of the Council of Golgotha. There were few of us left alive by then, and fewer still with each passing year. He spoke of his doubts and his fears and his dreams. He spoke of so many old friends, now dead and gone.
He said one thing to me that I still remember, as I write these words upon hearing word of his death. I should be preparing a speech for his funeral, but I just cannot think of anything to say, and so I turn to these pages again.
He said one thing to me:
"Things should have been different."
And perhaps he is right. I have.... dreams sometimes, of a place where things were different. Where the Aliens never emerged fully. Where the Vorlons and the Shadows left together, in understanding of the wrongs they had committed. Where the Alliance lived on, strong and united. Where Delenn and Sheridan lived on, growing old together.
A dream where there was no room, and no need, for people such as Sinoval, or dear, dear Jorah, or Marrain, or Tirivail.
Or myself.
Maybe that place would be better. Maybe there the universe was kinder, and less cruel. Maybe there, there was a happy ending.
Or maybe, just maybe, we will have a happy ending here, for this is the universe we have. My dreams are seldom quiet, but my waking hours are peaceful.
The war is over. It is almost forgotten.
The legends remain, which is as it should be.
L'Neer of Narn, The New Age of the Worlds.