From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: From The Ashes, Part 1A of 3 Date: Thu, 18 Mar 1999 17:35:16 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase Three - A Line in the Sand Hi people. Time to get back to my universe before the next installment of my VS6 story comes out - early next week. All ADDM stories are available on the Net at http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money out of writing this and am doing so purely for pleasure. Personal Disclaimer: I may well be a hopeless romantic, but don't anyone start thinking that means I'm going to be nice. You have been warned. Chapter Five - From the Ashes, Part 1 of 3 by Gareth Williams (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk) "'There can be no peace with the Shadow.' "An old saying now, almost proverbial, used mainly by members of the warrior caste when placed in a situation which, for them, admits of only one course of action. The saying however is incorrect. There were numerous attempts at peace during the Shadow War. They all failed, but that does not mean that we can pass them off as anomalies. Each in its own way was significant. "The closest attempt at a settlement of sorts came a few years after we, the Minbari, had entered the war. At the time we knew very little about the circumstances in which we found ourselves. We had been in tentative contact with other alien races for some years, most notably the Ikarrans, the Tak'cha and the Markab. Agreements had been made with these races, slow and cautious, tentative at first, when emissaries from the Markab had arrived at our capital, claiming that they were under attack by a strange alien race who gave no reason for these incursions. None of our treaties included mutual defence clauses, but we were prepared to assist. Our warrior caste was not prominent at the time, but each of their clans was anxious to prove its mettle. The religious caste contemplated diplomacy, but the leaders of at least three of the clans were in favour of military action on behalf of the Markab. They won out, in the end. "Our first few engagements with this... Enemy did not go well, however. Many ships were destroyed, and the warrior caste was thrown into disarray. Warleader Hantenn of the Wind Swords clan committed ritual suicide to atone for his rashness, and the militaristic fervour died down. Matters were confused for many months afterwards, especially as the Ikarrans were invaded soon after Hantenn's death. Their invaders were not the same race as the Enemy, but a different one we did not know. They called themselves the Streibs. "The Ikarrans requested aid from us, aid that we had to refuse. Our generals were smarting from the losses they had sustained defending the Markab and unwilling to take any more such risks for a cause that was not ours. We lost all contact with their area of space a year or so after they were invaded. We did not learn of the tragic solution they had found until it was too late. "Not long after that the attacks resumed, against both the Markab and the Tak'cha. The Tak'cha, who were never much given to diplomacy at the best of times, began intensifying their military programme. They spoke enigmatically of a race called the Vorlons, whom they believed to be messengers from their Gods. When pressed, however, no living Tak'cha could recall ever having seen a Vorlon. "The entire situation was growing more and more tense, and then, suddenly and strangely, a visitor came to our leaders of both clan and fane. He was an alien of a race we had never seen before. He called himself Shryne, and asked each leader a simple question. 'What do you want?' He spoke each of our dialects perfectly, he knew all our customs, and once he had heard the answers he smiled, bowed and left. Later, approximately half the clan and fane leaders, the majority from the warrior caste, were invited to a meeting in neutral territory. There they met with this Shryne and others of his race, and he made grandiose promises of aid. We would be strong, he said. We would have the power to achieve all that we desired. "All that we had to give in return was the promise of a simple favour. The Warleaders of the Star Riders, Moon Shields and Night Walkers accepted Shryne's offer. The new Warleader of the Wind Swords chose to learn from his predecessor's mistakes, and refused. The religious caste likewise largely turned down the offer. "Within three months, all who had turned Shryne down were killed. Accident, disease, poison, assassination. The clans were soon at war. "It was then that the Vorlons arrived. They convinced our generals where the real enemy lay, and we went to war alongside the Markab and the Tak'cha, against the race we now called the Shadows. Shryne, whom the Vorlons referred to as a Ragg'hia, a race that served the Shadows, tried to call another meeting for peace with our leaders. He was captured and executed, and from that moment on the saying 'There can be no peace with the Shadow' began to be heard. Despite this, some of our more pacifist religious leaders still pushed for peace. Many went to the Shadows' homeworld, a grim, dark world called Z'ha'dum. When we took the place we found them there, changed irrevocably, beyond our capacity to undo. "It was not long after Shryne's death that Valen came to us... and we were united. And from that point on, there truly was no peace with the Shadow." Excerpts from 'The First Footsteps To The Stars: A History of Minbari Space Travel', by Sech Turval of the Temple of Tuzanor, published in the Earth Year 2232. * * * * * * * There was nothing but death where once there had been hope. Everything was gone, scattered to the four winds. Epsilon 3 was destroyed, torn apart by the stress of the Great Machine. Somewhere, in pieces, amongst a sea of rock and metal and machinery a millennium old, lay the body of Michael Garibaldi. Just one of the many who had died at the Battle of the Third Line. A great many ships lay in ruins, sacrificed to preserve the future and the past. Shadow ships were dead there also, their wordless screams silenced at last. The temporal rift was closed, the past forever the past now. The Vorlon Kosh had sacrificed himself to ensure it fulfilled its purpose, returning the great hero Valen where he belonged. And somewhere, amidst all the death and the carnage and the chunks of floating metal, shuttles moved cautiously, accompanied by beings in space suits, moving through the devastation, seeking survivors, hoping against hope that someone might still be alive. It had only been a few hours since the battle's end. It was possible that some sections of the ships were still pressurised, possible that people still lived, trapped and alone in a dead prison. But more than that, they were searching for a body, the body of one among so many who were believed to be dead. Captain John Sheridan. He was there... somewhere. * * * * * * * "He is not dead." Commander David Corwin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. How long had it been since he had last slept? He had grabbed a quick three or four hours after the attack by Clark's forces, during the preparation of the station. But he had awoken from that feeling just as tired as he had been before. With Mary, the night Bester's recall signal had been given. How long ago had that been? Three days or so... Maybe a little longer. He couldn't tell any more. But then, the woman with him could not have slept much either. Of course, she wasn't human... well, not entirely, and for all he knew she did not need to sleep. But still... "He is not dead." Corwin gave her credit. She almost sounded as if she believed the words she was saying. He was sure he did not. The Captain... had known what would happen. He had chosen to stay on the bridge of the Parmenion. He had chosen to order the evacuation of his crew, and to give the order to launch a ramming action. In some way, he had wanted to die. "He is not dead." "I'm sorry, Delenn," he said, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. He was thirsty. "There are people out looking, but... No one could have survived that, Delenn. The ship was destroyed, completely wrecked. Delenn..." She raised her head and looked at him. He was trapped by her piercing eyes, and he contemplated her for a minute. He had never really been comfortable around the former Satai Delenn, but he could see just what it was about her that made her able to rule dynasties, to lead leaders, and to capture the heart of the great Starkiller. Corwin admitted he did owe her slightly. She had once helped the Captain free himself from a difficult situation, at Corwin's request. He supposed he might have helped push them together by asking that of her, and he was not entirely sure how he felt about that. Still, the Captain had been happy these last few months. That was something, at least. "A part of the bridge could still be pressurised. You said yourself that communications on the Parmenion were down before the... end. He could still be alive, trapped in a pressurised section of the ship, unable to alert us to his position." She was speaking calmly and rationally, explaining each point precisely. He did not want to listen. He had run over every argument he could think of, and he could still not believe anything other than the fact that Captain John Sheridan was dead. "Delenn," he said, interrupting her. "I want him to be alive just as much as you do... but... it's impossible." "Nothing is impossible," she snapped, her voice firm. She sounded angry. "Nothing is impossible while there is hope, and faith. We have a saying, one John heard and understood. Faith manages, Commander. Faith manages." "It hasn't done a very good job for me so far," he muttered angrily, but then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Delenn. I didn't mean that." "No, Commander. It is I who should be sorry. John... liked you a great deal. He respected you." Corwin nodded and looked around, trying to avoid the lure of those green eyes. The quarters were not very luxurious, but then Drazi ones never were. They were on board the Drazi Sunhawk Stra'kath, one of the few ships to remain in the Epsilon Eridani area. Most of the fleet that had fought in the Battle had gone back to Kazomi 7, for repairs and to off- load the wounded. Captain Smith had taken his Babylon there and was now in detention, awaiting the decision on his fate. Susan was also there, and Corwin definitely did not want to think about her. So was Mary, and... and he had something to ask her. He had been trying to build up the courage for a long while, but the battle had sharpened his focus. He would ask her... But first he had a duty to his Captain. He would stay here until the body was found, and he would ensure it was taken back to Kazomi 7 and buried there. It was not really what the Captain would have wanted, but a burial on Earth was impossible now, as was one on Proxima. "You should return to Kazomi Seven," he told Delenn. "The Government will need you now. G'Kar has also requested to see you. He... he seems to be recovering well from his injuries." "I am glad," she replied, her voice hollow. "But I will not leave here without John." "Delenn, this is not rational. You... you have responsibilities. The Captain would have wanted it this way. He..." "I know what he would have wanted! But I will not let you send me away. I loved him... I love him, and I will not believe him dead until I see his body. Not until then." She fell silent, and bowed her head. "I... know. And he loved you too." It was hard for him to admit that. He had never been able to reconcile himself to the Captain's feelings for this... this Minbari. "He is alive, Commander. I know that. I... know." "Faith manages," he muttered. "Exactly," she replied, deadly serious. "Faith... manages." * * * * * * * "What... what is to do be done with me?" Her guards did not reply. She was not even certain they could understand her words, but a vague legacy of senses she could not explain seemed to indicate that they had. Her telepathy was now once again barely present. It appeared that everything the Shadows had done to her had been erased by Kosh's sacrifice. Everything they had done to her, but nothing she had done to herself. The events of the last few years were clearer to her now, crystal clear as if she were looking at them through a lake of still water. Everything she had done... breaking open Delenn's chrysalis, her part in Anna's death, her part in Laurel's death, her attack on Ambassador Sheridan and... everything she had done on board Babylon 4. "He couldn't have taken them away too, could he?" she muttered to herself. Not that anyone was really listening. Only the two Narn Rangers guarding her were present, and they hardly looked at her. Ta'Lon had told them she was powerless now, and they had believed him. "No... he had to let me remember everything. Every single damned thing." She sighed, and bowed her head. As she slowed down the Narns turned to glare at her angrily, and she resumed walking again. All of these corridors seemed much the same. Whether that was typical of Drazi architecture or a sign of the limited budget of the United Alliance she did not know. Or particularly care. What was waiting for her? A cell... or a place of execution? She supposed what she had done might merit death, at least... to the Drazi perhaps. Maybe the Narns, too. G'Kar wouldn't be exactly kindly disposed to her at the moment. Not after her part, however unwilling, in his removal from the Great Machine. She was the only one of that squad still alive. She supposed that a lot of what she had done was wrong, but she had never intended to do harm. All she had wanted was to save humanity. That couldn't be so bad, could it? And then her Russian pessimism returned. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Bad ones too, probably. The Narns stopped in a section of corridor seemingly identical to the ones they had been tramping down for the past half an hour or so. There seemed to be a few more security cameras around, but little else was different. She did not even know which building this was. She'd never been to Kazomi 7 before, and she doubted she'd have much time for sightseeing while she was here. Not that there was much to see, apparently. One of the Narns stepped forward and raised a strange-looking card. He placed it against the wall, and it slotted into a indent she had not noticed before. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a small, well-lit room containing a bed and... well, nothing else. "Narn cells?" she asked. "Or Drazi ones?" The Drazi had been responsible for much of Kazomi 7's design, hadn't they? She was sure it had been a Drazi colony at some time in the past. From the looks of the corridors it didn't seem as if Delenn had had a hand in the design, though. Susan had been in Minbari cells before, and they were a little... less accommodating than this one. Not gently, she was pushed forward into the cell. She crossed the threshold with a soft sigh and a resigned grace. Turning, she saw the door slide shut. With a gentle sigh and a click of her tongue, Susan Ivanova lay down on the bed and began to await her judgement. * * * * * * * Londo Mollari looked at his council of advisors, the nucleus of his new Government, and felt a sudden and quite inexplicable surge of pride. There was a long way still to go, yes, but the earliest obstacles had been overcome. They were past the beginning of the long journey. "The Palace Guard have, almost to a man, sworn fealty to you, Majesty," Minister Durano was saying. The new Minister of Intelligence was a canny man, always acutely aware of the way the political winds were blowing. He was also however a principled man, and a meticulous one. If he said he would do something, then it would be done. "Those who have not done so are under arrest. It would of course be foolish to assume that all such conversions are genuine. I recommend our own guards from Selini, or if that is not possible, then those from Gallia or Sphodria. They are in our debt, after all. A list of all such persons is appended to my report." Londo shifted his gaze to his nephew. Carn Mollari, captain of the war- ship Valerius, new Commander of the Imperial Guard, and recently appointed Minister of Security. "There are a number of guards I do not entirely trust, but between myself, Minister Durano and Guards-Captains Kerrik and Volga we will soon have an efficient force answerable only to you, uncle." Kerrik and Volga had been the captains of the guards at Selini and the Court. Both were loyal men, woefully overlooked by the previous regime. That was not a mistake Londo could afford to make. For one thing, good and loyal men were far too rare, and for another... he had a promise to an old friend to fulfill, and this was as good a starting place as any. "The Court itself is... er... well, in a state of chaos, as you might expect," spoke up Virini, or rather, the 'Minister for the Court'. In the past the timid little man had been the butt of many a joke by those who failed that see that he heard everything, saw everything, knew almost everything and yet said very little. Rare attributes indeed. Now that he had returned to his former position, he preferred his former title, that simply of 'Minister'. The fewer people who knew his name, he argued, the more inconspicuous he was. "The majority of Prince Cartagia's followers are either dead or under arrest. The body the guards... uh... recovered from the warehouse district has been confirmed as being that of Lady Elrisia, although some people do not appear to believe this. The... uh... the old guard faction are in disarray with the... er... incapacitation of Lord Kiro. Depending on the treatment of those responsible for the attacks on his estate, they may well decide to align themselves with you, Majesty. They are at least not openly hostile." Londo said nothing about that, and everyone knew why. One of those responsible for the attack on Kiro's estate had been his wife, Mariel, involved in some futile and hopeless plan to attain power. Strictly speaking her actions deserved execution, but Londo had not yet made up his mind and few people dared broach the subject with him. "Regarding the remaining slots in our Government," said Durano again, "I recommend Minister Vitari for the post of Minister of the Interior. I admit to not trusting him, but he is efficient and dedicated, and he will undoubtedly be able to cope with the responsibility." "So," said Londo, "what positions are we missing, then?" "All the details are in my report," Durano said. "Myself, as Minister of Intelligence. Your nephew for Security, and the... ahem, the Minister here for the Court. Vitari for the Interior. Lord-General Marrago, of course, is the Minister of War as well as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. We do not yet have a Minister for Transportation, Culture, Agriculture, Resource Procurement or a Head of the Diplomatic Corps." He paused and looked down, a most uncharacteristic gesture. "And there is the post of... First Minister." "There will be no post of First Minister yet," Londo said firmly. "If I am to be Emperor, then I will operate in the way I see fit. All of you here, as well as Marrago, I trust as I trust no other. A First Minister is not needed at present. "As for the others... Vir Cotto will be the Head of the Diplomatic Corps. He has... certain skills and contacts that will be very useful. And as for Resource Procurement... I do think my dear wife Timov will be perfect for the role." "Oh dear," whispered the Minister. Londo smiled. Durano, to his credit, recognised that protest would not be the wisest of options. "A fine choice, Majesty. If a little... unconventional, not to say controversial." "There you have it, Durano. You have just hit upon two of the best reasons for appointing her. The other vacant positions can be filled later. They can be used as convenient... incentives to those whose support we need. "And now... matters for the future. The Centarum must be reformed as soon as possible, and the Emergency Measures passed at the beginning of the year phased out. We need order and effective communications across the planet as well as to the rest of the Republic. Engineers and technicians are looking at the damage done to the main signal relay satellites. What caused the damage... is a concern for another time. "We also need these... Shadow Criers dealt with, and soon. And there is the matter of posting Ambassadors to the major powers. We need to let the galaxy know we are returning to strength again, and we need to end this war with the Narns. Quickly. We will soon, I fear, have even greater problems on our hands. "Minister Cotto will oversee the establishment of embassies to the Resis- tance Government of Humanity, the United Alliance at Kazomi Seven and the remains of the Minbari Federation. At a later date, appointments to the rest of the former League worlds will be possible, but they can wait. Negotiations with the Narns must be our first objective. "And the army... well, that is a matter for the Lord-General, and for my nephew here." "Ah, yes," spoke up Durano. "Majesty... where is the Lord-General?" "Attending to something," was the only reply. "Attending to something... very important." * * * * * * * Victory! Sonovar threw his arms wide and laughed, revelling in the glory of the moment. It was over, and the entire mission had been a success. Not a thing had gone wrong. He had been a warrior in too many campaigns not to recognise the rarity of that. The Government of Tarolin 2 had been punished for their treason, a message of defiance had been sent to the traitor Sinoval, the Tak'cha had proved their combat worthiness and Kozorr... his laugh faded. Yes, Kozorr. A success there also, but only a beginning. He was alone on the bridge of his ship, the flagship of the new warrior caste revival. A true warrior caste, a return to the old days of glory and honour and a worthy war, days that had been taken away from them by the weakness of the priestlings and the treachery of those like Sinoval. He was alone. None of his colleagues, those who had been a part of Kalain's Grey Council, would come here with him. They had all requested other duties, other responsibilities. They were cowards, all of them, unable to see the rightness of his cause, and that disappointed him. Sinoval, for all his wrongs, at least had followers who would obey him unto death. Such as Kozorr. Sonovar suddenly felt very lonely. Every leader needed someone to confide in, with whom to share the moments of weakness and indecision. Every great leader had doubts and fears, it was only natural. Any man who claimed to be truly fearless was either a liar or a madman. And yet Sonovar had no one. He was beginning to understand why Sinoval kept such a pathetic worker as Kats around him. He could explain to her all his doubts in the knowledge that she was too weak to act on them. Sonovar had no one like that. There was no sound of his coming, no rustle of his robe or rasping of his breathing. Sonovar was a trained warrior, his every sense honed to its utmost degree, and yet the being who had once been Forell managed yet again to sneak up on him. "You look fatigued, my lord," he said. "Are you well?" "I am... fine," he muttered. He was beginning to develop a headache actually, but he was not going to admit that to this loathsome creature. Every leader needed someone to confide in, true, but that someone was definitely not Forell. "You have not taken your medicine these last few days, lord. It is for your own health." Something from Forell stank, and Sonovar could see he was carrying that ridiculous antique goblet. Inside it was a thick, dark red liquid. His 'medicine'. "I needed to concentrate on the mission," he explained. "That stuff makes me... sluggish. I don't like it." "Medicine is not meant to be liked, my lord. You should take it. It does you good." "I do not need to..." He stopped, and wondered why he was explaining himself in such an apologetic manner. He did not have to justify himself like this! Forell moved forward, taking this pause as an invitation to continue. He held the goblet with the foul medicine up before Sonovar, who gagged. The warrior brought his arm up, knocking Forell back. The goblet tipped up and the medicine fell over Forell's already stained and worn robe. There was a hissing noise. "You are not my n ursemaid, Forell! How many times must I explain that to you?" "My apologies, my lord," he replied, sounding distinctly unapologetic. "I tripped and spilt your medicine. I will prepare a fresh batch, and bring it to you personally." Sonovar readied an angry retort, but he stopped and nodded. His throat was feeling very dry, and his headache was worsening. Say what you liked about that concoction, he did feel better afterwards. Well, a bit better. "Yes," he ordered. "Do that. I will be in my chambers shortly. I have something to check on first." Without waiting for a reply he stormed from the chamber, and so missed the expression on Forell's face. Truly though, he would not have cared if he had seen it. His senses might have been heightened through years of training and meditation, but in many ways Sonovar was terribly, terribly blind. He made his way through the corridors and hallways of the ship, and everyone he met turned aside, shrinking away from his furious gaze. He could not explain the reason for his anger, but he did know it would have to be vented in some way. There was one thing he could use to divert it elsewhere. A symbol of his greatest triumph to date, and his greatest challenge to come. He found himself at the door he wanted. At his orders four guards were posted there at all times, with another two at each end of the corridor. All were armed, and all were among his best warriors. Two of them were Tak'cha, and they attended to their duties with a diligence that not even the most loyal Minbari warrior could muster. "How is he?" he asked. "The same, lord," replied one of the guards. A Minbari warrior. Star Riders clan. A long heritage. A proud ancestry. A fine service record. A true warrior in every sense of the word. "Open the door. I wish to see him." "Your will, lord." Sonovar drew in a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. The guards remained outside. They knew who was within, but not the circumstances of the prisoner's fate. They did not seek to question either. That was not their place. He was there, seated in silent meditation. He looked up and then scowled, turning his gaze back to the floor. Sonovar was impressed. There was a one-way mirror. He could not be seen from within the room, and yet the prisoner had noticed his arrival anyway. *Yes,* Sonovar thought as he looked at Kozorr. *Yes. I chose right after all. He will be my greatest challenge... and my greatest weapon.* * * * * * * * From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: From The Ashes, Part 1B Date: Thu, 18 Mar 1999 17:36:50 +0000 It was a fine room. Luxurious, comfortable, warm. Tapestries from poor, dead Camulodo adorned the walls. Carpets woven on distant worlds were beneath his feet. Minbari pottery stared at him from every direction. There were the finest books ready for him to read; fiction, both romantic and epic, poetry, histories, and accounts of military campaigns. His food was prepared personally by the finest cooks remaining in the palace, and the bravari he drank was the most priceless of vintages available. And yet, the former Lord-General Valo thought acidly, a golden cage is a cage nonetheless. He knew what fate awaited him. He had known ever since he had been forced to surrender to that bastard Marrago. Death by execution. Execution in the manner of a commoner, as well. His head to be cut from his body and placed on a pike on Traitors' Row. The fate, not for a traitor to his Republic, but for one who had reached too far, and fallen just short. He could, with a little more luck, have been sitting on the throne now, strengthening the Republic, beating back the Narns, claiming lost terri- tories and pressing forward to the stars. Instead he was trapped in a gilded cell, waiting for death. Such was the hand he had been dealt, but he had always believed that the Gods helped the strong, the brave, and the resourceful. He had tried, because it was more than anyone else would. He had shown the weaklings of the Court his strength and that... and that was almost worth it all. Lead by example, and he would teach them by example even in his death. The door opened, and Valo looked up from his seat. He had made an arrogant pledge to remain standing all the while he was here, but the injury in his side had plagued him too much for that, and he had been forced to sit. At least he sat on the floor, and not on the soft couch. Two men stepped inside, both wearing the uniform of the Palace Guard. They made a formal salute and ushered in a new figure, one Valo recognised instantly. The guards left, and closed the door behind them. There was the sound of a bolt sliding shut. "Marrago," he said. "I'm surprised. I thought you'd be wearing a new uniform, one tricked out with gold and jewels and all sorts of medals." "I'm not a vain man, Valo," came the reply. "You know that. And I have not been promoted, merely returned to my former position. I am once again Lord-General of the Armies of the Centauri Republic. It is nice, is it not, to have an Emperor who appreciates the talents of those who serve him?" "Mollari is a fool," Valo snapped back. "And you know it. He'll be dead before the century's out, and you'll all be dead with him." "I doubt that very much. But in any case, Valo, you have no right to comment on the political actions of this new Government. I am here to attend to the matter of your death." "Ah." He smiled. "I've been waiting for this. How is it to be, hmm? My head on a pike? A silken rope around my neck, perhaps? Or nothing so... quick?" "The manner of your death... depends on you. Perhaps you can serve the Republic better through your death than you have done with your recent actions." "I don't understand." "There is a great deal of confusion about what has happened here these last few days. Very few people are able to state clearly and exactly who did what, and why. Those who could are either dead, like Prince Cartagia and First Minister Malachi, or loyal to Emperor Mollari. What happened... is for us to decide." "And what did happen?" "The Court was attacked... by the group of terrorists known as the Shadow Criers. They were funded by aliens... possibly the Narns, or maybe not. That has not been decided yet. They managed somehow to influence certain leaders in the military, to make their attack easier. First Minister Malachi was grievously wounded in the attack, and succumbed to his injur- ies. Prince Cartagia bravely gave his life defending the First Minister. Emperor Mollari and myself managed to gather together the military, draw on our forces, and drive the Shadow Criers away. "Naturally, the Emperor will want to hunt down and destroy these... terrorists." Valo laughed. "Have you become a courtier, Marrago? I always knew they could take dung and make it smell of perfume, but I never thought you'd sink so low." "Oh... most of it wasn't my idea, I'll admit. Still... it is a sound plan. We need unity now, and revealing to the galaxy that our nobility has been busily killing one another... would give away too much, and risk exposing our weakness." "So... where do I fit in?" "As I said... that depends on you. After this conversation is over, I will leave this room. I will return after your next meal, and when I do, I will find either... a dead hero, who bravely and courageously fought the Shadow Criers, concealing the full extent of his wounds until it was too late, or... a living traitor, who cowardly betrayed his Court to these evildoers and fought against his own Government. "The choice is yours." "And how is this... how are you going to manage this?" "Your next meal will be a very tasty recipe involving spoo in... some form or another. I know next to nothing about cooking. What I do know is that the spoo will contain a considerable quantity of Paromide powder. Odourless, tasteless, colourless..." "And one of our Republic's deadliest poisons," Valo finished. "So... I am to be given an easy way out, am I?" He turned away, looking at the tapestry on the wall behind him. It depicted the fourth Emperor's glorious victory over the rebels at Immolan. "If you choose to take it. You will also be given a full state funeral, your place in the Hall of Renown, and... immunity for your commanders." "And if I don't? What if I decide it might be more entertaining to... shatter the scabbard on this little fiction of yours." Marrago did not blink, did not hesitate, did not miss a beat. "Then you will die anyway. And so will your wife, and your daughter, and her son. How old is he now? No more than a year, is he? Your first grandson... you must be very proud." Valo spun around. "You bastard!" Marrago did not stop. "All those men who elected to follow you will be stripped of their rank and tried as traitors to the Republic - and make no mistake, they will all be executed. Your entire House will be purged, and your name removed from history." "You bastard!" "We are creating a new Republic here, Valo. We are in... dire straits. A certain harshness is necessary for the good of all, would you not say?" Valo sank, falling back on to the couch. "I... I want to be able to write a letter... to my wife and my daughter." "Of course. You have everything you need, and I will ensure it is deliv- ered to them. I will... have to read it first, of course." "You will... you will not let them know. They had nothing to do with this." Marrago nodded. "You have my word, Valo," he said softly. "From one soldier to another." "I... I can believe you, Marrago. Once I have written these letters, I will take your damned poison, and if you or the Emperor break your word, then my ghost will haunt you for the rest of eternity." "Everything I have told you today is true." Marrago bowed, and turned to the door. "Goodbye, Valo. May the Gods have mercy on you." He knocked at it, and the guards outside pushed it open. "Marrago, wait!" "Yes?" He did not turn around. "Did Mollari come up with this whole little plan?" "Yes... yes... he did." Valo began to laugh. "Then the Republic might just survive after all. I underestimated him." "We all did. Goodbye." "Yes..." he looked at the closed door. "Goodbye." * * * * * * * *What is he thinking? Just... what is he thinking?* Ambassador David Sheridan could not tell, and that irritated him. He had always been able to read people as easily as a book. One of many skills acquired from long years as a diplomat. And yet here, on one of his most important tasks yet, so many of his skills were failing him. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Ambassador," President Clark said sincerely. "I hope you'll be able to return to us soon." "I shouldn't be gone for more than a few months at most, Mr. President," he said smoothly. "I am afraid I am needed at Z'ha'dum for consultation with our associates. I have been away from there for too long and they wish a status report and... other matters. Important work, yes, but nothing dangerous, certainly." Clark gave an odd little laugh. "No, of course not. We couldn't lose our Ambassador, could we?" He smiled, and chuckled to himself. "Still, I understand that you must do as your... associates request. What if... I need to get in touch with them urgently?" "Oh, there is nothing to worry about there, Mr. President. Most of my aides will be remaining here, as will the Zener attached to our Sciences Divisions. They will all be able to get in touch with Z'ha'dum at a moment's notice should anything major require our attention." This was all information the President should have been given of course. Standard diplomatic protocol, but this was anything but standard, and Sheridan had begun withholding information from Clark the instant he discovered the man's Keeper was not working as it should. "However, Mr. President, I must say that I do not expect anything major to happen soon. This will be a time for rebuilding and consolidating posi- tions. Our agents do not expect any sort of major action by any of our main adversaries until the end of the year, at least." "More than enough time for us to hunt down and finish off Sinoval, wouldn't you say?" "Oh... more than enough time, Mr. President, but I would be... wary of antagonising him overtly. He can be a very dangerous opponent when cornered, as we have seen." And more to the point his associates wanted Primarch Sinoval very much alive. He was far more use to them alive and properly channelled than he could be dead. "Well, our generals will be able to attend to that." Clark rose to his feet. "Good luck, Ambassador, and a safe and speedy return to us. This place will... hardly seem the same without you." He extended his hand. Sheridan took it. "I will miss Proxima greatly, but my duties carry me elsewhere. Goodbye for now, Mr. President." As he left, he resumed running through his itinerary for the next few months in his mind. Reports at Z'ha'dum and consultations with his colleagues in other fields. The engagement at Proxima 3 had been a major turning point and future events had to be steered in appropriate direc- tions. And after Z'ha'dum a trip to somewhere else, for a very important task. He almost scowled. Of all the places he had been to in his career this was the one he wished to see the least. He was not looking forward to going to Kazomi 7, that was beyond doubt. * * * * * * * *The Darkness is coming.* Lord Kiro sat alone in the place where his aunt had been murdered. His wounds did not pain him any longer. The mark of the brands seared on to his body had become an illumination, not a torture. He had looked into the hateful faces of his tormentors and been renewed. *The Darkness is coming.* Ladira had wished to see him a few hours before the attack. He had not been home for very long, and he was tired. He was also angry with Lord Jarno, and had been musing on a plan for a counterattack against the Court. He had reacted to her invitation with annoyance, but he had gone promptly enough. She had had a prophecy for him. He had listened, confused, not under- standing a word, but then he had shrugged and left. She had said very little of substance to or about him. While her prophecies to others were quite accurate, those directed at her nephew had been universally gibberish. Now, he understood. *You will be burned in fire, and purified in pain. You will see new lights and return from the lands of the dead. You will lead those who see as I do. The Darkness is coming, Kiro. It is coming for you, and I will not be at your side when it arrives.* She had been right. He had been burned by the fires of his torture, and purified. They had thought they had killed him, and left him there chained in darkness, his body mutilated and torn. But he had lived, and he had brought a vision back from death. He knew where he had to go, and who he had to find. They would listen to him, because they would see in his eyes the same madness and flames that burned in their own. His house burned down that night. Those who investigated it put it down as an attack by the Shadow Criers. Minister Durano heard this theory, and took it to both the Emperor and Lord-General Marrago. They listened, and resolved to keep it quiet. The Shadow Criers would have to be dealt with soon enough, but there were many other things to do first. The Court had to be reunited and the nobles had to accept Londo as Emperor. Lord Valo's state funeral might go some way towards doing that, but matters were still precarious. Kiro had been a prominent figure, and the fate of those who had attacked his estate had yet to be determined. All word of the fire at the ruins of his home was hushed up. Few lived in that area of the city anyway these days, and secrets were not hard to keep in the capital now. And Kiro ran alone and haunted through the streets of the city until he found the ones he was looking for. He spoke to them, and they heeded his words. And they fell to their knees at his feet. They had found the one who would lead them to the coming Darkness. And beyond... * * * * * * * Lyta Alexander breathed out slowly as she walked towards her goal. She knew what she had to do, and she knew how. She should be in the medical bay now, she knew. Her efforts at the Third Line had almost killed her. As it was she had been drained to the point of exhaustion, pushed beyond her limits, her body almost too weak to push blood, to draw in air, to stay alive. The light in her soul had gone, and she was alone, for the first time in over two years. She could only remember feeling this alone once before, after Marcus had died. It was for him that she was doing this. She knew that it was wrong, illegal certainly. She did not care. To let this go, to abandon this chance... it would be as if Marcus had not mattered, and he had been almost everything that had mattered. Her last act as a mortal woman was approaching. She knew they were coming back for her. She could feel the slow-growing light returning to her mind. It was not Kosh, but it was like him. Another Vorlon. They were almost ready now, stretching their influence across space to her. They were ready to move. A bargain had been made, and Kosh's death had been the first part in the sealing of it. They had awoken her. Whether that was intentional or an accident she did not know. Nor did she know whether the act she was about to do was by their will, or her own. What she did know was what she wanted to do this thing. She wanted to do it very much. For Marcus, if nothing else. There were Narn Rangers guarding the doors, of course. She had expected that, but she had avoided the doctors at the medical centre, and she would evade the guards the same way. They stepped forward, and with one sudden thought, both of them fell. She knew the pass-code to get her into the prison complex. Her head was aching now, blood pounding in her ears and before her eyes, but she carried on. Her new-found strength was fading fast, but she managed to drag herself onwards. This was almost over. She stopped outside the door she needed. Few of these cells were occup- ied, and this particular occupant was very special indeed. The cell door opened, and Lyta Alexander entered. She looked down at the sleeping form of Susan Ivanova, and lightly fingered the gun in her hand. * * * * * * * I will ask her. I... will ask her. I will... ask her. But first, duty. But first, responsibility. But first... but first, to relay the news he had learned mere moments before. Commander David Corwin knew a great deal about bad news. But he had never in his life imagined he would have to deliver the information he had just been given. He was not sure he believed it himself. He supposed he should have told Delenn instantly, but there had been... complications with the salvage, and he had wanted to be sure. Now he wished he was not. And he was still thinking about Mary. His silent promise to himself seemed so hollow now. There was no answer to his call at Delenn's door. He paused, then rang the chime again. Well, it was not a true chime, but a cacophony of hideous screeches and bangs. Drazi hearing was much less refined than human, and he had no idea just what Minbari hearing was like. Still, they seemed to have toned it down for Delenn's quarters, which was just as well. He remembered a time when he and the Captain had been visiting the Drazi homeworld for a few days, staying in the Government buildings, and the noise... He breathed out, calming his thoughts. Complete gibberish. He was more afraid of the next few minutes of conversation than he had been at any other moment in his life. There was still no answer, and he closed in eyes in silent thanks. Maybe she was asleep. He would not be able to tell her now, then. Good. Put it off, don't worry about it now. Maybe... maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe everything had fixed itself while he was gone. Maybe... "Yes?" came Delenn's voice, and he swore to himself. "Who is there?" "It's... me, Delenn. Commander Corwin." "Oh." There was a pause. "Open." He entered, and took only the briefest step into the room. He could see her there, still sitting in exactly the same position she had been in the last time he had spoken to her. How long ago had that been? Four hours? Five? Longer? "Commander. Is there... is there any news?" This will break her heart, he thought. She loves him. She really, truly does love him. She's not the enemy. She's not a monster. She loves the Captain. And I have to tell her. She was right. He's not dead, but there are worse things than death. *Faith manages.* It hasn't managed very well here. "Delenn," he said softly. "They've found him." To be continued... From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: From The Ashes, Part 2A Date: Fri, 26 Mar 1999 15:36:34 +0000 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7BIT Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase Three - A Line in the Sand Hi people. Here we go again. Legal Disclaimer: All B5 characters are owned by and copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money out of writing this, and do so purely for pleasure. Personal Disclaimer: ... All previous B5:ADDM stories are available on the website at http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk Any questions, comments, criticisms, death threats, whatever are welcome and shoul be sent to the address below. * * * * * Chapter Five - From the Ashes, Part 2 of 3 by Gareth Williams (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk) He is running. He is not sure why. He does not know where he is running from, or where he is running to, but he knows he is running. Something is chasing him. He does not know what. He knows only that he must escape from it. And it is gaining on him. It is faster than he is. There is a brief flash of light, and he sees himself standing there on the bridge of the Parmenion, feeling the force of the impact. Something is falling. He is falling. It hits his back, and there is a snapping noise. He was unconscious when this happened, he knows. Or was he awake in some sense? Why was he still alive? He had tried to die, tried and prayed that his death would be an easy one, a purposeful one. His contagion would never affect his colleagues. Yes, he must be dead. Oh, people had survived accidents like that, but that was rare. He had tried so hard to die. Why... why had the universe not granted him his wish? He was still running. It was just behind him. It was so much faster than he was, but he was confident. He could escape. He had endured worse than this. He could not be defeated. He was the Starkiller, the legendary hero of humanity. Nothing could defeat him. He suddenly stopped, and fell. He struck the ground, and instantly tried to scramble to his feet. He could not do it. He could not move. Not at all. It was upon him now. He could almost see it. He could... His eyes opened. There was no darkness. In fact, the room was quite light. There was no monster chasing him, there was only Delenn, asleep in a chair at the side of his bed. Her position looked awkward. She did not even like sleeping in a horizontal, human bed. He tried to reach over and touch her, but he could not. In fact, he could hardly even move his head. Straining his eyes, he gazed as far down as he could, and saw the straps and restraints holding him down. There was even some sort of framework immobilising his head. That explained it. He must have been injured worse than he had thought. Worse than he had thought? He had died, surely? He... No, he was alive. In a strange way he was relieved. Yes, he was still a threat, both to her and to everyone else he cared for, but that was a problem for another day. He'd have more time with her. Maybe Sinoval would manage to find a cure. Anything was possible. He couldn't feel his legs. The realisation suddenly hit him. He couldn't feel a thing. No itching, no numbness, no sensation at all. He had countless old injuries there, old wounds that throbbed or itched. Nothing. An anaesthetic of some sort, perhaps? He couldn't feel his arms. He couldn't feel anything below his neck. What had happened? He had been standing on the bridge of the Parmenion, alone. The ship was going to ram one of the Shadow vessels. He was going to die. Something... something had exploded. He had turned, and the whole ship had shaken. He had fallen, hitting the floor, and something landed on top of him. Something... something had snapped. "De... Delenn!" he said, suddenly very afraid of what had happened. He knew he should let her sleep, but she was the only person he could see here. Perhaps the only person around. How had the battle gone anyway? Did Babylon 4 get safely back to the past? "Delenn!" She roused and sat up, rubbing at her eyes. Then her hands fell. "John," she whispered. "You're... you're awake!" She moved to his side and began touching his arms and fingers, caressing them gently. He could not feel her touch. "Did... did we win?" "I... It is hard to say... truly. But yes... we won." He tried to nod, before realising he could not. He could not even sigh. His breathing was steady and regular, but quite independent of his control. "What happened to me?" he whispered. Tears in her eyes, she told him. * * * * * * * "I warned you about him. I knew he could not be trusted." Alfred Bester sighed and leaned back in his chair. It had been a gamble, all of it. A desperate gamble, and it had failed. It had failed very badly, and that failure had quite possibly cost him everything. "Sheridan's thrown his lot in with them now. Completely. It won't even make a difference if he's dead. His crew will follow his example. Damn him!" He turned to look at his companion. Captain Ari Ben Zayn, an Earthforce veteran. A highly decorated soldier, survivor and leader of countless campaigns. He had always been a ground-based soldier however, and so had missed much of the action of the Minbari War. He had always been a useful friend and servant to Bester, and he had made a point of saving the man when it became clear that all was lost on Earth. Ben Zayn had been his most valued advisor, an expert on all things military, and the captain of the first of Bester's starships. A mundane only, and that was sad. Were he but as gifted as the weakest of Bester's telepaths, he would have all the authority Bester could give him. As it was, he was kept ill-informed. He was still however the highest ranking of all Bester's mundane accomplices. It was good that he had got away from Babylon 4 before the battle had begun. Exact news of what had happened was scarce, but early reports indicated that the devastation had been catastrophic, the death toll immense. Babylon 4 was gone. There was no word from the Great Machine. Donne was almost certainly dead. Garibaldi was either dead or had defected. A pity. Bester had actually liked him. A true shame. A desperate gamble, and it had failed, but all was not over yet. It was true that Bester had made many enemies with that particular move, but he had other options. He was running them through in his mind. Almost certain: G'Kar knew of his treachery, and that particular alliance was very dead. That would definitely mean Garibaldi was lost, as was everyone else who had been stationed at Babylon 4. Fortunately Donne had been the only telepath, at least the only one of his telepaths. Lyta Alexander had never really been his for a long time, not since the Vorlons had done something to her. Probable: the United Alliance and G'Kar's Rangers knew he was not to be trusted. It was likely that they would have other concerns at present, especially if the fighting had been as bloody as reports indicated. Still, they might very well decide to come for him here at Sanctuary. Possible: Ambassador Sheridan and the Resistance Government knew he had double-crossed them. That would depend on how many of their assault party was still alive. If they knew, retribution was almost inevitable. He knew full well just what a threat his people posed to the Shadows, and if he could not be their ally, then he was their enemy. He sat forward. "Are you loyal to me, Ari?" he asked. He did not have to ask. He knew the answer even without scanning his mind. Sanctuary was the key. It was too open and vulnerable. The Corps - and therefore he - had resources elsewhere; resources no one else knew about. "Of course, Alfred," he said. "You don't need to ask that." "Sanctuary is vulnerable at the moment. Very vulnerable. We may have to evacuate to... other places. If that happens, I may need you to fight a holding action. We need an increase in the number of probes monitoring hyperspace from all directions, even the ones off the main channels. We will also need the Ozymandias in constant combat readiness. Make sure there are at least three... no, four, telepaths on the ship at all times. Keep Harriman as your main telepath, but it is imperative that we have others." "Of course," he said. That was the beginning. Start moving out the most important things. Files, certain experiments... And Talia. Yes, get her away from here as soon as possible. She was, in his eyes, the most important thing not just on the station, but in his life. * * * * * * * His eyes. They were what she remembered most clearly about him. His eyes. To any telepath a person's eyes were the mirrors of their soul. One look, and she could see everything she needed. His vulnerability, covered by a hardened shell of cynicism. A lost yearning for protection and a cause. He had been one of the first to join Sheridan's little war, and one of the first to die in that cause. He was all that had mattered to her. She had accepted her loss, had resolved to continue, taking his cause for her own. The Vorlons had influenced her, manipulated her, but it had been the memory of his eyes she had seen every time she pushed herself forward. Kosh was gone now as well, and she was alone again. She would not be alone for long, she knew. Another Vorlon would come for her soon, but there was a moment before that would happen, a chance to complete one last duty from the life she was soon to leave behind. Lyta Alexander raised her PPG and pointed it squarely at the head of the sleeping Susan Ivanova. She would not wake up. A simple telepathic nudge would see to that. It might be... better if Ivanova could see her death coming, but it would be easier this way. There was a buzzing sound as she readied the weapon. Her grip firm and her posture straight, she kept it pointed at the slumbering woman. She could not pull the trigger. She swore silently and lowered the weapon. She was not a murderer, not in cold blood like this. She had thought she could, but... It was fortunate her resolve had lasted her even this far. "You deserve it," she whispered. "You deserve all this..." But she could not do it. Not kill someone like this. There was another way. She stepped forward, and pocketed her gun. She was not sure how much time she would have, but there would be time enough for this. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she removed her gloves. She had to see, had to be sure. Lightly, she touched her fingertips to Ivanova's forehead. She was in a room somewhere. She did not know where. It was cold. Not uncomfortably so, but chilly all the same. There was only a young girl here. She was sitting on the floor, playing with an old-fashioned, raggedy doll. "Where am I?" she asked. An image from Ivanova's childhood, perhaps? The decorations looked Russian, she supposed. The child stopped playing and looked up. She was about... ten, perhaps. Maybe a little younger. Lyta had never really had much to do with children. "Are you here to see Mama?" she asked, deadly serious. "You're one of those bad people, aren't you? One of the... the telepaths." Lyta looked down, and was startled to see she was wearing the uniform of a Psi Cop. That was strange. Some sleeping memory, perhaps? She did not bother trying to change it. This was Ivanova's dream after all. Not hers. "Where's your mother?" she asked. "She's ill at the moment. She sent me here. She said she'd come for me. She's... I've been waiting a long time. Have you brought her medicine?" "What medicine?" "The bad men bring it for her. It makes her sleepy, and not feel well. They say she has to take it. Is my Mama all right?" Sleepers. Now Lyta understood. Her mother was a telepath who had refused to join the Corps. That was in the old days, of course. Before Earth fell. Things were... a little different now. "Dadya says she'll be fine. Where is she?" "I... I don't know." There was the sound of a door opening behind her, and Lyta turned. The young girl cried out. "No! Don't let them take me. Please... they're the bad men. They're here for me. Mama said she'd protect me. Don't let them..." Two Psi Cops came in through the door, but these were different even from the people Lyta had trained with. They were huge, twice her size, and they looked like monsters. One of them smiled, revealing an impossible number of fanged teeth. The other one lifted up a net. "Mama!" cried the young girl. "Mama! Where are you?" "She can't help you now," said the first Psi Cop. "You've got to come with us. We're your parents now." Lyta shook as she returned to her own mind. She was swaying gently. Steadying herself, she looked at Ivanova again. Her sleep was more fitful, but Lyta could clearly see an older version of the young girl. "Damn you," she whispered to herself. Tears in her eyes, she turned and left the room. * * * * * * * *Study an enemy's weaknesses, and thou shalt know him.* Sonovar had heard those words many times during his training, first from Warleader and Satai Shakiri, and later from Sinoval himself. And he had taken them to heart, remembering them and acting on them. But he had added another piece of wisdom to his learning, one he had developed after learning of Shakiri's death. Sonovar alone had worked out who was responsible, and he recognised Shakiri's folly in not turning his teachings inwards. *Know your enemy, true, but know your friends as well. They are just as dangerous to you.* Friends, and potential friends. And so, as Sonovar walked into the room that had been serving as the cell of Shai Alyt Kozorr, he went armed not only with two fighting pikes, but with all the knowledge he had been able to gather about the man. Inform- ation, rumours, and a fascinating device created by Forell to pry into Kozorr's dreams. The warrior leapt to his feet as Sonovar entered, and his grace was start- ling. Sonovar let his gaze rest on his companion's injuries, particularly his hand. Kozorr was wearing a glove to disguise the damage and to provide some support, but Sonovar knew just how maimed the limb was. He had been there, after all. "Your weapon," he said, handing Kozorr's pike back to him. And a strange weapon it was, too. It was a shorter version of the traditional denn'bok, adapted so that it could be wielded with only one hand. Sech Derhan's work, no doubt. A better weaponsmith Sonovar had never known. "You said you were going to kill me," came the angry reply. "I have said many things, at many times, to many people." "Minbari do not lie," he said. "You said you would kill me, and let her go. I am still alive. Did you break your promise concerning Kats as well?" Sonovar smiled. "Why do you care? She is a worker, an inferior class. By all rights she should not even be permitted to set foot on a warship like this. There was a time when her caste would lower their eyes as we walked past, would grovel at our feet. A time when the warrior caste ruled all, and the workers and the priestlings served our will." "We never ruled anything. We spent all the time butchering each other." "It was a golden age. A time of glory, and legends... and heroes. Would you like to help me bring it back?" "Kill me, Sonovar, or let me go. I have no interest in your delusions." Sonovar took a quick step back and extended his pike. "Fight me. Kill me, Kozorr, and I will let you go. I will let her go as well." "Minbari do not kill Minbari. You may have forgotten that, but I have not." "You were willing to kill Kalain to save your worker whore. Are you not ready to do the same now, to save her again?" "Where is she?" "Maybe she is on this ship, maybe she is with Sinoval, and maybe she is dead. Fight me, and I will tell you." "I have no interest in your lies!" "Minbari do not lie. You said as much yourself." "You have lied to me, Sonovar. If you cannot keep that law, then how can I believe you will respect any of the others? You are no warrior. You are a killer." "Maybe I am. Maybe I am not. Fight me, Kozorr. Earn for yourself... or for me... a true warrior's death. Beyond the wild, impartial skies... a true and glorious end. To die in battle, can there be any greater glory? Fight me." He lowered his pike, and stood silent. "Dare you take the risk of letting me live? What if you kill me, Kozorr? Your... Primarch Sinoval will be happy with you, will he not? And regard- less, you will have ended a threat to his people. Or are you a coward? Has that worker bitch of yours sapped all your will? You were willing to die before! Why not now?" Anger filling his eyes, Kozorr lifted his pike and sprang forward. Sonovar smiled as he raised his own blade to block it. * * * * * * * A rope around the neck. A death for peasants, for farmers, for the lowest dregs of Centauri society. Certainly not a death Lord Jarno had ever expected for himself. He was after all a noble of the mighty Centauri Republic and as such he was entitled to certain... privileges. He stood at the window, looking out at the gallows in the square beneath his cell. His status brought him one advantage anyway; his last days would be spent in a luxurious palace room, rather than a dark and cold prison. "You do not have to go through with this, Jarno," said a voice from behind him. Normally, anyone who heard that voice would be expected to be honoured, to snap to attention, to answer and reply with all the respect due to the Emperor of the entire Republic, but if there was one advantage impending death conferred, it was the right to defy certain... conventions. "No, I know," he said softly, not turning round. "But it is... the right thing to do. No noble of this Court has attacked the household of another in centuries... until me. I saw what was happening in the Court and I did nothing, letting weakness swing me forward and back, never able to take any decisive action. "No... I am ready to die." "Yes," replied the Emperor, "I understand that. I do not agree with it, perhaps. Our new Government could benefit much from you, Jarno. A great deal." "I have nothing to offer, and my presence at your side would only alienate Kiro's followers. With my death you at least stand a chance of bringing them over to your side. Consider this... my last service to the Republic." There was an exasperated tutting from behind him. Jarno still did not turn around. Partly this was because he did not want to see the face of someone who had been... never a true friend, but always a respected peer. But also he could not take his eyes from the means of his execution. It was a truly sobering sight. "Yes. I understand that, and I commend you for it, Jarno. But... why like this? I could... arrange for something to be placed in your food, or your drink. It would be quick and painless. You will drift away in your sleep, and you will be buried with all the status your rank deserves." Jarno was silent for a moment, speculating on the manner of Lord Valo's death. He had heard the story being disseminated, but he did not believe it for a moment. He knew the truth, and he wondered if Valo had been more... accommodating than he was. "No. I do not deserve such a quick death, or such a... noble funeral. A rope around the neck at dawn, a pauper's pyre. Nothing more." "That is... not fair... You were misled and manipulated. We both know who is to blame." "I... have no idea of whom you are speaking," Jarno lied. He knew very well. "Mariel. My dear, loving wife. The attack on Kiro was her idea, was it not? Come, Jarno. We both know the truth. Why do you defend her?" "Defend her?" He laughed. A bitter laugh, with no genuine mirth. "I am not defending her. She has... she will pay for her actions in her own way, and I assure you, Majesty, I will escape far more easily than she will." "What are you talking about?" "A prophecy... A dying prophecy. One third of it has already come true. At dawn tomorrow, another third will have come to pass. Destiny will not allow Mariel to escape her part." He paused and flicked his gaze to the ground, away from the gallows. He then turned to look briefly at his new Emperor. Londo looked... tired. He could barely have been sleeping even before his inauguration. "Where... where is Mariel now?" Jarno asked tentatively. "Under close guard... for her personal safety of course," Londo replied bitterly. "I regret I can take no real action against her... not so soon in my reign and not without constructive proof. As it is, I will send her to one of my outlying estates. Perhaps among the rebuilding projects at Camulodo. She will of course be under heavy armed guard all the time. For her own personal safety. "It is preferable to the fate Timov would have in mind for her." Jarno smiled, and nodded. "I... thank you for coming to visit me, Majesty. I hope I can serve the Republic better in death than I did in life." Londo nodded, and then turned and left. His strange Minbari companion at the door waited for the Emperor to depart, and then stepped outside. There was the sound of a bolt sliding shut. Jarno did not care. He had returned to gaze at his gallows, and his death. * * * * * * * I am not afraid. I've faced down ancient ships that screamed in my mind. I've stood against Minbari warships that wanted to destroy me. I've looked at aliens that made me want to run and hide in terror. I've looked into the eyes of my best friend, both of us knowing he'll never move again. I've done all that... and I've never been so scared in my entire life. I will ask her. I will ask her. Commander David Corwin sighed and leaned back against the wall. He had been planning this for a long time, but he had never been able to find the nerve before. It had been so easy just to put it off. But then, fighting a desperate, doomed struggle to defend Epsilon 3, he had realised just how close he had come to death, and had made a silent promise to ask her. But now it was all in ashes. He had survived, yes, but why him? Michael was dead, the Captain would never move below his neck again. Bester had betrayed them all. Susan was... here... *What right have I got to think of a future, when there are so many people who don't have one any longer?* But that was it, surely? There were so many who had lost their futures, and he hadn't. He had to recognise his good fortune, had to live for the moment of life he had gained by surviving the battle. He had to... "Yes?" came the voice through the comm. "Who is it?" She did not sound well. He supposed he couldn't blame her. "It's me, Mary," he replied. "It's David." "Oh," she said softly. "Come in." The door opened and he entered, patting at his pocket to be sure the small box was still there. It was. It seemed so heavy. Mary was seated on the couch, a book lying open at her feet. She rose as he entered, and he could see just how dreadful she looked. Her eyes were heavy, her face gaunt and haggard. She was still in her nightdress, which was rumpled and dirty. "Haven't seen you in... a while," she said, coughing. "Do you want a drink? I've some Narn wine here somewhere..." "No, thank you," he replied. "Ah... you... are you all right?" "I'm fine," she replied, flatly. "I haven't been... sleeping very well recently. Not for the last few days in fact. The beds here are a little... hard. Not very comfortable." "Drazi design probably," he said, apologising lamely. "Yes. That's it. Anyway, I thought I'd do a little reading. I... What time is it anyway?" "Coming up to midday, Kazomi Seven time. I... couldn't say what time it is EST." She nodded. "I haven't quite adapted to... the time here. It's... Why did you send me away?" He stopped as if poleaxed. "Wh... what?" "From Babylon Four. You sent me away." "We... we sent all civilians away, Mary. The place was... at risk. We had to get you all out of there." "A civilian. Is that what I am? David, you didn't come to see me. You didn't come to check if I was all right. You didn't..." "I was busy!" he replied. "I was... I was afraid. I... heard things about what had happened on the planet. I was worried about you! I wanted to get you to safety as quickly as possible!" "I can look after myself, and I don't need you protecting me." She paused. "I'm the one who had to talk to Lianna after all... explaining why her husband won't be coming home." "Lianna." He sighed, and swore silently. "I'd completely forgotten... oh... How... how did she take it?" "How do you think she would have taken it? We didn't get to speak long. Something's... up at Sanctuary. But... I knew what she was thinking. He ran away from her. She loved him too much to see that, but I could see it. And so could you, and you did nothing!" "I... what? Mary, what are you saying?" "They were having problems. Difficulties with Frank, disagreements over Bester. Lianna wanted to get out of there, start somewhere new. Michael... he wanted to stay with Bester. Felt he owed him. But rather than talk it out, he... he ran away. He came here, he stayed here for months on end, and he... he got himself killed because it was easier for him than staying around!" "I had no idea," David whispered softly. "Mary, I... I swear to you... I had no idea." He moved forward, but she pulled away from him. "I'm just so... so angry... at him, at you, at Bester, at... at every- thing! At everyone! At this whole pathetic little war of yours! It isn't some game. It's not heroic, or glorious, or... or... People are dying, and people are being left behind to mourn... and I just..." She took a deep breath. "I'm leaving, David. I'm leaving this place. I hate it. The sky's wrong, the time's wrong, the air doesn't smell the same... I'm going back to Sanctuary to pick up Lianna, and from there we're going to one of the outlying colonies. They're free again now, and some of them are a long way away. Far away from the Minbari, and the Narns and... everything!" She paused and looked at him intently, folding her arms. "You could come with us. I... I want you to." "Mary, I..." He took a deep breath, and kept feeling the box in his pocket. "I... I came here to ask you to marry me." She smiled, and then shook her head sadly. "I was wondering when... No, it doesn't matter. I'd love to, but not here. Give all this up, David. Give up this war, give up fighting this hopeless cause. You can't win. There's always another enemy. Give it up... and come with me. I do want to marry you, but I won't sit at home like Lianna, waiting for news to come through that you've been killed somewhere, fighting for some cause no one understands." "I... Michael... his death was... It wasn't..." "It doesn't matter, David. He's dead, and how or why won't help at all. You... know what I want." He picked the box from his pocket, and looked at the ring inside. He had bought it in the market here on Kazomi 7. It was a Brakiri design, and he had had it altered a little so that it would fit a human finger. It was... beautiful. "I love you, Mary," he said pathetically. "I love you... but..." She sighed, and looked down. "That's what I thought. Go away, David... please. I... I can't sit and wait by the news reports every night like this. Go away." "I..." He closed the box and gently laid it down on the table. He made to take a step towards her, but then sighed and turned away. He left the room without looking back. Only then did he start to cry. * * * * * * * From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: From The Ashes, Part 2B Date: Fri, 26 Mar 1999 15:39:59 +0000 Time passed, neither slowly, nor quickly. It simply was. For Delenn of Mir, the few months after the Battle of the Third Line were hard. The year wove its way slowly towards an end and work became harder and harder. She slept even less now than she had before, and her few brief hours of slumber were normally spent in a chair at John's bedside. The state of affairs on Kazomi 7 was not especially good, but neither was it especially bad. Much of her time was taken up in helping with the reorganisation of G'Kar's Rangers. The loss of Epsilon 3 and Babylon 4 had hit them hard, but G'Kar had been canny enough not to place all of his resources in one area. He was recovering from his injuries as well as could be expected, and he and Ta'Lon were working closely with Taan Churok and Vejar to make Kazomi 7 the new base of the Narn Rangers. A few weeks after the battle word came in from Centauri Prime, news which was most welcome. Londo had become Emperor. He was dealing with the wreckage of his bloody ascension, and would appoint an Ambassador to Kazomi 7 as soon as he could. He specifically requested no outside assistance. The presence of aliens on the planet now might well make matters far worse. There was no word from Alfred Bester. None at all. John's condition did not improve, and the initial prognosis had proven distressingly accurate. His spine was irretrievably broken, and he would never move below the neck again. He could not even breathe without artificial help. How he had remained alive until he had been found, nobody knew. Delenn spent as much time with him as she could, holding his hands that could never feel hers. When she was not there, Commander Corwin was, relaying reports of the defensive capabilities of the system, of the field testing of the commandeered Babylon, and various other matters. Sheridan listened, and gave back advice when he could. Unfortunately as time passed he suffered more and more violent headaches. The lights in the ward hurt his eyes, and he frequently suffered bad dreams. Neither he nor Delenn spoke about it, but the doctors had been given all the available information on his virus, and they were beginning to speculate that quarantine might soon become necessary. There was a brief reply from Sinoval, stating that he would need to remain behind at Tarolin 2 to help rebuild, and to increase security at the other colony worlds he controlled. He said little else, but Delenn knew that someone was threatening the remaining Minbari worlds. The number of Minbari refugees coming to Kazomi 7 increased briefly for a month or so. Few of them were possessed by Keepers though. The crew of the Babylon were given safe passage to neutral territory, from where they could travel on to human space. Only two of them chose to stay behind: a Lieutenant Franklin, who had at last regained his long-lost vocation for medicine. Here had could practice as he had always wanted, and strive to heal, not to kill. Captain Dexter Smith stayed also, fulfilling his promise to give his life for those of his crew. Susan Ivanova remained imprisoned. Medical reports and a study by Vejar confirmed that the Keeper she had been given had been completely removed from her system. Who, or what she was now... was unknown. It was on a day slightly over two months after the battle that Lethke received an interesting and unexpected message. He promised to consult with the remainder of the Government and reply later. He then instantly went to see Delenn. "It is a lie," she said. She had been with John, and her eyes were haunted. He had lapsed briefly into delirium during her visit. It had been for less than a minute, but it was a troubling development all the same. "They mean nothing but to sow dissent and suspicion, Lethke." "So I thought, but what if they do speak the truth? Can we afford to pass over such an offer?" Delenn shook her head. "'There can be no peace with the Shadow'," she quoted. "They are lying." "But he does not speak just for the Shadows," he countered. "He speaks for humanity as well. Can there be peace with them?" She hesitated, lost momentarily in a world fifteen years gone. "Perhaps... but humanity is... they are too closely linked with the Shadows now. There cannot be peace, Lethke. I wish it were not so, but..." She bowed her head sadly. "He says he will come only to speak of peace. He is a true diplomat, Delenn. I have known many, and I can see it in his eyes. His words... they are genuine. Delenn... dare we turn away this chance? I do not want to spend the rest of my life devoted to war. I want to build this Alliance so that it protects and shelters the entire galaxy, and we cannot do that if we are constantly worrying about battles and fighting. We... prefer not to fight, we Brakiri. I have always thought it is a far more pleasant option to choose." She sighed, and thought again of that moment fifteen years ago. She had been too ready to embrace war once before, and it had cost her dearly. Could she refuse this option now? Even if it were only the merest possibility... "We will bring the matter to the Council," she said at last. "If you all say yes... then I will assent." Lethke smiled and bowed, but then he looked worried. "There is one other thing, Delenn. The diplomat who contacted me... he was human. The Shadows do most of their dealing through intermediaries of other races... so I was not surprised. But... he gave his name as Sheridan." She paused. "Sh... Sheridan? No, it cannot be," she said finally. "All of John's family are dead. It is a... coincidence, and nothing more. Still, it would be best, I think, if John were not told of this." "As you say, Delenn. When shall we convene the Council?" She paused, and thought for one brief moment about the man she loved. "As soon as possible," she said finally. "As... soon as possible." They all agreed, and Lethke sent back the reply in the affirmative. Ambassador David Sheridan received it, and nodded. Everyone did what they had to do, what was necessary, and however much he disliked the thought of going to Kazomi 7, he knew that he had to do it. But he had one important person to see first. * * * * * * * Londo was tired, and he had a headache, and he wanted very much to have a steaming cup of bravari and go to bed. But he was the Emperor, and contrary to what he had believed as a child, the Emperor did not get to do whatever he wanted. He had his duties to the Republic, and if those duties meant he had to stay up all night with Marrago and Durano, then so be it. In the preceding two months the situation had improved slightly, although not as much as he might have hoped. The Centarum had been reconvened, and its first actions had been the passing of motions recognising Londo as Emperor and accepting his story as the official history of events. The second motion had passed substantially, as almost all of those who knew the truth about Valo's attack on the Court were either dead or firmly allied to the new regime. The first motion however was more difficult. Many remembered that Londo had been accused of murdering Emperor Refa, and that he had raised rebellion against his own Government. Denials of the first had been expected, if not entirely believed, and the same had been the case with explanations for the second. Nevertheless, the placing of the blame for everything that had ever gone wrong in the Republic since the dawn of creation entirely at the door of the Shadow Criers... that had been generally accepted. In any case, Marrago and Durano had separately exerted considerable pressure on the dissenters, and the first motion had been passed. Londo's inauguration as Emperor had been a pitiful thing by previous standards, but in respect of the lying speeches, futile thanks and insincere hopes for the future, few things ever changed. That, however, was only the beginning. The homeworld was now fairly secure, but the Republic itself was very shaky. "We have lost all contact with Beta Centauri Two," Marrago reported. "The communications satellite might be down, but I fear it is more likely either that the Narns have taken the colony, or that there is another rebellion there, as there was at Gorash." "A rebellion is possible, but unlikely," acknowledged Durano. "My sources there informed me that there was considerable ill-feeling towards the Court here, but that matters were improving. The lowering of taxes, the replacement of the planetary Governor, and the improved weather conditions and harvesting mean that the economy there is recovering strongly. Any uprising would have been more likely to occur two or three months ago." "The Narns then," muttered Londo. "Again. They are seeking to destabilise our economy, aren't they?" "It seems likely," admitted Marrago. "A very different strategy for them. I am not sure if they are receiving outside assistance or if Warleader G'Sten is simply having flashes of genius." "I fear we will need to begin peace talks soon, but will they accept anything other than unconditional surrender? G'Kar might be able to help, but he is sorely pressed by other concerns. I fear an Ambassador to Kazomi Seven is more essential now than it has ever been." "We have spoken about this, Londo," said Marrago. "We need to be strong and secure as a Republic first. If we go on bended knee to this... G'Kar, then we risk exposing our vulnerabilities. The Narns may be more reckless than they have been, but to some extent there are still elements of caution in their strategy. That caution is buying us time. If we reveal our weakness... then they may launch a direct attack on the homeworld, and we would be defeated easily." "G'Kar... is not like that." "I accept that, Londo, but can you speak for all the Narns he commands? What about the other aliens on Kazomi Seven? Can we trust the Minbari... or the humans? No, I say again that we need to be as strong as we can be. Then we will go to the Narns as equals, not defeated and on our knees." "Yes," Londo muttered. "Good advice, again. Ah, Gods... I am tired. Sooner or later, Marrago, we will have to go there, and I would rather it be sooner. That is it... if I stay here any longer I will fall asleep. Do you have anything else to report?" "No," said Marrago. "Nothing else." "Durano?" The Minister for Intelligence had been silent throughout the exchange between Emperor and Lord-General. His gaze had been firmly fixed on Marrago, but he now slid it away smoothly. "No, Majesty," he said. "The Shadow Criers have been very quiet of late. Perhaps whatever madness has gripped them has simply... died down." "Or maybe they are all dead. Burning yourself alive in the middle of the street is unlikely to bring in many new converts. In any case, they are a problem for another time. I am to bed. Gentlemen." He rose, as did both of them. They bowed as he left, and then stalked from the room through opposite exits, not exchanging a single word. The silent Minbari who had stood alone in the shadows in the corner of the room waited until they had gone, and then followed Londo. The Emperor passed six separate groups of Palace Guards on the two-minute walk from his personal study to his bedroom, a fact he found most distres- sing. When he arrived at his bedroom he closed the door firmly and found Timov already in bed, pretending to sleep. "I know you are awake," he said, undressing and changing into his night attire. "You know me too well," she said acidly. "Do you know what time it is?" "I am sorry I was out too late, Mother," he said, in smiling sarcasm. "I will try to be home for supper tomorrow." She sat up. "That is not funny, Londo. You are up working until past midnight every night, and up again at the stroke of dawn every morning. You cannot keep up this pace. Leave it for younger men." "There is... too much to do," he said, sighing. "Too much..." He finished changing and walked over to the bed. "May I come and join you, lady Empress?" he asked, smiling. "Or are you still angry with me?" "Idiot," she whispered. "I don't know. My husband will return soon, and I do not know what he will say when he sees me in bed with the Emperor." "I am sure he loves you too much to remain angry with you for very long," he said, climbing into bed. "I wonder if I love him that much," she replied. "Good night, Londo." "Good night, dear." Sleep was a long time coming. It always was these days. * * * * * * * He was sleeping. At least, his eyes were closed, so she hoped he was sleeping. The lights in the room were down as low as they could be: it was almost too dark for her to see him, and the most Delenn of Mir could make out of John Sheridan was a vague outline, marked by the slow, regular movements of the machinery that sustained his paralysed body. The Ambassador from the Shadows would be arriving soon, within a few days at most. A thought had struck her not long after she had been told of his request to visit. A cure. The Shadows had a cure for John. She had contacted Sinoval again, in desperation. He had received her message, and he had replied in no uncertain terms that he had studied Deathwalker's files all he could, but he had found no trace of her cure. The Shadows had it, but that was all he knew. He then ended the conversation, pointing out that he had his own responsibilities to his own people. Was it worth it? Would it truly be worth asking the Shadows for their cure? She had thought not. She and John had spoken of it once, and he had said he would not enslave himself to them for any cure. She had agreed, but that had been long ago, before the battle. What if there could be peace? Was the Ambassador genuine? Could she... ask... him...? She sighed, and tried to clear her head. The virus was not yet contag- ious, at least not according to the physicians here. They had managed to trace its progress to some extent and had constructed a hypothesis as to its effects, but they were a long, long way from a cure. All they could say for certain was that John would have to be placed in strict quarantine within two weeks at most. And not long after that, he would be dead. He moaned slightly, and she thought she could see his eyes flicker open. They looked... so bloodshot. "Delenn," he whispered. "Are... are you there?" "Yes," she replied softly. "Yes, I'm here." She was holding his hand, but she knew he could not feel it. "How... how are you?" "I was dreaming. I... don't remember what about. It... wasn't... a nice... dream though." "You should sleep," she whispered. "Sleep? Why? It's not as if I'm exerting myself here. I'm kept alive by machines, and... medicines and I'm just waiting to die." "John, you shouldn't... talk like this." "Why not?" He sounded angry. "Why not, Delenn? Why are you... still here? What... use is there tying yourself to a... dead man." "I am here because I love you," she said softly. "I will never leave you, John. Never." "I... I know. I'm sorry. I just... are you holding my hand?" "Yes." "How is... David? I haven't seen him... in... a while." She hesitated, trying to think of what to say. Commander Corwin had been to see him only that morning. "He's... on a scouting patrol," she lied. "He's still breaking in the Babylon." He was on board the Babylon, that was true. He rarely left it these days. Corwin too had been looking almost haunted recently. "My ship," John said, almost proudly. "Not... my ship any more. They... changed it... did... things... to it... Gave it to someone else..." "It wasn't altered as much as you thought," she said, hoping that would comfort him. Compared to some of the other human ships they had fought, the Babylon had contained remarkably little Shadow technology. "It was just..." How had Commander Corwin put it? "It was just beefed up a little. Improved hull integrity, navigation, weapons..." She had told John this before. Several times. "My ship," he said, his voice growing quieter. "My... ship..." His eyes closed. "Love you... Anna," he whispered, as he fell asleep. Delenn did not cry. She wanted to, but she could not. She had no more tears left. * * * * * * * Speeches. He had made so many, to so many different people. They were all much the same really. Empty promises, pledges and assurances that he knew he would not be able to meet, hollow guarantees and offers of friendship. All the while people back home would be preparing their own actions, completely indifferent to every word he was saying. The situation here was a little different, but the speech was largely the same. "We do not wish further violence between our peoples," he said, addressing the Inner Council of the United Alliance, and making sure to study each figure in turn. "The tragedy of the altercation at Epsilon Three only shows the true horror that can arise from such a conflict." They were listening, some more patiently than others. Minister Lethke was most attentive, and the Narn Ambassador G'Kael seemed quite interested. The two Drazi frequently snorted and tutted under their breath, but they made no interruptions. And as for their leader, the blessed Delenn... Ambassador David Sheridan had no idea what she was doing, for he was not looking at her at all. Not even a glance. "We must not let zealots on either side blind us to the possibilities of a strong, working peace. The race you call the Shadows, and that I call friends, have much to offer you all. They have helped humanity return to security, they have helped protect the borders of humanity's space, and have provided technology far in advance of anything else currently available. "The 'Shadows' wish only to help the other races, and live in peace and understanding with them. Their actions have been purely defensive on all occasions, aimed at countering threats to their welfare by others. All you have heard about them are half-truths and misconceptions, spread by their enemies. Spread by ignorance. "They will be happy to show such people as Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, his... Rangers, and even Primarch Sinoval the error they have been labouring under." G'Kael started briefly at mention of G'Kar's name, but he said nothing. "Any or all of you are welcome to come to the Shadows' homeworld of Z'ha'dum, or if you would prefer, to Proxima Three. They wish only peace... and a better understanding between us all." He would not be believed of course, not with both Delenn and G'Kar here. The Narn might be possible to circumvent, but it would be difficult; he had been surrounded by Vorlons for too long. And as for Delenn... Well, with her there were a thousand years of Vorlon indoctrination to get through, and that was simply not going to happen. But he had another trump card to play with her. "We wish only peace," he repeated. "They wish only... to help." * * * * * * * He does not respect you. She does not love you. I will make you stronger. I will make you better than him. I will make her love you. Kozorr sat alone in his cell, thinking. He was alone, but by his own request. He was also, as strange as it may sound, not a prisoner, save by his own will. All the time he had been here he had been sparring with Sonovar, each of them testing their skill with the denn'bok, unarmed, and with other weapons. They were evenly matched, despite Kozorr's injuries. Neither had been able to kill the other. "Imagine you were not injured so," Sonovar had said. "What could you accomplish then? More even than Sinoval, perhaps." He thought of Kats, and wondered ever so tentatively where she was, and what she was doing now. She would be with him, the Primarch, the greatest warrior of this generation, and perhaps of any other. He had told her at last that he loved her. He had been prepared to give his life for her. Would Sinoval have done as much? *She will never love you.* Sonovar had said so. He could be lying. He had lied about a great many things, but Minbari did not lie. Did Kats love him? Could she truly love him? Could she, with Sinoval there? Knowing that the Primarch was greater than him? *She will never love you, not while she is with him. I can help you become greater than him.* He rose to his feet, moving awkwardly. The injuries to his leg seemed more crippling than ever. He raised his arms wide and roared in defiance. He did not know what to do, or what to think. *She will never love you.* "She will love me," he roared. "She... will." * * * * * * * This, more than anything, he did not want to do. Bad enough his duty had brought him to this pathetic planet in the first place, but to be placed here, in this position, to confront his greatest failure... David Sheridan had thought about his son continually for sixteen years, ever since the war had started. He had not seen him for over thirteen of those years, and now he would see him again, fully paid for all the wrong choices he had made. He did not want to, but ties of blood were greater by far than ties of water. He had one last duty to perform for his son. The guards did not see him. The doctors did not see him either. It was late at night. Delenn was not here. He had chosen his time carefully. He was not truly certain who to blame. John had made his own decisions, and the choice to betray his people and his wife had been one of those. He was a man now, and had been so for many years. He had a right to make those decisions. But it was a father's duty to tell his son where he had gone wrong. But then... how much of this had been Delenn's doing? John had been loyal and true before he had met her. He could not decide. There was another fate in store for Delenn, a fate that should serve as a reminder to John of what happened to those she claimed to love. He paused and looked down at the figure in the bed. It hardly looked anything like the young man he remembered. Thirteen years, almost fourteen now... that would change anyone a lot. But this much...? John was asleep, or so it seemed. Jha'dur's subtle revenge was close to claiming him. A few more months at most. Ambassador Sheridan hated Jha'dur for a great many things, but for this more than anything else. His son should not have to die this way, and if Delenn chose correctly he would not have to. Placing his son's fate in her hands... that hurt. In spite of everything that John had done... to Anna, to humanity, to his crew and his Government... in spite of all that, John was still his son. John was beginning to wake up. It was dark in here, but certain... changes had been made to David in order to help him see better. He could see his son's face all too well. He wished he could not. John blinked, and strained to look round. "Wh... who's there?" he asked. His voice was hoarse, rasping. "Who...? Not Delenn..." He fell silent, and his breathing continued as regular, as unnatural as always. "D... Dad," he breathed. "Hello, John. You certainly messed everything up this time, hmm?" To be continued...