From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, Part 1A Date: Fri, 19 Dec 1997 16:37:21 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Oops, left the introductory bit out of the last part. Silly me. Still, I'm sure most of you know the drill by now. This is the latest in my parallel universe saga which began ages ago with A Dark, Distorted Mirror. All the prior stories should be available at the archive, or from me upon request. Feedback is always very welcome. No Spoilers to worry about here. 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. (And yes, I know I forgot this bit last time, but the disclaimer still applies.) Personal Disclaimer: blah blah blah hopeless romantic rhubarb rhubarb not very nice mumble mumble happy endings mutter mutter not promised any. Also, special thanks to Morag Kerr for advice, encouragement, proof reading, formatting and the occasional death threat. * * * * * Chapter 4: The Long Fight, Part 1 of 4 [AT] by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk I am looking into the abyss and cannot help but remember the words spoken so long ago, which hold so much relevance for me today. When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back at you. Sometimes, when my mind is still my own, I wonder at just what I am doing. And then I remember at why I am doing it. The Minbari destroyed my people. They destroyed my home planet, my dreams... our dreams. They took Earth from us, and then Orion 7 and the Belt Alliance, and they tried to take Proxima. They failed, and now we... at least we have the opportunity to hit back. It's been a hard few months, ever since the Second Line. I've had less than two hours sleep a night, and yet I feel... replenished. Fitter than I have in years. I wonder what Marge would think of me now... A rhetorical question of course. She's been dead for eleven years. And it's for her that I am doing this. Her, the kids... everyone's wives and children. We will never be safe while even a single Minbari remains alive. No one will, and so... we take the war to them. This time, things are more even. We've been analysing the technology we salvaged from their ruined ships, and incorporating it into our own. The Narns have been all but begging for access to it. Their war with the Centauri is not going as well as they would like. So much the better. The longer they're occupied, the stronger we become. They took advantage of the Minbari assault to enslave us, but now... now we have the bargaining power. We won't be slaves to anyone. And then of course, we have the technology our allies gave us. The Shadows. I... No... this is not the time or the place to think about them. I'm nervous. I can only be like this in private, of course. In public I have to be strong. I'm President, leader of humanity, the one who will guide us into the future. I know it's late, but I haven't heard back from Captain Smith yet. I doubt I will be able to sleep until I do. He's out there. They're out there... This is the beginning. I'm scared... Morgan Clark, President of the Resistance Government of Humanity. Personal diary, dated June 17th 2259. * * * * * * * Waiting... waiting... each second seeming forever... Captain Dexter Smith found that he was drumming his fingers on the armrest of the chair, and immediately stopped himself, angry at the sign of impatience. Or was it just impatience? There was an air of... unreality about this. This was not his ship, not his bridge, not his chair. In the days before the fall of Earth, transfers and promotions were common. People had a chance to work on a number of ships, learning different techniques, environments. That had changed in the last eleven years. The Babylon had been one of the few heavy destroyers left intact, and the only one to survive the fall of Orion in human hands. The Babylon had become synonymous with Captain John Sheridan, evolving around him. Even though he had been gone for over six months, his spirit was still imbued in the ship, in the bridge, in this chair... Smith got up and began walking around the bridge, but that did not make him any more comfortable. No matter how much time he spent here, this was Sheridan's bridge. Him being here, commanding this crew... Sheridan's crew... it felt wrong. Almost like wearing someone else's clothes. Sheridan was everywhere here. John J. Sheridan. The Starkiller, hero, leader, inspiration... traitor. Smith did not know the exact specifics of Sheridan's flight from Proxima 3 - no one did. The official story was that he had been corrupted by Satai Delenn, his Minbari prisoner, and had fled back to Minbar with her. The stories of the bridge crew who had mysteriously returned the Babylon to Proxima did not seem to confirm this, but then they did not say just where the Babylon had been, either. As humanity was still technically under martial law and a state of emergency, Smith was not surprised by the secrecy. The very fact that Sheridan was a traitor was bad enough, given that he'd been the focal point of humanity's hopes for survival for years. Smith stopped pacing around the bridge, realising he was just revealing his anxieties to the crew. Some of Sheridan's old crew remained, but many were new, just trained up, or drafted from the planet-bound Proxima Defence Force or the Security detachments. There was a surprising number of them. An equally surprising number of mid to high ranking Earthforce officers had survived as well. Oh, a fair number of the prominent ones were dead - General 'Firestorm' Franklin had died at Orion, Jack Maynard at Mars, Ellis Pierce, Sandra Hidoshi... William Hague murdered during the Second Line... But a fair number were still alive. What had General Hague said in one of his more pessimistic moments? "We may not have enough ships, or enough allies, or enough weapons, but we have plenty of captains." So why, Smith couldn't help wondering, was he here? This was, to say the least, an important mission. The Babylon had been refitted, re-modified, incorporating Minbari and... other alien technology, but its greatest test was coming now. To see if it could take on a Minbari cruiser in a fair fight, without Captain Sheridan at the helm. Smith was kept a little out of the major, secret stuff, but he knew that President Clark had designs on taking the war to the Minbari. They were bound to have been affected by the debacle of the Second Line, but still, they could recover far faster than humanity. If the war was ever to be taken to the enemy, then humanity would need a flagship capable of leading the attack. Other ships were currently being built - financed by the massive payments the Resistance Government had wrung from the Narn Government in exchange for the damaged Minbari ships - but the Babylon would always be humanity's focus. So why was Smith here? He was a relative unknown, with nowhere near as distinguished a record as Sheridan, or even a number of his contempor- aries. General Takashima had commanded the Babylon at the Second Line, but there were reports of... irregularities... in her leadership. These were put down to inexperience and combat stress and she had been retired from the front line. Major Ryan meanwhile had been promoted to General following Hague's death, but there were still a number of others... *Stop it! President Clark chose me personally. He obviously thinks I'm the right person and I can't let him down. I can't let humanity down.* Smith had known Sheridan a little. They had been a couple of years apart at the Academy, and Smith had always resented the younger man's meteoric rise, while at the same time admiring his skill. They had not been anything like friends, but still... being here was uncomfortable. Intelligence gained from sources Smith did not want to know about indicated that the Minbari regularly held patrols along a particular border of their space, near a planet inhabited by a weaker people, capable of very limited spaceflight. Smith's brief was simple. Wait in a pocket of hyperspace for a sign of a cruiser, jump out and engage. Being this deep into Minbari territory was not a good thought, but it did have the appeal that the Minbari would surely not expect a human attack here. Assuming of course that Smith was successful in his mission. He didn't have to be on the bridge, he kept telling himself. There would be ample warning of the arrival of the Minbari. He could wait in his quarters, relax... There was no point in being stressed to the point of cardiac arrest on the bridge. Yes, there was... The odds on Smith relaxing anywhere right now were non- existent. "Captain," spoke up one of the lieutenants, an elegant blonde woman named Lieutenant Stoner. Smith did not need to hear the rest. The Minbari ship was coming... * * * * * * * "Thank you for coming, gentlemen, ladies," said President Morgan Clark as he sat down at the table to discuss the future of humanity. He rested back in his chair with an air of dignified patience, yet relaxed informality - a combination he hoped would impress upon them his position as President of Humanity. He was seated next to the small group of people who represented the so- called guiding light of humanity's future. Most of them he despised, others he ignored. To only a few did Clark accord any respect. One of those to whom he did was seated directly opposite him. Mr. Welles - Clark wondered if he even had a first name. Head of Internal Security, Spymaster General, Mr. Welles was arguably the second most powerful person on Proxima, after Clark himself, and Clark was not sure just where the dividing lines were in Welles' mind. The spymaster was intelligent, ambitious and quiet - never a good combination. He also controlled knowledge. Clark knew that knowledge was the greatest power one could possess, which was why he kept the knowledge of his dislike for Welles secret. There was no doubt that the man was a valuable ally - and would make a deadly enemy - but he did possess some... peculiar morals, and his record was not exactly spotless. Next to Welles, but somehow managing to sit as far from him as he could, was the newly promoted General Edward Ryan - successor to the late, largely unlamented General Hague. Ryan was a straight-cut military man, Hague's second and aide for years. A gifted, but by-the-book warrior. Ryan suffered from the same flaw as Hague had - he was an honest man among politicians. Hopefully, Ryan would not suffer the same... personality disorders that had destroyed his predecessor. Opposite Ryan was Catherine Sakai, representative of Interplanetary Expeditions. Clark hated the MegaCorps, and always had. Sometimes in his darker moods he was actually grateful that the fall of Earth had decimated their power. Still, a number of the larger ones had seen it coming and had made heavy investments into off-planet concerns. IPX - by nature based off-Earth - had survived perhaps better than most. They had been valuable allies to the Resistance Government, and their help had enabled successful completion of the Babylon 2 mission, turning up some interesting items of alien technology. Still, Clark had fully appreciated that they would want repayment. Sakai he did not know - IPX had taken a considerable battering with the fall of Orion, but after a few tentative years making deals with the Narns, they had managed to stabilise. Most of their original big business leaders were either dead or retired by now, though, leading to a new order. With renewed hope for a human victory over the Minbari, they were beginning to creep back out of the woodwork. Next to Sakai was another businessman - Taro Isogi. A self-made man who had lost everything, up to and almost including his life, on Mars. Still, he had persevered and rebuilt a great deal from the ground up, expanding his nascent business, calling in old favours and creating some valuable trading routes with alien cultures. As of yet, he had not accomplished anything of major significance, but following the Second Line various alien governments were much more interested in setting up links with Proxima. Clark could see Isogi becoming a major player in the very near future. Opposite Isogi, dressed all in black and projecting an image of being as far away from everyone as she could, was Miss Donne, Psi Cop, rated P12. Officially an adjunct to Welles' Security Force. In reality - as Clark had discovered but was now keeping very secret - an ambassador and spy from the mysterious Mr. Bester. Bester rankled at Clark - although he had helped Proxima from time to time, he had... secrets. He had his own vision of humanity's future, and it did not square with Clark's own. There was something in the way that Bester - that all telepaths - looked at Clark... something that made them little better than Minbari in their arrogance. Donne seemed pleasant enough, but still... Next to her (and Clark silently congratulated himself on placing her next to one of the few people who could make her uncomfortable) was Kha'Mak, emissary to Proxima from the Kha'Ri. The Narns had been humanity's masters ever since the mass exodus from Earth and her solar system. They had taken advantage of a helpless people and had proceeded to tax, work and generally bleed humanity to death. Now, things were changing. Humanity was not so helpless, and the Narns' war with the Centauri was not going according to plan. Kha'Mak was here to demand the aid of humanity's new allies in their war. Clark almost smiled at the thought of a private meeting with Ambassador Kha'Mak. And speaking of humanity's new allies... opposite Kha'Mak and next to Clark, sat the embodiment of those new allies. Ambassador David Sheridan. Clark knew of Sheridan's work as a diplomat - he had retired shortly before the fall of Earth and was presumed to have died there. How he had survived, how he had come to be Ambassador from the Shadows, what he knew of his son's... less than patriotic activities... all mysteries. Clark wondered how much Welles had managed to work out yet. Sheridan was scarily professional, competent and displaying every inch of the expertise that had made him one of the greatest diplomats in Earth Alliance history. Of course, there were four missing from earlier meetings... General Hague was dead, of course. The official verdict was that he had been murdered by alien infiltrators. Unofficially... he had blown his own brains out. Former President Marie Crane was, officially, recovering from a long and debilitating illness. Unofficially... the poison had been fairly difficult to get hold of. She was far better kept alive and ill than dead and a target for historians. Former Shadow Ambassador Susan Ivanova was still recovering from injuries. Officially, once she was fully fit then she would join Ambassador Sheridan's staff. Unofficially, Clark did not know... And that left General Takashima. Officially, she was undergoing psychiatric treatment for delayed shock syndrome, manifest in her attack on humanity's Shadow allies during the Second Line, and was therefore temporarily removed from her position. Unofficially... Clark was keeping his eye on her. "Ladies and gentlemen," Clark said, sitting forward. He almost smiled at the news he was about to present. He was nervous, he was suspicious, and he was only too aware of how precariously things stood, but he had just received this news - which meant Welles already knew - and if he did not bring it up now then Welles would. All of humanity was tipping on the edge of the abyss and Clark could feel it looking up at him. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have just received word from Captain Dexter Smith, aboard the EAS Babylon. He has intercepted a Minbari vessel, and is engaging. "The... test of our hopes for the future has begun." * * * * * * * This should have been simple. Smith and his command crew had been going over the details of this attack for weeks. The Minbari ship had been located and the Babylon had been brought out of hyperspace... The old technique for fighting the Minbari had been pioneered by Captain Sheridan. Using a swarm of Starfuries and massive, wide-ranging dispersion fire, hopefully some damage would be inflicted on the Minbari ship. This would then be followed by the release of a Narn-made heat- seeking fusion bomb, which would lock on to the damage and explode on impact, destroying the enemy ship. As tactics went, it was risky, wasteful and open to any number of counterattacks by the Minbari, but it was one of the few methods available then. That was then... Using technology provided by the wreckage of Minbari ships from the Second Line, the Babylon was now capable of targeting their enemy with direct fire. Both broadsides had been increased in strength, power and durability. The Babylon's jump engines were more efficient, and a highly sophisticated form of shielding and electronic countermeasures had been installed. Where these had come from, Smith did not know... This plan was simple. Target the Minbari's main engines, using modified weapons that shut down their jump engines but left the ship relatively intact. Shutting down the weapons systems would be accomplished with some strategically placed low powered forward battery fire. Starfuries would harry the flanks and back and deal with any Minbari flyers. Ultimately, broadsides would pierce the hull of certain areas. Hopefully, the ship would be captured more or less intact, with some prisoners. That was the plan. As the Minbari ship loomed up before him, graceful, elegant, even beautiful, Smith began the process which would set humanity back on the road to its destiny. * * * * * * * One... more... step... Susan Ivanova strained forward, resting almost all of her weight on the parallel bars at either side of her. *Come... on. Just... one... more.* No use. Her legs collapsed beneath her and her arms fell away from the bars, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her landing was not awkward and she was only winded, but far greater than the pain of flesh was the pain of shame... of knowing that she was yet again little more than a pathetic cripple who had failed in her duty and was now not even able to walk. She rolled over on to her back, blinking as she looked up at the lights. She had purposely kept them dim here in her room. Bright light gave her headaches these days, but even this dim light seemed to pierce through to her soul. She winced as she began to crawl over to her wheelchair. She'd been told that she had been in a coma for over a month. She'd been told that she was lucky to be alive. She'd been told many things, few of which she cared to hear. She had forgotten a great deal about the last few hours before her coma. Much of the time before that had come back to her, but that last chain of events... Flash... *she was in bed with a man tall dark bearded he was crying she was killing him thrusting a long metal staff through his chest breaking his heart a woman was screaming her was it her who was screaming or was it another a telepath the telepath who ripped through her mind shredding her memories violating her down to her very essence the telepath who destroyed her thoughts destroyed her flesh struck her with her own weapon the weapon she had taken from a Minbari the Minbari whom she had tried to kill but hadn't* Flash... Susan Ivanova opened her one functioning eye and swore under her breath, clambering up into her wheelchair. So, she'd learned what she'd suspected, her trademark Russian cynicism proving right again. Her legs were still not strong enough to bear her weight for more than a few steps, even with support. *Well, Susotchka,* came the voice from her mind. *You quit too early. You always quit too early.* "Go away, Father," she whispered, her voice now hoarse and rasping. "You're dead." But was he dead? Was she dead? Was she nothing more than a ghost in the middle of an endless carousel of voices from her past, of memories she hated, of pains never to be relieved? Her door chimed and she raised her head. "Open," she said, not knowing why. The only visitors she had received since her recovery had been her doctors, and it wouldn't be one of them, not at this time. Perhaps the new Shadow Ambassador had finally arrived to pay his compliments... He had not. In walked a strong, dedicated-looking woman wearing the uniform of an Earthforce general. She seemed to hesitate on seeing Ivanova, but then she straightened. "General Takashima," Susan whispered. "I..." She coughed and spoke a little louder, searching for a memory... something she knew. "I heard you had been retired." "Temporary sick leave," Takashima replied. "It was... stress-related." Stress? Was that what they called it? Takashima had... well, she had done something. Susan couldn't quite remember what. Takashima had never held a great deal of power in the Resistance Government anyway, but... Susan shook her head. There had been the glimmerings of something important there, but it was gone. "What... what do you want with me?" she finally asked. "Remember, I don't have much influence with the Resistance Government these days. Certainly not enough to restore you to your former position." "I don't want that," came the reply. "I'm... happy where I am. No, I came here to see you. To see how you have been doing." Susan gave a sardonic laugh, which she immediately regretted because of the pain in her throat. "Oh, fine. Fine." Takashima walked closer towards Susan. "There was no need for that," she said. "Believe it or not, there are some people who care about you, and who are worried about you. I came to see if I can help." "General..." Susan began. "We hardly exchanged five words before my... accident and your... stress-related illness. Why are you so concerned about me now?" "It was when I saw you in a coma. I realised that... no one should have to go through what you did." Susan began moving herself towards the other end of the room. "I've been through worse," she muttered. "Do you want a drink?" "Water will be fine." "Then I hope you don't mind if I have a vodka. Difficult stuff to get hold of these days, but my... former position had some influence. I managed to save a bottle or two." She began pouring the drinks. "Do you drink much?" "Just enough to keep the wolf away." Takashima obviously did not understand. "A Russian folk tale. Something my father used to tell me. My... particular wolf... is the dreams I get... always the same time each night. Sometimes... they're so bad I prefer not to sleep, but the doctors tell me I have to sleep." Softly: "What sort of dreams?" "Have you ever been trapped in your worst nightmare, only to wake up and find that it wasn't a nightmare at all? Where everything you fear is hiding under your bed really is?" Takashima mutely shook her head. "That's what I dream about. Do you know, you are the only person other than a doctor to visit me since I was... hurt?" "I suppose I am," muttered Takashima. "I... suppose I am." * * * * * * * From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, Part 1B Date: Fri, 19 Dec 1997 16:42:00 +0000 The Long Fight, Part 1B of 4 [AT] by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk The Minbari ship shuddered as both broadsides tore into its side. Elegantly, almost beautifully, it recovered, and with almost poetic grace swooped down on the Babylon. "Status!" Captain Smith barked. "Targeting's working fine," replied Lieutenant Franklin, manning his usual position at helm. One of the Babylon stalwarts. "We're hitting them easily, but the low-level fire that was going to take out their weapons systems isn't working. I don't know why." "Needs a little modifying," Smith muttered. "Evasive action. Bring us around, and hammer them with right broadsides." The whole ship rocked, but Smith managed to keep his balance. That must only have been a glancing blow. Perhaps the shielding or electronic dispersal methods were working better than they'd expected. "Engines in sight," replied Franklin. "Forward batteries..." The Minbari evaded the powerful shot with contemptuous speed. An energy arc burst outwards, tearing into the Babylon's flank. "Forward batteries off-line," Franklin said. "I don't know what's going on down there..." "An overload," Smith said. "Shut the whole area down and order the crew to evacuate." He looked up, and could practically feel the Minbari bearing down on them. This was not going according to plan... * * * * * * * "That went well, don't you think?" "I suppose so," muttered Welles in reply. Clark looked at him intently. He never knew what Welles was thinking, and that worried him. Behind him, Ambassador Sheridan was standing silently. "Of course it went well," Clark said, stretching out. "Isogi agreed to our trade recommendations, Sakai will report back to her bosses, who will undoubtedly point themselves in the direction marked money and provide us with the vital funding we need, and Ryan shows all the hallmarks of being a better military leader than his predecessor was." "General Ryan said next to nothing throughout the meeting," Welles remarked. "Exactly, but don't tell me you didn't see how uncomfortable he was. An honest man among politicians, but he tries to hide it. Yes, I think he'll do well." "On the other hand," Welles noted, "Sakai and Isogi did raise some interesting points between them. You've been trying hard to convince them that we're back on track again. We are going to need the income from their corporations if we're going to expand, and yet we have nothing to show them. We have no sign of proof we can defeat the Minbari yet, and they're still jittery about Captain Sheridan's... departure." An uncharacteristic slip of the silver tongue - or was it deliberate? You could never be sure with Welles. Clark could feel Ambassador Sheridan's eyes darkening at the mention of his son. "We have no proof that we can win this war, and they remember Orion." "We all remember Orion, Mr. Welles." "I know, but we have no visible signs of growth, of economic or legislative improvement. The Wartime Emergencies Provisions are still in force, the Senate is still disbanded, we're still issuing the public welfare recommendations..." "We are still in a state of war, Mr. Welles. Why should be take back the necessary provisions at this time?" "We shouldn't. Only a fool would do that, but the fact is the megacorps - or what remains of them - want stability, and these provisions are all signs of not knowing where the next meal is coming from or whether the sky will be filled with molten rain any second." "I thought war was good for business?" "So they say... but this isn't war. It's survival. The businesses need proof that we're past the famine, the fear, the threat of defeat... only then will they give us what we really need." "They'll have that proof soon enough, Mr. Welles. You see, war is good for business, but only so long as you are winning. Captain Smith, the new ships, our allies... we are going to win." "It's short term. Everything. Terminally short term. If we don't win..." "An economist as well, Mr. Welles?" remarked Ambassador Sheridan. Clark started, and even Welles blinked. "I didn't know you had so many skills." "Merely... considering all eventualities, Ambassador." "Anyway, we thank you for your concern, Mr. Welles," said Clark. "I have no doubt that you have duties to return to..." Welles knew a dismissal when he heard one. He inclined his head in a gesture of respect, and then left. Clark waited until he could be sure Welles was gone, and then he turned to Ambassador Sheridan. "I think you just made an enemy," he noted. "An enemy of mine is an enemy of humanity," Sheridan replied, unconcerned. "I should hope that Mr. Welles would not let a... personal slight interfere with the common good." "Of course not," Clark smiled. "And speaking of the common good... a great deal of what he said was true. We do need proof that we can win. Now, Captain Smith and the Babylon should be enough, but what if they aren't? Victory doesn't necessarily need to be all our own work. If your allies can lend us some aid... perhaps take out a Minbari cruiser quietly, which we can attribute to our own ships..." "Ah... ah. We will give you the world, and you still beg for scraps. We have given you alliances with races older and more powerful than almost any who can oppose you. We have given you technology to rebuild your ships and defences. We have given you victory, and hope, and the chance of further life... We have given you all this, and still you ask for more." "I was just wondering... Your help at the Second Line was open, aggressive, militaristic. Yes, there were... unexpected eventualities, but you still showed no fear. Why are you so... wary now?" "The Second Line was a special circumstance, as you know..." "Is it the Vorlons?" "What?" The word was quiet, soft, almost a whisper, but it harboured more menace than Clark had ever heard. "Their arrival was... one of those unexpected eventualities I mentioned. Fortunately, it is not public knowledge. I doubt if even Mr. Welles knows of their presence, although all things are possible. All the officers who saw the Vorlon ships reported directly to me, and have been ordered to keep silent. "So?" "So what?" "So are the Vorlons the reason why you are being so circumspect?" Ambassador Sheridan seemed to be silently debating something. "To a certain degree, yes. The Vorlons are almost as old as our allies, and almost as powerful. They share an enmity with our allies which goes back millennia. Fortunately the Vorlons will not interfere with you, but they could make life difficult for our allies if we move too openly. Give us time, and we will rebuild our forces sufficiently to be able to destroy them... "Besides, there are other concerns. As the saying goes, if we give you a fish today, you eat well tonight; but if we teach you to fish, you eat well every night of your life." Clark smiled. "Trust me to bandy words with a diplomat. Thank you, Ambassador. You have set my mind at rest perfectly." "It is a pleasure to serve." After the Ambassador was gone, Clark rested his elbows on the table and began to think. Welles and Sheridan. Neither of them had addressed him by his proper title, and neither of them had told him anything approaching the truth. Both of them thought of him as someone to be ignored. Well, he was not to be ignored by anyone. Anyone at all. And the alien voice in his mind told him so. * * * * * * * "Give me some sort of evasive manoeuvre! Anything!" Smith was not looking at the tactical displays before him, but directly forward, practically staring through steel and plastic and space... gazing at the Minbari ship swooping towards him. The enemy. They were the enemy, and if he was ever to become anything greater than he was now, if he was ever to achieve the ambitions he had harboured all his life, then he would have to be victorious here. This would be his greatest test. The ship rocked, but Smith remained rooted to his seat. He would not move. He would not fall. The enemy was there, before him, practically within his reach... "Forward batteries back, sir!" shouted Franklin. Smith leapt to his feet. "Fire!" With two swift bursts the forward weapons of the Babylon opened fire, tearing into the Minbari ship before him. Smith could almost see it, clear and precise before his eyes. He could see it die. "I think we hit their engines, sir. It's..." Franklin sat back. "It's gone. Destroyed." Smith knew that even without being told. He had somehow felt them die. "It's beginning," he whispered. "A new start." He didn't know whether to be delighted or terrified. He had a feeling though, that whichever one he chose, it would be the wrong emotion. * * * * * * * *There is a monster on the throne.* Mr. Welles entered the private sanctuary of his office and sat down on the private throne of his chair. Everything was quiet, a silence as still as the grave. All around him viewscreens were on, relaying everything his cameras recorded around the Main Dome. Subordinates on other domes sometimes relayed their details to him as well. Their frenzied, frenetic images were silent; all just puppets dancing on unseen strings. Welles sat back, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Clark... what Clark was doing was dangerous. Not dangerous in its own right, but regarding Ambassador Sheridan. Welles had asked Clark those questions to try to bait him. The response he had received had not been encouraging. *There is a monster, not on the throne, but behind it.* Welles had long been experiencing doubts about humanity's new allies. Ambassador Ivanova had been guilty of certain... irregularities, and Welles knew a great deal about the death of Marcus Cole. Not everything, but he had managed to identify Ivanova as his killer. Simple enough really. She was of course immune from any form of prosecution. She not only enjoyed diplomatic immunity, but the Wartime Emergency Provisions granted total freedom from prosecution to anyone deemed to be of special value to humanity. People such as Miss Donne, the high-ranking telepath who dabbled in serial killing as a sideline. People like the directors of Interplanetary Expeditions, who were indirectly guilty of who knew how many deaths in their simple quest for money. People like, say, a President who had poisoned his predecessor. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. A great deal of knowledge is more dangerous still. Welles lived his life for understanding, for order. He wasn't finding it. Not on Earth, not on Orion, and not here. *There are monsters in the throne room.* He contemplated making contact with G'Kar. He had been following the Narn's progress for some time. It was... interesting, to say the least. He had never met him personally, but still. Now there was a dangerous soul if ever there was one. There was danger everywhere. *We are all monsters.* Welles sat alone, in silence. * * * * * * * Smith had no need to speak. He had already learned almost everything he needed to know. "Most of our systems were overloaded," Franklin was reporting. "The weapons especially. The power conduits kept shutting down. They evidently couldn't handle the forces working through them. "Targeting worked fine. We were already heading in that direction anyway, but we were able to target the Minbari easily. Just as if it was an Earth ship. Better even. "The pulses that were supposed to take out their jump engines and weapons systems didn't work. The engineers have traced the problem to a fault in the electronics relays. They've got no idea how to fix it though. Some of the technology isn't knitting together very well." "What about the jamming system?" Smith asked. "They didn't get a chance to get a message back to Minbar?" "No. No chance of that. The jammers worked perfectly." "Well... it's not perfect, but it worked. The President might be annoyed that we destroyed the ship rather than capturing it, but still... it's working, and that's what counts. How are the salvage crews doing?" "They estimate another twenty minutes or so before the remains are brought on board." Smith quickly calculated a few figures. "That should leave us plenty of time before any other ship is likely to come out this way. Good. But make sure the salvage is done as quickly as possible." He rose to his feet. "I think I should tell the President." To Be Continued... From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, Part 2A [AT] [AC] Date: Tue, 6 Jan 1998 19:51:02 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Hi people - hope everyone had a good Christmas and New Year. Here's the next part in my parallel universe saga, began a long time ago with A dark, Distorted Mirror. Feedback, questions, comments and death threats are all welcome at the address below. There are slight Spoilers for the episode Lines of Communication. Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and copyright of Warner Bros. and/or jms. I am making no money out of writing this and am doing so purely for pleasure. Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm a nice hopeless romantic. There, warning delivered. * * * * * Chapter Four - The Long Fight, Part 2A of 4 [AT][AC] by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk Alone, frightened, the last true seeker of the Holy Grail was dying. How many would care about his death? How many had cared about his life? A wife, a daughter, ripped completely from his life by uncaring Minbari fleets. A fit body, ruined by an attack on one of the last refugee ships to leave Mars. He had not wanted to leave, but he had been forced to do so, literally pulled on to the ship. How many to care? None now. He was the last of his family, the last of his order, dying alone. He had spent a few years on Orion, living in despair, trapped in his own private grief while all around him humanity tried to rebuild. He had not even tried. And then, a chance meeting. The purest of coincidences put him in the same place as a dying man, who, as he died, begged Aldous to continue his quest - to find the Holy Grail. At first it had seemed madness. The Grail, here, now? Insanity. But as Aldous sought awkward, empty sleep alone he found his mind and soul becoming suffused with images of the Grail, its sacred, perfect beauty reaching out to him. Perhaps if he found it, he could use it to heal humanity. He could see it constantly whenever he closed his eyes, knowing it had not been destroyed on Earth, knowing that it still existed... somewhere. And now it would remain forever lost. He had half-hoped that someone would be here when he died, someone to pass the burden on to, but no. There was no one. He did not even know where this was. A simple waystation, somewhere in Narn space. A port of call perhaps, a place for smugglers, thieves, survivors. No place for an old man with a weak heart. An old man whose heart had finally failed him. To die alone... the greatest... sorrow of them all. And then there was movement, and Aldous Gajic found himself, at the point of death, unwittingly responsible for one of the most significant moments in the history of the galaxy. He would not know this of course, for he did not live beyond that day, but perhaps the knowledge would have made his death a little easier? The figure before him did not make it any easier. It looked like the spectre of death. Tall, thin, a cold demeanour in its face, a bright jewel somehow implanted in its forehead. "You are dying," it said, and... Aldous wondered how he could understand it. It was like no alien he had ever seen before, but it spoke English. Perfectly. Yet... surely no living being could speak English with such a cold, hollow, alien voice. Dead. The voice sounded dead. "There is no need to fear," said the alien. "There will be little pain, and when it is over, your soul will be preserved forever, immortal and changeless." There was something behind the alien, a machine of some sort. Aldous tried to look at it, but his eyes were growing dim. He could not see... clearly. "The... Grail," he whispered. "You... will..." He couldn't get the words out. "Be still," said the alien, words presumably meant to comfort. They did nothing of the sort. "It will be over soon." There was... a something. Even fit and healthy and in his prime, Aldous could not have identified what it was that alerted him to the arrival of the second newcomer. He did speak, eventually, but Aldous was aware of his presence before then. There was no sound from his movements, even his footsteps were silent. And even if Aldous could have seen clearly, the figure would have been little more than a silhouette. No, this was something primal, a sense that he was in the presence of one who could command Gods, shatter planets, bend nations to his design through sheer force of will. Force of personality, force of destiny, force of the future billions screaming his name. "Greetings, Shagh Toth," said Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan, leader of all Minbar. * * * * * * * Delenn, former Satai, former opponent of Sinoval, was blissfully unaware of his current situation. Even had she been aware of it, she would not have appreciated the irony. Sinoval was present at the death of one man. Delenn had witnessed the deaths of many. For months, Kazomi 7 had been a world ruled only by the dead. The alien Drakh had invaded, without warning, without declaration, without mercy. They had killed and tortured and destroyed. Children, the infirm, the rich, the poor. None of it mattered to them. They had nearly killed Delenn herself. Through luck, through will, through destiny, she had survived. She had finally accomplished what she had first envisaged almost a year before: her transformation. A bridge between two peoples. She was soon to realise that a bridge was needed between many more than two peoples, but that lay in her future. For now, there were other concerns. "They are gone?" she whispered, seemingly unable to believe it. "Why?" "Yes," replied the human before her. No ordinary human, though. Vejar was a technomage, wielder of a power greater than most mortals could comprehend, custodian of secrets that had remained hidden for millennia. "They are gone." Delenn rose to her feet, and caught a renewed sense of wonder at being able to do something so simple as walking. Her weakness had seemed to last forever, instead of just a few months. The two of them were not alone, although in a sense they were both alone - strangers, survivors, exiles even. From their own peoples at least. Elsewhere in this room, crying, sobbing, sleeping, dying... were the survivors. Those who had escaped the Drakh, those who had hidden from them. Some were leaders, a few had even attempted a sort of resistance. Most were just lucky. This building had been used as a base for the technomages during their stay on the planet. They had been using Kazomi 7 as a staging ground for their final journey... where to, they would not say. It had been their presence which had drawn the Drakh here. The Shadows had sent them, charging them with the task of destroying the technomages... at least that was what Delenn believed. She chose to believe that there had been a reason for all this... that it made some sort of sense, no matter how absurd or horrific. Anything was better than the thought that the Drakh had come here to kill simply because they loved to kill. "They are gone." And now... it was over. Or was it? Had the Drakh really gone? Or was this just another stage of the nightmare that had engulfed Kazomi 7? "The last ships left today. There are no Drakh left on the planet. Trust me, I would know." Looking at her companion, Delenn supposed that he would. In appearance, Vejar was... normal. For a human. Delenn had spent almost a year among humans, and there was little to distinguish Vejar from many of the others she had known. Except for his eyes. They revealed in full the power he commanded, and the grief he felt. In her heart, Delenn knew why the Drakh had finally left, after an occupation of several months. Yesterday, the technomages had left as well. How, she did not know. Why they had waited, she did not know either. Elric had simply said that the time was right. He had not spoken to Delenn before his departure, but he had shared a few words with Londo and Lennier. After that, he had simply... gone. Delenn had been sitting alone after that, unable to bear the sound of the crying. A child had died the night before, so consumed with terror that its screams had crushed its lungs. She had not even been able to remember what race it had been. Vejar had come up to her. He had looked... uneasy, upset... alone. He had raised his head and looked into her eyes. "The others are gone," he had said simply. "The... time was right." Delenn had blinked. She had always known that the technomages were planning to leave, but events had blanked it from her memory. "Gone?" she had said softly. "Gone?" "The time was right." "But... you stayed?" "I... my place is here for the moment. I feel I can... do more here." "Gone?" Delenn had shaken her head. A great deal was unfamiliar to her in this new, mostly human body, but she was sure that the endless sound in her ears wasn't natural. It was screaming. "Gone? Gone!" She had suddenly leapt to her feet. "How can they be gone? Listen to them out there! Alone, dying... you could have done so much to help them, and what did you do? Nothing, beyond let them die!" "Shouting will not ease their pain," Vejar had replied. "You could have done so much, and yet you did so little." "I know. That is why I remained here. There is... something I can do." Delenn had looked up and met his eyes. He was lying. And now the second invader of Kazomi 7 had gone as well. Their target had left, so their presence was no longer necessary. Delenn felt sick. She began to walk slowly around the room. She did not need to do this. As Londo had said, the sight of those here only upset her, but she felt it was something she simply had to do. Londo was not far away. Lennier was beside him, but he moved away quickly once he saw Delenn arrive. Londo was sitting beside an alien child, from a race so insignificant Delenn had not even heard of them before. "How is he?" she asked. "Bad," Londo replied softly. "I do not think he will last another day." "Mamya?" whispered the child. "Tatya? I'm sorry... I believe... I... believe." Delenn knelt down beside him. "They know, Shon. They know." "They died, didn't they? They..." Delenn looked away. Shon and his parents had been on a pilgrimage of sorts, stopping at Kazomi 7 during their return to their home planet. They had been caught by the arrival of the Drakh. Shon's father had been killed instantly; his mother had been badly wounded, but had lived for almost two weeks before dying quietly here. Shon was not wounded, but the sight of the Drakh... the sight of his parents... he had been losing the desire to live for some time. Delenn wondered if the respiratory condition he was now developing was a release. He would be lucky to survive more than a few days. "We should make our way to the Central Command," Vejar was saying. "Perhaps we can re- access interstellar communications, call for some ships... some medical assistance." Delenn recognised the validity of that, but she could not say anything. They had been operating here for so long with so little, eating what little food the survivors brought with them, or what could be found. They had no equipment, no bandages, no medicines. The technomages, with all their vaunted power, had not been prepared to stoop to heal dying children. "I will go," Londo said, rising to his feet. "You stay here, Delenn." "No... I will go as well. I... need to." She needed to see what was left of Kazomi 7, needed to torture herself by looking at the bodies of the dead, those she had not been able to save. "I'll go and talk to a few of the scouts," Vejar said. "Their help will be necessary, especially if the Drakh have left a few... surprises behind." Delenn nodded, but she was still not listening. All she could hear were the screams of the dying... and the louder screams of the living. * * * * * * * There was a still moment, as two ancient enemies locked their gaze. Minbari and Soul Hunter. Soul preserver and soul destroyer. Servant of life, minion of death. Two spirits come to war for the soul of the dying. "Stand aside, Minbari," rasped the Soul Hunter. "This is not your place." "My place is wherever I choose to make it," spoke Sinoval, his voice calm and at peace. Alone still, even in company, Aldous Gajic could only watch, as much as his failing eyesight would allow, could only listen to as much as he could understand. He was not sure which moved first, and all motion was blurred, would have been blurred even to eyes far clearer than his. The Soul Hunter was not using a weapon, but it did not seem to need one. The Minbari was; a short, sharp dagger. The fight was over within seconds, the Soul Hunter lying on the floor, alive, but unconscious. Sinoval was the consummate warrior of his generation. There had only been two who were ever his equals. One was dead and the other... lost. And then Sinoval was speaking directly to Aldous himself. This... angel of life, this... bringer of death. "Rest easy, true seeker. It is a hard thing, to live your whole life in search of a dream and never to find it. It is perhaps harder still, to live your whole life in search of a dream, and then find it, wondering just where your life lies now. "Rest easily..." Aldous tried to speak, but the words would not come out. It was probably just as well. He did not know what to say in any case. His eyes closed, and his part in history was over. Sinoval had turned to the downed Soul Hunter even before Aldous' eyes were closed. * * * * * * * "A small matter, Alyt Kozorr..." Kozorr resisted the temptation to express his irritation. With all of Minbari society seemingly collapsing around his head, he had no time for small matters. Or for medium matters, middling matters or even fairly large matters, in fact. Sometimes, Kozorr believed he was the only warrior on Minbar who had kept his sanity. "Yes, Administrator Forell?" A priestling, by Valen's name. Kozorr might have expected that in the new society, priestlings would hesitate before even speaking to a warrior, the ordained of Valen. But some things never changed. "The Togashi has not returned from its patrol around the Norsai territories and the outlying colonies." Kozorr stepped backwards, keeping his face blank. A routine patrol, that was all. Still, he knew the Alyt of the Togashi. Not the sort of person to delay on patrol. Had there been a problem? "Any news from the sensors along our defence line?" he asked. It could be the Enemy. They had made no decisive action since the disastrous attack on the Earthers, but that did not mean they were silent. "I... haven't checked them yet, Alyt..." "Then do so!" Kozorr snapped. In Valen's Name, he should not have to put up with this from a priestling! Had contact with the Earthers rotted Forell's mind? Had he been ruling the captured colony for so long that he had become just like a human? "And may I remind you in future, Administrator Forell, that I am not to be bothered for anything that is not serious! You know the procedure when a ship is late from patrol! Contact the defence lines, send out a search party, and contact a higher authority only if and when you have something worth saying. "Let me know what you find, assuming you actually find anything!" Kozorr shut off the communication and stormed from his chambers in a blind fury. So that was the face of Kalain's new Minbar, was it? Incompetent priestlings still ruling everything, just as they always had! So much for a return to the days when the warriors ruled all. Perhaps Kalain should do to the religious caste what he had done to the workers... He stopped that thought the instant it arose, but that was too late. The workers... The massacre had slowed down by now, the fire having burnt itself to an ember, but the cost... in almost half a cycle, at least two thirds of the worker caste population had been systemically butchered - hunted down, killed, tortured, mutilated. They had fled as best they could, many seeking refuge off-planet, or in cities such as Tuzanor, isolated places where they could hide and where warriors did not go. Not even Kalain would order blood shed in Tuzanor. But still, the cost... the sheer, dreadful cost. The purging had begun the instant Kalain returned from the debacle at Proxima. Sinoval might have stopped it, but Sinoval had disappeared. According to Kalain, Sinoval had gone to seek Valen, to bring him back to aid their cause, and he, Kalain, was to rule in his absence. Perhaps that was true, perhaps it was not, but Kozorr doubted very much that Sinoval had had this slaughter in mind for 'ruling'. But then, there were reasons enough for the massacre. The Grey Council, a thousand years of history, destroyed, killed by one of their own. Old Hedronn had been the first to die of course, although few realised it at the time. He had returned to Minbar somehow and had made his way to Tuzanor, the City of Sorrows. He had knelt there, in public, uttering rasping, sorrowing prayers to Valen, waiting for the warrior caste, led by Kalain himself, to come for him. Kozorr had been there. He remembered the sight of Kalain standing before Hedronn, threatening to kill him. He remembered Hedronn begging Kalain to spare his caste, and Kalain's agreement, if Hedronn went with him. The former Satai did, and two steps outside the threshold of Tuzanor, Kalain had killed him, nailing his body so high up on the mountain that everyone could see it and yet no one could fetch it down. Kozorr remembered what Kalain had said then, to those within the city and those without. "This city is cursed! In Valen's Name, it will be destroyed, crushed by his fury from the heavens. I will not shed blood here, but I will not need to. Valen himself shall erase this very place from existence. When Sinoval returns, with Valen and the Gods of old at his side, this place shall cease to be." Kozorr was very afraid that maybe Kalain actually believed that. He did not know where Sinoval had gone, but he did not believe that he was coming back, and he was certain that Minbar as he knew it was gone. "Valen bless us all," he whispered. He had never prayed before Proxima. Now he found himself doing so every day. No Grey Council - although Kalain had been promising to re-form it ever since it had been broken - no unity, no workers. Minbari had slain Minbari. Kozorr suddenly looked up and realised that he was lost. His wanderings had taken him to a part of the ship he had never seen before. Unsurprising, really. This was the ship of the Grey Council, after all, and few who were not Satai or chosen to serve them had ever come here. They did now. In twisted mockery, Kalain now ruled from here. Kozorr did not like this ship. Everything was haunted. He half expected to find the ghosts of Shakat, Matokh, Rathenn... even Dukhat. He did not expect to find Deeron. Rounding a corner he almost literally walked into her. Stopping and inclining his head slightly in respect, he looked at her. Heir to Kalain aboard the *Trigati and therefore heir to Sinoval, she was an imposing figure, having seen a great deal more front-line action than Kozorr himself. If there was anyone Kalain trusted, it would be her. But there were rumours, whispers that Deeron had once been far more than she was now, rumours that she and Sinoval had once undergone the sleep watching and she had rejected him. Just rumours. "Shai Alyt," Kozorr said, acknowledging her presence. Strictly speaking the title was not hers, but the entire hierarchy had been badly shaken up since Proxima, and she certainly wielded the power of a Shai Alyt, if not the name. "Alyt Kozorr," she replied formally. "Are you going somewhere?" "Merely... thinking." "Oh. And what were you thinking about?" "Everything, and nothing." Criticising Kalain was not wise, let alone hinting that his actions had brought anything but good to Minbar. Kozorr doubted that he would be killed for such presumption - Kalain had not yet gone that far - but a transfer to a less than prestigious position might easily result. Kozorr's position as aide and emissary was one he had worked too hard for to lose. "Very deep of you, Alyt Kozorr," Deeron said, making a noise that might have been a laugh. "Are you sure you aren't turning into a priest?" "My heart has always been that of a warrior, Shai Alyt." "I do not doubt it. Well, I will not interrupt your thinking. Isil'zha veni, Alyt." "Isil'zha veni, Shai Alyt." Kozorr watched as Deeron walked away, and then he continued his wanderings, convinced that soon enough he would find his way back to areas he knew. At least with regard to this ship. With regard to society and the future, he knew he would never return to anything he had ever known. Things had changed far too much for that. * * * * * * * Delenn wished she could avert her eyes from the scenes she witnessed as she passed through the streets of Kazomi 7. Inwardly, that was. Outwardly she walked as proud and as straight as any ruler or priestess. A ruler with rags for clothes, covered in dust and dirt and blood, with the gaze of the dying in her eyes and their screams in her ears. All around her were scattered the bodies of the dead, some almost unrecognisable, some evidently fresh, recent corpses. The smell of death tainted her, but she endured it. She had to. Londo put his hand on her shoulder. She flinched instinctively at his touch. "Delenn, you are walking too fast." Was she? It seemed as though she was walking through air that was as thick as stone. "We had better wait here. The Command Centre is just beyond that street. Wait for the scouts to return." Delenn nodded, barely able to speak. She sat down against a wall. It was dirty, but she didn't mind. She didn't care. She wondered why she was so affected by the sight of this place. She had been here for months - surely she knew what had been done here. She had heard tales from those who had come to her. She had imagined what the Drakh would be doing... She did not remember whether the devastation here was worse or less bad than she had imagined. The buildings demolished, the streets torn, the debris and rubble and tattered remains of people's possessions everywhere... these she had expected. The sight of the dead... no matter how horribly she had seen them in her mind's eye, the reality was worse. She wondered if... A movement behind her. She rose and slowly walked around the wall. Once it had been part of a guardhouse, where dull Bulloxian mercenaries had served to keep order at the behest of the Drazi who paid them. Now it was a shell with only one wall standing, scattered with the bodies of the Bulloxians. Not even their strength had saved them from the Drakh. Slowly, Delenn moved around and over the rubble. She had heard movement. A survivor perhaps? Maybe a prisoner trapped in the rubble. It was possible that some in the cells had been missed by the Drakh. It was possible... She clambered over a pile of rubble and saw a Drazi, lying still before her. She could not see any movement. Slowly, she knelt down beside him and reached out to touch his forehead. If he was alive, she would feel the warmth of the frontal lobes there. Delenn had learnt a great deal about alien anatomies recently. The Drazi's eyes snapped open and his arm lunged out, catching her by the throat, forcing her backwards. She gasped, thrashing at his wrist with blows as ineffectual as insect stings. She had always known the Drazi to be strong, but surely they had never been this strong... His arm felt as though it were formed from stone... "Make... it... stop!" he hissed in guttural, awkward Trader Speak. "Make... it... stopppp!" Delenn could not breathe, her vision swimming. "Make it stop!" He forced her backwards, practically hurling her to the ground. She gave up fumbling at his arm and scrabbled for a piece of rock, anything. Her fingers closed around a shard and she clawed it up. Her fingernails tore and broke. "Make... it...!" The Drazi never finished. Delenn brought the rock up against the side of his skull. She could hear the thick, heavy bones crack. He released his grip and fell back, as she stared at his body in mute horror. She hadn't meant to strike him that hard... Surely... She was not allowed to complete that thought. Her legs gave way and she crumpled, only just holding on to consciousness. Her body fell on top of the Drazi's. Even through the haze surrounding her, she could see him. He could not be dead... *please Valen let him not be dead.* But he was. From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, part 2B Date: Tue, 6 Jan 1998 19:51:13 +0000 The Long Fight, Part 2B by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk Sinoval made sure the bonds on the Soul Hunter were tight, then sat back, waiting for it to wake. He had not really meant to hit his opponent that hard, but there were some things the Vindrizi had not been able to tell him, and that included just how to hit Soul Hunters so that they fell down and stayed there just long enough. He flicked a quick gaze at the human. In death, he actually looked vaguely content. Imagine, the first true seeker he had found in a long time and it was a human. There was no sense in the galaxy. Of course, Sinoval supposed that he was now a true seeker as well. Now there was an unpleasant thought. The idea for this particular bit of insanity had arisen shortly after his confrontation with the Soul Hunter back on the Vindrizi's sanctuary world. It had claimed that its order had Valen's soul. Now Sinoval wasn't sure if he believed that or not, but the Vindrizi had little about Valen which was any help to him. They had concentrated on sights and wonders rather than specific people. Out of curiosity, the germ of an idea forming in his tactician's mind, he had begun talking to the Vindrizi about the Soul Hunters. The two groups paths had crossed on a number of occasions, and he had learned a great deal. Not the location of their homeworld, or whether they had Valen's soul, or a great deal about their political structure, but... enough. The most important piece of information, though, was how to find one. Which souls did they consider the most important? He already knew that the Shagh Toth could sense death - even a Minbari child knew that. Therefore, find someone suitable for the Soul Hunters to harvest, wait for him to die and... "Leaders, thinkers, poets, dreamers, blessed lunatics..." Sinoval supposed this human true seeker fell into the category of 'blessed lunatic'. The final fruiting of his idea now surfaced, he had gone to see Derhan and had outlined his plan. The great warrior had listened, and then said: "It is foolish, insane, tactically suicidal and it will never work. I suppose you know all these things?" "Foolish and insane, maybe. But it will work, Sech Derhan, assuming the Vindrizi are correct in their information." "Which is, at best, incomplete. At worst, wrong. And even if it does work, then think about what you will have to give up." "Nothing of any importance to me, Sech Derhan." "So you say... Well, Sinoval, I knew you would leave this place soon. You are a warrior, not a thinker, and you could hardly stand back while the rest of the galaxy was consumed by fire. "Do you want to use my forge? I note you have no pike, and you can hardly go unarmed." Sinoval had shaken his head. "I will wield a pike when I am worthy of one and not before. That will not be until I have found Valen. But I will take some other weapons, if I may. A nu'zhan blade, and perhaps a ka'trool glove." "Weapons for children and cripples?" Derhan snorted. "A tiny dagger and a glove covered in spikes? If you insist, Sinoval." "I do, Sech Derhan." "I cannot bless you, but I will wish you every luck. Return when you have found what you are looking for, or when you think the time is right. May the Fortunes go with you, Sinoval." "I will not need them." "So you say." The quest had been swifter than Sinoval had anticipated. He had certainly not expected to find a Soul Hunter after a mere two months. Still... what was the priestling babble for situations like this? 'The universe puts us in places where we may do the most good?' Maybe they actually had a point there. The Soul Hunter began to stir, and Sinoval smiled. He hadn't struck too hard then. This Shagh Toth was no use to him dead. "Greetings," he said, in full knowledge that the Soul Hunter understood Minbari. A talent doubtless gained from trapped souls. "I am Sinoval, Holy One of the Minbari, and you are now my prisoner. You will take me to your ship and from there to your homeworld and your leader. Resistance... would not be an option. Do you understand?" The Soul Hunter nodded, a bitter fury in its eyes. Sinoval smiled again. Almost there... * * * * * * * "Delenn!" She could not move, paralysed by the sight of that twisted, alien eye staring directly into hers. It was... dying, she supposed. In Valen's Name, she prayed that it was not what she thought. "Delenn!" Londo and Vejar came into view, scrambling over the debris and making their way down to her. A Drazi was with them. Londo and the Drazi hauled the body of her attacker away from her. With their help, Delenn made it to her feet. "What happened?" Londo asked. "He... attacked me." "Charon," muttered the Drazi scout. "He worked with the Command. Purple." He spat the last word out and Delenn looked up. The Drazi had been in the middle of their traditional leadership contest when the Drakh invaded, but surely none of them would still hold to that now... not with so many dead and so much to do? She looked at the Drazi scout. Taan Churok. He had been the owner of a bar in the colony, and had survived the initial invasion by hiding from the Drakh. It had disconcerted him to meet a foe he could not handle and he had made it a very personal mission to hinder the Drakh as much as he could. He knew Kazomi 7 very well and his skills as a scout made him invaluable. "Great Maker," Londo spat. "That... thing on his neck. What is it?" "I dread to think..." Delenn whispered. She knew, but she did not want to admit it. "It is called a Keeper," said Vejar, his voice more hollow and sepulchral than she had believed possible. He sounded more like Elric than ever before. "It is... a creature in service to the Darkness. Whether they created it or whether it lives naturally I do not know. It... attaches to a being, like a parasite, and drains the free will from it." "What is one doing here?" Londo asked. "Did... the Drakh bring them? But why?" "Think I know the answer," grumbled Taan Churok. "Found someone. Follow." He began making his way back over the rubble. Londo looked at Delenn. "Not very talkative, is he? But then, what can one expect from a Drazi? And what, may I ask is so wrong with purple? I happen to look very good in purple, you know. A damn fine colour." Delenn let his normal stream-of-consciousness babble wash over her gently. She did not want to think at the moment. The sight of the... Keeper, reawakening old legends. Had the Drakh brought them? And if so, why? Taan Churok led them back to the place where the others waited, to reveal several newcomers. Flanked by three Bulloxians stood a Drazi, wearing military garb and a proudly ornamented purple sash. Beside him was a Brakiri, dressed in little more than rags. He seemed to be favouring his left leg. "Vizhak," introduced the Drazi. "Governor." He looked at Taan Churok and spat out the word, "Purple." "Green," barked the reply. "I am Lethke," said the Brakiri, stepping forward. He was limping heavily. "I... was the head of the Brakiri Merchant Guild here. I was... lucky to escape. You must be Delenn. A pleasure. I... heard of your work, but alas could not get to your place of sanctuary to lend my assistance." Delenn stepped forward and let him take her hand and drop his head down to it. The part of her mind that she liked to think of as herself was still in shock, but the part of her that was the politician, the leader, was thinking fast. "We survived the initial attack," Lethke continued, releasing Delenn's hand. "Vizhak and some of his companions formed a sort of resistance movement. We were not getting very far, however. Then, the Drakh left... I hope you can shed some light on this, Delenn, because none of us can." "Perhaps what they came here for was here no longer," she said softly, casting a sharp gaze on Vejar. He said nothing. "And perhaps they have left something behind. "Either way, our first priority is to the injured and the starving. I hope that we can now get some sort of message out to your Governments. We need help, food, medicine, workers..." "This is our planet," snapped Vizhak. "We need no help." "Well, you have it anyway. Where were your concerns for the dead and the dying, Governor? Where are your concerns for the injured, and the starving? I have... contacts who may be able to send aid, but we have to get some form of communication set up." "It will not be easy," Lethke said. "The main communications satellite was destroyed by the Drakh. Perhaps some sort of smaller communication device..." "Delenn," whispered Londo. She turned to him. He had been making a considerable effort to keep himself hidden. "It might not be a good idea to call for aid from the League Governments." "Why not?" she asked. "We need aid, and they must surely know what has happened here?" "I have my reasons... Just talk to G'Kar. I do not think it will be difficult. He will be able to provide everything we are likely to need." "But the League...?" "Trust me, Delenn. I pray to the Great Maker that I am wrong here, but we will soon find out, and if I am right, then their help may not be as helpful as we would like." "Londo?" asked Lethke. "Minister Londo Mollari? It is you, is it not?" Londo muttered a quick swear-word under his breath. "Yes, Lord Lethke. It is I." "I had heard that you were dead." "Yes, well... I got better. I would... appreciate it if you would not inform certain... parties as to my state of health." "Centauri politics again, Londo? I always knew that one day you would be in over your head. You have my guarantee." "Thank you, Lord." "Lord?" Delenn asked. "Lethke here has a certain... eminence back on his homeworld." "My uncle is the head of our largest Trading Guild," Lethke said. "I inherited his position in our Government when he entered his period of transition. I was organising some trading deals with the Centauri, which was where I met Minister Mollari." "It pays to have friends, does it not?" Delenn looked around. "Very well, Londo. I will try and contact G'Kar. I just... hope he can send some help quickly. We sorely need it." But her thoughts were not with G'Kar, or with Lethke, or even with the dying and injured. Her thoughts were with a certain human Captain whom she hoped she might see again soon. Her heart almost skipped at the thought, and she briefly hated herself for imagining happiness amidst so much sorrow. But only for a moment. She had work to do. * * * * * * * Kozorr looked around the circle of nine of which he was now a part, and he wondered at the nature of the universe. It was said, primarily by the religious caste admittedly, that the universe put people in places where they could do the most good. If that was indeed the case, then Kozorr wondered what good he could do here. No longer Alyt, but Satai. He had always believed that the Grey Council would be reformed sooner or later. Valen had spoken of its being broken, and while there were no prophecies Kozorr was aware of concerning its reformation, political necessity made it almost inevitable. He had not expected it to be reformed this way however. Nine. There had always been Nine. Three, and three, and three. Not any longer. Five other warriors, two religious, one... missing. Sinoval perhaps? Kozorr looked around the circle. Most of those present had their hoods raised over their heads, but that did not matter. Of the warriors, he knew only Deeron and Kalain. The other two... had been high-ranking officers aboard the *Trigati, placed there after Sinoval had been elevated to the Council. They were loyal to Kalain, assuredly. As was Deeron of course. Or was she? She had been Kalain's second, but Kozorr had a feeling about her. If the rumours about her and Sinoval were true, then her loyalties might lie elsewhere. The two priestlings... they made even other priestlings look noble and courageous. Gysiner and Chardhay by name. Both weak, spineless, shallow. Little more than pawns, a sop to the religious caste. The warriors had enough of a majority to pass any motion Kalain saw fit, whatever the religious caste thought. Kozorr would not have been surprised if those two were there simply so that Kalain could keep an eye on them. The religious caste had been all but broken in power recently. Lennann and Rathenn were dead, Jenimer dead, Delenn a traitor. The very fact that these two were the best they had to offer testified to the end of their dominance. And one space missing. Set aside for Sinoval's return, perhaps. Kozorr had heard little about Kalain's plans for the Council - he was still reeling from his own sudden elevation. His questions were about to be answered. Two acolytes entered, dressed in warrior black instead of the traditional white. Had Kalain even gone so far as to install his own people as aides to the Council? Between them, her hands bound behind her back, her head down, walked a broken figure. Kats. A worker, leader of one of their most prominent clans. Kalain had been searching for her ever since he had murdered Hedronn, but she had always managed to elude him, fleeing Tuzanor in the middle of the night. Rumour had it she had escaped to one of the outer colonies. Perhaps her presence here explained Kalain's recent softening towards the worker caste. She looked a pitiful figure, scarred, bruised, covered in welts and sores and wounds. Her eyes were haunted and her walk slow and unstable. When she almost tripped over, the acolytes pulled her roughly back to her feet. She was placed in the centre of the circle, illuminated by the central column of light, the traditional place of the Minbari leader. The acolytes made gestures of respect in Kalain's direction and then left silently. Kozorr turned his gaze to Kalain. He had not known the Satai long. Since the Battle of Mars the warrior caste had become increasingly polarised between Sinoval and Branmer, and Kalain had always belonged in Sinoval's camp. Kozorr had been aide to Neroon during the War, and so was firmly established on Branmer's side, and by extension, Delenn's. Still, Kozorr had met Kalain on more than one occasion, and had heard tales of his deeds. A strong, if proud warrior, victor in numerous engagements. It had been he who had led the attack on the Enemy vessel at Ganymede after the War, he who had assaulted the human base at Orion, he who had done many things. He did not look a proud, strong warrior now. He looked sick, hobbling like an old man. His skin was pale, and his beard streaked with grey. However, there was a gleam in his eyes which spoke of genius, or of madness. One thing Kozorr noticed especially, though. Kalain remained out of the columns of light as much as he could. "Do you have something to say?" he asked Kats. His voice, at least, indicated the warrior of old. "Yes..." she said hesitantly. "I... wish to confess... the sins of... my caste... I... had knowledge of... Hedronn's... intentions... in the destruction of... the former Council. I... was a... party to... his plans to kill... Holy One Sinoval and... make himself... leader. "I... wish to seek... forgiveness... for my caste. I... and a few others alone... knew of this. My... caste should not be... unfairly... punished... for our actions... "I... wish to seek... atonement... for what I have done... If there is... any way I can... repay... those I have harmed... if there is... anything... I can do... to... I... throw myself... and my caste... upon the mercy... of the Grey Council... I... seek your mercy..." "That confession has been recorded," Kalain said, after a brief pause. "It will be disseminated throughout the Federation." Kozorr had watched the whole spectacle with a sick feeling in his stomach. This... what had been done to her... this was not the Minbari way. This was not the warrior's way. "She has thrown herself on our mercy," Kalain said. "It is up to us, her chosen leaders, to decide her fate and the fate of the rest of her caste. The holy war we have waged against the workers has purged this cancer from our society. She is the last remaining. Should she be killed... should the rest of her caste be extinguished, erasing this whole tragic interlude from our history? "Or should we show the mercy she has asked for? We are not them, after all. We are not scheming Centauri or treacherous Narn or vengeful Drazi. We are Minbari, the children of Valen, protectors of the right and the truth, servants of the Light. "I move that we show her mercy. She was misguided, I am sure. Hedronn was the one whose actions destroyed our Council, and he has paid the price for his sins. What to do with his accomplice? "I move for mercy. Let her live, let her take the place of her caste on this Council, let her be the ninth and final member of this circle, so that it be complete once more, when Sinoval returns to us, bringing Valen with him. "Let the first act of this Council be one of mercy, and life. "That is my motion, but as ever, it is for you to decide." The method of voting was the one used ever since the formation of the Council by Valen. The columns of light that remained lit signified 'yes' votes. Those that turned to darkness were 'no'. Kozorr tore his gaze away from Kats and looked around the circle. He knew full well why Kalain was doing this. Kalain's crusade against the workers, especially his murder of Hedronn on the holiest of holy grounds, had attracted a great deal of criticism, and not just from the priestlings but from the warriors as well. Oh, no one had dared take action, but had Kalain pursued his policy to extinction, that would have changed. Offer mercy, offer kindness, offer a helping hand... and the criticism would end. Kozorr looked around. No one looked as if they were even thinking about turning their light to darkness. Not even one seemed to recognise this for the sick charade it was. Not even himself. "Then, we have chosen mercy," Kalain said. "I thank you, Satai, for the wisdom of your decision." He hobbled over to Kats, wincing slightly as he entered the central column of light. Releasing her from her restraints, he swiftly scurried back into the darkness. "Take the place that has been left for you, Satai," he said. "I... thank you... Satai," she whispered. "Your... mercy has been greater... than I... deserve." She limped across the hall, and took her place in the circle. She looked even less comfortable there than Kozorr felt. "Mercy is the greatest tool we possess," Kalain said, still not standing in his column of light. "This is a mercy I am sure Valen, and Sinoval, would have approved. Justice has been done, after all. "When Sinoval returns from his pilgrimage, I am sure he will thank us for what we have done this day, and when he does, he will restore to us a new era of greatness." When Sinoval returns? Kozorr saw Kalain clearly now, his eyes piercing the darkness to look directly at him. "I am merely his voice, his second, his disciple. Sinoval is the saviour who has long been prophesied, and we are all blessed to be able to stand beside him, as he will make us great once more." *Hurry back, Sinoval. We need you.* Looking into his eyes, Kozorr saw the truth. Kalain was completely and utterly insane. Minbar was doomed. *Where are you, Sinoval? We need you.* To Be Continued... From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, Part 3A [AT] [AC] Date: Mon, 2 Feb 1998 19:40:19 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase Two - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Hi people. Usual notices here... This is the latest in my parallel universe saga where the Minbari did not surrender at the Battle of the Line and went on to conquer and destroy Earth. The storyline began with A Dark, Distorted Mirror and most of the previous installments can be found within the archives. Feedback is always very welcome and should be sent to the address below. There are no express Spoilers as such, but I am drawing upon all elements of the B5 universe and there may be slight Spoilers for those who are not up to date. In particular, this chapter has subtle Spoilers for Lines of Communication. 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 am a hopeless romantic, but anyone who assumes that means I'm going to be nice to these characters is going to be very quickly disabused. Trust me on this. (Of course, I can be nice to them sometimes...) Chapter Four: The Long Fight, Part 3A [AT] [AC] by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk "Behold Cathedral. Gaze upon our home, Minbari, and despair." Sinoval was far from despairing, but he was at least impressed. He had not been able to trace the Soul Hunters' homeworld - not even the Vindrizi had known. He had formulated a number of speculations based on his knowledge and experience, but he had not foreseen anything like this. The Soul Hunters did not have a homeworld. Cathedral was a ship - massive, ancient, looming. It looked almost like a fortress, a castle floating majestically in space. There was no obvious sign of exterior weaponry, but it did not seem to need any. Looking at what he understood of the instruments before him, Sinoval guessed that penetrating the shields of that thing would be beyond the firepower of most races. Possibly even including the Minbari. He was glad he had devised this method of getting inside. A frontal assault would have achieved very little. As he studied the vessel, he wondered at the technology involved. Were the Soul Hunters really so advanced? The ship he was travelling in did not seem to be on the same level as this... "Perhaps you have reconsidered this insanity, Minbari," snapped the Shagh Toth. "Perhaps you are..." "Perhaps you should be silent," replied Sinoval, no trace of anger in his voice. He was... calm. This was the hour before one of the greatest conflicts of his life. In the past he had felt a sort of childish excitement about an oncoming battle. Now he had seen how unproductive such emotions could be. "Transmit the relevant recognition signals, or whatever it is you use," he ordered. "And if I do not?" Sinoval sighed. If all Soul Hunters were as argumentative as this one, he would not get anywhere. "Then I will kill you, and destroy your collection." That gave the Shagh Toth some pause. Snarling, he punched something into the control panel. Sinoval smiled. The Soul Hunter would assume that he would be prepared for any treachery and that he would have taken precautions. Sinoval was expecting treachery, but he had no hidden strategems other than his purpose in coming here. Merely letting them think he did was enough. "You will also send a message to your leader, letting him know I wish to see him immediately upon our arrival. Assuming you have not already alerted him to my presence here." The Soul Hunter made a contemptuous gesture. Sinoval did not waste time reconsidering his plan. He knew what it was, he knew what he was about and he had already reconciled himself to the risks. What more was there for him to do? He had long ago accepted the price he would have to pay if this worked, and it would be more than worthwhile. "We will kill you, Minbari. We will tear your body to pieces, break you apart, utterly destroy every trace of your existence. We will..." "You cannot kill me. You do not kill, Shagh Toth. That is your creed, is it not? You wait for death, rather than hastening its path. Killing is not your way. That is, assuming you actually do protect these souls you 'collect' and do not simply torture them." "Barbarian! Weak, bloodless, pathetic Minbari!" "I have managed to get you to bring me here, into the very heart of your lair. I do not know how weak that makes me." "Then we will not kill you. But we will make you suffer for a very long time before you die, and when you die, we will rip your soul from you..." "While torturing me?" They were beginning to dock, the whole ship becoming shrouded in darkness. Sinoval felt a momentary surge of excitement. Nearly. Nearly there... "Pain would render my soul almost useless to you. The greater the agony of death, the harder it is to preserve the soul as it was in life, is that not so?" "Where did you learn these things, Minbari? Where?" "I have my sources." The ship docked and came to a halt. "We are here," spat the Soul Hunter. "Prepare to draw your last breath." "I am a warrior. I have lived every day of my life with my last breath ever in my mouth. You first, Shagh Toth." Slowly, the Soul Hunter led him from the ship, out into the docking bay. Sinoval used no form of restraint. His nu'zhan knife was in his hand, and in any case this Soul Hunter had already fulfilled its purpose simply by bringing him here. The docking bays were dark, but awesomely majestic. A sense of age hung around the whole place, as if it had remained untouched for millennia. Perhaps it had. *Well,* thought Sinoval. *Not any longer.* There were five Soul Hunters waiting for him, each one carrying a weapon of some kind. Their attire bore an unpleasant resemblance to that of the highest ranking warriors. A great deal of black, marked with silver. Their weapons, too, were similar to fighting pikes. Sinoval pushed his guide aside. He had fulfilled his purpose. Those standing before him were silent, like monumental statues waiting for the dead they guarded to rise anew. Their jewels glimmered dully, a faint light in a fortress of darkness. "Greetings, " Sinoval said loudly. "I am Sinoval, Holy One of the Minbari. You will take me to your leader. Now." "There is no need for that, Holy One Sinoval," said a voice. Emerging from the darkness, the guards making a respectful yet silent path for him, came another Soul Hunter, but this one was very different. He was taller, prouder. He walked with the bearing of a king. As one leader to another, Sinoval recognised the power inherent within this being; but not just the power, the sense of authority, of conviction, of belief - in himself and in those he led. His clothes were different too. Not the black and silver so reminiscent of the Minbari, but robes resplendent in gold and red, embellished with markings and symbols of older times. A long, sword-like weapon hung from one hip. It was curved, and seemed to sparkle in the darkness. "I am leader here, Holy One Sinoval. Primarch Majestus et Conclavus. I do not leave my sanctuary often these days, but you... you have aroused my curiousity." Now that he was closer, Sinoval could see something else about this Primarch. An aura of great age. How many centuries had this one seen go by? How many deeds, wars, heroes and martyrs? "I would take pleasure in killing you myself, but it has been so long since I saw a Minbari." "Before you take any action," Sinoval said, quickly, but without undue haste. *Always make them believe you are the one in charge.* "There is a bomb planted in the ship I just arrived in. Should I die, it will inevitably explode, destroying not only the ship, but his entire collection as well." "Ah," said the Primarch. "Minbari... you have entered my fortress, assaulted and insulted my warriors... waged war against my people, and now you... you stand in my fortress and threaten me. Me!" "You cannot kill me. You do not kill. That is your belief, is it not?" "We do not kill for souls, Holy One. To protect our brethren, or our collections, we may, and do kill. "Why are you here?" "To make you an offer. "I wish to lead you. I wish access to your every secret, leadership of your military, your espionage, your actions. I want to be privy to every scrap of knowledge you have. I want dominion and authority over every Shagh Toth in the galaxy." "Shagh Toth is an insult," the Primarch noted. "But what you have just said is an even greater one. What can you possibly offer us that will pay for even a fraction of what you have just demanded?" "Something that is worth far more to you. My soul." * * * * * * * The pain was not so great today. That itself was a good thing. She could still not walk unaided for more than a few steps. That was not a good thing. Months had passed since the attack that had caused these injuries to Susan Ivanova, and she had still not fully recovered. She had been told she never would. The headaches, the convulsions, the fits of blindness and nausea... these would remain with her always. But if she could walk, think, breathe... that was all she needed for the moment. There was a chime at the door, and she looked up. Her vision was quite cloudy, but it was improving. She wondered who it could be. Laurel, perhaps? Laurel had come by quite often recently. Susan half suspected it was because she had nothing else to do; she was still on 'stress' leave. Susan suppressed a snort. She must be turning into a magnet for the lost and abandoned. "Come," she said. "Laurel, good to..." It was not General Laurel Takashima. Far from it. "Greetings, Ivanova," said Ambassador David Sheridan, taking slow, measured steps into the room. "Ambassador," she whispered. Susan had heard of his appointment here, but he had not come to see her at all since his arrival several months ago. He had sent members of his diplomatic staff to gather all her documents and records, but he had done this while she was still in the coma. After leaving Medlab, one of her first actions had been to go to speak to him, but he had refused to see her. Her messages to him were returned, and all she got from his office was a terse message that she would be sent for when needed. "I have been trying to..." "Shut up," he said. He did not shout, but he did not need to. "You have failed us, Ivanova. Failed us badly." "What do you mean?" she asked, manoeuvring her wheelchair closer to him. "What do you mean? I've done everything you asked of me. I made the alliance here, I arranged for Delenn's exile, I..." "And yet Delenn is still alive, and fomenting trouble elsewhere. And yet Captain Sheridan escaped you and is also fomenting trouble elsewhere. And yet the... incident with Mr. Cole and Miss Alexander caused so much trouble with Security that I had a nightmare of a time stabilising it. And yet you completely failed to report anything about Mr. Bester and his visit here..." "That's not my fault! You... you said I'd never have to worry about telepaths again! YOU PROMISED ME I'D BE SAFE!" "And if we'd promised you chocolate ice cream in bed every morning for the rest of your life would you have believed that? We asked you what you wanted, and you said you wanted to be safe and your secret to remain hidden from the telepaths. We said that we would do what we could, but ultimately we cannot smother you in cotton wool. Your position here was one of great authority and power, and yet you have failed us so completely..." "It wasn't my fault!" "No, of course it wasn't, but none of that matters at all now, anyway. I can deal with most of the fallout from your... period as Ambassador here. No... what I want to know is just what you did to our esteemed President." "What... I don't know what you mean..." "Why did you not give him the Keeper as we ordered?" "I did... I... I swear I did." "Don't lie to me. He is displaying... symptoms of independence. He is questioning my actions. He is developing a very dangerous sense of patriotism. "Now maybe if the Earth Alliance were as mighty as it once was, none of these things would matter. We could easily have enough people around him to keep him as a mere figurehead. But this establishment is much smaller, and one man can make all the difference. We need a puppet, not a patriot. Why did you not implant him with the Keeper?" "I did!" "Then you did an incredibly poor job." Ambassador Sheridan turned to the door. "I do not think I will have need of your services much in the future, Ivanova. Your life is now your own, until I want it back." "How can you say that...? My life... I'm just as much a prisoner here as I was back on Earth. You promised me I'd be safe!" "Goodbye." Ambassador Sheridan walked through the doorway and the door slid shut behind him. "YOU PROMISED I'D BE SAFE!" But the door did not hear her. * * * * * * * Alyt... no, Satai Kozorr was having to admit that he might have made a serious error of judgement. Not just in taking part - however unwillingly - in the insanity which was engulfing Minbar at the moment. No, his current error was much closer to home, and much more personal. The Togashi had not returned from its routine patrol. It was several weeks overdue at the occupied Beta Durani colony. The Administrator of the colony - a pathetic little priestling named Forell - had tried to warn him almost two weeks ago, but Kozorr had refused to listen. He owed the pathetic little priestling an apology. Probes sent out to trace the path of the Togashi had detected fragments of debris - very small, almost unnoticeable - and faint energy traces. The evidence seemed clear. The Togashi had been attacked and either destroyed or captured by forces unknown. He looked at the data reports before him. Who could have done this? The energy signals did not suggest the Drakh, or the Enemy. The Streib remembered their last encounter with the Minbari far too clearly to risk another retaliation. The Centauri and the Narns were both too engrossed in their own private little war to risk outside involvement on the other side, and in any case neither possessed the firepower to take out a Minbari warship. The Earthers... pah, what an absurd idea. And yet... No, even if they had been able to destroy a full warship, they would not have been able to do it so... cleanly. Kozorr had witnessed scenes of battle between Earthers and Minbari before, and even where the Earthers had won, there had been a mass of debris. The whole sector of space had been practically lit up. No, this wasn't the Earthers... Then who? He sighed and muttered a brief prayer to Valen. He would have to tell Kalain, an option he had been trying to avoid. Kalain was becoming... dangerously unstable. Kalain would be in the Hall of the Grey Council, as he always was these days. He never left it, and yet he rarely stepped into the columns of light, the symbolic representation which made the Satai what they were. Kalain had reasons for everything, of course. It was tradition that the leader of the Grey Council - which Kalain was, in Sinoval's absence - did not leave the ship, but... there was very little else that was traditional about Kalain's actions these days. The Hall seemed almost empty as Kozorr arrived. He had not changed into the robes of a Satai, preferring his warrior garb. It seemed... more fitting. Kozorr did not really think of himself as Satai, he would be a warrior always. There were ten columns of light, as usual. Nine for the Satai and the centre for the One. Only one was occupied. Kats, sole Satai from the worker caste, was rooted to her column as if planted in the floor. She looked trapped, and her eyes were... haunted. She too did not leave this Hall. He supposed Kalain would not permit it. But where was Kalain? "Satai Kozorr. Welcome to this Hall. Isil'zha veni." Do not think his name, lest he come. Resisting the instincts that warned him against Kalain, Kozorr turned as the warrior Satai emerged from the darkness. He bowed his head in what should have been a gesture of respect, but was instead more one of fear. "Isil'zha veni, Satai." Kalain did not like to be addressed as Holy One, whatever the practical situation was. "A perfect symmetry, is it not?" Kalain said, gesturing around at the columns of light. Kozorr's poor night vision could not see him very well, but he did not want to. Kalain had changed recently, physically as well as spiritually. He even... smelled different. As if he were decaying. "Valen created this for us, so that we would never forget our origins. You have seen the Starfire Wheel, have you not, Satai? A relic of older ways from older times. And yet... it was the perfect vehicle for choice. The sacrifice of the leader so that the caste might triumph. Valen incorporated it here, so that we all stand, metaphorically, in the column of the Starfire Wheel. "Except for those of us who stand outside the conventions decreed for us. Sinoval is one such. He would never be willing to sacrifice himself for others, no. That is not the way of the warrior. We live, Kozorr. We fight to live, not to die. "I remember, when Shakiri was teaching me... he spoke of life and death as being equal and opposite. Futile, one of the few things he ever said that was wrong. We live, Kozorr. The spark of life, the urge to survive... it is the greatest passion of any living being. Yes, even the Earthers, even the priestlings. "Valen set this here to remind us of that. Life... is life. Strong, vibrant, powerful. Those who take that away... deserve to be punished. Those who destroy the wonder of life must see at first hand the darkness of death. "Is that not so, Satai Kats?" "As... you say, Satai," she whispered, her voice as quiet as a breeze over a battlefield, carrying with it the stench of the grave. "Why have you come here, Satai Kozorr?" Kozorr bowed his head again, formulating his thoughts in his mind. What Kalain was saying... it made little sense. Kozorr knew of the Starfire Wheel; he had once even visited the temple where it was located. But... He mentally shook his head. Focus on the present. "The Togashi has not returned from patrol, Satai. Our probes indicate that it has been destroyed, by forces unknown." "Yes, Kozorr. I knew that. It is not important." "But, Satai..." "Kozorr, what do you see when you look at one of our people?" "I do not..." "I see... I see the beginnings of change. The wheel is turning, Kozorr, as it did a thousand years ago. We are entering a new cycle, and we are afraid of it. One will arise to change our society, as Valen did a thousand years ago, and Valeria millennia before. "That one is Sinoval. He has gone to find Valen, to gain his blessing, to gain his wisdom, as Valen sought Valeria in the days before his ascension. "It is my place to stand here and prepare our people for the day when Sinoval will return, bringing Valen with him. Acting in Sinoval's name, I will reforge us, melting away that which burns, and hardening that which will be made strong. "What is the fate of one ship compared to the future of our people? "The loss of the Togashi is not important, Kozorr. Investigate if you wish, but nothing anyone can do... not Centauri nor Earther nor Enemy... nothing can stop the force of history, of destiny. "What we have built here will change, and the fires of our destiny will burn anything which opposes that. Ask Satai Kats. She understands now." Kozorr cast his eyes across the Hall to the sole worker Satai. Her head was down. "Of course, Satai Kalain," he said slowly. "I... apologise for burdening you with extra concerns. I... am honoured to be by your side in this, and any contribution, however small, which I may make to the... reforging of our society... will be a proud one." "Of course it will. Go on, Kozorr. Satai Kats and I must pray to Valen and to Sinoval, to help her acknowledge her sins and those of her caste." Kozorr bowed, and hurried away as quickly as he could without appearing to flee. He did not want to hear what was happening to Kats in the Hall. Outside he came across Deeron. Pausing, he bowed before her. She was Satai as well, but in personal authority and experience, she outranked him. "You told him about the Togashi, did you not?" she asked. "Yes, Satai," he breathed. "Kalain is overburdened by his own sense of destiny at present. Do not... add to his burdens. Continue to investigate the matter however, and report directly and only to me. Do you understand?" "Of course, Satai." "Good. Then go." "Your will." As Kozorr began to make his way to his quarters, at a slower pace this time, he momentarily turned back, thinking, just for a instant, that he caught a glimpse of anger in Deeron's eyes. But it was only there for a moment. Just a moment. * * * * * * * Delenn was in pain. Nowhere near the agony she had endured in the days before her second transformation, but still... it was awkward, annoying, and at times excruciating. It had started about two hours ago, a nagging cramp in her lower abdomen. She had tried to ignore it as much as she could, but each time she thought it was beginning to ease it returned as sharply as before. Then, about half an hour ago, she had discovered the bleeding. She was worried, there was no denying it, but she did not have time for her own concerns. "Delenn?" It was Londo. Faithful and concerned, as always. It seemed that hardly a moment passed when she had neither Londo nor Vejar at her side. Her guardians, as they had tacitly appointed themselves. "Delenn..." He stopped. "Are... you...?" "I am fine," she whispered. The pain was definitely easing now, and she could worry about the blood later. "Have you... any news?" His eyes narrowed. "Lethke and Vizhak have managed to resurrect something that looks like computer records. We're using them to assemble a sort of census." "What good will a census do? We... help the living, and mourn the dead. What more is there?" "I have... certain suspicions, Delenn. We know that a fair number of people managed to escape from here during the Drakh occupation. Lethke and Vizhak's little resistance operation managed to work that one out. They assumed it was refugees, or people sent to obtain help. "And yet no help came, and given how strong the Drakh were, given how easily they cracked down on everything else, does it seem rational that they simply let these people escape?" "No," Delenn whispered. "No, it does not. Are your... suspicions the reason you did not want us to call on the Non-Aligned Worlds for help?" "Yes. That... Keeper thing on the Drazi who attacked you. Vejar has told me a great deal about them. It would not surprise me if the Drakh implanted those things in certain... individuals, and let them escape. Lethke is aware of a number of prominent members of Trading Guilds from many peoples who have simply... vanished. Disappeared. We have found no prisoners anywhere on this planet, and no trace of their bodies." "Then... these Keepers could be spreading throughout the Non-Aligned Worlds?" "I would not be surprised. The sooner we can get some sort of communication up and contact G'Kar, the better. It appears that our good friends the technomages set up some form of shielding around the planet which is preventing him from getting through." "We need supplies, Londo. It has been several weeks since the Drakh left, and we are running low... very low. We need food, clothing, medical supplies. Do you have anything good to report?" "Well... I don't know about good news, but... there is an old friend who has come by to see us." "Who?" Londo smiled. * * * * * * * From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, Part 3B [AT] [AC] Date: Mon, 2 Feb 1998 19:45:36 +0000 The Long Fight, Part 3B [AT] by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk It was interesting, Clark noted, how much a Narn's appearance changed when he was angry. Take Kha'Mak here as an example. A member of the Kha'Ri, a soldier in their earlier 'triumphant war' against the Centauri and in countless other border wars, skirmishes and civil unrest. He had risen almost to the top of Narn society, in a Government which had learned back- stabbing, deviousness and treachery from the very best - the Centauri themselves. The Kha'Ri even put the Centauri Royal Court to shame. To survive in an environment like that, one needed to possess patience, guile, intelligence and subtlety, all qualities Kha'Mark had in abundance. And yet, make him angry, and he was no better than a Drazi, no better than a howling savage in the wilderness. "I protest at this treatment, President Clark!" he was shouting. "I arrived here months ago, to obtain increased guarantees of military support... which you promised us in exchange for our rescue of your colonies from the threat of Minbari control!" *Promised at gun-point. A choice between slavery and annihilation. What sort of promise was that?* "And how do you treat those who have saved your people? You ignore me. Two months of meaningless meetings! Of pointless discussions, consultations with business leaders, generals, people wearing those... suit things! And where are we? Not one solid piece of support. Not one military strike against the Centauri. Nothing! "So now I am forcing the issue, Mr. President!" Clark gave a slight smile. He would like to record this moment, and preserve it forever. Captain Smith's victory over the Minbari might well have been a significant advance, but if there was going to be a major turning point for humanity, it would be right here. "Councillor Kha'Mak... you are forcing the issue because you have recently lost the colonies at Dros, and because you were recently heavily defeated during your counter-strike at Frallus Twelve. Your military leaders are worried that this war, far from being the stalemate that the last one was, will turn into a complete rout." Clark's smile was wider this time. "Mr. Welles has extensive sources of information, some of which he even shares with me. We know everything about your war, including all the details you have not seen fit to inform me of. "We are going to crush the Minbari, and I mean crush. They will be annihilated. Frankly, Kha'Mak, your people mean little to us now. We have found allies... elsewhere." Clark rose from his seat and walked around his desk, always facing the stunned-looking Narn. "We will be your slaves no longer, do you hear? Not one second longer! You will give us back every single colony you took from us, every single outpost, research station, everything. You will turn control over to the local human authorities, who will then pass jurisdiction to Proxima Three." "This is outrageous!" "This is not a negotiation, Councillor. At this moment, you need us far more than we need you. You will do as I have said, and we will lend you our assistance, not as slaves, but as valued allies. The Centauri... may prove to be a problem for us, but we will deal with them. We will share with you the technology we have taken from the most recent Minbari ship we destroyed, and we may even sell you some more of the wreckage." "Sell? We paid you quite handsomely for what you recovered from the battle here." "Yes, you did. The debris from the fleet that was sent to destroy us, while you did nothing! "You were never very efficient masters, Kha'Mak. Probably because, in your hearts, you are all still slaves. Free our colonies, give us their resources, and provide us with the short-term capital we need. Then, we will help you. "Otherwise, we will let the Centauri rip you apart again, and this time we'll sit back and laugh." "This... this is..." "Those are our terms, Councillor. Oh, and if you are thinking about doing anything... unpleasant to those of my people still under your control, then think again. You only have to imagine what we will do to you in return." "You do not have the power to enforce these demands." "Haven't you been listening, Kha'Mak? We are going to destroy the Minbari. We cut their fleet to ribbons only a few months ago. If we can do that to them, think about what we could do to you..." Kha'Mak slumped, turning his eyes away. "I shall have to consult with homeworld." "Then do so, but quickly. The Centauri are moving fast, and once we begin our attack on the Minbari, we may not have time to help you." *Ah, thought Clark as the Narn left. He had little doubt about what the Kha'Ri's response would be. They needed humanity's help. Last time they had been able to demand it. This time, they would have to beg for it. During this short conversation humanity's fate had been radically changed - for the better. Clark sat down at his desk and activated the commlink to General Ryan. "What news on the construction, General?" he asked. "Slightly ahead of schedule, Mr. President sir. Another two weeks or so, at most." "Good." Clark smiled. "Very good." * * * * * * * "Pleased to meet you again, m'lady." "I..." Delenn was puzzled. This human before her looked a little familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. "I am sorry. Have we met before?" "This is the... ah... person who so kindly provided transport for us to the... other place we needed to go," Londo said, looking ever so slightly embarrassed. Delenn looked at him, and faint memories returned. They had... stolen?... a spaceship. "Captain Jack's the name, m'lady. I'm an... itinerant wanderer of the spaceways, you might say." "Ah." Delenn looked at Londo, who shrugged. "Anyway, m'lady, I never went all that far away from here. I was fairly well known on Kazomi Seven before the invasion, you see. Sort of a second home, if you like. I kept something of an eye on events, coming back every so often to see if the nasties were still here. When I found they had left, well... I came down to see what I could do to help." "Mr. Captain Jack here has some very useful resources for us," Londo said. "He..." "Oh yes, m'lady. I got hold of some medical equipment, food, a bit of clothing... all useful bits and pieces. They, ah... fell off the back of a cargo freighter, you might say, you know what I mean?" He made a strange gesture, tapping his index finger against the side of his nose. Delenn certainly did not know what he meant, but she wasn't about to argue the point, especially if he had what he claimed to have. "You have medicines, bandages, equipment?" "Yes, indeed, m'lady." Delenn looked at Londo. "We must hurry, then. Help... Captain Jack unload his goods. I will return to the sanctuary and begin preparing things there. Contact Lethke and Taan Churok. They should know of this. "Captain Jack... you have done a great deal for us, but however much you have brought with you, it cannot be enough. Will you be able to obtain more?" "You name it, I can get it." "And yet, you still have not named what you want in payment," Londo said wearily, looking at the human with glaring eyes. "Well, yer 'onner, m'lady... the way I see things, there's a lot of powerful people here. Some possibilities... building things from the bottom up you could say. Perhaps there could be a... position for someone of my skills, maybe. A... job opportunity or two. A nice salary, maybe." Delenn looked aghast at Londo and Captain Jack. There were people dying all around them and they were talking about money. "We will discuss that later," she said primly. "For now, we must do what we can for those who need help. Hurry." "No problem, m'lady." Captain Jack and Londo began to hurry away, but after a few steps Jack stopped and turned round. "Oh, by the way, when I was... liberating some of these goods, I came across a warship in the area. Big one too. Human as well, which was very strange, but I'd... run into it several times before. Knowing that you'd want these goods pretty soon I thought I'd better take steps to avoid any... unnecessary interrogations, but if it's still in the area, I can send a transmission to it as soon as I break orbit, if you like." Delenn looked at Londo. A human ship? What would a human ship be doing here? And who could have sent it? "Do you know the identity of this ship?" she asked. "Um... did get it, yeah. Oh... what was it again? Some funny old Greek name. Parmesan? Patrician? Parm... Parochial? "Parmenion, that was it. The EAS Parmenion." Delenn began to smile. * * * * * * * Patience had never been one of Sinoval's more outstanding qualities. He realised that a warrior often needed to be patient - needed to wait until the time was right before making a move, but just waiting... while others plotted and planned and debated... that was a skill he had never acquired. Sinoval always needed to be in control. His lack of control had failed him during the attack on the Earthers, and he was determined that it would not fail him again. He felt suddenly angry with himself. He had done all he could have done. He had learned everything about the Shagh Toth that the Vindrizi could teach him. Nothing else he could have done would have led him anywhere but here... None of that made the wait any easier. The Primarch had heard Sinoval's offer, and had registered an honest expression of shock. Then, he had begun to laugh, a strangely... not unpleasant sound. "Well, Holy One... you have surprised me, and in all my centuries of life, I am surprised only rarely. This almost makes up for your arrogance." "Surely my arrogance is what would make my soul valuable to you? You have... 'saved' very few Minbari over the years. How many Minbari of my stature do you have in your 'collection'? If you are aware of even half of what I have done, then you know that my soul would be priceless to you. After all, how many others have stood here and threatened you as I did?" "None... Your offer is intriguing, Minbari, but still... you ask a great deal. I must think, and commune with those I have saved. Perhaps... perhaps, Holy One." Sinoval had been taken to a room and left there, constantly flanked by two Soul Hunters. They ignored him as much as he tried to ignore them. For all the learning, all the preparation, all the forethought Sinoval had gone through in planning this, there was still the ancient childhood horror of losing one's soul... Ah, but the benefits... they would far outweigh the price. The door opened and in walked the Primarch, looking as proud and noble as he had before. Sinoval walked over to meet him. The Primarch smiled. "I have consulted with the others," the Primarch said. "Some said that what you offer us is far more valuable than what you ask for. Some said that you are undoubtedly lying and have some ploy to deceive us. Some said that your soul will be a priceless addition to those we have saved. "But ultimately, I rule here, and no other. This is my decision. "We accept your offer, Sinoval. You will be our leader. You will have access to and authority over everything that is ours, but on these conditions: "We will continue our great work. You will not and cannot order us to stop that. The preservation of souls is our reason for existence. The collection and salvation of souls will not be stopped." Sinoval nodded. "I would... not ask you to do that But I would ask you not to collect the souls of my race while I am here." The Primarch made a gesture that might have been a shrug. "We obtain Minbari souls only rarely in any event. I doubt if the opportunity will arise during your lifetime. "The second condition: at least two of my order will be present at your side always. We have lost too many souls through misfortune, poor timing... we will not lose yours. At least two... at all times." "That is not unreasonable," Sinoval said, suppressing the urge to shiver. "Provided, of course, that they are aware that I would be more than ready for any assault." "Of course. We will treat you in the same spirit with which you treat us. The final condition: our obligations end when you do. When you die, any outstanding or unfulfilled duty is of no further concern to us. You will not bind us to the service of your people... we will not be restricted by your orders when you are gone." "I would not expect you to be." The Primarch then bowed his head. "Then I bid you welcome, Primarch Nominus et Corpus." "And what does that mean?" "Your title. My title means the First, in Majesty and Gathering. Yours... the First in Name and in Body. Only one other has ever held such a title in our history. One not of our blood, but of our heart." Sinoval started. "Valen?" The Primarch shook his head. "No. Another. It is not important. Well, Primarch... what is your wish?" No hesitation. No doubt. Sinoval knew all along that for which he had come. "Valen's soul. Is it here?" "No, it is not." *What?* "I met one of your order... It... he told me that you had Valen's soul." "A lie. Oh, I will not deny that I attempted to obtain Valen's soul on many occasions. I was... younger then, and more enthusiastic. But I failed. His soul is not here." "Do you know where he died, where his soul might be?" "No, I do not. I last saw him the day before his final assault on Z'ha'dum. I know nothing of what he did thereafter." "You... knew Valen?" "A little. Ours was a... strange relationship." "Tell me about him. Everything." "As you wish." Sinoval suddenly realised something. "You do not have Valen's soul? Do you have the souls of any who were with him?" The Primarch smiled. "Yes, I do." "Who?" The Primarch answered. * * * * * * * "Susan, are you all right?" Susan Ivanova did not answer. She did not feel like answering. "Susan, you've barely said two words to me since I got here. Is something the matter?" *YOU PROMISED I'D BE SAFE! Laurel Takashima sighed, and gently placed her hand on Susan's shoulder. "Do you want to tell me about it?" Susan looked up into the eyes of her friend, and, slowly, she began the story of her mother's death. * * * * * * * "How is this going to work?" Sinoval had only seen a Soul Hunter's collection once before, and that was while investigating the collection on the ship which had brought him here. He had been expecting the Primarch's collection to be similar - albeit larger. He was not expecting... ... countless globes, all resting on shelves of rock and dark marble, glowing softly. The whole area was vast, there seemed almost as many globes as there were stars in the night-time sky, droplets of crystal in the waters of Minbar, facets of light in the mountains of his home. There was something... holy... about this place. "There are a number of ways to communicate with a soul. I can simply speak to it through the globe, but you will not be able to do that. I could... serve as a medium, transmitting your questions to it and its answers to you, but I doubt that will suffice for what you intend. "The most appropriate way would be to project your consciousness into the globe. You will then meet the soul in an environment it has created, one it knew in life perhaps, or an ideal. "In many ways, these souls are in their version of Heaven, and I am their kindly, loving God." Sinoval resisted the urge to begin a religious debate with the Primarch, whose words were unpleasantly close to blasphemy. Sinoval's eyes were focussed elsewhere, on the myriad wonder of sparkling lights all around him. "Which globe?" he asked. The Primarch stepped forward to one of the shelves and picked out a globe which was indistinguishable from all the rest. How he could tell them apart... "Each soul is a part of me," he said. "This one especially. This is one of the oldest here, taken when I was much, much younger and still went out into the universe. "However, you should be warned, Primarch Nominus et Corpus. This soul was taken while in great pain. The death was not easy, and the collection was hard, very hard. The environment it has created for itself may not be pleasant. "But this is the only soul likely to have the knowledge you need." Sinoval looked round. Behind the Primarch were the two silent Soul Hunter guards he had agreed would remain beside him. They could have been statues for all the movement they made. "Be seated." Sinoval sat, cross legged, on the floor. It was not cold, but... it seemed almost alive. There was a gentle heartbeat vibrating through the floor. The Primarch sank to his knees, holding the globe in outstretched hands, towards Sinoval's face. Rays of light shone out from it, flickering and darting, directly into Sinoval's eyes. "You are very trusting," the Primarch remarked. "How do you know this is not a trap?" "I have no other choice. And besides, you do not know what precautions I may have taken in expectation of such a trap." "I see I made a wise decision. Your soul will be a fine addition here." The Primarch's voice seemed to be coming from further and further away. All Sinoval could see was the globe, flashing. It seemed bigger now, and it was glowing, a rich, vibrant red... the colour of blood, of fire, of the heart, the colour of blood, of... ... of fire... Sinoval started. He was standing on a precipice of rock, looking down into a vast chasm. All around him... everything was burning, rock melting and breaking away, tumbling into the abyss. He could hear screams emerging from the pit, a high wail that cut into his very soul. "In Valen's name!" cried a voice. "You will not win!" The voice was... proud, but despairing. A warrior's voice, the voice of one who has fought in countless battles, countless sieges, who has seen so much death, so much victory, so much loss... and who is finally beginning to despair. "In Valen's Name, my lord," said Sinoval at last, seeing the figure he had come here to talk with. Before him, on another island of rock surrounded by a sea of fire... there stood a Minbari, a warrior, dressed not in black and silver, but in white. A warrior, tall, with one arm thrust above his head in defiance. A warrior, with dark eyes and an ornate headbone, carved in the fashion of centuries ago. The warrior bore a symbol on his tunic, such as had not been the custom for hundreds of years. Before Valen, before the Grey Council, each warrior bore the symbol of his clan on his tunic. Valen had changed that, but for a brief time at least, there had been a transition... This warrior bore, not the mark of any clan with which Sinoval was familiar, but a symbol of nine circles, all linked together to form a larger circle. Above the top circle there was a badge. A badge Sinoval recognised. The warrior was none other than Marrain, the First Ranger, Valen's Right Hand, Marrain the Accursed, the Betrayer, the Lost... he who had fallen at Z'ha'dum, stared into the abyss and never returned... he who had descended into madness and nearly caused the end of everything Valen had built... The greatest, and most reviled warrior in Minbari history... ... and Sinoval was with him. * * * * * * * "Magnificent, isn't he sir?" "He?" Clark paused, looking at General Ryan. "I thought it was the custom that ships were female." "Well, some of them are, sir, but this... it felt right to call him... him, sir." Clark shrugged. Ryan presumably knew best. This was his ship, after all. He had been the one who had supervised its construction. The Babylon would be the flagship of humanity's new fleet, but it would always be associated with Sheridan and the old days. This... this was new. This represented the future. The Babylon had had to have the new technology incorporated into it, and the joins had been... awkward. This ship had been built with the new technology, Minbari, Streib, Shadow... all of it. And built in record time, too. "It... he is completely ready?" "Yes, sir. The crew is a little... short-handed, but it's enough to pilot him. The shortages are only natural, I suppose, but... no... he's ready." "Good." Clark smiled. "Good." The Babylon's updates had been finished, and this time the new systems would work exactly as they were supposed to. The Streib fleet had promised their assistance, and Ambassador Sheridan had guaranteed that the Drakh would be there as well. Beta Durani. A human colony, conquered by Minbari... the first step in wiping them from the face of the galaxy. "Then I christen him... the Morningstar," Clark said. A fitting name, after all, for a star always heralded the morning, and the beginning of a new day, did it not? To be continued... From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, Part 4A Date: Thu, 5 Feb 1998 23:41:33 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Hi people. Here's the latest installment of my parallel universe saga where the Minbari did not surrender at the Battle of the Line, but went on to conquer and destroy Earth. The earlier installments should all be present in the archive, and the story begins with A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Feedback is always very welcome, and should be sent to the address below. There are no Spoilers as such, but I am drawing upon all elements of the B5 universe and people who are not up to the end of Season 4 may be inadvertently Spoiled. 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 am a hopeless romantic, but I am not necessarily a nice hopeless romantic. You have been warned. The Long Fight, Part 4A, [AT] by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk Beta Durani. A medium-sized colony, sixty years or so old when the Minbari arrived. For some reason this outpost was luckier than most. Overrun just before the Battle of the Line, when the Minbari were too intent on their headlong assault on Earth to consolidate their victories, the colony survived. Its inhabitants were questioned, interrogated, a few were tortured, but they survived. They survived even when Earth was destroyed, even when Minbari and human were engulfed by fire and hatred over Mars, even when the Minbari discovered an ancient vessel beneath the surface of Mars, and temporarily abandoned their war against humanity. They survived even through the fall of the colonies on Orion and the Belt Alliance. They survived through the turmoil of the power struggle between warrior and priest, through the build-up to the renewal of hostilities at the Second Line, and through the bloody massacre of the worker caste which followed. Beta Durani had been asleep for eleven years, alone, forgotten. Run by Minbari, inhabited by humans - with a small cadre of resistance, but mainly a Minbari outpost, forgotten and unimportant. No longer. On the morning of October 1st, 2259, a little after 7.00 according to the old Earth Standard Time and calendar, a fleet sent from Proxima 3 arrived to reclaim Beta Durani. War between human and Minbari had been renewed. * * * * * * * "*Isil'zha veni*, my lord. In Valen's name." Countless light years away, another event just as significant to the fates of Minbari and human was taking place. On board a gigantic spaceship, a floating, flying castle in the darkness named Cathedral, Sinoval, nominal leader of the Minbari, was meeting the Minbari who had, centuries ago, stood and fought at Valen's side. All knew of Marrain the Accursed. The First Ranger, he was called. He had met Valen, been the first to greet him on his appearance. He had acted as Valen's bodyguard, confidante, his strongest ally. He had been Valen's Right Hand, standing by his side throughout the Battles of Ikarra, Ba'alash, Marais, and the siege of Norsa. It had been Marrain who had found Valen on the world where he had brought light to the darkness; it had been Marrain who had broken the wall formed by the Enemy during the final assault on Z'ha'dum; Marrain who had followed Valen into the Darkness there... ... and had fallen. Marrain had fallen at Z'ha'dum, corrupted by his friend and ally, Parlonn, who had himself fallen years before. Marrain, driven by pride and grief and anger, had turned on Valen. Renaming himself Shryne, he had sought to undermine everything Valen had done, attempting to destroy the nascent Grey Council, to spark renewed war between the clans... For every act of glory before his fall, Marrain had performed three acts of horror after it. Few spoke his name now; he was always known as Shryne, one of very few Minbari to become corrupted by the Enemy. Marrain the Accursed, the Lost, the Betrayer. The last recorded sighting of him had been at the Starfire Wheel, the last time the ancient device had been used. He had challenged his former friend there, determined to pull Valen and himself to their deaths in the heat of the suns of Minbar. Instead, Marrain had fallen from the Wheel and Valen had remained, untouched by the Wheel's power. That one event proved Valen to be the chosen of the old Gods to lead and guide the Minbari. Marrain had staggered away, falling into the shadow cast by Valen's light. And now he was here... his soul captured how many centuries before by the one who was now Primarch Majestus et Conclavus of the Soul Hunters. Forced to endure immortality, forever remembering the actions of his past. To such a one had Sinoval come, seeking advice and knowledge about the One whom Marrain had tried so often to destroy. * * * * * * * Administrator Forell awoke from an uneasy sleep. Rising to his feet, he walked slowly to the window of his chamber, feeling... as though something unique was taking place. He learned just how unique when he received a message from the Alyt of the Hiruma - one of the two warships currently berthed at Beta Durani. *... under attack. Repeat... we are under attack... Humans... Drakh... Streibs... others... cannot send message for reinforcements... can... not...* Forell started, and immediately sent for Lavelle, his aide. This was going to be a unique day indeed. * * * * * * * "It was pride. That is all. Pride, which caused me to fall. The titles I was given... Valen's Right Hand, the First Ranger... I led his forces in his name. Oh, there were others, of course, Parlonn, Derannimer, but I was the first of the three. "And then I fell. I will not speak of what I was offered. It was my pride which destroyed me, that is enough. I was always in the shadow cast by Valen's brilliance, and instead of seeking to remain in his light, I fell in his shadow. "I... had known the greatest, bravest, noblest warrior in our history. I stood beside him, fought beside him... He could have done so much." "And he did," Sinoval said, unable to tear his eyes from the figure before him. The two warriors were split by a gulf which was far wider than the sea of flames created by Marrain's unstable mind; far greater than the weight of ten centuries... the gulf between the one who sought to follow in Valen's footsteps and the one who had tried to eradicate those footsteps altogether. "He did a great deal," Sinoval said. "But now his work... his memory... is fading. I am here to keep that memory alive." "Fading...? How long has it been? I have not been spoken to... in so long." "A thousand years since Valen appeared to you and Parlonn. Nine hundred years since he passed beyond." "Ah... by Valeria. A long time indeed. And he is... remembered still?" "Yes, but his ways are followed only by a few. I... I need to know a few things... about you, about him." "Am I still remembered?" "Yes." "I will not ask how I am remembered. That... might not be wise. Who are you then? What do you want here?" "I am Sinoval, Holy One, leader of the Grey Council, heir to Valen's legacy. I must know where Valen's soul currently resides. I need to speak with Valen." "I have been trapped here... for over nine centuries, you say? Nine centuries! So long! And you... you who still lives free, you who claims to follow the legacy created by him who destroyed me?! You come here and ask these things of me? "Look at me! Look at me! Do you think I care about Valen and his legacy and his people? I fell through my pride, and was corrupted through my anger. "Look at me, Sinoval, heir to Valen's legacy. Look a this place that is my prison. Gaze... and burn!" Sinoval took a brief step backwards as a wall of flames gushed up over him. Shielding his face instinctively with his arms, he could only hear Marrain's despairing cries as his consciousness was thrown backwards, tumbling into the waters of flame below... "Look at me, Valen!" * * * * * * * Captain Dexter Smith resisted the urge to smile. He had been doubtful of this plan from the start, but he was a good soldier and simply did as he was ordered, for all his speculations that any one of a hundred actions by the Minbari could lead to disaster here. As it was, everything was going perfectly. The timing had been right - attacking the colony while only two Minbari ships were there. The new modifications made to the Babylon since its initial testing had resulted in much greater efficiency and skill. It was a match for a full Minbari warship now, even without help. The Morningstar was just as powerful - more so even. And then there were the Drakh and the Streibs... "General Ryan on line one, sir," said Lieutenant Franklin. Smith nodded and took the call. It was not exactly standard procedure for a general to captain a ship personally, but the story was that Ryan had insisted. Smith would not have been surprised if Clark and the others simply wanted to get rid of him. "Status, Captain Smith?" "All's in order. Both planetary defence satellites are down." "Good. All opposition here cleared. What about the jump gate?" "The Streibs are working on that." Shutting down the jump gate had been an important part of the attack. The last thing they needed was hordes of Minbari ships coming through. And any ship which jumped in under its own power would be vulnerable enough for a few moments to enable their ships to get in an early attack. "Then commence orbital bombardment. Target military bases only." "Yes sir." This had been a part of the plan from the beginning, and Smith had not been overly pleased with the idea. Still, it was one of the most efficient ways of taking out opposition on the ground. At 0715 hours Earth Standard Time, the attack on Beta Durani had begun. Not much more than an hour later, the colony surrendered. * * * * * * * Sinoval braced himself for the onslaught of the flames searing up towards him. Hotter than any fire, however, was Marrain's anger, a furious, rushing rage. *Once he had been the greatest of us all, and now...* The fire engulfed Sinoval, and for a moment he felt pain, but it passed. A silver mist swept over him, and when his vision cleared he was standing on a hillside overlooking a lake. He knew this place. It was just outside the capital city of Yedor, on Minbar. "I came here often when I was alive," said Marrain, standing looking over the lake. "I came here because Valen did. There was something about this place... it had a special significance for him. I did not see it - could not see it. I still do not." "We call this place *Turon'val'na lenn-veni*," Sinoval said. "The Place Where Valen Waits," Marrain said, anger in his voice. "Always it is he. Beside any other, I would have been the greatest of my generation. The greatest leader, the greatest warrior, the greatest of all... Beside him, I was nothing more than a candle to the stars. Are you the greatest of your generation?" There was no hint of insanity in his voice, nothing but cold, steely resolve. And yet... Sinoval was glad he could not see Marrain's eyes. "I do not know," he replied awkwardly. "That is why I wish to speak to you. There is... something I need to ask." "Then ask." Marrain did not turn around. "'One shall fall, and one shall die, and one shall save them all.' Valen spoke of One who would save them all. Am I that one?" Marrain let out a noise that might have been a chuckle. "You mistranslated. I suppose it is possible for the wording to have changed in a thousand years. That is not what Valen said." Sinoval supposed he should have felt some emotion, but he could not. He simply felt nothing. "Then what did he say?" "'One shall fall, and one shall fail, and one shall save the One.'" There was a marked difference in the way Marrain said the final 'One'. "I was there when Valen relayed his prophecies to Derranimer and Nemain. There would be One, he said, who would accomplish the salvation of all, not just Minbari, but everyone. But the One would be three. The One who Was, the One who Is, and the One who Will Be." Sinoval was not following this. "Who...?" "Valen himself claimed to be the One who Was. Why that should be the case, I do not know. As for the others... He spoke of someone once. I did not know her name, but she was... not Minbari. As Valen was not, but slightly different. She would be our salvation and our hope. "'We must reunite with the other half of our soul,' he said. She would be the means through which this would be done." "Valen's Name," Sinoval whispered. He remembered... *"No!" she cried, a word that was more a scream than a normal utterance. "No! Listen to me! Valen was human! They are our kin. They are the other half of our soul!"* "Valen's Name... Delenn... Oh, no... Oh, Valen, no..." Sinoval started, speaking now with an urgent need, the words tripping over themselves as they left his mouth. "One shall fall and one shall d... fail... and one shall save... them... and one shall save the One. Who?" "Don't you know?" Marrain turned to face Sinoval, and his eyes... reflected in his inky-black pupils was a flame which would never burn out, a flame of madness, of vision, of destiny... the same flame which had stirred Sinoval's soul for so long. "Parlonn failed, I fell, and Derranimer saved Valen." "No... no, that's not true. Sech Derhan... he said that... Neroon, Tryfan, I... we were the three he spoke of..." "Then maybe your Sech Derhan was right. Everything is a cycle, is it not?" Sinoval's thoughts and words jumbled in his mind and in his voice. He could not think, could not think. "Tryfan died at Proxima, but was that a failure? Neroon vanished from Minbar, leaving the Rangers, but has he fallen? I have... failed... oh, Valen. I have failed my people, failed Valen, failed Delenn... Oh, Valen." "Prophecy is a poor guide to the future," Marrain said. He seemed to be smiling. "Welcome to my future. I will wait for you to join me here. I... miss the company after all this time." "But Valen... you... I..." "I would have been the greatest of my generation, but beside him, I was nothing but a candle to the stars. Surely you of all people can understand why I did what I did." Sinoval realised he had fallen to his knees. "Valen... no! No! NOOOOO!" He threw his head back and the whole landscape around him fell away. As the silver mist dissolved around him he found himself lying on the cold stone floor of the Primarch's Soul Chamber in Cathedral. The Primarch was standing above him, his long, slender fingers entwined in a steeple. A pale, enigmatic smile played around his face. "You were speaking to him for a long time, Primarch Nominus et Corpus. A very long time. I myself have not dared commune with that one for even half as long." "Was it true?" Sinoval panted, sucking in huge gasps of air. "Was... it... what he said. Could it have been true?" "Ordinarily, a soul is incapable of lying, but a lie and an untruth are not necessarily the same. A soul can only reveal what it honestly believes to be the case. That one... he was all but insane when I took him, and his death occurred in great agony and suffering. When that happens... anything is possible. Perhaps it did lie, perhaps it is mistaken, or perhaps it is a truth you simply do not wish to hear. Did you discover that which you sought?" "No... no, I did not." "Well then. You had better keep searching. What are your orders now, Primarch?" "I... have none. I... need to... rest." The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus smiled again, inclining his head gently. "As you wish. You may have any quarters in Cathedral of course. As is your right." Sinoval did not listen. He did not care. He simply wanted to scream, to let out all his anger and his grief and his self-pity in a scream which would shake the very towers of Cathedral. But he did not. He doubted he could give vent to such a scream, and live. * * * * * * * From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Long Fight, Part 4B Date: Thu, 5 Feb 1998 23:45:51 +0000 The Long Fight, Part 4B, [AT]. by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk Kazomi 7 had once been a place of heavy trade, of much travel, of many visitors. That was before the Drakh invasion. No new ships had arrived there for months and even now, with the Drakh gone, few dared journey here. The worlds outside were either preoccupied with their own concerns, or afraid to go near a place touched by a race as fearsome as the Drakh, or simply did not care. For a world desperately starved of food, medical supplies and communications, the people did not know whether to welcome the presence of an armed capital warship, or to fear it. One person knew. As she watched the human shuttle come in to land on the large plain just outside the main - and only major - settlement of the planet, Delenn, formerly Satai, formerly prisoner, formerly angel of mercy, drew in a sharp breath. Not just in anticipation of hope, of a future for the people she had taken to her heart, but in anticipation of who would be aboard that shuttle. The shuttle came to a halt and figures began pouring out. Narns, members of the security force aboard the EAS Parmenion. The infamous Narn Bat Squad. Delenn smiled slightly, but her smile turned to a soft gasp as two more figures came into view. Delenn began walking forward slowly, wishing that she could blame any near-trips to awkwardness with her new, mostly- human body. "Delenn!" shouted one of the human figures. To the evident displeasure of many of the Narns he began trotting forward, not running, but moving with a little too much speed for a formal diplomatic meeting. She stepped forward to meet him, and he managed to slow just as he reached her, touching her arms gently, with just a hint of awkwardness, a mere fraction away from a full embrace, but that fraction was still there. "Delenn," smiled Captain John Sheridan. "You... ah... you look great." She smiled warmly. She supposed that compared to the last time he had truly seen her - a pitiful travesty, caught between races, between trans- formations, each breath an agony, each movement an ordeal - compared to that last meeting, she supposed she did look better. Unless he actually liked her new... appearance... "Thank you," she said, not sure of what else she should be saying. "I... I... have missed you, John." "I've missed you too..." There was a noise very much like a Drazi trying subtly to draw attention to himself - which was not very subtle at all. Subtlety was not a Drazi attribute. Delenn bowed her head slightly and stepped a little way back from John. "May I present Ambassador Vizhak," she said, indicating the still purple- sashed Drazi behind her. He was standing as far away from Taan Churok as he could. Vizhak made a small gesture of welcoming, which John returned. "And Taan Churok." He had no real title as such - well, nothing more than innkeeper - but he had a strong air of personal authority. "Ah, Cap'n. Hello, yer 'onner." Delenn bit back a smile, acknowledging the diminutive human who stepped forward. She didn't think he was actually all that short, but he walked in a sort of crouch, making expressive gestures. "This is..." "Captain Jack, yer 'onner. You remember me, I'm sure. Itinerant merchant, traveller, wanderer of the spaceways, heh heh heh. I'm the one who sent you the signal from here, remember me? Well, I was sort of wondering if there might be any sort of position that might come up... you know what I mean..." "Come and see me later, and I'll see what I can arrange." John glanced over Captain Jack to Delenn, silent pleading in his eyes. Delenn's smile widened. "This is Merchant-Lord Lethke." The closest translation she could find to his title. The Brakiri stepped forward, and made the traditional gesture of welcoming. "It is an honour, Captain," he said. "But... if I may be so bold, perhaps we could save the diplomacy for later. The food and medical supplies you bring are sorely needed." Delenn silently cursed herself. Here she was, mere moments after seeing John, and she seemed to have lost her mind entirely. "Of course," Sheridan said. "Ko'Dath and Commander Corwin - my second and Head of Security - will be happy to help you distribute everything." He glanced at Delenn again, and then turned back to the others - Vizhak, Taan Churok, Lethke, Captain Jack, Vejar... even Londo had turned up, although he was hanging towards the back and not saying much. Lennier had not. "Delenn," said a voice. Smiling, Delenn turned. "I... I'm glad to see you." "Lyta. It is good to see you again. We... never really had a chance to talk after Proxima." The red-haired telepath smiled and stepped forward, hugging Delenn tightly. "I could feel almost everything you were going through," Lyta said. "Please don't do that to me again." "I won't. Trust me." Lyta pulled back and shook her head softly. "It's been one of those months. It's been..." She looked around at the others, busily organising the transport of the food. "We'll talk later." "Yes," Delenn said. "I'd like that." * * * * * * * President Morgan Clark sat back from the communicator and suppressed a broad smile. Spinning around on his chair, he only just restrained himself from laughing out loud. He rose to his feet and began adjusting his suit. Not ten steps and one door away sat the remnants of the Resistance Government, waiting to hear the word of humanity's greatest triumph thus far. Walking into the meeting room, he kept a neutral composure. They had asked him for guarantees. Guarantee us this, prove we can win, promise us that... Well, if the events of this morning were not enough, then nothing would be. Six pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. Walking slowly, studying each person carefully, he took his seat at the head of the table. Donne, Isogi, Sakai, Kha'Mak, Welles, Sheridan. None of them could be trusted, and none of them shared his vision for humanity, but for the moment their paths lay on similar courses. Welles and Sheridan were already aware of this news of course. The others might have guessed. It didn't matter. Nothing could diminish the impact of his message. "Early this morning," he began, "our ships - the Babylon and the Morningstar - accompanied by ships provided by a number of our alien allies, attacked the Minbari-held colony at Beta Durani. After a short battle, the colony was retaken. All the Minbari ships on patrol there were destroyed. Our own losses were negligible. A list of the dead is being compiled and will be circulated to the appropriate bodies within the military, who will inform the families. "Provisional reports indicate that there are a few humans still surviving on Beta Durani. A temporary governing council is being formed there until something more permanent can be set up." Clark looked around the table. "Well, ladies and gentlemen. You have asked me for assurances and guarantees. Surely this suffices?" Taro Isogi said nothing, but made a brief nod. He hardly mattered anyway.= His own business was a small thing, potentially useful but small. No, the true voice of what remained of the megacorps was Catherine Sakai, spokesperson for Interplanetary Expeditions. She did not disappoint him. "How long will our ships be remaining at Beta Durani?" she asked. "Only as long as it takes to pacify the Minbari population and secure the planet. They will then be moving on." "Why so soon?" "We intend to win this war, Miss Sakai," spoke up Ambassador Sheridan. Clark was irked at having his thunder stolen, but he gave no sign of irritation. "We will move on to the next colony, and then the next one, and the next, until we are at the homeworld itself. This is not a war for territory, or money, or pride. It is a war for survival, and only one of our races will survive." "I see. Well then, Mr. President, will you grant us the concessions you promised at the last meeting?" "Certain exemptions will be made from the Wartime Emergencies Provisions. The tax breaks we promised you will also be granted. And Councillor Kha'Mak has very generously promised favourable trading terms with his government. Is that not the case, Councillor?" "Of course, President Clark." The Narn did not look happy and Clark could not blame him. The prospect of an unhappy Narn did not upset the President at all. "And of course our newly-liberated colonies will be needing some substan- tial trading opportunities. Well, Miss Sakai, will you now fulfill your side of the promise?" "I will have to talk to my superiors, but it does seem likely. I have just one question. What will happen to the Minbari population of Beta Durani? There may be aspects of their technology we might find useful." "They will be pacified." "Which means?" "Which means that they will no longer be a threat, or of use to anyone. Trust me on that." * * * * * * * Delenn hoped that for the first time in months she would be able to sleep without nightmares. It had been a very busy few hours; she had driven herself harder than she had for a long time. But the work... it had all been worth it. Co-ordinating with the Parmenion's doctors, she had been able to save at least fifteen who would otherwise have died soon, and many others were looking forward to a longer life than they could have thought possible. She had then gone from the hospital to the temporary base of government to watch John make his speeches. "We... represent an alliance which believes in peace, and order, and above all... life. What has happened here is dreadful, a tragic loss of life, but more than that... it is a loss of hope, a loss of happiness, a loss of purpose. We cannot restore to life those who were killed, but we may be able to restore some hope. "I look around at those present here, and I see a gathering of races, brought together by a common, if tragic goal. What began as a coalition of necessity, its only goal survival, has become something greater. An alliance of races, of peoples... working together. "I and my crew... we will help defend this place as much as we can in the future. There is a great deal of chaos and darkness engulfing the galaxy outside, and we cannot be everywhere, but when we can be here, we will be here, protecting what has been built. "It was a leader of my people, hundreds of years ago, who once said... something special..." He had paused here and Delenn had seen on his lips, if not spoken aloud, the words, *What the hell did he say? Come on, John, you can't forget this again. You used to give it all the time. Ah yes...* He had looked up. "The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise to the occasion. We cannot escape history. We will be remembered in spite of ourselves. The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down, in honour or dishonour, to the last generation. We shall nobly save, or meanly lose, our last, best hope of the future." Delenn had smiled, and slipped away. This had been nothing more than a Drazi colony and trading post. Before that speech there had no question of forging a new alliance here, but now there was no question of not forming one. She thought she detected the hand of G'Kar there, but she was happy at the thought. If some good could arise from all this tragedy, then that made her smile. A little. But for her, there could be no place in this new alliance. She had led once, and been mistaken. She had tried to turn her people back from the brink to which she had brought them, and she had failed. Now, she was a healer, a worker with the sick and the dying. That was where she belonged now. She remembered... Londo coming to see her. He looked ragged and torn, and a little unhappy. "I have to go, Delenn," he had said. "There is little I can do here now, and I am needed elsewhere. My homeworld... Elric gave me the means to save it, perhaps. I do not know if I can manage it. I simply know that I must try." "I understand, Londo," she had replied. "I wish you good fortune." "Yes, well. I'll probably need it. Good fortune does not exactly follow me around. I promise you this, Delenn. If the day ever comes when I am once again in a position of power among my people, I will lend you all my support. Everything my Republic can muster, I will use to help what you are doing here." "I? I have done little, Londo." "If you say so, Delenn." He did not seem to believe her. He leant forward and kissed her on the cheek. Stepping back, he winked, leaving Delenn touching her cheek in surprise. She smiled and inclined her head in respect as he walked away. She remembered... John coming up to her afterwards, after the speeches, after the healing, after... She had said his name softly, but he didn't seem able to get hers out. "I..." he had begun. "I'm sorry for what happened before... you left. I... I wasn't fair to you. I wasn't..." "Shush. If you have to apologise, then so must I. And then you will have to apologise for me apologising, and I will have to apologise to you, and none of us will ever stop apologising. And that would be a waste." "Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "My compliments on your understanding of human nature. You've obviously picked up a lot." "I am... learning." There was a tension here, something unresolved, something neither of them could resolve at that moment. A chance to laugh, a chance to be... with each other. For the moment, that was enough. They had talked, about large things and small things, politics, dreams, bad jokes... "Oh, things up there... they've been a mess. The whole League of Non- Aligned Worlds seems to be falling apart. They're going to war with each other, civil war, everything's falling apart. Most of it without any reason." "Then Londo was right?" Swiftly, Delenn had outlined Londo's theories about the Keepers. "I had hoped..." "That could be it... Maybe G'Kar knows something about these Keepers. I'll have to let him know. He's had me doing patrols throughout League space. Obviously I can't do much with just one ship, but I do what I can.= Patrolling borders, protecting refugee ships, that sort of thing... I was very surprised to hear your signal. I'd thought... Well, I'd heard about the Drakh invasion, and G'Kar did send some ships to try to get here, but they all got cut to pieces. I... I was... afraid... for you..." "I... survived. It was... not easy at times. But overall... we endured..." "I wish I could have been here. I just wish..." "Shush. There was nothing you could have done. Nothing." "Oh... I must say I like your new appearance. You seem to be getting a new body every year. Any chance of another one next year?" "Valen, I hope not. Besides, do you not like this one? I am quite pleased with it." She had done a little twirl for him, to demonstrate, and he had laughed. "Although I will not deny, there have been some... awkward moments." "You think you've had awkward moments so far, wait till you try human fashions." "No... I do not mean clothing. It is just... maybe you can help me with this. When the technomages completed my transformation, I felt so well. Everything seemed right. But then... one day... for a few hours, I was in such pain. Then... I discovered... I was... bleeding..." Delenn had taken a deep breath, somehow reluctant to explain further. "It scared me.= I thought something had gone wrong with my transformation. But there was so much to do, so many more sick than I, and after a few days it gradually stopped. But then, a few weeks later, the same thing happened again. Something in Lyta's memories seemed familiar, but... John, are you all right? Your face is very... red..." "Ah... just the... atmosphere here. A little thicker than what I'm used to... Takes a bit of adjusting. Umm... yes, I wasn't expecting to have to do this for a good few years yet... Elizabeth wouldn't have been... Er... well, there are sort of... times when... er... for women... human women... when they..." "Yes?" "Er... well... It's sort of like..." His face had been getting redder and redder, and he had tried to avoid looking her in the eye. "John? Is there... something wrong with me?" "Ah... no... umm... Oh, I'll go get Lyta. I'm sure she can do this better than I can." He had leapt to his feet and looked around. "I just hope no one heard me say this," he had muttered to himself. His glance had been full of tenderness and loss, as if he were trying to commit her new face to memory. Then he had reddened again, saying, "I won't be long," as he scurried away. She remembered... Lyta coming, and explaining that, amongst other things... That had been an interesting conversation! Why John had been quite so embarrassed by it, Delenn did not really understand. Lyta made everything sound perfectly normal, if inconvenient. They had talked about other things as well, a great many other things. Delenn stood at the window of the room in the hospital that she had taken for her own. A small room, which now - for the first time she could remember - was not shared by the dying. As the night sky darkened over Kazomi 7, she smiled one long, last time, before going to bed. And there were no nightmares. Not one. * * * * * * * Londo had definite plans for the future. First, get off Kazomi 7. The sooner the better. News of this was bound to get out now that travel would resume, and if he could dissociate himself from it, so much the better. The last thing he needed was to attract attention. Then... he needed a communicator. He had been out of things for so long... anything could have happened back home. He needed to contact his agents, among them Mr. Morden - to ask a certain question or two - and his dearly beloved Timov - to find out if his estate was still intact. Then... find out where Prime Minister Malachi had been hiding all these years, and... He came skidding to a halt. Standing before Captain Jack's somewhat ramshackle spaceship was Lennier. He had been making himself decidedly inconspicuous ever since the technomages had left. Oh, he had been working hard in various departments - scouting parties with Taan Churok, administrative details with Lethke, reading some of his... unique brand of Minbari poetry to the injured when Delenn wasn't around... But everywhere he had been, he had made himself as invisible as he could. "Mr. Lennier. I have been looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye. I am leaving today, you see. I..." "Yes," came the reply. "I know. I would... like to come with you." "Really? I would have thought you would be looking for a place here. Delenn is bound to need someone to help her knock these characters into shape, no?" "That would... not be suitable. You, however, will need some help on your mission. I would like to provide it." "Ah... By the Great Maker, why not? Come on, Mr. Lennier. Let us find that disreputable rogue Captain Jack. He promised me a trip off this place, you know. To one of the League worlds first. I have to get in contact with my agents... and I need a drink. Do you know how long it had been since I last saw alcohol? Far too long, let me tell you. Far, far too long. Why, I almost thought I would forget the taste of the stuff... Now that was a horrendous prospect, let me tell you..." * * * * * * * *They will be pacified.* Forell had never been very important. Stuck in a position of little worth, of little regard, of less power. Suddenly he was now very important, but not for a reason he liked. Frozen, unable to move so much as a muscle, yet compelled to watch, he saw the Drakh move around him, readying the Keeper they would attach to his neck. Pacification... Next: The Good Ship Babylon (3 parts). As the war between human and Minbari heats up, Bester=92s machinations place Sheridan somewhere he would far rather not be, but will his mixed desires spell doom for himself and his crew? Political intrigue threatens to spiral out of control on both Proxima and Minbar and Londo is reminded of something he=92d forgotten a long time ago...