"I'll go on if you kiss me again."
She did. He finished the story. They both laughed.
* * *
Vejar the technomage, the forgotten and abandoned, sat before his mirror, keeping his reflection clear and uppermost in his mind, and cast his soul upwards and outwards through the Neuadd.
He had named it that, in the days when the building had still meant something. When Kazomi 7 had still meant something. When the Alliance had existed to protect and shelter and unify.
He had given up his companions and his friends and all those who would understand him to remain here, to help and guide and protect, and now he was forgotten and abandoned.
Kazomi 7 was quiet these days. All the administration of the Alliance had been moved to Babylon 5. The Ambassadors and their staff had left. Most of the Governments kept a skeleton office here, with third- or fourth-rate diplomats who did little more than eat large dinners and try to stay out of trouble. The Shrine to the Unknown Warrior that Delenn had created to honour those who had died was now untended and unguarded.
And there, as always, at the summit of the tower that was the Neuadd, was the globe of light that formed the Vorlon's quarters. Ambassador Ulkesh was in. Alone of the ambassadors he had remained behind, a new Vorlon ambassador having been appointed to Babylon 5. Vejar did not know why he was here, and he did not want to know. He had tried, once, penetrating the globe that surrounded Ulkesh's quarters, and had been repelled in agony. Never again. Not for people who no longer cared if he even existed.
It was galling. He had been so much in demand before. Checking people for Keepers, providing wards and shields and holo-demons. With the war over and the Vorlons secure in their power base once again, there was no more need for him.
None whatsoever.
"Such is the gratitude of princes," said a voice.
Vejar returned slowly to his body, and stared deeply into the mirror. There was nothing behind him, exactly as he had expected. He raised one hand, and a ball of light formed inside his fist. Opening his fingers one at a time, he released the ball and it rose into the air.
The light shattered and became a mass of butterflies, a million different colours. Vejar caught one easily and lowered his hand.
In his fist was a feather.
"Hello, Galen," he sighed.
"Hello, Vejar," came the cheery reply. "I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here."
* * *
"Who is Da'Kal?
"That is a question I find my heart is too heavy to answer, but answer it I must. What I do, I do alone. As mine was the omission, so is mine the responsibility to make restitution. But I know that I may fall, and someone else will have to take up my path, and to do that, you will need to know what I know.
"Da'Kal is a noblewoman of my people. Her father G'Nattach was a priest of G'Quan, a particularly wise and enlightened man. I learned a great deal from his teachings, and it grieves me more than I can say that I am acknowledged as a great messiah while men such as he are forgotten. He did what he could to help our people during the Centauri Occupation. He helped refugees flee beyond Centauri-controlled lands. He hid outlaws. He provided medicine and healing and holy words.
"I first met him the night after my father died. I had fled from the household where my family had been kept as servants, and I had killed one Centauri, the son of the noble family who owned us. I still remember his wide, terrified eyes as he died. One more sin to add to so many others. I believe this more as I grow older: we are all born pure, but with each passing day the weight of our actions burdens us more and more and stains us with their filth.
"Lost and confused and angry and afraid, I stumbled on G'Nattach's chapel and collapsed in the doorway. Da'Kal found me and took me in. She nursed me back to health. I still do not know why.
"I do not want to go into too much detail. My flight leaves soon and there is much to cover. I think, however, you can guess what happened next. She was beautiful and passionate and committed to our liberation. I was young and angry and determined to have my revenge. It was an.... unforgiving combination.
"We grew together, we grew apart. Our careers took us on different paths after the liberation. Mine to our military and then into politics. Hers into internal reorganisation and administration. Our lives were entwined as two pieces of yarn from two different spinners, and it was ultimately arranged that we were to be married.
"The passion of our original affair had subsided, but there was still something there and neither of us objected. In the politically-charged environment of the Kha'Ri any alliance was a good one, and the name of her father still carried a great deal of weight. By marrying her, I would be seen as the natural inheritor of his legacy.
"Then came my sighting of the Shadow ship and my epiphany under the choking grasp of Londo Mollari, and my life changed forever.
"I abandoned my post in the Kha'Ri, and set about creating the Rangers and preparing for the war that was to come. I told Da'Kal simply that she could not follow where I walked, and I left her. I have not seen her since.
"I learned something recently — several somethings. I learned that our Ambassador here, G'Kael, is the Kha'Ri's spymaster, sent to observe the Alliance and myself. I have learned that we have been dabbling in areas we should not have been dabbling in, working to wreak our revenge on the Centauri, and we have done it through intrigue and manipulation and deception.
"And I have learned that Da'Kal is the one behind this plan.
"I need to find her. I need to talk to her. I must either try to learn more or try to reason with her. I must at least do something. I am afraid. I loved her once, but that was many years ago. I was a different person then, and I am sure she is a different person now. She must be, to command the fear of one such as G'Kael.
"I am going to Narn to find her. I may not come back, and so I leave this message for you, explaining what I know and what I am hoping to do. I.... feel a strange foreboding about this journey.
"Some of my people call me a prophet. It is not a term I like. I do not see the future, I simply see the strands of fate that connect us all, and I see how they intertwine and shape each other. It is a skill, not a talent, and one I have honed and practised.
"Still, I feel an almost prophetic unease about this. I must go, there is no doubt about that, but I fear something.... Perhaps I am just starting at shadows, but perhaps there is more.
"If I do not return, use what I have told you. Do not trust any of my people, least of all G'Kael. We have become more devious than I had ever suspected, more than anyone could suspect, I think.
"Be careful, and good fortune.
"I wish you well, Delenn."
* * *
The laughter had stopped, replaced by the easy, casual intimacy of two people who have fought for their lives together. Talia's hand was in Dexter's and her head was resting on his shoulder.
"So?" he said at last.
There was a long pause.
It grew longer.
"'So' what?" she replied, eventually.
"Dare I ask what you've been up to? It's been almost two years."
"Thinking about you. Some of the time. For the rest of it, meeting old friends, seeing new places, fighting for my life. You know how it goes."
"Lucky you. Sometimes I think I'd trade everything to travel around the galaxy like that."
"You might still get your chance."
There was another long pause. Dexter was looking up at the ceiling, seeing the patterns formed by the cracks in the plaster. Little things he had never noticed before took on much greater significance now.
"Did you find him?" he asked eventually.
"Find who?"
"The man you were looking for. Your husband."
"Oh. No, I didn't. Well, sort of." She sighed. "It's complicated. I did find my daughter, though."
"How is she?"
"Older. A lot older. I've missed a lot."
"So why are you here?"
"I want to be with you."
"Flattered as I am, there's more to it, isn't there? You need my help with something."
"Yes."
"Good. I want to help you with it, whatever it is."
"Don't say that until you know what it is."
"It doesn't matter."
"No. I want you to be sure."
"So.... what is it?"
She snuggled up closer to him. "It can wait until the morning. Everything's spinning now."
"That's the alcohol."
"No. It's more than that."
"You could hold on tighter."
"I'm holding on as tight as I can."
"So I see."
That was when they started kissing.
* * *
The feeling of dread stopped the instant he stepped into the conference room. He was not quite the last to arrive, but he still felt his hearts skip a beat as he saw all those eyes looking at him.
Mi'Ra was not here. That was it. Marrago found himself looking at the only other real player here: Moreil. The Z'shailyl met his gaze calmly and dispassionately. Neither was quite sure of the other yet: friend or ally or tool or enemy. There was too much to be determined, too much still to be answered.
Marrago took his seat, not remotely worried about being alone. Some of the other captains had brought aides or assistants or bodyguards, but he had nothing to fear. He knew that should his true agenda ever be discovered then one or two bodyguards would do nothing but provide a half-second delay for Moreil's monsters. Plus, he wanted the other captains to recognise his confidence. They had to know he did not fear them, not even Moreil.
Not even Moreil's monsters.
The heat haze behind the Z'shailyl told him that the two Wykhheran were there, as ever. Since their last encounter, Marrago had studied the monsters as much as he could. He could now recognise the shimmering that revealed their presence. It was not easy, and his eyes were not as sharp as they had been.
Apart from Mi'Ra, the others did not matter. The Narn was playing some deeper game, and she would have to be watched. As for Rem Lanas and the Sniper and the Drazi, they were all easily led. When a power struggle for leadership finally emerged, it would be between him, Mi'Ra — probably working through G'Lorn — and Moreil.
Except that neither of the other two would want that. Both fancied themselves as the power behind the throne. If Moreil had wanted the leadership he could have had it by now. His Wykhheran gave him an advantage that the others could not match unless they all worked together, and Marrago doubted they were capable of that.
He sighed. The Brotherhood functioned only so long as they kept to their path of conquest. It had been too long since the assault on Gorash, and but for some minor raiding of shipping lanes they had not embarked on a military campaign in several months. They would have to act soon, or risk turning all their aggression and anger onto each other. He could see that. Moreil could surely see it as well, if he cared to.
And so could Mi'Ra.
She entered with G'Lorn while Marrago was still musing. Another alien was with them, one from a race Marrago did not recognise. He thought it was female, although it was incredibly thin. It wore no clothes as far as he could tell. At first he thought it was some sort of Narn animal, for it walked on four legs, but then it rose, muscles and joints shifting beneath its skin, and looked around at them. Marrago could see the careful intelligence in the creature's eyes, and silently rebuked himself for rash thinking.
As he looked closer, he was aware of something else there. Or rather, nothing else.
Not a thing. No conscience, no remorse, no mercy.
No soul.
"We have a new candidate for membership," G'Lorn announced. As ever, he spoke while Mi'Ra watched. "She provides resources greater than any of us thus far. An entire race of people, an entire planet to serve our goals.
"They wish to fight alongside us for a very.... specific goal, one that I am sure...." He looked at Marrago very closely as he said this. "One that I am sure none of us will object to pursuing. Her people have passion and resources, but they lack skilled generals, which they believe we can provide.
"I shall now let her introduce herself."
The alien stepped forward and looked around the circle. Marrago did not look at her, but at those she was looking at. The Sniper, the human, seemed uninterested. The Drazi snorted. Moreil.... Moreil sat forward in his chair, meeting her gaze. Something that might have been concern flickered across his alien features.
"Greeting to those who march without banners," the alien said in a harsh, staccato voice. Marrago frowned. The rhythm of her words was out of joint, out of synch. Even allowing for the fact that she was speaking a language not her own — the Trade dialect most people understood — there was no structure to her speech.
"I speak as noMir Ru, Silent One of the Songless. Some of you may know as us the Tuchanq."
Now Marrago knew who they were, and he sat up. The Tuchanq.... their world had been invaded by the Narn.... twenty years ago, at least. They had gained freedom of a sort and.... just dropped out of sight. With everything that was going on in the galaxy it was not hard to lose track of what was happening at the edges.
Or in the shadows.
"We go to war, to spread the silence of those who denied us our Song. We seek allies here, amongst those who are as lost as we are. All have pain. We will give pain to those who gave pain to us. We ask that you fight beside us, that we fight together.
"We are ready now. For long years have we been still. Now we move. Now we have order. Silence blankets our world, and we are ready.
"We will attack and have our revenge."
She looked at Marrago, and just for a moment he saw something deeper, something beyond the silence and the emptiness and the nothing. Something that could have been more, could have been greater, could have been beautiful.
But it had been perverted and corrupted and become something else.
He shifted his gaze to Moreil, and was troubled by what he saw in the Z'shailyl's face. Moreil seemed.... fascinated, as if he were watching one of the mysteries of the universe unfolding before his eyes.
And then Marrago looked at Mi'Ra. She could not disguise the triumph in her eyes.
"We attack Centauri Prime. We spread the silence through fire and pain. We attack those who brought us pain.
"We ask for aid from the bannerless, from the songless, from the pained.
"What say you?"
Chapter 2
Will you come to find me?
Sheridan sat up and looked around. His waking was not the start and scream of a nightmare. It was the slow, puzzled emergence of one who was never truly asleep to begin with. Some people could move straight from sleep to full wakefulness with no period of transition. John Sheridan was not that sort of person, at least not usually.
Beside him Delenn was still sleeping, silent and still and as beautiful as a statue touched by the sunrise. He brushed her hair with his fingers and was surprised by just how cold she was, like marble not yet warmed by the sun.
He rose from their bed and walked through to the bathroom. There was no sound at all. That was unusual. There was always.... something. There was no night on Babylon 5, not really. There was always someone up — security guards, the usually nocturnal Brakiri, the terminally insomniac.... someone.
He poured some water and splashed it on his face, hoping it would wake him up. It did no such thing. He rubbed at the stubble on the side of his face and sighed. Sometimes he hated shaving. It was hard enough managing enough co-ordination just to get dressed some mornings, without having to shave as well. Maybe he could forgo it for today. Would anyone really notice? He looked into the mirror to see how bad it was.
Nothing looked back at him.
He started and touched the cold surface. It was there. It was solid, and it was reflecting the rest of the room perfectly. Just not him. He looked around to make sure. Yes, everything was there. The corner of the shower screen, the towel rail on the opposite w
all, the window.
The window?
Where had that come from?
He walked slowly over to it, the silence now uncomfortably oppressive. Some strange, primal urge came over him, an overwhelming compulsion to return to bed, to the warmth and safety that existed there and nowhere else, to pull the blanket over his head and hide from whatever was out here.
He hadn't felt this afraid since he had been a child and convinced that the scarecrows were coming to life and trying to get in his bedroom window.
He touched the curtains. They were solid. They were real. They had that texture of dampness and roughness that spoke of a most definite reality.
He could have sworn this room hadn't had a window before.
He threw the curtains open.
A dazzling light seared his eyes and he stumbled backwards, raising his arms instinctively, but knowing it was too late. It had blinded him, the light was tearing him apart, filling his mind and his soul and covering everything it found there, like a layer of oil over the surface of an ocean.
Will you come to find me?
The voice came with the light, repeating the question over and over again.
Will you come to find me?
He reeled away from the window, falling backwards. He reached out frantically, seeking anything to stabilise himself. A firm, stone hand caught him and helped him steady himself. Slowly, awkwardly, he pulled his hand away from his face.
There was a grey robe in front of him, almost like a monk's. He could see no face inside it, in fact there was no sign of anything inside it, anything at all.
"Will you come to find me?" said a voice from the robe. "You have been asked that already. Someone tried to warn you. You did not listen, did you?"
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Babylon Four. Before the fire, before the fury, the calm before the storm. Someone tried to warn you of what would come, dressing up the warning in dreams and whispers and premonitions. You did not listen. Will you come to find me?"
Understanding dawned. "I did go to find her. I went to Z'ha'dum. I...."
"Left her there? How can you blame her for what happened?"
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 : Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 3 : On the Edges of Perception addm-5 Page 3