"He will know," H'Klo said. "He will find us."
"There is no need to be concerned," she replied, still looking down on the city. One of the many things she had learned from the Centauri. Build high, and look down upon those you rule.
"I am concerned," he snapped. "Ask me to fight for you and I will. Ask me to kill for you and I will. But do not ask me to go against him, Da'Kal. He is.... our Prophet. He has something I have never seen in anyone else, not even you. He...." H'Klo paused, obviously struggling to find the words. "He is special."
"Yes," Da'Kal replied, irritated. "The mighty Prophet G'Kar. The wise, the bountiful, the saviour of our people."
"Is he not everything you have said?"
She took more jhala. "Yes," she replied bitterly. "Yes, he is."
"He will find us."
"Let him. Do not worry, H'Klo. You will not have to fight him."
"The Thenta Ma'Kur?"
"No. I am not sure I can trust them anyway. For all their boasts of loyalty only to money they can be.... sentimental. Besides, I have enquired secretly about their price for him." She paused, holding herself tight with her right arm, staring into the mirror of memory.
"And?"
"Over eight million Narn ducats."
"We do not have that sort of money."
"No one does. That is the point. Do not worry, H'Klo. There are.... other ways."
"He will not understand."
"No," she whispered sadly. "He does not. In a strange way I admire him. I even love him still, almost as much as I hate him. He was the bravest man I ever met. But the man he has become....
"He has forgiven them. After everything they did to him, to his father, to his mother, to me.... after all these things he has forgiven them. He even urges us to do the same. Do you know what bravery like that is? I wish I had a tenth of it." She finished her jhala and held the cup gently, rolling it between two fingers.
"But if everyone was capable of that kind of forgiveness, we would not be Narns, we would be angels."
She threw the cup far out into the air and turned away from the balcony to avoid seeing it land.
"There are no angels, and by his very existence he reminds us of our imperfections.
"Have no fear, H'Klo. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar will be dealt with."
* * *
We were defeated because we had not thought. We were conquered because we did not see. Yes, we have won a victory now, but unless we learn, the victory will be hollow and empty, nothing but the ashes of the funeral pyres.
Blind rage will not serve us. Unthinking lust for revenge will gain us nothing. This is a new world for us now, for all of us. Unless we think, unless we see, unless we learn, then we might as well never have picked up a single weapon to fight the Centauri in the first place.
Mi'Ra ran those words through her mind as she went to her meeting. The Prophet's speech at the Square of Ashes in G'Khamazad. She had been there with her father, and a chill had swept through her as she watched G'Kar speak. Her father had not understood, but he was dead now. Mi'Ra had understood, and those words had stayed with her always.
Think, see, learn. That mantra had been with her throughout her life. It had seen her abandon the path her father had set, a life in the Kha'Ri as he had chosen, and she had instead chosen to go out into the galaxy. She had seen such wonderful things, such beautiful things. She had learned from what she had seen, and most of all she had learned to think.
The Prophet had been right, of course. Blind rage and unthinking vengeance would gain them nothing. What was needed was focussed rage and structured vengeance.
Centauri Prime. Home of the enemy. Her father had used to dream of taking the war there, but he had died before he could realise that dream. Just another victim of the games the Kha'Ri played, struck down by a well-concealed poison.
And now she would be a part of the destruction of the Centauri homeworld. Any one of her people would pay everything they owned for a part in this, however small, and her part was far from small.
She entered the meeting room, her guards with her, those visible and those.... not. G'Lorn was beside her as always. Loyal and trusting. He had not thought or seen or learned anything before, but now he was growing. It was the military mindset. Serve, obey and ask no questions. She was slowly breaking him of that, but she had to admit that it was useful at times.
Marrago was waiting for her, sitting patiently at the far side of the table. He had no guards with him, but then he did not need any. This was a man who had truly taken on board the Prophet's words, whether he realised it or not.
She sat down, G'Lorn beside her. "Should we not be preparing for the battle?" she asked. "Or have you more strategies to debate with me?"
"No," he replied coolly. "I have.... discovered something recently. Part of a bargain. Like for like. Information for information. Do you know what I have learned?"
Mi'Ra had a feeling she did. She had always agreed with Moreil. Marrago was by far the most dangerous man here.
"I have learned of a Councillor in the Kha'Ri by name of Du'Rog." Mi'Ra did not let her expression slip once. "He was very much in favour of renewed attacks on my people. He died some years ago of a convenient illness. It is strange, but there are many in my Court who have died of convenient illnesses at convenient times.
"But Du'Rog had adherents and they followed his ways. There were similar types amongst my people, and so there was war. It ended, as wars tend to do, and there was peace. Narn and Centauri, all one in an Alliance, working together for peace and prosperity — but for a few renegades and outlaws like ourselves of course.
"I have no doubt there are many among my people who do not like the idea of peace with yours. I am equally sure there are some among yours who like the idea even less. My people are too.... restricted to do anything about it, but yours.... the brave and forgiving Narn.... they are trusted and liked and respected.
"Du'Rog had a daughter. She left her home very young to travel the galaxy. She returned briefly, and then disappeared again. Do you know her name?"
Mi'Ra sat back. Moreil was right. This one was more dangerous than the others. They were useful tools and instruments, but this one.... He thought. He saw. He learned.
He was strong.
Do you wish us to kill him, lady? hissed the alien voice in her mind. She could call the Faceless to her in a heartbeat.
No, she replied. She was not telepathic, of course. Apart for a few failed experiments conducted by the Prophet, none of her people were, but she wondered sometimes if this communion was what it meant to be a telepath. The ritual she had undergone had given her a world of new sensations. This was only the smallest. Moreil has his own plans for this one.
He is dangerous. The Wykhheran fear him. But speak the word and he shall die.
No, she repeated. The Faceless were the ultimate assassins, greater by far even than the Thenta Ma'Kur, but they needed to serve. They did not think beyond the kill. Their creators had not designed them that way.
"And that little girl, what did she find on her travels? What did she bring back to her homeworld with her?"
Mi'Ra smiled, and rose to her feet. "An interesting story, but your time would be better spent on other things, Captain. Remember. We go to war."
He looked at her. "I am a soldier," he said, in a voice as deep as thunder. "I am always at war."
* * *
She was never far from the screams. They were there when she closed her eyes at night, and there when she opened them in the morning. The trapped, the lost, the prisoners. The countless slaves to the Vorlon network. Some she knew, some she didn't. Many weren't even human. That didn't matter. They were telepaths, like her — one kind, like her, one people, like her.
Talia opened her eyes and they were screaming even more loudly. One of them was standing before her. One of the abominations, one of those who actually liked their new role.
The Hand of the Light. The Bloodhounds. Countless different names for the same basic
function.
Hunters.
The creature hissed and moved back. Talia looked at it.
"Now, I'm annoyed," she said.
Darkness crackled from her fingertips and she pointed at the abomination. It screamed as bolts of raw shadow struck at it. Light formed around it as a shield, but anger gave her thoughts power and she shattered it with a thought.
These things hunted her people, consigning them to an eternity of pain. They did it willingly, voluntarily.
They enjoyed it.
They would take her if they could, maybe even make her one of them. They had taken Al. They would take Abby. They would take Dexter. They would take all of her people.
Join us, it hissed at her. Living or dead, willing or not, you will join us.
She glanced at Dexter. His glance was flicking from her to the abomination. She was not sure which repelled him more.
"No," she said, loud enough for him to hear. She would not share her thoughts with this creature. That was for her people, for her lovers, for her loved ones. Al, Abby, Dexter.
She found herself thinking of the soul trapped within the Dark Star she had encountered on the way here. A pitiful thing, still dreaming of the protective blanket that had kept him safe from imaginary monsters as a child.
Well, she was a child no longer, and the hardest lesson Talia had ever learned as an adult was that not all monsters are imaginary, and there is no blanket to hide beneath.
There was only her.
Waves of shadow flowed from her hands, enveloping the abomination. Tiny sparks of light tried to shine through the dark cloud, but they were soon swallowed up. Talia concentrated harder, forcing the tendrils into its throat, its eyes, its nose.
It fell, still trying to summon the light, still trying to invade her mind. It was failing, naturally. Its power worked on fear, and she was not afraid of them.
Help me, came the pitiful psychic cry. It fell to the ground, head tilted back, choking sounds coming from its shaking body. It reached out one hand to Dexter.
Help me, brother.
Talia looked at him, trembling. He was looking back at her, his gaze stern. She caught a glimpse of horror in his expression. It had been almost two years. She had changed. He would have to understand that.
He would understand that, wouldn't he?
The abomination tried to crawl towards him. Help me, brother, it said again, reaching out to touch him.
Dexter kicked its hand away. "No," he said softly.
It shrank up into a ball, now completely consumed by the shadow. Little moans came from it, but they were becoming quieter and quieter. The shaking grew less and less. The shadow became smaller and smaller and finally faded away, leaving nothing behind.
Talia looked up at Dexter. He was motionless, staring at her.
"Don't judge me," she whispered. "Don't dare judge me."
"You've changed," he said.
"I'm at war. Of course I've changed."
He walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. "I've changed too," he whispered.
She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
"That's what you came to talk to me about, isn't it?" he asked. She nodded wordlessly. "They know you're here?" Another nod. "Will there be more of them?" Another nod.
"So," he said at last. "You need my help?"
"Yes," she said, pulling back and looking up at him. "They're here. They have a base here. IPX is still capturing telepaths and turning us into.... them. They're just going a little further afield."
"They won a contract from the Government some time last year. It involves going out amongst the destroyed colonies, looking for salvage. Lots of big ships. A long time away from Proxima, or anywhere civilised. Lots of scope for.... anything."
"I'm here to fight them," she said softly. "Want to help?"
"You mean, do I want to give up a cushy Senator's job and go back to the glory days of waging a suicidal guerilla war against all-powerful opponents?" He stopped, thinking about it. "Sure, why not? What's the first stage, other than both of us getting out of here?"
She kissed him. His lips were very warm. His head was pounding — she could feel the pain in the back of his skull. Too much alcohol. Not her, though. She was remarkably clear-headed.
"Thank you," she said.
"Anything for a lady."
"The first thing we need is a little help to get a few people inside Proxima without strictly legal passports. And there's an item we need brought in as well. You'll have to see it. It will explain a lot, not least.... how I've changed."
"I can do that. What's this item do?"
"A great many things. It's called the Apocalypse Box."
* * *
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar loved many things in his life, although it did not come easily to him to say so. I could read some of the things in his expression as he told his tales of the old days.
G'Kar looked at the shrine for a long time, his eyes half-closed, seeing half of what was and half what of had been and half of what he dreamed it could be.
No one ever saw what was there. They saw what they wished to be there.
Or what they feared was there.
Or some combination of both.
He loved his people. He loved his cause. He loved his friends dearly. He loved Delenn of Mir and Emperor Londo Mollari and he even felt some love for Primarch Sinoval, who was hardly the easiest person to love. He loved Commander Ta'Lon and the memory of Neroon, and most of all he loved Lennier, almost as much as I did.
He even loved me a little.
People passed by, no one seeming to notice the building in front of them. A holy place, dedicated to the lost and the fallen, and no one seemed to care. He saw a young human stare at it for a long time, a wide-eyed sense of wonder in his face, and then walk on. He saw a Narn girl humming to herself as she looked at it. He saw an elderly Narn soldier, walking with a heavy limp and missing an arm, stare at the memory of the building with misty eyes.
But the adults, those who held the power or supported those who held the power. The current generation of the Narn people. His generation, those who had survived the Occupation and the War and been able to realise the better world they had always told themselves was possible.
They saw nothing.
Most of all, he loved his hopes for the future. So much of that part of him had been lost before I met him, and most of what remained has been lost since. He rarely spoke of his dreams to me, but sometimes he did, and then his eyes seemed to light up.
That was what he truly loved, the future.
"So much is forgotten, so much is lost."
He was waiting for Lennier or Ta'Lon to get back to him. Both were investigating secret things, digging into buried mysteries. He was doing the same, but in his own way. Lennier and Ta'Lon were investigating conspiracies and secrets.
He was investigating the hearts and the souls of his people.
He told me once that he loved hope more than anything else, for hope was pure and perfect. You could hope for a better world despite knowing it would never come. You could hope for a victory and never have to imagine what would come afterwards, when the memory of the victory faded.
"Ha'Cormar'ah," said a voice quietly to him. He turned to see someone looking at him. He had made no attempt at disguise, but neither had he made any effort to draw attention to himself. No one had spared him a second glance. He was sure the agents and the eyes of the Kha'Ri would have noticed him, but to his people, he was no one.
"Yes?" he said.
The Narn nodded, and then seemed to shimmer.
I have spent thirty years trying to understand everything he told me, and the most important lesson I have learned in all that time is that I never will. I miss him every day. I miss his wisdom, his kindness, his understanding, his drive.
Most of all I miss the dreams of the young man he must once have been. There is no one left now who knew that young man. Th
ey are all gone. Speak his name to a few elderly men and women and their eyes will light up, their years drop away and they will remember his face and his speeches, but they will not remember him.
Still, perhaps that is magic enough. Perhaps that is legacy enough. It is more than most of us can ask for, to be remembered in that way.
As a legend.
G'Kar realised what it was almost instantly, memories left over from his sojourn in the Great Machine rising in his mind. But he was paralysed by a sheer lack of comprehension.
Not here! He had expected many things. Thenta Ma'Kur, alien mercenaries, common street thugs, but not this.
The thing that was not a Narn moved too quickly for him to react. One blow staggered him and the second felled him.
He stared up into the sun with unblinking eyes.
Not a Faceless. He had never expected a Shadowspawn here.
He told me once, bitter and angry, how much he resented being a legend. He would have been happy to have his name forgotten and erased from history. Alas, by writing this tome I fear I have removed any hope of that.
But most of all he wished to have his message remembered, his words, his meaning. That was what mattered, not his name.
I hope I have managed to do that, even a little.
No one noticed as the body of Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar was removed.
In less than a minute it was as if he had never been there at all.
L'Neer of Narn, Learning at the Prophet's Feet.
* * *
John J. Sheridan. Saviour of the galaxy. Defender of the true and the virtuous.
You can hide no secrets from me, Sheridan.
All was dark, save for the light of the tiny candle at the foot of the mirror. The mirror was vast, towering up as far as the eye could see, but all he could see in it was himself, staring back at him, speaking with a voice not his own.
"Is this a dream?" he asked himself.
That depends. Are you a man dreaming you are a ghost, or a ghost dreaming you are a man? Is anything real? Is Delenn real, or is her touch only an illusion? Am I real?
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 : Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 3 : On the Edges of Perception addm-5 Page 8