A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain
( A Dark, Distorted Mirror - 4 )
Gareth D. Williams
The year is 2261. Earth and Minbar both lie in ruins. Babylon 4 has been sent back in time a thousand years, bearing the prophet Valen, and John Sheridan has been healed of his infection and his injuries. But at what cost?
Gareth D. Williams
A Dark, Distorted Mirror.
Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain
Prologue : The World Standing Still.
For one brief moment in time the war halts, and the galaxy hangs with bated breath, waiting for events happening outside its consciousness. Sinoval receives a message of grave import, Londo meets a most unexpected guest, the Shadows come to Sanctuary.... and at the edge of space, the Blessed Delenn arrives at Z'ha'dum to meet her destiny.
"I see great death, and terrible tragedy. I see bloodshed, and chaos, and a million voices screaming in the darkness. This year will, I think, herald the greatest loss in all our history."
"Oh? Since when did you become a prophet?"
Conversation between Emperor Londo Mollari and his Lady Consort Timov, dated, by the Earth calendar, December 31st 2260.
1. The Personal Quarters of Delenn, the Council Buildings, Kazomi 7, January 1st 2261.
He had been dreaming, but he could not remember what he had been dreaming about. He was fairly certain Delenn had been there somehow — she had always been in his dreams since his.... injuries. Or had they been real, and not dreams?
Nothing had seemed real since Epsilon 3. He had seen and heard the strangest things. He had even dreamed his father had come to him, he was working for the Shadows and....
John Sheridan stopped that thought dead and sat up, the blanket falling from his body. He lifted his hand and looked at it with a slow and childlike wonder. He could move. He could really move again. He stretched and twitched his fingers. It was incredible how such a.... mundane gesture could bring such joy.
For the first time in months, John Sheridan was truly awake. The dreaming was over.
He rose from the bed, and picked up a robe by its side. He realised Delenn must have laid it out for him, and he smiled, wondering where she was. Maybe something important had happened. He wasn't really sure what the state of things was in the galaxy these days. He had been.... incoherent for a long time.
He looked in the next room, puzzled to see no sign of her. Maybe she had been called away. Important Alliance business perhaps. "Delenn?" he said softly, looking around.
There was a beeping noise from the commscreen at the far end of the room, and he moved towards it. The computer voice began to speak. "Voice print recognised. There is a delayed-time message for John Sheridan from Delenn. Begin message."
A great light filled his mind, and all that was not clear suddenly became so. "No," he said. "Do not play message."
"Message halted."
The personal chambers of Delenn, the leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, were generally considered sacrosanct. There were cleaners and servants who occasionally came in to see to matters, but they had been given instructions not to come this morning, instructions given by Delenn shortly before she had gone to what would undoubtedly be her death.
As a result, there was no one there to see John Sheridan's eyes glow with a bright, burning, golden light. There was no one to hear the voice that was not his come from his mouth, as he gave an instruction of his own.
"Delete message."
"Message deleted."
This done, he nodded once, satisfied, and the golden glow faded from his eyes. He went to find his clothes and to get dressed. He had been away for a long time, and there was a great deal to do. There was a war to fight.
2. The Office of Lord-General Marrago, the Centarum Buildings, Centauri Prime, January 1st 2261.
The war was not over, but it had at least paused. Centauri Prime was safe. The sounds of revelry filled the Court, a celebration the Emperor had not dared to cancel. There had been little enough cause for joy this past year: from Lord Valo's attack on the Court, to the burnings and madness that had consumed Camulodo, to the ever-present threat of the Narn attacks. Let the Court enjoy their moment of victory; there were very few who knew just how high the cost of that victory had been.
The Emperor, Londo Mollari, did not know. He might suspect, but he did not know. He had been told that which was necessary and no more. The Narn fleet had been driven away, beaten back, and they were currently retreating to their former staging point. Warleader G'Sten was in all likelihood still alive. Centauri casualties had been.... nonexistent.
The truth was a dangerous thing at the best of times, especially in an environment as perilous as the Court. The Emperor's loyal friend, devoted servant and Lord-General knew that all too well. Better by far that Londo not know the cost of this victory, or how it had been bought.
Lord-General Marrago had seen too much death in this war, just as he had in the last one. He and G'Sten had been dancing around each other for what seemed like all their lives. Marrago had the greatest respect for G'Sten, and he even envied the Narn a little. The Kha'Ri seemed to have given him the power to prosecute this war entirely as he wished. If only he himself had been given the same power last year, this.... new alliance would not have been necessary.
Quadrant 37 had been lost, battles had been lost, soldiers had been killed.... and all because of the complex and deadly dance the Court called the 'Great Game'. Marrago did not know whether Prime Minister Malachi or Prince Cartagia had been entirely responsible. Each had, for his own reasons, honourable and base, wished to see the war go badly, and each was now dead. Their deaths had only given weight to the fictions that had surrounded their lives.
The truth was too painful, too painful by far. Let it be borne by those with the strength to bear it, and let the weak enjoy the victories bought by sacrifice.
Marrago was sitting alone in his office, pondering the reports from the front. It was time to begin to strike back. The Centarum had been buoyed up by the ease of this victory, and they were making grandiose claims about marching all the way to Narn and blowing it apart. Fools and braggarts, the lot of them. This would not be an easy war, not unless he completed the deal he had begun. One battle.... one victory, that could be paid for. But the entire war....
One of the first objectives would have to be the Gorash system. It had contained the Republic's major shipping yards, resource deployments and supply lines. Civil unrest had paralysed the system enough for the Narns to take it. It would have to be retaken, and that would not be easy....
His mind was still filled with thoughts of strategy, deployments and tactics when the Guards-Captain of the Court came to see him.
"Lord-General, there is something which must be brought to your immediate attention."
"Yes. Go ahead." Marrago liked the man. Good, decent, loyal, honest. The ideal soldier. And so naturally the Court did not recognise his talents and had kept him in limbo for years.
"It is the prisoner. The special prisoner.... He has escaped."
Marrago sighed and closed his eyes. That was not a surprise, but it was annoying nonetheless. Mr. Morden was a man with many and powerful associates. He was too dangerous to be permitted the free rein of the Republic Londo had.... unwisely been giving him.
"How?"
"We do not know, my lord. I am willing to take full responsibility, my lord. I ask only that you.... spare my family."
He knew what the Guards-Captain was saying. Execution would be a lenient response to such a fail
ure, whether it had truly been his fault or not. The torture and deaths of his family were likely as well.
"You are not at fault, Captain. You will speak of this to no one save myself. Security around the Emperor is to be doubled.... no, tripled. If you ever see the prisoner anywhere in the Republic again you are to shoot to kill, but be careful. He is very dangerous. Report back to me whatever you discover about him, no matter how trivial, and no matter the time or the place.
"You are a good servant of the Republic, Captain. I will never forget that."
"Thank you, my lord."
"You may go."
The captain left and Marrago turned back to his papers, but a dark cloud was hovering over his mind. His recent victory might yet turn out to be more costly than even he had thought.
3. Sector 301, a. k. a. the Pit, Proxima 3, January 2nd 2261.
He had been nursing his drink for a long time, looking at it reflectively, brooding, thinking, waiting. Dexter Smith had always liked pubs, ever since he had been a child, creeping into the Emperor Bibulos for the warmth and the company and to hear the stories of the regulars. He had actually believed most of them, and he had walked around convinced that he knew a legendary space explorer, the world's greatest baseball player, and the galaxy's most prominent genetic surgeon.
Illusions and dreams, crafted in lies and half-hopes and delusions.
The Emperor was now long gone, and he had settled for the Pit Trap. The lager was cheap and drinkable, the barman was a veritable fount of information, and it was, all told, a nicer place than his apartment, if only just.
As the only customer with anything resembling both consciousness and money, Smith was the major object of Bo's conversational skills.
And the topic of conversation, which had varied from the baseball, to the ISN reports of the Narn / Centauri War, to President Clark's promises to put more money into Sector 301, had finally settled on the big news of the week.
"Did you see those ships? You could pick a few of them out last night, up there. Keeping us safe. Kinda reassuring, although they look a little.... creepy, if you get me."
Smith did indeed get him, unfortunately. "Yes, I saw them." Shadow ships, creations of darkness and chaos that screamed inside his mind. He had fought them at Epsilon 3, and seen their terrible destructive power first hand.
And they were humanity's allies, humanity's protectors, humanity's guardians.
Who would guard humanity from their guardians?
"Pretty impressive, though. I heard this race.... the.... whadyacallem.... the Shadows. I hear they're like.... real old. Ancient, even. They'll sort out the Minbari, no doubt. Anyone else too for that matter."
Yes, they could. The Minbari did not need 'sorting out', no matter what President Clark was saying about Sinoval on ISN. Smith had never met the Primarch himself, but he had been in combat against the Minbari. They were a broken power now, shattered, perhaps irrevocably, fatally divided.
"You're a military man, ain't ya?" Bo said suddenly, and Smith looked up.
"I was."
"You seen these Shadows in action?"
"Yes...." He closed his eyes, and for one minute he was back at Epsilon 3, watching ship after ship blown to pieces, hearing their screams in his mind, watching an entire world torn apart. "Yes, I have."
"Musta been something, eh?"
"One way of putting it."
"So.... if ya don't mind me asking, why ain't you up there with them now? What brings someone like you back here? You don't belong here, I can see that. Not any more."
"I.... I just saw a little bit too much. More than I was comfortable with. I couldn't serve in the military any longer, and.... I needed to get back to my roots, I suppose you could say. I needed to find something smaller, something to work towards that wasn't saving the world, or the galaxy.... something where I wouldn't get people killed."
"Musta been rough."
"Not for me. I'm still alive, after all."
"So, you really grew up in three-o-one, eh? And you made it out. That's impressive. 'Course, maybe things weren't as bad back then. I'm from Orion, myself, so I wouldn't know what it was like then."
"It was.... I don't think it was as bad then as it is now, but it was never perfect. As a child, I enjoyed it. Everything was an adventure, so many places to run, to hide, to play. I saw the people starving to death, begging.... and I never really realised. My brother died when I was thirteen, and that was the first time I ever really saw what this place was.... That's when I resolved to get out."
"How'd you manage that?"
"It.... wasn't that hard, really. I suppose. Looking back at it, anyway. I had nothing to keep me here. My brother was dead, my sister married off to some rich businessman up-sector, my mother was in prison. I made my way to Sector Three-o-three, and got a job waiting in a hotel. I managed to save a bit, joined a gym.... I didn't have much of a goal. I was just.... glad to be doing something for myself, something away from three-o-one.
"When I was fifteen I joined Earthforce, lying something chronic to do it. I think the officer training me had some suspicions, but he kept them to himself. A good man, was Captain MacDougan. I think he's dead now.
"Getting out of here.... wasn't easy, but I managed it."
"And now you're back."
"Yes. I'm back."
He fell silent and turned back to his drink. After a while he finished it, and left.
4. Cathedral, orbiting Tarolin 2, January 1st 2261.
"I am sending you this message because I will soon be dead.
"I do not understand the full details, Sinoval. I do not fully understand why my allies should wish to kill me, or what they can hope to gain, but then perhaps I am too close to the situation, too close to them.... to see."
Primarch Sinoval stood silent and still, listening to Delenn's message, one of the last she would have time to send. The opening words had hit him, but he had soon regained his composure. He could see Delenn's bearing in the hologram of the message. She was proud and resilient, accepting of her fate.
She was Minbari, in soul if no longer in body, and he gave her a silent salute.
"The Vorlons have healed John of the injuries he suffered at Epsilon Three. They have also cured him entirely of the virus with which Jha'dur infected him. I do not know how, and they would not tell me. I did not enquire too closely, Sinoval. I was happy just to see him live, and walk. I do not know if they will be willing to provide this cure to any others who may be suffering from this virus, but as we do not know for sure if anyone is, and as any such cure would have to go through you, then I doubt it.
"But these acts of compassion were not without price. As payment for healing and curing John, the Vorlons have demanded that I go to Z'ha'dum, where they fully expect me to die. I will die there, Sinoval, or if not there, then elsewhere, perhaps Proxima.
"I do not know why they wish me dead, or why they have gone about it this way, rather than a simple attack. I do not wish to know. That is for you to discover.
"I have had little time to prepare these messages, and I have had time for only four. One is to John, explaining that I love him, and what I have done. Another is for my best friend, and the third is for the Alliance Council that is to lead after me.
"But I send this to you for two reasons. First, you may be able to use this information. You have been right all along. The Vorlons are not our allies. In fact, they may yet prove to be deadlier and far more terrible even than the Shadows, for they are evil masked as good. You can see this, where no one else has been able to. I do not believe this was always the case, but since the death of Kosh at Epsilon Three a new faction has arisen. Kosh, I believe, truly was our friend. The new faction is not.
"Use my death, use this information I have been able to provide to you. Use it as best you can.
"And secondly.... save our people, Sinoval. Save the Minbari. You are the person for this, in these times. You told me once something that has proven to be true, no matter how much I woul
d wish it not to be. These times need a warrior, not a priest. You are a warrior, Sinoval, and perhaps the greatest there has ever been, or ever will be. I am nothing but a priest, and while I can heal wounds, I cannot inflict them, which must be done to end this war and save our people.
"I forgive you for what you have done, for I see now that you meant only the same as I did: the salvation and protection of our people.
"Be strong, Sinoval, and be true to the role you have taken for yourself. I do not think we will meet again this side of death, but if by some chance we do.... then I will be able to forgive you in person.... if you will forgive me.
"Goodbye."
Delenn's hologram faded, and Sinoval blinked once. He digested this information for a moment, and became aware of a simmering anger, one that had been building since Kozorr had left Cathedral. He had never liked Delenn, but he had always respected her, and to see her fall like this....
But why? He thought about it for a moment, and then nodded, smiling sadly. "Ah, Delenn.... you are right. You cannot understand. But I can. You see, Delenn, I may know nothing of love, but I understand revenge all too well.
"You will go to Z'ha'dum, and there you will die. The Vorlons will explain this to Sheridan, and he will become everything they need in their war. He will become their ultimate warrior, their Starkiller. His only link with peace destroyed.... you.... they will be able to mould him into their image, and for their purposes."
His face took on a furious expression, and he raised his fist towards the heavens.
"I will not permit this!"
The shadows all around him began to shimmer, and the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus walked slowly into view. "You seem angry, my friend," he observed, his ageless face calm.
"I am.... but I know where my path leads me now. If we are to have any hope of victory, the Alliance and the Army of Light must not fall into the Vorlons' hands. Sheridan must not fall into their hands."
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