A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4

by Gareth D. Williams

  He pushed the door open and gestured to her to go inside. There were two people there. One of them was a human woman, sitting on a comfortable-looking chair. The other was a tall figure dressed in a black tunic, with the hood pulled up over his head. His back was to her.

  "You know Miss Susan Ivanova, of course," Sheridan said. "It has been a while, I accept. And.... you will also know our other companion, although that has been even longer."

  "Why did you come here, beloved?" said a harsh voice, one she recognised all too well despite the many years since she had last heard it.

  She gasped as he turned round and pushed back his hood. It was Neroon.

  "A question I would like answered," Sheridan replied. He walked over to a table. "Do you want some tea, or do you not drink it? I know Neroon does not, but then you are partially human. I do hope you've learned something of ours."

  "I...." She could not help but look at Neroon. It had been many years since they had parted, and they had not met since. He had come to her one night, and told her about someone he had met. G'Kar, the Narn prophet who had spoken of the need for the Rangers, and of an alliance to fight the Enemy. Neroon had chosen to believe that a Narn could carry the burden better than a Minbari, and so he had left.

  He had asked Delenn to go with him, but she had refused, knowing that she had her duties on the Grey Council.

  Two years ago she had received a message from Neroon's friend Ta'Lon, telling her that he had died, trapped by the Shadows and surely killed.

  "You have changed, beloved," he said. Her hands went instinctively to her hair. The last time he had seen her, she had been fully Minbari. He smiled, in the same way he had done before, when they had both been much younger. "I like it."

  "Milk?" asked Sheridan. "Sugar? No, I guess not. So.... why have you come?"

  "You invited me."

  "So I did. And you turned me down. As I recall, you also exiled me from Kazomi Seven and threatened to go to war with my allies. You have gone to war with my allies."

  "Your allies attacked ships loyal to the Alliance."

  He shrugged. "We offered you peace. We offered you neutrality. We offered you treaties, and trade, and a beneficial relationship. We offered to make you strong. You turned us down and preferred to ally with our enemies, who have promised you none of those things. You have, after all, taken on a Vorlon Ambassador to your.... little Alliance, have you not?"

  "We have."

  "Ah." He shook his head sadly. "You poor fools. You really have no idea."

  "Rather them than you."

  "You think?" he chuckled, as if that was a genuinely funny remark. "Well, I guess you do. The perils of a Minbari religious caste upbringing. They get to you early. The warrior caste are far more.... flexible. Apart from Sinoval, of course, but even he.... He serves our aims in a way, although he probably doesn't realise it. But the rest of the warrior caste — Sonovar, Kalain.... all of them. Easy to manipulate." He smiled sadly. "I take some small satisfaction from that."

  Delenn looked at Neroon. He said nothing. He was still looking at her.

  "So," continued Sheridan. "Why did you come here?"

  "To hear the wisdom you promised me at Kazomi Seven."

  "I heard it said that Minbari do not lie. More propaganda, all part of that aura of superiority again. You know, Delenn, I have met and worked with countless races during my career. Brakiri, Drazi, Narn, Centauri, Sh'lassan, Abbai.... oh.... so many more. All those different cultures, festivals, histories. I put up with Narn scheming, Centauri decadence, Drazi tempers....

  "And in all that time, the Minbari are the only people I have ever really disliked.

  "One last time, why did you come here?"

  "To kill you all," whispered another voice. Delenn looked down to see Ivanova rising to her feet. "She's come to kill you all.... and she'll manage it as well." Ivanova chuckled slightly. "We're all going to die."

  Sheridan sipped at his tea. "Yes," he said. "Everything does. Sooner or later. I'll show you to your quarters, Delenn. I have no doubt someone will be coming up to meet with you soon."

  * * *

  In recent years Dexter Smith had been involved in quite a lot of combat. That, of course, had been ship-to-ship, large-scale battles, or perhaps the more personal fighting that occurred when one ship or the other was being boarded.

  It had been a long time since his last no-holds-barred, bar-room brawl or fight for his life. But there had been a time, before he had joined Earthforce, when there had been no one able to take him on. Not because he was stronger, or faster, or better armed.... but because in Sector 301, he fought meaner and dirtier than anyone else around.

  Swivelling on the floor, he lashed out with his foot, catching Drake's knee and knocking it aside. Drake staggered, but managed to remain on his feet, and Smith cursed his lack of practice. In the old days he'd been able to break a man's knee with that manoeuvre, and that would pretty much end any fight.

  As it was, he had time to get to his feet and shake the cobwebs from his head. His blood was roaring now, but his thoughts were icy calm. It was as though his soul had entered a tranquil void, where what happened to his body did not affect it.

  Drake moved forward, more cautiously this time. He was good at this. He did not just want to beat Smith but to kill him, and he was more than capable of keeping his anger in check if it meant he could manage that.

  He slashed out in an exploratory motion, and Smith dodged back. Testing his reach, Drake attacked again, and once more Smith avoided the blow. There was a table here, just behind him. He could feel it as he moved back. Another two steps.... that was all.

  His opponent could clearly see it as well, and charged. Smith sidestepped, but Drake had been expecting that, and swivelled on the balls of his feet, slashing out with the knife. It tore through Smith's shirt, and there was a sharp pain across his ribs.

  In his void Smith did not feel the pain, but he knew it was there. He dropped down a little and let Drake rise above him. Swiftly striking out, he rained two quick punches on Drake's side, and heard his attacker grunt. He rolled aside and leapt to his feet.

  Drake followed up on him at considerable speed, surprising given his size. Smith grabbed behind him, and felt a chair there. In one swift motion he spun it around, and felt it connect with Drake's arm.

  Drake fell back, still silent. He was not swearing or blustering. He was perfectly calm and cold and silent. He stepped back slowly, shifting his weight, ready for Smith to make the next move. Smith dropped the chair and began to consider his options. In the void time seemed to move differently. He became aware of the flurry of emotions in Drake's mind, kept at bay by an iron wall of discipline and self-denial.

  Acting on what almost seemed like instinct, Smith tweaked the mass of anger and hatred and fear slightly, and the wall fell apart.

  Roaring insanely, Drake charged forward, brandishing the dagger high in the air. Smith easily sidestepped the attack, spun around, and delivered a hard kick to the back of his opponent's knee. Drake went down, stumbling, but managed to roll aside from the stamp that was aimed at the small of his back.

  Smith came down hard on Drake's wrist, and with a cry the knife slipped from his fingers. Just as the prone man tried to rise, Smith brought his foot down on his neck.

  "Did Trace order this?" he asked, his void of tranquillity shattering. "Or was it a personal thing?"

  Drake chuckled. "You're a dead man," he hissed. "A very very dead man. Mr. Trace owns this sector, and anyone who tries fighting him.... well, that depends on his mood. Sometimes they get one chance. Sometimes they don't. Guess which group you're in."

  "I'm still alive, aren't I? You failed to get rid of me. I don't think Mr. Trace will be all that happy about that."

  "I haven't failed yet."

  Drake suddenly grabbed Smith's foot and pushed him backwards. Smith staggered, and watched Drake lunge for the discarded dagger. With his left hand Drake began to grip the hilt carefully. Smith darted forwa
rd and brought his foot down hard at the top of Drake's spine.

  There was a sickening sound, and he knew what had happened almost instantly. He could somehow.... feel the life leaching from Drake's body.

  Turning the man over, his suspicions were confirmed. The blade of the knife was stuck deep into his neck.

  Smith turned to look at Bo, still shaking behind the bar. "G.... get out of here," Bo breathed. "Get out of the sector. Security will be after you."

  Smith nodded, his void of calm collapsed. Wincing at the sudden pain from the slash along his ribs, he fled from the bar.

  * * *

  Ambassador G'Kael watched the meeting of the United Alliance Council with a mixture of amusement and terror. He was only now beginning to recognise just how much the whole Alliance rested on a small handful of figures, and with only three of them here, it seemed it was ready to tear itself apart.

  He had been unsure how to regard this appointment when the Kha'Ri had broached it to him a few months ago. The Alliance had been growing in power and prestige for some time, and Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar was rumoured to have given it his full support. Some representation was needed, but the Kha'Ri had been in fierce debate as to just what sort of representation. The war with the Centauri had been occupying most of their attention, and they did not want to spare any of their number from the First Circle. On the other hand, a minor diplomat from the Third Circle or below could easily be perceived as an insult.

  It had been a difficult balancing act, but eventually G'Kael had been chosen, a decision that had surprised many, especially himself. Councillor Na'Toth had later told him that she had personally sponsored him for the position, and that she had every confidence in him. What she had not told him was that the recommendation had come from a somewhat higher source — the famed Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar himself.

  Now with Na'Toth all but deposed from her position of influence in the Kha'Ri and currently residing on Kazomi 7 itself, G'Kael had been expecting to be recalled to Narn, or at least to have Na'Toth made Ambassador here. Neither had happened, and in fact there had been no word from Narn other than the regular, run-of-the-mill stuff. The Kha'Ri seemed too set on the war.

  G'Kael had once, more out of curiosity than anything else, gone to the G'Khorazhar Shrine, to hear a speech by Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. He remembered one thing the great preacher had said.

  "This is the doom of mortal beings.... that we shall not see the beast until our heads are between its jaws."

  G'Kael was beginning to believe no one back home could see the true beast, and would not until it decided to close its mouth.

  But then, as he looked around a Council chamber bereft of the Blessed Delenn, of the Starkiller Sheridan, of the Technomage Vejar and of the Vorlon Ambassador, he was wondering if the Alliance Council could see the beast either.

  The big topic of discussion was the refusal of the Abbai to join the Alliance formally. Negotiations, treaty pacts, diplomatic dinners and the like had been going on for some time, until the Abbai had suddenly and abruptly pulled out. Their polite letter did not give a reason, but everyone knew what it was.

  "They are cowards!" cried Taan Churok, the Drazi former bartender and Minister for Defence. "Weak-willed cowards. We should let the Shadows take them!"

  G'Kael did not see it quite that way. He had not seen these 'Shadows' in person, but he had seen recordings made of the Battle of the Great Machine, or the Third Line as some people were calling it. If these Shadows were as terrifying in real life as they looked in hologram, then he did not blame anyone for not wanting to fight them.

  Thus far their ships had not turned towards Narn, despite their Ambassador's promise in this very room. If that did happen, what would the Kha'Ri do? He did not know, and that troubled him. They might decide to take war fully to the Shadows, but then they might prefer to leave the Alliance to its fate. The Narn Regime was not as yet a member of the Alliance, and it was uncertain if it ever would be. For the moment the two governments saw themselves as potentially useful allies, potentially dangerous enemies, and people it would be useful to keep an eye on.

  "They are afraid," replied the more pragmatic Lethke. The Brakiri was Minister for the Economy, but he often seemed to take on the duty of defusing dangerous confrontations between the hot-headed Drazi and some of the others. Delenn could of course do that with ease, but she was not here. "We cannot blame them for their fears. They wish to remain neutral."

  Delenn had always seemed convinced that there could be no neutrality in this war, whatever people sought. G'Kael desperately hoped she was wrong.

  "They are cowards," affirmed Vizhak, Taan Churok's fellow Drazi on the Council. "But they are insignificant in the larger scheme of things. The raids continue. Have all our ships been given telepaths?"

  G'Kael stiffened in his chair, and made a point of listening to this intently. For some reason telepaths were a serious threat to the Shadows, and Delenn wanted every ship in the Alliance fleet to have at least one telepath aboard. This was difficult to manage, at best. Narns had no telepaths, and the Kha'Ri dearly wanted a way to create some genetically. Rumour had it that G'Kar had been working on such a project for some time.

  "Mr. Bester is dead," replied another voice, one G'Kael did not recognise. Turning, he saw a human dressed in a strange military uniform that was unfamiliar to him. "The Shadows have taken Sanctuary. Therefore there will be no telepaths from him."

  Ah, yes. He knew who this was now. Major Krantz, a servant of some human individual named Bester, who was apparently high-ranking in the human telepathic organisation, the Psi Corps. He and the Alliance had had some sort of deal, but now it appeared that this Bester was dead.

  Hadn't there been some scandal concerning this Major Krantz? He struggled to remember. There had been a meeting, shortly after his arrival here. Krantz had been.... detained, or arrested, or something. He had been all but forgotten in the aftermath of the battle, and no decision had been taken as to his fate. By the time the Alliance had got around to it, they had lost all contact with Bester. Krantz was therefore here by default, not a member of the Council, but pressed into serving on one of the capital ships.

  An aide came forward and whispered to Lethke quietly for a few moments. The Brakiri listened intently, nodded, and rose from his chair. In the midst of another argument between Vizhak and the Abbai representative, Ambassador Kalika, about the provision of telepaths, no one noticed Lethke's departure.

  They all noticed when he returned, however, a minute or so later. He tapped on the table gently for a few moments until the conversation died, and everyone looked up at him.

  "I have just received a transmission from a ship approaching here," he said. "We have.... a most renowned visitor who wishes to make our acquaintance."

  * * *

  "We'll be at Z'ha'dum soon," the Captain said. "I'm not sure what to expect when we get there, but.... We'll have to be ready."

  He looked firmly at Lyta, who met his gaze. She then seemed to recoil from it, and looked down at the table.

  The Captain, Lyta and Corwin were in the ready room, a place Sheridan and Corwin knew well enough. The upgrade had virtually left this place alone, which was just as well.

  "I'll do what I can," Lyta replied numbly. "But I can't hold off the entire Shadow fleet."

  "You won't have to," the Captain promised her. "I don't think you'll even need to use your powers.... not if this works out right, anyway. You're more of a deterrent than anything else."

  The old Lyta might have come up with a sarcastic retort to that, Corwin thought. The Lyta in front of him did not. In fact, she didn't say anything. She had changed a lot recently. She had been almost invisible for so long, ever since the Vorlon Ambassador had arrived, and then she had come along on the mission a few weeks ago. She had hardly spoken then either.

  And then Corwin suddenly realised something. The Captain was so.... confident. Something just did not feel right here.

  "What if we do get opposition?" Corwin asked. "I
mean.... how exactly are we going to handle this? For that matter, what are we even going to do when we get there?"

  "Get Delenn back," came the solemn reply.

  "What? Are we just going to ask them to hand her back?"

  "Something like that. Look.... David. I realise I haven't been in the driver's seat for a while, and I know you've got used to running the place while I've been.... ill. And I know that you've got too much experience to be running around as second. It doesn't matter anyway, once this is over and we get back to Kazomi Seven, you'll get your own ship to command. You've more than earned one."

  "I.... thanks. Where would we get...? It doesn't matter, but...."

  The Captain interrupted him. "But I need someone I can trust as my second here. This is.... important. I know it must look so selfish, threatening myself and my crew just to get my girlfriend back.... but I have to."

  "I'm not criticising you. No one is. The Alliance needs Delenn. We all do."

  The Captain smiled. "Yes.... we all do." He paused, then continued. "The thing is, I've got a plan. I can't explain it to anyone now. You just have to trust me. That's all I'm asking. If it goes right.... and I hope it does, we won't have to fight anyone. We'll just get Delenn back, and head to Kazomi Seven, and we'll get on with finishing the whole damned war.

  "Are you with me?"

  "You know I am."

  The Captain visibly relaxed, nodding. "Good. Thank you, David. I'll need you.... I'll need you a great deal. Now, I'd better go off and talk to Ko'Dath. She and her Narn Bat Squad may need to be ready, just in case something does go wrong."

  He left the room, and Lyta immediately followed him. Her movements were stiff and awkward, almost like a wooden puppet. Corwin looked at them both thoughtfully, then rose to his feet and followed them out.

  He might not entirely know what was going on here, but he did know that the Captain was trusting him, and he was determined not to let him down.