"They are warming up now. The Chief Engineer estimated a few more minutes before they're ready."
"Damn! The Shadows will be on our tails any minute now. Get David to Medlab. I'm going to the bridge."
"I'm going with you, Captain," Corwin said. The Captain looked at him for a minute, then nodded.
"Can't this thing go any faster?" he snapped at the transport tube. "Come on!"
"It's going as fast as it can. We'll be at the bridge any minute, and they've got your instructions. Captain.... what happened down there?"
"We got ambushed by about a million Drakh and a couple of the Shadows, and we managed to punch our way out and get to the shuttle."
"No, I mean.... before that. About.... Delenn?"
"They killed her, David," he said softly. "I just.... I just knew it somehow. They killed her. I could hear her screaming, begging for mercy, and I.... I just couldn't do anything to save her. They probably killed her the instant they got her there."
"You're sure she's dead?"
"Yes! Dammit, David, stop questioning me!" He reached up to rub at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just.... I wish I could have saved her. The least I can do is avenge her."
"First things first," Corwin said, trying to disguise his shock. "We won't be able to avenge anyone unless we get out of here. You think they'll try to stop us?"
"I know they will. Don't worry, David. We've cut our way out of worse than this." The transport tube came to a halt and the Captain charged through the doors and rushed on to the bridge. Corwin followed as fast as his injuries would let him.
The first thing he saw was Lyta, just standing patiently next to the Captain's chair. Of course, the Captain's hurried message from the shuttle would have led to her being hastily called to the bridge, but she looked perfectly composed, almost.... almost as if she'd been expecting all of this.
The Captain took his seat and activated his link. "Engineering, get those jump engines working as soon as possible." Without waiting to hear the reply, he looked around the bridge, barking out orders.
"Captain," said one of the technicians. "There's an incoming signal. It's from the surface."
"Put it on. Audio only."
--- John, what's going on? — -- came the angry voice of his father. --- What's happened? — --
"You know what's happened. You killed Delenn and expected me to fall into the same trap she did."
--- What? We didn't kill her. She's still alive. I promise you.... — --
"Then prove it. Let me talk to her. Let me see her. Now."
--- We.... We can't do that. She isn't.... — --
"I knew it. We're getting out of here, and if you try to stop us we'll cut a path straight through anything you put in the way. We'll be back though, and then we're going to blow that entire planet of yours apart. I'll turn each and every one of your ships into a funeral pyre for Delenn!"
--- Son, listen to me! — --
"My father's dead. I don't know who you are, but you're not him." He flicked a quick glance at the technician. "Shut off the signal. How much longer for the jump engines?"
"They're almost on-line."
"Almost isn't good enough!"
"Captain," said Lyta, her eyes glowing. "They're here."
A moment later one of the techs said, "I'm picking up their ships, Sir. A lot of them."
The Babylon was surrounded.
* * *
"What do you think this is all about, then? I mean, he could have been a little more descriptive about just what could possibly be so important as to be worth dragging me out of bed at this hour of the morning. I don't know about you, and I certainly don't know about him, but I am an old man with a great many responsibilities, and I need my sleep!"
G'Kar sighed, looking at his companion. Their relationship might have become a little chillier in recent days, but there were some things that had not changed. One of these was his exasperation at his friend's never-ending habit of finding something to complain about even at times of great wonder.
"Mollari, do not think that just because you wear fancy clothes and expensive trappings of power and sit on a big chair, that you have seen everything there is to see. For myself, the chance to set foot inside a place such as this is worth getting up a little bit earlier than usual.
"Besides, I can assure you I was still awake working last night long after you were snoring in your cups."
"I do not snore, and if Timov were here she would be happy to confirm that for you. Trust me, you will never get a chance to find out for yourself. And yes, I will admit to some curiosity, mild curiosity mind, about Cathedral, but all I have seen so far is a large docking bay and a very dark waiting room, populated by some of the rudest servants I have seen this side of Lady Elrisia's last candlelit dinner." He shivered. "Now there is an experience I would not want to repeat. Fortunately, I do not have to."
"I wonder what he wants."
"I dread to think. Which side is he even on in this war of yours, G'Kar?"
"He follows the same path as you, I think. He is on no side but his own."
"I am not on my own side, G'Kar. I made that very clear. I do what it best for my people, nothing more."
"I misspoke myself. My apologies, Great and August Emperor."
"You left out a title or twelve. But I accept your apology all the same." He looked around, not that there was a great deal to look at. "I swear, all my advisors would have panic attacks at the thought that I was here, alone, with a member of a race with whom we are still at war. Not even Lennier was permitted aboard." He paused. "How old do you think this place is?"
The air seemed to rise at that moment, the floor beneath their feet trembling, and the dim light sources blazing up. The first Londo knew about the arrival of the lord of this place was his voice, a deep, booming tone filled with power and strength.
"Cathedral is older than any of our civilisations," came the reply. "It existed when the earliest foundations at Yedor had yet to be laid, when the Narns were struggling to use edged weapons and when the Centauri were still living in mud huts."
"Mud huts might be an improvement over the places we live in at the moment," muttered Londo under his breath.
"And I apologise for requesting your presence so early. I.... do not sleep these days, and I sometimes forget that others have the need to do so. However, I hoped to keep this meeting secret from certain eyes and ears, and the only way to do that was to hold it here, on Cathedral."
"Oh, no need to apologise, Primarch Sinoval," said G'Kar. "I wanted very much to see Cathedral when you came to my summit at Babylon Four. Alas, events ran away from us. I am very glad to have the opportunity to set foot inside it now."
A slow smile crept over Sinoval's face. "You will soon have an opportunity you never dreamed of," he said. "And you may not thank me for it, but.... there is something I need to show you first. What do you know about Delenn's disappearance ?"
G'Kar thought briefly before responding. "The current belief is that she was abducted by an agent of the Enemy and taken to Z'ha'dum. However.... no trace of her abductor has been found, and.... No, foolish suspicions, that is all."
"You have suspicions?"
"Everything seemed too easy, the abduction too clean. Unfortunately I was not at Kazomi Seven when the kidnapping occurred, or I might have been able to prevent it. However, my Rangers have been turning up some.... disquieting details. There was no sign of force, no trace of where she was taken from.... I am sure that something will have been discovered by now. Perhaps we will know more when Captain Sheridan returns from Z'ha'dum."
"If he returns. Your suspicions are entirely accurate, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. And there is a very good reason for them. Delenn was not abducted. She went to Z'ha'dum willingly, to fulfill a bargain and save the life of another."
"What? How do you know this?"
"She sent me a message before she left. Here, listen to this...."
"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...."
G'Kar listened to the message with mounting horror. He flicked a glance at Londo, whose eyes were wide. When it was finished, he sat back.
"You are sure this message is genuine?"
"I would stake my soul on it.... if someone else did not have a prior claim."
"She spoke of other messages. Do you have any idea to whom they might have been sent?"
"I could guess, but I could not say with certainty. I assume no one else you know has received any such message?"
"I would have heard if anyone had. This.... is disturbing. The Vorlons are our friends.... our allies. They have stood beside me for.... ever since I began this. Why.... why would they do this?"
"I have my suspicions, but nothing definite. I am sure Sheridan is the key. I had hoped to catch him here and show him this message. He and I have never been.... friends, but I do respect him. Once he learns the cost of his cure, then he might be more inclined to trust me on this one." Sinoval turned his head and focussed his dark, infinite eyes on Londo. "And you, Emperor Mollari, what do you think of this?"
"I.... I do not know what to say. Delenn is very dear to me, and if this is true.... And yet, how much can I trust you, Primarch Sinoval? I would wager.... well, the entire contents of my treasury, that you have a personal stake in this, and I am not sure just how objective that makes you.
"However, I have been approached by an emissary of the Vorlons. He has been.... in and out of my life these past few years. He offered the Republic an alliance with his associates, but at considerable cost. He disappeared while I was debating the issue.
"The Vorlons have given me precious little reason to hate them, but equally little reason to trust them.
"But then I could say the same of you, Primarch Sinoval."
Sinoval smiled and nodded. "The Centauri reputation for paranoia is not overstated, I see. Very well, I asked you here to show you two things. You have seen the first; it is time you saw the second, I believe.
"Has either of you heard of the Well of Souls?"
* * *
One of the finer arts of the street fight is knowing when to fight, and when to stand back. In the section on when definitely not to fight was marked a diagram of exactly the situation Dexter Smith now found himself in. To wit: being surrounded by six heavily-armed men much bigger and stronger than he was. Especially when they were dressed in suits.
With dark glasses.
The only thing missing was the inane chatter about music or films or the relative merits of Choc-A-Mint over Choc-A-Mocha.
Trace and Talia were nowhere in sight. Smith had been literally pulled from the room, and was now being pushed down the corridors to the door they had entered by. They eventually set foot outside to find the doorman he and Talia had slipped past before. He had woken up now and was looking around, confused.
"Mr. Trace is not happy," said one of the men surrounding Smith. "He is very not happy."
"Hey, Roberts," said the sleeping doorman. "What's.... what's the matter? Is there some sort of problem?"
"When Mr. Trace pays people to watch his club, he expects them to watch it, not to fall asleep and let any old passerby wander in."
"Hey! I never fall asleep. I was right here...."
"Look, go and tell it to Mr. Trace." Roberts smiled. "You never know. He might believe you. He might be in a good mood and let you keep a few fingers."
"What?" The doorman looked visibly shaken. "I wasn't asleep."
"You were," observed Smith dryly.
"What?!"
"You were so asleep. And snoring."
"I don't snore! I mean.... not that you'd know, because I wasn't asleep!"
"All we needed was a blanket and a little hot-water-bottle and you'd have been home away from home."
"Less of it," said Roberts, but the doorman evidently hadn't heard him.
"Shut up, you...!"
He moved forward.
Several things happened at once. The doorman made to punch Smith. Smith got out of the way by ducking down, grabbing at the nearest pair of ankles and pushing hard. The doorman hit the guy who had been standing directly behind Smith. Smith rolled across the ground and leapt to his feet. The other 'businessmen' moved into action, but the doorman stumbled into their way.
At that point, normal time reasserted itself.
Normally, Smith's solution would have been that discretion is the better part of valour, and he would have run. Anywhere. Very fast. On the other hand, Talia was around here somewhere and in a lot of trouble, and if there was anything guaranteed to make him stay around and get into a fight, it was the hope of impressing a pretty lady.
He backed off slowly, edging himself into a small alcove, so that only two of them could come at him at once. The first one to try it was the recipient of a very painful kick to the kneecap, and then a punch to the face which took him down. The second one had taken time to draw a knife, and he slashed it across Smith's arm.
There was a burst of pain and he fell back, wincing. A punch crashed into his jaw, and he fell. Rough hands seized his collar and he was thrown forward, away from the alcove, to land painfully at the feet of the 'businessmen' still standing.
A hard foot came down on his back.
"Get him up," snarled Roberts. "And you!" To the doorman. "Get in there and see Mr. Trace, and say goodbye to all your fingers on the way. Idiot!"
Smith was dragged roughly to his feet, and hauled directly before Roberts. A punch landed solidly in his belly. "You're only making it worse."
"Worse?" he spat. "What? You mean I'm going to get dumped in the foundations of a Kwik-E-Mart rather than a block of luxury flats?"
Something seemed to rise in the back of his mind, a signal he could only faintly hear, almost a sound far away on the horizon. He slumped in his captor's hold and closed his eyes.
There was a flurry of motion from behind him, and he burst into as much action as he could. An elbow in the ribs of the person holding him, and another kick out at Roberts. Tearing himself free, he lurched forward, breathing hard.
"Come on!" cried Talia from beside him. Her hand on his arm steadied him, and all he remembered was running frantically, her presence always at his side. It was some minutes before either of them spoke, and when she did, all she said was, "Lost them."
He considered this for a moment. "Oh," he said, wheezing. "Good."
* * *
"They're here," whispered Lyta. She could see them all in her mind, hovering outside the Babylon, waiting. How many there were she could not be certain, but this was their home, the ancestral seat of their power. They were strong here.
Then you will be stronger, hissed the voice in her mind. It brought with it a great light, a painful light, a light that seemed to burn through her skull.
Wait, the Vorlon instructed her.
"Captain," said a voice. She wasn't sure whose. It didn't matter. The message was important, not the messenger. "Jump engines are ready."
"Good," said another voice. Lyta turned her head to look at him. The air seemed so thick, or her head was so heavy. It was Captain Sheridan. She could see.... his soul. It was filled with light. No, it was surrounded by light, an aura, a halo.
"We're getting out of here, and if any of them try to stop us, blast our way out."
"There's a lot of them," said another voice. Sheridan's friend. Sheridan's second.
"All we have to do is get into hyperspace. We'll be safe there."
No, they will not. They will not reach the gateway. You know what to do.
And she did. This.... this was why he had insisted on her coming along. They needed her to keep him alive. They had great plans for him. He was their future.
"Captain," she said. Her voice sounded so strange, as if it were coming from a very long way away. "Let me deal.... with...."
The light was bur
ning her more fiercely now. She opened her eyes as wide as she could. She could see them all, the Shadow ships, the living beings within them, their masters on the planet below.
Delenn!
Lyta could see her. She was on Z'ha'dum. She was alive — in danger, but alive. She was with two people.... Lyta could not see them clearly. They were in danger, but they were standing at the entrance to paradise. There was someone there, waiting for them.
"She's...." Her throat clenched. She could not say the words. She looked to the voice in her mind for guidance.
You will obey. Now.
She tried to scream, but it was not a scream. The light burst from her soul, throwing her body forward. She could not feel it. She could feel the Shadow ships recoiling before her assault, recoiling and hissing and screaming. Their screams were hers.
There was a crack from her arm, but she did not feel any pain. All she could feel was the burning, the light.... it was burning her, it was taking her to pieces....
Blood filled her eyes, and she slumped. Her last image before her head struck the floor was of the Shadow ships falling back, and of Captain Sheridan giving the order to take the Babylon into hyperspace.
Her last sensation before unconsciousness was of the mocking voice that came from the centre of the light in her mind.
You have done well. Rest now.
And she did.
* * *
Sinoval had been master of Cathedral for over a year and a half. He was acutely aware of just how few of its secrets he understood, even now. There were many chambers he had never entered, there were countless soul globes he had not seen or spoken to. There were towers and turrets and parapets he had never walked. There were voices he had not heard.
But he had seen the Well of Souls, and that sight had thrown all others into perspective. He did not entirely know what it was, but he knew that he would understand when the time was right, and so he did not ask. He could feel it in his waking dreams, growing stronger and stronger each day. Soon, he would know everything.
And he would wish he did not.
He walked up to the vast door, noticing that it looked.... different from the last time he had been here. A subtle change, but a change all the same. Still, he raised his hand to the glowing seal in the centre of the door and felt its spirit wash over him.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 14