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

by Gareth D. Williams

  What sort of ending?

  Ah, that is very much for you to decide. You see, the future is not set in stone, but there are paths that diverge and converge, weaving their ways slowly through the fabric of time. There are many such paths, but two that stand out clearer than the others. The time of choice is here. The technomages saw that this time would come, and sought to shepherd you in the right direction. Into the right choice. I do not give advice, or counsel. I simply present you with the options before you.

  What options?

  Simple. A galaxy of hope, or a galaxy of despair. Light versus darkness. Life against death.

  That is a choice? The technomages told me they were afraid I would choose wrongly, but.... how can anyone fail to make the right choice with those options?

  Do not speak too quickly. You do not yet know the price.

  What.... what is the price?

  I will tell you....

  * * *

  There was a moment of silence in the Council Chamber of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7. All eyes were fixed on the two figures standing. All minds were filled with speculation.

  One of the standing figures was Primarch Sinoval, leader of the Minbari people, master of the mysterious and terrifying Soul Hunters. He had been on Kazomi 7 for over a week, engaged in private meetings with many of the leaders. Now he had spoken to the Council, trying to win their support to his goal of a strike against the Vorlons. The Vorlon Ambassador was not here.

  Sinoval's speech had been interrupted by the arrival of the second figure. Vizhak was a member of this Council and had been since its formation more than two years earlier. He had only recently returned from a visit to the Drazi homeworld, and had returned with startling information.

  "I say again to those who did not hear me before," he said. "Drazi ships have been attacked. Drazi ships have been attacked by Minbari ships. And who leads Minbari? Who orders Minbari ships? Who, but you?"

  "I have given no such order," replied Sinoval, his face cold and hard, his dark eyes darting to each member of the Council as if daring any of them to disbelieve him. "I have not instructed any attack on Drazi shipping."

  "Perhaps they were not Minbari ships," countered Vizhak. "Perhaps there were other ships looking like Minbari ships. Looking just like Minbari ships. There are eyewitnesses. There is documentation. They were Minbari ships."

  "Sonovar," whispered the Primarch, closing his eyes. He hesitated, his body seemingly shaking with rage. Even Vizhak took a step back. Sinoval opened his eyes. "Sonovar," he repeated. The name meant little to anyone present.

  "You pass blame on to another?" asked Vizhak.

  "We should at least examine this evidence," spoke up a hasty voice. G'Kar, the voice of peace and reason as always. Unfortunately neither Sinoval nor Vizhak was interested in peace or reason. "Perhaps it is a conspiracy to frame Primarch Sinoval."

  "No conspiracy," said Vizhak, with absolute certainty. "Minbari ships."

  "Pirates, perhaps?" suggested G'Kar, looking at the still form of Primarch Sinoval. "Renegades?"

  "You imply the mighty Primarch Sinoval cannot control his own people," said Vizhak. "That Minbari pirates slip his control and attack our ships. No, it was ordered, and who orders Minbari ships but he?"

  "Sonovar," spoke the Primarch again. "This was Sonovar's doing. A pirate and a renegade, just as Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar said."

  "So. You cannot control your people," snapped Vizhak.

  "He lives only by my sufferance. He is too insignificant to bother with!"

  "Deal with your own problems before you come to us!" cried Vizhak. "Why should we listen to one who lets his own people fly and destroy at will?"

  Sinoval was about to reply, but he suddenly stopped and cocked his head as if listening to something. He looked at the door Vizhak had entered by a few minutes earlier. His hand went unconsciously to his side, to the place his pike would normally be.

  The door opened, and in walked someone known to everyone on the Council. Captain John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller himself. Sinoval straightened.

  "Captain," said Lethke, the first to regain his composure. "You are.... back? How was.... How.... is...?"

  "Delenn," spoke the thick accent of Emperor Londo Mollari. "Captain, is she...?"

  "She is dead," came the soft reply. There was a collective sense of sadness, of sudden and terrible tragedy. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar looked at his old friend, and his people's oldest enemy. Emperor Mollari's head was bowed.

  "The Shadows killed her," continued Sheridan. "We.... only just got out of there alive. We.... couldn't get her body back."

  "Droshalla preserve us," whispered Taan Churok. The stocky Drazi's face was full of emotion. He would have followed Delenn into oblivion and back. They all would.

  "I.... um.... I think they were trying to convert her. Give her one of those Keepers or something." Sheridan's voice was choking as well. Everyone knew the depth of the relationship between him and Delenn. He had been mortally wounded and had lain paralysed for months. To recover only to lose her so shortly afterwards.... it was a true tragedy. And yet G'Kar knew the truth. Delenn had not been abducted and taken to Z'ha'dum. She had gone of her own free will as the price for the Vorlons curing Sheridan of those injuries. She obviously considered her life a price worth paying, and if that was her decision, how could he disagree with her?

  But it was still so hard....

  "She resisted," continued Sheridan. "They killed her when we arrived. They were afraid she'd escape and tell us about their secrets."

  G'Kar looked up and turned his gaze from Sheridan to Sinoval. The Primarch was one of the three people in this room who knew the truth about Delenn's journey to Z'ha'dum. He was the one who had told G'Kar and Londo.

  "She is dead?" said Sinoval.

  For the first time, Sheridan seemed to notice he was there. He turned to look at the Minbari warrior. The two had met several times before, and there had rarely been friendship there. The air seemed to crackle between them.

  "Yes," replied Sheridan simply.

  Sinoval looked at Sheridan intently, staring into his eyes. Sinoval's own eyes grew even darker, so dark as to be almost infinite, a pool of blackness deep within his soul and beyond. G'Kar thought he could hear again the voice of the Well of Souls.

  Sinoval then looked down, a terrible sadness filling him. He drew in a quick breath, then shook his head sadly.

  "Damn you," he whispered, although of whom he was speaking G'Kar could not tell. Sinoval looked up again. "Damn you." He picked up the data crystal he had brought to the meeting, the crystal containing the record of Delenn's message to him, the message he had been intending to show the Council.

  "Damn you!" He hurled the crystal against the wall. It shattered.

  "I know who you are," he hissed, advancing on Sheridan. "I know who you are, and I swear by all the Gods in the heavens.... I will destroy each and every one of you!

  "I will burn down your cities, and sow the ground beneath your feet with salt. Everything you have ever cherished I will destroy, as if it had never existed! Darker paths than yours, remember. I will show you them all."

  Sheridan stood still where others would have quailed. Even some of the Council were flinching, and Sinoval's words were not directed at them.

  It was Taan Churok who moved first, pushing back his chair and leaping to his feet. He lunged forward to attack Sinoval, when Sheridan suddenly raised a hand.

  "No," he said softly. "Leave this place, Sinoval. Leave this place and never return."

  "Let me kill him!" roared Taan Churok. Vizhak agreed.

  Sinoval turned his gaze on all the Council. "I pity you all," he whispered. "Remember that I warned you." He looked back at Sheridan. "Remember that I warned you as well. Damn each and every one of you!"

  "Go!" shouted Sheridan.

  Sinoval stormed past him and left the hall. Sheridan watched dispassionately as the door slammed shut. He then turned back to the Council. He said four simple words.r />
  "We are at war."

  G'Kar looked at the broken pieces of Sinoval's data crystal. He had never seen anything more horrific in his life.

  * * *

  "His name was.... Byron, I believe. Our tests rated him as a P twelve. Very powerful, fully trained.... knowledgeable in certain.... how to put this politely? Certain unauthorised and not entirely legal techniques. All in all, absolutely perfect."

  Morden looked up at the device before him. His associates had a number of plans in motion for various parts of the galaxy, and they were of such scope and range as to give the term 'forward planning' an entirely new meaning. Morden was well aware of how limited his part in their plans truly was.

  Oh, he was useful, vital even. But he had been charged with forging alliances and making deals with certain alien Governments and systems: the Centauri of course, the Soul Hunters, one or two others. He was placed in the Vorlon Foreign Office. His path very rarely crossed with the Vorlon Bureau of Science.

  Still, he knew at least the basics of the device before him; purpose, roughly how it worked, components and so forth. He had seen diagrams.

  It was like a wall, but made of a substance very few people would have recognised. Morden was one of those few. It was a living wall, grown in the same way as the Vorlons ships. He reached out and touched it lightly. There was a faint warmth beneath his skin, and a soft, lazy vibration, almost like a heartbeat.

  "Dormant, of course," said the old man.

  Suspended half way up the wall, two or three feet from the ground, was a man. He was not held there by chains or rope or any form of nifty gravimetric trickery. The wall was holding him there. It was even growing around him. His head was tilted far back, and a small globe had been carefully fitted over it. Others might have called it an orb, a ball of some kind, or even a lampshade. Morden recognised the beginnings of a flower.

  The man's body was still. He was unconscious.

  Morden knew what the device was for, but he also knew the old man was dying to tell him all about it.

  "So," he said, with a smile. "How does this thing work then?"

  "There's no need to humour me," came the mildly reproving reply. "But since you asked nicely.... It's dormant at the moment, of course. Activating the channel would be.... unwise with such a strong Enemy presence here. When the time is right, then.... Well, you know all that. Actually, I've had it set up a little ahead of schedule. Byron really should have been sent off with the others, but this was a one in a million opportunity, having someone so powerful fall into our laps, so I sort of appropriated him from the cryo banks."

  "Yes, it does seem a bit of a coincidence that he was here," Morden noted. "I suppose he didn't fall off the back of a truck?"

  "No. Some of my.... certain individuals in my employ came across him. He was in Sector Three-o-one."

  "Ah. That's still the less-than-reputable part of town, right?"

  "It's actually got worse since the last time you were here, if you can believe that. Yes, that's the place. Byron here was sniffing around our business. He didn't have much time to find out anything useful. Our friends down there soon caught him. Unfortunately.... he had an accomplice, a woman. She's still at large."

  "That doesn't sound good. Who do you think sent them? Bester?"

  "Who else?"

  Morden paused, deep in thought. "I heard the Enemy sent a fleet to his place to.... ah, deal with him. No one was happy about him triple-crossing everyone at Epsilon Three. I thought he was dead."

  "That's the official report. Unofficially, I'd lay money he's still alive. Or maybe he isn't, and sent these two here before his death. Either way, it doesn't really matter. History is bearing down on all of us fast enough. The war will be coming here before the end of the year. I'd give it a bit less, actually. When the war does get here, and Mr. Byron is woken up.... well, it won't matter a bit what Bester has uncovered."

  Morden looked up at the machine again. "It is very impressive," he said. "Will it do everything it's supposed to?"

  "All that, and more. Yes.... I've always been worried about telepaths, you know. All my life. And here I am, at last in a position to do something about them. I can make sure their powers are kept under control and used for the public good. Each one we catch is one more feather on our side of the scales." The old man smiled. "Yes.... I feel like a young man all over again."

  He nodded once, and then they turned away and left Mr. Byron to his dreams.

  * * *

  There are two paths before us now. Oh, the details are slightly different. One person can make a difference, even a significant difference. One moment of heroism, of cowardice, of courage, of fear.... anything can be changed. But there are two broad paths before us, and they stem from this moment, from you, from your choice.

  What are.... what are my options? What must I choose?

  In one future, you leave this place. I take you back to Kazomi Seven. There, you live, and love. You fight this war, and maybe it is won, and maybe it is a mere stand-off. You love, and raise children, and create a little haven of light and beauty and wonder. You live to an old age.... as you would measure old age, of course.

  Continue....

  But then you die, as all beings die. And after you are gone, the Darkness returns. Your haven, your light, your place of beauty.... it is swamped out forever. No, not forever. Nothing is truly eternal, save the cycle of life and death. But the light will be out for so long as to be almost forever, by your standards. There will be a haven, but for so short a time.

  And the other option? The.... other path?

  You leave this place and walk into darkness. You know great suffering, great loss, a terrible sadness. You endure pain and hardship and misery. Many close to you die or fall away. But in the end your sacrifice will ensure a brighter future.

  And that will be.... will be eternal?

  Nothing is eternal. But if you wish to cherish that remarkable delusion, then do so. Yes, the galaxy of wonder created by your suffering will indeed be eternal.

  And John? Will he...? What will happen to him?

  It is not for me to identify individuals. He will live, and he will die.

  I saw him.... I saw his grave on Minbar. Is that.... is that in one of your futures?

  Yes, I believe it is.

  Which one?

  You know that answer.

  Yes, I do. Damn you.... I do not want to choose! I want.... I want.... No. What I want does not matter. I came here so that another could live, so that others could live. You know which path I take.

  I never had any doubt.

  Well.... I've made your choice. What now?

  That is for you to decide. I can send you anywhere you wish to go. Where do you wish to go?

  I see it now.... The humans, they are the key. The Vorlons in Dukhat's sanctum. They told me so, long ago. The humans are the key. Oh, Valen's Name....

  Do you see?

  A matter of numbers, you said. Maybe we have paid for what we did to their homeworld. Maybe.... maybe those we killed have been avenged by those they killed in turn. But what about those left alive? Oh, Valen.... we turned them to the Darkness. They would not have taken that path if it weren't for us.... for me. We.... I.... destroyed their hopes and dreams. I left them with nothing. They are the key.... They will be the tool through which the Darkness takes us, won't they?

  You do see.

  And John? Did they kill him?

  Nothing is set in stone. You saw.... an image of what might have been. Had you continued on the path you were on then, perhaps that would have occurred. Now.... perhaps he will live longer. Perhaps he will still die.

  Can.... Could you take me to him?

  Yes.

  No! No.... do not. I.... I sent him a message.

  Yes. I know.

  I told him that I loved him, and that I had come here to strike against the Shadows, to give my life for the greater good. How could I tell him that was the price of his recovery? I could not tell him that.
He knows I love him, and will always love him, and he now thinks I am dead. Let me be dead to him.

  Where do you wish to go?

  I will go to Proxima Three. I will let them put me on trial. I will let them do with me as they wish. And.... maybe I will be able to reach someone there.... just one person.... who will be able to forgive me.

  A wise decision. Do you wish me to take you there now?

  No, return me to Ambassador Sheridan. He will be able to arrange everything.

  Indeed he will. You have chosen wisely. I fear you have a difficult road ahead of you, but the future will be a little bit brighter.

  I love John.... If the universe is kind, there will be a better place for both of us....

  Farewell.... little mother. Farewell.

  Delenn opened her eyes.

  * * *

  Lyta Alexander's eyes were closed. There was the faintest tear of blood in her right eye. Gently, Commander Corwin reached out and brushed it away.

  They had only just arrived back at Kazomi 7. The Babylon was in planetary orbit, and the crew had been given leave to go down to the planet. The official status of the ship was unclear. Corwin had been in charge during the Captain's.... incapacitation, and the Captain had taken it back for this emergency mission. What would happen now.... no one seemed to know. The Captain was sorting matters out with the Council now. He would also no doubt have met with Sinoval. That was a meeting Corwin did not want to be anywhere near.

  He did not want to lead. He did not want to be responsible for the course of this war. All he wanted was a good ship, a good crew, and a chance to be absolutely sure who the enemy was.

  He looked again at the woman before him, and sighed. She was one of the few people he could actually talk to these days. The old crew just seemed to.... have broken apart. A great many had died of course, or returned to Proxima, or given up on their previous lives. Neeoma Connally was still around somewhere, but she was on the Babylon less and less. She had been assigned to teach Starfury combat to anyone who wanted to learn.

  Then there was Lyta.

  She had spent the entire journey back from Z'ha'dum in a coma brought on by her exertions during their escape. She had been transferred to the Medlab here, and the doctors had not been able to discern any improvement, or for that matter offer much treatment. She would recover, or she would not.