"It was so much simpler before," Corwin said, with another sigh. "Everything used to be so simple." He turned and walked away, deep in thought.
The alien figure watching from the shadows waited for some minutes after Corwin had gone, and then manifested itself. The Vorlon loomed over the unconscious body of Lyta Alexander, studying her closely. It had not been able to attend the Council meeting, not with the Accursed Sinoval there. In some strange way it could not fully define, it was wary of him. He was everything their Enemies hoped to create in these mortals, and yet he fought them as passionately as he fought all others he opposed.
It did not matter. Sinoval the Accursed would be gone now. It could return to business.
Lyta's eyes opened and she immediately sat up, a strangled scream in her throat. "I can...." She stopped, and took a deep breath. "I could.... feel her," she whispered. She turned and saw the Vorlon beside her. "I could feel her. When I was asleep. Delenn. She's.... Is she dead?"
"I'm tired! I can't.... I just.... can't...." Her eyes closed, and she swayed for a moment. She gripped the bedcovers tightly. "I held them back.... It.... hurt...."
"I need some rest!"
The Vorlon's eye glowed.
She tried to scream, but the sound would not come. Finally she stumbled out of bed. "Stop!" she whispered. "S.... S.... Stop."
* * *
There was a soft and comfortable silence as the two of them lay side by side, thinking quietly. Smith's arm was bandaged and stitched now. He flexed it gently. There was slight pain and a dull ache, but Talia had handled it well.
"What next?" he said after a while.
"Hmm?"
"What do we do next?" he repeated. "Do we have some sort of plan, or would that be a little bit too much to hope for?"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't.... IPX Headquarters perhaps. Whatever's going on will be based there. That's where we can find out just what they're up to.... just what they want with the people they've been taking."
"What do you think they're doing?"
"I don't know. Some sort of genetic alteration perhaps. Maybe a virus of some kind. Maybe they want their own group of telepath slaves."
"Hmm." He paused. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it? Helping telepaths like this."
"It's.... my identity. It's the only thing I've ever been good at." She sat up, resting on her elbow to look at him. "I never knew my parents. For as long as I can remember the Corps has been my home and my family. The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father."
"Still, it must have been.... lonely."
"Sometimes. Not always. I've had some friends. Some very good friends. Lovers. A child. I'm in a position where I can use my skills to do some good. Life.... hasn't been all that bad, really."
"What would you have done.... if you hadn't been a telepath? What would you want to do?"
She closed her eyes, thinking. "I don't know. I've never thought about it. What's the point? I am a telepath, I always will be. But.... for a while.... Promise you won't laugh."
"I promise."
"I'll know if you're lying."
"No you won't. Not unless the sleepers have worn off." She swore. "Anyway, I promise not to laugh."
"There was a time I thought it might have been nice to be a film star. Hey! You promised not to laugh!"
"Sorry," he said, chuckling. He coughed, and tried to look serious. She elbowed him in the stomach. "Hey, I said I was sorry."
"Well? What did you want to be?"
"Oh, no. I'm not answering that one."
"Come on."
"No."
"Fine. I can wait. The sleepers should be wearing off soon."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Wouldn't I?" she said, smiling.
"Fine. I wanted to be.... my brother. He was two years older than I was, and he knew.... everything. He knew all the places to go, all the cool people, all the things to do. He wanted to stay here all his life. He looked after me when my mother went to prison. She.... refused to take the sleepers, you see. They didn't have special Psi Corps camps here, so she just went to a regular prison. I think she spent most of her time in solitary.
"Anyway, my brother looked after me then. He died when I was thirteen. He was trying to climb into a construction site, and he slipped and cut himself on a sharp bit of wire fence. The cut turned bad. Oh, he could have gone to a hospital up-sector, but he didn't have any medical insurance. Besides, he kept telling me it was all going to be fine, and he'd get better any day now. It took him a couple of weeks to die, and he was delirious by the end."
Smith shook his head. "Such a stupid way to go. I didn't realise it at the time, but he'd shown me just how futile it was to stay here. There was nothing here, no hope, no future, no life, nothing. So I left."
"And now you've come back," she whispered softly.
"Yes.... There's still nothing here of course, but maybe there could be.... if someone worked hard enough at it."
She smiled and nodded. Then she lay back down and gently took his hand. He held hers and closed his eyes, drifting slowly off to sleep. She lay awake long into the night, waiting for the voices to return.
* * *
Sinoval stood on the pinnacle of Cathedral and roared his defiance to the heavens. Stormbringer raised high above his head, he looked down at the stars below and above and around, and cried out his anger and his hatred and his fury.
Words did not exist to describe his anger. Not only had the Vorlons dared to send Delenn to her death, but they had corrupted the genuine love in her decision. She had sacrificed her life so that the one she loved could live, and now they had twisted that. John Sheridan as she knew him did not live. Not any longer.
He was not sure exactly what the Vorlons had done to the Starkiller. It was possible that there was something remaining of the old Sheridan. It was equally possible that he was nothing more than a soulless automaton, moving and talking by their word alone. It did not matter either way. Their touch befouled him, filled his mind and his body.
Sinoval would destroy them all. He would raze their cities to the ground, topple their towers and sow their ground with salt. Nothing would remain, and within a generation no one would even remember they had ever existed.
And he knew what to do to begin this.
The curtain of stars around him shimmered, and the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus walked into view. The pinnacle at the top of Cathedral's highest tower, which just a moment ago had seemed barely wide enough for Sinoval to stand, now grew so that there was ample room for both of them.
"Our business at Kazomi Seven is concluded?" he said.
"Yes."
"Then are we to return to Tarolin Two?"
"Yes."
The Primarch bowed his head in acknowledgement. He did not leave, however.
"The Well of Souls spoke to me," he said, after a long pause. "It has the power of prophecy. It is a limited ability. The future after all has many alternative possibilities, but some things become inevitable over time."
"I do not believe in prophecy, or in destiny."
"That does not matter. Both prophecy and destiny believe in you."
There was another pause. Sinoval did not take his eyes off the myriad of stars around him. "So," he said finally. "What words of foreboding has the Well of Souls for me?"
"A time of great crisis is coming. For Cathedral, for all our order, and for you most especially. They speak of the doom of Aellearath." Sinoval turned, a puzzled expression on his face. "The shedding of innocent blood."
"No blood I shed is innocent."
"Perhaps. Nevertheless, a moment is coming, within weeks, when Cathedral will be shaken to its foundation, and a great change will sweep over us all."
"Change is not always bad."
>
"Not always, no."
Sinoval smiled. "It appears the Well of Souls may be right, this time. I have.... been toying with an idea for some time now. At first it was just idle speculation. When it became apparent this course of action might become necessary, I resolved not to put it into effect until I could be sure there was no other way. There is not.
"We are at war with the Vorlons. I have promised to destroy them utterly, and so I shall. But first I will need information, knowledge.... and to send them a warning.
"Primarch, I have a question for you.
"Tell me, Primarch, in all the history of your order, ever since the Well of Souls was first born, has any of your order ever taken a Vorlon soul?"
* * *
Delenn opened her eyes.
She did not know where she was. She did not think she had seen this room before. She was still on Z'ha'dum, she knew that much. She could feel the thickness of the air, the darkness of the ground, and the ancient presence deep beneath the surface. Lorien was still watching her, with a great sadness.
She sat up, and realised she was on a bed. This might be a hospital of some kind. She saw the outline of a humanoid being at the far end of the room. It turned to look at her, and in its alien face she saw no pity, no mercy, no emotion at all. One of the Shadows' scientists.
Then the scientist moved deeper into the darkness, and Ambassador Sheridan came into view through a door she could only barely see. He walked up to her side.
"The Zener told me you would awaken soon," he said simply. "They knew your injuries were not severe, and that you would recover."
"What of.... What about Neroon?" she asked. "And Ivanova?"
"Neroon is dead, Ivanova lost. They do not matter, you do. You cannot escape. Do you realise that now?"
"I do," she said simply. "I do not wish to escape."
His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"We need to talk...."
* * *
The Allied Council of Kazomi 7 met several times in the days immediately after the departure of Primarch Sinoval. Captain Sheridan was in attendance for most of those meetings, studying plans and strategies of the Shadow attacks, observing the locations of their assaults, advising and co-ordinating the response. His plans were little more than holding actions and preventative safeguards, rather than fully fledged counterattacks. No one questioned him about this.
Emperor Londo Mollari was also present, discussing the cease-fire arrangements with Ambassador G'Kael. The Kha'Ri were less than receptive even to the idea of such negotiations, as were the Centarum. Two months after his arrival at Kazomi 7, Emperor Londo Mollari returned home with very little achieved. Still, he had been able to establish an embassy there. He made arrangements to start setting up an office, to renew trade agreements and to begin appointing staff. All he needed now was an Ambassador.
Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek was seen in public quite often. Lyta Alexander was not.
Vorlon ships slowly became visible in the skies above Kazomi 7. Ambassador Ulkesh did not even seem to acknowledge their presence, but it soon became clear they were guarding the planet.
A month after Captain Sheridan's return, all the Vorlon ships mysteriously left, to be replaced by new ships.
They were smaller than the Vorlon heavy cruisers, and did not seem to be particularly Vorlon in design. They were small, but very manoeuvrable. As Captain Sheridan explained to a stunned Alliance Council, they were comparable in firepower to even the largest capital class ships of the other races, and they were also much faster. The Vorlons had designed them especially for this war, and now they were being presented to the Alliance.
"They are called Dark Stars," Sheridan said, his eyes gleaming. "We have a whole fleet of them, and more to come. Now we can take the war to the enemy."
No one doubted he meant it.
Part 3 : A Universe of Majesty and Terror.
There is a fine line between vendetta and obsession, between genius and madness. In his quest for revenge, Sinoval has crossed that line. Ignoring advice from his allies, heedless of warnings from his friends, he returns to the site of his greatest triumph to gain his greatest prize. He is willing to die trying, but the true, terrible cost of his actions will be too great even for him to accept...
Chapter 1
"They call me a monster, they call me a heretic, a blasphemer, an abomination.
"They can call me whatever they like. I do not care. Their words cannot hurt me, their anger cannot harm me, their hatred is not a weapon I fear.
"Am I not still their leader?"
Primarch Sinoval the Accursed.
* * *
Some words, once spoken, can never be taken back. Some thoughts, once given birth, are forever. Some plans, once set in motion, can never be undone.
Sinoval is the Primarch Nominus et Corpus of the Order of Soul Hunters. He thinks he knows what that means.
He is the leader of the Minbari Federation, or at least of the part of it that recognises his sovereignty. He thinks he knows what that will cost him.
He is called the Accursed. He does not care.
He is incapable of love, but he understands revenge all too well. Of friends, he has had precious few, but his enemies are almost without number. He is not afraid of any living thing.
He has never looked back with regret, or shame. Anger, yes, grief, yes.... but never has he said 'if only I had done that' or 'if only I had not done that'. Those words have no power over him. He is not a slave to the past.
Only to the future.
That is the greatest strength, and his greatest flaw.
Those who cannot learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.
He stands on the pinnacle of Cathedral, the highest point of the ancient structure that is home to the Order of Soul Hunters. He stares out across the infinity of space. His heart is filled with anger, and hatred, and determination.
The Vorlons have taken away one he admired, and they have tainted one he respected. People not as fitting to lead in war as he is, but people so much more destined to lead in peace. They are lost now, both of them.
He will not let their loss be in vain.
He begins to speak, and without knowing he dooms himself, and maybe his people. He was warned, by the technomage Vejar for one and the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus for another, but he chose not to heed, or maybe he has heeded, and simply decides it is worth the risk.
"Tell me, Primarch," he says....
* * *
"Tell me, Primarch, in all the history of your order, ever since the Well of Souls was first born, has any of your order ever taken a Vorlon soul?"
It would take a great deal to shock or surprise the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, spiritual leader of the Order of Soul Hunters and their link to the mystical Well of Souls. Sinoval's question did not do either.
"No," said the voice, the ageless voice. It had been almost two years since Sinoval had first come to Cathedral and stood before the Primarch, making his offer. In that time the two had come to know and respect each other, perhaps even become friends, if such a thing was possible for either. The Primarch was not surprised by that question: Sinoval's obsession with the Vorlons was in no way a secret.
"No. Vorlons are long-lived beings, and very solitary. We are no more welcome in their worlds than we would have been in Valen's Temples on Minbar. Vorlons do not die easily, or commonly." He paused, deep in thought. "There was.... a legend, of one of our Order who achieved such a thing. It was deep in Vorlon space, and he managed to save one of their souls.
"Alas, he never returned here. We believe, if there was any truth to the story, that he was intercepted and destroyed by Vorlon ships before he could leave. Of course, that may be a mere legend. The Well of Souls would know."
"It is possible, then?" Sinoval said. "It.... can be done."
"In theory, of course. All living beings of the universe have souls, and all living beings of the universe must die, whether sooner or later. It is very diff
icult, however, to save the soul of a Vorlon. As I said, they are long-lived, and dislike intruders into their realms."
A slow, self-satisfied smile crossed Sinoval's face. "There is no need to worry, Primarch," he said. "Vorlons have a tendency to die when I am around."
"What are you saying?"
Sinoval raised his pike, an ill-fated weapon he called Stormbringer, a name of ill-omen. "This has hurt a Vorlon before. It can do so again. And if it can hurt a Vorlon, then it can kill one. A Vorlon is a living thing of course, and anything that lives....
".... can be killed."
"That is not our way," breathed the Primarch. Now, he was shocked. "We do not kill. We.... save the souls of those who pass on naturally. We do not kill. Such.... such an act would break the pacts we swore so long ago."
"You will not have to kill anything. I will do it. You merely have to take the Vorlon's soul as it dies."
"No! This cannot be done. We do not kill."
"This must be done! Do you not see? The Vorlons sent Delenn to her death! They corrupted and tainted the Starkiller! They are pushing all the races to war against the Shadows, and for what? To rule all! I will destroy each and every one of them.... To do that, I need information. I need knowledge. The Vindrizi have some, but not enough. The Well of Souls will not answer me when I put those questions to it.
"I need a Vorlon soul."
"Please.... my friend.... this is not the way."
"It is the way. It can be done. And may I remind you, you swore to obey all my commands.... for so long as I am alive."
"Go hunting the Vorlons, and that may not be for long."
Sinoval smiled. "Well, then. You will need to be there to save my soul when I die, no? And if I fail, you will be free of me, and can leave the affairs of mortal beings again."
"You do not understand."
"I understand all too well. You will do this, Primarch. I am your leader, and I command it."
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 19