"Yes. Yes, I will help."
He had had the basics of this set up a long time ago, in crude form, when he first joined the Soul Hunters. Sherann had only helped confirm certain details. She would help him still further, although she did not realise it yet.
I don't think it noticed my shuttle.
That was the one thing he had learned from her. They had noticed. They had let her escape. They were luring him to Minbar, to deal with him for good. Whether they actually wanted him dead or merely distracted he was not sure. A direct confrontation was not their way. It had never been their way. They were.... setting him up for something.
So be it. He was ready, and he had a trap all of his own to spring.
He raised his arms to the sky, Stormbringer above his head.
"I'm coming for you!" he roared. "Hide all you like! You can't hide from me!"
* * *
On Minbar, in the partially repaired ruins of the city of Yedor, a Vorlon standing alone looking at the Temple of Varenni stopped and twitched slightly, as if it had heard.
Its eye stalk shook momentarily, and a flash of light came forth.
It then resumed its journey.
Anyone who had seen that brief, momentary burst of light would have known without a shadow of a doubt what it was. Some things are clear between all races.
The Vorlon had smiled.
Chapter 2
Black against the blackness of night they came, screaming their cries of warning. Fear us, they cried. Fear us, for we were masters of all that was, before the stars themselves gave birth to light, before your races rose to ascend to the heavens.
Fear us, for we are the death of worlds, the death of flesh, the death of dreams. We are the death of all who stand against us.
We are death itself.
Space itself opened up, bright shining gateways into other worlds. The Shadow ships turned from their wanton destruction of the helpless Brakiri trading ships. They turned to face the fools who would dare oppose them.
The new ships were much smaller. They were fast and strong and powerful. The Shadows recognised within their form the timeless machinations of their ancient enemies.
We do not fear you. You should fear us.
The Shadows swept forward. A beam of energy lashed out and struck at the nearest of the new ships. It spun off course, tumbling and rolling. It should have been destroyed.
The other ships acted together, an invisible link between them. They cried out, and the Shadows heard the voices of their ancient enemies. They heard the single word, amplified through the minds of pawns and tools.
STOP!
And the Shadows did, held still and helpless, their ships paralysed. The living floor and walls around them trembled with something akin to fear. Deep in the heart of their ships, at the heart of their Machine, the sentient mind that gave them power was crumbling, assailed by the might of their enemies.
Then the new ships began to fire. The Shadows struggled to break free of the blockade, but to no avail.
We do not fear death.
You should fear us, came the reply.
Then the Shadows died.
* * *
Once Minbar had been the jewel of planets, a world of beauty, of culture, of cities millennia old, of shining rivers and glowing crystal, of high mountains and ancient libraries.
But it had changed, as all things must. Devastated by the wrath of a vengeful and arrogant enemy, Minbar had been reduced to rubble, the fine and ancient cities either destroyed utterly or reduced to abandoned ghost realms. The rivers had become polluted with dust and ash. The air had become thick with the poisons and toxins of the enemies. Bodies had been left to rot in the streets.
It had been over a year since Sinoval, Primarch Nominus et Corpus, still leader of the Minbari people and the man who was at least partially responsible for this devastation, had been on his homeworld. He remembered leaving it, seemingly forever. He had not looked back as Cathedral had departed from the dying world. He and Delenn had saved all those they could, all those they could find. Surely, if any still lived on the world, then starvation and disease would claim them soon enough.
Minbar had changed. It was not as clear and beautiful as it had been, and Sinoval knew it never would be again, but he could see that much was different now. The world lived again, the toxins erased. The air could be breathed, the water could be drunk, the ground could be sown. Never again would the planet be as it had been, but people could live here now.
Such power was beyond Minbari technology, beyond even that of the Soul Hunters. No, Sinoval knew who was responsible, and that made him distrust this seeming miracle. No Vorlon ever did anything without a reason, usually selfish.
He stood on the pinnacle of Cathedral, staring down at his world. But while he stood far above Minbar, he was also there. He could feel the heartbeat of the planet, stronger now than before. He could see the beings that lived there. His own people, those he had left behind.
And others. Vorlons. At least one, based in Yedor. He could sense something strange in the southern cities, areas he had thought destroyed utterly by the Earthers' bombardment.
"You will not reconsider this?" said a soft and ageless voice from behind him. Sinoval turned, not remotely surprised by the appearance of the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, seemingly from nowhere.
"No," he said firmly.
"This is not our way. This has never been our way."
"It has never been the way of Minbari to deal with Shagh Toth either," Sinoval reminded his companion. "Laws and customs bind only weaker men. It is the great man who casts aside such things for the sake of what must be done."
"Examine your own motives," the Primarch warned him. "Do you do this because it must be done, or for your own private revenge?"
Sinoval raised his arm in anger, and suddenly his pike Stormbringer was in his hand. "We fight the Shadows. We fight the Darkness.... and maybe we will win, and maybe we will lose.... but what if we win, and find ourselves slaves to the Vorlons? What then? No, this must be done."
"As you say," said the Primarch softly. He did not seem at all afraid. "I told you once that you were only the second Primarch Nominus et Corpus, did I not? Only the second ever to bear that title."
"Yes, you did."
"The first was a mistake. He fell, consumed by the darkness of his own pride and his own convictions. His soul was saved by the first of our order, and preserved in a globe sealed in the gateway to Cathedral at the top of the highest archway. It was a reminder to all of us that no one is beyond temptation, no one cannot be corrupted, and there is darkness within us all."
Sinoval took in the message. "I saw no such globe when I came here," he mused. "I have never seen such a globe."
"It is still there, but now it cannot be seen. The light died the day you came here. The soul of the first Primarch Nominus et Corpus has escaped and gone.... somewhere. The Well of Souls told me only that the need for his presence here had passed."
"Was that a lesson, Primarch?"
"I don't know," he said softly. "Was it?"
"I do what must be done, and if it means I must sacrifice my own life, my own soul.... or the lives and souls of those who follow me, then so be it."
The Primarch sighed. "You do not understand."
"I understand more than you think. You know the plan."
"Yes."
"And you will perform your part.... you and those who are needed. I can kill the Vorlon, but this entire exercise is useless unless you take its soul. Will you do that?"
"I will do.... that which is required of me."
Sinoval nodded. "Good." He looked down at the planet for a long minute. "It knows we are here. It is waiting for us. I think it is trying to set a trap for us."
"I believe the same."
"It is welcome to try." Sinoval's eyes, always dark, seemed to become deep pits of blackness. The Primarch looked into them and felt a moment's fear in his near-immortal soul.
"Yes.
... they are all welcome to try."
* * *
Mr. Welles was more than willing to admit that he possessed a number of character flaws. He was perfectly willing to accept the many things he had done in the name of a greater good, all the sins he had committed that would no doubt damn him forever. He might have lapsed now, but he had been a religious man in his youth and he knew full well the cost of the things he had done: torture of innocents, brutal suppression of dissidence, sending good people to die, turning a blind eye to murderers and sadists.
All in the name of humanity. All for the greater good. Not that these were excuses, merely what was.
He could feel everything beginning to collapse around him, and as he looked at the two men before him he could see the architects, willing or not, of that collapse.
"It is a pleasure to have you back with us, Ambassador," said President Clark. He looked happy, as well he should. He had just been presented with a considerable victory. Humanity's worst enemy was now safely imprisoned and helpless. Clark was one of the most popular Presidents of all time, and no doubt his name would go down forever in the history books.
"We've missed you."
Ambassador David Sheridan nodded in acknowledgement. His expression was one of happiness and satisfaction, but then that meant nothing at all. He was a career diplomat, and disguising his true emotions was one of the first things he had learned as part of that duty. Welles was perfectly aware just how little regard the two had for each other.
"I have missed this place," Sheridan said. "My work elsewhere was necessary, but there is no place at all like home, is there?"
"Indeed not," laughed Clark. "And you come bearing gifts as well. Delenn is.... safe, is she not?"
"She is securely placed in one of our waiting rooms," Welles said. "The room and surrounding corridors are under complete surveillance, there are two guards within the room, two directly outside and a further four just down the corridor. She was thoroughly checked for weapons, passkeys or lockpick devices and any form of listening or communications machinery. She is not going anywhere."
"Good," said Clark. "See that that remains the case. We do not want a repeat of what happened last time, do we?"
"That was due to the treachery of Miss Alexander, as you well know, Mr. President."
"Yes, yes," said Clark irritably. "It really does not matter. What does matter is that she does not escape. Ambassador Sheridan here has given us one of the greatest opportunities we have had in a long time. Delenn is going to go on the stand before a war crimes tribunal, once one can be assembled of course. There is no hurry, however. It is vital that when she is put on trial she says and does the right things.
"That, Mr. Welles, is your responsibility. She is now your top priority concern, taking precedence over anything and everything else. Delegate other matters if you have to. When Delenn goes on trial, she is going to plead guilty to numerous counts of genocide, torture, murder of civilians, use of illegal weaponry and.... well, we can draw up a complete list later. You get the gist, though."
"I will.... see that she is fully prepared," Welles said, choosing his words carefully. "How long will I have?"
"As long as you need. Take your time. There is really no hurry. Better that it be done properly than immediately. Ah.... but first.... we will need to run an extensive battery of medical tests. Her physiology is.... ah.... unique. We must know her limits and her weaknesses. The last thing we need is her dropping dead of a.... 'weak heart' during some of your more rigorous.... 'preparations', is it not?"
"Indeed," said Welles obediently. "But.... word of this will get out. Her capture has been made public, against my advice, need I remind you? The Alliance will find out about this and...."
"The Alliance will not be a threat," said Ambassador Sheridan firmly. "Our allies are more than capable of dealing with them, should the need arise."
"Merely covering all the bases," said Welles. "With your permission, Mr. President, I will go and attend to matters immediately."
"Of course. You may go." Welles turned to the door. As he reached it, Clark said. "Oh, Mr. Welles."
"Yes."
"We have every confidence in you. You will see that we are not mistaken, won't you?"
"Of course, Mr. President." He left. "Of course."
* * *
David Corwin, Commander no longer but now Captain, sat down in the Captain's chair on the bridge of his new ship and ran his hand across the armrest. There seemed to be a slight warmth under his fingers as they brushed the leathery texture. A faint hum sounded in his ears.
He had often dreamed of having his own ship. For so long that dream had been an impossibility. The Babylon had been the only ship the Resistance Government possessed, and it could not afford to build any more. He had served on that ship, as he had on the Parmenion.
But then, after the destruction of the Parmenion and the near-fatal injuries of Captain Sheridan at the Battle of the Third Line, Corwin had known command, and he had not liked it. He had understood the loneliness, the responsibility, the hardships of waging a war against an almost invincible enemy.
Then the Captain had recovered miraculously, and the balance of the war had tilted drastically. These ships were to thank for that, the ships provided by the Vorlons, built with their own strange technology, and called Dark Stars.
There was a fleet of them, enough to wage this war. And Corwin had been one of the first to be given command of one.
"Captain Corwin," he said, trying the conjunction. "Captain David Corwin." It sounded suitably.... impressive, he supposed. Not that it really meant anything. He wasn't a part of Earthforce any more. He wasn't being paid by the Alliance, and his new rank had no greater benefits in terms of accommodation or supplies.
But it was still important to him. He was a Captain now.
He sat back in his chair. It wasn't as comfortable as it looked. Still, it would do.
He had had pretty much the pick of the former bridge crew from the Parmenion. The Captain had taken a few for his ship, naturally the flagship of the Dark Star fleet, but most of them, the more experienced members, he had left for Corwin. Dark Stars were smaller than EAS capital ships and needed less crew. Those who had taken the ships out for the first few engagements had reported back that they seemed to fly themselves.
Corwin shivered at the thought. He had heard plenty of strange stories about Vorlon tech.
His thoughts, however, were on much more serious matters. A question of great importance had been weighing on his mind for some days now, and he was still no nearer answering it than he had been at the start. Ideas had come to him at various times but had been rejected, and he was growing irritated.
He turned suddenly, his reverie interrupted. Someone had come on to the bridge. He hadn't heard them at all, or seen them. He'd just.... known.
"Captain now, I see," said a familiar voice, and he smiled. "Good to see you again, sir."
Neeoma Connally, Starfury pilot aboard the Babylon for years, and on the Parmenion after that. She had been spending the last few months helping train the Drazi and Brakiri one-man fighters in cohesive techniques. She had more experience of fighting the small Shadow flyers than almost anyone else here.
"Dared to surface again, hmm?" Corwin said, still smiling. "How are you?"
"Just about ready for some real work," she replied. "Trying to teach the Drazi anything is not my idea of a good time. When I heard about the fleet, I thought I'd come and see if you needed any Starfury support here."
"Well, we're still trying to assess the full technical capabilities of these things. There don't seem to be any fighter bays for one thing, but I doubt we'll be taking the Dark Stars into combat alone. I'm sure we'll need backup from the Babylon and some of the Drazi and Brakiri capital ships, to say nothing of the Narn cruisers G'Kar's on about providing. Starfuries will be as useful as ever."
"Thought so. I'm ready to start running training drills whenever you are."
"Glad to hear i
t. The more we know about these things the better." He smiled again. "And you came to me first. I'm flattered."
Her expression darkened. "Ah.... no, I'm afraid not. I went to the Captain first. Or at least I'd planned to. I saw one of his new aides, who told me that Captain Sheridan didn't need fighter assistance and I should come here."
Corwin frowned. "He hasn't been himself lately. He's.... been through a lot."
Neeoma shrugged. "I guess." She winced and rubbed at her eyes. "Another blasted headache," she moaned. "I've had one for hours, and it gets worse every time I come aboard. I guess I'm just meant to be in a 'Fury."
"Well, before you head back out, any chance of helping me with something? I've had a problem I've been trying to sort out for some time now. It's been worrying me."
"If I can," she replied. "What is it?"
"This ship needs a name."
"I thought it had a name?"
"Yes, Dark Star Three, and what sort of name is that for a ship? It sounds like a bad B movie sequel."
Neeoma chuckled. "I see your point. And you want me to help you think of a proper name?"
"Well, there was the Babylon, of course, but I thought the Captain might want that for his own ship. And I've thought about the Victory, the Endeavour, the Bounty, the Revenge.... The Resistance Government has already nicked most of my ideas or I'd have used the Morningstar."
"Hmm.... I see. What about the.... No, not that.... Um.... the Spartan, no that's not quite right. The Heracles, no I'm sure someone's used that.... I like Greek history," she said, to Corwin's bemused expression. "Something of a hobby of mine." She smiled. "The Agamemnon. How's that?"
"The Agamemnon," he mused. "I like it." He tapped the armrest of his chair. "I guess you're the Agamemnon now."
Neeoma set her hand on the armrest as well. "The Agamemnon," she said.
Corwin was not entirely sure what happened next. A shock seemed to strike his arm, and a voice cried out into his mind. A flash of bright light burst in front of his eyes. Tainted! roared the voice. Corrupted!
He shielded his eyes, and saw Neeoma on the floor. Her eyes were rolled up into her skull, and she was shaking. He leapt from the chair and reached out to touch her. As he touched her wrist she started and blinked, looking at him blankly.
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