"Are you all right?"
"For a moment, I thought.... I could hear something and I...." She trembled. "No offence, but I'm getting off this ship now."
"What do you think it was? An electric shock?" He was breathing more heavily, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart. "Some sort of.... loose wiring?"
"I.... don't know. Anyway, I'm going. There's something about these ships.... Let me know when you want to begin the training. I'll see you later...." She left the bridge as fast as she could, without looking back.
Corwin watched her go, and then sat back down gingerly. He touched the armrest, but there was no shock, no flash of light. He could feel the faint warmth again, and a gentle throbbing beneath his palm. Almost like.... a heartbeat.
"Did I hear you?" he asked softly. "Is there someone there?"
There was no reply.
* * *
"Do you know what you have to do?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Are you afraid?"
"I don't know. Should I be?"
"Everyone feels fear, my lady. That is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a sign of a great warrior that he does what must be done in spite of his fear. Everyone has known fear."
"Then.... yes.... I think I am afraid. But.... But I will do as you ask anyway."
"Good. Kats has not overstated your virtues then. Do this for me, my lady.... and then you will be safe. I promise you that much."
"I believe you, my lord. Kats believes in you."
"She.... does?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I see. Very well, my lady. Go.... and fortune favour you."
"Yes, my lord."
"All will be well. The souls of history are watching us. All.... will be well."
* * *
Of late G'Kar had begun to wonder if there had ever been a time when he had been able to sleep for more than a few minutes together without being awoken by some important news, or message, or meeting. While his body was a part of the Great Machine of course he had had no need for sleep. Now, he did.
Everything had changed so fast, faster it seemed than he could keep up with. He had formed his Rangers following Neroon's guidelines. They were to be agents, saboteurs, gatherers of information and warriors. They would be the leaders of his crusade against the Enemy.
The events of the past half a year had thrown many of his plans into disarray. The greatest loss had been the Machine itself. With it, G'Kar could contact all his agents across the galaxy. Now many of them were cut off and abandoned, lost, with no way to get to them. He felt blinded.
Not that that meant no information was coming to him. On the contrary, he was receiving far too much information, and none of it was good.
The war between his people and the Centauri had dissolved into a series of short skirmishes. The Kha'Ri was trying to hold every world it had taken during the course of this war, and it was spreading its forces too thinly. Lord-General Marrago had retaken a number of lost Centauri colonies and military bases with highly skilled and successful punches, risking almost his entire fleet on one engagement.
There should be peace, of course, but neither side could agree on terms. The Kha'Ri was stubbornly insisting on retaining all the worlds it had taken, in spite of the obvious evidence that it had not the resources to do this. The Centarum was advocating nothing less than the return of all lost worlds, and that was just the members who were even talking peace. Many were declaring they should take the war all the way to the Narn homeworld.
And, if that weren't enough, the two races had nowhere to negotiate a deal. For obvious reasons neither Government wanted to send an emissary to the territories controlled by the other, and Kazomi 7 was the only place both parties would accept as a neutral venue.
But G'Kael was finding he had less and less power here. The Kha'Ri rarely listened to him and refused to support his actions regarding other matters, most notably the war with the Enemy. Since he could not promise any official Narn military aid, the Council was growing steadily more displeased with him.
Mollari on the other hand did not even have a representative here yet. If G'Kar had been a gambling man he would have laid a large pile of money that there was no one Mollari trusted enough to be sent here who was not too valuable to be spared from the homeworld.
And then.... there was the Enemy. There was progress there, which would at least be something to smile about, if the seeds of suspicion Sinoval had planted were not growing into something much larger. The Dark Star fleet was proving to be almost a match for the Shadow battleships, and with sufficient numerical superiority they would, and were, winning engagements. Just skirmishes at present, but they had proven the efficacy of the ships. At the Council meeting Captain Sheridan was once more going to present a plan for taking the war to the Enemy.
There. Now G'Kar could put his finger on what was troubling him. Sheridan. He seemed.... different since his return from Z'ha'dum. He rarely spoke to anyone, even his closest friends. He spent almost all his time on the Dark Star flagship. He seemed.... distant.
Of course, grief could do these things, not to mention those long months paralysed and helpless, but.... there seemed to be something.... more....
Or was Sinoval's paranoia just affecting G'Kar more than he liked to admit? He had been wondering about the Vorlons recently. His attempts to meet with Ambassador Ulkesh had largely met with failure, and when the Vorlon attended the Council meetings he said even less than was normal. He simply.... watched everyone. Something in his cold glare troubled G'Kar.
But then, did it matter if the Vorlons were playing their own game? They were still offering help, and that help was sorely needed. Without the Dark Star fleet, then.... this would all be for nothing.
What was the price of our lives, he pondered to himself.
He set down the report. Details of the power struggles going on in the Kha'Ri. Kha'Mak was losing favour fast, and H'Klo ascending. Neither was particularly receptive to G'Kar. With Na'Toth's dismissal he had lost his eyes, ears and voice on the Kha'Ri.
He looked up at the timepiece on the wall, and started. The Council meeting was about to begin. How long had he been daydreaming?
With muttered imprecations he began gathering up his papers. He dared not be late.
* * *
The old man was thinking about his childhood again. Thinking about a time when he had not been a man of destiny, not had the burden of the future of humanity on his shoulders, not had all the responsibilities and duties he bore now, was not buried by all these secrets.
There were precious few people he could confide in, even fewer he could talk to as a friend. Zento meant well, but he could not understand. He saw all of this as a sort of game, a simple pattern of the movement of pieces on a board, with profit just the means of keeping score.
The old man sighed. Zento did not understand, but he was necessary where he was. He was the public face of IPX, the representation of all the things the company was meant to stand for. He provided a convenient cover for the.... true face of the corporation.
Very few people did fully understand. Morden was one of them. The old man supposed that was one of the reasons he enjoyed Morden's company. He was a good friend, and a useful sounding board. He also understood clearly the true stakes of this game.
Morden entered the room, smiling in his usual fashion. "Good morning," said the old man. "I trust you slept well."
"Like a baby, thank you."
"Good, good. Help yourself to some orange juice." A little legacy of his childhood, one he was vainly trying to recreate. Morden poured himself a glass. "I suppose you saw the news last night."
"Which piece of news were you referring to?"
"I think you know."
Morden sipped at his drink, sitting down. "Yes. I was under the impression Delenn was not to be our concern any longer."
"You and me both, but no.... it seems we were mistaken about her, or about the Enemy perhaps. Everything we knew about her indicated tha
t she would take some sort of suicide device with her when she went to Z'ha'dum. She had a meeting with the technomage before she left, so we assumed all would go as planned. Ah...." The old man sighed again. Nothing seemed to be going right any more. "Either we were wrong, or the Enemy discovered her plan."
"So what do we do now? I take it we can't let out the truth about her journey to Z'ha'dum."
"Not at all. Word is definitely going to get out that she is still alive. Well, that will only accelerate the timetable a bit. If the Alliance needs any more reason for war than that we're holding their leader here on war crimes charges, then I don't know what else will do it."
"Are we ready for that?"
"A few more months would be nice, but we'll have time before the Alliance gets here. In fact, with a little.... careful timing we might be able to arrange things just right.... We need to keep Delenn alive just long enough for the Alliance to think they might be able to rescue her, but ensure she dies just as they get here. Anyway, we're working on delaying the trial for the foreseeable future, so that's something."
"Is the Alliance going to.... co-operate?"
"They must. Sheridan will be able to push them in this direction even if they don't already have enough of an incentive. The Enemy has let itself be drawn into an all-or-nothing now, and a war between humanity and the Alliance is in their best interests anyway."
"And Byron?"
"May well find himself awoken a little sooner than we had planned. Ah well, the best-laid plans of mice and men, so to speak.... How long will you be staying? Have you received any orders yet?"
"No, not yet. There was talk that I might be needed on Minbar, but conditions there are.... a little hazardous at the moment. The...." Morden smiled. "The Sinoval Project is all set to go ahead, and it might not be a good idea to hang around when everything hits the fan. I might need to go in later and help clean up. And the Centauri of course.... they're going to have to do without me for the time being.
"So," he set aside his empty glass. "For the moment, I'm all yours."
"Good. It's.... nice having someone to talk to. Like old times, almost." He suddenly looked up, an instant before his interior commchannel activated. Audio only, of course.
"Sir, you wanted to know when the guest awoke."
"Ah, yes," said the old man, smiling. "Thank you, Lise. See that he is given food and drink and whatever else he might require, then send him to the interview room."
"Yes, sir." The commchannel went dead, and the old man smiled. "The best secretary I've ever had."
"Pretty too," Morden noted dryly. "So who's the guest?"
"Someone who.... might be useful. In a long-term capacity. Do you want to sit in on the interview?"
"I don't have anything else to do. I'd love to."
The old man smiled. It was strange, he thought, how a glass of orange juice and a moment's conversation with an old friend could ease a troubled mind. He was feeling much more confident now, so much the better to deal with life's trials and tribulations.
He stretched, and began mentally to prepare himself for the 'interview'.
* * *
"I am a warrior.
"I ride amongst the stars. My sword clashes in the winds. I dance at the height of the storm. The moon is my shield. My wings are of fire.
"I am a warrior. I shall not fall. I shall not let an enemy pass from my sight. I will walk in the dark places and I shall know no fear.
"On death, my soul shall ascend to be judged by my ancestors and those who have come before. If found worthy...." Kozorr's rendition faltered as he stumbled over the words. He took a deep breath and continued. "If found worthy I shall be reborn, with no memories of my past life, but with the knowledge that I am a warrior in more lives than this."
He paused, and drew in another breath. The traditional meditation ritual of the warrior, spoken three times — once in darkness, with his pike in his hands; once in light and in motion, in the thrill of battle; and finally seated, at peace, in repose, the pike before him.
He had performed the ritual countless times in his life, but never more often than in recent months. Ever since his return from his failed mission to destroy Cathedral, his mind had been filled with disquieting thoughts and dark obsessions. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw Kats weeping, he saw Sinoval standing tall and proud and whole and unharmed.
He heard the booming voice of the Well of Souls, condemning him for his treason.
"I am a warrior," he said wearily. Meditation brought him no peace these days. Sleep brought no rest, only dark dreams.
He leant forward and picked up his pike. He looked at it. Reforging it had been difficult. Many held that a fighting pike was a holy, sacred thing, not to be touched once the perfection had left the bladesmith's soul and immortalised itself in metal. He had had no choice. A denn'bok was a two-handed weapon, and he had only one.
He raised his ruined, crippled right hand and tried to move his broken fingers. He could not, of course. The skin had been burned, the muscle flayed away, the bones shattered beyond all hope of repair. To a casual observer there might appear to be nothing wrong. His hand and fingers were wrapped tightly in thick bandages and covered with a warrior's glove, much as he wore on his left hand. He had the semblance at least of full strength.
Until he tried to move it.
He had been a fool. Not in sustaining the injuries. He still heard Kats' agonised screams and he would willingly have suffered such wounds again to free her, a thousand times over. No, he had been a fool to think she could love him, a cripple, a weakling. He had hesitated for too long in acting against Kalain, and when he had acted he had failed miserably. He was not worthy of her, not fitting to stand beside her, to protect her. She deserved a true warrior.
Someone like Sinoval.
He scowled, and bit back that thought. Sinoval was a great warrior, yes, but he had betrayed the Minbari people. He had brought great enemies down upon all their heads, he had abandoned the homeworld....
But he was a true warrior, not a cripple.
"I am a warrior!" Kozorr cried.
"Of course you are," said a soft voice. He looked up, realising at last that he was not alone. He knew who was there even as she came into the flickering light cast by his candle. "We all know that," said Tirivail, as she sat down opposite him. "It is only you who seems to need convincing."
"I will make you poor company," he said.
"I would rather be the judge of that. In fact, I think you will make very good company indeed."
"Go away, my lady. I am in the mood for solitude."
"No, I do not think you are. I can sense your.... division. You are a fine warrior, no one questions your bravery, or your skill.... no one save yourself, anyway. Why are you here?"
"To meditate."
She shook her head in mock exasperation. "No, why are you here? Why have you joined with Sonovar in this crusade of his? I came because my father did, and it is not the place of a warrior to refuse to obey the head of her clan. Why did you come here?"
"Because.... I do not wish to talk about this."
"And that is why you must."
He sighed. "To prove myself worthy of her. To prove myself better than him.... at anything. To prove to myself that I was more than just a cripple lackey who followed at his heels and obeyed his every word. To.... prove something to myself."
"Sinoval.... and your little worker?"
"Yes."
"I am sure she thinks you are worthy of her. And as for.... him.... well, I am equally sure he appreciated your worth. Sonovar does." Softer: "I do."
He cast his eyes down. "My lady Tirivail.... I am a cripple. I have betrayed one to whom I swore fealty. I have had my doom pronounced to me. I am not worthy of your.... affections, any more than I am of hers."
Tirivail sighed. "You do not understand at all. If you are the coward and oath-breaker you claim to be, then surely your.... true face will show that to me. When you sleep."
He looked up
and caught her eyes clearly. They were deep, and filled with sincerity. He said her name softly. "I wish to be alone."
She nodded, and rose angrily to her feet. "You do not see yourself as you truly are. What will it take to show your true soul to you?"
"My judgement.... at the day of my death."
She shook her head and left, not saying another word. Her anger was all too evident, just as her sincerity had been. She believed he was more than he was, and that hurt. Why did people keep holding him up as a hero? He was a coward, an oath-breaker and a traitor.
He hefted his pike in his good hand, and blew out the candle. In complete darkness, with only his demons and his voices for company, Kozorr, coward, cripple, oath-breaker and warrior, began the ritual again.
* * *
They looked so lost.
G'Kar cast his red eyes around the table at those who were sitting in on this meeting of the United Alliance Council of Kazomi 7, and that was all he could think of.
They looked so lost.
Of course, without Delenn, they were lost. Each person here brought unique skills of their own to the table, but only Delenn had been able to weld those skills into a cohesive whole. Without her, they were simply individuals.
Sheridan was here today, for the first time in weeks. He had been out testing the efficacy of the Dark Star fleet against the Shadows. His report had been delivered to all the members a few days before. G'Kar had read his copy, and he had to admit the results were encouraging. The Dark Stars could fight and beat Shadow ships without needing the incredibly rare telepaths. Of course support from heavier ships with telepaths would be needed as well, but now at least they had the nucleus of an effective response team.
All they needed now was a strategy, and that was what Sheridan was going to present to the Council.
He walked in a few minutes after the full meeting had convened. He had not missed much, just some worried chatter among the members. G'Kar had been asking hurried questions of G'Kael, about his latest communications with the Kha'Ri. They had not been welcoming.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 23