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

by Gareth D. Williams

  She speaks again, urging it on. It moves, and senses the Accursed One within this holy place. It is ready. It is ready to die, and it will do so for the good of its people.

  The holy warmth of the Temple of Varenni welcomed the Vorlon.

  Primarch Sinoval the Accursed did likewise.

  * * *

  Talia Winters has known she was a telepath since she was a child. Since the explosion of her abilities she had been taught how to construct walls, how to guard against the thoughts of mundanes, how to block their dirty, ugly, foul minds.

  Still there were voices, but little more than background chatter. She could ignore them, with sufficient concentration. She had been taught very well how to concentrate.

  The walls had only ever come down when she was with Al. She did not mind their absence then. She could feel the warm glow of his love for her, for all their people. She could sense his concerns and his fears for the future, but that was what came with leadership. More than once she had wished she were stronger than a mere P5, and better able to help him.

  He had smiled at these thoughts. "You are perfect the way you are," he had said, sweetly and sadly.

  So she had learned to compensate for her limited abilities. Skill in infiltration, in disguise, in assassination. But she was a telepath first and foremost. She had learned to use her abilities for the benefit of all her people, setting aside ethics and morality for the greater good.

  But the walls were always there.

  Not any more.

  She wasn't sure if she was still screaming, or if the noise was only in her mind. She was being invaded, a brilliant, blinding light piercing her mind, shattering her barriers completely. Her every thought was there for the reading.

  Help us!

  Then there were the voices. These were not the little voices of mundanes, but the anguished cries of her own people. She could hear them coming from barred cages. She could feel the fear and the panic within them all. They were bound together, joined by a network of.... of gateways.

  They were her people, and they were trapped, able to sense each other, but not to talk. Their bodies were wasting away, but their minds.... they were being harnessed.

  Help us!

  She shuddered, recognising that voice. It was Matt, Matthew Stoner. Her husband. The two of them had been married by the Corps some years ago in the hope of producing powerful children, until a radiation accident had made him sterile. He had disappeared last year, his ship having gone missing.

  She had thought him dead. This was worse.

  Help us!

  All the voices suddenly died, caught in a choking scream. The light was there now, all of it, washing them out, cutting her off from them.

  said a voice, firm and booming, secure in complete mastery.

  She opened her eyes, her mind returning to her body. She felt sick. She was shaking. Desperately she tried to stretch her head to see where she was. Vines held her body down. They seemed to be.... growing around her. She could feel a soft throbbing where they touched her bare skin, almost like a pulse.

  She tried to look around her. She was lying down, tightly bound. The rest of the room seemed.... cold, sterile. A laboratory of some kind. She did not know where....

  Someone came into view. She could hear the sound of his footsteps. She strained still further to see who it was, but then a vine slid around her neck and pulled her back. Gasping for air, nearly choking, she sank back. Dots flashed in front of her eyes, and all she could see was a man wearing gloves and a white coat and.... some sort of mask....

  A syringe. Her body tensed, but to her surprise the scientist did not inject it into her, but into the vines around her. They seemed to relax, and then a slow drowsiness spread through Talia's body. She blinked, and tried to reach out with her mind to touch the scientist.

  No voices. No sound at all.

  She....

  .... tried to keep....

  .... her eyes....

  .... open....

  She closed her eyes, and blackness and dark dreams and the anguished voices of her people, trapped and bound, awaited her.

  * * *

  Primarch Sinoval the Accursed reached down to touch his pike. Something within its cold metal grew warm at his touch, enough even for him to feel it through his glove. With a flash of insight he could see the Well of Souls, the countless sparks of light stretching outwards into infinity. He could feel the intelligence there, guiding him.... to the creation of Stormbringer.

  And perhaps to here.

  Destiny. He had never believed in it. He made his own destiny. But he could feel the endless patience of the Well of Souls. He could sense the.... feelings of.... inevitability.... For so long the Well had been waiting. For him, for a Primarch Nominus et Corpus. There had been one before, one who had come to an ill-fated end.

  For one brief moment, Sinoval felt the first spark of self-doubt in his entire life. Maybe.... maybe all the warnings should be heeded. Maybe he should listen to the Primarch, go to the Well and seek its counsel. Maybe he should talk to Kats. He had never heard her give him any advice that was less than perfect.

  Then he saw the Vorlon enter the vast chamber of the Starfire Wheel, and his resolve hardened. These creatures had killed Delenn, they had tainted Sheridan, they had enslaved his people here.

  It would die, and from its soul he would learn all he needed to know.

  It was tall, its encounter suit jet black, the light seeming to slide from it. Its eye stalk was long and slender, a tiny, gleaming, golden light at its heart. Beneath the dark suit Sinoval could.... feel something. He could see its soul, a precious thing. He could feel the Well of Souls looking at the Vorlon through his eyes.

  Just beside the Vorlon stood Sherann. She had stopped, hesitating as it crossed the boundary. Her eyes betrayed her concern, but she did not move. Sinoval almost smiled. There was true bravery there.

  He walked forward, making each step as firm and proud as he could. He was a warrior and a leader of warriors. This was his world, and these his people. He slid his pike from his belt and extended it, in one smooth motion.

  He was not afraid. He was a warrior.

  He stopped, standing directly in front of the Starfire Wheel. It was not open yet; it would not open until all was ready. He could feel the Soul Hunters here, hidden deep in the shadows. They had prepared well. They had had ample time to prepare. The Primarch was here as well. To him fell the most important task, that of capturing the Vorlon's soul.

  The Vorlon hesitated, and then, with a twitch of its eye stalk and a brief, mocking gleam of light, it stepped forward. Sherann followed it hesitantly. It crossed a faint, undrawn line as it moved. It did not notice, nor did Sherann, but Sinoval did.

  "I welcome you to this place," said Sinoval, his voice commanding. "I am the leader here."

  There was a hiss of contemptuous breath from the Vorlon, and a sound like that of dead men's bones beating on shields of stone. came the voice.

  Sinoval smiled, and raised Stormbringer. A near-imperceptible signal was sent.

  There was a flurry of motion, and the floor became alive with power. A part of the power that guided Cathedral, the very power of the Well of Souls focussed on one being. The floor around the Vorlon crackled and blazed. There was the sound of rending and ripping as its encounter suit began to crack.

  Sinoval could feel the Well of Souls watching intently. There was no sound, no warning, nothing but a still silence. Not even the breathing of the dead could be heard.

  Sinoval darted forward, Stormbringer raised. In a practised, skilful motion, he hammered the end of his pike into the Vorlon's chest. There was a crack as of bones shattering, and the Vorlon stumbled back. Its eye stalk rose and began to fill with light, the same light now pouring from holes in the armour. It was bright, so bright as to be almost blinding.

  boomed the voice of the Vorlon, as Sinoval felt a blast of sheer, focussed anger tear into him. He brought Stormbringer down in time,
but still he was thrown backwards, stumbling and nearly falling over a step. As he struggled to right himself he saw the Vorlon's encounter suit opening. It was riddled with holes and rents, and light could be seen blazing from each one.

  it said again, as the light began to coalesce into one form. Sinoval staggered, clutching Stormbringer as a drowning man clutches a float. He straightened his stance, and made to step forward.

  Something within the light turned, mists and colour formed a head, a face, a torso. It was a Minbari, robed in smoke, with eyes of mirrors. It looked at Sinoval, and in its eyes he saw himself.

  it said, although the words came not from its mouth but from the air itself.

  The light was continuing to coalesce. Great wings emerged from the figure's back, long and fiery, the air crackling around them.

  An arm formed, and then another.

 

  One of the hands clenched into a fist, and a long, curved sword appeared in it.

  The encounter suit, now empty and dead, crumpled in pieces on the ground.

 

  Sinoval took another step forward. His ribs hurt and his breath came in short gasps, but his eyes were as cold and hard as they had ever been. He saw himself reflected in the Vorlon image's own eyes, and he saw there a true warrior, one who has never feared death, one who has never thought of relinquishing the bridge to let his enemies pass, one who has never known fear of the dark places.

  He took another step forward.

  * * *

  Like most people, Captain Walker Smith of the EAS Marten had a dream. In his case, the dream was to be the World Boxing Champion, a dream nurtured since the day his father had taken him to a fight and he had seen the legendary 'Baron' Boshears take the title for the first time. Smith had looked at his father with all the complete sincerity a five-year-old could muster and said he would hold that belt some day.

  He'd never managed it, of course. Sporting events had been pretty much terminated during the Minbari War, and it was only in the last few years that they had got started again, a baseball season first, then some athletic tournaments. They were working on bringing boxing back, but it didn't matter. Smith was an entirely different person now, and in his own way he was fighting just as hard as he would have in the ring, but against a completely different opponent.

  He rubbed at his eyes. He hadn't slept well last night. Actually, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of decent nights' sleep he'd ever had on this ship. Oh, the Marten was a damned fine battleship, fast, strong, packing a hell of a punch, but it was a nice place to visit, not to live in.

  Something about the ship bugged him. Something just felt.... wrong. Still, he supposed he was lucky he was actually in charge of something like this. The Marten had been cutting-edge until the Dark Thunder and the De'Molay had rolled off the production lines. He remembered drunkenly teasing Captain Barns about his new promotion, while Barns was still sitting around flying a desk. Barns had simply shrugged, and said he could wait. Looked like it had been worth the wait for him as well.

  Smith did not envy him. Reports had it that the Dark Thunder contained more Shadowtech than the Marten, the Corinthian and the Morningstar put together. He did not want to imagine what it would be like inside such a ship.

  "Captain," said one of the techs, interrupting his reverie. This was just a routine patrol, and nothing interesting had happened for days. It was a political thing really, help to protect Beta Durani as a visible sign to the colonists there that R'Gov hadn't forgotten them, and that the area was perfectly safe for more industry and businesses et cetera et cetera.

  The Marten was far from the only protection Beta Durani had. A Shadow squadron could be here in less than ten seconds if anything hostile showed up. Okay, make that twenty seconds. But the Marten was a visible presence to reassure people, and it was crewed by humans, brave soldiers giving their lives for others and so on....

  "Yeah? What is it?"

  "One of our hyperspace probes has just been destroyed. No, make that two."

  "What? Collision with debris, you think?"

  "No.... I don't think so. One of them managed to get a partial signal out before it was hit. On screen now."

  The silhouette was less than clear, but it seemed to be of a ship, a medium-class vessel about a quarter of the size of the Marten, perhaps a little smaller. It was a shape Smith didn't recognise.

  "Not very clear," he said, shifting the angle of the image.

  "No," admitted the tech. "Maybe it is debris after all."

  "No. Which Starfury squadron is out at the moment?"

  "Alpha."

  "Good. Better prep squadrons Omega and Lambda as well. We might need them." He sat back in his seat, pondering to himself. Then the tech spoke up again.

  "Captain, jump points opening. Lots of them!"

  Smith breathed out slowly. Just like being in the ring. The same rules applied. Keep your guard up, hit him when he wasn't looking, in places he wasn't blocking. Bide your time, and don't make any stupid mistakes.

  The only difference here was all the other lives he held in his hand.

  "Battle stations," he said.

  * * *

  The roar of beating wings filled his ears. The brilliance of its light seared his eyes. The fury in its voice cried at him.

  There was a rush of air as the Vorlon seraph swept down on Sinoval. He held Stormbringer ready, and managed to duck just as it passed him. With an effortless motion the Vorlon's sword of air and light drew a bloody line across his arm. Then, glorying in its triumph, it soared up into the heights of the room, wings beating slowly, mirror eyes gazing on everything it saw.

  It knew the Soul Hunters were here. It could not fail to know that, but in its arrogance it assumed they were no threat to him.

  And they were not, at least not in any way it could foresee. Their purpose here was three-fold; to channel the energy from Cathedral that had shattered the encounter suit, to further manipulate that energy to prevent the Vorlon escaping, and to seize its soul when it died.

  Slowly at first, but gathering more speed and power, the Vorlon angel, the Vorlon seraph, ducked and began to dive down. Sinoval threw himself aside, wincing as the hard stone floor bruised his flesh. He rolled and leapt to his feet, moving nearer and nearer to the Starfire Wheel.

  Once more the Vorlon soared towards the ceiling. It hovered there, radiating its glory on those beneath it.

  Sinoval wondered idly if the Soul Hunters saw something different in its facade. To him it had taken the form of one of the ancient Gods of war, from the time many thousands of years before Valen. The warriors had called upon the aid of the Seraphim against their enemies, and sometimes that aid had come.

  A greater anger burned within Sinoval. How long had they been manipulating his people? For just how long had they been Gods and angels and heroes to the Minbari? They claimed to have ascended to the galaxy when the Minbari were still crawling beneath rocks.

  The Vorlon plummeted, the air rushing around its form. This was the time. Sinoval braced himself, looking directly into the mirror eyes of the angel. He could see himself there, a warrior standing firm against the assault of his enemies.

  The Vorlon's sword pierced his shoulder at the same moment Stormbringer tore into its arm. Sinoval felt an agonising pain and he stumbled, crying out as the sword was pulled out of his flesh, spilling his own burning blood with it. The Vorlon itself seemed to be unharmed.

  Sinoval knew better. This was not their natural form, and it could not maintain it for long. This was not their natural environment, and with the encounter suit destroyed it would have no way to replenish the energy expended in this facade. The angel might be a mere creation of light and air and mirrors, but somewhere beneath it there was a real, living, breathing creature
. Anything that lived could be killed.

  Once more the Vorlon rose to the ceiling, readying itself for another charge. It seemed to be flying a little slower than before. Was it hurt? Tired? Drained? Stormbringer was forged with Sinoval's soul, augmented by the subtle influences of the Well of Souls. It could hurt the Vorlon.

  There. The Vorlon's wingspan had encroached on the area of the Starfire Wheel. Sinoval smiled, and willed it to open.

  The green light crackled in the air as it appeared. There was a sound of burning and a smell such as Sinoval had never encountered before. The Vorlon fell, its wing beginning to collapse. The wings were only constructs of light and air, but the real creature.... was it growing too tired to maintain them?

  The Vorlon twisted as it fell, its sword seeming to grow longer and sharper. Sinoval tried to bring Stormbringer up, but he was too late, and only managed to slow the thrust.

  The sword ripped into his side, tearing flesh and muscle. Sinoval stumbled, nearly falling. His blood was boiling, burning his flesh, searing his clothes. The Vorlon's sword was burning him, his flesh, his blood, his soul.

  He struggled to rise, and as he did so he saw the Vorlon reach out one arm, stretching out the fingers and clenching a fist.

  There was a rush of air and an explosion of psionic energy. Sinoval was not a telepath, but even he winced as the backlash tore through him. He felt blood drip from his eyes. He wiped it away and looked up to see what the Vorlon had used its telekinesis for.

  The force shield the Soul Hunters had erected, and were now pushing slowly inwards to encircle the Starfire Wheel, had been designed to keep the Vorlon inside, not to keep anyone or anything out.

  The Vorlon had reached through the shield and pulled Sherann in. She lay limp, pressed against the angel, held close to it. Its sword, now thick and curved, lay against her throat.

  It looked at Sinoval, and in its eyes he could see himself.

  it said.

  * * *

  Dexter Smith crossed his arms and sat back, wincing at the pain in his side. "So.... what are we going to talk about? Last night's game? The lottery numbers? The latest film news?"