He stepped through the archway, and let the calm of the Well of Souls wash over him. He was the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus now, or so he had been told. He was the voice, the conduit, the link between these souls and the world of the living.
He was beginning to understand what that meant. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel his essence drawn here. He had to come, to confront the sentience here.
We welcome you, Primarch, said the ancient voice of the Well. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and that was because it did. The sentience here was not within the infinity of tiny, twinkling soul globes, nor focussed on the altar, nor in the vast orb floating in the centre of the room, nor in the eternal white flower laid out on the altar.
The sentience that was the Well of Souls was the room. It was the air, the stones, the light and the shadow.
"I am the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, then?"
Did you disbelieve that which you were told?
"I am.... a cynic by nature."
That is known to us. Yes, you are our voice now. It was said, long ago, that another would come, and he would erase the wrongs of long years past, and bring us to our next age. We knew not when he would come, whether now, or in a thousand years, or a million. But now you are here, ready to fulfill your destiny.
"I do not believe in destiny."
Destiny believes in you.
Sinoval bowed his head, feeling the power wash over him. He could not but be awed by this place. He had watched the expressions on the faces of G'Kar and Mollari as they had come here. No one could help but be awed. No one.
Sinoval was awed, but he did the only thing that was possible in the circumstances. He threw back his head and laughed.
"I came here," he said, still laughing. "Full of arrogance and power and belief in my own mastery of all. The deal I made.... my soul for leadership of this Order.... I meant nothing by it. I intended to find a way around it, for the short-term goal of finding Valen.
"And now.... and now you have my soul, don't you? I can no more run from this than I could run from my own soul. You knew. You knew."
We knew you might be the one for whom we had waited. We were prepared for failure, it has happened before, many times. But this was no failure.... You are the one we foresaw.... in this place, in this time. You were told, this is a time for warriors, not healers. Hence fate pulled you forward, and brought you here to us.
Sinoval shook his head. "What will happen to me now? What must I do to.... fulfill this destiny of yours?"
You will become one with us. You will become one of us. You will lead us beyond the world we know. We will take the knowledge we have here, and the legacy we have assembled. We will be the protectors, the guardians.... until such time as we are no longer needed, such time as the younger races can protect themselves. Then.... you will lead us beyond.
"I will become a Soul Hunter. I, a Minbari, will become a Shagh Toth!"
You will become Primarch.
"Well.... I made a deal, but I never thought...." He shook his head. "He knew, you knew. I never thought...." He raised his head. "You know the answers to every question ever asked, yes?"
Save only one, that is true.
"Then answer me this. What must I do.... to save my people? What must I do to reunite them, and end this war amongst ourselves?"
You know the answer to that question.
"Tell me!"
He heard the answer, and his body shook, trembling with the realisation of just where his choices had brought him. Slowly he sank to his knees, touching his hands to the stone floor beneath him. The warmth of Cathedral flooded through him, as if welcoming him home.
"Is...." He bit back his fear of the answer he knew he was about to receive. "Is.... there any other way? Anything at all?"
No.
He wept.
* * *
Ambassador David Sheridan waited patiently for the President. Patience was a skill he had been forced to develop of course, but it came easier some days than others. Now it was coming with great difficulty. He had a feeling Clark was deliberately making him wait.
He was thinking about the future. Not, as was usual, about the distant future. No, he was not pondering the beginnings of empires, the large-scale construction of political blocs, alliances and treaties. He had the next fifty to a hundred years planned out in his mind, knowing full well he would not live to see it all come to pass. Another would carry on.
But he was not thinking about that now. He was thinking about Clark, and about how it might become.... necessary to fix that problem. Another Keeper was a possibility, but the first one had inexplicably failed. There was no guarantee a second would fare any better.
He had spent over two years wondering just what had happened to cause this, and he had formulated and discarded a number of theories. Ivanova could simply have botched the initial implantation, but she had remained adamant that she had acted as instructed. Well, she had dropped off the face of the galaxy now, and was of no more importance to anyone.
Could Clark have found a way to destroy the Keeper? No, impossible. Nothing short of suicide would do that. Besides, only alcohol could break the Keeper's control for long enough to manage that, and Clark was noted for his abstinence.
A rare genetic condition? That had happened, and Clark was keeping his medical records very secret.
"The President will see you now, Ambassador," said the secretary, and he looked up from his musings. Nodding to himself, he picked up his briefcase and wandered through the door and past the security guards, who saluted as he passed. He paid them no attention.
When he entered the cabinet chamber he was very irked to find that everyone else was already there. Well, he noted as he cast his gaze over those present, not quite everyone. Taro Isogi, who showed up infrequently as the voice of small business, was absent, as were the representatives from IPX and a few of the other leading MegaCorps.
In fact, he noted as he sat down, this looked very much like a council of war. He should have been happy, but he was not. He was suspicious.
His eyes met Welles' as he sat back in his chair. The Spymaster had his elbows resting on the table and his fingers steepled to form a mask of his face, as was his habit. Sheridan recognised Welles' desire to hide as much of himself as possible. He was suited to walk in the shadows, that one.
"Gentlemen," said Clark soberly. "I regret to report that the colony at Beta Durani was attacked and captured some hours ago. The early reports from our Shadow allies indicate that the garrison there has been destroyed, including the Marten. There is no word of Governor Young, and no one, civilian or military, has been yet able to escape from the area."
This was news to precisely nobody. Sheridan himself had been notified almost before Clark.
"The attacking ships are of unknown configuration, but the Shadows have informed us that they were composed of Vorlon technology. Also, they were supported by Drazi, Brakiri and Narn ships. It seems clear that this was the work of the United Alliance, perhaps in retaliation for our capture of their leader, perhaps simply the beginning of a war of aggression.
"Either way there is no time for diplomacy, and I doubt they would listen. I personally tried to speak with a member of the Alliance Council earlier today, only to be rebuffed.
"Where words will fail, force must be employed. We will retake Beta Durani, and push this war to Kazomi Seven itself if we have to. General Ryan, how long before we can launch a mission to liberate Beta Durani?"
The general shifted awkwardly in his seat. He was wearing his uniform of course, Sheridan had never seen him in anything else. He seemed to have lost weight recently. The uniform looked particularly ill-fitting, and his skin was acquiring a cadaverous hue. He bore all the signs of little sleep.
"It will not be easy, Mr. President. Even with the De'Molay and the Dark Thunder, our forces are limited. Of our capital ships, we now have only the Morningstar of the veterans of the Minbari War. We lost the Corinthian and the
Babylon at Epsilon Three, and now the Marten. The Saint-Germain of course was designed purely as an exploratory vessel, and while she has greater combat capabilities than many of our pre-war ships, she is.... largely untested. And.... there is the matter of her captain.
"To launch such an offensive we will need heavy support from the Shadows, and a good number of Gropo units. A ground battle may be necessary.
"To be honest, Mr. President, I recommend strengthening security around Proxima and our other key colonies. Yes, we have been victorious in recent years, but we have still not fully recovered from the loss of Earth, and I doubt we will do that for many decades. We should...."
"We have skulked here in Proxima for too long!" Clark snapped. "We will not hide in the dark with our heads buried beneath a pillow. The Alliance has invaded our territory, attacked our ships, and killed our people! We defeated the Minbari, we will defeat them. Anyone who attacks us, we will destroy.
"The official declaration of war with the Alliance was sent to Kazomi Seven some minutes ago."
Sheridan knew he should be excited. This was what had been inevitable since the alliance with the Shadows. This was what the Shadows had wanted, a war, survival of the fittest, strength through conflict and growth through chaos.
But something in Clark's bearing made him ill-at-ease. And openly attacking Beta Durani! Ryan was right, they were not ready. Not yet. Warfare and chaos, yes, but not to the point of insanity and ruin. Sheridan planned to make humanity the dominant force in the galaxy, and that would not be accomplished with a madman as President.
"What about Sinoval?" asked Ryan suddenly, and Clark looked at him sharply. "Our previous standing orders were to ready our forces for a full assault on his base, believed to be somewhere in the vicinity of Tarolin Two. I assume those orders are rescinded?"
"They are not. Has the Saint-Germain any accurate star charts of the Tarolin Two area?"
"Not yet. They have reported some sort of conflict there, but details are scarce, and they are having to move secretly and stealthily."
"Well, if there is a war of some sort there, then we should capitalise on it." Clark smiled again. "General Ryan, we will have enough time to go bowling, and destroy the Alliance and Sinoval too."
Sheridan frowned. A war on two fronts. Even he knew how insane that was. Any minute now Clark was likely to suggest they invade the Centauri or something, although God only knew why anyone would want to.
"Mr. President," spoke up Pierce Macabee, the recently promoted Minister of Information, known locally as Dr. Spin. "How would you like this reported on ISN? I was thinking, maybe a posthumous medal for the captain of the Marten? What was his name?"
"Smith," said Ryan. "Captain Walker Smith."
"Smith?" Macabee sighed. "How very.... uninspired. No wonder I forgot it. Oh well, a posthumous.... Silver Star perhaps?"
"Yes, yes. Do whatever you see fit," snapped Clark. "Welles, what word on Delenn?"
Welles looked up, as if he had suddenly realised where he was. "She is.... currently undergoing the medical tests you ordered, sir," he said, slowly and cautiously. "The medical staff seem to think it will take a while. They are trying to be very careful and record as much information as they can."
"There is no hurry." Clark smiled. "We have all the time in the world, after all.
"Yes, we have all the time in the world."
His smile, thought Sheridan, was like that of someone who has just got the joke that no one else could understand.
* * *
Drugged, sluggish, deafened and half-maddened as she was, Talia still managed to make her way slowly out of the laboratories in which she found herself. Skills of evasion, concealment and disguise that she had been forced to learn over long years of training served to save her life now. Instinct took over as she navigated her way through laboratories, past chambers filled with cryogenic storage units and regular patrols of security guards in black, wearing no insignia.
It was the cryogenic units that concerned her most. The majority of them were occupied, and she knew that every person within them was a telepath. Strangely, not all of them were human. She knew that most of the other races had telepaths — except for the Narns, and Al had been working to see that the telepath gene was reintroduced into their race — and she even had some idea of their relative strengths and the training carried out by the other races.
She had no idea what these alien telepaths were doing here. Were they a part of this network as well?
Such thoughts would have to wait for later. For now, she had to escape from here. She had to find.... Dexter. For the first time since their capture she thought about him. Was he all right? Was he even alive? He was wanted on a charge of murder, she remembered.
Then another thought struck her. He was a telepath, albeit a weak one. Had he been made a part of this network as well? A momentary pang of fear struck her, and that made the voices all the louder. With a considerable effort of will she forced them out, and concentrated on the mission at hand. If Dexter could not be saved, then he would have to be avenged. She had to get to Al. He had to know about this.
After some time, her subconscious skills navigating her through the complex, she came to realise she was underground. That made sense, Proxima was filled with tunnels and caverns, a legacy from its old days as a mining colony. There was room down here to hide.... an army?
It was also much more likely that there would be an unguarded way out here than through the surface. There would be a respectable surface building above this, possibly even the Edgars Building itself. But underground.... there would be a secret way out. All she had to do was find it.
And so Talia, unseen by guards, unnoticed by any alarm, her fogged mind unable properly to realise the strangeness of all this, disappeared deeper and deeper into dark catacombs. Guards passed infrequently, letting her know she was still heading in vaguely the right direction. Some of them even seemed to be looking for her, although their thoughts made it clear they thought it was a fool's errand; surely she could not have got this far underground?
The sound of movement ahead caused her to duck down into the shadows, hiding herself from the guards she had been following at a safe distance. Probably just another patrol.
"Who's there?" said a sharp voice, loudly. It was a member of the patrol she had been surreptitiously tailing. "Give the pass.... Oh." He paused. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know it was you. You were expected earlier."
The reply was much softer and quieter, and as much as Talia strained to hear, only a smattering of words reached her ears. ".... detained.... emergency.... state...."
"Yes, sir, of course. Come this way, we'll provide an escort into the complex."
Talia pressed herself even harder into the shadows, her eyes following the flickering light source as the patrol turned about and headed back towards her. A man was following them. He was wearing a long black cloak with a hood which hid his face. She tried to reach out and gently skim his mind, but she could not even find it. It was as if a curtain had been drawn across his thoughts, not just shielding them, but hiding them completely.
The voices were still, a terrified whispering passing among them.
The man stopped suddenly, and began looking around. Talia restrained a gasp. It was almost as if he was looking directly at her. Could he see her in the shadows? Surely she was well enough hidden. She tensed her muscles, ready to move.
"Something wrong, sir?" asked the guard.
"No," said the man. "I just thought.... I saw a rat down there."
The guard nodded. He looked a little nervous, and very overawed. "Possible, sir. Would you like us to check and make sure?"
The man shook his head. "No, forgive me. A little nervousness, that is all. Come, I do not want to be any more late than I am already."
"Of course, sir."
Talia did not breathe again until she could no longer see the light source. The voices began to return, but she closed them out.
Not long afterwar
ds she found a way out of the catacombs. The exit was not guarded, but it was very well concealed. Still, she managed to stumble free, and the light of the sun on her face awoke her slightly. Looking around, she knew where she was, in one of the old mining domes, long since abandoned with the mineral resources all but played out.
Breathing slowly, she closed her eyes and thought of Al.
* * *
I have returned, in a sense. In another sense, the man who left this world has gone forever and an imposter come back in his place. An imposter with the blood of an innocent on his hands, a Minbari no longer, a warrior always but now also a priest.
There has never been any self-doubt in my life. I was master of my own destiny, lord of my own demesne. Let the priestlings babble about the divine will, and the placings of the universe. I was a warrior. I lived, I fought, I killed. I felt each breath in my body, each beat of my heart, and I knew I was alive!
Now.... I am not sure. I know what must be done. The Well of Souls told me some, but the rest I worked out for myself. I know what I must do. It will not be easy, but it is necessary, and I have never shirked from what must be done simply because it will be hard.
I have time. Enough time to.... prepare matters, to finalise certain things, to.... deal with certain situations that must be dealt with.
There will be those I leave behind. They must be ready.
Tarolin Two is a dead place for me now. I see my people around me, those who have called themselves my guards, those who have pledged themselves to my side. I wonder what they would say, if they only knew.
I admire many of these people. They have fought a war every bit as great as mine. They have rebuilt from devastation, they have forged new lives where I forged weapons, they have fought hunger and despair and suffering where I have fought the humans, and the Vorlons, and Sonovar.
Yes, I admire many of them, but for only one person here is there anything more in my heart than mere admiration or respect. She is the bravest, wisest, kindest person I have ever met. I know she will forgive me, her beautiful soul will not let her do anything else, but I wish more than anything else this were not necessary.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 29