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

by Gareth D. Williams

  "I am not dead," he said softly, after a long pause.

  "Oh? I was sure...." Marrain shook his head. "I forget. How much time has passed since you last spoke to me?"

  "A few months. I have.... been busy."

  "Ah. A few months?" He began to chuckle. "I was sure it was longer. A hundred years or more. I thought you must have died in the meantime and become a part of this.... soulscape in which we are all bound. The other souls do not come to visit me. I fear they do not like the place I have made my home." He bent down, and raised his hand just as another wave of flame arose. He caught it and examined it lovingly, as another man might a flower, or a bird.

  "I cannot see why," Marrain continued. "I personally enjoy it here."

  "Fire is a painful and traumatic death," Sinoval observed.

  "Yes. It certainly is that.... until a moment before the end. Then you realise that nothing truly matters."

  "The more painful the death, the less.... stable the soul is when collected. I am told you were.... less than sane even before you died."

  "Insults? Here, in my own home?" Marrain shook his head, smiling. "I should be very unhappy, but.... what does it matter? You speak the truth. I suppose I was insane, made so through envy, and hatred, and.... love. Hah, now there is a thing to make anyone insane."

  "I would guess so. I have never been in love myself."

  "No? You are very lucky, or very unlucky. I am not sure which."

  "Was it worth it? The moment of love you felt? Was it truly worth the cost of everything that resulted from it?"

  "No.... but then she did not return my love. If she had, then.... perhaps. I do not know. What is your point?"

  "As I was saying, you were taken in great pain and considerable madness. Thus it is possible you are fixated on the moment of your death. That has happened before with souls brought back to the world of flesh over and over again. They became obsessed with death and the manner of bringing it about."

  "Yes." Marrain paused, deep in thought. Trickles of flame licked at his feet, but he seemed not to notice. "That does seem to make sense. Few.... think about death while they live. At least not properly. I was a warrior, thus I lived with it more than others, but not even I understood it.... No one can, who has not died.

  "Hmm."

  Something suddenly occurred to him and he turned, rounding on Sinoval, his eyes in a black fury. Fire rose up around him, a great wave cascading over his form. He paid it no heed, no more attention than Sinoval did to the rising surge lapping at his feet.

  "Souls brought back to life?" Marrain cried. "That is possible?"

  "Forbidden," Sinoval admitted. "But possible, yes."

  "Why? Why did I not know of this before? By all the Gods of my fane, to live again.... to breathe, to raise a hand to the sky, to.... drink and eat and....

  "To kill."

  "And is that what you would do if you were brought back to life? You would kill?"

  "I.... I was a warrior. It is what I did. What I still would do."

  "No. Warriors fight. They do not kill, not unless it is necessary. I learned that lesson recently.... although it was not easy."

  "Yes, you have changed. I can see it in you. You are one of them now."

  "Tell me, Marrain.... would you like to live again?"

  "You said it was forbidden."

  "It is, but there is small risk in doing so only once. I will not give you immortality. I will not grant you life eternal, or a multitude of lives to squander. One lifetime. One more chance to live.... and breathe and rectify the mistakes you made in your last.

  "For all of history mortal beings have wanted nothing so much as a second chance. I am offering you one, if you are willing to take it."

  "I...." Marrain paused, and the flames died down, sinking deep into the ground. He looked at Sinoval, and his eyes betrayed the hope of one who has long since believed all hope lost.

  "What must I do?"

  Sinoval told him.

  * * *

  The history of the Centauri Republic is a long one, filled with moments of glory, moments of honour, of courage and of extraordinary sacrifice. There were also moments of horror, of tragedy, of incompetence and of needless death.

  The Centauri are a proud and arrogant people, and they have over the centuries indulged in more than just a little re–writing and re–shaping of history. People who to one generation were heroes became villains to the next, and monsters of utter evil have become canonised with the passing of the days. The late and unlamented Prince Cartagia knew this all too well, and already even now there are whispers that things might have been so much better had he triumphed in his fateful duel with the current Emperor Londo Mollari.

  Londo wondered idly how future generations would see him. Hero or villain? Saviour or destroyer? That would of course depend on whether there were any future generations at all.

  Still, as he looked at his companion and friend, he pondered the workings of history.

  There had been two Emperors from House Marrago in the history of the Centauri Republic, just as there were now two Emperors from House Mollari. And, in all probability like House Mollari, there would never be another Emperor from House Marrago. Not that the line would not continue, for it surely would, but as part of the oath of that House.

  The first Emperor Marrago had raised arms against his Emperor, storming the Royal Palace, murdering the entire Imperial family and instituting a twelve–year reign of terror. That was how the history books had always portrayed that time. To some, to those who knew better, Emperor Marrago had deposed and executed a bloody tyrant who would surely have destroyed the Republic through madness and incompetence, and he had taken the throne only at the insistence of the entire Centarum.

  Regardless of which version one believed in, the first Emperor Marrago was succeeded by his son, a weak man, incompetent according to some, grief–stricken and ill according to others. He had reigned four years before his assassination.

  Since then, House Marrago had taken a sworn oath. It was their House promise, the words immortalised under their insignia.

  We serve Emperors. We do not make them.

  And yet Londo surely owed his ascension to his old friend. Had Marrago made him Emperor?

  "Majesty?" said Marrago. "Majesty, are you.... well?"

  "Yes," Londo replied. "I am.... fine. Why would I not be?"

  "Because you have not heard a single word I have said for the past ten minutes. I swear, Londo, I think I would rather be with the Narns than here. At least they listen to what I have to say."

  Londo chuckled. No one else dared to speak to the Centauri Emperor like that - apart from his beloved First Consort of course - but Marrago did so by imperial decree and by dint of a life–long friendship. The courtiers would be scandalised of course, but they were not here. This was after all a private and confidential meeting between the Emperor and his Lord–General. Not even the other Ministers were here, although Timov would doubtless be eavesdropping somewhere.

  Apart from the two of them, the only other person present was Lennier, Londo's taciturn and near–silent Minbari bodyguard. He frightened the courtiers almost as much as the Lady Timov did, and as a result they tended to ignore all the multiple breaches of etiquette he unknowingly committed.

  "You are right," Londo said with an exaggerated sigh. "Alas, I am an old man, and I have been without sleep a great deal recently. Affairs of state, you realise."

  "Well, I am an even older man," Marrago said, "and...."

  "Older by four days," Londo interrupted.

  "I am an even older man, and if I have to stay awake, then so must you. Are you willing to listen, Majesty, or must I get Timov to fill you with some ghastly medicine?"

  "Great Maker, no! Ah, you are an evil man. So, anyway.... what were you saying?"

  "As I was saying.... it seems as if the Narns have a new commander. G'Sten has by all accounts resigned after his failed attack here several months ago. It is a pity, really. I admired hi
m. And we old men should stick together. Anyway, the new commander is probably G'Sten's protegee Na'Tok. He is a little sharper and more prone to risk–taking, but his current strategy is both conservative and deeply flawed. He is trying to hold on to all their captured territories, probably by the order of the Kha'Ri again. His efforts to do so are admirable, but vulnerable.

  "Especially at risk to our counterattack is Ragesh Three. Again. On the other hand, I am certain he will be expecting that, and until I know more about Warleader Na'Tok I am inclined to focus my attentions elsewhere.

  "Tolonius Seven. My scouts inform me it is sparsely defended, and has recently been troubled by rioting and unrest. The Narn ground forces are severely stretched and by all accounts underprovisioned and undermanned.

  "I think we can retake Tolonius Seven. Na'Tok and the Narns will soon find out that capturing territory is easy. Keeping it is much harder."

  "So.... do you think I will be able to deliver a united Republic to my successors?"

  "Londo...." Marrago sighed, and looked down. "I very much doubt we will be able to regain all our lost holdings within either of our lifetimes. We will be at war for as long as we both live, and probably for so long as our children live. The Republic is dying.... and all we can do is hold as much of it as we can, for as long as we can."

  "What about peace? The Narns seemed to be.... open to some sort of negotiation. We will have a permanent embassy on Kazomi Seven within months, and then.... backed by the Alliance...."

  "The Alliance is already at war, and I do not think the Narns want peace. Even if they do, can our two races ever be at peace? There is too much hatred, too much anger, too many memories. No, Londo, I do not think so. If I did, and if there was anyone I could pass this burden on to, I would have done as G'Sten did, and retire."

  "Retire? Great Maker, Marrago, a peaceful life would bore you to tears!"

  The Lord–General sadly shook his head. "No. No, Londo. I would like nothing more than to sit in my garden, to watch my daughter marry, to raise grandchildren and to watch them grow strong and wise in a better and finer Republic than I knew. A comfortable chair, a fine sunset and hope for the future, that is all I ask for."

  "It sounds...." Londo sighed. "Ah, it sounds wonderful. I tell you what, Marrago. By the end of the year, by then, we will have peace with the Narns and all the wars will be over. You can go to your garden, and I will bring along a comfortable chair and join you there. I can flirt with your daughter, leer at women far too young for me, play too many card games and drink too much brivare. How does that sound?"

  Marrago laughed. "Your tastes are a little.... different from mine, but it takes all sorts. You will be welcome in my garden, Londo, but flirt with my daughter and I am afraid I will have to challenge you to a duel."

  "What?!" Londo cried in mock outrage. "You would challenge your own Emperor?"

  "Not even the Emperor could insult the honour of my daughter and live."

  "Very well, I accept your challenge. brivare bottles at twenty paces!"

  Marrago let out a booming laugh. "Alas, then I concede. I could never best you with such weapons. You may flirt with my daughter all you like. Tell me, will you be bringing that chair with you?"

  "This thing?" Londo patted the armrest of the Purple Throne. "Good Gods, no. A less comfortable chair I have never sat in. You will have to provide me with one."

  Marrago nodded, smiling. "A fine image, Londo. By the end of the year I will give you as much of a free Republic as I can. Then.... we can grow old together."

  "Yes. We shall."

  Marrago bowed, and turned from the throne room. "Tolonius Seven shall be ours again within weeks, Majesty. I promise you that. I will not fail."

  "I never supposed you would," Londo muttered as Marrago left. "I never for one moment believed you would."

  * * *

  David Corwin, Captain of the Dark Star 3, re–named the Agamemnon, hero of numerous battles he did not care to recall, walked into the room where his oldest friend, former Captain and greatest inspiration was sitting.

  Captain John Sheridan was seated at his desk, perusing a report. He did not look up as his friend entered. Corwin looked at him, and noticed the several days' growth of beard on his chin and the dark, haunted look in his eyes. It did not seem as if he was eating well these days.

  Of course, there were reasons for the Captain's depression. After spending several months in a coma, close to death, he had recovered, only to lose the woman he loved and find himself thrust into a bloody war against a powerful enemy.... Well, there were bound to be some.... mental and emotional problems. Stress–related, probably.

  But Corwin couldn't shake his uneasy feeling as he walked further into the room.

  "We were ambushed just on the edge of the Vega system," the Captain said, his voice scratchy and hoarse where once it had been commanding. "We lost Dark Stars Seven and Thirteen. Dark Star Eleven was badly damaged, perhaps it can't be recovered. They lost over half their crew."

  He looked up suddenly, as if realising that Corwin was there. "Please tell me you've got good news, Captain," he said. "If it's bad news, then.... ah hell. If it's bad news give it to me anyway. Do we still control Kazomi Seven?"

  "Last I heard."

  John nodded, smiling. The smile seemed incongruous on his haunted features. "Good. Let's hear it then."

  "We destroyed the observation post in Sector Forty–five. Dark Star Twenty–four was lost, and there were various damages and casualties, but the mission was a success."

  The Captain breathed out and sat back in his chair. "Ah, that's good. They're now completely blind on that approach to the Vega system. Good. We'll need to prepare a small raiding party quickly to harry the military installations around Vega Twelve. Not a serious full–on attack, but.... Yes, we need to lure their forces away from the colony itself."

  "Captain," Corwin said softly. "We're spreading ourselves too thinly. We're throwing the Dark Stars at everything we can, at countless different targets, and we're taking casualties. Sooner or later, we won't have any left."

  "Hmm? Oh, there's no need to worry. There'll be a new fleet coming through. The Vorlons promised it by the end of the year, maybe sooner. We won't run out of ships."

  "And what about people? Just how are we going to crew these ships? G'Kar only has so many Rangers, there are only so many experienced soldiers and.... we're taking too many heavy losses. Is there going to be anything left when we're done?"

  "I know things are looking.... difficult. We just need to.... keep up the pressure, keep them off balance. We're hurting them as well. We'll be able to take the Vega system completely in a month or so - according to my reckoning - and from there to some of the outer mining colonies, Arisia for one. Proxima by the end of the year."

  Corwin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Captain.... what about Delenn?"

  "Dammit, David, we've had this conversation."

  "G'Kar has some Rangers placed inside the Vega system. The news is still reporting that they have Delenn a prisoner."

  "It's propaganda, David. You know that. Delenn's dead."

  "Why would they lie about something like this? Surely they knew we would have to react. It's practically inviting war with the Alliance. They wouldn't do this unless they were telling the truth. Look, we could send a small group of Rangers into Proxima, try and find out the truth, try and rescue her...."

  "No, we can't risk the Rangers on a pointless suicide mission. You said yourself there weren't enough of them."

  "John, what do you think they're doing to her in there? They're going to be torturing her, trying to get her to confess to all sorts of things. The news said she was going to be put on trial for war crimes. They're going to execute her. John, listen to me!"

  "Shut up!" the Captain roared suddenly, leaning forward and sweeping all the reports on the desk to the floor. "Shut up and listen to me! I am your superior officer and you will damn well listen to me!

  "Delenn is dead. They kille
d her on Z'ha'dum, and I took the Babylon there on a stupid and foolhardy mission to try to get her back. Clark is lying when he says he has her. He's lying, and that's it. Don't you think if Delenn were still alive I'd do everything I could to try to help her? Do you think I could bear the thought of her suffering like that?

  "But even if she is alive, there's nothing we can do about it. She wouldn't want us to risk any lives on futile rescue missions, you know that.

  "There's nothing we can do. We'll get to Proxima when we get there, and not before."

  "But John...."

  "You are dismissed, Captain."

  "What?"

  "I said you are dismissed."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Corwin spun on his heel and stormed from the room, not looking back to see if the Captain was picking up the reports or not. His blood was boiling and his ears stung. Why wasn't Sheridan listening to him? What was wrong?

  As he left the Captain's makeshift office he almost ran into someone. Stepping back, apologising hastily, he saw it was Lyta, and his eyes brightened. He spoke her name happily. "I haven't seen you since we got back from Z'ha'dum. I'd heard you'd recovered, but then you just disappeared. Are you feeling all...?"

  Then he noticed the presence behind her. The Vorlon loomed over her, its eye piece twitching. There was the faint whisper of near–music that was its breath. It was not a Vorlon Corwin had seen before. Its encounter suit was blood–red, streaked with a dark, rusty brown. The eye stalk was sharp and curved.

  "David," Lyta said, her voice flat. "It's good to see you. Yes, I'm fine, but I've been busy. I'm sorry."

  said the Vorlon. There was a hissing vibration in its voice.

  Corwin stepped aside, puzzled and angry. Lyta went into the room, the Vorlon following. The last sight Corwin had before the door shut behind them was the Captain rising from his seat, smiling broadly at the new arrivals.

  * * *

  Pride, it is said, is a sin. A deadly one at that. Welles had never really seen the rationale behind that. There was nothing wrong with pride so long as it did not lead to arrogance, overconfidence or stupidity.