There was little he was proud of these days, but his skill in reading people was one thing. He had been failing miserably in this area of late, what with being unable to register Clark as anything other than a complete blank, not to mention his complete loss of self–control at the sight of Delenn's green eyes.
These two, however, might as well have been an open book to him.
They were close, their body language said as much. A little more than friends, not quite lovers, although they probably would be soon. There were elements of light flirtation in their speech patterns and language tones. She was sceptical, probably by habit, but also rather shaken. Her self–confidence had been badly disturbed recently and she was not at her best. Welles was fully aware how good an infiltrator she must have been to hide under his nose on the Babylon all that time.
Smith was more of an idealist, evinced by his reasons for doing the things he was doing. Welles had dug up his background details a few months ago and found out all about his childhood in the Pit. He was the kind of person who always needed someone or something to fight, and he preferred it to be a straightforward case of black and white, good and evil.
Also, and this was a definite plus, he had met Delenn. His whole posture had changed at the mention of her name. That was good. Her green eyes had obviously worked their magic on him as well.
"More details, please," said Talia. Her scepticism was more evident than ever.
"Delenn of Mir, former Satai of the Grey Council and current leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven. Somehow, and they aren't telling us the exact details, our associates and allies managed to abduct her and bring her here to us. She is to be put on trial for war crimes, the precise charges to be determined later.
"Currently she is residing in the Maximum Security Hospital at the military base in Sector Four–o–five. She is recovering from.... complications arising from a medical operation.
"She is well guarded there, but less so than she would be in the Main Dome Security Building. We have a small window of opportunity, and so it will be necessary to act soon."
"What do you want done with her?" asked Talia.
"Got out of there, taken somewhere safe, and as soon as is possible transferred off–world and back to Alliance space."
"Why?"
"I.... have my reasons. Please do not ask me for details. On the other hand, you are free to read my mind to determine if this is a trap. I have been fully trained in blocking telepathic scans, but you will note I am not doing so now. I am completely genuine in my wish to see her free."
Talia looked at Welles intently for a moment, and then she swayed. She was clearly weaker than he had thought. Whatever had shaken her it was telepathic in nature, possibly weakening her control over her power.
"He's telling the truth," she said finally to her companion. He nodded, clearly not having suspected anything else. Talia looked back at Welles. "What do we get out of this?"
"Information. I have been putting together a rather.... interesting dossier concerning IPX and their activities over the past few years. It is not exhaustive by any means, but it is something, and you will no doubt be able to make perfect use of it. I will also be able to arrange a flight off–Proxima for you.
"And as for you, Mr. Smith, I will organise a full–scale investigation into corruption and illicit activities in Sector Three–o–one. It will reveal enough information to take down both Mr. Trace and Mr. Allan, as well as a fair few others. I will also install a new Chief of Security for the area, and do what I can to make the sector a decent place to live. Oh, and I understand the murder charges against you personally have been dropped. I will see they are never raised again.
"Is that a fair offer?"
"Yes," Smith said. "We'll do it."
"We need time to think about it," Talia said hastily. "How can we contact you?"
"Don't. I will contact you. Have a decision for me by this time tomorrow. Remember, we do not have much time. Nor does Delenn.
"I was not here. This conversation never took place."
With that he left, suppressing a smile. They would do it.
* * *
Sonovar was a warrior caste Minbari, a warrior and a leader of warriors, and therefore he was one of the finest beings to walk this galaxy. No heathen alien, pathetic priestling or cringing worker could hope to be his equal, and of his fellow warriors very few were his match in anything.
There were few beings he liked, and fewer still he respected. He did not like the Tak'cha at all, but he did respect them. He admired their skill in battle, their willingness to die in a noble cause and their belief in Valen almost as much as he loathed their religious fanaticism, their incessant rituals and the prattling of their priests.
Still, he was willing to tolerate a great deal if it would bring him to his destiny as a hero. Putting up with alien customs was merely an inconvenience.
"Zaron'dar," said one of the Tak'cha, addressing him. It was the Alyt, the Ramde as they called the rank. Cozon, that was his name. There was another figure behind him, taller and more spindly. Unlike the soldier Tak'cha Sonovar was more familiar with, this new figure was blue–skinned, or at least he appeared to be. Upon closer examination he could see it was a dye of some sort. The newcomer also wore robes of a brilliant bright red and was carrying a long staff topped with a blade made up of three sharp edges. The whole ensemble was uncannily reminiscent of the formal dress of a Satai, although clearly designed by someone who had not understood what that meant.
"The Z'ondar guide your footfalls," Sonovar said formally, in the old dialect the Tak'cha used.
"And light your path to the future," replied Cozon, completing the greeting. He and Sonovar both bowed. "Zaron'dar, I have the honour to present the Light of the K'Tarr, the Bearer of the Tri–lahr and the Guardian of the Book of Atonement. This is Sah'thai Vhixarion, leader of the Tak'cha shipworlds."
Vhixarion nodded once, imperiously. Sonovar, trying not to show his amusement, bowed formally.
"You are the Zaron'dar, it is claimed," Vhixarion said. Sonovar bridled inwardly. The Sah'thai was using the same old dialect he and Cozon had, but he had used the familiar address, speaking to Sonovar as if he were a child. "You are the one who will guide us back to the Z'ondar, that we may atone."
"Such has been said of me," he replied, as respectfully as he could manage.
"And how are we to do this? By waging war on the False Satai, who makes alliances with the accursed Lords of the Dead? Tak'cha warriors are every day giving their lives for the good of the shipworlds that we may gain the lights of forgiveness, and yet.... and yet there is one question that touches me in my moments of meditation in my Grey Hall.
"Where is the Z'ondar?!"
Sonovar almost recoiled from the fury in Vhixarion's voice. He could see a light shining from the triple–bladed staff, and the Sah'thai's eyes glowed a fierce and bloody red.
"The Z'ondar has returned to us, we were told. He appeared in the Temple of the Old Ones on Minbar, and announced his return to us all. You told us of this, and told us that the False Satai had denied the presence of the Z'ondar.
"So where is the Z'ondar now? Why have we not rescued him from whatever captivity in which he is held?"
Sonovar coughed. He had no idea where Valen was now, all he knew was that he had vanished from Kazomi 7 almost a year ago. The priestlings there had jabbered on about him passing beyond in order to wage war against the Shadows, but Sonovar believed none of that. He was half inclined to agree with Sinoval that 'Valen' was a Vorlon imposter. Stating that to the Tak'cha would not be a wise idea, however.
"The Z'ondar is watching us all," he replied, aiming for a mix of simple faith and awe–inspired wonder. "His light guides our every action, and he watches as we all atone for sins past and present. We are still imperfect beings, and hence he still withholds himself from us."
"You know where he is?"
"He will give us a sign to show that he is still here. We are proceeding as
he would wish."
"Then.... then we will wait for that sign. I am here, Zaron'dar, to witness the truth for myself and for my people, to gauge the wisdom of the alliance we have formed. If it be the Z'ondar's will that this alliance be forged, then he will give us the sign of which you speak."
"He will."
"Then let us pray to determine the nature of this sign, and to beg for his teaching."
Sonovar almost groaned at the thought of another interminable ritual, but he hardened his resolve. All he could see was himself being acclaimed as the great hero he had always known he was, being recorded in the tomes of history as a great leader, and plaques and statues erected in his honour.
With all those in mind, the ritual was not such an ordeal after all.
* * *
Elsewhere another ritual of sorts was being carried out, a ritual such as had not been performed in many thousands of years. A ritual now forbidden because of its consequences.
Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, it was once said, knows how to break the rules in a good cause. His cause here was just, or so he believed, and he had taken precautions. Restoring a soul to life was forbidden because it could lead to madness and obsession with death. If the procedure was performed only once, however, there was little danger of either.
Or so he hoped.
"What are you doing, my lord?" asked a voice. A voice normally soft and gentle, filled with compassion and mercy, but hard and stern when necessary. He turned to look at her.
"You should not be here, my lady," he told Kats. He was annoyed. He did not like her to watch some of the things he knew were necessary.
"Your Soul Hunters passed by as I walked. Your Primarch's Blades let me approach you. Please, my lord.... I know you are doing something you should not. What are you doing?"
"I am beginning that which will break Sonovar's power," he explained. "I am restoring a lost soul to the grace of life. I am offering him a single chance for redemption."
"What are you doing?"
"I will restore Marrain to the life of the flesh, that he may walk again."
She gasped, and her body shook. "He was a traitor," she whispered. "A madman. You told me he died insane and in agony. He betrayed Valen!"
"All of us deserve a single chance for redemption," he replied. "Including him. This is forbidden by the Well of Souls itself. You should not be here, my lady."
"I am here. My lord.... this is wrong. I failed to speak out once before when you were doing something that was wrong, and I lost my friend as a consequence. I am your conscience, and I tell you.... this is wrong."
He smiled. "My lady.... you do not understand him as I do. I have spoken to him, and explained what he must do. Have faith in me.... please."
She looked doubtful, but then bowed her head. "I will watch."
"You do not have to...."
"I will watch."
He chuckled mirthlessly, then turned from her. Marrain's soul globe hung suspended in the air above the body of a fallen Minbari warrior. He had died of an illness, and his family were all dead. He would no doubt feel honoured by being able to serve his lord, even in death.
Sinoval closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and sought the knowledge of the Well of Souls. He was the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus now, and his mind was as that of Cathedral itself, was as old as the first race born to the universe. The knowledge and power of a legion of the dead were available to him.... as was the compunction to use it properly.
"I do not do this for pride," he whispered. "Nor for revenge, nor for hatred. I do this because it must be done, because all of us deserve a possibility for redemption, and because it will lead a lost soul to the grace of his people."
In his mind, he heard the voice of the Well of Souls. We know these things, Primarch. Do not forget them.
"You will let me do this?" he whispered.
These are different times, and his is a troubled soul. Free him.
He smiled, and felt a great wind rush through his mind. A great light surrounded the soul globe, and then he was lost in the memories of millennia.
* * *
It was thinking of the Dark Ones again, the Masters, the Lords of Chaos. Its people had many names for them, many terms of respect, but only one attitude: absolute obedience. But obedience could still be tempered with arrogance, servitude with pride.
They were the first among all those in the Great Compact. Of all the races who served the Dark Masters; the Zener, the Z'shailyl, the countless others, the Drakh were prime. Their fleets might have been destroyed, their orbs shattered, their magi left blinded and lost, but still they were foremost, still they served, walking in shadows, moving in darkness, preparing, readying, performing their Masters' will.
It had a name, but one it would not speak here, not in this place of aliens. There were some here who worshipped the Dark Masters, showing them what their foolish alien brains believed to be the proper reverence. There were others who sought to barter with the Masters, bidding for their services as though this were commerce or business, both concepts the Drakh understood but dimly.
It was here to appear to those who professed to worship and to discuss with him who claimed to bargain. There were certain lessons both sides had to learn, and in the name of the Lords of Chaos, they would learn them.... and well.
The door to the chamber opened and in walked the barterer, the merchant, he who traded life and death as beads on a table, as instruments in a market. Fool! He might be as blind as any newling, as weak as any outcast, but among these people he was held to be strong. The Dark Masters admired that and sought to use him, to employ him, to bind him slowly and unwittingly to their purposes.
The merchant stopped and spun on his feet, his blade in his hands in an instant. The Drakh was impressed. Skill, there was. Would he stand against a Warrior of the Dark Masters, one of the creations of their black vats at Thrakandar? Perhaps he could, after all. The Drakh reassessed its opinion of this merchant.
"I know you are here," he said, staring directly at the Drakh, for all the shadows that engulfed it. It moved into the light. "You should not be here," snapped Lord–General Marrago, of the great and glorious Centauri Republic. "I told you never to come here."
"Come here I did, at the will of the Lords of Chaos.... they whom we both serve. There is words they wish to be having with you.... Many words, indeed."
The merchant did not sheathe his sword.
* * *
It was the smallest of things that awoke in him first, the slightest itching of his fingers. He twitched them, and felt the leather in his glove flex. Its texture felt strangely welcome against his skin.
Then came a further awareness. He could feel the blood pulsing in his veins. He could hear the beating of his heart. He could feel his muscles expand and contract.
He could move.
It was his hand he moved first, lifting it so that he could see for himself. He clenched it into a fist.
Then he saw the small globe hovering, suspended above his chest by an unseen force. It was glowing, but the light from it was fading, a little at a time. He could see the last hints of a great flame arising within it, and then it died. The globe became dull and empty, and all that could be seen within it was a dark, smoky mist.
A hand plucked it from the air, and he turned his head. Feeling was coming to the rest of him, faster now. He could see. He could focus his sight.
He knew the figure standing before him. The two of them had spoken many times, but always that had been within the soul globe, in a world where he was master, and he alone. Now he could see Sinoval in the flesh, see his blood and his bones and his bearing.
He knew this was Sinoval, but the first thought that flashed into his mind was: Valen!
It was not Valen of course, he knew that, but there was something there. Sinoval possessed the same absolute mastery over his self that Valen had, and now they met in the flesh that was clear to see.
"Can you move?" Sinoval asked, his
voice not unfriendly. He looked tired.
"Yes," came the reply. There was more gratitude in his voice than he had ever believed possible. "Yes, I can move. It is true.... I did not believe it.... It is true...."
Marrain swung his legs off the altar on which he lay and raised his new body upright, so that he stood.
"I live," he whispered, and then he repeated these two words, louder than before, and then again, shouting his joy to the heavens as a sign of his elation, and as a warning to the new universe within which he walked.
"I live!"
* * *
Press conferences were as a rule dull and boring things, little more than a chance to put across highly sanitised and well–screened pap. Clark, however, loved them. He relished the battle of wits with the reporters and, while he accepted that it was sometimes sadly necessary to restrict their remit, now he was having the time of his life with them.
The freedom of the press had been heavily restricted by the Wartime Emergency Provisions, and for the long war years very few papers had been active, all official Government agencies. That had been one of the first of the provisions to be relaxed and then repealed in the last few years, and new papers and magazines and news reports had sprung up from nowhere. There were some criticisms of Clark and the Government of course, but he let them slide. In truth he did not care, he was playing for bigger stakes than anyone here could possibly imagine.
Word of the Beta Durani attack had been out for some time now, but this was the first official response to the crisis other than the formal declaration of war with the Alliance. It was also the first confirmation that the colony had been lost.
"Believe me," Clark said to the listening journalists, "I remember all too well the long years of war, the fear of looking up at the sky each night, afraid of what might come into view. I chose to believe that those days were over. I, like all of you, wanted to believe they were over.
"But as a great man once said, the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. We have lapsed in this duty, and we have lost one of our worlds. I give you my word, Beta Durani will be ours once more, and we will lose no more ground to the alien invaders. We are not alone this time. We have our allies, and they will protect us."
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 33