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

by Gareth D. Williams

  A fine speech, and one he had written himself. Macabee had been in apoplexy at the very thought of course, but he was an inconsequence. Clark was more than adept at manipulating the public.

  Besides, he meant almost every word he said.

  "Mr. President," said a journalist, one he did not recognise. "Do you have any confirmed casualty lists from Beta Durani?"

  "We have set up an emergency hotline for those with friends or family on the colony. I can also report that the Marten was destroyed in the engagement, with the presumed loss of all hands. The families of those killed have already been notified, and they will of course qualify for war bereavement pensions. The loss of Captain Walker Smith is a grave one. He was a truly great man, and an inspiration to all those serving in Earthforce."

  "Has there been any response from the Alliance?" asked another voice.

  "No," Clark replied. "Not even a formal acknowledgement of our declaration of war. But then that is not surprising, as they have made it clear they do not wish to talk or engage in any form of peaceful negotiation. However, word has come from the Kha'Ri that they do not support this action. They are fully in support of humanity in our stance against the Alliance, and any Narn ships involved in the attacks are renegades and outlaws."

  "What about Delenn?" asked another. Her, Clark recognised. Mary Ann Cramer, of the left–wing paper Proxima.

  "What about her?" he replied blandly.

  "Is she aware of this attack, and how has she responded?"

  "Delenn is unaware of what is happening, Miss Cramer. She is currently being held in a secure hospital facility, recovering from an attempted suicide. Security protocols around her have been tightened, and medical tests are being carried out to ensure her fitness."

  "What is the progress of the war crimes tribunal?" asked another voice.

  "The day before word reached us of the attack on Beta Durani, I personally spoke with former Chief Justice Wellington. He has agreed to come out of retirement to chair the tribunal himself. He is in the progress of assembling lawyers and judges to sit with him on the panel. The exact charge list is still being compiled as evidence is still being gathered, but it will be made public once it is finalised."

  "What about representation for Delenn?"

  "She will of course have the right to choose her own representation. As yet she has refused to do so, and has declined to have a representative present as she is being questioned. A Government advocate will be appointed to defend her if she does not make a choice for herself. It will be a full and fair trial, I promise you that."

  "Mr. President," said Cramer again. "Do you think word of the arrest and detainment of Delenn caused the attack on Beta Durani?"

  There was a low hush, and Clark smiled. "Miss Cramer.... there is much you do not understand about warfare. I have spoken with General Ryan and the other high–ranking military leaders. They assure me that the attack on Beta Durani must have been planned for months. The Alliance assembled a significant fleet for the engagement, which could not have been done in a few days.

  "No, this was a deliberate and unprovoked attack. I do not believe Delenn to be an issue here. I would have been perfectly willing to inform the Alliance of her arrest, and for them to send a delegation to observe the trial and see that the necessary formalities are adhered to, but that is no longer possible."

  There were a few more questions, but they were mostly petty, mundane things, and Clark left, feeling vaguely pleased with himself. He actually found himself liking Miss Cramer. Press conferences were no fun at all without a little challenge, and these days he was up for almost any challenge imaginable. He could not recall the last time he had felt this fit and ready for action.

  He returned to his office and found a copy of Humanity magazine sitting on his desk. There was a note from Macabee on top of it, which he did not bother to read. He found that he was on the cover, and it was not even a bad picture. He usually hated having his picture taken.

  Flicking inside the magazine, he soon found the relevant article. Humanity had taken a poll among its readers as to the greatest elected leaders of all time. He smiled at the revelation that he had come fourth, behind only Churchill, Lincoln and Mandela, and just edging out Kenshuro. Of course, Clark had never actually been elected, but that was just a technicality.

  He set it down, honestly pleased and surprised by the honour. "Distinguished company," he said to himself, and then he chuckled. Soon he began to whistle, and then sing. His voice was crackly and his rhythm appalling, but he didn't care.

  "Oh, what a beau–ti–ful mor–ning....

  "Oh, what a beau–ti–ful day....

  "I've got a won–der–ful fee–ling...."

  He was laughing so much he could barely get the last line out.

  "Ev–ery–thing's go–ing my way."

  Chapter 2

  Somewhere, in a part of space far from the trade routes, distant from the centres of power and away from the deeds shaping the future of the galaxy, there lies the last refuge of a thousand–year–old war. Like an old warrior sitting in his garden watching the world pass by, Babylon 4 is now retired.

  For nine centuries it has been resting, ever since the day that the One Who Was passed beyond. With the end of the first Shadow War Babylon 4 became unnecessary, an anachronism. Enemies of Valen, the same who drove his children from Minbar, sought to downplay his role and his actions, and Babylon 4 was a living memory of the man and his deeds.

  It is the doom of mortal beings to forget.

  And so they forgot Babylon 4. It was taken away from the known worlds and left, abandoned and forsaken. As Valen passed into legend, so did the miracle he had brought with him.

  But time is a cycle, nothing truly dies and nothing is ever truly forgotten. Some still live who knew Valen, and who walked the steps of Babylon 4 a thousand years ago. There are some who revere and worship those who did.

  Things have changed, the workings of destiny move once more, and slowly the whispers of the past become the present, and the future, as the station that was built by a Narn, threatened by the Shadows and used in battle by the Minbari, becomes once more a focal point in the destinies of empires.

  Sinoval looked at the space station, and he did not smile.

  * * *

  "You know what must be done?"

  There was no verbal reply of course, but the motion of the alien's head was enough. Ambassador Sheridan felt sudden relief, as well as an inexplicable concern that he was doing the wrong thing.

  That did not matter. There were times when any action, even the wrong one, was preferable to inaction, and this was one of them. Events were rising to a climax, and now more than ever he and the Shadows needed to be in control of Proxima. He was their representative here, and they had spoken to him, expressed their.... plans.

  Clark was crucial. Somehow he had slipped the leash of his Keeper once. That leash had to be re–tightened, but it had to be done properly. None of them could afford another failure. The implantation of a Keeper was usually a simple enough process, the Keeper was after all alive, and did most of the work itself.

  This time, however, greater care was necessary. There could be no more mistakes, and so Sheridan had arranged.... assistance.

  He knew a little about the Zener. Genetically, they were distantly related to the Vree and the Streib, although some disaster many thousands of years ago had split the three groups apart. The Zener had always been master scientists, particularly adept in the field of genetic engineering, and a scientocracy had arisen where matters of morals and ethics fell far behind the continued pursuit of knowledge.

  The Streib had desired to gain this knowledge, and with little of the military might of their genetic cousins it seemed as if the Zener would be conquered, and easily, but then the Shadows arrived, and circumstances changed drastically. The Zener became a part of the Great Compact, swearing to serve the Shadows and their allies, providing all the knowledge at their disposal in exchange for protection.r />
  The Shadows were technologically much more advanced than any of their vassal races, but they had been happy to use the Zener's technology rather than their own. The Zener worked particularly well with the Drakh and together they had achieved a number of advances. The bio–plague that had devastated Minbar was one of these.

  None, save perhaps the Shadows themselves, knew better than the Zener how to implant a Keeper. It was they who, wherever possible, carried out the medical examinations prior to implantation and oversaw any problems following the process.

  A Drakh stood behind the Zener, watching silently. If he did not know better, Sheridan would have assumed the Drakh to be the scientist's bodyguard. In fact the situation was very different. The Drakh placed all other races into three groups: their Dark Masters; their enemies; and their weapons to serve the first and destroy the second. The Zener were in the third category.

  "This is vital," Sheridan repeated. "It must be done as soon as possible, and this must not fail. Do you understand?"

  "Understanding," hissed the Drakh. "We shall not fail...."

  "Good," Sheridan said. He closed his eyes and saw Clark, and a moment later, he saw his son. John would be coming for Proxima soon, and he would be bringing the Vorlons with him. It was essential that they all do what was necessary to stop this. Clark had to be theirs.

  He had to be.

  "Then go."

  "The Dark Masters will watch us," the Drakh said. "By their will...."

  "By their will," Sheridan repeated. Sometimes the Drakh terrified him. Sometimes a great many things terrified him.

  * * *

  "What will you need?"

  "ID to get into the hospital building, and out again. Preferably an ambulance driver's ID. That will be for Dexter."

  "I can get you that. Anything else?"

  "A lapse in security around Delenn's ward. Lasting for as long as possible without arousing suspicion."

  "I can manage that. I can't remove all the Security presence, as shift changes are staggered. You have the map of the hospital facility?"

  "Yes."

  "The guards stationed at positions A, C and F are changed at nineteen hundred hours each night. I will be able to arrange for their replacements to be a little late, although fifteen minutes is all. That will leave the guards at B, D, E and G."

  "I can get past the ones at B and E, and D is likely to be too far away. That will just leave the two at G, Delenn's bedside. I will deal with them."

  "Don't kill them! Not unless you absolutely have to. They're good men, and they're just doing their job."

  "Obeying orders? Yes, I've heard that before. Don't worry. I don't like killing people. I have.... ways of making them fall asleep. Totally harmless."

  "Good. You're going in tonight?"

  "Can we leave it another day?"

  "No. Delenn's condition is improving.... slightly. She's now conscious and aware for longer and longer periods of time. Clark's on at me to get her back to the interrogation chamber. It has to be tonight. I'll see you get the relevant IDs and computer codes as soon as possible."

  "Good. You won't need to contact us to find out if this has worked. You'll know. Get in touch again this time tomorrow, if it does. You can then take her off our hands and arrange the payment."

  "Will do. Good luck."

  "We shouldn't need luck."

  Welles had completed the first part of his promise at least. ID codes confirming Talia as a physician's assistant and Dexter as an ambulance driver arrived by some unknown courier less than an hour after the message had concluded. Also included were details of all the pass codes and computer codes necessary.

  Talia had made her share of false IDs in her time, and these certainly looked as if they would work.

  As to whether Welles had been successful in delaying the security changes, that would have to wait. She had taken care to memorise the map of the hospital complex, and she and Dexter had gone over the plan until he could recite it in his sleep. She was still sceptical about this whole endeavour, but Welles had been telling the truth, and Dexter had talked her into it.

  Besides, the reward offered was certainly worthwhile.

  And now they had accepted the mission, she devoted her every effort to completing it.

  She checked her watch. 18:52. Perfect. The shifts at point C would be changing soon. She could get past them on the way in, assuming Welles' ID worked, and she should have enough time to get herself and Delenn out before the changeover occurred.

  One of the guards stepped forward to her. "ID?" She passed the card over to him, and he ran it through his security device. The other guard looked at her closely. She was breathing quietly and standing naturally, as though this were a routine she had gone through a hundred times before.

  "Checks out," said the guard, handing her back the card.

  "I don't recognise you," said the other.

  "I normally work at the Ellison Building in Sector Two–o–nine," she replied glibly. "They're short–handed over here tonight, so I was called in to help out."

  The guard looked a little suspicious, but then nodded. "In you go."

  Talia passed through the first checkpoint, into the hospital complex itself. She kept her breathing under control, reliving the map of the layout in her mind. She could see every corridor, every turn and corner and room. Every security checkpoint.

  And she could see her final destination. The room where Delenn herself lay.

  Full of determination, Talia headed on her way.

  * * *

  Sinoval had seen many wonders in his life, images that would stay with him forever. The huge archway that led to the Well of Souls; the sight of Earth beneath his feet, lost and helpless; the vision of Valen in the Dreaming as Varmain had died.

  All of these paled before the simple wonder on the face of a madman and a betrayer.

  Marrain walked slowly through the hallway, his eyes alight. As Sinoval looked around, he saw nothing but a decaying and barren relic of an ancient war, left in a forsaken place to die. He remembered the last time he had been here, seeing a tiny ray of hope in this place. It had changed greatly since then. Although only a year or so had passed for him, an entire millennium had gone by for this station.

  He saw nothing but rust and decay and the erosion of a once–mighty fortress, but then he supposed he had no romance in his soul.

  For Marrain, it was something else.

  "It was here," he whispered, looking around. "Here, we met Valen.... and just over there a Shadow Warrior attacked us. It had got on board somehow and Parlonn and I.... we fought it back to back. It slashed my chest open, and left a scar...."

  He paused. There would be no scar, of course. Not on this body. It was not his after all. It was a dead body, infused with a soul departed more than nine centuries.

  "They are dead now. Everyone. Valen, Derannimer, Parlonn, Nukenn.... Even Nemain and Mannamann. They were both so young then. Dead for centuries now.

  "All dead.... save the two of us." He looked into the shadows. "I, the Betrayer, and Anla'Verenn–veni. The Place Of Restored Dreams. That was what we called it. A priestling name of course, but.... an apt one.... even for a hardened warrior like myself."

  He closed his eyes, his body shaking. "Where are your dreams now, Anla'Verenn–veni? Where are your glories, your triumphs, your holy places? Lost and gone to the three winds, all of them. Dead, dead, dead....

  "All is dead. All lives and all dies, and all decays and withers."

  His eyes opened, and a fierce darkness burned from within him. He pointed at Sinoval. "You will die." And then at Kats. "And you.... I can see it in you, past the facade of your beauty, beyond the mask you create for yourself, beneath the illusions and the masquerades....

  "There is only death.

  "But not for me," he added plaintively. "All die, but Marrain, the Betrayer."

  "All die," Sinoval said firmly, looking at Kats. She was shaken, but firm. He heard her whispering a soft prayer under
her breath, and he suddenly realised why. For an instant, in Marrain's rant, she would have seen Kalain, her torturer. He reached out a hand to steady her, but she pulled away. Her eyes flashed a brief thanks to him.

  "We all die, even Marrain, the Betrayer. Do as we have spoken, and your death shall be an honourable one."

  "What is honour to the dead? Do you think Parlonn cares that I gave my honour to save his? No, he is dead, his body and bones dust in a distant world. Do you think Derannimer's dead carcass cared that I loved her? No, she is gone.

  "All are gone."

  "But there are those who live now, Marrain. The now is all we have, all you have. You have been given another chance at life, an opportunity to undo the mistakes you made before.

  "Are you ready to grasp that chance, Marrain? Because if you are not, then there is nothing here for you, and you might as well become the dead bones you speak of."

  "No," Marrain whispered after a time. "I live, and I will do as you have asked of me. It will be.... interesting to see them again. I wonder how much they have changed, how much they remember, how much they have forgotten."

  "Apparently they are much the same as they were in your day, but we shall see."

  "Why this place?" Marrain asked suddenly. "Why.... bring us all back here? This does not belong in this age. It is a part of the past, the legends of long ago."

  "It is the one place I can be sure they will recognise and come to. It is as holy a place for them as it is for us, and they cannot deny its call. Besides, you will be stronger here, in this place where you once walked.... before."

  "Yes. I walked here once. Come.... their shrine was.... this way. I think. I remember the day Zarwin built it. It was the last day he was here, the day they were banished."

  Marrain looked at the corridors before him, and began to walk. Slowly Sinoval followed him, Kats a few steps behind. Around them all, hidden in the shadows but still there, were the guards. The two Praetors Tutelary, who guarded their Primarch with their lives, and nine of the Primarch's Blades, led by Lanniel. They were sworn to protect Sinoval and, although unknown to her, Kats as well.