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

by Gareth D. Williams

  "We should not be here," he said. "This is.... madness."

  "Hardly madness," drawled a soft voice from his side.

  "Look at us, Tirivail. Do you think Sinoval told the Tak'cha about this place out of the goodness of his heart? No, he has lured us all here. And why? This is a trap."

  "Then it is a trap," she replied, unconcerned. "We will die as warriors, fighting to preserve this holy place. Besides, the Tak'cha will fight almost as hard. If this is a trap, then Sinoval may well find he has bitten off more than he can handle."

  "He'd know that, though. That's why I have such a bad feeling.... Any pitched battle here would leave too many dead...."

  "We are warriors. We are expected to die for our people."

  "Yes, but for Sinoval.... I don't think this is the real war. He wouldn't throw away so many of our lives for this. He will have plans far beyond us. I think he may be going to attack Sonovar, but.... again.... I don't know."

  Now doubt marked her face. "Lord Sonovar is not as protected as he should be.... But still, he has my father and our clan. We will defend him."

  Kozorr sighed. "It is like trying to find a path through a maze in the midst of a hurricane. The answer is there somewhere, but I cannot find it." He hefted his pike. "Well.... I suppose it is too late to do anything about it now. There is only battle left, and duty."

  Tirivail smiled, and her smile lit up the room. "There is only ever battle and duty," she said. "We are warriors. We fight, and we die."

  And Babylon 4 came closer. Anla'Verenn–veni. The Place of Restored Dreams.

  * * *

  There was an old saying among tacticians and strategists of the Centauri, one they usually quoted with despair and considerable annoyance. 'Any battle plan lasts only as long as it takes for the first soldier to move.'

  This was held to be a general truth about the futility of in–depth planning, and over the centuries a number of great military thinkers and leaders had tried to find ways around it. Strategists hated the idea of not being able to direct the entire course of the battle. The whole thing became too.... untidy and awkward and difficult.

  Lord–General Marrago was held to be the foremost military tactician of his day. It had in fact been one of his distant ancestors who had first coined the saying. He disliked the truth of it as well, but for a very different reason.

  He knew his soldiers. He knew their names, their families, the names of their children. He also knew the pointlessness of most wars. He fought them anyway, because he had a duty to the Republic, but what he wanted most, what all soldiers wanted most.... was to sit and rest, to eat fine food, to drink fine wine, and to be at peace.

  With that aim in mind, he planned and fought every battle.

  Tolonius 7 was an old world, one of the central colony worlds of the Republic. It was a sizeable and well–populated planet, the centre of several vital trade routes and an industrial base. The Narns had known all this when they had taken it in a bloody ground war.

  If they had operated according to their usual tactics, the nobles captured would have been put to death, the land strip–mined, and its resources and minerals exported. The Centauri people there would be little more than slaves.

  Of course, had the Centauri taken a Narn world, there would have been little difference. That was why Marrago did not hate his enemy. All in all, both races were the same. The Centarum and the Kha'Ri, the Lord–General and the Warleader, Centauri soldiers of the Republic and Narn warriors of vengeance.

  Marrago did not hate the Narns, but Tolonius 7 was a world of the Republic, its people were children of the Republic, and he had sworn to serve his Emperor to the best of his abilities.

  He sat back in his chair in the war room of the flagship, the Aubec. He was alone, save for the two guards at the door. From here he would be able to direct the whole course of the battle, without ever becoming involved in it. He would have liked to fight in it himself, but the fleet could be led admirably by Captain Mollari and his Valerius. Despite his age, Carn had more combat experience than most generals.

  Marrago shifted his gaze to a drawer just in front of him. In there, hidden from view, was the black orb the Shadow emissary had given him. He had wanted to destroy it, but his soldier's brain had told him clearly not to destroy anything which might later become an asset. He prayed he would never have to use it.

  He sat forward to study the schematics of his fleet. This would be a difficult engagement, but it could be won. He was sure of it.

  He directed the first wave of ships to leave hyperspace and begin the assault.

  * * *

  "I see," said Corwin softly, after the Captain had finished speaking. "May I know the.... reasoning behind this change of plans?"

  "Information has reached me from allies on Proxima," Sheridan said. "They will be willing to provide assistance in removing the Shadows and their influence, but only if we act quickly. They fear discovery."

  "Who are these allies?"

  "I can't tell you that."

  "Are they trustworthy?"

  "Yes."

  "You're sure of this?"

  "I told you, yes! I realise you had a free run while I was.... ill.... but you can't have fallen into the habit of questioning orders from superior officers! Now I have given you your orders. You are to obey them!"

  Corwin took a step back, but then he straightened. "I will obey them.... but first, a warning. We do not have the time to prepare for a full assault on Proxima, not on the timetable you have given us. Least of all if we are to continue attacking listening posts and stations in the Vega system to draw away the Shadows."

  "That will no longer be necessary. We are to recall the entire Dark Star fleet, save only those ships necessary to safeguard Kazomi Seven itself. Any other support vessels the Council can provide us with will be welcome as well. We are to make directly for Proxima, with no side tracks or detours."

  "What? Captain.... they'll know we're coming. We'll trigger all sorts of early warning systems, the listening posts will pick us up from light years out. You know what the defences are like around Proxima. Hell, you put most of them up yourself! We'll have to get through minefields, the defence grid, the entire Earthforce fleet.... not to mention the Shadows."

  "None of these will be a problem, not if we are at Proxima on time. You have your orders, Captain. See to it they are followed."

  "Yes, sir!" Corwin snapped, turning on his heel and walking away. Sheridan turned back to his reports, not even watching him leave.

  * * *

  "We shouldn't be here."

  Talia sighed softly, knowing her companion had not even heard her. She leaned back against the wall, holding the data crystal up to the light and watching it sparkle. Everything she had come here to discover was on there, everything Byron had.... died (maybe?) to recover.

  She hadn't examined the information in full - that would take far too long - but she had studied it enough to be sure it was what Welles had claimed it to be. She'd have time to study it fully when she met up with Al. If Sanctuary was no longer safe, then she would have to head elsewhere. She knew the beacon frequencies of the secret Psi Corps mother ships, as well as numerous other hidden bases. She could find him.

  So why was she still here?

  Byron? It was possible he was dead, or if he wasn't, then he had become part of whatever it was IPX were doing to the telepaths they had captured. From time to time, in her dreams, she had heard what she thought was his voice, mingled in with a cacophony of others. There was nothing she could do for him now, and her first priority was the good of the Corps, to get this information back to Al.

  No, she was very much afraid the reason she was staying was sitting in front of her, looking at the sleeping figure on the bed. He was even holding her hand.

  Talia reached down and touched Dexter's shoulder. He turned, and she saw the lack of sleep in his eyes. He must have been here ever since they had got to this place. Over a day now.

  "We shouldn't be here,
" she said. "We have what we did this for. Let's go."

  "Go? Go where?"

  "Off Proxima. There are.... places we can go, places where we'll be safe."

  "I can't leave her."

  "What is she to you? She's the enemy, in case you've forgotten that! We have what we came for, so let's go. Al can.... use someone like you. You're one of us, remember? Besides, I've.... got used to having you around."

  "I can't go. I have to stay with her, at least until she wakes up. Besides.... Welles promised to clean up Sector Three–o–one. I have to make sure he keeps his promise."

  "For God's sake, Dexter! This is a pointless battle. There is a war going on all around us, a war that's set to tear this whole planet apart. She's at the centre of it all. No one cares about Sector Three–o–one. It doesn't matter. It's not important."

  "If you don't win the little battles, how can you win the big ones?"

  She sighed, and shook her head. "I'll be leaving tonight. I can smuggle myself aboard a ship, get off–world, buy or rent a shuttle. Two can go as easily as one. Are you sure you won't come?"

  "I can't."

  "A waste," she said, kneeling down. He turned to look at her, silently begging her to stay, or at least to understand. Gently, she touched her lips to his.

  "Why did you do that?" he asked, puzzled, but smiling.

  "Because I know you wanted me to, and I knew you wouldn't do it yourself. I'm a telepath, remember. And so are you." She rose to her feet and began to walk away. "If you want to come to us, just think about me hard enough. I might pick it up and find you."

  "Does dreaming count?" he whispered, but she was gone, and did not hear him.

  It was at that precise moment that the figure on the bed stirred and moaned. He turned to her and saw her eyes flicker open. "Where.... where.... am I?" she breathed.

  Smith smiled. "A safe place. Run by friends. How are you feeling? Do you want anything?"

  "Weak," she whispered. "But.... I will be better.... Something to drink?"

  "I'll get you something now." He stood up and turned to the nearby sink. As he poured a glass of water he looked up and thought he saw Talia watching him, but it was just a whisper in his mind, and then it was gone completely.

  But he had a strange feeling he would see her again, before the end.

  * * *

  Ritual was important. Ritual, ceremony, pomp, pageantry. It was a mark of tradition, and tradition was little else than ruling simply because you and yours had always ruled. Ritual confirmed all these things. Without it.... what was the point in ruling?

  They had gone by different names at different times, these secret masters of humanity, a conspiracy of information and knowledge, which were power both in and of themselves. They were a guiding hand upon the human race, controlling politics and destinies, shaping the future. Few suspected that they had been responsible for what little salvation there was from the Minbari War, or the part they had played in winning allegiances from alien races in its aftermath. The scientists who had studied Minbari technology and worked on the new Earthforce Shadow destroyers did so with their blessing.

  Those who did anything without their blessing tended to.... disappear.

  They worked not for Vorlon or Shadow, not for good or evil, order or chaos. They worked for humanity. Or so they thought.

  They had gone by many names. In the recent past they had been called Bureau 13. Now, they were the Round Table.

  A matter of ritual again.

  Ambassador Sheridan, who had managed to manipulate even these master manipulators, had become their 'King Arthur', their prime among peers, the first among equals. Subtly, slightly, he had nudged their course to suit that of his allies.

  But he has been away for too long, and the power focus has moved.

  Names do not matter. All those present have names of their own, as well as the names they take for purposes of ritual. Knowing either can be dangerous. Knowing both can be fatal.

  "They are coming."

  "The Alliance ships have abandoned their progress into the Vega system and they are gathering together. The Dark Star ships, the Drazi and Brakiri fleets, and various support vessels of the other races. Our sources on Kazomi Seven and among the fleets indicate they are coming here. Our outer probes will pick up their arrival soon."

  "What is their purpose? Need we begin an evacuation?"

  "Their purpose is to deal with Clark and the Shadows. They do not intend the destruction of civilian or economic targets. It is likely, judging by their actions on Beta Durani, that they will institute a brief period of martial law during which a purge of all members of the Government involved with the Shadows will be carried out. A new, provisional Government will be formed, with free elections likely to follow, probably by the end of the year."

  "Are we in danger?"

  "We can hide from any purge. Our friend is willing to help hide those of us who are more visible." Few would have anything to worry about. Ambassador Sheridan was the only one here who could be recognised. Invisibility is the greatest defence of all. The greatest trick the devil pulled on the world was convincing it he did not exist. For the Round Table, it is the same.

  "We will also be able to achieve sufficient control over the new order. Estimates indicate, if the Alliance is victorious, an eight percent loss of operational efficiency for the next six months. If the Alliance fails then there are many other variables to consider, particularly the fact that they will try again. At present the statistics are officially sixty to seventy percent chance of victory for Clark. Unofficially, based on our.... select information, assuming the network operates as planned, Alliance victory is eighty–six percent likely."

  'King Arthur' sat forward. "We will take action to alter these odds," he said quickly. The network? What the hell was that?

  "No. The alliance with the Shadows and the support of Clark's Government has served us well enough, but it is now time to abandon them both. We will take no action."

  Sheridan sat back, eyes burning behind his mask. There would be no changing the strategy of these people. It could not be done. Yet. For now, he had bigger concerns. Deal with Clark, deal with the Alliance fleets and then....

  Then he would come back and destroy this Round Table once and for all. His membership had served him well enough.

  But it was now time to abandon them.

  The meeting ended a few minutes later, and Sheridan left in a hurry.

  * * *

  The room was a near–identical copy of the Hall of the Grey Council. Sinoval's face was dark as he walked around it, watching the ten columns of light emerge from the darkness. A minor footnote of history, all but forgotten by Minbari historians, but not by one who could talk to those alive a thousand years ago.

  "I will meet Sonovar here," he said, his eyes closed. For a moment time faded, and he was a year in the past, the first time he had set foot on Babylon 4. He had moved forward and time had.... paused.

  And he took the step into the column of light. He knew where he was, in the Hall of the Grey Council. He was alone, but he was carrying Stormbringer. One by one the columns around him lit up, and each one contained a figure. Minbari, some he knew, some he did not. All were armed.

  As the last column lit up, he found himself looking at Sonovar. A body lay slumped at his feet. It was Kats. She was quite still.

  Sinoval whispered her name softly, knowing he would never speak it again.

  "It is over," said Sonovar, no malice in his voice, just a finality. "You will not leave this place, traitor. Your allies have fled, your servants are dead, and now I.... I will take our people on the path we were always meant to tread."

  "No," was the only reply.

  Sonovar raised his pike, and Sinoval could see it clearly. Durhan's blade, the one he had wielded all his life. Sonovar charged. The other eight charged. Sinoval raised Stormbringer....

  .... and the central column of light went out.

  Sinoval's hand reached down to caress Stor
mbringer. Something within it, some part of himself he had passed into the blade in its forging, hummed at his touch. "Yes.... you, my brother of blood and war.... you will be beside me in this."

  He had remembered that vision, but he had also remembered something else. An essential truth, one he had always embraced, one Sonovar also recognised.

  Great men make their own destiny. Nothing is written in stone.

  And so he had manoeuvred things subtly, hoping to make such changes as were necessary. He would meet Sonovar and his allies here, not in the Hall of the Grey Council. Maybe this was as it had always been meant to be: he did not know.... but he did know that he would do his best to beat them, to beat all those who opposed him.

  But he would not best Sonovar with weapons.

  He stepped into the central column of light, wishing Kats were here. He understood why she was not. She found the Hall of the Grey Council uncomfortable, and replicas of it just as much so. She was elsewhere, waiting for Kozorr to arrive, as he surely would.

  But she was not alone. Lanniel was with her, and two others of the Primarch's Blades. He had spoken to them earlier.

  "Guard her as you would me."

  Each had sworn this, but still Sinoval was afraid for her. If he could keep her alive, keep her from her part in the vision he had seen, maybe she could keep Kozorr away from this place.

  "I remember," said the memory of a soft voice. Marrain had shown him where this place was. "I once stood in one of these columns of light. I watched as Valen spoke to the first nine of us to ally ourselves with him. He said there would be nine to guide and lead his people, and one over them."

  Sinoval's eyes were still dark as he looked around at the nine pillars of light, and began to name them. The first Grey Council had been convened here, although few had called it by that name. As far as the official histories were concerned, the Grey Council had been founded at the war's end, on Minbar itself, not here, not in this place.

  "Marrain," he said, looking at one of the columns. "Parlonn. Rashok. Nukenn. Nemain." He continued to name the first nine, names now long forgotten and lost to history. Only Nemain, then a young man filled with awe and a righteous conviction, and Rashok and Nukenn, and of course Derannimer had joined the first official Grey Council at Minbar. The others.... were dead, or traitors.