And that in some way.... we will be able to serve him again.
Marrain stepped forward, falling silent. He remembered those words, to the exact letter. He had been present when they were spoken, Zarwin's last words to the Minbari as he went into exile. The Tak'cha carrying the staff stiffened. He clearly recognised the words as well.
"Who are you?" asked the Tak'cha, barely–restrained anger in his voice. He spoke Minbari fluently. "Who are you to desecrate this shrine?"
"Desecration? Hardly. I was here when this shrine was built. I spoke to Zarwin as he left here. He once told me that I would always be friend to the Tak'cha.... to the Unatoned."
"Who are you?"
"I am Marrain."
There were murmurs of anger at this revelation. They would think it a lie. They would have to. Everyone knew that Marrain must be dead by now. But did they know how he had died? Did they know how he had betrayed their precious Z'ondar?
"I am Sah'thai Vhixarion of the Unatoned," said the leader. "And you are a liar. Marrain, our friend and ally, is dead."
"And yet I stand here. Alive." Dead. He was dead. They were dead. Everyone was dead. "I was there at the first meeting with Zarwin. I guarded the Z'ondar at Mount H'leya. I fought alongside him."
"Then how do you live? How do you stand here?"
"The Z'ondar disappeared into the chariot of ages, did he not? He did not die, no more than did I. Death and life are the same, one circle. One unity. One life. One death."
"Why are you here?"
"To help you. To help you atone." Something at the back of his mind was burning. He could feel it. Who was he talking to? Vhixarion, or Zarwin? "As the Z'ondar would have wished." Fire. There was fire everywhere. "To prepare for his return."
Vhixarion looked at him, his wide dark eyes exploring him. He made to speak, and then stopped.
Those who will not follow you into fire, into darkness, into death.... they do not deserve to follow you. And so, instead, they must precede you.
The words came from nowhere, from in front of them, from around them. Suddenly, in an eerie shimmering, there appeared two figures, transparent as glass, but clearly defined as a reflection in a still pond. Everyone knew who they were.
How.... could you? Have you no compassion? Have you no care for the helpless?
There was a whispered hush among the Tak'cha and they all slowly sank to their knees, heads bowed. Only Vhixarion dared to keep looking at the ghosts before him.
We care only to glorify your name, Valen.... We must be true to ourselves above all else, and as we see fit, we will....
Get out!
The Tak'cha shook at the force of Valen's words. Some stumbled backwards, making to leave, imagining their great Z'ondar to be addressing them directly.
I will not have innocent beings slaughtered in my name.
But.... you need us as allies.
We will manage without you. Now leave.
"Our sin," whispered Vhixarion. He turned to Marrain. "What was our sin? The Yolu would not ally themselves with the Z'ondar. They would not pledge themselves to his holy crusade. We were right to chastise them. They would not follow him into fire, into darkness, into death. They should therefore precede him.
"We do not understand. The great Zarwin, the first Sah'thai - he did not understand, and we have not a tenth of his wisdom. The Z'ondar has surely sent you to us for enlightenment, Marrain. Tell us....
"What was our sin?"
Marrain's eyes were dark. He could see flames licking around him. He could see another ghost. His own, standing here, facing Valen after Zarwin's exile. Words had been exchanged. A weapon raised.
Marrain began to laugh, although whether in the present or the past, he could not be sure.
* * *
Two dead men.
The air was thick and heavy, hot. It seemed to crackle. At David Sheridan's side, two Shadows bristled with anger at the sight of their oldest enemy before them.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"We have always been here," Clark said, in a voice that was not his own. "Always. We were content to wait, and watch. When you came to try to bend this man to your will, we waited until we were ready, until you were obscured by your own concerns, and then we moved. We blasted your symbiont from his body and took it for our own."
"How long have you been controlling him?"
"We do not control him. Everything he has done, he has done himself."
"They have always been ours," said Clark, light pouring from his eyes. He took a step backwards, keeping his desk between him and the Shadows. "We have always been here."
"Yes," Clark said with a smile. "We have lost."
Sheridan took another step forward. Something about this made no sense. Clark looked so confident, as if everything was going according to some plan. The Alliance fleet would be here soon, but they were expected. The Shadow ships were also here. The fight would be difficult, yes, but the Alliance would be outnumbered, by the Earthforce fleet, the Shadows, the planetary defence grid....
No, he did not like the feel of this at all.
Clark took another step back. He was against the wall now. Sheridan came forward slowly, moving around the desk. The Shadows followed him, their anger evident in the dark song of their movements.
Clark's face smiled again. "We have lost," he said. "And in that, we have won. Soon you will understand." The light faded from his eyes, and he was himself once again. "They are happy to let me say one last thing to you, Ambassador," he said in his own voice.
"I never liked you."
His arm darted out and he tapped something on the wall. The lights suddenly went out and there was a sliding noise. Sheridan tried to move forward, but he could not see, and the edge of the desk struck against his hip. There was the sound of a scuffle, and a furious shriek from one of the Shadows. A moment later there was the sound of a door slamming shut.
He managed to scramble to his feet, knowing that the backup lighting would come on in a few moments. When it did he saw that Clark had vanished. There was a splatter of blood on the wall, and one of the Shadows lay broken and dead on the floor. The other was furiously hacking at the wall.
"Secret passage," Sheridan spat. "No! We don't have time for that. They have some sort of plan. We have to find out what it is. What exactly is going on?"
There was the sudden sound of klaxons, and he looked up. He could almost see the Alliance ships coming into view, all those miles above. He could almost feel his son on board one of them.
Time was short....
* * *
G'Kael had never been a particularly religious man. He had always been concerned with practicality over theory, and had seldom bothered with prayer. More recently, however, he was finding faith a suitable and interesting thing to have. It helped greatly when it came to looking at the future.
And the present.
He looked at the woman who was, in name at least, his attach? here on Kazomi 7. Na'Toth had been in the inner circle of the Kha'Ri, only to be deposed in a particularly machiavellian power game. Now she was here, out of the way, in a powerless and humiliating position. Or so her enemies thought. She, G'Kael and G'Kar all knew better.
"The Kha'Ri is not happy," G'Kael noted.
"No," said Na'Toth. "I would guess not. I suppose the evidence is actually reliable?"
"It certainly seems so," G'Kael replied. "I have not actually spoken with the captain who recorded it, but the Kha'Ri seem convinced that it is genuine. Of course, that does not mean a great deal."
"And if it is true, what then?"
"I have instructions from Councillor H'Klo. He wants the Alliance to intervene on our behalf in the war with the Centauri. His exact words were, 'This is no longer a private matter. Our war is now their war.'"
"Will the Council see it that way?"
"It is possible. Captain Sheridan did
after all order us out of the Council until we chose to involve ourselves in their war. This way, they will have to involve themselves in our war. The Ha'Cormar'ah will know better than I do, of course."
"When he arrives."
"He is a busy man. The affairs of his position here weigh heavily upon him. Also, there is the matter of the war with the humans to contend with. However, Councillor H'Klo instructed me to bring this matter before the Alliance Council as soon as possible, no matter how busy they are."
"Councillor H'Klo will just have to wait." snapped Na'Toth. He had been among the foremost of those who had stripped her of her position in the inner circle.
A few minutes later the door opened and in walked the Ha'Cormar'ah. G'Kar, head of the Rangers, prophet and leader, both of warriors and of the faithful.
"There is something you should see, Ha'Cormar'ah," said G'Kael softly.
G'Kar watched the video footage in silence. His face was grim. It would be hard, G'Kael knew, for him to watch scenes of Narn soldiers and Narn ships being destroyed. Even harder to watch this happen at the hands of the Shadows, seemingly allied with the Centauri, who were led by G'Kar's oldest friend.
"Is that genuine?" G'Kar asked, when it was finished.
"It seems so," replied G'Kael. "Our preliminary tests have not been able to determine any obvious flaws in the recording. It will be examined in more detail, of course."
"Londo would never ally himself with the Shadows," G'Kar said angrily. "He has been fighting them almost as long as I have. He was one of the first to join my mission."
"That was our thought," said Na'Toth. "But are you sure he would not do that? Not even for the good of his people?"
"No, he would not. He was here, remember. He was here when the Drakh invaded Kazomi Seven. He has seen the chaos the Shadows cause. He would not make such an alliance, no matter what the ultimate aim. This is a trick of some kind."
"Whatever it is," G'Kael said, "my instructions are to take this piece of footage before the Council and demand that the Centauri embassy here be refused recognition, their provisional ambassador exiled, and our embassy restored to its rightful status. I am also to request that the Alliance join our war against the Centauri."
"Londo would never give his people over to the Shadows," said G'Kar thoughtfully. "This is a trick, I am sure of it. By the Shadows or...."
He hesitated, and G'Kael caught the belief he could not give voice to. The position of Narn Ambassador here had been denied recognition by the Council and G'Kael himself dismissed from war meetings, until, as Sheridan had put it, the Narns chose where their allegiance lay. That position would be reinstated if the Narns committed themselves to war with the Shadows. The Kha'Ri had been furious to hear this.
But now, mere weeks later, by a stunning coincidence, 'evidence' had appeared of a Centauri deal with the Shadows. G'Kar would not like to think that the Kha'Ri had manufactured such evidence, but it was a possibility that could not be far from his mind. Both G'Kael and Na'Toth had considered that, although not aloud.
"A trick," G'Kael said at last. "But we cannot prove that, and I have no time to do it. My first duty, Ha'Cormar'ah, is to my people, as you know."
"Yes, I know. Very well, G'Kael. Approach the Council. I will try to.... dissuade them from committing to war with the Centauri. We do not have the resources to fight such a war yet anyway, not while we still fight the humans. But I fear we can only buy a little time.
"The Shadows have done this to force precisely this sort of action, G'Kael. We must do what we can to ensure their success is limited."
* * *
Time was short.
Ambassador Sheridan moved as fast as he could, rifling through the papers on Clark's desk, desperately trying to get into the files. Nothing was any help. The computer console had been purged from within, all the files destroyed. All the papers had been shredded, except one.
It was a simple white page, with two words written in Clark's scribbled hand.
Scorched Earth.
Scorched Earth.
The words filled Sheridan with fear. What was Clark going to do here? Where had that secret passage taken him? This whole building was filled with emergency escape tunnels - he could have gone anywhere.
And he had sent away his secretary and all the Security from this part of the building. It would take time to recall them. Everything would take time, time he did not have.
The Shadow was by the window. It seemed to be staring up into the sky.
Fortunately there was one person who could help, if he got here fast enough. If he wanted to help.
The door chimed, and Sheridan looked up. At last! "Come in!" he barked. The door opened, and in walked two security guards. Between them walked Welles. His face was covered in bruises and he limped slightly, but his eyes were as aware and as alert as always.
"You may leave," Sheridan told the security guards.
"We apologise, sir," said one of them. "We are not to leave this one alone anywhere other than in his cell. Direct orders from the President himself, sir. That may only be countermanded by his own word."
"The President is.... indisposed at present. You have my instructions to leave."
"That is impossible, sir."
Sheridan sighed. They did not have time for this. Fortunately another realised this as well, and was more than capable of taking action.
The Shadow moved with a speed neither guard could anticipate. Space folded around it as it shimmered into invisibility. There was a blur of movement, a spray of blood and an anguished cry, and moments later both guards were dead.
"You didn't have to do that," Welles said softly.
"Yes, I did," said Sheridan. "We don't have time. None of us has any time at all."
"What's happened here?" Welles' cool gaze took in the bloodstains on the wall, the pile of shredded paper and the broken body of the dead Shadow.
"This," Sheridan said, thrusting the piece of paper into Welles' hand. He took it awkwardly in broken fingers. "Clark's planning something. Clark and the Vorlons. They're controlling him, and they're up to.... I don't know what, but it is going to be very bad. He's vanished through one of his secret passages. He's gone somewhere.
"What I need to know is where he's gone, and just where on this whole planet the Vorlons have been hiding all this time!"
"I thought you knew everything."
"Clark was damned good at keeping secrets, even from me. But no one can keep secrets from you. That's what you do, isn't it?
"So where is he, and where are the Vorlons?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because if you don't, then God alone knows what's going to happen! Scorched Earth?"
"Let him do what he likes. We don't deserve to be saved."
"What?" Sheridan breathed. He stumbled back. "How can you say that?"
"You're talking to someone who had an unborn baby murdered less than three weeks ago. I've studied humanity all my life, and I'm telling you we do not deserve to be saved."
"How can you...? Listen to me! I don't know why you went into this job, but I know why I did. I wanted to help people. I wanted to do what was right. It took us all centuries to build a society based on freedom and rights, but the thing about freedom is that it brings responsibility. That's the point! We have to give some things back to the society that raised us. I tried to teach that to my children, and I'd teach it to my grandchildren.
"I can't just sit back and watch people die if there's anything I can do to prevent it."
"You just killed two people," Welles noted.
"And if it saves millions, then was it worth it? Dammit, Welles! Help me!"
Welles closed his eyes and sighed. A soft tremor shook his body, and he said one word. "Vicky." Then he opened them again. "What would these Vorlons need? What resources, what sort of environment, what?"
"They took over Clark. That implies they'd be with someone or somewhere he was involved with a lot. They'd prefer to be as near the top of th
e scale as possible. Maybe not the Government itself, but close. Someone powerful, but a behind–the–scenes player. I'd take a guess at someone behind a member of the Round Table."
"Ah, yes. Them. Someone Clark would visit regularly?"
"He'd have to. The control must have been very slight to prevent me noticing. They'd have to reinforce it at regular intervals."
"IPX," Welles said slowly. "He's been having secret, private meetings with someone there for months, maybe longer. He's always gone alone. What was happening there.... I was never able to find out, but they've got a huge complex, a lot of illegal weapons and other research, and a good number of off–world holdings and interests."
"IPX," Sheridan said. "Yes, that makes sense. So is that where Clark's going to be?"
"Possible," Welles admitted. "There are secret passageways from here to there. That's.... ah, that's how he disappeared. Have you tried finding the doorway from here?"
"No. There wouldn't be time."
"Very wise of you. There's a time–coded lock on the other side. Once he's activated it, you can't open the door from this side. It's a security measure to stop anyone trying to follow him."
"Well, that doesn't matter. If he's in the IPX headquarters, even underground, then he's a dead man. Him and all his Vorlon friends."
Welles started. "What are you going to do?"
"We don't have time for a ground assault, to send Security in, break out the army, anything like that. They're obviously ready to move, and we've got the Alliance over our heads right now.
"So.... we'll go for an air assault."
"Air assault.... but the dome...." Realisation dawned in Welles' eyes. "Oh my God."
"You have to sacrifice the few to save the many," Sheridan whispered.
"Then how does that make you different from Clark?"
"I'm on the side of the angels."
"Funny," said Welles, his eyes dark. "I'll bet that's just what he's saying."
* * *
Tirivail of the Storm Dancers clan could hear the sound of battle, and for one instant she wondered if it was the sound of her companions fighting Sinoval's treacherous soldiers or the sound of a combat a thousand years old.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 42