"Howdy," said Trace. "I think we have some unfinished business."
* * *
You are a fool.
This is not the time for this.
No, this is the time.
The flames were licking around him, scalding his skin, blackening and burning his soul. Marrain could feel himself burning, hear his own dying screams, remember the sheer.... relief.
It was over. Thank everything that moved and breathed, it was over!
But it wasn't. He would burn forever. He was still burning now, a thousand years on. He was still burning.
They murdered innocents! The Yolu would not support us, it was true. And why? Did you think about that? Did they think about that?
The Yolu are cowards!
No! They are afraid. Fear and cowardice are not the same. I am afraid. Every single day, I am afraid. There is no shame in fear.
You are not a warrior.
The warrior's code. We fear only failure. That was the code. Marrain had felt fear, and not of failure. He had never feared death, never once, but at the end, as the flames of his own creation consumed him, he had feared life.
The Yolu are not as powerful as we are. They are not as strong, they have less military might. And no, they are not as brave as we are. They are not to be hated for that. They are not to be reviled! Do you not see, Marrain? For what do we fight, if not to protect those who cannot protect themselves? What is the point of the strong, if they do not protect the weak? We should defend the Yolu, not attack them.
Zarwin did not understand that.
And do you? If you do.... then this will all have been worthwhile. He will understand in time, whether today, or in a thousand years. But do you understand today, Marrain?
There had been a moment.... one single moment's pause, when something had touched him, something had touched his mind, some hint of.... comprehension.
But it was there for only a moment, and then it was gone, and all the old ways returned.
He had seen his eyes reflected in Valen's own, and there had been a great darkness in them. As a child, he had once dreamed about being pursued by a horrible monster, a creature so much taller and stronger than him. The instant before he woke he had looked into that monster's eyes.... and now he saw that sight again, an adult, not a child. He saw his own eyes, reflected in those of a friend, a mentor, a leader.... a friend.
No. I do not understand.
And Valen had turned away.
The flames died, and Marrain sank to the floor. A dull, echoing noise ceased, and he realised it had been his own laughter. He looked up, and thought for a moment he saw Zarwin, across the ages, but then he realised it was Vhixarion.
"We have seen the Z'ondar," Vhixarion said. "We have seen him and Zarwin, the first Sah'thai.... He who Atoned. Zarwin did not understand...."
"Valen said he would," Marrain whispered. How wise had he been? Just how much had he known?
"We have not a tenth of Zarwin's wisdom. We have not a hundredth of the Z'ondar's wisdom. You knew them both. You are he who stood at the right hand of the Z'ondar, returned to us through the chariot of ages.
"Tell us.... Help us to understand."
"I do not understand," Marrain whispered. "I am not a God, not a prophet. I am just a man. I do not understand." He met the alien's eyes, and saw Zarwin in him once again. There had been one moment when Zarwin had teetered on the edge of comprehension.... just one moment. It had faded quickly, but it had been there.
"But together.... perhaps.... we can."
He held out his hand.
* * *
It is a strange habit of many races to want to name and record battles. The reasons for this vary. The Narns grimly remember those who died and speak their names with vengeance and dark determination, recalling often their ancestors or family or friends who fell at this battle, or at that siege. The Centauri constantly recount vainglorious tales of long–distant glories and great deeds of the past, distancing themselves from the smell of blood, the pitiful cries of the dying and the grieving relatives.
The humans.... they like history. They like to study it, record it, remember it. To study anything it must be recorded, and so the battles need names, dates, generals.
Humans like history, but they very rarely learn anything from it.
Immediately after the battle some scholars suggested the title of the Third Line, echoing of course the First Line at Earth and the Second Line at Proxima. That name fell out of use in a few years, when it became apparent that the Alliance used the name 'Third Line' to refer to an engagement at Epsilon 3 the year before.
A rival school preferred the Siege of Proxima, but that never gained widespread acceptance. Some pro–Alliance historians suggested the Battle to Reclaim Humanity, but for too many that title was too ironic and painful.
Finally, after some fifty years or so, the Battle of Proxima was accepted, giving rise to considerable disappointment at such a boring name for such an eventful occasion. But that was fifty years in the future.
And this is the present.
Most of the Dark Stars were puzzled by the sudden near–collapse of the enemy ships, but their captains reacted swiftly enough to the sight of a few Shadow ships still operating. Captain Sheridan was the first, leading from the front as always, but Captains Corwin, Daro and Kulomani were also quick to move.
The engagement was still difficult, but much less so than if the Shadows had been at full strength. Without the support of their Earthforce allies they were unable to hold the gateway to the Proxima system, and mounted a cautious retreat. The Alliance ships moved nearer and nearer to Proxima 3 itself, knowing the defence grid was waiting for them.
Of the four capital Earthforce ships, the Saint–Germain possessed limited capabilities and the Morningstar was struggling to regain some sort of combat readiness. For the Dark Thunder and the De'Molay , however, the damage was much more comprehensive.
* * *
The captain of the De'Molay could hear a million voices screaming as one, coming from a far–distant place. Beneath them she could dimly detect the hissing agony that came from around her.
And above them all, behind the screams, were the triumphant whispers of an ancient race she had never met.
Then all she could hear was her name.
Her eyes opened and she stirred, wincing at the pain in her head and side. Her second, Commander Paul Telleride, was beside her, shaking her gently.
"It's all right," she whispered, blinking past the pain and looking up at him. There was a long deep crimson gash across his forehead. "I'm awake. What the hell happened to us?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied, stepping back and awkwardly helping her up. "We're floating here. Jaiena in Engineering is doing what she can, but...."
"Damn." Bethany activated her link, patching in the signal. "Engineering," she said. "Jaiena, can you hear me?"
The familiar voice of the Chief Engineer answered a moment later, through a confused and patchwork signal. "Captain.... Engi... ing.... here."
"What's our status, Jaiena? Please tell me we can do something!"
"Ship–to–sh.... comm.... active.... Engines are.... dead. Weapons.... dead. Navigation.... We're working on...."
"Ship–to–ship comm is active?" Bethany looked up at Paul, who was bent over one of the panels, frantically working at something. "Do what you can, Jaiena. Tikopai out." She hobbled over to her second, wincing with every step. Her bridge was in complete chaos, covered in debris, small fires still burning, smoke filling the air.
And with each step, the ship itself seemed to cry with its suffering.
"Can we get through to any of the others? Are they in any better condition than we are?"
"I'm trying," muttered Paul. "Our last sensor reading was of the Dark Thunder practically falling apart, but as for the others, we.... Hallelujah!"
"Didn't know you were a religious man," she observed, and then her humour faded as she heard a clipped, precise voice.
>
"Saint–Germain to De'Molay. Anyone there, De'Molay?"
"This is De'Molay. What is your status, Saint–Germain?"
"Good to hear from you, Captain. We are changing coding signals every three seconds, so keep up."
"If we can."
"We are operational. Whatever hit us seems to have affected the Saint–Germain less than the rest of you. However, our enhanced jump engines, superior sensor array and all the other engine enhancements are inoperational. Our targeting systems and hull integrity are also not good. Our weapons systems are completely off–line."
Tikopai stood back, trying to think. The Saint–Germain's weapons systems had never been over–powerful in any case. It was a sign of desperation that the ship was here at all. What weapons they had were special Shadowtech dispersion fire, designed to distract and hinder pursuing forces while the ship fled. It was a scouting and reconnaissance vessel after all....
Tikopai paused, a dark thought rising.
A scouting vessel, designed with enhancements to the normal jump engines enabling it to enter hyperspace much more quickly and efficiently than normal Earthforce ships. With a superior Shadowtech sensor array, aimed to scan at much greater distances. With considerable Shadowtech engine enhancements designed for greater speed and manoeuverability.
"Good God," she whispered. "It's the Shadowtech. Whatever they hit us with has paralysed all the Shadowtech in our ships."
"How on earth...?" asked Paul.
"I've no idea. DeClercq, did you hear that?"
"Confirmed."
"Can you get through to Ryan and the Morningstar?"
"Negative."
"Damn! What are the Alliance up to? We're sitting blind over here."
"As far as we can tell from normal sensor functions, the Shadows are beginning to pull back. Some of the Alliance ships are heading for Proxima itself. Our normal jump engines should be on–line again soon according to the engineers. We will follow them."
"And what are you going to do when you get there? The defence grid should still be operational. It was only enhanced with Shadowtech, like the Saint–Germain, not completely built from it as we were. Oh God, let's just hope it holds. Keep trying to get through to the Morningstar and the Dark Thunder. We're going to get as much back on–line as we can. De'Molay out."
Bethany stepped back and activated her link.
"Yes?" came Jaiena's voice.
"You'd better hurry down there. I think we're going to have even less time than we thought."
* * *
Captain David Corwin had been fighting the Shadows for over two years, starting with their first appearance here, defending the Proxima system from the Minbari attackers. Now he had returned, and once again the Shadows were defending Proxima, but this time he was in the attacking force.
And this time the Shadows were being defeated.
He didn't know how or why this was happening, and that annoyed him. He had a very unpleasant feeling about all this, but he knew his duty. Whatever had hit the Shadows, seemingly focussed through the Dark Star ships, had not paralysed them completely as it had the Earthforce ships. They were still moving sluggishly; weakened, but still deadly. The Shadows were ancient and fell, their lives dedicated to warfare.
But, slowly, they were being beaten back. Clearly they were less willing to relinquish Proxima than they had been to concede other defeats, but inexorably they were being forced back.
And the Dark Stars followed them.
Corwin turned to the viewscreen and saw the face of the Brakiri there, Kulomani. "Captain," Corwin said, puzzled as to why the captain of the Dark Star 4 should contact him.
"Captain Corwin. Our battle plan has.... as Captain Daro put it, fallen completely apart. Are we to move on Proxima Three itself as originally planned?"
"Why haven't you asked Captain Sheridan about this?"
"We have.... or to be more precise, we have tried. There is no response from Dark Star One."
Corwin swore to himself. Captain Sheridan was his oldest and dearest friend, but he had changed in recent months, and not for the better. If he wanted to ignore his allies, then so be it. They had a mission here, and that was to save humanity from the consequences of their bargains.
Just why the other captains had elected him as the one to turn to, he had no idea.
"Yes, we move on Proxima Three, as per the original plan. Destroy any Shadow ships there, disable any further Earthforce ships, take out the defence grid, and then.... hopefully by then, Captain Sheridan will be able to proceed."
"And what about these four Earthforce ships here?"
"Leave them. They are disabled and dead. God alone knows what happened to them, but they're no threat to us. Proxima Three is our target, Captain. Let's go for it."
And the Dark Stars moved closer to Proxima 3.
* * *
Power in the Centauri Royal Court was a fragile and temporary thing at best. With an advancement system heavily and unofficially based on dead men's purple boots, assassination, blackmail, poison, bribery and so forth were all common. During the brief reign of Emperor Refa I and the following months, the Court had been in a state of near civil war. For almost a year, things had been quiet.
Oh, there were still the usual manoeuvrings, a few notable disappearances and various minor power struggles, but the first year of the reign of Emperor Mollari II had been marked more by struggles against alien threats than internal ones.
A false sense of security had settled over the Court. All it took was one message to revive the sense of paranoia and mistrust that had gripped them for years.
Lord–General Marrago was the last to arrive at the meeting of the Emperor's Government Council, and no one could deny he was an imposing figure. For centuries his family had protected the Centarum and the Throne. Few families boasted such an honourable and eventful past, and Marrago's own career had been distinguished in plenty.
He nodded briefly at the few of the Council he was on good terms with and then took his seat at the left hand of the Emperor. The others were of course already here, and Marrago cast his gaze across at them. First, there were those Londo trusted implicitly: the First Consort Lady Timov, Minister of Resource Procurement; Vir Cotto, Minister of Foreign Policy; Durano, Minister of Intelligence. Somewhere at the back of the room was Lennier, the Imperial Bodyguard. And there was Marrago himself, the Lord–General and Minister of War.
Then there were the others, men Marrago neither liked nor respected, but who were here by the demands of politics. He despised men of politics, and the feeling was largely mutual. No one ever forgot, or allowed him to forget, that it had been a member of his family who had murdered and deposed an Emperor.
"I take it," said Minister Vitari slowly, "that the occupation of Tolonius is proceeding as planned?" He was a precise man, of few words, and always carefully chosen. News of the victory there had come through already.
"It is," said the Emperor quickly, not allowing his Lord–General time to speak. "Lord–General Marrago and I have spoken and I have received his full report. However there is a more urgent matter to discuss. A few hours ago I received a message from the United Alliance Council, and communicated with Minister Lethke of that body.
"Our emissaries have been expelled from Kazomi Seven, our embassy is rejected, all our ships and personnel are ordered to leave Alliance space and we are not to enter their territory. There are various other matters, but the fact is, the Alliance and this Republic are now no longer allies. They may even join with the Narns in their war with us."
There was pandemonium among the lesser Ministers, but Vitari managed to break in. "If such an event occurs, can we defeat both the Narns and the Alliance?"
"No," said Marrago simply, his face shrouded with concern. "As it stands, our war with the Narns is far from a sure thing. They are currently over–extended, and weakened as a result, and this is allowing us to punch holes in their lines and reclaim our captured colonies. However, with the support of the
Alliance behind them, they will be able to hold the lines and advance on the homeworld once more. I have also heard some things about the Alliance Dark Star ships. I am convinced they are more than a match for an equal number of our capital warships."
"The Narns were beaten back easily enough when they attacked here," boasted one of the junior Ministers. "We can surely defeat them again, and the Alliance with them."
"The Narns were beaten because they underestimated us," Marrago replied smoothly. "They did not bring enough ships, thinking no doubt we were still in the state of chaos we were in some months earlier, before Emperor Mollari's ascension. They underestimated us and overextended their own resources. They will not make such mistakes again."
"What reasons has the Alliance given for breaking off diplomatic relations?" asked Durano, a thoughtful expression on his face. The Minister of Intelligence was known for being coolly calculating, with a kutari–sharp mind. He was also renowned for being politically impartial, which was why he had survived the troubles.
"The Kha'Ri have fabricated evidence to suggest we are allied with the Shadows. The Alliance Council is convinced of the truth of this." Emperor Mollari shook his head. "As the Alliance is at war with the Shadows at present, they obviously cannot maintain relations with someone allied with their enemies.
"But of course we are not. I have made no deal with the Shadows, and I am convinced that no one here would do such a thing. This is a lie by the Kha'Ri, or a trick by the Shadows to cast doubt on us."
"Lord–General," said Durano, looking directly at Marrago. "Is there any truth that the Shadows assisted your forces at Tolonius?"
The Lord–General shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "There were some.... anomalous forces present. Some Narn ships were destroyed in.... unusual circumstances. Whatever these forces were, our scanners could not accurately detect them. It is possible they were Shadow vessels."
"And you did not try to ascertain what these.... 'anomalous forces' were?"
"Enough, Durano!" snapped the Emperor. "The Lord–General is not under interrogation here. The Shadows have rarely acted openly, if this is indeed them. They are many thousands of years in advance of us. When a few of our ships fought them at the Battle of the Second Line, there were scanning problems then."
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 46