"Them? Heh, they aren't going to win. We've got those Shadows on our side, not to mention the defence grid and the new Earthforce ships. Nah, Proxima's safe enough. In any case, even if they do win, they aren't going to slag the planet. They're going to want their precious Delenn back, and that'll take time.... time I can use getting away from here. I've got friends all over this galaxy."
"Del.... enn."
"I didn't hear that. Were you saying something?" More pain.
"Killed her. You.... killed.... her."
"No, not me. That was you, in case you've forgotten. Wonderful thing, i'n't it? Anyone can do anything at all, with just the right motivation. You killed her, not me. I won't shed any tears. What do I care about some alien bitch? But you did."
Everything seemed to move around him, and Smith realised Trace had seized his collar and pulled him up. There was a hard slam against the wall, and his body shook.
"You killed her. You shot and killed an unarmed woman you cared about. See? You're just like all the rest of us. That means I've won. You're nothing now. Nothing but a dead man." Smith's vision focussed on something mere inches from his eye. A PPG. "Hey, maybe I'll go looking for that telepath of yours. My backers might not be after her kind any more, but I'm sure there's a use for her somewhere. I hear telepaths are great in the sack."
"Kill.... you...."
"No. No, I don't think you will." Trace smiled. "Say goodbye to the...."
"Freeze!" barked a voice from nowhere. All Smith could see was the weapon just in front of his face. The voice echoed in his mind. Small wonder he couldn't recognise it. "Security!"
"What the...?" barked Trace. He pulled back his weapon and stepped away from the wall. Smith slid down and felt the impact on the ground. "Allan! For God's sake, it's me. What are you doing here? Thought you'd be hiding under your desk or something." Trace was chuckling. "Anyway, gimme a moment and then you and I can go somewhere safe and ride out this attack."
"Drop your weapon."
"What?"
"I said drop your weapon."
"Allan.... that is you? Not some alien shapeshifter or something in disguise? It's me, remember, the guy paying you a fortune to keep off his back."
"I can't let you kill someone in cold blood, Trace. You know that."
"Then turn round. It'll only take a moment."
"No. Drop your weapon and leave the area."
"Oh, for the love of.... Why did you wait until now to develop a social conscience? You never had one before."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I just remembered what this uniform and this badge used to mean. Now drop the weapon."
"Allan, believe it or not, you're something of a friend, so I'll say something to you that I wouldn't say to anyone else. This attack is obviously rattling you. So, head over to my club, get yourself a few drinks on the house. I'll join you shortly, we'll play some cards and everything'll be back to normal, right?"
"No. I've had enough of being a joke. Drop your weapon. I won't say that again."
"Dammit, Allan. I tell you what. I'll make sure you get a real nice headstone, okay?"
There was a blur of movement, the sound of a PPG firing, and then of a body falling to the ground. Smith shook his head and opened his eyes. Zack Allan looked directly at him.
"Yeah?" he said. "What? Have I got something on my nose?" He shook his head. "Damn, I don't believe I just did that. Holy...."
"Why.... did.... you?"
"We got a report in about the Alliance attack. We were ordered here to keep things quiet, get people off the streets and so on. Yeah, so we didn't do a very good job, what the hell do you expect? Most of the other guys stayed at the base drinking themselves silly."
"Why.... you.... here?"
"Ah, this is nuts. I had a dream, okay! A bloody dream! She was in it, and I don't know.... I just knew I had to come here and something.... good would happen. Like I bloody deserve anything good happening to me at the moment. Ah, come on, get up."
Leaning on Allan, Smith managed to rise slowly. There was pain all over his body, his head was pounding and his vision was blurred, but he could stand, and he would not fall.
"Trace?" he asked.
"Dead. Drawing a weapon on a Security officer of Proxima Three. Damn, he shoulda listened to me. What about.... you know.... her?"
Smith turned to look at Delenn. Her face was so.... calm. He saw a gobbet of spittle on her cheek, and anger flared within him. Limping heavily, he managed to move over to her side and knelt down, wincing. Gently, he reached out and wiped the spittle from her face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm...."
Her eyes opened.
* * *
There was no breath, no sound, no thought. Nothing disturbed the silent, still power of the tableau. Sinoval had not seen this in his vision, but then the whole series of events had run contrary to what he had seen.
So he was forced to.... improvise.
"You can kill me easily enough," he observed, his dark eyes peering directly up at Tirivail.
"Minbari do not kill Minbari," she said, an automatic reflex.
"That is a priestling concept. We did kill each other. In the old days it was all we ever did, a test of courage and skill. That was all our lives were. In the days before Valen. The days, no doubt, Sonovar is trying to restore."
"I am a warrior. I serve my lord."
"And if your lord is wrong?"
"That is not for me to say."
"It was for Sonovar. I was his lord, and he betrayed me. He thought I was wrong."
"You betrayed us! You were one of us, a warrior, and you made alliances with the enemy, with the Shagh Toth. You abandoned Minbar, you...."
"I followed the path I set for myself, nothing more. I was wrong, Tirivail daughter of Takier, and I admit that. But the past cannot be altered. It simply is. We guide the future."
"Lord Sonovar said...." She paused.
"What did he say?"
"A great many things," she whispered, the words hollow. "He said a great many things."
"Where is Kozorr?"
"Dead," she whispered. "Or dying. I.... I killed him. He would rather I killed him than his worker. I don't.... what sort of warrior is he? What sort of warrior would give his life to save a worker?"
"You don't understand."
"No. No, of course I don't. How can I?"
"Well? Are you going to kill me?"
She stepped back. "No," she said bitterly, replacing her pike by her side. "I don't know what my future demands of me, but I will not kill my own people."
Sinoval smiled and rose slowly to his feet. "You have chosen well." He paused. "Do you know.... I had a vision, a year ago. I saw myself here, in this place, surrounded by nine of my enemies. I knew I would probably die here.... but someone else told me I would not. I have another destiny."
"But still you came."
"Yes. You see.... I like to clean up my own messes. Are you going to return to Sonovar?"
"He is my lord. I have to obey him."
"When you do, tell him this from me. If he is willing to talk, then I am ready to listen. Minbari should not be fighting Minbari."
"And that is why you came here?"
"No, at least not wholly. I hoped Sonovar would be here, and we could.... settle things. As it is, the resolution will have to wait. But remember to tell him. I am willing to listen."
"I will do so."
"Then all is not lost. Go, daughter of Takier, take your companions and leave." So saying, he picked up Stormbringer and departed from the place of his death.
* * *
"What the hell is happening?"
Captain David Corwin had seen some strange and inexplicable things in his life, and a sense of paranoia had built up as a result. He could not believe this was really happening. There was a trick here. This was some sort of deception, some subtle plan, something.
That conviction was part paranoia, but more than that it sprang from the core of idealism he still cheri
shed in his heart even after all he had seen. Who could possibly turn the defence grid on humanity? These mysterious allies of Captain Sheridan's.... they wouldn't do this, surely.
"There's no doubt about it, sir. The defence grid is turning on Proxima and preparing to fire."
"No, that.... that doesn't make any sense. That...."
"Captain, we're picking up a message. It's going out to all frequencies."
"Put it on."
This is an emergency message....
* * *
.... to any ships in Proxima space. I don't care if you are human or alien or whatever. The defence grid has been turned inwards, towards Proxima. President Clark is dead, but before he died he turned the grid inwards. This was all.... all a.... plot.
Whoever's out there. Do something. For God's sake, do something!
Welles coughed. He did not know how long things would take. He had wasted time trying to convince the staff here of the situation. Too much time.
He hunched up nearer the commpanel, biting back the pain. He had no time to hurt.
This is an emergency message to.... to....
He coughed again. There was more blood.
This is an emergency message to....
He had no time to pass out.
* * *
Welles had had more success than he might have envisaged. Not only had Corwin heard his desperate warning, listening with greater and greater incredulity with every word, but others had received it as well. On the Saint–Germain, Captain DeClercq listened with horror and tried to wring even more speed from a near–crippled ship. General Ryan caught a few words only, and raged in his helplessness. Captains Tikopai and Barnes could not hear it, which was probably just as well.
The Agamemnon was the first of the Dark Star ships to arrive within reach of Proxima 3 itself, but only just. Captains Daro and Kulomani were right behind.
"Captain Corwin," said Kulomani. "We have received this message. It could be a trick."
"No, I don't.... think so. He sounded genuine, but.... Where's Captain Sheridan?"
"Chasing down the few remaining Enemy ships." Kulomani was scornful. "He is not here, and we cannot contact him. What are your orders, Captain?"
In other circumstances Corwin might have wondered just why everyone was coming to him, but he did not have time to wonder.
"Destroy the defence grid. Take it apart. Completely."
"As you say."
Corwin turned to his bridge crew. "Well, you have your orders," he snapped. "Target and destroy the defence grid."
One of the techs looked up. "Uh, Captain.... we have a problem."
* * *
In all his life Lord–General Marrago had known true love for only two things: the Republic, and his daughter, by adoption if not by blood. Lyndisty was the only living being he loved, and the only living being he had been able to bring himself to love. A poet had written once that the only true love was that between parent and child, and Marrago had understood that since the first moment he had held Lyndisty in his arms.
He found himself thinking about her true father, dead these past two and a half decades. A good friend, a fine soldier, whose untimely death had left behind a wife and young child. Marrago had promised to take care of them, and had promptly married Drusella and adopted Lyndisty. He had never truly come to care for Drusella, perhaps because his heart had been lost at his first sight of his daughter.
And now he had possibly doomed them both.
He looked around him, noticing the minor blooms of colour in the dark ravages of his garden. The consequences of too many years without being cared for could not be erased by a few hours work here and there. He had had many dreams of a rich, bright, shining garden, of sitting at peace and growing old and watching his grandchildren grow.
But he knew he could never do that. His first love, the Republic, was a demanding mistress, consuming all his time and energy. And now it would perhaps consume his daughter.
He smelled the soft vapour of her perfume and heard the gentle sound of her footfall. He smiled. She was trying to sneak up on him. She was improving, too. Evidently she had taken his lessons to heart.
"I know you are there," he said softly, smiling.
"I've been watching you for ten minutes," she said, walking round into view and kneeling down on the dull grass in front of him. She was smiling, and he couldn't help smiling as well. Something about it was contagious.
"Ah." He truly hadn't noticed her standing there for that long. He told her so.
"You are joking, surely? You must have known I was there all the time. You are the best."
"I wish that were so. I'm getting old." He looked at her, drinking in her radiant beauty. He would do anything for her, anything at all. Then he noticed something, and sat forward. There was a lump and a bruise on the side of her head. "What happened?"
"Oh? This?" She reached a hand to the bruise. "It is nothing, Father. It...."
"Lyndisty! What happened?"
"I was struck by a rock. I was attacked by some ruffians while delivering your package."
A slow fear gripped him. So, the first part of his bargain with the Shadows had been paid. How dare they endanger his daughter like this! It was he who had made the bargain with them, not Lyndisty. They had no business involving her.
"Are.... are you all right?"
"Yes, father. I killed two, and the person the package was meant for came and helped me with the others. I gave it to him, and left. Your.... friend was waiting for me when I got back. He was.... strange. I didn't like him."
"He's not my friend, Lyndisty. He's just an.... associate. Our business is now done." He knew that for a lie the instant he said it, and regretted the necessity. He had never lied to Lyndisty before. But she had to believe this. She must have nothing more to do with the Drakh and their Dark Masters. "Have nothing more to do with him."
"Are you all right, father? You sound.... worried."
"I am fine. I.... was just upset to hear you were hurt. How is your mother?" As a feeble attempt to change the subject it would not have fooled the greenest courtier, but then Marrago had never been a courtier, and nor was Lyndisty.
"She is well. She sent me a list of eligible men a few days ago. I am far too old to remain unmarried."
Marrago laughed. "How many names were on this list?"
"Sixty–three, although I have managed to whittle away some thirty or so. As for the others.... some further study may be necessary."
She smiled, and Marrago laughed again. Drusella was a true creature of the Court and she had made repeated efforts to drag Lyndisty into that life, ignoring the fact that she preferred to follow the lifestyle of her father. No true daughter of the Court would rather spend her time on spaceships surrounded by soldiers, or training with kutari and maurestii.
"Follow your heart," he said softly. "Marry for love, not because anyone tells you to."
"A strange idea. Have you ever been in love, father?"
"Not in the way you mean. But I have known happiness in my life, and I will know greater for seeing you wed to a fine man who will love you and look after you."
"Or me look after him."
"Or that. Always follow your heart, Lyndisty." He paused, and then smiled. "But do it quickly, or I'll be too old to spoil my grandchildren properly."
"Oh, father. You'll still be fit and healthy to spoil my grandchildren."
"Oh–hoh. Are you planning any then? Do any of those thirty or so young men catch your eye?"
"Well, Minister Cotto is attractive enough.... in a very shy sort of way. And he is gaining power and influence. He might be a good match."
"I know Vir.... a little. A good man. You could do much worse. He...." Lyndisty's head suddenly snapped up as she looked over his shoulder. Marrago strained to listen and he heard the soft footsteps of his chief servant. He hadn't heard them at first. He sighed. He truly was getting old.
"Your pardon, Lord–General, Lady. Minister Durano is here to see you
, Lord–General."
"Ah. Send him to my private study. See that he was a glass of water, lightly chilled." Durano did not drink brivare. He always said he preferred his mind clear and unmuddled. "I will be with him shortly."
"Yes, Lord–General."
Lyndisty waited until the butler had gone, and then her eyes began to sparkle. "Secret matters of state?" she said. "You will tell me what he's here for, won't you, father?"
"If it is not too secret," he said. It was however very difficult to keep secrets from Lyndisty.
"Actually, Minister Durano was also on the list mother sent me."
"What? He's twenty years too old for you. At least."
"Ah, but he's not married. He hasn't taken even one wife. And he has a large estate, and a high–ranking post with a lot of influence. And he's very rich. Maybe a little.... unexciting."
Marrago shook his head, smiling, and rose to his feet. An old knee injury pulled at him and he winced. "Do as you wish, Lyndisty. I will always support you. Do you want to come inside? I think it is getting a little cold out here."
"It's not cold. Besides, I like it out here."
"So do I. I will not be long, I hope." He turned to begin the walk back to his house. It was usually a short walk, but today it felt very long.
Durano was known for many things, among them his complete political neutrality. He was also fearless, keen–minded and fully capable of obeying Londo's orders.
Marrago hoped he would not have to kill him.
* * *
"We just.... can't target any of the satellites."
Corwin had long ago all but stopped breathing. His head was pounding, blood rushing in his ears. He could see the millions of people on Proxima, and he could see the defence grid. He could see a million deaths.
And he could see himself, sitting here, unable to stop it.
"What do you mean? Is it some sort of stealth tech, like the Minbari had?" That was a stretch, certainly. For years the Minbari ships could not be targeted by Earthforce vessels due to vastly superior technology. But the Dark Stars were not Earthforce ships, they had been crafted by one of the oldest races alive. Could humanity, even aided by the Shadows and their servants, produce a defence grid that the Vorlons could not target?
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 48