"No, sir. We can.... we can sense them. We know where they are. We can set the automatic targetting for the weapon systems, but.... I don't get it! If I didn't know better, I'd say the ship doesn't want to attack the grid."
Corwin closed his eyes. The ship didn't want to. "Get me through to Kulomani, to Daro, to anyone." He had a feeling this was no mere malfunction.
Vorlons had organic technology. Everyone knew that.
The Dark Stars were.... strange.
At times he had heard strange sounds. His crew had unusual dreams. There were distant screams. There had been that blaze of light.
The ship did not want to target the defence grid.
The Dark Star was alive. Was it so far–fetched for it to be sentient, even intelligent?
"They're having the same problem, sir."
The Dark Stars remained still, watching, as Proxima 3 came closer to annihilation.
* * *
He was dying, his blood leaching away slowly, one drop at a time. He could hear the sound of her tears, feel the waves of her sorrow. He wanted to reach out to her, but he could not seem to find the energy.
He wanted to tell her he loved her, and he was sorry.... but he could not do that either.
And then he became aware of another presence, and anger filled him. No! Not like this! Sinoval should not see him die like this. He should not.... He wanted to stand, to die as a warrior should, but he could not move. Not even to bid his love farewell.
He had regrets, too many. There were so many things he wished he could do, he wished he could have done.
He wished he could have told her.
There was a conversation, quick and urgent. He couldn't hear the words, but he could sense the voices. He could feel the presence of those nearby. There were three of them.... three, appropriate. Love, friend, enemy.
He could feel the rising anger of his love, hear the soft wind chimes of her voice. He could feel Kats curse the universe for this.
He could feel the regrets voiced by his former lord, hear the intense emotion in his voice. He could feel Sinoval choose to defy the universe for this.
And.... standing alone and silent, watching.... there was the calm grief of his friend. Tirivail was watching a warrior die a death no warrior should endure. He wished he could tell her not to grieve for him, not to seek revenge. He had a feeling Kats would speak of such things.
And then something hot and burning splashed onto his eyes. His blurred vision was filled with searing crimson, a scalding flood of pain and memories and loss and.... and life.
The universe seemed to turn around him. He could hear souls cry out, see once again the awe–inspiring majesty of the Well of Souls, the billion voices in one calling him the Traitor Knight. And he heard the voices again.
Yes. We will permit this.
His eyes opened and he blinked away the remains of Sinoval's blood. He could move. He could see.
The first thing he saw was Kats. And the first words he heard were Sinoval's.
"I have been told there are other ways to do that. But I am not a First One, and blood, it seems, is the only language a warrior understands."
"I.... feel...." He did not know what to say. It was strange. A mere instant before, he had been willing to give anything for a last chance to talk to Kats, to Tirivail.... and now that he could talk, he did not know what to say. "Am I going to die?"
"We are all going to die," Sinoval replied. "But in your case.... not today. It is a.... trick the Soul Hunters have, a power derived from their ancestors, and one it seems I have inherited. A little transfer of life from the Well of Souls, through me, to you. You will live."
"Why did you do this?" he asked. "I betrayed you. I betrayed...."
"I have learned something recently. Everyone deserves a second chance. And in some cases a third. I suggest you think quickly as to what you plan to do with yours." He left, moving with the silence of a shadow on glass, and the determination of a man who knows his future.
Kozorr turned to Tirivail. She looked at him, then bowed her head. She too left.
And then he turned to Kats. "Well?" she said. "You have your second chance at life. What are you to do with it?"
"What can I do?" he said harshly. "I.... swore to serve Sonovar. I have betrayed one lord already.... for what I knew.... what I thought.... was right. I cannot betray another."
"You do not see it, do you? There is only one person you can ever betray, and it is not Sinoval, it is not Sonovar. It is not me.
"It is yourself. What does your heart tell you to do?"
He turned to look at her, and bowed his head, weeping unashamedly. "I love you, my lady," he whispered through his tears.
She knelt beside him, placed her arms around him, and kissed him once, gently. Then she laid her head on his chest.
"And I love you, Kozorr."
* * *
"Listen to me! Dammit, listen!
"I don't know if there's anyone there. I don't know if you've got a personality, a mind.... anything. Oh, God, I must be mad. I'm talking to my chair.
"But if there is anyone here, anything at all.... will you at least listen to me? Whatever's stopping you targeting the defence grid.... we have to do it. There are people on Proxima. A lot of people. They are going to die.
"Can you hear me?"
There was nothing, and Corwin bowed his head, sinking to his knees. He did not know if there was anyone in the Agamemnon, but the screams, the whispers, the cries.... they had to come from something.
A long shot at best. What did he know about Vorlon technology? For all he knew he had imagined everything. Maybe he was mad. He had been shouting at his chair, after all. The crew weren't looking at him. He knew what they were thinking.
He sat back down. "Is the defence grid still readying itself?"
"Yes, sir. We estimate four minutes only before it fires."
"And it's still targeting the planet?"
"Yes."
"And we still can't fire on it?"
"No."
"Nor can the other ships?"
"No."
"And there are no support ships near enough?"
"No."
Corwin sat back down on the chair he had been shouting at. There was no one he could talk to, nothing he could do now. He had nothing left to give save one thing only.
He knew what to do.
"Target the nearest satellite. Ram it." Maybe there would be enough of the ship left afterwards to attack another satellite, although he wasn't sure. He had no idea how durable the Vorlon ship could be.
"Yes, sir."
David.
The voice came from nowhere, from inside his mind, and he started. "Lyta?" he whispered. "Guerra, belay that."
There is someone here, David. I can help you talk to her.
"Where is she?"
And then there was only darkness.
* * *
The Saint–Germain was moving slowly, too slowly for DeClercq's comfort. He could hear once again the message of doom for humanity. He had met President Clark only twice, but he was not surprised by what Clark had now done. There had been something glinting at the back of the President's eyes.
"What are we going to do when we get there?" asked Ensign Morgan. "We still haven't got the weapons on–line."
"We will do.... what we have to," DeClercq replied. "What we have to."
* * *
They were nowhere. A void, a black and lonely place. At first Corwin was alone, but then there was a shimmering light and Lyta stood beside him, light flashing around her, embracing, protecting her.
"Where are we?" he asked. "How did you...?"
"Your body is still where it was. Our minds.... we are inside the Agamemnon, inside its dark heart. She is here."
"Who? Lyta, we don't have much time. Who are you talking about?"
"You can't see her yet. Are you sure you wish to do this? It will.... not be easy."
"Yes, I'm sure."
Gently, Lyta to
ok his hand. She was surprisingly warm to the touch.
A great light appeared before them, wings of fire flickering and dancing. At the centre of the ever–changing pattern was a woman, her mouth open in a silent scream, the flames crackling around her body. She was trapped in an orb, no, a column, a lantern.... an infinity of shapes, each one trapping and binding her.
And elsewhere, all around them, above, below, in front, behind, there were tiny pin–pricks of light. Corwin could dimly see others, some near, some impossibly far.
"Who is she?" he asked, Proxima momentarily forgotten beside the majesty and terror of the scene before him.
"She is the power source of your ship. There is one like her in every ship in the Dark Star fleet, and others spread throughout the galaxy. There is one on Proxima. I can.... feel him. All telepaths, every one of them. This is.... the network, as we see it.
"Her name is Carolyn. Carolyn Sanderson."
"Can she hear me?"
"Yes."
"Carolyn," he said, softly at first, but he repeated the name more loudly. She turned, and in her eyes he saw a reflection of the scene around him, an infinite pool with a million sparkling lights. And a million reflected screams. "Can you hear me, Carolyn?"
"Keep saying her name," Lyta whispered, the words hoarse and pained. "She must remember who she was."
--Help.... me--
"What do you want me to do, Carolyn?"
--Free.... us--
"We will try," said Lyta. "We.... will.... try. But, first.... we need your help."
"The Proxima defence grid is being trained on the planet. There are millions of people there. They are going to die. We have to destroy the defence grid, but we can't...."
--Cannot.... Light will not.... let.... us--
"Light?" Corwin whispered. Then came understanding. "The Vorlons. They want this to happen."
"A tragedy," Lyta said. "A disaster they plan to spin and weave, creating a world of dead souls to cry out in revenge and set all worlds against the Enemy. Hurry, David.... I can't.... maintain this.... much longer. They will.... find.... me."
"Carolyn. Please. Help me here, and I promise. I will free you. All of you. I give you my word."
--Free.... us? - -
"Yes."
--We can.... give you.... time.... little... - -
Corwin's heart leapt. "It'll be enough. Thank you, Carolyn."
--Light.... strong--
"I will help you," said Lyta. "David, come and see me afterwards. You must. Don't let anyone stop you."
"I promise."
Lyta stepped forward and reached out her hand. Carolyn turned to face her and stretched out one arm. Lyta's hand passed through the flames of light and an expression of great pain crossed her features. Then she touched Carolyn, and the pain ceased.
The flames died down. Lyta turned back to Corwin. "Remember.... come and see me...."
"I will," he replied. Lyta's hand slipped from his, and the void faded.
Corwin sat bolt upright in his chair. "Captain. We can...."
"I know," he said. "Take the grid out. As fast as we can."
Was there enough time? Proxima held its breath.
* * *
Somewhere on Proxima, in a hidden, underground world, a trapped telepath's screams grew less for a moment, and his head bowed.
"Dare I ask?" said Morden.
"It seems the network is being disrupted," said the old man pensively. "Temporarily, only, I am sure, but.... I do not like this."
* * *
On a passenger freighter somewhere away from Proxima, Mrs. Tamara Winter woke from a troubled sleep, holding the blanket tight around her. For long minutes she trembled, hearing once again the voices speaking to her, begging her for help. This time, however, there seemed to be a hint of hope in them.
Her sleep was troubled.
* * *
Marrago felt the reassuring weight of the maurestii in a secret pouch by his leg. Many scorned the maurestii as a weapon for women and children, but it had certain advantages over the kutari, not least that it was much easier to conceal. Of course many courtiers would not dream of hiding their noble weapons, but then they tended to be the sort who visited taverns and waved their unbloodied blades around to gain mock renown. True soldiers knew that survival was always better than honour.
Besides, Durano would notice a kutari. He might not notice a maurestii.
The Minister for Intelligence was standing quite still in the corner of the study. Marrago had to admire his patience. Another man might have feigned interest in a painting, or a book, or a statue, but not Durano. His glass of water was on the table before him, completely untouched.
"It is not poisoned, you know," Marrago observed, gesturing at the drink.
"I never thought it was," replied Durano in his natural, dry monotone. "Poison is not your way. However, it is more that I am not thirsty."
"Ah. Well, welcome to my estate. I do not think you have been here before."
"I did not think I would be welcome."
"All friends of the Republic are welcome here."
"I have always been a loyal servant of the Republic."
"As am I."
Durano sighed. "Lord–General.... let us eschew this banter. We both know why I am here. You have left a trail a blind man could follow, would he dare but look."
"What are you referring to?"
"Please, Lord–General, do not insult my intelligence. You remember the meeting with the Emperor and his Council. You remember, I am sure, the situation with the alien Shadows. I am equally sure you remember the three possibilities we discussed. The documentation given to us by the United Alliance is a forgery; the Shadows are involving themselves in our affairs with the Narns for the purpose of spreading dissent; or someone has requested their aid."
"I remember."
"As I said, Lord–General, you have left a trail a blind man could follow. It is fortunate for you, perhaps, and unfortunate for many others, that our Court is filled with blind men these days, the Emperor among them. Who would be better able to co–ordinate our battle plans and to arrange for the assistance of these Shadows than our Lord–General? I have spoken with your captains, reviewed evidence about the Narn assault here last year....
"In short, you are the one who made this alliance. Am I correct?"
"It is.... a theory." Marrago's hand clenched in his pocket, feeling the cold hilt of his knife.
"We both know it is more than that."
"Well, what are you going to do now?"
"The Emperor demanded that I uncover the truth of this. Now I have done so, I should report to him. However.... you are his friend, and have been a longtime servant of the Republic. Also, I know you did not do this for personal gain, for power or pride. Your motives were altruistic I am sure, but as you see, the consequences of your deeds are more far–reaching than we could have envisaged.
"The Emperor must know of this, but who will tell him? I, or you?"
"You spoke to my captains, you said?"
"Yes. I think most of them suspected, but none said as much aloud. You have a most loyal...."
"Did you look into their eyes?"
"Their eyes?"
"I know the names of every crew member on every ship in my command. I try to talk to as many of them as possible whenever we go into battle. I look into their eyes when I do so, and in each and every one I see fear. And when the battle is over, I talk to them again, and look into their eyes once more, and I see joy, relief.... triumph.
"All of those men have things to live for. They have wives, lovers, children, parents, hopes, aspirations, dreams. We could have fought the Narns alone.... and maybe they would have won, and maybe we would have won, but either way, so many of those soldiers, those hopes, those aspirations, those dreams.... they would all be floating dead in space, lifeless husks.
"But because of my actions, they are alive. There are people here, on this world, who are still alive, who still have their loved one
s.
"So go back and talk to my captains, Durano. And talk to their crew and their families. Look into all those eyes....
"And then come back and dare to tell me that what I did was wrong!"
Durano took a momentary step back, but then he recovered, his mask slipping only for an instant. "You have forgotten something," he said harshly. "It is not my place to say what is right and what is wrong. I serve the Emperor, and I do as he bids."
"Ah.... well, there is the difference between us. You serve the Emperor. I serve the Republic."
"I see. I will not go to him directly. I leave the matter in your hands, Lord–General. You may tell him yourself, or you may, if you wish, choose another route. The same route taken by Lord Valo."
Durano moved forward, his eyes directly meeting Marrago's. He brushed past the Lord–General and went to the door. Then he turned, and Marrago turned to meet him.
"You were wrong. I did look into all their eyes, and I saw all the things you said. But I also look into the eyes of everyone I meet, including those here, those not soldiers.
"And I saw almost three billion dead bodies if the Alliance turns against us and joins the Narns.
"Think about that, Lord–General.... but do not take too long."
* * *
It was unprecedented, unheard of. Never before in the long history of the Vorlon race had a part of their network broken away and become severed. It was fortunate perhaps that the Shadow ships had fled Proxima, abandoning their allies, and the few that remained were being chased down and attacked by a handful of the Dark Star fleet.
As it was, the Vorlons noticed this, and were curious. And they were angry.
The Dark Stars were little more than mobile nodes of the network, controlled by it, but also controlling the minds and powers of the telepaths sealed within them. Somehow, through unknown means, the telepath bound within the Dark Star 3 had broken free of the network, and the shock of that had caused the transient severing of the links with the nearest permanent node, Byron. Thus the links to the remainder of the Dark Star fleet were severed. All this was only temporary, and as the battle had already been won, it would not be fatal.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 49