It was however a great inconvenience. It was unlikely the planned and long–awaited punishment of Proxima would now go ahead. It was also possible, though unlikely, that their part in all this would be detected. Clark was dead, Ambassador Sheridan missing and Welles could be dealt with. Clark had turned the defence grid inwards, the final act of a cowardly loser, preferring death to defeat. It was doubtful if the true architects would be discovered.
However, it was still an inconvenience. It would take some time for the Vorlons to trace the exact cause of the disruption to the network, the exact point at which it originated.
When they did, their anger would be manifest, although perhaps not immediately.
Unlike wizards or technomages, Vorlons are seldom quick to anger, but like both they are subtle, and once angered the results are terrible.
* * *
Freed from the strange impediment preventing their actions, the Dark Star ships now launched themselves on the defence grid. Captain Corwin in particular was filled with both a great fury and a determination to triumph here. He had been to Proxima, spent many years there. It was not his home, but it was a place he knew. He would not let it be destroyed.
The others, the aliens, acted perhaps a little more slowly. Proxima was their enemies' world. What matter if one of their enemies chose to exact revenge on his own people? However, there were some who still remembered the horror that had engulfed Kazomi 7, and had resolved not to let the same thing happen to another world, even to an enemy.
But there were many satellites, and the Dark Star ships were limited.
One satellite, far away from the others, far away from the ships, prepared to fire. It was nothing but a soulless piece of machinery. It did not care that it had been designed to protect those same people it would now be destroying. It had no heart, no susceptibility to pleas for mercy, to compassion, to forgiveness.
A minute before it was ready Corwin saw it, and made a desperate effort to get within range, knowing he could not. The Agamemnon was too far away. It had all been for nothing.
But then a ship came into view.
* * *
DeClercq had been following the situation as much as he could with the limited sensors available on the Saint–Germain. Something unusual had happened only a few minutes earlier, and a hurried consultation with Engineering had revealed that whatever had been paralysing the ship was now gone. It would, however, still take time to repair the damage.
"Any word on the weapons?" he asked again. His heart was beating so fast, he felt it might tear itself from his chest. He knew what had to be done. He had received the message warning them all of what was going to happen to Proxima. He had not expected the Alliance fleet to do anything about it, and was pleasantly surprised to see that they were.
However, he too had seen the one isolated satellite, ready to fire.
"Weapons still inoperational," said Morgan.
It hardly mattered anyway. The Saint–Germain's weapons systems were little better than standard for an Earthforce capital ship. Her purpose had been to flee rather than go into battle.
It was a task perfectly suited for Francis Xavier DeClercq, the coward.
"Uh, Captain?" said Ensign Morgan. "The satellite's about to fire."
"I know," he said with perfect equanimity. Even had the Saint–Germain's weapons been operational, they would not have been able to destroy the defence satellite soon enough. The Dark Stars were ships of war, designed for this sort of thing. The Saint–Germain was not.
"What are your orders, Captain?"
"Ram it," said Francis Xavier DeClercq, the coward.
"Oh, boy. Setting ramming speed. Uh, Captain.... what if we ram too fast? I mean, is there meant to be a proper speed for this sort of thing? They didn't really let us carry out trials on this in training."
DeClercq did not answer. The joke was Morgan's way of facing the end. DeClercq wished he could find relief in humour, but as it was he closed his eyes and saw the Minbari sweeping forward, devils from the dark skies, lightning from the clouds of heaven. He saw himself fleeing from them, and his friends and colleagues dying in the cold vastness of space, a million miles from home.
"I will not fail again," he had promised himself on taking command of the Saint–Germain.
And he had not.
He did not open his eyes.
* * *
The final satellite was destroyed. The entire defence grid was destroyed. Proxima lived a little longer.
* * *
Her eyes were green, an endless pool shining and whirling, countless stars burning within, the knowledge and memories of a lifetime enshrined there. In them Dexter Smith could see his own soul, his own deeds, the longing of the past, the promise of the future.
Delenn blinked, and the image was shattered, but the memory would stay with him always.
"You're alive," he whispered. In a clearer mindset he would admit that was not the most profound observation he had ever made. Her eyes were open, she was breathing, she was moving, her soft skin was warm. Of course she was alive. He had never known anyone more alive.
"But I.... I saw you...."
She shook her head weakly, resting close to him. He gently took her hand and felt for a pulse, wondering belatedly if she even had a pulse any more. She did, strong and vital. The wound of the PPG blast had faded, as if it had never been there.
"I thought she was dead," Allan said.
"She.... she was."
Yes, said a voice, an alien voice, one filled with the wisdom of the ages. She was dead.
Still resting close to Smith, Delenn looked up, over his shoulder. He followed her gaze and saw the ghostly shadow of an alien, a member of a race he had never seen before. He was tall and aristocratic, great wisdom and understanding in his eyes.
"Lorien," Delenn whispered. "You.... said...."
I told you of the two paths before you. I told of the darkness through which you would walk, and the terrible sadness you would encounter.
"Yes, you did."
And because of your sacrifice.... good has been done. A tiny feather on the scales at the moment, but it will grow until it weighs more than all the grief and loss in the galaxy.
"She was dead?" Smith said. "I.... I killed her...."
She was dead, but her soul had not fully passed beyond. Something kept it here, grief and great loss. The Soul Hunters know the potential in such things. I cannot create life, that is the prerogative of the universe alone, but sometimes the universe rewards those who deserve it.
Your life is your own once more, Delenn of Mir. The struggle is not yet over, and none of us can see the ending of it.... but today there has been a small victory.
And for you, Dexter Smith, and you, Zack Allan, remember what you have seen this day. Remember, understand and learn. Your lives also begin anew this day.
The alien smiled and nodded once, briefly. Then he was gone, as if he had never been there.
"Was it just me," Zack asked, "or did no one understand a word of that?"
"I think we've been given a second chance," said Smith slowly. "We should go somewhere safe. Delenn, can you walk?" She nodded. Gently, tenderly, he helped her to her feet. "Where can we go?"
"Well," Zack said, "there's a few places around here she might be safe. We've got Security patrolling the sector after all. I think I know somewhere. Come on."
"Thank you," Delenn said, looking at both of them. Once more Smith was lost in her eyes. He nodded once, smiling sadly. Then, unable to think of anything to say, he followed Zack towards the safe place. And it was the safer for them being there together.
* * *
This is General Edward Ryan, of the Resistance Government of Humanity.
President Clark is confirmed dead. Ambassador David Sheridan has fled. Security Chief Welles is injured and detained in hospital. For the moment, Proxima is under my control.
We surrender to the forces of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven. We stand down all ships, all ar
ms and all military forces. I have issued this order.
We surrender.
* * *
A victory of sorts. Sinoval stood around, staring out into the depths of space. He could see a million stars, and it brought home to him in considerable measure his own insignificance. He understood Valen had come here often, to this.... observation post. He could understand why.
"What do you see?" he asked his companion thoughtfully. She had been silent all this time.
"Stars," Tirivail said. She sounded.... preoccupied, as if she had been deep in thought. "A lot of stars."
"Stars, yes. But there is something else. It is the entire universe. Everything is out there. Everything. We are nothing but a tiny part, a cosmic insignificance, all of us. We are nothing. We live, we die.... all unnoticed by the universe itself."
"That is.... not exactly what the religious caste tell us."
"I have been seeing things with a new perspective recently. Mortal lives are.... short. Cherish them while they are here. Make mistakes certainly, for that is a part of life.... but grasp every chance of redemption that comes your way. Some will have the courage to do so.... others will not.
"Which are you, daughter of Takier? Which do you think is Sonovar?"
"Kozorr.... he will live?"
"He will live."
"Then surely death is not the end. You brought him back to life. You saved him. You can do that to everyone, over and over again, surely...."
"I never said death was the end. I also never said there would be no price for his return.... but that is not your concern for the moment. Do you often think about death?"
"I.... sometimes."
"I used to think about it all the time. I used to dream of an honourable and glorious death.... last survivor on the battlefield, surrounded by my enemies, my blade held high, running, roaring to the path of my noble end." He shook his head sadly. "We rarely get that which we desire most.... which is why it should be grasped all the more tightly when the chance comes."
"Does he love her?"
"Kats? I believe so. She certainly loves him."
"How? How can he love a worker?"
"You have seen her for yourself. Maybe you can answer your own question. As for me.... I cannot. Love is beyond my knowledge, for it is beyond my experience. But I doubt that even he could answer you to your satisfaction. You do not understand him?"
"No."
"How well can any of us understand another? You will be returning to Sonovar?"
"He is my lord. I swore to serve him. Something in my life must make sense. If not my duties, then what?"
"What, indeed? Tell him what I have told you.... and good fortune follow you. I think.... I think you are destined for great things. And if you are not.... then do great things anyway. Destiny can be rewritten."
"I thought I would find you here." Sinoval recognised the voice, and he turned, a soft smile on his face. Tirivail did not, and she reached for her pike. Her eyes darkened at the sight of the unfamiliar warrior. "Valen came here often. He said he liked the...." He noticed Tirivail, and his eyes widened. "Berevain," he whispered. "No...." he said a moment later. "But the likeness.... you have her eyes."
Tirivail looked shocked. "How do you...? Who...?"
"I am Marrain, my lady. You saved my life once, remember? At Ashinagachi. I never repaid you."
Tirivail stumbled back. "You are dead. You...." She turned to Sinoval. "I will give Lord Sonovar your message." Then she left the room, her movements swift, but uncertain.
"I think more has survived than you may have thought," Sinoval observed. "How did...?"
"We will be leaving. I will not be returning to Cathedral, and the Tak'cha will not be going back to Sonovar. We have.... some.... understandings to reach."
"Good fortune. Then the Tak'cha will leave this war?" Marrain nodded. "Then it will just be Minbari against Minbari.... as it should be. Or so I hope."
"What are you saying?"
"I had a vision. There should have been nine warriors here to fight me, Sonovar amongst them. But there were only four. Sonovar did not come. Someone, or something stopped him. I do not know why.... and I do not like mysteries."
"Valen told me something once. The universe will resolve all mysteries for us before the end."
"But will we like the answers? It does not matter. The answers will come whether we like them or not." He fell silent, and stared out into space.
"I assume the temporal devices have been switched off again?" Marrain added conversationally.
"Yes, I.... How did you know about them?"
"Valen had them all deactivated soon after his arrival. Some of them had been.... malfunctioning, and some of us were seeing ghosts, and flashes.... images. He showed Parlonn and me where they all were."
"There is no temporal rift here, so the station cannot travel through time, but perhaps time can travel through it. The devices were built into the station by its architect. I merely.... modified them for my own purposes. Were the visions.... instructive?"
"Very."
"Then they served their purpose."
"Then all went as you planned? Apart from the mysterious involvement of some.... others?"
"All? No. Kozorr was badly wounded, almost to death. I healed him, through the Well of Souls. But nothing comes free. I cannot create life. It can merely be extended, suitably. A similar ritual was used on me once.... and my soul and the Well are now as one. I live by its sufferance. While it lives, so shall I. That was not possible for Kozorr. He received merely enough for a brief resurgence. Soon it will expire, and so will he."
"How soon?"
"Months.... less than a year."
"I see. Will you tell him about this? Or his pretty worker?"
Sinoval gazed deep into space and then turned, heading for the door. As he reached it he looked back at Marrain, and spoke a single word before leaving.
"No."
* * *
There were moments, brief and golden, when Lyta Alexander could close her eyes and see a brilliant light, warm and inviting, that tingled in her mind and whispered gentle wind chimes in her ears. It is a saying that nothing is truly appreciated until it is gone, and Lyta had not truly appreciated the being who had shared her soul for two years, not until he was gone and another lay in his place.
But somewhere, a part of Kosh still lived. The memory of his actions, his words, his wisdom still existed. Soft, fragile, but meaningful threads linked her to others Kosh had touched. Her bond to Delenn had been almost severed, plunging her into near despair, but now it was renewed, stronger than ever. She could feel a terrible sadness in her friend, perhaps her only friend, but she could also sense hope.
And somewhere also, although trapped and muddied and dank, there was a thread to Captain Sheridan, one she could sense but not use. She had tried to talk to him as she had to Delenn, to sense his feelings.... but she had failed. This connection had been a shimmering mirage at the edge of her perception since the Third Line, but by the time she had tracked down its source the thread was too murky to use. Something corrupted the golden beauty. Something inside Sheridan twisted the bond.
But there were other bonds than those of the soul. With Delenn and Sheridan both unavailable to her, she had been forced to find others, and to her surprise one had appeared.
There was a chime at the door and she gently probed outwards. She knew almost instantly who it was. He had come after all, although a little late. She had managed to hide herself briefly from Ulkesh, and for the moment the Vorlon had other concerns, but she did not know when he would turn back to her.
"Come in." It was Corwin, a haunted look in his eyes. A telepath far less powerful than Lyta would have had no problem recognising the chaos in his soul, the conflicting loyalties and tormented convictions. There was a brief flash of light when he saw her, but it soon faded.
"I'm sorry I'm a little late," he said. "I came as soon as I could, but.... we were clearing up some of the mess. We found Clark's bod
y.... or what was left of it.... God, he was.... torn apart. The Shadows must have killed him, but...." He shook his head. "And what happened to Captain DeClercq...."
"Did you know him?" Lyta had heard about the last act of the Coward of Vega 7.
"No, not really. I knew of him of course, but we'd never met. It's just.... Anyway. I think you promised me some answers."
"Yes, I did. What do you want to know?"
"Well, for starters, what on earth happened? You know a bit more about this than you're saying."
"I wish I didn't, but yes, you're right. It wasn't the Shadows who turned the defence grid on Proxima. It wasn't even Clark, at least not really. It was the Vorlons, a faction of them, working through Clark."
"Okay.... why?"
"Any number of reasons. A beaten, battered humanity would be less likely to ally with the Shadows again, especially if they were the ones who caused all that carnage. It would be easier to force them into the Alliance, to rule from the ashes. But mostly I think it was a punishment."
"Punishment. What for?"
"Choosing the wrong side. The Shadows."
"Then.... Oh God. Then this is all our fault. We're the ones who set the Government up with the Shadows. We...."
"No!" she snapped firmly. "A deal would have been made eventually, if not through you and Captain Sheridan, then others. Humanity couldn't stay out of this war forever. Unfortunately they were brought into it on the.... wrong side. So they had to be punished."
"But it's not as if we even knew...."
"It doesn't matter. Not to the Vorlons. To them this isn't a war of weapons, it isn't about military strength. It's about being right, about ideology. Humanity chose the wrong ideology, and that's why they must be punished."
"But the Vorlons failed."
"Thanks to you."
"And you. And Captain DeClercq. And.... others. Are they going to try again?"
"I think the punishment is going to be more subtle, more long–term. They can't really use the Shadows as scapegoats again."
"Oh God, this is crazy. I just don't believe it.... It's as if everything's just turned around and muddled up so it makes no sense whatsoever. Shadows, Vorlons, ideology.... And then there's Carolyn."
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