A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4

by Gareth D. Williams

  "Ah."

  "Yes. I can still see her when I close my eyes. Lyta, who was she? Was she real, just an illusion, what?"

  "She was real, alive. Somewhere in the heart of your Dark Star is a chamber, a sort of living instrument. She's trapped there, her mind fused with every part of the ship. Every Dark Star has one. Some of them are human, others alien."

  "The Vorlons did that? That's monstrous!"

  "Yes," she said. "It is. Kosh.... never liked it. It was originally used as a defence network around parts of Vorlon space. It was.... necessary. There were too many secrets the other races must not be allowed to uncover, and the network was.... one of the best ways of keeping them out. It.... didn't have to destroy people, you see. It could be used to misdirect and confuse. It was never designed for outright destruction."

  "Until now."

  "Yes. Until now."

  "Fine. Where is this chamber exactly? There's a lot of space in the Dark Stars that we haven't been told anything about, other than not to go there. Engineering stuff. I'll find this chamber and...."

  "And what? Destroy it? Break her free?"

  "Yes! Of course. God, I can't leave her in there any longer, after what they're doing to her."

  "You can't do that. Oh, you can free her body, yes.... but her mind is attuned to every part of the ship. Take her body away from the chamber and all you do is sever the link between body and mind. There'll be nowhere for her mind to return to if we ever could free her totally."

  "Can you.... undo this link?" She shook her head. "Then how long is she going to stay there?"

  "If the ship is not destroyed.... forever. There are certain.... rejuvenation effects in the technology holding her. Her body will not decay, her systems will not break down. She will live forever."

  "We have to stop this!"

  "Yes, we do.... but we cannot do it yet. The Vorlons have been preparing for this for millennia. They are going to destroy the Shadows once and for all, not merely defeat them but humiliate them utterly, break them apart and drive them from this galaxy."

  "Then what can we do?"

  "Watch, learn, wait. For now, the Vorlons want to use this to defeat the Shadows. They are our enemy too. So.... is the enemy of my enemy my friend?"

  "Not when they're doing stuff like this! The Shadows weren't our friends just because we were both enemies of the Minbari, and the Vorlons certainly aren't our friends now.... not when they're doing things like this. It's.... God, I've never seen anything more wrong!"

  "Nor have I, but David, listen to me. What can we do at the moment? We must try to defeat them in their own way."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Captain Sheridan is important to them. They've been trying to mould him to be their perfect general, their instrument of order. They think they need to purge him of anything else that might influence him, anything or anyone to whom he will listen other than them. You are his oldest friend, and they are trying to drive the two of you apart. Stay close to him, remain his friend, and make him find Delenn."

  "Delenn? She is still alive?"

  "Yes. I can.... feel her. I don't know where, but...."

  "It doesn't matter. I'll find her. I knew it! I knew she was still alive!"

  "Keep an eye on her. They may try to kill her.... and you."

  "Don't worry. Now I know what's going on, I'm not going to let them win. Wait! What about Carolyn? Is there anything I can do for her?"

  "Talk to her. Speak her name as often as you can. Remind her that she is still alive, still a person. Perhaps later we will be able to free her, and she will need still to be sane when that happens. Apart from that.... there is nothing."

  He shook his head. "What about you? Won't you get in trouble for telling me all this?"

  "For now they need me. Besides, I can.... obscure my involvement in this.... for a while at least. Afterwards.... I have no illusions about what they are going to do to me."

  "No!" he said, his eyes flashing. "I won't let them put you in one of those ships."

  "We may not have a choice. But I'm not planning on staying around. After the war is over I'm going to leave and find Sinoval. He can fight them, if anyone can. Don't worry." She reached out and gently took his hand. "I'm going to be fine."

  "If you say so. Who.... who else here knows about this?"

  "No one. There's no one else here I can trust. When I'm gone, it'll be up to you to tell someone you can trust. Not Captain Sheridan. They've touched him too strongly. And not Delenn. She's too connected to him. But anyone else."

  She took back her hand. "You have to go now. We shouldn't be seen together. The less reason they have to be suspicious of you the better."

  "I understand." He made for the door, and then turned. "Can we beat them?"

  "I don't know," she said honestly. "I really don't know."

  * * *

  It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. He had not been sure exactly what he had been expecting it to look like, but never in his dreams had he imagined it would be like this.

  It was a flower, a shimmering, starry, living jewel of silky darkness and velvet shadows. There was a bright red bulb beneath the delicate, slender petals. It was hard, and yet transparent. There was something inside it, a tiny spark of life, curled up tightly.

  Lord Kiro knew what the flower was, and what it did, and how to use it. He had seen it in his dreams for the last two weeks. He had seen an ancient civilisation, proud and wise, possessed of wings that had carried them across the stars, until they finally settled on an isolated, idyllic world. He had seen the passing comet that had left behind a spoor, and the flowers that had grown from that seed. He had seen the madness spreading as the flowers bloomed, and the massacres that came when the things inside them broke free.

  And then he had seen the dark ships in the sky, the Dark Masters that came to claim the last, devolved, shattered refuse of the once proud race.

  The thing within the flower was not ready to live yet. It would need to be nourished, and fed. But soon, weeks, maybe months. What did it matter? It would come soon enough.

  "Here it is," he said, looking directly at the emissary of the Dark Masters. He did not care about the others who would hear. They were all his. They had all drunk deeply of the enlightenment that had swept Centauri Prime the last time these flowers had seeded. Tiny spores had settled in their minds, and their eyes had been opened.

  "As you promised, but I have one question. Why did you not give it to me yourself? Why involve the noblewoman in this? She is not one of us." Kiro no longer thought of himself as a nobleman. Nobility, merchants, peasants, it did not matter any more. There were simply those enlightened, and those not, and former titles meant nothing.

  "She is.... special."

  "Ah," said Kiro. "Yes. She will be mine, yes? She will be the womb from which comes...."

  "The future."

  "Yes. Yes, the future. The fire."

  "Yes."

  He looked at the flower once again. The thing inside it looked so small. It would grow, but for that, it needed something else. "Mariel!" he called, and was rewarded by the slow shuffling that announced her presence.

  She had been many things. She had been the wife of the man who was now Emperor, the lover of the man who had been First Minister. She had been one of those who had broken into Kiro's estate, and tortured and mutilated him.

  None of that mattered now. Now she was his, a Shadow Crier, a servant of the Dark Masters. Everything that had been hers was now his, for the greater glory of the Dark Masters.

  She held out her left arm, her right hanging limply at her side. Kiro could still smell the cooking of her flesh as she had bathed in the purifying flames. He could still hear her screams.

  Once she had been beautiful, but what was beauty compared to devotion to the Dark Masters? The trial had been necessary to prove her loyalty to them. The flame had purified her, burned away all that had been her past.

  Kiro took her hand
roughly, pulling her forward. Her one remaining eye showed reluctance and fear. Could she not see this was serving the Dark Masters? Perhaps the flame had not purged enough of her former self. She would have to be chastised further.

  He drew his knife and held it up for the emissary to examine. There was a brief pause, and then a nod. The blade was satisfactory. It was his own, consecrated in the name of his new crusade.

  Mariel's blood began to drip on to the flower, running towards the bulb in the centre. The thing there began to stir. Mariel did not scream as the knife cut deeper and deeper into her arm.

  Kiro looked up at the emissary, and the Drakh nodded again, obviously pleased.

  * * *

  All wounds heal. With time. Some wounds take longer than others.

  It soon became clear that Proxima's wounds would take longer to heal than anyone had foreseen. The news of Clark's betrayal and the Shadows' flight was badly received by the people, who decried the lies and propaganda of the invading aliens and the traitors. There were riots, which were savagely put down by the ground troops of the Alliance. General Ryan tried to plead for calm, but he was largely ignored. He was a coward after all, the one who had issued the order to surrender.

  Captains Tikopai and Barns managed to repair enough of the damage to their ships to escape in the confusion following the battle. Sheridan ordered Dark Stars to hunt them down, but it was a low priority. They were only two ships. They were little threat.

  Prominent politicians, scientists and diplomats accused of involvement with the Shadows were arrested and questioned. Many were released without charge. A few had known about and helped to arrange Clark's 'scorched Earth' plan, and were to be put on trial. The subtle hand of William Edgars behind this was not detected.

  Welles was found and placed in a secure military hospital. He survived the first few weeks, and looked to be recovering some of his strength. He was not yet fit to be questioned, however.

  A provisional Government was formed from a handful of politicians. The Earth Senate was restored, and democratic elections were promised. Few people believed they would happen. The Alliance remained, as always, above Proxima, above humanity, aliens come not to destroy, but to enslave.

  Sector 301 was peaceful. A shrine appeared in a quiet corner, a place people went to pray, to seek guidance from the one who had died and lived again, the one who had spoken of peace and died for her words.

  News of the miracle soon travelled, and not just within the Pit.

  Corwin had wanted to wait until he was sure, and now he was. There was only one more thing that needed to be done, and while he could do that alone, it was hardly right that he did. Someone else should be there.

  "The General will see you now."

  The General. So Sheridan was the General now. The Alliance Council had officially ratified his position as leader of the Dark Star fleet for the duration of the Shadow War, and as long after that as the fleet might be necessary. Corwin had not liked the sound of that.

  He still dreamed about Carolyn, trapped in her globe of light. When he was on the ship he tried to speak to her as much as possible, with no idea whether she could hear him. He had not spoken to Lyta since their last meeting.

  The Capt.... the General was sitting at a desk in an office that had clearly once been Ryan's. Ryan had been arrested, but then exonerated of any wrongdoing. He had resigned afterwards, and disappeared.

  "Hmm? Oh, Captain," said the General. He looked terrible, as if he had not slept in months. He probably hadn't. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in. I've just been.... reading the reports from some of Clark's former Ministers. I guess time ran away from me."

  "Aren't there people to do those sort of things?"

  "Well.... yes. But you know me. I like to keep my hand in. So, what is your business, Captain? I was told it was urgent."

  "Yes, it is. Captain.... General...." A pause. "John.... I've found Delenn."

  Something flared in the back of Sheridan's eyes and he looked down quickly at the notes. "Captain Corwin, I'm very busy. I don't have time for wild goose chases or shaggy dog stories. Delenn is...."

  "Alive."

  "Dead! Delenn is dead! Accept that, and stop chasing her down!"

  "John, I am telling you...."

  "You are dismissed, Captain."

  "I spoke to Welles. I've spoken to a few others. I've...."

  "Mr. Welles is in secure confinement."

  "I managed to see him. He was very.... talkative. Listen, John.... I know how to find her. Welles had her broken out of prison here. His agents took her to Sector Three–o–one. He thinks he knows where. Now we can go in.... we can find her and get her out."

  "Delenn is dead! Now get out of here!"

  Corwin sighed, and walked up to the desk. "I'm sorry. I don't know you any more. I know you've been through a lot. I don't know how I'd cope in such circumstances, but this isn't just about you any more. Delenn needs you. I know she does. Who do you think should be there when she's found? Me - or you?"

  "You are dismissed, Captain!" Sheridan leapt to his feet, eyes flashing. "Now get out of here, or I'll have you court–martialled!"

  Corwin shook his head. "I didn't want to do this. I'm sorry."

  The punch took Sheridan completely by surprise, throwing him backwards across the desk. Corwin immediately followed up with another, which knocked the older man down. Grabbing the General's shirt, he pulled him up and slammed him hard against the wall.

  "If this is the only way I can get you to see sense, then this is what I'll do," he snapped, his face inches from Sheridan's own. "So, go ahead. Court–martial me! Do whatever you damned well like, but for God's sake.... go and get Delenn!"

  "You don't.... You don't...." Corwin let go of his friend. He had never heard so much despair in Sheridan's voice. The General sank to the floor, tears and blood streaming down his face. "You don't understand," he whispered, his voice hoarse and racked.

  "She has to be dead. She has to be.... If she isn't.... if she's still alive, then I left her there.... I left her on Z'ha'dum.... with them. I was so sure they'd killed her. It was instinct.... I've acted on instinct a hundred times. A thousand. I was never wrong before.

  "I was so sure. So sure.

  "If she's not dead.... how could she bear to look at me, if I left her there? She has to be dead, because.... Oh God, she has to be dead."

  "She isn't," Corwin said softly. "She's alive, and she needs you. I know she is. You made a mistake. It's in the past.... and this is now.

  "Come on.... let's go get her."

  The door opened and a security guard rushed in, weapon raised. He took in Sheridan's bleeding face and Corwin's bruised knuckles. "General.... is everything all right?"

  "Yes," Sheridan whispered. He smiled. "Everything's fine now. Everything's going to be fine...."

  * * *

  There were three words, short and simple. They were lit by a faint whisper of candlelight. It was not clear who had placed the candles there, or the flowers that covered the floor. It was not clear who had written the words.

  The Blessed Delenn.

  "What happened here?" Sheridan whispered. "What happened...?"

  "Some people realised a lot of things," Corwin said. Smith's directions had been perfect. He should be here soon.

  "She's dead. This is a.... shrine."

  "She's not dead. I've been telling you that for a while."

  "But this place?"

  "If what I've been told is correct.... and I don't pretend to understand a word of it, you know.... she died here.... and then got better."

  "But...."

  He fell silent and looked behind Corwin at the figure who came slowly into view, a mirage, an illusion, a creation of light and mirrors. She walked slowly, her eyes filled with life, a soft, gentle smile on her face. Sheridan swayed, and almost fell against the wall.

  "Told you," Corwin said, but his words were not heard.

  Sheridan moved towards her, still unable to believe
what his eyes told him. Only when his fingers touched hers did he realise at last that she was here. She was alive.

  Then he wrapped his arms around her tightly, in the sure and certain knowledge that he would never let her go again.

  Part 6 : The Disassembly of Shadows.

  In the aftermath of the Battle of Proxima there is a brief moment of respite - a chance to rest, to heal, to forgive, and to remember. A dying man's confession speaks of the past to one who looks to the future; and for two old friends there is a reconciliation, and a night dedicated to facing unpleasant news and dark choices.

  Surrounded by machinery, trapped by tubes and wires, the dying man is content to wait. All his life he has been at the mercy of time, a prisoner of the vagaries of events taking place in other rooms, in other cities, on other worlds. All his life he has been the watcher, never the actor.

  Except once. On one occasion, he acted. It cost him a lot. It cost him almost everything, but had he not acted, it would have cost him his soul.

  Now he is content neither to watch nor to act, but to wait. Around him the world is turning, a continuing cycle of change and rebirth. New leaders, new rulers, new policies, new wars to fight. None of those things has anything to do with him any more. Let them revolve. He is content here, alone in his single room.

  Except he is not truly alone. Of course there are the guards outside, people set to watch him, to ensure he remains here, until.... the time is right. People set to prevent him escaping, or being rescued.

  He smiles through a broken mouth. Those guards are his men. He knows their names, their children's names, their dates of birth, their favourite foods. If he chose he could be out of this room in a heartbeat, but let those above him believe they are in charge. Let them dream their little dreams. He is done with dreaming now, and he is happy here, in a room he is content to die in.

  That does not mean he is not averse to calling in a few favours.

  The nurse arrives. He knows her name too. In fact, he helped her out with a little matter a few years ago. She was never actually a friend, but someone who owed him a favour. It is good to have people owe you favours. It is just a pity he will never be able to call them all in before the end, but, well.... such is life.