He has previously asked two things of her, with suitable promises that she will be blamed for neither. She accepted.
"She is coming here now," she says, and he smiles.
"Good. Thank you." The words hurt the back of his throat, but he ignores the pain. It is a transitory thing after all, and he will be doing a lot of talking soon. "And the.... other matter? There are still no problems there?"
"No. Just.... just call me when you're ready. Are.... are you sure this is...?"
"I'm sure. Trust me. It's all for the best. So much.... easier this way."
There is the sound of footsteps, and he looks up past the nurse to see the figure who has appeared at the door. A slow, sad smile crosses his features. The nurse, recognising that she is no longer necessary, nods and leaves.
He looks at the new arrival, remembering back to the first time he saw her, over three years ago. She had looked very different then, obviously. But he was different now as well. She had changed him, awakening something that had been dead for many years.
"I wasn't sure if you'd come," he says. She would have plenty of reason not to, after all. She owes him no favours, nothing of kindness, certainly.
"Of course I would," she replies, moving towards the bed. Her motion is.... slow, and a little awkward, but that is hardly surprising. Few people would even be walking after what she has been through. Most people, if he has heard everything right, would not even be moving. He does not try to pretend he understands what truly saved her, but a part of him long silent chalks it up to a miracle, which is as good an explanation as any.
"How are you?" he asks on instinct, and then an ironic chuckle escapes him. The laugh hurts, but there is no other reaction possible. "'How are you?'" he repeats, mocking himself. "I don't believe I just asked that. I'm sorry."
"Do not apologise," she says, in her strange, welcoming accent. "I am.... better. The doctors here wish to keep me longer to.... observe me, but I do not think there is much more they can do for me. They had no idea how my system worked even before I.... died. I think they have even less idea now."
"What about...?"
"Ah. They do not think I will ever be able to have children again. They may be wrong, of course. They said as much.... but they said the damage was too severe. There are some things Lorien could not heal."
The dying man closes his eyes, and something dies all the sooner within him. "I.... Sorry is just such a worthless thing to say. I could say it for a thousand years, and it still wouldn't undo...."
"It is done. I came here of my own will, knowing there would be a price to pay, and knowing that my sacrifice would bring about a reward. It has done so. This world is saved, and on the road to salvation. There were some here who listened to me, not many, it is true.... but even one would be enough."
"Then it was worth it? All you went through?"
"Oh, yes. Definitely. And you?"
"Me? I went through hardly anything." A sigh leaves his mouth. "Anyway, that's not why I asked you to come here. I have.... I need to ask you to do something. I know you have every right to say no and walk out of here, and I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I thought.... this would be.... appropriate."
"I will not leave here. What do you wish of me?"
"You are a religious leader of sorts, aren't you?"
"I am.... was.... am.... of the religious caste of my people. And I was highly placed in my caste, yes."
"I.... used to be religious. I belonged to an order called the Roman Catholics, a very old one by our standards. I'm.... extremely lapsed now. I really stopped believing in anything a long time ago.... but there's one practice I want to bring back.
"It was called a confession. We would go before a priest, and confess our sins, and we would be forgiven, and granted absolution. I want to.... confess all the things I did wrong, and.... remember the things I did that were right. It won't be a standard confession, not at all.... but if I could talk to someone....
"And you're the only real religious figure I know. It's a different religion, yes.... but aren't all faces of God the same in the end?"
"I.... I would be honoured," she whispers, sincerity shining in her eyes.
"Then bless me, Fath.... Bless me, Mother, for I have sinned. It has been.... years since my last confession." He looks at her. "There's a chair around here somewhere. You might want to sit down. This could take a while."
She finds it and pulls it to the side of his bed, sitting down beside him, waiting patiently.
Arthur Lee Welles looks into the deep green eyes of Delenn of Mir for a long moment. "Are you comfortable?" She nods. "Then I'll begin...."
* * *
There was an old saying that David Corwin had once been told by someone he had loved very much. You can't ever go home again. It had been typical of Susan Ivanova's pessimism, but it was only now he was beginning to see the truth.
He hadn't thought about Susan in months. He didn't even know where she was. He had mentioned her during his conversation with Welles a few weeks before, surprising himself with his own question, only to learn that Proxima's Master of Information knew nothing at all.
"Ambassador Sheridan took her with him when he went to Z'ha'dum. I don't know why. I don't even know if she's still alive. If she is, that'll be where."
And Ambassador Sheridan himself. That was another cause for concern.
"He took the same blast I did," Welles had commented. "It probably killed him."
"We never found a body."
"Ah."
It was funny the things Corwin found himself thinking about. He supposed anything was better than the image that touched on his dreams: the image of a glowing, trapped person, imprisoned somewhere within his ship. The thought of one just like her inside every Dark Star.
He had not been sleeping well lately, and so he had so many more waking hours to fill with mindless thoughts. He remembered Susan, Ambassador Sheridan, he thought about Delenn, about Lyta — about Lyta a lot.... and about the future. That, too.
What sort of future was there? Would this war ever be over? And when it was, what then? Another long and bloody war, just as pointless? Or a peace ruled by the Vorlons?
These thoughts disturbed him, and so he had taken, on his time off, to going for long walks, revisiting areas of Proxima he had known before. He saw a park he had gone walking in with Susan. He saw a shop where he had bought food and newspapers. He saw countless little landmarks, each one sparking off another memory.
And he saw the devastation of so much of the business sector, destroyed by a Shadow ship, although there was some debate as to whether the destruction had been a deliberate attack or a consequence of the Shadow vessel falling from the sky. Either way the damage was colossal, the cost to Proxima's fragile economy devastating. The death toll was still unknown.
But most of all he saw the people. Not the soldiers, or the leaders, or the diplomats — the ordinary people. He saw the bakers, the shopkeepers, the secretaries, the people in the street, the parents, the children, the old, the young. He saw the fear in their eyes, the resentment. He had seen those things in the days before the Second Line, in the long, hard years of perpetual terror that the Minbari would arrive any moment.
He also took time to speak to them. Some would have nothing to do with him, whether he was in or out of uniform. Some were afraid of being overheard, or detected.
Most expressed admiration for President Clark, and complete disbelief that he would ever do such a thing. Many blamed the Shadows, who had deceived the greatest leader humanity had ever known. Some put it all down to the Alliance, who would willingly have massacred all life on Proxima, and would have succeeded had it not been for the sacrifice of Captain DeClercq, whom almost everyone was calling a hero.
Corwin listened to these things with the taste of ashes in his mouth.
Some whispered conspiratorially of help coming. Captains Tikopai and Barns would find help, build an army, come back and save Proxima, drive away the Alliance. Corwin s
poke to some people who claimed to be hiding Tikopai's teenage daughter, keeping her safe from people who would use her to attack her mother. Corwin knew full well that Julia Tikopai was missing, but then so were many on Proxima these days.
The members of Clark's Government were spoken of in varying tones. Some saw Welles as a great patriot for his broadcast about what had happened to the defence grid, others called him a knowing ally of the Alliance plot, spreading false reports of Clark's actions. Some even said he had murdered Clark.
Ryan was seen as a coward by many, but as a loyal man doing what he thought was right by others, many of whom had the bearing of soldiers. Clark had been working on a massive programme to increase the size of Earthforce. That had now been suspended, and there were many former soldiers trying to hide, but something in their voices and bearing always gave them away.
Everywhere he went, however, he heard about Delenn. There were hushed whispers about the miracle of her rebirth, by many who claimed to have been there. If they were all telling the truth, about half of Proxima must have seen her come back to life. There were reports of other miracles, of the blind suddenly seeing, of a crippled war veteran being able to walk. Some said it was her sacrifice that had prevented the defence grid from firing for long enough.
Her shrine became filled with people. Delenn herself had not been seen in public since her 'death'. Corwin knew where she was, resting in hospital. He had not had a chance to talk with her, and he was not sure he wanted to. What could he say?
And so, as the days passed, he wandered through a beaten and resentful Proxima, a world that had once been his own, and day by day, the feeble remains of his pride, the part of him that said 'I am doing the right thing'.... it all evaporated, lifeless dust on the barren winds of his hopes.
"I am doing the right thing," he said, again and again, but the more he said it, the less he believed it.
* * *
I was doing the right thing.
Everything I did was right, all of it. So I thought. It was.... easy to rationalise. I was working for the Government of Humanity, the last hope of our people. These were desperate times, dark times. Some.... liberties had to be taken, some rights had to be quietly sidelined. It was all for the good of the people, wasn't it? No one could be allowed to rock the boat, to disrupt things.
I was Chief of Security, and also the Spymaster. All information came to me eventually, through one way or another, very few of them legitimate. I passed that information on, and it was used.... appropriately.
People disappeared. People died. Crimes went unpunished and the innocent went unprotected. I played a part in the deal with the Narns that gave them more or less complete control over our outlying colonies. I played a part in selling half the human race into slavery.
I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. I was.... no one important before. My parents both worked for EarthGov in minor capacities, my mother a Senator's aide and my father in the Ministry of Agriculture. I had no brothers or sisters, very few friends.
My mother died when I was about twenty, a random victim of an assassination attempt by one terrorist group or another. Free Mars probably, but it could have been anyone. I used to tell people that was why I used my psychology degree from Cambridge to get me into the Intelligence Services, but that was a lie.
You see, the thing is, I've always been able to tell when other people are lying. I've always been able to read people, to know their secrets, their delusions, everything. I never really liked people. They all seemed so.... stupid, so ignorant. No one ever just stopped and thought about things for a minute.
So, after my mother died, I went into the Intelligence Service. I rose.... respectably, although not rapidly. I think I scared a few people slightly. Ah, well. I hit a sort of glass ceiling eventually, no more room for promotion, the work of a few of my colleagues who were jealous and afraid. They tried to hide it, but I could see it in them.
I was lucky to be on Mars when you came to Earth. There was no grand plan there, it was just luck. I was on a sort of holiday with my wife, Victoria. No, not a holiday at all. I was trying to get her to leave the solar system and get somewhere safe. She wasn't having any of it. As it happened, you came a little early, and both of us just managed to get out alive. Most of the rest of the Government was blasted, the Chief Ministers and the Senate practically wiped out. EarthGov had shifted base to Mars when it became apparent that Earth was under threat, but even so the attack was pretty bad. If it hadn't been for a very timely arrival by half our fleet, we'd all have been killed there.
Anyway, with the Intelligence Service collapsed around our ears and all our files gone, I suddenly became invaluable. I've always had a good memory, you see. Not quite perfect, but pretty good. I managed to recreate most of our files, and that made me indispensable to the new administration. I got promoted to Head pretty fast, and I took over the Security job as well, sort of folding Intelligence and Security together.
That was when I became involved in the dirty tricks, and, well.... came close to losing my soul.
* * *
There was a bottle of whisky on the table, opened, but untouched. Next to it there was a glass. It was empty.
And behind them both, looking at them the way a thirsty man in a desert looks at a single drop of water, was General John Sheridan, leader of the Dark Star fleets of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7. He had not touched the drink yet, but that was mostly for the memory of his wife Anna, and what drinking had done to her.
Corwin did not quite have Mr. Welles' powers of observation, and so he missed the bottle at first. He had been called to the General's private quarters, and so he had gone, albeit with some trepidation. They had not spoken for a while, not since they had found Delenn, not since the fight. Sheridan had been busy with countless administrative matters, and trying to co-ordinate the search for the missing Earthforce ships. Corwin had also been busy, after a fashion, discovering all that had been done to Proxima.
"You called me?" he said softly, adding a belated "General." He was not sure what to expect. Sheridan had not been.... himself for months now, ever since he had come out of his paralysis. He had seemed to return to near normality after finding Delenn, but.... he did not look well. His eyes were hollow and haunted.
Also, it was late at night. Very late. What business could Sheridan have with him at this time of night? At least the meeting was on Proxima, and not on the General's Dark Star. Corwin walked very uneasily on Dark Stars these days.
He wondered about the name of the telepath bound within Sheridan's ship.
"David," the General said. "Thank you for coming. I know it's late, and short notice, but...." He fell silent.
"That's fine, General. I'm at your disposal."
"General.... yes. I didn't call you here as a leader, as your superior officer. I asked you here because.... I need a friend, and you were the only person I could think of. I've.... burned a fair few bridges over the last few months."
Corwin should have been pleased about this. After all that had happened, John still considered him a friend. But he wasn't happy. The tone of voice was.... dark. The General was disturbed about something.
Then he noticed the bottle.
"Oh, this? I found it in Clark's office. Completely untouched. The trappings of power, hmm? Anna would have killed for a glass of this. The proper stuff. I haven't drunk any yet.... not that I haven't wanted to, but....
"My Dad said once that there were a number of solutions to every problem. You could pretend it never existed, which is what this stuff does. It'll work for a while, but not nearly long enough. Or you can talk to someone. That won't make it go away either.... but it won't sound as bad. That's what he said.... He was rarely wrong about anything else.
"Have we found his body?"
"No."
"Maybe he's not dead, then. I don't know.... I just think it would be easier if.... if he was. I so wanted to think it was all a dream, when I saw him on Kazomi Seven, and then at Z'ha'dum. It w
asn't a dream. I don't know why my father went and worked for those.... murderers, but....
"I need to know. Oh, what the hell, that's not why I asked you here.
"I need a friend. I need someone to talk to. I've.... discovered something, and I've no idea how I should react to it. Someone to talk to might be a start. A friend.... if you still consider yourself my friend...."
"Of course I am."
"Oh.... good. Sit down, and let's have a drink. Another thing my Dad used to tell me.... never drink alone. It's always a bad idea."
"A wise man, your father."
"Oh, yes.... Oh, yes."
* * *
You've been in love, haven't you? You know what it's like.
Her name was Victoria. I'd met her at university. She was a student, a year younger than I was. She was studying medicine. She wanted to be a doctor. She saw sick people and wanted to make them better. Especially children. She couldn't stand to see sick or dying children. She loved them. I didn't, I hated them. Children were even more stupid than adults were.
I'd never been able to read her, not at all. She could lie to me and I'd never know. She could keep everything she knew a secret and I'd never suspect. She didn't.... at least, I don't think she did, but she could have done.
I remember the first time I saw her. I was sitting by a river bank in the rain when she passed by, on a boat. I always liked the rain. She hated it. She turned to look at me, evidently having sensed me staring at her. I caught her eyes for one brief moment and.... there was a connection. You could call it love at first sight, I suppose. For me anyway. I don't know how she reacted.
We met up again while I was working in Intelligence. She'd become a doctor by then. She got involved in one of our operations quite by accident. She'd stumbled across a survivor of a team sent by rogue extremists to assassinate the President. He'd been wounded in a shoot-out, but had managed to escape.
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