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

by Gareth D. Williams

  "And you changed me.

  "It just took me.... so

  "long.

  "So long to see it.

  "Delenn.

  "I'm sorry!"

  She reached out, and he felt her cool, soft hand touch his. "There is nothing to say," she whispered. "You have already said it all, if not with your words, then by your deeds and with your eyes. I will accept your forgiveness.... and I pray you can accept mine."

  There was a harsh moment of laughter. "Yes," he said. "Of course."

  "I wish I had known your Vicky."

  "You would.... have liked each other.... Delenn.... Do you think.... I will see her again.... after.... I die?"

  "I do not know," she said simply. "If there is any justice.... then you will. But justice may be.... in short supply." Her eyes suddenly widened as she caught something in his tone. "But I thought.... your injuries were not fatal."

  He smiled. "No," he rasped. "No, they aren't. I could be.... out of this bed.... in a few months.... walking around in a year.... and in two years or so.... I'd have no sign but a very.... distinguished.... limp.

  "Of course.... that doesn't matter. I'll be put on trial.... convicted.... and shot in the street like a dog.... No.... I know the means.... of manipulating the public. If.... the new Government.... wants me as its villain.... then so be it. As long as.... one person knows.... the truth."

  "I know," she said, firmly. "And I will not let that happen."

  He shook his head. "Doesn't matter.... Doesn't.... matter.... at all.... Sorry, Delenn.... can't.... stay.... awake."

  "I understand." She rose, the sheer grace of her presence undoing the awkwardness of her movements. "We will talk again. You must let me finish your confession."

  "Yes," he whispered, his eyes closed. "Mother.... what is my penance?"

  "I do not think you need one," she said. "You have made penance enough for any number of sins."

  "Ah." He smiled again. "Ah."

  Her fingers brushed his gently, and then she left. He was now ready to face his end, his final destiny.

  * * *

  There was not much for Corwin to say after that. What was there for him to say? Sheridan certainly didn't want to say anything after that revelation. His self-loathing practically radiated from him, and Corwin could feel the air become thick with pain.

  He tried not to think about what Delenn had gone through. He tried not to think about what it must have cost her to tell him.

  And what it must have cost Sheridan to comfort her, to love her, even through his own suffering.

  "I love her," came a whispered voice. The provisional leader of humanity, the General of the Dark Star fleet, the legendary Shadowkiller, was resting his head on his arms, harsh sobs racking his body, anguished words filling the room with his sorrow. "I do.... Oh, God.... why do I feel like this? It's not her fault. I know it's not her fault. How can it be? But...."

  What could he say to reply to that? He knew there was no way Delenn could be blamed for what had happened. For one dark moment he suspected the Vorlons of manipulating Sheridan again, of pushing him and Delenn apart, of removing any emotional link to peace and happines in the creation of their 'Shadowkiller'.

  But then he realised the truth. The Vorlons needed no control, no manipulation, nothing. They needed nothing more than the darkness within one man's soul, the legacy of a daughter taken too young, and a son butchered before he even had a chance to exist.

  There is no evil greater than that which humanity does to itself.

  Tomorrow, things would return to normal. Corwin would resume his search for the missing Captains Barns and Tikopai. Sheridan would become the General again, guiding his forces towards a war that was becoming more and more costly. Delenn would rest in the hospital, making contact with the Alliance Council on Kazomi 7 and trying to heal her body and her soul.

  And the war would continue. More people would die. More people would suffer. More people would grieve.

  And for what?

  David did not know.

  The sobs coming from John's body lessened, as he finally fell asleep. David rose and walked to the window, looking out across the buildings and streets and people of Proxima's Main Dome.

  We fought for all of you. We'll continue to fight for all of you.

  But let it be over soon, please. Oh God, let it be over soon.

  He sighed, and shook his head, recognising the futile lies in his hopes. It would never be over.

  Never.

  * * *

  He was ready now, at last. He had made his confession, he had said what needed to be said. He was ready to face the infinite.

  "Are you sure?" asked the nurse again. "Are you...?"

  "Yes. There is no other way. Do not worry. You will not get into trouble for this."

  "I wasn't. It was just.... No, it doesn't matter. Goodbye, sir."

  "Goodbye. And thank you."

  She left him alone. Alone, as he had always been. His fingers gently caressed the pad in his hand. It controlled the level of his life support, the amount of the painkilling drugs he was receiving, his entire treatment programme. He was definitely not meant to have it, but the fact that he had acquired it somehow should not surprise anyone.

  Besides, no one would be unhappy with the use to which he would put it.

  He began moving through the instructions on the pad. It was security coded of course, but that took him all of five minutes to break. He would have done it sooner, but his swollen fingers had trouble inputting some of the codes.

  He began flicking through the options, settling on the one he wanted. He was not a doctor, but he had been married to one for eight years, and his memory had always been near perfect. Medical advancement had been limited since Vicky had died, and he was more than capable of adjusting the dose of his medicines to a lethal level.

  It was so much easier this way. No show trial. No interrogations. He would not be forced to the same ordeal he had put so many through. He would be gone and forgotten, surviving only in curses and nightmares. Let him be the monster of Clark's rule. One person knew the truth now, and that was enough.

  It was over. Gone, and forgotten. All of it.

  Except Vicky. He had kept her alive all these years in his memory, never fully letting her go. Now another knew her. He could not pass beyond into whatever Heaven or Hell awaited him without ensuring that Vicky's memory would survive.

  He closed his eyes, and felt everything begin to slip away. The end called to him, and he answered.

  Part 7 : That Which Man Hath Brought Together...

  For millennia the Shadows have walked above the younger races, dark Gods of chaos, spreading anarchy and death where they passed. Their day is nearly done. Beaten back almost to their homeworld they prepare for the end, for a final act of revenge on the races that scorned their ideology. An agent prepares a dark revenge on Proxima. Kazomi 7 is engulfed by a fell and terrible cloud. On Centauri Prime, the Shadow Criers ready for the ascension of their mad lord preaching his creed of fire. Sinoval sets forth for the final meeting with his enemy Sonovar, and takes the first step towards his greater destiny. And a fleet, vaster and more powerful than any before assembled by the younger races, makes for Z'ha'dum.

  Chapter 1

  "It is over."

  "Yes. It is over."

  "We have won."

  "Yes. You have won."

  * * *

  The war for Proxima is over, has been over these past four weeks. The evil, corrupt Government of President Clark is finished, Clark himself is dead. His accomplices and associates are for the most part dealt with - dead, such as the feared Chief of Security, Mr. Welles, or imprisoned and awaiting trial, such as the leader of the Earthforce fleet, General Ryan.

  This war is over, the greater war continues. The villains were defeated, the heroes were victorious.

  Of course, that all depends on your point of view.

  Captain Bethany Tikopai of the EAS De'Molay was tired, had been tired for
the past four weeks. She did not want to be here. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She wanted a proper shower with proper water. She wanted a real cup of coffee. She wanted a decent night's sleep. And she wanted to be with her daughter.

  She had always known a soldier's life would involve sacrifices, putting aside personal desires for the good of others, doing what was right for the many and not the few. She had always known she would have to fight for the good of her people.

  She had just never thought she would have to fight her own people.

  It was hot here, very hot. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, it all pulsed with heat. It was cooler now than it had been, but at one point the soles of her boots had been almost melting in the heat from the floor. Sweat covered her completely like a second skin, and her long dark hair, strands coming loose from her braid, was lumpy and sodden.

  An absurd thought had come to her a few days ago, when she was lying in bed desperately trying to snatch even a few hours sleep, but unable to rest for the heat and the worry. She remembered years ago, when Julia had been ill with a fever. Her skin had felt so hot to the touch, almost burning. Was that what was happening to the De'Molay? Was the ship ill?

  It was crazy, but no crazier than the events of the past four weeks. There had been something strange about this ship ever since it had been launched, and after it had been hit by that strange blast at Proxima nothing had gone right. It had taken a great deal of effort from Jaiena in Engineering even to get the De'Molay moving again. The constant running and fighting since then had only made things worse. Jaiena was probably the only person on the whole ship getting even less sleep than Bethany was.

  Except after today it would all probably be academic. Captain Barns and his Dark Thunder had been run to ground and captured three days ago, and with him had gone any hope of an effective fight–back. It was over, and the three Dark Star ships surrounding the De'Molay proved it.

  Still, while there was life, there was hope.

  "How long for jump engines?" she asked, knowing it was pointless. The last time they had fled, the Dark Stars had been able to follow them into hyperspace and actually begin an engagement there. Only some incredibly stylish manoeuvring had got them away from that one. DeClercq's Saint–Germain could have run rings around them in hyperspace and had them chasing their own tails, but that was academic too. DeClercq was dead, his Saint–Germain a heap of fused metal.

  "Too long," replied Paul Telluride, her first officer. He was cynical about their chances of survival, and why shouldn't he be?

  The ship shook from another blast, and Bethany's hand rubbed against her armrest. She withdrew it sharply, wincing. It was unbelievably hot!

  "They took out our dispersion fire," Paul said. "Dammit, why don't they just finish us?" Bethany said nothing. They wanted her alive. They wanted scapegoats. "Hah! We're getting a signal. It's from their lead ship."

  "Put it on," she replied tiredly.

  "But...."

  "It doesn't matter what they want to say to us now. We're finished anyway. We might as well give them the satisfaction of saying it."

  Paul muttered angrily as he put the message through. There should have been a technician to do that, but the De'Molay was operating under severely reduced capacity nowadays, less than a quarter of normal complement.

  A face appeared on the screen, Communications being one of the few things Jaiena had been able to fix that hadn't immediately broken down again. The man seemed young, too young, and terribly earnest. Bethany thought she recognised him, but she couldn't be sure.

  "Agamemnon to De'Molay. This is Captain David Corwin of Dark Star Three, the Agamemnon. Do you receive me, De'Molay?"

  Corwin. That was it. Sheridan's right–hand man and former second. Well, if the Starkiller couldn't come himself, at least he had sent his personal hunting dog to do this for him.

  "This is De'Molay. Captain Bethany Tikopai here. Well.... isn't this where you deliver the 'it's all over' speech?"

  Corwin frowned. He actually looked genuinely troubled. "No," he said finally. "This is where I ask you to give yourselves up. We're fighting for the same things, really. It just doesn't.... look like it right now."

  "Yes? We're not fighting for lies, or selling out our Government to aliens, to the Narns and the Minbari. We didn't betray humanity."

  "And neither did we! Dammit, Captain, there are too many enemies out there for us to be fighting each other. My orders are to bring you back to Proxima, in however many pieces I feel necessary. I don't want to kill you. I've had enough of fighting my own people. I'm sick and tired of it." He sighed. "Whatever you might think, Captain, we really are both fighting for the same thing in the end."

  "What's that?"

  "A better world."

  Bethany sat back. The heat didn't seem to bother her so much now. "I want a complete amnesty for all my crew," she said simply.

  "Bethany!" cried Paul suddenly. "You can't...."

  "Granted. I don't know how it'll be honoured, but I'll draw up the wording myself and ram it down people's throats until they listen."

  Bethany nodded. "A better world, huh? Is this your idea of a better world?"

  "Maybe not.... but I'm going to keep trying to create one. Proxima needs loyal soldiers, it needs people like you."

  "I'm tired of this. Besides, I think you mean it. It's strange, but I really do. I'm even too tired to make threats about what will happen if you're lying."

  "I'm not."

  "I don't think you are. Fine.... it's over. You win. We surrender.

  "We're going home."

  * * *

  "I will.... be going then."

  There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the dark thoughts that echoed in John Sheridan's mind. Accusing thoughts, angry and bitter.... And some of them were directed at the woman in front of him.

  "That's.... probably for the best," he said finally, hating himself for the words. It was true. It was for the best. Politically, militarily, personally....

  Delenn had to return to Kazomi 7. The Alliance was holding together, just, but the recent tensions with the Narns, the revelation that the Centauri had allied themselves with the Shadows, the expense of the war.... they needed someone there, someone special. Not just a leader, a symbol.

  That had to be Delenn. She was the only choice. She was the leader of the Alliance after all, and also the most obvious symbol of the alliance of races. No one else would do. Lethke and Vizhak were merely administrators, G'Kar represented only the Rangers and his own people, Vejar was hardly ever seen these days.... It had to be Delenn.

  "You'll be.... safer there," Sheridan continued, the words sounding pathetic and forced even to him. "We're still catching some of the extremists, some of Clark's men.... people who blame you. There's also the possibility of a counterattack, of course."

  All true, but none of these were the real reasons he wanted her on Kazomi 7 and not here. The real reasons he couldn't give voice to.... not to her.

  He didn't want her near him. He didn't want to have to hold in his furious thoughts whenever he was around her. He didn't want to have to concentrate so hard not to say the words that would destroy her.

  You killed my son!

  He had tried telling himself a thousand times that was not true, and on some level he knew it. On that level he knew that he himself was to blame. If he hadn't left her on Z'ha'dum.... But if she hadn't gone there....

  If, if, if.... so many ifs.... none of which resolved the main issue that his son was dead, and he had to blame someone. He didn't want it to be her, but if she stayed here, sooner or later it would be her.

  "Then.... I will be leaving soon," she whispered.

  She looked unhappy, not surprisingly. She also looked tired. She had told John what had happened to her on Proxima, the death - murder - of their son, her own death and strange resurrection. She had kept some things quiet, he knew, but he had not pressed her on them. Compared to what she had told him, any secrets she still kept wo
uld be inconsequential.

  My son is dead.

  Fool! Reach out to her! Tell her you love her!

  In truth he was unhappy being on Proxima, and he couldn't wait to leave. He was a soldier and a leader of soldiers. He wanted to return to his war, where everything was so much simpler. The Shadows were evil. Everyone fighting them was therefore good.

  But here.... here he was not a soldier, but an administrator. Somehow the task of running Proxima had fallen to him, or at least the duties of ensuring Proxima's defence, the location and arrest of the last few Clark loyalists or Shadow agents, the reorganisation of the army, setting up food supplies and renewing trade....

  He hated it. He hated all of it. He wanted to be a soldier again, but until elections could be held, until actual parties could be organised.... then if not him, who?

  Tell her you love her!

  The voice would not be quiet, and he wanted to listen to it. He really did.... but he couldn't.

  You killed my son!

  Delenn bowed her head, and turned. She began to walk away.

  Tell her, you fool.

  He clenched his hand into a fist as he watched her walk away.

  Tell her!

  She left the room. She did not look back.

  * * *

  He was nobody, nothing, a faceless whisper in the night.

  He had been nobody; a quiet, still, unnoticed figure who slipped between the cracks of the world, who lived his own private and lonely existence.

  He had no name. He was no one. He was everyone.

  They had come to him. They had come to him, and he was no longer alone. They had spoken to him, told him of great things. His dreams had been full of wonder; vast ships rising in the skies, a race of Gods fighting to bring forth advancement, the rush of chaos and the rise of the strong.

  He had felt them die, and he had felt the burst of energy and light that had filled Proxima. He had nearly died himself. Perhaps he should have died.

  But the light had suddenly faded, and he had been healed again. He had survived. He had been chosen. One of the few.