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

by Gareth D. Williams

  He now walked through this new world with care, in silence, even more so than before. He took pains to be nobody and he lived every day waiting for the night to come, when his Dark Masters would visit dreams upon him, when they would command him, and he would become somebody, somebody greater and nobler and more powerful then anyone could realise.

  "What are my orders?" he would ask every time he slept.

  "Wait," came the reply. "Wait."

  * * *

  "I'm sick o' waiting."

  The figure on the floor whimpered and tried to say something; excuses, reasons, justifications, anything. The man was not listening.

  "I don't think I'm being that unreasonable, am I? I know things mighta.... changed here a little, what with Mr. Trace not being around an' all.... but that don't mean we gotta forget the rules of three–o–one, does it?

  "You know what the rules are, sure ya do. Pay up nice and easy.... and we'll keep you safe.... make sure no.... accidents happen. You get me, don't you?

  "I've been reasonable with you. I've given you plenty of time to get the money together. I even let you skip a month, after that story you gave. I know things are a bit tight right now.... but, well.... we've gotta keep order around here, especially with Mr. Trace gone, and that means obeying the rules. If I let you off, then I've gotta let everyone else off, and then where will we be?"

  The man flexed the long metal rod in his hands. There were certainly other implements he could have used, devices much more modern and up–to–date, but Trace had been a traditionalist, and Roberts thought it was only right.

  Anyway, he didn't want to kill the man on the floor, just.... let him know who was still in charge around here.

  "Remember.... I gave you every chance. You can't say I'm being unreasonable."

  "Actually," said a new voice, "I think we can."

  A door opened and a newcomer walked in. He was a tall man, projecting an instant force of will. Roberts narrowed his eyes. He knew who this was. Another man came in behind him. Roberts knew who that was too.

  "Get outta here, Smith. This ain't none of your business."

  "Everything in Sector Three–o–one is my business these days, Roberts. Thanks for showing yourself at last.... we had quite a bit of trouble tracking you down."

  "Oh for.... Allan, sort him out for me, will you?"

  "I can't do that," said Sector 301's Security Chief firmly.

  "Allan.... whatever Mr. Trace was paying you, I'll add ten.... twenty percent. Mr. Trace always said what a good working relationship you two had. I'd like to see that continuing, now that I'm carrying on the business."

  "The 'business'," Allan said firmly. "By that you mean extortion, assault, blackmail, smuggling.... because I know you haven't got his nightclub."

  "When did you get any guts, Allan? Crawl back to your office, why don't you?"

  "I can't do that either. The law in three–o–one isn't for sale any more. Now we can do this the hard way, or.... Naw, why confuse things? Let's do this the hard way."

  It only took a few minutes after that for Roberts to be taken away and Smith to help up the slightly bruised and quite scared businessman and get back to work.

  Sector 301 had been called the Pit, and for years that was what it had been, a sink for the lost, the pathetic, the worthless, the garbage.... and the corrupt. The Security force here had been filled with cynics and criminals, paid off by the big gangs. The people had lived in a state of hopelessness and apathy, refusing to imagine there was any way out.

  Not any more.

  A miracle had happened here. One had died, and been reborn. Her words had touched the hearts of all those who had heard them, and they had been heard, and understood, and heeded, and acted upon. A shrine had grown up, a place of tranquillity, of memory, of hope - but the real memorial was Sector 301 itself.

  The place was becoming ordered. People were helping each other. The Security forces were now doing what they were supposed to be doing.

  The place was changing.

  "So," said Zack Allan to Dexter Smith, as they were relaxing with a drink in Bo's bar, "just how did you find out what Roberts was up to?"

  "A little source of information," Smith said. His tone of voice was not exactly joyous. "Someone up sector seems to be watching me."

  "Ah.... this be the same person that's been okaying funds and assistance, that helped you buy Trace's nightclub?"

  "I bought the nightclub myself. I had quite a bit of money, and the war heroes' pension went up a lot after we started winning occasionally. But as for the rest of it.... yeah. We've been getting a lot of help."

  "So who is this mysterious benefactor? Anyone I know?"

  "Someone it might be dangerous for you to know. I think you'd be better off not investigating this one, Zack. I just have this.... feeling."

  "Fair enough." Zack shrugged and went back to his drink. An uneasy silence fell over the two. They had known each other for a while, and been adversaries most of that time, ever since Smith had dismissed Allan from the post of Security Chief on the Babylon. Zack had fallen after that, and ended up here.

  But the two had shared something very special.... they had witnessed the Sector 301 miracle, the rebirth of the Blessed Delenn. Zack had done quite a bit of thinking, and had managed to regain some measure of self–respect and conviction.

  The two were not quite friends, but they were certainly not enemies, and they were definitely working towards the same goal: a future for the 'Pit'.

  And someone else was working towards that goal as well, someone Smith wasn't entirely sure he trusted, not least because Mr. Edgars was supposed to be dead. He remembered some of the things Talia had told him before she left, some of the things Edgars was into. He also remembered the offer Edgars had made him.

  If William Edgars was helping out in Sector 301, he very definitely had an ulterior motive for doing so, but at the moment they were hardly in a position to turn away any help.

  No matter where it came from.

  Smith cast his mind back a few months as he thought about one of the newest 'assistants' in Sector 301's urban renewal.

  Word had reached him, through Bo of course, that someone was hiding in 301, someone who very much wanted to remain hidden, but who also wanted to do something. Someone who might be able to help. Smith had been intrigued, and had agreed to a midnight meeting. He was led off in secret, trying to hide the fact that he knew exactly where they were going. He had grown up in the Pit, and knew its every hiding place off by heart.

  He was surprised to find Julia Tikopai waiting for him.

  The sixteen–year–old daughter of one of the missing renegade Earthforce captains, Julia was very high on the new administration's 'Most Wanted' list, not for anything she'd done as such, but because she would be a vital tool in getting her mother to surrender and come home, bringing her ship with her.

  "You know who I am?" was the first thing she had said, and he had been surprised by the composure in her voice.

  "I know your mother," he said, and he did.... in a way. Experienced Earthforce officers had been in very short supply for quite a while, and the few captains tended to hang around together. Smith and Bethany Tikopai had only really talked on a few occasions.

  "Half the planet's looking for you."

  "Which is why I came here. I want to make a deal."

  "Oh yes?"

  "You help me stay hidden. I'll help you do.... whatever it is you're doing here."

  He had smiled. "Done."

  And he hadn't regretted it. Julia had taken her place as a member of the irregular Security force in 301, those who worked without badge or pay, but with a keen conviction that some things were right and that what was wrong would no longer be tolerated. She had displayed a keen sense of tactics and leadership far beyond her years. It was thanks to people like her that the bad seeds of Sector 301 were now being cleaned out, a task now nearly completed with the arrest of Trace's last remaining right–hand man, Roberts.
/>   "So, what now?" Zack asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The rest of the planet might have forgotten about us for a while, but they're beginning to open their eyes and remember we're here. We're going to have to make this little operation of ours totally legitimate, and make sure the rest of Proxima doesn't start dumping all their crap here again."

  "Yes, I've been.... thinking about that. Someone's going to have to go and see Sheridan."

  "Sheridan?"

  "He's running the place now. I know.... I know neither of us has exactly got on well with him, but I still believe he's a good man. He should listen to us."

  "Well, then.... when are you going to go?"

  "Me?"

  "You got anyone else in mind?"

  "No, you're right. I've been hoping to put this off as long as possible, but we're going to have to make ourselves known again. There are just a lot of things we'll have to keep quiet about.... for the moment, such as our dark–haired Security Irregular for a start."

  "Here's a thought," said Zack brightly, "why don't you put your name down for the new Senate?"

  "Me? You've got to be kidding."

  "No, we're going to need a few people there, and you could do some good for three–o–one. Quite a bit of good."

  "We don't know how much power the new Senate is going to have. There's all sorts of constitutional issues that are going to have be worked out....

  "But still.... you know, that might not be such a bad idea."

  "I do have my moments."

  * * *

  "Report."

  "The problem has been dealt with. Security forces raided the base early this morning. The conspirators were captured and arrested. Three were killed. Their weapons were seized, and those incorporating Shadow technology destroyed."

  "All of them?"

  "No. Two of the weapons.... went missing. An agent of mine managed to arrange for them to be delivered to our storehouse."

  "Excellent. Our scientists will analyse them in detail."

  "And what will we do with them?"

  "Keep them safe. For.... contingencies. You never know when such things will come in useful. Are there any other little cabals of Clark's supporters still active?"

  "We do not think so. There might well be individuals here and there still in hiding, but all the large–scale groupings have now been dealt with. The new order is quite secure."

  "Good. We will begin the process of elections as soon as practicable. The sooner a proper democratic Government is in place, the better. General Sheridan will then return to his war, and we will be able to return to hiding. We have been too.... visible recently. It is time to disappear for a while."

  "And do what?"

  "Wait."

  * * *

  Look at Proxima 3. Time passes as the universe turns.

  General John Sheridan sits in his high office, reading reports, sending people to die in the front lines against the Shadows, pushing the Enemy further and further back. He gives an order for David Corwin to move to Greater Krindar. A shipyard is being prepared there, a place for Dark Star ships to be crewed and held, a launching pad for the next stage of the war. He misses having David around, but in some ways he is glad. Now he can work alone, truly alone.

  General Edward Ryan learns he will not be charged for any of his actions under Clark's regime. He is not discharged from Earthforce, and is assigned to rebuilding. Proxima will be defended by the Dark Star fleet for the foreseeable future, but a time will come when humanity will have to defend itself. Humanity will also have to commit their own ships to the Alliance's war with the Shadows. Captains Bethany Tikopai and Jerry Barns are retained in Earthforce, but the De'Molay and the Dark Thunder are decommissioned and destroyed.

  Some of the secret members of Clark's government are found and arrested. They are faceless and nameless, people who worked behind the scenes. Some of them have been plotting revenge against the new administration, but they are stopped, in more than one instance due to a strange intervention by a conspiracy no one believed existed. Evidence and testimony are gathered for public trials.

  Slowly a new administration is formed. Political parties appear, created in the pattern of those that existed before the Minbari War. Martial law is rescinded on the captured colonies and their representatives come to Proxima, forming the beginnings of a new Senate. One of the first motions to be discussed when the new Senate is finalised will be humanity's admission to the United Alliance. It has been made very clear that this will happen, and if there is any undue obstruction the Senate will discover its true place in the new order.

  Sector 301 continues to operate virtually outside the rest of Proxima. Its people are used to being forgotten and abandoned. Zack Allan has a brief meeting with the new Chief of Security, a man named John Clemens. Dexter Smith tries to make appointments with some of the new Senators, but is frequently rebuffed. Finally, he makes an appointment with William Edgars.

  The Blessed Delenn is gone, returned to Kazomi 7. There are whispers that she is still on Proxima however, reports that she has been sighted. Her legend spreads slowly but surely beyond Sector 301, and visitors come to her shrine, many from off–world.

  Julia Tikopai remains anonymous in Sector 301. She has come to enjoy her new place and her new duties. She does send a message to her mother, as soon as she is satisfied her mother is safe.

  The Round Table watches and waits, content now to sit back and let affairs take their course. Occasionally some slight manoeuvring is necessary, the calling in of a favour, a quick effort to protect one of their own or a useful ally. However, for the most part their work is done.

  The network was re–established soon after the battle. Byron is still screaming, as are the other telepaths linked into the network around Proxima. The severity of its initial psi–bursts has dampened, and it is now not much more than a highly sophisticated defence grid, albeit one that most of Proxima knows nothing about. If it is needed again then it will be used, but for now it is a weapon kept safely in the back pocket.

  Mr. Edgars has slowed down his business of shipping telepaths to the Vorlons. The collapse of Trace's operations in Sector 301 has more or less closed off that market. His masters do not complain. He has done very well indeed by them.

  Mr. Morden watches, with particular attention paid to events on Centauri Prime. Finally, a month or so after the battle, he leaves, knowing the time is right to return there.

  A nameless man waits dreaming....

  * * *

  William Edgars was, to the few people who knew him, an enigma. Head of one of the largest MegaCorps to survive the war, he was one of the richest men in what was left of the Earth Alliance. He was certainly influential and would, with a few of his companions, have been able to buy Presidents. Why, therefore, he had chosen to disseminate false information about his death and run his companies from hiding was something of a mystery.

  Dexter Smith knew a few things, but certainly not enough. He did not know why Edgars was helping him, what Edgars hoped to gain from doing so.... or just what involvement Edgars had with the missing telepaths Talia had been investigating. He was not entirely sure just which side Edgars was on.

  However, he was much too valuable a potential ally to waste.

  "Thank you for coming," Edgars said, gesturing to Smith to sit down. "I realise things have been.... busy for you. How are matters in Sector Three–o–one at the moment?"

  "Improving," Smith said, taking the seat. "We're slowly getting our industry up and running again. There are a few problems with the new administration, of course, but...."

  "But?"

  "But we're getting past them."

  "Splendid. I'm very glad to hear matters are progressing. Tell me, have you heard from Miss Winters recently?"

  Smith stiffened. Edgars had some strange fascination with telepaths, and Talia had experienced something very unusual and very painful here, something she had not fully explained to him. Smith himself possesse
d some latent telepath genes, and that made him valuable, both to Talia and to Edgars.

  "No," he said, finally. "Not for some time." Several months in fact. She had accomplished her mission in Proxima - finding out just what IPX were doing to telepaths. In addition to whatever she had witnessed during her imprisonment, Mr. Welles had given her his own file on IPX and their activities. With this information, she had left.

  "Ah, a shame. I would very much like to.... discuss a few matters with her." He sighed. "Yes, a pity, that."

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair. Smith fidgeted awkwardly in his chair, looking at Edgars, and also thinking about Talia. In some way he could not properly articulate, he missed her, and very much wanted to talk to her again.

  Finally, he sat forward. "Mr. Edgars.... we're both very busy, so if you'll forgive me being a little blunt.... why exactly did you invite me here?"

  "Would you believe a friendly chat? No.... you probably wouldn't. I've been.... taking a great deal of interest in your activities in Sector Three–o–one. Following your career, one might say. You've done remarkably, better than anyone might have expected."

  "Yeah, well.... I can't take all the credit for that. You've helped out a bit.... and then there's Delenn...." Smith shook his head. "Is there any chance of getting to the point sometime soon?"

  "Impatience.... a quality of the young. At my age, Mr. Smith, you realise the full value of time.... and of waiting. As I said, I've been observing events in Sector Three–o–one, and helping out with some.... minor matters as best as I can. I've become aware of some very interesting things, in particular that you've been sheltering young Miss Tikopai. There are quite a few members of the new administration who might want to talk to her."

  "What would be the point? Her mother's surrendered. She wasn't even charged with anything."

  "True. However.... if Miss Tikopai were to be.... closely observed, she might be a handy disincentive to her mother, should she have any ideas about objecting to the new order." Edgars waved his hand. "Anyway, that does not matter to me. Any hint of a military coup and I will be aware of it and.... a certain word in the right ear and things would come to a drastic halt. General Sheridan is not of course aware of this, and so one can forgive his caution. I speak of Miss Tikopai only as an example of my knowledge of your affairs."