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

by Gareth D. Williams

  Besides, this was the Pale and Silent King, and few ignored such a meeting.

  Lorien pondered the origins of the name, and thought of the irony. Few understood the meaning now, and yet it was maintained anyway. For a race which thrived on change, the Shadows could be very traditional.

  the Pale and Silent King said. Lorien only nodded once.

  "As they did once before. I remember the fighting well."

 

  "You have survived before. You have been driven from this world countless times in the past, and always you returned."

 

  "All things change."

 

  "And yet they have made it to the stars on their own. Without you."

 

  "And the Vorlons. They were there also."

 

  "You have defence systems. You have ships. You can defend this world."

 

  "Even when you are all gone, you seek to manipulate them. As you say, you are lost. Why fight? What can this gain? The Vorlons will understand this too. A day will come when I will talk to the Vorlon Lights Cardinal in their ancient home and he will say the same things you have said. Their time is done. You chose to stay when the others left. All of you chose to stay. You must have known you could not stay forever. You must have known a time would come when you were not needed. That is change, after all."

 

  "A time will come when I myself must leave. Not now, no, but soon. I will join you all beyond the Rim, and see what lies beyond."

 

  "That is not necessary."

 

  "And you will be the last."

 

  Lorien sighed. Unnecessary. It was all so unnecessary. He had to remain here. He had to watch. The time was not yet right for him to leave. The Shadows believed that if he ever left Z'ha'dum, the entire planet would be destroyed. So did the Vorlons for that matter.

  He looked up, and with eyes that were not in his head but in his soul, he looked through kilometres of rock, of city, of air, of sky, of star.

  And he saw the ships appear in the skies above Z'ha'dum.

  And he saw the Shadows make ready for them.

  * * *

  There was always that one, single moment of hesitation in battle, an instant when both sides stopped and thought. Such moments brought about either victory or defeat, and it was a wise leader who knew how to use them.

  Both fleets moved, casually, slowly, circling around each other. The Shadow warships hovered above their ancestral home, the place of their duty, the place where their Pale and Silent King waited. They knew their duty. All of them knew their duty. And some of them knew only revenge.

  You did not let us show you heaven.

  So we will show you hell.

  The Dark Stars hummed, the trapped souls within them focussing their minds and efforts at the commands of far distant masters. Through their eyes the Vorlons watched, and through their mouths the Vorlons sent their reply.

  We will show them heaven. And we will show them hell. You are not needed.

  Still the battle did not start. The Alliance ships continued to jump into view, taking up their positions, each ship according to their precise orders. Defence, shock attack, reserves. The whole plan had been evaluated, calculated, prepared.

  The war was over. Now.

  And still the battle did not start. Neither side moved. The Alliance could not know that the Shadows were arguing amongst themselves. The Vorlons did, and, sensing some final deception on the part of their ancient enemies, waited.

  A message was sent to the Dark Star 1, flagship of the fleet, to General John 'Shadowkiller' Sheridan himself.

  A reply was sent, and from the dead world of Z'ha'dum, there came a shuttle.

  The Vorlons still waited.

  * * *

  He had stared into the face of death twice before in his life, and, through fate or miracle or chance or stubbornness or destiny, he had survived both times. He knew that this time he would not.

  He walked with a limp, his every breath clouded with smoke. Things rattled inside him, things that should not be moving like that. Bright lights flashed before his eyes.

  He remembered hanging there, in that dark room, tears rolling down his eyes as he looked at the body of his wife. They had killed her, with their experiments and their tortures. He had never hated anything before in his life, but he hated now. Oh, how he hated them now! He would sell his soul for revenge. They had taken his wife and his daughter, and maybe his son too.

  And then something had moved, emerging from the darkness. He recognised the silhouette, and a curse rasped from his mouth. He wanted revenge.... but he could not move, not so much as an inch.

  "Come back.... have you?" he had whispered. "What more can you do to me? Kill me.... If you have any mercy at all.... just kill me!"

  "Oh no," said the figure, her cat's eyes dancing with pleasure. He knew her. Not a Minbari, no, but she might as well have been. "I have no mercy, and you aren't going to die. Not for a very long time. There are some people who want to meet you."

  He shifted back to the present and saw the guards looking at him. He limped past them, moving as they directed. He had a mission to perform, his last mission for the people who had treated him well, the people who had given him a chance, not just for revenge, but also to do some good.

  There were others who could have been sent, he supposed. People in better health than he was. Drakh magi. A Zener surgeon or diplomat. A Z'shailyl even. But they had chosen him. The Pale and Silent King had chosen him.... for this last meeting.

  One last warning. One last message before everything collapsed into flames.

  He could feel the presence of the Pale and Silent King in the back of his mind, illuminated through one of the Drakh mage–orbs. The Drakh armada might have been torn apart and scattered to the winds at Minbar two years ago, but they still had their uses.

  As, apparently, did an old man. An old, dying man.

  He remembered the flash of light that had seared his eyes and his mind. Welles was at his side, Clark before him, ready to unleash devastation on Proxima. One of them had moved, and then there had been a roar, a burst of energy, and the sound of Clark's body tearing apart.

  He should have died then. The Shadows had been able to save him to get him off–world, but he still should have died. Not even the Zener could fully repair the injuries he had suffered, the pain the Vorlon's light had caused to his Shadow–enhanced body. He wondered if Welles still lived.

  The Shadows had not been able to save him after all. The Zener had restored his sight and mended most of his bones, but there was little more they could do, especially with the lack of resources. He was a dying man, and he knew it.

  But he had one duty to fulfill first.

  The guards stepped aside, Narns mostly. The infamous Narn Bat Squad. A wry smile touched his face, as he entered the room.

  General John Sheridan and the Blessed Delenn rose to meet him.

  Former Ambassador David Sheridan coughed. "Hello, son."

  *
* *

  We should fight.

  No, there can be another way.

  What other way is there? We should fight. The Enemy is beaten. We can destroy them. We can take their world. We can....

  Why do they not fight now? There is some trick, some plan. The Eldest has been talking to them.

  The Eldest will not betray us. He will not aid them.

  When we own Z'ha'dum, we will ask him. We will serve him, and follow in his path. But for now.... he has chosen to live with them.

  They were unworthy of him.

  Yes. And see, they have been defeated. Let them have their last, little deception. They have lost.

  So, what shall we do?

  Wait. Still.

  * * *

  "Hello, son."

  "Dad?"

  Delenn straightened, looking at the man before her with calm eyes. He looked ill, broken and shattered. In one way he reminded her of Welles, in those last days. Knowing he was dying, but with an inner peace, an acceptance of what was to come.

  Then she looked at John. He looked torn, stunned surprise meeting with a steely resolve. As far as she was aware, John had not known his father was still alive. Ambassador Sheridan had come to Kazomi 7 to negotiate a false peace treaty, and he had spoken with his son then. Delenn had passed that off as a fever–dream on John's part, not wishing to hurt him with the knowledge that his father was working for the Enemy.

  She supposed he might have acquired that knowledge on Proxima, but she honestly did not know. Gently, slowly, she reached out one hand to brush against John's. Still he did not say anything.

  David Sheridan was one of the people responsible for the death of their son, whom she had ironically and unknowingly given his name. She had chosen the name David because of Captain Corwin, not for John's father, but the name was there in any case.

  She should hate him, but she could not. She had not hated Welles, and had forgiven him at the end. Hatred was not the answer, not to anything. She did not even hate the Shadows any more.

  "I thought you were dead," John whispered.

  "I should have been. The Shadows got me off Proxima just in time, and their scientists patched me up.... as well as they could. I'm still dying, mind."

  "You could come back to Proxima," John said quickly. "Or to Kazomi Seven. Between all of us, we can probably find a way to heal you properly."

  Ambassador Sheridan was surprised, and so was Delenn. She looked up into John's face, and found no sign of emotion there. Nothing at all. The sight scared her.

  "Ah," the Ambassador said. Then he sighed. "No, I don't think that's a viable option any more. I made my decision, and I will stick with the consequences."

  "You taught me that."

  "Yes."

  Another silence. Delenn tightened her grip on John's hand. His skin felt very cold. She made to speak, but John spoke first.

  "Why are you here, Dad? What is this - some last threat or joke from the Shadows?"

  "Nothing of the sort. A last parley, you could say. A last message."

  "Well?" Delenn said nothing. She had an uncomfortable feeling she had heard a message similar to this before. You would not let us show you heaven.

  "It's not too late, you know. Turn on the Vorlons. They aren't your friends. They're.... a relic of the past. Foolish notions.... but dangerous for all that. Join us, listen to us, ignore us.... do whatever you like. But don't work with the Vorlons, whatever you do."

  "They have helped us," John said calmly. "They brought me back from death. They provided us with these ships. They've given us almost everything we've needed. They aren't perfect, no, and I'm not saying I trust them entirely.... but they've given us more reason to trust them than you have."

  No, Delenn thought. They've given us no reason to trust them at all, and every reason to abandon them.

  Ambassador Sheridan shook his head. "You don't understand." He paused, and then chuckled wryly. "Hah! They'll be telling you that in a few years. If they aren't already. They're fond of saying that. You don't understand. This time you really don't.... or maybe you do. I don't know.

  "But I know this. We've lost. We admit it. We're done for, and this time there's no coming back. There's two ways to handle this. Unfortunately.... most of us chose the wrong one."

  "You mean trying to blow up Kazomi Seven."

  "Yes.... that was part of it. Revenge, you see. Scourge the galaxy. Too many believed that.... if you didn't want to listen to us, you shouldn't be allowed to listen to anyone. It wasn't just Kazomi Seven, you know. Centauri Prime, the Narns.... all over the place. Let the galaxy burn.

  "But not any more. You know, I've spent my whole life indulging in diplomacy, working out factions, who they are, what they want, and it still hit me to learn that the Shadows are every bit as factionalised as anyone else I've ever met. The Vorlons will be too, I suppose. Some of them preached revenge, others hoped that we could get one last lesson through to you all before it was too late.

  "The revenge faction lost a lot of prestige when Kazomi Seven survived. And Centauri Prime. They had at least one other plot in motion that I don't know about. Something to do with a legacy, but that doesn't matter. The Shadow leaders recalled all ships, all warriors and servitor races here. Ready for one huge battle.

  "What you see out here isn't the half of it. We have more of those death clouds. We've got the Z'Shailyl, the Zarqheba, the Drakh magi, not to mention the defence grid. Maybe we could even win this battle, although I doubt it if the Vorlons get involved, but that doesn't matter.... because what would be the point?

  "Look at you all. Everyone is stronger now, because of us. The Alliance would never have formed if the Drakh hadn't attacked Kazomi Seven. All of you are different now.... better, stronger. That was all we wanted to do. Make you stronger.

  "I think it worked too well. It's been said the greatest joy in any teacher's life is to be surpassed by his pupil. No one on Z'ha'dum is saying that now."

  He paused, and looked down. "There was a message from the Shadow leaders, from all those who didn't just want revenge.

  "We wanted what was best for you all. We tried to show you the stars, and you rejected us. We tried to give you heaven...."

  "And we cast you down," Delenn whispered. "Then, if we will not see heaven, you will show us hell."

  He looked surprised. "You know? Then I suppose you already know what we are going to tell you now. We only tried to do what was right for you, and along the way we stumbled and fell.... but still we tried. When we are gone.... when you remember us.... remember the good as well as the bad.

  "There. Now, I will go. If you will let me. I want to be on Z'ha'dum when the end comes. It is strange, but I feel more at home there than anywhere else since Earth.... Including Proxima."

  "Wait! Dad!" John said. "Are you all just going to fight us then? Your planet killers, and your Drakh and your warships. You're all just going to fight now?"

  "Yes."

  "And you know you'll lose."

  "Probably, we will."

  "But you'll go ahead anyway? You'll kill God knows how many of us, and all your own people, and all those servant races who swore to follow you. You'll throw them all away?"

  "What else is there? We cannot continue as we were. We can only fight."

  "Can the Shadows hear you? Right now?"

  "Yes. Their leaders can hear this through a Drakh mage–orb. There is something blocking it, some trick of the Vorlons, but the signal is still there. They would have to be much more powerful to shut down a signal like that completely, here, at Z'ha'dum."

  "So their leaders can hear you?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Dad.... how about coming for a little walk with Delenn and me? There are some things to show you. All of you."

  * * *

  Images from the End of the Age.

  Tirivail of the Minbari - "I came to storm the gates of hell, to stand where the heroes of old stood, to fulfill their legacy, to become a legend and a hero myself.
In a thousand years, I want my name remembered, I want there to be people following my stories, emulating my deeds.

  "But I wonder.... what is the point? My father is Warleader now, my Clan leader, Satai. My sister served Primarch Sinoval. My brother died with honour. What have I done to match their deeds?

  "I do not want to be forgotten. Not by anyone.

  "And if I have to storm Z'ha'dum to do that, then so be it."

  Kulomani of the Brakiri - "My father made trinkets for sale at market, little jewels, things that spun in the starlight of our world. He made them himself, with time and effort and skill. He taught me how to make them. He wanted me to follow his path, to pursue his dreams and not my own.

  "I left, and joined the military. I wanted to see the worlds I had only ever heard of as a child, to see sunlight, and stars, to see Minbar and Narn and Earth and even the dead worlds at the Rim my people spoke of with such fear.

  "My father died fifteen years ago, and I never spoke to him after he left. Soon it will be the Day of the Dead. I will return home, and talk to my father then when he returns to me. I will explain my decision, and tell him all the things I have seen, and I will beg his forgiveness.

  "And if I die here, then I will return to my son as a shade, and explain to him all the things I have not yet said, all the things I have not said since he left to pursue his own path, far from my own...."

  Ta'Lon of the Narn - "What is there to say? I fight because that is what I do. I have met the one I will follow all my life, until I am gone. He asked me to come here, to stand here at the end of his dream and watch the nightmare end, and so here I am. What else is there to say?

  "Loyalty is a virtue, or so I was told. But more than that, it is what I am. Take away my loyalty to the Ha'Cormar'ah, and I am nothing. I have lost my eye, my friend, my parents in this war, but I believe these things were justified because he claims it.

  "And if I for one single moment doubt that is so, then it all will be for nothing.