Looking up, he could see the Drazi and the Narns standing above him. They looked even larger from this perspective.
"The friends I told you about," Durla said. "They will be paid very well for this, but that is only secondary. They hate you. A lot. Much more than I do. You are nothing, old man. Nothing and no one, and we'll drag your body back to the homeworld and toss it into the lime pits next to your whore of a daughter. And I.... shall be recognised in my Emperor's sight again."
A boot crashed into Marrago's rib cage. Another one came down, but he reached up and caught it, pushing the Narn backwards. His strength was ebbing, sapped away.... but he could not die here. He could not.
Lyndisty, I'm sorry. I should have protected you better.
He was suddenly aware of someone else nearby, a cold presence and a stark, painful smell. Marrago had been on hundreds of battlefields and he knew that smell intimately.
It was death.
His attackers had sensed the arrival as well, and they turned. Taking this advantage, Marrago rolled to his feet, his body protesting, but his will, as ever, pre–eminent.
The stranger was tall, dressed in black robes and a hood. He carried a long pike, a Minbari weapon, but this blade was jet black.
"Whoever you are," Durla began, "this has nothing to do with you. Go...." He stopped. He could sense it as well, and he took an involuntary step backwards.
The bounty hunters moved forward, and the stranger met them. His pike flowed in his hands as if it were water. Marrago knew little about the Minbari denn'bok, but he could recognise a master when he saw one.
He turned to Durla, who had drawn his kutari. As Marrago moved, Durla executed a near–flawless thrust, cutting badly into his side, but still the former Lord–General kept coming. Seizing Durla's sword arm, he broke it in one swift move, the lessons of his training strong in his mind. He had fought alongside Londo and Urza and they had learned unarmed combat together. All three had been strong with the kutari, but only Marrago had mastered bare–hand fighting.
Evidently so had Durla, although of a much rougher style. Ignoring the pain of his broken arm he lashed out with his fingers, aiming to gouge out Marrago's eyes. Moving quickly, Marrago caught his arm and pushed his opponent back. His foot moved forward as he curled his leg around the retreating Durla, toppling him to the ground. Durla struggled to rise, but Marrago's kick caught the side of his head, and he went down.
Marrago grabbed Durla's fallen kutari and spun round, only to see the stranger effortlessly take down the last of his attackers. He moved forward, stepping over the bodies.
"Thank you for your help," Marrago said softly. "It was uncalled for.... but welcome."
"My motive was not entirely altruistic." He spoke Centauri with a near–perfect accent, only a little strong on the vowels, a slight clipping at the end of the words. "I came looking for you, Lord–General."
"Then you found the wrong person. I am no one."
The stranger reached out and touched Marrago's arm. Warmth flowed through the harshness of his glove and Marrago stepped back. The pain.... all of it was gone. The frantic beating of his hearts, the burning in his lungs, the cuts, the bruises.... all of it gone.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The stranger partially lifted his hood. Dark eyes met Marrago's own, eyes so impossibly dark he felt he could see infinity within them, stars shining deep within a pool of eternity. The edges of a Minbari headbone could just be seen, but in the centre of the forehead nestled a jewel, incandescent with a myriad of colours, within which he could see....
.... souls?
"I believe you know who I am," he said.
"Yes," Marrago said. "I know who you are. Why did you help me?"
"I need something from you, and I can give you something in return."
"There's nothing you can give...." He stopped, whispered legends coming to him. "Can you bring her back to life? My Lyndisty? Can you bring her back to me?"
"No," he said simply. "None of us was there when she died, and in any event, we are not Gods. The universe alone can create life. We merely extend it. She will return of her own will, in her own time, when the time is right. But I can give you something else."
"What?"
"A purpose. A cause to fight for, and an opportunity to free your world, your people....
"Your Emperor."
"Why do you need me?"
"You are one of the greatest tacticians alive. Perhaps the greatest. And you are lost and alone. I am a leader and I am a general, but I cannot do everything. You can do a great deal.
"Besides, what is the point in fighting a war for myself alone? I need to fight it for everyone, and that means everyone will have to fight alongside me. You would be a good start, Lord–General."
Marrago stepped back, flexing Durla's kutari in his hand. The weight was just right, it was a finely–balanced, expertly crafted blade. His had been almost as fine, but he did not have his own any more. He had broken it with his own hands before leaving Centauri Prime. Then, he had thought he would never need to kill again.
Now, it seemed he would have to.
He looked down at Durla. He was not dead. Marrago knew he would not kill him. Durla was merely trying to serve his Emperor, and his Republic.
All that Marrago himself had ever desired to do.
"I will help you," he said simply.
"I never had any doubt," replied Sinoval the Cursed, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus.
* * *
Lyta waited until she was sure David was asleep, and then she rose and dressed quickly. There was not much time. Ulkesh would soon notice her absence, and she had to be gone from Kazomi 7 before he did.
She should not have stayed. She should have gone as soon as she could, and left David. He would have died, yes.... but how many more would die if Sinoval did not stop the Vorlons? She should have left him.
No, she couldn't have done that. He was a good man, the only really good man she had known since.... Marcus.
It was strange. Marcus had broken down the walls of cynicism and sarcasm she had built around herself with his simple belief in what was right. Then he had died, and she had despaired of finding anyone like him. How strange to find such a person here.
David, in his own way, would do just as much good here as she would with Sinoval. It was no wonder the Vorlons wanted him dead.
Gently, she kissed him, and entered his mind. "Forget this," she whispered. "Forget all of this." She had to go, fading away like a whisper in the night. None of them should remember her, not David, not Delenn, no one. She must leave nothing behind that the Vorlons could use to follow her.
He stirred, and muttered something in his sleep. She hoped he would have pleasant dreams, but somehow she doubted it. A lot of people would have a lot of nightmares in the years to come.
She left David's room and stepped out into the corridor. She had a meeting with Captain Jack in one of the hidden places he knew so well. She was late, but she knew he would wait. He did not know entirely why he was waiting, did not even know that she was the one who had hired him. And when he had taken her away from this place and returned, he would not remember a thing about their journey.
Kosh had done a lot to her. Sometimes she doubted whether she was even entirely human any more, whether she was any more human than the screaming souls in the Vorlons' network.
She walked quickly, keeping to the shadows. A few people saw her. Some were awake even now, and on a planet with as many different races as Kazomi 7 it was inevitable some would be nocturnal. She saw Brakiri merchants haggling good–naturedly, Minbari workers looking into the sky or meditating at the places where Valen had preached, a few drunken Drazi and triumphant Narns.
Few of them saw her. Their eyes just.... slid past her. None of them would remember she has passed this way.
She was near now, she could feel it. It would be morning soon, sunsrise in less than an hour. Captain Jack would wait until sunsrise and then leave, puzzled at why
he had been waiting at an abandoned spaceport all night. She had enough time.
She was outside the city now. Almost there.
A shadow fell over her, and she turned, her heart quickening. Not now! She was so close!
Ulkesh looked at her, the wind singing in her mind.
* * *
It was dark, and they lay together, the heat of their bodies warming them in the suddenly cool night. They held each other tight, both afraid that if they let go, they would never find each other again.
It was John who broke the comfortable silence. "You know.... I've been thinking."
"Hmm?" Delenn muttered in reply.
"We need somewhere new.... a symbol of the new age, a place of.... I don't know. Something free from all the old associations. Everywhere we have is old, touched by bad memories. We need somewhere new."
"Such as?"
"Well.... Kazomi Seven carries all the memories of the Drakh, and it was a Drazi world before. Not truly neutral. But somewhere completely new....
"G'Kar had the right idea with Babylon Four. It was a place where everyone could gather, could assemble for a common purpose, but he built it as a place of war. It was always going to be a battle station. What if we did that again, but made it a place of peace? Oh, I know it would be expensive, but if everyone gets involved we could build it easily.
"A completely new place, untouched by any of the old memories, a new base for the Alliance.
"What do you think, Delenn?"
"I don't know. It sounds.... right, somehow. Appropriate. What would you call it?"
"Well, G'Kar's station was called Babylon Four, and this is a continuation of that, I suppose. Why not Babylon Five?"
"Babylon Five," she said, holding the words in her mind. "Yes," she murmured. "That sounds.... I don't know. It fits.
"I like it."
"Good," John smiled. "I like it too."
"Babylon Five," she said again. "Yes. I like it."
* * *
Victory. At last. An eternity of warfare, of battling the growth of chaos, the darkness between the stars, and now it was all over.
The Light was victorious, triumphant.
A heady feeling. The war was won. The peace was beginning. The younger races had been saved from hell, now they would be led towards heaven. Slowly, oh so slowly. It would not be easy, and many of them would die during the journey the weak, the unworthy, those who just would not understand but those of them who listened, who obeyed, who conformed....
They would see Heaven.
It moved through the cities of its enemy. Countless ships hovered above the dead world, guarding it from things without and within. All life on Z'ha'dum had gone. The Shadows had obviously taken their pets and their children and their puppets with them. Still, they would have left some tricks behind.
And there was one who would have stayed.
There was no need for deception here. No need for encounter suits or illusions or angels. It could move freely, a mass of energy floating between rock and earth and air, as freely as through the clouds of home.
Besides, there would only be one being alive here, and He could see through any illusion.
"I see you," said a voice, and the Vorlon shimmered as the Eldest walked forward slowly. He was in His mortal form, the one He had been born in. It was flesh, and flesh is weak. The Vorlon was puzzled why the Eldest would clothe himself thus when he had his true form, of light and energy and beauty.
"And to prove to me that you were right all along?"
The Eldest shook His head sadly. "I never wished to say this to you, but you do not understand. You have not won, and it is not over. It will not be over for a long, long time. One day, you will understand."
Lorien was the first sentient being in the galaxy. He had seen countless millennia of life, known millions of different races, seen wonders and terrors in equal measure, but there were some things even He was unaware of.
One thing He heard now He had never heard before.
The laughter of a Vorlon.
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A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4 Page 76