by Peter David
Lenonn was a study in contradictions. On the outside, he seemed peaceful and not particularly threatening. But when you looked into his eyes, you saw the fires that still smoldered within him, and if you endeavored to fan those fires, you would quickly discover that he had the prowess and the will to back them up. He sported a trim, white beard that only added to his stateliness.
He moved through the temple, stopping every few steps to absorb the wisdom that he felt permeated the very walls around him. Most often, he tried to feel himself in touch with the greatest Minbari of all: Valen. Valen, the mysterious leader who simply appeared a thousand years ago, at a time when the spirits and forces of the Minbari were at their lowest ebb. It was Valen who had led his people into the light, Valen who had formed the Rangers, and Valen who had given his people prophecy that was so eerily accurate, so prescient, that one would have almost thought that Valen lived through it himself and merely reiterated what he had already seen.
Lenonn headed toward the garden, pausing momentarily to steel himself for an encounter he anticipated to be potentially the greatest battle that he had ever fought. A battle for survival, even though no weapons would be required- other than words.
His opponent waited for him, already out in the garden. Lenonn's aides had informed him that Callier had arrived, and it had been Lenonn's instruction that Callier be brought out to the garden, there to await Lenonn's coming. He did not issue the instruction out of any desire to delay, to needlessly take up Callier's time. Rather it was to give the high-ranking Minbari an opportunity to absorb the ambience that Lenonn felt the entire temple radiated. If Callier felt even a fraction of the importance of the place, and what it stood for-what those who populated it believed in-then this meeting might go far easier than anticipated.
Unfortunately, Lenonn had the uneasy feeling that he was deceiving himself. Nevertheless, he drew a deep breath and continued toward Callier. Had he chosen to, he could have made his footfalls so light that Callier -whose back was to Lenonn -would not have known he was there until Lenonn reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. But this was a time when matters must be aboveboard and honest, and so Lenonn walked with heavy footfalls so that Callier would have plenty of warning that he was not alone. Callier, for his part, did not appear to acknowledge this fact. Instead he continued staring out at the cityscape, his hands folded behind his back. For a brief time, Lenonn began to wonder if perhaps Callier hadn't gone deaf. But then Callier took a soft breath in preparation for speaking, and Lenonn knew that Callier was all too aware that Lenonn was there.
He was half a head taller than Lenonn, and quite confident in himself.
"I never tire of this view, Lenonn," Callier said in his rough voice. "It amazes me to think that Valen himself stood where I am standing so many years ago. It moves me beyond the telling."
Lenonn nodded. "Yes, I often feel his presence here." He waited for Callier to make some sort of reply, but none was forthcoming, and so he continued, "Thank you for coming, Callier. I am honored that you would travel so far."
Callier turned to face him and bowed ever so slightly. It was difficult to tell with Callier whether he was being respectful or mocking. "It is the least I can do for the honored leader of the Anla-Shok."
They moved slowly toward one of the benches, the better to take in the view while relaxing. "I'm not certain about the 'honored' part," Lenonn commented. "I know what they say about me."
There was, ever so slightly, a challenge at the end of the sentence, for Lenonn suspected that Callier was one of the many "they" who badmouthed in private while publicly accepting him. But Callier did not rise to the bait. Instead he replied noncommittally, "You've been listening to rumors again."
Lenonn shrugged, not denying it. In fact, he embraced it. "Rangers specialize in reports from distant places. Rumors are at the core of what we do. I've learned that the more vehemently a rumor is denied, the more often it tends to be true."
They reached the bench and seated themselves, the challenge still hanging in the air. Callier remained far too experienced a verbal warrior to do anything other than simply sit there, calmly, his eyes half-lidded, waiting for Lenonn to speak his concerns. It was, after all, Lenonn who had called the meeting, and although Callier knew perfectly well what was on Lenonn's mind, he had no problem allowing Lenonn to steer the thrust of the conversation.
"So," Lenonn finally said, "did you pass on my request for more support?"
Callier braced himself for the no doubt stormy conversation that was about to come. "I did. It was considered, and rejected."
Lenonn lost no time. "But they promised-!" he said angrily.
Callier placed a hand on Lenonn's shoulder that was both conciliatory and, at the same time, restraining. Lenonn felt the strength in Callier's fingers, and it conveyed a gentle warning that was not lost on him. "Lenonn, be sensible," said Callier. "No one questions the historical importance of the Rangers. They served their purpose and will always be remembered with honor." His gaze swept the temple. "We set this place aside so you can continue to maintain them, as Valen said-"
Lenonn made no attempt to hide his annoyance. "He said we were to remain a fighting force, not a curiosity, a place where children come to see fossils that walk and talk and tell stories."
Now, Callier was the consummate political animal. Few understood as keenly as he the need to try and placate all sides-even those sides for which there seem to be no purpose. Why? Because no matter how certain one was that a particular body would not be required, one simply never knew for sure and so it was best not to burn bridges if one did not have to. So Callier decided that reason was the best way in which to handle the situation.
"The warrior caste objects," he pointed out. "They feel they should be solely responsible for protecting Minbar."
But Lenonn would have none of it. He shook his head impatiently and replied, "They've always objected, Callier." He began counting off all the old objections on his fingers. "They don't like our approach. They don't like that the Rangers draw from all three castes." Clearly he could have brought up any number of other complaints that had reached his ears, but it seemed a waste of time. "It's the same old story and there's no point in rehashing old arguments." Lenonn's tone changed, and he sounded as if he were giving instructions that were to be obeyed, rather than requests to be considered. "We need more resources," he said flatly. "Larger facilities. We must begin recruiting new members from among our people ..."
Callier did nothing to hide his growing frustration. He rose and moved away from Lenonn, staring at the cityscape as if he hoped that somehow the view might provide an answer. None seemed forthcoming. 'There are less than a hundred of you, Lenonn. How can I justify the expense involved?"
No single word could have so electrified and infuriated Lenonn as that one. "Justify?" If Callier had just confessed to murdering his children, he could not have gotten a more incredulous reaction.
But Callier would not back down. "We have carried the Rangers as part of our cultural identity, our debt to Valen, for a thousand years. How much more can you ask of us?" Lenonn pounded his fist into his open palm for emphasis. "But now is when the prophecies said we would be most needed! We must begin to move or-"
And then he stopped. Something in Callier's face, in his posture, informed Lenonn that he was wasting his breath. This was confirmed a moment later as Callier said firmly, "I'm sorry, Lenonn. There is nothing I can do. The Caste Elders have made their decision."
Callier remained a moment longer, as if waiting for the right words to come to him, something that would assuage the anger he saw in Lenonn. But nothing came readily to mind. Deciding that remaining any longer was a waste of time for both of them, Callier steepled his fingers and bowed slightly in the traditional gesture that implied being at one's service. Then he turned to go.
Lenonn knew at that moment that he had to say something, anything. He could not let the moment end in this fashion. He knew that if Callier simply walked away
the Anla-Shok was likely finished. The consequences of such a happenstance were too hideous to contemplate. He wasn't entirely sure what he was about to say-certainly not before he actually had said it. But once the words were out, he knew instinctively that this was the only thing he could possibly have said that would have stopped Callier in his tracks.
"Then I demand to speak with the Grey Council," Lenonn said.
It had the desired effect. Callier halted and turned to face the angry head of the Rangers. "Lenonn..." he said, trying to sound conciliatory, though there was no sympathy reflected in his face. Instead his expression, his eyes in particular, sent a distinct message: Do not do this thing. You will regret it.
But Lenonn had moved beyond regret, beyond caring about anything other than what he perceived as the survival of his race. His voice rising, he continued. "It is my right as leader of the Anla-Shok. I demand to see them and make my case personally."
"If you go over the heads of the Elders, you risk offending them."
The excuse seemed almost laughable to Lenonn. Here he was, concerned about the prophecy of a darkness falling upon the entirety of the galaxy. Of an enemy so formidable that it had almost obliterated the Minbari only a thousand years previously, and nothing less than the advent of the greatest Minbari in history had halted it. He was fighting for the prolongation of possibly every sentient spacegoing species . . . and he was supposed to be concerned that he would offend the Elders?
Causing offense did not even begin to register on his personal screens.
"Then let them be offended," Lenonn said. Then it was his turn to walk away, and Callier's turn to try to halt him.
"You operate here at our sufferance, Lenonn. If you force the issue, the Rangers may pay the price."
As an implied threat, credit Callier: It wasn't half bad. But it wasn't half enough, for Lenonn's dreams were haunted by fearsome ships that screamed through space even though there was no air to carry the sound. Beside that, everything paled. "Ignore my request, and we will all pay the price for their stupidity. And yours." And with that parting shot, he was into the temple and gone from Callier's sight.
Callier returned to those whom he served, and he knew even before he began discussions exactly how it would go. There would be cries of protest, there would be shouting and threats and vituperation, and even the rattling of weapons in their sheaths.
And once it was all done, once everyone had had the opportunity to show how they were not going to let themselves be pushed around by the head of the Anla-Shok . . . they were going to wind up giving him precisely what he demanded.
For, in truth, they had no choice.
And his meeting with the Grey Council would lead to results that no one, even with all the prophecies at their disposal, could possibly have anticipated. But in order for you to comprehend them, I must first tell you of Delenn . . .
I know, I know. You grow weary of endless dissertations on the dramatis personae. You want to know of the great battles, the great heroics I have promised you. Would it help to tell you that these two isolated incidents would lead to the greatest war in Human history? Yes, many Minbari died in the war, but before the end, Earth herself would stand on the edge of complete destruction. Over a quarter billion Humans would be killed.
And the irony is ... the terrible, terrible truth that no one knows, but that I will tell you: The blood of many who died in the war is on my hands ... my fault. My fault.
I suspect you do not believe me. You feel that, after all I have endured in the last few years, the events of history have blurred for me and I shoulder the burden of all the galaxy's sufferings. How, after all, could I -could any of the Centauri -be held responsible for a war between Humans and Minbari, considering that we did not participate?
A valid question. Trust me to know my sins, and the price I will eventually pay for them. I will make all clear to you, given time, presuming that the time is mine to take.
Now, as I was saying . .. Delenn . ..
~ chapter 3 ~
The first time I saw Delenn, back in the days of Babylon 5, she seemed on the surface to be no different than any other Minbari. Bald, with an arching bone crest and that trademark look of cold superiority and remoteness. Indeed, in those days one would have been hard-pressed to be absolutely certain as to her gender at all. She had little patience for me, nor I for her. What I should have realized at the time, but did not, was that no one on Babylon 5 was entirely what they seemed. Not Delenn, not Sinclair or Sheridan, not G'Kar . . . not even me, really. We were all mysteries wrapped within enigmas.
She was the Minbari ambassador back then. Unknown to us at the time, she was also part of the ruling group of the Minbari, called the Grey Council. Hers was a very esteemed and honored role indeed, for the Grey Council-with its nine members composed of three workers, three religious, and three warrior caste members-presides at the very center of Minbari society. The Minbari, as I have said in the past, liked things in threes.
In time, Delenn would undergo great changes, amazing changes. She would enter a great cocoon and emerge as a being never before encountered in the history of either the Mmbari or Humans. She would bear the bone crest and facial demeanor of a Minbari, but along with long, dark hair and certain other attributes that were unique to Human females. Side by side with John Sheridan, she would help form an alliance that would prove the salvation of all the races of the galaxy, including -naturally -Minbari and Humans.
Yes, the first time I saw Delenn . . .
... and as for the last time we met, well, that was not all that long ago. But I need not concern you with that now. I am old, my mind wanders, and it is all that I can do not to go off on too many tangents, in telling you the history of the conflict.
At the time of which I am now speaking-the time when Lenonn was to meet with the Grey Council -Delenn was not yet an ambassador to Babylon 5, obviously, since that fabled space station was not yet even a glimmer in the eye of any Human designer. Nor was Delenn yet really a member of the Grey Council.
She was, however, extremely learned in the ways of the religious caste, and the Council leader -Dukhat -had taken a personal interest in her, early in her career, guiding her learning and training. He had a feeling about her, a sense that she was destined for greatness. Indeed, it may be that his own belief in her helped impel her to her destiny, filled her with belief in herself. Made a prophecy over into a self-fulfilling prophecy. Who truly knows for certain?
At that time, the Grey Council stood at eight members. The ninth, Kadroni, had fallen grievously ill and had lapsed into a coma; consequently, she was unable to continue in her duties. After much deliberation, an offer had been extended to Delenn to take Kadroni's place. It was a heatedly debated nomination, for Delenn was still relatively young, and there were some who felt she was not ready enough, mature enough, or politic enough to become one of the ruling inner circle. But Dukhat's voice held a tremendous amount of influence, and he managed to steamroll over opposition. An amazed Delenn had accepted the offer and had engaged in the three months of concentrated meditation, learning, and sacrifice required of anyone who was to become one of the Grey Council. It was shortly before her indoctrination that the fateful meeting with Lenonn occurred.
The last time I saw Delenn, I asked her if-knowing what she knows now-she would have spoken differently. Would she have tried desperately to steer the Grey Council away from the path it eventually took?
She gazed at me with a look that was knowing and sad, and she said, "For the loss I sustained, for the deaths that resulted ... I suppose I would, yes. But it is pointless to dwell on such things, Londo. For we are not normal beings, you and I. We are creatures of destiny. We do not have lives to lead, so much as we have parts to play. We do what we must, and second-guessing is the province of fools.
"Someone once told me that we are part of a great story. We all fulfill our roles. Even you, Londo. Even, may your gods help you ... you."
It would be comforting to embra
ce that notion. Most comforting indeed. I would like nothing more than to attain absolution by simply dismissing all my actions as some sort of divine plan. How peaceful that would be.
But I do not believe that to be true. I believe that I will only earn my peace through . . . other means.
But if Delenn sees herself as part of a story, then by all means, let us continue to tell it.
A Minbari bed is a rather angular affair. It is somehow characteristic of them that they do nothing as others do. It is little more than a simple board, which tilts at a forty-five-degree angle. In the city of Tuzanor, night had fallen and the Ranger leader known as Lenonn was asleep, no doubt dreaming dreams of past glories. Glories that would not, he supposed, ever be reflected in the mirror of the future.
Then he awoke.
Lenonn had trained himself to awaken quickly, to skip the intermediate stages and instead open his eyes, fully alert. When one is the leader of what wjis once the greatest fighting force in the history of Minbar, one accustoms oneself to be ready for any potential danger as quickly and efficiently as possible.
He did not know at first what it was that had roused him. The exact nature of the possible danger was not immediately evident. All he knew was that it was a sound-a sound that his sleeping mind registered as unnatural for the environment, and which quickly alerted him that he should leave his state of sleeping bliss and arm himself for a potential threat.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness even as his ears identified the unexpected sound. It was the soft, gentle tinkling of bells. And then, just as quickly as they had sounded . . . they stopped.
They had seemed very distant and-in the instant analysis of full wakefulness-hardly posed a threat. But it was unlikely that Lenonn, a wily old warrior, was going to be persuaded to lower his guard simply because of the cessation of a sound. His hand softly brushed against the handle of his fighting pike, which he kept secreted in his robes. Then he closed his eyes and waited, giving the appearance of sleep but, in fact, fully alert and ready for anything. If he was to be attacked, then let his assailants think that they had come upon a sleeping foe, only to be drawn into an ambush by a wide-awake and battle-ready Minbari.