by Peter David
At least, that was the picture on the outside. On the inside, it was a very different story.
In Delenn's quarters, a single candle provided illumination. Over the last two years, Delenn had descended further and further into darkness ... literally. It was a reflection of what she was enduring spiritually. When the door opened, she did not even have to bother to turn to see that it was Morann. These days, he was the only one who ever came to see her, and then it was only to provide her with updates as to the battle.
"We are almost within range of the homeworld of the Humans," he told her. He waited to see if a response was forthcoming. None was. "The Grey Council should be assembled to see the end of our great campaign."
At first she spoke so softly that it was almost impossible to hear her. "What glory is there in eliminating an entire race, Morann?"
She turned to face him and was surprised at what she saw. There was incredible exhaustion etched on his face. She realized that it had been some time since she had last seen him, and the change in him was quite evident. She suspected he had not been sleeping much, if at all.
Was it that the campaign was simply more difficult than he had anticipated? It was one thing to wage war against a helpless enemy, but the Humans had proven surprisingly ingenious and resilient. The cost to the Minbari had been considerable in terms of lives and resources. Indeed, among the populace there were secret mutterings of becoming tired of the entire business. But these mutterings were kept secret, for none could forget that the war was being waged in the name of Dukhat.
Or was it something more, Delenn wondered. More than just the physical toll? Was there a psychic cost as well? A depletion on the Minbari as a race, as if their own souls were being drained in the endeavor?
Morann considered the question. "Glory?" he mused, wondering out loud to himself as much as he was speaking to her. "Not as much as in the beginning." He seemed to make an effort to shake off the exhaustion. "It has been a long road, Delenn. But we are nearly at the end of our holy war."
"Yes ... but are we any longer holy?"
He actually seemed amused by her response. "Why is it, whenever I see you, you never speak other than to ask questions?"
And now it was Delenn's turn to speak out loud to herself, with Morann listening to her inner turmoil. "Because questions are all I have left. After today, I think they are all I will ever have."
"Then at least bring your questions to the Council. We must all be there at the end."
There was something in his voice. Something in the way that he had suggested she bring her questions to the Council. It was almost as if he were encouraging her to question, to dispute their purpose.
She wanted to probe more deeply into what was going through his mind, but she did not have the opportunity, for she found herself watching his retreating back.
She remained in her quarters, pondering the situation for a moment, and then she walked out the door.
It was very likely her imagination, but the corridors around her-which once had seemed almost suffused with warmth-now seemed cold and uninviting. There seemed to be no one around, which was unusual. She drew her Grey Council robe closer in around herself, for she felt as if there was a chill in the air ...
She walked past Dukhat's shrine ... and stopped.
She had not gone there since that time two years previously, when she had gone in looking for guidance from the Vorlons and found none to be forthcoming. She had no idea what prompted her to stand outside the room. Nor did she have any true notion of why she decided to walk in. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was in order to give her one last, brief connection with Dukhat before they finished this ghastly business that was being conducted in his name.
When she entered, she thought that the room seemed ... different somehow. Slightly brighter. But there were still long shadows creeping across the floor, the walls. She glanced toward the corner where she had last thought she saw a Vorlon standing. She sighed, started to turn away ... and then, just out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.
It moved. She had to convince herself that she hadn't merely fancied it, as she had the last time. It had really, genuinely moved. In a low voice, barely daring to hope, she said, "Axe you still here?"
The shadow stopped moving, and her heart sank. She turned to leave ...
.. . and Kosh was standing behind her.
"We have always been here," Kosh said in that odd musical manner of his.
She did not question. She realized, in the end, that questioning was pointless, particularly when it came to the Vorlons. Some things simply had to be taken on faith.
"I've failed," she said. "In a little while, the final slaughter will begin." She began to circle the room. "I know the others do not want it. Even Morann is tired of war, tired of blood . . . but the war has taken on a life of its own, and it will continue to its bloody end no matter our feelings. I think the others need only a reason to delay or reconsider, but there is no such reason. And we are out of time."
She waited for them to say something, and continued to wait. They volunteered nothing. They simply remained inscrutable within their encounter suits. It really wasn't much of an improvement over when she had come to the room and discovered it empty. Finally, despairing of learning anything useful from the Vorlons, she started to leave the room for what she firmly felt was the last time.
"The truth points to itself," said the Vorlon who had the more rounded edges to his encounter suit.
Slowly she turned and looked back at them. "What?"
"The truth points to itself," he said again.
"I. . . don't understand."
The other Vorlon spoke up. The one who seemed oddly more menacing for some reason. "You will."
She shook her head, still uncomprehending. "But-"
"Go now," the second Vorlon said.
And the first one ... the one whom, Delenn realized, she felt less disturbed by, said, "Go. Before it is too late."
She did not understand, but she felt she had one hope: that somehow, sooner or later, the advice from the Vorlons would mean something to her. But she prayed that it would be "sooner," since the Human race did not appear to have much in the way of "later."
The Earthforce fighter pilots were not certain which direction the Minbari would be coming from. Squadrons were spread out in all directions along the various spatial planes, looking, watching and waiting for some sign of the Minbari advance.
Alpha Squadron was busy cruising its designated sector. Hecht in Alpha Seven had his sensors on full, scanning the stars, trying to see if any of them were moving. Then he suddenly received a warning on his instrumentation. He locked it down and said briskly, "Alpha Seven to base. I'm picking up energy emissions on the horizon."
He heard the voice of the fleet commander come back, "Alpha Seven, scout ahead. See what's out there."
Hecht had every intention of proceeding with the utmost caution. He was usually something of a go-getter, Hecht was, and ordinarily liked to be first for things. He had no desire, however, to be the very first person to die in the Battle of the Line. "Affirmative," he said. "Any bogeys on the screen?"
"Negative, Alpha Seven," replied Fleet Command. "All other squadrons, maintain radio silence until Alpha Seven checks this out."
Hecht swung his Starfury around and moved off in the direction of the energy emissions. For the briefest of moments, he considered the fact that when Humankind first embarked on space travel, a voyage to the moon had occupied many days. Now, with Earth at his back, he was approaching the moon and would be passing it in a matter of seconds. He remembered, as a cadet, going to the Neil Armstrong museum on the moon; the one that had been built around Armstrong's first footprints. He had placed his foot in Armstrong's track, as all visitors were permitted to do, and he had been pleased to see that, appropriately booted, he fit precisely. It gave him a sort of connection to those without whose efforts he would never have become a Starfury pilot.
"Closing in on trace emissions," H
echt said as the moon began to fill the view just outside his Starfury. "So far nothing. Might be just an echo or a . . ."
Then he saw them coming. It was a horde of Minbari fighters, swarming up and over from the other side of one of the moon's mountain ranges. They shot straight upward and then looped around as Hecht shouted "Aw, hell!" before recovering his professionalism and announcing, "We've got a scouting party! Repeat, we've got a scouting party! Hostiles on approach! Locking on!"
He swung his ship desperately around, trying to get away from the incoming fighters and seek the relative safety of the fleet. But even as he opened up the throttle and fired the thrusters, he knew that he was accomplishing too little, too late. He was blasted from behind, had barely enough time to see his starboard engine erupt, and think, Yup, figures, now when I don't wont to be, I'm first, just before his ship blew completely apart.
Jeffrey Sinclair, or-as he was designated-Alpha Leader, shouted over his comm unit, "Alpha Seven!"
"He's gone!" called Wheeler, who had seen Hecht's ship go up.
Sinclair's hands clenched more tightly on his controls. His jaw set grimly, he ordered, "Stay in formation! Hold the Line! No one gets through, no matter what!"
"Understood," Mitchell shot back. And then, with alarm, he called, "Alpha Leader, you've got a Minbari on your tail!"
Sinclair had been momentarily distracted, hadn't even noticed his own rear sensor readouts. That had been unforgivably sloppy; without Mitchell's shouted warning, it could have cost him everything. Sinclair opened up his controls wide and the Starfury angled sharply away as the Minbari fighter moved in pursuit. For a brief moment, Sinclair hated to admit that he admired the quality of flying exhibited by his pursuer. Sinclair prided himself on his ability to execute evasive maneuvers, but this Minbari pilot was right on his tail, matching him move for move.
What allies they would have made, he thought, and then sent his fighter angling rapidly away as blasts from the pursuer exploded in space around him.
Delenn had never before quite regretted the obscuring covering of the Grey Council hoods as much as she did at that moment in time. She would dearly have loved to be able to see their faces, to look into their eyes. Convince them through sheer force of will to call off this madness before it was too late.
But she could hear their replies in her head. Yours was the decision, Delenn. You ordered "No mercy." Have you not the strength of character to see it through?
So she said nothing as they stood within the Council chamber, watching the unfolding battle on the screens overhead. "It is time," Morann said. "Tell the others to jump."
The Minbari cruisers moved forward, preparing to make the leap from hyperspace into normal space. Preparing for the final push that would wipe Humanity from existence.
The explosions rocked Sinclair's Starfury as he banked sharply to the right, and his pursuer was still after him.
But he had not yet been squarely hit, and Sinclair was beginning to become suspicious. He knew his capabilities, knew how long luck should hold out before a hit was scored. He shouldn't have been questioning his luck that he was still alive, but still...
Then something clicked in his mind, just as he heard Mitchell's voice across his comm unit, saying, "I'm on him!" Sure enough, Mitchell's Starfury had broken off from its position and was diving down toward Sinclair.
"No!" Sinclair shouted. "Mitchell! Stay in formation! It might be a-"
Sure enough, the Minbari pursuer suddenly peeled off as space before him rippled and shimmered, and he was even certain he sensed a reverberation-an impressive trick in the vacuum-when jump points formed all around them.
"Oh my God," Sinclair whispered. And if his God was hearing him, then it was quite evident that he was choosing to turn a deaf ear.
Through the jump points they came, roaring out of hyperspace, Minbari cruisers launching fighter vessels the moment they dropped into normal space. And more fighter vessels-numberless as the stars, it seemed. In a perverse way, it was almost a thing of beauty. In the same way that one can look at a tornado and admire in it the devastating craftsmanship of the Great Maker, even as one runs in terror ... in awe of its hideous glory. So was it when the Minbari fleet arrived. A perfect, sweeping engine of destruction was the fleet, a vast blanket of death to be hurled upon the last defenders like a burial shroud.
They came and they came and when it seemed as if there could not possibly be more, another jump point would open and more ships would burst forth. The jump points would blossom like flowers and spit out their poison seeds, more and more. And as every Earthforce pilot would think that they had reached the ultimate pit of despair, and that the sense of overwhelming futility could not be greater, at that moment, still more appeared. It was beyond comprehension, beyond reason. These were not simply enough vessels to destroy Humanity. There were enough to obliterate them ten times over. It was as if the Minbari had launched an attack intended not only to wipe out the current crop of Mankind, but to assail them with such force that the entire race would be annihilated back to the point when the first of them had crawled out of the primordial ooze.
Credit the Minbari with consistency. True believers in the reality and sanctity of the soul were they. They wanted Humanity's collective soul to witness the power and might that they had unleashed, the whirlwind that they had reaped, and they wanted that soul to wither and die.
All in the name of Dukhat. All in the name of nobility.
Madness. Madness.
Sinclair heard the voices of his fellows. Heard Keogh and Knauerhase, Weider and Feit, Cohn and Scannell, and they were shouting over one another.
"They're everywhere!"
"Can't stop 'em!"
"My God, they came out of nowhere!"
"They're locking on!"
And one after another they were blown out of the sky, sliced to pieces. Everywhere Sinclair looked it was the same hideous scene, repeated over and over. It didn't matter how skilled, how battle savvy, how well prepared, how confident. They were being torn to ribbons.
Mitchell's Starfury raced toward a nearby cruiser, and Mitchell shouted, "I've got a clear shot!"
"It's a trap!" Sinclair shouted, automatically laying down covering fire at the same time.
"I can take it, I can take it!" Mitchell shouted.
"Mitchell, break off! Break off!"
In the end, Mitchell was right. He did take it. But what he took was a single bright green blast from the Minbari cruiser, slicing through his Starfury and carving it in half. Sinclair watched helplessly as one of his most experienced and dedicated wingmen was blown into oblivion.
Space around him was becoming thick with scraps of metal, with scraps of bodies. Legs and arms, and a head floating by, staring at Sinclair with dead eyes.
And it was at that moment... at that very moment. . . that Sinclair, for the first time, stopped believing. Stopped waiting for a miracle to occur. Stopped thinking that somehow Humanity would survive it. He realized that he had believed in the ultimate triumph of his race simply because the concept that Humanity's time in the galaxy had ended was simply too vast a concept for him to grasp.
They were going to die. All of them, they were going to die, as helpless as ants being ground under the heel of a colossus. And once all the defenders were gone, the Minbari would chase down the last of the Humans, and that would be all.
No more great hopes or dreams or plans. No more Human babies to be born, no more women to walk with the sun shining upon their faces, the gentle winds of Earth blowing their hair or rustling their skirts, no more weddings, no more books to be written, stories to be passed on.
Just one great, big funeral to which all were invited. A massive fire upon which all of Humanity would be tossed, and the smoke from the pyre would reach to all worlds throughout the galaxy as if to say, Do not ever, ever, cross the Minbari, or this will be the result. And no power that exists will be able to help you.
It was at that moment that Sinclair completely gave up.<
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And it was the very next moment that he gritted his teeth, ran his weapons to maximum, and plunged back into battle.
Men such as that, you see, do not doubt themselves for very long.
Delenn had wondered if, when the final moment came, she would be able to watch. That question was answered for her, far more promptly than she would have suspected, as she quickly turned away from the sight of Earth vessel after Earth vessel being destroyed.
"They fight bravely," she said with quiet admiration. "They cannot harm our ships. But they continue to try."
Morann shrugged. "Whether they fight or not, they will die anyway. So really, is this bravery, or simple desperation?" He paused to watch the slaughter continue and shook his head. "Foolish."
"But brave," Delenn insisted, and she made no effort to keep the awe from her voice. "In Valen's name ... so brave . . ."
She had to do something. Something ... unexpected. But she had no clue as to what.
And then, as if listening from outside herself, she heard herself say, "We should bring one of them aboard for questioning." Morann looked at her quizzically. By way of explanation, she continued, "If our next step is the final assault on their world, we must know their defenses."
It seemed an odd request to Morann. What final defense could they possibly have that would have a prayer of halting the Minbari fleet? If anything, this was their final defense. It could not possibly be a trick or subterfuge; no one would be insane enough to commit this much firepower to a mere ploy.
Still and all, it made little difference to Morann. "Very well, Delenn," he said. "Choose." He looked back to the battle's progress and added, "But quickly. We're fast running out of candidates."
Delenn looked at the vessels assailing them. Which one? In Valen's name, there were so many, moving so quickly. Which single life was to be spared, albeit temporarily? What criteria could she use?