The Other Half of my Soul
( A Dark, Distorted Mirror - 1 )
Gareth D. Williams
This is "Babylon Five" spin-off fiction, using the characters and situations of the television show, written on an amateur basis by a fan of the show. However, the sheer quality of the plotting and the writing set this work apart from the usual run of "fan fiction" and clearly establish Gareth Williams as a major storytelling talent.
Unlike the well-known "Star Trek" mirror universe, which in part provided the inspiration, the characters are not evil caricatures clad in black leather and brandishing whips, but themselves – changed in various ways by ten years of conflict and hardship never experienced by the originals, but still the same people, with the same hopes, aspirations and dreams. And this is no crossover story, with the heroic originals from the fortunate "real" universe materialising from nowhere to turn their counterparts back to the paths of righteousness.
These are characters working out their own destinies. That which they are, they are. One equal temper of heroic hearts... strong in will, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Gareth D. Williams
The Other Half of my Soul
Part I: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
Chapter 1
“The Minbari cruiser’s closing, Captain.” The commander’s voice was tense. He looked up into the face of his captain, hoping to see the sort of miracle he had witnessed before. Instead, the captain’s eyes were blank and distant. Almost dead. “Captain?”
Captain John Sheridan suddenly came to life. “Lay out dispersion fire. Make them back off. A little.” They couldn’t target the Minbari ship directly of course, but there were other ways. There were always other ways.
“Yes, Sir.” The commander began manipulating the controls with easy skill. He had always been a talented gunner and, despite his youth, he was one of the most experienced artillerymen the EAS Babylon had. After the captain, of course.
The dispersion fire had only limited effectiveness of course. Not being able to target the Minbari made their task that much more difficult, but none of them was willing to give up simply because their enemy was better equipped, better armed and in better condition than they were. As the captain had put it, ‘They fall down too. It just hurts them more.’
“Any sign we’ve hit them yet, David?” Sheridan asked. He was in his chair. He hardly ever left it these days.
“Not quite,” the commander replied. “They’re still messing with our sensors too much for us to tell. Lieutenant?”
“They are slowing down, and their weapons seem no more effective than ours are.”
“Well I’ll be…” muttered Sheridan. “Maybe that countering system the Narns sold us does actually work after all. How are the jump engines looking, Stephen?”
“Another ten minutes or so.”
“Damn! Fine. Keep laying out that dispersion fire, David.” Sometimes the commander had a great deal of trouble reading Captain Sheridan, but now was not one of those times. The captain seemed to live for combat, only becoming truly alive in battle. The commander had heard that the Minbari still called Sheridan ‘Starkiller’, after the Black Star victory. That had been a memorable occasion.
“Captain!” spoke up the lieutenant. “We’re losing hull integrity on aft decks. Down almost thirty per cent. The Minbari cruiser has taken damage at last. Forward thrusters, I think.”
Captain Sheridan nodded. “Good. Order all Starfuries to open fire on Minbari forward thrusters. Make the damage as large as they can, but get out of there after a minute. David, prepare that fusion bomb.”
He looked so competent and collected, the commander thought. Always ready for everything. No panic. No fear. The commander supposed he understood. The captain had lost too much in this war to have any fears for his life.
“Starfuries pulling back,” the lieutenant snapped. “The cruiser’s powering up her forward batteries!”
“Launch fusion bomb and initiate evasive manoeuvres. Get that bomb out there!”
There was a moment, the commander knew, in the heat of every battle, when time seemed to slow down, when the threat of impending death or the promise of renewed life stretched out over what was little more than a few seconds. How long for the cruiser to fire its forward batteries? How long for the fusion bomb to reach the target at last made visible by damage?
“Bomb launched, Captain,” said the lieutenant. He knew about the long second as well. The commander clenched his hand into a fist. This was a very long second.
Then the floor seemed to shake and shudder beneath his feet. At first the commander thought the Minbari ship had managed to fire, but then the long second passed and he realised that the bomb had worked.
“So,” he whispered under his breath. “Maybe Narn technology does work after all.” He looked around. There was no joy in their victory. This time they had won, yes, but what was one victory when set beside the mass of defeat? They had all lost so much in this war. Far too much.
“Get those Starfuries back in stat!” barked the captain. “Are our jump engines back on line? Good. Open a jump point as soon as the ’Furies are back in. The nearest safe haven we can dock is Vega Seven, so set a course for there and get whatever Mechbots we’ve got working to repair that damage.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“So much for this year being better than the last one,” Sheridan said angrily.
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
“If you can call this alive. And it’s only mid-January. I have a feeling about this year, Mr. Corwin. I think twenty-two fifty-eight is going to be the year when everything changes. Status, Lieutenant Franklin?”
“All ’Furies aboard, Captain.”
“Good.” Captain ‘Starkiller’ Sheridan nodded to himself. This had been a very long war. Ten years too long. “Good.”
* * * * * * *
“The other half of our soul,” the Minbari woman muttered to herself. “The other half of our soul.” She sat back and sighed softly. She had been here for how long now? A few days, and the prophecies of Valen made as little sense as they had when she had begun. Less sense than usual in fact. But she knew why she was down here on Minbar, reading prophecies until she was likely to go blind. This was preferable to being with the Grey Council.
“You need rest,” said a stern and commanding voice. She looked up and smiled wanly. Draal had always had that effect on her. Her father’s best friend, the only part of him she still had left. “You have been here too long, Delenn.”
“When I was a child, you berated me for not studying long enough,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.
“That was then, and the great prerogative of age is the ability to change one’s mind at will. Then, you were always daydreaming, staring out of that window like a statue cast in crystal. And now you are always studying. The prophecies have been with us for a thousand years, Delenn. You cannot solve them all overnight.”
“I can try, and fourteen cycles is hardly overnight, old friend.”
“I thought you might have learned by now.” He sat down beside her and began brushing his fingers through the small beard he had taken to wearing. A strange habit, almost Centauri in fashion. “You cannot solve the universe all by yourself, Delenn. Neroon tried to teach you that, remember?”
She started and rose suddenly. “Neroon is no longer here, Draal. He made his own choice.”
“As did you, but the fact that your choices were in agreement does not make them right.”
Draal was infuriating when he was like this, but Delenn knew that her decision had been the right one. Neroon had his own path to tread, and she had hers. Wherever Neroon wa
s now, she hoped he was well. “Perhaps you are right,” she said. “Perhaps I do need rest.” She slowly slid her hand over her heart and bowed her head. A ritual gesture, but one which contained so many layers of ceremony and anger and loss that it was almost painful for her to make.
She knew that Draal was watching her as she left the library, but she was not troubled by it. It was almost… comforting. At times he did remind her of her father.
The sight of the sun of Minbar reflecting off the crystalline rocks never failed to take her breath away, and it did so now. But while the rocks stunned her with their beauty, they brought little comfort. She saw a white-robed acolyte standing not far away, and sighed.
“It appears the call of duty reaches you,” Draal said, emerging from the library to stand beside her. “Remember the third principle of sentient life, Delenn.”
“I know,” she replied, smiling softly. “The ability to sacrifice oneself for a friend, a loved one, or a cause.”
“And little sacrifices mean just as much as the big ones.”
“I know. I know.”
Ashan, the acolyte, walked forward, keeping his head bowed as was traditional when approaching a member of the Grey Council. “Satai Delenn, the Grey Council requests your presence.”
“More discussion about the Rangers, I suppose.”
“Branmer was a great man,” Draal said softly. He and Branmer had been friends.
“There have been many great figures in our history,” Delenn replied. “And all are dead.”
“Death claims us all sooner or later.”
“In far too many cases, it is the sooner.” Delenn looked down at Ashan. “We cannot keep the Council waiting. I will take the Zhalen up to the Council chambers. Thank you, Ashan.”
Delenn cast one last look over the glittering expanse of crystal colour and smiled sadly. Everything was changing, and not for the better. She suddenly shivered, and wrapped her robe more tightly around her as she walked to her ship.
* * * * * * *
“I am very grateful for your kind assistance, Administrator Na’Far,” Sheridan was saying. “With your help, repairs should only take twenty-four hours or so, and then we will be gone.”
“You are always welcome here, Captain Sheridan,” the Narn said, speaking slowly and precisely. Na’Far might have lacked the ruthless ambition to rise far in the Kha’Ri, but he at least had the keen mind and attention to detail that made him an excellent choice to run a colony, even one as small and generally unimportant as this. “We all owe you a great debt. I was at Gorash Fifteen when you helped us in our battle against the Centauri.”
“Yes, I know.” The Narns, eh? Great allies when it came to politeness and fawning, but ask for any ships or mines or high velocity fusion bombs, and it was all ‘not politically advantageous’ or ‘large sums of money needed to meet overheads’. They hadn’t been speaking about large sums of money or political advantages when he’d led the Babylon into the battle of Gorash 15, or to carry supplies to Frallus 12, or to launch that last, desperate attack against the Centauri at Sector 37.
Oh, stop moaning, Sheridan thought to himself. They have been useful allies after a fashion. At least they give us sanctuary from the Minbari and even sell us the odd fusion bomb or small cruiser every now and then. Better than no allies at all, I suppose.
“Thank you again for your assistance, Administrator. My Government greatly appreciates everything you’re doing for us.”
“It is a small matter, Captain Sheridan. Would you care to bring a few members of your command crew down to the surface for a little rest? I would very much like to meet you in person.”
“Why yes, thank you, Administrator. I would be honoured. I will see you in one standard hour, then.”
“Until then, Captain.”
The Narn’s face blinked from the viewscreen and Sheridan sat back, sighing softly. There was something about the Narns he just plain didn’t like. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, but it always annoyed him, having to go grovelling to them for help. Perhaps that was it. He shouldn’t have to go grovelling to Narns for help. He shouldn’t have to go to a human colony and ask permission to set out orbit there. Dammit, he shouldn’t have to go to a human colony where the humans were ruled by Narns, worked for Narns and were taxed by Narns.
On the other hand, if the Narns hadn’t made such a swift move on Vega 7 and other colonies after the Battle of the Line, the Minbari might have turned their attentions there, and turned that planet into a desolate rock, just as they had Earth.
Captain Sheridan hadn’t been to Earth in over fourteen years, and now he would never return. The Minbari had stripped away the atmosphere, boiled the seas and oceans and destroyed every living thing on the planet. People like Corwin and Anna and General Hague had told him often enough that he couldn’t have got there early enough to do any good, but he should have been there, if only to die with his planet.
And now what was he? A rebel leader, a hero, a demon, a mass murderer, the Starkiller, husband, father, or simply a man who didn’t know when to stop fighting a war he couldn’t win?
“Commander Corwin, I’ll be going down to the planet for a personal meeting with Administrator Na’Far. Would you like to come as well?”
“I’ll be busy here, Captain, I’m afraid,” Corwin replied with false sincerity. Corwin liked Narns even less than Sheridan did.
“Very well. Lieutenant Franklin, contact Lieutenants Keffer and Connally. The four of us can fly down to the surface and socialise with a Narn or three.”
“Yes, Captain.” Franklin did not look happy, but then no one did these days.
Administrator Na’Far. A Narn ruling a colony of humans. Sheridan was not looking forward to this.
* * * * * * *
“Blasted reptile vermin! Oughta chuck ’em all back into space, if you ask me!”
“Marcus. You’re drunk.”
“Certainly hope so, or all that fine… whatever it was… will’ve gone to waste.”
Joseph Cole looked fondly at his wife Katherine, who smiled back and shrugged. Her shrug said it all. He’s your brother. Ergo, your problem.
“Only one step above the Minbari, I think. Oh, the Centauri too. Those ridiculous hairstyles of theirs. Wonder if they realise how stupid they look.” Joseph rose to his feet and moved towards his younger brother, who was gesticulating wildly. “Drazi, too! You’d have thought someone could teach them to put a proper sentence together. It’s not that hard. No, Joe, lemme ’lone.”
“Marcus, if you keep insulting aliens like you’ve been doing, you’ll get into a fight.”
“Fine, take ’em all on.” Fortunately for Marcus, the bar contained only humans at the moment. The Narns tended to stick to their own places and there were precious few other non-humans around. Vega 7 wasn’t exactly a thriving hub of activity at the best of times.
Katherine sighed softly. “And again.”
“He’s just drunk, that’s all. He doesn’t mean it.”
“He’s always drunk, Joe. He works on the mines all day and drinks all night. He’s going to kill himself one day. If a Narn doesn’t do it for him first.”
“I know, I know, but… it’s understandable really. Things haven’t been easy here under the Narns. Not since the War.”
“I know things haven’t been very nice here, but you can’t let Marcus just throw his life away. I care about him too, you know.”
Joseph turned back to his brother, who was trying to rearrange his hair into a Centauri crest. “Come on, Marcus. Let’s go home.”
“Home? Ain’t got no home. Minbaris destroyed it. Destroyed it all.”
Joseph sighed again. This was going to be a long night.
* * * * * * *
“You seem a little… on edge, Captain Sheridan?” Na’Far politely offered Sheridan a drink, which he equally politely refused. He’d tasted Narn drinks before. Connally hadn’t, and took it. A quick swallow later and she was clearly regretting it.
/> “Just a little… added tension from the fight, that’s all. I always feel like this after a mission.”
“I see. And what news of the Minbari? If that is not secret of course?”
“Same as usual, really. Just… well, holding their own.”
“I have some experience with the Minbari, you know. I was told that they always acted as one. When the war began fourteen of your years ago, they all went mad together. Perhaps they have all woken up together?”
“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“What is the human saying? Better late than never?”
“I’ve never put much stock in sayings myself.”
“How are things with your Government, Administrator?” Franklin asked. He had travelled quite a way before the war, hitchhiking on starships of all things. He was one of the few people aboard the Babylon who’d ever met a Minbari face to face with both walking away alive. Franklin had been training to be a doctor until the death of his father a few years back. That had spurred him to seek out a position aboard the Babylon. He had enough medical knowledge to be an effective doctor, but he claimed to prefer this. Sheridan had known General Franklin quite well. ‘Old Firestorm’ had had a good death. Better than many others.
Franklin was the only one remotely at ease in this room, spartan and dark as were all Narn accommodations. A rack of candles rested on a stone table, an ancient book caught in their flickering glow. Keffer was hanging around the back of the room, plainly wishing he were somewhere else. Connally was still recovering from whatever it was Na’Far had given her, and Sheridan… he just wanted to be away from here.
“Oh, the same as usual, Lieutenant,” Na’Far replied. “Or so I am led to believe. I am a little far out from the political hub here, you know.”
“Yes, but still, your help has been very valuable to us, Administrator,” Sheridan said. Was that a flash of something in the Narn’s blood-red eyes? Something mysterious?
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