The day was nearly over, and his mood was growing worse. Bad as all these parasites were, they were infinitely preferable to his wives – one of whom he would have to return to that night. With a choice of getting brained by Timov, bathed by Daggair or burned by Mariel, suicide sounded a much more pleasurable option. After a while, he might even come to like it.
And then came one last visitor. He knew this one, although not in quite the same way as he knew the others. This was serious, and this was trouble.
“Mr. Cotto, is it not?” he said. “Yes, I remember you. So tell me, why did your lord and master send you all the way here from Minbar? Not just to swap the usual barrage of threats and insults, I believe?”
Vir was looking around slowly. This was a private audience chamber, and as such, empty except for the two guards standing looking bored by the door. “Uh–hum,” Vir said, making slight, almost imperceptible gestures with his fingers.
Londo noticed them and almost groaned aloud. And he had thought the day couldn’t possibly get any worse. “Get out of here!” he told the guards. “Go on! I am quite sure I can defend myself against any attacks. I was not called Paso Leati for nothing, you know. Besides, can you see this as an assassin? Pah!”
The guards looked at each other and shrugged. Then they left. Londo looked down at Vir, who still seemed preoccupied. “This room is not… um… bugged, is it? Or anything?”
“Of course not! This is an audience chamber. The only people who would bug a room like this would be the sort of people who would want to use it themselves. Besides, we check, in between each meeting. I take it that Lord Refa does not in fact know that you are here?”
“Not as such. Well, he knows I’m here of course, but not that I’m… well… here. Here as in speaking to you, of course, as opposed to here as in on Centauri Prime. If you get me.”
“I don’t,” Londo snapped. “Please get to the point. I have had a long and tiring day. What news from our dear conspirator and spider G’Kar?”
“The… um…” Vir was still looking around nervously. “You have heard of the attack on the human and Narn colony at Vega Seven?”
“Ah yes. There were quite a few members of the Centarum quite aggrieved that we did not do that ourselves. The Kha’Ri will of course not believe that we were not responsible?”
“I’m afraid not. It was the… ah… Enemy that G’Kar has been speaking about. The Minbari suspect this, but they are still a little disorganised following Branmer’s death. They haven’t got their own Rangers sorted out yet, leaving us to… ah… keep the torch burning so to speak. The Grey Council doesn’t even know about G’Kar’s little network of agents. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Vir! Of course they don’t. If they did, then so would Lord Refa, and if he knew that I was giving highly confidential Centarum information to a Narn of all people to help fight an Enemy I am not even sure I believe in, then I would be very nastily dead.”
“Ah, yes. Regarding Lord Refa. There may be some… unpleasantness on that account. As I’m sure you know, the Grey Council has been itching for another strike at the humans for quite some time now. Only political in-fighting has prevented them from doing this. The predominant religious caste Satai named Delenn has gone missing – either abducted or defected with Captain Sheridan. That gives the warrior caste dominance in the Grey Council, and likely over the Rangers, and… probably an invasion of Narn space to get at the humans.”
“Oh, Great Maker! Not another war! I am still recovering from the last one.”
“Exactly, and the… um… Kha’Ri are not going to sit idly by while the Minbari invade their space, and the Minbari would sort of… um… like our help. I was sent to discuss matters with the Emperor and the First Minister.”
“Why did Refa not come himself? No, don’t answer that. He knows that if he sets foot on Centauri Prime, he would have a life expectancy measured in minutes.”
“That would be a trifle optimistic for him, I think.”
“So, what does G’Kar want me to do about this?”
“First Minister Jaddo is not with us, I believe?”
“He rarely is. That was a joke, Vir.” Vir obediently laughed. “No, to the best of my knowledge you and I are the only Centauri in G’Kar’s little game.”
“Well, G’Kar would like you to convince the Emperor and First Minister Jaddo to ah… resist Minbari demands to go to war with the Narn. We cannot risk destabilising the whole area if the Enemy chooses to attack. There is little we can do about the Grey Council, and certainly not the humans, but if we refuse to lend our support to the Minbari, then they might reconsider.”
“Or they might attack us instead. Vir, my relationship with Lord Refa is not good, as everyone except my beloved wife Timov is aware. Not to mention that the greatest problem is that harpy Refa married! Lady Elrisia is winding her claws into our little Emperor.”
“But…”
“Vir, trust me! I will do what I can. Ah madness, why did I ever get involved with this?”
“Because you saw the big black ship just the same as G’Kar did, and he saved your life from it and…”
“Vir! It was a rhetorical question. Very well, get out of here. I will do what I can, and no more.”
“Yes, Minister.”
“Ah, Vir, wait a moment. What about this Sheridan? Is he likely to pose a problem to us at all?”
“Ah no. I think G’Kar has that matter covered.”
* * * * * * *
Like Minister Londo Mollari, Captain John Sheridan was not having a good day. Unlike Minister Mollari, he only had one wife to worry about, not three, and Anna – thank God – was not here, probably drunk in some dive on Proxima 3. He was not in the garish elegance of the Centauri Royal Court, but in the barren wilderness of the G’Khorazhar Mountains. He was not armed, and while the Narn called Ta’Lon had not specifically called him a prisoner, Sheridan was aware that any attempt to go anywhere else – say back to G’Khamazad to gut that lying bitch Na’Toth – would lead to severe pain.
Sheridan was not planning to escape, however. That would be what they expected him to do, and he hadn’t earned the title of Starkiller by doing what people expected of him. Besides, he had to admit that he was intrigued. Intrigued enough to try to restrain himself from slaughtering that Minbari warrior where he stood. He owed the Minbari too much pain to let this pass, but let it pass he did.
After being beaten senseless in Councillor Na’Toth’s chambers, he had awoken in a small shuttle heading away from the city of G’Khamazad. Neroon, Ta’Lon and Marcus were the only other beings in the shuttle, and none of them was particularly talkative. Only Ta’Lon had spoken to him all day, when they had landed at a small military base at the foot of the G’Khorazhar Mountains.
“Councillor Na’Toth knows who ordered your betrayal,” he had said. “Come with us and see Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar and listen to what he says. Maybe then Councillor Na’Toth will tell you.”
And so he was doing just that, although more from a desire to see G’Kar than anything else. There were precious few people whose deeds were so great that their very names resounded throughout the galaxy.
Sheridan himself was one; Satai Delenn of the Grey Council; Satai Sinoval, also of the Grey Council and Warleader of the Wind Swords clan; Warmaster Jha’dur of the Dilgar, called Deathwalker, missing, presumed dead; General Richard ‘Firestorm’ Franklin, dead these past few years; and G’Kar, greatest Narn hero in their war with the Centauri, general and leader beyond peer, who had mysteriously resigned from the Kha’Ri as the war neared its bloody stalemate, and who had not been seen since. Despite fighting in that same war – on the side of the Narns – Sheridan had not met G’Kar, although he would very much have liked to.
As he finally reached the top of the pass that led down into the small valley, he realised he might never get the chance.
Narn bodies were scattered all around him, torn, dismembered and ravaged, destroyed by… something that could not b
e human, or Narn, or Minbari.
Ta’Lon said something in Narn to Neroon, who nodded.
Sheridan spoke Narn, and he silently agreed with Ta’Lon. This was definitely not good.
* * * * * * *
Welles felt a faint surge of satisfaction as he looked at his prisoner. She was ill, ragged and torn, the fire that had raged so brilliantly in her eyes reduced to a mere ember. Seven days of interrogation, starvation and telepathic scans had managed to do this. She was the toughest, the most stubborn target he had ever been given, but he was winning at last, and in doing so he was helping the human race. The same race she had nearly destroyed.
He looked down at the notes before him. All other eight members of the Grey Council. Sinoval, Hedronn, Lennann – names, castes, details. Who would be a threat, who would not, who was likely to rise to power, who was likely to lead in a war against humanity. All detailed reports. A start, certainly. There were other matters to consider, troop deployments, numbers, army organisation, details about their technology, but these could wait. He had learned that the Grey Council had been violently in disagreement over the leadership of a secret army – the Rangers. What had Sheridan called them? ’Part warrior, part priest, part secret agent.’ Their leadership was in doubt, and it would take a while for them to sort matters out. Hopefully long enough for him to uncover everything he – and humanity – needed.
There was a polite knock at the door, and it opened, without Welles saying anything. In stepped an attractive red-haired woman, wearing black gloves and a badge that spoke more of tradition and ritual than any real significance. Any meaning in Psi Corps had ended with Earth.
“Good morning, Miss Alexander,” he said. “You are well, I trust?”
“Very well, thank you,” she said, taking the seat Welles vacated and offered to her. The prisoner looked at her with eyes of pity… and despair.
“Her shields should be considerably weaker this time. You may get quite a bit more information out of her,” Welles was saying. “Don’t worry about making sense of it – that’s my job. Just get out as much as you can.”
“Of course.” Lyta Alexander removed her gloves and took – gently and without force – the hands of Satai Delenn. Welles watched as Lyta closed her eyes slowly, in concentration, and Delenn closed hers in despair.
“She’s thinking about someone. A Minbari. One of these Rangers. He saved her life once and she… she had feelings for him. It’s funny, but you remind her of him. His name… his name was Neroon. He left her, or she left him, or something. A bit of both, I think. They don’t seem to regard relationships in the same way that we do.”
Welles nodded, his flawless memory recording everything that Lyta said. He noticed the slumped anguish in Delenn’s bearing.
“I can see the nine columns of light again,” Lyta whispered. “The Grey Council, but… it’s a little different. It’s the war, I think. Whoa! There’s some kind of tactical display, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I can… see it all around them. They’re watching a battle. There’re Starfuries everywhere. I… I think it might be the Line, but I’m not sure. There don’t seem to be any heavy ships at all.
“I… Oh no… it’s Earth. They’re destroying Earth. They’re watching it die. Oh God, no! Everyone’s dying… everyone’s dying… I… I can’t watch.”
“Please,” Welles said. “Keep trying.”
“There’s… Oh my God… There’s a Vorlon. She’s seen one – a Vorlon! What they really look like. It’s… oh… it’s so beautiful… and so bright and so… oh!”
“A Vorlon? What are they doing there?”
“A… it’s a bargain of some kind. The Vorlons know about the Rangers… even help them a little. Not much, but a little. They… they wanted something in return. A man… a human… a name… Valen. And… oh… it’s so beautiful. Kosh… that’s its name. Kosh. The Vorlon’s called Kosh. He… that’s impossible. I’m not alone here. Kosh… Kosh knows I’m here. But how? How? Oh… so… beautiful!”
Lyta’s head snapped back and her eyes opened. They were rolled back into her head. She swayed and fell from her chair. Welles rushed forward to catch her. She was still, and for a moment he was afraid that whatever she had seen had killed her. She moved, however, and managed to haul herself back into the chair.
“That was… that was… incredible,” Lyta whispered. “The Vorlon… it was so… so…”
“You saw the Battle of the Line?” he asked. Lyta nodded. “She was there? She was definitely there?”
“Yes. She was guiding things. Not quite a leader, but something similar.”
“Right. Thank you, Miss Alexander. You can try to work out exactly what it was you saw, and then deliver a full report to me whenever you’re ready. Mr. Cutter, please escort Miss Alexander back to her quarters.” Cutter nodded, and there was a gleam in his eye that said he wouldn’t mind escorting Miss Alexander into her quarters as well.
Welles sat back in his chair and looked at Delenn. He yawned and stretched. He hadn’t slept for over a day. Delenn hadn’t slept for very much longer.
“Sleep deprivation,” he said. “It’s one of our oldest interrogation devices. You become… disorientated, disturbed, possibly even hallucinate. Of course, it’s difficult to guarantee that you never fall asleep, so that chair you are sitting in is especially treated. With a flick of this button,” – he made an exaggerated motion of flicking a switch next to him on the wall – “we start a programme of random electric shocks through that chair. None large enough to be fatal, or even much more than an irritant.” Delenn started and gasped. “They come at random intervals, between one and five minutes in length. They will of course, prevent you from sleeping, or concentrating long enough to meditate properly. Unfortunately, I am afraid that I need to sleep, and so I will have to go and rest. Mr. Boggs? I trust you. Keep her safe, and keep her in that chair. Don’t hurt her unless it is absolutely necessary, and call me if there is a problem.”
Security Officer Boggs nodded.
Welles rose from his seat and made his way to the door. As he reached it, Delenn spoke. “The word you tried to avoid saying… was… torture,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse.
“Were this your capital, and I in your place, would I be any better off than you?” he asked coldly. She nodded her head, and then cried out as another shock hit her.
“Think of it this way, Satai Delenn. If you do not sleep, then you cannot dream. I wish that were true of me. A pleasant rest, Satai Delenn. Mr. Boggs.”
And then he was gone. Delenn looked up at her sole guardian and almost wept at his quiet impassivity. She remembered how he had hurt her, beating and kicking her. He had enjoyed it, but he had not done so for that alone. He had done so for the good of his people. He only wanted to serve his people and his home.
Valen’s Name, she thought. What have we created? What have I done?
* * * * * * *
Ta’Lon knelt beside the body and looked at it slowly, studying the horrific damage. Rising, he looked around at the others, scattered and ravaged. He was silent. Standing beside him, Neroon was whispering something about Valen. Marcus was hunched over, retching loudly. And Sheridan… he was simply standing, dumbfounded. It reminded him of Vega 7, but not even the deaths there had touched him like these. These bodies had been torn apart, literally ripped almost limb from limb. Sheridan had little fondness for Narns, but nobody deserved this, not even Minbari.
“What could have done this?” Marcus asked. He looked pale.
“You should know,” replied Neroon. He had extended his fighting pike – similar to the one Susan had taken from Delenn. “You’ve seen them before.”
“The black ship? The ship that screamed?”
“More or less.” Ta’Lon was still looking around warily. “This was one of their servants. A Warrior, I think.”
Without saying anything further, he and Neroon began walking quickly towards the small compound that nestled at the head of the valley, looki
ng like a cross between a temple and a castle. Sheridan knew this was where G’Kar lived, and ran his collection of agents.
Was this the work of Susan’s friends? Of humanity’s last hope? Why would they…? No, this was an internal matter, them against G’Kar. They wouldn’t turn against humanity. What reason would they have to do that?
Still, Susan had said that her friends were moving slowly, anxious not to turn attention to themselves. Was G’Kar really so much of a threat that they would risk alerting to others to their presence like this?
Sheridan took out his PPG and began running to catch up with Neroon and Ta’Lon. Marcus was beside him, his expression of disgust and terror replaced with a cold anger. Perhaps Neroon and Ta’Lon were right, and Marcus had seen these creatures before, at Vega 7.
Too many questions, and not enough answers. There were never enough answers.
* * * * * * *
Commander David Corwin was irritated. He did not like Narns, he did not like their homeworld and he did not like hanging around on the Babylon. He had been doing far too much of that recently, just hanging around while the Captain was off somewhere.
This was worse than usual, however. The Captain had not been heard from in over a day. He hadn’t responded when Corwin had tried to make his daily report. Councillor Na’Toth had simply said that Sheridan had left G’Khamazad on an intelligence mission, and that he would return in a few days. Corwin wasn’t sure if he trusted her, but he was wise enough not to say that to her face, even over a commscreen. He was keeping a close eye out for any sign of Minbari cruisers, but the only traffic had been usual Narn stuff. He had also sent small teams down to the planet to try to investigate. He’d heard back from none of them yet.
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