The Other Half of my Soul addm-1

by Gareth D. Williams

  “Commander!” spoke up Lieutenant Franklin. “There’s a private message for you. It’s from Miss Ivanova.”

  “Susan!” She hadn’t been heard of since yesterday either. If Corwin ran to the ready room a little faster than was safe or appropriate for one of his rank, no one commented on it. What had been between him and Susan was over, right? It had ended when she died.

  He slid into his seat in the ready room and activated the viewscreen. Susan’s face stared out at him. He resisted an urge simply to gaze into her beauty and focussed on what he had to say. This was important. It concerned the Captain.

  “What’s been happening?” he asked. “Councillor Na’Toth said…”

  “Whatever Councillor Na’Toth said, it was probably a lie,” Susan interjected. “I don’t know what happened, but she set John up. He’s no longer in G’Khamazad, I’m certain of it, but I know he’s alive.”

  “You know? How?”

  “I…” She looked pained. “I can’t go into it. I just know. I’ll try to track him down. I don’t think there are any Minbari involved this time. It’s probably something political with the Kha’Ri. Maybe they aren’t willing to shelter us any more. Don’t worry, David, I’ll do what I can. Please don’t come down. You’re safe up there. You won’t be safe down here.”

  “Susan! I… Be careful.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. You too. I’ll keep in contact as often as I can. Out.”

  Susan switched off her commscreen and looked around her in anger and sorrow. Beside her, a shadow moved.

  * * * * * * *

  G’Kar knew that he was dying, that the Enemy had come for him at last. He could have asked questions, about how they had found him, about how they knew about him, about why he was still alive, but questions were pointless at the moment. What mattered was survival, not just his own, but the survival of all he had built.

  He fingered his wound gently and gingerly. He seemed to be getting older. A small injury like this had never hurt him back when he was fighting the Centauri. Or had it? Was a war of attrition like that preferable to a silent, secret war like this?

  “G’Quan guide me,” he whispered, as he ducked into the shadows of his spartan room. The Book of G’Quan lay on the table across the room. He looked at it longingly and began to whisper the words found within.

  “There is a greater darkness than the one we fight…” He had wounded the beast, he knew that. That was why he was still alive. He had dropped the knife somewhere, during his flight. The beast, it could be anywhere. He had recognised it from its brief moment of visibility as one of the servants of the Enemy, spoken of by G’Quan.

  There was a sound outside the door, and he looked around desperately for any sign of a weapon. His rooms were almost bare. Where was his ally? The Vorlon was around somewhere, but never when needed. Surely G’Lan had sensed the arrival of his old enemy? Unless he could not interfere. Yes, maybe that was it. Maybe this was a test for G’Kar, a trial to see whether he was worthy to face the Enemy.

  There was a shimmering as the beast came through the walls, and he rolled aside, wincing at the pain from his wound. He could dimly make out the outline of the Shadow Warrior. It had no long-range weapons, that was something to be thankful for, at least. G’Kar had hope. He always had hope.

  Grasping for the candles, he pulled one down. It was still lit. A poor weapon, but all he had. Thrusting forward with it, he forced the beast back. It issued a hideous roar. He looked up at its abominable form and whispered a silent prayer to G’Quan.

  It didn’t work. The candle broke and fell, the little light it gave failing. G’Kar tried to halt his lunge forward, but it was too late. The beast caught him and ripped into his side. An anguished cry of pain was torn from his lips as he was thrown backwards, his back smashing against the stone table. Collapsed on the floor, he looked up.

  There was the sound of PPG fire, and a cry in the name of Valen, and of G’Quan. G’Kar smiled. His prayer had been answered after all.

  * * * * * * *

  Satai Delenn was lost in days past, remembering the war, remembering her cry. ‘Kill them! Kill them all!’ Remembering the light in Neroon’s eyes die as he left her side. Remembering the wisdom in Draal’s speech. Remembering…

  She gasped as another shock hit her. Looking up, she saw Boggs, standing there silently. He was enjoying her pain, but he did not show it. Delenn grasped the edge of the table and tried to suck in air. Her breathing was harsh and ragged.

  She slipped back into the past.

  “I have seen things,” Neroon had said. “I nearly died there. I was alone and afraid, and thinking of you. Thinking of the third night of sleep watching, thinking of…”

  Another shock, but too soon surely? Could she keep track of time? Could she even remember time any longer? Did it matter?

  “G’Kar spoke to me. He said things. It made sense. He knows about the Enemy, Delenn. He knows, and he is making preparations. I always thought that we were the only ones who could fight the war that is coming. I was wrong. G’Kar is building his own army, his own agents and spies. His own Rangers even. Most are Narns, but there are a few others – Drazi mainly, but even an Earther or two, and a few Centauri.

  “Delenn, how can everything I believed in be so wrong? He knows, he understands. His writings, the Book of G’Quan… they have known for a millennium. I always thought that we alone were fit to lead the war. I was wrong.

  “Delenn, I will join him. My life was saved by one of his agents and I must repay the debt. His words have touched me, and I feel a calling to his side, to serve him. It is a calling, Delenn. I have spoken to Branmer, and he understands. Please, Delenn, tell me that you do.”

  “I…” She had been unsure of what to say, what to do. “My place is here.”

  “I know,” had come his whispered reply. “I know.”

  Another gasp. She was so tired, so very tired. She could not find the peace for meditation. All she wanted to do was sleep. What had Welles said? ’At least you will be spared dreams.’ He had been wrong. So very wrong.

  It had been a bargain, a simple bargain. One human life. What did that one life matter? Why that one? It had not been important, the Vorlon had said. It had not mattered. She had needed to be sure before she went to the Grey Council. She had needed to be sure, and so the Vorlon had shown himself to her. Her doubts had receded, but now they returned.

  One human life against so many. How much blood? How many dead? Why did the Vorlons want that life?

  The other half of our soul. Sheridan and Sinoval… so very alike. Welles… how much he looked like Neroon – his voice, his face, his bearing. Sheridan and Sinoval, like a mirror. A dark, distorted mirror. The other half of our soul… humans? No, that was impossible. A blasphemy.

  But she had been about to test it. She had taken a Triluminary, only now that was lost too. So much lost, and nothing more lost than she herself. How many dead? How many lost? How many?

  The other half of my soul. Neroon? Was he the other half of my soul? Who? Why did she not understand? Who? What? Too many questions and not even she had the answers.

  Valen help me. Valen… I will not allow harm to come to my little ones, not here in my great house… Valen’s Name… the other half of my soul… Sheridan and Sinoval… not here in my great house… the other half of my soul… Minbari not born of Minbari… the other half of my soul… here in my great house… my soul… not born of Minbari… my great house…

  As another shock tore through Delenn’s body, her mind reached a realisation that both terrified and disgusted her. She knew. Oh, Valen, she knew, at last.

  A Minbari not born of Minbari… In my great house… the other half of my soul.

  Valen was human!

  * * * * * * *

  Sheridan had never seen a beast like that before, huge and dark and only faintly visible. He remembered something else, something equally dark and almost invisible, that had struck down Delenn. It had been a different shape – less
humanoid – but it had been similar. All too similar.

  The thought faded and he saw only battle. His initial PPG blasts had little effect on the creature, but they were serving to distract it from the Narn who lay, bleeding, on the floor. G’Kar? Almost certainly. The beast turned to face Sheridan, and he caught a sudden, frantic glimpse of his own mortality. It was a terrifying moment, but one he had known countless times before in battle.

  The beast lunged forward, and he fired. Again the blasts had no effect, and his legs coiled, ready to propel him out of the way. He had not guessed how fast the thing would be. It smashed into his side and knocked him back. He stumbled, and the PPG fell from his grasp. Abandoning the weapon for the moment, he rolled away and staggered to his feet.

  The beast was ignoring him. His back and side were unguarded. It could have torn him apart, but it didn’t. It lunged at Neroon and Ta’Lon, neither of whom had long-range weaponry. Neroon lashed out with that metal pike of his, and Sheridan heard an audible crack as it hit the creature. For a moment it seemed fazed, and Ta’Lon leapt in, striking with his sword, thrusting it into what would be its chest.

  Casually disdaining the wound, the beast clawed out at Ta’Lon, lifting him effortlessly into the air and hurling him back. The Narn struck the far wall, and tried to stagger to his feet. Neroon hit out again with his pike, but the blow had little effect.

  Sheridan blinked, and his warrior instincts returned. Looking around frantically, he saw his PPG and scooped it up. Turning to face the beast, he unleashed a barrage of shots at desperately close range. There was a sound that might have been a cry of pain, and the beast turned.

  Neroon used this opportunity to lash out, striking the beast with his pike, again and again. Sheridan dived under flailing – well, he assumed they were arms – and staggered to his feet behind Neroon, luring the beast into a position where Neroon would be able to strike its chest.

  PPG blasts, thrusts, lunges and blows. The beast was falling back. Neroon was following up, but compared to the beast he might have been made out of wood.

  There was a blur of motion, and Neroon fell. It looked as though he was bleeding. Sheridan was fumbling with the energy cap of his PPG, and he looked up as the beast towered over Neroon. Acting on pure instinct, never caring that this was a Minbari, he dropped his PPG and scooped up Neroon’s pike. Looking up at the beast, which still seemed vaguely reluctant to attack him, he thrust out with the pike.

  The beast roared and tumbled backwards. Sheridan looked at the pike in mute horror, and found it stained with what he could only suppose was blood. He looked down and saw the beast, for one, hideous moment, in full visibility.

  He was nearly sick.

  Others had different concerns. Ta’Lon pulled himself up from the floor, wincing at every movement. The force of the impact had undoubtedly shattered bones, but he seemed to pay them no attention.

  “Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar!” he cried out, and half-ran, half-staggered forward. Neroon was also rising and looking to G’Kar. As did Sheridan.

  The fallen Narn was not moving, not even breathing.

  * * * * * * *

  “You don’t know it failed. G’Kar might be dead. He might never recover. Sheridan? Yes, I know… look… he’s a warrior. He’s trained to fight, so of course he’d fight the Warrior. No… no… he can still be a valuable ally to us. He is still a valuable ally. It’s just curiosity, that’s all. He wants to know who betrayed him on Vega Seven.

  “I’ll see to G’Kar, if he’s still alive, and I’ll arrange matters with Sheridan. Trust me? No, you mustn’t act personally. There’s a Vorlon around, remember. Yes, I know! Don’t worry. Everything’s under control.”

  Susan Ivanova looked down at the mass of bodies that decorated the pass leading to the temple of G’Kar, where perhaps its sovereign prince lived, and perhaps he didn’t.

  The Shadows had come to Narn.

  Chapter 4

  Lyta Alexander was trying to sleep, but her dreams were disturbed. That in itself was not a rarity. There were very few people on Proxima 3 who did not suffer nightmares about the fate of Earth. Lyta had thought she was over them, but they returned with disturbing irregularity. But these dreams were different. They were not about the fall of Earth, and they had been happening every night since she had first scanned Satai Delenn.

  I will not allow harm to come to my little ones, the voice had said. She didn’t know who it was, or what was happening, but that voice kept resounding over and over in her mind.

  ’I will not allow harm to come to my little ones.’ But there was harm coming to her. Harm, and terror, and despair.

  And pain.

  There was a woman in front of her. Lyta recognised her vaguely as Lieutenant Ivanova. They had met occasionally during the time Ivanova had been stationed with General Franklin. Lyta had always tried to stay away from her, however. There was something in Ivanova’s bearing, something in her eyes, thoughts that needed no scan to detect.

  Lieutenant Ivanova hated her, hated her with a passion and a fury that were almost tangible. Lyta had been puzzled, but had chosen to ignore it. Rational thoughts and reasons had ended with Earth. The human race was a very irrational species now.

  Lyta was seeing Ivanova again in her dreams, but this time it was different. The hatred was there as well, but this time there was something else – a mocking, sure certainty. Ivanova was shimmering into a black silhouette. There was a crackling noise, and Lyta turned. There was a flash of motion and a stab of agony.

  She screamed and woke up, her body slick with sweat. She was panting harshly, drawing in great gasps of air, almost too terrified to breathe. What was that thing?

  And then some vague hint of rationality returned. Those were Satai Delenn’s memories – they had to be. She had heard that Ivanova had been involved in Satai Delenn’s capture. But what was that thing with her? Lyta had heard rumours about new allies of the Resistance Government. Were their new allies those… things?

  She swallowed harshly. She was not alone in her room. “Lights,” she whispered, too quietly for the computer to detect. “Lights,” she repeated more loudly. The room was bathed in light.

  And before her was a Vorlon.

  She had never seen a Vorlon before the memory in Satai Delenn’s mind, but she knew what it was. The Vorlon before her was huge, clad in a dark green-and-brown encounter suit. Its head moved slowly. It was studying her.

  “Who are you?” she asked hesitantly.

  Who are you? it said in response.

  “What do you want?” she breathed.

  Its eye blazed with light. Never ask that question! A searing pain tore into her skull and she screamed, clutching her head and falling to the floor.

  “What do you want with me?” she repeated. “What… do…?”

  To watch, and to observe.

  “I don’t understand. Why me?”

  Your thoughts are the song. Your questions are the music.

  “I still don’t understand.”

  No.

  “Will I ever understand?”

  Perhaps. If you can find the meaning.

  “What meaning?” Silence. “Why have you chosen me?”

  Your heart contains the symphony. Your spirit contains the destiny. The avalanche is beginning. The darkness is coming. You must be the light.

  “I… don’t…” Lyta screamed again, her head thrown back. By the time the Security officials arrived, drawn by the sound of her screams, she was unconscious on the floor.

  * * * * * * *

  G’Kar had been many things in his life. Slave, resistance fighter, hero, war leader, general, tactician, exile, preacher, prophet. Of all the things he was going to become, he had never planned on making corpse one of them.

  Not that he had any say in the matter, of course, but fortunately others did.

  Sheridan was pacing up and down, trying to work off the anger and depression he always felt after a fight. He was only really alive in combat. Afterwards he reali
sed this, and hated himself for it. He couldn’t do anything about it of course, but he saw the sick joke, and hated the joke for existing and himself for knowing it was there.

  “Is it customary for your people to walk like that?” said a rough voice. He ignored Neroon. The alternative would have to be a fight which would end – Sheridan was a realist after all – with him being seriously beaten.

  Neroon was sitting quietly on a rock, leaning on his elongated fighting pike. He had been slightly wounded in the battle against the… thing which had attacked G’Kar. He paid his wounds no attention however. Typical Minbari. Always so bloody arrogant.

  “Did you know I killed over fifty thousand of your people during the war?” Neroon said in what Sheridan supposed to be a conversational tone. “I was at the battle you call the Line. I led a part of it there. I was attached to the personal staff of Shai Alyt Branmer, greatest of our generals.”

  “Well, by my reckoning,” Sheridan said, “I must have killed a similar number of your people. How many would have been on the Black Star? And then there were those ships over Mars… oh yes, two members of your Grey Council, don’t forget them.”

  “I take no pride in my actions, Captain. No pride at all.”

  “Well, I do. Because any victory, no matter how small, at least gave my people some hope. I hear there was partying in the streets when I destroyed the Black Star. Why? All I did was lure your flagship into a trap. Nothing flashy, nothing special. But it proved we could win. It gave my people hope, and for that I’m damn proud.”

  “I see. You realise of course that there is no hope for your people. When our fleets descend upon your new home – and believe me, they will – then you will be slaughtered, down to the last man, woman and child.”

  “And I suppose you’ll be there. Right at the forefront of everything, just like last time.”

  “No, actually, I will not. I will take no pleasure in it, and no pride, for the destruction of your people will mean that we have lost. The death of your people will mean that we have been damned. We will be a dead people as well, we will just take longer to die.”