The Other Half of my Soul addm-1

by Gareth D. Williams

  “I don’t… no. He didn’t come to try and find me after I went to see him before. He’s probably too busy to see me.”

  “Anna! Look, you have to talk to him. The Minbari will be here soon, and you may not get another chance. I know what it’s like to lose someone when you had words you should have said to them. Don’t let that happen.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. It won’t be easy, I know, but you have to try.”

  “I… you’re right. There’s nothing more that can happen to me that’s worse than what’s happened these last few years.” Anna met Susan’s eyes. “I still love him, Susan. I always did.”

  Susan hugged her friend closely. “I know, and he does too. Just tell him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “The Conference Hall.”

  Anna pulled back and smiled. “Thank you, Susan. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  Susan only smiled in reply, but her mind thought of the Shadows lurking beside her, and she felt a sudden stab of grief and shame. A betrayal of the one true friend she had made here.

  But she knew that she would do it again if she had to. Some things were more important than friendship.

  * * * * * * *

  Sheridan hated diplomats, by and large. He hated passing meaningless pleasantries with people he’d never seen before, who were only interested in his reputation. His father had been a prominent diplomat and he had grown up hearing all about the fine art of diplomacy, about travelling to strange places and taking part in unusual customs. He’d been fascinated, then, and had said, with all the conviction and determination that eight-year-old boys have, that he would become a diplomat when he grew up.

  But that was then, before the Minbari, before the Starkiller. He’d been present at any number of diplomatic meetings since the Battle of the Line, largely so that the Resistance Government could show him off to the visiting dignitaries. He felt half like an embarrassed child showing off his skills with a piano or his artwork to his parents’ friends, and half like an open threat. We’ve got the Starkiller on our side.

  There were only so many times you could talk about the destruction of the Black Star – an act more noted for its playing on Minbari overconfidence rather than its tactical skill or innovation – or about the Battle of Mars, which had been fought on pure fury, and which he still remembered with shame. After a while, he’d grown tired of the whole affair, of being trotted out whenever the Resistance Government was trying to impress a new trade delegation or to win an alliance. He knew that they wouldn’t get any such alliance. The Starkiller might be strong, but the Minbari were stronger.

  Still, this Lord Refa had intrigued him. He had had some contact with Centauri nobles, certainly enough to know that the archetypal Centauri noble – power-crazed, machiavellian, decadent and permanently scheming – was, like most archetypes, based on the truth. Refa’s carefully chosen words and barbed comments confirmed that he was after something, but it seemed to be more than just mere political power. He was after something specific from Proxima, and something even more specific from Sheridan, and Sheridan couldn’t be exactly sure what.

  Oh, he had his suspicions. Lord Refa had never once mentioned Satai Delenn – about whom the Resistance Government would certainly have told him – which implied that she was connected in some way to his scheme. Unless of course Refa had anticipated this reaction from him and was really after something else he had been talking about in order to…

  Sheridan just gave up. Thinking like a Centauri made his head ache.

  Of equal if not more interest was Refa’s companion, Vir. Outwardly bumbling and apologetic, he was quiet just long enough to listen to everything that Refa was saying. Sheridan also recognised the small circle-of-light sleeve clasp Vir was wearing. He’d seen Ta’Lon and Neroon wearing similar devices. Now it was true that Minbari fashions were becoming popular among the Centauri recently, but it was also true that G’Kar had sources and allies everywhere – including amongst the Centauri. Vir had evidently noticed Sheridan’s gaze and had made somewhat stilted conversation implying something along the lines of ’we have to talk later’.

  But later was later, and for now, all he wanted to do was get back to his ship and to keeping an eye on Delenn’s cocoon – sorry, chrysalis. She should have several more days yet, but he didn’t want to take any risks.

  Fate was standing in his way.

  As he saw Anna waiting outside the Conference Hall, he hesitated, and silently groaned. The last thing he wanted was another round of drunken insults from her. Acting almost on instinct he backed away, because it was too painful to be with her, as a living reminder of everything he’d once had and lost.

  But this time was different. He could see the focussed clarity in her eyes. He could not smell any alcohol. He could even see the hint of sadness in her expression. Caught, almost captivated, he slowed down and wandered to her side.

  “Anna,” he said. “You’re um… looking well?” He was half afraid that this was all some kind of illusion that would abandon him soon, or some trick. But no… she wasn’t drunk. His senses were telling him that this was the woman he had fallen in love with and married. This was no simulacrum, hologram or doppelgänger. This was her.

  This was the real Anna, the one who had been buried for so long beneath alcohol and fear and regret and grief.

  “Thank you,” she muttered. And she was looking well. She must have made a special effort to look nice, something she hadn’t done in years, and had done rarely even before Elizabeth’s death, knowing that her mere presence was enough to make him smile. Knowing that because he insisted on telling her.

  “Um… is something wrong?” he asked. They hadn’t spoken properly in months. Their last conversation that hadn’t either started out as or ended up as an argument had been on the morning of Elizabeth’s memorial service.

  “No…” She smiled ruefully. “Yes. There is. It’s us. It’s me… it’s… it’s the world. Can we… talk? Just for a while.”

  He blinked slowly. “I… I’m a little…” What could he tell her? And for that matter why should he? Delenn had days yet before she was due to emerge from the chrysalis, David was more than capable of running the ship for a few more hours, and they’d have twelve hours notice in case the Minbari arrived. Despite what he had told Clark, that was enough time for the Babylon and her crew. It would have to be.

  He activated his link through to the Babylon. “David, it’s me. I’m going to be here a little longer than I expected. Only link me if its a real emergency, and if you could check in on our guest every now and then.”

  “No problem,” came the slightly puzzled voice through the link. John looked up at his wife – his wife – and smiled, slowly and sadly.

  “I’d love to,” he said. Remembering an old, old joke, he smiled again. “I could cook us something.”

  Anna gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” She hesitated. “Besides, doesn’t your cooking contravene several defence laws here?”

  He gave a bark of laughter.

  “But they seem to cope with your snoring,” she added. “And if that doesn’t breach defence regulations, then I don’t know what will.”

  “I do not snore.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No I don’t.”

  Anna smiled, and John found himself smiling too. She extended her arm and he took it, slowly, unable to believe that this was real, that the woman he’d been in love with for so long had finally returned, and only too willing to hope that the man she’d been in love with was returning as well.

  The Minbari would be coming soon, Delenn would be emerging from her cocoon in a few days, the Resistance Government had made a deal with the devil, and Lord Refa was sneaking around pursuing some unknown agenda.

  But none of that mattered. For the first time in years, Captain John J. Sheridan, Starkiller, was in the company of the one person he l
oved with all his heart, body and soul, and for the first time in years, Captain John J. Sheridan, Starkiller, dared to hope that he might be happy at last.

  Even if only for a little while.

  * * * * * * *

  For Susan, the rest had been laughably easy. Shuttles were travelling to and from the Babylon all the time, carrying replacements for weapons components, technical engineers, people going on and coming off leave, seeing the last glimpse of a home they might never see again…

  All she had to do was hop aboard one such shuttle and hide. Arriving on the Babylon, she’d been met by the one who’d been expecting her, the one whose handy information on Sheridan’s whereabouts had made this possible. He had provided her with a completely clear path to the relevant room.

  And with her always, there were the Shadows.

  Then there were the two guards outside the door. One of them seemed to recognise her and was clearly unsure as to what to do with her. On the one hand, she was a respected and powerful ally of the Resistance Government, and they had given her the run of Proxima. On the other hand, their orders were that no one but the Captain and Commander Corwin were to enter the cell, and that meant no one.

  Susan soon solved his dilemma. She killed him.

  She’d been secretly practising with the Minbari pike she’d taken from Delenn all those months ago, and she’d managed to master the art of extending it and striking in one movement. The first guard was dead with his chest crushed before he even knew what was happening.

  The second guard had started, almost unable to believe it, but she had reacted quickly. Not as quickly as a Shadow, who shimmered into view behind her and literally disembowelled her with one swipe of its foreleg.

  Two deaths would not go unnoticed, but it was not as if Susan was planning on taking the blame for them, not when there was a so much more convenient scapegoat to hand.

  The door was of course locked and security coded. Fortunately, her informant had provided her with the codes. The door opened and Susan and the two Shadows stepped inside. The first thing she saw, bathed in candlelight in an otherwise dark room, was the chrysalis itself.

  It was fixed to the far wall of the room, and came up to the middle of her chest in height. She thought she could dimly pick out a humanoid form within it. Her other senses could definitely pick out a form within it.

  Her first thought upon seeing it was, how beautiful.

  But then she remembered that Minbari ships could be considered beautiful, Vorlons could be considered beautiful, while her friends, the saviours of humanity, they were feared and reviled.

  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

  She walked up to the chrysalis and held out her pike, still stained with the blood of the guard she had killed. Drawing it back, she swung out with it. A part of the chrysalis tore away. She struck again, and again, and…

  …and a humanoid figure fell free. Susan looked at Delenn, who was stretched out naked on the floor. Whatever the chrysalis had been doing to her, it had not finished, and she was a curious amalgamation of human and Minbari. She was breathing hard, sucking in great gasps of air. Susan guessed that she had been conscious throughout the whole ordeal.

  “Lights,” she said, and the room was bathed in light. Delenn started, still emitting small, piteous moans, trying to hide her eyes.

  But then the Shadows hissed and buzzed, sending their anger to their representative.

  “Welcome back to the world, Satai Delenn,” Susan said slowly. Delenn knew her. Delenn recognised her. “Out of the darkness…

  “And into the light.”

  Chapter 3

  The chains we wear are of our own making.

  Marcus was not sure who’d said that first of all. It had a very Dickensian feel to it. As he paced up and down the small room that had been made his impromptu cell, he had a vision of himself being loaded down with chains, just like a ghostly Marley, come back to warn Scrooge about his selfish ways.

  If only Marcus had had a Marley, he might not have ended up here. He was not wearing any physical chains, but he had enough spiritual ones to load down an entire army. And most of them were of his own making.

  Hatred of his brother Joseph, who had always been everything that Marcus wasn’t. Hatred of Joseph’s wife Katherine, the first and greatest love of Marcus’ life. Hatred of himself for never telling Katherine how he felt. Hatred of himself for surviving the attack that left them both dead. Hatred of the drink which had nearly destroyed him, and hatred of himself for letting it do so. Hatred of the Shadows for attacking his colony. Hatred of the Narns for not stopping them. Hatred of the Minbari for causing his home to be run by Narns in the first place.

  Hatred of Captain Sheridan, who had saved him. Hatred of Satai Delenn, who hadn’t. Hatred of Councillor Na’Toth and Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar, who knew about the Shadows and did nothing, and hatred of them both for telling him about the Shadows and making him a part of their game.

  Hatred of Lyta, for daring to care for him. Hatred of himself for letting himself care for her. Hatred of Susan, who had changed the situation so that she was the hunter and he was the hunted. Hatred of himself for letting her do so. Hatred of Captain Sheridan, who had sent him here. Hatred of himself for failing Captain Sheridan’s trust in him.

  So much hatred, each object another chain weighing him down. Each chain causing his greater hatred of himself.

  Marcus did not know what Susan had planned that would necessitate locking him up in here. He certainly knew enough to be sure that he wasn’t the primary focus of her plans. He was just in the way.

  Fortunately he had not been unprepared for this eventuality. Susan had ripped the link from his hand before throwing him in here, but he had another, hidden in the folds of his jacket. He had drawn it out and tried to contact Captain Sheridan, but there had been no reply – no indication that the message had even reached him at all. He wondered if Sheridan had been the focus of Susan’s plans. A similar attempt to contact Commander Corwin had failed. In fact, he could not reach anyone on the Babylon. There were a few possible explanations – the link was broken, there was no way to send linked messages from this room, communications on the Babylon were down… or everybody on board the Babylon was dead.

  None of them was exactly a pleasant option. He was not sure if he could contact anyone on the surface of Proxima, but then there was only one person on the surface that he trusted and to her… to her he dared not speak, out of shame, and out of hatred.

  Lyta Alexander was just one more link in his heavy chains of hatred, and he was mortally afraid of ever letting her find this out, knowing that if he did so he would expose his true self to her, and that she would turn from him, and he would lose the greatest – and only – light of his life.

  And so he waited. Marcus hated waiting, but more than anything else, he hated himself for being in the this situation in the first place.

  One more link on a very big chain.

  * * * * * * *

  “Welcome to the world, Satai Delenn. Out of the darkness and into the light.”

  Susan could feel Delenn’s eyes on her – the eyes that could blaze with an intensity and a fury as passionate and as hot as the stars. Instead, all she saw now were the empty, haunted eyes of a child.

  She had no knowledge of what the chrysalis had been doing to Delenn – a complete genetic alteration, or simply an outward transformation? Would it have changed her to a full human, a half-human, or something else? And what had been the result of Susan shattering the chrysalis sooner than it would naturally have opened?

  She did not know, but then she did not care either. All she had to do was kill Delenn and her problems would be over. Sheridan would have no focus for his quest against the Shadows, and with the happiness of a renewed relationship with Anna he would have no need to continue. But as she raised her pike – the very one that Delenn had once wielded – she seemed to hesitate.

  Delenn was lying out on the floor, completely naked, obviously r
acked by pain, as helpless as a child, and with a look in her eyes that said that, mentally, she might be nothing else.

  Susan looked at her with a slow eye. Delenn’s bone crest was still there, only a little smaller than before, but it was cracked down the middle, where there was a growth of hair, long and black. Her ears were still in the normal Minbari place – a little lower than human ears – but the bone crest above them was higher. Her head and body were slimmer, and more human-looking, but her eyes… her eyes were those of a child.

  And then Delenn blinked slowly, and she whispered one word, half as though it were a link to her past, and half as though it was a toy she had just found.

  “Shadows.”

  The Shadows behind Susan had evidently decided that if their emissary would not act, then they would. They scuttled forward, approaching Delenn. Susan took a step back, and was content to watch.

  Had Delenn felt like this as her fleets destroyed Earth? Had she been content simply to watch, as a child was killed by adults who knew best?

  Delenn saw the things advancing on her, and her eyes widened in a gesture of childish curiosity, but then… a legacy of something left in her mind woke up, and started.

  She rolled away from the Shadows, back towards the broken husk of the chrysalis. She reached out and rested on it for support. Its touch seemed to revitalise her, although only a little.

  Susan started and slumped, silently screaming as a burst of pain tore into her skull. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh no, not again. Not… again.”

  She recognised a telepath’s presence when she felt one.

  And so, it appeared, did Delenn. She raised her head slowly, curiously, hesitantly, out of hope – or pain?

  “We don’t have… time…” Susan rasped, holding both hands against her skull. “Kill her… now.”

  The Shadows were only too happy to comply.

  * * * * * * *

  It had been three words which had alerted Lyta Alexander to the danger. Three words spoken – although she hadn’t known so then – at the time when Susan Ivanova had taken the shuttle up to the Babylon. Three words spoken by the voice in her mind that was called Kosh.