The Other Half of my Soul addm-1

by Gareth D. Williams

  In stepped Vice President Clark and Mr. Welles.

  “Mr. Allan here tells us you have an interesting story to tell, Miss Alexander,” Clark said. “I would very much like to hear it.”

  * * * * * * *

  “Is it taking any sort of hostile action?” Sheridan asked.

  “I don’t… think so. I don’t know what it’s doing.”

  “Hah! Join the club, Lieutenant. Where’s the nearest safe place we can get out of hyperspace?”

  “I can get us out in Sector Thirty-seven in a few minutes.”

  “Do it.”

  Franklin was marvelling at the change in Sheridan. Mere moments after seeing his wife die and being nearly ready to attack Delenn, he had become calm, collected and poised. He only seemed to become alive in battle, these days.

  If he spared a lingering look at the body of his wife, Franklin chose not to comment on it.

  Franklin suddenly looked up. His readings were… no, this was impossible. “Captain, it’s… gone…”

  “Gone?”

  “It just veered away. Like it was scared of… We’ve got an incoming transmission.”

  Sheridan sat bolt upright. “The sort of ship that can tear apart two Minbari cruisers in a matter of minutes isn’t going to be afraid of us. Put the message on, but audio only.”

  Sheridan turned to the communications panel by the side of his chair. He heard a stern, firm voice come over the channels.

  “You would be Captain Sheridan?”

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “Colonel Ari Ben Zayn, formerly of Earthforce Special Intelligence. With me is my associate, Mr. Harriman Gray. We have a… mutual acquaintance, Captain. He asked me to come and find you.”

  Sheridan knew the name. Ben Zayn was a decorated soldier, renowned in many battles and wars. He was said to be a talented, ambitious and very dangerous man. He was also supposed to be dead.

  “And who is this… mutual acquaintance?”

  “Later, Captain. When the time is right. We offer you a place of sanctuary. In return for certain… services, Captain.”

  “What kind of services?”

  “When the time is right, Captain. When the time is right. Well, do you accept?”

  Sheridan looked around at the nearly empty bridge. His gaze caught on Anna’s body. He swallowed harshly. “I will not raise a hand against my people,” he said.

  “We won’t ask you to.”

  “Fine. Then I accept.”

  * * * * * * *

  Vir had been back on Minbar for three days now. His last day on Proxima had been tense. Miss Alexander had gone missing shortly after their last meeting, and she knew enough to have him arrested and executed. She also knew enough to tear apart the Circle of Light if such information ever slipped out. Vir had trusted her then, and he still did, but there were… ways of gathering information. He hoped she had escaped the planet, but his hopes were thin.

  Still, Captain Sheridan had escaped. That was something to be thankful for. Vir had sent a message to G’Kar detailing everything that had happened on Proxima immediately upon his return to Minbar. Events there were taking a turn for the worse.

  And events on Minbar were becoming worse still. Refa had not noticed any sign of Vir’s preoccupation, which was in itself a bad sign. He was pleased about something, very pleased. Vir knew the real reason for their mission here, and he knew that if Refa was pleased, then it could not be good news.

  And it wasn’t. Refa received news of Captain Sheridan’s escape a few hours after the fact. He had feigned outrage at Proxima’s ‘inefficient security’ and ‘treasonous operatives’. He had managed to tear down completely the accord that Londo had been trying to build between Centauri Prime and Proxima 3. Even if the Resistance Government received word of Refa’s true allegiances, the climate of mistrust and suspicion would take too long to allay.

  The Grey Council was apparently still deliberating Refa’s information, but Vir knew it would not be long now. Delenn had been completely discredited by the image of her and Sheridan Refa had provided to Sinoval. There was now only one choice for the position of Holy One.

  Vir had come out to meet with Lennier, hoping that his companion had some better news. He hadn’t. Solemnly, the two swapped tales of what had happened. Vir revealed events on Proxima 3, while Lennier told of the heightening tension among the noble Houses of Centauri Prime – culminating in the death of First Minister Urza Jaddo in an apparently unrelated ’accident’.

  But there was one more piece of bad news to come for Vir. After meeting with Lennier, he returned to the diplomatic quarters he shared with Refa. The ambassador was in a very good mood. Vir asked what had happened.

  “Ah, you have not heard? There was another minor skirmish between some of our ships and a Narn cruiser at Ragesh 3. The colony there has fallen to those it once belonged to – us. The Kha’Ri has responded with more threats against our colonies elsewhere, and the Centarum has, finally, taken decisive action.

  “We are at war, Vir. And this time, the Narns will not get off so easily.”

  * * * * * * *

  Sinoval looked out across the circle at the eight people who surrounded them. They had been debating for days, ever since Refa had presented his evidence to him. Hedronn had finally come around, accepting the information for what it was – genuine. Only Lennann and Rathenn still spoke out. As of course they would, but they were fighting a losing cause. Sinoval knew it, Hedronn knew it, and they knew it.

  Refa had done exceptionally well. Not just with the image of what Delenn had become – the sight of her with Starkiller – but the other image as well. The sight of a human woman with a Shadow beside her. Sinoval had long suspected humanity of being in league with the Enemy. Refa had provided this proof, and, indirectly, the knowledge that Delenn was with the Enemy as well.

  “Am I to believe that you doubt your own eyes?” he asked, confronting the two opposite him. “You have seen what we all have. That is Delenn. Do you deny that?”

  “No,” Rathenn said, “but…”

  “And that is Starkiller Sheridan. We have all seen him. We all know what he looks like. Or do you deny that as well?”

  “No,” said Lennann.

  “Then how can you stand there and dare to defend her? You have asked for evidence about Delenn, my fellow Satai. You have wondered whether she may still be alive, and is being held against her will. You have asked for proof and I have given you that proof. Now, now do you believe me?”

  The words felt like ashes in his mouth, but he didn’t care. Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved. Delenn would have to fall so that he could save the rest of their people.

  “Humanity is in league with the Enemy. That we have seen as well. Therefore, Delenn is in league with the Enemy.”

  “We do not know that…” Lennann began.

  “What other explanation is there? We have stood here and debated for too long. We waited until the mourning for Dukhat was over. We waited to build the Rangers. We waited for proof about Delenn. The longer we wait, the easier we will fall. We must act now – together – or not at all! Shall we stand by as the Enemy advances? We formed the Rangers nearly eight cycles ago to oppose the Enemy that we all knew was coming. Now that Enemy is here, and we must be ready for it.

  “We cannot afford the luxury of conflict. Delenn has betrayed us. I hold that she be named Zha’valen.”

  There were no mutters of protest, not even from Rathenn and Lennann, although their looks would have killed Sinoval if they could. “She has betrayed us all, and all of Minbar as well, to the Enemy. I hold that she be named Zha’valen,” he repeated.

  Zha’valen. A shadow upon Valen. Outcast from Minbari society. No Minbari could speak to her, speak her name, or even look at her. He did not want to do this, but if the only way he could guide the Minbari to their prophesied destiny was to sacrifice Delenn then so be it, and he would never look back.

  “Zha’valen,” said Kalain, now formally Sat
ai. “Zha’valen,” said another warrior. “Zha’valen,” rasped Hedronn, his voice marked with bitter, angry disappointment. “Zha’valen.” “Zha’valen.” The word ran around the circle until only Rathenn and Lennann had not spoken. The two priests looked at each other, and finally, Rathenn said:

  “Zha’valen.”

  Lennann repeated the word, his voice even angrier than Hedronn’s.

  “And now, my Satai, is there any more doubt left as to the position of Holy One?”

  It began with Kalain, and with the other warriors, and it spread. Lennann and Rathenn did not speak, but they did not matter. Six of the Nine were with Sinoval, and that was enough. At last, he had achieved the beginnings of his dream, but the words were not spoken in dream this time, but in reality.

  “Hail Sinoval! Hail Holy One!”

  Part VIII: The Other Half of my Soul

  Chapter 1

  Holy One.

  Holy One. It sounded fitting to him. Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan had always known that he would be destined for great things and now he had achieved the greatness he had always believed would be his.

  Warleader and Shai Alyt of the Wind Swords clan during the holy jihad against the Earthers. Satai of the Grey Council following the death of Shakiri in Sheridan Starkiller’s attack over Mars. Entil’zha of the Rangers following the disappearance of Satai Delenn. And now Holy One.

  Sometimes the price he had paid to get this power grated at him. Satai Delenn in particular. Although Sinoval had often opposed her during Council, he had always admired and respected her. He did not envy her her fate.

  What he believed in private about her fate and what he said in public were two very different things. In public it suited him to maintain the common story that Delenn was a traitor to her people – that she had gone with the Starkiller willingly, and even that she conspired with him and the Enemy that had returned. In private, he believed none of this, but there was an old Minbari saying that applied in circumstances like this.

  ‘Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved.’

  To save Minbar, Sinoval had sacrificed Delenn.

  He stood alone in the Hall of the Grey Council, staring at the empty columns of light all around him. His fellow Satai had gone to spread the word of his ascension and to complete the preparations for his final attack. The last bastion of Earther power and the secret base of the Enemy – Proxima 3 – would fall.

  He shifted the image around him to that of the Minbari fleet that was rising. Capital ships, flyers, and the new breed of ships, built with Vorlon technology. They were called the White Stars by the majority of those who flew in them. It was supposed to be reminiscent of the Dralaphi – the Black Star. Sinoval thought it a bad omen, but he had to admit that the ships were impressive. For their size, they were more powerful, faster and better equipped than any other ship around. The Rangers, newly reformed under his leadership, would pilot them against the Enemy.

  We are ready, he thought. Let the Enemy and the Earthers and the Starkiller come. We are ready for them. In Valen’s Name, I will be ready.

  First, however, there was one problem, one old debt to be repaid. Sinoval killed the image around him and walked out of the Hall. It was tradition that the Holy One always stayed within the Hall of the Council. Like many other traditions, it was one that he intended to break.

  She was waiting for him, as he knew she would be. Jha’dur – Warmaster of the Dilgar, the being called Deathwalker.

  He remembered the day she had come to his clan. The clan leaders had taken her aside for private consultations, and they had announced that she would stay with the clan, and that this would be kept secret. As the clan leaders had died – to age, to grief, to Starkiller – Sinoval inherited the secret, and her knowledge. He was now the only one to know of her presence here.

  She was a weight around his neck, perpetually dragging him down. Now that he had his destiny, it would soon be time to get rid of her.

  “So,” she said. “Congratulations, Holy One. I always knew you would go far, Sinoval.”

  “By Valen’s will and by my strength, yes,” he said.

  “And a little help,” she reminded. “Don’t forget who took Satai Delenn out of the picture for you.”

  “I have not,” he said. “And that is why I am here. I tolerated your presence before, Jha’dur. You were valuable to me, and I thought… foolishly… that you would help me take us back to our rightful place in the galaxy.

  “I was wrong. You are evil, Jha’dur, as evil a thing as ever drew breath. The weapons you supplied us with are terrible artefacts of mass destruction. The price you took from us was sapping our souls, a little bit at a time. It is over, Jha’dur.

  “You will leave Minbar today. You will take your… instruments of terror and all trace that you were ever here, and you will go. And you will never return. Isil’zha veni. In Valen’s Name, I promise you that you will not be harmed if you do so, but stay here after today, and you will be killed.

  “Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly,” she said.

  “Do not think of revenge, Jha’dur. I am Holy One now, leader of the entire Minbari Federation. I am beyond anything that you can do to me. Be satisfied that you are keeping your life.”

  “Behold the gratitude of princes,” she spat. “I will be gone, Sinoval. Do not worry about that.”

  “That is all I ask,” he said, as he left.

  Sinoval, Holy One, was now with no burdens, no ties, nothing to stop him completing his destiny.

  And his destiny would be reached in fire over the skies of Proxima 3.

  * * * * * * *

  Commander David Corwin possessed many worthwhile skills, all of which rendered him inestimably valuable to Captain Sheridan. The skill which was probably the most valuable was the ability to survive and to adapt. He adapted to the destruction of Earth and to the loss of his family on Mars. He adapted to life on the Babylon – very quickly, even taking over the position of helm when the person manning it was killed.

  He had adapted to constant, and largely futile warfare. He had adapted to the loss of the woman he loved when Susan Ivanova had gone missing on the Babylon 2 mission, and he had adapted when the woman he loved returned… changed, not wanting to know him. He adapted when he learned that Susan was part of an ancient evil and he had even adapted when fighting that evil compelled him to abandon his own people.

  Where nothing he had ever known remained constant, David Corwin had learned to adapt in order to survive, but even he had to admit that this was unusual.

  It had only been a few days ago that he and Captain Sheridan had been arrested by the Resistance Government, ostensibly on charges of either negligence or treason, which one depending on whom you talked to. Corwin still found it hard to believe that Susan had been behind those charges, or at least guilty of the murders and the attempted murder that had caused them to come about. With help from a very unlikely source, Corwin and Sheridan had escaped Proxima 3 on board the Babylon, only to be pursued by a vessel which in all probability belonged to the Shadows – humanity’s newest allies and the Minbari’s oldest enemies. The Shadow ship had mysteriously fled when confronted by another Earthforce heavy destroyer class ship – of which there weren’t supposed to be any – and the Babylon had been led here. Wherever here was. Colonel – or perhaps Captain – Ben Zayn, of the Ozymandias, had arranged for the Babylon to come here without actually saying where ’here’ was.

  And it wasn’t as if Corwin could ask Captain Sheridan for help. A few days before, the Captain had shot and killed his wife Anna, and he was now in seclusion. Corwin supposed the Captain was getting very very drunk, but as long as he knew for certain that Sheridan hadn’t killed himself, then he simply hoped that he would work his way through this soon.

  Crisis left little time for grief.

  So, with Captain Sheridan hiding away from the world, half of the Babylon’s crew left behind on Proxima – including Security Chief Zack Allan –
and Satai Delenn locked up in the Babylon’s brig on Sheridan’s orders, it was Corwin who was left with the task of handling the Babylon’s integration into this new society they found themselves among.

  It was a moon, hidden somewhere. The moon had been hollowed out and a massive city had been built there. Corwin had some inkling of who had been behind their rescue – Captain Ben Zayn had been accompanied by a P10 level telepath, and they didn’t just grow on trees. This was Psi Corps, and if this was Psi Corps, then that meant Alfred Bester.

  Bester had visited Proxima 3 a few months ago, for the purpose of finding out about humanity’s allies and mind-scanning Satai Delenn. Corwin had been peripherally involved in a plan to stop this. Captain Sheridan had not provided details, but evidently it had worked. Corwin wondered if Bester was the type to hold a grudge. Judging by their rescue it didn’t seem like it, although there were still far too many questions to be answered.

  How had Bester known where they would be?

  Why had the Shadow ship veered away?

  What did Bester want with them?

  Where the hell were they?

  The fourth question at least could be answered by Michael Garibaldi, Bester’s Liaison and Strategics Officer, or something. He clearly wasn’t a telepath – no gloves and no Psi Corps badge – and he seemed friendly enough, but there was a select list of people Corwin trusted, and that list consisted of Captain Sheridan and no one else.

  “So where exactly are we?” he had asked as soon as Mr. Garibaldi had begun a brief tour of the place.

  “A secret Psi Corps base not far from Narn space,” came the reply. “The Boss did a deal with some of the Narns. You knows that the Narns don’t have telepaths? Well, at a healthy price, the Boss arranges for them to get some telepaths’ DNA, and so we get to stay here. We get food shipped in, even a few ships. The Narns want telepaths pretty badly, you see. I don’t think any of their experiments are working yet, but, well…”

  “Doesn’t that sound sort of… unethical to you?”