“He is still in his room, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
Corwin had anticipated this happening. He wasn’t sure if the Captain was drunk or not – after seeing Anna’s alcoholism first hand for so long, he would have thought the Captain would have stayed away from drink, but this was hardly an everyday occasion.
“Commander, I’d like a word with you… in private, if possible.”
Corwin looked around at the largely empty docking bays. The only person in sight was Neeoma Connally, the Starfury pilot who had been docking her ’Fury after a routine patrol when Sheridan and Corwin had taken the Babylon away from Proxima.
“This looks pretty private to me,” he said, walking hurriedly to the exit of the docking bays. “What is it?”
“A few of the people came up to me. They want to know what’s going on.”
Corwin came to a halt, and turned. “Go on,” he said carefully.
“We’ve abandoned Proxima, none of us knows why, or what’s been happening. We hear you and the Captain are up for treason, and then there’s… well…”
Corwin knew what he was getting at. “Go on,” he said darkly.
“There’s her… Why is she still with us? This is about her, isn’t it? She’s one of them, Commander, one of the enemy.”
Corwin raised an eyebrow. This was strange talk coming from someone who had trained as a doctor, someone who had, technically, committed treason by refusing to turn over his medical notes on Minbari biology. But then the Minbari had killed his father, and things changed. War changed many things.
“We’ve all left behind our friends, and what family we have on Proxima, sir. We’ve left them defenceless there. We can’t do that, whatever’s going on between you, the Captain and the Resistance Government.”
“Proxima is hardly alone,” Corwin reminded Franklin. Indeed not. They had the Shadows, didn’t they? They had the… things that had corrupted the Resistance Government.
“It doesn’t feel right, sir. We can’t talk to the Captain about it, so I’m asking you. Please. Talk to the Captain. You can work this out with the Resistance Government, but we can’t abandon Proxima like this. We’ll all be outlaws now unless we go back.”
“I see, lieutenant. Since when did it become your place to say what the Captain should or should not do? Since when did you become an expert on what the Resistance Government will or will not do? And if I could talk to the Captain, then do you think I would have asked you to try and do so? I don’t know much more than you do, but I trust the Captain, and you should
* * * * * * *
Delenn hovered outside Captain Sheridan’s door, hesitating to enter. She remembered the rage in his eyes the last time they had been together. She remembered his angry words.
‘Throw her in the brig! Throw her out of an airlock! Just get her out of my sight!’
She paused, and winced at a sharp pain in her head. She had been experiencing such twinges ever since her premature exit from the chrysalis, but they were getting worse.
She saw Corwin move forward slightly, but then she raised a hand, and he stopped. He had come to her, he had trusted her, Captain Sheridan needed her.
In times of great grief, Minbari often fasted for weeks at a time. Their bodies could handle such starvation. Human bodies could not. But there was another, greater problem, a cancer of the soul. She had to excise it, or it would consume and destroy him.
She nodded briefly. Corwin placed his card in the door and activated the override code. The door opened.
Delenn breathed in harshly and stepped inside.
The door closed after her.
She had been in John’s quarters aboard the Babylon a few times before, although they had never looked so small. Or so dark. Sheridan was sitting on his bed, staring at a glass that was resting on his bedside table. The glass was half full of a dark brown drink. She recognised the smell of alcohol.
“I knew you would come,” he said suddenly. His voice was not angry, or bitter, or hollow, but… resigned. He looked haunted, as if he were reliving that moment over and over again.
“I know the way David thinks, you see. I can’t stay in here forever, and I certainly can’t come out by myself. He can’t talk to me. He can’t shout at me, and swear at me and tell me all the things I need to be told to shake myself out of this. Why? Because I’m the Captain. I outrank him, I’m his superior officer, his… he’s been with me for over ten years, ever since the Battle of Mars. Normal Earthforce promotions and transfers pretty much stopped with the fall of Earth, you see.
“No, David couldn’t come himself, and nor could anyone else. Except for you.
“So, go on. Tell me what you came to say. Try and convince me that it wasn’t my fault. Try and convince me it was an accident. Try and convince me whatever you like.”
Delenn swallowed slowly. Her head was aching again. She slowly knelt down opposite him, but not too far away. She stared at his face. Her vision swam for a moment, but she blinked, and it righted itself.
She absurdly wished she was wearing something else. Her only clothing was the torn medical gown she had been given after emerging from the chrysalis. It did not feel right to her, to wear so little.
“I cannot do that,” she whispered. “Only you can.”
“Of course, that’s right. I’m the one who got myself into this mess. I’m the one who has to get myself out of it. Well, what if I don’t want to? What if I’m just tired of always being the hero, always being the Captain? What if…? Aw hell, what’s the point? What would you know?”
“I learned… the hard way, that power brings with it responsibility. I was given power and I misused it when I began the war with your people. I wish I could take back what I said, and what I did, but I cannot, and so I work towards the future.
“You have a similar responsibility, Jo… Captain.” Calling him by name did not feel right any more. “You cannot abandon them.”
“And what about my responsibility to Anna? I abandoned that easily enough. To love, cherish and honour… for better or worse, for richer or poorer… I abandoned all of them easily enough. What does a little more matter?”
“And you were wrong with Anna, weren’t you?”
“Don’t speak her name again,” he whispered. He had not shouted, not yelled, not even moved, but those five words chilled her to the very bone.
“You…” She hesitated. “You were wrong, though. If we do not learn from our mistakes, then surely we will make them again. Captain, please… your crew needs you… Commander Corwin needs you…”
“You’re a bad liar, Delenn. Only one person has ever needed me, and she’s long dead. My daughter. Elizabeth. The only item of beauty I ever created in my whole life, and she’s gone.”
“Why all this self-pity? You have a destiny, and you have friends. You have… a purpose, a reason for living… If you do not see that, it is because you have taught yourself not to believe it.” Delenn paused, and then smiled slowly.
“Who else could my people call Starkiller?”
Sheridan said nothing. He did not move. He simply stared at his drink.
“Cap… John.” Delenn slowly rose and moved forward. “Your crew needs you. They are afraid, they are disorientated, they are lost. Commander Corwin needs you. I need you.”
He looked up. “You?”
“Yes. I… I have followed prophecy all my life, and it has led me here, to you. I told you once that we believe that groups of souls travel together, reliving the good relationships, and correcting the bad ones. We are linked, John. We are all a part of this universe.”
“How do your people cope with grief?” he said. He didn’t seem to have heard what she had told him, but she knew he had. “How would you cope in a situation like this?”
She knelt down beside him. “We fast, we pray, we meditate, we remember. Often for a period of many weeks. Sometimes, we go insane, as we did when this war began. When I lost Neroon, I immersed myself in the study of prophecy. Wh
en I lost Draal, I spent days in meditation, remembering everything about him that I loved. There are no rules to grief, John.”
“I can’t pray, because I don’t have anyone to pray to. I can’t remember, because that would mean simply reliving every mistake I made. I can’t go insane. I did that when Elizabeth died, and when Earth fell. There’s no good down that road.
“And there’s one path left.”
“It may not be the right road.”
“I’ve made plenty of wrong decisions in my life, Delenn. What’s one more?” Hesitantly, slowly, he reached out, and he touched her cheek. She took his hand and looked into his eyes. They were… scarred, by grief, by loss, by anger, by shame… but by determination as well.
The Starkiller was never far from the surface.
She kissed his hand slowly, unsure of what she was feeling. Her body felt so… strange recently, but surely there could be nothing wrong with this happiness? She moved closer to his bed.
He smiled sadly, and rose to his feet. He helped her up, and if she swayed and lost her balance for a moment, and he had to catch her, he made no sign. He helped her balance and then let go of her hand.
“Is David outside?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“I suppose he has something important to tell me. I think it’s time to find out what just what we’re doing here, and just what Mr. Bester wants with us.”
Delenn started, recognising the name. Bester had come to Proxima a few months ago, intending to scan her. She had been preparing for her chrysalis at the time, and could not let anyone discover her intentions. And so she had taught Sheridan a number of Minbari meditation techniques which blocked light telepathic scans, enabling him to threaten Bester into leaving her alone. As a short-term measure, it had worked, but she had not envisaged being at Bester’s mercy again, and certainly not in this condition.
“John,” she said softly. “Be careful.”
“I don’t trust Bester one inch, Delenn, but you’ve told me of the responsibilities I have. I know what I’m doing.”
She smiled, and started to reach out to him again. She hesitated, and then stopped. As she had expected, Corwin was waiting outside the door. He gave her a cautious smile, and then nodded at the Captain. Delenn followed John from the room, hoping neither of her companions would notice her discomfort. Her head was aching and all her muscles seemed sore.
Her discomfort increased when Commander Corwin revealed he had been linked a message saying that Bester wanted to see her as well
* * * * * * *
“She is the other half of my soul. Tell her… no, she already knows. If there is any justice, Ta’Lon, then I will meet her again, in a place where no shadows fall.”
Narns did not cry. No one who had survived the Centauri occupation could ever cry again, and Ta’Lon had ceased to show any semblance of grief after his mother had starved to death. He remembered the Centauri, but he could not hate them. He had a greater purpose in mind.
Proxima 3 was still on a war alert. The Minbari could attack at any moment, and their early warning systems gave the humans a bare twelve hours notice. Ta’Lon would have a little more of a warning than that, but G’Kar’s agents on Minbar had reported that he had a few days at most, perhaps a week.
It would of course take him several days to get to Proxima 3. This would be close. Assuming he could escape the Shadow agents there, he would have to leave the place before the Minbari arrived. They would not discriminate, and the fact that he fought the same Enemy that they did would not matter to them.
Nor would the fact that he was bringing the last words of a Minbari warrior to his beloved.
Ta’Lon had heard nothing from G’Kar since before he and Neroon had gone out towards the Rim. He had also heard little from G’Kar’s agent on Proxima in a few days, but that was not surprising. With the whole planet on a war footing, no outside transmissions could be made. Ta’Lon could also not make any communications to G’Kar’s agents elsewhere, as his ship had been damaged in the Shadow attack a few days ago.
Ta’Lon was isolated and alone, but he had a purpose. Somewhere on Proxima was held Satai Delenn, and he had to rescue her before her people arrived.
He had sworn that to Neroon, before the Minbari had died…
* * * * * * *
“We have him here, Excellency.”
Londo looked at the guard escorting him into the cells of the palace, and wondered whose side he was on. He had bribed the guard enough, but still, was someone else paying him more? Londo’s funds were not bottomless.
He had received the message this morning, as he was preparing for Lady Morella’s arrival. The message had been from one of his sources in the Royal Court. It was short and to the point.
‘Lady Morella has been murdered. A prisoner is being held.’
Londo did not know Emperor Turhan’s third widow very well, but he did know that she was a prophetess, a very well-kept secret among the Royal Court. She had been in seclusion since Turhan’s death during the previous war with the Narn, emerging only very rarely. The fact that she wanted to see him had come as a great surprise.
The thought had occurred to him that the whole meeting was a joke arranged by Timov to annoy him, but he had checked with Lady Morella’s valet, and learned that Timov had been telling the truth. The reason why Lady Morella wanted to see him and not been revealed, and now it probably never would be.
The Royal Court, in its traditional manner, was keeping Morella’s death a secret for the moment, but as Londo was acting First Minister in the wake of Urza’s assassination – sorry, accident – he could hardly be kept in the dark about this, especially when he stormed into the Court and demanded to know what was happening. Emperor Marrit and that quadruple-damned Lady Elrisia had tried to play down the affair, but Londo had put on his best loyalty persona and had uncovered the truth.
Lady Morella had been murdered in her bed last night, quite unpleasantly. There had been a lot of blood, and quite some mess. Apparently the serving maid who found the body had fainted with shock, and then conveniently killed herself from grief.
A human had been discovered sneaking around the palace shortly after the discovery and had promptly been arrested and detained. Londo had thought it preferable he meet this human before an accident or suicide befell him also. Murder investigations were always so much simpler when all the suspects were still alive and able to answer questions. It did help quite a bit.
As he walked towards the dungeons, he pondered a few things. Morella had been a seeress, and by all rumour a powerful one. All Centauri had some degree of prophetic ability – notably the ability to see their own deaths. Londo still remembered the vision of his death, being strangled by G’Kar on the steps of the Imperial Throne. Had Morella experienced a similar vision? And if she had, surely she must have made preparations, perhaps left a message?
Or perhaps not. She was a seeress after all, and they tended to be confusing, oracular and ambiguous to a fault. If she had left a message it would probably be something along the lines of ‘the rose blooms best at night’, or similar gibberish. She might as well have been a Vorlon.
He reached the cell which held the human prisoner, and stopped. The guard opened the door, and Londo handed him a purse of ducats. The guard nodded and stepped aside, as Londo entered the cell.
The human did not look in particularly fine form. He had been beaten quite a bit – resisting arrest, as the popular excuse went – and there was fatigue in his bearing. Nevertheless, he stood up as Londo entered.
“Ah,” he said. “You must be Minister Mollari. A pleasure to meet you.”
“And who are you then?” Londo asked.
“Funny. That’s just what I was going to ask you, Minister.”
Londo paused. Perhaps the guards had beaten him a little too badly. He didn’t sound very mentally stable. A pity. These humans could be so fragile at times.
“Oh no,” the prisoner said. “I’m quite sane, b
elieve me.”
“Sane enough to murder a noble lady. Now if it had been Elrisia, that might be understandable, but Lady Morella…”
“I didn’t do it.”
“No, I suppose you were wandering around the Royal Palace for the good of your health, yes? Taking in the water and the sights.”
“Actually I’m here on business. I’m a… trader of sorts.”
“Are you? And what might your name be, Mr. Trader?”
He smiled. “Morden.”
Chapter 2
Alfred Bester subscribed to a great many sayings. He believed in ancient wisdom, and the classic methods of doing things. Efficiency, clear thinking, forward planning and extensive preparations were never old fashioned.
The first rule he held dear was the simplest of all: ‘Know Thine Enemy’.
No one could ever accuse Bester of having small dreams. He wanted everything. Cursed from birth with a useless hand, cursed in adolescence by his lack of height, cursed with an ability that no one understood and everyone feared, Bester had had only his ambition to maintain him. His ambition and his superiority.
Others looked down on telepaths, scorned them, hated them, pushed them aside into a big, black box called Psi Corps and left them to rot there. Bester was not the first to realise the truth about telepaths, but he was one of the first to take advantage of another old saying:
‘One man’s curse is another man’s blessing.’
Telepathy was a gift, not a curse. It was a valuable resource, to be harvested and cropped and protected. Telepaths were the strong, the gifted, the blessed, the inheritors of the future. And he would be their harvester.
Bester’s own powers of telepathy had been strong, very strong. Rated at P12, he was quickly inducted into the Psi Cops, the best of the best. He soon grasped at the power – both personal and political – such a position gave him. So what if he was still not free, and so what if he had to marry whoever the Corps told him to, and follow the Corps’ rules? He was patient. He could wait.
And with the Corps gone, he was now the sole inheritor of all their knowledge and power, all of it invested here, in the place simply called Sanctuary.
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