The second problem was more serious. The Shadows.
He had nearly completed the first layer of his minefield, fighting a slow holding and repelling action against the Minbari as he did so, when the first Shadow ship blazed by over the Parmenion. He felt a high pitched agonising scream burn into his mind and he stumbled for a moment. Glancing over at the viewscreen, he was astonished by what he saw. He had never seen a Shadow vessel before, but he knew that the large, black, almost living, spider-like thing could only be a Shadow ship.
The others on the bridge had been affected as well. Corwin was wincing, and the rest of the bridge crew were shaking their heads or holding their hands over their ears.
All except one.
Alisa Beldon did not belong on the bridge. In fact, Sheridan did not really understand why Bester had placed a telepath on the ship at all.
He was about to find out.
Alisa was concentrating. Her eyes were closed and her hands clenched into fists. Blood was dripping from one palm. Sheridan looked at the tactical display in front of him. The… the thing… the Shadow ship… it wasn’t moving. It seemed… paralysed.
He looked up at Corwin. His second had clearly noticed the same thing.
“I think we’ve been set up,” Corwin said.
“Me too. Remind me to kill Bester when we get back.”
‘Do what you think is best,’ Bester had said. Sheridan had assumed he had meant with regard to the Minbari. Bester hadn’t. The pieces were finally clicking together. Bester had sent his ships here to fight the Shadows. Telepaths provided some sort of weapon against them. Bester had been forcing him into making this decision.
He remembered Delenn’s earnest words about the Great War and the Ancient Enemy. He wasn’t sure he’d believed her before, not even after the Babylon 4 incident. Now, he did.
He whispered his wife’s name softly. Anna’s death had been caused by these people, whether directly or indirectly it did not matter. They had corrupted the Resistance Government, killed his wife, caused him to become an exile and traitor.
He looked at Corwin, who shrugged.
“Left broadsides, multiple strikes against that thing,” he ordered.
“Tear it apart.”
The bridge crew smiled, as if they’d been expecting nothing else.
In the words of a great leader of millennia before:
Alea jacta est.
The die is cast.
* * * * * * *
T here is a darkness here, thought Ta’Lon. A grave and terrible darkness.
He could feel it, in the air, in the ground, in the people he met and saw. They had given themselves over to the Enemy willingly, either not knowing or not caring about the consequences. They had done so out of fear, it was true, but they had still surrendered to the Darkness.
Alarms had been given, warning the people to enter shelters – shelters that would do no good if the Minbari did to Proxima what they had done to Earth. The people had largely ignored them. Instead they were waiting beneath the Main Dome, staring up into the skies and dreading the arrival of the blinding light that would herald the end of their existence.
Ta’Lon was alone here, but he had his mission. To find Marcus Cole. To find Lyta Alexander. To free them from the Darkness that ruled this place.
Security guards were no more disciplined than were the common people. Many were standing outside panicking. Many had abandoned their posts, perhaps seeking a last moment with lovers or children or friends, perhaps seeking to avoid the knowledge of their coming death in a fog of drink, perhaps doing many things…
Entering the main government complex of the Main Dome was easy. G’Kar had, a long time ago, obtained plans of most of the major cities and complexes of most of the major power bases in the galaxy. Always in case of emergencies…
The first place Ta’Lon tried was the Detention Block. There was a guard on duty there, one in whom Ta’Lon recognised a calm professionalism driven to near despair. He had refused Ta’Lon entry, had stuck to his determination as if it were the last breath of air in his body.
And so Ta’Lon had tried elsewhere. Fortune was on his side.
The human was pacing up and down the corridors, despair and tragedy in his eyes. He looked haunted. He looked anguished. He looked… he looked lost.
Ta’Lon had false papers authorising him as a Narn security advisor. The security guard at the Detention Block had insisted on having them verified and Ta’Lon had not had the time for that. The papers had managed to get him in this far.
The human was talking to himself, speaking the same four words over and over again.
“The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming.”
The human stopped when he saw Ta’Lon. The Narn saw a general’s insignia on his uniform. “You…?” the general whispered. “I remember you. It was… it was…”
And Ta’Lon remembered him now, although he was astonished to recognise this haunted figure as the calm, confident General Hague he had known in the last war with the Centauri. The humans had assisted in the war – well, Sheridan had, which amounted to the same thing – and General Hague had come to the city of G’Khamazad for meetings with the Kha’Ri. Ta’Lon had been in the Narn military then, and he had been responsible for the escort that brought General Hague in.
Of course, that was before G’Kar. That was before Neroon. That was a million years ago.
“General Hague,” Ta’Lon said slowly.
“You’re dead,” Hague said. “You’re… dead. I’m certain you were dead. We’re all… dead. All dead… The Minbari are coming.”
“Do you know where Marcus Cole and Lyta Alexander are?” Ta’Lon asked. He was not expecting rationality, but maybe, maybe there was hope… The Darkness had not claimed him just yet, but madness had instead.
“No!” he cried out. “No! I… Oh God, what have I become? Plenty of company at the bottom… she said. At the… bottom…” Hague blinked. “Room six, ground floor, Grey area. Go. Save them! Please… the price… some prices are too great.”
Ta’Lon nodded and silently thanked Hague. He made to go, and then he patted the general nervously on the arm. Hague was lost. The best he could hope for was to die without realising what had happened to his people.
Ta’Lon had made it to the right area, when he came to an abrupt halt. Standing at the entrance to the hall was a human, flanked by two security guards.
“Even in the midst of anarchy, there must be some order,” the leader said. “Even in chaos, there is purpose. May I know yours, please?”
* * * * * * *
The White Stars moved forward, over and under Sheridan’s hastily constructed minefield. They could see their enemies. The human ships they had come to destroy, and the Shadows defending them. A long way further towards the centre of the system, near Proxima 3 itself, there was a frantic battle between a Narn ship, a Centauri ship, two human ships and the Shadows, but that was there. Here, out on the edge of the Proxima system, it was Minbari versus Shadows, as it had been before, with no Vorlons, no First Ones, no Valen to aid them. On the other hand, they did have the Starkiller.
The first Shadow ships, screaming and black and dark against the night, came into view of the first White Stars. The White Stars were faster than the greater Minbari ships, and had entered the breach first.
They were not faster than the Shadows.
One Shadow ship was struck by the focussed bursts from two White Stars at once. The Minbari had clashed with their Ancient Enemy before this battle, in small skirmishes. The one at Mars had been destroyed, so had the ships at Ganymede. But never in this number, never on this scale.
Another Shadow soared above the White Stars and tore them apart with its energy burst. The wounded ship fell back and two more rose forward. More White Stars came, and combined their forces. One Shadow ship screamed as its outer spines were burned away. Minbari on both ships felt the scream. Shortly after their own screams were added to it as the Shado
ws struck back.
The Shadows pressed forward, pushing the White Stars back. One tried a counterattack, rushing forward, and briefly drove the Shadow back.
But there were too many Shadows… far too many…
* * * * * * *
Sinoval stood in the centre of the Hall of the Grey Council, the One amongst the Nine. He was watching the battle taking place with calm, patient eyes.
Unlike many in the Council, Sinoval was a consummate strategist, a planner and a tactician. He could read the ebb and flow of the battle effortlessly. He could evaluate weak spots and vulnerabilities, strengths and fortified positions.
At the moment the battle was too early to be accurately read. There were more Shadows than he had been expecting, but the Minbari fleet still outnumbered them. The presence of three Earthforce heavy destroyers – one the Babylon he remembered so well from the attack on Mars – had surprised him, but what surprised him more was that two of them were focussing on the Shadows just as much as on the Minbari. He had not been expecting that turn of events, but he put it down to deep-rooted terror, as the humans finally witnessed just what they had allied themselves to. The presence of a Narn warship and a Centauri cruiser had surprised him as well – more so as they were fighting back to back, working against the Enemy.
There were games within games taking place, and he did not like the thought that others were manipulating events.
“Holy One!” It was Kalain. Sinoval turned to face him, irked that his contemplation of the battle had been interrupted. “We have received a message. It is from… it is from her. Zha’valen.”
He could see the shock on the faces of Rathenn and Lennann, the two members of the religious caste still on the Grey Council. The two of them had objected the most strongly when Delenn had been named Zha’valen – outcast. Sinoval himself had not believed the story he had put out – that Delenn had gone with Starkiller willingly, had helped him escape from Minbar, and was working with the Enemy of her own will. It had, however, suited him to pretend that he did. With Delenn gone, his was the only voice the Grey Council could hear.
And yet…
He listened as the acolyte who had brought Kalain the message replayed it. Afterwards, for a moment, there was silence. He could tell what each member of the Council was thinking. His own thoughts could be summed up in one word.
Starkiller.
Sheridan had escaped from Minbar, had killed two members of this assembly and crippled – physically and emotionally – three more. He was responsible for countless Minbari deaths. He had dared to face down Sinoval in this very Hall. The fact that Sheridan was also – indirectly – responsible for Sinoval holding the position he did today was not lost on the Holy One. On the contrary, that counted as one more weight against him.
“Bring them to me,” Sinoval snapped. “The Starkiller and De… and the Zha’valen. Bring them before me in chains and let them face my judgement.” This war would end here, in the skies of Proxima, but it could not end until Sheridan was dead, and Del… and the Zha’valen was punished for her treason.
Sinoval understood that humans had a saying. Great empires are always built on blood.
He would build a Minbari empire on the blood of two people.
* * * * * * *
Captain Ben Zayn could practically feel the evil directed towards him, the focussed evil of millennia. He welcomed it. He was a soldier, a warrior. He had fought on countless battlefields and survived them all. He would survive this one.
Beside him, Gray’s head snapped backwards with the force of the telepathic encounter. Ben Zayn took advantage, driving forward with both broadsides and the fore firing team. He had fought the Shadows before as well. No enemy was invincible.
He wasn’t surprised to learn that the Babylon was fighting alongside him. He knew most, if not all, of Bester’s little secrets. He was surprised at the arrival of a Narn and a Centauri ship, fighting together of all things.
Ben Zayn felt the rush of battle, felt at once the furious passion of the warrior and the calm serenity of one who has accepted his inevitable death.
For the duration of this battle he knew that he was immortal.
* * * * * * *
“Minbari coming forward!”
Sheridan swore.
His Starfury screen had been cut down to almost nothing, but it had bought enough time to lay his mine screen, allowing him to concentrate on the Shadows, the enemy he was still slightly surprised to be fighting. The Minbari had finally managed to breach his minefield. He wasn’t surprised – it was inevitable – but he did wonder how much it had cost them to do it.
“Forward interceptors and mass dispersion fire!” he ordered, glancing at Corwin, who was observing the tactical displays and plotting strategies. For the moment, the Shadows were concentrating on the Minbari. Sheridan knew enough to leave two enemies to fight each other, but he doubted he’d be ignored for long.
He also shot a glance at Alisa Beldon. She was leaning heavily against a display, breathing hard. Her aid had helped him take down two of the big Shadow ships and a handful of the smaller ones, but it had taken a lot out of her. She was exhausted. She looked up and smiled wearily.
Damn you, Bester! Sheridan thought. Why did you have to involve children in this?
The ship rocked beneath the barrage of Minbari fire. The interceptors were overheating.
“A boarding pod!” Corwin said. “But that’s…”
Sheridan shared his incredulity. The Minbari didn’t board ships. It wasn’t their way. They must want something here really badly to try and…
His eyes widened. “Delenn! David, can we shoot it down?”
“Nope. It’s too small for our dispersion fire and it’s got that stealth stuff so we can’t target it.”
“Ah hell! Get the… the Narn bat squad patrolling the area where they’re likely to arrive. Patch a message through to…” He thought of Delenn. “No. I’ll go and warn her. Mr. Corwin, you have the bridge. I won’t be long.” Corwin watched as Sheridan ran from the bridge. He was more than a little surprised. Just how closely did the Captain feel for Delenn to do this?
He looked up at the Minbari fleet and swallowed. He was no Starkiller, but he’d studied the great man long enough.
He knew what to do.
* * * * * * *
Delenn straightened, hearing the warning alarm. She closed her eyes and thought of John. She wondered if he would hate her for this, but she knew that if he did, then she would accept it. There was no other option. She could feel her people dying. The Shadows were too strong, and the Minbari were too weak. Driven by pride and arrogance they had destroyed themselves just as surely as they were being destroyed by the Shadows.
She opened the door and left her room. Her people would come for her. They would take her before the Grey Council, and she would end this.
She stumbled as the ship rocked, but then she could hear the sound of fighting. Hitching her dress up slightly, she ran forward. She had to end this.
Rounding a corner, she entered one of the shuttle docking bays, to find it engulfed by Narns and Minbari, fighting, with gun and sword and pike. She heard the ringing of pike meeting katok, she heard the cries of the dying and the gasps of the wounded.
She closed her eyes and mouthed a silent prayer for forgiveness.
She had to find the leader of the Minbari. It was likely she would recognise him or her. The leader would certainly spot her. Slowly, she began working her way around the wall of the docking bay, avoiding the Narns, hoping she would pass unnoticed.
A Narn was dying at her feet, blood pouring from a neck wound. He reached out pleadingly to her, but she silently stepped aside, inwardly weeping.
She had not seen his desperate, pain-maddened thrashings, and stumbled over his arm, tumbling to the ground. She tried to crawl forward, but he had a grip on her ankle, his last wish not to die alone.
Above her were a Narn and a Minbari, sword and pike flashing, fighting with their ancient
weapons of pride. They came close to her, and the Minbari fell. Delenn tried to crawl out of the way, but he fell across her back. She felt a blinding pain and a moment of blackness.
When she came to, the fight was almost over. The Narns were pulling back, but had fortified the main corridor out of the docking bay. The Minbari were slowly moving forward. Delenn gasped, closing her eyes against the pain as she crawled out from under the body which lay on top of her. Slowly she turned, and gently closed his eyes.
“Delenn!”
Oh, no.
She could see John rushing forward, PPG fire picking off the Minbari who were moving towards her. The Narns, inspired by his example, had begun a counter-charge. The Minbari rushed forward, driven by fury and by pride.
The whole ship shuddered again, and Delenn fell forward. John caught her quickly and held her tight. Oh, John, no. I didn’t… I never meant…
He suddenly let go and spun around, firing instinctively. The Minbari warrior fell, two shots striking her chest and head at point-blank range. Sheridan was not happy with something, however. He backed up against the wall and began fumbling with his weapon. The energy cap was exhausted.
Blood. So much blood. So much death. All her fault. Too much death…
“Forgive me, John,” she muttered. She did not have a weapon, but she did not need one. Neroon and Draal had trained her in hand-to-hand combat well enough. She struck out at John’s belly. His instincts warned him about the blow, but too late to block it. He stumbled, and she hit his neck. He fell, poleaxed. Delenn noticed something at his belt. It was her pike, the one Susan Ivanova had taken from her on Minbar, the one she had taken back from the future Susan Ivanova aboard Babylon 4, the one she had given to John in trust after they left Babylon 4.
The trust she had just betrayed.
She took the weapon from his belt, and saw a warrior standing above her. The warrior said just one word.
“Starkiller.”
“He is to be left here,” Delenn said. “Do you hear me? He is to be left here. I am Satai Delenn of the Grey Council, and I demand to be taken before the Council. This must end. Please, listen. This must end.”
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