"Look at them, Sheridan. Just open your eyes and look. Ask yourself this question, and see if you like the answer.
"Whom do you serve?"
"I serve peace."
"You're as much of a warrior as I am. More, perhaps. You didn't have the training I did. You learned it all as you went along. There's no more place for you in a world of genuine peace than there is for me. Why do you need the Dark Stars if you have peace? Why the fleets, the defence grids? Why your new and precious Babylon Five?
"Whom do you serve, Sheridan? It is not peace."
"The people of the Alliance."
"Which people? The Drazi, perhaps? Vizhak was with you from the start, and where is he now? Go to Zhabar one day and look around. Or perhaps the Centauri? Speak to them of the wonders of peace sometime.
"Or better yet, wait a few months. Wait until the Inquisitors arrive in force on your beloved Proxima. Then go and speak to the people there and talk of peace.
"Whom do you serve, Sheridan?"
Sheridan suddenly laughed. "Is that your question, then? What did the Shadows ask - 'What do you want?' That's how they tempted me, and so many others. 'Whom do you serve?' doesn't have quite the same ring to it."
"Then I'll try another question. Who are you? Do you even recognise the face in the mirror any longer?"
"Do you?" Sheridan snapped. "Enough of the questioning of me. Look at yourself. You've changed since the last time I saw you. All those Soul Hunters, all that death, they've unhinged you. Who are you these days, Sinoval? Whom do you serve?"
"Ah." Sinoval threw back his head and spread his arms wide. Behind him countless little lights began to emerge, and a chorus of voices rose as one. Tiny stars began to sparkle beneath his skin.
"That question, I think I can answer," he said, his voice sounding like many mixed into one. "You see, Sheridan. We are not so different after all."
Sheridan's eyes began to glow bright gold, and memory left him.
* * *
He walked in her footsteps, stepped into her shadow, trod where she trod, moved as she moved. He knew nothing else other than that he had to follow her, had to find out what she was doing here, if she was even real and not another illusion like those he had seen before he had come here.
The woman whom he was sure was Susan Ivanova walked slowly and stealthily through the darkened streets of Yedor. The man who now remembered himself to be David Corwin followed her, unsure of where they were going, but knowing that there was nowhere else.
He had been sure she was dead. She had been gone for years. Ambassador Sheridan had taken her from Kazomi 7 to Z'ha'dum during the failed peace talks, and that had been the last any of them had heard of her. She had been comatose then, delirious and unconscious. Corwin was sure she must have died, but he had paid her no special heed. She had merely become one of the countless ghosts haunting him.
Until now. That slight glimpse in the half-light of the Temple of Varenni had reawakened all the old memories, all the old emotions. Stolen kisses in the moonlight of Orion, long walks though the parks, saddened conversations about friends and family dead, eating breakfast in bed the day before she left on the Babylon 2 mission.
And then her return, twisted, changed. A Shadow agent. It had taken him a long time to adjust to what she had become, but time and memories and loves changed. There had been Mary, and all the concerns about John, and Delenn and the war.
Always the war.
He continued walking, paying no attention to where she was going. He had no idea whom she had been talking to, no idea why she had been talking to a warrior, no idea of anything at all.
He turned a corner and stopped, looking around. There was no sign of her. He took a step back and looked around again. Still nothing.
Where could she have gone? She had not been that far ahead of him. There was nowhere here to hide.
Maybe she had not walked down this street after all. He turned to retrace his steps, and as he did so a sharp blow struck his midriff and then another his back. He fell.
Looking up at the sky through dimmed eyes, he saw a fighting pike held several feet above his head. It looked a little smaller than those he had seen before, but maybe that was just his blurred vision.
There was a flicker of movement and a long, sharp metal blade shot out from the end of the pike. It came to a stop less than an inch from his neck. It glistened razor-sharp in the moonlight, and colours seemed to shimmer as the light touched it.
"Who are you?" said a voice in perfect Fik, the warrior caste dialect. "Why are you following me?"
He did speak Fik, although his knowledge was largely limited to phrases necessary for use in war — understanding overheard enemy communications, interrogating captured warriors and the like. In his puzzled state it took him a while to translate, and it took him a little longer to recognise who was speaking to him.
Susan.
The absurdity of this ran him through to the core. She was carrying a weapon he had never seen before, but which looked a little like a fighting pike. She was speaking fluent Fik, without any trace of an accent. And she had just attacked him.
He did not know what to say in reply, what to say that would make any sense at all.
"Answer me," she continued. "Who are...?" Her eyes widened and the pattern of scars across her face danced. "David!
"What are you doing here?"
"I was about to ask you the same question," he replied, and then for no reason he could explain, he started laughing.
* * *
Talia could hear all their thoughts at the back of her mind, countless emotions, countless feelings. There was fear, there was concern, there was frantic planning. The crew of this ship, smugglers and criminals all, reacted in different ways to this new arrival, and all their thoughts were laid open to her, placed there for her to read.
The captain knew enough to prepare his papers and his cover story. The second as well. Many of the crew were old hands at avoiding detection. A few newcomers were worried, some even terrified.
But all of them knew one thing, one fact that had not slipped past Talia, and that knowledge added a hint of fear to every one of them.
They were not merely being intercepted by a local ship, not stopped at a border point, not facing down corrupt officials who could be bribed or bargained with.
This was a Dark Star.
Even here, Talia could hear the voice of the telepath trapped within the Dark Star. She did not know his name, it was doubtful he knew it himself any more, but she could hear his screams. They were loud. So very loud.
The smugglers were preparing to be boarded. There was nothing else they could do, after all. Flight from a Dark Star was impossible, fight suicidal. They would prepare their cover stories and hope for the best, but Talia knew their hopes were futile. This was a Dark Star. They would find the contraband, the drugs, the stolen goods.
And they would find her.
Breathing out slowly, she reached out with her mind, mentally prepared for the onslaught that would follow. The screams that came rushing at her when she lowered her blocks threw her back. Her head struck the wall behind her and she felt a dampness in her hair.
A voice.... who are you help me you must help me where am I who am I you must help me are you trapped here who are you are you real where do you come from why can I hear you there are so many here help us help us all you must help us you must get a message out someone will help us it hurts here it hurts so much I don't know who I am I don't know who are you who am I ....
The thoughts did not stop. They rushed out in a torrent of fear and anger and desperation. Talia ignored the throbbing pain at the back of her skull and concentrated, fighting to winnow down the terror, to find the core personality within.
My name is Talia Winters, she said. Who are you?
I don't know I don't know are you alive are you real are you free please talk to me please are you there
I am here. Yes, I am real. I am free.
Oh thank God thank God th
ank God you are real help me get me out of here help me please
I am trying to. I will free all of you. Every last one.
Please help us out of here please I can hear them all screaming all they ever do is scream until the light comes and then there's nothing until the screams come back help us
There is someone who can help us. I need to get to him. If your crew board this ship they will find me.
Crew who are they I know of no crew.... oh, the ants, are they ants I think I can feel things moving around inside me some of them speak sometimes are they speaking to me who am I
If you let them board this ship they will find me. Please, stop them.
I can't I'm scared I do what the light tells me to I just do what the light tells me to
Where is the light now?
I don't know not here it passes through us all I hear them screaming as it reaches them and then they stop oh they stop and silence is terrible
Then do not let the crew on board, if you can. Please.
I don't know how I just do as the light says
The light is your enemy.
The light is.... What is the light?
The light is your enemy. Fight it.
How?
Remember your name.
I don't know it. Who am I?
Remember something. Anything. Your childhood, your first love, your first kiss, your parents, siblings, anything. Remember something.
Blue. A colour. Blue is a colour.
Yes, it is.
There was a.... a blanket. It was blue. I was safe there, beneath it. There were.... things outside there. Things in the darkness waiting for me, but the blue.... it kept them away. I couldn't hear them under the blue.
Yes. Remember that. The blue kept you safe.
It did. It kept me safe.
Then there is blue all around you. The light cannot get through the blue. Nothing can.
But.... the light....
You are safe when the blue is there.
Yes. I was safe.
Then create the blue. Place it around you, and you will be safe.
Yes. Yes! The blue is here. I can see it. They can't.... they can't get me here.
Then you're safe. Please, stop your crew boarding us.
I can do that. There. We cannot move any more. I'm safe.
Talia did not need to confirm what he had said. Here, especially here, she could scan the thoughts of those around her. The smugglers were puzzled, but with a surge of optimism. The captain was ordering the tech to re-check the instruments. The results were the same.
Thank you, she said.
I am safe. The blue is here.
Yes, you are safe. Do you know your name?
I.... No. No.... who am I?
You will remember in time. Keep the blue there.
Yes. The blue is here. It keeps me safe.
Do you know my name?
You.... you are an angel. Talia! That is your name. You are Talia. You have a name. You are Talia.
Yes, I am Talia.
Where are you?
Everywhere. Don't worry. You can talk to me whenever you want. Tell me when you remember your name.
Yes, I will. I will tell you when I remember. I am safe here.
The ship was moving away quickly, as quickly as they could muster. The smugglers, it seemed, were not about to turn their backs on this unexpected good fortune. The crew of the Dark Star was frantically trying to correct their ship, which had seemingly failed on them.
I am safe.
As they left, Talia listened for over an hour to the telepath's wonder at his newfound freedom. She did not have the heart to contemplate the consequences when the Vorlons learned what had happened.
For a moment, however short, he had felt safe. That was as much as anyone could ask for.
And once she got to Proxima, she hoped she would be able to make all of them safe. Every last one of them.
* * *
You've come back to me then, brother.
Dexter looked at the thing before him again, trying to hold back the wave of revulsion that swept through him. Its.... otherness seemed more apparent now, as if it were losing any grasp of what made it seem even slightly human.
"Don't call me that," he hissed.
It is what we are. Brothers. We are both blessed or cursed with this talent, but more than that. We have the ambition, the drive, the determination to do what must be done. All you have to do is open your eyes and you will see that. We are very much alike.
"We're nothing alike."
I can hear you like this, you realise.
"I know. I'm talking to you like this."
You do not like me, do you brother? Whyever not?
"Who did you used to be? Before this was done to you?"
Does it matter?
"Humour me."
I do not remember. It is not important. I would have been a nobody, a nothing, lost and alone and unimportant. Why do you ask?
"You don't understand, do you? That's why I can't stand you. You look like us, but that's it. You're dead inside. You're something animating a human, something that moves like a human and looks like a human and even talks a little like a human, but you aren't. You're nothing like a human."
No, brother. I am better than that.
"You're nothing at all."
Then why come back to me, brother? Why not remain in your apartment, drinking and staring at the ceiling? Why not remain there dreaming of her? If you hate me so much, why come back to me? It still bothers you, doesn't it? What you did to her.
"Stop that! It's nothing to do with you."
Your thoughts are quite plain, brother. There are two women in your mind, each one fighting for your heart. The first is.... human. Pretty, isn't she? I remember liking blonde women once, when such things actually mattered to me. As for the other, we both know who she is, and what you did to her. Every night, brother. Every night you dream about her dying, and about your hand on the trigger.
"Stop that!"
Come with us. Join us. There's no guilt here. You won't even remember her. And as for the other, she'll be a part of us too. Once we capture her — and we will, brother. Believe us in that. Once we have her she will be a part of us as well, and you will be with her always.
"Stop it!"
You will be with all of us always.
"Stop it! Listen to me, you monster. I've been to see someone. I think you know who."
So, when will I be free of this cell then, brother? There are things for me to do.
"You won't be. Ever. He wanted you released, but that isn't going to happen. You're going to be put on trial for assault, and you and all those like you are going to be dragged out into the light."
Ah. You will not reconsider, brother? Not at all?
"No."
A shame. Well, then. We will meet again, brother, I trust. I hope you understand a little better then.
"What do you...? No!" But it was too late.
The thing started to collapse around him, the edges of its image blurring and then fading, the features of its face melting, running into one and then leaving nothing but a smooth, hairless, featureless orb. Even that began to crumble inwards.
The disintegration could not have taken more than fifteen seconds, but it seemed far longer to Dexter as he watched it helplessly, staring in utter silence as the figure collapsed, until finally nothing remained.
Save for a voice in his mind.
We will meet again, brother. For now.... goodbye.
He stumbled to the corner of the room, and then fled. The voice was still speaking to him, echoing from the corners of his mind. It was still there when he left the building, still there when, for the second time that night, he tried to fall asleep into blissful oblivion.
* * *
There were a million voices, speaking as one, but on a million different subjects. There were a million sets of eyes, seeing the same things, but with different understanding. There were a million differen
t races, each with dreams and goals and hopes and memories of its own.
There were a million souls, all fused into one essence, the amalgamation of an elder race's folly and arrogance and hubris.
They were the Well of Souls, and as their very essence infused Sinoval, he felt ready to confront the Vorlon essence that spoke through Sheridan.
This had been the reason for this meeting. He had always planned to talk with Sheridan, but he had not truly expected his words to be heard. No, he had wanted to speak with the Vorlons, to speak with those who now truly ruled the galaxy.
He had known the Vorlons would take an interest in the movements of the First Ones. They had been watching the elder races for millennia, a careful and wary eye on those whose power and age and wisdom matched their own. They would know when the First Ones began to move, and soon enough they would know who was calling them.
After all, why else would Sinoval choose to meet with emissaries of the First Races here? Golgotha was hidden, yes, abandoned in the depths of hyperspace where few could come, but a place that the elder races could navigate with ease.
But more than that, this place carried history, carried mythology, carried a legacy.
And it carried countless ghosts and spirits. A reminder of what it was they faced.
Sinoval wanted them all to remember.
And he wanted the Vorlons to know he was not afraid of them.
Which is why it was chosen, replied Sinoval, channelling the power of the Well of Souls through himself. He was the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus after all, the focus of the power of the Well of Souls. He was their voice, their will, their personification made flesh. Some things will no longer be forbidden. Some secrets will no longer be hidden.
We do not intend to. And you are welcome to try to find us. We will return when we are ready.
You have not won yet, not while there is opposition to you, not while it yet grows and prospers. With every day that passes, another will take up arms against you, and then another.
A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 : Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 1 : Learning How to Live addm-5 Page 14