Babylon 5 09 - To Dream In The City Of Sorrows (Drennan, Kathryn M)

by To Dream In The City Of Sorrows (Drennan, Kathryn M)

  i it fit into becoming a Ranger? None of Sech Turval's convoluted, indecipherable religious-dialect lectures had done anything yet to enlighten him. On the very first day of orientation, Sinclair himself had told the new recruits, "The Minbari believe that every individual should learn delight, respect, and compassion. Of the Ranger, however, more is expected. He or she must embody those qualities. So everything you do here, everything you learn here, will be taught to you through these attributes. Understand this, and that which might otherwise puzzle you, will be made clear." That didn't seem too far out in left field, and Marcus had been willing to give it a shot, but so far it had done nothing to explain meditation. "Respect" and "compassion" had definitely been stressed, right from that first speech Sinclair had given at the embassy office. And as Sinclair had promised, those qualities permeated every part of their training. Delight," too, was expected in everything they did-delight in effort, in learning, in accomplishment-but it was also taught in a special course, for one hour a day, right between the introductory courses to hand-to-hand combat and intelligence-gathering techniques. The first two classes had been all right: they had simply spent time outside to discover delight in all the processes of nature. But this, unfortunately, had been followed by four classes to introduce them to a lot of tedious, incredibly complicated ceremonies for meals, for special Minbari holidays, for greeting the day, for going to bed at night, for giving gifts, for just about everything, it seemed, short of blowing one's nose and going to the bathroom. And at the end, they were told each ceremony would be revisited at a later time for a more thorough examination. Suddenly, "delight" no longer seemed like much of a delight to Marcus.

  Things didn't improve with the next two classes, spent listening to long, pointless, and mostly incomprehensible stories by their Minbari instructor, Sech Nelier. Perhaps the stories might have been somewhat amusing had they been related at about one quarter the length and in English instead of the discursive, highly formal religious-caste dialect. Marcus had been just about ready to give up on the very notion of ever being delighted again, when at the very next class, Nelier had announced that each trainee would get up and tell a story he or she found delightful, particularly one that made him or her laugh. The first few trainees, not really sure what was expected of them, hesitantly told rather pallid stories from their life, or from some book or movie they knew, that they clearly hoped would demonstrate an elevated, spiritual understanding of delight. Though not awful, the stories had elicited little laughter from the class and stern looks of apparent disapproval from Sech Nelier. This prompted the next few trainees to try a few jokes and some more colorful stories, and were soon drawing real laughter from the class. Then trainee Catherine Sakai got up. Of course, Marcus and the others knew who she was, and he had wondered just what kind of story the Anla'shok Na's fiancee would tell. When it turned out to be a raucous, truly funny story from her Earthforce Academy days-involving a hated instructor, a visiting senator, an "exotic" dancer from a nearby nightspot, the Academy's goat mascot, a keg of beer, and a series of mistaken identities-the floodgates opened. The jokes and stories got more and more hilarious, and considerably more vulgar. Soon all the Human trainees were laughing so hard that tears were rolling down their faces and some could hardly breathe. Even the Minbari students were laughing and enjoying themselves. Then it was time for Marcus to stand up. He had glanced over at Sech Nelier, expecting to see a scandalized look on the Minbari's face. Instead he saw the Minbari instructor smiling broadly with satisfaction, and Marcus realized this was what Nelier had hoped to achieve. At that moment, Marcus gained a much greater appreciation for the Minbari notion of delight. Without planning to, Marcus had found himself telling a couple of stories about William and himself as kids, and as he sat down with the class's laughter ringing in his ears, he had wondered if maybe his brother had told those same stories to his class. Marcus had to move, even just a little, or his leg might never recover. He adjusted his position slightly, moving his left leg just a fraction of an inch. He waited a few seconds, then flickered his eyelids open to take a quick look for Sech Turval. The Minbari was standing at the front of the room, staring right at him. Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and tried to look more meditative. Marcus did not see how meditation would ever help him develop a sense of delight, respect, or compassion. It was merely boring. At least pilot training was next. That he absolutely loved, and not only because he was the best in the class, if he did say so himself. Sinclair was one of the teachers. And Sakai, though still a trainee, had been called upon to work as an assistant teacher because of her experience. The two of them were the best pilots he'd ever seen. The class trained on a motley collection of real flyers and shuttles, as well as on sophisticated computer simulations that included some amazingly advanced craft of Minbari design Marcus wasn't really sure existed for real, but which gave them all quite a workout. Marcus had the uncomfortable feeling that Sech Turval had moved closer to where he was sitting. He didn't dare open his eyes to check, so he tried to sit even more still and hoped the Minbari would move on to someone else. Just stay awake, thought Marcus. It's almost over. What was after pilot training today? His other favorite class-the Minbari fighting pike known as denn 'bok. That had proved to be an unexpected Minbari delight for Marcus. He remembered training briefly with similar weapons in Earthforce, but not liking it as much as this, or being as good at it. He was proving to be one of the best of all the recruits, including Minbari, and there was talk that he might qualify to be among the group to get personal training from Durhan himself. Without warning, Marcus got a sharp whack across the back of his head from Sech Turval's reed cane, and he yelped before he could stop himself. He opened his eyes, resisting the urge to try and rub away the stinging pain, and found Turval circling him slowly, like a Minbari shark. Marcus sat very, very still, staring straight ahead. "Everyone will please pay attention," said Turval, speaking in English for the first time since Marcus had been attending his training course. Now the entire class was staring at the Minbari instructor, and at Marcus. "Tell me, Mr. Cole. Do you find this daily practice of meditation to be a waste of your time?" Marcus had still not moved. If he said no, he was likely to get another strike across the head for lying. "May I speak freely, Sech Turval?" "Of course." Marcus looked up at Turval, who was still circling. "Well, then frankly, yes I do. I think I'd benefit more from an hour of sleep. Sir." "What about your other training courses, Mr. Cole? Do you find them equally useless?" "No. Sir. Not for the most part." "And how do you think you are doing, Mr. Cole? Please speak freely. No false modesty." "Pretty well, sir." "You're doing well in combat? Weapon s? Surveillance? Minbari language? Cross-cultural studies? Weight training? Endurance training?" Marcus answered yes to each in turn, but growing more and more uncomfortable. "Pilot training? Denn'bok training?" Again, Marcus answered yes, but grew even more uneasy at the Minbari's emphasis on the two subjects he had just been thinking about. Turval had the uncanny ability to seemingly read his students' thoughts, though there was nothing to indicate he was a genuine telepath. "Quite the-what is the expression? Oh yes-quite the hotshot pilot, are you?" "I think I'm pretty good, Sech Turval." "And with the denn'bok Are you 'pretty good' with that?" "I think so." "You think, do you?" Turval came to a stop right in front of Marcus. "Our Anla'shok Na has a different opinion. He tells me he fears you will one day plow an aircraft into a mountainside. You have great talent, he says, but you do not truly think at all. You are mentally undisciplined and unfocused. As for the denn 'bok ..." Turval pivoted and walked a little distance away, then turned around again. "Stand up, Mr. Cole." When Marcus stood, Turval produced two folded fighting pikes from his robe, and tossed one to Marcus. "Please clear a space for Mr. Cole and me." The other trainees scrambled to the sides of the room. "I am just an old religious-caste Minbari, Mr. Cole, perhaps not that far removed from the time I will go to the sea. But do not let that hold you back. Please show all of us your great skill with our fighting pike." Turval twisted his hand just sli
ghtly, and the pike extended to full length. With a flourish Marcus followed suit, and then, grabbing the weapon with both hands, crouched in preparation for an attack. Turval stood easily, lightly handling the denn 'bok. "I give you the option, Mr. Cole. You may attack first, or defend my attack. I don't want it said I took you by surprise." Marcus had begun to sweat nervously. It would be safer to defend. "You may begin," said Marcus with the proper ceremonial bow. Turval returned the bow. They took the prescribed stance and distance from each other. Marcus tensed for the attack, trying to guess what attack movement the Minbari would use. But there was a blur of motion and before Marcus could react, his pike went sailing from his hands. Then he hit the ground, hard, Turval's denn'bok pressed just hard enough against his windpipe to make breathing very difficult, but not quite impossible. Yet. "What is a Ranger, Mr. Cole?" Turval asked in a loud, clear voice. "The embodiment of what is best in an intelligent being, the embodiment of delight, respect, and compassion. What is a Ranger's mission? To observe and to fight in the service of the One for the preservation of the future and the protection and service of all life. Do you follow me so far, Mr. Cole?" Marcus tried to say yes, but barely managed a grunt. "Excellent. There is nothing you will learn here that is not based in what you will learn in meditation, Mr. Cole. Do I still have your attention?" Turval took the denn'bok from Marcus's throat and reached out a hand to help him up. Marcus got up and, when he could speak again, said, "Yes, Sech Turval. You have my full attention." "Good," said Turval. his attention still focused on Marcus, but his words aimed at the whole group. "A Ranger must know who he is, beneath opinion and conditioning and the constant prattle of his thoughts. He needs to know what he truly is at the level beyond thoughts and words, at the level of absolute silence out of which comes all that is truly meaningful. Learn that and you learn delight, respect, and compassion for yourself and all other beings. That is What meditation will teach you. "A Ranger must know how to truly see and to see things as they truly are in all situations, not what familiarity, conditioning, opinion, and prejudice tell you it might be or could be or should be. For a warrior, misperception, willful blindness, or wishful thinking can lead to death for himself and others. Meditation teaches you how to see, by teaching you how to simply be. "Finally, a Ranger must learn to act from his true mind, the center of his being, not from his thoughts or ego or pride or external effort and force. This should be true whether preparing a meal or defending oneself in battle. Meditation teaches you how." Then, Turval softened his tone, speaking now for Marcus alone. "Learn this, and I believe you might one day become as good a Ranger as your brother was." Marcus saw a kindness in the old Minbari's eyes he had never noticed before. Thoroughly chastened, he bowed to his teacher. "Thank you, sir." CHAPTER 24 ONE difference between Earthforce training and Ranger training that Marcus most appreciated was that here they had no bed check, no confinement to barracks at night. A Ranger trainee was expected to learn discipline and how to apply it for himself. So if Marcus wanted to trade a little bit of sleep or study time for a short walk at night, that was up to him. Until now, he had not been actually able to do that-there was simply too much to study at night-but it comforted him to know the option was there. Tonight he felt the need to exercise that option, to have a little time to himself, the one thing that was in short supply during the rest of the day. He found himself heading in the direction of The Chapel, the colored windows beautifully glowing from lights within. He wondered what the inside of the beautiful little temple looked like at night. He walked in and was surprised to see Sinclair sitting near the statue of Valen, facing toward Marcus but head down, reading. Marcus froze for a moment, not sure what to do, then started to back out quietly. "Hello, Marcus." Sinclair closed the book and looked up. "Sorry, Ambassador. I didn't mean to disturb your prayers." Sinclair smiled. "I wasn't praying. I come here to read or just sit sometimes. Just to be alone. It's the one place I know no Minbari will disturb me. I don't know whether or not they think I'm praying in here, but since they themselves will admit Valen wasn't a god, I figure I'm not committing any sort of sacrilege by using this as a quiet reading room." "I'll leave you then, Ambassador." "No, it's quite all right, Marcus. Actually, I'd like to know how you feel you're getting along so far." Marcus assumed Sinclair had already heard about the upbraiding he had received from Turval earlier that day, but wasn't going to bring it up. "Doing my best, Ambassador. I'd like to think I'm learning." "I believe you are, Marcus," Sinclair said warmly. "Although there are times when I can't figure out what the heck the Minbari are saying," Marcus heard himself saying. He was nervous talking to the Anla'shok Na, and out of habit he had jumped in without thinking, to prevent an awkward silence. "I mean, they can be quite clear and precise when they choose to be, but other times they'll speak reams of words without making any apparent sense. This can be a bit of a problem when it's one of our teachers and he expects to be understood." "Do most of the trainees feel that way?" "I'd say so. There's a joke among us that the only way to understand anything Sech Turval says is to look at it in a mirror while hanging upside down from the ceiling." Marcus stopped, sure he was talking too much. But Sinclair laughed. "I'll have to remember that. There's a few others I know that could be said of. It'll be easier as you get more familiar with the religious dialect. But it's also wise to remember that the Minbari have learned that a good way to avoid answering a question or talking about an issue they don't want to get into is to reply with a non sequitur, or say something inscrutable or downright incomprehensible. It can bring the conversation to a halt so they don't have to say anything else." Now it was Marcus's turn to laugh. "I'll have to remember that," he said. "Perhaps I should let you get back to your reading. A racy novel?" Marcus couldn't believe he said that last bit. What was it about Sinclair that had him blurting out things he shouldn't be saying? He desperately wanted to leave before he embarrassed himself again. But Sinclair was smiling, obviously enjoying the conversation. "Left all of those back in my quarters. This is The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Are you familiar with it?" "Oh, yes. I read that in a philosophy class back in college. Gloomy guy. And not the most readily accessible prose ever written. Barely got through it.'' Sinclair held the book out to him. "Then it's time you try again. When you're finished, we'll discuss it. I've been considering making it required reading. I think you'll find it's one of the best books ever written on leadership." "Thank you, Ambassador." Marcus decided he would have to learn to keep his mouth shut. Still, he was also beginning to enjoy this conversation. How many other opportunities would he have like this, to just talk informally with the Anla'shok Na? And under the watchful gaze of Valen himself. Suddenly it occurred to Marcus, why not ask Sinclair, who might know if anyone did, the one question that still had him puzzled. "You said earlier that Valen isn't a god to the Minbari, but there are times I wonder. We hear a lot about Valen from our instructors, and most of it sounds like religious awe to me. That was one of my biggest fears before coming here, that the Rangers would turn out to be just some kind of religious cult." "You're not a religious man, are you, Marcus?" "An atheist, actually. I stopped believing in God and miracles a long time ago." "I suppose I've also had reason during my life to stop believing in God," Sinclair said slowly. "But somehow I haven't. I'm still working out the details, though." "They say the Devil is in the details." "God, too," Sinclair reminded him. "The way I see it, no God, no Devil; no problem. You still have the details, but they're of our own making, no super natural forces needed. I'm glad you warned us from the beginning how much around here is steeped in Minbari metaphysics. Made it easier to deal with." "You don't have to believe it. Just respect it." "As you said from the beginning, Ambassador. And I have tried. In fact, I learned today I'd do well to be a little more open-minded about some things." Sinclair smiled knowingly at this. "Nevertheless, the work of the Rangers isn't dependent on Minbari religion-and must never be. That's from the word of our founder himself." Sinclair looked up at the statue of Valen. "But I thought he created a lot
of the religion himself." "Read for yourself, Marcus. The truth is there for those who want to look for it. He didn't create any of it. Minbari religion existed long before his time, and it wasn't until years after his time that the Minbari started invoking his name in their rituals and daily life." "Like Jesus," said Marcus. "Well, maybe," said Sinclair. "Though I think of him more as King Arthur. He set up a sort of Round Table in the Grey Council; improved Minbari society rather like Camelot; fought off an invasion, like King Arthur; the circumstances of his death are unknown and there is no body or tomb, leading most to believe he didn't actually die but would return one day at the time of his people's greatest need to lead them to victory once again. The Minbari have even reported visions of him down through the centuries. Anyway, it's just another way we're like the Minbari. We've taken more than a few Humans and layered them with myth until we've nearly deified them." "Like Elvis," said Marcus. Then thought, oh, damn. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Sinclair had seemed so serious. He tried to explain. "I have a distant cousin who belongs to a sect that prays to Elvis as one of the saints. Black sheep of the family." Sinclair's expression was absolutely unreadable until he burst into laughter, a deep, unselfconscious laughter that seemed to rumble out of the silent temple, and must have carried across the compound. It was contagious, and Marcus joined in, just a little. "I never thought of it quite that way before," said Sinclair finally. Marcus smiled and shrugged, not knowing what else to say. Sinclair stood up. "I've enjoyed our conversation, Marcus. But we both need to get some sleep." "You're right, of course, Ambassador." Marcus held up the book Sinclair had given him. "I'll start reading this immediately." He started to back out-and backed right into somebody. Turning around, Marcus was appalled to see it was Rathenn. A member of the Grey Council himself. Though he did not interact with the trainees, Rathenn was a frequent visitor to the compound, often seen conferring with Sinclair. "My apologies, Satai Rathenn." Rathenn, a grave expression on his face, barely looked at Marcus, instead hurrying over to Sinclair. Marcus bowed and left, and though he did not mean to eavesdrop, the Minbari's words carried out of the chapel into the night where Marcus heard them. "Ambassador. I have distressing news. The Chosen One is dying." CHAPTER 25 As they hurried to the flyer waiting to take them from the Ranger Compound to the Chosen One's palace, Rathenn explained to Sinclair what had happened. Jenimer had collapsed in the late afternoon, while in conference with the Grey Council itself whom he had summoned back to Minbar. "Perhaps he knew his time was short," Rathenn said. The doctors had determined quickly nothing more could be done. It was feared the Chosen One would die without a last word to his people. But, after several hours of moving in and out of consciousness, murmuring incoherently, Jenimer had somehow revived just enough to speak, and sent Rathenn personally to bring Sinclair. Once he finished relating all this to Sinclair, Rathenn fell silent for the rest of the journey to the Chosen One's palace. The great structure loomed before them in the dark, moonless night, dark except for a flashing beacon at the very top, and a soft glow of lights at the landing area. There was no light at all shining from inside the palace, and Sinclair assumed that all the windows had been turned from clear to opaque, to prevent any light from escaping. The first thing Sinclair noticed on landing was how many guards were about. During his only other visit to the palace, when he had agreed to become Ranger One, he had seen fewer Minbari throughout the entire building than he now saw on the landing strip, and near the palace entrance. The next thing he noticed was how utterly quiet it was. When the sound of the flyer's engine died away, Sinclair heard nothing else but the muffled sound of his and Rathenn's footsteps. The guards were Minbari military caste, heavily armed, and gave Sinclair the uneasy feeling he was about to run a gauntlet when they quickly and silently formed two facing lines. Rathenn lead Sinclair through the line into the building. Guards also stood at attention everywhere Sinclair looked within the palace, which was also filled with a nearly tangible hush, and even more dimly lit than during his last visit. But as before, Rathenn led him quickly and effortlessly through the maze of halls and stairs, and brought him at last to a wide hallway that ended in a massive set of doors, guarded by nine Minbari warriors, four on either side, and one standing front and center. The guards moved quickly to open the doors before Rathenn and Sinclair. As on his first visit, Sinclair found himself standing in a small antechamber, which became pitch-dark when the double doors closed behind them. Then a smaller door in front of them parted and slid open, letting in a faint glow of light. Sinclair entered a cavernous room. At the far end, near the back wall, Jenimer lay in a bed tilted at a forty-five-degree angle and set high enough off the floor so that the Minbari leader's head was nearly at the level of those standing nearby. Tall, flickering candles set in elaborate floor stands were just behind the bed and provided the room's only light. At the foot of the bed was a single tall staff, set into the floor, holding a Triluminary. On one side of the bed stood three doctors, looking on with grave concern, but doing nothing else. On the other side of the bed was an elderly female Minbari, who had noticed Sinclair's and Rathenn's entrance. Sinclair saw her gently touch the Chosen One's arm, and whisper to him. Who was she? She showed an intimacy with the Chosen One Sinclair had never seen anyone else take. It must be Jenimer's wife? Jenimer had never discussed his personal life with him, and Sinclair had believed it impolite by Minbari standards to ask. Jenimer turned his head just a little, but nothing more. From where Sinclair was standing at the other end of the large room, it seemed as if Jenimer's eyes were closed. No one else in the room moved, and nothing else happened. In the heavy stillness, he thought it unwise to ask any questions of Rathenn, standing nearby, so Sinclair took a moment to look more carefully around the dimly lit room. There were a great many other Minbari in the room, more than he had first assumed, most half hidden in the shadows at the room's edges, all silent and motionless. He tried to get a better look at who was there. The first one he recognized was Neroon as their gazes locked briefly, the Minbari warrior having taken his eyes off Jenimer for one moment to observe Sinclair. Neroon managed to convey disdain as he turned his head away from Sinclair and back toward his leader. Neroon stood with his head covered by the hooded cape the Grey Council members wore, and Sinclair assumed that the other hooded figures around Neroon comprised the rest of the council. Elsewhere in the room, Sinclair recognized a handful of representatives from the Council of Caste Elders, and wondered if the entire council was present. There were many more Minbari he did not recognize at all, from the very old to the very young. He even saw one young Minbari with a sleeping infant in her arms. He did not see Ulkesh, but something told Sinclair he was somewhere nearby, maybe even standing in one of the darkened areas his vision could not penetrate. Out of the corner of his eye, Sinclair saw Jenimer's wife move. As he turned his focus back to the bed, he saw her bending toward her husband, listening. The Chosen One's hand gestured slightly. Jenimer's wife straightened, looked in Sinclair's direction, and gestured for him to come forward. Sinclair glanced around to make sure he was indeed the one being summoned, then crossed the empty center of the large room to Jenimer's side. As he did, Jenimer's wife moved a discreet distance away. The Minbari leader's eyes were closed, leaving Sinclair unsure what to do. Should he say something or wait? Finally, he decided he should say something, and in a soft voice said: "Chosen One?" Jenimer's eyes flickered open, and the hint of a smile crossed his features. He reached out to Sinclair, who took Jenimer's hand between his own hands, and bent down a little closer. After another moment, in which Jenimer seemed to be gathering his strength, he spoke in English, in a barely audible whisper. "Remember me kindly." Sinclair found himself fighting back unexpected tears. "With the greatest affection," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And friendship." That seemed to please Jenimer. Sinclair went to release his hand, assuming that was all the Minbari had the strength to say, but was surprised when Jenimer tightened his grip on Sinclair's hand, and spoke again, this time in the religious-caste diale
ct. "Continue to dream. You dream for us all." Then he closed his eyes and released Sinclair's hand. When Jenimer's wife returned to the bedside, Sinclair backed away slowly, then turned and walked back to his original place by the door. What did Jenimer mean? Sinclair wondered. Was it a reference to the proverb the Chosen One had told him when t hey first went to Tuzanor, that to dream in the City of Sorrows was to dream of a better future? It seemed likely that's all Jenimer meant, with the added implication that his work with the Rangers was the way toward that better future. And yet if Jenimer had simply wanted to reinforce his wish that Sinclair continue to function as Ranger One, he could have said so more directly. But perhaps it was simply the Minbari penchant for poetic ambiguity. He had never told Jenimer of the nightmares that regularly tormented him, so the Minbari leader could not have known what a conflicting image the word dream summoned up for Sinclair. Once again, Jenimer's wife motioned for someone to come forward. Sinclair saw a moment of silent confusion among the members of the Grey Council until it became clear that Neroon alone was being summoned to Jenimer's side. Neroon hid his surprise with a posture of dignity, then briskly walked over. Jenimer's wife moved away to give them privacy. As with Sinclair, Jenimer reached out to take Neroon's hand in his clasp. The stiff-backed warrior bent closer to Jenimer, his stern expression softening just a little. Jenimer whispered to him and released his hand. Jenimer's wife returned to the bedside. Neroon straightened, and walked much more slowly back to his place, an unreadable expression on his face. As the old Minbari bent down to talk to her husband, Sinclair continued to study Neroon, who stood stiffly alone, keeping what Jenimer had said to himself. Then Sinclair realized there was a flurry of activity around Jenimer. All three doctors were at his side, checking him, conferring in soft, urgent tones. Jenimer's wife stood just a little behind them, and Sinclair recognized the rigid control of grief he saw in her face and posture. One of the doctors went to the back wall, opened a hidden panel, and a previously unseen door slid open. Instantly nine guards entered, each carrying a folded section of a dark fabric screen that they quickly set up around Jenimer's bed, cutting it off from view. Rathenn was at Sinclair's elbow, speaking quietly. "Follow me, please." The entire wall behind them, which contained the small door through which they had entered, now parted at the center and moved aside to reveal the large main doors. These were opened by the guards. Rathenn and Sinclair were the first to leave, followed by a long single-file line of silent mourners. In his quick glance back, Sinclair did not see any Grey Council members among them. Sinclair was too stunned by the sudden loss of his friend to ask where they were going or for what purpose. As ill as Jenimer had been from the first moment Sinclair had met him, it was hard to believe that such a powerful personality was simply gone. Rathenn led Sinclair into a dark room illuminated only by faintly glowing crystals set flush into the floor, which he used to find his way through the room. Sinclair followed after him, and found himself growing irritated. Why the hell don't they just turn the lights on ? he thought. What is going on now? He heard the room fill with people, though no one spoke. After a few moments, absolute silence descended. Sinclair stood there, waiting with the rest, but growing more and more angry. He knew it arose from his tremendous sense of loss, but damn it, why couldn't the Minbari do anything in a straightforward fashion? A faint beam of light grew slowly to dazzling brightness in what Sinclair now assumed was the middle of the room, not too far from where he was standing. Overhead, he now saw a huge multipart mechanism, like a massive abstract mobile, rotating silently. Sinclair had been in a room like this once before, as prisoner on the Minbari warship. The Minbari were far too fond of the motif to suit Sinclair. Neroon, his hood thrown back, stepped into the light, and spoke in the warrior-caste dialect. "The Chosen One's soul has returned to the great void from which we all arise, and to which we will all someday return," he said in a loud, clear voice, devoid of emotion. From the assembled Minbari in the darkness arose a rhythmic murmur, as if in unison they were chanting a prayer. Sinclair tried, but could not make out the words. He turned to where Rathenn had been, but Sinclair found he was now standing alone, with no one other than Neroon in sight. Neroon waited, his head down, motionless, silent, as if lost in thought, until finally the voices died away. He raised his head and began to pace slowly away from Sinclair and around the outer edge of the circle of light. "Our leader has at last gone to the sea, but he left us with his final edict, which he entrusted to my safekeeping with his last breath." Neroon stopped in front of Sinclair, and regarded him with a contemptuous look that his carefully neutral voice did not convey. "It was our Chosen One's sole last wish that Jeffrey David Sinclair of Earth be ordained, in the proper ceremony, before a quarter lunar cycle concludes, as Entil'Zha to follow in the sacred way of Valen. And thus it shall be done." Neroon bowed his head slightly to Sinclair. A second later, the room was plunged into total darkness, causing Sinclair to involuntarily tense against a possible attack in the dark. He willed himself to relax-not even Neroon would do such a thing at this time, in this placeand waited for whatever was next. Light filtered into the room from above, as skylights slowly turned from dark gray to clear glass, letting in the early morning sun. Neroon was still standing square in front of him, and Rathenn was once again at Sinclair's side. Sinclair started to ask Rathenn for an explanation, but the Minbari held up a hand, indicating Sinclair should wait. When the room had emptied of everyone but Sinclair, Rathenn, and Neroon, and the last door was closed, Rathenn spoke. "As a Satai of the religious caste I will prepare you for the ceremony, Anla'shok Na, as our departed leader has decreed." "And I am Satai of the warrior caste," Neroon said, all the contempt now back in his voice. "I do not know why our departed leader chose me for this unhappy task, but I will carry out my duty and oversee the preparations for the ceremony." "But you'd rather not," Sinclair said. "The Chosen One's last decree is sacred," Neroon said bitterly, then turned to leave. Sinclair stopped him. "Satai Neroon, no one heard that decree but you. Jenimer did not say anything of it to me." Neroon regarded Sinclair intently. "So, I'm curious," Sinclair continued. "Why did you go ahead and make public an edict that you so obviously disagree with, when you could just as easily have said nothing at all?" Rathenn looked scandalized at just the idea. Neroon was scornful. "Only a Human could ask such a question!" "Maybe," Sinclair said, not at all insulted. "But I don't believe that only a Human would think it. If you can tell me with absolute truthfulness, Satai Neroon, that the thought never even crossed your mind, you don't have to answer my question." Neroon glared angrily at Sinclair but did not answer right away. Finally, he said: "I will answer your question, but only because I have no reason not to. I honor our leader's last request because it is my duty to do so. Because I had come to respect the Chosen One as a person of will and strength, all the more impressive because of his physical frailty. "And because I am told, whatever else you may be or represent, that you do not believe this outrageous falsehood about the transference of our souls to your Human species any more than I do. Yes, I was told the story when I joined the Grey Council. Had I been told at the Battle of the Line that this was the reason we were surrendering, I would never have stopped fighting." "And you're proud to say that?" Sinclair asked. "Proud to admit you would have carried on with genocide? Even now?" Sinclair wondered if he didn't see just a trace of uncertainty in Neroon's eyes. "The past is dead. What concerns me is the present and the future. And if the Rangers," Neroon emphasized the English word disparagingly, "are to be mostly Human, I see little harm in a Human Entil'Zha. As long as he does not fancy himself to be Minbari, or covet any position of power among my people. But know that we will be watching carefully." "See," Sinclair said, "we have more in common than you want to admit." Neroon grunted in angry disapproval and left. By the time Sinclair returned to the Ranger compound, it was already noon. He found Catherine pacing anxiously as he walked through the door of their quarters. "When I was awakened in the early hours of the morning by a knock on the door and you weren't
in bed or anywhere to be found, I was more than just a little worried," she said, before he could get in a word. "A Minbari I've never seen before told me Jenimer has died, so all activity is suspended for the day. He didn't say so, but I just assumed you must have gone to wherever Jenimer was." "I'm sorry I couldn't get word to you. Everything happened so suddenly." He sat down tiredly. He hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. Sakai sat next to him, and he put his arm around her. "I'm really going to miss him, Catherine. I hadn't realized just how much. In just a short time I really came to see Jenimer as my friend, as much as Delenn. As much as anyone I've ever known. A truly good person. Damn!'' They sat silently for a moment, Sinclair staring off into space, Sakai waiting patiently. After a long while, he looked down at her and smiled. "It makes me all the more glad you're here." "Me, too." She kissed him. "So what happens now. Will they select another leader right away?" Sinclair shook his head slowly. "I don't think so. It's the Grey Council's choice as to when a new Chosen One is selected, and I don't think they will make that choice until they have to. They don't have to until ten Minbari cycles have passed." He paused. "They did make one choice this morning, though. I'm to b e made Entil'Zha, in about a week and a half." "Well," she said, clearly not knowing what to say. "Are you happy about it?" "As Neroon pointed out to me this morning, what harm could there be in a Human Entil'Zha for a group of mostly Human Rangers?" '' Then congratulations.'' "Yeah," he said. "But I'd trade it all for a couple hours sleep." "I don't think the Minbari would approve," she said as she helped him up and guided him into the bedroom. CHAPTER 26 THE ceremony protocols must be followed exactly!" Neroon said adamantly to Rathenn, from across the wide conference table. Rathenn was every bit as determined. "We have presented you with the medical facts. A provision must be made for this unique situation. His Human physiology makes it impossible-" "Nothing in our tradition justifies changing such an important part of the ceremony for the sake of any person. Besides," Neroon finished with great sarcasm, "none of this should be a problem for a 'Minbari not born of Minbari.' '' The two Satai glared at each other. The argument, the latest in a series of arguments, had been raging for the past fifteen minutes in Sinclair's presence, without either one of them asking for his opinion. He let them continue while he listened carefully. As the day of the ceremony to install Sinclair as Entil'Zha had approached, the two Grey Council members had been clashing repeatedly over the finer points of religious and political protocol, and Sinclair had let them work out their own compromises without interfering. But now, with the ceremony only two days away, they had taken up the first issue to concern him in any real way, and it seemed more and more likely that only he would be able to resolve it. "But you have already agreed to this," Rathenn said. "I agreed only to help prepare for a traditional ceremony," Neroon countered. "And part of the ceremony is drinking a cup of sha 'neyat. Just how much of our sacred tradition are you willing to discard for the sake of this Human?" Sha 'neyat translated loosely as death destroyer. Sinclair knew it was a potent liquid, of great symbolic significance, distilled from a combination of flowers, fruits, and grains. The drink was used only in certain religious ceremonies where it was considered an essential ceremonial element. Until now, only Minbari had been allowed to partake of it. Sinclair was to be the first, but the Ranger doctors had discovered one small problem: sha'neyat was deadly poison to Humans. "So you would have us follow the ceremony to the letter," Rathenn said, "even if it kills the Entil'Zha?" Sinclair decided he had heard enough. "I don't think you should present that as an option to Satai Neroon," he told Rathenn in a good-humored voice. "He seems a little too eager to take you up on it." Neroon and Rathenn both looked surprised at the interruption. They were aware Sinclair had deliberately kept out of all previous disagreements over ceremonial details, and seemed to have momentarily forgotten that he had a personal stake in this one. "I've participated in other Minbari ceremonies, and I've read a lot about this one in particular. As far as I can determine, there is no requirement to drink a full cup of the stuff. I'm sure you'll correct me if I'm rong, but I believe the relevant phrase is 'taste of it.' I only need to take a sip to satisfy tradition." "But Ambassador," Rathenn immediately protested, "the doctors say even that could make you deathly ill." "They say it depends on how large a sip I take. It can be done." Sinclair turned to Neroon. "Will that satisfy your protocols?" Neroon regarded Sinclair a little suspiciously. "You are willing to actually swallow some of the liquid? Not just raise the chalice to your lips?" "I give you my word." Neroon studied Sinclair for a moment more. "That should suffice," he said with a small bow of his head, showing maybe just a touch of respect, the first Sinclair had seen from Neroon since coming to Minbar. It didn't last long. "Now for this contemptible notion that the ceremonial meal afterward will not feature the Se n'kai fruit," Neroon said. "This is an insult to the military caste." "The Satai is quite aware that is not an essential part of the ceremony," Rathenn immediately countered. "Se n'kai trees were far more prevalent in Valen's time than now . . ." Sinclair sighed and sat back to let them argue. "Are you sure this is safe?" Sakai asked for what must have been the twentieth time. She and Sinclair were leaving Valen's house in the predawn darkness, headed for the center of the compound where a stand had been erected and everyone had been assembled for the ordination of the new Entil'Zha. She couldn't help asking one more time. If he displayed even the smallest doubt, she would do everything in her power to dissuade him from drinking the noxious potion and Neroon could go straight to hell. But Sinclair just laughed it off. The doctors assure me I'll survive. Just one small sip." "There's a lot of things that can kill you with just one small sip," she replied, still not convinced. "Come on," he said, putting his arm around her. "We have other things to worry about. Like not screwing up this ceremony." "After all of Rathenn's tutoring? I could do it in my sleep. In fact I have been. When you woke me up I was dreaming about it." "Was it like those dreams where you show up at school or work without your clothes on?" "Yeah," she said, "only in my dream you were the one who wasn't dressed." "Oh, did I forget to tell you about that part of the ceremony?" She laughed. She knew he was trying to ease her apprehension over what was coming up. It was working. Sort of. Actually Sinclair did look somewhat underdressed without the brown hooded cowl he was usually required to wear over the basic Ranger uniform. That was because he'd be presented with another one at the ceremony, and one of her responsibilities would be to help him don it with as much dignity and as little effort as possible. They had reached the administrative and classroom complex, and made their way between the darkened buildings so they could approach the platform from behind. As they neared the area, though not yet in view of it, he gave her one final squeeze, then released her, and pulled himself up just a little straighter. He might joke with her, but he understood the seriousness of the event and would comport himself from now until it was over with the solemn dignity befitting a Ranger One and Entil'Zha. She fell into step a pace behind him, as Rathenn had tutored her to do. Her function was as his second at the ceremony. They had worried that Neroon might fight Sinclair on his selection, but apparently the stiff-necked warrior hadn't objected at all. So here she was in her freshly pressed Ranger-in-training uniform, suddenly worried she'd forget what she was supposed to do, even after what she had just told Jeff. C'mon, she thought. It's not that hard. The ceremony was relatively simple, and her responsibilities easy. They turned the corner of the last building and saw the simple wooden platform, illuminated by two torches, one on either side, each attended by a Minbari Ranger. The stand had been built high enough to afford a good view of the event for all those out front. The participants would climb to the top by way of a long, wide ramp in the back. The idea, Rathenn had explained, was to allow the new Entil'Zha to rise into view slowly, like the sun coming over the horizon at dawn-which was now only minutes away. Rathenn and Neroon were waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp. Sinclair bowed his head to them in greeting. No one spoke. After a few moments, a gentle breeze kicked up and Saka
i heard the distinctive sound of the temshwee and other Minbari birds greeting the first light. Dawn was breaking behind them on a beautiful, clear morning. Rathenn gestured, and the two Rangers doused the torches. Rathenn bowed his head to Sinclair, indicating the ceremony was beginning, then went up the ramp. As soon as he reached the top, Neroon and Sakai followed, he on the left, she on the right. An audience of several hundred people was standing at solemn attention: Rangers in the front row, then teachers and staff, Ranger trainees, and selected citizens from Tuzanor and Yedor, including some members of the Council of Caste Elders, and members of Jenimer's family. Sakai also knew who wasn't out there-other members of the Grey Council. As part of some sort of compromise, only Rathenn and Neroon were present. Delenn had also been invited, but regrettably could not attend. While Rathenn watched from the left front of the stand, beaming with satisfaction, Neroon took his place in the back, a few steps from his counterpart, looking very stern, observing everything carefully through narrowed eyes. Sakai took her place to the right, near a small table at the back that held the items she was responsible for: an ancient religious book and a clear crystal chalice filled with deep purple liquid she wished she could "accidentally" dash to the floor. Then they turned to watch Sinclair walk slowly up the ramp, coming into the audience's view with the brilliant morning sun low on the horizon behind him. He had a carefully composed expression on his face as he walked with measured steps to the center of the platform, and nodded subtly to Rathenn. Rathenn looked to Sakai, who picked up the crumbling book and solemnly handed it to him. Rathenn began to read in a loud, rhythmic voice page after page from the ancient texts, all in a language so old, only a few Minbari still understood it. It was to the modern Minbari dialects what Latin was to English and the European Romance languages. Jeff had already taught himself to read it, but he had a natural gift for languages she lacked. She had her hands full just learning what she needed of the modern religious- and military-caste dialects. Rathenn's reading had a hypnotic cadence that was beginning to put Sakai to sleep, even though she was standing. To stay awake, she focused on Sinclair's profile, and wondered what he was thinking at that precise moment. Or was he, like her, just doing his best not to doze off? How much sleep had they gotten? Two hours at best. Suddenly, she began recognizing some of the words and phrases Rathenn was reading, and realized he was nearing the conclusion. Rathenn carefully closed the book, then raised it in a gesture toward the audience. It was show time again. Sakai quickly came forward, bowed to Rathenn, took the book, bowed again, and returned to her place, setting the book back down. The part she'd been worrying about most was almost upon them. She cast a sidelong glance at the deceptively pleasant-looking goblet of sha'neyat. She didn't trust any drink that had the word "death" in its name. But first the most amazing part of the ceremony. Down the center aisle, from the very back of the audience, a young acolyte approached, a look of true awe on her face, carrying a brown hooded robe that looked very much like the one Sinclair had been wearing all along as Ranger One. But this garment, carried so gingerly in the hands of the young Minbari, was unique. It was Valen's original robe, preserved for a thousand years for Sinclair now to wear, at least for the duration of the ceremony. The acolyte ascended a small staircase at the front of the platform, bowed, placed the robe at Sinclair's feet, bowed again, and backed away as quickly as she could to hasten back down the staircase. Sakai took a deep breath, having dreaded this moment ever since the Minbari doctors had made their discovery about the effect sha'neyat had on Human physiology. She picked up the goblet with the liquid that looked so innocently like wine, and brought it to Sinclair, handed it to him. He gave her the subtlest of smiles, and she knew that look in his eyes. Don't worry, he was trying to convey to her one more time. She backed away, unable to take her eyes off that chalice. Rathenn was reciting a blessing in the religious dialect, which she barely heard until he came to the words. "Taste of it," he said. "Taste of the future. Of Death. And of Life. And of the Great Void that lies between. Through this act, may Death be destroyed.'' Transfixed, Sakai saw Sinclair raise the chalice for all to see, then put it to his lips. He took some in his mouth-how much she couldn't determine-and swallowed. His shoulders jerked back slightly and his spine stiffened, while his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Rathenn, his back to the audience, appeared to be as concerned as Sakai was. Neroon looked on only with suspicion. She was about to go to him, protocols be damned, then with an obvious effort, he relaxed his stance and opened his eyes. He nodded to Rathenn, who then nodded to Sakai. She sprinted forward, far more quickly than she had been drilled to move in the rehearsals, and picked up Valen's garment. Sinclair's face was ashen, his expression a taut mask of controlled agony. His hands were clenched tight and he was trembling faintly. As she helped him on with the robe, she could feel that his clothes were soaked through with sweat. "Are you all right?" She whispered to him when she had the chance, knowing it was a stupid question, but what else could she say? "Tasted-like-molten lava," he managed to whisper back. Finished, Sakai stepped back, only a half-step away, determined to be right there if he collapsed. But he stayed solidly straight and motionless, his head up, his eyes looking out over the audience, somehow maintaining the noble bearing he knew was expected of him. Fortunately, there was only a little more to go. Rathenn turned back to the assemblage. "As it was done long ago, so now we name him who will lead us. Among the Rangers let Jeffrey David Sinclair be known as Entil'Zha." Immediately, the Rangers down front shouted out in unison: "Entil'Zha! We live for the One. We die for the One!" "Entil'Zha," Rathenn continued. "He is the light in darkness. He is the bridge between worlds." At that, a roar of approval went up from the whole crowd. The ceremony was over. They were to leave in reverse order. Sinclair turned and walked steadily to the ramp. Sakai did not wait for him to get halfway down as she had been instructed, but went immediately to his side as he took the first step down, staying a step behind, but prepared for anything. Neroon waited until they were well down the ramp before leaving; Rathenn followed a little more quickly than protocol required. When she was sure they were out of sight of the crowd, Sakai put a steadying hand on Sinclair's elbow. His steps were beginning to falter, and he was now shaking visibly. "My God," she said as they reached the bottom of the ramp and headed for the nearby buildings where the doctors were waiting for him. "What the hell did they make you drink?" "My own damn fault," he whispered. "So nervous-swallowed-more than I meant to." Rathenn was beside them now, looking on with concern, but before he could say anything, Neroon had joined them. "Entil'Zha," Neroon said in a cool voice. "Feeling a little ill?" Sakai wanted to go for him, wanted to knock the contemptuous smirk off his face, and a lot more, but she wasn't about to let go of Sinclair, even if she thought she had a chance to do Neroon some damage, which she knew only too well she didn't. Her anger quickly turned to astonishment, however, when she heard Sinclair manage a weak laugh. "A sense-of humor, Neroon?" he said hoarsely. "Didn't think-you had one." Neroon halted, perhaps out of his own surprise, leaving Sakai and Rathenn, who now had Sinclair's other arm, to hurry the new Entil'Zha into the nearest building. Sinclair did not lose consciousness until they entered the room where the doctors were waiting. He was hurried onto a gurney and hooked up to a nightmarishlooking collection of IV tubes, electrodes, and monitoring patches. They administered what they claimed was in antidote, explaining that pumping his stomach would make matters worse, not better. After an hour, they placed him in a medical transport, and sent him home with Sakai. They had done everything they could. All that re•nained now was to wait and let him recover. For three days and three nights, a fever burned through him. Sakai stayed with him, doing what she could to calm him when he thrashed about and called out in his delirium, sleeping there at the bedside only when exhaustion forced her to. The Minbari doctors checked in regularly, assured her everything was proceeding properly, then left again. On the morning of the fourth day, she had fallen asleep leaning forward on the bed. She was brought out of a hazy dre
am by the touch of a hand on her face. She opened her eyes to see Sinclair sitting up a little, smiling a little weakly, the fever broken. "Hi," was all he said. "Good to have you back." She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek. "It's good to be back. I took quite a ride. Some wild dreams." "I gathered as much," she admitted. "You did a little talking in your sleep." "I imagine you heard your name a few times," he said. "A few times." "You were in almost all my dreams, sometimes just as a silent observer. Even on the Line. I spent an eternity on the Line. And on the Minbari ship. It was odd, but everywhere I saw death and destruction I kept seeing Ulkesh as well. Made him something of a demonic figure, I'm afraid. What do you think about that?" "I don't know," she said. "My subconscious was probably being very unfair to him." "Maybe. Did you see Kosh, as well?" "Yes," he said, as if suddenly remembering something. "It seems to me he was trying to tell me something, but I could never quite make it out." He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "But do you know, I also dreamed a lot about Father Raffelli and his wife. I haven't dreamed about them in years." Sakai knew they were the husband and wife priests who had run the high school Sinclair had attended after his father had been killed in the Dilgar War. They had been lifelong friends until their deaths several years back. "Went back to school again, did you?" She wondered if she shouldn't be contacting the Minbari doctors, or maybe just letting him sleep. But though he looked tired, his color was returning as clearly was his energy. And he seemed to want to talk. "Sometimes. I went back a couple of times to the day I first arrived there. I can still feel how angry I was at God and the Universe at large for taking my father away. My poor mother hadn't known what else to do but send me there. There he was, this decrepit-looking old priest, and me wondering what kind of a prig he was only to have him invite me for a spin on that speedboat of his. I was sure we were both going to die the way he hurled that boat around." Sakai smiled. She'd of course heard all this before, but he hadn't spoken of it in some time. "But what I dreamt about more was when I went back to see them after the war. You remember how I was, so enraged with the Minbari that I shut out everything else in my life. I wouldn't let myself express it, and I couldn't let it go." "I remember," she said softly. "So here I am in these dreams, going back again and again to that retreat I took with the Raffellis after the war. Kept hearing them talk to me about forgiveness and love, urging me to learn as much as I could about the Minbari. Study their languages, read their history, examine their culture. Because, they said, through knowledge comes understanding, and through understanding comes forgiveness. And without forgiveness, they said, we lose what is best in our Humanity." He closed his eyes, as if suddenly running out of the little energy that had come back to him. She wondered if he had gone to sleep, when he sighed and opened his eyes again. "I also remember that at times it wasn't the Raffellis talkin g, but Jenimer." He smiled. "I have a feeling they would have liked each other." "I'm sure you're right," she said. "I think I'll sleep for a while," he said, drifting off almost before finishing the sentence. She left quietly to call the doctors from the other room, but she knew he was going to be fine. CHAPTER 27 IAM a Ranger. We walk in the dark places no others will enter. We stand on the bridge and no one may pass. We live for the One. We die for the One." Sinclair felt a surge of conflicting feelings to hear Catherine Sakai's voice among those of all the other newly initiated Rangers saying those words and making nat pledge contained in the last two sentences. He was very proud of her, of course. But he had certainly never asked her to live or die for Jeff Sinclair, and he wasn't comfortable having her do so for the Entil'Zha. It was just Minbari tradition, he reminded himself. He no more expected her to take that pledge literally than he did the other new Rangers assembled before him in the chapel. He knew that all his Rangers would accomplish their work and do their duty to the best of their Abilities regardless of personal risk. More than that he could-and would-ask of no one. He tried to concentrate on his feelings of delight and pride at what this group of Humans and Minbari had already accomplished, and the enthusiasm with which they were embarking on the future, Catherine among them. Sech Turval dismissed the new Rangers and they filed out. Sinclair allowed himself one brief moment in the temple by himself-not counting Valen, of course-to collect his thoughts. Lately, these ceremonies had been raising other emotions in him. Looking into the eager faces of new Rangers waiting for him to send them off on their first missions, off Minbar and out among the stars, he found himself feeling a familiar restlessness that was getting harder and harder to push down. Sinclair left the temple and stood by the entrance to look on as the excited Humans and Minbari congratulated each other, shaking hands, bowing, hugging-depending on who was congratulating whom-laughing, and in a few cases crying. A typical graduation. It might be the last typical thing any of them did for a long time. With Shadow activity expanding rapidly, tensions growing between Earth and Minbar, tensions growing between the Minbari military and religious castes, and the Narn-Centauri war escalating in ferocity while going ever more badly for the Narns, there was plenty for every Ranger to do. Sinclair saw Catherine and Marcus congratulating each other, each with huge grins. Marcus had turned out to be as fine a prospective Ranger as Sinclair had hoped Intelligent, resourceful, quick to learn, quick to admit a mistake, a holy terror with the denn 'bok, and one hell of a pilot. A Ranger didn't necessarily have to be a good pilot, but Sinclair admittedly had a certain prejudice in this area. Sakai finally made her way over to where Sinclair was standing. Everyone knew of their relationship, of course, but he didn't think public displays of that kind of affection were proper for his position. So he just smiled broadly and said: "Congratulations. I'm very proud of you." "Thank you," she said with an equally decorous bow of the head, but then couldn't contain her grin. "It feels pretty good." They left the celebration behind and headed back to tin- house, walking in silence for a while. "Well," Sakai said at last. "It's time to bring up the uliject again. What now?" Sinclair had been waiting for this question. "What u asked me to do three months ago. Put your talents i heir fullest use to help with the work.'' That sounded no formal than he'd planned. "I'm going to assign M lull-time to training pilots. The other teachers and in fellow students are united in-" Sakai laughed. "I wasn't being very clear, was I? i hough, that's an excellent idea, Entil'Zha, and I'd be ist pleased to be assigned to that duty. But actually I i. talking about our postponed wedding. We both iced it was better to wait until after graduation-" "Oh," Sinclair said with a grin. "That. Well, it rsn't look like a trip to Babylon 5 is in the cards time soon, and I don't think we should wait any nucr. So, I guess we'll just have to have the ceremony lit here. We have an ordained minister and a Buddhist icst among our Rangers." "Now if the Entil'Zha can just find time in his schedilr." she said, teasing. lie nodded. "Don't worry. He will." As the Rangers continued to grow in both number 11 icsponsibilities, his duties kept him busier all the in- Perhaps just a little too busy, he had slowly come Iwlieve. If they were trying to keep him so occupied wouldn't have time to think about other things, it uln't succeeded. The work, in the broader sense of hut the Rangers were trying to do, was important, of mrse. But the work in the more narrow sense of his iy to-day responsibilities was sometimes frustrating. 282 Kathryn M. Drennan the temple by himself-not counting Valen, of course-to collect his thoughts. Lately, these ceremonies had been raising other emotions in him. Looking into the eager faces of new Rangers waiting for him to send them off on their first missions, off Minbar and out among the stars, he found himself feeling a familiar restlessness that was getting harder and harder to push down. Sinclair left the temple and stood by the entrance to look on as the excited Humans and Minbari congratulated each other, shaking hands, bowing, hugging-depending on who was congratulating whom-laughing, and in a few cases crying. A typical graduation. It might be the last typical thing any of them did for a long time. With Shadow activity expanding rapidly, tensions growing between Earth and Minbar, tensions growing between the Minbari military and religious castes, and the
Narn-Centauri war escalating in ferocity while going ever more badly for the Narns, there was plenty for every Ranger to do. Sinclair saw Catherine and Marcus congratulating each other, each with huge grins. Marcus had turned out to be as fine a prospective Ranger as Sinclair had hoped. Intelligent, resourceful, quick to learn, quick to admit a mistake, a holy terror with the denn 'bok, and one hell of a pilot. A Ranger didn't necessarily have to be a good pilot, but Sinclair admittedly had a certain prejudice in this area. Sakai finally made her way over to where Sinclair was standing. Everyone knew of their relationship, of course, but he didn't think public displays of that kind of affection were proper for his position. So he jus; smiled broadly and said: "Congratulations. I'm very proud of you." "Thank you," she said with an equally decorous bow of the head, but then couldn't contain her grin. "It feels pretty good." They left the celebration behind and headed back to the house, walking in silence for a while. "Well," Sakai said at last. "It's time to bring up the subject again. What now?" Sinclair had been waiting for this question. "What you asked me to do three months ago. Put your talents to their fullest use to help with the work." That sounded more formal than he'd planned. "I'm going to assign you full-time to training pilots. The other teachers and your fellow students are united in-" Sakai laughed. "I wasn't being very clear, was I? Although, that's an excellent idea, Entil'Zha, and I'd be most pleased to be assigned to that duty. But actually I was talking about our postponed wedding. We both agreed it was better to wait until after graduation-" "Oh," Sinclair said with a grin. "That. Well, it doesn't look like a trip to Babylon 5 is in the cards anytime soon, and I don't think we should wait any longer. So, I guess we'll just have to have the ceremony right here. We have an ordained minister and a Buddhist priest among our Rangers." "Now if the Entil'Zha can just find time in his schedule," she said, teasing. He nodded. "Don't worry. He will." As the Rangers continued to grow in both number and responsibilities, his duties kept him busier all the time. Perhaps just a little too busy, he had slowly come to believe. If they were trying to keep him so occupied he wouldn't have time to think about other things, it hadn't succeeded. The work, in the broader sense of what the Rangers were trying to do, was important, of course. But the work in the more narrow sense of his day-to-day responsibilities was sometimes frustrating. And a raw, restless dissatisfaction had been building inside him lately. He wondered if sooner or later Catherine wouldn't feel the same thing. Lines from "Ulysses" came to mind . . . "What are you thinking about?" Sakai asked. "I don't know if I want to tell you," he said with a laugh. "Tennyson . . . again." "Which verses are rattling around in your mind today?" " 'How dull it is to pause, to make an end; To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!' " Sakai was silent for a moment. "I know you well enough to know what that means. You're feeling planetbound, aren't you?" "I've been on Minbar for eight months now," he said. "I haven't been to space in all that time. On Babylon 5, I could just get in a Starfury when I started to feel like this. I can't do that here. I've been keeping my piloting skills sharp by flying the trainer craft and using the computer simulations. But it isn't the same. All my life I've tried to avoid flying a desk and pushing paper. But somehow, I keep having those jobs pushed on me. Giving it a Minbari name doesn't make it any better." "I understand," she said. "Listen, I'm sorry," he said as they came up to their quarters. "I shouldn't have brought it up, not today. Everyone feels a bit restless now and again. I'll deal with it." "Jeff, don't do that-" she started to say, but stopped abruptly after she opened the door. Rathenn and Ulkesh were waiting for them inside. Sinclair had not seen the Vorlon as often as he had when Jenimer was alive. Whenever he did appear, Rathenn was usually with him. "I do a pologize, Entil'Zha, for this unavoidable invasion of your privacy," Rathenn said, "but we have a matter of the greatest urgency to discuss with you. One that must be held in the strictest of confidence and there is no more secure place to talk than here." Sakai started to leave. "I'll take another walk." Rathenn stopped her. "No. It is better for you to stay." It appeared to Sinclair they were going to have this discussion standing in the middle of the room, which the Minbari seemed to find perfectly normal. Obviously, so did the Vorlons since he'd never actually seen one sit down. Sinclair had once seen just enough in Kosh's quarters on B5 to assume the Vorlons didn't have corporeal bodies in the same sense Humans and Minbari did, so the very concept of sitting was probably irrelevant to them. It wasn't to Sinclair, however. He'd been on his feet since dawn. "Perhaps I should begin by asking a question.' Rathenn said. "Has the Entil'Zha told Anla'shok Sakai about his experiences with the time rift in Sector 14?" There was very little that Rathenn could have said to him that would have astonished him more. "I'm much more interested in what you know about it, Rathenn." "Less than one Earth year ago," Rathenn said, "Babylon 5's sensors detected unusual tachyon emissions coming from the area in Sector 14 where the space station Babylon 4 had disappeared. You went to investigate personally and found that Babylon 4 had reappeared. On the day it vanished, it passed through a time rift, emerging four years into their future, although it seemed to them that only a few days had passed. You evacuated the crew just before the station again disappeared through the rift. After that, the time rift seemed to close down and Earth quarantined Sector 14 because of dangerous residual effects leaving time and space there in a turbulent state. Are those the essential facts?" "More or less," Sinclair said carefully. Rathenn had left out the part about the alien Zathras and the mysterious figure in a blue spacesuit who seemed to be responsible for Babylon 4 going through the rift. "But I'm interested in your use of the phrase 'seemed to close down.' Are you saying that rift is still open?" "Is Anla'shok Sakai also aware of the presence of the Great Machine at the heart of Epsilon 3?" Rathenn asked, rather than answering Sinclair's question. Now Sinclair was really puzzled. Babylon 5 had been built and placed in orbit around the planet Epsilon 3 under the assumption that it was uninhabited. But about a month before the appearance of the time rift, Sinclair had discovered that Epsilon 3 housed an immense and incredibly powerful alien apparatus controlled by a mysterious alien that lived as part of the machine. When that alien died, his place had been taken by a Minbari named Draal, an old friend of Delenn's. For the first time, Sinclair considered the possibility that there was more than coincidence at work here. "She's aware of all of it," Sinclair said, glancing briefly at Sakai who was listening with great interest. "Are you saying there's a connection between the rift and the Great Machine?" "The rift is a natural phenomenon the Vorlons believe to be unique," Rathenn said. "Only the power of the Great Machine can control it. After Babylon 4 went through the second time, Draal closed the rift so that no other ships could accidentally pass through. But he did not close it off entirely." Sinclair didn't like the way this was beginning to sound. He looked at Ulkesh, looming silently as usual. "What do the Vorlons have to do with this?" "They are aware of all these events," Rathenn said, "and have been cooperating with Draal and a very few selected Minbari to maintain the rift and keep it from being misused." "Why?" Sinclair asked, still looking at Ulkesh. "What interest do the Vorlons have in the rift? Are you responsible for what happened to Babylon 4?" Rathenn sounded uncomfortable. "I do not know the exact chronology of all these events." Sinclair ignored this nonanswer and continued to train his attention on Ulkesh. When the Vorlon didn't answer, he tried again. "What's your interest in the rift, Ambassador?'' "It has value," Ulkesh replied. "What kind of value?" "Unique value." "What do you know about what happened to Babylon4?" Again, Ulkesh did not answer. "Entil'Zha," Rathenn said, almost pleading, "there are more immediate and urgent concerns to discuss." "Like what?" Sinclair asked, his attention still on Ulkesh. "The Shadows know about the rift, and are attempting to seize control of it for their own use." That brought Sinclair's attention back to Rathenn. "Have the Shadows attacked Epsilon 3?" "No, the Vorlons assure us the Shadows would never attack the Great Machine." "Why not?" Rathenn was appearing ever more discomfited by Sinclair's barrage of questions. "I do not know, Entil'Zha. I
simply accept their word that it's so." Sinclair hesitated, doubting he'd get an answer to that question. He decided to press on. "Then how can the Shadows seize control of the rift from Draal?" Rathenn was relieved to be on surer ground. "They have sent some of their allies to Sector 14 with a device to widen the rift far enough for ships to go through. Draal did not discover this until they were already beginning the process. He immediately countered their efforts, but he is expending enormous energy and using nearly all of his concentration just to offset the power of the Shadow device and keep the rift closed down enough to prevent entry. If he falters for a second, all will be lost: If the Shadows gain control of the rift, they will control history, and utter destruction will be the result. The Shadow apparatus must be destroyed." Sinclair found himself once again caught in a very familiar dilemma. If what Rathenn said was true, it obviously would not be a good idea to hand over the rift to the Shadows. But Sinclair wasn't so sure he liked the idea of the Vorlons in control of that rift either. What plans did they have for it? Well, Sinclair thought, first deal with the devil you know, and attend to the devil you don't know later. "Are they aware of this on Babylon 5? Have they already tried to do something?" "No," Rathenn said. "The station's long-range scanners cannot detect the Shadow allies' presence. Their ships can amplify the time-space distortion in a way that renders the immediate area around them effectively invisible to all long-range scans. Only a nearby ship could detect them. Since the area is off-limits, that has not occurred.'' "And you haven't warned anyone on the station about this?" Sinclair asked, already guessing the answer. "No," Rathenn said. "It is best if the Shadows believe the station has no current involvement with the rift." "What about our Vorlon friends here?" Sinclair asked, but not wanting to let the Vorlons off the hook too easily. "Why haven't they gone in there and destroyed that apparatus? I'm sure they have the capability to do so." "The Shadows must not know of the Vorlons' involvement with the rift. The only way is to send in a small team of Rangers, who themselves must never discuss this mission or even acknowledge the existence of the rift." "But if we do that, then the Shadows will know about the Rangers. I thought you wanted to avoid that as well." "It can be done in such a way that the Shadows will believe the attack came from Epsilon 3. The Shadows do not know for sure what forces Draal has at his command." "It sounds good in theory," Sinclair said, "but the reality is we simply don't have any ships that can match up to Shadow vessels." "There are no true Shadow vessels at the rift," said Rathenn. "The Shadows themselves do not want to risk the unpredictable effects of the rift until everything is secure and ready. They have sent their allies instead, in small fighters. They are far less powerful than the larger Shadow vessels, and we believe there are only four of them guarding and maintaining the apparatus." "Four or four hundred, it doesn't matter. You know we don't have access to any fighters or warships suitable for a mission like this." "That is no longer true." "The Whitestar ships!" Sinclair said suddenly as Rathenn nodded. "They're finally ready?" "Three small experimental prototypes are. These are single-pilot ships built to test the technology that is being used in the larger warships." Sinclair's hopes plummeted as quickly as they had risen. "Then how does that help us?" "They may only be small prototypes," Rathenn said, "but I am assured they are powerful fighter ships in their own right. Similar to your Starfuries but much more powerful and maneuverable." "But only three of them? Against at least four Shadow ships of basically unknown capability?" "The Vorlons assure us these prototypes are a match for their Shadow fighters. By attacking swiftly and with surprise, the mission should be easily accomplished with the right pilots." Sinclair exchanged looks with Catherine. Was that why Rathenn insisted she stay for this meeting? His worst fears were confirmed when Rathenn produced a list and handed it to him. "We have determined from the training records that these are the best Ranger pilots available at this time for this mission." He saw her name at the top of the list, even as Rathenn said: "We believe Anla'shok Sakai is the best qualified of all those on the list. She has the most hours logged as a pilot, was rated the best by her teachers, has the highest scores on the computer simulators, and has real combat experience." Sinclair hesitated while Sakai looked at him expectantly. Had she not been in the room, he might have simply vetoed the idea. Or he might have gone to her later and tried to find some way of presenting it to her while talking her out of it at the same time. No. Most likely he would have said anyway what he was about to say now, both out of respect for her, and out of his duty as the leader of the Ra ngers. But he would rather have cut his tongue out than say it. "Catherine." He kept his voice and expression neutral. "Do you want to volunteer for this mission? You're under no requirement to do so." "You bet I do," she said. Sinclair kept his emotions tightly under control and looked back down at the list. Marcus Cole was one of the names, far and away the best pilot among the other names, but . . . "Nobody else here has combat experience. We have several Rangers currently away on missions with more experience." "We cannot take the time to contact them and await their return. We must move immediately." "How immediately?" "The pilots must leave for the rift in two days." Sinclair was incredulous. "That's impossible. You can't expect pilots to go into combat in unfamiliar ships." "They will not be unfamiliar. All Ranger pilots have been training in these fighters through the computer simulators." "That's not the same thing." "The simulators were programmed to exactly duplicate the prototype fighters in every way. The pilots will have one day to familiarize themselves with the actual ships. The Vorlons and our own engineers assure us that's all they will need." "Absolutely not. They must have more time-" "I'm afraid there is no more time, Entil'Zha. The Vorlons tell us Draal cannot counter the Shadow device much longer. And we fear the Shadows may be preparing to send reinforcements, perhaps even a second apparatus to widen the rift. The device and its guards must be destroyed now. Once that is done, Draal will be able to reassert his control over the rift in such a way as to make sure this does not happen again. But we must move immediately. Any delay could mean the destruction of history itself.'' Sinclair didn't like this at all. He didn't like the feeling he wasn't being told everything. Didn't like being pushed into hasty action. Didn't like sending his Rangers, including Sakai, into combat without adequate preparation. Didn't like having to do any of this simply because the Vorlons were unwilling to take any action themselves. But he had taken this job on the assumption he could at least trust the Minbari to try and do what was right. He wished Jenimer were here. All he could do was trust Rathenn-and Draal. He examined the list of pilots again. "I'll ask Marcus Cole," Sinclair said finally, confident Marcus would jump at the chance. He handed the list back to Rathenn. "And I'll be the third pilot." Sakai wasn't at all surprised. Rathenn, on the other hand, was thunderstruck. "No." That was Ulkesh, as emphatic as Sinclair had ever heard him. "The path is clear. Do not deviate." Sinclair took grim pleasure in how much he had upset the Vorlon. "You said you want the three best pilots to go. I've trained extensively on the simulators myself. I've had the most combat experience of anyone on that list. And I'm the only person who's had experience with the time rift." "The Entil'Zha must not risk his life," Rathenn said, finding his voice. "As leader, your life is too important. You must-" "Hide behind the lines? Send men and women possibly to die, but take no risks myself That's the philosophy of bureaucrats, Rathenn, not leaders. A leader has to take necessary risks. Simply put, I'm the best man for the job. Besides, there's an old saying on Earth: 'Nothing motivates a man more than to see his boss putting in an honest day's work.' " Ulkesh moved toward Sinclair. Was the Vorlon hoping to intimidate him? Sinclair stood his ground. "An electron follows its proper course," Ulkesh said. "So does a galaxy. You must follow yours." "That's exactly what I am doing." "Choose another pilot." "No," Sinclair said. "But I'll give you a choice. Either I lead this mission, or you send Vorlon ships to do it." CHAPTER 28 WHAT do you think?" Sinclair asked over the com from the cockpit of Fighter 1. "It's even better than the simulator!" Marcus said from Fighter 3, r
olling his craft into a tight spin. "Agreed," said Sakai from Fighter 2. "Handles better than anything I've ever seen.'' The three new fighters were skimming low over the airless landscape of Minbar's smaller, uninhabited moon, the pilots already having tried every maneuver with the ships they could think of. They had been given only a few hours to get comfortable with these MinbariVorlon hybrid spaceships, and though Sinclair would have preferred at least a couple of days of practice for them all, he had to admit he already felt totally at ease in this fighter. "Whatever else you might say about the Vorlons," he said over the com, "they know a thing or two about building spacecraft." "Amen to that, Fighter 1," said Marcus. "Can I keep this one when we're done? As a souvenir?" "I'll see what I can do," Sinclair said with a grin. He had not forgotten how serious and dangerous the task before them was, and had made a point of stressing that fact to both Catherine and Marcus when they saw the prototype fighters for the first time sitting in the empty docking bay of an orbiting Minbari freighter. But, at least for this moment, Marcus wasn't the only one having the time of his life. "What about target practice?" Sakai asked. "On schedule, Fighter 2," Sinclair replied. "We're coming up on it in Valerian's crater, straight ahead." Some of the Ranger laser targets had been arranged in the wide, shallow crater to allow them to test the accuracy of their energy cannons and missiles. Sinclair was not surprised to find the weaponry systems to be as well engineered as the rest of the ship. There had been no surprises. Everything on the fighters performed exactly as with the simulators or better. All too soon, it was time to return to the Minbari freighter. They entered the docking bay and the space doors closed behind them even as the lumbering freighter headed toward Minbar's jump gate to begin the three-and-a-half-day trip through hyperspace to the Babylon 5 jump gate. Sinclair was surprised to see Rathenn waiting for them as they emerged from the docking bay still in their pressure suits, helmets under their arms, and right in the middle of a spirited evaluation of the ships. "Entil'Zha," Rathenn bowed. "Do you approve?" "Very much, Rathenn. I didn't know you'd come aboard. Shouldn't you be on a shuttle off of here before we hit that jump gate?" "I will be accompanying you to Babylon 5, Entil'Zha." "I see," Sinclair said. It struck him as more than a little unusual. Rathenn had already debriefed them thoroughly. Or so Sinclair had thought. "Catherine. Marcus. Go on ahead and change out of your pressure suits." As they left, Sinclair gestured for Rathenn to take a walk with him, then got right to the point. "Please don't take this wrong, Rathenn, but is there any particular reason you've chosen to come along?" "To be of assistance where I can, Entil'Zha." The Satai could do a passable imitation of the Vorlon when he wanted to. ' 'Do you have more information for us?" "Nothing at this time, Entil'Zha." Sinclair stopped walking. "Rathenn, if you have anything more to tell me, anything of importance, I'm asking you, don't leave it for the last minute." Rathenn gave him a quizzical look. "Information is always given at the proper time, Entil'Zha," he said. Sinclair tried not to sigh. That did not particularly reassure him, but there didn't seem to be much he could do about the Minbari penchant for parceling out information as they deemed best. "Then if you'll excuse me, I want to catch up with my fellow pilots." Rathenn would make his purpose known soon enough, Sinclair knew. In the meantime, he, Catherine, and Marcus would have plenty to keep them occupied during the time in hyperspace, going over every inch of their ships to make sure all was in order, studying what information they had been given about the Shadow fighters and the device they were to destroy, and planning an attack strategy. Rathenn had said the mission should be easy to accomplish. Sinclair wasn't willing to give that assurance any credence at all. Nothing concerning the Shadows-or the Vorlons-had ever been easy. Sinclair caught up with Catherine and Marcus, and as they continued toward their bunk area to get out of their pressure suits, he resumed their discussion of the fighters, pushing doubt out of his mind for now. "Do you think this is the only time rift in existence?" Sakai asked. As they ate their dinner in the mess area set up for them, Sinclair had been doing his best to answer whatever questions Marcus and Catherine had about his experiences with the time rift. "I don't know," Sinclair replied. "Rathenn said that the rift was a unique natural phenomenon. But it seems to me, if the laws of physics and nature can cause it to happen once, it's possible for it to happen more than once, in more than one place. Maybe Rathenn only meant it's an extremely rare phenomenon." "Or maybe it's unique," Sakai said, "because nature got a little help in its creation, say from the Vorlons." "Which would imply they could do it again, if they wanted to," Sinclair agreed. "But we just don't know. All we know for sure is that they are very concerned about keeping control of this one." "Well, that's not the part I have a problem with," Marcus said. "I have a problem with the notion of this rift being some kind of a time machine." ' 'Then how do you explain what happened to Babylon 4?" Sakai asked. "That's easy," Marcus said. "Let's say the rift does distort space-time in some previously unknown way. B4 had the bad luck to get caught up in it and was accelerated by the effect enough to experience relativistic effects. When they slow down, presto, they think it's a couple of weeks later, but find out four years have passed. Nothing too mysterious about that. And a heck of a lot easier to accomplish than going back in time." "I don't know," Sinclair said. "That doesn't explain the time flashes we experienced while near the rift. I had the feeling I had been propelled forward in time, but Garibaldi relived something from his past.'' "You experienced something, but I thought you said you never physically ever left B4." "I'm not sure. There'd be a blinding flash of light, and afterward someone would report having experienced a time flash. Now, did the person physically go backward or forward in time and then return to the present, all within the time frame of that flash of light? Or did we only experience it in our minds, and not physically travel in time at all? I don't know, except that it felt real." "Whatever you experienced happened outside the rift You never actually went through the rift itself," Sakai added. "But Marcus has a point. If this rift really is a time machine, why haven't the Vorlons used it? Why don't they just take a quick trip to the past and change things so that the Shadows are no longer a threat to anybody. It's the sort of thing they're afraid the Shadows will do if given the chance." "I've asked those same questions," Sinclair said ruefully, "and haven't yet gotten a satisfactory answer. I know this: persons claiming to be from the future came aboard B4 and took it through the rift because they said it was needed to fight a great war. And I believe the Vorlons know something about that incident, and are now very concerned about maintaining control of the rift. But that's all I can say for sure." "Well, people can claim anything they want," Marcus said skeptically. "All we really know for sure, Entil'Zha, is that somebody came aboard and took B4 through the rift for some purpose. But I have a hard time believing they were from the future without some proof, like a future edition of Universe Today." Sakai laughed. "Do you have a personal grudge against the idea of time travel, Marcus?" "Only traveling backward in time," he explained. "We all travel forward. I put traveling backward in time in the same category as superstition and myth. It violates too many laws of physics, logic, and causality to be possible. It's just a romantic notion, a form of unhealthy nostalgia. I mean, who wouldn't like to be able to travel into the past, knowing everything that's going to happen, so that you can correct old mistakes? But let's face it, if you want to rectify your mistakes, you have to do so in the present-the past is done and gone. If you spend all your time wishing you could change the past, you miss your opportunities to change things right here and now." "You make a persuasive argument," Sinclair said. "And the truth is, I tend to agree with you. Nevertheless, I experienced things near that rift that I still can't explain. You'll just have to see for yourself." "That's one of my mottoes, Entil'Zha," Marcus said. When they finished dinner, they said good night and went to their assigned sleeping quarters. The Minbari freighter had not been designed to accommodate passengers-or Humans-and the small area set aside for Sinclair and Sakai offered few amenities other than privac
y. It was a rectangular room with bare metal walls and a ceiling so low Sinclair's head brushed against it if he stood up too straight. It was just barely large enough to contain the usual Minbari bed, set at a forty-five-degree angle. Sakai started laughing when she saw the bed. "You wouldn't think it was so funny," Sinclair said with mock indignation, "if you'd had your hand caught in the gears of these things as many times as I have." "Come on, I'll help you fix it." She held the bed straight while he grabbed an extra blanket and crouched down to reach the gear mechanism. "And here I thought we wouldn't have time for a honeymoon trip," he said, as he shoved the blanket into what he hoped was the right place in the mechanism. He stood up to test it. The bed held firmly in the horizontal. "You can't have a honeymoon before the wedding, Sinclair," Sakai said, testing the steadiness of the bed for herself. "Who says?" he replied, smiling. The Minbari freighter left hyperspace through the jump gate at Babylon 5 exactly on schedule. To Command and Control on the station, it was just one of many Minbari commercial ships that used the gate and so it was given little more than a cursory glance as it made its way to take up an orbit around the planet Epsilon 3. Many ships took similar orbits, then used small shuttles to travel to and from the space station. That this freighter's orbit would take it to the other side of the planet away from Babylon 5 would hardly be noticed by anyone. The three-and-a-half-day trip had been uneventful but productive. Sinclair felt sure that they were ready to do the job. They were comfortable with their fighters, and confident they had the firepower and the maneuverability to face the Shadow fighters, who would be hampered by their need to stay close to their apparatus at the rift to protect it. The plan was simple. As soon as the freighter was on the other side of Epsilon 3, out of sight of Babylon 5 and any other ships, Sinclair, Sakai, and Marcus would leave for Sector 14 in their fighters. The trip in normal space would take three hours, and their trajectory, if traced back by the Shadows, would show them as having come from Epsilon 3, as the Vorlons wanted. Sinclair had been assured that the distortion effect used by the Shadow fighters to hide their activities from Babylon 5's sensors would also make it difficult for the Shadow fighters to detect them as they approached from the other side of the rift, away from the Shadow apparatus. As Rathenn had said, it all appeared straightforward, almost easy. And that's what worried Sinclair the most. The tfvree of them suited up in the docking bay, and checked out their pressure-suit systems while they waited for word they could launch. Pressure suits were customarily used by Earthforce pilots as backup protection, and although the cockpits of the prototype fighters had full life-support systems, Sinclair had decided wearing the suits would be a wise precaution. "Entil'Zha?" Sinclair hadn't noticed Rathenn's arrival. They hadn't seen much of Rathenn during the trip, and he still didn't have any idea what purpose had brought the Grey Council member along with them. Maybe they were finally going to find out. "We have reached the desired position in orbit," Rathenn said, "but there will be a short delay before your launch. I must ask you and your Rangers to please accompany me out of the bay. A shuttle from the planet will be docking within minutes." Even as he spoke, an alarm sounded, and a warning was broadcast in worker-caste Minbari to clear the docking bay. They followed Rathenn out to the holding area and then watched through the observation window as the space doors opened and a small shuttle landed. The odd craft was of a design unfamiliar to Sinclair, and he wondered who was in it. Draal was literally part of the machine below, and couldn't have left the planet even if he hadn't been completely preoccupied with the Shadow threat. Beyond that, Sinclair had not been aware anyone else lived on the planet. When the bay repressurized, Rathenn asked them to please continue waiting, and went alone to the alien ship. A hatch opened and Rathenn went aboard, to emerge only a minute later, carrying three small boxes. He returned to the holding area, and the space doors in the bay opened once again to allow the tiny shuttle to leave without ever having revealed its pilot to the others. Sinclair inspected the small boxes, each marked with a different glyph in an unknown alien script. Rathenn examined those glyphs carefully before handing one box each to Sinclair, Catherine, and Marcus. Each box contained a round metallic object, somewhat bigger than a belt buckle, with a clasp on one side. "These are time stabilizers," Rathenn explained. "They will keep you anchored in the present and protect you from the effects of the time distortion caused by the rift. You must attach them to your suits and not remove them for as long as you are near the rift. This is imperative. The effects of the time distortion are unpredictable and can be fatal without these stabilizers." It seemed hard to believe such a small, almost featureless device could have such a protective effect, but Sinclair had seen firsthand how dangerous the rift could be and would take any help he could get. "We'll use them, don't worry," he said. "Then it is time for you to depart. May Valen light your way." Rathenn bowed and left. "Do you really think these things will do us any good?" Marcus asked as they walked back to their fighters. "Don't take the chance that they won't," Sinclair replied. Marcus shrugged and attached the stabilizer to his suit. "See you in space," he said and climbed aboard his ship. Sinclair stopped Sakai. "Let me see your stabilizer for a minute," he said. "Why?" she asked, handing it over to him. "Didn't you notice each box had a different glyph?" he asked, examining her stabilizer and comparing it to his own. "I just wanted to see if I could find any difference between them." "And?" "They look exactly the same to me. Here." Sinclair handed her a stabilizer, hoping she wouldn't notice he was giving her his, and keeping hers for himself. "See you in space," he said, and gave her a quick kiss. "See you in space." Sinclair walked to his fighter, still examining the stabilizer. They looked exactly the same, but it also looked as if some distinction had been made. The way Sinclair saw it, the only one of the three of them that he could be absolutely sure would be given a device that would have a protective effect was himself. The Vorlon and the Minbari both seemed to have a vested interest in his safety. He'd take his chances with the stabilizer meant for her. It might have been an unnecessary thing to do, but after eight months around Ulkesh, it didn't seem unwarranted. He climbed aboard his fighter and prepared to launch. CHAPTER 29 Sinclair made visual sighting first. They had already begun deceleration when he saw the tiny blue dot that his ship's sensors confirmed was the time-rift area. That there was anything to see at all was a change from Sinclair's first visit to Sector 14 the year before; the area, while emitting high levels of tachyons and other radiation, had looked normal from the outside, showing a visible distortion only as his shuttle had passed from normal space into the rift area itself. But as they continued toward the rift, Sinclair could see it now appeared as a bright blue disk with a small black area at its center, surrounded for a few hundred miles by a visual distortion that caused the light of the stars beyond to undulate like so much phosphorescent foam upon an ocean. "You're sure it's safe for us to go through this stuff?" Marcus said from Fighter 3 as they approached the outer edge of the distortion. "The Vorlons and Minbari think so," Sinclair said. "Besides, this distortion will hide our approach until the last possible moment.'' As they passed through, an energy discharge momentarily surged around each of the fighters. "Remember," Sinclair said, "the closer we are to the rim of the disk, the better. But try not to come in contact with it.'' "But it isn't the opening itself?" Sakai asked. "No, that seems to be an outer boundary where the energy levels and distortion are highest," Sinclair said. "The actual rift opening is that dark area in the middle. That's what the Shadows are trying to open up, and that's what we want to keep closed down." The nearer they got, the more the phenomenon in front of them resembled a mile-wide wheel of blue fire, with a much smaller dark area in the middle that was constantly changing shape and size, opening and closing in an unpredictable pattern. Occasionally the center would open just enough to reveal a field of slowly spinning stars. A closer look revealed those stars were not shining through from the other side of the disk, but rather from some distant time or place within the rift. For the moment, their trajectory was
taking them straight toward that opening, on line with its axis, in their attempt to stay hidden from the Shadow fighters as long as possible. So far, it seemed to be working. "The Shadow apparatus is on the other side," Sinclair said. "The minute we crest the rim, we should see at least four Shadow fighters, but there may be more than that. Engage at will. We have to get all of the enemy fighters before we can blow the apparatus from a safe distance away. All right, let's do it." "Entil'Zha veni!" Marcus said. "Entil'Zha veni," agreed Sakai. "God help us," Sinclair said, and pitched his fighter up and away from the rift opening into a vector toward the rim, followed on his left by Marcus and on his right by Sakai. Before they'd even reached the top, Sinclair saw the first enemy fighter. It was coming over the rim, a strange spiky ship, just slightly smaller than his own fighter. It seemed to have a stubbornly indeterminate shape and an indistinct gray mottled surface, making it difficult to look at closely. It had no discernible features other than a front maw from which the alien immediately fired at Sinclair. "Go!" he yelled as he went into a steep dive under both the enemy fire and ship. Sakai rolled right and disappeared over the disk edge, Marcus rolled left and did the same. Sinclair headed straight at the disk, then pulled up sharply to skim along the tops of the radiant energy flares and surging time-space distortion fields. The cockpit around him seemed to shimmer and shift with the distortion, and he climbed away as soon as he could and headed back for the rim. The Shadow fighter was on his tail. Sinclair slipped left and spun his fighter on its vertical axis to face his opponent and avoid another incoming energy burst. Still hurtling-backward-toward the rim, Sinclair fired and scored a direct hit on the Shadow fighter's own weapons port, exploding the alien ship from within. He was finally on the other side of the rift. He turned his fighter around again as his com suddenly crackled to life. He had apparently been cut off from communication while on the other side of the rift, "-you okay? Fighter One, respond!" It was Catherine. "I'm fine, Fighter Two." He saw her in pursuit of a Shadow fighter, firing once just under it, then again, hitting one of the craft's spiked projections, wounding but not destroying it. Another ship was zeroing in on her. "Fighter Two, ten o'clock starboard, enemy in pursuit." He set course to intercept as Sakai went into a turn, but Marcus was already in pursuit of the enemy fighter. "I'm on it," Marcus said as he came in from above. The enemy ship was about to fire as Marcus fired once, grazing the Shadow fighter and jarring it just enough to knock the enemy's shot at Sakai off course. Sakai came around and finished the Shadow fighter off. Sinclair turned toward the remaining wounded Shadow fighter, which was coming around again with renewed vigor. He pulled up to evade an incoming shot, brought his ship into a tight loop up and over, then dove down on the fighter from above, firing two shots that shattered the enemy ship. "All right," Sinclair said, bringing his ship to join the others. "We seem to be clear of bogeys out here. Let's take a look at the main target." The three fighters fell into line and headed for the rift opening. For the first time, Sinclair got a quick look at the Shadow device they'd been sent to destroy, and it was nothing like he'd expected. A single jet-black sphere, about the size of a Starfury, floated over the center of the constantly changing rift opening. It was so dark it was difficult to see at all, and was visible only as it occasionally cut off the light of the stars behind it in the rift. Emanating from the sphere were eight pulsing tendrils that seemed too long and fluid to be metal or any other hard material, and yet were clearly solid. The tendrils seemed to be sunk right into the rolling substance of the disk around the rift opening, as if they were pumping something in or out. And it was guarded by two more Shadow fighters. "You know the drill," Sinclair said. "We have to take out those fighters without hitting that contraption. Which from this angle, won't be easy." "They don't look like they're going anywhere," Sakai said. "Get the feeling they're more afraid of their bosses than us?" Marcus asked. "Safe assumption, Fighter Three," Sinclair said. "No way we're going to draw them out into the open. So here's what we'll do. All three of us will go in just close enough to get their attention and draw their fire. Fighter Two you'll roll off to the right and up, Fighter Three you'll roll off to the left and down. I'll stick around in front to keep their attention while you two loop back and catch them in a pincer, Fighter Two shooting from directly above the one on the right, Fighter Three from directly below the one on the left, so that you're never shooting in the direction of the apparatus itself." "Fighter One," Sakai protested immediately. "You're the better shot. I'll take decoy out front." "I'm pretty good at dodging," Sinclair replied. "Besides, it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel." "For them or us?" Sakai asked. "Entil'Zha," Marcus said. "Perhaps you should let me take decoy. After all, you're-" "That's an order," Sinclair said firmly, cutting off the discussion. "We're approaching the targets. Get ready." As soon as they were in maximum range, the Shadow fighters opened fire at them. They avoided the first few rounds easily enough, but as they drew closer and the barrage increased, it became increasingly more risky for three ships than just one. Now was the time. "Go!" Sinclair ordered. As Marcus and Sakai peeled off, Sinclair put his own fighter into a highly erratic evasive pattern. On closest approach, his fighter shook from a volley that stripped the top covering of metal from his port engine nacelle with a shower of sparks, but without doing serious damage. "Fighter One. Get out of there now!" Sakai shouted over his com. Sinclair immediately turned and accelerated straight down the center away from the rift opening, as behind him Marcus and Sakai came in for the attack. "Got 'em!" Marcus yelled, after firing a shot that spun the Shadow fighter away from the apparatus and into the rift's energy disk where it exploded. A second later, Sakai scored a direct hit on the final Shadow fighter, blowing it apart instantly. "Zero bogeys," she said. His sensors-though not working perfectly within the time rift's distortion field-indicated that was so. "Five Shadow fighters accounted for," he said. "One more than they told us to expect." "But who's counting?" Marcus chimed in. "The area seems to be clean," Sinclair continued, "so let's get to the main event." "A pleasure." Sakai sighed. "I don't like the look of that thing." "I'm sure that makes three of us," Sinclair agreed. "We're supposed to be outside the distortion field to be absolutely safe when we blow that thing." "At that distance, we won't be able to see it," Marcus protested. "We can rely on the computer targeting to do the job. We'll fire three missiles each. I'm sure we'll know right away if we've hit or missed." "I hope so," Marcus said. "The least we deserve after all of this is a decent fireworks display." "I'm just happy to get away from here," Sakai said. "I haven't experienced any time flashes, or anything like that, but the area still gives me the weirdest feeling. I don't like it here at all." "These time stabilizers do seem to be working as advertised," Sinclair said. "But I agree with you, Fighter Two. This is one area of space I'd just as soon never have to visit again." They reached the area demarcating the time rift's extended distortion field from normal space. Sinclair felt a surge of relief as the brief energy discharge around their ships marked their passage out of the timerift area. He brought his fighter back around, followed by Marcus and Sakai. "Computer, target object at rift according to sensor readings. Ready missiles for preset detonation at minimum range, and wait for my command. Fighter Two?" "Ready." "Fighter Three?" "All set." "Fire missiles." The missiles launched, and Sinclair began a silent countdown: nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . . Sinclair saw a small burst of light in the middle of the rift. That should do it, he thought, as he watched the fireball expand rapidly. Without warning, there was a blinding flash of light, as disorienting as those that had preceded the time flashes Sinclair had experienced once before. Suddenly, the Universe exploded around them. Sinclair felt his ship tumbling wildly out of control, tried desperately to stay conscious. As darkness threatened to swallow him, he fought to bring his ship back under control, struggled to speak. "Computer. Emergency override. All systems to stabilizers." The ship slowed its tumble, but he still didn't have full control. It was enough, however, so he could check on C
atherine and Marcus. "Fighter Two, are you okay? Fighter Two?" There was an agonizing pause, then: "I'm all right. What the hell happened?" Sinclair breathed a whole lot easier, even as he continued to work his console to reestablish full control over his ship. "I don't know yet. Fighter Three? Come in. Are you all right? Fighter Three? Fighter Two, can you see him-" "I'm okay, Fighter One," Marcus said finally, sounding shaken. "Sort of." "Full attitude control reestablished," intoned the onboard computer. Sinclair looked up and was puzzled. Then why was the star field outside his canopy still rotating? "Oh, my God!" That was Sakai's voice. "Look at the rift. We're right on top of it." Sinclair realized what he was looking at: the rotating star field in front of him was the one in the rift. Somehow, the explosion of the Shadow device had done a lot more than anyone had anticipated. It had altered the time rift. The disk of blue energy was now only a thin ring surrounding a mile-wide, open and obviously passable portal. And they were being drawn into it, Sakai straight ahead of him, Marcus right behind him. By all the laws of physics he could think of, they should have been hurled clear of the rift by the force of that explosion, but he had come to accept that the laws of physics just didn't seem to work the way they should near the rift, and instead they were being pulled rapidly toward it. "We're going to hit the portal within five minutes if we don't get out of here," Sinclair said. "Let's go back the way we came. Formation turn to starboard." Sinclair tried to turn his fighter to the right, but it didn't respond to manual control. "Computer, bring fighter around to starboard, formation turn." "Unable to carry out command," the computer intoned. "The ship is locked into present course, will not respond to directional controls. Please advise-" Sinclair was already giving his order. "Computer. Emergency procedures. Engines in reverse. Back away from the rift. Full priority. Fighter Two, Fighter Three-" "Engines in reverse," Marcus and Sakai said almost simultaneously. Sinclair's fighter shuddered as his reverse engines kicked in, full power. His forward motion began to slow, then stopped. The ship groaned and shuddered again, then slowly, very slowly began" backing away from the rift, inch by inch. "It's working," Marcus said. "Yeah, but how long can these ships keep this up?" Sakai asked. "We're pouring everything we got into this. The engines can't tolerate this kind of strain forever. '' "They shouldn't have to for long," Sinclair said, trying to sound more hopeful than he felt. "Draal should be working right now to close that portal down." But Sinclair wondered if the explosion had put the rift out of Draal's control somehow. There were just too many unknown factors at work, and Sinclair didn't like it at all. That explosion, for instance, was nothing like he'd been told to expect. Perhaps the Vorlons knew less about Shadow technology than they thought. Or was it that the Vorlons knew less about this rift than they pretended to know? "Fighter Two, Fighter Three. How's your progress?" "Slow but steady," Sakai answered. "I'm picking up just a little bit of speed," Marcus said. Sinclair checked his console again. Nothing, then yes-he was beginning to pick up just a little speed. "I'm reading it, too," said Sakai. "A small increase in speed. Looks like we're doing it." "Roger that, Fighter Two," Sinclair said. "Perhaps-" Suddenly weapons fire slammed into Sakai's starboard engine nacelle from above, shearing it off completely from Sakai's fighter, and sending her ship spinning to the right. Then it began tumbling rapidly toward the time rift. A Shadow fighter swooped down into view, and came straight at Sinclair. Their sensors hadn't detected its presence. It had come over the top of the rim, just as they had, hiding in the distortion the rift created, undetectable until it was too late. "Marcus, keep going! Get out of here!" Sinclair yelled. Sinclair fired a split second before the alien ship pulled up to go over Sinclair's ship. The burst hit and took off two of the spiked projections and a good chunk of the lower back portion of the hull, but did not destroy the enemy ship. Like Sakai's fighter, it veered suddenly and uncontrollably toward the rift. "Computer. Cut reverse engines! Full power ahead! Take us into the rift!" He was thrown backward into his seat as his fighter jumped forward and hurtled toward the spinning star field ahead. "Entil'Zha-" Sinclair heard Marcus say before everything on the com was lost to static. "Catherine! Do you read me!" He tried but couldn't get through the interference. He couldn't talk to her, but he could see her ship up ahead, past the tumbling alien ship. They were all on the same trajectory toward what? Sinclair didn't know. But he was certain that Catherine could have survived-must have survived- the attack. These prototype fighters could lose an engine nacelle without damage being done to the cockpit or life-support systems. In fact, because of the Vorlon technology, the ship had the capability of repairing some of the damage automatically. She still had one good engine nacelle with which she could maneuver. He just had to get to her. Light flooded the cockpit as the star field disappeared and a flowing river of light and energy rushed past his ship. He strained to see ahead, to see past the alien ship, itself almost completely obscured by the moving currents of multicolored light, to find Catherine's ship. He just caught a glimpse of it before it was covered in the fog of light and color. There was no way to increase his speed; he was already at full power. They were still in the middle of the rift, still had time to go back the way they came, if she could reassert control of her ship and reverse her course . . . He suddenly realized he had been so focused on going forward to get to her, he didn't even know if it was possible to reverse course inside the rift. Well, if not, he would just keep his course straight ahead and hope he would emerge from the rift at the same place and time that she did. Together, they could figure out what to do next. The atmosphere around his ship grew less murky. He could see the alien ship clearly now, and just ahead Sakai's ship came back into view. Then he saw the darkness ahead of them. It looked like a wall of solid obsidian surrounded by blue fire. "Catherine," he tried again. "If you can hear me, I'm coming through after you. Just hang on. Catherine! Can you hear me? I'll be there. I promise!" He saw her ship hit the wall of darkness and go through, disappearing section by section until it was gone. The alien ship was next. The atmosphere began to change once again. Flashes like sheet lightning flared suddenly, increasing rapidly in number and intensity all around him. The alien ship hit the wall, and began to disappear through it, the nose, the middle . . . and stopped, halfway in, with Sinclair's ship headed straight at it on a collision course. Sinclair tried to pull the nose of his fighter up, tried to veer left or right, but as before, he was frozen into his trajectory and could not alter its course. "Computer. Collision avoidance. Engines in reverse. Full stop." His ship began to slow down, but Sinclair realized grimly it wasn't going to be enough. The only question now was would his ship slow down enough to make it possible for him to survive the impact? He braced himself, and concentrated on willing himself to survive, to make it through somehow . . . He was still a couple of hundred yards out when the alien ship burst apart, as if the wall had closed in on it and crushed it, spewing shrapnel that clanged and clattered off his ship's hull and hard crystalline cockpit canopy like a hailstorm. One piece damaged the port engine intake cone, another larger piece sheared off a sensor array beneath the cockpit, and one small pellet punctured the cockpit canopy, punctured Sinclair's helmet faceplate, snapping his head back and tearing through his left cheek to lodge under his cheekbone. In front of him, the wall of darkness shattered into a million pieces, revealing an intense, blinding light that swallowed Sinclair and his ship as he clenched his eyes shut and put his arms over his face in a futile attempt to block the painful light. Then darkness. "Fighter One! Are you all right?" It was a moment more before Sinclair's eyes could focus, but then he saw the stars through the canopy, and straight ahead he saw a barely visible circle of translucent energy glowing dimly, slightly distorting the light of the stars behind it, but with no opening to the revolving star field of some other century. The rift was closed. He heard another voice: his computer was giving a damage report. He mu st have asked for one, his training having taken over automatically, but he didn't remember doing so. "Sensor array three completely disabled. Engine two at three-quarte
rs power. Damage to cockpit canopy automatically repaired, life-support systems at nominal." A part of his mind marveled at how the VorlonMinbari-made cockpit windshield had instantly and seamlessly repaired itself, covering the hole caused by the shrapnel, almost like a living creature growing new skin over a wound. The same could not be said for his more conventionally manufactured suit helmet, which was cracked and punctured. Sinclair pulled the now useless helmet off and hooked it to his chair. He felt a searing pain through the entire left side of his head, felt blood trickling down his cheek, but beyond that-nothing. He was numb, as if his entire being, his body, his mind, his heart, were encased in ice. "Fighter One! Are you okay? Entil'Zha!" From a long distance away, he heard himself answer Marcus. "I'm here. Fighter Two is gone." CHAPTER 30 IT took the damaged fighters five hours to limp back to Epsilon 3. As the freighter made way immediately for the jump gate, Rathenn met Sinclair and Marcus in the docking bay, expressing his regret and sorrow. Sinclair was rushed to the freighter's small infirmary. Along the way, Marcus gave Rathenn a quick report, but the Minbari already seemed to know much of it, apparently having received some word from Draal. After treating Sinclair for shock and removing the piece of shrapnel from his face, the Minbari doctor told Sinclair he would be fine, but that he would need further treatment on Minbar to completely heal the wound on his face and remove the scar. Sinclair shook his head, saying nothing. He got up in spite of the doctor's protest that he needed rest. "I'll rest in my quarters," he said and left. Leaving Rathenn behind to confer with the doctor, a concerned Marcus went with Sinclair. They walked silently through corridors of the old freighter. Sinclair had said little during the flight back from the rift, and Marcus, then, as now, had not wanted to intrude, trying to help just by his presence. Marcus understood what it meant to lose someone so close, knew what feelings were overwhelming Sinclair. There were no words that could help right now. When they got to the bunk area, Sinclair paused at the door to his small cabin. "Thank you, Marcus," he said without looking at him, then disappeared behind the door. The cramped narrow room seemed like a coffin. He stood just inside the door, unable to move. He had been somehow going through the motions now for seven hours, and it seemed as if he had watched someone else being stitched up by the doctor, someone else being spoken to in sad, hushed tones. He found he was shaking, realized he could no longer stand, but couldn't bring himself to go over to the bed. His knees buckled and he let himself slide to the floor. He sat in front of the door for what seemed like a long time. Gradually he noticed he was staring at Catherine's duffel bag, leaned up against his own. "God damn it!" he said, pounding the hard metal floor with his fist. He wanted to cry, but couldn't and that made him angrier. So much time wasted. So much time they had spent apart over the years, far too often for stupid, avoidable reasons, for stubbornness and for hurt pride and for pointless arguments and for conflicting demands of work . . . and for what? And now when they had finally put all the pieces together, saw that they fit and were always meant to fit together, she was taken away from him again. And this time it was his fault. He should have refused to let her go on the mission. He should have found a way to reach her ship before it went through the barrier and made the jump into the past. He should have done something that he didn't do, something that would have saved her. Something. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, staring, unmoving, before he heard a knock on his door. "Are you all right, Entil'Zha?" It was Marcus, concern evident in his voice. He almost laughed at the question. No, he wanted to shout. I'm not all right. What the hell do you think! Go away and leave me alone. But all he could say was' "Yes." The rest of the trip back to Minbar passed in a fog of pain and anger. He did not eat, did not lie down on the bed or truly sleep, and spoke only a few words to Marcus. Still he could not cry. Instead he thought about the rift. And that Catherine's fighter had been intact when it made the time jump. Upon arriving back at the Ranger compound, the doctors insisted Sinclair stay overnight in the Ranger medical facility for observation. He agreed without protest, and slept for the first time in four days. The next morning he demanded an immediate meeting with Rathenn and Ulkesh. He continued to resist any effort to further treat the sutured wound on his face. This seemed to be a matter of great concern to Rathenn, as Sinclair met with the Grey Council member and the Vorlon in one of the small conference rooms. "Entil'Zha, the doctors say if you do not let them treat the injury, it will result in a permanent scar that will be much more difficult to remove later.'' "The wound will heal on its own," Sinclair said. "We have more important things to discuss." "But Entil'Zha," Rathenn persisted, "it is not considered befitting for a leader of your rank to have such a visible physical flaw, not when it can be treated as easily as this one. You are a symbol of-" "Things change," Sinclair snapped. "I don't wish to discuss it further, and I would appreciate it if you'd also tell the doctors as much." Rathenn started to protest further, but on seeing Sinclair's expression, thought better of it. "I want a full report on what happened to the time rift," Sinclair said. "The explosion did much more damage to the rift than had been anticipated," Rathenn said. "And the backlash of energy caused some small injury to Draal as well, through his connection to the Great Machine." "When will the rift be open again?" Rathenn glanced over at the silent Ulkesh. "It will take several months at least for Draal to repair the damage." "As soon as it's repaired, I'm going after Catherine-" "No," Ulkesh said. "-there's a good chance," Sinclair said over his protest, "that she survived both the attack and her passage through the rift." "She is gone," Ulkesh said. "And can never return." "You don't know that!" Sinclair said. "I'm sure she was alive when she went through the barrier-" "Entil'Zha," Rathenn said. "It cannot be done." ' 'I don't accept that.'' "I am told it is almost certain she could not have survived the time jump. You underestimate the difficulties and dangers of traveling through the rift. I am told that it requires far more than just the time stabilizers. No trip through the rift is without considerable risk, even with careful preparation, which she did not have. But even if she had survived, where would you look for her?" Rathenn asked quietly. "The rift was not under Draal's control when she passed through it. Even he cannot say where in the past she went. How would you find her among the millions upon millions of years past?" "Draal must have some idea where she went." "He does not." "We have to at least try." "Would you ask others to risk their lives on so risky a mission with so little chance of success?" Rathenn asked. "No. But I will." "For you it would not just be a risk, Entil'Zha. The Vorlons say it would be a death sentence." "What are you talking about?" "With the proper precautions, you might jump through the rift to the past without harm, but you could not jump forward again without aging, or even dying, if the span of years was great enough." "I don't understand, I thought the time stabilizer prevented that." "But you were without a time stabilizer when you first visited the rift a year ago. You were unprotected when you were exposed to the burst of tachyon radiation released as Babylon 4 jumped through the rift. One such exposure without a time stabilizer makes any time jump thereafter potentially lethal, with or without a stabilizer. Even if she somehow survived the time jump, which is unlikely, and you were able against what are surely insurmountable odds to find which era she went to, you could not return with her.'' "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Sinclair asked angrily. Rathenn seemed to think the answer was obvious. "We had no reason to think you would make a time jump during this mission.'' Sinclair didn't want to believe it. "There has to be a way. Just how much more haven't you told me? What about it, Ambassador Ulkesh? Maybe Draal doesn't know, but what about the Vorlons? Do you know where she went? What year, what century?" "It is irrelevant," Ulkesh said. "Irrelevant?" Sinclair instantly was on his feet and around the table. "You son of a bitch bastard!" Rathenn quickly put himself between the Vorlon and the enraged Entil'Zha. "Please! Entil'Zha. Your grief is understandable, but do not let it cloud your reason. I have told you the truth in this matter." Sinclair tried to bring his anger under control. "I'm sure you have,
Rathenn. At least as much as you've been told." "Then Entil'Zha, let me say again how very sorry I am for your loss. Anla'shok Sakai was liked and respected by all, and we grieve with you. But the work we do here-" "Is all important to you, isn't it?" Sinclair took a deep breath. "Don't worry. The work of the Rangers will continue. But there's going to be a few changes around here. From now on, I deal only with you, Rathenn. I don't want to even see the ambassador from Vorlon unless it is absolutely necessary." Rathenn glanced hesitantly at Ulkesh, but then bowed his head in compliance. Sinclair turned and left. He walked, not knowing where he was going. He couldn't bear returning to the house he had shared with Catherine for such a brief time. Everyth ing there was now a reminder of his loss. For once, was he being told the whole truth? Was the Vorlon right? Was there no chance, no hope at all? Was Catherine truly gone forever? Over and over, he asked himself these questions as he walked blindly. He didn't care about the risk to himself, but Rathenn was right even if he could somehow persuade the Vorlons and Draal to grant access to the rift, he couldn't ask others to risk their lives without even a small hope of success. And with no way of determining even to which millennia she had gone, he didn't even have that much. God, why? he asked again, as he had innumerable times. Why? He found himself in front of The Chapel. Not knowing where else to go, he entered. Marcus was sitting in the temple, meditating, but quickly scrambled to his feet. "Forgive me, Entil'Zha. I'll leave." "No, Marcus. Stay where you are. I didn't mean to disturb you." Silence fell between them. "I never really had a chance before now to tell you how truly sorry I am," Marcus said. "Anla'shok Sakai was the best. All of us, all the Rangers-we're going to miss her.'' Unexpectedly, Sinclair felt tears stinging his eyes. This is not the place to start crying, he thought almost angrily. He was the Entil'Zha. There wasn't a Ranger under his command who hadn't experienced a loss. He was a symbol, Rathenn had said. To keep the tears from falling he looked up-at the statue of Valen, at the temshwee birds nesting in the upper reaches of the temple, at the afternoon light streaming through from above. What was he doing here? He found himself thinking about the last time he had been here, pinning the badge of the Rangers on Catherine, seeing the delight in her face "Delight, respect, and compassion," he said, almost in a whisper. "I beg your pardon, Entil'Zha?" It was easier to keep his emotions under control if he kept his gaze focused upward. He concentrated on the serene features of the statue. He found that he wanted to talk. "Delight, respect, and compassion. Valen insisted that be central to the Rangers. There's a lot written about Valen's compassion, and about his sense of respect for others. But not about what delighted him, what gave him joy. Not a lot said about that. Maybe he didn't know any happiness in his life. Maybe that's why Valen stressed the need for delight, because he knew how transitory it is. How difficult happiness is to find and then to hold on to once you've found it. Enjoy the few moments of happiness while you can because all things pass away." "Maybe Valen," Marcus said quietly, "was also trying to tell us to remember that while the pain never goes away, there's always the chance of finding delight and joy again somewhere down the road. And that it's worth holding on for." Sinclair looked back at Marcus, a little surprised. This was a man who had also endured too much tragedy in his life. "Maybe so, Marcus. But it's extremely difficult to believe sometimes." Marcus nodded with understanding. It was time to return to the house. Sinclair said goodbye to Marcus, and made his way back across the compound. Everything looked different to him now, starker somehow, harsher. But nothing more so than the house. Even from the outside, it looked unbearably empty and cold. He entered, hardly able to see anything, lost in a flood of memories as he closed the door. All the times it had fallen apart, Catherine had been the one to help him pick up the pieces. Now, he had to do it without her. He knew that she would want him to, but that was little consolation. He went into the bedroom and sat down on her side of the bed, picked up the picture of the two of them she had carried with her since it had been taken shortly before the war. It was in a frame he had given her, black lacquered wood decorated with tiny golden stars. It had been taken when they had visited her aunt in Hong Kong . . . He realized with a tight feeling in his chest that he would have to contact the elderly woman and tell her, and that suddenly made it all the more real that she was gone. The tears started down his face. This time he let them fall, didn't try to stop them, even though it did nothing to stop the pain. It was several minutes before he realized he was not alone. He turned around, and was stunned to see Kosh. He stood up, still holding the photograph. He had recognized the Vorlon ambassador to Babylon 5 immediately, not only from the different encounter suit Kosh wore, but from the different sense this Vorlon somehow gave to Sinclair. "What are you doing here?" The Vorlon glided forward, seemed to be scrutinizing Sinclair for a long moment. "To give condolences." That was the last thing Sinclair had expected, especially after his encounter with Ulkesh. "Thank you." "It was not anticipated. But you must continue." This was too much for Sinclair. Were they never going to leave him a moment to himself, never stop pushing, interfering, manipulating, not even to allow him to grieve? And what the hell was Kosh saying, anyway. Sinclair knew enough about the Vorlons not to assume he understood what Kosh was talking about. Exactly what had not been anticipated? Who had not anticipated it? And what exactly must he continue? Long association with the Vorlons had taught him to automatically consider those kinds of questions about every statement they made, and never jump to the easy conclusion. To ask a Vorlon to explain a statement was to get a "clarification" that only made matters more confusing. But he was angry again. "Why? Why should I 'continue'? Why am I so important to the Vorlons, Kosh? And don't give me any stuff about my having a Minbari soul and fulfilling prophecy. That doesn't play with me the way it does with the Minbari. Why me?" "You have a role to play." "And I'm the only one who can play it? I find that hard to believe. I've always gotten the impression we mere mortal Humans and Minbari are pretty much interchangeable to you Vorlons." "Only you can play the role as needed. Only you will see the difference." "I don't suppose you want to explain that a little further?" Kosh didn't answer. "I didn't think so," Sinclair said finally. "If even a fraction of what you Vorlons say is true-and I have no confidence that more than a fraction of it is the absolute truth"-he paused, hoping for some kind of reaction to that, but not really surprised when none was forthcoming-"then I will 'continue,' as you put it. I will see the work of the Rangers through. Because it means saving lives, and that's what's important to me. As for what's important to you and the rest of the Vorlons-I really don't know. But I sometimes get the feeling that what's important to you, Ambassador Kosh, is not the same as what's important to Ambassador Ulkesh."