From WiseGuise@aol.comMon Apr 17 18:30:54 1995 Date: Thu, 6 Apr 1995 16:23:44 -0400 From: WiseGuise@aol.com To: babylon5-creative@netcom.com Subject: "Drackon" ... a short story Greetings All :-D Be warned: No starfuries, no PPG's, no Mary Sues ... Please let me know if this does not transmit in full. ************************************************* "Drackon," is an entirely non-profit fiction piece written by and copyrighted (1995) to J.C. Williamson. It is loosely and unofficially based upon the "Babylon 5" universe created by and copyrighted to J. Micheal Straczynski. No infringements or sacrilege intended. All ideas, suggestions, explanations and postulations expressed within the "Drackon" story are speculative, interpretive and not to be confused with the gospel according to Joe. Repost it wherever, but only with this disclaimer intact ************************************************* Drackon By JC Williamson ********************* EKO: It was the dawn .... That much I know, despite the relentless darkness of these deep tunnels and despite the fact that here, time makes no difference at all. The internal clock still marks all the days I'm losing. Besides which, Vashtans are neurotically nocturnal. Our keepers appear at measured intervals, frantically scrambling down from topside en masse, driven by their own genetic alarms. Drackon doesn't move -- you'd think he was frozen, except his eyes track every sound or movement. I catch his gaze and its searing intensity. I'm well aware that Drackon's kind are almost mythically versed in strict disciplines governing physical and spiritual control. But even six months on their homeworld hadn't revealed the Minbari warrior's inner steel as I'd witnessed it here in these last, what, thirteen days? He is hellishly wounded. His troops, wild with helplessness, wait offworld on the captured Zepho -- the Wind Sword's previously indomitable war cruiser -- by forces beyond all expectation. Down here, nervous Vashtans natter and harp at him with impunity. Worse, he endures all this indignation in company with me -- a Human, a rogue. And Drackon clearly disdains Humans. Cannot comprehend expatriots. All the respect my status as a high-level telepath has earned me on Minbar holds no meaning for him. Yet here we are, trapped. I'm his best hope of salvation and he is mine. Not reassuring for either of us. Especially since I know what the Vashtans want to know, which is all about Drackon's mission and his clan's defenses. And soon they'll know -- he'll be expendable and, at the very least, I'll be back under Psi Corp's control. There's no reason he should trust me. I've given him no reason not to, but Alit Drackon trusts nothing but inherent, demonstrated loyalty and what I've shown him, in all these past months, has been nothing approaching that. From the first, when Hedronn insisted on my presence throughout the caste alignment negotiations, Drackon has done his best to lock me out while I've circumvented his mind's convoluted defensive walls. It's necessary -- he knows that. Hates it, but understands the Satai's demands. What he doesn't know is how carefully I've avoided any intrusion upon his privacy. In truth, a less gifted telepath could not so adroitly keep within the lines. But even the Minbari, who actually feel the most superficial scans acutely, can't sense how far their unwitting revelations go. He also doesn't know how hard this is for me. Such specific scanning is difficult to begin with, even for a p-12. It's maddening when temptation interferes. And yes, Drackon tempts me. He'd hate to know that and I'd hate for him to know. It's been quite enough being one of the few Humans on Minbar without fueling their perceptions of flighty humanity with my problematic curiosity. I've worked diligently at maintaining professional distance, adhering to the Minbari social protocol as best I understand it and controlling my innate tendency to push for engaging responses. That always got me into trouble, long before I even thought of fleeing Psi Corp's infamously humorless ranks. I've been free of them for years now and prior to my service with the Satai I'd steered clear of somber, ritualistic societies with alacrity. There are more of us on the outside than either Humans or otherworlders expect. What with telepathic evolution so unevenly distributed, even the weakest of us find our talents and services in widespread demand. It was Lyta, my adopted psi-sister from the Corps, who brought me into Hedronn's game and honestly, I thanked her for it. We've never lost contact despite her ostensibly pristine Corps record. Lyta's more skilled and sneakier by far than most anybody but me has ever realized but she never relished alien minds and the rogue's lifestyle was never for her. Of course the Minbari assignment was out of her league anyway, but the leveled differences between Human telepathics aren't much understood on Minbar. What the astute Satai does appreciate is that Humans have advantages over Minbari in some telepathic areas -- and he's a pragmatically thorough man. Not that Minbari are given to gender distinction. That propriety still throws me, especially after so much time with the Narns. Believe me, once you've learned to appreciate Narn masculinity, aliens never seem quite so alien again. Indeed, even the impervious, aloof Hedronn himself entertains me endlessly. (I've mentioned this to Mailin, my one Minbari friend, and she simply stared at me, like here was a barbarian at the gate.) At first I didn't buy it -- all that control when emotions so obviously and easily flare up between these profoundly sensitive people. But it's no act. Generations of Minbari have stringently denied overt excesses of feeling. Perhaps it's at the root of what separates them, keeping their restrictive caste system intact. Drackon, when I met him, was entirely what I expected and nothing at all like I'd feared. Wind Swords are, after all, a most fearsome warrior clan with a record as the Dilgar Deathwalker's protectors that further enhanced their offworld reputation. So the Alit's brashness didn't shock me and the condescension didn't penetrate, although he is one sharp-tongued warlord, flamboyant and imperious to the max. The usual warrior stuff on any world, in my experience. Besides, when he wasn't pointedly ignoring my presence Drackon taunted me without saying a word -- a nonverbal skill any telepath has to admire. Bound to counteract both his and Hedronn's maneuvering, I chose an aggressively passive route. I'd dealt with numerous religious-caste Minbari for prior clients and was relatively used to Hedronn's unflappable style. But their warriors I didn't know. They carry their passions so close to the surface yet manage to keep all that fire encased in a thin layer of impenetrable ice. It reminds me of so many psis, myself included, who must maintain both professional and personal distances despite longings to tear down the walls. But while we are typically reticent, Minbari warriors strut. Dangerous! Exciting. Drackon -- when he enters a room, he electrifies it. Hedronn with his quiet clout holds his own, but Alit Drackon's presence alone is a constant challenge. Even now, frozen in pain, in fury and self-inflicted, unwarranted shame his force is palpable, making the Vashtans all the more agitated. I want to reach out, if only to relieve his mental agony. With my level of skill a deep connection can accomplish that, albeit at some cost to me, but I don't dare do it. Such a personal invasion is out of the question with him. The others, however, are another matter. Three strangers step forward, out of the darkness. Two are Human and their uniforms don't surprise me. They're skilled but insufficient, although manipulating their perceptions of Drackon's condition is something even I won't be able to keep up for very long. For now they all believe he's dead -- he has no idea of this, but looks the part -- and I'm their sole focus. The Vashtan leader drops to his knees in front of me. He's holding a small device -- a probe, an enhancer -- I recognize all too well. Psi Cop issue, designed to assist lower level psi cops in plundering and controlling those with evolved psychic skills. Whoever and whatever the Vashtans serve, they'll get what they're after and that information will destroy far more than the Alit and me and the Zepho. Knowledge of the Wind Swords' thwarted mission will extend to worlds of tragedy. Drackon's heavy gaze locks onto me. Millions of reasons press to defeat the probe. Without Drackon and without me the Zepho's agenda is safely lost. I know they'll get nothing from him ... I do have a choice. But mine isn't a martyr's choice. The one who distrusts me governs my decision. There is an obscure path -- a way for telepaths to travel inward that folds a mind over and over into itself and away from all else. For a level-twelve it's so uncontrollably deep and convoluted as to be irreversible. Virtual suicide, effectively like a mindwipe, actually a self-induced coma. You go in that door where no one can follow and you throw away the key. I wish he would understand. There's no way, no time, to be sure. ********************************* DRACKON: How can I explain it. My reaction to Eko never reflected rational thought, never at all. I expected she'd know that unavoidably, if not immediately -- yet she did not. She chose not. In her place, I'd have had no such compunctions. The Human mindset plagues me and this Human most of all. I am told she cannot come back. To be sure, our telepaths cannot reach her. The decision to transport her to Human medical facilities on Babylon 5 was a clan decision, an honor more than optimism. For it is hard to accept that she did this thing -- a Human, unfettered by commitment as we live it. Hard to wear the mantle of obligation that she leaves with each and every Wind Sword, to say nothing of Minbar and the worlds in this long-fingered war. Harder still to hear, as I unmistakably do, the voice within. Would it shock you to know I feared her? More precisely, her gift -- that infernal ability to dissect the mind. Even when I understood her intent, and I did, despite appearances. Eko must have known that most Minbari are inherently empathic, that we all feel scans and many of us receive ambiguous telepathic images. Most can neither control the talent nor willfully transmit their thoughts, but the genetic capacity lies dormant. It's an area of study the religious caste constantly explores, while the warrior focus is better served by denying access. Hedronn's insistence on her presence for our negotiations irritated but did not surprise me. Since he expected a fight, I offered no reluctance. But I wasn't prepared for the depth of her reach and it angered me, starting our tentative negotiations off on very shaky ground. Upon our first meeting, the rush of her impressions flooded the room and only the discipline of my martial training allowed me to resist. Hedronn, being used to telepaths, held the advantage. Briefly. Months, it took. Back and forth, daily sessions with nerve-grating scans, constant clarifications and backtracking. Eko's role was always clear and in that sense became unobtrusive. Yet something, some image I cannot describe, warned me of another agenda. Hedronn's, I assumed. Then as our dealings extended, I knew that was not the case. This was Human static. Earther moths approaching the Minbari flame. I could not be bothered ... but bothersome it was. I am rarely so confounded. Channeling mental and emotional energy is a warrior's necessity and one at which I've always excelled. Hence, despite all that time and interaction, it wasn't until our rude confinement within that hateful netherworld, Vasht, that the Eko I now know came forward. I still do not know how we were transported off the Zepho and do not recall the encounter that nearly claimed my life in the process -- we apparently had been captives for some time before I regained consciousness. I do remember my creeping awareness of our situation. Disarmed, and so dishonored. Torn beyond healing and indubitably doomed. Weakened, I perceived her presence long before I had the strength to open my eyes. Ah, it was a soothing interlude, enveloping and warm. Such gentleness as I, throughout my life, have rarely felt. Far more than I have ever given. Unlike a scan, a blanket covered me. I, the Wind Sword's Alit, the protector -- I felt safe. And for all the physical pain, oddly comforted. The instant I reached full consciousness that blanket fell away. Our intolerable situation seized my whole being. I would not die for them. I would not suffer for them. Eko watched me, circumspect and totally removed. Not an empathetic glimmer, but she spoke. "Alit ... the Zepho is trapped but unharmed. These warproxys have tried their best with you. Rest assured, you gave them nothing. I've stymied them. It isn't in their interest to kill us. Not yet." What was there to offer? "A small honor, death." She smiled. That surprised me. An all too Human, hopeful gesture to which I could not respond. Just as when the Vashtons returned I could not so much as move. When the telepaths appeared I braced what was left of my strength and resistence, yet they passed by me as though I were not even there. I wondered if I had died, yet death seemed small indeed next to the utter helplessness in which I was forced to lie and silently watch as she eluded, and so defeated, the Shadows' interrogators. And left for dead I watched alone, in vague snatches of consciouness, throughout the indistinguishable days and nights that followed before the Wind Swords finally found us. It was clear our captors had intended to keep her, appreciating her worth -- I would never have believed she could or would sacrifice herself and was totally unprepared for the full extent of why she did so. She did it for me. And I do not mean to diminish the magnitude of her sacrifice, for she served a far greater need to be sure. But moments into Eko's private descent, our very beings met, entwined, answered every improbable question. I doubt she ever knew how clearly I would see or that she even suspected her astonishing gift would be revealed to me. Yet in the last transcendent moment that lasts perhaps a thousand lifetimes, souls do reunite. There is nothing left to uncertainty. They say she can never recover. I do not answer that my pledge binds more than mere lifetimes. As a Minbari I am united with my people. As a warrior and Alit I belong to my clan. As a man I have always been alone. But there remains now, a voice inside me ... an all too Human voice, like a blanket of hope. Alone, the warrior dares to smile. ******************************************************** * * * * * ********