From: "Elizabeth Johnson" Subject: The Fall of a Sparrow (1/1) Date: Mon, 10 Mar 97 04:53:14 UT "The Fall of a Sparrow" is a companion piece to my previous story "The Last Message." In this one too, a message helps someone to come to terms with a very difficult situation-- and no, this story doesn't belong to the "Garibaldi deals with it" sub-genre. I started it awhile ago, when I tried to resolve the questions for myself, but I decided to finish and post it because I was inspired by "Atonement" and because the list is very slow right now. Come on, people, or else I'll inflict my Star Wars/B5 crossover epic on you! "The Fall of a Sparrow" takes place during "War Without End, part one." Thanks to Grace for providing the copy of "The Gathering", which I hadn't seen in years. Also I want to acknowledge a debt to the brilliant Branagh film "Hamlet" which reminded me that some things have been better and more succinctly said by the Bard than by me. (P.S. Elaine, are you still out there?) As before, comments are welcome at: ekayej@msn.com Babylon 5 is copyright Warner Bros./Babylonian Productions, and is used without permission. ------------------------------------------------------ THE FALL OF A SPARROW After arriving on Babylon 5, Ambassador Jeffrey Sinclair went first to the ambassadorial wing in Green sector. He kept his hood up for the trip through the back paths and lifts to prevent anyone else besides Zack Allan, from recognizing him prematurely. He hadn't expected anyone at the identicard check to know him, but fortunately Zack had other duties. He wouldn't be a problem. At least Michael was off the station. Sinclair couldn't bear to face him in person and Michael would have ferreted out his presence somehow if he had been there. The timing of Michael's absence was perfect-- one might almost think it had been planned. If it weren't so painful, he would have smiled at the irony. Two Rangers followed him discreetly, watching for danger, but he ignored them. He had only a few minutes before he needed to meet the others and he had much to do. He used his command override on the door, knowing Garibaldi would never have voided it, and entered Ambassador Kosh's quarters alone. The quarters had been emptied and filled with an oxygen atmosphere, but some essence of the Vorlon still lingered between the bare walls. A year spent working closely with a Vorlon had left him sensitive to the aura they left behind, and he could sense it now, like the faded ghosts of roses. He felt the bleakness of the murder when he removed his breathing mask, the icy residue of the Shadows, and behind both, the radiance left by years of habitation. Sinclair addressed himself to the warmth which was only the dimmest reflection of Kosh's true spirit. "You knew, didn't you? You knew where it would all end." He paused, as if to give Kosh a chance to respond. Of course, even if Kosh had been alive and in the room, he probably would not have said anything. There was nothing Vorlons enjoyed more than watching other races find the answers on their own. "That's why you performed that role when you first arrived. You knew the assassin wasn't me, since no simple changeling net could fool a Vorlon. And you sure as hell weren't _poisoned._ But you wanted to see what I would do. It was a test. Then your test was done, you knew I was the one, and you barely stirred yourself to talk to me after that. Why? Wasn't there anything you needed to say or anything I needed to hear?" The echoing silence remained unbroken for a long moment, while Sinclair listened for answers from the departed spirit. There were none. He shook his head at his fantasies. "Now I'm back and you're dead, so we still can't talk. Typical." He snorted and walked through quarters, remembering. So much had happened since that day that Kosh arrived on Babylon Five, it seemed more than the few years it had actually been. Yet he remembered those days with perfect clarity. It had begun with such optimism: one of the truly great and most mysterious species in the known galaxy was coming to Babylon Five.... and it had ended with the accusation that he had tried to assassinate the Vorlon ambassador. It had been the first of two accusations from Minbari who were afraid of what he represented. Only the loyalty of his friends had kept him free-- he owed them a debt, which he could not now repay. It had turned out that those who had framed him were right-- his destiny lay elsewhere. Elsewhen. His part in this shadow war was over. Nowhere else in the suite could Sinclair feel Kosh’s presence more acutely than in the spot where the Vorlon had died, so he returned to the main room. "Delenn told me that you were helping Sheridan. Thank you. But I'm not sure it was wise to let him goad you into attacking the Shadows. I agree the alliance needed a victory, but I know there will be other consequences. As long as you keep to the covenant after I'm gone, I suppose we--" he had to correct himself, "_they_ can live with the results." Sinclair let out a sigh. "A little foreknowledge is a dangerous thing, isn't it? But you could have said something to me. Some hint. I know what I have to do, but damn it, some clue that I'm going to do it _right_, would be nice." He brought out the letter from the inside pocket of his cloak and stared at the writing on the outside. In simple block English letters, it read "Jeffrey David Sinclair." Those English letters had been printed on that paper a thousand years before the Minbari had met Humans, and the letter bore the name of a man whose ancestors had been riding horses and tilling the fields while it was written. He had almost not needed to read the letter to know its contents, because he knew the hand which had penned it: his own. "This is all the answer I need, isn't it?" he asked, not expecting nor needing confirmation now. "It's very tidy. I was at the Battle of the Line so the Minbari could discover who I was; I was on Mars so I could see the Shadows for the first time; I came here so you and Delenn could set me on my path; and I went to Minbar to become Entil'zha to prepare me for the task ahead. Everything in my life has pointed me this way, and now I know why." He slipped the letter back into his cloak, without opening it again. The words had seared themselves onto his brain at the first reading. "That’s not to say I _understand_ why. I don't. I don't know understand why I was-- why I will be Valen. I don't feel like Valen. I'm not a prophet; I'm no one in particular. But I'm going to become someone revered by the entire Minbari race for a thousand years? It doesn't make any sense." He had spent a great deal of time on the trip to the station trying to find the reason he had been chosen, without coming up with the answer. But here, in the quarters of an ancient being who had given his life so that the young races would survive, he thought he found a solution. "Maybe it doesn't have to make sense. It just is." He gave a self-conscious laugh, hearing himself. "That sounds like something a Vorlon would say, doesn't it? But it's true nevertheless, and I accept it. I'll do what I have to do. I'll win the war, I'll do everything Valen did." The responsibility for a thousand years of history and billions of lives pressed down on him suddenly, suffocatingly heavy. It seemed too much-- too much for one ordinary man to face alone. He staggered against the wall, trying to find any kind of support. His worries tumbled free, confessed openly, as he never would have in front of a living being. "But what if I change something? What if I do something wrong? How will I be able to do _anything_ without worrying how it might make things worse?" He paused and asked in a voice scarcely above a whisper, "Why can't you be here to help me, Kosh?" Something chimed gently after he spoke the name and he swung around to look at the Babcom terminal. There were lines of text on the screen and he approached, frowning. Who could be sending a message to Kosh? Everyone knew Kosh was dead. Sinclair's puzzlement cleared as he realized that the message was for him. Kosh had left it for him to find. The words were in English: "If it be now, 'tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all." Sinclair found a smile from somewhere beyond the weight of revelations. "Human words. You don't play fair, Kosh." The smile slipped away as he pondered the stark words. The future could take care of itself. His only true responsibility was to do what was right. If that meant ensuring the defeat of the Shadows in the past, then that was what he would do. The task facing him was no different from his work as Entil'zha. His destiny was not a burden to dread-- it was _purpose_. To embrace. Hadn't he been looking for a true purpose to his existence his whole life? He nodded and his bearing straightened, as the weight fell away. "I understand," he replied to the air. "Thank you. I will justify your faith in me, my friend. Rest in peace." Strengthened for his last task, he touched the Babcom screen and erased Kosh's message to ready it for a new one. "Computer, record message for Security Chief Michael Garibaldi, send to personal quarters, password access, background blocked." "_Acknowledged. State password._" Sinclair answered immediately, "Hello, old friend." He faced the pick-up squarely, and took a deep breath. "_Begin message._" "Hello, Michael. By the time you get this, I should be long gone...." ----------------------------- Comments to: ekayej@msn.com Thanks!