From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Good Ship Babylon, Part 1 Date: Thu, 12 Feb 1998 16:48:33 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Hi people. Here's the next installment in my parallel universe saga where the Minbari did not surrender at the Battle of the Line and went on to conquer and destroy Earth. It began with A Dark, Distorted Mirror, and all the previous stories should be present in the archive. This story contains slight Spoilers for Lines of Communication, but is otherwise safe. Feedback is always very welcome and should be sent to the address below. Comments, questions, criticisms, death threats, spontaneous presents, that sort of thing... Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money out of writing this and am doing so purely for pleasure. Personal Disclaimer: Me hopeless romantic. They characters in my power. Me no promise happy ending to everyone. (Or anyone.) You warned. Chapter Five - The Good Ship Babylon Part 1 of 3 [AT] [AC] by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk It's begun. The initial testing of our new resources a few months ago was only a skirmish. The retaking and pacification of the colony at Beta Durani was just a prelude. The war... the new war has begun. Of course, the war officially started fourteen years ago, during the first contact, but that war is not this war. That war was one of carefully planned retreats, futile pleading with allies who did not want to know us, desperate holding actions and suicide missions... none of which got us anywhere. For over twelve years, the war was like that. We had one single victory - the Black Star -* and that was it. We developed great skill in making defeats out to be victories - pleased that we only lost a small number of ships, happy that some of us were still alive. The Second Line changed that. For the first time, we could win, and win big. Recent events have proved it. I am a soldier. I joined Earthforce to serve Earth and the Alliance. Both are gone now, but humanity lives, and so I serve my people. I do as I have been ordered to do. I believe what I am told to believe... but for the first time I believe that what I am told is worth believing. The Minbari are going to fall. We are going to tear their world, their Federation and everything they hold dear apart. We are going to wipe every trace of them from existence, and then... then we'll be safe again. Captain Dexter Smith aboard the EAS Babylon. Personal log, dated October 31st 2259. * * * * * * * An infinity of light, reflecting, shining... it seemed to be speaking to her very soul, shining through to her true being. Reflected in the centre of the crystal in front of her, she saw everything relayed before her; past, present... future? Her father, staggering home from work every night, exhausted from having to work eighteen hours a day simply to feed his family. She had watched and had asked him, in the simple way that only children could, why he did so much work. He had not been able to answer her. She remembered her mother shouting that one day his work would kill him, but none of them had ever expected her to be proven right so accurately. She remembered watching her mother cry, and swearing that she would prevent anyone else suffering the way her father had. There must be a better way, she had sworn with that same, child-like simplicity. There would have to be a better way. She had vowed to spend her whole life finding it. Fate... or the Minbari... had got in her way, but they had never destroyed her desire to protect those whom no one else considered, or her hatred for those who so casually used and abused people, caring only for money. The crystal, the one she had taken from a being called Drakh on an alien spaceship months before... it shone at her, almost appearing to speak to her. In some way she could not comprehend, it was communicating with her, making promises, offering things she wanted... She supposed she should have turned the crystal over to Captain Sheridan or Commander Corwin. It was, after all, one of the few pieces of evidence about the Drakh that anyone had found. The Drakh were rapidly emerging as a dangerous force in the galaxy and any information on them would be invaluable. She knew all these things and yet... and yet... she could not bring herself to part with it. It... It was a part of her. Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally looked into the centre of the orb and she thought for a moment that it changed colour, transmuting from sky blue into an almost bloody shade of red... but only for a moment. * * * * * * * Satai Kozorr hesitated, dreading the sound of laughter he knew would be coming from the Hall of the Grey Council. Once the place of solemn authority and matchless power among the Grey Council, it was now... something else. Before the death of Dukhat, rare indeed were the days when less than the full Nine stood there. Now, there were but two. Kalain, from whom insane laughter had poured forth almost ceaselessly for the past three days, and Kats, seemingly imprisoned there as penance for the 'sins' of the worker caste. Nine. There had always been nine in the Grey Council. Nine and the leader. Where the Nine were now... Kalain and Kats inside the Hall. Gysiner and Chardhay, the two pathetic priestlings, lurking around Minbar somewhere, intoning their equally pathetic preachings to any who would listen. The other warriors, Kalain's men, somewhere... Kozorr did not want to think where. Sinoval, their nominal leader, still missing. That left the two of them... Kozorr himself, and Deeron, both on board this ship, performing the duties Kalain seemed to have forgotten. Kozorr often wondered how his life had brought him here. He had been content to work in the Anla'Shok, serving as aide and assistant to Neroon, under whom he had served during the war with the Earthers. He had been content there, but with the destruction of the earlier Grey Council and the vacuum which formed at the heart of the warrior caste, he had found himself sucked upwards. Branmer was dead, Neroon and Sinoval both gone, Shakat and Matokh dead... Kozorr found himself working alongside the generals, and then promoted to the Grey Council itself. What was the typically pretentious priestling saying? The universe puts us all in places where we may do the most good. Kozorr doubted what good he could do here. There was another saying he had heard somewhere... perhaps from Neroon. In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Kozorr was beginning to believe that he alone of the Grey Council could see. Certainly he alone seemed concerned by the renewed Earther on- slaught. Only one other seemed interested in it at all, and she saw the Earthers as little more than animals. She came into view, looking increasingly uncomfortable at the sound of Kalain's laughter. Kozorr bowed respectfully before her. Although in theory they shared the same rank, Deeron outstripped him by far in terms of experience and seniority. "You saw him?" she asked briefly. "Yes..." he replied, resisting the urge to lower his head when speaking to her. "He did not listen?" "No." Deeron raised her head, hearing the laughter. Even here, in the anteroom before the Hall of the Grey Council, it was plainly audible. If it had this effect on the two of them... both warriors and Satai... how would it affect the others who must surely hear it, the acolytes and servitors? "They are changing," Deeron said. "You can see it in their eyes." "A great many things are changing." "Yes... How did he seem to you? When you went to see him?" "He..." Kozorr did not know quite what to say. He had not seen Kalain clearly. The *de facto* leader of the Grey Council had taken great care to remain in the darkness between the columns of light and he could not perceive much. His other senses, however, had told him a great deal. Kalain smelled, a stench of decay and putrid flesh. His voice had been hushed and sepulchral. Kozorr's gaze had slid away from Kalain and on to Kats, the only other person in the Hall. She seemed trapped in her column of light, imprisoned there. Her eyes were... haunted, despairing. She was silently pleading with Kozorr, but he could do nothing but turn away. "He... was as before." "You are a poor liar, Kozorr," Deeron said slowly. "Come... we should go to my quarters. I... I think that might be better." Kozorr nodded, and briefly turned back to the entrance to the Hall. The laughter seemed louder than before. He could imagine Kats there, almost a statue. The corridors of the ship were silent and empty, but still he could hear the laughter echoing in his ears. It was a sound alien to him... alien to this place. Neither the silence nor the laughter fit here. Even in Deeron's quarters the laughter seemed to echo. Kozorr suppressed a shudder as he looked around. The rooms were... spartan, austere, almost empty. Deeron turned to her computer. "You have the record." He handed over the data crystal, and she implanted it in the computer, then stood back. Kozorr had seen this before, but he could not take his eyes from the display. Three Minbari warships... captained by some of the most talented warriors available. All three had served in the Rangers for a brief time, served under Branmer and Sinoval. Three should be enough to deal with almost any threat. There were two Earther ships, although both were... a little different from the ships he had opposed in the war. One was the Babylon, albeit with some modifications. From the outside, it looked much the same as before. The other ship... it was a little smaller than the Babylon, and it did not rotate so much. In fact, some sections did not rotate at all. Perhaps the Earthers had finally discovered the secret of artificial gravity... but he had only noticed that on the second viewing. The first thing he noticed - that Deeron noticed - was that the ship had a scaly exterior, one which seemed to be alive. It pulsed and vibrated, while the spines that stuck out from it drifted eerily. "In Valen's Name," he heard Deeron mutter. The first warship - the Kisada - swooped forward, firing squarely at the second Earther ship. It bore the brunt of a full-scale blast and... impossibly... soared through it, forwards. A colossal energy blast tore from its right broadside and ripped the Kisada apart, destroying the warship with the greatest of ease. The other two warships - the Toturi and the Bayushi - concentrated their fire on the Babylon. He watched silently as they crushed the ship's forward weapons, and then targeted the main engines. Its broadsides blasted out at the Bayushi, causing the ship to shake, but not to deviate. Kozorr did not feel any hope. He knew what was coming next. All around them, jump points formed and opened... out of which surged small, perversely beautiful and delicate-looking ships. They seemed almost flower-like. "Drakh," whispered Deeron. He knew what she was thinking. They had heard rumours that the Drakh had been involved in the capture of Beta Durani, but there had been no evidence of an alliance between Drakh and Earther. Now there was. Combining their fire, swooping with deadly precision and sickening beauty, the Drakh fired on the Toturi, raining blast after blast on the elegant ship, staving in the hull, tearing apart the engines, causing the vessel to explode in a slow burst of flame. The last ship remaining, the Bayushi, succumbed to devastating hammer-blows from the second Earther ship. The record ended. "Did anyone survive?" Deeron asked slowly. "A few of the pilots in the flyers managed to escape. As for others... we should pray to Valen that they did not. Rumours about what the Drakh did to our people taken at Beta Durani... the rumours were not pleasant." "I believe it... and did Kalain see this?" A burst of his insane laughter. "No. He refused to acknowledge it. He still refuses to believe that the Earthers pose any problem." The two looked at each other slowly, and Kozorr wondered what she was thinking. Deeron had served as second to Kalain aboard the Trigati. What must it be like for her to see what had become of her former captain? "How much can we do?" he asked. "Very little. Any form of full-scale mobilisation has to be ratified by a full meeting of the Council, and Kalain will not call one. Even sending out these three ships was an over-extension of our authority. We can... begin a slow and quiet fortification of our colonies perhaps... but little more." "Our warships are clearly outclassed," Kozorr said. "If only we could reform the White Star fleet..." "The White Star fleet was annihilated at the Second Line, and we cannot reform it without support from elsewhere. Too many of the Alyts remaining are loyal only to Kalain and will do nothing he has not authorised." "And he will not authorise anything?" "No." She looked at him anything. "No, he will not." And the laughter seemed to get louder. * * * * * * * Oh God oh God... what the hell were you thinking of? I mean, how long has it been since you actually honest to God tried cooking something properly? Years. Years and years. I mean... where's Mr. Garibaldi when you need him? Okay, he's back on Sanctuary, several light years away. Talk about your stupid question. Not too stressed out, eh John? Hell, I haven't been this bad since... since before I met Anna. God, this is crazy. Minbari warships, Shadows, Drakh, Bester in a bad mood... them I can face no problem, but a simple dinner date... The door chimed and John Sheridan started, panic rising to the surface. "Come in," he said, looking at the Brakiri light-globes he'd got hold of and thinking that candles would probably have been better, if less practical. He stopped short at the sight of the woman who entered. Delenn looked... well, gorgeous. She was wearing a long, flowing, red and blue sparkling dress he had not seen before. It wasn't quite Minbari, but it wasn't quite human either, creating a fascinating mix of both cultures, and a bit of something else. A thin link of gold hung across her slender waist, and a faint hint of bright red slippers was visible beneath the dress. Her hair was draped simply behind her head, not in any particular style. It was the only part of her appearance that hinted at the circumstances they found themselves in. "Delenn..." he began. "You... look... Well, you look great." "Thank you," she said, smiling. "We have been getting a few traders in recently. Not as many as we would like, admittedly, but some, and I thought it... appropriate to do what little I can to help our growing economy here." She smiled again, and he thought she had actually made a joke. "Lyta helped me chose the dress. You do not think it looks too... inappropriate?" "Inapp... no... no. You look... great. Great." John was dressed simply in his formal Earthforce uniform. He didn't have much civilian clothing. "How is the food?" she asked, obviously unsure about how this was to go. He knew how she felt. "Um... nearly ready. I think. My cooking skills aren't what they should be, I'm afraid. I contemplated getting David to lend a hand, but someone's got to run the ship. He insisted I take the night off in fact. He said I've been working too hard lately." "Vejar and Lethke said the same to me. They keep telling me that I need to rest at times, but I just... I find it difficult when I know there are people who need my help." He looked at her and saw the pain in her eyes. He wondered what it must have been like for her... trapped there alone, with little food, no medicines... surrounded by the dying and the dead. "How are things going?" he asked. "I don't get to see much from up here." "Things are improving. Lethke, Vizhak, Taan Churok, Vejar... a few others... they are proving quite capable of governing. Lethke in particular. He knows a great deal about how to run what he calls... an economy. That is not really my area of expertise, so I let him continue with it, and do what I can working with the sick. Things... are improving there also. I think most of them will live. Those who have survived this long..." He nodded. "I... wish we could have got here sooner." "There was nothing you could have done." The cooker made a pinging sound and he turned. "Okay, here it is... but I'm not promising miracles." "Then I shall not expect any," she said, smiling again. "And no talking shop over dinner," he said. "Why would we talk about shops?" He chuckled. "No... I mean... no talking about business. We've both been ordered to take the night off, so we shouldn't spoil it by talking about business... the war... other things." "Ah... talking... shop. I understand. Well, then... we will talk about other things. Not shops." "Good idea." "Thank you." * * * * * * * "Tell me, Major Krantz, what do the words 'not to be interrupted under any circumstances' mean to you?" "I know what your instructions were, Commander Corwin, but Mr. Bester was most insistent. He wants to talk to Captain Sheridan, and he wants to do so now." "This is the first night he hasn't been working in months. We practically had to force him to take the night off. Is there an impending Shadow invasion? Are the Drakh knocking at our door? The Minbari? No... then surely it can wait until morning!" "Mr. Bester is not accustomed to being forced to wait until morning." "Then tell him the Captain's in a coma. Re-rout Bester to the porn channel! Anything to get the Captain a few hours rest. Besides, if we interrupt his date, he'll kill us." "And Mr. Bester won't?" "Rather him than the Captain. Trust me, Major Krantz. I will deal with this." * * * * * * * The food was, surprisingly, not as bad as he had expected. The company was divine. His jokes... were just as unfunny as they usually were, but she laughed anyway. For a few hours they were no longer the Starkiller or the half-breed exile, no longer warriors in a war neither wanted... they were simply two people enjoying dinner. It wasn't to last. Inevitably, as much as they would have preferred otherwise, the conver- sation swung round to recent events, to the war, to Beta Durani, to... "I wish I knew what Bester was up to," John said sorrowfully. "He's got me out here doing patrol duty, keeping off Drakh attacks and Streib incursions and so forth, and Ben Zayn is... doing something. G'Kar's pulling in as many ships as he can for some big construction job near Epsilon Three. We're just... bumbling around dealing with the small details while the big problems are still out there." "Sometimes the smaller details have to be dealt with before the larger ones." "Yes, I know that, but still... There's no way Clark is going to stop until he gets to Minbar. Apparently he's churning out warships like there's no tomorrow and marching in a straight line to Minbar, taking out anything and everything along the way. I don't know why he's not meeting much resistance but... I wish I knew what Bester's plans were. I don't like just sitting back and doing nothing, but..." "But what?" "But I still won't fire on my own people. I heard about what they did at Beta Durani, and... elsewhere, and I still can't stop thinking that sooner or later I'm going to have to go up against them. I... don't think I'll be able to order any ship I command to open fire on them." "John... I know how you feel, but I have seen first hand the sort of thing an invader can do. If they are doing to my people what the Drakh did here, then they will have to be stopped." "They're not the same as the Drakh, Delenn. Not by a long way. They're scared, and they're angry and they think that by becoming as bad as you then we can make the last fourteen years not happen..." "As bad as us?" "I... I didn't mean that, Delenn, but it's a form of... purging. They want to do to you what you did to us. The same as the Narns and the Centauri, and look where that's got them." "We are not the Centauri." "And we aren't the Narns. No, this is going to be far worse. I... I understand why they're doing it. I just wish we weren't." "For what it is worth, I do as well." "Anyway... what are you going to be doing now? If the war does reach Minbar... will you be heading back there?" "I cannot. Sinoval has removed any hope of my returning home now. I am Zha'valen, and that cannot be undone. My appearance alone would ensure the sort of welcome I would get. For the moment, I am needed here. Later... I do not know. I was always so sure of my destiny before... as if each step of my life had been set out for me and all I had to do was follow through the motions. Now... perhaps my destiny now belongs to someone else. Perhaps my destiny was never as I envisaged it at all." "I know what you mean. While you were... gone... I had a good, long think about my priorities... about Anna, about you, about what we were doing... about everything. I don't know where my destiny is leading, and I don't know where I'm going, and I still miss Anna, and always will... I do know, however... that wherever my life is going, I want to spend it with you... if I can." She smiled, softly and sadly. "And I with you... but I am not sure of where I am going with my life. I... need to be sure first, before I can decide. I want to be with you, but... but I am not... ready yet. I am not making sense, I suppose." "No... I understand. You've been through a lot lately. I..." John muttered something under his breath as his link beeped. He made an apologetic face at Delenn and activated it. "Yes?" he snapped, a bit tersely. "Captain, I'm sorry." It was David. "I held him off as long as I could. Bester on line one." "Ah... hell! I'm sorry, Delenn." "No... I understand. I... should probably go. I... thank you. The food was lovely." "Tell me that again once you've tasted some proper cooking." She made an exaggerated, false smile, and rose, her dress swirling around her legs as she left. Sighing softly, Sheridan went to the communications panel. Bester's face appeared in it. "Ah, Captain," he said. "May I congratulate you on the fastest coma recovery in medical history. And I must thank you for the introduction to Lurid Litzi's Lurex Love Nest. Most educational." "What is it, Mr. Bester? I'm not really in the mood for..." "The Resistance Government is about to launch an attack on the Minbari colony at Rokugan. It is their largest centre of population outside their homeworld itself. If it should fall, then they will be irrevocably shaken. It will be a blow they may not recover from. For whatever reason, they do not seem able to defend Rokugan adequately, so it falls to us to lend whatever... help we can. "A major supply centre is at Beta Nine. I would like you to..." "Mr. Bester, you know that I will not fire on my own people. Can't you send Captain Ben Zayn instead?" "Captain Sheridan, I was not finished. I know of your... understandable reluctance, and that is something I have always taken into account. There are no human ships at Beta Nine. There is, however, a substantial number of Drakh ships, possibly ferrying those... Keepers to Rokugan. Based on earlier Drakh activity, it is not unlikely that they intend to implant the surviving Minbari with Keepers. Destroying their ships will not only prevent this happening, it will buy the Minbari some time to get their defences in some sort of order." "And Captain Ben Zayn...?" "Is elsewhere. The Streibs have been attacking isolated Minbari colony worlds, and he is driving them back." Sheridan sighed. "I'll be leaving in a few hours. I need to recall a few personnel from the surface." "Of course, Captain. I have every confidence in you and your men. Good luck... By the way, Lurid Litzi was most entertaining. I would recommend checking her out." The image faded and Sheridan began to mutter vile imprecations under his breath. Then he began to prepare for the trip to Beta 9. * * * * * * * Bester sat back and smiled slowly. Beside him, the holographic image of G'Kar shimmered reproachfully. "He will not be best pleased when he finds out," the Narn warned. "Of course not, but it's long past time his hand was forced. I perfectly understand his desire not to open fire on his own people, but this is war, and in war, desires like that get in the way of victory. "Besides, we need to know just how updated the Babylon is these days. I have every confidence in Captain Sheridan not to let us down." * * * * * * * At Beta 9, almost a day later, a jump point formed in the stillness of space, and the Parmenion swept forward into view. Orbiting the colony, performing patrol, the EAS Babylon noticed its arrival. To be continued... From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Good Ship Babylon, Part 2 of 3 Date: Mon, 16 Feb 1998 17:28:33 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Hi people. Here's the latest from my parallel universe. The premise is that the Minbari didn't surrender at the Battle of the Line and went on to conquer and destroy Earth. The past stories are available in the archive (beginning with A Dark, Distorted Mirror) or from me on request, but please remember that there is a lot of stuff coming before this and everything is available at the archive. Feedback of all sorts is all very welcome and should be sent to the address below. There are few Spoilers as such here but I am drawing upon all elements of the B5 universe, so people who are not up to date may be inadvertently Spoiled. This particular episode contains Spoilers from the fourth season episode Lines of Communication. Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and copyright of Warner Bros. and / or jms. I am making no money out of writing this and am doing so purely for pleasure. Personal Disclaimer: Oh... there might be vaguely horrible things happening to certain characters in the not so distant future. Just so you know... Chapter Five - The Good Ship Babylon, Part 2 of 3 [At] [AC] by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk John Sheridan froze, sensing instinctively the situation in which he now found himself and his crew. There are certain things nothing, not even lies, can erase, and the instinct of a man who has fought on board a starship for over a decade is one of them. He did not even need to hear Lieutenant Guerra to know what had happened. "The Babylon," he whispered. This was supposed to be a simple mission. Cut a Resistance Government supply line, destroy the Drakh ships based here, delay the advance on Minbar by a little. Simple stuff really. And yet, it was not going quite according to plan. "No sign of any Drakh ships," said Guerra. "Just the Babylon." Bester... he knew. He had to know. "What action are they taking?" asked Corwin. At least Sheridan's second could think, even if Sheridan himself could not. Both of them had served on the Babylon for over ten years, fighting desperate holding actions to protect humanity. And now they were fighting against it. "They've recognised us," replied Guerra. "They're launching fighters and preparing their weapons. They're not quite as fast as we are. There seems to be some minor damage to some of their systems." "It's an old ship," said Corwin. But a good one. A very good ship. "Captain?" John Sheridan stirred. "How long until our jump engines cool down?" "A good fifteen minutes, sir." Sheridan swore under his breath. What had he said to Delenn so recently? 'I will not fire on my own people.' Least of all his own ship. What had Delenn said to him on numerous occasions? 'The universe puts us in places where we can do the most good.' What good could he do here? Why would the universe have put him here? The universe - or Bester? "Launch fighters," he ordered. "Ready weapons. Target weapons and engines only." "Yes, sir." Guerra began transmitting the orders. Sheridan could feel Corwin's eyes boring into his back, but he did not turn round. His gaze was fixed elsewhere... hundreds of kilometres away... towards the Babylon. His ship. * * * * * * * "And Valen called forth the Nine, and he bound them to their columns of light, and he said that they shall stand here in this place and rule from the heavens, set above the people, set apart from the people, that they may dispense justice with the wisdom of the Gods, and wisdom with the power of the Gods, and power in the name of the Gods. "And when Valen passed beyond, those who remembered him and held forth his legacy stood here, and ruled from the heavens. They waited ten years for his return, and on the tenth anniversary of his disappearance, they chose another to lead them. The first was Derranimer, the warrior, she who had stood beside Valen and fought beside Valen and loved him and borne his children. And for twenty years, she ruled in his name. And then she disappeared, passing beyond in her turn. And then came Nemain, and then Mannamann, and then others... "For a thousand years we have ruled here, in Valen's name and in our own. Warriors and priestlings all. How many workers have ruled here? How many? Two, as I am sure you know. Why only two? The answer is that Valen never intended you to rule. He intended you to serve. As the saying goes... We fight, they pray, you serve. Your presence here was always going to lead to disaster, but in respect and in memory, we permitted you to remain. "And now the cycle is returning to the beginning, as it always does. Valen will return, and reform our people as he did before. All of his prophecies are coming to pass... All! The Council has been broken, we have descended into fire and darkness. I am blessed to have been a part of this prophecy. I am blessed to be permitted to stand at the side of Sinoval. I am blessed to be permitted to prepare the way for his return. For as Nemain served and succeeded Derannimer, who served and succeeded Valen, so shall I serve and succeed Sinoval, who shall serve and succeed Valen. "And in their names, I am preparing Minbar, reforging our society, making it malleable so that he can forge it anew. I have done well, do you not think? Satai Kats?" "Yes... Satai... You have... done... well." "I have done well. You... you were never fit to hold such high position. None of you workers were. You were fit only to serve. Valen and Sinoval know this already, and have entrusted me to prepare you for your new destinies - to serve us. You see that now, do you not, Satai Kats?" "..." "Do you not, Satai Kats?" A scream. "Yes! ... Yes, Satai... Kalain." "Good. Then let us pray to Valen. *Isil'zha veni...*" More screams. * * * * * * * Smith was drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair, a nervous habit he had not been able to break, and now did without realising. "Sheridan... that is Sheridan there." "We don't know that, sir," said Lieutenant Franklin. "Our ID codes have turned up blank. That is one of the ships that appeared at the Second Line, but apart from that..." "Trust me, Lieutenant!" snapped Captain Smith. "Sheridan's there... You get a... feel for these things sometimes." A feel, indeed. Sitting in Sheridan's chair, on Sheridan's bridge, commanding Sheridan's ship... Smith had been living with Sheridan's memory for months. Perhaps this was the chance he needed to exorcise a ghost or two. "Forward batteries are fully powered up now," Franklin reported. "What about the repairs?" That last skirmish with the Minbari cruisers had caused a fair amount of damage, which was why the Babylon was sitting here at Beta 9, while the Morningstar and their allies were pressing on against the Minbari. Talk about a blessing in disguise! "Minimal damage. We're pretty much ready to go." "That'll do. Target..." Smith turned, scenting an odour so unpleasant it took all his strength of will not to gag and vomit. Others around the bridge seemed equally unhappy. Even Franklin looked almost sick. The Drakh came into view, shimmering. Smith was almost glad that he could not see it clearly. What he could see of it was enough. It held up its strange flashing ball and spoke, a hideous whisper, a sound like steel scraping across a marble headstone. "Give... us... Sheridan." These were humanity's allies? Or at least, allies of these... Shadows who had helped out at the Second Line. These... spectres of death? "Give... us... Sheridan." Smith disliked having them on board his ship, but he had little choice in the matter. An order directly from the President, no less. He was to give them every courtesy and listen to everything they told him. "Give... us... Sheridan." Smith turned to Franklin. "Order a boarding pod made ready. Target weapons, engines and enemy flyers only. Use interception fire wherever necessary." To the Drakh: "Take as many of your people as you wish. Do... as you see fit." "Good... Sheridan... will... be... ours. Trust... us." * * * * * * * "I'm not saying that... I'm just saying that, in my opinion..." "That in your opinion, Zanee was better than Zooty? No, sorry. I cannot accept that." "What do you mean? Zanee was much funnier. You remember that sketch with the three goats, the jar of honey and the Narn sword. That was hilarious." "Yeah, but zanee... zane zane... it just doesn't cut it as a serious catchphrase. Zooty, zoot zoot on the other hand..." "I prefer Zanee. He's funny, intelligent, great comic timing..." "Bald..." "I happen to like bald men." "Ugh... not me." "Rather Zanee's baldness than Zooty's hair! I mean, come on, was that hair, or a rug?" "At least Zooty knew when to quit." "Are you kidding? That last Christmas special of theirs just before he left... that was awful." "Christmas specials of everything are awful. Except for maybe... no, they were all awful." "You're telling me. I sometimes think that's the only reason we moved to Mars when I was a kid... to get away from the things." Susan Ivanova and Laurel Takashima laughed together. Ivanova pushed back her plate. "Well, I don't think basic rations ever tasted so good." "Must be my company, of course." "Oh... of course." Takashima smiled. "Glad to be of service. You looked as if you needed a laugh." "Oh, boy. Was that ever an understatement!" "How's the... uh...?" "The legs? I'm managing about twelve steps without falling over. Not quite ready to run a marathon yet, but I'm getting there." "The... eye?" "Itches. A lot. But the headaches are less frequent now. Doc tells me I'll be able to see out of this eye at least partially in a couple of weeks." "Good. You wanna talk about Reebo?" "No way." "You sure?" "Yes... don't even get me started." * * * * * * * *We... are... here...* Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally shook her head, desperate to dislodge the irritating buzzing there. It seemed to be trying to form words, but she couldn't... quite... place it. Radio interference, perhaps? It was easier to think of it as radio interference than as... anything else it might be. But then, thinking about anything other than the battle at hand was a dangerous thing at present. What with being in a battle and all. "Alpha Squadron, remember, target weapons and engines only, but be ready to defend yourselves." Despite all the training, and the numerous manoeuvres she had performed with this squadron, she still felt uneasy. These weren't her people. The ones she was fighting... those were her people. Why couldn't she simply have gone into union business like she'd always wanted? And then she was lost in the battle. The rush of being in the Starfury, of being surrounded by blackness, of feeling the sky below, above, all around. It was a wonder, and something she could never get enough of. Being forced to kill anything alive, especially her fellow human beings, most especially those she considered her friends... that was something she'd be happy never to have to do again. It was something she might not be given a chance to do again. Her eyes... were... drawn... to something zooming past her. A boarding pod... It seemed... simple enough... Their opponents probably wanted to take the Parmenion intact... but... there... was... some... thing... *We are here.* Her head snapped backwards as a burst of pain tore through her mind. She could see them, the... the things, spectre-like, wraiths... demons... things. Drakh. It was the shouted warnings over her commchannel which brought her back to the present, but as an enemy Starfury fired on her, she was too far gone to do anything but eject. Her 'Fury was torn apart, leaving her floating aimlessly in space, her mind tormented by fears of things she saw in nightmares, with a battle going on all around her. * * * * * * * Londo Mollari muttered angrily to himself. A man of his class should not have to live in such conditions! Why, this room was appalling, filthy, and expensive! Fortunately G'Kar was picking up the bill, but still... It was the principle that mattered. Londo flicked a look across the room at his companion. Lennier was asleep, or at least he seemed to be asleep. He had made a bit of a fuss about sleeping on a horizontal bed, but with some constructive piling up of bags and packs, he was now lying at something of an angle. Londo sometimes thought that his mission would be much easier if he could proceed with it alone, but still... Lennier had saved his life once or twice, and he had understandable objections about being around Delenn for too long. Besides, he might be an asset. And these days, the sight of a Minbari and a Centauri together did not excite much attention. Their journey from Kazomi 7 had been fairly long and roundabout. The Drakh invasion and the subsequent formation of the tentative alliance there had disrupted shipping to an enormous extent. Admittedly, Londo could have gone by G'Kar Airways, but he was trying to keep a low profile, after all. It had taken long enough simply to make it appear as if they had not come from Kazomi 7. That would introduce all manner of unpleasant connotations at present. They had finally made it to the minor Centauri colony world of Frallus 4. A piffling place, to be sure, but it was still the first sign of real civilisation which Londo had seen in almost a year. And much to his surprise, this piffling place was packed to the rafters with all manner of races. A good number of them were Minbari, refugees fleeing the human attacks on their worlds, not to mention several League races. And this was also the first place where Londo had been able to get hold of a personal communicator, to replace the one that had been broken during the invasion of Kazomi 7. That communicator had cost him a small fortune, but had been worth every penny. This one was nowhere near as fancy, but it would have to do. His mission would have been difficult enough at the best of times. Former Prime Minister Malachi was supposed to be dead, having apparently committed suicide on the death of Emperor Turhan several years ago. The technomages seemed convinced that he was alive, and if they said something was true, then normally it was, although perhaps not quite in the way anyone might expect. On the other hand, the key question was where Malachi could be. Faking one's death was not exactly unheard of among the Centauri nobility - Londo himself was technically dead at the moment - but he had not expected it of Malachi. The purpose of it was... well, the Great Maker alone knew. But these questions would have to be answered later. The first thing was to find him, and then to use his intelligence and skill to bring down Elrisia, and Cartagia and Refa and all the rest of those accursed nobles who were bringing chaos to Centauri Prime. Londo had a few allies earmarked at the back of his mind, but he needed Malachi, and he needed to know where to look, and for that, he needed the services of a certain... person, with whom he had been out of contact for quite some time. A certain person about whom Mr. Lennier knew nothing and whom he did not need to know about. The communicator beeped suddenly and Londo started, looking round to see if Lennier had awoken. Mercifully, he hadn't. It had taken longer to find the signal than he had expected. He silently cursed the communi- cator. Worthless colony-made rubbish! "Ah, Mr. Morden," he said, as the human's face appeared in the device. "It has been quite a while." "Minister Mollari," Morden said smiling. "I had been getting worried. I'd heard you were on Kazomi Seven." "I was... and a pretty spectacle that was, too." "Yes. I'm sure you've had a very busy few months. You're not the only one as it turns out. You know how it is. Work, work, work. Still, always a pleasure to hear from you. What can I do for you?" "Prime Minister Malachi. Have you heard of him?" "Of course. I've travelled extensively throughout your homeworld. A beautiful place, isn't it? I'd heard he was dead..." "Apparently no more so than I. I have it on the very best authority that he is still alive. I would like to know where I could find him, if that is possible." "I'm sure I can arrange that. I'll get my associates on to it straight away, and call you back when I learn anything. Was there anything else?" "No, that will be all, thank you." Londo preferred to speak to Morden as little as he could. There was something about the human... "Of course. My pleasure to serve, as always. By the way, how was Lady Morella's prophecy?" "What?" "Her last prophecy. I gave you the data crystal with the recording, you remember?" "Great Maker, yes! That was... before I left. Great Maker, that was months ago. I had quite forgotten..." "I'd have a look at it, if I were you. It sounded important. Anyway, good luck, Minister. I hope to have some news for you soon." The image went blank. Londo sat back. Lady Morella's last prophecy... Great Maker! She had been murdered on the night she had sent for Londo. A murder for which Mr. Morden had been - and still was - the chief suspect. Apparently she had experienced a vision before her death. A prophecy she had recorded and given to Morden. Londo remembered putting it in his coat pocket... moving it to a pack... Had it been lost on Kazomi 7? No... it had been with... Londo swore under his breath, looking at Lennier. The Minbari was sleeping on it. Ah, Great Maker! Why are these things sent to try us? * * * * * * * Ko'Dath had survived a difficult childhood on the streets of G'Khamazad during the dying days of the Centauri Occupation. She had been a soldier, and after that a politician, before being drafted into G'Kar's little army and finding herself appointed as Chief of Security aboard a human space- ship. She had fought many foes, Narn and alien, but these... this time she had to force herself onwards, force herself to wield her katok, force herself not to fall to the ground, huddle into a ball and weep for the safety of her pouch. G'Dan had fought in the first Centauri War, and served as a scout in the Second. He had stood beside Warleader G'Sten at all three Battles of Ragesh 3. He had been one of the first to cross the breach into the retaken capital city at Zok. He had been captured and tortured by Streibs, and rescued by Commander Corwin. He had been a warrior for most of his life, and yet he had to force himself to fight on, force himself not to flee like a craven Centauri, force himself to continue to battle. The Drakh boarding pod had evaded all efforts to shoot it down with an almost lyrical grace. Its inhabitants had poured on board the Parmenion in apparently infinite numbers, and had run directly into the path of the Security force - the infamous Narn Bat Squad. And the force which had stood against Centauri, Minbari, humans... was falling back, stricken by an almost primaeval terror. None of them knew for certain - but a few guessed - that a thousand years ago, when the Great Darkness had fallen on Narn, the Shadows had brought with them their allies, their minions... and the Drakh had walked in the nightmares of the Narn. Where they would walk once more. Slowly, a step at a time, the Narns fell backwards. Some lay bleeding, some fled, some still fought, but all took slow steps back as the Drakh advanced, one step at a time, towards the bridge, and Captain Sheridan. * * * * * * * The universe puts us in places where we may do the most good... Pathetic! What are you, Kozorr? A warrior or a priestling? A warrior afraid even to approach this most sacred Hall... the Hall you have every right to enter at will! It was a chance he doubted he would have again for a very long time. Kalain had left the Hall of the Grey Council, induced to leave by Deeron, on some pretext. It meant that Kats was now alone in there. She could not leave - even if she had the strength to leave, the warrior acolytes stood outside the Hall - but she was in there... alone. Kozorr was reluctant to contemplate blasphemy. Kalain was his superior, his leader, a fellow warrior if nothing else. And yet... and yet... He was afraid that Kalain was insane. Why else would he do nothing while the Earthers tore at the limbs of the Federation? Why else would he refuse to study reports of the battles? Why else would he do nothing but stand in this Hall, from whence nothing but laughter and screams issued? Kozorr knew that something was wrong, very wrong, with Kalain, and yet he could not bring himself to admit it. He knew that stepping into the darkness of the Hall to do what he now planned would seal his fate, but someone had to do it. He stepped over the threshold. Kalain had been entitled to do what he had done to the workers - no sane Minbari would doubt that. Their leader had massacred the Satai, destroy- ing the Grey Council. Only two of the Nine had survived - Kalain and Sinoval. Executing the murderer Hedronn, purging the caste, purifying them... that was only natural. But this sick torture of Kats... the grotesque mockery of her presence on the Council... while Kalain spoke of forgiveness, he acted in cruelty. Kats had spent more time with him than any one. If anyone could know what had happened to cause this change in Kalain, she would. He stifled a gasp as he saw her, the sole point of light in the dark Hall. Hers was the only column lit; hers was the only light. She was lying on the floor, slumped, her head down, still, not moving. With a muttered prayer to Valen, Kozorr ran forward. *Valen let her not be dead. Valen let her not be dead.* She was not. Slowly, she turned at the sound of his footsteps, raising her head, revealing haunted eyes. There was no mark on her face that Kozorr could see - no sign of physical torture - but of mental, spiritual pain... her eyes spoke volumes. She staggered to her feet, awkwardly, uneasily. "In Valen's Name... Satai Kozorr," she rasped. "In Valen's Name, Satai Kats," he replied uncomfortably. Nothing about this encouraged him. "You are... well, I trust?" "I am a heretic in the eyes of Valen and of Sinoval," she said, speaking the words by rote, but with a hint of defiance there. Kozorr was certain he could detect traces of sarcasm, even of pride. For a moment, despite the meaning of her words, she could have been a warrior. "I am a murderer, and a conspirator against the Light which Valen has created here. I was an ally of the Shadow Rising. Satai Kalain is purging me, testing me in the fires of purity. I thank him for his mercy and his work, in the hope that I may one day be free of the darkness within me." Kozorr looked at her in horror. During her speech, she had... slipped, from arrogant sarcasm and mockery, to pathetic pleading. "Yes, Satai Kozorr, I am well. My heart rejoices that I may yet be able to gain redemption for my heresies." No sarcasm there. Honest, silent screaming. "Kalain," he said, saying the name as softly as he could. He was finding he even disliked speaking the name these days. "What is he doing to you in here?" "He is purifying me, purging me of the sins and darkness so that..." "Valen's Name, stop it!" he hissed. "The truth, Satai Kats. Tell me the truth about what he is doing to you." "The truth, Satai Kozorr?" she said, speaking in her own voice for once, not with words put into her mouth by others. A voice filled with a pride almost broken by an onslaught of torment. "You do not wish to hear the truth." She coughed once, harshly. "I do. I fear for Kalain... I fear for what has been done to him, and for what he has done to others." "Little room for fear. I am grateful... we are grateful that he has left any of my caste alive. Where were your fears when he killed Hedronn at Tuzanor? Yes, Satai Kozorr. I saw you there. Where were your fears then?" "Hedronn killed the Grey Council," came the angry reply. "The original sin was his, not ours. Kalain was right to respond as he did." Kats coughed again. "Your mouth says the words, but your heart does not believe, warrior. Perhaps there is hope for your caste yet, and for ours with it." "I don't care about the future of your caste," Kozorr lied. "I want the truth. What is Kalain doing to you in here?" "He is breaking me, of course. He is... tearing down everything that makes me what I am. He is... re-moulding me to suit his desires. He is making me into his image..." She suddenly started, and gasped softly, lowering her head. "He is coming. Valen's Name, he is coming!" There was no pride now, no bitter sarcasm, simply pure, undisguised terror. "Help me, please! Save me from him! You're a warrior, he'll listen to you. Please!" Kozorr knew Kalain was approaching mere moments after Kats spoke. It was the smell, an acrid, bitter odour of death and decay. He turned as Kalain hobbled into view, limping heavily. His beard was now entirely grey, and his bone crest was... Valen's Name... it was beginning to crack. Already some of the sharper spikes had fallen away. When had that happened? His crest had been normal only a few days ago. Valen's Name, what was happening to him? "Satai Kozorr," Kalain rasped, and even his voice was foul and malignant. A far cry from the strong, vibrant warrior he had always been. "It is good to see you here in this holy place." "Yes, Satai," Kozorr replied. "I came here... to... replenish my soul. I can feel Valen's presence here. It is strong." He could practically feel Kats' pleading eyes boring into his back. "It is, is it not? One day... soon now... he will return here. He will walk among us as he did a thousand years ago, and he will lead us to a greater victory now than he did then. It will be a great day, Satai Kozorr, when he returns." "I know, Satai. I am honoured to be permitted even a minor role in such an event." "Of course, for some it will be a difficult time," Kalain glanced at Kats, who seemed to shrink away from his gaze. "But we must have faith. There will be trying days before the great return. We will be plagued by traitors and heretics, by outcasts and friends of the Enemy. Still, there is always hope for redemption. Is that not so, Satai Kats?" "Yes, Satai Kalain. That is... so." "Do you wish to remain here longer? Sometimes Valen himself appears to me in this place." "I am afraid I may not, Satai. I have duties to perform, and I must not interrupt you in the performance of yours. Valen walk with you, Satai." "He does, Satai Kozorr. He does." Kozorr did not look back as he walked from the Hall. He did not need to look to feel Kats' eyes crying betrayal at him. When she began to scream, he quickened his pace. * * * * * * * "Hull integrity stable," reported Guerra. "They're just targeting weapons, and engines as well." "Maybe they don't like this any more than we do," muttered Corwin, looking around the bridge. None of the crew seemed happy about fighting their own people. And he was certain that more than once he was the target of suspicious looks from some of the techs. Everyone knew that he and the Captain had served on the Babylon. Accusations were not exactly flying, but the Captain's odd lethargy was... not normal. "How long until the jump engines are back on line?" barked the Captain suddenly. "It's going to be a good ten minutes or so," replied Guerra. "That area of the ship has taken a bit of a battering. Engineering are doing all they can, but..." "Then get them to work harder. This battle's not doing anyone any good. What's the state of the fighting?" "All over the place. Ko'Dath's doing what she can, but..." Corwin suddenly looked up. He could... feel something. The Captain, too... and most of the others. Before his eyes, slowly, the door to the bridge exploded. Entering... there came the faces of death. Two, three, four... more... The Captain rose to his feet, slowly, and turned to face them. He said nothing. He did not need to. Both Corwin and he knew Drakh when they saw them. There was a still silence... To be continued... From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Good Ship Babylon, Part 3 Date: Thu, 19 Feb 1998 16:39:41 +0000 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Hi people, here's the latest in my parallel universe saga where the Minbari did not surrender at the Battle of the Line and went on to conquer Earth. Previous stories should be available in the archive. Feedback is always very welcome - comments, criticisms, mindless flattery and the odd death threat - and should be sent to the address below. While there are generally no express Spoilers as such in my stories, this particular one does contain Spoilers from Lines of Communication. Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money out of writing this and am doing so purely for pleasure. Personal Disclaimer: Ah... well. You should know the score by now. You never know, I might be nice to the characters for a while... Chapter Five - The Good Ship Babylon, Part 3 of 3. [AT] by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk Darkness... an absence of light, a force reaching out from dead worlds at the Rim, an essence of the spirit, an all-consuming essence which feeds as it moves, corrupting and spreading... Darkness is found in many forms, small and large. In the last great bastion of humanity, Proxima 3, darkness is found in more places and in more ways than might be believed possible elsewhere. Darkness, both in the absence of light and in the corrupt soul of one person. One among many corrupted. Ronald Quantrell was a nonentity. A former politician of some talent and promise, he became one of many consumed by the darkness of the Minbari destruction of Earth. Unable to live with the aftermath, he had fallen, and now occupied a minor position in the Ministry of Information, little more than a flunky, forever tormented by nightmare images just beyond the horizon. His sleep was restless, as it usually was, but soon he would sleep the peaceful sleep of the dead. The knife flashed once, and he knew no more. Darkness... the soul of one person. One among many. Donne looked down at the dying body and smiled, removing her gloves, not caring about the risk of detection. She too had been consumed by the destruction of Earth, but her particular darkness had been present long before. A gifted and powerful telepath, she had been involved in oper- ations which few people knew about, and when those who were not meant to know learned about them, she was assigned to make sure they did not spread that information. She had grown to like killing, had grown to like touching the minds of the dying. There was no Psi Corps any longer, only Bester, to whom she paid lip service, but he was countless light years away. There was only Clark, and Welles and others, whom she ignored. Nothings, all of them. Quantrell was dying, and as Donne mixed her mind in with his, she sighed softly. Such... purest... bliss... Darkness... * * * * * * * Elsewhere darkness thrived too, and nowhere more so than in the souls of those who might have been noble, great, who might have fought and served with distinction on either side, and who now found themselves on the wrong side. Captain Dexter Smith, EAS Babylon, found himself somewhat uncomfortably occupying a position which rightfully belonged to another. The Babylon was Captain Sheridan's ship - always had been, and always would be. Perhaps when Sheridan was captured and brought to Proxima, then the ghost would be exorcised. "Any word from the Drakh yet?" he barked. The alternatives here were clear. Kill Sheridan by destroying the enemy vessel, or capture him, using the Drakh to board it. Smith was not at heart a kind man, but even he was entertaining thoughts that destroying Sheridan's ship might be better than letting the Drakh take him. "Not yet, sir," replied Lieutenant Stoner. Smith looked at her. There was something about her that had been... nagging at him for some time, but he was damned if he could place it. He'd been meaning to check her record for a while, but something had always come up to prevent him. Still, rather her than Franklin. Franklin had served here with Sheridan, and his loyalties might be a little... suspect. "Engines taking damage, sir," she said. There had been a discharge in one of the reactors earlier. Not a breach, fortunately, but Medlab was being overrun. Franklin had gone down to see what he could do. He'd trained as a doctor originally. "What about Sheridan's ship?" "Still largely in working order," she replied. "Their jump engines are down, but apart from that..." Smith looked at her, wishing he could identify what it was about her. "Bring Starfury Squadron Gamma around. Maybe they can..." "Yes, sir," she said, issuing the signal before he had finished. And there it was... A sublime revelation, what it was about Lieutenant Stoner - if that was her real name - that was bothering him. One word: Telepath! * * * * * * * Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally fought the urge to throw up. She didn't have anything left to throw up, of course, but still... Early stages of radiation poisoning, apparently, but the doctors here were busy with other patients and had been able to do little more than administer some drugs and slap a few regen packs on her burns. She... remembered the battle. She remembered being distracted, and the feeling... the Drakh were boarding. She had lost concentration for a moment, and had only just managed to eject in time to save her life. The Parmenion's automatic systems had managed to bring her aboard... she thought... There was a buzzing noise at the back of her skull, almost a whispering. She could see the skull- faces of the Drakh floating before her. *We... are... coming...* Connally staggered up from her bunk. She could feel them, hear them... almost taste them. *We... are... coming...* She knew it as soon as one of them came into view, reaching out a long, slender arm towards her. She could sense the medical staff staggering away, along with those patients who were able to move. *You... will... be...* She did not plan on giving it time to finish. Instinctively, somehow knowing what to do, she delved into the pocket of her flight jacket and pulled out a ball. It changed colour from time to time, but now it was blue, a deep, electric blue. She held it in front of her, letting it soothe her. The Drakh before her looked at it and then let out a cry somewhere between a scream and a plea for help. Then it scurried away. Then, as if the ball were pulling her, Connally set off after it, her wounds and pain forgotten. This was important. *... Drakh...* * * * * * * * *The enemy is not the enemy we think we see. Evil has many faces, and the faces do not always agree, and seldom act as one. Sometimes the evil even fights amongst itself, but does that make it any less evil? Trust nothing. Only that way will you survive. The evil... the greatest evil comes not from the stars, not from Darkness, but from the heart, and from the soul. *This I foresee. It is neither pleasant nor welcome, but the future reveals itself only reluctantly, and only to a chosen few, and never without reason. *Our people hang suspended over a precipice. One person... one word can send us toppling over, or pull us back. Our doom is upon us, but it may yet be averted. *There are three things I see; three things which may yet save or damn us.= History has changed, drifting somehow. Not all is as it should be, but this I see... this the future has permitted me to see. *First, the paths to the summit are paved with daggers. The step from second to first is a short one, but many have fallen in its taking. To save our people, this step must be taken, not by the one who wishes to climb, but by the one who fears to fall. Remember this. A short step, but one harder than can be imagined. *Second, there is an eye which cannot see, but there is also a blind eye which can see. In the realm of the blind, he with one eye shall rule. To save our realm, the blind who sees must give up sight. Remember this. Sight without seeing is our greatest curse. *Third, and finally... if these first two cannot save us, this one will, but the cost... the cost will be so great as to make the salvation almost worthless. We all have our fears. Sometimes the conquering of our fears is what brings us victory. Other times, our fears must be surrendered to... no matter what the cost. Remember this. That which brings us victory will not always bring us salvation.* Londo Mollari sat back. This was the fourth time he had listened to the recording, and it made him more and more uncomfortable each time. The last prophecy of Lady Morella, apparently recorded mere hours before she had sent for him, and not long before her brutal murder. Lennier was absent, arranging transport to their next destination, and Londo was glad of it. He had thought about letting him see this - the Minbari had their own way with prophecy, after all - but he had decided against it. Not only would it inevitably entail revealing his association with Mr. Morden, it would also reveal certain... cracks in his society. Lady Morella had spoken correctly when she said that they were all standing at the edge of a precipice. He wondered how long it would be until Lennier returned. Long enough, probably. He inserted the data crystal back into the recorder. *The enemy is not the enemy we think we see. Evil has many faces, and the faces do not always agree, and seldom act as one...* * * * * * * * A moment... frozen. John Sheridan stared across the bridge at the monstrous aliens opposite. He could see that several of his bridge crew had backed away, seeking to escape from the... almost primaeval horror generated by these things. Sheridan knew how they felt. He felt the same, and yet he did not move. Hatred kept him fixed. He had heard about what the Drakh had done to Kazomi 7. He had even seen some of the consequences of that attack. He had heard what they had done on Beta Durani. The sight of these... things as humanity's new allies. It sickened him. And so he could not move. "Sheridan..." one of them hissed. The voice was... chilling. Absolutely terrifying. And yet still he didn't move. His PPG was in his holster, but he did not reach for it. He simply sat, staring at the monsters opposite him. One of the technicians tried to scramble away, screaming at last, finally giving way to the fear. Casually, in a motion that seemed... jarring, one of the Drakh raised its arm. A small blue ball flashed for a minute, there was a burst of what looked like lightning, and the technician was down, the stench of smoking flesh hanging in the air. "Sheridan... come... or die..." Slowly, almost without knowing what he was doing, he rose to his feet, his hand sliding down towards his weapon, as if he had only just remembered it was there. *I will not open fire on my own people,* he had said, and yet these were not his own people. These seemed just as bad as the Shadows. Worse, maybe. The four Drakh began drifting forwards, around the circuit of the bridge, towards him. Technicians scattered away, scrambling from the monsters of their nightmares. Even Corwin staggered back a little, fear on his face. The Drakh ignored them, their intention set. A figure appeared silhouetted in the frame of the destroyed door. Not a Drakh - it was human - but for a brief moment, it almost looked like one... One of the Drakh turned, spinning around with a grace which belied its bulky and grotesque form. Sheridan thought he caught what might have been a look of concern on its face... There was a burst of light and another flash of lightning. The Drakh which had turned fell, its body disintegrating away, emitting a horrific, acidic odour which almost burned Sheridan's nose. He ignored it, swiftly drawing his PPG and opening fire. The leading Drakh staggered back, seemingly unaffected. Sheridan kept up the barrage, raining shot after shot on the thing. With each strike, it staggered backwards. Sheridan's gaze was fixed on the creature almost paralysed under his onslaught of fire, but he was seeing something else. Delenn's face, the sight of the dying on Kazomi 7, the image of Minbari suffering and dying at the hands of these things, the hope and the future of humanity. The Drakh finally fell, its body decomposing like the other. Sheridan glanced around the bridge, only to see everyone looking at him. The other two Drakh were dead. Corwin's own PPG was drawn and he was resting back against the wall of the bridge. Standing in the doorway, holding one of the same blue balls used by the Drakh, was Flight-lieutenant Connally. She looked... exhausted. "I don't know what happened," she was saying. "It... just... seemed to flow through me. It... just..." Sheridan shook his head. Time for mysteries later. "How many more of those things on board?" he barked, looking at the patches of bile and acid which were all that remained of the four... creatures. "None, sir," replied Guerra. He had not left his post, although he still looked shaken. "Ko'Dath managed to manouevre the others into an airlock, and she spaced them. Those four must have got away from her." "Hah. I think they got the better end of the deal. I'd rather be spaced than have Ko'Dath mad at me. What's the status?" "Jump engines back on line at last. Hull integrity more or less stable. Some of the weapons are still giving trouble." "And the Babylon?" "Engines down. Most of the weapons too. I think they were relying on the Drakh to win this one." "Good. Open a jump gate. Get us out of here." "But... Captain?" It was Major Krantz, the third in command. Bester's man through and through. "I won't destroy her. I will not kill my own people." "Mr. Bester's orders..." "Said nothing about destroying my own ship, Major. And believe me, I'll have words with Bester about this later. For now, pull in the Starfuries and get us out of here, Mr. Guerra." "Yes, sir." Sheridan sat down in his chair and tried to ignore the acidic stench of the slain Drakh. He swivelled round to look at Connally, but she was gone. Oh well... time to question her later. Whatever her blue ball had done, it seemed to work just as well against the Drakh as it had for them.= Time to question her later. For now, he just wanted to get as far away from here as he could. And deal with Bester later. Oh yes, there'd be words there later. Definitely. * * * * * * * "They've gone, sir." Smith looked across at Stoner, hardly able to credit it. They were more or less helpless. Surely Sheridan could have followed up! "Get the auto-repair crews to work," he ordered. "Engines and weapons top priority. We don't want to be a sitting target if they return. Get a communications channel open. I'll have to report this to General Ryan and the President. General Ryan and the Morningstar might run into an ambush on their way." "Yes, sir," she said. Smith was not looking forward to his conversation with the President, but his mind was already focussed further than that. Was it just a coinci- dence that Sheridan had turned up here, at this precise moment? Why had he pulled back? Yet another failure to exorcise the ghost Smith felt he would always be living under. *One day, Sheridan. One day, this'll be over.* He glanced across at Lieutenant Stoner, wondering how he could have failed to see it before. Smith's mother had been a telepath, and while Smith himself possessed no psi talent, he had grown up around these people. Their movements, their body language... Now that he knew, he could not believe he had not noticed it before. *And yes, one day soon, I'll have to figure out what your secret is. One day soon.* * * * * * * * "No, I will not wait, Mr. Garibaldi! Get me Bester now!" Sheridan was not in a good mood, far from it. On the journey from Beta 9 back to Kazomi 7 he had been simmering, and now he had finally exploded. He wasn't sure if it was the stains where the Drakh had died, or the reports on the numbers lost from the Narn Bat Squad, or the return to the place that the Drakh had so violated, but now he was in a rare fury. It was just as well he was more or less permanently posted to Kazomi 7 these days, otherwise he would have gone straight to Sanctuary and had Bester torn into little pieces. Finally, Bester's face appeared on the commscreen. "Ah, Captain," he said smiling. "I apologise for the delay, I was in a meeting. The mission debriefing could have waited until..." "You knew the Babylon was going to be there." "I'm sorry." "At Beta Nine. No Drakh ships. No supply centre. Just the Babylon. A human ship. My human ship! You knew it was going to be there!" "Captain Sheridan, I think you are overestimating my intelligence..." "No, I'm not. Why did you send me? You could have sent Ben Zayn. You know that my place is patrolling the Kazomi 7 region at the moment, and Ben Zayn handles whatever you're doing with the war. The only reason you could have had for sending me is because you knew the Babylon was going to be there. I don't appreciate being used, Mr. Bester, not even by you." "Captain, I appreciate your concern about firing on your own people. I even share it. Really I do... but the fact remains that there is a war. A dark and terrible war which is, according to G'Kar, only a precursor of something much worse to come. Now any victory we can achieve now, is one step closer to surviving the darker war that is to come. I intend not only to survive this war, but to thrive in it. And to do that, I need all the tools at my disposal to be ready for anything. "This is war, Captain! You will fight whom I tell you to fight, and kill whom I tell you to kill. Do you understand me?" "Perfectly. Just in this new spirit of understanding... if you do anything like that to me again, I'll string you up and throw you out the nearest airlock. Do you understand me?" "You're looking tense, Captain. I'd recommend a rest, or perhaps Lurid Litzi? Remain berthed at Kazomi Seven, and continue your patrol duties there. For the time being. Sanctuary out." Sheridan sat back, swearing. He was tense, and he shouldn't let a little jerk like Bester get to him. He knew that what Bester said was right, but... the Babylon was his ship, his crew... To see it co-opted for... this... to see it allied with things like the Drakh, to see it used in the way it was... to hire to fire on her... He rose to his feet and walked down to Engineering, to see how the repairs were doing. * * * * * * * Bester sat back, holding his good hand underneath his chin. "You heard?" "I heard," replied Ari Ben Zayn. He was seldom in a good mood at the best of times, but his current scowling expression, emphasised by his long, jagged scar, made him look even angrier than usual. "I always said bringing him in was a mistake. You should have left him at Proxima." "He landed in my lap mere days after the Parmenion was completed. The timing fits him like a glove. Besides, my... partner approves of him." Ben Zayn snorted. "And you know what I think of him." "For the moment, he's a useful asset. Both of them are. G'Kar has resources I can't even begin to contemplate. For now, we need both him and Sheridan. Later... well, that's another matter entirely." "If you say so." He did not look convinced. "Oh, I do. I do." * * * * * * * Delenn sat back, smiling softly. The Brakiri girl who had been in a coma for weeks had recovered sufficiently to start walking today. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. For the first time since the invasion, she was beginning to feel hope for the future of those in her care. Almost enough to make her forget her pain. Truly, this human body took some getting used to. She was simply thankful she had friends, and a purpose here. There were footsteps beside her. She did not look round. She knew who it was. "Are you... doing anything?" he asked. "Just resting, thinking... wondering," she replied. She did not ask how his mission had gone. She sensed that he did not want to talk about it. "Mind if I join you?" She smiled. "Please do." John sat down beside her. Tentatively, hesitantly, he reached out and put his arm around her. Still smiling, she settled back into the circle of his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. There was a peaceful, contented silence, while all around them the rest of the galaxy moved on. A moment's peace was all either of them could ask for, and all they were ever likely to receive. * * * * * * * *One... of... us... You will be... one... of... us...* Neeoma Connally tossed and turned in a restless, fitful sleep. She was still officially on sick leave, recovering from burns, radiation poisoning and stress. Her Drakh crystal - she was still thinking of it as a crystal, despite the lack of resemblance - was still with her, but only for the present. The Captain had spoken of getting it sent to Sanctuary for Dr. Kirkish to look at. She was the only one likely to have any knowledge of what the object might be. Connally did not know what it was, only that it spoke to her in her dreams, and that she was half-excited, half-terrified of it. *One... of... us... You will be... one... of... us...* She fell into an uneasy sleep. * * * * * * * And in the dark infinity of space, humanity's makeshift fleet sailed on. Surrounded by Drakh allies, they moved, taking back their fears and their glories, one world at a time. One step closer to Minbar each day. One step closer. Next: "Reflection, Surprise, Terror - for the Future" (2 parts). Kazomi 7 is greeted by the arrival of another alien ship, but this is no repeat of the Drakh invasion. This is worse. A Vorlon has arrived, bringing with him an Inquisitor. Sheridan and Delenn have both stepped too far into the Darkness and it is the task of the Inquisitor to bring them back to the Light, or even to kill them if he feels they are not worthy. But not even the Vorlons are immune from factionism, and hidden agendas abound. Will the love of John and Delenn enable them to endure their worst nightmares, and will they survive to face the next great test, as the galaxy is engulfed by flames...? And elsewhere, Sinoval's bleak sojourn on Cathedral is interrupted by a most strange guest, the mysterious Mr. Morden, but what use does a human have for the Soul Hunters, and just who are Mr. Morden's =91associates'?