Gareth D. Williams
A Dark, Distorted Mirror.
Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain
Prologue : The World Standing Still.
For one brief moment in time the war halts, and the galaxy hangs with bated breath, waiting for events happening outside its consciousness. Sinoval receives a message of grave import, Londo meets a most unexpected guest, the Shadows come to Sanctuary.... and at the edge of space, the Blessed Delenn arrives at Z'ha'dum to meet her destiny.
Conversation between Emperor Londo Mollari and his Lady Consort Timov, dated, by the Earth calendar, December 31st 2260.
He had been dreaming, but he could not remember what he had been dreaming about. He was fairly certain Delenn had been there somehow — she had always been in his dreams since his.... injuries. Or had they been real, and not dreams?
Nothing had seemed real since Epsilon 3. He had seen and heard the strangest things. He had even dreamed his father had come to him, he was working for the Shadows and....
John Sheridan stopped that thought dead and sat up, the blanket falling from his body. He lifted his hand and looked at it with a slow and childlike wonder. He could move. He could really move again. He stretched and twitched his fingers. It was incredible how such a.... mundane gesture could bring such joy.
For the first time in months, John Sheridan was truly awake. The dreaming was over.
He rose from the bed, and picked up a robe by its side. He realised Delenn must have laid it out for him, and he smiled, wondering where she was. Maybe something important had happened. He wasn't really sure what the state of things was in the galaxy these days. He had been.... incoherent for a long time.
He looked in the next room, puzzled to see no sign of her. Maybe she had been called away. Important Alliance business perhaps. 'Delenn?' he said softly, looking around.
There was a beeping noise from the commscreen at the far end of the room, and he moved towards it. The computer voice began to speak. 'Voice print recognised. There is a delayed-time message for John Sheridan from Delenn. Begin message.'
A great light filled his mind, and all that was not clear suddenly became so. 'No,' he said. 'Do not play message.'
'Message halted.'
The personal chambers of Delenn, the leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, were generally considered sacrosanct. There were cleaners and servants who occasionally came in to see to matters, but they had been given instructions not to come this morning, instructions given by Delenn shortly before she had gone to what would undoubtedly be her death.
As a result, there was no one there to see John Sheridan's eyes glow with a bright, burning, golden light. There was no one to hear the voice that was not his come from his mouth, as he gave an instruction of his own.
'Delete message.'
'Message deleted.'
This done, he nodded once, satisfied, and the golden glow faded from his eyes. He went to find his clothes and to get dressed. He had been away for a long time, and there was a great deal to do. There was a war to fight.
The war was not over, but it had at least paused. Centauri Prime was safe. The sounds of revelry filled the Court, a celebration the Emperor had not dared to cancel. There had been little enough cause for joy this past year: from Lord Valo's attack on the Court, to the burnings and madness that had consumed Camulodo, to the ever- present threat of the Narn attacks. Let the Court enjoy their moment of victory; there were very few who knew just how high the cost of that victory had been.
The Emperor, Londo Mollari, did not know. He might suspect, but he did not know. He had been told that which was necessary and no more. The Narn fleet had been driven away, beaten back, and they were currently retreating to their former staging point. Warleader G'Sten was in all likelihood still alive. Centauri casualties had been.... nonexistent.
The truth was a dangerous thing at the best of times, especially in an environment as perilous as the Court. The Emperor's loyal friend, devoted servant and Lord-General knew that all too well. Better by far that Londo not know the cost of this victory, or how it had been bought.
Lord-General Marrago had seen too much death in this war, just as he had in the last one. He and G'Sten had been dancing around each other for what seemed like all their lives. Marrago had the greatest respect for G'Sten, and he even envied the Narn a little. The Kha'Ri seemed to have given him the power to prosecute this war entirely as he wished. If only he himself had been given the same power last year, this.... new alliance would not have been necessary.
Quadrant 37 had been lost, battles had been lost, soldiers had been killed.... and all because of the complex and deadly dance the Court called the 'Great Game'. Marrago did not know whether Prime Minister Malachi or Prince Cartagia had been entirely responsible. Each had, for his own reasons, honourable and base, wished to see the war go badly, and each was now dead. Their deaths had only given weight to the fictions that had surrounded their lives.
The truth was too painful, too painful by far. Let it be borne by those with the strength to bear it, and let the weak enjoy the victories bought by sacrifice.
Marrago was sitting alone in his office, pondering the reports from the front. It was time to begin to strike back. The Centarum had been buoyed up by the ease of this victory, and they were making grandiose claims about marching all the way to Narn and blowing it apart. Fools and braggarts, the lot of them. This would not be an easy war, not unless he completed the deal he had begun. One battle.... one victory, that could be paid for. But the entire war....
One of the first objectives would have to be the Gorash system. It had contained the Republic's major shipping yards, resource deployments and supply lines. Civil unrest had paralysed the system enough for the Narns to take it. It would have to be retaken, and that would not be easy....
His mind was still filled with thoughts of strategy, deployments and tactics when the Guards-Captain of the Court came to see him.
'Lord-General, there is something which must be brought to your immediate attention.'
'Yes. Go ahead.' Marrago liked the man. Good, decent, loyal, honest. The ideal soldier. And so naturally the Court did not recognise his talents and had kept him in limbo for years.
'It is the prisoner. The special prisoner.... He has escaped.'
Marrago sighed and closed his eyes. That was not a surprise, but it was annoying nonetheless. Mr. Morden was a man with many and powerful associates. He was too dangerous to be permitted the free rein of the Republic Londo had.... unwisely been giving him.
