A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain

Smith turned to look at Delenn. Her face was so.... calm. He saw a gobbet of spittle on her cheek, and anger flared within him. Limping heavily, he managed to move over to her side and knelt down, wincing. Gently, he reached out and wiped the spittle from her face.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm....'

Her eyes opened.

* * *

There was no breath, no sound, no thought. Nothing disturbed the silent, still power of the tableau. Sinoval had not seen this in his vision, but then the whole series of events had run contrary to what he had seen.

So he was forced to.... improvise.

'You can kill me easily enough,' he observed, his dark eyes peering directly up at Tirivail.

'Minbari do not kill Minbari,' she said, an automatic reflex.

'That is a priestling concept. We did kill each other. In the old days it was all we ever did, a test of courage and skill. That was all our lives were. In the days before Valen. The days, no doubt, Sonovar is trying to restore.'

'I am a warrior. I serve my lord.'

'And if your lord is wrong?'

'That is not for me to say.'

'It was for Sonovar. I was his lord, and he betrayed me. He thought I was wrong.'

'You betrayed us! You were one of us, a warrior, and you made alliances with the enemy, with the Shagh Toth. You abandoned Minbar, you....'

'I followed the path I set for myself, nothing more. I was wrong, Tirivail daughter of Takier, and I admit that. But the past cannot be altered. It simply is. We guide the future.'

'Lord Sonovar said....' She paused.

'What did he say?'

'A great many things,' she whispered, the words hollow. 'He said a great many things.'

'Where is Kozorr?'

'Dead,' she whispered. 'Or dying. I.... I killed him. He would rather I killed him than his worker. I don't.... what sort of warrior is he? What sort of warrior would give his life to save a worker?'

'You don't understand.'

'No. No, of course I don't. How can I?'

'Well? Are you going to kill me?'

She stepped back. 'No,' she said bitterly, replacing her pike by her side. 'I don't know what my future demands of me, but I will not kill my own people.'

Sinoval smiled and rose slowly to his feet. 'You have chosen well.' He paused. 'Do you know.... I had a vision, a year ago. I saw myself here, in this place, surrounded by nine of my enemies. I knew I would probably die here.... but someone else told me I would not. I have another destiny.'

'But still you came.'

'Yes. You see.... I like to clean up my own messes. Are you going to return to Sonovar?'

'He is my lord. I have to obey him.'

'When you do, tell him this from me. If he is willing to talk, then I am ready to listen. Minbari should not be fighting Minbari.'

'And that is why you came here?'

'No, at least not wholly. I hoped Sonovar would be here, and we could.... settle things. As it is, the resolution will have to wait. But remember to tell him. I am willing to listen.'

'I will do so.'

'Then all is not lost. Go, daughter of Takier, take your companions and leave.' So saying, he picked up Stormbringer and departed from the place of his death.

* * *

'What the hell is happening?'

Captain David Corwin had seen some strange and inexplicable things in his life, and a sense of paranoia had built up as a result. He could not believe this was really happening. There was a trick here. This was some sort of deception, some subtle plan, something.

That conviction was part paranoia, but more than that it sprang from the core of idealism he still cherished in his heart even after all he had seen. Who could possibly turn the defence grid on humanity? These mysterious allies of Captain Sheridan's.... they wouldn't do this, surely.

'There's no doubt about it, sir. The defence grid is turning on Proxima and preparing to fire.'

'No, that.... that doesn't make any sense. That....'

'Captain, we're picking up a message. It's going out to all frequencies.'

'Put it on.'

This is an emergency message....

* * *

.... to any ships in Proxima space. I don't care if you are human or alien or whatever. The defence grid has been turned inwards, towards Proxima. President Clark is dead, but before he died he turned the grid inwards. This was all.... all a.... plot.

Whoever's out there. Do something. For God's sake, do something!

Welles coughed. He did not know how long things would take. He had wasted time trying to convince the staff here of the situation. Too much time.

He hunched up nearer the commpanel, biting back the pain. He had no time to hurt.

This is an emergency message to.... to....

He coughed again. There was more blood.

This is an emergency message to....

He had no time to pass out.

* * *

Welles had had more success than he might have envisaged. Not only had Corwin heard his desperate warning, listening with greater and greater incredulity with every word, but others had received it as well. On the Saint–Germain, Captain DeClercq listened with horror and tried to wring even more speed from a near–crippled ship. General Ryan caught a few words only, and raged in his helplessness. Captains Tikopai and Barnes could not hear it, which was probably just as well.

The Agamemnon was the first of the Dark Star ships to arrive within reach of Proxima 3 itself, but only just. Captains Daro and Kulomani were right behind.

'Captain Corwin,' said Kulomani. 'We have received this message. It could be a trick.'

'No, I don't.... think so. He sounded genuine, but.... Where's Captain Sheridan?'

'Chasing down the few remaining Enemy ships.' Kulomani was scornful. 'He is not here, and we cannot contact him. What are your orders, Captain?'

In other circumstances Corwin might have wondered just why everyone was coming to him, but he did not have time to wonder.

'Destroy the defence grid. Take it apart. Completely.'

'As you say.'

Corwin turned to his bridge crew. 'Well, you have your orders,' he snapped. 'Target and destroy the defence grid.'

One of the techs looked up. 'Uh, Captain.... we have a problem.'

* * *

In all his life Lord–General Marrago had known true love for only two things: the Republic, and his daughter, by adoption if not by blood. Lyndisty was the only living being he loved, and the only living being he had been able to bring himself to love. A poet had written once that the only true love was that between parent and child, and Marrago had understood that since the first moment he had held Lyndisty in his arms.

He found himself thinking about her true father, dead these past two and a half decades. A good friend, a fine soldier, whose untimely death had left behind a wife and young child. Marrago had promised to take care of them, and had promptly married Drusella and adopted Lyndisty. He had never truly come to care for Drusella,