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

intelligent?

'They're having the same problem, sir.'

The Dark Stars remained still, watching, as Proxima 3 came closer to annihilation.

* * *

He was dying, his blood leaching away slowly, one drop at a time. He could hear the sound of her tears, feel the waves of her sorrow. He wanted to reach out to her, but he could not seem to find the energy.

He wanted to tell her he loved her, and he was sorry.... but he could not do that either.

And then he became aware of another presence, and anger filled him. No! Not like this! Sinoval should not see him die like this. He should not.... He wanted to stand, to die as a warrior should, but he could not move. Not even to bid his love farewell.

He had regrets, too many. There were so many things he wished he could do, he wished he could have done.

He wished he could have told her.

There was a conversation, quick and urgent. He couldn't hear the words, but he could sense the voices. He could feel the presence of those nearby. There were three of them.... three, appropriate. Love, friend, enemy.

He could feel the rising anger of his love, hear the soft wind chimes of her voice. He could feel Kats curse the universe for this.

He could feel the regrets voiced by his former lord, hear the intense emotion in his voice. He could feel Sinoval choose to defy the universe for this.

And.... standing alone and silent, watching.... there was the calm grief of his friend. Tirivail was watching a warrior die a death no warrior should endure. He wished he could tell her not to grieve for him, not to seek revenge. He had a feeling Kats would speak of such things.

And then something hot and burning splashed onto his eyes. His blurred vision was filled with searing crimson, a scalding flood of pain and memories and loss and.... and life.

The universe seemed to turn around him. He could hear souls cry out, see once again the awe–inspiring majesty of the Well of Souls, the billion voices in one calling him the Traitor Knight. And he heard the voices again.

Yes. We will permit this.

His eyes opened and he blinked away the remains of Sinoval's blood. He could move. He could see.

The first thing he saw was Kats. And the first words he heard were Sinoval's.

'I have been told there are other ways to do that. But I am not a First One, and blood, it seems, is the only language a warrior understands.'

'I.... feel....' He did not know what to say. It was strange. A mere instant before, he had been willing to give anything for a last chance to talk to Kats, to Tirivail.... and now that he could talk, he did not know what to say. 'Am I going to die?'

'We are all going to die,' Sinoval replied. 'But in your case.... not today. It is a.... trick the Soul Hunters have, a power derived from their ancestors, and one it seems I have inherited. A little transfer of life from the Well of Souls, through me, to you. You will live.'

'Why did you do this?' he asked. 'I betrayed you. I betrayed....'

'I have learned something recently. Everyone deserves a second chance. And in some cases a third. I suggest you think quickly as to what you plan to do with yours.' He left, moving with the silence of a shadow on glass, and the determination of a man who knows his future.

Kozorr turned to Tirivail. She looked at him, then bowed her head. She too left.

And then he turned to Kats. 'Well?' she said. 'You have your second chance at life. What are you to do with it?'

'What can I do?' he said harshly. 'I.... swore to serve Sonovar. I have betrayed one lord already.... for what I knew.... what I thought.... was right. I cannot betray another.'

'You do not see it, do you? There is only one person you can ever betray, and it is not Sinoval, it is not Sonovar. It is not me.

'It is yourself. What does your heart tell you to do?'

He turned to look at her, and bowed his head, weeping unashamedly. 'I love you, my lady,' he whispered through his tears.

She knelt beside him, placed her arms around him, and kissed him once, gently. Then she laid her head on his chest.

'And I love you, Kozorr.'

* * *

'Listen to me! Dammit, listen!

'I don't know if there's anyone there. I don't know if you've got a personality, a mind.... anything. Oh, God, I must be mad. I'm talking to my chair.

'But if there is anyone here, anything at all.... will you at least listen to me? Whatever's stopping you targeting the defence grid.... we have to do it. There are people on Proxima. A lot of people. They are going to die.

'Can you hear me?'

There was nothing, and Corwin bowed his head, sinking to his knees. He did not know if there was anyone in the Agamemnon, but the screams, the whispers, the cries.... they had to come from something.

A long shot at best. What did he know about Vorlon technology? For all he knew he had imagined everything. Maybe he was mad. He had been shouting at his chair, after all. The crew weren't looking at him. He knew what they were thinking.

He sat back down. 'Is the defence grid still readying itself?'

'Yes, sir. We estimate four minutes only before it fires.'

'And it's still targeting the planet?'

'Yes.'

'And we still can't fire on it?'

'No.'

'Nor can the other ships?'

'No.'

'And there are no support ships near enough?'

'No.'

Corwin sat back down on the chair he had been shouting at. There was no one he could talk to, nothing he could do now. He had nothing left to give save one thing only.

He knew what to do.

'Target the nearest satellite. Ram it.' Maybe there would be enough of the ship left afterwards to attack another satellite, although he wasn't sure. He had no idea how durable the Vorlon ship could be.

'Yes, sir.'

David.

The voice came from nowhere, from inside his mind, and he started. 'Lyta?' he whispered. 'Guerra, belay that.'

There is someone here, David. I can help you talk to her.

'Where is she?'

And then there was only darkness.

* * *

The Saint–Germain was moving slowly, too slowly for DeClercq's comfort. He could hear once again the message of doom for humanity. He had met President Clark only twice, but he was not surprised by what Clark had now done. There had been something glinting at the back of the President's eyes.

'What are we going to do when we get there?' asked Ensign Morgan. 'We still haven't got the weapons on– line.'

'We will do.... what we have to,' DeClercq replied. 'What we have to.'