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

things as I do in the Senate than a petty time–server only interested in feathering his own nest.'

'I'm a telepath, remember. What makes you think I'd vote the way you want?'

'You cannot read minds, Mr. Smith. A slender distinction.... but a vital one. In any event, I will not demand you try to enforce an immediate cull. But I know you.... share some of my concerns, and leaving aside the telepath issue, I know you want what is best for humanity. I know I can rely on you to take action in the Senate, to do what you think is right.'

Smith sat back. 'I won't say I haven't been thinking about this, but.... I don't want power.'

'As I said.... that makes you the perfect person to have it. There is no need for a decision immediately. Think about what I have said. If you decide you do want to put yourself in contention, let me know. I will do the rest.

'Oh, and Senator Smith might have more luck arranging an appointment with General Sheridan than plain private citizen Smith.'

Smith stood up. 'I won't ask how you knew about that.'

'That, Mr. Smith, would be very wise.'

* * *

'Are you there? Can you hear me, Carolyn?'

There was no reply. That did not surprise him. Carolyn never spoke to him when he was awake - only in his dreams, and then he rarely remembered their conversations. But he always awoke with the lingering echo of her voice and her screams in his mind.

Even now, after all this time adjusting to the idea, David Corwin could not believe what the Vorlons had done. Imprisoning telepaths within ships like this, leaving them conscious but paralysed, their minds linked in an endless network of pain. Monstrous was not the word to describe it.

But what could he do? The Vorlons were, for now at least, allies against the Shadows. Humanity certainly didn't have the technology to undo what the Vorlons had done in crafting the 'nodes' on the network that were the Dark Star ships.

He had gone wandering in the deeper reaches of the ship, looking for the chamber in which Carolyn would be imprisoned, despite Lyta's warning against such a move. He had had no success, just a screaming headache that had left him bedridden for days.

And so he had thrown himself into his duties. Much against his will, he had been appointed administrator of the shipyards here at Greater Krindar, co–ordinating the Alliance ships that beached here, arranging raiding parties into Shadow controlled territories. It was a level of responsibility he had not wanted and never expected. It was a strange feeling to be talking with generals such as Kulomani and Daro. To his discomfort they spoke with him as an equal, the inevitable result of shared experiences at the Battle of Proxima.

He had never wanted this. Never. At the back of his mind a million thoughts swirled, each one kept in careful check. He thought of his friend, General Sheridan, the man who had become a near stranger over the past year. He thought of Carolyn, trapped and paralysed somewhere in the heart of the ship in which he spent twenty–four hours a day.

He was also thinking about Lyta, thinking about her far too much.

He had never asked for this.

Still, the war was going well. The Dark Star patrols were beating back occasional Shadow raiding parties, liberating systems, destroying bases and outposts. The Shadows were pulling back, rarely risking an outright engagement. Corwin was beginning to realise that in a war of attrition, the Shadows would lose, and that they knew this.

That was not a welcoming thought. They were readying themselves, they were planning something. Besides, the Alliance might be able to win a war of attrition, but how many would they lose in doing so?

Still, time passed. Matters proceeded more or less according to plan. The war was slowly but surely being won.

The Shadows were content to wait.

* * *

Now. Awake.

The nameless man stirred. What is required of me?

He was told. Do not fail us.

I will not fail.

Know what is to happen. Know what your sacrifice will bring.

Images filled his mind. There was a glory, a great and powerful glory. Yes!

I am ready. I will not fail.

* * *

Like all the races known as the First Ones, the Shadows knew the value of patience. With countless millennia of existence behind them, with a dedicated purpose of social and galactic engineering, they had learned long ago to wait.

But they had also learned when to wait, and when to act.

There were some on Z'ha'dum who were coming to recognise that the war was over, that their race was finished. Factions were forming, at least, factions as the mortal mind would understand their society. Some advocated a token defeat and a slip into obscurity, waiting for the time to re–emerge. Others claimed that would not work, not again. What would they lose this time? Another thousand years? More?

Then there were those who held that it was all over, not just this war, but for all wars. They should leave this galaxy and join their brothers beyond the Rim, abandoning their ungrateful children to the Vorlons.

But first there would be an opportunity for revenge, to even the score.... and perhaps one last chance at victory. It would be a risk, but win or lose, there would be chaos, and that would be a victory of a sort.

* * *

There was a dull tapping in his mind, a noise it took him a while to realise was the sound of his blood hitting the floor.

It was strange. He had expected pain. It certainly should hurt, from the size of the knife wound in his stomach, but.... somehow, it didn't. There was no feeling at all, nothing except a final peace.

It was over. At last, it was over.

General Edward Ryan blinked as he tried to look up at his murderer. The man was writing something on the wall, writing in Ryan's own blood. The lines formed letters, which formed words, but Ryan could not make sense of them. They all.... blurred into one another.

Words came to him, rising over the sound of his blood dripping to the floor.

Some of us are planning an escape, General. We believe there is a place we can hide, build up slowly again. There are rumours Captain Smith and the Marten survived Beta Durani and are hiding out somewhere. If we can find them....

Why are you telling me this?

Ryan blinked as a red gauze filtered across his vision. Where were those words coming from? They seemed to make sense.

Come with us, General. They'll flock to you. It'll take time, yes.... but we're used to that, aren't we?

No, Captain. No.

Why not? How is this different from fighting the Minbari, General? We need you.

The war is over now.

No. The war will never be over. Sheridan has betrayed us.... handed us over to aliens. He led a war against his own people, General. Surely you can see that!

That is treason you speak, soldier.

It's the truth I speak!

Yes. Now he remembered. An argument with Captain Barns.... when? A few weeks ago, perhaps less. The echoes of the anger and the sorrow seemed etched into the walls.

Words on the wall. They were starting to become clear now. He could almost see them. The man was just finishing.

Listen to me, Captain. The war is over. We have a chance to build a new Proxima here.... finally