He lifted his head, and his red eyes looked directly into Londo's. There was one brief moment of understanding. 'What is our struggle to such as they?' the Narn asked. His words had a strange feel to them. The Narn sighed. 'It was a quotation,' he explained after a moment, 'from one of our holiest books. Our prophet urged us all to set aside our own wars and look to the greater enemy.'
He pointed up into the sky. 'That is the enemy he was speaking of.'
'Rubbish,' Londo spat. 'You mean to tell me that you of all people recognise that.... thing? When all the explorers and scientists and thinkers of our Republic have never so much as dreamed of the existence of something like that?'
'I have seen them before. Drawings from the ancient texts. I never dreamed they were.... real. Never. They have returned, exactly as G'Quan foretold. Do you even know what that means, Centauri? It means that nothing matters any more. Our war, our struggle.... are all irrelevant. They will destroy everything. I know.... and so do you.'
Londo trembled. 'You lie.'
'Do I?'
'Pah! I grow tired of this. Kill me if you must, but do not insult my intelligence any longer.'
'Your words belie your fear. Yes, I could kill you, but what would that achieve? They will tear apart your world just as easily as mine. How long, Centauri? How long until they move in force? How long have they even been awake? Will they move for Centauri Prime tomorrow? In a year, a century? When?
'They are here, and someone must do something. And if not us, then who?'
'Another quotation?' The Narn nodded. 'What can we do? What, against them? Even if I believed you, do you seriously think we could hurt that?'
'It has been done. G'Quan drove them from our world once before, and he spoke of others, mortals like you and me, who fought them. Fought them and won. He called them.... Rangers. It seems the Rangers are needed again.'
'And who will lead them? You?'
'Until another comes to do so, yes.... but that can wait. For now, there is only one question that needs to be asked. You have seen them. You know what they are, and what they can do. If we cannot live together, then we shall surely die apart. Are you going to help me fight them, or will you stay here, and start at the shadows?'
'Two of us is not exactly a large army.' Londo was shaking.
'It will get bigger.'
'I must be crazy.'
'No,' the Narn said softly. 'Seeing that has made us both sane. It is the rest of the galaxy that is crazy.'
'Ah, to hell with it. Yes. I will join your army, Narn, such as it is.'
'As I said, it will get bigger. And my name.... is G'Kar.'
Other Beginnings, to More Recent Stories.
It was the whole of the galaxy that was consumed with fire and darkness in the second half of the year the humans called 2261. While Kazomi 7 faced threats from above and the Minbari people threats from within, the Centauri and the Narn faced threats from each other, from friends and allies.
Where are they all, this spiralling circle of friends, lovers, acquaintances and enemies? Where did they all begin, before Kazomi 7 so much as imagined the dark cloud that would consume it, before Sinoval made his final move towards his destiny, when Delenn was debating whether to remain on Proxima with the one she still loved, when Sonovar still dreamed futile dreams that he could win?
Where are they all?
On Proxima 3, all is quiet. Well, perhaps quiet is a relative term, but the wars are over, General Ryan still lives, the world still abides under a new and difficult occupation, the network is humming in peaceful monotony.
Mr. Morden is ready to leave at last. Proxima can survive without him, and he has been away too long. Matters on Centauri Prime are perilously close to explosion again. He is needed there, and this time he will not be forced out, not by anyone.
Lord–General Marrago returns home from a routine patrol of the front lines. Expansion and liberation of former Centauri worlds now occupied by the Narns are little more than a pipe–dream at the moment. Too many resources will be needed just to hold the territories they currently control. The Alliance has not yet joined the side of the Narns, but it is inevitable. Trade sanctions are hitting the homeworld hard, and Marrago knows there are no allies he can turn to. Well.... there might be one, but the cost of that deal would be too much for him to pay.
Carn Mollari remains behind at the line, waiting and watching, his mind troubled. He listens to his Lord– General, he obeys him, and in the back of his mind he thinks about how both of them have changed. The Lord– General is not the man he was, but then neither is Carn himself....
On the other side of the line, Warleader Na'Tok waits patiently. He has taken the seat of a great man, but it is a position he has earned through patience. The Kha'Ri is torn between taking the war back to the enemy, or demanding Alliance assistance. While they debate, Na'Tok is content to wait. He will take boredom over death any day.
Lyndisty wiles away the days in empty, frivolous pursuits. She goes to balls, she dances with eligible suitors, she breaks several hearts. She is the perfect daughter of a Centauri noble. But in her mind's eye she rehearses fighting styles, weapon techniques, tactics and strategies. For all that their tie is not one of blood, she is truly her father's daughter, even while she knows the need for secrecy. As her father once said, a weapon hidden is worth three revealed.
Minister Durano watches her, as he watches everyone. He knows her secret. He knows her father's secret. Secrets are his food and drink (though not wine - he rarely drinks, and then only to maintain a semblance of normality). And yet this one he has not used. It is his own hidden weapon, and he ponders just how to employ it - for the good of the Republic, or for his own good? A mere year ago there would have been no question, but now.... times are changing. A dark ambition speaks to him, a seed that was always there, but never before realised. He is not a tool of Shadow or Vorlon, but of his own mind, trained to near–perfection in the course of his duty. He knows his mind, but not his future, and that troubles him.
Lennier watches them all from his place in the shadows. No one talks to him, no one even seems to acknowledge that he exists. He is the Emperor's bodyguard, his confidant, his dark shadow. Some tried originally to gain his support, only to learn that he has no interest in their games, in their mini–wars, or even in the greater one. The only war he fights at present is the one for control of his soul, a war in which he continues to survive, but for which the cost is growing slowly, a day at a time. Soon there will be nothing left to save.
Lord Kiro has long since lost whatever soul he once possessed. He sits in a darkened, abandoned room, lit only by flickering flames, and he looks at the artefact he has been given, the last remnant of an all–but–dead race. He looks at the thing growing within it, and he feeds it with his blood. Soon, he knows, it will awake, and he will ride it to his glory, and to the throne.
Lady Mariel watches him, and trembles. No longer is she beautiful. No longer is she dressed in the finest of gowns. No longer does she eat the richest of foods. No longer is her mind the sharp blade beneath the soft cushion. Her body is scarred and blackened, her clothes are but rags, her stomach is eating away at her vitals. Her mind is filled with fear and a most unenlightened madness - and by thoughts of poison.
Her sister–wife - not Daggair, whom she had murdered in the coldest blood, but Timov, now Lady Consort, Empress to some, although not to her face - dances with the nobles, her eyes always warily on her husband. He pretends not to notice, and she pretends not to have noticed that he has noticed. He would be surprised to learn of the things she has been doing behind his back, of the sacrifices and decisions she has made for the good of the Republic. He would be surprised to learn how much she cares about the people, not just his people, but hers also.
Or maybe not. Emperor Mollari II understands and sees more than most give him credit for. In some things, however, he is sadly blind.
And on another world many light years away, his friend, his enemy, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, seeks answers, seeks peace, seeks understanding. He has sought these things for as long as he can remember, but with each passing day they slip further and further beyond his grasp.
That is how matters stand now, two proud races at war, the same war that has raged for three years. There
