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

at all.... just kill me!'

'Oh no,' said the figure, her cat's eyes dancing with pleasure. He knew her. Not a Minbari, no, but she might as well have been. 'I have no mercy, and you aren't going to die. Not for a very long time. There are some people who want to meet you.'

He shifted back to the present and saw the guards looking at him. He limped past them, moving as they directed. He had a mission to perform, his last mission for the people who had treated him well, the people who had given him a chance, not just for revenge, but also to do some good.

There were others who could have been sent, he supposed. People in better health than he was. Drakh magi. A Zener surgeon or diplomat. A Z'shailyl even. But they had chosen him. The Pale and Silent King had chosen him.... for this last meeting.

One last warning. One last message before everything collapsed into flames.

He could feel the presence of the Pale and Silent King in the back of his mind, illuminated through one of the Drakh mage–orbs. The Drakh armada might have been torn apart and scattered to the winds at Minbar two years ago, but they still had their uses.

As, apparently, did an old man. An old, dying man.

He remembered the flash of light that had seared his eyes and his mind. Welles was at his side, Clark before him, ready to unleash devastation on Proxima. One of them had moved, and then there had been a roar, a burst of energy, and the sound of Clark's body tearing apart.

He should have died then. The Shadows had been able to save him to get him off–world, but he still should have died. Not even the Zener could fully repair the injuries he had suffered, the pain the Vorlon's light had caused to his Shadow–enhanced body. He wondered if Welles still lived.

The Shadows had not been able to save him after all. The Zener had restored his sight and mended most of his bones, but there was little more they could do, especially with the lack of resources. He was a dying man, and he knew it.

But he had one duty to fulfill first.

The guards stepped aside, Narns mostly. The infamous Narn Bat Squad. A wry smile touched his face, as he entered the room.

General John Sheridan and the Blessed Delenn rose to meet him.

Former Ambassador David Sheridan coughed. 'Hello, son.'

* * *

We should fight.

No, there can be another way.

What other way is there? We should fight. The Enemy is beaten. We can destroy them. We can take their world. We can....

Why do they not fight now? There is some trick, some plan. The Eldest has been talking to them.

The Eldest will not betray us. He will not aid them.

When we own Z'ha'dum, we will ask him. We will serve him, and follow in his path. But for now.... he has chosen to live with them.

They were unworthy of him.

Yes. And see, they have been defeated. Let them have their last, little deception. They have lost.

So, what shall we do?

Wait. Still.

* * *

'Hello, son.'

'Dad?'

Delenn straightened, looking at the man before her with calm eyes. He looked ill, broken and shattered. In one way he reminded her of Welles, in those last days. Knowing he was dying, but with an inner peace, an acceptance of what was to come.

Then she looked at John. He looked torn, stunned surprise meeting with a steely resolve. As far as she was aware, John had not known his father was still alive. Ambassador Sheridan had come to Kazomi 7 to negotiate a false peace treaty, and he had spoken with his son then. Delenn had passed that off as a fever–dream on John's part, not wishing to hurt him with the knowledge that his father was working for the Enemy.

She supposed he might have acquired that knowledge on Proxima, but she honestly did not know. Gently, slowly, she reached out one hand to brush against John's. Still he did not say anything.

David Sheridan was one of the people responsible for the death of their son, whom she had ironically and unknowingly given his name. She had chosen the name David because of Captain Corwin, not for John's father, but the name was there in any case.

She should hate him, but she could not. She had not hated Welles, and had forgiven him at the end. Hatred was not the answer, not to anything. She did not even hate the Shadows any more.

'I thought you were dead,' John whispered.

'I should have been. The Shadows got me off Proxima just in time, and their scientists patched me up.... as well as they could. I'm still dying, mind.'

'You could come back to Proxima,' John said quickly. 'Or to Kazomi Seven. Between all of us, we can probably find a way to heal you properly.'

Ambassador Sheridan was surprised, and so was Delenn. She looked up into John's face, and found no sign of emotion there. Nothing at all. The sight scared her.

'Ah,' the Ambassador said. Then he sighed. 'No, I don't think that's a viable option any more. I made my decision, and I will stick with the consequences.'

'You taught me that.'

'Yes.'

Another silence. Delenn tightened her grip on John's hand. His skin felt very cold. She made to speak, but John spoke first.

'Why are you here, Dad? What is this - some last threat or joke from the Shadows?'

'Nothing of the sort. A last parley, you could say. A last message.'

'Well?' Delenn said nothing. She had an uncomfortable feeling she had heard a message similar to this before. You would not let us show you heaven.

'It's not too late, you know. Turn on the Vorlons. They aren't your friends. They're.... a relic of the past. Foolish notions.... but dangerous for all that. Join us, listen to us, ignore us.... do whatever you like. But don't work with the Vorlons, whatever you do.'

'They have helped us,' John said calmly. 'They brought me back from death. They provided us with these ships. They've given us almost everything we've needed. They aren't perfect, no, and I'm not saying I trust them entirely.... but they've given us more reason to trust them than you have.'

No, Delenn thought. They've given us no reason to trust them at all, and every reason to abandon them.

Ambassador Sheridan shook his head. 'You don't understand.' He paused, and then chuckled wryly. 'Hah! They'll be telling you that in a few years. If they aren't already. They're fond of saying that. You don't understand. This time you really don't.... or maybe you do. I don't know.

'But I know this. We've lost. We admit it. We're done for, and this time there's no coming back. There's two ways to handle this. Unfortunately.... most of us chose the wrong one.'

'You mean trying to blow up Kazomi Seven.'

'Yes.... that was part of it. Revenge, you see. Scourge the galaxy. Too many believed that.... if you didn't want to listen to us, you shouldn't be allowed to listen to anyone. It wasn't just Kazomi Seven, you know. Centauri Prime, the Narns.... all over the place. Let the galaxy burn.

'But not any more. You know, I've spent my whole life indulging in diplomacy, working out factions, who they are, what they want, and it still hit me to learn that the Shadows are every bit as factionalised as anyone else I've ever met. The Vorlons will be too, I suppose. Some of them preached revenge, others hoped that we could get one last lesson through to you all before it was too late.