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

Ambassador David Sheridan nodded in acknowledgement. His expression was one of happiness and satisfaction, but then that meant nothing at all. He was a career diplomat, and disguising his true emotions was one of the first things he had learned as part of that duty. Welles was perfectly aware just how little regard the two had for each other.

'I have missed this place,' Sheridan said. 'My work elsewhere was necessary, but there is no place at all like home, is there?'

'Indeed not,' laughed Clark. 'And you come bearing gifts as well. Delenn is.... safe, is she not?'

'She is securely placed in one of our waiting rooms,' Welles said. 'The room and surrounding corridors are under complete surveillance, there are two guards within the room, two directly outside and a further four just down the corridor. She was thoroughly checked for weapons, passkeys or lockpick devices and any form of listening or communications machinery. She is not going anywhere.'

'Good,' said Clark. 'See that that remains the case. We do not want a repeat of what happened last time, do we?'

'That was due to the treachery of Miss Alexander, as you well know, Mr. President.'

'Yes, yes,' said Clark irritably. 'It really does not matter. What does matter is that she does not escape. Ambassador Sheridan here has given us one of the greatest opportunities we have had in a long time. Delenn is going to go on the stand before a war crimes tribunal, once one can be assembled of course. There is no hurry, however. It is vital that when she is put on trial she says and does the right things.

'That, Mr. Welles, is your responsibility. She is now your top priority concern, taking precedence over anything and everything else. Delegate other matters if you have to. When Delenn goes on trial, she is going to plead guilty to numerous counts of genocide, torture, murder of civilians, use of illegal weaponry and.... well, we can draw up a complete list later. You get the gist, though.'

'I will.... see that she is fully prepared,' Welles said, choosing his words carefully. 'How long will I have?'

'As long as you need. Take your time. There is really no hurry. Better that it be done properly than immediately. Ah.... but first.... we will need to run an extensive battery of medical tests. Her physiology is.... ah.... unique. We must know her limits and her weaknesses. The last thing we need is her dropping dead of a.... 'weak heart' during some of your more rigorous.... 'preparations', is it not?'

'Indeed,' said Welles obediently. 'But.... word of this will get out. Her capture has been made public, against my advice, need I remind you? The Alliance will find out about this and....'

'The Alliance will not be a threat,' said Ambassador Sheridan firmly. 'Our allies are more than capable of dealing with them, should the need arise.'

'Merely covering all the bases,' said Welles. 'With your permission, Mr. President, I will go and attend to matters immediately.'

'Of course. You may go.' Welles turned to the door. As he reached it, Clark said. 'Oh, Mr. Welles.'

'Yes.'

'We have every confidence in you. You will see that we are not mistaken, won't you?'

'Of course, Mr. President.' He left. 'Of course.'

* * *

David Corwin, Commander no longer but now Captain, sat down in the Captain's chair on the bridge of his new ship and ran his hand across the armrest. There seemed to be a slight warmth under his fingers as they brushed the leathery texture. A faint hum sounded in his ears.

He had often dreamed of having his own ship. For so long that dream had been an impossibility. The Babylon had been the only ship the Resistance Government possessed, and it could not afford to build any more. He had served on that ship, as he had on the Parmenion.

But then, after the destruction of the Parmenion and the near-fatal injuries of Captain Sheridan at the Battle of the Third Line, Corwin had known command, and he had not liked it. He had understood the loneliness, the responsibility, the hardships of waging a war against an almost invincible enemy.

Then the Captain had recovered miraculously, and the balance of the war had tilted drastically. These ships were to thank for that, the ships provided by the Vorlons, built with their own strange technology, and called Dark Stars.

There was a fleet of them, enough to wage this war. And Corwin had been one of the first to be given command of one.

'Captain Corwin,' he said, trying the conjunction. 'Captain David Corwin.' It sounded suitably.... impressive, he supposed. Not that it really meant anything. He wasn't a part of Earthforce any more. He wasn't being paid by the Alliance, and his new rank had no greater benefits in terms of accommodation or supplies.

But it was still important to him. He was a Captain now.

He sat back in his chair. It wasn't as comfortable as it looked. Still, it would do.

He had had pretty much the pick of the former bridge crew from the Parmenion. The Captain had taken a few for his ship, naturally the flagship of the Dark Star fleet, but most of them, the more experienced members, he had left for Corwin. Dark Stars were smaller than EAS capital ships and needed less crew. Those who had taken the ships out for the first few engagements had reported back that they seemed to fly themselves.

Corwin shivered at the thought. He had heard plenty of strange stories about Vorlon tech.

His thoughts, however, were on much more serious matters. A question of great importance had been weighing on his mind for some days now, and he was still no nearer answering it than he had been at the start. Ideas had come to him at various times but had been rejected, and he was growing irritated.

He turned suddenly, his reverie interrupted. Someone had come on to the bridge. He hadn't heard them at all, or seen them. He'd just.... known.

'Captain now, I see,' said a familiar voice, and he smiled. 'Good to see you again, sir.'

Neeoma Connally, Starfury pilot aboard the Babylon for years, and on the Parmenion after that. She had been spending the last few months helping train the Drazi and Brakiri one-man fighters in cohesive techniques. She had more experience of fighting the small Shadow flyers than almost anyone else here.

'Dared to surface again, hmm?' Corwin said, still smiling. 'How are you?'

'Just about ready for some real work,' she replied. 'Trying to teach the Drazi anything is not my idea of a good time. When I heard about the fleet, I thought I'd come and see if you needed any Starfury support here.'

'Well, we're still trying to assess the full technical capabilities of these things. There don't seem to be any fighter bays for one thing, but I doubt we'll be taking the Dark Stars into combat alone. I'm sure we'll need backup from the Babylon and some of the Drazi and Brakiri capital ships, to say nothing of the Narn cruisers G'Kar's on about providing. Starfuries will be as useful as ever.'

'Thought so. I'm ready to start running training drills whenever you are.'

'Glad to hear it. The more we know about these things the better.' He smiled again. 'And you came to me first. I'm flattered.'

Her expression darkened. 'Ah.... no, I'm afraid not. I went to the Captain first. Or at least I'd planned to. I saw one of his new aides, who told me that Captain Sheridan didn't need fighter assistance and I should come here.'

Corwin frowned. 'He hasn't been himself lately. He's.... been through a lot.'

Neeoma shrugged. 'I guess.' She winced and rubbed at her eyes. 'Another blasted headache,' she moaned. 'I've had one for hours, and it gets worse every time I come aboard. I guess I'm just meant to be in a 'Fury.'

'Well, before you head back out, any chance of helping me with something? I've had a problem I've been trying to sort out for some time now. It's been worrying me.'

'If I can,' she replied. 'What is it?'

'This ship needs a name.'

'I thought it had a name?'

'Yes, Dark Star Three, and what sort of name is that for a ship? It sounds like a bad B movie sequel.'

Neeoma chuckled. 'I see your point. And you want me to help you think of a proper name?'