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

'So.... I think I'll have to do this myself. Hmm.... I've always wanted to talk to Captain Sheridan. I think he's a man who will.... understand our situation here.'

'Let's hope so,' Morden muttered. 'Let's hope so.'

* * *

They thought he was a fool, all of them. For all these years they had thought him an incompetent, a blind man, able to be pushed this way and that, manipulated to fulfill their desired ends. Welles, Sheridan, the Round Table, the MegaCorps, Bester.... all of them.

Well, William Morgan Clark was no fool. He was President of Humanity, and to the masses that meant he was the most powerful person in all the human worlds. Oh, there were some conspiracy theorists who believed in all sorts of things like the Round Table, but recent years had more or less put an end to their credibility. Clark was popular and successful, as Humanity's recent poll had proved.

But to those in the inner circle so to speak, he was a nothing, a figurehead, a nonentity. He went along with all their plans, making futile attempts to direct the course of human affairs, but really all he had to do was sit and watch Welles, Sheridan and Ryan sorting things out. From time to time it amused him and others to insist on certain courses of action, such as concentrating on Sinoval. That was necessary, but also amusing.

It had been fun watching them all wonder if they had underestimated him, or whether another faction had simply got to him first. Sheridan wondering if Welles or Ryan were so concerned about Sinoval, Welles and Bester making plans for the future of the Great Machine....

He was perfectly happy to watch, and direct things according to a grand design.

Let them think he was a nonentity. Let all of them think that. He did not care. His - and humanity's - greatest defeat was coming, greater even than the loss of Earth. Everyone would see it happen, and no one would suspect that their greatest defeat was his greatest victory. Humanity's too, although they would probably never realise that.

He thought again about the new defence grid. It had been improved after the Battle of the Second Line, and tweaked and honed and perfected ever since then. It now represented the pinnacle of modern technology. It was perfect, absolutely flawless.

Save, of course, for the fact that the President had complete access to the keycards and pass codes.

'What happens if I get drunk and wander down here?' he had asked the technician, smiling. The tech had not replied, his face showing clear doubt as to whether Clark was joking with him, or joking at him.

Clark smiled at the memory as he sat back in his chair, looking at the thing in his hand. It was still now, its single eye closed. A particularly revolting creature, although it could be useful in certain circumstances. Clark wished he had time to play with it a little, but unfortunately events were moving too fast. He hadn't had time to play with his previous Keeper after it had been blasted from his body.

He shifted his gaze to the dead bodies on the floor. The Zener's face still bore the expression of the recognition it had experienced in its last, dying moment. Not enough was left of the Drakh for its face to be seen.

The Keeper's eye twitched open, and it trembled with fear. There are some beings who see beyond the mere physical.

Clark closed his fist around it, and began to whistle as he disposed of the remains and washed his hands.

* * *

Peace was a rarity in a warrior's life. In an existence dedicated to war, to the service of their lord and their people, to the constant search for perfection of body, mind and soul, there was little room for peace. Even rituals of meditation were dedicated to loyalty and service and sacrifice.

Kozorr could count on one hand the number of times he had known true peace in his life. Most of them had featured Kats in one way or another.

He dimly reflected that he would now have to be able to move the fingers of his broken hand enough to begin counting on them too.

He was not sure about his feelings for Tirivail. Her feelings for him she had made quite clear. He admired her, both for her beauty and for her skill in battle, as well as her dedicated loyalty to her father Takier, and to Sonovar. She was many things a true warrior should be, and she reminded him in some ways of Deeron.

But however much time he spent with Tirivail, however many times she hinted or implied or said flat out she would like to take matters further, however much respect he felt for her, he could always hear Kats' voice, see her smile and the gentleness in her eyes.

He sat back, resting against the wall. He did not like sitting down, it was not a position a warrior should ever adopt, but his leg had been paining him after several hours of training and exercise.

'The Osen has been found,' Tirivail said. She was standing, as a warrior should, and pacing slowly up and down. 'It was destroyed by those new ships the Alliance controls - the Dark Stars. All the crew were killed in the engagement.'

'We should never have been raiding Alliance shipping in the first place,' Kozorr muttered. 'Our war is not with them. It never has been.'

'It has weakened relations between the Alliance and Sinoval,' she replied. 'But you are right. We should not be making war upon civilians and merchants. Leave trade wars for the Narn and the Centauri.'

'Has the Alliance discovered who it was behind the attacks?'

'Lord Sonovar does not think so. Or rather, his pathetic little worm of an advisor does not think so. The Alliance is too busy with its war against the humans to bother with us. I do not think they will attack us unless we attack them.'

'Then let us hope we don't. We cannot fight a war on two fronts.'

'We are warriors,' she replied, her eyes gleaming. 'We will fight as many foes as we wish.'

'And then we will all die, and what will we have achieved? We have lost the Osen. How many ships do we have left? Your Storm Dancers clan and the Tak'cha form the bulk of our military strength now. We do not have the resources for two wars.'

'Then we will have a glorious death. Besides, Sinoval has been.... quiet. He has made no attempt to counterattack.'

'That,' said Kozorr firmly, 'is what worries me. Beware a quiet enemy. But, practical considerations aside, the reason we should not fight the Alliance is because we have no reason to, and nothing to gain if we did. At least with the war against Sinoval there is an objective.'

'There is?'

'Of course. We are fighting for the future of our people. Well, Sonovar is. Me, I'm....'

'You're fighting for your pretty little worker.' She shook her head. 'I do not understand you sometimes. She must have bewitched you. How can you have such feelings for a worker?'

'Have you ever been in love, Tirivail?'

'Love?' she snorted. 'A delusion crafted by poets and dreamers and priestlings. I have love only for battle.' She smiled, studying him closely for his reaction. 'Of course, physical attraction and respect I do understand, but that is not love.'

'No, it is not, and until you have felt what I feel, you will never understand.'

'A worker? In the Name of the Betrayer, Kozorr! They are weak, pathetic, bloodless wretches! Necessary, yes.... and useful, but they are little better than animals.'

'Kats is not weak or pathetic. She endured a torture that would have crippled and broken anyone else. I have seen the fire in her soul.'

'If it is fire you want, then I will be happy to burn you.' Kozorr did not react, and she shrugged. 'A waste. Such a waste, but maybe there is still time. And hope. At least she is not a priestling.'

'I have never met a priestling worth the respect Kats deserves.' Tirivail smiled sweetly. 'But then I have met few warriors worth that respect either.' The smile faded.

'Am I one of those warriors?'

He paused, and she studied him intently. He could feel the force of her gaze. He was about to reply when the door opened.

It was the smell Kozorr was aware of first, a black stench that made him reel. For one brief moment he thought of Kalain, but then he knew the difference. Kalain's was the smell of death. This was the smell of one who