A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 : Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 3 : On the Edges of Percepti

'Is he not everything you have said?'

She took more jhala. 'Yes,' she replied bitterly. 'Yes, he is.'

'He will find us.'

'Let him. Do not worry, H'Klo. You will not have to fight him.'

'The Thenta Ma'Kur?'

'No. I am not sure I can trust them anyway. For all their boasts of loyalty only to money they can be.... sentimental. Besides, I have enquired secretly about their price for him.' She paused, holding herself tight with her right arm, staring into the mirror of memory.

'And?'

'Over eight million Narn ducats.'

'We do not have that sort of money.'

'No one does. That is the point. Do not worry, H'Klo. There are.... other ways.'

'He will not understand.'

'No,' she whispered sadly. 'He does not. In a strange way I admire him. I even love him still, almost as much as I hate him. He was the bravest man I ever met. But the man he has become....

'He has forgiven them. After everything they did to him, to his father, to his mother, to me.... after all these things he has forgiven them. He even urges us to do the same. Do you know what bravery like that is? I wish I had a tenth of it.' She finished her jhala and held the cup gently, rolling it between two fingers.

'But if everyone was capable of that kind of forgiveness, we would not be Narns, we would be angels.'

She threw the cup far out into the air and turned away from the balcony to avoid seeing it land.

'There are no angels, and by his very existence he reminds us of our imperfections.

'Have no fear, H'Klo. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar will be dealt with.'

* * *

We were defeated because we had not thought. We were conquered because we did not see. Yes, we have won a victory now, but unless we learn, the victory will be hollow and empty, nothing but the ashes of the funeral pyres.

Blind rage will not serve us. Unthinking lust for revenge will gain us nothing. This is a new world for us now, for all of us. Unless we think, unless we see, unless we learn, then we might as well never have picked up a single weapon to fight the Centauri in the first place.

Mi'Ra ran those words through her mind as she went to her meeting. The Prophet's speech at the Square of Ashes in G'Khamazad. She had been there with her father, and a chill had swept through her as she watched G'Kar speak. Her father had not understood, but he was dead now. Mi'Ra had understood, and those words had stayed with her always.

Think, see, learn. That mantra had been with her throughout her life. It had seen her abandon the path her father had set, a life in the Kha'Ri as he had chosen, and she had instead chosen to go out into the galaxy. She had seen such wonderful things, such beautiful things. She had learned from what she had seen, and most of all she had learned to think.

The Prophet had been right, of course. Blind rage and unthinking vengeance would gain them nothing. What was needed was focussed rage and structured vengeance.

Centauri Prime. Home of the enemy. Her father had used to dream of taking the war there, but he had died before he could realise that dream. Just another victim of the games the Kha'Ri played, struck down by a well- concealed poison.

And now she would be a part of the destruction of the Centauri homeworld. Any one of her people would pay everything they owned for a part in this, however small, and her part was far from small.

She entered the meeting room, her guards with her, those visible and those.... not. G'Lorn was beside her as always. Loyal and trusting. He had not thought or seen or learned anything before, but now he was growing. It was the military mindset. Serve, obey and ask no questions. She was slowly breaking him of that, but she had to admit that it was useful at times.

Marrago was waiting for her, sitting patiently at the far side of the table. He had no guards with him, but then he did not need any. This was a man who had truly taken on board the Prophet's words, whether he realised it or not.

She sat down, G'Lorn beside her. 'Should we not be preparing for the battle?' she asked. 'Or have you more strategies to debate with me?'

'No,' he replied coolly. 'I have.... discovered something recently. Part of a bargain. Like for like. Information for information. Do you know what I have learned?'

Mi'Ra had a feeling she did. She had always agreed with Moreil. Marrago was by far the most dangerous man here.

'I have learned of a Councillor in the Kha'Ri by name of Du'Rog.' Mi'Ra did not let her expression slip once. 'He was very much in favour of renewed attacks on my people. He died some years ago of a convenient illness. It is strange, but there are many in my Court who have died of convenient illnesses at convenient times.

'But Du'Rog had adherents and they followed his ways. There were similar types amongst my people, and so there was war. It ended, as wars tend to do, and there was peace. Narn and Centauri, all one in an Alliance, working together for peace and prosperity — but for a few renegades and outlaws like ourselves of course.

'I have no doubt there are many among my people who do not like the idea of peace with yours. I am equally sure there are some among yours who like the idea even less. My people are too.... restricted to do anything about it, but yours.... the brave and forgiving Narn.... they are trusted and liked and respected.

'Du'Rog had a daughter. She left her home very young to travel the galaxy. She returned briefly, and then disappeared again. Do you know her name?'

Mi'Ra sat back. Moreil was right. This one was more dangerous than the others. They were useful tools and instruments, but this one.... He thought. He saw. He learned.

He was strong.

Do you wish us to kill him, lady? hissed the alien voice in her mind. She could call the Faceless to her in a heartbeat.

No, she replied. She was not telepathic, of course. Apart for a few failed experiments conducted by the Prophet, none of her people were, but she wondered sometimes if this communion was what it meant to be a telepath. The ritual she had undergone had given her a world of new sensations. This was only the smallest. Moreil has his own plans for this one.

He is dangerous. The Wykhheran fear him. But speak the word and he shall die.

No, she repeated. The Faceless were the ultimate assassins, greater by far even than the Thenta Ma'Kur, but they needed to serve. They did not think beyond the kill. Their creators had not designed them that way.

'And that little girl, what did she find on her travels? What did she bring back to her homeworld with her?'

Mi'Ra smiled, and rose to her feet. 'An interesting story, but your time would be better spent on other things, Captain. Remember. We go to war.'

He looked at her. 'I am a soldier,' he said, in a voice as deep as thunder. 'I am always at war.'

* * *

She was never far from the screams. They were there when she closed her eyes at night, and there when she opened them in the morning. The trapped, the lost, the prisoners. The countless slaves to the Vorlon network. Some she knew, some she didn't. Many weren't even human. That didn't matter. They were telepaths, like her — one kind, like her, one people, like her.

Talia opened her eyes and they were screaming even more loudly. One of them was standing before her. One of the abominations, one of those who actually liked their new role.

The Hand of the Light. The Bloodhounds. Countless different names for the same basic function.

Hunters.

The creature hissed and moved back. Talia looked at it.

'Now, I'm annoyed,' she said.

Darkness crackled from her fingertips and she pointed at the abomination. It screamed as bolts of raw