revealed their presence. It was not easy, and his eyes were not as sharp as they had been.
Apart from Mi'Ra, the others did not matter. The Narn was playing some deeper game, and she would have to be watched. As for Rem Lanas and the Sniper and the Drazi, they were all easily led. When a power struggle for leadership finally emerged, it would be between him, Mi'Ra — probably working through G'Lorn — and Moreil.
Except that neither of the other two would want that. Both fancied themselves as the power behind the throne. If Moreil had wanted the leadership he could have had it by now. His Wykhheran gave him an advantage that the others could not match unless they all worked together, and Marrago doubted they were capable of that.
He sighed. The Brotherhood functioned only so long as they kept to their path of conquest. It had been too long since the assault on Gorash, and but for some minor raiding of shipping lanes they had not embarked on a military campaign in several months. They would have to act soon, or risk turning all their aggression and anger onto each other. He could see that. Moreil could surely see it as well, if he cared to.
And so could Mi'Ra.
She entered with G'Lorn while Marrago was still musing. Another alien was with them, one from a race Marrago did not recognise. He thought it was female, although it was incredibly thin. It wore no clothes as far as he could tell. At first he thought it was some sort of Narn animal, for it walked on four legs, but then it rose, muscles and joints shifting beneath its skin, and looked around at them. Marrago could see the careful intelligence in the creature's eyes, and silently rebuked himself for rash thinking.
As he looked closer, he was aware of something else there. Or rather, nothing else.
Not a thing. No conscience, no remorse, no mercy.
No soul.
'We have a new candidate for membership,' G'Lorn announced. As ever, he spoke while Mi'Ra watched. 'She provides resources greater than any of us thus far. An entire race of people, an entire planet to serve our goals.
'They wish to fight alongside us for a very.... specific goal, one that I am sure....' He looked at Marrago very closely as he said this. 'One that I am sure none of us will object to pursuing. Her people have passion and resources, but they lack skilled generals, which they believe we can provide.
'I shall now let her introduce herself.'
The alien stepped forward and looked around the circle. Marrago did not look at her, but at those she was looking at. The Sniper, the human, seemed uninterested. The Drazi snorted. Moreil.... Moreil sat forward in his chair, meeting her gaze. Something that might have been concern flickered across his alien features.
'Greeting to those who march without banners,' the alien said in a harsh, staccato voice. Marrago frowned. The rhythm of her words was out of joint, out of synch. Even allowing for the fact that she was speaking a language not her own — the Trade dialect most people understood — there was no structure to her speech.
'I speak as noMir Ru, Silent One of the Songless. Some of you may know as us the Tuchanq.'
Now Marrago knew who they were, and he sat up. The Tuchanq.... their world had been invaded by the Narn.... twenty years ago, at least. They had gained freedom of a sort and.... just dropped out of sight. With everything that was going on in the galaxy it was not hard to lose track of what was happening at the edges.
Or in the shadows.
'We go to war, to spread the silence of those who denied us our Song. We seek allies here, amongst those who are as lost as we are. All have pain. We will give pain to those who gave pain to us. We ask that you fight beside us, that we fight together.
'We are ready now. For long years have we been still. Now we move. Now we have order. Silence blankets our world, and we are ready.
'We will attack and have our revenge.'
She looked at Marrago, and just for a moment he saw something deeper, something beyond the silence and the emptiness and the nothing. Something that could have been more, could have been greater, could have been beautiful.
But it had been perverted and corrupted and become something else.
He shifted his gaze to Moreil, and was troubled by what he saw in the Z'shailyl's face. Moreil seemed.... fascinated, as if he were watching one of the mysteries of the universe unfolding before his eyes.
And then Marrago looked at Mi'Ra. She could not disguise the triumph in her eyes.
'We attack Centauri Prime. We spread the silence through fire and pain. We attack those who brought us pain.
'We ask for aid from the bannerless, from the songless, from the pained.
'What say you?'
Chapter 2
Sheridan sat up and looked around. His waking was not the start and scream of a nightmare. It was the slow, puzzled emergence of one who was never truly asleep to begin with. Some people could move straight from sleep to full wakefulness with no period of transition. John Sheridan was not that sort of person, at least not usually.
Beside him Delenn was still sleeping, silent and still and as beautiful as a statue touched by the sunrise. He brushed her hair with his fingers and was surprised by just how cold she was, like marble not yet warmed by the sun.
He rose from their bed and walked through to the bathroom. There was no sound at all. That was unusual. There was always.... something. There was no night on Babylon 5, not really. There was always someone up — security guards, the usually nocturnal Brakiri, the terminally insomniac.... someone.
He poured some water and splashed it on his face, hoping it would wake him up. It did no such thing. He rubbed at the stubble on the side of his face and sighed. Sometimes he hated shaving. It was hard enough managing enough co-ordination just to get dressed some mornings, without having to shave as well. Maybe he could forgo it for today. Would anyone really notice? He looked into the mirror to see how bad it was.
Nothing looked back at him.
He started and touched the cold surface. It was there. It was solid, and it was reflecting the rest of the room perfectly. Just not him. He looked around to make sure. Yes, everything was there. The corner of the shower screen, the towel rail on the opposite wall, the window.
The window?
Where had that come from?
He walked slowly over to it, the silence now uncomfortably oppressive. Some strange, primal urge came over him, an overwhelming compulsion to return to bed, to the warmth and safety that existed there and nowhere else, to pull the blanket over his head and hide from whatever was out here.
He hadn't felt this afraid since he had been a child and convinced that the scarecrows were coming to life and trying to get in his bedroom window.
He touched the curtains. They were solid. They were real. They had that texture of dampness and roughness that spoke of a most definite reality.
He could have sworn this room hadn't had a window before.
He threw the curtains open.
A dazzling light seared his eyes and he stumbled backwards, raising his arms instinctively, but knowing it was too late. It had blinded him, the light was tearing him apart, filling his mind and his soul and covering everything it found there, like a layer of oil over the surface of an ocean.
The voice came with the light, repeating the question over and over again.
He reeled away from the window, falling backwards. He reached out frantically, seeking anything to stabilise himself. A firm, stone hand caught him and helped him steady himself. Slowly, awkwardly, he pulled his hand away from his face.
