But that was only one event. There were countless others. The loss of his eye, the betrayal that was the Night of Blood, the Last Night of Shadow that both of us were fortunate to escape when so many others did not.
Still, there were brief moments of respite as well, tiny pinpoints of light in the darkness. One such occasion he recounted to me. It occurred at the Brakiri Day of the Dead….
L'Neer of Narn, Learning at the Prophet's Feet.
* * *
Whispers from the Day of the Dead — VI"You have changed greatly, Ha'Cormar'ah."
"Have I really? So much?"
"Your eyes. They do not burn as they once did. Your breath is tired. Your gestures are slow and heavy. Yes, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, you have changed."
"I did not think it was so clear. Yes, I have changed. I am tired and weary. I have fought enough, and when I think it is over, there is still more."
"The war is over then?"
"The war we fought is over, yes. But I fear there is a greater war on the horizon, just beyond our perception. You once said that I see more than others do, that I look at the world with different eyes, that I remove all the blinkers others have raised about themselves."
"I remember."
"I wish I did not. I wish I were blind like everyone else."
"Truthfully?"
"No. Not truthfully. But sometimes, yes. No one listens any more. No one has been listening for a very long time."
"Then make them listen."
"I try. I speak and they listen, but when I turn my eyes away they carry on as before. Is that all I am to them? Is that all I will ever be? A stern teacher who is followed only when I am there, and ignored when I am not?"
"You were never that to me."
"Then why do they not understand? They are blinded by old hatreds. I thought…. I convinced them to end the war. The fleets went to help the Centauri. They actually fought and died to defend Centauri Prime. Who could have believed such a thing was possible?
"But now? Now they continue as before. They plot and they plan and they think I do not notice. We have assimilated too many things from the Centauri, but their 'Great Game' was the worst of them. The worst by far.
"We will destroy them in the end, or we will destroy ourselves, and why? Because they cannot see beyond the past! They cannot look to the future.
"No one listens."
"What do you expect me to say? I am dead, remember. I understood only at the very end. I betrayed you and everything you stood for. Before that I betrayed my people and my lord. And after that, I betrayed my new masters. Three betrayals, and only after the third did I truly understand.
"That did not help anyone else of course, but it helped me."
"Is that it? Will they only understand when they are dead?"
"I do not know. I truly do not."
"There must be more. There must be something."
"Why did you come here? I do not believe for an instant that you were simply passing through."
"Ah…. no. I had heard the rumours. I was afraid, and sceptical, but if there was the slightest chance…."
"Was I the one you wanted to talk to?"
"Truthfully?"
"Of course. You cannot hurt my feelings. I am dead, after all."
"I do not know. I do not know who I wanted to talk to. My father. My mother. Any one of a hundred friends from my days in the resistance, or the Kha'Ri, or the Rangers. There are so very many of them."
"That is it, isn't it? You came to feed your guilt. You live when so many others are dead, and you came here to remind yourself of them all. You came here to feel guilty and to flagellate yourself. I know you too well."
"…."
"Well, if you will not talk, then I will. This is not an opportunity I will have again for a very long time, and by then I doubt that anyone will care. How is she?"
"Well."
"Is she happy?"
"I believe so."
"Does she love him?"
"Yes. There is no doubt."
"Ah. I am…. glad she is happy. Do they…. have children?"
"No."
"Ah. A pity. She would make a fine mother."
"In a sense, she is mother to all of us."
"In a sense, you are father to all of us. You brought the Rangers together. You gave us purpose. You cannot understand that, but that does not make it false. Believe it or not as you will, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. Ta'Lon, what of him?"
"He is the same. He speaks little, and does much."
"Tell him it falls to him to look after you now."
"He already knows."
"I do not doubt that."
"The sun is rising."
"I know."
"Do you…. do you have a message for Delenn?"
"No. Please do not tell her that you met me. If she is happy with him, then so much the better for her. That is enough for me."
"I am glad I could speak with you again."
"As am I. I am honoured. Did my words provide any comfort? Ah, probably not. I was never good with words."
"You are better than you think."
"You do not see yourself as the inspiration you are. That is your greatest weakness, G'Kar. Look past that and see yourself as we do. There, my last piece of advice. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Neroon."
And then the room was silent.
* * *
Sheridan looked at the image the screen was showing him, and found it hard to believe. Even in a life such as the one he had led, some things were almost incomprehensible.
"It looks like a space station," he said.
It did look like a space station, albeit one designed by no race he had ever seen. The bulk of it seemed to be an asteroid, and if he looked at it only briefly, he might have remained convinced that that was all it was.
But on closer inspection what might have been mere rifts and folds in the rock were clearly buildings and constructs. As he studied it further, Sheridan was sure there was a docking bay, or an observation post. It was as if the very fabric of the asteroid itself had been carved to the form its creators had desired.
"Any life signs?" he asked.
"No. I don't think so," the tech replied. "There's some very strange shielding around it."
"What about power? Does it even have any?"
"Yes. Although it uses some sort of energy we can't pick up on. There have been traces of energy usage recently though. Someone's been there in the last couple of days minimum.
"Can you tell what race?"
"No idea. Sorry, sir."
"Hmm." He stood back, still looking at the image. Without that particular piece of information he would just have chalked this up as a strange piece of hyperspace debris. There was enough of it, especially this far from the main beacon routes.
However, the unusual radiation trail had led them directly here, and there were signs that someone else had been here recently. No one lived in hyperspace. At least, there were no confirmed reports. Sheridan found it hard to accept that anyone could live here.
So what, then? A completely new alien race? A group of very powerful and very lucky smugglers using this as a base? Perhaps the renegade group who had attacked Gorash 7?
Or perhaps someone else entirely. That was where his instinct was going. Whoever these powerful alien ships belonged to, they had to have a base somewhere. Why not in hyperspace? The asteroid seemed big enough for either an impressive force or very big aliens.
"Someone's in there," he whispered to himself, not caring how he knew that, or remarking on the strange warmth of the armrest of his chair.
"All right," he said at last. "Prepare space suits. Muster a few security men. I'm going in there. I need a look around."
The techs did not rush to disagree with him. Perhaps because they were curious, too. Or perhaps they did not wish to contradict the fearsome Shadowkiller himself.
Sheridan did not care either way.
* * *
There was something about him that chilled the blood, even to one as inured to fear as Morden. He had faced death, faced fear. He had seen Gods and fought Gods. He had been imprisoned — more than once — and he had seen a million rays of light rise in the face of a trapped man.
But he had never seen anything like this. Never.
It had been three days since the Emperor had collapsed and the rioting had been dispersed. Londo was still comatose. Hopes for his recovery were…. slim. Morden hoped he would recover. Partially this was due to an affection of sorts for Londo as a person, but there was also a pragmatic concern. He had not had enough time to build an effective power base of his own here yet. If Londo died there would be chaos, and no one wanted that.
Durla snapped to attention. He was doing well, Morden had to admit that. He had chosen well in appointing Durla Captain of the Guard. He had spent over a hundred days chained up in a cell and yet he had been ready to perform his new duties within hours of being released.
He was also the only person unaffected by the human at his side.
Morden had heard the name of course, but he had never seen him before. Very few had, not even the old man. He walked in the shadows, moving as the Vorlons dictated. He was their personal agent, assigned their most delicate tasks.
It was no wonder that he had been given this task.
Unlike the other Inquisitors Morden had met, this one did not wear the insignia. In fact he did not even wear the traditional robes. Instead he wore a very fine quality suit, of a style centuries old. The top hat had come back into fashion briefly when Morden was a child, and his father had owned a few, but no one he had known wore one as naturally as this individual. A small cane was held casually in his left hand, where immaculate gloves also rested.
"I trust this is important," he said, his voice precise, dwelling on every syllable. It was a voice that commanded the attention of everyone who heard it. "My time is too precious to be called away for every little problem."
"Of course, sir." Morden had settled on that as the appropriate form of address, and he had not been contradicted. The man did not have a title, but Morden knew he was ranked too far above him for first name terms to be acceptable. "This is exactly within your purview."
"Yes?"
"There is someone within our cells here you will wish to meet. We captured a Soul Hunter yesterday. He was found travelling outside the capital."
"Ah." Sebastian smiled, a chilling sight. "You were entirely correct to call me. Lead on."
"Yes, sir. This way."
* * *
There were few things more magnificent to his eyes than an alien sunset falling across an alien city.
Yedor was thriving again at last, growing and rebuilding. Corwin looked at the parts of it he had had a hand in, and felt pride for the first time in many months.
When he was not working he liked to take long walks, to look at the sky, at the ground, at some of the buildings that had survived the bombardment. Sometimes guilt overwhelmed him on these walks as he was hit by yet another reminder of the things he had destroyed, but mostly they brought him happiness and wonder.
He had been here almost a year now, since Kats had found him during the Day of the Dead and convinced him to come with her. They had spoken much during the return journey, and she still sought him out sometimes. She was often busy of course, with her duties to the Grey Council and her travels to other worlds. She spent some time on Kazomi 7 and the new Babylon 5 station. Corwin did not ask her how things were there, and she did not tell him. He did not want to know.
Mostly they talked about each other. She spoke of her childhood and her parents, and in simple, loving terms, of her dead husband. When she did so, she unconsciously toyed with the beautiful necklace she always wore.
For his part, he told her about his family, about what it had been like growing up, about his dreams for the future. He spoke of Mary a lot. Kats listened, watched in silence as he cried, and said the right things in response — about immortality, and new chances.
There was something her husband had said to her once, that she repeated to Corwin. He had hoped the two of them would meet up again in a new life in a new world, ready to live another lifetime together free from the mistakes and hardships of this one.
Corwin noticed the way her eyes shone when she said this, and he knew that she believed it was possible. He doubted if it would come true for him, however. He was not even sure if he loved Mary the way Kats had loved her Kozorr. If he did, surely he would have tried harder to stop her leaving, or gone after her, or something.
He just did not know, and mostly he preferred not to think about it.
When Kats was away, as she was now, he went for walks. He had few other friends among the Minbari. Many of the workers knew him by sight, but none of them were close. They bowed to him as he passed and he nodded back, and that was largely it. Most of the warriors hated him, that was plain, and they muttered darkly in their own tongue whenever they saw him.
He heard things on his walks. He spoke most of the Minbari dialects well enough, and little rumours reached his ears. Many, particularly the warriors, spoke about Sinoval. Some seemed in favour of him, others not. There were whispers of 'Inquisitors', feared aliens who were seeking out those who had bargained with the Shadows. One of them had come here, it was said, but only one.
Aliens were regarded suspiciously during these conversations. The new Grey Council was trying to attract other races to their homeworld, and the number of aliens was growing slowly. However, some of them had been attacked and beaten by warriors, possibly on suspicion of being these Inquisitors. No one dared to touch Corwin, though. His strange friendship with Kats was common knowledge, and the warriors all seemed in awe of her, either because of her marriage to a warrior or through the respect accorded her by one of the Satai, Tirivail.
