"More than enough time for us to hunt down and finish off Sinoval, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh…. more than enough time, Mr. President, but I would be…. wary of antagonising him overtly. He can be a very dangerous opponent when cornered, as we have seen." And more to the point his associates wanted Primarch Sinoval very much alive. He was far more use to them alive and properly channelled than he could be dead.
"Well, our generals will be able to attend to that." Clark rose to his feet. "Good luck, Ambassador, and a safe and speedy return to us. This place will…. hardly seem the same without you." He extended his hand.
Sheridan took it. "I will miss Proxima greatly, but my duties carry me elsewhere. Goodbye for now, Mr. President."
As he left, he resumed running through his itinerary for the next few months in his mind. Reports at Z'ha'dum and consultations with his colleagues in other fields. The engagement at Proxima 3 had been a major turning point and future events had to be steered in appropriate directions. And after Z'ha'dum a trip to somewhere else, for a very important task.
He almost scowled. Of all the places he had been to in his career this was the one he wished to see the least. He was not looking forward to going to Kazomi 7, that was beyond doubt.
* * *
The Darkness is coming.
Lord Kiro sat alone in the place where his aunt had been murdered. His wounds did not pain him any longer. The mark of the brands seared on to his body had become an illumination, not a torture. He had looked into the hateful faces of his tormentors and been renewed.
The Darkness is coming.
Ladira had wished to see him a few hours before the attack. He had not been home for very long, and he was tired. He was also angry with Lord Jarno, and had been musing on a plan for a counterattack against the Court. He had reacted to her invitation with annoyance, but he had gone promptly enough.
She had had a prophecy for him. He had listened, confused, not understanding a word, but then he had shrugged and left. She had said very little of substance to or about him. While her prophecies to others were quite accurate, those directed at her nephew had been universally gibberish.
Now, he understood.
You will be burned in fire, and purified in pain. You will see new lights and return from the lands of the dead. You will lead those who see as I do. The Darkness is coming, Kiro. It is coming for you, and I will not be at your side when it arrives.
She had been right. He had been burned by the fires of his torture, and purified. They had thought they had killed him, and left him there chained in darkness, his body mutilated and torn.
But he had lived, and he had brought a vision back from death.
He knew where he had to go, and whom he had to find. They would listen to him, because they would see in his eyes the same madness and flames that burned in their own.
His house burned down that night. Those who investigated it put it down as an attack by the Shadow Criers. Minister Durano heard this theory, and took it to both the Emperor and Lord-General Marrago. They listened, and resolved to keep it quiet. The Shadow Criers would have to be dealt with soon enough, but there were many other things to do first. The Court had to be reunited and the nobles had to accept Londo as Emperor. Lord Valo's state funeral might go some way towards doing that, but matters were still precarious. Kiro had been a prominent figure, and the fate of those who had attacked his estate had yet to be determined.
All word of the fire at the ruins of his home was hushed up. Few lived in that area of the city anyway these days, and secrets were not hard to keep in the capital now.
And Kiro ran alone and haunted through the streets of the city until he found the ones he was looking for. He spoke to them, and they heeded his words.
And they fell to their knees at his feet. They had found the one who would lead them to the coming Darkness.
And beyond….
* * *
Lyta Alexander breathed out slowly as she walked towards her goal. She knew what she had to do, and she knew how.
She should be in the medical bay now, she knew. Her efforts at the Third Line had almost killed her. As it was she had been drained to the point of exhaustion, pushed beyond her limits, her body almost too weak to push blood, to draw in air, to stay alive.
The light in her soul had gone, and she was alone, for the first time in over two years. She could only remember feeling this alone once before, after Marcus had died. It was for him that she was doing this. She knew that it was wrong, illegal certainly. She did not care. To let this go, to abandon this chance…. it would be as if Marcus had not mattered, and he had been almost everything that had mattered.
Her last act as a mortal woman was approaching. She knew they were coming back for her. She could feel the slow-growing light returning to her mind. It was not Kosh, but it was like him. Another Vorlon. They were almost ready now, stretching their influence across space to her. They were ready to move. A bargain had been made, and Kosh's death had been the first part in the sealing of it.
They had awoken her. Whether that was intentional or an accident she did not know. Nor did she know whether the act she was about to do was by their will, or her own. What she did know was what she wanted to do this thing. She wanted to do it very much.
For Marcus, if nothing else.
There were Narn Rangers guarding the doors, of course. She had expected that, but she had avoided the doctors at the medical centre, and she would evade the guards the same way.
They stepped forward, and with one sudden thought, both of them fell. She knew the pass-code to get her into the prison complex. Her head was aching now, blood pounding in her ears and before her eyes, but she carried on. Her new-found strength was fading fast, but she managed to drag herself onwards. This was almost over.
She stopped outside the door she needed. Few of these cells were occupied, and this particular occupant was very special indeed.
The cell door opened, and Lyta Alexander entered. She looked down at the sleeping form of Susan Ivanova, and lightly fingered the gun in her hand.
* * *
I will ask her. I…. will ask her. I will…. ask her.
But first, duty. But first, responsibility. But first…. but first, to relay the news he had learned mere moments before.
Commander David Corwin knew a great deal about bad news. But he had never in his life imagined he would have to deliver the information he had just been given. He was not sure he believed it himself. He supposed he should have told Delenn instantly, but there had been…. complications with the salvage, and he had wanted to be sure.
Now he wished he was not.
And he was still thinking about Mary. His silent promise to himself seemed so hollow now.
There was no answer to his call at Delenn's door. He paused, then rang the chime again. Well, it was not a true chime, but a cacophony of hideous screeches and bangs. Drazi hearing was much less refined than human, and he had no idea just what Minbari hearing was like. Still, they seemed to have toned it down for Delenn's quarters, which was just as well. He remembered a time when he and the Captain had been visiting the Drazi homeworld for a few days, staying in the Government buildings, and the noise….
He breathed out, calming his thoughts. Complete gibberish. He was more afraid of the next few minutes of conversation than he had been at any other moment in his life.
There was still no answer, and he closed in eyes in silent thanks. Maybe she was asleep. He would not be able to tell her now, then. Good. Put it off, don't worry about it now. Maybe…. maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe everything had fixed itself while he was gone. Maybe….
"Yes?" came Delenn's voice, and he swore to himself. "Who is there?"
"It's…. me, Delenn. Commander Corwin."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Open."
He entered, and took only the briefest step into the room. He could see her there, still sitting in exactly the same position she had been in the last time he had spoken to her. How long ago had that been? Four hours? Five? Longer?
"Commander. Is there…. is there any news?"
This will break her heart, he thought. She loves him. She really, truly does love him. She's not the enemy. She's not a monster. She loves the Captain.
And I have to tell her. She was right. He's not dead, but there are worse things than death.
Faith manages. It hasn't managed very well here.
"Delenn," he said softly. "They've found him."
He is running. He is not sure why. He does not know where he is running from, or where he is running to, but he knows he is running.
Something is chasing him. He does not know what. He knows only that he must escape from it. And it is gaining on him. It is faster than he is.
There is a brief flash of light, and he sees himself standing there on the bridge of the Parmenion, feeling the force of the impact. Something is falling. He is falling. It hits his back, and there is a snapping noise. He was unconscious when this happened, he knows. Or was he awake in some sense? Why was he still alive? He had tried to die, tried and prayed that his death would be an easy one, a purposeful one. His contagion would never affect his colleagues.
Yes, he must be dead. Oh, people had survived accidents like that, but that was rare. He had tried so hard to die. Why…. why had the universe not granted him his wish?
He was still running. It was just behind him. It was so much faster than he was, but he was confident. He could escape. He had endured worse than this. He could not be defeated. He was the Starkiller, the legendary hero of humanity. Nothing could defeat him.
He suddenly stopped, and fell. He struck the ground, and instantly tried to scramble to his feet.
He could not do it.
He could not move. Not at all.
It was upon him now. He could almost see it. He could….
His eyes opened. There was no darkness. In fact, the room was quite light. There was no monster chasing him, there was only Delenn, asleep in a chair at the side of his bed. Her position looked awkward. She did not even like sleeping in a horizontal, human bed.
He tried to reach over and touch her, but he could not. In fact, he could hardly even move his head. Straining his eyes, he gazed as far down as he could, and saw the straps and restraints holding him down. There was even some sort of framework immobilising his head. That explained it. He must have been injured worse than he had thought.
Worse than he had thought? He had died, surely? He….
No, he was alive. In a strange way he was relieved. Yes, he was still a threat, both to her and to everyone else he cared for, but that was a problem for another day. He'd have more time with her. Maybe Sinoval would manage to find a cure. Anything was possible.
He couldn't feel his legs.
The realisation suddenly hit him. He couldn't feel a thing. No itching, no numbness, no sensation at all. He had countless old injuries there, old wounds that throbbed or itched. Nothing. An anaesthetic of some sort, perhaps?
