Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road, Part 29
Title: Kansas 2 - The Yellow Brick Road
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
I thought Minbari would find the concept of Hell most confusing. Given what little we learned about their religion and philosophy, they probably don’t think along these lines.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PART 29 - 22/23 December 2260
Ivanova was exhausted. More exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life. Filling Sheridan’s shoes - even temporarily, or so she hoped - was tough. Tension levels all over the station hit the roof, and she found she missed the chance to talk to Captain Janeway from Voyager.
They had a fundamentally different view on many things, granted. But that was exactly the reason why she valued the insights of the older woman so much. She knew she could be too rigid in her opinions sometimes; having them questioned from time to time was helpful for seeing the bigger picture.
Even if Janeway was, in her way, every bit as rigid sometimes.
She knew she ought to hand over C&C to Lieutenant Corwin and rest. She had been on duty for two full shifts by now; she needed sleep, at least a few hours of it, to be able to function tomorrow. And yet something didn’t allow her to leave. There was a strange, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, like an omen of impending doom.
It was a familiar feeling, one she had felt before. Perhaps it came from her weak, latent telepathic abilities. Perhaps it was merely and instinct. But she could always feel in advance when some serious danger was coming up.
Thanks to Vir’s warning they already knew that something was coming, of course. They could also make an educated guess - hell, they had already made an educated guess - what it was likely to be: some sort of Shadow attack. An attack that Babylon 5’s defence grid might not be able to repel in the long run.
Her presence would be of little help in that; she knew it. If the Shadows pulled up a really big fleet, they would be hopelessly outgunned, and no amount of heroism and willpower could change that.
And yet she couldn’t force herself to leave C&C. This was her place, her duty. Now that Sheridan was gone, more so than ever.
“Commander,” the voice of Lieutenant Corwin interrupted her circular thoughts. “I’m picking up disturbances.”
Ivanova felt her stomach shrink to the size of a dried lemon. “Location?”
Corwin looked up from his instruments, his face chalk white.
“All around us!” he switched the image onto the main viewer, and they all watched with dread as a huge Shadow battle fleet phased into space all around the station.
For a moment everyone was petrified by the sight. Even Ivanova needed a second of conscious effort to get over her fear and fall back into comforting routine.
“Red alert!” she ordered in a clipped tone, and the sound of the alarm klaxons echoed through C&C immediately. She could see with her mind’s eye the pilots running for their Starfuries.
“Status!” she demanded.
“They’re not moving!” Corwin reported in surprise. “Holding position.”
That was decidedly odd, Ivanova found.
“All fighter squadrons launch, but do not approach until authorized to fire,” she ordered.
Corwin relayed the order, and Babylon 5’s pitifully small complement of fighters dropped from the Cobra bays and interposed themselves between the Shadows and the station. Like a handful of ants trying to fend off the attack of a horde of carnivorous dinosaurs.
“What now?” Corwin asked.
Ivanova shrugged. “Now we wait.”
This was going to be the hardest part of all, she knew. But at the moment there was nothing else they could have done.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“That should be enough,” Galen said. “You can disconnect from the board systems now.”
Seven extracted her access tubes from the navigation console of the small ship… rather reluctantly, to tell the truth. She was less than content with the extent of her control over the unique little vessel.
“Are you sure that my implants will be able to interact with your systems smoothly?” she asked, doubt evident in her voice.
“Not one hundred per cent,” Galen admitted. “But this is as far as I dare to go. Any more and we might damage the board systems… or you.”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “I see. Do you care to explain why are we taking such extreme risks? The Babylon 5 database isn’t very forthcoming with information about these Shadow creatures.”
“That is because they know nothing beyond a few facts they have picked up in the last couple of years,” Galen gestured here to sit down. “I guess this is as good a time as any to give you some background information.”
“That,” Seven said dryly, “could be useful.”
“Very well; but this is going to be a long story,” Galen collected his thoughts; then he began.
“Back about a million years ago, there were forces prowling around the galaxy beyond anything that we could understand. And, like anything else, most of them outgrew this little corner of the universe and headed off towards the galactic Rim, in the hope for greater adventures. Only a few of them stayed behind; and only two of those few took upon themselves the task of looking after the younger races; bringing them around; helping them evolve into something better Shepherds, you might call them.”
“I assume that one of these was the Vorlons,” Seven said. Therefore other must have been what you call the Shadows.”
Galen nodded. “Exactly. Unfortunately, while they both took their responsibility seriously - in their own way in any case - they had fundamentally different views at how to further evolution. The Vorlons believe in order: in doing things by the rules and in a development that happens in steadily widening circles.”
“And the others, the ones who live on Z’ha’dum, they believe in chaos?” Seven asked with a frown.
“They believe that strength only comes from conflict,” Galen corrected. “They actively seek to create conflict because they believe that through the survival of the fittest each new generation gets stronger. So they come out of hiding every few thousand years and kick over all the anthills, you could say. Start wars, destroy entire races.”
“And the Vorlons just sit at the sidelines and watch?”
“The Vorlons use subtle methods,” Galen explained. “They enlisted the support of other worlds, like the Minbari. They even started interfering with the development of younger races; manipulated them, so they would respond favourably to them.”
“What do you mean?” Seven frowned; she had no idea what the technomage was talking about.
“You have checked the Babylon 5 logs, have you not?” Galen asked; she nodded. “So you know that Kosh - the original Kosh - showed his true form to save Sheridan from an assault in the Garden. But you probably don’t know what the people present really saw.”
“What did they see then?”
“Certainly not the Vorlon as it looks in his natural form,” Galen said dryly. “Apparently, each and every beholder saw his or her race’s equivalent of an angel… or a benevolent deity. Do I need to mention that the evil spirits in most mythologies look surprisingly similar to the Shadows?”
“So, are you telling me that the Vorlons only made the younger races believe that the Shadows are evil?” Seven had a hard time to understand.
Galen shook his head grimly. “Oh no, they are evil all right; at least how we see evil. I for my part do find it evil when wars are started, entire planets blown up and whole races exterminated.”
“As a Borg I, too, helped assimilate entire races,” Seven pointed out. “Do you see me as evil, then?”
“You had no choice,” Galen replied. “The Shadows had; and they chose bloodshed and destruction consciously.”
“And the Vorlons?”
“The Vorlons interfered with the development of younger races at a genetic level, creating telepaths on a hundred worlds. That is bad enough, in my opinion; none of those telepaths that started coming out of nowhere a hundred years ago were asked if they wanted to become cannon fodder for the next war. But the Shadows did even worse: they took living, breathing beings, implanted them and made them part of their warships.”
“Sounds like the Borg to me,” Seven commented dryly. “So, why are we siding with the Vorlons if they aren’t any better… or, at the least, not much better?”
“Because this is a conflict in which we don’t have the luxury to remain neutral,” Galen replied simply. “And because siding with them gives us a better chance to survive. A thousand years ago the Minbari managed to beat the Shadows, with the help of the Vorlons and most likely some of the other Old Ones. If Sheridan and his allies manage the same, we will be rid of them for another millennium or so.”
“Until they come out again.”
“Yes. But that will be the fight of the coming generations. We are only responsible for the here and now.”
Seven considered that for a while.
“It sounds reasonable,” she then said. “There is only one more thing I don’t understand: why Sheridan? Why is he so important? He is just a man out of millions.”
“No, not just one out of millions,” Galen corrected. “He is the one who is needed. Whenever a new circle in this conflict starts, there is always someone who tries to organize the other races. The last time it was Valen. This time it is Sheridan. By getting the others to cooperate, he is working against the goal of the Shadows.”
“You mean against getting the other races to fight each other, to create conflict in order to promote growth and evolution?” Seven clarified.
Galen nodded. “He is about the only thing that is standing in their way now.”
“But why did they lure him to Z’ha’dum?” Seven wondered. “Why didn’t they just have him killed?”
Galen shrugged. “I can only assume that they did not want to create a martyr. Martyrs are uncomfortable; they tend to motivate other people to pick up their case. Sheridan is important; you could even call him the nexus, at least where the Alliance is concerned. He is a born leader whom people tend to follow. The Shadows - or rather their human agents - would benefit much more if they could win him over to their side than they would from his death.”
“Do you believe they could? Win him over, I mean?”
“No; I rather believe he must have a reckless plan to hit them first and hit them hard. And then we must try our best to get him out of there alive - if we can.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the Bridge of Voyager Janeway and her command staff watched on the main viewer as Starfuries were flying around the station and more Starfuries were landing.
“They are moving into position,” Ayala commented from Tactical, where he was listening into the communication between Babylon 5 and the pilots. “It seems Mr. Garibaldi pilots one of the last fighters to go. He’s just ordered the others to ‘hang tight’ - whatever that means for them.”
“Presumably not to fire first,” Rollins suggested. “They can’t afford to start hostilities - they’re hopelessly outgunned and outnumbered.”
“And it doesn’t look like they could hope for reinforcements,” Harry added, consulting his readings. “Somebody from C&C has tried to contact whoever is down on the planet, but they couldn’t get through. These… Shadows are apparently jamming all outgoing messages.”
“What about incoming ones?” Janeway asked. “Could we get through to them?”
“That would be tactically unwise,” Chakotay said before Kim could have answered. “Right now the Shadow fleet seems to be unaware of our presence, since all their ships have come out of hyperspace on the other side of Epsilon 3. Should we break radio silence, though, they’d pick up our signal at once. We are in no position to afford that.”
“But we need to be able to communicate with Babylon 5, as well as with the remaining Alliance ships!” Rollins said. “We must synchronize our actions with them if we’re forced to defend ourselves!”
Tom turned around with his seat. “Captain, if I may…”
“Go on, Mr. Paris!”
“What we need is basically a communications buoy. With the help of a shuttlecraft, I could deploy one at a certain location, from where it could cut through the jamming signal and reach either Babylon 5 or the Ingata - assuming that Harry can give me the right coordinates.”
“Give me a minute!” Harry was already working on the problem feverishly. He might not have Seven’s advanced Borg brainpower but he was way better at maths than the average human.
Chakotay, however, shook his head. “That won’t work. The Shadows would simply shoot the buoy off the sky - after having it tracked back to us. We’d reveal our presence for nothing.”
“Then let us deploy a shuttlecraft as a mobile communications centre,” Tom suggested. “If I change position and trajectory randomly, they won’t be able to pick me out of all the small vessels cluttering up the place.”
Janeway considered the idea for a while. It was risky, for sure, but Rollins had been right: they needed to be able to communicate with the station.
And with the fleet; or, at the very least, with Alyt Neroon.
“Very well,” she finally said; then she looked at Chakotay apologetically. “Commander, I’m afraid you’ll have to go with Tom. I can’t leave the ship during Red Alert; and it has to be a commanding officer who supervises communication in a situation like this. Since Tuvok isn’t available, you are the only one who has worked with them during a battle before.”
“Besides, Alyt Neroon is rather particular about the people he’d be willing to cooperate with,” Chakotay rose from his seat. “I’m on my way, Captain. Paris, let’s go!”
The two of them left, Ensign Baytart taking over the conn from Tom. Janeway eyed the main viewer warily; or rather the inactive Shadow fleet on it.
“I don't understand,” she murmured. “They're just sitting there. What are they waiting for?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the other side of Epsilon 3, aboard the besieged Babylon 5 station, Ivanova was asking herself the same.
“This has something to do with the captain,” she muttered. “But what?“
In the unlikely case that Lieutenant Corwin would have an answer, he didn’t get to offer it, because in that very moment G'Kar came running onto the command deck in a rather frantic state.
“Commander!” he gasped.
Ivanova turned to him in relief. “G'Kar, good! Can we get those nuclear weapons outside where they can do some good?”
G'Kar shook his head in concern. “I'm afraid not. Even if we could get them out, at this range they'd vaporize us right along with the enemy.”
“Maybe,” Ivanova allowed; but she wasn’t about to give up just yet. “How many of those bombs do we have?”
“That's what I came to tell you!” G’Kar was too agitated to keep his voice level low. “Two of the devices are missing!”
Ivanova stared at him, petrified with shock.
“What?” she finally managed to ask. “Since when?”
“I don’t know,” G’Kar admitted. “I’ve controlled them upon delivery, of course, and every single one was there: in a high-security storeroom, sealed by Mr. Garibaldi himself.”
“Were the seals broken?” Ivanova asked, getting a suspicion about the nature of the whole thing.
G’Kar shook his head. “No. But the seals were DNA-coded. Only three people could open them: you, me and Mr. Garibaldi.”
“Exactly,” Ivanova said slowly. “I wasn’t it, and I assume you weren’t it, either. That leaves Garibaldi.”
“But why would Mr. Garibaldi need two thermonuclear warheads?” G’Kar asked with a frown.
Ivanova smiled humourlessly. “He doesn’t. But the captain might. Look, all I know is that he gave Garibaldi some orders before he left with Anna, forbidding him to ask for reasons - or even make a guess at them. I think, however, that we can make an educated guess about the nature of those orders, don’t you agree?”
“Perhaps,” G’Kar allowed, not entirely convinced. “But why would Sheridan take those bombs with him?”
“Perhaps he thought he’d need a couple of meaningful arguments, once they arrive,” Ivanova replied grimly.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the command deck of the Ingata, Alyt Neroon eyed their newly assigned Anla’shok liaison warily. The young man had been transferred to them just before the Sher’shok Dum would show up around the station, and Neroon asked himself why Delenn would assign this particular Ranger trainee to his battle group.
It was impossible that she would not know of the family relation between them. After all, she had been the driving force behind his ultimately failed marriage. A marriage arranged after the Earth-Minbari war in a doomed effort to reconcile the Warriors with the Religious Caste.
“Do you have any new insights that might be tactically useful for us?” he asked.
It was unlikely, granted, but not entirely impossible. Anla’shok often served as messengers between important people, especially because they could blend with their surroundings masterfully.
However, Tannier of the Faithful Hearts Clan (and younger brother of Neroon’s short-time wife) shook his head apologetically.
“I am afraid I haven’t, Alyt. I have just arrived with the last of the White Star ships and did not even have the chance to meet Entil’zha Delenn. My orders came through her aide.”
Lennier, then. Neroon briefly wondered whether the young priest knew that Tannier was practically his brother-in law. The fact that Luthienn had returned to the Temple of Valeria, right after their nafak’cha, did not change the fact that they were still married by Minbari law.
Still, he doubted that Lennier would know about this aspect of his life. The young priest was deep in Delenn’s current plans and secrets, but there was no reason to tell him about Neroon’s failed marriage of five years ago.
Unless there was another Religious scheme running in the background, that is. He would not put it beyond Delenn to violate his privacy if it served her purposes.
Which reminded him of something else.
“Has anyone seen her since Sheridan’s departure?” he asked.
Tannier shook his head again. “No-one but her aide. She has gone into seclusion; presumably grieving.”
“Grieving?” Neroon echoed in exasperation. “On the brink of the very battle that might kill us all she retires to grieve? And the Anla’shok are looking for orders at her? What good is a liaison for us when the supposed leader refuses to lead?”
Tannier cleared his throat. “As for that, Alyt; Sech Durhan sent you a personal message.”
“With you?” Neroon asked incredulously. “Did he not find a Warrior Anla’shok to entrust with the message?”
Tannier shrugged, taking no offence. For such a big young man - he was a head taller than Rastenn and more heavily built - he was surprisingly patient and mild-mannered, even for one of the Religious Caste.
“I might be Religious,” he said, “but I am also family; or, at least, the closest thing to it. Sech Durhan counted on me fulfilling my family obligations,” he produced a data crystal and handed it to Neroon. “He said it is for your eyes only and will require a voiceprint identification.”
“I see,” Neroon accepted the crystal without hesitation; it came from Sech Durhan, therefore it had to be important. “Well, since you are already here, we shall integrate you into the duty roster. What is your designation aboard a warship?”
“Navigation and telemetry.”
“Excellent. Siarann will assign you to one of the secondary workstations on the command deck. Until then, Rastenn will show you to your quarters and introduce you to the working order aboard the Ingata.”
He nodded to Rastenn who bowed in Warrior fashion and led the young Anla’shok liaison away from the command deck without verbally acknowledging the order. There was no need for that between him and his uncle.
Neroon temporarily transferred command to Siarann and retired to his private office - a small room adjoining the command deck - to listen to Sech Durhan’s message.
It was short and to the point, as always.
She was Valen’s choice, and we respect that, the old Warrior stared at him from the viewscreen intently. But she is not ready to lead us in battle yet - if she will ever be. Should she fail as a war leader, the captains of our ships had been instructed to look at you for directions… until the war is over. Lead us well.
And with that the screen went blank.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ending his recorded message to Neroon, Sech Durhan switched off his comm unit and looked at Sech Turval askance.
“Do you think we did the right thing?” he asked doubtfully.
Going behind the back of Entil’zha was anathema; something that had never happened before. With entrusting the leading of the battle to Neroon, they were also acting against Valen’s wishes; well, Sinclair’s, but that was basically same, and they belonged to the small circle that was aware of the fact.
“I believe that we have chosen the lesser evil,” Sech Turval answered thoughtfully.
Unlike his old friend and friendly Warrior rival, whose sarcasm could cut crystal, he was a mild-mannered, though equally sarcastic priest, working as the meditation tutor of the Ranger trainees. Despite being of the Religious Caste, his insights were highly valued among their Warrior colleagues.
“I do not doubt that Entil’zha Sinclair had his good reasons to choose Delenn as his successor,” he continued. “But his knowledge of any possible future did not go beyond his own time; and I wonder if he realized the depth of changes Delenn’s transformation wrought of her.”
“I assume you do not mean the hair,” Sech Durhan commented sarcastically.
Sech Turval shook his head. “No; I mean that her priorities seem to have changed.”
“Are you telling me that going through the transformation was a mistake?” the old Warrior demanded.
Sech Turval shook his head again. “No; it was necessary to complete the cycle that Valen has begun. She might not be the right person to lead the Anla’shok in battle - she woefully lacks both the proper training and the proper discipline…”
“… which is why we had to turn to Neroon…”
“… but she was the only one who could - who would - go through the Change. She alone was willing to befriend the humans, Sinclair in particular; to work with them and to ally herself with them.”
“I still doubt that her falling for Starkiller would have been part of Valen’s master plan,” Sech Durhan commented dryly.
As much as he had come to respect Sinclair, he still held the old grudge against Sheridan - he had lost family on the Drala’fi, too - and frankly, would have preferred to see Neroon leading the Anla’shok. Permanently.
“No, it most likely was not,” Sech Turval allowed. “But do not forget: the person Sinclair knew and trusted was the old Delenn, the fully Minbari one. He could not foresee how she would change due to the transformation; no-one could.”
“The irony is that while Valen could remember Sinclair, Sinclair could not remember Valen,” Sech Durhan offered.
The old priest nodded. “And herein lies the problem. The thousand years in-between have built up Valen’s memory to the stuff of legends. If he had any human weaknesses - and I am certain he did - the legends have concealed them well. And he was a man in his prime when he accepted his destiny and went back in time to fulfil it. He had long dealt with any old burdens he might have carried over from his past.”
“And you believe that Delenn has not?” the Warrior asked.
“I believe that Delenn is still plagued by her guilt over what had started our war with the humans,” Sech Turval sighed. “Her actions have been somewhat… erratic, ever since our surrender. Do I need to remind you of her role in Neroon’s failed marriage?”
“You do not,” Sech Durhan said grimly. “Forcing that bond was a grave mistake; one that left the ruling family of the Star Riders without an heir to this very day. I still wonder why Branmer would support it.”
“Branmer desperately wanted to reconcile our Castes with each other,” Sech Turval replied. “Desperately enough to believe that such a symbolic gesture would be enough; Neroon would never have agreed without his express orders.”
“As much good as it did, for either side,” Sech Durhan commented cynically.
“It brought nothing but sorrow,” Sech Turval agreed. “Luthienn had to give up her calling as a prophetess and perhaps as the high priestess of Valeria; and Neroon will never be able to have a family of his own, due to his failed bond.”
“Small wonder that he hates Delenn so much,” the old Warrior said. “In a manner, she did ruin his life - and for what? Nothing and again nothing.”
“That it happened with the best intentions does not change the outcome,” Sech Turval added. “She wanted to correct a horrible mistake - and in a way she almost succeeded.”
“There is a metaphor the human Anla’shok like to quote,” Sech Durhan said. “The way to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
“Hell?” Sech Turval echoed in mild confusion.
“Apparently a metaphysical place of eternal damnation where the souls are punished after a person’s death for the sins committed during their life,” Sech Durhan explained. “A rather odd concept, I say.”
“It is,” Sech Turval agreed, “but the metaphor is fitting. And thus keeping Delenn and Neroon in the same camp shan’t be easy.”
“Was this why you sent Tannier, of all people, to the Ingata as our liaison to Neroon?” the old Warrior asked shrewdly.
The priest nodded. “Reconciliation should come from within. And it has to be built from the very foundation - which is family. Let us hope that Tannier will succeed in winning Neroon’s trust; because if he cannot, I see Valen’s peace in great peril.”
Author: Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the secondary index page.
I thought Minbari would find the concept of Hell most confusing. Given what little we learned about their religion and philosophy, they probably don’t think along these lines.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PART 29 - 22/23 December 2260
Ivanova was exhausted. More exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life. Filling Sheridan’s shoes - even temporarily, or so she hoped - was tough. Tension levels all over the station hit the roof, and she found she missed the chance to talk to Captain Janeway from Voyager.
They had a fundamentally different view on many things, granted. But that was exactly the reason why she valued the insights of the older woman so much. She knew she could be too rigid in her opinions sometimes; having them questioned from time to time was helpful for seeing the bigger picture.
Even if Janeway was, in her way, every bit as rigid sometimes.
She knew she ought to hand over C&C to Lieutenant Corwin and rest. She had been on duty for two full shifts by now; she needed sleep, at least a few hours of it, to be able to function tomorrow. And yet something didn’t allow her to leave. There was a strange, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, like an omen of impending doom.
It was a familiar feeling, one she had felt before. Perhaps it came from her weak, latent telepathic abilities. Perhaps it was merely and instinct. But she could always feel in advance when some serious danger was coming up.
Thanks to Vir’s warning they already knew that something was coming, of course. They could also make an educated guess - hell, they had already made an educated guess - what it was likely to be: some sort of Shadow attack. An attack that Babylon 5’s defence grid might not be able to repel in the long run.
Her presence would be of little help in that; she knew it. If the Shadows pulled up a really big fleet, they would be hopelessly outgunned, and no amount of heroism and willpower could change that.
And yet she couldn’t force herself to leave C&C. This was her place, her duty. Now that Sheridan was gone, more so than ever.
“Commander,” the voice of Lieutenant Corwin interrupted her circular thoughts. “I’m picking up disturbances.”
Ivanova felt her stomach shrink to the size of a dried lemon. “Location?”
Corwin looked up from his instruments, his face chalk white.
“All around us!” he switched the image onto the main viewer, and they all watched with dread as a huge Shadow battle fleet phased into space all around the station.
For a moment everyone was petrified by the sight. Even Ivanova needed a second of conscious effort to get over her fear and fall back into comforting routine.
“Red alert!” she ordered in a clipped tone, and the sound of the alarm klaxons echoed through C&C immediately. She could see with her mind’s eye the pilots running for their Starfuries.
“Status!” she demanded.
“They’re not moving!” Corwin reported in surprise. “Holding position.”
That was decidedly odd, Ivanova found.
“All fighter squadrons launch, but do not approach until authorized to fire,” she ordered.
Corwin relayed the order, and Babylon 5’s pitifully small complement of fighters dropped from the Cobra bays and interposed themselves between the Shadows and the station. Like a handful of ants trying to fend off the attack of a horde of carnivorous dinosaurs.
“What now?” Corwin asked.
Ivanova shrugged. “Now we wait.”
This was going to be the hardest part of all, she knew. But at the moment there was nothing else they could have done.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“That should be enough,” Galen said. “You can disconnect from the board systems now.”
Seven extracted her access tubes from the navigation console of the small ship… rather reluctantly, to tell the truth. She was less than content with the extent of her control over the unique little vessel.
“Are you sure that my implants will be able to interact with your systems smoothly?” she asked, doubt evident in her voice.
“Not one hundred per cent,” Galen admitted. “But this is as far as I dare to go. Any more and we might damage the board systems… or you.”
Seven raised an eyebrow. “I see. Do you care to explain why are we taking such extreme risks? The Babylon 5 database isn’t very forthcoming with information about these Shadow creatures.”
“That is because they know nothing beyond a few facts they have picked up in the last couple of years,” Galen gestured here to sit down. “I guess this is as good a time as any to give you some background information.”
“That,” Seven said dryly, “could be useful.”
“Very well; but this is going to be a long story,” Galen collected his thoughts; then he began.
“Back about a million years ago, there were forces prowling around the galaxy beyond anything that we could understand. And, like anything else, most of them outgrew this little corner of the universe and headed off towards the galactic Rim, in the hope for greater adventures. Only a few of them stayed behind; and only two of those few took upon themselves the task of looking after the younger races; bringing them around; helping them evolve into something better Shepherds, you might call them.”
“I assume that one of these was the Vorlons,” Seven said. Therefore other must have been what you call the Shadows.”
Galen nodded. “Exactly. Unfortunately, while they both took their responsibility seriously - in their own way in any case - they had fundamentally different views at how to further evolution. The Vorlons believe in order: in doing things by the rules and in a development that happens in steadily widening circles.”
“And the others, the ones who live on Z’ha’dum, they believe in chaos?” Seven asked with a frown.
“They believe that strength only comes from conflict,” Galen corrected. “They actively seek to create conflict because they believe that through the survival of the fittest each new generation gets stronger. So they come out of hiding every few thousand years and kick over all the anthills, you could say. Start wars, destroy entire races.”
“And the Vorlons just sit at the sidelines and watch?”
“The Vorlons use subtle methods,” Galen explained. “They enlisted the support of other worlds, like the Minbari. They even started interfering with the development of younger races; manipulated them, so they would respond favourably to them.”
“What do you mean?” Seven frowned; she had no idea what the technomage was talking about.
“You have checked the Babylon 5 logs, have you not?” Galen asked; she nodded. “So you know that Kosh - the original Kosh - showed his true form to save Sheridan from an assault in the Garden. But you probably don’t know what the people present really saw.”
“What did they see then?”
“Certainly not the Vorlon as it looks in his natural form,” Galen said dryly. “Apparently, each and every beholder saw his or her race’s equivalent of an angel… or a benevolent deity. Do I need to mention that the evil spirits in most mythologies look surprisingly similar to the Shadows?”
“So, are you telling me that the Vorlons only made the younger races believe that the Shadows are evil?” Seven had a hard time to understand.
Galen shook his head grimly. “Oh no, they are evil all right; at least how we see evil. I for my part do find it evil when wars are started, entire planets blown up and whole races exterminated.”
“As a Borg I, too, helped assimilate entire races,” Seven pointed out. “Do you see me as evil, then?”
“You had no choice,” Galen replied. “The Shadows had; and they chose bloodshed and destruction consciously.”
“And the Vorlons?”
“The Vorlons interfered with the development of younger races at a genetic level, creating telepaths on a hundred worlds. That is bad enough, in my opinion; none of those telepaths that started coming out of nowhere a hundred years ago were asked if they wanted to become cannon fodder for the next war. But the Shadows did even worse: they took living, breathing beings, implanted them and made them part of their warships.”
“Sounds like the Borg to me,” Seven commented dryly. “So, why are we siding with the Vorlons if they aren’t any better… or, at the least, not much better?”
“Because this is a conflict in which we don’t have the luxury to remain neutral,” Galen replied simply. “And because siding with them gives us a better chance to survive. A thousand years ago the Minbari managed to beat the Shadows, with the help of the Vorlons and most likely some of the other Old Ones. If Sheridan and his allies manage the same, we will be rid of them for another millennium or so.”
“Until they come out again.”
“Yes. But that will be the fight of the coming generations. We are only responsible for the here and now.”
Seven considered that for a while.
“It sounds reasonable,” she then said. “There is only one more thing I don’t understand: why Sheridan? Why is he so important? He is just a man out of millions.”
“No, not just one out of millions,” Galen corrected. “He is the one who is needed. Whenever a new circle in this conflict starts, there is always someone who tries to organize the other races. The last time it was Valen. This time it is Sheridan. By getting the others to cooperate, he is working against the goal of the Shadows.”
“You mean against getting the other races to fight each other, to create conflict in order to promote growth and evolution?” Seven clarified.
Galen nodded. “He is about the only thing that is standing in their way now.”
“But why did they lure him to Z’ha’dum?” Seven wondered. “Why didn’t they just have him killed?”
Galen shrugged. “I can only assume that they did not want to create a martyr. Martyrs are uncomfortable; they tend to motivate other people to pick up their case. Sheridan is important; you could even call him the nexus, at least where the Alliance is concerned. He is a born leader whom people tend to follow. The Shadows - or rather their human agents - would benefit much more if they could win him over to their side than they would from his death.”
“Do you believe they could? Win him over, I mean?”
“No; I rather believe he must have a reckless plan to hit them first and hit them hard. And then we must try our best to get him out of there alive - if we can.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the Bridge of Voyager Janeway and her command staff watched on the main viewer as Starfuries were flying around the station and more Starfuries were landing.
“They are moving into position,” Ayala commented from Tactical, where he was listening into the communication between Babylon 5 and the pilots. “It seems Mr. Garibaldi pilots one of the last fighters to go. He’s just ordered the others to ‘hang tight’ - whatever that means for them.”
“Presumably not to fire first,” Rollins suggested. “They can’t afford to start hostilities - they’re hopelessly outgunned and outnumbered.”
“And it doesn’t look like they could hope for reinforcements,” Harry added, consulting his readings. “Somebody from C&C has tried to contact whoever is down on the planet, but they couldn’t get through. These… Shadows are apparently jamming all outgoing messages.”
“What about incoming ones?” Janeway asked. “Could we get through to them?”
“That would be tactically unwise,” Chakotay said before Kim could have answered. “Right now the Shadow fleet seems to be unaware of our presence, since all their ships have come out of hyperspace on the other side of Epsilon 3. Should we break radio silence, though, they’d pick up our signal at once. We are in no position to afford that.”
“But we need to be able to communicate with Babylon 5, as well as with the remaining Alliance ships!” Rollins said. “We must synchronize our actions with them if we’re forced to defend ourselves!”
Tom turned around with his seat. “Captain, if I may…”
“Go on, Mr. Paris!”
“What we need is basically a communications buoy. With the help of a shuttlecraft, I could deploy one at a certain location, from where it could cut through the jamming signal and reach either Babylon 5 or the Ingata - assuming that Harry can give me the right coordinates.”
“Give me a minute!” Harry was already working on the problem feverishly. He might not have Seven’s advanced Borg brainpower but he was way better at maths than the average human.
Chakotay, however, shook his head. “That won’t work. The Shadows would simply shoot the buoy off the sky - after having it tracked back to us. We’d reveal our presence for nothing.”
“Then let us deploy a shuttlecraft as a mobile communications centre,” Tom suggested. “If I change position and trajectory randomly, they won’t be able to pick me out of all the small vessels cluttering up the place.”
Janeway considered the idea for a while. It was risky, for sure, but Rollins had been right: they needed to be able to communicate with the station.
And with the fleet; or, at the very least, with Alyt Neroon.
“Very well,” she finally said; then she looked at Chakotay apologetically. “Commander, I’m afraid you’ll have to go with Tom. I can’t leave the ship during Red Alert; and it has to be a commanding officer who supervises communication in a situation like this. Since Tuvok isn’t available, you are the only one who has worked with them during a battle before.”
“Besides, Alyt Neroon is rather particular about the people he’d be willing to cooperate with,” Chakotay rose from his seat. “I’m on my way, Captain. Paris, let’s go!”
The two of them left, Ensign Baytart taking over the conn from Tom. Janeway eyed the main viewer warily; or rather the inactive Shadow fleet on it.
“I don't understand,” she murmured. “They're just sitting there. What are they waiting for?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the other side of Epsilon 3, aboard the besieged Babylon 5 station, Ivanova was asking herself the same.
“This has something to do with the captain,” she muttered. “But what?“
In the unlikely case that Lieutenant Corwin would have an answer, he didn’t get to offer it, because in that very moment G'Kar came running onto the command deck in a rather frantic state.
“Commander!” he gasped.
Ivanova turned to him in relief. “G'Kar, good! Can we get those nuclear weapons outside where they can do some good?”
G'Kar shook his head in concern. “I'm afraid not. Even if we could get them out, at this range they'd vaporize us right along with the enemy.”
“Maybe,” Ivanova allowed; but she wasn’t about to give up just yet. “How many of those bombs do we have?”
“That's what I came to tell you!” G’Kar was too agitated to keep his voice level low. “Two of the devices are missing!”
Ivanova stared at him, petrified with shock.
“What?” she finally managed to ask. “Since when?”
“I don’t know,” G’Kar admitted. “I’ve controlled them upon delivery, of course, and every single one was there: in a high-security storeroom, sealed by Mr. Garibaldi himself.”
“Were the seals broken?” Ivanova asked, getting a suspicion about the nature of the whole thing.
G’Kar shook his head. “No. But the seals were DNA-coded. Only three people could open them: you, me and Mr. Garibaldi.”
“Exactly,” Ivanova said slowly. “I wasn’t it, and I assume you weren’t it, either. That leaves Garibaldi.”
“But why would Mr. Garibaldi need two thermonuclear warheads?” G’Kar asked with a frown.
Ivanova smiled humourlessly. “He doesn’t. But the captain might. Look, all I know is that he gave Garibaldi some orders before he left with Anna, forbidding him to ask for reasons - or even make a guess at them. I think, however, that we can make an educated guess about the nature of those orders, don’t you agree?”
“Perhaps,” G’Kar allowed, not entirely convinced. “But why would Sheridan take those bombs with him?”
“Perhaps he thought he’d need a couple of meaningful arguments, once they arrive,” Ivanova replied grimly.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the command deck of the Ingata, Alyt Neroon eyed their newly assigned Anla’shok liaison warily. The young man had been transferred to them just before the Sher’shok Dum would show up around the station, and Neroon asked himself why Delenn would assign this particular Ranger trainee to his battle group.
It was impossible that she would not know of the family relation between them. After all, she had been the driving force behind his ultimately failed marriage. A marriage arranged after the Earth-Minbari war in a doomed effort to reconcile the Warriors with the Religious Caste.
“Do you have any new insights that might be tactically useful for us?” he asked.
It was unlikely, granted, but not entirely impossible. Anla’shok often served as messengers between important people, especially because they could blend with their surroundings masterfully.
However, Tannier of the Faithful Hearts Clan (and younger brother of Neroon’s short-time wife) shook his head apologetically.
“I am afraid I haven’t, Alyt. I have just arrived with the last of the White Star ships and did not even have the chance to meet Entil’zha Delenn. My orders came through her aide.”
Lennier, then. Neroon briefly wondered whether the young priest knew that Tannier was practically his brother-in law. The fact that Luthienn had returned to the Temple of Valeria, right after their nafak’cha, did not change the fact that they were still married by Minbari law.
Still, he doubted that Lennier would know about this aspect of his life. The young priest was deep in Delenn’s current plans and secrets, but there was no reason to tell him about Neroon’s failed marriage of five years ago.
Unless there was another Religious scheme running in the background, that is. He would not put it beyond Delenn to violate his privacy if it served her purposes.
Which reminded him of something else.
“Has anyone seen her since Sheridan’s departure?” he asked.
Tannier shook his head again. “No-one but her aide. She has gone into seclusion; presumably grieving.”
“Grieving?” Neroon echoed in exasperation. “On the brink of the very battle that might kill us all she retires to grieve? And the Anla’shok are looking for orders at her? What good is a liaison for us when the supposed leader refuses to lead?”
Tannier cleared his throat. “As for that, Alyt; Sech Durhan sent you a personal message.”
“With you?” Neroon asked incredulously. “Did he not find a Warrior Anla’shok to entrust with the message?”
Tannier shrugged, taking no offence. For such a big young man - he was a head taller than Rastenn and more heavily built - he was surprisingly patient and mild-mannered, even for one of the Religious Caste.
“I might be Religious,” he said, “but I am also family; or, at least, the closest thing to it. Sech Durhan counted on me fulfilling my family obligations,” he produced a data crystal and handed it to Neroon. “He said it is for your eyes only and will require a voiceprint identification.”
“I see,” Neroon accepted the crystal without hesitation; it came from Sech Durhan, therefore it had to be important. “Well, since you are already here, we shall integrate you into the duty roster. What is your designation aboard a warship?”
“Navigation and telemetry.”
“Excellent. Siarann will assign you to one of the secondary workstations on the command deck. Until then, Rastenn will show you to your quarters and introduce you to the working order aboard the Ingata.”
He nodded to Rastenn who bowed in Warrior fashion and led the young Anla’shok liaison away from the command deck without verbally acknowledging the order. There was no need for that between him and his uncle.
Neroon temporarily transferred command to Siarann and retired to his private office - a small room adjoining the command deck - to listen to Sech Durhan’s message.
It was short and to the point, as always.
She was Valen’s choice, and we respect that, the old Warrior stared at him from the viewscreen intently. But she is not ready to lead us in battle yet - if she will ever be. Should she fail as a war leader, the captains of our ships had been instructed to look at you for directions… until the war is over. Lead us well.
And with that the screen went blank.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ending his recorded message to Neroon, Sech Durhan switched off his comm unit and looked at Sech Turval askance.
“Do you think we did the right thing?” he asked doubtfully.
Going behind the back of Entil’zha was anathema; something that had never happened before. With entrusting the leading of the battle to Neroon, they were also acting against Valen’s wishes; well, Sinclair’s, but that was basically same, and they belonged to the small circle that was aware of the fact.
“I believe that we have chosen the lesser evil,” Sech Turval answered thoughtfully.
Unlike his old friend and friendly Warrior rival, whose sarcasm could cut crystal, he was a mild-mannered, though equally sarcastic priest, working as the meditation tutor of the Ranger trainees. Despite being of the Religious Caste, his insights were highly valued among their Warrior colleagues.
“I do not doubt that Entil’zha Sinclair had his good reasons to choose Delenn as his successor,” he continued. “But his knowledge of any possible future did not go beyond his own time; and I wonder if he realized the depth of changes Delenn’s transformation wrought of her.”
“I assume you do not mean the hair,” Sech Durhan commented sarcastically.
Sech Turval shook his head. “No; I mean that her priorities seem to have changed.”
“Are you telling me that going through the transformation was a mistake?” the old Warrior demanded.
Sech Turval shook his head again. “No; it was necessary to complete the cycle that Valen has begun. She might not be the right person to lead the Anla’shok in battle - she woefully lacks both the proper training and the proper discipline…”
“… which is why we had to turn to Neroon…”
“… but she was the only one who could - who would - go through the Change. She alone was willing to befriend the humans, Sinclair in particular; to work with them and to ally herself with them.”
“I still doubt that her falling for Starkiller would have been part of Valen’s master plan,” Sech Durhan commented dryly.
As much as he had come to respect Sinclair, he still held the old grudge against Sheridan - he had lost family on the Drala’fi, too - and frankly, would have preferred to see Neroon leading the Anla’shok. Permanently.
“No, it most likely was not,” Sech Turval allowed. “But do not forget: the person Sinclair knew and trusted was the old Delenn, the fully Minbari one. He could not foresee how she would change due to the transformation; no-one could.”
“The irony is that while Valen could remember Sinclair, Sinclair could not remember Valen,” Sech Durhan offered.
The old priest nodded. “And herein lies the problem. The thousand years in-between have built up Valen’s memory to the stuff of legends. If he had any human weaknesses - and I am certain he did - the legends have concealed them well. And he was a man in his prime when he accepted his destiny and went back in time to fulfil it. He had long dealt with any old burdens he might have carried over from his past.”
“And you believe that Delenn has not?” the Warrior asked.
“I believe that Delenn is still plagued by her guilt over what had started our war with the humans,” Sech Turval sighed. “Her actions have been somewhat… erratic, ever since our surrender. Do I need to remind you of her role in Neroon’s failed marriage?”
“You do not,” Sech Durhan said grimly. “Forcing that bond was a grave mistake; one that left the ruling family of the Star Riders without an heir to this very day. I still wonder why Branmer would support it.”
“Branmer desperately wanted to reconcile our Castes with each other,” Sech Turval replied. “Desperately enough to believe that such a symbolic gesture would be enough; Neroon would never have agreed without his express orders.”
“As much good as it did, for either side,” Sech Durhan commented cynically.
“It brought nothing but sorrow,” Sech Turval agreed. “Luthienn had to give up her calling as a prophetess and perhaps as the high priestess of Valeria; and Neroon will never be able to have a family of his own, due to his failed bond.”
“Small wonder that he hates Delenn so much,” the old Warrior said. “In a manner, she did ruin his life - and for what? Nothing and again nothing.”
“That it happened with the best intentions does not change the outcome,” Sech Turval added. “She wanted to correct a horrible mistake - and in a way she almost succeeded.”
“There is a metaphor the human Anla’shok like to quote,” Sech Durhan said. “The way to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
“Hell?” Sech Turval echoed in mild confusion.
“Apparently a metaphysical place of eternal damnation where the souls are punished after a person’s death for the sins committed during their life,” Sech Durhan explained. “A rather odd concept, I say.”
“It is,” Sech Turval agreed, “but the metaphor is fitting. And thus keeping Delenn and Neroon in the same camp shan’t be easy.”
“Was this why you sent Tannier, of all people, to the Ingata as our liaison to Neroon?” the old Warrior asked shrewdly.
The priest nodded. “Reconciliation should come from within. And it has to be built from the very foundation - which is family. Let us hope that Tannier will succeed in winning Neroon’s trust; because if he cannot, I see Valen’s peace in great peril.”