Текст книги "Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке.(ЛП)"
Автор книги: Гарэт Д. Уильямс
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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Elrisia paused next to the mirror for a moment, and then smiled. Perfect. "Is my escort ready?" she asked.
"Oh, y…. y…. Yes, Lady. Just as you requested."
She sighed. "Tell me, just who exactly made you a Runner for the Court?"
"The Emperor Refa, Lady. Just before he d…. just before he, um, died, Lady."
Ah. That explained a lot. Refa obviously had understood the insult, and was seeking to pass it around. "Well, then. Let us go." She paused and looked at him carefully. "That is a delightful brooch you're wearing. Where did you get it?"
He fingered the circle-of-light badge pinned to his jacket. "Ah yes, Lady. I…. um…. I…. er…. bought it in the marketplace…. Lady. A…. er, Minbari fashion, I believe."
"Ah. A pity. I can't see many people wearing those lately." Elrisia then swept past him, and went on her way to meet her destiny.
* * *
Kats was alone, surrounded by a great and terrible darkness. Not a physical darkness, but an emotional one. He would be dead by now. Dead, because he had spoken up, and she had remained mute, silent.
He is dead.
She had given up trying to meditate. The necessary peace of mind just would not come. All she could think of were Kozorr's last words. He had said he loved her. Somehow she had always known that, but she had never dared to speak. He had already risked so much for her: his hand, his health, his position…. and now his life.
The sound of footsteps outside her room roused her, but she did not turn. It would be either Sonovar or Forell, and she wished to see neither. She had tried to warn Sonovar about Forell's corruption, but he had not listened. Was he corrupted as well? Obviously. He acted…. he seemed insane. Or was that nothing more than ranting warrior caste honour? She could easily see Sinoval behaving the way Sonovar had if he felt he needed to, and that scared her more than anything else she could think of.
"He died well." It was Sonovar, with an almost…. accusing tone to his voice. "A noble death. He did not flinch, or cry out, or beg for mercy. He did try to say something as he died. I believe it was your name. I couldn't be sure, though." He was inside her room now, his footsteps approaching directly behind her.
"Yes, a fine and noble death, indeed. A warrior's death." There was a flurry of movement, and his pike thudded into the ground less than an inch from her side. She cried out in shock, and recoiled, noticing that it was stained with blood.
He grabbed the collars of her robe and hauled her roughly to her feet. Some of the fabric tore, but she did not notice as she looked into his eyes. They were blazing with a powerful fury.
"A true warrior's death. A better one than you deserve, you worker coward!"
In desperation, and a considerable portion of terror, she reached out and slapped him across the face. Another blow was aimed at his gut, but he blocked that one and tossed her back.
"You said you would let me go!" she snapped.
He smiled, a surprisingly warm and friendly smile. "Indeed I did, and I will keep my word. I am a warrior, and my word is my life. Warriors…. do not lie. A shuttle will take you to the surface now. A few Tak'cha will accompany you. We have…. a message to leave for Primarch Sinoval when he arrives."
"No more killing!" she cried. "Haven't you…?"
He slapped her across the face and she reeled, falling back. "I am not a murderer! I killed only those who had knowingly, and willingly…. betrayed their people by allying with Sinoval. The common people of Tarolin Two were innocent of that particular crime. They will live."
"And the people at the shelter? What were they guilty of? You're not making any sense…. not to anyone." A sudden realisation struck her. "What has happened to you? Is it…. is it…. Oh, Valen."
"That sounds very much as if you are accusing me of something, worker whore. What?" His voice was icy cold, and he advanced on her. "There was a time when any worker who spoke as you did to a warrior would have been executed. Kalain sought to bring that time back again, and it was only through the treachery of those he trusted that he failed to do so. I…. will not fail. What did you say to me?"
"Nothing…. Nothing."
"Answer me!" He raised his pike high above his head.
"Kalain was a monster and a madman, and you have become just like him! I saw your face while Kalain was…. hurting me. You knew it was wrong, and yet you stayed there. You watched and watched, and you knew…. You…. knew!"
"Kalain was a great man, a true visionary. He…. fell into over-excess, perhaps, but I will not condemn a great man because of one…. minor…. flaw." He lowered his pike and compressed it, fixing it back to his belt. "Come, my lady. Your shuttle back to freedom awaits."
Without saying another word, he turned and stalked from the room.
* * *
"Impressive, isn't it?"
"Yes, my Lord."
Valo looked out at the assembled soldiers. Impressive wasn't quite the word for it. Magnificent would be more appropriate. He had been told there were not enough resources for the war. He had been told the army did not have enough men. He had been told a great many things.
But here he was, having assembled a force like this in mere weeks. Former soldiers, disaffected Guards, mercenaries…. What could be accomplished if the Republic was led by someone with the will and the strength to do what was necessary? The Court was populated by the weak, the foolish, the selfish, the mad, and combinations of all four. There was no Emperor, and there never would be if matters continued like this. And the only man all of them could look up to…. Malachi was a traitor who would sell his entire race out to the Narns.
Better by far that a strong Emperor took over. Take the throne by force, hold it by strength and will. And then he could work on the Narns. Drive them back to their homeworld and blast it into oblivion. And then perhaps the humans…. Or…. well. Time for that later.
A good soldier always knew how to prioritise.
"Are we ready, Mollari?"
"Yes, my Lord. Our agents indicate that Lady Elrisia has called together a meeting of the full Court, near enough. Lord Jarno is not likely to be in attendance, nor First Minister Malachi, but everyone else should be there."
"Good," Valo grunted. Jarno, eh? Who'd have thought a runt like that would have demonstrated such backbone? He might have to give the weakling a place on his staff if he was capable of repeating what he'd done to Lord Kiro.
"Good. Catch them all at once, eh Mollari?"
"Indeed, my Lord. Do we have your orders?"
Valo smiled, imagining himself as Emperor. Strength, willpower, courage. That was what an Emperor needed.
"Yes."
By the end of the day he would be Emperor. He had a feeling for these things.
* * *
Like a black cloud they come, blotting out the stars. They shimmer, and scream, and kill.
And they are met by a pitiful handful of ships, an alliance of races working together in harmony, once sworn enemies now fighting side by side.
On the bridge of the Parmenion, Lyta Alexander screams in agony as she hears their whispers to her. She fights them as best she can, holding them off, paralysing their ships with her power, but it is hard now. So very hard. Kosh is gone. He is going to die. She knows it, and yet, somehow, from somewhere, she hears his soft words of encouragement, and she perseveres. Despite the sweat pouring from her brow, despite the ache in her muscles and bones, despite the churning in her belly…. she holds them off.
Beside her Captain Sheridan directs the ship forward, targeting the paralysed Shadow vessels and damaging them, forcing them to retreat or pull back. Some are caught in a massive co-ordinated attack with other ships and are blown apart. But taking the entire battle into account, it is plain that the Alliance ships are losing and cannot hold out much longer. But all they have to do is to allow the station to reach its ultimate destination.
John Sheridan is not thinking about Babylon 4. He is thinking about his love, and that he will never see her again. He knows what he must do, what all of them have to do. He thinks about his crew, and he hopes there will be a way for them to escape.
Captain Dexter Smith, on the bridge of the Babylon, holds his ship back. He made a bargain for the safety of his crew, and he is not willing to render that bargain useless by a meaningless death. He does not know the truth about Babylon 4, or Valen, or their destiny in the past. He only knows that he is fighting those who should be his allies, alongside those who should be his enemies.
But he remembers the man who occupied this chair before him, and he knows just how far a foolish ambition can take him. He will survive this battle, both he and his crew. He will protect the planet that houses the Great Machine, because he knows it is right.
And to his surprise, his ship is quite capable of taking on the horrific creatures that swoop and scream and destroy.
And in the Heart of the Great Machine, Michael Garibaldi is screaming….
* * *
Concentrate!
His heart is pounding, his head spinning. He can see many things, but none of them with his eyes. He watches as Babylon 4 passes into the temporal rift. He can see the brilliance of the colours, the sheer force of the energy that can tear a tunnel back a thousand years.
And the only thing keeping that tunnel open is his willpower.
Come on, Garibaldi. Don't foul up here. Everyone's depending on you. Everything's down to you.
But it is hard. So hard. He remembers what this Machine did to Donne.
Somehow, through many distant layers of senses, he feels something wet trickle down his cheek. He can taste a coppery warmth in his mouth.
He does not want to think what either of those things are.
"I…. I…. can't…."
And the rift slowly, ever so slowly, begins to slip away from him.
* * *
Lyta Alexander screams and falls to the floor. Her strength is gone. Her will is gone. She can hear Kosh imploring her to continue, but she cannot move.
The Shadow ships come forward now….
* * *
They came to the Court, called by one they hated, or feared, or wanted to be close to. There had been a great deal of speculation on who would be the next Emperor, but the matter was by now resolved, at least in most minds. All the other viable candidates had been removed from contention.
Malachi was rumoured to be very ill, and in any case he had refused the honour when it was offered. He had done a magnificent job of holding everything together through such difficult times, and he would no doubt have a place in the new Government, but he was old and ill. Younger blood was called for. Jarno, a former First Minister, had overplayed his hand. In attacking the estate of a fellow noble he had become too dangerous for the Court. He was currently in hiding, evading charges of treason. Kiro, a popular choice among such of the old guard as had supported Refa, was dead. Marrago and Valo were both dead, or disgraced, or missing, or combinations of the three. Londo Mollari was a traitor and a regicide.
That left only one, and of course he had been the natural choice, everyone muttered to themselves. I've always said so. The blood of the old Emperor in him. Young blood. Enthusiastic. Just the type we need. Oh, those rumours are clearly false, base accusations. A young, vibrant leader, yes, just what we need to lead us into the next century (some eight years away, by the Centauri calender).
Cartagia listened to all this, and smiled knowingly. He knew perfectly well that they believed him to be a madman, and they were all secretly planning how to advance their own ambitions around him. Elrisia was receiving all manner of gifts, promises and favours.
Cartagia watched this little dance, and smiled to himself. Let Elrisia do as she wished, he did not care any more. There might have been a time he would have liked her at his side, but his plans had…. changed recently. Knowledge is power, as the Centauri say, and so Cartagia was the most powerful man in the Republic.
He even had a faint idea of what the old man Malachi had been up to. It hadn't taken too much working out, either. Everyone knew the one little detail they needed to work it out, they just…. pretended not to know. People did not apply themselves properly, that was the problem.
He considered calling a meeting with Malachi before this was all over. Tell the old man what he knew. No, let him suspect. Malachi had practically written the book on Courtly life after all. Better by far to let him suspect and wonder, than know.
Cartagia nodded and smiled at the nobles fawning at his feet. He spoke to each one briefly in turn. He accepted numerous offers from not entirely unattractive ladies, offers that he had no intention of following up. He made promises of promotion and recognition, and gave thanks for support.
And he waited patiently.
Elrisia was looking particularly beautiful. It must have taken her a great deal of effort. Not to mention time. And such a pity, it would all be wasted.
How was that Minbari doing? Cartagia hoped his timing had been accurate. It would be very embarrassing to have Lennier running around free before the festivities started.
Covered in blood, a guard half-ran, half-hobbled into view. "We are under attack," he gasped. "The Palace is…. is under attack!"
There was pandemonium. Cartagia smiled. Ah. About time.
* * *
"People of Tarolin Two! Hear my words, and thank me for your lives!"
Sonovar stood in his column of light, a deliberate replication of the Hall of the Grey Council, now long since despoiled and desecrated. He knew this would be broadcast all over the planet. His words would be heard. Whether they were understood or not, heeded or not…. well…. not even Valen had been perfect.
"You chose to side with one who has abandoned everything from our past. You have turned your backs on the Grey Council, on Valen's wisdom and laws, on centuries of tradition, and duty, and honour. Some of you did so through weakness, others through cowardice, others through fear. And some of you…. those who are now dead…. they did so because they shared in the sacrilege and the wrongs of Sinoval."
How long until Sinoval arrived? Not long, according to the probes. He had made the journey at a considerable pace. It was after all a very long way from Epsilon Eridani to the Tarolin system. The very outlying nature of the colony was what had saved it from the Earthers in the first place.
"I am a kind and benevolent leader. I have punished only those who acted deliberately in their wrongdoing. Those of you who were weak, or afraid, or cowardly…. You, I have let live, to reflect on your flaws. Remember me, and remember what brought me here. I am Sonovar, of the Night Walkers clan, and I will redeem my people in Valen's eyes…. before we can be ready to embrace him once more."
The signal stopped, and Sonovar stepped from the column of light. He felt the faintest tinge of a headache developing. The stress of the last few days, obviously.
Kats was on the surface now. What she was doing, he had no idea. As long as she lived to present her message to Sinoval, it hardly mattered. In many ways, he reflected, she herself was the message.
"You are finished here, my lord?"
Sonovar started and turned, an angry curse on his lips. Forell. He breathed out harshly. "Yes, I am finished. Put me through to the Ramde, and then we will be ready to leave. All the Tak'cha have been recalled from the planet?"
"Yes, lord. Are you well? You look…."
"You are not my nursemaid, Forell! Do not forget your place here!"
"Yes, lord. As you say, lord. It…. it has been a productive trip here, has it not, lord?"
"Yes," Sonovar said, reflecting. "A very productive trip."
* * *
Lord-General Marrago stood amidst the ruins of a dream, and pondered the future. Debts of loyalty had bound him his entire life: to friends, to those who served under him, to the young woman he had taken as his daughter. He did not even know if Lyndisty was still alive. Given the news coming in from the capital, it seemed doubtful.
He was listening silently as Durano relayed his information. The man had agents everywhere, a great many of them in the capital.
Durano, Virini and Timov had come to Gallia almost immediately after the city had been secured. Marrago would have much preferred it had they stayed in Selini. For all their respective eminence they were all civilians, and they could not understand the ways of warfare. He did, all too well.
Durano finished, and Marrago looked around at his companions. He had been able to work out much of what Durano had just told him. Marrago himself had only one real agent in the capital, but given Carn's current placing in affairs there, that was enough. In any case, all that was truly needed was a good mind, and Marrago had that. Unfortunately, so did Durano. And Timov and Virini for that matter….
"We have to do something," said Timov quickly. "Londo could still be alive in the capital."
"That is doubtful," Marrago said softly.
"You don't know that."
"No, but I promise you, Timov, I pray that Londo is still alive, but I am a soldier, and a soldier's hearts have no room for futile hopes."
"Ah, but Lord-General," said Durano, "Lord Valo is also a solider, is he not? His attack on the Court would seem to indicate that he is convinced he can win."
"Maybe not. Valo was always a little over-confident. Still, in this case his ambitions do not far outreach his capabilities. If our information is right about the size of his forces, he should be able to take the Court."
"And if he has the Court, then he has the Republic," spoke up Virini. Marrago looked at him, and could see just what it was Londo liked about the little man.
"Which brings me back to my point," snapped Timov. "We have to do something. Not just for Londo, but for the Republic itself. Bad enough we had to abandon Camulodo, but if we cannot act now then we will lose the capital…. or there will be nothing left to save."
Marrago sighed. "My lady…. our forces are stretched too far as it is. We are barely able to hold the territory we have at the moment. Should any sort of counterstrike be mounted we would be hard pressed to defend ourselves. We simply do not have the military strength necessary to take the capital. I had…. hoped that we could destabilise Valo from within and bring him over to our side, but it seems that is a futile hope now."
"Then I will go alone," Timov announced. "You were a good friend of Londo's, Marrago, but you have lost sight of what we are trying to achieve. We are going to save this planet, not let it burn and pick up the pieces."
"She is right, Lord-General," spoke up Durano, his piercing gaze locked with Marrago's. "If we do not act now, there will be little left to save."
"Londo gave me full authority on military matters, if you remember? If we go for the capital now, we will literally be throwing everything on one roll of the dice. Londo may have been a gambling man in his younger days, but I am not. No true soldier is."
"Sometimes we have to gamble to win," said Timov.
Marrago looked slowly into the eyes of each one of them: Timov quietly determined, blithely convinced; Virini afraid, but certain; and Durano silently mocking. O ne day, he and I will clash.
"Very well," Marrago said finally. "I will gather all the resources I can and we will launch an assault on the capital. I only pray that we manage to emerge from this safely."
"So do we all," added Durano.
Yes, one day…. but not today. Agood soldier always knew when to wait.
* * *
"Help is coming. There is nothing to fear, Ta'Lon."
Valen knew the value of all the weapons at his disposal, as did any good leader. He knew how to use a fighting pike, how to wield a sword, a shanmari and any one of countless other alien weapons, some of which had not been used by any living being for centuries. Of course he had not yet been taught how to use such weapons, but that hardly mattered.
His greatest weapon, however, was his voice. This one he had used before, and he had witnessed its power even in this time. Seldom before, though, had his weapon of choice had so little effect.
"Help will be coming, yes…. but the Enemy will be here sooner. We must regroup."
It was almost refreshing not to know what would happen next. Or it would be refreshing if the situation were not so serious.
"Where is the Vorlon, anyway?" Ta'Lon asked. "We could need him."
"He has…. gone somewhere," Valen acknowledged. He did not really know, in truth, but he trusted Kosh. "He will return when we need him."
Babylon 4 had entered the temporal rift with little problem, save for those Shadows which had already got on board. Somehow they were unaffected by the temporal instabilities of the rift. Also aboard was their agent, Susan Ivanova, who had managed to escape during the frantic preparations for the trip. Ta'Lon and his Rangers had been fighting a desperate holding action against them, but it was clear that they were losing.
And then the station had emerged from the rift, two years in the past, above an Epsilon 3 and a Great Machine that had yet to witness the sheer bloodshed being delivered in its skies. A ship was there, a human ship. And there were two very special people on board.
"Oh, dear," said Zathras. "
"What?" asked Valen. "What is it?"
The little alien looked up from the consoles. "Temporal machinery is damaged. Stray blast from battle, Zathras thinks. We must repair, and quickly."
"Where is this piece of machinery?"
"Outside. Near ion engines. Very delicate area. Yes. Must repair."
"Outside the station? Can you manage to repair it?"
"We have parts, yes. We have tools, also. But…. ah…. we not have space suit to fit Zathras. Zathras cannot breathe in space, and there not be space suits to fit Zathras. Therefore, Zathras cannot go outside. Zathras needs to breathe. Most unfortunate, yes.
"What space suits do we have? We have to fix that machinery somehow."
"Mostly Narn, or human," replied Ta'Lon. "We took some of the human space suits from the Parmenionand the other ships. Most of the technicians who worked on the final components of the temporal machinery were human."
"We have Narn space suits as well. Do you know how to fix it?"
"I do not, no…. and I am needed here. If I or any of my men leave to try to repair this, then we will be unable to hold off the Shadows."
"I can do it," spoke up a new voice suddenly.
"Catherine! No, I am sorry."
"Yes, I can, Jeffrey. I've done space repairs before, back when I was working for IPX. I used to do a lot of emergency repairs to my shuttle. This can't be that much different, if Zathras will explain to me what's involved."
"Ah, yes. Zathras happy to explain. Problem is that central magnetic lock needs to be replaced. Now you…."
"You can't do this," interrupted Valen. "I'm sorry, Catherine. You…."
"Don't, Jeff. I said I was coming along on this, and I've got to pull my weight. You need this fixed, and I'm the only person you can spare to do it."
"I…. I…."
"Let her go," said Zathras, his face very serious. "She will be fine."
"Damn," he whispered. "Fine, go on, Catherine. But come back."
"Of course I will."
"Ta'Lon, can you spare any men to escort Catherine and Zathras to the docking bays? We need to get them there as soon as possible."
"I will see what…." The door to the command centre suddenly opened and two Narns ran in. Both were bleeding heavily. "They're coming. We can't hold them any longer."
"I will have to escort all of you," Ta'Lon said seriously. "We must hurry."
A few minutes later Susan Ivanova walked into the empty room and looked around. They'd gone. Oh well, it didn't matter. They couldn't hide forever. "What do I do now?" she asked.
They told her.
* * *
Londo knew that something was wrong. He knew the palace compound as well as any place he had ever been. Most of his life had been spent here: as a young idealist, as a cynical hardened politician, as one of the most prominent figures in the Government, and now as a prisoner.
But in all that time, he had never known the Court like this.
From his cell he could not hear the screams of panic or the terrified pleas or the cries of the wounded, but he could feel the death hanging in the air.
"Great Maker," he whispered to himself. "What has happened out there?"
He was tired of pacing up and down the cell. He was tired of staring at the walls, or the door, or the window. He was tired of reliving that terrible vision of the war in the heavens. He was tired of being a prisoner here!
"How is it going, I wonder?" He preferred talking to himself. The sound of his voice eased the anger he felt, although not by much. "Marrago, and Durano, and Timov…. ah…. I have faith in you all. Yes. You will do well, I am…."
He paused and turned, just as the door to his cell opened. A bright light filled the room, and he winced. "If this is my lunch, you are very late," he snapped, trying to suppress a surge of fear. What if he was to be taken to see that…. vision again? What if…?
"Minister Mollari," said a familiar voice. "Come quick. We do not have much time."
"Lennier! Ah, Great Maker, I could kiss you!" He rushed to the doorway of light and crossed the threshold into the corridor.
"That will…. not be necessary. But I thank you for the offer all the same. We should hurry now. I…. believe something unpleasant is happening at the Court."
"Yes, I can feel it. How did you escape, anyway?"
"I was…. freed. By Prince Cartagia."
"What? I do not like the sound of that. No, I do not like the sound of that at all. Why would he do such a thing?"
"I…. do not know." Londo looked at his friend. The Minbari was lying. Oh, it was well known that Minbari did not lie, but Londo was a career politician, and he knew a falsehood when he heard one. Still, he decided to keep quiet. Lennier had his reasons, and it was unthinkable that he was working for…. them.
"Well then, we had better get out of here, and quickly, as you said. We…." He looked around. "Where are all the guards? This is a high-security prison. They should be all over the place."
"I have not seen any since I was freed. Perhaps they have been called away?"
"Cartagia again? Or something else? Well, we shall have to see. Anyway, we have a brief opportunity here, and we should not waste it. Come on, my friend. I know where to go."
"To the spaceport, hopefully. Or perhaps to some allies or agents you may have in the city?"
"No. To see Malachi. He will be at the Court, and I have to see him. I have to know…. I just have to know."
"And…. it will undoubtedly do no good to point out that it was this need to know that put us both here in the first place?"
"He is my friend, Lennier. And he is a good man. A very good man. He would not do something like this unless he had a very good reason. I need to know."
"Ah, well then. You will lead, and I will follow."
"Good."
* * *
A flash of light, a scream of agony in the mind.
The Parmenionshook with the impact, redirecting its broadsides to the monsters before it. The Shadow ship recoiled, spinning backwards, but recovered effortlessly.
"We're losing hull integrity, Captain," said Commander Corwin. He was thinking about Mary. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to ask her….
"And the jump engines are down, possibly permanently. Normal engines at little better than forty percent capacity, and we're going to lose rotation any minute now."
Captain John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller, was thinking about dying….
* * *
"I can't hold it any more!"
* * *
"I can't explain it…. but they don't seem to be targeting us. They're going for the other ships, but they've been going straight past us."
Captain Dexter Smith frowned. "There could be any number of explanations, Lieutenant Franklin. We don't have time to consider this now."
"Captain, what are we doing here?" asked a new voice. "These…. aliens are our allies. Why are we fighting them, alongside our enemies?"
"I made a promise, Mr. Ericsson." Smith looked at his Chief of Security, and couldn't disagree with the truth of his words. What was he supposed to say? That he had been told a lot of gibberish about the future, and the past, and a legendary Minbari God? He was not sure he believed it himself. He just knew that fighting here was something he had to do.
"I assure you, Mr. Ericsson, that this is for the best. I promise you that you and all the crew will be permitted to return to Proxima once this battle is over, and I further assure you that I personally will take all responsibility for this action."
"If you say so, sir." Ericsson did not look convinced.
"Captain," spoke up Franklin, "the Parmenionis in big trouble. They may be going down."
Sheridan's ship. Smith thought for a fraction of a second, and then gave his order. "Bring us around to support them. At their flank."
"But, Captain…."
"Do it!"
"Yes, sir."
* * *
The Machine was in pain. It did not want to hate its bearer. It wanted to love all who possessed it. It had a function, a duty, a sentience almost, and it wanted to guide its bearers to fulfill that duty.
And yet it had been abused and violated. It had been used to kill, and its magnificent beauty had been tainted by the mind of a madwoman, a murderer, a monster.
And now its current bearer, its third in as many days. It can feel his doubts, it can see his self-hatred, his self-destruction. What remains of Donne within it is happy.
He will not be able to control it. His doubts are killing him. He came here to escape them.
Michael Garibaldi screamed, his heart almost wrenched from his chest. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, and his head slumped. He hung limp in the Heart of the Machine.
The Narn bodyguards set to watch over him ran forward, knowing they had a duty, a duty greater than their lives, a duty to see that the rift remained open, and that Babylon 4 returned to its destined past.
The floor became a carpet of electricity, and in the space of a few seconds they all died.
The cavern became to crumble, the planet began to shake, and the Machine began to seek solace in oblivion.
