Текст книги "Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 5 : Средь звезд, подобно гигантам.(ЛП)"

Gareth D. Williams
Part 4
Hopes, Aspirations and Dreams.

All things have a price, all actions have a consequence, but no one suspected this.  Across an entire world, eyes look up at the heavens to see a black shadow fall across the sun, and a voice speaks to an entire race.  "Behold the price of disobedience.  Behold the price of dealing with the Shadow."  And then the screaming begins.

Chapter 1

Sinoval had been gone from our sight and our hearing for almost two years by that time, and had become little more than a fable or a legend. To some he was a great rebel hero, attacking an unjust and oppressive r?gime – a Robin Hood, a Sivalar'Miko, a Vizhtan.

To others he was a monster. A corrupt and terrifying opponent of everything the Alliance had tried to build. A follower of the old Gods of war, who would plunge the galaxy into fire and ruin with little thought or care for those he would destroy.

But it is doubtful if anyone really knew him. They all knew only a facet, an aspect of the whole. Kats knew the compassionate friend, Marrain the historian and tale-giver, Marrago the inspired leader, Delenn the ancient and honourable warrior, Sheridan the cold and merciless enemy.

Perhaps Susan Ivanova knew him best of all, perhaps not.?

But for those two years he was lost to us, moving on the Rim, discovering old secrets, discovering Golgotha and the ruins of the Enaid Accord, gathering allies to his side(q. v., chapter 13) . Secret documents that have only recently come to light hint that the Alliance was aware of some of his activities, and that there was indeed an encounter between General Sheridan and Sinoval at Golgotha, over ten years before the end of the war.

As the Brotherhood Without Banners attacked Centauri Prime, Sinoval reappeared in force. Cathedral seemed to shake the heavens themselves as he ended the battle by sheer force of will. Military historians almost all agree that the Brotherhood would in any case have been annihilated by the Alliance fleet, but had it not been for Kulomani's quick thinking and strategically planned positioning of hisDark Star patrols – and of course his readiness to ignore orders where necessary – that fleet would never have arrived.

And so that is the irony. Sinoval prevented the massacre of those whom many believe deserved nothing less. He did it with his usual overwhelming presence, and in the process he bound many to his side who would otherwise have been his enemies.

Some say that act sowed the seeds of his downfall, and indeed the wisdom of his decision has been debated many times.

But whatever view is taken on that question, the fact remains that his reappearance at Centauri Prime was the first sign that the slow years of uneasy peace were ending, and bloody war was about to return.

The second sign was the shadow that fell over Narn.

? KRASNYANSKI, A. (2291) T here's Always a Boom Tomorrow; see also

chapter 13 of this volume.

GILLESPIE, E. (2295) The First Sign of the Apocalypse. Chapter 7 of The Rise and

Fall of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of

the Third, vol. 4, The Dreaming Years. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears,

A. E. Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

"Where is G'Sten? Are there weapons hidden in the village? Is there money? Food? Where is the holy person?

"Where is G'Sten? Are there weapons hidden in the village? Is there money? Food? Where is the holy person?

"Where is G'Sten?

"Are there weapons hidden in the village?

"Is there money?

"Food?

"Where is the holy person?"

Every day there were the same questions. Every day, at precisely one minute before noon, the Centauri Captain gathered the entire population of the village into the square and picked one person at random. The same questions were asked, the same tortures inflicted whatever the answer. None of them knew where G'Sten was. There were no weapons, no money, no food. The holy person had died of a fever.

Every day the same questions.

G'Kar watched every day, praying they would not take him. G'Sten was his uncle, and his leader, but no one knew that. Not the villagers, not the Centauri. He was just a traveller, working in the fields for a pittance, secretly spying on Centauri troop movements. There were plenty of travellers these days, looking for something better.

None of them found it here.

An old man, crippled and ill, flogged to death in the village square.

A young mother, who had offered information freely to spare her pouchling daughter. The daughter was picked the next day to ensure nothing had been left out.

A terrified boy, who had lied for the sake of having something to say. He had been impaled slowly on a blunt pole.

Every day, the same questions.

Every day, the same answers.

Every day, the same screams.

G'Kar was never picked. Every day he watched, his hands clenched into fists behind his back, drawn so tight he drew blood from his palms.

One day I will kill you all,he kept telling himself. E very last one of you, women and children and old men and babies and merchants and nobles and soldiers.

I will kill every last one of you.

Every last one.

It became a litany, just like theirs.

"Where is G'Sten?"

One day I will kill you all.

"Are there weapons hidden in the village?"

Every last one of you.

"Is there money?"

Women and children and....

"Food?"

.... old men and babies and....

"Where is the holy person?"

.... merchants and nobles and soldiers.

"Where is G'Sten?"

One day I will....

* * *

The ships were still, hanging motionless in air, staring at each other, every one ready to fire. On one side the dreaded Dark Stars of the United Alliance, on the other the renegade rag-tag mercenaries of the Brotherhood Without Banners, bulked up by a Tuchanq fleet cannibalised from Narn and Centauri warships.

And in the middle was Cathedral, the dark citadel wherein reigned the man whose name was whispered in terror and awe and fear.

Sinoval the Accursed, himself.

His voice came across their channels, in languages they could all understand.

"To the Alliance: this battle is over. We will leave, myself and these others. They will retreat from Centauri Prime and those who so desire may come with me. Any who are left you may do with as you please. Try to stop us leaving...."

Even across the comm channel, even without the immediacy of his presence, everyone listening shuddered.

"And you will regret it."

Fleet-Captain Bethany Tikopai contacted Babylon 5, and Commander Kulomani.

"Let them leave," the Brakiri said simply.

"But, sir...."

"Fight them and we will die. Your mission was to protect Centauri Prime. That will be done. Any of the raiders who remain are to be stopped, by any means necessary. Secure the defence of the planet and contact the authorities on the surface. Centauri Prime has been deliberately left unguarded, and someone will answer for this.

"But do not engage with Sinoval! None of you."

"Yes, sir."

"To the raiders, to the Songless, to the Bannerless: I offer you songs. I offer you purpose. The worthy and the just may join with me. The others may choose to remain here and die. Come with me, if you so desire, and be judged. Reject me, and I leave you to the mercy of the Alliance and the Centauri."

Co-ordinates were sent over, to all Alliance and Brotherhood ships.

"My lord of darkness and fury and vengeance," Moreil whispered. "You came to us, as was promised, as was prophesied. Under your dark hand we shall destroy our enemies and raise a banner once more. The galaxy will shake at our footsteps.

"Oh, yes, my lord. I will follow you to the gates of heaven themselves."

"Commander?" one of his crew asked him. Dasouri looked at the silent image of Cathedral. They could not find the captain. Marrago's comm was silent.

"We go," Dasouri said. "What choice do we have?"

"To the Centauri: I give you back your world. Think about those who would have tried to take it from you. Think about those who would have let it be taken from you. Think and open your eyes and appreciate the world you have."

In the throne room, Timov shivered slightly on the Purple Throne. "Well," she said. "What an.... intense young man."

Durla's eyes were shining.

At that point one of the servants ran into the room, panting and exhausted and close to collapse. "Lady!" he cried. "Lady!"

"What? And I do have a name, you know."

"It is the Emperor!"

The Brotherhood and the Tuchanq went with him of course. As Dasouri said, what choice did they have?

The Alliance let them go. What choice did they have?

* * *

It was like looking out on a whole new world, a new day, with new eyes. A new person.

General John Sheridan had woken early this morning and risen quietly, so as not to wake Delenn. He had showered and dressed and wandered out into the wide world, his eyes truly open for the first time in almost three years.

As he reached the door, he stopped and looked back. Delenn was still sleeping, flat on her back, facing the ceiling. She had never really adapted to human sleeping habits and still preferred to lie on her back. She looked very still, almost as if she were dead.

For the first time he noticed a streak of grey in her hair. Once it had been raven black, as deep and vibrant as her soul. Now there was grey. Only a little, but it was there. Even in sleep she looked careworn and tired and.... old.

How must he look?

He had left, not wanting to wake her. He would have to talk to her, but later. He felt as though he had been defined by her for too long. What he wanted now was to know himself. Alone and isolated, as Sinoval had tried to force him to be. Strip away the surface, the surroundings. Remove Delenn and the Alliance and the Dark Stars and what was there?

He did not know. Not even Sinoval had been able to force that understanding on to him.

It was there. All he had to do was find it.

Himself.

And so he walked, aimlessly, his feet taking him in whatever direction they wished. One tiny fragment of chaos. He was not sure if he liked that or not, but he would trust to it. He was so buried in order, that he had lost almost everything but the machine in which he was a cog.

Perhaps by taking the other path he could become something more.

He began to whistle softly on his journey.

* * *

Darkness and shadows. The means of his existence. His means of communication.

There were many ironies in this galaxy, and Lennier, once of the Third Fane of Chudomo, had no time to appreciate even half of them. He was a Ranger, a servant of the light. He had once worn that symbol with pride, the sunburst on his chest. He had believed in the light.

And yet he carried his darkness with him, a Keeper permanently attached to his body and his mind. He hid and skulked and moved in the shadows, gathering information as a spy. He had remained hidden for two years, concealing himself from the light.

He was a warrior of the light.

He was a Ranger.

All he had to do was to keep telling himself that.

"There is nothing more we can do," said his companion. Lennier was not really listening. He was standing at the side of the window, looking out. A small group of children was running down the street, laughing and shouting, playing some incomprehensible game. A girl followed them, shouting to them to wait so that she could catch up.

"We have to leave!" Ta'Lon hissed.

It had been a big risk for them to meet up like this. The Thenta Ma'Kur assassins were hunting for them both, as were the more regular Narn security forces. In their own separate ways, both had uncovered a great deal of darkness within the Narn homeworld. Unfortunately they had made themselves a little too visible – and vulnerable – in the process, and were hunted men as a consequence.

And G'Kar was missing.

"This is the home of my people," Ta'Lon said. "I was not born here, but my people were. These rocks are our bones, this wind is our breath, this water is our blood. More than anything else, more than the Rangers, more than even Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar himself, I am sworn to defend it."

"I am sworn to nothing," Lennier said quietly. "All the things I do are done because I choose them.

"I choose them!" he hissed to his Keeper.

"And I choose to find G'Kar."

"Maybe he is dead. The signal stopped, but it will have reached the Alliance, and it will have reached the Vorlons. If they try to send their Inquisitors and their Dark Stars then I will fight them, but if I can reach the Alliance Council, if I can talk to Delenn and Lethke and G'Kael, then there might be a way.

"If there is not, then I will fight. But I will fight for this world – not for one man, however great he is."

"I will stay, and search for him. I will find him and free him."

"And if he is dead?"

Lennier paused, still looking outside. The sky was bright with promise and power and it hurt his eyes. "That," he said carefully, "I shall deal with as and when I can."

Ta'Lon stirred and nodded, his eyepatch seeming to cast a shadow that fell over half his face. "So be it." He held out a hand. "It was an honour to know you and fight beside you, Lennier of Minbar. May G'Quan see us all back home."

"I have no home," Lennier replied. But he took the one-eyed Narn's hand.

Then he set out into the light.

He had a task to perform.

* * *

To Susan Ivanova's admittedly mortal and tired eyes, he looked.... weary. Almost exhausted.

"Well?" she asked, her voice rising in a crescendo of fury.

"Well what?"

"Well.... are you going to tell me what in God's name happened?"

"God?" he said, looking at her. "Do you still believe in your Creator? After all you have seen and witnessed and done, do you still believe, or do you simply wield his name as a talisman, a little shield of faith against the hostility of the universe?"

"I...." This was making little sense. She had found him comatose in meditation, and the Well of Souls itself shaken and injured. She had had to command Cathedral herself and become directly involved, stopping the battle on her own initiative.

Then she had looked at the two fleets with herself between them and realised that she had absolutely no idea of what to do or say.

Sinoval himself had appeared at that point, and the dim lights had grown somehow stronger and weaker at the same time. And he had spoken, delivering his ultimatum. Cathedral had left, the Brotherhood and the Tuchanq going with them. But now, as she looked at him, she saw the fatigue in his face. He did not need sleep, or food. He was sustained by a power she could barely comprehend, and yet he looked.... almost ill.

"What does that matter?" she asked.

"Everything matters," he replied. "Look at what you have seen. Think of the Vorlons, or the Shadows. Some would say I am a God. Think about the Well of Souls. You have even met the First One, the Eldest and First being. You know that the Vorlons shaped the religions and beliefs of your world, as they did many others.

"Do you still believe in your God, your Jehovah?"

"You're right. I've seen a great many things. The Vorlons may have created religion and faith, and all the stuff about the angels. But...."

"But what?"

"That doesn't mean any of it isn't real."

He looked at her, in that considering, half-confused half-insightful way he had. Then he laughed. "Come on. We have things to do."

"You don't look well. In fact, you really don't look well."

"It will pass. The Vorlons.... they trapped me somewhere. I managed to escape, but not without effort. I think it was more of a warning than anything else. It is something I will have to think about, and yes, I will need to rest, but for now, I must see the leaders of the Brotherhood. I will have to find out if they are worthy to be my army."

"What? They're monsters. Killers and raiders and.... and...."

"There are some who say the same of me. I do not need saints. Sometimes the very best warrior is the one who knows and comprehends the monster within."

"You scare me sometimes."

"Yes, I know." He turned and started to walk away. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

"Susan."

"Yes?"

"You did well. I am proud."

She snorted. "You're welcome."

* * *

"Delenn.... are you.... busy?"

Delenn looked up from her desk, rubbing at her eyes. She was starting to see spots floating in front of her. The reports were not pleasant reading, and the job was made even worse by the absurdly small print.

She made a mental note to talk to Kulomani as soon as possible. His decisions relating to the attack on Centauri Prime were causing.... disquiet in certain quarters. She saw nothing to complain about, but there were some who did.

Besides, she had a faint inkling that there was someone else's shadow behind Kulomani. Just an instinct, and she did not like acting on instinct, but it had to be heeded,

Circles within circles, shadows overlapping, lights rising and falling. Everything was supposed to have been easier when the war ended.

That was when she had the unexpected visitor.

"John." He was standing in the doorway, half in and half out.

"Are you busy?" He sounded nervous.

"No.... well, yes, but you can come in. Of course you can." For a moment she had felt her heart pounding. His collapse was still very recent, and he had discharged himself from the Medlab sooner than she was comfortable with.

"You were gone when I awoke this morning." She tried not to make it sound accusing, but it still seemed to come out like a complaint.

"Yes. I.... went for a walk. I had a lot of thinking to do. Um.... I've been working too hard recently. I think I'll take some time off. Go away for a while or something."

Delenn smiled, relieved. She had been so afraid for a minute, but if that was all.... He had been working too hard. A break away from the station would do them both good.

"I would like that," she said. "G'Kar should be back from Narn soon. If we can wait for a few days, the Alliance should be able to cope with our absence. Where would you like to go?"

"Ah, Delenn...." He breathed out slowly, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He had been so distant recently, and very distracted since his return from his expedition to hunt down Sinoval. "I.... need to go on my own."

"Oh," she said. "Oh, of course. I did not mean.... Yes, of course."

"But I have to ask you something first. I would have gone to G'Kar, but he's not here and it looks as if Ta'Lon is off on a mission as well, so I assume all the Ranger reports are coming to you?"

"Eventually, yes," she admitted. Where was he going with this? Where was he going without her? Her throat felt so dry. Was this what humans meant by the ending of a relationship? This.... slow, gradual loss of intimacy and growing awkwardness. "They go to the Ranger office first, and I only see the urgent messages immediately, but yes.... What...?"

"I need to know where David is."

She started, a terrible memory overwhelming her. "What?"

"I know you know where he is. I should have gone to look for him a long time ago, but.... I have to find him. There are some things I need to ask him. He might not want to see me, and hell, I wouldn't blame him, but...." He looked at her. "Please, Delenn."

She bowed her head. "Minbar," she said softly. "He was in Yedor the last I heard of him, helping with the rebuilding."

"Minbar," John said softly. "Of course. I should have guessed. Thank you."

"John, are you...?"

"All right?" he finished for her. "You know, I really have no idea." He leaned against the door frame, arms folded. "I used to be so sure, but recently everything's just been crashing down around me. There were so many things I took for granted that now I don't know anything about. I think most of all I need some time alone to think about them, but I have to talk to David first.

"I shouldn't be gone long. I'll take the first ship out.... passenger, not a Dark Star. I want to travel incognito for one thing. And.... Delenn.... please don't send any Rangers to keep an eye on me. I really do need to be alone."

She nodded. "How.... how long will you be gone?"

"Not long. We'll.... talk when I get back. I think we'll have a lot to talk about by then."

She nodded once, and then turned back to her notes. An instant later he was gone.

* * *

Blind.

I am blind.

The pain is intense, agonising. A million dots of light fill his vision, as far as he can see in any direction. He hears voices, some soothing, some angry. A lover, a leader, a friend, an enemy.

"You will live," a fierce voice hisses, powerful and determined and female.

"We will destroy them," growls an older male voice. "I tell you, nephew, we will destroy them all for what they did."

"Oh, G'Kar, I'm sorry. I should have come earlier." A man's voice, younger, filled with doubt and uncertainty.

"I will tell you nothing, animals!" An enemy's voice. An alien's. An invader's. The voice of the man who had dripped the white liquid on to his eyes. "I will not scream for you."

"Monster!" hissed the woman.

"No!" cried the older man. "Wait."

"After what he did?"

"We wait. When my nephew recovers, we will give him the prisoner. Let G'Kar do what he likes with him, when he recovers."

"Yes. When he recovers. Do you hear that, monster? You cannot break him."

"I do not fear you."

"Perhaps not. But you should."

All the voices become one. He is afraid he will never see their owners again. All he can see is the light, and hints of the shadows they cast. The shadows seem to reach so far in all directions – they cover him, they shroud him, they taint his future, all of their futures.

"Blind."

The voices all speak at once. "He spoke!" "G'Kar, are you...?" "Stand aside, do not crowd him." "So sorry." "G'Kar." "Animal." "Stand aside." "G'Kar."

G'Kar. Is that his name? All he can think about is the pain in his eyes.

"Blind."

"No," says the older male voice. "No, you are not blind. We have sent for the old woman. She will heal you."

"She will do nothing," snaps the female.

"She will," the older man repeats. "Or we will break her."

"Blind."

"Your will is stronger than that, nephew. Be strong. Remember your father. Remember what they did to him."

"Father...."

"One more animal dead. Who else would remember something like that?"

"Silence!"

Another voice, female and alien and.... old. So very old. "I come. I will not hear your threats, for I do not fear your words."

"You had better fear us!"

"Old woman. Your son blinded my nephew. You will heal him."

"Mother, don't touch these animals!"

A sound, and then a scream. The alien male is screaming. Good, they should all scream.

"Stop it! Remember, girl. It is a gift. A gift for when he awakes."

"I do not fear you. I know you will kill me when I am done, just as I know you will kill my son when I am done. But show me this nephew of yours. I would at last look upon the face of this one."

Some of the stars go out, as a small shadow falls across him. It becomes greater, spreading and growing. There is a sound like an intake of breath, sharp and cold, a brush of wind against his cheek.

"Oh, this one. I had heard, but I had feared. So you are the one I have sought for so long? You accomplished nothing, my son. This one shall outlive all here. His words shall outlive this galaxy. He is touched."

"Enough with the prophecies! Just heal him!"

"Do you doubt me? You.... warlord. You remember a prophecy, yes. I see it in your eyes. Not mine, but the fate still hangs above you."

"I remember, witch. And I still live."

"For now, yes. But this one shall outlive you. Do you wish to know his fate, warlord?"

"Mother, do not...!"

"This one shall befriend an Emperor and meld peoples with his words. His passion shall inspire them, his heart make them kneel before them. He shall be the mouth of the river that flows through his people's souls.

"And he shall see his world die and be powerless to prevent it. He shall die at the hands of one he once called friend, but his words and his legacy shall live on. Not forever, but as close to it as makes no difference."

"Heal him, woman. I have no patience for your mysticism."

"You shall see, warlord. And yes, I will heal him – but because the whispers of fate say I will, not for your threats."

There is a warm pressure on his eyes. The few remaining stars die and the shadow grows. Slowly, it takes shape and form. A woman. A Centauri. A noblewoman.

A seeress.

He moves with the speed of a striking snake. As soon as he can see her form, he seizes her neck and squeezes. There is a crunch of bone and she snaps, falling limp and boneless to the ground.

Slowly he moves from the bed, his vision returning – blurred and unclear, but there all the same. Da'Kal holds him tightly and passionately. G'Sten stands proud and tall, nodding in admiration. The other has fled. G'Kar has not heard his voice for some time.

And there, chained and beaten and bloodied in the corner, lies the Centauri noble who did this to him. He looks up, defiant.

"A gift, nephew," G'Sten says.

"Kill him," Da'Kal hisses. "Kill him."

"Not yet," he says. His knife is still at his belt and he pulls it out. The light reflected from it is dull and faint, but he knows full vision will return with time. He knows somehow that one day he will see to the ends of the galaxy, see wonders that most people cannot even contemplate.

"He would have blinded me, taken my eyes and my vision forever. Let such a fate be his, then.

"An eye.... for an eye."

Blind.

G'Kar huddled in the darkness.

Blind.

* * *

Breath came slowly and darkness filled his vision. He could barely move. For a moment that seemed to last forever he thought he was dead, and his soul lingered in his decomposing corpse. It would be fit punishment for the sins of his life, he supposed, and he wished he had spoken more to Sinoval about such matters when he had had the chance. A golden opportunity to learn about death and what followed it, and he had failed to seize it.

"G'Kar," he whispered. He was not sure if he had actually spoken the words aloud or only in his mind. If he had died, should it not have happened as he had foreseen? It had been a dream. A death-dream. Those never lied.

But the truth they told was not always what it appeared to be.

Or perhaps nothing was written in stone, and any fate could be avoided.

Or perhaps stones could simply be shattered and ground to dust.

"G'Kar," he said again. His fingers twitched. He strained his head to look at them, and struggled again. Yes, they moved, the smallest distance, but a movement nonetheless.

He was not dead.

Unless this was just a hallucination. A dream.

Was he a Centauri dreaming he was dead or a ghost dreaming he was alive or something in between?

He could smell smoke. It was not the braziers drifting from the feast of his dream, or his life, or whatever it had been. It was the smoke of death and madness and in its black cloud it carried with it the screams of his people.

"I cannot rest here," he whispered, and struggled to pull himself up. His muscles would not obey him, but he persevered, and managed to lift his legs over the edge of the bed. They were hideously lumpen and heavy, like dead flesh moving.

The floor was cold and hard beneath his feet, but that was good. A sensation at last. He could feel something other than pain. He could not be dead.

Through his blurred vision, something slowly swam into focus.

A meal. Food, and a glass with something in it.

He reached out with the one arm that seemed to obey him and touched the glass. Jhala. And fresh, too.

Part of his dream. No, in his dream he had been drinking brivare and Earth liquor and Minbari water and.... other things. Not jhala. A powerful thirst suddenly burned in his throat and he tried to lift the glass. It seemed impossibly heavy, and he had to support his arm with the other one, forcibly heaving the glass to his face as if it contained molten metal.

He could smell it as it came nearer, inch by agonising inch. It smelled good. Another sensation. Another sign that he was not a dead soul in a dead shell. He tried to manoeuvre the glass to his mouth.

It shattered in his hand, the drink cascading over his face and body. He opened his mouth hurriedly and actually managed to catch some of it. It tasted fine, finer than anything he could have imagined. His legs gave way beneath him and he sat back wearily on the bed, careless of the shards of glass.

"I did not supply that drink for you to throw it everywhere," said a prim voice. He turned his head to see a short, elegant woman standing demurely in the doorway. She walked forward slowly. "You are all right then. I would have hoped so, the amount of time you spent sleeping. Who would run the Republic while you were asleep, you might have thought to ask, but no." She reached his side and looked at him intently.

"Oh, Londo," she sighed. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Londo."

"Timov," he whispered. "Oh, my Timov."

* * *

The dreams were less now, the nightmares grown rarer. It was remarkable what a solid day's work would do for you. Going to bed exhausted every night left little space for bad dreams.

That was precisely how David Corwin liked it.

A piece at a time, Yedor was transforming before his eyes – growing, becoming new, becoming alive. The fields outside the city were becoming greener, the stones and the crystals slowly starting to shine. The lake was still dirty and thick with silt. The sky was still dark and heavy. The signs of the devastation of this world were still there, but they were less now.

One day, he hoped, no one would ever be able to tell what had happened. There would be no sign remaining, no hint of the bloodshed humanity was capable of.

Corwin sat silently on the banks of Turon'val'na lenn-veni, looking out across the lake. The Minbari had accepted him now, or most of them at any rate. He was even able to speak with them, and laugh and joke. But none of them were his friends.

Except perhaps one.

He heard the soft footsteps that signalled Kats' arrival. He turned to greet the little worker. As always, she was wearing a simple robe of plain white, her only ornamentation the plain necklace that hung around her neck.

"Satai," he said, nodding his head.

"David," she replied. He had insisted she use his first name. He had no title any more, and heaven hope, he never would again.