The Other Half of my Soul addm-1

by Gareth D. Williams

  Kalain was both exhilarated and terrified. This was his chance for redemption, for atonement for his cowardice over Mars. But this could lead to further shame and defeat. He dared not risk further shame. Sheridan had to be destroyed now.

  “You heard their message,” Draal snapped. “They have Delenn with them. You will not jeopardise her life for your own revenge.”

  “They were lying.”

  “You know they were not.”

  “Then if Delenn is with them, she is there willingly, and is therefore a traitor and not worthy of our concern.”

  “Mathras!” Draal cried. “Can you do something here?”

  “Mathras not, no, but Mathras know one who can, yes.”

  “Shut your yapping gok up!”

  “Gok? Mathras not is gok. Mathras not even know what gok is. Mathras… Ah. See. Mathras told you, but you not listen to Mathras. No one ever listen to Mathras. Not even Zathras listen to Mathras.”

  “What does he…? Valen’s Name!”

  Before him, shimmering slightly, was a vision of an alien Kalain had never seen before. Superficially, he resembled a Markab, but there was an age and wisdom in his eyes that could not have belonged to any member of that dead race.

  “Greetings, visitors,” said the image. “I am Varn, custodian of the Great Machine. There will be no violence above this planet. You were all brought here for a purpose, and that purpose is to decide who will replace me in the heart of this Machine. Zathras and Mathras, my friends, you have done well. Bring your choices to the surface, and the Captains of these vessels. It will be for them to understand and spread word of what will happen here. Do not worry about the atmosphere. I have rendered it quite breathable by your species.

  “And to be clear: any hostile action made by either side will be met by the destruction of that ship. There will be no violence here. Neither I nor the Machine will permit it.”

  The image faded, and Kalain shot a sharp glance at Draal and Mathras. “Told you, Mathras did. Yes yes. Told you, but you not listen. No one ever listen to Mathras. Very sad life, yes, but meaningful too. Yes yes. Mathras not complain. Mathras have purpose.”

  “I told you, Draal,” Kalain said. “Shut him up. Well, you heard that… thing. We have to go to the surface.”

  And the Starkiller will be there as well.

  * * * * * * *

  “I may not go back,” Sheridan breathed as he looked around. “This is… this is… Hah. I think I’ll have to invent a word to describe it.” A flippant remark, but true. There were no words to describe what he saw around him. To think that an alien race could have built this and kept it hidden, disguised from intruders, and lived their lives here, so far underground… the whole thing was breathtaking.

  “Is Great Machine,” said Zathras. “Is very great, no?”

  “It certainly is that,” Sheridan breathed. He looked at his other companion, but G’Kar was whispering quietly to himself. Sheridan recognised a fragment of the Narn dialect, and he knew a prayer when he heard one.

  And then his link activated, and the illusion was broken. “Everything’s quiet up here, Captain,” came Corwin’s voice. “The Minbari don’t seem to be making any hostile moves. We did see a shuttle go down a few minutes ago, however.”

  Always a serpent in paradise. “Thank you, Mr. Corwin. Let me know if they show any sign of aggression. And… keep Satai Delenn safe. Sheridan out.”

  “There will be no fighting above here, no no,” Zathras said. “Is being against Varn’s wishes. Fighting be not good. The art of fighting is knowing when to fight, and who not to fight… Ah, no no no, please be forgiving Zathras. What Zathras meant to say, is, the art of fighting is knowing who to when and fight to fight… Ah no. This is not good. Who to fight and when to fight who not. Ah, no. Click, click You have very strange language. Zathras not think he like this language. Is not making sense.”

  “Well done,” Sheridan congratulated him. “It took the rest of us several hundred years to figure that one out.”

  “Welcome, my friends,” said an old voice. Sheridan rounded a corner, Zathras scampering about at his heels, and came to an abrupt halt. Zathras crashed into the back of his legs.

  “You is not wanting to be doing that. You should at least have given Zathras some warning, but no. Ignore Zathras. Zathras not important. No, Zathras does not mind.”

  “But you are important,” said the voice. It was the same voice that had greeted him aboard the bridge of the Babylon. “We are all important, Zathras, each in our own way. And greetings to you too, Captain Sheridan, and to you, Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar.” The Narn pressed his fists against his chest in salute. Sheridan simply stared.

  The alien did not look like anything special. He partially resembled a Markab, but he was shorter, and his facial structure was slightly different. His voice also seemed quieter and less assured than it had. Physically Varn was not very impressive, but then nothing would look impressive when compared to the mass of machinery and lights and colours that surrounded him. The whole sight was awesome, rising impossibly high into the rock all around them. Varn seemed as much a part of the machinery as were the wires and cables that joined him to it.

  Varn – or rather, the image of Varn, who was standing several steps out from what was presumably his body – turned and gave a brief nod of his head. Sheridan turned also.

  There were three new guests. One of them looked exactly like Zathras. The other two… were Minbari.

  Always a serpent in paradise.

  * * * * * * *

  “But Lieutenant Ivanova, surely you can see our position here!” President Marie Crane of the Resistance Government was tired and hungry, and she very much wanted to rest. She did not want to be fighting against half of her own government and the woman standing before her.

  “We need confirmation of your friends’ good faith. We will need to establish treaties, codes of conduct, exact details of what we expect from each other as allies. Trading agreements, even. Perhaps even an ambassador. We are taking everything that we have been told so far simply on your word.”

  “And the reports made by Captain Sheridan,” Ivanova said quickly.

  “Yes, well, young lady,” spoke up Vice President Clark. “Captain Sheridan has a… reputation for being somewhat economical with the truth in his reports.”

  “To be blunt,” snapped General Takashima. “He often downright lies to us, and that’s when he can be bothered to say anything at all.”

  “Really?” Ivanova said. “I thought he was… better regarded than that.”

  “Oh, we have the utmost respect for his talents,” Clark said obsequiously. There were still a few members of the Resistance Government who respected Sheridan and trusted him to use his abilities and resources to the best needs of humanity. But only a few. “He is a soldier, however, not a diplomat or an intelligence agent. He is merely… being forced by circumstance to enact rôles which are unfamiliar to him.”

  “Aren’t we all?” replied Ivanova. Clark spluttered and looked at Crane, who was trying very hard to stifle a smile. In these times, you took your pleasures where you could find them, and seeing Clark humiliated was pleasure enough for the moment. “And with regards to the other matters, I am afraid that my friends cannot send an ambassador. The atmosphere here would be poisonous to them, and they are very reluctant to leave their homeworld. It is a very holy place for them.”

  “Can you at least put us in contact with them?” Crane asked. “Some form of… long distance communication or something?”

  “Their technology doesn’t work that way. They prefer sort of… telepathy, I’d imagine. A link with an agent who can leave Z’ha’dum. Like me. Anything you need to know can be relayed to them directly through me.”

  “Telepathy,” Clark said. “Perhaps we should ask Miss Alexander to take a look at you. Maybe she can uncover something helpful about this link. I understand Miss Alexander has been quite free lately, since our Minbari guest just walked away…”
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  “No!” Ivanova cried out suddenly. “No telepaths! Not near me!” Crane looked at her, surprised by the vehemence of her reaction. “They would… damage the link. It is a sensitive affair. Anything you need to know can be relayed to me, as I have said.”

  “I do have one question,” said Takashima. “What are we going to call these allies of yours? They do have a name, I trust?”

  “Yes,” Ivanova said slowly. “But it’s ten thousand letters long.”

  “Ouch,” said Clark.

  “Exactly. I can speak Russian, and even I can’t pronounce it. If you want to call them something… I understand the Minbari name for them would roughly translate as… Shadows.”

  “Shadows?” Crane said softly. An ominous name, which may have been the point. The connection between the Minbari and these Shadows certainly seemed to be an appropriate reason for them allying themselves with the Resistance Government. “Shadows,” she repeated. The name chilled her, and she was certain she caught a gleam in Ivanova’s eye every time she said the word.

  “I like it,” Clark announced. “So what do these Shadows of yours look like?”

  “Fairly ordinary,” Ivanova said. “Fairly… ordinary.”

  * * * * * * *

  “There is a war coming,” Varn said. “A dark and terrible war which will tear the heavens and rip worlds asunder. Billions will die and whole empires fall, but there is hope for peace, great hope. There must always be hope. All of you gathered here,” he said, indicating G’Kar, Sheridan, Draal and Kalain, “know, in parts great or small, of this war.

  “Some of you,” he said, looking at G’Kar, “believe you are ready for what is to come. Others,” indicating Kalain, “doubt your own worth, and are afraid of where you will stand at the end. Another,” indicating Draal, “refuses to admit his place and would be surprised to learn that he has any place at all, while you,” indicating Sheridan, “refuse to believe with your head what your heart is telling you, and will not accept with your heart what your head screams out.

  “No matter the cost, the war must be fought, and it must be won, or every free-thinking race in the galaxy will fall to tyranny and despair. There must always be hope, and justice, and light. This Machine will be a part of that hope, and will bring some of that justice, and will shine part of that light.

  “I have been here for over five hundred years, and now I am dying. During my time, I have gathered knowledge, travelled to far and distant worlds and seen things both terrible and majestic. All these memories, and all those thoughts, are stored within the heart of the Great Machine, and it is for the Great Machine itself to know who will inherit them.”

  Kalain was only half interested in Varn, and only slightly more interested in the sights around him. His attention was focussed on the Starkiller. Kalain was surprised. He had not expected Sheridan to be so… fragile-looking. Kalain estimated that a single blow with his pike would be enough to rip the human apart. Surely this could not be the creature responsible for the Dralaphi, for the attack over Mars, for bringing terror to Kalain, Alyt of the Wind Swords himself?

  And yet… there was something in his bearing… Sheridan was not the Starkiller here. Here he was just a man, a warrior divested of his armour and his robes and his blade. He might as well have been naked. His ship was what made him the Starkiller; it was as much a part of him as his arms and legs and clothing.

  And then the impact of Varn’s words struck him, and he stepped forward. “You say this place is to be used as a fortress of light? Then who better to take it than the ones who will be leading the Army of Light against the Darkness? The Rangers did so a thousand years ago and they will do so now. Satai Sinoval, my leader, has been appointed Entil’zha, walking in the footsteps of Valen, and it will be in his name that I claim this place.”

  “No,” Varn rasped. “You cannot claim the planet… the planet… claims… you…”

  But his words were not heard, except perhaps by G’Kar and Draal, who alone understood them. Kalain’s gaze was focussed on Sheridan, and on the future, and on the glory he would receive when he returned to Sinoval with news of this place… glory enough to remove his shame.

  And Sheridan… he too was not listening to Varn. “Like hell you will!” he snapped. “We laid claim to this planet while on a scouting mission two years ago.”

  “Oh? And what were you scouting for exactly?”

  “None of your business!”

  G’Kar reached out for Sheridan, but then lowered his arm. Kalain looked at the Narn and snorted. This one fashioned himself as a warrior, but he was merely a talker. Narns had no stomach for doing what needed to be done. Only the Minbari did, only the warriors did, only Sinoval did. Draal made to perform a similar action, but Kalain brushed him aside. The fire of revenge was burning within him now.

  Varn’s image was shaking, coughing and spluttering. “Too long,” he whispered. “Too… much… Help me.”

  Zathras had abandoned the confrontation growing in the middle of the chamber – unheeded by everyone except Mathras, who went with him – and was rushing around the socket where Varn’s body rested. As he worked, the image faded and vanished, and Varn’s body, previously motionless, began to move. The old alien was dying.

  Kalain felt the whole ground lurch beneath him. “A trick!” he spat. “You, Starkiller, are without honour!” Here at last, was his chance for redemption. Great would be the cheers when he returned to the Trigati, holding Sheridan in chains, and then returned him before the Grey Council. He would earn his redemption, and his forgiveness, both in Sinoval’s eyes and his own. And after that… there was a position on the Grey Council vacant. So what if Delenn’s replacement should be from the religious caste? They had dominated the Council for too long. Satai Kalain. It had a nice sound to it.

  Sheridan was also moving. Towards the dying alien. G’Kar was beside him, but neither was moving very fast. The whole planet was shaking.

  “Kalain,” barked out a voice from his communications device. It was Alyt Deeron, his aide and second. “The Earthers fired at us, a missile of some kind.”

  “Crush them!” he ordered in reply. “Destroy them all!” Yes, Satai Kalain. Or perhaps Shai Alyt Kalain. Yes, that way he could lead, still have respect and yet be able to lead in battle. The Earthers would be crushed soon, and he would lead against them, all shame gone, all penance performed, all absolution granted.

  “No!” Zathras was crying out. “No, this not good. Varn is being dying. With Varn dying, the planet is dying too. The Machine needs a heart, or the Machine dies, and then the planet dies, and then we die. All defence systems are activating. Automatic defences are activating. Humans not attack. It accident! Accident!”

  Zathras knew almost as much about the Great Machine as Varn did. He also knew that the Earth / Minbari War had begun over just such an accident, and now it seemed as though a second accident would plunge the war into a new stage.

  “No,” Varn whispered. “Not fight… not…”

  Kalain didn’t hear him, either him or Zathras. Shai Alyt Kalain. Yes, in all respects his vision of the future would be correct.

  All aspects save one. Sheridan would be presented to the Grey Council not as prisoner, but as corpse.

  Chapter 3

  If Commander David Corwin had been given a pay rise for every time he had been in danger of losing his life, he would now have enough money to buy his own moon and get away from this whole damned war to somewhere safe. On the other hand, so would just about everyone else in what was left of Earthforce. He hadn’t joined Earthforce back in the days when there was still an Earth to give it meaning, but he had seen the signs. Greatest adventure of them all, they said. If only they’d known.

  To put his life in some sort of context, staring down at a Minbari cruiser directly in front of him, above an apparently deserted planet that was in fact far from deserted, which the Captain had gone down to, along with the greatest Narn hero currently alive and a mysterious alien who babbled a lot about
destiny and the Great Machine, with a Minbari Satai – with whom the Captain had apparently become friendly, in spite of the fact that she was a Satai who had been involved in leading the war against Earth, and therefore deserved nothing less than a lingering and unnecessarily painful death – on board, and on the bridge, nothing less… was all in a day’s work.

  Which day’s work didn’t seem relevant.

  The strategy for fighting the Minbari had been outlined in detail by the Captain over a period of time. It had been thought that destroying a Minbari cruiser was impossible. They were faster than Earth ships, stronger than Earth ships and had some kind of stealth system that made it impossible to lock on to them.

  And then, there had been the Black Star.

  The Minbari flagship, no less, and the Captain had destroyed it. Corwin hadn’t been on board the Babylon at the time, but he did remember the celebrations after news of it reached Earth. So what if the Captain had had to use mines and a faked distress signal? It had worked. The Minbari could be beaten. It had given them all hope.

  Hope that was sadly misplaced. Not even the Captain could do much against the searing Minbari onslaught that had descended upon Earth and proceeded to destroy the entire planet. Hardly anyone survived. And then the Minbari had turned to Mars, and the Captain had arrived, raining fire and fury and causing even the Minbari to back off long enough for people to escape. One of those people was David Corwin, and destiny had intervened.

  And now, David Corwin was second in command and executive officer on board the Babylon, and staring down Minbari cruisers was a routine affair, even if he never did entirely lose the feelings of terror and anger he always felt when staring at the beings who had destroyed his home and his family. Vengeance never died, and, as far as David Corwin was concerned, it was a dish definitely best served hot.