The Other Half of my Soul addm-1

by Gareth D. Williams

  “No,” Bester provided. “They are not, but do not worry. They weren’t last time either. Against another telepath, perhaps… but not me.” Sheridan started, and shot a glare at Garibaldi, who shrugged.

  “There, Captain, now that both our secrets are laid bare, perhaps we can talk business. Oh, one more truth first of all. My visit to Proxima Three was not all I might have made it out to be. I had been hearing a great deal about humanity’s new allies, and I was… intrigued. I had also been hearing a great deal about you. My main intention in visiting Proxima was to scan you, and ascertain if what I had heard was correct.”

  Sheridan didn’t like being made a fool of. “Who did you hear these things from?”

  Bester smiled. “Please, Captain, allow me some little secrets. I have no wish to jeopardise certain… individuals who are better off remaining nameless at the moment.”

  “Then you were not interested in me,” Delenn said. Sheridan could see Bester’s careful gaze on her. He wondered if he was scanning her.

  “Oh yes, but as an… interesting aside, that is all. The fact that I could not get close enough to scan you was an… annoyance, but that is all. Sooner or later, everything comes to me.”

  “‘All things come to him who waits’,” Sheridan quoted.

  “Exactly, Captain Sheridan. You are exactly correct. I had also better point out that I feel no animosity towards you for your… treatment of me. I admire someone who feels such loyalty towards his companions. It bodes well for your future.

  “And now to the conditions under which you are here, Captain. You will work for me. I have one very capable and adept captain in Ben Zayn, but a gift such as yours cannot be wasted. There will be certain… activities which will need to be carried out… from time to time, and if Ben Zayn is not available, or if I feel you are better suited to them, then I will ask you to perform them for me.

  “In exchange I will give you and whichever members of your crew you feel most capable a place here in Sanctuary. I will protect you from the considerable ire of the Resistance Government at Proxima Three, and I will give you a chance better to serve humanity.

  “We both know that those in power in Proxima are drifting away from the lofty ideals of the Earth Alliance, Captain. The urge to survive is all well and good, but there are always limits, and some in Proxima have crossed over those limits by quite a way. Perhaps we here can help humanity return to the ideals of the Earth Alliance, and perhaps not, but we can at least try.”

  “There are innocents at Proxima,” Sheridan said coolly. “People who haven’t been touched by… people who still believe in the ideals. You can’t abandon them.”

  “I have no intention of abandoning anyone, Captain. The Babylon will be returned to Proxima, with a few members of my staff to pilot it. As a last line of defence it is not up to much, but it is better than nothing. We have a much better ship in store for you, Captain. She is called the Parmenion. She is newer, faster and stronger than anything else we have at the moment. Captain Ben Zayn was offered first choice, but he is somewhat attached to his Ozymandias, and so we will give the Parmenion to you and Commander Corwin. Mr. Garibaldi will be able to escort you to the ship and put you in contact with its current third in command, Major Krantz.”

  “And what about Delenn?” Sheridan asked. He could feel her looking at him, and he gently reached out his hand, brushing his fingers against her palm. She gripped his hand tightly.

  “She is a valuable resource, Captain, but I have no intention of treating her as badly as did the Resistance Government. She may stay with you on the Parmenion if she wishes, or she may stay here. If I can assemble some kind of communication with the Minbari, then she may be able to function as Ambassador.

  “I would however request that my Chief Medical Officer has a look at her, so that we can determine the effects of the change.”

  “Dr. Kyle on the Babylon has already done that.”

  “And he is free to share his findings with our Dr. Hobbs. Satai Delenn, I hope you will consent to this?”

  And what if she doesn’t? Sheridan thought blackly, but there was no need for him to worry.

  “I will be… happy to help in any way I can,” she said. She gripped his hand tighter.

  “Good. Very well, Captain, Commander. That will be all. Oh, except for one thing. I gather you had a reputation on Proxima as something of a… what is the phrase…? ’loose cannon’. I accept that you are very skilled in strategy and leadership, Captain, and I will give you the freedom to obey my orders in whatever way you see fit, but let me make this very clear.

  “You will follow my instructions, Captain. You will not deviate from them, you will not abandon them. The future of the whole galaxy may rest on the events of the next few years, and I will not allow anyone to threaten that future. Any transgressions, and I assure you you will regret them. Never forget who I am or what I can do.

  “Good day, Captain. Commander. Satai.”

  * * * * * * *

  Mr. Welles had known Lyta Alexander for several years now. He had found her to be a valuable asset, if a little irresponsible in the use of her powers at times. He knew her to be competent, professional and adept in the use of her abilities.

  Bruised, scarred, battered and scared were new descriptions, although he couldn’t say she hadn’t deserved it. Boggs had been a little extreme, but the man had just lost one of his best friends, so a little licence was in order. Besides, as far as Welles was concerned, she had done nothing to cause sympathy.

  “I am very disappointed,” he said, as he sat down. She looked at him. One of her eyes was puffy and bloodshot. “Very disappointed. Just one question. Why?”

  She swallowed and winced. “Where… is… Marcus?”

  “The sleepers should be at full effect by now,” Welles said idly. “I’m not a telepath myself, but I have studied the use and results of these drugs. A telepath’s abilities are integral to his or her existence. They make you special, make you different, make you important. Take these gifts away, and you’re just like everyone else. The psychological damage must be quite severe. Like an artist who loses the use of her hands, or a musician who becomes deaf, or a soldier who becomes crippled. It takes away not just what you do, but who you are, what makes you unique and special.

  “You have a rare gift, Miss Alexander. One in every ten thousand people is a telepath, is it not? Take away those whose abilities are almost useless, and you are in a very select group of people. And yet you misuse your talents. First for your own personal pleasure, as if the minds of others are your own private playground, and now, you use your power to betray your people.

  “At least you have not tried to deny it. Mr. Allan has provided us with all the details. He has also been a source of knowledge about what happened on board the Babylon. He is holding some things back of course. People always do. But what he has told us so far is true. I hear so many lies that I recognise the truth when I hear it.

  “And so, Miss Alexander, I have just one question. I know what you have done. I know how you have done it. I think I know why, but I just want to hear it from your lips.

  “Why?”

  “Where… is… Marcus?”

  Welles steepled his fingers together and looked at her over the top of them. She did look a pitiful figure, and he would rather not have been here at all. No, he was certain that the true knowledge he sought could be found within the mind of the very Marcus Miss Alexander was asking about, but he was… off limits. Someone else had an interest in him, and so Welles was here.

  Perhaps Boggs had been too hard, after all. Welles would liked to have supervised the affair, but he had been afraid. When he had discovered Cutter’s body he had lost control. He had come within an inch of killing Delenn. He had learned something very unpleasant about himself then, and he was afraid of losing control again.

  There were always other ways to deal with problems than simple violence.

  “I studied as a psychologist once, you know,” he sa
id conversationally. “I learned what makes people tick. Their past, their present, their childhood, their wishes, dreams, aspirations. Then came the war however, and I felt another calling. I have certain unique abilities, every bit as unique and precious as yours, and I have put them to use serving my people.

  “I think I know why you helped her escape. I think it is because you have no identity of your own. I may have been reckless in allowing you to form such a bond with Satai Delenn during my interrogation of her. You latched on to whatever connection you formed with her. You… welcomed it, you even came to need it.

  “I can understand the allure. Exotic, strange, alien, fascinating, beautiful… yes, some regard the Minbari as beautiful. But as I told you, I am a psychologist. I dig beneath the surface, and what I have seen beneath the surface of the Minbari is a race filled with pride and arrogance and delusions of their own superiority. Yes, they are powerful, but they have no idea of what to do with that power. They waste it, they abuse it… they are content to wait, passing away their days convinced in their own power, and if anyone dares challenge them – like us – then they respond with bloody, terrible force.

  “That is the race you idolise, Miss Alexander! And that is the race you have helped! Never forget what they did to Earth! And don’t try and tell me that you have not lost someone you loved to them, because that would be a lie, and we both know it.

  “You are of no value here. The only thing that makes you special is your gifts, and those you have misused.

  “But perhaps, there is a use for you. The people, the ones you doubtless never see with your gloves and your badge and your insignia and your pride… the people are angry and scared and worried. They want a scapegoat, an offering if you will. Something to appease the gods before the Minbari arrive.

  “Satai Delenn was to be that offering, but she is gone, and so there will have to be a replacement. The Resistance Government will offer you.

  “We will not meet again, Miss Alexander. Rest well, and have pleasant dreams.”

  Welles rose to his feet and headed for the door. He had nearly lost control for a moment, but he had managed to rein himself in. He was breathing rapidly now, anxious to be out of here. He needed to rest, needed to think, needed to control himself.

  “I… I…” Miss Alexander was trying to speak. Welles turned, and listened. “I… was right… I know… I was… right.”

  “Then you know nothing at all. Good day, Miss Alexander.”

  Welles left, and closed the door.

  * * * * * * *

  “Ah, Lady Elrisia. A pleasure as always.” Londo inclined his head in a gesture of greeting – several inches short of what would be considered polite. Lady Elrisia might have a great deal of power – she was the caretaker of the entirety of Lord Refa’s estates in his, hopefully very long, absence – but that did not mean Londo had to respect her.

  In a society where marriage for love was considered radical, dangerous and foolish, few marriages ended up happily, unless the participants were lucky. Londo had been anything but. Timov loathed him, Daggair was only using him for her social climbing and Mariel… the less said about her the better. He was however lucky in one respect. It had been Refa, not he, who had married the fair Lady Elrisia.

  Physically, she was very beautiful, he had to admit. Even if it was the sort of beauty that came from jars and took several hours in the morning to arrange. And Elrisia was very shrewd, very intelligent and very ambitious. Good qualities in a man, very very bad qualities in a woman, especially one whose only real purpose was to continue the noble line, and look pretty, or upon occasion join two Houses. Intelligence did not enter into it.

  Elrisia had satisfied the succession side of things – she and Refa had a son, who was currently parading around in the military, hoping to impress the Narns with his dress sense, no doubt. Elrisia had provided an impressive alliance between two Houses, so that part was done. And she had attended plenty of affairs and parties looking pretty. That should be enough for any woman, but noooo. She had to want more.

  “Minister Mollari,” she said. “We were not expecting you in the Royal Court this morning. What brings you this far from your estates?”

  “A… little business is all. Nothing important.”

  “Is it connected to Lady Morella’s murder? A horrible business that. I hear the murderer is in custody?”

  “A… suspect is in custody, Lady. His guilt has not yet been determined.”

  “Oh really? Well, we have ways of determining guilt, don’t we, my dear?” She smiled at her companion.

  Londo had met Cartagia a few times. Nephew of the late Emperor Turhan, Cartagia was peripherally connected to the royal line, and therefore bore watching. He was not an impressive addition to it, it had to be said. Londo half wondered whether he was still drooling – a habit from his childhood.

  “Absolutely,” Cartagia said. “We can rustle up a few of the palace torturers… sorry… pain technicians. Pain technicians? I mean what sort of a stupid name is that? Really! You wouldn’t have thought the name would matter, would you, but nooooo, they’re all organised, and insist they’re called pain technicians. I don’t know. Anyway, we can soon sort this out.”

  “Torture would be… ill–advised at present, lord.”

  “Are you denying me my fun, Mollari? That’s not very pleasant of you, is it?”

  “Shut up, dear,” Elrisia said calmly. Londo had never seen a member of Centauri royalty sulk before. It was quite an entertaining experience.

  “My congratulations on your recent engagement,” Londo said. “Where is our Emperor anyway?”

  “Resting. He had quite an… energetic night. He will be up in time for his audience with the Centarum. There is the matter of choosing a replacement for poor Urza, for one thing.”

  “Yes,” Londo said, trying not to grit his teeth together. ’Poor Urza’ had been a friend. A good friend, and if his death had been an accident, then Londo was a Jovian treeworm.

  “The Emperor and I have felt that you are overburdened in your current duties, Londo,” Elrisia said. “You have performed such sterling work that it didn’t seem right burdening you with more responsibilities when you should be resting. You are not as young as you once were.”

  “My… duties to my people keep me young, my lady. Who… who will you recommend to the Centarum?”

  “Oh, Lord Jarno has done wonderful work lately. He deserves some recognition, don’t you think?”

  “Of course, my lady. You are quite right.” Lord Jarno? The man was an idiot! Londo remembered a speech he had given to the Centarum once. Afterwards, everyone had unanimously voted that he be sterilised in the best interests of the species. Of course, he was married to Lady Jarno, which amounted to the same thing really.

  Lord Jarno was also known to gamble a little. No, he was known to gamble a lot. So did Londo, of course, but at least he knew when to quit. Lord Jarno didn’t, and as a result owed quite a sum to, of all people, Lord Refa. Under Centauri law, Refa – or the holder of his estates, Lady Elrisia – would be perfectly entitled to seize Jarno’s holdings as part payment of the debt. That would make him easily malleable, no?

  “A fine choice,” Londo agreed. He had his own suspicions about recent ’accidental’ deaths on Centauri Prime, and his own suspicions about who was behind them. He was also far too old to be dodging assassination attempts all the time.

  “We’re very glad you approve, Londo. I am sorry, but I think it is time I went and woke the Emperor up. Good day, Londo.”

  “My lady. Prince Cartagia.” They departed, and Londo was left to mutter angrily to himself. Women in politics! Bah! Next thing she would want to be Emperor!

  He badly needed a rest. And a drink. And a game of cards. And…

  * * * * * * *

  Traffic in to Proxima 3 was very rare these days. The whole colony was under tight control. With the arrival of the Minbari anticipated at any moment, few wanted to go there anyway. Especially not the Narns.<
br />
  The Kha’Ri had officially refused any help to Proxima – ostensibly for reasons to do with their current, and rather uneventful, war with the Centauri. In fact, the Kha’Ri recognised a losing cause when they saw one, and were more than capable of thinking up ways to destroy their own ships without throwing them in front of a very angry Minbari armada. And for those members of the Kha’Ri – such as Councillor Na’Toth – who were aware of certain… deeper matters at work, helping a colony they might well end up having to fight at a future date did not make a great deal of sense. Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar’s opinions on the matter were not recorded, but Ta’Lon knew that G’Kar would help if he could.

  Who he would help was anyone’s guess.

  Ta’Lon would doubtless find it difficult to get into Proxima 3, especially as, if his estimates and information were correct, he would be arriving only a few hours before the Minbari. While the Resistance Government might be quite happy at the arrival of another ship, Ta’Lon would have little time to do what he needed to do.

  He had been out of contact with most of G’Kar’s agents for some time. Epsilon 3 had been silent, the Centauri aide with access to the Grey Council provided what little he could, and the agents among the Non-Aligned Worlds knew little of importance outside their own little areas.

  As such Ta’Lon knew nothing about recent events on Proxima. He did not know about Satai Delenn’s transformation and escape. He did not know of Captain Sheridan’s defection. He did not know just how deeply the Resistance Government had given itself over to the Darkness.

  What he did know was that he had a duty to his friend, to pass on one last message to his beloved. Neroon had met a warrior’s end, a fitting death, and so Ta’Lon was left with his legacy.

  And so he came to Proxima… a world of darkness and deep night.

  * * * * * * *

  Corwin was impressed by the Parmenion. As he and the Captain were shown around by Major Krantz, he took special notice of the ship’s unique features.

  It was a heavy class destroyer ship, a similar type to the Babylon. The Babylon, however, had undergone so many upgrades, conversions and last minute botch-job repairs over the years that it was, quite literally, in a class of its own. The Parmenion was newer, cleaner, fitter and far readier.