The Other Half of my Soul addm-1

by Gareth D. Williams

  “The crew have been trained and drilled extensively,” Krantz was saying. “They’re looking forward to meeting you. They’re the best Mr. Bester can find. Some of them are… soldiers of fortune of a sort…”

  “You mean mercenaries,” Corwin provided darkly.

  “They fight for us. They fight for Mr. Bester. What does it matter how much they’re being paid? Most of the crew is human, but there are a few aliens – Narns mainly. Some secret elements in the Narn military have been working quite closely with Mr. Bester. Some of the Kha’Ri are quite interested in his work here in Sanctuary and have been funding our activities.”

  “How come Proxima’s never heard about any of this?” Corwin asked.

  “They have. A little, anyway. Mr. Bester has lent them support from time to time. They just don’t know the specifics, that’s all. We’ll operate more in the open when the right time comes. A few members of the Non-Aligned Worlds know about us. We’ve been having a few skirmishes lately with a race called the Streibs. Not very nice people at all.

  “You’ll have a chance to meet the bridge crew soon enough, but there’s someone special you ought to meet first.”

  Krantz stopped at a door, and activated the bell. A few moments later it opened, and a very young woman stepped out. Corwin blinked and then looked at her. She was wearing typical Psi Corps clothing – dark and utilitarian, with black gloves and the Psi Corps insignia. She couldn’t have been much more than sixteen.

  “Alisa Beldon,” she said, introducing herself. “Telepath rating P eight. So far. Primary telepath aboard the Parmenion.”

  Corwin shook her hand and introduced himself. The Captain did likewise.

  “I’m glad to have met you, Captain Sheridan,” she said. “I remember hearing the news about the Black Star. I was only seven at the time, but I remember the partying and…”

  “You’re making me feel old,” Sheridan grumbled. Corwin couldn’t help but smile. He’d been fifteen during the Black Star victory.

  “Will you be at the bridge later?” the Captain asked. “I have a speech I’d like to give.”

  “Of course, Captain.” She smiled again, and bowed, both at the Captain and Corwin. Corwin caught a hint of a dazzling smile, and then the door closed and he looked back at Major Krantz.

  “What’s a telepath doing on a ship like this?”

  “All of the ships here at Sanctuary have at least one telepath on board. You never know where they might come in useful.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought Bester would place his telepaths in danger like that. And isn’t she a little young for a P eight?”

  “There were certain… experiments carried out on a lot of early adolescents. It heightened and accelerated their abilities. Telepaths are a valuable resource after all, and the art of leadership is appropriate use of your resources. Wouldn’t you say, Captain?”

  “Hmmm? Oh yes. Quite right.”

  “Sir?” Corwin asked. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Just… going over my good luck speech.”

  “Your what?”

  “My good luck speech. It’s a… personal tradition. I give a good luck speech within twenty-four hours of taking on a new command. With everything that’s been happening lately I think I deserve the luxury of at least one old habit.”

  “I never heard about a good luck speech.”

  “Well, I’ve been on the Babylon for so long that I’ve never needed to do one. I just… I don’t know. I just need some sort of link to the past.”

  “Oh. Well. I’m looking forward to hearing it.”

  “I wouldn’t look so smug, Commander,” Krantz said. “The crew will probably want a few words from you as well.”

  “Me? But that’s… that’s… I’m no orator. I just… ah…”

  “Don’t worry, David,” the Captain chuckled. “It’s not as hard as it looks. Assuming I get this bit. Damn! I’ve got out of practice in giving it.”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Krantz said. “You’ve got at least an hour or two to remember.”

  * * * * * * *

  If anyone had walked into the Royal Court at that moment, they would doubtless have been outraged to see Lady Elrisia reclining on the Imperial Throne itself. The Throne was for the Emperor only. Oh, sometimes his First Minister sat there while receiving audience when the Emperor was away, or busy, but still… there were matters of protocol to consider. None of Emperor Turhan’s wives had ever so much as contemplated sitting on the Imperial Throne. (Well except for his first wife in that unfortunate incident with the Drazi Ambassador and the ’live’ banquet – apparently caused by the overuse of the colour purple in the decorations.)

  Lady Elrisia clearly had no such compunctions. As far as she was concerned, she could sit wherever she liked. The future Empress could do whatever she liked.

  Officially speaking, there was no title of Empress. The Emperor’s wives were always called by the simple title of Lady – albeit with more respect than was given to a noble’s wife. Elrisia was planning on changing that. She was planning on changing a lot of things.

  “Did you hear the way he spoke to me? It was an outrage, I am telling you! An outrage. I have a mind to have him flogged!”

  “Cartagia dear. Shut up.” Elrisia was getting very tired of his infantile prattlings. If it weren’t for the fact that Marrit was even more tedious and boring, she would probably be with him. She was, after all, going to be his future wife, and Empress.

  Empress Elrisia. She liked the sound of it.

  But as always, there was a problem. Said problem being Londo Mollari.

  He was an anachronism. An ‘old guard’. You only had to look at his hair and hear his accent to understand that. He still believed in the ‘good old days’ of Centauri power. The good old days were gone. Elrisia planned on creating the good new days.

  And if it weren’t for people like Londo and her dear husband always standing in the way, she’d have a far far easier time of it.

  And she had been trying. A number of assassination attempts had had to be aborted, but she had been certain her gas booby trap in his carriage a few weeks ago would work. It had certainly cost her enough. But no, Londo had escaped that one as well.

  “How does he do it?” she asked herself. “He must have all the Gods in the pantheon on his side. How can anyone who gambles so badly be so lucky?”

  “Everyone’s luck runs out sooner or later,” Cartagia said.

  Elrisia thought about this, and smiled. “Do you know, that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all day. Congratulations.”

  Suddenly, her personal communicator activated. A fascinating little device, used by Ministers and high ranking military officers to keep in touch. She had managed to appropriate one for her own use. She listened to the message, and then smiled widely.

  “How prophetic of you, Cartagia,” she said. “It appears that Minister Mollari has just met with an… unfortunate accident. His personal carriage – a replacement for the last one, I suppose – exploded on his way back to his estates. A problem with the engine, I suppose. The manufacturers really should get these things looked at better, don’t you think?”

  Cartagia smiled. He actually looked halfway intelligent when he did.

  * * * * * * *

  “When I was twenty-one, I went on a journey to Tibet to see the new Dalai Lama. It made sense at the time. A lot of things do when you’re twenty-one. We had a simple meal… I forget what it was. And afterwards, he looked at me and he said:

  “‘Do you understand?’

  “And I said, ‘No.’ He simply smiled and said, ‘Good. You will be even wiser when you know what it is that you do not understand.’

  “The Dalai Lama may be gone. Tibet, the Himalayas, Earth… they may all be gone, but they live on in our minds and hearts and souls, and in our memories. Someone… very dear to me once told me something. ‘Love holds no borders.’ If love does hold no borders, then neither should memories, neither should hopes or dreams
or aspirations. We have all lost a great deal, and we have all suffered.

  “It is likely that we will suffer more and lose more. It is likely that we may not return one day. It is likely that our enemies are stronger than we are.

  “I don’t really know any of you, and none of you knows me, but this I can promise you. I have spent the whole of my life serving Earth. Just because Earth is gone, that does not mean that we have to stop believing in what it meant for us as a people. Earth survives in each and every one of us, and I will serve Earth – and of all you – in the same way I always have.

  “I can make no guarantee that I will be able to keep you alive, and anyone who says they can is lying. This galaxy doesn’t allow for guarantees. I can promise you, however, that I will do all that is in my power in the name of Earth, and of humanity.

  “It was an early Earth president who said… who said… damn! What did he say?”

  Sheridan floundered, and was greeted with chuckles of laughter from the bridge. “All right,” he said, holding up his hands. “So I’ve forgotten what he said. It just goes to show how much I will be relying on all of you, and how much we will all be relying on each other. Myself and Commander Corwin are new to this ship and to you, but we are ready and willing to do our best by you, by Earth and by humanity.”

  Sheridan finished and was met with enthusiastic, if reserved applause. He looked around at the bridge and smiled, one of the first, warmest smiles Corwin had seen on him in a long while. Corwin smiled too.

  “I wouldn’t be too happy,” the Captain whispered to him. “It’s your turn now.”

  * * * * * * *

  Sinoval was in the strange mood that always gripped him in the buildup to a major campaign. Impatient, energetic and excited. Almost like a child on his way to temple for the first time. He was aware that he was now spiritual, political and emotional centre of the Minbari people and that such emotions were… unbecoming to one of his rank, and so he spent much of his time in the Hall of the Council, staring at the sight of the fleet he was gathering all around him.

  The fleet numbered in the hundreds. Capital ships, the new White Star class ships, flyers… There were some who spoke out – in places where they didn’t think he could hear them, of course – against committing such a fleet to this battle. After all, there were only humans to deal with. What defences did Proxima 3 have? One heavy class starship, a number of medium and smaller class ships, and possibly a few Narn allies. Oh, yes. And the Starkiller.

  But there were a few people on Minbar who knew the truth. Sinoval, the Grey Council, Ambassador Refa and his aide, and a handful of Sinoval’s most trusted Rangers.

  Proxima 3 had a handful more defences than just that. They had the Enemy as well.

  Ambassador Refa had provided evidence that the humans had made a deal with the Enemy. The exact details of this deal were unknown, but that did not matter. For the past eight cycles, ever since the sight of that first Shadow ship under the sands of the red planet, the Grey Council had known that this day would come. The enemy was returning, and the Great War spoken of by Valen was about to start.

  The Minbari were ready. Whereas they might have fallen into apathy and endless waiting for signs that never came, Sinoval had brought them around. Action would be taken. The warrior caste would lead the Great War, the Holy War, as was right, and Sinoval… he would be at their forefront. His name would sound out with the greatest Minbari of history. He would stand alongside Valen, and Varmain, and Dukhat in history…

  Sinoval slowly left the Hall of the Council. He no longer even noticed the breach of tradition, and cared not at all.

  He found the person he was looking for in a private meeting with Kalain, the warrior raised to Satai after Delenn’s disappearance and disgrace. Kalain greeted him with a bow, as did his companion.

  “Shai Alyt Tryfan,” Sinoval said.

  “Holy One. This is an honour…”

  Kalain bowed again, and then left. He knew that two of the oldest of friends would want to be alone.

  Tryfan hesitated for a moment, but then Sinoval made the gesture of affection and greeting, an extension of the arm, a bowing of the head. Tryfan smiled and responded.

  “Everything is ready, Tryfan?” Sinoval asked. “No, what am I saying? Of course it is.”

  “My ship is in perfect order, Holy One. We are more than ready.”

  “What is your opinion of these new White Stars? There has been little time for testing.”

  “They are fine ships, Holy One. Fast, and yet powerful. With just three of these, I could cleave a path through the Earthers’ last base.”

  “But it will not just be the Earthers we must deal with, old friend.”

  Tryfan bowed his head. “No.”

  Sinoval regarded his old friend. Tryfan had been one of the greatest warriors of his generation. As a young, promising warrior, he had served on the Trigati when Sinoval had captained it during the assault on Earth. He had seen the warrior’s conviction and dedication and had recommended his name to Branmer when the Rangers were formed. Tryfan had joined, and had soon advanced to the heights of the Rangers. Durhan had trained him well, but had made a disturbing recommendation. Tryfan’s skills with pike and sword were exemplary, but he was touched by a pride and a darkness that ran deep to his core. Sinoval had seen this as well, but still believed that Tryfan’s darkness could be excised. Durhan’s words had effectively removed Tryfan from the running when it came to choosing a replacement for Branmer as Entil’zha – the position now held by Sinoval himself. Sinoval had never ceased to believe in his friend, though, and had named Tryfan Shai Alyt, giving him a unit of White Stars to command.

  “Which ship is yours?” Sinoval asked.

  “White Star Nine. The Valen.”

  “Nine? A good omen.”

  “Perhaps. Will you be with us, Holy One?”

  “Of course, Tryfan. I have always led from the front.”

  “Forgive me, but… is that wise? You cannot risk jeopardising yourself. We cannot lose you as we did Dukhat.”

  “I have no intention of being lost, Tryfan. Valen’s hand is upon me. I have nothing to fear.

  “None of us has anything to fear.”

  Chapter 3

  For a thousand years it had been a dead world, watched by cautious, waiting eyes, remembered by those with long memories, anticipating the time spoken of when the inhabitants of the dead world would rise again.

  That time, as spoken of by Valen in his prophecies, had come. Z’ha’dum was teeming with life once more. Huge ships, as black as night, flew through the galaxy once more. Minions stalked the corridors of power. Forces moved… gathering strength. Agents on countless different sides readied themselves for the first encounter of this new Great War, a war which promised to be every bit as terrible and costly as the previous one.

  And where was the Valen this time? Where were the First Ones who left their footprints in the sand? Where were the likes of Varmain and Kin Stolving and A’Iago Mar-Khan?

  Upon whose back now rested the destiny of the entire galaxy? The Vorlons were insular, always looking inward. The Minbari and the humans were at war, the humans corrupted by the Darkness, as were the Minbari, although they did not know it. The Narns and the Centauri were at war. The Non-Aligned Worlds were fragmented and solitary.

  There were a few shining beacons of light. Epsilon 3 was one such, but could any light hope to withstand the Darkness that had arrived at last?

  The first test, the first encounter, would be held at a place called Proxima 3. A place where the forces of human, Minbari, Narn, Centauri, Shadow and Vorlon would crash together.

  A Line in the sand.

  For a people who had already seen their entire hopes, dreams and home planet torn from them, a Line would be drawn here. Humanity had nowhere else to flee to, nowhere else to go, nothing else to believe in.

  A Line had been drawn at Proxima, a Line that would shortly be decorated with blood…

  And fire…


  And darkness…

  General Hague took a deep breath, and moved a silent prayer to the God he no longer believed in. He sat back on his chair, knowing that he should inform the Resistance Government of the information he had just received. Knowing that he should, but unable actually to do it. He couldn’t. He just…

  How could he tell them that what they had all been fearing for the last eleven years had just happened?

  The Minbari were on their way to Proxima.

  They had been expecting this for a while. No, fearing was the right word. In fact, the Minbari were quite a bit overdue. Based on the evidence gained from Satai Delenn, the period of mourning for their dead leader should have ended months ago. They should have elected a new leader months ago. That leader should have been Sinoval, a warrior of the Wind Swords clan. Without Delenn to oppose him, it seemed inevitable.

  But the time had passed and the Minbari had not come. Like everyone else on Proxima, General Hague had allowed himself to hope. Maybe Delenn had been wrong. Maybe they had elected another priest, or a worker, someone with no desire to wage war. Maybe the universe had blinked. Maybe God had changed his mind. Maybe humanity had been given another chance. With each day that passed, humanity allowed itself to think it was safe.

  Humanity was wrong.

  The early warning probes had detected the coming of a Minbari fleet. A big Minbari fleet, far bigger than the Resistance Government’s own worst fears. They would draw a Line here, try to defend it, but the Line had failed at Earth. Why should it hold here?

  Hague had not been at the First Line, but he had heard reports from the few who had been and had survived. A wall of paper would have stood about as equal a chance.

  And now where were they? Sheridan was gone. The Starkiller was gone. A traitor by all accounts. Hague had never liked him, but he had at least respected the man. How could he betray his people like this?