The Other Half of my Soul addm-1

by Gareth D. Williams

  Her head smashed against the floor one more time.

  Lyta stretched out again, desperately, frantically. She touched the pike again and tried to pull it towards her. She could feel Marcus’ blood on it, his blood sticking to her hand, but she didn’t care.

  She began to pull the pike back…

  Ivanova’s grip on her throat loosened and Lyta was at last able to breathe, but only for a second. Ivanova grabbed her head and yanked it up, smashing it against the ground again. What little breath Lyta had fled from her body in one huge gasp as her whole body shook.

  The pike rolled from her grasp.

  Wrong.

  * * * * * * *

  “Zha’valen.”

  John stiffened. Delenn clearly noticed his reaction and pulled back from him a little.

  “Zha’valen,” she repeated. “A Shadow upon Valen. I am outcast now. I have no title, no position, not even a name. All I have is the word, ‘Zha’valen’.”

  The word clicked in Sheridan’s mind. He had heard it before, and now he knew where. The person who had sent the mysterious message to the Babylon from the even more mysterious space station Babylon 4 had addressed Delenn as Zha’valen. It was on board that same space station that he had seen himself killing Anna – exactly as he had done.

  “What…” He swallowed hard. His head was pounding. “What will happen now?”

  “You, they will probably kill. Me… my punishment is done. I am not dead, but I might as well be. John… I am… I…”

  All of Sheridan’s anger evaporated. The mistrust and the suspicion remained, but the anger did not – could not. Never had he felt more linked to her than at that moment.

  “We will see,” he said. Now that he was no longer angry with her, his mind began to plot possibilities for escape. The first obligation of any prisoner was to escape. “We will see.”

  Sinoval – he was the weak link. He was proud and arrogant, and probably remembered his last meeting with Sheridan. He might want to come to gloat, possibly leaving a weakness. Delenn might still have allies among the Grey Council – Sheridan had seen first-hand how divided they had been the last time. He had little reason to believe that that had changed. And then there were Corwin and Bester. Perhaps they might be able to help…

  “I am sorry, John,” Delenn whispered. “I have gotten you killed. I have betrayed you, and… and…”

  “I’m not dead yet,” he reminded her gently. “And there’ll be plenty of time to talk about betrayal afterwards.” He looked around slowly. Everything was in darkness. He had managed to pace out the dimensions of the cell, and his fumbled explorations had revealed nothing else of value, not even a cot. Delenn was the only other thing in the cell.

  The darkness did not seem all that oppressive to him. Sheridan had been walking in darkness for nearly all of his life, and he had been in worse situations than this before. He was confident that this was not over.

  He had to instill Delenn with that same confidence. She had just lost everything she had ever believed in, and as one who had experienced the same thing, he wanted to try and help her out of it.

  He sat down in the corner of the cell and gently pulled Delenn down to him. She was not speaking, but her breathing was loud and harsh. She sounded almost asthmatic. She rested in his arms naturally, leaning against him as if it felt like the simplest thing in the world to her.

  “Tell me something,” he said.

  “What?” she said softly. “John… I…”

  “Tell me something. About yourself, about your childhood, about anything. Just tell me something.”

  “I…”

  “All right then. I’ll start. There was a crewman on the Babylon a few years ago, and he had this pet cat. Now it was against all regulations, but he managed to keep it hidden from most of us, and everyone who knew was just as soft about cats as he was, but one day General Franklin came on board to do a surprise inspection and…”

  John carried on with the old story, the only other sound in the room that of Delenn’s breathing. He wondered if she could guess that the story of Crewman Johnson and his cat was nothing more than an Earthforce myth, repeated every year to new recruits and told and retold repeatedly over drinks in Earthforce bars across Earth space. He had actually heard Corwin telling the story to Alisa Beldon on board the Parmenion a few days ago. She had listened, enraptured, while the other crew members listened and snickered behind open hands. Afterwards she had laughed, and then recognised that Corwin was making it all up. Damn telepaths – they spoiled all the fun.

  “So after we cleaned up the damage, I said, ’You bring that cat near me again, and I’ll have you both up on charges.’” Sheridan began to chuckle, remembering the first time he had heard the story, over fifteen years ago.

  Delenn was laughing as well, although her laughter was interrupted by frequent bouts of wheezing. “A cat?” she said. “I do not think I have ever seen a cat. We have some animals on Minbar, though, which seem similar. We call them goks.”

  “Goks?”

  “Yes.” He was certain she was smiling. He could practically see her face lighten as she did so. “I think they are an effort made by the universe to ensure we never take ourselves too seriously.”

  “You might be right,” he agreed. “Well, it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “Yes. I told a story, so now you have to.”

  “I… oh. I do not know anything like that…”

  “It doesn’t matter. Anything. Your childhood, your family, your friends. Anything.”

  “I… oh… very well, then. When I was a child, my father was often away, and I was taught by Draal. One day he was teaching me about the history of Varmain, one of our greatest warrior diplomats. I didn’t care for history then, and to avoid listening to him, I was…”

  Sheridan listened and laughed, and then he told another story – the one about the time he and Captain Maynard had taken shore leave and met this dancer – and then she told another story, and on and on.

  And for a brief while at least, there was a light in the darkness. It wasn’t to last. It never did, but for a while at least, there was the sound of laughter.

  “So how did you find the statue again?” she asked. “Or did you leave it there?”

  “Oh no,” he said. “But first I had to track down the Drazi Ambassador. This was however, in the midst of their ceremonial battle for leadership, where they all divide up into greens and purples and…”

  The door opened, and a Minbari figure stood framed in it. They both rose, holding on to each other. “Delenn?” asked a voice.

  “Lennann!” she replied. “But…?”

  “There is no time for words, Delenn. Hurry. There are some of us who did not believe Sinoval’s accusations against you. I have gathered them together, and they will listen to what you have to say. But we must hurry, or Sinoval will find out what I am doing.”

  “John must come too,” she insisted.

  “We cannot do that, Delenn. Hurry, please!”

  “Not without him.”

  “Go on, Delenn,” Sheridan insisted. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  “John, I…”

  He touched her face gently, almost unsure of what he was doing. “Go,” he said. Then he looked up at the silhouette in the doorway. “If she is hurt because of this, then so will you be. I promise.”

  “There is no need to threaten me, Starkiller,” Lennann snapped back. “Delenn…”

  “I am coming. I… John…”

  “Just go,” he told her. “I can look after myself.”

  She touched him gently and then left. Sheridan looked at the now closed door for a moment, and then he sat down again. It was strange how the cell seemed to smell so much of her now that she was gone.

  And his mind was awash with plans for escape, and of stories of cats and goks, and visits to temple…

  * * * * * * *

  Ta’Lon had never been to Proxima 3 before, and so he had never met Mr.
Welles, the man whose official designation was Head of Security and whose unofficial designation was Spymaster General. Upon his arrival here a few hours before he had arranged matters with a General Hague, who had looked very distracted, and hadn’t bothered checking his fake ID – provided by G’Kar.

  Welles was considerably more efficient. After verifying the ID with the central computer at the Main Dome, he turned to his security guards. “Go on,” he ordered. “He’s fine.”

  The guards – led by a big man with a deep scar running down one eye – left. After they were gone, Welles turned to Ta’Lon.

  “So,” he said. “Tell me about Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar.”

  * * * * * * *

  Minbari… so proud… so noble… so perfect…

  Minbari could project that image of perfection as much as they liked, and some might even believe them, but to Jha’dur, Minbari were no better than her own people. They still had their petty angers, their petty rivalries, their politicking.

  Look at this one. A member of the Grey Council, devoted to Delenn, inheritor of a proud heritage. And he was content to abandon it all just for the sake of political power. No, not even that. A return to order, to a balance that could never hold…

  The Minbari were falling. They were a dying race.

  “He is in the cell, then?” Jha’dur asked.

  Rathenn nodded. “Delenn was placed there as well. Sinoval ordered it.”

  “What?” That did not make sense. Why put two of your enemies in the same place when there was no need to? It gave them a chance to plot an escape, it gave each access to information from the other. It… it was stupid. “Why?”

  “Sinoval clearly believes in some form of redemption, perhaps?” Rathenn suggested. “It does not matter. Delenn is gone now. Satai Lennann has assembled a small group of people who will listen to her claims. Sheridan is alone in his cell, and the guards have been taken care of. I have ordered them away.”

  “Good,” Jha’dur said. “Very good. Sinoval is blind, Rathenn, but you… you see clearly.”

  “I have no feelings towards the Starkiller either way, and Delenn has clearly fallen. Whether what Sinoval claims is true or not is irrelevant. She will never regain her power. Perhaps this way, the religious caste can regain power from the warriors before they destroy us.”

  “Perhaps,” Jha’dur said, smiling.

  “Regardless… I have done as you asked. The Starkiller is yours, although what you want with him, I do not care to know. You are now in my debt, and I will demand repayment.”

  “Of course,” Jha’dur replied. “And I will pay you back.”

  “Yes,” he said. “You will.” He rose. “Sinoval has sent the Council to their respective meditations. Foolishness, if you ask me. He is… unstable, but still… Lennann expects me to be with him, and so I must go. Remember what I have done for you.”

  “Oh, I will.” He turned to leave, and Jha’dur acted. Lunging forward with a speed that not even a Minbari could match she slid a thin needle from the fingers of her glove, and drove it into Rathenn’s neck. He stiffened and slumped, gasping as he looked at her, unable to breathe, unable to talk, or to move.

  Jha’dur had been left alone for so much of her time amongst the Minbari. Time aplenty to develop several interesting strains of poison. This one, that could kill a Minbari with a mere drop. Others – a paralysing agent, a poison comprised of pure alcohol, a plague that would be 100% terminal, modelled after that delightful Markab disease Drafa. Jha’dur was more than prepared for any eventuality.

  And, sooner or later, she would be able to use them all.

  “I am repaying your kindness, Satai Rathenn,” she said. “You will die here, rather than later. A quicker death than your companions.”

  She left before the life fled from his eyes. She had bigger concerns now.

  Jha’dur did not consider herself a Shadow agent. She did not work for them as did the humans, or some Centauri, or the Drakh, or others… She worked with the Shadows. An equal partnership. She agreed with their plans for humanity. She agreed very much.

  And now for Sheridan, with whom everything had begun

  * * * * * * *

  Londo had managed to surface into sobriety just long enough to hear Carn’s report.

  “The enemy ships seem to have abandoned this area. They are heading further towards the heart of the system. We are alone for the moment.”

  He swallowed. He really shouldn’t have had so much brivare. Had Frallus 12 really been that long ago? “What is the condition of the telepath?” Somehow, using means that Londo didn’t even want to think about, G’Kar had discovered that telepaths could deter and even stop the Shadow ships. As a result he had had telepaths installed on each of the ships whose captains were loyal to him. On a Centauri ship, it made little difference, as telepaths were routinely kept near by by the Captains anyway. One never knew when an overheard thought might prove handy.

  “Weak, but still alive. He’s resting at the moment.”

  “We do not want him burning out on us.” Good telepaths were always very hard to replace.

  “No, Uncle Londo. I had worked that out. You’re so patronising when you’re drunk, did you know that?”

  “Bah! And what would you know about being drunk? I was drowning myself in brivare before you were even born!”

  “My father said that you used to pass out after a few sniffs of the brivare. You didn’t even have to drink any, he said.”

  “The next time I see your father, remind me to have him lynched, Carn. What word from our Narn friends?”

  “Na’Kal’s telepaths are pretty much out of things. Narn telepaths are much more… unstable than ours. They’ve been operating on blind faith for quite some time.”

  That was another thing G’Kar had been doing. Somehow – the Great Maker alone knew the exact details – G’Kar had found a way to create Narn telepaths. Weak and unstable, true, but telepaths were telepaths. Now if only any of them survived long enough to have children it might have been worthwhile…

  “Well, Uncle? What’s the plan?”

  “Plan? Why am I the one who has to come up with a plan? You’re the Captain!”

  “Yes, but you are the one who got me and my ship into this mess in the first place.”

  “Carn, may I remind you that I am your uncle and… as… such… worthy… of… all right, what is it?”

  Carn’s face had grown white. “There are two of the enemy ships. Coming directly for us.”

  * * * * * * *

  Ta’Lon started. He would have to learn not to underestimate humans again. He should have learned that lesson with Sheridan. Humans possessed a subtlety and a way of thinking that were totally unknown to Narns – whose politics tended to consist of the Thenta Ma’Kur and a lot of lying.

  Some humans were nearly as bad as the Centauri.

  “I do not know him,” Ta’Lon said. “I know of him, certainly…”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Welles snapped angrily. “I’m not an idiot. I know about a new force being formed, and I have heard G’Kar’s name far too often to believe that he is anything but the leader of this force. I wouldn’t be surprised if a Mr. Bester were involved as well. Now, as of yet, I haven’t shared this information with the Resistance Government. Let us say I have a few… doubts about President Clark’s motives. To say nothing about Ambassador Ivanova. Now, can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t tell the President?”

  “Ah,” Ta’Lon said. “How did you know of my involvement?” Ta’Lon had never been much of a politician.

  “Your papers were authorised by someone whom my agents in the Narn court have been investigating. And after that, of course, I guessed, and struck lucky. Well, what can you tell me?”

  Ta’Lon blinked. He could try to kill Mr. Welles, but he doubted that would be a good idea. “You are correct. Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar has formed a small network of agents, designed to maintain order in the galaxy. He believes that this constant warfare will we
aken us all, to no good purpose.”

  “I see. Really? A humanitarian, then? Or should it be Narn-itarian? And what were you doing here?”

  “Two of his agents are here. I was sent in to free them, and to watch the events of the battle.”

  “Oh? When you next see Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar, tell him that he now owes me a favour, and unless he wants me to reveal everything I’ve found, he’d better pay up. Do you know where to find Miss Alexander and Mr. Cole?”

  “I… do.”

  “Then go and do so. And… there is a message for Miss Alexander as well. If she ever comes back here, I will personally have her executed. Understood?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Glad to hear it. Your G’Kar isn’t the only one worried about these Shadows, you know. Good day.”

  Ta’Lon watched as he left. Welles was nothing if not dangerous. Ta’Lon wondered what G’Kar would say to this. But any problem with Welles would have to wait. Ta’Lon had a mission to perform for G’Kar, and then a second mission to perform for Neroon…

  The first would be far less painful than the second…

  * * * * * * *

  Sinoval stood alone in his personal chambers, watching the ebb and flow of the battle from there. The fleet was pulling back slowly, but he had not as yet ordered a full retreat into hyperspace. This would be largely ineffectual against the Shadows and he had not yet raised the courage to give such an order. He knew he would have to, but to stand in front of the Grey Council and order his ships to retreat – to make all these deaths mean nothing – he was not yet ready.

  He sighed and bowed his head, turning to leave.

  Jha’dur was fast, yes, but Sinoval had been a warrior all his life. He was faster.

  He spun around and extended his pike, kept always at his belt. One of Durhan’s fabled nine weapons, it possessed one of the proudest histories of any weapon, almost as great as that borne by Valen himself.

  Jha’dur fell on to his block and stumbled backwards. She scrambled to her feet.

  “How stupid did you take me for?” Sinoval spat. “You were trained well, yes, by Shakiri and Matokh and even Durhan, but none of them, not even Durhan, was ever my equal.”