"No," he whispered.
"Have you forgotten what they did to my father? Do you remember what was left of Ha'Fili when we found him? I swear I will never forget that…. mass of flesh, sightless and limbless, screaming over and over again for mercy. Do you remember?"
"I remember," G'Kar whispered, seeing again the knife in his hand that had plunged into Ha'Fili's heart.
"Do you remember your uncle, carrying back his only daughter's body?"
"I remember."
"Do you remember…?
"Do you remember…?
"Do you remember…?
"Have you forgotten…?
"Have you forgotten…?
"Do you remember…?"
It continued, an endless litany of friends dead and mutilated, of family tortured and butchered, of villages destroyed and burned, of memories lost and eradicated. His reply to each was the same.
"I remember."
"I remember."
"I remember."
"You hated them once. I remember that hatred. Do you remember what you told me the night we buried my sister? You said that you wished you could kill every one of them, and then bring them back to life so you could kill them again."
"I remember."
Gently she unhooked the top of her tunic, pulling it open. G'Kar could not look away from the sight of the deep scar running from her neck almost to her waist. A Centauri torturer had done that with a garden fork, forcing him to watch.
"I remember."
"Do you still hate them?" she asked. "The people who did this to me, who did all those things to you?"
"No," he replied. "I pity them."
She looked at him. "I never stopped hating them. I pity them as well, but I still hate them.
"Now I hate you, too. But I pity you as well.
"What do you say to that?"
"I pity you, Da'Kal.
"And I am sorry."
* * *
Sinoval looked out across the dying city, his eyes dark and angry. Elsewhere he knew that a battle was beginning, just one move in a long strategy, just one tactic towards an ultimate goal.
And he was here.
Not trapped, not now that he had time to think and reason. He could see the avenues and warrens of hyperspace opening up around him. He could find a way back. This exercise was not aimed at trapping him forever. It was a warning.
A warning of what the Vorlons would do to the galaxy if he did not surrender to them.
And somewhere down there was Sheridan, as lost and trapped in this soulscape as he was. His body still lay asleep on Babylon 5, vulnerable to whatever the Vorlons wanted to do to him. If his soul was to be saved, it would have to be now, before anything more could be done to his body.
He sighed. The greatest battle plan in history did not survive first contact with the enemy.
There. A spark of life running through a labyrinth of mirrors. The creatures of this place loved mirrors, knowing the portals that could be crafted through them.
Sinoval stepped forward and floated down into the city. He had to be quick. There was very little time to waste.
* * *
"My congratulations on your composure, my lady. You are remarkably brave."
Timov shifted slightly in her seat. This throne was incredibly uncomfortable. How exactly had Londo managed it for so long? "Once you have survived a lifetime with Londo," she told Durla, "you will find little to unnerve you. Certainly not an alien invasion."
"Regardless, I have seen trained soldiers less brave, my lady."
"And do you assume that it is only men who are capable of being brave, Durla?"
"Not any more."
Reports were sketchy, but what little they had been able to discover had not been welcome. The defence grid was down, the raiders inside the atmosphere. Soldiers had landed on the outskirts of the city. There was no Alliance help anywhere, and Mr. Morden and his Inquisitors had vanished completely. The Palace Guard was dangerously overstretched, and Timov had only Durla to protect her.
There was little to do but wait, little to hope for but a miracle.
Still, Timov kept her dignity. She always had throughout her long years married to Londo. She had promised him a hundred times that she would deliver his Republic to him safe and secure, and she would not let him wake up to find she had not kept her promise.
The door opened with a burst of force and energy, to admit a tall, naked alien with what looked to Timov like far too many joints. Two more followed her.
"Greetings," Timov said. The aliens walked like rulers. They were clearly arrogant and convinced of their own power, but madness gleamed in their eyes. "I am Timov, Lady Consort of Emperor Londo Mollari II. I take it you have come here to surrender?"
The alien inclined her head slightly. "This one is noMir Ru, Songless One. We have come here in revenge for wrongs committed and songs taken. We have come to destroy, not to surrender."
"Yes, yes. Most…. impressive," Timov said. "Tuchanq, yes. I recognise you now. Although what grudge you have against us, I do not know, but then…. I do not truly believe that matters, does it?"
"Songs taken from us, the Land raped and burned and rendered dead. The air turned to smog and dust. No songs sung, no melodies crafted."
"Ah," she said. "And this will undo all that?"
"This will bring revenge and pain to those who hurt us."
"We never hurt you, but that hardly matters to you, I suppose. And if you wanted to do to us whatever someone else did to you, you should have come here several years ago. Fire and shadow over Centauri Prime has become a bit pass? I'm afraid. Still," she rose to her feet, sparing not a glance for Durla. "If you wish to accept my official surrender, feel free. Come this way."
noMir Ru stepped forward imperiously, walking towards the throne. Her two assistants followed.
As soon as she set foot on one particular flagstone the floor disappeared beneath her. Durla fired instantly from the concealed gun in his bracelet and shot down one of the accompanying Tuchanq. The other raised her long energy weapon, only for the hidden Guardsman to shoot her down from behind the wall.
Timov walked forward to the pit where noMir Ru's body now lay, pierced and impaled by numerous spikes. An old legacy from the reigns of less stable Emperors, the pit trap had been blocked up many years ago. Timov had had it unblocked.
noMir Ru was crying piteously, trying to sing. Her voice was cracked and soft, barely audible. Her blood was thick and there was a great deal of it in the pit.
"How sad," Timov said, returning to the throne. "Still, as my father used to say, 'if you cannot play the Game properly, you should not play it at all.'"
* * *
Moreil was still and motionless. Something in his passion seemed to have subsided, to Mi'Ra's mind. The battle was almost won. The defence grid had been destroyed, the Centauri defenders driven back. The cities were being attacked. The Tuchanq had even landed in the capital.
Yet given his elation of earlier, now he seemed almost…. depressed.
"Where are you?" he asked. "Where are you, Death?"
"Maybe you are wrong," Mi'Ra suggested.
"I can feel his presence. The Masters touched him, blessed him, named him their voice and their spirit in this galaxy once they were gone. All of us knew this. He fought against us once, but now he is our hope, and he is here.
"I know it!"
Mi'Ra took a slow step back. "If Sino…. if he is here, then I for one am glad he has not yet appeared."
"No, there is…. something. He is here. Where?"
Moreil noticed it first. Jump points opening, many of them. Initially Mi'Ra could only stare in mute horror, expecting the nightmare sight of Cathedral itself appearing, but her fears were assuaged, slightly, by the image of Alliance ships.
"No," Moreil said. "That is not Death."
"I have to go," Mi'Ra said. "We have to call our forces up from the surface. I have to warn G'Lorn. There are too many of them."
"You will remain. Death is still here."
"I have to contact…."
"Those of your people you expected to aid you. I see none of yours here. That was not what was expected, no? Plot and plan all you wish, but I serve only the Dark Masters and the Blessed Chaos. You will remain, and watch, and wait for Death."
"You are insane."
"I serve the Dark Masters."
"Something's gone wrong." The Alliance ships were opening fire on the Brotherhood. "This isn't what we planned."
"This one shared no part in your plans. We will watch."
"Moreil, damn you!" She turned to leave, but the Wykhheran shimmered into view in front of her.
"You will remain."
Faceless, kill them.
There was no reply.
Faceless!
We can raise no arms against our own, the alien voice hissed in her mind. Not the creations of Thrakandar and not the Z'shailyl.
Trapped, Mi'Ra tuned back to Moreil. "Please!" she cried. "It's going wrong."
Moreil did not seem to hear her. He was still looking, searching for what he alone could see.
* * *
"They took a great deal from us."
Da'Kal looked at him. She had not said anything for a long time, looking at him with a pitying, haunting gaze. G'Kar could not permit himself to look at her, but he had to. The dim light accentuated the fire in her eyes. Her shadow seemed to be almost a thing of its own.
"Of course they did," she replied.
"They gave us a great deal as well."
She looked confused, and then she nodded. "Yes," she said simply. "They gave us pain and suffering and mourning."
"They gave us strength," he corrected her. "They showed us horror and pain, and they took away our weaknesses. We became stronger as a result. We were willing to give everything we had to destroy them. We lived for years in fear and it never broke us.
"They gave us strength."
"Yes," she nodded. "They did. And we will use it against them."
"They gave us their Game. Intrigue, subtlety, assassination. They gave us the Thenta Ma'Kur, the Kha'Ri, the politics. They gave us all that."
"I know that tone of voice," she drawled. "You are reaching a point somewhere, G'Kar. I am listening."
"You are going to destroy them using their own methods. You are using lies and deception and trickery. Do you think I am blind, Da'Kal?"
"For someone so perceptive, you might as well be blind in one eye sometimes. You see, but you do not see."
"You have encouraged the raiders to assault Centauri worlds. You have deepened their involvement with the Shadows. You have sent in 'peacekeeping' Alliance forces. The Centauri have lost their freedom, and not a single Narn has died in the process. Within a handful of years every Centauri planet will be commanded by a Narn 'peacekeeper', yes?"
She nodded. "It was you who convinced me of that plan. I heard your words to the Kha'Ri the last time you were here. Military power alone will not do it. Your words have reached too many people. Too many believe you. They accept peace and unity and togetherness.
"So how better than to use peace and togetherness to achieve our ultimate goals? Yes, we have an agent among those raiders, and yes, we have encouraged them to attack Centauri worlds. We have sent agents into Tuchanq space, to stir up feelings against the Centauri. They are a remarkably gullible people. You would be proud of us, G'Kar. There was a civil war going on. A rebel called noMir Ru was at war with the Government. We stepped in and brought things to a peaceful conclusion. All it took was a finger pointed at the Centauri."
G'Kar bowed his head, remembering a mission he had sent to the Tuchanq. noMir Ru had been one of the delegates his emissaries had met. There had been an incident and she had been knocked unconscious, driven mad by the breaking of her link with the Song. The Tuchanq Government had told him they had the situation under control. There had been a million other things to do, and he had forgotten about them.
"Also in the spirit of togetherness, we reached out to a few other alien races, ones lost and homeless. We offered them a purpose."
Something flickered behind Da'Kal, something in her shadow. G'Kar had earlier thought it had been moving of its own will and volition, but now…. there was something there, something humanoid, but ghostly, something formless and….
…. faceless.
Understanding came in an instant. The force that had stunned him at the memorial. Rumours of Shadow monstrosities fighting with the Raiders. The mysterious deaths of those who had opposed Da'Kal's plans.
"Shadowspawn," he whispered.
"A Faceless," Da'Kal corrected him. "Their Masters are gone now. They are no threat to anyone. Not the Faceless or the Wykhheran or the Z'shailyl or any of them. All they need is a home and someone to protect them. We were happy to oblige. See, G'Kar, we have followed your lessons. Help the weak.
"They are no danger to us."
G'Kar's eyes were wide and horrified. "No! Oh, Da'Kal, what have you done?"
"What do you mean?"
"I thought…. hatred and fear, yes. A lack of forgiveness, a lust for revenge, but not this!
"Not the Shadowspawn."
"What is it, G'Kar? How dare you criticise the way I have…?"
"You don't understand. Oh, Da'Kal…. you have killed us all. Every last one of us.
"Both of us have."
* * *
It appeared, a still, black monument to ancient power and terror. Motionless against the night, it remained, casting a long black shadow across the battle.
Both sides pulled back, hesitant to cross the line that shadow created.
A voice began to speak, a voice heard in all languages, on all ships.
"This ends now."
Moreil looked at Cathedral with a mixture of longing and terror.
"Death," he whispered as he heard the voice. "You see," he said, to the trapped Mi'Ra. "It is Death come at last."
She looked at him. "You are mad," she said simply, and turned to flee.
The Wykhheran tore her apart with one blow.
"Death," Moreil said again, with more than a hint of satisfaction.
* * *
Everywhere he went, everywhere he ran, there were mirrors. Endless people running alongside him, away from him, towards him. All the same person, and yet a little different.
John Sheridan stopped and saw someone staring back at him, a man he did not know. A man who had been able to save his daughter from Orion, to see her grow up. A man who still loved Anna, who had never captured Delenn.
He turned, reeling, and stumbled into another man. A man who had never become a soldier, but a farmer. He had looked up one night to see the sky raining fire.
Staggering, he saw countless images of himself — in a white robe, an Earthforce uniform different from any he knew, a Minbari warrior's outfit, a uniform that seemed part-Earthforce part-Minbari with a strange badge on the shoulder. He saw himself sorrowful, hateful, a murderer, a peacemaker, a leader, a servant, a killer.
