Gareth Williams: A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain

"Give your message," said the warrior, looking at her. It was clear that whatever respect was allotted to Kats did not extend to Sherann.

"I need to speak to Sino...." Sherann checked herself. "I need to speak to the Primarch."

"He's not here," Kats said softly. She could read the fear in her cousin's eyes. "Sherann, how.... how did you get here?"

"I escaped," she whispered. "I managed to escape from Minbar. From them. I need to get help from.... the Primarch. Without him.... if he doesn't come.... we're all going to die. Everyone on Minbar.... we're all going to die."

There had been a time, once, when he had believed in the uniform he now wore. He had believed in Earthforce, in duty and glory and honour and all the things that had been thrown at him when he joined up.

Not any more. Zack Allan believed in very little of anything these days. He had developed one creed that was serving him very well at the moment. Keep your head down, don't cause any fuss, and just get by as best you can.

It had been quite a slide, from Chief Security Officer of the pride of humanity's space fleet — okay, the entirety of humanity's space fleet being one ship — to the Chief of the most worthless, corrupt and generally irredeemable area on Proxima. He had tried to fight it at one point, but he had eventually just given up. Fighting got you nowhere.

That was a policy he had instituted in the last eight months since he had taken over Sector 301. His predecessor had been mildly corrupt, a little idealistic but generally too old and inept to do anything about any of the major problems in the sector. He had retired on full pension, and Main Dome had apparently wanted someone younger, someone with the drive and energy to take on the corruption and the syndicates and the general decay.

An impossible aim, as they soon realised, and instead they had shunted Zack here, hoping no doubt to keep him from revealing too much about his time on the Babylon , especially concerning the activities of a certain Captain John Sheridan.

On his first day in office Zack had been approached by Mr. Trace, local businessman, owner of the Tron nightclub and all-round mafioso. Trace explained how 301 had worked under Zack's predecessor, and how it could carry on working exactly the same way. Zack had listened to him patiently.

There had been a time when Zack would have arrested the businessman for attempting to bribe a public officer, and made a concerted effort to shut Trace down for good. But that had been a while back.... when he had still believed.

Besides, he now knew just how difficult that would have been. Trace had some major-league backing from Main Dome and the MegaCorps. He was carrying out certain.... unspecified 'services' for some pretty high-up people. Zack didn't know who or what, and he didn't care. He was paid quite handsomely, he got to indulge his fondness for a generally peaceful life, there was no one from Main Dome bothering him, and he could turn a blind eye to anything unpleasant.

And if there were times, usually very early in the morning, when he realised what he had become and despised himself.... well, a glass or six of whisky or a shot of Storm soon put those feelings right.

Dreams of idealism, of hope, of duty had died in Zack Allan a long time ago. All he wanted now was an easy life, and a sector free from troublemakers. Usually, 301 didn't bring up much to trouble him. Oh, every so often you got some new gang lord coming in to try to take things over, but Trace and his backers soon put paid to them. There were occasional mutterings from up-sector about 'urban renovation' or 'reconstruction projects' but none of them ever came to anything.

All in all, his life had been pretty quiet lately.

Until recently. There were two troublemakers in 301 and they were already disrupting his life simply by being here. Captain Dexter Smith, Zack's former superior aboard the Babylon , had taken up residence here for some reason, and seemed to be trying to make Mr. Trace's life very difficult.

And there was some telepath, an infiltrator from somewhere. She was more dangerous, and Trace badly wanted her caught. Smith could just be killed and dumped in some construction site foundations somewhere, but this telepathic woman.... Trace wanted her very much alive.

There was a puzzle there somewhere, and the old Zack could have worked it out with very little effort. The new Zack did not want to.

His commscreen beeped, and he checked his watch. Fourteen hundred hours exactly. Say what you liked about Trace. He was always punctual.

"Hey, Allan," he said. "How's business?"

"Going okay. Everything's been a little quiet after the New Year celebrations. People sleeping off a hangover or two, I reckon." Sector 301 did not generally go in for celebrating anything, but this year had been an exception. Never mind the news about the permanent posting of the Shadows at Proxima, it seemed that everything was just generally on the up for humanity.

"Well, I'm not surprised. You had a good night, I take it?"

Zack had been to the Tron, and been supplied with free drinks and whatever else he liked, all courtesy of Mr. Trace. The man certainly treated his friends well. He had been quite surprised to see several celebrities, politicians and military figures there. "Perfect, as always. You throw the best parties anywhere on the planet."

Trace laughed. "Well, maybe not yet, but we're working on it. It'll be VM-Day soon. You'll have to come along."

"Oh, I intend to." VM-Day. Victory over the Minbari. It would be the second anniversary of the Battle of the Second Line in six weeks or so. It was going to be one hell of a party, no doubt about that.

"So, any news on our fugitive telepath?"

"We've put out an APB, and I've got plenty of men at all the major tube stations. She was spotted at the Mainline station a couple of days ago, but she managed to escape the pursuit. She's good, I'll say that for her. She's still in three-o-one, I'm certain of it, but.... you know what it's like. You can stay hidden for years in here."

"Well, we'll find her eventually. You just keep all the exits covered and do your part, Allan. We'll do ours. Say.... did you watch the game last night?"

"You bet. We were robbed."

"You can't get the umpires these days. He was clearly safe. I don't know.... I'm tempted to send a few guys round to that umpire's place and teach him a few things...." Trace suddenly laughed. "Just kidding, Allan. Naw, the Swashbucklers are still top of the league, and I can't see the Templars catching them up."

"It's a tough game against the Shadows next week," Zack mused. "But once they get past that, we're on a pretty easy course for the next few weeks. Reckon we'll be holding the pennant by season's end?"

"We'd better be. I've got a couple thousand credits resting on it. Well, I'll get back to you, Allan. This place don't run itself.... more's the pity. You going to be at the club tonight?"

"I wish. We're a bit short-handed here at the moment, so I'm on duty till midnight or so. I'll be down tomorrow, though."

"I thought you were getting a bigger budget.... hire more guys or something."

"Naw. The security forces as a whole got a bigger budget and are hiring new guys, but if you were a brand-new, fresh-out-of-college recruit, where would you rather serve? The Pit, or on that new capital ship, the Dark Thunder ? Captain Barns has been trying to get a decent Security squad ready for when the ship becomes operational next month. And then after that, there's the other ship, the D.... something."

"The De'Molay ."

"That's the one. They'll be needing a Security force as well, or at least they will once they get a captain."