Gareth Williams - A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 - Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 1 - Learning How to Live

It was looking at him, staring. Just staring. There was no colour in its eyes, just a deadening light.

Greetings, brother, came the voice in his mind. Y ou came to see me, then.

"What are you?" he asked.

I can hear you like this. Better this way, don't you think? We don't want the mundanes hearing everything, do we?

You're a telepath.

I was. Now I'm something better. You can be as well. You'll enjoy it once you're here.

What are you? You aren't human.

I was human once. A human telepath. I had a name once, but that doesn't matter now. Some of us, most of us, are put inside the network, just one mind among thousands. I am one of the lucky ones. They did this to me instead. They made me special.

Why are you here?

The Corps used to have special units they called Bloodhounds. Their job was to find 'blips', telepaths who had escaped from the Corps, who refused to wear the badge and the gloves and to live by the rules.

I know what the Bloodhound units were. They took my mother.

Of course. I'm one of the new type of Bloodhounds. But I don't work for the Corps any more. I work for something far greater. We are called the Hand of the Light. Think of us as a search-and-capture unit.

What are you searching for?

Is it not obvious? Telepaths, of course. Those like us. They need more recruits. They always need more recruits. Human, Centauri, Minbari, others.... it doesn't matter. They always need more recruits. More people like us.

I'm not like you.

You are. You just won't accept it. You aren't as powerful as most of us, but power means nothing. What matters is how you use it, and that is something you know how to do. You're special. They have special plans for you.

Who are 'they'?

Names have power. Even here. The mundanes can't hear us, but you'd be surprised who could. Sinoval, for instance. If he happens to be passing by....

What does he have to do with this?

You will see, brother. You will see. You realise this cell cannot hold me forever.

It's doing a good job so far.

You think I couldn't escape if I wanted to? I wanted to speak with you, brother.

Dexter pulled back, shaking. Zack and Julia were looking at him. "Jeez, man," Zack said. "What was up with you?"

"I'm out of here," Dexter said, breathing harshly, still looking at the thing. "Double the guard on him. No, triple it. Don't let anyone in to see him, no one at all. We're leaving now."

"I'll take your word for it," Zack replied.

As he left the cell, Dexter looked back at the thing again. It was still smiling at him, a movement of the facial muscles without any of the emotional connections.

"I've got to go," Dexter said, as soon as the cell was locked.

"Where?" Julia asked.

"To talk to someone. Someone who knows an awful lot about weird things."

The day when so much changed on Centauri Prime was dark and heavy, with clouds hanging low in the sky.

It began innocuously enough. A group of farmers had arrived at the capital, assembling to appeal to the Royal Court against the increasingly heavy taxes being levied on them. Normally they would not have dared, but one of them had met Emperor Mollari during his exile on Selini. He claimed that the Emperor had promised him that he would always listen to his people.

"The Emperor will listen to us," he had told his more sceptical companions. "He doesn't understand now, but that's because he lives in a palace and not out in the country like we do. We'll talk to him, and he'll understand, and then everything will be better. You'll see."

They had been dubious, but had ultimately agreed.

None of them had been to the capital before, and its wonder had dazzled them for a moment, causing them almost to forget why they had come. A sudden rainstorm led them to seek shelter in a bar, not wanting their only fine clothes to be drenched and ruined. Several cups of cheap liquor were drunk with the aim of 'Immolan courage'.

Unfortunately it continued raining and the farmers had a little too much to drink, moving from simple courage to fearlessness. So much so that one of them started telling 'Centauri, Drazi and Narn' jokes. At the punch line to one of them, a Drazi entered.

One dressed all in black with the symbol of a lantern on his chest.

He immediately moved to the table, drew a short stick that was his only weapon, and smashed it into the centre of the table, scattering drinks, breaking glasses and destroying the table.

"Names now," he demanded.

The reply of the drunken jokester was obscene, and the Drazi looked at him, lifting the stick. Lightning seemed to crackle along it. "Sedition, unauthorised assembly, refusal to recognise authority of an Inquisitor."

The Inquisitors had not yet reached the more outlying parts of the countryside, and so the farmers had heard of them only in rumours. They were not to know that over three thousand people in the capital had disappeared at their hands, very few of them ever to be seen again.

The farmers were beaten savagely, their feeble attempts to fight back easily disposed of. Some members of the City Guard dragged them away and they joined the ranks of the disappeared.

Word spread quickly. More than one customer had overheard the drunken boasts of the farmers that they would make the Emperor see sense on taxes and levies. Before long, almost everyone in the city outside the palace had heard that the Emperor had personally sent in one of his Inquisitors — and an alien at that! — to have them murdered.

The Centauri people had suffered greatly under their fair share of Emperors. Emperor Turhan had been reasonable, but aloof, and in the final years of his reign, weak. Emperor Marrit had been ineffectual, but protected by strong advisors. The troubles had seen much chaos and suffering.

But never before in living memory had an Emperor had to resort to alien assistance to maintain order among the people.

A crowd gathered soon enough. It had stopped raining, although the sky still seemed ominously dark, filled with thick clouds that appeared to be made of smoke.

The crowd moved towards the palace.

"The solution is clear," Morden said calmly.

"Yes, Mr. Morden," Londo said dryly. Sarcasm was his only weapon against the human. At least, the only weapon he dared to employ. "Perfectly clear. They are motivated by hunger and anger and a desire for reform. There are two options available to us. If, of course, you will permit me to outline how such a humble individual as myself might deal with this.... what is the word? Uprising? Revolution? Anarchy?"

"'Riot' will do just fine, Majesty, and of course I will listen to you."

"We can grant the reforms they seek. We can lower taxes, get more aid sent here, send away all those Inquisitors you are so fond of, and generally ensure that we still have a peasant class alive by this time next year."

"An interesting approach, Majesty. A touch.... radical, perhaps. What is your other idea?"

"Wait for it to start raining again. Then they will all go home."

"Neither really solves the underlying problem, though, Majesty. If we wait for them to go home, who is to say they will not be back tomorrow? And if we give them what they want, everyone will think you are weak, and that it is that easy to change official policy."

"Oh, then what do you suggest?"

"The oldest weapon of all. Fear. We send in the soldiers. Have them disperse the crowd. Kill a few, arrest the rest. Make it abundantly clear that we will not tolerate this sort of chaotic behaviour."