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

Blue. A colour. Blue is a colour.

Yes, it is.

There was a.... a blanket. It was blue. I was safe there, beneath it. There were.... things outside there. Things in the darkness waiting for me, but the blue.... it kept them away. I couldn't hear them under the blue.

Yes. Remember that. The blue kept you safe.

It did. It kept me safe.

Then there is blue all around you. The light cannot get through the blue. Nothing can.

But.... the light....

You are safe when the blue is there.

Yes. I was safe.

Then create the blue. Place it around you, and you will be safe.

Yes. Yes! The blue is here. I can see it. They can't.... they can't get me here.

Then you're safe. Please, stop your crew boarding us.

I can do that. There. We cannot move any more. I'm safe.

Talia did not need to confirm what he had said. Here, especially here, she could scan the thoughts of those around her. The smugglers were puzzled, but with a surge of optimism. The captain was ordering the tech to re-check the instruments. The results were the same.

Thank you, she said.

I am safe. The blue is here.

Yes, you are safe. Do you know your name?

I.... No. No.... who am I?

You will remember in time. Keep the blue there.

Yes. The blue is here. It keeps me safe.

Do you know my name?

You.... you are an angel. Talia! That is your name. You are Talia. You have a name. You are Talia.

Yes, I am Talia.

Where are you?

Everywhere. Don't worry. You can talk to me whenever you want. Tell me when you remember your name.

Yes, I will. I will tell you when I remember. I am safe here.

The ship was moving away quickly, as quickly as they could muster. The smugglers, it seemed, were not about to turn their backs on this unexpected good fortune. The crew of the Dark Star was frantically trying to correct their ship, which had seemingly failed on them.

I am safe.

As they left, Talia listened for over an hour to the telepath's wonder at his newfound freedom. She did not have the heart to contemplate the consequences when the Vorlons learned what had happened.

For a moment, however short, he had felt safe. That was as much as anyone could ask for.

And once she got to Proxima, she hoped she would be able to make all of them safe. Every last one of them.

You've come back to me then, brother.

Dexter looked at the thing before him again, trying to hold back the wave of revulsion that swept through him. Its.... otherness seemed more apparent now, as if it were losing any grasp of what made it seem even slightly human.

"Don't call me that," he hissed.

It is what we are. Brothers. We are both blessed or cursed with this talent, but more than that. We have the ambition, the drive, the determination to do what must be done. All you have to do is open your eyes and you will see that. We are very much alike.

"We're nothing alike."

I can hear you like this, you realise.

"I know. I'm talking to you like this."

You do not like me, do you brother? Whyever not?

"Who did you used to be? Before this was done to you?"

Does it matter?

"Humour me."

I do not remember. It is not important. I would have been a nobody, a nothing, lost and alone and unimportant. Why do you ask?

"You don't understand, do you? That's why I can't stand you. You look like us, but that's it. You're dead inside. You're something animating a human, something that moves like a human and looks like a human and even talks a little like a human, but you aren't. You're nothing like a human."

No, brother. I am better than that.

"You're nothing at all."

Then why come back to me, brother? Why not remain in your apartment, drinking and staring at the ceiling? Why not remain there dreaming of her? If you hate me so much, why come back to me? It still bothers you, doesn't it? What you did to her.

"Stop that! It's nothing to do with you."

Your thoughts are quite plain, brother. There are two women in your mind, each one fighting for your heart. The first is.... human. Pretty, isn't she? I remember liking blonde women once, when such things actually mattered to me. As for the other, we both know who she is, and what you did to her. Every night, brother. Every night you dream about her dying, and about your hand on the trigger.

"Stop that!"

Come with us. Join us. There's no guilt here. You won't even remember her. And as for the other, she'll be a part of us too. Once we capture her — and we will, brother. Believe us in that. Once we have her she will be a part of us as well, and you will be with her always.

"Stop it!"

You will be with all of us always.

"Stop it! Listen to me, you monster. I've been to see someone. I think you know who."

So, when will I be free of this cell then, brother? There are things for me to do.

"You won't be. Ever. He wanted you released, but that isn't going to happen. You're going to be put on trial for assault, and you and all those like you are going to be dragged out into the light."

Ah. You will not reconsider, brother? Not at all?

"No."

A shame. Well, then. We will meet again, brother, I trust. I hope you understand a little better then.

"What do you...? No!" But it was too late.

The thing started to collapse around him, the edges of its image blurring and then fading, the features of its face melting, running into one and then leaving nothing but a smooth, hairless, featureless orb. Even that began to crumble inwards.

The disintegration could not have taken more than fifteen seconds, but it seemed far longer to Dexter as he watched it helplessly, staring in utter silence as the figure collapsed, until finally nothing remained.

Save for a voice in his mind.

We will meet again, brother. For now.... goodbye.

He stumbled to the corner of the room, and then fled. The voice was still speaking to him, echoing from the corners of his mind. It was still there when he left the building, still there when, for the second time that night, he tried to fall asleep into blissful oblivion.

There were a million voices, speaking as one, but on a million different subjects. There were a million sets of eyes, seeing the same things, but with different understanding. There were a million different races, each with dreams and goals and hopes and memories of its own.

There were a million souls, all fused into one essence, the amalgamation of an elder race's folly and arrogance and hubris.

They were the Well of Souls, and as their very essence infused Sinoval, he felt ready to confront the Vorlon essence that spoke through Sheridan.

This had been the reason for this meeting. He had always planned to talk with Sheridan, but he had not truly expected his words to be heard. No, he had wanted to speak with the Vorlons, to speak with those who now truly ruled the galaxy.

He had known the Vorlons would take an interest in the movements of the First Ones. They had been watching the elder races for millennia, a careful and wary eye on those whose power and age and wisdom matched their own. They would know when the First Ones began to move, and soon enough they would know who was calling them.

After all, why else would Sinoval choose to meet with emissaries of the First Races here? Golgotha was hidden, yes, abandoned in the depths of hyperspace where few could come, but a place that the elder races could navigate with ease.