Gareth Williams - A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 - Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 5 - The Three–Edged Sword

These were good people, people who desired peace and tranquillity, and if they worked together....

The smell of the room hit her while she was still in the corridor. At first she hoped it was just an illusion, or a memory, but as she came closer she realised that it was real. She kept hoping, daring to believe it might be something else, right until the moment she reached the still–open door.

These were not bodies, at least not the ones she could see. They were lumps of flesh, ruptured and torn and mutilated. One piece of flesh bore a fragment of Durano's red coat. The blackened Drazi corpse could only be Taan Churok. She wept at the sight of Lethke's body.

Her heart almost stopped when she saw the all–but–headless body of a Narn, but as she looked at it closely, with the cold, dispassionate glance that can only arise from the purest fear, she saw that it was not G'Kar. The clothing and build were different, and this had to be G'Kael.

She could not see G'Kar at all, and there was only one Narn body. Perhaps he had never arrived. Perhaps he still lived. Perhaps....

"G'Kar," she whispered, holding on to that one thought. She did not know how these people had been killed, although she could suspect, but if G'Kar still lived, then maybe their lives' works would still endure.

"He.... lives," rasped a broken voice, and she turned. There was a movement behind a table which had clearly been hurled into the wall with tremendous force. It took Delenn a long moment to recognise the voice.

She moved forward cautiously, lifting the hem of her skirt and picking a slow trail across the mass of flesh. As she got close enough to look behind the table, she saw Kulomani, blood sprayed across his chest and still dripping from numerous wounds.

"At least.... I think so," he said, gasping for breath. Horrible sounds came from his chest, the grinding of countless broken bones, a grisly rasp against the faint drumbeat of his heart. "Heard voices.... from the.... other side of the.... world."

"What happened?" she asked, leaning over to touch him. He shook at the lightest caress on his chest.

"Vorlon," he said, his eyelids fluttering. "Treason.... it said." He sighed. "Can't.... feel my legs." He looked up at her, his eyes filled with sincerity and conviction. "Kill me."

"No," she said firmly, tracing the outline of the table. It was hard to tell where it ended and Kulomani began, but she managed it eventually. Both his legs were broken, probably completely shattered.

"Dying anyway."

"No," she said again, biting her lip and trying to think of some way to move the table gently. Then she looked at the mangled ruin of his lower body, and reached out to touch his upper thigh. "Can you feel that?"

"Feel.... what? You.... have to...."

"No," she said again, her decision made. It might be that he would die anyway, but she would not let him die, and she would not kill him here. "We have seen too many die," she said angrily, her hands exploring the table for a hold. "This Alliance was built after far too many deaths, and it was built to celebrate life. We have all forgotten that, myself included, but it is time to remember. I will not let you die." She found a grip and dug her fingers in sharply.

"I am a healer, you see."

She forced the table up with all her strength. Kulomani let out a loud cry and his head flopped backwards, but she managed to get the table clear, pushing it away to one side.

His legs looked even more ruined from here, but as she looked closer she saw it might not be as bad as she had initially feared. The bones were smashed, but no limb was severed, and she knew Brakiri bones to be very supple. With time and rest they would probably knit. He might even walk again - or he might not.

"Commander Kulomani," she said, looking down at him. He did not reply, and she wondered if the blood loss or shock had finally killed him, but his eyelids fluttered. "Commander Kulomani."

"Empty," he whispered. "You.... are empty."

She took his hand and pulled him up so that he swayed against her, barely upright.

"I am filled with my purpose," she said firmly. "What else do I need?"

His head bobbed, and he seemed to be nodding. "What.... else.... indeed?"

You will obey us

She took a deep breath. She should be angry. No one could fault her for being angry. In fact, no one could fault her for being absolutely bloody furious. And she was.

But she was also ready. Unlike last time, she understood the need for this. Sinoval could not be everywhere, and his mystique drew on his personal power and force of will as much on legend. He had to be seen. Besides, he obviously had things to do which were more important than leading his bloody fleet.

She knew the objectives, and the reasoning behind it. Babylon 5 was the centre of the Alliance, an important symbol. It was also the current location of a lot of important people who would have to be rescued.

Susan had a very uncomfortable feeling she would have to destroy the station in order to save it.

She looked out at her fleet, trying to breathe slowly. Sinoval thought her capable of this. He must have done, or he would not have gone on ahead. He certainly wouldn't have jeopardised everything just for a single blaze–of–glory mission, would he?

She gritted her teeth, and began to speak.

"Is everyone ready?"

Her voice would go out across her fleet. All of them could hear her, and she could hear all of them.

"We are ready," replied the cold, dead, emotionless voice of Marrago, leader of the ragtag army formed from the remains of the Brotherhood Without Banners.

"To war we go, with no fear or doubt," said another. "May our ancestors watch over us." Susan had no doubt that Marrain and the Tak'cha were ready and fearless.

"Yes," came a simple reply, spoken no doubt through teeth as gritted as her own. Vizhak had watched his homeworld fall under the grip of the Vorlons, only barely managing to escape himself. He had been another of Sinoval's private projects, but he had worked to gather as many of his people as he could. Hungry and angry and filled with desire for revenge.

The Soul Hunters did not reply, but Susan could feel their acceptance vibrating through the Well. They would go through anything for their Primarch.

What a mess this was. In one way or another the three commanders of the fleet were all dead men, trapped and lost in grief. They were the renegades and the monsters and the bandits and the dispossessed.

They were an army of freaks.

Susan touched the pattern of scars on her face and felt the whisper of her mother's touch in the back of her mind.

She was a freak as well.

"You all know the plans," she said. "Hold the Vorlons back from the station, assemble a boarding party. If we can drive the whole fleet away, so much the better, but that's secondary. There's a list of people we have to get off the station before the really heavy fighting begins."

She paused.

"And if a single one of you puts revenge above the overall plan, I'll personally skin him alive.

"Let's go."

You will obey us

Sinoval lifted his head and opened his eyes. Around him he could hear the screams, the waiting, anticipating

things

from elsewhere, from behind the barriers of hyperspace. The

things

the Vorlons had brought through.

The human was standing there, still, not breathing, a faint, satisfied smile on his face.

"You would be Sebastian," Sinoval whispered.

The journey through hyperspace had never felt like that before. The Aliens were nearer than he had suspected. He had seen their city in the dreamscape where Sheridan and he had been imprisoned, but that had not been entirely real, just the reflection of the night sky in a lake filled with the black blood of the dying.