Gareth Williams - A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 - Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 4 - Hopes, Aspirations and Dreams

"Do not be sorry," he said softly. "In these last hours of my life, I have seen more clearly with one eye than I ever did with two."

"Always the philosopher," she breathed, her breath so very hot.

There was a long silence, constructed from shared memories of good and bad, of joys and grief and separated paths. The years they had spent apart evaporated as water into air and they were young again, lying naked side by side beneath the moon, joyous in victory, weeping in defeat. She had been the last thing he had seen before the white liquid that dripped into his eyes had temporarily taken his sight. She had been his talisman during those terrible months of interrogation in the village.

"I never forgot you," he said.

"Sweet liar," she replied.

It was not the first time he had lied to her. They had lied countless times during the war, lies of certain victory, that they would return, that all would be well. This was the first time he had hated himself for it.

"You made me a promise once. Do you remember?"

"I made you many promises," he replied. "Which one are you referring to?"

"After Mu'Addibar. The night after the battle, in your chambers. Do you remember?"

"Yes," he said, with a heavy heart. "I remember."

"I was so afraid that day. I could never forget the lord's hands on my body. My heart was beating so loudly that I was afraid it would burst free from my chest. I could not let them do that to me again. Never." She touched his hand and gently guided it to her breast. "Feel my heart."

It was pounding, beating against her rib cage with a fast and passionate and terrified fury.

"You know what to do."

"I do," he said sorrowfully. He pulled back from her, and looked towards the corner of the room. The sword lay there. Not his, of course, but a sword all the same. He had never approved of paying undue reverence to a weapon. He had never believed in naming them, or treating them as if they were alive.

All a weapon ever was, truthfully, was a tool to end lives.

Da'Kal had dropped to her knees, head bowed, eyes closed. "I am sorry for what I did to you, beloved. But I am not sorry for what I did to the Centauri. They deserved to feel fear. They deserved to feel pain. They deserved so much more than I could ever give them."

G'Kar's throat was full and choked. He could say nothing in reply.

"You still think I am wrong. I know you. I loved you with everything I was, but I hated you too for being so weak. How is it possible to feel such conflicting emotions for one person?"

"I don't know," he said, balancing the sword in his hands.

"I wish I did.

"I love you, G'Kar.

"Make it clean."

He swung. The blow was clean. It was over instantly.

The sword fell from his hands and he sank to his knees, despair beyond rational thought overwhelming him. Was this all his life had been for? Was this all he had ever created, all he had ever achieved? The death of his world, the death of his beloved, the death of his dreams.

He did not even look up when the door opened to admit the three soldiers. He did not know why they did not address him, or why they spared no glance for Da'Kal's headless body.

The first soldier kicked him in the chest, and he fell backwards. The second pushed the sword aside with one foot. The third drew a weapon. Electricity shot through his body and he shook violently. A second jolt stunned him.

He tried to look up, through the blurred and hazy vision of his one good eye. The men's faces were clear and emotionless, silent and dedicated and fixed on their purpose.

He was trying to think of something to say when darkness took him.

The city was dead now, abandoned even by the ghosts. Those who remained were hidden and shadowed and disguised.

Lennier had watched the evacuation all day. He had not slept or eaten or.... anything. He had simply walked and watched, imprinting in his memory as much as he could of the last day of Narn.

By his reckoning there were five or six hours to go, but the evacuation was almost complete. Those who could leave had left. A handful of ships remained, but they would leave soon, and then there would be nothing left but the dead waiting to die.

He hoped G'Kar had escaped, but somehow he doubted it. He did not want to see him again, did not want to explain what he had done, or why he had not even tried to leave. He could not explain that he was in some way part of the corruption that had destroyed this world. His departure would only lead to more death.

That would have to be the capstone of his existence. He had died to keep the death toll on Narn to only a few billion instead of a few hundred more.

He stopped, looking around. There was a sound, the only sound he had heard in at least an hour. No one was moving. No one was speaking. There were no vehicles, no machines, nothing. Just silence.

And this person crying for help.

It was a plaintive, lost, little cry, like that of a child who has lost his favourite toy. Motivated more by curiosity than anything else, he began to move in the direction of the cries. He walked past an abandoned holy building, down a dark alley, and into a main street.

A Narn girl lay there, huddled against the wall of a building, holding her leg. She looked about ten years of age, and Lennier knew in one of those perfect moments of clarity that he had seen her before. He had run into her while fleeing from the Thenta Ma'Kur assassin. He had seen her running around the city, playing childish games.

He moved forward to her.

"What is wrong, little one?" he asked in the Narn language.

"I hurt my leg," she said. "I can't find my mother. There were all these people running and I fell over and.... I don't know what's happening."

There had been chaos, people running and scattering. Several people had been trampled beneath the feet of the frightened and angry crowd. Lennier had watched from the shadows, not intervening. It had not been his place to intervene.

"Everyone is leaving, little one. They are leaving this world on giant ships."

"Why?"

Lennier hesitated, not sure what to say. "Because they are going somewhere better," he said lamely.

"You aren't one of us, are you? You're an alien."

"My name is Lennier. I am Minbari."

"I've heard of you. My father says you're evil, like the Centauri. That all aliens are evil."

Lennier sighed. "He might be right."

She thought about this for a moment. "I don't think you're evil. You look strange, but you talk nicely. My name is Na'Lar, but it will soon be time to take a new name, when I become grown up, and choose a religion. I don't know what name to take."

"You will, when the time is right." He reached down a hand to her. "Come on, little one. I will take you to the spaceships."

"I can't walk. I hurt my leg."

"Then I will carry you." She took his arm and he slowly pulled her to her feet. Then he scooped her up and held her tightly. "Are you safe there?"

"Yes," she said.

"Good."

He began to run. He was trained and fit and healthy and he had exercised hard, but he had never run as he ran now. He sped through the abandoned streets of Narn, past dead buildings, always beneath the oppressive darkness in the sky above. She buried herself in his arms and pressed her head into his shoulder.

She had seemed so light at first, but with every step he took she became heavier. He was not sure if he could even keep hold of her, but he continued to run.

Why are we doing this? a sked the voice in his mind. W hat is she to us?

"An innocent," he replied.

What does that have to do with us?

"Everything."

The spaceport grew nearer with every step, but the burning in his lungs and the weight of his burden increased even more quickly. He recited Ranger cants in his mind, meditation techniques, historical texts, anything and everything he could think of.