Peter David - Out of the Darkness

David lay back in his bed—or as “back” as the Minbari bed allowed him to be—and stared at the ceiling.

He had seen videos of Londo Mollari in action. The emperor had been addressing Centauri crowds in relation to some anniversary or something. David had been struck by the way the emperor had seemed bigger than life, somehow. He didn’t speak so much as he had words explode from him. It was almost spellbinding to watch.

He would have liked to have the opportunity to talk to Londo. He could thank him for the urn. He would be interested to hear Londo’s point of view regarding certain events he’d heard his father and mother describe. And he would love to ask just what the hell was going on with that hair.

Then he heard something.

It was some sort of rattling. David’s eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, so he wasn’t entirely blind. He stepped down off the bed and looked around, listening carefully. There was silence for such a long time that he had almost convinced himself that he had imagined it. But then he heard it again, coming from the direction of the urn…

No. It was the urn. The urn from Centauri Prime was actually rocking slightly.

The first thing that occurred to him was that this was the beginning of a quake of some kind, but nothing else seemed to be affected by it. Then the next thing he thought of was that there was some sort of bomb inside the vase. But that made no sense at all. How could a bomb sit in a vase in his father’s private study for sixteen years? No, that couldn’t be it.

The vase’s trembling seemed to have its origins at the base.

David crouched closer, trying to make out what could possibly be causing it.

And suddenly the urn cracked open.

Reflexively David ducked back, but he was far too slow. From the small pile of debris that had once been an urn, something small and dark moved so quickly that he couldn’t even begin to track it. It came right at him, and he batted at it helplessly swinging through the air and missing it. There was some sort of moistness at the base of his throat then, and he tried to pull at it. His fingers felt something disgusting and protoplasmic, and he yanked his hand away from it. A wave of nausea seized him It was as if some sort of huge tumor had sprung into existence on him.

He felt something snaking down the front of his shirt, sliding across his chest, and he opened his mouth to scream. Even as he did so, he staggered about the room, knocking over books and furniture as he tried to shake the thing off.

It s me.

The cry for help died before it could be fully born. There was no hesitation for David; he recognized instantly just who and what was upon him now. It was as if David had found a piece of himself that had been missing for as long as he could remember.

“You?” he whispered.

Yes. It’s me, little sun.

He felt as if his world were spinning out of control. He tried tell himself that he was, in fact, asleep. That none of this 1 happening.

Do not deny it, little sun. I have come here to help you. You have been waiting for me all this time.

David grabbed at the thing on his shoulder, and immediately jolt of pain ran through him. He fell to his knees, gasping, trying to call out, but he felt his throat constricting. He couldn’t get anything out, try as he might.

Why do you fight me when I have come here to help you? The voice in his mind sounded hurt. I have spent so many years reaching out to you, becoming one with you. Why would you try to reject me now, when you and I have been together for so long?

“What… are you?” David managed to get out.

I am everything you have ever wanted. Far more so than your parents. Your father, with his rules and restrictions. Your mother, with her moral harping. They don’t understand you. They don’t know what you need… “I need you… out of my head!” David grated. He made no further move to pull the creature off his shoulder, however. He had learned better than that. His mind was racing, though, trying to summon the strength to call for help, trying to determine any course of action that would get this thing off him. You don’t want to do that. You know you want my help… “I don’t!” You do. You want your chance to see the galaxy. You want to be out exploring. You have the same desire to be apart of the great interstellar flow of life that your father had… except his father gave free rein to his desires, and yours won’t. He stopped. On some level… on every level… the thing was making sense. He knew it to be true, and this thing knew it, too. What was more… the fact that it knew it was comforting to him somehow. He felt as if he was sharing with it—in a way that he wasn’t able to with his parents.

And then he tried to shout at himself—inwardly—that that was exactly what the creature wanted him to think. That he was falling into some sort of trap, as if this thing, this monstrosity on his shoulder, were his friend… I am not your friend. I am your soul mate. I know you better than your parents know you. I know you better than you know yourself. And I can give you what you want… I want you off me!” But for some reason he noticed that his voice sounded a little less heartfelt this time. You want off this world. What is there here for you? You have no friends. Minbari regard you with suspicion because of your lineage. You have private tutors, and in the rare instances where you have classes with other youths, you are far smarter, and they resent you for it. Your parents invited several guests to your birthday. They were all too “busy ” or had other plans. Lies. They did not want to be with you.

You are neither Human nor Minbari, fish nor fowl. There is no place for you on Minbar. You want to see other places, to explore other worlds. To learn the truth about other races through firsthand experience. That is what you want.

And I can provide you with that.

For a long moment, David said nothing. And then he spoke one word.

“How?”

His mind, however briefly, however momentarily, was open the possibility.

From then on, it was only a matter of time.

John Sheridan couldn’t sleep.

That bothered him a good deal. He usually had no trouble sleeping. In fact, it was one of the few things he wasn’t trouble doing these days. Lately he had been feeling the ac and pains more sharply than he wanted to admit. His reactions had slowed, his physical prowess was diminished. He felt as if his very thought processes were slowing down. As if there were a vague haze slowly descending.

He had the disturbing feeling he knew exactly why. The of Lorien echoed more and more in his mind these days, as he felt certain aspects of himself starting to… to dim. knew that Delenn had to be thinking about it. Twenty Lorien had said.

At one point, a year or so earlier, Sheridan had joked that they should move to the Drazi Homeworld. Since a Drazi year was equal to 1.2 Earth years, Sheridan had jokingly reasoned that it seemed a quick way to pick up an additional four years of life. Delenn hadn’t smiled when he’d said it; instead she’d immediately gone off to be by herself. He knew from then on not to attempt to deal with the subject by making light of it. In fact, since that time he hadn’t dealt with it at all, at least not where Delenn was concerned.

They had both known that Lorien wasn’t speaking in exact numbers, but rather in rough approximations. In the final analysis, they really could only guess how much time Sheridan had left.

Well… that was as it should be, wasn’t it? Everyone had a finite time, when you came down to it. If one was going to look at it from a morbid point of view, birth wasn’t the beginning of life; it was the beginning of a slow, protracted death. So Sheridan—unlike others—had a general idea of how much longer he had. That wasn’t really such a bad thing, was it?