Peter David - Out of the Darkness

The guards pulled Sheridan out, half—dragging him as they went. For me, his presence was already a part of a distant past that I was anxious to forget, and would likely do so all too quickly. I walked back to my throne, touched it… not with pride, or possessiveness… but disdain. For this thing, this thing to which I would never have thought I could aspire, was something that had been tied around my neck, long ago, and was now crushing the life out of me.

I walked over to the window, glanced out in spite of myself. Then I drew the drapes closed. I hear laughter as I write this… laughter from nearby. Who could laugh at such destruction?

Children. Yes, of course, children. At least two. I hear their rapid footsteps, their gleeful chortling, as they are running through the halls of the palace.

And then I hear an adult voice, a woman. She is calling with extreme urgency, “Luc? Lyssa! Where are you?” The voice—musical, softly accented—is unfamiliar to me…

No… wait…

I know… yes. Senta, was it? No… Senna, I think her name is. She is… a nurse or child attendant around here, I think. Or perhaps… yes… a retainer to one of our Houses…

I drink in the sound of their laughter, a man parched of emotion, with a soul as dry and shriveled as my skin. I hear them clattering about in the very next room.

Perhaps they will come in here. If they do, I will talk to them. I will tell them of how Centauri Prime used to be, of the greatness to which we aspired… in the beginning…

And then… then I will say my good-byes. To Sheridan and Delenn, to Vir and Londo…

Shiv’kala. He is the one to whom I would most want to say farewell. To be rid of him, quit of his influence, has been my fantasy for nearly fifteen years now. I suspect, however, it is not going to happen. Not only that, but his ego is so great that I fear—no matter what—that Centauri Prime will never rid itself of him or his influence. He fancies himself something more than a simple minion, a creature of darkness serving masters long-gone. He thinks himself a philosopher, a student of behavior. He thinks he is so much more than he is. Here, at the last… I pity him in a way. For he will never truly understand or know himself for the pathetic monstrosity that he is. Because of that, he is very predictable.

Whereas I know myself as that all too well. There is something to be said for self-awareness. It strips away your illusions and makes you unpredictable. That is the one great weakness that the Drakh have, and I am going to exploit it for all that I can…

Delenn sat in the dank cell, her legs curled up under her chin, rocking back and forth while softly chanting a prayer, and certain that she would never see her husbandalive again.

“We’re bringing him down,” a guard had growled. “We know how much you’d like to have a last moment with him.” From the tone of his voice, it seemed to suggest that there was some cruel surprise in store for her, and she was sure she suspected what it was.

When the door was yanked open, she was positive they were coming for her. That first they were going to bring in John’s corpse as part of their perversity, allowing them “one last moment.” Or perhaps they would present her with his head or some other identifiable body part—just so they could see her reaction. Perhaps they hoped that she would break down crying, sobbing, into a hopeless mess, wailing Sheridan’s name and cursing her captors. If that was their plan, then they would be sorely disappointed.

Then, to her astonishment, Sheridan was thrown in, and the door slammed shut behind him. At first she could scarcely believe it was he. The fact that it was hard to see did not simplify matters, for the only illumination in the cell was a pale light coming in from a grated high window. Sheridan looked around as a man befuddled, leaning against the wall for support. Then he squinted into the darkness, and said, “Who… who’s there?”

She could hardly speak. She was almost afraid that, if she said something, her own voice might break the spell of the moment. “John?” she managed to say.

She emerged from the shadows, and Sheridan turned and looked at her.

Every year she had dwelled on the dwindling time available to them. She had cursed it, cursed the fate that had given them so little time together. Now… now the three or four years that remained seemed an eternity. She would sell her soul just to have the opportunity to live out even one of those years by his side, instead of ending in this horrid cell. She rushed to him, embracing him with all the fervor of her passion for him.

“Delenn? What’re you doing here?”

Yes, he was definitely confused. Perhaps a blow to the head had robbed him of some of his memory. But all she had to do was remind him of what was happening, and it would all come clear for him. “I didn’t tell them anything. They tried to make me… but I didn’t. There’s nothing they can do to me. They know that now. They’re allowing us one last moment together, before…”

She tried to finish the sentence, and couldn’t. So instead, with determination to present a brave front, she managed a smile. “It’s all right, John. I accepted this fate a long time ago. They cannot touch me. They cannot harm me. I’m not afraid. Not if you are with me. Our son is safe. That’s all that matters. John… I love you.”

And she kissed him.

He seemed startled, as if she had never kissed him before. But then he returned it, as if it was something that had always been meant to happen.

Then Sheridan gently pulled her away and looked earnestly into her eyes.

“Delenn… listen to me,” he said intensely. “This may not make any sense… but I’m not supposed to be here… I’m not really here… the last thing I remember I was on Babylon 4, and my time stabilizer was hit, then suddenly I was here.”

She was thunderstruck. Could this be? She stepped back further, studied him for a moment, and gradually the truth sank in. It was so absurd, and yet so obvious, that she almost wanted to laugh. Here she had been producing a tortured rationale as to why he seemed so disoriented… and yet she should have realized it instantly.

In the latter half of the year 2260, the lost space station, Babylon 4 , had appeared like a gigantic phantom in space. Swept up in all manner of temporal flux and time anomalies, several people had braved that mysterious and ostensibly doomed station and found themselves caught in a bizarre unfolding vision of the future. Among those people had been Delenn, Sheridan… and Jeffrey Sinclair, the first commander of Babylon 5 .

One dark night, long after they were married, and after Londo had risen to the post of emperor, Sheridan had told Delenn most of what he had experienced. He had been vague about the details of the encounter. Now she was beginning to understand why. How could he have told her that they would be trapped together in a Centauri prison, facing almost certain death?

In an amazed whisper, she said, “In Valen’s name… it is true, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes. You told me, long ago, that you had seen this moment. But until now, I never really believed…” She was overwhelmed. There was so much she wanted to say to him. So many things… and her mind recoiled from the possibilities. One wrong word and her entire reality might come unraveled.

More than twenty years ago, she had held the fate of humanity in her hands. With the fallen body of her beloved mentor in her arms, and explosions of shorted circuitry all around her, it was she who had cried out in pain, “They’re animals! No mercy!” Thus had the Earth-Minbari War begun. On her head. On hers.

Now, once again, the fates of untold millions were hers to do with as she wished.