Gareth D. Williams

A Dark, Distorted Mirror.

Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants. Prologue: The Missing Year

The Shadow War ended in 2261, as did all the other wars that had been raging in the galaxy at the time — a result, directly or indirectly, of the Shadows and their involvement with the younger races. The longstanding conflict between the Narn and the Centauri that had resumed in 2259 came to a close with the Kazomi Treaty. The Human / Minbari War formally ended with both races joining the United Alliance. The Human civil war also formally ended with that event, as the new Proxima Government entered the Alliance.

It was a time of relative optimism, at least briefly. After all the wars and bloodshed of the preceding years, a period of peace was welcomed by almost everyone. There were of course numerous skirmishes, raids and attempts to hunt down those wanted for various war crimes during the previous decade, but except for the Drazi Conflict (q. v., chapter 7) 2262 was a year of peace.

It is easy to overlook those twelve months in the light of the events that followed, but the collapse of the peace and even of the Alliance itself cannot be considered in isolation. The formation of the Alliance and the circumstances that gave it birth have already been studied, and the next volume will deal with its downfall. Now, however, the twelve months during which the Alliance effectively ruled the galaxy unchallenged will be examined.

Note: all dates given in this volume are Earth standard unless specifically stated otherwise.

GILLESPIE, E. (2293) The Light Ages. Chapter 1 of The Rise and Fall of the

United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the Third,

vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

The ultimate focus of 2262 was undoubtedly the building of the new centre of the Alliance: the space station called Babylon 5, a continuation, most probably, of Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar's ultimately failed attempt at providing a central gathering place for those fighting the Shadows in 2260: the Babylon 4 space station, destroyed at the Battle of the Third Line.?

Babylon 5 was constructed in high spirits, with representatives from all the major races involved in the effort. While this was clearly used as a public relations spectacle — the sight of former enemies working together to create a home of peace was then a welcome one — practical necessities were also a concern. No one race had the resources to fund a station of that size and capacity on its own, and neither did the Alliance as a whole. There were many complaints about the vast resources needed to complete the station, seen by many as unnecessary given that Kazomi 7 was still perfectly capable of housing the Alliance Government and bureaucracy. However, others had more personal misgivings.?

? WILLIAMS, G. D. (2291) A Line in the Sand. Chapter 4 of The Rise and Fall of

the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 2, The Years of Battle. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

? See also Learning at the Prophet's Feet, by L'Neer of Narn, and One Eye to the

Future by G'Dan (based on interviews with Commander Ta'Lon), for more

details concerning Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar's personal feelings about the

construction of Babylon 5.

LAKER, A. (2293) A Shining Beacon in Space. Chapter 14 of The Rise and Fall of

the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

It would be a shining beacon in space, a dream given form, a place of peace in a galaxy that had known only war. It would be a symbol of the new age, an age which would at last no longer need to fear shadows.

And it would be called Babylon 5.

G'Kar said the name to himself softly. "Babylon Five." The name sounded right, somehow. Appropriate. He had tried to create a similar dream once before with Babylon 4, but that project had ended in fire and destruction and so many deaths. The cost had drained him, both financially and emotionally. After it had gone he had done…. so little, as if that station had been his greatest and only contribution to the future.

And now it was going to be bettered.

"Babylon Five," he said again.

It was Sheridan's idea, devised by him and Delenn. A new place, unbound by the symbols and memories and imagery of all the old. A completely new centre for the galaxy.

A dream, given birth by people who had long ago forgotten how to dream.

"Dreams are for people who sleep," he whispered, trying remember who had once told him that. The answer came to him soon enough. Londo, of course. "And where are you now, old friend? On the throne you always professed to hate, sending us diplomats and spies in your stead. Why do you not come in person?

"What do you fear so, Londo?"

He looked at the early drawings for Babylon 5 and shivered suddenly. He started and looked around. Kazomi 7 was a hot world, almost as hot as Narn itself. There were no draughts here.

But if not a breeze, then what?

A feeling.

"What do any of us fear?" he asked, his words as hollow as the grave.

There were only graves to answer him.

* * *

The existence of ancient races with vastly superior technology had long been rumoured among the younger races. Humanity's own love of myths and legends and conspiracies had given rise to numerous stories, most of which were expansions into space of old Earth legends such as the Bermuda Triangle, the Loch Ness Monster and the Abominable Snowman.

Other races had similar stories. Young Drazi warriors would go 'hunting the First Ones' as a rite of passage and a display of bravado. The Markab had numerous legends based on the events of the last Shadow War. The Narns had witnessed many inexplicable occurrences on their border at Sigma 957, and believed it to be a haunted world.

Some of these stories had a basis in fact. Others were no more than corruptions of old legends. The Shadow War, however, led to a resurgence of interest in First One myths, as many of the stories could be explained by connections to either the Shadows or the Vorlons.

2262, however, saw the rest of the legends become reality. Slowly at first, but with increasing frequency, awesomely powerful ships were sighted in forgotten areas of space. Initially these were ignored or disbelieved, but over time even the Alliance itself had to take action.

One of the first accepted sightings occurred in February 2262, at the Narn world of Sigma 957….

GOLDINGAY, D. G. (2293) Stalkers on the Rim. Chapter 4 of The Rise and Fall of

the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

Captain Jack could be described in many different ways. He himself often used the words 'entrepreneur' or 'wheeler — dealer' or 'a bit o' this, a bit o' that'. Others used the words 'rogue', 'criminal', 'nuisance' and 'a right shifty bastard'. He was, however, definitely a man with an eye on the main chance.

Which had brought him here, to a dead world whose name he could not remember — usually a good thing as far as his employers were concerned — for a rendezvous with a group of Narns even shiftier than he was, on a mission that was both very illegal and very highly paid.

There were numerous political issues involved, which he did not even pretend to understand, it usually being safer that way. Despite having met and — sort of — befriended individuals as powerful as the Blessed Delenn, Emperor Londo Mollari II, Minister Lethke zum Bartrado and General John Sheridan the Shadowkiller, Captain Jack had a profound lack of interest in politics except where it related to his personal solvency.

However, he did understand that some Narns were very unhappy about the Kazomi Treaty that had sealed the peace between them and the Centauri, and wanted to make clear to everyone just how displeased they were. Certain…. artefacts needed shipping to certain Centauri worlds where certain things might be done to make that clear. And for obvious reasons, a non — Narn courier was needed.

Jack preferred not to think of these things as politics because if he didn't, he tended not to think of them as involving real people either. It was a lot easier that way.

And so all this was why he was at Sigma 957, waiting alone in his ship for a Narn ship that was very very late.

That was when he began to pick up the signal.

His communications equipment was specially modified to receive signals across a much wider band than that carried by most ships of his size, but this was nothing he had ever come across before. Muttering to himself, he started trying to tune into it, wondering if the Narns had had to resort to extraordinary measures to get in touch with him.

There were words in there, he was sure of it, even a conversation, but the language, the voices…. all these were beyond him. He felt like an ant trying to understand the words of angels. Falling silent, something touching what remained of his soul, he tried to tune in more clearly, working at the limits of his equipment. All thoughts of his mission left his mind. All he could think of was discovering the nature of this conversation.

He could pick up a little of one of the parties now. It seemed like countless voices speaking through one mouth. Or was it countless mouths speaking with one voice?

Everything stopped, and in one instant all the lights in his ship went out. He started, and began frantically trying to restore power.

Then he looked out at the scene before him.

There was a ship moving across the ecliptic, something so big and so vast it blocked out everything, space and light and stars and all. It glided through the planet's atmosphere, ignoring him utterly, an insect beneath the feet of giants.

Jack hardly dared to breathe, a wise move. As the alien ship moved forward a rent opened in the fabric of space, a vast jump point, bigger than anything he had ever imagined. The image of hyperspace beyond flickered with countless colours, very different from the usual red. Clouds of mist shimmered through the gap in space, and there were flickers of lightning.

Something was waiting in there, in hyperspace. Smaller than the vast alien ship, it was still huge, much bigger than Jack's diminutive shuttle. It looked slightly familiar, almost like a….

A castle?

The vast ship moved slowly into hyperspace, its every manoeuvre beautifully graceful. The gateway closed, and Jack was alone once more.

Alone in a dying ship above a dead world whose name he could not remember.

Fortunately, after a few hours of creative engineering with life support, a squadron of ships from the Narn fleet arrived and picked him up. Jack was so grateful to be rescued that he only had a few seconds to think up some suitably inventive lies.

* * *

After we joined the Alliance, affairs on Centauri Prime grew, not better, but slowly and steadily worse. With the death of Lord Kiro the riots had ended and the Shadow Criers fallen apart, but their legacies remained. There was widespread famine and hunger, the cost of the war and the reparations had almost bankrupted the Republic, and the costs of the repairs to the homeworld and to the regained colonies were almost impossible to meet. The Centarum eventually swallowed its pride and borrowed vast sums of money from the Alliance.

There was already resentment towards the Alliance, well before the burnings and the Inquisitors. The only Alliance representatives the Centauri had really seen were the strange Ambassador Morden and the equally strange Lennier, the Emperor's bodyguard. The fact that Lennier had not been seen for several months gave rise to many rumours, but his return to Alliance space was not noticed for some time.

Emperor Mollari found himself very unpopular, partly for all the reasons outlined above, but also because of his exile of the former Lord — General Marrago. The Emperor was spending more and more time in the palace and was seldom seen in public. Even his goodwill tour of the newly regained colonies ended prematurely after a fourth assassination attempt was foiled. His Lady Consort, Timov, was however often seen in public, and she was commonly believed to be one of the best things about the Court.

As for the former Lord — General, he had disappeared following his exile, and was widely believed to have been murdered by agents of the Court. However, while there was a large bounty on his head and assassination attempts had been made, he was very far from dead, and was engaged in very private dealings elsewhere.

LADY KEELA SHARNI (2293) Republic in Flames. Chapter 9 of The Rise and Fall

of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

He still saw her eyes all the time. They were shining in his mind, brilliant stars in the heavens of his soul. And sometimes he saw them dull and red, cold and lifeless.

I could not protect you, Lyndisty.

Marrago was old, and he was alone, but he was no longer tired. Indeed, he felt stronger than he ever had. At long last he had a purpose, a goal, a mission. And a simple, unequivocal one at that.

Free Centauri Prime.

It was the beginning of an alliance, a new alliance. A small one admittedly, only three at present, but then a night of a thousand drinks begins with a single sip. Marrago had heard a similar human phrase about miles and steps, which he preferred.

A Minbari, a human, a Centauri, and a flying castle full of Soul Hunters. Perhaps not such a small start after all.

And it would only grow.

Marrago was a tactician and he understood that not everything can be achieved at once. Sinoval understood that as well. It would take time, and in any case this was not a war of force of arms, but a war of ideas and beliefs and understanding.

But there were some similarities in both types of war. They both needed people.

Sinoval had said he would be busy elsewhere, but Marrago knew exactly what to do. He approved.

Mercenaries were easy to find these days. The entire galaxy had been at war for years, and a sudden outbreak of peace was very bad for professional soldiers. All manner of different people, of all different races and armies, were looking for work. Narns would not work for Marrago of course, and nor would many Drazi, but there were some.

It had taken a couple of months, but he had assembled a ten — strong unit, useful for hire as security, bodyguards and the like. Six of them were Centauri, with one Drazi, two Brakiri and a human. A small group, but a good beginning.

"You can…. find things, yes?" the alien was saying, twitching its forelimbs slowly. "Things that…. need finding?"

"We can do that," Marrago replied. "We need to know what it is, and a rough estimate of the risk involved, before we can set a price, of course."

"It is…. a delicate matter. A data crystal, with…. valuable information…. of a not altogether legal nature."

"I see. And what can you tell us about where it is now?"

"I had to leave Istakhr Station in rather…. awkward circumstances. An individual named Stoner took the crystal…. for safe keeping. He has…. vanished. Find him…. and the crystal, and bring the crystal to me."

Marrago nodded. "We can do that."

"And the price?"

"Will be reasonable. We can discuss that later."

"I am not a fool."

"I never believed you were, n'Grath. I hope to do business with you again."

And the price would be reasonable again, Marrago thought. n'Grath was a prominent crimelord, with influence in all sorts of places. He would be a useful ally. It was well worth losing a few ducats here for potential advantage later.

Marrago actually found he was enjoying this new life. No politicking, no dancing around, fearful of saying the wrong thing. All he had to do was complete the commissions he won, build an alliance and an armed force, and stay true to those who served with him.

He found he missed only two things: his garden, and his daughter.

His garden could be rebuilt, and as for Lyndisty…. well, she would not be returning to him, but she would be avenged before this was over.

She would be avenged.

* * *

Although there had been many rumours of the existence of the sinister Vorlon 'enforcers' known as the Inquisitors, there was no confirmed report until 2259, when Kosh Naranek sent an Inquisitor called Charles Dexter to Kazomi 7 to test the loyalty of John Sheridan and Delenn. Many authorities now believe this to have been a subtle attempt by Kosh to warn Sheridan and Delenn about the true nature of his brethren, but if this is so, the warning, like so many others, went unheeded.

The presence of Charles Dexter was not common knowledge at the time, and the existence of the Inquisitors only became public in 2262. Contrary to popular belief this did not happen on Centauri Prime, where their actions would attract much notoriety and revulsion, but on Minbar. The individual concerned was to become one of the most notorious and feared Inquisitors across the galaxy. He did not pursue the same objectives as his fellows, who were largely dedicated to tracking down those who had collaborated with the Shadows during the war. His purpose was different, and involved tracking down one single person.

The Inquisitor's name was Sebastian, and the Vorlons had given him the most difficult mission of his long career, but one they saw as of the utmost importance.

GOLDINGAY, D. G. (2293) The Unholy Inquisition. Chapter 8 of The Rise and Fall

of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

"Where is he?"

Pain. No screams. She had long ago given up screams, of pain or otherwise.

There were no screams, but there was pain.

"Tell me where he is."

More pain. Light and fire blazed in her mind. Whispers fluttered through her hearing, brief images, feelings from long ago. The touch of his hand on hers. The warmth of his breath on her face. The sheer love in his eyes.

"I do not care how worthy or unworthy you are. I do not care on whatever pedestal you choose to place yourself. I do not care whether you believe yourself to be holy, a messiah, a prophet to bring glory to your name. I do not care what your name is. I do not care who you are. All these things will be attended to by another, in due time.

"For now, I have one mission and one mission alone. That is the only thing I do care about. I came here because you were his closest friend, the one he trusted most, the one he risked a great deal to save. Maybe he even loved you a little, if he is capable of such a thing.

"So, I ask you again.

"Where is Primarch Sinoval? Where has he gone? Where has he hidden himself? What does he plan? What allies does he have? Who are his agents?

"Where is he?"

Again the light burned. The old memories were at the back of her mind, the things that woke her in the middle of the night, trembling and shaking, unshed tears in her eyes.

Kalain was dead, had died in agony of a fatal virus almost two years ago. She had laid him to rest in her memories long ago, silently forgiving him for the tortures he had inflicted on her soul and her body.

But somewhere, at the back of her mind, he still lived, still strong and powerful and capable of hurting her so much. Still strong enough to emerge now, as she was tortured again.

"You dare to come here," Tirivail had spat at the human as he had presented himself to the Council. "You dare to insinuate these things!"

The human appeared to be formally dressed, but in a style none of them recognised. He spoke Minbari flawlessly, with an archaic, stylised accent.

"My name is Sebastian," he had said. "I am an emissary from the Vorlons. This you know. I am here on their behalf to seek any information you may have on the whereabouts of the one known as Sinoval the Accursed. I am here to question those of you who knew him best. Satai Kats, the former Satai Kozorr."

"Kozorr is dead," Tirivail had replied. Kats had said nothing. Tirivail had not adjusted well to Kozorr's death, her anger consuming her too much lately.

"Sinoval is gone," Takier had said. "He has left Minbari space and informed us that he will not return. We do not know where he has gone. He has no authority or power over any of Minbari blood now, and we have no power over him. Is that enough for you?"

"No. I am instructed to question those of you who knew him best. As former Satai Kozorr is dead, I will question Satai Kats."

"No, you will not," said Takier calmly. "She is one of us, and she is protected by the power of the Grey Council."

"I have the authority. The treaty by which you joined the Alliance confers the necessary powers on me, and on any delegated representative of the Vorlon High Command. Refuse me, and we will return in force."

"We will inform the Alliance Council of this," Takier warned.

"Feel free to do so."

"I will submit to your questioning," Kats said suddenly. "I know nothing of where Sinoval has gone, or of his plans."

"That is not enough. I must be sure."

"Then make yourself sure."

Then had followed pain. She had followed his directions and arranged a private room for the interrogation, a place he no doubt hoped would conceal the screams, but so far there had been no screams.

"Where is Sinoval the Accursed?"

"I do not know," she whispered. Her robe of mourning white was stained by her own blood. She did not remember having been cut, but the rod Sebastian wielded had inflicted enough pain without breaking the flesh.

"Where has he gone?"

"I do not know."

"We will find him, and when we do we will destroy him, and then we will destroy all those who helped to hide him."

"You cannot win," she breathed. "I cannot tell you what I do not know. All you can do is kill me, and that…. that I would welcome." Wait for me, Kozorr. I love you.

"No," he said simply. "I will not kill you. You will kill yourself. Suicide is a sin for the Minbari, is it not? A commandment from Valen himself. And you will not merely kill yourself, you will kill all the Minbari who hope that Sinoval the Accursed will come to them."

"I do not know where he is," she whispered.

"I will return," he said simply. "And when I do, I will bring you his head. Think about that. Remember that, as I plague your dreams."

"I will not dream about you," she whispered. "That is the only power you have over me…. to make me fear you. You can hurt me, but I have been hurt before. You can kill me, but that will be a release. All you can do is make me fear you…. but I do not, and I never will.

"When you find Sinoval, he will kill you."

"We will see," Sebastian said simply. "We will see." The echoes of his footsteps and the hollow tapping of his strange cane faded away into silence.

Kats lay still for a long time, her body aching, burning. She could not move, could hardly breathe. She could feel Kozorr's spirit with her, whispering always of how much he loved her, and of how aware he had been of her love for him. Tears slid down her face, mingling with the rivulets of her blood.

Finally, Tirivail arrived and carried her to a clean room, where she slept for many hours. Kozorr was in her dreams. Sebastian was not.

* * *

The first true test of the post — war Alliance was undoubtedly the difficulties with one of its founding members. Under Ambassador Vizhak, the Drazi had always been committed to the Alliance, but the burdens and expense of the war soon caused problems at home. Drazi pride and ferocity always placed them in the thick of any fighting, and as a result their losses had been horrendous. The prestige attracted by carrying the Blessed Delenn offset this a little, but a growing sense of dissatisfaction with the Alliance was spreading, bolstered by a — perhaps justified — belief that they were not being given a large enough role in the new order, and that their objections were being ignored.

An attempt had already been made to regain control of Kazomi 7, originally a Drazi world. This was ultimately averted by the presence and personal charisma of Delenn herself, but that was no more than a stop — gap solution.

The early months of 2262 saw the Drazi colonies gripped by rioting and political uproar. The anti — Alliance fervour reached fever pitch. The Drazi Government refused to pay their share of the vast sums of money required to build the Babylon 5 space station, seeing it both as a waste of money and a rejection of their world as the centre for the Alliance. The Government collapsed and a new one was eventually chosen in the traditional Drazi fashion of extreme and bloody violence. This ritual began before the usual time, which should have been in late 2263, and this was a bad omen.

Ambassador Vizhak, one of the Alliance's most loyal supporters in the Drazi Government — not that the Alliance ever saw that part of him — was recalled to a minor position, and a replacement assigned, a figure much less welcome to the Alliance than Vizhak had been….

BARRINGER, S. (2293) Shadows on the Border: The Drazi Conflict. Chapter 7 of

The Rise and Fall of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and

the Beginning of the Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer,

G. Boshears, A. E. Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

It is ironic, thought Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, as he sat in the Council Hall of the United Alliance, listening with greater and greater unease to the figure speaking before them all. All of us, myself included, had thought only of the end of the war. We had envisaged a thousand years of peace stretching out before us.

None of us had imagined that the thousand years of peace would require so much work.

Juphar Trikdar was still speaking, his voice commanding and powerful. He spoke all the languages of the Alliance fluently, G'Kar knew that, and currently he was addressing them in the Common Trade language. He was a magnificent orator, and G'Kar, who had done more than his share of public speaking in his time, recognised the little details, the tiny clues that confirmed that.

He also recognised the sheer contempt in the Drazi's voice, something he took no pains to hide.

The long scar across Juphar's mouth twitched and danced as he spoke, a snake crawling across his face. It was new and jagged, a pale white flickering reminder that there could never be peace, not entirely.

Less than half a year after the Shadow War ended, violence had come to the worlds of the Alliance. Everyone on Kazomi 7 had heard about the riots and uproar on the Drazi worlds. It had seemed as if there would be fighting here as well, but the calming words of the Blessed Delenn — and a heavy military presence — had ended that threat.

They had of course offered aid to the beleaguered Drazi Government, only for Vizhak to refuse it. The riots were because of the Alliance, he pointed out. Involving Alliance troops would only make matters worse.

It had all ended soon enough, but not for the better. A new Government had been formed. New leaders had been chosen. A new Ambassador to the Alliance had been appointed. Vizhak had returned to his homeworld, to a new position. Taan Churok had remained, always having served the Alliance rather than his own people.

They had sent Juphar. G'Kar had made a point of learning as much about him as possible. He had not liked what he had heard. Juphar was renowned as a skilled orator and a tough negotiator. He was also firmly anti — Alliance. He had been scarred during the rioting while delivering a powerful speech in favour of leaving the Alliance.

"Drazi will not pay these sums," he said, drawing his speech to a conclusion. "Drazi will retain control of Drazi fleet. Drazi fleet will go where they wish. Drazi merchants will go where they wish.

"Drazi will not permit Alliance soldiers on Drazi worlds. We fought the Shadows longer and harder than any others. Is an insult to say there are Shadow agents hiding on Drazi worlds. An insult, and we will not accept it!"

G'Kar sighed. He could see why the Drazi were upset about that. It was a requirement of the Alliance treaties that the Rangers and the Dark Star fleet should have free access everywhere to seek out Shadow agents, remaining vassal races or leftover pieces of technology. Few races liked it, but it was a necessity. G'Kar gave a quick glance at Ambassador Durano, who was listening intently. The Centauri had to put up with more than most in that area, and for a moment his heart went out to Londo.

But, much as he disliked it, he knew why it was necessary. If the freedom of movement of the Rangers was restricted in Drazi space then other races would soon be clamouring for similar concessions, and then the Shadow agents would remain hidden, and G'Quan alone knew what they would be capable of.

"We are not insulting you in this," Delenn said, rising to her feet. She had listened to the whole speech with an increasingly despairing expression. She knows the truth, G'Kar thought. The Drazi are lost to us, and there is nothing any of us can do about it.

"We are certainly not implying there are Shadow agents being sheltered by the Drazi people, but they could be hiding anywhere. We must have free access to find them wherever they might be."

"You cannot come to Drazi worlds," Juphar said defiantly.

"That is not an option," said Sheridan, also standing. General John Sheridan, the Shadowkiller. "We must have free access to all worlds, anywhere in the galaxy."

"Not Drazi worlds."

"Please," Delenn said. "We do not mean to insult you in any way. But we must…."

"Alliance do insult us. If Alliance continue to insult us, we will not be part of Alliance. We will not pay for Babylon Five. We will not provide ships or soldiers to die in your wars with no honour. We will not obey restrictions on where we go.

"We will not let Alliance soldiers on to our worlds."

G'Kar glanced across the table. Na'Toth and G'Kael were listening intently. Neither looked pleased, but the Kha'Ri would learn of these events from one of them. The Kha'Ri was growing more and more concerned about the direction in which the Alliance was going.

If the Drazi left and did not return, would the Narns be far behind?

* * *

The image of the alien was crystal clear. Most of those who saw it had never seen such a creature before, but for those who did the sight would never be forgotten.

It seemed to shimmer as it walked, the shadows forming around it, becoming one with it. The instrument that had recorded its passage was specially designed for the purpose. Most recording devices would not even have detected it.

It was short, and walked with a peculiar hobbling gait. G'Kar knew that the creature was capable of astonishing speed and agility, moving its disjointed body in ways no Narn could ever emulate — or human, Minbari or Drazi for that matter.

Black rags were wound tightly around its small frame, completely covering any trace of skin or fur or whatever lay beneath them. No living being had ever seen the face of one of these things. They showed their true appearance only to the dead. Hence the only name the creatures had: the Faceless.

The streets it walked through were narrow and cramped and filled with people, mostly Drazi. The recording showed them bumping into each other, starting and swearing, but the Faceless moved among them with no more substance than a….

A shadow.

There was no doubt about where the Faceless was. Kazomi 7 had been substantially rebuilt since the Drakh invasion and the rise of the Alliance, but there were still some areas that were as they had been when the world was a Drazi colony. Everyone knew there was only one race that built cities with such cramped streets. This was Zhabar, the Drazi homeworld.

The creature did not seem to know it was being followed. G'Kar found that difficult to believe, based on what he knew of them. No, far more likely it was letting the Ranger follow it. Far more likely that it knew what was about to happen.

It slid down an alley and came to a door. The moment it reached it the door opened. For that single instant, G'Kar saw the door as a mouth grinning wide. A Drazi stood there, dressed in a simple smock. He welcomed the Faceless inside, and then the recording stopped.

G'Kar stood back and looked at the Council before him. None of them was speaking. Lethke, Delenn, Sheridan, Durano, G'Kael, Kalika, all the other Ambassadors and diplomats and aides. None of them said a word.

It fell to G'Kar to break the silence. "That recording was found by one of my Rangers on the Drazi homeworld. It was recorded by another Ranger who disappeared some months ago, not long after the recording was made."

"Do you know what that creature was?" Sheridan asked carefully.

G'Kar nodded. "We do not know its true name, but G'Quan called it a Faceless. The Enemy often used them as assassins. They are all but invisible in darkened areas, they are very agile, and they can kill with their bare hands. The information in the Great Machine — " and here he paused, thinking again of the rush of information and knowledge and power the Machine had given him, " — the information there seemed to indicate that they were not a specific race, but an order, composed of the most skilled agents of the Enemy. They were altered in some way, before becoming the Faceless."

Lethke went pale. "Some of these Faceless walked our worlds during the war. Many of our people died."

G'Kar did not know what to say. The nocturnal Brakiri provided a perfect target for the Faceless.

Sheridan rose and turned slowly to look at Taan Churok and Juphar Trikdar. Neither of them had said anything throughout the meeting. "Who was the Drazi in the doorway?"

"No one," Juphar snapped. "That is lies. You seek to frame us." It had been three weeks since Juphar had arrived, and relations had grown considerably worse. More than one Ranger had been ejected from a Drazi world. Blockades had been set up around jump gates and several Drazi merchant ships had been turned back, or boarded and searched. Juphar had been furious after each incident. Taan had been as silent as ever.

But he was still capable of speech from time to time. "Dr. Literana Varda," he said. "Liaison to new Government on matters of biotech and chemical warfare. Very powerful man."

"Lies," Juphar hissed, turning on Taan. "Traitor."

"No traitor," Taan snapped back. "Varda ambitious. Enemies…. go missing. More than once."

Sheridan breathed out. "Thank you. We will have a warrant drawn up for this Dr. Varda, under the Kazomi Accord. He will be brought here for investigation and trial, concerning his dealings with Shadow agents."

"No," Juphar said. "Will not happen."

"It will," Sheridan said. "You will not try to stop us."

"Drazi have sovereignty over Drazi worlds. Alliance soldiers come to Drazi worlds, we will kill Alliance soldiers."

Sheridan's face darkened. G'Kar knew what was coming. He looked across the room. The Vorlon was still standing there in the corner. It raised its eye stalk and looked back at him. There seemed to be…. pleasure in its gaze.

"You leave us no choice," Sheridan whispered. "None at all."

* * *

There was something Delenn had once heard about leadership, a lesson from Dukhat. Leadership was a constant struggle between doing was what right and what was necessary.

It was a lesson she had remembered more than once, but never with greater sorrow than now.

"They have been with us from the start," she said sadly. "Vizhak and Taan Churok have been our strongest supporters. They granted us their world on which to build our Alliance. They lent us their soldiers and their warships. They fought for the honour of carrying me into battle.

"And now…. now we will blockade and invade their homeworld, arrest members of their Government, impose our laws and our customs on them.

"It is necessary, I know, but it is very far from being right."

"I know," John replied. He was at the far side of the room, carefully putting on his clothes. His ritual reminded her of tales of the warriors of Valen's day, readying themselves for battle, beseeching their Gods for aid, preparing to kill.

"There must be another way," she said, softly.

"There isn't," John said. "I don't want to do this either, but we have to…. We…. we can't let the Shadow vassals run around loose. We have to know where they are, what they are planning. And we have to know how far up in the Drazi Government they've gone. What if the riots and the political upheaval, what if all of that was orchestrated by them? What if they're trying to complete their Masters' work? What if it's the Shadows themselves, and they only pretended to leave?"

"No," Delenn said. "They have gone." She remembered a darkened conversation with many faces, all issuing a final message, one that had spoken of good intentions where she and her allies had seen only evil results. We only wanted to show you the stars.

"Maybe," John said doubtfully. "But that's the point. We have to know. We can't allow another war. We can't."

"So we bring war to avoid war?"

"No, we're bringing the threat of war to achieve peace."

"Do you have to go? Could someone else not go? Not Daro, I know, but Kulomani? Captain Tikopai? Surely there is someone else?"

He shook his head. "I'm General. I'm leader of the Dark Star fleet. If anyone is going to do this it might as well be me. If David were here, then…. perhaps…. but there isn't anyone else we can trust with something like this."

"Do you know when David will be back?"

"When he's ready." John finished and turned to face her. "How do I look?"

He was in his full dress uniform, the first time he had worn it for real. They had been commissioned for the Dark Star crews after the end of the Shadow War. They were black and grey, and all bore the sunburst badge that had slowly replaced G'Kar's original circle — of — light emblem for the Rangers.

"Like a leader," she said simply. He smiled and kissed her cheek. "I will be back," he said. "Nothing's going to keep us apart. Nothing."

"I believe you," she whispered. But she had seen too many friends depart these past terrible weeks. Taan had left openly, contemptuous of any attempt to stop him. Juphar had commanded Daro to take him back to Zhabar. Unwilling to lead his ship in an assault on his own world, Daro had gone, as had almost every other Drazi officer in the Dark Star fleet. In less than a month, the Alliance had been sorely crippled.

And for what? A true resurgence of the Enemy? Or just one ambitious man who did not care where his dark allegiances took him?

She shivered. A dark wind seemed to blow through her heart.

* * *

In the end the Drazi Conflict was resolved swiftly. The Dark Star fleet, under the personal command of General Sheridan, blockaded Drazi worlds and jump gates and imposed brutal trade sanctions. Rangers moved in force among the Drazi worlds.

There were a few skirmishes as protected merchant ships tried to break through the blockades, but the Drazi warships, powerful as they were, proved no match for the Dark Stars. The Drazi consistently refused repeated entreaties to permit a full investigation of their worlds, and it took a peacekeeping force of Rangers to seize the Government buildings on Zhabar. With Rangers and foot soldiers on the surface and the Dark Stars in space, they eventually capitulated.

Dr. Literana Varda was found murdered in a secret laboratory underneath the capital. His body was discovered in a room with only one securely — locked exit. A lair of three Faceless was located by a small group of Rangers. The Faceless were acting under the direction of a Z'shailyl Warleader. All of them were killed in the subsequent fight, along with twenty — four Rangers and almost a hundred troops.

The members of the Drazi Government were all tried under the relevant clauses of the Kazomi Peacetime Accord. All were found guilty and sentenced to long terms on prison asteroids. A new Government was inaugurated and relations with the Alliance were resumed. The popular unrest that had swept the Drazi worlds earlier in the year was put down to manipulation by the Z'shailyl, aided by treacherous members of the old Government.

Taan Churok resumed his place on the Alliance Council and Daro returned to the Alliance military, although not to his familiar Dark Star. He now captained a Drazi Sunhawk, and turned down all invitations to rejoin the Dark Star fleet.

Vizhak could not be found. Although he had been publicly visible during the conflict he had vanished shortly after it ended. Speculation was rampant, some claiming that he had been murdered by the Alliance or the Faceless or the new Government. As the first Vorlon Inquisitors arrived on Zhabar, rumours began to circulate that Vizhak was gathering an army to free his people and would return when the time was right.

One final rumour was circulating around the Drazi worlds during and shortly after the conflict. Strange aliens had been seen moving by night, always hiding, apparently drawn to places of death. No one seemed to look at them directly, or at least no one admitted to doing so, but a common thread to the stories was that each of them had a glowing stone in the middle of their foreheads.

BARRINGER, S. (2293) Shadows on the Border: The Drazi Conflict. Chapter 7 of

The Rise and Fall of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and

the Beginning of the Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer,

G. Boshears, A. E. Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

The Vorlon network had existed in one form or another for millennia. Ever fearful of an attack by the Shadows, they had seeded their worlds and colonies with a defensive network, a system of carefully placed jump tunnels between two fixed points in hyperspace, the sheer energy and force of the jump point held in check by a telepath, his or her power amplified both by the jump point and by all the telepaths in the other nodes, an exponential curve with the whole very much greater than the sum of its parts.

It was only in 2261 that the network was first used offensively, as seen at the Battle of Proxima. The Dark Star fleet had been designed to create mobile nodes of the network, each ship having a telepath trapped somewhere within its core. The power of telepaths against the Shadows had long been known, and Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, in his very early days of fighting the Shadows, had tried to create a breeding programme for Narn telepaths for this very purpose. Many telepaths however proved too weak to handle the strain of full combat and instances of death and burnout were very high. The extension of the network into a mobile force eliminated the need for this. Each Dark Star ship had an active telepath, one who had potential access to the power of every other telepath in the network, one who would not die or burn out and who had no choice but to support the will of the network.

Its effectiveness was obviously enough to override any moral concerns among the Vorlons, if any of them even had any. It is worth noting, however, that construction of the Dark Star fleet did not begin in earnest until after the Battle of the Third Line which saw the death of the Vorlon known as Kosh, widely believed to have been leader of one of the more moderate of the Vorlon factions.

Few people knew about the Vorlon network, and those who did were in no position to do anything about it. Captain David Corwin had made tentative moves towards liberating the mind of the telepath aboard his ship, the Dark Star 3 or the Agamemnon, but the destruction of the ship and the disappearance of his ally and lover Lyta Alexander halted any progress he might have made. His subsequent mental deterioration was also a negative factor.

However, there was one threat to the security of the network, and one the Vorlons could not possibly have anticipated. It took a long time to become truly effective, but the ultimate results were devastating. The network was attacked from the most unexpected direction of all.

From within.

BARRINGER, S. (2293) A Serpent in the Garden. Chapter 12 of The Rise and Fall

of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

It had taken time to get this far, and he knew it would take much more time to get further, but the one thing he knew was that he had plenty of time. He might not have his freedom any more, but then he had had precious little of that in his life anyway.

He did have one other thing as well as time, and that was anger.

He could hear them all, his children, his brethren. There were no divisions between human and alien now, no boundaries at all. They were all his people, the special, the chosen, the unique.

The telepaths. The telekinetics. The empaths.

All of them were his people.

And they were all in pain.

He had woken from a very long and painful sleep, and all he had been able to see was the light. It had filled everything, from his mind to his vision to his perceptions to his horizons. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time, and he had wanted to immerse himself in it while being utterly repelled by it. It was everything he had ever dreamed of: pure, ultimate telepathic power, a melding of minds from across the galaxy.

But it was also wrong. The minds were in pain, and they were trapped. And so he had pulled himself free.

Sometimes, although how often he could not be sure, forces came through. Like the pull of gravity or magnetism, he was forced in one direction as a rush of mental power swept through him. It drained dry everything that he was, and focussed it, and sent it on to the next person, whose scream joined in with the others.

The first thing he had learned was not to scream.

The second thing had taken longer to learn, longer to remember.

Some of these were his people, he knew that. People he had known. People he had loved. They were all people. Human or alien, they were all people. Each scream, each spark of light, each one was a living mind.

Every one had an identity. Most of them simply could not remember theirs. The rush of memories and thoughts and power had scoured everything away. Many no longer even knew that they were individuals at all, just that they were part of a beautiful, terrifying whole.

But they weren't, or at least, not like this. A whole like this had to be voluntary. This was slavery, this was worse than slavery, worse than the gloves and the badge and the frightened looks.

When all of these realisations clicked together as one in his mind, he remembered his name.

"I am Alfred Bester," he said aloud.

That was only the beginning.

* * *

Z'ha'dum had always been a world feared and hated among those of the younger races who knew of its existence. Minbari legends spoke of Valen's assault on Z'ha'dum, causing the more reckless of the young warriors to dream of storming it themselves, but the other Minbari regarded it with rightful suspicion. A few of the learned Narn holy men and scholars were aware of the planet, and they treated it as an almost mythical Hell.

Even with the Shadow War over, Z'ha'dum continued to exert its mystical spell on the younger races. The Shadows had abandoned their homeworld, it was true, but there were many rumours about things they might have left behind. Minbari spoke of holy places there, such as where Marrain and Parlonn fought their final duel, or the place where Valen first stepped on its surface. Whispers of hidden treasure, of vast, powerful caches of technology, of long — forgotten weaponry and sinister guardians.

Any potential treasure — hunters were foiled, however. The Vorlon fleet completely blockaded the planet, refusing to allow anyone or anything to enter or leave the system. This only added to the rumours of course, and there were some reckless enough to try anything. Many people speculated about what kept the Vorlons there, about what they were guarding or looking for or hiding.

All the speculations were dead wrong.

GOLDINGAY, D. G. (2293) Stalkers on the Rim. Chapter 4 of The Rise and Fall of

the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

It was a world of mysteries, of enigmatic power and lost wonders. It was a world where the Gods of old had walked and lived and thrived, and created dark technologies. The forges of great Thrakandar were now silent, shut down forever. The grim temples where the Priests of the Fallen Midnight had raised their souls in prayer now heard nothing but the wind. The sanctum of the Drakh magi was abandoned and forgotten.

The Gods of Darkness and Terror had left Z'ha'dum. They had been defeated, cast down and exiled. It fell to the Gods of Light and Beauty to claim the dead world and see that its terrors never again threatened the galaxy.

And in the most ancient and holy site on Z'ha'dum, where the Pale and Silent King alone had stepped, the Eldest being in the galaxy stood and watched.

He watched as the Vorlons purged the world of all that the Shadows had left behind. He watched as they desecrated the Temples of Midnight, as they shattered the forges at Thrakandar, as they tunnelled deep into the bowels of the world, looking always for secrets hidden and forgotten.

The Shadows had taken much with them as they left, but not even a race as old and powerful as they could remember everything. In the countless millennia of their history, they had created innumerable abominations and terrors and monstrosities. And they had forgotten many of them.

But He remembered. Lorien remembered.

One by one, slowly, the Vorlons found these forgotten instruments of destruction and devastation. One by one, they took them away to safety.

And one by one, slowly, they spread out into the galaxy, seeking what the Shadows had left behind.

On their departure, the Shadows had offered their vassal races the chance to come with them, to experience the universe beyond the Rim. Many had accepted and gone, but a few had stayed, and it was these that the Vorlons hunted.

The Zarqheba had returned to their asteroid homes, their great wings carrying them through space as they had many millennia ago. Lorien was one of the few who remembered their cities of gold and splendour, before they had collapsed in fire and fury. The Zarqheba would never again know their former intelligence and beauty. Now they were little better than animals, but now at least they were free. The Vorlons were hunting them, but they knew how to hide. Lorien supposed they would escape.

The Zener had scattered. Some had gone with their Dark Masters, others had stayed. They the Vorlons wanted most of all, for it was they who had crafted the weapons of biotechnology and chemical warfare that the Shadows had used so effectively. Some had been caught, some had been killed, but some remained free.

The Streib had retreated. Never truly a vassal race of the Shadows, they had simply taken advantage of the chaos they brought. That was enough for them to be hunted and pursued. Their ships no longer raided, no longer hunted. They settled in their homeworld and hid.

The byakheeshaggai were all dead, the last one slain by the Vorlons on Centauri Prime. None remained, here or beyond the Rim.

There were others of course. The Z'shailyl, the Moradiin, the Faceless. Lorien watched them all, just as He watched everything else that transpired in the galaxy. He watched the building of Babylon 5. He watched the Drazi fall and be conquered. He watched peace and order come at last to the Tuchanq. He watched the others, the last survivors of races almost as old as His, move at last, returning to attend to the fate of the galaxy after so long in silence. He watched Sebastian awake and walk forth on his mission.

And when, at the end of the Earth year 2262, Ulkesh came to see Him in His hidden sanctum, as he had more than once in the last year, He asked the same question He had on every other occasion.

"Tell me. Have you found Cathedral yet?"

The answer was always the same.

* * *

It was so quiet. So new. Crafted fully formed from hopes and aspirations and dreams. Every bit of metal, every bolt, every door, every room, every piece of equipment.

It was all so new, and yet it seemed haunted.

As G'Kar walked slowly through the corridors of Babylon 5 he could not shake that feeling. He had not used to believe in ghosts. But that was before. Before he had met Londo. Before the Machine. Before the War.

Now he thought he believed in almost everything.

It was finished. Babylon 5 was finished, almost ready to go on line. Oh, there would still be improvements and modifications to be made, little bits of tweaking here and there, but for the most part it was done.

And was it worth it? Was it worth the expense? And not just in financial terms. The Drazi had rebelled partly because of this station. He had heard reports from Centauri Prime of famine and drought exacerbated by the crippling payments made to the Alliance. There were whispers of protest from Narn.

And was it worth it? What price peace?

He could not find an answer.

He walked into the room that had been designated as the conference hall, the place where the representatives would meet, where the decisions would be taken, where the fate of worlds would turn.

The Vorlon turned to look at him. Its encounter suit was pure white, unmarked by any other colour, unsullied and clean. G'Kar understood that in some cultures white meant purity and virtue.

All he could see in that gleaming whiteness were bones. Bones of the dead.

A light twinkled in the Vorlon's eye stalk and G'Kar took a slow step back. For one moment it had looked as if a skull was smiling at him.

He placed his fists together on his chest and bowed his head slightly. As far as he knew he was one of the first people on Babylon 5 apart from the construction crews, given permission to survey the new base for the Alliance. The others would come later, either being too busy to inspect it now, or not wishing to do so. G'Kar alone wanted to see the finished station as soon as possible.

He was not terribly surprised to see that the new Vorlon Ambassador had got here before him.

There was a rush of air, and a sound like dry leaves rustling across a marble tomb. <Welcome to Babylon Five,> it said.

G'Kar said nothing in reply. There was nothing to say.

* * *

The Babylon 5 station became operational at the end of 2262. The first meetings there took place early in 2263. It was always hoped and believed that Babylon 5 would be a consolidation of the peace that the Shadow War had ultimately brought to the galaxy.

Unfortunately, this was very far from being the case.

LAKER, A. (2293) A Shining Beacon in Space. Chapter 14 of The Rise and Fall of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E. Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

Content

Gareth D. Williams
A Dark, Distorted Mirror.
Volume 5: Among the Stars, like Giants. Prologue: The Missing Year