She did take the opportunity to make a number of quick, casual scans. He didn’t seem to notice, and she had taken care not to be detected. He was angry. Brimming just away from view was an intense, surging anger, directed at the world, at the Minbari, at… something she didn’t recognise and didn’t want to, but most of all at himself. Anger and hatred and terror and grief, all wrapped up into one bundle. Lyta was more than intrigued. She was fascinated.
“Do you really hate the Minbari so much?” she asked.
Marcus started as if electrocuted. He looked at her, seemingly unsure of what to say. She cocked her head slightly, and put on the softest, friendliest smile she could manage.
“They took away everything I was born with,” he whispered. “They took away my heritage, my dreams, my reasons for living, the only two people I’ve ever cared about. Yes, I hate them. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. What happened… happened. Did I lose friends on Earth? Yes. Family? Yes. But… hatred won’t bring them back. Killing the Minbari won’t bring them back. Psi Corps was destroyed with Earth, and it had been my reason for living. The Corps is mother, the Corps is father. I was raised by the Corps and clothed by the Corps, and now it’s gone. But… just because the Corps doesn’t exist any more, it doesn’t mean I have to stop being what they made me. I serve the Resistance Government because it gives me a purpose, and a reason for living. All you need to do is find your reason for living.”
“I have one,” he rasped.
“No, I’m sorry Marcus, but I don’t think you ever did. You’re with Captain Sheridan because you hope to find somewhere to die.” She smiled, sad and bittersweet this time. “You need a reason for coming back.” Slowly, she reached out across the table and touched his cheek with her gloved fingers. “And I… I think I need something too. I need to help people. I can help you.”
“Did you read those things in my mind?”
“No,” she lied again. “I’m simply… I’ve got used to observing people over the years. It makes what I do easier. I could enter your mind if you like. I could help you, but only if you want me to.”
“No one can help me. No one at all. Not even you.”
“What about Captain Sheridan? Ah, I thought that would get a reaction. He’s as bad as you are, Marcus. Worse, if anything. Stay away from him. Sooner or later, he’s going to launch a suicide mission he won’t be coming back from, and I don’t want you to fail to come back as well.”
“Why? Just because you’re… intrigued by me.”
“Your death would be a waste. I think you’ve still got a great deal to offer life.”
“The only thing I have to offer anyone is my death. Don’t take that away from me.”
“I have to, Marcus. I… I can feel that you’ve never had many friends, have you? Few people who cared. Always the loner?” He nodded and looked away. “I’m willing to listen, and to talk, and to be here. If you want me to.”
“Why do you care about me? I can’t believe you’d offer so much…”
“Maybe it’s because I’m lonely too. Because I’ve lived so many lives that belong to other people that I don’t know where my own begins. Or maybe it’s simply that my reason for living isn’t enough.”
Marcus rose to his feet. “I don’t think you’d like what you’d find in my mind. Thank you for the meal, but I have to go.” He moved towards the door.
“Marcus!” He turned. “Any time you need my help, just come and ask. I’ll be here.” He was about to speak, but then his head dropped and he left. Lyta stared at the door as it closed, and shook her head wearily. “Good thing I enjoy a challenge, isn’t it?”
Days passed, days that for Delenn were marked by agony and shame, by questions and answers, by interrogation and humiliation. She had lost track of time, but Sheridan had not come to visit her again. She assumed that he had gone on his patrol mission, leaving her alone to Mr. Welles and Miss Alexander.
She had wept, she had cried out, she had sworn in the name of Valen, and prayed for help, but none had come. She had tried meditation, she had tried resistance, she had tried thinking of Neroon, or Draal, or her father, or Dukhat, but none of them brought her comfort. She had tried thinking of Sheridan, and that brought her only pain.
The door opened and she looked up, expecting to see the telepath. Welles was questioning her about the Rangers, when he was interrupted. It was Captain Sheridan.
“Ah, Captain. Come to watch again?” It was impossible for Delenn to identify the emotion in Welles’ voice. It was likely there was none.
“Not exactly. I’m leaving for border patrol in a few hours, and I’m taking her with me.” Welles raised an eyebrow. “This is not open for debate.”
“There is still a great deal of information to be gained from her.”
“I don’t care. From now on, you will only question her while I am present. She will be kept under full Security watch aboard the Babylon. Her presence here is causing too many distractions.”
“I see. On whose authority are you doing this?”
“My own, which is all the authority I need.”
“I see. And do you feel this is a… suitable use of your authority?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, then, Captain. She’s all yours. I just hope that you are not mistaken in your beliefs. She is still valuable to us.”
“More valuable to me.” Delenn looked up and met his gaze for the first time since he had entered. He smiled, and moved to her side, extending his hand. She took it, and rose. Under Welles’ slow, cynical eye, she moved from the chair, half limping, half carried, resting on Sheridan’s strength.
As the door to the room closed behind her, and she stepped into the corridor, Delenn had never felt so free.
She smiled.
Part IV: To Hear the Machine
Chapter 1
It was a time that would later be called the dawn of the third age of mankind; a time when it seemed unlikely that mankind would even survive this age. Their homeworld was destroyed, their people decimated and scattered, existing by the most fragile of handholds and through the strength of one ship and the courage of one man. The ship was the Babylon, and the man was Captain John Sheridan.
But these were dark days for all, not just humanity. The Minbari’s quest to complete what they had begun over fourteen years before was turning them away from their ancient prophecies and customs, and on to a headlong rush into the abyss. My own people were so consumed with war and hatred that they did not see what could be found directly at their feet, and the Centauri… well, they never change.
But it was humanity which was falling the fastest and the farthest. Born out of a combination of terror and hatred, they had made an alliance with a Darkness rising, not knowing and not caring what they would have to pay.
But, as my uncle once told me, there is always hope. The denial of hope is the denial of life, and the loss of hope is the loss of a reason to live.
But then, as another wise man once said, a man without hope is a man without fear.
He would never be able to explain the sensations he gained from his contact with the Great Machine. Words could not put it across; it could not be described in terms of sight or sound or taste or colour. It simply was. It was as though he were a part of the universe, very aware of his own, minute importance to the greater scheme of things, yet instead of being in despair at his own insignificance, he was elated at the grandeur of which he was a very small part.
Yet now that elation was despair, for Varn was dying, and if he died, then the Machine died with him, the planet died with him, his people, their legacy and everything that they were died with him.