Fic Amnesty
Mar. 25th, 2003 04:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabOr, the B5 epic that ain't never gonna get finished. But still, just 'cause I can:
"We are the universe, trying to understand itself."
-- Delenn, "Passing Through Gethsemane"
"There can always be new beginnings. Even for people like us."
-- Ivanova, "Sleeping in Light"
An observer, standing in just the right spot in the cliffs of Delak'zho, might see in the city of Tuzenor a reflection of what it once was.
Just after sunrise is best, with the light hitting the crystal peaks of what used to be Empress Eladril's palace, of what might someday be the shrine of the religious caste -- then, he might hear the murmur of Minbari crossed with another tongue, English. He might even hear laughter. As he looks, the sun would still shimmer off the prayer pool in the main courtyard, skimming across benches, angular rock formations, a garden where the statue of Valen might once have been or might once be erected. He might feel at home in this place.
But there is no one in Tuzenor who remembers, now, if "remember" is even the right word. Now the cliffs of Delak'zho are crowded with internment camps, the rare pocket of refugees dying over too little food and too much fighting. Now, the sun rises and falls on Minbar, and there is no one to stand and watch. There is no one alive to see what might have been.
//
Just over ten minutes after her crew evacuated, Babylon 4 tried to fold itself in half. The walls buckled, disappeared, and suddenly there was nothing standing between Lennier and infinite space.
Blue and white stars close enough to gather into his hand and he thought he might have reached for them --
Someone screamed. The station jumped and Lennier fell against the wall, his head hitting a metal girder with a clang. He had to find the Ambassador --
Captain Sheridan was yelling for Commander Ivanova and Lennier could hear her voice, far away and broken. He stood up again and felt along the walls. Entil'Zha was out there with the Ambassador and none of this would work if they were not safe.
The station shuddered, walls rippling like oil on black water.
Up the corridor, Lennier could see Marcus and Ivanova stumbling back toward the White Star. The Commander palmed the bulkhead, but her hand seemed to go straight through it. Marcus grabbed her before she could fall.
Lennier stood up again and Zathras was there, chattering to himself, to himselves. "Oh no, oh no, Zathras afraid of this, Zathras say no, but Zathras did not believe --"
Another shake and Delenn came into the hall, stumbled, and Captain Sheridan caught her before Lennier could. She steadied herself on the Captain's shoulder and her face, he saw fear and --
Cold glittering space. Black expanse. The bending arm of a universe.
Lennier felt his chest tighten, felt his lungs expanding into his throat and everything was dark --
"Where is the Ambassador?" Delenn was somewhere nearby. "Where is Ambassador Sinclair?"
"He was --" Lennier tried to say, but the station was folding around him like the glow of a triluminary, sucking toward a common point, far away.
"Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?" Sheridan, and Lennier could almost see him against the black, but it was like looking through pools of blood.
Another quick jerk and everything settled. Ivanova sat down on the floor. Lennier stood up again.
"Zathras?" Sheridan hissed.
Zathras clutched a socket wrench like he thought he might need to use it as a weapon. "Zathras not sure, but -- Zathras believe station coming -- unstuck in time."
"What do you mean, the station's unstuck in time?" Ivanova demanded.
"Station -- going back in time, being pulled by Great Machine," Zathras said. "Stabilizer in station's core not holding. Station -- not wanting to come with us."
Sheridan didn't let go of Delenn's arm. "Well, make it come with us!" he said. "Can't you give it a --"
Cold! The terrifying vacuum of space tugged at his skin and his breath and his eyeballs like a wind that would never be satisfied. He reached for anything, Zathras, the ground, the walls, anything, but all he could see was Delenn's skirt flapping and she was too far away to save and then the station shimmered into existence again beneath him but Lennier didn't feel it. Didn't feel anything until he realized he was breathing again.
Someone had removed his time stabilizer. Delenn's too, he noticed. He blinked and saw black spots, negative stars. The rattle and the clatter and the whoosh of vacuum were replaced by the low-frequency hum of Babylon 4's rotating gravity simulators, and beyond that, the high-wail hiss of the White Star's engines.
Ivanova let out a sigh, leaned her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes.
"At least that's over," Sheridan said, with an exhale like a chuckle.
But it was really barely beginning. Hardly started at all.
"Excuse me," said Delenn, and Lennier knew it was coming before she said it. "Where is Ambassador Sinclair?"
//
Half a world away from Tuzenor, a battered band of Minbari walked west.
The ad hoc leader was a man named Ankaan of the worker caste, and it had taken him two years to assemble the group that followed him now, another twenty years before that to break out of the Drakh prison camp in the Yarroh Hills.
Their sights were on Tuzenor because Ankaan knew that if a resistance were to have any hope against the Drakh, a stand would need to be made there. Two hundred years ago, before the Shadows and their allies invaded, Tuzenor had been Minbar's capital city. Ankaan had never been there. He wasn't sure if he'd make it there now. But he'd convinced his followers, and he believed, for their sake. And so, they walked.
//
"He's -- not in any of the forward sections," Ivanova said, breathless. Marcus shook his head.
"Not responding to his commlink," Sheridan reported.
"We could check --" Marcus said, but Ivanova interrupted, still trying to catch her breath.
"I think he's gone."
"No!" Zathras wailed. "Zathras promise Draal, Zathras will take care of the One! Zathras made sure --"
"It's not your fault," Sheridan said, but his voice was cracking behind that perpetual smile. Lennier felt his equilibrium fall away from him, and he focused on Delenn, who was pale and blinking too much, like she might cry.
"We cannot --" Delenn started, and then broke off with a shuddering gasp. And Lennier saw Delenn at a loss for words and his world was destroyed for the second time that day.
"Zathras," Sheridan said, deflecting attention from Delenn, and Lennier could briefly understand why she would love him. "Where -- when are we? Is there any way of figuring out what happened to the station?"
"Zathras not sure," Zathras said. "Station should be where station started."
"Back in Sector 14, then," Ivanova said. "Okay. So we can get back to Babylon 5 -- we've still got the White Star --"
Lennier swallowed over the lump in his throat. "No," he said. "We cannot. We must -- it is imperative we get the station to Minbar. Or else -- the war will go very badly for us."
"The war will have already gone badly for us," Delenn said, calm now, in an empty and horrible way.
Sheridan held his head. "Frag it, I hate time travel," he said. "Is there anyway to undo the damage we've done? Can we re-steal Babylon 4 and try again?"
"Without Ambassador Sinclair -- " Lennier said, but Sheridan silenced him. Lennier bit his tongue and looked at Delenn again. She didn't smile.
"Zathras," said Sheridan. "Can you get this station to Minbar, a thousand years ago?"
Zathras looked terrified. "Not sure," he said. "Perhaps with use of Great Machine. Maybe so. Maybe no."
"Can we contact Draal?" Sheridan asked.
"Zathras can activate machine from station," Zathras said. "Zathras will try."
"Good," Sheridan said. "Marcus, Ivanova, give him a hand. We're not gonna sit here and watch the universe fall to the Shadows just because we can't figure out how to turn a couple switches."
"Aye," Ivanova said, and she and Marcus left with Zathras for C&C.
Delenn sat on the floor, folding her hands in her lap and closing her eyes. Lennier remembered who he was and he sat down beside her.
"John --" Delenn said, after a moment, just as Lennier was preparing to say "Captain --" Lennier closed his mouth and allowed Delenn to continue.
"John -- I told you that, before we left, I received a letter."
Sheridan nodded and crouched beside Delenn. "Same as Ambassador Sinclair. Mind telling me what was in it?"
She opened her eyes. "It was -- an explanation. Written by Jeffrey Sinclair, nine hundred years ago."
"How the --"
"When Babylon 4 returned to help my people, it did not come alone. It carried two passengers. One was Zathras. The other introduced himself to the Minbari...as Valen."
"Valen!" Sheridan's eyes widened, and Lennier watched him. "You're saying Sinclair somehow --"
"He knew that appearing to the Minbari as human would make it more difficult for them to follow him," Delenn explained. "So with the use of the triluminary --"
"Just like you did," Sheridan said. "A Minbari not born of Minbari!"
"That is correct," Delenn said. "And he --" here she broke off, her mouth curled over the beginnings of a sob. She was close enough to gather into Lennier's two hands.
Lennier took a breath. "The arrival of Valen was a profound moment of change for our people," he said. "Perhaps even more significant than the presence of Babylon 4 in terms of helping us defeat the Shadows. Valen -- united us."
"So without Sinclair here -- we gotta find him!" Sheridan leaped to his feet. "Ivanova!" he shouted into his commlink.
"Yes, Captain?" her voice was choppy through layers of static.
"Scan the area. We need to find Ambassador Sinclair. Tell Zathras that's our top priority."
"Captain --" Delenn waved a hand. "John. He is gone. If he chooses to come back to us, he will. We must not waste time searching for him."
"Waste time?"
Delenn gave Lennier a hopeless look, and he smiled at her. "The Great Machine...is fickle," Lennier said. "We can not expect it to bend to our whims. Draal and Zathras have programmed it to take Babylon 4 one thousand years into the past, and that's what it will do. If we try to interfere --"
"It will most likely kill us all," Delenn said. "Ambassador Sinclair knew the risks. All of us are expendable -- what counts is the mission. We must leave now."
Sheridan re-opened his comm channel. "Ivanova?"
"Yessir?"
"Belay that. Get us on course for Minbar. As before." He closed the link before she could argue. "Okay, Delenn," Sheridan said. "We'll fix this. Looks like it's just you and me."
And Delenn looked up and smiled at this man who was her destiny, and Lennier sat beside her, as still and cold as iron.
//
It had been two hundred cycles and no one had done this yet. So when Ankaan came, and was the first, no one had the words with which to question it.
At first, it had been a space war, Minbari ships pushing the Shadow fleet back, always managing just barely to keep the big angry spiders from entering Minbar's atmosphere.
But there were too many of them, and they had allies, and their allies had allies. When the first Shadow ships entered Minbar's orbit a hundred and fifty cycles ago, two billion Minbari were dead within six weeks. The major cities fell, orbital defenses were destroyed, and more than half of the Minbari fleet didn't survive the first invading wave. The warrior caste blamed the worker caste, saying the cruisers and warships were shoddily built, the defenses unprepared. The worker caste blamed the religious caste, saying the invasion should have been foreseen. The religious caste prayed. It didn't help.
Because the Shadows had allies and their allies had allies. And a hundred cycles ago, when the Drakh forces landed, the Minbari were unable to resist.
Work camps were built. Much of the warrior caste was captured and killed. The religious went into hiding.
Fifty cycles ago, the Shadows left. Reports came in from distant worlds -- the Vinzini, the Vree -- all fallen under the Shadows. Word came of some younger races, new races who hadn't yet developed spaceflight and now never would. Centauri. Drazi. Narn.
On Minbar, the survivors tried to rebuild, but the Drakh controlled the cities now, and it was enough just to survive, between the random assassinations and the growth of the work camps.
Ankaan was born in the Dazin camp, nestled in the Pel'gree valley in the Yarroh hills. He grew up there, watched his parents killed, his brothers tortured and taken from him. He watched as they planted a Keeper in his sister's throat, watched as his sister slowly forgot who she was.
The camps were segregated, as was everything else -- what the Drakh overlooked the Minbari did of their own accord. In Dazin, members of the worker caste had the preferred bunkers, farthest from the toxic fumes that bled off the ore-processing mill. The warriors resented this, spoke loudly and often of their beliefs that the workers were currying favor among the Drakh. There were few religious in Dazin, and they kept to themselves, hooded and shrouded and muttering about the end of time. When they came across workers, they spat.
So when it came time to escape, Ankaan assembled a team from within the worker caste, and one chill midwinter night they broke free and headed for the hills. They made an effort to liberate several other camps along the Yarroh, but only other workers would agree to follow Ankaan. The warrior and religious castes even attacked Ankaan and his fellow travelers, and several Minbari fell to the hands of other Minbari before Ankaan and his militia escaped the Yarroh hills.
Still, word of their efforts spread throughout the camps, out across the small cells of free Minbari hidden in the mountains of the far east. Whispers were heard among members of the worker caste that a hero had risen and would liberate the workers from oppression under Drakh, warrior and religious rule. Ankaan's name was spoken across the world, along with another word: Entil'Zha. "One who shapes the future."
Seventy workers left the Yarroh hills with Ankaan. Months later, when he arrived at the cliffs of Delak'zho, four thousand men and women followed him. And they moved so steadily, so stealthy and so fast that he had no time to question what he was doing this for.
//
Minbar's planetary defense grid was inactive when they arrived. Babylon 4 emerged in a low orbit, and Lennier was sure he was close enough to touch his white marble of a world, hear the wind through the crystal spires, but there was nothing.
"Scanners are -- I don't know what the scanners are doing," Ivanova said, slapping at the controls. "I can't tell what the hell's going on out there, it's all a jumbled mess. The surface sure doesn't look like any Minbar I remember, though."
Sheridan wheeled around. "Zathras, what did -- when are we?"
"Zathras lost contact with Draal," Zathras said, sounding very afraid. "Great Machine having some troubles, maybe putting us -- wrong in time."
"Don't tell me troubles, Zathras," Sheridan said. "I need to know what's waiting for us out there."
"It is Minbar," Delenn said quietly. "It is our home. And we shall soon find out." Lennier shuddered as he watched her, but she didn't turn her eyes from C&C's viewscreen.
"Captain, I've got something," Ivanova said. "This is -- Jesus Christ, John --"
Something was out there, and Lennier heard a scream in his mind like the death wail of a thousand souls. A terrible black ship shimmered into view, black as midnight and twice as menacing, and the scream grew louder. Lennier gripped the railing to steady himself and tried to make sense of this ship that looked like an exploding star.
Grabbing her PPG, Ivanova shouted, "Shadows! Everyone get on the White Star, NOW." And everyone started running, and there was too much noise, and the ships were still screaming.
Lennier stood frozen, staring at the viewscreen that showed him a horror he never thought he'd see. Shadows, circling his home world. Standing on the same ground as his ancestors, desecrating the homes and temples, destroying millions of cycles of Minbari hope and discovery.
Zathras was muttering again, naming himself over and over and saying what he said and Lennier wanted him to just shut up for a moment because nothing could be as bad as this truth in front of them, nothing they could say would make it bearable, or any less real. Something touched Lennier and he jumped, but it was just Delenn's hand on his back. He turned around, and her face was ice, her jaw clenched and trembling. "Lennier," she said, and he turned and followed her toward the White Star's dock.
A purple beam sliced past them, causing the station to shake under Lennier's feet. If Marcus hadn't had his arm, Lennier would have been thrown against the wall again and he wouldn't have cared. Ahead of him, Sheridan was helping Delenn into the ship and Lennier wanted to be near her, to tell her he knew, to touch her arm and share her grief, but the black ship was coming closer and he couldn't move.
Lennier let Marcus lead him onto the White Star, because he couldn't move, but he couldn't die, either, couldn't leave Delenn alone with this new and uncertain future.
On the ship, Delenn stood near the viewscreen, watching the spidery ship dance closer and closer. Lennier stood behind the operations controls and waited for Sheridan's orders.
"Zathras did this! Zathras endangered the One!" Zathras was hunched in a corner under a console, the faint light making him look green and miserable. Lennier looked away.
Another purple beam broke from the Shadow ship and grazed the White Star's nose, and Lennier slammed the controls reflexively, dodging the energy pulse before he realized what had happened.
"Nice job, Mr. Lennier," Sheridan said. "Damn, they're fast." The Shadow ship was circling around for another pass, and Lennier brought the White Star about, up behind Babylon 4.
"These are Shadows," Ivanova hissed, powering up the ship's weapons. "They don't miss."
Marcus stood behind Ivanova. "They want us alive."
"No they don't," Delenn said. "They simply want us to leave. They want Babylon 4. We cannot let them take control of the station, John."
"Commander!" Sheridan croaked. "Full power to weapons. I want that ship out of my sight."
"Aye, sir," Ivanova said, and she nodded at Lennier. He watched her, matching her motions as she targeted the black ship's core. Lennier brought the White Star's nose up in line with the weapons trajectory and tried to shut out the screaming in his head. So many times they'd done this, Ivanova at tactical and him at the helm, so many times in so many battles with Sheridan barking orders and Lennier and Ivanova speaking in nods. So many times, but this was his world out there, and this was some sort of past that never should have been and some sort of life he really shouldn't be living, not here, not now. He fixed his gaze on Commander Ivanova and refused to look at Delenn.
"Captain, not to speak out of turn, or anything --" Marcus said, and Sheridan whipped around again.
"Yes, Marcus, what is it?"
"Isn't it possible that if we destroy this ship we'll simply make them angry? And they'll send their friends after us to finish the job?"
"Entirely possible," Sheridan said. "I'll take that under advisement. Ivanova, fire at will."
The Shadow ship crumbled after the first direct hit. One last scream and it curled in on itself, black legs gnarled like a dead sea creature before it burst into a shock of red flame. Ivanova let out a sigh that sounded like a laugh.
Sheridan didn't laugh. "No, that was way too easy," he said. "Something's not right."
In the prow of the White Star, against the viewscreen, Delenn turned around. "Yes," she said. "*We* are not right. Our ship comes from one thousand years in the future, constructed from Vorlon technology considerably more advanced than these Shadows have yet encountered. They were not prepared for the strength of our weapons."
"Then we've got a tactical advantage, that's great," Ivanova said.
"Not for long," Sheridan said, his eyes locked on Delenn's. "We may have just tipped our hand. And now that these Shadows know what to defend against --"
"They're going to construct defenses against Vorlon technology a millennium too early!" Ivanova slapped the console. "Fucking A, can't we ever catch a break?"
"Not today," Sheridan said. "Mr. Lennier. Try to find us an inconspicuous place to land."
"Aye sir," Lennier said, and went back to his console to scan the surface of his home though his eyes screamed against it.
//
Thousands of lightyears away, l'univers sonna le glas pour ceux qui avaient des oreilles pour l'entendre. Et sur les rives de la Meuse, Jehanne fell to her knees and prayed under a blackening sky.
//
Delenn stood on the edge of the precipice, high on the peak of Mount Ulum. The White Star had burned through two feet of ice and now sat in the shadow of Delak'zho's crystalline outcroppings, less than a hundred miles outside Tuzenor. Sheridan and Ivanova were still aboard, scanning for life signs nearby; Marcus and Zathras had set to work trying to start a fire on the sheer rock. Lennier was cold.
He hadn't been home in over a cycle, long enough for his body to regulate to the temperate atmosphere of Babylon 5, and somehow he'd forgotten just how cold it was here. Nothing was the same, and everything was, but there was a distinct pall of doom that swept up into the crystal hills, and below, cities that were once familiar stood black and watchful in the evening sky. "The eye," Lennier had heard Ivanova mention. "The eye is watching you." That from a dream, her first experience with Draal's great machine, her first taste of the horror that was to come. "It knows my name," she'd said. And here, Lennier could feel it calling him, and he shivered.
On the edge of the cliff, even Delenn had her arms wrapped across her chest. Lennier came up beside her.
"It's so different."
"Valen will come," she said, too forcefully. "The form he takes may yet be unknown to us, but he will come. Our world will be liberated."
"But Delenn --" Lennier put a hand on her shoulder and she didn't shrug him away.
"We will push back the darkness," she said. "We must contact the Vorlons."
Delenn usually spoke with such certainty, the calm acceptance of a Satai, and Lennier had become accustomed to her optimism, her sense of peace. But now he saw vulnerability on her beautiful face and he swallowed. There was small comfort to be found in the fact that her insecurity would probably only be recognizable to him.
Ivanova came diving from the White Star, PPG poised.
"Hey!" she shouted. "We're not alone, guys!"
Sheridan exited the ship too, took the gun from Ivanova's hand. "They're Minbari, Commander," he said. "They're not the enemy."
"To be blunt, sir, we don't know that," she said. "These Minbari have never seen humans before. For all we know --"
"We do not know all we know, Commander," Delenn said, and Lennier allowed himself a small smile at her resumed composure. "We shall greet my people as friends."
Ivanova looked abashed. "Of course, Ambassador," she said. "I didn't mean to imply --"
But Lennier didn't catch the end of what Ivanova was saying, because Marcus and Zathras had stopped their firebuilding and were standing up, staring into the mouth of a cave. Three Minbari stood there, staring back.
"Captain -- Ambassador --" Marcus said, quietly, and Lennier followed Delenn to where Marcus was standing.
"Greetings," Delenn said to the three Minbari. The one on the left put his hand to his weapon. "Please -- we are here to help you."
"I don't know you," the Minbari said. "What race are you? You are alien to me --" he nodded toward Marcus and Zathras " -- and you, you are Minbari and not Minbari. I see no reason to trust you."
Lennier looked at Delenn, and she nodded.
"I am Minbari," he said, stepping forward. "My name is Lennier, of the Third Fain of Chudomo. This is Ambassador Delenn, of the religious caste. She has undergone some -- changes -- as a result of her responsibilities toward a race called the Humans, of which our companions are members. We are not your enemy."
"I am Ankaan, of the worker caste," the man said. "Why are you here?"
Now Sheridan stepped up. "We understand you're in the middle of a terrible war," he said, in awkward Minbari. "We came to offer assistance."
"How do I know you're not in league with the Drakh?" Ankaan asked, hand to his weapon again.
"The Drakh?" Delenn said. "We have come to aid you in your war against the Shadows."
Ankaan laughed, a low, wicked laugh. "The Shadows abandoned us thirty cycles ago," he said. "They left their allies, the Drakh, to keep watch. All of our cities are now under Drakh rule."
"This is going to sound stupid," Sheridan said in Minbari. "But -- what year is this? Right now?"
"It has been four hundred cycles since the age of Eladril," Ankaan said. Lennier felt his chest tighten.
"No," Delenn whispered. "This cannot be."
"When was the age of Eladril?" Sheridan asked Delenn in English.
"I believe that we have arrived during the year your people called Anno Domini 1420," she said. "Nearly two hundred years late."
"Then the Shadows have been here for two hundred years?" Sheridan's jaw clenched.
"It would appear to be that they have come and gone," Delenn said. "Leaving these Drakh to rule my people."
"You know --" Ankaan said. "That is very rude. Communicating in a foreign tongue when I am clearly standing before you."
Sheridan nodded. "You're right," he said in Minbari. "I apologize. It's just that --" he gestured to Ivanova. "Not all of our people speak your language."
"I learn quickly," Ivanova said in Minbari. "I'll be placemat placemat."
Delenn laughed, then, and Lennier let out a sigh of relief. Even Ankaan raised a humored eyebrow.
"What?" Ivanova said. "Did I catfish something?"
"You catfish just fine," Delenn said, and she winked at Ankaan.
"Now, if you'll let us," Sheridan said. "We'd very much like to help you."
//
These people were not Minbari, at least, not any Minbari Lennier knew. They were suspicious of themselves and others, anxious, jumpy. They spoke too quickly which made it sound like they were spinning lies. They reminded Lennier of the Humans, or even the Centauri for their skittish, overcompensatory behavior. Across the table, Ankaan smiled at Lennier again. Lennier did not smile back.
"Shifty people, aren't they?" Marcus whispered in English.
"Mm."
"It's an atrocious plan," Marcus said. "They'll absolutely be killed."
"It is yet possible that Captain Sheridan and Commander Ivanova will convince them to rethink their strategy," Lennier said, low.
"Heh," Marcus said. "Fat chance."
On cue, Delenn stood up. "Mr. Ankaan," she said. "I cannot in good conscience support a course of action that will almost certainly result in the death of many Minbari civilians."
"We are none of us civilians now, Delenn," Ankaan said. "It's our only --"
"That's not true," Sheridan said. "And you know it. Ambassador Delenn, Commander Ivanova and I have given you at least four viable alternatives to a full-bore assault. We can't help you if you won't listen to us."
Ankaan looked at his people, so expectant, so keyed-up. He looked back at Delenn with defeat in his eyes. "Then you can't help me," he said.
When night fell, they returned to the White Star -- Ankaan's bivouac couldn't accommodate them and it was too cold to remain outside. Lennier could not sleep, and after he was sure Delenn was asleep he left the ship for the quiet of what his homeworld had become.
"Mr. Lennier."
Ankaan emerged from the shadows, drawing on a palapipe, the smoke a halo in the glow of the White Star's running lights.
"Mr. Ankaan."
"No," Ankaan shook his head. "Just Ankaan. I can't lead my -- in the camp where I grew up, I made wool stockings. I am twenty-two cycles of age. I'm 'Mr.' to no one."
Lennier nodded. "Was there something you wanted?"
"Yes," Ankaan said, coming closer, reeking of smoke. "You need to talk to Delenn for me. She'll listen to you. I don't know the others but you, I trust."
"Because I look like you," Lennier said, and in the White Star's light Ankaan looked barely twenty-two.
"That's why the others trust you," Ankaan nodded. "I -- that's part of the reason I trust you too. But mostly it's because I see you serve Delenn. As I was born to serve. I'm not a leader, Mr. Lennier. I never wanted --"
Lennier sat down on a stone ledge. "Sometimes our destiny is not what we might wish it to be," he said simply. "I serve Delenn, as you serve your people. And they serve you."
"Because I got them here," Ankaan said. "We walked two cycles to get here, and by now our travels are the stuff of legend among my caste. But now --"
"You don't know what is to come," Lennier said. He thought of Delenn, asleep on board the White Star, wondered what she might find to say to Ankaan now.
"These people are geared up for a fight," Ankaan said. "Troops from all over Minbar are waiting in the hills for my signal, and they need a victory. And they need it now. We fought the whole way getting here, against the Drakh, the warriors, the religious --" he caught himself and broke off.
Lennier looked around, at the shadows casting shadows across the mountain range. And each one tucked away with platoons like Ankaan's, each peak ready to erupt on Tuzenor below. "Delenn and I may be members of the religious caste," he said finally. "But we are not your enemy. We can help you, if you let us."
Ankaan took a long draw off his pipe and Lennier could see the drug in his eyes and his trembling hands. "You're not my people either," Ankaan said, waving a hand to take in the hills. "These people are. Of course, you should be glad for that. These workers have chosen a fool to call Entil'Zha."
The epithet struck Lennier like a blow to the chest. This man was not Valen's legacy -- there was no Valen here. But still his people had given him the name Entil'Zha, and they followed him with no less determination and loyalty than the Anla'shok followed the Anla'shok Na. Lennier tore his eyes from Ankaan's brown worker's cloak and forced himself to look in the man's eyes. He looked like a worker, like a Human, alien to Lennier.
"I will speak to Delenn for you," Lennier said, standing up. "Be at peace." He bowed over crossed hands, but Ankaan did not return the gesture.
"Sleep well, Mr. Lennier," Ankaan said with a sad smile, and he walked away.
Lennier trudged back across the frozen land to the White Star. The sky was clear overhead, filled with stars he couldn't even name. Delenn should already be asleep, but he could always talk to her tomorrow. Hopefully the weather would hold.
//
"Lennier."
It was dark in the corridor; the running lights illuminated the hem of Delenn's robe but kept her face in shadow. Lennier felt a tug in his chest. "Yes, Delenn?"
"I need to speak with you. I apologize for the late hour."
"You know you may speak with me whenever you wish," he said. "Come in."
His quarters were small and he pressed himself against the bulkhead to keep from rubbing his knee against hers when she sat down on the bed. Her shoulder was inches from his hand and he made a fist and trembled.
"Lennier," she said again, spreading her palms on her knees. She didn't look at him. "John and I plan to take the White Star in search of the Vorlons. We believe we can only drive the Shadows from homeworld with their help."
Lennier nodded. "Very well," he said. "When do we leave?"
She inhaled through her nose. "I need you to stay here," she said. "You are the only one these people trust. If we are to expect them to trust us upon our return, it is imperative that you maintain good relations with the free Minbari and Mr. Ankaan."
Ankaan's face shimmered into Lennier's mind's eye -- the young Minbari half-stoned off his palapipe, begging for support. And Delenn would abandon these people to Lennier's care. "Don't you think it would be better if you stayed and worked with these people?" Lennier said. "I do not have your experience with --"
He expected her to cut him off, to tell him he was equal to the task, that she was proud of him. Instead she said, "Marcus and Commander Ivanova will remain here with you. I have faith in their abilities."
"And in mine?" Lennier asked before he could stop himself. Delenn took his hand, looked up at him and he forced himself not to close his eyes.
"Always, Lennier," she said. "There is no one in the universe I trust more than you."
The humans like to say that Minbari never tell anyone the whole truth. Lennier knew there was credit to that statement, but he bit his lip. "So when will you and Captain Sheridan be leaving?"
"Right away," Delenn said, and Lennier's heart sank further. "I need for you to speak to Ankaan and arrange quarters for yourself, Ivanova, and Marcus. Mr. Zathras will be coming with John and me."
Lennier bowed over his thumbs. "Right away, Delenn," he repeated, and tried to ease past her for the door. She caught his hip with an outstretched hand, and he shivered under her touch.
"We will be back," she said. "I do not know how long it will take us, but Zathras insists he has information about this timeline that will allow us to find the Vorlons with some ease. Until then, you must try to keep the peace here. Tell them to wait for us."
"They may not listen to me," Lennier said, eyes still on the door.
"They will in time," Delenn said.
"In time," Lennier echoed. "Let us pray it does not come to that. Let us pray for this to end quickly."
Delenn twisted her mouth into a sad echo of a smile. "I am not sure those prayers will be answered," she said, and stood up.
//
Diligently, he packed his quarters. Two steps off the ship, out into the icy night again. Terse conversation with Ankaan, and the Minbari leader was so stoned that he nodded before Lennier had voiced the full request. Diligently, back to the White Star. Ivanova and Marcus with bags slung over their shoulders, and everyone outside to say goodbye. Ivanova in an EVA parka; Marcus looking absurd in Zathras' fur-tailed coat.
Diligently, Lennier shook his head. "I will be quite warm enough, Delenn. Don't worry about me."
"But I do, Lennier," she said. "I suspect I always will."
"I am not a young adept anymore," he said, more harshly than he'd meant it, and he was cut off by the Captain's brusque rumble --
"Ready to go, Ambassador?"
She shot Lennier a mournful parting glance and then rested her hand on Sheridan's shoulder. "As your people say, I believe I am as ready as I will ever be."
Sheridan chuckled. "Zathras, how about you?"
Zathras shivered a little, all stocky and naked without his fur coat, and his furry skin bristled in the cold. "Zathras glad to serve the One," he said. "Zathras always ready."
"Good luck, Captain," Ivanova saluted, and Sheridan tossed a salute back.
"Isil'zha veni, Delenn," Marcus bowed. "And to you too, Captain."
Zathras scurried up back aboard the White Star, and Sheridan cleared his throat the way he always did when he was about to make a proclamation. Then he looked at Delenn and closed his mouth again.
"We will be back," Delenn said, simply. "This I promise you." And Lennier suspected that was more for his behalf, but still, diligently, he refused to meet her eye.
"We'll hold the fort for you," Ivanova said. "Don't worry about us. Get the Vorlons and get back here so we can kick some Drakh ass."
"You got it, Commander," Sheridan said with a smile. And then they were gone.
Diligently, Lennier helped Ivanova and Marcus find a place to sleep in Ankaan's labyrinth of caves. Diligently, he staked out a corner of crystal ground for himself.
And then, when the candles were blown out and the worker caste members tucked away in tomorrow's pipe dream, Lennier went outside to sit on the cliff again and cry.
He had not cried for years, for as long as he could remember. Not for pride or even for serenity, but simply because he did not let his emotions carry him that way. When he was young he'd punch walls, kick stones, occasionally lash out at his friends, but when the elders of the religious caste taught him to channel his energy in less destructive ways, he found he could always turn his emotion toward prayer.
There was no prayer for this, and so he cried.
At first he cried for himself, because Delenn had left him. Because he saw her eyes when she looked at the Captain, and he knew, perhaps before she did, where her destiny lay. And he cried for Sheridan too.
He cried for Valen, for Ambassador Sinclair lost somewhere in time and space, and for the generations of Minbari that would grow up without his teachings. He cried for the Grey Council, for Dukhat, for the battling castes.
And then he looked out at the expanse of cliffs and for the first time saw them dotted with light, with fires marking camps just like this one, and hundreds of thousands of Minbari sleeping their last night before setting off on Ankaan's fool's errand in the morning. And when it came time to cry for them, and for his dying world, he found he had no tears left. And so he went to bed.
"Mr. Lennier --" a poke and a whisper, later. Lennier sat up and blinked in the dark at Marcus crouching over him. "Lennier."
"Yes, Marcus. What is it?"
"They're gone. All of them. I tried to stop them --"
Lennier struggled to his feet and pushed past Marcus, out into the frost again and barefoot. Even in the pre-dawn fog he could see that the camp lights had all winked out, and the ground beneath him shook with the trampling feet of troops moving toward the city. Precipice to precipice below, the armies slid along like waves, brown with the cloaks of the worker caste.
"This is it," Ivanova said, materializing beside Lennier. "And we only just got here."
"Too late," Lennier said, eyes on the marching platoons. "We are very much too late."
//
And in those long summer days she'd chase her sister in the garden et écorchait ses genoux mais elle ne salissait jamais sa robe because she was a child mais elle était sage, and she would be sage. And she thought, si elle pouvait rester ainsi, figée dans le temps de sa douzième année, elle pourrait garder le calme, mordre sa langue contre la douleur lorsque sa peau contusionnée saignait. Mais chaque jour, a little more darkness moved in.
//
"Mr. Lennier!" Marcus furrowed his bushy eyebrows and moved to stand between Lennier and the fire. "Do you mean to tell me you're not going to do anything?"
"There is nothing we can do," Lennier said. "They did not listen to reason, and now they seek their own deaths. They'll find them."
"That's for sure," Ivanova said. "Especially if we just sit on our asses and -- listen, Lennier." He looked up, and her eyes were deep and hard. "I know Delenn left you in charge, but if I've gotta pull rank here --"
"Delenn...threw me a bone, I believe is how you humans would put it. I am no more in charge here than I was back on Babylon 5. If you wish to pursue Ankaan and his troops, do not let me stand in your way."
"But Lennier!" Marcus spat, and then stopped, and let out a long, melodramatic sigh. "Fine. Whatever."
Ivanova looked at Marcus, and Lennier pulled his robe down over his knees. "Marcus, if you would be kind enough to step out of the way of the fire, I would be most grateful. And a good deal warmer."
"Whatever you say," Marcus said, moving toward the mouth of the cave. Lennier curled up on the flat stone, felt the lick of flames play across his face. He closed his eyes, and didn't notice when Marcus and Ivanova left.
When he awoke, it was dark out, and Marcus and Ivanova were gone. Outside the cave, creeping, slowly, Lennier surveyed the area, but it was silent as death and new snow had covered any footsteps there might have been.
He smelled the palapipe before his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Ankaan appeared beside him. "All dead," he said, poking at the embers of his pipe with a calloused finger. "All of them."
"We are the universe, trying to understand itself."
-- Delenn, "Passing Through Gethsemane"
"There can always be new beginnings. Even for people like us."
-- Ivanova, "Sleeping in Light"
An observer, standing in just the right spot in the cliffs of Delak'zho, might see in the city of Tuzenor a reflection of what it once was.
Just after sunrise is best, with the light hitting the crystal peaks of what used to be Empress Eladril's palace, of what might someday be the shrine of the religious caste -- then, he might hear the murmur of Minbari crossed with another tongue, English. He might even hear laughter. As he looks, the sun would still shimmer off the prayer pool in the main courtyard, skimming across benches, angular rock formations, a garden where the statue of Valen might once have been or might once be erected. He might feel at home in this place.
But there is no one in Tuzenor who remembers, now, if "remember" is even the right word. Now the cliffs of Delak'zho are crowded with internment camps, the rare pocket of refugees dying over too little food and too much fighting. Now, the sun rises and falls on Minbar, and there is no one to stand and watch. There is no one alive to see what might have been.
//
Just over ten minutes after her crew evacuated, Babylon 4 tried to fold itself in half. The walls buckled, disappeared, and suddenly there was nothing standing between Lennier and infinite space.
Blue and white stars close enough to gather into his hand and he thought he might have reached for them --
Someone screamed. The station jumped and Lennier fell against the wall, his head hitting a metal girder with a clang. He had to find the Ambassador --
Captain Sheridan was yelling for Commander Ivanova and Lennier could hear her voice, far away and broken. He stood up again and felt along the walls. Entil'Zha was out there with the Ambassador and none of this would work if they were not safe.
The station shuddered, walls rippling like oil on black water.
Up the corridor, Lennier could see Marcus and Ivanova stumbling back toward the White Star. The Commander palmed the bulkhead, but her hand seemed to go straight through it. Marcus grabbed her before she could fall.
Lennier stood up again and Zathras was there, chattering to himself, to himselves. "Oh no, oh no, Zathras afraid of this, Zathras say no, but Zathras did not believe --"
Another shake and Delenn came into the hall, stumbled, and Captain Sheridan caught her before Lennier could. She steadied herself on the Captain's shoulder and her face, he saw fear and --
Cold glittering space. Black expanse. The bending arm of a universe.
Lennier felt his chest tighten, felt his lungs expanding into his throat and everything was dark --
"Where is the Ambassador?" Delenn was somewhere nearby. "Where is Ambassador Sinclair?"
"He was --" Lennier tried to say, but the station was folding around him like the glow of a triluminary, sucking toward a common point, far away.
"Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?" Sheridan, and Lennier could almost see him against the black, but it was like looking through pools of blood.
Another quick jerk and everything settled. Ivanova sat down on the floor. Lennier stood up again.
"Zathras?" Sheridan hissed.
Zathras clutched a socket wrench like he thought he might need to use it as a weapon. "Zathras not sure, but -- Zathras believe station coming -- unstuck in time."
"What do you mean, the station's unstuck in time?" Ivanova demanded.
"Station -- going back in time, being pulled by Great Machine," Zathras said. "Stabilizer in station's core not holding. Station -- not wanting to come with us."
Sheridan didn't let go of Delenn's arm. "Well, make it come with us!" he said. "Can't you give it a --"
Cold! The terrifying vacuum of space tugged at his skin and his breath and his eyeballs like a wind that would never be satisfied. He reached for anything, Zathras, the ground, the walls, anything, but all he could see was Delenn's skirt flapping and she was too far away to save and then the station shimmered into existence again beneath him but Lennier didn't feel it. Didn't feel anything until he realized he was breathing again.
Someone had removed his time stabilizer. Delenn's too, he noticed. He blinked and saw black spots, negative stars. The rattle and the clatter and the whoosh of vacuum were replaced by the low-frequency hum of Babylon 4's rotating gravity simulators, and beyond that, the high-wail hiss of the White Star's engines.
Ivanova let out a sigh, leaned her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes.
"At least that's over," Sheridan said, with an exhale like a chuckle.
But it was really barely beginning. Hardly started at all.
"Excuse me," said Delenn, and Lennier knew it was coming before she said it. "Where is Ambassador Sinclair?"
//
Half a world away from Tuzenor, a battered band of Minbari walked west.
The ad hoc leader was a man named Ankaan of the worker caste, and it had taken him two years to assemble the group that followed him now, another twenty years before that to break out of the Drakh prison camp in the Yarroh Hills.
Their sights were on Tuzenor because Ankaan knew that if a resistance were to have any hope against the Drakh, a stand would need to be made there. Two hundred years ago, before the Shadows and their allies invaded, Tuzenor had been Minbar's capital city. Ankaan had never been there. He wasn't sure if he'd make it there now. But he'd convinced his followers, and he believed, for their sake. And so, they walked.
//
"He's -- not in any of the forward sections," Ivanova said, breathless. Marcus shook his head.
"Not responding to his commlink," Sheridan reported.
"We could check --" Marcus said, but Ivanova interrupted, still trying to catch her breath.
"I think he's gone."
"No!" Zathras wailed. "Zathras promise Draal, Zathras will take care of the One! Zathras made sure --"
"It's not your fault," Sheridan said, but his voice was cracking behind that perpetual smile. Lennier felt his equilibrium fall away from him, and he focused on Delenn, who was pale and blinking too much, like she might cry.
"We cannot --" Delenn started, and then broke off with a shuddering gasp. And Lennier saw Delenn at a loss for words and his world was destroyed for the second time that day.
"Zathras," Sheridan said, deflecting attention from Delenn, and Lennier could briefly understand why she would love him. "Where -- when are we? Is there any way of figuring out what happened to the station?"
"Zathras not sure," Zathras said. "Station should be where station started."
"Back in Sector 14, then," Ivanova said. "Okay. So we can get back to Babylon 5 -- we've still got the White Star --"
Lennier swallowed over the lump in his throat. "No," he said. "We cannot. We must -- it is imperative we get the station to Minbar. Or else -- the war will go very badly for us."
"The war will have already gone badly for us," Delenn said, calm now, in an empty and horrible way.
Sheridan held his head. "Frag it, I hate time travel," he said. "Is there anyway to undo the damage we've done? Can we re-steal Babylon 4 and try again?"
"Without Ambassador Sinclair -- " Lennier said, but Sheridan silenced him. Lennier bit his tongue and looked at Delenn again. She didn't smile.
"Zathras," said Sheridan. "Can you get this station to Minbar, a thousand years ago?"
Zathras looked terrified. "Not sure," he said. "Perhaps with use of Great Machine. Maybe so. Maybe no."
"Can we contact Draal?" Sheridan asked.
"Zathras can activate machine from station," Zathras said. "Zathras will try."
"Good," Sheridan said. "Marcus, Ivanova, give him a hand. We're not gonna sit here and watch the universe fall to the Shadows just because we can't figure out how to turn a couple switches."
"Aye," Ivanova said, and she and Marcus left with Zathras for C&C.
Delenn sat on the floor, folding her hands in her lap and closing her eyes. Lennier remembered who he was and he sat down beside her.
"John --" Delenn said, after a moment, just as Lennier was preparing to say "Captain --" Lennier closed his mouth and allowed Delenn to continue.
"John -- I told you that, before we left, I received a letter."
Sheridan nodded and crouched beside Delenn. "Same as Ambassador Sinclair. Mind telling me what was in it?"
She opened her eyes. "It was -- an explanation. Written by Jeffrey Sinclair, nine hundred years ago."
"How the --"
"When Babylon 4 returned to help my people, it did not come alone. It carried two passengers. One was Zathras. The other introduced himself to the Minbari...as Valen."
"Valen!" Sheridan's eyes widened, and Lennier watched him. "You're saying Sinclair somehow --"
"He knew that appearing to the Minbari as human would make it more difficult for them to follow him," Delenn explained. "So with the use of the triluminary --"
"Just like you did," Sheridan said. "A Minbari not born of Minbari!"
"That is correct," Delenn said. "And he --" here she broke off, her mouth curled over the beginnings of a sob. She was close enough to gather into Lennier's two hands.
Lennier took a breath. "The arrival of Valen was a profound moment of change for our people," he said. "Perhaps even more significant than the presence of Babylon 4 in terms of helping us defeat the Shadows. Valen -- united us."
"So without Sinclair here -- we gotta find him!" Sheridan leaped to his feet. "Ivanova!" he shouted into his commlink.
"Yes, Captain?" her voice was choppy through layers of static.
"Scan the area. We need to find Ambassador Sinclair. Tell Zathras that's our top priority."
"Captain --" Delenn waved a hand. "John. He is gone. If he chooses to come back to us, he will. We must not waste time searching for him."
"Waste time?"
Delenn gave Lennier a hopeless look, and he smiled at her. "The Great Machine...is fickle," Lennier said. "We can not expect it to bend to our whims. Draal and Zathras have programmed it to take Babylon 4 one thousand years into the past, and that's what it will do. If we try to interfere --"
"It will most likely kill us all," Delenn said. "Ambassador Sinclair knew the risks. All of us are expendable -- what counts is the mission. We must leave now."
Sheridan re-opened his comm channel. "Ivanova?"
"Yessir?"
"Belay that. Get us on course for Minbar. As before." He closed the link before she could argue. "Okay, Delenn," Sheridan said. "We'll fix this. Looks like it's just you and me."
And Delenn looked up and smiled at this man who was her destiny, and Lennier sat beside her, as still and cold as iron.
//
It had been two hundred cycles and no one had done this yet. So when Ankaan came, and was the first, no one had the words with which to question it.
At first, it had been a space war, Minbari ships pushing the Shadow fleet back, always managing just barely to keep the big angry spiders from entering Minbar's atmosphere.
But there were too many of them, and they had allies, and their allies had allies. When the first Shadow ships entered Minbar's orbit a hundred and fifty cycles ago, two billion Minbari were dead within six weeks. The major cities fell, orbital defenses were destroyed, and more than half of the Minbari fleet didn't survive the first invading wave. The warrior caste blamed the worker caste, saying the cruisers and warships were shoddily built, the defenses unprepared. The worker caste blamed the religious caste, saying the invasion should have been foreseen. The religious caste prayed. It didn't help.
Because the Shadows had allies and their allies had allies. And a hundred cycles ago, when the Drakh forces landed, the Minbari were unable to resist.
Work camps were built. Much of the warrior caste was captured and killed. The religious went into hiding.
Fifty cycles ago, the Shadows left. Reports came in from distant worlds -- the Vinzini, the Vree -- all fallen under the Shadows. Word came of some younger races, new races who hadn't yet developed spaceflight and now never would. Centauri. Drazi. Narn.
On Minbar, the survivors tried to rebuild, but the Drakh controlled the cities now, and it was enough just to survive, between the random assassinations and the growth of the work camps.
Ankaan was born in the Dazin camp, nestled in the Pel'gree valley in the Yarroh hills. He grew up there, watched his parents killed, his brothers tortured and taken from him. He watched as they planted a Keeper in his sister's throat, watched as his sister slowly forgot who she was.
The camps were segregated, as was everything else -- what the Drakh overlooked the Minbari did of their own accord. In Dazin, members of the worker caste had the preferred bunkers, farthest from the toxic fumes that bled off the ore-processing mill. The warriors resented this, spoke loudly and often of their beliefs that the workers were currying favor among the Drakh. There were few religious in Dazin, and they kept to themselves, hooded and shrouded and muttering about the end of time. When they came across workers, they spat.
So when it came time to escape, Ankaan assembled a team from within the worker caste, and one chill midwinter night they broke free and headed for the hills. They made an effort to liberate several other camps along the Yarroh, but only other workers would agree to follow Ankaan. The warrior and religious castes even attacked Ankaan and his fellow travelers, and several Minbari fell to the hands of other Minbari before Ankaan and his militia escaped the Yarroh hills.
Still, word of their efforts spread throughout the camps, out across the small cells of free Minbari hidden in the mountains of the far east. Whispers were heard among members of the worker caste that a hero had risen and would liberate the workers from oppression under Drakh, warrior and religious rule. Ankaan's name was spoken across the world, along with another word: Entil'Zha. "One who shapes the future."
Seventy workers left the Yarroh hills with Ankaan. Months later, when he arrived at the cliffs of Delak'zho, four thousand men and women followed him. And they moved so steadily, so stealthy and so fast that he had no time to question what he was doing this for.
//
Minbar's planetary defense grid was inactive when they arrived. Babylon 4 emerged in a low orbit, and Lennier was sure he was close enough to touch his white marble of a world, hear the wind through the crystal spires, but there was nothing.
"Scanners are -- I don't know what the scanners are doing," Ivanova said, slapping at the controls. "I can't tell what the hell's going on out there, it's all a jumbled mess. The surface sure doesn't look like any Minbar I remember, though."
Sheridan wheeled around. "Zathras, what did -- when are we?"
"Zathras lost contact with Draal," Zathras said, sounding very afraid. "Great Machine having some troubles, maybe putting us -- wrong in time."
"Don't tell me troubles, Zathras," Sheridan said. "I need to know what's waiting for us out there."
"It is Minbar," Delenn said quietly. "It is our home. And we shall soon find out." Lennier shuddered as he watched her, but she didn't turn her eyes from C&C's viewscreen.
"Captain, I've got something," Ivanova said. "This is -- Jesus Christ, John --"
Something was out there, and Lennier heard a scream in his mind like the death wail of a thousand souls. A terrible black ship shimmered into view, black as midnight and twice as menacing, and the scream grew louder. Lennier gripped the railing to steady himself and tried to make sense of this ship that looked like an exploding star.
Grabbing her PPG, Ivanova shouted, "Shadows! Everyone get on the White Star, NOW." And everyone started running, and there was too much noise, and the ships were still screaming.
Lennier stood frozen, staring at the viewscreen that showed him a horror he never thought he'd see. Shadows, circling his home world. Standing on the same ground as his ancestors, desecrating the homes and temples, destroying millions of cycles of Minbari hope and discovery.
Zathras was muttering again, naming himself over and over and saying what he said and Lennier wanted him to just shut up for a moment because nothing could be as bad as this truth in front of them, nothing they could say would make it bearable, or any less real. Something touched Lennier and he jumped, but it was just Delenn's hand on his back. He turned around, and her face was ice, her jaw clenched and trembling. "Lennier," she said, and he turned and followed her toward the White Star's dock.
A purple beam sliced past them, causing the station to shake under Lennier's feet. If Marcus hadn't had his arm, Lennier would have been thrown against the wall again and he wouldn't have cared. Ahead of him, Sheridan was helping Delenn into the ship and Lennier wanted to be near her, to tell her he knew, to touch her arm and share her grief, but the black ship was coming closer and he couldn't move.
Lennier let Marcus lead him onto the White Star, because he couldn't move, but he couldn't die, either, couldn't leave Delenn alone with this new and uncertain future.
On the ship, Delenn stood near the viewscreen, watching the spidery ship dance closer and closer. Lennier stood behind the operations controls and waited for Sheridan's orders.
"Zathras did this! Zathras endangered the One!" Zathras was hunched in a corner under a console, the faint light making him look green and miserable. Lennier looked away.
Another purple beam broke from the Shadow ship and grazed the White Star's nose, and Lennier slammed the controls reflexively, dodging the energy pulse before he realized what had happened.
"Nice job, Mr. Lennier," Sheridan said. "Damn, they're fast." The Shadow ship was circling around for another pass, and Lennier brought the White Star about, up behind Babylon 4.
"These are Shadows," Ivanova hissed, powering up the ship's weapons. "They don't miss."
Marcus stood behind Ivanova. "They want us alive."
"No they don't," Delenn said. "They simply want us to leave. They want Babylon 4. We cannot let them take control of the station, John."
"Commander!" Sheridan croaked. "Full power to weapons. I want that ship out of my sight."
"Aye, sir," Ivanova said, and she nodded at Lennier. He watched her, matching her motions as she targeted the black ship's core. Lennier brought the White Star's nose up in line with the weapons trajectory and tried to shut out the screaming in his head. So many times they'd done this, Ivanova at tactical and him at the helm, so many times in so many battles with Sheridan barking orders and Lennier and Ivanova speaking in nods. So many times, but this was his world out there, and this was some sort of past that never should have been and some sort of life he really shouldn't be living, not here, not now. He fixed his gaze on Commander Ivanova and refused to look at Delenn.
"Captain, not to speak out of turn, or anything --" Marcus said, and Sheridan whipped around again.
"Yes, Marcus, what is it?"
"Isn't it possible that if we destroy this ship we'll simply make them angry? And they'll send their friends after us to finish the job?"
"Entirely possible," Sheridan said. "I'll take that under advisement. Ivanova, fire at will."
The Shadow ship crumbled after the first direct hit. One last scream and it curled in on itself, black legs gnarled like a dead sea creature before it burst into a shock of red flame. Ivanova let out a sigh that sounded like a laugh.
Sheridan didn't laugh. "No, that was way too easy," he said. "Something's not right."
In the prow of the White Star, against the viewscreen, Delenn turned around. "Yes," she said. "*We* are not right. Our ship comes from one thousand years in the future, constructed from Vorlon technology considerably more advanced than these Shadows have yet encountered. They were not prepared for the strength of our weapons."
"Then we've got a tactical advantage, that's great," Ivanova said.
"Not for long," Sheridan said, his eyes locked on Delenn's. "We may have just tipped our hand. And now that these Shadows know what to defend against --"
"They're going to construct defenses against Vorlon technology a millennium too early!" Ivanova slapped the console. "Fucking A, can't we ever catch a break?"
"Not today," Sheridan said. "Mr. Lennier. Try to find us an inconspicuous place to land."
"Aye sir," Lennier said, and went back to his console to scan the surface of his home though his eyes screamed against it.
//
Thousands of lightyears away, l'univers sonna le glas pour ceux qui avaient des oreilles pour l'entendre. Et sur les rives de la Meuse, Jehanne fell to her knees and prayed under a blackening sky.
//
Delenn stood on the edge of the precipice, high on the peak of Mount Ulum. The White Star had burned through two feet of ice and now sat in the shadow of Delak'zho's crystalline outcroppings, less than a hundred miles outside Tuzenor. Sheridan and Ivanova were still aboard, scanning for life signs nearby; Marcus and Zathras had set to work trying to start a fire on the sheer rock. Lennier was cold.
He hadn't been home in over a cycle, long enough for his body to regulate to the temperate atmosphere of Babylon 5, and somehow he'd forgotten just how cold it was here. Nothing was the same, and everything was, but there was a distinct pall of doom that swept up into the crystal hills, and below, cities that were once familiar stood black and watchful in the evening sky. "The eye," Lennier had heard Ivanova mention. "The eye is watching you." That from a dream, her first experience with Draal's great machine, her first taste of the horror that was to come. "It knows my name," she'd said. And here, Lennier could feel it calling him, and he shivered.
On the edge of the cliff, even Delenn had her arms wrapped across her chest. Lennier came up beside her.
"It's so different."
"Valen will come," she said, too forcefully. "The form he takes may yet be unknown to us, but he will come. Our world will be liberated."
"But Delenn --" Lennier put a hand on her shoulder and she didn't shrug him away.
"We will push back the darkness," she said. "We must contact the Vorlons."
Delenn usually spoke with such certainty, the calm acceptance of a Satai, and Lennier had become accustomed to her optimism, her sense of peace. But now he saw vulnerability on her beautiful face and he swallowed. There was small comfort to be found in the fact that her insecurity would probably only be recognizable to him.
Ivanova came diving from the White Star, PPG poised.
"Hey!" she shouted. "We're not alone, guys!"
Sheridan exited the ship too, took the gun from Ivanova's hand. "They're Minbari, Commander," he said. "They're not the enemy."
"To be blunt, sir, we don't know that," she said. "These Minbari have never seen humans before. For all we know --"
"We do not know all we know, Commander," Delenn said, and Lennier allowed himself a small smile at her resumed composure. "We shall greet my people as friends."
Ivanova looked abashed. "Of course, Ambassador," she said. "I didn't mean to imply --"
But Lennier didn't catch the end of what Ivanova was saying, because Marcus and Zathras had stopped their firebuilding and were standing up, staring into the mouth of a cave. Three Minbari stood there, staring back.
"Captain -- Ambassador --" Marcus said, quietly, and Lennier followed Delenn to where Marcus was standing.
"Greetings," Delenn said to the three Minbari. The one on the left put his hand to his weapon. "Please -- we are here to help you."
"I don't know you," the Minbari said. "What race are you? You are alien to me --" he nodded toward Marcus and Zathras " -- and you, you are Minbari and not Minbari. I see no reason to trust you."
Lennier looked at Delenn, and she nodded.
"I am Minbari," he said, stepping forward. "My name is Lennier, of the Third Fain of Chudomo. This is Ambassador Delenn, of the religious caste. She has undergone some -- changes -- as a result of her responsibilities toward a race called the Humans, of which our companions are members. We are not your enemy."
"I am Ankaan, of the worker caste," the man said. "Why are you here?"
Now Sheridan stepped up. "We understand you're in the middle of a terrible war," he said, in awkward Minbari. "We came to offer assistance."
"How do I know you're not in league with the Drakh?" Ankaan asked, hand to his weapon again.
"The Drakh?" Delenn said. "We have come to aid you in your war against the Shadows."
Ankaan laughed, a low, wicked laugh. "The Shadows abandoned us thirty cycles ago," he said. "They left their allies, the Drakh, to keep watch. All of our cities are now under Drakh rule."
"This is going to sound stupid," Sheridan said in Minbari. "But -- what year is this? Right now?"
"It has been four hundred cycles since the age of Eladril," Ankaan said. Lennier felt his chest tighten.
"No," Delenn whispered. "This cannot be."
"When was the age of Eladril?" Sheridan asked Delenn in English.
"I believe that we have arrived during the year your people called Anno Domini 1420," she said. "Nearly two hundred years late."
"Then the Shadows have been here for two hundred years?" Sheridan's jaw clenched.
"It would appear to be that they have come and gone," Delenn said. "Leaving these Drakh to rule my people."
"You know --" Ankaan said. "That is very rude. Communicating in a foreign tongue when I am clearly standing before you."
Sheridan nodded. "You're right," he said in Minbari. "I apologize. It's just that --" he gestured to Ivanova. "Not all of our people speak your language."
"I learn quickly," Ivanova said in Minbari. "I'll be placemat placemat."
Delenn laughed, then, and Lennier let out a sigh of relief. Even Ankaan raised a humored eyebrow.
"What?" Ivanova said. "Did I catfish something?"
"You catfish just fine," Delenn said, and she winked at Ankaan.
"Now, if you'll let us," Sheridan said. "We'd very much like to help you."
//
These people were not Minbari, at least, not any Minbari Lennier knew. They were suspicious of themselves and others, anxious, jumpy. They spoke too quickly which made it sound like they were spinning lies. They reminded Lennier of the Humans, or even the Centauri for their skittish, overcompensatory behavior. Across the table, Ankaan smiled at Lennier again. Lennier did not smile back.
"Shifty people, aren't they?" Marcus whispered in English.
"Mm."
"It's an atrocious plan," Marcus said. "They'll absolutely be killed."
"It is yet possible that Captain Sheridan and Commander Ivanova will convince them to rethink their strategy," Lennier said, low.
"Heh," Marcus said. "Fat chance."
On cue, Delenn stood up. "Mr. Ankaan," she said. "I cannot in good conscience support a course of action that will almost certainly result in the death of many Minbari civilians."
"We are none of us civilians now, Delenn," Ankaan said. "It's our only --"
"That's not true," Sheridan said. "And you know it. Ambassador Delenn, Commander Ivanova and I have given you at least four viable alternatives to a full-bore assault. We can't help you if you won't listen to us."
Ankaan looked at his people, so expectant, so keyed-up. He looked back at Delenn with defeat in his eyes. "Then you can't help me," he said.
When night fell, they returned to the White Star -- Ankaan's bivouac couldn't accommodate them and it was too cold to remain outside. Lennier could not sleep, and after he was sure Delenn was asleep he left the ship for the quiet of what his homeworld had become.
"Mr. Lennier."
Ankaan emerged from the shadows, drawing on a palapipe, the smoke a halo in the glow of the White Star's running lights.
"Mr. Ankaan."
"No," Ankaan shook his head. "Just Ankaan. I can't lead my -- in the camp where I grew up, I made wool stockings. I am twenty-two cycles of age. I'm 'Mr.' to no one."
Lennier nodded. "Was there something you wanted?"
"Yes," Ankaan said, coming closer, reeking of smoke. "You need to talk to Delenn for me. She'll listen to you. I don't know the others but you, I trust."
"Because I look like you," Lennier said, and in the White Star's light Ankaan looked barely twenty-two.
"That's why the others trust you," Ankaan nodded. "I -- that's part of the reason I trust you too. But mostly it's because I see you serve Delenn. As I was born to serve. I'm not a leader, Mr. Lennier. I never wanted --"
Lennier sat down on a stone ledge. "Sometimes our destiny is not what we might wish it to be," he said simply. "I serve Delenn, as you serve your people. And they serve you."
"Because I got them here," Ankaan said. "We walked two cycles to get here, and by now our travels are the stuff of legend among my caste. But now --"
"You don't know what is to come," Lennier said. He thought of Delenn, asleep on board the White Star, wondered what she might find to say to Ankaan now.
"These people are geared up for a fight," Ankaan said. "Troops from all over Minbar are waiting in the hills for my signal, and they need a victory. And they need it now. We fought the whole way getting here, against the Drakh, the warriors, the religious --" he caught himself and broke off.
Lennier looked around, at the shadows casting shadows across the mountain range. And each one tucked away with platoons like Ankaan's, each peak ready to erupt on Tuzenor below. "Delenn and I may be members of the religious caste," he said finally. "But we are not your enemy. We can help you, if you let us."
Ankaan took a long draw off his pipe and Lennier could see the drug in his eyes and his trembling hands. "You're not my people either," Ankaan said, waving a hand to take in the hills. "These people are. Of course, you should be glad for that. These workers have chosen a fool to call Entil'Zha."
The epithet struck Lennier like a blow to the chest. This man was not Valen's legacy -- there was no Valen here. But still his people had given him the name Entil'Zha, and they followed him with no less determination and loyalty than the Anla'shok followed the Anla'shok Na. Lennier tore his eyes from Ankaan's brown worker's cloak and forced himself to look in the man's eyes. He looked like a worker, like a Human, alien to Lennier.
"I will speak to Delenn for you," Lennier said, standing up. "Be at peace." He bowed over crossed hands, but Ankaan did not return the gesture.
"Sleep well, Mr. Lennier," Ankaan said with a sad smile, and he walked away.
Lennier trudged back across the frozen land to the White Star. The sky was clear overhead, filled with stars he couldn't even name. Delenn should already be asleep, but he could always talk to her tomorrow. Hopefully the weather would hold.
//
"Lennier."
It was dark in the corridor; the running lights illuminated the hem of Delenn's robe but kept her face in shadow. Lennier felt a tug in his chest. "Yes, Delenn?"
"I need to speak with you. I apologize for the late hour."
"You know you may speak with me whenever you wish," he said. "Come in."
His quarters were small and he pressed himself against the bulkhead to keep from rubbing his knee against hers when she sat down on the bed. Her shoulder was inches from his hand and he made a fist and trembled.
"Lennier," she said again, spreading her palms on her knees. She didn't look at him. "John and I plan to take the White Star in search of the Vorlons. We believe we can only drive the Shadows from homeworld with their help."
Lennier nodded. "Very well," he said. "When do we leave?"
She inhaled through her nose. "I need you to stay here," she said. "You are the only one these people trust. If we are to expect them to trust us upon our return, it is imperative that you maintain good relations with the free Minbari and Mr. Ankaan."
Ankaan's face shimmered into Lennier's mind's eye -- the young Minbari half-stoned off his palapipe, begging for support. And Delenn would abandon these people to Lennier's care. "Don't you think it would be better if you stayed and worked with these people?" Lennier said. "I do not have your experience with --"
He expected her to cut him off, to tell him he was equal to the task, that she was proud of him. Instead she said, "Marcus and Commander Ivanova will remain here with you. I have faith in their abilities."
"And in mine?" Lennier asked before he could stop himself. Delenn took his hand, looked up at him and he forced himself not to close his eyes.
"Always, Lennier," she said. "There is no one in the universe I trust more than you."
The humans like to say that Minbari never tell anyone the whole truth. Lennier knew there was credit to that statement, but he bit his lip. "So when will you and Captain Sheridan be leaving?"
"Right away," Delenn said, and Lennier's heart sank further. "I need for you to speak to Ankaan and arrange quarters for yourself, Ivanova, and Marcus. Mr. Zathras will be coming with John and me."
Lennier bowed over his thumbs. "Right away, Delenn," he repeated, and tried to ease past her for the door. She caught his hip with an outstretched hand, and he shivered under her touch.
"We will be back," she said. "I do not know how long it will take us, but Zathras insists he has information about this timeline that will allow us to find the Vorlons with some ease. Until then, you must try to keep the peace here. Tell them to wait for us."
"They may not listen to me," Lennier said, eyes still on the door.
"They will in time," Delenn said.
"In time," Lennier echoed. "Let us pray it does not come to that. Let us pray for this to end quickly."
Delenn twisted her mouth into a sad echo of a smile. "I am not sure those prayers will be answered," she said, and stood up.
//
Diligently, he packed his quarters. Two steps off the ship, out into the icy night again. Terse conversation with Ankaan, and the Minbari leader was so stoned that he nodded before Lennier had voiced the full request. Diligently, back to the White Star. Ivanova and Marcus with bags slung over their shoulders, and everyone outside to say goodbye. Ivanova in an EVA parka; Marcus looking absurd in Zathras' fur-tailed coat.
Diligently, Lennier shook his head. "I will be quite warm enough, Delenn. Don't worry about me."
"But I do, Lennier," she said. "I suspect I always will."
"I am not a young adept anymore," he said, more harshly than he'd meant it, and he was cut off by the Captain's brusque rumble --
"Ready to go, Ambassador?"
She shot Lennier a mournful parting glance and then rested her hand on Sheridan's shoulder. "As your people say, I believe I am as ready as I will ever be."
Sheridan chuckled. "Zathras, how about you?"
Zathras shivered a little, all stocky and naked without his fur coat, and his furry skin bristled in the cold. "Zathras glad to serve the One," he said. "Zathras always ready."
"Good luck, Captain," Ivanova saluted, and Sheridan tossed a salute back.
"Isil'zha veni, Delenn," Marcus bowed. "And to you too, Captain."
Zathras scurried up back aboard the White Star, and Sheridan cleared his throat the way he always did when he was about to make a proclamation. Then he looked at Delenn and closed his mouth again.
"We will be back," Delenn said, simply. "This I promise you." And Lennier suspected that was more for his behalf, but still, diligently, he refused to meet her eye.
"We'll hold the fort for you," Ivanova said. "Don't worry about us. Get the Vorlons and get back here so we can kick some Drakh ass."
"You got it, Commander," Sheridan said with a smile. And then they were gone.
Diligently, Lennier helped Ivanova and Marcus find a place to sleep in Ankaan's labyrinth of caves. Diligently, he staked out a corner of crystal ground for himself.
And then, when the candles were blown out and the worker caste members tucked away in tomorrow's pipe dream, Lennier went outside to sit on the cliff again and cry.
He had not cried for years, for as long as he could remember. Not for pride or even for serenity, but simply because he did not let his emotions carry him that way. When he was young he'd punch walls, kick stones, occasionally lash out at his friends, but when the elders of the religious caste taught him to channel his energy in less destructive ways, he found he could always turn his emotion toward prayer.
There was no prayer for this, and so he cried.
At first he cried for himself, because Delenn had left him. Because he saw her eyes when she looked at the Captain, and he knew, perhaps before she did, where her destiny lay. And he cried for Sheridan too.
He cried for Valen, for Ambassador Sinclair lost somewhere in time and space, and for the generations of Minbari that would grow up without his teachings. He cried for the Grey Council, for Dukhat, for the battling castes.
And then he looked out at the expanse of cliffs and for the first time saw them dotted with light, with fires marking camps just like this one, and hundreds of thousands of Minbari sleeping their last night before setting off on Ankaan's fool's errand in the morning. And when it came time to cry for them, and for his dying world, he found he had no tears left. And so he went to bed.
"Mr. Lennier --" a poke and a whisper, later. Lennier sat up and blinked in the dark at Marcus crouching over him. "Lennier."
"Yes, Marcus. What is it?"
"They're gone. All of them. I tried to stop them --"
Lennier struggled to his feet and pushed past Marcus, out into the frost again and barefoot. Even in the pre-dawn fog he could see that the camp lights had all winked out, and the ground beneath him shook with the trampling feet of troops moving toward the city. Precipice to precipice below, the armies slid along like waves, brown with the cloaks of the worker caste.
"This is it," Ivanova said, materializing beside Lennier. "And we only just got here."
"Too late," Lennier said, eyes on the marching platoons. "We are very much too late."
//
And in those long summer days she'd chase her sister in the garden et écorchait ses genoux mais elle ne salissait jamais sa robe because she was a child mais elle était sage, and she would be sage. And she thought, si elle pouvait rester ainsi, figée dans le temps de sa douzième année, elle pourrait garder le calme, mordre sa langue contre la douleur lorsque sa peau contusionnée saignait. Mais chaque jour, a little more darkness moved in.
//
"Mr. Lennier!" Marcus furrowed his bushy eyebrows and moved to stand between Lennier and the fire. "Do you mean to tell me you're not going to do anything?"
"There is nothing we can do," Lennier said. "They did not listen to reason, and now they seek their own deaths. They'll find them."
"That's for sure," Ivanova said. "Especially if we just sit on our asses and -- listen, Lennier." He looked up, and her eyes were deep and hard. "I know Delenn left you in charge, but if I've gotta pull rank here --"
"Delenn...threw me a bone, I believe is how you humans would put it. I am no more in charge here than I was back on Babylon 5. If you wish to pursue Ankaan and his troops, do not let me stand in your way."
"But Lennier!" Marcus spat, and then stopped, and let out a long, melodramatic sigh. "Fine. Whatever."
Ivanova looked at Marcus, and Lennier pulled his robe down over his knees. "Marcus, if you would be kind enough to step out of the way of the fire, I would be most grateful. And a good deal warmer."
"Whatever you say," Marcus said, moving toward the mouth of the cave. Lennier curled up on the flat stone, felt the lick of flames play across his face. He closed his eyes, and didn't notice when Marcus and Ivanova left.
When he awoke, it was dark out, and Marcus and Ivanova were gone. Outside the cave, creeping, slowly, Lennier surveyed the area, but it was silent as death and new snow had covered any footsteps there might have been.
He smelled the palapipe before his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Ankaan appeared beside him. "All dead," he said, poking at the embers of his pipe with a calloused finger. "All of them."
