Trace looked at Delenn's still body. There was.... peace there. Her dying expression had been one of acceptance. He chuckled. She could be as peaceful and accepting as she liked. She was still dead. He spat on her and walked slowly over to the far wall, leaning against it, arms folded.
People didn't understand. They just didn't understand anything. People were stupid, that was their problem. They saw what they wanted to see, and when they were confronted with the truth their minds became a little.... dazed. They had always thought of Delenn as one thing, but then they had seen her as something else, and they weren't sure which was true. The attack had distracted them from thinking about this, but in the next few days a consensus of sorts would be reached. Delenn would either be a murderous war criminal justly killed by a righteous population or a near–saint murdered by callous, unfeeling monsters.
Trace chuckled again. The final decision would be reached by following the lead from above, and for these people, that meant him. Assuming he survived all this, and he had every confidence in Earthforce's ships, he would ensure which judgement prevailed.
It wasn't as if he even cared about Delenn one way or the other. She was a political tool of the leaders, and a woman mildly pretty in an alien sort of way, and that was that. He had only got involved with this to prove a point, to justify his own beliefs about humanity.
Oh, yes.... and for one other reason.
He looked over at Smith. He was still out. Trace really hoped he would wake up soon. Smith had interfered in his business, broken into his property, killed Nelson. Now Nelson had been a true friend. He would never have run away to some antiquated shelter to hide from the sky, like these idiots Trace had working for him these days.
But more than that, Smith believed there was something good and selfless in humanity. Trace had just proven him wrong, and himself right, and if there was one thing Mr. Trace wanted, it was always to be right.
Smith moved and coughed, turning over. He had taken a nasty blow to the head, painful yes, but nowhere near fatal.
Yet. Trace moved forward and waited until Smith raised himself to his knees. His foot came down hard on Smith's back. Smith fell and rolled over, looking up with gummed–up eyes, seeing through a maze of stars and dots and memories.
"Howdy," said Trace. "I think we have some unfinished business."
You are a fool.
This is not the time for this.
No, this is the time.
The flames were licking around him, scalding his skin, blackening and burning his soul. Marrain could feel himself burning, hear his own dying screams, remember the sheer.... relief.
It was over. Thank everything that moved and breathed, it was over!
But it wasn't. He would burn forever. He was still burning now, a thousand years on. He was still burning.
They murdered innocents! The Yolu would not support us, it was true. And why? Did you think about that? Did they think about that?
The Yolu are cowards!
No! They are afraid. Fear and cowardice are not the same. I am afraid. Every single day, I am afraid. There is no shame in fear.
You are not a warrior.
The warrior's code. We fear only failure. That was the code. Marrain had felt fear, and not of failure. He had never feared death, never once, but at the end, as the flames of his own creation consumed him, he had feared life.
The Yolu are not as powerful as we are. They are not as strong, they have less military might. And no, they are not as brave as we are. They are not to be hated for that. They are not to be reviled! Do you not see, Marrain? For what do we fight, if not to protect those who cannot protect themselves? What is the point of the strong, if they do not protect the weak? We should defend the Yolu, not attack them.
Zarwin did not understand that.
And do you? If you do.... then this will all have been worthwhile. He will understand in time, whether today, or in a thousand years. But do you understand today, Marrain?
There had been a moment.... one single moment's pause, when something had touched him, something had touched his mind, some hint of.... comprehension.
But it was there for only a moment, and then it was gone, and all the old ways returned.
He had seen his eyes reflected in Valen's own, and there had been a great darkness in them. As a child, he had once dreamed about being pursued by a horrible monster, a creature so much taller and stronger than him. The instant before he woke he had looked into that monster's eyes.... and now he saw that sight again, an adult, not a child. He saw his own eyes, reflected in those of a friend, a mentor, a leader.... a friend.
No. I do not understand.
And Valen had turned away.
The flames died, and Marrain sank to the floor. A dull, echoing noise ceased, and he realised it had been his own laughter. He looked up, and thought for a moment he saw Zarwin, across the ages, but then he realised it was Vhixarion.
"We have seen the Z'ondar," Vhixarion said. "We have seen him and Zarwin, the first Sah'thai.... He who Atoned. Zarwin did not understand...."
"Valen said he would," Marrain whispered. How wise had he been? Just how much had he known?
"We have not a tenth of Zarwin's wisdom. We have not a hundredth of the Z'ondar's wisdom. You knew them both. You are he who stood at the right hand of the Z'ondar, returned to us through the chariot of ages.
"Tell us.... Help us to understand."
"I do not understand," Marrain whispered. "I am not a God, not a prophet. I am just a man. I do not understand." He met the alien's eyes, and saw Zarwin in him once again. There had been one moment when Zarwin had teetered on the edge of comprehension.... just one moment. It had faded quickly, but it had been there.
"But together.... perhaps.... we can."
He held out his hand.
It is a strange habit of many races to want to name and record battles. The reasons for this vary. The Narns grimly remember those who died and speak their names with vengeance and dark determination, recalling often their ancestors or family or friends who fell at this battle, or at that siege. The Centauri constantly recount vainglorious tales of long–distant glories and great deeds of the past, distancing themselves from the smell of blood, the pitiful cries of the dying and the grieving relatives.
The humans.... they like history. They like to study it, record it, remember it. To study anything it must be recorded, and so the battles need names, dates, generals.
Humans like history, but they very rarely learn anything from it.
Immediately after the battle some scholars suggested the title of the Third Line, echoing of course the First Line at Earth and the Second Line at Proxima. That name fell out of use in a few years, when it became apparent that the Alliance used the name 'Third Line' to refer to an engagement at Epsilon 3 the year before.
A rival school preferred the Siege of Proxima, but that never gained widespread acceptance. Some pro–Alliance historians suggested the Battle to Reclaim Humanity, but for too many that title was too ironic and painful.
Finally, after some fifty years or so, the Battle of Proxima was accepted, giving rise to considerable disappointment at such a boring name for such an eventful occasion. But that was fifty years in the future.
And this is the present.
Most of the Dark Stars were puzzled by the sudden near–collapse of the enemy ships, but their captains reacted swiftly enough to the sight of a few Shadow ships still operating. Captain Sheridan was the first, leading from the front as always, but Captains Corwin, Daro and Kulomani were also quick to move.