"What about Delenn?" asked another. Her, Clark recognised. Mary Ann Cramer, of the left–wing paper Proxima.
"What about her?" he replied blandly.
"Is she aware of this attack, and how has she responded?"
"Delenn is unaware of what is happening, Miss Cramer. She is currently being held in a secure hospital facility, recovering from an attempted suicide. Security protocols around her have been tightened, and medical tests are being carried out to ensure her fitness."
"What is the progress of the war crimes tribunal?" asked another voice.
"The day before word reached us of the attack on Beta Durani, I personally spoke with former Chief Justice Wellington. He has agreed to come out of retirement to chair the tribunal himself. He is in the progress of assembling lawyers and judges to sit with him on the panel. The exact charge list is still being compiled as evidence is still being gathered, but it will be made public once it is finalised."
"What about representation for Delenn?"
"She will of course have the right to choose her own representation. As yet she has refused to do so, and has declined to have a representative present as she is being questioned. A Government advocate will be appointed to defend her if she does not make a choice for herself. It will be a full and fair trial, I promise you that."
"Mr. President," said Cramer again. "Do you think word of the arrest and detainment of Delenn caused the attack on Beta Durani?"
There was a low hush, and Clark smiled. "Miss Cramer.... there is much you do not understand about warfare. I have spoken with General Ryan and the other high–ranking military leaders. They assure me that the attack on Beta Durani must have been planned for months. The Alliance assembled a significant fleet for the engagement, which could not have been done in a few days.
"No, this was a deliberate and unprovoked attack. I do not believe Delenn to be an issue here. I would have been perfectly willing to inform the Alliance of her arrest, and for them to send a delegation to observe the trial and see that the necessary formalities are adhered to, but that is no longer possible."
There were a few more questions, but they were mostly petty, mundane things, and Clark left, feeling vaguely pleased with himself. He actually found himself liking Miss Cramer. Press conferences were no fun at all without a little challenge, and these days he was up for almost any challenge imaginable. He could not recall the last time he had felt this fit and ready for action.
He returned to his office and found a copy of Humanity magazine sitting on his desk. There was a note from Macabee on top of it, which he did not bother to read. He found that he was on the cover, and it was not even a bad picture. He usually hated having his picture taken.
Flicking inside the magazine, he soon found the relevant article. Humanity had taken a poll among its readers as to the greatest elected leaders of all time. He smiled at the revelation that he had come fourth, behind only Churchill, Lincoln and Mandela, and just edging out Kenshuro. Of course, Clark had never actually been elected, but that was just a technicality.
He set it down, honestly pleased and surprised by the honour. "Distinguished company," he said to himself, and then he chuckled. Soon he began to whistle, and then sing. His voice was crackly and his rhythm appalling, but he didn't care.
"Oh, what a beau–ti–ful mor–ning....
"Oh, what a beau–ti–ful day....
"I've got a won–der–ful fee–ling...."
He was laughing so much he could barely get the last line out.
"Ev–ery–thing's go–ing my way."
Chapter 2
Somewhere, in a part of space far from the trade routes, distant from the centres of power and away from the deeds shaping the future of the galaxy, there lies the last refuge of a thousand–year–old war. Like an old warrior sitting in his garden watching the world pass by, Babylon 4 is now retired.
For nine centuries it has been resting, ever since the day that the One Who Was passed beyond. With the end of the first Shadow War Babylon 4 became unnecessary, an anachronism. Enemies of Valen, the same who drove his children from Minbar, sought to downplay his role and his actions, and Babylon 4 was a living memory of the man and his deeds.
It is the doom of mortal beings to forget.
And so they forgot Babylon 4. It was taken away from the known worlds and left, abandoned and forsaken. As Valen passed into legend, so did the miracle he had brought with him.
But time is a cycle, nothing truly dies and nothing is ever truly forgotten. Some still live who knew Valen, and who walked the steps of Babylon 4 a thousand years ago. There are some who revere and worship those who did.
Things have changed, the workings of destiny move once more, and slowly the whispers of the past become the present, and the future, as the station that was built by a Narn, threatened by the Shadows and used in battle by the Minbari, becomes once more a focal point in the destinies of empires.
Sinoval looked at the space station, and he did not smile.
"You know what must be done?"
There was no verbal reply of course, but the motion of the alien's head was enough. Ambassador Sheridan felt sudden relief, as well as an inexplicable concern that he was doing the wrong thing.
That did not matter. There were times when any action, even the wrong one, was preferable to inaction, and this was one of them. Events were rising to a climax, and now more than ever he and the Shadows needed to be in control of Proxima. He was their representative here, and they had spoken to him, expressed their.... plans.
Clark was crucial. Somehow he had slipped the leash of his Keeper once. That leash had to be re–tightened, but it had to be done properly. None of them could afford another failure. The implantation of a Keeper was usually a simple enough process, the Keeper was after all alive, and did most of the work itself.
This time, however, greater care was necessary. There could be no more mistakes, and so Sheridan had arranged.... assistance.
He knew a little about the Zener. Genetically, they were distantly related to the Vree and the Streib, although some disaster many thousands of years ago had split the three groups apart. The Zener had always been master scientists, particularly adept in the field of genetic engineering, and a scientocracy had arisen where matters of morals and ethics fell far behind the continued pursuit of knowledge.
The Streib had desired to gain this knowledge, and with little of the military might of their genetic cousins it seemed as if the Zener would be conquered, and easily, but then the Shadows arrived, and circumstances changed drastically. The Zener became a part of the Great Compact, swearing to serve the Shadows and their allies, providing all the knowledge at their disposal in exchange for protection.
The Shadows were technologically much more advanced than any of their vassal races, but they had been happy to use the Zener's technology rather than their own. The Zener worked particularly well with the Drakh and together they had achieved a number of advances. The bio–plague that had devastated Minbar was one of these.
None, save perhaps the Shadows themselves, knew better than the Zener how to implant a Keeper. It was they who, wherever possible, carried out the medical examinations prior to implantation and oversaw any problems following the process.
A Drakh stood behind the Zener, watching silently. If he did not know better, Sheridan would have assumed the Drakh to be the scientist's bodyguard. In fact the situation was very different. The Drakh placed all other races into three groups: their Dark Masters; their enemies; and their weapons to serve the first and destroy the second. The Zener were in the third category.