--- What was that? ---
--- Nothing. Mere.... background interference. Allow me to.... adjust certain settings. There, that should fix it. --- It did. The whispers, the crackling, the voice.... all were gone. --- Now.... what was I saying? ---
--- You were about to give me your name. ---
--- I was? Ah, very well. I am William Edgars. Tell me, Captain, are you ready to listen to me now? ---
Sheridan sat bolt upright in his chair. --- You have my undivided attention, Mr. Edgars. ---
The conversation lasted another few minutes, with the Captain listening far more than he spoke. When it was done, he sat back in his chair, thinking for a few minutes. Then he turned to the tech. "Contact Captain Corwin. Tell him I need to see him at once."
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Having said this, and not for the first time, Kozorr fell into a deep silence. The holographic image of their destination loomed above them, an ancient warrior, retired, strength brought low by age but still carrying the power of experience and the memories of lost battles.
Babylon 4, as some called it. Anla'Verenn–veni. Lost for over nine centuries and now found again, by Sinoval. Kozorr remembered briefly the Well of Souls and the Vindrizi, and was in little doubt as to how Sinoval had located this last resting place.
But what was he planning? That was the question. There were no ships waiting for them as they bore down on Babylon 4. Of course it would take a sizeable fleet to oppose all the Tak'cha ships, and all of them had come here.
What had he once told Tirivail? Their military might consisted almost entirely of the Storm Dancers clan and the Tak'cha. Over two–thirds of Sonovar's military capability was here, wide open for a trap, and leaving their base of operations fatally vulnerable. Of course Sonovar and Takier had remained behind, but somehow that only added to Kozorr's worries. He smelled Forell's touch behind this.
Where was Sinoval? Just what was he planning? This was a perfect place for a trap.
"We should not be here," he said. "This is.... madness."
"Hardly madness," drawled a soft voice from his side.
"Look at us, Tirivail. Do you think Sinoval told the Tak'cha about this place out of the goodness of his heart? No, he has lured us all here. And why? This is a trap."
"Then it is a trap," she replied, unconcerned. "We will die as warriors, fighting to preserve this holy place. Besides, the Tak'cha will fight almost as hard. If this is a trap, then Sinoval may well find he has bitten off more than he can handle."
"He'd know that, though. That's why I have such a bad feeling.... Any pitched battle here would leave too many dead...."
"We are warriors. We are expected to die for our people."
"Yes, but for Sinoval.... I don't think this is the real war. He wouldn't throw away so many of our lives for this. He will have plans far beyond us. I think he may be going to attack Sonovar, but.... again.... I don't know."
Now doubt marked her face. "Lord Sonovar is not as protected as he should be.... But still, he has my father and our clan. We will defend him."
Kozorr sighed. "It is like trying to find a path through a maze in the midst of a hurricane. The answer is there somewhere, but I cannot find it." He hefted his pike. "Well.... I suppose it is too late to do anything about it now. There is only battle left, and duty."
Tirivail smiled, and her smile lit up the room. "There is only ever battle and duty," she said. "We are warriors. We fight, and we die."
And Babylon 4 came closer. Anla'Verenn–veni. The Place of Restored Dreams.
There was an old saying among tacticians and strategists of the Centauri, one they usually quoted with despair and considerable annoyance. 'Any battle plan lasts only as long as it takes for the first soldier to move.'
This was held to be a general truth about the futility of in–depth planning, and over the centuries a number of great military thinkers and leaders had tried to find ways around it. Strategists hated the idea of not being able to direct the entire course of the battle. The whole thing became too.... untidy and awkward and difficult.
Lord–General Marrago was held to be the foremost military tactician of his day. It had in fact been one of his distant ancestors who had first coined the saying. He disliked the truth of it as well, but for a very different reason.
He knew his soldiers. He knew their names, their families, the names of their children. He also knew the pointlessness of most wars. He fought them anyway, because he had a duty to the Republic, but what he wanted most, what all soldiers wanted most.... was to sit and rest, to eat fine food, to drink fine wine, and to be at peace.
With that aim in mind, he planned and fought every battle.
Tolonius 7 was an old world, one of the central colony worlds of the Republic. It was a sizeable and well–populated planet, the centre of several vital trade routes and an industrial base. The Narns had known all this when they had taken it in a bloody ground war.
If they had operated according to their usual tactics, the nobles captured would have been put to death, the land strip–mined, and its resources and minerals exported. The Centauri people there would be little more than slaves.
Of course, had the Centauri taken a Narn world, there would have been little difference. That was why Marrago did not hate his enemy. All in all, both races were the same. The Centarum and the Kha'Ri, the Lord–General and the Warleader, Centauri soldiers of the Republic and Narn warriors of vengeance.
Marrago did not hate the Narns, but Tolonius 7 was a world of the Republic, its people were children of the Republic, and he had sworn to serve his Emperor to the best of his abilities.
He sat back in his chair in the war room of the flagship, the Aubec. He was alone, save for the two guards at the door. From here he would be able to direct the whole course of the battle, without ever becoming involved in it. He would have liked to fight in it himself, but the fleet could be led admirably by Captain Mollari and his Valerius. Despite his age, Carn had more combat experience than most generals.
Marrago shifted his gaze to a drawer just in front of him. In there, hidden from view, was the black orb the Shadow emissary had given him. He had wanted to destroy it, but his soldier's brain had told him clearly not to destroy anything which might later become an asset. He prayed he would never have to use it.
He sat forward to study the schematics of his fleet. This would be a difficult engagement, but it could be won. He was sure of it.
He directed the first wave of ships to leave hyperspace and begin the assault.
"I see," said Corwin softly, after the Captain had finished speaking. "May I know the.... reasoning behind this change of plans?"
"Information has reached me from allies on Proxima," Sheridan said. "They will be willing to provide assistance in removing the Shadows and their influence, but only if we act quickly. They fear discovery."
"Who are these allies?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Are they trustworthy?"
"Yes."
"You're sure of this?"
"I told you, yes! I realise you had a free run while I was.... ill.... but you can't have fallen into the habit of questioning orders from superior officers! Now I have given you your orders. You are to obey them!"
Corwin took a step back, but then he straightened. "I will obey them.... but first, a warning. We do not have the time to prepare for a full assault on Proxima, not on the timetable you have given us. Least of all if we are to continue attacking listening posts and stations in the Vega system to draw away the Shadows."