"That will no longer be necessary. We are to recall the entire Dark Star fleet, save only those ships necessary to safeguard Kazomi Seven itself. Any other support vessels the Council can provide us with will be welcome as well. We are to make directly for Proxima, with no side tracks or detours."
"What? Captain.... they'll know we're coming. We'll trigger all sorts of early warning systems, the listening posts will pick us up from light years out. You know what the defences are like around Proxima. Hell, you put most of them up yourself! We'll have to get through minefields, the defence grid, the entire Earthforce fleet.... not to mention the Shadows."
"None of these will be a problem, not if we are at Proxima on time. You have your orders, Captain. See to it they are followed."
"Yes, sir!" Corwin snapped, turning on his heel and walking away. Sheridan turned back to his reports, not even watching him leave.
"We shouldn't be here."
Talia sighed softly, knowing her companion had not even heard her. She leaned back against the wall, holding the data crystal up to the light and watching it sparkle. Everything she had come here to discover was on there, everything Byron had.... died (maybe?) to recover.
She hadn't examined the information in full - that would take far too long - but she had studied it enough to be sure it was what Welles had claimed it to be. She'd have time to study it fully when she met up with Al. If Sanctuary was no longer safe, then she would have to head elsewhere. She knew the beacon frequencies of the secret Psi Corps mother ships, as well as numerous other hidden bases. She could find him.
So why was she still here?
Byron? It was possible he was dead, or if he wasn't, then he had become part of whatever it was IPX were doing to the telepaths they had captured. From time to time, in her dreams, she had heard what she thought was his voice, mingled in with a cacophony of others. There was nothing she could do for him now, and her first priority was the good of the Corps, to get this information back to Al.
No, she was very much afraid the reason she was staying was sitting in front of her, looking at the sleeping figure on the bed. He was even holding her hand.
Talia reached down and touched Dexter's shoulder. He turned, and she saw the lack of sleep in his eyes. He must have been here ever since they had got to this place. Over a day now.
"We shouldn't be here," she said. "We have what we did this for. Let's go."
"Go? Go where?"
"Off Proxima. There are.... places we can go, places where we'll be safe."
"I can't leave her."
"What is she to you? She's the enemy, in case you've forgotten that! We have what we came for, so let's go. Al can.... use someone like you. You're one of us, remember? Besides, I've.... got used to having you around."
"I can't go. I have to stay with her, at least until she wakes up. Besides.... Welles promised to clean up Sector Three–o–one. I have to make sure he keeps his promise."
"For God's sake, Dexter! This is a pointless battle. There is a war going on all around us, a war that's set to tear this whole planet apart. She's at the centre of it all. No one cares about Sector Three–o–one. It doesn't matter. It's not important."
"If you don't win the little battles, how can you win the big ones?"
She sighed, and shook her head. "I'll be leaving tonight. I can smuggle myself aboard a ship, get off–world, buy or rent a shuttle. Two can go as easily as one. Are you sure you won't come?"
"I can't."
"A waste," she said, kneeling down. He turned to look at her, silently begging her to stay, or at least to understand. Gently, she touched her lips to his.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, puzzled, but smiling.
"Because I know you wanted me to, and I knew you wouldn't do it yourself. I'm a telepath, remember. And so are you." She rose to her feet and began to walk away. "If you want to come to us, just think about me hard enough. I might pick it up and find you."
"Does dreaming count?" he whispered, but she was gone, and did not hear him.
It was at that precise moment that the figure on the bed stirred and moaned. He turned to her and saw her eyes flicker open. "Where.... where.... am I?" she breathed.
Smith smiled. "A safe place. Run by friends. How are you feeling? Do you want anything?"
"Weak," she whispered. "But.... I will be better.... Something to drink?"
"I'll get you something now." He stood up and turned to the nearby sink. As he poured a glass of water he looked up and thought he saw Talia watching him, but it was just a whisper in his mind, and then it was gone completely.
But he had a strange feeling he would see her again, before the end.
Ritual was important. Ritual, ceremony, pomp, pageantry. It was a mark of tradition, and tradition was little else than ruling simply because you and yours had always ruled. Ritual confirmed all these things. Without it.... what was the point in ruling?
They had gone by different names at different times, these secret masters of humanity, a conspiracy of information and knowledge, which were power both in and of themselves. They were a guiding hand upon the human race, controlling politics and destinies, shaping the future. Few suspected that they had been responsible for what little salvation there was from the Minbari War, or the part they had played in winning allegiances from alien races in its aftermath. The scientists who had studied Minbari technology and worked on the new Earthforce Shadow destroyers did so with their blessing.
Those who did anything without their blessing tended to.... disappear.
They worked not for Vorlon or Shadow, not for good or evil, order or chaos. They worked for humanity. Or so they thought.
They had gone by many names. In the recent past they had been called Bureau 13. Now, they were the Round Table.
A matter of ritual again.
Ambassador Sheridan, who had managed to manipulate even these master manipulators, had become their 'King Arthur', their prime among peers, the first among equals. Subtly, slightly, he had nudged their course to suit that of his allies.
But he has been away for too long, and the power focus has moved.
Names do not matter. All those present have names of their own, as well as the names they take for purposes of ritual. Knowing either can be dangerous. Knowing both can be fatal.
"They are coming."
"The Alliance ships have abandoned their progress into the Vega system and they are gathering together. The Dark Star ships, the Drazi and Brakiri fleets, and various support vessels of the other races. Our sources on Kazomi Seven and among the fleets indicate they are coming here. Our outer probes will pick up their arrival soon."
"What is their purpose? Need we begin an evacuation?"
"Their purpose is to deal with Clark and the Shadows. They do not intend the destruction of civilian or economic targets. It is likely, judging by their actions on Beta Durani, that they will institute a brief period of martial law during which a purge of all members of the Government involved with the Shadows will be carried out. A new, provisional Government will be formed, with free elections likely to follow, probably by the end of the year."
"Are we in danger?"
"We can hide from any purge. Our friend is willing to help hide those of us who are more visible." Few would have anything to worry about. Ambassador Sheridan was the only one here who could be recognised. Invisibility is the greatest defence of all. The greatest trick the devil pulled on the world was convincing it he did not exist. For the Round Table, it is the same.
"We will also be able to achieve sufficient control over the new order. Estimates indicate, if the Alliance is victorious, an eight percent loss of operational efficiency for the next six months. If the Alliance fails then there are many other variables to consider, particularly the fact that they will try again. At present the statistics are officially sixty to seventy percent chance of victory for Clark. Unofficially, based on our.... select information, assuming the network operates as planned, Alliance victory is eighty–six percent likely."