Corwin felt that strong now. He felt that anger. He felt that fury.
Every instinct was telling him to pull back, to reorganise the ship, to draw in the Starfuries. It was the logical response, but he didn’t care about logic now.
“Take us forward!” he ordered. “Into the fire.”
Captain Sheridan was also dwelling on life and death. When he was alone and in a seemingly difficult situation, he tended to fall into morbidity. While Delenn had been here his mind had been racing with ploys for escape, or a means to cheer her up. The two had ended up swapping stories with each other. He wasn’t sure, but he did think that some of her stories put paid to the old idea that Minbari did not lie.
But now he was alone, surrounded by darkness. His plans for escape were still germinating, but for the moment had not reached fruition. His thoughts had moved back to that peculiar incident not long ago.
The door had opened, and Sheridan had half started forward, expecting to see Delenn there. Instead it had been a figure he had not recognised. The figure stepped forward and the door closed.
Anticipating an attack, he had tried to prepare himself, but there had been a sudden and almost impossibly fast thrust to his abdomen and he had fallen. There had been a light pin prick and a feeling of numbness in his neck and then he had blacked out. That was it. No words, no gloating, no… nothing.
Perhaps it had been some sort of drug. Regardless, he was not worrying about it now. If he ever got out of this, then he would have to get it checked out by the doctors on Sanctuary. If he didn’t, then it didn’t matter, did it?
He started. The door was opening again. For a small cell, this place was certainly busy. He waited for someone to enter, but no one did. “You may come out, Captain,” said a voice. The owner of the voice was speaking System English, but with a heavy Minbari accent. Sheridan slowly stepped forward and left the cell.
The transition from the dark cell to the lit corridor had been a little difficult and he was forced to blink rapidly to order his vision. He kept himself close to the doorway in case this was a trick of some kind.
It was not.
The Minbari was wearing a white robe and he bowed slightly when he looked at Sheridan. “You are free, Captain,” the Minbari said. “Holy One Sinoval has ordered me to free you. If you will follow me, then I will escort you to a shuttle from where you may go back to your ship.”
“What? Why would Sinoval do that?”
“The Holy One does not share his reasonings with me.”
“Where is Delenn?”
The acolyte winced a little. “Where the Zha’valen is, is not my concern, Captain. You are. If you will…”
“I’m not leaving without Delenn.”
The acolyte made a gesture that in a human would be taken as a sigh. “Holy One Sinoval did say that you might take this attitude. I was expecting her to be here, but as she is not, I do not know where she is. I may, however, know one who does. If you will care to follow me.”
“If this is some trap…”
“Are all humans so paranoid? Surely if this were a trap, I could have left you in there. Oh, Holy One Sinoval told me to give this to you as well.”
The acolyte handed over a small cylinder of metal. Sheridan recognised the pike Delenn had given him – the one she had taken from the future Susan aboard Babylon 4, the one that Susan had originally taken from Delenn during her capture on Minbar. Time paradoxes made his head hurt.
Yes, this was definitely that pike. He extended it. The old bloodstains there were in exactly the same position he remembered. Evidently Susan had not cleaned it between whenever they were caused and the time Delenn had taken the weapon back.
“This is a bit dangerous, isn’t it?” Sheridan said. “What if I attacked you with this now?”
“That would not be advisable. Now. If you would follow me. We will see if we can find the Zha’valen.”
Choking I’m choking pain can’t think can’t think Marcus choking I’m choking pain Marcus Marcus… help me choking Marcus help me help me help me
Lyta Alexander was hovering on the thin border between consciousness and unconsciousness and the equally thin border between sanity and madness. All she could see was the dark core of pain burning in the eyes of Susan Ivanova as she tried to choke her life from her.
Again she tried to reach her telepathic powers and again she failed. The sleepers she had been given were too strong. The Vorlon who had helped her override their control before was gone now. Either gone or not willing to help her. There was no weapon near enough, Ivanova’s Minbari fighting pike – the very one which had killed Marcus – having rolled out of her grip.
She was alone, more so than she had ever been before.
Marcus…
Her body shook as she tried desperately to draw in some breath. A last, frantic urge to survive, to endure this brutal, pain-maddened assault. She had no time to think, no energy to rationalise. She could only see the woman who had killed the one she loved and who was now trying to kill her.
She clawed out with her fingers, desperately trying to reach the pike, hoping beyond hope that it was still within reach.
It wasn’t.
Choking I’m choking Marcus help me Marcus you can’t be dead Marcus help me
Lyta closed her eyes, willing at last to surrender. She would not be alone when she died. At least, she hoped she wouldn’t be. She hoped that she would meet up with Marcus again. She hoped that…
Her fingers touched the pike’s cold surface and she instinctively wrapped them around it. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating, but then she felt it stick to her skin, the tackiness of Marcus’ freshly spilled blood.
Acting almost on instinct, she extended the weapon. She had never wielded one before. She had never even seen one before, but that hardly mattered. There were many subtle fighting styles and techniques involved with the fighting pike, some of which took decades to master. Not even the legendary Durhan had learned them all.
Lyta didn’t care. She wasn’t planning on fighting anyone with it.
She manoeuvred the pike around and brought it up into Ivanova’s side. The Shadow agent started and loosened her grip on Lyta’s neck, allowing the telepath to breathe at last. Gasping, almost gagging for breath, Lyta brought the pike up again. The blow was harder this time and Ivanova fell back. She too seemed breathless and in agony.
Lyta pulled herself up to a kneeling position and looked at Ivanova, breathing harshly, but her eyes still as dark. Slowly, almost without realising what she was doing, holding the pike in two hands, she swung it in a deadly arc.
There was a slow, damp crunch as the weapon struck the side of Ivanova’s head. The Shadow agent slumped to the ground, her body engulfed by spasms and twitches. Low moans and gasps came from her mouth.
Lyta dropped the weapon and slumped to the ground herself. It took her every effort to remain conscious and to simply breathe. Her side ached, the bruises from her beating by Security Officer Boggs seemed more sore and painful than before. Her head pounded, both from Ivanova’s attack and from her ordeal in breaking past the sleepers. She was certain that she was partially concussed. Her vision was swimming.
After a while she was dimly aware of gentle hands shaking her. Marcus! was her first thought, but then she relived his death, remembering it in agonisingly slow motion. Then she thought about the security guards, and she was gripped by sheer panic. But then… but then…
Her eyes opened almost dreamily and she found herself staring at the concerned face of a Narn. His red eyes seemed to peer into her very soul. Gently, he helped her up to a sitting position. She rested against him for a moment, allowing herself the hopeless illusion that he was Marcus, come back to life to be with her. Then reality intruded, as it always did.