“I do not forget that, Sinoval,” she replied as the warrior pulled back his own hood. “I merely seek to serve in any way I can.”
“But which do you serve most, Delenn? The Council, or your own interests?”
“Sinoval!” barked Hedronn. “That is enough! Never has a Satai cast aspersions on the actions of another. We must simply trust that Delenn is serving Valen, as are we all. And now we must turn to the matters we were discussing.”
“For too long have the Rangers been leaderless and without order. Branmer’s death means that there is no Entil’zha to stand against the Enemy that is coming. We must choose one, and swiftly, for without an Entil’zha, there can be no Rangers. If we are unable to choose an Entil’zha, then how may we choose a leader once the cycle of mourning for Dukhat is over?”
“Has anyone been able to find Branmer’s choice of replacement?” Lennann asked. “This… Alyt Neroon?”
“Neroon has made his own decision,” Delenn spoke out, hoping that none of the others could hear the pain in her voice. “He has felt a calling elsewhere. It would not be right of us to question that.”
“Neroon has run away,” Sinoval snorted contemptuously. “Hiding from the war we must fight. It is a great loss. He served Branmer well in the war against both the Earthers and the Enemy, but if he will not serve, then another must.”
“But who?” asked Lennann. “None of the others has the desire, or the training or the talent to lead.”
“The Rangers are warriors,” Sinoval pointed out. “As is only fitting, since who else must fight the war against the Enemy? And who better to lead them than a warrior? I led the Wind Swords well in the war against the Earthers, did I not? Many within my own clan serve as Rangers, do they not? I speak for the warrior caste here, do I not? Satai, I offer myself for the position of Ranger One.”
“This is impossible, Sinoval, as you well know,” Hedronn said. “Your duties as Satai, your duties to the Nine, deny you the time to be Entil’zha also.”
“Delenn finds the time to study the prophecies, and that does not detract from her duties as Satai. Or perhaps it does, in which case she should be dismissed from this assembly.”
“Sinoval! I have warned you before. No aspersions are to be cast upon a member of this Council. Delenn has served us well these last sixteen cycles, and she was the chosen of Dukhat. You have been here far less time than she, and should display the proper respect.”
Hedronn looked at Sinoval angrily, worker and warrior locking gazes across the hall of the council. Delenn looked from one to the other with increasing despair. Sinoval’s ambitions were well known, but a feud between worker caste and warrior caste could tear apart not only the Council but all of Minbar. That one as filled with pride and arrogance as Sinoval should rise so far was a black thing for all Minbari, but Delenn would not let one warrior destroy the Council, not when the argument was fought over her.
“Hedronn! Sinoval! This Council is not a place for arguing and shouting,” she said. “We all serve as best and in what ways we can. If Sinoval believes he can serve best by leading the Rangers, then so be it.”
“You would support me?” Sinoval said, suspicion flaring in his dark eyes.
“No. I support the Rangers, I support the fulfilment of the task that is ahead, and I support the actions we must take to fulfill that task. If you are the best person to lead the Rangers, as you claim, then you should have the position of Ranger One. If you are not, then we must trust that you will acknowledge this, and pass the position on to one better qualified. Without trust in one another, then the Council will surely fall, and Minbar cannot be far behind.”
“The voice of reason as ever,” whispered Lennann, and she smiled at his encouragement.
Sinoval suddenly turned as a young acolyte stepped forward to speak with him. His column of light faded and Delenn was left to stare at the blackness in its place. She did not think she liked this new development. When the light came back on, she knew from the expression of triumph on Sinoval’s face that she would not.
“Fellow Satai,” he said. “I have great news. The human Starkiller Sheridan has been captured by warriors from the Wind Swords clan. He is being brought here in chains, to face our judgment for his crimes.”
Delenn started. Starkiller? She knew of Sheridan, all Minbari did, not only for the Dralaphi, but also for his direct attack upon the very heart of Minbar – the Grey Council itself. Mere weeks following the fall of Earth, as the great Minbari fleet had turned its attention to the other human colony on Mars, Sheridan had launched a foolish assault on this very ship, killing two Satai and allowing many refugees to flee the planet. And therefore, Sheridan had set in motion events to allow Sinoval and Lennann to come to power.
As Delenn looked at Sinoval, she doubted that the warrior intended to thank Sheridan for giving him this position. Oh no, not at all.
As night fell over the mining colony of Vega 7, the people therein slept. Marcus Cole, miner, slept the sleep of the drunk, and the angry. His brother Joseph and his wife Katherine slept a frustrated, distant sleep. Administrator Na’Far slept the guilt-ridden sleep of one ashamed. In chains and in cells, Lieutenants Franklin and Connally did not sleep, while Lieutenant Keffer moaned with the pain of his injuries.
Above the colony world, minor and insignificant, there loomed something ancient and dark, issuing a scream that tore open the sky. Any early warning systems were destroyed. It was alone in the night.
Except for something beneath the surface of Vega 7, something recently awakened by mining operations, something else ancient and dark, buried there for a millennium.
It began to stir.
“My name is John J. Sheridan. Rank: Captain, Earthforce. My serial number…”
Delenn looked at the human in the centre of the circle with curious eyes. To think that this was the legendary Starkiller. Just a man. Bloodied, marked but unbowed. Standing tall and triumphant, even in his chains. No, this was not just a man. He was the Starkiller, and looking at him, Delenn realised that he probably could kill stars.
“We know who you are, Earther,” Sinoval spat, in Sheridan’s native language. Sheridan turned to face him, and Delenn caught just one glimpse of the sheer hatred burning in his human eyes. It mirrored that in Sinoval’s own.
One warrior to another… Is this what Neroon meant when he spoke of the urge to fight and struggle? To reach for the very stars? Of hatred and fire and respect and honour burning in one heart?
“That is all I am authorised to tell you,” Sheridan replied, saying the words obviously by rote. “I demand to know what has happened to my crew members.”
“They were irrelevant, Starkiller. Merely lackeys. They will be killed and their remains disposed of.”
“You bastard!” Sheridan shouted. “I swear to God you’ll pay for their deaths, you soulless, black-hearted bastard! For everything you did to Earth, to my people, to my daughter! I’ll crush the life from your worthless throat with my own two hands!”
Sinoval chuckled. “I do not think so, Starkiller, and if we are talking of reparations, remember who struck first in this war. Who fired the first shot? Whose blood is on whose hands? There is enough blood on yours to stain an entire generation.”
One warrior to another. They may not be of the same blood, but they are of the same heart. Delenn started. One warrior to another. The same heart. The same soul? The other half of our souls?
Valen, no!
“What is it, Delenn?” Lennann asked, obviously noting her distress.