Summoning Light (39 page)

"Good-bye, dear lady," Londo called.

Carvin looked back over her shoulder, her face carefully composed, revealing nothing. "Good-bye, Londo."

Through the probes on the Ondavi, Elric watched the lieutenant lead her into the ship, toward the flight deck.

He stopped short in the entrance to the customs area, gasping. She was gone. And she could not be removed from the ship without alerting the crew that something was amiss. He took a few uneven steps, came up against the wall.

She was one of the best of the young mages, clever, disciplined, yet always smiling, full of life. When she and Alwyn had come to visit, she had always been a bright light in their lives.

From just inside the hatch, Ing-Radi was looking toward him with concern. Elric took a breath and straightened, moving away from the wall. He turned his back on her and Londo, struggling to collect himself. This possibility he had not foreseen. He had promised Alwyn he would watch over Carvin. And now he could not save her.

"Stop, Galen!" Blaylock's voice was sharp. "It is a Vorlon ship."

Galen had been about to form the spell of destruction in his mind. He quickly shifted his target away from the approaching ship, imploding instead a sphere of empty space.

The destruction was unsatisfying. He wanted another target, but as they rose out of the planet's gravity well, nothing else was within range.

He was burning, churning, surging with energy. The brilliant incandescence raced through his veins, shot down his neurons. The tech sang along the meridians of his body, a vibration so pure it was painful.

He forced the screen in his mind's eye to remain blank. He must not release it. He must cast no spell. He must hold himself still. He must remain still until he could think. He counted the beats of his pounding heart. The rapid rhythm helped him focus, helped him wait, wait.

He had known, on some level, that it was a Vorlon ship, even as he'd prepared to destroy it. He knew what they looked like, the long, narrow frame with the distinctive yellow-green coloring, four flowing arms aimed forward, almost like a squid on its side. Yet he simply hadn't cared. He still didn't care.

The Vorlon stopped directly in their path, a threatening posture. As Alwyn slowed their ship, Galen studied the sleek form for any sign of attack. Within him the energy was building, building. At the back of the Vorlon ship, its petal-like extensions were open. The mages believed these to be an energy generation device of some kind. The hollow at the center of its four arms-the place from which the Vorlons' beam weapon was known to fire-pointed toward them.

It blocked their path. It might attack, and Alwyn's ship could not withstand the strike. He wanted to crush it.

Alwyn brought them to a stop.

The Vorlon remained in their path, unmoving.

The Vorlons had always despised and distrusted the mages. No wonder. The mages were allies of their enemies, the Shadows.

"If you attack it," Blaylock said, "the Vorlons will hunt us down just as the Shadows are."

Galen held desperately to the heat blazing through him. He felt overloaded, accelerated. He was shaking, his heart pounding, breath coming in irregular, shallow pants. He performed a mind-focusing exercise, another, another. Time passed.

At last the Vorlon ship turned, then sped into the blackness of space.

Alwyn opened a jump point before them, sent his ship into the churning orange-yellow vortex.

Galen broke contact with the ship's sensors. He stood in the plain, black room at the back of Alwyn's ship. Blaylock's severe, disapproving gaze was fixed on him. Across the floor G'Leel lay motionless. The threat was over. There was nothing more to crush, nothing except the ship and what was within it.

The energy raced through him, endless, merciless. He had only the vaguest idea of all he had destroyed, of the ships, the buildings, the people. They could not all have deserved death.

The tech echoed his agitation. Blaylock had said he need not give in to destruction, and Galen recognized the truth of that. It had been his choice. And he had chosen to kill.

Without a threat to hold his attention, the pain was seeping back into his leg, and he began to realize how completely exhausted his body was. His mind was exhausted as well, drained by the focus required to cast so many spells, by the even greater focus required to hold the energy inside him now, uncast. Yet he must maintain that endless, ferocious focus; there was no way to free himself from that need, for the tech was part of him, the Shadows were part of him, and as long as he lived, he could not escape them.

He needed to calm himself, to slow down.

His leg was burning now with a fire of its own, and he realized his fingers were digging into the inflamed tissue. He tightened his grip. As a brilliant pain shot down his leg, the racing energy faded just the slightest bit. From that thought to the next was a short jump.

"Excuse me," he said to Blaylock. He would go to one of Alwyn's sleeping cabins. There he could be alone.

Alwyn entered the room as he was leaving. "Will someone tell me what the–"

Galen passed him. The closest sleeping cabin was only a few steps down the passage. He locked the door and called the fire down upon himself.

With the first scouring he collapsed onto the bed, teeth clenched. The fire rushed over his body like living lava. He had to close down, to drive deep into himself the energy, anger, horror, memory.

With the second scouring he curled inward, the searing heat crawling over his body, raking his skin away. After all he had done, it was only the smallest fraction of what he deserved. For a moment the pain overwhelmed everything else, and he couldn't feel the restless energy of the tech. But then the moment passed, and it returned.

The third scouring enveloped him like a warm wave, and he began, at last, to relax.

The fourth carried him quietly into darkness.

The announcement was broadcast through the customs area. "Private liner Crystal Cabin is now in final check prior to departure."

The throbbing had enveloped Elric's body, and fighting it had exhausted him. Yet his task was nearly completed. He accessed the security roster of those who had boarded the Crystal Cabin. Twenty-four mages were aboard, including Gowen, to whom Elric had confided the gathering place. All were where they should be. All but Carvin.

He would join her now, aboard the Ondavi. It too was in final check.

Behind him, the butcher cleared his throat. "Excuse me," Londo said, and Elric turned to face him. It would be their final meeting. Londo had a mild smile on his face. He wanted to prove to Elric, and to himself, that he had no fear of techno-mages. "I wanted to thank you for your amusing little gift. It took me two hours to repair the damage to my quarters, and I don't think the smell will go away for days. Now if I may ask, does this torment end when you leave, or am I going to have to spend the rest of my life paying for one little mistake?"

His one little mistake. Elric wanted to strike down this petty, self-indulgent, careless man, a man who killed equally with kindness and hatred. But he must not reveal the depth of his anger, must not reveal that he knew the mages aboard the Ondavi would be killed. He had not needed to work so hard to control himself in many years. He fixed the butcher with his gaze, and he, too, put on a mild smile. "Oh, I'm afraid you're going to have to spend the rest of your life paying for your mistakes. Not this one, of course; it's trivial. I have withdrawn the spell. But there will be others."

Londo drew back, wary. "What are you talking about?"

"You are touched by darkness, Ambassador. I see it as a blemish that will grow with time. I could warn you, of course, but you would not listen. I could kill you, but someone would take your place. So I do the only thing I can: I go." He turned away, then stopped himself. Surely he could do some small bit more, without revealing the deception. If he could plant a seed of truth in Londo, a seed that might someday force the butcher to see himself for what he truly was, in all its horror, then perhaps he might have done some good. He turned back.

"Oh – I believe it was an endorsement you wanted, a word or two, a picture to send to the folks back home, confirming that you have a destiny before you."

Londo glanced away, impatient, anticipating a chastisement. "Yes, it was just a thought, nothing more."

"Well, take this for what little it will profit you. As I look at you, Ambassador Mollari, I see a great hand reaching out of the stars. The hand is your hand. And I hear sounds, the sounds of billions of people calling your name."

Londo's eyebrows rose hopefully. "My followers?"

Elric dropped his false smile. "Your victims."

Londo's expression had frozen, yet the same arrangement of features that a moment ago had conveyed hope, now seemed filled with unease.

Elric took that for his reward, modest as it was. He turned and made his way to the security checkpoint.

A number of the security guards had gathered about the hatch of the Ondavi. Once he passed through the checkpoint, Elric quickly found himself surrounded. John Sheridan was hidden among them.

Elric had no energy or patience for further delays. He had not anticipated this action and didn't understand what might be motivating it. "What is the meaning of this?"

John held up a calming hand and spoke softly. "Your friend Ing-Radi contacted me. I should be angry at everything you left out when you told me your plan. But I understand why you did it. And I have to say I agree with her. The techno-mages need a leader like you." He smiled.

The guards parted, making a slight opening near the hatch of the Ondavi. An illusion of Elric appeared beside him and walked through the opening into the ship. Ing-Radi, standing inside, nodded to him. The circle of security guards closed, and they began talking and laughing among themselves, walking down the docking bay toward the hatch of the Crystal Cabin. He was sheltered within them, unobserved.

Ing-Radi had violated secrecy, telling John more of their plan than Elric had. Elric had told him that only illusions would board the Ondavi, and that their enemies sought merely to capture them, not kill them. Surely Ing-Radi had not told John everything, for he would never allow the Ondavi to leave if he knew what was about to happen. Yet perhaps she had told him that she and Elric planned to go on board to create the illusions, and that Elric was unnecessary. Somehow she had told John enough to convey that Elric's life was in danger. And John, for some reason, had taken it upon himself to save a man he barely knew. Elric was exhausted, and in pain, yet even so, he didn't understand why he felt like crying.

He had lost his dreams, but John was giving him the chance to dream again, and giving him a new dream with which to start. The mages would not fight the Shadows, would not defeat them. But perhaps those left behind could. Perhaps John could bring them together, for good. Perhaps, through this remarkable man, those dark agents of chaos and death could at last be vanquished.

The group of security guards approached the Crystal Cabin, and Elric knew he would have to slip out while they continued on their way. Carvin's ticket had been purchased under the false identity of a Narn. Elric took on the Narn's image. "Thank you," he said quietly, then slipped out from their circle into the ship.

He was shown into the luxurious passenger compartment. The others, all disguised, stood at the window, silent. He joined them. There were the normal delays, yet none of them moved, none of them spoke. They all waited for what must come.

Elric accessed his probe on John, found him at Command and Control.

A technician turned to the captain. "The ship carrying the techno-mages is requesting permission to leave. What do I tell them?"

That would be the Ondavi.

John took the orange blossom from his pocket and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. It would not wilt or decay; it would endure. And so, perhaps, would some bit of the beauty and good the mages had created.

"Tell them," John said, "permission granted."

Elric added to his mind's eye the probes on the Ondavi. One was fixed to the wall of the large cargo hold. There he saw a great mass of mages, some real, some illusion. They moved, and murmuring arose from them as if they spoke. Of those nearest the probe he picked out Ing-Radi, Muirne, Beel, Natupi, G'Ran, Elektra. They stood silently, also waiting.

Another probe showed the flight deck of the Ondavi, with its Centauri crew. The window at the front of the flight deck revealed that the ship was passing out through the docking bay. As the image shifted, panning the deck, Elric caught a close-up glimpse of Carvin's face, and he realized she'd planted the probe on the back of her hand, so they could observe.

The Crystal Cabin began to move as well, the view through the window beside Elric showing that they too were passing through the docking bay.

Within the customs area, Vir joined Londo, and they watched on the monitor as the Centauri ship left Babylon 5.

The Ondavi broke into the blackness of space and started toward the jumpgate. The Crystal Cabin followed a minute later. Through an odd coincidence of flight paths, Elric found the Ondavi framed in the window beside him. It was a fragile construction of metal, a piece of technology that intelligent beings trusted to preserve their lives. But those with better technology could always destroy it.

In his mind's eye, the cargo hold shuddered as a rapid series of explosions raced through the depths of the ship. Ing-Radi caught Muirne as she stumbled, and wrapped Muirne in her four skeletal arms. Even now she sought to comfort.

The far end of the hold erupted with a spray of shrapnel and a great gust of fire. It roared across the room, engulfing it. In the space of a few seconds that would haunt Elric for the rest of his life, the mages were burned alive. Some were killed instantly in the intense flash of heat; others managed to throw up shields, to gain a few moments as superheated gas and flames penetrated inward. Their screams were no illusion, nor their brief, desperate struggles for escape. Ing-Radi and Muirne shot up above the flames, arms tight about each other, the subtle blue of a shield flickering around them. But the confined heat was too intense, and they were too weak. The blue vanished, and in a flash their robes incinerated, skin blackened, flaked to ash. Within the great furnace of the cargo hold, they were little more than a cinder buoyed on the heat of the flames.