To Dream in the City of Sorrows (16 page)

“Good,” Sinclair said. “Then let’s talk about the second thing we need. A fleet of ships. There are a few ships and training aircraft on this base, but not nearly as many as we need. We can arrange to purchase some commercial ships through friendly contacts in the worker caste, but we need military ships, and the military caste absolutely refuses to provide them. We can start buying ships from off world, but it’ll be extremely expensive and will have to be done carefully to avoid attracting unwanted attention. This is a major problem.”

“It is being taken care of by the religious caste,” Jenimer said unexpectedly, “with help from our Vorlon friends. We have been privately developing and building a new type of warship, the Whitestar ships, incorporating Vorlon and Minbari technology. Some smaller experimental prototypes are being tested now. You will receive a full report on this within a few days.”

“That’s welcome news,” Sinclair said. “But it doesn’t totally solve our problem.” This was an unexpected but welcome opportunity to address another issue that had been troubling him greatly. “I’m glad to hear the Vorlons are at last willing to share some of their technology. How much more can we expect you to share with us in this effort, Ambassador?”

The Vorlon stirred only slightly. “What is needed.”

“What we need are ships, right now, not just in six months or a year. You have ships you could deliver to us now.”

“Impossible,” said the Vorlon.

“Why?”

“We can only make ships that are Vorlon. They would be of no use to you.”

Sinclair was almost willing to believe this. He had seen Vorlon ships and was convinced what was said about them was true – that they were as much or more living entity as inanimate machine. But he doubted that was the whole story, because it wasn’t the only thing that they were holding back.

“All right. Assuming that’s true, what other kind of support can we expect from you, aside from moral support and the Whitestar ships? Logistical support, for instance – access to Vorlon space would make our job a lot easier.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It would not be safe.”

“Who wouldn’t be safe, our pilots or you?”

“Yes.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Permission will not be granted. It will not be necessary.”

“Not necessary?” Sinclair asked. “On what basis do you make that decision?”

Sinclair could see that Jenimer and Rathenn were growing increasingly uneasy at this exchange, but they seemed unwilling to intervene. Had they ever asked any of these questions before? The Minbari had the closest relationship to the Vorlons of any known sentient species and continually deferred to them, and yet they seemed to know very little about the Vorlons, almost as if they didn’t care.

Ulkesh remained silent, so Sinclair tried again. “Do you have information on the Shadows you haven’t given us yet? You must know a lot more about them than you’ve told us so far. This would be a good time to start sharing some of that information. The less you know about your enemy, the stronger he is.”

“It is important to select information; too much information can be harmful,” replied Ulkesh.

Sinclair seized upon that immediately. “So you admit that you have more information than you’re giving us.”

“This discussion serves no further useful purpose.” Sinclair regarded the Vorlon for a long moment. It was clear he wasn’t going to get anything more out of him, but maybe he’d gotten enough. At least now he had a better idea of what to expect from Ulkesh.

“Then let’s move on,” Sinclair said finally, turning back to Rathenn and Jenimer. “I’m still waiting for that comprehensive report detailing everything known to date regarding the movements of the Shadows since their return.”

Rathenn was apologetic and distressed. “There was a – problem.” Did he glance over at the Vorlon just then? “But it will be ready soon.”

Sinclair sighed. For one brief moment, he indulged himself in the wish to be far away from Minbar, in space, in a Starfury, leading a squadron of pilots he could rely on, with a clearly defined mission to carry out, and a clean target in front of him ...

“Then I have one last item that needs to be addressed. With more Humans arriving here, we need to set up a reliable supply line of food and medicine for the Human Rangers.”

Jenimer seemed puzzled. “The traditional diet of the Anla’shok–“

“Is fine for Minbari Rangers,” said Sinclair, “but is not enough for Human Rangers.”

“We have determined what is and isn’t appropriate for Human consumption among the traditional foods,” said Rathenn.

“Which, again, is fine, and where appropriate will be used. But these men and women aren’t coming here to train as monks, they’re coming here to form an army. You can’t expect them to train as soldiers and prepare themselves to die, if necessary, for a cause without being fed properly. It’s one of the oldest truths in the Human military. I propose to send two Minbari Rangers and two Human trainees to Babylon 5 as soon as they’ve completed at least one week of training. Delenn will help them quietly set up accounts to begin sending shipments of food and medicine here. Afterward, the two Minbari Rangers will stay to be our temporary liaisons and observers, and the Human Rangers will return to finish their training.”

“No,” said Ulkesh.

“They will contact no one but Delenn.”

“It is too soon.”

Sinclair took a deep breath. It was time to draw a line. “Your opinion is noted,” he said, “but this is my decision, not yours, and it will be done unless you can give me a far more specific and coherent reason why it shouldn’t.”

“I believe,” said Jenimer quickly, “that the ambassador’s plan can be carried without arousing unwanted attention. Perhaps we should defer to his judgment regarding the needs of the Human Rangers.”

Ulkesh didn’t answer right away. “With caution then,” he said at last.

“Of course,” said the Minbari leader. “Thank you.”

Sinclair wasn’t about to offer any thanks for being allowed to do what was supposed to be within his authority to do in the first place. He merely stood up and said, “Then I think that covers everything for now.”

Jenimer stood as well. “Then will you take a walk with me, Ambassador?”

“Certainly, Chosen One.”

They left Rathenn and Ulkesh in the room, and made their way out of the administrative complex. As they walked across the open grounds toward the weapons training area, Jenimer looked up at the deep blue Minbari sky and smiled.

“I love to walk under the open sky,” he said, “and to feel the living soil of Minbar beneath my feet. I do not understand how those who choose to live in space bear it for long, living within boxes of metal.”

Sinclair laughed. “Well, if by that you include Babylon 5, it isn’t quite as bad as a metal box.”

“Did you never miss Earth?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sinclair. “I miss Earth right now.”

“But you weren’t born there?”

“No, I was born on Mars, but I spent as much of my youth on Earth as I did on Mars. I’ve a great fondness for Mars and her people, but when I feel that longing to walk under an open sky and feel the living soil beneath me, as you so beautifully put it, it’s Earth I think about.”

“A connection to the land is important,” said Jenimer. “I worry about the Grey Council, isolated on their ship, cut off from the land, cut off from the people. It was never Valen’s intention that the leaders of our people live in such a self-imposed cocoon. But much was changed when Valen traveled beyond. I suppose that is the way of things.”

They entered the largest of the three buildings used for weapons and martial arts training and proceeded to a large gymnasium. In the middle of the room stood the most imposing Minbari Sinclair had ever seen. He was a little taller than Sinclair, and had a regal bearing that belied the simple, almost drab clothing he wore, so uncharacteristic of Minbari who usually preferred layers of beautifully embroidered garments. When he turned and bowed to Jenimer, it reminded Sinclair of the languid but powerful movements of a lion. Sinclair had no doubt as to who he was about to be introduced to.

“Ambassador Jeffrey Sinclair, Anla’shok Na, this is F’hursna Sech Durhan.”

Durhan did not bow, so neither did Sinclair, simply returning his steady gaze. A long silence ensued, in which they stood just looking at each other. Like a cobra and a mongoose. Now what? Sinclair wondered.

Abruptly, Durhan turned and walked a few paces away. From the folds of his clothing he produced two black metal tubes, each about a foot long and perhaps an inch and a half in diameter. Sinclair recognized them to be unextended Minbari fighting pikes.

“The Chosen One reminds me,” Durhan said in clipped military-caste Minbari, “that Valen proclaimed that all Anla’shok must be instructed in the use and philosophy of the denn‘bok under the supervision of the current F’hursna Sech. But a Sech of the denn‘bok must also swear to uphold the honor of the ancient art. Any Sech would rather resign from his position and give up the ancient art forever than teach its ways to the unworthy.”

Suddenly, a military-caste proverb Sinclair had read recently came to mind. Sinclair hoped he remembered it right, and spoke in the military dialect. “Do not proclaim a soldier worthy or unworthy before his first battle.”

Durhan nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in appraisal. “As you say,” he answered in English. With a flourish he opened one of the pikes, then threw the other unopened one at Sinclair.

Instinctively, he knew he had only a second to open that pike, and he imitated Durhan’s motion. The pike snapped open, and Sinclair grabbed either end and raised the five-foot weapon in front of him just as Durhan was upon him, bringing his pike down in an overhead strike. Sinclair blocked it just in time, shocked at the force with which Durhan’s pike struck his own, but managed to hang on. Pure survival instinct took over as he sidestepped and blocked Durban’s downward strike at his groin. Durhan then whirled and threw a straight thrust at Sinclair’s upper body. Sinclair parried as best he could, falling back another step. Relentless, Durhan continued, his pike a blur. Sinclair blocked and parried with a desperate effort even as he was being forced back against the wall by the furious assault, the sheer force of every blow draining his strength.

Sinclair decided if he was going to lose this fight anyway, he’d rather it be with him on the attack. He summoned up all his remaining strength and, when he saw an opening, threw a straight thrust. Durhan sidestepped and struck Sinclair full across the chest with the length of the pike, then brought it up under Sinclair’s arms. With one hand Durhan grabbed Sinclair’s left arm, and with the other used his pike as a lever to lift Sinclair up and then, crashing, hard to the floor. He landed in what, on later reflection, was certainly not the most dignified manner for a Ranger One. At that moment, though, Sinclair thought only of defending himself, and leapt back to his feet, tensing for a further attack.

But Durhan was standing placidly, leaning on his extended pike, contemplating Sinclair. The whole fight hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes, and Sinclair knew quite well that it wouldn’t have lasted even half of that if Durhan had not wanted it to. His Earthforce training with the bo in no way made him a match for such an expert. Durhan could have had him on the ground or seriously injured him within seconds if he had chosen to do so. But clearly he had wanted to test Sinclair.

“And what did we prove with that demonstration?” Sinclair began, doing his best to ignore several painful bruises. Durhan interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “Valen said all Rangers are to be trained in the use of the denn’bok. So they shall, Human and Minbari. But Valen did not say they must own a fighting pike, and tradition says only Minbari should own them. So it will continue to be. Human Rangers will be trained. That should be sufficient. I will train you personally, starting tomorrow.”

Sinclair looked to Jenimer, who seemed to have no response at all to this. Sinclair, however, was not satisfied. He wondered if Durhan was still testing him, seeing how far he would push the issue. Sinclair bowed slightly to Durhan. “The Master honors me, but respectfully I must decline.”

Durban’s serene expression did not flicker. “Why?”

“Why study to be an artist,” said Sinclair, “if one is to be forbidden to practice that art afterward? And why waste the time of the Master that way?”

Durhan closed his pike and returned it to the folds of his clothing. “You will be sanctioned to own a pike.”

“If I prove worthy.”

“There is no doubt that you will.”

“And what about the other Human Rangers?”

Durhan paused only a moment. “I will monitor the training of the Humans. If I see any who are worthy, I will instruct them further myself, and only those will be certified.”

“And will any of them prove worthy enough for you?” Sinclair made the question as pointed as he could. He wasn’t exactly calling Durhan a liar, but Sinclair had too much experience with the Minbari penchant for the half truth to accept that statement at face value.

For the first time, Durhan smiled, just a little. “As not all Minbari prove worthy, neither will all Humans. But there will be some, I now believe.”

Sinclair returned the smile. “Then I am honored to be your student.”

He turned to Jenimer, who now looked quite pleased indeed. “I am–“ Jenimer began to say, then stopped in mid-sentence, as if startled by something, and crumpled to the floor. Durhan was at his side instantly. Sinclair raced to the communications console on the far wall. He had just gotten through to the Ranger physician when Jenimer’s voice stopped him. “Ambassador. No.”

Sinclair turned around. Durhan was helping Jenimer to his feet. “Chosen One, the doctor–“

“Is not needed.” Jenimer attempted a smile, but he was pale and still obviously shaken.

“You need medical attention.”

“I simply need rest,” said Jenimer. “Please, it is best if we do not make too much of this. My own doctor can attend to me later.”

As much as Sinclair didn’t want to add to Jenimer’s distress, he knew he couldn’t leave it at that. The Minbari penchant for parceling out information to him as they saw fit could jeopardize everything. “Chosen One,” he said, quietly but firmly. “Is there more that I need to know?”