To Dream in the City of Sorrows (25 page)

She laughed. “I’d hate to think I was marrying a bigamist.”

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get your stuff into the bedroom.”

“There’s certainly plenty of room,” she said as she helped him lug everything out of the sitting room. “It’s pretty sparse in here.”

Sinclair sighed. “You’ve no idea how hard I’ve tried to get at least some of my things sent here.”

“Where is it all?”

“Some of it’s apparently still tied up in a government warehouse somewhere, and the rest is with my brother.”

“How is Malcolm?”

“Fine. I guess. I’ve only been able to get through to him once. I know he’s tried, but he apparently hasn’t been able to cut through the red tape to send me anything. It’s not that I need a lot of stuff around me–“

“No,” she said, kissing him again. “You’ve always put more emphasis on your life inside here.” She tapped him lightly on the forehead.

“Comes from growing up as a military brat,” he agreed. “When you’ve moved as much as I have, you learn to make do with fewer things, but those few things then have a greater value to you. And I would like to have some of them here. Besides, it has become the principle of the thing.”

“Well, I can’t help you with that, but I did bring a few things with me.” She reached into one bag and drew out a brightly wrapped package. “I missed your birthday out on the Rim, so happy belated birthday!”

“What is it?” he said.

“Why do people always ask that?” She handed him the package. “Open it and find out.”

He ripped through the paper and took out a commercially packaged AV data crystal and bound book. “Frontiers of Laughter,” he read off the package. “A Twenty-four-Hour History of North American Comedy. This is wonderful!” He immediately went to his office to look at it.

“I remember you said you’d sent your only copy to Malcolm and never got another one for yourself,” Sakai said.

The opening credits came up on the console screen, and Sinclair quickly programmed it to jump to a specific sequence in a later episode. A scene from an old, blacked-white twentieth century television show flickered on the screen, then an older woman discussing it from an academic point of view. A line at the bottom of the screen identified her as “Gemma Gildea Sinclair, Professor of North American Literature.”

“My mother really loved these shows,” he said, intently watching as more scenes from twentieth and twenty-first-century television comedies came up. “She wrote scholarly papers and books about them, but watched them for pure entertainment. As a boy, I just didn’t get it. What could she possibly see in those antiquated old shows, I thought. I don’t think I really understood until I was an adult and saw her on this documentary talking about it. God, I miss–“

He turned off the program, just staring at the blank screen for a moment. “I miss a lot of things – and people,” he said, rousing himself. “But that’s life, ever moving forward.”

“I’m sorry,” she started to say.

“No,” he said smiling. “Thank you. It really is a wonderful gift. As you can see, I didn’t bring much in the way of entertainment with me.”

Sakai walked over to his bookshelf, and pulled down the only two books she saw written in “English. “Marcus Aurelius? Don’t you have this memorized by now?” she asked, putting that volume back. She took the other book and let it fall naturally open, not surprised to see it opening to Tennyson’s poem, “Ulysses.”

“Honestly, Jeff,” she teased, “out of all the wonderful poetry in here, is this the only one you read?”

He took the book out of her hand in mock indignation and put it up on the shelf. “I’ll have you know I have almost every other poem in there committed to memory by now.”

“But somehow the book just happens to be creased permanently open to ‘Ulysses,’ “ she continued to tease him.

“I’ll admit, since coming to Minbar I’ve been reading and listening to it just a little more than usual.”

“I guess if we’re going to get married, it’s time I was brutally honest with you,” she said jokingly. “I never much cared for that poem. I think it’s rather insulting to Penelope – calling her ‘the old wife’ and implying that Ulysses is thinking of taking off with his mates and leaving her behind.”

Sinclair took her in his arms again. “Oh, no. Not after everything they went through to get back together again. He left her behind once and made a vow he would never make that mistake again.” He leaned down and kissed her gently, then continued. “When he takes off to ‘sail beyond the sunset’ to ‘seek a newer world,’ you can be sure this time Penelope will sail with him. That I promise you.”

He drew her even closer and kissed her again, longer and with more urgency.

“I don’t know if Tennyson would agree with you,” she said between kisses. Sinclair smiled. “To hell with Tennyson.” He picked her up and carried her across the room toward the bedroom. “You know I hate it when you do this,” she said, only half kidding.

“I was afraid we were going to analyze poetry all night.” He put her down on the bed. “I thought it would be better to make our own poetry.”

“Oh, God!” she said laughing. “If only those Minbari who treat you with such awe and reverence knew how corny you can be.”

“That’s exactly why I need you here,” he said, kissing her again. “It gets a little tedious being treated like some kind of saint in a religious pageant. It doesn’t mean a damn if there’s no one to talk to, if there’s no one who knows you and loves you for who you really are.”

“Someone who will be excruciatingly honest with you,” she said teasingly. “Keep you from believing your own hagiography.”

Sinclair laughed. “God knows you’ve never had a problem doing that. One of the many reasons I love you.”

“Well, are we going to talk all night?” she said. “Or are we going to make some poetry here.”

Sinclair smiled and didn’t say another word.

C
HAPTER 20

“MITCHELL! Break off! Break off!” – “Not like this! Not like this! If I’m going out, I’m taking you bastards with me ...”

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“The council will render its verdict.”

Delenn. Rathenn. Racine. Jenimer. Neroon. Turval. Venak.

Kosh. Ulkesh.

Valen.

The legendary Minbari stood alone in a circle of light. How did he know it was Valen? He tried to focus on him, could not clearly see him. But he knew who it was.

Valen held up a Triluminary, its center stone glowing.

Valen held a mirror. Sinclair looked into the mirror-and the Human Jeffrey Sinclair peered back at him. He looked up to ask Valen – but the Minbari was gone.

He saw Ulkesh. And Kosh.

“You are what we say.”

“Do not forget who you truly are.”

“Jeff!”

It was Catherine’s voice. He turned, saw her standing just outside the circle of light, half obscured in shadow. He went to her, wanted to hold her – but she shrank back from him, bewilderment in her face. What was wrong? He suddenly knew. He reached up, felt the Minbari bone crest growing out of his head. “No!”

“Jeff! Jeff! It’s all right. Jeff.”

Sinclair thrashed out, struggled to come awake. He felt hands trying to hold him, a voice trying to calm him. “Everything’s all right. It’s just a dream.”

Catherine’s voice. He opened his eyes to find her looking at him with great concern. He shivered, and pulled her close to him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Nothing to apologize for,” she said, stroking his forehead to brush back a lock of tangled hair. “Must have been a hell of a dream.”

“Oh, just the usual.”

She wasn’t buying the light tone. “They really have gotten worse, haven’t they? Is it like this every night?”

“No, not every night. I’ll go days without remembering any dreams at all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I think I’ve had enough of it for one night.” He kissed her. “Besides, it’s almost time to get up.”

“What do you mean?” She looked around at the darkened room. “It can’t possibly be!”

“It’s almost dawn.”

“I just fell asleep,” she protested.

“You’ve got to start getting used to these shorter Minbari days. Otherwise, it plays havoc with your sense of time.”

As they got ready for the day, Sinclair reflected on how much he had missed this, simply performing the mundane tasks of daily life with the one he loved beside him. Sakai came out of the bathroom, and stopped short, sniffing the air. “Is that bacon, I smell?”

Sinclair grinned. “We try to supplement the homegrown Minbari food with some Human food. Bacon is one of the harder things to get – don’t have it more than once or twice a month, if we’re lucky. But I made sure it was on the menu this morning.”

When they got to the dining area, breakfast was already laid out, and the Minbari staff gone.

“Sorry the eggs are only temshwee eggs.”

“That’s fine.” She poked at them a little dubiously. “I’ve always wanted to try them. They’re considered real delicacies.” She looked up and smiled at him. “It all looks great, really. Both the Minbari and Human food. Certainly better than the food I ate for five months on the Rim. Maybe even a little better than what I ate on Babylon 5.”

“You know,” he said, digging into his own food, ‘ ‘We never really got a chance to talk much about how things are on the station.”

“It’s hard to say. I wasn’t there very long, but from what I could see, everything was in an uproar. Never could reach Ivanova, and I don’t think Delenn was even on the station.”

“Really? That’s odd,” Sinclair said. “What about Captain Sheridan. Did you get a chance to talk with him at all?”

“No. I got the impression he wasn’t on the station, either. What do you think of Sheridan? I’ve heard conflicting things about him.”

“He’s a good officer. What have you heard that’s bad?”

“Nothing specific,” she said. “He’s supposed to be something of a gung-ho superpatriot and jarhead, not really suited for a diplomatic post.”

“Some have said the same about me.”

“So you’re saying it’s not true about him either?”

“There’s a lot more to the guy than you might think reading the propaganda that was written during and after the war.”

“You were at the Academy at the same time, weren’t you?”

“For one year,” Sinclair laughed. “But I don’t judge him by that.” Sakai looked at him quizzically.

“I never told you that story, did I?” he asked. “I met Sheridan during my first year at the Academy. He was an upperclassman. I made the unfortunate mistake of getting his attention by spilling a tray of food on him – don’t ask. Since I was just a plebe, and it’s every upperclassman’s duty to haze plebes, he dedicated his last year at the Academy to making my life a living hell. When he finally graduated, and I was no longer a plebe, I got as drunk in celebration as I have ever been in my life, before or since.

“Well, we ran across each other a couple of times after that, during the war and right after, but only briefly each time. We were professional toward each other, two officers doing their jobs. I didn’t really get to know him until the food riots on Mars. I hadn’t been stationed there very long when the rioting broke out. I was trying to get back to my base without getting killed, but I was in an unfamiliar area of town, and with the power out and fire and smoke all around me, I wasn’t sure which way to turn. So I picked the nearest alley, hoping to escape the rioters’ attention, and ran right into four rioters and an Earthforce officer having a very spirited discussion, which the officer was losing. I didn’t get a look at the man’s face; I just saw a fellow officer in trouble, and jumped in to help. The two of us were able to win the argument and the four rioters hobbled away for reinforcements. It was only then I realized the officer was none other than my nemesis from the Academy, John Sheridan. Anyway, sticking around seemed like a poor idea, and Sheridan said he knew a bar that would be safe, where we could call to check in with our respective bases. So we made our way there, but then couldn’t leave until things quieted down outside. We got to talking, finally got to know each other. I discovered he was a pretty decent guy. He even apologized, just a little, for the Academy. I haven’t seen him since, but I’m confident he’s not the martinet and puppet that President Clark probably hoped he would be.”

“Just as you aren’t the somber, serious mystic these Minbari think you are.”

“Hey,” Sinclair protested. “I possess gravitas. Father Raffelli told me that back in high school.”

“Was that before or after you masterminded the disassembly of his speedboat and had it reassembled around the top spire of the church?”

“Before,” Sinclair conceded.

A knock on the door interrupted further discussion. Sinclair found a bowing Minbari Ranger sent to summon him to a meeting.

“Anything wrong?” Sakai asked him when he returned to the dining area.

“Someone’s called an early morning meeting. It could be anything. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her and left.

When Sinclair entered the conference room, Rathenn was speaking in a low urgent tone with Jenimer. The Minbari leader looked drawn and in pain, and clearly should have been somewhere else resting. Ulkesh stood motionless at the back of the room.

“Chosen One,” Sinclair said with a slight bow, “I wasn’t informed you’d be here today.”

“I have distressing news,” Jenimer said. “Without my consultation or consent, the Grey Council has removed Delenn as Satai, and replaced her on the council with Neroon.”

Sinclair was stunned. “Can they do that? Is that legal?”

“They have done it, and apparently care nothing for the finer points of custom, precedent, or law.”

“But Neroon is military caste,” said Sinclair. “That will give the military four seats and the religious caste only two. Valen himself decreed that each caste must have three members on the council.”

“The military caste,” Rathenn said bitterly, “no longer heeds any voice but that of their own ambition and hatred.”

“The consequences of this action,” Jenimer continued, sounding more and more tired, “will be far-ranging and unpredictable. I do not know how it will affect our work here, but I promise you, I will do everything within my power to protect you and your Rangers.”