To Dream in the City of Sorrows (28 page)

Marcus had still not moved. If he said no, he was likely to get another strike across the head for lying.

“May I speak freely, Sech Turval?”

“Of course.”

Marcus looked up at Turval, who was still circling.

“Well, then frankly, yes I do. I think I’d benefit more from an hour of sleep. Sir.”

“What about your other training courses, Mr. Cole? Do you find them equally useless?”

“No. Sir. Not for the most part.”

“And how do you think you are doing, Mr. Cole? Please speak freely. No false modesty.”

“Pretty well, sir.”

“You’re doing well in combat? Weapons? Surveillance? Minbari language? Cross-cultural studies? Weight training? Endurance training?”

Marcus answered yes to each in turn, but growing more and more uncomfortable.

“Pilot training? Denn’bok training?”

Again, Marcus answered yes, but grew even more uneasy at the Minbari’s emphasis on the two subjects he had just been thinking about. Turval had the uncanny ability to seemingly read his students’ thoughts, though there was nothing to indicate he was a genuine telepath.

“Quite the – what is the expression? Oh yes – quite the hotshot pilot, are you?”

“I think I’m pretty good, Sech Turval.”

“And with the denn’bok Are you ‘pretty good’ with that?”

“I think so.”

“You think, do you?” Turval came to a stop right in front of Marcus. “Our Anla’shok Na has a different opinion. He tells me he fears you will one day plow an aircraft into a mountainside. You have great talent, he says, but you do not truly think at all. You are mentally undisciplined and unfocused. As for the denn‘bok ...” Turval pivoted and walked a little distance away, then turned around again. “Stand up, Mr. Cole.”

When Marcus stood, Turval produced two folded fighting pikes from his robe, and tossed one to Marcus. “Please clear a space for Mr. Cole and me.”

The other trainees scrambled to the sides of the room.

“I am just an old religious-caste Minbari, Mr. Cole, perhaps not that far removed from the time I will go to the sea. But do not let that hold you back. Please show all of us your great skill with our fighting pike.”

Turval twisted his hand just slightly, and the pike extended to full length. With a flourish Marcus followed suit, and then, grabbing the weapon with both hands, crouched in preparation for an attack. Turval stood easily, lightly handling the denn‘bok.

“I give you the option, Mr. Cole. You may attack first, or defend my attack. I don’t want it said I took you by surprise.”

Marcus had begun to sweat nervously. It would be safer to defend. “You may begin,” said Marcus with the proper ceremonial bow.

Turval returned the bow. They took the prescribed stance and distance from each other. Marcus tensed for the attack, trying to guess what attack movement the Minbari would use. But there was a blur of motion and before Marcus could react, his pike went sailing from his hands. Then he hit the ground, hard, Turval’s denn’bok pressed just hard enough against his windpipe to make breathing very difficult, but not quite impossible. Yet.

“What is a Ranger, Mr. Cole?” Turval asked in a loud, clear voice. “The embodiment of what is best in an intelligent being, the embodiment of delight, respect, and compassion. What is a Ranger’s mission? To observe and to fight in the service of the One for the preservation of the future and the protection and service of all life. Do you follow me so far, Mr. Cole?”

Marcus tried to say yes, but barely managed a grunt.

“Excellent. There is nothing you will learn here that is not based in what you will learn in meditation, Mr. Cole. Do I still have your attention?” Turval took the denn’bok from Marcus’s throat and reached out a hand to help him up.

Marcus got up and, when he could speak again, said, “Yes, Sech Turval. You have my full attention.”

“Good,” said Turval, his attention still focused on Marcus, but his words aimed at the whole group. “A Ranger must know who he is, beneath opinion and conditioning and the constant prattle of his thoughts. He needs to know what he truly is at the level beyond thoughts and words, at the level of absolute silence out of which comes all that is truly meaningful. Learn that and you learn delight, respect, and compassion for yourself and all other beings. That is what meditation will teach you.

“A Ranger must know how to truly see and to see things as they truly are in all situations, not what familiarity, conditioning, opinion, and prejudice tell you it might be or could be or should be. For a warrior, misperception, willful blindness, or wishful thinking can lead to death for himself and others. Meditation teaches you how to see, by teaching you how to simply be.

“Finally, a Ranger must learn to act from his true mind, the center of his being, not from his thoughts or ego or pride or external effort and force. This should be true whether preparing a meal or defending oneself in battle. Meditation teaches you how.”

Then, Turval softened his tone, speaking now for Marcus alone. “Learn this, and I believe you might one day become as good a Ranger as your brother was.”

Marcus saw a kindness in the old Minbari’s eyes he had never noticed before. Thoroughly chastened, he bowed to his teacher. “Thank you, sir.”

C
HAPTER 24

ONE difference between Earthforce training and Ranger training that Marcus most appreciated was that here they had no bed check, no confinement to barracks at night. A Ranger trainee was expected to learn discipline and how to apply it for himself. So if Marcus wanted to trade a little bit of sleep or study time for a short walk at night, that was up to him. Until now, he had not been actually able to do that – there was simply too much to study at night – but it comforted him to know the option was there. Tonight he felt the need to exercise that option, to have a little time to himself, the one thing that was in short supply during the rest of the day.

He found himself heading in the direction of The Chapel, the colored windows beautifully glowing from lights within. He wondered what the inside of the beautiful little temple looked like at night. He walked in and was surprised to see Sinclair sitting near the statue of Valen, facing toward Marcus but head down, reading. Marcus froze for a moment, not sure what to do, then started to back out quietly.

“Hello, Marcus.” Sinclair closed the book and looked up.

“Sorry, Ambassador. I didn’t mean to disturb your prayers.”

Sinclair smiled. “I wasn’t praying. I come here to read or just sit sometimes. Just to be alone. It’s the one place I know no Minbari will disturb me. I don’t know whether or not they think I’m praying in here, but since they themselves will admit Valen wasn’t a god, I figure I’m not committing any sort of sacrilege by using this as a quiet reading room.”

“I’ll leave you then, Ambassador.”

“No, it’s quite all right, Marcus. Actually, I’d like to know how you feel you’re getting along so far.”

Marcus assumed Sinclair had already heard about the upbraiding he had received from Turval earlier that day, but wasn’t going to bring it up.

“Doing my best, Ambassador. I’d like to think I’m learning.”

“I believe you are, Marcus,” Sinclair said warmly.

“Although there are times when I can’t figure out what the heck the Minbari are saying,” Marcus heard himself saying. He was nervous talking to the Anla’shok Na, and out of habit he had jumped in without thinking, to prevent an awkward silence. “I mean, they can be quite clear and precise when they choose to be, but other times they’ll speak reams of words without making any apparent sense. This can be a bit of a problem when it’s one of our teachers and he expects to be understood.”

“Do most of the trainees feel that way?”

“I’d say so. There’s a joke among us that the only way to understand anything Sech Turval says is to look at it in a mirror while hanging upside down from the ceiling.” Marcus stopped, sure he was talking too much.

But Sinclair laughed. “I’ll have to remember that. There’s a few others I know that could be said of. It’ll be easier as you get more familiar with the religious dialect. But it’s also wise to remember that the Minbari have learned that a good way to avoid answering a question or talking about an issue they don’t want to get into is to reply with a non sequitur, or say something inscrutable or downright incomprehensible. It can bring the conversation to a halt so they don’t have to say anything else.”

Now it was Marcus’s turn to laugh. “I’ll have to remember that,” he said. “Perhaps I should let you get back to your reading. A racy novel?” Marcus couldn’t believe he said that last bit. What was it about Sinclair that had him blurting out things he shouldn’t be saying? He desperately wanted to leave before he embarrassed himself again.

But Sinclair was smiling, obviously enjoying the conversation. “Left all of those back in my quarters. This is The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Are you familiar with it?”

“Oh, yes. I read that in a philosophy class back in college. Gloomy guy. And not the most readily accessible prose ever written. Barely got through it.”

Sinclair held the book out to him. “Then it’s time you try again. When you’re finished, we’ll discuss it. I’ve been considering making it required reading. I think you’ll find it’s one of the best books ever written on leadership.”

“Thank you, Ambassador.”

Marcus decided he would have to learn to keep his mouth shut. Still, he was also beginning to enjoy this conversation. How many other opportunities would he have like this, to just talk informally with the Anla’shok Na? And under the watchful gaze of Valen himself. Suddenly it occurred to Marcus, why not ask Sinclair, who might know if anyone did, the one question that still had him puzzled.

“You said earlier that Valen isn’t a god to the Minbari, but there are times I wonder. We hear a lot about Valen from our instructors, and most of it sounds like religious awe to me. That was one of my biggest fears before coming here, that the Rangers would turn out to be just some kind of religious cult.”

“You’re not a religious man, are you, Marcus?”

“An atheist, actually. I stopped believing in God and miracles a long time ago.”

“I suppose I’ve also had reason during my life to stop believing in God,” Sinclair said slowly. “But somehow I haven’t. I’m still working out the details, though.”

“They say the Devil is in the details.”

“God, too,” Sinclair reminded him.

“The way I see it, no God, no Devil; no problem. You still have the details, but they’re of our own making, no supernatural forces needed. I’m glad you warned us from the beginning how much around here is steeped in Minbari metaphysics. Made it easier to deal with.”

“You don’t have to believe it. Just respect it.”

“As you said from the beginning, Ambassador. And I have tried. In fact, I learned today I’d do well to be a little more open-minded about some things.”

Sinclair smiled knowingly at this. “Nevertheless, the work of the Rangers isn’t dependent on Minbari religion – and must never be. That’s from the word of our founder himself.”

Sinclair looked up at the statue of Valen.

“But I thought he created a lot of the religion himself.”

“Read for yourself, Marcus. The truth is there for those who want to look for it. He didn’t create any of it. Minbari religion existed long before his time, and it wasn’t until years after his time that the Minbari started invoking his name in their rituals and daily life.”

“Like Jesus,” said Marcus.

“Well, maybe,” said Sinclair. “Though I think of him more as King Arthur. He set up a sort of Round Table in the Grey Council; improved Minbari society rather like Camelot; fought off an invasion, like King Arthur; the circumstances of his death are unknown and there is no body or tomb, leading most to believe he didn’t actually die but would return one day at the time of his people’s greatest need to lead them to victory once again. The Minbari have even reported visions of him down through the centuries. Anyway, it’s just another way we’re like the Minbari. We’ve taken more than a few Humans and layered them with myth until we’ve nearly deified them.”

“Like Elvis,” said Marcus. Then thought, oh, damn. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Sinclair had seemed so serious. He tried to explain. “I have a distant cousin who belongs to a sect that prays to Elvis as one of the saints. Black sheep of the family.”

Sinclair’s expression was absolutely unreadable until he burst into laughter, a deep, unselfconscious laughter that seemed to rumble out of the silent temple, and must have carried across the compound. It was contagious, and Marcus joined in, just a little.

“I never thought of it quite that way before,” said Sinclair finally. Marcus smiled and shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

Sinclair stood up. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Marcus. But we both need to get some sleep.”

“You’re right, of course, Ambassador.” Marcus held up the book Sinclair had given him. “I’ll start reading this immediately.” He started to back out – and backed right into somebody. Turning around, Marcus was appalled to see it was Rathenn. A member of the Grey Council himself. Though he did not interact with the trainees, Rathenn was a frequent visitor to the compound, often seen conferring with Sinclair.

“My apologies, Satai Rathenn.”

Rathenn, a grave expression on his face, barely looked at Marcus, instead hurrying over to Sinclair. Marcus bowed and left, and though he did not mean to eavesdrop, the Minbari’s words carried out of the chapel into the night where Marcus heard them.

“Ambassador. I have distressing news. The Chosen One is dying.”

C
HAPTER 25

As they hurried to the flyer waiting to take them from the Ranger Compound to the Chosen One’s palace, Rathenn explained to Sinclair what had happened. Jenimer had collapsed in the late afternoon, while in conference with the Grey Council itself whom he had summoned back to Minbar. “Perhaps he knew his time was short,” Rathenn said.

The doctors had determined quickly nothing more could be done. It was feared the Chosen One would die without a last word to his people. But, after several hours of moving in and out of consciousness, murmuring incoherently, Jenimer had somehow revived just enough to speak, and sent Rathenn personally to bring Sinclair. Once he finished relating all this to Sinclair, Rathenn fell silent for the rest of the journey to the Chosen One’s palace.