To Dream in the City of Sorrows (3 page)

Sinclair laughed. “At school, most definitely. Our military class, for the most part, isn’t as sold on the benefits of meditation as yours is.”

“But truly you were blessed to receive training in becoming both a priest and a warrior. We Minbari have always considered that the mark of the exceptional person, a goal to strive for. For instance, the great hero Branmer–“

Sinclair did not mean to tense at the name of the general who had led the Minbari forces against Humanity at the Battle of the Line, but clearly he had, for Rathenn looked stricken with the realization he had said the wrong thing.

“Well,” Sinclair said hurriedly, trying to spare Rathenn further embarrassment, “I didn’t exactly get instruction on becoming a priest. I went to a Jesuit high school, yes, but among my people you don’t have to want to be a priest to attend. It was never my intention to join the religious life. All I ever wanted was to be a fighter pilot, like my dad.”

There was an awkward pause; Rathenn seemed to be still recovering from his faux pas, and Sinclair realized he no longer wanted to talk about this, not with Rathenn, a member of the Grey Council, not still feeling as unsettled as he did from the slowly fading nightmare.

“Perhaps we should get started on the day,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

Rathenn bowed and, as always, insisted Sinclair lead the way.

C
HAPTER 2

THE Minbari capital city of Yedor was, by any standards, a beautiful one. Many of the old city’s first dwellings, carved into the natural ice-blue crystalline outcroppings that so dominated the Minbari landscape, were still extant and being used. Great care had then been taken over the centuries to construct other buildings to resemble those sculpted out of the landscape to ensure that they would fit seamlessly into the natural aesthetic. The effect was dramatically beautiful, with towering crystal skyscrapers next to natural waterfalls, busy city streets surrounding tranquil if sparsely landscaped parks.

It was a busy center of commerce and everyday living. And yet at times it seemed to Sinclair that Yedor was pervaded by a tense stillness, like the halls of a long-forgotten museum where everything was carefully preserved in casings of ice – but for whose sake? Other times, when he was feeling less somber, it seemed like a city asleep, waiting to awaken with the dawn.

The residential quarters, where Sinclair resided, were mainly quaint Minbari-style equivalents of bungalows and resident apartments also set unobtrusively into the crystalline rock-faced terrain. From there to the vast government complex with its towering central palace was a short but pleasant walk through one of the more beautiful parks of flower beds and hedges, shrubs and small trees, a tapestry of many shades of blue, silver, and green. Every morning of the past fifteen Minbari days since Sinclair had finally been able to establish an office and try to start his work as ambassador, Rathenn had made that walk with him.

As congenial company as Rathenn was, Sinclair found this more than just a little disconcerting. Rathenn, after all, was Satai, a member of the powerful and (even to the Minbari) mysterious Grey Council, the nine-member group that ruled Minbar primarily from behind the scenes, spending most of their time between the stars on a huge Minbari war cruiser, rarely leaving the ship, even to come to Minbar.

Delenn, who Sinclair had come to think of as a friend, had been the one exception to this, assigned to Babylon 5 as the Minbari ambassador even as she retained her Grey Council membership. But Sinclair knew that had been an unusual case, and he had gradually discovered that he had been one of the main reasons for it. The Minbari had insisted on Sinclair’s assignment to Babylon 5 and had then sent Delenn as their ambassador for the purpose of observing him. The Minbari religious caste were guided to an obsessive degree by prophecy and notions of destiny and predetermination. They had decided, as Delenn had told him, that he had a “great destiny” and they were determined that he fulfill it.

And now here was Rathenn, like Delenn, behaving in a way totally atypical for a member of the Grey Council. Indeed, he insisted that Sinclair not use his honorific title of Satai.

Rathenn shadowed Sinclair throughout the day, always with great politeness, seemingly at his beck and call, as if trying to anticipate his every need and giving the impression that he would move heaven and earth to do whatever Sinclair asked.

But like his attentive Minbari residential “staff,” Rathenn rarely actually did anything Sinclair asked him to do, usually proclaiming the request, amid great apologies, to be “impossible to do at this time.”

They walked silently for a moment under a low canopy of trees, whose branches and leaves looked exactly like delicate icicles. The triple spires of the government palace were just visible ahead.

“Has the Ambassador reconsidered my suggestion that he allow our best tailors to create for him a Minbari wardrobe more suitable to our climate and to his requirements.”

Sinclair tried not to sigh. Rathenn had slipped into using the third person, his way of letting him know he knew this was a delicate subject.

“Rathenn, as always, it’s a most generous offer, but it would be inappropriate for me to dress in the Minbari fashion. I am the Earth ambassador to Minbar. My job is to represent Earth and all of Humanity to the Minbari people, and to be a link back to Earth for all Humans who come to visit your world.

“When my fellow Humans come to see me here, my being dressed in the familiar clothing of Earth provides an immediate level of comfort and assurance as to who I am and who I represent. When you’re a stranger in a strange land, that sort of connection to your home is very important.

“And when I meet with your fellow Minbari, my clothing immediately conveys where I come from and who I represent.”

If I meet with your fellow Minbari,
Sinclair thought. Every day, he saw Rathenn and perhaps a handful of religious acolytes and members of the worker caste, most of whom avoided speaking with him. But virtually no other important Minbari.

“Speaking of which, how is my request for a meeting with F’hurs Anoon coming along?” On his own, Sinclair had managed to find out the name of Yedor’s F’hurs – the Minbari equivalent of mayor – but had not yet been able to get a meeting arranged. “It’s important that I establish ties with the local government, open some communication. That is why I’m here.”

“That is not possible at this time, Ambassador,” Rathenn said with a little bow of his head. “Her duties make her unavailable for several more days. But soon, I assure you, you will be meeting with the appropriate officials.”

It was clear to Sinclair that he was deliberately being denied access to other Minbari officials. But why? He was on Minbar as ambassador at the specific request of the Minbari government. If they didn’t want him to do his job, why had they insisted upon his assignment to the job?

He wondered again if it was still just the repercussion from the incident that had occurred when he first arrived on Minbar. Almost before he’d had time to unpack he had been arrested and falsely accused of taking part in a bizarre plot to assassinate Jenimer, the recently inaugurated Minbari leader. He had seen quite a few Minbari officials then, all sitting in judgment on his life.

Though he had tried very hard to obtain it, Sinclair had never received a clear answer on exactly what had happened, or who had been behind the plot to frame him. And he knew that in the eyes of some of the higher ranking military caste, such as Neroon, who didn’t like him in the first place, he had not actually been cleared of the crime – merely pardoned by the Chosen One himself, the supposed target of the plot. They couldn’t argue with the Minbari leader’s decision, but they didn’t have to like it, and many didn’t.

Rathenn, aware of this, had tried to assure Sinclair every day that most Minbari did not view Sinclair with suspicion. But Sinclair, when he allowed himself a moment of cynicism, wondered if that wasn’t mainly because most Minbari had not been informed of his presence on their planet.

Sinclair and Rathenn had reached the two-story-high triangular entrance to the government palace, and as always, Rathenn accompanied Sinclair to his suite of offices. “Stranger in a strange land,” Rathenn mused. “An interesting expression.”

For a moment, Sinclair didn’t know what he was talking about, but then remembered what he had said. “It’s a quote from the Bible, one of my people’s holy books.”

“Ahh,” said Rathenn. He seemed pleased by this. “I have been informed that two passenger ships will be arriving, one later today and one tomorrow, both with Human passengers listed on the manifest.”

“Thank you, Rathenn. I assume the manifests have been forwarded to my computer.” It was the one part of his job as ambassador that Sinclair had been able to do over the past few days. By law, all alien visitors to Minbar were required to come to the government palace and register their presence. And with Sinclair’s appointment, the law had been expanded to require those Humans visiting Minbar to meet with the Earth ambassador and explain their reasons for being on Minbar.

Rathenn seemed eager for Sinclair to carry out this duty, and in this matter alone was extremely helpful. There were never that many Humans on Minbar at any one time, but enough that Sinclair had been seeing a fairly steady stream of visitors. Rathenn had assigned Sinclair an aide from the Minbari religious caste to help with the paperwork involved and keep the appointments scheduled at a reasonable pace.

Rathenn bowed politely to Sinclair. “I shall leave you now, Ambassador. But if you should require anything, I am at your service.”

“Thank you, Rathenn,” Sinclair said, returning the bow. “There are many things I require that seem to be impossible to obtain, but I appreciate whatever efforts you are making on my behalf.”

If Rathenn saw the double edge to that statement, he did not show it. “It is my pleasure, Ambassador.”

“There is one other thing I’m having some difficulty with,” Sinclair continued before Rathenn could leave. “Perhaps you could be of some service there. My uplink access to the StellarCom network was finally installed yesterday, but for some reason I’ve been unable to establish any links to Earth or to Babylon 5. And as every message I have tried to send out through your people has gotten no response, you can see how I might be concerned.”

“That is most unfortunate, Ambassador,” said Rathenn. “I shall, of course, look into this immediately.”

“Have you been able to contact Delenn for me?” Sinclair asked, not letting the Minbari get away as he so clearly wanted to do. The last time Sinclair had seen Delenn she had been on her way back to Babylon 5, and he assumed she was still there. But she had apparently made no effort to contact him since, and he had no way of contacting her. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her of his growing concerns.

She was the one Minbari he felt he could trust the most because she was the one Minbari he knew the best.

“No,” said Rathenn. “I am told she is unavailable at this time.”

“Is she on Babylon 5?”

“I’m afraid I have no other information to give you, Ambassador. Please excuse me, and I beg your pardon for any unintended discourtesy, but I am urgently required elsewhere at exactly this moment.”

Sinclair nodded, and Rathenn hurried off, putting Sinclair suddenly in mind of the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, a thought that only slightly amused him under the circumstances. He went into his office, as barely furnished as his living quarters, to check his schedule for the day. Venak, his Minbari aide, had not yet arrived. As best as he could determine from the nearly indecipherable scrawl on the schedule, he had almost an hour until his first appointment. With luck, that meant at least half an hour to himself before the ever-helpful Venak arrived to hover nearby.

He powered up his computer and keyed in his access to StellarCom. “Computer, I wish to contact Earth Alliance space station Babylon 5, access code on file.”

The StellarCom system logo stared mutely at him from the screen while the system processed his request.

“That link will take five minutes and twenty-two seconds to process. Please stand by.”

Finally. Sinclair felt a bit of hope for the first time in a long while. He had been recalled to Earth from Babylon 5 in the midst of a great crisis on Earth – the President, Luis Santiago, had died in the explosion of his personal transport ship, Earthforce One, just moments after Sinclair and his command staff on Babylon 5 had uncovered evidence to indicate the explosion was the result of an assassination plot, not a tragic accident. Obtaining that evidence had nearly cost the life of Babylon 5’s security chief – and his friend – Michael Garibaldi.

Sinclair had tried to bring that evidence to the attention of EarthGov while still on Babylon 5 and during the short time he was on Earth. He was all but ignored both times, told the evidence was faulty, told an investigation would look into it, told not to spread dangerous rumors.

And then he was told to report to Minbar as the new Earth ambassador.
Your world needs you to go to Minbar,
President Clark, the commander-in-chief of Earthforce, had told him.
Maybe the Minbari need you as well. We’ve heard there is trouble between the Minbari religious caste and the military caste.

Why send me,
Sinclair had asked. He didn’t want to leave Babylon 5, didn’t want to abandon the important work he had been doing there, didn’t want to leave behind the people who had become his friends, didn’t want to leave the side of his critically wounded friend, didn’t want to leave without at least trying to send word to Catherine who was somewhere on The Rim surveying new planets for the Universal Terraform Corporation.

Because,
he was told,
you know the Minbari as well as any Human does. You can help keep the peace between Earth and Minbar. And because the Minbari trust you. They asked for you. They will accept only you. They think you have a Minbari soul ...

Sinclair was a military man; had been all his life, as his father had been before him. When a superior gave a lawful and moral order, a military man did his damnedest to carry it out to the best of his ability. He didn’t have to like the order. He didn’t have to agree with the reasons behind the order.