To Dream in the City of Sorrows (36 page)

“Draal must have some idea where she went.”

“He does not.”

“We have to at least try.”

“Would you ask others to risk their lives on so risky a mission with so little chance of success?” Rathenn asked.

“No. But I will.”

“For you it would not just be a risk, Entil’Zha. The Vorlons say it would be a death sentence.”

“What are you talking about?”

“With the proper precautions, you might jump through the rift to the past without harm, but you could not jump forward again without aging, or even dying, if the span of years was great enough.”

“I don’t understand, I thought the time stabilizer prevented that.”

“But you were without a time stabilizer when you first visited the rift a year ago. You were unprotected when you were exposed to the burst of tachyon radiation released as Babylon 4 jumped through the rift. One such exposure without a time stabilizer makes any time jump thereafter potentially lethal, with or without a stabilizer. Even if she somehow survived the time jump, which is unlikely, and you were able against what are surely insurmountable odds to find which era she went to, you could not return with her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Sinclair asked angrily.

Rathenn seemed to think the answer was obvious. “We had no reason to think you would make a time jump during this mission.”

Sinclair didn’t want to believe it. “There has to be a way. Just how much more haven’t you told me? What about it, Ambassador Ulkesh? Maybe Draal doesn’t know, but what about the Vorlons? Do you know where she went? What year, what century?”

“It is irrelevant,” Ulkesh said.

“Irrelevant?” Sinclair instantly was on his feet and around the table. “You son of a bitch bastard!”

Rathenn quickly put himself between the Vorlon and the enraged Entil’Zha.

“Please! Entil’Zha. Your grief is understandable, but do not let it cloud your reason. I have told you the truth in this matter.”

Sinclair tried to bring his anger under control. “I’m sure you have, Rathenn. At least as much as you’ve been told.”

“Then Entil’Zha, let me say again how very sorry I am for your loss. Anla’shok Sakai was liked and respected by all, and we grieve with you. But the work we do here–“

“Is all important to you, isn’t it?” Sinclair took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. The work of the Rangers will continue. But there’s going to be a few changes around here. From now on, I deal only with you, Rathenn. I don’t want to even see the ambassador from Vorlon unless it is absolutely necessary.”

Rathenn glanced hesitantly at Ulkesh, but then bowed his head in compliance. Sinclair turned and left.

He walked, not knowing where he was going. He couldn’t bear returning to the house he had shared with Catherine for such a brief time. Everything there was now a reminder of his loss.

For once, was he being told the whole truth? Was the Vorlon right? Was there no chance, no hope at all? Was Catherine truly gone forever? Over and over, he asked himself these questions as he walked blindly. He didn’t care about the risk to himself, but Rathenn was right even if he could somehow persuade the Vorlons and Draal to grant access to the rift, he couldn’t ask others to risk their lives without even a small hope of success. And with no way of determining even to which millennia she had gone, he didn’t even have that much.

God, why? he asked again, as he had innumerable times. Why?

He found himself in front of The Chapel. Not knowing where else to go, he entered. Marcus was sitting in the temple, meditating, but quickly scrambled to his feet.

“Forgive me, Entil’Zha. I’ll leave.”

“No, Marcus. Stay where you are. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Silence fell between them.

“I never really had a chance before now to tell you how truly sorry I am,” Marcus said. “Anla’shok Sakai was the best. All of us, all the Rangers – we’re going to miss her.”

Unexpectedly, Sinclair felt tears stinging his eyes. This is not the place to start crying, he thought almost angrily. He was the Entil’Zha. There wasn’t a Ranger under his command who hadn’t experienced a loss. He was a symbol, Rathenn had said.

To keep the tears from falling he looked up – at the statue of Valen, at the temshwee birds nesting in the upper reaches of the temple, at the afternoon light streaming through from above. What was he doing here? He found himself thinking about the last time he had been here, pinning the badge of the Rangers on Catherine, seeing the delight in her face. “Delight, respect, and compassion,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“I beg your pardon, Entil’Zha?”

It was easier to keep his emotions under control if he kept his gaze focused upward. He concentrated on the serene features of the statue. He found that he wanted to talk. “Delight, respect, and compassion. Valen insisted that be central to the Rangers. There’s a lot written about Valen’s compassion, and about his sense of respect for others. But not about what delighted him, what gave him joy. Not a lot said about that. Maybe he didn’t know any happiness in his life. Maybe that’s why Valen stressed the need for delight, because he knew how transitory it is. How difficult happiness is to find and then to hold on to once you’ve found it. Enjoy the few moments of happiness while you can because all things pass away.”

“Maybe Valen,” Marcus said quietly, “was also trying to tell us to remember that while the pain never goes away, there’s always the chance of finding delight and joy again somewhere down the road. And that it’s worth holding on for.”

Sinclair looked back at Marcus, a little surprised. This was a man who had also endured too much tragedy in his life. “Maybe so, Marcus. But it’s extremely difficult to believe sometimes.”

Marcus nodded with understanding.

It was time to return to the house. Sinclair said goodbye to Marcus, and made his way back across the compound. Everything looked different to him now, starker somehow, harsher. But nothing more so than the house. Even from the outside, it looked unbearably empty and cold. He entered, hardly able to see anything, lost in a flood of memories as he closed the door. All the times it had fallen apart, Catherine had been the one to help him pick up the pieces. Now, he had to do it without her. He knew that she would want him to, but that was little consolation.

He went into the bedroom and sat down on her side of the bed, picked up the picture of the two of them she had carried with her since it had been taken shortly before the war. It was in a frame he had given her, black lacquered wood decorated with tiny golden stars. It had been taken when they had visited her aunt in Hong Kong ...

He realized with a tight feeling in his chest that he would have to contact the elderly woman and tell her, and that suddenly made it all the more real that she was gone. The tears started down his face. This time he let them fall, didn’t try to stop them, even though it did nothing to stop the pain.

It was several minutes before he realized he was not alone.

He turned around, and was stunned to see Kosh. He stood up, still holding the photograph. He had recognized the Vorlon ambassador to Babylon 5 immediately, not only from the different encounter suit Kosh wore, but from the different sense this Vorlon somehow gave to Sinclair. “What are you doing here?”

The Vorlon glided forward, seemed to be scrutinizing Sinclair for a long moment. “To give condolences.”

That was the last thing Sinclair had expected, especially after his encounter with Ulkesh. “Thank you.”

“It was not anticipated. But you must continue.” This was too much for Sinclair. Were they never going to leave him a moment to himself, never stop pushing, interfering, manipulating, not even to allow him to grieve?

And what the hell was Kosh saying, anyway. Sinclair knew enough about the Vorlons not to assume he understood what Kosh was talking about. Exactly what had not been anticipated? Who had not anticipated it? And what exactly must he continue? Long association with the Vorlons had taught him to automatically consider those kinds of questions about every statement they made, and never jump to the easy conclusion.

To ask a Vorlon to explain a statement was to get a “clarification” that only made matters more confusing. But he was angry again.

“Why? Why should I ‘continue’? Why am I so important to the Vorlons, Kosh? And don’t give me any stuff about my having a Minbari soul and fulfilling prophecy. That doesn’t play with me the way it does with the Minbari. Why me?”

“You have a role to play.”

“And I’m the only one who can play it? I find that hard to believe. I’ve always gotten the impression we mere mortal Humans and Minbari are pretty much interchangeable to you Vorlons.”

“Only you can play the role as needed. Only you will see the difference.”

“I don’t suppose you want to explain that a little further?”

Kosh didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think so,” Sinclair said finally. “If even a fraction of what you Vorlons say is true – and I have no confidence that more than a fraction of it is the absolute truth” – he paused, hoping for some kind of reaction to that, but not really surprised when none was forthcoming – “then I will ‘continue,’ as you put it. I will see the work of the Rangers through. Because it means saving lives, and that’s what’s important to me. As for what’s important to you and the rest of the Vorlons – I really don’t know. But I sometimes get the feeling that what’s important to you, Ambassador Kosh, is not the same as what’s important to Ambassador Ulkesh.”

Again, Kosh did not reply. But neither did he turn to leave. He stood there, as if waiting for Sinclair to say more.

Sinclair looked down at the picture he was still holding, and felt a sudden twinge of hope. He had never gotten what he considered a straight answer out of Ulkesh. Would it be any different with Kosh?

Or am I just grasping at straws? he thought. At any hope, no matter how improbable?

There was nothing to lose by asking. And everything to gain.

“Kosh, do you know where the rift sent Catherine and whether or not she survived the time jump?”

The Vorlon didn’t answer, although even that was an improvement over what Ulkesh had said. Maybe he hadn’t asked the right question.

“All right. Just answer me one question. I’ll believe what you tell me, because I think we respect each other enough for that. And no matter what your answer, I promise I won’t just abandon my responsibilities here. But tell me this: do you know if there is any hope at all of my finding her again?”

With a surge of bitter disappointment – all the more painful for the hope he had allowed himself – Sinclair saw Kosh turn and leave without responding. He followed the Vorlon out to the front, watched him go out the door. He had been a fool to think even for a moment he would get an answer.

But as the door closed beind the Vorlon, Sinclair heard a reply, whether spoken aloud or directly to his thoughts, he was not sure. “Perhaps.”

C
HAPTER 31

MARCUS paused outside the Earth Embassy in Tuzanor, and looked around. He was a little early for his appointment. It was his last day on Minbar – for how long he didn’t know – and he had taken a couple of hours to walk along the streets of the City of Sorrows one more time. Now he was back at the beginning of it all, the embassy. He hadn’t been here since the day he had first met Ambassador Sinclair and been accepted into Ranger training. It seemed appropriate that this was his last stop before heading to Yedor, and from there to his new assignment on Zagros 7, a Drazi colony where Marcus was to help establish a Ranger training camp.

He had received his official orders and instructions already, but the Entil’Zha had requested he stop in just before leaving so they might talk unofficially and say good-bye, a request that had pleased Marcus very much. He hadn’t seen much of Sinclair in the month since Catherine Sakai had been lost to the time rift, and he had worried that the Entil’Zha associated him too much with that painful memory.

Certainly, from what Marcus had seen of Sinclair, the event had changed him. He was more somber now, and when he did smile, it was too often tinged with sadness. He was still involved in every aspect of the Ranger operation, continued to teach classes, and remained open to any Ranger who wished to speak to him, keeping the same concerned interest in each of them that he always had. But there were times when it was clear he needed to be alone; he had even taken to wearing the hood of his cowl when he took his walks, something he had never done before. Those Rangers who had been with him since before the incident understood and respected this need; those Rangers who joined after the incident simply accepted this intriguing aloofness as part of the Entil’Zha’s mystique.

Marcus decided it was close enough to the appointed time, and entered the building. He was waved through by Sinclair’s ever-efficient assistant Venak, and Marcus walked into the ambassador’s office feeling a little nervous.

“Hello, Marcus. Please have a seat.”

Marcus was put at ease by the warm smile with which Sinclair greeted him, but he could still see the sadness beneath it.

“Entil’Zha,” Marcus said, with a small bow, before taking the offered seat. It was still a shock to see the pronounced scar on Sinclair’s face. All the Rangers knew that he had refused treatment to remove it, even though such surgery was a simple matter. And all of them understood why. It had also added to the mystique, though that had never been Sinclair’s intention.

“I wanted to wish you good luck on your mission to Zagros 7,” Sinclair said. “You’ll find the Drazi a very interesting people, but occasionally infuriating. With them, be sure to remember the first lesson I taught in reconnaissance class–“

“Watch out for the half truth that is told to mislead from the real truth,” Marcus quoted to him, “A half truth can be worse than a lie.”

Sinclair smiled again. “Glad to see you were paying attention.”

“I think I’ve learned that lesson in spades, Entil’Zha,” Marcus said, deliberately taking a light tone. He had already been fully briefed on the Drazi, as Sinclair well knew. It seemed the Entil’Zha just wanted to talk, and as Marcus had come to think of Sinclair as a friend, as much as any Ranger and the Entil’Zha could be friends, he was happy to oblige. “It seems to be a favorite saying of the Minbari, though for the life of me I can’t figure out why, since they seem to love their own occasional half truth. I still haven’t figured out how a people who claim they haven’t killed one of their own in centuries, can still have a ritual fight to the death.”