To Dream in the City of Sorrows (4 page)

So Sinclair had come to Minbar, with assurances that they would help him get word to his fiancee, that he would be kept informed of Garibaldi’s condition, that he would be kept informed of the continuing investigation into Santiago’s death, and that he would be given all the support he needed to carry out his orders and establish an embassy on Minbar to the benefit of both worlds.

But since his arrival, nothing.

He’d only been imprisoned by the Minbari for the first week of his stay here, but he might as well still be in prison given the isolation he had found himself in. Was he at last going to break out of that isolation?

The StellarCom logo suddenly began to blink. “Sorry, communication with that link cannot be established at this time. Please try later.”

Sinclair fought back a surge of disappointment. “Computer, I wish to contact EarthDome, Geneva, Planet Earth, access code on file.” Again the system processed the request, but this time it returned its smooth refusal within only a few moments. His disappointment was starting to turn into exasperation.

He hadn’t had any contact with his only brother since Christmas, and knew he might be worried, not having heard from him, knowing only what he might be reading in the papers.

“Computer, I wish to contact Malcolm Sinclair, Australian continent, Earth, access code on file.”

Again, the short time to process, again refusal.

He couldn’t get through to his superiors or his family on Earth, and couldn’t reach his friends on Babylon 5. There had to be a reason, but what was it? Who didn’t want him making contact with anyone outside of Minbar? The Minbari? His own government?

One last shot. And a long shot at best.

“Computer, I wish to contact Universal Terraform headquarters, Hong Kong, Earth. Standard search for the access number.”

The system processed the request far too quickly.

“Sorry, but communication with that link cannot be established at this time. Please try later.”

Angry and frustrated, Sinclair pushed away from his desk and stood, accidentally tipping his chair over and to the floor with a clatter. Venak hurried in to see what was wrong. The startled look on the Minbari as he hurriedly backed out of the room, cooled Sinclair’s anger considerably. He couldn’t allow himself to get that angry. It was a luxury he could not afford right now. But he vowed that Rathenn would get him a link to Earth or to Babylon 5 by the next day at the latest, or he would damn well know the reason why.

When Sinclair got back to his quarters that evening, he was exhausted. The arriving passenger ship had brought twelve Humans from its run through the outer colony worlds. Though most would not be staying on Minbar for long, Rathenn had pushed Sinclair to see as many of them that day as he could, giving him no time to pause.

His three Minbari house helpers were setting out his dinner. Sinclair carefully enunciated his request in the Minbari religious dialect that they leave his bed from now on in a horizontal position, and was rewarded with wide-eyed looks of apparent delight at his effort. At least that’s what it appeared from what he could see of their downturned faces as they bobbed up and down, bowing before hurriedly leaving.

He managed only a few bites of the dinner. Wearily, he went to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and went into the bedroom to wrestle the bed back to a horizontal position and then wedged the towel into the bed’s mechanism to steady it and keep it from tilting forward or backward. As he did so, he once again regretted that the 26 draft that came through his quarters made sleeping on the floor next to impossible.

He went to bed and found, as usual, that as tired as he was, he could not fall asleep. In fact, he was now wide awake. He sat back up, but the motion jostled the bed enough that the towel slipped from the mechanism. The bed slowly clicked up to a forty-five-degree angle and Sinclair slid off to his feet. He pushed the bed back to the horizontal position. He bent down, stuck his hand under the bed, grabbed the towel and tried to yank it back into the right place. He had tried many different objects for securing the mechanism into the right position, but the towel worked best. Usually.

He tugged and pulled on the towel, reaching further in. Without warning, the towel slipped and with a click, click, click the metal gears began to grind over his hand. Sinclair yanked his hand back and let out a creative stream of invective. Then with clenched teeth, he shook off the pain and tried once more, this time with success.

That battle over, hopefully for the night, but now more awake then ever, he went over to the chest, opened it, took out the bottle of whiskey, and poured himself one shot.

He was not a big drinker, but neither did he begrudge himself the occasional drink, and on a planet of aliens for whom alcohol was near poison, this small bottle contained a nearly irreplaceable Human luxury, one he guarded carefully.

And most importantly, it was a gift from Catherine. Where was she right now? What would she think of where he was now? In the darkness, he lifted the shot glass in a silent toast to their love, and drank down the burnt-gold liquid. That was all he would allow himself tonight. He was determined to make it last until he saw her again. He put the bottle away, closed the chest, and went back to bed.

He slept fitfully that night, and though the nightmares didn’t return, he dreamed of trying to find Catherine, but always just missing her, always arriving a few moments too late.

C
HAPTER 3

Sinclair overslept the next morning and awoke feeling more groggy than usual. When he finally emerged from the bathroom, his Minbari helpers had already come and gone, leaving his breakfast ... and his bed back at a forty-five-degree angle.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Take into account, he reminded himself, that the Minbari believed sleeping in the horizontal was tempting death. It had to do with their physiology, although it had been more of a danger in the past than it was now. His helpers obviously believed they were doing this stubborn Human a favor by saving him from his own folly.

Should he talk to Rathenn about it? No. He wanted Rathenn to spend his energy on more important matters, like getting him in contact with Earth and Babylon 5. Somehow he’d deal with these more trivial matters on his own.

On the walk over to the government palace, Rathenn gave him the good news. “I think the Ambassador will find that the uplink to EarthDome has finally been established for his office.”

“That’s wonderful, Rathenn. Thank you. Any idea what the problem was?”

“I am not an engineer, Ambassador.”

And that was not an answer, thought Sinclair. “What about other links to Earth locations?”

“I was only told of EarthDome.”

“How about to Babylon 5?”

“I’m sorry, Ambassador, I was–“

“–only told of EarthDome,” Sinclair finished for him. “All right. Well, thanks.”

On arriving, Sinclair went immediately to his computer and called up StellarCom; within moments he was connected to EarthDome Communications. He entered the code for President Clark’s office. And waited. After several more moments, an unctuous young man appeared on the screen.

“Ah, Sinclair. We’ve been wondering why there’s been no communication from you since your arrival. The Minbari say you were having some difficulty getting through. Alien technology can be rather unreliable at times, no?”

Sinclair didn’t know this man and didn’t like his unwarranted and patronizing tone of familiarity, but he answered in a neutral tone. “I wish to speak to the President.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible right now. I’ve been instructed to help you in any way I can. Think of me as your liaison.”

“And just who are you?”

“Peverell Meugnot. I am President Clark’s personal aide.”

“Well, Mr. Meugnot, I am the Earth ambassador to the Minbari Federation, an assignment that was given to me by President Clark, who told me that any communication I made with EarthGov was to be with him personally. Was he informed I was calling?”

“Yes, Ambassador,” said Meugnot, with a subtle stress on the title, “and the President asked me to deal with it personally. I am fully briefed on your situation. Now how can I help you?”

Sinclair took a deep breath. “Mr. Meugnot, I have been on Minbar for almost a month. I haven’t been sent a staff from Earth, and I’ve not been allocated a budget to establish and maintain a working embassy. I can’t continue to rely solely on Minbari resources to do my job.”

“Well, we certainly appreciate your patience to this point, Ambassador. But all I can do is ask you to give it time. Things are still unsettled in the aftermath of President Santiago’s tragic death. We’ll raise the subject of your assignment to Minbar at the reconvening of Congress in March. Nothing can be done until then, I’m afraid.”

“That’s completely unacceptable–“

“I’m afraid you have no choice but to accept it, Ambassador. How lucky for you the Minbari are so eager to help you, and that you can so obviously rely on their goodwill. Now, I fear I have a very busy schedule today, so if there’s nothing else I can help you with ...”

“There is another matter. I had been assured by your office that my personal effects, which had been sent to Earth from Babylon 5, would be forwarded to me here, but I have not yet received anything. When might I expect them?”

This seemed to take the aide by surprise. “Your personal effects? A moment please.” He put Sinclair on hold. After a long moment, he returned. “I am afraid there has been something of a mix-up regarding your belongings. I’m informed that it was all forwarded to your family here on Earth. A brother, I believe? Perhaps you should take it up with him. Now if you will excuse me. Good day.”

Meugnot’s image was replaced by the StellarCom logo. Sinclair sat back perplexed. What was Clark’s game? He had been so eager to send him to Minbar, so full of platitudes about how important the job was and how only he could do it.

Sinclair had a working relationship with at least three current senators, all of them with a good deal of influence. If the link was still up–

“Computer, reestablish link with EarthDome.”

To Sinclair’s relief, it was instantly reestablished. It proved a short-lived victory. Three calls to three senators. Three senatorial aides telling Sinclair the senator was unavailable, but would be informed he had called.

Then Sinclair’s link to StellarCom went down altogether, and on the screen appeared an advisory message written in concise worker-caste Minbari indicating there was a problem with the main transmission station on Minbar’s second moon.

He was seething. He needed to take a walk. Now.

Venak looked up in surprise as Sinclair strode briskly toward the door. “Ambassador, you have a full schedule for the day–“

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Sinclair said.

A stiff breeze was blowing through the streets of Yedor, causing Sinclair to regret leaving his overcoat behind, but he was in no mood to go back now. He turned his collar up, and quickened his pace.

He needed a plan of action. He needed options. He had come to Minbar with what he had believed to be a clear mandate, but now nothing was clear. Neither EarthGov nor the Minbari government seemed to want him to function as an ambassador, and yet both had nearly fallen over themselves to get him sent here. Why? Though both Clark and Rathenn had implied a friendly cooperation between the two governments, Sinclair’s deepest instincts told him they had very different reasons for wanting him on Minbar. But what were they?

Sinclair found he had walked to the central fountain of the government sector, an elaborate display of rock, crystal, precious gems, mirrored metal, waterfalls, pools, and fountain sprays, all engineered to be pleasing to the eye and soothing to the ear. He found himself face-to-face with his own reflection in a narrow strip of mirror on one wall. He still found it disconcerting to see himself in civilian clothes rather than an Earthforce uniform. He recalled Catherine saying something similar to him back on Babylon 5. Only she hadn’t meant it quite the same way. An old argument over his devotion to duty always taking precedence over his personal life.

A quick movement in the mirrored surface told Sinclair there was someone behind him. He turned to find a worker-caste Minbari standing there, holding a welding torch and mask, his head tilted down in the familiar pose of courtesy. But unlike most of the Minbari workers and acolytes he encountered, this Minbari’s eyes continually darted up to look at him.

Sinclair searched for the proper phrase in the worker dialect, of which he knew even less than the religious dialect. It wasn’t necessary, he knew. All Minbari could understand the dialects of all three castes, at least in their pure, official form untainted by regional differences. In spite of all the differences in syntax and word use, they were essentially the same language. Indeed, members of the worker caste had to be absolutely fluent in both religious- and warrior-caste dialects, since the members of those castes would never speak worker dialect, even to a worker. But Sinclair, out of courtesy, wanted to give it a try.

“Am I keeping you from your work?” he said, or at least hoped he said, in the worker dialect.

The Minbari did a most unexpected thing: he tilted his head up and looked Sinclair in the eyes. And smiled.

“I am happy to wait until you are ready to go, Ambassador,” he said in flawless English. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. We worker caste are usually invisible to members of the other castes.”

“You know who I am?” Sinclair responded, genuinely surprised.

“Oh, yes, Ambassador Sinclair. Your presence here is known.”

“Well, then you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name and I don’t know yours.”

“Inesval, of the F’tach Islands.”

“And where did you learn to speak English, Inesval? You speak it far better than I can speak your language.”

“You honored me with your attempt, Ambassador,” the Minbari replied with a bow. “I spent three years on Earth with my father, after the war. He was a merchant. I very much like your world.”