To Dream in the City of Sorrows (8 page)

Minbar. Marcus shook his head. In a strange sort of way, he finally thought, it might do his brother some good. After all, the one thing he knew about the Minbari was their devotion to service, to putting the needs of the community and the family above one’s own selfish interest. Might do him some good at that.

Marcus looked at the stack of paperwork that he knew would keep him up into the small hours of the night, looked at the meal that didn’t look in the least bit appetizing, and then went over to his desk and reached up to the shelf of real, bound books above it. He pulled down a novel.

“Just a half hour,” he said to himself, and sat down to read.

C
HAPTER 7

A FULL Minbari day had passed since Sinclair had resigned as ambassador, and he had not yet heard from Rathenn or any other Minbari. No protests, no inquiries, not even a “here’s your hat what’s your hurry?” Perhaps he had committed so serious a transgression against the famed Minbari obsession with serving society above all else that he was now deemed persona non grata.

He didn’t know and at the moment it didn’t matter as long as they didn’t try to interfere with his plans for leaving. For the first time since being recalled to Earth and then sent to Minbar, he was feeling genuinely hopeful. He had managed to book passage on a Narn transport ship which was departing the next day for Babylon 5 – for what he had come to consider as home.

As the son of a military man, and then as a career officer himself, home had always been a transient thing, the place you stayed for just a short while until the next assignment. He had lived in numerous places on both Mars and Earth while growing up, and then had hung his hat in a hundred more locales throughout the solar system and explored space since he had himself joined Earthforce.

Odd that the one place he had truly come to think of as home was Babylon 5. He had been there only a little over two years, and had been other places just as long. But Babylon 5 represented something more to him than all the other places because of what he had accomplished and the people he had become close to there. A great deal of hope had returned to his life there.

He was looking forward to seeing the station again, all two million, five hundred thousand metric tons of it. He wasn’t returning as its commander, but that didn’t matter. It would always be his station because he was the one who had brought Babylon 5 to life. In return, it had become for him the one place he called home.

A knock came on his door. He opened it to find Rathenn.

“Ambassador, I am here to request that you accompany me to the palace of the Chosen One.”

This is it, thought Sinclair. “Rathenn, I doubt your leader can say anything to change my mind about leaving. My problem isn’t with your government or your people, but with my own government.”

“The Chosen One spared your life,” Rathenn replied. “Would you refuse him an audience before you leave?”

Rathenn had him there. Jenimer had indeed spared his life by pardoning him, despite ferocious opposition from the military caste when the sham trial over his accused involvement in the assassination conspiracy had ended in a guilty verdict. Sinclair supposed he owed him one.

Rathenn had a flyer waiting to take them to the Chosen One’s palace outside the city limits of Yedor in the foothills of the Tchok’an mountains. From a distance, the surrounding mountains gave a misleading impression of the palace’s size, though its breathtaking beauty was evident from miles away, sparkling in the sunlight like a multifaceted jewel.

But it was only as the flyer began its final approach to the palace, that Sinclair could truly appreciate the staggering achievement of the ancient Minbari engineers, builders, craftsmen, and artisans who had over a century’s time chiseled, carved, and sculpted a monumental palace out of a towering crystalline mountain. Every inch of its surface was so highly polished, reflecting the sunshine with dazzling rainbows of light, that it grew increasingly difficult to look at. Only as the flyer passed directly over the three natural crystalline pinnacles and began its descent to the landing area, could Sinclair see that every inch of its surface was intricately and beautifully carved with scenes from Minbar’s history.

“It is good to have the palace occupied again,” Rathenn said, almost to himself, then at Sinclair’s look explained further. “From the moment of Dukhat’s tragic death all who had lived and worked in the palace departed, as our Chosen One’s soul had departed. The palace was left empty and untouched for ten cycles as a symbol of our mourning. Now with the inauguration of Jenimer as our new Chosen One, the palace is once again a living symbol of Minbar.”

And in all that time, thought Sinclair, almost fourteen Earth years, the Grey Council had ruled Minbar and conducted a highly successful war against Earth without anyone occupying the office of Chosen One. That might seem to indicate that the so-called Minbari leader was only a titular head of government without power, not unlike kings and queens had become on Earth by the twentieth century. Except that Dukhat had clearly been a powerful figure, the unquestioned leader of Minbar. Jenimer’s position was not as clear.

“I thought Dukhat remained in space with the Grey Council on their warship,” Sinclair said, “that he spent little, if any time here.”

“True,” Rathenn said. “But his presence was always here.”

“What about Jenimer? Will he leave to travel with the Grey Council?”

“The Chosen One has indicated he will remain here, at the palace.”

The flyer landed with a gentle bump, and Rathenn led Sinclair into the ancient palace and through a bewildering maze of dark, polished hallways, ending in a stark, high-ceilinged room, as dimly lit as the hallways had been. Rathenn asked him to wait, then disappeared through a set of doors that Sinclair had not even noticed before Rathenn opened them, so seamlessly were they set into the walls.

Sinclair looked around for a place to sit, but it was an empty room with the same dark, polished and featureless walls as the hallways, illuminated by only one spot of light shining down from above. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of–

No, Sinclair thought. It was pointless to go there. His dreams were merely dreams now, and the past was the past. He closed his eyes and tried to quell the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He would pay his respects to Jenimer, express due gratitude, and get the hell out of here.

The doors opened and Rathenn reappeared. “This way, Ambassador.”

Sinclair walked slowly across the room, his muffled footsteps sounding strange to his ears in the oppressive atmosphere of the palace, and stepped through the doors into another antechamber. Rathenn closed the doors behind them, and for a moment it was pitch dark. Then a set of double doors opened in front of them and Sinclair was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight that streamed in. He took a couple of steps forward, and when he could see again, he found himself in an unexpectedly pleasant, well-furnished room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on a spectacular view of the distant skyline of Yedor, and the Tchok’an mountains beyond.

In front of those windows sat Jenimer, the Chosen One, a rather frail-looking, elderly Minbari male. Flanking Jenimer, to Sinclair’s astonishment, were Delenn; Kosh, the Vorlon ambassador to Babylon 5, a second Vorlon he did not know; and another older Minbari male. Rathenn took his place with that group.

Sinclair smiled a greeting to Delenn. It was still a shock to see his friend with her new half-Minbari, half-Human appearance. Delenn smiled in return and then looked down.

“Ambassador Sinclair,” Jenimer said in a voice far more robust than his frail appearance. “I thank you for coming.”

Obviously this meeting was going to take place with everyone standing but Jenimer.

“May I please start by apologizing,” Jenimer continued, “for the way you have been treated since coming to Minbar. I assure you that Minbari hospitality is usually far more generous and gentle to visitors. But then this is not the first time that you have been mistreated while within Minbari jurisdiction, is it? That you do not despise us, but indeed came here willing to work with us, is truly something of a miracle.”

“You are most gracious, Chosen One,” Sinclair said. “I have the greatest respect for the Minbari people, and if I may say so, a certain fondness as well.”

Jenimer smiled. “I hope you continue to feel that way when you find out that you have not been told everything about why we asked you to be assigned here.”

“And why I’ve been kept in virtual isolation since coming here?”

Jenimer looked a little surprised at Sinclair’s directness. “That also,” he said apologetically, “though I must say in our defense that not all of that was our fault. Your own government seems to have its own reasons for keeping you out of contact with your world – though I won’t deny we were quick to take advantage of it.”

Sinclair folded his arms. “Toward what end, Chosen One?” He hoped such direct questioning didn’t break some Minbari rule of etiquette for addressing the Minbari leader, but he had a lot to do before leaving, and wanted to accelerate the pace of the meeting if he could. He was curious, however, and hoped he could get some answers without hours of meandering Minbari pleasantries first. Sinclair had a feeling that such directness was totally acceptable to this particular Minbari.

He decided he had called it right when Jenimer responded with a laugh. “I hope you will allow me to introduce everyone here first. You, of course, know Rathenn, and Delenn, and Kosh.”

Sinclair nodded to each of these in turn.

“So let me also introduce you to the Vorlon ambassador to Minbar, Ulkesh Naranek.”

Sinclair turned to the other Vorlon, and after a good look, simply nodded. Somehow saying “a pleasure to meet you” seemed wildly inappropriate, for Sinclair was not too sure he liked this Vorlon. Then he chastised himself. Talk about judging the proverbial book by its cover, he thought.

Since one never saw what a Vorlon truly looked like, but only saw the environment suits they wore, Sinclair had to admit his impression might just be a reaction to the stark, somehow ominous lines of the massive, gleaming headpiece Ulkesh wore, in contrast to that worn by Kosh.

No – it was something more. He just got a feeling of, well, darkness from this Vorlon that made him uneasy. This was only the second Vorlon he had ever met. He wondered if he was being unfair. He wondered which, if either, was more representative of its species.

“It is important to remember: every door has two sides.”

That was Kosh, suddenly and apropos of nothing. Everyone in the room, including the other Vorlon, turned toward Kosh. The Minbari all nodded their heads as if Kosh had said something of great profundity.

Sinclair saw the Vorlons apparently exchange looks, some sort of a silent exchange. Was it some sort of disagreement? Sinclair had no way of knowing.

“This is Turval,” Jenimer continued, “from the 8th Fane of Tredomo, now of the Anla’shok.”

Sinclair knew that though Minbari were born into their castes, if an individual, at least among the religious and military castes, felt “called” to service in another caste, they were allowed to change castes. Jenimer’s words indicated that Turval had been born into the religious caste, and was now military. Sinclair had never before heard of a military clan called the anla’shok, although the word sounded familiar.

“And now, we must tell you of Minbari history,” said Jenimer. “I understand that you are something of a student of our history.”

“I have tried,” said Sinclair, “but there’s not much written in any of the Human languages, at least very little of value. I’ve had to rely on my Minbari language skills to read your texts. It’s a little difficult for me when the texts are in one of the archaic forms of your language.”

“Then perhaps you will find this of interest,” said Jenimer, nodding to Delenn.

As Delenn stepped forward, the windows behind Jenimer gradually became opaque, the room darkened, and a glowing light formed in the middle of the room between Sinclair and the others. It slowly coalesced into a montage of moving shapes, a three-dimensional projection of scenes from Minbar’s past that began to illustrate the words of Delenn.

“The ambassador will be familiar with some of what I tell him,” Delenn said, “but there is much he has not heard before. Over a thousand years ago, the Minbari people first reached out into interstellar space. Almost immediately, we found ourselves in conflict with an extremely ancient intelligent alien species that seemed to be pursuing a course of destruction wherever they went throughout the galaxy. It is not known whether one of our exploring ships accidentally woke them up from some long slumber, or if our activity attracted their interest from afar. All we know is that suddenly they seemed to be everywhere. At first we knew them only by the aftermath of their destruction, never glimpsing them directly. Perhaps that is why our ancestors named them the Shadows. But when we did see their ships for the first time, the name seemed apt.”

Sinclair watched as the images formed scenes of massive destruction dealt by powerful spiderlike ships that seemed to absorb any light that fell on their glistening surfaces, making them at times almost indistinguishable from the dark between the stars.

He was stunned to realize he had seen those ships before.

“These are among the only visual records we have from that time. Much was lost and destroyed in the chaos of war.”

The projection of images ceased, and the windows gradually cleared, letting in the late afternoon light.

Delenn gazed steadily at Sinclair. “You recognize them, do you not, Ambassador?” Delenn asked.

Sinclair hesitated. He didn’t like to give too much away when he didn’t know the full situation, but it was clear Delenn knew something. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve seen ships like that before – at least two of them, six years ago, on Mars. Garibaldi and I were in a crash in the Martian desert when we stumbled across them.” He paused again, but seeing Delenn’s expression wordlessly urging him to continue, he did. “I’d been sent to investigate some reports of possible unknown alien sightings. I found a lot more than I had bargained for. It looked like elements of the Psi Corps were conducting some sort of experiments with these aliens.”