"Death."
"He said you could do worse than die. We're leaving tomorrow, going somewhere safe."
"No such place." He looked at her and, concentrating, he could see the natural, ephemeral beauty of her face. "Where?"
"Vindrizi says there's someone who'll be able to help. I'm not sure how much of it you remember, but I'll fill you in on everything later. We're going to see Sinoval."
"Oh." He hesitated, and closed his eyes for the final time that night. He could see it again, rising from the Box.
"Good," he said finally.
us
Sebastian could hear her footsteps from the other side of the station, even the other side of the galaxy. He could close his eyes and feel the warmth of her breath and smell the scent of her fear. He had touched her once, studied her soul and her spirit, and once he had done that to someone, to anyone, he would forevermore feel them in the back of his mind, particularly when they thought of him. More than once he had dreamed their nightmares, smiling with self–satisfaction at the aftereffects of his work.
He was a man who took great pride in his job.
Still, he gave no indication that he knew of her approach, not until she was directly behind him. She had brought her companion, the one so filled with anger and hatred and barely–suppressed fear. The companion remained several feet behind, too afraid to step into the circumference of his shadow.
There had been no one to stop them, no guards. What would be the point? Nothing and no one could harm him, not while he was engaged in his holy work.
He waited for precisely two and a half seconds, to let that scent of anticipation rise from her, and then he spoke.
"A good day to you, Satai Kats," he said simply.
Another man might have expected an angry response, bitter sarcasm or the like. But not him, and not from her. He knew her. He knew her soul. She was afraid, but she had a particular kind of iron resolve. She would never mask her fear with anger, not like her companion.
Sebastian almost admired that.
"And to you, Mr. Sebastian," she replied, a cold formality in her voice.
"A marvellous view, is it not?" He gestured to the vista from the observatory. "It never ceases to remind me just how small and insignificant we are. We mortals, beneath the shadow of space, with the light from the stars so faint, so far away, and yet so beautiful. Very few are truly capable of staring into the infinite, even fewer from my home. We are a rare breed, those of us who can do that and remain unchanged."
"It is a truly an impressive sight," she acknowledged. "But tell me, to what precisely are you referring? Space, or the Vorlon fleet?"
Outside, surrounding the station, the Vorlon ships swam lazily, beautiful and terrible, with a constant air of menace. Sebastian knew she was trying to decide whether to think of them as birds or fish, flying or floating, and he scorned the triviality of her mind. She saw more than most, but she was still so.... small.
So filled with sin.
They had all been. So many of them, filled with sin and licentiousness and small dreams. They had to be purified, for the salvation of their immortal souls. He had opened them to the heavens and prayed to his Gods, prayed for the salvation of humanity. And as he had stared into the infinite in the body of the last whore, his Gods had come to him.
"Both, of course," he said simply. "It is a useful lesson to remember, for all of us. It matters not what we think we know, or what we imagine we can do. We can bestride space like a colossus, or split existence down to the smallest essence. We can walk among dead worlds and we can cross the stars.
"And yet, whatever we achieve, we are always less than we would wish."
"I seem to recall someone telling me of a race who believed the same thing."
"It is not uncommon."
"They realised they would always be less than their Gods, so they sought out their Gods and killed them, and thus they became more."
Sebastian smiled. He'd known that, of course. If she was testing him, she would have to do a great deal better than that. "That race of which you speak.... the Gods pursued them for their hubris and reduced their world to ashes and dust, as you did to my people's for their crime against you. As my people did to you in turn."
His smile grew broader - not wider, for his smile was never anything but a thin, razor line of faint colour against the pallor of his face - but longer. "Do not try to test me, Satai. Or should I call you 'my lady'?"
She twitched, once, involuntarily.
He reached forward and touched the necklace she wore. A sign of vanity. It did not matter how small or how personal, jewellery was a sign of vanity, and vanity was a sin and sins were to be punished. Her face was very close to his, and he was impressed to see fear openly expressed in her eyes. She did not try to hide it, did not try to lie, did not try to mask it with false bravado or anger.
"Have you found him yet?" she whispered.
"Your husband is long dead, Satai."
"You know of whom I am speaking."
"I know."
"He will kill you."
Sebastian's free hand caressed the silver top of his cane. His one excess, a small one, and necessary. His cane was the instrument by which he brought justice and purification. It had to look impressive to instil fear into the hearts of the unvirtuous.
"Then, Satai, you will have to wait and see. It is said that the poor hunter chases his prey. The wise hunter waits where he knows his prey will arrive. I have spent almost two years gathering information, learning his weaknesses and his vulnerabilities. He will come here, he will walk up to me, and I shall destroy him."
"He's defeated better than you."
"There are none better than me. Primarch Sinoval is coming here. I can feel the ship of the dead growing closer all the time. We know what he intends, and we will destroy him. I told you that I know all his weaknesses, Satai. All of them. It is a commendably short list."
Power crackled through his staff, and through him.
And through her.
She cried out and slumped to the floor, shaking. He tapped his cane against the floor and a wave of energy shot through the room. It poured into Tirivail before she could even move, and slammed her into the wall. She fell to the floor, unconscious and still.
Kats was still conscious, but shaking. He gently tapped his cane against the floor again and she cried out again.
"It was very convenient of you to come and find me, but I would have sent for you in any event. It will be.... oddly fitting that I destroy him here, beneath the gaze of my lords."
Kats looked up at him, and the fear in her eyes was more pronounced now.
"Weakness such as yours always leads to downfall in the end.
"Watch shortly, and I shall demonstrate."
YOU
Here we are, all of us.
There could be a worse group from which to assemble an army, but few spring to mind.
The Brotherhood Without Banners, raiders and ravagers and monsters. They sought profit and war, mercenaries and soldiers in a galaxy which, briefly, seemed to need neither. They look to me for inspiration and purpose.
The Tak'cha, over–zealous, dangerously fanatic. They are butchers who will scour the galaxy in their holy war if left unchecked, and the only leader I have given them is a man who has already betrayed more lords than I care to count.
My Soul Hunters. Not warriors, but scholars and custodians. Once they went to war and filled the whole galaxy with blood, spreading terror where they walked. Not even death was a safe haven from us. Is that the fate to which I am dooming the galaxy?