Only the Narns were willing to help us, and then only at an astronomical cost. While the rest of humanity needed their protection — and however inadequate it seemed, it must have worked — we were unwilling to stomach the colossal taxation rates their Government demanded. Even with a number of other companies incorporated into ours, including AreTech, Edgars Industries and GenTech, we were still hovering on the edge of insolvency.
And then came our miracle. After several years of scraping together everything we could, we were presented with a golden opportunity. The conditions seemed minimal, the price negligible, and the rewards power enough to restore us to far beyond even our former glory.
At the time we were too busy pinching ourselves to make sure we were not dreaming. We certainly did not think about the real price of this new deal.
On reflection, that was a mistake of galactic proportions.
Excerpts from a memo to Orin Zento, Chief Executive Officer of Interplanetary Expeditions, from Del Varner, Ambassador and Foreign Officer.
How strange, thought Delenn of Mir, formerly Satai of the Grey Council, now Zha'valen and outcast and yet so much more, as she looked out over the huddled masses who had once been her own people and were now nothing more than helpless refugees, their lives bound to the whims of aliens and foreigners. Once the Minbari had been spoken of in hushed whispers and with frightened awe. Now they were destroyed, their culture torn apart, their world reduced to poisoned ashes.
How strange. We seem to have lost our sense of purpose in recent years. We have been damned, I think, ever since we annihilated a people.
Her own people truly did not seem aware of their actions. Many rested against walls or in the streets, sleeping fitfully, moaning softly. Many looked afraid.
Most of those here at Kazomi 7 were from either the religious or worker castes. The warriors largely disdained the help of a pathetic, outcast 'priestling' and chose either acceptance and service with 'Primarch' Sinoval, or…. more direct action elsewhere.
We have all fallen, Delenn observed sadly to herself. She had witnessed many horrible changes in her people in the more than ten cycles since the start of the war, but nothing — not even the image of her ruined world — brought this home so much as the sight of these forlorn refugees.
Aliens looked at them with suspicion in their hard eyes. Mainly Drazi — Kazomi 7 had once been a Drazi colony after all, and they still formed the bulk of the security forces along with the mammoth Bulloxians — but there were also Brakiri, Hyach and Abbai here. Administrators, clerks, security officials, customs officers — all processing the details of those arriving, allocating accommodation, recommending medical assistance where necessary, which was often.
Kazomi 7 was nothing if not an eclectic society these days.
Delenn heard a gruff cough beside her and she turned to see Taan Churok, the Drazi Head of Security and Minister for Defence. He had been a barkeeper before the Drakh invasion had turned him into a leader, and the birth of an Alliance had given him responsibility. His face bore a permanently unhappy expression, especially around the refugees. The Drazi were a strong race, and disliked shepherding the weak. Taan Churok would have fitted in very nicely with Sinoval, Delenn thought. Still, she found it hard to dislike him. His hearts, as the humans said, were in the right place.
"Too many of them," he observed. "Far too many."
"There will be room for them," Delenn replied firmly. That was one of her strongest beliefs. There would be room for everyone on Kazomi 7.
He gave the Drazi equivalent of a shrug. "If you think so."
"How goes the rebuilding work in the old Maul Sector?"
"It goes." He nodded at a figure surrounded by Minbari. "Tiring, he is."
"I am not surprised," she said softly. "How long has it been since he slept?"
"As long as it has been since you did." It was a fair point, one which Delenn accepted without comment. She had been on Minbar too long, away from the seat of the United Alliance, and yet she had been needed here. Now that she had returned, she was finding it hard to catch up on everything that had happened in her absence. But with John…. away, she was at least finding the time, even if there was some difficulty with the motivation.
"Still, he should rest. Surely he cannot endure much longer."
"Know you of another with his gifts, who can do what he does?" Taan Churok's voice was disapproving. He had argued long and hard against opening Kazomi 7 to more people, and no doubt he would have been arguing even more strongly against permitting the Minbari refugees to come, had not Delenn simply overruled everyone.
"Essential he is." He gave that Drazi shrug again.
Delenn had to agree. He was essential, and unique. Vejar was the one technomage known to have remained behind in civilised space. The others had all gone. For whatever reason, he had stayed, and had chosen to use his strange powers — not science, nor magic, but a strange mix of the two — to help protect the world he had chosen.
Delenn could see him now. He was slight, seemingly so slender as to break at a touch, and yet his young frame harboured more power than she could have believed possible.
As she watched, Vejar stepped back and ushered off another Minbari. The figure, probably a worker, smiled and walked away from him, making for the two Drazi guards who would carry out the customs check. Vejar bowed solemnly and ushered on the next one.
An important duty, but an exhausting one. Vejar had the task of protecting Kazomi 7, just as Taan Churok did, but from a different direction. While Taan Churok observed for conventional threats, Vejar looked for the…. more unconventional.
The next Minbari, an old, hobbling priest, clearly favouring her left leg, reached the technomage. She smiled benevolently as he placed his hand on her forehead.
Instantly, her whole demeanour changed. A look of insane hatred passed over her face and she lunged at the technomage, her fingers clawing for his eyes. Drazi from all around converged on her, their long, wickedly-pointed knives in their hands instantly. Vejar looked unconcerned, however. Entwining his fingers into a steeple, he took measured steps back from his assailant. With a smooth motion, he blew across the tips of his fingers.
She fell back, her weak leg giving way, sending her falling to the floor. A large hump appeared on her shoulder, one circle of light glowing from its centre.
Taan Churok growled slightly, and Delenn finally found the strength to breathe out. Just another Keeper. One of many found on Minbari refugees. One of far too many.
A tool of the Enemy. Delenn knew little of what the Keepers could do, save for what she had seen here herself. The Drakh had left many behind on Kazomi 7 before they departed, but to see them coming from beyond…. it always terrified her.
Especially on her own people.
Vejar knelt across the Minbari's prone body and raised a hand gently to halt the zealous Drazi. "It is all right," he assured them. "Everything is…."
He fell silent, as did the others. Another figure walked into view, one that moved with the grace of a dancer, and the dignity of an angel. One who commanded respect and awe with every small gesture. One who belonged to legend, and to history, and to a time a thousand years gone.
It was the Minbari who spoke first, whispering in awe amongst themselves. All knew he had returned, of course. Many had seen his…. very public pronouncement at the Temple of Varenni in Yedor. Still, the rumours meant little next to the sight of the legend himself. Even Delenn, who knew as much of the truth as any mortal, found herself breathing a little more sharply.
And he began to speak, and his words reached the heart of his people. For he was Valen, the One Who Was, the legend made flesh, and his words were as unto law.
Catherine Sakai knew it was bad news when she received the memo. It was curt, very much to the point, and marked with the personal seal of Orin Zento, CEO of Interplanetary Expeditions himself. Also, and even more significantly, it was handwritten.
Catherine had never seen Zento's handwriting before, and it did not give her any sort of encouragement. It was sharp and angular, with no curves to any of the letters. The words had obviously been written quickly, with no thought other than getting the message across. There was no ostentation, no attempt to make the contents attractive. Nothing but the harshness of the script, and the personal seal. Even the signature stood alone — just Orin Zento, no hint of the many titles which made the man one of the richest and most powerful in the human race.
Catherine read the message again.
Come and see me. My office. 1400 hours. Orin Zento.
Such an event was unprecedented, and Catherine was certain she had an idea of what it was about. The collection of information, discrepancies and tantalising hints she had bundled together in what she called the G'Kar Files.
She waited outside the door to his office, the object of stern glances from the two security guards and no less harsh looks from Zento's secretary, a prim-looking woman by the name of Lise Hampton. She had known about Catherine's appointment instantly, and had made no remark about the strangeness of such an event. She had said only, "Please wait here until Mr. Zento is ready for you," and returned to her business.