The pike rolled from her grasp.
Wrong.
“Zha’valen.”
John stiffened. Delenn clearly noticed his reaction and pulled back from him a little.
“Zha’valen,” she repeated. “A Shadow upon Valen. I am outcast now. I have no title, no position, not even a name. All I have is the word, ‘Zha’valen’.”
The word clicked in Sheridan’s mind. He had heard it before, and now he knew where. The person who had sent the mysterious message to the Babylon from the even more mysterious space station Babylon 4 had addressed Delenn as Zha’valen. It was on board that same space station that he had seen himself killing Anna – exactly as he had done.
“What…” He swallowed hard. His head was pounding. “What will happen now?”
“You, they will probably kill. Me… my punishment is done. I am not dead, but I might as well be. John… I am… I…”
All of Sheridan’s anger evaporated. The mistrust and the suspicion remained, but the anger did not – could not. Never had he felt more linked to her than at that moment.
“We will see,” he said. Now that he was no longer angry with her, his mind began to plot possibilities for escape. The first obligation of any prisoner was to escape. “We will see.”
Sinoval – he was the weak link. He was proud and arrogant, and probably remembered his last meeting with Sheridan. He might want to come to gloat, possibly leaving a weakness. Delenn might still have allies among the Grey Council – Sheridan had seen first-hand how divided they had been the last time. He had little reason to believe that that had changed. And then there were Corwin and Bester. Perhaps they might be able to help…
“I am sorry, John,” Delenn whispered. “I have gotten you killed. I have betrayed you, and… and…”
“I’m not dead yet,” he reminded her gently. “And there’ll be plenty of time to talk about betrayal afterwards.” He looked around slowly. Everything was in darkness. He had managed to pace out the dimensions of the cell, and his fumbled explorations had revealed nothing else of value, not even a cot. Delenn was the only other thing in the cell.
The darkness did not seem all that oppressive to him. Sheridan had been walking in darkness for nearly all of his life, and he had been in worse situations than this before. He was confident that this was not over.
He had to instill Delenn with that same confidence. She had just lost everything she had ever believed in, and as one who had experienced the same thing, he wanted to try and help her out of it.
He sat down in the corner of the cell and gently pulled Delenn down to him. She was not speaking, but her breathing was loud and harsh. She sounded almost asthmatic. She rested in his arms naturally, leaning against him as if it felt like the simplest thing in the world to her.
“Tell me something,” he said.
“What?” she said softly. “John… I…”
“Tell me something. About yourself, about your childhood, about anything. Just tell me something.”
“I…”
“All right then. I’ll start. There was a crewman on the Babylon a few years ago, and he had this pet cat. Now it was against all regulations, but he managed to keep it hidden from most of us, and everyone who knew was just as soft about cats as he was, but one day General Franklin came on board to do a surprise inspection and…”
John carried on with the old story, the only other sound in the room that of Delenn’s breathing. He wondered if she could guess that the story of Crewman Johnson and his cat was nothing more than an Earthforce myth, repeated every year to new recruits and told and retold repeatedly over drinks in Earthforce bars across Earth space. He had actually heard Corwin telling the story to Alisa Beldon on board the Parmenion a few days ago. She had listened, enraptured, while the other crew members listened and snickered behind open hands. Afterwards she had laughed, and then recognised that Corwin was making it all up. Damn telepaths – they spoiled all the fun.
“So after we cleaned up the damage, I said, ’You bring that cat near me again, and I’ll have you both up on charges.’” Sheridan began to chuckle, remembering the first time he had heard the story, over fifteen years ago.
Delenn was laughing as well, although her laughter was interrupted by frequent bouts of wheezing. “A cat?” she said. “I do not think I have ever seen a cat. We have some animals on Minbar, though, which seem similar. We call them goks.”
“Goks?”
“Yes.” He was certain she was smiling. He could practically see her face lighten as she did so. “I think they are an effort made by the universe to ensure we never take ourselves too seriously.”
“You might be right,” he agreed. “Well, it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Yes. I told a story, so now you have to.”
“I… oh. I do not know anything like that…”
“It doesn’t matter. Anything. Your childhood, your family, your friends. Anything.”
“I… oh… very well, then. When I was a child, my father was often away, and I was taught by Draal. One day he was teaching me about the history of Varmain, one of our greatest warrior diplomats. I didn’t care for history then, and to avoid listening to him, I was…”
Sheridan listened and laughed, and then he told another story – the one about the time he and Captain Maynard had taken shore leave and met this dancer – and then she told another story, and on and on.
And for a brief while at least, there was a light in the darkness. It wasn’t to last. It never did, but for a while at least, there was the sound of laughter.
“So how did you find the statue again?” she asked. “Or did you leave it there?”
“Oh no,” he said. “But first I had to track down the Drazi Ambassador. This was however, in the midst of their ceremonial battle for leadership, where they all divide up into greens and purples and…”
The door opened, and a Minbari figure stood framed in it. They both rose, holding on to each other. “Delenn?” asked a voice.
“Lennann!” she replied. “But…?”
“There is no time for words, Delenn. Hurry. There are some of us who did not believe Sinoval’s accusations against you. I have gathered them together, and they will listen to what you have to say. But we must hurry, or Sinoval will find out what I am doing.”
“John must come too,” she insisted.
“We cannot do that, Delenn. Hurry, please!”
“Not without him.”
“Go on, Delenn,” Sheridan insisted. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“John, I…”
He touched her face gently, almost unsure of what he was doing. “Go,” he said. Then he looked up at the silhouette in the doorway. “If she is hurt because of this, then so will you be. I promise.”
“There is no need to threaten me, Starkiller,” Lennann snapped back. “Delenn…”
“I am coming. I… John…”
“Just go,” he told her. “I can look after myself.”
She touched him gently and then left. Sheridan looked at the now closed door for a moment, and then he sat down again. It was strange how the cell seemed to smell so much of her now that she was gone.
And his mind was awash with plans for escape, and of stories of cats and goks, and visits to temple…
Ta’Lon had never been to Proxima 3 before, and so he had never met Mr. Welles, the man whose official designation was Head of Security and whose unofficial designation was Spymaster General. Upon his arrival here a few hours before he had arranged matters with a General Hague, who had looked very distracted, and hadn’t bothered checking his fake ID – provided by G’Kar.
Welles was considerably more efficient. After verifying the ID with the central computer at the Main Dome, he turned to his security guards. “Go on,” he ordered. “He’s fine.”