Chapter 25: Heart of the Machine

Varn was dying. He knew he was dying. There was not much time. Long he had held the Machine. Nearly a hundred years. He had seen the comings and goings of great empires and small principalities. Small men with delusions of greatness and great men who did not see their own worth.

Zathras looked up at him and clicked his tongue in his wierd way.

"Must be finding new Guardian," he held up a finger and waged it at the body in there, "Varn be putting off long time. No time now. Zathras but insisting this time. Must find new person now. Or the whole planet will die."

And on the planet of great stability, the ground shook.

The people of New Geneva were shaken awake by something no child born within the past ten years on the planet had ever experienced, and only those who were teenagers or were middle-aged or elderly had ever felt. Tremors, also known as earthquakes shook the city. It was not nearly powerful enough to do any damage. But they were awoken by it.

Aldous Gajic was one such person who was awaken by the tremors. But he looked up with wonder at the figure that stood before him.

"Help me..." the alien in front of him said, "Please help."

Draal was one of the few Minbari who had ever visited Epsilon 3. The humans were generally not happy to see him, but they kept their distance, not wanting to be near him and start another war. And as the tremor ran through the ground, he wondered at the irony of it. How fitting the planet where the humans lived on described his own people.

Where had they gone so wrong? They were once an enlightened race of revered poets, honorable warriors, and fine builders. They had uttered such marvelous prayers, and sang their songs to Valen, who blessed them for their worthiness. They had honed their skills in the defense of life and had been strengthened. Buildings, great and small were built, and each was content with what they had got and the builders were inspired to greater heights through each new accomplishment.

But where was Bramner, who wept as his fleet tore Earth piece by piece apart. Where now was Mallanar, who stood amongst the poor and lifted them up through his words of wisdom. When would the likes of Shal'makar whose songs seemed to give life to the winds of Yedor itself return.

Was it the war that had changed his people? Was it the death of Dukhat? Was it the blood of billions that changed them, tainted their souls?

He had always been against the war. Humanity was young. They were bound to make mistakes. But where had the willingness to spare gone? What did those brutal mass executions come from? Why did the poets sit still at recitals, looking as if they were dazed? Why were the prayers to Valen no longer lifted upwards to him?

There was no need for him anymore in the world of the Minbari, who no longer acted as such. A darkness was passing. A shadow was growing. He had left the growing spiral to apathy and headed towards the sea of stars. Somewhere he would be needed. Then, as he walked, he heard him. Like a memory long ago lost.

"Help me...Draal. Help me..."

"What the H-"

Boggs never got a chance to finish his cry for help. Sinclair's arms shook as he rose them. They were unused to working after such a long rest. But, in a strength born from desperation he smashed into the device that covered Boggs shoulder, and Boggs screamed as blood erupted from where the pieces of metal tore into his flesh and the electrical charges tore into his eyes, frying his synapses.

Sinclair fought his body's numbness and weariness as he forced his other arm free and pulled apart the binds that held his legs. How he managed to escape he had no idea. He shouldn't have been able to move. And the filthiness and stink that rose from him could only tell him they had done little for his hygiene. Maybe it was Valen giving him a hand. All he knew was he had to get away. He pushed himself up and his legs gave out and fell onto the floor, the soiled and crusted clothing from bodily waste and sweat cracking as it was shifted about.

"Where you going Sinclair?" a voice asked softly, and he brought his head up and looked at a man whose soul was as dead as his emotions.

Aldous walked with his robes draped over his shoulder, his staff held high. He followed the sounds of the voice, towards the great road that lead into the crevice. And walking there as well was a Minbari. They arrived at the same time at the top of the descent and looked at each other.

"A true seeker," Draal said.

"You heard the call?" Aldous asked.

"I did," he nodded, "Let us go down and see what can be found."

The man was known as Sniper, although his real name was Paul Perri. He had killed Minbari mercilessly, ruthlessly, efficiently. He once had taken seven days to kill a Minbari. It had been glorious to behold. He had used strings to cut off the fingers, toes, ankles and so forth. Continually he had been sent behind enemy lines during the war. He had been ripe for being grabbed by Nightwatch.

But...he forgot the first rule of the warrior.

Never underestimate your opponent.

Even one that has been in a virtual reality and hasn't used his muscles in three months and fighting muscle atrophy.

Sinclair had tried to rise and he had moved close, and he kicked Sinclair to the ground, overturning the table. Again and again he had kicked. Sinclair's body seemed to bend into a croissant with each succeeding blow to his midsection. But, he didn't think about the fact that a needle had been on the table, along with many other doctors instruments. And when the needle of nearly gone but not completely gone anesthesia jammed into his knee, he felt his knee give way as it fell asleep.

"Putmeunderforthreemonths," Sinclair snarled, but with dry mouth he couldn't understand what he said, "Yousonofabit-!"

And Sinclair grabbed a small pair of scissors from the floor and began to stab over and over again Sniper, and Sniper felt his body falling asleep and was unable to protect himself.

Susanna Luchenko strode down the tunnels of the subway, one of the three that they had managed to construct during their stay here. Another tremor ran through the ground as she and her guards walked towards the Presidential subway car that ran straight to her home at the Executive Mansion in Nova Moscow.

When the planet was being colonized, three cities had been constructed. New Geneva being one, which would act as the governmental center here. Second Rome; there was no point of having humanity without a Rome. And Nova Moscow, where they had decided the Executive Mansion should be, so if there was ever a case where the capitol was bombed, the President might have a chance of escaping, or if the Executive Mansion should be bombed, they couldn't take out the government all at one time.

William Clark was walking by her, a loathsome man if she ever knew one. And currently he was going on about some people he had met.

"They have power," he said, "More than enough to spare. They can help us rebuild Susanna. I have heard they have whole fleets just waiting to give us a hand."

"William," she sighed, the car doors opening as she approached, "The problem is you have given me no name for this race, or even told me who their ambassador is. You've only heard of this power and numbers but not actually seen any of it. Why should I trust such people?"

"Give them a chance to tell you their side of the story," Clark pressed, "I am sure they can convince you of their good intentions. They already made contact with some of our people."

Luchenko stopped just inside the car and looked back. Clark seemed most eager. Not that she could exactly turn down aid from any allies. With the war with the Narns not going so well, she needed all the help she could get.

"Fine," she muttered, "You can set up a meeting with them."

"Thank you," he nodded his head, "Thank you very much."

"Don't thank me just yet," she replied as the doors slid shut and the subway car shot off into the distance, down the tracks to Nova Moscow.