Dalshon

Chapter 23

The ISN anchor read off the news. "After the remarkable video of what Mars is calling 'Bastille Day', including rioting that resulted in four deaths, the chilling recitation of what was very nearly a Clark era show trial confession by John Sheridan, and the burning down of the Psi Corps facility…" The video in question played in the background. "The Psi Corps announced today that it is pulling back to Earth and space installations and ships under Earth jurisdiction. The Psi Corps has left Mars."

The news clip in the background changed to one of a mass celebration. "The Mars government has issued a statement hailing this move as the last step in the final independence of Mars. On Earth, this setback for the Psi Corps is being seen as one of the first steps in getting rid of the Corps everywhere."

Sheridan smiled and turned off the news. "It's ironic," he told Delenn. "My role in showing the Psi Corps for the fascists they are happened when they were actually trying to help me."

"That clip of you has nearly erased the old scandal from the public attention. You humans have such a short attention span. In this case, I'm very glad of it."

"Me too."

"John…"

"What is it? You know you can ask me anything. And I'll even answer you, now that I'm not turning my brain inside out trying to figure out a way to let you know what's wrong with me. Being able to talk to you is a luxury I won't take for granted again."

Delenn nodded. "I love you, John. Now put on your coat, we're having dinner at the Clan Imbalo fortress tonight."

"Oh? With Firuun? That's great, Delenn." Sheridan went to his wardrobe and pulled out a coat.

"You have so few friends on this planet," Delenn said. "He's rarely here, but he's on Minbar now."

"Thanks. But what were you going to ask me?"

"About—Mars. About Lennier. How did he seem?"

"Oddly calm, now that I think about it. Considering that he said he just escaped from the Drakh. And there was a riot going on, and he was trying to help me without my punching him in the nose. Which, believe me, I was really tempted to do."

"Do you suppose…"

"What? That he's alright? Probably. He got away from the Drakh. And ran straight to me to give the counterphrase. He wasn't panicking. I'm sure he's fine."

"Are you fine?" Delenn asked.

"Now you ask me that. When I'm not even trying to act weird." Sheridan flashed his trademark smile and shrugged into the coat.

Delenn shook her head, and gave him a small answering smile.

They flew to the Windsword clan fortress in a small suborbital flyer, flanked by fighters from the Anla'shok base. Ever-present security was part of their lives now.

Firuun greeted them at the door. "John! Delenn!" he boomed, motioning them inside.

Inside the fortress, a gleaming room with lights set behind the blue crystal walls was set up as a formal dining room with large tables that looked like they could be folded up for storage. Many Windswords were seated there, mostly in black, but some in civilian clothes. Carla and Khunnier were there. When Firuun was in port, naturally his shipmates were too.

This being Minbar, the host a clan head and the guests among the most important people on the planet, there was considerable ceremony before the actual eating began. But before long everyone was eating and talking and it grew loud and even raucous. Carla had a very small glass of beer; her refurbished stomach could no longer handle more.

Firuun thundered, "John! Delenn! You remember my daughter, Dilis."

She was wearing a civilian dress of an exotic cut, from whatever planet she had just come from. She bowed politely at them.

Sheridan said, "She's your daughter? Firuun, I didn't even know you were married! When can I meet Lady Imbalo?"

Everyone within earshot suddenly grew deathly quiet. There was not even the clink of tableware.

"Uh," said Sheridan, freezing with a glass of some Minbari fruit juice halfway to his mouth, "is this some Minbari taboo I'm not aware of?" He glanced at Delenn, who shrugged.

Firuun said very quietly, "Among the warrior caste, it is customary for spouses to serve on the same ship."

Carla, down the table, leaned over her plate and said to Dilis, "Let's talk about something pleasant, shall we? Like, oh, biowarfare plagues?"

Dilis smiled and immediately began to prattle happily on the subject. Firuun sighed in relief, directing a proud smile at his daughter. Conversations resumed.

It took Sheridan a few seconds to work out what Firuun had meant. Then he put his free hand to his forehead. "Oh, God. Firuun, I'm s—"

"Don't!" Firuun boomed.

Sheridan flinched so hard he spilled juice on his hand.

All conversations stopped in the whole room.

"Don't say it," Firuun said in his normal voice. Which was still loud enough to carry all over the room.

Sheridan nodded. "Right. OK."

Firuun said, "On to the evening's entertainment. Some of my clanmates are going to participate in a denn'bok tournament in your honor. Clear the ring!"

The central tables were removed, and about a dozen of the Windswords came out for the matches. Some of them were the young people from Carla's crew, others were mature warriors from various war cruisers.

"What does the winner get?" Sheridan asked.

"The acclaim of his fellows," replied Firuun. "Also, a chance to fight the Captain." Firuun indicated Carla. "Her fame from the Battle of Tifar extends even to those who never leave the clan fortress. And what true Windsword would not want a chance to meet her Pike to Pike?"

"I don't understand," Sheridan said. "I was there. I saw her fight with the Pike. She killed some of you guys. Some Minbari, I mean."

"Exactly. This is who we are, John. This is the Windsword clan. Other members of the warrior caste call us 'militant', but that does not really cover it."

"I see."

Sheridan did see, at last. Firuun had not become his friend in spite of Sheridan being "Starkiller" but because of it. He had known that, really, but it had not sunk in until now.

The first set of combatants paired off and began to fight with the denn'boks. The crack of their Pikes echoed in the crystalline chamber.

Sheridan glanced at Delenn, expecting her to look uncomfortable with warrior caste entertainment. But her gaze was assessing. She was judging the individual moves. In that moment she was not his Delenn, with her sweet face and soft smile. She was Entilza.

He wondered if he was ever really going to be at home on Minbar.

The End