"Dark is the light, the man you fight,
With all your prayers, incantations,
Running away, a trivial day,
Of judgment and deliverance,
To whom was sold, this bounty soul,
A gentile or a priest?"
—Soad, pen-name for an anonymous Knight Templar poet,12th century Earth
James Tiberius Kirk is in a cell full of...silence. They've left him alone to allow his imagination to work. It was standard procedure, he knew. Very well. Every person in Starfleet Academy has been trained and instructed in the various forms of interrogation they might be subjected to in their careers. He felt the metal collar on his neck put their by his captors. It was very similar to the slave-collar he once got from the Providers of Triskelion. What did Drill Thrall Shana call them? Collars of obeidance. He smiled mirthlessly at the irony. This time, he didn't have Shana to teach him and goad him to fight. He thought of Spock, of all the mistreatments the universes had heaped on him, and clenched his fists. He hoped that the semi-telepathic bond they had built over the years would let Spock know that he was still alive.
The cell was lit by a weak bulb above the door, imprisoned in its own rusty metal cage. Kirk rested his head against the damp concrete of the cell. Every part of his body, all those he could name, ached. Yet his captors couldn't have worked on him for more than five minutes, and they managed not to leave any apparent mark on his face. They were truly experts. Human experts. Not alien. Not Romulan or Klingon. Human. The irony didn't escape him. He almost laughed but that hurt his ribs, so he stopped.
xxxxxxx
Kirk was taken along the dark hallway by unseen custodians. The gravity in this place felt too light to be Earth. Mars? Or one of the Galilean Moons orbitting Jupiter? He was deposited in a chair in an interview room. The darkness in the room didn't allow him to glimpse walls, but it was light enough for him to see a table and a human man with a long face sitting in the chair on the other side of the table. The handcuffs were swiftly and efficiently removed from Kirk's wrists.
The man glanced at papers on the table and began to speak in the way of businessmen at a negotiation. "Do you have any illnesses or allergies that I should know about? Are you currently taking any medication? Have you had any trouble with your heart? When I ask a question you will respond at once. You will not hesitate, you will not consider, you will not lie. Cooperation will be rewarded. Resistance will be punished. Do you understand?"
Kirk was tempted to utilize one of Spock's quirks and arch an eyebrow at the human in the business suit. Standard procedure again—first the hard interrogator, then the soft interrogator. There was a phrase for that on Old Earth: 'the good cop, bad cop routine.' Slowly, he stood up and moved towards the interrogator. The metal collar on his neck glowed with an electric shock.
"If you come within three feet of me you will be hurt, if you come within two feet of me you will be rendered unconscious." The interrogator shuffled through the papers on the table as he continued to speak. "I am here only to ensure your cooperation. To that end, I will use whatever means I can to achieve that goal. Do you understand?"
A sullen nod.
"Do you have any illnesses or allergies that I should know about? Are you currently taking any medication? Have you had any trouble with your heart?"
"No."
"Good." The interrogator put on his glasses and smiled. "Then we can begin."
It was almost surreal for Kirk. So far, the interrogator acted like a regular bureaucrat at his
job. He even attempted a weak joke.
"Normally, we would arrest a family relative and threaten him to encourage your cooperation. We feel that would be counterproductive for a man like you. As we know, you have no famly. Not even a home." He leaned back in his chair, smiling, and pointed a pen at Kirk. "Nevertheless, you are a remarkable man."
"'Remarkable'—your word." Kirk felt as if he had spent a week chewing cotton in his mouth. At one point in his beating, he had bitten his tongue.
"You have managed to have no family or established home," said the human. "You have managed to procure a heavily armed space vessel of alien design and obvious great technological prowess, and to crew it without allowing any Earth agency to find out. With it, you have managed to infiltrate the Sol System, our home system, without tripping our detection systems and helped eliminate the biggest alien threat since the Minbari War. Clearly, in spite of your sedition, you still have some loyalty to Earth. You should feel some pride."
Kirk decided to adopt Spock's infamous veneer. "At this moment, my feelings toward Earth are indeed strong."
The man didn't appear to notice the non-sequitur as he turned the pages of a folder. "There are two issues here, Mr. Kirk. One: your apparent non-identity in our files in spite of your obvious Earth origin. That doesn't concern us today. At least not directly. Two: our conduct over the past months. Specifically, the procurement of an advanced alien warship and the use of it to subvert loyal EarthForce officers, to destabilize areas of space that have enjoyed peace and order since the Dilgar War, and to incite alien worlds against the good intentions of the Earth Alliance."
"The Enterprise is—was—not a warship. It was a ship of exploration."
"Since when does exploration require the presence and use of powerful advanced weaponry?"
"Since we found out that the galaxy is a dangerous place."
The interrogator silently looked at Kirk, nodding in calm agreement. He glanced at the folder once more. "You named your ship the 'Enterprise', a name that is clearly of Earth English origin. In our files, we could find that name on ships in Earth's history: the HMS Enterprize in the British Royal Navy, the USS Enterprise in the United States Navy and the United States space shuttle Enterprise. Clearly, you are a patriot. Yet, I do not understand your acts of sedition against Earth, Mr. Kirk."
Kirk said, "I am James T. Kirk, a fleet captain in the United Federation of Planets Starfleet, serial number SC937-0176 CEC. I was born in Riverside, Iowa, North America on March 22, 2233. Iowa is on another Earth in another universe. I don't see how the Earth Alliance could see me as a patriot or a rebel."
The interrogator frowned, looking puzzled. "That is not possible. The year of birth as you stated does not fit your apparent age. I don't know any political entity called 'the United Federation of Planets'. It sounds like a distasteful mix of the Minbari Federation and the League of Non-Aligned Worlds. The existence of other universes have not been proven, notwithstanding hyperspace. Surely, you have not been made psychologically vulnerable to alien influences?"
A scoff showed what Kirk thought of that.
"Maybe this 'Federation' of yours is the planned result of the changes you and your confederates are trying to bring about, not in another universe. Maybe you already feel to be a member of that organization. An organization, I must add, that doesn't exist in any starchart. Maybe you are helping the Minbari bring the League Worlds into their fold. Of course those weak alien worlds would be gullible. What were your plans, Mr. Kirk?"
Kirk said, "I am James T. Kirk, serial number SC937-0176 CEC, United Federation of Planets Starfleet, rank: Fleet Captain."
The interrogator sighed and tried another tact. "Do you deny that you were trying to realign the League Worlds?"
"No."
"Where did you get your ship?"
In all honest innocence, Kirk replied, "At Spacedock."
The man was making notes. "Which spacedock?"
"It's a starbase in orbit around Earth."
The metal collar around Kirk's neck hummed and glowed with electricity, causing him to grit his teeth in pain.
"Don't play with me, Mr. Kirk. We have methods for lie detection." The man sighed. "All right. 'Starbase' sounds like a type of Minbari military space installation. Judging by the design of your ship, let's say it's a secret Minbari space station in orbit around one of the Vree planets. Which is it? Vreetan? Alzeral? Deruzala? Photikar? Don't tell me Gliese 86... The Centauri destroyed that."
Breathing heavily, Kirk shrugged. "I've never been to those places."
The interrogator thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. He leafed through his folder again. He noticed Kirk gingerly rubbing his neck above the metal collar. He pointed his pen at the metal collar. "That is a paingiver. It's one of the technologies the Narn sold Earth in the Minbari War. Centauri technology, of course."
"Of course."
"You've been tortured before." It wasn't a question.
"Yes. Many times."
The man raised his eyebrows. "I see. Did they involve a paingiver?"
"Not quite. This collar is a lot like what I found on Triskelion."
The man joted a note in the folder. "We believe that the technologies apparent on your ship is not quite beyond the scientific capability of the Earth Alliance. What are the nature of the technologies?"
"I'm not an engineer."
"Of course not. Still, you must have some familiarity with them. There must be other ships like yours. Logically, they should have access codes. Also logically, there must be shipyards for those ships connected to a base of operations. Where are they? What are the access codes?"
"How should I know?"
"You should know because you commanded one of those ships."
"Me?"
"Yes, you, Mr. Kirk. Earth has advanced by leaps and bounds ever since the Centauri contacted us a century ago. However, it is not enough. Earth needs the technologies your confederates have. Too many alien worlds out there are still more advanced than us. You said that the galaxy is a dangerous place. I agree completely. So does EarthGov. I assume you know who Christopher Columbus was?"
"Yes."
The interrogator leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "When he found the Americas by accident, the continents had rich native civilizations but none of them had the technical military expertise to match that of Spain or the other nations of Europe. Within a century, all of those civilizations were dead, conquered by the Europeans. The lesson is that when a more advanced civilization meets another primitive civilization, the primitive one will fall. Survival of the best rather than of the fittest. That is the lesson the Minbari reminded us in the last war. And we learned it again before you destroyed the Borg. In spite of your present situation, we are thankful for that. The galaxy is full of powerful and advanced aliens like the Minbari and the Vorlon Empire. Especially the Vorlons. Mr. Kirk, you are human. You must, then, agree that humanity needs to survive to prosper in this dangerous galaxy of ours?"
"All sentient life have a right to exist."
"Creating a federation of worlds capable of building ships like yours, then excluding Earth from that federation doesn't permit us that right. You can change that. Help us and, together, we can stop the aliens from sending Earth the way of the Aztecs and the Incas. What are the access codes to your ships?"
"You said that Earth has been growing for a century. If aliens are really trying to make humanity extinct, they have had plenty of time in that century."
The business-suited man threw down his pen and folded his arms. "You're a smart man, Mr. Kirk. Take comfort in the fact we credit you with that, at least. Do you think we'd care if you were a dumb fat pawn? I bet you could keep this up for hours. But we don't have a lot of time. We're less stupid than you think." He smirked. "Which reminds me..."
An electric shock passed through Kirk and he screamed in agony.
"Never contradict me." The interrogator looked through some paperwork as Kirk watched, panting. He finally smiled and played his ace. "We could always have a PsiCop come in and rip the knowledge out of your mind."
A cold chill went through Kirk. He'd read the reports on Director T'Sara's torture by Earth telepaths at Janos 7. He knew from experience that he had a high threshold for pain. At least for a time. But he hadn't much experience with telepathic interrogations. If a telepath dug into his mind, the lives of his friends and allies would be in danger. Especially the lives of Captain Sheridan and his subordinate officers. He didn't let his apprehension of that show. "You could."
The interrogator shrugged. "Yes. We could. But business with the PsiCorps is always distasteful. Besides, how could we trust telepaths to tell us all of what they find out? They could easily rip information from a mind, then tell us only a little and keep the rest for themselves. I would recommend that you cooperate before we have to resort to using a PsiCop."
Kirk just sat in his chair silently.
The interrogator sighed and stood up. He came around the table and squatted beside Kirk, his right hand resting on the captain's left knee. "When this is over, I'd like to get to know you. Really. If there's anything left of you to get to know, of course. Why did someone like you go bad? A human going against his own race and homeworld. I'm interested. From a technical point of view, of course. To try and stop it happening in the future."
"Your passion for self-improvement is admirable."
"There it is again. A problem of attitude. Things are changing in the Earth Alliance, James. I can call you James?"
"Please do." Kirk's sarcasm didn't seem to be noticed, either.
"The President himself takes a personal interest in the changes. He listens to us, promotes us. He believes in restructuring Earth for the future. Soon, a new generation will grow up, never knowing what we learned when the Minbari smashed through our colonies to our very doorstep. Without guidance, the new generation will make mistakes. Mistakes of the kind we made that started the Minbari War. I admit that even those who went through the war could still make those mistakes especially when there are alien ideas creeping into the Alliance. The President wants to make sure Earth doesn't join the list of murdered worlds. When he succeeds, our children can truly grow up and enjoy all that Earth has to offer. You could be a key in that." The man moved closer to Kirk and whispered in his ear, "I like you. Help me and I can keep the PsiCorps out of your mind."
The unnamed man stood up and resumed his normal veneer of interrogation. "Where can we find the ships? What are the nature of the technologies on your ship? What are the access codes?"
Those three questions, again and again.
Imperial City, Centauri Prime
Londo Mollari searched Vir's face on the screen. His young attache looked free from stress. But his eyes... He remembered that Vir's eyes were once filled with that light of naivette. That light of eagerness to know the universe's potential. He saw himself in those eyes when Londo first entered the Royal Court before Turhan sent him to the embassy on Earth.
Hard to believe that when he was just Londo Mollari, Hero of Frallis 12, he was like Vir all those ears ago.
He had decided to stamp out that light. Londo, in spite of himself and in spite of his instincts for the Great Game, wanted Vir to survive the machinations of other Houses long enough to enjoy old age. Now the light was almost all gone from Vir's eyes. In times like this, Londo could almost feel regret steering Vir into the Game of Houses.
He wondered if one day, his 'training' of Vir wouldn't come back to bite Londo like a cat.
He shook the thought of his head. The Royal Court must be getting to him.
"Are you all right, Londo?" Concern now clouded Vir's face on the commscreen.
"Faugh! Why wouldn't I be all right, hmmm? I enjoy the Emperor's favor. Better, the sun still rises on Centauri Prime and I've not turned into a biomechanical automaton."
"Then...then there is no need for the alliance with the Minbari?"
Londo rolled his eyes. "Of cooourse there's a need for it! There's always a need for an alliance with the Minbari. They're the hope of Centauri Prime now. Once, we thought the Earthers would be the hope of the Republic. Once, we thought to ride on the humans'
growth like a...a...a remora on a shark! Yes? We have a full-fledged alliance with Earth but I wonder if that wasn't a mistake. There is a darkness in the Earth government. Maybe the same darkness that I brought to Homeworld."
Vir now frowned. "We've known the Minbari for centuries. In all that time, we have not...earned their respect."
"Vir, Vir, Vir. Time changes. It can change for us! Just look at their relationship with Earth! They pushed the humans to the brink of extinction, then turned around and offered them an alliance!"
"I don't know... They know about our treatment of the Narns, you know. They seem to like me here, but I don't think they...approve of the Republic. Are you sure there is no other alternative? Couldn't we ask the other humans? You know? The Federationers?"
"We've antagonized them more than enough. Let's not antagonize them anymore, Vir. Besides, here at the Royal Court, the Federationist faction simply doesn't exist. The Court is overwhelmingly Earthist."
"What about the R-Romulans?"
Londo shrugged. "They seem too interested in helping us crush the insurgents and destroying the Xonish race helping the Narns. Other than that, they're busy improving our fleets for the continued expansion of the Great Republic."
"I...see. Actually, I don't see. I'm all the way here on Minbar. Not my business here. By the way, I heard rumors about the Emperor getting...married?"
Londo gleefully nodded. "Yes! Yes! You know the beautiful bride."
"Oh?"
"Mariel."
Vir's face visibly paled. "Are-are-are you mad? No. Don't answer that. I have my own conclusions. I wonder if she would be...too...umm...strong for the Emperor."
Londo wondered the same thing. He had once explained Mariel to Commander Sinclair at Babylon 5: she was attracted to powerful men like one of those Earth insects that are attracted to fire, but instead of the moth getting burnt, she burned the men. Londo thanked
all the 50 major gods that he wasn't burnt. Not too badly burnt, at any rate.
"The Emperor is supposed to embody the Republic." ondo chuckled. "If he couldn't control the woman, then the Republic can't handle her! Now, Vir, I'm glad we had this little chat. I have to go to the ceremony at Tuwaine. Cartagia got an appointment with the High
Prophetess for Mariel."
Vir's face didn't express a vote of confidence. Londo wasn't sure which part of his last statement it was directed at. "I'd sooner not go to a prophetess to know my own future, thank you very much. I make my own future. Londo, rumors of the Royal Court has reached even here on Minbar. Rumors of Cartagia's...excesses, and of Lord Refa. Do be careful!"
"Eehhh. You listen to rumors too much, I think. Not a good sign. Just as I thought: Minbar is boring. I can take care of myself, Vir."
"Okay, if you say so. Goodbye. I hear the breezes over the River Tuwain and the Scoria Plains are most bracing. Enjoy!"
Through Londo's window, the skyline was dictated by the domes and towers of Imperial City. Over the centuries, emperors and great lords added their own architectural contributions to the capital. Ever since the Xon War and the alien Shoggren invasion, no one had the chance or the power to invade and destroy the city. Nowadays, the possibility for that happening is much greater than even in the darkest days of the Republic's decline. If Lord Refa had his way, that possibility could easily become reality.
Soon, House Refa would be dealt with. He would have preferred to remove just Antono Refa, but the Great Game wouldn't allow any surviving family member to not thirst for vengeance against House Mollari. Better to remove them all before a war of assassins and poisons could derail everything. Londo hoped that would steer him away from the path leading to the spectacle of Centauri Prime burning.
Mars
Interrogations have an irony in themselves: they can tell the victims being questioned as much as the questioners.
From what the interrogator asked, Kirk could measure his knowledge. For instance, he knew that the Enterprise appeared from the direction of the Vree homesystems, going through Centauri space. He knew that his starship was there when the Markab people
were cured of the Drafa Plague, when the Centauri, and subsequently EarthForce, came in force to Babylon 5 and were defeated. He knew that there were aliens and telepaths among his crew. But there was a very large gap in his knowledge. Unless his interrogator was
playing a game, it would seem that he knew nothing about Kirk's publicized origin in another universe, nothing about the existence of other starships like the Excelsior and the Hakudo Maru, and nothing about his alliance with the Rangers apparently commanded by
Sheridan and Delenn. Here, upon Sulu and the Rangers, rested Kirk's hope.
Of course, if they decide to bring in a PsiCop, they might be able to ferret out that information. Sheridan and his Conspiracy of Light would be fatally exposed.
After an unproductive hour, the door opened and another human man in an immaculate EarthForce uniform entered, carrying a long rounded beam of polished wood. Behind him stood two heavily muscled men in black uniforms.
Kirk's interrogator stood up from his chair.
The new arrival asked, "Has he made a full confession?"
"No."
"Pity. I think it's my turn, then."
"Of course." The interrogator collected his papers and folder, stuffing them into a leather briefcase. Was it Kirk's imagination or did he see on the long face a flicker of regret, even of distaste?
After the interrogator was gone, the new man prowled around the room, dragging the length of polished wood behind himself on the concrete floor.
"Do you know what this is?" The EarthForce officer waited. "No?"
Kirk shrugged. "I might have seen it on Cestus Three."
"It's a baseball bat. You know baseball? An old game, popular in the 20th and 21st centuries. Few places on Earth and on Mars still play it. There's even a baseball field at Babylon 5. That's must be where you've seen a bat. Not at some fictional planet."
He leaned the bat against the table and began to take off his EarthForce jacket, revealing the white shirt beneath it. "If you want my opinion, the mistake was in the Dilgar War when we joined the League in fighting the Dilgars. We were forced to open up the Earth Alliance to alien influences and ideas. That's when we got scum like you and shriveled cunts like Santiago. Doesn't matter if the Dilgars conquered and murdered the whole League. We would have defeated them at any time we want. Hell! When the Minbari came, what did the League do to return the favor? Did they help us? No! They did nothing! Nothing!"
He hung his jacket on the chair vacated by the interrogator and began rolling up his sleeves. Kirk could see that this officer didn't allow his muscles to atrophy in the nullgrav environment of EarthForce ships. "We used to know how to deal with people like you in the Minbari War. But we've gone soft. It's not 'Does he have the guts?' It's 'Does he have a doctorate?' We didn't need doctorates to fight the Minbari. Fuck, I think the man you were screwing just now is one of your lot. He wanted subtlety in questioning you. Subtle, my ass. What's the point? If you love aliens enough to betray your humanity, you are not human anymore. You don't need subtlety anymore. If you were my dog, I'd feed you poison."
"If I was your dog, I'd eat it."
The officer grinned at one of the guards. "Listen to the big sucker!" He spat on his hands and picked up the baseball ball. "Someone told me that palm-reading can say a lot about your life and your future. I think it's all bull. But it never hurts to know. So tell me. Are you left-handed or right-handed?"
"Left-handed."
"Another fucking lie. Put your right arm on the table."
Kirk felt as if a giant snake had him in its coiling grasp. He could hardly breathe. "Go to the bathroom and screw yourself."
The EarthForce officer glanced at the guards. Powerful hands seized Kirk from behind. His chair clattered away as he was bent headfirst over the table. One of the big men twisted his left arm high up his back, wrenching it. A roar of pain escaped Kirk's mouth as the other man grabbed his right hand. The guard half-climbed onto the table and grinded his knee into Kirk's right forearm, forcing the captain to lay his right hand, palm down, on the table surface.
Just like that, in just a few seconds, only his fingers were able to move, fluttering like a trapped bird.
The EarthForce officer stood away from the table, caressing the tip of his bat across Kirk's knuckles almost lovingly. He lifted it, swung it around in a circle like an ax, and with all his strength, brought it smashing down.
Tuwaine, Centauri Prime
Londo stood on the town's quays, ignoring the fishermen and pleasure-seekers plying the River Tuwain. Across the river, he could see the Scoria Plains stretching far into the distance. He thought if he could see far and clear enough, he would see a sea-inlet and the memorial obelisk on its shore.
The memorial obelisk was all that marked the site of the ancient city of Yandantrio. Built like Earth's Venice, Yandantrio fell to the Xon and its million Centauri slaughtered. Shortly after, armies marched to the banner of Emperor Morell who then fought a Xon army in a titanic bloody battle on the Scoria Plains. So many bodies, both Centauri and Xon, littered the grassland, too many for the burial and cremation crews to find. Ancient merchants claimed to smell the stench of death even five years afterwards.
Great Maker, the Scoria Plains looked so empty. Impossible flatness as far as the eye could see and no trees at all to break the monotony. Impossible visible emptiness.
Ridiculous to think that emptiness could be seen. Emptiness was so private it could only be felt. Emptiness felt like gravity. He had met it first when his dearest friend Urza Jaddo died on Londo's sword on Babylon 5, thanks to machinations of House Refa. Met it rather than thinking he knew emptiness. It was what threatened to suck him down when he stood too near the abyss. It was partly what convinced him to cut relations with that fiend, Mr. Morden.
It was also partly the reason for his being here in Tuwain with Emperor Cartagia and the new empress, Mariel. Remove House Refa and make the emptiness a little less empty, keep the emptiness, and the darkness it entails, from swallowing Centauri Prime.
"Enjoying the breezes, eh, Londo?"
Startled, the ambassador turned. He was relieved to find that it wasn't Vir. At the same time, his guard went up very high and taut. After all, it was the Emperor and his eternal Royal Guards.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Most bracing, the breezes."
Cartagia waved off Londo's response. "Please. You are my friend. Don't call me 'Your Majesty'. It's stuffy and it forces formality to come between us."
Londo carefully said, "Thank you."
A frown flickered across the Emperor's face almost imperceptably.
"Sire," added Londo.
The happy veneer swiftly returned to Cartagia. "While Mariel is with the Prophetess, let us talk."
Londo bowed his thanks. "About...Refa?"
"You know, there's an Earth animal that fascinates me. It's a domestic animal. Once grown, it's aloof and forces the humans to cater to its every need. It won't submit to working for the humans at all. Very like an emperor. I believe there once was a culture on Earth that worshipped the animal as a god. What's it called?" Cartagia snapped his fingers, brightening. "Cat!"
Londo wasn't sure, but he was not about to contradict the Emperor. "Yes, Sire. I believe it goes 'quack, quack' and nibbles you to death."
The Emperor was momentarily puzzled, then kept to his train of thought. "Maybe. I think there's a game that cats play. They would catch an offending little animal and play with it. Pass it from paw to paw." Here, Cartagia mimed the play. "Pretend to forget it, then go back to play some more, inventing every game it could think of for the little creature. Meanwhile, the creature's scared and keeps expecting to die at any moment."
Londo was feeling a deep empathy with the creature caught by the cat. He hoped the Emperor wasn't playing with him.
Cartagia continued. "Finally, the creature is exhausted and stops expecting death. Instead, it
clings to the hope that the cat will get bored and go away, letting it escape with its life. In that moment, the cat...kills it!" His hands clenched into fists and pantomimed twisting and breaking a neck.
The Royal Guardsmen were still standing behind the Emperor, betraying no expression or emotion at all. Londo stole a quick look at them and softly felt his neck.
"What do you think, Londo?"
The ambassador recalled an ancient Earth story he'd read once. A man named Damocles complained about how much work he had to do while his king had all the power, leisure and luxury he could ever want. The king got tired of Damocles' complaints and made him king for one hour during a dinner party. The catch: a sword was hung over the man's head from a thread that could break at any moment. Damocles, of course, didn't thoroughly enjoy his dinner and new status as king for an hour. Once the hour was done and Damocles was still alive, the king told him that it was how he felt the whole time as king. Here, Londo was not a king, but he could feel Damocles' sword hanging over his head the
whole time he was at Court. "I... It does seem very Centauri. It's too bad that the Great Maker decided to put the cat on Earth rather than here."
Cartagia beamed at the ambassador proudly. "Yes! Yes, it is! Exactly my thought! We do think alike, Londo! That's why I'm going to let Refa live."
Covering up his puzzled disappointment, Londo bowed, muttering, "As you say, Sire." Was the reason for the Emperor's decision related to the story of the cat or to his ability to think the same thoughts as the Emperor?
"Londo, I will play with Refa. Let him keep his so-called ascendancy in the Royal Court. Let him gather all the supporters he could have while the cat, as you said, nibbles at him. When we go back to the capital, Refa will propose something for us. I'll let him. I'll even allow him to gain honor and power if the proposal's any good. At the right moment, Lord
Refa, his whole House and his entire faction at Court will feel this..." Cartagia pantomimed twisting and breaking a neck again.
Londo remembered Timov's warning that the Emperor could hardly be controlled. He prayed to the gods and the Great Maker that Mariel would help make the task a little easier.
Mars
Kirk didn't faint, not at first. The two guards finally let him go and he slid down to his knees, leaving a trail of saliva across the table surface. His arm was still stretched out. After a while, he raised his head and saw the remains of his hand. It appeared to be an alien pile of blood and gristle on a butcher's slab. He passed out.
xxxxxxxxx
Footsteps in the darkness. Voices.
"Where are the ships?"
Kick.
"What's the nature of your technologies?"
Kick.
"What are the access codes?"
Kick. Kick. A boot crunched onto his fingers, twisted and ground them into the concrete.
"Talk!"
A croaking voice: "I...I am...J-James T. Kirk, serial number SC937-0176 CEC, Starfleet. Rank: Fleet Captain."
"Wrong answer."
Kick.
xxxxxxxx
When Kirk swam back to consciousness, he was lying in a corner of his cell. His broken hand lay next to him, like a stillborn baby abandoned beside its mother. A man, the gentle interrogator who claimed to like him, was squatting in front of him, saying something. Kirk
tried to focus.
"What is this?" the interrogator's mouth was saying silently. "What does it mean?"
The interrogator seemed breathless, as if he had been running hard for a long time. He grasped Kirk's chin and twisted his face to the light above the cell door. He squeezed his eyes against the painful brightness. In another hand, the interrogator held up a sheaf of
two-dimensional images. What were they called? Photographs.
"What does this mean, James? They appeared out of nowhere. Tell me, please. What does it mean?"
Kirk tried harder to focus and could discern only two of the photos. One showed an Oberth-class starship against the backdrop of Babylon 5. Another showed a blurred image of several Federation starships of various classes in empty space. The blur gave the
illusion of speed while a Centauri Vorchan cruiser stood still in clarity in front of the stars behind the starships.
Kirk tried to think. What were they? They tickled him with familiarity. It hurt to think. What's more, it hurt to focus. He wrenched his head away and turned to face the cold moist concrete wall.
Some time later—he couldn't measure time anymore. Time seemed to speed up and to slow to a numbing crawl. Some time later, a white jacket appeared above him. A flash of steel. A thin blade held before his eyes. Kirk tried to back away, but the concrete wall held him forward and the paingiver collar hummed softly, paralyzing him. The needle jabbed into a vein. At first, pain whitewashed his mind as his mangled hand was touched, but, as the injected fluid flowed through his veins, the agony faded away.
The doctor was old, looked grandfatherly, and seemed to be grateful to Kirk for his current job. He probably didn't have much chance to work in this fashion since the Minbari War. He didn't speak. He cleaned the wound, painted it with a clear liquid that smelled of hospitals and morgues, and bound it tightly in a white gauze wrapping. Still not speaking, he and the gentle interrogator helped Kirk to his feet, settling him into his chair. A mug of sweet, milky coffee was set on the table before him.
The cycle of gentle interrogations and rough torture continued.
Imperial City, Centauri Prime
If Londo hadn't been standing with Minister Virini, he would never have seen it. The Royal Guardsman walked smartly down the palace corridor. His eyes stared straight ahead, never moving to the left or the right. His face never changed expression beneath the silver helmet. His jaw was set rigidly. The silver blaster-proof vest glittered in the light of the corridor chandeliers and the white uniform soaked up the light. Just for a tiny moment, the air behind the guardsman rippled slightly.
Londo blinked. Was it his imagination? He turned to Virini to see if the Minister of Protocols saw it too. The old man was admiring a gilt-framed painting hanging on the wall.
"Isn't it a wonderful painting, Londo?"
Londo stole a look over his shoulder at the retreating back of the Royal Guardsman and then glanced up at the painting. It was one of the many Earth paintings bought during the Earth-Minbari War. He looked at the engraved plaque beneath the portrait. A Blonde Woman by Palma Vecchio, early 16th century. The woman set against the black background in the portrait was a Venetian courtesan who had her flowing hair dyed blonde with partial success. She was trying to keep a green cloak up on her white blouse which had fallen off a shoulder to expose an almost equally white breast.
He could see why Cartagia moved this painting into the palace from Turhan's museum of human Renaissance and Barogue art. He said half-heartedly, "Yes, it is, Minister."
"I like how it reminds me that even a woman, and a pretty one at that, can shine in darkness."
Virini was considered a foppish fool at Court, but Londo knew that allowed him to gather information that would be otherwise difficult to obtain, and to go where it would otherwise be barred. "Darkness...in the palace?"
Alarm widened Virini's eyes and he raised his hands to his mouth to signal silence. His voice dropped to a whisper while he pretended to continue admiring the human blonde. "Please do be careful. Even when you are alone, there are...ways for you to be heard." Virini turned to pretend admiring Londo's elaborate Court dress, while stealing looks straight into the ambassador's eyes. "There's a human saying about this. I believe it goes...'the walls have ears.'" The Minister suddenly began studying the nails on his
fingers. "Do you know that some humans still use languages of the hands?"
Londo nodded. He'd come across that in his studies of Earth. He tested Virini's extent of knowledge by making a fist and wagging it slightly up and down. Yes.
"Interesting allies we have, don't we, Londo?" Virini's hands and fingers moved slowly and awkwardly. If anyone else was watching, he would think the minister was making silly gestures as usual. He began by making a gesture like that of a person trying to scratch out his eyes and face. Darkness here, yes. Don't know. Nothing. Don't want know. Warning: do not find out.
"Yes, we do, Minister. We have always felt a kinship with the humans. It's their appearance, I think." What you know?
"I feel the humans feel the same way. I think it's also because of First Contact." I said, don't try find out! People before try find out. Disappeared. Same for Pointy-ears.
Londo's eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise. He had never seen that gesture, but as the minister used his thumb and finger to mime an ear turning up to a point, he knew it referred to the Romulans. Has the new aliens noticed and tried to investigate as well?
"The humans are aggressive. No. Make that eager. A very curious race. That's the beauty of youth. We were once like them centuries ago. Too bad they are having problems with themselves." Pointy-ears disappeared too? Curious. They not upset?
"Oh, yes. It's very upsetting to see some of our allies having problems. We could help, but it's their own internal affair." I feel Refa involved.
Londo nodded, catching the double meaning in the voiced statement. If Virini thought Lord Refa was involved somehow, the darkness could only be Mr. Morden's so-called associates. He remembered Morden mentioning that he asked Refa to secure a planet, Zagros 7, for his associates. "True enough. Now, if we don't go to the Personal Audience Hall, we'll miss Refa's famous proposal."
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The Royal Guard opened the ornate filigree gate and Lord Antono Refa strode in. He wasn't alone. Two Romulans walked beside him, one of whom was carrying what appeared to be a large silvery canister.
The Guards tensed at the canister, but seeing that the Emperor made no move, they remained at their posts. Londo and Virini recognized the pointy-eared aliens as
the Romulan ambassador, d'Ry Mas. The Romulan carrying the canister was the ambassador's bodyguard, T'Lees Mahdee Mas.
The Romulans bowed from the waist. "Jolan Tru, Most Illuminated Majesty."
Refa only bowed his head, as if Cartagia was a mere lord of a Great House. Londo's eyes shifted to the Emperor who only seemed to be bored.
"Lord Refa, we have learned that you have a proposal of far-reaching import."
"Yes, Your Majesty. In spite of our efforts to pacify and civilize the Narns, they continue to be a source of trouble for the Great Republic. In spite of our law demanding the death of 500 Narns for each Centauri killed, including the perpetrator's family, insurgency and terrorism still trouble Narn and its nearby colonies. In spite of the Narn Regime's unconditional surrender to us, illegal Narn ships still roam the spacelanes and inflict piracy on civilian and military vessels and outposts." Refa's face darkened. "Aliens unknown to us, but known to the Romulans as enemies, are helping the Narns, giving them force shield
technology and improvements in weaponry. These aliens seek to undermine and constantly violate the Great Republic's sovereignty. They may seek revenge for our complete victory in the Xon War, seeing as they are a Xonish race. The outrage of—"
Cartagia yawned and waved a hand at Refa. "We know all this and more. We do not need to belabor the problems. Do get to the point."
"Yes, Sire. We know that the Narn homeworld is a major point of contention with the insurgents and terrorists. The best way to end any insurgency without wasting military resources is to remove its point."
Londo frowned. Refa surely couldn't mean...?
Cartagia asked, "How?"
"Cobalt diselenide."
"And what, pray tell, is that?"
Refa gestured to the two Romulans. "They will explain."
d'Ry Mas stepped forward. "If it would please Your Majesty..." At a signal, his bodyguard set the large canister on the floor, twisted its lid and grasped the handle attached to the lid. As Mahdee Mas slowly and carefully pulled up, the lid was revealed to be actually an apparatus holding thick vials of ice blue liquid. Thick mist seemed to boil out of the canister, spilling over the silver side to dissipate on the floor. The canister was actually a refrigeration unit.
As the Romulan bodyguard carefully slipped the vials back into the canister, d'Ry Mas continued. "This is cobalt diselenide. It is a concoction of the elements selenium and rhodium nitrite. It must be kept at a low temperature. We have...obtained the technology from a race in our universe called the Cardassians. We have found that the Narns share physiological similarities with the Cardassians, so cobalt diselenide will be effective for the Narn homeworld."
Cartagia was skeptical, but Londo had a sneaking suspicion. The Emperor, exasperated, said, "Again, what is that?"
"It would be what we call a biogenic weapon."
Londo, Cartagia and Virini gasped. A biological weapon! Inside the Royal Palace itself! The Royal Guardsmen tensed again, this time drawing swords and blasters.
Lord Refa hurried to calm the Emperor. "It is harmless to most humanoids. Even if we were to break the vials, nothing will happen. At least nothing will happen to us Centauri." He chuckled. "I wouldn't say the same for any Narn slave we have on Homeworld."
As the Emperor visibly relaxed, the Guardsmen holstered their weapons. Londo, however, was not feeling better at all. His sneaking suspicion had blown into a dawning horror. d'Ry Mas said, "Lord Refa is right. It is fatal only to those who have a Cardassian or Narn physiology or similar. It affects the nervous system. Six of this canister will render a planet uninhabitable by Cardassians and Narns for about 60 years. Any more, it would be made uninhabitable for approximately another 10 years per canister, with each vial being good for a month or so."
Londo had to stop this. "Great Maker! Is that necessary?"
Lord Refa noticed that the Emperor seemed content to let Londo argue the case. He said, "Not really, no. If we don't do this, the resources of the whole Republic will be unnecessarily drained into efforts to keep the Narns under control."
"But...the slaves! We need the slaves for the market, the economy, the construction of new colonies and the terraforming projects!"
"Oh Londo, don't be so melodramatic! We will use it only on the Narn homeworld. The Narn colonies will continue to provide the slaves. If any of these colonies prove too troublesome to hold, we'll dump the cobalt diselenide on it. Any Centauri on it will be perfectly fine."
Horror twisted Londo's face. He could see G'Kar throwing a hyper-rage at the very suggestion. He could just see him blaming Londo for this! "Have you lost your mind? Do this and everyone else will see us as no better than the Dilgar! If you thought the Dilgar War was bad, just you wait! Your name will be as blackened as Jha'dur Deathwalker! If you don't think this will happen, you must be daft! Why, the Earth Alliance might decide that its alliance with us is no longer profitable. The new InterStellar Alliance will throw itself entirely against us! I doubt that even the Minbari would stay out of this! Need I remind you that when we bombed Narn, even the Vorlon Empire lodged an official protest? No telling what the Vorlons will do when we start murdering entire worlds as if we are a people of Deathwalkers!"
Refa slowly shook his head and smiled as if Londo was the dimwitted idiot at the Royal Court. "We don't need to publicize this at all. You must think we are stupid enough to make an announcement for the whole galaxy: 'Hear ye, hear ye! We are pumping worlds full of a foreign bioweapon! Come see billions of savages die! Only 5 ducats for the privilege to watch it all!' Londo, it's just Narn itself! For now, anyway. Really, Londo, you're the one who's daft."
Londo turned beseeching eyes to Emperor Cartagia, praying to the Great Maker that the young ruler would put a stop to this.
"Both of you have valid points. When word of Jha'dur's feats came to my predecessor, the Centauri people were suitably horrified and saddened. We have not done anything like this before. At least, officially, anyway. This...co...co...biogenic weapon will be too alien for anyone in our universe to identify as a biological weapon. All the other worlds would know is that the Narns were dying of a mysterious new disease. Didn't that happen to the Markab before they were cured of the Drafa Plague?" The Emperor shrugged. "Plagues appear now and then. There's no law governing that. When Drafa appeared among the Markab, it must have meant that the universe demands the extinction of an entire race as a sacrifice. If we do this, are we not placating the universe's thirst for such a sacrifice? By this, wouldn't we restore the universe's innate balance? Might we not divert that very thirst away from the Centauri people through this action? Remove the Narns from their homeworld and their disgusting resistance will end. Remove them and we will satisfy the universe's thirst. We can then terraform the planet and make it a Centauri colony!"
Refa was now beaming happily at the Imperial decision. Londo was not feeling good at all. It was most unfortunate that the Great Maker was cruel enough to harden the Emperor's hearts. He prayed the universe wouldn't take notice and let Centauri Prime burn for its sins.
Cartagia chuckled. "I have been waiting for a chance to build a new palace on that planet and rename the Narn homeworld. It is so confusing when someone says 'Narn' and we must wonder if he was speaking of the people or the planet." He winked happily at Londo. "How does 'Narnia' sound?"
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"Great Maker! Is it really true? You...you're not making a very bad joke? A very bad, bad, bad, horribly bad joke?"
Londo grimly shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid not, Vir."
Vir was shaking his head as if he thought by moving fast enough, he could dodge the horrible truth. That truth indeed belonged with Morgoth, God of the Underworld. "Great Maker. Great Maker! Great Maker! Is...? Great Maker!"
"Stop saying 'Great Maker' and help me out here! Give me an idea, anything at all, to stop this!"
Vir was still shaking his head and muttering to himself.
"Vir!"
"Sorry, Londo. I-I-I just can't...wrap my mind around this. I can't imagine this. Maybe I can, but to see it happening in real life? No! Not this. Just before you told me, I wondered about the mind that would be sick enough to invent Mass Drivers. Now I have to wonder
about the mind that would be sick enough to invent...what is it? Cobalt diselenide? Yes. I have to wonder about that mind..."
"Vir!"
"I-I... Oh no!" Vir's eyes widened and his face paled as a new thought occurred to him. "Is...is this channel secure? No one will overhear us? Great Maker! And I was looking forward to growing old in peace! Maybe I should request asylum among the Minbari. I
think they like me enough to grant it. Maybe I should shoot myself and save the executioners—the assassins!—the trouble. Maybe I shoul—"
"VIR!"
The Centauri ambassador to Minbar finally shut up.
"This channel is very secure. I made it so secure even the Vorlons would have a hard time cracking it. Now...any idea, hmmm?"
"Beside telling everyone about it and hope for the best?"
"Yes. Beside that. Especially beside that! Do that and Centauri Prime will burn. The death of our people will be on your head if your lips start flapping hard enough to make a wind."
Vir vigorously nodded for five full seconds, terrified. "Okay. An idea to help stop this. Anything at all..." He became visibly nervous, eyes jumping. "Ummm... Have-have you heard of Abrahamo Lincolni? Abrahamo Lincolni of the Department of Relocations?"
Londo was taken aback, frowning. That name sounded too much like a certain famous Earth figure... Impossible. It had to be a coincidence. Like the coincidence of his own name: the city of London, the fictional character Lando Calrissian. And Vir's own name incredibly coincided with a word of the exact same spelling in one of Earth's languages, Latin: it means 'man'. Other examples abound in Known Space like the similarity of the name of House Maklood with Earth's Clan MacLeod. As hard as he could think, he
couldn't remember hearing of any House Lincolni. Probably a mere commoner in the Imperial bureaucracy. "I...can't say I do. What about the great Mr. Lincolni?"
Vir fidgeted for a while before speaking. "Well, Mr. Lincolni, you see... You sure this channel is secure? Okay, okay. I only heard about this, of course, you see. He's ummm...he's involved with transporting Narns off their homeworld. The official word is that he's taking them to work at certain factories, at certain labor camps, but most of them, maybe all of them, died. The reality is, really, that they were smuggled out of Centauri space and released. Some went into the Resistance. Others just...umm...went their own way, I guess. I only heard about this, that's all."
Londo couldn't feel remember feeling prouder of Vir than now. "Why, Vir, old friend! I didn't expect you to set up your own intelligence network! I've heard of Narns disappearing, of several transports being pirated of their slaves or disappearing and that was
all I could find out myself and through the eyes-and-ears of House Mollari. You've outdone
yourself, Vir! Will I bump into one of your spies? By accident, of course?"
"Ummm... Maybe. When are they...releasing the...the weapon?"
"Just as soon as the ships carrying the cargo from the other universe come to Centauri Prime for inspection, then departs for Narn. Two weeks or so."
"Definitely not enough time for m—...Mr. Lincolni to forge the required documents and transport the Narn population. Of course, if he tried, he will be exposed and executed as a-a-a traitor. Then the operation will be interrupted. Aborted. Okay, ummm... How about
informing the Narn Resistance?"
Londo rubbed his chin, thinking. "We could do that. Of course, we can't tell them about the bioweapon. They will just tell everyone and Centauri Prime will burn. Well then, all they will know is that the Centauri military was transporting an important envoy, a key official, maybe the Viceroy of Narn himself. Then they can send forces and blast the weapon ship to pieces. With the Xon-alikes helping, that can be done. Yes. Yes. I can see that working. You don't know how much this has lifted off of my mind!"
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The sun set on Imperial City. Londo was sitting on a bench in the Imperial Gardens, watching the sunset. It was heartening when he thought of the sun still rising on Centauri Prime. Yet, the sun also sets. Almost unbidden, a memory burst in his mind. A memory of the technomage Elric talking to Londo on Babylon 5.
"I see a hand reaching out of the stars. It is your hand. I hear the voice of billions of people calling your name."
"My followers?"
"Your victims..."
Londo sighed. He had already murdered millions by unleashing Mr. Morden's damned associates and starting the Narn-Centauri War. War of Retribution, hah! It was more like a massacre. If the scheme he had hatched with Vir to stop the murder of Narn failed, the blood of billions will be on his hands. Londo wondered how many of them were children. How many more children will die by his hand?
"They forgive you."
Londo nearly fell backward off the garden bench in shock at the voice.
Emperor Cartagia daintily spread the tails of his Imperial white gold-embroidered coat as he sat on the bench. Londo's hearts were still pounding, threatening a coronary.
"Sometimes I think everyone need to hear that. 'They forgive you.' For whatever reason." Cartagia turned to watch the sun dip down to the horizon. "It will be dark soon. First, there will be the false dusk, then the darkness of night. Funny how light is supposed to be bright but the light of dusk is dark."
"Yes, it is, Sire."
Cartagia faced Londo with bright eyes. "If you walk in the darkness far enough, you will hear voices. Farther, and you will hear the forgiveness of dead children. You see, when you go all the way into the shadows, there is no dark. When you go all the way into emptiness, you'll find it full."
Londo was feeling very uneasy.
"And if you fall far enough, Londo," Cartagia said, "I'll be there."
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Morden walked down a corridor of the Royal Palace. Of course, any servant that happened across his way wouldn't notice him at all. Thanks to his associates, he was either made invisible or the minds of others were adjusted so that Morden didn't visually register on them at all. To reassure himself, his ears strained to listen. The insectoidal chitter was still there. The two Shadows were still with him. Good.
He came upon a large wooden ornate double door. Two Royal Guardsmen flanked the door. They impassively stared straight ahead, almost never blinking as per their rigorous training. Also per that training, they should have immediately noticed Morden and questioned his presence in this part of the Palace.
They didn't, thanks to his associates. They didn't notice the door opening, either.
Morden went through the door, smiling. Cartagia was staring out the window into the dusk. The setting sun outlined the huge dome of the Great Hall of the Centaurum rising from the center of the city. Morden stood just behind the emperor's chair.
"My associates went through the Door."
Their eyes met in the windowpane.
Morden folded his arms and cleared his throat. "They have seen the other universe. The Federation have ships at the Door. They weren't intimidated by your ships as you said. So recall the ships. It would be easy. They will then be comfortable enough to talk to you. Then they will talk to me. No one's incorruptible. If we are lucky, we can use the Federation skillfully. We can defuse the situation and still bring the Centauri Republic to greater heights than ever dreamed of by the old god-emperors."
Cartagia reached out to the window and silently stroked Morden's reflected cheek.
"Listen to reason, Your Majesty. The Federation has issued an ultimatum: stop harassing their ships and clear out of the Door's area of space or they will consider actions outside of diplomatic channels. Your little probing game is over."
The imperial fingertips squeaked as they moved, leaving a contrail of condensation on the glass. Down Morden's chest, his belly, following the edges of his suit jacket to stop at his groin.
Cartagia's hand dropped. Outside, Imperial City's monumental buildings glittered. A shuttle, red light winking, sailed the purpling sky.
Morden said, "If you do not recall the ships, the Federation will want to deal with the Centauri Republic directly. I cannot guarantee my associates' protection in this matter."
Under the emperor's breath, an aura of moisture spread on the glass between Morden's reflected legs. Cartagia leaned over and pressed open lips on the spot.
A shudder went through Morden. He dropped his arms and stepped away. His reflection in the window faded. He kept smiling, though the smile now appeared more plastered on his face than sincere. His fingers itched to touch the pendant he wore and draw on the strength of the Shadows.
Cartagia spoke in a hushed voice. "When I have done all I can for your associates, will they help me attain the godhead? The old god-emperors were deified when they died. If I get deified in my lifetime, I can prove myself superior to the emperors of old. I can shine, bring light to my people. I have a new empress. With her, I can create a divine dynasty." He chuckled, remembering something about the Earthers. "We will be the living Holy Trinity. Will they help me? Dark, so dark here." Abruptly, Cartagia turned to look at Morden full in the face. "Sometimes, I don't know where I am."
"I...understand." Morden really did understand Cartagia. After losing his wife and daughter to that terrorist bombing at Io, he felt the emptiness, the darkness and the loneliness. To escape that, he threw himself into his work as an archaeolinguist and a xenoarchaeologist. How fortunate it was that he got on the Icarus and met his salvation on Z'ha'dum! He remembered the ecstasy of rebirth in the Abyss.
Perhaps he could give the Centauri emperor a little bit of what he had before going to Mars. Bring him a little closer to his obsession with the godhead. Only to keep Cartagia a little sane for a little longer to achieve the plans made by his associates and the Great Lord of the Dark.
A chitter came from one of the Shadows, signalling its permission. Morden fingered his pendant, drawing on the strength of the Shadows and reached for Cartagia with his free hand.
Cartagia's eyes widened in alarm. Morden's fingertips touched the emperor's forehead. The emperor gasped as something appeared to burn, to sear into his forehead, to be drawn on it with fire. The pain was such that he couldn't give voice to it. Morden's fingers withdrew.
Cartagia quickly turned to look at a gilt-framed mirror across the room. He felt his forehead. He couldn't feel anything different about it, nor could he see it in the mirror. But the burning feeling was still there, if fading.
Morden's smile became sincere, even fraternal. "You have been marked. No one will see it, but it will keep the servants of the Shadows from trying to kill you. Your Majesty, you have been blessed with the Great Lord's touch."
Cartagia's smile widened, reciprocating Morden's, and his eyes shone with gratitude.
Mars
In his mind, James T. Kirk built a wall. Behind it, he placed his intimate knowledge of Starfleet. It was a high wall, built of everything he could imagine—boulders, bricks, tree trunks, a Preserver obelisk, shuttles, glittering pieces of glass, the bodies of the dead ensigns killed in away missions, furniture. The wall stretched far like the Great Barrier or the Great Wall of China, and crackled with the energy of the Great Barrier. As he built it, he forgot a bit about laughter and crying. In the construction of the wall, he surveyed which memory to put under guard. He hesitated over the memories.
Edith Keeler.
Edith...a warm face, compassionate eyes.
And love. His arms went around Edith but he knew he was saying goodbye.
His eyes scanned the night sky of a filthy city on Old Earth. Edith or the stars...Edith or the Federation. Captain's decision...command decision. It hurted. The ghost of Edith slipped away, leaving his arms empty.
Miramanee...priestess of a forgotten race. Miramanee...wife. Miramanee...mother of his unborn child. Peace here...except for the dreams and the faces in them. One dark and angular. One blue-eyed and curious. His eyes searched the face of the Indian mortal goddess. Gentle, beautiful wife-for-a-season.
Miramanee stepped aside.
Other faces...some forgotten, some well-remembered. Antonia, Carol Marcus, Queen Deela, Gillian Taylor, Ruth, Areel Shaw, Elaan of Troyius, Janice Lester, Ilia, Marlena Moreau, Lenore Karidian, Rayna (Forget the pain, Jim. Forget.)
Warm, dark eyes entered his mind.
Spock?
The single syllable echoed in his mind. Blood-brother among the stars. The other half of the whole. The other part of the Trinity. The only other person the Enterprise would accept in his life. T'hy'la.
He decided to put the memory of Spock and the semi-telepathic bond with the Vulcan behind the Great Wall of Kirk. With it, he put the Conspiracy of Light. In front of the wall, he patrolled. No one may pass and go beyond the wall. Everything else, they could have. Let them bring their telepathic PsiCops. Let them rage against the wall which would only harden from the reservoir of strength he knew he could draw from his Vulcan friend and his experience with Vulcan minds.
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Time crawled on all fours, broken. The pain in his hand was making him feverish, making him hallucinate. A dog ground his fingers between its jaws. Kirk closed his eyes and wondered when it would end. The interrogations, he hated to admit, was wearing him down, forcing him to forget what it was like to laugh or even to cry. The disgusting gratefulness for the gentle kindness of the business-suited interrogator and the infinite white-hot pain with the EarthForce torturer. Alone in the cell, he was tugged one way by
exhaustion, the other way by the dog.
He dreamed.
Tarsus IV. His first encounter with the harsh reality of the universe's cruelty. He watched as Kodos the Executioner had the colony militia aim phased-laser rifles at the back of Federation colonists. One of them, the famous and very old Hoshi Sato, turned her face to smile reassuringly and sadly to the 13-years-old Kirk. Red light flashed in the dying evening and bodies tumbled into the huge pit dug out of the planet's surface. As officers of the colonial militia grimly tossed torches into the gas-drenched pit, Kirk was mildly surprised to see the faces of the executed colonists replaced with the faces of his human tormentors. Khan Noonian Singh. Morgan Clark. Laurel Takashima. Sergeant Major Plug. Kalina Reikson. General Richard Franklin. Melting in the roaring fire.
The beseechingly haunting dark eyes of Yeoman Leslie Thompson just before the Kelvans turned her into an inanimate dehydrated crystalline tetrahedron and crushed her-it into dust. Oddly, the callous Kelvans wore the faces of Clark, the gentle interrogator, the torturer and Laurel Takashima.
Deneva Colony. Kirk mourned as interstellar parasites murdered colonists and his family. His brother and his brother's wife were struck down in the parasitic attack. Only his nephew, Peter Kirk, was all that was left of the Kirk family beside himself. He vowed to
make the galaxy safe for people like Peter Kirk to live in and to enjoy.
Mr. Finney's daughter, Jamie, screeching her hatred at Kirk, accusing him of murdering her father. Incongruously, her eyes were the slanted eyes of Laurel Takashima.
Khan Noonian Singh. The Augment ran through the corridors of the Enterprise, leading EarthForce marines.
Organia. Kirk standing with Spock on the planet, receiving the message from the Enterprise that Starfleet Command had broadcast Code One, the declaration of war. He looked up at the Organian sky, knowing that soon beyond it, Federation starships would create a deadly dance with enemy warships.
Dr. Daystrom's M-5 Multitronic Unit driving the Enterprise into savagely attacking other starships. Instead of beseeching the M-5 unit to stop, Kirk watched with glee as each Earth and Centauri ship died under his starship's fire. Each fiery death eased the pain of cruelty.
The fiery deaths shining from his main viewscreen became the fiery transformation of a barren planet into an Eden. Genesis. The hope of life and happiness in the Federation. False hope. Genesis proved to be Death for Spock and his son, David Marcus, and the Genesis Planet blew itself apart, reminding all that Eden is still forever forbidden to humans. From within the mini-nova, a shriek tore the dark heavens. A Shadow scream announcing the birth of something. Something even darker than the mind that would use Genesis as a weapon of mass destruction...
The jailer shook him awake.
"Stand up!"
Kirk was curled up tightly on his side like a fetus. His body felt raw, his joints welded. The guard's push woke the dog of pain and he sicked up. There was nothing to bring up but his stomach convulsed anyway. The cell disappeared then came rushing back. He was pulled upright and the guard brought out a pair of handcuffs. Next to him stood the gentle interrogator.
Thank goodness. Not the torturer. Kirk was once more disgusted at himself for feeling grateful.
His hand started to throb again. He looked down and saw crimson spots soaking through the white gauze.
The interrogator looked at him with distaste and said to the guard, "You better put them on at the front."
Kirk's wrists were once more locked. He was marched along the passage, up some stairs, the monotonous concrete walls passing by. If not for the light gravity of this planet, wherever here was, he would have stumbled and fallen many times over. He could still hear the scream from the end of his dream, but it throbbed from a distance. He glanced at his
captors. Judging by their grim expressions, they didn't appear to hear the shrieks. More corridors.
The interrogator gave him only a short look. But it was enough for Kirk to see that his questioner was afraid. Afraid of what?
He realized that the screams came from alarms wailing throughout the place. What was happening?
He looked down, watching his feet move across the concrete floor. His bandaged hand. The specks of red were spreading, touching, forming archipelagoes of blood.
He blinked when he came out of a door in a building. The faint stars of night shone through the huge glass dome above. The dome came down to a concrete edge almost right in front of him. Above the concrete wall holding the dome, he could see mountains tinted dark red in the starlight. Two tiny distorted moons shone.
He was on Mars after all.
He noticed what appeared to be a maglev train car waiting, hiding a tunnel entrance in the dome's edge. The interrogator and the two guards pushed him into a seat in the carriage. The interrogator got in with him and nodded at the guards. "Syria Planum. The teeps will know what to do."
As the bolts sealed the door of the carriage, Kirk felt a flicker of irrational relief.
"Don't raise your hopes," said the interrogator. "PsiCorps has a private spaceport at Syria Planum."
Kirk turned away and watched the red desert vista of Mars blur by as the maglev carriage rushed through a tunnel of glass faster than the speed of sound. He looked up at the stars. He wondered if he would travel among it anymore. That bright blue unblinking star. Earth. Noticing something, he squinted. Tiny flashes of colored light occasionally competed with the stars in the Martian night sky. A space battle?
He ducked when two aerodynamically designed starfuries roared above the glass tunnel. He watched as they flew to the horizon, noticing a thin wispy column of smoke rising from beyond the horizon, blotting out some of the stars.
Signs of war. How appropriate for a planet named after the Roman god of war.
He remembered what the interrogator said. PsiCorps. That meant PsiCops. Telepaths digging into his mind. He stretched out in his seat and rested his head on the back of the seat, making sure that the wall in his mind stood high and strong. The interrogator suddenly
leaned toward him and shouted, "Oh for fuck's sake! He's pissing himself!"
He slapped Kirk, forcing him to be more awake and to assert more self-control on himself. The business-suited man hissed, "Mars is going to hell and I have to put up with this."
The carriage rolled through another dark entrance in a concrete wall. Another glass dome rose from the concrete wall. Syria Planum. PsiCorps.
"Open the doors!"
It was empty in the maglev station. As far as Kirk could tell, Syria Planum was empty. The interrogator got out and yanked Kirk out. The interrogator's fear was now out in the open. "Quick! We haven't got all night!" To the guards in the maglev carriage: "One minute, then we're outta here!"
Then Kirk was busy being pushed forward, stumbling across the station's marble floor, down a wide corridor and out of a wide doorway. The interrogator unlocked the handcuffs and took the paingiver collar off of Kirk's neck.
"You're a lucky man, James."
"I don't understand..."
The long face creased in exasperation. "You're someone's favorite." The interrogator stepped back into the entrance of the maglev station, turned and ran off into the darkness.
Kirk frowned, confused. Was he dreaming? Or was this a trick designed to ingratiate him to the PsiCops that would surely appear to take him into yet another interview room? He looked up at the glass dome, expecting to see stars and the distance-tiny space battle raging in orbit. He was disappointed to see the glass frosted to give the place privacy. A noise
distracted him.
There. The dark silhouette of a man walking across the street. His rescuer? A PsiCop? His executioner? Kirk hesitated, started to walk, and stopped, expecting the flash of phased plasma at any moment. The shadow of the man was now close enough for him to see the
features.
Unfamiliar human features. Handsome features with a smile. An immaculate dark business suit with a pendant hung from the neck, seeming to draw the light into its own darkness. What almost sounded like the chitter of large insects reached Kirk's ear. The light of Mars'
two moons filtering through the frosted glass dome lit up the perfect white teeth in the stranger's smile.
"Hello, Captain Kirk,"