Ranger Dawning Page 4

  ‘So you just volunteered me?’ asked Vance, the weight of what his father was saying slowly sinking in.

  ‘You’re my son. As a show of faith, I had to make this gesture. Besides, you’re top of your class in tactics, armed and unarmed combat, reconnaissance. Your test results for the Razvedchik application were unparalleled.’

  Vance wasn’t surprised by his father’s inside knowledge. His contacts in every regiment of EarthForce kept him well informed, and Vance imagined the Colonel knew about his transfer before anyone. ‘But now that has to wait. From here, you’ll fly directly to Minbar and begin your training. I need you to decline your acceptance to the Razvedchiks, but it doesn’t have to be permanent. If... when you graduate as Anla’shok and other humans have been accepted, you can leave and return to EarthForce.’

  ‘You have all this planned, don’t you? Do you know how long it’s taken me to crawl from beneath your shadow? To prove myself? That I’m not just the son of some war hero colonel? I’ve earned my stripes, and I made it on my own. Now you just want to destroy all that and plan my future for me.’

  ‘James, listen to me. I understand why you didn’t want to follow me and go into a Military Academy, but this is bigger than our... disagreement. You need to rise above it. You are smart enough to know that I wouldn’t ask this of you unless it was important. I need you, James. Please... help me.’

  Vance could not believe his ears. Despite the tall story his father had been telling him since he arrived at the restaurant, to hear him utter the word “please” was the most shocking thing of all. He had waited his entire 23 years to hear those words. Now that he had, it just made him feel sad. This had to be true. He refused to believe his father was under some kind of Minbari influence. The man had fought them for years, had forgotten more about counter-interrogation and torture techniques than most men could ever learn. For him to sound so desperate, this had to be true and so serious that he had no choice but to offer his only son.

  ‘Alright,’ said Vance, unable to meet his father’s gaze. ‘We’ll go to Minbar and meet with Sinclair and these... Anla’shok, but on my terms. If I start to get a bad feeling, if they even look at me wrong, I’m out of there.’

  ‘I won’t be going, James. This one you’ll have to do alone. One of them is already here waiting to transport you to Minbar. I have to go to Earth and prepare further recruits. And trust me, they will look at you wrong. That’s the point. You need to make them look at you right.’

  ‘This just keeps getting better. What do I do if I run into trouble? Who’s my point of contact?’

  ‘Sinclair knows who you are. He’ll take care of you. No harm will come to you--except the rigors of Anla’shok training. It’ll be a challenge, James. Embrace it.’

  Vance fell silent once more. Too many things could go wrong. Unfortunately for him, he felt he had little choice. Between his father, Sinclair and the Minbari, he was well and truly outclassed. And he was certainly not in control of the situation. Someone else was flying, yet again.

  ‘Fine. I’ll need to contact EarthForce to let them know--’

  ‘Let me handle that,’ said the Colonel. ‘The less they know about the reasons for your absence, the better. I can smooth things over with Major Cleaver and handle the Razvedchiks. I know a few people. Now, eat up. That veal is a much better meal than you’ll be given by the Anla’shok.’

  The Colonel was suddenly smiling. Vance never appreciated his idea of humour. Without another word the two men ate.

  Vance stood outside the Colonel’s quarters, his bag already packed. Under the circumstances, he’d thought it best if he kept his civvies on. The crisp EarthForce uniform was neatly folded in his bag.

  No sooner had he raised his hand to touch the comm unit than the door slid open. In the dimly lit room, two candles shone on a side table, but Vance could not see anyone. He entered and the door shut behind him, blocking out the faint illumination from the corridor.

  Vance recognised the rigid silhouette of his father in the darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the unmistakeable outline of a Minbari became visible. Neither spoke, and Vance wondered if this was some kind of test.

  ‘Is this cloak-and-dagger stuff necessary? We’re on an Earth Alliance vessel after all.’ Vance waited several seconds for his answer.

  ‘Our enemy’s agents are everywhere. But you will learn that soon enough.’

  The voice was thickly accented but powerful. Vance felt compelled to listen and heed the words.

  Slowly the lights became brighter, and Vance could see the Minbari better. He looked old, a wisdom showing within the watery blue of his eyes. Despite his demeanour, Vance could also see a certain kindness within the face, as though a long time ago it had known much laughter.

  ‘Vance,’ said the Colonel, ‘this is Sech Turval, from the Eighth Fane of Tredomo, former leader of the Anla’shok. He’ll be one of your mentors.’

  The Minbari placed his thumbs together, fingers pointing downwards, and bowed his head, all the while keeping his eyes locked onto Vance. Vance nodded his reply but did not attempt the foreign hand gesture. ‘I am pleased you have decided to join us,’ said Turval. ‘I have heard of your skill. You will need it over the coming months.’

  Vance frowned, but he didn’t reply, looking instead to his father.

  ‘Turval’s transport is waiting. You have clearance to leave.’ ‘How long will I be gone?’ asked Vance.

  ‘For as long as Shadows fall across the galaxy,’ replied Turval before the Colonel could speak. The tall Minbari took a step forward, and Vance saw him more clearly. He was dressed in black robes, which framed his slender figure. The only adornment was a single brooch on his left breast. Vance couldn’t quite see what it depicted, only that it bore a large, smooth jewel at its centre.

  ‘I will wait outside while you bid farewell to your father.’ With that, Turval bowed once more and left the room. Vance noticed that as he moved, the Minbari made no sound, despite the long robes.

  The room became uncomfortably silent as soon as Turval left. The Minbari obviously overestimated the affection that Vance and his father felt towards one another. The Colonel made to speak, but before he could Vance gave him a curt nod and turned on his heel. The door opened as he approached it, and Vance left without looking back. Turval was waiting for him outside but did not seem surprised by Vance’s quick arrival. The Minbari gave a knowing nod and led the way to the hangar.

  Vance had never seen a ship like it. He had seen schematics of Minbari vessels, studied their propulsion and weapons systems, and even entered a simulation of a Minbari cockpit, but none of it did justice to the real thing.

  This flyer was a basic model, not really designed for combat, yet it outclassed anything EarthForce had available. As Vance followed Turval down the sloping walkway to the hangar, his jaw dropped in awe.

  Turval approached the ship, and its side hatch opened. The Minbari made no move, spoke no command word nor signalled in any way. He didn’t break step as he approached and entered the ship. Vance, excitement overcoming trepidation, eagerly followed.

  The inside of the Minbari Flyer was more impressive than the outside. Vance studied the vessel but saw no conventional controls. The front of the cockpit held a collection of light pads but lacked instrument panels. Turval sat in the pilot seat and cast his hands over a number of the flashing panels. Although he had not been invited, Vance stood near the Minbari, fascinated to see the ship in action.

  The voice of Babylon 5 command and control resonated through an invisible speaker, and Turval confirmed his take-off plan. In seconds, the hangar hatch opened and the flyer glided out of the huge station, headed straight for the nearby jumpgate. The inaudible engines and the smooth flight made it seem as though the ship were stationary. Vance could not stop a smile from spreading across his face.

  Spinning blue light enveloped them as they neared the jumpgate, and within seconds they slipped through. As they sailed effortlessly through the gr
ey mist of hyperspace, Turval reclined in his seat, once again pressing his thumbs together and crossing his hands in that strange Minbari gesture. Vance realised he had been involved in a take-off that he himself had not piloted, but it was without the usual discomfort. It seemed that in the presence of Turval there was nothing to fear.

  Leaning forward slightly, he opened his mouth, eager to question Turval on the ship’s propulsion system and the lack of turbulence. Then he noticed Turval’s eyes were closed. Thinking the Minbari asleep, he settled back into his seat.

  Ask your question. It is obvious you are curious about something.’

  Vance hadn’t spoken or made a sound. ‘Er, it doesn’t matter,’ he replied.

  ‘Very well.’

  For the rest of their journey through hyperspace, both remained silent.

  Leaving hyperspace was as smooth as entering it. As soon as the flyer hit realspace, Vance could see Minbar. The small, unremarkable planet was home to the most advanced and dangerous race outside the Vorlon Empire. Vance thought back to the devastation of the war--his father’s war. Now he entered the nest of the enemy his father had sworn to defeat. And he had been sent by the Colonel.

  As they drew closer, a Sharlin warship sailed toward them like some huge aquatic beast floating in an invisible sea. Turval’s hand flashed over one of the panels and the Sharlin changed course, moving away from the flyer. Vance guessed they were passing a security check by a planetary defence ship. Not a word was spoken, and both ships communicated to one another without either pilot having to interact. If this had been EarthForce protocol, the security process would still be happening. Vance couldn’t help but admire the Minbari’s efficiency.

  Within minutes, the flyer entered Minbars atmosphere, dropping through the heavy cloud cover. Vance could see little through the cockpit window as heavy drops of rain splashed silently against it. For several tense minutes the flyer was shrouded in blackness, then Vance could see the coruscating lights of a city. ‘Tuzanor,’ Turval said, his first words in several hours. ‘The City of Sorrows.’

  Vance could see majestic spires rising into the night. The closer they got, the more he could see of the illuminated towers, linked by a maze-like system of walkways. ‘It looks amazing. Why the depressing name?’ he asked.

  ‘Our order has not always been well received by the Grey Council or the Warrior Caste. Over the centuries, many conflicts took place between the Anla’shok and those we wished to protect. The greatest of these was fought centuries ago, and millions died within Tuzanor’s boundaries.’

  They were within a kilometre of the city now, flying over a ridge that encircled the entire metropolis. Hundreds of thousands of glowing crystals dotted the ridge, forming a dimly illuminated ring around Tuzanor.

  ‘We call the ring of crystals the Se’en Voltayn: The Veil of Bright Dreams,’ said Turval.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘I am pleased you like my city. Of all the places on Minbar, it is said that this was Valen’s favourite. Much has changed since then, but it still bears the same atmosphere. When I walk Tuzanor’s streets, I imagine I get much the same feeling as Valen did a thousand years ago.’

  Vance could see a faint smile spread across Turval’s face as the Minbari reflected. The flyer navigated between the sparkling minarets. Despite the sodden, miserable night, Vance could not deny the city’s splendour. Few humans had ever seen this humbling view.

  Turval guided the flyer toward a wide landing pad, his hands flashing over the multicoloured panels. The flyer responded by easing itself down, coming to a smooth and gentle landing.

  ‘Come,’ said Turval. The Minbari made his way to the exit hatch, which opened of its own accord. Vance grabbed his kit bag and followed.

  Rain pounded the wide landing pad. Vance had to squint against the stinging drops. ‘It is likely we have missed the welcoming ceremony,’ shouted Turval above the sound of the splashing rain. ‘But we should hurry nonetheless.’ The tall Minbari did not run, but his stride was unbelievably long. Vance struggled to match his pace without breaking into a jog. They walked across the landing pad towards a tall, striking building. Vance noticed three large weapon mounts on the side of it that occasionally swivelled, their barrels covering several directions. The building itself seemed carved from a single piece of obsidian, randomly interspersed with glowing crystals.

  As they approached, a set of double doors slowly swung open. Two Minbari, wearing garb identical to Turval’s, appeared and bowed ceremoniously. Turval bowed his head as he passed but said nothing.

  Vance was spellbound at the sight of the massive hall they entered. From the outside, the building had not seemed nearly as grandiose. He stopped in his tracks and simply admired his surroundings. Dark marble columns swept upward toward the shadowy ceiling, and multi-coloured stained-glass windows loomed on every side. Vance even thought he could see birds roosting in the high beams.

  ‘The welcoming ceremony has ended,’ said Turval. Vance noticed the two Minbari who had opened the doors for them standing at his shoulders. ‘We must enter the Crucible Chamber.’

  Turval turned and headed off into the darkness. Vance glanced over both shoulders at the Minbari staring straight ahead. He gripped his kit bag tightly and followed Turval.

  Darkness suddenly enveloped him, flooding Vance with a sudden panic. Maybe his premonition of this being a Minbari trick was true. Maybe this was no initiation but an exercise in brain washing. Maybe they meant only to kill him and use their Minbari science to create a doppelganger, infiltrating EarthForce with an exact copy of James Vance.

  Turval opened a door up ahead, allowing a flickering yellow light to spill through onto Vance and the Minbari. Vance could see the light came from a fire, lit within a huge metal bowl, mounted on a short column of crystal. Vance entered the room, his face stung by the intensity of the heat from the raging flames. Turval stood next to it but seemed unaffected. The other two Minbari also entered, one closing the door behind him, and then they took up positions around the brazier.

  The circular room’s low oval roof contained neither flue nor anywhere else for excess smoke or flames to escape. Nevertheless, despite the heat, the room did not seem uncomfortable or lacking in oxygen.

  ‘This is the Crucible Chamber,’ said Turval. ‘To begin the path of the Anla’shok, you must first pass the test of the Burning Time. It is the first of many tests to become a Ranger, but for most it is the most difficult of all.’

  A knot formed in Vance’s gut. Several visions flashed in his head, the most horrific showing him needing to thrust an arm, or another even more important appendage, into the flames and holding it there until he was told to do otherwise. He remembered an old holo-vid he’d watched with Randell. Vance couldn’t remember the name, but in the opening credits a guy lifted a burning hot brazier with his forearms, searing pictures of animals into his skin. Glancing down, Vance could see that all three of the Minbari had long-sleeved robes on. Did they sport wicked brands marking them as true Anla’shok?

  ‘Cast all your worldly belongings into the flames,’ said Turval simply and quietly. Vance gave an almost audible sigh of relief. ‘By burning everything precious to you, you show dedication to your training and a willingness to begin anew as Anla’shok. Only by doing this now can you proceed.’

  Vance struggled to remember what he had brought with him. His dress uniform. No great shakes. He could get another later. A spare set of civvies. No problem either. Wash bag with a razor, comb and various assorted smellies. The Minbari would certainly have equipment that could replace all that. Then again, they obviously weren’t into hair care. What the hell, he was here to train, not win a beauty contest. Standard issue combat knife. That could be replaced, but he had grown quite attached to it over the years. On manoeuvres it had often been the only thing that kept him alive. Nevertheless, he had to focus. If these guys wanted to test him, he would show them true steel. Vance lifted the bag to chest
height and thrust it into the centre of the flames.

  A sudden hissing preceded the eruption of several sparks, and then his gear was gone--not a burning scrap or shrivelled cinder remained. Vance smiled, almost relieved to have the burden of his worldly goods incinerated.

  ‘Is that the sum of your possessions?’ asked Turval, un-moving, as though he knew that Vance had forgotten something. For a second Vance wondered if Turval expected him to strip down to his jockeys, then he realised the one thing he had forgotten. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out the acceptance letter from the Razvedchik regiment.

  The crisp white paper shone against the dancing flames. Vance ached to unfold it and read again the words he had waited so long for. Even if it burned, he could still join the Special Forces. What the paper symbolised was much more valuable: all the hard work he undertook to free himself from the shadow of his father’s name and to be his own man.

  Some things are more important, he told himself, looking up at Turval. The Minbari’s eyes shone with understanding, as though he had gone through exactly the same anguish in his own past. Vance held out his hand and let his fingers fall open. The letter fluttered for a second before falling directly into the flames, instantly disintegrating in the intense heat.

  The Anla’shok Na

  The Crucible Chamber fell into sudden darkness as the flames extinguished. Vance barely had time to wonder what was happening before light shone through a door at the opposite end of the chamber. ‘This way,’ said Turval. Vance crossed the chamber and followed Turval, noticing that the other two Minbari had disappeared altogether. He entered another room, this one was square and half the size of the Crucible Chamber. On a plinth at its centre, neatly laid out as though delivered by the quartermaster himself, was a uniform.

  ‘Please don the uniform, and then you may rest. Your journey has been a long one. Perhaps longer than you know.’ Turval motioned towards the plinth. Vance approached and, without hesitation, dressed in the strange new uniform: plain black; leggings, tunic and boots (along with unexpectedly comfortable underwear); and the fit was perfect. Vance ran his hand across the coarse material and noticed that despite the rough texture, it did not make a sound.