Free To Dream in the City of Sorrows by Babylon 5 Page A
Authors: Babylon 5
places because of what he had accomplished and the people he had become close to there. A great deal of hope had returned to his life there.
He was looking forward to seeing the station again, all two million, five hundred thousand metric tons of it. He wasn’t returning as its commander, but that didn’t matter. It would always be his station because he was the one who had brought Babylon 5 to life. In return, it had become for him the one place he called home.
A knock came on his door. He opened it to find Rathenn.
“Ambassador, I am here to request that you accompany me to the palace of the Chosen One.”
This is it, thought Sinclair. “Rathenn, I doubt your leader can say anything to change my mind about leaving. My problem isn’t with your government or your people, but with my own government.”
“The Chosen One spared your life,” Rathenn replied. “Would you refuse him an audience before you leave?”
Rathenn had him there. Jenimer had indeed spared his life by pardoning him, despite ferocious opposition from the military caste when the sham trial over his accused involvement in the assassination conspiracy had ended in a guilty verdict. Sinclair supposed he owed him one.
Rathenn had a flyer waiting to take them to the Chosen One’s palace outside the city limits of Yedor in the foothills of the Tchok’an mountains. From a distance, the surrounding mountains gave a misleading impression of the palace’s size, though its breathtaking beauty was evident from miles away, sparkling in the sunlight like a multifaceted jewel.
But it was only as the flyer began its final approach to the palace, that Sinclair could truly appreciate the staggering achievement of the ancient Minbari engineers, builders, craftsmen, and artisans who had over a century’s time chiseled, carved, and sculpted a monumental palace out of a towering crystalline mountain. Every inch of its surface was so highly polished, reflecting the sunshine with dazzling rainbows of light, that it grew increasingly difficult to look at. Only as the flyer passed directly over the three natural crystalline pinnacles and began its descent to the landing area, could Sinclair see that every inch of its surface was intricately and beautifully carved with scenes from Minbar’s history.
“It is good to have the palace occupied again,” Rathenn said, almost to himself, then at Sinclair’s look explained further. “From the moment of Dukhat’s tragic death all who had lived and worked in the palace departed, as our Chosen One’s soul had departed. The palace was left empty and untouched for ten cycles as a symbol of our mourning. Now with the inauguration of Jenimer as our new Chosen One, the palace is once again a living symbol of Minbar.”
And in all that time, thought Sinclair, almost fourteen Earth years, the Grey Council had ruled Minbar and conducted a highly successful war against Earth without anyone occupying the office of Chosen One. That might seem to indicate that the so-called Minbari leader was only a titular head of government without power, not unlike kings and queens had become on Earth by the twentieth century. Except that Dukhat had clearly been a powerful figure, the unquestioned leader of Minbar. Jenimer’s position was not as clear.
“I thought Dukhat remained in space with the Grey Council on their warship,” Sinclair said, “that he spent little, if any time here.”
“True,” Rathenn said. “But his presence was always here.”
“What about Jenimer? Will he leave to travel with the Grey Council?”
“The Chosen One has indicated he will remain here, at the palace.”
The flyer landed with a gentle bump, and Rathenn led Sinclair into the ancient palace and through a bewildering maze of dark, polished hallways, ending in a stark, high-ceilinged room, as dimly lit as the hallways had been. Rathenn asked him to wait, then disappeared through a set of doors that Sinclair had not even noticed before Rathenn opened
He was looking forward to seeing the station again, all two million, five hundred thousand metric tons of it. He wasn’t returning as its commander, but that didn’t matter. It would always be his station because he was the one who had brought Babylon 5 to life. In return, it had become for him the one place he called home.
A knock came on his door. He opened it to find Rathenn.
“Ambassador, I am here to request that you accompany me to the palace of the Chosen One.”
This is it, thought Sinclair. “Rathenn, I doubt your leader can say anything to change my mind about leaving. My problem isn’t with your government or your people, but with my own government.”
“The Chosen One spared your life,” Rathenn replied. “Would you refuse him an audience before you leave?”
Rathenn had him there. Jenimer had indeed spared his life by pardoning him, despite ferocious opposition from the military caste when the sham trial over his accused involvement in the assassination conspiracy had ended in a guilty verdict. Sinclair supposed he owed him one.
Rathenn had a flyer waiting to take them to the Chosen One’s palace outside the city limits of Yedor in the foothills of the Tchok’an mountains. From a distance, the surrounding mountains gave a misleading impression of the palace’s size, though its breathtaking beauty was evident from miles away, sparkling in the sunlight like a multifaceted jewel.
But it was only as the flyer began its final approach to the palace, that Sinclair could truly appreciate the staggering achievement of the ancient Minbari engineers, builders, craftsmen, and artisans who had over a century’s time chiseled, carved, and sculpted a monumental palace out of a towering crystalline mountain. Every inch of its surface was so highly polished, reflecting the sunshine with dazzling rainbows of light, that it grew increasingly difficult to look at. Only as the flyer passed directly over the three natural crystalline pinnacles and began its descent to the landing area, could Sinclair see that every inch of its surface was intricately and beautifully carved with scenes from Minbar’s history.
“It is good to have the palace occupied again,” Rathenn said, almost to himself, then at Sinclair’s look explained further. “From the moment of Dukhat’s tragic death all who had lived and worked in the palace departed, as our Chosen One’s soul had departed. The palace was left empty and untouched for ten cycles as a symbol of our mourning. Now with the inauguration of Jenimer as our new Chosen One, the palace is once again a living symbol of Minbar.”
And in all that time, thought Sinclair, almost fourteen Earth years, the Grey Council had ruled Minbar and conducted a highly successful war against Earth without anyone occupying the office of Chosen One. That might seem to indicate that the so-called Minbari leader was only a titular head of government without power, not unlike kings and queens had become on Earth by the twentieth century. Except that Dukhat had clearly been a powerful figure, the unquestioned leader of Minbar. Jenimer’s position was not as clear.
“I thought Dukhat remained in space with the Grey Council on their warship,” Sinclair said, “that he spent little, if any time here.”
“True,” Rathenn said. “But his presence was always here.”
“What about Jenimer? Will he leave to travel with the Grey Council?”
“The Chosen One has indicated he will remain here, at the palace.”
The flyer landed with a gentle bump, and Rathenn led Sinclair into the ancient palace and through a bewildering maze of dark, polished hallways, ending in a stark, high-ceilinged room, as dimly lit as the hallways had been. Rathenn asked him to wait, then disappeared through a set of doors that Sinclair had not even noticed before Rathenn opened