Lennier Story
by Rose Freeman, Aug 1999
Lennier stared out into space. And it was almost as empty as his life was. "Computer, the date?"
In its cordial yet mechanical voice, the computer responded, "2383, the twelfth of Frenonn." Thirteen years since he had faked his death. Thirteen years since he had left all responsibility as a ranger, and twenty-one years since he had reneged on his promise to stay at Delenn's side through all the troubles that lay before her. He still felt guilty about that, though she had made her decision to walk at Sheridan's side.
For a moment, he could see her face again, that strifeless, pure and happy face. And she called his name. "Lennier"
//It is just an illusion,// he told himself. "Lennier..." The voice was louder now, though it seemed older, somehow.
"Lennier, can you hear me? Lennier, do you read?" Lennier found no good reason not to respond. "I am here, Entil'zha." As soon as he said it, he reprimanded himself for answering. She wasn't supposed to know that he lived.
"Lennier, I must ask something of you, something I hoped I would never have to ask." Lennier looked at her. The image quality was very low, but she looked very old.
"We live for the One; we die for the One."
"Yes. I know. Even now. You once said that you would not return until you could show yourself, worthy in my eyes. No matter what I said, you would have never seen yourself as such. Not from the first day I met you. But now, I must ask you to save my son. And if you do, you must then never see yourself lowly again. Can you promise?" There was a pause, both remembering the transgression that had driven them apart.
"I promise to save your son."
Firmly, she insisted, "You must promise to both."
"Yes, Delenn. I will try."
"And I will send you the information you will require."
* * * * * * *
David Sheridan eagerly rushed through his birthday gifts. He was most interested in the old Centauri artifact in the corner. All through his childhood, he had seen it and wondered about its contents. Delenn had said that he must open it last. Minbari tradition regarding the opening of gifts was ingrained into him, and if his mother had not known better, he would've said that he favored some other gift, so that he could open this one first.
From all of his friends and family, both Human and Minbari, he received clothing and credits. Finally, he walked over to the corner, picked up the old clayware vessel and took it to a chair. He tugged at the lid several times, but it would not budge.
On the fourth attempt, it came open too easily. Another force had helped it. One large eye stared back at him, and as soon as David realized what it was, it was gone. Only after blinking did he interpret the sound of an opening den'bok and the shriek of the parasite as it was smashed across the floor.
Satisfied that it was dead, Lennier, wearing the simple garments of an acolyte once more, contracted his fighting pike. But it wasn't dead. It reached for Lennier, but couldn't find skin.
Mister Garibaldi, in attendance of the party, fired at the keeper with lightening reflexes. The first shot blasted the skin off the top of its head, the next removed several tentacles and the last should have killed it. But Lennier's right arm, with the fighting pike opened again, was stuck rigid before him. Reaching desperately for Vir's drink, he struggled. Vir would not have fought back, but then, Vir wasn't himself these days. Knowing the risks of drinking, Lennier drunk deeply and screamed, "Now."
Garibaldi wasn't sure. Someone had once told him that the only way to kill a keeper was to kill its host. But Lennier? //Yes. No. Yes. No...// He fired anyway.
The last thing Lennier ever saw was Delenn's face. She was glancing back and forth between the one who was a light before her, and the legacy of her sun, moon and stars. She was horrified. But Lennier knew that someday, she would ask him to save her son. He looked her in the eyes and died with a small, but contented smile.