This story was based on the Babylon 5 universe by J. Michael Straczynski.
The Long Trial, Part One
Chapter 5:  Hard Dreams
By R. Bernstein

The ship sped towards their homeworld. Why had she not been stopped, fired 
upon, destroyed. It was a trap. She knew it was a trap, she could feel Kuraal 
among them. Her flesh, her blood burned. 
GIVE ME BACK MY CHILD! SHOOT ME FROM THE SKY, EAT MY SOUL! BUT I 
WILL FOLLOW YOU INTO THE NEXT TEN INCARNATIONS, TWENTY, A 
MILLION UNTIL I FIND MY CHILD AND WIPE YOU FROM EXISTENCE, she 
howled at the approaching atmosphere. The ship navigated unharrassed, 
though the arid gloom, wind and dust. The landscape was washed-out sepia, a 
blasted holocaust world with gargantuan pillars reaching towards the sky like 
blackened skeletal fingers, clawing out of earth from a premature tomb, frozen 
in rigor mortis. The glyphs on the pillars glowed with infernal light. They were 
unreadable, shifting as she watched. She landed in a gulley, putting on her 
environmental mask. This was the end. She saw a motion in the corner of her 
eye, but when she looked no one was there. She heard Kuraal crying. The 
sound came from a fissure in the rock face. She saw a flash of dirty 
embroidered cloth, sky-blue. She went to the cleft, gun drawn, and entered it, 
expecting to be struck, but unable to stop. A door whispered shut behind her 
and she felt a rush of air. The chamber was oxygenated. Kuraal was standing in 
a corner, tears streaming down her tiny face. "TisheÉ" She cried. 
"Kuraal, du lay sholonor." Come here, quickly. Why was she not coming? A 
scalding pain shot through her wrist. It was gone. The hand that held the gun 
was gone, and she gasped, both from pain and shock and fell to her knees, 
clutching the ragged remains of her forearm, blood soaking the sand. The air 
writhed and arachnoid figures roiled into solidity, chittering. She could feel them 
around her now, and see them in front of Kuraal. She was surrounded, and 
began to understand the warbling language. 
Turanni. Why are you fighting us? We are not your enemies, as you have been led to 
believe. You could not win this even if we were. Valen misunderstood, we stayed here to help 
you. The Vorlons have misled you. What do you want? We can help you. 
"I know my loyalties, and I know who my enemies are! Do not lie to me! I know 
what you are," she screamed, rising to her feet. 
Turanni. This does not have to be so difficult. You love your child, such a beautiful child, so 
much promise, so young. This is for her, and for you. All we ask of you is your assistance with 
our ships. We need you, and you need us. This is for the best, it is your destiny. You know 
this. 
"KURAAAL! FOROK!" She screamed. Run. Black holes opened up like chasms 
in her mind, it would be too late in another nanosecond. I will follow you into fire, 
I will follow you into darkness, I will follow you into death. She grabbed her 
dagger and slashed across the arteries in her neck.
Havah gasped for air and jerked right off of her chair onto the floor, bringing an 
electronic pad and several questionnaires with her. The pad hit her on the nose 
before clattering to the floor, hard. "OW! FRAG!" She picked herself up and 
gathered the fallen supplies. She had lost count of how many times she had 
been thrust into this nightmare. Every time she fell asleep, for the past week. 
And now she was falling asleep at work. It was like Nightmare on Elm Street, 
one of her favorite old horror movies. She wanted to staple her eyelids open 
just to stay awake. She wasnÕt getting more than a half an hourÕs sleep at a 
time anyway, and it certainly wasnÕt restful. And now she was beginning to think 
that she was just going to slip into it one of these times and never wake up, 
trapped in the dream existence like a spectator caught forever in a hall of 
carnival mirrors. So tangible was the dream, and so horribly enchanting. She 
woke up feeling tired and drugged. And the dream was unfolding, like a story, a 
history, maybe a history of someone real, pushing everything else out of her 
head. Why was it always these particular people? The door chimed. Carmen 
poked her head in. "You ready for the epi meeting? Are you ok, sweetie? You 
look like hell!"
"IÕm ok, I just havenÕt been sleeping right."
"Is everything ok?"
"Yeah, I just keep having this same stupid dream over and over, a real 
whopper. ItÕs no big deal, just makes it hard to sleep."
"Well, you know, maybe itÕs your brain trying to tell you something. For all we do 
with science, we still canÕt explain everything. My mother, you know she still 
lives in Puerto Rico, she always used to go to this woman. She read, what do 
you call those thingsÉtea leaves. I think she still does."
"You suggesting I go to a fortune-teller?"
"Well, what about a counselor? I know you donÕt believe in that stuff, but it 
couldnÕt hurt to go once, and see what they say, you never know, they might be 
able to suggest something."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Why donÕt you go home after the meeting, just make it up during the rest of the 
week. And you know if you need to take some time off, I can get one of the docs 
to cover the investigations and everything else can wait."
"Thanks no, IÕm cool, just a bad week. I might try looking up a counselor 
though."
"Well, let me know."
Carmen patted her arm and they went to the epidemiology meeting. Afterwards, 
Havah searched through her desk and called a friend who had gone to a 
counselor on the station, got the number and called to set up an appointment 
for a day from now, so she still had time to cancel if she changed her mind. 
She wandered to her quarters and tried again to sleep. But every time she 
started to drift, she jerked awake again, muscles spasming, expecting the 
dream to seize her. She couldnÕt get any rest like this, and the next rude yank 
out of half-consciousness made her so angry, she hurled herself out of bed, 
threw her clothes back on and stomped out to the Zocalo. The horror of the 
dream drove her to seek a crowd, anything that would dissolve the rawness 
and foreboding of the dream, and the hopeless memory of the crying infant and 
bent shadows in dusty rooms. The Zocalo rebounded with gregarious laughter 
and jostling patrons, and the casino was even louder. She perched on a bar 
stool watching the crap tables, hot chocolate mug in her hands loaded with 
sugar. She sighed and sunk down on the stool, her feet hooked through the 
bottom bar. She didnÕt know how long she sat, letting the cacophony permeate 
her, with people floating by like driftwood. Man, IÕm tired, she thought. 
Next to the crowd at the edge of the bar counter was a dark man sitting. He was 
watching someone intently. Londo Mollari was the man he was watching. It 
was impossible to hear what the ambassador was saying, it looked like he 
was perusing merchandise in a laquered black box. The dark man was 
listening, and it didnÕt appear that anyone around the table or even the two 
heavies glowering around the edge of the little cabal noticed the 
eavesdropping. As she watched, the air roiled around the dark man, the same 
bizarre distortion in space that she had seen in her dream in the cave, like 
watching reality through rippling water. And then her reality dissolved and she 
was trapped in the same hall of mirrors she had thought she escaped in 
coming here, the same nightmare in exquisitely horrid and identical detail, like 
an everyday scene convulsing into computer-generated iterations, playing the 
same error message over and over. When she came to, her head was 
hovering an inch over the counter, jaw slack, dark locks falling into the wetness 
on the bar counter, her mug had fallen and broken in pale shards, splashing 
warm liquid on her shoes. A couple of people were looking at her. The 
bartender shook her arm and asked her if she was ok, and did she need 
someone to take her home, while people returned their attention to previous 
conversation or gambling. She shook her head dumbly, and said "Just had hot 
chocolate." She handed him her credit chit, and he rang her up. 
The dark manÕs eyes were on her now. She didnÕt have any recollection of what 
had happened while she had been on her ride through the Looking Glass, but 
she didnÕt like his face. And then he smiled a dark smile at her. His whole face 
lit up, but there was no smile in his eyes, only a hollowness, and something 
else, a consciousness that was not his. Upon scrutiny, his face should have 
been handsome, brown hair neatly swept back, clean tan features, big 
chocolate-colored eyes, perfect teeth. But there was a profound wrongness, a 
quality to the natural motions of his face that made his smile a rictus. He gave 
her the sense of a man ridden by powerful forces from the twisted side of the 
soul, from an Escher landscape stark and chaotic. Black holes opened in her 
mind when he smiled. She looked down at her chocolate-splattered feet. Her 
favorite Ray Bradbury passage that she had read over and over until the pages 
slipped out of the book, cycled through her head.
For these beings, fall is the ever normal season, the only weather, there 
be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? 
The grave. Does blood stir in their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their 
head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from 
their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. 
They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. 
They frenzy forth. In gusts, they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, 
make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web 
hears them, tremblesÑbreaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of 
themÉNeed, want, desire, we burn these in our fluids, oxidize these in our 
souls, which jet-streams out lips, nostrils, eyes, ears, broadcasts from antennae 
fingers, long or short-wave, God only knows, but the Freakmasters perceive 
Itches and come crab-clustering to Scratch.  
TheyÕre here, she thought. What do you want? she thought, like Cooger and 
DarkÕs Pandemonium Shadow Show. Who are they? The autumn people, 
unknowingly whispered into existence from a twentieth century science fiction 
book? Was she crazy? Maybe this was a schizophrenic break. All that mattered 
now was that this man and his ring of spirits were still watching her, invisible 
except for strange eddies in the air surrounding him. And she knew now, that 
real or imaginary, they could get to her anywhere she was, alone or in the midst 
of a crowd. A man next to her at the bar sat eating a steak, cutting the meat into 
fastidious little pieces with a serrated knife. She resisted the overwhelming 
urge to grab the knife and slice through her throat. And perhaps the most 
terrifying thing about the urge was the sudden irrationality that was completely 
counter to her survival instinct. 
Then something changed. The manÕs smile faltered and the air electrified. His 
focus shifted past her. At the edge of the room, a tall being in a voluminous 
robe had entered, almost floating above the ground, an alien in an elaborate 
encounter suit. She had never seen this alien or any of its species aboard the 
station before. All the same, there was a familiar feel. She was not a telepath 
but it spoke into her mind. GO. One word and she recognized the voice, the feel 
of it in her mind. It had been there before. But when? Now was not the time to 
ponder this, so she left as fast as she could. All she could do now was wander 
the station like a sleepless Cain, reflexively staying close to crowds. Her 
quarters were too oppressive, and the dreams awaited her if she stood still for 
too long. I need help with this, itÕs too big for me, she realized. Almost asleep on 
her feet, she returned to her quarters at 7:30 to call in sick and went to the 
counselor. The counselor took one look at her and asked for a few moments to 
re-schedule her other appointments. 
Havah sat on a worn love-seat, unsure how to proceed. She was here for 
answers that she really didnÕt want. And neither the prospect of having had 
some sort of psychotic break, nor the possibility that those things she saw near 
the dark man could be real, were at all palatable. A rock and a hard place. So 
she sat and fidgeted in uncomfortable silence. The counselor began carefully.
"Hi, my name is Joan, Joan Chevalier. YouÕre Havah Lassee? Can we talk, can 
you tell me whatÕs going on?"
Despite her dislike of psychologists, she knew that counselors were trained to 
impart a feeling of safety with the tone of their voice. And it had the desired 
effect. Exhausted tears spilled down her face and she couldnÕt even speak for a 
few minutes, covering her mouth with her hand, trying to stop the sobs.  After 
the torrent was spent, she just sat, chest heaving for a moment, face burning. 
The counselor hadnÕt moved except to place a box of tissues and a glass of 
water in front of her. She looked concerned. Havah ran her fingers through her 
tangled hair and began slowly, choking back more tears.
"IÉumÉI donÕt know how to start thisÉIÕm thinking maybe IÕm crazy, but there 
are some things that happened that seem so realÉand part of me wants them 
to be real, so that I can count on me, so that IÕm not crazy, and I know what 
reality is. But part of me thinks that it would be the most horrible thing if I werenÕt 
hallucinating." 
How many times had this woman heard, "I think maybe IÕm crazyÉ" ? Her face 
didnÕt reveal, she just said neutrally, "Well, why donÕt we start with what 
happened, what you saw?"
Havah hesitated. What if talking about it made it happen again? What if those 
things were just waiting for someone to mention them, listening for their cue? 
But she couldnÕt keep doing this. She was here, and for better or worse had to 
deal with either of the two possibilities. 
"IÕve been having nightmares lately. Well, really one nightmare a bunch of 
times. I got tired of it. It got to the point where I always jerked awake just as I 
was falling asleep because I donÕt want this dream again, and so I went to the 
Zocalo to get some hot chocolate. Well, I was sitting at the bar, when I noticed 
this man watching these other people at a table, like eavesdropping. Well, 
thenÉsee this is where it gets dodgy. IÉ" A lump rose in her throat again, not 
sure how to explain what happened, knowing even as she was speaking, how 
insane it sounded. "I saw the air in front of him sort of tear, like there was 
something there no one could see. And there was this staticky sound around 
him, just like the things in my dream, these creatures. And all of the sudden, I 
fell into the dream again, except that I was wide awake. Well, then I woke up, or 
came to or whatever, since I hadnÕt really been asleep, and the guy was staring 
at me, and it felt like these things that were around him, and I do think there 
was something around him, like they were watching me tooÉ.I know, I know 
how crazy that sounds. Then, an alien showed up at the door of the bar and I 
think it was telepathic, because it told me to go away, in my mind. There was 
something between it and this man, and I was stuck in the middle. The thing is 
also, that IÕve heard this other alien before, in my head, somewhere, but I donÕt 
know where. So I left, and IÕve been wandering around the station, not wanting 
to go home because I donÕt want to dream, and I donÕt know what to think about 
what I felt or saw or whatever. Also, before, the alien showed up, I had this urge, 
and it wasnÕt at all like me, to commit suicide. I wouldnÕt, I donÕt believe in it, but 
I donÕt know why I had it. IÕm not unhappy, just really freaked out and really 
scared." She finished miserably, hearing and loathing the words as they came 
out of her mouth, guessing that the counselorÕs next move would be to commit 
her or put her under some sort of observation. 
The counselor did indeed look very concerned, her face had darkened when 
Havah mentioned the suicidal urge. 
Stupid! Havah thought savagely, I shouldnÕt have mentioned that. 
"Havah, I wonÕt lie to you, IÕm very worried about what you just told me 
concerning suicidal ideation. What do you mean when you say that you had an 
urge, but it wasnÕt like you? Have you ever thought about this before, about 
harming yourself?"
"No, well, not recently, I mean, in high school and college, I was pretty 
miserable sometimes, but it wasnÕt unusual, just the typical adolescent drama, 
no relationship, bad relationship, whatever. And even then, it was just 
psychodrama, I never wanted to kill myself. But this wasnÕt like that, IÕm not a 
teenager any more and IÕm pretty happy with my life. And I donÕt think there was 
much of a chance of me doing it then either, at the bar, because my brain knew 
it wasnÕt real. I just want to know why it happened, why I felt like I should do that, 
when I know I didnÕt want to. There isnÕt any reason, itÕs not meÉIÕve heard that 
schizophrenics get voices and stuff giving them orders, likeÉlike auditory 
hallucinations. Do you think IÕm schizophrenic?"
"Well, why donÕt we talk a little more about these things you saw in your dream. 
Start with the dream, I havenÕt heard that yet."
Havah related the dream to her in as much detail as she could elaborate. The 
counselor listened with her hand on her chin, like countless generations of 
counselors before her, but had no immediate answers. 
When Havah was done, the counselor sat for a moment, and then said, "Well, 
letÕs see, I still need more information. You mentioned that you felt you know 
this alien who came into the bar but you didnÕt know from where. Can you think 
of what gave you this idea? And the dreamsÉdreams often give us indications 
of things that are going on in our lives, sort of like the brainÕs way of working out 
problems. Can you think of some reason you might be having these dreams? 
What do these monsters represent to you? Do you think they represent 
anything at all? Is there something going on besides these dreams, that you 
think might be triggering them?"
Havah sighed. She knew it wasnÕt going to be simple. "No, nothing has ever 
happened to me, at least not recently. My life has been fairly hum-drum since 
the war."
"The Earth-Minbari War?"
No, the Dilgar WarÉIÕm really in my 60s. Yes the Minbari War, what other war 
would I be talking about. "Yeah."
"What happened during the War? What was it like for you, for your family?"
"What was it like? It sucked! I fought at Proxima Three and on the Line. I killed 
some Minbari, and saw a whole lot of people die and get crippled, it sucked 
total ass! What other way would it be!"
The counselor responded to her truculence with equanimity. "I can only 
imagine, it must have been terrible. Can we talk some more about it? Are you 
ok to talk about it?"
Havah sat sullenly for a moment. "Yeah, I guess. ThereÕs really nothing to talk 
about, though. ItÕs over and done. The Minbari are allies now and thereÕs no 
point in digging up the hatchet."
"IÕm not suggesting that, but sometimes even when situations are resolved, 
people can still be angry."
"Yeah, but if that was it, then why would I be one of them in the dream. ItÕs not 
like it was a dream wishing that that sort of thing would happen to one of them. 
I was this Minbari person in the dream, and just as horrified as if it were 
happening to me, as if it were my kid trapped. And there were no humans 
anywhere in the dream, so how can it be about that."
"IÕm not saying that it is, just suggesting that we explore the possibilities 
because of the fact that you did dream about the Minbari. Is it possible that you 
could be trying to identify with them, maybe a desire to Ôbury the hatchet,Õ and at 
the same time, be resolving some of the bad things that happened during the 
war?"
That wasnÕt something she wanted to hear either. "I guess."
She didnÕt know what else to say. The counselor waited until the silence was 
uncomfortable again. "Well, why donÕt you tell me how you feel about some of 
the images. You mentioned terror, anger, sorrow, the loss of a child. Only you 
know what any of these things mean to you. What are some of your ideas?"
Havah was irritated. She had some very clear ideas about why she might 
dream about Minbari. Unfortunately, she thought with a dawning discomfort, 
they didnÕt make any sense because she had been dreaming about this scene 
for a very long time. Longer she thought even, than the beginning of the War. 
She had seen the end of this dream before, during her teenage years, in high 
school, until the War. The temporal sequence didnÕt make any sense. And she 
still didnÕt see what any of the reasons that she could come up with, had 
anything to do with the Ôautumn peopleÕ. In the final analysis though, she didnÕt 
have any better ideas as far as making this end.  "I have some ideas but they 
donÕt make any sense. IÕve been having this dream for years sporadically, like 
before the War, and the other reason, I just learned of, so the time sequence is 
wrong."
"So tell me anyway, tell me your ideas."
Havah glanced at the clock, sure her hour was up, but the counselor said 
evenly, "ItÕs all right, we have time, I re-scheduled some appointments. I wanted 
to talk with you for a while. Some things take time, and I wanted to make sure 
you leave here ok. At least ok enough to function until we can talk some more. 
Nothing in counseling happens quickly."
"Well, I found out recently that my father, my real fatherÉIÕm adopted, was 
Minbari. IÕm part alien, just in case you couldnÕt tell." She said sardonically, 
pointing to the bridge of her nose. 
The counselor smiled gently. "I couldnÕt, I hadnÕt noticed. Why donÕt you tell me 
some things about that? Did you know either of your birth parents?"
Havah explained what she knew, and what she had recently discovered, the 
diary and sketches. Why not, she thought, I have had to explain it to every 
doctor from here to the Rim. The counselor looked fascinated. 
"Wow, thatÕs pretty powerful. What was it like for you to read that diary?"
"Weird. I was seeing the part of her life that led up to me, and it wasnÕt exactly a 
love match. And my father, who knows what heÕs like? And IÕm really at least 
partly the cause of what happened to them, and I wasnÕt even born yet. Not only 
was I unplanned by them, but I WAS planned against their will by someone 
else who didnÕt care about either one of them."
"Do you feel guilty?"
"I donÕt know, yeah, sort of. I mean, I know I didnÕt have any control over it, but 
IÕm still either the cause or the reminder of something horrible that happened to 
them, no matter how you cut it."
"You may be the result, but you are not the cause. The cause was the action of 
another group of aliens you never knew. That isnÕt your fault. And it doesnÕt 
sound, from what you have described, as though your mother let that bother 
her. She appeared to understand that you were as much a victim as either of 
them. But youÕre not a victim now. You have done pretty well. YouÕre intelligent, 
with a burgeoning career, and you have a lot going for you that is yours, 
regardless of what was planned for you. But I do think, based on what you have 
told me so far, that we need to keep talking about some of these things. IÕll give 
you my honest opinion so far. It is unlikely that you are suffering from 
schizophrenia. There has to be more than the presence of auditory or visual 
hallucinations to warrant a diagnosis of schizophrenia. There are other 
symptoms, like flat or inappropriate affect. That is just a ten-dollar word for 
emotions. Then there is disorganization of thought, such as the inability to 
string together a sentence, or hold a coherent conversation, repetitive and 
nonsensical speech. You havenÕt shown any of these other symptoms. What 
you have shown are symptoms consistent with post-traumatic-stress disorder, 
aggravated by current stress and lack of sleep."
"The War ended ten years ago, wouldnÕt I have experienced this a long time 
ago?"
"Not necessarily, sometimes a stress reaction can be triggered by something 
seemingly unrelated years later. And it doesnÕt have to be from the War, it could 
be merely from learning what you learned about your parents, or any 
combination of things. ItÕs a lot more common of a problem than most people 
think. Again, it might not be this, but it sounds like a stress reaction to me."
"Well, ok, suppose it is, what do I do? What do I do about those things, sleep 
with a garland of garlic around my neck?"
"Well, IÕd like to keep talking about this, if you are willing. I have some ideas, 
although they may be Ôout thereÕ to you. They are just ideas. One is that I am 
trained in hypnotherapy. I can take you into the dream under hypnosis and 
maybe we can analyze it that way. Sort of like going through it slow-motion with 
a stop button so that you can zoom in on what you need to see, or exit whenever 
you want. But only if you feel comfortable with that. As far as your concern with 
these creatures being on the station, IÕve seen a lot of aliens come through the 
station, but I doubt that there are invisible ones. I think that this part of it is 
stress. On the other hand, I donÕt know about this person you saw, the man at 
the bar. If you feel threatened, certainly, you might want to talk to one of the 
station security. There are people who can be harmful without being invisible or 
alien. I would follow your instincts as far as that is concerned."
Havah looked at her skeptically. "I guess I could try the hypno-thing."  
The counselor put out her hand. "Look, Havah, what you just told me is a very 
long story, and if you have never talked about it with anyone else, then it is not at 
all surprising that you are having problems right now. You survived a war, and 
then found out some very powerful things about your past and that of your 
parents. Did you think it couldnÕt affect you just because it is over? 
Unfortunately, it very rarely works that way. People are people, and we hang 
onto things if we donÕt express them in some way, and they take time to let go. 
This isnÕt going to be a quick fix, I canÕt promise you that. Will you at least try, will 
you come back tomorrow? IÕm also a little concerned about the suicidal urge 
you expressed. Will you call if something happens? I can meet you somewhere 
if you canÕt come here."
"Yeah, IÕll be fine." 
"Why donÕt I give you a prescription for sleeping meds," Havah shot her a look. 
The counselor added. "Just for tonight, so you can get some sleep." 
She took the counselorÕs information and prescription and left. She slept that 
night. The dream was still there, but muddy. 
* * * * * * * * 
She showed up at the counselorÕs office after work, uneasy with what was 
ahead. 
The room looked the same, and the woman beckoned to the loveseat she had 
sat in the previous day.
"So what do you want to do today? Do you want to talk some more, or try 
hypnotherapy, or maybe some stress-reduction exercises?"
"I guess IÕll try the hypno-thing."
"Are you sure? You seem uncomfortable."
"IÕm sure."
"Alright, IÕll start by telling you a little about it and what IÕll be doing, and if you 
change your mind, just tell me." She launched into a fascinating explanation of 
hypnotherapy, although Havah would have been more fascinated had she been 
listening to it as part of a school lecture, not as a patient. "Did you get all that, is 
there anything you want to ask?"
"Nope."
"OK. Is it alright if I record this? It will make it easier for us to look at it 
afterwards, so that you can see it too, and hear what you said. It is confidential."
"Yeah fine."
She set up the recorder and they began. Havah descended obediently into the 
murky netherworld that had become so familiar over the past week. It 
consumed her, the images, the crying girl, the feel of her hand being sliced off 
and the hopelessness of the situation. She began gasping for air and then 
awoke laying across the love-seat. 
The counselor looked worried. She also looked perplexed. 
"OkÉwell, it wasnÕt quite what I expected, but weÕll go over the recording and 
maybe that will help."
She slipped the crystal into the viewer. Havah saw herself under hypnosis. The 
counselor spoke. "When I count to three, you are going to experience the 
dream, and IÕm going to ask you questions about what you are seeing. If you 
understand me, answer yes."
"Yes."
"One, two, three." Havah watched her face contort as she entered the dream. 
"Havah, where are you right now?"
Havah uttered one word. "ZÕHadum." The counselorÕs face faltered and her 
color drained. Havah and the counselor, watching the recording, shivered 
involuntarily. The tape spoke again. "What does that mean Havah? Is that a 
place? Can you tell me where that is?" Havah replied in unintelligible syllables. 
"Havah, I donÕt understand what you just said. Can you say it again in English?"
There was no answer. Then she suddenly convulsed, every muscle taut, and 
yelled. "Shay ananda fa kili dotor. .." The diatribe went on for another minute. 
Her fists were clenched and her face choked with rage. The counselor stared at 
her with apprehension.
"Havah, can you tell me what you just said? What is happening?"
Havah replied, but not in English. 
After a few moments, Havah spoke in a hushed tone to someone no one could 
see, grasped her right wrist, grunted and doubled over, her whole body 
shuddering. "WhatÕs going on Havah? Are you ok?" The counselor rushed to 
her and pulled her shoulders up so she could see the womanÕs face. HavahÕs 
eyes met hers for a minute, but they were unseeing and watery, and her face 
was livid and lined with pain, teeth clenched. 
"Havah, whatÕs going on! Talk to me!"
Havah forced a few words out through her teeth in a ragged voice. "Kili an nu 
hel. Kili an nu shokor. Kili an nu shaÕ!" She fell against the cushions, gasping 
and clutching her throat. Joan was really frightened now. 
"McDonalds!" She uttered the break-word, panicking. Relief washed over her 
face when HavahÕs breath grew regular and she stirred, opening her eyes. The 
counselor in the recording returned to her chair and pressed the recorder. 
The recording ended. Joan turned to her and waited for a reaction. 
Havah sat for a moment, picking at her nails and staring at the blank screen. 
"Still think IÕm not schizophrenic? DidnÕt you say that schizophrenics often 
repeat nonsensical sounds?"
"Yes, but this doesnÕt follow the pattern of most schizophrenics. The only time 
you have spoken in anything other than English was when you were under 
hypnosis. Also, a diagnosis of schizophrenia can only be made after six 
months of persistent symptoms. Does what you were saying have any 
meaning to you?"
"No! I have no idea what that was, it doesnÕt make any sense! I mean, I donÕt 
know any alien languages and it sure doesnÕt sound like any Earth languages 
eitherÉI guess it sounds a little like Minbari, but I donÕt speak the language, 
and IÕve only heard it a few times."
"Do you think that you could have absorbed some of it subconsciously and 
inserted it into your dream as a reference?"
"I donÕt know."
"Well, IÕm sorry that this didnÕt have the effect that IÕd thought. I thought it might 
slow the dream down for you, so that we could ask questions and get some 
details that would otherwise have gone unnoticed, something that might help 
you unravel this."
Havah stared at her glumly.
"Well, why donÕt we try this." She went to her desk and got out a pad and pencil. 
You gotta give it to her, Havah thought. At least sheÕs really trying, and not 
blowing all those pat counseling lines up my ass.  
Joan handed Havah the pad. "I know this isnÕt much, but why donÕt you try 
drawing it, drawing what you saw. Start by drawing out the first thing you saw, 
even if its just stick figures and outlines."
Havah sighed. "ThatÕs pretty much what itÕs going to be, I donÕt have my 
motherÕs talent for drawing." She began drawing the landscape of ZÕhadum in 
crude broad strokes, the rugged outline of the cliffs and gulleys, the black 
pillars reaching hungrily for the wasted sky. "See these pillars had these 
markings on them, like hieroglyphs, and they glowed sometimes. Or it looked 
like they did." The sketch was clumsy, but in the lines there was conveyed the 
authority of certainty, of experiential sight that couldnÕt be mimicked. The effect 
was chilling, such a simple set of lines recorded by a set of eyes that had seen 
them countless times. She flipped over a page and drew a couple of 
intersecting lines indicating a fissure in a rock face with distinctive markings on 
either side of the entrance. She flipped another page and sketched a stick 
figure at the edge of the page. A little triangle surrounding the stick figureÕs 
head represented a bone crest. "This is the little girl." She drew water droplets 
on the circle of the face. "SheÕs crying. She was wearing a pale blue robe. It 
was dirty." She drew another triangle for the dress and scribbled dirt marks all 
over the front. The rest of the page, she filled with the strangest creatures the 
counselor had ever seen. Like giant black spiders or crabs. They had triangular 
spiky heads with eight eyes, arranged in two rows and too many jointed legs 
with knobby protrusions at the joints. Lines were drawn to indicate that their 
eyes shined or glowed. 
Joan felt an irrational surge of fear looking at the coarse doodles. DonÕt get 
sucked into her fear, Joan told herself. ItÕs fine to identify with your client, but 
manage your own fear. She shook off the passing fit of anxiety. Lots of people 
are afraid of spiders, and those creatures look like spiders. ThatÕs what IÕm 
reacting to, she thought. 
Havah continued. "See, these are the creatures. They faded sometimes 
though. The lady in the dream couldnÕt see them at first. ThatÕs why they got her 
surrounded, and cut off her hand. She couldnÕt see them, and when she did, it 
was too late." Havah pointed to the mass of angled limbs. 
"Did these people or things have names?"
"No, not really. The lady just thought of them asÉas shadows or shades or 
something."
"What about the woman and child? Did they have names?"
Havah paused and thought hard. It was coming back. "The girlÕs name was 
Koral, or Kurahl, or something like that."
"What about the woman?"
"I donÕt remember. Maybe the shadows said her name once, but I donÕt 
remember."
"Well, thatÕs more than you remembered yesterday. I know itÕs slow. Take these 
sketches with you, and the pad. And when you dream again, do what you did 
this time. Or write it down as soon as you wake up, in as much detail as 
possible. ThatÕll help." The counselor gave her a notebook so that she wouldnÕt 
have to scare one up at home. 
* * * * * * * * 
After Havah left, Joan reviewed the recording again and again, hitting pause at 
various places. What an interesting young woman, she thought. So young to 
have such a history. No younger though, she supposed, than many of her 
clients who often came to her from Down Below. They too had been down long 
rocky roads, and they aged quickly and hard. ÔLife on the Streets,Õ even with the 
lack of elemental forces on Babylon 5, was a brutal existence. And then, there 
were the veterans. She got many of those, often part of the same population as 
those from Down Below. The war left more broken people than either Humans 
or Minbari were willing to admit. That was what had led her to her diagnosis of 
post-traumatic stress disorder. But this one was different, and she couldnÕt 
figure out why. Now that the girl had mentioned her Minbari parentage, Joan 
could see the anatomical differences clearly. It was surprising enough on its 
own, considering, with her limited knowledge of Mendelian genetics, how 
difficult this would have been to achieve, especially with the lack of expression 
of such a dominant trait as a bone-crest. But that wasnÕt it either. There was 
something else about her, an enigma that went deeper than anatomy or 
parenthood, and far deeper than the vagaries of the Earth-Minbari War. What do 
I do about this speech, these syllables? I donÕt know Minbari either, to know 
whether it is a language or gibberish, or some internally consistent but entirely 
invented language used as a defense mechanism. The thought niggled. Well, 
there is only one way to resolve this questionÉShe played the vid, pausing after 
each of HavahÕs utterances, and then repeated the syllables as nearly as she 
could into a voice recorder. She would have to ask a Minbari if it was a Minbari 
language, or any language that they could recognize. She didnÕt have to tell 
them where sheÕd heard the speech, so HavahÕs confidentiality would be 
protected. She made an appointment with Ambassador Delenn. This seemed 
like a trivial thing to take to an ambassador, but the ambassadors were also 
there for information and representation of their people and culture, so it 
seemed the only logical place to inquire about language. Joan knew of no other 
Minabri she could accost about linguistic questions. The ambassadors would 
very likely have been trained as cultural brokers. At least someone in her office 
might know. She got the ambassadorÕs aide on the screen, a young Minbari 
man. "Yes, my name is Joan Chevalier. I just have a few questions about your 
language that I was hoping someone in your office could help me with."
"The ambassador is busy, but if you would like, I will try to assist you."
"Terrific, I recorded the sounds I was curious about, should I play them for you. 
The thing is that I thought they might be in a Minbari language, but I donÕt know."
"I am free in a couple of hours, if you wish to bring them by. Do you know where 
the suite is located?"
"Yes, IÕll be by then, at 1400 hours?
"Very well, I will see you then."
A couple of hours later, she rang the chime of the ambassadorial suite and the 
young man from the vid screen answered. He was short and slightly built with a 
fairly smooth gentle head-bone and mild face. He bowed to her and gestured 
her inside.
"I am Lennier, of the Third Feyn of Tredomo. I am Ambassador DelennÕs aide. It 
is nice to meet you, Joan Chevalier? Would you like water?"
"No, no, IÕm fine."
He nodded and gestured to a comfortable padded chair, and sat himself in a 
more rigid looking one, opposite from her. She gave him the crystal with her 
voice recording on it. He slipped it into the crystal port and listened. After it 
began, he strained to understand, and then looked more and more perplexed. 
He ran the recording again, and then sat for a minute absorbing what he had 
heard. Joan waited, not wanting to interrupt him, and then offered. "It is from a 
patient."
"Is this person Minbari?"
"No. But I thought they might be speaking one of your languages." 
"Can you tell me more about this patient?"
"No, IÕm sorry. It would violate their confidentiality."
"Oh, of course. Well, it took me a couple of times to understand, the 
pronunciation is a little odd, but it is a Minbari language. You wished to know if 
it was, correct? It is one of our ancient languages, a dialect of the Warrior 
Caste. The reason that I wanted to know where you heard it, is that it hasnÕt 
been spoken in conversation for approximately 800 years. It fell into disuse 
after the death of Valen. Its origin is the region of Tinarel, mostly from the clans 
and families of the Star Riders and Moon Shields. It is still read occasionally in 
historical scrolls. The content is very disturbing however, and consistent with 
the time in which it would have been spoken, about 1000 years ago. The first 
word, ZÕhadum, is a place-name from one of our myths. The home-world of an 
ancient star-faring race that we fought 1000 years ago. Valen, who is one of our 
greatest religious and military heroes helped us to win the war against them. 
The next few sentences say,  ÔI am going to the home-world of the Devourers. It 
is a barren place. I know it is a trap, but I have to go,Õ"  he paused and looked 
uncomfortable. "ÔGive me back my child. I will hunt you and destroy you if it 
takes the next nine-hundred incarnations.Õ The next phrase is ÔKuraal,Õ This is a 
name, Ôcome here.Õ The last phraseÉI do not know where they heard this, 
perhaps your patient saw the rebirth ceremony we demonstrated a few months 
ago, is ÔI will follow you into fire, I will follow you into darkness, I will follow you 
into death.Õ Many of these things are related to Valen and to our myths. Does 
your patient know Minbari mythology or legends?" He handed her the crystal. 
"I donÕt know. I guess so!"
"Kuraal was the daughter of one of the first members of the Gray Council, our 
ruling body set up by Valen. The mother and child both died in the war fought by 
Valen. They were Warrior Caste, Star Riders clan. I can give you a book to read 
on our history and legends if you would find that helpful."
"Yes, thank you! It would be a great help!"
"Of course. Is everything alright?"
"Oh yes, just a bad dream."
"I see. That is a very interesting dream." He retrieved a data crystal and handed 
it to her. "Here are some stories recently transcribed. Prior to this, many of 
these stories were available only on our sacred scrolls. If there are any further 
questions I can answer, please ask." 
They bowed to one another and she headed back to her quarters. 
Lennier sat and stared at the closed door. When Delenn entered some time 
later, he said. "Delenn, something very strange just happenedÉ" 
* * * * * * * * 
JoanÕs head was reeling. Defunct Warrior Caste language?! What the hell had 
this girl been into? So the story was real, but how did she come by it? And how 
the hell did she know that language! She must have absorbed it somehow in 
her contact with the Minbari. Maybe someone had mentioned it and she didnÕt 
realize that she had heard it and incorporated it into her psyche as a way of 
identifying with her father. That was the only explanation she could think of. Yet, 
something still didnÕt seem right. Maybe it was dissociative identity disorder. 
She had certainly undergone trauma, but the most memorable trauma would 
have been the war, as far as Joan had learned, and Havah had been past the 
age when people normally developed this trauma-induced disorder. The 
woman had been able to answer her question in the beginning, ÔWhere are 
you, do you know where you are?Õ Meaning that she had understood English, 
yet spoke in Minbari. And when she had come to, she couldnÕt understand a 
word of the Minbari she had spoken in the dream. This new entity did not have 
all the qualities of an autonomous personality. It was the same dream over and 
over, as if this entity was fixated on this moment or this set of events, never 
progressing except to add to the same string of events. This was not a fluid 
existence. It seemed to be confined to the past. There were too many things 
that didnÕt fit the dissociative disorder theory. She had already been intrigued by 
this case, and now the conundrum deepened.
* * * * * * * * 
Havah shuddered, looking at the sketches. This was supposed to help her? 
She didnÕt feel any easier now than she had a few days ago. I know this sort of 
thing takes forever, but I donÕt think I have forever. She cast the little bottle of 
pills into the closet. I hate feeling drugged all day from the night before. IÕll 
chance it tonight. She slipped on her favorite ratty Cab Calloway t-shirt, and 
favorite boxer shorts and went to bed, and was asleep within minutes.
She slipped on her armored black overcoat and gloves. It was a small hour of 
the morning and the halls and chambers were deserted as she slid through 
them like a ghost. As near as they could tell, they had won the war, but her 
daughter had been missing for three days and she now knew where to find her. 
Trelann had been killed and their little girl was alone. She heard Kuraal whisper 
in her mind, as if from a deep well-bottom, telling her where she was and that 
she was scared. Everyone looked sadly at her, knowing the loss of her 
husband, and now, of their young child. Valen, her mentor, spoke kindly to her, 
but all she could feel was irritation and grief. It wasnÕt his fault, he was trying, but 
he couldnÕt help her, and he knew it. The new Gray Council had been in session 
for most of the trip back from the final battle at which they would encounter the 
Shadows, hopefully not again for a very long time. 1000 years, Valen said, 
although she never understood how he came by this precise number. He was 
so enigmatic. 
They had been deliberating a process of mediation, now that the war was over, 
to resolve the clan conflicts on a more consistent basis, and establishing 
provisions to maintain the Anla Shok in a surveillance capacity. People needed 
avenues, for re-building what was neglected during the war-time fervor. Their 
attention must be re-directed towards societal problems. They had paused to 
unite against a common enemy, but now they must truly begin to address their 
problems at home, which had almost destroyed them before and during the 
war. Before Valen came. There was finally a lull in activity, when they reached 
home, for recuperation. 
She was exhausted, she had never realized how draining politics and argument 
were. It had been so simple to be part of the crew of a starship, command and 
execution. No debate. Although, before her promotion by Valen, many of her 
superior officers had vociferously reprimanded her for Ôcreative interpretationÕ of 
orders. She must have spent half of her career nursing lashes in the brig or 
cleaning the waste recycling units, which was where she had met her husband. 
They had been cut from the same oddly-made cloth, it seemed. So perhaps it 
was not surprising that she was warming to her new tasks as Valen knew she 
would. But now, she hoped he would understand. They have my child. We are all 
she has. I can sacrifice my life and am able to understand what is asked of me 
in doing so. But she is too young, she doesnÕt understand. I canÕt leave her 
there without even trying to get her. I promised I wouldnÕt let the Shadows get 
her. I fought this war to keep her safe, and I will. She wrote her destination and 
a lengthy explanation on a scroll. I will return in a few days, Master, I promise. 
"IsÉis everything alright, Satai?" 
She turned to the frightened face of a gangly, meek Religious Caste acolyte. 
"IÉIÕm sorry, I didnÕt mean to disturb you," He turned his eyes down in humility, 
"IÉcouldnÕt sleep and I just heardÉand it is so lateÉand the warÉ" He couldnÕt 
have been more than fourteen cycles, judging by the eruption of adolescent 
skin blemishes and cracking voice.
"I understand, everyone is still nervous after what we have all been through. Do 
not be alarmed, they have not returned. I am seeing to business that I have 
neglected while we were away." That was the truth. "Like you, I could not 
sleepÉGood night." She left abruptly, not wishing to engage in further 
conversation. She left the scroll at the foot of ValenÕs door, knowing he would 
find it when he awoke, but not wishing to wake him now. She took a shuttle to 
her warship and gave them the coordinates. They looked at her in surprise, but 
no one questioned. "IÕm going to get my daughter, and destroy any of the 
enemy left."
When they arrived, she ordered them to leave. "I want your word of honor that 
you will not follow me!"
"But Satai?!Ñ" The first officer protested.
"ThatÕs an order! This part of it is my fight, not yours. Return to Minbar."
The manÕs square jaw twitched, and the understanding passed that they 
wouldnÕt see her again. All Minbari understood vengeance. "Satai?É" He said 
softly.
"Your word, Nirhal. Give me your word."
He nodded slowly. "Yes, Satai."
She launched herself in a short-range fighter when they were close, to scout out 
the defenses of the Shadow home-world. There didnÕt appear to be many. They 
had managed to destroy most of them, in their alliance with the Vorlons, but 
there had still been some remaining. This was wrong. Her warrior instinct 
screamed with every bone, with every nerve that something was wrong. The 
remaining defense structures should have detected her ship, since her skill at 
flying had so far deserted her, she had flown right in front of one of them. And 
she didnÕt think they were offline. She was fairly certain now, upon reflection of 
the situation, the whisper of her daughter in her head, the silent defense system, 
that it had been a trap. 
The rest of the dream followed as before, and ended with Havah choking 
awake. She fumbled for the notepad she had left by the bed and wrote down 
what she could remember, and then attempted to sketch what she could. She 
scribbled what might have looked like the inside of a Minbari warship, to 
someone who was drunk or high, and finally gave up when the pencil lead 
snapped. She threw the papers up over her head in a shower and flopped 
down again as the papers fluttered down over her face and around the bed. 
The next-door neighbors were playing some weird polka-like music with too 
much bass that vibrated even through the heavy duranium alloy walls. She 
envisioned vividly, bashing into their quarters with a Louisville Slugger, and 
smashing all of their crystals and crystal-ports into powder. A magic Louisville 
Slugger, that could crack through duranium like paper. Paper, scissors, 
baseball bat. She sat up scattering papers everywhere, pounded the pillow 
with her fist, threw herself out of bed muttering invectives, shoved her shoes on, 
and left, still with her pajamas on. That garnered barely a glance from anyone 
in the casino. And she chose a perch close to the edge of the room and sat, 
bleary-eyed, watching a morbidly-obese alien women with a scaly pate and 
flattened nose being robbed by one of the slot machines, as she poked 
sausage-like fingers into the token-return slot and kept pulling the handle 
obsessively. Beyond her, at a baccarat table, a man lost all of his money and 
jumped up and down, like a puppet, and finally threw his drink in the face of the 
erstwhile croupier. Two security people came and tried to pacify him, then after 
an unsuccessful few minutes, led him out of the casino. Wow, someone is 
having a much worse night than me. I feel better now, Havah thought, and 
returned to her quarters. The nightmare didnÕt return, or the next night, or the 
next. 
* * * * * * * * 
When she went to her appointment, the following day, she told the counselor 
what had happened.
"Wow, IÕm glad that the notepad seems to be helping, at least. Do you want to 
discuss what you wrote?"
"Sure. I donÕt know that it can tell me anything else. The dreams stopped and 
thatÕs all I care about. It did get more elaborate though. It went back further this 
time. This lady is a Minbari soldier. You know she lost her kid in the other 
dreams, but this time she lost her husband too, though the dream didnÕt go into 
it much. There was just this pervasive melancholy throughout the whole thing. 
She was a student, I think. Her teacherÕs name was Valen. But I didnÕt get to 
see him. A couple people called her Satai, but I think that was a title, not a 
name, because later, the creatures, the Shadows, called her Turanni. She 
wrote a note to Valen and left it by his door, and then took one of their warships 
and went to the planet I told you about. She made them leave her there, even 
though she knew it was a trap. She was in the government. I think, in the dream 
at least, she was in the Gray Council. IÕve heard of them, but sheÕs not what I 
would have pictured. ThatÕs dream logic for you. ItÕs just a dream, so it doesnÕt 
have to make sense. She thought of herself as very liberal, even unorthodox. 
ThatÕs really it. Nothing else to talk about. I think my brain was just mushing all 
kinds of things together just like you said. And maybe it worked out whatever it 
needed to."
"ThatÕs possible. Do you feel that you identify with anything that was going on in 
the dream?"
"I guess. IÕm not exactly conservative either."
"Havah, do you have any period that you can think of that you are missing 
memories, like any amnesia, or periods of time when you canÕt remember 
getting from one place to another?"
"YeahÉI was taken aboard during the Battle of the Line. They didnÕt want me to 
remember the ship, so they erased my memory of it. ThatÕs all I ever found out 
about it. They did that to a few people. They wanted to find out more about 
humans. Why, do you think they did something to me besides that?"
"No, well, that is possible I suppose, but there are things that indicate that this 
is not entirely the right idea either. I went over the recording of what you said, 
and repeated it into another tape. I wanted to find out if what you said was a real 
languageÉ"
HavahÕs stomach and throat began to burn, and her face got hot. "Did you tell 
the Minbari about my dream?!"
"No. I just repeated the words of the dream to one of Ambassador DelennÕs 
aides. I wouldnÕt violate your confidentiality."
"How do you know that they couldnÕt figure it out, theyÕre not morons!" She was 
really angry now. That was all she needed, the Minbari ambassador snooping 
into her subconscious. There were more than enough Minbari who had had a 
look into her mind.
"HavahÉIÕm sorry, I didnÕt know that they had taken you aboard, I donÕt think that 
they know anything becauseÑ"
"I thought confidentiality meant that you couldnÕt give any information that could 
identify the person?! Well, they can identify me if I am one of like nine people or 
so that they messed with, and all the sudden, someone shows up spouting 
Minbari dreams at them!É" She was livid.
The counselor sighed. "You have every reason to be angry, but the person I 
spoke to was just intrigued, he didnÕt appear to connect it to anything else. Do 
you want to know what he said about the language?"
As angry as she was, she did. Very, very much. Havah sat silently and glared at 
the counselor, waiting for her to reply.
"He said that not only was it a Minbari language, but a very ancient one. A 
dialect of the Warrior Caste, and he was even able to tell me what clans it came 
from, I think he said it was from the Star Riders and the Moon Shields, from the 
northern continent."
Her stomach was hurting now, and a wave of nausea swept over her. "Did the 
military do something to me when I was aboard?!"
"I donÕt think so, Havah. He also told me that it was a language that hadnÕt been 
spoken for 800 years."
"SoÉso how did it get in my head?" She was shaking with anger.
"HereÕs the only explanation I can come up with. You said that they erased 
memories, after they brought you aboard. When a telepath goes into 
someoneÕs mind, especially if it is a deep scan, the person can be more 
suggestive, just like with hypnosis, thatÕs one of the reasons they have to train 
telepaths so carefully. It is possible that there was something going on at the 
same time, that you inadvertently absorbed."
"But I thought you said that it hasnÕt been spoken for a millennium."
"Not in conversation, no. But it is still used in myth and in books."
"Why would they be discussing myths or reading old books in the middle of a 
battle?!"
"I donÕt know, Havah, it is the only thing I can come up with. I canÕt imagine any 
more rationally why they would intentionally plant a dead language in your 
head, especially considering how nationalistic the Minbari Warrior Caste 
appear to be. My guess would be that they would be unhappy for non-Minbari to 
know this language. Knowledge is power, and so you know something about 
them. If they were to use this language in front of you thinking that no Human 
would understand, who might understand modern Minbari, itÕs possible that a 
part of you might understand, even if only subconsciously. That is a 
disadvantage for them. We are allies now, but that doesnÕt change their 
nationalism. It is unlikely that they would have done this intentionally."
"So what now, now that they know that someone does know. What if they find 
out and come after me?" She felt sick.
"They donÕt. And even if they did, they canÕt afford that, Havah. This peace is as 
important to them as it is to us. TheyÕve invested a lot in the station. ThatÕs the 
impression that IÕve gotten from everything IÕve read and heard. For the military 
to attack a civilian, even in secret, it would be discovered, and then it would 
come out that you were in the war. It would look like a grudge match, and I donÕt 
think their government would stand for that. Ours wouldnÕt, itÕs too obvious, it 
would look too dishonorable. I think that public relations are really crucial right 
now."
Havah wasnÕt at all convinced, but there was nothing she could do now.
"What might have happened is that, sometimes when people are in extremely 
traumatic situations, they separate parts of themselves that they are not 
comfortable with. So if you wound up with this language or knowledge of the 
Minbari in your mind, you might have diverted that knowledge from the main 
parts of your personality until you were comfortable enough to address them."
"What, like multiple personality disorder?"
"We donÕt really use that term for it anymore, but something like that. It is a 
dissociation, not really a total and uniquely autonomous entity. ItÕs not like 
demonic possession, which is how that whole theory began. ItÕs much simpler 
than that. You can still be you, and when you are dreaming about this woman, 
you can still be you, just that the information that you are trying to resolve is 
separated from your waking life or normal functioning to make it easier to deal 
with."
"You know what, I canÕt do this right now." Havah got up. There were too many 
things rolling around her head and she wasnÕt inclined to trust this woman 
anymore, or anybody for that matter. And now she would anticipate going 
around every corner that some pissed off Minbari soldier was going to try to 
eliminate her as a threat. And on top of that, this woman, who hadnÕt had the 
sense to consult her before taking her problem to someone she already didnÕt 
trust, was falling back on psycho-babble. IÕll work out my own problems from 
now on, thank you very much, she thought. 
"Havah, I know youÕre upsetÑ"
"Upset?! Yeah, IÕm upset, you should have asked my permission first. I should 
report you, IÕm pretty sure that you werenÕt supposed to do that, but right now I 
donÕt care. I just donÕt want to be here anymore. IÕm done." She punched the 
side panel and the door slid open and she stormed out, not even looking back.
* * * * * * * * 
Joan wanted to cry. She should have thought this out more. She hadnÕt known 
enough of this womanÕs story, and it really hadnÕt occurred to her that the 
Minbari could ever find out anything about this woman, with no details. 
Certainly, the diplomatic office wouldnÕt be interested at some random client 
having nightmares. Was it possible, or just this womanÕs understandable 
paranoia? Could she have jeopardized HavahÕs privacy, or even her life? She 
still didnÕt think it was possible, but she did know Havah was a veteran, and in 
all of her dealings with veterans, she should have known better. Havah had had 
horrible experiences with the Minbari. Of course she didnÕt trust them. Whether 
her fears were realistic or not, she should have told Havah what she meant to 
do. That was part of informed consent, but her curiosity had erased her 
judgment. She also very much wanted to help her and she honestly didnÕt know 
how to do that. This woman was such a mystery. She sat miserably in her office 
and cried.
* * * * * * * * 
Havah headed for the Zocalo, still fuming, and then realized how much hot 
chocolate, and chocolate milk and chocolate brownies and other products 
sheÕd been having since a couple of weeks ago, and headed instead for 
observation deck to do some Tai Chi. When she got to the observation deck, 
she saw with dismay that there were a few people there, which wouldnÕt have 
irked her, except that one of them was Ambassador Delenn. She turned around 
to go somewhere else, but Delenn had seen her and called out.
"Miss Lassee. I do not mean to disturb you, I only wanted to ask you a question, 
about Humans?"
Havah sighed and turned around and smiled at the ambassador. Her pissy 
mood wasnÕt the ambassadorÕs fault. "Yes, Ambassador, ask away."
"After our conversation, I have been studying some more about your Earth 
religions, I very much wish to learn more about Humanity, and I learned recently 
that there is a holiday tonight, for some Humans, for Jewish Humans, called 
Rosh Hashannah. I read that it is the New Year and that it is the first of ten days 
of Atonement. I also read that on this day, they blow theÉshofarÉin memory of 
a part of your history. I remembered that you were Jewish and so I was 
wondering if you could explain some things to me? What are the Ten Days of 
Atonement, or is this too impolite to ask? I will understand. Why is this at the 
beginning of the year? What is a ram? What is an angel?" Delenn smiled in 
fascination, battering Havah with questions.
Havah laughed. This woman was insatiable, but she was Religious Caste, so 
it made sense that she was curious. She admitted to herself that aside from 
the caste system, and what Delenn and Trell had told her, she knew almost 
nothing about Minbari culture, or religion. And she was beginning to want to 
know more. "A ram is a big wooly animal, an adult male sheep. They are sort of 
like cows in that they graze and have cloven hooves. They live in mountainous 
regions, while cattle live in pasture land. They are both domesticated animals."
"They are kosher?"
"Yes. An animal is kosher if they chew their cud and have cloven hooves. They 
arenÕt kosher if they have cloven hooves but donÕt chew their cud."
"Why?"
"Uh, IÕm not sure. I donÕt know how they made those distinctions. ThatÕs a 
question for someone who knows the Torah better than I do." Havah said 
sheepishly. "Sorry I canÕt enlighten you about that. The Ten Days of Atonement 
are at the beginning of the year because that is also the end of the old year. 
Atonement is for anything that you might have done wrong in the previous year 
to yourself, to God, or to someone else. When it is to someone else, you are 
required to ask for forgiveness three times, and if by the third time, the person 
still does not forgive you, then the sin, or the burden of the wrong, shifts to the 
person who would not forgive, and you are released from it. Each year, we do 
this, so that we can start the new year with a clean slate and that makes it 
easier to be a better person without all of our old mistakes hanging around. An 
angel is a being created by God to do His/Her/Its work. They are not Human, 
and not even on the same scale as you or I, or any other alien I know of. We 
canÕt relate to them, they are too powerful. Also, they donÕt have free will. Do you 
know what I mean?"
"Free willÉ"
"Yes. Humans vacillate between the concept that we determine our own paths 
and make our own choices between right and wrong, or between any of a 
million different or possible paths through life, and the concept that our paths 
through life are pre-determined by some outside force. This concept we call 
destiny. Humans also believe in destiny, an ordered Universe in which 
everything happens as it is planned to happen. Some people believe that we 
have both free will and destiny, and that we exist between these two poles, able 
to make some decisions for ourselves and choose our own way, but that our 
ultimate end is determined. Like any number of paths to the same destination, 
like gilgul or gehenna. Ultimately we will get where we are meant to be, but 
which road we take is up to us and will determine how long it will take us to get 
there. But angels are like machines, created strictly as servants of the 
Universe, they have no free will, no personalities. They are like very powerful 
computer subroutines, except that they cannot be corrupted since they are 
perfect, or so the myths tell us. So they carry out the will of God in forms that 
Humans or other species can tolerate, since according to the myths no one 
can bear the full presence of God. So they act as messengers, and punishers, 
executioners, and as rescuers. They are known by everyone and signify upon 
sight, a paramount act of the Universe." 
"So that is why the angel in the story gaveÉAbrahamÉthe message to not kill 
his son?"
"Yes. He tested Abraham to see how loyal he would be, but He wanted him to 
know that it was not necessary to sacrifice his child. But, if He had shown up 
Himself to tell him, AbrahamÕs head would probably have exploded, so He sent 
an angel and told him to use a ram instead of his son. ThatÕs the story anyway."
"Why was such a sacrifice required at first?"
"Again, I donÕt know how to answer that question. IÕm not really a scholar. But 
there are books written that analyze that very topic. I can dig one up and lend it 
to you if you want. Actually, there are so many questions which I have no clue 
how to answer, that it might be good, if you are curious, to come to the service 
tonight. No one would mind you going. It is going to be televised in conference 
room Blue Three, since thereÕs no one on Babylon 5 with a shofar."
Delenn smiled. "I would very much like to go. But you must instruct me on how 
to behave in an appropriate manner for your customs."
"IÕll come to your quarters and explain on the way there, thereÕs not much 
really."
"Thank you!" She bowed.
"Sure, IÕll see you at 1800 hours."
* * * * * * * * 
She met Delenn, who had donned a brilliant blue embroidered robe, open in 
front with long silk trailers at the shoulders, belted at the waist over a pale silky 
brocade undergarment. Well, they certainly know how to dress more attractively 
than boring business wear, she thought. They talked on the way. "ThereÕs not 
much really, just sit when people are sitting, stand when people are standing, 
except during the MournerÕs Kaddesh. Then, only people who are in mourning 
stand, but IÕll let you know when they are at that prayer. The service is in 
Hebrew, but there are English translations on the other side of the page from 
all of the Hebrew prayers. If you drop a prayer book, just pick it up and kiss the 
binding. ThatÕs a gesture of respect for the book. People drop stuff all the time, 
except the Torah, but we donÕt have one here, not a kosher one. So we have 
what we call a Chumash. This book. ItÕs a book version of the Torah so that we 
can follow along when the rabbi reads from the scroll on the bimah." Havah 
pulled out an aqua faux-leather bound book with gold-leaf, an old Art Scroll 
edition her parents had given her. They stood inside the door of the conference 
room as people shmoozed before the service. She handed Delenn the book. 
Delenn took it reverently and skimmed the pages lightly with the fingers of one 
hand. "This is a beautiful book. This is Hebrew?"
"Sort of. ItÕs Aramaic. ThatÕs the mother language of both Hebrew and Arabic, 
itÕs much older than modern Hebrew or Arabic, it is a root language of a few 
different cultures, collectively called Semitic culture, from a particular region of 
the Middle-East. ItÉitÕs no longer spoken, not for like, 2000 years. But it is the 
language of the Torah, and so we learn to speak it and read it, and most of the 
old commentaries on the Torah are also written in Aramaic. The last Temple 
was destroyed, but before that, there was the King, who was the embodiment 
of the nation, the priests who performed all of the rituals and prayed for the 
nation, and there was also the Sanhedrin. They were like a court of law, where 
laws are discussed and interpreted, like what your father did. There was no 
creation of new laws, because all of the laws that anyone needed had been 
handed down complete. But as time went by, the old laws needed to be re-
interpreted to accommodate new situations, or merely consulted concerning 
situations that hadnÕt arisen before. The Sanhedrin made commentaries, in 
Aramaic, and remained the experts of the rememberance and interpretation of 
the Law. So that, when the Diaspora, or the Scattering happened, when the 
Temple was destroyed, people didnÕt follow the priests, they followed the 
members of the Sanhedrin, the lawyers, because they were the ones who 
knew all of the fine points of the Law, and had preserved it in their memories. 
So their students and others, followed them from place to place and settled 
where they settled. They took students who would adopt their role when they 
died, so that someday, when there was a Temple again, all of the Law, ritual 
and culture, could be resurrected from the memories. These are the rabbis. 
Rabbis are teachers. They were the disciples or students after generations on 
down, of those original members of the Sanhedrin. A rabbi isnÕt a priest, 
although he can be from the priestly caste. He doesnÕt perform the ritual 
sacrifices as the priests would, because they have to be performed in the 
Temple and with the Jewish nation in observance. We are scattered now 
across the galaxy. And the rabbi doesnÕt pray for everyone. Everyone prays. He 
merely teaches and leads the prayer services. Everything has been written 
down in unbelievable detail for this purpose, all of our history. People study 
their whole lives and only learn a small part of it. WeÕre very fastidious that way, 
and have learned over centuries how to remember things. The Torah has 
particular melody specified by markings, partly because of metaphysical 
reasons, the whole vibration concept, but part of it, is that melody is a good 
mnemonic device. The shofar is used to remind us of these tales too, but it 
also draws people together and binds them. YouÕll understand when you hear 
it." 
DelennÕs face was awe-struck. "This is so complex. I knew that Humans were 
complicated, but I never appreciatedÉagain, much of what you describe is 
similar to aspects of my culture." She looked bemused.
Havah motioned as the service linked in and people assembled and took out 
their Siddurim. Delenn paid avid attention to every prayer, reading the English 
voraciously. Havah could see all of the questions building up behind her face. 
Until the blowing of the Shofar. 
"Tekiaaaaah!" The horn emitted one very long powerful blast. 
"Shvarim!" Three shorter blasts.
"Shvarim-Truah!" Three shorter blasts and nine staccato notes.
"Tekiaahhh!" Again the long wailing blast. Even through a screen on which the 
horn had been blown thousands of light years away, the sound was riveting. 
This was truly the only reason that Havah went to high holy day services, that 
sound. It reached into the most primal part of her and awakened something as 
irrefusable as wind or the tide. And she knew from the look on DelennÕs face, 
that she had felt the same. She had been silent during the whole service, 
absorbing. But the silence in her face now was different, fiercer, because what 
she had absorbed had been the psychic or spiritual equivalent of a million volts 
of raw energy, and had evoked something most people never felt in a day, a 
week, a year, or their whole lives. She leaned over to Delenn and explained. 
"The shofar isnÕt just blown in commemoration of the myth. In later years it was 
used to call the nation together, for prayer, or war. It was used to knock down 
the walls of a city once. They marched around the city of Jericho seven times, 
blowing the horn, and the walls fell down. It was a call to war in the most dire 
times." Ice ran through HavahÕs veins as she spoke. A call to war. What had her 
dream been about? A war. Creatures that ate souls, that whispered to people 
in their heads. 1000 years, someone had said in the dream. They wouldnÕt be 
around again for 1000 years, but when was that? Had that dream been about 
now, or about a few years from now, or 1000 years ago, or never, just the 
spitting of neurons into her slumbering mind? What she had witnessed at the 
bar had been no dream. Was there something terrible, defeated and festering 
out in the deep? She didnÕt hear the rest of the service, ruminating about the 
dream. 
At the conclusion of the service, she managed to pull herself out of reverie and 
said "Good Yontif " to people, explaining to Delenn what that meant. And then 
Havah guided her towards the enormous platters of food that had been set out, 
following the service, all sparking more questions from Delenn. Another reason 
Havah liked services sometimes. The food. Delenn spoke again after a lengthy 
contemplation. "It is a great symbol, this horn, this shofar. A calling together of 
nations, to war, to prayer, to ceremonyÉ" She continued to pick at her small 
plate of food. "This culture is very interestingÉAnd the scroll the man read from 
on the screen, this is a Torah?"
"Yes, it is our most sacred document, containing all of our history, and some 
believe, the history of the universe, even the future." Havah directed Delenn to a 
man whom she knew studied and attended services on a regular basis. 
"Ambassador Delenn, IÕd like to introduce you to Moshe Horowitz. Mr. Horowitz, 
this is Ambassador Delenn. She is of the Religious Caste on Minbar, and was 
very curious about Judaism. Since IÕm not particularly religious, I wasnÕt able to 
answer some questions. And I know that you are well versed in the Chumash, 
so I thought IÕd direct her to you."
The wiry man smiled charmingly at Delenn. "Well, Ambassador, it is an honor 
to meet you. Of course, any question that you do not know the answer to, you 
are obligated to ask. That is what we believe."
"AhhhÉ" Delenn smiled.
Oh boy, weÕll be here all night. Havah grinned and went back for a hefty plate of 
smoked fish. An hour and a half later, Havah walked Delenn back to her 
quarters.
"Thank you, Havah. It was an honor to witness this ceremony. Thank you for 
sharing it, and your knowledge of it." She bowed.
"YouÕre quite welcome, Ambassador. ItÕs nice that you are interested. IÕm proud 
of my culture, as remiss as I am in observing it, and itÕs nice to see someone 
else appreciate it."
"GoodÉYontif, Havah."
Havah grinned. "Good Yontif, Ambassador." 
The Minbari ambassador heard the shofar that night in her dreams and 
shivered.


*Reference: Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes