Drakkon by JC Williamson Disclaimer: "Drakkon," is a not-for-profit fiction, loosely (and unofficially) based upon the "Babylon 5" universe created by, and copyrighted to, J. Michael Straczynski. My ideas, creations, explanations and postulations are speculative, interpretive, and not to be confused with the gospel according to Joe. Note to Readers: This story is et in the season-two B5 time-frame, hence it does not reflect character changes and events which followed later in the series. Earlier versions of "Drakkon" (AKA: "Drackon") were posted to B5 linked sites in 1995 and may still be out there, somewhere. I've re-polished and rejuvenated the story for this Starrider site }}}:-D -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER TWO : DRAKKON I cannot explain it. My reaction to Eko never reflected rational thought, never at all. I expected she'd know that, unavoidably, if not immediately -- yet she did not. She *chose* not. In her place, I'd have had no such compunctions. The human mindset plagues me and this one human's unfathomable mind most of all. I am told she cannot come back. To be sure, our telepaths cannot reach her. The decision to transport her to medical facilities on Babylon 5, to put fate and all our faiths in the hands of human doctors, was a clan decision -- an honor more than optimism. For it astounds us all that she did this thing -- a human, unfettered by commitment as we live it. Hard to accept. Hard to wear the mantle of obligation that she leaves with each and every Wind Sword, to say nothing of Minbar and the many worlds in this long-fingered war. Harder still to hear, as I unmistakably do, her private message. Would it shock you to know I feared her? More precisely, her gift -- that infernal ability to dissect the mind. Even when I understood her intent, and I did, despite appearances. Eko must have known that most Minbari are inherently empathetic, that we all feel scans and that many of us receive ambiguous telepathic images. Most can neither control the talent nor willfully transmit their thoughts, but the genetic capacity lies dormant. It's an area of study the religious caste constantly explores, while the warrior focus is better served by denying access. Hedronn's insistence on her presence for our negotiations irritated, but did not surprise me. Since he expected a fight, I offered none. But I wasn't prepared for the depth of her reach and it angered me, starting already tentative negotiations off on very shaky ground, when, upon our first meeting, the rush of her impressions flooded the room and only the discipline of my martial training allowed me to resist. Hedronn, being used to telepaths, held the advantage. Briefly. Months, it took. Back and forth, daily sessions with nerve-grating scans, constant clarifications and backtracking. Eko's role was always clear, and in that sense, became unobtrusive. Yet something, some image I cannot describe, warned me of another agenda. Hedronn's, I assumed. Then, as our dealings extended, I knew that was not the case. It was human static. An Earther moth approaching the Minbari flame. I could not be bothered ... but bothersome? It was. I am rarely so confounded. Channeling mental and emotional energy is a warrior's necessity and one at which I've always excelled. Hence, despite all that time and interaction, it wasn't until our rude confinement within that hateful netherworld, Vasht, that the Eko I now know came forward. I still do not know how we were transported off the Zepho. I cannot even vaguely recall the encounter that nearly claimed my life -- we apparently had been captives for some time before regaining consciousness. I do, however, remember my creeping awareness of incapacity and captivity. Weakened, disarmed, and so dishonored. Torn beyond healing and indubitably doomed. I perceived Eko's presence long before I had the strength to open my eyes. Ahh, it was a soothing interlude, enveloping and warm. Such gentleness as I, throughout my life, have rarely felt. Far more than I have ever given. Unlike a scan, a blanket covered me. I, the Wind Sword's Alyt, the protector -- I felt safe. And for all the physical pain, I was oddly comforted. The instant I reached full consciousness that blanket fell away. Our intolerable situation seized my whole being. The Vashtans. The Shadows. I would not die for them. I would not suffer for them. Circumspect and totally removed, Eko only watched me. Not an empathetic glimmer, but finally, when we were left alone, she spoke. "Alyt ... the Zepho is trapped, but unharmed. These war proxys have tried their best with you. Rest assured, you gave them nothing. And I've held them off. It isn't in their interest to kill us. Not yet." She was wrong. It pained me to whisper, "A small honor, death." What else had I to offer? At that, she smiled. An all too human, hopeful gesture, to which I could not respond. Just as when the Vashtons returned, I could not so much as move. Later, when the human telepaths appeared, I braced what was left of my strength and resistance, yet they passed by me as though I were not even there. I wondered if I had died. Yet death seemed small indeed next to the utter helplessness in which I lay, as she eluded -- and so defeated -- the Shadows' most relentless interrogators. Then silently, alone, left for dead, in vague snatches of consciousness, throughout the indistinguishable days and nights that followed before my troops finally broke free and came for us, I could only watch. It was clear that our captors appreciated her worth and would certainly have taken her with them. I would never have believed she could, or would, sacrifice herself to prevent being taken and I was totally unprepared for the full extent of why she did so. She did it for me. And I do not mean to diminish the magnitude of her sacrifice, for she served a far greater need, to be sure. But moments into Eko's private descent, our very beings met, entwined, answered every improbable question. I doubt she ever knew how clearly I would see, or that she even suspected her astonishing gift would be revealed to me. Yet in the last transcendent moment that lasts perhaps a thousand lifetimes, souls do reunite. There is nothing left to uncertainty. They say she can never recover. I do not answer that my soul's pledge to hers binds more than mere lifetimes. As a Minbari, I am united with my people. As a warrior and Alyt, I belong to my clan. As a man, I have always been alone. But there remains now, a voice inside me ... an all too human voice, like a blanket of hope. END