They say that space is truly silent, and in space, nobody hears you cry when you die.

By the [human] 20th century, the know-to-them spacefaring races had settled into a form of stasis: some were on the up, some on the down, some were boots, some under the boot. But the Second Force of the Universe: Self-Interest and the Third: Apathy had collided and depleted the urge for vigorous conquest, and so, the Fourth: Stasis had taken force. While peace didn’t entirely reign, its interruption was due to bungles and mistakes causing skirmishes, rather than malice causing battles

For these races, there were also the mythical races that appeared in legends. These were actually older and more powerful races. They could be divided into Olders and Ancients and both had succumbed to these Three Forces and basically weren’t that bothered about the younger, noisier races, though the Ancients hadn’t quite got out of their habit of meddling with the youngers!

The most powerful of the knowns were the Centauri who had settled into a luxurious indolence, albeit still remaining curious and it was one of their Explorer Craft that in the late 21st century that had detected and then intercepted a seemingly dead alien craft. It had alien text that read VOYAGER 1 and alien graphics. The Centauri had reverse-calculated its trajectory to a known and ignored small system four Units away and decided to keep a better eye on it.

A few years later, high-speed craft were detected leaving 4U as it was known to them, heading straight for their system and they intercepted it. The found new alien forms, though the craft were unarmed which they thought very weird and honestly, stupid. And so, the stasis became less static and noisier, albeit no less peaceful.

By the 23rd century, Humanity was still on the up and had simply gently spiced up a rather tepid stasis that remained without too many bungles causing too many skirmishes. And then:

Ranging out on the edge of the known, a Human research craft, lightly armed but not intended for war, detected a huge, known craft and intercepted it out of curiosity.

So did the huge craft which was from an Older race and though it was much more advanced and had detected this unknown for longer. In keeping with custom, it opened its weapons ports to display openness and closed in as the crew and occupants wondered who these unknowns were.

The Human craft naturally feeling threatened closed and hailed the interloper, but got no response as it veered so all the ports faced it. Knowing there was no escape and was vastly outgunned, like a cornered rabbit does to a fox, it opened up with every weapon it had.

Hitting the armoury full-on, the stores exploded, and detonations spread across the whole ship. Within, its occupants screamed and yelled as their sanctuary disintegrated around them, though in space, nobody hears you cry, nobody hears you die, though the Human craft’s sensors heard everything.

And so, a blunder had commenced an epic chain of events, for this huge ship was not populated merely with researchers and soldiers. On board was the Governing [Grey] Council now accidentally eliminated.

An old, powerful civilisation had its peace suddenly rent. On the homeworld, a tranquil peace had suddenly turned to anger, and retribution was demanded. Silence was silenced. Sadly, even those who should have been dispassionate became passionate. Old and peaceful but armed to the teeth with their most advanced weaponry in case it was needed. They are maybe an older race, but stupidity was never a verb to ascribe to the Minbari and they’d had their share of vicious warfare that they’d hoped had passed. Until now.

A sleeping (well meditating) giant angrily and suddenly awoke, bent on pure vengeance and went forth destroying the outer Human colonies.

Silence’s unyielding call wasn’t entirely unheard, it’s just that those who heard it could not satisfactorily answer: the Centauri answered and tried to mediate but Vengeance still reigned, and the Minbari strode destructively forth, heading rapidly to the Human’s Home System.

Soon, Humans realised that true annihilation was upon them and, like every less advanced race, decided to make on last stand: this time just inside Jupiter’s Orbit: The Battle of The Line would be their Midway. Alien craft shattered human craft like a lizard swats and grabs its fly lunch: suddenly and brutally.

Jeffrey Sinclair was a young Captain: barely inside his fourth decade, he’d hoped to see at least four, maybe six more, though today he wondered whether he’d see out today. He’d seen his colleagues’ fighters get blotted by alien fighters and battleships. No grave, no remains: all died because of a blunder, he thought as he strapped in.

His squadron is ejected from their Carrier and immediately set upon by superior alien fighters. He sees his wingman blot and he makes a vengent run in retribution but is struck. An engine dies and he realises that there are but a few grains of sand in his timer.

He sees the alien mothership ahead and he turns, firing, but is struck again. His display flashes red: his fighter is dead, his comms down. He knows that nobody will hear him scream is epitaph: love for his girlfriend, love for his family, frustration and his impending death.

Then. Silence.

He feels like an all-enveloping net has swamped him. He’s being dragged towards the alien carrier and feels like his every atom is being examined and wonders whether he will fall into permanent silence. Then he does.

Silence’s tentacles have finally enveloped and Silence’s call has finally been heard, though it is not the true silence that Silence desires, but merely a hiatus. The alien carrier suddenly stops firing and closes its ports. The alien fighters, on the brink of success, suddenly stop firing and retreat. The Human command is stunned and knowing of nothing else likewise stops. Silence. Wonder. Stunned, pure, silence.

On the alien mother ship, Silence’s waves smash through, paralysing: Is this alien [Sinclair] really the mythical leader [Valen] reborn as the sensors have determined and as Myth has foretold? On the alien homeworld, Silence’s waves smash through the reconstituted Gray [ruling] Council as the news takes hold, paralysing the so-wise leaders so accustomed to unity and still paralysed with the shock and shame of their previous range-fuelled decisions.

Sinclair awakes. Am I alive, if so where am I? he asks himself. He lays there in silent darkness and examines his mind: it is clear. He listens: pure silence. He feels: he is on his back somewhere not uncomfortable. He slightly flexes his fingers and toes: they work. Then legs and arms: working and seemingly unencumbered by manacles. Finally, he opens his eyes: he is still dressed in his undersuit and looks around: he is a prisoner in a cell, in silence.

He gently strips and finds no bruises or cuts which would indicate physical torture, though he knows from his training that torture is a useless and counter-productive way to get intelligence.

Clank permeates the room like a gunshot, and he starts as a tray slides through a floor-level hatch. A full plate and vessel are on it, and he distantly examines it in the renewed silence. His Instructor’s quote comes to mind ‘Better to die wondering whether you’re being poisoned than die starving wondering whether they were trying to. EAT BOY’ the gruff old guy had laughed at him, and he inwardly smiles, wondering whether that Instructor is still alive, as is his love Catherine, or anyone on Earth given the way The Battle of The Line was going.

He knows he’s being observed like a lab rat in a cage and his nature demands of him that he give his best account. He takes the tray to his bed and politely examines it could be all rice, or rice with tofu he mulls. Weird: looks like a spoon as he examines the sole utensil. He silently and gracefully scoops a portion and tastes it: a hard neutral texture, and bland. He mediates on the sensations as he scoops, chews and eats every portion: whatever it is, is OK: I’ve had much worse he muses.

He takes the vessel and examines the clear liquid: Water? he ponders, then gracefully sips it and examines the taste probably he determines as it slides down. Whatever they’re doing to me, it doesn’t seem like killing is on their agenda he ponders as he sets the vessel on the tray, then on the floor next to the hatch and backs away.

The lights go out and he slumbers wondering whether, like a condemned man, he’s just eaten his last meal.

At the Grey Council, all the members are assembled, though fully hooded to disguise their identity. A deafening silence pervades as questions hang like a thick fog:

If the alien is Valen reborn, what do we do: it will ruin our society and to let the aliens know this will destroy theirs too.

If he is, how to we manage them and we must conceal it from them until the full truth is out

Silence demands answers. These 10 are the brightest scholars, warriors, diplomats and traders of this planet, sat in a city bounteous with cultural fineries. 10 such powerful intellects, paralysed by fear that they are merely unworthy mice, not the societal elephants their status proclaims. This fog needs a laser to cut through, and none of the 10 so wise, have an answer and so, in a society that so prizes consensus, the one that exists defies Silence: no answer.

Silence yells louder for answers. The Ten hear it but have no response.

Suddenly, one hood speaks forth into the silence. While barely audible, the tone is deafening as the silence is shattered: “We must send an observer to their home world.”

Silence demands more, but the deafening, paralysing Peasouper, silence resumes. Who to send, who to trust with this shattering secret? Ten so-wise minds ask in unison.

The same, so quiet voice raises again, “I have said. I will go. I am no longer Grey.” The voice’s of a Religious Caste: Scholar, seer, but not roamer like the Warriors and Workers are. The voice has emanated from a female body, the youngest of the new Ten. To defy The Grey and to leave it is unheard of and she knows her words have literally and metaphorically exiled her.

“De’Lenn. You are not Grey. You are Grey” a voice intones as she turns and leaves the Chamber in pure silence. Like their hoods that conceal their identities, the intonation is a hood: she remains Grey, but she is officially stricken from The Council.

The hood exits the doors into the corridors. Into exile, both from the City of Sorrows and likely the whole planet she stands on. Permanently?, she wonders.

In his cell, the lights go up. Then, Clank, though not so startling this time and seemingly, the same tray with the same food appears. “Thank you,” Sinclair replies to the silence, as he knows this is the proper answer. Again, he sets it on his bed and slowly, contemplatively eats, then drinks and finally, sets it back on the floor. Clank, the hatch re-opens and the tray disappears. “Thank you,” he repeats to the unknown outside.

He sits, ponders. His stomach sated from the tray; he opens his mind into the silence. He reminds himself of his youth, his first meeting with his now-love Catherine, their fun and not-so-fun times and then, their sad goodbye as he headed out to meet his destiny in the cold silence of space.

Am I being set up for interrogation? He ponders. Over his not-so-many years, he’s read widely and sometimes rather obscurely, he mulls. He’s reminded of an obscure book he read by a mid-20th century solder turned spy-politician then finally diplomat named [Paddy] Ashdown and his sometimes wild, though artfully written times. He’s reminded of the section where the author recounts his counter-interrogation training and the Instructor telling him “Ashdown: I can break anyone easily. You, it’s leave you in here for a week and you’ll tell me anything as soon as I open the door” Am I being left here, though rather well fed to break my mind? He wonders.

De’Lenn moves through the corridors of power which she knows are her final steps here. Who are you, What do you want, Where are you going? She hears Silence call out its test. Silently, she replies I am De’Lenn: Religious [caste], scholar and now, Ambassador. I want to know: I seek the truth. I am going into the unknown to know.

Back in the now-depleted chamber, Silence finally gets its full answer: We request a full cessation and negotiations to prepare for full peace. Simple, clean. Answers nothing to anyone. The hoods are being applied to the truth to hide it.

Silently, she walks down through normally packed corridors until she reaches her destination. She stands, though facing away from it. The door opens and before her is the alien that everything tells her is Valen reincarnate. “Come,” she slowly utters.

He looks out of his cell and sees the hooded creature which utters a single word: an order, though not delivered forcefully, he evaluates. He turns sideways expecting to be shackled. “Come” is repeated and he exits as The Hood as he refers to it, walks slowly and silently. He forms up, though half a step behind as does a junior officer to a senior officer. Am I walking my final steps? He wonders.

They walk. De’Lenn ponders. She is many things including Scholar, seer and reader of ancient texts, but she is grateful not to have one skill: reading minds, for she knows that those who can inevitably lose theirs to madness.  

As she walks, she feels Silence’s all-encompassing presence. From the moment her first word formed in the Chamber, she knew she was a prisoner of Silence: Her fate was to follow Silence, to observe and guide the Reincarnate Valen and to examine these aliens. Her fate is to follow Silence, and as she always has done, she willingly and dutifully follows.

He walks wondering who the gaoler next to him is. Male or Female, if genders exist? Minbari or another race? How is he being controlled if he is unshackled? (Though he knows he has no way to escape)

She stops. He stops. She turns to face him and unveils her hood, looking deep at him.

She sees truth: somehow this alien is the mythical leader reincarnate. Why? How? She asks herself. I am here to observe. In hope that we never fight again she realises.

She rotates her hand palm upward and extends her arm from under her robe in a so-recently-learned alien gesture, “I am Ambassador De’Lenn,” he takes her hand gently in a formal shake. “We are at peace. We have work to do,” she smiles at Sinclair, so making Silence happy, though the cloak of why silence is happy has many layers and it will be many years before Silence’s truth will be naked.