A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain

Chapter 1

There is a world, far and distant, out on the Rim. It has been a dead world for so long.

A thousand years ago a great and terrible war was brought to this world. The final battle lasted for many days, but ultimately an evil was driven from it, and those who had pursued the war returned to their homes, content to rest, to bury their dead, to raise their children, to tell stories.

And to forget. Forget, they did, relegating the war to just another legend, to tales of heroes and courage, to a time long ago, a time that held no relevance for the present.

It is the curse of mortal man to forget. Mortal beings cannot learn from their mistakes, for they are doomed to keep forgetting them.

Time has passed. Generations have come and gone. And the Darkness has returned once more.

Z'ha'dum, once a dead world, now teems with life again. The ancient race who for a thousand years hid in secret, have come back to their ancestral home, to their temples and cities and wonders of old. They have come back, and they are ready to go to war once more.

This time, they know they will not lose. This time, they will be careful. This time, they will be ready.

The Shadows may be long-lived. They may be an ancient race, older by far than many can comprehend. They may possess wonders far in advance of the younger races.

But for all that, the Shadows are still mortal.

And it is the doom of mortals to forget.

A ship comes to Z'ha'dum. They are surprised, but eager. This is not what they have planned for, admittedly, but it is something they have wanted. They let it come. They are pleased.

They have forgotten so much, particularly how to hear the one who lives below. The one who is not mortal, and who does not forget. He has begun to speak at last, but no one can hear him. There will be many deaths before anyone can truly hear him.

A ship comes. See. It is here....

She still does not entirely know why she has come. As she looks at the dead, crimson world beneath her, Delenn of Mir contemplates the last time any of her people were here. The climax of the last Great War against the Shadows. Valen had led his mighty fleet here, and brought to an end many years of war.

As she looks at it from this perspective, Delenn of Mir is very much afraid that there are many years of war still to come. Unless she can end it here.

And if this war is won, as was the last, what then? A wait of another thousand years before the killing starts once more? A peace more terrible than any war?

She has been sent here by a race she once thought to be her allies. She does not understand the reason for this, but that does not matter. She has sent all the information she has to the one who might be able to understand.

She is thinking about Sinoval now. She hopes he received her message. It would give him some satisfaction to know he was right. He would take great pleasure in being able to say 'I told you so'.

But he would never get the chance, at least not to her.

John can walk now. He can move, and touch, and live.... Cured both of the injuries sustained in the Battle of the Third Line and of Deathwalker's terminal virus, he can live once more. The United Alliance has its general, one far more able to pursue this war than Delenn herself.

But she will be able to do one last service before the end.

She brings the shuttle into orbit, looking at the planet below her. She has seen it before only in recordings, in dreams, in visions sent by the Vorlons. She has never been here before. It looks dead, abandoned, still scarred by the ravages of war and time.

She prepares the message she is to send. This is Delenn of Mir, leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven. I come here in response to an invitation by David Sheridan. Please provide directions to a suitable position on the surface.

This done, she sits back, ensuring it will broadcast itself on a repeating cycle. She thinks back to the time she had been given the 'invitation', and to the aftermath. She had turned Ambassador Sheridan down, knowing the invitation to be a trap. Now.... she was here anyway.

She should have told John about his father. She should have told him. Just one more legacy of regret to lay upon all the countless others heaped up over her lifetime.

--- We read your message, Delenn, — -- says a voice over the audio-only channel. She recognises it immediately, and sits bolt upright. Ambassador Sheridan. John's father. --- I will admit to being surprised, but questions can wait. I am transferring the co-ordinates of a landing site just outside the capital city. You will need suitable breathing equipment when you are on the surface, but we will be able to provide that if necessary. The other external conditions may be.... uncomfortable for you, but I am sure you will be able to cope. Living conditions inside the city are more than adequate, I assure you. — --

"I have received your co-ordinates," she replies. "I am setting course now."

--- Don't worry, Delenn. We won't let you get lost on the way. — --

Her systems begin to beep at her. She feels a slight chill.

Outside her shuttle, three Shadow ships shimmer into view. She hears their loud screams in her mind.

They will not let her get lost. Not at all.

Delenn of Mir prepares herself to set foot on Z'ha'dum.

They had been incredibly vocal in their protests. Virini, the Minister for the Court, had claimed that he had not been given enough time to organise the whole affair, what with the need for personal servants, aides, valets, bodyguards, an alteration to the itinerary, pacifying those who would have to postpone their appointments....

Durano, Minister for the Interior, gave calm, rational reasons for the need for the Republic to have its focal figure at home during this time of crisis.

Marrago, Minister for Defence and Lord-General of the Republic's Armies, spoke of the need for the Republic to be seen to be in a position of strength. The Emperor going personally to meet an alien alliance would surely be seen as a sign of weakness.

Of all of them, only Timov, Minister for Resource Procurement and the Emperor's First Consort, had given him anything like support.

She had reminded him to wrap up tight, not to eat any alien food, and to get enough sleep.

When Londo Mollari, esteemed Emperor of the mighty and glorious Centauri Republic, set his mind on a course, it took a great deal of effort to dissuade him from it.

Still, he could see all their points. The Imperial Barge should by all rights have been accompanied by at least three warships, and there should have been numerous advisors and bodyguards. As it was, the Republic could spare only one warship, the Valerius, under the command of the Emperor's nephew, Carn Mollari. The Narns might have been driven from the homeworld with remarkably little effort, but that did not mean the danger was over. One warship was all that could be spared.

And as for bodyguards, the Imperial Guard was needed to maintain order on the homeworld. The Shadow Criers had subsided, but not entirely disappeared. Londo had his personal cadre of one hundred guardsmen, and, most important of all, he had Lennier. He would be fine.

He was standing on the observation deck of the Imperial Barge, looking out at the multi-coloured delirium of hyperspace. It was amazingly similar to the flashes at the back of his eyelids whenever he was hung over, a state he had mercifully been free of for some time now.

"Are you there, Lennier?" he called out hesitantly. There was a movement.

"I am here," said a soft voice. Londo was constantly surprised by the Minbari's habit of concealment. He seemed to melt into the shadows even in places where they were no shadows to melt into. With this knack, and with his frequent silences, it was easy to forget he was about.

That made him the perfect bodyguard of course, but a difficult person to talk to.

It had been Kazomi 7. Something had happened there to turn the gentle keela poet into someone who.... scared most people, even Londo sometimes. He trusted Lennier as he trusted very few others, but still.... few others understood why the most powerful man in the Centauri Republic kept a Minbari around.

Lennier had recently taken to not wearing his sunburst badge, the insignia that marked him out as one of G'Kar's Rangers. He had offered no explanation for this omission.

And now they were both going back to Kazomi 7. It had been over a year and a half since either of them had been there, and it must have changed greatly from the barren, devastated world it had been then. A triumph of hope over despair, it had been called.

It was all G'Kar's fault, of course. He wanted unity. He wanted all the races united to oppose the Shadows. He had been doing a remarkably good job of it as well. If he could get the Centauri to side with the Alliance.... to go to war with a terrifying Enemy....

To throw away Centauri lives in a cause not their own, to make an enemy who would no doubt be angry and vengeful, to commit themselves to a war with no returning.

Londo had turned down Mr. Morden's offer of a permanent alliance with the Vorlons for that very reason. Morden's subsequent disappearance (little change there, with him) had not altered his opinion. The Centauri would remain neutral as far as possible.

"I was thinking about something," he said softly. "Tell me.... have you heard any.... rumours about our victory in the recent battle?" The Narns had assaulted Centauri Prime itself, and been beaten back. Lord-General Marrago had foreseen heavy casualties, but there had been remarkably few.

"What sort of rumours?"

"I don't know.... Either the Narns were grossly underprepared for their attack, still believing us to be weak and helpless.... or we had help from somewhere."

"Centauri Prime had been in a state of chaos for over a year," Lennier replied, after a thoughtful hesitation. "Perhaps they had not heard how much things had changed."

"Perhaps.... Perhaps they did underestimate us. Or maybe we were helped. I have heard.... rumours that another force intervened. Who, or what, or why, I do not know, and I do not even know if there is any truth in this. Was Mr. Morden trying to force his offer of alliance onto us? Were these.... Shadows playing some game of their own, hoping to push us into a deal with them?"

"I will listen," Lennier said simply. "If I hear anything, I will tell you."

"Thank you," said the Emperor softly.

He wished there was someone here he could talk to.... really talk to. Marrago was on Centauri Prime of course, plotting the move to retake the Gorash system. Timov was busily terrifying people in her guise as Minister for Resource Procurement. G'Kar had slipped away from the homeworld in the same mysterious way he had slipped in. Delenn would be at Kazomi 7. Carn was captaining the Valerius.

Ah, how he wished for someone to talk to. Someone to see Londo Mollari the man, not the second Emperor Mollari, not the man who would lead the Republic into its dying days.

Londo remembered Cartagia's final prophecy, his final, black joke. He had sworn to deny Cartagia that last laugh. He remembered the cause Malachi had died for, and his own oath to uphold it. He remembered Lord Jarno going to his death.

Then he remembered sitting in that damned uncomfortable chair, and he decided that he was happy here for the moment. Kazomi 7 was some hours away, and when he arrived there he would have to sit through all the speeches, all the waffle, all the politicking. Then he would have to leave and return to Centauri Prime for more of the same.

He spent the remaining five hours until his arrival at Kazomi 7 doing precisely nothing whatsoever.

"So why do they call him Jinxo, then?"

The principle reason for frequenting any pub, Dexter Smith had reasoned, was not the drinks they served, nor the politeness of the landlord, nor the length of the barmaids' skirts, nor the cost of the drinks, nor even the propensity for brawls on a Friday night.

No, it was the regulars. People who came in day after day, night in, night out. Not to drink as such, but just to be there, to enjoy the atmosphere, to talk all night about the things they had done all day, to swap outrageous stories and gossip and news.

It had been the regular customers that had drawn Smith into the first real pub he had visited, back when he was nowhere near old enough to be able to buy drinks.

Sadly, while Bo's tavern had a great many.... well, many.... well, some.... features to recommend it, the regulars were not among them. Smith was gloomily realising that he was Bo's regular, because he'd been coming here three or four nights a week for about a month.

Oh, there were a few others. There was Mack, an old friend of Bo's from his time in Earthforce. Eduardo Delvientos and his brother, both dockers based at the spaceport in Sector 305. A small-scale businessman called Devereaux. Then there was Jinxo. No one seemed to know his real name. No one knew where he lived or what he did. He was just always there, at least he'd been there every time Smith had been. Most of the time he wasn't even drinking anything, just sitting as close to the fire as he could.

"A funny story," Bo said, polishing some glasses. Well, by polishing, what he was actually doing was evenly distributing the dirt, but it gave him something to do and made him look busy.

Smith said nothing, and waited for Bo to continue. "He used to be a construction worker. Fairly big, large-scale stuff. A pretty good one, too.... by all accounts. He lived on Orion for a good few years, doing minor repair work and such. Got married there, back in.... ooh, fifty-one, fifty-two, something like that. She got pregnant.

"I gather things were looking up at one point. The Government was trying to recruit skilled construction workers for some big job. Some space station or something."

"Babylon Four," Smith said softly.

Bo appeared not to have heard him. "So, Jinxo was one of the first in line for a job. He went off for some survey reports or something. I think he hung around on the Babylon for a while.... meeting pretty high-class people, you know.

"And then.... well.... the Minbari came to Orion, completely trashed the place. Jinxo was still on the Babylon when it came back to try and defend Orion, and he was one of the first guys on the ground. He got to his apartment.... and the whole building had been wrecked. His wife was dead, but the doctors managed to save the baby.... something like that, anyway. Maybe his wife lived for a few more days.... or something.

"Well, it turned out Jinxo's insurance didn't cover anything like the cost of keeping the baby in hospital, and it weren't like that were the only kid in need of treatment after Orion. His apartment weren't worth nothing any more, he wasn't going to get paid by the Government for construction work they couldn't afford, and his savings went.... pretty fast.

"So, the hospital were making threatening noises, so he took all the cash he had and went down to the Tron. He tried to borrow money off Mr. Trace, but.... well, he couldn't afford to lend him any. I'm sure he would have, if he could. He's a real fine man, as you know."

"Yeah," muttered Smith. "A real humanitarian."

"But.... I hear there are certain people at the Tron who.... go in for a bit of illegal gambling. Cards and stuff.... you get my meaning. They don't do that any more, of course. Mr. Trace found out about it, and put a stop to it all.

"But well.... Jinxo put the lot on one hand. He reckoned he'd got the perfect hand.... but one of the others beat him. He lost the lot.... ended up owing a lot of people a lot of money. Mr. Trace managed to put it right as much as possible, but well.... The hospital had to turn off the baby's machine, you see. They couldn't afford to keep it going, not with all those people starving in the streets that winter, and with all the food riots and prison riots and everything....

"So he just moved down here. Gave his name as Jinxo.... and just.... I dunno, just gave up on life, I suppose. A pity."

"Not so much of a funny story then, really," Smith said to himself. That was Sector Three-o-one, after all. Everyone here would have a similar story, he bet. A tale of lost loves and broken dreams, a dark, desolate road of forsaken happiness that ended here — in the Pit.

Only one type of person had a good life in the Pit, and that was Mr. Trace and his toadies, people who made a profit out of betraying and feeding off their fellows. Trace had his flunkies; the corrupt, the weak, the morally vacant.... and as long as he was doing fine, then nothing else mattered.

Smith began to feel a greater sense of importance. Trace had to be shut down, or at least shown what he was doing to these people here. Somebody had to do that, and it might as well be him. He might not be able to save the galaxy, but he could at least fight a battle on a smaller scale.

He was just coming to this conclusion when he felt strong hands grab the back of his shirt and drag him from his seat. He was hurled against the far wall, striking it with a force that jarred him. He tried to turn and look at his assailant, blinking away the pain.

"I told you last time," snarled an angry voice. "That's my seat. You been letting other people sit in my chair, Bo?"

Bo was cowering behind the bar. "N-No.... Mr. Drake, sir. I.... It was just.... I...."

"Ah, shut up. Get down to the cellar, or the kitchen or somethin'. That way you can tell the truth to the Security lot when you say you didn't see nothing. No.... better yet, tell them this guy here started it, and I were just defendin' myself."

"S.... started what, Nelson? What are you going to do?"

The thick, heavy-set man reached into his jacket and pulled out a long, wickedly-sharp knife. "This guy here has been causing problems for Mr. Trace. He's been troubling our overworked security forces, and he just doesn't get the three-o-one ethos here. You work with Mr. Trace, and everything's fine. You annoy Mr. Trace.... and things get a very long way from fine."

Smith shook his head and looked up. Nelson Drake was advancing on him.

"We got to set an example for the others in three-o-one, you see," he was saying. "We all got to work together, and that means knowing who's boss. Bad luck for you, mate.... you won't get to learn from your mistake."

The Babylon headed for Z'ha'dum.

On the bridge sat its captain, the legendary John Sheridan, the Starkiller. He was silent, waiting, thinking about a dead world, a red world, a barren and twisted world at the Rim of known space.

A world where the one person he loved most in all the galaxy could be found.

His second, Commander Corwin, was watching him carefully. He was still finding it hard to credit that the Captain was able to walk and move again. He had been assured that the injuries he had received at Epsilon 3 had been permanent. The nature and extent of the spinal damage, to say nothing of the terminal virus he had been infected with two years ago....

And yet here he was. Alive. Fit. Healthy.

A miracle. Or perhaps a sign of the aid they could all be given by their new Vorlon allies.

So why was he so concerned? Something just felt wrong. Very wrong in all this.

It was not that the Captain was here, back on this ship again. It had been years since Sheridan had commanded the Babylon. He had been in charge of Bester's Parmenion for a year and a half, until its destruction at the Battle of the Third Line, the same battle that had almost cost the Captain his life. The Babylon had been.... changed in that time, modified by the Resistance Government with technology provided by their Shadow allies. Corwin had spent weeks on the ship after it had been retaken, checking out the extent of the upgrades. He had done what he could, but the ship still felt wrong, slightly out of synch with what he remembered.

Or maybe it was he who had changed. He had commanded the Babylon in those long months when the Captain had lain in his hospital bed, dying one day at a time. The ship had felt so wrong without the Captain, but now that he was back it felt even worse.

Corwin remembered the meeting of the United Alliance Council he had been called to a few days ago. He had been on this ship, supervising the repair of the damage suffered during their most recent skirmish with the Shadows. He had been working hard, too hard, hoping to forget about Mary that way.

He had not been surprised by the invitation. He was not a member of the Alliance Council, but he had been present at a number of their meetings in the last few months. As military advisor or something. He had always been uncomfortable there, among alien politicians and economists and wizards.

His first reaction had been to wonder where Delenn was. She had always been present at such meetings. His second was to notice that the Captain was there. Standing.

"Captain!" he had cried. "But.... What...?"

"It's good to see you too, David," he had replied with a broad smile. The two men, friends for over a decade, had embraced, and Corwin had just looked at his commander, dumbfounded.

"What happened?"

"The Vorlons," had come the simple reply. "God knows what type of tech they've got at their disposal, but they used it to heal everything. I'm fine. Perfectly fine. I feel better than I have in years."

"That's great! That's.... Does Delenn know?" There had been a chill pause. "What?"

"She's not here. They've got her. The Shadows."

"How? What happened?"

"We don't know.... not entirely. We think one of the aides here in the Council was infected by one of those.... Keepers. One of Delenn's servants is missing, as well as her private shuttle. We think they managed to capture her, or knock her out.... or something. They've taken her to Z'ha'dum."

"How are you so sure?"

"We know."

"A Keeper, but...." Corwin had looked around for the technomage, Vejar. He possessed strange abilities, magic worked through science, or science that had the appearance of magic.... something like that. He had been given the task of finding all those tainted by the Shadow symbiont.

He had not been at the table. He was nowhere in sight.

"What are we going to do?"

Corwin had suddenly become aware of a bright and blinding light behind the Captain. Blinking and shielding his eyes with his hand, he had realised what it was. A Vorlon. The Vorlon Ambassador, in fact. Ulkesh Naranek.

"We are going to Z'ha'dum," the Captain had replied. "We're going to find her.... and kill everything else we find there."

There had been an argument then. One of the Drazi on the Council had muttered something about not being able to spare any ships from the fleet for a futile attack on Z'ha'dum. Delenn would have known that.

"It doesn't matter," the Captain had replied. "We'll just take the Babylon. It's all we'll need."

He had been very sure.

Looking back on it, nothing about that conversation had seemed right to Corwin. Not a single thing. The Vorlons creeped him out, at least this one did. Where had Vejar been?

There was a movement behind him, and he turned. It was Lyta. She took a step forward, and then stopped as if paralysed. She was looking directly at the Captain.

The Vorlons had insisted she come along. They had ordered it, in so many words.

Corwin looked at her, and at the Captain. Neither of them was moving. Neither of them even seemed to be breathing.

And just for a moment, in what might have been a trick of the light, he was sure he saw Lyta's eyes blaze gold. But then the light faded, and she was just herself again.

And the Babylon continued towards Z'ha'dum.

The door closed behind her, and Delenn looked at the man in front of her. It was strange, but Ambassador Sheridan seemed every bit as at home here, in this barren construct of stone and rock, as he had in the Council rooms of Kazomi 7. She imagined he had a knack of fitting in wherever he went.

"You may remove your breathing equipment now," he said politely. "The atmosphere in here is perfectly suitable for you. We have had Minbari here before. Of course your unique biology may cause some difficulties, but I doubt they will be overly serious."

Delenn unclipped her respirator mask and handed it over to him. She took a few breaths, and then nodded. The air was bearable. The gravity felt a little off, but then she had been used to Kazomi 7 for the last few years.

The building was sparse, and fairly empty. Everything seemed to be made of stone, as if the place had been hacked out of the raw bones of the planet itself. Everything was red, or brown. It was hot.

"You made your way here easily enough, then?" Sheridan said, making small talk.

"Your directions were most precise," she said. Then, after a pause, "Thank you."

"Do you have any baggage? I will have everything taken to your quarters."

"No," she replied formally. "I am as you see me."

"I doubt that," he replied, his voice icy. "If you will follow me, I will introduce you to others who wish to meet you again. It has been a while, for most of them."

"Are you in charge here, then?" she said, following him as he guided her through the corridors. Everything seemed the same; dark, red and hot.

"This is a private sector of the capital city, built especially for us. The city has a name, by the way, but not even I can pronounce it. Far too many letters. I am.... the highest ranked of those of us here at the moment. The true inhabitants of this city prefer to live in the lower levels, and rarely come up this high. I apologise if the accommodation seems a little.... spartan to you. It was designed by a member of your race, and he had certain.... strict attitudes to what was necessary for life. I have done what I can to make them more habitable, but I am rarely here these days."

"None of my race has served the Shadows," she replied tersely. "None of us ever would."

"Oh?" he said, with a raised eyebrow. "Have you forgotten your history? Parlonn lived hereabouts for some years. I can show you the place where he met Marrain and convinced him to join with the.... ah, the Shadows. There's a shrine at the place where Parlonn was murdered down here somewhere. It's quite a way underground, and I don't like travelling there too often. It does get a little claustrophobic at times."

"Parlonn.... chose his own path."

"I never said he did not. It is refreshing, actually.... to see that your race can be just as petty as ours. It completely dispels that whole aura of superiority you like to build up around yourselves. Why was it Parlonn changed sides again? Jealousy? Envy?"

"Neither," she whispered. "He heard your lies and chose to believe them. It was Marrain who betrayed Valen out of jealousy."

"Ah yes. I had the two confused. Do forgive me." He came to a door and stopped. "This is a.... I don't know if Minbari have a word for it. A living-room would be the English phrase. A place to sit and meet and discuss things that are not business. No vidscreen or television, fortunately. You can't get ISN all the way out here, which is a shame, but I can't say I miss any of the rest of it."

He pushed the door open and gestured to her to go inside. There were two people there. One of them was a human woman, sitting on a comfortable-looking chair. The other was a tall figure dressed in a black tunic, with the hood pulled up over his head. His back was to her.

"You know Miss Susan Ivanova, of course," Sheridan said. "It has been a while, I accept. And.... you will also know our other companion, although that has been even longer."

"Why did you come here, beloved?" said a harsh voice, one she recognised all too well despite the many years since she had last heard it.

She gasped as he turned round and pushed back his hood. It was Neroon.

"A question I would like answered," Sheridan replied. He walked over to a table. "Do you want some tea, or do you not drink it? I know Neroon does not, but then you are partially human. I do hope you've learned something of ours."

"I...." She could not help but look at Neroon. It had been many years since they had parted, and they had not met since. He had come to her one night, and told her about someone he had met. G'Kar, the Narn prophet who had spoken of the need for the Rangers, and of an alliance to fight the Enemy. Neroon had chosen to believe that a Narn could carry the burden better than a Minbari, and so he had left.

He had asked Delenn to go with him, but she had refused, knowing that she had her duties on the Grey Council.

Two years ago she had received a message from Neroon's friend Ta'Lon, telling her that he had died, trapped by the Shadows and surely killed.

"You have changed, beloved," he said. Her hands went instinctively to her hair. The last time he had seen her, she had been fully Minbari. He smiled, in the same way he had done before, when they had both been much younger. "I like it."

"Milk?" asked Sheridan. "Sugar? No, I guess not. So.... why have you come?"

"You invited me."

"So I did. And you turned me down. As I recall, you also exiled me from Kazomi Seven and threatened to go to war with my allies. You have gone to war with my allies."

"Your allies attacked ships loyal to the Alliance."

He shrugged. "We offered you peace. We offered you neutrality. We offered you treaties, and trade, and a beneficial relationship. We offered to make you strong. You turned us down and preferred to ally with our enemies, who have promised you none of those things. You have, after all, taken on a Vorlon Ambassador to your.... little Alliance, have you not?"

"We have."

"Ah." He shook his head sadly. "You poor fools. You really have no idea."

"Rather them than you."

"You think?" he chuckled, as if that was a genuinely funny remark. "Well, I guess you do. The perils of a Minbari religious caste upbringing. They get to you early. The warrior caste are far more.... flexible. Apart from Sinoval, of course, but even he.... He serves our aims in a way, although he probably doesn't realise it. But the rest of the warrior caste — Sonovar, Kalain.... all of them. Easy to manipulate." He smiled sadly. "I take some small satisfaction from that."

Delenn looked at Neroon. He said nothing. He was still looking at her.

"So," continued Sheridan. "Why did you come here?"

"To hear the wisdom you promised me at Kazomi Seven."

"I heard it said that Minbari do not lie. More propaganda, all part of that aura of superiority again. You know, Delenn, I have met and worked with countless races during my career. Brakiri, Drazi, Narn, Centauri, Sh'lassan, Abbai.... oh.... so many more. All those different cultures, festivals, histories. I put up with Narn scheming, Centauri decadence, Drazi tempers....

"And in all that time, the Minbari are the only people I have ever really disliked.

"One last time, why did you come here?"

"To kill you all," whispered another voice. Delenn looked down to see Ivanova rising to her feet. "She's come to kill you all.... and she'll manage it as well." Ivanova chuckled slightly. "We're all going to die."

Sheridan sipped at his tea. "Yes," he said. "Everything does. Sooner or later. I'll show you to your quarters, Delenn. I have no doubt someone will be coming up to meet with you soon."

In recent years Dexter Smith had been involved in quite a lot of combat. That, of course, had been ship-to-ship, large-scale battles, or perhaps the more personal fighting that occurred when one ship or the other was being boarded.

It had been a long time since his last no-holds-barred, bar-room brawl or fight for his life. But there had been a time, before he had joined Earthforce, when there had been no one able to take him on. Not because he was stronger, or faster, or better armed.... but because in Sector 301, he fought meaner and dirtier than anyone else around.

Swivelling on the floor, he lashed out with his foot, catching Drake's knee and knocking it aside. Drake staggered, but managed to remain on his feet, and Smith cursed his lack of practice. In the old days he'd been able to break a man's knee with that manoeuvre, and that would pretty much end any fight.

As it was, he had time to get to his feet and shake the cobwebs from his head. His blood was roaring now, but his thoughts were icy calm. It was as though his soul had entered a tranquil void, where what happened to his body did not affect it.

Drake moved forward, more cautiously this time. He was good at this. He did not just want to beat Smith but to kill him, and he was more than capable of keeping his anger in check if it meant he could manage that.

He slashed out in an exploratory motion, and Smith dodged back. Testing his reach, Drake attacked again, and once more Smith avoided the blow. There was a table here, just behind him. He could feel it as he moved back. Another two steps.... that was all.

His opponent could clearly see it as well, and charged. Smith sidestepped, but Drake had been expecting that, and swivelled on the balls of his feet, slashing out with the knife. It tore through Smith's shirt, and there was a sharp pain across his ribs.

In his void Smith did not feel the pain, but he knew it was there. He dropped down a little and let Drake rise above him. Swiftly striking out, he rained two quick punches on Drake's side, and heard his attacker grunt. He rolled aside and leapt to his feet.

Drake followed up on him at considerable speed, surprising given his size. Smith grabbed behind him, and felt a chair there. In one swift motion he spun it around, and felt it connect with Drake's arm.

Drake fell back, still silent. He was not swearing or blustering. He was perfectly calm and cold and silent. He stepped back slowly, shifting his weight, ready for Smith to make the next move. Smith dropped the chair and began to consider his options. In the void time seemed to move differently. He became aware of the flurry of emotions in Drake's mind, kept at bay by an iron wall of discipline and self-denial.

Acting on what almost seemed like instinct, Smith tweaked the mass of anger and hatred and fear slightly, and the wall fell apart.

Roaring insanely, Drake charged forward, brandishing the dagger high in the air. Smith easily sidestepped the attack, spun around, and delivered a hard kick to the back of his opponent's knee. Drake went down, stumbling, but managed to roll aside from the stamp that was aimed at the small of his back.

Smith came down hard on Drake's wrist, and with a cry the knife slipped from his fingers. Just as the prone man tried to rise, Smith brought his foot down on his neck.

"Did Trace order this?" he asked, his void of tranquillity shattering. "Or was it a personal thing?"

Drake chuckled. "You're a dead man," he hissed. "A very very dead man. Mr. Trace owns this sector, and anyone who tries fighting him.... well, that depends on his mood. Sometimes they get one chance. Sometimes they don't. Guess which group you're in."

"I'm still alive, aren't I? You failed to get rid of me. I don't think Mr. Trace will be all that happy about that."

"I haven't failed yet."

Drake suddenly grabbed Smith's foot and pushed him backwards. Smith staggered, and watched Drake lunge for the discarded dagger. With his left hand Drake began to grip the hilt carefully. Smith darted forward and brought his foot down hard at the top of Drake's spine.

There was a sickening sound, and he knew what had happened almost instantly. He could somehow.... feel the life leaching from Drake's body.

Turning the man over, his suspicions were confirmed. The blade of the knife was stuck deep into his neck.

Smith turned to look at Bo, still shaking behind the bar. "G.... get out of here," Bo breathed. "Get out of the sector. Security will be after you."

Smith nodded, his void of calm collapsed. Wincing at the sudden pain from the slash along his ribs, he fled from the bar.

Ambassador G'Kael watched the meeting of the United Alliance Council with a mixture of amusement and terror. He was only now beginning to recognise just how much the whole Alliance rested on a small handful of figures, and with only three of them here, it seemed it was ready to tear itself apart.

He had been unsure how to regard this appointment when the Kha'Ri had broached it to him a few months ago. The Alliance had been growing in power and prestige for some time, and Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar was rumoured to have given it his full support. Some representation was needed, but the Kha'Ri had been in fierce debate as to just what sort of representation. The war with the Centauri had been occupying most of their attention, and they did not want to spare any of their number from the First Circle. On the other hand, a minor diplomat from the Third Circle or below could easily be perceived as an insult.

It had been a difficult balancing act, but eventually G'Kael had been chosen, a decision that had surprised many, especially himself. Councillor Na'Toth had later told him that she had personally sponsored him for the position, and that she had every confidence in him. What she had not told him was that the recommendation had come from a somewhat higher source — the famed Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar himself.

Now with Na'Toth all but deposed from her position of influence in the Kha'Ri and currently residing on Kazomi 7 itself, G'Kael had been expecting to be recalled to Narn, or at least to have Na'Toth made Ambassador here. Neither had happened, and in fact there had been no word from Narn other than the regular, run-of-the-mill stuff. The Kha'Ri seemed too set on the war.

G'Kael had once, more out of curiosity than anything else, gone to the G'Khorazhar Shrine, to hear a speech by Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. He remembered one thing the great preacher had said.

"This is the doom of mortal beings.... that we shall not see the beast until our heads are between its jaws."

G'Kael was beginning to believe no one back home could see the true beast, and would not until it decided to close its mouth.

But then, as he looked around a Council chamber bereft of the Blessed Delenn, of the Starkiller Sheridan, of the Technomage Vejar and of the Vorlon Ambassador, he was wondering if the Alliance Council could see the beast either.

The big topic of discussion was the refusal of the Abbai to join the Alliance formally. Negotiations, treaty pacts, diplomatic dinners and the like had been going on for some time, until the Abbai had suddenly and abruptly pulled out. Their polite letter did not give a reason, but everyone knew what it was.

"They are cowards!" cried Taan Churok, the Drazi former bartender and Minister for Defence. "Weak-willed cowards. We should let the Shadows take them!"

G'Kael did not see it quite that way. He had not seen these 'Shadows' in person, but he had seen recordings made of the Battle of the Great Machine, or the Third Line as some people were calling it. If these Shadows were as terrifying in real life as they looked in hologram, then he did not blame anyone for not wanting to fight them.

Thus far their ships had not turned towards Narn, despite their Ambassador's promise in this very room. If that did happen, what would the Kha'Ri do? He did not know, and that troubled him. They might decide to take war fully to the Shadows, but then they might prefer to leave the Alliance to its fate. The Narn Regime was not as yet a member of the Alliance, and it was uncertain if it ever would be. For the moment the two governments saw themselves as potentially useful allies, potentially dangerous enemies, and people it would be useful to keep an eye on.

"They are afraid," replied the more pragmatic Lethke. The Brakiri was Minister for the Economy, but he often seemed to take on the duty of defusing dangerous confrontations between the hot-headed Drazi and some of the others. Delenn could of course do that with ease, but she was not here. "We cannot blame them for their fears. They wish to remain neutral."

Delenn had always seemed convinced that there could be no neutrality in this war, whatever people sought. G'Kael desperately hoped she was wrong.

"They are cowards," affirmed Vizhak, Taan Churok's fellow Drazi on the Council. "But they are insignificant in the larger scheme of things. The raids continue. Have all our ships been given telepaths?"

G'Kael stiffened in his chair, and made a point of listening to this intently. For some reason telepaths were a serious threat to the Shadows, and Delenn wanted every ship in the Alliance fleet to have at least one telepath aboard. This was difficult to manage, at best. Narns had no telepaths, and the Kha'Ri dearly wanted a way to create some genetically. Rumour had it that G'Kar had been working on such a project for some time.

"Mr. Bester is dead," replied another voice, one G'Kael did not recognise. Turning, he saw a human dressed in a strange military uniform that was unfamiliar to him. "The Shadows have taken Sanctuary. Therefore there will be no telepaths from him."

Ah, yes. He knew who this was now. Major Krantz, a servant of some human individual named Bester, who was apparently high-ranking in the human telepathic organisation, the Psi Corps. He and the Alliance had had some sort of deal, but now it appeared that this Bester was dead.

Hadn't there been some scandal concerning this Major Krantz? He struggled to remember. There had been a meeting, shortly after his arrival here. Krantz had been.... detained, or arrested, or something. He had been all but forgotten in the aftermath of the battle, and no decision had been taken as to his fate. By the time the Alliance had got around to it, they had lost all contact with Bester. Krantz was therefore here by default, not a member of the Council, but pressed into serving on one of the capital ships.

An aide came forward and whispered to Lethke quietly for a few moments. The Brakiri listened intently, nodded, and rose from his chair. In the midst of another argument between Vizhak and the Abbai representative, Ambassador Kalika, about the provision of telepaths, no one noticed Lethke's departure.

They all noticed when he returned, however, a minute or so later. He tapped on the table gently for a few moments until the conversation died, and everyone looked up at him.

"I have just received a transmission from a ship approaching here," he said. "We have.... a most renowned visitor who wishes to make our acquaintance."

"We'll be at Z'ha'dum soon," the Captain said. "I'm not sure what to expect when we get there, but.... We'll have to be ready."

He looked firmly at Lyta, who met his gaze. She then seemed to recoil from it, and looked down at the table.

The Captain, Lyta and Corwin were in the ready room, a place Sheridan and Corwin knew well enough. The upgrade had virtually left this place alone, which was just as well.

"I'll do what I can," Lyta replied numbly. "But I can't hold off the entire Shadow fleet."

"You won't have to," the Captain promised her. "I don't think you'll even need to use your powers.... not if this works out right, anyway. You're more of a deterrent than anything else."

The old Lyta might have come up with a sarcastic retort to that, Corwin thought. The Lyta in front of him did not. In fact, she didn't say anything. She had changed a lot recently. She had been almost invisible for so long, ever since the Vorlon Ambassador had arrived, and then she had come along on the mission a few weeks ago. She had hardly spoken then either.

And then Corwin suddenly realised something. The Captain was so.... confident. Something just did not feel right here.

"What if we do get opposition?" Corwin asked. "I mean.... how exactly are we going to handle this? For that matter, what are we even going to do when we get there?"

"Get Delenn back," came the solemn reply.

"What? Are we just going to ask them to hand her back?"

"Something like that. Look.... David. I realise I haven't been in the driver's seat for a while, and I know you've got used to running the place while I've been.... ill. And I know that you've got too much experience to be running around as second. It doesn't matter anyway, once this is over and we get back to Kazomi Seven, you'll get your own ship to command. You've more than earned one."

"I.... thanks. Where would we get...? It doesn't matter, but...."

The Captain interrupted him. "But I need someone I can trust as my second here. This is.... important. I know it must look so selfish, threatening myself and my crew just to get my girlfriend back.... but I have to."

"I'm not criticising you. No one is. The Alliance needs Delenn. We all do."

The Captain smiled. "Yes.... we all do." He paused, then continued. "The thing is, I've got a plan. I can't explain it to anyone now. You just have to trust me. That's all I'm asking. If it goes right.... and I hope it does, we won't have to fight anyone. We'll just get Delenn back, and head to Kazomi Seven, and we'll get on with finishing the whole damned war.

"Are you with me?"

"You know I am."

The Captain visibly relaxed, nodding. "Good. Thank you, David. I'll need you.... I'll need you a great deal. Now, I'd better go off and talk to Ko'Dath. She and her Narn Bat Squad may need to be ready, just in case something does go wrong."

He left the room, and Lyta immediately followed him. Her movements were stiff and awkward, almost like a wooden puppet. Corwin looked at them both thoughtfully, then rose to his feet and followed them out.

He might not entirely know what was going on here, but he did know that the Captain was trusting him, and he was determined not to let him down.

It was dark, but then it had always been dark, and in all the many years since he had last been here, he knew that would not have changed.

Dexter Smith, former Captain of humanity's flagship and currently wanted for first degree murder (or if he wasn't yet, then he soon would be) crept into the dark tunnel, dropping down the foot or so to the floor. There had been security fencing around the building, but it had been full of holes. The authorities had obviously been relying on the 'Danger. Unstable Building. Do Not Enter.' sign to deter people coming here. Stupid, they might as well have put up a sign saying 'Fine Place For Kids to Come and Explore'.

He didn't know if the kids did come here these days. He and his brother had, frequently, and the place hadn't even been fenced off then. There had been all sorts of theories as to what this building had actually been before it had been turned into a fun place for kids to come and explore. A house that had once belonged to a serial killer. A place cursed by some alien race who had once lived here. A halfway house for the telepath underground railroad.

Smith had later found out that the building had just been a factory which had had to close down and which no one had wanted to buy. It was funny, but that had never been one of anyone's theories when they were children.

But whatever the building was now, or had been, it was also a perfect place to hide.

Here he could think, set up some plans, and find out if Trace was actually going to pressure Bo into calling this a full-fledged murder and not self-defence. He would soon find out either way.

He banged his head on the ceiling and swore to himself. Surely the place hadn't been this small last time?

He had gone straight from Bo's to his apartment, grabbing what spare clothes and loose change he could. There were still some areas of Sector 301 where it was advisable to deal with actual currency rather than a credit chip, and plenty of people only too willing to do so. He had also made sure to grab his private citizen's PPG. He had a feeling he might be needing it.

And if there was a warrant put out on him for first degree murder, what then? There were ways out of 301, he knew. Some of them might have changed now, but it was still possible he could find a way to 303, and then head up to Main Dome. He supposed he had some friends there somewhere, people from whom he could try to get help. Maybe he could even report Allan's corruption.

He chuckled dryly to himself. A wide range of airy-fairy solutions that would never get him anywhere. The powers that be in Main Dome preferred 301 this way. It was much easier to handle.

He suddenly stopped dead. Someone else was here. The basement level was dark, but there was just enough light from the cracks in the walls to make out shapes. He didn't want to waste the energy cells in his torch until he got to the sub-basement level.

He couldn't see anyone, and he couldn't hear anything, but he somehow knew that someone was here. Could it be a kid? It was possible they still came to places like this. Was it a school-day today? He then cursed that thought. As if it would matter whether it was a school-day or not. That had never stopped him.

"Who's there?" he asked softly. More than likely it was a kid, or some vagrant sleeping rough. "I'm not going to hurt you."

There was a brief surge of pain at the back of his skull, and he trembled slightly. A telepath. That ruled out most of the alternatives, and all of the nice ones.

He had a feeling he knew who this was.

Closing his eyes — more for the symbolic reassurance it gave him than anything else — he sought the void again. He had no idea what he was actually doing, it just came to him in certain situations. A residual legacy of his mother's telepathy perhaps, although she had never been very powerful.

There! He moved forward slowly. Something brushed past his arm, and he lunged out and grabbed at whoever it was. Something rolled beneath his feet and he fell, but he brought his companion down as well.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said again. "It's you, isn't it? Dammit, speak to me!"

There was a flash of light, and he looked up to see who was with him. She was holding a torch that illuminated both their faces. He looked into her eyes, and had the slight satisfaction of being right.

"So," said Talia Stoner, or Winters, or whatever name she was using. "What are you doing here?"

Emperor Londo Mollari stirred from his private vigil of contemplation only when told by one of the many people running around on this ship that they were about to come out of hyperspace. He supposed he should have gone to his personal quarters on the Barge to prepare his luggage and his aides, but he was quite happy standing here, looking at the formless, shifting nothing that was hyperspace.

So, back to Kazomi 7. He wondered just how changed the place was from the war-torn, broken ruin he had left. He wondered just how changed Delenn was.

"Almost there," he said, partly to himself, partly to Lennier. The Minbari did not reply. He had not really been expecting him to.

"Is G'Kar there already, I wonder?" The Narn had left Centauri Prime some days before Londo. He did not have the disadvantage of having to prepare all that packing and the ceremonial guard and all the other decorative bits that came with being Head of State.

On the other hand, he did have the disadvantage of having to sneak out.

"Not yet," said Lennier in his usual quiet tone. Londo had to strain to hear most of what he was saying. "He should be there by tomorrow, assuming there are no problems at Greater Krindar."

"How do you know that?" he asked, and then muttered angrily to himself. He would either not get an answer, or he would get a reply that was so vague it told him nothing. Greater Krindar.... He knew that name. Ah yes, a prominent supply station, fairly deep in non-aligned space, and on several important borders. Most of the trade to the Alliance was being filtered through there, he seemed to recall.

"G'Kar told me his plans and his itinerary," came the reply. Londo was surprised. Actual information. He was very impressed. "He wanted someone to know, so that if anything untoward happened to him we would know where to begin back-tracking."

"Ah. Very.... efficient." He wondered if G'Kar had noticed that Lennier was no longer wearing his Ranger badge.

There was a slight jolt, and Londo started, spilling his drink on the front of his tunic. He looked up, and saw hyperspace folding slightly. Somewhere towards the front of the ship, then, a jump point would be forming.

He declined to look at this wonder of light and colour and technology, and, turning away from the observation windows, he began fumbling for a cloth to wipe the stain from his tunic.

"They will insist on my wearing white, won't they? Ceremonial and traditional. Bah! Impossible to get stains out of as well. And I am sure they will all be having multiple heart attacks at the thought of the Emperor making first contact with the United Alliance in a brivare-stained tunic! Nothing gets brivare out of silk. Not a single thing. Why couldn't it be black, or at least a deep, rich purple. I always look good in purple. I...."

He suddenly became aware of a soft gasp from wherever it was in the shadows Lennier was hiding. He looked up and saw the Minbari come into view, walking towards the window. He turned, and noticed two things.

First, that they had completed the jump to normal space. Kazomi 7 was clearly in sight.

Secondly, that there was one other ship present in orbit. Well, actually there were a great many ships, but they were little things. Drazi Sunhawks, Brakiri merchant vessels. Little shuttles.

This was bigger than that. Considerably so. It was bigger than the Imperial Barge. It was bigger than the Valerius. It was bigger than both of them put together. It would be bigger than five heavy cruisers all put together. It was bigger than....

Londo stopped that train of thought, and mentally classified the thing as 'huge'. It wasn't an entirely accurate description, but it would have to do.

It was like no ship he had ever seen before, and resembled not so much a ship as a flying castle. There were turrets and towers. There was something which looked like a giant gateway. There were brief pinpricks of a luminous, golden light coming from various points on the thing.

Londo had never seen anything like it, but he had heard things.

"Valen's Name," Lennier breathed.

"Let me guess," said the Emperor, feeling thoroughly awed. "That would be Cathedral, yes?"

Four, five, six....

Delenn had not been expecting luxurious accommodation, and so she was not overly disappointed. She had been expecting a room that was more of a prison cell than a hotel suite, and so she was not surprised there either. These two unpleasant non-surprises did not in any way match up to the shock of Neroon's presence here.

Did the Vorlons know that? Had they sent her here specifically because they knew Neroon was here? How could they know that? She shook her head and walked around, trying to ease her tension. She was counting, and wishing she could remember Vejar's exact words when he had given her the device.

She had gone to him before leaving Kazomi 7, and had told him what she had to do. The others — Lyta, Lethke and John — she had left messages for. They would try to stop her if they knew, but Vejar.... He knew of the greater destiny, and he had the power to create the type of device she was looking for.

He had done so within minutes, and had handed it to her. A small globe, easily concealed within her clothing. To activate it, all she had to do was whisper a small incantation, and then, on the count of one hundred, it would explode, destroying everything in this room, this building, and most of the city.

She did not know if this was what the Vorlons had had in mind when they had ordered her to come here. All she knew was that they wanted her to die. And so, if she must die, she would at least make sure her death would achieve something. Then.... her soul would ascend to the next life, and she would wait for John to join her. She prayed for that more than anything else.

She hoped he had got her message. If he had, then he would understand.

She had told him of the sacrifice she had made for him, that he was better suited to lead in these times than she was, that she hoped they would meet again in the place where no shadows fall, and ultimately that she would always love him. It had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do.

The message to Lyta had been a little easier, the one to Lethke easier still, and Sinoval.... He would understand better than any of them. He did not love her. He did not love anyone. She doubted that he could.

But he was a perfect product of this age, of this time. He would be needed. He would pursue the war, he would help to win it, and then, if he survived and there was peace, he would fall back into the shadows, to walk only in nightmares and dreams, and die alone. People such as him were designed for war, and not peace.

She looked at the globe. It was on the table before her. It seemed to be glowing.

Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four....

One hundred. And then it would be done. The casual power of the technomages appalled her, that Vejar could create this in such a short time. It was perhaps just as well that most of them had gone away to hide. She shuddered to think of anyone wielding such power.

Had Vejar done this so quickly? A sudden thought came to her. What if he had prepared this beforehand? Had he known? How could he? She remembered something, and a chill crept up her spine. She almost lost count, and hastily resumed

Vejar had been conspicuous by his absence ever since Ulkesh had arrived at Kazomi 7. He had been avoiding the Vorlon completely.

Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight....

Delenn tried to clear her mind of these worries. Whatever the technomage's plans, she could do nothing about it here. She trusted Vejar. He had every reason to want the Shadows destroyed. She had seen him blaze with anger at the sight of what their Keepers were doing to innocent people. Vejar was young and idealistic. He cared.

Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two....

She brought her thoughts back to John. She hoped he had understood. It was a sacrifice she had made partly out of necessity, but also out of love. Her life for his. It was one she had made willingly, although with anger at having been forced into it.

Still, they had been together for one night. She clung to the memory of his touch, his kisses, his love. His wonder at being able to touch her again, to kiss her again.

She had looked down at him sleeping, and committed that image to her memory. They had never had a formal Minbari courtship. They had gone through one of the rituals, but no more. They had never truly had the sleep-watching, although they had watched each other sleep, he watching her often.

Eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety....

"It will not be long, my love," she whispered. "I will wait for you. If the universe wills it.... we will meet again."

Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three....

"I love you."

Ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six....

"Remember me."

Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine....

"Forgive me."

A single tear trickled down her cheek as she said the last number aloud.

"One hundred."

Nothing.

She looked up, startled, wondering if her count had been wrong. One hundred, that was what Vejar had said. She remembered that clearly.

One hundred.

Still nothing.

She looked at the globe. It was still glowing. She reached out to touch it, puzzled and confused, and just before she did so it split open, revealing a small image she recognised as Vejar.

Delenn, the image said formally. I hope you will forgive me my little deception, although I will understand if you do not. This never was the type of device you asked me for, although that was easily within my power to create. Alas, I fear such a death is not your destiny.... and we could not allow such a grievous defeat to come to those who dwell at Z'ha'dum. That would.... upset the balance.

If by some chance you endure this ordeal and return to Kazomi Seven, then I will understand if you wish to exact some revenge upon me for my.... for what you could perceive as my treachery. I would not blame you. I will say only that this path was forced upon me by my superiors. Lord Elric appeared before me mere minutes before you arrived with your request.

Many months ago, when you first came to us seeking our aid, my lord Elric warned you that a time would soon come when you would have to make a choice. A difficult and hard choice. I know what that choice is to be, and I do not envy you it. However, unlike my lord Elric, I have every confidence that you will choose wisely and well. I chose to remain behind in your world, Delenn, because I wished to see the one upon whom so much turned. I have been proud to know you, O Blessed Delenn, and I hope to call you friend.

Choose well, Delenn. I fear that if you do, I will never see you again, and if you do not choose well.... then I will pray never to see you again, for such a world will not be one in which I wish to live. We serve neither Vorlon nor Shadow, I and my brethren. We know both for what they are, and we recognise the need for balance.

Goodbye, Blessed Delenn. Peace be with you.

The image faded, and before her eyes the globe turned into a pile of dust.

Her heart beating hard, Delenn rose to her feet. She had understood so little of that, but she did know that the technomages would not let her inflict this injury upon the Shadows.

She went to the door, almost running. Pulling at it, she knew that it was locked.

Trapped. Trapped here, without the hope of an easy death. Trapped here.... to be made host to one of their Keepers, to be turned against her friends, to be....

She reeled across the room and fell onto the bed. It was hard and uncomfortable, and sleep was a very long time coming.

Chapter 2

Her delirium, if that was what it was, had passed, and Delenn, recently anointed the Blessed, awoke from her slumber with a clear head. She did not know how much time had passed. It was all.... difficult to judge here.

Looking around, she noticed that a bowl of water and some cloths had been placed on the table. She rose awkwardly, and stretched. Then she remembered the globe. Vejar's globe. A pile of dust on the table.

Hard to believe it had once been her hope for the future.

She closed her eyes in silent despair. They had her now. What they would do to her, she did not know. She was not sure if she truly cared. Vejar had spoken of some sort of future for her, which was why she could not die. A choice.

Another friend betrayed, if Vejar could still be called that. He had betrayed her, although on orders from another, and.... there had been no malice in his voice. No dark intentions.... just shepherding her towards a destiny.

Angrily she shoved the bowl from the table, and water splashed across the floor. She was not a puppet or a toy, to be pushed this way and that! The Vorlons, and now the technomages, they all seemed to want something from her. But what?

It was times like this she wished she were Sinoval. To be always so sure.... He had denied his destiny and dared to forge his own path. She wished she possessed the ruthlessness for something like that, but she did not feel she could have walked as alone as he did. She had friends, people she cared for dearly.... and that thought had sheltered her greatly. She had John....

She had Lyta. Delenn closed her eyes and tried to reach out to her friend. A.... a sort of bond existed between them. A legacy from their both having been host to Kosh. She had used that bond once before to get word to John, to call for his aid. Could it work now?

She concentrated long and hard, but eventually she gave up. She could feel nothing. She was not a telepath, after all. Perhaps Lyta was just too far away. Perhaps Z'ha'dum was blocked from such signals.

Perhaps the Vorlons did not want Lyta to receive any such message.

That thought struck Delenn with a chill to her spine. The Vorlons had sent her here after all. Sent her here to die. They would not want her friends coming to her rescue, would they?

She shook her head sadly, and prayed that Lyta had received her message. She had tried to explain just how much of a friend the red-haired telepath had been. She was one of the few humans who had accepted her without reservation.

Delenn stepped over the discarded bowl and walked to the door, pushing at it gently. It was still locked. Evidently they were still deciding what to do with her. She did not want to speculate on what their options were.

She returned to her bed, and tried to meditate.

It had been a while since Londo had last seen Lethke, and he had to admit the last few years had seen the Brakiri well. He looked considerably cleaner and smarter than the last time, although not noticeably happier.

"We would have brought out the full presentation band for you, Emperor Mollari," he said dryly. "However, as you can see.... we have been a little.... occupied here."

"I did see indeed. Was that really Cathedral out there?"

"No," said Lethke smoothly. "It was an entirely different millennia-old flying fortress packed full of demons and ghosts and monsters." He smiled. "Or am I not allowed to jest with you now that you have risen so far?"

"Jest all you like, old friend," Londo said, smiling slightly. He had missed Lethke's dry wit. "I am glad someone can see me and not this costume. Whoever thought white was an appropriate colour for the Emperor, hmm? Purple.... now that I could.... Ah." He waved his hand in disgust. "Babbling again. Ignore me. So, is.... he here?"

"Primarch Sinoval? Yes, he is here. I have met him once before, of course. An.... unsettling man, to be sure, but an interesting one. He has asked to meet you."

"Really? I suppose I should be honoured. Is G'Kar here?" Londo was relieved when Lethke nodded.

"He arrived yesterday. He has not yet made any report to the Council as to his activities, but he has been in seclusion with his.... Ranger associates. He is also aware that you are here."

"Good. Yes.... I am glad he got here safely. I wish I knew how he managed to sneak into the Imperial Palace, but I am sure he has his.... ways. So, Lethke.... where is Delenn? It has been a while."

The Brakiri's face fell. "You have not heard?" he whispered.

"Heard what? We've had next to no news from here recently.... and I've been travelling the last few days. Has something happened to her? Her.... her transformation, it has not relapsed?"

"No. It is worse than that. The Shadows have her. One of their.... agents. She is.... in their hands now."

"Great Maker," Londo breathed. "Is she.... alive?"

"We do not know. Sheridan has gone to their world to find her, but.... I do not see how he can return. Nothing has been right since she was taken, but we do what we can. An alliance with the Centauri Republic would serve us well."

"I did not come here to bind my people up in your wars, Lethke," Londo replied, a little more firmly than he had intended. His thoughts were on Delenn. A prisoner of the Shadows.... Great Maker! "I came here to speak of peace. The Narns have a representative here?"

"Yes. An Ambassador, by the name of G'Kael. A quiet fellow, for a Narn."

"Which would put him just a little louder than the entire Centarum put together," Londo observed. "I would like a meeting arranged with him, and with G'Kar. We need peace.... and badly."

"I agree. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar has been informed that you are here. Allow me to escort you to your quarters, and the chambers we have set aside for you and your entourage. You may if you wish make a presentation before the Council at any time today. We have...." He smiled ruefully. "We have much to talk about these days, but little actually to do."

"Good. I would like to talk with G'Kar, and with this.... G'Kael. Then.... discussions regarding an Ambassador to be posted here. I have.... a few candidates. Mostly people I want to be rid of and burden onto you, but we need not tell the others that, need we? Trade pacts, treaties of neutrality.... all those things I will be happy to discuss.

"But we will not join your war, Lethke. The Centauri have suffered enough already."

Lethke bowed. "I accept your wishes, Londo. But if G'Kar and Delenn and the Vorlons are right.... then there can be no staying out of this war. It will come to you, if you do not go to it."

"He speaks right," said a new voice, one Londo had not heard before. A voice filled with the timbre of authority, a voice used to leading, a voice that could rattle buildings, and stir souls, and instil the fear of all things dark into a craven heart.

A Minbari was standing at the entrance to this small audience chamber. The area should of course have been cordoned off and well-protected by the security forces, but Londo would not have been surprised if they had just stepped aside and let him past.

He was tall and standing proud, in black warrior garb with a strange badge on his chest. A compacted pike hung from his belt, and traces of silver shone from the black tops of his boots. It was his eyes that caught Londo most of all — dark and piercing, they seemed to be studying him intently, seeing through the flesh to his very soul. Which, given who this man was, did not seem impossible.

"Londo Mollari," Londo said, introducing himself and stepping forward. He held his hands out, palms raised upwards in the traditional greeting of Centauri nobles. "Emperor of the Centauri Republic, Guardian of Centauri Prime, Light of the Fourth Something and various other pointless titles."

The Minbari stepped forward and clasped Londo's wrists. He knew the greeting, then. Londo was impressed. "I am Sinoval." That was it. That was all he needed, really.

Londo stepped back and glanced at Lethke. "This is an impressive gathering you have here, Lethke. Several of the most powerful people in the galaxy." He looked back to Sinoval. "Why have you come here? Treaties and pacts and all the other rigmarole of diplomacy?"

"No," came a simple response. "There are things I need to say to the Council.... to others. Warnings, prophecies even."

A chill gripped Londo's chest at the mention of the word 'prophecy'. "Ah. How well were your warnings received?"

"I have not spoken to them yet. I was waiting."

"Waiting? What for?" Londo had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew the answer.

"You." Londo cursed inwardly. Perhaps Timov was right. He was turning into a prophet. He hadn't thought he had the figure to be a Seeress.

"Well. Now, I am here."

Sinoval smiled, a strange gesture that looked unnatural on him. "You and Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar are invited to visit Cathedral at your convenience. There is someone there you must meet, and something you must see. Then I think you will understand more."

Sinoval inclined his head in a slight bow, then turned and left.

"There," Londo said after a short pause, "is a very scary person."

"He has changed since last I saw him," Lethke observed. "I cannot explain it, but.... No, it is nothing. These times.... cast a gloom over me. Come, Londo. I will show you and your staff and your bodyguards and our bodyguards to your chambers, and you can regale me with all the goings-on at the Royal Court these days."

"You may regret that offer," Londo replied in jest, but his hearts were not really up for jokes. Neither was Lethke's.

"Lemme guess," drawled Sector 301's Security Chief Zack Allan in his I-really-could-be-doing-something-so-much-more-interesting-than-this tone of voice. "Cause of death: knife wound to the neck."

"Well, the forensic guys are going to take a while to get back to us," replied Jack, his second. "But it looks like it."

"Yeah. I could tell that, you see.... thanks to all the various subtle hints and clues and intuitions you get when you've been doing this job long enough. You see, I spot things that some other people might miss. For example, the stiff had a big, sharp knife stuck in his neck, and he was dead. Therefore, cause of death."

"Dunno how you do it, Chief," replied Jack. "Puts the rest of us to shame."

"Well, gotta be good at something." Zack looked up and made a cursory visual inspection of the bar. He was bored. Very bored. Time was when a murder would at least have piqued his interest for a while, but there was no real detective work to do here. There rarely was, at least not in the Pit. Maybe in some of the upper sectors you could get those interesting locked room mysteries with a million suspects and some brilliant amateur sleuth who'd step in and lend a hand, but down here in 301, there usually wasn't a lot of doubt. When one drunk person sliced open another drunk person in broad daylight in front of like six zillion witnesses, there was only so much you could do to drag the case out until teatime.

Which looked like the case here. Well, there were two witnesses, rather than a zillion, and Zack had a feeling neither suspect nor stiff had been especially drunk, but it was pretty damned obvious who was guilty.

If he didn't know better, he'd assume Mr. Trace had either set this up, or sent his man to kill Smith and it had simply gone wrong, but Zack did know better. As a result he was buying the 'unprovoked attack' theory put across by the barman.

"He just.... he just went mad," the barman was saying, for the umpteenth time. What was his name? Zack had forgotten. Oh, it couldn't have been important. The Ombuds down here didn't worry so much about evidence or due process or reliable testimony or whatever. They just did what Mr. Trace said and then went home early to watch the vids.

Zack could relate.

"He just started punching him, punching and punching. He broke a chair on Mr. Drake's back. And then.... oh, my God.... he got out a knife, and...."

Zack stopped listening. Yeah, yeah. They got the picture already. Sheesh. Someone just take a statement and get on with it. The body had been removed by the forensics guys, who had then proceeded to check for.... whatever stuff it was they checked for. They had spent the whole time arguing about who was sexier: some blonde woman on some soap opera, or some other blonde woman on some other soap opera. Finally, the guys had amicably agreed to differ.

Real co-operation. Understanding each other's differences. Maybe there was hope for the Pit yet.

Yeah, right.

"What do you think, Allan?"

Zack turned and saw Mr. Trace standing next to him. His hands were in his trouser pockets, and he was looking around with an expression that might have been sadness, or might have been disgust. Probably both.

"Well, the story is, the suspect.... this Dexter Smith guy.... just snapped, and attacked Drake. Beat him up, slapped him a couple of times, at least once with a chair, and then drove a knife into his neck."

Trace nodded, knowing as well as Zack did that that was all rubbish. Sure, Smith looked a fairly hard guy, but Drake was big, and very mean. No way would he have gone down that easily. Besides, judging from the position the body had been in....

"What do you think set him off?"

"Hard to tell," Zack replied, scratching at his ear. "The suspect had been drinking. Not too much according to the barman, but you know how it is with some people. One glass and they're ready to take on the whole world. Maybe drugs or something. Could have been some psychiatric thing. That.... what is it.... Minbari War Syndrome."

"I heard Smith quit Earthforce because of some combat stress problem."

"Yeah, that could be it."

"Could be." Trace shook his head. "A sad day. Drake was a good man. A damned good man."

"Have you told his missus yet?"

"Just on my way round now. I wanted to see what you'd found out first. You are going to find this guy, aren't you, Allan?"

"No problem. We'll get him."

"Good. You're a good man, Allan. I know I can rely on you."

Trace slapped him gently on the back, then turned and left. Zack looked around for a while and then left to get something to eat.

In one sense it was all completely irrational. Ambassador David Sheridan had spent all his life meeting and mixing with aliens. He had done business adjudicating the fates of empires with people he wouldn't trust to clean his shoes. He had made speeches of undying friendship to people he knew were just waiting to stab him in the back.

Throughout his entire career he had never let personal dislike get in the way of the necessity of his work. The needs of his people were more important than personal feelings.

Until now.

It was Delenn. He just couldn't seem to think straight concerning her. Of course he had plenty of rational reasons for disliking her — leaving aside the issue of what she had done to Earth, there was the way she had seduced John, caused him to betray his Government and led him to a deathbed on some alien world.

On the other hand, he had always been able to concentrate on the greater good before.

The Shadows themselves had discussed her presence here, and they had left the matter entirely up to him. They were sure that she carried nothing, either on her person or in her ship, that could pose a threat. There were no explosive devices, no long-range tracking signals, or spy cameras or whatever other interesting technology the Vorlons could have come up with. They had no fears about anyone mounting any sort of rescue attempt. Z'ha'dum was well protected, they would have ample warning of any oncoming fleet, nothing less than the entire complement of the Vorlon fleet would pose a threat in any case, and for some reason the Shadows seemed convinced that would not happen.

So, the Shadows had given him three options: kill her here and now, give her a Keeper and send her home, or take her to Proxima for trial.

The second, Ambassador Sheridan had dismissed out of hand. It was a fine idea, but the Alliance had that damned technomage, and he would definitely be looking for a Keeper. As Delenn's only real power base was Kazomi 7 it would be pointless sending her anywhere else. She had no influence in the Minbari Federation any more, and besides.... Sinoval was being kept well in hand.

Sheridan had contemplated trying to turn her without the aid of a Keeper. It had worked with Parlonn a thousand years ago, and with Neroon recently. They were both warrior caste however, and something within them appealed more to the whole ethos of 'survival of the fittest' and 'growth through chaos'. Delenn had had too much indoctrination from the Vorlons for that to work without some major genetic modification, and the technomage would spot that as well.

So: kill her now, or take her home for trial.

From a purely personal viewpoint, he just wanted her dead. He was sick of her and her whole infernal race. John would be gone by now, his last days spent trapped in wires and tubes and machinery in the company of aliens. Delenn had done that to him. Just kill her and be done with it.

But.... the greater good. At Proxima she could be put on trial, public trial for her war crimes. Clark would receive an even greater boost in popularity. It would show the public yet again the benefits of their alliance with the Shadows. A boost in public confidence, another victory in a propaganda war. It would also be a vital stepping stone for the next stage in the rebirth of humanity: war with the Alliance.

He rubbed at his eyes wearily. He was tired, and he couldn't think. He had been putting the good of humanity above his own desires all his life. Surely he was entitled to one act of selfishness now?

She had killed his son. She had killed his daughter, and his grandchildren, and she had been responsible for the death of his wife. Everyone he had ever loved had been lost to her.

He sipped at his tea, and realised it had long since gone cold. He sighed. A man was not meant to outlive his children, least of all his grandchildren. That was.... not the way of things.

But the good of humanity. Surely that was worth more? Humanity could benefit from this far more than just his desire to put her down here and now.

Why had she come? What benefit had she hoped to gain from this little stratagem?

He looked up, hoping to ask Neroon. He knew her better than most after all. There was no sign of him. The Minbari was gone.

Sighing, Ambassador Sheridan prepared another cup of tea. He was thinking about Proxima.

Londo's quarters were.... adequate. Surprisingly so, given the state the whole of Kazomi 7 had been in the last time he had been here.

The room was comfortable, large enough for his purposes, possessed all the amenities a visiting dignitary might need, near enough to the main Council chambers, and with a quite stunning view of the city, which seemed so much more alive since he had last been here.

Which meant, of course, that all his retainers hated the place.

"Quite inadequate," blustered one. "Too small," said another. "Security provisions are worthless." "Barbarian little cultures.... they have no idea how to treat a civilised ruler."

Londo listened to all this with a smile. Things felt almost normal. He considered letting all the courtiers know that the rooms were fine, but then they would only find something else to complain about.

He was looking out at the city. The suns were shining. He could see children running and playing. There was a shrine he could just make out. It seemed wonderfully.... peaceful. He made a mental note to ask Lethke what it was.

Everything was so different. He had last seen this place over a year and a half ago, and then it had been a bombed-out wreck, haunted by monsters and ghosts and demons. He had fled through those streets in mortal peril of his life. Lennier had left some vital part of his soul behind. Delenn had nearly died here.

Delenn....

Londo wondered what had happened to her. More than anything else, more so even than G'Kar, she had a talent for making the most convoluted problem seem so wonderfully simple. She possessed a good heart, and a shining soul. He could see that as he looked around him. Everything in the city bore her touch.

And now she was gone. Perhaps never to return.

"I trust the rooms are to your satisfaction?" said a familiar voice.

Londo turned around with a start, and then he noticed who it was. "Gah! G'Kar, do not do that to me! I am an old man. My hearts are not in the best of shape, least of all after the rigours of the last few.... well, years. Great Maker!" He began to breathe harder. "A wonderful sight, isn't it?"

"A miracle," came the reply. "A triumph of hope over despair."

"We have Delenn to thank for it."

G'Kar nodded, stepping out on to the balcony. "Indeed we do."

"You have heard, then? Ah.... are there any plans for a rescue?"

"I have as many of my Rangers as can be spared out gathering information, but they are stretched very thin. Of course, Captain Sheridan has gone to try to rescue her. I fear he may simply be throwing his life away in a foolish quest for revenge."

"How does it look out there? The galaxy, I mean. I have not been seeing as much since I took on that damned uncomfortable chair. We have been.... considerably out of touch for a long time."

"Tense. The Shadows have been moving at last, attacking Drazi and Brakiri territories. They have not moved against the Alliance directly.... yet. The Minbari.... well, they are completely falling apart . There are rumours of a civil war, even. One of their major colonies was attacked a few months ago, at the same time as.... the Battle at Epsilon Three. We have had no word from any of the prominent Minbari leaders except Delenn."

"Sinoval is here. Have you seen him?"

"No, but I knew he was here. He has requested a private appointment with me later." G'Kar shook his head sadly. "He is a very different person from the one I met at Babylon Four. Something has claimed him. He was interested in peace and unity then, but now.... I cannot be sure.

"And of course, our two races are at each other's throats.... again."

"That will end, G'Kar. And soon. I promise you. I have made approaches to your representative here.... G'Kael. He will contact his Government, and we will begin peace negotiations. The Alliance should support me in this. Both of us have lost too many to this war."

"Do you think you can get past all those who desire war? Those who cannot see beyond the cycle of hatred?"

Londo sighed, and leant on the balcony wall, looking out across the city again. "Can you, G'Kar?"

There was a long silence. "It is not easy. It never will be. For.... years we have hated your race for what you did to us, and that hatred corrupted us. I fear we now fight simply because we do not know how to stop.... but.... yes. For the good of my people, and in memory of the few good Centauri I have ever met.... I can see beyond hatred, to the needs of peace."

"I sometimes wonder if you are not right in your opinion of us. I am Centauri. I am proud of my people, and of my Republic.... but Great Maker! How much of it was built on blood? My ascension saw me swimming in it.... and I reached the throne only thanks to the machinations of a madman who would rather see everything destroyed than reach out his hand in a plea for help.

"Still.... I have seen too many of my people die not to want to end this now. There will be peace, no matter what must be given away to secure it." A faint smile touched his face. "We won't give up the homeworld, though."

"We won't give up ours," replied G'Kar, with solemnity.

Londo laughed. "We don't want it. I have never been there, but I have heard things from those who have. Hot, dry, dusty.... the air so thick you cannot breathe it...."

"Yes, Majesty. We do apologise. We should have designed our world so that you would find it more amenable."

"Hah! Humour from a Narn. Will true wonders never cease?"

"Probably not."

"Well.... I do not know about your lot, but I think I can get my army to see reason. Marrago is the Lord-General again. He is a good man, a good friend, and his soldiers almost worship him. As long as our worlds are protected he will agree to an accord, and if he does, so will his men. Of course, after the recent battle at the homeworld.... it may be harder to convince some people that we need peace. There have been cries in the Court that we should.... hah, listen to this.... sweep you all before us, and take over your homeworld. As if we were not ready to fall entirely not two months ago."

"Your victory, Mollari. It was a little.... easy, was it not?"

"Easy? I suppose. What are you getting at?"

"There were rumours in your Court.... Rumours I heard while I was there. Some of your soldiers seemed to think the battle was not won by them alone. Some seemed to say the battle was not even a victory.... but a massacre. Did events fit with your generals' assessments of how the battle would turn out?"

"No," Londo admitted. "They were predicting a bloody stand-off.... but so what if things were a little easier than that? Perhaps Marrago was merely being pessimistic. And rumours.... in the Royal Court! Bah! I would bet you a ducat to a duck that not one hundredth of them are true."

"Warleader G'Sten testified before the Kha'Ri upon his return. I managed to gain access to the report yesterday. He claimed that an alien fleet came out of nowhere and wiped out his ships. He claimed your ships did not even fire once."

"The lies of a defeated general trying to pass the blame elsewhere!"

"G'Sten is my uncle. If he says there was alien assistance.... then I believe him."

"Him over me? Who were these aliens he claimed to see? Great big flying cows? How about a herd of spoo descending from the heavens?"

"He did not see." The Narn was maintaining his calm equanimity before Londo's aggression. That only made Londo all the angrier. "His sensors could not track them clearly."

"Hah! So there are no records. He is lying, G'Kar. I know nothing about any.... mysterious alien allies come to our aid. I wish I could say I did. We need all the help we can get. But no.... I am convinced that our fleet acted alone, and yours was simply overconfident."

"I fear you blind yourself to the truth, Mollari.... but I hope you are right. I must go now. I am expecting a report from an agent in the Kha'Ri soon. I had never realised how much I would miss the Great Machine. There were times when being unable to touch, to eat, to drink.... times when I missed them all. But without it, we are all but blind and deaf in the galaxy.

"I will talk to you tomorrow, Mollari."

"Goodbye, G'Kar." Londo was still looking out across the city. He did not turn round as his friend left.

"Something's wrong."

"Well, of course something's wrong." Commander David Corwin watched as Lyta Alexander absently brushed back a lock of her hair. "The Shadows got an agent on to Kazomi Seven, kidnapped Delenn, and got her to their homeworld without anyone noticing. I think that's a fairly accurate description of something being wrong."

"That's not what I meant," he said, sighing, wondering just why he was here. He and Lyta had never really got along very well. There had been flashes of empathy over the years since she had come aboard to serve as the ship's telepath, but for the most part the two had had as little to do with each other as possible.

Still, who else was there? There had been a time when he could have confided in the Captain about everything. They had served together ever since the Battle of Mars, half a lifetime ago. But that had been before his injuries.

Corwin had not been able to take his problems or his suspicions to the Captain during his time in hospital, and.... there was just something about him now. He had obviously gone through a great deal, near-death only to be miraculously cured and have the woman he loved captured by his sworn enemies all on the same night.... It was no wonder he was distracted.

So, who else was there for him to talk to? Mary was gone. Michael was gone. He had never really had many other friends, always content with the few he had. Now most of them had gone, and he was alone.

"It's just...." he said again, struggling to find the right words. "Something just feels wrong."

"So you said."

"You know what I mean," he snapped, then immediately regretted it. "Why are we going to Z'ha'dum alone? We won't be able to fight our way through a Shadow fleet if there is one there. What does the Captain hope to do?"

"He loves Delenn, and she's a prisoner there. I think he's more than willing to fight his way through."

"And sacrifice this whole ship? I.... like Delenn as well. Oh, did I really just say that? Okay, she's Minbari, yes, and she's done a lot I can never forgive her for, but I can see that she and the Captain are in love, and he used to be happy when he was with her, and it's hardly for me to judge. But I can't think the Captain means to throw away this ship and everyone on it for a futile chance to rescue her.

"In fact," he continued after a pause. "I know he isn't. I've seen him angry before, and this isn't it. He doesn't want to rampage through every Shadow ship between here and Delenn. If he did, he'd at least give us a briefing on tactics, have some sort of strategy prepared. As it is.... I don't know what he's going to do when he gets to Z'ha'dum, other than pray for a miracle. Let me tell you, I've seen enough miracles happen around him, but spending every engagement praying for one isn't exactly my idea of a stress-free lifestyle."

Lyta raised an eyebrow. "You want a stress-free lifestyle? You, whom I happen to know hasn't spent a night off this ship ever since Epsilon?"

"I've had nowhere to go to but here."

She sighed. "I don't know Captain Sheridan as well as you do, but he has been through a great deal. He was in a coma for a long time, and paralysed for months. Things like that.... change someone. And then with Delenn...." She closed her eyes. "I wish I could sense her."

"You think something's wrong as well."

She shook her head. "Nothing, just headaches, bad dreams. Delenn and I have.... well, I don't think there is a word for it. An empathic connection of some kind. I can usually.... sense what she's feeling, maybe even where she is. She can do the same for me. It hasn't always been fun, let me tell you. For someone so strait-laced and innocent, you wouldn't believe some of the dreams she's been...." Corwin looked at her, and Lyta coughed.

"Well," she continued, somewhat embarrassed. "I haven't been able to sense anything. It's as if our link was just.... cut off. I'm worried."

And that's not all, she thought, casting her mind to suspicions carried but not shared, to words she could not voice. To a meeting with Ulkesh. He had ordered her to come here. The last time she had come on a mission with Corwin, Ulkesh had been furious on her return. This time he had not refused her request to go. He had actually ordered her to go.

But she could not tell Corwin that. She just couldn't.

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," she said lamely.

"I wish I could believe you."

Yes. So do I.

"You've come down in the world a bit, haven't you?" Talia said, sitting down.

"Look who's talking." Smith sat down opposite her. She had obviously been here for a few days. There was a makeshift sleeping area, and a small portable comm unit.

She shrugged. The shadows cast by the dim torchlight made her seem harsher than she actually was. "I've been in worse. I've been in better, too. But.... this is the sort of place my job takes me."

"Your job. Yes.... professional saboteur?"

"You know that's not fair," she snapped. "Certain.... very powerful people wanted the war with the Minbari.... delayed, if not stopped. I was placed on the Babylon to try to accomplish that. I wasn't going to hurt anyone."

"Oh. You had a conscience?"

"Not really. It just wasn't part of my job."

"So, what job brought you here?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Don't then." He sat back, and sighed. "You know you won't get out of Sector Three-o-one without my help, don't you?"

"There are ways."

"They obviously haven't worked, or you wouldn't still be here. I managed to overhear a warning announcement that you were wanted for.... what was it? Treason against the Government, I remember, and that you were armed and dangerous." He smiled. "That last is certainly the truth."

"Thanks," she replied dryly. "So what are you here for?"

"I got a little too close to someone who really doesn't like to be crossed. One of his men attacked me in a bar, we fought.... I ended up killing him."

"Ah.... That someone.... it wouldn't be a Mr. Trace, would it?"

"Now, I know you weren't reading my mind. I'd have felt it. Lucky guess?"

"More or less. I had a run-in with him as well. He's got my partner. He's.... involved with something very serious, very high-ranking."

"He's got high-ranking friends in Main Dome, I know that."

"I'd place a bet on IPX. We were investigating them when he jumped us."

"So what are IPX up to?"

She frowned. "I don't know exactly, but our people are involved."

"Our people?"

"Telepaths. You're one, too. Don't try to deny it."

"My mother was a telepath. I'm not. I can't read minds. I just.... get certain hunches from time to time. And I can tell when someone's trying to read my mind. A bit of other stuff. I'm no telepath."

"That's enough to make you one of us. We can help you."

"Yeah?" he snapped. "I saw how you tried to help my mother. I'll pass, thanks."

She shrugged. "Time was, you wouldn't have had an option. Oh well. Why are you here?"

"It's a good place to hide and lie low, until I figure whether Security really are going to be after me."

"Not what I meant, sorry. Why are you taking on Trace? I was sent here, and he's hurting people like us. I have to protect them. But why you? For that matter, why are you even in Sector Three-o-one? Was there nowhere else you could have gone?"

"No, there were plenty of places I could have gone after I left Earthforce. Job offers left, right and centre. I couldn't take them, though. I couldn't be their fabled hero. Because it was all a lie. I saw too much, did too much. I've been a soldier almost all my life, and.... it was the wrong choice, I think. I spent all the war trying to live up to another man, and I couldn't.

"So I came back here. It was my home once.... of a sort. Not much has changed, to be honest. But Trace is abusing these people here. Most of them don't have a choice about living here. No one cares. No one looks after them. Security's corrupt, Trace owns all the local politicians and councillors.

"Someone has to do something."

"A regular philanthropist."

"Not really. I've spent over a year and a half trying to save the world and protect the galaxy. I'm not the right person to do that. Ah, but here.... small victories are every bit as important as big ones. I might not be able to save Proxima, but perhaps I can save the Pit."

She leant forward, her eyes shining. "I've been toying with a couple of ideas recently," she said. "I could use some help, though."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Trace. I find out what he's up to with IPX. You find some way to expose the corruption and help the people here."

"So, you're willing to work with me, instead of beating me up?"

She shrugged. "One of the first lessons I learned from the Corps was knowing when to ask for help."

"Fine. I'll admit I could use some. So, what did you have in mind?"

She told him.

No matter how fast she ran, they seemed to be gaining on her.

Her breath was searing her throat, her lungs were burning, her legs weakening. Only sheer terror kept her going.

"You promised me I'd be safe," she gasped, hoarse. She looked up and saw him there. He had promised her, all those years ago.

"What do you want?" he had asked her. "To be safe," she had replied.

They were just behind her now. They had a syringe. She knew what was in it. It was the sleepers. They would inject her with it, and her soul would die and she would become nothing more than a zombie. She had seen it happen to her mother.

She tripped and fell. As she tried to scramble to her feet, she saw him standing there. "You promised I'd be safe!" she cried.

"We don't need to keep our promises to such as you," replied Ambassador David Sheridan. "You failed us. They can take you now." He turned and walked away.

"No!" she cried. "You promised...."

They were there. Huge figures, massively taller than her. Their faces were twisted and monstrous, leering at her. They all held the syringes in their gloved hands. The badges on their chests seemed to glow at her.

"Let me," said another voice, and she cried out. It was her. Lyta Alexander. She had.... burned her mind. She had been there when Marcus had died. Marcus had loved her.

"Help me!" she cried, tears in her eyes. "You promised I'd be safe! Marcus, help me!"

"Marcus can't help you," said Lyta. "He's with me now. You killed him, remember."

"No! I didn't mean to."

"But you did. He doesn't love you any more. He's with me."

"Help me!" she cried again. "Someone help me!"

There was a brilliant flash of light, bright and dazzling. All the Psi Cops screamed and turned away. Lyta hissed, and fell. An instant later, they were all gone.

"Who are you?" said a voice she did not recognise. "What do you want?" She stiffened as she heard that question. "Why are you here? Why did you seek me out?"

"Who are you?" she asked softly.

"A friend," said the voice. It sounded.... old, and full of wisdom. It reminded her of her great-grandfather, who had died when she was a little girl. He had known everything, in her childish eyes. This voice sounded so much like him. "I heard your pain. You have been here before, haven't you? I.... remember."

"I'm Susan," she said softly.

"Yes," the voice said with satisfaction. "Of course you are. You are not of them, are you?"

"Them?"

"The Shadows."

"No. I don't think so. I used to be, but...."

"Ah. I see. Come and find me, Susan. Bring your friends. There are others here who have bad dreams. Dreams are the wishes our souls make when we are dead to the world. They are.... images of things long lost, and things never to be, and things we fear. I have seen all their dreams.

"Bring them to me. It will be good to have someone to speak to, after so long."

"Where are you?"

"I am here. You will know where to go."

"But...."

The dream ended, and Susan woke up. After shaking away the cold dust of her slumber, she suddenly realised she knew two things. First, that Lyta Alexander was coming to Z'ha'dum, and second, that she should go and talk to Delenn.

Mr. Trace was, generally speaking, a contented man. Life was good for him at the moment. He had a thriving business, very powerful friends, women throwing themselves at him, a file of all sorts of information that could prove valuable, and more money than most people could even dream of.

His earliest memory was a realisation, one day when he had been about five or so. He had looked around at the adults around him, the children who were his friends, the rundown buildings, the sheer lack of hope in everyone's eyes, and had completely understood just how stupid they all were. They lived in Sector 301, and it destroyed them. It had sucked away all their dreams, all their hopes, all their futile aspirations to be someone. They had come here, and they would never leave.

Trace had made himself two promises: first, that he would leave Sector 301, and second, that he would return, when he was powerful enough to own it.

He had been told it was possible to escape the Pit legitimately, but then he had been told it was possible to win the New Vegas lottery as well. He didn't know anyone who'd done either, and the odds of both were about the same. He had therefore set about escaping illegitimately.

Proxima was a long way from Earth, but some of the old creeds still lived here. The old gangs, the old cultures, the old ways. Mafia, Triad, Yakuza.... and others. The Thieves' Guild had a few representatives here, but Trace disliked all aliens intensely. No, better to stick with those he knew.

He had joined a small Mafia family at the age of thirteen, running errands, performing minor tasks, and proving surprisingly adept at mixing drinks. Under their tutelage he managed to get away from the Pit and up-sector. By the time the headman's only son was killed in a skirmish with some Yakuza, Trace had managed to get close to him, close enough to be named his heir.

The fall of Earth, the collapse of Orion and a bloody and brutal gang war that wiped out almost all the Yakuza and the Mafia, left him with almost everything he needed. He looked at Sector 301, he saw all the vulnerable, tired and scared people flocking there, and he smiled.

They were so stupid. None of them would ever escape, not one. He could capitalise on their lost dreams and broken hopes.

The first step of course was the legitimate return. So, he opened up a club. It was just close enough to the border with Sector 303 to be considered vaguely 'respectable'. All the money that had come into his hands with the collapse of the Mafia went on buying certain people. The entire Government was in chaos for years after Orion, and the security force in the Pit had been corrupt anyway. A few people had taken exception to Trace moving in on their territory, but examples had soon been made of them. They were all small fry anyway. Pathetically small.

It could all have come to nothing, however, without a very fortunate and surprising call that had come to him in his club one day.

His association with his mystery backer was based on a number of deals. The backer would provide him with enough money, influence and respectability to get whatever he wanted. He would provide the backer with as many telepaths as he could find, or at least news of their whereabouts. Trace would be protected from just about anyone who could threaten him, and he would make no effort to discover what happened to the telepaths once they left 301.

The arrangement had been working nicely for almost five years now. Trace had from time to time wondered just what his backer wanted with all those telepaths. He had some theories, but nothing he was sure of. To be honest, he did not really care. He knew who his backer was, and he was capable of throwing around enough money and power to buy out half of Proxima.

Trace was so close to getting what he had always wanted: respectability. He had been sounding people out about running for the Senate at the next election. There were rumours from Main Dome that the Wartime Emergency Provisions were to be relaxed, enough to start holding elections again. The local sector councils would be first. Within six months, he was betting. He could get a fair few people on there, he was sure. After that, the Senate election would follow. A year at most, he was certain.

And after that, well.... with his backer's assistance, would President Trace be too much to wish for?

A fine dream. All it took to rise in the world was perseverance, and a recognition of the sheer stupidity of others. Well, and luck, but someone or other — had it been Napoleon? — had said that everyone gets luck, both good and bad. It's the great people who know how to use it.

Trace liked the sound of that.

He reviewed the expected guests for tonight. An aide to Senator Macabee was rumoured to be bringing his new girlfriend, a couple of middle-placed execs at ISN and the first team of the Proxima Swashbucklers were meant to be along. Trace smiled, and made a mental note to let the bar staff know their drinks were on the house. He actually owned twelve percent of the Swashbucklers, and he was fairly certain of getting another ten percent or so within a few months. He'd have a majority shareholding before the end of the year.

Owner of a successful baseball team, huh? He chuckled, wondering what all his childhood friends would say if they could see him now. They'd probably curse at his luck, and say they could have made it out as well, but they'd been unlucky.

Some people never learned.

Trace headed out of his office and set off for the bar. You never knew when someone would pop in a little early, and he always liked mingling with the guests.

There were going to be two guests coming that night he had certainly not been expecting. But then, Dexter Smith and Talia Winters hadn't put their names down on the guest list.

Delenn had lost track of time. It did not seem to work quite the same way here. Of course, she remembered from her previous experiences as a prisoner that keeping track of time was difficult. It was easier to keep prisoners disoriented and uncertain.

They obviously still had not decided what to do with her. She did not really blame them. She wondered what was happening in the Alliance. They would not try to rescue her; she had made that completely clear in her message to Lethke. That had been when she thought she was going to die. How was she to know that Vejar would betray her like that?

Of course in his eyes it was not a betrayal. It was an important decision taking precedence over personal feelings. Delenn had done the opposite, putting her personal feelings before the good of the many.

No! The Alliance needed John more than it needed her. He was a warrior, a soldier, a leader of men. This was a time for warriors, not healers. Sinoval knew that. John knew that.

The Alliance could hold without her. She had made sure of that. Her message to Lethke had explained everything, all her plans for the furtherance of the Alliance, for the political and diplomatic aims she had been pursuing. She trusted him.

Her mind kept returning to the question she was afraid to ask. What would they do to her? She was thinking about Proxima, if the Shadows let Ambassador Sheridan have that much influence in the decision. A trial there for war crimes, a return to the prison from which John had freed her....

The door opened and she looked up, expecting Ambassador Sheridan, or her next meal. She was wrong on both counts.

"Delenn," said a familiar voice, one she had not heard for years. She rose to her feet, trembling slightly.

"We have a great deal to discuss," said Neroon.

At that same moment, above both their heads, the space around Z'ha'dum opened and the Babylon came into view.

"So that's Z'ha'dum," muttered Corwin to himself. "It doesn't look like much. There don't seem to be any Shadow vessels here."

"They're here," said the Captain. "They're here."

"So, what do we do now?"

The Captain was silent.

Chapter 3

Delenn of Mir, now the leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, had been blessed with the love of five men during her life.

The first had been her father, who had passed from this world a few years after the fall of Earth and the Battle of Mars. He had been unable to reconcile his beliefs with the terrible consequences of the war to which his daughter had committed their people.

The second had been Dukhat, her teacher and mentor. It was he who had recognised the flame of destiny in her, and had nourished and nurtured it, raising her to the position she had been born to hold. If he could have realised the horror that would result from that choice, would he still have made it? Delenn did not know.

The third had been Draal, her father's dearest friend. He had died three years ago, killed by a stray shot on the verge of achieving a greater destiny than anyone could imagine.

The fifth had been Captain John Sheridan, for whom she had walked into darkness, sacrificed her future, and her people, and her heart.

But the fourth.... She had thought him lost for years now, and it had been years before that when they had last spoken. Neroon had chosen his own destiny, turning his back on the Rangers, on his leader Branmer, on his people, and on his one true love. He had gone to join Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. He had recognised the growing darkness within his people, and had known then that this war against the Shadows would have to be fought by others.

Now it seemed he had changed his destiny a second time and had sought a new path, one which had brought him here.... to a dead world at the end of the galaxy, and back into the life of his former love.

"Delenn," he said, looking at her with his dark eyes. "We have a great deal to discuss."

"I would just like to say this is the craziest plan I have ever gone along with."

"I heard you the first time. For that matter, I heard you thinking it the first time. For one of us, you really don't hide your thoughts very well."

"The product of an unsophisticated upbringing, I'm sure. What do you hope to find in here?"

"Information. Just what Trace is doing with our people once he gets them, where he sends them to, who takes receipt.... why all this. And you may be interested in hard evidence of criminal activities, enough to take to Main Dome and help your poor, oppressed friends in Sector Three-o-one."

"Right. Thanks for the reminder."

"Oh, don't worry. I've done this hundreds of times before."

"That's supposed to make me not worry?"

"You're too tense. I thought you said you'd spent all your time breaking into things as a child."

"That was as a child. I've had all those years of Earthforce training and mindsets to turn me around since then."

"Pity. If only we'd known, we could have done a great deal with you."

"I was happy where I was."

"Happy, really? I don't think so. I was watching you while I was on the Babylon. You always looked as if you were.... filling someone else's shoes, standing in until the star came back. You didn't belong there."

"Ah, a regular psychiatrist. That just made it easier for you to trick me, right?"

"Well.... yes, but I didn't enjoy doing it. I actually liked you, believe it or not. I've seen many a worse officer than you."

"Oo, praise. I'm flattered."

"But you still didn't belong there. You belong here. Somebody has to fight the small battles after all."

"So which are you fighting? The small battles, or the big ones?"

"I'm a.... small part in a big battle. The future of humanity could depend on finding out what's happening here."

"Oh, great. The future of humanity resting on my shoulders. Again."

"I knew I could depend on you. Besides, we're the future of humanity."

"You telepaths?"

"We telepaths. You're one of us, remember."

"Oh, how silly of me to forget."

"Now, shush. You remember what we're looking for?"

"Yes."

"And how to get in?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's go."

It was Lyta who first noticed the emergence of the Shadow ships from hyperspace. It began with a dull buzzing at the back of her mind, as she heard the far distant echoes of their screams. Reaching up to rub her eyes, she blinked, and caught a flash of them surrounding the Babylon.

The ship seemed to move beneath her, crying out in yearning. Of course, part of it was Shadow technology. The Shadow ships were alive after all, in a sense. It was only reasonable that the living tech within the Babylon should call out to its elder siblings nearby.

The ship had come home.

Wait, hissed the voice in her mind. All is as was planned.

"They're coming," she said, unsure whether she had spoken the words or merely thought them. "They're here."

There will not be a fight. The war is not destined to be fought here.... yet. The Vorlon's voice paused, and she could detect a sensation of immense smugness. And if it is, then you will be ready for it.

The buzzing grew louder, and she collapsed to her knees in pain just as the first Shadow ship came into view.

"Battle stations!" cried Commander Corwin. "Lyta, are you ready...?" He turned. "Lyta!"

"There won't be...." She coughed, harshly. "There won't be a fight. I don't think."

"She's right," said Sheridan. He was still staring forward. "They want to intimidate us, that's all. They're not ready for a fight."

Corwin's confusion was plain on his face, but he nodded. "Okay.... We all know this how?"

"Trust me, David."

He shrugged. "How many of them are there, anyway?"

The technician looked up from his control panel. He looked terrified, as well he might. "Seventeen.... eighteen.... more coming through.... twenty-two."

"Well," muttered Corwin to himself. "We'd better let them get up to fifty before we attack. We want them to have a fair chance after all."

Sheridan suddenly rose to his feet, a mere moment before a signal came through on open channel.

--- This is Z'ha'dum to invading vessel. This is our airspace. Why have you come here? — --

A human voice, speaking in English. That creeped out a lot of people even more than they were already.

"This is Captain John Sheridan," said the Captain. "We are the former EAS Babylon. We have come on a mission of rescue. May I know who I am speaking to?"

--- John.... --- Even over the commsignal the voice sounded horrified. --- I was told you were.... Hah! This is David Sheridan, representative of the.... um.... the Shadows, and the Resistance Government of Proxima Three. I guess you don't remember our last conversation, hmm? ---

The Captain said nothing. Corwin closed his eyes. Delenn had told him that the Ambassador Sheridan who had come to Kazomi 7 on the peace initiative last year had been John's father, but that John was not to be told of this.

--- I think we need to discuss this in private. Do I have leave to come aboard your vessel? ---

"Yes," said the Captain in a hollow voice. "Come alone, and instruct your Shadow allies not to make any aggressive moves towards us. We do not want to start a fight."

--- Of course not. I taught you never to do that. We will speak on board. Z'ha'dum out. ---

"Well," Corwin said, partly to himself. "We're still alive. That's good. Lyta, are you...?"

Lyta didn't hear him. She looked up at the Captain, and for just one, brief moment, she saw his eyes shine a bright gold. But it was only for a moment, and then the light was gone.

Vejar had been expecting him for some time. He had sensed the impending arrival of Cathedral before any of Kazomi 7's sensors picked it up. He had heard the whispers of the Well of Souls in his dreams for days now.

He had been on Kazomi 7 for almost two years, and he had rarely regretted his decision to relinquish his order and work here. He had been blessed to know some truly wonderful people, especially Delenn. His betrayal of her hurt him badly, but it was necessary. Elric and the One Above All had wondered at the end.... would this be the Blessed Delenn for whom they had all waited, or would she merely repeat the mistakes of the past?

He wished he knew.

He could see the darkness growing in Kazomi 7. The omens and portents had been building ever since Captain Sheridan had been injured. The false peace talks with the Shadows, the arrival of the new Vorlon Ambassador, and now Cathedral.... and Sinoval the Cursed.

"Open," he said. The door did so, and in he walked.

Vejar turned to look at Sinoval. He looked not only with his eyes, but with his soul. He saw genuine goodness in the man, but buried deep beneath darkness and hatred and anger. He instantly saw Sinoval's greatest weakness, which was identical to his greatest virtue. He could never regret any action he took, and hence he could not learn from his mistakes.

He was incapable of love, and that would curse him. In time.

"Welcome to my abode, Primarch Sinoval the Cursed. I have been expecting you for some time."

"I apologise if I kept you waiting, technomage." To Vejar's silent thanks, the Primarch's Honour Guard was kept outside. "I thought it wise to know more about you first. I have been in discussion with the Vindrizi."

"Yes. I had heard they were now under your protection. There are ancient ties of blood and song between our order and their race. It is good that they are kept safe."

"They told me something similar. They are a strange group, their visions and memories focussed on sights and wonders and nature, and not the banalities of politics or warfare. This makes their use.... limited, in the current situation, but they were very helpful in discussing the technomages.

"Tell me, magus, you have been conspicuous by your absence whenever the new Vorlon Ambassador makes a public appearance. As you were when his predecessor was here."

"I could say the same about you, Primarch. You have been avoiding the Vorlons for a while."

"I am waiting for the time to be right. I will not hide from the Vorlons forever. You know why Delenn has gone to Z'ha'dum, don't you?" Vejar nodded, unable to say anything. "As do I. She sent me a message, in which she spoke of other messages that would be sent.... to people here. It seems however that you and I are the only persons on this world who know the truth. The common belief seems to be that she was abducted by agents of the Shadow."

Vejar shrugged. "If that is what they wish to believe...."

"They can believe what they choose! It is not the truth and there are some here who should at least know the truth. Why, then, do they not? Have the Vorlons gained so much influence here already?"

"It would appear so."

"And you have done nothing to stop it?"

"I think you misunderstand the nature of our order, Primarch. We do not act. We shape events so that others may act. I am one man, and one of the weakest in power in our order. I am not here to save the galaxy."

"Oh? That is curious, because I am. Will you lend your power to assist me? I come here seeking allies."

"A fine and noble aim, but I must decline."

"Why?"

"There is a globe, affixed to a wall in Cathedral. Within that globe lies the soul of one of the greatest of our order, trapped there forever, beyond the reach of our power to restore or amend. Her wisdom and power and knowledge are all now lost to us. There is a standing instruction within our order.... the Soul Hunters and those who do business with them are our enemy."

"I make a very bad enemy."

"As do we."

Sinoval pondered this for a moment and then nodded, resigned. "Very well. I thank you for your candour, magus. I ask you only to beware of the Vorlons. They are waiting.... for their turn."

"That I know. I do.... have something which may be able to assist you, Primarch, a piece of advice you will no doubt refuse to heed. You see.... the gift of prophecy is not unknown to us. You have a destiny."

"There is no destiny save that which I make myself."

"I know. You have denied your destiny more than once in your life. Do so if you wish.... but accept your doom. If you deny that, then we are all lost. Speak to the Well of Souls. There you will be able to learn all you wish to know, although I do not think you will like what you hear there."

"Have you ever seen the Well of Souls?"

"No.... and nor do I ever wish to. I do not know what the Well is entirely.... but I know enough to fear it greatly."

"Knowledge is power, so it is said. Within the Well of Souls lies the answer to every question ever asked.... save one. What is that last question?"

"I do not know, although I wish I did."

Sinoval digested this for a moment, and then nodded. "Well.... be at peace, magus. Remember what I have said."

"I would advise you to do the same, Primarch," Vejar replied. He waited until Sinoval had gone and then closed his eyes, remembering the rest of the prophecy he had not told his visitor. The Starfire Wheel would open.... there would be blood and darkness, and two souls would be lost forevermore.

And innocent blood would be shed.

"Hello, son."

Ambassador David Sheridan had been on the Babylon once or twice before, diplomatic affairs during the final stages of the war with the Minbari, and on its return to Proxima at the end of the war. He didn't like the ship, for the same reasons that Dexter Smith had not. The entire ship was touched by his son. John was everywhere here. Despite the year and a half or so Smith had been in charge, and the extensive Shadowtech overhaul, the ship was still John's.

David Sheridan felt a chill in his spine as he walked into the ready room to see his son. John was standing. He looked well. How had this been done? What had it cost him?

Still, he covered up his shock as well as he was able. He was a career diplomat after all, and despite his one blind spot concerning his son, he had plenty of experience at hiding his emotions.

"Hello, son."

"Dad," John said. He sounded cold. "So.... you are still alive, then. You.... came to see me at Kazomi Seven, didn't you?" David nodded. "I thought it was just a dream. Delenn told me it was just a dream."

"Delenn must have told you a great many things." Ambassador Sheridan looked around at the others in the room. Commander Corwin he recognised of course. There were two Narn security guards — remnants of the infamous Narn Bat Squad from the Parmenion no doubt. And there was her.... the telepath. She stank of Vorlon. "I think we should talk alone." He had come up to the ship alone.

"We stay," said one of the Narns firmly. It was the female.

"No," said John. "Ko'Dath, G'Dan.... I think you should go. David, Lyta.... you too. I'm not in any danger."

"If you say so," muttered Commander Corwin as he left. The two Narns made angry faces. The telepath said nothing.

"It's good to see you again," Ambassador Sheridan said, sitting down. "I'll admit to being surprised.... what happened?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Are you really my dad?"

"Yes, of course I am." He sighed. "Do you remember the time you were studying for your exams.... and you couldn't sleep because it wasn't raining? I went outside, and took up the hose...."

"And made it rain on the roof," John finished. "I remember."

"And every Sunday.... we used to go for a drive."

John nodded. "It is you. I.... don't know if that's a good thing or not. How could you work for them, Dad? Where's Mom? And Liz? Why didn't you let me know...?"

"I would have.... if I could. When I got to Proxima.... you'd gone.... up and left. I wasn't sure what to think, and there wasn't any way of getting in touch with you. As for your mum.... and Elizabeth.... they're both dead. I was the lucky one."

"What happened?"

He sighed. "Some of us tried to get away from Earth before the end. We weren't getting much news in from the Line.... just what we could see above us. But.... there was a moment.... a hesitation in the battle. Some of us tried to get away. We didn't get anywhere of course. The Minbari picked us up easily. They weren't sure what to do with us, for a while....

"Then one of their leaders came in. He gave us to one of his allies.... Warmaster Jha'dur."

"Deathwalker," John whispered in horror.

"She was more than happy with the gift. She hated humans.... all of us. It was her who brought us word that Earth had been destroyed. She was so pleased about that." He shook his head sadly. "Your mother and Liz died there.... in her lab. I don't know what of, exactly. I think your mother was infected with some sort of cancer cells, but I'm not sure. I didn't even see Liz for most of the time, only her body.

"Someone came to see us a bit later on. I don't know how long I was there.... months, probably. Maybe years even. I'd.... been left alone. I don't know why. It doesn't matter. This person came up to see me, a human, which surprised me. He gave his name as Shryne, and he asked me a simple question.... 'What do you want?'"

John sighed, and placed his hand over his eyes.

"An easy question to answer, isn't it, son? I heard the reply you gave to Ivanova. I don't blame you. My answer wasn't too different. I wanted.... I wanted to be free of that place. I wanted peace. I wanted my family revenged, my people revenged. I wanted my people to be safe.

"That seemed to satisfy him. I was set free and brought here, to Z'ha'dum. That's where I learned the truth about the Shadows, about the Vorlons, about this whole conflict of theirs. It's been going on for longer than anyone can say.

"Well, that's me.... What happened to you?"

"I was healed. It doesn't matter. Dad.... come back to Kazomi Seven. You don't owe the Shadows anything. It was their agent that killed Mom and Liz, remember."

"Deathwalker wasn't working for the Shadows. She was.... an independent operator. She had her own goals entirely."

"She infected me with a terminal virus.... She was going to use me to wipe out humanity!"

"That was not our decision, John. She did that all by herself. We just got wind of it later and managed to get hold of a cure. The virus was only intended for the Minbari, not us. The Shadows are very fond of humanity, you know. They want to help us. We can be.... right on top of things this time. They're going to make sure we're never threatened by anyone like the Minbari ever again."

"Where's Delenn?"

Ambassador Sheridan stopped as if physically struck. "What?"

"Where is she?"

"On the surface. John.... she's one of them. She's a Minbari. She's the enemy."

"I love her."

"John, listen to me! You're the only surviving member of my family now. You're my son, and I can forgive you a lot. You.... fell apart a bit. I can understand that, fighting them all for so long. Long-term combat stress. A nervous breakdown of some sort was inevitable, even without her influencing you. I can understand why you betrayed your people, why you fought against our allies.... what you did to Anna.

"But she played a part in all of that. She's a Minbari. It was her people who destroyed Earth, her people who hid Deathwalker for so long and let her inflict her tortures on both of us. Remember where your loyalties are.... to your people. Not to her!"

"Where is she?!"

Ambassador Sheridan sighed. "She's on the surface. We haven't decided what to do with her yet. I was thinking of sending her to Proxima for a war crime trial. She'd get a fair hearing, I promise you that. It's even possible she'll be acquitted."

"I want to see her."

"John, listen...."

"I need to make sure she's all right."

Ambassador Sheridan sighed. "Fine. You can come down to the surface to see her, if you like. It will also give us a chance to explain just what it is the Shadows are doing.... just what their plans for all of us are. Give them a chance, and you'll find they're nothing like what you've been told. G'Kar, her.... all of them, they've been leading you astray from the beginning."

"I want to see her. Then.... then we'll see."

"Good. You can even bring some of your men if you like. Not the telepath woman, but as many of the others as you wish."

"Just David will be fine. Come on. Let's go."

Delenn looked into the eyes of the man she had once believed she loved. Her experience with John had now convinced her that what she had felt for Neroon had not been true love, but an exceptionally deep and abiding friendship; a love that had not been romantic or passionate, but a real, lasting affection.

To see him like this....

"I am sorry, Neroon," she said softly. "I do not think we have anything to talk about."

"I did not betray you, Delenn. I would never do that, and I did not betray our people. I simply.... chose another path. Parlonn took this path, the same one as I do now.... a thousand years ago."

"Parlonn was a traitor, was he not?"

"No. He was a visionary, who chose a different destiny for his people. They have told me, Delenn.... all of them. I have seen the Shadows. They are not our enemy! We've been manipulated all along, by the Vorlons, by our own prophecies.... since before Valen.... we've been pushed this way and that."

"I have seen these Shadows, Neroon. I have seen them at war. They attacked our ships, our worlds, our people. Not just Minbari, but all of us. Drazi, Brakiri, Narn.... they exist only to make war."

"No! That's just it, Delenn. You don't understand."

"I don't want to."

He took a step forward and knelt down at her feet. "Delenn," he whispered. "I can free you from this place. I can see you safe. The humans want to kill you.... they want to torture you and execute you. I.... I cannot let that happen."

"The Shadows will...." She swallowed. "They will not be pleased about that."

"I serve them in my own way. I think they recognise that. Agree to serve us, Delenn. Work alongside us. They admire your skills, your strength, your courage. Agree to do that.... and I will protect you." He gently reached up to her face, her human face, and touched her long hair with a quiet wonder.

"You have changed," he whispered. "I like it."

"You have also changed," she said, tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. "You now seem.... so certain of your place. You were so divided before, in the Anla'Shok."

"I was," he said, his hands still in her hair. "Branmer was a good man.... a fine man, but he did not see. He could not see the darkness that was going to engulf us all. In a way, I am glad he passed beyond before it could do so. He would not have wanted to see Minbar as it now is."

"No," Delenn breathed, leaning in close to him. "He would not."

"Now I know, Delenn.... in a way I did not, even with G'Kar. I know where our path is."

"What did they...? Do you.... have a Keeper?" Her voice was so quiet now, it was barely even a whisper.

"No, Delenn. I am myself." Her heart reached out to his heart. "Please, Delenn.... let me protect you. Let me...."

She said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Talia had done this sort of thing countless times before. It had become a skill, a thing she had learned through training and experience, just as she had learned the arts of disguise, infiltration, sabotage.... murder.

It was strange, the knowledge that all these things could be done by a mundane. They were all things that could be learned, with enough time and effort and will, and with a good teacher. Her talents helped her of course, that went without saying, but how much difference would it have made if she did not possess them? Would she merely rely on instinct, or hunches, as Captain Smith did? Of course, he was one of her people as well, no matter how he tried to deny it.

Fortunately, although he had not been trained in infiltration and stealth, his eventful childhood in Sector 301 had taught him a fair few useful tricks.

Trace's nightclub had a back entrance, as both of them had known it would. It had been guarded, but not very well. The security guard — evidently one of Trace's own thugs and not a proper Security agent — had been half asleep, and a slight telepathic pinprick had sent him the rest of the way. The door had been locked, but Al had long ago provided Talia with a very handy electronic skeleton key which opened it in a few seconds.

The noise from the front of the club had not been as loud as she had expected, which was not good. A lot of noise would serve to cover any bumps and bangs they made in the back. As it was, they would have to be more careful.

Finding Trace's office was simply a matter of trial and error. It was the third room they tried, after stumbling upon an old cupboard and a cloakroom. The lock on the office was considerably better than the one outside, and it took Talia's device over a minute to open it. All the while Smith hopped about nervously, keeping out a watchful eye. Talia wondered if she would have time to teach him how to use his telepathy to keep a more efficient watch, but then she realised he probably would not be strong enough.

Just how powerful was he anyway? Not a P5, certainly. A P3, maybe. P2? Less?

She angrily clicked away these irrelevant musings and returned to the task of unlocking the door. It was soon managed, and she pushed it open.

The office was empty, with the lights off. Talia waited until Smith entered, then pushed the door shut. Only when it was closed did she activate the lights.

"What now?" asked Smith, looking around the office. He was probably disappointed to find it so.... normal-looking. Talia was inclined to agree. Weren't the inner sanctums of notorious gangland bosses meant to be more.... opulent than this? Fancy pictures on the walls, various ornamentations hiding fiendishly cunning spy cameras and poisoned blowpipes?

As it was, the only things on the wall were a half-filled-in year planner for the year just finished, and a calendar featuring women in various degrees of undress. A quick scan of the room with another handy gadget soon revealed that there were no recording devices or security cameras of any sort.

"Now," she said, "we find the evidence we need. I find out how he's involved with the telepaths and IPX, and you find solid evidence of criminal activities you can take to Main Dome to stop Trace oppressing the poor, innocent people of Sector Three-o-one."

"Joke all you like," he said bitterly, looking at the calendar, and twisting his head slightly to grasp the angle. "These people need help just as much as anyone else. Hardly anyone lives here by choice. Do you think anyone can actually get into that position? I mean, without being a contortionist or whatever."

"It's one of life's mysteries I'm perfectly happy to leave unanswered. Come on, we might not have much time." She turned to the desk and began rummaging through the flimsies.

"I had a quick glance out front. There's a fair few celebrities out there. From what I know of him, Trace will be spending as much time with them as possible. Maybe getting in a picture or two thanks to the paparazzi."

"Quite likely. Anyone from IPX out there?"

"The only person from IPX who could even remotely be called a celebrity is the CEO, Orin Zento, and I don't think this is his sort of thing. Even if it were, why advertise the relationship?"

"Good point. What about security guards? Off-duty ones, I mean."

"Possible. I don't know too many. Just Allan, mainly. I didn't see him, which I guess is just as well."

"I think I remember him. He might have been on the Babylon for a short time while I was there. You got rid of him, didn't you?"

"Hmm. I had.... some doubts about his ability to do his job." He began flipping through the pages of the calendar. He gave a soft whistle at one picture.

"Any chance of you doing some work here?" Talia asked, acidly. He jumped away from the calendar as if electrocuted.

"Found anything?" he asked, turning.

"Possibly." She was reading a piece of paper with a grim look on her face. "Have a look at this."

"It's a receipt," he replied, taking it. "Compass Deliveries. Never heard of them."

"Nor me, but they've been doing a lot of work for Trace. Look where everything's been delivered to."

"Sector one-one-one. Warehouse district."

"The last-dated delivery is the day after Byron was taken. Here's another business document. From a cryogenics company. Mr. Trace has bought a great deal of freezer units and storage equipment. All human-sized."

"What? You think your friend was put in cryogenic stasis?"

"Here. Before transportation."

"Why do that? I mean, if he was only being sent to IPX Headquarters, that's.... a couple of hours at most. If the cryo was just for the journey, wouldn't it be easier just to fill him full of tranks, or those.... sleepers?"

"Maybe they're planning to send him quite a bit further than IPX Headquarters. And speaking of sleepers...." She pulled a box out of a drawer. "This would be over two months worth of dosage for a P five rated telepath. There's another six boxes here."

"Evidence, yes. But too many questions. What do IPX want with telepaths? I mean, they have a few medical research subsidiaries.... they took over SynTech and Edgars Industries, but...." He suddenly straightened, as did Talia. There was the sound of footsteps outside the door.

Talia ducked down behind the desk, while Smith darted to the corner. He was too slow, however. The door opened, revealing Mr. Trace and five other men behind him.

"Well," he said, smiling. "Gatecrashers. I'm sorry, sir, madam, but we operate under a very strict dress code here, and the management reserves the right to refuse admission to anyone at all. Especially people who come in through the back way and try to rummage through all my private documents.

"How's this meant to go again? You have the right to.... well, not a lawyer of any kind. And remaining silent's fine by me. Oh, here we are. You have the right to remain.... well, dead."

Susan Ivanova could feel it.... the throbbing at the back of her mind. When she closed her eyes she could see again the Vorlon slowly opening his encounter suit.... and the brilliant, shining light that had burrowed deep into her soul.

Before it had died, the Vorlon had said something to her. She had not understood the significance of the message before, and she was not sure she did now.

She had been hearing his voice in her sleep for some months now, although she always forgot on awakening. A few days ago however that voice had faded completely, to be replaced by another one, a much older one, filled with sadness and age and a terrible, tragic wisdom.

"Come to me," said this new voice. "Bring them both to me."

It was only now, with the light filling her mind again, with the whispers of Lyta and Marcus in her mind, that Susan Ivanova knew what she had to do.

"They will not find you," said the ancient voice. "They will be able to find the others. Be careful."

She had known where to go. She also supposed she knew what to do. Could she do this? The last time she had seen Delenn.... well, the last time had been two and a half years in the past, but the last time Delenn had seen her.... had been just after the chrysalis. She had broken her free of it, trying to kill her.

She reached the door to Delenn's cell, and hesitated. There was someone else in there. She paused, thinking for one dreadful moment that Lyta had come here already, and was waiting to trap her. Then a moment of sanity reasserted itself. She would feel Lyta's thoughts if she were here. She was not. It was.... someone else. It was....

Of course. It was Neroon.

The door was unlocked, at least from this side. She pushed it open.

It was Neroon there. Susan had not had much to do with him recently. He had not come here until long after she had left for Proxima, and since her return.... she had been distracted. He was often away, performing similar duties to those he had for G'Kar and the Rangers. This was the longest he had been here for as long as she could remember.

Neroon was kneeling next to Delenn. They were very close, almost kissing. Delenn started as she heard Susan come in, jumping back. Neroon rose slowly to his feet, and fixed his dark gaze on her.

"We've got to get out of here," Susan said quickly.

"Escape?" whispered Delenn. "How?"

"There's.... someone here. A friend, I think. He can help us."

"Who?"

Susan considered this question for a while. "I don't know," she admitted. "It doesn't matter. He.... talks to me.... in my dreams. Oh, stop that! I'm not crazy. I've been crazy.... for a very, very long time. Probably ever since my mother died. But I'm not crazy now. I've never been more sane."

Neroon slowly walked over to her and pulled the door shut. "What are you talking about?" he said harshly. "You swore to serve them, as I did."

"Yeah? They promised I'd be safe, but they didn't do a very good job of it. I've lost two people who.... meant a great deal to me.... I've had my mind turned inside and out. I've been hopping back and forward through time like a.... a.... jack-in-the-box.... and they've done nothing to stop it. I think they betrayed me first."

"I swore to follow them. I will not permit this."

Delenn spoke his name softly, and Susan could see the spark of love in his eyes as she did so. She cursed them both. What gave them the right to be happy, when she was without Marcus, without Laurel, without.... everyone? Then she silently regretted the thought.

"Neroon...." Delenn said quietly. "I know you are here because you believe in them, because you believe they are right. They are not. Whatever they claim, the Shadows exist only to kill, and to destroy, and to cause chaos. Maybe.... maybe the Vorlons are not the right path either, but they are better than this. Come to Kazomi Seven, let me show you what the Shadows have wrought. They do not believe in helping anyone.

"They believe only in death."

"No! They.... they want us all to grow, to become stronger.... to evolve."

"Neroon. You made me a promise once.... Do you remember it?"

He closed his eyes. "Delenn.... please.... do not...."

"Do you remember it?" The words were striking at him now, for all the softness with which they were spoken.

"I remember."

"What was the promise?"

"That I would stand before you, and never let a shadow touch you. I would be the light in your darkness."

"You have been," she replied, stepping up to him and gently touching his face. "In memory, when you were unable to be so in flesh. I never forgot you, and nor did those you fought beside with G'Kar. Return to them.... they need you...."

"Parlonn...."

"Is dead. He died here, killed by someone who had once been his friend. They lied to him, just as they lied to you. Do not become another Parlonn, Neroon." She cast her eyes downward. "I could not bear that."

"I swore to keep you safe, Delenn. You were always.... in my thoughts.... always." He nodded once. "Very well.... I have betrayed and abandoned my masters not once, not twice, but three times. My doom is complete, I believe. But as long as I am by your side, it cannot claim me."

"Your doom will never claim you." Delenn turned back to Susan. "Where can we go?"

"I.... don't know. I think we go down. Underground. He's down there. He can help us."

"Why are you doing this?" Delenn asked suddenly. "Why are you...?"

Helping me? Susan didn't know. She could give a million reasons, and none of them would make any sense at all. She remembered seeing Delenn torn half-formed from the chrysalis, looking at her with a child's eyes. She remembered seeing Marcus die, his heart stopped by the force of her pike. She remembered her last talk with Laurel.

She remembered a great many things. She could not, however, give any reason that was anything resembling the truth.

"I must have been dropped on my head when I was a baby," she said, with a half smile. "I don't need a reason."

"I will not forget this," Delenn said, as she hurried towards the door. Neroon pushed it open and stepped through. Delenn and Susan followed. The corridor seemed empty.

"I doubt you'll live long enough to." There was a sudden buzzing in her ears, and she started. Suddenly she realised she was holding a weapon, a PPG. She didn't remember picking it up. A darkness suddenly fell over Delenn and herself, and a glint of understanding shone in Delenn's eyes.

"It's one of them," Neroon hissed. A Shadow was there. Its eyes opened in brilliant flares, and then they closed, and there was darkness again.

It moved forward, and the buzzing grew louder.

"Not a very pleasant-looking place," observed the Captain as he looked at the surface of the planet over which the shuttle was flying. Corwin concurred.

"I'm told it was a beautiful garden before the Vorlons came here, a thousand years ago," replied his father. He was still looking at his son. Corwin didn't think he'd taken his eyes off him at all on their journey down. "They did something to the ground, poisoned it, so nothing could grow on the surface any more."

"Sounds like what happened to Minbar," said the Captain absently.

Ambassador Sheridan said nothing, probably recognising there was very little to say. Corwin remembered Minbar. He still dreamed about the poisoned rain, the barren earth, the muddied and deadly waters. It was not hard for him to imagine the Vorlons doing something similar to Z'ha'dum.

He did not like this. Not at all. The whole thing just screamed 'trap' to him. Surely the Captain could see that? But as he looked at him, he began to wonder. He had said hardly anything during their journey down, and certainly nothing about Delenn. It must have been a shock, discovering his father was alive, and working for.... well, them. Corwin wondered how he would react to seeing his own father there, or his brother Adam. He just couldn't imagine it.

But there was still something very wrong with this. The Captain just wasn't himself. Of course, given everything that he had been through in the last few days, that was hardly a surprise. To be miraculously cured of his paralysis and a terminal illness, to find his love had been captured by the Enemy and his father was still alive....

Corwin trusted the Captain. If he seemed to think this was all right, then he accepted that. He still didn't have to like any of it.

The shuttle was coming in to land, and he could see the structures of a city just in view. It seemed very small. The buildings couldn't be more than a single storey. There were hints of something larger, a dome he could only just make out, but he could not see very much to identify this as a major city.

Then it suddenly struck him. Underground, of course. The Shadows would live underground.

"Here," said Ambassador Sheridan, as the shuttle came to a halt. He passed over two breathing masks. "You'll need these. The atmosphere on the surface is difficult for us to breathe. The.... uh, the Shadows of course have no problems. It's only a short way to the entrance, so we won't have to wear them long."

Corwin fixed on his mask and followed the Captain out. He had been to a great many alien worlds before — Narn, Kazomi 7, Minbar — but nothing like this. It seemed as though a great hand had reached down from the skies and scoured away the uppermost earth from the surface. There was no life here. No trees, no plants, no animals. Nothing but howling winds, and a bitter, thick red dust that billowed up around them.

Ambassador Sheridan led the two of them to a door. He pushed it open, and Corwin stepped inside. As he did so, he saw the Captain's head turn to look back outside. For just the briefest of moments an expression of satisfaction crossed his face, and his eyes seemed to glow with a brilliant light.

But it was only for a moment, and Corwin put it down to an optical illusion of the strange climate. In light of what happened later, he forgot about it entirely.

Sinoval tapped his denn'bok against his side thoughtfully, feeling it almost throb against him. It was a strange weapon, one he had made with his heart and soul in one choking night at Durhan's forge. He had called it Stormbringer, without thinking why. The name had just seemed to fit. It was a name of ill-omen, but then Sinoval's future seemed marked by ill omens. The blade at least was a fine one, and deadly. It had wounded a Vorlon once, and saved his life in the Starfire Wheel.

But lately, when he was aboard Cathedral, he could feel something more within it, something deep and ancient. There were voices whispering in his dreamless slumbers, and one of them, he was sure, was Stormbringer's. Cathedral was not an easy place to sleep of course, not even at the best of times, but since his meeting with the Well of Souls....

He had faced down a great deal in his life, and he had rarely known fear, but at the sound of that voice, filled with wisdom and power and mingled with the memories of billions of different souls.... he had been awed by the sheer majesty of the place, and by the secrets that lay within it. He was sure he knew only the merest fraction of them, but that was enough, for now at least. He would soon know all, or almost all.

Besides, he reminded himself, there was one question to which not even the Well of Souls knew the answer.

He was not afraid now, however. He had put off this meeting until he was sure he was ready. There had been others to see first, to talk to privately, to ascertain the scope of knowledge possessed here. None of them knew the truth about Delenn's disappearance, which was strange, but easily explained. Mollari, and Vejar, and Lethke, and Taan Churok.... he had talked to them individually and privately, and he would soon be ready to address the Council as a whole.

But there was one being he still needed to talk to before that could happen.

His mind and soul ready, and with Stormbringer still in his hand, he set off down the corridor. Finding out the location had been simplicity itself. Vorlons were good at keeping secrets, but the place where their representative resided was not one of them.

He had prepared himself thoroughly, even meditating, which was unusual for him. He had replayed Delenn's message, he had thought of Kats, and of Kozorr, and of Deeron, lost to them all. His mind had hardened, and his anger deepened.

He had then gone to see Delenn's shrine. The Shrine of the Unknown Warrior. He had admired the concept, but had been unable to step inside the construct. The touch of the ground, consecrated by Vejar, had pained him. It was a holy place, crafted with a faith that eluded him, and so would not permit him entry. He knew that in years to come this would be one of the most holy places in the galaxy.

Still, he had stood there for some minutes, staring at the arch and at the inscriptions, and thinking. Finally, ready at last, he had gone to seek the Vorlon.

He came to the door at the end of the corridor, and noticed the breathing masks next to it. Of course, the Vorlon atmosphere was very different, and very poisonous, which was why they remained in their encounter suits all the time they were outside. Sinoval knew that for the lie it was. They did not leave their suits so as to maintain their disguise, and they kept their quarters poisoned like this so as to discourage visitors.

He did not pick up a breathing mask, nor did he knock at the door. He simply stood there, waiting.

A few minutes later the door slid open, and out came the Vorlon. The eye stalk of its encounter suit swivelled, half in curiosity, half in anger.

Sinoval raised Stormbringer. "You have been expecting me, no? It is time we spoke."

Delenn could not remember ever having seen one of the Shadows before. At least, not directly, as she was now. She had seen their ships, and their servants; she had heard their screams, and their whispers.

And now she could see one.

Neroon stepped forward slowly, spreading his arms wide. "Set her free," he implored. "Let her go free."

There was a buzzing, a furious cry of betrayal. And, deep in the heart of the angry scream, there came the soft whisper Delenn understood.

"I have sworn my life to you.... but I swore it to her first. How many oaths would you have me break?"

"She does not understand. Her ways are.... different from yours, from ours.... She is useless to you."

There was a sudden motion at Delenn's side, and she turned to see Ivanova dart forward, pushing Neroon aside. The warrior was clearly caught off balance, and he stumbled.

"Remember me?" cried Ivanova. "You promised I'd be safe!" As she spoke she raised her gun, pointed it directly at the Shadow, and fired; once, twice, three times....

Its roar filled Delenn's mind, and she nearly fell. Struggling to maintain her balance, she looked up and saw the Shadow move forward. It was clearly wounded, but it still moved with a grace and speed that surprised her, that seemed so effortless, almost beautiful. It bore down on Ivanova, who was on her knees, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes closed.

Without thinking, without bothering to remember all that had happened between the two of them, Delenn ran to Ivanova's side, throwing herself in the way. The Shadow hesitated, its head twitching slightly as it surveyed her.

"No," said a firm voice. It was Neroon. He was standing tall, holding a fighting pike. There was something strange about it. The design was unusual. It looked so old, and yet it shone with a dark power.

"The third betrayal of my oath," he whispered, his voice solemn. "Now my doom can take me."

He moved forward, plunging the pike into the Shadow's side. This time there was no howl, no scream, no attack. The First One simply fell.

"Come," Neroon said to Delenn and Ivanova. "It is not dead. We must get to your friend."

"He's.... here.... somewhere," Ivanova muttered. "I.... this way!"

Delenn looked at Neroon tenderly. "A third betrayal," she whispered. Warriors had spoken of the significance of the third betrayal for as long as she could remember, but she had never known what it meant. It was a secret thing, whispered only amongst themselves, in tones of horror and despair and terrible, terrible sadness.

"It does not matter," he said, lying. "I have made my choices, each and every step of the way. I believed in you, I believed in Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, and I believed in them. Come.... we must leave here."

"It's this way," Ivanova repeated, heading off along a darkened corridor. It was leading downwards. Neroon at her side, Delenn followed.

The caverns of Z'ha'dum closed in after her, and the very planet itself seemed to tremble.

Chapter 4

The oldest being in the galaxy had been waiting for a very long time. He had come here originally to speak to his children, and to try to help them to understand. None of his other children had, but he had hoped beyond all hope that these would.

They had not.

However, he remembered the way the planet had seemed to react to his setting foot on it. There had been a tremble, and then a soft whisper. As he sometimes did, he had experienced a revelation of the days yet to come, of a crucial change in the endless war, of someone who would come to help end the combat.

Someone who would come here. There would be a meeting here, a meeting that would change the galaxy forever, and herald the beginning of the end times for him.

And so he had remained behind. The children who lived here had been overjoyed at this, perceiving it to be an honour. He had sighed at their lack of understanding, and had resolved to spend as much of the time as he could trying to teach them the truth that they had long since forgotten.

But he had forgotten a crucial truth as well: the universe is the master of time, not any beings forged of its soul. He had deluded himself into believing that, because he was immortal, he had all the time he would ever need.

War had come to this world, and the children here had been forced to flee. They had begged him to come with them, but he had refused. He had wondered idly if the meeting he had foreseen was nigh.

Alas, he had been wrong. The other children, the Vorlons, had come here, winning their phase of the war, winning the hearts and souls of those even younger who would be led by them for the next thousand years. They understood even less than those who had left Z'ha'dum.

Only one of them seemed even to want to understand. Its name was Kosh, and it had come to him, to talk and to learn. It had learned, something at least, but then it had left, ready to go back into the galaxy.

The Shadows had returned of course, and he could feel that the war was starting up again, as it had countless times since the beginning.

This time, though, he could sense that things were different. The ancient Cathedral had risen again, and the Well of Souls had chosen a mortal to be its next keeper. The oldest being in the galaxy remembered both, and dared risk a smile in memory.

The other First Ones.... they were moving, preparing. They could also sense that something was changing. They had tried to talk to him, only to be politely rebuffed. He was still waiting for the one who would come to him.

And now someone was here.

A choice would have to be made, of course. He wondered what the decision would be.

His wait was almost over.

"I have learned a great deal since I last met one of your people. I have seen much, and done much.

"I am not afraid of you. I am not awed by your power. I am not intimidated by your voice. I do not tremble at your footsteps."

Sinoval raised Stormbringer and extended it. The air seemed to crackle around it. He thought he saw the Vorlon flinch.

"This can hurt you. Forged with fire, forged with fury, forged with the essence of myself within it. It can hurt you. I can hurt you.

"You sent Delenn to her death. You tried to erase all records of this, but you failed. I have a message from her. Tomorrow I will show it to the Council of this United Alliance. Let them see what you are, and what you plan.

"Your day is done, yours and all of your foul race. I will break you."

The Vorlon's eye stalk swivelled and looked directly down upon him.

"But I do. You are one of the First Ones, a race older than almost anything we can hope to understand. You are millennia in advance even of we Minbari. You are powerful, ancient, possibly even immortal. You think you know all there is to know. You are the masters of order, the keepers of stability and stasis and discipline."

Sinoval smiled softly.

"There are older ways than yours, Vorlon. There are paths far darker than any you have ever trod. There are riddles you have never heard, and questions that you cannot answer.

"I am not afraid of you. I will destroy you.... each and every one of you."

"You should."

The Vorlon looked at him, its eye stalk moving slowly. A glowing, golden light began to emanate from it.

Sinoval chuckled. "I was going to tell you the same thing," he remarked. "Pray to whatever Gods you worship that we do not meet again. The next time we do, I will crack open that armour of yours and turn the light within you to darkness.

"Do you understand me?"

Sinoval turned and left. He could feel the voices in the Well of Souls rise in concern, but he ignored them. He had nothing to fear from the Vorlon. Nothing at all.

Corwin sensed something was wrong from the instant he set foot inside the compound. He couldn't explain it as anything other than instinct, which irritated him no end. He just had a feeling that something was happening.

Ambassador Sheridan showed the two of them into a small but comfortable waiting room, while he went off to get Delenn. Corwin looked around at the chairs, the desk, the pots of tea, and was struck by the complete absurdity of it all. He had not been sure what to expect on the homeworld of the enemy, but it had not been this.

Just to be sure, he had remained standing and passed up the opportunity to sample some of the tea. He had always been a coffee drinker anyway.

He looked at the Captain, who seemed to be perfectly at home here, and that was even more worrying. He was sitting on one of the chairs, flicking idly through an old issue of Humanity magazine that had been discarded on the table. Corwin caught a glimpse of the picture on the cover, and read the tagline. "Lieutenant Commander Ramirez — One of the New Generation of Earthforce."

"I wonder if they get a subscription out here," he muttered. The Captain looked up.

"Oh," he said. "Yes. Last October's issue, I think. Da.... He must have brought it with him when he came here. Something to read on the way, no doubt." He chuckled. "They're talking about the proposed line of ships for the new year. The Saint-Germain, the Dark Thunder and the De'Molay. According to the dates here, the Saint-Germain must be done by now." He shook his head. "I've missed a lot. All those months...."

"Who's the bloke on the cover? I don't think I recognise him."

"Oh, Earthforce's up-and-coming new star apparently. I don't remember the name, but that's not surprising. He'd be one of the new generation.... since Earth. God, he looks so young."

"He looks older than me. I think."

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," the Captain muttered. "I bet my superior officers were saying that about me when I joined. God, I never thought I'd get to be this old. Coming up to forty-five this year. That is old, isn't it?"

"Oh, ancient," replied Corwin dryly.

"And when I look back.... Just how did we get here? In rebellion against our Government, fighting a war against one of the oldest races in the galaxy.... in love with a Minbari.... Was there anything we could have done, do you think? Anything that could have prevented this.... all this?"

"I don't know. It's hard to look back and pick out one moment where everything went wrong. We did all we could, I guess. We did what we had to do."

"Yes, I suppose." He tossed the magazine aside. "It's just weird. I can't get my head around it all sometimes. I can see.... all the roads of the future stretching out before us, and I've no idea which one to take. Just what do we do now? If we took the wrong path before, then can we bring things back to where they should be? Is that even possible any more?"

"I think.... I think we just have to hope for the best. We can't give up. We have to keep trying."

"There must be another way. There.... I think you're right, David. You're a good man.... a good friend. How's Mary? I completely forgot to ask before."

"She's.... gone. I haven't spoken to her for months."

"Ah.... I'm.... sorry."

"Don't be. It's.... better for her this way. She's alive, and she's not worrying about whether I'm not going to come back one day."

"Oh, you will. You're going to outlive all of us."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

The Captain smiled, and for the first time since his revival he looked like himself. Corwin was about to say something when the door opened, and he turned. The Captain rose from his seat, obviously expecting to see Delenn.

It wasn't Delenn. It wasn't even Ambassador Sheridan.

It was a humanoid figure, an alien, dressed in long, flowing robes. Its head was scaly and high, with little horns rising from the back. It did not shimmer, and it did not hold a glowing orb, but Corwin still knew what it was.

"Drakh," he whispered.

"Yess," it replied. "Drakh."

"You're all dead," he protested. "We destroyed you at Minbar."

"You destroyed our fleets, our orbs, our magi. Our warrior caste is broken and gone. The rest of us.... remain. We bid you welcome.... to our home...."

"Where's Delenn?" asked the Captain. "Where is she?"

"She will be here.... soon. Yess."

"No," whispered the Captain. "Damn you. Damn you!" A weapon appeared in his hand, and he raised it. The Drakh's eyes twitched as if in surprise, and then its body was thrown back against the wall, a smoking hole in its chest.

"Captain, what...?"

"They killed her," he whispered, tears rising in his eyes. "They.... they killed her. Damn them! They killed her!"

"What? How do you know...?"

"I.... I just know. Come on. We have to get back to the ship."

"What are we going to do?"

"We.... we can't do anything here. I swear I'll be back, though.... and I'll blow this entire planet straight to Hell! Come on.!"

Corwin let the Captain pull him towards the door, and then his instincts took over and he started to run alongside him. "I thought you gave up your weapons," he said, as they began hurriedly strapping on their breathing masks.

"Something my.... my father taught me," he whispered. "Always be prepared for anything. I brought a spare."

Beneath their feet the ground began to shake. Almost as if the planet itself was shouting. Corwin stumbled and almost fell. As he staggered to his feet he saw another Drakh come round the corner towards them. This one was not alone.

"Congratulations," said Smith hurriedly. "You've just won the award for most irritating clich? of the day."

"What can I say? I'm an old-fashioned sort of guy. You aren't going to resist, are you? Only, I just had the place recarpeted, and blood would be very hard to shift. Play along nicely, and I promise you a reasonably easy demise. Try to kick up a fuss, and.... Well, there's a lady present, so I really can't go into details."

"I think my stomach's strong enough for the details," Talia replied. "Who's your contact at Interplanetary Expeditions?"

He swiftly raised his gun and shot it in her direction in one fluid motion. It struck her arm and she fell, wincing. "Not that old trick," he snapped irritably. "It's an 'ooh, let's ask him a sudden question so he thinks about the answer and you read his mind and find out everything' sort of thing, isn't it? Well, that was a 'let's shoot the telepath with a sleeper bolt so she loses her telepathic powers and couldn't read the mind of a Shredded Wheat' sort of response."

"What can I say?" she replied, trying to struggle to her feet. There was blood on her arm, and her eyes were unfocussed. "I'm an old-fashioned sort of girl."

"Actually, that's a fairly new response. There are other ways around telepathic scans, of course. Filling your mind with all sorts of gibberish, I'm told that works. You know, humming stuff, advertising jingles, maths. But then I was never any good at maths and I got fed up with all the jingles staying in my head. There's the psionic jammer I showed your friend of course, but that gives me a bloody awful headache, so I took it out. No, these work much better. Leave you with unpleasant reactions as well, or so I understand. Well, nausea, headaches, that sort of thing. How are you, anyway?"

"Just.... fine...." she replied.

"Good. I always like to hand on the merchandise in good condition. My contact gets very upset with me if they're a bit beaten up."

"We couldn't have that now, could we?" muttered Smith. Trace turned his gaze on him.

"Oh, look. It's the social crusader. What brings you here, then? Her, I can understand. She's poking around in my private affairs to see what I'm doing with her people, but you.... Just trying to impress a pretty lady, is it? Get inside her skirts, hmm?"

"I was looking for evidence I could use to bring you down," he said calmly.

"Why do you care, for God's sake? I've never done anything to you. At least, I don't think so. What, did I kill your brother or something and this is a revenge gig?"

"No. It's just knowing what's right. You're abusing these people. You're a coward and a sadist who lives off other people's misery, and I won't rest until you're finished."

"Oh, I was right the first time. A social crusader. Listen up, Superman, nobody cares! Sector Three-o-one is a dumping ground. It's where Main Dome throws everyone they can't be bothered sorting out. The Government's got enough problems up there without having to worry about a mass of gormless morons. I know these people, and they can be split into two groups: the people at the top, and the people at the bottom. It'll always be that way, and I'm damned if I'm going to be at the bottom. It's that simple.

"Now, people like you don't understand that, and you never will. Boys, take him outside and get rid of him. Don't do it in here, I don't want blood on the carpet. As for the body.... no lakes around here. Damn! Call me old-fashioned, but there's nothing like a good lake to dump a body into. Oh well, go for the second best. Find a construction site and lay him in the foundations or something.

"As for me...." He looked at Talia. "I've an appointment with a pretty lady."

Delenn's breath burned her throat, her blood seemed to have thickened in her veins, her mind was fogged, her vision unclear.

The whole planet seemed wrong to her, especially as they moved deeper and deeper into it, as if they were making for the very centre of Z'ha'dum itself. Ivanova seemed convinced this was the way to go, even when Neroon had to admit he had never been this far into the depths of the Shadow cities. Not even they liked going this far down.

There were no alarms, no klaxons blazing, no sounds of running feet chasing or cries of 'Hey, you!' Still, Delenn knew they were being chased. She could feel it, hear the whispered cries of the Shadows in her mind, feel the wrath of the ancient Enemies at her escape.

"He's this way," Ivanova kept saying. "I can.... I can hear him. He's been waiting for us. Damn, he couldn't have been a bit clearer with the directions, could he? How about arranging a taxi for us?"

Delenn did not stop to wonder at the wisdom of trusting someone who had tried to kill her so many times. Ivanova had her own personal demons to fight, and they had conquered her. It seemed that only now was she beginning to find some surcease from her private pains.

Neroon was silent, his face dark. The third betrayal. The completion of his doom. He would not leave this world alive, he knew that. So did Delenn, although she did not want to admit it even to herself. He had made his decision, but it hurt.... Oh, Valen, it hurt....

The tunnels they were in seemed to be growing narrower, and hotter. The downward slant had become less pronounced now, and the path was more level. They might even have been ascending slightly. There was a faint light, but barely enough for Delenn to see by. Neroon seemed to be managing better, although she did not have time to wonder about that.

There was a scuffling noise from above them, and a muttered curse from Ivanova. "Tripped over something," she explained, as Neroon helped her to rise. Delenn could feel a strange sense of.... of holiness. Something she had only experienced before in the shrines at Yedor and Tuzanor. She walked forward slowly, and knelt down.

There was a stone slab there, with a candle raised above it. There was something engraved on the slab, in a bold hand, but an ancient style. It was her own tongue! It was an ancient dialect of the warrior caste. She strained to make out the words.

"'Here was slain Parlonn, of the First Fane of the warrior caste of the Minbari peoples, at the hand of Marrain, now of no fane, no caste and no people. May Parlonn's soul ascend to the old Gods of his fane, to join his brethren there. May they forgive him his choices, just as they will surely never forgive mine.'" Neroon's voice grew still, as he looked at the last sentence.

"'Thus he was saved from his third betrayal, and thus his doom is averted, and taken upon my shoulders instead.'"

"This is where Marrain killed Parlonn," whispered Delenn. "A thousand years ago."

Neroon bent down over the candle. It was untouched, having never once been lit. "Marrain knew he was not worthy to light this," he said softly. "He set it here for someone to come and light for him." He raised his hand, and the candle burst into flame.

"Ascend, Parlonn," he said. "Find some peace at last."

"Very pretty," said Ivanova. "They're coming for us. We don't have much time."

Delenn turned and closed her eyes. She could feel the pursuit nearing. "She's right. There is nothing more either of us can do here, Neroon. How much further is it?"

"Not much, I think. Just around that corridor and through that archway." Ivanova ran forward with Delenn and Neroon chasing after her. "Here we...." There was a sudden, startled cry, and as Delenn reached the archway she understood why.

There was a small balcony overlooking a vast chasm. Ivanova was perched precariously, trying to regain her balance. Slowly Delenn stepped out onto the balcony, very much aware that there was no parapet. She glanced down into the chasm and could see no bottom. Looking up, she saw faint glints of light a vast distance above their heads. A dome leading to the sky.

The sounds of pursuit neared, and Neroon stepped out to meet them. "They are here," he said in a hollow voice.

Corwin was limping and clutching at his arm as he arrived back on the Babylon, muttering angry epithets under his breath. That had been one journey he never wanted to repeat. The Captain had not been hurt, which would be a good thing if Corwin wasn't so unsure about just what exactly had happened.

"Captain," said Ko'Dath on their return to the shuttle bay. "We got your message." She did not make any reference to just how unclear the message had been. "We will provide an escort for you and Commander Corwin to Medlab...."

"No!" snapped the Captain. "I'm fine. I need to get to the bridge as soon as possible. Have they readied the jump engines?"

"They are warming up now. The Chief Engineer estimated a few more minutes before they're ready."

"Damn! The Shadows will be on our tails any minute now. Get David to Medlab. I'm going to the bridge."

"I'm going with you, Captain," Corwin said. The Captain looked at him for a minute, then nodded.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" he snapped at the transport tube. "Come on!"

"It's going as fast as it can. We'll be at the bridge any minute, and they've got your instructions. Captain.... what happened down there?"

"We got ambushed by about a million Drakh and a couple of the Shadows, and we managed to punch our way out and get to the shuttle."

"No, I mean.... before that. About.... Delenn?"

"They killed her, David," he said softly. "I just.... I just knew it somehow. They killed her. I could hear her screaming, begging for mercy, and I.... I just couldn't do anything to save her. They probably killed her the instant they got her there."

"You're sure she's dead?"

"Yes! Dammit, David, stop questioning me!" He reached up to rub at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just.... I wish I could have saved her. The least I can do is avenge her."

"First things first," Corwin said, trying to disguise his shock. "We won't be able to avenge anyone unless we get out of here. You think they'll try to stop us?"

"I know they will. Don't worry, David. We've cut our way out of worse than this." The transport tube came to a halt and the Captain charged through the doors and rushed on to the bridge. Corwin followed as fast as his injuries would let him.

The first thing he saw was Lyta, just standing patiently next to the Captain's chair. Of course, the Captain's hurried message from the shuttle would have led to her being hastily called to the bridge, but she looked perfectly composed, almost.... almost as if she'd been expecting all of this.

The Captain took his seat and activated his link. "Engineering, get those jump engines working as soon as possible." Without waiting to hear the reply, he looked around the bridge, barking out orders.

"Captain," said one of the technicians. "There's an incoming signal. It's from the surface."

"Put it on. Audio only."

--- John, what's going on? — -- came the angry voice of his father. --- What's happened? — --

"You know what's happened. You killed Delenn and expected me to fall into the same trap she did."

--- What? We didn't kill her. She's still alive. I promise you.... — --

"Then prove it. Let me talk to her. Let me see her. Now."

--- We.... We can't do that. She isn't.... — --

"I knew it. We're getting out of here, and if you try to stop us we'll cut a path straight through anything you put in the way. We'll be back though, and then we're going to blow that entire planet of yours apart. I'll turn each and every one of your ships into a funeral pyre for Delenn!"

--- Son, listen to me! — --

"My father's dead. I don't know who you are, but you're not him." He flicked a quick glance at the technician. "Shut off the signal. How much longer for the jump engines?"

"They're almost on-line."

"Almost isn't good enough!"

"Captain," said Lyta, her eyes glowing. "They're here."

A moment later one of the techs said, "I'm picking up their ships, Sir. A lot of them."

The Babylon was surrounded.

"What do you think this is all about, then? I mean, he could have been a little more descriptive about just what could possibly be so important as to be worth dragging me out of bed at this hour of the morning. I don't know about you, and I certainly don't know about him, but I am an old man with a great many responsibilities, and I need my sleep!"

G'Kar sighed, looking at his companion. Their relationship might have become a little chillier in recent days, but there were some things that had not changed. One of these was his exasperation at his friend's never-ending habit of finding something to complain about even at times of great wonder.

"Mollari, do not think that just because you wear fancy clothes and expensive trappings of power and sit on a big chair, that you have seen everything there is to see. For myself, the chance to set foot inside a place such as this is worth getting up a little bit earlier than usual.

"Besides, I can assure you I was still awake working last night long after you were snoring in your cups."

"I do not snore, and if Timov were here she would be happy to confirm that for you. Trust me, you will never get a chance to find out for yourself. And yes, I will admit to some curiosity, mild curiosity mind, about Cathedral, but all I have seen so far is a large docking bay and a very dark waiting room, populated by some of the rudest servants I have seen this side of Lady Elrisia's last candlelit dinner." He shivered. "Now there is an experience I would not want to repeat. Fortunately, I do not have to."

"I wonder what he wants."

"I dread to think. Which side is he even on in this war of yours, G'Kar?"

"He follows the same path as you, I think. He is on no side but his own."

"I am not on my own side, G'Kar. I made that very clear. I do what it best for my people, nothing more."

"I misspoke myself. My apologies, Great and August Emperor."

"You left out a title or twelve. But I accept your apology all the same." He looked around, not that there was a great deal to look at. "I swear, all my advisors would have panic attacks at the thought that I was here, alone, with a member of a race with whom we are still at war. Not even Lennier was permitted aboard." He paused. "How old do you think this place is?"

The air seemed to rise at that moment, the floor beneath their feet trembling, and the dim light sources blazing up. The first Londo knew about the arrival of the lord of this place was his voice, a deep, booming tone filled with power and strength.

"Cathedral is older than any of our civilisations," came the reply. "It existed when the earliest foundations at Yedor had yet to be laid, when the Narns were struggling to use edged weapons and when the Centauri were still living in mud huts."

"Mud huts might be an improvement over the places we live in at the moment," muttered Londo under his breath.

"And I apologise for requesting your presence so early. I.... do not sleep these days, and I sometimes forget that others have the need to do so. However, I hoped to keep this meeting secret from certain eyes and ears, and the only way to do that was to hold it here, on Cathedral."

"Oh, no need to apologise, Primarch Sinoval," said G'Kar. "I wanted very much to see Cathedral when you came to my summit at Babylon Four. Alas, events ran away from us. I am very glad to have the opportunity to set foot inside it now."

A slow smile crept over Sinoval's face. "You will soon have an opportunity you never dreamed of," he said. "And you may not thank me for it, but.... there is something I need to show you first. What do you know about Delenn's disappearance ?"

G'Kar thought briefly before responding. "The current belief is that she was abducted by an agent of the Enemy and taken to Z'ha'dum. However.... no trace of her abductor has been found, and.... No, foolish suspicions, that is all."

"You have suspicions?"

"Everything seemed too easy, the abduction too clean. Unfortunately I was not at Kazomi Seven when the kidnapping occurred, or I might have been able to prevent it. However, my Rangers have been turning up some.... disquieting details. There was no sign of force, no trace of where she was taken from.... I am sure that something will have been discovered by now. Perhaps we will know more when Captain Sheridan returns from Z'ha'dum."

"If he returns. Your suspicions are entirely accurate, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. And there is a very good reason for them. Delenn was not abducted. She went to Z'ha'dum willingly, to fulfill a bargain and save the life of another."

"What? How do you know this?"

"She sent me a message before she left. Here, listen to this...."

"I am sending you this message because I will soon be dead.

"I do not understand the full details, Sinoval. I do not fully understand why my allies should wish to kill me, or what they can hope to gain...."

G'Kar listened to the message with mounting horror. He flicked a glance at Londo, whose eyes were wide. When it was finished, he sat back.

"You are sure this message is genuine?"

"I would stake my soul on it.... if someone else did not have a prior claim."

"She spoke of other messages. Do you have any idea to whom they might have been sent?"

"I could guess, but I could not say with certainty. I assume no one else you know has received any such message?"

"I would have heard if anyone had. This.... is disturbing. The Vorlons are our friends.... our allies. They have stood beside me for.... ever since I began this. Why.... why would they do this?"

"I have my suspicions, but nothing definite. I am sure Sheridan is the key. I had hoped to catch him here and show him this message. He and I have never been.... friends, but I do respect him. Once he learns the cost of his cure, then he might be more inclined to trust me on this one." Sinoval turned his head and focussed his dark, infinite eyes on Londo. "And you, Emperor Mollari, what do you think of this?"

"I.... I do not know what to say. Delenn is very dear to me, and if this is true.... And yet, how much can I trust you, Primarch Sinoval? I would wager.... well, the entire contents of my treasury, that you have a personal stake in this, and I am not sure just how objective that makes you.

"However, I have been approached by an emissary of the Vorlons. He has been.... in and out of my life these past few years. He offered the Republic an alliance with his associates, but at considerable cost. He disappeared while I was debating the issue.

"The Vorlons have given me precious little reason to hate them, but equally little reason to trust them.

"But then I could say the same of you, Primarch Sinoval."

Sinoval smiled and nodded. "The Centauri reputation for paranoia is not overstated, I see. Very well, I asked you here to show you two things. You have seen the first; it is time you saw the second, I believe.

"Has either of you heard of the Well of Souls?"

One of the finer arts of the street fight is knowing when to fight, and when to stand back. In the section on when definitely not to fight was marked a diagram of exactly the situation Dexter Smith now found himself in. To wit: being surrounded by six heavily-armed men much bigger and stronger than he was. Especially when they were dressed in suits.

With dark glasses.

The only thing missing was the inane chatter about music or films or the relative merits of Choc-A-Mint over Choc-A-Mocha.

Trace and Talia were nowhere in sight. Smith had been literally pulled from the room, and was now being pushed down the corridors to the door they had entered by. They eventually set foot outside to find the doorman he and Talia had slipped past before. He had woken up now and was looking around, confused.

"Mr. Trace is not happy," said one of the men surrounding Smith. "He is very not happy."

"Hey, Roberts," said the sleeping doorman. "What's.... what's the matter? Is there some sort of problem?"

"When Mr. Trace pays people to watch his club, he expects them to watch it, not to fall asleep and let any old passerby wander in."

"Hey! I never fall asleep. I was right here...."

"Look, go and tell it to Mr. Trace." Roberts smiled. "You never know. He might believe you. He might be in a good mood and let you keep a few fingers."

"What?" The doorman looked visibly shaken. "I wasn't asleep."

"You were," observed Smith dryly.

"What?!"

"You were so asleep. And snoring."

"I don't snore! I mean.... not that you'd know, because I wasn't asleep!"

"All we needed was a blanket and a little hot-water-bottle and you'd have been home away from home."

"Less of it," said Roberts, but the doorman evidently hadn't heard him.

"Shut up, you...!"

He moved forward.

Several things happened at once. The doorman made to punch Smith. Smith got out of the way by ducking down, grabbing at the nearest pair of ankles and pushing hard. The doorman hit the guy who had been standing directly behind Smith. Smith rolled across the ground and leapt to his feet. The other 'businessmen' moved into action, but the doorman stumbled into their way.

At that point, normal time reasserted itself.

Normally, Smith's solution would have been that discretion is the better part of valour, and he would have run. Anywhere. Very fast. On the other hand, Talia was around here somewhere and in a lot of trouble, and if there was anything guaranteed to make him stay around and get into a fight, it was the hope of impressing a pretty lady.

He backed off slowly, edging himself into a small alcove, so that only two of them could come at him at once. The first one to try it was the recipient of a very painful kick to the kneecap, and then a punch to the face which took him down. The second one had taken time to draw a knife, and he slashed it across Smith's arm.

There was a burst of pain and he fell back, wincing. A punch crashed into his jaw, and he fell. Rough hands seized his collar and he was thrown forward, away from the alcove, to land painfully at the feet of the 'businessmen' still standing.

A hard foot came down on his back.

"Get him up," snarled Roberts. "And you!" To the doorman. "Get in there and see Mr. Trace, and say goodbye to all your fingers on the way. Idiot!"

Smith was dragged roughly to his feet, and hauled directly before Roberts. A punch landed solidly in his belly. "You're only making it worse."

"Worse?" he spat. "What? You mean I'm going to get dumped in the foundations of a Kwik-E-Mart rather than a block of luxury flats?"

Something seemed to rise in the back of his mind, a signal he could only faintly hear, almost a sound far away on the horizon. He slumped in his captor's hold and closed his eyes.

There was a flurry of motion from behind him, and he burst into as much action as he could. An elbow in the ribs of the person holding him, and another kick out at Roberts. Tearing himself free, he lurched forward, breathing hard.

"Come on!" cried Talia from beside him. Her hand on his arm steadied him, and all he remembered was running frantically, her presence always at his side. It was some minutes before either of them spoke, and when she did, all she said was, "Lost them."

He considered this for a moment. "Oh," he said, wheezing. "Good."

"They're here," whispered Lyta. She could see them all in her mind, hovering outside the Babylon, waiting. How many there were she could not be certain, but this was their home, the ancestral seat of their power. They were strong here.

Then you will be stronger, hissed the voice in her mind. It brought with it a great light, a painful light, a light that seemed to burn through her skull.

Wait, the Vorlon instructed her.

"Captain," said a voice. She wasn't sure whose. It didn't matter. The message was important, not the messenger. "Jump engines are ready."

"Good," said another voice. Lyta turned her head to look at him. The air seemed so thick, or her head was so heavy. It was Captain Sheridan. She could see.... his soul. It was filled with light. No, it was surrounded by light, an aura, a halo.

"We're getting out of here, and if any of them try to stop us, blast our way out."

"There's a lot of them," said another voice. Sheridan's friend. Sheridan's second.

"All we have to do is get into hyperspace. We'll be safe there."

No, they will not. They will not reach the gateway. You know what to do.

And she did. This.... this was why he had insisted on her coming along. They needed her to keep him alive. They had great plans for him. He was their future.

"Captain," she said. Her voice sounded so strange, as if it were coming from a very long way away. "Let me deal.... with...."

The light was burning her more fiercely now. She opened her eyes as wide as she could. She could see them all, the Shadow ships, the living beings within them, their masters on the planet below.

Delenn!

Lyta could see her. She was on Z'ha'dum. She was alive — in danger, but alive. She was with two people.... Lyta could not see them clearly. They were in danger, but they were standing at the entrance to paradise. There was someone there, waiting for them.

"She's...." Her throat clenched. She could not say the words. She looked to the voice in her mind for guidance.

You will obey. Now.

She tried to scream, but it was not a scream. The light burst from her soul, throwing her body forward. She could not feel it. She could feel the Shadow ships recoiling before her assault, recoiling and hissing and screaming. Their screams were hers.

There was a crack from her arm, but she did not feel any pain. All she could feel was the burning, the light.... it was burning her, it was taking her to pieces....

Blood filled her eyes, and she slumped. Her last image before her head struck the floor was of the Shadow ships falling back, and of Captain Sheridan giving the order to take the Babylon into hyperspace.

Her last sensation before unconsciousness was of the mocking voice that came from the centre of the light in her mind.

You have done well. Rest now.

And she did.

Sinoval had been master of Cathedral for over a year and a half. He was acutely aware of just how few of its secrets he understood, even now. There were many chambers he had never entered, there were countless soul globes he had not seen or spoken to. There were towers and turrets and parapets he had never walked. There were voices he had not heard.

But he had seen the Well of Souls, and that sight had thrown all others into perspective. He did not entirely know what it was, but he knew that he would understand when the time was right, and so he did not ask. He could feel it in his waking dreams, growing stronger and stronger each day. Soon, he would know everything.

And he would wish he did not.

He walked up to the vast door, noticing that it looked.... different from the last time he had been here. A subtle change, but a change all the same. Still, he raised his hand to the glowing seal in the centre of the door and felt its spirit wash over him.

The door then disappeared. It did not open, it was merely as though it had never been.

He walked in, aware that G'Kar and Londo were only a few steps behind him.

The chamber was vast, impossibly so. As he looked out across it he wondered if it was even bigger than Cathedral. There were a billion tiny lights glinting into the horizon. The perspective of the room seemed so extraordinary, so out of place, as if he could take one step and be at the far end of the room, and yet walk forever to reach something within arm's length.

He made for the altar. It was a stable point, and possibly the centre of the room. Lights seemed to brighten as he walked past them, over them, beneath them. He could hear their soft whispers, individual voices of those dead for millennia, now joined into one form.

The shrine was there now, directly before him. Kozorr's flower was there no longer. He had brought it in offering, as custom and law demanded. The Well of Souls had rejected it, and him, knowing he had come to betray them.

Welcome, Primarch, spoke the booming voice of the Well itself. The voice changed frequently, but now it was strong and authoritarian, an old and wise king who had been a warrior in his youth, now welcoming a young and arrogant princeling to his throne room. Welcome, Preacher. Welcome, Emperor.

Sinoval turned to look at his companions. Both seemed astounded by their surroundings. Mollari appeared to be muttering prayers under his breath. "Great Maker," he breathed. "Where...?" He looked around. "Where is that voice coming from?"

"As well ask where the air or the water or the earth comes from," replied G'Kar.

"The voice comes from the stone beneath our feet," said Sinoval. "And from the air around us. It comes from the bones and the heart and the muscle of Cathedral."

True, Primarch.

There was a sudden shimmering, as one globe seemed to glow brighter and the others faded. A figure appeared before Mollari. It was a Centauri, tall and proud, and dressed in a fashion that seemed, to Sinoval's eyes at least, to be old.

Does this form please you better, Emperor? asked the image of the Centauri.

Londo looked at it in mute horror. "Great Maker," he breathed again.

Do you know who I am?

"I recognise you, yes. I have seen your image in paint and tapestry. You are my however many times great grandfather, the first Emperor Mollari."

In a sense. I am the part of him that lives on eternally, the part that did not slip away beyond the dark wall that is the end of all things.

"I never knew.... I never knew you took him. His death was.... not a matter of public record. He fled, yes? He.... you.... abandoned the homeworld after the revolution, to seek allies elsewhere, and.... never came back."

Death claims all. He was found and saved.

"And you are now.... here? A part of this Well of Souls?"

We were complete long before his death. He is a part of Cathedral, sheltered and protected from storms by the walls around us. He is a part of Cathedral, and thus a part of us.

"I.... Please, take that image away. It does not exactly put me in an optimistic frame of mind." The image faded. Sinoval saw G'Kar look at Mollari. The Centauri was shaking. "It is a good job for you that I am sober," he said hollowly. "If I were drunk, I would have a word or two to say to you, my ancestor."

"Why did you call us here?" asked G'Kar. "What.... do you have to say to us?"

We know the answers to all questions ever asked, save one alone. We see what is to come, as we see what has been. The accumulated wisdom of the galaxy is ours to wield and command.

This was not to be our time. We were to be a remnant, a legacy once all others had passed from this realm to the next. We were to be a reminder of the covenants forged of old. We were to be memory.

But that is not to be. We have returned early. This galaxy is changing. The times of the First Ones are fading, but they will not go easily. You two.... you two are the sole hopes of your peoples. Preacher and Emperor. Be warned, and be ready. Accept what has been shown must come to pass.

Our Primarch has denied his destiny, and it has led him here, to a fate he does not yet understand. Deny yours, and a similar fate will befall you.

And.... we wished to see you. We wished to have memories within us of those who may be the last true leaders of your peoples. There are Centauri here. There are Narn here. But you two.... you may be the last. Now, if your people die, something will live on.

The voice faded. Londo swore. G'Kar whispered a prayer.

Sinoval stood alone.

"My people will not die!" roared Mollari at last. "I will not let them die! Do you hear me?"

The Well of Souls did not respond, although it was a question to which it surely knew the answer.

"I will defend you, Delenn," Neroon said. "No shadow will touch you while there is breath in my body."

Delenn looked past him to the creature walking towards them. She recognised it as a Drakh. Not one of their warriors, or a magus, but a Drakh all the same. She remembered the carnage they had wrought at Kazomi 7. She saw again the children they had killed, the hopes they had destroyed, the people they had made mad with their Keepers.

She had found it difficult to hate anything or anyone since she had seen what had happened to Earth, but she did hate the Drakh.

Behind it walked two Shadows, their inky-black carapaces seeming to meld and dissolve in the flickering shadows cast by Parlonn's candle.

And yet she could sense that they were uncomfortable here. There was something about this place they disliked. Maybe Ivanova had been right after all. Maybe her mysterious friend was here.

"Come from this place," hissed the Drakh. "This flight is futile."

"Step no closer," said Neroon. "You may come no closer."

came another voice, a different voice. Delenn knew it was the voice of one of the Shadows. The Drakh was now directly in front of Neroon.

"D.... Del...." His throat was tightening as he tried to say her name. She could see his grip on his pike grow loose, until it slid from his nerveless fingers. With a strangled cry he fell to his knees, head bowed. Delenn took an anguished step back.

The Drakh stood over him, studying him closely. It looked back at its masters, and then turned back to Neroon, a faint trace of a smile on its face. It was the most hideous sight Delenn had ever seen.

The Drakh reached down and plunged its hand into Neroon's chest. The warrior stiffened, a terrible cry leaving his mouth. His head was thrown back, his eyes wide and staring. His face was very pale, all the blood draining from it.

"Delenn!" he cried, and then the Drakh withdrew its hand and Neroon fell slumped to the ground. Delenn did not need to go to him to know that he was dead, but she went anyway, cradling his head in her lap and looking into his dead, oh-so-pale eyes.

"No!" cried a voice from behind her. Ivanova. "You promised me I'd be safe, dammit! You promised!" Delenn was not sure who she was speaking to — the Shadows, or her mysterious friend.

said the voice of the Shadows.

"Stuff your promise!" she shouted. Delenn watched in horror as Susan turned and took a lurching step towards the edge of the chasm. She rose from Neroon's body, trying to reach out, but she was too far away.

Susan Ivanova disappeared off the edge of the precipice, vanishing into open space.

Delenn felt the cold, clammy hand of the Drakh touch her arm, and she pulled away, stumbling forward as she scrambled for the edge of the cliff. Her arm was burning, and she could hear the Shadows whispering in her mind.

Something burst in the back of her knee and she fell. Warmth ran down the back of her leg, and she landed awkwardly, striking her head. She tried to rise, but her body would not obey her.

Turning, she saw the Drakh advance on her. It was saying something, but she could not hear the words over the roaring of her blood in her ears.

Darkness took her.

He sat alone in his office, a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him. Proxima's Chief of Security and Spymaster General had found something more interesting than his coffee.

Mr. Welles had once wondered what it would be like to be able to see the future. Then he had remembered the tale of someone who had been able to see the future, but been unable to prevent it or to warn anyone else of it.

He knew how she felt.

He could see it all happening, everything unfolding before him. Clark talking about war with the Alliance. War with the Alliance! What foolishness was that? War with the Minbari, yes. Even against G'Kar. That made some sort of sense, but what reason to attack the Alliance?

What reason but that humanity's allies demanded it? What reason but a wish for suicide?

He was alone, without allies. For three years he had been fumbling, desperately trying to get someone to listen to him, someone to work with him. Nothing had worked. Bester had betrayed him, had betrayed them all, for some little game of his. Bester was rumoured to be dead now. Welles did not believe it. He would always turn up again.

But then, just when everything seemed lost, help could come from the least likely of places.

He put down the piece of paper he had been reading and picked up his coffee, taking a sip. He very quickly spat it out.

He looked back at the paper. It was a warrant for the arrest of one Dexter Smith, last known location Sector 301, on a charge of murder.

Delenn could hear the voice as she recovered consciousness. Slowly she rose, looking around. This place seemed little different from any other in Z'ha'dum, but she could feel something different. An air.... almost of holiness.

"Where am I?" she asked, not realising she had spoken aloud.

"A very good question," said another voice, an old voice, filled with loss and wisdom and wonder. "Who are you? That is another good question. What do you want? I wonder if anyone up there can answer them. Can you?"

"I know the answers," she replied. "Who are you?"

"Someone welcoming a guest to his home. Welcome, Delenn of Mir. I believe we have a great deal to talk about."