Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке

Chapter 1

They came from nowhere, simply appearing, shimmering into view. There were three of them, black and sinister, shadows against the night sky.

The crew of the two Drazi ships knew full well what they were, and they were not afraid. Perhaps these…. mysterious aliens had been able to defeat the Brakiri expeditionary force sent out against them, but what could you expect from Brakiri anyway? This crew were Drazi, and they were true warriors. After all, hadn't they fought these…. Shadows already? At Epsilon 3. They had survived that, and they would survive this.

The first Sunhawk was sliced in pieces by the first Shadow ship. Its crew died without the chance even to scream. The other soared forward, firing its forward ion cannons. The Shadow dodged the blast effortlessly and rose above the warship.

An instant later, the second Sunhawk was gone.

The three Shadow vessels departed from normal space, none so much as scratched, leaving behind them only the wreckage and the dead.

The images faded, and Delenn sighed softly. So many dead, so many lives annihilated in a mere split second. Such a tragic waste, and it had been she who had arranged their deaths. Oh, refusing the Shadows' false offers of peace had been the only course of action, but ultimately it had been her decision. She had made it, and these people had died as result.

There was a gentle hush amongst the members of the Council. Delenn's first glance was to Vizhak and Taan Churok, the two Drazi members. They had been here from the very beginning, and they had each served the Alliance well. But they were still Drazi, and some things remained no matter how much time was spent among aliens.

"We will send more ships," Vizhak announced. "And we will keep sending ships until these Shadows are all destroyed."

"You can send all the ships you like," Delenn said softly. "You will only create more of the dead. The Enemy is too powerful for that. They are also too quick. You saw yourself just how the ambush turned around there. Did both ships have telepaths?"

The two Drazi looked at each other, and then proceeded to find many things of interest in the papers before them.

Delenn sighed again, rubbing at her eyes. She had not slept well last night. Not at all. "Telepaths are the only real weapon we have against the Shadows," she said. "You both know this. Why then were those ships not provided with telepaths?"

"It is easy for you," Vizhak said, looking up. His tone of voice was faintly apprehensive. "Minbari have many telepaths. Drazi have few. We do not breed as many telepaths as Minbari do, and those we have are…. needed. Our laws do not bind them. They are not soldiers. We cannot command them to go to war."

"We have…. some telepaths here," she said.

"Yes. Minbari telepaths. Brakiri telepaths. One human telepath. None of those can serve on Drazi ship. Only Drazi serve on Drazi ships."

"I was on one of your ships," she pointed out. Twice, in fact, at Minbar and at the Third Line. The Drazi had been most eager to have her aboard the Stra'Kath, their flagship.

"You are leader," she said. "You lead Drazi. You speak for Drazi to aliens. You are different."

She did not know whether to be flattered or not. She had certainly been given worse compliments. Her general mood, however, left no time for recognising the absurdity of the situation. "The fact is, Vizhak…. without telepaths we stand little chance against the Shadows. At Epsilon Three we had the advantage of knowing they were coming, of setting defences, of time to prepare. We cannot do that this time, and if we simply fly around waiting for them to appear, then we will share the same fate as those two ships."

"At least we try," spoke up Taan Churok. "Kazomi Seven is as safe as we can make it. Is fortified, is strong, is safe…. but other worlds, other peoples, other ships…. We cannot protect them all. So we try to deal with Shadows. We try…. where are others?"

"We have hardly been idle," Delenn replied. "We have been trying to establish a strategy, so that we can understand the enemy. Ambassador Sheridan made it clear that we, the Alliance, would bear the brunt of the Shadows' attacks, and so far that has appeared to be the case, but their attacks have been against your individual worlds…. not against any Alliance holdings. Why? We have to understand what they want first."

"We know what they want. To destroy us."

"We try to fight them, Delenn," said Vizhak. "Is Drazi way."

"There is another concern," spoke up another voice, and all eyes turned to Lethke, Minister for the Economy. The Brakiri was a calm-spoken man, precise and used to thinking clearly before speaking. "We have among us, here in this very city, one who knows more about the Shadows than anyone else can hope to. He promised us his aid and the assistance of his people when he arrived. But he has done nothing. For three weeks he has done nothing. He is not even here now.

"Where is Ambassador Ulkesh?"

"He was invited to this meeting, as he has been to every other," replied Delenn, a slow chill spreading through her body. There was a great deal about Ulkesh that she disliked. He was very…. different from the Vorlon who had shared her mind and soul for so many years, the Vorlon who had given his life in the temporal rift.

And she was not the only one who felt like that. The technomage Vejar had been conspicuously avoiding Ulkesh ever since his arrival. And Lyta…. Delenn's friend had changed greatly in the three weeks since the new Vorlon had come to Kazomi 7. Delenn wished she had had more of a chance to talk with her recently, but she had been so busy….

There was something that kept Ulkesh from these meetings, and for some reason she could not identify, and certainly could not rationalise, Delenn had the very uncomfortable feeling that that something was her.

I've been listening to Sinoval too much, she thought uneasily. To be certain, the warrior detested Vorlons with every fibre of his being, and after his revelations at the Rebirth Ceremony at the beginning of the year Delenn understood something of why, but did that mean his paranoid suspicions were true? Previously she had disbelieved them all, but since meeting Ulkesh again….

"Then what do we do?" asked Vizhak. "Sit here and wait to die? Is not Drazi way."

"No, we do not just sit here, but we do not send our ships out to be pointlessly butchered either. We formulate a plan, and we force the confrontation on our terms. That is as soon as we are ready. Commander Corwin…. do you honestly think we can defeat the Shadows?"

The young human shuffled in his seat awkwardly. He had been invited to all the meetings of the Alliance Council since the Battle of the Third Line, but he had only started coming with the advent of the open attacks by the Shadows. Of everyone here, with the possible exception of Ta'Lon, he had the most experience of fighting the Shadows directly.

"There's no denying their superiority," he said, after a moment's hesitation. He was clearly uncomfortable. "Technological, that is. Some of their tech was put into the Babylon by the Resistance Government…. not as much as was built into the later ships, but still a little. We've been going over it as best as we can, and what we've found isn't very…. um…. reassuring.

"Their ships are organic in nature, at least partially. They're very resistant to damage. It can be done, though, with great difficulty. We've all seen that. Telepaths seem to be our only real advantage against them. Each time we've fought them…. something has happened to swing the battle in our favour.

"At Proxima Three it was the arrival of a Vorlon fleet. At…. Epsilon Three, the Great Machine helped us as much as it could, and when it…. exploded it took some of their ships with it." He fell silent, and Delenn looked down. When the Great Machine exploded it had taken something else with it as well. Commander Corwin's great friend Michael Garibaldi. And it looked as though it would take his Captain as well.

"I'd…. ah…. rather not spend all my subsequent battles with the Shadows praying for a miracle. Besides, if we take anything near the losses we took at Epsilon Three, another couple of battles like that and we won't have any ships left to pray for miracles with."

"Then…. what do you recommend?"

He was very quick, and blunt. "Get the Vorlons here to help us now. Because without them, we don't stand a chance. None at all."

Delenn sighed again. Exactly as she had thought. Sometimes she hated being right.

G'Kael seldom thought much about the future. As far as life in the army and in the lower circles of the Kha'Ri went, he was lucky if he had time to think about the present. However, if he had given much thought to where the path of his destiny would take him, he would never had believed it would lead to Kazomi 7, and to the position he now held.

Ambassador. A fine title in theory, but a hollow one in practice. The Kha'Ri had little time for this Alliance, being far more preoccupied with the war against the Centauri, and they had responded to the Council's offer of representation with hearty guffaws. Eventually, however, they had accepted the need to have someone here, even if only to serve as a spy, and a quick series of suggestions had thrown up G'Kael's name.

In the few months he had been here, though, he had learned that his post was considerably more important than some back home seemed to think. First, he had met and spoken to the fabled Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar himself, who had pressed home the great importance of this place. G'Kar was gone now, on some personal errand of great urgency, but his second Ta'Lon was still here.

And now, to his considerable surprise, someone else of importance had turned up, someone he had definitely not been expecting.

"Councillor Na'Toth," he exclaimed, seeing her sitting in the room he had been using as an audience chamber. The furnishings were hardly perfect, but this had been a Drazi colony after all. "I am honoured."

"I wish I were," she said, with trademark bluntness. G'Kael had spent much of his time in the Kha'Ri's lower circles observing those in the upper ones, and so he was fully acquainted with what some might call Na'Toth's lack of tact. On the other hand, he could tell from her tone that she was less than pleased.

"I am to take it, I suppose, that the Kha'Ri has not decided to recognise the full importance of my position here?" he speculated, taking a wild guess. He knew well enough how politics in the Kha'Ri worked, after all.

"If they had, I would not be here," she replied acidly. "No, I fear there has been another round of ritual blood-letting in our Government, and I am the latest victim. I have been…. posted here. As your attach?."

"My…. attach?? But…."

"I know. A fairly severe demotion. My father would be revolving in the afterlife in disgust if he could see me now. It was my fault, really. I was a little too preoccupied with trying to avert a war to watch my back. That…. arrogant pouchling H'Klo managed to stage a very effective and surprisingly bloodless coup."

"I had heard nothing of this."

"Of course not. The Kha'Ri has not lasted this long by throwing all its little games open to the public. Councillor H'Klo and his supporters were very upset at my constant efforts to delay the war, as was Warleader G'Sten. And so they…. trumped up certain charges relating to the unfortunate death of Councillor Du'Rog some years ago."

"They falsified murder charges against you?"

"I would not say falsified…. not exactly. Well, dwelling on the past is neither here nor there. Is Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar here? I need to speak with him."

"No. He has…. departed on some personal mission. I do not know where. His lieutenant Ta'Lon is here."

"Ah, yes. Ta'Lon will have to do. G'Kar has chosen a most unsafe time to go galloping around the galaxy though. Our fleets will be at Centauri Prime in a matter of weeks, and when that happens, well…. it would not be a wise idea for one such as G'Kar to be somewhere that is not entirely safe."

"Is anywhere entirely safe these days?"

"The grave," she replied. He was not sure if she was joking or not, and all told it was probably just as well.

Shai Alyt Kozorr had been away from his people for only a few months, but it seemed far, far longer. A great deal had happened to him. The scales over his eyes had been lifted and he could now see clearly.

He knew what he had to do.

He had found Cathedral easily enough. It was still at Tarolin 2, as were several other ships in Sinoval's fleet. Kozorr pondered the situation on the planet's surface for a while, remembering the chaos and bloodshed that had occurred there. Sonovar had ordered that, but…. it had been for a good reason…. He had not been harming the innocent, only those who had betrayed their duties to the Minbari by swearing loyalty to Sinoval. That was….

He shook his head. He didn't really know. Sonovar was right, though. He must be.

And about one thing Sonovar had been very right. The instant Kozorr set eyes on Sinoval for the first time in months, he was stricken by the realisation.

Kats would never love him. Not while he remained in Sinoval's shadow. It was ironic, but Sinoval was better than him in every way. Without Sinoval…. Kozorr could very well have been the mightiest warrior of this generation. With him, he was nothing but a footnote.

"Kozorr!" cried the Primarch, moving forward slowly. His face was filled with a surprised joy, but there was something about him that did not speak of joy. He hesitated. "I was told you were…. dead."

Kozorr sighed softly, and limped forward. "It was a…. trick on Sonovar's part. Some sort of test, maybe. He…. wanted information from me. I…. ah…. I managed to escape."

Sinoval smiled. "Someone is favouring us at last, then. Come…. you need to rest, I am sure. You do not look…. well."

"I am tired, nothing more," he replied, shrinking away from Sinoval's touch. "It has not been easy."

"I do not doubt it. Still, I am very glad you have returned to us, Kozorr. Kats will be also. She…. told me what happened. She was…. feeling very guilty."

Kozorr bowed his head. "It was the only choice to make. I would do it again if I had to. You would have done the same."

"I hope so," came the soft reply. "Come, I will find a healer for you, and then you can rest. You look as though you need it."

"No!" he snapped quickly, and Sinoval looked surprised. "No. No healers. Where…. is Kats? I would like to see her."

Sinoval chuckled softly. "And she would like to see you too, my friend. Very much. She is on the surface, helping restore the records in the temporary Government building. I will guide you there…. unless you would rather see her alone."

"I would."

He nodded. "I understand. My blessings on you both."

Kozorr looked startled, but then he nodded and turned away, not really understanding. Sinoval had called him a friend, and he certainly thought so of Sinoval, but…. He had to prove himself to Kats, and he had to purify the taint on the Minbari people. Once the Soul Hunters were gone, then he, Kats and Sinoval could unite with Sonovar and the Tak'cha and take the war to the Enemy.

There was a brief movement in front of him, and a Soul Hunter came into view. Its ancient, hateful gaze fixed upon him for a moment, and then it stepped aside. Kozorr continued, thinking dark thoughts.

The Soul Hunter went to Sinoval, and they talked briefly, in hushed tones. Kozorr did not hear what they said, but Sinoval's expression was dark indeed.

They called it the Pit. Its more official designation was Sector 301 of the Main City Dome of Proxima 3, but the title of the Pit had been coined many years ago, and it had stuck.

It was appropriate as well, for the Pit was where Proxima dumped all its refuse, all its unwanted, all its discards, its trash, its rubbish. The security forces in the sector were notoriously corrupt, and all the MegaCorps avoided it like the plague.

It was a place of broken dreams and lost souls.

It was therefore hardly the sort of place one might expect to find a celebrated war hero, a man who had appeared among the Top Ten People of 2259 in Humanity magazine, and whom a poll had voted the Seventh Sexiest Man Alive in the same year.

For former Captain Dexter Smith however, the Pit was home.

It had been a few weeks since his honourable discharge from Earthforce, and the time had passed in a sort of blur. He had declined a number of interviews with news reporters, an offer of a weekly column in Universe Today, a regular panel slot on New News and several proposals of marriage. His discharge from the military had been big news for a while, and he was slightly amused to discover the official reason given was 'health problems, resulting from injuries sustained in long-term combat situations'.

If only half the people now interested in him had had any clue as to what those 'long-term combat situations' had been like, the world might be a better place. A great many people claimed to want the truth about his experiences in the war, and he had only been able to shake his head and reply that, no, they didn't at all.

And so he had come to the Pit to disappear. That was easy. Things disappeared in the Pit with a depressing lack of effort. The news moved on; the big story at the moment being the launch of the new warship, the Saint-Germain under Captain DeClerq. The Saint-Germain was one of the new type of warship, the Warlock class, which would take Earthforce well into the new decade.

Smith listened to all this, and shrugged. He did not know DeClerq all that well, but he certainly knew of the man. It was fortunate that the media hadn't been doing their homework recently. Otherwise they would be all over the 'Coward of Vega 7' leading one of the new warships.

Still, everyone deserved a second chance, and it wasn't as if experienced soldiers were all that thick on the ground any more.

Smith switched off the news channel and absently flicked through the others. The reception here in the Pit was less than perfect and some channels were unavailable, but from those could get he was far from impressed. It had been a while since he had watched any of the vidscreens, but surely things hadn't been this bad before? He paused briefly at a remake of Macbeth, but then shuddered the instant he heard the dialogue, and switched off.

Pacing up and down his apartment didn't alleviate his boredom for long either, especially as there wasn't much of his apartment to pace up and down in. He could have afforded a better place than this — most beggars could probably have afforded a better place than this — but he was…. content with his choice.

It reminded him of home.

He had been quite upset to hear that the apartment block he had been brought up in had been demolished. Upset, but far from surprised. The place had been a hazard to life and limb even then, before the massive inrush of refugees from Orion and elsewhere had swamped Proxima. Still, it had been…. a place to live. There were a few pleasant memories. Not many, admittedly, but a few.

Sighing in exasperation, he grabbed a coat and went out for a walk.

Another thing he would never get used to was wearing civilian clothes again. He had been wearing a uniform for over half his life, since he had joined Earthforce at fifteen following some creative accountancy over trivial details such as age, address and parentage. Fashions had been very different then, and he had no idea what to wear now. A vague wander around the precincts in the Meadowhall Dome had not helped much, and he had settled for what he could find. Of course, in Sector 301, that would mean he would stick out like a Pak'Ma'Ra at a gourmet luncheon, but it would have to do.

He had no idea where he was going, what he was going to do when he got there or who he could go to see.

He also had no idea that someone was watching him.

Delenn looked up at the monument before her and breathed out slowly. It was not complete yet, and maybe it never would be, but for the moment it was there; a testament to the bloodshed and death that had resulted in a renewed hope.

How fragile that hope seemed now. But even if the Alliance ended tomorrow, they would still have accomplished a great deal of good. That was something, at least. It did not seem a terribly comforting thought, but it was better than nothing.

The original plan had been to list on the giant archway everyone who had died during the Drakh invasion, but that had rapidly proved to be impossible. There were just too many dead, and the vast majority of them could not be identified. All the records had been destroyed and the immigration and trading lists had been less than accurate anyway.

Delenn had proposed another idea however, having once heard a story from John. It had seemed hauntingly appropriate, and not for the first time she had wondered at the poetry and beauty of the race she had very nearly destroyed.

Over three hundred years ago, there had been a bloody, terrible war among humanity. An entire generation of young men had been slaughtered. It had been called, with tragic inaccuracy, 'the war to end all wars'. Afterwards, in a bid for some sort of legacy, one of the nations involved had devised a new memorial. Six coffins were taken from among the thousands of unidentified dead wearing that country's uniform, and in a moving ceremony an ordinary soldier selected one of these coffins at random. One body, representing all the dead. One brave soul, serving as a reminder of all brave souls. The body was buried under a huge archway in the centre of the capital city, and an eternal flame lit to burn forever over the 'Tomb of the Unknown Warrior'.

That tomb was gone now, but the poetry of the concept remained, and Delenn had managed to reinstate it here. A body had been found, one among many that could not be identified, and it had been buried here, representing all those who had died in the Drakh invasion.

A tiny, insignificant atonement for all she had destroyed.

There was a soft cough behind her and she turned, lost in her thoughts. She had completely forgotten that she had come here to wait for someone.

"Lyta," she said smiling, hugging her friend warmly. "It has been…. too long since we last spoke."

"Yes," Lyta said, a trifle hesitantly, returning the hug tentatively. "We've been…. busy."

Delenn pulled back, looking at her friend. "Something is wrong, isn't it? That's why you asked to meet me here."

"Yes. He…. doesn't like this place. Not at all. His…. influence isn't so strong here, for some reason."

"Vejar blessed this shrine when it was constructed," Delenn said thoughtfully. "He said it would never be destroyed, never decay, never tarnish. He said it would still be here when the planet itself crumbled into dust."

"That could be it," Lyta said thoughtfully. "Ulkesh…. doesn't seem to like Vejar much. He didn't say anything, but it's clear he doesn't…. approve of having a technomage around."

"And Vejar has been staying away from the Vorlons as much as he can. You think something is…. wrong, don't you?"

"I know something's wrong," she replied. "Oh, Delenn. You don't know what's he like. He's…. not at all like Kosh. He's very different. He's planning something. He's been waiting for this for a long time. He knows everything I'm thinking and he…. His anger is…. terrible." The last word came out as a plaintive cry, and Delenn stepped forward to embrace her friend again.

"I came to warn you," Lyta said, after a pause. "He's not helping the Alliance…. because he's doesn't want to. It's not that he can't. It's that he won't. There's something here that he doesn't like…. and I think it's you."

"Me?" Delenn was astounded. She had been with the Vorlons for so long. She had even let one of them share her soul for years. Dukhat had believed in them implicitly. "Why could he not…. like me?"

"I don't know, but he is planning something to do with you, Delenn. I don't know what, but…. you won't like it. " Lyta stepped back. "I have to go. I can't stay here too long, or he'll know. I just had to warn you. Be very, very careful of him, Delenn. He's dangerous."

Lyta slipped away from Delenn's embrace and vanished from the shrine. Delenn turned back to look at the arch, and she began to ponder. She was thinking of…. she was thinking of voicing her suspicions to the one person she knew who would share them.

If Sinoval would listen, of course.

If Londo had been told when he was young just what being Emperor would entail, he would in all likelihood have resolved not to take up the position and to remain in bed for the rest of his life. As it was, no one had filled him in exactly and so he had been lumbered with the job. Any position, he had thought to himself, mid-way through suffering yet another six-hour speech by those thieves in Resource Procurement, where so much time is spent sitting down, cannot possibly be worth it.

Fortunately the job was not without its advantages, and one of those was that at least he could be sure his friends got ahead in the world.

The downside to that, of course, was that his friends had to suffer through the same purgatory he did, but at least the misery was spread around.

Marrago, on the other hand, seemed positively to revel in his new authority. He had been Lord-General of the armies long before Londo had risen to his exalted position, but now he had an Emperor who actually listened to him, which was a truly rare thing. Some people seemed to be of the opinion that the Emperor listened to him entirely too much. Then again, those people would much rather the Emperor listened to them instead, so their opinions didn't count for a great deal.

"I'm expecting an attack by the end of the month at the latest," he said, reporting his bleak news to the Emperor in one of their very private, late-night meetings. "The Narns seem to have pressed up their campaign after several recent unexplained and unaccountable delays. A new leadership is a strong possibility. Probably one that actually recognises the concerns of the military."

"What an unusual and fascinating concept," Londo drawled, but Marrago did not smile. He had suffered a great deal from the incompetence and mismanagement of the Court. "Can we withstand an assault on Centauri Prime?"

"I wish I knew," came the reply. "I've gathered every available ship here, and the defence grid is as ready as it will ever be. Apparently the Narns have taken substantial losses in their ground assaults on our colonies, especially at Gorash, but there has not been corresponding damage to their fleets. Ship-wise, they probably outnumber us. Whether that means they can win or not…. I'd say we can defend Centauri Prime adequately with the ships we have, but…. to be honest, Londo, I'd be much happier if I could be absolutely sure we'd win. As it is, I'm expecting a fairly bloody stand-off."

"Isn't that what happened in the last war?"

"Not quite. The last war ended in a stand-off out in mid-space. Preferable by far to it ending at our very doorstep."

"Hmm…. I wonder if we should speed things up with Mr. Morden. A Vorlon ship or two would make all the difference."

"Indeed it would…. if we could be sure we could trust them. Besides, Londo, just how much do we want to owe to this…. Morden?"

"A fine point…. but I would rather be alive and in considerable debt than dead."

"There is little risk of that. No, Centauri Prime will hold, and I think we will be able to drive the Narns away…. but as matters stand the losses on each side are likely to be horrendous. The Narns have by all accounts given considerable thought to the practicalities of a war of attrition, and they're willing to take great risks to win. In this situation in the last war, we'd be able to drive them off once they suffered minimal losses. Now…. we may well have to wipe them all out.

"It's going to be a mess, Londo, no doubt about it. A lot of good people are going to die."

"I know. But they will die for Centauri Prime, and Centauri Prime will not forget that. Not at all. How…. how is Carn?"

Marrago's face broke into a smile. "A fine soldier. By the time I'm ready to retire he'll make a perfect replacement."

"Ah…. I am so glad to hear that, although I doubt you will be retiring short of us putting you on the pyre, old friend."

"Well…. Carn is a little young. I'd be quite happy to tutor him for the next ten years or so."

"Is that all? Great Maker, I had placed a bet on your still serving well past ninety. Ah, if you retire at a pathetic seventy or so, I'll lose a lot of money."

The Lord-General laughed. "Ninety, eh? Who did you place this bet with? I think there's the possibility of some money to be made here."

"That is for me to know, and for you to find out. Besides, don't we pay you enough?"

"You don't pay me at all."

"Ah…. I think you need a talk with those cheats and swindlers at the Ministry of the Economy, then."

"No, Londo. On the whole, I think I'd rather face the Narns than that."

Londo broke out into laughter, as did Marrago. Laughter had been a rare sound in the Royal Court recently, and both of them had the very depressing feeling it would not be heard very often in the future.

All the better then, to enjoy it now. While they could.

"I hate this place."

The woman lounging on the bed said nothing in reply to her companion's complaint. He was standing at the window of their apartment, looking out across the streets below. She could imagine what he was seeing, but she did not want to look at it for herself.

"I hate this place. There are mundanes everywhere, running about living their petty, worthless little lives. Almost like ants. I wonder what it would be like to reach out and squash some of them."

"Don't," she warned, fanning at her face. It was hot here. Very hot. "We're meant to be undercover, remember."

"Yes, I suppose so." He paused, and she turned to look at him, surprised at the hesitation in his tirade against everything that was his surroundings. "There was someone there…. Almost one of us, but not quite. He looks a little…. familiar. Ah, he's gone."

"You shouldn't try to scan them," she muttered irritably, swinging her long legs down from the bed. "We don't know they're all mundanes and we don't want to give ourselves away. Our kind don't go into this area unless they've got something to hide."

"Hasn't everyone here got something to hide? I can see all their worthless little secrets…."

"Stop it! You're right. Everyone comes here to hide from something. That's why they call it the Pit after all. Things tend to…. disappear here. But there are secrets, and then there are secrets. Ours definitely fall into the latter category. Trust me, Al does not want this coming out."

"Hmm. I suppose you've got used to this by now, after all." Byron turned away from the window. He looked irritated, and not without reason. This was the first time he had been without his Psi Cop uniform in years. The two of them had had to leave all the regalia back at Sanctuary: gloves, badges, uniforms. Strictly speaking that was illegal, but then the rules governing the Corps had been very…. lax in recent years.

"Sort of," Talia admitted. "It's a little worrying just how easy it gets to adopt different names and faces…. almost as if my own just…. fades beneath them. It does get better though. I've been in worse places than this."

"Yes. I heard you spent several months on board that ship of theirs…. the Babylon. What was that like?"

"Strange," she replied thoughtfully. "The whole ship felt odd…. as if it didn't like me. It had alien technology built into it, but still…. I was never really comfortable there. And the Captain…. he was…. ah…." She fell silent for a moment.

"What's our plan of action then? Do we make for the IPX headquarters?"

"No," she tutted. "At least not yet. There's a reason I had us based here, and not just because we'll be hard to track. I've arranged a meeting with someone for tomorrow afternoon, in a less than reputable neighbourhood not far away. His name's Chase, and he used to be a quartermaster at the Government dome. He was transferred to IPX after he…. discovered a little more than he should have done about certain activities of his immediate superiors."

"Do you know what these activities are?" Byron asked, evidently curious.

"Naturally," she replied. "Donne uncovered a great deal for Al. Anyway…. Chase was…."

"And what was his superior up to?"

"Various things that can't be spoken of in the presence of a lady," she snapped tartly. "Let's just say there was a very good reason he and Donne would have got on so well. It doesn't matter now anyway. He's dead.

"Anyway, Chase was, in addition to his less pleasant activities, embezzling arms and so forth for sale on the black market. A couple of months ago he graduated to selling very confidential information, and IPX found out about it. They decided to go for a quicker option than trial, and hired assassins to take him out. He's been on the run for a while, and so naturally he ended up here. My preliminary survey tracked him down, and we're going to offer him a deal. He'll know something, or he'll know someone who knows something. Either way, it's a start."

Byron nodded. "Uh-huh. And after we've found out what we want from him?"

"You want to kill him, don't you?"

"He's just a mundane, and it would be dangerous to leave him alive."

She sighed. "I've never liked gratuitous killing."

"You won't have to do it."

"Well, you're the bodyguard, I suppose. Do what you think's best. I'm just…. surprised Al felt the need to give me a bodyguard. He never has before."

"He's worried about you."

"I've been in less safe places than this. No…." She swung herself back on to the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "Something's going to happen at Sanctuary, very soon. He's been trying to keep it from me, but there's trouble there…. possibly the worst trouble he's ever been in.

"I'm worried about him. A lot."

They were ready. A decision had been made. She was not entirely sure if it was the right one, but at least it was a decision, and Vizhak and Taan Churok were right. Something had to be done. There are times when any action, even the wrong one, is preferable to no action at all.

Delenn just wished she was sure this was the right action.

She took her place in the same seat she had sat in, slept in and wept in for the last few months. John was still in the same bed. He was asleep. He looked so still. For just a moment he seemed so much at peace, almost as if everything that had happened to them had been just a dream.

"I'm going soon," she whispered, not knowing if he could hear her, but knowing she had to speak anyway. "We're going to try to take on the Shadows. It's the sort of thing you'd want to do…. if you could. Commander Corwin will be there, though. He's a good man. I can see now why you trusted him so much."

She paused, touching his face gently. "I don't know if I will be able to return. I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I do know…. that I will never forget you. I love you, John. Now…. and always. I hope you know that."

She gently leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. Then she turned and left.

He was surprised by just how much had been done since he had last been here. Kozorr had last seen the buildings and offices of Tarolin 2 in ruins, devastated by the Tak'cha's retribution on those who had betrayed the Minbari people. The streets had been filled with the wounded and dying, and as he had moved through them he had heard the cries of the lost and the moans of the forsaken.

Now it was almost as though the attack had never happened. Oh, there were traces here and there, but for the most part the damage had been repaired. The attack had been very localised of course, and after the initial assault the Tak'cha had gone on the ground to hunt and kill the survivors.

But still, he knew to whom Tarolin 2 owed this miraculous repair. He found her seated at a desk in a nondescript office in the building the new Government had taken over. She was alone, staring at a computer screen.

He stood silently in the doorway, looking at her. She was hard at work, but she looked…. drained. He knew from experience that she had a habit of working on beyond her endurance. Anger flared. Why had Sinoval not recognised this, and done something about it? He calmed himself. He would not be angry around her. He could not be angry around her.

He stood there, watching, for a long time. He did not know how long. Time did not seem to matter. It was only when she stirred and turned to look at the doorway that he returned to his senses.

Her mouth opened wide in mute shock. Her eyes looked…. tired.

"My lady," he whispered softly, his voice choked. He had seen and done many things, and he had been afraid before. He had known great fear, but never so much as in that moment when his lady Kats looked at him.

"You were…. He said you…."

"I am here," he said, walking over to her. His limp seemed not to bother him. She rose from her seat and almost fell against him. He caught her easily and held her there. He did not ever want to let her go.

"He said that you were dead," she whispered. "He told me you were dead."

"He lied. I was never dead…. just a prisoner, and every day I thought about you."

She said nothing for a long time afterwards, but he could hear the sound of her sobs. He was crying himself, but he had no need to say anything. Just to be there, with her, was enough.

For the moment.

They were there, black against the blackness of space, screaming in her mind. They would kill, brutally slaughter the innocent with no mercy, no compassion. They had to be stopped.

Delenn sat in silence on the bridge of the Babylon, looking around at her companions: Commander David Corwin, John's closest friend. He was breathing in and out slowly, his hands clenched into fists. Lyta Alexander, her eyes shrouded in darkness. She seemed to be listening to something that wasn't there.

There were other ships here as well. Drazi, Brakiri, a few Narn. They were ready to make a stand against the Darkness, to take the war to the enemy.

Corwin received a message, and sighed. "They're here," he said.

"Then let's go."

The jump points from hyperspace opened, and the fleets poured out. The Shadows were waiting for them.

Chapter 2

It was almost ironic. She had been preparing for this moment for over thirteen years. During all that time she had imagined their darkness, their terror, their…. evil. Too many of her friends had given their lives in this cause: Lenonn, Draal, Neroon, Marcus….

And now that she was finally taking the war to the enemy, Delenn of Mir had never felt less ready for anything in her life.

Part of that had to do with the circumstances of this battle, which were less than ideal. The Drazi Government had been furious about the orders to hold and prepare and wait. They simply did not have the resources to defeat the Shadows themselves, but they had persisted in trying, and that only resulted in more deaths.

So the Alliance had had to force a showdown, to win some sort of victory, however small, just to prove it could be done. That meant utilising the greatest weapons they had; the Babylon, a ship modified by Shadow technology, and Lyta Alexander, the strongest telepath available.

Delenn had also insisted on coming herself. She was going to send people out to die for her after all. She needed to see it.

There were three Shadow ships. All three turned when the jump points opened. Delenn drew in a deep breath and waited for the battle to begin.

On another ship, a long way away, another person was sitting on the bridge, deep in thought. He had been preparing himself for this war for a long time, longer even than Delenn. Ever since he had been a young child he had dreamed of this moment. His war was nearly at an end, and then he could rest.

Warleader G'Sten of the Narn flagship Pride of the Kha'Ri looked around at the rest of his bridge crew. They all looked so young. They were probably older than he had been when he had begun this war against the Centauri.

They were nearly there. Centauri Prime, the dream he had been chasing for so long. He might have succeeded during the last war, but the attack on Gorash had been too bloody and had taken too much out of the fleet. G'Sten had never been more disappointed than when he had surveyed his fleet and realised they were not strong enough to go for the homeworld. He had turned his back and left, not wanting to see the planet and be unable to grasp it.

This time, this war, he was ready. Victory had followed victory, and he could total the number of worlds taken from the Centauri. It was a most pleasing figure. Gorash 7, Ragesh 3, Frallus 9…. And now Centauri Prime itself.

He was an old man now, and he could retire after this. He would have done his part for the future of his race. They would remember him, maybe even build a statue to him in G'Khamazad. He would like that.

"There's a message for you, Warleader," said his aide, and he looked up. "It's from the Kha'Ri."

"Come to congratulate us, eh?" he asked, smiling — but it was a false smile and false good humour. He had been delayed enough already in the course of this war. Without the unnecessary hesitations and hold-ups he could have taken Centauri Prime months ago. He would not let them deny him this chance again. He knew full well he would not get another one.

"Put them through," he continued. "Here."

"Warleader…. wouldn't you rather…. take it in private?" G'Sten frowned. The aide was new, brought in to replace his former assistant, G'Lorn. He had requested a chance to captain his own ship, and G'Sten had had to agree. He could not deny G'Lorn this chance for glory, a chance that would never come again.

"Anything they wish to say to me, they may say to my soldiers," he replied. The aide nodded, and began patching through the signal. G'Lorn would have known better than to ask that question. He had understood his Warleader well.

"Maybe I'm getting old," he muttered irritably to himself. There was no 'maybe' about it. He was old. He remembered when he had been in the Resistance, with old M'Sela. He had taunted the old man about going off to bed and leaving war to the younger men. He was now six years older than M'Sela had been when he had died, fighting six Imperial Guards at Na'Mirammar. Five of them had gone into death with him.

The viewscreen came on to reveal the face of H'Klo, one of the rising stars in the Kha'Ri. He was young, arrogant, and had actually served in the army, acting with distinction in the previous war. H'Klo had been decorated after Shi, he seemed to remember.

"What is your status, Warleader?" he asked.

"We will be at Centauri Prime by just after midday tomorrow," he replied. "Our probes are picking up details of their defences as we speak."

"Can you defeat them?"

"Yes," he replied simply. "It will in all likelihood be harder than we had anticipated. I think all available ships have been pulled from other postings to defend their homeworld. We outnumber them, though. I have confidence we will triumph."

"The people are expecting an easy victory," H'Klo warned.

"Then the people are fools!" G'Sten snapped back. "It would have been an easy victory six months ago. But I believe there has been a change in leadership among the Centauri. The positioning of their defences indicates that Marrago has regained influence and power. He is there."

"You are sure?"

"We have fought each other for over ten years, Councillor. I am sure."

"How does that change things?"

"Marrago has a habit of skilful escapes. This time however he has nowhere to escape to. I will defeat him."

"I have every confidence in you, Warleader. And…. for what it is worth, had I been able to, I would have ensured you were able to attack Centauri Prime six months ago. I assure you, Warleader, such bureaucratic delays will not happen again."

"I am glad to hear that," he replied. "But I assure you, Councillor. The war will end tomorrow."

"The entire people of Narn have faith in you, Warleader. H'Mari be with you."

G'Sten nodded, smiling slightly at H'Klo's choice of prophet. H'Mari had been a warrior in his day, several hundred years before G'Quan. Many soldiers had once adopted his worship, but it had fallen out of favour with the Occupation. It was good to see a resurgence in belief.

Or perhaps it was a bad omen.

Either way it spoke of the future, and the future he had always wanted for his people was but a day away.

There was something about a pub. Something warm and comforting, a place where someone could walk inside, leave behind all the cares and problems of life, and sit and be at peace, in company or not as the mood took them.

Whoever had written that particular homage had obviously never been inside the Pit Trap, but Dexter Smith, having examined all the other pubs in the area, had decided that it was the best place he had found. For one thing, the door wasn't boarded up and there were no 'Condemned' notices fixed to the wall, which was always a good sign.

He walked inside and was immediately struck by just how dark it was. Empty, too. There were only three other customers there and they were all seated alone. One of them was reading a newspaper from several months ago, while another was huddled shivering next to the heater.

The barman looked up, obviously surprised. "Uh…. my taxes are all paid up," he said. "And I'm a personal friend of Mr. Trace and Mr. Allan, so if you're after any…. trouble, then…."

Smith paused. "Is that the regional variant of 'We don't like strangers round 'ese parts'? I'm just here for a drink."

The barman sighed with relief. "Ah, well then. You're very welcome, sir. I was just…. er…. You can't be too careful in these troubled times."

"Troubled times?" he said, approaching the bar and taking a seat. "I thought things were going well."

"Oh, maybe for those that live up in the better sectors, maybe, but not much changes down here in three-o-one. So, what can I get you, stranger? Oh, where are my manners? Name's Bo."

"Dexter. Um…. what lager do you do? I don't see anything I recognise, but then it has been a while."

"Ah, we do the Pit Bull. A local drink, brewed not far away."

"Really? A bottle of that, then."

"Right you are. Where are you from, then? You don't look like you belong in three-o-one, no offence meant."

Smith took the bottle and sipped it slowly. As Bo had said, you couldn't be too careful, least of all with strange drinks. To his surprise, it wasn't too bad. "Ah, I've been away for the last couple of years. Business of a sort. I recently…. left my old job and decided to come back here."

"You came to three-o-one? That's a pretty unusual choice. Not that I mind, mind." He chuckled mirthlessly. "You know, you look a little familiar. Have I seen you before somewhere? Ah, probably have. Be forgetting my own head next."

"I used to live here, in three-o-one. When I was a child. Tell me, is the Emperor Bibulos still open? It used to be around here somewhere. A Centauri theme pub. The landlord was a really old guy, grey hair."

"The Emperor? You have been away a long while. It was torn down in the Pit Riots of…. of…. ah when was it? The year after Orion fell, the same year my cat died…. Ah, well. You know when it was. The folks here were a little…. unhappy that winter, and a lot of blame went on the aliens. The Emperor was a natural target, I guess, so they tore the place down, pretty much. Security restored order, in the end. They waited a bit, but then we're lucky they got here at all, is my way of looking at it. Fair few people up top like who didn't really care about us here in three-o-one."

Smith fell silent, looking at his drink. He'd never known that. Even when he heard about the Pit Riots, it had never sunk in. He had been serving on the Preacher for a couple of years by that point, before the ship was destroyed at Orion. He'd been stuck in limbo afterwards, like so many Earthforce personnel. He had spent that winter in the barracks at Dome Seven, and news of the Pit Riots had gone straight past him. None of it had connected at all.

"I used to go in there when I was a child," he said. "For the warmth and the company, and to listen to the customers. They told the silliest stories…. I liked all the Centauri decor as well. At the time I thought it was like visiting another world." He shook his head. "Nothing lasts forever."

"Just what I say," added Bo. "You can't take it with you, so why not make the best of it while you can?" There was the sound of the door opening. Smith didn't notice it; he was still staring into his drink, lost in a world twenty years gone. Bo certainly did, though.

"Nelson, my friend. A pleasure to see you again. Your usual, is it? On the house, of course." Bo disappeared behind the bar.

Smith felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder and turned round. A man was there, tall and well-dressed. Next to Smith himself he was probably the best-dressed person in the whole sector. It was a fairly old-fashioned suit, but it was clearly chosen to accentuate his sense of menace. He didn't need it. He looked quite menacing enough as it was.

"A new customer," he said jovially. "How about that, Bo? Your advertising must have worked. Where did you come from, stranger?"

"Here and there," came the reply. Smith found he really did not like this person.

"A comedian. We could do with some entertainment in here. The most we normally get is throwing small change at Jinxo over here and watching him scramble around trying to pick it up. Bo, are you fermenting that drink yourself?"

"Coming right up, Mr. Nelson sir," came the reply from the back of the bar.

Nelson chuckled. "That's our Bo, all right. A decent enough sort, but he ain't exactly the fastest barman this side of the Proxima Hilton. Now, stranger, your name, if you don't mind?"

"Dexter. And you are?"

Another laugh. "Very funny. You mean you don't know me?" Smith shook his head. "I'm Nelson Drake. I work for Mr. Trace. You'll have heard of him, of course."

"I can't say I have."

Nelson reached out and grabbed the lapel of Smith's shirt, pulling him up from the chair. "Listen to me, you worthless lump of garbage," he hissed. "Trace owns this sector, and if you want to live a long and happy life here, you'll remember that. Cross me or Mr. Trace, and your life will be anything but long and happy." He pushed Smith back into his chair and smoothed his shirt.

"That's free advice I'm giving you. Think of it as an introductory offer." Bo slowly raised his head from behind the bar, and handed over a small glass containing a drink that seemed to be glowing. Nelson took it from him, never lifting his eyes from Smith, and drained it in one go. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed the empty glass back to Bo.

"You know," Nelson said, "I'm sure I've seen you before. Any idea why that could be, smart man?"

"Couldn't say."

"No, I guess you couldn't. Well, I'd better be off. Places to go, people to see, you know how it is." He shifted his gaze to the barman. "See you tonight, Bo. Me and Mr. Trace and the others are looking forward to your hospitality, same as always."

He turned and left the pub.

Smith waited until he was gone, and then looked back at Bo. There were times when he just got strange hunches, mysterious ideas he couldn't explain properly. He had one of them now. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Oh…. that's Nelson Drake. He's a…. bodyguard of some sort for Mr. Trace."

"And this Trace is…?"

"A good man. Oh yes, a really fine man. He really cares for us here in three-o-one. He looks after us, makes sure no one's causing any trouble…. you…. you know how it is."

"Protection rackets." Smith sighed. "Why don't Security do anything?"

"Security? Hah…. They don't care about us here. Mr. Trace…. he…. he cares. He looks out for us."

"Based on what I've just seen, I don't think I'd want to be looked after by people like him. I think it's time to take a trip to see someone. Which way is it to the local Security Headquarters?"

The Shadow ship stopped dead in space, paralysed and helpless, held there as if by a giant hand from heaven.

"Now!" roared Corwin. "Hit it!"

Forward cannons blazed into life and rammed into the body of the vessel. It trembled slightly.

The other two ships bore down on the Babylon, seeking to free their companion. A Drazi Sunhawk darted forward, striking at the nearest of the ships. The Sunhawk's blows slid off the black, living surface, but the ship turned, momentarily distracted.

Brakiri ships moved forward, the telepaths on board straining to hold back the Shadows. The remaining ship bearing down on the Babylon stopped, struggling to move forward. The other ship turned and fired, and the Brakiri ship died in a silent explosion.

The forward cannons on the Babylon stopped their assault on the trapped vessel. It collapsed and disintegrated before their eyes, dead.

The Babylon turned and moved to protect its allies.

Valen had walked into darkness many times. Kozorr knew most of the tales about Valen, but the one he kept thinking of was the descent into the pit at Z'ha'dum, to rescue Derannimer and confront the traitor, Parlonn.

Had he known fear as he walked alone into the darkness? He must have done. Above him there was fire and bloodshed, as the Vorlons and the Minbari fleet led by Marrain attacked the Shadows' homeworld. It had been one of the last battles of the Shadow War.

Kozorr didn't like to think about how it had ended. Derannimer had been saved, Parlonn defeated, but the cost…. had been so high.

He had not spent much time in Cathedral. The place…. unnerved him in some way. He had been content to lead from the Valentha, or from the other capital ships. Cathedral had always seemed a dark place, more like a stronghold of the Enemy than a focus of leadership for the Minbari. Sinoval was happy there, but then he had been bewitched by the Shagh Toth.

Kozorr had not actually seen many of them in his journey down into the bowels of Cathedral. Those he had seen had been further up, in the towers and turrets and vast, measureless halls. He supposed the engines must be down here somewhere, but something else would be here as well.

The corridor was getting smaller and narrower. He was having to duck to get through it, but he was certain this was the way. There were lights embedded in the walls, so he could see. Small globes. He thought he could hear soft whispers of conversation from them.

Finally the corridor ended at a door. It was vast, much larger than the corridor had been. Puzzled, he turned round, and saw an impossibly wide and tall hall stretching back into darkness. He had just come down there…. it had not been so huge before.

Who comes? asked a voice from nowhere. Who seeks answers in the Well of Souls?

The Well of Souls. This was the right place then. According to Sonovar's alien allies, Valen had once come here, a thousand years ago. That story had not been known to Kozorr, or indeed to any Minbari. The Tak'cha claimed to have been there however.

They had also told him what to say to gain admittance.

"I am one who comes in the memory of Valen's bargain, and in acceptance of his sacrifice."

There was a moment's silence, and then in an instant every light around him went out, leaving him in utter darkness. He did not show any surprise or fear, although he felt both. He was a Minbari warrior, after all. Valen had come to his place and gained entry. He would do no less.

You may enter, Child of Valen, Child of Twilight, Child of Fire. Enter, but leave behind that which is required, in acceptance of his sacrifice.

He knew what that meant. In all honesty he had no intention of leaving anything behind, but the gift that was necessary had been brought with him, just in case. The Tak'cha had advised him that forgetting it would not be a good idea.

The door did not open. There did not seem to be any hinges, or any mechanism for opening. It was simply that one minute it was there, and the next minute it wasn't. Breathing deeply, Kozorr crossed the threshold and stepped into the Well of Souls.

All the breath left his body at his first sight of that ancient place. He could not feel anything, smell anything, hear anything. It was as if all his normal senses had shut down, and new ones had sprung up in their place.

There was one thing he did know, one thing he had learned from the Tak'cha. This was a place where the dead did not rest. It was a place where they lived.

It was a vast chamber, impossibly vast, larger than the Temple of Varenni which housed the Starfire Wheel, larger even it seemed than the library at Yedor, or the Temple of Remembrance at Tuzanor.

It seemed to be made out of stone, but a type he had never seen before. Dotted everywhere in the walls were tiny specks of light. There were millions of them. Each one, he knew, was a captured soul. He also knew that they were speaking somehow, although not by words or sounds or telepathy…. but by…. something else.

He walked forward, lost in a dream. He dared to look up, and found himself staring into space. The stars were above him, but none he recognised. No constellations he knew could be seen, nothing familiar. Were they even stars, or just more souls?

He was snapped back to something resembling reality when he found himself in front of a small shrine. It was a pathetically humble thing, but he knew what it represented, what made it one of the holiest places in Minbari history.

A small altar of stone, marked by two words, and a small white flower, perfectly preserved despite the hundreds of years it had been there. Valen himself had laid it there, speaking the words that were now marked on the shrine. He had come here to this very spot, a thousand years before. The histories did not speak of that moment at all, and of those who knew of it — the Shagh Toth themselves, the Tak'cha — none of them would say why.

He pulled the small flower from his belt. The offering to this place. Struck dumb by the sheer majesty of his surroundings, Kozorr laid the flower on the altar, next to Valen's.

The offering has been made, said the voice. Seek your wisdom.

"Who are you?" he asked, tentatively.

We are Cathedral. We are the Hunters, the Preservers, the Past and the Future. We are Cathedral.

"How long…? How old…?"

Since before time had meaning. When there was but one race born of the galaxy, created in the shifting sands and timeless seas. Since the creation of death itself, we have been here.

"You have always been here?"

Always has no meaning for us.

"What do you know?" he asked, another idea suddenly coming to him. "Can you answer my questions?" This was not why he had come here, but then he had never believed he would see this place. He had never believed….

We know every answer to every riddle that has ever been asked since the galaxy was born. Every question, save one.

"Will she ever love me?"

There was no answer. The pricks of light seemed to be mocking him with their very presence.

"Answer me. Will she ever love me?"

Leave this place, traitor knight. That question is not for us to answer, or for you to know.

"Damn you. Damn you all!" He drew his pike and extended it, the full memory of why he had come returning to him.

He had come here to destroy this place, to destroy the Well of Souls and every soul trapped within it and this whole ship of fools.

And then Sinoval would be free of their enchantments, and Kats would be free to love him.

And he would be damned.

The Centauri were by nature a race inclined to gossip. Rumour and innuendo were meat and drink to the nobles of the Court, and it was a foolish courtier indeed who did not pay attention to whispers and suspicions. Most of them even had their own private networks of 'eyes and ears' to provide them with information.

Accurate information had been very scarce in the months since the massacre in the Court and the ascension of Emperor Mollari. It was known that he had been in rebellion against his Government for many months beforehand, had been wanted — falsely, as it was now believed — for the assassination of Emperor Refa, and had been believed dead for over a year before that.

It was known that he had a small group of trusted advisors and councillors. Foremost amongst these was Lord-General Marrago, which was no surprise to anyone who remembered that the two had been good friends many years before. Minister Durano was also a trusted aide, as his skill, intellect and — most valuable of all — discretion were well known. He was too valuable an ally for anyone to ignore. Minister Virini was understood to be respected by the Emperor, in spite of his reputation for clumsiness and general uselessness. Vir Cotto was frequently seen in negotiations with the Emperor, as were certain lower class individuals from Selini.

After that, matters became a little vague. Some believed that the Emperor took counsel not only from his near-invisible Minbari bodyguard, but from his wife Timov as well. This was patently absurd, as no Emperor would ever give a woman such a position of authority, but the rumours persisted.

About one person however, all the rumours were silent. Despite his very public assistance in saving the Emperor from an assassination attempt, and his frequent presence at Court, Mr. Morden had managed to pass virtually unnoticed by the cream of Centauri society. Everyone seemed just to…. forget he was there, and if reminded they replied with something like, "Oh yes, that human fellow," and then absently changed the subject.

The true extent of the influence wielded by Mr. Morden was known to absolutely no one.

"Have you had a chance to consider my offer, Majesty?" he asked.

Londo looked harassed and tired. Unsurprising, as he had hardly slept in days. The Narns were coming. They could be driven off and Centauri Prime saved, but at a truly terrible cost. More bloodshed, more death, and could it be avoided?

Had there been another way? Could he have acted sooner, done a little more? Done anything that could have averted this battle?

"Mr. Morden," he said slowly. "I have spoken with my advisors. Some argue to accept your offer, some to refuse, others to wait. Their arguments are all valid. We cannot go to races on bended knees, binding ourselves to agreements that may cripple us later. We should be wary of accepting offers from races we hardly know. Can we trust you? Do we even need your help?

"I have heard them all, Mr. Morden, and there was not one word spoken in that chamber that I disagreed with."

Morden began to speak, but Londo raised his hand and the human fell silent.

"But today, I wandered around the barracks of the soldiers who will be defending this world from the Narns. I spoke with the captains of the ships in orbit above us now. I even visited some of their families.

"Mr. Morden, if your allies can help save the lives of my people, then yes, I accept your offer."

Londo noticed the slightly guilty look on the human's face.

"I'm very glad to hear that, Majesty, but I'm afraid matters are a little more complicated than I had first believed. You know, of course of the race called the Shadows?" Londo nodded, a puzzled expression spreading across his face. "The Vorlons have opposed the Shadows for centuries, trying to destroy their evil. Somehow, the Shadows have influenced people here…. these Shadow Criers are touched by the Darkness."

"Yes, we had guessed this. Some sort of psychic influence, we supposed."

"Indeed. Your people are highly susceptible to certain telepathic impressions. Your Seeresses for example…. but I am digressing. I have discovered recently that their influence reaches higher than we had thought. Someone in this Court has been communicating with Z'ha'dum."

"What? Are you accusing…?"

"I am merely saying what we know to be true," he interrupted. "My associates are reluctant to come to the aid of people who may be working with the Enemy. You can…. understand their doubts, of course."

"Of course, but…. Mr. Morden, are you telling me the Vorlons will not come to our aid when the Narns attack?"

"I am afraid my associates will only aid you if you purge this evil from your Government, Majesty. If you can find this…. infiltrator before the Narns arrive, then…."

"We have hours at most, Mr. Morden."

"I am sorry, Majesty. I merely relay my instructions from my associates."

"I will find this…. Shadow agent, Mr. Morden, and I will purge him, as you put it, but for every Centauri life laid down to protect our homeworld I will hold your masters to account. We share the same enemy, and when I find their agent I will take action, but for our sake, not yours.

"Good day, Mr. Morden," he hissed. The Emperor turned and stormed from the room.

The Narn fleets were getting closer.

The Sunhawk exploded in one terrifying instant of destruction as its telepath failed, allowing the Shadow ship to fire. Its supporting ships fell back before the onslaught, but the Babylon kept moving forward. On board, Lyta Alexander strained to hold them still.

The Babylon fired broadsides at the nearest ship. The single remaining Brakiri warship concentrated its fire on the same area, and one of the Shadow vessel's spidery limbs was blown away. The ship screamed in pain and loss, and everyone on board the Babylon briefly heard their ship scream too, as if in sympathy for the pain it was meting out.

The second ship swooped down to aid its wounded comrade, but Sunhawks dived in to block it, raining ineffectual blows upon its skin, seeking only to force it backwards, away from its brother ship.

The Babylon and the Brakiri continued their barrage of blows, striking at limbs and body. The trapped ship was screaming as it withered before the attack. It began to spin aimlessly, its limbs severed.

The second ship swatted aside the irritating insects that were the Drazi and tried to free its brother, but it was too late. The wounded ship was torn apart, too badly damaged to survive.

The remaining ship rose briefly above the Babylon. Lyta tried to reach out with her mind to trap it, but she was too drained. It was all she could do to remain standing.

The ship spoke in her mind, and a brilliant light filled her soul. She collapsed unconscious.

The Shadow ship shimmered into hyperspace and disappeared.

"I think we did it," muttered Corwin, looking up from his instruments and turning towards the shivering Lyta.

"Yes," said Delenn softly, cradling her friend's head gently. Lyta's eyes were rolled up into her head, and soft tears of blood were trickling down her face. "Yes, we did it…. but at what cost, Commander Corwin?"

He could not answer. In his mind's eye he could see the destroyed ships and the bodies of the dead, and he just could not answer.

The post of Security Chief for Sector 301 in the Main Dome of Proxima 3 was generally regarded as being a career death sentence. The task was impossible, and everyone knew it. The only security officers assigned there were the corrupt, the embarrassing or the terminally inept. Crime was so ingrained into the whole area that trying to fight it was as futile as trying to hold back the sun. It was widely speculated that two-thirds of the force was corrupt.

It was not that the Government in Main Dome hadn't tried. During the early 2240s two of the youngest, keenest and best Security officers were posted as Chiefs of Sector 301 to sort the area out, clean it up and purge corruption in the security forces. One was assassinated three weeks into the post, the other was shot and killed during a routine operation when her PPG inexplicably failed. It was discovered later that the weapons issued to the security forces in 301 were of sub-standard, inferior quality, the better weapons having been sold to the mob bosses by corrupt quartermasters.

Main Dome had been determined to keep on trying, but then the war had come, and suddenly Sector 301 wasn't very important any more. It became much more important after the fall of Orion, when the bulk of the refugees swarming to Proxima from Orion and the rest of the devastated Belt Alliance settled there. A few months after that the area was thick with the starving, the sick and the dying, and any hope of redeeming the sector had evaporated.

The early years of the Clark regime had seen some hope for the renovation of the area, but these had faded once it became clear that the new President had his eye on wider fields than his own back yard.

And so Sector 301 just slid deeper and deeper into corruption and depravity and depression. That suited its current Security Chief just fine. It fitted his mood.

Zack Allan leant back on his chair and tried flicking a small piece of chocolate up into his mouth. He had balanced it on his thumb carefully, lined it up to perfection, had his mouth open as wide as he could…. and he flicked.

The chocolate bounced off his cheek and fell on the floor. He swore angrily, and decided against rummaging around underneath his desk to look for it. There were probably entire ecosystems down there he was not aware of. Possibly even Governments.

And that had been his last piece as well. Damn!

Chocolate was expensive these days on Proxima. Very expensive. Oh, there was some Narn substitute stuff, but that tasted like wet cardboard. Only the very rich could afford proper honest-to-God milk chocolate in these times, and while Zack's official salary didn't come anywhere close, there were a number of very rich people interested in him turning a blind eye to certain activities they were up to in 301. They were also willing to double his wage for the privilege, so he wasn't going to ask any questions.

He yawned, stretched and switched on the vidscreen. The next game in the 2260/61 baseball season was on, the first new season since the war. The teams were all different of course, but it was still proper sport. The Proxima Swashbucklers had a game on against their nearest competitors, the Orion Archers (based somewhere in Beta Durani). Zack had fifty credits riding on the game.

His link beeped and he muttered something angrily. He could have sworn he'd switched the thing off. "Yeah, what is it?" he asked.

"Someone's here to see you, Chief."

That made him sit bolt upright. Nobody came to the office of the Chief of Security in 301 unless they were asking to be beaten up by all their neighbours. "Is it any of the…. uh…. usual suspects?" Careful phrasing was necessary. He was not supposed to know the names of most of the people he…. 'dealt' with, and while it was unusual for any of them to turn up in person to his office, it wasn't unheard of.

"Ah, no, Chief. Just some guy."

"Jack, don't do that to me! Sheesh! Look, the big game's starting any minute now, so tell him to go away and take it up with Central Office."

"He…. he wants to see you personally, Chief. Says his name is Dexter Smith. It rings sort of a bell. He looks a bit familiar, too. Like he should be wearing a uniform or something."

"Dexter Smith. Dexter Smith…. I've heard that name before. Um…." His eyes widened. "Captain Dexter Smith? The Babylon. The guy who got the Silver Star for Valour last year some time."

"That's the guy! Damn! I knew I'd seen him somewhere before. Hey, my daughter's got a picture of him up on her wall. Wonder if I can get his autograph for her?"

"Leave that for later, Jack. You'd better send him in. I know Captain Smith. We're old, old friends, we are."

"Right you are, Chief. Yeesh, she's going to be so excited when I tell her who I saw. She might even start respecting me a little…."

"In your dreams, Jack."

The conversation ended, and a moment later, a figure came through the door. It took a moment for Zack to recognise this person as the Captain Smith he had known two years ago. The loss of a uniform did do a lot.

"Well, Captain," he said smiling, leaning back in his chair. "How are you these days? Bit of a come-down in the world, isn't it? Rubbing shoulders with the President one minute, the next slumming it down in the Pit. Well, easy come, easy go, right?"

Smith's eyes narrowed. "Ah. Zack Allan. I didn't know you were Security Chief here."

"Well, it didn't match up to my former standard of Security Chief on humanity's flagship, but you've got to take what you can get. My CV was pretty impressive, but the new boss wasn't too impressed."

"That is an old argument, Mr. Allan. I gave you my reasons when I took over the Babylon. May I sit down?"

"Yeah, sure. Watch out though, I think there's some left-over pizza on that chair there." Smith looked at it, frowned, and then decided to remain standing. "So, Mr. Smith, what brings you to my little corner of the universe? You haven't come to get me fired from another job, have you? Oh, wait…. I forgot. You can't. You're not in Earthforce any more."

"I was honourably discharged."

"Oh, go tell that to mummy!"

Smith leant forward and slammed his hands down on the edge of the desk. It shook, and several papers precariously suspended there fell off. Zack looked at them and shrugged. They couldn't have been important. "Mr. Allan, I had you removed from your post as Chief Security Officer on the Babylon when I took over because I didn't think you were right for the job. Not only did you betray my predecessor, but there were gross lapses in your performance and duties. What I see now only confirms that I was right."

"Yeah, well, I'd hate to cut this fascinating conversation short, but I'm afraid the game's about to start, so…."

"What do you know about a Mr. Trace?"

Zack started, and then coughed falsely, trying to cover his tracks. Had Smith noticed his surprise? Probably. Damn the man. "He's a…. local businessman. An entrepreneur. Just the type Sector Three-o-one needs to improve the local economy."

"Ah. How much is he paying you, Mr. Allan?"

"I really hope you aren't accusing a Security Officer of this fair world of ours of taking bribes. I believe that's slander, defamation of a public figure with a view to harm planetary security…. I could have you arrested for that."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Allan. I'll be leaving now."

"Good." He flicked his gaze to the vidscreen. "Aw, great. I missed the first plays."

"Mr. Allan." Zack did not turn around. "I never liked you, or your methods, but I never wanted you to fall this far. If I were you, I'd take a look in the mirror and start to question where your choices have brought you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Smith left.

Once he was sure Smith had gone, Zack reluctantly tore himself away from the game and went to his commscreen. He sent through a signal and was pleased when it was received almost instantly. "Yeah?" said the face on the screen. "There a problem, Allan?"

"There might be, Mr. Trace. I just got a visit from someone poking his nose into your business. Thought you ought to know."

"Indeed I do. Who was it?"

"You've probably heard of him. Dexter Smith, used to be captain of the Babylon."

"Him again? Yeah, I've heard of him. Thanks for the warning, Allan. By the way, if you're watching the game, my money's on the Swashbucklers."

Zack smiled. "You know, that's exactly what I was thinking."

Sinoval had a headache. He couldn't explain it and he certainly didn't like it, but he knew somehow that something was wrong, and his headache was a symptom of that.

He had not been feeling well since Kozorr had returned. Truthfully, he had not been well since Kozorr had 'died'. Kats had hardly spoken to him in all that time. She had been working herself almost to exhaustion, her guilt driving her to the abyss, and perhaps beyond.

And now Kozorr had returned from the dead, with a story of capture and escape. It was not implausible. Sonovar had not been the type to take risks with his prisoners before, but then he had never been the type to attack his own people before either.

Kozorr had been the first to swear fealty to Sinoval, the first to accept his rule and the changes that would come with it.

So why did Sinoval feel so strongly that something was wrong?

He had left his own quarters on Cathedral; dark, gloomy, majestic surroundings that they were, and was momentarily surprised by just how much he had got used to them. When had Cathedral started to become home? None of his people could stomach being on the place longer than absolutely necessary, but he had adapted to it easily.

He had wandered through corridors and rooms abstractly for some time, until he found himself at the pinnacle, the control centre of the ship. As he climbed up the many steps to the summit, he noticed his headache getting worse. By the time he reached the top and looked out at the vast spread of space below and above and all around him, his skull felt as though it was about to crack open.

"What is happening?" he asked slowly, knowing there was no one around to answer.

"A terrible thing," came a reply. He turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus take the final step to the pinnacle. The summit of the tower seemed to widen with the arrival of the newcomer. Before it had been large enough only for Sinoval, but it could now fit both of them comfortably. Sinoval had a feeling it could accommodate an army if it had to.

"The Well of Souls has been violated," the Primarch said.

"What is this…. Well of Souls?"

"The source of Cathedral's power, the source of our power, and our purpose. We have guarded it since time immemorial."

"You seem very…. calm, if someone has infiltrated it."

"I am. The Well will not permit itself to be damaged in any way. But I am still Primarch, and the Well is a part of me, just as I am a part of it. And you are also a part of it."

"Me?"

"All who dwell in Cathedral belong to the Well."

"So what's happening to it? Someone has…. tried to damage the Well of Souls. Who would do…. oh, Valen, no."

"It is of no account. The Well will deal with the intruder in its own fashion. You will merely feel a little ill until it is done. Some have tried to harm the Well before, and none has succeeded."

"You don't understand. How do I get to the Well? Where is it?"

"At the heart of Cathedral. To a large extent Cathedral was built around it."

"I must get there. Now!" He made for the steps, but the Primarch placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There is an easier way." He pointed to the depths of space all around them. "Jump from the pinnacle. Wish yourself there…. and you will be. The pinnacle is…. everywhere, after all. And everything."

"I…. jump?"

The Primarch nodded.

Sinoval drew Stormbringer, his dark blade, and rushed forward, throwing himself into space. Darkness swallowed him, and he was lost from view.

There was no victory procession as the Babylon and the few surviving Drazi and Brakiri ships returned to Kazomi 7. There was no parade through the streets, no crowds waving banners and singing praises.

There was just the solemn acceptance that a war was under way, a terrible war that would have awful consequences for all of them. The Alliance had been born from the horrors of war, and more than any other power in the galaxy, it did not want to have to relive them.

The wounded were taken to hospital, the dead to the morgues. Delenn went to see her beloved, and Lyta Alexander…. she went to rest alone in her quarters. As soon as she arrived there however, she discovered she was not alone.

You were not permitted to go, shouted the Vorlon's voice in her mind. Ulkesh moved slowly into view.

"I had to," Lyta whispered. "They're my friends, and they asked for my help. I had to help them."

She turned on the Vorlon, her eyes flashing angrily. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "There was…. a moment in the battle when the…. the Shadow ship…. tried to talk to me. There's someone alive in there, in all of them! A human!"

"Then you did know! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm not your property, or your servant!"

Ulkesh's eye stalk flared angrily. She was thrown backwards, her body striking the wall hard.

Then he left.

Warleader G'Sten of the triumphant Narn Regime and Lord-General Marrago of the glorious Centauri Republic had known of each other for many years. They had only met in person twice; once where G'Sten had been cornered at the battle of Dros, and again when Marrago had been captured when the base in Quadrant 37 had been retaken.

Each of them had closely followed the career and fortunes of the other however, taking a great interest in where his rival was, what he was doing, how he was progressing. This was true even in the years of peacetime.

There was a sort of mutual respect between the two soldiers and leaders of soldiers, a respect that neither held for the majority of those commanding them. Sometimes, your closest companion can be your worst enemy.

As the jump points filled the skies above Centauri Prime and the Narn fleets came into view, each of them was aware that this would be the final time they would meet in battle. G'Sten aboard his Pride of the Kha'Ri, Marrago on the Valerius. Each of them looked up and smiled once, in memories of old battles fought and won and lost.

G'Sten gave the order, and the Narn fleet moved forward. Marrago sat back, sure that his defences would hold.

All around them space shimmered and twisted, and the mind of every being on every ship was filled with screams.

The Shadows had arrived.

Delenn sat alone by the shrine, looking up at it and sighing softly. Her wish, her one wish now, was that John could have seen it built and completed. He would have appreciated it.

He never would, now.

Immediately after her return from the battle — the victory, she had to keep reminding herself — she had gone to see him. She had taken the familiar walk down the hospital corridors, past all the turnings and doors she had seen countless times on this journey in the past few months.

This time was different. John's bed had been empty. All the machines had been switched off. The chair where she had slept so often had been removed.

Her heart pounding, she had run in search of a doctor, of anyone she could find. She received the answers from the physician who had been treating John all along.

"I'm sorry, Delenn," the doctor had said. "We'd been monitoring his condition closely, but his heart suddenly failed. It had nothing to do with the infection…. We think it might be a hereditary blood-related condition exacerbated by the recent…. trauma. We managed to re-start his heart, but he slipped into a coma. We had to move him into quarantine, and he's now on full life support. I'm sorry, Delenn…. but he's not going to wake up."

"There…. there must be hope," she had protested.

"We can pray for a miracle…. but short of that…. nothing. I'm so sorry."

Delenn had gone to see him anyway, against the doctor's advice. It hurt so much to look at him from behind layers and layers of glass and plastics, look at him lying still, his body kept alive only by machines, his soul trapped forever in an unmoving prison of flesh and bone.

His soul…. She thought of Sinoval and his Soul Hunters. Sinoval had told her of how the Soul Hunters had saved him from death at the Battle of the Line. Perhaps…. No. She shook her head. Better that John's soul should go on, to be reborn again, and live again, and love again. Better that than to be trapped forever.

She was suddenly aware of a shadow cast over her, and over the forecourt of the monument. She looked up, and heard the sound of music in her mind. The Vorlon was there, Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek. This was the first time she had seen him since his arrival. He had refused all invitations to attend the Council meetings.

She did not know why — nor why he was here, by the shrine he seemed to abhor.

Not a question. A simple statement. Ulkesh knew that.

"Yes," she whispered. "He has been dying for months."

"What?" She leapt to her feet. "You can help him?"

"Oh, Valen," she breathed. "Then do it, please! Heal him!"

She gasped, and staggered back. "What price?" she breathed.

"What?" She could not believe it. How could…? "Why? I have always followed you. I was Dukhat's heir. I let one of you share my soul. I…. Why? Why must I go?"

That she understood, and a cold darkness washed over her. She straightened. "You want me to go to Z'ha'dum?"

"Why? What must I do there?"

Chapter 3

They were light and beauty, and majestic power personified. She knew that she should fall to her knees and give thanks for their very presence. These beings had been worshipped by races such as hers almost since the beginning of their recorded histories.

She hated them now, hated them with a passion she had never been able to muster for any other living thing. Not even when she had made her fateful, terrible mistake to order the beginning of the war with Earth, had Satai Delenn felt such sheer loathing for any being.

And yet she stood there, still and unmoving, watching as their light filled her world, and as their power healed the broken body of the man she loved.

A single tear ran down her cheek, but she gave no voice to her pain. She had accepted this choice. They had presented her with the options, and she had accepted the offer they had made.

Her life, for his.

She cast her mind back many years, back to when she had still been Satai, had still been Minbari. It had been in the Hall of the Grey Council, when there had still been a Grey Council. Sinoval had been there, when he had still been a warrior and a leader, not a dictator who bargained with aliens.

They had been discussing the status of the new Rangers. It had been shortly after Branmer's death and Neroon's disappearance. Delenn, Rathenn and Hedronn had been arguing for caution, only to be butted aside by Sinoval's arrogant and all-powerful confidence. He had said something that had always stuck with her, and she had mentally sworn to prove his statement wrong.

She had failed.

He had been right.

"This is a time for warriors, not healers."

This time did need warriors. The healers would come later, but what was there to heal with everyone dead? You could not bring peace to an enemy concerned only with your destruction. She had once believed it might be possible, but not now. And it might never be again.

John was a warrior. Even Sinoval had acknowledged as much, in his own way. Delenn would never be a warrior. She could fight when she had to, but her heart was never in it. The terrible mistake she had once made always haunted her whenever she was at war.

John was a warrior, and she was not. At this time, in this place, a warrior was needed. There would be other healers after the war, but warriors were needed to end it.

She hoped he would understand. She would leave a message, try to explain what she felt, why this had been necessary. She had composed the message in her mind, remembering all the things she could never say to him.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there. She had preparations to make, things to do…. for the future. But she could not tear herself away from this place. She had to watch, had to be sure.

Finally there was a movement beside her, and he was there, light and power and beauty and malice and conviction all in one form. She understood now why Sinoval hated the Vorlons so, why he would risk everything to destroy them. At this moment, she felt the same.

"He is…." She swallowed. "He is healed?"

"Of the virus?"

"Of his injuries?"

"Of his pain?"

"One night. You promised us that much, remember? We will have one night together."

"Good." She breathed out, harshly. "Is he…? Will he need time to recover?"

She turned away from the being she hated more than anything else in the universe, and walked through the door to the chamber where she had last seen John. He had been trapped by wires and tubes and glass, a prisoner in his own body. She did not want to continue, afraid of what she would see now. What if the Vorlon had lied? What if they hadn't been able to cure him? What if…?

There he was. He was…. Oh, blessed Valen. He was standing.

She ran forward and he saw her there, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Delenn!" he cried. He stepped forward and spread out his arms to welcome her. He could move. He could touch her, feel her warmth and her tears and her love.

She held herself against him tightly, crying with joy and sorrow and terror.

He said her name over and over again. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

Narn and Centauri. For so long these two races had been linked by bloodshed and hatred and war. A cycle of vengeance that would never end. The Narns sought preservation and freedom for their race and their world. The Centauri wished a return to greater glories and higher victories.

The karmic wheel had spun around and around these two races many times before, and now it looked as if the war would finally be over, and one side would achieve total victory.

The Narns had taken many of the Centauri colonies, including their biggest supply worlds. The Centauri Royal Court had been torn by in-fighting, by civil war, by an insane group of fanatics and by chaos spread with the best of intentions. A desperate Centauri fleet had been assembled to try to hold off the Narns.

Each side was confident of victory, but the price in blood and lives would be high.

The Narn fleet bore down on the Centauri homeworld.

And then a third side intervened. Space shimmered, and they were there, ancient vessels built for the dissemination of chaos. They screamed as they came into sight, and without the slightest hesitation they made for the Narn fleet.

The first Narn warship died within moments, torn apart by the Shadow ships. A second soon followed. In those few moments the Narn war machine turned from disciplined order into anarchic chaos.

Aboard the flagship Pride of the Kha'Ri, Warleader G'Sten quickly managed to regain his grasp of leadership and began barking orders. He had never seen these ships before, but he knew someone who had. His nephew had once tried to warn him of their terrible evil, but he had not listened. He now wished he had.

The Centauri fleet took no action, obeying the orders of its commander, the Lord-General Marrago. He sat on the bridge of the Valerius and watched, reassuring his stunned captains. Soon, word of their Emperor's power spread throughout the fleet. The Emperor had promised them safety, and here he was, fulfilling his promises, bringing these ancient and powerful allies to their cause.

Marrago watched, and reported, and did not smile. Not once.

More Narn vessels fell before the onslaught, and G'Sten soon realised that victory was impossible. The enemy ships were uncountable, and beyond them lay the Centauri fleet. Better now to save as many of his ships as he could. Better to save as many of his soldiers as he could.

The order to retreat was given, and acted upon desperately. The Shadows were content to let the Narns flee. They had wreaked enough damage. Once every Narn invader had left the heavens of Centauri Prime the Shadows themselves disappeared.

A wild cheer rocked the fleet. Only two people abstained. Carn Mollari, nephew of the Emperor and Captain of the Valerius. He had seen, and fought, such ships before, and he knew what they meant.

And Lord-General Marrago. After a fashion, he had seen these ships before as well.

Once the Shadows had gone he rose from his seat and left the ship, not saying a word to anyone. He was Lord-General of the Centauri Republic, and he had duties. One of those duties was to report what he had seen to the Emperor, who was also his friend.

Another duty was to find and intercept one person who would learn of these events far sooner than anyone should. This person, this human, was to be found, and dealt with.

Marrago made his way to the nearest shuttle, and from there to the capital.

Kozorr drew his pike slowly and looked around him, his expression hardening. This place, for all its wonder, was a sign of the corruption and evil that had overtaken Sinoval. It was not a temple of wonder as he had first thought. As he looked around he saw the Well of Souls for what it truly was: a prison, holding the trapped souls of the dead, denying them the chance to progress on to the next life.

Kozorr had never been a true believer. He had never been a priestling. He had believed only in the intricacy of battle, in the sure and certain knowledge of what was right and what was wrong. As he looked around at this ancient prison, however, he believed. He believed everything.

Leave us, boomed the voice of the Well. You have no place here.

He ignored it, and continued his search. There was something…. that would mark the heart of this place. The globes in the walls around him were the souls, he knew that, but which one was the central soul? Where was the key?

If you will not leave, then you will be destroyed.

Before him, the air shimmered. He stepped back in silent wonder as a being materialised in front of him, an alien he had never seen before. It was half again as tall as he was, and covered with hard scales, from some of which burst long, wickedly-serrated spikes. It had one single eye, as large as his own fist, and from within its inky blackness there gleamed a fierce, feral intelligence. It had no arms as such, but six long tentacles emerged from its side. One of these wielded a weapon Kozorr could never have imagined.

Your soul will join us here and become part of Cathedral, as did his, in the millennia gone.

In silence the monster darted forward, one long tentacle lashing out with astonishing speed. Any doubts Kozorr might have has as to its tangibility ended when the tentacle wrapped around his legs and pulled him forward, sending him crashing to the ground. He kept a tight grip on his pike with his good hand.

His head jarred as he hit the ground, and the old scarring beneath his bone crest began to break open. He fought past the pain to remain conscious as the monster raised its weapon, which shifted form before his eyes to become a long spike. It thrust the spike down.

He brought his pike up and knocked the spike aside. Striking out, he broke the creature's grip on his legs and rolled aside. Scrambling to his feet, he darted away from the creature's advance.

Another tentacle lashed out, but this time he managed to jump over it. Ignoring the pain as he landed on his weak leg, he drew back his arm and threw his pike directly forward. It struck the creature squarely in the eye, and there was a vicious, psychic howl that sent Kozorr to his knees in agony.

When the pain had gone he looked up. The creature had gone, and his pike was lying on the floor. He crawled forward to reach it, but just as his hand touched it a booted foot came down, trapping the pike. He looked up and saw Sinoval standing there in his full glory.

"Why, Kozorr?" he asked simply.

"What happened to the monster?" he asked, rising to his feet. His head was aching.

"That was no monster," replied another voice, an ancient, civilised one. Kozorr turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus walking forward. "He was the last member of a race that died over seven hundred thousand years ago. They were an intelligent, artistic race, destroyed by natural disasters and plagues. We saved the last of them, and brought him here to add his essence to the Well of Souls."

"Why, Kozorr?" asked Sinoval again. "Why betray me?"

"I did it to save you," he replied simply. "You have been bewitched by these…. creatures."

"You swore to follow me forever."

"I want to follow you! My lord, I would follow you to the gates of oblivion and back…. but not these things. Cast them from your side, my lord, and all Minbari warriors will follow you for eternity."

"I made a bargain, and it is not for me to break it. I am sorry, Kozorr. More than you can know."

"Sorry! You have destroyed our people by your foolish bargains with these monsters! Can you not see that?"

"I am sorry, because I will have to explain this to Kats." Kozorr fell silent. "What should I tell her? I saw her when she thought you were dead. Her heart lay in pieces, her soul was drowning in a terrible blackness. She is not warrior as are we. Her caste were never prepared to accept the deaths of those they love.

"I think it would have been better for her to believe you dead, than for her to learn this."

"Damn you! Damn you all! Tell her what you wish. She will never love me."

"You are a fool, Kozorr. A stupid, arrogant, blind fool! She has loved you since the beginning, and you have not seen it." Sinoval kicked Kozorr's pike across the floor to him, and he picked it up. "Go from this place. Go to your new master and tell him….

"Tell him that if one more Minbari life ends at his hands, then I will hunt him down throughout the galaxy. I will destroy him and all who follow him, and his dream will be in ashes. We should be fighting the Enemy, not each other.

"See that he learns that."

"I will tell him."

"Oh, Kozorr…. think yourself fortunate. You could not have destroyed the Well of Souls. It is eternal and immortal. You would have died here, and your soul would have become just one of the countless thousands bound into the structure of Cathedral."

"Have you taken on the power of prophecy now, Primarch?" He spat out the title as if it were an insult.

"Yes," was the simple reply.

Kozorr left, and did not look back.

"You should have killed him," sighed the Soul Hunter.

"No. That is my way no longer. But as for you, my friend…. I think there are some questions you need to answer. This place…. will it talk to me?"

We welcome you, our Primarch.

Sinoval looked at his companion, and smiled.

Strangers were not entirely unknown in Sector 301, the area less than flatteringly dubbed the Pit. There were many inhabitants of Main Dome, Business Dome or the other, up-planet domes who came to the Pit for various reasons. Secret business deals, perhaps. Dark and unmentionable services that could not be obtained elsewhere. A need to find someone willing to kill or steal or kidnap for an appropriate price.

Or to find information. It was whispered that all knowledge was available in the Pit, for the right price, and if the seeker was willing to risk life and sanity looking for it.

Talia, nee Winters, formerly Stoner, and currently whichever surname suited her situation best, was certainly willing to risk life and sanity seeking the information she needed. There were a great many trails leading from IPX to the Pit, and she fully intended to follow them back out.

She was not worried by her surroundings. She had been in far worse, and she was still alive. This time she also had a bodyguard, which was unusual. Byron was less comfortable in the Pit. For one thing, he had to disguise his rank as a Psi Cop. Talia had long since got used to passing as a mundane, but then she was only a P5. Byron was a P12, and a powerful one at that. For him, badge, uniform and gloves were everything. There was simply nothing else.

"He's late," Byron snapped angrily. He was pacing up and down irritably, casting angry glances all around him. The street was quiet. This was a back alley in an area that made the rest of The Pit look normal and safe. The only place their contact would agree to meet them.

"He'll be here," she replied. She was much calmer than he was, her mind gently preparing itself. She ran through everything she knew about Mr. Chase, and she was convinced that he would show up. Her training in human psychology had been very thorough, especially mundane psychology. Chase was on the run; desperate, hunted and alone. He wouldn't pass up an offer of help.

"We shouldn't have to be waiting for mundanes. They should be waiting for us."

She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him sharply towards her with a strength he clearly found surprising. "Listen to me," she hissed, her voice low. "That attitude will get us both killed, and a mundane can pull the trigger of a PPG just as well as we can. We do not let anyone know what we are. We meet him, find out what we need to know, and that will be that. Understand?"

"This will all change once we take over and kick all these worthless morons into the gutter where they belong."

"Look around you, Byron. This is the gutter. Anyway, that day hasn't come yet, and until it does, we're going to have to play by their rules." She released him and returned to her relaxed pose. "Don't forget that." She was almost, but not quite, leaning against the wall. The muck on there would quite ruin her jacket.

There was the sound of a throat being cleared not far away, and Talia turned to look. There he was, Chase. A little more dirty and ragged than the last time they had spoken, but it was unquestionably him. "Miss…. Shaughnessy?" he asked. She nodded. Bridget Shaughnessy was an old alias of hers, one she had used the last time she'd been on Proxima, some years ago now. There was in fact a full history and background for Bridget Shaughnessy in the Hall of Records, very kindly planted there by Al. In many ways she was more real than Talia Winters.

"Yes. Come on, Mr. Chase. What do you have for us?"

He moved forward, and Byron began, very circumspectly, to move around behind him. "You can get me…. off Proxima?" he asked nervously. "Out of human space altogether?"

"Yes," she promised. "I told you. I'll be able to arrange a shuttle to get you into Narn space, and from there you can go where you like."

"Good. I've always liked the Narns. They'll protect me. I think…. I think someone's looking for me. I think…."

"Then the sooner you tell us what we need to know, the sooner you'll be able to leave Proxima and get away from them."

He nodded. "Yes. Yes. Good. Well…. um…. I used to work for IPX, as you know, and…. I accidentally stumbled across some of their…. projects they weren't telling anyone about. I mean, they own a couple of the lesser Ministers, and they've been trying to get more power over someone like Welles or Ryan for some time now, but that's…. common knowledge. At least," he giggled, "common knowledge amongst those of us in the business, anyway."

Talia could see Byron's face. His expression was hardening. He was getting impatient.

"Anyway," Chase continued, "I came across a bit more…. presumably what you're looking for. It was an accident, really. I was approached by some…. freedom fighters…. who wanted to buy some very useful items from us. IPX had a weapons contract from the Government a couple of years back, so I managed to siphon off some of the weapons and get them to these…. individuals."

"Which group?" Byron asked softly. Chase suddenly noticed that someone was behind him, and started.

"Uh…. some of the anti-Narn lot, mainly. Trying to…. ah…. kick the Narns off some of the newly liberated colonies. Acts of revenge…. stuff like that."

Byron nodded, a slight, ironic smile spreading across his face. That smile managed to unnerve Chase even more than he was already.

"Anyway, they wanted to make all the arrangements here…. in the Pit. It wasn't unusual. I mean, nobody really cares what goes on down here. The security forces are being paid off by everyone in existence, including some high-up people at IPX, and, well….

"It was through my dealings with the Security Chief here a couple of months back that I first discovered something was wrong. Allan, I think his name was. He was already getting a substantial pay-off from IPX, but he dug his nose into my business a little more than usual. He was expecting weapons to be coming through here, but for some reason the weapons I was helping supply weren't the ones he was expecting, or going to the people he was expecting them to go to.

"I did a bit of back-checking, because his attitude was starting to make me a little nervous. It turns out that for the past several years IPX has been funnelling a substantial amount of weapons and funds into the area, working through a man called Trace. Now I've heard of him, and I'm…. well…. put it this way, I'd rather stay as far away from him as I can get. I'm not certain what he's doing with the weapons and tech, but I can guess, especially since something goes back the other way, from here to IPX."

He fell silent, and mopped at his sweat-stained forehead.

"What's going back?" Talia asked softly.

"Bodies. In cryogenic suspension. Not many, but a fair number. Of course, no one can do any sort of census in the Pit, and Security don't investigate missing persons. Some of these people came from outside the Pit though; they're lured here somehow, and then disappear. Things are still chaotic up at Main Dome, and some people do vanish. But all these people had something in common, and that's what blew my little enterprise. As I said, Allan wasn't surprised that weapons were coming through here, even if they weren't going direct to Mr. Trace, but it was the type of weapons that tipped him off and caused him to report to IPX."

He shuddered, and looked at Talia carefully, as if seeking confirmation of something he suspected but didn't know to be true.

"What?" asked Byron angrily. "What tipped him off?"

"Well, the weapons I was funnelling through here were for use against the Narns, right. And Narns don't have telepaths. Almost every other weapon or piece of tech coming to Trace from IPX was for use against telepaths. I'd say that those missing people were all teeps."

"Ah," Talia said. That did explain a lot. She was about to say something when there was a sudden movement behind her, and she spun round. There was someone there. People, a lot of them, shimmering into view.

This was impossible. She should have been able to sense them. She heard Chase let out a wild cry and saw Byron start forward. She stepped back quickly, counting the new arrivals. Seven, at least.

"M…. M…. M…." Chase was spluttering.

"Shut up, Chase," snapped an angry voice. "Did you really think you'd evaded us all this time? We wanted to see who you planned to contact, and now we've found them…. Well, many thanks. Thanks to you, we're all getting extra bonuses this month."

"Mr. Trace," Chase said, finally managing a coherent sound. "Ah…. It's…. ah…. You don't want to hurt me…. You don't…."

Talia became aware that Byron was beside her, and suddenly realised what he was planning. So far this Trace and his companions hadn't tried anything aggressive, and she knew it was best to let the other person make the first move, sucker them into revealing more than they intended.

Byron didn't plan on waiting for anything at all.

She reached out to warn him, but it was too late. She could feel his telepathic invasion of Trace's mind, and his psionic suggestion to him.

You will leave this place. You will leave us alone.

Trace smiled slightly. "No," he said, in a friendly tone of voice. "I don't think so." He raised his hand, and revealed a small black box. He pressed a button.

Byron screamed and fell to the ground. He was unconscious by the time he hit it, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. There was blood welling from his nose.

"He'll have a headache for a while," muttered Trace. "Are you going to make this easy, Miss…. Winters, isn't it? Because let me tell you, between the two of us and at the risk of jeopardising my hard-man image in front of my men here…. I really don't like hurting women. We've all got to have some sort of moral code, don't we? Otherwise we're nothing better than savages, howling in the wilderness."

"This looks pretty much like a wilderness to me," she replied, edging back slowly, careful not to trip over Byron's body. He was alive, she could sense that much, but there was nothing she could do to help him now. She would be lucky if she could help herself. Chase stood stock still, as if paralysed. He was still blubbering.

"Well, yes, it is." Trace was standing still, but two of his men were moving forward. They were wearing the same black clothing as he was, and Talia recognised a Light Refraction Belt. Some of the science labs in Main Dome were working on them, and they were nearly perfected. Obviously Trace and his men had first dibs on any interesting new tech to come this way.

"This is a wilderness, but it's my wilderness. Are you going to surrender?"

"What do you think?"

The nearest of his men darted forward and she reacted instantly, whipping her slender knife from its sheath in her sleeve and lashing out. It caught him straight across the face and he fell back in a shower of blood.

The other man hesitated slightly, just long enough for her to drop the gas bomb she had been holding clenched in her other hand. The instant it hit the ground and cracked, she turned and ran as fast as she could.

Trace waited patiently for the gas to recede, and then looked around. The male teep — the powerful one — was still unconscious. He could be sent on to the Boss without any problem. The female teep — the interesting one — seemed to have got away.

"Well don't just stand there," he barked. "Go find her. What am I paying you for?" Only Nelson stayed behind. He would be needed to make arrangements for the body, and anyway, a simple search-and-locate was a bit beneath him these days.

And then there was Chase. Trace actually liked the pathetic little weasel, but still…. He'd killed people he'd liked before.

Chase was still whimpering, trying futilely to beg for mercy.

Trace raised his PPG.

There was one person on Centauri Prime who knew of the Shadow involvement in the battle before anyone else. Mr. Morden had sold his soul to a higher power than humanity, and that power had given him certain advantages. He knew that the Shadows had come, and that he had arrived here too late.

He had not hesitated. All transport off-planet had been halted by the news of the upcoming attack, and so he could not have left even if the jump gate had not been disabled. On the other hand, that would not last forever. He had to be clear of the palace, to somewhere safe. The Vorlons knew of the problem here and they could help him escape.

The Centauri Republic was not lost yet. It could still be redeemed from the errors it had made. It would be a hard road, and a difficult one, but it could be done. The Centauri would escape far easier than humanity for their lapse in judgement.

It was a shame, though. He liked Mollari. He really did.

Oh, well. The burden of power was never an easy one. Mollari would understand.

Morden turned the corner, not quite running, to find Lord-General Marrago standing there with a sizeable number of the Palace Guard.

"There he is," Marrago said flatly. "He is under arrest by order of the Emperor. He is to be detained in the special cells in this building. Do not try to resist, Mr. Morden. Their orders are to shoot to kill if you try."

"The Emperor gave no such order," Morden said smiling. "I'm one of his most trusted allies."

"That alliance, and the need for it, has just been terminated. I am a soldier, and I serve and protect my Emperor."

The guards encircled Morden. He did not plan to resist. There were more of them than of him, and they were also considerably stronger. He could have used some of his more…. esoteric talents, but there was little point. He knew now who the Shadow agent here was, and there was no cell that could hold him for long.

He went along with them quietly. Centauri Prime had been given its chance for salvation, and it had been refused. They would pay for that error. With a great fire and a terrible fury, the whole Republic would suffer because of the actions of one man.

Morden almost smiled.

"I can't believe it."

The pain was gone. The inner torment had receded. Delenn was filled with a joy all the more powerful because she knew it was limited. She had bargained with Ulkesh for one night with John before she would leave this place for Z'ha'dum. He had agreed.

That one night would be a reminder to her of why she was doing this. She loved him more than life itself, and she had once made a mistake which had cost him everything. This was one small form of recompense.

But she had seen a way to grab another triumph from this bargain. She had left four messages. One for John, explaining what she had done, and why. One for Lyta, her greatest and truest friend. She was not sure that message would get through, but she had at least to try to explain just how much Lyta's friendship had meant. One for Lethke, handing over command of the Alliance to him. She could trust him to make the right choices.

And the fourth…. That would be the most important message of them all. A warning of a sort, but so much more than that. He would know what to do with it, and he was the one person she could trust to act on what she had learned.

She had needed time to do these things, time apart from John, time she did not want to lose. But they were necessary, and now they were done.

There was one other thing she had needed to do as well. That accomplished, she could begin to make herself ready.

His face on seeing her had been all the reward she could need.

The dress was white and gold, a mixture of human and Minbari design. She was not sure if its cut was flattering or ludicrous, but John certainly seemed to like it. She had begun its commission before the beginning of G'Kar's fateful summit on Babylon 4, and she had quite forgotten it until now.

He had said nothing, as if he had been entirely struck dumb. Then he had smiled, and stepped into her quarters. "You look beautiful."

He was wearing a uniform much like his old one. He had showered and shaved, and he looked just as he had for those first months, before his virus had become dangerous and after they had finally managed to acknowledge what they felt.

"How do you feel?" she asked, not wanting to take her eyes from him, fixing everything in her memory.

"I…. strange," he admitted. "But in a good way. Everything tingles. But…. look." He reached out his hand, and took hers. "Isn't that a miracle?"

"Yes," she swallowed. "A miracle."

"I don't believe it. I really don't believe it. I never knew the Vorlons could do that. Repair all the damage…. and the virus. I…." He shook his head, smiling in wonderment. "I just don't believe it."

"What will you do now?" she whispered.

"Oh…. stay here, I suppose. David's doing fine with the Babylon…. at least, from what I can remember he is. I'm inclined to let him keep it. Maybe take a higher position. If we're going to take the war to the Shadows, after all, we'll need all the soldiers we can get."

Yes. Soldiers. Not healers.

"You would be welcome. I know Taan Churok will appreciate your assistance."

"It won't be easy," he admitted. "But I really think we can do it now. Especially with the Vorlons to help us." He smiled. "This is a turning point, Delenn. Everything's going to be all right now."

"Yes," she whispered, reaching up a hand to touch his face. "Everything will be…. all right."

There was a comfortable silence as she stared into his eyes. All the innocence and compassion and love…. everything that had been there before was there again now. All the horror he had seen was gone from his gaze. It was filled only with love for her.

"John," she said. "I love you."

His smile widened. "I love you, Delenn, you know that. I always love you…. even if I forget to say it from time to time."

"I know. I always knew."

She leaned in for a kiss, and he received her happily. She thought she might be beginning to cry. "John. Will you…. stay here tonight?"

"Are you…? I mean…."

"John, I love you. Stay with me?"

He reached forward and kissed her again in reply. She did cry at last, but her tears were of joy, not sorrow. They would have this time together, and no one — not the Vorlons, not the Shadows, not Deathwalker or Sinoval or Bester — would be able to take this night from them.

She now had something to take with her to Z'ha'dum.

Warleader G'Sten evaluated the remnants of his fleet and bit back a profanity. He did not in fact have the energy for anger anyway. He felt nothing beyond a profound depression, and a realisation that chances he should have taken in the past had now slipped away from him.

He should have listened to G'Kar, but he had not, and now his men had paid the price.

The Kha'Ri would be furious of course. At the least, they would demand his head. Perhaps they would even ask for the heads of his captains.

He would resign. He would accept responsibility. It was all over; the galaxy was doomed now, and everything would be washed away in darkness and fire. He had seen those Shadows, and they were all but invincible. The entire might of the Narn fleet had been unable so much as to scratch them. It was over.

They could not win. No one could win.

He would resign before the Kha'Ri, and go to the estate his family had once owned before the Centauri had come. He would tend the tree his brother had died on, he would sit and look at the sunsets, and he would wait for the end.

It was over now. The war was over. Life was over.

He would simply wait for the end.

There were a number of skills any good secret agent needed, but foremost of all was the ability to know when to run, and when to stop running. Sooner or later everything fell apart, and when that happened the best thing to hope for was a good head start, and a better hiding place.

Talia was still running, although only in a metaphorical sense. She was sure she had managed to shake off the initial pursuit, but they would still be tracking her. She needed an immediate place of sanctuary, and after that a new base of operations. At least now she knew what was happening here, and she could take appropriate action. Maybe move out of 301 and up into Main Dome. She didn't have much more to do here after all.

She pressed herself as hard into the alcove as she could. It was heavily shadowed and there was enough rubbish and debris strewn around the street that she should remain inconspicuous. She could hear her pursuers coming this way. Normally it would be possible to alter their perceptions slightly so they would not notice her, but they had very advanced tech that seemed able to resist telepathic influences, so she simply remained very still.

There were three of them, all people she had seen with Trace.

"I'm telling you, she came this way," snarled one of them.

"Well, I'm telling you there's no one in sight. I mean, who'd come through a dump street like this, least of all a classy bit like her. She'd get that nice skirt of hers all messy."

There was a reply Talia really hadn't wanted to hear, and guttural chuckling.

"Yeah," said the first voice. "Well, maybe, with a mouth your size. Look, we go back without her, and Mr. Trace is going to have us nailed to the wall and used for target practice. She came this way."

"There's no one here. Listen, and think about this for a moment." The voices were coming closer. "Anyone who pisses off Mr. Trace ain't going to want to stick around in his den, is she? Now you saw what she was wearing. She ain't from the Pit, so she'll be running off to the tube stations and get out-sector. I'll bet she's halfway to Main Dome by now."

"She came this way," persisted the first voice.

"Hang on," said the third. "What if you're right, Roberts?" said the third thoughtfully.

"What of it?"

"Well, what's the quickest route from here to the tube station?"

"Left down that alley, across and then left at the Security building. If she's going there, she won't have come up this street."

"But," said the third. "What about that narrow walk we just passed? With a bit of effort you could get through that hole in the wire fencing, right? And then from there it's a couple of minutes to the tube, taking all the back roads where no one could spot her."

"Well, what do you know?" said the first in wonder. "It's looks like we're both right, Roberts. She did come this way. Come on, I think we're going to owe you a drink, Petrov."

"Once we've found her," grunted the second, Roberts. "Let's go."

Talia waited for a few minutes as their footsteps receded, then breathed out slowly and emerged from her alcove. So, they'd be watching the tube station. That meant she'd have to stay in 301 for a few days and try to sneak out later. She….

She felt a presence behind her, but just as she made to turn an arm caught her around the neck and a hand clasped firmly down over her mouth. Something was wrong. She hadn't sensed him coming.

She let her assailant half-drag her away from the street towards a door in the nearest wall. He nudged it open, and then pulled her inside.

Then, once the door was closed and she was satisfied that her attacker was alone, she acted. Her telepathic abilities might or might not be useless against this person, but a good elbow in the stomach dealt with anyone.

She lunged out and he staggered back, gasping. She pulled a long, slender blade from her other sleeve and waited for him to move. The door she had been pulled through did not lead to a house, but into a small tunnel. There was light at the far end of it, enough for her to see her attacker clearly. She did not recognise him as one of Trace's men, he was not a security guard, and he was a little too well-dressed for an average denizen of Sector 301. She was almost intrigued, realising he was faintly familiar.

"Why did you attack me?" she asked, willing to trust her intuition and not take further action. Besides, she was armed and he wasn't, and she wasn't winded.

"I didn't," he gasped. "I'm a friend. At least…. I think I am."

She knew that voice. She closed her eyes, breathing out silently and sheathing her knife. "Captain Smith," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"That's funny," he replied, looking up. "I was just about to ask you the same question. The last I heard you'd somehow escaped from your holding cell and just disappeared. That was after sabotaging my ship, of course. I didn't expect to find you in The Pit, but it makes sense, I guess. Oh, and it's private citizen Mr. Smith now. Or Dexter, to all the friends I don't have."

"Talia," she replied.

"Is that what the T stood for? Ah, I never knew. I had you guessed as more of a Tabitha, personally."

"What are you doing here?"

"I live in three-o-one. I grew up here, and trust me, I know this place better than most people. Better than you, it seems. You looked to be in a spot of trouble."

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

He moved forward. "Are you going to give me any straight answers, Lieutenant Talia Stoner? You can read my mind if you like, to satisfy yourself I'm not working for Trace. Yes, I know you're a telepath, and I know who Trace is. What I don't know is why he's chasing you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me any more! You did enough of that all the time you were on my ship. How long was it? A year? I want to know the truth."

"No," she replied softly, a little sorrowfully. "You don't." He might have been expecting a psychic attack. He might even have been expecting a physical attack. He certainly wasn't expecting both together.

Very few people stayed conscious through a combination of a psi blast and a kick to the chest, and he wasn't one of them.

"I'm sorry," she said to no one in particular, and then she continued in search of her place of sanctuary.

Sinoval had always held it one of his greatest gifts that he never regretted any single decision he had ever made. He did not spend time in pointless recriminations and self-doubts. He merely accepted that he had made a mistake, and resolved never to repeat it.

Leaving Minbar had led to disastrous consequences, but he had needed answers, answers that could not have been found on Minbar. To be certain of his destiny he had needed to seek wisdom and enlightenment elsewhere, and that had brought him here.

Trusting Kalain had been a mistake also, although one that could not have been foreseen. Sinoval had known Kalain as he had known and trusted none other. He had not known of his insanity, or of his infection.

He had made many other errors, but all had been committed with full regard to all the information he had had available. He accepted that, and moved on. The words 'if only' had never held any power over him.

Until now.

The realisation of Kozorr's betrayal was a bitter one, and for the first time in his life Sinoval gave thought to the past, and wondered what he could have done to prevent it.

He had been foolish not to recognise another Marrain. The First Ranger had betrayed Valen out of the pettiest of motives, jealousy, and the greatest of tragedies, love. In conversation with that haunted, tortured soul, Sinoval had learned the depth of Marrain's feelings for Derannimer, who had married Valen and borne his heirs. Marrain had been tortured by his inadequacy beside Valen. In every way he was a little bit less than the one he followed. Without Valen he would have been pre-eminent. With him, Marrain was nothing but a shadow.

And so it was for Kozorr. He was not the leader of his caste, or the greatest warrior alive, because of Sinoval himself. Kozorr loved Kats with a true and powerful passion that he had tried to restrain, only to have it burst forth.

The gentle worker had been much in Sinoval's thoughts of late. Her bleak depression after Kozorr's 'death' had inflicted deep wounds in the Primarch he had not been able to reconcile. He did not love her, for he did not know how to love. Her malady was beyond his power to fight, for it was beyond his experience.

But he could not deny just what she brought to his life. She was everything of beauty he had ever known, and a constant reminder of why he fought as he did. There was someone to whom life was more than a struggle, more than an eternal war against forces that could not be seen, more than a never-ending challenge that could never be met.

He had never in his life wanted to avoid something as much as he wanted to avoid that meeting with her, but he could not do so. He was a warrior, and a leader of warriors. He had his duties, and his responsibilities, and he would face up to the things he feared.

Slowly, tentatively, he explained to her what had happened. Kozorr was gone now, having taken his shuttle and returned to his corrupt master. He had not tried to make contact with Kats, which was the one thing Sinoval had feared.

She said nothing throughout his explanation, and her expression was still.

When he finished, she bowed her head.

"I knew it somehow," she whispered. "I saw it in his eyes when he came to see me. There was a darkness that had not been there before."

Sinoval said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"He saw me when I was in pain, when I was crying, screaming to the heavens. He saw my weakness, and called it strength. He held me when I cried, and loved me…. I could not…. I could not tell him. I was afraid of losing him, of him losing me. He had already given so much for me. How could I ask for more?"

She was silent, but then she looked up. Her eyes were cold and dead. Sinoval had always thought them the most beautiful thing about her.

"I have shed too many tears," she whispered. "I will shed no more." Then she turned and left. He wanted to follow her, but he could not. There was nothing he could do to comfort her. He knew nothing of love, or loss.

But he knew a great deal about war, and revenge, and he planned to utilise all his knowledge, every last piece of it.

John was sleeping now. He looked so peaceful. So happy.

Delenn wanted to remain there watching him all night. It was an old Minbari ritual, in which she would hope to discover his true face. Not that she had any need to, now. She had renounced a great deal of what had made her Minbari, and their courtship had passed beyond the sleep-watching stage a long time ago. A year now, it must have been. A year since Minbar, since they had discovered he was dying.

She was suddenly aware of a presence behind her, and she turned. He was there. The Vorlon, Ulkesh.

The Vorlon was silent, simply watching. Delenn could hear the faint traces of music in the air invoked by his presence.

"I'm ready," she said softly.

The Vorlon's eyepiece shifted, as if nodding.

Delenn looked back at John. He was still sleeping. She would never forget him; his face, his voice, his hands, everything would remain in her memory for the rest of her life. However long that might be.

She slowly moved away from the bed, out into the main room. Ulkesh followed her. "What will happen now?"

"Why?" she whispered. "I still don't understand. Why?"

She looked directly at him, her face hard. She knew what he required of her. She just did not know why. It didn't matter. Others would, and they would carry on. She had made all the preparations she could. There was nothing more to do now but go.

She left the rooms that had been her quarters ever since she had taken on the role as leader of the Alliance, well over a year ago. It had been after the arrival of the Inquisitor, something she only now understood. It hadn't been a test, as she and John had believed at the time. The Inquisitor had been sent by Kosh, whom she knew cared about her, about all the younger races. Kosh would never have demanded this of her, but he had given his life for them all.

He had known that might happen, and so he had sent the Inquisitor, as a warning. She had not listened, and now she had to pay the price.

She did not turn back to see if the Vorlon was following her as she walked through the streets of Kazomi 7. Either he was, or he wasn't, and she did not care either way. The streets were quiet. It was early in the morning, and even the nocturnal Brakiri were not about. The few patrol guards she saw ignored her, as if she were not there.

With each step she took, she remembered the images of these streets after the Drakh invasion. It was a true wonder that they had managed to create this hope from the chaos and despair of those dark days. It was a great triumph, and one that must surely be placed against the wrongs she had done.

Kazomi 7 and the Alliance spoke of hope, of order, of peace. They would carry on doing so after she was gone.

She reached the spaceport to find that no one there seemed to notice her either. As she walked down the docking bays towards her shuttle, past unseeing officials, she turned round and saw Ulkesh almost at her shoulder. "This is your doing, isn't it? You're why they can't see us."

"And you need to make sure that I'm gone, of course. For all you know I could have let you cure John, and then stayed here and told him everything."

"No? Why not?"

She shook her head sadly, and walked away from him towards her shuttle. She had seldom needed a flyer, but when she had, one had been provided. Normally it was heavily guarded of course, but the guards could not see her. She hoped they had been equally blind to certain…. preparations made earlier.

She boarded the shuttle, and took a quick glance back. Ulkesh was there, watching. Angrily, she turned her back on him.

And then she left Kazomi 7, knowing she would never see her new home again this side of death.

And on to Z'ha'dum.

Mr. Trace received word of his men's failure to catch the female telepath with a calm demeanour. He thanked them for their efforts and dismissed them for the night. No doubt they were in a terrified rush to flee the sector — or possibly the planet — to escape his wrath. He didn't care if they did or not. There were very few people he trusted absolutely.

He had set them a task. They had failed. Miss Winters was simply smarter than they were, that was all. Where was the point in punishing someone for coming up against someone better?

Still, this did have to be reported to the Boss, and Trace was not sure how he would react. There were times when he thought he was afraid of the Boss, and other times when they could talk together like two old friends.

He did not really need the old man any longer. He could make a perfect living just from 301 alone. The protection, the drugs, the holobrothels and all his other little deals were enough to keep most men happy and rich for life, but he was not in this merely for the money. Trace wanted respect. He wanted status. He had power here, but he wanted to be a power.

Only the old man could help him with those things, and he would. Sooner or later he would move up from this worthless rat-infested dump and become a power in himself in Main Dome, or maybe off-world.

His signal was received, and the old man's voice came over the comm channel. Audio conversations only. It had always been that way, as far back as Trace could remember. He didn't even have any idea what the old man looked like. He had looked out of simple curiosity, but there were no pictures available at all.

He did know the old man's name, but it was a good idea not to let on that he knew it. The old man valued his privacy.

"Ah, Mr. Trace," came the voice. "What do you have for me?"

"We got another one. A pretty powerful one, too. I'd reckon P ten, P twelve maybe. There might be a problem, though."

"Yes?"

"He's been trained. He knows how to use what's he got. The psi-jamming tech you provided us with kept us safe though, and he only got mildly damaged when we took him down. He had a companion as well, another telepath, and she managed to escape. I'd put her at P five or so, but she's good. Very good. She knows much more than just how to read minds. Infiltration techniques, and pretty good at self-defence as well."

"A woman? Describe her for me."

"Ah, let's see. Blonde, fairly tall I'd guess. Pretty, in a…. posh sort of way. I'm uploading a picture with this. Her name's Winters. T. Winters"

"Ah, yes. I know of her. Well well. It appears we have someone out to investigate our little activities here, Mr. Trace."

"Yeah, I'd say so. They were talking with Chase when I found them. He was telling them what he knew."

"And where is Chase now?"

"Dead. Very dead."

"Good. I think, Mr. Trace, it is imperative you find Miss Winters as soon as possible. She might just pose a significant threat to us."

"We're on it. She won't get out of three-o-one, trust me on that one, Boss.

"There is one other thing, might be just a coincidence, but maybe not. There's someone poking his nose into my business. Had a run-in with one of my men in a bar, and went to see the Security Chief to talk about me."

"Mr. Allan. Is he…?"

"Oh, still bribed. He told me as soon as the guy left. You might know him, Boss. His name's Smith. Dexter Smith. Used to be captain of the Babylon."

"Smith. Ah. Yes, I had heard he'd returned to Proxima, but not that he'd made for your area, Mr. Trace. As you said, it might just be a coincidence, but I don't believe in coincidence. Find him as well as Miss Winters. If you can get Miss Winters in the normal course of things, so much the better. If you can't, then kill her. Definitely kill Mr. Smith. It really won't do to have them running around Sector Three-o-one finding out things they really shouldn't be finding out. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Trace?"

"No problem, Boss. I'll get back to you once we've found them. Trace out."

In a far more expensive and luxurious area of the colony, Mr. William Edgars, unofficial head of Interplanetary Expeditions, turned to his companion. "You heard that?"

Edgars nodded. "Don't worry. Nothing's going to interfere with the scheme. You'll get all the telepaths you need. Trust me on this."

Dexter Smith could not sleep. He had not been able to sleep since he had heard the ISN broadcast. He was not alone. All across Proxima people were not sleeping, staring up into the heavens through the clear surface of the domes, waiting for the first sight of the arriving allies.

Parents were keeping their children awake to see this once-in-a-lifetime event, just as they once had for comets or other astral phenomena. Smith could imagine the children now, excited, pointing up into the skies, waving and cheering. For many of them this would be their first glimpse of humanity's former saviours and current allies.

Not for him. He had seen them before, and he was chilled by the thought that they would be coming to Proxima permanently.

And to confirm earlier reports, President Clark and his Cabinet have assured us that our allies for these past three years will be setting up a permanent garrison in the Proxima system, both to provide extra protection for Proxima, and as a lasting symbol of our alliance. A ceremonial fly-by is expected later tonight….

Smith wondered if anyone in the Pit knew about this, or even cared. As he looked out through his window he could see that some of them obviously did. There were people congregating in the streets, talking nervous chatter and looking up expectantly. So, there was something that could make even the Pit trash all happy at the same time.

They have no idea. None at all.

There was a cheer, and then a sense of hushed awe. Smith could not help but look up, and what he saw chilled him to the bone.

They were there, not just one ship, or two, or five, or ten. Countless numbers of Shadow ships soared overhead. The people were watching; spellbound, awestruck, humbled.

Smith ducked inside his apartment and looked at the dull walls and the grimy floor. He clenched his hands into fists and felt a far greater anger than he had ever thought possible before. Did any of them have any idea what they had just done, or what they had just seen?

The Shadows had come to Proxima.

And at the same time, a few hours after Delenn of Mir had left the world she had taken for her home, jump points had opened and out had poured a vast fleet of ships older and more powerful than anyone on Kazomi 7 could imagine.

On the surface, Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek and Lyta Alexander waited for them, waited for his people to come and talk with him.

Everything was ready. Now the war could truly begin.