Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке

Chapter 3

Power…. she embraced it, welcomed it, needed it. It engulfed her, surrounded her, filled her.

She had not been sure what to expect upon entering the Heart of the Great Machine, but it had not been this sense of…. togetherness. The feeling that the Machine had always been an integral part of her life and she had simply never realised it until now. It was as much her body now as the bag of flesh and bone that had carried her thus far in her life.

With eyes that hardly seemed her own any more she looked at her companions. The pitiful Ivanova creature lay huddled on the floor, shaking, curled up in a foetal position, the aftermath of Donne's psychic attack still shocking her no doubt.

The others were…. still. Most of them had not reacted yet, their minds slowed, or perhaps that was simply due to her enhanced comprehension. The Narn, Tu'Pari, he understood what had happened and he was ready to act, she knew that much. As yet he had not. He was merely waiting.

As for the humans, the mundanes…. they were motionless. They knew this had not been the plan.

Boggs acted first, raising his PPG. He seemed to be moving incredibly slowly, pointing it at what had been Donne's body. He seemed unaware of the cable that burst from the ground at his feet and gently caressed his leg. A thought, and a burst of electricity flooded through his body. He fell, the weapon slipping from his dead fingers.

"This wasn't what we were told would happen," said Number One angrily. She had not gone for her weapon though. Donne supposed she would have to let her live, then. She would need someone alive after all. For the moment at least.

"There's been…. a change…. of plans…." Donne replied, surprised by the way her voice sounded. Slower, harder, thicker. "What…. loyalty do you owe…. them? Work for…. me and…. you will all…. be…. special."

Number Two moved slightly, but Tu'Pari tapped his arm and forced him back. "Now, now," he said, breathing on his glasses and polishing them. "It never hurts to listen when an offer is being presented. We are…. all ears."

Donne concentrated for a moment, suddenly aware of how to do this. Her consciousness seemed to shift and she was able to step forward, leaving the Machine. She looked back and saw…. herself there. Turning, she regarded her three remaining companions, studying them with senses that were not her own, but extensions of the Machine. All her senses seemed heightened and…. changed. Even her psi abilities were different somehow. She couldn't identify clearly how, she just knew that they were.

"I know what you all want," she said, the words seeming to come from a great distance away. "You…." she raised a holographic arm and pointed at Number One, "your claim to idealism is misplaced. You want a cause, something to fight for. You…." Number Two"…. You want someone to tell you what to do, to give you direction so that you don't have to think about how worthless your life is. And you, Narn, you want revenge, a chance to prove your superiority to those who exiled you."

"Very true," Tu'Pari admitted, smiling. "However, you left out one detail. I also want a huge pile of money. Help provide me with that and you have my services, lady."

"Hold on!" snapped Number One. "We had a deal. This wasn't in it."

"I'm a businessman," the Narn said. "We learned all about how business works from the Centauri. Good faith is an illusion. I have done my share of this contract, so I am open to negotiations. Besides, you can't have failed to grasp the obvious. If we don't agree to help her, then none of us will leave this planet alive."

"Very perceptive," Donne acknowledged. "Think about it, but don't try anything silly. I have…." she looked back at her body in the Machine and felt a moment's trepidation, "some learning to do.

"And then a signal to send."

Kats, formerly Satai of the Grey Council, knew weakness when she saw it — and she had seen plenty of it.

There had been a time when she had been held prisoner, her body and soul abused, tormented, tortured. She had dared to lift her head and silently plead for aid from those around her, those who should have been horrified by this mockery of their most sacred place. Many had believed it was what she deserved. Two had recognised her plight, and had made plans accordingly. But two…. two knew that what was happening was wrong, but did nothing, because they were weak and afraid. Later they had tried to redeem themselves, but too late.

The man standing before her was not one of those two, but had he been in the place of Gysiner or Chardhay, he would have reacted in exactly the same fashion. He was weak.

"I bid you welcome to this place, in the service of Holy One Sinoval," said Administrator Callenn formally. He bowed. Holy One Sinoval. He did not even have the courage to call Sinoval by the title he had now adopted — Primarch.

Beside Kats, Kozorr bristled with anger, but she gently touched his arm. She was the diplomat, and although she despised Callenn as much as he did she did not let it mar her temper.

"In his name, it is a pleasure to be here," she replied. Callenn's face smiled, but his eyes showed that he lied. Tarolin 2 had sworn fealty to Sinoval out of fear and weakness, not courage or strength. Callenn had been afraid — of the Drakh, of the humans, of the raiders — and only Sinoval possessed the strength to guard him and his colony.

Still, Tarolin 2 was an old colony, and a powerful one. A reasonably safe place for many of the refugees fleeing from the devastation of Minbar. As long as the leaders knew to whom they owed fealty.

"We have prepared all the records you requested of us. My acolyte here, Ashan, will be happy to show them to you, and help you if you have any questions."

"I thank you for your foresight, Administrator. Primarch Sinoval also thanks you for your loyalty." Callenn visibly flinched at the sound of Sinoval's title.

"Well," he said, evidently searching for a suitable phrase. Kats could tell that Kozorr was enjoying Callenn's discomfort. "We have…. always been loyal to the Holy…. er, the…. Primarch here. Always loyal."

"Your loyalty is beyond question," she said, trying not to smile. "If you do not mind…. it has been a long journey and we are tired…."

"Of course, of course. Quarters have been arranged for you and your staff. Ashan will show you to them. Ashan!" The acolyte stepped forward and bowed briefly.

"This way, Satai," he said, gesturing to them to follow him.

At that very moment the entire top half of the Administration Building was blown apart. In the heavens, jump points began to open and Tak'cha ships flooded in.

The Minbari civil war had just begun.

It was almost dawn on Kazomi 7. Valen stood at peace, watching the suns rise. He closed his eyes and let their warmth caress him.

There had been another time, he knew, when he had enjoyed watching the rising of the sun. He had always been an early riser and had often been outside, watching, at dawn. Then he had gone into space, and he had grown accustomed to being in darkness. Now, he was content to see light again.

Are you ready? asked the booming voice in his mind. It felt as though a breeze of air was brushing through his skull, bearing just a trace of melody with it. There were hints of regret in the voice.

"Ready for what?" he asked, although he had a feeling he already knew. No, he wasn't ready. He wanted the uncertainty of the future, rather than the finality of the past. He didn't want to walk into the desert, knowing he would be following his own footsteps all the way.

It is almost time.

"No! I'm not ready. I'm not going back. I'm…." He stopped, and bowed his head. He would have to go back, he knew that. Destiny, the future, the past…. everything depended on him. He had never asked to be this fulcrum, but still, it had been thrust upon him.

"Yes. I'm ready."

No. But you will be. Know the past. Know the future. Be one with yourself. Then you will be ready.

He did not ask what that meant, as no explanation would have been forthcoming even if he had. Sighing, he felt the voice leave him, and he turned back to the sunsrise.

Know the past. How could he know the past? He could barely remember anything before stepping into the Temple of Varenni. Fragments, nothing more. He could remember more about people he had never met than about the people who had once shared his heart. Marrain, Nukenn, Zathras…. all these were more alive to him than the brother he barely recalled, or his parents, or…. Catherine….

"Catherine," he whispered. She more than anyone else he should be able to remember. He had tried pushing back the boundaries of his memories, but to little avail. Her name, her eyes, the faintest hint of her scent…. nothing else.

"Know the past," he said softly.

"Talking to yourself is meant to be one of the first signs of madness," said a voice from behind him. Slowly, unsure of what he was hearing, he straightened, and turned. "But then, if you want to become a Minbari and start acting like one of their Gods, then I guess you're way past that stage, hmm?"

It was her!

"Catherine?"

She smiled. "Hello, Jeffrey."

They called him the Starkiller, the last hope of humanity, the scourge of the Minbari, the greatest living captain. They had called him those things before he had betrayed them, before he had allied himself with the Minbari, and even dared fall in love with one of them. Little about John Sheridan was now common knowledge. People did not like to think about him, even after the recent victories. When they did speak of him they did so in hushed voices as if he were gone forever, in tones of reverence for the nobly dead.

Such an ironic prophecy was nearly true, for John Sheridan was dying. He did not talk about it, save to the one person who had become closer to him than anyone he had ever known. Indeed, only two others even knew of his fate.

He was not afraid of death, and he had already made his plans for dealing with the situation when it became necessary.

He had never been afraid of death, but he was afraid now. The instincts that had kept him alive for so long were screaming at him. Something was happening, or was going to happen, and he was not in control of it. That frightened him.

Not long ago he had received a message, short, but strange. It did not seem to make sense, and yet it was the kind of message he could not ignore.

Breathing in slowly, he rang the door chime, which was answered almost immediately with a "Yes?" The mere sound of that voice made him smile. He could have spent all day doing nothing but listen to it.

"It's me, Delenn. Can I come in?"

"Always," she replied. He knew she would be smiling and sure enough, when the door opened and he stepped inside, she was. She glided across the floor to meet him, her smile lighting up the room. "I thought you were running drills on the Parmenion tonight," she said. "Or did you finish early just to be with me?"

"No…. ah, not that I didn't want to…. it's just that…." He paused, catching his breath, and his thoughts. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No. I was just going over the proposals put forward by the Drazi Government. They seem to think they are entitled to a larger share in the Alliance than we are giving them. It is nothing, but even if it were important, I would put it aside for the moment." She looked at him closely. "John…. is something wrong?"

"Yes…. ah, no…. I don't know. Have you seen G'Kar recently?"

"No, not since…. this morning. Why?"

"I got a strange message from Bester just now. An order, more like. It sounds as if there's something major going on. He's…. recalling me to Sanctuary."

She frowned. "Did he give a reason?"

"No, none. That's why I wanted to see G'Kar. See if he knows anything. This is…. it just has a bad feel about it. Not to mention that with the Parmenion gone, and the Ozymandias as well, there'll be only the Alliance ships left to defend this place if anything goes wrong."

"There is also the Great Machine, which is more than capable of defending the station. You remember the first time we saw it?" He nodded. "Still, this might be a cause for concern. Perhaps we should try to find G'Kar."

He nodded again. "Now?"

"No time like the present." Smiling, he took her arm and they left her quarters, his long stride consciously slowed to match her shorter one.

As they began to walk down the corridor however, they encountered two figures coming the other way. Sheridan started and stiffened, and he knew Delenn had noticed the tension in his arm.

He looked at the two men closely. Captain Ari Ben Zayn and his telepath, Harriman Gray. Bester's men through and through. Both men had noticed them and while Gray looked uneasy, Ben Zayn consciously straightened his bearing and stopped, waiting for Sheridan and Delenn to approach him.

"I thought I'd find you with her," Ben Zayn said, addressing Sheridan directly without a glance at Delenn. "Didn't you receive your orders, then?"

"I received them," came the careful reply. Sheridan was looking directly at Gray, who seemed…. fascinated by his gaze. That was still better than looking at Ben Zayn. The man was a career soldier, with years more experience than Sheridan himself. His scar seemed to bleed as Sheridan looked at it. "I was just looking for G'Kar to…."

"And have you started working for G'Kar now, Captain?" he snapped. "You work for Bester. The Parmenion is his ship, its crew are his men and you are his soldier. Have you forgotten that?"

"No, Captain, I haven't. But Bester did post me here to safeguard this project of G'Kar's, as well as to maintain general order in the League and Alliance worlds, as per G'Kar's wishes. My exact post was, if I remember the term correctly, Bester's liaison with G'Kar."

"Yes, I am completely aware of that, but now Bester has requested your presence on Sanctuary. This supersedes your posting here. You are to come along…. now, or your ship and your crew will have to go without you."

"You know as well as I do that at least half of that crew is mine."

"And they will obey the orders of Major Krantz just as well as they would yours. If they do not do so, then they can easily be replaced. You have your orders, Captain. So, unless your recent freedom has affected your ability to obey them, I expect to see the Parmenion leaving here within the hour. Do you understand me?"

"I understand you perfectly well! But I have my responsibilities here, to G'Kar, to this station, to…." He stopped as he felt Delenn tapping his arm gently.

"Go, John," she said. "We will be fine here." He started to speak, to protest, but his words were stifled by her kiss. "I love you," she said softly, so softly it was hardly audible. "Go."

She stepped back and, with a twirl, turned and went back towards her quarters. Sheridan focussed his gaze on Ben Zayn. "We will be gone within the hour," he snapped. "And if this is no emergency, we will be back here equally quickly. Good day, Captain."

He stormed down the corridor without saying another word.

Lord Jarno stood at his window looking out at the streets of his city, and shivered. It was night-time and yet the city was lit as if it were day. Not just by lights, but by the fires.

They had been burning for days, it seemed — in the warehouse sector, the peasant villages, the fields, even in the streets themselves. Where each inferno blazed, someone stood in the centre of it, screaming that the Shadow was coming.

Jarno did not need to be told about the Shadow, he saw it every night in his dreams. The sky was blacked out by the appearance of countless billions of ships, each one screaming inside his mind.

Shadow Criers they called themselves. Madness, but an enlightened madness. They preached that everything would burn, all would be destroyed when the Darkness came.

"Still looking outside? Why bother? The City Guard will put out the fires eventually, that's what they're there for, after all. And then they'll find out who did it and execute them. Come back to bed."

He did not turn from the window at the sound of her voice. Many times over the last year he had begun to wonder why he had ever listened to it in the first place. He had always been ambitious…. before, but for the greater glory of the Republic, not for his own advancement.

But then he had begun to listen to her and old dreams had begun to surface. At first they had sounded so reasonable. Of course the Republic needed strength, now more than ever. Good people had been ignored by the Court for too long and if it took something a little…. extreme to force them to recognise that, then so be it.

Somewhere along the way, however, it had all gone wrong. He didn't know where. From the moment she had first manoeuvred him into her bed, making a mockery of his marriage vows? From the death of Emperor Refa perhaps? Maybe from the emergence of the first Shadow Crier. Maybe it had always been wrong and he had simply never noticed until now.

"Jarno dear," continued the petulant voice, and he sighed. "Stop looking outside. You know it only upsets you. There's something much more interesting for you to look at over here…."

He sighed again and silently cursed his own weaknesses. Perhaps they were why he had never risen as far as he felt he should have risen.

"The city is burning," he muttered softly. "The city…. is burning."

"Only the parts of it that don't matter. The Guard will never let the fires get anywhere near the Noble Quarter."

"People are dying."

"People who don't matter. The peasants. There will always be more of them around."

He sighed again and nodded. He was considering returning to bed when his commscreen beeped. Turning towards it, he suppressed a surge of fear. Who could possibly be contacting him at this time of night? This could be nothing good.

"I'm sorry, my lord," spoke the voice of his aide over the commchannel. "I will tell the Lord Kiro that you are unable to take his call at the moment…."

Lord Kiro? Jarno swallowed harshly. "No. I'll take it now." He moved over to the screen, watching as his companion awkwardly pulled the sheets up to cover herself.

The image came into view on the screen, and Jarno looked at his fellow noble. Once, many years before, the two had been friends, fostered together at his uncle's estate. A million years ago now. Both of them had changed too much, and neither made any mention of that time in their childhood.

"What is the meaning of this, Jarno?" Kiro asked. He looked positively apoplectic.

"The meaning of what, Kiro? Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I know the time, and you know full well what I am referring to! I have been at my estates all week, and when I return, not half an hour ago, I find guardsmen all around my house here. My servants tell me that no one has been allowed to enter or leave since they arrived, and the guards tell me they were ordered there by you! What is the meaning of this, Jarno?"

Jarno straightened automatically at Kiro's tone, even though he could not dispute the rightfulness of his anger. Jarno knew nothing of any such guardsmen, but he still maintained his composure. "It behoves us all to act as nobles, Kiro. Perhaps you have forgotten that."

"Forgotten! Jarno, I will ask you one last time. What is the meaning of this outrage? If I do not receive an answer then I will have to take this matter to the Centarum, and have you arrested."

"Your tone does not befit you, Lord Kiro. This conversation is at an end. I trust we will be able to speak later, when you are suitably calmed." Kiro made to reply, but Jarno cut the transmission. He then turned to his companion.

"Very masterful," she said, discarding the covers and rising from the bed. "I did not know you had it in you." She smiled. "I was very impressed."

"You did that, didn't you?"

"I took a few…. little liberties with your personal seal and your personal guards."

"Not to mention my person. The Emperor's Name, why?"

She began dressing herself, not in one of her usual fine gowns, but in the more utilitarian costume she wore when she was doing something surreptitious. Close, tight-fitting hunting clothes. "Officially…. reasons of security of course. In Lord Kiro's absence his house was vulnerable to attack from those insane Shadow Criers. Someone had to protect him."

Jarno folded his arms high on his chest. "And unofficially?"

"He has his own ambitions for the throne, of course."

"Well of course he does. So does half of the Court. And the other half, come to that."

"Yes, but Kiro is just open enough to make an attempt, and he has the lineage to succeed as well. Don't forget that his House once held the throne."

"I haven't forgotten, and nor have I forgotten how they lost it."

"In any case, Kiro has been away gathering support in his southern estates. He may even be contemplating an alliance with dear old Londo, anything that would further his chances of the throne. We have to deal with him before that can happen."

"That's what this is about, isn't it? Kiro was in talks with your husband."

"My ex-husband. Don't forget he is legally dead. And yes, there is that, but more importantly, you are going to take over Kiro's House and estates, which will be a great step towards the throne. And you are going to do it tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. A little premature I'll admit, but my sources said that Kiro wasn't due to return for another few days. I'll have to have some of them shot." Mariel smiled and moved closer to Jarno, reaching up to touch his face. "Come on, dear. We have work to do."

"Work? Attacking another Lord's house? Such a thing has not been done for centuries."

"Great men are not bound by normal rules, Jarno. The first Emperor said that, remember. And behind every great man, there is a great woman showing him how to do it right. Get dressed, quickly. We had better get my dear sister-wife as well. We may need her testimony that we were provoked if matters do not go well."

"I can't do this. I…." He looked at her, and he could feel all his old weaknesses rising to the fore. She was right of course. Great men were not bound by normal rules. But was he a great man?

Would he ever be?

Pitifully, pathetically, hopelessly, he nodded, and went to get dressed.

There was power, but not as she had expected; knowledge, but not as she had anticipated; wisdom, but not as she had wished.

And there was something else, a nagging, burning sensation that the Machine was doing…. something. She did not know what, and she could not find out.

Furious, Donne shifted her consciousness to her holographic form and let it step out into view. As she looked at her companions she was struck by their weakness. The two mundanes were the worst. Number One and Number Two were seated in the far corner of the cavern, ostensibly on watch, but actually talking about their concerns in hushed voices they presumably believed she could not hear.

Ivanova was still comatose, curled up like a tiny baby. From time to time pathetic whimpers escaped from her mouth.

And Tu'Pari…. he was sitting cross-legged next to the equally comatose G'Kar. The Narn assassin was sharpening his long, wicked knife with a methodical air, gazing distantly at the walls.

"Wake him up," Donne ordered Tu'Pari. He smiled, set down the knife, and began to reach into one of his pockets. Whatever strange device he was planning to use however, he did not get the chance. G'Kar opened one eye and stirred.

"I am already awake," he said in a hoarse voice. "I was…. remembering…. the night the Centauri took over…. a farmhouse…. near Na'khamamah. It was a…. rebel base…. We waited until…. dusk and…." He coughed. "We…. killed…. them all…."

"An interesting story, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Tu'Pari said idly. "If you wished to trade stories of death you should have told me. I have a great many of them."

"No." G'Kar tried to shake his head. "Not death. The…. last Centauri…. looked at me…. knowing he was going to die…. The look…. in his…. eyes. I will…. never forget." He smiled, and then broke into another coughing fit. "I see it…. in…. yours…. now."

"Shut up," Donne snapped. "The Machine is doing something. Whatever it is, I can't get close enough to find out and stop it. What is it doing?"

"Many things."

"Something programmed into it. You did it, I'm certain of that, and it has something to do with that blasted station of yours. What is it doing?"

"Never…. find out…. Never…. make the Machine…. yours…."

"Reality check. It is mine."

G'Kar shook his head weakly.

"Tu'Pari. Hurt him."

"I am…. not…. afraid…. to die."

"I've heard that before," Tu'Pari said in a civilised tone. "Many many times. And they all took it back before the end. How permanent do you want this, my lady?"

"I want him capable of sharing everything he knows with me. Leave his head alone. And stay away from any major blood vessels and muscle concentrations. You know more about Narn biology than I do. I want something painful, but not too devastating."

"Happy to oblige, my lady. I was in the Resistance once. That was where I learned much of my skill. G'Kar was something of a legend for his capacity to absorb pain. This might take a while."

"Not too long. If he hasn't told us anything in…. half an hour or so…. take out his eye."

"Business and pleasure combined," the assassin said, smiling. "How fortunate."

Donne suddenly looked up. Someone was…. coming. She wasn't entirely sure how she knew, but some sense not her own alerted her that someone was approaching. A few moments later the sound of a voice was heard.

"Zathras do this, Zathras do that. Zathras go check on G'Kar. Zathras not doing anything important, oh no. Zathras just checking temporal units in place, yes. Not important at all. Zathras not mind if whole station slip back in time thousand years. No, wait. Yes, Zathras do mind. That would be not good.

"Ah, is bad life being Zathras. Zathras does not mind though. He…. Ah, you is not meant to be being here?"

The strangest alien Donne had ever seen came into view. He hesitated for a moment, looking around, seemingly taking in everything in one swift glance: Donne's body in the Machine, G'Kar on the floor.

"Ah. Zathras be leaving now."

He turned to flee, and ran straight into Number One. She pushed him roughly forward and he fell sprawling to the floor.

"This not good. No, not good at all."

"That, my friend," said Tu'Pari, "very much depends on your perspective."

I am not afraid.

I am a warrior; born of warriors, bred of warriors, lived as a warrior, trained as a warrior, called a warrior by the greatest warrior of all. I am not afraid.

The captain in charge of the Valentha repeated those words to himself as he tried to restore order to the ship he had been given control of by the Primarch. He remembered the surprise and horror as this holy ship had been given a captain who was not of the Satai for the first time in known history.

He also remembered his pride. The Primarch had told him that the Valentha was to be used differently now. It was to be both a focus of faith for the people and a warship, the foremost in the fleet. The captain's heart had surged with pride.

And now, his first battle on his new ship, and he had been beaten, forced to retreat like the tiniest of goks.

There had only been three ships in the Tarolin system when the invaders arrived. The Yojiro had fallen within seconds, torn apart by blow after blow. The Seppun had been at the far end of the system and had received the warning to pull back and regroup with the Valentha. These invaders, whoever they were, were too strong to deal with individually.

Mere seconds of combat had proved that.

"Are the communications back on line yet?"

The captain smiled when he received an affirmative. "Send a message to the Primarch. He must know about this, and now."

"Should we not counterattack now? Shai Alyt Kozorr and Lady Kats are still on the planet."

"Kozorr is a warrior, and if the worker wishes to play with warriors then she had better learn the strength of one. No, Hor Alyt, we need the Primarch. With him at our side not all the forces of Hell could stand against us."

"Will he be here in time?"

"He is the Primarch. Of course he will be."

The general sense of chaos that gripped the Babylon 4 station began to take hold less than an hour after G'Kar's forced removal from the Heart of the Great Machine. When the survivors looked back and histories and recordings were made, it was established that the problems had in fact begun much earlier. Perhaps even at the commencement of the project. Those whose views tended towards the short-sighted argued that the station should never have been constructed. Minister Vizhak had argued that at the first meeting of the United Alliance Council after the Battle that would be known as the Third Line. Far too many agreed with him.

Even before the…. incidents of the night in question, there had been numerous unexplained happenings on the station. Bad dreams, strange visions. Certain areas of the station were said to be haunted and few would go there.

Few people had been able to sleep well that night, many waking to a sense of unexplained urgency and fear. There were reports of people rousing only to find themselves looking at images of things that had already happened, or perhaps had yet to happen. Mysterious voices and sounds were heard.

Even the legendary Primarch Sinoval, whose nickname of the Cursed was not yet in public use, was said to be uneasy about the station. This was never confirmed by the man himself, and those who were aware of his bargain with the Soul Hunters found it unlikely that anything could unnerve him. Indeed, some laid the blame for the mysteries at the door of the Soul Hunters, claiming that allowing them on the station was a bad omen. No comment came from Cathedral.

If there was one instant that the inhabitants of the station came to regard as the turning point — being largely unaware of events on the planet below — it was the moment when they heard of the departure of Captain Sheridan. He had been renowned among the Narns and infamous among the Minbari for many years, but his recent actions in support of the League and Alliance worlds had won him many friends there as well. The news of his sudden departure did not go down well.

Delenn, who unlike Sinoval had not yet acquired the nickname that would later be synonymous with her real name, was acutely aware of the tensions on the station. She had been unable to rest or meditate following John's departure and so she had tried going for a walk. She was horrified by what she saw — people running around, crying out for peace, weeping in corners. She watched helplessly, in horror, as a young Brakiri child bit out her own tongue in a frenzy.

"Valen's Name, what is happening?" she breathed.

She had made her way at last to the command room, and was not surprised to find many of the dignitaries already there. Ta'Lon was fielding increasingly angry questions from Taan Churok and Lethke, while Mr. Garibaldi and Dr. Kirkish were talking quietly. There was no sign of Sinoval, or of G'Kar.

"Mr. Garibaldi?" she asked, curiously. "Have you not been recalled to Sanctuary?"

He looked up, surprised. "Why should I have been?"

"John and Captain Ben Zayn have been. I…. assumed there was a major problem there and Bester was recalling as many of his agents as possible."

"News to me. I haven't heard directly from the Boss in months."

Ta'Lon suddenly slammed his fist on the table. "This will get us nowhere! Minister Churok, Minister Lethke, there is only one person who can explain what is happening here and we have no idea where he is. The Machine has not been acknowledging any of my messages, and the person I sent down to try to find G'Kar has not reported back."

"Then something must have gone wrong," protested Taan Churok. "We should investigate."

"We should leave," said Lethke calmly.

"That will not be necessary," Ta'Lon protested. "I will go down to the surface myself and try to find G'Kar. I will also take as many of my Ranger security team as can be spared from maintaining order here. That may not be very many."

"We have some of our own Security…. on board our ships," Delenn said. "We will be happy to lend you whatever assistance we can." She glared at Taan Churok and Lethke, and they fell silent.

"Thank you," Ta'Lon said, nodding. "They would be better employed on the station. The Machine…. is a concern for G'Kar and the Rangers, and no one else."

"You forgot the Boss on that one," Garibaldi said. "He's got a stake in this too. Perhaps more than anyone except G'Kar. I'd better go down with you. Besides, you might need another pair of hands."

"Me too," spoke up Dr. Kirkish. "I was sent here to study the Machine for Mr. Bester, after all. I think I know more about it than most other people here. I might be able to help."

Delenn looked at the two of them, a sense of paranoia creeping over her. Ben Zayn had been very insistent that John leave this place. Coincidence? A genuine emergency at Sanctuary — but how genuine could it be if Garibaldi knew nothing about it? Or was there something deeper at work here? Just how much could Bester be trusted?

She was about to open her mouth and voice her opinions when she swayed and almost fell. A bright light burst in front of her eyes.

The light is killing me!

She was with John, holding him. He looked so….

"We've won!" he cried. "It's over, Delenn."

"Yes," she said, laughing. "It's over. It…."

Something rose up before them, swamping everything with its shadow. She could not see what it was. It was huge. A light burst out, burning and blazing. John threw her aside and turned to face it.

The light is killing me!

She felt strong hands catch her and turned to see Taan Churok, his stern face filled with compassion.

"You saw something?" asked Ta'Lon. She could only nod weakly. "Another one. This will only get worse as time goes on. We must leave for the surface immediately. Mr. Garibaldi, Dr. Kirkish, gather whatever you need and meet me at the docking bays. Minister Churok, Minister Lethke, can you bring over as much of your Security as you can spare from your ships?"

"What if what's afflicting this place starts affecting people on our ships?" asked Lethke.

Ta'Lon shook his head. "It won't."

"How do you know?" Taan Churok gently released Delenn and rounded on the Narn, who was almost as big as he was. "Do you know what is causing all this?"

"No," the Narn lied. "We must hurry. Go. Now!"

Angrily, the Drazi and the Brakiri left, both of them casting brief glances at Delenn. The two humans had already gone, leaving Delenn alone with the Ranger. "You do know," she said, not accusingly, just with a sure and certain conviction.

"Yes," he said. "You know about the destiny of this station?" She nodded, remembering with uncomfortable pain the time she and John had seen it, two years before, travelling backwards in time on a terrifying journey. "Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar built the station in the hope that it could serve as a focus point in this struggle against the Shadow. He knew however that it had another destiny. It would go back in time a thousand years, and take Valen back with it. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar had no idea of what would happen to Valen, or from where he would come. He knew only that it was his task to build this place.

"The temporal rift to take the station back in time would have to come from the Great Machine. One of the first things the Ha'Cormar'ah did upon taking custody of the Machine was to establish how to open the rift.

"The station was built with the temporal machinery already within it, devices that came from the Machine, for the purpose of stabilising it on its trip back. The rift was already partially created when the station was finished. Like a door, held ever so slightly ajar. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar hoped that when the day came, opening the rift would be easy, and the journey effortless.

"I fear that the Machine has begun to open the temporal rift further in recent months. Why, I do not know, but something has happened on the planet, and it jeopardises not only the station, but all our futures."

Delenn nodded, feeling very burdened by the weight of these revelations. Some she already knew, but not all. "Why have you told me all this?"

"Only Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, myself and Zathras know all of this. If I do not return from the planet…." He reverently touched the hilt of the longsword fixed to his back. "If I do not return, then someone else must know, and carry forth the future.

"And you, Delenn, you were the beloved of Neroon, for whom I would have given my life."

She sighed. Neroon. She had all but forgotten him recently. How could she have done that? He had once meant everything to her.

"Walk with Valen, Ta'Lon," she said softly.

"G'Quan be with you. The Prophet G'Kar as well." He turned and left.

Delenn shook her head sadly, and looked around at the empty chamber. There was still much to be done. She contemplated sending a message to John, but then swiftly decided against it. She had no proof of any improprieties perpetrated by Bester, and there might well be a genuine emergency that needed John and the Parmenion. She would only call John when she was certain they all needed him, not just that she wanted him.

But Sinoval at least was here. Her heart heavy, she set off in search of him.

She did not have long to look.

He came up the corridor, not running, but striding at a considerable pace. Even the Soul Hunter leader beside him seemed to be having trouble keeping up. "Sinoval," she said, with a start. "There is a problem here. We need…."

He interrupted her, shaking his head. "Your need must wait, Delenn. Tarolin Two has been attacked by an unknown force. I heard about it only just now. I was coming to find either you or G'Kar, and tell you that I am leaving immediately."

"Leaving? But…."

"I know where my loyalties lie, Delenn. To my people. Tarolin Two swore itself to me, and I swore to defend them. You have criticised my loyalty often enough, Delenn."

"No, not your loyalty. That will be the last thing you will ever lose, Sinoval. I sometimes wonder if it is misplaced." She remembered a promise she herself had made, not many months ago. She had renounced her claim to power amongst the Minbari. She had been exiled from them and stripped of all position and authority. Her very appearance now set her apart from them. She chose to accept only those who accepted her, those who did not wish to ally themselves with any faction seeking war.

"Go then, Sinoval. Your loyalties are…. where they should be."

"I thank you, Delenn. As soon as Tarolin Two is safe, I will see what I can do about returning here."

"Go. And…. Valen be with you."

"I certainly hope not, Delenn, but I appreciate the sentiment. And you."

He left, hurrying down the corridor, three Soul Hunters following. Delenn felt a chill as she watched them pass.

No matter how much time passed, she would never get used to Sinoval's allies. Never.

She hurried back towards the command room. There was still work to do.

It is time. Things are moving faster than even I had expected. I am not sure if that is not the real tragedy of this, just how little I had to do to get matters to the situation I wanted. Were we always this close to disaster?

Malachi, First Minister of the Centauri Republic sat back, sighing. He had been looking at the viewscreen for almost an hour, thinking dark thoughts and considering making the call that could end this for good. The cold logic of his plan said that he shouldn't — there had already been enough interruptions from that quarter. But the warmth of idealistic friendship said that he should. Londo had a right to know, more than anyone else.

But would he understand?

Malachi could smell the smoke on the wind. He had left all the windows in his chamber open for that very purpose, even though it brought in the bitter cold. He needed the smoke. It was a reminder of what his plan had brought about.

The city and the Court were on the edge of disaster. Nobles had been growing ever more suspicious of each other for months, and their slow gathering of near-armies for 'protection' would inevitably result in this paranoia. The Shadow Criers were spreading chaos and anarchy wherever they went…. yes, and death. Their recent 'murder' of Lord Dugari, coupled with the leak that a noble was supporting them, had only made a bad situation worse, and a horrible possibility a dreadful inevitability.

And Malachi had had to do so little. He had had nothing to do with the death of Lord Dugari, little to do with the gathering of private armies, and had orchestrated only the first few exilings from the Court. He was surprised, and terribly saddened, at just how easy it had been to bring matters to this state.

All it took to destroy an Empire was to kill a ruler, several nobles, subtly spread distrust and misinformation, and put in a little effort where required.

How truly sad.

It would happen tonight. Or if not tonight then within the next few days. The entire planet would be torn apart in fire and blood, and then…. from the ashes…. there would be….

Well, something, anyway.

Malachi had agents in many places. Like any good Centauri he believed in the power of information. His listening device planted in Lord Jarno's chambers had alerted him to Jarno's plan to attack Lord Kiro, and to the part Lady Mariel had played in that decision.

He was also aware of Carn Mollari's presence in the city, goading Lord Valo to ever more rash action.

He knew of the numerous disappearances that could be attributed to the hands of Lady Elrisia and Prince Cartagia. Too many of those who had…. disappeared…. were only peasants, and as such did not matter to many people. Dugari was the only noble they had…. killed. And the blame for his death had been deflected from the two of them with little effort.

He knew of Londo's actions in Selini, and his plans for Camulodo, Sphodria and Gallia. He almost smiled. Londo was the only one who deserved this world.

Malachi had known Londo since his childhood. He had watched the idealistic young politician grow into a bitter and angry man, angry with the world and the universe around him. He had witnessed Londo's seeming rebirth and the hope for the future of the people.

And he had seen it all fall apart.

He had decided. It would all happen tonight: the beginning of the end. Londo had to know. He moved to the viewscreen and sent the signal he had been readying all night.

The screen came to life with the image of, of all things, a Minbari.

"Tell Mini…. Governor Mollari that First Minister Malachi wishes to speak with him."

The Minbari nodded silently and left. A few minutes later Londo's face appeared on the screen.

"Malachi," he said, no hint of warmth in his voice. "What an unexpected surprise."

"Tell me, Londo. How would you like to come to the capital?"

Pain and darkness and light.

Kats surfaced into consciousness slowly, bright lights flashing at the edge of her vision. She could hear a voice speaking to her, but the words made no sense. All she saw was his face, and his voice.

Forgiveness, Satai Kats, is the most noble of virtues, do you not agree? But it must be asked for, it must be begged for, it must be recognised for what it is. You have sinned, against our people, against Minbar, against Valen himself. Acknowledge your sin, and beg for forgiveness, and you may yet be redeemed.

Forgive me. I have…. done wrong. Forgive me. For….

"…. give me!"

Her eyes opened as she sat upright, her breath coming in short gasps. For a moment she had been with Kalain again, trapped in his mockery of 'forgiveness' and 'redemption'.

She looked around slowly but could see little. She was lying on a thin cot in a darkened room. The only light came from above her head, an arrangement which made her extremely uncomfortable. There was someone next to her, but only when he spoke did she realise it was the acolyte, Ashan.

"You must rest," he said. "You have head injuries."

"What happened?"

"You collapsed. The physicians said it was caused by blood clots blocking out your head membranes. It was serious for a while."

"I…. remember…." She did not know. She had been with Administrator Callenn and Ashan, and then there had been a deafening burst of sound. Unable to hear anything, she had staggered forward and fallen, and…. either her head had hit something or something had fallen on her….

"Where is Shai Alyt Kozorr?" she asked. Something about this whole situation worried her.

"This way. He has been asking about you." Ashan rose to his feet and let her rise as well. Her head ached but she managed to maintain her balance. Ashan made a gesture she could not quite see. It was so dark. Too dark. It….

"Which way?" She turned to try to find him but his silhouette had vanished. There was no sound of his breathing, his movements…. nothing. "Ashan? Where are you?"

"It says that you are evil. I know that you are a worker, and therefore responsible for the doom of our people. It says however that you are evil. It says that you betrayed our people to the Soul Hunters. It says that Kalain tried to purify you, but he was prevented from doing so. It says I must continue where he failed.

"It says I must kill you."

"Who says?" she asked slowly, her heart pounding. Her head ached so much. She could barely move. She….

Her arm burst into pain and she felt the warmth as her blood spilled out. Clutching it, letting out a cry of agony, she fell. "Ashan," she pleaded. "What are you doing?"

There was silence for a long while. She struggled to rise. All she could see was the light above her. She could hear Kalain's voice roaring in her mind.

"It says you must die."

"Ashan?" Something whirled past her face and she recoiled in pain. Blood began to drip down into her eyes. "Why…?"

Forgiveness…. We will grant you forgiveness, Satai Kats, but it must be asked for. No, it must be begged for. Beg for my forgiveness, worker bitch! Beg!

"For…. give…." She tried to breathe, tried to focus. Something was pounding in her ears. She could not see anything. She could taste her own blood. She could feel her skin tingling with the memory of Kalain's tortures. She….

Forgiveness! BEG FOR MY FORGIVENESS!

Outside the door of one of the few buildings remaining intact in the main city of Tarolin 2, a Tak'cha readied himself to enter.

"They're coming."

Tu'Pari looked up, the only one seemingly interested in her now. G'Kar was lying at his feet, blood coming from places Donne had not even known existed. She had killed a great many people, but now she knew she was in the presence of a master. If only he had had telepathic powers he might well have been worthy of her respect, perhaps even her admiration.

"Who?"

"Someone come to see what is happening here. We will be ready for them. Do you want to tell me what this Machine is doing, G'Kar? Or should I perhaps use your new friends as leverage?"

"You…. will…. never…. control…. the Machine…." He made a strange noise, one which caused even Tu'Pari to start. It sounded like laughter. "Never…."

"You will tell me, or I will destroy everything that is yours. You will…." Her holographic form smiled. "Very well. I was getting bored here." She blinked, and with the work of a moment, it was done. "There. Now, G'Kar, your little dream house of paper and glue will be set alight. I wager you will be able to hear the screams even from here."

"Never…. win…." He fell silent again.

"Idiot. I have won. Come and get me, Captain Smith. You'll scream just as loud as the rest."

The skies around Babylon 4 and Epsilon 3 were filled with the inrush of energy as four jump points opened. Out swept the ships of the Resistance Government of Humanity, resplendent in their glory and certainty, convinced of the rightness of their position.

The following message was received by the Command and Control of Babylon 4:

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon. This station, this planet, this area of space and all peoples and objects and technologies herein are as of this moment placed under the control of the Resistance Government of Humanity. Stand down all weapons and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance will be met with deadly force.

"You have five minutes to comply."

Chapter 4

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon. This station, this planet, this area of space and all peoples and objects and technologies herein are as of this moment placed under the control of the Resistance Government of Humanity. Stand down all weapons and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance will be met with deadly force.

"You have five minutes to comply."

The four ships moved around the space station known as Babylon 4. Very few of them knew of the appropriateness of that name. Once, over seven years ago, Babylon 4 had been hailed as the greatest hope of the human race, a chance to fight back against the alien oppressors, an opportunity to regain power.

For various reasons the Babylon Project had fallen by the wayside and been forgotten. Official secrecy had been maintained, but to those who had been involved in its operation it was the greatest lost chance of the last decade.

But fortune favoured the bold, or so it was said. Humanity was now free and powerful again, a young colossus bestriding the galaxy once more. Babylon 4, the station that had been intended to redeem them, had been built by another for purposes unknown.

And humanity was now on the verge of another victory.

The Earth Alliance starships Babylon, Morningstar, Corinthian and Marten moved into position, their respective captains trying not to reveal their anxieties. This mission had been planned meticulously, and thus far everything seemed to be going as planned. The two human ships working for the enemy — the Parmenion and the Ozymandias — had gone, lured away through false means by an ally. None of the four captains had relished the thought of opposing their own people, least of all the legendary Starkiller, Captain Sheridan.

Also gone was the strange vessel Cathedral, believed to be commanded by the Minbari war criminal Sinoval. No one knew the exact circumstances behind that disappearance, but the timing was put down to fortuitous coincidence.

The only defences now remaining were the three ships from the United Alliance of Worlds — two Drazi Sunhawks and a Brakiri heavy cruiser — all of which could easily be dealt with should that be necessary; the integral defences of the station itself; and the awesome power of the Great Machine on the planet below, which should already have been neutralised.

On board the Babylon, more grateful than anyone else that its former captain had gone, Dexter Smith leaned forward and re-opened channels.

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon. I repeat, you are to stand down and surrender the station and all persons and objects on board. Failure to do so will provoke an attack."

There was a crackle as a reply came over the channel. Obviously the inhabitants of the station were taking precautions to prevent any surreptitious tracking or decoding.

"This is Lethke, Minister for the Economy of the United Alliance of Worlds. This station has our full support and any attack on our ships or persons will be considered an act of war against the Alliance."

Smith resisted a sigh of relief. He had been briefed about this possibility. He had also been ordered to supervise all the communications while his fellows got themselves into position to prevent any escapes and set up jamming mechanisms.

"I assure you, minister, we have no quarrel with the Alliance at all. We do however, have rights over the station and the planet, rights of discovery and occupation under the Interstellar Territory Pacts of twenty-two thirty-five, twenty-two thirty-nine and twenty-two forty-two. All items and persons sworn to the Alliance will be permitted to leave, saving only those who are wanted for crimes against our Government."

There was a long silence, and Smith knew what would be going through the alien's mind. Those wanted for crimes against the Resistance Government…. that could only refer to Delenn, former Satai of the Minbari and current President of the Alliance (although she apparently disliked that term). She had been in humanity's hands once, but had managed to slip away. That would not happen again.

Finally, Lethke responded: "Are you suggesting therefore that we are to negotiate on this matter?"

"We will not initiate any acts of violence unless violence is offered to us. We merely wish to enforce our rights. Unfortunately however, any sign of opposition will have to be met with deadly force. Once they are sure there is no danger from this area, my Government will send in legal teams and diplomatic arbiters to resolve this matter. I assure you again, Minister, we intend no hostilities against the Alliance, unless we are acted against."

With a sense of inevitable resignation, the Brakiri stabilised the signal. "You are welcome to board, Captain. We stand down our arms."

A wave of Darkness swept over Centauri Prime that night. Seeresses and sensitives all over the planet awoke screaming, paralysed by the terrors of great evil touching them. Screams echoed through the streets and blood ran from the walls.

The number of suicides in that one night was more than double than of the last two months together. In the city of Sphodria, a major trading port and the site of an ancient military victory over the Xon, the Governor of the city spent three hours writing the words, "The Darkness is coming" all over the walls of his house. The words were written in the blood of his wife, his children and his servants. He then threw himself from the roof of the house.

In the powerful mountain city of Camulodo, renowned as a seat of great learning, the curator of the Great Imperial Museum burned the building to the ground. He remained inside it as it burned. He had already clawed out his eyes and was in the process of eating his fingers as he burned to death.

Gallia, a prominent market town, saw its Governor dragged from his bed in the middle of the night by a crazed mob led by three preaching Shadow Criers. Claiming to be heralding in the coming Darkness they threw the Governor into an ancient well and began to pile it full of stones. His feeble cries ended as the last stone was thrown on top of him.

There was no word, no communication, no sign of any kind from the capital.

And on the island of Selini, in the hill farms, in the coastal inlets and coves, and in the capital city of Remarin, home of a new rebellion, there was….

…. peace.

Everyone slept well, except for those suffering from indigestion, or who tended to sleepwalk. There were few bad dreams, no cries for mercy or vengeance, no blood shed in the streets.

In fact the whole island slept, save only for the guards, some of the military, and the inhabitants of the Governor's personal dwelling.

"The fires in Camulodo are rumoured to be getting out of control," reported the dry voice of Lord Durano, formerly of the Ministry of Intelligence. He had always been dispassionate and dedicated, but now it seemed more as if he were reciting the results of this week's moren-ball contests. "Apparently some of the fire service have tried dealing with the situation, but they are being hampered by the mob, and some of the firemen themselves have fallen prey to…. whatever is happening."

"So many dying," muttered Governor Londo Mollari. He could not remember the last time he had slept well, and he certainly wouldn't tonight. He had been on the verge of going to bed when Durano had arrived with Virini and Marrago. Their reports from agents and allies in the three nearest mainland cities had made for grim reading.

"Has the whole planet gone mad?" he asked. "What in the Emperor's Name is happening?"

"We cannot say," replied Durano. "Some sort of psionic backlash perhaps. It is my belief that only a fraction of those afflicted by this…. madness are actually experiencing anything abnormal. The others are in all probability merely responding to the charisma or madness of their leaders."

"But still…. all this…. and for there to be nothing here. There is no explanation of why we here are all unaffected?"

Durano spread his arms wide. "A more comprehensive study might reveal more information, but there could be any number of reasons."

"Well, then. It is time we used this immunity to our advantage. Marrago, how many soldiers do we have here on the island?"

The former Lord-General of the Centauri Republic's armies stood up, the figures instantly at his command. "The five-thousand-strong Selini Guard, which includes the five hundred of the Governor's Personal Guard." An anachronism these days, but one that had been maintained in the name of 'tradition'. Since Londo's rise to power, all those old and forgotten traditions had actually become very useful.

"We also have some seven thousand members of the regular army. These are men I have been gathering from my old regiments and commands, people who are generally unhappy with the way the war with the Narns is going. Some are victims of dispossession in the capital and the surrounding areas."

"Twelve thousand. Hmm…. it will have to be enough. Marrago, you are to gather the armies and take them to the mainland, as swiftly as possible. They are to restore calm and preserve the political order in Sphodria, Camulodo and Gallia."

"Of course, but is this not a little…. premature? And all three at once? The original plan was to take them one at a time."

"The original plan had not anticipated this…. insanity. If we do not save these cities now there will be nothing left of them to save. Durano, the regular military has made no attempt to take any action in these cities?"

"No. In fact the Sphodria barracks withdrew from the city a few hours ago. I believe they all travelled by airship to the main barracks at the capital. The bases at Camulodo and Gallia have been largely abandoned for months."

Londo looked at Marrago. His eyes felt as though they were burning. "You see, Marrago. If we do not help these people…. our people…. then no one else will. We are their only hope."

"We cannot take all three, Londo. Not tonight. There is simply not enough time, and not enough decent under-officers. I can supervise the…. preservation of one myself, and I believe there are enough decent officers to manage the protection of another, but a third…. our soldiers would only add to the problem."

"You have no one who could command the third army?" whispered Timov. She had been standing in the doorway, listening to the conversation with mounting horror. Londo turned to look at her, irrationally angry that she was being exposed to such tales of terror. She was still wearing her sleeping-gown, wrapped tightly around her. He sighed and bowed his head, not wanting even to look at her, to associate her with the decision he knew was coming.

"No, Lady Timov. I am sorry, but so few of the army's officers joined us, and of those who did, there were very few I could trust. I organised and managed our army almost entirely myself. Only the captain of the Selini Guard knows anything at all about our full plans, and not even he knows everything. Most of my under-officers do not even know how many soldiers we have in total." He shook his head with ironic sadness. "It was meant to be a security measure."

"Two," Londo said softly. "Then we will save two."

"Which two?" Timov asked, still in the doorway.

Londo looked up at his companions. Marrago looked at the ceiling and rubbed at his eyes. "We will need Sphodria if we are to mount any sort of extended campaign on the mainland. It would be a vital part of our supply centres. We always knew we would need to control Sphodria before we could even think of making for the capital."

"Gallia is an important centre for the mid-territories," spoke up Durano, looking at Marrago and nodding. "A great many of the Court nobles have estates near there, families based in the city, mansions and so forth. Unfortunately they will probably think of their mansions more than their friends when they hear the city is in danger."

"And protecting Gallia may win us their aid…. or at least quiet support?" Londo said. He felt tired, very tired. Durano nodded. "Well then. It seems our plans are set. Marrago, muster the army. Sphodria first. Take whatever steps are necessary to establish order and try to save as many of the local Parliament as you can. Then…. see to Gallia. Protect as many of the Court nobility's mansions as possible, but take no unnecessary risks. I cannot have my Lord-General cut down by an insane farmer with a scythe." Marrago managed an obligatory chuckle, but all of them knew he did not mean it.

"I was born in Camulodo," said Timov suddenly. Londo turned to look at her, and her expression nearly broke his hearts. "I was fostered there with my aunt for three years as a child. Those were the happiest times of my life."

There was silence. Londo rose to his feet and moved to his wife, saying her name softly. She turned and backed away, moving back into their bedroom. He stopped at the door and punched the wall lightly. Even that hurt his knuckles.

He started suddenly at the sound of movement. Looking up he saw Lennier enter the room, and he breathed out slowly. He must be even more tense than he had thought.

"Governor Mollari," the Minbari said, "Prime Minister Malachi is on the line and he wishes to speak with you."

"Malachi?" said Marrago, evidently surprised. "Some kind of trap, perhaps?"

"A trick to find out where we are," suggested Durano. "A tracking ploy."

"He already knows where we are, and he has known for months. No, he wants to talk, nothing more. Gentlemen…. you know what must be done. May the Gods speed you all on your way safely…. if the bastards even exist, which I am beginning to consider more seriously nowadays."

"Oh?" Durano said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, if the Gods don't exist, someone up there is out to get me."

Londo moved to the viewscreen in the other room, aware of Lennier standing protectively at the door, pointedly not looking at the viewscreen or making any attempt to listen. He was a good man…. for a Minbari. Londo looked at the viewscreen, at the face of his old friend, of the wise old advisor who had taken in a young, idealistic politician with delusions of grandeur.

"Malachi," he said, no hint of warmth in his voice. "What an unexpected surprise."

Malachi looked so tired. So old. Londo wondered if he looked the same. "Tell me, Londo. How would you like to come to the capital?"

She began to move, heading in the direction of what she hoped was a door. She had no idea of where she was, or, more importantly perhaps, where he was.

"It says you must die. It shows me where you are. You cannot run from me."

Kats grimaced in pain and tried to keep moving. Blood was pounding in her ears. The voice — his voice — was so loud.

"It says you must….

"…. beg for my forgiveness! You have done wrong. You have sinned and you will be punished."

Kalain's voice. Her outstretched arm came up against a wall and she paused, breathing harshly. For a moment she tried to be quiet, remaining still and motionless, but then she remembered Ashan's words. Whatever it was that was telling him to kill her, it was directing him. He knew where she was.

"I can see you. It can see you. I…. I don't want…. to do this. But it says I must. It says the good of my people depends on this. You followed him, you see. You didn't have to. Nobody made you. It was a mistake, the wrong decision, and now you must be punished for it. It says that it's all your fault."

He was near her now. She could hear his footsteps. She could smell him now as well. He smelled…. wrong, almost as if he were dead and decomposing. His words were flat and toneless.

Gulping in air, touching the wall for balance, she tried to move. A sharp pain burst in her shoulder and she stumbled. Something rolled beneath her foot and she fell.

A rough hand grabbed the collar of her robe, hauling her upwards. She let herself go limp, trying to remember the lessons Sinoval had tried to teach her. He had warned her that one day she would need to know how to fight, and how to kill. She had replied with a gentle smile that she had no intention of ever killing anyone.

She wished she had listened. All she could think of was Sinoval's face when he learned that she was dead.

The point of the knife came to rest at the bottom of her ribcage. Ashan pushed it slightly.

"It…. says that…. It says…. Minbari do not kill Minbari. It says that I must…. No. I am…. Minbari do not…. It…."

The pressure on the knife began to increase. Her robe became damp and warm, and she knew the knife had drawn blood. Ashan's grip on it had become weaker, however. He seemed to be arguing with himself.

"You are Minbari," she said, trying to force the words through the pain. "Minbari do not…." She cried out as the knife was jogged slightly, cutting a deep gouge across her skin.

"Silence…. You are a worker. You…. do not…. matter…. It says that you…. It…. says…."

She twisted her body and slid aside, crying out as the knife sliced across her ribcage and her side. She could feel Ashan losing his balance and hear him falling. Scrambling to her feet, she did not head blindly in any direction, but began clawing desperately for the knife. Her right hand found it, and as she awkwardly pulled it up through bleeding fingers she felt his hand slam down on top of her own.

"Workers…. die…. You…. must…."

He forced her hand up, crushing her fingers on to the hilt. His foot lashed out against her knee and she gave way, crashing backwards to the floor, but still she maintained her hold on the knife. She could feel him rising over her, bending the knife downwards.

"Minbari do not kill Minbari," she whispered, a great dizziness sweeping over her. "Listen to me, Ashan. Please…. fight it…."

"I can't. It says…. It…. says…."

"Listen to yourself. Minbari do not kill…."

The knife slid downwards a little further. "I…. can't…. I…. I…."

He suddenly jerked his hands, forcing the knife upwards. Kats, unable to free her hand from the hilt, added unwitting momentum.

She felt the knife slide into his chest and heard a slight gurgle. His fingers fell stiff and she was able to wrench her hand from the hilt, but not before his blood poured over her fingers.

She rolled aside just in time to prevent his body falling on her.

For a moment there was a still nothingness, and then the pain from her injuries hit home in one shocking burst and she cried out under the onslaught. The full horror of what she had done engulfed her. "Ashan," she whispered. "Ashan. Are you…?" It was useless. He was dead.

"Killed another fine Minbari, worker slut!" bellowed Kalain in her mind. "Beg forgiveness!"

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm…." She closed her eyes and rolled over, climbing to her hands and knees. "No. You're not here. I know you're not here." She crawled forward, wincing from the pain of the wounds on her arm and body.

"Z'ondar!" Light filled the room as a door was thrown open and a figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. It moved forward with a gait she had never seen before. It raised a weapon that looked very much like a fighting pike.

It hissed out words in a twisted, sibilant language she did not recognise. "Z'ondar," it then said again. The word was Minbari, but one which she did not know. "Z'ondar."

Shaking, she managed to climb to her feet. "Who are you?" she asked softly. "I am Kats, of the worker caste of the Minbari. I…. I mean you no harm."

It began clicking and a strange expression passed over its alien face. "Do you…. revere the Z'ondar?" it asked haltingly, in an erratic worker caste dialect. "Do you remember…. his ways?"

"Who is the Z'ondar?"

It hissed something in its own language and darted forward, raising its weapon. It looked angry, very angry. Kats tried to avoid its attack, but she was too weak. She fell backwards, landing on Ashan's body.

Something beneath her hissed.

The alien's charge suddenly stopped and it dropped its weapon. Black ichor spilling from its eyes, it fell face forward on to the ground, a sharp knife sticking from its back.

"My lady?" asked a voice from the door. "Are you all right? I…. I can't see you."

"Kozorr," she whispered. "I am here." She hoped she sounded stronger than she felt.

"My lady." He moved forward awkwardly, and his shape was soon lost in the darkness. "Talk to me, Kats."

"I am here. I…." She coughed. "What has happened? What is…?" She could hear once again the hissing sound from beneath her. A strange warmth began to rise beneath her neck. Breathing out sharply, she rolled aside, and was stopped by strong hands.

Kozorr helped her rise. "I heard that Ashan had brought you here, my lady. Some of the…. survivors managed to direct me."

"Survivors?" she said, clinging to him tightly. She did not feel capable of standing on her own. "What happened? I…. remember meeting with Callenn and Ashan and then…. something fell on me and I…. I woke up here. He said he was going to kill me."

"He is dead. It was a fine blow. Worthy of a warrior."

"I'm not a warrior, though! I never want to be one. That…. that was the first time I've ever killed anyone."

"You have a strong heart, Kats," he said, his voice almost breaking. "Come…. see what has happened."

He helped her out of the room, and she looked at the utter devastation around her.

She felt like weeping.

Ta'Lon felt for the presence of his sword, as he would check on the security of an old friend. This whole place felt wrong to him, and he was experiencing a growing fear for the life of the one man he had sworn to follow unto death.

He had been a soldier during the occupation. The sight of the casual torture and murder of his family and mate had driven him into a peculiar form of insanity and he had dedicated his life to the destruction of the Centauri. Disdaining any long-range or high-technology weapons, he had taken the katok his grandfather had forged and sworn to use it as his instrument of vengeance. He had fought for almost the entirety of his adult life with only his sword. It was both weapon and constant companion: his only friend.

When the Centauri had withdrawn he had been bereft of purpose, wandering idly, picking fights, seeking mercenary employment. Some of the tasks he had been commissioned for had been neither ethical nor legal, but he had done them anyway, neither caring nor knowing anything else.

And then he had met Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. He had been hired to assassinate the prophet by one who preferred to avoid the expense or the rules of the Thenta Ma'Kur. G'Kar had awoken to see the assassin standing over him, sword held ready. He had spoken nine brief words:

"Is this the purpose that sword was made for?"

Ta'Lon had broken down in tears and the two had talked all night. G'Kar's wisdom had awed him, and by dawn he had sworn himself to the prophet's side. He was not the first Ranger, but perhaps he was the first true Narn Ranger.

From that day to this he had always known he would give his life for G'Kar, but now he was accepting the revelation that he might have to do more than just die for the prophet. He might have to live for him.

Satisfied that the sword was still there, he turned to look at his companions. Six Narn Rangers, all men he had chosen and trained personally. He knew he could count on them. There were two humans present as well, neither of whom he was entirely sure of: Garibaldi, who worked for G'Kar's old ally Bester, a man he had been suspicious of from the beginning and still doubted today; and Dr. Kirkish, who had been studying the Machine in detail, again for Bester.

Something was definitely wrong. They should have been met by guards by now. Where were they?

"Be careful," he warned his Narns. He was speaking in his native tongue, one he had always felt proud of. The Centauri had not been able to eradicate it, and joy at its salvation led him to use it wherever possible. "Watch out for the humans. I am not sure I trust them."

"As you say," came the reply. He smiled. Good men.

The Heart of the Machine was before them now, almost. Ta'Lon reached to draw his sword, and then he stopped. Once drawn, it could not be sheathed without shedding blood, and he would not dishonour this place with a weapon unless he had to. He had enough time.

He rounded a corner and entered the hall wherein lay the Heart of the Machine. He stepped forward, and smiled to see his mentor and leader safely within. He stepped further inside and walked up to the Heart itself, stopping some paces from it, and kneeling.

"Forgive me, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," he said formally. "We feared for your safety. No one from the station has been able to contact you."

"There is no need to worry," said the voice of his leader. "No need at all. Everything is going fine." Behind her mask of light and mirrors, Donne smiled.

"I'm…. going."

"Go, then."

"Somebody has to, don't you see that? Somebody has to try to save the world!"

"And it's always got to be you. 'To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.' I don't believe you! We could still try to get away. Some of the colonies are intact. We could…. Oh, why am I bothering? You don't want to get away. You want to stay and fight."

"This is my world too. I have to try to save it. I thought you would understand."

"Oh, I understand. We can't save Earth. The Minbari are too strong. Everyone knows that."

"We're going to build a line. It'll hold. I know it will."

"You're deluding yourself. Go on then. Go and save the world. I won't be here when you get back…. if you get back. I'm sorry, Jeffrey. I love you more than anything, but I won't throw my life away on some…. foolish hope of beating impossible odds. It's over. Goodbye…."

"Catherine, no!"

"You can come with me. I…. want you to…. But you won't, will you?"

"I…. I…. can't."

"Goodbye."

He reached out to touch her hand, remembering once again how she felt, how she smelled, the soft timbre of her voice. It all came flooding back in one savage, brutal moment. "Catherine? It is you."

She smiled. "It's me."

"They took you from me." He bowed his head. Valen, Jeffrey Sinclair…. either, both…. bowed his head. "They took you from me."

She was silent, just watching him. Finally he regained his composure, and the man who would go down in Minbari legends as the greatest orator ever born, slowly, haltingly, breaking down with each minute that passed…. tried to explain the words in his heart to the woman he had once loved above all else.

He did not quite succeed.

Centauri history contained many long and bloody episodes. From the first skirmish with the Xon to the most recent war with the Narns it seemed that the history of the Centauri Republic had been measured by its conflicts. The legendary History of the Republic by Lord Graves had indeed been based on such a theory.

The majority of those conflicts had been external — with various aliens. Civil wars had also occurred of course — numerous conflicts with Selini, the struggle of the False Minister, the Rebellion of the Fifty-Two Lords, the Fall of the False Prophet Zog. The Centauri nobility had been embroiled in strife almost since recorded history began.

Since the second Emperor and the establishment of the Court however, such instances had been rare. The nobles had learned that a cold war was better, and so the Great Game of intrigue and plotting and innuendo, coupled with the occasional assassination, had developed. No noble had ever actually attacked the estate of another for centuries.

Until now.

The House of Kiro had once been mighty in the politics of the Court, and indeed Emperors had come from that line. They had fallen far in modern times, but their most recent Lord had ambitions to reverse that fall. It was widely expected among political commentators — including those with similar ambitions to Kiro's — that he would not rise as far as he hoped. He was a little too obvious in his plottings, just a bit too brazen and arrogant. Still, in these troubled times anything could happen.

Which was perhaps the reason for the attack on his home by forces loyal to Lord Jarno. He had been assembling quite an army in the last few months. Personal guardsmen, mercenary soldiers, several less than savoury 'businessmen'. Kiro's own guard had been strengthened as well, but he had been away for too long and he had not believed that anyone would dare attack him in his own house.

He was wrong.

"I demand to be released at once! This is an outrage and the Court shall hear of it!"

"The Court will hear nothing," replied the veiled noblewoman, playing with the hilt of her fan coquettishly. "Apart, of course, from what we choose to tell them."

"Lies! You will hang for this."

"No, we won't. You see, my lord, we have evidence that you are planning a coup against the Court. Or rather, we will have evidence…. once you have told us where to find it, or how to fabricate it."

"I'll tell you nothing."

"I will wager that is not the first time you have heard that, Trakis?" There was a brief acknowledgement in reply. "I leave the matter now in your entirely capable hands."

"But I'm a noble of the Court! My family has given rise to Emperors. You can't…."

"Now, Trakis. Please don't hurt his mouth. He does have to speak, remember."

Over an hour later the Lady Mariel walked away from the cellar room holding the fan in front of her face, both to conceal her identity and so that the servants and slaves would not see the hint of nausea in her expression. Trakis had indeed been very good. A former slave, he had leapt at the chance to torture a Centauri noble. After the first few minutes Mariel had begun to doubt her ability to stay there for long, but she had willed herself the strength. That at least was more than her pathetic husband or her equally pathetic lover would have done.

And where was her lover? Jarno could at least have been around to supervise Kiro's fate. Instead he was off somewhere, probably having a massive guilt trip.

She stopped one of the mercenary soldiers she had managed to gather and asked him. The answer she received hardly filled her with solace.

The seeress had not moved in all the time since Mariel had been here last. Neither, it seemed, had Jarno. He was still standing there, looking directly at the Lady Ladira. He looked so pathetic. Ladira was sitting on the floor, her legs still crossed, in some kind of trance. Jarno could well have been in some kind of trance himself, judging by his expression.

"Good news," she said, walking up to his side. She lifted her veil and kissed him once, briefly. "He confessed. He was actually plotting a coup. All the evidence is in his computer records. I would know where to find it, but alas…. such things are beyond a simple lady of the court. You will have to help me, my love."

"Is he…. did you…. is he…?"

"Dead? No, not yet. We may need him alive for more information, but I dare say his wounds will kill him before long. Be happy, my love. We have pulled off a great victory, removed one of your rivals, and we are now a step closer to your securing the throne. Next…. I think we may be strong enough to deal with Prince Cartagia and that…. that slut of his. The Lady Elrisia will surely be put out once she hears of this."

"The Lady Elrisia called you a slut from the woods with no manners, class, breeding or intellect, Mariel. I think that sours your opinion of her just a little."

"I told you never to repeat that!" she snapped, slapping at him. "Don't forget who has brought you this far. Without me, you'd still be languishing in some Gods-forsaken post as under-sub-secretary to the clerk to the secretary of the Minister of the Treasury."

"I know full well where you've brought me, Mariel. And that you only latched yourself on to me because your husband went missing in action. But still, if Kiro really was planning a coup perhaps some good will come out of this after all."

"Of course some good will come out of this. We're one step nearer the throne for you. Remember…."

"Jarno!" cried a familiar voice. Mariel groaned slightly, and then underwent a conscious change to her bearing, expression and tone of voice. It was a skill she had taken great pains to learn, and practised at every opportunity.

"Why, Daggair, dear. How wonderful to see you here."

"What have you done, Jarno?" cried Mariel's beloved sister-wife. "Word has reached the Court. They're calling it treason. They're…. they're going to arrest you. I came to…. to see if it was true…. What have you done?"

"Nothing, dear, now please leave us alone. They won't dare do anything to us. They…." Mariel stopped abruptly, as a sudden cold wind rushed through the room. She turned back to Jarno and followed his gaze, with much the same expression of horror. Lady Ladira was rising to her feet.

"The Darkness is coming," hissed the seeress, swaying drunkenly. She reached out her arms as if for Jarno, but he backed away in a terrified panic. "The Darkness is coming for us all.

"I can see it. I can see it reaching this world, claiming us all. It has already claimed you.

"By knife, by madness, by rope…. all here shall die. Surely you…. and surely I. By knife, by madness, by rope we must die. Surely you…. but firstly I."

Jarno let out a strangled cry and moved forward. His hand seized a goblet from the mantle at his side. It was an old ornament, and heavy. Stumbling forward, as if he had inherited the same near-drunkenness that afflicted her, he dashed the goblet against Ladira's head.

She fell crumpled to the floor, a brief spot of blood dropping from her crushed skull.

"Oh, Gods," cried Daggair. "What have you…? The Court must…. must…." She turned and lurched for the door. Mariel was faster, sliding a thin blade from the spine of her fan. Daggair had hardly reached the corridor outside the door when the blade pierced the back of her neck, and she fell.

"She was right," said Jarno, looking at the two bodies before him. "She was right."

"Shut up! There's no backing out of this now, Jarno…. none. We are in this to the end. Do you hear me?"

"Rope, knife, madness. Rope, knife, madness."

Mariel sighed, and noticed a speck of blood on her gloves. She cursed slightly as she tried to wipe it off. Then, mindful that her companion seemed incapable of doing anything, she called for the guards to remove the bodies.

Then she fled to a distant corner to be terribly sick.

Captain Dexter Smith refrained from checking his uniform for the eighth time and drew in a deep breath. He was the representative of the conquering heroes after all. He had won. Well, not just him, but he had been a part of it.

Maybe now the ghost of the Starkiller would leave his shoulder.

He walked forward into the docking bay of the station the Narn had, strangely, named Babylon 4. That was the proper name for the place of course, but Smith was less than sure why a Narn would call it that. Ah, who could fathom the motives of aliens? His security guards were behind and beside him. Enough of them…. for the moment. Enough to deal with such problems as might arise.

A small group of aliens was waiting for him. Most of them were Narns, wearing peculiar sunburst insignia, and carrying weapons. In front of them were a Drazi, glowering unpleasantly, and a Brakiri, dressed in an immaculate copy of an Earth business suit.

The Brakiri stepped forward, as Smith came to a halt. "I am Lethke, Minister of the Economy for the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven. It is with…. some reluctance that I hand the station over to you, Captain Smith."

"I thank you, Minister Lethke. Reluctance need not play a part. This station was meant to be ours and this area of space does belong to the Resistance Government. Our diplomats will be more than happy to confirm this, and once they have done so you and your staff will be free to return to your home. We at Proxima would value good relations with the United Alliance."

The Drazi barked something in a strange language, and the Brakiri nodded once. "It is unfortunate, I suppose, that those more qualified than I to authorise an action such as this are not here. Messrs G'Kar and Ta'Lon are currently missing, and the Narn security forces here seem to accept me as the acting leader…. at least for the moment."

"We will be happy to discuss matters with G'Kar and Ta'Lon when they make themselves known to us, Minister. Now, where is Satai Delenn? I have orders to take her into custody."

"Ah, Delenn no longer goes by that title, Captain, and I do not know where she is. I should also point out that any measures taken against her will constitute hostile action against the Alliance, and we will respond in kind."

"Neither I nor my Government has any wish for hostilities with the Alliance, Minister. However, Delenn is wanted for war crimes against my people, and my orders are to make sure she stands trial for them."

"Well then, Captain, it appears we are at an impasse. I cannot allow Delenn to be taken into your custody. Would it not be said she possesses diplomatic immunity, as head of the Alliance?"

"My Government has not recognised that position." Smith hoped his bearing did not betray his concern. His orders had stated that the capture of Delenn was second in importance only to the capture of the Machine. War with the Alliance would be a trifling price to pay if it brought the President Delenn. And yet…. Smith did not want to start a war, and he did not want to hand someone over for torture and probable execution. He had no doubt that she would have no qualms about doing the same to him, but he liked to believe that that was what made him better than the Minbari.

The Drazi said something else, and this time Lethke shook his head sadly.

"What did he say?" Smith asked.

"He said we should kill you," came the reply.

"Then do so," Smith said, quietly pleased by how stern his voice sounded, "but know that if you do, the four ships waiting in orbit will attack and board this station, and there will be no measures taken to protect diplomatic immunity. Your guards will stand down their weapons, and you will render us every co-operation in the capture of Satai Delenn. Do you understand me?"

Something else from the Drazi, and a hint of anticipation in the Brakiri's bearing. "We understand you perfectly, Captain. Absolutely perfectly."

"Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar…. is anything…. wrong?"

"Of course not," replied Donne. "Why would there be anything wrong?" She looked at the figures before her, searching through the Machine's memories to find their records. They had all come from the station, and all but two of them were Narn — G'Kar must have had details on them. It would have helped if the Narns didn't all look alike, but then it was only a matter of time. How long to leave things before she showed them all the truth? How long would it take those mundanes to seize control of the station? Silly question, they were mundanes — they would probably still be trying by Christmas.

"We were unable to contact you. You have not been seen on the station for hours. We were…. worried."

"There was no need to be worried." The one in front was speaking. He would be the leader then. Come on, his files would have to be here somewhere. What sort of organisation was there in this thing? Where…? Her vision swam, and she found herself still staring at the Narn before her, but somehow she knew he was younger.

"Will you follow me, Ta'Lon?" she asked. No, it wasn't she who was asking. It was G'Kar.

"Of course I will. Through fire and darkness, past death and despair…."

With a colossal force of will she brought herself back to the present. That was not the first time she had found herself visually and mentally reliving old scenes, all of them involving G'Kar. The Machine's equivalent of a filing cabinet, no doubt.

"There was…. no need for concern. The Machine has just been…. under some strain lately."

"Of course, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. I understand. I shall report back that all is well. May I lay my blade at your feet in honour and respect?"

"Yes. Yes of course." What was this? Some absurd Narn ritual. Donne scanned through the others. All Rangers no doubt. All expendable therefore. Who were the humans? She recognised Michael Garibaldi. He'd been working for Al for quite a while. A mundane, but an important one. She'd probably have to keep him alive then. The other one…. the woman…. where had she seen her before?

She looked back to see Ta'Lon draw that long sword from the sheath on his back and kneel down just in front of her. He was almost close enough to touch. She considered reaching out and tearing his mind open.

His next motion was too fast even for the Machine to track. He brought the sword up and slashed it across her side. She threw back her head and screamed, knowing that had she not installed a protective force field the blow would have killed her.

Through her pain she could feel the voices of the Machine wailing in her mind, a myriad cacophony of screams.

"Did you think I would not recognise an imposter in the place of my lord?" hissed the Narn. "Where is he and what have you done with him?"

Something began to knit across the wound. She did not know what, nor did she care. All she felt was the burning hatred, and the explosion of voices in her mind.

"Burn!"

The entire room before her burst into a blaze of electrical discharge. The Narn Rangers ran forward, drawing their own swords, rushing to join their leader.

Too late.

At the last minute Donne remembered to erect a hasty force field, shielding both herself and Ta'Lon from the effects of the blast. She very much wanted him alive. The Narns screamed as the floor beneath them heated up and the air thickened and flashed with sparks.

"Burn," she said again, and the blasts ended, six smoking bodies falling to the ground. "Tu'Pari!"

Ta'Lon, who had been knocked aside by her blast, rolled to his feet in one smooth motion. Still wielding his sword, he lunged for her again, but this time she had her own Narn to aid her.

The assassin's cloak of darkness dissolved and he burst into motion. Hiding him had been simplicity itself. Concealing Numbers One and Two had been equally easy, although G'Kar had been a little harder. The Machine recognised its former keeper and did not want to harm him. Forcing it to do so had taken some effort.

Numbers One and Two trained their weapons on the other two humans. Garibaldi looked up at Donne, her holographic illusion now cast aside. He shrugged, and handed his own weapon over to Number One. His companion carried no weapon.

Ta'Lon's sword swept out towards Tu'Pari, but the assassin raised an arm and the sword appeared to glance aside. Lashing out with his other fist, he caught the underside of Ta'Lon's jaw. Just before the impact, small spikes shot out from the knuckles of his glove.

The Ranger went down. A few sharp kicks ensured that he did not rise again.

"Is he dead, Tu'Pari?"

"No, not yet. You aren't paying me enough to kill him."

A wave of anger poured through her, but she managed to restrain herself. She needed Tu'Pari alive. Better by far to turn that anger against the being who had wounded her.

"Am I paying you enough to torture him?"

"Depends on what you want done to him."

"I had plans for G'Kar, but I still need him alive and relatively unharmed. He may be willing to talk more if he feels his friends are in danger. Begin with an eye, and work your way up from there. I trust to your expertise in this matter."

Tu'Pari drew his wickedly-bladed dagger and tested it against his arm. He then smiled. "Always a pleasure to serve."

Catherine shook her head slowly. "It's all so…. I don't know. I thought you were dead. No one survived the Line, they said. No one."

"No one did. I can't…. quite…. see it. But I do know that no one survived. The Minbari were…. very thorough."

"Now that is what I don't understand. The Minbari destroyed everything of ours. They tore us apart, and they kept us apart these past thirteen years. Oh, I know it was these Vorlons who did…. whatever…. but it was the Minbari who allowed it. So why in God's name are you…. looking like…. that?"

"I don't expect you to understand. Sometimes I'm not sure I understand." He rose to his feet and gently took her hand, guiding her outside to his balcony. It was the middle of the morning now, and the bustle of people through the streets of Kazomi 7 could be heard. Slowly he pointed to a park, not far away. There was a small shrine there, made of wood and stone. In front of the shrine there was a garden of sand and rocks. "You see that?"

"A Japanese stone garden, yes…. I…. What is a Japanese stone garden doing here? I've only seen two other humans on this whole planet; that insane merchant who brought me here and the Gandalf wannabe who checked me out in the customs area."

"Ah, I believe the Centauri picked up the idea, and quite liked it…. for a time. Our fashions were quite popular with them for a while, remember? And after…. afterwards…. Delenn told me that they merely altered the stone garden a little to make it look Minbari. It was destroyed when the Drakh invaded, but Delenn saw to it that it was rebuilt. She said…. something…." He straightened. "The power of one mind to change the universe. I told Marrain that once, when he was questioning some of my ideas. That was the one occasion when I wish he hadn't listened to me."

"You creep me out when you do that." She shivered. "Oh, don't look at me like that. One minute you're almost the Jeff I knew, and I can almost forget you've got that damned bone growing out of your skull, and then…. and then you switch personalities and creep me out. What has that stone garden got to do with anything anyway?"

"What do you see when you look at it?"

She shrugged. "Rocks. Sand. More sand. What am I supposed to see?"

"I see footsteps stretching out across the sand, running forever on into the distance. And I know that I'm following them, travelling a path that has already been travelled…. There's a man waiting for me at the end…. and he's me.

"Catherine, I remember things that I have not yet done. I can see my future…. your past. The Vorlons did that to me. They changed my appearance, my memories, took away almost everything that made me human…. leaving just enough so that I would be the Valen of history. They took you away from me. They took everything away from me.

"I have no choice but to follow this path. They made sure of that."

"You…. remember your future?"

"I know what is to happen. The histories record everything I said, and did, and all the mistakes I made…. mistakes I have to make again. Footsteps in the sand."

"Then you…. you know how you're going to die?"

He shivered and bowed his head, gripping the balcony rail tightly. "Don't ask me. I can never tell you. Never tell anyone."

"I don't know if you're Jeffrey or…. the other guy at the moment. I don't think I want to know. What are you going to do now?"

"Stay here. I have to. I don't think the Vorlons want me to go too far…."

He must stay here, until the time is right.

Catherine recoiled at the alien thoughts, but she said nothing. He did not seem to notice.

"Besides, if I head out into the galaxy, there's too much that could happen. The Minbari are…. falling apart at the moment. If I tried to help, I'd just make things worse. I know I would. Neither of the factions out there wants me, not really. But here…. I can help. There are some Minbari who…. remember what I'm meant to represent, and they're coming here. They're coming to safety and strengthening this place…. all at the same time.

"I have to stay here. But you, Catherine…. what are you going to do? I…. I would like you to stay."

"I don't know. I'd…. been told I would find you here, but I had no idea it would be like this. I…. I need to think. I'd like to see a bit more of this place."

"Of course. I'll give you a guided tour."

"I just hope that no one back home gets word of me hanging around with a Minbari."

He smiled, but it was a false smile. She looked at him, and wondered what thoughts were there, behind that so-alien face. For a brief moment equally alien thoughts flitted inside her mind — but only for a moment, and then they were gone, the Vorlon influence receding to her subconscious, content to wait. For the moment, at least.

Delenn stood still, looking out into space. All she could see were the human ships floating there. The same human ships that had destroyed Minbar.

"No," she muttered. "We destroyed Minbar. Our arrogance. Our sins. Us, not them."

She grimaced, placing her hands against her forehead. Her head was pounding. She had been concentrating on this for…. she did not know how long. A long time. It had been foolishness to imagine this would work, but she had to try. All communications signals were blocked. There was still no word from the Machine and she had accepted that something had happened to G'Kar. Sinoval had gone, and would in all likelihood not return even if he was aware of what was happening here. His loyalties lay elsewhere.

There was only John, and only one way to contact him.

She had never tried using her link with Lyta in this way before. Neither of them was sure how it worked or what it was capable of. Delenn knew only that it was a connection of some sort, and part of what had led to a wonderful friendship.

Lyta was with John. If only she could somehow…. get…. something…. through.

A warm wind seemed to be blowing into her mind, a rush of gold on blue. She fell to her knees, almost screaming. She had touched something all right. But what?

"Lyta? Lyta?"

Are you ready?

"Kosh…." The Vorlon who had placed a part of himself within her, the same part that was now within Lyta; the source of their connection.

A deal was made. My part in it is almost done. Remember what you saw.

"What I saw…? I don't…."

Remember.

She screamed as something seemed to explode in her mind. She fell forward to her knees, her hands clawing against the plastics, seemingly clawing against space itself.

"Delenn?" Lyta! At last! "Delenn…. what is happening? You're…. you're hurting me."

"We…. need you, Lyta. We…. we…. need you…."

"What is…?" Lyta was screaming. "Delenn…. What…?" Her voice was growing quieter, only her screams remaining. "What…?" It faded, and there was silence again.

Behind Delenn, standing in the doorway, were four human security officials. One of them activated a link. "Captain Smith. We have her, sir."

"All this…. and for what?"

Kozorr touched her arm gently and she winced from the pain. She felt very dizzy, but something kept her upright. Kats wondered what it could possibly be. By rights she should be unconscious by now.

"A warning. Look closer. All the damage was concentrated on the Administration building, the Government bases, military locations…. next to nothing on civilian targets."

Kats nodded, breathing out harshly. She should have seen that. "But who…?"

"That thing that attacked you. It mentioned…. someone called the Z'ondar?" She nodded again. "Do you think it meant Sonovar? Some sort of linguistic corruption perhaps? Sinoval and I have ben expecting something from Sonovar for a while, but…. nothing like this." He shook his head. "I just wish I knew who these aliens were."

"What…. now?"

"Now, my lady, I am taking you to a place where you can heal. There are survivors who have set up emergency hospitals. Then…. I'll try to take one of these aliens alive. Some of them are still here. I suppose I had better try to find out where Administrator Callen is, but that might be a low-priority assignment."

She chuckled, and then swayed, almost falling. He caught her awkwardly, his ruined hand unable to afford him proper leverage. "Too…. much…. blood…."

"Come on, Kats. There is somewhere not far. Just…. stay conscious. Talk to me…."

"About…. what…?"

"Anything." He took a few steps forward, holding her in as balanced a position as he could manage. "Your childhood. Your parents. Your…. Kats! Stay awake!"

"…. Trying…." She could see Kalain again, floating in front of her, above her, laughing, mocking her. Worker bitch. Murderer! Inferior. Hardly Minbari at all were the worker caste. Nothing more than animals, really. Valen might have raised them up, but that was all they were.

"Kats…." Kozorr's voice was fading, and everything around her seemed dark. "Kats…. my lady…. Stay awake…. my lady."

I love you.

Had he said those words, or had she only imagined them? She tried to think of something to say, but the words would not come out. She reached up for him, but could not move her arm. Darkness took her at last.

She moved as though swimming through treacle. Voices exploded in her mind — Delenn's voice, the Vorlon voices, Valen's words…. she could hear them all. But she knew what had to be done.

Somehow Lyta Alexander managed to reach the bridge of the Parmenion, although she could remember nothing of the journey. She was aware only of Delenn's plea for help, and then the solemn orders of the Vorlon that shared her soul.

"Miss Alexander!" started Captain Sheridan. "What is…?"

Everyone on the bridge was looking at her. Captain Sheridan, Commander Corwin, the third-in-command, Major Krantz, the tech ops. She tried to speak, but could not frame the words. The light was shining so brightly in her mind.

She wanted to scream.

And she did.

Her eyes became reflections of the Vorlon within her. Her mouth was wide open and light and beauty poured from it, from her, illuminating the room.

"What is this?" asked Krantz, from seemingly a whole universe away. "Captain, what…?"

The light faded and Lyta, her scream voiced at last, fell to the floor. Sheridan was beside her instantly. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Delenn…. she…. got through to me…. somehow…. She's in trouble…. big trouble…."

"David, try and send a message to Babylon Four. See if you can find out what's going on there."

"Yes, Captain," came the reply. Corwin began barking orders to the technicians.

"Captain Sheridan, we have a duty to be at Sanctuary as soon as possible, do you remember?" Major Krantz again. Lyta found his surface thoughts screaming at her. He was worried about…. something. A conflict of interests. He was…. going to betray them.

"This might be important, Major."

Corwin turned around from the commpanels. "We can't get through to the station. Something's jamming all signals."

Sheridan rose to his feet. "Right, that's it. We're turning about and heading back to the station."

"Captain, you have your orders."

"Yes, I do, Major, and I'm ignoring them. David, how long is it likely to take us to get back?"

"Several hours. We're going to have to reset the navigation and reattach ourselves to the old jump gate beacon. We've still got it in memory, so it shouldn't be too hard."

"Good. Lyta, I'll call for the medics. You look like you need something."

"Nothing they can do for me." Her voice sounded dry, as if it were coming from a stranger. "The Vorlons are playing with me again. I'll…. stay here."

"If you think you can."

"Captain Sheridan! You have been ordered to make for Sanctuary."

"Yes, Major Krantz, and I told you I'm ignoring that order. Babylon Four is in trouble, and they need our help."

"You work for Bester, not G'Kar. Remember that!" Sheridan ignored him. In a fury, Krantz activated his link.

"Do you think we should inform Ben Zayn about this?" asked Corwin. "He might be able to help."

"He's more likely to try to fire on us. Something stinks here, David. This whole…. sudden order to leave was just too…. convenient. No, Bester knew about this, I'd bet anything on it."

"It does seem likely."

"Captain!" Lyta cried, falling to her knees in pain. "Sec…. security are…. They're…." The door to the bridge opened and a squad of Narn security officers entered.

"Ko'Dath," ordered Major Krantz. "Captain Sheridan and Commander Corwin are relieved of duty as of this moment. You are to escort them to the brig."

Ko'Dath made a gesture of feigned surprise, and looked at Sheridan. "Captain?"

Sheridan smiled. "Major Krantz isn't feeling too well, Ko'Dath. I think he needs a lie down in one of the holding cells. Take him there, will you?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Oh, and after that, ready your people as much as you can. I think we might need you when we get to Babylon Four."

"We're always ready, Captain."

"You can't do this, Sheridan! You…."

"I've already done it, Major." Sheridan turned his back as the Narn Bat Squad dragged the protesting Major Krantz away from the bridge. None of the technicians stirred as they did so.

"Well, we've done it now," said Corwin.

"Ah, I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

Lyta smiled through her pain.

"You know how to stop his pain, G'Kar. Just tell me."

The Narn coughed, laughter spluttering through his breath. "You…. still…. do not…. understand. The Machine can never be yours…. You…. do…. not…. are not…. ready…."

Donne looked at Ta'Lon. He was unconscious, blood staining his face and the front of his clothing. "Tu'Pari, you idiot! I told you to be careful with him. I don't want him dead."

"He isn't. At a rough guess, he made himself fall unconscious."

Donne was surprised. "You can do that?"

"It was an old trick taught amongst the Thenta Ma'Kur. A trick to protect us from awkward questions if we should be captured. These…. Rangers must have found out about it somehow."

"Ah. Annoying. Wake him up." Tu'Pari nodded.

"I will do what I can."

"And please put that thing away."

"Thing? Oh, this." He held up a red orb, thick blood dripping from it. Behind him, Garibaldi's friend was being very sick. "A trophy of conquest. And please…. lower your tone. I am not your slave, lady."

You will be whatever I tell you to be, came the thought, but she did not give voice to it. She needed Tu'Pari for the moment, and the humans were growing less and less willing to be here. Sooner or later she would have to kill them, but not until she had figured out how to access all the secrets of this Machine. With all its knowledge at her disposal, she would be able to hold off anything. Without it…. Ta'Lon had nearly defeated her just by himself. What if more like him came?

"This thing has some offensive capability. I know it does. But…." She smiled, alien thoughts buzzing through her mind. The Machine was responding to her. Words, thoughts…. images…. all there.

Weaponry, enough to protect this planet for a million years.

She laughed. "Well, G'Kar. You didn't tell me about all those long-range missiles this thing has hidden around. Who knows just how vast this Machine is?"

"I did…. but you do not…. you are not…." He coughed again. "You…. can…. not…."

"Oh yes, I can." She started, and then laughed again. "There's a jump point opening. A ship's arriving. I think I have some target practice. Tell me what I need to know, G'Kar, or I'll start filling the skies with as many of these missiles as I can. And I'll turn that precious station of yours into so much scrap metal.

"Well?"

Alone, off to the side, still comatose, thoughts began to race through Susan Ivanova's mind — guiding her, directing her, pushing her. The Keeper's soft words touched her, and sent thoughts into Donne's mind, manipulating her to the desired end.

Ivanova's eyes opened.

Londo looked out through the window of his transport, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sea beneath him. Unfortunately it was too dark, but he could imagine it there, proud and majestic, knowing nothing of his concerns or his problems.

Timov's angry words still sounded in his memory. He had hated to leave her like that, but if the Gods were willing, then they would meet again.

"It was Malachi. He…. he has invited me to attend him in the capital."

Timov had snorted. "Mad, of course?"

Londo had looked at her, realising just how much he had grown to love her recently. "I will be leaving within the hour."

He did not know why he had to go. Well, he did know, but he could not put it into words. Vague concepts of friendship and sacrifice and understanding all flitted through his mind, but he knew as well as Timov did that none of that really mattered. What did matter was…. he did not know. But something had to matter. He knew only that if he did not go, he would lose any opportunity to end this without more bloodshed.

Without the sacrifice of another Camulodo.

"Malachi is my friend," he had tried to explain.

"What sort of friend can he be? Look at what he has done!"

"Malachi has not done everything."

"He's done enough!"

No, that was it. Londo needed to see Malachi again, to look into his eyes and see, once and for all, if his friend was still there. Malachi had taken in a young and idealistic noble's son and trained him in the ways of politics and the Court. He had told Londo something, once:

"We possess power far greater than that of any others, on any other world in the galaxy. And yet how do we use it? Power is nothing if it is not used, but it is even less if used wrongly. Remember that, Londo."

What could have happened to him?

Beside him Lennier sat, apparently asleep, but probably just meditating. He had not insisted on coming. There had just been no doubt that he not would be left behind. The two of them had begun this whole quest together after all. They would have to finish it together.

It seemed so long ago, that journey to Kazomi 7 with Delenn. Where was she now? Safe and at peace, he hoped.

Well, safer and more at peace than he was.

The capital, and the Court, drew him onwards.

Captain Smith had not been sure what to expect from the notorious war criminal Satai Delenn. He had never seen her before in person, although he had been given access to records…. from both before and after her emergence from her cocoon.

Neither of them matched the picture of peace and serenity before him now. She was seated on a narrow bench in the holding cell, hands folded in her lap, head raised, looking him squarely in the eye. She looked very different from either of the images he had seen. Apparently she had gone through a second transformation. Human and Minbari were now blended perfectly in her.

She made him…. uncomfortable.

"It is my place to inform you that you will be taken from here to Proxima Three, there to stand trial for war crimes against the human race. You will be afforded every right to defence and justice according to our laws. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"I understand," she said. Her voice was strangely accented, soft, but with layers of steel beneath. "And we both know, Captain Smith, that my trial will be anything but fair."

"My Government has assured me that it will be. In any case your trial is not my concern. I am just a soldier. It is my duty to escort you there and hand you over to the appropriate authorities. That is all."

"Nobody is 'just' anything, Captain."

"As you say, Satai."

"I no longer go by that title. It was taken from me a long time ago."

"Then how should I address you?"

"My name is Delenn, and it is as good a name as any other. If you are uncomfortable with that, however, then my people gave me another title to replace the one they took from me. Zha'valen."

"And that means?"

"Outcast."

He opened his mouth to speak, but then realised he had nothing worth saying. Simply being around her troubled him in a way he could not identify. Maybe because she looked so human, or so vulnerable. It was hard to envisage her as the monstrous butcher he had always believed the Minbari to be.

His link suddenly beeped and he activated it. "Yes. Smith here."

It was Lieutenant Franklin, from the bridge of the Babylon. "Captain, our sensors have detected something approaching from hyperspace. One of our ships. A capital ship."

"All our capital ships are here. What…?" He suddenly paled, and looked at Delenn. There was a knowing look in her eyes, and he suddenly felt the burden of his ghosts rising up before him.

And a chance to exorcise himself of it forever. "It's Sheridan. I'm on my way back to the ship. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But Captain, your orders are to…."

"The station is secure, and the capture of the station and the Machine were our top priorities. To safeguard our acquisitions here we need to defeat these reinforcements, and for that, I need to be on the bridge of my ship. I will be there immediately."

He turned and left the holding cell, barking quick instructions to the two security officers on guard there. As he left he heard Delenn saying something, and he turned back to her. "Walk with Valen, Captain," she repeated softly.

Troubled, he ignored her, and began to run towards the shuttle bays.

Sheridan. The Starkiller. At last, another chance to prove fully to everyone that he was worthy of sitting in the captain's chair where the Starkiller himself had once sat. They had clashed before, but inconclusively. This time it would be more decisive.

Smith would later wonder how his future would have turned if he had remained on the station, co-ordinating its defence from there. He would never know, but he would always feel that the decision to make for his ship had been the one greatest moment of his life.

The Parmenion emerged from hyperspace to find the four ships of the Resistance Government waiting for it. Sheridan looked at them, and felt a tightening in his chest. Here it was: the conflict he had been dreading and hoping to avoid ever since he had broken away from Proxima.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," he said, the comm channels carrying the message to his four opponents, and also, he hoped, to the captains of the Drazi and Brakiri ships. "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three are under my protection. You are to leave now."

"Captain Sheridan," came a reply. A voice he recognised. General Ryan. "You are wanted for war crimes against the Resistance Government. Stand down your ship now, and we promise to spare those of your crew who are innocent of any wrongs against humanity."

"That is not an option, General."

On board the Stra'Kath, the Drazi captain had been sitting impatiently for hours, wondering why he was not being ordered to fight. Still, he placed trust in Taan Churok, and would wait.

Finally, the order he had been waiting for arrived.

"The control room is ours once more. The station is ours." Taan Churok's face on the screen. "Allies are here. Fight."

The captain grinned. He did not bother checking in with his Brakiri counterpart. If he was willing to fight, then he would join in.

He set target for the human ships, and ordered the Stra'Kath forward.

Donne smiled. "You were warned."

The Machine rumbled, and a missile soared from the bowels of the planet, shooting up into space.

Chapter 5

His spirit was everywhere, even now. It permeated this room, all the rooms, the entire ship. The EAS Babylon, his ship, Sheridan's ship, always. Dexter Smith, Sheridan's replacement on the Babylon, was always aware of that. He had lived in Sheridan's shadow for the year he had been on board, and now at last he was within sight of ending that curse. They had clashed once before, an inconclusive fight at best. This would be different. There would be no retreat here.

Matters hung suspended, in the balance. On their side, four Earthforce capital ships, the Babylon, the Morningstar, the Corinthian and the Marten. Plus, hopefully, the resources of the Great Machine. The signal indicated that the Machine had been taken, but there had been no word since. This had not been unexpected, but Smith was still troubled. He had been readying a crew to visit the planet and ascertain its status when he had received word of Sheridan's arrival.

On their side, one human capital ship, one Drazi Sunhawk, and one Brakiri vessel. Plus the greatest human captain of recent times.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," came the voice over open comm channels. His voice. Smith straightened when he heard it. He was still breathing heavily from his mad dash back to his ship, but his exhaustion did not bother him at all. "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three are under my protection. You are to leave, now."

"Captain Sheridan," came a reply. A voice Smith recognised. General Ryan. He had command of this mission, but it was very clear that he was in some disfavour with the Resistance Government. "You are wanted for war crimes against the Resistance Government. Stand down your ship now, and we promise to spare those of your crew who are innocent of any wrongs against humanity."

"That is not an option, General."

There was a silence. Smith waited, visualising his opponent. He had never met Sheridan personally, but he knew everything about the infamous Starkiller. He was reckoned the greatest human strategist alive. He had saved the day at the Battle of Mars, many observers held that it was his intervention that had saved the Narns during their first war with the Centauri, and while reports of his more recent activities were highly confidential, Smith had heard rumours of skirmishes with the Streibs and Drakh.

"Launch all remaining Starfury squadrons," came Ryan's order over a coded channel. Two of the Babylon's four squadrons had been launched already, upon arrival at the station, and the other two were held in strict readiness. Something similar would have been done on board the other ships. Smith gave the order.

"Do not engage unless we are attacked first," Ryan ordered. "Repeat…. do not engage unless engaged. If conflict does begin, targets are: the destruction of Sheridan's ship, no survivors taken or mercy offered; the disabling or destruction of the Alliance ships, with survivors taken on board and treated well; and attacks on the station are to be directed at weaponry and Starfuries only. The destruction of the station should come as a very last resort.

"Smith, how is our presence on the station?"

"Enough to hold the command deck, hopefully. I ordered my men to secure and control it, but whether it can be held is uncertain, sir."

"And Satai Delenn?"

"In custody, but on the station, sir. I…. thought it imprudent to bring her on board the Babylon. She has been here before after all…. and there may be sympathisers among my crew."

"Can your men guarantee that she will be kept safe on board the station?"

"Not for certain, sir."

"Damn! You may have to answer for that, Smith, but there's nothing we can do now. It was your task to secure the station and placate the ambassadors there, remember?

"Philby, what signs of activity from the planet?"

Smith closed his eyes and leaned back heavily in his chair. What Ryan had said was true…. he should have remained on the station, he should have taken more security on board, and he should have brought Delenn to the Babylon when he came. But how could he tell Ryan just how much he had been haunted by Sheridan ever since taking over this post? How could he explain how much humanity he had seen in Delenn's deep green eyes? How could he…?

He started as Franklin looked up, speaking. "Captain, something's coming up from the planet. It's…."

The ship rocked, shaking in a blast that seemed almost to tear it apart. Smith fell forward, his head smashing against his forward commpanel. His ears started ringing. Desperately he scrambled to his feet, wiping away the blood from his forehead and glancing at Franklin.

"What was that?"

"A missile of some sort…. from the planet, somewhere below the surface."

"Something powerful enough to come from below the planet's surface…. and reach this high into orbit? What sort of…?" He grimaced, wincing as his head pounded. "What's our status?"

"Hull integrity pretty much intact, engines intact, jump engines at eighty percent capacity…. ship-to-ship communications are down entirely. The missile didn't impact on us, but it did send out some sort of pulse which shut down the comm."

Smith sat back, trying to take it in. "Are the sensors working?" What was happening? The Machine was supposed to be under control.

"Yes…. it looks like it anyway…. Captain, the Drazi ship has started attacking the Corinthian!"

Smith closed his eyes and whispered a swift prayer. "You heard the General's orders, Lieutenant…. we attack."

This was not what Michael Garibaldi had been expecting when he arrived on Babylon 4. He remembered Bester's orders, as well as the manner in which they had been delivered: cursory, peremptory, and to-the-point.

As he looked mutely at the scene before him, he began to feel very sick at the thought that Bester might have been involved in this. Garibaldi recognised Donne, one of the Boss's favourite telepaths, given the plum job of head of the embassy at Proxima. She had been recalled from there amidst much speculation. Garibaldi now knew the reason for that move.

Everything fitted together too neatly. All of it. Sheridan's recall to Sanctuary…. the Boss's supposed 'illness' preventing him from being at G'Kar's summit.

How long had the Boss been planning this?

Garibaldi tried to think, tried to recall the moment where things had changed. Bester had been kind and…. his old self when Frank had been born. He had seemed almost…. touched by the child. He had also been happy ever since his return from Proxima. Few people knew the details, but Garibaldi did know that he had brought someone back with him.

So when had he changed? Perhaps it had always been like this, and he just hadn't noticed before.

But still, it was hard to reconcile the Boss who had cried when holding a newborn baby with the man who could so callously have ordered this great betrayal. Garibaldi looked on in stunned horror, unable to think or do anything, while two Narns were tortured right in front of his eyes.

How am I going to tell Lianna what I saw here? And Mary, she looks…. I don't know, but she can't have anything left in her stomach to throw up.

There was a sudden movement, and a loud scream that brought his mind back to the scene at the Heart of the Machine. The scream did not come from either of the Narns, however, but from the other man there.

He was hovering in mid-air directly before Donne. His arms and legs were spreadeagled and his mouth was wide open.

"This Machine has so many attributes," Donne said, smiling. "I'm so happy it's finally sharing some of them with me. Tell me, Number Two…. did you know that one of those attributes is enhanced telepathy? I could read your thoughts as if you were screaming them across the room at me. Do you think I'm a fool?"

"I…. I…." He was trying to speak, but each time a word left his mouth his body jerked and his next words were lost in choking fits.

"Telekinesis as well. I was never able to master that art…. it's a pity. I always felt I disappointed Al by not being a teek as well as a teep. But look at this, and without even trying…. This is a truly wonderful device you have here, G'Kar. You can't have been using the half of it."

"You…. can…. not…." the Narn rasped, but then his head fell forward.

"And you…. thinking about killing me. What's your name? I can't just put a number on your grave…. assuming I give you one. It will mess up my records something chronic. I do like to maintain a good inventory of my victims."

"Put him down," cried the woman. "This was not what we came here for!"

"What you came here for? That hardly matters. And if you want me to put him down…. I'll be happy to…."

Garibaldi saw what was coming next and closed his eyes in a hurry. Mary didn't, and he heard her scream as well as the damp sound of a falling body. When he opened his eyes again the mass on the floor did not look like anything that had once been human.

"Murderer!" cried the woman, charging forward. Donne smiled, and she fell as if she had run directly into a brick wall.

"Why, yes, I am."

"You want me to kill her?" asked the Narn torturer. He was covered in blood, and was playing with a small ball in his right hand. Garibaldi did not want to think about what it was.

"No. We'll save her for later."

The Narn nodded, and then looked up. "One question. You said you were working out how to use that thing." Donne signalled affirmation. "Then why am I torturing these two?"

"You looked to be having so much fun I didn't want to stop you. Besides, I'm enjoying watching you."

"Oh…. well, that's good to know, at least. How's the battle going up there?"

"Ah…. lots of people dying. I think it's time they became aware of my presence once more, don't you think?"

Garibaldi looked at her, and wanted to throw up. He had never before seen such evil in one form. But there was something about her he couldn't quite fathom. Her eyes….

They were bleeding.

Great men, men such as history will revere forever, will remember with words of hushed awe, will speak of with reverence, will even worship.

Am I such a man? Is Sinoval? Was Kalain? Did greatness leave us forever with Dukhat's death, or is this the emergence of a new age? Just as Valen heralded a thousand years ago, is the dawning of a new Minbar within sight?

Sonovar straightened and turned as a figure arrived behind him. Half-expecting it to be Forell, he was ready with a sharp retort. The priestling had been…. unnerving him recently. Something about him felt wrong, but his advice was sound, his presence a moral victory and his soul possessed of a very warrior-like practicality.

It was not Forell, but someone he found much easier to tolerate. Ironic, wasn't it? That the leader of one third of the Minbari Federation found more kinship with an alien whose race was banished by Valen long ago than with one of his own people.

"Ramde Haxtur," he said, making the ritual gesture of greeting. An archaic motion, now practised only by some of the more traditional priestlings. There was much about the Tak'cha that was archaic though, and Sonovar saw fit to acknowledge the beliefs of his allies. "How goes the attack?"

"We report that all is as you wished, Zaron'dar." Sonovar noted the title. He had never heard it before, and had no idea what it meant. The Ramde's tone, however, indicated that it was one deserving of respect. "The rebel leaders have been defeated and punished for their sins."

"Already? Faster than I had anticipated."

Haxtur looked pleased. "Thank you, Zaron'dar. We act with the strength the Z'ondar once praised in our people. They have not followed your crusade, and therefore they have rejected the will of the Z'ondar. As such they deserved punishment."

"Indeed, Ramde. I thank you for informing me."

"Then you will go there now?"

"Yes. They have to see, and know who it was who did this to them. They also have to see that I can be merciful. Your men did only attack military and Government targets?"

"Of course. They obey my orders, which are your orders, and thus, the Z'ondar's will."

"Of course they do. They are to be commended for their skill. Now, Ramde, it is time to show them to whom their loyalties must now belong. They have erred once in agreeing to serve a weak and traitorous Government, and that is only mortal. I will give them a chance to change their allegiances. To reject me again, however, would be treason itself, and for that…."

"Death. Never let it be said that we are not merciful, Zaron'dar."

"Indeed not." Sonovar imagined the planet nearby, and his soul felt the presence of the two he sought. "And also…. they are there. Sinoval's servants. I will find them, and…." He left it hanging.

Haxtur bowed, and left. He understood completely.

The Parmenion swept forward, making for the nearest enemy ship, the Marten. Left broadsides fired, striking the newest of the human ships across its dark and glistening hull. The Marten turned, looking predatory, almost alive. Its eerily organic surface seemed to gleam.

"Looks a bit familiar, doesn't it?" asked Commander Corwin, looking at his Captain. Sheridan's eyes were dark, his expression hard. Both of them had seen such augmented ships at Minbar, but the Marten was more advanced than either the Morningstar or the Corinthian. It appeared that the engineers were perfecting the process.

"What are they doing to our ships?" Sheridan asked. "People like us are having to work and live inside that thing." He remembered all too well the mental screams of the true Shadow ships as they flew overhead. He wondered if these ships screamed as well.

The Marten fired, and the Parmenion rocked with the blast.

Sheridan staggered to his feet. "That thing offends me. Destroy it."

The Parmenion's Starfuries blazed forward, swarming over the mockery of a human ship, raining their blasts upon it. It seemed to have no Starfuries of its own, but those from the Morningstar and the Babylon were rushing forward to help out.

"Lyta," cried the Captain, "is there enough in that thing for you to block out?"

"I…. I don't know. I'm trying." The telepath appeared to be in agony. She was shaking and her face was very pale, especially compared to her dark eyes. These suddenly turned bright gold, a brilliant light that engulfed the room, almost blinding the bridge crew.

"I can see it now," she said, in a voice not her own. "I can see it…."

The Marten suddenly came to a halt. The ship was screaming.

The Morningstar moved forward.

They talked for hours, their words filling the air. They walked through the city together, he showing her the myriad wonders of this place of hope. It was a far cry from the blood and terror at Epsilon 3.

For him, for the Minbari prophet known as Valen, it was a chance to remember who he had been. Jeffrey Sinclair was known to him only in a garbled haze of memories, a brief flash here, a snatch of conversation there. No one had known Sinclair better than the woman he had loved, and walking with her, talking with her, he came more to life within Valen than he had ever been.

Perhaps that was the intention, a more paranoid and suspicious person than he might have thought.

For her, it was a similar connection to something long lost. Since the fall of Earth she had been wandering, drifting aimlessly. She had been alive, but she had not been living. Now she was. She gave him comfort, and was comforted by the very fact that she did so.

And something watching in the back of her mind welcomed the relationship.

They stopped just as dawn was breaking, finding themselves at a small site set aside from the general flurry of construction and repair that marked the city. Valen gently stepped forward, and paused.

"What's this place?" Catherine asked, smiling. "Where they're going to put your statue?"

"No," he said softly. "A shrine. To all those who died here during the invasion. I wanted to show you this last of all. This…. all this…. everything I've shown you tonight, it was paid for with blood…. so much blood. I don't think they told you that back on Proxima."

She shook her head. "No. No, the media was still heavily controlled by the Wartime Emergency Provisions. At IPX we heard a little more than most, but…. none of the true details. Nothing…." She bowed her head.

"Innocents. Everything, no matter how great or how small, is paid for with the blood of innocents. We must make sure that their sacrifices are never forgotten. This place is a start, but only a start. Tell me, Catherine, what has the blood of all those who died at Earth bought for our people?"

"I don't know," she said, shocked.

"Neither do I. I would like very much to walk amongst my people once more…. one last time."

"Maybe you will be able to."

He shook his head. "Footsteps in the sand, remember. They are coming to an end now. Soon. I can feel it. I'm going to have to go back soon. And then I'll never see another human face. I will be Minbari, once and for always."

"Go away? But Holy One, you…." Both of them turned to see a young Minbari slowly emerge from a side alley and walk towards them. "I…. forgive me, Holy One. I did not mean to alarm you. I…. I just came here to…. Forgive me. I will leave."

"No," he said quickly. "What is your name?"

"Findell, Holy One. My…. wife was killed on Minbar, and I brought our daughter here…. to be near to you, Holy One. I could not follow the Primarch, and I wanted to be with Delenn…. and you…."

"Ah. I see. I am sorry, Findell, that I have not met you until now."

"Oh no, Holy One. There is no need to be sorry. It is…. an honour…."

"The honour is mine. How do you find this place, Findell?"

"It is…. strange to my eyes, Holy One. But there is much that is good here. I grieve only because it is not Minbar. But our old way of life is gone now, that I know. And we will never be able to recover it."

"Never is a strong word, Findell, and you may yet see your home again. As will I. You heard me correctly before. I must leave here, travelling beyond as I did before. My…. destiny compels me. But just because I am absent in body that does not mean I am absent in spirit. I will always be with my people, Findell. Always."

"Then you will return again, Holy One? When you are most needed?"

"I…." Valen looked at the glowing, reverential eyes of his young companion and nodded. "I will return when I am most needed. But if my words are never forgotten, then I will never truly have left."

"Of course, Holy One. I understand. I…. thank you, Holy One." Findell bowed, stepped back and bowed again. He then scurried away, back into the streets. Valen sighed.

"You really creep me out when you do that," Catherine noted. "You sounded almost Minbari for a minute."

"I am Minbari. But I am human as well. Two souls…. in one body. The Vorlons did that to me."

"The…. Vorlons. Yes."

"But I have realised something. Simply because they have manipulated me for their own ends, that does not mean there is no good in what they have done. I may be their puppet, yes…. but I can still help. I can still heal, I can still build, and pray, and fight. Not everything they do is wrong, Catherine, whatever some may say." He paused, and looked at her intently. "I am not yet sure if what they did to you was wrong or not."

"I…. what? What do you…? What do you mean?"

"I can see their mark on you. It is so…. bright. At first I feared that the Catherine I knew…. once…. was gone, but I do not fear that any more. You have returned to my life, Catherine, and for that I am grateful to them."

"Ah…. I…. I don't…." She trembled, and then straightened slightly. "What are you going to do now?"

"Whatever their plans for you, and for me…. it does not matter. Events…. elsewhere are running away from them. From all of them. I will be here for a few more days at most. Then…. I will have to pass beyond again. And this time, I know I will not be able to return."

"How do you know this?"

He smiled, and pointed up towards the sky. "They're coming for me. I can feel them."

And for the second time in this world's history, a Vorlon ship arrived at Kazomi 7.

She could see it all now…. weaponry, defences, knowledge…. the histories of centuries come and gone, of decades yet to be…. All of it was hers, save for that one little part blocked off from her eyes and mind. She did not know what it was that could be hidden from her like this, but she did know that it was the greatest power of the Machine, and she was determined to find it.

"Tell me!" she screamed. "Tell me!"

G'Kar could not hear her. He was still, perhaps dead, she did not know. She supposed she could ask, but a part of her did not want to make the effort. G'Kar's servant, Ta'Lon…. he was still awake, whispering something in his own language. The Machine did contain translation devices — she could sense them, literally within sight — but they did not interest her.

"What is he saying?" she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her.

Tu'Pari looked up. She could see him there, his every thought laid out before her. He was steeped in blood even as much as she, but he did not possess her strength. He was only a mundane. His whole race were only mundanes.

"He is praying," came a calm, matter of fact reply. "He is calling upon G'Quan to grant him strength in protection of his lord."

"Is that likely to happen?"

Tu'Pari chuckled. "I very much doubt it."

One of the mundanes at the far end of the room stepped forward. The man. She had known his name once, she was sure, but could she still remember it? She trawled through his thoughts, ripping into memories and ideas as casually as she would flick through an address book. Lianna…? Frank…? Garibaldi! Of course. She knew him now. She had no idea who those other names belonged to, but they hardly mattered.

"Look, Donne…. this is taking things a bit far. I can't believe the Boss authorised this. Why don't you…. just…. give him a call at Sanctuary? I'm sure that machine can do that."

The Boss? Al! Alfred Bester! Yes. She was…. meant to…. do something…. tell him something…. It couldn't have been important.

"I will do as I please. You live by my sufferance, mundane. Don't forget that. You…." Her attention was diverted by the sound of G'Kar coughing. "Tu'Pari, wake him up!"

The assassin nodded and pulled out a small vial from a pocket of his tunic. Applying its contents to a cloth, he held it to G'Kar's face and pressed it against the fresh, deep wound across his cheek.

The prophet screamed as his body spasmed, forcing him back into consciousness.

"What is the secret, Narn?" she asked. "Tell me!"

"You…. are doing…. more harm…. than you know…. Give…. up…. the…. Machine…."

She laughed. "Give up all this? Tu'Pari, you've obviously damaged his mind somehow with those knives of yours. G'Kar…. tell me or…." She smiled. "They're fighting above our heads, you know…. fighting for control of this planet, this Machine…. and your precious station…. So many people…. so many to kill. I must confess, my experiences of killing are usually one on one. I've never done anything like this before.

"Tell me, Narn."

"No…."

"Then I'll kill them all!" Oblivious to the blood pouring from her eyes, her nose, her mouth, Donne threw back her head and sent instantaneous thought-messages to the Machine that engulfed her.

Missiles shot forth from the belly of the planet, seeking the warring factions above.

What have they done to my city?

Londo Mollari loved Centauri Prime. He loved the capital. He loved the Court, the temples, the offices, the libraries, the barracks buildings. He loved every street, every corner, every alley. He had spent the best part of his life there and there was nowhere he would rather be.

Words did not exist to describe his sadness as the transport flew over the city.

He had been in touch with his agents in the capital for some time and they had reported that matters there were bad, but he would never in a million years have believed it was this bad.

Buildings burned, the Guard — the Royal Guard — were fighting each other in the streets. Shops were being looted, people cut down, children murdered, women raped…. The whole city seemed to have gone insane.

Great Maker, what have we done? Malachi, what have you done? Can any power be worth this?

His nephew was there somewhere. Carn. Londo had sent him to manipulate the factions, to make things easier for when they needed to push north and take the capital. All those machinations seemed so hollow now. Where was Carn? A victim of this insanity? Or a part of it?

The flyer docked at the heliport and Londo disembarked with Lennier. This was where Malachi had said he would meet them.

"Stay here as long as you can," Londo instructed the pilot. Clearly afraid, the pilot nodded.

"What have they done to my city?" he asked, looking about him. The heliport was largely untouched, but the glow from the fires was bright and the screams of the victims could be heard even here. They were on the outskirts of the city. Perhaps the rioters had simply not yet reached this far.

"There is a madness here. Something…. someone perhaps, is affecting their minds." Lennier was looking around distastefully. Those were the first words Londo could recall him saying since they had left Remarin.

"Then why are we not affected?"

"Perhaps we are too strong for it? Perhaps you are anyway. I…. can feel it there. It is close, but…. my meditations will protect me."

"That is reassuring," came the sarcastic reply, but his heart was not really in it. His Minbari friend was hiding something, but he did not press him on it. Lennier had earned his privacy. "What will protect me? Large amounts of brivare, perhaps?"

"Your faith," came the simple reply.

"Faith and I parted ways a long time ago."

Lennier only nodded in reply. He looked distracted.

A few minutes later a squad of guardsmen appeared, walking towards them. Londo stiffened, and Lennier stepped in front of him, adopting a fighting stance. The guards stopped a fair distance away.

"Governor Mollari," said the leading guard, "we are to escort you to your meeting with First Minister Malachi. Please hurry. The streets are not safe."

"I noticed. But would I be any safer with you?"

The guard seemed insulted. "My orders are to escort you to the First Minister, and that is what I will do. He intended to meet you here, but conditions have worsened since he last spoke with you and he fears to travel the streets. We will provide a safe escort for you and your companion." Londo hesitated, and the guard continued. "He also said, if you proved suspicious, to remind you of your shoes. He hopes they are not too tight any more."

Londo relaxed. "Well, that means at least that you came from Malachi himself. Stand down, Lennier. We will go with these men." He went back to the flyer and turned to the pilot.

"Take up a safe position some distance from here. Come back and check this place every hour, on the hour. If we are not here in six hours, then leave and tell the Government at Selini that we are lost."

"Yes, Governor."

Londo turned back to his escort. "Merely a precaution. Well, then, Captain…. let us go."

She has seen death, too much death. She has known war, far too much of it. She has stood, high and imperious, as others bled and fought and died in her name. She has tried to renounce these old ways and embrace a new path, but conflict seems to follow the fallen Satai Delenn wherever she goes.

She remembers the title she gave to Captain Smith. Zha'valen. Outcast. A shadow upon Valen. She has not thought of that title in months, not since she took on a new position of power, one which she swore not to abuse in the way she had the last.

And yet she has brought her people, her followers, her friends, and the man she loves above all else, to this place…. and the war seems to have followed them.

Her incarceration in the brig had been short-lived, as some of G'Kar's Narn Rangers had managed to free her within hours. The fighting for the station had been brief, but bloody. Captain Smith had left many of his Security officers here, and Delenn had no doubt they were trained to the pinnacle of human efficiency. But this was not their home, they did not believe as the Narns did, they had not been trained to give their lives for the greater good, as the Narns had….

They were not Rangers.

Looking at them, talking to them, being with them, Delenn felt a brief surge of pride. These were truly as the Rangers of old, of Valen's day. She and those like her might have failed in their duties, but the gauntlet had been picked up, and was being wielded with the iron glove of the warrior and the open palm of the peacemaker.

But for all the pride she felt, there was an equal amount of guilt. The gauntlet should never have been thrown down in the first place. How different would things have been if the sin of pride had never overtaken her people?

She walked on to the command deck of the station, to find Lethke already there. He turned to greet her, and managed a faint smile. "Delenn…. it is good to see you are safe."

"Are any of us truly safe? How is it going?"

"Ah, I chose to study economics rather than warfare, and so I can't really say. The odds, however, look to be against us. Taan Churok has taken his personal flyer and is joining our ships, but…. there seems to be rather a lot of them."

"Anything from the planet?"

"No. Not a word. I fear it has been compromised."

Delenn closed her eyes, and thought of G'Kar…. warrior and peacemaker in one. If he had fallen, then…. No. Time for doubts later. She knew full well the importance of this place, and just how much it had to be protected.

She turned to the leader of the Rangers who had rescued her. "G'Dok, how much control do we have over the weapons?"

"All we need."

"Good…. we have to try to take out the weapons systems of the enemy ships. Drive them away if possible. Is…. is the weaponry here capable of doing that?"

"Babylon Four was built as a place of war just as much as a place of peace. We can do that."

Delenn nodded and smiled, noting that some of the Rangers were already on post. She did not involve herself, but she did walk to the front of the control room, the better to see the state of the battle, and those who were dying.

G'Dok barked out something in his own language. He was evidently concerned. Delenn was about to ask him what he had discovered, when she suddenly realised she did not need to.

There was a blur of light, streaking towards the Brakiri ship. Before her eyes it exploded in a brilliant burst of flame, the hull torn apart, the engines bursting into flames, the entire ship consumed in the space of a few seconds.

Lethke cried out and turned away, reeling.

"What was that?" Delenn asked, unable to comprehend what she had just seen.

"From the planet," said G'Dok. "From the…. Machine."

Delenn trembled and fell back against the wall.

From Selini, the soldiers moved. North, across the sea, on a mission of mercy and salvation, to the aid of their people on the mainland.

Sphodria, a port city. A vibrant place of trade, a cosmopolitan town where few looked out of place. Records had once put the alien population of Sphodria at thirty-nine percent, more than twice that of any other city save the capital. None of them was here now, everyone who could having left before things got this bad.

The soldiers arrived from Selini by airship, flyer and boat, moving through the city, establishing order and peace wherever they went. Had they been a few hours earlier they might have had more effect, but they were still the only hand reaching out to the city in this dark hour.

They found the Shadow Criers, lunatics crying of the coming Darkness. Those they found, they killed. Some surrendered after the first shot, pitifully begging for mercy on bended knees. Others stood staring at the soldiers, began to laugh, and lit the torch to burn their physical shells. Those who could be taken alive were imprisoned swiftly. Trials could wait.

The hospitals were secured and the surviving staff rescued. Medical staff from Selini were rushed in quickly and tried to deal with the wounded and dying as best they could. The numbers needing help were overwhelming.

Two hours after entering the city Lord-General Marrago stood in the Governor's house, looking at the mess of flesh and bone that had once been the Governor's wife, children and servants. The body of the Governor himself had been outside the house.

The Darkness is coming.

The words had been written countless times on the walls, on the floor, the furniture. Marrago felt those words, and shivered.

Then, the city in reasonable peace and order, Marrago handed it over to the captain of the Selini Governor's Guard, and took half of the occupying soldiers north-west, making for the heartland, and Gallia. That city needed their help as well.

The entire planet needed their help.

Lyta Alexander screamed as the golden light engulfed her. The cries of the Brakiri and human and Drazi and Narn dying echoed in her mind, but rising above them all were the sonorous tones of the Vorlon, reminding her of the necessity of her role, and the need to protect this place.

Her will stopped the Marten head on, paralysing the vessel. Captain Walker Smith shouted furiously at his technicians and engineers, but they could do nothing. The only beings on the ship with the knowledge to correct the block were paralysed themselves, the instructions of their Keepers shut out by Lyta's telepathic pulse.

The Parmenion swept down on the Marten and with swift, measured shots, blasted away both broadside cannon, front and aft weaponry and as much of the jump engines as it could. Then, leaving the beautiful, terrifying ship dead in space, it moved on.

On a smaller scale the Starfuries clashed, human against human, perhaps friend against friend. Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally guided the Starfury squadrons from the Parmenion against those of the Corinthian and Morningstar. Thankfully those from the Babylon were largely engaged in skirmishing with those from the station. She did not think she could have borne fighting them. The face of her father ever before her, she pressed onwards.

On board the Babylon, Captain Dexter Smith could feel the ghost in his chair very close to him, as he tried to manouevre his ship into a position to meet the Parmenion. Elsewhere on the bridge, Lieutenant Stephen Franklin was not displeased that they were not able to do so yet.

Taan Churok and his Drazi companions rained devastating blows on the Corinthian, only to be met with equal and more savage response.

From the surface of Epsilon 3, terrifying weapons of mass destruction soared into space.

She slept without dreams, for the first time she could remember since Kalain and the Council. No dreams of pain, of him mocking her and her caste. No dreams of Sinoval, or Kozorr, the two truest friends she had ever had in her life.

No dreams at all.

Until she was awoken.

Sonovar strode past the cringing wounded as if they were not there. To him they truly were not. Workers, mostly, priestlings, some…. a warrior here and there. Not a true warrior, but an aspirant to that title. He was somehow disappointed, but then he remembered that Tarolin 2 had survived the war more or less intact, a survival brought about by cowardice, deception and weakness. They had joined Sinoval for the same reason.

Unfortunately that meant that most of those here were guilty only of cowardice, not treason. Still, when fate took him to Owari and the other worlds Sinoval claimed, the situation would be very different. True warriors at last.

Someone stepped forward to meet him, a man wearing the brown smock of a worker. He actually dared to meet Sonovar's eyes, and although he was obviously afraid, he stood and spoke anyway. Sonovar found himself liking this man.

"We are a hospital here. We care for the wounded only. We mean you no harm. We mean harm to no one."

"You build, yes? We fight, and they pray, and you build. Tell me, worker, which path is strongest, do you think?"

The worker cringed, but Sonovar had to admit he would look frightening to such a man. As well as two of Kalain's former Grey Council beside him, there were three Tak'cha, glaring around angrily at those they saw as having denied Valen's will. They probably had denied Valen's will, but they had also denied Sonovar's will, and that was more serious.

"We mean you no harm, lord," the worker said hesitantly. "There is no reason for you to…. harm us in return."

"The way of the river, hmm? You flow through life, passively accepting what is thrown at you, what lands on you, accepting it all into your soul. You bring life to the land, and harm no one and nothing." Sonovar smiled. "Does it surprise you that I know worker philosophy? I have read the works of your poets, your dreamers…. I know your caste as well as any. You see, I am a student of all aspects of our race…. which makes me fit to lead you.

"Now, where is Kats, of your caste, a traitor to our race? I…. discovered that she was brought here. Where is she?"

She awoke at the sound of her name, uttered in a voice she took to be Kalain's. Disorientation and surprise took her and she stirred, looking around at her surroundings.

"We…. we have no one of that name here, lord. Perhaps…. perhaps…. somewhere…. else?"

Sonovar's eyes darkened. "I like you, little man, but never forget that you are a little man. I, on the other hand, dare to consider myself a great man, and do you know one of the symptoms of a great man?" The worker shook his head. "Neither do I. No one can. But…. to refer to a mark of a great leader, then I refer to you the words of Valen himself."

A quick gesture and his warriors picked out a wounded patient at random. Sonovar turned to look at the figure as she was brought forward. A priestling, her leg broken. Her eyes were glazed, the evidence of some drug in her. Sonovar supposed it was better that she was drugged. It added to the power of what he was about to do.

"A great general…." He raised his fighting pike and extended it, enjoying the worker's dawning horror. "A great general will never give an order to his men that he will not carry out himself."

A blur of movement, and the priestling woman fell, her skull crushed. There were cries of shock from those conscious enough to witness the act. He felt no satisfaction in them.

"We mean you no harm," the worker cried. "Please, lord…. there is no need…."

"Kats. Where is she? Tell me, or another will die, and then another. The dying stops when I find her. I mean you no harm, little man, but I will not be stopped in this. Another mark of a great general…. doing whatever is necessary to finish the task."

Kats heard the cries of shock, and tried to rise. She heard her name spoken again, and Sonovar's threat.

"Very well, then. Another, if you please." Another was brought forward, a warrior this time. She glared at him with a fierce anger that made him smile with pride. "If the Lady Kats does not appear for me now, then this one will die."

He waited, and Kats began to scramble forward. She tried to speak, but the words would not emerge. She could sense Kalain before her, laughing again. Visions of Sonovar mocking her at his side plagued her, but she kept moving.

Sonovar raised his pike.

Her wounds were burning, and blood still stained her robe. She felt so heavy, her body so cumbersome.

Sonovar paused to look into the eyes of the warrior he was about to kill.

"Stop!" Kats cried at last. She stood before him. "I am here."

A brilliant burst of light, and thousands of tiny, unheard screams marked the end of the Corinthian, blown apart in one shining moment of madness, and an arrogant, oh-so-terrible power.

Michael Garibaldi knew that something was very very wrong, and he knew that the Boss was involved in it. What he did not know was how he would explain this to Lianna, how he would tell his son, how he could look at his friends knowing that he had been a part of this.

Donne now looked awful. Her black Psi Corps uniform was soaked in her blood. Scarlet tears were dripping down her face, blood was spilling from her mouth.

"What is it doing?" she cried out, crimson spittle flying from her lips. "What is it…?"

"It is rejecting you," whispered G'Kar hoarsely. "It is…."

"I'm going to burn everything you ever cared for, you smug Narn bastard! Tu'Pari, kill the other one. Cut his throat out. Soak the bastards in his blood. Do…." She coughed, and her body trembled. "What is it doing?"

Tu'Pari raised his knife, and turned the prone Ta'Lon over. The Ranger's face was a mass of bleeding tissue, especially his left eye. Now that Garibaldi could see what had been done to it, he felt like retching. He didn't. He had to remain clear-headed. What was being done here was wrong. Very wrong, and it was coming to an end. If he didn't do something now….

Tu'Pari placed his knife on Ta'Lon's throat.

Garibaldi started forward, charging at the two Narns. He had no weapon, but he had to do what he could.

A solid wall of nothingness appeared before him. He ran into it and fell sprawling, only partly conscious. "Naughty, naughty," whispered Donne. "I can read your mind, remember. You're working for Al, so I suppose I shouldn't kill you…. but maybe I will…." She coughed again, her body shaking.

The ground beneath them shook, and everything happened at once.

Tu'Pari plunged his dagger downwards. Ta'Lon's hand shot upwards and wrenched the blade from his hands.

Susan Ivanova staggered to her feet, voices crying out in her mind.

Something burst at the back of Donne's brain. The Machine rejected her physical body as it had long ago rejected her soul, and she fell from it, dead before she hit the ground.

The planet rumbled.

It had turned. Captain Dexter Smith could see that. The Marten was disabled, the Corinthian gone, the Morningstar sorely pressed, the station lost, and the Machine….

He sat back in his chair, the chair that had marked out his ghost for the past year. That spectre had now finished any hope for success in this mission.

"God forgive me," he whispered.

"Babylon…. this is Ryan. Do you read me?" The voice over the comm channel was filled with desperation. He knew it as well. The battle was lost.

"Babylon here," Smith replied. "Get out of here, General. It's over. Try to free up the Marten and leave."

"Negative, Babylon…. we have to fight on."

"It's over, General. We've lost. Don't let this defeat become a disaster. We've recovered from worse than this. We'll be back."

Smith could imagine Ryan's expression, a terrified resignation, a slow nod, an acceptance that the words he was hearing were true. "Confirmed, Babylon. The Marten has managed to fix up engines, but not yet weaponry. It can leave. A full retreat. Repeat, we…."

"I'll stay here, General. I'll cover your escape."

"But Captain…."

"You know what will happen to me if I go back, General. I'll hold them off long enough for the two of you to get out of here. Go!"

"Understood, Babylon. Good luck."

Duty. Duty and leadership. Smith knew he owed a duty to those under his command, to those he had betrayed with his pride and tunnel vision. Too obsessed with Sheridan to safeguard properly the station or the planet.

He had to redeem himself, first to his fellow captains, and then to those under his command. They would be safe, he would ensure it. He would buy their safety with his own life.

He looked at Franklin, and bowed his head sadly.

"Take us forward. Cover them."

He shook as he heard the reply. "Yes, sir."

"The Darkness is coming! The Darkness is coming! You can feel it, you can hear it, you will embrace it so that it may claim you…. The Darkness is coming!"

Londo grimaced and put his hands against his ears. "Will that person shut up?"

He had no idea who it was who was talking. The person in the next cell presumably. Or the one down. Or across the corridor perhaps.

He had no idea where Lennier was. He had no idea where Malachi was either. He had not managed to see his old friend, and he was still no nearer the answers to his questions. He was however much nearer his execution.

"Londo," had exclaimed the smiling countenance of Lady Elrisia. "Such a pleasure." Cartagia was next to her. "Imagine our surprise at hearing you were coming here. Imagine our…. pleasure."

"I need to see Malachi."

"He is ill," Elrisia had said with considerable satisfaction. "Very sad of course, but then he is an old man. The…. rigours of recent months are bound to have taken their toll on him."

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing. Yet. We don't need to. You see, Londo, I've learned a great deal about politics recently. You, and that dear, dead husband of mine taught me a lot, and the main thing you taught me was that power comes from the top. Everyone else is scrambling around trying to get hold of bits and pieces at the side, working from the bottom up…. but we…. we just went straight for the heart. We control the Court now — the Court, the guards, most of the Centarum, and now you."

"Then why have you not been doing anything? For the Emperor's sake, Elrisia…. look outside! The city is burning…. The Empire is burning! Why are you not doing anything?"

"Far better to let it burn, and then pick up the ashes…. don't you think?"

Londo stood alone in his dark cell, remembering that conversation; remembering the eyes of his old friend, so very old; remembering the light touch of his wife; remembering the glee in Elrisia's expression; and remembering above all the sight of his beloved city in flames.

"The Darkness is coming!"

No, Londo decided. The Darkness is here.

With a strength born from suffering, Ta'Lon knocked Tu'Pari aside. The assassin fell sprawling and tried to roll over and up to his feet. The Ranger was too fast for him however, darting forward and charging into him. Blows rained down on Tu'Pari's face.

Tu'Pari had served with the Thenta Ma'Kur for many years and it had taught him a great deal about the art of killing, but that was killing by stealth, through secrecy, the thin blade in the night, the poison in the wine cup.

Ta'Lon had been forged in the fires of war and occupation. He had wandered, rootless and without direction, until he had met G'Kar, and then he had gained a purpose. He had been trained in war and fighting as well as in many of the same skills as Tu'Pari, but there was one crucial difference.

Ta'Lon believed, and that belief gave him the force to survive, to prevail, and to triumph.

He rose above the assassin, lifted Tu'Pari's head, and dashed it to the ground.

There was a crack as his neck broke.

"Ta'Lon," breathed G'Kar's hoarse voice. "Help…. me…. up…. The…. Machine…."

"You cannot, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Ta'Lon replied as he tried to limp forward. The ground beneath them was shaking and trembling. The planet itself seemed to be in revolt.

"You are too weak, Ha'Cormar'ah. You…. need to…." Ta'Lon swayed and almost fell. "You…. must…."

"The Machine needs me! It…. needs…."

Garibaldi stood up. He seemed strangely centred, all his problems falling away. "You need someone in that thing? I'll do it."

Somewhere…. in a place unvisited by any human, unknown to all of the younger races, two Vorlons were speaking, in a conversation that was not carried out in words….

The bargain?

I remember. I will comply.

We were not ready.

You were ready. Who else could have done this?

We knew nothing. We do not control all the mortals.

You control enough.

The bargain?

I remember. I am going. All will be done as it was done. He will accomplish his destiny. The past will be served, and all hope for the future will be lost.

The future is ours.

And the past is ours. A fair trade.

And your fate?

I remember. I accept.

Good.

"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."

Susan Ivanova began to stir from her torpor, the instructions in her mind becoming clear again.

"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."

A part of her that had been lost for so long began to return. She knew what must be done, and what part she would play in it.

"The Shadows are coming."

Chapter 6

There were times, he knew, when every soldier thought about death. How it would come, where, when, what would he have done just before? Would he have remembered to say goodbye, or would the thought simply have slipped his mind?

Captain Dexter Smith found himself wondering who there was he could have said goodbye to. Other than his crew there was no one, and his crew was here with him. They knew the situation as well as he did. They knew how his haste and foolishness had betrayed them all and brought them to this. Brought them to their deaths.

He had managed to save the other ships though. That was something. The Morningstar and the Marten had gone, the energy from their jump points just fading. Smith stood alone, staring out at the ranks of his enemies — the Parmenion and the Starkiller, the Drazi ships, the station itself, and whoever now ruled supreme on the planet below.

He wanted to say that he was sorry, but the words would not come, and he was not sure if anyone would listen. He found himself thinking, almost absurdly, of Lieutenant Stoner. He had always believed he would see her again one day. An absurd notion. She had betrayed him after all, him and every one on board this ship. Still, he had wanted to see her.

"What's their status?" he asked Franklin. Franklin had been on this ship longer than Smith himself had. He had been here in the days of Sheridan, whose ghost hovered even nearer than it had before.

"They're not attacking. The Parmenion is approaching slowly with gun ports open, but they do not seem to be powering up. The other ships are holding back. There's no sign of any further activity from the planet."

Smith nodded, sitting back. Sheridan then. Fitting enough that he'd want to end this.

"A message is coming through, Captain," said Franklin. "It's…. it's from Captain Sheridan."

Smith's mouth felt very dry. "Put…. put him on." He closed his eyes, and pressed his hands together as if in prayer.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the EAS Parmenion, to the Babylon and its captain. You are alone and outnumbered. Surrender now, and we will spare you."

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the Babylon. I demand an amnesty for my crew." It seemed so easy to say it now. It was simply what had to be done. He had got his crew into this, and now he would have to get them out. "A complete amnesty and the right to return to Proxima Three unharmed."

"You're in no position to make any demands at all, Captain."

"Nevertheless, those are my conditions. Such an amnesty would not extend to myself of course. I…. I will agree to stand trial and submit to whatever fate you see fit so long as my crew are permitted to leave."

"Captain!" breathed Franklin, but Smith silenced him. There really was no other option.

"I see," said Sheridan. "Well then, Captain, I cannot promise to accept your offer, but I will speak on your behalf to others. You have my word on that."

"Well then. It seems that is all I can ask for. The Babylon stands down."

"Prepare to be boarded, and we will escort you to Babylon Four."

Smith nodded and began to give the necessary orders. His bridge crew carried them out in stunned silence. He did not look at them as they did so. He could not bear to see their faces, knowing his fate to come.

Some words, once spoken, can never be taken back. Some offers, once made, can never be withdrawn. Michael Garibaldi, staring at the scenes of carnage before him, knew that he had made just such an offer.

"You want someone to go in that thing? I'll do it."

There was silence as he looked at the few people still alive and conscious in the room. G'Kar, the Narn who had previously occupied the Heart of the Great Machine, was leaning heavily against his servant Ta'Lon, who was himself covered with blood. The mass of torn tissue around Ta'Lon's eye seemed a mark of his inner strength. Dr. Kirkish, her face pale, was swallowing harshly, trying to speak perhaps, but unable to do so.

The first to speak was in fact none of those, but a strange, clicking voice just out of sight. "Yes. Good good. Enter. Hurry. We be having very little of time. Well, what Zathras mean to say is that time is, infinite of course. Hah yes, infinite. Everyone knows that. Zathras knows that. But…. ah…. Zathras forget what he be saying. Ah, cannot have been important."

"Zathras," G'Kar breathed. "I thought that she…. We…. thought…." He coughed.

"You be thinking Zathras being dead. Ah no. Zathras not as easy to kill as some think. Zathras is hiding. Zathras be hiding himself when nasty telepath woman was distracted, yes. Zathras very smart. Yes. Well, no. Ah, does not matter. Zathras know just what to do."

"Where are you?" G'Kar asked.

There was a motion from within the cryogenic storage box that had brought Susan Ivanova down to the planet. The box was shaking a little, and there was a sound of banging from within. Finally the lid slid back and a small, rodent-like alien scurried free. Garibaldi had met Zathras before, several times, always assuming this was the same Zathras of course.

"See. Zathras know when hide. Is why Zathras still alive." He looked up at the empty Heart, and then at the body on the floor next to it. "Yes. Is not good to leave Machine empty for too long. Bad things happen then. Very bad things. Much badness. Great deal of badness will happen."

"Yeah, yeah," Garibaldi said. "We get the idea. Look, G'Kar, you can't get in there at the moment, right."

The Narn tried to rise, but was quite unable to get to his feet. "No, he cannot," said Ta'Lon. "The Machine requires…. great strength, which unfortunately neither the Ha'Cormar'ah nor I can manage at the moment."

"So let me do it. Look, someone's got to take over that thing, and we've no idea what things are like up on the station."

"But…. Michael," Mary said at last. "What about Lianna? What would she say if she were here?"

"Oh, look, it's not going to be forever. I'll…. do what I have to for the moment, wait for G'Kar to get better, and then I'll hand it back to him. No problem. Besides…. sometimes, I've just…. got to do what's right. I hope my son understands that one day. You've got to do what's right.

"Anyway, there's nothing to worry about. I won't need to be in there forever. You'll be able to take it back later, won't you, G'Kar?"

The Narn bowed his head. "Yes," he said softly.

"Good. Is decided. Hurry hurry."

Garibaldi nodded and stepped forward, looking down at Donne's body uncomfortably. "Uh…. it won't do to me what it did to her, will it?"

"No no," Zathras said. "She…. very bad person. Use Machine wrongly. Machine not like that. You use Machine well, Machine like you."

"Okay…. what do I do?"

"Step…. inside," G'Kar coughed. "Open your mind to it…. let it…. instruct you."

"Uh…. all right." He stepped inside and felt a great warmth embrace him. He reached up with his arms and tried to open his mind, as G'Kar had instructed. As he did so, he caught Mary's eyes. They were angry and accusing, but above all, resigned.

"Are you sure it's working? Nothing seems to be…." His mind filled with light.

"Whoa!"

Londo Mollari took little satisfaction in his current situation, but the one small ray of hope he could find was the knowledge that his campaign would not fall with him. Between them Marrago, Durano, Virini and dear Timov could continue, and somehow bring this planet and their race back from the brink of disaster.

That was one small gleam of optimism. It was not much, but in a situation like this a man took whatever he could get.

He wondered how long he had been imprisoned. There was no light in his cell, and no way to measure the passage of time accurately. That was part of the point of course. He tried to remember the hour it had been when he had left Selini, but working from there left him with only an approximate guess.

The only objective sign of the passage of time was the ranting from the next cell down, or wherever it was coming from. A Shadow Crier no doubt, or a plain simple madman. Durano's agents had reported that some of them had tried to attack the Court and that a couple had been arrested. They had not gone easily, many preferring death to capture. Londo could entirely understand the feeling.

"The Darkness is coming!"

He had little idea of who the Shadow Criers were, or what purpose they claimed to serve. The best Durano's agents and Dugari had been able to discover was that they were a group of madmen, probably all either seers or psi-sensitives. Other than that, and their disturbing propensity for burning themselves alive in public, nothing was known about them. Not a thing.

At some point during the night — if it was still night — the madman stopped shouting. Londo could not remember if that was before or after he had gone to sleep, or even if he had gone to sleep at all. It was hard to tell.

He remembered dreaming about Timov, or…. thinking about her? He did not know. Probably both. Maybe. He missed her, very much. Strange really, considering all the years they had spent apart. He also found himself wondering where Mariel and Daggair were. The last reports had them trying to wrap themselves around Lord Jarno, with varying degrees of success.

The door opened and a dull, muted light filled the room. Londo moaned softly as he shielded his eyes, mumbling curses to himself. Two silhouettes stood framed before him, and two rough arms seized him and hauled him to his feet, propelling him forward.

The corridor was lit, although not well. Still, it caused Londo's eyes some pain before he managed to adjust enough to see the two guards beside him, pushing and prodding him in one direction. Deeper into the prison, he noticed, not away from it. Any hopes of Malachi putting in a word for him evaporated.

But then why would Malachi want to? It was he who had got Londo into this mess in the first place, by framing him for Refa's murder. And it was because he had trusted his old friend that Londo had returned to the capital, and wound up imprisoned instead. He supposed it was his own fault, but he would far rather be guilty of trusting someone too much than of trusting no one at all. Trust was a commodity he had only recently rediscovered, and he found himself rather enjoying it.

He was taken down some winding steps which were even less well lit than the upper corridor. He stumbled and would have fallen, had the guard not roughly grabbed his shoulder, keeping him upright. He was not bound or restrained in any way, but escape was clearly impossible. Even should he somehow manage to get past two guards half his age, he would have to face countless more before getting outside. He should know, he was one of the few nobles ever to have taken an interest in the prison and how it worked.

There was one room at the bottom of these stairs, and he knew full well what it was. He tried to breathe, but the air seemed so thick here. This had always been a possibility, but he had tried not to believe in it.

At the bottom of the stairs there was the door, a massive, dark, imposing gateway to what could very well be another world. There was a faint light just above it, and the flickering shadows only seemed to heighten his sense of despair.

I am not a hero. I just tried to do what was right, what I knew to be right. I'm not a hero. Damn you, Malachi, what have you done?

The guards stopped and one of them opened the door. There was no creak as it swung open, no sound at all in fact. Londo was pushed inside and the guards followed him, closing the door behind them.

Just over the threshold, Londo took in the scene. He had never been in here before, but he could surmise what would happen. He had tried to have this place closed down, but to no avail. It had been used only rarely in recent years, and had generally been reserved for the truly special cases. The False Prophet had allegedly died in considerable agony in this room.

In the middle of the room, suspended from the ceiling by chains and hooks and rope, was a man Londo did not recognise. But then, looking at the state of his mutilation, he doubted the man's own sweetheart would have recognised him now. From the rags of clothing he wore he seemed to be a commoner, but there was really not enough evidence remaining to be certain.

Just behind the hanging man was another man. An innocuous figure, dressed plainly, looking so average and normal he would not be out of place on any street…. the high torturer of the Court. By tradition a younger member of the Imperial Family was appointed to the position, more often than not against their will. All who served the Emperor had to be willing to do anything for him, the saying went, and that applied to the infliction of pain just as much it did to the killing of enemies.

And in the shadows at the far corner of the room was a small figure. Petite and not unattractive, she moved forward, lifting her long dress carefully to avoid the noxious mess of fluid and dirt on the floor.

"Londo, dear," she said. "A pleasure to see you again. We didn't really get much of a chance last time. I thought you might need a little…. time to think."

"I've had enough time to think these last few months, Elrisia," he said, feeling his hearts sink.

"Yes. We've been hearing all about your…. activities down south. Most impressive. Oh, by the way, thank you for murdering my husband for me. I'd been planning to do it myself, but I was just waiting for the right time."

He snorted, and bowed his head. "How was Refa's funeral anyway? I'm sorry to have missed it."

"Oh, the usual. Lying platitudes about what a great man he was, how we shall not see his like again, blah blah blah. A bunch of lying hypocrites who were glad to see him go. And I was one of them, I'll freely admit. I didn't speak, you know. I was just too…. grief-stricken to find the words. You'd have been very proud of me, Londo. I used those acting lessons very well."

"I didn't kill him, you know," he said, ignoring the reminder of their past. "Refa, I mean."

"I'm not surprised. You're far too…. honourable to have done anything like that. I don't really care who did, to be honest. The list of suspects, my dear Londo, is as long as your hair."

Londo shook his head. He knew who had killed Refa, but Elrisia evidently did not. He would not tell her. Not yet anyway. He knew that in this place anyone would reveal their deepest, darkest secrets with merely the right amount of persuasion.

"Have you brought me here to torture me, Elrisia?"

"In a manner of speaking. Actually, there are two things I want to do to you." She walked up close to him, very close. She released her hold on her dress and let the folds fall to the floor. Reaching out, she touched his face with surprising gentleness and bent down to him.

He knew better than to try to shy away from her, but he tried to respond to her kiss as little as possible. It was hard. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, and memories of certain events in their past kept returning to him. He tried to think of Timov.

Elrisia bit his lip savagely and pulled away. He swore, spitting blood. She backed away from him carefully, smoothing out her dress. "I know you too well, Londo," she said, a trifle breathlessly. "I am the only woman you are ever going to see down here, and before long I will be the only woman you'll remember even in your mind. With every thought, I want you to think of me, and the chance you could have had if only you'd been strong enough to take it."

"If I'd been strong enough to take it," he shouted, "I'd be dead in Refa's grave by now! I knew what you were then, Elrisia, and I still know what you are now."

She laughed, and made a casual gesture with her hand. One of the guards struck Londo in the small of the back, and he collapsed with a cry. At Elrisia's signal, they pulled him to his feet. "And I know you, Londo. Always the romantic, the idealist, the dreamer. Well…. dear Londo, let me show you what a dream has done to our world."

The guards pulled him forward towards the centre of the room, and held his head so that he was staring directly into the face of the suspended prisoner. The man's eyes were closed, and he looked unconscious.

"This man calls himself a Shadow Crier. The guards picked him up after he gave a speech in the Old Quarter several days ago. He was calling for the downthrow of the Court, but he was speaking with an intense madness. He's made a number of startling accusations, most of which he's recanted now. Isn't it amazing what can be done with a little effort? But there is one thing he cannot recant, which he will be willing to show you.

"This man, Londo, was your companion in your cell corridor. I'm sure you'll have heard him. He's quite, quite mad, and it wasn't our…. attentions that turned him that way. He's seen something, and now so will you.

"Wake him up."

The torturer gave a silent sign of acknowledgement, and raised a hideous-looking device. Moments later the Shadow Crier awoke with an anguished cry. "The Darkness is coming…." he breathed. "The…. Darkness…."

"Show him," Elrisia ordered.

The Shadow Crier's eyes seemed to dilate and twitch, changing colour and shape and form, drawing Londo into them. Londo's head was held tightly by the guards, but he would not have been able to tear his gaze away even had he been free. The sight was mesmerising.

And then he was inside them….

The Darkness is coming!

The Darkness!

He was standing staring up at the sky, a sky filled with smoke and fog and shimmering, moving Darkness. He could hear the sky screaming, a scream that cut to his soul, to old memories and older dreams.

Lights began to blaze in the heavens, moving against the Darkness. Another noise arose, harsh, invasive music, a chord that pierced his soul and left him in agony.

The Darkness was the scream, and the Light was the music. He knew that much. They were warring, fighting for this world, for these souls. The Darkness had arrived first, would come here soon, and the Light was trying to drive it away.

He was suddenly aflame, as the Light retreated and the Darkness claimed him. His mind opened to them, and he could hear their whispers. Fire was the tool, he knew that. Fire, and chaos.

Let the lords of chaos rule. Let the fire claim all it touched.

He laughed as he set himself alight, burning, and watching the heavens. It was not far off now, this battle for his planet and his soul, and the Darkness would be here soon. Very soon.

"The Darkness….

"…. is coming!" he screamed, realising that the vision had faded. He was breathing fast, too fast. He was shaking.

"You saw it, Londo," Elrisia said. "You saw his madness, and now you've taken a part of it into yourself. You'll be one of them before long, and if you aren't, I'll make sure you succumb. Won't that be nice, hmm? To sit alone in your cell, crying out to the Darkness, weeping constantly, thinking of me always. A fitting reward, Londo."

"Have you…. seen…. it?"

"No, but I know what it is, and I'll stop it. When the time is right, Londo. I'll claim this planet for my own, but only when I feel like doing so. I have the power to save this world, Londo, with something as simple as order and peace…. but I won't use it. Not yet. Not for a while. Let it burn first, and pick up the ashes."

"What do you mean? Elrisia, you can't…."

"Oh, I can. I can do anything I want. You taught me that. You, and Refa. Goodbye, Londo…. for the moment at least."

Hours later, when only the Shadow Crier remained in the room, trapped both by his chains and by his madness, the door opened again and a lone figure entered.

"Hello again," he said. "I understand you had visitors recently. Did you show them what you showed me?"

Blood filled the Shadow Crier's mouth and he let it dribble from between his lips, not saying anything. He had probably not enough sanity left to be able to utter anything but that one refrain, and the new arrival had heard that often enough in recent days.

"I suppose you did. It doesn't matter." He walked to the centre of the room, heedless of what he was stepping into, or over. Lesser worries were for lesser people.

"Show me. Again."

The prisoner continued to drool blood, but in his eyes, and in his mind, something stirred, again. Prince Cartagia felt his hearts quicken in anticipation, as he was once again projected into a world that not even his demented mind could have envisaged unaided. He stood there for many minutes, basking in the glory of the visions, whispering the words of the Shadow Crier's prophecy to himself.

Then, the vision over and the prisoner slumping back into unconsciousness, Cartagia left. There was no sign of his presence there, no trace of his parting….

John Sheridan broke into a run the instant he left the shuttle, racing for Babylon 4's Command and Control. Corwin followed at a brisk walk. They had been met in the docking bay by a group of Narn Rangers, many sporting fresh wounds or hasty bandages.

The first person Sheridan saw on the command deck was Delenn. Without slowing his pace he ran to her and hugged her, lifting her up into the air. She smiled and kissed him intensely, holding on to him even as he let her down.

"What's the status here?" he asked, not taking his eyes from hers.

"The men Captain Smith left on board are secure," she replied. "We have had no word from the planet. We were just on the point of sending another party down there to investigate."

"A good idea," he said, and she smiled. "Do you know anything about whether Bester was involved there or not?"

"No. Not for sure."

"Well, whether he was or not, I think we've pretty much cut all our ties to Sanctuary now." He broke his gaze away from her to look at Corwin, just arriving. He was talking with the leader of the group of Rangers, a Narn named G'Dok.

"You have a place at Kazomi Seven," she said. "All of you, and Mr. Bester can…." She paused, and blushed. "G'Dok, what word from the Babylon?"

"Captain Smith has surrendered and will be brought back on board as soon as possible. The shuttle to the surface is also being prepared."

She nodded. "We have to…." She started, and there were gasps and the gentle sound of drawn swords from the Rangers.

A holographic Michael Garibaldi appeared before them. "Uh…. hi," he said, somewhat awkwardly. "This thing ain't easy, you know."

"Where is the Ha'Cormar'ah?" snapped G'Dok.

"He's alive. Ta'Lon as well, although they're both in bad shape. A medical shuttle would be a nice idea, as soon as possible. Don't worry about me. I'm only a fill-in. He can have this thing back as soon as he wants it. But…. we've got a problem here. A big one."

"You don't say," Corwin replied.

Vorlon ships were hardly commonplace anywhere in the galaxy, at least not in the areas occupied by the younger races. Other than their unexpected and largely unexplained arrival at the Battle of the Second Line at Proxima 3 a year and a half ago, sightings had been extremely rare and often disputed.

What was not disputed was that, a little less than a year ago, one such Vorlon ship had arrived at Kazomi 7, at a time when the United Alliance had barely flown from its nest. Someone had disembarked, a human by all accounts, however absurd such accounts were. He had spent some time on the planet and had then left. No one on the planet had seen the Vorlon itself.

Another Vorlon ship had now arrived. It was in fact the same one, although no one was aware of this. But for two people on the planet, touched more intimately by the Vorlons than almost any other, this arrival was not a surprise.

The Alliance council was hastily summoned, with much debate about who was to chair it in the absence of both Delenn and Lethke. Vizhak, Drazi Minister of the Interior, was eventually elected. Valen was formally requested to attend the meeting, although he had no official capacity on the Council. He insisted on Catherine attending also, and no one dared to contradict him. Vejar the technomage declined to attend. He was in fact, as later testimonies would reveal, conspicuous only by his absence throughout the Vorlon's stay on the planet.

When the Vorlon swept majestically into the Council chamber, there was a single united gasp of sheer awe. Valen rose to his feet, recognising something familiar in some way he could not identify. Catherine remained seated.

"We bid you welcome to our world," said Vizhak, in a moment of uncharacteristic politeness. "It is good to know our…. messages…. were…. received…." The Vorlon seemed to be ignoring him, staring — if that was the right word — at Valen and Catherine.

Then, after a moment of agonising silence, the Vorlon's headpiece nodded once as if in satisfaction. He surveyed the others in attendance. Vizhak, the representatives from the Abbai, Llort and Mutai, even the new Narn Ambassador, who was seemingly on the verge of apoplexy.

the Vorlon said.