Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 4 : Будущее, рожденное в боли.

Chapter 1

Where am I?

My home. This is where you were aiming for, after all.

I don't feel any pain. I remember.... being wounded.

Pain.... is a transitory thing. All things are transitory in their own way, but the pain of the flesh most of all. The pain of the soul, however.... well, that can last a very long time indeed. You know that better than any, Delenn of Mir. Almost as well as I do.

You are the.... friend.... Ivanova spoke of.

I cannot say whether I am anyone's 'friend' or not, but yes, I am the one she spoke of. I have been trying to contact her for some time. I could sense her troubled soul, and I knew she would bring you here. I have been waiting for this meeting, or one like it. Waiting for.... a very long time.

Where is Ivanova? I.... don't see her.

She is sleeping. Without dreams. It has been a long time since she last did that. She will awaken soon enough, but she would not thank either of us for waking her now.

No, I do not think she would. It is strange.... I used to.... well, not hate her, but I knew she was the Enemy. She worked for them of her own free will. She tried to kill me, she tried to kill John. And yet all I can feel for her is pity. Can you explain that?

Indeed I can. You are learning. I might even suspect that was the reason you were sent here, if I did not know better.

Why was I sent here?

Who can say? The Vorlons sent you here to die. You sent yourself here so that another might live. The universe sent you here.... Who is either of us to question the will of the universe? We are both just children born of her, after all. Perhaps you were sent here to meet me.

And who are you?

That question again. I very much doubt anyone can answer that truly, not even you, for all your claims. I could give you any one of countless answers, but if I were to tell you my name is Lorien, and I am very old indeed.... would that satisfy you?

It might. I do not recognise your race, but there is something familiar. You do not look like a Soul Hunter, and yet there is something there....

No, I am not a Soul Hunter, although I do know of their breed. I see that Cathedral has returned to the doings of the younger races, and that the Well of Souls has spoken to mortal beings again.

Are the Soul Hunters themselves not mortal?

After a fashion.

Wait.... are you saying that the Soul Hunters were not meant to be a part of this? This was not their destiny?

What is destiny? You accept the concept as if the future were written out as plain as day, words on a page, engravings on a stone slab. I can see some of the things laid out before me, but not all. No, Delenn of Mir, I was not expecting the Soul Hunters to return to the doings of the younger races for another thousand years at least, but it seems I was wrong. I have heard the Well of Souls speak to young Primarch Sinoval. I have heard my children within the Well.... they are a part of me even now, you know. Primarch Sinoval.... he denies destiny, and he spurns his doom. He makes his own way. I cannot tell if he is walking a hero's path, or a fool's.

Your children...? You are a First One?

To an extent. I am the First One. The first living being spun out of the fabric of the universe, all those years ago. Time seems to have sped up recently. It moved so slowly back then.

You are immortal?

I am. We are all immortal, in our own ways.

What do you mean? Am I.... dead?

No. Your wounds would not have been fatal in any event. At least, not to you. I did what I could to repair them, little mother. A simple matter of the manipulation of energies.

Then what is to happen to me?

That.... is for you to decide. You were warned that you would have to make a choice, were you not?

Yes.... Yes.... the technomages.... they told me....

This is where you must choose.

Choose between what? I don't understand!

Not yet. You must see things first. You must revisit the past, and maybe even a glimpse of the future you think is written in stone.

Stones can be shattered.

Exactly. Come now.... look.... and learn....

He was not stopped at customs. In fact no one seemed to notice him as he breezed past the usual array of tourists, businessmen, soldiers, refugees and journalists. Why would anyone notice him, after all? He had not been particularly famous or renowned when he was alive. Oh, some small recognition in his chosen field, but it was a small and closed field at best.

And now, after his 'death', people had a tendency not to notice him. That had got him out of a fair number of predicaments, and even a cell or two.

Fortunately for Mr. Morden, people could see him sufficiently well for him to stop a taxi. He smiled at the driver and got inside. He had been away for quite a while, but some things never changed.

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver.

Sir? Morden was impressed, and made a mental note to give a bigger than usual tip. His associates could afford it, and respect like that deserved to be rewarded. "Sector One-one-one, the Edgars Building."

"Right you are, sir. Had you figured for a business type the instant I saw you, so I did. Just come in from offworld, huh? Been doing some business at Beta Durani, or out in the Vega system, perhaps?"

"A bit further than that, actually."

"Ah, with the aliens, eh? That musta been exciting. We get a few aliens through here. Narns, mostly, although not as many as we used to. Which is all for the good if you ask me. I mean, yeah, we've had some help from aliens in the past, but we shouldn't have to go grovelling to other races for a bit of help now, should we?"

"I guess not," he replied, faintly amused.

"Now that's what I like about these allies of ours. We don't have to grovel. They want to help us, and don't ask a single damned thing in return. They just want to help, they say. Hey, you been offworld a while. You won't have seen their flyby at New Year, will you?"

"No, I'm afraid I didn't."

"Hot damn, you really missed something, sir. That was impressive, seeing all those ships pass by overhead.... it sure was something. My Rosa.... that's the missus, twenty years the ball and chain, eh? Well, my Rosa said they creeped her out, and I sorta get what she meant, but they were still impressive. We've got nothing to fear from them anyway. They're our allies, right?"

"Looks can be deceiving."

"That's right, that's what I was telling her. Yeah, they do look a bit scary I guess, but they're just different from us. Just 'cause they look weird, that don't mean they ain't our friends."

"Exactly."

"So, you gonna be on Proxima long?"

"I'm not really sure. I've got some business to deal with, and then I might be heading out."

"Ah well, while you're here, if you get time you wanna go down to the cinema screens. They got a damned good one at Meadowhall Dome. Yeah, I know, you can get all the films at home with that virtual reality, surround sound rubbish, but you can't beat a good night out at the cinema, popcorn an' all. Anyway, last week, me and Rosa, we went down to see that new film Wandering Star. Damned good, it was. Starred that Barringer fellow. It'd get an Oscar or two, I reckon.... or at least it would, if they were still doing Oscars. A crying shame, that was. I mean, we need some field of achievement, don't we? No matter what you do, you need something to aim for, you need someone to reach out and grab the medal, the statue.... whatever."

"The field of human achievement," Morden said. "A never-ending struggle for self-improvement."

"That's it in a nutshell, sir. We need something to aim for. Reckon the Minbari took that from us, but we're getting it back. They started up the baseball again. You a baseball fan, sir?"

"I used to be. I haven't really had time to keep up with things recently."

"Ah. Well, if you're a betting man, I've put a couple of creds on the Swashbucklers. Proxima team. My cousin's in the team, you know. Well, third cousin a couple of times removed or something, but hey, family's family, right? People don't believe me when I tell them that, but it's true."

"I believe you."

"Well, thanks, sir. It's always nice to get a real gentleman in the cab. I mean, I had to change routes because all I ever got were the students at the Medical and Law Colleges down in Sector Two-four-five. Awful they were. Singing and capering around, and throwing up all the time. Well, I needed the money, mind, but I much prefer this route. It's nice to have someone to talk to who can say something serious. I mean, the kids o' today, they don't know what it was like all those years during the war. Here we are, just got things back on track after all that time of hard work, all that loss, and those kids act like they don't have to work for nothing any more. A lot of them don't know what it's like to go through all that, or if they did, they've forgotten. I mean, me and Rosa, our kids might be at university now.... if they were still alive, you know. The eldest one died at Orion, and our little girl.... well, she starved to death the following winter. Parents aren't meant to outlive their children, you know. There's something just.... wrong about it all. You got any children, sir?"

"No.... I.... I guess I just never met anyone I loved enough to have children with."

"Ah, you'll find someone, sir. I'm sure of it. One of them classy businesswomen types, I'm sure. Had one of them in the back of my cab.... Heh heh, just kidding. Little cabbie's humour. Well, you've got to laugh at some things, don't you? If you don't laugh, you cry, ain't that the truth?"

"Oh, undoubtedly."

"Well, here we are, sir. Edgars Building, just like you asked." The taxi came to a halt. "It's been a real pleasure driving you, sir, you know that. You're not like most of these types I get."

"Thank you," Morden said, genuinely pleased. He handed over his credit chit. "Take an extra ten percent. Take the wife out for a meal or something."

"Why, thanks, sir. Real generous of you, sir. If you ever need another ride anywhere, just give me a call. Pleasure taking you anywhere. There's my card and everything. Good luck with your business, sir."

"Thank you," he said, taking back the card and stepping out of the taxi. The Edgars Building, headquarters of Interplanetary Expeditions. He sighed, and began to trot up the steps to the front door. He wondered if the old man himself would be in.

He began to whistle to himself. It was good to be home.

Sinoval took slow, deep breaths, trying to remember all the meditative techniques he had learned in his youth from Sech Durhan. There had been times he had derided meditation as a priestling excuse to sit down for a while and not do any work, but now he understood the need for a mental and emotional equilibrium, a chance to calm and quieten himself, to soothe his soul and ready himself for the rigours ahead.

Unfortunately, while priestlings were very good at meditating in quiet places, a warrior used different techniques, concentrating on his weapon and the motions and passions of combat; the knowledge that he would be required to give his life for his people, to defend them to his last breath, past the exhaustion of his flesh....

Warrior caste meditation required his weapon, and these days Stormbringer did not bring much aid in that regard. The Well of Souls might be more helpful, but after his last journey there, he had been uncomfortable. He could feel the winds of fate and the future rising up before him, rushing into a hurricane. He would soon be standing in its eye.

He did not believe in fate, or destiny. Such things were shaped by the will and actions of mortal beings. There was nothing written that had to come to pass, no true prophecies of the future, nothing that could not be changed.

An aide came up to him. A Brakiri. "The Council is ready to see you now," she said. She did not seem visibly intimidated by him, which made him smile. It was good to see courage in his allies.

He had been on Kazomi 7 for some days now, making deals, visiting the dignitaries one by one, ascertaining their allegiances, their beliefs. He had spoken to Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar and Emperor Londo Mollari, and to members of G'Kar's Rangers who more than lived up to their Minbari antecedents. He had held meetings with Minister Lethke, and Taan Churok, and Ambassador G'Kael. He had gone to seek counsel from the technomage Vejar, and issued a warning to the Vorlon Ambassador Ulkesh.

Now he was ready to meet the Council as a whole, to present to them his information about the true reasons for Delenn's disappearance. He would expose the Vorlons for what they were and win over the support of the Alliance, becoming their leader in the war against both Shadow and Vorlon, and against any and all who would seek to oppose them.

He walked forward into the room. The Council was indeed waiting for him. Those who had been here when the Alliance had been formed, visiting dignitaries such as the Centauri Emperor, Ambassadors from foreign powers. There were five spaces empty.

One, at the head of the table, was for Delenn herself. Sinoval looked at the empty chair and felt a resurgence of the great anger he had experienced when receiving her message. Hopefully Sheridan would return with her, both of them back safe.

The second empty space was obviously Sheridan's, or that of his second. There was a human sitting beside it, one Sinoval did not recognise. He looked ill-at-ease, and paled before Sinoval's gaze. A nonentity.

The third belonged to the other Drazi representative on the Council — Vizhak. He had been away for some weeks, visiting the Drazi homeworld on diplomatic business. He was expected back soon.

Vejar was not here. He had rarely been seen in public since the Vorlon had arrived, for reasons known only to himself. He had made it clear to Sinoval that he would not come to this meeting. They had spoken some days ago, and had shared mystical and unclear premonitions of the future.

And there was also a large Vorlon-shaped hole in the corner of the room. Ulkesh was not here. Sinoval was not surprised, but he did wonder what the Vorlon was planning. Whatever it was, it would not be enough.

He walked to the head of the room and turned to face the Council. Then he began to speak.

You remember this, don't you?

I.... I remember.

You were angry. Filled with a great and terrible rage. One you loved dearly had died in your arms, the victim of an unprovoked and savage attack. You did not stop to think.... There was no time for thought. All those meditation rituals he had taught you, everything you knew about how to control your emotions, your rage.... all forgotten, all lost.

I remember.

And so you condemned a world and a people. An entire race of sentient beings, children of the universe, just like you and me.

I remember! How often must I relive this? How many times...? Haven't I paid enough by now? Haven't we all paid enough? It was a mistake! It was a terrible mistake.... Just how.... when will I be forgiven? <sorrow>

Ah, but who can forgive you? Not I, certainly. I have seen the karmic wheel turn, and spin, and revolve. You took their world, and they took yours. You destroyed their hopes and dreams, and they found new ones in the destruction of all that you are. You have suffered greatly, more than any sentient being could and still survive, I feel. And yet I feel there is more suffering ahead.

I'm sorry. I've been sorry for that day for the last fifteen years.... but when.... when will we have paid?

Payment? Ah, but for what? For destroying their homeworld and killing so many billions? Well, they ruined your world and killed so many of your people. Perhaps the scales are balanced now. How many of them did you kill? How many of you did they kill? A matter of numbers, I suppose it comes down to.

That's not what I meant.

No. I know. For your decision taken in great wrath, for the destruction of their world.... If the universe decrees you have suffered enough, then so be it. Certainly there is great wisdom in forgiving, and looking to the future rather than remaining fixated on the past. Ah.... but you have done more than that, more than just destroy their past.

What? What do you mean?

You have destroyed their future as well. And to save it.... perhaps you will have to sacrifice yours.

"So," said the old man as his visitor stepped inside the office. "How was Centauri Prime?"

"A little disordered," said Morden. "But that's normal for the time of year."

The old man smiled. "It's good to have you back here. It's just not the same without anyone to talk to. Oh, there's Zento of course, but he's too busy running the public side of the place, making sure we get all the funds and influence we need to.... to do the real work. I don't think he really believes, anyway. It's a game to him. The money's just a way of keeping score." The old man shook his head sadly. "No, he doesn't see the.... the true cause behind this. He doesn't understand."

"How many people ever do?" asked Morden. "How many people even want to?"

"Right as ever, my friend. I'm sorry. I must be depressing you. Here, do you want some orange juice? They've tried growing some oranges in the farming zones outside the Fourth Dome. I fear they haven't quite perfected the process yet, but they're getting there. Slowly. It still costs a fortune, of course."

"No, thank you. I'm afraid my stomach is still full from all that brivare they stuffed down my throat on Centauri Prime." Morden made a face. "Absolutely revolting stuff. I don't know how they stomach it."

"Just one of the many hardships we have to suffer in the name of our great cause."

"True enough, and I suppose compared to their cells and their politicking it wasn't so much of a burden."

The old man sat down, and Morden sat opposite him. He was cradling a glass of orange juice, and making wistful smiles as he sipped at it. "So, just how was Centauri Prime? Did the Emperor accept our offer?"

"No. He's come down with a bad case of social conscience. The.... troubles we found out about in the middle of last year were more severe than we'd guessed. Things are quite bad there. Improving now of course, but still problematic. I thought that the Emperor would be willing to agree to anything that would help him, but.... it seems I underestimated him. I won't do that again."

"He drove a hard bargain?"

"Worse than that. He flat out refused to commit to anything that might beggar his people in the long run. A very canny man. I actually sort of like him."

"And what about.... them?"

"Ah." Morden's easy tone evaporated. "Not so good. Someone at the Court has been in negotiation with them. I can make an educated guess, but there's no solid evidence, just circumstantial. I'm convinced Mollari doesn't know a thing about it. After all he's seen, there's no way he'd make a deal with them, especially if he turned down an alliance with us.

"No, I'm inclined to think someone's either trying to gain a little personal power in the new system, or that they're genuinely trying to save the people, and don't want the Emperor's conscience getting in the way. A.... fairly sizeable fleet of Shadow ships came to defend Centauri Prime when the Narns attacked. Shortly afterwards I was arrested and imprisoned."

"How were the cells there?"

Morden flashed a smile. "A nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. Fortunately, we do have a friend in the Court. He got me out, and.... well, everyone else just had a great deal of problems seeing me."

"What about the seeresses? How many are still alive?"

"Of any real power.... I'm betting on none, although one or two might have escaped. The troubles last year were marked by an extreme psionic backlash across the whole planet. The seeresses and telepaths fell apart completely, and those with the strength to endure the turmoil were soon murdered in the rioting." The old man swore. "My sentiments exactly. I knew the Enemy was trying to stamp them out after Lady Morella's.... death, but I was in no way expecting them to be able to swamp the whole planet."

"It spread chaos, and lots of it. They've always been partial to that."

"Indeed. It also pushed the Centauri closer to an alliance with them. I wouldn't be surprised if they were expecting someone more like Cartagia to take over. He'd have been quite happy to make a permanent deal with them. As it turns out however, he was too clever for their own good, and they're stuck with Mollari."

"How many of their.... devices are on the planet?"

"No way of telling. I managed to locate the first creature when I was there a few years ago, back when Lady Morella was killed. Some of the nobles there had been only too happy to open negotiations with a new trading race. It was the Vree, by the way, I found that out. Some of their merchant caste had made a deal with the Enemy via the Drakh. Anyway, the Vree merchants sold on the psionic devices to the nobles, telling them that they would prevent telepathic scans of their estates. As you can imagine, they were bought up by the barrel-load. When they were ready the Shadows activated them, and people all over the planet started to go mad."

"One of the same devices that killed Lady Morella?"

"Well, one of the things that encouraged her maid to do it, and then to kill herself afterwards. Lady Morella was a bit too powerful and too well connected for their liking, I suspect. After I found and destroyed the device, things calmed down. And then of course I was suspected of murdering Morella and thought it prudent to be away from Centauri Prime for a while.

"While I was gone, they must have kept dropping the devices all over the place. One of the more nastier elements of their biotechnology. Alive, sentient and psionically very powerful. The Enemy turned them all on at once, and the entire planet fell apart. Things are quieter now. I'm not sure if the devices were found and destroyed, or if they've got what they wanted with the whole thing and are happy to stop frying everything on Centauri Prime.

"Still, I'll say one thing for the place though," he added with a smile. "Primarch Sinoval was a very long way away."

"Him again. Oh yes, we are going to have to do something about him."

"It's just a matter of direction, surely? He's not allied with us, and he certainly isn't allied with them. Set him after the Enemy, and then we can sit back and watch the fur fly. He's arrogant enough to think he can storm the gates of Z'ha'dum by himself, and maybe lucky enough to do it as well."

"And that, no doubt, is exactly what the Enemy will be planning."

"He's a direct sort of person," Morden said, musing for a moment. "One of the reasons he dislikes our side is that he can't stand what he perceives as our manipulation of his people, his to rule. Given that we've written them all off as a bad job, if we just ducked low and stayed out of his way for a while, he's more likely to focus his efforts on Sonovar and the Enemy."

"That is not too likely, I am afraid. He was confirmed as being on Kazomi Seven this week."

"Ah.... That's not good."

"I think you might be overestimating his abilities."

"I've met him. Trust me on this. He may not have the power to destroy everything we've built, but he thinks he has, and he's certainly willing to try. Just how likely is he to stumble over our activities there?"

"You've met him. You tell me."

Morden moaned. "Is there anywhere we can count on? I have this vision of everything falling apart."

"Well.... something's going according to plan anyway. We finished the construction here last month."

"Ah." Morden smiled. "That is good news. Can I see it?"

"Certainly. Come right this way."

"I come here.... in a spirit of alliance and co-operation. That is after all the meaning of this place, is it not? Different races allied together for mutual advantage, a shelter together from the raging storms that crash and wail in the galaxy outside us.

"But no matter how we try to hide from it, the storm will find us out in the end. No shelter can last forever, no wall can endure an onslaught indefinitely. The storm will come here.

"No doubt you will try to fight it. I will try to fight it. We might even do so together. What will it cost us to win? What has it cost us so far? Minbar? The Great Machine? Babylon Four?

"Delenn...?

"But what if we win? Victory is not impossible, not at all. We managed it a thousand years ago, and we can manage it now. So we win, and we return to our homes, to our shelters and our walls....

"And the greater Enemy arises. The storm that builds slowly within our walls, the storm that waits for the winds outside to die down before destroying everything within."

"I assume you are speaking of the Vorlons, Primarch Sinoval?"

Sinoval turned his gaze to Minister Lethke, who had spoken. The Brakiri had a reputation for considerable shrewdness and political acumen. Sinoval had certainly seen that when they had met a few days ago. He had told Lethke a little more than he had told the others, although not as much as Mollari or G'Kar.

"I am indeed."

"The Vorlons are our allies," said Lethke. "They have offered us their assistance against the Shadows."

"For their own purposes. You, I.... everyone, we are caught in the middle of a conflict between Vorlon and Shadow. What does it matter if we defeat the one, only to be enslaved by the other?"

"You may well be right, Primarch," spoke up a soft voice, and Sinoval looked at Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. He had been notably inconspicuous since he and Mollari had visited the Well of Souls. This was the first time they had been in the same room since.

"It is certainly possible the Vorlons are but using us in their war with the Shadows. Certainly, some of their behaviour has been.... erratic, not to mention questionable." Sinoval knew what he was referring to. G'Kar knew the truth, as did he and Mollari and as the technomage. Delenn had gone to Z'ha'dum, not abducted by a Shadow agent as many chose to believe, but at the order of the Vorlons.

"However, we cannot win this war without their aid. We have tried, and we have done.... better than I dared dream. Our very presence here is proof enough that we have achieved some triumphs.

"But I have seen the fleets of the Enemy. I was a part of the Great Machine for over two years, and all its vast power was mine. The Machine could not hold against the forces of the Enemy. If all that ancient, wondrous technology fell.... then how can we be expected to win without the aid of the Vorlons?"

"We have Cathedral."

"Soul Hunters," said Taan Churok. "You ask us to trust takers of souls over Vorlons? You ask us to believe in those who deny the warriors their paths to Droshalla's kingdom?"

"The Soul Hunters do not imprison anything or anyone. I have made a bargain with them, on terms both of us have agreed to. They mean you no harm, not now, not while I live, and not after I am gone."

"Certain of that, are you?"

"It does not matter who can be trusted more," spoke up G'Kar. "I have.... thought greatly on what you said at our last meeting, Primarch Sinoval, and on what I saw.... We need the Vorlons. Without them we will all be dead, if not today then tomorrow. Surely their price is not.... not too high a price to pay for our lives."

"And if it is?"

"If it is, then we will deal with that later.... when the time comes. But for this moment, for this instant, we need them."

"I think the Primarch.... may have some wisdom," spoke up Londo suddenly. Sinoval looked at the Centauri Emperor. His initial assessment had been proved wrong, and he had been forced to re-evaluate it. There was hidden strength within the man, and a greater wisdom than was readily apparent. However, he would always put the needs of his people first. A fine and laudable aim.... but it would end up crippling everything all of them fought for.

"I turned down an alliance with the Vorlons, because their.... representative did not offer as much as he seemed to. I was wary about becoming involved in this war, and I still am. Shadow and Vorlon, elder races all.... let them fight. Why can we not pull back and leave them to it, and say good riddance to both of them? Let us work together to create peace, not a furtherance of bloody war."

"Centauri cowardice," muttered Taan Churok under his breath.

"You know me," replied Mollari angrily. "I was here, on this planet. I saw the suffering the Drakh caused to the people here. I lived through it every bit as much as you did! Do not call me a coward.

"Yes, I have seen the evil of the Drakh, but they are gone now, their fleet destroyed, yes? So it was I heard. Why do we fight against their masters? We have built a peace from the Drakh invasion. Can we not be satisfied with that, and work on?"

"No," said Sinoval. "I wish we could, but neither Shadow nor Vorlon will leave us alone. They war, not with fleets or weapons or soldiers as we do, but through us. They toy with us, directing us to wars, manipulating us to conflicts, to alliances, to chains we cannot throw off until it is too late.

"We must be rid of them both.

"I have something to show you all.... Something to prove that I mean what I say." He gently laid the holographic projector on the table in front of him. He did not want to do this. He did not want to relive Delenn's last message one more time, to look at the face of her compassion and her courage and her self-sacrifice.

But he had to.

"No!" said a voice. "You mean nothing of what you say."

It was Vizhak. He stormed into the room, his face in a black fury. "I hear you come here. I hear you come here to talk of peace. I hear these things while on homeworld.

"And while on homeworld, I hear of Drazi ships attacked. Drazi merchant ships attacked. Carrying food and medicine for wounded Drazi soldiers.

"Drazi ships attacked by Minbari ships."

Why did you come here?

You know why.

Humour an old, old man. Why did you come here?

That was the price the Vorlons demanded of me to save John. I had to come here in payment for them curing him. I.... hoped to do as much damage here as I could before I died, but.... the technomages betrayed me. You know all this, surely.

Yes, I do. But that was not the question I asked. I know you came here to save another, but why?

Why? How can you ask that? I love him!

Is it truly love? Or merely guilt? Remember his wife, dead all these years. Remember his world, his friends.

I love him!

A true love?

Yes!

Such that you would give your life for his?

Yes! I came here. Surely that proves as much?

It was not guilt, then? Not a means of compensation for everything you have done to him and his people?

....

Ah. Silence. Have you ever thought about that?

Yes. I have.... wondered.... Sometimes. I do love him. I do.

But were you willing to give your life for his out of this love, or because of your sense of guilt?

I love him.... but.... these times need him more than me. Kazomi Seven needs a warrior now, not a healer. I am not a warrior. John is.

And when the war is over, if it ever can be over.... When you win, what then? Who will be left to heal the wounds of the war?

But without the warriors, we will never win. I have thought of all this.

Perhaps. What of Neroon?

He is dead, isn't he?

Yes.

Could you save him?

I cannot create life. Only the universe can do that, but yes.... I suppose I could save him, extend his life for a brief period, repair damage and heal wounds, but he would not thank either of us if I did. His doom was set, you know.

You said nothing was written in stone.

Nothing is. Nothing is inevitable, but I have seen his soul, his pattern. He would die sooner or later. All beings do. This is the way he would have wished to die, a true warrior's death, defending his true love.

He still loved me, then?

He did.

And he died because of me. Another one.

Another death at your door? I suppose so. All beings die eventually.

Except you.

Ah. True, but then, just as all beings die, so are all beings immortal. Neroon's soul has returned to the universe, gone back to the weave to be threaded and given form once more. Mortal beings gain immortality through their children, or through their rebirth. I am immortal simply because I am not yet dead. My people.... are not reborn, as yours are.

Why not?

A sacrifice we made long ago. A necessary one. I am the last of my people, the last one left. I chose to remain here, to observe and to wait.

To wait? For me?

For someone. For a meeting. This meeting. Soon I will be able to rest. But there are some things that must be done first.

What things?

Ah.... that very much depends on you.

"Ow!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby."

"Are you deliberately trying to cause me the maximum amount of pain possible?"

"Trust me, you'd know if I was."

Dexter Smith was used to pain, or so he thought. In his childhood he had been shot at, stabbed, punched, pushed off things and pushed on to things. In his adult life he had been pushed to the limits of endurance in his training in Earthforce and in his time as a soldier and captain. And more recently he had been stabbed and punched in a particularly unpleasant fight with a group of thugs.

But none of that compared to the tender loving care of his companion.

"How come you never got hurt anyway?" he asked.

"Maybe they didn't want to hurt a lady?" Talia said with a smile. "Or maybe they underestimated me. People tend to do that around me, I can't think why."

"I never will. Ow!"

"Oh, stop it. I think that was a compliment, was it?"

"Not as such. I learned not to underestimate you a long time ago. If you remember, it was right after you hid on my ship for six months right under my nose and then blew up a huge chunk of it."

"Oh, yes. That."

"Yes. That."

There was an awkward pause, as she resumed bandaging his cut arm. He wasn't sure just how deep the wound was, but the whole area was numb and he had problems flexing the muscles there. There had been a fair amount of blood as well. And, given that the two of them could not go anywhere near a hospital, this limited amount of care was the best he could hope for.

"It.... it wasn't anything personal, you know," she said finally. "It wasn't anything against you, or your ship. I just had to slow things down. I had to give Al enough time to get things going elsewhere. I didn't...." She paused. "I mean, I thought you were a good captain."

"Actually," he said softly. "I meant to thank you. I was angry as hell at the time, but now.... Having looked back on that.... Thank you. You kept me away from Minbar. I.... wouldn't have liked to have.... been there. Not according to what I heard, anyway."

She sat back on her heels, looking at him closely. "They were our enemies," she said. "Well, your enemies, anyway."

"I hadn't met any before. Well, I've only met one now, but.... Does it make it right, us doing to them what they did to us? Doesn't it just make us as bad as they were?"

She shrugged. "There are some things you have to do."

"Yes, I get that. I mean, safeguard our worlds and our families, fine. Destroy their military capabilities, no problem. Even capture their rulers and put them on trial.... that's all okay. But ruining their homeworld.... poisoning the atmosphere, the oceans, the ground? The whole thing just seems.... an act of spite. Childish spite. You know.... you broke my toy, so I'll break yours."

"Earth was a little more than a toy."

"I guess. I've never actually been there. I was born here on Proxima."

"I.... I don't think I've been to Earth. Maybe when I was a little girl. My earliest memories are of the Psi Corps training base on Mars. That was one of the main bases, not the subsidiary ones. That was my home almost all my life. All my friends were there."

"I'm.... sorry."

"Don't be. Al got out everyone he could. Unlike the.... mundanes, we had somewhere to go. He took us all to Sanctuary. I wasn't much more than a teenager at the time. I remember all the chaos, all the people running around desperately trying to pack things and get everything sorted out. It's funny, but I left my diary behind, and I was so filled with panic that someone would find it and read it." Smith looked at her, and she chuckled. "What?"

"I'm trying to imagine what could have been in your diary when you were a teenager."

"None of your business!" she laughed. "Didn't you keep a diary?"

"Not around here, I didn't. I don't know, I always thought a diary was a place to.... you know, write down all the things you dreamed of doing, and then looking back when you're a grown-up and realising just how little you managed. I knew I wouldn't manage anything, so what was the point of writing down things that would never come true?"

"Pessimistic," she noted.

"Life in the Pit was like that."

"Even when you found out you were.... one of us."

"A telepath, you mean?" She nodded, and he sighed. "Talia, I get hunches from time to time, and.... vague ideas of what someone's feeling. I can't read minds, I can't do scans, and I can't talk mind to mind. I'm not a telepath."

"You have our genes. You are one of us, whatever you think."

He sighed, and shook his head. "How are you doing anyway? Have the sleepers worn off yet?"

She made a face. "Not yet. Another few hours, I think. It's.... weird. It's like.... having lived all your life in a place with loud music coming from the next room, and the music has suddenly stopped dead. I've got so used to being able to tell what someone's thinking, and now.... I know they'll come back, and I know there's more to me than just my powers, but still.... It's.... difficult."

"So, you can tell what people are thinking?" He looked worried.

"Most of the time. Strong emotions, mainly."

"Then, you could tell some things I've.... been thinking?"

"Some of the time. I'll teach you how to block your thoughts, if you like. It doesn't take too much skill or power."

"That would be.... helpful."

"For both of us. Some of your thoughts.... really shouldn't be directed in the presence of a lady."

"Let me know where one is, and I'll take that advice." She headed back to his arm, and continued bandaging. "That was a joke. You do know that was a.... Ow!"

"Sorry. My hand slipped."

"I'll bet. Ouch!"

The skies above Kazomi 7 shimmered, and a jump point opened.

"Home at last," said the voice of the Babylon's second in command. Despite the cheeriness of his words, he was feeling anything but happy. Nothing about this mission had gone right. Not a thing. They had gone to Z'ha'dum to rescue Delenn, only to learn that she was dead. How the Captain had known this he was not sure, but Delenn was gone now.

On top of that, the Babylon's telepath Lyta Alexander was in a coma. The doctor was unable to identify what was wrong with her, other than some symptoms of exhaustion.

And as if that weren't enough, the Captain had not said a single word since they had entered hyperspace at Z'ha'dum. He merely sat in his chair on the bridge, not eating, not sleeping, doing nothing but sit and brood the whole journey back.

And now that they were back, Corwin's bad feeling was worsening.

"Captain.... Commander," said the helm tech, Guerra. "Um.... There's something here, in orbit around the planet. The instruments don't seem to recognise it. Not a ship, but...."

"What is it?" asked Corwin. The Captain did not seem to react.

"No, we have got it on record. The Morningstar sent the details over after the Battle of Minbar. It's the Soul Hunter base. It's called...."

"Cathedral," muttered Corwin. He breathed out slowly, unsure whether this was a good thing, or a bad thing.

Or a very very bad thing.

"Cathedral," said the Captain suddenly, his eyes glinting. "Well, well." He sat forward. "So, Primarch Sinoval's come for a visit.

"Won't this be interesting?"

Chapter 2

Why are you asking me all these questions?

The power to question is the greatest gift the universe has given her children. For only by questioning the things we see around us can any of us grow. The sense of wonder, of mystery, of puzzles to be solved.... Where would anyone be if we knew the answers to all the questions ever asked? What would there be left to aim for with all the knowledge of the universe at our fingertips?

Not even you know everything?

I am no nearer to knowing the answers to all the mysteries of life than you are. I may have had more time to ponder them, but that has only brought home to me just how little any of us knows.

Then what mystery are you trying to solve now?

You.

What?

Ah. I apologise. Let me be clearer. Nothing is written in stone, as we have said already. There are prophecies spoken of, yes. There are flashes of what is to come, brief hints as we pass the veil of time to look forward or back. But few things are definite, solid, precise. We live, we grow old, we die. That is the truth for all things.

Apart from you.

I will die, in due time. Even the universe herself will die someday. Maybe I will still be here then. I was not the only member of my race born in this place, you know. The first generation of my people.... we do not die as you do, but injury, illness, war.... They have plagued us every bit as much as they do you. I still live only because I have not yet succumbed.

You were saying something about the future.

Ah, yes. My mind wanders from time to time. I do apologise.

Accepted.

As I was saying, nothing is definite, but there are.... patterns that may be traced by those with the skill to do so. Certain divinations, certain paths may be spotted. Through subtle manipulations and delicate calculations it is possible to shape the course of the future as you desire. The Vorlons have grown skilled at this over the many years they have lived. That was why they sent you here, as part of a shaping of the future.

And that's why they saved John?

I assume he is a vital component in the future they wish to shape. But they are not the only ones with that skill. The technomages, the Soul Hunters, the inhabitants of this world, those you know as the Shadows.... all have been trying to mould the course of destiny. The technomages are bound by certain laws of conduct, and the Soul Hunters are still tied to the oaths exacted from them by the Well of Souls. Once, the Vorlons and the Shadows were bound by oaths, but they have long since forgotten such things.

What oath?

Why, to protect and to guide the younger races. As the majority of the First Ones left this galaxy to pass beyond the Rim to the next, they chose to remain, shepherds to the younger races. Each advocated a different path: chaos and struggle and endeavour on the one hand; precise order and discipline on the other.

But.... they failed?

Over time it became simply a matter of proving which side was right. <sigh> It is a terrible thing when your children fight. They have forgotten the way. Some of the Vorlons remembered, but I felt the passing of the last one not long ago. I met him once, Kosh. You have as well.

Yes. He was.... a part of me.

I know. He remembered. He was one of the last. Now Vorlon and Shadow war indiscriminately, forgetting their original purpose. Their wars will not last forever, though. An ending will come soon, in a year, or ten, or a hundred, or a thousand. An ending will come.

What sort of ending?

Ah, that is very much for you to decide. You see, the future is not set in stone, but there are paths that diverge and converge, weaving their ways slowly through the fabric of time. There are many such paths, but two that stand out clearer than the others. The time of choice is here. The technomages saw that this time would come, and sought to shepherd you in the right direction. Into the right choice. I do not give advice, or counsel. I simply present you with the options before you.

What options?

Simple. A galaxy of hope, or a galaxy of despair. Light versus darkness. Life against death.

That is a choice? The technomages told me they were afraid I would choose wrongly, but.... how can anyone fail to make the right choice with those options?

Do not speak too quickly. You do not yet know the price.

What.... what is the price?

I will tell you....

There was a moment of silence in the Council Chamber of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7. All eyes were fixed on the two figures standing. All minds were filled with speculation.

One of the standing figures was Primarch Sinoval, leader of the Minbari people, master of the mysterious and terrifying Soul Hunters. He had been on Kazomi 7 for over a week, engaged in private meetings with many of the leaders. Now he had spoken to the Council, trying to win their support to his goal of a strike against the Vorlons. The Vorlon Ambassador was not here.

Sinoval's speech had been interrupted by the arrival of the second figure. Vizhak was a member of this Council and had been since its formation more than two years earlier. He had only recently returned from a visit to the Drazi homeworld, and had returned with startling information.

"I say again to those who did not hear me before," he said. "Drazi ships have been attacked. Drazi ships have been attacked by Minbari ships. And who leads Minbari? Who orders Minbari ships? Who, but you?"

"I have given no such order," replied Sinoval, his face cold and hard, his dark eyes darting to each member of the Council as if daring any of them to disbelieve him. "I have not instructed any attack on Drazi shipping."

"Perhaps they were not Minbari ships," countered Vizhak. "Perhaps there were other ships looking like Minbari ships. Looking just like Minbari ships. There are eyewitnesses. There is documentation. They were Minbari ships."

"Sonovar," whispered the Primarch, closing his eyes. He hesitated, his body seemingly shaking with rage. Even Vizhak took a step back. Sinoval opened his eyes. "Sonovar," he repeated. The name meant little to anyone present.

"You pass blame on to another?" asked Vizhak.

"We should at least examine this evidence," spoke up a hasty voice. G'Kar, the voice of peace and reason as always. Unfortunately neither Sinoval nor Vizhak was interested in peace or reason. "Perhaps it is a conspiracy to frame Primarch Sinoval."

"No conspiracy," said Vizhak, with absolute certainty. "Minbari ships."

"Pirates, perhaps?" suggested G'Kar, looking at the still form of Primarch Sinoval. "Renegades?"

"You imply the mighty Primarch Sinoval cannot control his own people," said Vizhak. "That Minbari pirates slip his control and attack our ships. No, it was ordered, and who orders Minbari ships but he?"

"Sonovar," spoke the Primarch again. "This was Sonovar's doing. A pirate and a renegade, just as Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar said."

"So. You cannot control your people," snapped Vizhak.

"He lives only by my sufferance. He is too insignificant to bother with!"

"Deal with your own problems before you come to us!" cried Vizhak. "Why should we listen to one who lets his own people fly and destroy at will?"

Sinoval was about to reply, but he suddenly stopped and cocked his head as if listening to something. He looked at the door Vizhak had entered by a few minutes earlier. His hand went unconsciously to his side, to the place his pike would normally be.

The door opened, and in walked someone known to everyone on the Council. Captain John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller himself. Sinoval straightened.

"Captain," said Lethke, the first to regain his composure. "You are.... back? How was.... How.... is...?"

"Delenn," spoke the thick accent of Emperor Londo Mollari. "Captain, is she...?"

"She is dead," came the soft reply. There was a collective sense of sadness, of sudden and terrible tragedy. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar looked at his old friend, and his people's oldest enemy. Emperor Mollari's head was bowed.

"The Shadows killed her," continued Sheridan. "We.... only just got out of there alive. We.... couldn't get her body back."

"Droshalla preserve us," whispered Taan Churok. The stocky Drazi's face was full of emotion. He would have followed Delenn into oblivion and back. They all would.

"I.... um.... I think they were trying to convert her. Give her one of those Keepers or something." Sheridan's voice was choking as well. Everyone knew the depth of the relationship between him and Delenn. He had been mortally wounded and had lain paralysed for months. To recover only to lose her so shortly afterwards.... it was a true tragedy. And yet G'Kar knew the truth. Delenn had not been abducted and taken to Z'ha'dum. She had gone of her own free will as the price for the Vorlons curing Sheridan of those injuries. She obviously considered her life a price worth paying, and if that was her decision, how could he disagree with her?

But it was still so hard....

"She resisted," continued Sheridan. "They killed her when we arrived. They were afraid she'd escape and tell us about their secrets."

G'Kar looked up and turned his gaze from Sheridan to Sinoval. The Primarch was one of the three people in this room who knew the truth about Delenn's journey to Z'ha'dum. He was the one who had told G'Kar and Londo.

"She is dead?" said Sinoval.

For the first time, Sheridan seemed to notice he was there. He turned to look at the Minbari warrior. The two had met several times before, and there had rarely been friendship there. The air seemed to crackle between them.

"Yes," replied Sheridan simply.

Sinoval looked at Sheridan intently, staring into his eyes. Sinoval's own eyes grew even darker, so dark as to be almost infinite, a pool of blackness deep within his soul and beyond. G'Kar thought he could hear again the voice of the Well of Souls.

Sinoval then looked down, a terrible sadness filling him. He drew in a quick breath, then shook his head sadly.

"Damn you," he whispered, although of whom he was speaking G'Kar could not tell. Sinoval looked up again. "Damn you." He picked up the data crystal he had brought to the meeting, the crystal containing the record of Delenn's message to him, the message he had been intending to show the Council.

"Damn you!" He hurled the crystal against the wall. It shattered.

"I know who you are," he hissed, advancing on Sheridan. "I know who you are, and I swear by all the Gods in the heavens.... I will destroy each and every one of you!

"I will burn down your cities, and sow the ground beneath your feet with salt. Everything you have ever cherished I will destroy, as if it had never existed! Darker paths than yours, remember. I will show you them all."

Sheridan stood still where others would have quailed. Even some of the Council were flinching, and Sinoval's words were not directed at them.

It was Taan Churok who moved first, pushing back his chair and leaping to his feet. He lunged forward to attack Sinoval, when Sheridan suddenly raised a hand.

"No," he said softly. "Leave this place, Sinoval. Leave this place and never return."

"Let me kill him!" roared Taan Churok. Vizhak agreed.

Sinoval turned his gaze on all the Council. "I pity you all," he whispered. "Remember that I warned you." He looked back at Sheridan. "Remember that I warned you as well. Damn each and every one of you!"

"Go!" shouted Sheridan.

Sinoval stormed past him and left the hall. Sheridan watched dispassionately as the door slammed shut. He then turned back to the Council. He said four simple words.

"We are at war."

G'Kar looked at the broken pieces of Sinoval's data crystal. He had never seen anything more horrific in his life.

"His name was.... Byron, I believe. Our tests rated him as a P twelve. Very powerful, fully trained.... knowledgeable in certain.... how to put this politely? Certain unauthorised and not entirely legal techniques. All in all, absolutely perfect."

Morden looked up at the device before him. His associates had a number of plans in motion for various parts of the galaxy, and they were of such scope and range as to give the term 'forward planning' an entirely new meaning. Morden was well aware of how limited his part in their plans truly was.

Oh, he was useful, vital even. But he had been charged with forging alliances and making deals with certain alien Governments and systems: the Centauri of course, the Soul Hunters, one or two others. He was placed in the Vorlon Foreign Office. His path very rarely crossed with the Vorlon Bureau of Science.

Still, he knew at least the basics of the device before him; purpose, roughly how it worked, components and so forth. He had seen diagrams.

It was like a wall, but made of a substance very few people would have recognised. Morden was one of those few. It was a living wall, grown in the same way as the Vorlons ships. He reached out and touched it lightly. There was a faint warmth beneath his skin, and a soft, lazy vibration, almost like a heartbeat.

"Dormant, of course," said the old man.

Suspended half way up the wall, two or three feet from the ground, was a man. He was not held there by chains or rope or any form of nifty gravimetric trickery. The wall was holding him there. It was even growing around him. His head was tilted far back, and a small globe had been carefully fitted over it. Others might have called it an orb, a ball of some kind, or even a lampshade. Morden recognised the beginnings of a flower.

The man's body was still. He was unconscious.

Morden knew what the device was for, but he also knew the old man was dying to tell him all about it.

"So," he said, with a smile. "How does this thing work then?"

"There's no need to humour me," came the mildly reproving reply. "But since you asked nicely.... It's dormant at the moment, of course. Activating the channel would be.... unwise with such a strong Enemy presence here. When the time is right, then.... Well, you know all that. Actually, I've had it set up a little ahead of schedule. Byron really should have been sent off with the others, but this was a one in a million opportunity, having someone so powerful fall into our laps, so I sort of appropriated him from the cryo banks."

"Yes, it does seem a bit of a coincidence that he was here," Morden noted. "I suppose he didn't fall off the back of a truck?"

"No. Some of my.... certain individuals in my employ came across him. He was in Sector Three-o-one."

"Ah. That's still the less-than-reputable part of town, right?"

"It's actually got worse since the last time you were here, if you can believe that. Yes, that's the place. Byron here was sniffing around our business. He didn't have much time to find out anything useful. Our friends down there soon caught him. Unfortunately.... he had an accomplice, a woman. She's still at large."

"That doesn't sound good. Who do you think sent them? Bester?"

"Who else?"

Morden paused, deep in thought. "I heard the Enemy sent a fleet to his place to.... ah, deal with him. No one was happy about him triple-crossing everyone at Epsilon Three. I thought he was dead."

"That's the official report. Unofficially, I'd lay money he's still alive. Or maybe he isn't, and sent these two here before his death. Either way, it doesn't really matter. History is bearing down on all of us fast enough. The war will be coming here before the end of the year. I'd give it a bit less, actually. When the war does get here, and Mr. Byron is woken up.... well, it won't matter a bit what Bester has uncovered."

Morden looked up at the machine again. "It is very impressive," he said. "Will it do everything it's supposed to?"

"All that, and more. Yes.... I've always been worried about telepaths, you know. All my life. And here I am, at last in a position to do something about them. I can make sure their powers are kept under control and used for the public good. Each one we catch is one more feather on our side of the scales." The old man smiled. "Yes.... I feel like a young man all over again."

He nodded once, and then they turned away and left Mr. Byron to his dreams.

There are two paths before us now. Oh, the details are slightly different. One person can make a difference, even a significant difference. One moment of heroism, of cowardice, of courage, of fear.... anything can be changed. But there are two broad paths before us, and they stem from this moment, from you, from your choice.

What are.... what are my options? What must I choose?

In one future, you leave this place. I take you back to Kazomi Seven. There, you live, and love. You fight this war, and maybe it is won, and maybe it is a mere stand-off. You love, and raise children, and create a little haven of light and beauty and wonder. You live to an old age.... as you would measure old age, of course.

Continue....

But then you die, as all beings die. And after you are gone, the Darkness returns. Your haven, your light, your place of beauty.... it is swamped out forever. No, not forever. Nothing is truly eternal, save the cycle of life and death. But the light will be out for so long as to be almost forever, by your standards. There will be a haven, but for so short a time.

And the other option? The.... other path?

You leave this place and walk into darkness. You know great suffering, great loss, a terrible sadness. You endure pain and hardship and misery. Many close to you die or fall away. But in the end your sacrifice will ensure a brighter future.

And that will be.... will be eternal?

Nothing is eternal. But if you wish to cherish that remarkable delusion, then do so. Yes, the galaxy of wonder created by your suffering will indeed be eternal.

And John? Will he...? What will happen to him?

It is not for me to identify individuals. He will live, and he will die.

I saw him.... I saw his grave on Minbar. Is that.... is that in one of your futures?

Yes, I believe it is.

Which one?

You know that answer.

Yes, I do. Damn you.... I do not want to choose! I want.... I want.... No. What I want does not matter. I came here so that another could live, so that others could live. You know which path I take.

I never had any doubt.

Well.... I've made your choice. What now?

That is for you to decide. I can send you anywhere you wish to go. Where do you wish to go?

I see it now.... The humans, they are the key. The Vorlons in Dukhat's sanctum. They told me so, long ago. The humans are the key. Oh, Valen's Name....

Do you see?

A matter of numbers, you said. Maybe we have paid for what we did to their homeworld. Maybe.... maybe those we killed have been avenged by those they killed in turn. But what about those left alive? Oh, Valen.... we turned them to the Darkness. They would not have taken that path if it weren't for us.... for me. We.... I.... destroyed their hopes and dreams. I left them with nothing. They are the key.... They will be the tool through which the Darkness takes us, won't they?

You do see.

And John? Did they kill him?

Nothing is set in stone. You saw.... an image of what might have been. Had you continued on the path you were on then, perhaps that would have occurred. Now.... perhaps he will live longer. Perhaps he will still die.

Can.... Could you take me to him?

Yes.

No! No.... do not. I.... I sent him a message.

Yes. I know.

I told him that I loved him, and that I had come here to strike against the Shadows, to give my life for the greater good. How could I tell him that was the price of his recovery? I could not tell him that. He knows I love him, and will always love him, and he now thinks I am dead. Let me be dead to him.

Where do you wish to go?

I will go to Proxima Three. I will let them put me on trial. I will let them do with me as they wish. And.... maybe I will be able to reach someone there.... just one person.... who will be able to forgive me.

A wise decision. Do you wish me to take you there now?

No, return me to Ambassador Sheridan. He will be able to arrange everything.

Indeed he will. You have chosen wisely. I fear you have a difficult road ahead of you, but the future will be a little bit brighter.

I love John.... If the universe is kind, there will be a better place for both of us....

Farewell.... little mother. Farewell.

Delenn opened her eyes.

Lyta Alexander's eyes were closed. There was the faintest tear of blood in her right eye. Gently, Commander Corwin reached out and brushed it away.

They had only just arrived back at Kazomi 7. The Babylon was in planetary orbit, and the crew had been given leave to go down to the planet. The official status of the ship was unclear. Corwin had been in charge during the Captain's.... incapacitation, and the Captain had taken it back for this emergency mission. What would happen now.... no one seemed to know. The Captain was sorting matters out with the Council now. He would also no doubt have met with Sinoval. That was a meeting Corwin did not want to be anywhere near.

He did not want to lead. He did not want to be responsible for the course of this war. All he wanted was a good ship, a good crew, and a chance to be absolutely sure who the enemy was.

He looked again at the woman before him, and sighed. She was one of the few people he could actually talk to these days. The old crew just seemed to.... have broken apart. A great many had died of course, or returned to Proxima, or given up on their previous lives. Neeoma Connally was still around somewhere, but she was on the Babylon less and less. She had been assigned to teach Starfury combat to anyone who wanted to learn.

Then there was Lyta.

She had spent the entire journey back from Z'ha'dum in a coma brought on by her exertions during their escape. She had been transferred to the Medlab here, and the doctors had not been able to discern any improvement, or for that matter offer much treatment. She would recover, or she would not.

"It was so much simpler before," Corwin said, with another sigh. "Everything used to be so simple." He turned and walked away, deep in thought.

The alien figure watching from the shadows waited for some minutes after Corwin had gone, and then manifested itself. The Vorlon loomed over the unconscious body of Lyta Alexander, studying her closely. It had not been able to attend the Council meeting, not with the Accursed Sinoval there. In some strange way it could not fully define, it was wary of him. He was everything their Enemies hoped to create in these mortals, and yet he fought them as passionately as he fought all others he opposed.

It did not matter. Sinoval the Accursed would be gone now. It could return to business.

it said.

Lyta's eyes opened and she immediately sat up, a strangled scream in her throat. "I can...." She stopped, and took a deep breath. "I could.... feel her," she whispered. She turned and saw the Vorlon beside her. "I could feel her. When I was asleep. Delenn. She's.... Is she dead?"

"I'm tired! I can't.... I just.... can't...." Her eyes closed, and she swayed for a moment. She gripped the bedcovers tightly. "I held them back.... It.... hurt...."

"I need some rest!"

The Vorlon's eye glowed.

She tried to scream, but the sound would not come. Finally she stumbled out of bed. "Stop!" she whispered. "S.... S.... Stop."

It turned and made towards the exit. Hesitantly, painfully, in confusion and agony, Lyta Alexander followed.

There was a soft and comfortable silence as the two of them lay side by side, thinking quietly. Smith's arm was bandaged and stitched now. He flexed it gently. There was slight pain and a dull ache, but Talia had handled it well.

"What next?" he said after a while.

"Hmm?"

"What do we do next?" he repeated. "Do we have some sort of plan, or would that be a little bit too much to hope for?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't.... IPX Headquarters perhaps. Whatever's going on will be based there. That's where we can find out just what they're up to.... just what they want with the people they've been taking."

"What do you think they're doing?"

"I don't know. Some sort of genetic alteration perhaps. Maybe a virus of some kind. Maybe they want their own group of telepath slaves."

"Hmm." He paused. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it? Helping telepaths like this."

"It's.... my identity. It's the only thing I've ever been good at." She sat up, resting on her elbow to look at him. "I never knew my parents. For as long as I can remember the Corps has been my home and my family. The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father."

"Still, it must have been.... lonely."

"Sometimes. Not always. I've had some friends. Some very good friends. Lovers. A child. I'm in a position where I can use my skills to do some good. Life.... hasn't been all that bad, really."

"What would you have done.... if you hadn't been a telepath? What would you want to do?"

She closed her eyes, thinking. "I don't know. I've never thought about it. What's the point? I am a telepath, I always will be. But.... for a while.... Promise you won't laugh."

"I promise."

"I'll know if you're lying."

"No you won't. Not unless the sleepers have worn off." She swore. "Anyway, I promise not to laugh."

"There was a time I thought it might have been nice to be a film star. Hey! You promised not to laugh!"

"Sorry," he said, chuckling. He coughed, and tried to look serious. She elbowed him in the stomach. "Hey, I said I was sorry."

"Well? What did you want to be?"

"Oh, no. I'm not answering that one."

"Come on."

"No."

"Fine. I can wait. The sleepers should be wearing off soon."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I?" she said, smiling.

"Fine. I wanted to be.... my brother. He was two years older than I was, and he knew.... everything. He knew all the places to go, all the cool people, all the things to do. He wanted to stay here all his life. He looked after me when my mother went to prison. She.... refused to take the sleepers, you see. They didn't have special Psi Corps camps here, so she just went to a regular prison. I think she spent most of her time in solitary.

"Anyway, my brother looked after me then. He died when I was thirteen. He was trying to climb into a construction site, and he slipped and cut himself on a sharp bit of wire fence. The cut turned bad. Oh, he could have gone to a hospital up-sector, but he didn't have any medical insurance. Besides, he kept telling me it was all going to be fine, and he'd get better any day now. It took him a couple of weeks to die, and he was delirious by the end."

Smith shook his head. "Such a stupid way to go. I didn't realise it at the time, but he'd shown me just how futile it was to stay here. There was nothing here, no hope, no future, no life, nothing. So I left."

"And now you've come back," she whispered softly.

"Yes.... There's still nothing here of course, but maybe there could be.... if someone worked hard enough at it."

She smiled and nodded. Then she lay back down and gently took his hand. He held hers and closed his eyes, drifting slowly off to sleep. She lay awake long into the night, waiting for the voices to return.

Sinoval stood on the pinnacle of Cathedral and roared his defiance to the heavens. Stormbringer raised high above his head, he looked down at the stars below and above and around, and cried out his anger and his hatred and his fury.

Words did not exist to describe his anger. Not only had the Vorlons dared to send Delenn to her death, but they had corrupted the genuine love in her decision. She had sacrificed her life so that the one she loved could live, and now they had twisted that. John Sheridan as she knew him did not live. Not any longer.

He was not sure exactly what the Vorlons had done to the Starkiller. It was possible that there was something remaining of the old Sheridan. It was equally possible that he was nothing more than a soulless automaton, moving and talking by their word alone. It did not matter either way. Their touch befouled him, filled his mind and his body.

Sinoval would destroy them all. He would raze their cities to the ground, topple their towers and sow their ground with salt. Nothing would remain, and within a generation no one would even remember they had ever existed.

And he knew what to do to begin this.

The curtain of stars around him shimmered, and the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus walked into view. The pinnacle at the top of Cathedral's highest tower, which just a moment ago had seemed barely wide enough for Sinoval to stand, now grew so that there was ample room for both of them.

"Our business at Kazomi Seven is concluded?" he said.

"Yes."

"Then are we to return to Tarolin Two?"

"Yes."

The Primarch bowed his head in acknowledgement. He did not leave, however.

"The Well of Souls spoke to me," he said, after a long pause. "It has the power of prophecy. It is a limited ability. The future after all has many alternative possibilities, but some things become inevitable over time."

"I do not believe in prophecy, or in destiny."

"That does not matter. Both prophecy and destiny believe in you."

There was another pause. Sinoval did not take his eyes off the myriad of stars around him. "So," he said finally. "What words of foreboding has the Well of Souls for me?"

"A time of great crisis is coming. For Cathedral, for all our order, and for you most especially. They speak of the doom of Aellearath." Sinoval turned, a puzzled expression on his face. "The shedding of innocent blood."

"No blood I shed is innocent."

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, a moment is coming, within weeks, when Cathedral will be shaken to its foundation, and a great change will sweep over us all."

"Change is not always bad."

"Not always, no."

Sinoval smiled. "It appears the Well of Souls may be right, this time. I have.... been toying with an idea for some time now. At first it was just idle speculation. When it became apparent this course of action might become necessary, I resolved not to put it into effect until I could be sure there was no other way. There is not.

"We are at war with the Vorlons. I have promised to destroy them utterly, and so I shall. But first I will need information, knowledge.... and to send them a warning.

"Primarch, I have a question for you.

"Tell me, Primarch, in all the history of your order, ever since the Well of Souls was first born, has any of your order ever taken a Vorlon soul?"

Delenn opened her eyes.

She did not know where she was. She did not think she had seen this room before. She was still on Z'ha'dum, she knew that much. She could feel the thickness of the air, the darkness of the ground, and the ancient presence deep beneath the surface. Lorien was still watching her, with a great sadness.

She sat up, and realised she was on a bed. This might be a hospital of some kind. She saw the outline of a humanoid being at the far end of the room. It turned to look at her, and in its alien face she saw no pity, no mercy, no emotion at all. One of the Shadows' scientists.

Then the scientist moved deeper into the darkness, and Ambassador Sheridan came into view through a door she could only barely see. He walked up to her side.

"The Zener told me you would awaken soon," he said simply. "They knew your injuries were not severe, and that you would recover."

"What of.... What about Neroon?" she asked. "And Ivanova?"

"Neroon is dead, Ivanova lost. They do not matter, you do. You cannot escape. Do you realise that now?"

"I do," she said simply. "I do not wish to escape."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"We need to talk...."

The Allied Council of Kazomi 7 met several times in the days immediately after the departure of Primarch Sinoval. Captain Sheridan was in attendance for most of those meetings, studying plans and strategies of the Shadow attacks, observing the locations of their assaults, advising and co-ordinating the response. His plans were little more than holding actions and preventative safeguards, rather than fully fledged counterattacks. No one questioned him about this.

Emperor Londo Mollari was also present, discussing the cease-fire arrangements with Ambassador G'Kael. The Kha'Ri were less than receptive even to the idea of such negotiations, as were the Centarum. Two months after his arrival at Kazomi 7, Emperor Londo Mollari returned home with very little achieved. Still, he had been able to establish an embassy there. He made arrangements to start setting up an office, to renew trade agreements and to begin appointing staff. All he needed now was an Ambassador.

Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek was seen in public quite often. Lyta Alexander was not.

Vorlon ships slowly became visible in the skies above Kazomi 7. Ambassador Ulkesh did not even seem to acknowledge their presence, but it soon became clear they were guarding the planet.

A month after Captain Sheridan's return, all the Vorlon ships mysteriously left, to be replaced by new ships.

They were smaller than the Vorlon heavy cruisers, and did not seem to be particularly Vorlon in design. They were small, but very manoeuvrable. As Captain Sheridan explained to a stunned Alliance Council, they were comparable in firepower to even the largest capital class ships of the other races, and they were also much faster. The Vorlons had designed them especially for this war, and now they were being presented to the Alliance.

"They are called Dark Stars," Sheridan said, his eyes gleaming. "We have a whole fleet of them, and more to come. Now we can take the war to the enemy."

No one doubted he meant it.