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

Chapter 1

"It is over."

"Yes. It is over."

"We have won."

"Yes. You have won."

The war for Proxima is over, has been over these past four weeks. The evil, corrupt Government of President Clark is finished, Clark himself is dead. His accomplices and associates are for the most part dealt with - dead, such as the feared Chief of Security, Mr. Welles, or imprisoned and awaiting trial, such as the leader of the Earthforce fleet, General Ryan.

This war is over, the greater war continues. The villains were defeated, the heroes were victorious.

Of course, that all depends on your point of view.

Captain Bethany Tikopai of the EAS De'Molay was tired, had been tired for the past four weeks. She did not want to be here. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She wanted a proper shower with proper water. She wanted a real cup of coffee. She wanted a decent night's sleep. And she wanted to be with her daughter.

She had always known a soldier's life would involve sacrifices, putting aside personal desires for the good of others, doing what was right for the many and not the few. She had always known she would have to fight for the good of her people.

She had just never thought she would have to fight her own people.

It was hot here, very hot. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, it all pulsed with heat. It was cooler now than it had been, but at one point the soles of her boots had been almost melting in the heat from the floor. Sweat covered her completely like a second skin, and her long dark hair, strands coming loose from her braid, was lumpy and sodden.

An absurd thought had come to her a few days ago, when she was lying in bed desperately trying to snatch even a few hours sleep, but unable to rest for the heat and the worry. She remembered years ago, when Julia had been ill with a fever. Her skin had felt so hot to the touch, almost burning. Was that what was happening to the De'Molay? Was the ship ill?

It was crazy, but no crazier than the events of the past four weeks. There had been something strange about this ship ever since it had been launched, and after it had been hit by that strange blast at Proxima nothing had gone right. It had taken a great deal of effort from Jaiena in Engineering even to get the De'Molay moving again. The constant running and fighting since then had only made things worse. Jaiena was probably the only person on the whole ship getting even less sleep than Bethany was.

Except after today it would all probably be academic. Captain Barns and his Dark Thunder had been run to ground and captured three days ago, and with him had gone any hope of an effective fight–back. It was over, and the three Dark Star ships surrounding the De'Molay proved it.

Still, while there was life, there was hope.

"How long for jump engines?" she asked, knowing it was pointless. The last time they had fled, the Dark Stars had been able to follow them into hyperspace and actually begin an engagement there. Only some incredibly stylish manoeuvring had got them away from that one. DeClercq's Saint–Germain could have run rings around them in hyperspace and had them chasing their own tails, but that was academic too. DeClercq was dead, his Saint–Germain a heap of fused metal.

"Too long," replied Paul Telluride, her first officer. He was cynical about their chances of survival, and why shouldn't he be?

The ship shook from another blast, and Bethany's hand rubbed against her armrest. She withdrew it sharply, wincing. It was unbelievably hot!

"They took out our dispersion fire," Paul said. "Dammit, why don't they just finish us?" Bethany said nothing. They wanted her alive. They wanted scapegoats. "Hah! We're getting a signal. It's from their lead ship."

"Put it on," she replied tiredly.

"But...."

"It doesn't matter what they want to say to us now. We're finished anyway. We might as well give them the satisfaction of saying it."

Paul muttered angrily as he put the message through. There should have been a technician to do that, but the De'Molay was operating under severely reduced capacity nowadays, less than a quarter of normal complement.

A face appeared on the screen, Communications being one of the few things Jaiena had been able to fix that hadn't immediately broken down again. The man seemed young, too young, and terribly earnest. Bethany thought she recognised him, but she couldn't be sure.

"Agamemnon to De'Molay. This is Captain David Corwin of Dark Star Three, the Agamemnon. Do you receive me, De'Molay?"

Corwin. That was it. Sheridan's right–hand man and former second. Well, if the Starkiller couldn't come himself, at least he had sent his personal hunting dog to do this for him.

"This is De'Molay. Captain Bethany Tikopai here. Well.... isn't this where you deliver the 'it's all over' speech?"

Corwin frowned. He actually looked genuinely troubled. "No," he said finally. "This is where I ask you to give yourselves up. We're fighting for the same things, really. It just doesn't.... look like it right now."

"Yes? We're not fighting for lies, or selling out our Government to aliens, to the Narns and the Minbari. We didn't betray humanity."

"And neither did we! Dammit, Captain, there are too many enemies out there for us to be fighting each other. My orders are to bring you back to Proxima, in however many pieces I feel necessary. I don't want to kill you. I've had enough of fighting my own people. I'm sick and tired of it." He sighed. "Whatever you might think, Captain, we really are both fighting for the same thing in the end."

"What's that?"

"A better world."

Bethany sat back. The heat didn't seem to bother her so much now. "I want a complete amnesty for all my crew," she said simply.

"Bethany!" cried Paul suddenly. "You can't...."

"Granted. I don't know how it'll be honoured, but I'll draw up the wording myself and ram it down people's throats until they listen."

Bethany nodded. "A better world, huh? Is this your idea of a better world?"

"Maybe not.... but I'm going to keep trying to create one. Proxima needs loyal soldiers, it needs people like you."

"I'm tired of this. Besides, I think you mean it. It's strange, but I really do. I'm even too tired to make threats about what will happen if you're lying."

"I'm not."

"I don't think you are. Fine.... it's over. You win. We surrender.

"We're going home."

"I will.... be going then."

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the dark thoughts that echoed in John Sheridan's mind. Accusing thoughts, angry and bitter.... And some of them were directed at the woman in front of him.

"That's.... probably for the best," he said finally, hating himself for the words. It was true. It was for the best. Politically, militarily, personally....

Delenn had to return to Kazomi 7. The Alliance was holding together, just, but the recent tensions with the Narns, the revelation that the Centauri had allied themselves with the Shadows, the expense of the war.... they needed someone there, someone special. Not just a leader, a symbol.

That had to be Delenn. She was the only choice. She was the leader of the Alliance after all, and also the most obvious symbol of the alliance of races. No one else would do. Lethke and Vizhak were merely administrators, G'Kar represented only the Rangers and his own people, Vejar was hardly ever seen these days.... It had to be Delenn.

"You'll be.... safer there," Sheridan continued, the words sounding pathetic and forced even to him. "We're still catching some of the extremists, some of Clark's men.... people who blame you. There's also the possibility of a counterattack, of course."

All true, but none of these were the real reasons he wanted her on Kazomi 7 and not here. The real reasons he couldn't give voice to.... not to her.

He didn't want her near him. He didn't want to have to hold in his furious thoughts whenever he was around her. He didn't want to have to concentrate so hard not to say the words that would destroy her.

You killed my son!

He had tried telling himself a thousand times that was not true, and on some level he knew it. On that level he knew that he himself was to blame. If he hadn't left her on Z'ha'dum.... But if she hadn't gone there....

If, if, if.... so many ifs.... none of which resolved the main issue that his son was dead, and he had to blame someone. He didn't want it to be her, but if she stayed here, sooner or later it would be her.

"Then.... I will be leaving soon," she whispered.

She looked unhappy, not surprisingly. She also looked tired. She had told John what had happened to her on Proxima, the death - murder - of their son, her own death and strange resurrection. She had kept some things quiet, he knew, but he had not pressed her on them. Compared to what she had told him, any secrets she still kept would be inconsequential.

My son is dead.

Fool! Reach out to her! Tell her you love her!

In truth he was unhappy being on Proxima, and he couldn't wait to leave. He was a soldier and a leader of soldiers. He wanted to return to his war, where everything was so much simpler. The Shadows were evil. Everyone fighting them was therefore good.

But here.... here he was not a soldier, but an administrator. Somehow the task of running Proxima had fallen to him, or at least the duties of ensuring Proxima's defence, the location and arrest of the last few Clark loyalists or Shadow agents, the reorganisation of the army, setting up food supplies and renewing trade....

He hated it. He hated all of it. He wanted to be a soldier again, but until elections could be held, until actual parties could be organised.... then if not him, who?

Tell her you love her!

The voice would not be quiet, and he wanted to listen to it. He really did.... but he couldn't.

You killed my son!

Delenn bowed her head, and turned. She began to walk away.

Tell her, you fool.

He clenched his hand into a fist as he watched her walk away.

Tell her!

She left the room. She did not look back.

He was nobody, nothing, a faceless whisper in the night.

He had been nobody; a quiet, still, unnoticed figure who slipped between the cracks of the world, who lived his own private and lonely existence.

He had no name. He was no one. He was everyone.

They had come to him. They had come to him, and he was no longer alone. They had spoken to him, told him of great things. His dreams had been full of wonder; vast ships rising in the skies, a race of Gods fighting to bring forth advancement, the rush of chaos and the rise of the strong.

He had felt them die, and he had felt the burst of energy and light that had filled Proxima. He had nearly died himself. Perhaps he should have died.

But the light had suddenly faded, and he had been healed again. He had survived. He had been chosen. One of the few.

He now walked through this new world with care, in silence, even more so than before. He took pains to be nobody and he lived every day waiting for the night to come, when his Dark Masters would visit dreams upon him, when they would command him, and he would become somebody, somebody greater and nobler and more powerful then anyone could realise.

"What are my orders?" he would ask every time he slept.

"Wait," came the reply. "Wait."

"I'm sick o' waiting."

The figure on the floor whimpered and tried to say something; excuses, reasons, justifications, anything. The man was not listening.

"I don't think I'm being that unreasonable, am I? I know things mighta.... changed here a little, what with Mr. Trace not being around an' all.... but that don't mean we gotta forget the rules of three–o–one, does it?

"You know what the rules are, sure ya do. Pay up nice and easy.... and we'll keep you safe.... make sure no.... accidents happen. You get me, don't you?

"I've been reasonable with you. I've given you plenty of time to get the money together. I even let you skip a month, after that story you gave. I know things are a bit tight right now.... but, well.... we've gotta keep order around here, especially with Mr. Trace gone, and that means obeying the rules. If I let you off, then I've gotta let everyone else off, and then where will we be?"

The man flexed the long metal rod in his hands. There were certainly other implements he could have used, devices much more modern and up–to–date, but Trace had been a traditionalist, and Roberts thought it was only right.

Anyway, he didn't want to kill the man on the floor, just.... let him know who was still in charge around here.

"Remember.... I gave you every chance. You can't say I'm being unreasonable."

"Actually," said a new voice, "I think we can."

A door opened and a newcomer walked in. He was a tall man, projecting an instant force of will. Roberts narrowed his eyes. He knew who this was. Another man came in behind him. Roberts knew who that was too.

"Get outta here, Smith. This ain't none of your business."

"Everything in Sector Three–o–one is my business these days, Roberts. Thanks for showing yourself at last.... we had quite a bit of trouble tracking you down."

"Oh for.... Allan, sort him out for me, will you?"

"I can't do that," said Sector 301's Security Chief firmly.

"Allan.... whatever Mr. Trace was paying you, I'll add ten.... twenty percent. Mr. Trace always said what a good working relationship you two had. I'd like to see that continuing, now that I'm carrying on the business."

"The 'business'," Allan said firmly. "By that you mean extortion, assault, blackmail, smuggling.... because I know you haven't got his nightclub."

"When did you get any guts, Allan? Crawl back to your office, why don't you?"

"I can't do that either. The law in three–o–one isn't for sale any more. Now we can do this the hard way, or.... Naw, why confuse things? Let's do this the hard way."

It only took a few minutes after that for Roberts to be taken away and Smith to help up the slightly bruised and quite scared businessman and get back to work.

Sector 301 had been called the Pit, and for years that was what it had been, a sink for the lost, the pathetic, the worthless, the garbage.... and the corrupt. The Security force here had been filled with cynics and criminals, paid off by the big gangs. The people had lived in a state of hopelessness and apathy, refusing to imagine there was any way out.

Not any more.

A miracle had happened here. One had died, and been reborn. Her words had touched the hearts of all those who had heard them, and they had been heard, and understood, and heeded, and acted upon. A shrine had grown up, a place of tranquillity, of memory, of hope - but the real memorial was Sector 301 itself.

The place was becoming ordered. People were helping each other. The Security forces were now doing what they were supposed to be doing.

The place was changing.

"So," said Zack Allan to Dexter Smith, as they were relaxing with a drink in Bo's bar, "just how did you find out what Roberts was up to?"

"A little source of information," Smith said. His tone of voice was not exactly joyous. "Someone up sector seems to be watching me."

"Ah.... this be the same person that's been okaying funds and assistance, that helped you buy Trace's nightclub?"

"I bought the nightclub myself. I had quite a bit of money, and the war heroes' pension went up a lot after we started winning occasionally. But as for the rest of it.... yeah. We've been getting a lot of help."

"So who is this mysterious benefactor? Anyone I know?"

"Someone it might be dangerous for you to know. I think you'd be better off not investigating this one, Zack. I just have this.... feeling."

"Fair enough." Zack shrugged and went back to his drink. An uneasy silence fell over the two. They had known each other for a while, and been adversaries most of that time, ever since Smith had dismissed Allan from the post of Security Chief on the Babylon. Zack had fallen after that, and ended up here.

But the two had shared something very special.... they had witnessed the Sector 301 miracle, the rebirth of the Blessed Delenn. Zack had done quite a bit of thinking, and had managed to regain some measure of self–respect and conviction.

The two were not quite friends, but they were certainly not enemies, and they were definitely working towards the same goal: a future for the 'Pit'.

And someone else was working towards that goal as well, someone Smith wasn't entirely sure he trusted, not least because Mr. Edgars was supposed to be dead. He remembered some of the things Talia had told him before she left, some of the things Edgars was into. He also remembered the offer Edgars had made him.

If William Edgars was helping out in Sector 301, he very definitely had an ulterior motive for doing so, but at the moment they were hardly in a position to turn away any help.

No matter where it came from.

Smith cast his mind back a few months as he thought about one of the newest 'assistants' in Sector 301's urban renewal.

Word had reached him, through Bo of course, that someone was hiding in 301, someone who very much wanted to remain hidden, but who also wanted to do something. Someone who might be able to help. Smith had been intrigued, and had agreed to a midnight meeting. He was led off in secret, trying to hide the fact that he knew exactly where they were going. He had grown up in the Pit, and knew its every hiding place off by heart.

He was surprised to find Julia Tikopai waiting for him.

The sixteen–year–old daughter of one of the missing renegade Earthforce captains, Julia was very high on the new administration's 'Most Wanted' list, not for anything she'd done as such, but because she would be a vital tool in getting her mother to surrender and come home, bringing her ship with her.

"You know who I am?" was the first thing she had said, and he had been surprised by the composure in her voice.

"I know your mother," he said, and he did.... in a way. Experienced Earthforce officers had been in very short supply for quite a while, and the few captains tended to hang around together. Smith and Bethany Tikopai had only really talked on a few occasions.

"Half the planet's looking for you."

"Which is why I came here. I want to make a deal."

"Oh yes?"

"You help me stay hidden. I'll help you do.... whatever it is you're doing here."

He had smiled. "Done."

And he hadn't regretted it. Julia had taken her place as a member of the irregular Security force in 301, those who worked without badge or pay, but with a keen conviction that some things were right and that what was wrong would no longer be tolerated. She had displayed a keen sense of tactics and leadership far beyond her years. It was thanks to people like her that the bad seeds of Sector 301 were now being cleaned out, a task now nearly completed with the arrest of Trace's last remaining right–hand man, Roberts.

"So, what now?" Zack asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The rest of the planet might have forgotten about us for a while, but they're beginning to open their eyes and remember we're here. We're going to have to make this little operation of ours totally legitimate, and make sure the rest of Proxima doesn't start dumping all their crap here again."

"Yes, I've been.... thinking about that. Someone's going to have to go and see Sheridan."

"Sheridan?"

"He's running the place now. I know.... I know neither of us has exactly got on well with him, but I still believe he's a good man. He should listen to us."

"Well, then.... when are you going to go?"

"Me?"

"You got anyone else in mind?"

"No, you're right. I've been hoping to put this off as long as possible, but we're going to have to make ourselves known again. There are just a lot of things we'll have to keep quiet about.... for the moment, such as our dark–haired Security Irregular for a start."

"Here's a thought," said Zack brightly, "why don't you put your name down for the new Senate?"

"Me? You've got to be kidding."

"No, we're going to need a few people there, and you could do some good for three–o–one. Quite a bit of good."

"We don't know how much power the new Senate is going to have. There's all sorts of constitutional issues that are going to have be worked out....

"But still.... you know, that might not be such a bad idea."

"I do have my moments."

"Report."

"The problem has been dealt with. Security forces raided the base early this morning. The conspirators were captured and arrested. Three were killed. Their weapons were seized, and those incorporating Shadow technology destroyed."

"All of them?"

"No. Two of the weapons.... went missing. An agent of mine managed to arrange for them to be delivered to our storehouse."

"Excellent. Our scientists will analyse them in detail."

"And what will we do with them?"

"Keep them safe. For.... contingencies. You never know when such things will come in useful. Are there any other little cabals of Clark's supporters still active?"

"We do not think so. There might well be individuals here and there still in hiding, but all the large–scale groupings have now been dealt with. The new order is quite secure."

"Good. We will begin the process of elections as soon as practicable. The sooner a proper democratic Government is in place, the better. General Sheridan will then return to his war, and we will be able to return to hiding. We have been too.... visible recently. It is time to disappear for a while."

"And do what?"

"Wait."

Look at Proxima 3. Time passes as the universe turns.

General John Sheridan sits in his high office, reading reports, sending people to die in the front lines against the Shadows, pushing the Enemy further and further back. He gives an order for David Corwin to move to Greater Krindar. A shipyard is being prepared there, a place for Dark Star ships to be crewed and held, a launching pad for the next stage of the war. He misses having David around, but in some ways he is glad. Now he can work alone, truly alone.

General Edward Ryan learns he will not be charged for any of his actions under Clark's regime. He is not discharged from Earthforce, and is assigned to rebuilding. Proxima will be defended by the Dark Star fleet for the foreseeable future, but a time will come when humanity will have to defend itself. Humanity will also have to commit their own ships to the Alliance's war with the Shadows. Captains Bethany Tikopai and Jerry Barns are retained in Earthforce, but the De'Molay and the Dark Thunder are decommissioned and destroyed.

Some of the secret members of Clark's government are found and arrested. They are faceless and nameless, people who worked behind the scenes. Some of them have been plotting revenge against the new administration, but they are stopped, in more than one instance due to a strange intervention by a conspiracy no one believed existed. Evidence and testimony are gathered for public trials.

Slowly a new administration is formed. Political parties appear, created in the pattern of those that existed before the Minbari War. Martial law is rescinded on the captured colonies and their representatives come to Proxima, forming the beginnings of a new Senate. One of the first motions to be discussed when the new Senate is finalised will be humanity's admission to the United Alliance. It has been made very clear that this will happen, and if there is any undue obstruction the Senate will discover its true place in the new order.

Sector 301 continues to operate virtually outside the rest of Proxima. Its people are used to being forgotten and abandoned. Zack Allan has a brief meeting with the new Chief of Security, a man named John Clemens. Dexter Smith tries to make appointments with some of the new Senators, but is frequently rebuffed. Finally, he makes an appointment with William Edgars.

The Blessed Delenn is gone, returned to Kazomi 7. There are whispers that she is still on Proxima however, reports that she has been sighted. Her legend spreads slowly but surely beyond Sector 301, and visitors come to her shrine, many from off–world.

Julia Tikopai remains anonymous in Sector 301. She has come to enjoy her new place and her new duties. She does send a message to her mother, as soon as she is satisfied her mother is safe.

The Round Table watches and waits, content now to sit back and let affairs take their course. Occasionally some slight manoeuvring is necessary, the calling in of a favour, a quick effort to protect one of their own or a useful ally. However, for the most part their work is done.

The network was re–established soon after the battle. Byron is still screaming, as are the other telepaths linked into the network around Proxima. The severity of its initial psi–bursts has dampened, and it is now not much more than a highly sophisticated defence grid, albeit one that most of Proxima knows nothing about. If it is needed again then it will be used, but for now it is a weapon kept safely in the back pocket.

Mr. Edgars has slowed down his business of shipping telepaths to the Vorlons. The collapse of Trace's operations in Sector 301 has more or less closed off that market. His masters do not complain. He has done very well indeed by them.

Mr. Morden watches, with particular attention paid to events on Centauri Prime. Finally, a month or so after the battle, he leaves, knowing the time is right to return there.

A nameless man waits dreaming....

William Edgars was, to the few people who knew him, an enigma. Head of one of the largest MegaCorps to survive the war, he was one of the richest men in what was left of the Earth Alliance. He was certainly influential and would, with a few of his companions, have been able to buy Presidents. Why, therefore, he had chosen to disseminate false information about his death and run his companies from hiding was something of a mystery.

Dexter Smith knew a few things, but certainly not enough. He did not know why Edgars was helping him, what Edgars hoped to gain from doing so.... or just what involvement Edgars had with the missing telepaths Talia had been investigating. He was not entirely sure just which side Edgars was on.

However, he was much too valuable a potential ally to waste.

"Thank you for coming," Edgars said, gesturing to Smith to sit down. "I realise things have been.... busy for you. How are matters in Sector Three–o–one at the moment?"

"Improving," Smith said, taking the seat. "We're slowly getting our industry up and running again. There are a few problems with the new administration, of course, but...."

"But?"

"But we're getting past them."

"Splendid. I'm very glad to hear matters are progressing. Tell me, have you heard from Miss Winters recently?"

Smith stiffened. Edgars had some strange fascination with telepaths, and Talia had experienced something very unusual and very painful here, something she had not fully explained to him. Smith himself possessed some latent telepath genes, and that made him valuable, both to Talia and to Edgars.

"No," he said, finally. "Not for some time." Several months in fact. She had accomplished her mission in Proxima - finding out just what IPX were doing to telepaths. In addition to whatever she had witnessed during her imprisonment, Mr. Welles had given her his own file on IPX and their activities. With this information, she had left.

"Ah, a shame. I would very much like to.... discuss a few matters with her." He sighed. "Yes, a pity, that."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair. Smith fidgeted awkwardly in his chair, looking at Edgars, and also thinking about Talia. In some way he could not properly articulate, he missed her, and very much wanted to talk to her again.

Finally, he sat forward. "Mr. Edgars.... we're both very busy, so if you'll forgive me being a little blunt.... why exactly did you invite me here?"

"Would you believe a friendly chat? No.... you probably wouldn't. I've been.... taking a great deal of interest in your activities in Sector Three–o–one. Following your career, one might say. You've done remarkably, better than anyone might have expected."

"Yeah, well.... I can't take all the credit for that. You've helped out a bit.... and then there's Delenn...." Smith shook his head. "Is there any chance of getting to the point sometime soon?"

"Impatience.... a quality of the young. At my age, Mr. Smith, you realise the full value of time.... and of waiting. As I said, I've been observing events in Sector Three–o–one, and helping out with some.... minor matters as best as I can. I've become aware of some very interesting things, in particular that you've been sheltering young Miss Tikopai. There are quite a few members of the new administration who might want to talk to her."

"What would be the point? Her mother's surrendered. She wasn't even charged with anything."

"True. However.... if Miss Tikopai were to be.... closely observed, she might be a handy disincentive to her mother, should she have any ideas about objecting to the new order." Edgars waved his hand. "Anyway, that does not matter to me. Any hint of a military coup and I will be aware of it and.... a certain word in the right ear and things would come to a drastic halt. General Sheridan is not of course aware of this, and so one can forgive his caution. I speak of Miss Tikopai only as an example of my knowledge of your affairs."

"I'm fully aware of how much you know, Mr. Edgars."

"I doubt that, Mr. Smith. Anyway, the point.... As you know, the new Senate is forming.... slowly. Colonial Governors, civil servants and so forth. Largely uninspiring. It could use a.... renowned public figure.... such as yourself."

"You aren't the first person to tell me I should run for the Senate. I'm busy where I am."

"Ah.... but there is only so much you can do where you are now. You don't even have any official title. In the Senate, you would have influence.... power.... and who knows? Within a few years you could even be President."

Smith couldn't resist a laugh. "President Smith? How about Mr. Smith goes to Proxima? I'm sorry.... I don't want to be President."

"Making you the perfect choice. But that is for the future. The Senate.... Proxima, humanity even.... need people like you. You can do so much more to help your Sector Three–o–one there than you can now."

"And what do you get out of this?"

"Ah, yes.... Mr. Smith.... I have dedicated my life to the human race, to the protection and preservation of those of us not.... gifted with telepathic powers. It is often.... useful to have highly placed allies who agree with me. We both want what is best for Proxima and for humanity, and I would rather have a man who believes in the same things as I do in the Senate than a petty time–server only interested in feathering his own nest."

"I'm a telepath, remember. What makes you think I'd vote the way you want?"

"You cannot read minds, Mr. Smith. A slender distinction.... but a vital one. In any event, I will not demand you try to enforce an immediate cull. But I know you.... share some of my concerns, and leaving aside the telepath issue, I know you want what is best for humanity. I know I can rely on you to take action in the Senate, to do what you think is right."

Smith sat back. "I won't say I haven't been thinking about this, but.... I don't want power."

"As I said.... that makes you the perfect person to have it. There is no need for a decision immediately. Think about what I have said. If you decide you do want to put yourself in contention, let me know. I will do the rest.

"Oh, and Senator Smith might have more luck arranging an appointment with General Sheridan than plain private citizen Smith."

Smith stood up. "I won't ask how you knew about that."

"That, Mr. Smith, would be very wise."

"Are you there? Can you hear me, Carolyn?"

There was no reply. That did not surprise him. Carolyn never spoke to him when he was awake - only in his dreams, and then he rarely remembered their conversations. But he always awoke with the lingering echo of her voice and her screams in his mind.

Even now, after all this time adjusting to the idea, David Corwin could not believe what the Vorlons had done. Imprisoning telepaths within ships like this, leaving them conscious but paralysed, their minds linked in an endless network of pain. Monstrous was not the word to describe it.

But what could he do? The Vorlons were, for now at least, allies against the Shadows. Humanity certainly didn't have the technology to undo what the Vorlons had done in crafting the 'nodes' on the network that were the Dark Star ships.

He had gone wandering in the deeper reaches of the ship, looking for the chamber in which Carolyn would be imprisoned, despite Lyta's warning against such a move. He had had no success, just a screaming headache that had left him bedridden for days.

And so he had thrown himself into his duties. Much against his will, he had been appointed administrator of the shipyards here at Greater Krindar, co–ordinating the Alliance ships that beached here, arranging raiding parties into Shadow controlled territories. It was a level of responsibility he had not wanted and never expected. It was a strange feeling to be talking with generals such as Kulomani and Daro. To his discomfort they spoke with him as an equal, the inevitable result of shared experiences at the Battle of Proxima.

He had never wanted this. Never. At the back of his mind a million thoughts swirled, each one kept in careful check. He thought of his friend, General Sheridan, the man who had become a near stranger over the past year. He thought of Carolyn, trapped and paralysed somewhere in the heart of the ship in which he spent twenty–four hours a day.

He was also thinking about Lyta, thinking about her far too much.

He had never asked for this.

Still, the war was going well. The Dark Star patrols were beating back occasional Shadow raiding parties, liberating systems, destroying bases and outposts. The Shadows were pulling back, rarely risking an outright engagement. Corwin was beginning to realise that in a war of attrition, the Shadows would lose, and that they knew this.

That was not a welcoming thought. They were readying themselves, they were planning something. Besides, the Alliance might be able to win a war of attrition, but how many would they lose in doing so?

Still, time passed. Matters proceeded more or less according to plan. The war was slowly but surely being won.

The Shadows were content to wait.

Now. Awake.

The nameless man stirred. What is required of me?

He was told. Do not fail us.

I will not fail.

Know what is to happen. Know what your sacrifice will bring.

Images filled his mind. There was a glory, a great and powerful glory. Yes!

I am ready. I will not fail.

Like all the races known as the First Ones, the Shadows knew the value of patience. With countless millennia of existence behind them, with a dedicated purpose of social and galactic engineering, they had learned long ago to wait.

But they had also learned when to wait, and when to act.

There were some on Z'ha'dum who were coming to recognise that the war was over, that their race was finished. Factions were forming, at least, factions as the mortal mind would understand their society. Some advocated a token defeat and a slip into obscurity, waiting for the time to re–emerge. Others claimed that would not work, not again. What would they lose this time? Another thousand years? More?

Then there were those who held that it was all over, not just this war, but for all wars. They should leave this galaxy and join their brothers beyond the Rim, abandoning their ungrateful children to the Vorlons.

But first there would be an opportunity for revenge, to even the score.... and perhaps one last chance at victory. It would be a risk, but win or lose, there would be chaos, and that would be a victory of a sort.

There was a dull tapping in his mind, a noise it took him a while to realise was the sound of his blood hitting the floor.

It was strange. He had expected pain. It certainly should hurt, from the size of the knife wound in his stomach, but.... somehow, it didn't. There was no feeling at all, nothing except a final peace.

It was over. At last, it was over.

General Edward Ryan blinked as he tried to look up at his murderer. The man was writing something on the wall, writing in Ryan's own blood. The lines formed letters, which formed words, but Ryan could not make sense of them. They all.... blurred into one another.

Words came to him, rising over the sound of his blood dripping to the floor.

Some of us are planning an escape, General. We believe there is a place we can hide, build up slowly again. There are rumours Captain Smith and the Marten survived Beta Durani and are hiding out somewhere. If we can find them....

Why are you telling me this?

Ryan blinked as a red gauze filtered across his vision. Where were those words coming from? They seemed to make sense.

Come with us, General. They'll flock to you. It'll take time, yes.... but we're used to that, aren't we?

No, Captain. No.

Why not? How is this different from fighting the Minbari, General? We need you.

The war is over now.

No. The war will never be over. Sheridan has betrayed us.... handed us over to aliens. He led a war against his own people, General. Surely you can see that!

That is treason you speak, soldier.

It's the truth I speak!

Yes. Now he remembered. An argument with Captain Barns.... when? A few weeks ago, perhaps less. The echoes of the anger and the sorrow seemed etched into the walls.

Words on the wall. They were starting to become clear now. He could almost see them. The man was just finishing.

Listen to me, Captain. The war is over. We have a chance to build a new Proxima here.... finally to be rid of everything that's hit us for all these years. Please try to understand that.

General Hague would have understood.

General Hague is dead! And if you try to leave this planet, Captain, you will be arrested and court–martialled. Surely you see that!

I see nothing, General. Not a single thing.

Ryan blinked, wondering why he wasn't dead yet. Almost three years ago, General Hague had blown his brains out with a PPG, unable to accept the cost of the war. Ryan would have done the same, had he but the courage.

But he had never had the courage. Not to end his life, not to continue fighting, not to do anything but meekly accept what had been thrown at him. He should have agreed with Barns, he should have gone with him. It was the right thing to do, but....

But he had been too afraid. All his adult life he had seen his people engaged in one terrible war after another. Surely this new life, this new peace, whatever it cost, was better than another sixteen years of war.

The man turned from the wall, his work done. Ryan blinked and looked up at it. It was a message, as he had expected.

Proxima Will Be Free.

General Edward Ryan sighed, closed his eyes, and died.

Some stories have not been told yet.

The day Ryan died, Captain David Corwin was on a routine patrol around the Greater Krindar shipyards, supervising the repairs and defences of the Dark Star fleet. There had been a particularly bloody battle at Lukantha. The Shadows had eventually been driven back, but at great cost. Five Dark Stars had been destroyed, and another seven damaged. They were in for repairs.

Five telepaths, sealed forever in space, in an eternity of agony nothing could end, linked forever to their accursed network.

And another seven alive, but in pain. Carolyn magnified their pain through to him. Phantom pain. He had awoken in the middle of the night, reaching frantically for his left arm, convinced it had been blown away.

How many more? How many more lives were the Vorlons going to throw away in this vendetta of theirs? How many more lives was he going to let them throw away before he did something, anything?

Wait, Lyta had said. Wait. Be patient. The time will come.

When?

Something hummed in the back of his mind and he sat upright in his chair, realising it was Carolyn. That had been happening a lot the longer he spent on this ship. Some of the other captains were reporting similar symptoms, an almost symbiotic link with the ship, as if it were becoming a part of them.

They did not know about the telepaths, of course. Corwin shuddered to think of the implications.

Still, he knew better than to ignore such a warning.

"Scan for anything unusual," he said, cautiously. "Anything...." He wasn't sure, but Carolyn could sense something.

Wait.... telepathic powers were heightened in hyperspace, weren't they? Wasn't that the whole point of this network, how it operated? And the Shadows could move through hyperspace effortlessly. They even lived there to some extent.

"Scan into hyperspace," he said. The Dark Stars could do that. The Vorlons were every bit as adept at travelling through hyperspace as the Shadows.

"Captain," barked out the technician. "Jump gates."

"Gates?" The Shadows didn't use jump gates. They just slipped between dimensions as easily as walking from one room to another. "Who?"

Ships appeared, and immediately began to fire.

"That's insane," whispered Corwin, knowing he should give orders, but unable to assimilate the absurdity of this. This did not make sense. Even considering everything that had happened recently, this did not make any sense.

"Why would the Minbari attack us?"

John Clemens was a man who did not make friends easily. He was, however, very skilled at what he did, and what he did was catch people. He was an investigator, a detective, a cold, harsh man who lived only to regulate and control society.

For years he had been languishing in a thankless, forsaken post. A prison Governor in the far northern Dome, a maximum security area where aliens were kept, as well as the worst human criminals. His skills should have placed him far higher, but he did not rage at his lack of recognition, content to wait. In some strange way he suspected the truth.

He had met Mr. Welles on only a few occasions, but Welles had been his superior for years. Somewhere, in the icy caverns of his mind, Clemens recognised that Welles respected him and wanted him somewhere safe. He wanted a skilled man to take over should anything.... happen. A man untouched and untainted by political rivalries.

A man who would do his job and no more.

"Well, Mr. Clemens?" said the man beside him. "What precautions have you taken?"

"We've sealed all the spaceports, of course," Clemens said in his typically clipped manner. He had very little patience, but was singularly adept at hiding this from others. "This is being treated as a Code Perfect crime - one of maximum importance."

"A holdover from the Wartime Emergency Provisions."

"One that has never been repealed. General Ryan held a position expressly mentioned in the relevant sections and any crime against him should be treated as a Code Perfect."

"That's a value judgement. Do you really think you have that authority?"

"I am Chief of Security for the whole of this planet. That gives me the authority to invoke Code Perfect. In this case, I am doing so. I do not need your authorisation."

The man nodded. "Continue."

"The Domes are being closed off, the transport tunnels shut down. A curfew is being imposed. My officers have licence to enter and search any building they see fit. Due to a shortage of available officers, however, I am exercising discretion in the use of that power. Based on the approximate time of the murder, the perpetrator would probably not have got further than ten or twelve sectors in any direction, so we are working on identifying potential hiding places. The recent devastation has of course increased their number considerably. I have also ordered a planet–wide cordon of ships in case a shuttle does manage to escape."

"You are taking up a great deal of resources on this. Not to mention time. Those ships are necessary for the continuation of the war, and the Security officers will be needed for other duties."

"Everything I have done is within the remit of my position. If of course you want the murderer to escape, then you are free to remove me and appoint a replacement. Until you do that, you have no power to object as long as I stay within the provisions of my office and within the powers granted me by the Wartime Emergency Provisions."

"Those Provisions are being repealed. Every last one of them."

"That is for the Senate to consider. When it is fully convened, of course. Now, unless there are any more questions...."

"Yes, actually. There are. Have you any thoughts on how the murderer managed to get inside General Ryan's rooms, and out again, without your officers noticing?"

"A pass card was used, permitting authorised access to certain areas, including the General's rooms. It is possible that the murderer was a civil servant or ministerial aide, who had appropriate authorisation. It is also possible he or she stole the card or bought it on the black market. My officers are severely under strength, as you well know."

"Yes, I do, and that's something I'm working on rectifying, but the last sixteen years have hit us all quite hard. How long do you think it will take you to find the murderer?"

"As long as it takes."

"I see.... Act quickly. There is a war on."

"No. For us, the war is very much over." The other man turned to leave, and Clemens continued reviewing the murder scene, taking in details, information, evidence, when a thought occurred to him. "Oh, by the way, General Sheridan....

"I just thought you would like to know. Considering the position you now hold and the wording of the Provisions, your murder would also qualify for a Code Perfect investigation. Is that not a welcoming thought?"

"No," Sheridan said dryly. "Not really."

Some things were oddly familiar, even welcoming in a strange way.

Corwin had been fighting the Minbari almost all of his adult life. He had worked together with his Captain, the legendary Starkiller, devising tactics and battle plans specifically geared to Minbari ways of fighting. The vast majority of that war had been fought from a position of extreme weakness, where every tiny advantage was essential, no strategy too underhand, no possibility left unchecked.

Now Corwin was not in a damaged, half–obsolete, vastly inferior human ship. He was in one of the most advanced and powerful ships of its class anywhere in the galaxy. He was not alone, but surrounded by allies. He could target the Minbari ships easily, his Dark Star was faster and more manoeuvrable, and his forces outnumbered the enemy.

Admittedly, the telepath network was of little to no use in actual combat against non–Shadow–based ships, but that was another plus as far as he was concerned.

But the big question, the one he still could not answer.

Why?

"Defensive positions," he ordered hurriedly. "Defend the shipyards." The Minbari had an advantage of time, a small one, but potentially enough. Corwin saw the Dark Stars adopting a hasty defensive position. Some damage had already been done. "Put out a signal to the Minbari. Make damned sure they can hear it."

Still the Minbari came forward, all weapons blasting. Corwin shook his head, unwilling to accept any of this. It looked like a deliberate suicide mission, a kamikaze attack. But why, in God's name?

"This is Captain David Corwin of the Dark Star fleet to attacking Minbari vessels," he said. "Cease firing and surrender now, or you will be destroyed. Diplomatic negotiations can be initiated at Kazomi Seven. This is a base of the United Alliance, and there is no war between the Alliance and the Minbari. What is the meaning of this attack? Please respond."

"Captain. Captain Daro wishes to begin offensive measures."

"Negative," Corwin replied. "We defend the shipyards. Strike to disable where possible."

"He says...."

"I don't care what he says! They act as if I'm in charge here, so they can damned well listen to me. Defensive positions only."

"We're getting a reply from the Minbari. It's.... just one word. Chugo. No translation."

"We don't need one," Corwin muttered. "It means 'Duty'. Damn them!"

Still the Minbari came forward, throwing themselves at the Dark Stars, heedless of the danger, uncaring of the risk of death. They came.

It was not a fight. It was a massacre. Finally two Minbari warships limped away, damaged, near–destroyed. Corwin let them go. They had taken no prisoners. The Minbari had not allowed themselves to be taken prisoner.

"Captain Daro is requesting leave to pursue."

"Negative," Corwin sighed wearily. "We can't have an engagement in hyperspace, and we'll need to stay here. For all we know this could be a distraction, to draw us away from the shipyards and hit them with something bigger. Why on Earth would...? No, it doesn't matter. We'll need an assessment of the damage, both to the facilities and the ships. We'll also have to send a message to the nearest base. I think we'll need reinforcements. I'll prepare a report for Proxima and Kazomi Seven."

He did not need to ask about casualties. One of the Dark Stars had been destroyed, a flaming Minbari warship having ploughed straight into it. He had heard Carolyn redirect the scream to his own mind.

As he sat back in his chair to listen to the reports, a nagging thought preyed on his mind. Why the Minbari? What did they have to gain by this? What purpose was there to this attack?

And one word seemed to echo off the walls of his memory, through a telepath's silent scream. A word he had spoken, but forgotten.

One word.

Distraction.

In a place that is no place, William Edgars receives a report. He speaks to a person with no name, one who sits on the Council, but who also recognises a greater master, one who serves not only humanity, but also the Lords of Order.

"And are we to take action over this?"

"It is believed General Ryan was killed by a political extremist protesting against the new regime, possibly one of Clark's followers. Many are still unaccounted for."

"Not possible. All of Clark's immediate aides, advisors and servants are dead, imprisoned or neutralised. This information may not be available to the new regime, but it is to us. This seems to be something more."

"The Shadows?"

"Yes. Ryan's murder triggered a Code Perfect. Proxima is now sealed off. Should General Sheridan try to repeal the order, there will be further difficulties between him and the Senate. That could be their aim."

"By now, the Shadows are aware that there is a node of the network here on Proxima. They know we can find any of their agents on the planet, and the imposition of Code Perfect renders escape impossible."

"Then their aim is what? Buying time?"

"How long will it take to locate their agent?"

"A full search will not be easy, and it will draw considerable resources away from other nodes. It is possible they know this. It seems they do intend to buy time, but for what? Possible theories?"

"To weaken the Dark Star ships?"

"Unlikely. The Dark Stars are nodes all of their own. Each fleet operates on a mini–network, a part of the larger network, but almost self–contained."

"There is insufficient evidence."

"Very well. We will find this agent. We will act as swiftly as we can. It is possible the Shadows do not know the full powers and limitations of the network. It is possible the imposition of Code Perfect was their only aim, in which case we must see that it is lifted soon."

"As you say. The Table advocates no action in this. They wish to maintain a low profile after recent events."

"Cowards, but then caution is rarely a serious sin. They can wait, as we can."

Four hours and twenty–eight minutes later, William Edgars stood before Byron as he completed his mission. There was indeed a Shadow agent on the planet, in hiding. Edgars paused for a moment's thought, and then sent a message to Dexter Smith.

There was no particular reason why the nameless man had come to Sector 301, none at all. He had performed the duty he had been given, and now he was free to rest. All he had to do now was avoid capture for as long as possible, to buy as much time as he could.

All had gone as the Dark Masters had promised. Proxima was sealed off, General Sheridan was stuck here, his ships all but paralysed in space. Resources were controlled, restricted. Time.... time was passing. Each second he remained free was another second his enemies did not have to respond.

He knew all he needed of the Dark Masters' counterstrike, their plan for revenge, even possibly for victory. They still wished to win, yes, but if they could not, then revenge would be acceptable - the burning of worlds, the searing of stars. The galaxy would be left barren and dead, a message to the races who had scorned their message.

He was not the only one, he knew that. There were others, amongst the Minbari, on Centauri Prime, Narn.... everywhere. He was not working alone.

Another minute passed. And another. Every minute mattered.

A brief flicker of light illuminated his hiding place. So. They had found him at last. It didn't matter. He had done enough, and there was still the possibility of escape.

He tried to run, each step providing another second. He tried to fight back, and bought precious moments for his Dark Masters. Finally he tried to kill himself, but alas, he failed. He was not unduly troubled. Questioning him would take time.

Time.... with time came change. Change led to chaos, and chaos led to strength.

Time was his greatest weapon, and as they took him away, he found himself marking off the seconds and smiling happily.

"I think we owe you our thanks, Mr. Smith."

"You don't owe me anything, Captain. Or is it General now?"

"General, strictly speaking, but that doesn't matter."

"General, then. Oh, and by the way, if we're being formal, it's Senator–elect Smith."

"Oh? Really? I don't remember hearing...."

"Well, there you are. You learn something new every day."

"I'm sensing a little animosity here."

"And why would that be? Listen, General Sheridan. I spent years living in your shadow, walking in your footprints. I captained your ship, sat in your chair, gave orders to your crew. I would have given anything to be anywhere near as good as you were.

"Not any more. Now, I know what I'm doing. You're the one who doesn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Have a good, long look at what you're doing to Proxima. Ask yourself why Delenn isn't here. And most of all, open your eyes, open your ears and look around you, listen to people. Maybe then, you'll find out.

"I've got an office here, a place I can work from. That's where you can find me.... if you need to.

"But for now, I'm very busy. Good day, General."

Obtaining the prisoner had not been difficult, not for the old man anyway. He had ways and means of achieving most things on Proxima, and arranging a little diversion for a Code Perfect designated prisoner on his way to the maximum security dome at Rykers had been a piece of cake.

Officially, the murderer of General Ryan was there now. Unofficially, he was sedated and semi–conscious in a secret room that few people knew existed, set in a chair before a man who had long ago ceased to remember his own name.

The old man looked around, wishing Mr. Morden were here. He always liked having company while he was down here. There was something unnerving about the way Byron seemed to be looking at him, not with his thoughts, but with his mind. He knew of course that Byron had no control over any part of himself, mind or body - that was not allowed by the network - but that did not ease his discomfort.

Oh, well. Morden had gone some months ago, heading for Centauri Prime. Matters there were reaching fever pitch, and a reliable agent was needed. The old man had received a few reports, and none of them had made pleasant reading. The last one had been some weeks ago, indicating that the Enemy were finally ready to make their move. Nothing since, although word of rioting, widespread insanity and open fighting in the capital had filtered through. None of these reports had come from Morden though, so he paid the rumours no special attention.

"Mr. Byron," he said softly, and the telepath stirred, his eyes flickering open. "Mr. Byron, there is something you need to do for us." The words were unnecessary of course. Byron responded only to the network and to the slightest of thoughts reaching into his soporific mind.

A brilliant golden light blazed within his eyes and a soft rush of air flowed from around him. Behind him the jump gate opened with a blaze of noise and gravity and light. Byron's body snapped taut as he again became one with the combined minds of a billion telepaths on a billion worlds, all working as one to maintain the jump point, and in doing so amplify each other's powers.

"We need his thoughts. We need his memories."

Byron turned his head slightly to look at the Shadow agent. A circle of light fell across the man's face, and he screamed.

"Why?" the old man asked. "Why did he do it? What are they planning?"

"A distraction. A misdirection. The purchase of time." The voice was like no human voice ever heard. It was a multitude of tones in one, a combination of human and alien and machine, music and scream all joined.

"They have shown him. A Fist of Darkness, a dark cloud has been awakened.

"It will turn to a planet and destroy it utterly, tearing it apart from inside, reducing an entire world to a dead husk."

"Which world? Where is it going?" They all knew the Shadows had planet–killing technology, of course. If the Minbari did, then the elder races must have, but it had been hoped they were all lost.

Evidently not.

"Which world?" he asked again. "Where is it going?"

David Corwin paced up and down his room. Something was nagging at him, a sound that seemed to come from just beyond his hearing, like a quiet conversation in the next room. He could pick up the sounds, but not the words.

A distraction, yes, but a distraction from what? What were they doing? Had it been a ploy to lure the fleet away from the shipyards, to sneak in while they were gone and destroy the base? Had it been a simple suicide attack?

What?

A Fist of Darkness.

He started and looked around. He had heard that. He knew he had. But who...? "Carolyn," he whispered. "Carolyn, is that you?"

Which world? Where is it going?

A different voice, a man's. But what the...?

He heard the answer, and his eyes widened. He swore. Now he knew.

He was running before he realised it, barking orders through his link. "Recall all crew, all fighters. Get me Captains Daro and Kulomani. Get together every ship we can. And hurry!"

Oh, God. Oh, merciful God. They could not let this happen. Please, let there be time.

Please....

"Which world? Where is it going?"

"Kazomi....

"Kazomi Seven."

Chapter 2

"Win or lose, I no longer care. The warriors of the future will hail my name, they will follow my legacy, they will remember my deeds.... and they will know me. Maybe they will accept me as a great man, maybe they never will.

"I know this, though. I have lost the war, yes.... but in my own way, I have won. And that is enough. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. I understand you all too well."

It was the curse of the warrior always to be alone. Friends, lovers, companions - all were fleeting, transitory, ultimately irrelevant. A warrior loved only one thing: battle. Why make friends when they would only die? Why fall in love when the burdens of this world would only separate you?

Duty was all that remained. Let the priestlings have their riches and the workers their little pleasures. The warriors had their duty. The rest of the Federation lived and slept and loved all because of them. That was satisfaction enough. The rush of battle, the burden of duty, the weight of the blade.... such was a warrior's life.

Victory and defeat were merely words. How could mere words, how could poets or writers or historians hope to describe the true heart of a warrior, the ultimate triumph of victory and the agonising despair of defeat?

Sonovar had never fancied himself a poet or a writer, and his conceit caused him to label himself a maker of history, not a recorder of it. But he knew.... oh, he knew victory and defeat all too well. He had gloried after Tarolin 2.... and now he despaired.

Weeks passed, moving into months. While the rest of the galaxy dissolved into war, while Proxima 3 adjusted to the new era, while the Narn and Centauri continued to fight, Sonovar did nothing. He moved as a ghost through the corridors of his ship, his eyes haunted, his mind plagued with dark thoughts. He slept poorly, and spoke often to himself.

His war was lost, he knew that now. He had been defeated the instant Sinoval had stolen away his Tak'cha. Once, he had been in a position to dominate the pitiful remains of the Minbari Federation. Now, he was nothing more than a rebel commander in charge of a handful of ships. Those who had followed him were leaving, defectors recognising the futility of their position. Rastenn had left but days ago.

Oh, Takier was still here, and so was Tirivail. Not that she was her old self either. Whatever had happened at Babylon 4 had changed her. It was probably connected to Kozorr's defection. Now that had hurt Sonovar. He had genuinely believed Kozorr would follow him into the grave. Still, why should a man who had broken one oath think twice about breaking a second?

Takier was himself, the same as he had always been. He was a true warrior, the wisdom of experience in his mind, but even he was beginning to bend beneath the burdens he faced. He had had three children - one was dead, another a traitor and the third turned into a living ghost.

It was Takier who had organised the retreat and the fortification of what was left of Sonovar's fleet. He had done so with his customary skill and judgement. Should Sinoval choose to attack, then Takier's defences would hold long enough for a truly glorious death, an epic battle rather than a meaningless slaughter.

Of course, the point was moot. Sinoval was too skilled a tactician to attack. He had no need to. He could sit back and wait. The inrush of those surrendering to him was proof he had won. His offer to 'talk' had proved that. He knew he had won. All he wanted to do now was gloat in his triumph.

"Talk," Sonovar whispered to himself on one of his long and lonely walks. "Talk. He is willing to talk." Willing only to gloat, to glory in his victory. "Talk." As if they were priestlings, diplomats.... negotiators! They were warriors. The only words that needed to be spoken came from the blade.

"Talk."

He returned, as always, to his private sanctum, his place of meditation and training. His pike lay on the floor there. He had not lifted it in weeks. A goblet had been placed by its side, full and ready with the sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet elixir Forell prepared. It was meant to be invigorating and refreshing, but recently it had tasted only of ashes.

"Talk?" he said again. "Ah, Sinoval...." Sonovar looked into the shadows of his room, and saw the form of his nemesis there. "Ah, Sinoval.... what is there to talk about?" He drained the elixir. "What is talk for such as we?"

Then he fell silent. He could not think of anything to say.

Sinoval knew the value of silence. Sometimes, he knew, the most effective words are the ones that go unspoken. He had developed the skill of silence for the purpose of intimidation, but more recently he had put it to other uses. He had turned the skill of not speaking into the art of listening.

He had known in advance of Rastenn's story. It was very similar to those of all the others who had come to him, seeking forgiveness, seeking penance. He would do with Rastenn as he had done with the others - send him to defend Tarolin 2 and the other worlds he controlled. It was time they all learned the value of lifting a weapon to protect, rather than to destroy.

The story was indeed as he had been expecting. He was told of Sonovar's military capabilities, his plans and deployments. He learned of Sonovar's malaise and Tirivail's distractions. He discovered that Takier was practically leading the force now, and that Forell appeared in the darkest of shadows, whispering words of dark portent.

He learned a good many things, some of which were important, some of which weren't.... but when Rastenn finished there was one thing he had not been told, the one thing he most needed to know.

"Tell me," he said, the first words he had uttered since Rastenn had come to him. "Why?"

"Holy One?" Rastenn asked, puzzled. That was another unifying factor. All of Sonovar's warriors, captured or defected, referred to Sinoval as 'Holy One', the title he had held as leader of the Grey Council before he had broken it. None of them would ever call him 'Primarch'.

"Why have you left Sonovar and come to me? Am I not your enemy?"

"I...." Rastenn looked down. Sinoval had heard many answers to that question. Some had said that they had realised Sonovar was wrong. Some claimed to have been merely pretending to follow him in order to gather information. Others had replied that they knew it was over and had come to make peace and serve their people.

"I just knew it was right," Rastenn said finally. "I heard what you said to Tirivail on Anla'Verenn–veni. It just took too long for the words to touch me."

Sinoval nodded, and then dismissed Rastenn. He had asked that question of every defector who had come before him, and never yet received an answer he had been satisfied with. He then looked at the two members of the Primarch's Blades who were standing guard, together with the Praetors Tutelary. Minbari warriors and Soul Hunter guardians were watching each other with a wariness that never faded, but had been subsumed by the greater need to protect their Primarch.

He found himself wishing there was someone he could truly talk to. He found himself wishing Kats were here. But of course she was on Tarolin 2, rebuilding there with Kozorr, trying to mend the wounds of their hearts as well as the physical wounds of war. Sinoval was content to leave them there. His attempts to heal Kozorr's injuries had bought the warrior renewed life, but for a few months only. Let the two of them have their present. It was all they would ever have.

He also found himself wishing the Primarch were here. He closed his eyes and remembered the flash of light that had taken the Soul Hunter in the Starfire Wheel. A part of him lived on in the Well of Souls, but it was not the same.

He found himself wishing he could talk to Durhan, his Sech, his teacher. But he was busy, working with the Vindrizi on their sanctuary world and preparing the beginnings of something very special, something for.... afterwards.

He found himself wishing he were a child again, learning at Varmain's feet. He found himself wishing he could remember more of her lessons, more of her words. Alas, all he could recall were her last whispers.

So much. Valen has blessed me indeed.

Had Valen blessed him? Would he look back on his life as an old man on his dying day and smile as she had done?

He laughed at the thought. What foolishness! A futile dream of one who had not realised until too late the price of all his decisions. Now he knew, but now it was too late. He was stuck with the burden of his responsibilities.

That, he knew, was why he was moving so slowly. He could have finished Sonovar months ago, destroyed him directly after the loss of the Tak'cha. Even giving the renegade enough time to accept or refuse the offer of negotiations, he could have moved by now. So why had he not? He knew why. He knew what he would have to do after Sonovar was defeated.

He raised his pike, Stormbringer, and looked at it. He had forged it with a part of his own soul, and it had absorbed and claimed all his darkest essence, becoming a distorted reflection of himself he did not like to acknowledge. There were times when he longed for a day he could set it down and never raise it again, and others when he wished to lift it high on a battlefield and charge to his death.

No. No more procrastinating, no more delays. Rastenn's words had confirmed what he already knew, what he needed to know. He had to act now.

"Lanniel," he said, and she looked up. His choice was not random, he had known she would be the one for this task ever since he had prepared it in his mind. There were few others he could trust with something like this.

"Lanniel, there is something I need you to do. It will be dangerous, very much so, and it may well claim your life."

"I'm not afraid to die, Primarch," she replied simply. "Command me, and I shall obey."

He sighed. He had known she would say that.

"When I was a child, I used to watch the workers at nightfall. I was meditating, training, all the things young warriors do. There was one occasion, one out of many, but this one I remember.... I was standing in the Reihaido Gardens in Yedor. I was still and quiet, absorbing my surroundings, filling myself with knowledge, memories, the wisdom of my ancestors.

"Then I heard laughter. It was not mocking, not arrogant, not bitter. It was the genuine laughter of happy people. I roused from my meditation, irritated and annoyed, and turned to see who it was.

"They were workers, three of them. They were returning from some task. They were covered with dust, their garments were worn and dirty. They looked.... pathetic.

"But they were laughing. They were smiling. They were happy. I wondered why, and I wondered for a long, long time. What could such as they have to be truly happy about?"

Kozorr smiled, and brushed the dust of stone from his tunic. "Now I know," he said.

"It is a wonderful feeling, isn't it?" Kats agreed softly. She saw the light of understanding in her beloved's eyes. She heard the whispers of peace in his voice. But she also knew that the peace, understanding and contentment he had been radiating these past months were nothing but masks, thin layers of silk over a heart that burned and raged.

Still, even the thinnest of layers could one day harden.

"To create," he said in wonder. "To stand back and look at the efforts of your labours. It is.... I have been trained in twelve different techniques of meditation, each one aimed at bringing calm and peace, a respite from worldly concerns and fears. None of them has ever made me feel as I do now."

It lit her heart to see him so happy. She knew what it had cost him to be here. The two of them had come here after the incidents on Anla'Verenn–veni, partly at Sinoval's wish, but also to try to force a reconciliation. There was still much to be done here. Even after the damage done by Sonovar's attack over a year before, there were raiders, pirates, scavengers. Warriors had been sent to help deal with them, mostly people who had defected from Sonovar's side. Many of these had known Kozorr before. They saw him moving with workers, 'grubbing in the dirt' as one of them had put it.

He had said nothing, but looked down, his eyes dark. They chose to interpret his place in the work crews as a particularly humiliating punishment from Sinoval. He had not chosen to disabuse them.

"Are you tired?" she asked. He never looked directly at her any more, always choosing to stare just to one side or keep his head down. Still, at least he could bear to be around her these days. He would talk to her. The inner demons he was battling were being cast down.... albeit slowly.

"I feel I could stay awake for weeks," he said.

"Perhaps you should sleep. Then I...." She hesitated. She had been intending to say this for some time, but the words had never come. Now she was sure she was ready. There were rituals and formalities to be followed. She had not approached his family, and even if they were still alive she had no illusions as to how they would receive her suit. Nor had she formally asked his lord - Sinoval. She knew what he would say, but she knew she had to do this herself.

"Then I could watch you."

His eyes flashed with remembered pain, and he looked down. "I.... That would.... not be...."

"My name is Kats," she said, stiffly. He had not spoken her name since his return here. "Or you used to call me 'my lady'. I always liked it when you did."

"It would not be.... appropriate," he said harshly. "Not any more."

"We both know it is."

"I am not worthy of you. Please.... don't make me say this. We both know I do not deserve you.... not after what...."

"No!" she snapped loudly, speaking with a force that belied her gentle bearing. "Kozorr, listen to me.... You did not abandon me when I needed help."

"But I did," he said. "I should have helped you.... I should have acted against Kalain earlier, I should have...."

"No! You acted when it was right to do so. You spoke to me when I screamed at night. You were always there, always wise and strong. I thought of you constantly when.... Kalain was.... You restored my mind and my soul to me.

"Now, I am free.... and I will restore your soul to you." It was true. She was free from Kalain now. There had been a vision on Anla'Verenn–veni, where she had seen him again and realised that she did not hate him any more, or fear him. No.... she only pitied him, and so she had been able to forgive him.

"I have no soul," he whispered. "My lady, why.... please.... leave me...."

"No." She glided across the floor of his simple room, moving to his side. He turned away, but she reached up and touched his face, looking into his eyes. "Neither of us can know what will happen tomorrow, but we do know that there is today. I know you need healing. For all these months you have needed healing. I am here, and I will not abandon you. Not again."

"My lady.... Kats...."

"No," she said again. "Don't say anything." Gently she touched her lips to his and held him close to her. He wept and trembled, and every tear cleansed both of them, until they were healed and ready to face their future.

There is a message I need you to take to Sonovar. Place it in his hands. Do not harm him or any of those who follow him. That is important. Defend yourself, yes.... but harm none of them.

If he chooses to give a reply, then bring it back to me.

This is the most important thing I have ever asked of anyone, and the hardest. I have faith in you, Lanniel. I know you will not fail me.

It took a great deal to rouse Sonovar from his torpor these days. Takier doubted even the news he was bringing his lord would manage that feat, but he was to be surprised, never a feeling he had welcomed.

And he had been surprised once already this day.

"And what is she?" Sonovar had asked. Takier had insisted on informing his lord personally of this. It was not an honour any had sought to take from him. Few wished to have anything to do with Sonovar recently, save only his loathsome advisor, Forell.

"Has she come here as an emissary? An assassin? A messenger? A threat, what? What is she?"

"She is my daughter," Takier said simply, and a dark light had burned within Sonovar's eyes, the first sense of excitement since the Tak'cha had left.

"Then take me to her."

Lanniel was where she had been left, guarded by five warriors with weapons drawn, ready for the slightest provocative move. She had claimed to have come alone with an important message for Sonovar. Her ship had been searched and it had been confirmed there was no one hiding there, nor were there any suicide devices, either on the ship or on her person. She had surrendered her weapon with no complaint, and demanded to see Sonovar.

Takier pondered this, and was darkly compelled to believe her story was true. She had come here to talk, not to fight. He did not like the thought of that.

She looked up as he and Sonovar entered, and her eyes betrayed no sign of recognition at the sight of her father. He in turn spared her no thought. She had chosen to ignore the orders of her father, her lord and her clan, and had sworn herself to an usurper and a traitor. He had no kinship with her now. She was nothing but an enemy.

But in the part of his soul that spoke not as a warrior or a lord, but as a man, he was proud to see his daughter stand so tall, so ready, so much a warrior in her every essence.

He looked around and saw Tirivail in the far corner, her eyes and bearing troubled. Concern festered within him. She had changed greatly since her return from Anla'Verenn–veni. He did not know the cause of this change within her, or what he could do to soothe her pain. All he could do was speak to her as lord to soldier. He had long ago forgotten how to speak as father to daughter.

Tirivail's eyes were locked onto her sister. Lanniel in turn paid her no heed.

"So," Sonovar said, softly. "We have a guest." His words were flat and harsh. "Why are you here, traitor?"

"I have been sent to deliver a message to you," she said simply. There was no passion in her voice, no hatred, just a simple statement of fact.

"Then give me your words."

"It is for you only," she replied, holding up a data crystal. "This is yours."

One of the guards took it from her and studied it carefully. Takier knew it to be what it seemed. It was not poisoned, nor any form of explosive device or other instrument of assassination. Of course, it might yet contain ways to destroy or wound. Words could do that.

Sonovar took it and held it up to the light, seeing the rays illuminate and scatter across its surfaces. "Ah," he said. "I wonder what proud words Sinoval has for me. Perhaps he wishes to surrender?" Takier half–wondered whether that was a joke. A year ago he would have been sure it was, and would have laughed accordingly. But then Sonovar was a very different person from the one he had been a year ago.

Sonovar turned his gaze back from the crystal to Lanniel. "And is that the extent of your mission?"

"I am to take any reply you may have back to my lord Primarch."

Sonovar smiled. "Ah.... then your mission is indeed finished. I have no words to say to him. None whatsoever, despite what he may choose to say to me, despite whatever lies he chooses to try to feed me. You see, your mission is over.

"Tirivail!"

She stepped forward. "I am at your command, my lord."

"That is your sister, yes?"

"Once, that was correct, my lord. Now she is.... nothing. A traitor, no more."

"I am glad to hear that. As you said, she is a traitor. Kill her."

Takier clenched his hand into a fist, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. He looked directly at Lanniel, and felt her eyes meet his. He hoped she could see his pride. She was not moving, not crying out in fear, not trying to flee or beg for her life. She was going to die as a warrior should. What more could a father ask of his daughter than that she die well?

The five guards stepped aside, ready for Tirivail to move forward. Sonovar looked away, focussing once more on the crystal. Takier did not. He could not have turned from the sight of his children.

Once, he had had three children. Now, he had but one.

Tirivail and Lanniel looked at each other for a long while, and for the first time Lanniel seemed to recognise her sister's presence. Something passed between them in that moment, something indefinable, that not even Takier himself could truly comprehend. He had had a brother, who had died in battle long years before. Since then he had been alone, unable to experience the bond his daughters had shared.

Abruptly Tirivail turned to face Sonovar. She fell to her knees and extended her pike to him. It was ready to be used.

"I cannot obey your command, my lord," she said, her voice strained. "My life is yours. Take it, for my failure."

Sonovar looked at her suddenly, shocked, even stunned. He staggered back, then turned and left, not running, but certainly moving faster than was dignified or appropriate.

All eyes turned to Takier. He looked first at Tirivail. "Rise," he said. "Go to your quarters to await your lord's decision." She bowed once, and then left. "As for.... her.... place her in a cell. See that she is well–guarded, but also that she is well cared for. Remain there until Lord Sonovar or I say something different."

He turned and made to leave, but something, something he could not accurately express, forced him to turn and look at his daughters. "I am proud of you," he said. "Both of you." Then he left.

It was the first time he had ever said those words to either of them, but he had meant them. He had meant them a thousand times over.

Sonovar laid the data crystal down on the table and closed his eyes. He could still hear Sinoval's words echoing around his dead chamber. He could still feel Sinoval's presence in every particle of air, a ghost that would haunt him until he died.

He had nothing to say. It was lies, all of it. Lies! It had to be, had to be.

But what if it were true? What if...? No, it was lies.

He did not know. He did not know.

He turned the merest instant before Forell came into view, bearing as ever his silver tray and golden goblet. Sonovar darted to his advisor's side and scooped up the drink, draining it, heedless of the crimson rivulets that ran down his chin, dripping onto his tunic and to the floor, each one a drop of blood falling from his mouth.

"The elixir is life." The words came to him somehow, from somewhere, from some part of his consciousness. "The elixir is blood. The blood is life."

"True words, great lord," rasped Forell. He took back the goblet Sonovar thrust at him. "True words, indeed." Sonovar had not even been aware he had spoken aloud. "Were there equally true words from the traitor, Primarch Sinoval?"

Don't give him that title! Sonovar turned, about to shout the words aloud, but he stopped, wondering for a minute whether he had already said them. It did not matter. "I do not know," he said, trying to remember what it was Sinoval had said. It was strange, just a moment before he could hear Sinoval, hear his every syllable. Now, it seemed as if the message had come to him from another galaxy.

"No," he said at last. "It was lies. All of it. A lie."

"Then will you give him a reply, great and noble lord?"

"No.... yes.... I do not know. What does it matter? I am a warrior, not a diplomat. I need no words. My voice is in my blade."

"Indeed it is, great lord. Then you must send him a message by means other than words, yes?"

"Yes. Yes, I must. I am a warrior! My voice is in my blade."

"Attack his shipyards. Attack his people."

"Yes!" Sonovar turned away from his advisor, and began to pace up and down. "Yes! I will destroy him! We will attack!"

"Krindar, my lord. He is building a new fleet there, a strange, dark new breed of ships. Greater Krindar. That is where his shipyards are."

"Greater Krindar. We will burn his shipyards to the ground, raze them to nothing but ash and dust. Yes.... that is what we will do. We are warriors, after all. Forell! Fetch my captains. Takier, Kozorr, Haxt...." He paused. "No. Kozorr and Haxtur are gone.... left me. Forell, what...?"

"I shall fetch Lord Takier to you, great lord, that you may communicate to him your grand plan. You shall gain a great victory at Greater Krindar, lord."

"What is at Krindar?"

"The shipyards of the Accursed One, great lord." Forell's voice was calm and patient, as though explaining to a child.

And perhaps a child was what he was explaining to. A cloud had slipped over Sonovar's mind for a time, a dark and foggy cloud, but it was beginning to pass, slowly, revealing flickers of light and no more. He could see Sinoval standing there, hear his words.

"That I know," he said. There were shipyards at Krindar, yes.... but were they Sinoval's? He could not seem to remember. "You seem very eager to pursue this, Forell. What is there in it for you?"

"Nothing but the greater glory of the lord I serve."

He tried to study Forell's words for any sign of treachery or deceit.... for anything, but the fog around his perception would not shift, and finally he shook his head. "Bring me Takier," he said. "We will muster our fleet, such as it is. In truth it does not matter what is at Krindar, as long as there is a battle. As long as there is.... then we will win glory, or we will die and rest."

"It is as you say, great lord." Forell bowed and left. Sonovar turned from him and glanced casually back at the table. He stopped, and thought.

The table was bare.... but there had been something there, had there not? A.... a data crystal? No, it was not there. There was nothing, just a figment of his imagination.

He prepared himself to receive Takier. For too long he had been still and silent. He would wait no longer for the enemy to encircle and destroy him. He would seek out glory.

He would choose the manner of his death.

"I understand now. I have been waiting for this, preparing for it. I know my destiny, and yet.... and yet....

"And yet now that the time is soon, I do not want this.

"Could I have changed things somehow? Could I have done things differently, or would my destiny always have brought me back here, to this place, to this time, to this understanding?"

All things can change. All things could have changed. You could have let the assassin's knife claim you as you stood above Earth. You could have remained in the Dreaming as Varmain died, and gone with her. You could have been content with the simple role of soldier

But you did not. You were not. You fought, and raged, and struggled. And your struggles led you to this place. Destiny did not bring you here. You brought yourself here.

"And there is no other way? None at all?"

You have asked that of us before. The answer is unchanged.

"I know. Will I be alone? Always?"

You will be with us always. No, you will not be alone.

Sinoval nodded. "Then that will be enough. It will have to be."

I hail thee, Sonovar. I speak to you from across space, in hope that as one warrior to another we may save our people, the people we both have sworn to serve and to protect.

Sonovar could feel the air hum around him, vibrating with breathless anticipation. He was going to war. He was riding to battle, the wind his steed, the stars his guide, the blade his voice.

"We attack Krindar."

"What is at Krindar?" Takier had asked. "What is there for us there?"

I am a warrior. I am not afraid, not to die, not to live, not to walk, not to rest. I fear only failure, but I am a warrior, and I will not fail.

You lie, Sinoval. Your words are lies.

His destiny is waiting. His destiny. My destiny. I have but to reach out my hand and take it, grasp it in my strong fingers and squeeze.

You are dying, Sonovar. You have been infected by a virus passed on to you by Kalain before his death. He was infected by Jha'dur, Deathwalker. It was part of her foul plan for revenge - on humanity, on me, on the whole universe. She is dead, but her legacy lives on. I bear the burden for her evil, and I will pay the price for it, I assure you.

"You lie, Sinoval. Your words are lies."

"You are wise indeed, great lord. Victory shall be yours, surely."

Forell is not here, but that does not matter. Nor is Sinoval, nor is Takier. Their voices are here, their spirits reaching out to touch him.

Forell is feeding you a drug, an elixir. It contains an antidote to the disease that is killing you. An antidote, but not a cure. It is holding back the disease and preventing you from spreading the illness to others. You became infected in Kalain's dying days. No one who has come to me shows any sign of her disease. I believe it is you alone who now bears the legacy Jha'dur intended to destroy our people.

"You lie, Sinoval."

"Of course he lies, great lord. He seeks to distract you from your great purpose."

"What is at Krindar, Sonovar? Why do we attack there?"

The elixir is more than a cure, Sonovar. It is a drug, an addiction. Forell is controlling your mind, warping your perceptions. He is using you. I do not know what purpose he intends for you, but you are being pulled by his strings. He has made a weapon of you, a weapon he has been using to strike at our heart. The elixir that preserves your life is destroying your mind and your honour.

"I seek only to serve you, great lord. I seek only a merest fraction of the glory your shadow casts over the galaxy."

You lie, Forell.

One way or another, Sonovar, you will die. As do we all. It is for you to decide whether you die with glory, or with shame. The elixir is destroying you, but without it you will die and taint all those with you, spreading Jha'dur's contagion.

Come to me, Sonovar. All will be forgiven if you come now. Resist, continue to serve dark masters you do not know, and I will destroy you, and do more than destroy you. For myself, I can forgive. For my people....

Come to me, Sonovar. Come to me now, and I shall forgive you.

You lie, Sinoval. Every word a lie!

"We go to Krindar."

"What is at Krindar?" Takier asked again.

"Glory," Sonovar had replied simply.

The Alliance shipyards were at Greater Krindar, the spawning grounds for the new Dark Stars, each one a cocoon wherein lay a screaming telepath, bound in a dark chamber.

Sonovar arrived, his approach undetected, for the Shadows did not move with him save in the shadows of his mind.

This tale has already been told, the tale of war, of sacrifice, of heroism, of countless screams in the night.

Finally Sonovar limped away, bloodied but unbowed, broken but not silent, maddened but not mad.

On the contrary, at last he was sane.

What is love?

A question Kats could not answer. As she looked down at Kozorr's sleeping face for the third and final night, she found herself finally prepared to ask herself the question she had not been able to face before now.

She had not been surprised by the things she had seen in his face. She had seen his loyalty, his honour, his pride. He was a fine warrior, possessed of many of the virtues true warriors were meant to exhibit, but there was more to him than that. She could see his decency, his protectiveness, and most of all his sheer, clear and precise love for her.

She heard him cry out in his sleep. She saw his self–hatred, his inability to forgive himself for his self–perceived treasons, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, easing his pain and bringing him peace.

She remembered the first time they had spoken. She had been alone, trapped in an agonising pillar of light, at the complete mercy of a madman who had attempted to tear her apart, body and soul. She had met Kozorr then, trapped in despair and pain and suffering, wishing only to die. She had seen him before then, many times, but that had been the first time she had seen him as a man, not simply as one of her tormentors.

Help me! she had cried.

He had not answered, not with words, but his face had shown his divided loyalties. His eyes had revealed his sympathy, and that had been something for her to hold tight as she suffered the onslaught of Kalain's words and blows.

What is love?

She did not know, but she did know that it was what she felt for him now.

Above all else she wanted to reach out and ease his pain. He had eased hers without ever realising it. It had been a simple thing, one single look, but for her it had been enough.

She could do no less for him. Nor would she.

"I love you," she whispered. His sleep became more peaceful, his dream demons abated.

Sonovar listened again to Sinoval's words, and this time the seeds sank into his heart, and the doubts that had been there sprouted and grew and wormed their way into his mind. He knew now the dark Masters of whom Sinoval had spoken. He saw at last whom Forell served, and he wondered why he had not seen it before.

He sat in silent meditation, for the first time since he had taken the reins of leadership and power from Kalain. At the end Kalain had been raving, broken, a husk. He had taught Sonovar so much without ever realising it. He had taught him to reach out and grasp his destiny with his own hands, to claim it for himself and never let go.

He had given him the answer to every question but one: How to be a great man. He had asked that question of many he had known and met, but he had never asked the one person he should have asked.

Himself.

For long hours he spoke with his ancestors, feeling their spirits around him. He spoke of his fears, his questions, his dreams, and as they listened, so he listened to himself. And as he heard them, so he heard himself. So he heard the answer to his last question.

He rose from his meditation at last, heedless of the pain of his body. It was nothing. The blood that filled his right eye was nothing. The shattered bones in his leg were nothing.

He was a great man at last.

"Great lord," whispered a familiar voice. "I have come to bring you your healing draught, great lord."

Sonovar's eyes, the one filled with blood and the other a pale blue, so pale as to be almost colourless.... both of them flashed.

"I think there are things to be said, Forell," he whispered.

Takier had been a leader all his life. From birth he had been destined to command, to lead his clan and his warriors, to die in glorious battle and pass the burdens and glories of power to a successor. At first he had hoped his son would lead, but his death had forestalled that. Lanniel's treachery precluded her, which left only Tirivail, but was she ready to lead? Was she truly ready? He had not known.

He still did not know.

The battle had been hard–fought and bloody. Of the five ships Sonovar controlled, three had been destroyed. The remaining two had been forced to flee, broken now at last. Their rebellion was over. Sonovar's final order had confirmed it.

"It is done," Takier whispered to himself. "We fought, and we tried. We lost.... these are the wages of defeat. Had we won...."

No, foolish thoughts. They had lost. Why think of what might have been?

He stopped before the door. It was unguarded now, of course. There were not enough left to guard it. His orders had been for her protection, but now.... now it was far more likely that he would need her protection, that they all would need her protection.

The door opened and he stepped through. Lanniel was sitting in silent meditation. Communing with her ancestors, perhaps? Her eyes opened and an expression of acceptance crossed her face.

"Am I to die then?" she asked softly.

"No."

"Then has a reply been prepared for me to take back to the Primarch?"

"In a sense. We are the reply."

"What?"

Takier breathed in harshly. He had faced countless enemies, fought a multitude of battles, stared at death a million times and not been afraid. But he was afraid now.

"I have received orders from Lord Sonovar. I and the entire Storm Dancer clan are to surrender to Primarch Sinoval."

"I think there are things to be said, Forell."

There was no reply, not at first. Only a slow drawing in of breath and a slight twitching of his mutilated face revealed any change in his demeanour.

"What things, great lord?" he asked at last.

"The truth.... unlike the lies you have been feeding me along with that foul drink. Who are your masters? How long have you been working for beings other than myself? Since the very beginning?"

"I have always worked for you and you alone, lord." There was a shimmering on Forell's shoulder, something Sonovar could not clearly see, something on the edge of his perception. His crimson–stained vision did not help.

He moved forward, pike raised, and smashed it through the tray Forell held, sending goblet and elixir to the floor. Forell took an involuntary step back, but then held his ground.

"Liar!" Sonovar cried. "Answer me, Forell! I need the truth!"

"There is no truth," Forell said calmly. "There is nothing but the perception of truth. There is nothing but words and images and a million different interpretations. The others have a saying: truth is a three–edged sword. They are wrong. It is not a sword but a maelstrom, a whirlpool of thought and colour.

"Truth is chaos personified."

Sonovar stepped back slowly. The voice was Forell's, but the words did not seem to be his. A dark mass began to appear on his shoulder, long tendrils snaking around his neck.

"You do not understand," Forell continued. "That is something else the others say. They say understanding is irrelevant. They are wrong. Understanding is vital.... but only when the time is right. You have served us directly for two years, and indirectly all your life. You are a chaos–bringer, an instrument of war, forged in battle.

"You are everything we could have wished of you.... almost. But there is one better, one more fit than you. In another world we might have come to you and moulded you for our purposes, but not in this one. In this world you were only a foil, a means to orchestrate and enhance another. You were the fire within which he was tempered.

"You were ours even when you did the bidding of the others.... when you entered his sanctum and wounded him fatally. Even when you acted at their will.... you were following our path."

"No," Sonovar whispered. "How did you know...?" He had told no one, not ever. Not Kalain, not Takier, no one.

He had told no one that, just as the fleets of his people circled above Earth, when he was nothing but a servant to the Grey Council, he, on the orders of the mysterious Vorlons, had gone to kill one of his own..

"You wanted the truth?" Forell observed mockingly. "We know. We have always known. You were nothing but a tool to us, and now your usefulness is ended. What is done, is done."

The thing around his neck became clear. It had one eye which flicked open, radiating a sheer malevolence, a pure and unbridled hatred.

"Now do you know who we are?"

"You won't win...." he rasped. "I'll destroy you all! Every single one of you!"

"No.... not you. Others, perhaps, but not you. It is possible we will not win. It is possible that the time has come at last for a decision, for one of us, Order or Chaos.... to triumph at last.... but should we lose, then we will leave behind our legacy.

"Congratulate yourself, great lord. You were vital to the nurture of our legacy. Our greatest weapon against the others is the enemy you tried and failed to kill."

"Sinoval," he whispered.

"Yes. Sinoval."

"No!" Sonovar roared, moving forward. Forell knew what was coming, but did not react. He could have tried to sidestep, to block, to move away, but he did nothing. The pike tore through his bone and his flesh, crushing skull and mind and heart. Sonovar continued to rain blows upon the body until there was nothing left but a mass of flesh and blood and broken bone.

Trembling, he stepped backwards. His mind was strangely clear, and he knew what he had to do. He could see so much now. He had broken his people apart, not for glory, not for power, not because it was right, but because an ancient race of evil had incited him.

"What was done.... what is broken, can always be repaired," he whispered to himself. "There is redemption, reparation...." He was thinking of what to tell Takier. He at least could salvage something from this. An order to surrender would be given. The Minbari must be united. This war must end. Now he saw that. He would fight for glory, but never for the whims of another.

"Redemption.... Reunification.... And of course...." His eyes flared, and he raised his pike.

"Revenge!"

Time shifted, faded, dissipated. As Kazomi 7 recovered from the assault of the Fist of Darkness and the near–destruction of the entire world, as John Sheridan waged unrelenting and bloody war on the Shadows, as Proxima 3 suffered famine and hardship, as Centauri Prime once again went up in flames.... Sinoval worked to heal the fractured wounds of his people.

He received Takier and his followers in person. Lanniel was freed and returned to her duties as Sinoval's guard. Takier requested the right of morr'dechai - an ancient right to suicide last practised in the early days of Valen's reign - but Sinoval denied him permission. Takier, Tirivail and the other leaders of the Storm Dancers clan were imprisoned, while those who could be trusted were set to guarding the trade routes between the sparse Minbari worlds.

Sinoval continued to watch for Sonovar, but he had seemingly disappeared. Reports came, whispers through the Vindrizi, through the Well of Souls. Shadow ships had been attacked, their bases threatened, their warriors hunted down and killed. Some of these were surely fabrications or exaggerations, but in some there were footprints that could only be Sonovar's.

Sinoval was content to wait, however. Since he had taken the title of Primarch he had learned patience. He could sense that events were being played out and that he would meet Sonovar again when the time was right.

On the day the Dark Star ships fought the Shadows at Velatastat, on the day Lord–General Marrago faced down the Shadow Criers in the throne room, Sinoval finally uncovered Sonovar's last place of refuge.

The ship was floating dead in space, broken, shattered, finished. It was nothing, nothing at all, hidden in a nowhere place far from anywhere. This was the place Sonovar had come to die.

Sinoval stood alone on the pinnacle of Cathedral and looked across at the ship. Sonovar's flagship, the place where he had stood and plotted and raved, the place where he had imprisoned Kats and Kozorr, the place where he had dealt with the Tak'cha, the place where he had continued the long process of tearing apart the Minbari people.

And that process would end here.

No. Sinoval shook his head. It would not end here. It would end somewhere else, when he carried out the deed he had been warned was necessary. The day he had taken the role and the name of Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, he had asked the Well of Souls what he would have to do to heal his people.

He wished he had never heard the answer.

That would end the strife, that would reunite his people.

"You are there, Sonovar," he whispered. "I can feel you. You aren't dead yet."

No, Sonovar was a warrior. He had chosen his last place. He was preparing himself, waiting. He was not dead yet, but soon.... very soon, he would die a warrior's death.

Sinoval closed his eyes and let the Well of Souls wash over him. He was unsure how the previous Primarch had felt this experience, but then he had been present at the actual creation of the Well and had known that he was a conduit, an extension of it. Sinoval had lived thinking of the Soul Hunters as abominations, monsters, demons from legend. For any true Minbari the very concept of the Well of Souls was a terrifying thought, a strike at the heart of everything he believed in and cherished.

Sinoval was no longer fully Minbari, but then he was not yet fully a Soul Hunter either. He was somewhere between the two, and so his thoughts were mixed.

He was not and never had been a poet, or he might have been able to put the experience into words. As it was he could envisage only the whispers of countless voices, as if he could hear the entire conversation of a planet just inside the next room. Different voices, different languages, different ages.... all in one, and yet separate. A musical symphony of a million different instruments and voices.

Sinoval gave up. He simply could not describe it. The Well existed on an entirely separate plane from this one. It could see through to this realm however. It could see the dying.... and the damned.

Sonovar was there, on the bridge of his ship. He was the last Minbari alive. Blood stained his hands and face. Not all of it was his own. Some of it came from those who had chosen to follow him. Sinoval sensed the thing that the Shadows had sent after him. Sonovar was evidently too insignificant for them to concern themselves with directly, so they had sent one of their minions.

The Well could feel it, and each voice trembled slightly. They knew what it was. Just one being, just one monster, but that was enough. It crackled its presence across both realities, poisoning the worlds of the dead. It was a true abomination, once a member of a great, enlightened and noble race that had fallen, and fallen far. It now lived only for death, to kill, and to raise up those it had killed, desecrating the bodies and souls of the dead, creating an army to serve itself.

Did you know I would be here? Sinoval asked himself. Is that why, of all the countless minions in your servitude - the Drakh, the Zener, the Z'shailyl, the Wykhheran.... is that why, of all of them, you unleashed this?

The Shadows were evidently not finished with him yet.

He knew how this worked, although he had never done it before. The previous Primarch had been able to manoeuvre through hyperspace effortlessly, but then he had been a scion of the eldest race, and had known things about the universe few others could match. Sinoval knew the procedure and he knew the dangers, and that had so far prevented him from using this latest of his abilities.

Have no fear, came the voice of the Well. We are ever with you.

"I never doubted it," he replied. Then he stepped from the pinnacle and floated through space, until the world between worlds claimed him.

There were voices, hateful and loathing. There were hands and claws, spindly, yet filled with strength. They reached out to scratch him, the smell of death heavy. There were images of a mighty city, vast beyond comprehension, built on the bones of the dead.

Sinoval ignored them all.

He knew the history. He knew how the Vorlons had once tried to open a gateway to heaven, to storm the celestial gates and threaten the gods themselves. He knew of the demons they had brought through to this reality, a race of powerful, ancient evil who had slaughtered all that lived within their own universe and sought to do the same here. They had been beaten back, driven into their own barren, dead existence. But still they reached through, seeking gaps in the fabric of hyperspace.

Sinoval cursed the folly of the Vorlons, one more feather on the scales that weighed against them. They had driven back the aliens, yes, but not all of them. Some had remained, some had fled, mortally wounded, and been found by the Shadows. There they had been enslaved, their power sapped and broken, their genetic tissue modified and altered, enhanced and.... directed.

That was why they were here. They could feel one of their number nearby, spreading their creed of hatred and death to races they had never even imagined.

Sinoval ignored them. They were evil, yes.... but they were not here. They could not be here.

Like blood–red water, the mists of hyperspace slipped past him and he appeared in the world of flesh, in the hallway of Sonovar's derelict and dying ship.

A harsh, ululating wail rose up. There was a whip–crack that tore the air in half. And there was a smell, a stench of death that filled every corner of the ship.

"Look at where your ambition has brought you, Sonovar," he whispered. "You now rule only the dead."

Sinoval lifted Stormbringer and felt its darkness glow, rising up at the thought of what was to come. He began to sing as he went into battle.

Sonovar was ready to die.

The pain was less now. Even the shame and the humiliation were almost gone. Yes, he had been used, manipulated, controlled, but that did not matter. He had turned against his controllers and waged war on them, as much as he could. Now he was to face down one of their minions, a mighty adversary. He would die as a warrior should.

The smell came to him first, and then a gentle swishing noise, the sound of long tentacles caressing the corridor walls of his ship. It was here, searching for him. He had come here to make his last stand. Let it find him. Let it come for him. This was his ship after all, the last thing other than his blade and his soul that he could call his own.

He stepped forward and raised his pike. The broken fingers of his left hand clenched around it with no pain. His blood–filled vision did not prevent him from seeing. The shattered ribs, the mangled leg, the agonising pain in his head, none of them mattered. He had transcended pain now, moved to a place where he was something beyond mortal. This must have been how Kalain had felt at the end. He had tried to explain to Sonovar, but understanding had not come then. Now it did.

You are dying, Sonovar.

Sinoval's words came back to him, and this time they did not bring anger, but an ironic smile. "Yes," he rasped. "I am dying. We are all dying. But some of us.... some of us die great deaths."

The air trembled as the minion of the Shadows came into view. It was much taller than Sonovar himself, and shimmered half–in and half–out of sight. Not of this dimension, it was not bound by many of its rules. It was an abomination, a creature that existed only to kill.

"Yes," Sonovar whispered. "Yes." This was a worthy foe. It did not matter if he lost here. What other warrior could claim to have been sent to his ancestors by such a beast?

One black eye focussed on him, and there was a warm wind blowing in his mind, a wind that brought the stench of rotting meat with it. He saw in his mind's eye a world filled with the dead, their bodies raised up to walk, to serve, and to be killed once more. He sensed the unbelievable hatred these things felt for all that lived, from the greatest warrior to the smallest bacterium.

"No!" he roared. A lifetime of meditation, of preparation, of mental, spiritual and emotional equilibrium had taught him well. He cast off its mental image and stepped forward. Limbs moving without obstruction, body moving without pain, soul moving without fear, he struck at it. They had fought before, over the weeks this creature had been roaming his ship, but they had been nothing but skirmishes. This was the final battle.

A tentacle brushed against his side and a dart of pain shot up his arm. His fingers trembled and tensed on the pike, but he kept his grip and lashed out, stepping backwards cautiously, watching the beast move, waiting for his opening.

A number of things happened at once. He heard a song of his ancestors, a warrior song, proud and triumphant, in a deep voice. The beast turned, darting around, something between fear and hatred shining in its bearing. Sonovar moved.

Pain swept outwards from the mind of the creature, exploding in Sonovar's body as a tentacle tore into his leg. At the same moment his pike struck its body. Despite the beast's distraction with the newcomer, a tentacle slid around the pike and tore it from Sonovar's grip. There was a horrific sound, and Sonovar screamed as he saw his weapon snapped in half. Wielding part of his pike - his pike! - the beast smashed a blow into his chest, shattering ribs and grazing his heart. Sonovar fell, blood spilling from his wound.

You are dying, Sonovar.

Our greatest weapon is the enemy you tried and failed to kill.

The voices swimming in his mind - Forell's, Sinoval's, his own - faded as the song began to rise. He blinked, shaking droplets of blood from his eyelids, and struggled to stand. He could see someone fighting the creature, a Minbari, a warrior singing a song of battle and glory.

Sonovar's eyes widened and he smiled, beginning to sing himself. This was one of his ancestors, one of the warriors of his past, come here to mark his passing with glory.

He sang louder, still struggling to rise. His ancestor was fighting well, but the minion of the Shadows was an ancient, powerful evil from a universe that was not this one. It was wounded and seemingly afraid, but it was still powerful, still evil.

Through crimson vision, his eyes lit on the broken half of his pike. One half was still in the grasp of the beast, but the other.... was within his reach.

His ancestor moved forward, landing blow after blow on the creature.

Sonovar darted to his side, scooping up his pike in numbed, broken fingers that seemed three times their normal size.

"I am Sonovar!" he roared, and hurled the broken pike with all his might. The creature's eye opened, flickering darkness, and the broken pike penetrated the dark orb, shattering it.

The beast fell, its tentacles folding up into itself, its body becoming ethereal, as if it did not truly exist in this world. It slid to the floor and passed through it, returning to the dimension that had given it birth, returning now, in death.

Sonovar smiled, and slumped back to the floor. He had won, and such a victory! His ancestors would be proud. Now he was ready to die.

"You did well," said the voice of the spirit that had come to his aid, and his smile broadened. Then he started. He knew that voice.

"But then," Sinoval said, walking forward, "I never doubted it."

Sonovar began to laugh; hollow, mocking laughter. "Well.... you have won."

"Yes."

"It's over."

"Yes."

"It doesn't matter, anyway. It never did. Win or lose, I no longer care. The warriors of the future will hail my name, they will follow my legacy, they will remember my deeds.... and they will know me. Maybe they will accept me as a great man, maybe they never will.

"I know this, though. I have lost the war, yes.... but in my own way, I have won. And that is enough. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sonovar. I understand you all too well."

"Ah.... I think you do. This is the way it should have been. A warrior's death, a death in battle. Not from Deathwalker's legacy, not from Forell's machinations. I go to join my ancestors now. You have won, the Minbari are yours."

"No. They are not mine, and no, you are not going to your ancestors."

"What do you mean?"

"I will be leaving them. While I am with them, there will always be war. They will not follow me, Takier and the others, and if they do, it will be from fear. I will be leaving now. I am done with this world for the time being.

"But I will be taking something with me. I want you to know, Sonovar. I am not doing this because I hate you, nor to punish you. I offered you a chance to talk, a chance for peace, and you refused me, twice. You will die now, yes.... and if you do, you will be reborn, and it will happen again. There is something in you, a spark. It may take you to greatness, or it may take you to damnation. I cannot let either happen, not to you."

"What are you saying? Do you plan on saving my life?"

"No.... preserving it."

Sonovar's eyes widened. He could feel his heart slowing, and at that singular realisation, it almost stopped. "No! You can't! You wouldn't!"

"We will talk again, once you have had a chance for redemption, as another did.... we will talk once more, Sonovar.... in a thousand years."

"NO! You can't.... Please.... you can't! How can you...? I am Minbari. I am a warrior.... I deserve to die.... I...."

Sinoval was humming, and a small globe had appeared in his hands, tiny whispers of mist forming around it, sheathing it, shrouding it.

"No! Damn you, Sinoval! Damn you! You wouldn't dare!" More and more of his blood was seeping free. No! He couldn't die, not like this, not knowing what was to happen....

"I'll curse you! I'll hate you forever! I'll curse you, Sinoval!"

Sonovar bowed his head, tears streaming from his eyes. "You can't...." he whispered, wishing he had just one last burst of strength. Just one more.

"Nooo...."

His body slumped, and his soul departed. Sinoval captured it easily, and held the globe up. He could feel the soul raging and thrashing within it, and his dark eyes revealed his grief.

Then he turned and made his way back to Cathedral.

It was done, at last. It was done. The chapter that had begun.... where? Perhaps when Sonovar led his ships to Tarolin 2? Perhaps when Sinoval had left Minbar on his pilgrimage and handed over power to Kalain? Perhaps when the Minbari came to Earth? Perhaps even further back, when Valen had first appeared before Marrain and Parlonn?

Anyway, it was done. This chapter was over.

Sinoval knew this as he walked to the meeting he had arranged. He was strangely calm, perfectly at peace. He knew now where his destiny lay, and there truly was no other way.

He could hear Sonovar's cries, even now. He could not accept what had happened to him. He would, though it took him a thousand years. Sinoval had broken an ancient law by returning Marrain to the flesh. A balance had been necessary, but more than that. To let Sonovar die would be to let his madness return, his chaos spread. Now there was a chance for him to learn, to seek and gain redemption. It would be a slow process, but it would happen.

And then, in a thousand years time, would there be another? Another traitor and oath–breaker who had turned to darkness, who needed to die and yet live on to maintain the balance that would be broken when Sonovar finally passed beyond?

Sinoval did not know, but he did know that he would be there when it happened, in one form or another.

They all rose when he entered the chamber, with varying degrees of respect. He cast dark eyes across the room, lingering on each one, noticing blackly just how segregated they were.

Takier was sitting beside Tirivail, his expression one of dark resignation. He was a true warrior, a man who would rather have fought to the death than surrendered, an option denied to him. Now he was expecting nothing less than execution, or worse....

Lanniel was some distance from them, although on occasion she and Tirivail exchanged glances. Sinoval had been told what had happened upon the delivery of her message, and he had smiled. One cycle broken there, although it would take time for all wounds to be truly healed.

Kozorr was also present, although he looked uncomfortable. He no longer wore his warrior's uniform, but a simple worker's smock. Kats was beside him, her eyes and bearing radiant, her hand gently in contact with Kozorr's.

Another worker was next to her. Lurna, daughter of the former Satai Durlan. She looked every bit as uncomfortable as Kozorr, but there was sternness in her eyes, a grim determination.

And sitting together, but clearly alone, were Gysiner and Chardhay. Both had all but disappeared after the fall of Minbar. Sinoval had expected them to be causing trouble, but had been pleasantly surprised to learn they had been working to repair the damage on Tarolin.

All of them reacted when he entered, from a gasp of shock from Lurna, to muttered prayers from Gysiner and Chardhay, to an understanding smile from Kats.

Sinoval, like Kozorr, had abandoned the garb of a warrior. Unlike Kozorr, he now wore the black and silver robe of the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus. A circlet rested on his forehead, within which was set a brilliant red stone. Stormbringer was at his side as ever, and it seemed to be shining softly, reflecting the silver of his robe.

"I thank you for coming here," he said, walking up to the table. "There is much to be decided, the future of our people to be arranged. And you will be the ones to do it."

Kats realised his meaning first, not surprisingly, and her eyes widened.

"I abdicate my position as your leader. I give up all rights to dominion over the Minbari. I, and Cathedral, and all Soul Hunters will leave Minbari space. The Minbari people can never be as one again while I am here, and so I depart.

"I have two final acts as leader. My first is the pardoning of all who allied themselves with Sonovar. He himself is gone, and there is no gain in pursuing those who followed him. Takier.... I believe you will do as you see fit for the good of our people. With my departure, there will be little left for you to fight over, correct?"

"As you say," he replied stiffly.

"My second and truly final command is that the Grey Council be reformed. I broke it two years ago for good reasons, but now those reasons have gone, and the Council is needed again. As before, there shall be three workers, three warriors and three religious, and as before, they shall rule our people together, nine voices as one. It was the war with the humans that began the beginning of the shattering, and that is now over. It is time for the Council to be reformed. How that is done, who sits upon it.... all those things I leave to you. That is no longer my role."

"You will leave Minbari space?" Takier asked. "And never return?"

"No, I will never return. My work here is done. I have made many mistakes, and done some good, but I am needed here no longer."

"Where will you go?" Kats asked softly.

"Away," he said. "To walk on the edges of perception, at the border between light and darkness."

"My Primarch," said Lanniel. "Take us with you. We are your Blades and we swore to serve you. Please, lord.... take us with you."

"Where I go you cannot follow, Lanniel. I was never displeased with you or with any of the others. Serve the new order as well as you did me, and that shall be enough."

"But, Primarch...."

"That is my wish, Lanniel. Will you deny me that much?"

She stiffened. "No, Primarch. It shall be as you say."

Sinoval bowed to them all. "Then I am done here. I have faith in you all, and in our people. I will not be here, but I will watch. I know you will all do well."

He turned and left, moving quickly. There. It was done. There had truly been no other way to unite the Minbari. What he had told Takier had been true. They would never be as one while he remained there. There were too many old memories, old divisions. Without them.... there could be unity.

He became aware that someone was coming after him, moving as quickly as he was. He turned and saw Kats standing there. "I cannot be dissuaded, my lady," he said. "Others will need you to be their conscience now."

"That is not it," she said. "I understand. I disagree, but I understand. I just wanted two things."

"What?"

She reached in and kissed him gently, once, then stood back. "To say goodbye," she said. "And to ask just one favour, one last memory."

"Of course, my lady. Anything. What do you wish of me?"

She told him.

Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.

Oh, he had tried to protest, tried to insist that there was someone more suitable, but she would have none of it. No one could dissuade Kats when she set her mind to a task.

"But I am no priest.... Surely one of the religious caste...."

"We wish it to be you."

"Have.... have all the rituals been performed?"

"Some, but not others. Some we could not perform, others were not appropriate. The old ways are gone now, Sinoval. They can never come back, so why should we be shackled by old customs? We have been thinking about this...."

"We?"

"Well.... I have been. We want this to be you. No one else will.... It would not be the same."

"But...."

"I understand that you must go, and I understand that I may never see you again. We both do. But will you truly go without leaving us anything to remember you by?"

"No.... No, I could never deny you anything, my lady. Nothing that was in my power to give you. Allow me some time to prepare."

She had smiled, a smile that could have outshone stars.

And so it was that Sinoval, Primarch Majestus et Conclavus, Master of Cathedral, found himself performing the ceremony that wed a warrior who had given up his weapons, and a worker who carried hers in her heart.

It was far from being a traditional ceremony, but then that would have been impossible anyway. For one thing there was no holy ground, except for the vast chapel that was the Well of Souls. There were no witnesses apart from a million souls of the dead, their spirits joined in happiness and wonder.

Never before, the Well told him, and he was sure he could hear the Primarch's voice foremost in the music that came with the words. Never before has there been such joy here, and from only two souls. We thank you for this experience, Primarch. It is not something we had imagined we would feel.

"Never before has there been such joy," Sinoval mused, knowing that Kats and Kozorr could not hear his words. He knew full well the blood and torment that had forged this place. "And it is doubtful there will be again, not within their lifetimes certainly." He knew what neither of them knew. Kozorr was dying. One day, very soon, his life would just.... stop.

"But they have the present, and they will always have their memories. Perhaps, in the end.... that will be enough."

And he had something to take with him as well, something to take on his lonely and barren war, a war that would never end. He had their happiness, their smiles, their joy.

And he had the sheer pride as he ended the ceremony. It had been a mix and match of various cultures, various words and deeds, but it ended as so many did, across worlds and races and nations.

"You may kiss."

And they did.

Sinoval smiled. His war beckoned, but as he looked at the two of them, so very much in love, it was the first time he had had even the slightest idea of what he was fighting for.

And for that he thanked them.

Chapter 3

"Well, at least that's over now. We can begin preparing for the future."

"I do not believe we have much of a future. Not any more."

"Oh, you do. It just isn't the sort of future you might have imagined you were going to have."

The End.

I have no face.

Not any more.

This morning I did. This morning I had a face, I had a name, I had an identity. Now I have none of these things. I have a crown that gives me a headache, a throne that I do not like sitting in and an image in a mirror that I do not recognise as myself. I do not have a name. I have a title.

It is Emperor.

The room is quiet. I am the only one here, alone.... alone with my throne, my crown, my robes. Alone with the two bodies on the floor and the ghosts of my friends.

There is a hole in the corner. It is marked with shadows, a place where my friend used to stand, saying nothing that did not need to be said, merely watching. He does not stand there any longer. He is gone, and he will not be returning.

Who am I?

I am the Emperor.

I am nobody.

I am Emperor because a madman did not want to be, because he would rather die than take the crown and the throne for himself. There was a time when I was determined to deny him his final laugh, to prove him wrong, to create a dynasty that would endure beyond myself, deep into the future. I would not let him win.

I was blind. We were all blind, because he has won. Not in the way he might have foreseen, but he has won all the same. I will be the last Emperor of the Centauri Republic, and the people to come after will curse my name for my weakness and my failure.

I have no name. All who knew it are gone.

I sit down on my uncomfortable throne and hear the angry words still hanging in the air. I look at the body on the floor and remember that I used to have a name, even a face.

Now I have nothing.

Congratulations, Cartagia. You were right. All along, you were right.

Who am I?

No one.

The Beginning.

The memory was still fresh. The image of that.... nightmare passing across the sky, blotting out the light. The echoes of its long scream still sounded in his mind.

For one moment he almost forgot who was next to him.

"Blessed G'Quan," the Narn pilot was whispering. "You were right...."

For that one moment their struggle had been forgotten. Londo looked at his opponent again, seeing him with new eyes. The Narn was shaking, trembling with a revelation long hidden. He had seen religious fanatics in the streets of the capital, and the Narn had the same gleam in his eyes.

A few moments ago they had been trying to kill each other. Then they had heard that scream, and the thing had passed overhead.

Londo was half–afraid it would return to destroy them. Then he wondered if it could care. What were they to creatures such as it? Nothing more than insects, than microbes. He knew somehow that it was immeasurably old, an ancient and terrible malevolence. And he knew, he knew in the whispers and cries of the insane and in the dreams of dying men.... he knew that these creatures would come to his home.

"Blessed G'Quan," the Narn said again.

He lifted his head, and his red eyes looked directly into Londo's. There was one brief moment of understanding. "What is our struggle to such as they?" the Narn asked. His words had a strange feel to them. The Narn sighed. "It was a quotation," he explained after a moment, "from one of our holiest books. Our prophet urged us all to set aside our own wars and look to the greater enemy."

He pointed up into the sky. "That is the enemy he was speaking of."

"Rubbish," Londo spat. "You mean to tell me that you of all people recognise that.... thing? When all the explorers and scientists and thinkers of our Republic have never so much as dreamed of the existence of something like that?"

"I have seen them before. Drawings from the ancient texts. I never dreamed they were.... real. Never. They have returned, exactly as G'Quan foretold. Do you even know what that means, Centauri? It means that nothing matters any more. Our war, our struggle.... are all irrelevant. They will destroy everything. I know.... and so do you."

Londo trembled. "You lie."

"Do I?"

"Pah! I grow tired of this. Kill me if you must, but do not insult my intelligence any longer."

"Your words belie your fear. Yes, I could kill you, but what would that achieve? They will tear apart your world just as easily as mine. How long, Centauri? How long until they move in force? How long have they even been awake? Will they move for Centauri Prime tomorrow? In a year, a century? When?

"They are here, and someone must do something. And if not us, then who?"

"Another quotation?" The Narn nodded. "What can we do? What, against them? Even if I believed you, do you seriously think we could hurt that?"

"It has been done. G'Quan drove them from our world once before, and he spoke of others, mortals like you and me, who fought them. Fought them and won. He called them.... Rangers. It seems the Rangers are needed again."

"And who will lead them? You?"

"Until another comes to do so, yes.... but that can wait. For now, there is only one question that needs to be asked. You have seen them. You know what they are, and what they can do. If we cannot live together, then we shall surely die apart. Are you going to help me fight them, or will you stay here, and start at the shadows?"

"Two of us is not exactly a large army." Londo was shaking.

"It will get bigger."

"I must be crazy."

"No," the Narn said softly. "Seeing that has made us both sane. It is the rest of the galaxy that is crazy."

"Ah, to hell with it. Yes. I will join your army, Narn, such as it is."

"As I said, it will get bigger. And my name.... is G'Kar."

Other Beginnings, to More Recent Stories.

It was the whole of the galaxy that was consumed with fire and darkness in the second half of the year the humans called 2261. While Kazomi 7 faced threats from above and the Minbari people threats from within, the Centauri and the Narn faced threats from each other, from friends and allies.

Where are they all, this spiralling circle of friends, lovers, acquaintances and enemies? Where did they all begin, before Kazomi 7 so much as imagined the dark cloud that would consume it, before Sinoval made his final move towards his destiny, when Delenn was debating whether to remain on Proxima with the one she still loved, when Sonovar still dreamed futile dreams that he could win?

Where are they all?

On Proxima 3, all is quiet. Well, perhaps quiet is a relative term, but the wars are over, General Ryan still lives, the world still abides under a new and difficult occupation, the network is humming in peaceful monotony.

Mr. Morden is ready to leave at last. Proxima can survive without him, and he has been away too long. Matters on Centauri Prime are perilously close to explosion again. He is needed there, and this time he will not be forced out, not by anyone.

Lord–General Marrago returns home from a routine patrol of the front lines. Expansion and liberation of former Centauri worlds now occupied by the Narns are little more than a pipe–dream at the moment. Too many resources will be needed just to hold the territories they currently control. The Alliance has not yet joined the side of the Narns, but it is inevitable. Trade sanctions are hitting the homeworld hard, and Marrago knows there are no allies he can turn to. Well.... there might be one, but the cost of that deal would be too much for him to pay.

Carn Mollari remains behind at the line, waiting and watching, his mind troubled. He listens to his Lord–General, he obeys him, and in the back of his mind he thinks about how both of them have changed. The Lord–General is not the man he was, but then neither is Carn himself....

On the other side of the line, Warleader Na'Tok waits patiently. He has taken the seat of a great man, but it is a position he has earned through patience. The Kha'Ri is torn between taking the war back to the enemy, or demanding Alliance assistance. While they debate, Na'Tok is content to wait. He will take boredom over death any day.

Lyndisty wiles away the days in empty, frivolous pursuits. She goes to balls, she dances with eligible suitors, she breaks several hearts. She is the perfect daughter of a Centauri noble. But in her mind's eye she rehearses fighting styles, weapon techniques, tactics and strategies. For all that their tie is not one of blood, she is truly her father's daughter, even while she knows the need for secrecy. As her father once said, a weapon hidden is worth three revealed.

Minister Durano watches her, as he watches everyone. He knows her secret. He knows her father's secret. Secrets are his food and drink (though not wine - he rarely drinks, and then only to maintain a semblance of normality). And yet this one he has not used. It is his own hidden weapon, and he ponders just how to employ it - for the good of the Republic, or for his own good? A mere year ago there would have been no question, but now.... times are changing. A dark ambition speaks to him, a seed that was always there, but never before realised. He is not a tool of Shadow or Vorlon, but of his own mind, trained to near–perfection in the course of his duty. He knows his mind, but not his future, and that troubles him.

Lennier watches them all from his place in the shadows. No one talks to him, no one even seems to acknowledge that he exists. He is the Emperor's bodyguard, his confidant, his dark shadow. Some tried originally to gain his support, only to learn that he has no interest in their games, in their mini–wars, or even in the greater one. The only war he fights at present is the one for control of his soul, a war in which he continues to survive, but for which the cost is growing slowly, a day at a time. Soon there will be nothing left to save.

Lord Kiro has long since lost whatever soul he once possessed. He sits in a darkened, abandoned room, lit only by flickering flames, and he looks at the artefact he has been given, the last remnant of an all–but–dead race. He looks at the thing growing within it, and he feeds it with his blood. Soon, he knows, it will awake, and he will ride it to his glory, and to the throne.

Lady Mariel watches him, and trembles. No longer is she beautiful. No longer is she dressed in the finest of gowns. No longer does she eat the richest of foods. No longer is her mind the sharp blade beneath the soft cushion. Her body is scarred and blackened, her clothes are but rags, her stomach is eating away at her vitals. Her mind is filled with fear and a most unenlightened madness - and by thoughts of poison.

Her sister–wife - not Daggair, whom she had murdered in the coldest blood, but Timov, now Lady Consort, Empress to some, although not to her face - dances with the nobles, her eyes always warily on her husband. He pretends not to notice, and she pretends not to have noticed that he has noticed. He would be surprised to learn of the things she has been doing behind his back, of the sacrifices and decisions she has made for the good of the Republic. He would be surprised to learn how much she cares about the people, not just his people, but hers also.

Or maybe not. Emperor Mollari II understands and sees more than most give him credit for. In some things, however, he is sadly blind.

And on another world many light years away, his friend, his enemy, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, seeks answers, seeks peace, seeks understanding. He has sought these things for as long as he can remember, but with each passing day they slip further and further beyond his grasp.

That is how matters stand now, two proud races at war, the same war that has raged for three years. There is a feeling in both camps that an end is near at hand, but what sort of end? And will it be possible for that ending to prove that war would have been better?

All things are possible.

It was strange, thought Lyndisty of House Marrago, how swiftly she moved between forms, sometimes even with a speed that surprised herself, rarely she even surprised her father.

She supposed that was a testament to the skill of his training. She also supposed it was a good thing. She could be almost anything she wanted: a happy, frivolous, giddy noblewoman, a true child of the Court, concerned only with balls and shopping and intrigue and the endless chatter of romance.

But then, with a split second's motion, she could become cool and professional and dangerous. She could analyse politics and tactics and history almost instantly. To the few who even imagined her second persona, most notably of course her father, it was assumed that her public face was merely an act, an elaborate charade.

They were wrong. Even her father was wrong, although that was not a thought she cared to admit. She was both people, both personalities, inhabiting the same body. She did not know where one form began and another ended. She did not even know which one was the true her.

These feelings had been growing within her for a while, but her encounter with the outlaws some months ago had accelerated their growth. Her petty, giddy 'Court' mind told her to ignore them. These people were undesirables, they did not matter. If they wanted to work, then surely they could find work. How difficult could it be? No, they were just lazy, turning to banditry no doubt because of their innate criminal tendencies. Besides, they were only peasants.

But then another part of her realised that was simply not true. What they had said to her, the anger and the frustration in their voices.... She did not know.

Still, she was trying to forget. Sometimes knowledge and understanding were terrible burdens, and she tried to assuage them by burying herself in ignorance and idleness for a while. Her father had come to Court for a meeting of the Emperor's Council, and he had promised to take her shopping afterwards. There would be little to buy, of course. This beastly war had cut off most of the trade routes, but there might still be some bargains. She would need a new dress for the ball in a few weeks.

Ignorance would be welcome, but she knew she would not be able to accept that. She would ask her father what had happened in the meeting, and she would analyse what he told her. He would probably want to take her to weapons training afterwards as well.

She looked up uncomfortably, noticing that the guard was looking at her awkwardly. She flashed him her most brainless smile and he looked away sharply. She wondered if he had been admiring her.... or simply checking she was all right. It was becoming harder to remain in one personality for long now. Perhaps she had been doing something a proper lady was not meant to do, like sitting tensed, ready for an attack.

She sighed in what she hoped was a suitably melodramatic fashion and turned away from the guard. She was waiting in the reception room outside the Council Chamber, and there was nothing here. She could have spent the few hours of the meeting with some young ladies of her own age, acquaintances with whom she had shared many pointless hours of idle gossip, but she could not face that now. She was half–afraid she would let her mask slip.

She started as a figure suddenly appeared in the corner, and instinctively slid her wrist dagger into her hand. Then she blinked, and recognised him.

"That will not be necessary," said the Minbari.

He intrigued her, but he also scared her enormously. The Emperor's Minbari companion - his exact status was largely unknown - had attracted a great deal of attention among the Court. He rarely said anything, did anything or talked to anyone. He merely waited and watched, dealing with the occasional potential assassin that was part and parcel of Court life with brutal efficiency. Her friends had once persuaded her to ask her father about him, but all the Lord–General had said was his name, 'Lennier'.

The shadows seemed to part around him as he stepped forward. She flicked a quick glance at the guard, who was resolutely looking away. Evidently Lennier troubled him as much as he did her.

"I would have thought you would have been with the Council, good sir," she said hesitantly. She had never been this close to him before. She had never even heard him speak before.

"I was," he said. His voice was strange. He was speaking Centauri flawlessly, but with a harsh accent, as though something grated in his throat. Every so often there came an unusual pause in the middle of a word, and a visible wince. "I left. I have a message for you."

"From my father?" she said. She did not know who else would want to give her a message. Perhaps the meeting was going on for longer than he had expected.

"No. There is.... something that speaks to me. It tries to command me, but I do not let it. Sometimes, though.... it says things that are useful. It has a warning for you. Someone is coming who will try to kill you."

"What?" she said. The word came out a little garbled - half an anguished 'What? Who would want to kill me, you must have the wrong person' fluttering of eyelashes, and half a 'How are they going to do that? Do you know when? How did you know this?' clinical acceptance of the warning and a request for more information.

"But why?" she settled on, after a pause. "Why would anyone want to...?"

"To get to your father. To provoke him to make a mistake. I have warned you, lady. Take whatever precautions you think necessary, but do not tell anyone of this, especially not your father."

"But why? And what about...?" She looked at the guard. There was a flicker of a smile on Lennier's face.

"He has not heard us. He has not even seen me." Then he turned, moved back to the corner, and all of a sudden was simply not there.

Lyndisty trembled a little, and checked her weapons. All of them. The two daggers hidden up each sleeve, one in each slipper, a garroting wire fixed into an innocuous necklace and a poison capsule in a ring. They were all there, most of them newly insisted upon by her father after the incident with the outlaws.

She should be safe from most assailants, but somehow.... she did not feel comforted by that. In fact, quite the reverse.

Ten minutes later the meeting ended and her father came out, his face dark. He still offered to take her shopping, but she found herself not in the mood, not at all.

Blood.... blood was life. A circle. Life began in blood, and ended in it. Always it had been a symbol for change, for beginnings and endings....

For power.

Blood.... blood and fire.

The shadows danced in the flickering light cast by the few flames that were burning. A small fire at the moment, but one that would rise up again, greater and greater, rising to an inferno that would sweep the world, and then the Republic, and then the galaxy.

Once that fire had raged almost unchecked. Selini alone of the homeworld had escaped its power. The Dark Masters had seeded tools on the homeworld, instruments that had caused madness, insanity, massacres. They did this simply by showing the truth. First they had overseen the deaths of all those who could see - the prophetesses, the Imperial Seers, the telepaths and oracles. All fell, by one means or another. Then the madness had begun.

But it had ended. First a gradual ebb, a natural thing, then through the enforcement of the new law, the new order. Finally the seeds had been destroyed. The ancient enemies of the Dark Masters had sent an agent here, and he had seen that all the seeds were destroyed.

Centauri Prime could not be re–seeded. There was not enough time. The Dark Masters needed a new place in which to hide, a place they could hope to use for their salvation when they lost their homeworld, as they now surely would. But if they could not even salvage that, then Centauri Prime would have another purpose, a deeper and darker purpose.

It would be a part of their legacy, a warning, a planet of ash and spent flames.

Oh, yes.... and of blood.

It dripped slowly on to the flower. The thing within the flower stirred, its form raised to monstrous proportions through the dancing lights and shadows. Each successive drop reflected its shape, clearer with each one, more precise, larger.

Lord Kiro felt no pain, not now. The blood he fed it was his and his alone. Soon it would awake.

And then the fires would begin anew. This time, they would never be put out.

Morden looked up at the sky and found himself imagining a dark cloud falling over it. Two clouds in fact, one rising from the ground, the result of a million fires, and the other coming from the heavens, dark ships screaming.

Even without that particular image the sky was dark and grey. He could still taste smoke in it. It had been over a year since Londo had ascended to the throne and the fires had been put out, but a legacy remained. No matter how faint, it was an unsettling thought. He had less time than he had been expecting.

One of theirs was here, a Shadow minion, a powerful one too. It was sleeping still, but would be awake soon. Morden knew what it was, and what it was capable of. When it did awake.... the fires would start up again, the skies would become black, the ground would become a wasted desert, and the people mindless lunatics.

And all that just to create a place of refuge. The Shadows knew they were losing and they needed a place to hide, a place to seed with their legacy so that they might arise again. Centauri Prime was perfect for them, or it would be. Uninhabited planets would suffice, but an inhabited planet was so much better, so many people to harvest and.... adapt.

A nasty thought. A nasty image at that, but one he could prevent from becoming reality. He could.... sense the Shadow's minion. Its mind was sending out tendrils of thought and fear, tendrils he could perceive and track. At this stage it was vulnerable, and could be killed easily. Everything would be fine.

But that was contrary to his orders. His instructions were very clear, with no room for ambiguity. The Centauri had been given more than one chance to redeem themselves, far too many chances in fact. It was time for them to learn precisely the stakes they were playing for. Centauri Prime would find salvation, or it would burn. There would be no middle ground.

Which was in some ways a pity. Morden liked this planet, and even some of the people living on it. If things went.... right, then he might well ask to be posted here permanently.

There was a noise to his side and he turned, smiling. There were some people here he liked, but few more than the man standing before him, the man to whom he owed so much.

"Nice to see you," Morden said, still smiling. "I trust everything's been arranged."

"Oh, yes.... Londo, I mean.... the Emperor.... his Majesty will be in his private study for the rest of the day. No one else is there, not even his bodyguard. For some reason he's.... been sent away. I don't really know why myself, but there it is. The guards.... I could have them sent away too, or bring you in as a guest, perhaps...."

"No, that's not necessary. That would only reveal to the Emperor our.... relationship. We don't need to do that before it's too late. The guards.... won't see me."

"You'll become invisible?"

"No, they just won't notice me. Their eyes will slide right off me. It's a little trick I learned some time ago. The trouble is it'll give me a splitting headache by tonight, but, well...."

"Will you.... ah.... need arrangements for getting off the planet in a hurry? Again?"

Morden smiled. Two frantic escapes from Centauri Prime in the last few years, and neither of them accomplished just through his own skill and brilliance. "No, not this time. This time I'm here until the end, for good or ill."

"Oh, dear. Are things really going to be that bad?"

Morden looked at Minister Vir Cotto and sighed. He believed. He really believed. If all men were such as he, Morden would have a very easy life. "I hope not," he said. "But you can never be too sure.

"Now, I believe the Emperor is not expecting me...."

G'Kar debated again his only options and found himself uncomfortable with just how few they were. Time was growing short. Very short. Oh, there was peace at the moment, but the moment was all. Soon things would erupt again, and this time.... this time....

He supposed he could have done something about the situation by now, but there had always been something else. Two–and–a–half years, it had been. Two–and–a–half years since the second Narn / Centauri War had begun.

And what had he been doing in that time? He had abandoned political power for the burden of a greater destiny. He had believed that as a preacher he could have greater influence than as a politician, bringing change from within, bringing the idea of change to his whole people rather than a tiny proportion.

Maybe he had been right.... then. But now.... now he was a politician, and he was starting to wonder if his original choice had been the correct one. His people had taken his teachings on board, but they had perverted them, badly misinterpreting the message. He had wanted to speak of understanding, of alliances between races and peoples, of all becoming one to fight against a mutual enemy.

And now that message of understanding had been turned into a doctrine of conquest. Oh, the Narns would still fight the Shadows, but they would lead the war. First they would rule the galaxy, and then they would go on to the greater war. Foolishness, and a dark and bitter destiny that would bring them.

"Are you sure about this?" asked a soft voice from across the table. That voice brought him no comfort. It had been months since he had received word that Delenn was still alive, and a few weeks since she had returned to Kazomi 7 to take up again the burden of leadership, the duty of leading the Alliance she had helped create.

Every moment of those few weeks had been spent planning, preparing, readying. The commissioning of the shipyards at Krindar, constant liaisons with General Sheridan at Proxima, preparing for the induction of humanity in the Alliance, dealing with the Drazi growing more and more aggressive with every passing day, hunting down Shadow agents on the planet, trying to grasp some understanding of the Vorlons....

And above all, working with the Kha'Ri for the next phase of their war with the Centauri.

That was what burned G'Kar, that more than anything else. The war had been quiet for months, a bloody stalemate. The Kha'Ri now had evidence of a Centauri alliance with the Shadows, and had used that to force aid from the Alliance. The races were too evenly matched - the assistance of the Shadows gave the Centauri a clear advantage, but with the Alliance, with the Dark Stars, the Narns would regain prominence and would be able to push their war back to Centauri Prime, and this time they would not be driven back.

A jihad, a holy war, being fought in his name.

"Yes," he told Delenn. He was sure. This had to be avoided. The Shadows must be driven away, yes, must be destroyed, yes.... but at what cost? This was only doing their task for them. They only benefited from the Narns and the Centauri tearing each other apart.

"I have waited too long," he said again. "Afraid to confront my own errors. But now there is no time for fear, and no more time to wait." And there wasn't. The final stage of the plan for the renewed invasion of Centauri space had been sent to the Alliance Council from the Kha'Ri, passed through Ambassador G'Kael and his assistant Na'Toth. Both were loyal to G'Kar and had informed him early. They had also promised to delay presenting the plans as long as they could.

For long enough to enable him to do what he must.

G'Kar had seen the plans. Almost every ship the Narn people could spare, backed by a full squadron of Dark Stars and support from the Drazi and Brakiri. Ambassador Lethke had protested against his involvement with this - like G'Kar, he knew Londo too well to believe most of the stories - but he had been overruled. The Vorlon had overruled him.

"The war will soon be over," G'Kar whispered. Today, tomorrow, in a few months, it would soon be over. "But what will the peace bring?"

"It will bring what we make of it, surely," Delenn said.

"So there will still be no rest." G'Kar shook his head and rose from his chair. "I have missed you, Delenn, those long months you were gone." She had not explained what had happened to cause her to leave Kazomi 7 when she did, but there had been no need. Sinoval had explained to him and Londo. If Delenn did not give credence to his beliefs, then....

No, that was an issue for the peace, not the war.

And surely a peace bought with terror and lies was better than a war caused by anger and truth?

He had believed that once.

"I am glad you have returned to us, Delenn. I wish we had more time together."

"As do I, but we will see each other again, G'Kar."

"Will we? I wish I had your faith. Sometimes I think.... a dark cloud is putting out the lights across the galaxy. There are very few left shining now."

"The war will soon be over."

"That was not what I was referring to." He shivered.

He wished he could have had more time to talk, but as ever in his life, there was no time. His shuttle was leaving soon. He had a long journey to make.

"I doubt very much that I am welcome here, Majesty, or may I just use 'Londo'? That does not matter. I am here with a message and a warning.

"Yes, I vanished last time. Again. You really do not want to know why, nor do you need to. Suffice it to say I was fleeing from some enemies.

"These are the facts, Majesty. Someone in this Court is allied with the Shadows. Personally, I do not believe it is you, but what I believe matters very little. The Alliance is aware of this, and they are preparing a fleet, a massive hammer–blow to shatter and ruin what remains of your Republic. That will of course be a mercy if the Shadows achieve their wish for this planet first.

"The last time I was here I made you an offer. I came to you in a spirit of co–operation, of equality, in spite of the numerous favours you owed us. Or have you forgotten the help we offered you when you were just a wanderer?

"This time I am making no offers, no bargains, no alliances. I am here, and you know whom I represent. Do as we demand or we will leave you to the Alliance and to the Enemy. Give us the power to remove the Shadows from this world, and those who have invited them here. Give us what we want, and all will be well. Refuse....

"Majesty, I like this world. I really do not want to see it collapse into fire and shadow. That does not mean I won't."

Morden later realised he had never seen anyone so angry as Emperor Londo Mollari was at that precise moment. Nor had he seen anyone so adept at hiding it.

Lord–General Marrago knew many wise sayings, each one accumulated as part of the debris that encrusts a soldier's life. One of them, the one he bore in mind now, was always to solve your problems one at a time. He tried to remember that as he walked through the long corridors of the palace for a meeting with his Emperor.

The Shadows. The Enemy. He still owed them a favour. Just the one, but one was more than enough. The payment of the first had nearly killed his daughter - what would the second cost him? And with every day that passed the darkness over Centauri Prime grew.

But without the Shadows, what hope was there? The Narns would attack, backed up by the Alliance, and Centauri Prime would fall. The Shadows might be able to stop that. The Narns were a problem for today, the Shadows for tomorrow.

But what sort of tomorrow? What would he leave his daughter and her children yet to be?

He was ushered into Londo's private audience chamber, a room he was growing depressingly familiar with. Countless meetings over the last few months, each one aimed at preventing the inevitable firestorm, at preparing planetary defences, at seeking some peaceful solution, at anything and everything, with nothing the only result.

To his surprise there was no one else waiting for him. Just Londo. Marrago's keen dark eyes picked out the shadowy form of Londo's strange Minbari companion, but that was it. No Durano, no Cotto, no Lady Consort.

Marrago's hearts began to quicken. Had Londo found out? No, surely not. He had to remain ignorant. The blame had to remain diverted from the throne itself.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, old friend," Londo said, darkness in his tone. In fact there was much that seemed dark about the Emperor today.

"It is ever my duty to serve, Majesty," he replied.

"You are the only one, Marrago. The only one of all of them. The only one I can trust, the only one I can allow to become involved in this, the only one I can permit to know what.... You remember Mr. Morden, Ambassador Morden, I suppose now?"

"I remember him," Marrago said, with absolute tranquillity. He did remember Morden. He remembered being informed by his Shadow allies that Morden would have to be dealt with, and quickly. He was an agent of the Vorlons, a powerful and dangerous man. Marrago had arrested him, only for him to inexplicably escape and vanish soon afterwards.

"He has returned. No, do not ask how he got on to the planet, or even the capital. I hold no fault anywhere for that. He came to see me, in a private audience. He stood before me, and he threatened me. Me! On my own throne, in my own Court! He gave me two choices, in a way that was no choice at all.

"I could let this world fall to the Shadows, or be torn apart by the Narns. Or I could let him bring in his.... 'associates'. I could let him bring inquisitors and inspectors and Vorlon monsters to come and plague my world. As if I did not know what the Vorlons did to Delenn! As if I would regard giving them this world as a boon, as a gracious offer!

"We know what Cartagia said as he died. We know the promise I made to Malachi. Shall it be said that I lied in my last words to such an old friend? No, I will give him the better world I promised, and that will not include giving it to the Vorlons."

"What do you wish me to do, Londo?" Marrago asked simply.

"Whatever is necessary. I will keep the Centauri Republic whole and safe. We will not bend the knee to Vorlon or Shadow, or to the Alliance either. Do what is necessary to save us, friend. Find the Shadow presence here and burn it out. Let no Vorlon set one encounter–suited foot on this world. Let...."

He stopped, and both of them turned to the window. There was a sound, a terrible cry of triumph and exultation and pain, the cry of a dark beast being born.

Both ran to the window and looked outside. Neither of them saw Lennier fall to the ground, clutching his head in agony.

Both of them looked outside and saw a red cloud rise across the sky. And at its centre was a dark mass, a hideous, revolting flying monstrosity that was ugly because it was so beautiful.

It cried out again, and the red cloud expanded. Where its shadow fell, there came madness and death.

Kiro watched his creation rise. His son, almost. In the womb he had fed it with blood and dreams and hatred, and now before his eyes it was born.

The flower, now swollen and bloated, cracked, and the air around it was red. He breathed it in, and felt a sickly–sweet taint fill his lungs. Already scarred and weak from breathing smoke, he should have coughed and spluttered, but instead he was invigorated, filled with worship for his Dark Masters, filled with conviction and strength and power such as he had not felt since he was a young man, with the sure and certain knowledge he would become Emperor.

He glanced across at Mariel, tearing his eyes away from the birth of his beautiful son. She was terrified, her eyes wide, racking sobs crushing her frame. He laughed.

He looked around at the others, his followers, the mad, the dreamers, the lost, the damned. All come here to serve the Shadow, to serve him, to place him on the Purple Throne and elevate him to Emperor.

"Come," he said. "Now.... now we are ready. Now, our Masters will show us the way."

The birth of the last of the Byakheeshaggai did not go unnoticed by its Masters. For months they had been sheltering a small portion of their fleet, enough for two purposes: shelter, protection and rebirth if possible, and revenge if that was not.

The screams came to them across the fabric of hyperspace and they began to move, making for the distant world of Centauri Prime.

A million eyes turned to look upwards at once.

Lyndisty was alone in the palace gardens, torn between meditating, practising with her weapons and contemplating her new dress. She heard the creature's cry and immediately began running for her father.

Timov was looking at papers, records of trade agreements and meetings with merchants and officials. A shiver passed through her at the sound.

Minister Durano was likewise engaged in paperwork, occasionally sipping from the still glass of water on his desk. As the glass trembled and cracked, silver droplets falling to the floor, he started and looked up, his fabled poise trembling for the first time he could remember.

Vir Cotto shook at the sound, his eyes flickering around the dark room. Beside him Mr. Morden smiled slightly, and made preparations to ride out the coming storm.

Countless light years away Carn Mollari heard something, the faintest echo in the back of his mind.

It lived. Once more, once again, it lived, awoken from the womb of the stars, crafted as perfect and as powerful as its race had always been.

But something was wrong. Where were the Guardians, where the Protectors and the Towers of Judgment, from where it would launch its first flight? This place felt wrong, the memories it had absorbed through the blood felt wrong. It could feel the domination of its Dark Masters, but they were not here. They were coming, but they were not here. Where was this place it recognised only vaguely, glimpsed in half–shadows through the slow awakening of the soul?

There were sentients here, beings who quailed and ran from its sight. Its consciousness expanded slowly, absorbing their thoughts and memories. It sent forth its eyes and ears with the crimson mists, and understanding dawned slowly.

There was consciousness here, many minds, each with the residue of potential, a race that could see beyond the veils of time, that could glimpse the soul's shadow.

With a thought to the Dark Masters, it continued extending its consciousness. In their name and in their service it would call all the minds of these.... Sehn'tahr'rhee into one, bringing a communion and an epiphany, and creating a world fit for the Dark Masters to make their own.

Londo looked out at his capital, and saw a single mass of flame. He could hear the cries of his people, but he remained here in his palace, powerless to act.

And he saw the creature, vast against the sky, in the centre of the red mist that swamped all the heavens, that filled the horizon, that brought madness and chaos.

It was happening again, all of it was happening again. Little more than a year since the inexplicable madness had all but destroyed Centauri Prime, and now it had returned, but here the madness was far from inexplicable. Here the cause was plain for all to see.

"Damn you, Cartagia," he swore. "I will not let you win. I will not!"

He heard a noise from behind him, and turned to see Marrago come into view. There were two members of the Palace Guard with him. "The palace is besieged," the Lord–General said simply. "Some of the besiegers are our own guards, driven mad. Most of the capital is burning."

"Yes, I can see. Has everyone gone mad?" He laughed. "Can we even know? Are communications working?"

"Mostly, as far as we can ascertain. I've received some reports from the rest of the planet. Remarin has been lost, so has everywhere covered by that mist. There's anarchy everywhere."

"But not here," Londo said. "Not in this palace. Around it, yes, but not in it. Why am I not mad? Why not you?"

"A question for another day, Londo, when we have more time to think. We cannot hold this for long. There are places from which we can escape, go into hiding, wait for reinforcements...."

"And then what? No, old friend. We cannot afford to lose the palace, not after everything we sacrificed to regain it. I cannot rule my people as some.... some hidden Emperor. No, we have to stay here. Can we secure the palace?"

"Truly, I do not think so. But if you stay, then I am honour bound to try."

Londo smiled mirthlessly. "Has it all come to this? Did any of our victories matter? Was Cartagia right, damn him? Was he right in his dark vision? I saw it, Marrago. I saw forces of darkness and light battling across the sky, searing our world with their war. Is this it?"

"No," said a new voice, one casual and yet knowledgeable. Both Londo and Marrago turned, the Lord–General drawing his kutari in one smooth motion. Londo did not see his friend's face change abruptly, from mute terror to righteous fury.

Morden stepped out from the shadows in the corner of the room. He brushed an imaginary piece of dirt from the sleeve of his immaculate suit, a futile display of fastidiousness, and smiled. "This is not the vision you saw, Majesty. This is merely the beginning of it. After all, the forces of darkness and light are not here yet. But they will be."

"What do you mean?" Londo spat. "More riddles?"

"No, no more riddles. The Enemy is beaten, Londo. They know it, we know it, everyone knows it, and they're preparing. They have two goals now, only two ambitions. First, they want to salvage something from this war, to seed worlds to begin again in another thousand years. And if they can't have that, then, well.... they want to make sure that no one forgets them this time. They'll die, but they won't die easily, and they'll leave a million scorched worlds behind them. This will be one of them."

"What? But why? What have we....?"

"You were one of the first, Londo. You and G'Kar were the first to raise arms against them. That merits some revenge, does it not? Also, they were contacted, almost invited here. A bargain for a bargain. A simple question. What do you want? And the price of getting what you want is a simple favour, but it is never worth it. Ever. Is it, Lord–General?"

Marrago said nothing. He could not find the words. Londo looked at him, and the dull light of understanding rose. "You?" he whispered, unable to believe it. Unable to comprehend it at all. "No. You lie, Morden. You lie."

"Do I? Ask him."

"Londo," Marrago said, his face gone ashen. "Londo, I...."

"But.... how could you...?" He turned on Morden, an anger blazing within him such as he had never known. "You know all this and you do nothing? Help us, damn you! You said it yourself, we were the first. We were the first in this damned war, and is this the price we pay for it? Help us!"

"You know our price. We have no interest in saving a Shadow–tainted world, only in destroying it."

"But you'll die, too."

"Will I?" Morden smiled. "Deliver to us all those who allied with the Shadow, agree to our terms, and we will bring a fleet here. We will destroy the creature, help restore order, and lend our strength to reforging and consolidating the Centauri Republic. We will even help you sort out some sort of amicable deal with the Narns. You can't say fairer than that now, can you?"

"Get out of here!" Londo roared. "Get out of here!"

"I am always open to reconsideration," Morden replied calmly. He walked forward past Marrago's guards, and stopped as he reached the door, turning. "By the way, I am to thank for protecting you from the madness. A fairly straightforward psionic blocking device. I made sure you were adequately protected last time, and now I'm doing the same. You see, Londo? We are helping you."

And with that he was gone.

The Emperor of the Centauri Republic looked at his Lord–General. It was strange, but he had never seen Marrago look so old. "Londo.... Majesty.... I...."

"Not now," Londo said curtly. "Save this palace. Serve your Emperor." He made each word sound like a barb, and Marrago winced with every one.

"As my Emperor commands," he said stiffly, and then he left.

Londo looked out once more across his capital, and dark thoughts moved through his mind.

Kiro moved through the corridors of the palace, exulting in every step. He moved unopposed, there was no one to challenge him. The few guards who stood in his path fell before the power of his glorious son, kneeling before him and begging him to be their Emperor. Mariel was at his side. She could not leave him now, she was bound to him utterly. She would not be his Empress, no. He knew in the darkness of his mind that another was destined for that. But she would be important. Very much so. She was a living reminder that, where once he had been weak, a pawn, he could so easily be strong again. He had suffered torture and agony at her hands, and that had opened his eyes to the darkness he now saw between the stars.

Guards moved forward to oppose him. He stretched out his hand and his eyes flashed crimson. Within an instant, they knelt at his feet. He moved past them, not seeing or caring. His eyes focussed on one thing only.

He walked slowly up the steps to the Purple Throne and sat down.

I am Emperor!

He moved with the force and determination of the prophet he was, bearing his message in front of him as a talisman. Those he saw trembled before him. None dared block him as he walked closer and closer towards the seat of power of his people, a place he had once trod, and now, through necessity of circumstance, would tread again.

The guards stepped aside, bowing reverently. He did not notice them.

The familiar chamber opened up before him, and there was a hush as its inhabitants saw him enter. Slowly, drawing out every moment, he walked towards the podium in the centre and looked up at the collected Circles all around him.

Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar opened his mouth and began to address the Kha'Ri.

Lord–General Marrago could feel his world collapsing around him, the final death of everything he had ever believed in or trusted. Two things alone remained. First, Lyndisty. He had to see her safe. He had to. And second, he must die as a servant of the Republic. He knew his duty. He would die, and all his sins would be washed clean. There was no other option now.

Or so he thought until he returned to his quarters and found the Drakh waiting for him.

"Peace," hissed the Drakh. "A favour is owed. One last favour, yes?"

Marrago's kutari was already in his hand. "You think I will give you anything after this? That creature tearing up my world? That is yours, isn't it? And mine, too?"

"Its delivery was the first payment, yes. There is a second."

"I will give you nothing."

"We can call it off now. It has done its task. It can be taken elsewhere. All can be well again. Your world, your people, they can be strong again, strong and united. All we need is your one favour."

"What this time? My right arm?"

"Your daughter." There was a moment's pause as the two words hung in the air. "She will be Empress of the new Centauri Republic. Through her will come the new Emperors, the leaders who will bring you back to glory. Give her to us, and we will ensure your survival, your greater destiny."

There was no thought, no moment of conception. The kutari moved, Marrago moved. The two were as one. An instant later the Drakh was dead, collapsed on the floor.

Dark clouds swept across Marrago's eyes, a terrible rage, a fire that would blaze within him. It would burn itself out soon enough, but he had time. He could do what was necessary.

Find Lyndisty, and then die in his Emperor's service.

Lyndisty ran, her skirts hitched up in a most undignified manner. Her mother, could she but see this, would be having a heart attack. Lyndisty did not care.

She moved through the palace swiftly, preferring speed to stealth. It did not seem to matter. No one stopped her. She saw fighting, she saw those she knew standing still as statues, she saw comatose bodies drooling, chewing on their lips, blood flowing down their chins.

And still she ran.

The throne room. That would be a safe place. That was where the Emperor would be, and he would know where her father was. Then everything would be all right.

She pushed her way through the doors and took a step inside, then she stopped.

There was someone on the throne, but it was not the Emperor.

Lord Kiro smiled. "My Empress," he said, welcoming her. "You have arrived at last."

The byakheeshaggai raised its head and looked up, trembling with anticipation. In the skies, in the heavens, came its Dark Masters. One by one they emerged above Centauri Prime, encircling the planet. They would claim it for their own. They would claim these people for their own. Temples would be built in their Name, to their worship.

The byakheeshaggai imagined the future and marvelled at it. It howled, and the red cloud expanded.

He could hear it somewhere, just at the back of his mind, a million screams in one voice. General Carn Mollari paced up and down the bridge of the Valerius impatiently, angrily. Something was happening, but not here. Not here, where he stood immobile, watching the equally immobile Narn ships. A balance of terror.

Something was happening. He knew it.

Hence it was no surprise when he received a communication from the homeworld, from no less than his uncle, Emperor Mollari II.

"Carn," his uncle said. "We don't have much time. Get every ship you can find. Bring them all here, to the homeworld. The.... the Shadows are attacking."

"What? But why? What can we do against the likes of them?"

"Whatever must be done. They want Centauri Prime. They want it for their own, a place of refuge. We must deny them that."

"And the Narns? Can we dare leave this frontier unguarded?"

"We have no choice, Carn. None at all. Come here. We must save the homeworld, that above all else. And.... Carn.... I am proud of you. Your father is proud of you." Then the communication ended.

Carn sat back, his mind racing, but above all he remembered one of the earliest lessons Lord–General Marrago had taught him. A great leader can always take time to think. Rushing headlong forward will only bring disaster. Time for thought, even only a moment, will bring victory.

He sat forward. "Send a hail to the leader of the Narn fleet." The order was questioned, but ultimately obeyed. Soon enough the face of Warleader Na'Tok appeared on the holoscreen. A much younger man than the recently retired Warleader G'Sten, Na'Tok was nonetheless tough in appearance, a hardened soldier and veteran.

"I have no time for threats, General," he said, slowly and purposefully, "if that is what this is about." He smiled. "Or have you decided to surrender?"

"Neither," Carn replied. "What I am about to say may well have me tried for treason, but I don't care. Centauri Prime is under attack by the Shadows. I am going back to defend it. The whole fleet is coming with me. Maybe we can win, maybe we can't, but we at least have to try.

"You can come with us if you like."

There was a pause, and Na'Tok laughed. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Why not? It was our two races who first joined forces against the Shadows. My uncle and your prophet G'Kar. I fought alongside Narn ships at the Battle of Proxima. They gave their lives that we might all triumph. I am tired of fighting this war, Na'Tok. If you choose to take advantage of our departure then the Republic is dead and gone anyway. So I give you this offer. Help us. Help us against the greater Enemy."

"Everyone knows you are allied with the Shadows. This is a deception."

"Then don't believe me. Do as you wish. Obey your Kha'Ri. Disobey them. Whatever you wish. But I am going home. General Mollari out."

He sat back and sighed. Technically that was treason, but he had to try. What use victory against the Narns if you lost to the Shadows? Who was truly the greater enemy?

He began to take the Centauri fleet home.

She was perfect. She was everything he could have imagined his Empress would be. Her eyes were filled with flame, the warrior nature of her bearing contrasting with the fragile beauty of her features. She would bear him strong sons and beautiful daughters and the line of House Kiro would sit on the Purple Throne in service to the Dark Masters for a thousand years to come.

Yes, thought Lord Kiro, Lyndisty Marrago would be a fine Empress indeed.

"Where is my father?" she demanded. Even her voice was that of an Empress. He had believed she was appropriate when she had brought him the seeds of his victory all these months ago, but now he was sure, convinced beyond all doubt. "Where is Emperor Mollari? It is treason for you to sit on the throne."

"A treason according to the laws of mortals," Kiro said, admiring her spirit and fire. "I sit here by the laws of Gods. They have made me Emperor of this Republic, just as they will make you my Empress."

She snorted, and turned away. "I came to find our Emperor," she said calmly. "Not a madman sitting in his place. I will visit your grave."

Kiro smiled wryly. "Mariel," he said, and she looked up. She would never be his Empress. She never could be, and she had accepted that now. She was his in every way that counted. She had seen the glory of the Dark Masters, and of his son rising from the crimson womb. She would help him mould Lyndisty into what was necessary. After all, why else had he kept her around all this time?

"Mariel. Fetch her back. My Empress will need to be taught so many things."

Dutifully, Mariel moved to catch the departing Lyndisty. As she placed a hand on Lyndisty's shoulder, the future Empress turned and delivered a powerful punch to Mariel's face, sending her sprawling. Kiro smiled, feeling the power of the Dark Masters flow into Mariel as she rose to her feet.

Slowly a red mist issued from Mariel's mouth, from her eyes and fingers. Lyndisty's eyes widened, but only for an instant, as she moved forward and threw another punch into Mariel's face, and then another and another. Finally Mariel slumped and fell. She did not rise, and only her racking sobs testified that she was even alive.

"Magnificent," Kiro said. "Truly magnificent. You are more than worthy to be my Empress." He rose from the throne and began to walk towards her. She took a step back and a knife was suddenly in her hand, twirling competently. There was a glint of poison on its blade.

"I am Lyndisty Marrago," she hissed. "For generations my family has protected and guarded that throne. If you believe I will be your puppet, then you are mistaken. My father is the Lord–General, and he has trained me in every form of combat there is. Take another step forward, and I will erase your treason myself."

Kiro smiled, and his eyes flashed. The power of the Dark Masters shone in his mind, and he could hear the byakheeshaggai scream its worship. Lightning crackled all over his body, a crimson haze fell across his vision. He looked at her and saw her soul, a melange of conflicting colours, of split personalities, of fiery red and tranquil white. She was his, his to comprehend, to command, to serve.

Trembling, she was actually resisting the song of the Dark Masters funnelled through his son. He stepped forward and touched her face gently. The knife fell from her fingers. He bent forward and kissed her, powerfully but tenderly. The first kiss of Emperor Kiro to his Empress.

He stepped back. "There," he said. "Now do you doubt that you are mine, my one and true Empress?"

She reached out to touch him, placing her hand on his shoulder. She then pushed her fingertips down and paralysed his nerve clusters. He screamed and fell back, sensation ebbing from his arm. Her eyes flashed and she moved forward, another knife appearing from nowhere in her hand.

"I am Lyndisty, daughter of House Marrago," she said again, power and contempt in every word. Contempt. For him! "And I will never be yours." The knife sliced through the sleeve of his tunic, and then through a button. He stumbled back. What was happening? She would be his! The Dark Masters promised it! She would be his.

"No," he whispered. "No, this is...."

There was a flash of light and Lyndisty fell twitching to the floor. The guard lowered his weapon. A swift glance told Kiro that the wound was not fatal, but he no longer cared. The Dark Masters had promised him victory here. She would be his.

"They are here," he said, desperately seeking some understanding. "They are here, so we must go to them. We must reaffirm my loyalty. Come, guards. Come, Mariel."

"No," Mariel said softly.

He turned to her, doubting for one second that he had heard that word. She was kneeling, blood splattering her face, new wounds over many, many old ones. Cradled in her arms was Lyndisty's discarded dagger.

"No," she said again. "I am not yours any more." The words came out in a choke. She held up the blade. "Poisoned," she whispered. "I know all about poison. This will not hurt, not at all. I have had enough of being hurt."

She drew the blade across her bare arm.

Kiro screamed. "Why? Why have you abandoned me? Masters, what have I done?"

"Ah," said an unusual voice. "I believe I can answer that."

He turned to see someone standing in the doorway. A human, dressed smartly. He was smiling.

Behind him, there hovered a ghost.

In a pocket of hyperspace, the Vorlon ships waited.

Londo watched his world burn in silence. He received reports in equal silence. Totals of the dead, the dying, the cities in flames. Sphodria was lost entirely, the victim of a repeat of the violence that had all but destroyed it last year.

Even the palace was lost. The throne room had been taken and there was bloody fighting in the gardens. Some of the prisoners had either escaped or been released. And here he was, guarded and secure. He was safe, but no one else was.

No, Timov was safe. That was something at least. However much she disliked being guarded, that was a necessity. He could not abandon her as he had everyone else.

He turned just in time to see Marrago enter. There was a single moment when their eyes met, then Londo turned back to the sight of his burning city.

"We've lost Selini," Marrago said simply. "The Parliament building there has been burned down. I don't think there were any survivors."

Selini. A place he had made his home for months, the place where he had plotted his counterattack. The first place to recognise him on his road to the throne.

"Leave," he said simply. "Secure the palace. Serve your Emperor."

"Majesty, I.... I did what I thought was...."

"Leave," he repeated. "Secure the palace. Serve your Emperor."

"As your Majesty commands," Marrago said again, his voice trembling.

Londo waited until he was sure his friend was gone and then pulled himself away from the window. Looking into the shadows he sought Lennier, and was unpleasantly surprised to find he wasn't there. He had become so used to the silent Minbari always being around, always being here. Had he been driven insane, too? Was he to be alone forever, until he died?

He sighed, then called for a guard. There was one last option, one last path for him to take. It would take him years to put right what he would now do, maybe generations, but he would never stop working to rectify it. But for now.... he had no choice.

"Find Ambassador Morden," he said simply. "Bring him alive and well to my side. Let nothing stop you from this mission. Nothing."

"As you command, Majesty."

And that was that. All he had to do now.... was wait.

The pain had not stopped, but it had lessened. Lennier of the Third Fane of Chudomo could move, albeit awkwardly, and he could ignore the blandishments of the creature that spoke to him. For almost three years it had been speaking to him, and he had spent all that time trying to ignore it. The technomages had taught him meditative techniques, rituals, a stabilising of mind and body and soul that went far beyond anything he had learned in the temples of his people.

Up until now, it had helped.

But now the voice in his mind was not just one, but many. The Keeper spoke of the glory of the Dark Masters, and through its voice came that of the byakheeshaggai, last of its race, last of a once proud and ancient people of philosophers and theologians and artists. The last of these once gentle people, which was tearing Centauri Prime apart.

Lennier was not sure where he was going, only that he had to go somewhere, anywhere that was away from here. He had to get away from Londo, for fear of losing control of himself, of becoming a threat to the only person he had been able to call a friend.

His eyes opened, and he looked once more at the room in which he found himself. He saw with a clarity greater than ever before, and for the first time in three years his Keeper fell silent.

Ambassador Morden and Lord Kiro were staring at each other, unmoving. The bodies of two women lay on the floor. Behind Lord Kiro was the crackling madness that funnelled from the byakheeshaggai, and behind Ambassador Morden....

.... was the spirit of a Vorlon.

"There was something I said when I began my crusade against the Enemy. Something I said to the first person to ally himself to my cause.

"'If we cannot live together, we shall surely die apart.'

"I have said that over and over again, to everyone who will listen. I have spoken it in the mountains and in the temples and in the Parliaments and in the town squares. I have said that in this very building, and I will keep saying it until everyone in this galaxy has listened to me and has understood my words.

"You all.... every one of you has heard those words, and you have all forgotten. So I will say them again.

"'If we cannot live together, we shall surely die apart.'

"This war with the Centauri furthers nothing. It spreads chaos and anarchy and death. We should be fighting together, Narn and Centauri, against a common enemy, as we did once, in the beginning. Instead we wage war against each other. Instead we cause parents to grieve and children to be made orphans. For long years of occupation we watched as that was done to us, and we swore 'never again'. But now it is happening again, and this time it is not the Centauri who are to blame. We are.

"How often must I speak to you? How many times must I say the words before you listen?

"'If we cannot live together we shall surely die apart.'"

G'Kar stopped and looked around the room, looked at the circles extending upwards in which sat the Narn Government, the people in whom the Narn people placed their trust and their hopes for the future.

One of them rose and looked directly at G'Kar himself. He did not shy away from the prophet's furious gaze. "Your words are welcome here, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, as always, but they are ill–advised. The Centauri are allied with the Enemy. This we all know."

"Then you know nothing, H'Klo. Whatever alliance there is, exists not between the Centauri government and the Enemy. Maybe there is such an alliance, but the Emperor is not involved. The Shadows spread chaos. They set allies to fight one another. That is what they do, and that is what they are doing now! We should be helping the Centauri fight the agents on their worlds, not wage war on all the innocent because of a few who are guilty."

"They are Centauri," barked one voice, high in the circles. "There are no innocents there."

"And that is what they said to us!" G'Kar roared. "Do none of you see? We can wage a war against them from now until the time our grandchildren are mouldering bones in long–forgotten graves, and what will that have won us? In a hundred years, a Centauri government will sit as we do now, and argue that there are no Narn innocents. I suffered during the occupation, as did we all....

"But the occupation is over! And so will this war be over!

"I was told once there are three ways to deal with an enemy. Kill him, hate him, or make him your friend. We cannot kill the Centauri, and an enemy you hate can never become your friend."

"Your words are.... powerful, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," H'Klo said again. "But need we remind you that you have no official standing here? You resigned your position in the Kha'Ri and turned down numerous offers to lead us. You have an official position within the United Alliance, yes.... but not here. Therefore your words are persuasive only, and you cannot set policy for the Kha'Ri."

"I have no intention of setting policy," G'Kar snapped. "You are right. My words to you here cannot do that.

"But my words to the Narn people can, and they will. I will return to the temples, to the cities, to the streets, and I will speak until I am listened to, or until I collapse dead. Once I was afraid of the power my words could have, the power to topple governments and change peoples. I am still afraid, but I will not stop until we are turned from this path we are on.

"Councillors, this war will end now, today. If not at my urging, then at that of the people you rule.

"The decision is yours."

The last hope of the Centauri Republic moved nearer and nearer to the homeworld. Heedless of the Narn fleet left unguarded at his back, General Carn Mollari brought the Valerius and the Centauri fleet to Centauri Prime. It was not far, the front line was much too close to the homeworld for comfort, but would be it just too far?

What choice did they have? To save the homeworld, or to avenge it?

Jump gates opened above Centauri Prime and Carn led the fleet into the heavens above his homeworld. A fleet of Shadow warships was there, waiting for him.

Unhesitating, Carn gave the order to attack.

Ah, Lords of Light, what fools these mortals were.

Morden took a step forward, and behind him the spirit of his Master flowed. The power it radiated was enough to blind these insects, these beings who believed they understood the cosmos when they knew only a tiny corner of it. Even after all he had seen and done, Morden knew he understood little.

"They are here," Kiro whispered. The would–be Emperor looked weak. His clothes were in rags, his hair limp. There were scratches and weeping wounds on his face and hands, some new, some old. The only thing about him that marked him out was the fervour in his eyes, the crimson mist that seeped from his soul. Beyond that, he might have been nothing more than a beggar or a vagabond.

"They are here," he said over and over again, repeating it like a mantra.

"Yes," Morden said softly, in flawless and unaccented High Tongue. "Your Masters are here. Go out and herald their coming. Be witness to their return."

Kiro's eyes flashed. "You mock me. You dare to mock me! The Dark Masters will...."

"They will do nothing," Morden said. He could feel his Light Master observing him, shielding him from the power of the byakheeshaggai. That was a taxing task, a draining one, but the Vorlons were more than powerful enough for what was necessary. It was just a shame there was no node of the network on Centauri Prime. Oh well, that would soon change.

"You live on delusions," Morden said, his voice firm. "You huddle to the Shadow believing it will soothe and succour when it drains the life from you. It is not too late for you to seek forgiveness, but I am not the right person for that. When an Inquisitor arrives, maybe, but for now...." Morden smiled. "For now, you will have to be content with seeing the truth."

Kiro looked directly at him, and for just an instant Morden saw himself reflected in the madman's eyes. Then the mirrors there became filled with light, a light so old and so powerful and so bright that all reflections, all insanity, all that was there.... was erased.

Kiro fell back, resting against the throne. He remained there for a few minutes and then looked around the room, his eyes those of a child who is seeing the world for the first time. He looked at Mariel's dead body, at the woman he had thought would have been his Empress, at the shadows in an empty corner, at the throne he had recently sat on, and then at Morden and the angel behind him.

Then, saying nothing, Kiro turned and limped away from the throne room.

Morden turned to look at the two guards who had succumbed to Kiro's will, but they were motionless, drooling on the floor, their minds utterly broken at last by the same thing that had broken Kiro's - the sight of a Vorlon.

A sound suddenly reached him, as if coming from a long way away. He blinked, feeling the banalities of the real world returning to him, and looked down. The woman there, Lyndisty Marrago, was moving, stirring slowly.

Morden pursed his lips, knowing what must be done. He had thought her taken by Kiro's power, but evidently that was not so. It would have been easier for all had she not been able to resist. Morden never liked getting blood on his suit.

He knelt down at her side and picked up a knife. It was sharp, clearly well–made, with a smear of poison on the blade. Lyndisty coughed and looked up at him. As he looked into her eyes he saw a resemblance to her father. Oh, Morden knew that the Lord–General was not her biological father, but there was a resemblance there nonetheless, regardless of genetics.

"I know you," she whispered. "I am Lyndisty, of House Marrago. My father once had you arrested for crimes against the Emperor."

"Yes," Morden said. "He did." He waited until Lyndisty pulled herself up to a kneeling position, admiring her strength as she did so. Then he plunged the knife into her chest. He was fairly sure the blow was a killing one, but there was no room for mistakes. So he stabbed her again, and again. With the third blow he was sure it was enough and he stepped back, dropping the dagger.

He smiled. There was very little blood on his suit, and what there was could easily be explained away.

He looked down at Lyndisty's body. To think, if only her true father hadn't died as he had, she would probably still be alive. It was as the Lords of Light said, as the Inquisitors taught. The sins of the father are carried down to the child.

Morden stepped back and looked at his eternal companion. The Vorlon was pleased. It also had to leave.

"I know what to do," Morden whispered. "I will not fail."

There was no obvious reply to that, but he knew the Vorlon was satisfied. He watched in near–ecstasy as the glowing angel of light rose up through the ceiling. He had seen that sight countless times, and yet it always left him filled with awe. What would the sight do to the Centauri, he wondered?

But there was too much for him to do now to worry about his Light Master. He made to leave the room and seek out the Emperor, only to stop and look back. Something.... something seemed wrong, as if there was something hidden in the room. He scanned everything he could see, and there was nothing untoward, but there was that nagging feeling....

No. If there was anything there his Light Master would have found it. He was just paranoid. Besides, he had a lot of work to do.

Morden left, and did not see Lennier slide out of the shadows.

Why did he not see me? I could feel it.

Easy. A little trick we taught you. You just do not remember us teaching it to you.

I'm not listening to you. I can shut you out. I can....

No you can't, and this isn't your Keeper. I'm someone else. A friend. I've been watching you very closely. I didn't really want to have to act yet, but I couldn't risk the Vorlon finding you. The Shadow Criers either.

Who are you?

I told you. A friend. I wouldn't be surprised if you don't remember me, and it's doubtful we'll be meeting in the flesh any time soon. I just thought you should know that I'm here.

Who are you?

A friend, as I said. I already know your name, so it's only polite to provide you with mine. I am called Galen.

Warleader Na'Tok had always believed he should make a decision and stick with it. G'Sten had once told him that any leader who is talked out of a decision by his soldiers is not fit to lead.

Still, he felt they at least deserved some explanation.

"I will take full responsibility," he said. "I will go before the Kha'Ri and admit what I do here. None of you will be blamed, but I am the Warleader of this fleet, and until that position is taken from me, you will all obey my orders.

"Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar said something once. Something I did not understand at the time. I am not sure I understand it now.

"'There will come one moment in all our lives when all that is hangs in the balance, where one decision will shape not just our destiny, but the destinies of all those around us. Be sure, when that times comes, the decision you make is for the right reasons.'

"I am sure, and as I am Warleader, that means you are all sure also."

And with that, there was no argument. The Narn fleet set course for Centauri Prime.

"He is my friend, my oldest friend now. So few of us left alive. Urza, gone. Malachi, gone. And now.... Marrago. Oh, what dreams we all had as young men. We would topple the pillars of creation, walk like giants through the galaxy and leave nothing but wit and smiles and a reputation all men would envy.

"And we were almost there. Urza, Refa, Marrago and I. Serving the Emperor, creating a better world, fighting for a noble aim. Great Maker, how did we all fall so far and so fast?

"I am the last. A million failed promises litter my footsteps, and in my future there is nothing but sorrow. What I am about to do now.... it will take generations to put right.

"But what choice is there?"

"There is always a choice, Londo." The Emperor of the great and glorious Centauri Republic turned to see Morden standing at the door. The guard he had sent to find him was nearby. Morden looked very serious. There were a few spots of blood on his suit. It was remarkable the things one noticed in a crisis. "Just be sure you make the right one."

"From what perspective, hmm? Oh, I know what choice I make now, Mr. Morden. I will not let either of us be deluded that I do this gladly."

"You do not have to. You are an intelligent man, Londo. You can see the way things are going. There is only one real option here - many choices yes, but only one real path. Such is ambition's debt. You choose a path, follow it all your life, and then find yourself where you are now."

"We do not have time for this. Bring your Vorlon ships here. Save this planet, and I will accede to whatever demands you make. An embassy on this planet, you as my 'advisor', secret police scouring through my people. Save Centauri Prime and I will agree to it all."

"Details can be fixed later, but yes, an embassy will be necessary, as well as some sort of official appointment for myself. We will also need free rein to track down all those involved in this bargain with the Shadows. Naturally, the Lord–General will be placed under arrest."

"The details can be finalised later," Londo said quickly. "But in the name of the Maker, save my world!"

Morden smiled, a slender smile of triumph. "Already taken care of. You see, I told you we knew which path you'd take. Have a look outside, and see."

Londo walked to the window. He could see the Shadow's creature, the abomination, high in the sky, tendrils of crimson mist seeping from it.

Then he saw a flash of light, and something rose through the fog, moving towards the abomination.

"That, my dear Londo, is what a Vorlon looks like. It is said that those tainted by the Shadows cannot see one in its natural form. You can see it perfectly, can't you?"

"I can," Londo said carefully. "But I wish to all the Gods I could not."

From the stuff of light, the Vorlon seraph formed a sword and swept towards the last of the byakheeshaggai.

Miraculously General Carn Mollari was still alive, although neither he nor any of his crew knew just how that could be possible. The Shadow ships moved swiftly and fired with deadly precision and power. They screamed in the dark between the stars.

And yet the Centauri were holding their own, even beginning to fight back. Carn had an inexplicable feeling that the Shadows just did not care any more.

And then jump points opened, and Narn ships came into view. Carn's hearts stopped in his chest, until he saw the Narns fire on the Shadows.

And then the Vorlons swept through, and the battle was over. Not one Shadow warship escaped.

Not one even tried.

For what he knew would be his last battle, the Lord–General of the great and glorious Centauri Republic employed all the precision, planning and discipline at his command. That this was on a smaller scale did not matter. That this was land instead of the more common space battles did not matter. That this was his last battle did not matter either.

The madmen had taken a fair proportion of the palace, including the throne room. The Emperor's private chambers were secured, as were some of the outlying annexes. It was from them that Marrago recruited such of his guards he knew to have sufficient will to remain sane, and then he began taking back the palace.

It was a long and slow process, but slowly, room by room, wing by wing, it was being won. There had been many victories. Minister Durano had retained his sanity, but had been injured by one of the Shadow Criers. For an instant Marrago had contemplated letting him die, but now there was little point, as his secret was out. Durano had been taken to a hospital wing.

He had also come across young Vir Cotto. Unknown to almost everyone, Marrago had been watching him in hopes of his being a worthy husband for Lyndisty. Cotto's bravery and quick thinking were proved when he managed to rescue a group of servants and courtiers and secure them in a hastily fortified guardroom.

There were numerous other such events in one of the messiest fights Marrago had been in since chasing down groups of Narn terrorists as a young man. If anyone knew the art of guerrilla warfare, it was the Narns.

And then he came to the throne room.

He had expected stiff opposition here. It was after all the natural centre of the palace, and an obvious rallying point. The leader of the Shadow Criers would inevitably want the throne.

Instead there was no one there alive, and only two bodies on the floor. One he thought he knew, but any recognition would have been of a lady before her face had been burned and mutilated, and her clothes reduced to rags.

And then he looked at the second body.

"Lyndisty!"

There was nothing to say, nothing else for him to say. He had seen countless dead bodies, and he knew how to tell a corpse from one merely injured. She was dead. The stab wounds could be nothing but fatal. That did not stop him trying to seal her wounds, to breathe life back into her lungs, to start her hearts beating again. When he finally realised there was nothing he could do, he knelt there, holding her in his arms, crying her name over and over again.

And in the back of his mind, the coldly rational part that continued thinking and reasoning throughout any ordeal, he realised that now there was truly nothing for him to live for, but yet nothing able to kill him.

The rational part of his mind realised that was the greatest tragedy of all.

Lord–General Marrago did not see the God fight the demon in the skies above the capital, but many others, including the Emperor, did.

They saw the God raise a sword crafted of pure light. They saw the demon cry out, calling hideous spider–ships from the heavens. These flew screaming over the city, countless monsters from myth and legend. The sun seemed so bright, and the Emperor had to shield his eyes as they passed overhead.

They saw the God strike down the demon with a blow that tore it apart. With a scream, the demon died and plummeted to the earth. They saw the God raise his sword and summon a burst of light that shattered the red mist, and as the mist fell there came other Gods. Ships also came from the heavens. There were Centauri and Narns and others, ships larger and more powerful, that hunted down the demons and cast them to the earth.

And there was one name on all lips. The name of the Gods that had saved them.

Vorlon.

One of those who saw was Kiro, once Lord, almost Emperor, once a Shadow Crier, almost sane.

He fled the palace. He fled in any direction he could, weeping tears of blood. He could see the ships of his Dark Masters, but he could not hear them. He saw his magnificent son fall in battle, but he could no longer hear him either. He saw the ships of his Masters die, one by one.

And finally he did not care. He watched the last ship avidly, even as the last fight was fought directly above him. And when the spine of the Shadow ship was shot away and fell to the ground, he closed his eyes as its shadow engulfed him.

His last thought was a prayer that in death he would at last find some answers.

He did not.

And thus it was over. Thence came the end, or at least its beginning.

It was strange, but for the Emperor of the Centauri Republic, Londo did not like the throne room. Not at all. It seemed every time he set foot in it, something bad happened. When he entered the room and saw the two bodies, his oldest friend holding the body of his daughter, crying her name over and over, a part of him was not surprised.

Marrago looked up as Londo entered, and in his eyes Londo saw not only the sheer grief, but the understanding.

You know, he thought. Oh, my friend, I wish there were another way.

But he said nothing. There was nothing to say. Londo moved to the throne and sat down on it. It had never been a comfortable chair, and it was even less so now. He would have given anything to be somewhere else. Anything at all.

There was no need for reports. They had won. The Shadows had been destroyed, their creature killed. The Shadow Criers had all been killed or returned to sanity. In any event the Vorlons and their 'Inquisitors' would find any that remained. The only reports coming in were death counts and property damage and economic losses, and all these could wait.

They arrived one by one, slowly. Durano was the first, despite carrying his arm in a sling. He walked with his usual dignified bearing, but even his fabled composure nearly broke at the sight of Lyndisty's body. Then there was Vir, numerous scratches and bruises on his face, but looking very inch a Minister. Virini came later, looking truly terrified. Carn was the last. He had to come from the Valerius of course, and he entered with a Narn wearing the formal uniform of a Warleader. That aroused some attention. Morden of course had been there all along, and he smiled and nodded at the Narn's arrival.

Two did not show up. Timov and Lennier. Londo knew Timov was still alive, which was enough. Better by far for her not to be here. Better by far for her to pretend he did not exist. As for Lennier, it was also better for him not to be here. In his case it would be better for him to be dead.

The bodies remained on the floor. Londo would not let the servants move them. Let everyone see the cost of this. All of them.

He looked around at those present and drew a deep breath. He did not know what to say. No, he did know what to say. Morden would not like it, not any of it, but he had some time. Their deal had not been finalised yet, so he had some time. He was still Emperor, for now at least. There was time to prepare, time to send people away.

"The homeworld is secure," he said, telling those gathered what they all already knew. "The threat was defeated with aid of the Vorlons and their liaison, Ambassador Morden here. The Vorlons have graciously offered us assistance in rebuilding, and for protection and so forth. To that end Ambassador Morden will receive a permanent post here, with the same status as any other Ambassador. A formal treaty will be worked out in due course.

"We will also recommence proceedings for joining the United Alliance. The war between ourselves and the Narn Regime can, I hope, be brought to a peaceful and amicable end. Ambassador Morden assures us the Alliance will be happy to work as mediators in the peace treaty.

"Of course we will need an embassy and diplomatic staff on Kazomi Seven. Minister Durano, you are to be our Ambassador there. Minister Cotto will serve as your second. I have the utmost faith in both of you to represent our interests fully."

Durano bowed formally, smiling, although it was clearly a false smile. He was being moved away from the homeworld, from the Court, further from the centre of power and away from his preferred occupation. None of that mattered. If Durano stayed the Vorlons would have him killed in no time. He would not be able to work with them, not without compromising his principles. Also, he must have known of Marrago's deal with the Shadows. Morden would punish him for that. Durano was not a friend, but he was a loyal Centauri, and he deserved to be kept safe, to be able to serve the Republic.

Then Londo looked at Marrago. His friend. One of his oldest friends. A man who had lost his daughter.

A man who would soon lose so much more. Londo did not want to do this, but he had no other choice. There was nothing else.

"Marrago." The Lord–General straightened, as if he knew what was coming. "You have been accused of bargaining with alien races hostile to the Republic, and in doing so jeopardising our situation with our allies, especially the Vorlon Empire and the United Alliance. You have been found guilty of all charges by your Emperor.

"You are stripped of all your titles, all your estates and holdings and ranks." Londo paused. Don't hesitate now. Continue. See this through to the end. "You are also exiled from Centauri space. One space shuttle alone will be provided for you, in memory of your years of service to the Republic. If, when night falls over this palace tomorrow, you are found in any world, station or holding of the Centauri Republic, you are to be killed on sight.

"You may leave."

Marrago's bearing was ramrod–straight. There were unshed tears in his eyes, but he said his last words with dignity, the last thing he possessed that Londo had not taken from him.

"As my Emperor commands."

He turned and left. The awed crowd stood aside for him.

Londo could not bear to look, so he shifted his gaze to Morden. He expected the 'Ambassador' to be angry about that, but if he was Morden did not show it. This was the only way. If Marrago stayed he would be interrogated, tortured and murdered. At least now he was alive. He could find something out there, something to do, someone else to serve as loyally and as well as he had served Londo.

At least he was alive.

"General Carn Mollari," Londo said, turning at last to his nephew. "You are promoted to Lord–General, in recognition of your valour in defending the homeworld. You have command over all the armies, navies, and warships of the Centauri Republic. Your first mission is to go to Kazomi Seven and aid the Alliance in their war with the Shadows. You are to offer the services of our fleet to the Alliance, although you will of course retain full control in matters relating to actual military deployment."

"Funds for rebuilding will be provided from the central treasury, and of course the Vorlon High Command has graciously offered us assistance. Minister Virini. You have overall responsibility for supervising the reconstruction efforts, as well as providing for displaced persons and refugees. You will have whatever resources are necessary for those purposes.

"That is all. You are all dismissed."

Then they left, one by one, just as they had come. Carn left talking with the Narn Warleader. The Narn was probably offended that Londo had not spoken to him, but there had been nothing to say. A formal meeting would have to be arranged later. Durano left with Vir, both already making plans for the provision of staff for their embassy. Virini wandered away, muttering to himself. The guards resumed their normal positions. Except for the bodies on the floor, everything was normal.

Morden was, not surprisingly, the last to leave.

"I am surprised you did not object," Londo said, wearily. "You did not even say anything."

Morden shrugged. "You're the Emperor, after all. Everything you did was within your power. The treaty between us will be arranged soon. I think we should pass it as swiftly as possible, don't you? The sooner we sort it out, the sooner we can begin providing aid. And protection, of course. After all, someone is going to have to guard the homeworld with your fleet away.

"And as for Marrago, well.... it's a big galaxy, but not that big. We'll find him. Eventually.

"Well, at least that's all over now. We can begin preparing for the future."

Londo did not have the energy to laugh. "I do not believe we have much of a future. Not any more."

"Oh, you do. It just isn't the sort of future you might have imagined you were going to have."

With that, Morden left. Londo was alone.

Before the End.

Alone.... but not for ever.

Londo looked up and smiled wryly. "I know you're there, my friend," he whispered. "You can't hide from me."

The shadows parted and Lennier stepped out. Londo looked at him, and was relieved that he appeared unharmed. "I do not think I have been a very good bodyguard for you," he said softly. "A bodyguard would not have left you alone."

"You have been a fine bodyguard, Lennier. And a finer friend. I do not know what I would have done without you."

Lennier looked down. He had always seemed to have the weight of several worlds on his shoulders, but now.... the burden seemed even heavier.

"I must go."

"I know. I have sent away everyone who cared for me, Lennier. I cannot keep you behind."

"No, it is more than that. I am.... Shadow–tainted. They have given me one of their Keepers. Soon the Vorlons will find out, and if I am still here, then...."

"I know. I have always known. Just as I knew you would never be a threat to me or to this throne." Londo sighed. "There have been few who have served this Republic half so well as you have. I just wish there was a better gift I could give you as you leave us."

"You have given me all that is necessary. I was proud to be your friend."

Londo rose from his throne and took the few short, hesitant steps towards Lennier. He reached out his hands and Lennier took them both, grasping his wrists. For a moment they both stood there, and then Lennier pulled back.

"I must go." He made to leave.

"I will undo this," Londo called back. "I will drive the Vorlons and 'Ambassador' Morden from this world. When I do.... you can come back. I will take you to the red light district and get you drunk."

Lennier smiled sweetly and sadly. "That would be nice, but I do not think I will live to see it."

"No, you will, my friend."

Lennier smiled again, and then he was gone.

Londo sat back on the throne. Lennier was the last of them, the last of those who knew him as a man and not an Emperor. They were all gone now. So who was he?

What was he?

Alone.

After the End.

"No, not alone."

Londo looked up, unsure of how much time had passed. Long shadows covered the throne room. Everything was dark. The only patch of light in the whole room was where Lyndisty lay.

"Somehow I knew you would be here, Londo. You always were one for melodramatic gestures."

He groaned softly as he saw the woman enter the room. Her clothes were scorched and burned. There was a soot mark on her cheek and numerous scratches on her face, but still Timov looked every inch the Empress she refused to allow herself to be.

Timov stopped and looked down at the second body, the one covered with darkness. She sighed. "Ah, poor Mariel. She never did have the sense to know when to come in out of the rain."

"Timov, you should...."

"Oh, I'm fully aware of what you think I should do, Londo. I heard all about your little proclamations earlier. Sending everyone away like that.... Maybe the others will buy into the Imperial edicts rot and all that, but I know you too well. I've never obeyed a single order you gave me in all these years of marriage, and I won't be starting now. You can't get rid of me, Londo."

"You don't understand. You'll be in danger."

"Oh? Then I suppose today was a simple walk in the park, was it? I have always been in danger, Londo. I was raised knowing that would be the case, and I've never shirked from it yet. You cannot get rid of me."

"But Timov...."

"Stop it. I'm not listening. No.... you may be our Emperor, but you're also a man, and you can't begin the fight back if you drop dead from lack of sleep. Things may look better in the morning. Now come to bed, Londo dear."

In spite of himself, Londo smiled. "Yes, darling," he said, without a hint of sarcasm.

No, maybe he was not all alone after all.

Chapter 4

"So this is what victory feels like. All these years and yet.... what has our struggle brought us?"

"There is a saying among some peoples. Everyone gains exactly what they deserve. It would appear you have gained the victory which you most deserved."

"For all our sakes, I hope not."

She sleeps, her mind filled with dreams, and memories....

.... of what it was like to be dead.

There are times awake when she still feels tentatively for the burn marks left by the shot that killed her. They are not there, but that does not stop her looking. She remembers it clearly, tears in her eyes, a soft determination, and the final words in her mind, the words she could not give voice to.

John, I love you.

Then came a moment of pain, and she was dead.

It was not what she had expected. She was a priestess. She had grown up learning about the passage of souls, the continual cycle of birth and rebirth, of which death was only a part. She had dreamed of a place where no shadows fall, a place where she could be at peace, away from struggle and war and loss, where she could wait for her love to come to her.

Instead, there had been nothing. An empty blackness stretching out before her in all directions. She had never in all her life felt so alone.

She had been there for so long, crying out for someone, for anyone. There had been nothing. Then, just when fear was all she knew and all it seemed she had ever known, he had come to her. Lorien, the eldest of the elder races, the first of the first ones. He had smiled, and she had returned to the world of flesh.

She still dreamed about being dead. Sometimes she awoke to darkness and felt she was still dead, that all her life since that moment had been a dream. There were times in the night when all she could hear was her own heart beating, an echo of an echo of a mockery of her life.

She knew what she had to do now. She had rested enough. She was well now. She had said her final goodbyes. She had visited the grave of Mr. Welles and rested there in silent meditation for several hours, hoping he had at last found peace. She had gone to Dexter Smith and spoken of his dreams for Sector 301. She had visited the shrine that had arisen at the place of her death and tried to impart something to the people who expected her to solve all their problems for them. She had communicated with the Alliance Council, preparing herself for her return to them.

There was just one person she needed to talk to.

She reached out across the bed, and her eyes stung with tears. Of course. He was not there. He had not been there since that first night she had returned from the hospital. He had loved her then. He loved her still, but their responsibilities hung over them both. There was a sadness in him as well, a dark hollow behind his eyes, as if he had sacrificed everything to survive, and now could never bring any of it back.

Delenn of Mir sighed, and as she had for the past so many nights, she fell asleep alone.

"I will.... be going then."

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the cries of mourning that echoed in Delenn's mind. Sorrowful thoughts, dark and anguished.... And some of them were directed at the man in front of her.

"That's.... probably for the best," he said finally, and she could hear the pain in his words. It was true. It was for the best. Politically, militarily, personally....

John had to remain here, on Proxima. The world was set to fly apart, torn between recent tensions, the deaths of President Clark and Mr. Welles, the constant threat of Shadow reprisal, the surge in anti–alien prejudice.... they needed someone here, someone special. Not just a symbol, a leader.

That had to be John. He was the only choice. He was the leader of the Alliance war fleet after all, and also the most obvious sign of human involvement in the alliance of races. No one else would do. Corwin was a soldier, not a leader - although one day he would be - Welles was dead, Dexter represented only his own province and his own people.... It had to be John.

"You'll be.... safer there," John continued, the words sounding painful and forced. "We're still catching some of the extremists, some of Clark's men.... people who blame you. There's also the possibility of a counterattack, of course."

All true, but none of these were the real reasons she needed to go to Kazomi 7 rather than remain here. The real reasons she couldn't give voice to.... not to him.

She didn't want to be near him. She didn't want to have to hold in her regret and guilty thoughts whenever she was around him. She didn't want to have to concentrate so hard not to say the words that would destroy him.

I killed our son.

She had tried telling herself a thousand times that was not true, and on some level she knew it. On that level she knew that others were to blame. If the Vorlons hadn't made her that fatal offer. If John hadn't been so badly hurt.... But if she hadn't accepted their proposals....

If, if, if.... so many ifs.... none of which resolved the main issue that their son was dead, and they both had to grieve for him, but neither of them had time. If she stayed here, sooner or later they would grieve, and then both of them would be destroyed.

"Then.... I will be leaving soon," she whispered.

He looked unhappy, not surprisingly. He also looked tired. He had told her what had happened to him, the dealings with the Alliance, the strangeness of the Dark Star ships, the argument with Sinoval. He had kept some things quiet, she knew, but she had not pressed him on them. Compared to what he had told her, any secrets he still kept would be inconsequential.

Our son is dead.

No! Reach out to him! Tell him you love him!

In truth she was unhappy here on Proxima, and she couldn't wait to leave. She was a leader and a leader of leaders. She wanted to make everything better, to heal the galaxy and everyone in it, to create a universe where everything would be so much simpler.

But here.... here nothing was simple. There were countless divisions between peoples who should be allies, divisions wrought from fear and hatred and mistrust. It fell to precious few people to try to undo those divisions, to end the war between the Narn and the Centauri, to unite humanity with the other races, to end the threat the Shadows posed....

It would be difficult. It would all be so difficult. She wanted to be a healer again, but she could not heal until everyone was ready to be healed. Someone had to bring everything together so that the galaxy could be healed. And if not her, then who?

Tell him you love him!

The voice would not be quiet, and she wanted to listen to it. She really did.... but she couldn't.

Our son is dead!

Delenn bowed her head, and turned. She began to walk away.

Tell him. You must.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she walked away.

Tell him!

She left the room. She did not look back.

Power was a nebulous thing, a concept many people spoke of, but few truly understood. The controlling, the mastery, the capturing of power.... It was said that the person who fully understood these things would have no need actually to carry out any of them.

The man who called himself Vejar was one of the few who did understand them. He knew that sometimes the greatest exercise of power comes not by using it, but by sitting back and merely watching.

He had not always understood that. Indeed, one of the reasons he had chosen to remain behind when the rest of his order had fled to their long–ordained place of sanctuary had been because he wanted to use his power to help. Not just to help his order, but to help any who needed it.

That had been over two years ago, and now he understood a little better than he had then.

He did possess power. Physical power. The capability to kill, to destroy, to tear down whole cities. If he but wanted to, he could destroy most of Kazomi 7 in less than a day. It was all a simple matter of making the right incantations, the rights glyphs and words, and it would be done.

But the best power is the sort that is never used. The strongest sword is the one never removed from the scabbard. Sometimes there are no masks....

And sometimes it is worth staking the lives of all who live on the decision of one person.

Vejar was human, although racial differences mattered little within his order. Sometimes he even forgot that he was human, but not today. Today was the day he knew at last that the right decision had been made.

Delenn of Mir had gone to Z'ha'dum, and there, as had been foreseen, she had made the decision that could change the future of the galaxy. She had been offered the chance to travel anywhere she liked. Home, to safety, to the arms of the one who loved her.

But she chose the path of pain and repentance and redemption. She gave up, however unknowingly, the unborn life growing within her, and in doing so, equally unknowingly, she had given birth to something greater.

An ideal had arisen within humanity. The witnesses to her sacrifice, to her nobility, to her remorse. It had begun with just two, two men who both had every reason to hate her, and it had spread. At the time she had died, her work was only just beginning.

Humanity had been saved. It was entirely possible that Delenn would never realise what she had done. It was also entirely possible that had she been given the chance to change her mind over that fateful decision, she would have done nothing differently.

The order was pleased. Master Elric was pleased, as was the One Above All. Neither would explain their reasons of course, their own hopes for humanity, but that hardly mattered. The order was pleased.

Save one member of it.

Vejar raised his hand and traced a pattern in the air. A silver mirror appeared from nowhere, and within it was an image of Delenn. Dignity and strength shone in her every movement, but Vejar could see the pain within. She was walking away from something.... no, from someone.

Vejar frowned. She was returning home, to Kazomi 7. There he would have to face her, and acknowledge his betrayal of her. How could he explain it to her? How could he explain the necessity of what she had done, of what she had lost?

How?

Home.

That was a strange concept for Delenn, especially when applied to anywhere other than Minbar. She had grown up on Minbar, played in its streets, worshipped in its temples, climbed its mountains and drunk from its crystal lakes. She had never thought her home would be anywhere other than Minbar.

But that was Minbar as it had been, not as it now was. Sinoval and the humans and the Drakh had destroyed all that, turning her world into a poisoned, barren rock, turning her people into paranoid, twisted reflections of what they should be. She remembered saying goodbye to Minbar, knowing she would never return.

But as she looked out at the planet below her, she realised that in many ways she had a new home now. Kazomi 7 was not Minbar, and it never could be Minbar. In many ways it was an ugly planet, colonised by the Drazi and used for decades as a merchant waystation for a variety of illegal purposes.

Until something changed. Like Minbar, the Drakh had come and devastated the world, but unlike Minbar, Kazomi 7 had survived. Its people had survived. Hope had survived and now.... now the world was her home.

There was a procession waiting for her, naturally. News of her return had been circulating for weeks. Lethke would have arranged it all, she was sure. He was waiting for her just outside the spaceport, as soldiers tried to hold back the swelling crowd here to greet her. She looked at them all, and marvelled at how many races there were. Narn, Brakiri, Drazi, Minbari, Vree, Llort, Abbai, a few humans. No Centauri that she could see, but almost every other race was represented.

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the ship to greet them.

The roar almost knocked her backwards with its volume. She steadied herself and walked calmly across to where Lethke waited, a unit of guards around him. Lethke smiled broadly as he extended his hand to her, and she took it.

"Welcome home, Delenn," he said simply.

"Thank you," she replied. "It feels good to be home."

The journey to the Neuadd was naturally designed to be as long and as visible as possible. Much as Delenn disliked the manipulation of the people, she had to admit it did serve a purpose. She had been gone for so long, and without her as a figurehead, the Council would have had trouble holding the planet together. Now that she had returned, everyone had to know she was alive, that she was back.

People strained against the cordon of soldiers. Hands reached out to her. Voices cried out her name. She absorbed it all, uncomfortable, but also welcoming it. It was nice to know she was making a difference.

She turned suddenly at the sound of a commotion. Someone had managed to break through the cordon and was moving towards her. The Drazi soldiers had caught him and were forcing him down, raining blows on his body.

"Stop," she said firmly, with more authority than most military commanders could muster. The guards hesitated, and she stepped down from the procession to approach the prone figure. It was a Brakiri. He was clearly old, and his face bore numerous scars and old wounds. Around his arm he wore an black armband, a sign of mourning indicating he had survived the grim days of the Drakh occupation.

She bent down and helped him to his feet. His eyes widened as he saw her. "It is you," he whispered, his tone reverential. "They said you were dead."

"I was," she said. The shouts and cheering had stopped. Everyone was looking at her. "I was dead," she said again, louder. Then she smiled slightly. "I got better."

There were more cheers. People shouted her name, but she did not hear any of it. She only heard the Brakiri's voice, rasping and harsh as he tried to speak through floods of tears. "I knew it," he said. "Thank you. Oh, thank you."

"What for?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

He looked surprised. "Everything, of course.

"Everything."

With all the delays it was hardly surprising that it took her far longer to reach the Neuadd than she might have expected. There were numerous other attempts to break through the cordon to approach her, and she had to deliver a quick speech on the steps of the building before she went inside, Lethke following attentively.

"It is good to have you back, Delenn," the Brakiri said, smiling. "I cannot tell you just how good."

"And it is good to be back. I have missed you, Lethke. You.... and everyone here. How are things? I heard so little on Proxima."

He paused, and looked around. "They are.... not as you remember. A lot has happened since you.... disappeared. That was a long time ago, and much has changed. The war, of course, but...." He shook his head. "Problems with the Narns, and the Centauri.... and the Drazi as well."

"I had heard the Centauri had allied with the Shadows," she said slowly. "It was a lie, wasn't it, Lethke?"

"I wish I could say it was, but.... There was footage. It was truthful, not a forgery. We had it checked. A great deal, and every test showed it was not a fake. Centauri ships were fighting alongside the Shadows, against the Narns."

"I do not believe it of Londo. I do not."

"Nor I. It is possible the Shadows arranged this, but.... I do not want to believe it, but there is little choice. We have not been in communication with anyone from the Centauri Republic for months. The Narn representatives here are pressuring us to aid them in their war with the Centauri. They were never so zealous before, and they still provide little help in the wider war. And the Drazi...."

"How is the Council?"

"Fractured, Delenn. You were always the one who united us, whether you realised it or not. Without you.... Anyway, you will see now. G'Kar has done what he can, but his official status is.... unclear, and some are using that against him. The Narns have an Ambassador, but he is largely powerless. Come, we are wasting too much time here. The Council waits to see you. They are probably growing impatient."

Delenn smiled. "We cannot have that. Unless Taan has learned to control his temper since the last time...."

"I doubt it," Lethke deadpanned. "But we will not have to worry about that, as he is not here. He is with the fleet. Vizhak is here, and he.... Ah, you will see. I hope you can do better with them all than I can."

"I will do my best. I can promise you that."

"I have never asked for anything more from you, Delenn. And I never will."

The room was silent as she entered, and she stopped, an uncomfortable feeling creeping over her. Everyone was looking at her, and then, all as one, they rose to their feet.

Delenn smiled at each one as she walked past, recognising the familiar, welcoming faces, but feeling uneasy at the number of those she did not know.

G'Kar moved forward and embraced her warmly. She held him back, enjoying his presence. Ta'Lon was just behind him, his one–eyed face impassive. "I know," G'Kar whispered. "Sinoval told me."

Her face displayed no shock, but inwards, her mind was turning. She had sent four messages out before she had left for Z'ha'dum, messages to friends, companions, and a lover. John and Lyta she knew had never received theirs, and it was doubtful that Lethke had either. For the sake of the Alliance, for peace, for everything, none of them had to know her true motives for going to Z'ha'dum.

But Sinoval did know, and she was unsure if that was a blessing or a curse.

"We will talk later," she replied, stepping back. Then she smiled. "I missed you, G'Kar."

Another Narn was next. G'Kael. Delenn had known him for a while, and although he rarely spoke in the Council meetings she had attended, she was very aware that something was shining in his mind. She was reminded of a phrase she had once heard. A mind like a diamond. Brilliant, but cold.

G'Kael bowed, but said nothing. His assistant Na'Toth did likewise.

Her eyes passed over the empty spaces where the Centauri should have sat. Londo should be here. His Ambassadors should be here. He had done as much for the Alliance as anyone.

Vejar's chair was also empty, although that was not uncommon. Delenn was not thinking of him. Not now. There would be time for a conversation later. There were many things to be said.

Lethke had taken his seat by now, and Delenn turned to see a human bow formally to her, a trace of fear in his eyes. For a moment she did not recognise him, but then memory returned. Major Krantz, who had served Bester long ago. Bester had betrayed them all, and now he had disappeared. He was hiding somewhere in the shadows, waiting. No doubt he would return, and it seemed prudent to have someone who knew him as an ally when he did. Krantz had been too eager to change sides, claiming to have known little about Bester's plans. His lies fooled no one, but his presence was useful.

Disgusted at herself for thinking like a politician, Delenn greeted some delegates who had not been present before. Kalika, of the Abbai, with whom she had been in discussions before her departure. A Gaim representative nodded at her. A Llort was also present, his people finally having chosen sides.

And then there was Vizhak. The Drazi looked at her for a moment with piercing eyes, a terrible suspicion there.... bordering.... not quite on hatred, but a on strange emotion she could not identify. Vizhak nodded and then sat down.

Puzzled, Delenn took her seat, and caught a glimpse of something from the corner of her eye. It seemed strange in this room, incongruous. Something drew her to that sight, and she could not explain why.

It was shards of crystal. A data crystal. A crystal that must have been hurled against the wall with great force.

Shaking her head, Delenn turned back to the Council. There was a lot to be done.

Delenn felt drained by the time the meeting ended. The long hours of talk and argument and dissension had only reminded her of how much time had passed and how much had changed. It also depressed her greatly. Was everything they had built really so fragile? Did everything truly depend on her life? She had believed it would endure without her, that honourable men like Lethke and Vizhak and G'Kar could hold together the Alliance without her as a figurehead.

It had not been as she had imagined. There were deep rifts within the Alliance. Vizhak in particular was changed. He had said little. Delenn gathered he had been surly for the past several months. There was a conflict within him, one Delenn had finally recognised halfway into the meeting, the conflict of a man struggling between his conscience and his people.

G'Kael had delivered a message from his Government, demanding the Alliance dispatch even more Dark Stars to aid the Narns in their war with the Centauri. He made the request without shame or embarrassment or indeed any emotion at all.

Lethke pointed out that that would leave Kazomi 7 all but undefended. Even now there were no Dark Stars around the planet.

Nothing had been decided. Delenn could only think of Londo, could only think of sending more ships to help attack the people he loved so much.

There had been arguments and debate and discussion and nothing of anything had been resolved. She was only just beginning to understand what her departure had wrought.

She had chosen to go to her death knowingly, but only now did she realise the ramifications of what she had done.

This is a time for warriors, not healers.

Sinoval's words. He was right, but in a sense he was also wrong. This time needed both warriors and healers.

These thoughts weighed heavily on her mind as she walked down the stairs and through the corridors of the building. There had been several vacant seats in the Council Chamber, but the one her eyes had most turned to had belonged to Vejar.

There were many words to be had with the technomage.

She reached the door to his chambers, the rooms in the very basement of the building, where few others visited. The council building had been largely rebuilt over the old administrative buildings which had been all but destroyed during the Drakh occupation, but some parts of the old Kazomi 7 remained. Vejar's quarters were one of them.

As she reached the door a symbol appeared on it, glowing bright gold. A face appeared through the symbol, a nightmarish creation drawn from myths and nightmares. Delenn, who had seen more in real nightmares than any fake ones, simply stared it down, and it faded. The door swung open.

"Come in," said Vejar's polite tones from inside. "I've been expecting you."

Without any trepidation she crossed the boundary, and everything became dark. Hesitating, her heart thumping in her chest, she nevertheless moved forward. She could see nothing, but there was little here to be afraid of. Not any more.

A light appeared around her, and she discovered Vejar sitting before her. There was an empty chair opposite him. She sat down and looked at him. He appeared unchanged, still looking as young and fresh–faced as when they had first met. On the inside, however, she knew he was a very different man.

"Who are the effects for?" she asked softly.

He smiled, sadly. "A little art. A little power. We have existed always through trickery and deception and illusion. I suppose, in my last days, I could not entirely divest myself of all that we are." He paused, and looked directly at her. She could see into his eyes, and she knew that for all the power, all the wisdom, all the knowledge there, he was alone. So very alone.

"Yes," he said. "So you have met him. I wondered.... when I heard from Proxima about what had happened. The First One. The Eldest. We speak of him in hushed voices, wondering always if he was real, or not, if he still lived. He is real, then."

"Yes," she said simply.

"Ah. Well, that is good to know. One mystery solved. Many more still unanswered. Such is the way of all life, I believe. I suppose you wish to have me killed."

"No."

"Ah. I betrayed you, Delenn. You came to me in a gesture of trust. You needed my help for a great purpose, for a great sacrifice, and I betrayed you. I would not blame you for hating me, for wishing me dead."

"I do not hate you, Vejar. I do not wish you dead. I made the choice you spoke of. It was hard, it was painful, and the cost of it will remain with me always. Sometimes.... I still dream...." Dream, of a heartbeat that was not hers, but a part of her. Dream, of the cold black vastness of death. "But dreams are all lies. I live, and what was done....

"I do not hate you, Vejar."

He sighed, and genuine relief showed on his face. "I see.... Thank you, Delenn. You have learned a lot since last we met. More than I ever have. I owe you a great debt, Delenn."

"I could show you. The things I have seen, Vejar, they all come from one simple understanding. Vejar, I have seen the power you wield. We both know what you can do. Help us. The war is almost over. Help us finish it all. Help us to build a better world, a finer world."

He shook his head. "I cannot do that."

"You said you owed me a debt. This would erase that, would erase all debts."

"That was unfair! Delenn, please, listen to me. Who are you fighting for? Who are you? What do you want? Can you answer those questions? I know who you are fighting for, and I will never fight for them. What will your peace bring you, Delenn? What will be the result of your war?"

"The war will bring us peace. And peace will bring us joy."

"You do not see, Delenn. Oh, I am sure you believe that, but you are blind. All of you are. You fight this war, and you will win. The Shadow will be gone, but another will be cast over you, one greater and more powerful than the last, all the more so because it will look like the light. You will win, Delenn, and doom yourselves in doing so."

"The Vorlons are not the Shadows. They are not our enemies."

"They sent you to die, Delenn."

"They had their reasons."

"Yes, they did. They are not your friends. They are a greater threat by far than the Shadows could ever be."

"Then help us! Help us defeat the Shadows! Help us create a better world without the Vorlons! You have power, great power. So use it!"

He shook his head. "You do not understand."

She rose and turned. There was nothing more to say. She was angry, and the sound of her own heart beating pounded loudly in her ears, an echo of another heart, one much weaker, just behind it. "It is strange," she said finally, as she left. "The Vorlons say the same thing. I think we all understand much more than either of you gives us credit for."

Vejar said nothing. The beating hearts almost deafened her as she left.

Delenn knew what G'Kar was going to say. She had listened to him in the months since her return, listened to his pain and his grief. She had seen the battles between the Narn and the Centauri. She had felt G'Kar's anguish over watching his people fight to the death against his oldest friend.

And it was all the worse because the war was being fought in his name. A jihad. A holy war.

She thought of the Blessed Delenn and a dark cloud passed over her.

There was no other option. G'Kar had to go to Narn, had to go to the Kha'Ri himself. He had to tell them.... to tell them.... to show them that there was another way, that the war must end now.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked softly, looking at him across the table. He would be, she knew that, but she had to ask.

"Yes," he told her. He paused, deep in thought, and she nodded. The war had to be finished. The Shadows had to be defeated, yes, but not at this cost. This was only performing their task for them.

"I have waited too long," he continued, "afraid to confront my own errors. But now there is no time for fear, and no more time to wait." Delenn knew there was something G'Kar could not say, something he wished very much to keep to himself, something G'Kael and Na'Toth were also hiding. She did not pry.

"The war will soon be over," he whispered. "But what will the peace bring?"

"It will bring what we make of it, surely," Delenn said, hoping she could believe her own words.

"So there will still be no rest." G'Kar shook his head and rose from his chair. "I have missed you, Delenn, those long months you were gone." It seemed for an instant as if he was going to say more, but then he stopped himself and paused, beginning again a moment later.

"I am glad you have returned to us, Delenn. I wish we had more time together."

"As do I, but we will see each other again, G'Kar."

"Will we? I wish I had your faith. Sometimes I think.... a dark cloud is putting out the lights all across the galaxy. There are very few left shining now."

"The war will soon be over."

"That was not what I was referring to." She shivered.

It was of necessity a meeting that had to be held in private. It was not that either of them did not trust the other, but that both were very much aware of the shadows that lurked everywhere, darkest and most terrifying where it seemed to be lightest.

Vizhak and Taan Churok had never been close. On opposing factions during the last transitional period, a mutual animosity had arisen between them. Vizhak was a career politician, a man willing to work for the good of his people, to represent the Drazi abroad and to profit them all from his actions. Taan Churok was a bartender, a man interested only in his own concerns, but who had been forced by fate to take a more active hand.

However, as the Drazi representatives on the Alliance Council they had been forced to work together, and a tentative alliance had arisen, although it had taken far longer for these members of the same race to learn to trust each other than it had those of radically different peoples.

"When did you return?" Vizhak asked. It was he who had been invited here, and the unfamiliarity of it irritated him. He was no stranger to intrigue, but his experiences had largely been of the legitimate world. It had been something of a revelation to learn that criminals could evade and conceal just as much as politicians.

"Returned yesterday," replied Taan. "Came in secret. Not want others to know. Not yet. Time not right."

"How is homeworld?"

"Wounded. Streib attack bad. Very bad. We live still, but many dead. Too many dead."

"No help from Dark Stars?"

"None. Dark Star fleet too busy to aid us. We were here from start, but no aid for us. And more. Orders from Sheridan. More ships are needed. More soldiers to go and die somewhere else. More deaths while homeworld suffers."

"Delenn is back now. Talk to her. She understands."

"Not Delenn that is problem. Sheridan. Vorlons. Everywhere we look, Vorlons are."

"Still, talk to Delenn. She will help."

"No! You think she will help us, when her lover will not? She wants war over. She grieves for dead, yes, but they are still dead. And behind her, are Vorlons, yes."

"Then what do we do? Cannot leave the Alliance."

"Some at home say just that. But no, not yet. We need watch, and learn. And wait. Watch for Vorlons. There are.... ways, things that can be done. Talk to technomage. Vorlons be just as bad as Shadows. If Alliance is to hold, if Drazi are to survive, then Vorlons need to be defeated."

"We cannot war with Vorlons."

"No. Another can. We find Sinoval. He will help."

The shadows twitched around them. Neither noticed.

A million sparks of light flitted from world to world. Somewhere, in a place beyond any mortal comprehension, decisions were made, conclusions reached, consensus achieved.

Wait until the war is over. Then the Drazi will learn what it means to challenge us.

Wait.

Such was the way of the Vorlons.

Time passed. On Proxima 3, General Edward Ryan was murdered. In his secret hideout, Sonovar set himself on the road that would destroy him, as he schemed with Forell. On Centauri Prime, Lord Kiro waited, and plotted, and fed his monstrous son.

And for a few days there was motion - frantic, terrible motion. Ryan's murderer was found. Sonovar attacked the shipyards at Greater Krindar and was defeated. Morden arrived on Centauri Prime.

And a black cloud left a hidden world that the Shadows had claimed millennia ago, a black cloud aiming for Kazomi 7.

The old man sat down on his chair and looked at his companions. The Round Table had been hastily assembled. Some were absent of course, but there were enough here.

In a simple, matter–of–fact voice, he explained that the murderer of General Ryan had been located and interrogated. He was merely a tainted agent, primed for this one mission, his objective to cause chaos and distract from the main concern. He was to be handed over to Proxima Security in such a way as to not draw undue attention to where he had come from.

One of the Knights sat forward. In a clipped tone, he asked what other matter was this agent distracting everyone from.

The old man's reply was simple. The utter destruction of Kazomi 7.

More than one Knight inquired what action was to be taken.

The old man replied with one word. None.

When pressed for clarification, he obliged. Orders had been sent from the Vorlons. No action was to be taken. Kazomi 7 was to face this threat alone. And if it was destroyed, so be it. No help was to be given. No one was to be told.

But there was one thing the old man did not tell them, one thing they did not need to know.

The interrogation of the Shadow agent had been done through the network. Once Mr. Byron had pulled the information from the man's mind, it would be free in the network, floating around, transmitted between countless nodes, as indeed it had been to the Vorlon High Command.

Somewhere in that vast network, the information could be accessed by one with the sensitivity to do so.

But surely no one existed. No one attuned enough to the nodes to access them without the Vorlons' permission.

No, there was no such person. There was nothing to worry about.

Kazomi 7.

That was it. Corwin did not know how he knew, but that was it. The information just leapt into his mind. The attack on Greater Krindar was all a distraction aimed at keeping them away from Kazomi 7.

"You know this, don't you?" he asked. Several of his bridge crew started, but he was not talking to them. There was no answer, none that he wanted to hear. "Carolyn. You know about this, don't you."

From nowhere, from the edges of his mind, came a reply, a soft whisper from the horizon. Yes.

"What is it? What are they going to do?"

Must not.... say....

"Carolyn, please! We need to know. I won't let you be hurt."

Destroy it.

"Destroy what?"

Kazomi Seven.

The General had once told Corwin that what marked out a great leader from a good one was that a great leader could react within a split second. There was no time for arguments, no time for debate, no time for thought. Time only for action.

"Get me through to Daro and Kulomani," he snapped quickly. "Muster every ship from the area. Get a signal to Proxima, Kazomi Seven, everywhere. Recall all Starfuries."

"What is it, Captain?"

"We're going to Kazomi Seven. And quickly."

Vejar looked up and smiled humourlessly. "I have been expecting you, brother," he said softly.

"Of course you have," said another voice, one that left no echoes, carried no breath. A voice that came from light years away. "Why else the spirit circle, the prepared drink?"

Vejar shrugged. "A premonition, no more. I do not believe the others are happy that you are involving yourself."

"Oh, I plan on involving myself in much more than just this, brother. I will not be hidden in the shadows forever."

"I doubt there are any shadows big enough for you to hide in."

"You always did have a way with words."

Vejar sighed. "Why have you come here, brother? I have been here ever since you all left for your sanctuary, and you have not deigned to visit me before."

"Things are changing, and quickly. The war is almost over. I will argue that we may be able to return once the Lords of Chaos have departed from this galaxy. I will of course be denied that request, but I will at least try."

"The peace will not bring any greater safety for us than the war did. Less, even."

"I know, but we will at least be able to act. An alliance is forming, a secret alliance, a secret commonwealth of races and peoples and factions. It is just beginning, tiny strands across the stars, little threads between one person and another. They do not know each other yet, but it is there. Their leader has already been named, has already chosen the destiny. Through them, we can act."

"I know. I have sensed something similar. Some have come to me, requesting my aid. Delenn, the Drazi.... others. I cannot offer it to them, to any of them. That is not our way."

"Then it should be. I will make it our way."

"What your propose.... it is dangerous, brother."

"Of course it is. What is the point otherwise, hmm?"

"I see. I think you should go now. Something is going to happen here. The air has been thick with warnings all day."

"You are on a former Drazi world, brother. The air is always thick. How you tolerate it I do not know."

"I am serious. I pray we do not see each other again."

"I think we will."

"As do I. Go with grace, and power be your servant, not your master. I think we will talk again, brother.... Galen."

"Oh, we will. Be sure of that."

Delenn knew it would be a difficult meeting before she even set foot in the chamber. There was something about the whole affair. She had heard reports that Vizhak had been on Kazomi 7 for weeks. She had been unable to contact him on the Drazi homeworld. Taan Churok had been unusually secretive. She had even heard he had gone to see Vejar, and returned in a foul mood. She had also gone to speak with Vejar, and had been turned away by the strange apparitions on his door. She had thought she could hear conversation beyond.

Besides, there had been something in the air. It had felt.... dark and thick and heavy.

Something was going to happen, she knew it. She tried to reach out to Lorien, but there was nothing there. She also tried to touch Lyta, for a brief glimpse of friendship, but again there had been nothing. The two had shared no more than a few words since Delenn's return from the dead. She did not even know exactly where Lyta was.

And then there was this sudden calling of a meeting of the Council. The whole Council. Vizhak had issued the summons. He was not even supposed to be on the planet.

She entered the Council chamber to find it filled with a ponderous silence. She looked at the people before her, and all of them could sense it. Something was wrong.

They were all here. Lethke, G'Kael, Taan, Major Krantz, representatives from the fleets. Vejar's seat was not surprisingly empty and there was no sign of Ulkesh, but beyond that only one person was missing. Her eyes passed over Vizhak's empty place. She had a strange feeling it would not be empty for long.

As she took her seat at the head of the table, she glanced at the corner of the room. The data crystal shards she had noticed before were gone. Evidently someone had come and cleaned the area.

"What is the intent of this meeting?" she asked. The silence was shattered, and the grim tableau of seated figures broke. Lethke leaned forward, G'Kael leaned back, and Taan Churok was the first to speak.

"Message from homeworld," he said. "From Government. Vizhak will bring it."

"He has returned, then?" G'Kael enquired. "At least he sees fit to let us know he has returned. A little lesson, my friend. Drazi do not sneak around very well. One day, that unfortunate problem will get you all in trouble."

"Drazi not sneak at all. Not know of which you speak, Narn, but be silent."

G'Kael nodded, and then sat back again.

"Taan, what is the nature of this message?" Delenn asked. "Is it so serious as to require the whole Council?" She was feeling very uncomfortable about this.

"Vizhak will say."

That instant, Vizhak entered. There was something about his arrival, a dark wind that brought grim tidings with it. One look at him, and Delenn knew this was bad.

He went to his seat, but did not sit down. He cast cursory glances around the table, and then began to speak. "Have consulted with Government on homeworld. Have talked to military. Have talked to priesthood. Have received orders from Government today.

"Kazomi Seven is to be returned to Drazi people. Is to be Drazi world once more. Not Alliance world, not Narn world or Brakiri world or Minbari world or human world. Is to be Drazi world."

"What?" Lethke breathed, at the same time as G'Kael's protest and Krantz's spluttering.

It was Delenn, however, who commanded their attention as she stood. "Vizhak.... your Government made Kazomi Seven the centre of the Alliance. We were grateful to them. It was a great gesture, and one none of us has forgotten. We have worked with your Government in every way possible. Why do they take this step?"

"Yes, Alliance grateful. You grateful. You, I trust, Delenn. You, Government trusts, people trust. But Alliance none of us trust."

"You dare...!" began G'Kael.

"Our ships die. Our people die. We fight this war for you, for all of you. Shadows beaten now. Defeated. War can be over. But no, still is war. Still Drazi die. Drazi homeworld attacked by Streib. Drazi homeworld unprotected because all Drazi ships and soldiers here.... fighting your war! More Drazi die defending it. No Alliance ships come to help. Drazi die alone.

"If Alliance not help Drazi, then Drazi not help Alliance!"

"Vizhak," Delenn said softly. "I did not know of the attack on your homeworld. I would have sent help if I had known. If I had been here."

"Believe you, Delenn. But you cannot do everything. You cannot be everywhere. And you not in charge of military. Your lover denied us aid. Your lover sends our soldiers to their deaths. Your lover sends armies to fight elsewhere."

Delenn recoiled as if physically struck. John. Had he become so truly obsessed with this war he did not see what he was fighting for? She had to talk to him, had to make him see.

She had to tell him she loved him.

"Some in Government believe there can be peace with Shadows. Some believe we were too quick to reject last time. Shadows are broken now. Done. No threat to Drazi now. There can be peace. There cannot be peace while Drazi with Alliance. So, Drazi want not to be in Alliance. Drazi want Kazomi Seven back."

"And you, Vizhak," Delenn said calmly. "What do you want?"

"I want.... I serve my people. I serve my Government. They want peace with Shadow. I want no more Drazi dead in others' wars. I want no more sons dead."

"Your son?" Delenn whispered, her face ashen. "Vizhak.... I did not know."

"Of course, you not know. Delenn, not you we distrust. Not you. Your lover. Vorlons. Dark Stars. War is over. There can be peace."

"There can be no peace with the Shadow," G'Kael said calmly. "We learned that last time. You remember what they did with the prisoners they returned. You want peace with such as they?"

"I want it over."

"We all want it over," Delenn said. "And soon, it will be. All of it. No more wars, no more deaths. No more.... dead sons." She hesitated, trembling. "It will be over, but G'Kael is right. There can be no peace with the Shadow."

"Government wants peace."

"And there will be. I promise you. I will speak to your Government, if you wish. And if you wish to leave the Alliance and take back Kazomi Seven, you may. You have given more than most to the Alliance, Vizhak. You and all your people. I can see why you might want it all over with.... but soon it will be. Soon, we will all be safe. Just a little longer. That is all we ask."

"Talk to them, Delenn. I believe you. They believe you. There is one you wish to talk to. One who can give us what we want. Talk to your lover. Make him see us as people, not as toys."

"I will," she said firmly. "Trust me, Vizhak. I will."

There was a silence, Delenn and Vizhak both looking at each other across the table, neither moving. No one dared breathe.

Not until a message was brought in, an urgent warning for the entire planet from Captain David Corwin.

Soon after that, there came the Vorlon.

Things moved quickly after Corwin's warning reached the Council. Arguments were forgotten in the face of this new threat. Ships were mobilised, defence systems prepared. Help was pulled in from nearby worlds. G'Kael sent a request to Narn for urgent aid. Delenn likewise to Proxima. Both doubted that help would arrive in time.

Vejar sat alone in his darkened room and reached out to the skies. He could feel it coming. A Fist of Darkness, so some races called it. A creation of flesh and technology and evil. A weapon designed for the sole purpose of destroying entire planets.

And he realised something else also. Whatever the Shadows could do, so could the Vorlons.

Ulkesh arrived in the Council chamber as preparations were being made. Delenn stood up, her skin crawling as she looked at him. This was the being who had sent her to Z'ha'dum, sent her to die, who had toyed with her love for John for his own purposes.

But he was also the representative of an ancient and powerful civilisation, a race that could help save this planet.

"What?" Delenn whispered, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Always before, the voice of a Vorlon had been musical in her mind, a whisper of symphony and melody and rhapsody, a rise and fall of beauty. Now Ulkesh's voice was that of the grave, the dank and dreary rustling of bones, the dreaming of dead men.

Delenn did not need to look at her companions to see the stunned horror on their faces. She also did not need to look to feel the rising fury in Vizhak and G'Kael and Taan Churok, even the normally calm Lethke.

But she spoke first.

"How dare you?" she cried. "How dare you? This is our home now. The cradle of all our hopes and dreams. We crafted something here, something that will live on long after all of us have gone. We created an alliance from death and torture and pain, and we made something better.

"And you expect us just to leave!"

"No," Delenn said firmly. "I will fight to save it, as will we all here. If you will not help us, then leave. You will not be welcome here any longer! None of you will!"

Ulkesh looked at them all, the darkness within his eye stalk seeming so much more intense, so much deeper. There was a slow surge of wind chimes, clattering against one another, echoing far distant screams,

he said, after a time.

"You don't understand us at all," Delenn said. "You do not understand. Now, stay and help. Or go, and do not return!"

Ulkesh lowered his eye stalk and turned. Delenn did not see him leave. She turned back to the others.

"Well said," said G'Kael, approvingly.

"We have no time to worry about the Vorlons. We have to defend Kazomi Seven. There will be time for worries later...."

"Come on," Corwin said. "Come on, come on."

"A message from Proxima, Captain."

Corwin drew in a deep breath. He had been expecting this. "Put it through."

Unsurprisingly, it was from the General. Corwin had rarely seen Sheridan look so angry. "Captain Corwin," he said. "You are abandoning your post. Return to Greater Krindar immed...."

"Sorry, General. Kazomi Seven is under attack from a Shadow planet killer. They need every ship they can get to help them."

"We received a message as well. That is beside the point. Return to your position."

"Oh for the love of.... Listen to yourself! Kazomi Seven is under threat. The whole world is going to be blown up...."

"You don't know that, Captain."

"Yes, I do! The whole planet is going to be destroyed unless we help them. All of us. Put these damned Dark Stars of ours to a real fight for once. Besides.... Delenn is there."

"That's.... not the...."

"No, it isn't. But I remember when you would have done anything to save her, and never mind what was right. We went all the way to Z'ha'dum to get her back, didn't we? What's a quick trip to Kazomi Seven?"

"Captain...."

"No, General. We're going. Court martial me when we get back. If Kazomi Seven is still there, and Delenn's still alive, it'll be worth it.

"Of course, you could come along and help us yourself."

"Captain.... David, I...."

"Think about it. Think about the person you want to be. If you like I could find you and hit you again. Agamemnon out."

Corwin let out the deep breath. "Come on, come on," he whispered.

The races in service to the Shadows called it a 'Fist of Darkness'. To the fleets of Kazomi 7 it was a death cloud, a vast thing that shimmered into view in the skies above their home, the centre of the United Alliance, a place where Valen had once stood and taught, a place that was home to the Blessed Delenn, a place where lived the only technomage in the worlds of the younger races.

Delenn stood on the bridge of the Drazi warship that had been given the honour of carrying her, and looked at it silently. Many had said she should not be here, but she had remained firm. There was too little time to launch a full evacuation of the planet, and she would not leave while others stayed.

Shadow ships swarmed around it, their cries piercing in the night. The cloud blocked out the stars, leaving an empty void in space.

One of the Drazi said something, and another chuckled, an unusual sound to come from a Drazi.

Delenn mentally translated it.

"At least we are fighting in the shade."

The fleet swept forward.

G'Kael had learned patience, he had learned endurance, and he had learned composure. He had learned many things, from many teachers. The two most important teachers had been Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar and the Centauri.

Sometimes their lessons were hard to remember.

"How long can it take?" he cried. "We cannot rely on communications staying open much longer."

Na'Toth let out a wry chuckle. "There is nothing that takes as long as waiting for a politician to reach a decision."

G'Kael muttered something angrily, and then tried to re–establish his composure. Na'Toth should know. She had been a member of the Kha'Ri until recently. "We don't have time," he snapped again.

"You did not have to stay here," Na'Toth pointed out. "You could have left."

"No, I couldn't. There's.... something about this world. It's special somehow. I'm not going to run and hide while it gets destroyed. I've done too much running and hiding. Besides.... I want to spit on that Vorlon's encounter suit and prove to it that we were right." He paused, and then looked at her. "Why did you stay?"

"Did I have anywhere else to go?

He shrugged. "Well said." The communications screen lit up, and he turned to it. The picture was crackling. "About time," he said. "We need military aid out here, and quick. As much as we can spare." There was no reply. "Can you hear me? We need...."

".... can't.... sound.... blocking.... Kha'Ri in.... closed session.... cannot talk to.... can you hear...?"

"No!" he shouted. "Listen to me. Send help now!"

".... must.... repeat.... signal...."

The screen went blank.

"Too late," G'Kael sighed. He looked up, through the stone that made this building, past roof and clouds and sky, into the heavens. He imagined all the stars there. He imagined them all going out as a cloud swept over the planet. "I think we're on our own now."

"No," Na'Toth said. "We always were."

Darkness washed over Delenn, a great and terrible darkness, as the cloud engulfed her ship.

The Stra'Kath had tried to fight it, but there was little to fight. The Shadow ships that had shimmered into the heavens with the black cloud had merely taken up position by the jump gate, preventing any flight. The Alliance ships had surged at the cloud, only to be torn apart by missiles that burst from inside it. The vast spears tore ships apart, destroying them utterly.

And then the cloud had engulfed the Stra'Kath, and there was only darkness.

And cold. It was so very cold.

"Can we get through to the other ships?" she asked, knowing the answer before she even asked the question.

"No. All communications are down."

"What can we sense?"

"Nothing."

"We will not die here," she whispered. Lyta, can you hear me? We need help. Kazomi Seven needs help.

There was nothing.

John, Lorien. Sinoval. Anyone. We cannot fight this thing. Without the Dark Stars we don't stand a chance. It can destroy us in a heartbeat.

She stopped, the sound of a beating heart echoing in her ears. This thing could destroy them all. It was a weapon capable of destroying whole planets. There were no Dark Stars to oppose it.

Why were they still alive?

Delenn was trying to ponder this when a curtain fell across her mind, and she slumped senseless to the floor.

Vejar closed his eyes and reached out to the darkness amidst the stars. He could feel it, the malevolent sentience that burned within the Fist of Darkness. The Shadows were every bit as adept as the Vorlons at using organic technology, at corrupting sentient life for their own ends.

And speaking of corruption of sentient life....

Something was coming this way. Souls screaming in prisons of light. With them came the residue of pain and terror and wrongness.

Dark Stars. Aptly named. There were few stars in any galaxy darker than they were.

He paused, and probed a little further. Something was strange. One of them was.... different. The bonds were looser. The bonds had been intentionally loosened. The telepath had more freedom. Not enough, but more. She even had a name. She even had someone to talk to.

Strange. Very strange. Galen would be able to exploit that. Galen would involve himself in this, and do what he could to save Kazomi 7. Galen would generally make a point of interfering.

"Damn you, Galen," Vejar whispered. "Look at what you've done to me."

He reached out, and made contact.

There was darkness. She was alone, standing in nothing, with ever nothing and only nothing.

"Welcome," said a familiar voice, and she started. Lyta walked out of the darkness to meet her. The voice was Lyta's, but something.... was wrong.

"Who are you?" Delenn asked, forgetting herself for a moment.

"I'd have thought you would have learned how dangerous that question was by now," Lyta said jovially. "I'm no one. I'm.... an idea. A concept. I represent one thought amidst many.

"I'm certainly not Lyta Alexander.

"Nor am I Arthur Welles." The voice changed, as did Lyta, and suddenly Mr. Welles was there. He was sitting down, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers steepled up before his face.

"Nor am I Marcus Cole." Again the voice changed, and this time Marcus was before her. There was a terrible wound in his chest, ribs caved in, blood staining the front of his tunic. He did not seem to notice the messy and bloody pulp that was his heart.

"No, I'm.... an idea." The voice changed again, and Delenn straightened. She was looking at herself. An exact, flawless, mirror image of herself.

"What do you want?" she asked of herself. That was a question she was not afraid of. That was a question she knew the answer to.

"Ah," the identical Delenn smiled at her, a smile that she would never display, half–mocking and filled with the implication that she knew something no one else did. "That's better. I want to talk to you. To be precise, I want to warn you. Some of us have sent a message to someone else, but he hasn't received it yet.... and that wasn't really the message we wanted sent, if you understand me."

"What do you mean?"

"What, does that surprise you?" Sinoval stood before her, his dark eyes staring directly into hers, his terrible, twisted pike raised in his hands. She did not take a single step back. In contrast to the real Sinoval, there was nothing to fear here. "That there might be factions amongst us? Why should there not be? The Minbari are factionalised, the humans, the Narns, don't even ask about the Centauri. Even the Vorlons were divided on some issues. We are chaos personified.... you honestly thought we all had the same goal, the same ambition, the same purpose?"

"You sought to destroy us all. Do your motives really matter?"

"Touch?." President Clark smiled. "But yes, they do. And we never sought to destroy you all. That would not suit our purpose."

"What is your purpose then? There was a reason for this, I am sure. Tell me! Teach me! Maybe this can all still be avoided. Maybe there can be something good from all this."

"No." Lorien's face bore an expression of infinite sadness. "It's too late for that. Too late by far. We are old. Very old. I remember my first footsteps in the heavens. I looked at all those stars, shining in the black sky, and I remember crying out in pleasure until tears poured down my face."

Vizhak paused. "Not actual tears, you understand. We cannot cry."

"All races can cry," Delenn said softly. "In one form or another."

"A beautiful concept," said G'Kar, smiling. "And true, to an extent. Anyway, I saw the stars, and I remember thinking of all the millions of lives that lay out there, across the galaxy, and even beyond the rim. All those lives, all those races we could nurture and help. We could strengthen them, test them, pull them up to their destinies. Few races are as long–lived as we are, and every year we waited, countless billions died.... died before seeing the heavens. Did we really have time to wait?"

"No," Londo said. "There was no time for patience. The strong would see the stars, and in their quest to touch them, the weak would rise alongside. Once something has been done by one man, it becomes so very much easier, doesn't it?"

Sonovar snarled. "But for some of us, there was only revenge. We had been defeated so many times before. Always defeated by the Vorlons, by Valen.... There was nothing left for us. The younger races had rejected us so many times.... why should they benefit from our teachings? Why should we help them to the stars? Burn them all! Let the strong fight for every inch of the journey!"

Neroon looked down, his face full of sorrow. "Isn't that always the way, Delenn? Hatred wins out over love always. Some of us did love you. Loved all of you. We only wanted to show you the stars."

"Then stop this!" she cried. "The war can end now! We can all work together. All of us! You can still show us the stars."

"No," whispered a voice, and she stumbled back. It was John. He looked at her, and his eyes shone with the love she remembered seeing there before. His voice trembled. "It's too late for all that. There are few of us left now. The hatred has ruled us all, and all we can see is our revenge. We have lost, we know that, and this will be the final defeat. There is nothing left, there are no more chances after this.

"We have lost, and so we will leave behind a galaxy of ash and ruin to make it wish we had won."

"It needn't be this way," she whispered.

"What else is there?" John asked. "I only wanted to let you know.... to remember us. We have done so much evil, but some of us have done good as well. Please.... if you can remember us at all.... remember the good and the bad."

"I will never forget you," she said, unsure to whom she was talking. The Shadow.... or the memory of the John she had once loved?

"Oh, one last thing." John was gone, but the voice came from everywhere. "The others of us have sent another message.... one based on revenge. We have left behind a weapon to strike down our greatest enemies. A terrible weapon. The message has not been received yet. If it is.... make sure he knows what you now know as well. We have poisoned the past and the present. Do not let us destroy the future as well."

"Who was this message to?" Delenn whispered, a sinking feeling in her heart.

"I think you know that," came the last faint echoes before the voice was gone, and the light returned.

They bent over her body, looking for some sign of life, but there was nothing.

"She is dead," one of them whispered.

"Yes," another agreed. "But she has been dead before. She will die and live and die and live.... until all is done, until Droshalla welcomes her home."

Delenn's eyes flickered, and opened. "Help is coming," she whispered.

At that moment, jump points opened and blazing sparks of light screamed into view.

Corwin took in everything in an instant. He could see the dark cloud that had consumed so many of the Alliance ships. He could see it moving slowly, inexorably towards the planet itself. He could see Shadow warships at the jump gate, and he could see them moving forward to meet these gatecrashers, those who had dared to arrive without an invitation.

Corwin saw all these things with eyes that were not his, sensed them all with senses that were not his.

"Carolyn, are you there?"

I am here. Someone is trying to reach us, to talk to us.

"Who?"

Power. He is power.

"Can you help us? Can the rest of you help us?"

We will fight. What else are we here for? But.... will the fighting ever be over?

"I hope so. Believe me, I hope so."

David Corwin.

The voice came from nowhere, from everywhere. It subsumed Carolyn's voice and spoke with a power and authority Corwin had rarely heard before.

"Who are you?" he asked. None of his crew reacted to him talking to no one. Peculiar events were commonplace on this ship.

A friend. Not a friend of yours, but just a friend in general. I can help you destroy that thing.

"Whoever you are, help me do that and you can be my friend for life. What do we do?"

Enter it. A warning. This will not be easy.

"Nothing worthwhile ever is."

Why am I still here?

Ambassador Lethke zum Bartrando looked up at the skies. He could see the cloud falling over the planet, a dark cloud that blotted out the suns.

Why am I still here?

He could have fled. Hasty evacuations had been organised. Some of the Ambassadors had chosen to leave, but none of those who had been here from the start. Vizhak and Taan Churok had gone to their ships. G'Kael had done likewise. Delenn was with the fleet.

Lethke was on the surface, waiting for the end.

Why am I still here?

The answer was simple.

Because I believe.

He continued to wait.

Delenn jumped to her feet. She could feel the Dark Stars coming. She could feel the intelligence within the cloud sense this, and reach out. She could feel the hatred, the dark and terrible rejection of all that the younger races were.

We tried to show you the stars, and you rejected us. We tried to give you heaven, and you cast us down. Then, if you will not see heaven, we will show you hell.

"It doesn't have to be this way!" she screamed. There was no answer.

It was cold, and dark, and he was alone.

No, he was not alone. Carolyn was with him. In some strange way he could not explain, so was Lyta.

And this strange man, who spoke to him from nowhere. He was here as well.

"Trust me, all of you," Corwin told his crew as the Agamemnon swept into the heart of the cloud. "I know what I'm doing. I hope."

Outside the cloud, Daro and Kulomani were fighting off the Shadow warships, adopting defensive positions, buying time.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Corwin said.

Of course I do. The Fist of Darkness is alive. There is intelligence. There is power and there is hatred. As with any living thing, find the brain and destroy it. Then the cloud will die.

"Fine, so where's the brain?"

There.

Corwin looked, and moved forward. Something burst through the darkness, a spear of rock and poison and anger. It barely missed the Agamemnon, so close, but silent in space.

"Carolyn, can you hear me?"

Pain, pain. It hurts!

"Carolyn, we need your help. All of us do."

Hurts!

"Carolyn, billions of people drown in blood if we fail. We will not fail. We need your help."

What.... what must I do?

"Protect us. Take us forward, and keep us safe. We'll do the rest."

"Captain!" cried a voice, and Corwin turned. He did not need to hear the tech's warning to realise that another spear had been launched. This one would not miss.

"Carolyn!" Corwin cried.

A shield of light rose up around the ship, and the spear struck it directly. The whole ship rocked, and Corwin stumbled. They had been hit, but they were still alive.

"Carolyn," he whispered.

I'm still here. Do what you must.

Corwin smiled. "Take us forward."

Vejar hummed as the smoke moved around him. He could feel it, feel the cloud rushing around him, feel the presence within it, feel the light and the pain that was Carolyn Sanderson, and a million like her.

"There you are," he whispered, seeing with eyes that were not his own. "I can feel you. I am not afraid."

He prepared an incantation.

Corwin leapt back as a glowing symbol appeared in the air before his eyes. "What the...."

Have no fear, Captain. Just a little something to protect you all, and to help defeat the Fist of Darkness. You will be able to strike it now.

"About time. All batteries.... fire!"

"Please," Delenn said. "Where are you? There's still time. It doesn't have to be this way!"

No, there is nothing else.

"Stop this! There can be peace."

No peace. No forgiveness. We will die, and that will be all.

There was a burst of light, a light that struck everyone in the ship. Delenn felt it burning her eyes, burning into the back of her mind. She fell, again.

Vejar smiled, and then he frowned. "Damn you, Galen," he whispered. "We will both pay for this in time."

There was the faint echo of a scream, one that touched them all. Delenn found tears in her eyes.

The Fist of Darkness died.

Before, there had been only revenge and hatred. Now, there was only the knowledge that they did what they must do. The Shadows knew their triumph, their unholy Fist of Darkness, had been destroyed, and there was nothing left for them but death.

The warships moved forward, not caring when jump points opened up behind them, and the Dark Stars swept forward.

The Shadows went to their deaths.

We tried to show you heaven. Now you will all see hell.

General John Sheridan said nothing as he watched the Shadows' last stand. They went to their deaths knowingly, charging forward, not even caring to try to escape.

Soon. It will all be over soon.

And what then?

The future.

He did not know if that thought was his own, or another's.

Vejar sat back, his mind returning to his body. "I have seen heaven," he whispered. "And I have known hell. I doubt there is anything left for you to show us."

Delenn's eyes brightened as realisation came to her of who had just arrived.

David Corwin smiled. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered. "See that, Carolyn! Maybe we're getting somewhere after all."

Delenn was alone, staring at the stars. "I remember," she whispered, "when I first realised I could reach out and touch them. My father carried me on his shoulders and pointed up into the night sky. They seemed so close. Then I looked down into the lake, and they shimmered there. I felt I could just reach out and touch them, scoop them up in my hands."

She sighed. "So this is what victory feels like. All these years and yet.... what has our struggle brought us?"

An echo of an echo, a whisper of a dead man's torment, reached her ears. "There is a saying among some peoples. Everyone gains exactly what they deserve. It would appear you have gained the victory which you most deserved."

She shivered, and held herself tight against the cold. "For all our sakes, I hope not.

"I hope not."

So what now?

Soon. It is almost over now. There is just one more thing to be done. One more battle to be fought.

To Z'ha'dum.

Chapter 5

"It is over."

"Yes, it is over."

"You have won."

"Yes, we have won."

They came, from star to distant star. From worlds of fire and worlds of ice. From darkness and light. From hope and despair. From love and hatred.

They came, they gathered, ships passing in the night. Old friends, older enemies, all drawn by the same irresistible force.

It will soon be over.

The words hung in all their minds.

It will soon be over.

No one was sure when exactly it had begun. People spoke of the Battle of the Second Line, where the Shadow ships had first appeared in force to go to war. Some mentioned the Third Line as the true beginning of the war, the apocalyptic battle that had seen the destruction of an entire planet. Some spoke of the terrible day when Minbar had been scorched with fire and fury from the heavens.

Some, most notably the Narn and the Centauri, referred to the beginning - or perhaps continuation is a better word - of their conflict, over three years gone now. Some, who saw with wisdom, placed it at the very beginning, when the Centauri had reached a defenceless, peaceful world and launched an unprovoked attack.

Then there were those who were reminded of the human / Minbari conflict, the Battle of the Line, the Battles of Mars and Orion, the fall of the Black Star, the fateful first encounter.

A precious few even cast their minds back a thousand years, to the appearance of Valen, and the first War of Shadow.

But whenever it had started, whenever the first battle had begun, there was one thing all could agree on.

It will be over soon.

And so to Kazomi 7, they came.

The newly inaugurated Lord–General Carn Mollari knew little of the world of Kazomi 7. At least, he knew little that was not common knowledge. It was the centre of the United Alliance, a former Drazi colony, a crossroads between trade routes, that had been attacked and devastated by the Drakh in an unprovoked and brutal assault. From out of that period of nightmare and destruction, the Alliance had been formed.

Carn knew that his uncle, the High and August Emperor Mollari II, had played a part in that birthing, but little of the specifics. It was not something his uncle had ever liked to talk about.

He looked down upon the world. It did not seem much at all, really, but then the true wonder was not the planet itself, but what was above it.

Ships from countless different races. Drazi and Brakiri and Gaim and Llort and the Alliance's own ships - the Dark Stars. Carn noticed one or two Minbari warships, a few human capital ships. There was the fleet he had brought from Centauri Prime.

And there were the Narns as well, of course.

This was the largest war fleet every assembled in known history, and it was still growing.

"It will soon be over," he whispered to himself, merely repeating the refrain that was on everyone's lips - or whatever passed for lips in the case of some aliens. "It will soon be over."

But then he thought of his uncle sitting alone on his uncomfortable chair, and of the smiling human who always stood behind him, and Carn doubted very much whether it would soon be over. He doubted whether it would ever be over.

"So, this is it, hmm?" Carn turned, and bowed in the presence of Minister.... no, Ambassador now, Durano. The former Minister of Intelligence and now Ambassador to the United Alliance from the Centauri Republic. It was a glorious position. Durano was to be the voice of the entire Republic in matters of foreign affairs. It was a clear promotion....

So why did the whole thing stink of wrongness?

"It does not look like much, does it, Lord–General?" Durano asked. "But then I learned never to judge by appearances."

"As you say, Ambassador. The fleet, however...."

"Yes, the fleet. The largest ever assembled, or so we were told. Whatever power could gather this many races all together for one single purpose.... that sort of power should never be underestimated. There is a lot to discover here."

Carn turned as his personal aide came into the observation room. He was still unused to being in a position where he needed a personal aide. Kiron Maray had performed a similar function for the previous Lord–General, and he had done so with perfect efficiency. Carn had no complaint with his performance or intelligence, only that it seemed wrong, somehow. Carn did not feel like a Lord–General.

"Lord–General Mollari, Ambassador Durano, we have been invited to the surface to meet with the Alliance Council."

"We had better go, then," Durano said. "We would not want to keep the Council waiting."

Durano turned to leave, but Carn took one last look out of the window. Another ship moved into view, very near by. Carn's lips twitched into a wry smile. Na'Tok was here, then. The Narns were every much a part of the Alliance as the Centauri soon would be.

"I will see you down there, my friend," he whispered, to no one in particular. Then he followed Durano, ready to meet with the Council.

"You are a coward!"

There was little warmth in the rising suns, little light through the dark, cloudy skies. There was little comfort in the strong, foul–smelling breeze. There was little life in the dust–choked lakes that once had shone with light and beauty and colour.

Still, Kozorr looked out across the landscape before him, and smiled. He had come home now, and he was never going to leave it again.

"You are a coward and a weakling! You knew how to fight once! You can learn how to fight again!"

Minbar had once been a thriving and beautiful world, filled with ancient wonders and beautiful visions. Then the humans and the Drakh had come and rained poisoned fire from the heavens, searing the ground and destroying the air and turning all to death.

Kozorr had not been there to defend his world. He had spent that time in agony, with a broken and shattered leg, a flayed and mutilated hand and a cracked headbone, all injuries sustained honourably and nobly, although such a differentiation meant little to him these days.

They had left Minbar, under the guidance of the Primarch Sinoval the Minbari people had abandoned their ancestral home and taken to the stars. Now Primarch Sinoval was gone, disappeared, and the Minbari had returned home.

The poisons had faded, but not vanished. The air could be breathed, but not easily. The ground could be cultivated, but not without hours of back–breaking labour. The task was difficult, and would not be achieved in generations, but the first act of the new Grey Council had been to begin to restore Minbar.

Kozorr, once a warrior, now a worker by acceptance and marriage, had welcomed this task.

"Look at me! What has happened to you, Kozorr? You were a warrior once. How are you so blind now?"

He looked away, turning his back on that glorious sunrise, and found himself staring at Tirivail. Her eyes were filled with fury, and her bearing was one of absolute control over herself. She was a warrior.

She was more than a warrior. She was Satai. One of the new Grey Council. One of the three warriors. Her father, Takier, was another. The third position for the warrior was as yet undecided. Both Takier and Tirivail wanted Kozorr to take that position, but he would not stand there. He had stood in the columns of light once, a part of Kalain's ill–fated Grey Council, and he would not stand there again.

Besides, he was a warrior no longer.

"You are a coward," Tirivail spat again.

She looked glorious in her wrath, her eyes flashing. She was a true warrior. Once he had thought he had feelings for her, feelings beyond mere admiration of her beauty and her skill. Perhaps he still did feel for her, but he knew true love now, and beside that, what he felt for Tirivail was as a candle to a star.

"No, Tirivail," he said. "I am no coward." Once he would have called her 'my lady', but no longer. There was only one woman who merited that address from him now. "Indeed, I feel braver now than I ever have."

"It is her, isn't it?" Tirivail sneered. "You could have come with me, Kozorr. We could have ridden into battle side by side, flames lashing around us, weapons held high, glorying in triumph and victory after victory. You could have known me in battle and in love, and yet you turn to a weak worker, and she has made you a coward."

"Kats is not weak," Kozorr said. His visage was unchanged, but there was danger in his voice. Tirivail noticed it and took a slow step back. "She is not weak, and you know that. And all she has done to me is help me see the truth."

"No," Tirivail admitted, grudgingly. "She is not weak, I will give her that much. She is strong, for a worker. But she is not a warrior. You are."

"Not any more."

"We go to the greatest battle ever to be seen. We will ride to the gates of Sheol and cast open the doors. We will walk where only Valen himself once walked, and we will write new legends to last for the next thousand years! We will be the new Marrain, the new Derannimer, the new heroes for future generations. How long have we all dreamed of this....

"And you will remain here, hoeing fields and building bridges?"

"I would rather build a bridge than destroy one. I have had enough of war, Tirivail. I will not fight again. I will not kill again.... and I have no wish to be a hero."

"Then what do you wish to be? What else is there, if not a hero?"

"Husband," he said, smiling. "Father, even. I have done too much in my life I am not proud of, but this.... this is right. I know it."

She shook her head. "I do not understand."

"You will," he said, smiling. Confusion rose in her eyes, and then she turned, making for the door. "Tirivail," he called after her. "Return safely."

She made to say something, but fell silent. She left.

Captain David Corwin was a rarity in many ways, and he knew it. One of the few human captains in the entire Dark Star fleet, he also had the greatest experience of battle relative to his age of anyone, whether Drazi, Brakiri or Narn. He was in command of the third ship of the fleet, a powerful and prestigious position. He had been instrumental in many of the key engagements of the wars.

He was also one of the few captains to sleep on his ship.

Few people liked the Dark Stars. The crews spoke of dark dreams, of strange visions, of hearing screams of pain just echoing through the walls. Not many lasted long on them, despite necessity and prestige. Those who did became either dour and uncommunicative, or fearful and haunted. Of either type, few spent any longer on their ships than they had to.

All except David Corwin.

Oh, there were as many strange happenings on his ship - one of the few Dark Stars with a name, the Agamemnon, another rarity - as on any other. There were voices, strange sightings. The Captain frequently spoke when no one was there, addressing someone called 'Carolyn', a human name that belonged to none of the crew. During the epic battle with the Fist of Darkness to save Kazomi 7 he had spoken to two people, neither of whom were there, one was this Carolyn, the other was unknown.

Some speculated that he was insane, some that he was farsighted, and could see things others could not. Still others believed that he was supernaturally lucky. A few, with perhaps more wisdom, suggested that all three could be true, and indeed, all three were true.

But everyone flocked to his ship, and the Agamemnon was considered the finest post in the fleet, even more so than the Dark Star 1, ship of the fabled Shadowkiller, General Sheridan himself. Captains Daro and Kulomani, of Dark Stars 2 and 4 respectively, recognised Corwin as at least their equal, if not their superior.

Many things were said about Captain David Corwin, but one acknowledged fact was that he spent more time on his ship than any other captain, save only Sheridan himself. His crew had fewer instances of insanity or breakdown. For some reason, whatever curse afflicted the Dark Star fleet, the Agamemnon was largely immune to it.

So, when David Corwin left his ship and came down to the surface, it was for a good reason.

In this particular case, it was for the very best of reasons.

"I'd heard you were here," he said, smiling. "I wanted to come and see you earlier."

"Oh, David," said Lyta, smiling in her turn. She looked around, and for a single moment her eyes became black. She looked back at him and her smile returned, more relieved this time. She did not say the words, with either voice or mind, but her meaning was clear. We are safe now. We can talk now. "How are you?"

"Well.... I guess. Still alive, anyway. I meant to come and see you straight after the battle, but we had to return to Krindar pretty quickly. I wasn't sure if you'd be here."

"Oh, yes.... we were here. Whatever you said to him, it got the General riled up. He was determined to come and do what he could. And of course.... where he goes, I'm not far behind. The Vorlons don't want him hurt. Too much is riding on him."

"Are they still.... influencing him?"

"I don't know. I don't even know exactly what it was they did to him in the first place. But I can't sense any telepathic influence. I think they're just.... making him see what he wants to see. Half of what he's doing, he's doing himself."

"Good. Well, maybe not good. I don't know. I'd like to think this is easier to deal with.... if there isn't any.... you know."

"I think so. And rather you than me. How is Carolyn?"

"The same, I think. I'm talking to her a lot, like you said. I call her by name as often as possible, to remind her of who she was.... is. Half the crew think I'm insane, I've no doubt, but.... Will we be able to free her?"

"I don't know. I think that will involve bringing down the whole network, and whether that will free them or kill them all I don't know."

"Surely death's better than that."

"I think so. David.... if that ever happens to me, I'd prefer to die. Do you understand?"

He paused, and swallowed harshly. Then he nodded. "I understand. You can count on me." There was a painful lump in his throat.

She smiled. "It isn't going to happen though. This is almost over. Once the war is done.... there'll be a few years. A time to consolidate, to rebuild. I'll have time."

"To do what?"

"To get away. To find Sinoval. He's gone into hiding now, or so I can.... gather. But I can find him. He'll let me find him. He's the one who can do this, if anyone can. I think that's his whole purpose. They're afraid of him."

"Sinoval. You'll go and.... work for him?"

"Not work for. Help him. But not until all this is done. As soon as this is over, as soon as I get the chance, then.... I'll be gone. You probably won't even see me leave."

"Good luck, then," he whispered. "I think I'll miss you."

Lyta smiled. "You could come along. I'd like to have you with me." She paused. "I can't believe I just said that," she added.

"I.... I...."

"No," she said quickly. "It doesn't matter. I've.... got to go. Good luck, David. Stay alive."

"Uh.... yeah. You, too."

Stay alive. He intended to. After all, what else was there?

Durano read the document carefully, keeping his mind calm. Precision was everything. There was a human saying he had picked up over the years, one he had liked the sound of very much.

God is in the details.

It was called the Kazomi Treaty, that would formally end the war between the Narn Regime and the Centauri Republic, with provisions allowing both entry into the United Alliance. Ordinarily such a complex and involved piece of legislation would be the result of months of intensive negotiation, constant references to various Governments, meetings, give–and–take and numerous draftings.

The Kazomi Treaty had taken less than two weeks, and most of it had been drafted beforehand. It had been made very clear there was little room for re–writing.

Durano skimmed past the territorial provisions. They were unchanged, and were more than reasonable. All borders were to be reset to the period immediately before the conflict. Worlds captured by either side were to be returned to their original jurisdictions. All invading or occupying forces were to return to sovereign soil.

More than reasonable, given that the Narns had had by far the advantage in that area. They had taken several more worlds than the Centauri.

The military provisions were awkward, but Durano was an experienced negotiator and he recognised them as inevitable. Certain sensitive systems were to be classified as Demilitarised Zones, with no armed presence from either side. Certain other systems were to have limited military presences. Some stations and satellites were to be removed.

Also, and this would be the hardest to push through what was left of the Centarum.... there were strict limits on the Centauri Republic's military capacity. There was a similar provision regarding the Narns, but their limits were much.... less confining.

That was inevitable, really. The Centauri were to all intents and purposes the losing party in this war, and such provisions were only to be expected.

There were no orders for payment of reparations by either side. Durano knew several bodies back home would insist on payment from the Narns, but he also knew that one was dead in the water from the start, so he had not pushed it.

The Alliance was to convene a full and exhaustive War Crimes Tribunal into the entire affair, investigating rumours of atrocities on both sides. The former Lord–General Marrago was at the top of the list in that area, but there were some Narns named as well. The whole passage was vague and unclear, and that summed up the reason Durano did not like this treaty, not at all.

Oh, the peace treaty was reasonable, quite fair in some respects. Had Durano negotiated the document from the very beginning, he would have been more than pleased with his efforts.

But then came the provisions for joining the United Alliance, and everything went wrong.

The Centauri Republic was to commit a set proportion of its military to work alongside the Alliance fleets, in whatever capacity they were necessary. Anyone in command of that fleet would be subject to the authority of the United Alliance Council and its General, John J. Sheridan, including the Lord–General himself. Indeed, based on the wording of the section, were Emperor Mollari to lead a ship to the Alliance in this way, he would be subject to the Council's authority.

The demands on the fleet were extortionate. Durano was not a military man, but he had worked out that those demands, coupled with the limitations on military capacity, would leave many key areas barely defensible. Even the homeworld would be defended at minimum capability.

He read on.

The Republic was to have a permanent Ambassador placed on Kazomi 7 at all times - that would be me, Durano thought grimly. This Ambassador would have the same rights and responsibilities as all other members of the Council, and his vote - or that of his assistant were he absent for any reason - would carry the same weight as any other Council member.

The Alliance would have free rein and free rights of transport across all worlds, stations and colonies of the Centauri Republic. All official Alliance parties would have freedom to travel anywhere in Centauri space. Alliance investigators would be dispatched to all Centauri worlds, to investigate the details of the Shadow involvement with the Centauri.

A permanent Alliance observer would be placed on Centauri Prime and other key locations. This observer would have access to all records, papers and private meetings, however confidential. He would report directly and solely to the Alliance Council, and would not be bound by any laws of the Republic, or any authority of any individual within the Republic, up to and including the Emperor himself.

There was more, detailing levies to be paid to the Alliance, obligations to send further military capabilities if formally requested and so forth, but most of it was irrelevant. The early passages alone were an effective acknowledgement of the slavery of every Centauri man, woman and child to the Alliance.

Durano sat back, unable to find any loopholes. Whoever had drafted the treaty, they had known what they were doing. He was not sure if the Narn membership treaty had similar provisions, having been unable to read it.

He had spoken to the Emperor about the effects this would have. Londo had looked at him with dark, haunted eyes.

"Durano.... we are a defeated race. We are doomed, all of us. Sign it.... or none of us will ever see the light again."

Durano looked up, casting his eyes around the room. The Council members were here. Almost all of them. Some of them believed the provisions were exactly what the Centauri deserved, others that they were too much. Some clearly thought they were not harsh enough.

But which was which, that was the question.

He remembered his earliest and most influential lessons.

Trust no one.

And, God is in the details.

He signed.

"I cannot help you further."

Vejar looked up at his guest, and sighed to himself. He had tried very hard to cultivate a mystique, an aura of strangeness. Here he was, alone in his darkened chamber where he cast powerful magics and sorceries and, so some probably believed, drank the blood of babies.

Unfortunately, that mystique was ruined when people kept coming in for a talk and cup of tea all the time.

Not that he objected to David Corwin's presence as such. Sooner or later the man was bound to work out just who had been responsible for aiding him during the battle with the Fist of Darkness. It spoke well that it was sooner rather than later. Vejar sensed Corwin could be a powerful ally.

But he could not help now.

"I have done all I can at this time. To act further would.... draw more attention to myself than I would like, than I can bear."

"You helped me before."

"I did, yes.... and I should not have done that."

"I need to free her. I can hear her all the time. She's trapped somewhere in the heart of my ship, in constant pain, in agony, losing her mind! You can help me free her."

"Maybe I can, maybe I cannot. We have heard whispers about the Vorlons' 'network' for some time, but its power is beyond our own. How can I say I will not kill this.... Carolyn in the process of trying to free her? How can I say this will not draw the Vorlons down upon my own head? I have no wish to die.... not yet."

"Then you're afraid."

"Of course I am. If you knew what I know, you would be afraid too."

"I see. I am going to free her. You know that."

"I know you will try. You will probably fail."

"Well, at least I will have done something!"

As Captain Corwin left, Vejar sighed again. He did not want to have to turn him away, but the time was not yet right. The war was not yet over. The Vorlons had not yet moved in force.

"You're afraid."

Vejar had power. He could cast sorceries that few could even understand. He could summon demons, hex computer systems. He could kill with a glance. He was probably the most powerful mortal being on Kazomi 7, and even the definition of mortal did not truly fit him.

But yes, he was afraid.

When he thought of the Vorlons, how could he not be?

"It is easy for you to talk, Galen," he said softly. "You don't have a Vorlon only a few hundred metres above your head."

No, but Vejar knew that that would not stop Galen even if he did.

True love is like any addictive drug, he had read once, in that it is boring and yet dangerous at the same time. John Sheridan had little doubt that his feelings for Delenn of Mir were true love, but while he had plenty of evidence to justify the dangerous part of it, at no time had their relationship ever been boring.

He did love her, he knew that. He knew also that he had become something very different while he had thought her dead. It was as if he was a poor sinner who had found there was a heaven after all, only to be thrown out of it after a few, glorious months.

And now he was doubting if he would ever see heaven again.

He could not look at Delenn now without thinking of their son, their son who had died before he had been given even a chance at life, their son who would be the only child either of them could have. A dark rage filled him, a determination to seek only revenge. But on whom? All the people to be revenged against were gone.

"John," Delenn said softly, and as always a tremble went through him when he heard his name spoken in her soft, beautifully accented voice. "We have to talk."

He nodded, his throat suddenly very dry. "You're right. I'm.... I'm sorry.... the way things have been...."

"Hard, I know. But we are together now.... and we may never be so again. The last battle is coming, we all know it. We have both been far too lucky thus far. We may not be lucky again."

"Lucky?" he said with a whisper. "Good God, Delenn, how can you call what has happened to us luck?"

"We are both still alive. We have known great love. We have known good and loyal friends. We have endured hardship and adversity and we are both still here. We have both triumphed far more than we have failed. That sounds like luck to me."

"When you put it that way...."

"None of us knows how much time we have, John. We must think of the present first. John.... I am sorry about our son. If there had been any other way.... but there was not. You have to believe me."

"Sorry? Delenn.... I don't blame you." The lie burned in his throat. "I could never blame you. How could I...?"

"Still, I am sorry, and I always will be. I think.... sometimes I wonder if there was anything else I could have done...."

"Delenn, I don't blame you!" Each time he said it, the lie hurt more. "It is.... done. Delenn, I watched one woman I love collapse because of tragedy, and I couldn't do anything about it. I ran away from Anna because it was my way of coping with.... what happened, and because I was too busy running away I didn't see her destroying herself.

"I was running away from you as well, Delenn. I didn't want to face.... I couldn't.... but I don't want to run away any more. I love you, Delenn. I never want to see you hurt, or upset, or in pain again. I want to protect you and keep you safe from harm, and I know I can't, and that scares me and.... I'm sorry, Delenn, I just...."

Gently, she reached out and took his hand. Her skin felt so soft against his. "We do not have the future. We only have today. We love each other, and surely.... surely we can find a way."

"You're always so much better at this than I am," he whispered. "How is it you're so much better at this?"

She smiled. "I don't know," she said. "I am trembling so much I can barely stand."

"Then sit down."

Quietly, she sat down next to him. He put his arm around her, naturally, and held her close against him.

Then they kissed.

Today is all there is.

For tomorrow we die.

The arguments had been long and tortuous, and had grown heated on more than one occasion. Some, like Takier, preferred to remain autonomous. The Minbari had survived for centuries without asking for help from anyone else. Why should they do so now?

Tirivail recognised the necessity of a military alliance. The civil war had cost them all greatly, and the Minbari needed allies, there was no doubt about that. However, she questioned whether committing fully to the Alliance was necessary in itself.

Gysiner and Chardhay, speaking, as they often did, as one, reminded the Council that the leader of the Alliance was the Blessed Delenn herself. By joining the Alliance they would in effect be making her the leader of the Minbari Federation, as she should have been so long ago.

It was the votes of Kats and Lurna which had swung it. Takier and Tirivail had bowed, accepting defeat.

And so it was that Kats found herself standing in the Alliance Council Chamber, looking at the diverse members of the Council. Sinoval had told her a little of his meeting with the Council almost a year ago, and already it had grown larger.

With these people, she thought, there lies the power of half the galaxy.

Of course an Ambassador would be needed, and that had not been fully finalised yet. Many in the Council wanted Kats herself to take on that role, arguing that she was the most suitable. She had refused, not wanting to leave Minbar, and especially not wanting to leave Kozorr. Already she missed him, her heart burning.

But someone was needed to come to speak for the Federation in the opening meetings, to resolve the treaties and trade pacts and all the other necessities of diplomacy. Takier and Tirivail had brought the ships to aid in the final battle at Z'ha'dum, and Kats had come along as well.

She missed Kozorr, and she remembered their final night together before she left. She also remembered their final morning, as she had awoken to see him staring at the sunrise. She had gone to him, and they had spent the morning in silence, fingers brushing, looking over the new world that they would create together.

Then she had left, with no words spoken. None needed to be said.

Unlike now, when many words needed to be said. A great many words.

"Friends, Ambassadors, Council Members," she began, "as representative of the Grey Council and the Minbari Federation, it is an honour to be here, and an even greater honour to bring the Minbari Federation into the United Alliance of Races...."

We will send aid.

No, none is necessary. They will fight this battle themselves.

And if there is no battle?

There will be, a battle of words if not of weapons. They understand now.

They understand too much.

The war will be won. When that is so.... their understanding will avail them little. The war was that of the Enemy. The peace will be ours.

As you say. They will fight this last battle alone.

And so it was here, the largest fleet ever assembled in mortal memory. Drazi Sunhawks, Brakiri fighters, Minbari warships, Centauri and Narn fighters together, Llort, Vree, Gaim, Abbai.... and the fearsome Dark Stars.

On the bridge of the Agamemnon, Captain David Corwin looked around at his crew, and thought of the countless thousands of lives within this fleet, many of whom would not return. There was an old phrase he had heard once, a line from a poem perhaps, relating to a terrible war on Earth over three hundred years ago.

"When you go back, tell them of us and say, For your tomorrow, we gave our today."

He looked down at Kazomi 7. He thought of Mary, somewhere safe from all this fighting. He thought of Lianna, and her child, forever without a father. He thought of his parents, his brothers and sisters, all long dead. He thought, strangely enough, of Bester.

"Know what we are fighting for," he whispered.

He did not know what everyone else was fighting for, but he did know what he was fighting for.

The ships, as one, turned. Jump points opened, and the fleet moved for Z'ha'dum.

It was a dead world, at the end of space in a region filled with dead worlds.

A thousand years ago a fleet came here, and there was bloodshed and fire and shadow, as Valen led those who followed him into the depths of Z'ha'dum. It was said he uncovered the world's greatest secret there, although none knew what that secret was, at least none who admitted to knowing.

It was at Z'ha'dum that Marrain and Parlonn had met for the last time, in an epic duel that proved, for once and for all, which of them was better. It was there that Marrain had set a tomb for his fallen friend, and there that the seeds of his betrayal were nurtured and grew, although they had existed all along.

That tomb had long been sought and rarely been found. There were countless catacombs beneath the barren, wasted surface of Z'ha'dum, tunnels leading into the very heart of the world, and none knew them all. Not the Heart Guards, not the Drakh magi, not the Zener Flesh–Sculptors, not even the Pale and Silent King himself. There were whispers of course, rumours of what lay below. Drakh would occasionally enter the unknown and forbidden areas seeking knowledge and understanding. Few returned.

Less than a year ago, three mortals had travelled into the heart of the world. One had died, one had been recaptured and the third.... the third had disappeared. All three, in their own way, had discovered the greatest secret of Z'ha'dum, the one the Shadows reserved for the most trusted of their race. The Priests of the Fallen Midnight, the Heart Guards, and the Pale and Silent King. Not even the most trusted of the Drakh knew.

At the heart of Z'ha'dum, rested the Eldest. The First of the First Ones. The Father of All Darkness. The first living being in all the galaxy to reach sentience.

The name he chooses to use is Lorien, and he is not alone.

"You do understand, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I had.... how long.... to think about it?"

"A year or so by your standards has passed in the world outside. A little longer in here, I believe. It has been said by many that time does not work in the same way on this world as it does on others. They may be right."

"Time doesn't work the same way on a Monday morning as it does on a Friday night. I've had long enough."

"This part of it will soon be over. I had.... hoped there would be some understanding by now, but it seems I was wrong. A pity. It is a terrible thing when your children fight. I had hoped for something.... more than this."

"I'll do what I can."

"I was not talking about you. I very much doubt you will be a disappointment to anyone."

"Tell that to my father."

"You know where I will send you?"

"I know. I know who I'll meet when I get there, and what to say to him. And after that...."

"After that.... you will be on your own."

"I'll cope. How long will it take me to get there?"

"Ah, time again. Not long, I believe, although whether by my standards or yours I cannot be sure. Very little in this galaxy is certain in any way."

"Yes, whatever. I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Yes, it is. It has been.... interesting having you here. You have a most unusual outlook on things."

"You need to get out more if you think I'm interesting. It's been nice knowing you. We'll meet again, yes?"

"Oh, yes. Of that, I am very sure."

There was a blaze of light, and she was gone. The Eldest sighed and continued his long and lonely walk. Someone was waiting for him. One of those above had come to consult with him. He knew why.

"It is a terrible thing when your children fight," he repeated to himself.

The Shadow was there, on the precipice. It was larger by far than was usual, and the dappled grey and purple on its head bespoke its rank. Lorien rose through the mists of earth and air and appeared beside the Shadow. He did not always come when a pilgrim arrived here, but tradition was tradition, and times were changing swiftly.

Besides, this was the Pale and Silent King, and few ignored such a meeting.

Lorien pondered the origins of the name, and thought of the irony. Few understood the meaning now, and yet it was maintained anyway. For a race which thrived on change, the Shadows could be very traditional.

the Pale and Silent King said. Lorien only nodded once.

"As they did once before. I remember the fighting well."

"You have survived before. You have been driven from this world countless times in the past, and always you returned."

"All things change."

"And yet they have made it to the stars on their own. Without you."

"And the Vorlons. They were there also."

"You have defence systems. You have ships. You can defend this world."

"Even when you are all gone, you seek to manipulate them. As you say, you are lost. Why fight? What can this gain? The Vorlons will understand this too. A day will come when I will talk to the Vorlon Lights Cardinal in their ancient home and he will say the same things you have said. Their time is done. You chose to stay when the others left. All of you chose to stay. You must have known you could not stay forever. You must have known a time would come when you were not needed. That is change, after all."

"A time will come when I myself must leave. Not now, no, but soon. I will join you all beyond the Rim, and see what lies beyond."

"That is not necessary."

"And you will be the last."

Lorien sighed. Unnecessary. It was all so unnecessary. He had to remain here. He had to watch. The time was not yet right for him to leave. The Shadows believed that if he ever left Z'ha'dum, the entire planet would be destroyed. So did the Vorlons for that matter.

He looked up, and with eyes that were not in his head but in his soul, he looked through kilometres of rock, of city, of air, of sky, of star.

And he saw the ships appear in the skies above Z'ha'dum.

And he saw the Shadows make ready for them.

There was always that one, single moment of hesitation in battle, an instant when both sides stopped and thought. Such moments brought about either victory or defeat, and it was a wise leader who knew how to use them.

Both fleets moved, casually, slowly, circling around each other. The Shadow warships hovered above their ancestral home, the place of their duty, the place where their Pale and Silent King waited. They knew their duty. All of them knew their duty. And some of them knew only revenge.

You did not let us show you heaven.

So we will show you hell.

The Dark Stars hummed, the trapped souls within them focussing their minds and efforts at the commands of far distant masters. Through their eyes the Vorlons watched, and through their mouths the Vorlons sent their reply.

We will show them heaven. And we will show them hell. You are not needed.

Still the battle did not start. The Alliance ships continued to jump into view, taking up their positions, each ship according to their precise orders. Defence, shock attack, reserves. The whole plan had been evaluated, calculated, prepared.

The war was over. Now.

And still the battle did not start. Neither side moved. The Alliance could not know that the Shadows were arguing amongst themselves. The Vorlons did, and, sensing some final deception on the part of their ancient enemies, waited.

A message was sent to the Dark Star 1, flagship of the fleet, to General John 'Shadowkiller' Sheridan himself.

A reply was sent, and from the dead world of Z'ha'dum, there came a shuttle.

The Vorlons still waited.

He had stared into the face of death twice before in his life, and, through fate or miracle or chance or stubbornness or destiny, he had survived both times. He knew that this time he would not.

He walked with a limp, his every breath clouded with smoke. Things rattled inside him, things that should not be moving like that. Bright lights flashed before his eyes.

He remembered hanging there, in that dark room, tears rolling down his eyes as he looked at the body of his wife. They had killed her, with their experiments and their tortures. He had never hated anything before in his life, but he hated now. Oh, how he hated them now! He would sell his soul for revenge. They had taken his wife and his daughter, and maybe his son too.

And then something had moved, emerging from the darkness. He recognised the silhouette, and a curse rasped from his mouth. He wanted revenge.... but he could not move, not so much as an inch.

"Come back.... have you?" he had whispered. "What more can you do to me? Kill me.... If you have any mercy at all.... just kill me!"

"Oh no," said the figure, her cat's eyes dancing with pleasure. He knew her. Not a Minbari, no, but she might as well have been. "I have no mercy, and you aren't going to die. Not for a very long time. There are some people who want to meet you."

He shifted back to the present and saw the guards looking at him. He limped past them, moving as they directed. He had a mission to perform, his last mission for the people who had treated him well, the people who had given him a chance, not just for revenge, but also to do some good.

There were others who could have been sent, he supposed. People in better health than he was. Drakh magi. A Zener surgeon or diplomat. A Z'shailyl even. But they had chosen him. The Pale and Silent King had chosen him.... for this last meeting.

One last warning. One last message before everything collapsed into flames.

He could feel the presence of the Pale and Silent King in the back of his mind, illuminated through one of the Drakh mage–orbs. The Drakh armada might have been torn apart and scattered to the winds at Minbar two years ago, but they still had their uses.

As, apparently, did an old man. An old, dying man.

He remembered the flash of light that had seared his eyes and his mind. Welles was at his side, Clark before him, ready to unleash devastation on Proxima. One of them had moved, and then there had been a roar, a burst of energy, and the sound of Clark's body tearing apart.

He should have died then. The Shadows had been able to save him to get him off–world, but he still should have died. Not even the Zener could fully repair the injuries he had suffered, the pain the Vorlon's light had caused to his Shadow–enhanced body. He wondered if Welles still lived.

The Shadows had not been able to save him after all. The Zener had restored his sight and mended most of his bones, but there was little more they could do, especially with the lack of resources. He was a dying man, and he knew it.

But he had one duty to fulfill first.

The guards stepped aside, Narns mostly. The infamous Narn Bat Squad. A wry smile touched his face, as he entered the room.

General John Sheridan and the Blessed Delenn rose to meet him.

Former Ambassador David Sheridan coughed. "Hello, son."

We should fight.

No, there can be another way.

What other way is there? We should fight. The Enemy is beaten. We can destroy them. We can take their world. We can....

Why do they not fight now? There is some trick, some plan. The Eldest has been talking to them.

The Eldest will not betray us. He will not aid them.

When we own Z'ha'dum, we will ask him. We will serve him, and follow in his path. But for now.... he has chosen to live with them.

They were unworthy of him.

Yes. And see, they have been defeated. Let them have their last, little deception. They have lost.

So, what shall we do?

Wait. Still.

"Hello, son."

"Dad?"

Delenn straightened, looking at the man before her with calm eyes. He looked ill, broken and shattered. In one way he reminded her of Welles, in those last days. Knowing he was dying, but with an inner peace, an acceptance of what was to come.

Then she looked at John. He looked torn, stunned surprise meeting with a steely resolve. As far as she was aware, John had not known his father was still alive. Ambassador Sheridan had come to Kazomi 7 to negotiate a false peace treaty, and he had spoken with his son then. Delenn had passed that off as a fever–dream on John's part, not wishing to hurt him with the knowledge that his father was working for the Enemy.

She supposed he might have acquired that knowledge on Proxima, but she honestly did not know. Gently, slowly, she reached out one hand to brush against John's. Still he did not say anything.

David Sheridan was one of the people responsible for the death of their son, whom she had ironically and unknowingly given his name. She had chosen the name David because of Captain Corwin, not for John's father, but the name was there in any case.

She should hate him, but she could not. She had not hated Welles, and had forgiven him at the end. Hatred was not the answer, not to anything. She did not even hate the Shadows any more.

"I thought you were dead," John whispered.

"I should have been. The Shadows got me off Proxima just in time, and their scientists patched me up.... as well as they could. I'm still dying, mind."

"You could come back to Proxima," John said quickly. "Or to Kazomi Seven. Between all of us, we can probably find a way to heal you properly."

Ambassador Sheridan was surprised, and so was Delenn. She looked up into John's face, and found no sign of emotion there. Nothing at all. The sight scared her.

"Ah," the Ambassador said. Then he sighed. "No, I don't think that's a viable option any more. I made my decision, and I will stick with the consequences."

"You taught me that."

"Yes."

Another silence. Delenn tightened her grip on John's hand. His skin felt very cold. She made to speak, but John spoke first.

"Why are you here, Dad? What is this - some last threat or joke from the Shadows?"

"Nothing of the sort. A last parley, you could say. A last message."

"Well?" Delenn said nothing. She had an uncomfortable feeling she had heard a message similar to this before. You would not let us show you heaven.

"It's not too late, you know. Turn on the Vorlons. They aren't your friends. They're.... a relic of the past. Foolish notions.... but dangerous for all that. Join us, listen to us, ignore us.... do whatever you like. But don't work with the Vorlons, whatever you do."

"They have helped us," John said calmly. "They brought me back from death. They provided us with these ships. They've given us almost everything we've needed. They aren't perfect, no, and I'm not saying I trust them entirely.... but they've given us more reason to trust them than you have."

No, Delenn thought. They've given us no reason to trust them at all, and every reason to abandon them.

Ambassador Sheridan shook his head. "You don't understand." He paused, and then chuckled wryly. "Hah! They'll be telling you that in a few years. If they aren't already. They're fond of saying that. You don't understand. This time you really don't.... or maybe you do. I don't know.

"But I know this. We've lost. We admit it. We're done for, and this time there's no coming back. There's two ways to handle this. Unfortunately.... most of us chose the wrong one."

"You mean trying to blow up Kazomi Seven."

"Yes.... that was part of it. Revenge, you see. Scourge the galaxy. Too many believed that.... if you didn't want to listen to us, you shouldn't be allowed to listen to anyone. It wasn't just Kazomi Seven, you know. Centauri Prime, the Narns.... all over the place. Let the galaxy burn.

"But not any more. You know, I've spent my whole life indulging in diplomacy, working out factions, who they are, what they want, and it still hit me to learn that the Shadows are every bit as factionalised as anyone else I've ever met. The Vorlons will be too, I suppose. Some of them preached revenge, others hoped that we could get one last lesson through to you all before it was too late.

"The revenge faction lost a lot of prestige when Kazomi Seven survived. And Centauri Prime. They had at least one other plot in motion that I don't know about. Something to do with a legacy, but that doesn't matter. The Shadow leaders recalled all ships, all warriors and servitor races here. Ready for one huge battle.

"What you see out here isn't the half of it. We have more of those death clouds. We've got the Z'Shailyl, the Zarqheba, the Drakh magi, not to mention the defence grid. Maybe we could even win this battle, although I doubt it if the Vorlons get involved, but that doesn't matter.... because what would be the point?

"Look at you all. Everyone is stronger now, because of us. The Alliance would never have formed if the Drakh hadn't attacked Kazomi Seven. All of you are different now.... better, stronger. That was all we wanted to do. Make you stronger.

"I think it worked too well. It's been said the greatest joy in any teacher's life is to be surpassed by his pupil. No one on Z'ha'dum is saying that now."

He paused, and looked down. "There was a message from the Shadow leaders, from all those who didn't just want revenge.

"We wanted what was best for you all. We tried to show you the stars, and you rejected us. We tried to give you heaven...."

"And we cast you down," Delenn whispered. "Then, if we will not see heaven, you will show us hell."

He looked surprised. "You know? Then I suppose you already know what we are going to tell you now. We only tried to do what was right for you, and along the way we stumbled and fell.... but still we tried. When we are gone.... when you remember us.... remember the good as well as the bad.

"There. Now, I will go. If you will let me. I want to be on Z'ha'dum when the end comes. It is strange, but I feel more at home there than anywhere else since Earth.... Including Proxima."

"Wait! Dad!" John said. "Are you all just going to fight us then? Your planet killers, and your Drakh and your warships. You're all just going to fight now?"

"Yes."

"And you know you'll lose."

"Probably, we will."

"But you'll go ahead anyway? You'll kill God knows how many of us, and all your own people, and all those servant races who swore to follow you. You'll throw them all away?"

"What else is there? We cannot continue as we were. We can only fight."

"Can the Shadows hear you? Right now?"

"Yes. Their leaders can hear this through a Drakh mage–orb. There is something blocking it, some trick of the Vorlons, but the signal is still there. They would have to be much more powerful to shut down a signal like that completely, here, at Z'ha'dum."

"So their leaders can hear you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Dad.... how about coming for a little walk with Delenn and me? There are some things to show you. All of you."

Images from the End of the Age.

Tirivail of the Minbari - "I came to storm the gates of hell, to stand where the heroes of old stood, to fulfill their legacy, to become a legend and a hero myself. In a thousand years, I want my name remembered, I want there to be people following my stories, emulating my deeds.

"But I wonder.... what is the point? My father is Warleader now, my Clan leader, Satai. My sister served Primarch Sinoval. My brother died with honour. What have I done to match their deeds?

"I do not want to be forgotten. Not by anyone.

"And if I have to storm Z'ha'dum to do that, then so be it."

Kulomani of the Brakiri - "My father made trinkets for sale at market, little jewels, things that spun in the starlight of our world. He made them himself, with time and effort and skill. He taught me how to make them. He wanted me to follow his path, to pursue his dreams and not my own.

"I left, and joined the military. I wanted to see the worlds I had only ever heard of as a child, to see sunlight, and stars, to see Minbar and Narn and Earth and even the dead worlds at the Rim my people spoke of with such fear.

"My father died fifteen years ago, and I never spoke to him after he left. Soon it will be the Day of the Dead. I will return home, and talk to my father then when he returns to me. I will explain my decision, and tell him all the things I have seen, and I will beg his forgiveness.

"And if I die here, then I will return to my son as a shade, and explain to him all the things I have not yet said, all the things I have not said since he left to pursue his own path, far from my own...."

Ta'Lon of the Narn - "What is there to say? I fight because that is what I do. I have met the one I will follow all my life, until I am gone. He asked me to come here, to stand here at the end of his dream and watch the nightmare end, and so here I am. What else is there to say?

"Loyalty is a virtue, or so I was told. But more than that, it is what I am. Take away my loyalty to the Ha'Cormar'ah, and I am nothing. I have lost my eye, my friend, my parents in this war, but I believe these things were justified because he claims it.

"And if I for one single moment doubt that is so, then it all will be for nothing.

"So what is there to say? I will live or die at his word."

Lord–General Carn Mollari of the Centauri - "My father told me something once: that it was better to look to the future than to stare at the past, better to create our own society than live on memories of what used to be. His brother, on the other hand, was too busy dreaming of the golden age of our people ever to amount to anything.

"Now his brother is the Emperor of the Centauri Republic, his son is their Lord–General, and he died through madness and fire. He and I were never close, but I went to his funeral. It was.... expected by our society. I spoke there, which was also expected.

"And I told his spirit he was wrong. You cannot live for the future if you forget the past. Remember the mistakes of old, and make them right in the now. I've fought too many wars. I don't want to fight any more. I want to go home and serve my Republic and my Emperor, but I'll fight if I have to. Not because there is no other choice, although really there isn't, but because if I don't....

"Then who will?"

Daro of the Drazi - "What to say? Drazi attacked by Shadows, by servants of Shadows. Drazi ships destroyed. Drazi worlds destroyed. Drazi say, we fight back.

"Drazi members of Alliance, for now. While that is so, while Alliance fights Shadows, Drazi fight Shadows.

"Blessed Delenn says this will all be over soon, says no more Drazi will have to die.

"What will Drazi do then? When there is no one to fight, what will Drazi do?"

Flight–lieutenant Neeoma Connally of the Human Race - "Hard to believe I've seen all this, lasted this long, and I'm still alive. Sometimes I get dreams, bad dreams. I can feel them, whispering to me, reaching out for me, but they're just dreams. Show me anyone who doesn't have bad dreams at the moment.

"Oh, I can feel that orb you're carrying by the way. It's buzzing at me.

"Why am I here? Ah.... my father always believed in protecting the little guy, the guy who couldn't look after himself, who needed someone else to do it. He tried to do this by getting them all together, creating unions to stand up to the bullies. All he wanted was what was fair. My mother didn't really understand. She saw him threatened, beaten up. Our house was burned down once. He tried to explain to her, but I don't think she ever really understood.

"I did though. You can't back down from the bullies, because that only makes them stronger. You have to face them down, because all bullies are cowards at heart.

"That's all this is really. Standing up to the bullies. The bullies are just bigger, and there's more of the little guys. I'm going to keep standing up to them as long as possible. That's the thing, see. This will never be over. Oh, this war might, but there are always more bullies.

"It would be nice to have a bit of a rest though. And to stop having those dreams."

General John Sheridan, 'the Shadowkiller' - "Are they hearing all this?"

Ambassador David Sheridan of the Shadows - "Yes, they can hear all this."

General John Sheridan 'the Shadowkiller' - "Good."

Lorien had not gone far. He had been expecting the Pale and Silent King to return to him in time, and soon enough he was proved right. He usually was.

"Of course not," Lorien replied.

"They are showing you all just what they are. It is a clever move, really. Very clever. They are people now, do you see? They are real people, just as you are. They are explaining their hopes and dreams, and in doing so they are proving themselves your superiors, because you do not have hopes and dreams yourselves.

"Do you not see? You tried to show them heaven. They already know the path there. Not all of them will make it, but they at least know which way to tread.

"They do not need you any longer. If they ever did."

"And still you do not see. They are strong enough without you. If you fight them, then you will truly have lost. Not just the battle, or the war, but you will have lost everything. You fought them to make them stronger, to make them fitter and wiser.

"But listen to them. You have made them everything they can ever be. You have done all you can ever do for them. Already there is one who is your image of perfection. I can feel him moving, and the others.... all living races have heeded your lessons and learned from them. There is nothing more to do for them now. They have learned all you can teach them.

"Fight them.... kill them.... and you ruin all that you have created. You will truly have lost then."

"No, they all do. Most of them merely do not realise it yet. It will be a long and painful road for them, but eventually they will make it, and they will do so by themselves."

"As you were always going to."

"No, you only failed yourselves. And perhaps.... not even that. Continue to listen...."

As the Pale and Silent King watched, as the entire Shadow race watched, as countless vassal races and peoples watched, as the Eldest being in the galaxy watched, John Sheridan and Delenn of Mir sat down in a room with Ambassador David Sheridan.

"Very clever," Ambassador Sheridan said. He was wheezing loudly, but there was still a smile on his face. "Very clever. You learned well, John."

"It wasn't all my idea," John replied. "A lot of it was Delenn's." Ambassador Sheridan looked at her, and saw a hint of concern in her green eyes.

"The time for war is over," Delenn said softly. "We have fought too long, and where has it brought us? You have lost, and you know it. Why continue to fight?"

"What else is there? No.... you're right. We don't want to fight. None of us does. But.... you can't understand. They are an ancient race. They took on a noble goal thousands of years ago. They believed in it. They really did. And now....

"It's hard to admit your children no longer need you."

"We do understand," Delenn said. "We have learned a lot. We will take what you have taught us, and we will remember. We will not forget. We may even come to forgive. For myself, I forgive you all. For the others....

"You have seen who they are. You have heard them speak. There are countless others, and they all have their own dreams. They have families, loved ones. They are real people, not pawns for you to move around. There are countless more here for you to meet and talk to.

"Do you really want to kill them? They are the people you tried to create all along. You have achieved your goal. End this, and be proud."

"No," Ambassador Sheridan said, shaking his head. "We're not proud. None of us is. We made a mistake, far too many mistakes. But what else is there left for us? To live on forever knowing we aren't needed any more? To know always that we lost and.... they won!"

"There's no shame in admitting you're wrong," John said, and his father started. "There is only shame in knowing you are wrong, and carrying on regardless.

"You taught me that."

"I know. Ah, Lord help me, I know."

"Now do you see? Now do you understand?"

"The others have gone Beyond the Rim. There are whole new worlds and galaxies and wonders to explore. You stayed behind. It was for a noble purpose, but that purpose is over.

"Go. Go and catch up with them all."

"Not yet, no. I still have my duties to attend here."

"Yes. You have learned now what you needed to learn. They have not. Someone now needs to teach them. They need to understand."

"When they understand? Then we will leave. All of us. All those who stayed behind. We will pass this galaxy on to those who will follow, and we will hope they will have learned enough to do the same when their time comes. All things are a cycle."

"I do not think you will have to wait long."

Ambassador Sheridan straightened suddenly, and sighed. "It's over. We're leaving."

"Leaving?" John asked.

"Yes. They're going beyond the Rim, leaving this galaxy for good. It's the only way. We can't stay behind, not knowing we've lost like this. You've.... reminded us all what we stood for once."

"What's going to happen to you, Dad?"

"The same thing that happens to us all. I'm going to die." He suddenly stopped, and cocked his head. A light flashed behind his eyes and he smiled, the shocked, euphoric smile of a poor sinner who has just found his way into heaven after all. "They're going to take me with them," he breathed. "They're taking me with them. I'm.... I'm going to see another galaxy!"

John smiled. "That's...." He swallowed. "I'll miss you, Dad."

"Not for long, John. I have.... a feeling you'll be joining us there eventually." He looked at Delenn. "Both of you."

She smiled.

"What are you going to do now, John?" he asked. "What next?"

"Rebuild, I suppose," he said. "Find a new cause, a new dream. Make right everything that once went wrong."

"Remember us, please. We.... we did a lot of terrible things, awful things, but we did some good as well. We tried to do good. When you do remember us.... please remember the good as well as the bad."

"We will," Delenn said.

He looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said. "For everything I did, for everything we did.... I'm sorry. I just want to let you know.... I'd be proud to have you as a daughter–in–law. Very proud."

He looked at John. "I'll be meeting up with your Mum out there. Lizzy too. And Anna. All of them. They've been waiting for me. We'll all be waiting for you.

"John.... take care."

"I will, Dad."

The two men embraced.

Words spoken by thought, words spoken faster than light.

- Should we not warn them about the Vorlons? The balance will be broken.

- No. This is our fight no longer.

(Pause)

- Besides, in a very real sense, they have already been warned. The messenger is out there. Our faith in him will not be misplaced.

Z'ha'dum, the world formerly asleep, now wakened, made to sleep once more.

From his place overlooking the great fissure, the Pale and Silent King commanded the recall of all Shadow ships, of all vassal races. All who wanted would go Beyond the Rim with them. The Drakh, ever ready to serve their Dark Masters, agreed to do so in the next galaxy as readily as they had in this. Some, like the Zarqheba and the Z'shailyl, wished to stay, and this was granted. The Shadows had no power in this galaxy any longer.

Technology was taken quickly from hiding places millennia old. Some caches were inevitably forgotten, but that was no longer an issue the Shadows concerned themselves with.

And they assembled, one by one, shimmering in space above their homeworld, now lost to them forever.

They waited on just one of their number.

"No. I have a duty here. Remember me, though. I will join you eventually."

"I know. I have been proud to know you all. Do not think of this as a failure. In a very real way, for you, this is a victory."

The Pale and Silent King ascended to his personal flagship, surrounded by the Heart Guards and the Seers of Stars, and he led the Shadow race to the next galaxy.

Among their number, beside the Drakh and the Zener and their servants and emissaries and agents, David Sheridan looked down at the Alliance fleet.

"I am proud of you, son," he whispered. "I'll always be proud of you."

Then they left.

But first, there was one final conversation.

"It is over."

"Yes, it is over."

"You have won."

"Yes, we have won."

"Enjoy your victory. We will be waiting for you."

"Waiting for what?"

"For you to understand."

"So, that's a victory, hmm?" John said to himself, as the last ship left.

"The best type," Delenn said. "No one is dead, and we are all.... wiser. We have all learned something."

"So.... I think Dad said it best. What now?"

"We take control of Z'ha'dum. We will have to stop anyone stealing technology from it. We will have to bring all the races together, make sure all the wars are truly over. We have to keep the Alliance safe and secure and build a true foundation for the future.

"But first.... we can go home."

John Sheridan smiled. "Good idea."