Chapter 1

HOLY One.
Holy One. It sounded fitting to him. Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan had always known that he would be destined for great things and now he had achieved the greatness he had always believed would be his.
Warleader and Shai Alyt of the Wind Swords clan during the holy jihad against the Earthers. Satai of the Grey Council following the death of Shakiri in Sheridan Starkiller's attack over Mars. Entil'zha of the Rangers following the disappearance of Satai Delenn. And now Holy One.
Sometimes the price he had paid to get this power grated at him. Satai Delenn in particular. Although Sinoval had often opposed her during Council, he had always admired and respected her. He did not envy her her fate.
What he believed in private about her fate and what he said in public were two very different things. In public it suited him to maintain the common story that Delenn was a traitor to her people - that she had gone with the Starkiller willingly, and even that she conspired with him and the Enemy that had returned. In private, he believed none of this, but there was an old Minbari saying that applied in circumstances like this.
'Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved.'
To save Minbar, Sinoval had sacrificed Delenn.
He stood alone in the Hall of the Grey Council, staring at the empty columns of light all around him. His fellow Satai had gone to spread the word of his ascension and to complete the preparations for his final attack. The last bastion of Earther power and the secret base of the Enemy - Proxima 3 - would fall.
He shifted the image around him to that of the Minbari fleet that was rising. Capital ships, flyers, and the new breed of ships, built with Vorlon technology. They were called the White Stars by the majority of those who flew in them. It was supposed to be reminiscent of the Dralaphi - the Black Star. Sinoval thought it a bad omen, but he had to admit that the ships were impressive. For their size, they were more powerful, faster and better equipped than any other ship around. The Rangers, newly reformed under his leadership, would pilot them against the Enemy.
We are ready, he thought. Let the Enemy and the Earthers and the Starkiller come. We are ready for them. In Valen's Name, I will be ready.
First, however, there was one problem, one old debt to be repaid. Sinoval killed the image around him and walked out of the Hall. It was tradition that the Holy One always stayed within the Hall of the Council. Like many other traditions, it was one that he intended to break.
She was waiting for him, as he knew she would be. Jha'dur - Warmaster of the Dilgar, the being called Deathwalker.
He remembered the day she had come to his clan. The clan leaders had taken her aside for private consultations, and they had announced that she would stay with the clan, and that this would be kept secret. As the clan leaders had died - to age, to grief, to Starkiller - Sinoval inherited the secret, and her knowledge. He was now the only one to know of her presence here.
She was a weight around his neck, perpetually dragging him down. Now that he had his destiny, it would soon be time to get rid of her.
"So," she said. "Congratulations, Holy One. I always knew you would go far, Sinoval."
"By Valen's will and by my strength, yes," he said.
"And a little help," she reminded. "Don't forget who took Satai Delenn out of the picture for you."
"I have not," he said. "And that is why I am here. I tolerated your presence before, Jha'dur. You were valuable to me, and I thought.... foolishly.... that you would help me take us back to our rightful place in the galaxy.
"I was wrong. You are evil, Jha'dur, as evil a thing as ever drew breath. The weapons you supplied us with are terrible artefacts of mass destruction. The price you took from us was sapping our souls, a little bit at a time. It is over, Jha'dur.
"You will leave Minbar today. You will take your.... instruments of terror and all trace that you were ever here, and you will go. And you will never return. Isil'zha veni. In Valen's Name, I promise you that you will not be harmed if you do so, but stay here after today, and you will be killed.
"Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly," she said.
"Do not think of revenge, Jha'dur. I am Holy One now, leader of the entire Minbari Federation. I am beyond anything that you can do to me. Be satisfied that you are keeping your life."
"Behold the gratitude of princes," she spat. "I will be gone, Sinoval. Do not worry about that."
"That is all I ask," he said, as he left.
Sinoval, Holy One, was now with no burdens, no ties, nothing to stop him completing his destiny.
And his destiny would be reached in fire over the skies of Proxima 3.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Commander David Corwin possessed many worthwhile skills, all of which rendered him inestimably valuable to Captain Sheridan. The skill which was probably the most valuable was the ability to survive and to adapt. He adapted to the destruction of Earth and to the loss of his family on Mars. He adapted to life on the Babylon - very quickly, even taking over the position of helm when the person manning it was killed.
He had adapted to constant, and largely futile warfare. He had adapted to the loss of the woman he loved when Susan Ivanova had gone missing on the Babylon 2 mission, and he had adapted when the woman he loved returned.... changed, not wanting to know him. He adapted when he learned that Susan was part of an ancient evil and he had even adapted when fighting that evil compelled him to abandon his own people.
Where nothing he had ever known remained constant, David Corwin had learned to adapt in order to survive, but even he had to admit that this was unusual.
It had only been a few days ago that he and Captain Sheridan had been arrested by the Resistance Government, ostensibly on charges of either negligence or treason, which one depending on whom you talked to. Corwin still found it hard to believe that Susan had been behind those charges, or at least guilty of the murders and the attempted murder that had caused them to come about. With help from a very unlikely source, Corwin and Sheridan had escaped Proxima 3 on board the Babylon, only to be pursued by a vessel which in all probability belonged to the Shadows - humanity's newest allies and the Minbari's oldest enemies. The Shadow ship had mysteriously fled when confronted by another Earthforce heavy destroyer class ship - of which there weren't supposed to be any - and the Babylon had been led here. Wherever here was. Colonel - or perhaps Captain - Ben Zayn, of the Ozymandias, had arranged for the Babylon to come here without actually saying where 'here' was.
And it wasn't as if Corwin could ask Captain Sheridan for help. A few days before, the Captain had shot and killed his wife Anna, and he was now in seclusion. Corwin supposed the Captain was getting very very drunk, but as long as he knew for certain that Sheridan hadn't killed himself, then he simply hoped that he would work his way through this soon.
Crisis left little time for grief.
So, with Captain Sheridan hiding away from the world, half of the Babylon's crew left behind on Proxima - including Security Chief Zack Allan - and Satai Delenn locked up in the Babylon's brig on Sheridan's orders, it was Corwin who was left with the task of handling the Babylon's integration into this new society they found themselves among.
It was a moon, hidden somewhere. The moon had been hollowed out and a massive city had been built there. Corwin had some inkling of who had been behind their rescue - Captain Ben Zayn had been accompanied by a P10 level telepath, and they didn't just grow on trees. This was Psi Corps, and if this was Psi Corps, then that meant Alfred Bester.
Bester had visited Proxima 3 a few months ago, for the purpose of finding out about humanity's allies and mind-scanning Satai Delenn. Corwin had been peripherally involved in a plan to stop this. Captain Sheridan had not provided details, but evidently it had worked. Corwin wondered if Bester was the type to hold a grudge. Judging by their rescue it didn't seem like it, although there were still far too many questions to be answered.
How had Bester known where they would be?
Why had the Shadow ship veered away?
What did Bester want with them?
Where the hell were they?
The fourth question at least could be answered by Michael Garibaldi, Bester's Liaison and Strategics Officer, or something. He clearly wasn't a telepath - no gloves and no Psi Corps badge - and he seemed friendly enough, but there was a select list of people Corwin trusted, and that list consisted of Captain Sheridan and no one else.
"So where exactly are we?" he had asked as soon as Mr. Garibaldi had begun a brief tour of the place.
"A secret Psi Corps base not far from Narn space," came the reply. "The Boss did a deal with some of the Narns. You knows that the Narns don't have telepaths? Well, at a healthy price, the Boss arranges for them to get some telepaths' DNA, and so we get to stay here. We get food shipped in, even a few ships. The Narns want telepaths pretty badly, you see. I don't think any of their experiments are working yet, but, well...."
"Doesn't that sound sort of.... unethical to you?"
"It's what we have to do to survive. And hey, the Narns are better than the Minbari. Besides, I'm not a telepath, and I doubt any of the Narns will be wanting my DNA, so it doesn't bother me."
Corwin had absorbed this information and mentally shrugged. Assuming it was done with the consent of the telepaths in question, then surely it was fine. Besides, what was the price of survival?
"I don't suppose the Boss told you how he knew where we were?" Corwin asked.
"I can't tell you that. I'm not authorised for that sort of information, you see. The Boss trusts me to run this place, and the best way to run this place is to make sure everyone knows what they're supposed to know, and that they all know they're supposed to know it, and that they don't know what they're not supposed to know. So, if I'm not supposed to know something, I make sure I don't know it. Does that make sense?"
"Ah, yes...." Corwin said, thinking it over for a while. "Sort of. So, what am I supposed to know?"
"I don't know."
Corwin blinked, and Garibaldi laughed. It was an infectious laugh, and Corwin found himself joining in. He still didn't trust this Michael Garibaldi, but he couldn't help but like him.
"Seriously," Garibaldi said. "The Boss will want a meeting with you and the Cap later on, and he'll tell you what it is he wants you to know."
"And what he wants us to do?"
"Sure. This is a dangerous galaxy out there. He didn't save you just for the fun of it. He obviously thinks you're going to be an asset. Or he wants revenge or something. He doesn't give me all the details, and I don't ask." There was a pause, and Corwin looked around. They had ended up in Garibaldi's office. The office was clearly meant to be functional and efficient, but was in fact a mess. There were papers and flimsies scattered everywhere, some of them obviously star maps of some kind. There were a number of similar charts on the wall, most of which were crooked. Computer screens also shone out at him in every direction. Corwin also saw a picture on Garibaldi's desk. It had clearly been given pride of place and was of a pretty, dark-haired woman.
"Kinda old-fashioned, I know," he said, noticing Corwin's interest in the picture. "It's my wife, Lianna. She's seven months pregnant at the moment."
"Oh," Corwin said. "Congratulations. Is it your first child?" Polite small talk, but Corwin was genuinely interested. It looked as though he would end up doing a lot of work with Mr. Garibaldi, and it would be beneficial to get to know the man.
"Yeah. I mean, we haven't been married very long - just two years. We thought, do we really want to bring up a child into a world like this? But, well.... we all need something to hope for, something to fight for, I suppose. You married?"
"Me? No."
"But there is someone special?"
"There.... was. She.... died." Not a lie. In a very real sense, the Susan Ivanova he had known was dead.
"Ah, yes. We've all lost a lot in this war. The Boss thinks we can make a difference, maybe even end everything, but.... I dunno. Life kicks you in the teeth so often, you begin to wonder whether it's ever worth getting up again, and then you find a reason and everything makes some sort of sense. All the pain, and the dying and the loss. It all works out in the end."
"You think so?" Corwin asked, remembering the Captain repeating Anna's name over and over again as he knelt beside her body, remembering his own grief when Susan was gone, remembering.... "Yeah," he said. "I suppose so."
"So, what's he like to work with? Captain Sheridan? The Starkiller?"
"He's.... I don't know how to describe it. He believes we can make a difference. Well, he used to.... I don't know any more."
Garibaldi shrugged. "We can make a difference. That's why we're here."
"So why are we here? No one does things without a reason. What's Bester's?"
"Well, I guess you'll have to ask him, won't you? He'll want to see you and Captain Sheridan later on. If you have a look around the place, and report back to Captain Sheridan, then come and find me whenever you're ready."
Garibaldi rose from his seat and offered his hand to Corwin. Corwin looked at Garibaldi for a moment, and then back at the picture of his wife. Slowly, he extended his hand to Garibaldi's.
The first link had been forged.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Politicking was second nature to most Centauri. The nobles played games of power and influence and authority, gambling with lives and fortunes. Many of them, blinkered to everything but their own petty - and not so petty - interests, thought that they were the ones who had invented the Great Game, as some Centauri called it. To them it was all a game, albeit one with high stakes.
They were of course wrong. Nothing where lives hung in the balance could ever be called a game, at least not accurately. They were also not the ones to invent such a game. Billions of years ago a game had begun which was still going on, both players by now tired and far removed from the game's original aim, but continuing anyway, as if by rote, each one responding automatically to the other's moves. The Centauri were but pawns in this game, batted from side to side, and at this stage, largely ignored. There were more important and valuable pieces to be manoeuvred.
But even the pawns could make a difference, especially when they became queens. The Centauri would not remain pawns for long. Maybe their current war with the Narns would enable them to rise up and make a difference.
Or maybe it wouldn't. Nothing is certain.
But while the Centauri nobility played a game of power within the circle of the Greater Game of power, there was a smaller game being played by the Centauri lesser classes. Ignored, scorned, and occasionally sacrificed, they could on occasion make a difference.
As one was now.
Timov, daughter of Alghul, first - and most scathing - wife of Minister Londo Mollari, sat back in her chair, digesting the information she had just received.
"I see," she said primly. "Thank you. You have been most helpful."
Her informant muttered something in reply and the comm link went down. Timov stared at it for a moment and sighed. None of this suited her. Politics belonged to Mariel and Daggair - the one using seduction, the other money. Timov really had no patience for this sort of thing.
But still, Centauri Prime was on the verge of exploding into chaos at any time, and she had to admit that her husband - drunken, overambitious and low-minded idiot that he was - represented some form of order. Timov liked order. It made sense, and it let her get on with her favourite pursuit, namely making her husband's life hell.
It had begun when Timov had grown suspicious of her two companions to Londo's matrimonial hand. Daggair was spending a lot of time lately with Lady Elrisia. Now, if Londo had been paying more attention to what his wives were doing and less attention to drinking, gambling and utterly awful Minbari poetry, he might have been a little annoyed at his wife spending such time with the only wife of his old enemy, Lord - sorry, she corrected herself - Ambassador Refa. But no, Londo noticed nothing. Presumably he was only too glad that Daggair was nowhere in sight - and who could blame him, Timov thought - but that was no excuse. Mariel, meanwhile, was always up to something, and so Timov had begun to track their movements.
She had very few contacts, but they were all valuable because none of them was nobility. Nobles, in their infinite wisdom, neglected the lower classes to such an extent that they could discover almost anything they wanted, and get away with it.
The latest report had come from a little thing named Adira, a maid in Elrisia's household. Timov had taken enough time by now to digest it, and there was nothing else to do but tell Londo.
Timov really hated politicking. It was all such a waste of energy.
She found her husband in his study, as usual. Surprisingly he was not drunk - at least, he didn't look drunk. He was working on various papers, and muttering angrily under his breath. Timov slowly crept up behind him, making as little movement as she could. Londo really should learn to watch his ba....
Londo spun around, holding a marrago sword. He stopped himself in time, but it was still held closely at her throat. She looked at him carefully.
"You can put that away, Londo," she said, manufacturing a tone of weariness, but secretly enjoying this. Annoying Londo was so much more fun than politics.
"Bah! Timov, never do that again," he spat.
"Getting a little paranoid, are we? A little.... nervous?"
"No. Why should I be?"
Timov thought about bringing up the matter a few weeks ago of the poisoned gas in his carriage, but she decided against it. That was not something she was supposed to know.
"Oh, no reason. A real assassin would have struck from a distance, though, Londo. That.... paperknife of yours would have been little defence."
"It is a marrago, wielded by one of the Cora Predo - the Proud Knives. It was given to me by my good friend - my good, dead friend, Urza Jaddo - when he became First Minister, Timov. Treat it with respect, the same respect you consistently fail to display to me."
Timov sighed. It was a large knife, that was all. Why did men set such store by lumps of metal? All that talk about honour and duty and duelling societies.... all foolishness.
"Did you come by for a reason, Timov? Or were you just planning on annoying me again?"
"Well actually I did have some information that Emperor Marrit is going to announce his engagement to Lady Elrisia within a few days, but if you'd prefer that I kept it to myself.... Why, Londo - are you all right? You look quite.... upset."
"Upset!" he roared. "What is that idiot up to now?"
"He is the Emperor you know. He deserves some respect, at least."
"Then what is His Idiotic Majesty up to now?! He cannot marry her. She is already married, for one thing."
"The Emperor can dissolve a marriage at any time, Londo. You should know that. You've threatened me with it often enough."
"It's insane, is what it is."
"The Emperor is always right, Londo. Is that not so?"
"That.... is our tradition, yes. Ah, Great Maker! What have I done to deserve this?"
"I wouldn't know," Timov replied. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to call a doctor...?"
"Quite sure, Timov. Now go away and leave me to contemplate this.... insanity."
"Of course, Londo dear. It would be my pleasure." Timov glided towards the door, slyly watching as Londo rose from his seat and made an immediate beeline for the drinks cabinet. Picking out a bottle of brivare, he poured himself a glass.
"Oh, by the way, Londo," Timov said. "I also received a message from the Royal Court. They would have told you, but I knew you were far too busy. Lady Morella will be coming here tomorrow. She wishes an audience with you. Londo? Are you sure you're all right?"
Londo dropped his drink.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Almost as long as he could remember, Boggs had wanted to serve Earth. It was the one thing he had to believe in. He certainly couldn't believe in his mother - an enigma from birth. Not even a name to remember her by. Not that he ever wanted to. He couldn't believe in his father, either. A failure, never achieving the dreams he wanted, and wallowing in his own self-pity for not trying. Boggs had lived a quiet childhood and, as soon as he was old enough, he joined Earthforce.
He had joined as a Gropo - a Marine, a Ground Pounder. He had obeyed their rules, followed their advice, made all the right choices. He had something to believe in. He believed in Earth. He believed he was doing the right thing. He believed he could make a difference.
And then had come the Minbari.
He had fought them in a number of engagements in the early stages of the war, but none was very serious. Mostly it was a space war, with little ground combat. And mostly, Earth was getting its butt kicked, and hard.
He had been stationed on Io when Earth had been destroyed. He couldn't leave, as all available ships were being thrown up in a ring around Earth, and so he was left kicking his heels around the spaceport while every living thing on Earth was torn from existence.
He had similarly missed the Battle of Mars. Humanity's first colony had also been destroyed, but the Minbari had taken some damage, thanks mainly to the heroic - some said suicidal - actions of Captain John Sheridan. Boggs had idolised Sheridan. He was a hero. He fought and killed for Earth. He gave hope to humanity.
Not enough hope, as it turned out.
Io had fallen in a matter of hours, but the colony and spaceport had not been destroyed, but occupied. Why, he didn't know. Who could fathom the Minbari out? He certainly didn't know about the discovery of a Shadow vessel under the ground of Mars, or about a similar discovery on Ganymede, and he wouldn't have cared if he had.
He had fought a holding action in the occupied colony for months, giving ground where he had to, holding it where he could. There were a few of them, all the others Gropos like him. They had all died, only Boggs had managed to escape.
He had made his way, in pain, in grief and in anger, to Orion, and from there to Proxima 3. His knowledge of the Minbari made him valuable to the Resistance Government, but his experiences on Io had made it impossible for him to fight again. He remembered their black robes, and their long metal sticks and their contemptuous, superior gazes.... He remembered them all when he woke screaming in the middle of the night.
No, Boggs couldn't fight again, but there were other jobs, things he could do. None of them felt right. None of them was as important to him as being a Gropo, but at least in the Security Forces he could do something. Mr. Welles seemed to trust him, occasionally giving him important tasks.
One such important task had been the breaking of Satai Delenn. Her resistance to Welles' questioning and Miss Alexander's telepathic scans had been too strong, and so Welles had wanted her.... hurt a little. Not much, and certainly not fatally, but a little.
He had enjoyed that, but he was always careful not to take it too far. Cutter had done little, and said little, but Boggs remembered every punch and every kick and every voice in his mind that screamed at him to kill her.
And then Satai Delenn had escaped, mysteriously changed - twisted into some perverse semblance of humanity. And even worse.... Captain Sheridan had helped her. Boggs had felt his dreams turn to ashes. No one was perfect. Not even a hero like Sheridan. Underneath, everyone was scum.
He had a task to do now. It wasn't important, and it wasn't especially enjoyable. Cutter would have enjoyed this. Cutter would really have enjoyed this.
But Cutter was dead, and so Boggs was doing this for him.
He raised his fist and drove it hard into the woman's stomach. She gasped and fell back against the wall. She was bruised and marked and scratched, and she lay there huddled, trying not to cry, trying simply to breathe.
Sheridan had betrayed him and countless more like him. Sheridan was not here, but Lyta Alexander was. In a similar way, Lyta Alexander had betrayed him as well.
She had been given sleeper drugs to restrain her telepathic powers. It surprised him. He had always seen telepaths in a strange light - half freaks of nature, half mystical gods. It was strange. All it took was a simple injection and they were just normal people. Just scum like everyone else.
She tried to rise, but he kicked her feet out from under her. She fell hard.
"Where...?" she breathed. "Where's.... Marcus?"
Boggs knew about Marcus Cole. Another traitor. Just another traitor on top of so many others, selling out humanity.
"I'll tell you this," he rasped. "He's probably wishing he was where you are right now, that he is."
Lyta's eyes widened. He was lying - he did not know where Marcus was - but without her powers, she could not sense much. Just a normal person. Without her power, she was just a normal person.
His next kick broke two ribs.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Marcus bowed his head. "Where is she?" he asked again. "Where is she?!"
Susan Ivanova, Shadow agent, Ambassador, humanity's last, best hope, and Marcus' captor, simply smiled.
And kissed him again.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Corwin walked back to the docking bays of the Babylon in a pensive mood. Very pensive.
After his meeting with Garibaldi, he had wandered around the complex for a while. He had found himself surprised by the number of people there. Most were human, but many were Narns. Since somewhere like this could not remain secret for long with regular visitors coming in and out, they had to live here, which meant they worked for Bester. Scientists, perhaps, working to create Narn telepaths?
He had been hoping for a meeting with Captain Ben Zayn, but he learned from Garibaldi that Ben Zayn and Harriman Gray had gone out on the Ozymandias. Garibaldi would not say why, and he had decided not to ask why a valuable P10 telepath was being sent out on a heavy destroyer class cruiser.
And then he had been linked by Garibaldi. Bester wanted to see him and the Captain in three hours. He had cursed silently and then said they would be there. He just wished he could have more time to talk to the Captain. He hadn't seen him in almost a day, but he doubted Sheridan would be in any mood for company. When the euphoria of battle ended, he was usually withdrawn and sullen. Combine that with the fact that he had recently killed his wife, and the Captain would not be in the mood for conversation.
Anna had been given a simple funeral. Sheridan hadn't attended, and hadn't even mentioned her to Corwin, save for a curt, "Do what you think is best," when Corwin had brought up the subject.
Lieutenant Stephen Franklin was waiting for him in the docking bays, as he had requested. He greeted the lieutenant with a nod, and then went straight to business. "Did you see him?"
"I tried, sir."
"And?"
"He asked who I was, and when I told him he said nothing."
"He is still in his room, then?"
"Yes, sir."
Corwin had anticipated this happening. He wasn't sure if the Captain was drunk or not - after seeing Anna's alcoholism first hand for so long, he would have thought the Captain would have stayed away from drink, but this was hardly an everyday occasion.
"Commander, I'd like a word with you.... in private, if possible."
Corwin looked around at the largely empty docking bays. The only person in sight was Neeoma Connally, the Starfury pilot who had been docking her 'Fury after a routine patrol when Sheridan and Corwin had taken the Babylon away from Proxima.
"This looks pretty private to me," he said, walking hurriedly to the exit of the docking bays. "What is it?"
"A few of the people came up to me. They want to know what's going on."
Corwin came to a halt, and turned. "Go on," he said carefully.
"We've abandoned Proxima, none of us knows why, or what's been happening. We hear you and the Captain are up for treason, and then there's.... well...."
Corwin knew what he was getting at. "Go on," he said darkly.
"There's her.... Why is she still with us? This is about her, isn't it? She's one of them, Commander, one of the enemy."
Corwin raised an eyebrow. This was strange talk coming from someone who had trained as a doctor, someone who had, technically, committed treason by refusing to turn over his medical notes on Minbari biology. But then the Minbari had killed his father, and things changed. War changed many things.
"We've all left behind our friends, and what family we have on Proxima, sir. We've left them defenceless there. We can't do that, whatever's going on between you, the Captain and the Resistance Government."
"Proxima is hardly alone," Corwin reminded Franklin. Indeed not. They had the Shadows, didn't they? They had the.... things that had corrupted the Resistance Government.
"It doesn't feel right, sir. We can't talk to the Captain about it, so I'm asking you. Please. Talk to the Captain. You can work this out with the Resistance Government, but we can't abandon Proxima like this. We'll all be outlaws now unless we go back."
"I see, lieutenant. Since when did it become your place to say what the Captain should or should not do? Since when did you become an expert on what the Resistance Government will or will not do? And if I could talk to the Captain, then do you think I would have asked you to try and do so? I don't know much more than you do, but I trust the Captain, and you should too. Are we understood, lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Satai Delenn has not been moved?"
"No, she's still in cell three, but...." There was a spark of comprehension in his eyes. "You're going to her, aren't you? You're going to her for help."
"I said I can't talk to the Captain. For some reason, she can."
"But, sir!"
"This conversation is over, lieutenant. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good." Corwin sighed, hoping Franklin had not noticed. He also hoped that Franklin had not guessed that he agreed with every single word he had said.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn hovered outside Captain Sheridan's door, hesitating to enter. She remembered the rage in his eyes the last time they had been together. She remembered his angry words.
'Throw her in the brig! Throw her out of an airlock! Just get her out of my sight!'
She paused, and winced at a sharp pain in her head. She had been experiencing such twinges ever since her premature exit from the chrysalis, but they were getting worse.
She saw Corwin move forward slightly, but then she raised a hand, and he stopped. He had come to her, he had trusted her, Captain Sheridan needed her.
In times of great grief, Minbari often fasted for weeks at a time. Their bodies could handle such starvation. Human bodies could not. But there was another, greater problem, a cancer of the soul. She had to excise it, or it would consume and destroy him.
She nodded briefly. Corwin placed his card in the door and activated the override code. The door opened.
Delenn breathed in harshly and stepped inside.
The door closed after her.
She had been in John's quarters aboard the Babylon a few times before, although they had never looked so small. Or so dark. Sheridan was sitting on his bed, staring at a glass that was resting on his bedside table. The glass was half full of a dark brown drink. She recognised the smell of alcohol.
"I knew you would come," he said suddenly. His voice was not angry, or bitter, or hollow, but.... resigned. He looked haunted, as if he were reliving that moment over and over again.
"I know the way David thinks, you see. I can't stay in here forever, and I certainly can't come out by myself. He can't talk to me. He can't shout at me, and swear at me and tell me all the things I need to be told to shake myself out of this. Why? Because I'm the Captain. I outrank him, I'm his superior officer, his.... he's been with me for over ten years, ever since the Battle of Mars. Normal Earthforce promotions and transfers pretty much stopped with the fall of Earth, you see.
"No, David couldn't come himself, and nor could anyone else. Except for you.
"So, go on. Tell me what you came to say. Try and convince me that it wasn't my fault. Try and convince me it was an accident. Try and convince me whatever you like."
Delenn swallowed slowly. Her head was aching again. She slowly knelt down opposite him, but not too far away. She stared at his face. Her vision swam for a moment, but she blinked, and it righted itself.
She absurdly wished she was wearing something else. Her only clothing was the torn medical gown she had been given after emerging from the chrysalis. It did not feel right to her, to wear so little.
"I cannot do that," she whispered. "Only you can."
"Of course, that's right. I'm the one who got myself into this mess. I'm the one who has to get myself out of it. Well, what if I don't want to? What if I'm just tired of always being the hero, always being the Captain? What if...? Aw hell, what's the point? What would you know?"
"I learned.... the hard way, that power brings with it responsibility. I was given power and I misused it when I began the war with your people. I wish I could take back what I said, and what I did, but I cannot, and so I work towards the future.
"You have a similar responsibility, Jo.... Captain." Calling him by name did not feel right any more. "You cannot abandon them."
"And what about my responsibility to Anna? I abandoned that easily enough. To love, cherish and honour.... for better or worse, for richer or poorer.... I abandoned all of them easily enough. What does a little more matter?"
"And you were wrong with Anna, weren't you?"
"Don't speak her name again," he whispered. He had not shouted, not yelled, not even moved, but those five words chilled her to the very bone.
"You...." She hesitated. "You were wrong, though. If we do not learn from our mistakes, then surely we will make them again. Captain, please.... your crew needs you.... Commander Corwin needs you...."
"You're a bad liar, Delenn. Only one person has ever needed me, and she's long dead. My daughter. Elizabeth. The only item of beauty I ever created in my whole life, and she's gone."
"Why all this self-pity? You have a destiny, and you have friends. You have.... a purpose, a reason for living.... If you do not see that, it is because you have taught yourself not to believe it." Delenn paused, and then smiled slowly.
"Who else could my people call Starkiller?"
Sheridan said nothing. He did not move. He simply stared at his drink.
"Cap.... John." Delenn slowly rose and moved forward. "Your crew needs you. They are afraid, they are disorientated, they are lost. Commander Corwin needs you. I need you."
He looked up. "You?"
"Yes. I.... I have followed prophecy all my life, and it has led me here, to you. I told you once that we believe that groups of souls travel together, reliving the good relationships, and correcting the bad ones. We are linked, John. We are all a part of this universe."
"How do your people cope with grief?" he said. He didn't seem to have heard what she had told him, but she knew he had. "How would you cope in a situation like this?"
She knelt down beside him. "We fast, we pray, we meditate, we remember. Often for a period of many weeks. Sometimes, we go insane, as we did when this war began. When I lost Neroon, I immersed myself in the study of prophecy. When I lost Draal, I spent days in meditation, remembering everything about him that I loved. There are no rules to grief, John."
"I can't pray, because I don't have anyone to pray to. I can't remember, because that would mean simply reliving every mistake I made. I can't go insane. I did that when Elizabeth died, and when Earth fell. There's no good down that road.
"And there's one path left."
"It may not be the right road."
"I've made plenty of wrong decisions in my life, Delenn. What's one more?" Hesitantly, slowly, he reached out, and he touched her cheek. She took his hand and looked into his eyes. They were.... scarred, by grief, by loss, by anger, by shame.... but by determination as well.
The Starkiller was never far from the surface.
She kissed his hand slowly, unsure of what she was feeling. Her body felt so.... strange recently, but surely there could be nothing wrong with this happiness? She moved closer to his bed.
He smiled sadly, and rose to his feet. He helped her up, and if she swayed and lost her balance for a moment, and he had to catch her, he made no sign. He helped her balance and then let go of her hand.
"Is David outside?" he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak.
"I suppose he has something important to tell me. I think it's time to find out what just what we're doing here, and just what Mr. Bester wants with us."
Delenn started, recognising the name. Bester had come to Proxima a few months ago, intending to scan her. She had been preparing for her chrysalis at the time, and could not let anyone discover her intentions. And so she had taught Sheridan a number of Minbari meditation techniques which blocked light telepathic scans, enabling him to threaten Bester into leaving her alone. As a short-term measure, it had worked, but she had not envisaged being at Bester's mercy again, and certainly not in this condition.
"John," she said softly. "Be careful."
"I don't trust Bester one inch, Delenn, but you've told me of the responsibilities I have. I know what I'm doing."
She smiled, and started to reach out to him again. She hesitated, and then stopped. As she had expected, Corwin was waiting outside the door. He gave her a cautious smile, and then nodded at the Captain. Delenn followed John from the room, hoping neither of her companions would notice her discomfort. Her head was aching and all her muscles seemed sore.
Her discomfort increased when Commander Corwin revealed he had been linked a message saying that Bester wanted to see her as well

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"She is the other half of my soul. Tell her.... no, she already knows. If there is any justice, Ta'Lon, then I will meet her again, in a place where no shadows fall."
Narns did not cry. No one who had survived the Centauri occupation could ever cry again, and Ta'Lon had ceased to show any semblance of grief after his mother had starved to death. He remembered the Centauri, but he could not hate them. He had a greater purpose in mind.
Proxima 3 was still on a war alert. The Minbari could attack at any moment, and their early warning systems gave the humans a bare twelve hours notice. Ta'Lon would have a little more of a warning than that, but G'Kar's agents on Minbar had reported that he had a few days at most, perhaps a week.
It would of course take him several days to get to Proxima 3. This would be close. Assuming he could escape the Shadow agents there, he would have to leave the place before the Minbari arrived. They would not discriminate, and the fact that he fought the same Enemy that they did would not matter to them.
Nor would the fact that he was bringing the last words of a Minbari warrior to his beloved.
Ta'Lon had heard nothing from G'Kar since before he and Neroon had gone out towards the Rim. He had also heard little from G'Kar's agent on Proxima in a few days, but that was not surprising. With the whole planet on a war footing, no outside transmissions could be made. Ta'Lon could also not make any communications to G'Kar's agents elsewhere, as his ship had been damaged in the Shadow attack a few days ago.
Ta'Lon was isolated and alone, but he had a purpose. Somewhere on Proxima was held Satai Delenn, and he had to rescue her before her people arrived.
He had sworn that to Neroon, before the Minbari had died....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"We have him here, Excellency."
Londo looked at the guard escorting him into the cells of the palace, and wondered whose side he was on. He had bribed the guard enough, but still, was someone else paying him more? Londo's funds were not bottomless.
He had received the message this morning, as he was preparing for Lady Morella's arrival. The message had been from one of his sources in the Royal Court. It was short and to the point.
'Lady Morella has been murdered. A prisoner is being held.'
Londo did not know Emperor Turhan's third widow very well, but he did know that she was a prophetess, a very well-kept secret among the Royal Court. She had been in seclusion since Turhan's death during the previous war with the Narn, emerging only very rarely. The fact that she wanted to see him had come as a great surprise.
The thought had occurred to him that the whole meeting was a joke arranged by Timov to annoy him, but he had checked with Lady Morella's valet, and learned that Timov had been telling the truth. The reason why Lady Morella wanted to see him and not been revealed, and now it probably never would be.
The Royal Court, in its traditional manner, was keeping Morella's death a secret for the moment, but as Londo was acting First Minister in the wake of Urza's assassination - sorry, accident - he could hardly be kept in the dark about this, especially when he stormed into the Court and demanded to know what was happening. Emperor Marrit and that quadruple-damned Lady Elrisia had tried to play down the affair, but Londo had put on his best loyalty persona and had uncovered the truth.
Lady Morella had been murdered in her bed last night, quite unpleasantly. There had been a lot of blood, and quite some mess. Apparently the serving maid who found the body had fainted with shock, and then conveniently killed herself from grief.
A human had been discovered sneaking around the palace shortly after the discovery and had promptly been arrested and detained. Londo had thought it preferable he meet this human before an accident or suicide befell him also. Murder investigations were always so much simpler when all the suspects were still alive and able to answer questions. It did help quite a bit.
As he walked towards the dungeons, he pondered a few things. Morella had been a seeress, and by all rumour a powerful one. All Centauri had some degree of prophetic ability - notably the ability to see their own deaths. Londo still remembered the vision of his death, being strangled by G'Kar on the steps of the Imperial Throne. Had Morella experienced a similar vision? And if she had, surely she must have made preparations, perhaps left a message?
Or perhaps not. She was a seeress after all, and they tended to be confusing, oracular and ambiguous to a fault. If she had left a message it would probably be something along the lines of 'the rose blooms best at night', or similar gibberish. She might as well have been a Vorlon.
He reached the cell which held the human prisoner, and stopped. The guard opened the door, and Londo handed him a purse of ducats. The guard nodded and stepped aside, as Londo entered the cell.
The human did not look in particularly fine form. He had been beaten quite a bit - resisting arrest, as the popular excuse went - and there was fatigue in his bearing. Nevertheless, he stood up as Londo entered.
"Ah," he said. "You must be Minister Mollari. A pleasure to meet you."
"And who are you then?" Londo asked.
"Funny. That's just what I was going to ask you, Minister."
Londo paused. Perhaps the guards had beaten him a little too badly. He didn't sound very mentally stable. A pity. These humans could be so fragile at times.
"Oh no," the prisoner said. "I'm quite sane, believe me."
"Sane enough to murder a noble lady. Now if it had been Elrisia, that might be understandable, but Lady Morella...."
"I didn't do it."
"No, I suppose you were wandering around the Royal Palace for the good of your health, yes? Taking in the water and the sights."
"Actually I'm here on business. I'm a.... trader of sorts."
"Are you? And what might your name be, Mr. Trader?"
He smiled. "Morden."