Chapter 1

I AM looking into the abyss and cannot help but remember the words spoken so long ago, which hold so much relevance for me today. When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back at you.
Sometimes, when my mind is still my own, I wonder at just what I am doing. And then I remember why I am doing it. The Minbari destroyed my people. They destroyed my home planet, my dreams.... our dreams. They took Earth from us, and then Orion 7 and the Belt Alliance, and they tried to take Proxima. They failed, and now we.... at last we have the opportunity to hit back.
It's been a hard few months, ever since the Second Line. I've had less than two hours sleep a night, and yet I feel.... replenished. Fitter than I have in years. I wonder what Marge would think of me now.... A rhetorical question of course. She's been dead for eleven years.
And it's for her that I am doing this. Her, the kids.... everyone's wives and children. We will never be safe while even a single Minbari remains alive. No one will, and so.... we take the war to them.
This time, things are more even. We've been analysing the technology we salvaged from their ruined ships, and incorporating it into our own. The Narns have been all but begging for access to it. Their war with the Centauri is not going as well as they would like. So much the better. The longer they're occupied, the stronger we become. They took advantage of the Minbari assault to enslave us, but now.... now we have the bargaining power. We won't be slaves to anyone.
And then of course, we have the technology our allies gave us. The Shadows. I.... No.... this is not the time or the place to think about them.
I'm nervous. I can only be like this in private, of course. In public I have to be strong. I'm President, leader of humanity, the one who will guide us into the future. I know it's late, but I haven't heard back from Captain Smith yet. I doubt I will be able to sleep until I do.
He's out there. They're out there.... This is the beginning.
I'm scared....
Morgan Clark, President of the Resistance Government of Humanity.
Personal diary, dated June 17th 2259.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Waiting.... waiting.... each second seeming forever....
Captain Dexter Smith found that he was drumming his fingers on the armrest of the chair, and immediately stopped himself, angry at the sign of impatience. Or was it just impatience? There was an air of.... unreality about this. This was not his ship, not his bridge, not his chair.
In the days before the fall of Earth, transfers and promotions were common. People had a chance to work on a number of ships, learning different techniques, environments. That had changed in the last eleven years. The Babylon had been one of the few heavy destroyers left intact, and the only one to survive the fall of Orion in human hands. The Babylon had become synonymous with Captain John Sheridan, evolving around him. Even though he had been gone for over six months, his spirit was still imbued in the ship, in the bridge, in this chair....
Smith got up and began walking around the bridge, but that did not make him any more comfortable. No matter how much time he spent here, this was Sheridan's bridge. Him being here, commanding this crew.... Sheridan's crew.... it felt wrong. Almost like wearing someone else's clothes. Sheridan was everywhere here.
John J. Sheridan. The Starkiller, hero, leader, inspiration.... traitor.
Smith did not know the exact specifics of Sheridan's flight from Proxima 3 - no one did. The official story was that he had been corrupted by Satai Delenn, his Minbari prisoner, and had fled back to Minbar with her. The stories of the bridge crew who had mysteriously returned the Babylon to Proxima did not seem to confirm this, but then they did not say just where the Babylon had been, either. As humanity was still technically under martial law and a state of emergency, Smith was not surprised by the secrecy. The very fact that Sheridan was a traitor was bad enough, given that he'd been the focal point of humanity's hopes for survival for years.
Smith stopped pacing around the bridge, realising he was just revealing his anxieties to the crew. Some of Sheridan's old crew remained, but many were new, just trained up, or drafted from the planet-bound Proxima Defence Force or the Security detachments. There was a surprising number of them. An equally surprising number of mid to high ranking Earthforce officers had survived as well. Oh, a fair number of the prominent ones were dead - General 'Firestorm' Franklin had died at Orion, Jack Maynard at Mars, Ellis Pierce, Sandra Hidoshi.... William Hague murdered during the Second Line.... But a fair number were still alive. What had General Hague said in one of his more pessimistic moments? "We may not have enough ships, or enough allies, or enough weapons, but we have plenty of captains."
So why, Smith couldn't help wondering, was he here? This was, to say the least, an important mission. The Babylon had been refitted, re-modified, incorporating Minbari and.... other alien technology, but its greatest test was coming now. To see if it could take on a Minbari cruiser in a fair fight, without Captain Sheridan at the helm.
Smith was kept a little out of the major, secret stuff, but he knew that President Clark had designs on taking the war to the Minbari. They were bound to have been affected by the débâcle of the Second Line, but still, they could recover far faster than humanity. If the war was ever to be taken to the enemy, then humanity would need a flagship capable of leading the attack. Other ships were currently being built - financed by the massive payments the Resistance Government had wrung from the Narn Government in exchange for the damaged Minbari ships - but the Babylon would always be humanity's focus.
So why was Smith here? He was a relative unknown, with nowhere near as distinguished a record as Sheridan, or even a number of his contemporaries. General Takashima had commanded the Babylon at the Second Line, but there were reports of.... irregularities.... in her leadership. These were put down to inexperience and combat stress and she had been retired from the front line. Major Ryan meanwhile had been promoted to General following Hague's death, but there were still a number of others....
Stop it! President Clark chose me personally. He obviously thinks I'm the right person and I can't let him down. I can't let humanity down.
Smith had known Sheridan a little. They had been a couple of years apart at the Academy, and Smith had always resented the younger man's meteoric rise, while at the same time admiring his skill. They had not been anything like friends, but still.... being here was uncomfortable.
Intelligence gained from sources Smith did not want to know about indicated that the Minbari regularly held patrols along a particular border of their space, near a planet inhabited by a weaker people, capable of very limited spaceflight. Smith's brief was simple. Wait in a pocket of hyperspace for a sign of a cruiser, jump out and engage. Being this deep into Minbari territory was not a good thought, but it did have the appeal that the Minbari would surely not expect a human attack here. Assuming of course that Smith was successful in his mission.
He didn't have to be on the bridge, he kept telling himself. There would be ample warning of the arrival of the Minbari. He could wait in his quarters, relax.... There was no point in being stressed to the point of cardiac arrest on the bridge.
Yes, there was.... The odds on Smith relaxing anywhere right now were non-existent.
"Captain," spoke up one of the lieutenants, an elegant blonde woman named Lieutenant Stoner. Smith did not need to hear the rest.
The Minbari ship was coming....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen, ladies," said President Morgan Clark as he sat down at the table to discuss the future of humanity. He rested back in his chair with an air of dignified patience, yet relaxed informality - a combination he hoped would impress upon them his position as President of Humanity.
He was seated next to the small group of people who represented the so-called guiding light of humanity's future. Most of them he despised, others he ignored. To only a few did Clark accord any respect.
One of those to whom he did was seated directly opposite him. Mr. Welles - Clark wondered if he even had a first name. Head of Internal Security, Spymaster General, Mr. Welles was arguably the second most powerful person on Proxima, after Clark himself, and Clark was not sure just where the dividing lines were in Welles' mind. The spymaster was intelligent, ambitious and quiet - never a good combination. He also controlled knowledge. Clark knew that knowledge was the greatest power one could possess, which was why he kept the knowledge of his dislike for Welles secret. There was no doubt that the man was a valuable ally - and would make a deadly enemy - but he did possess some.... peculiar morals, and his record was not exactly spotless.
Next to Welles, but somehow managing to sit as far from him as he could, was the newly-promoted General Edward Ryan - successor to the late, largely unlamented General Hague. Ryan was a straight-cut military man, Hague's second and aide for years. A gifted, but by-the-book warrior. Ryan suffered from the same flaw as Hague had - he was an honest man among politicians. Hopefully, Ryan would not suffer the same.... personality disorders that had destroyed his predecessor.
Opposite Ryan was Catherine Sakai, representative of Interplanetary Expeditions. Clark hated the MegaCorps, and always had. Sometimes in his darker moods he was actually grateful that the fall of Earth had decimated their power. Still, a number of the larger ones had seen it coming and had made heavy investments into off-planet concerns. IPX - by nature based off-Earth - had survived perhaps better than most. They had been valuable allies to the Resistance Government, and their help had enabled successful completion of the Babylon 2 mission, turning up some interesting items of alien technology. Still, Clark had fully appreciated that they would want repayment. Sakai he did not know - IPX had taken a considerable battering with the fall of Orion, but after a few tentative years making deals with the Narns, they had managed to stabilise. Most of their original big business leaders were either dead or retired by now, though, leading to a new order. With renewed hope for a human victory over the Minbari, they were beginning to creep back out of the woodwork.
Next to Sakai was another businessman - Taro Isogi. A self-made man who had lost everything, up to and almost including his life, on Mars. Still, he had persevered and rebuilt a great deal from the ground up, expanding his nascent business, calling in old favours and creating some valuable trading routes with alien cultures. As of yet, he had not accomplished anything of major significance, but following the Second Line various alien governments were much more interested in setting up links with Proxima. Clark could see Isogi becoming a major player in the very near future.
Opposite Isogi, dressed all in black and projecting an image of being as far away from everyone as she could, was Miss Donne, Psi Cop, rated P12. Officially an adjunct to Welles' Security Force. In reality - as Clark had discovered but was now keeping very secret - an ambassador and spy from the mysterious Mr. Bester. Bester rankled at Clark - although he had helped Proxima from time to time, he had.... secrets. He had his own vision of humanity's future, and it did not square with Clark's own. There was something in the way that Bester - that all telepaths - looked at Clark.... something that made them little better than Minbari in their arrogance. Donne seemed pleasant enough, but still....
Next to her, (and Clark silently congratulated himself on placing her next to one of the few people who could make her uncomfortable) was Kha'Mak, emissary to Proxima from the Kha'Ri. The Narns had been humanity's masters ever since the mass exodus from Earth and her solar system. They had taken advantage of a helpless people and had proceeded to tax, work and generally bleed humanity to death. Now, things were changing. Humanity was not so helpless, and the Narns' war with the Centauri was not going according to plan. Kha'Mak was here to demand the aid of humanity's new allies in their war. Clark almost smiled at the thought of a private meeting with Ambassador Kha'Mak.
And speaking of humanity's new allies.... opposite Kha'Mak and next to Clark, sat the embodiment of those new allies. Ambassador David Sheridan.
Clark knew of Sheridan's work as a diplomat - he had retired shortly before the fall of Earth and was presumed to have died there. How he had survived, how he had come to be Ambassador from the Shadows, what he knew of his son's.... less than patriotic activities.... all mysteries. Clark wondered how much Welles had managed to work out yet. Sheridan was scarily professional, competent and displaying every inch of the expertise that had made him one of the greatest diplomats in Earth Alliance history.
Of course, there were four missing from earlier meetings.... General Hague was dead, of course. The official verdict was that he had been murdered by alien infiltrators. Unofficially.... he had blown his own brains out. Former President Marie Crane was, officially, recovering from a long and debilitating illness. Unofficially.... the poison had been fairly difficult to get hold of. She was far better kept alive and ill than dead and a target for historians.
Former Shadow Ambassador Susan Ivanova was still recovering from injuries. Officially, once she was fully fit then she would join Ambassador Sheridan's staff. Unofficially, Clark did not know....
And that left General Takashima. Officially, she was undergoing psychiatric treatment for delayed shock syndrome, manifest in her attack on humanity's Shadow allies during the Second Line, and was therefore temporarily removed from her position. Unofficially.... Clark was keeping his eye on her.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Clark said, sitting forward. He almost smiled at the news he was about to present. He was nervous, he was suspicious, and he was only too aware of how precariously things stood, but he had just received this news - which meant Welles already knew - and if he did not bring it up now then Welles would.
All of humanity was tipping on the edge of the abyss and Clark could feel it looking up at him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have just received word from Captain Dexter Smith, aboard the EAS Babylon. He has intercepted a Minbari vessel, and is engaging.
"The.... test of our hopes for the future has begun."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

This should have been simple. Smith and his command crew had been going over the details of this attack for weeks. The Minbari ship had been located and the Babylon had been brought out of hyperspace....
The old technique for fighting the Minbari had been pioneered by Captain Sheridan. Using a swarm of Starfuries and massive, wide-ranging dispersion fire, hopefully some damage would be inflicted on the Minbari ship. This would then be followed by the release of a Narn-made heat-seeking fusion bomb, which would lock on to the damage and explode on impact, destroying the enemy ship. As tactics went, it was risky, wasteful and open to any number of counterattacks by the Minbari, but it was one of the few methods available then.
That was then....
Using technology provided by the wreckage of Minbari ships from the Second Line, the Babylon was now capable of targeting their enemy with direct fire. Both broadsides had been increased in strength, power and durability. The Babylon's jump engines were more efficient, and a highly sophisticated form of shielding and electronic countermeasures had been installed. Where these had come from, Smith did not know....
This plan was simple. Target the Minbari's main engines, using modified weapons that shut down their jump engines but left the ship relatively intact. Shutting down the weapons systems would be accomplished with some strategically placed low powered forward battery fire. Starfuries would harry the flanks and back and deal with any Minbari flyers. Ultimately, broadsides would pierce the hull of certain areas. Hopefully, the ship would be captured more or less intact, with some prisoners.
That was the plan.
As the Minbari ship loomed up before him, graceful, elegant, even beautiful, Smith began the process which would set humanity back on the road to its destiny.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

One.... more.... step....
Susan Ivanova strained forward, resting almost all of her weight on the parallel bars at either side of her. Come.... on. Just.... one.... more.
No use. Her legs collapsed beneath her and her arms fell away from the bars, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her landing was not awkward and she was only winded, but far greater than the pain of flesh was the pain of shame.... of knowing that she was yet again little more than a pathetic cripple who had failed in her duty and was now not even able to walk.
She rolled over on to her back, blinking as she looked up at the lights. She had purposely kept them dim here in her room. Bright light gave her headaches these days, but even this dim light seemed to pierce through to her soul. She winced as she began to crawl over to her wheelchair.
She'd been told that she had been in a coma for over a month. She'd been told that she was lucky to be alive. She'd been told many things, few of which she cared to hear.
She had forgotten a great deal about the last few hours before her coma. Much of the time before that had come back to her, but that last chain of events....
Flash.... she was in bed with a man tall dark bearded he was crying she was killing him thrusting a long metal staff through his chest breaking his heart a woman was screaming her was it her who was screaming or was it another a telepath the telepath who ripped through her mind shredding her memories violating her down to her very essence the telepath who destroyed her thoughts destroyed her flesh struck her with her own weapon the weapon she had taken from a Minbari the Minbari whom she had tried to kill but hadn't.... Flash....
Susan Ivanova opened her one functioning eye and swore under her breath, clambering up into her wheelchair. So, she'd learned what she'd suspected, her trademark Russian cynicism proving right again. Her legs were still not strong enough to bear her weight for more than a few steps, even with support.
Well, Susotchka, came the voice from her mind. You quit too early. You always quit too early.
"Go away, Father," she whispered, her voice now hoarse and rasping. "You're dead."
But was he dead? Was she dead? Was she nothing more than a ghost in the middle of an endless carousel of voices from her past, of memories she hated, of pains never to be relieved?
Her door chimed and she raised her head. "Open," she said, not knowing why. The only visitors she had received since her recovery had been her doctors, and it wouldn't be one of them, not at this time. Perhaps the new Shadow Ambassador had finally arrived to pay his compliments....
He had not. In walked a strong, dedicated-looking woman wearing the uniform of an Earthforce general. She seemed to hesitate on seeing Ivanova, but then she straightened.
"General Takashima," Susan whispered. "I...." She coughed and spoke a little louder, searching for a memory.... something she knew. "I heard you had been retired."
"Temporary sick leave," Takashima replied. "It was.... stress-related."
Stress? Was that what they called it? Takashima had.... well, she had done something. Susan couldn't quite remember what. Takashima had never held a great deal of power in the Resistance Government anyway, but....
Susan shook her head. There had been the glimmerings of something important there, but it was gone.
"What.... what do you want with me?" she finally asked. "Remember, I don't have much influence with the Resistance Government these days. Certainly not enough to restore you to your former position."
"I don't want that," came the reply. "I'm.... happy where I am. No, I came here to see you. To see how you have been doing."
Susan gave a sardonic laugh, which she immediately regretted because of the pain in her throat. "Oh, fine. Fine."
Takashima walked closer towards Susan. "There was no need for that," she said. "Believe it or not, there are some people who care about you, and who are worried about you. I came to see if I can help."
"General...." Susan began. "We hardly exchanged five words before my.... accident and your.... stress-related illness. Why are you so concerned about me now?"
"It was when I saw you in a coma. I realised that.... no one should have to go through what you did."
Susan began moving herself towards the other end of the room. "I've been through worse," she muttered. "Do you want a drink?"
"Water will be fine."
"Then I hope you don't mind if I have a vodka. Difficult stuff to get hold of these days, but my.... former position had some influence. I managed to save a bottle or two." She began pouring the drinks.
"Do you drink much?"
"Just enough to keep the wolf away." Takashima obviously did not understand. "A Russian folk tale. Something my father used to tell me. My.... particular wolf.... is the dreams I get.... always the same time each night. Sometimes.... they're so bad I prefer not to sleep, but the doctors tell me I have to sleep."
Softly: "What sort of dreams?"
"Have you ever been trapped in your worst nightmare, only to wake up and find that it wasn't a nightmare at all? Where everything you fear is hiding under your bed really is?"
Takashima mutely shook her head.
"That's what I dream about. Do you know, you are the only person other than a doctor to visit me since I was.... hurt?"
"I suppose I am," muttered Takashima. "I.... suppose I am."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Minbari ship shuddered as cannon fire tore into its side. Elegantly, almost beautifully, it recovered, and with almost poetic grace swooped down on the Babylon.
"Status!" Captain Smith barked.
"Targeting's working fine," replied Lieutenant Franklin, manning his usual position at helm. One of the Babylon stalwarts. "We're hitting them easily, but the low-level fire that was going to take out their weapons systems isn't working. I don't know why."
"Needs a little modifying," Smith muttered. "Evasive action. Bring us around, and hammer them with right broadsides."
The whole ship rocked, but Smith managed to keep his balance. That must only have been a glancing blow. Perhaps the shielding or electronic dispersal methods were working better than they'd expected.
"Engines in sight," replied Franklin. "Forward batteries...."
The Minbari evaded the powerful shot with contemptuous speed. An energy arc burst outwards, tearing into the Babylon's flank.
"Forward batteries off-line," Franklin said. "I don't know what's going on down there...."
"An overload," Smith said. "Shut the whole area down and order the crew to evacuate."
He looked up, and could practically feel the Minbari bearing down on them.
This was not going according to plan....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"That went well, don't you think?"
"I suppose so," muttered Welles in reply. Clark looked at him intently. He never knew what Welles was thinking, and that worried him. Behind him, Ambassador Sheridan was standing silently.
"Of course it went well," Clark said, stretching out. "Isogi agreed to our trade recommendations, Sakai will report back to her bosses, who will undoubtedly point themselves in the direction marked money and provide us with the vital funding we need, and Ryan shows all the hallmarks of being a better military leader than his predecessor was."
"General Ryan said next to nothing throughout the meeting," Welles remarked.
"Exactly, but don't tell me you didn't see how uncomfortable he was. An honest man among politicians, but he tries to hide it. Yes, I think he'll do well."
"On the other hand," Welles noted, "Sakai and Isogi did raise some interesting points between them. You've been trying hard to convince them that we're back on track again. We are going to need the income from their corporations if we're going to expand, and yet we have nothing to show them. We have no sign of proof we can defeat the Minbari yet, and they're still jittery about Captain Sheridan's.... departure." An uncharacteristic slip of the silver tongue - or was it deliberate? You could never be sure with Welles. Clark could feel Ambassador Sheridan's eyes darkening at the mention of his son.
"We have no proof that we can win this war, and they remember Orion."
"We all remember Orion, Mr. Welles."
"I know, but we have no visible signs of growth, of economic or legislative improvement. The Wartime Emergencies Provisions are still in force, the Senate is still disbanded, we're still issuing the public welfare recommendations...."
"We are still in a state of war, Mr. Welles. Why should we take back the necessary provisions at this time?"
"We shouldn't. Only a fool would do that, but the fact is the MegaCorps - or what remains of them - want stability, and these provisions are all signs of not knowing where the next meal is coming from or whether the sky will be filled with molten rain any second."
"I thought war was good for business?"
"So they say.... but this isn't war. It's survival. The businesses need proof that we're past the famine, the fear, the threat of defeat.... only then will they give us what we really need."
"They'll have that proof soon enough, Mr. Welles. You see, war is good for business, but only so long as you are winning. Captain Smith, the new ships, our allies.... we are going to win."
"It's short term. Everything. Terminally short term. If we don't win...."
"An economist as well, Mr. Welles?" remarked Ambassador Sheridan. Clark started, and even Welles blinked. "I didn't know you had so many skills."
"Merely.... considering all eventualities, Ambassador."
"Anyway, we thank you for your concern, Mr. Welles," said Clark. "I have no doubt that you have duties to return to...."
Welles knew a dismissal when he heard one. He inclined his head in a gesture of respect, and then left. Clark waited until he could be sure Welles was gone, and then he turned to Ambassador Sheridan.
"I think you just made an enemy," he noted.
"An enemy of mine is an enemy of humanity," Sheridan replied, unconcerned. "I should hope that Mr. Welles would not let a.... personal slight interfere with the common good."
"Of course not," Clark smiled. "And speaking of the common good.... a great deal of what he said was true. We do need proof that we can win. Now, Captain Smith and the Babylon should be enough, but what if they aren't? Victory doesn't necessarily need to be all our own work. If your allies can lend us some aid.... perhaps take out a Minbari cruiser quietly, which we can attribute to our own ships...."
"Ah.... ah. We will give you the world, and you still beg for scraps. We have given you alliances with races older and more powerful than almost any who can oppose you. We have given you technology to rebuild your ships and defences. We have given you victory, and hope, and the chance of further life.... We have given you all this, and still you ask for more."
"I was just wondering.... Your help at the Second Line was open, aggressive, militaristic. Yes, there were.... unexpected eventualities, but you still showed no fear. Why are you so.... wary now?"
"The Second Line was a special circumstance, as you know...."
"Is it the Vorlons?"
"What?" The word was quiet, soft, almost a whisper, but it harboured more menace than Clark had ever heard.
"Their arrival was.... one of those unexpected eventualities I mentioned. Fortunately, it is not public knowledge. I doubt if even Mr. Welles knows of their presence, although all things are possible. All the officers who saw the Vorlon ships reported directly to me, and they have been ordered to keep silent.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So are the Vorlons the reason why you are being so circumspect?"
Ambassador Sheridan seemed to be silently debating something. "To a certain degree, yes. The Vorlons are almost as old as our allies, and almost as powerful. They share an enmity with our allies which goes back millennia. Fortunately the Vorlons will not interfere with you, but they could make life difficult for our allies if we move too openly. Give us time, and we will rebuild our forces sufficiently to be able to destroy them....
"Besides, there are other concerns. As the saying goes, if we give you a fish today, you eat well tonight; but if we teach you to fish, you eat well every night of your life."
Clark smiled. "Trust me to bandy words with a diplomat. Thank you, Ambassador. You have set my mind at rest perfectly."
"It is a pleasure to serve."
After the Ambassador was gone, Clark rested his elbows on the table and began to think. Welles and Sheridan. Neither of them had addressed him by his proper title, and neither of them had told him anything approaching the truth. Both of them thought of him as someone to be ignored.
Well, he was not to be ignored by anyone. Anyone at all.
And the alien voice in his mind told him so.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Give me some sort of evasive manoeuvre! Anything!" Smith was not looking at the tactical displays before him, but directly forward, practically staring through steel and plastic and space.... gazing at the Minbari ship swooping towards him.
The enemy. They were the enemy, and if he was ever to become anything greater than he was now, if he was ever to achieve the ambitions he had harboured all his life, then he would have to be victorious here. This would be his greatest test.
The ship rocked, but Smith remained rooted to his seat. He would not move. He would not fall. The enemy was there, before him, practically within his reach....
"Forward batteries back, sir!" shouted Franklin. Smith leapt to his feet.
"Fire!"
With two swift bursts the forward weapons of the Babylon opened fire, tearing into the Minbari ship before him. Smith could almost see it, clear and precise before his eyes.
He could see it die.
"I think we hit their engines, sir. It's...." Franklin sat back. "It's gone. Destroyed."
Smith knew that even without being told. He had somehow felt them die.
"It's beginning," he whispered. "A new start." He didn't know whether to be delighted or terrified. He had a feeling though, that whichever one he chose, it would be the wrong emotion.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

There is a monster on the throne.
Mr. Welles entered the private sanctuary of his office and sat down on the private throne of his chair. Everything was quiet, a silence as still as the grave. All around him viewscreens were on, relaying everything his cameras recorded around the Main Dome. Subordinates on other domes sometimes relayed their details to him as well. Their frenzied, frenetic images were silent; all just puppets dancing on unseen strings.
Welles sat back, steepling his fingers in front of his face. Clark.... what Clark was doing was dangerous. Not dangerous in its own right, but regarding Ambassador Sheridan. Welles had asked Clark those questions to try to bait him. The response he had received had not been encouraging.
There is a monster, not on the throne, but behind it.
Welles had long been experiencing doubts about humanity's new allies. Ambassador Ivanova had been guilty of certain.... irregularities, and Welles knew a great deal about the death of Marcus Cole. Not everything, but he had managed to identify Ivanova as his killer. Simple enough really.
She was of course immune from any form of prosecution. She not only enjoyed diplomatic immunity, but the Wartime Emergency Provisions granted total freedom from prosecution to anyone deemed to be of special value to humanity. People such as Miss Donne, the high-ranking telepath who dabbled in serial killing as a sideline. People like the directors of Interplanetary Expeditions, who were indirectly guilty of who knew how many deaths in their simple quest for money. People like, say, a President who had poisoned his predecessor.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. A great deal of knowledge is more dangerous still.
Welles lived his life for understanding, for order. He wasn't finding it. Not on Earth, not on Orion, and not here.
There are monsters in the throne room.
He contemplated making contact with G'Kar. He had been following the Narn's progress for some time. It was.... interesting, to say the least. He had never met him personally, but still. Now there was a dangerous soul if ever there was one.
There was danger everywhere.
We are all monsters.
Welles sat alone, in silence.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Smith had no need to speak. He had already learned almost everything he needed to know.
"Most of our systems were overloaded," Franklin was reporting. "The weapons especially. The power conduits kept shutting down. They evidently couldn't handle the forces working through them.
"Targeting worked fine. We were already heading in that direction anyway, but we were able to target the Minbari easily. Just as if it was an Earth ship. Better even.
"The pulses that were supposed to take out their jump engines and weapons systems didn't work. The engineers have traced the problem to a fault in the electronics relays. They've got no idea how to fix it though. Some of the technology isn't knitting together very well."
"What about the jamming system?" Smith asked. "They didn't get a chance to get a message back to Minbar?"
"No. No chance of that. The jammers worked perfectly."
"Well.... it's not perfect, but it worked. The President might be annoyed that we destroyed the ship rather than capturing it, but still.... it's working, and that's what counts. How are the salvage crews doing?"
"They estimate another twenty minutes or so before the remains are brought on board."
Smith quickly calculated a few figures. "That should leave us plenty of time before any other ship is likely to come out this way. Good. But make sure the salvage is done as quickly as possible."
He rose to his feet. "I think I should tell the President."