Chapter 1

VALEN swore that this day would come. A thousand years since he arrived among us, over nine hundred since he passed beyond.... we have borne his legacy. Never forgetting, never betraying, always in service. Some have forgotten - the workers, who betrayed his most sacred law. Minbari do not kill Minbari. Their leader shed blood in this most sacred place, and now they have paid the price. Let those who live remember their lesson. Let them kneel in the shadow cast by Valen's light and beg for his forgiveness.
The priestlings.... they have forgotten too. I doubt they ever remembered. But they are weak, they are pathetic, they are foolish. Let them have whatever little power they ask for. It is little enough. They will have no place.
The Darkness is moving, spreading out across the galaxy. I can feel it. I am waiting for it, and when it comes to me, I shall prove myself worthy of the trust placed in me. As Sinoval and Valen stand by my side, I shall destroy the Darkness.
For the future.... for Valen.... for Sinoval. In Valen's Name and in the name of Sinoval, his prophet. Earther, Enemy or our own.... Any who stand against us will be destroyed.
In Valen's Name.
Rantings attributed to Satai Kalain, remembered and recorded by Satai Kats
aboard the Minbari warship Valentha, in the Hall of the Grey Council.
Dated, by the human calendar, December 1st 2259.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

In Valen's Name....
The Alyt captaining the Minbari warship Hantei looked out at the three ships descending on him and his companion vessel - the Otosan - and he smiled contemptuously. A small handful of Earther vessels - there were but three of their capital ships and a number of their one-man flyers - they could pose little threat to a single Minbari war cruiser, let alone two.
The human ships were of no consequence. One of them rounded and came towards the Hantei. The Alyt made a scornful gesture, and ordered the firing of forward batteries. One blow would tear the human ship apart. Oh, maybe it was a little more advanced than the others, but even the Earthers had to develop their technology sometimes....
Besides, they could not target the Hantei, and even if they managed a lucky hit, it would do next to no dam.... something was wrong.
The forward batteries were not working. Some sort of jamming device. How was that possible? To think that....
The Alyt stumbled and fell as his ship was rocked by a massive energy blast. The Earthers had fired their left broadsides, and.... hit the Hantei! How in Valen's name was that possible...? Not even Sheridan the Starkiller had been able to circumvent the difference in technology. Not even.... Valen must be turning against him. Valen must....
The right broadsides lashed the Hantei, tearing open the engines. The Alyt died in the resulting explosion, still wondering what was happening.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Captain Dexter Smith listened to the reports from the battle and also smiled sardonically. Few casualties and both Minbari cruisers destroyed. His Babylon was by some way the weakest ship of humanity's three capital ships - the Morningstar and the newly constructed Corinthian - but it was a potent symbol for the people. For so long the only defence of humanity and Proxima 3, it was now a symbol of the re-emergence of humanity as a major power.
Minimal casualties. Minimal damage. All systems operational.
Smith looked around the bridge, blinking once when his eyes fell on Lieutenant Stoner - oh yes, there were some interesting stories there, once he figured them out - and activated the ship-to-ship commlines, issuing his reports to General Ryan aboard the Morningstar.
"Excellent, Captain," Ryan replied. "Captain Philby aboard the Corinthian reported negligible losses and damage as well. Are your jump engines ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. We've cleared out all trace of Minbari activity in this sector. There's a path laid out all the way to Minbar. Set co-ordinates. It's time to hit their homeworld."
"But sir, there are a few of their medium strength colonies left in Quadrant Twenty-seven...."
"We'll come back to them later. Direct orders from the President. He wants their home world destroyed before the end of the month. It'll be a nice Christmas present for the folks back home."
"As you say, sir. Setting co-ordinates now."
To Minbar.... to finish the cycle that had resulted in the fall of Earth, of Mars, of Orion, nearly of Proxima.... to finish the greatest threat to the human race.... to provide hope once again.
Hope for the future....

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The future....
John Sheridan had no idea where his future lay any more. It had seemed so simple for so long. Before the war, he had been solely concerned with moving up the ranks, building a reputation, becoming a somebody. During the war, the future had been winning, finding a way past the Minbari cracks, finding hope for humanity. After the fall of Earth, it had been staying alive, building a home for himself and Anna and Elizabeth, and finding something to keep him going.
Now.... now he was beginning to think that his future lay with the beautiful, delicate, powerful woman before him, and he was scared. Not of commitment, not of her, but of loving her. Afraid that he would lose her the way he had lost Anna and Elizabeth.
He didn't want to lose her. He didn't want to be afraid of her, but there it was. He wanted to be with her, to build a home, a family, a little haven of light in a galaxy of darkness. What was being built here on Kazomi 7 was that haven of light. Out from chaos and death, to unity and life. If only it could stay that way.
She had done that. Through force of will and of personality, through luck - both good and bad - but most of all through sheer determination not to let the darkness win.
He was afraid that he loved her, and even more afraid that one day he would have to tell her.
"John?" Delenn asked softly. "You have been quiet for a long time. Is.... something wrong?"
He shook his head. "No. I was just.... thinking. About the future."
"Ah." She smiled and it was as though a ray of light illuminated the room. "Isil'zha. The future. I usually think about the past these days, although perhaps the present might be more appropriate."
Sheridan could hear the pain in her voice. For months she had been working in the makeshift hospitals here, working with the wounded and the dying - both from the initial Drakh invasion and from the usual hurly-burly involved in the formation of a new alliance. A number of refugees had come here, fleeing the chaos elsewhere in the League of Non-Aligned Worlds, and a fair number of them were wounded.
To them all, Delenn was as an angel of mercy, helping where she could, simply being where she could not help. Her work had been hard, but she had loved it. Bringing life after so much death. A sort of karmic redemption.
Recently she had taken up a new rôle, pushed into it by an Inquisitor who had been sent to put her back on the 'right path'. His attempts to tear her life apart had failed, but he had managed to get her back into a position of power. Delenn was now the leader of the Allied Council of Kazomi 7.
Not the position she should be in, perhaps, but she would not return to her homeworld. John understood why. Responsible for the near-destruction of his entire species, exiled from her position as a pawn in deadly power games, forbidden ever to return to the world of her birth.... She could have gone back, challenged her exile, but she did not. He could understand why.
She was still performing an important function, and she still visited the hospitals here, but she smiled rarely these days, and her eyes were often downcast. She was seldom happy.
"Have you had any more dreams recently?"
She shook her head. "None since the one the night after the inquisition. Have you?"
"Another one last night, and the night before that. My father again. He was trying to warn me about something, but I don't remember what. I wish the Vorlons would leave me alone."
"Have you spoken to Lyta about it?" Lyta was connected to the Vorlons in some way John did not comprehend. He had a feeling that Delenn knew some of the details, but he did not press her. Lyta and Delenn were connected as well.
"No.... It's just bad dreams.... but.... I don't like it. The Vorlons sit there ignoring the galaxy for what seems like forever. Then they pile out at Proxima Three during the Second Line, and now they're moving again. If they're moving against the Shadows, why can't they do it openly, and if they aren't, then what are they doing?"
"The Second Line was an aberration, I think," she said softly. "For both Vorlon and Enemy. Each side is moving more slowly now. Neither is ready. When they are...." She shrugged. "I do not know. I wish I did. I have had more dealings with the Vorlons than most, and even I do not understand them. I wish that I did."
"Yeah well, if wishes were fishes there'd be no room in the sea for water."
Delenn giggled softly. "I am sorry?"
"Oh.... just an expression. It has to do with the number of people who wish for things and how few of them ever get them."
"Oh.... and I quite liked it. Yours is a depressing people. If wishes were fishes.... I do like that."
"Yeah, rhymes. If you think that's impressive, I'll have to teach you limericks one day."
"What is a.... limerick?"
"It's form of poetry, with a very set structure. Five lines, of which the first, second and last line all rhyme with each other, and the third and fourth lines rhyme."
"Ah, poetry. You should have said. Yes, I have studied poetry in quite some detail. I had a friend who was a very talented poet. What is the purpose of this.... limerick style?"
"The purpose?"
"Yes.... you know.... what.... emotions is it meant to convey? For example, we have a school of poetry called keela which is meant to evoke remembrance of the past and provoke new ideas for the future. It rarely rhymes though."
"Ah.... well, we do have poems that do things like that, but limericks are just meant to be.... nonsense rhymes. Things to make you laugh."
"You use poetry for laughter?" She sounded sceptical. "Do not misunderstand my people.... we spend a great deal of time studying laughter, trying to understand it. We believe that no race can be truly intelligent without laughter. Our poetry however is never used for that purpose."
"Well.... I suppose.... no, some of our poetry is serious, but some of it is just silly."
"Oh.... I would like to hear one of these.... limericks. If it is not too long, or too formal."
"No, no. Not formal at all. Or long. Oh dear...." A sudden, mad idea was forming in John's mind. It was completely crazy, but it had been too long since Delenn had laughed properly. Now, if he got this right.... Oh, what the hell rhymed with Delenn? Ah, got it.
"Okay....
There once was a lady called Delenn,
Who'd lived in a temple since ten.
Then she met someone called John,
With whom she got on,
Because she had good taste in men."
John was part-expecting her to die of embarrassment halfway through, but Delenn was listening intently, eyes wide, and when he finished she broke out into applause.
"Ah, so that is a limerick," she said, smiling widely. "There once was a lady called Delenn...." She giggled. "I like it. May I remember it?"
"Of course. Just please don't tell anyone I thought of it, or.... Well, the consequences for me would not be pretty."
"Yes, actually, I think I may have heard one of these limericks. What was it again...? There once was a man from Nantucket...."
"Whoa, whoa...." John interjected very quickly. "Where.... where did you hear that one?"
"From Minister Mollari. It was while I was ill, and he was trying to cheer me up. Do you know that poem?"
"Uh.... yes."
"Oh." She looked put out, but then smiled. "Thank you for the poem, John. It was beautiful. It has been.... good to just talk like this. It is so dark outside.... sometimes I'm afraid the darkness will come in here one day."
"We have a saying. 'It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.' You've lit one hell of a big candle here, Delenn. I don't think it's going to go out any time soon."
"We have whole libraries of literature on the power of hope and optimism over despair, but I don't think any text has said it as succinctly as those thirteen words. Thank you again, John."
He bowed exaggeratedly. "My pleasure, my lady."
"John...." She looked awkward. "Do you think hope and optimism will win out over despair? Do you think there is anything to be hopeful for?"
"Of course I do," he said, his lie flawlessly smooth. "Do you?"
"I do not know. I wish I did. It is getting darker outside. Soon it will be night. And I am afraid that none of us will see morning again in our lifetimes. Very afraid."
There was only silence in reply. Sheridan could not think of any words to say.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The fighting was over, had been over for some weeks, but for Lord Marrago, Lord-General in charge of the Centauri Fleet, the fighting was never over. It never would be either, not until every last Narn and every last Centauri were plunged into a deep, dark ravine and locked away from the sunlight. Only then would warfare between them be truly finished.
Blasphemous thoughts, certainly, and should certain members of the Centarum hear them.... no matter. He was in little enough favour back home as it was. He had never cared for politics. All he wanted, all he truly wanted was to rule his colonies, to administer justice, to promote order and to enforce peace. And then a debt to an old friend had forced him to marry a rich widow and adopt a beautiful daughter, and Marrago had been thrust into politics again. He could not be sure whether the second Narn / Centauri War was a good thing or a bad thing for him. True, he was now a long way from vain Drusella and giddy Lyndisty, but he was also embroiled in a war he detested.
The Narn military base in Quadrant 37 had fallen only after three weeks of protracted and bloody siege, skirmish after skirmish, counterattack after counterattack. Over one hundred and fifty thousand Narns had perished in total, and thousands of Centauri. It was being hailed as a great victory back on Centauri Prime, where, no doubt, lordlings and ladies were slapping themselves on the back and awarding each other medals. Lord Marrago had been invited back to the homeworld for festivals in his honour. He had politely refused. The thought turned his stomach.
Besides, there was much to be done here. Repairing the damaged ships and base. Caring for the wounded. Establishing a new, Centauri order here. Much to be done, and Lord Marrago was almost happy doing it.
He was ruminating on his current progress as he walked back to his quarters. He had been out meeting with his soldiers. It was always good for a leader to meet the people whom he might have to order to die at any moment. It threw his job into sharp perspective. He had been talking to a few of them, settling his mind after the latest idiotic order from the Centarum.
A fly-by parade of all things! Two of the four warships patrolling the base were to be recalled to Centauri Prime for a parade in their honour! An opportunity for the nobles to play at being captains for a while. Also a perfect opportunity in case the Narns wanted to strike back. Did those idiots not realise just how close to the front line they were here?
Marrago mentally calmed himself down. There was no reason the Narns should know about the loss of the two warships. Admittedly the Narns had never been cautious in war, but the loss of this base had shaken them badly. Without the help from the humans they had come to rely on, their mighty military machine was developing some serious cracks. Marrago knew he could win this, given enough time. But did he want to? That was the question.
He paused as he reached his office. He had arranged matters so that his personal chamber was next to his office. It made matters of government far easier. But.... something was wrong. His secretary Kiron Maray should have been there. He had been working on personnel reports. The lights from the office were off.
Slowly, Marrago slid his small kutari knife from his sleeve. There was somebody in the room - two of them at least. Marrago had been a fine duellist in his day, and was still expert in single combat. During the taking of this base, he had personally killed three Narns who had attacked him. Should this be an....
"Come in, Lord Marrago," said a familiar voice. "Or should I say Coutoura?" Marrago stiffened, and did not sheathe his knife. He did walk into the room, however. That voice could not be mimicked - at least not that accurately, but....
There was a dim light at the far end of the room. A figure was seated next to it. Marrago had near-perfect night vision, but for a moment even he doubted his senses.
"Londo?" he whispered. "I had heard you were dead."
"I was," came a drawl. "I got better."
"Where is my secretary? I do hope you have not harmed him. A good secretary is very hard to find." Marrago kept his tone carefully neutral, all the while weighing up the situation. "Oh, and you can tell your Minbari friend behind me that I'm not going to attack him - unless he attacks me first, of course - so he can come out."
There was a laugh, and that erased all Marrago's doubts. No one could laugh like Londo Mollari. But that did not explain what he was doing here, or how he had got here.
"Lights," Marrago ordered, and he looked around the room. Kiron was noticeable by his absence, but now that he could see his two companions, Marrago could easily recognise the friend of his youth.
"What are you doing here, Londo? And where is Kiron? If he is...."
"Oh come on, Marrago. I have not killed him. People do not change that much. No, he is elsewhere. I.... regret to inform you that a certain member of your staff has been in my employ for some time. Well, when I say mine, I mean my wife's of course. He was quite invaluable when it came to getting myself and Mr. Lennier here into this place unnoticed, and in arranging this private meeting."
Marrago snorted. "You mean Kiron's been working for you? How many other traitors are there in my army?"
"Not a traitor, no. Just a.... provider of information and services now and then. I did a favour to a relative of his once, and Kiron was wondering if there was anything he could do to repay matters."
"I see. Londo, what are you doing here? The last I had heard you were dead in a hovercarriage accident what.... almost a year ago now."
"No accident. It was an attempted assassination."
"Well, I do not think that was a surprise to anyone."
"No.... no, it was not, but.... matters on Centauri Prime are coming to a head. Sooner or later we are going to fall back into the bad old days, and it will probably be sooner rather than later. There is someone who can help us, but we are going to have to find him, and that will be difficult. More to the point, however, if I am to restore some sanity to our people, I will need allies. Who else should I turn to first, Coutoura?"
There was no doubt, no hesitation. "You needed to ask? Fill me in on the details."
Londo smiled.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Proxima 3 - for so long a world gripped by despair and anguish - was finally filled with light, but it was now being visited by a small speck of darkness. Or maybe it was the other way round. It was all a matter of how you looked at it.
The visiting dignitaries looked far from comfortable as they waited for the new arrival. President Clark bore the gleaming smile of one who stands within a few weeks at most of achieving his fondest desire. Chief of Security Welles, while putting on the neutral expression he had mastered, was clearly not happy with the current state of affairs. Ambassador David Sheridan, while apparently displaying the practised ease that came from a long diplomatic career, appeared a little.... on-edge. And Donne, the local head of the pitiful residue of Psi Corps, looked like a child who has had the run of the house while its parents have been on holiday and has now learned that the parents have come back early.
Welles stiffened as a figure came into view. This man had flown here alone from his secret base in a one-man flyer. A near-suicidal act with the galaxy as it was, and yet he had made the journey countless times, radiating the inner security which said that while the galaxy might be full of dangerous things, there could be nothing in it as dangerous as he was.
"Mr. Bester," said Clark, stepping forward. "A pleasure to see you again." Every word a lie of course, and the trouble with lying to a telepath was that the lie had a life expectancy of a few seconds at best. Still.... force of habit and all that....
"And a pleasure to be back, Mr. President," Bester said, lying with each word as well. "It is good to hear about your recent stirring successes. A victory is just over the horizon, I hope."
"Humanity hopes so." Clark stiffened. He had not told Bester of any recent successes. The fact that Bester was privately monitoring the war was not all that surprising, but by rubbing Clark's nose in the fact, he was being especially irritating.
"You already know Mr. Welles, our Chief of Security." False and entirely meaningless platitudes were exchanged. "And this is Ambassador David Sheridan, our representative from our allies - the Shadows."
Bester raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. He already knew of Sheridan of course, he must have done. "Oh, I do hope we shall have the chance for some conversation later, Ambass ador. Unfortunately my business schedule prevented me from talking with Ambassador Ivanova the last time I was here. Where is she, by the way?"
"Ambassador Ivanova was wounded in a terrorist attack," Clark said quickly. "She is currently recuperating alone."
"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that. Still, it's a pleasure to be back here, Mr. President. I anticipate a most entertaining visit."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Former Shadow Ambassador Susan Ivanova shivered through the depths of her agony. Something.... someone had arrived. Someone powerful enough to penetrate the fog around her savage headache and cause her to tremble uncontrollably.
Someone called Bester.
She remembered when Laurel had told her of Bester's visit here. Susan had immediately thrown up everything in her stomach and had been unable to eat anything for days after. She had tried to see Ambassador Sheridan - YOU PROMISED I'D BE SAFE - but he had always been 'too busy' to meet her.
The stress and the fear had brought on one of her savage migraines. She had been experiencing them frequently ever since the attack that had left her scarred, sightless in one eye and screaming whenever she was alone in the middle of the night.
And now he was here.... Bester.... the face of the thing she hated most. Psi Corps. They had killed her mother, would kill her too if they knew. Oh, it wouldn't be their finger on the trigger, but they would kill her all the same.
She had thought it was all over. Psi Corps had been destroyed with Earth, and with Mars. But no. Like weeds, they hid their roots underneath the surface, waited, and grew out again. Donne. Bester. Lyta Alexander.... curse her!
Susan fought back the urge to scream and rose shakily to her feet. Vodka helped.... sometimes.... but she had run out of all her Russian vodka months ago, and even the revolting Narn stuff had not lasted her through this bout. She'd been drunk and in agony for over four days now.
She staggered across to the commscreen, and sent through the signal. Please let her be there please let her be there please let her be there. She was.
Laurel Takashima's face appeared on the viewscreen. She looked a little disoriented. "Susan? Are you...?" No, she wasn't. Evidently one look at Susan's face was enough. "I'll be right over. You should have called me before." The viewscreen went blank and Susan collapsed to the floor, weeping and retching, waiting.... each second waiting for the door to open seeming like an eternity.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

On the world where light was once brought to the Darkness, a world which had become a place of sanctuary for an ancient race, a world which had become the province of wisdom and knowledge and revelation.... one man who was not chosen by destiny was taking steps to ensure that destiny would be chosen by him.
Above him, orbiting high above a planet currently racked by ion storms, was Cathedral, the massive floating castle that was home to the Soul Hunters. Capable of interstellar travel, the gigantic spaceship housed the legacies of millennia, a storehouse of knowledge matched only by those who had come to this world seeking sanctuary.
If knowledge is power, so the old saying ran, then where is the one who has so much as to be out of danger?
He was here.
The heat of Durhan's forge poured into him, but his body absorbed it easily. His masked eyes studied the process of his forging closely, but he had no intention of making any mistake. For Sinoval, this night was a special one.
Above him, the sky was filled with storms, lightning crashing down around him, acrid gas rising up from beneath him, stinging his nostrils, hurting his eyes. All who could be were sealed away - Durhan and his Vindrizi, the Soul Hunters - all save the two who stood impassively at the door of the forge. Tradition said that they were not to enter, and that much Minbari tradition even they were willing to bear.
Flash. Sinoval had arrived here, returning as he had said he would. He had reached Durhan, and there had been an uneasy moment as Durhan had stared at the two Soul Hunters who were always with Sinoval.
"So," he had said. "You did it, then."
"Yes."
"And now?"
"I must use your forge. After that.... we will talk."
Flash. "We will not be well received." The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus had been hard pressed to conceal his conflicting emotions. Exultation at leading his people into the heart of their greatest enemy's stronghold. Fear at what would come of such an event.
"Neither will I," had been the reply. The Primarch had nodded.
Flash. "You should not have meddled here." The human had maintained an aura of calm rationality, but the anger beneath his mask was scarcely hidden. "You are involving yourself with things you cannot oppose."
"I will oppose whom I wish. Tell your Masters what I will say. To the last word. The Minbari are mine. If I ever see one of them among my people again, I will kill it."
"But the war.... the...."
"We will fight the war without them. The Minbari are mine."
Flash. A return to the present. Sinoval held the pike in his hands. It was flawless, as perfectly made as anything of Durhan's, and yet it was incomplete. Cutting across the palm of his hand and letting his blood stain its surface helped, but there was still something missing.
Sinoval walked outside the forge, the Soul Hunters parting as he reached them. His bare chest was stained with the blood of his forging and with the exertion of his endeavours, but he felt no pain. It was as though he were an automaton, moving in the grip of destiny.
Outside, the air was clogged with electricity, with fire, and acid, and lightning. Sinoval looked around, barely able to breathe but not caring, his eyes stung by the air, his lungs burning, his skin tingling. He did not care.
Raising his pike into the air, he cried out the name of the one for whom he was acting.
"Valen!"
A bolt of lightning struck the end of the pike and tore through Sinoval. His body shook and spasmed, but the shock soon passed and he staggered back inside, looking at his weapon. Nothing was missing now.
He went to Durhan's chambers. Durhan was awake. He looked at the pike, and then at Sinoval, and then back at the pike. Sinoval held it out for him to take, but he shrank away.
"I wish that weapon had never been made," he said. "And woe that it should have been my forge which created it. It is an evil thing, Sinoval. I would ask you to destroy it, but I fear such a blade cannot be destroyed easily."
"It is called Mashi'mar'ein," Sinoval said softly.
"Stormbringer. An odd custom. We do not name our weapons, Sinoval, but in this case.... it may be appropriate. That weapon will destroy Minbar."
"Sometimes metal is just metal."
"But not in this case."
"No, not in this case. Are you ready, Sech Durhan?"
He sighed, feeling every second of his years, half wishing he were dead decades since and had never seen this. "I am ready, may Valen make it not so. I fear that the rest of my life will scarcely serve as penance for what I will do in the next few days."
"What are two lives compared to an entire people? It is time to return home, Sech Durhan. Time to return home."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Bester rubbed at his deformed hand and looked around at his environs. A strange place, to be sure. An abandoned warehouse. A most strange place for such an honoured guest as himself, but whatever drivel he relayed to Welles and Clark, the real business of the trip would be conducted here.
He and G'Kar were all too aware of the Resistance Government's assault on the Minbari, but with the chaos engulfing the League of Non-Aligned Worlds and G'Kar's little construction project, neither had had the time or the resources to devote to the matter. Now events were forcing their hand. The human and Drakh fleets would be at Minbar itself within a week, and something had to be done. G'Kar was handling the military side of things, while to Bester fell the more.... unorthodox duties. As they usually did.
A figure came into view, much of it remaining hidden by the shadows. Bester smiled. It was just as he'd always said. Good preparation always paid off in the end.
"Well, you took your time. I trust I didn't interrupt anything important?"
"No," said an oddly metallic and hollow voice. A woman's voice. "Nothing important."
"Good. Well, Control, it's time for your debriefing. I have a little mission for you."
Laurel Takashima stepped forward into the light, her eyes empty and her stance rigid. "Of course."
"Now then, my little Control. What's been going on here I haven't been told about?"

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lord Marrago sat back, mentally absorbing everything he had just been told. From any other source he would describe it as madness. From Londo.... ordinarily he would put it down to drunkenness, but Londo did not normally travel around with Minbari - least of all one as rigid and professional as this.... Lennier. Marrago was actually contemplating the possibility that what Londo was saying might be the truth.
"What you are saying could be described as treason," he said carefully. "Not just the plotting against our Government, but to say that you have been allied with a.... a Narn for years now! That is treason."
"Treason is such a narrow term. There are concerns far greater than anything we see on our homeworld. We meddle with politics and fashions and idle games and delude ourselves that we are the centre of the universe. G'Kar's Enemy is real, Coutoura. I have seen them, in all their majesty and terror. If they should turn to Centauri Prime.... No, that is a thought too horrible to contemplate. We must join forces with others to defeat them. Human with Minbari. League world with League world. Centauri with Narn. I cannot do that until this war is over, and I cannot do that until the homeworld is in sane hands once more."
"And you think Malachi is the key to this?"
"I know he is. My.... associates have traced him to an isolated village quite some way from the capital. Why he faked his suicide, I do not know, but I have extended an invitation to him. He is an old friend. I think he will accept."
"You know you are guaranteed any help I can give you, Londo, but I have responsibilities to my people here. If I can not lead my armies, then who will? But, anything that is in my power to give you, I will. Would you like quarters here? I...." There was a signal coming from the commscreen, using an emergency frequency. Marrago bounded to his feet and ran to the screen. This frequency was only ever used in an absolute emergency. Londo and Lennier pressed themselves hard against the walls, ensuring they could not be seen by the person on the other end of the message.
As it turned out, the person on the other end of the message had other concerns. "Lord-General," barked the Captain. "We are under attack. Narn ships. Hundreds of them! Our probes failed to detect their presence. We...." The screen crackled. "Hundreds of...." The screen faded completely.
Marrago immediately activated the red alert warning system. Sirens blared throughout the station. He turned to look at Londo. "I am afraid matters have become much more serious. If I can get the two of you out of here, I will."
"Do not worry about us," Londo replied quickly. "We will find out own way out. Concentrate on saving this place."
"I fear this place is long past saving, Londo. If you get to Centauri Prime, speak to Minister Durano. He should know.... we have been betrayed by someone. Two of our ships were ordered away, and now our probes are not working...."
"I will do what I can."
"Good. So will I." But as Marrago ran towards the bridge of the station, he knew in his heart that the defence was doomed. His only hope was to get Londo away from here. If such a thing were now possible. If it were not.... then the Great Maker help the Centauri, because no one else would.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

It is coming. His return, as was prophesied. Valen will return! Soon!
Let them come! Let them bring their ships and their weapons! They will crash against the walls of our faith. All we need is faith, is that not so, Satai Kats?
Faith manages.
Soon. Everything will be over soon!