From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 1A
Date: Mon, 30 Nov 1998 20:27:19 +0000


                   Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand
                   
Here we go. Don't anyone say you weren't warned...

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and 
copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money from 
writing this, and am doing so purely for my own pleasure.

Personal Disclaimer: Well... somebody isn't getting out of this in 
one piece. Death threats should be sent to the address below...

Spoilers for the comic book series, In Valen's Name.

Chapter Four - A Line in the Sand, Part 1 of 8 [ AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


There is a darkness coming, a great and terrible darkness.  It is there,
hovering just at the edge of our sight, moving on the horizon, coming out
only at dusk, biding its time, making its preparations, readying itself
for its time to rise.

And there is hope.  There is a place of refuge, technology centuries old
that built a place crafted in dreams, belonging to the past, and to the
future.  Look at it now, ships flying around it, ships flying towards it,
hearts raised in anticipation of the beginning of the fight back.

A gate opens and a ship, and a soul, comes in.  One who has been touched
by this darkness in a strange and terrifying way.  One who has let it
corrupt him in a way not of the flesh, or of the mind, but of the spirit. 
One who has hardened, who has made deals with devils, who has bartered his
very soul to serve his cause.

He looks out at the place of refuge and sanctuary before him.  He sees it,
he knows what it stands for, but he sees the darkness as well.  He sees
the great and terrible darkness touching this place.

He sees a construct of parchment and kindling and he visualises the match
being set to it.

Watch it burn.

Such are the fragile hopes of fragile hearts.

Watch... it... burn...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval looked at the space station intently, trying to purge himself of
such pessimistic thoughts.  He supposed that for some the place was indeed
what it was meant to be, the last hope of the lost and the lonely.  Of
course, he had heard that Kazomi 7 had tried to undertake that role.

Neither was right though.  Both were born out of war and bloodshed.  The
United Alliance of Kazomi 7 had been brought about by the genocide of the
Drakh invasion, and this... Babylon 4...

Well, Sinoval had seen it before, and he knew what its fate would be. 
This was a place for the waging of war, not for the bringing of peace.

Peace.  Such a rare thing in his life, but one he had experienced these
last few months.  Almost half a year had passed since the bombardment of
Minbar, six entire months of rebuilding, relocating and constructing
tender trusts between peoples.  The Soul Hunters he now commanded, the
Vindrizi in all their wondrous alien hosts, and the members of the warrior
and worker castes who had chosen to follow him to the last few free
colonies.

Not that he was alone.  He had friends and allies, probably more than he
deserved.  Derhan, the wise general watching from the shadows, always
content to remain there and let his former student steal the glory while
he himself whispered encouragement and advice.  Kozorr, whose relentless
enthusiasm and conviction had not been undermined by the terrible injuries
he still bore.  The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus of the Soul Hunters,
quite possibly the wisest individual Sinoval had ever encountered.  And
then there was Kats... his conscience, his compassion and everything of
beauty he had ever known, wrapped up in one form.

It had been hard, and it would get harder.  Sinoval had no illusions about
his future.  He currently ruled three of the many colonies the Minbari had
once owned.  Centred on Otosan 4, and spreading out to Tarolin 2 and 
Owari 9, it was a small empire, but it was a beginning.  He would take
back the other colonies now occupied by the humans.  He would also deal
with the Vorlons and their infernal machinations, root out and destroy the
hidden renegade Satai, Sonovar, go to war against the Shadows...

It was to be a life he knew would be engulfed in war, but he had no
objection.  He was a warrior, it was what he was born to.

Babylon 4 came closer and closer, and Sinoval wondered what they would be
seeing from their little floating bauble.  Cathedral was a massive craft,
constructed by technologies and wisdoms not even he understood.  It had
been the home of this group of Soul Hunters for over a millennium, and
Sinoval had not yet uncovered half its secrets.  But what he had seen...
the Wall of Souls; the tower on which he now stood surrounded by images of
the space outside the ship; weaponry of a bygone age...

"It is an impressive sight, is it not?" said a familiar voice; old, and
strangely patient, as if the speaker had all the time in the world.

He did, though.  Sinoval turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus
ascend the final few steps to the pinnacle on which he stood.  He nodded
once in greeting, and turned back to the scene around him.

There was much about the Primarch that Sinoval did not understand.  Not
least his age.  He had known Valen in the times before, which made him at
least a thousand years old, and perhaps even older.  He was an invaluable
ally, perhaps the most useful of all those who followed 'Primarch'
Sinoval.

"Of course," the Primarch continued, "we have both seen it before."

Sinoval nodded.  "Yes.  I know exactly what will happen to this station. 
I only wonder if this G'Kar does as well."

"He must.  He has access there to one of the greatest repositories of
knowledge in existence.  The Great Machine.  You know, many of my people
would have given half the souls in their collection just to step inside
that planet.  Less than a year since we gave you leadership, and here we
are.  I must say that life with you is, if nothing else, entertaining."

"It is doubtful we will see the Machine itself.  This... summit we have
been invited to is to take place on the station."  He shivered.  "I do not
like it.  I fear it is not long for this world."

"For this world, perhaps... but for another, many years in the past... who
can say?  What of the summit ?  How do you see that developing?"

"It will be difficult, but necessary.  There has to be some sort of unity
against the Darkness, both the one at the Rim, and the one... elsewhere. 
The cause of freedom needs a leader, and for there to be a leader, there
must be an alliance."

"And who is that leader to be?"

"Me, of course.  Who else is there?"

The Primarch smiled, and nodded.  "Who else indeed?  And what of the...
rumours that Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar has a Vorlon advisor?"

Sinoval's hand slipped down to the weapon hanging at his side.  A Minbari
fighting pike, a denn'bok, one of the deadliest close-combat weapons ever. 
Sinoval was a master, and better than master.  This pike, however, was
different.  Forged in part to contain his own essence, his own anger, his
own passion, his own conviction, the blade was unique in a way that no one
could truly understand.  He called it Stormbringer.  It was a weapon to
fell even a Vorlon.

"We shall see if they are true.  And if they are... we will deal with it."

The Primarch nodded, but fell silent.  He knew about the Vorlons as well,
of that Sinoval was perfectly aware.  He was also aware that some details
were being kept back.  Fine, let him have his secrets.  Trust was the
foundation of all alliances.  In time, they would both know all they
needed to know.

"It is time," he said at last.

"Yes.  Well, then.  Let us go and impress this... Army of Light.  I think
we have much to tell them."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn of Mir, former Satai and current leader of the United Alliance of
Kazomi 7, found Babylon 4 very... disquieting.  Like Sinoval she had seen
images of this station a thousand years in the past, in the ancient
archives of the Grey Council.  She knew what it represented, what it meant
and what it would do.  Being here, walking on this place she knew as a
legacy of times long gone...  It made her think of the past rather than
the present, and the past was not a topic she enjoyed considering.

But then at the moment she did not want to think about the future either. 
How much longer now?  Six months, maybe eight.  Not long enough, not
nearly long enough.

The past... to a large extent, the past was the future.  She remembered
seeing this station, travelling backwards in time, backwards to fulfil its
great and terrible destiny.  She had stood in this very place and borne
witness to the presence of Valen himself, and the acceptance of his
destiny.

All the things that had seemed so far away two years ago were very real
now.  Babylon 4, Valen, the destruction of Minbar, her own change.  There
was only one detail missing, and she was terribly afraid that that too
would happen soon.

His grave.  His grave on a ruined Minbar, with her own altered face
looking at it.

Six months, maybe eight.  Would he live long enough to see this station
achieve its destiny?

She reached the door she had been making for and stopped, breathing in
slowly.  It had been a few weeks since the last time they had been
together.  They tried to share as much as possible now, but both of them
had their responsibilities; she to her Alliance and he to his war.

Fortunately they had been brought back together by G'Kar's summit.  Delenn
had arrived some hours before, pleased to see the powerful warship next to
Babylon 4.  Once her spell of unpacking and organising and placating
unhappy diplomats was over, she had gone in search of her one true love.

And now she had found him.

She activated the chime, and waited.  "Who is it?" rasped a faint voice
from within.  Not like him at all, she thought, and her heart began to
beat faster.  Too... quiet, too pained.

"Delenn," she whispered.  "John, are you...?"

The door opened and she stepped inside, stopping the instant she was
through the door.  As it closed behind her, she could not see anything. 
The room was dark, with only a faint light visible.  Her night vision had
improved since her transformation, but it was still not as clear as most
humans'.  "John, are you here?" she asked, a cold sensation gripping her.

"I had a headache," he replied from the far side of the room.  "The lights
were hurting my eyes."

"I can't see you."

"I'm here.  Follow the sound of my voice.  I can see you... a little." 
Slowly, awkwardly, she stepped forward, guided by his voice, her arms
reaching out to feel her way.  Finally she felt the warmth of his hand
touch hers and she let him guide her on to the bed, next to him.

The first thing she did was reach out to his face and kiss him, deeply and
lovingly.  He responded, his hand on her waist.  "I missed you," she
whispered.

"Me too," he replied.  Now that she was closer, she could hear the hoarse-
ness in his voice.  Tenderly, she touched his face, her motion obviously
betraying her concern.  "I'm all right," he said.  "Just a headache. 
Besides, Sinoval promised me another six months at least.  Remember?"

"Yes, but still...  He is here, you know.  Sinoval.  I saw him arriving as
I came here.  He has brought some of the... Shagh Toth with him."

"That'll be fun tomorrow.  I gather none of the other races likes the Soul
Hunters either."

"No.  They do not hate them quite to the extent that we do, but... G'Kar
obviously thinks they are a part of this war.  He is the host here, after
all.  Perhaps..."  She swallowed.  "Perhaps Sinoval has found a cure, or
something to arrest your virus."

"He promised us he'd look, Delenn.  We can't ask any more of him than
that.  He has his own responsibilities, too."

"I know.  I... know.  I just... I just hope, that is all."

"What was it you once told me?  Faith manages?"

"Yes.  Faith... manages."  There was a long silence as the two simply
rested against each other, listening to each other's breathing, occasion-
ally touching or caressing.  Delenn rested her head on John's shoulder,
feeling his breath on her cheek.

"Delenn... one day...  One day I'm going to have to leave.  You know
that... don't you?"

She nodded, unwilling to speak, unable to speak.

"I don't know where I'll go.  Maybe I'll just grab a couple of nukes and
head off to Z'ha'dum or something."  He laughed on a false note.  "May-
be...  But, Delenn... you can't come after me when I go.  Please, don't
try to follow me, or find out where I've gone.  Please.  I'm doing it
for... everyone's safety, but especially yours.  I couldn't... hurt you
again."

"I know," she whispered, her heart almost breaking.

"Thank you."  He paused, and then, softly: "I love you."

Even softer: "I love you too.  I always will.

"Always."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval took a moment to adjust his uniform and took a deep breath. 
Appearances mattered after all, especially when impressing aliens.  Pure
black tunic and leggings, covered by a tabard emblazoned with his personal
crest.  The sword of his clan bisected by the diagonal red and silver sash
of the Soul Hunters, coupled with his own sigil, the column of light of
the Grey Council cut in half by a lightning bolt from a tempest-cloud. 
Symbolism mattered just as much as appearances.

Beside him the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus watched in silence.  He was
wearing his own black robes, imitating in many ways the traditional garb
of the warrior caste.  The only clues as to rank were the red and silver
sash across his chest and the golden tiara around his forehead, framing
the red stone embedded there.

"Are you ready?" the Primarch asked with a faint smile.  Sinoval nodded,
and the two stepped into the past.

As he walked into the reception area of the station, Sinoval's mind was
thrown back a thousand years.  It was here that Valen had first met
Marrain and Parlonn, here that he banished the Tak'cha, from this place
that he co-ordinated the war against the Darkness.  This place... so
steeped in history, so immersed in the past, so very alive in the present,
and in the future...

He could see an honour guard lined up to meet him.  His own guard of two
Soul Hunters was walking along behind.  He looked at those flanking him,
Narns, Drazi, a human or two.  All bore a badge of a flaming sunburst. 
These then were the new Rangers G'Kar had been assembling these past few
years.  Sinoval was almost amused.  They were not Minbari, but they...
would do.

G'Kar himself was just ahead, or rather his holographic projection was. 
Behind him was another Narn, wearing the prominent sunburst badge and
carrying a long sword on his back.

Sinoval took another step forward, his movements seeming to drag him back. 
It was taking all of his strength to move closer to G'Kar, each step
requiring more energy than he could muster.  He looked up and...

... and took the step into the column of light.  He knew where he was, in
the Hall of the Grey Council.  He was alone, but he was carrying Storm-
bringer.  One by one, the columns around him lit up, and each one
contained a figure.  Minbari, some he knew, some he did not.  All were
armed.

As the last column lit up, he found himself looking at Sonovar.  A body
lay slumped at his feet.  It was Kats.  She was quite still.

Sinoval whispered her name softly, knowing he would never speak it again.

"It is over," said Sonovar, no malice in his voice, just a finality.  "You
will not leave this place, traitor.  Your allies have fled, your servants
are dead, and now I... I will take our people on the path we were always
meant to tread."

"No," was the only reply.

Sonovar raised his pike, and Sinoval could see it clearly.  Derhan's
blade, the one he had wielded all his life.  Sonovar charged.  The other
eight charged.  Sinoval raised Stormbringer...

... and the central column of light went out.

Sinoval suddenly realised he was standing directly in front of G'Kar. 
Regaining his composure instantly, letting no hint of what he had seen
show on his face, he bowed smoothly.  "Greeting, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," he
said formally.  "This meeting has been long overdue."

"Indeed it has," replied the Narn.  "What did you see?"

If Sinoval was surprised, he gave no sign of it.  "A vision.  Perhaps the
future.  Perhaps nothing.  It does not matter."

The image sighed.  "We shall soon know."  Then, in a more formal tone, "I
introduce my aide and lieutenant, Ta'Lon."  The Narn, the real one, bowed. 
Sinoval did likewise.

"And my companion, the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus of the Order of Soul
Hunters."  The Primarch nodded once, a faint smile on his face.

"We welcome you both to Babylon Four, and we hope this summit will be
successful," G'Kar continued.  "All but one of those expected are here,
and he should arrive later today.  The first meeting will begin tomorrow
morning.  We hope it will be a productive one."

"As do we.  Tell me, is Captain Sheridan here?"

"He is.  Do you wish to meet him?"

Sinoval paused.  "No... no.  It can wait.  A lot of things can wait."  He
fell silent, thinking.  Sheridan here... and Delenn as well.

Yes, this would be a very... productive few days.  Or so he hoped.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Michael Garibaldi was not in a good mood.  He was stressed, distressed,
aggravated and heavily overworked.  It was at times like this that he
seriously doubted his place in the universe.  Perhaps something was
playing a big cosmic joke on him.

He had been on Babylon 4 virtually permanently since G'Kar had begun
shifting his base of operations there six months ago.  In all that time he
had hardly seen his wife, his son, his friends... he had spent the whole
period co-ordinating matters between the inexplicable and the incomprehen-
sible, otherwise going by the names of Bester and G'Kar.

And now this summit, a mess of organisation, of supervising security, of
checking who had and who hadn't arrived, even of arranging the seating. 
Apparently the Vree delegate from the United Alliance would not be
arriving, which was a good thing at least.  They really needed a separate
room for their catering, unless G'Kar wanted a cleaning bill that would
amount to more than the cost of the entire station.

Now this...

He moaned and rubbed at his eyes, reaching instinctively to the bottom
drawer of his desk.  It was empty, of course, but old habits and all that.

He blinked, and a voice suddenly screamed at him, his own voice, coming
from somewhere, nowhere, anywhere...

"I can't hold it any longer!"

He trembled for a moment and it took several minutes for his composure to
return.  This was hardly the first time, and he was sure it would be far
from the last.  Dreams, images of things that couldn't possibly be there,
voices crying out at him...

As if life here weren't hard enough.  Garibaldi was seriously beginning to
think that the station was haunted.  He was not alone in that.  Too many
of G'Kar's staff had left, especially the humans from Sanctuary.  It had
hit the telepaths harder than most, not that he had a problem with tele-
paths not sticking around much, but it did mean he was the only one - the
only 'mundane' - Bester trusted to run his affairs here.

He stretched, and considered informing G'Kar.  Would he have finished his
introductory meeting with that Minbari bloke yet?  Garibaldi groaned.  No. 
Walk first, fresh-ish air, stretch his muscles and find somewhere with
something non-alcoholic for sale.

There was a chime at his door and he muttered something vile under his
breath.  "I'm busy," he snapped.  "So unless it's an alien invasion or a
beautiful woman..."

"It's David," came the reply.  "Commander Corwin."

Garibaldi snorted and opened the door.  Corwin came in cautiously, poking
his head round the door first, and then stepping in.  "Is everything all
right?" he asked.

"Tense.  This job was made for a masochist, you know that.  And devised by
a sadist.  How's your day been?"  Corwin and the Parmenion had been here
for a few days, adding security to the station.  Sheridan had spent most
of that time in his room, but Corwin had been quite visible.

"Starfury practice formations.  G'Kar passed on the fancy flying as a
welcome... and most of us didn't want to do it for a Minbari anyway.  But
I've been trying to teach the Narn Rangers how to fly a 'Fury.  Well,
that, and wondering why a station pretty much run by Narns has Starfury
bays at all."  He sat down.

"I asked G'Kar the same thing.  He shrugged and said something about the
demands of history.  And you don't want to know what Zathras said.  Either
of them.  Any of them.  I'm telling you this..."  Corwin suddenly
shivered, almost convulsing.  "You saw something?"

He nodded, shaking.  "Again.  I don't know what, but...  The sooner we're
out of here the better.  This place..."  He paused.  "Michael, I've...
seen it before."

"Of course you have.  You were here when we were moving stuff in.  Several
times."

"No.  Before it was even built.  It just...  Ah, nothing.  I was just
wondering if you wanted a bite to eat or something."

"Yeah, why not?  But I thought you'd've been seeing Mary.  She's here, you
know... somewhere."

"I...  Yeah.  I know.  I'm seeing her tonight.  I'm just...  Ah, never
mind.  You don't want to be bored by my problems.  You ready then?"

"Who, me?  Sure thing.  Let me grab my jacket..."  As he rose to his feet,
he looked down at the message on his commpad, something he knew he had to
tell G'Kar, but didn't really want to tell him.  There was trouble brewing
there, a great deal of trouble, and he didn't want to get involved in any
sort of power struggle between G'Kar and his boss.

After all, there could be any number of perfectly normal reasons why
Bester would suddenly be unable to attend at such short notice, couldn't
there?

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elsewhere:

"Death... is as much a part of life as birth.  It is the end, but it is
not the end.  Souls... go on.  The great souls endure, not just in our
legends and in our memories, but in fact and in truth.  He will live
again, of that we can all be sure."

The speaker fell silent for a moment, head bowed, not wanting to look out
at the audience.  They would... not understand.  How could they?  They had
not known him... the way the speaker had.

"And his was a great soul.  I know this, for I was with him always.  I
listened to his words and, to my regret, I could distill only a fragment
of the wisdom therein.  I followed his ways and tried to understand his
teachings, but I am only an imperfect student.  So much has gone beyond
with him.

"But more than his teachings or his words... there were his deeds.  They
can be criticised by some, I know, but not by me.  Old ways are for old
times, and this is the present.  We need new beliefs to live by, new
philosophies to follow, and he showed us all these.  The things he did...
he did for the good of us all, not because they were popular, or politi-
cal, or convenient... but because they were right, because they needed
doing and because only he could do them."

Softly: "I will miss him, but he has now gone beyond, so that his soul can
be reborn to us.  But if we follow in his footsteps, and live as he would
have wanted us to live, then he will not have departed from us.

"But life... goes on, and we have to live it without him.  Now, with his
eyes upon us, with his words in our hearts, we will begin the plan that he
would have so wanted to be here to see.  We are ready now, and if not now,
then we never will be.  We will retake our people, our colonies, our
worlds.  We will bring fire and death to all those who will oppose us, in
his name... and to those who betrayed him, and in so doing betrayed us..."

Sonovar raised his eyes from the bier containing Kalain's body.  To the
audience, it seemed as if they were glowing, both with passion and with
fury.  All knew of Kalain's enlightenment.  Others might call it madness,
but here the truth was known.  Minbari and Tak'cha were together in silent
mourning, and in anticipation of the future.

"And to those who betrayed him," Sonovar repeated, "to them we shall show
the true wisdom of his words.  And they shall see his truth before they
die."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elsewhere still:

"Ready?"

"Yes, we're ready.  We've been ready for days.  Captain... what are we
waiting for?"

"The signal."

"What signal?"

"We'll know it when we get it."

"Why can't we just go in now?"

"Lieutenant... Franklin, isn't it?  Lieutenant Franklin, we are soldiers. 
It is not our place to set policy.  There are... plans afoot of which we
know nothing.  It is not for us to question them.  It is our place only to
serve, and to obey."

"So what are we waiting for?"

"Allies... elsewhere.  If this works, they'll be doing all the hard work
and we'll just sweep in and tidy up the mess.  But not until we get the
signal.  Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Captain Dexter Smith of 
the EAS Babylon sighed and looked around his
bridge.  All of them... except Franklin somehow... all of them eager,
ready, waiting.  Too eager.  If they knew everything...  Smith himself did
not know everything, but he knew enough.

And he kept casting his mind back two weeks, to a very strange conver-
sation, one that might come under the definition of treason, but one he
could not forget.

For everything Welles had said echoed in his mind, speaking more and more
to him of wisdom with each recollection.

Treason... such a heavy word, really.

But one he could not forget.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 1B
Date: Mon, 30 Nov 1998 20:28:10 +0000


Elsewhere again:

As he slept that night, the one who now sometimes thought of himself as
Valen felt a chill fall across his soul.  He awoke from his slumber, but
found himself unable to move, trapped and paralysed in the darkness.

He was not afraid, at least not in any way he could define.  There was
more a sense of... waiting.  The world was turning around him, faster,
faster than he could endure.  His life was mapped out, controlled, deter-
mined.  No matter where he went, or what he did... he knew what would
happen.

"Footsteps in the sand," he whispered, and it was then that he realised he
could move again.  Rising from his bed - horizontal rather than the tradi-
tional Minbari slanted - he walked to the window and paused there.  It was
the one thing he had insisted on having in his room.  He did not care for
opulence, for furniture or luxuries... but he needed a window.  Looking
out over the city, even in the grey shadows of night... it renewed his
faith.

*It is coming,* boomed a voice in his mind, and he shivered.  He could...
remember them, at least a little.  They were his guardians, his allies,
his... friends.  He knew that.

"No," he said softly.  "There's too much to do here first."

*Destiny compels...  There is no time.*

"I... I need to be here.  There's... so much still in the balance.  So
much that needs to be done, that only I can..."

*No.  Your place is elsewhere.  Are you ready?*

"No," he replied.  "No, I'm not!  I... I..."

*Be ready.  You will know... when the time is right.*

The voice left him, and he gripped the edge of the window tightly.  Dest-
iny... compelled him, but he did not want to surrender.  He wanted... to
stay here, to stare at the future and not know what was to come, to be
with friends, to...

To be out of time.  This had always been his destiny.  The past.  This was
not his world.  His world was that of Marrain's betrayal, the Tak'cha's
fatal misinterpretations, Parlonn's fall, Derannimer's... love...

"Holy One," said an anguished voice from behind him, and he turned to find
a young Minbari there.  She had appointed herself - or been appointed by
someone, he was not entirely clear - to be his servant and aide and...
well, confessor probably.  She would not tell him her name, insisting that
it did not matter.

"Holy One, I heard you cry out.  Are you... all right?"

"I am fine," he replied, silently cursing himself for waking her, if she
had ever been asleep at all.  He had insisted many times that he did not
need a servant, and yet she remained.  All serve in their own ways, he had
once said, and her place seemed to be here.

"Would you... stay and talk?" he asked.  He knew he would be unable to get
back to sleep this night and he welcomed the company.  The more souls he
could touch before he... left, the better.  "Unless you... are tired?"

"Oh no, Holy One," she replied, her eyes seeming to light up.  "I will
obey everything you ask of me."

He sighed.  "I do not desire obedience...  It was a simple request, no
more.  I do not order or compel anyone."  But that had not always been the
case and he knew it.  He had tried to force the Tak'cha into changing
their views on his teachings.  He had attempted to sway Parlonn from the
path of darkness he was walking.

"First... what is your name, child?"  An old voice, the one he called his
'teacher' voice, was rising to the fore.  A personality constructed within
him by the Vorlons, as were many others.  It was strange, but each facet
of the whole that was Valen had a different voice, tone, timbre... every-
thing.

"My name...?  I... I live only to serve you, Holy One.  It is a matter of
honour, not of glory.  My name draws only too much of your glory on to
me..."

He smiled.  "I wish to know your name so that I know how to address you. 
I cannot keep calling you 'child' all the time."

She bowed her head.  "Cathrenn, Holy One.  My name is Cathrenn."

A shiver suddenly tore through him.  Cathrenn...  His daughter's name. 
His daughter...

"I apologise, Holy One," she said quickly, evidently noticing his expres-
sion change.  "I have offended you in some way.  I seek your forgive-
ness... or your punishment if I have wronged you.  I..."

"No," he said firmly.  "You have not offended me.  You just... reminded me
of something, that is all.  Tell me... Cathrenn... which caste are you
from?"

"The... worker caste, Holy One.  I was formerly of the Fane of Heimin."

"Ah yes...  A noble lineage.  An old one, too.  I remember one of my
staunchest allies... before.  Yasuki... he was of the Fane of Heimin. 
Yes, I remember..."  A smile of memory flitted across his face, but then
he realised what she had said, and it faded.  "Formerly?  What happened?"

"We were... stripped of our positions by Satai Kalain..."  She obviously
noticed the look of horror on his face, and added quickly, "as atone-
ment... for our sins."

"Sins?" he said quietly.

"Yes.  Satai Hedronn destroyed the Grey Council, and the rest of us had to
pay for his sin.  My family were lucky... we were permitted to live, but
as outcasts.  Too many died."

"I... see...  Sometimes we never learn from the past.  I am... sorry for
your loss, Cathrenn.  The sin... whatever sin there was, was not yours. 
You suffered needlessly.  So many did.  I hoped I would be able to prevent
such... mistakes from happening, but if there is one thing the past has
taught us, it is that we can never stop making mistakes."  He shook his
head softly.  "Pride.  Too much pride.  Mine... Kalain's... Sinoval's...
Marrain's..."

"I am sorry, Holy One.  I have disturbed you.  I... apologise."

"Will you please stop apologising?" he said, just a hint of exasperation
in his voice.

"Of course, Holy One.  I am sor...  Oh..."

He chuckled.  "My name is Valen... or Jeffrey if you prefer.  Holy One is
too formal.  I would prefer it if you would use my given name.  I am a
man, Cathrenn, not a God."

"But you are, Holy One.  You are the greatest figure in our history, our
saviour, the focus of everything that makes us what we are.  In every way
that counts, you are our God."

He sighed.  "It is so... interesting the way different people react to my
words.  Space may exist in a vacuum, but the things I say obviously do
not."  He fell quiet after the words finished, recalling in a flash saying
those words to another... another who understood so little.

"I am sorry, Holy One?  What...?"

He shook his head.  "Never mind.  Talk to me, Cathrenn.  Tell me about...
anything.  Your home, your family, your dreams, anything.  I wish to take
a great deal with me before I... pass beyond.  And all, from leader to
servant, none is so unimportant as to be neglected.  Talk to me, Cathrenn. 
Just... talk..."

"As... you say, Holy One," she said.

And she began to talk, and the rest of the night was swallowed up in
words, and for some hours at least Jeffrey Sinclair did not see his own
footsteps stretching out before him.  Rather he saw the footsteps of
others, heading on into the future he knew he could not share.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It was never night on Babylon 4, or perhaps it was always night.  Beneath
the bastion of hope lay the architect of that hope, trapped in the array
of machinery and power which had given him the ability to realise his
dreams.  Beyond that world lay others, dead and lost, and beyond them a
sun, hidden from view at the moment, but always there, its light shining
upon the living and the dead alike, upon the hopeful and the despairing,
the lost and the damned.

There was one soul aboard who was both, both lost and damned, and had been
throughout the thirteen years since the first spirit had departed the
mortal world courtesy of her will.  A mundane, of course.  A human, one of
billions, just one grain of sand that no one would ever miss.

Donne looked at the darkness outside her window and paused.  This was the
first time she had set foot on this place, and she already knew that she
did not like it.  Filled with mundanes and aliens and ants, running around
living their own pathetic lives.  They spoke of hope, but their minds were
filled with terror.  They spoke of the future, but their thoughts were
fixated on the past.

There is a future, she thought, but it belongs to us, not to you.

"So, this is Babylon Four, hmm?" muttered the mundane sitting in the
corner of the room.  "I don't like it."  Donne heard the words but made no
response.  The words of mundanes were less than dust.  Bester had said
that these mundanes were special - skilled in their own particular ways -
but a special insect was still just an insect to Donne.

Fools, all of them.  But then so were the guards here.  Donne had arrived
late this evening, when there had been only a light guard on duty.  G'Kar
had been unable to be present to greet her, and she had been able to get
her 'staff' on board with a minimum of effort.  She was expected after all
- the representative of an important ally of this... Army of Light, sent
here to be Bester's voice until he recovered from his 'illness'.

She turned from the window and looked around at the members of her 'diplo-
matic staff'.  Number One was sitting in the corner, idly reviewing the
contents of the room.  She looked... bored.  Donne had no doubt she was
skilled at her work, but that was an irrelevance.  Her appearance had
changed recently.  Her short hair had grown a little longer, her eyes had
been disguised with lenses, and subtle throat implants altered the tone of
her voice.  It had been a while since she had been the infamous terrorist,
but some precautions were necessary.

The other figure was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, seemingly obses-
sed by the wickedly-serrated knife he was carefully sharpening, although
it did not seem to need it.  A meditative ritual, perhaps?  Tu'Pari was
one of the few people Donne had ever met who had... disturbed her. 
Mostly, alien minds meant even less to her than human ones, but his was...
different.  Sharp, hard, brilliant.  A cold-blooded, utterly deadly
killer.  Almost as much so as she herself.

The viewscreen suddenly chimed and she turned to it.  Tu'Pari took a look
at the screen and smiled, while Number One merely shrugged.  Donne went to
it and activated it.

It was another of her little cabal of conspirators.  The human.  Boggs. 
One of the security guards on Proxima.  Just another mundane, albeit one
who moved with a predatory grace.  His mind was intriguingly different
too.  It spoke only of hatred, screaming it out at the top of his voice. 
He had insisted on coming over to the station, despite the risk of being
noticed.  Donne had argued against it.  Both Sheridan and his Minbari doxy
would recognise him, and he had stubbornly refused to wear a disguise. 
She herself did not care if he was noticed.  There were only mundanes here
- how could they possibly foil Bester's plan?  But still, the reward
waiting was too important to risk.

"We got it down there," said Boggs on screen.  "There were no problems." 
The message was triple-encoded, changing frequency every three seconds,
but still, the shorter it could be, the better.

Donne nodded.  The less she said, the harder it would be for anyone to
trace the destination of this message.

"We're waiting for the signal now.  That's all."  The screen faded and
Donne stepped back.

"So when will we get the signal?" asked Number One.

"There are... things the other parties have to do first.  Not tomorrow. 
Maybe the day after.  This... summit has to be well underway first."

"Why?"

"That does not concern you," Donne snapped.  "When the time is right, and
not before."

Yes, when Bester is ready to make his move, and the Resistance Government
ready to make theirs...  How long until they realise... those foolish
worthless mundanes realise... just how far out of their hands this is all
going to be?

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It was two days later that everything began to collapse.  And when it did,
it was the ironic words of G'Kar's first speech to the assembled summit of
leaders that would ring in all their ears.

It had been a triumph just to get everyone together.  As G'Kar, in holo-
graphic form, walked around the circular table where sat some of the most
powerful political leaders in the galaxy, he marvelled at just how far
everyone had come.

"This meeting," his speech began, "is a victory for everyone.  The
Darkness we have fought has been strong, and has had much time in the
preparation.  We however... have been divided, fractured, riven by
misunderstandings and wrongs and retribution.  This meeting will be the
beginning of the end of those divisions, and the dawn of a new unity."

He looked first at Delenn.  She was the very essence of the unity that
this summit was aimed at achieving.  A bridge between two worlds, a focus
for all those who resisted hatred and opposed prejudice.  The way she
leaned close to Sheridan proved as much.  She had endured greatly, but
would endure more.

Fitting that this would begin with her.

"We have all made mistakes, but as G'Quan once said, to err is mortal.  To
learn from those mistakes, to rise above them, to seek atonement and
redemption... that is the true struggle.  Past quarrels must be forgotten
in the name of the future.  The wrongs of the past... should never be
stronger than the needs of the future."

She smiled once, and nodded.  G'Kar had always regretted not being able to
know her better.  The future would come through her just as much as it
would through him.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

On Minbar, on a devastated world, the Vorlons began to move.  On the spot
where Valen had once triumphed, and later been returned to his place,
these angels of light were at work.

And a slow and deep darkness began to seep from the Temple of Varenni, and
the Starfire Wheel - which purified the lost and saved the souls of the
damned - was silent once more.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

>From Delenn to Sheridan, next to her.  His hand gripped hers under the
table, and he occasionally cast a quick glance in her direction.  G'Kar
knew about the disease that would soon tear him apart, but he would not
let it be an issue.  Sheridan was a warrior, prepared to fight and die for
what he knew to be right.  If Delenn was to rebuild the galaxy after the
war, it would be the likes of Sheridan who would ensure that a galaxy
remained so that there could be a rebuilding.

"Some of us have been enemies.  Some of us have clashed and fought in the
past, but the past is over.  Everything must be put aside in the name of
the common good, and what more common good can there be than the salvation
of us all?"

Sheridan nodded, but did not smile as Delenn had.  Perhaps his mind was on
his own future, and how short it might yet be.  G'Kar knew however that if
there was a way it would be found.  While there was hope, there was always
a future.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

In a pocket of hyperspace, less than an hour from Epsilon 3, four ships
waited, each one the hope of its people, each one crafted by and contain-
ing technology a millennium old, each one ready for the task for which it
had been created.

Captain Dexter Smith sat in silence on his bridge, haunted by the ghost of
another, and waiting for the signal that would send him forth.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

And then to the Drazi and Brakiri who spoke for their sections of the
United Alliance.  Ambitious and talented, both of them, yet they had been
willing to put aside their disagreements in the name of the future.  An
alliance born of tragedy, yes, but an alliance for all that.

"Each of us has endured great pain, great suffering, great loss... and yet
our trials have made us stronger.  The tragedies of the past have given
birth to the accomplishments of the present.  As long as we remember those
who have fallen before us, then they will not have died in vain."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

On Kazomi 7, a young Minbari painter, implanted with a Keeper months
earlier after the fall of Beta Durani, killed sixteen people in one day of
madness, including a poet of his own race.  He was finally brought down
and killed by Bulloxian security guards.

There was a tear in his eye as he died.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

To an empty seat, where he had hoped would sit a representative from the
Centauri, perhaps even Mollari, who had been present when G'Kar had
birthed his dream and dreamed his nightmare.  There had been no word, no
news, no sound.  Centauri Prime was engulfed in a darkness entirely of its
own making.

"Not all are here who should be.  Some have fallen, and others are con-
sumed by their own thoughts, their own worries, their own fears.  But a
few can see that if we are united, then no one person need fear anything. 
We will fear together, and together we will find a way to destroy that
fear."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

On Centauri Prime, in the streets of the capital itself, as nobles partied
and caroused in their opulent palaces and peasants starved and bled in
their hovels, a madman preached to the passing crowd for hours on end, not
stopping to drink or eat or rest.

Then, at the end of his speech, he set himself alight and stood there, his
screams ascending even to those palaces and hovels as he cried out that
the Shadow was coming, and that the Centauri would be consumed by it.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

To Sinoval, who listened to the speech with a ready ear, but whose eyes
were filled with pride.  Ambition and conviction were plain upon his face. 
He watched G'Kar carefully, absorbing every word.  A warrior, one who had
strode into darkness and emerged free.

"Nothing and no one is more important than the needs of the many.  No one
soul can mean the damnation of a multitude.  No one race can work alone to
the exclusion of all others.  If we cannot live... and fight... together,
then we will surely die apart."

Sinoval's eyes brightened for a minute, and his mouth twitched in a smile. 
The warrior recognised the meaning behind G'Kar's words, and understood
them.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sonovar had spent much of the night in conversation with Ramde Cozon of
the Tak'cha.  They had spoken of the past, of the future, of Valen, of the
sin that was not understood, of atonement...  They had also spoken of
Tarolin 2, and of the redemption of the Minbari race, of their transfor-
mation from heretics who allied themselves with monsters, into a race who
followed once more the teachings of the Z'ondar.

The conversation over, Cozon gathered his ships and his priests and his
inquisitors and set out... to convert the faithless.  Or to kill them.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

And finally, G'Kar came to the place of his oldest ally - Bester.  He was
not there, but others were.  Captain Ben Zayn, warrior and law keeper, and
Donne, telepath and emissary.  Both listened and neither gave any outward
sign of their emotions.

"If there is one thing we must have learned from our pasts, it is that
nothing ends.  Life endures, hope endures, faith endures.  No matter how
great the setback, no matter how devastating the defeat, the struggle can
continue.  It will continue after my death, it will continue when this
place here is gone.

"But for the moment... the hopes and dreams of us all are vested here.  I
welcome you all to Babylon Four, the hope of the future... and to the
beginning of the Army of Light which will finally drive back the Darkness.

"An old saying runs thus: there is but one thing necessary for evil to
triumph, and that is for good men to do nothing.  Here... let us do
something.  Let us create the future."

The speech ended, and G'Kar looked around.  There was indeed a beginning
here.  But he could not possibly know that there was to be an ending here
as well.

And that it would be his.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The day after this speech, its words still in Donne's mind, she and five
others stood facing the heart of the Great Machine, wherein lay the body
of Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar.  The beauty of this place was not lost on any of
them, but neither was their purpose or their reason for being here.

And so it would end...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

If anyone wishes to pray for them, then now is the time.


To be continued...

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 2A of 8
Date: Thu, 3 Dec 1998 19:58:59 +0000



                   Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand

Hi people. And if anyone isn't screaming at me yet, well... I can 
wait.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and 
copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money out of 
writing them and am doing so purely for pleasure.

Spoilers: This episode (and the rest of this story, in fact) contain 
Spoilers for War Without End and the comic book series 'In Valen's 
Name'.                 

Personal Disclaimer: Oh all right. For old time's sake. I'm a 
hopeless romantic, but that doesn't mean I'm a nice hopeless 
romantic, so you have been warned you know. That phrase is now a 
certified trademark of Gareth Williams courtesy of Dark, Distorted 
Mirror productions and anyone who wishes to use it must send a cheque 
to... <G>

* * * * *

Chapter Four - A Line in the Sand, Part 2 of 8 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


Light... and darkness.  The two merged into one in her eyes, whatever
boundary had existed between them fading effortlessly away.

Screams... pain, mercy, shame, humiliation.  She remembered them all.  She
remembered his eyes, oh so different from his voice.  His words spoke of
redemption, forgiveness, atonement, mercy... even as he listened to her
screams and ignored her pleas.  His eyes... they were sane, a startling,
shocking sanity that she knew she would never be able to comprehend.

Kats slowly breathed out, looking at the column of light before her.  This
was a holy place, a very special place, imbued with a thousand years of
history, of deeds, of leaders.  Few ever even saw this hall, and many of
those who did said that they had seen ghost-images of those who had walked
here before.  Nemain, Derannimer, Varmain... figures of old, of legend.

Not Kats.  She saw only one face.

His.

The technology Kalain had perverted for the purpose of her torture had
long since been removed, destroyed at Sinoval's order.  The Hall itself
had scarcely been used since Sinoval had broken the last Grey Council. 
The ship was largely useless now.

But Sinoval had found a purpose for it.  As a symbol the Valentha was
second to none.  It had been the focus of the entire nation for so long
that some still believed that whoever controlled this ship ruled the
Minbari people.

It would be so easy for things to slip away from them.  Her people were
fragmented and factionalised.  If Sinoval were to remain in power, then he
would need the support of the Governors of the last few independent
colonies which had survived the war.  Among the Vindrizi and the Soul
Hunters his leadership was unquestioned, but among his own people...

She closed her eyes, imagining a tear rising.  She reached out, and felt
the light break at the touch of her hand.

No pain.  Of course there would not be.  But just for a moment...

"You're in here again," said a soft voice, and she started.  Not... him,
no.  But few others had ever spoken to her in this Hall.  The new arrival
was one of the few who had.

"Again.  Kats... this is... not healthy for you.  You should not... 
You..."

She turned, pulling her hand from the column, to watch Kozorr hobble into
the Hall - former Satai, now Shai Alyt, a position he regarded as far
superior.  Some - almost all warriors - called him 'the Primarch's Left
Hand' with a near-reverential awe.  No need to state who the Primarch was. 
Among the Soul Hunters that title might hold some special significance but
to those warriors who had elected to stay, 'Primarch Sinoval' was their
God.

'The Primarch's Left Hand'.  Kats looked at Kozorr's own left hand.  It
was hanging limp, hidden from sight by a black glove, but she could still
see it.  She could see the flesh melting away, the bones shattering, the
entire hand rendered useless as a result of one wholly courageous, wholly
stupid action.

At least the injuries to his leg were healing.  His limp was less notice-
able now, and he leaned less on his staff.  Something to thank Valen for,
anyway.

"I am just... exorcising the ghosts of my past," she said softly, looking
at him.  His concern was writ large upon his face, as was something else. 
She wondered if he thought her unaware.  "Merely... visiting old haunts."

"You're dwelling on the past," he chided.  He reached her side and
stopped.  "It's... over now, Kats.  You won't have to go through that
again.  You..."

She reached out and touched his shoulder gently.  She smiled.  "I remember
you here, Kozorr," she said.  She did not.  She remembered nothing but
Kalain.  "You were the only one who thought of me.  I don't know if I ever
thanked you for that, but I always meant to."  He nodded.  She could see
the guilt plain in his bearing.

"I should have done more.  I could have done more."

"You did what you could, and I am forever grateful.  Besides, if we are
apportioning misplaced guilt, then I have some as well, remember?"  She
let her fingers slide to his glove, only just brushing over its harsh
fabric.

"Oh no!" he said instantly.  "This... is not your fault.  If I had acted
sooner then, perhaps...  No, Kats... you mustn't..."  He stopped, real-
ising she was smiling.  Her fingers, that had so recently bathed in the
light of her pain, touched his lips, and were cleansed.

"Shush," she admonished.  "How much longer until we arrive?"

"An hour or so," he said, still looking directly into her eyes.  His...
longing was so open in him that she almost felt like crying.  "I just wish
the Primarch could have been here."

"Sinoval - or the Soul Hunter?" she asked.  She was one of the few who
dared refer to Sinoval by name, not title.

"Sinoval, of course.  He's the leader.  I'm... no diplomat.  I'm going to
forget my speech, and start stuttering and..."

"You are his left hand.  There is no one else better suited for this than
you are, so stop worrying.  Besides, you know how important this summit of
his is, and who else could he send to Tarolin Two?  The Primarch Majestus
et Conclavus?  Sech Derhan will not leave the Vindrizi world."

"I know all that," he replied.  "It is just...  I was uncomfortable as a
Satai because I did not feel my talents were enough for the position.  I
am a soldier, and a leader of soldiers, and that is all."

"You will be perfect.  This is nothing more than routine.  Important,
yes... but still routine."

He nodded.  "And are you to fulfill the same role for me as you do for the
Pri... for Sinoval, in his absence?"

"What role?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"They say you are his sounding-board, his speech writer... and his confi-
dante."

"He has no need of any of these things," she whispered, her eyes filled
with pain, and a lingering horror.  "Yes, I do serve a role for him.  I
pray to whomever I can that I need never fulfill such a role for you,
Kozorr.  Please, I hope you will never need me in the way that he does."

"What role is that?"

Dead certainty, a complete conviction.  "His conscience."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"The Shadow is coming!  The great and terrible Darkness that will fill our
skies!  We will burn under its gaze... we will all burn!"

"The Shadow is coming!"

"We will all burn!"

"The Shadow..."

First Minister Malachi of the equally great and equally terrible Centauri
Republic suppressed an involuntary shudder even here, deep beneath the
grounds of the Royal Court.  The words of the madmen preaching in the city
streets still reached his ears.  There were more of them now, and their
words were reaching more receptive ears.

Shadow Criers they called themselves, heralding the arrival of the Shadow.

Foolishness.  Such... terrible... foolishness.

"Almost there, Excellency," said the guard formally.  The Captain of
Guards, a figure who had been present at the Royal Court for decades,
guiding and shaping his own vision of the Republic.  And yet no noble in
the Court knew his name.  Not even Malachi.  He had asked, but the Captain
had said it was an irrelevance.

Malachi sighed.  So much wrong with the Republic, with their people,
with... everything.  Turhan, his dear, dear friend had once told him
gently, "You can't change an entire people."  He had been wrong.  Malachi
would change an entire people because he knew how to manage it.  Turhan
had been too afraid to try, and there lay his weakness.  Malachi was not
afraid, and there lay his.

"Here, Excellency," said the Captain, unlocking a dark door and ushering
Malachi in.  "I will wait outside.  I am not permitted to enter."  Malachi
nodded sadly and set foot inside one of the bleakest, most oppressive
rooms he had ever seen.  He had been here once before, with Turhan.  The
Emperor had vomited and fled.  His First Minister and remained, transfixed
by a stark terror.

The man hung suspended from chains of corillium.  There was little sign
left on his body that he had ever been a man at all.  Flesh lay sliced
from him in a way that spoke of delicate artistry.  Muscles were slashed
and bisected, veins carefully bypassed.  There was very little blood.

The man raised his head weakly as Malachi's footsteps betrayed his
presence.  His face was... difficult to look at, but the First Minister
endured.

"Excellency," said a polite, surprisingly soft voice from the other side
of the room, next to a rack of instruments that did not want to be consid-
ered.  The torturer stepped forward into the light of the lantern Malachi
carried.  There had been no other source of light down here.  The torturer
apparently needed none, and after what had been done to his eyes, neither
did the prisoner.

"Do you have a confession?" Malachi asked, his voice hoarse.

The torturer - another nameless, faceless figure - looked surprised.  "I
had that days ago, Excellency.  He is a member of the Shadow Criers, that
he said without even threat of coercion."  At the mention of the Shadow
Criers, the prisoner looked up again.

"The Darkness is coming!" he cried.  Of course, nothing would have been
done to harm his voice.  "We will all burn when the Darkness comes to us. 
We will... all... burn..."  His head slumped back again.

"Anything concerning the murder of Minister Dugari?" Malachi asked, his
face pale.  Dugari's death some weeks before had shocked the entire Court. 
The consensus was that only a maniac could have done such a deed, such was
the extent of the Minister's mutilations.  A maniac or an animal.  Malachi
had looked closely at Lady Elrisia and Prince Cartagia during Dugari's
funeral and nodded once.

The Shadow Criers had been quick to claim credit for the murder.  Whatever
reason they had for doing so was irrelevant.  As far as the Court was
concerned, that was the matter resolved.  Capture the leaders, execute
them, and they could then return to their little parties and drunken
games.

"I am afraid not, Excellency.  In fact, obtaining any information from him
at all has been difficult.  All he speaks of is the Darkness coming, and
that everyone will burn before it.  I... ah... apologise for this lack of
success, Excellency."

"Has he told you anything at all?"

The torturer looked down.  "Ah yes, he has, Excellency.  Merely unsubstan-
tiated hearsay, as like as not a ploy to bargain for his life."  Malachi,
who knew full well that the Shadow Criers did not care about their lives,
nodded and gestured to the man to continue.  "He claims that the leader of
this group is a noble of the Court.  He claims that this noble ordered
Minister Dugari's murder and has promised all of his fellows that they
will rule after the Darkness has come and transfigured the land."

"Darkness..." hissed the prisoner.

"Complete untruths, of course, Excellency," continued the torturer
quickly.  He looked nervous, as well he might.  For such an accusation to
be made against the Royal Court... well, the torturer himself might be
taking the Shadow Crier's place in the chains.

"Of course," Malachi said gently.  "I am sure he will say anything if he
feels it will bring him surcease.  You are doing well.  You are to be
commended.  What..."  He paused.  "What is your...?"  He stopped, and
shook his head.  Why bother asking the man's name?  He would be unable to
give it.  What did the name of one of 'lesser' station matter?

"Never mind.  It was nothing.  Continue."  The torturer bowed formally and
returned to his rack of devices.  Malachi left quickly.  The Guards-
Captain was waiting for him, of course.

"What information do we have on the Shadow Criers?" he asked, as they
began the long journey back to the surface, past other cells.  From some
of them came pitiful cries for recognition, low moans, harsh sobs.  From
others... nothing.  Who were these people?  Why were they here?  The
Captain could no doubt supply the names and 'crimes' of each and every
person here, as could the torturer and others of the guard.  But the
nobles - they who had no doubt sent these people here and could free them
- they would not care.

"Very little that is solid, Excellency," the Captain said.  He did not
sound surprised to be asked, but he might have been, had the question come
from anyone else.  There were few men who paid any attention to the doings
of the Royal Guards - the Minister for the Interior, the Minister for the
Court, and on occasion the First Minister and the Emperor.  Few others
cared.

And at present the Minister for the Court had been sent in humiliation
back to his estates in the south, there was no Minister for the Interior,
and the next Emperor had yet to be elected - which left only Malachi.

Just as he wanted.

"Piecing together the most likely information, it seems that someone
somewhere had a particularly vivid dream-prophecy.  Whether it is true or
not we cannot say, but whoever this first dreamer was, he must have been
driven mad by it.  Whether he simply told others or others had the same
dream we are not sure, but a small core of madmen has taken to setting
themselves aflame in public and preaching of the coming Darkness.

"There are precious few of these genuine lunatics, I believe.  There can
be no more than a few hundred on the whole planet, and perhaps a few
hundred more in all the colonies.  But there are many who have joined up
with them, seeking... anything.  The winter has been harsh and the recent
poor conditions, famine and revolts have caused widespread disillusion-
ment.  And then, news of the Gorash situation has somehow leaked...  Put
simply, Excellency, the people feel they need something to believe in."

He had carefully avoided mentioning the lack of response from the Court to
these problems.  The peasants starved, the crops failed, the army weak-
ened, colonies were lost to the Narns... and still the Court celebrated
and caroused.

And now people were burning themselves in the streets.

Malachi spent the rest of the journey in silence, thinking about each
person who had died in that hideous fashion.  He knew about the Shadow
Criers and he had already known every word the Captain had told him.  He
could even place the first person to dream of the Darkness, a mad seer who
had been unaccountably freed from his institution only to preach to the
people and then kill himself in flame.  From him the word had spread.

Malachi also knew the truth about the noble backing the less... zealous
Shadow Criers.  They had truly had nothing to do with Dugari's murder, but
they had taken part in other... acts of terrorism .  They had been
'directed' in those as well.

Malachi himself had been behind them, almost from the beginning.

There was a Darkness coming, but not from outside, as they preached, but
from within.  Unless everything changed, it would consume the Centauri
Republic.  And everything had to change.

Malachi would see to it that it would.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Failure was a bitter sting for Sinoval, Primarch Nominus et Corpus and
leader of the free Minbari peoples.  He had experienced it before, but
each time he had been able to rationalise away the causes of his failure. 
There was a saying of Valen's that had always been appropriate.  There are
two groups of people in this life: those who refuse to believe they are
capable of making mistakes, and those who know they have done so, and work
to avoid making any more.

Sinoval had always believed himself to be in the second group, but as he
sat alone in his chambers on Babylon 4, he was beginning to doubt.

His greatest mistake, without a doubt, had been Jha'dur.  Dead now for
over two years, still she reached out from beyond the grave to plague him. 
If only he had killed her earlier, and freed himself from the shackles he
had inherited from the foolishness of his predecessors.

But he hadn't, and as he recalled his conversation with Delenn and the
Starkiller he was brutally aware of the depth of his mistake.

He had not been avoiding them, in truth.  He had simply been busy, hearing
reports from the surviving colonies, subtly sounding out the other digni-
taries here, being present at meetings designed to establish this new
alliance...  He had been busy, but unfortunately not busy enough to avoid
Delenn and the Starkiller forever.

They had found him at last a few hours ago.  They had just left this room,
the anger in Delenn's voice still permeating the air.

He knew what they would ask for.  A cure.  The answer to Jha'dur's fatal
virus threatening Sheridan's life.  A virus he had unknowingly allowed to
be created.

He had known they would ask, and he had known his answer.

"No.  I have found no cure.  Not yet."

And then... accusations.  "How hard have you been looking?  Just how
hard?"

"What do you want of me, Delenn?  Would you like to explain to my people
why their leader is too preoccupied to tend to their concerns?  On Tarolin
Two there has been a plague these last few months.  In the Owari system
raiders have been threatening our pitiful shipping lines.  Sonovar and his
renegades are still hidden, still plotting something.  The Vorlons are
still active, the Shadows are still active.

"Should I ignore all these things to seek to aid a former enemy of our
people?  Would you like to explain this to them?"

"I have foresworn Minbari concerns, Sinoval.  You know that."

"And yet there are many who come to you at Kazomi Seven."  A subtle sting
there.  One unworthy of him, it was true.

"They come for aid.  We will turn away none who genuinely need help.  It
is your politics in which I refuse to involve myself."

"Could you transfer the relevant files over to G'Kar's people?"  The
Starkiller.  "Perhaps they might be able to help."

"No.  There are... details there not to be seen by others.  Secrets that
should never be revealed."

"Then keep your secrets, Sinoval!  I merely hope we do not all burn
because of them."  Those words in the air, Delenn had left.

Mistakes... far too many made, pitifully few atoned for.

Sinoval tried to meditate, but peace would not come to him.  Not at all. 
He could see the darkness rising and he knew just how fragile was the
light raised against it.

And for the first time in years, he knew fear.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Kazomi 7, a place of hope, a triumph of light over darkness, a testament
to optimism over despair.  Until recently, it had meant nothing to
Catherine Sakai.  The ISN reports back on Proxima had been sparse in their
coverage of alien affairs, and any news about the rise of a new Alliance
would have been very carefully edited.  Especially one arising from the
chaos of the Drakh invasion.  The Drakh had been humanity's allies and it
would hardly do to reveal to the people that their allies had slaughtered
and massacred an entire colony.

Still, not all humans had been as ignorant as she, and Catherine had had
the (mis)fortune to find transport to this place with one of these.

It had been a long journey from Proxima.  Even now, with humanity slowly
taking back its rightful place in the galaxy, interstellar traffic was...
limited.  Generally the only accepted destinations were the other human
colonies, and perhaps some of the Narn worlds.

>From Proxima, Catherine had gone to the old colony at Vega 3, a former
mining base growing in importance since the Minbari attack that had
destroyed Vega 7's base.  From there to the Narn homeworld, and around in
a circuitous path to Kazomi 7.

The journey had been everything to her, and now that she was here, she was
beginning to wonder why.  Why had she abandoned her job and her friends to
travel to a place where few of her race lived?  Was it something to do
with IPX...?  Possibly, but then why had the company not simply sent her
here?

Too many questions, and no clear answers.  But still, musing on them had
succeeded in distracting her from the constant babble of her pilot.

"Oh yeah... been to Kazomi Seven loads of times.  Even back in the days
when it was just a trade stop-off point, a neutral place between terri-
tories.  Lots of dodgy dealing going on in them days, let me tell you. 
Why there was this one time when I was drinking in one of those Drazi
places, just minding me own business, when this Brakiri lady comes up to
me.  Now I starts to worry, because well, you hear all about some o' these
alien women, don't'cha.  Well, she says to me, Are you Captain Jack, she
says.  Captain Jack bein' me name o' course.  Couldn't remember if I'd
told you before.  But anyway, I says..."

And now she was here.  Kazomi 7.  And as she stepped out into the entrance
hall of the docking bay, she realised she had not the slightest idea of
who to see, or where to go.

Looking around she could see little to jog her memory.  Some Drazi arguing
with a Brakiri customs officer.  Some massive Bulloxian guards.  A Llort
merchant with two Drazi bodyguards.

"You again?" said a tired voice.  Catherine turned to see Captain Jack
talking with a Drazi, who was wearing a sash that she was sure indicated
some sort of rank.

"Ah well, you know me," Captain Jack replied.  "Can't keep away from the
place.  Always wheeling and dealing, you know the sort of thing.  Just a
little business, that's all.  Oh, and can I introduce my very lovely
companion here, heh heh...  Catherine Sakai.  Here for the nightlife, I'll
bet.  Ha ha!"

The Drazi turned to look at Catherine and shrugged.  "Vejar will have to
look at her."

"Vejar?  Who's...?"  She stopped, sensing a presence approaching.  Turn-
ing, she saw a human, a young man dressed in black robes.  There was a
sense of great power in his bearing, but now... he seemed more curious
than anything.

"New arrival," said the Drazi.  "Give her the once-over."

"Why are you here?" Vejar asked her, looking intently into her eyes.

"Are you from customs or something?"

"No.  I'm a... more specialised sort of guard.  Who are you?"

She tensed, a part of her recognising that question.  "I'm... Catherine. 
I'm just a... traveller."

"Where from?"

*Don't tell him Don't tell him Don't tell him.*  "Proxima," she said, the
name almost dragged out of her.

"Proxima."  He seemed to be sampling the name on his tongue.  "Proxima... 
Why are you here?"

"Just...  I'm just...  I... don't know."

"Something wrong?" asked the Drazi guard.  His hand was on his weapon. 
Some of the Bulloxians began to move ominously in their direction.

"She's not... tainted," Vejar said, looking pensive.  "And I can't
detect... anything noticeably wrong, but..."

"We can arrest her," suggested the Drazi.  "Expel her?"

"No," Vejar said, shaking his head.  "It's nothing I can put my finger on. 
Let her in.  I... can't be... sure.  Let her in."

The Drazi shrugged.  "If you say so."  He did not look very certain.  To
Catherine: "That way there.  You'll be met by one of the customs officers
and admission arranged."  She nodded, and followed the path indicated,
acutely aware that Vejar's eyes were boring into her back.

It was only when she was talking to the customs officer that she remem-
bered something very important.  "Tell me," she asked him, "do you know
where I can find Valen?"

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *



From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 2B
Date: Thu, 3 Dec 1998 20:05:25 +0000

It had been a busy few months by any estimation.  Compared to the ludic-
rous pace of the last two years, recent events had been a little... more
sedate and less violent, but then this was Centauri politics.  In theory
high office on Centauri Prime was less dangerous than running through a
devastated colony pursued by Drakh, but then theory and practice were two
very different things.

Londo was more than a little amazed that he had got this far.  His arrival
and petition before the local Parliament of Selini had been based on a
careful study of the political climate, and not a little blind luck. 
Events after that, however, could have gone in any number of directions.

He had been very pleased to discover three very real allies in the Selini
court.  Venturi, former Minister of the Court.  A risible, almost hyper-
active little man, he was nevertheless very well versed in the politics
and scheming of the Royal Court.  Too many people thought him no more than
a joke, and his general - and questionable - code of ethics had prevented
him using the vast repository of knowledge he had accumulated.  At Londo's
side, he was more than willing to share his discoveries.

Then there was Durano, who had served in the Ministry of Intelligence for
years.  A precise, meticulous, ordered man, it seemed that he knew someone
to talk to about anything at all.  Contacts back in the capital, and
indeed everywhere, kept him aware of what was happening, and his investi-
gations had turned up any number of interesting facts.  He had been
stripped of his position in the Ministry for being too efficient and
banished to his estates in Sphodria.  Hearing of Londo's election, he had
come to Selini to volunteer his services.

And finally, there was the Speaker of the Court, a hereditary and almost
forgotten post on Selini, a legacy of the days of independent rule.  The
Speaker had already helped Londo in his bid to become Governor, and now he
was perhaps the most vital part of this little coalition.  As long as he
recognised Londo as Selini's new ruler, then most of the others would.

Most of the others.  Former Sitter Vole - Londo's first act as Governor
had been to strip him of that now-redundant position - had fled back to
the capital immediately following Londo's ascension.  Durano's agents had
confirmed that he had arrived at the Court, reported on everything that
had happened and then... promptly vanished.  His current whereabouts were
unknown.

Londo looked around at his former cabal, now in a sense his Government. 
He did not smile.  It had been a while since he had been able to do that
with any real pleasure.  Still, he did feel pleased by the number of
allies he had been able to assemble.  And most of them were more than
allies - they were friends.

There was a creed among certain races that the strength of an individual
was based on the quality of their friends.  If so, Londo thought, then he
was one of the most blessed people in the galaxy.

Durano, Venturi and the Sitter were there of course.  They all had formal
positions in the new Independent Parliament of Selini.  The holder of a
somewhat less formal position was there as well - Shaal Lennier, Londo's
bodyguard.  The presence of a Minbari in such august circles had shocked
some people, but nowhere near as much as the presence of Londo's wife, the
Lady Timov.

"But... but... she's a woman!" the conservative Venturi had protested.

"Why I do believe she is!" Londo had replied.  "Amazing, isn't it?  You're
married to someone for over thirty years and you discover new things about
them all the time.  Let us hope you are absolutely sure that any wife you
take, Venturi, is a woman.  It would not be good to make an unfortunate
discovery during the wedding night."

Centuries of tradition prevented Londo from giving her a formal position,
but she was always present at meetings and discussions.  As he pointed
out, it saved her the trouble of spying on him.

And at this current meeting there was a new arrival, a very old friend,
recently returned from abroad.  And the bearer of some very bad news.

"The whole Gorash system is lost," said Lord-General Marrago, former
leader of the entire Centauri military.  "The Constantine and the Hadrian
were destroyed.  The Claudius managed to escape but is severely damaged. 
It is expected to be out of commission for at least six months.  And that
is if the repairs begin immediately.  So far, no one has seemed interested
in that."

"Reasons of face, perhaps," spoke up Durano.  "The expense of such a
repair would be enormous, and it would be hard to hide.  At the moment
very few in the Court know the full extent of the defeat.  The story that
is being disseminated is that the Gorash system is now under martial law."

"I wonder how long that facade will last," muttered Londo.  "Can the war
effort survive long without the supply centres at Gorash?"

Marrago shrugged.  "It is hard to say.  I anticipated this eventuality
during the last war, when Gorash was attacked and almost fell.  There are
several smaller supply centres spread out on hidden bases, so it is not
the disaster it could have been.  Still, the situation is very bad.  I
would say that short of a major turnaround we have a year or so at most. 
And that does not include any... attempts by certain individuals to
shorten that time."

He did not need to say more.  Marrago had been present at the recapture of
the Quadrant 37 base.  A complicated and lengthy military campaign - and
victory - had been reversed in hours thanks to orders from the Court. 
Incompetence at best: treason at worst.  No one wanted to believe that
some elements of the Court wanted the war to be lost, but the facts seemed
inescapable.

"But anything I could say about the Narns might be entirely inaccurate,"
Marrago continued.  "They are... employing strategies I had never thought
them capable of."

"How so?" asked Timov.

Marrago looked at her, and began making gestures to explain his points as
he spoke.  "The Narns are guerrilla fighters, my lady.  They always have
been.  That was how they forced us to leave their homeworld.  They simply
made it impossible for us to remain.  Their strategy was always a war of
attrition... nibble at supply lines here, assassinate a leader there. 
They work by spreading chaos a little at a time.  A very alien concept to
us.  They do not fight as we do.

"But recently... their tactics have changed.  The retaking of Quadrant
Thirty-seven, and now this open attack on our biggest supply centre...  It
is bold, aggressive and very unlike them.  They rarely go in for direct
attacks unless they are certain they can win, and they are more inclined
to retreat rather than suffer heavy losses, biding their time for another
day.  At Gorash their losses were apparently hideous, especially on the
ground... but they stayed, and they won."

He shook his head.  "I cannot explain it, but they have changed their
tactics, and for us... definitely for the worse.  They dared to attack one
of our primary colonies in the heart of our territories, and they mean to
hold it.  What if they attack here?"

"A troubling thought," said Londo softly.

"Yes, troubling indeed, but as there is nothing we can do about it now, we
must return to matters we can deal with.  What of Lord Valo?  He did
escape from Gorash, yes?"

"Oh yes," replied Durano.  "Publicly he is regarded as a hero.  Private-
ly... amongst those who know the truth... it is a very different matter. 
There are speculations about a sideways promotion for him.  Somewhere...
out of the way."

"He is also sure to become a very unpopular figure," supplied Timov.  "As
far as the common people are concerned, he crushed their revolt and insti-
tuted martial law.  It cannot have helped his popularity."

Most of the others looked stunned, but Londo smiled.  "Now you see why she
is here, my friends.  Sometimes we need a woman's help to examine topics
no sane person would even contemplate."  She jabbed her elbow in his side
and he grunted.  "Perhaps that was the point.  Some nobles may be just as
distrusting of Valo now as the common people are."

"A possibility," acknowledged Venturi.  "But who cares what the common
people think?  They have no political power."

"No."  The Speaker rose to his feet, his firm voice addressing his social
superiors with the same authority he would have used in speaking to a
group of farmers.  "No, they do not, but they do possess far greater power
than many realise.  They feed you, clothe you and supply you with almost
everything you need."

"He is right," admitted Londo.  "We have... not treated the lower classes
as well as we probably should have done.  That is just one of many
mistakes we will have to correct."  He shook his head sadly.  "But now...
the next plan of action.  The loss of Gorash may force us to intensify
matters and speed up the timetable.  If the Narns are, as Lord Marrago
supposes, altering their tactics, we may have less time than we thought.

"Venturi... we need more allies in the local Parliaments at Gallia,
Sphodria and Camulodo.  They are the nearest cities to us on the mainland,
and if we are to push our influence forward to the capital we will need
them on our side first.  Anything you can gain for us from the nobles
there - blackmail, bribery, even an appeal to their better natures. 
Anything.  A vote of recognition of my status here would be perfect.

"Durano... I am worried about Lord Valo.  He has never been a temperate
man, and this defeat may push him over the edge.  Find out what he is
doing, and what the Court plans to do with him.  If possible have some of
your agents sound him out about coming here.  He may be an ally for us. 
You never know.

"Marrago...  Return to the Court and carry on influencing the military in
the way you have been doing.  Despatch the Valerius and the other ships we
have to watch our borders with the Narns.  We will need at least some
warning if they try something else unexpected.  But they must not engage
unless victory is certain.  We cannot risk any more warships.

"I wish I could say things are improving, but gentlemen... we have at
least made a start.  Good day."

They all rose, bowed, and filed from the room, leaving only Lennier and
Timov.  With a brief nod, the Minbari took up a position by the door.

"Ah, Timov," Londo sighed.  "I am tired.  So... very tired.  How did we
fall so far?"

"By good men doing nothing," she said, coming over and sitting on his lap
- a most un-Timov-like gesture, but then both of them had been changing a
great deal lately.  "That will change.  We are at least doing something
now, Londo."

"So I am a good man, am I?  Thank you for the compliment."

"Don't let it go to your head," she said, smiling sadly.  "Are you really
going to go through with this?"

"I have no choice, dear wife.  The sickness that infects us comes from the
Court.  Sooner or later... and with Marrago's news it will most definitely
be sooner... I will have to go there and cut it out."

She shivered slightly as he said that, and held on to him all the tighter.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"May Valen forgive me... for what I have done, and for what I am about to
do."

Sonovar, once of the Fire Wings clan - in a time when such distinctions
had meant something - stood on the bridge of his warship, his mind lost in
thought, and in prayer.  He had never been one for faith as such, always
trusting in his strength and his courage, and in his leaders.  Now,
however, he had no leaders, and nothing to rely upon but himself.

"What Sinoval has done is wrong.  Very wrong.  Too wrong to let it stand,
and yet... in opposing him, have I become as wrong as he?  Did his path
begin with thoughts like these?  Is there someone there waiting to make me
pay for what I am now doing?"

"Heavy questions, lord."

Sonovar turned and cast dark eyes upon the new arrival.  Forell hobbled
into view.  For one brief moment the extent of his mutilations was hidden
by darkness, but as he emerged into the light they were clear to see.

Sonovar had always considered himself a strong man, but the sight of
Forell's wounds unnerved even him.  Marks of torture from the Earthers and
their Shadow servants by all accounts.  The priestling would not speak of
his ordeal, but Sonovar's opinion of him had risen slightly.  Anyone who
could endure what he had endured deserved respect, at least.

"Can you answer them?"

Forell stopped and shrugged.  "Not I, but the universe, lord.  It will
fall to history to judge us, as it does to us all."

"History.  Yes.  And who writes history, Forell?  The fallen... the
defeated... the dead?  No, it is the victor of course, and that is why I
am here.  Sinoval cannot be allowed to write his own history, to justify
the... things he has done.  No."  He shook his head sadly.  "He has turned
from the true faith and rejected the True Valen.  For that, he must
atone."

"I know, lord.  But... why here?  Why attack Tarolin?  I had heard that
Primarch Sinoval was at..."  His words died as Sonovar turned on him, dark
eyes flashing, hand reaching for his pike.

"Never call him that!" he barked.  "Primarch!  What is that?  It is a
title of those cursed Shagh Toth!  It is no title for any Minbari, much
less a warrior."

"My apologies, lord.  I... meant no offence."

There was a scornful snort in response.  "You are a priestling after all. 
What can you know of warrior sensibilities?  No, you are forgiven, Forell. 
Just do not use that title again."

"Of course, lord."

Sonovar fell silent and looked out again at his tactical displays. 
Tarolin 2.  An old colony, rich in history.  The Earthers had skipped past
it during their assault.  Perhaps the loss of their Drakh allies at Minbar
had prevented them from returning to finish the task.  The reigning
Administrator had sworn fealty to Sinoval - out of fear, probably.

Sonovar was a warrior, and as such he understood fear.  He also understood
that fear was to be fought, not surrendered to.  By surrendering to that
fear, the Administrator and his Government had damned themselves.  They
would die, and their souls would be reborn to greater wisdom and courage
in their next lives.

"A question only, great lord."  The prattling priestling again.  Why
Sonovar tolerated his witless talk, he did not know.  Respect for his
endurance... or something greater?  Something in Kalain's words, perhaps?

"Ask."

"Why send so few of your warriors on this assault?  Why attack the colony
with only your alien allies?"

"Minbari do not kill Minbari."  The words were level and flat, without
emotion.  "All know that.  Sinoval, it seems, has forgotten it.  But if I
am to oppose him, I must be better than he.  Those I command will not shed
the blood of my people at my word.  They are there to guide and...
restrain the Tak'cha.  Only those who swore fealty and service to Sinoval
will be killed.  My men are there only to ensure that innocents do not
die."

"A fascinating answer, lord, but... one thing more.  How exactly do you
define an innocent?"

"An easy answer for you, priestling."  In one smooth, frighteningly swift
motion, Sonovar drew and extended his pike, lunging forward as if to
attack his companion.  Forell did not start, but remained stock still. 
The pike gently tapped his shoulder.

"An innocent is one without blood on his hands.

"Leave me."

Bowing, Forell left.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"I'm... sorry.  I'm just...  I'm just scared."

She said nothing, looking at him closely, waiting for him to speak.  The
words were hard for him, she knew that.  Not the admission of weakness,
but the... experience.  He had seen a lot.  Too much.

"It was... horrible.  There were people screaming, children just running
down the streets, their skin burning.  Warriors huddled in a corner, eyes
burned out, rasping prayers I couldn't understand.  Buildings... ancient,
beautiful buildings reduced to rubble in seconds.  Centuries of history...
so much culture we just couldn't understand... and it was all gone. 
Everything.

"But... do you know what's worse?  I did it.  Me.  Every single one of
those ships had me on board."

"You couldn't have done that," whispered Dr. Mary Kirkish quietly. 
"David, you wouldn't have done that."

Commander David Corwin sat up in bed, the blanket falling around him.  He
put his hands on his head.  "No.  I could have.  I know I could have. 
There was someone like me on each of those ships.  And after it was over,
after the battle and the bombing and the death, they went back to Proxima,
they went back home to their loved ones and their children and their
friends and... and what?  People.  Real people.  Good people.  I know some
of the people on those ships.  Hell, the Babylon was almost there and I
was on that ship for years.

"I always thought we were the good guys."

"We are."

"Are we?  How can we be... having done that?  I just don't know any
more... and that's why I'm scared.  We were on Minbar for months and all
the time I was thinking that I could have done that, and wondering...
just... wondering..."  He fell silent.

"Yes?"  She touched his shoulder gently.

"I was wondering how I'd be able to look at you again if I had."

She said his name slowly, with exasperation.  "Look... I don't know what
you saw.  How can I if I wasn't there?  But I do know that if you'd been
in the same situation as those people, you'd have done the right thing.  I
have faith in you, David.  I know you're a good man."

"Thank you.  But I..."

"Shush."  She kissed him gently.  "Be afraid until you aren't afraid any
more.  It's as simple as that.  I love you."

He smiled pathetically.  "You know...  I think I'm getting to understand
that."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Captain Sheridan.  This is Bester.  You and Captain Ben Zayn are to
return to Sanctuary immediately.  You are needed here.  I repeat.  You are
to return here immediately.

"There will be no dissension on this matter.  Bester out."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Worms in the brain.  The mighty Centauri Republic... masters of the
galaxy, lords of all that moved...

Worms in the brain.

Lord Valo sat, alone except for the one who kept serving him bravari.  He
was looking at the liquid and in it he could see all his failures reflec-
ted.  The Gorash system.  One of the Republic's oldest and strongest
colonies, taken just like that.  He had been sent there to defend it, and
he had failed.

And they had done nothing!

He could see their faces.  Interchangeable, they were all the same. 
Minister this... Lord that... General the Other.  Pathetic, the lot of
them.  All smiles in public, twisted lies in private.

They were doing nothing.  They had let the Narns take Gorash, that could
be the only explanation.  Too weak to rule.  The Republic had been too
weak for decades.  Turhan had been weak, but he at least had had strong
men serving him.  All gone now.  Every last one of them.

Gone, or traitors.  Marrago, Mollari, Jaddo.  Gone, the lot of them.

But what other options were there?  The Court was the centre of the
Republic, had been since the days of the second Emperor.  When the Court
and the Emperor were strong, the Republic had been strong.  But now... 
What other option was there?

Treason... such a... tempting word, but where was the true treason?  To
stand against a weak and foolish Government set on destroying your people
through incompetence... or to watch all this, knowing, and doing nothing?

"More bravari!" he cried.

"I think you've had enough, my lord," said an unfamiliar voice.  Valo
turned, and there was a knife at his throat.

"Who dares?  Where is my servant?"

"Asleep.  I do not kill those who do not deserve it."

Valo looked up into the face of his assailant.  A young man, his eyes
prematurely old.  And that voice... something familiar about it. 
"Mollari," he hissed.  "Minister Mollari's nephew.  We were told you
were... gone, had betrayed us all."

"Who knows, perhaps in a few months they'll be saying the same of you, my
lord.  That you just... went."

"Probably.  Fools and weaklings the lot of them.  Not a real man in... too
long."

Mollari nodded.  He pulled his knife back from Valo's neck.  "Too true, my
lord.  So tell me... what will you do about it?"

"What do you think I should do about it?"

"That is for you to decide.  I came here seeking a strong man.  It looks
as if I haven't found one."

"Wait!  We need strength.  Now more than ever.  We need a man like the
Emperors of old... soldier-kings, uniting the republic with strength and
will."

"A man... like yourself?"

Valo's eyes widened.  "Aye.  A man... just like myself."

"Ah.  Well then... you have my support, my lord."

Valo sat back, the haze of bravari passing from his mind.  Emperor.  A
strong man.  A man... like himself.

"Emperor," he muttered.  Then he laughed.  "Yes...  Emperor!"

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Alfred Bester did not look nearly as ill as he was supposed to be, but he
certainly did not feel well.  He strongly disliked not being in control of
events, and any number of things outside his control could be happening
now.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being manipulated.  Of course,
both Ambassador Sheridan and Mr. Welles had tried that with this scheme of
theirs, but he had added his own touches to their plan, putting matters
squarely under his own control - that was, if Donne did not fail him.  She
had never failed yet, but that did not mean she would not fail here.

Well, it was too late now.  Sheridan and Ben Zayn had received his message
- more for Sheridan's benefit really.  Bester did not want any misplaced
loyalties floating around when everything went down at 
Babylon 4.

"Where is he?" he asked himself impatiently.  Donne would be making her
move any time now, and it was imperative that G'Kar was not around to
interfere, at least not in spirit anyway.

"I am told," said a quiet voice, "that talking to oneself is the beginning
of insanity."  G'Kar's holographic form glided through the wall.  Bester
shivered.  He would never get used to that.  "Why have you called me here? 
I thought you were ill."

"Recovering nicely, thank you for asking.  There was just one little
matter to discuss."

"Yes?"

Bester raised a small hand-held device and clicked a switch.  G'Kar's
holographic body spasmed.  "A jamming device," he explained.  "Jamming, in
this case, the signals that transmit your holographic form here.  You see,
something very special is about to happen back at Epsilon Three, and we
can't have it interrupted.  You're trapped here now.  At least, until
everything's done."

"Wh...  Why?"

"Loyalty to my people, G'Kar.  I am sure you would not hesitate to
sacrifice me for the sake of one of your people.  I am no different."

Bester sat back in his chair, breathed out... and waited.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *


Donne had never seen the Heart of the Great Machine before.  Oh, she had
been briefed as extensively as possible by Bester, but then he had never
seen it either.  A few of his men had - construction experts and the like,
present at Epsilon 3 to help with the building of Babylon 4.  Their
information had been... useful, especially as Donne was able to access it
directly from the mind without it passing through the mouth.

But nothing... nothing could compare to the sight before her.

The compound had not been deserted, which actually made it easier for
Donne and her team to get around.  She was an acknowledged representative
of one of G'Kar's oldest allies, after all, and her companions were a team
of experts in various fields, come to study the Machine.  The Narn guards
had admitted her almost without question.  She wondered if they regretted
that nonchalance when Tu'Pari emerged from the shadows and slit both their
throats in an instant.

The Narn was good at his job, Donne had to allow that.

None of them knew how much time they had.  Bester had promised some
disruptions up above, but the real fireworks wouldn't be able to start
until the Machine was secure.

Number Two coughed briefly.  "Damned air," he muttered.  Donne marked him
down for a belated, painful death.  Still, he had a point.  There had been
some atmospheric modifications down here, and unfortunately they had been
made with Narn physiology in mind.  It was breathable, just a little...
thick.

There was a sound of someone approaching.  Donne started, but then relaxed
when she saw her allies had reacted faster than she had.  That was what
they were here for after all, wasn't it?

A Narn, wheeling in a human-sized containment unit.  It had been brought
down here a few days before and safely hidden away.  Bester had taken the
precaution of bribing one of G'Kar's staff.  There wasn't a Narn alive who
wouldn't sell out his own grandmother for enough cash to buy a sheep.

"Here you are," the Narn said, quietly.  Even he looked a little awed by
the sight of the machinery before him.  "Now... the matter of my payment?"

Donne smiled and nodded.  Tu'Pari flicked a small projectile which burst
into the Narn's eye, piercing his brain.  He died instantly.

"Impressive," Donne muttered as Number Two and Boggs began opening the
box.

The Narn grinned, a hideous image.  "A Thenta Ma'Kur weapon.  A... memento
of more pleasant times, let us say."

"That thing gives me the creeps," muttered Number One, nodding her head in
the direction of the Machine, and the Narn held within it.  "Are you sure
he won't wake up?"

"Trust me.  He's kept suitably... distracted.  Can we have that thing open
today?"

"We could have it open in two seconds," replied Number Two, not looking
up.  "But it'd kill her in the process.  I'm up for it if you are."

Of all the arrogant...  No.  Donne forced herself to calm down.  Duty now. 
Murder later.

"Why the need for this rigmarole anyway?" he asked.  "Couldn't we just
have got her down here the same way we did?"

"No," she said, as calmly as she could manage.  She did not bother
explaining that Susan Ivanova was a very recognisable figure to too many
people on Babylon 4, or that there was a possibility that some system
might have noticed the Keeper affixed to her.  That was not for them to
know about.

Donne's heart was beating faster and faster.  There were any number of
things which could go wrong now.  What if some of them suspected...?  What
if...?

No, they were all mundanes after all, apart from Ivanova, and her psi-
talents were too negligible for words.  According to Bester it had taken a
great deal of surgery to make her suitable for this task - a formality
Donne would not need.  Nature, not science, had made her special.

"Done," said Number Two triumphantly.  The box opened and a faltering
figure clambered out.  Donne looked at her intently.  Weak.  It was
written all over her.  Far too weak.  She could have been one of the
special, but she had chosen to reject that destiny.

Pathetic.

"Do you know what you have to do?" she asked Ivanova. *No you don't.  You
don't have the slightest idea.  Not of the truth, anyway.*

She nodded.  "I... know..."  Those creepy aliens back on Proxima would
have made sure of that, Donne supposed.  Well, they would make sure she
was aware of their side of the plan.

"Good.  Time to deal with Narn van Winkle here."

"My turn," said Number One.  She walked slowly up to the Heart of the
Machine, wherein rested the comatose body of one of the greatest Narn
leaders ever.  She hated Narns.  They had descended upon a weakened
humanity like vultures and stripped away their lands, their resources,
their self-respect.

Donne walked up alongside her, and smiled.  She was screaming her hatred
out at the top of her mind.  So incredibly predictable.

Number One drew her PPG and fired one shot directly into the shoulder of
the Narn in front of her.

The reaction was immediate.  G'Kar's body spasmed and a lurching agony
flared in his eyes.  His consciousness was being transferred back here,
wrenched away by the pain.  The wound was not fatal, of course.  He would
be needed alive for later.

The machinery began sliding back from his body, whatever symbiotic link
they shared severed.  The Narn slid from the Heart and fell to the floor. 
He tried to turn, tried to call for help, anything, but Number One's
booted foot connected with the side of his head and he fell limp.

"There you go, love," said Number Two, beaming.  "All yours now." 
Ivanova, responding haphazardly to his words, began to shuffle forward.

Suddenly she collapsed, her eyes rolling up in her head.  There was the
merest hint of a scream.

Smiling, Donne stepped into the Heart and let it embrace her.  Her mind
linked with it and she was suddenly... aware.

"As you can see," she said, in a voice that did not sound like hers at
all, "there's been a change of plan."


To be continued...

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 3A
Date: Thu, 10 Dec 1998 18:23:54 +0000


                   Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand

Hi people. Here comes part 3. Enjoy.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and 
copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money out of 
writing this and am doing so purely for pleasure.

Personal Disclaimer: Heh heh.

Spoilers: This story contains Spoilers for War Without End, and the 
comic book mini-series In Valen's Name.

* * * * *                   

 Chapter Four - A Line in the Sand, Part 3 of 8 [AT] [AC]
 by Gareth Williams  (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


Power... she embraced it, welcomed it, needed it.  It engulfed her,
surrounded her, filled her.

She had not been sure what to expect upon entering the Heart of the Great
Machine, but it had not been this sense of... togetherness.  The feeling
that the Machine had always been an integral part of her life and she had
simply never realised that until now.  It was as much her body now as the
bag of flesh and bone that had carried her thus far in her life.

With eyes that hardly seemed her own any more she looked at her compan-
ions.  The pitiful Ivanova creature lay huddled on the floor, shaking,
curled up in a foetal position, the aftermath of Donne's psychic attack
still shocking her no doubt.

The others were... still.  Most of them had not reacted yet, their minds
slowed, or perhaps that was simply due to her enhanced comprehension.  The
Narn, Tu'Pari, he understood what had happened and he was ready to act,
she knew that much.  As yet he had not.  He was merely waiting.

As for the humans, the mundanes... they were motionless.  This had not
been the plan.

Boggs acted first, raising his PPG.  He seemed to be moving incredibly
slowly, pointing it at what had been Donne's body.  He seemed unaware of
the cable that burst from the ground at his feet and gently caressed his
leg.  A thought, and a burst of electricity flooded through his body.  He
fell, the weapon slipping from his dead fingers.

"This wasn't what we were told would happen," said Number One angrily. 
She had not gone for her weapon though.  Donne supposed she would have to
let her live, then.  She would need someone alive after all.  For the
moment at least.

"There's been... a change... of plans..." Donne replied, surprised by the
way her voice sounded.  Slower, harder, thicker.  "What... loyalty do you
owe... them?  Work for... me and... you will all... be... special."

Number Two moved slightly, but Tu'Pari tapped his arm and forced him back. 
"Now, now," he said, breathing on his glasses and polishing them.  "It
never hurts to listen when an offer is being presented.  We are... all
ears."

Donne concentrated for a moment, suddenly aware of how to do this.  Her
consciousness seemed to shift and she was able to step forward, leaving
the Machine.  She looked back and saw... herself there.  Turning, she
regarded her three remaining companions, studying them with senses that
were not her own, but extensions of the Machine.  All her senses seemed
heightened and... changed.  Even her psi abilities were different somehow. 
She couldn't identify clearly how, she just knew that they were.

"I know what you all want," she said, the words seeming to come from a
great distance away.  "You..." she raised a holographic arm and pointed at
Number One, "your claim to idealism is misplaced.  You want a cause, some-
thing to fight for.  You..." Number Two "... You want someone to tell you
what to do, to give you direction so that you don't have to think about
how worthless your life is.  And you, Narn, you want revenge, a chance to
prove your superiority to those who exiled you."

"Very true," Tu'Pari admitted, smiling.  "However, you left out one
detail.  I also want a huge pile of money.  Help provide me with that and
you have my services, lady."

"Hold on!" snapped Number One.  "We had a deal.  This wasn't in it."

"I'm a businessman," the Narn said.  "We learned all about how business
works from the Centauri.  Good faith is an illusion.  I have done my share
of this contract, so I am open to negotiations.  Besides, you can't have
failed to grasp the obvious.  If we don't agree to help her, then none of
us will leave this planet alive."

"Very perceptive," Donne acknowledged.  "Think about it, but don't try
anything silly.  I have..." she looked back at her body in the Machine and
felt a moment's trepidation, "some learning to do.

"And then a signal to send."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Kats, formerly Satai of the Grey Council, knew weakness when she saw it -
and she had seen plenty of it.

There had been a time when she had been held prisoner, her body and soul
abused, tormented, tortured.  She had dared to lift her head and silently
plead for aid from those around her, those who should have been horrified
by this mockery of their most sacred place.  Many had believed it was what
she deserved.  Two had recognised her plight, and had made plans accord-
ingly.  But two... two knew that what was happening was wrong, but did
nothing, because they were weak and afraid.  Later they had tried to
redeem themselves, but too late.

The man standing before her was not one of those two, but had he been in
the place of Gysiner or Chardhay, he would have reacted in exactly the
same fashion.  He was weak.

"I bid you welcome to this place, in the service of Holy One Sinoval,"
said Administrator Callenn formally.  He bowed.  Holy One Sinoval.  He did
not even have the courage to call Sinoval by the title had had now adopted
- Primarch.

Beside Kats, Kozorr bristled with anger, but she gently touched his arm. 
She was the diplomat, and although she despised Callenn as much as he did
she did not let it mar her temper.

"In his name, it is a pleasure to be here," she replied.  Callenn's face
smiled, but his eyes showed that he lied.  Tarolin 2 had sworn fealty to
Sinoval out of fear and weakness, not courage or strength.  Callenn had
been afraid - of the Drakh, of the humans, of the raiders - and only
Sinoval possessed the strength to guard him and his colony.

Still, Tarolin 2 was an old colony, and a powerful one.  A reasonably safe
place for many of the refugees fleeing from the devastation of Minbar.  As
long as the leaders knew to whom they owed fealty.

"We have prepared all the records you requested of us.  My acolyte here,
Ashan, will be happy to show them to you, and help you if you have any
questions."

"I thank you for your foresight, Administrator.  Primarch Sinoval also
thanks you for your loyalty."  Callenn visibly flinched at the sound of
Sinoval's title.

"Well," he said, evidently searching for a suitable phrase.  Kats could
tell that Kozorr was enjoying Callenn's discomfort.  "We have... always
been loyal to the Holy... er, the... Primarch here.  Always loyal."

"Your loyalty is beyond question," she said, trying not to smile.  "If you
do not mind... it has been a long journey and we are tired..."

"Of course, of course.  Quarters have been arranged for you and your
staff.  Ashan will show you to them.  Ashan!"  The acolyte stepped forward
and bowed briefly.

"This way, Satai," he said, gesturing to them to follow him.

At that very moment the entire top half of the Administration Building was
blown apart.  In the heavens, jump points began to open and Tak'cha ships
flooded in.

The Minbari civil war had just begun.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It was almost dawn on Kazomi 7.  Valen stood at peace, watching the suns
rise.  He closed his eyes and let their warmth caress him.

There had been another time, he knew, when he had enjoyed watching the
rising of the sun.  He had always been an early riser and had often been
outside, watching, at dawn.  Then he had gone into space, and he had grown
accustomed to being in darkness.  Now, he was content to see light again.

*Are you ready?* asked the booming voice in his mind.  It felt as though a
breeze of air was brushing through his skull, bearing just a trace of
melody with it.  There were hints of regret in the voice.

"Ready for what?" he asked, although he had a feeling he already knew. 
No, he wasn't ready.  He wanted the uncertainty of the future, rather than
the finality of the past.  He didn't want to walk into the desert, knowing
he would be following his own footsteps all the way.

*It is almost time.*

"No!  I'm not ready.  I'm not going back.  I'm..."  He stopped, and bowed
his head.  He would have to go back, he knew that.  Destiny, the future,
the past... everything depended on him.  He had never asked to be this
fulcrum, but still, it had been thrust upon him.

"Yes.  I'm ready."

*No.  But you will be.  Know the past.  Know the future.  Be one with
yourself.  Then you will be ready.*

He did not ask what that meant, as no explanation would have been forth-
coming even if he had.  Sighing, he felt the voice leave him, and he
turned back to the sunsrise.

Know the past.  How could he know the past?  He could barely remember
anything before stepping into the Temple of Varenni.  Fragments, nothing
more.  He could remember more about people he had never met than about the
people who had once shared his heart.  Marrain, Nukenn, Zathras... all
these were more alive to him than the brother he barely recalled, or his
parents, or... Catherine...

"Catherine," he whispered.  She more than anyone else he should be able to
remember.  He had tried pushing back the boundaries of his memories, but
to little avail.  Her name, her eyes, the faintest hint of her scent...
nothing else.

"Know the past," he said softly.

"Talking to yourself is meant to be one of the first signs of madness,"
said a voice from behind him.  Slowly, unsure of what he was hearing, he
straightened, and turned.  "But then, if you want to become a Minbari and
start acting like one of their Gods, then I guess you're way past that
stage, hmm?"

It was her!

"Catherine?"

She smiled.  "Hello, Jeffrey."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

They called him the Starkiller, the last hope of humanity, the scourge of
the Minbari, the greatest living captain.  They had called him those
things before he had betrayed them, before he had allied himself with the
Minbari, and even dared fall in love with one of them.  Little about John
Sheridan was now common knowledge.  People did not like to think about
him, even after the recent victories.  When they did speak of him they did
so in hushed voices as if he were gone forever, in tones of reverence for
the nobly dead.

Such an ironic prophecy was nearly true, for John Sheridan was dying.  He
did not talk about it, save to the one person who had become closer to him
than anyone he had ever known.  Indeed, only two others even knew of his
fate.

He was not afraid of death, and he had already made his plans for dealing
with the situation when it became necessary.

He had never been afraid of death, but he was afraid now.  The instincts
that had kept him alive for so long were screaming at him.  Something was
happening, or was going to happen, and he was not in control of it.  That
frightened him.

Not long ago he had received a message, short, but strange.  It did not
seem to make sense, and yet it was the kind of message he could not
ignore.

Breathing in slowly, he rang the door chime, which was answered almost
immediately with a "Yes?"  The mere sound of that voice made him smile. 
He could have spent all day doing nothing but listen to it.

"It's me, Delenn.  Can I come in?"

"Always," she replied.  He knew she would be smiling and sure enough, when
the door opened and he stepped inside, she was.  She glided across the
floor to meet him, her smile lighting up the room.  "I thought you were
running drills on the Parmenion tonight," she said.  "Or did you finish
early just to be with me?"

"No... ah, not that I didn't want to... it's just that..."  He paused,
catching his breath, and his thoughts.  "I'm not interrupting anything, am
I?"

"No.  I was just going over the proposals put forward by the Drazi Govern-
ment.  They seem to think they are entitled to a larger share in the
Alliance than we are giving them.  It is nothing, but even if it were
important, I would put it aside for the moment."  She looked at him
closely.  "John... is something wrong?"

"Yes... ah, no...  I don't know.  Have you seen G'Kar recently?"

"No, not since... this morning.  Why?"

"I got a strange message from Bester just now.  An order, more like.  It
sounds as if there's something major going on.  He's... recalling me to
Sanctuary."

She frowned.  "Did he give a reason?"

"No, none.  That's why I wanted to see G'Kar.  See if he knows anything. 
This is... it just has a bad feel about it.  Not to mention that with the
Parmenion gone, and the Ozymandias as well, there'll be only the Alliance
ships left to defend this place if anything goes wrong."

"There is also the Great Machine, which is more than capable of defending
the station.  You remember the first time we saw it?"  He nodded.  "Still,
this might be a cause for concern.  Perhaps we should try to find G'Kar."

He nodded again.  "Now?"

"No time like the present."  Smiling, he took her arm and they left her
quarters, his long stride consciously slowed to match her shorter one.

As they began to walk down the corridor however, they encountered two
figures coming the other way.  Sheridan started and stiffened, and he knew
Delenn had noticed the tension in his arm.

He looked at the two men closely.  Captain Ari Ben Zayn and his telepath,
Harriman Gray.  Bester's men through and through.  Both men had noticed
them and while Gray looked uneasy, Ben Zayn consciously straightened his
bearing and stopped, waiting for Sheridan and Delenn to approach him.

"I thought I'd find you with her," Ben Zayn said, addressing Sheridan
directly without a glance at Delenn.  "Didn't you receive your orders,
then?"

"I received them," came the careful reply.  Sheridan was looking directly
at Gray, who seemed... fascinated by his gaze.  That was still better than
looking at Ben Zayn.  The man was a career soldier, with years more
experience than Sheridan himself.  His scar seemed to bleed as Sheridan
looked at it.  "I was just looking for G'Kar to..."

"And have you started working for G'Kar now, Captain?" he snapped.  "You
work for Bester.  The Parmenion is his ship, its crew are his men and you
are his soldier.  Have you forgotten that?"

"No, Captain, I haven't.  But Bester did post me here to safeguard this
project of G'Kar's, as well as to maintain general order in the League and
Alliance worlds, as per G'Kar's wishes.  My exact post was, if I remember
the term correctly, Bester's liaison with G'Kar."

"Yes, I am completely aware of that, but now Bester has requested your
presence on Sanctuary.  This supersedes your posting here.  You are to
come along... now, or your ship and your crew will have to go without
you."

"You know as well as I do that at least half of that crew is mine."

"And they will obey the orders of Major Krantz just as well as they would
yours.  If they do not do so, then they can easily be replaced.  You have
your orders, Captain.  So, unless your recent freedom has affected your
ability to obey them, I expect to see the Parmenion leaving here within
the hour.  Do you understand me?"

"I understand you perfectly well!  But I have my responsibilities here, to
G'Kar, to this station, to..."  He stopped as he felt Delenn tapping his
arm gently.

"Go, John," she said.  "We will be fine here."  He started to speak, to
protest, but his words were stifled by her kiss.  "I love you," she said
softly, so softly it was hardly audible.  "Go."

She stepped back and, with a twirl, turned and went back towards her
quarters.  Sheridan focussed his gaze on Ben Zayn.  "We will be gone
within the hour," he snapped.  "And if this is no emergency, we will be
back here equally quickly.  Good day, Captain."

He stormed down the corridor without saying another word.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lord Jarno stood at his window looking out at the streets of his city, and
shivered.  It was night-time and yet the city was lit as if it were day. 
Not just by lights, but by the fires.

They had been burning for days, it seemed - in the warehouse sector, the
peasant villages, the fields, even in the streets themselves.  Where each
inferno blazed, someone stood in the centre of it, screaming that the
Shadow was coming.

Jarno did not need to be told about the Shadow, he saw it every night in
his dreams.  The sky was blacked out by the appearance of countless
billions of ships, each one screaming inside his mind.

Shadow Criers they called themselves.  Madness, but an enlightened mad-
ness.  They preached that everything would burn, all would be destroyed
when the Darkness came.

"Still looking outside?  Why bother?  The City Guard will put out the
fires eventually, that's what they're there for, after all.  And then
they'll find out who did it and execute them.  Come back to bed."

He did not turn from the window at the sound of her voice.  Many times
over the last year he had begun to wonder why he had ever listened to it
in the first place.  He had always been ambitious... before, but for the
greater glory of the Republic, not for his own advancement.

But then he had begun to listen to her and old dreams had begun to
surface.  At first they had sounded so reasonable.  Of course the Republic
needed strength, now more than ever.  Good people had been ignored by the
Court for too long and if it took something a little... extreme to force
them to recognise that, then so be it.

Somewhere along the way, however, it had all gone wrong.  He didn't know
where.  From the moment she had first manoeuvred him into her bed, making
a mockery of his marriage vows? From the death of Emperor Refa perhaps? 
Maybe from the emergence of the first Shadow Crier.  Maybe it had always
been wrong and he had simply never noticed until now.

"Jarno dear," continued the petulant voice, and he sighed.  "Stop looking
outside.  You know it only upsets you.  There's something much more inter-
esting for you to look at over here..."

He sighed again and silently cursed his own weaknesses.  Perhaps they were
why he had never risen as far as he felt he should have risen.

"The city is burning," he muttered softly.  "The city... is burning."

"Only the parts of it that don't matter.  The Guard will never let the
fires get anywhere near the Noble Quarter."

"People are dying."

"People who don't matter.  The peasants.  There will always be more of
them around."

He sighed again and nodded.  He was considering returning to bed when his
commscreen beeped.  Turning towards it, he suppressed a surge of fear. 
Who could possibly be contacting him at this time of night?  This could be
nothing good.

"I'm sorry, my lord," spoke the voice of his aide over the commchannel. 
"I will tell the Lord Kiro that you are unable to take his call at the
moment..."

Lord Kiro?  Jarno swallowed harshly.  "No.  I'll take it now."  He moved
over to the screen, watching as his companion awkwardly pulled the sheets
up to cover herself.

The image came into view on the screen, and Jarno looked at his fellow
noble.  Once, many years before, the two had been friends, fostered
together at his uncle's estate.  A million years ago now.  Both of them
had changed too much, and neither made any mention of that time in their
childhood.

"What is the meaning of this, Jarno?" Kiro asked.  He looked positively
apoplectic.

"The meaning of what, Kiro?  Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I know the time, and you know full well what I am referring to! 
I have been at my estates all week, and when I return, not half an hour
ago, I find guardsmen all around my house here.  My servants tell me that
no one has been allowed to enter or leave since they arrived, and the
guards tell me they were ordered there by you!  What is the meaning of
this, Jarno?"

Jarno straightened automatically at Kiro's tone, even though he could not
dispute the rightfulness of his anger.  Jarno knew nothing of any such
guardsmen, but he still maintained his composure.  "It behoves us all to
act as nobles, Kiro.  Perhaps you have forgotten that."

"Forgotten!  Jarno, I will ask you one last time.  What is the meaning of
this outrage?  If I do not receive an answer than I will have to take this
matter to the Centarum, and have you arrested."

"Your tone does not befit you, Lord Kiro.  This conversation is at an end. 
I trust we will be able to speak later, when you are suitably calmed." 
Kiro made to reply, but Jarno cut the transmission.  He then turned to his
companion.

"Very masterful," she said, discarding the covers and rising from the bed. 
"I did not know you had it in you."  She smiled.  "I was very impressed."

"You did that, didn't you?"

"I took a few... little liberties with your personal seal and your
personal guards."

"Not to mention my person.  The Emperor's Name, why?"

She began dressing herself, not in one of her usual fine gowns, but in the
more utilitarian costume she wore when she was doing something surrept-
itious.  Close, tight-fitting hunting clothes.  "Officially... reasons of
security of course.  In Lord Kiro's absence his house was vulnerable to
attack from those insane Shadow Criers.  Someone had to protect him."

Jarno folded his arms high on his chest.  "And unofficially?"

"He has his own ambitions for the throne, of course."

"Well of course he does.  So does half of the Court.  And the other half,
come to that."

"Yes, but Kiro is just open enough to make an attempt, and he has the
lineage to succeed as well.  Don't forget that his House once held the
throne."

"I haven't forgotten, and nor have I forgotten how they lost it."

"In any case, Kiro has been away gathering support in his southern
estates.  He may even be contemplating an alliance with dear old Londo,
anything that would further his chances of the throne.  We have to deal
with him before that can happen."

"That's what this is about, isn't it?  Kiro was in talks with your
husband."

"My ex-husband.  Don't forget he is legally dead.  And yes, there is that,
but more importantly, you are going to take over Kiro's House and estates,
which will be a great step towards the throne.  And you are going to do it
tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes.  A little premature I'll admit, but my sources said that Kiro wasn't
due to return for another few days.  I'll have to have some of them shot." 
Mariel smiled and moved closer to Jarno, reaching up to touch his face. 
"Come on, dear.  We have work to do."

"Work?  Attacking another Lord's house?  Such a thing has not been done
for centuries."

"Great men are not bound by normal rules, Jarno.  The first Emperor said
that, remember.  And behind every great man, there is a great woman
showing him how to do it right.  Get dressed, quickly.  We had better get
my dear sister-wife as well.  We may need her testimony that we were
provoked if matters do not go well."

"I can't do this.  I..."  He looked at her, and he could feel all his old
weaknesses rising to the fore.  She was right of course.  Great men were
not bound by normal rules.  But was he a great man?

Would he ever be?

Pitifully, pathetically, hopelessly, he nodded, and went to get dressed.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

There was power, but not as she had expected; knowledge, but not as she
had anticipated; wisdom, but not as she had wished.

And there was something else, a nagging, burning sensation that the
Machine was doing... something.  She did not know what, and she could not
find out.

Furious, Donne shifted her consciousness to her holographic form and let
it step out into view.  As she looked at her companions she was struck by
their weakness.  The two mundanes were the worst.  Number One and Number
Two were seated in the far corner of the cavern, ostensibly on watch, but
actually talking about their concerns in hushed voices they presumably
believed she could not hear.

Ivanova was still comatose, curled up like a tiny baby.  From time to time
pathetic whimpers escaped from her mouth.

And Tu'Pari... he was sitting cross-legged next to the equally comatose
G'Kar.  The Narn assassin was sharpening his long, wicked knife with a
methodical air, gazing distantly at the walls.

"Wake him up," Donne ordered Tu'Pari.  He smiled, set down the knife, and
began to reach into one of his pockets.  Whatever strange device he was
planning to use however, he did not get the chance.  G'Kar opened one eye
and stirred.

"I am already awake," he said in a hoarse voice.  "I was... remembering...
the night the Centauri took over... a farmhouse... near Na'khamamah.  It
was a... rebel base...  We waited until... dusk and..."  He coughed. 
"We... killed... them all..."

"An interesting story, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Tu'Pari said idly.  "If you
wished to trade stories of death you should have told me.  I have a great
many of them."

"No."  G'Kar tried to shake his head.  "Not death.  The... last Cent-
auri... looked at me... knowing he was going to die...  The look... in
his... eyes.  I will... never forget."  He smiled, and then broke into
another coughing fit.  "I see it... in... yours... now."

"Shut up," Donne snapped.  "The Machine is doing something.  Whatever it
is, I can't get close enough to find out and stop it.  What is it doing?"

"Many things."

"Something programmed into it.  You did it, I'm certain of that, and it
has something to do with that blasted station of yours.  What is it
doing?"

"Never... find out...  Never... make the Machine... yours..."

"Reality check.  It is mine."

G'Kar shook his head weakly.

"Tu'Pari.  Hurt him."

"I am... not... afraid... to die."

"I've heard that before," Tu'Pari said in a civilised tone.  "Many many
times.  And they all took it back before the end.  How permanent do you
want this, my lady?"

"I want him capable of sharing everything he knows with me.  Leave his
head alone.  And stay away from any major blood vessels and muscle
concentrations.  You know more about Narn biology than I do.  I want
something painful, but not too devastating."

"Happy to oblige, my lady.  I was in the Resistance once.  That was where
I learned much of my skill.  G'Kar was something of a legend for his
capacity to absorb pain.  This might take a while."

"Not too long.  If he hasn't told us anything in... half an hour or so...
take out his eye."

"Business and pleasure combined," the assassin said, smiling.  "How
fortunate."

Donne suddenly looked up.  Someone was... coming.  She wasn't entirely
sure how she knew, but some sense not her own alerted her that someone was
approaching.  A few moments later the sound of a voice was heard.

"Zathras do this, Zathras do that.  Zathras go check on G'Kar.  Zathras
not doing anything important, oh no.  Zathras just checking temporal units
in place, yes.  Not important at all.  Zathras not mind if whole station
slip back in time thousand years.  No, wait.  Yes, Zathras do mind.  That
would be not good.

"Ah, is bad life being Zathras.  Zathras does not mind though.  He...  Ah,
you is not meant to be being here?"

The strangest alien Donne had ever seen came into view.  He hesitated for
a moment, looking around, seemingly taking in everything in one swift
glance: Donne's body in the Machine, G'Kar on the floor.

"Ah.  Zathras be leaving now."

He turned to flee, and ran straight into Number One.  She pushed him
roughly forward and he fell sprawling to the floor.

"This not good.  No, not good at all."

"That, my friend," said Tu'Pari, "very much depends on your perspective."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *
From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 3B
Date: Thu, 10 Dec 1998 18:27:53 +0000


I am not afraid.

I am a warrior; born of warriors, bred of warriors, lived as a warrior,
trained as a warrior, called a warrior by the greatest warrior of all.  I
am not afraid.

The captain in charge of the Valentha repeated those words to himself as
he tried to restore order to the ship he had been given control of by the
Primarch.  He remembered the surprise and horror as this holy ship had
been given a captain who was not of the Satai for the first time in known
history.

He also remembered his pride.  The Primarch had told him that the Valentha
was to be used differently now.  It was to be both a focus of faith for
the people and a warship, the foremost in the fleet.  The captain's heart
had surged with pride.

And now, his first battle on his new ship, and he had been beaten, forced
to retreat like the tiniest of goks.

There had only been three ships in the Tarolin system when the invaders
arrived.  The Yojiro had fallen within seconds, torn apart by blow after
blow.  The Seppun had been at the far end of the system and had received
the warning to pull back and regroup with the Valentha.  These invaders,
whoever they were, were too strong to deal with individually.

Mere seconds of combat had proved that.

"Are the communications back on line yet?"

The captain smiled when he received an affirmative.  "Send a message to
the Primarch.  He must know about this, and now."

"Should we not counterattack now?  Shai Alyt Kozorr and Lady Kats are
still on the planet."

"Kozorr is a warrior, and if the worker wishes to play with warriors then
she had better learn the strength of one.  No, Hor Alyt, we need the
Primarch.  With him at our side not all the forces of Hell could stand
against us."

"Will he be here in time?"

"He is the Primarch.  Of course he will be."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The general sense of chaos that gripped the Babylon 4 station began to
take hold less than an hour after G'Kar's forced removal from the Heart of
the Great Machine.  When the survivors looked back and histories and
recordings were made, it was established that the problems had in fact
begun much earlier.  Perhaps even at the commencement of the project. 
Those whose views tended towards the short-sighted argued that the station
should never have been constructed.  Minister Vizhak had argued that at
the first meeting of the United Alliance Council after the Battle that
would be known as the Third Line.  Far too many agreed with him.

Even before the... incidents of the night in question, there had been
numerous unexplained happenings on the station.  Bad dreams, strange
visions.  Certain areas of the station were said to be haunted and few
would go there.

Few people had been able to sleep well that night, many waking to a sense
of unexplained urgency and fear.  There were reports of people rousing
only to find themselves looking at images of things that had already
happened, or perhaps had yet to happen.  Mysterious voices and sounds were
heard.

Even the legendary Primarch Sinoval, whose nickname of the Cursed was not
yet in public use, was said to be uneasy about the station.  This was
never confirmed by the man himself, and those who were aware of his
bargain with the Soul Hunters found it unlikely that anything could
unnerve him.  Indeed, some laid the blame for the mysteries at the door of
the Soul Hunters, claiming that allowing them on the station was a bad
omen.  No comment came from Cathedral.

If there was one instant that the inhabitants of the station came to
regard as the turning point - being largely unaware of events on the
planet below - it was the moment when they heard of the departure of
Captain Sheridan.  He had been renowned among the Narns and infamous among
the Minbari for many years, but his recent actions in support of the
League and Alliance worlds had won him many friends there as well.  The
news of his sudden departure did not go down well.

Delenn, who unlike Sinoval had not yet acquired the nickname that would
later be synonymous with her real name, was acutely aware of the tensions
on the station.  She had been unable to rest or meditate following John's
departure and so she had tried going for a walk.  She was horrified by
what she saw - people running around, crying out for peace, weeping in
corners.  She watched helplessly, in horror, as a young Brakiri child bit
out her own tongue in a frenzy.

"Valen's Name, what is happening?" she breathed.

She had made her way at last to the command room, and was not surprised to
find many of the dignitaries already there.  Ta'Lon was fielding increas-
ingly angry questions from Taan Churok and Lethke, while Mr. Garibaldi and
Dr. Kirkish were talking quietly.  There was no sign of Sinoval, or of
G'Kar.

"Mr. Garibaldi?" she asked, curiously.  "Have you not been recalled to
Sanctuary?"

He looked up, surprised.  "Why should I have been?"

"John and Captain Ben Zayn have been.  I... assumed there was a major
problem there and Bester was recalling as many of his agents as possible."

"News to me.  I haven't heard directly from the Boss in months."

Ta'Lon suddenly slammed his fist on the table.  "This will get us nowhere! 
Minister Churok, Minister Lethke, there is only one person who can explain
what is happening here and we have no idea where he is.  The Machine has
not been acknowledging any of my messages, and the person I sent down to
try to find G'Kar has not reported back."

"Then something must have gone wrong," protested Taan Churok.  "We should
investigate."

"We should leave," said Lethke calmly.

"That will not be necessary," Ta'Lon protested.  "I will go down to the
surface myself and try to find G'Kar.  I will also take as many of my
Ranger security team as can be spared from maintaining order here.  That
may not be very many."

"We have some of our own security... on board our ships," Delenn said. 
"We will be happy to lend you whatever assistance we can."  She glared at
Taan Churok and Lethke, and they fell silent.

"Thank you," Ta'Lon said, nodding.  "They would be better employed on the
station.  The Machine... is a concern for G'Kar and the Rangers, and no
one else."

"You forgot the Boss on that one," Garibaldi said.  "He's got a stake in
this too.  Perhaps more than anyone except G'Kar.  I'd better go down with
you.  Besides, you might need another pair of hands."

"Me too," spoke up Dr. Kirkish.  "I was sent here to study the Machine for
Mr. Bester, after all.  I think I know more about it than most other
people here.  I might be able to help."

Delenn looked at the two of them, a sense of paranoia creeping over her. 
Ben Zayn had been very insistent that John leave this place.  Coincidence? 
A genuine emergency at Sanctuary - but how genuine could it be if
Garibaldi knew nothing about it?  Or was there something deeper at work
here?  Just how much could Bester be trusted?

She was about to open her mouth and voice her opinions when she swayed and
almost fell.  A bright light burst in front of her eyes.

The light is killing me!

She was with John, holding him.  He looked so...

"We've won!" he cried.  "It's over, Delenn."

"Yes," she said, laughing.  "It's over.  It..."

Something rose up before them, swamping everything with its shadow.  She
could not see what it was.  It was huge.  A light burst out, burning and
blazing.  John threw her aside and turned to face it.

The light is killing me!

She felt strong hands catch her and turned to see Taan Churok, his stern
face filled with compassion.  "You saw something?" asked Ta'Lon.  She
could only nod weakly.  "Another one.  This will only get worse as time
goes on.  We must leave for the surface immediately.  Mr. Garibaldi, Dr.
Kirkish, gather whatever you need and meet me at the docking bays. 
Minister Churok, Minister Lethke, can you bring over as much of your
Security as you can spare from your ships?"

"What if what's afflicting this place starts affecting people on our
ships?" asked Lethke.

Ta'Lon shook his head.  "It won't."

"How do you know?"  Taan Churok gently released Delenn and rounded on the
Narn, who was almost as big as he was.  "Do you know what is causing all
this?"

"No," the Narn lied.  "We must hurry.  Go.  Now!"

Angrily, the Drazi and the Brakiri left, both of them casting brief
glances at Delenn.  The two humans had already gone, leaving Delenn alone
with the Ranger.  "You do know," she said, not accusingly, just with a
sure and certain conviction.

"Yes," he said.  "You know about the destiny of this station?"  She
nodded, remembering with uncomfortable pain the time she and John had seen
it, two years before, travelling backwards in time on a terrifying
journey.  "Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar built the station in the hope that it could
serve as a focus point in this struggle against the Shadow.  He knew
however that it had another destiny.  It would go back in time a thousand
years, and take Valen back with it.  Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar had no idea of
what would happen to Valen, or from where he would come.  He knew only
that it was his task to build this place.

"The temporal rift to take the station back in time would have to come
from the Great Machine.  One of the first things the Ha'Cormar'ah did upon
taking custody of the Machine was to establish how to open the rift.

"The station was built with the temporal machinery already within it,
devices that came from the Machine, for the purpose of stabilising it on
its trip back.  The rift was already partially created when the station
was finished.  Like a door, held ever so slightly ajar.  Ha'Cormar'ah
G'Kar hoped that when the day came, opening the rift would be easy, and
the journey effortless.

"I fear that the Machine has begun to open the temporal rift further in
recent months.  Why, I do not know, but something has happened on the
planet, and it jeopardises not only the station, but all our futures."

Delenn nodded, feeling very burdened by the weight of these revelations. 
Some she already knew, but not all.  "Why have you told me all this?"

"Only Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, myself and Zathras know all of this.  If I do
not return from the planet..."  He reverently touched the hilt of the
longsword fixed to his back.  "If I do not return, then someone else must
know, and carry forth the future.

"And you, Delenn, you were the beloved of Neroon, for whom I would have
given my life."

She sighed.  Neroon.  She had all but forgotten him recently.  How could
she have done that?  He had once meant everything to her.

"Walk with Valen, Ta'Lon," she said softly.

"G'Quan be with you.  The Prophet G'Kar as well."  He turned and left.

Delenn shook her head sadly, and looked around at the empty chamber. 
There was still much to be done.  She contemplated sending a message to
John, but then swiftly decided against it.  She had no proof of any
improprieties perpetrated by Bester, and there might well be a genuine
emergency that needed John and the Parmenion.  She would only call John
when she was certain they all needed him, not just that she wanted him.

But Sinoval at least was here.  Her heart heavy, she set off in search of
him.

She did not have long to look.

He came up the corridor, not running, but striding at a considerable pace. 
Even the Soul Hunter leader beside him seemed to be having trouble keeping
up.  "Sinoval," she said, with a start.  "There is a problem here.  We
need..."

He interrupted her, shaking his head.  "Your need must wait, Delenn. 
Tarolin Two has been attacked by an unknown force.  I heard about it only
just now.  I was coming to find either you or G'Kar, and tell you that I
am leaving immediately."

"Leaving?  But..."

"I know where my loyalties lie, Delenn.  To my people.  Tarolin Two swore
itself to me, and I swore to defend them.  You have criticised my loyalty
often enough, Delenn."

"No, not your loyalty.  That will be the last thing you will ever lose,
Sinoval.  I sometimes wonder if it is misplaced."  She remembered a
promise she herself had made, not many months ago.  She had renounced her
claim to power among the Minbari.  She had been exiled from them and
stripped of all position and authority.  Her very appearance now set her
apart from them.  She chose to accept only those who accepted her, those
who did not wish to ally themselves with any faction seeking war.

"Go then, Sinoval.  Your loyalties are... where they should be."

"I thank you, Delenn.  As soon as Tarolin Two is safe, I will see what I
can do about returning here."

"Go.  And... Valen be with you."

"I certainly hope not, Delenn, but I appreciate the sentiment.  And you."

He left, hurrying down the corridor, three Soul Hunters following.  Delenn
felt a chill as she watched them pass.

No matter how much time passed, she would never get used to Sinoval's
allies.  Never.

She hurried back towards the command room.  There was still work to do.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It is time.  Things are moving faster than even I had expected.  I am not
sure if that is not the real tragedy of this, just how little I had to do
to get matters to the situation I wanted.  Were we always this close to
disaster?

Malachi, First Minister of the Centauri Republic sat back, sighing.  He
had been looking at the viewscreen for almost an hour, thinking dark
thoughts and considering making the call that could end this for good. 
The cold logic of his plan said that he shouldn't - there had already been
enough interruptions from that quarter.  But the warmth of idealistic
friendship said that he should.  Londo had a right to know, more than
anyone else.

But would he understand?

Malachi could smell the smoke on the wind.  He had left all the windows in
his chamber open for that very purpose, even though it brought in the
bitter cold.  He needed the smoke.  It was a reminder of what his plan had
brought about.

The city and the Court were on the edge of disaster.  Nobles had been
growing ever more suspicious of each other for months, and their slow
gathering of near-armies for 'protection' would inevitably result in this
paranoia.  The Shadow Criers were spreading chaos and anarchy wherever
they went... yes, and death.  Their recent 'murder' of Lord Dugari,
coupled with the leak that a noble was supporting them, had only made a
bad situation worse, and a horrible possibility a dreadful inevitability.

And Malachi had had to do so little.  He had had nothing to do with the
death of Lord Dugari, little to do with the gathering of private armies,
and had orchestrated only the first few exilings from the Court.  He was
surprised, and terribly saddened, at just how easy it had been to bring
matters to this state.

All it took to destroy an Empire was to kill a ruler, several nobles,
subtly spread distrust and misinformation, and put in a little effort
where required.

How truly sad.

It would happen tonight.  Or if not tonight then within the next few days. 
The entire planet would be torn apart in fire and blood, and then... from
the ashes... there would be...

Well, something, anyway.

Malachi had agents in many places.  Like any good Centauri he believed in
the power of information.  His listening device planted in Lord Jarno's
chambers had alerted him to Jarno's plan to attack Lord Kiro, and to the
part Lady Mariel had played in that decision.

He was also aware of Carn Mollari's presence in the city, goading Lord
Valo to ever more rash action.

He knew of the numerous disappearances that could be attributed to the
hands of Lady Elrisia and Prince Cartagia.  Too many of those who had...
disappeared... were only peasants, and as such did not matter to many
people.  Dugari was the only noble they had... killed.  And the blame for
his death had been deflected from the two of them with little effort.

He knew of Londo's actions in Selini, and his plans for Camulodo, Sphodria
and Gallia.  He almost smiled.  Londo was the only one who deserved this
world.

Malachi had known Londo since his childhood.  He had watched the ideal-
istic young politician grow into a bitter and angry man, angry with the
world and the universe around him.  He had witnessed Londo's seeming
rebirth and the hope for the future of the people.

And he had seen it all fall apart.

He had decided.  It would all happen tonight: the beginning of the end. 
Londo had to know.  He moved to the viewscreen and sent the signal he had
been readying all night.

The screen came to life with the image of, of all things, a Minbari.

"Tell Mini... Governor Mollari that First Minister Malachi wishes to speak
with him."

The Minbari nodded silently and left.  A few minutes later Londo's face
appeared on the screen.

"Malachi," he said, no hint of warmth in his voice.  "What an unexpected
surprise."

"Tell me, Londo.  How would you like to come to the capital?"

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Pain and darkness and light.

Kats surfaced into consciousness slowly, bright lights flashing at the
edge of her vision.  She could hear a voice speaking to her, but the words
made no sense.  All she saw was his face, and his voice.

*Forgiveness, Satai Kats, is the most noble of virtues, do you not agree? 
But it must be asked for, it must be begged for, it must be recognised for
what it is.  You have sinned, against our people, against Minbar, against
Valen himself.  Acknowledge your sin, and beg for forgiveness, and you may
yet be redeemed.*

*Forgive me.  I have... done wrong.  Forgive me.  For...

"... give me!"

Her eyes opened as she sat upright, her breath coming in short gasps.  For
a moment she had been with Kalain again, trapped in his mockery of
'forgiveness' and 'redemption'.

She looked around slowly but could see little.  She was lying on a thin
cot in a darkened room.  The only light came from above her head, an
arrangement that made her extremely uncomfortable.  There was someone next
to her, but only when he spoke did she realise it was the acolyte, Ashan.

"You must rest," he said.  "You have head injuries."

"What happened?"

"You collapsed.  The physicians said it was caused by blood clots blocking
out your head membranes.  It was serious for a while."

"I... remember..."  She did not know.  She had been with Administrator
Callenn and Ashan, and then there had been a deafening burst of sound. 
Unable to hear anything, she had staggered forward and fallen, and...
either her head had hit something or something had fallen on her...

"Where is Shai Alyt Kozorr?" she asked.  Something about this whole
situation worried her.

"This way.  He has been asking about you."  Ashan rose to his feet and let
her rise as well.  Her head ached but she managed to maintain her balance. 
Ashan made a gesture she could not quite see.  It was so dark.  Too dark. 
It...

"Which way?"  She turned to try to find him but his silhouette had
vanished.  There was no sound of his breathing, his movements... nothing. 
"Ashan?  Where are you?"

"It says that you are evil.  I know that you are a worker, and therefore
responsible for the doom of our people.  It says however that you are
evil.  It says that you betrayed our people to the Soul Hunters.  It says
that Kalain tried to purify you, but he was prevented from doing so.  It
says I must continue where he failed.

"It says I must kill you."

"Who says?" she asked slowly, her heart pounding.  Her head ached so much. 
She could barely move.  She...

Her arm burst into pain and she felt the warmth as her blood spilled out. 
Clutching it, letting out a cry of agony, she fell.  "Ashan," she pleaded. 
"What are you doing?"

There was silence for a long while.  She struggled to rise.  All she could
see was the light above her.  She could hear Kalain's voice roaring in her
mind.

"It says you must die."

"Ashan?"  Something whirled past her face and she recoiled in pain.  Blood
began to drip down into her eyes.  "Why...?"

*Forgiveness...  We will grant you forgiveness, Satai Kats, but it must be
asked for.  No, it must be begged for.  Beg for my forgiveness, worker
bitch!  Beg!*

"For... give..."  She tried to breathe, tried to focus.  Something was
pounding in her ears.  She could not see anything.  She could taste her
own blood.  She could feel her skin tingling with the memory of Kalain's
tortures.  She...

*Forgiveness!  BEG FOR MY FORGIVENESS!*

Outside the door of one of the few buildings remaining intact in the main
city of Tarolin 2, a Tak'cha readied himself to enter.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"They're coming."

Tu'Pari looked up, the only one seemingly interested in her now.  G'Kar
was lying at his feet, blood coming from places Donne had not even known
existed.  She had killed a great many people, but now she knew she was in
the presence of a master.  If only he had had telepathic powers he might
well have been worthy of her respect, perhaps even her admiration.

"Who?"

"Someone come to see what is happening here.  We will be ready for them. 
Do you want to tell me what this Machine is doing, G'Kar?  Or should I
perhaps use your new friends as leverage?"

"You... will... never... control... the Machine..."  He made a strange
noise, one which caused even Tu'Pari to start.  It sounded like laughter. 
"Never..."

"You will tell me, or I will destroy everything that is yours.  You
will..."  Her holographic form smiled.  "Very well.  I was getting bored
here."  She blinked, and with the work of a moment, it was done.  "There. 
Now, G'Kar, your little dream house of paper and glue will be set alight. 
I wager you will be able to hear the screams even from here."

"Never... win..."  He fell silent again.

"Idiot.  I have won.  Come and get me, Captain Smith.  You'll scream just
as loud as the rest."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The skies around Babylon 4 and Epsilon 3 were filled with the inrush of
energy as four jump points opened.  Out swept the ships of the Resistance
Government of Humanity, resplendent in their glory and certainty, convin-
ced of the rightness of their position.

The following message was received by the Command and Control of 
Babylon 4:

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon.  This station, this
planet, this area of space and all peoples and objects and technologies
herein are as of this moment placed under the control of the Resistance
Government of Humanity.  Stand down all weapons and prepare to be boarded. 
Any resistance will be met with deadly force.

"You have five minutes to comply."


To be continued...

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 4A
Date: Mon, 11 Jan 1999 18:15:40 +0000



                   Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand

Hi people. Hope everyone had a good Christmas and New Year.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and 
copyright of jms and / or Warner Bros. I am making no money out of 
writing this and am doing so purely for pleasure.

Personal Disclaimer: I may be a hopeless romantic, but that doesn't 
mean you're getting a happy ending for free, got it?

The story contains Spoilers for War Without End and the comic 
mini-series In Valen's Name.                   

* * * * *

Chapter Four - A Line in the Sand,  Part 4 of 8 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams  (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon.  This station, this
planet, this area of space and all peoples and objects and technologies
herein are as of this moment placed under the control of the Resistance
Government of Humanity.  Stand down all weapons and prepare to be boarded. 
Any resistance will be met with deadly force.

"You have five minutes to comply."

The four ships moved around the space station known as Babylon 4.  Very
few of them knew of the appropriateness of that name.  Once, over seven
years ago, Babylon 4 had been hailed as the greatest hope of the human
race, a chance to fight back against the alien oppressors, an opportunity
to regain power.

For various reasons the Babylon Project had fallen by the wayside and been
forgotten.  Official secrecy had been maintained , but to those who had
been involved in its operation it was the greatest lost chance of the last
decade.

But fortune favoured the bold, or so it was said.  Humanity was now free
and powerful again, a young colossus bestriding the galaxy once more. 
Babylon 4, the station that had been intended to redeem them, had been
built by another for purposes unknown.

And humanity was now on the verge of another victory.

The Earth Alliance starships Babylon, Morningstar, Corinthian and Marten
moved into position, their respective captains trying not to reveal their
anxieties.  This mission had been planned meticulously, and thus far
everything seemed to be going as planned.  The two human ships working for
the enemy - the Parmenion and the Ozymandias - had gone, lured away
through false means by an ally.  None of the four captains had relished
the thought of opposing their own people, least of all the legendary
Starkiller, Captain Sheridan.

Also gone was the strange vessel Cathedral, believed to be commanded by
the Minbari war criminal Sinoval.  No one knew the exact circumstances
behind that disappearance, but the timing was put down to fortuitous
coincidence.

The only defences now remaining were the three ships from the United
Alliance of Worlds - two Drazi Sunhawks and a Brakiri heavy cruiser - all
of which could easily be dealt with should that be necessary; the integral
defences of the station itself; and the awesome power of the Great Machine
on the planet below, which should already have been neutralised.

On board the Babylon, more grateful than anyone else that its former
captain had gone, Dexter Smith leaned forward and re-opened channels.

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon.  I repeat, you are to
stand down and surrender the station and all persons and objects on board. 
Failure to do so will provoke an attack."

There was a crackle as a reply came over the channel.  Obviously the
inhabitants of the station were taking precautions to prevent any surrept-
itious tracking or decoding.

"This is Lethke, Minister for the Economy of the United Alliance of
Worlds.  This station has our full support and any attack on our ships or
persons will be considered an act of war against the Alliance."

Smith resisted a sigh of relief.  He had been briefed about this possi-
bility.  He had also been ordered to supervise all the communications
while his fellows got themselves into position to prevent any escapes and
set up jamming mechanisms.

"I assure you, minister, we have no quarrel with the Alliance at all.  We
do however, have rights over the station and the planet, rights of discov-
ery and occupation under the Interstellar Territory Pacts of twenty-two
thirty-five, twenty-two thirty-nine and twenty-two forty-two.  All items
and persons sworn to the Alliance will be permitted to leave, saving only
those who are wanted for crimes against our Government."

There was a long silence, and Smith knew what would be going through the
alien's mind.  Those wanted for crimes against the Resistance Govern-
ment... that could only refer to Delenn, former Satai of the Minbari and
current President of the Alliance (although she apparently disliked that
term.)  She had been in humanity's hands once, but had managed to slip
away.  That would not happen again.

Finally, Lethke responded: "Are you suggesting therefore that we are to
negotiate on this matter?"

"We will not initiate any acts of violence unless violence is offered to
us.  We merely wish to enforce our rights.  Unfortunately however, any
sign of opposition will have to be met with deadly force.  Once they are
sure there is no danger from this area, my Government will send in legal
teams and diplomatic arbiters to resolve this matter.  I assure you again,
Minister, we intend no hostilities against the Alliance, unless we are
acted against."

With a sense of inevitable resignation, the Brakiri stabilised the signal. 
"You are welcome to board, Captain.  We stand down our arms."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

A wave of Darkness swept over Centauri Prime that night.  Seeresses and
sensitives all over the planet awoke screaming, paralysed by the terrors
of great evil touching them.  Screams echoed through the streets and blood
ran from the walls.

The number of suicides in that one night was more than double than of the
last two months together.  In the city of Sphodria, a major trading port
and the site of an ancient military victory over the Xon, the Governor of
the city spent three hours writing the words, "The Darkness is coming" all
over the walls of his house.  The words were written in the blood of his
wife, his children and his servants.  He then threw himself from the roof
of the house.

In the powerful mountain city of Camulodo, renowned as a seat of great
learning, the curator of the Great Imperial Museum burned the building to
the ground.  He remained inside it as it burned.  He had already clawed
out his eyes and was in the process of eating his fingers as he burned to
death.

Gallia, a prominent market town, saw its Governor dragged from his bed in
the middle of the night by a crazed mob led by three preaching Shadow
Criers.  Claiming to be heralding in the coming Darkness they threw the
Governor into an ancient well and began to pile it full of stones.  His
feeble cries ended the moment the last stone was thrown on top of him.

There was no word, no communication, no sign of any kind from the capital.

And on the island of Selini, in the hill farms, in the coastal inlets and
coves, and in the capital city of Remarin, home of a new rebellion, there
was...

... peace.

Everyone slept well, except for those suffering from indigestion, or who
tended to sleepwalk.  There were few bad dreams, no cries for mercy or
vengeance, no blood shed in the streets.

In fact the whole island slept, save only for the guards, some of the
military, and the inhabitants of the Governor's personal dwelling.

"The fires in Camulodo are rumoured to be getting out of control,"
reported the dry voice of Lord Durano, formerly of the Ministry of
Intelligence.  He had always been dispassionate and dedicated, but now it
seemed more as if he were reciting the results of this week's moren-ball
contests.  "Apparently some of the fire service have tried dealing with
the situation, but they are being hampered by the mob, and some of the
firemen themselves have fallen prey to... whatever is happening."

"So many dying," muttered Governor Londo Mollari.  He could not remember
the last time he had slept well, and he certainly wouldn't tonight.  He
had been on the verge of going to bed when Durano had arrived with Venturi
and Marrago.  Their reports from agents and allies in the three nearest
mainland cities had made for grim reading.

"Has the whole planet gone mad?" he asked.  "What in the Emperor's Name is
happening?"

"We cannot say," replied Durano.  "Some sort of psionic backlash perhaps. 
It is my belief that only a fraction of those afflicted by this... madness
are actually experiencing anything abnormal.  The others are in all proba-
bility merely responding to the charisma or madness of their leaders."

"But still... all this... and for there to be nothing here.  There is no
explanation of why we here are all unaffected?"

Durano spread his arms wide.  "A more comprehensive study might reveal
more information, but there could be any number of reasons."

"Well, then.  It is time we used this immunity to our advantage.  Marrago,
how many soldiers do we have here on the island?"

The former Lord-General of the Centauri Republic's armies stood up, the
figures instantly at his command.  "The five-thousand-strong Selini Guard,
which includes the five hundred of the Governor's Personal Guard."  An
anachronism these days, but one that had been maintained in the name of
'tradition'.  Since Londo's rise to power, all those old and forgotten
traditions had actually become very useful.

"We also have some seven thousand members of the regular army.  They are
men I have been gathering from my old regiments and commands, people who
are generally unhappy with the way the war with the Narns is going.  Some
are victims of dispossession in the capital and the surrounding areas."

"Twelve thousand.  Hmm... it will have to be enough.  Marrago, you are to
gather the armies and take them to the mainland, as swiftly as possible. 
They are to restore calm and preserve the political order in Sphodria,
Camulodo and Gallia."

"Of course, but is this not a little... premature?  And all three at once? 
The original plan was to take them one at a time."

"The original plan had not anticipated this... insanity.  If we do not
save these cities now there will be nothing left of them to save.  Durano,
the regular military has made no attempt to take any action in these
cities?"

"No.  In fact the Sphodria barracks withdrew from the city a few hours
ago.  I believe they all travelled by airship to the main barracks at the
capital.  The bases at Camulodo and Gallia have been largely abandoned for
months."

Londo looked at Marrago.  His eyes felt as though they were burning.  "You
see, Marrago.  If we do not help these people... our people... then no one
else will.  We are their only hope."

"We cannot take all three, Londo.  Not tonight.  There is simply not
enough time, and not enough decent under-officers.  I can supervise the...
preservation of one myself, and I believe there are enough decent officers
to manage the protection of another, but a third... our soldiers would
only add to the problem."

"You have no one who could run the third army," whispered Timov.  She had
been standing in the doorway, listening to the conversation with mounting
horror.  Londo turned to look at her, irrationally angry that she was
being exposed to such tales of terror.  She was still wearing her
sleeping-gown, wrapped tightly around her.  He sighed and bowed his head,
not wishing even to look at her, not wanting to associate her with the
decision he knew was coming.

"No, Lady Timov.  I am sorry, but so few of the army's officers joined us,
and of those who did, there were very few I could trust.  I organised and
managed our army almost entirely myself.  Only the captain of the Selini
Guard knows anything at all about our full plans, and not even he knows
everything.  Most of my under-officers do not even know how many soldiers
we have in total."  He shook his head with ironic sadness.  "It was meant
to be a security measure."

"Two," Londo said softly.  "Then we will save two."

"Which two?" Timov asked, still in the doorway.

Londo looked up at his companions.  Marrago looked at the ceiling and
rubbed at his eyes.  "We will need Sphodria if we are to mount any sort of
extended campaign on the mainland.  It would be a vital part of our supply
centres.  We always knew we would need to control Sphodria before we could
even think of making for the capital."

"Gallia is an important centre for the mid-territories," spoke up Durano,
looking at Marrago and nodding.  "A great many of the Court nobles have
estates near there, families based in the city, mansions and so forth. 
Unfortunately they will probably think of their mansions more than their
friends when they hear the city is in danger."

"And protecting Gallia may win us their aid... or at least quiet support?"
Londo said.  He felt tired, very tired.  Durano nodded.  "Well then.  It
seems our plans are set.  Marrago, muster the army.  Sphodria first.  Take
whatever steps are necessary to establish order and try to save as many of
the local Parliament as you can.  Then... see to Gallia.  Protect as many
of the Court nobility's mansions as possible, but take no unnecessary
risks.  I cannot have my Lord-General cut down by an insane farmer with a
scythe."  Marrago managed an obligatory chuckle, but all of them knew he
did not mean it.

"I was born in Camulodo," said Timov suddenly.  Londo turned to look at
her, and her expression nearly broke his hearts.  "I was fostered there
with my aunt for three years as a child.  Those were the happiest times of
my life."

There was silence.  Londo rose to his feet and moved to his wife, saying
her name softly.  She turned and backed away, moving back into their
bedroom.  He stopped at the door and punched the wall lightly.  Even that
hurt his knuckles.

He started suddenly at the sound of movement.  Looking up he saw Lennier
enter the room, and he breathed out slowly.  He must be even more tense
than he had thought.

"Governor Mollari," the Minbari said, "Prime Minister Malachi is on the
line and he wishes to speak with you."

"Malachi?" said Marrago, evidently surprised.  "Some kind of trap,
perhaps?"

"A trick to find out where we are," suggested Durano.  "A tracking ploy."

"He already knows where we are, and he has known for months.  No, he wants
to talk, nothing more.  Gentlemen... you know what must be done.  May the
Gods speed you all on your way safely... if the bastards even exist, which
I am beginning to consider more seriously nowadays."

"Oh?" Durano said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, if the Gods don't exist, someone up there is out to get me."

Londo moved to the viewscreen in the other room, aware of Lennier standing
protectively at the door, pointedly not looking at the viewscreen or
making any attempt to listen.  He was a good man... for a Minbari.  Londo
looked at the viewscreen, at the face of his old friend, of the wise old
advisor who had taken in a young, idealistic politician with delusions of
grandeur.

"Malachi," he said, no hint of warmth in his voice.  "What an unexpected
surprise."

Malachi looked so tired.  So old.  Londo wondered if he looked the same. 
"Tell me, Londo.  How would you like to come to the capital?"

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She began to move, heading in the direction of what she hoped was a door. 
She had no idea of where she was, or, more importantly perhaps, where he
was.

"It says you must die.  It shows me where you are.  You cannot run from
me."

Kats grimaced in pain and tried to keep moving.  Blood was pounding in her
ears.  The voice - his voice - was so loud.

"It says you must...

*... beg for my forgiveness!  You have done wrong.  You have sinned and
you will be punished.*

Kalain's voice.  Her outstretched arm came up against a wall and she
paused, breathing harshly.  For a moment she tried to be quiet, remaining
still and motionless, but then she remembered Ashan's words.  Whatever it
was that was telling him to kill her, it was directing him.  He knew where
she was.

"I can see you.  It can see you.  I... I don't want... to do this.  But it
says I must.  It says the good of my people depends on this.  You followed
him, you see.  You didn't have to.  Nobody made you.  It was a mistake,
the wrong decision, and now you must be punished for it.  It says that
it's all your fault."

He was near her now.  She could hear his footsteps.  She could smell him
now as well.  He smelled... wrong, almost as if he were dead and decom-
posing.  His words were flat and toneless.

Gulping in air, touching the wall for balance, she tried to move.  A sharp
pain burst in her shoulder and she stumbled.  Something rolled beneath her
foot and she fell.

A rough hand grabbed the collar of her robe, hauling her upwards.  She let
herself go limp, trying to remember the lessons Sinoval had tried to teach
her.  He had warned her that one day she would need to know how to fight,
and how to kill.  She had replied with a gentle smile that she had no
intention of ever killing anyone.

She wished she had listened.  All she could think of was Sinoval's face
when he learned that she was dead.

The point of the knife came to rest at the bottom of her ribcage.  Ashan
pushed it slightly.

"It... says that...  It says...  Minbari do not kill Minbari.  It says
that I must...  No.  I am...  Minbari do not...  It..."

The pressure on the knife began to increase.  Her robe became damp and
warm, and she knew the knife had drawn blood.  Ashan's grip on it had
become weaker, however.  He seemed to be arguing with himself.

"You are Minbari," she said, trying to force the words through the pain. 
"Minbari do not..."  She cried out as the knife was jogged slightly,
cutting a deep gouge across her skin.

"Silence...  You are a worker.  You... do not... matter...  It says that
you...  It... says..."

She twisted her body and slid aside, crying out as the knife slid across
her ribcage and her side.  She could feel Ashan losing his balance and
hear him falling.  Scrambling to her feet, she did not head blindly in any
direction, but began clawing desperately for the knife.  Her right hand
found it, and as she awkwardly pulled it up through bleeding fingers she
felt his hand slam down on top of her own.

"Workers... die...  You... must..."

He forced her hand up, crushing her fingers on to the hilt.  His foot
lashed out against her knee and she gave way, crashing backwards to the
floor, but still she maintained her hold on the knife.  She could feel him
rising over her, bending the knife downwards.

"Minbari do not kill Minbari," she whispered, a great dizziness sweeping
over her.  "Listen to me, Ashan.  Please... fight it..."

"I can't.  It says...  It... says..."

"Listen to yourself.  Minbari do not kill..."

The knife slid downwards a little further.  "I... can't...  I... I..."

He suddenly jerked his hands, forcing the knife upwards.  Kats, unable to
free her hand from the hilt, added unwitting momentum.

She felt the knife slide into his chest and heard a slight gurgle.  His
fingers fell stiff and she was able to wrench her hand from the hilt, but
not before his blood poured over her fingers.

She rolled aside just in time to prevent his body falling on her.

For a moment there was a still nothingness, and then the pain from her
injuries hit home in one shocking burst and she cried out under the
onslaught.  The full horror of what she had done engulfed her.  "Ashan,"
she whispered.  "Ashan.  Are you...?"  It was useless.  He was dead.

*Killed another fine Minbari, worker slut!* bellowed Kalain in her mind. 
*Beg forgiveness!*

"I'm sorry," she breathed.  "I'm..."  She closed her eyes and rolled over,
climbing up to her hands and knees.  "No.  You're not here.  I know you're
not here."  She crawled forward, wincing from the pain of the wounds on
her arm and body.

"Z'ondarr!"  Light filled the room as a door was thrown open and a figure
stood silhouetted in the doorway.  It moved forward with a gait she had
never seen before.  It raised a weapon that looked very much like a
fighting pike.

It hissed out words in a twisted, sibilant language she did not recognise. 
"Z'ondarr," it then said again.  The word was Minbari, but one which she
did not know.  "Z'ondarr."

Shaking, she managed to climb to her feet.  "Who are you?" she asked
softly.  "I am Kats, of the worker caste of the Minbari.  I... I mean you
no harm."

It began clicking and a strange expression passed over its alien face. 
"Do you... revere the Z'ondarr?" it asked haltingly, in an erratic worker
caste dialect.  "Do you remember... his ways?"

"Who is the Z'ondarr?"

It hissed something in its own language and darted forward, raising its
weapon.  It looked angry, very angry.  Kats tried to avoid its attack, but
she was too weak.  She fell backwards, landing on Ashan's body.

Something beneath her hissed.

The alien's charge suddenly stopped and it dropped its weapon.  Black
ichor spilling from its eyes, it fell face forward on to the ground, a
sharp knife sticking from its back.

"My lady?" asked a voice from the door.  "Are you all right?  I... I can't
see you."

"Kozorr," she whispered.  "I am here."  She hoped she sounded stronger
than she felt.

"My lady."  He moved forward awkwardly, and his shape was soon lost in the
darkness.  "Talk to me, Kats."

"I am here.  I..."  She coughed.  "What has happened?  What is...?"  She
could hear once again the hissing sound from beneath her.  A strange
warmth began to rise beneath her neck.  Breathing out sharply, she rolled
aside, and was stopped by strong hands.

Kozorr helped her rise.  "I heard that Ashan had brought you here, my
lady.  Some of the... survivors managed to direct me."

"Survivors?" she said, clinging to him tightly.  She did not feel capable
of standing on her own.  "What happened?  I... remember meeting with
Callenn and Ashan and then... something fell on me and I... I woke up
here.  He said he was going to kill me."

"He is dead.  It was a fine blow.  Worthy of a warrior."

"I'm not a warrior, though!  I never want to be one.  That... that was the
first time I've ever killed anyone."

"You have a strong heart, Kats," he said, his voice almost breaking. 
"Come... see what has happened."

He helped her out of the room, and she looked at the utter devastation
around her.

She felt like weeping.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Ta'Lon felt for the presence of his sword, as he would check on the
security of an old friend.  This whole place felt wrong to him, and he was
experiencing a growing fear for the life of the one man he had sworn to
follow unto death.

He had been a soldier during the occupation.  The sight of the casual
torture and murder of his family and mate had driven him into a peculiar
form of insanity and he had dedicated his life to the destruction of the
Centauri.  Disdaining any long-range or high-technology weapons, he had
taken the katok his grandfather had forged and sworn to use it as his
instrument of vengeance.  He had fought for almost the entirety of his
adult life with only his sword.  It was both weapon and constant compan-
ion: his only friend.

When the Centauri had withdrawn he had been bereft of purpose, wandering
idly, picking fights, seeking mercenary employment.  Some of the tasks he
had been commissioned for had been neither ethical nor legal, but he had
done them anyway, neither caring nor knowing anything else.

And then he had met Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar.  He had been hired to assassinate
the prophet by one who preferred to avoid the expense or the rules of the
Thenta Ma'Kur.  G'Kar had awakened to see the assassin standing over him,
sword held ready.  He had spoken nine brief words:

"Is this the purpose that sword was made for?"

Ta'Lon had broken down in tears and the two had talked all night.  G'Kar's
wisdom had awed him, and by dawn he had sworn himself to the prophet's
side.  He was not the first Ranger, but perhaps he was the first true Narn
Ranger.

>From that day to this he had always known he would give his life for
G'Kar, but now he was accepting the revelation that he might have to do
more than just die for the prophet.  He might have to live for him.

Satisfied that the sword was still there, he turned to look at his compan-
ions.  Six Narn Rangers, all men he had chosen and trained personally.  He
knew he could count on them.  There were two humans present as well,
neither of whom he was entirely sure of: Garibaldi, who worked for G'Kar's
old ally Bester, a man he had been suspicious of from the beginning and
still doubted today; and Dr. Kirkish, who had been studying the Machine in
detail, again for Bester.

Something was definitely wrong.  They should have been met by guards by
now.  Where were they?

"Be careful," he warned his Narns.  He was speaking in his native tongue,
one he had always felt proud of.  The Centauri had not been able to eradi-
cate it, and joy at its salvation led him to use it wherever possible. 
"Watch out for the humans.  I am not sure I trust them."

"As you say," came the reply.  He smiled.  Good men.

The Heart of the Machine was before them now, almost.  Ta'Lon reached to
draw his sword, and then he stopped.  Once drawn, it could not be sheathed
without shedding blood, and he would not dishonour this place with a
weapon unless he had to.  He had enough time.

He rounded a corner and entered the hall wherein lay the Heart of the
Machine.  He stepped forward, and smiled to see his mentor and leader
safely within.  He stepped further inside and walked up to the Heart
itself, stopping some paces from it, and kneeling.

"Forgive me, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," he said formally.  "We feared for your
safety.  No one from the station has been able to contact you."

"There is no need to worry," said the voice of his leader.  "No need at
all.  Everything is going fine."  Behind her mask of light and mirrors,
Donne smiled.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"I'm... going."

"Go, then."

"Somebody has to, don't you see that?  Somebody has to try to save the
world!"

"And it's always got to be you.  'To strive, to seek, to find, and not to
yield.'  I don't believe you!  We could still try to get away.  Some of
the colonies are intact.  We could...  Oh, why am I bothering?  You don't
want to get away.  You want to stay and fight."

"This is my world too.  I have to try to save it.  I thought you would
understand."

"Oh, I understand.  We can't save Earth.  The Minbari are too strong. 
Everyone knows that."

"We're going to build a line.  It'll hold.  I know it will."

"You're deluding yourself.  Go on then.  Go and save the world.  I won't
be here when you get back... if you get back.  I'm sorry, Jeffrey.  I love
you more than anything, but I won't throw my life away on some... foolish
hope of beating impossible odds.  It's over.  Goodbye..."

"Catherine, no!"

"You can come with me.  I... want you to...  But you won't, will you?"

"I... I... can't."

"Goodbye."

He reached out to touch her hand, remembering once again how she felt, how
she smelled, the soft timbre of her voice.  It all came flooding back in
one savage, brutal moment.  "Catherine?  It *is* you."

She smiled.  "It's me."

"They took you from me."  He bowed his head.  Valen, Jeffrey Sinclair...
either, both... he bowed his head.  "They took you from me."

She was silent, just watching him.  Finally he regained his composure, and
the man who would go down in Minbari legends as the greatest orator ever
born, slowly, haltingly, breaking down with each minute that passed...
tried to explain the words in his heart to the woman he had once loved
above all else.

He did not quite succeed.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 4B
Date: Mon, 11 Jan 1999 18:17:28 +0000


* * * * *

Centauri history contained many long and bloody episodes.  From the first
skirmish with the Xon to the most recent war with the Narns it seemed that
the history of the Centauri Republic had been measured by its conflicts. 
The legendary 'History of the Republic' by Lord Graves had indeed been
based on such a theory.

The majority of those conflicts had been external - with various aliens. 
Civil wars had also occurred of course - numerous conflicts with Selini,
the struggle of the False Minister, the Rebellion of the Fifty-Two Lords,
the Fall of the False Prophet Zog.  The Centauri nobility had been
embroiled in strife almost since recorded history began.

Since the second Emperor and the establishment of the Court however, such
instances had been rare.  The nobles had learned that a cold war was
better, and so the Great Game of intrigue and plotting and innuendo,
coupled with the occasional assassination, had developed.  No noble had
ever actually attacked the estate of another for centuries.

Until now.

The House of Kiro had once been mighty in the politics of the Court, and
indeed Emperors had come from that line.  They had fallen far in modern
times, but their most recent Lord had ambitions to reverse that fall.  It
was widely expected among political commentators - including those with
similar ambitions to Kiro's - that he would not rise as far as he hoped. 
He was a little too obvious in his plottings, just a bit too brazen and
arrogant.  Still, in these troubled times anything could happen.

Which was perhaps the reason for the attack on his home by forces loyal to
Lord Jarno.  He had been assembling quite an army in the last few months. 
Personal guardsmen, mercenary soldiers, several less than savoury 'busi-
nessmen'.  Kiro's own guard had been strengthened as well, but he had been
away for too long and he had not believed that anyone would dare attack
him in his own house.

He was wrong.

"I demand to be released at once!  This is an outrage and the Court shall
hear of it!"

"The Court will hear nothing," replied the veiled noblewoman, playing with
the hilt of her fan coquettishly.  "Apart, of course, from what we choose
to tell them."

"Lies!  You will hang for this."

"No, we won't.  You see, my lord, we have evidence that you are planning a
coup against the Court.  Or rather, we will have evidence... once you have
told us where to find it, or how to fabricate it."

"I'll tell you nothing."

"I will wager that is not the first time you have heard that, Trakis?" 
There was a brief acknowledgement in reply.  "I leave the matter now in
your entirely capable hands."

"But I'm a noble of the Court!  My family has given rise to Emperors.  You
can't..."

"Now, Trakis.  Please don't hurt his mouth.  He does have to speak,
remember."

Over an hour later the Lady Mariel walked away from the cellar room
holding the fan in front of her face, both to conceal her identity and so
that the servants and slaves would not see the hint of nausea in her
expression.  Trakis had indeed been very good.  A former slave, he had
leapt at the chance to torture a Centauri noble.  After the first few
minutes Mariel had begun to doubt her ability to stay there for long, but
she had willed herself the strength.  That at least was more than her
pathetic husband or her equally pathetic lover would have done.

And where was her lover?  Jarno could at least have been around to
supervise Kiro's fate.  Instead he was off somewhere, probably having a
massive guilt trip.

She stopped one of the mercenary soldiers she had managed to gather and
asked him.  The answer she received hardly filled her with solace.

The seeress had not moved in all the time since Mariel had been here last. 
Neither, it seemed, had Jarno.  He was still standing there, looking
directly at the Lady Ladira.  He looked so pathetic.  Ladira was sitting
on the floor, her legs still crossed, in some kind of trance.  Jarno could
well have been in some kind of trance himself, judging by his expression.

"Good news," she said, walking up to his side.  She lifted her veil and
kissed him once, briefly.  "He confessed.  He was actually plotting a
coup.  All the evidence is in his computer records.  I would know where to
find it, but alas... such things are beyond a simple lady of the court. 
You will have to help me, my love."

"Is he... did you... is he...?"

"Dead?  No, not yet.  We may need him alive for more information, but I
dare say his wounds will kill him before long.  Be happy, my love.  We
have pulled off a great victory, removed one of your rivals, and we are
now a step closer to your securing the throne.  Next... I think we may be
strong enough to deal with Prince Cartagia and that... that slut of his. 
The Lady Elrisia will surely be put out once she hears of this."

"The Lady Elrisia called you a slut from the woods with no manners, class,
breeding or intellect, Mariel.  I think that sours your opinion of her
just a little."

"I told you never to repeat that!" she snapped, slapping at him.  "Don't
forget who has brought you this far.  Without me, you'd still be languish-
ing in some Gods-forsaken post as under-sub-secretary to the clerk to the
secretary of the Minister of the Treasury."

"I know full well where you've brought me, Mariel.  And you only latched
yourself on to me because your husband went missing in action.  But still,
if Kiro really was planning a coup perhaps some good will come out of this
after all."

"Of course some good will come out of this.  We're one step nearer the
throne for you.  Remember..."

"Jarno!" cried a familiar voice.  Mariel groaned slightly, and then under-
went a conscious change to her bearing, expression and tone of voice.  It
was a skill she had taken great pains to learn, and practised at every
opportunity.

"Why, Daggair, dear.  How wonderful to see you here."

"What have you done, Jarno?" cried Mariel's beloved sister-wife.  "Word
has reached the Court.  They're calling it treason.  They're... they're
going to arrest you.  I came to... to see if it was true...  What have you
done?"

"Nothing, dear, now please leave us alone.  They won't dare do anything to
us.  They..."  Mariel stopped abruptly, as a sudden cold wind rushed
through the room.  She turned back to Jarno and followed his gaze, with
much the same expression of horror.  Lady Ladira was rising to her feet.

"The Darkness is coming," hissed the seeress, swaying drunkenly.  She
reached out her arms as if for Jarno, but he backed away in a terrified
panic.  "The Darkness is coming for us all.

"I can see it.  I can see it reaching this world, claiming us all.  It has
already claimed you.

"By knife, by madness, by rope... all here shall die.  Surely you... and
surely I.  By knife, by madness, by rope we must die.  Surely you... but
firstly I."

Jarno let out a strangled cry and moved forward.  His hand seized a goblet
from the mantle at his side.  It was an old ornament, and heavy.  Stumb-
ling forward, as if he had inherited the same near-drunkenness that
afflicted her, he dashed the goblet against Ladira's head.

She fell crumpled to the floor, a brief spot of blood dropping from her
crushed skull.

"Oh, Gods," cried Daggair.  "What have you...?  The Court must... must..." 
She turned and lurched for the door.  Mariel was faster, sliding a thin
blade from the spine of her fan.  Daggair had hardly reached the corridor
outside the door when the blade pierced the back of her neck, and she
fell.

"She was right," said Jarno, looking at the two bodies before him.  "She
was right."

"Shut up!  There's no backing out of this now, Jarno... none.  We are in
this to the end.  Do you hear me?"

"Rope, knife, madness.  Rope, knife, madness."

Mariel sighed, and noticed a speck of blood on her gloves.  She cursed
slightly as she tried to wipe it off.  Then, mindful that her companion
seemed incapable of doing anything, she called for the guards to remove
the bodies.

Then she fled to a distant corner to be terribly sick.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Captain Dexter Smith refrained from checking his uniform for the eighth
time and drew in a deep breath.  He was the representative of the conquer-
ing heroes after all.  He had won.  Well, not just him, but he had been a
part of it.

Maybe now the ghost of the Starkiller would leave his shoulder.

He walked forward into the docking bay of the station the Narn had,
strangely, named Babylon 4.  That was the proper name for the place of
course, but Smith was less than sure why a Narn would call it that.  Ah,
who could fathom the motives of aliens?  His security guards were behind
and beside him.  Enough of them... for the moment.  Enough to deal with
such problems as might arise.

A small group of aliens was waiting for him.  Most of them were Narns,
wearing peculiar sunburst insignia, and carrying weapons.  In front of
them were a Drazi, glowering unpleasantly, and a Brakiri, dressed in an
immaculate copy of an Earth business suit.

The Brakiri stepped forward, as Smith came to a halt.  "I am Lethke,
Minister of the Economy for the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven.  It is
with... some reluctance that I hand the station over to you, Captain
Smith."

"I thank you, Minister Lethke.  Reluctance need not play a part.  This
station was meant to be ours and this area of space does belong to the
Resistance Government.  Our diplomats will be more than happy to confirm
this, and once they have done so you and your staff will be free to return
to your home.  We at Proxima would value good relations with the United
Alliance."

The Drazi barked something in a strange language, and the Brakiri nodded
once.  "It is unfortunate, I suppose, that those more qualified than I to
authorise an action such as this are not here.  Messrs G'Kar and Ta'Lon
are currently missing, and the Narn security forces here seem to accept me
as the acting leader... at least for the moment."

"We will be happy to discuss matters with G'Kar and Ta'Lon when they make
themselves known to us, Minister.  Now, where is Satai Delenn?  I have
orders to take her into custody."

"Ah, Delenn no longer goes by that title, Captain, and I do not know where
she is.  I should also point out that any measures taken against her will
constitute hostile action against the Alliance, and we will respond in
kind."

"Neither I nor my Government has any wish for hostilities with the
Alliance, Minister.  However, Delenn is wanted for war crimes against my
people, and my orders are to make sure she stands trial for them."

"Well then, Captain, it appears we are at an impasse.  I cannot allow
Delenn to be taken into your custody.  Would it not be said she possesses
diplomatic immunity, as head of the Alliance?"

"My Government has not recognised that position."  Smith hoped his bearing
did not betray his concern.  His orders had stated that the capture of
Delenn was second in importance only to the capture of the Machine.  War
with the Alliance would be a trifling price to pay if it brought the
President Delenn.  And yet... Smith did not want to start a war, and he
did not want to hand someone over for torture and probable execution.  He
had no doubt that she would have no qualms about doing the same to him,
but he liked to believe that that was what made him better than the
Minbari.

The Drazi said something else, and this time Lethke shook his head sadly.

"What did he say?" Smith asked.

"He said we should kill you," came the reply.

"Then do so," Smith said, quietly pleased by how stern his voice sounded,
"but know that if you do, the four ships waiting in orbit will attack and
board this station, and there will be no measures taken to protect diplo-
matic immunity.  Your guards will stand down their weapons, and you will
render us every co-operation in the capture of Satai Delenn.  Do you
understand me?"

Something else from the Drazi, and a hint of anticipation in the Brakiri's
bearing.  "We understand you perfectly, Captain.  Absolutely perfectly."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar... is anything... wrong?"

"Of course not," replied Donne.  "Why would there be anything wrong?"  She
looked at the figures before her, searching through the Machine's memories
to find their records.  They had all come from the station, and all but
two of them were Narn - G'Kar must have had details on them.  It would
have helped if the Narns didn't all look alike, but then it was only a
matter of time.  How long to leave things before she showed them all the
truth?  How long would it take those mundanes to seize control of the
station?  Silly question, they were mundanes - they would probably still
be trying by Christmas.

"We were unable to contact you.  You have not been seen on the station for
hours.  We were... worried."

"There was no need to be worried."  The one in front was speaking.  He
would be the leader then.  Come on, his files would have to be here
somewhere.  What sort of organisation was there in this thing?  Where...? 
Her vision swam, and she found herself still staring at the Narn before
her, but somehow she knew he was younger.

"Will you follow me, Ta'Lon?" she asked.  No, it wasn't she who was
asking.  It was G'Kar.

"Of course I will.  Through fire and darkness, past death and despair..."

With a colossal force of will she brought herself back to the present. 
That was not the first time she had found herself visually and mentally
reliving old scenes, all of them involving G'Kar.  The Machine's equiva-
lent of a filing cabinet, no doubt.

"There was... no need for concern.  The Machine has just been... under
some strain lately."

"Of course, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar.  I understand.  I shall report back that
all is well.  May I lay my blade at your feet in honour and respect?"

"Yes.  Yes of course."  What was this?  Some absurd Narn ritual.  Donne
scanned through the others.  All Rangers no doubt.  All expendable there-
fore.  Who were the humans?  She recognised Michael Garibaldi.  He'd been
working for Al for quite a while.  A mundane, but an important one.  She'd
probably have to keep him alive then.  The other one... the woman... where
had she seen her before?

She looked back to see Ta'Lon draw that long sword from the sheath on his
back and kneel down just in front of her.  He was almost close enough to
touch.  She considered reaching out and tearing his mind open.

His next motion was too fast even for the Machine to track.  He brought
the sword up and slashed it across her side.  She threw back her head and
screamed, knowing that had she not installed a protective force field the
blow would have killed her.

Through her pain she could feel the voices of the Machine wailing in her
mind, a myriad cacophony of screams.

"Did you think I would not recognise an imposter in the place of my lord?"
hissed the Narn.  "Where is he and what have you done with him?"

Something began to knit across the wound.  She did not know what, nor did
she care.  All she felt was the burning hatred, and the explosion of
voices in her mind.

"Burn!"

The entire room before her burst into a blaze of electrical discharge. 
The Narn Rangers ran forward, drawing their own swords, rushing to join
their leader.

Too late.

At the last minute Donne remembered to erect a hasty force field, shield-
ing both herself and Ta'Lon from the effects of the blast.  She very much
wanted him alive.  The Narns screamed as the floor beneath them heated up
and the air thickened and flashed with sparks.

"Burn," she said again, and the blasts ended, six smoking bodies falling
to the ground.  "Tu'Pari!"

Ta'Lon, who had been knocked aside by her blast, rolled to his feet in one
smooth motion.  Still wielding his sword, he lunged for her again, but
this time she had her own Narn to aid her.

The assassin's cloak of darkness dissolved and he burst into motion. 
Hiding him had been simplicity itself.  Concealing Numbers One and Two had
been equally easy, although G'Kar had been a little harder.  The Machine
recognised its former keeper and did not want to harm him.  Forcing it to
do so had taken some effort.

Numbers One and Two trained their weapons on the other two humans. 
Garibaldi looked up at Donne, her holographic illusion now cast aside.  He
shrugged, and handed his own weapon over to Number One.  His companion
carried no weapon.

Ta'Lon's sword swept out towards Tu'Pari, but the assassin raised an arm
and the sword appeared to glance aside.  Lashing out with his other fist,
he caught the underside of Ta'Lon's jaw.  Just before the impact, small
spikes shot out from the knuckles of his glove.

The Ranger went down.  A few sharp kicks ensured that he did not rise
again.

"Is he dead, Tu'Pari?"

"No, not yet.  You aren't paying me enough to kill him."

A wave of anger poured through her, but she managed to restrain herself. 
She needed Tu'Pari alive.  Better by far to turn that anger against the
being who had wounded her.

"Am I paying you enough to torture him?"

"Depends on what you want done to him."

"I had plans for G'Kar, but I still need him alive and relatively un-
harmed.  He may be willing to talk more if he feels his friends are in
danger.  Begin with an eye, and work your way up from there.  I trust to
your expertise in this matter."

Tu'Pari drew his wickedly-bladed dagger and tested it against his arm.  He
then smiled.  "Always a pleasure to serve."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Catherine shook her head slowly.  "It's all so... I don't know.  I thought
you were dead.  No one survived the Line, they said.  No one."

"No one did.  I can't... quite... see it.  But I do know that no one
survived.  The Minbari were... very thorough."

"Now that is what I don't understand.  The Minbari destroyed everything of
ours.  They tore us apart, and they kept us apart these past thirteen
years.  Oh, I know it was these Vorlons who did... whatever... but it was
the Minbari who allowed it.  So why in God's name are you... looking
like... that?"

"I don't expect you to understand.  Sometimes I'm not sure I understand." 
He rose to his feet and gently took her hand, guiding her outside to his
balcony.  It was the middle of the morning now, and the bustle of people
through the streets of Kazomi 7 could be heard.  Slowly he pointed to a
park, not far away.  There was a small shrine there, made of wood and
stone.  In front of the shrine there was a garden of sand and rocks.  "You
see that?"

"A Japanese stone garden, yes... I... what is a Japanese stone garden
doing here?  I've only seen two other humans on this whole planet; that
insane merchant who brought me here and the Gandalf wannabe who checked me
out in the customs area."

"Ah, I believe the Centauri picked up the idea, and quite liked it... for
a time.  Our fashions were quite popular with them for a while, remember? 
And after... afterwards... Delenn told me that they merely altered the
stone garden a little to make it look Minbari.  It was destroyed when the
Drakh invaded, but Delenn saw to it that it was rebuilt.  She said...
something..."  He straightened.  "The power of one mind to change the
universe.  I told Marrain that once, when he was questioning some of my
ideas.  That was the one occasion when I wish he hadn't listened to me."

"You creep me out when you do that."  She shivered.  "Oh, don't look at me
like that.  One minute you're almost the Jeff I knew, and I can almost
forget you've got that damned bone growing out of your skull, and then...
and then you switch personalities and creep me out.  What has that stone
garden got to do with anything anyway?"

"What do you see when you look at it?"

She shrugged.  "Rocks.  Sand.  More sand.  What am I supposed to see?"

"I see footsteps stretching out across the sand, running forever on into
the distance.  And I know that I'm following them, travelling a path that
has already been travelled...  There's a man waiting for me at the end...
and he's me.

"Catherine, I remember things that I have not yet done.  I can see my
future... your past.  The Vorlons did that to me.  They changed my appear-
ance, my memories, took away almost everything that made me human...
leaving just enough so that I would be the Valen of history.  They took
you away from me.  They took everything away from me.

"I have no choice but to follow this path.  They made sure of that."

"You... remember your future?"

"I know what is to happen.  The histories record everything I said, and
did, and all the mistakes I made... mistakes I have to make again.  Foot-
steps in the sand."

"Then you... you know how you're going to die?"

He shivered and bowed his head, gripping tightly to the balcony rail. 
"Don't ask me.  I can never tell you.  Never tell anyone."

"I don't know if you're Jeffrey or... the other guy at the moment.  I
don't think I want to know.  What are you going to do now?"

"Stay here.  I have to.  I don't think the Vorlons want me to go too
far..."

*He must stay here, until the time is right.*

Catherine recoiled at the alien thoughts, but she said nothing.  He did
not seem to notice.

"Besides, if I head out into the galaxy, there's too much that could
happen.  The Minbari are... falling apart at the moment.  If I tried to
help, I'd just make things worse.  I know I would.  Neither of the fact-
ions out there wants me, not really.  But here... I can help.  There are
some Minbari who... remember what I'm meant to represent, and they're
coming here.  They're coming to safety and strengthening this place... all
at the same time.

"I have to stay here, but you, Catherine... what are you going to do? 
I... I would like you to stay."

"I don't know.  I'd... been told I would find you here, but I had no idea
it would be like this.  I... I need to think.  I'd like to see a bit more
of this place."

"Of course.  I'll give you a guided tour."

"I just hope that no one back home gets word of me hanging around with a
Minbari."

He smiled, but it was a false smile.  She looked at him, and wondered what
thoughts were there, behind that so-alien face.  For a brief moment
equally alien thoughts flitted inside her mind - but only for a moment,
and then they were gone, the Vorlon influence receding to her subcons-
cious, content to wait.  For the moment, at least.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn stood still, looking out into space.  All she could see were the
human ships floating there.  The same human ships that had destroyed
Minbar.

"No," she muttered.  "We destroyed Minbar.  Our arrogance.  Our sins.  Us,
not them."

She grimaced, placing her hands against her forehead.  Her head was
pounding.  She had been concentrating on this for... she did not know how
long.  A long time.  It had been foolishness to imagine this would work,
but she had to try.  All communications signals were blocked.  There was
still no word from the Machine and she had accepted that something had
happened to G'Kar.  Sinoval had gone, and would in all likelihood not
return even if he was aware of what was happening here.  His loyalties lay
elsewhere.

There was only John, and only one way to contact him.

She had never tried using her link with Lyta in this way before.  Neither
of them was sure how it worked or what it was capable of.  Delenn knew
only that it was a connection of some sort, and part of what had led to a
wonderful friendship.

Lyta was with John.  If only Delenn could somehow... get... something...
through.

A warm wind seemed to be blowing into her wind, a rush of gold on blue. 
She fell to her knees, almost screaming.  She had touched something all
right.  But what?

"Lyta?  Lyta?"

*Are you ready?*

"Kosh..."  The Vorlon who had placed a part of himself within her, the
same part that was now within Lyta; the source of their connection.

*A deal was made.  My part in it is almost done.  Remember what you saw.*

"What I saw...?  I don't..."

*Remember.*

She screamed as something seemed to explode in her mind.  She fell forward
to her knees, her hands clawing against the plastics, seemingly clawing
against space itself.

"Delenn?"  Lyta!  At last!  "Delenn... what is happening?  You're...
you're hurting me."

"We... need you, Lyta.  We... we... need you..."

"What is...?"  Lyta was screaming.  "Delenn... What...?"  Her voice was
growing quieter, only her screams remaining.  "What...?"  It faded, and
there was silence again.

Behind Delenn, standing in the doorway, were four human security
officials.  One of them activated a link.  "Captain Smith.  We have her,
sir."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *
From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 4C
Date: Mon, 11 Jan 1999 18:18:53 +0000



"All this... and for what?"

Kozorr touched her arm gently and she winced from the pain.  She felt very
dizzy, but something kept her upright.  Kats wondered what it could
possibly be.  By rights she should be unconscious by now.

"A warning.  Look closer.  All the damage was concentrated on the Adminis-
tration building, the Government bases, military locations... next to
nothing on civilian targets."

Kats nodded, breathing out harshly.  She should have seen that.  "But
who...?"

"That thing that attacked you.  It mentioned... someone called the
Z'ondarr?"  She nodded again.  "Do you think it meant Sonovar?  Some sort
of linguistic corruption perhaps?  Sinoval and I have ben expecting
something from Sonovar for a while, but... nothing like this."  He shook
his head.  "I just wish I knew who these aliens were."

"What... now?"

"Now, my lady, I am taking you to a place where you can heal.  There are
survivors who have set up emergency hospitals.  Then... I'll try to take
one of these aliens alive.  Some of them are still here.  I suppose I had
better try to find out where Administrator Callen is, but that might be a
low-priority assignment."

She chuckled, and then swayed, almost falling.  He caught her, but
awkwardly, his ruined hand unable to afford him proper leverage.  "Too...
much... blood..."

"Come on, Kats.  There is somewhere not far.  Just... stay conscious. 
Talk to me..."

"About... what...?"

"Anything."  He took a few steps forward, holding her in as balanced a
position as he could manage.  "Your childhood.  Your parents.  Your... 
Kats!  Stay awake!"

"... Trying..."  She could see Kalain again, floating in front of her,
above her, laughing, mocking her.  Worker bitch.  Murderer!  Inferior. 
Hardly Minbari at all were the worker caste.  Nothing more than animals,
really.  Valen might have raised them up, but that was all they were.

"Kats..."  Kozorr's voice was fading, and everything around her seemed
dark.  "Kats... my lady...  Stay awake... my lady."

*I love you.*

Had he said those words, or had she only imagined them?  She tried to
think of something to say, but the words would not come out.  She reached
up for him, but could not move her arm.  Darkness took her at last.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She moved as though swimming through treacle.  Voices exploded in her mind
- Delenn's voice, the Vorlon voices, Valen's words... she could hear them
all.  But she knew what had to be done.

Somehow Lyta Alexander managed to reach the bridge of the Parmenion,
although she could remember nothing of the journey.  She was aware only of
Delenn's plea for help, and then the solemn orders of the Vorlon that
shared her soul.

"Miss Alexander!" started Captain Sheridan.  "What is...?"

Everyone on the bridge was looking at her.  Captain Sheridan, Commander
Corwin, the third-in-command, Major Krantz, the tech ops.  She tried to
speak, but could not frame the words.  The light was shining so brightly
in her mind.

She wanted to scream.

And she did.

Her eyes became reflections of the Vorlon within her.  Her mouth was wide
open and light and beauty poured from it, from her, illuminating the room.

<Choose your destiny now.  The avalanche has begun.>

"What is this?" asked Krantz, from seemingly a whole universe away. 
"Captain, what...?"

<Choose.  The past depends on you.>

The light faded and Lyta, her scream voiced at last, fell to the floor. 
Sheridan was beside her instantly.  "What's happened?" he asked.

"Delenn... she... got through to me... somehow...  She's in trouble... big
trouble..."

"David, try and send a message to Babylon Four.  See if you can find out
what's going on there."

"Yes, Captain," came the reply.  Corwin began barking orders to the
technicians.

"Captain Sheridan, we have a duty to be at Sanctuary as soon as possible,
do you remember?"  Major Krantz again.  Lyta found his surface thoughts
screaming at her.  He was worried about... something.  A conflict of
interests.  He was... going to betray them.

"This might be important, Major."

Corwin turned around from the comm panels.  "We can't get through to the
station.  Something's jamming all signals."

Sheridan rose to his feet.  "Right, that's it.  We're turning about and
heading back to the station."

"Captain, you have your orders."

"Yes, I do, Major, and I'm ignoring them.  David, how long is it likely to
take us to get back?"

"Several hours.  We're going to have to reset the navigation and reattach
ourselves to the old jump gate beacon.  We've still got it in memory, so
it shouldn't be too hard."

"Good.  Lyta, I'll call for the medics.  You look like you need some-
thing."

"Nothing they can do for me."  Her voice sounded dry, as if it were coming
from a stranger.  "The Vorlons are playing with me again.  I'll... stay
here."

"If you think you can."

"Captain Sheridan!  You have been ordered to make for Sanctuary."

"Yes, Major Krantz, and I told you I'm ignoring that order.  Babylon Four
is in trouble, and they need our help."

"You work for Bester, not G'Kar.  Remember that!"  Sheridan ignored him. 
In a fury, Krantz activated his link.

"Do you think we should inform Ben Zayn about this?" asked Corwin.  "He
might be able to help."

"He's more likely to try to fire on us.  Something stinks here, David. 
This whole... sudden order to leave was just too... convenient.  No,
Bester knew about this, I'd bet anything on it."

"It does seem likely."

"Captain!" Lyta cried, falling to her knees in pain.  "Sec... security
are...  They're..."  The door to the bridge opened and a squad of Narn
security officers entered.

"Ko'Dath," ordered Major Krantz.  "Captain Sheridan and Commander Corwin
are relieved of duty as of this moment.  You are to escort them to the
brig."

Ko'Dath made a gesture of feigned surprise, and looked at Sheridan. 
"Captain?"

Sheridan smiled.  "Major Krantz isn't feeling too well, Ko'Dath.  I think
he needs a lie down in one of the holding cells.  Take him there, will
you?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Oh, and after that, ready your people as much as you can.  I think we
might need you when we get to Babylon Four."

"We're always ready, Captain."

"You can't do this, Sheridan!  You..."

"I've already done it, Major."  Sheridan turned his back as the Narn Bat
Squad dragged the protesting Major Krantz away from the bridge.  None of
the technicians stirred as they did so.

"Well, we've done it now," said Corwin.

"Ah, I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

Lyta smiled through her pain.  

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"You know how to stop his pain, G'Kar.  Just tell me."

The Narn coughed, laughter spluttering through his breath.  "You...
still... do not... understand.  The Machine can never be yours...  You...
do... not... are not... ready..."

Donne looked at Ta'Lon.  He was unconscious, blood staining his face and
the front of his clothing.  "Tu'Pari, you idiot!  I told you to be careful
with him.  I don't want him dead."

"He isn't.  At a rough guess, he made himself fall unconscious."

Donne was surprised.  "You can do that?"

"It was an old trick taught amongst the Thenta Ma'Kur.  A trick to protect
us from awkward questions if we should be captured.  These... Rangers must
have found out about it somehow."

"Ah.  Annoying.  Wake him up."  Tu'Pari nodded.

"I will do what I can."

"And please put that thing away."

"Thing?  Oh, this."  He held up a red orb, thick blood dripping from it. 
Behind him, Garibaldi's friend was being very sick.  "A trophy of con-
quest.  And please... lower your tone.  I am not your slave, lady."

*You will be whatever I tell you to be,* came the thought, but she did not
give voice to it.  She needed Tu'Pari for the moment, and the humans were
growing less and less willing to be here.  Sooner or later she would have
to kill them, but not until she had figured out how to access all the
secrets of this Machine.  With all its knowledge at her disposal, she
would be able to hold off anything.  Without it... Ta'Lon had nearly
defeated her just by himself.  What if more like him came?

"This thing has some offensive capability.  I know it does.  But..."  She
smiled, alien thoughts buzzing through her mind.  The Machine was respon-
ding to her.  Words, thoughts... images... all there.

Weaponry, enough to protect this planet for a million years.

She laughed.  "Well, G'Kar.  You didn't tell me about all those long-range
missiles this thing has hidden around.  Who knew just how vast this
Machine was?"

"I did... but you do not... you are not..."  He coughed again.  "You...
can... not..."

"Oh yes, I can."  She started, and then laughed again.  "There's a jump
point opening.  A ship's arriving.  I think I have some target practice. 
Tell me what I need to know, G'Kar, or I'll start filling the skies with
as many of these missiles as I can.  And I'll turn that precious station
of yours into so much scrap metal.

"Well?"

Alone, off to the side, still comatose, thoughts began to race through
Susan Ivanova's mind - guiding her, directing her, pushing her.  The
Keeper's soft words touched her, and sent thoughts into Donne's mind,
manipulating her to the desired end.

Ivanova's eyes opened.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo looked out through the window of his transport, hoping to catch a
glimpse of the sea beneath him.  Unfortunately it was too dark, but he
could imagine it there, proud and majestic, knowing nothing of his
concerns or problems.

Timov's angry words still sounded in his memory.  He had hated to leave
her like that, but if the Gods were willing, then they would meet again.

"It was Malachi.  He... he has invited me to attend him in the capital."

Timov had snorted.  "Mad, of course?"

Londo had looked at her, realising just how much he had grown to love her
recently.  "I will be leaving within the hour."

He did not know why he had to go.  Well, he did know, but he could not put
it into words.  Vague concepts of friendship, and sacrifice, and under-
standing all flitted through his mind, but he knew as well as Timov did
that none of that really mattered.  What did matter was... he did not
know.  But something had to matter.  He knew only that if he did not go,
he would lose any opportunity to end this without more bloodshed.

Without him having to sacrifice another Camulodo.

"Malachi is my friend," he had tried to explain.

"What sort of friend can he be?  Look at what he has done!"

"Malachi has not done everything."

"He's done enough!"

No, that was it.  Londo needed to see Malachi again, to look into his eyes
and see, once and for all, if his friend was still there.  Malachi had
taken in a young and idealistic noble's son and trained him in the ways of
politics and the Court.  He had told Londo something, once:

"We possess power far greater than that of any others, on any other world
in the galaxy.  And yet how do we use it?  Power is nothing if it is not
used, but it is even less if not used correctly.  Remember that, Londo."

What could have happened to him?

Beside him Lennier sat, apparently asleep, but probably just meditating. 
He had not insisted on coming.  There had just been no doubt that he not
would be left behind.  The two of them had begun this whole quest together
after all.  They would have to finish it together.

It seemed so long ago, that journey to Kazomi 7 with Delenn.  Where was
she now?  Safe and at peace, he hoped.

Well, safer and more at peace than he was.

The capital, and the Court, drew him onwards.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Captain Smith had not been sure what to expect from the notorious war
criminal Satai Delenn.  He had never seen her before in person, although
he had been given access to records... from both before and after her
emergence from her cocoon.

Neither of them matched the picture of peace and serenity before him now. 
She was seated on a narrow bench in the holding cell, hands folded in her
lap, head raised, looking him squarely in the eye.  She looked very
different from either of the images he had seen.  Apparently she had gone
through a second transformation.  Human and Minbari were now blended
perfectly in her.

She made him... uncomfortable.

"It is my place to inform you that you will be taken from here to Proxima
Three, there to stand trial for war crimes against the human race.  You
will be afforded every right to defence and justice according to our laws. 
Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"I understand," she said.  Her voice was strangely accented, soft, but
with layers of steel beneath.  "And we both know, Captain Smith, that my
trial will be anything but fair."

"My Government has assured me that it will be.  In any case your trial is
not my concern.  I am just a soldier.  It is my duty to escort you there
and hand you over to the appropriate authorities.  That is all."

"Nobody is 'just' anything, Captain."

"As you say, Satai."

"I no longer go by that title.  It was taken from me a long time ago."

"Then how should I address you?"

"My name is Delenn, and it is as good a name as any other.  If you are
uncomfortable with that, however, then my people gave me another title to
replace the one they took from me.  Zha'valen."

"And that means?"

"Outcast."

He opened his mouth to speak, but then realised he had nothing worth
saying.  Simply being around her troubled him in a way he could not
identify.  Maybe because she looked so human, or so vulnerable.  It was
hard to envisage her as the monstrous butcher he had always believed the
Minbari to be.

His link suddenly beeped and he activated it.  "Yes.  Smith here."

It was Lieutenant Franklin, from the bridge of the Babylon.  "Captain, our
sensors have detected something approaching from hyperspace.  One of our
ships.  A capital ship."

"All our capital ships are here.  What...?"  He suddenly paled, and looked
at Delenn.  There was a knowing look in her eyes, and he suddenly felt the
burden of his ghosts rising up before him.

And a chance to exorcise himself of it forever.  "It's Sheridan.  I'm on
my way back to the ship.  I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But Captain, your orders are to..."

"The station is secure, and the capture of the station and the Machine
were our top priorities.  To safeguard our acquisitions here we need to
defeat these reinforcements, and for that, I need to be on the bridge of
my ship.  I will be there immediately."

He turned and left the holding cell, barking quick instructions to the two
security officers on guard there.  As he left he heard Delenn saying
something, and he turned back to her.  "Walk with Valen, Captain," she
said softly.

Troubled, he ignored her, and began to run towards the shuttle bays.

Sheridan.  The Starkiller.  At last, another chance to prove fully to
everyone that he was worthy of sitting in the captain's chair where the
Starkiller himself had once sat.  They had clashed before, but inconclus-
ively.  This time it would be more decisive.

Smith would later wonder how his life would have turned if he had remained
on the station, co-ordinating its defence from there.  He would never
know, but he would always feel that the decision to make for his ship had
been the one greatest moment of his life.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Parmenion emerged from hyperspace to find the four ships of the Resis-
tance Government waiting for it.  Sheridan looked at them, and felt a
tightening in his chest.  Here it was: the conflict he had been dreading
and hoping to avoid ever since he had broken away from Proxima.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," he said, the comm channels
carrying the message to his four opponents, and also, he hoped, to the
captains of the Drazi and Brakiri ships.  "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three
are under my protection.  You are to leave now."

"Captain Sheridan," came a reply.  A voice he recognised.  General Ryan. 
"You are wanted for war crimes against the Resistance Government.  Stand
down your ship now, and we promise to spare those of your crew who are
innocent of any wrongs against humanity."

"That is not an option, General."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

On board the Stra'kath, the Drazi captain had been sitting impatiently for
hours, wondering why he was not being ordered to fight.  Still, he placed
trust in Taan Churok, and would wait.

Finally, the order he had been waiting for arrived.

"The control room is ours once more.  The station is ours."  Taan Churok's
face on the screen.  "Allies are here.  Fight."

The captain grinned.  He did not bother checking in with his Brakiri
counterpart.  If he was willing to fight, then he would join in.

He set target for the human ships, and ordered the Stra'kath forward.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Donne smiled.  "You were warned."

The Machine rumbled, and a missile soared from the bowels of the planet,
shooting up into space.


To be continued...