From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 1A
Date: Thu, 2 Oct 1997 19:39:37 +0100

Phase Two
The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams

Hi people. Notes, disclaimers etc. can be found at the bottom, except 
for this one - There are no Spoilers as such in here but I am drawing 
upon all elements of the B5 universe in writing this and people who 
are not up to date may be inadvertently Spoiled. There. Now, enjoy...

				    * * * * *
Chapter One - The Cost of Alliances

"The black and terrible storm that we have predicted for so long is
coming at last. We can see it raging across the galaxy, bringing chaos
and terror where it passes. The recent battle at Proxima 3 has merely
confirmed our fears. Others may see it as merely an extension of the
Earth / Minbari War which bgan fourteen years ago - just another
battle, albeit one which showed that the Minbari can be defeated. A
significant event now, perhaps, but one which will soon be forgotten
in ten or twenty or fifty years. 

"We know differently.

"Knowledge always has a price, and as our knowledge is greater than
any others, so must we pay more than any other. Power has a cost, and
that cost is power.

"We know. The Ancient Enemy has returned. It was their strength, not
the pitiful defence force of the human Resistance Government, that cut
the Minbari fleet to shreds in the skies above Proxima 3. And were it
not for the arrival of the other Ancient Race then the Minbari may
well have been annhiliated there and then. Humanity may delude itself
all it wishes, but their actions here have damned them. 

"Incidentally, I do not count myself as being human any longer. I have
moved beyond that.

"And so we are going. We have always known that one day we must. Power
has a cost, and that cost is power. For good or ill, power is always
used, and we must make sure that it is used correctly. We are no pawns
in the struggle between Vorlon and Shadow. We are not the Younger
Races, too concerned with our own struggles to note the cost of our
actions. We are not human, or Minbari, or Narn, or Centauri. Though
our numbers come from many races, we have all put aside what once we
were.

"We know, and that is all.

"But even knowledge is finite and ephmeral. While it is our task to
preserve power, it is the task of others to preserve knowledge. We
cannot leave without them, without knowing that they are safe. While
we did not create them, we have always worked together. Technomage and
Vindrizi. They hold the knowledge that we use. The Vindrizi have been
lost, scattered, broken even. We must find them, and free them. Their
knowledge is as valuable as our power.

"I merely hope that we find them in time, and I find myself wondering
that even one such as I, even a technomage, can still find time for
such an emotion as hope. I feel that that particular revelation scares
me more than any thought of my death."

The personal thoughts of Elric, leader of the technomages

Part 1 of 4

The Narn was attempting to run. At least, that was the closest analogy
he could find to his current situation. Flight was no stranger to
G'Dan. He had been raised, had he not, during the dying days of the
Centauri rule of his people. He had fought them, had worked in the
resistance against them, had been involved in the war afterwards. No,
he was no stranger to blood, to death, to fear.

G'Dan was a member of a proud people. Flight did not come naturally to
him, but during his time in the military he had been blessed to be led
by one of the greatest heroes Narn possessed. G'Kar. Leader, warrior,
orator, dreamer. G'Kar had been a focal point in the First Centauri
War. G'Dan had recognised that greatness and he had listened to G'Kar,
followed his advice, heeded his words.

There is no shame in fleeing from a superior force, G'Kar had said. We
can each only die once, and while none of us should ever be afraid to
give our lives for a great cause, we must be sure that the cause we
are giving our lives for is worth the sacrifice. For our deaths can
only last once, but our lives can last many years.

G'Kar had said those words during a speech he had made to his crew
just before the epic Battle of Gorash, when the Narns attacked the
Centauri supply lines in the dying stages of the war. G'Dan had
listened and roared his approval, truly convinced that, at that day,
he could do anything.

The Battle of Gorash had been a bloody stand-off, and eventually the
Narns had been driven back, even with the help of the human Captain
"StarKiller" Sheridan. The war had ended shortly after that, but G'Dan
had never forgotten G'Kar's words. 

After the war G'Kar had left the military and the kHa'Ri, and he had
ventured into the G'Khorazhar Mountains, becoming a preacher of
G'Quan. G'Kar was rumoured to be dead, ever since a mysterious attack
massacred everyone at his temple. G'Dan did not believe G'Kar was
dead. He did not believe G'Kar could ever truly die.

Unfortunately, he did not believe the same about himself.

It had been a routine mission, a simple scout into neutral space,
information the kHa'Ri needed to plot out their next attack against
the Centauri. The Second Centauri War was only a few months old and
already things showed signs of stagnating the same way the first war
had. G'Dan's mission had been part of a plan to prevent that
stagnation.

He hadn't expected to run into a strange alien ship. Not Centauri, and
it didn't match any of the ships from the League of Non-Aligned
Worlds. The Tuchanq, whose space was nearby, had no ships of this
calibre.

G'Dan did not know whose ship this was, but that was not his
responsibility. His task was to escape to the jumpgate and return to
Narn, reporting this to the kHa'Ri.

But his shuttle was too slow, and the alien ship was too fast.

An energy beam sliced past his shuttle, narrowly missing it. G'Dan
frantically began evasive manoeuvres. He began silently reciting some
of G'Kar's words, knowing that if G'Kar were here, then everything
would be all right.

His shuttle was suddenly trapped, held frozen and motionless in space,
an insect suspended in black amber.

Then the alien ship begn to pull it inwards. G'Dan closed his eyes as
he blacked out.

And the Streib ship sailed on, into the night.

* * * * *

It was quiet in the ready room aboard the Parmenion. Far too quiet, as
Captain John Sheridan noted to himself, half in quiet depression, half
in anger. This room did not... seem right. Sheridan had spent years on
board the Babylon, a ship that had almost been an extension of his
essence. He had been comfortable there. Here...

There was no denying that the Parmenion was a far more impressive ship
than its predecessor. The Babylon had undergone so many battles, hasty
repairs and last-minute botch jobs that it had almost evolved into a
different class of ship than the destroyer class it had once been. The
Parmenion was newer, fitter, stronger, deadlier. The Babylon had been
the best the Resistance Government on Proxima 3 had been able to
manage. The Resistance Government had not been aware of the existance
of any other destroyer class starships, and here they were - on
Sanctuary - two of them. The Parmenion and the Ozymandias. And where
they had come from was anyone's guess.

Sheridan mentally corrected himself. Two that he knew about. For all
that Alfred Bester had saved his life and given him and some of his
old crew a place here on Sanctuary, Sheridan did not trust the Psi Cop
one bit. He didn't know quite what it was. So much of what he did was
based on instinct, and he instinctively did not like Bester. His
forced involvement at the Battle of the Second Line was more than
reason enough. Sheridan appreciated accurate information and when he
was thrown into a situation like that without being told who he was
supposed to be fighting, it grated.

Still...

For the moment he and Bester had the same enemy. Later, that would
undoubtedly change but for the moment, it would do. As long as G'Kar
was here. Sheridan did not understand the exact specifics of the
relationship between the human Psi Cop and the Narn prophet - although
he did know that telepathic DNA was involved somewhere - but he did
trust G'Kar.

There was a limited list of people Sheridan trusted. Admittedly, it
had grown in recent months, but it was still limited. G'Kar. Commander
David Corwin, Sheridan's second, and...

And one other, one who was perhaps both more and less deserving of
trust than anyone Sheridan had ever met.

"Reaction times are getting faster," Corwin said, reading off the
reports of their latest effort at drilling the crew of the Parmenion.
Sheridan may still not be familiar with the ship or its crew, but he
was determined to get familiar with them, and soon. Before they were
pushed into battle again.

"Ko'Dath's got her `Narn bat squad' working at one Hell of a pace.
They can get to pretty much any area of the ship in minutes. I've
never seen a Narn run so fast. There should be no repeat of that time
the Minbari boarded us during the Second Line." Sheridan nodded. The
Minbari had of course received some unofficial help. Sheridan had been
betrayed before, but that time had seemed different. Seeing the
results of the betrayal had erased any of his attempts at anger. 

Ko'Dath had felt anything but, and had taken Sheridan's abduction from
the ship as a personal insult. The Narn Head of Security aboard the
Parmenion was a fiery woman, strong willed and disapproving of
anything and everything. Sheridan found he quite liked her.

"Both StarFury squadrons are up to speed, although Squadron Alpha is
still displaying some erratic tactical decisions. I've decided to post
Neeoma over to Squadron Alpha. She'll soon sort them out." Neeoma
Connally had been one of the old crew from the Babylon, an efficient
and talented Starfury pilot. She had stuck by Sheridan out of loyalty,
and perhaps because she had nowhere else. Her dream had been of
championing the cause of the common worker, but the war had ended that
for her. The war had ended a lot of things for a lot of people.

"Captain Ben Zayn has been filling us in on a few of the matters you
asked about earlier. He's been more than just a little unco-operative,
but... It's better than nothing."

Captain Ari Ben Zayn was the captain of the Ozymandias - Bester's
other ship. A dedicated and decorated officer, Ben Zayn was an old
friend of Bester's. Sheridan did not trust him either - although
Sheridan found he quite liked Ben Zayn's telepath, Harriman Grey - but
there was no harm in benefitting from Ben Zayn's skills and
experience.

"What about Bester? Is he still on our backs about a new telepath?"
Sheridan asked. Bester insisted that all his ships carried telepaths -
the stronger the better. They provided a useful weapon against the
Shadows. The Parmenion's telepath, Alisa Beldon, had died from burnout
at the Second Line, and Bester had been trying to find a replacement
ever since.

"Oh yes. Garibaldi relayed a list of possibilities not long ago.
Kelsey, rating P12, former Psi Cop. Jason Ironheart, rating P10,
former instructor. Matthew Stoner, rating... something weird. Abby..."

Sheridan couldn't help but repress a grin. "And did you tell Mister
Garibaldi that we already have a telepath?" Michael Garibaldi was
Bester's Executive Officer. Corwin had had dealings with him. Sheridan
had not.

"Well... yes. He doesn't mind, but Bester wasn't happy. I don't know
what's been going on between him and Miss Alexander, but he says that
her loyalties are a little suspect..."

"Meaning she's not loyal to him. She's staying."

Corwin shrugged and spread his arms. "If you say so. You do realise of
course that she hates you?" Sheridan nodded. Lyta Alexander had good
reason to hate him. He had been the one, after all, who had sent her
lover Marcus Cole to his death, albeit unknowingly. "Well, you're the
Captain, I suppose."

"I know full well that she hates me, David, but she's the only
telepath here who isn't loyal to Bester. That's worth a little hatred.
How is she, by the way?"

"Out of MedLab. Walking around. Doctor Hobbs says that her telepathic
powers haven't been lessened by... whatever happened on Proxima. In
fact they seem stronger. She couldn't explain it, but..."

Sheridan shrugged. Doctor Hobbs was one of Bester's people. Until he
had reason otherwise, he wouldn't trust a word she said.

"Final report?"

"My best guess... we're ready. Of course we can't be certain until
we've actually taken this ship out for another test run - hopefully
one where we know what we're doing, this time. But I think we're
ready."

Sheridan smiled. If Corwin thought they were ready, then they were
ready. He had every trust in his second. "Has Major Krantz indicated
anything's going to be up?" The Parmenion's third in command was
directly linked to Bester, and therefore not to be trusted one inch.
Krantz was a fine soldier, however.

"Not yet."

"Well... something will find us soon enough, David. Something always
does."

* * * * *

Her steps are faltering and slow; her breath is harsh and hurts her
chest; her head and muscles ache; her sight is unfocussed and often
clouded; her hearing unpredictible. For the past three months, the
woman who was once Satai Delenn of the Grey Council has been a
stranger in this new body in which she has found herself. But she has
been no less a stranger to her new status.

It has been three months since she entered the chrysalis, completing
what she saw as prophecy, a need to unite the human and Minbari races.
It has been three months since her chyrsalis was broken open
prematurely by the Shadow agent Susan Ivanova and Delenn of Mir was
thrust back into a cruel and unforgiving world.

It has been two weeks since she discovered she was made outcast for
this action. Pronounced Zha'valen by the same Grey Council on which
she had once stood. A sacrificial lamb for the ambitions of its
powerful leader Sinoval, she has now been stripped of everything she
had ever held dear. Even the Grey Council is no more, destroyed by the
wrath of the Dilgar warlord DeathWalker.

She is a stranger both to her body and to her surroundings, and it is
small surprise that she has very few points of reference. She has
always believed that she was integral to the war against the Ancient
Enemy, that her people would lead that war. This place... all of this
has proved that to be a lie. Human. Narn. Working together in a Circle
of Light, following the path that her people had been too blinded and
arrogant to follow.

The woman who is now just Delenn has never been more lost.

She has tried to comfort herself in the hope that there is one point
of focus for her - one stability. The man who is in many ways
responsible for her being here at this place and at this time. Captain
John Sheridan. The StarKiller.

But she has not seen him in over a week. Not since they had come so
close to kissing. Not since she had collapsed, her unpredictible
half-human heart betraying her. He had not come to her bedside, had
not come to see her.

She winced as she took an unsteady step forward. She was feeling
increasingly light-headed and her vision was swimming. She knew she
needed to rest, but she had to push herself forward one more step.
Just one more.

She managed it and then collapsed onto the chair, her breath coming in
deep, painful rasps. Ten steps. That was all the once Satai had been
able to accomplish before collapsing. Still, it was an improvement.
Yesterday it had only been eight.

She looked up with eyes clouded over by pain - both physical and
mental. A person was stepping into view. A human. She recognised him.
It was Michael Garibaldi. He worked for the one who ruled this place.

"Hi," he said awkwardly. "How... are you feeling?"

"Better," she said hesitantly. "I... better." There was a pause.
"Thank you."

He shrugged. "Listen. The... ah... the Boss wants to see you. He says
it's something important. In his office. Can you...?"

"I will make it there," she whispered. And she would. All she had left
was herself, but any hope that she could still serve, still make a
difference... it had to be seized. She suddenly realised something.
"Surely you did not have to come all this way simply to tell me that?"
She felt suddenly pleased that not all her perceptions were deserting
her.

"Ah... no. I just thought that... well... You might need... help...
getting there."

He was uncomfortable about something. There was a lot about this that
he did not like. "I will need no help," she said softly. "But... I
thank you." He shrugged again and stepped forward slowly, evidently to
support her if she fell.

She would not fall. Although she was lost in both her body and in her
surroundings, she still had something to cling to. Her purpose had
gone, her people were lost, her health was fragile, but she was still
Minbari, and she could still feel her father's gaze upon her. Her
father's, and that of one other.

That of John Sheridan.

And she did walk to Bester's office, and although Garibaldi was close
by always, she did not fall.

* * * * *

"And Lord Refa survived an assassination attempt last night," said the
calmly practical, and slightly bored voice. "A fairly simple matter of
poisoned bravari, apparently."

"Amateurs," snapped Londo Mollari, former Minister of the Centauri
Royal Court, now in exile on Sanctuary, and not to mention dead to
most of the Centauri. The powers that ran Sanctuary had finally
managed to get hold of a communications link to Centauri Prime,
although only through the Valerius - the Centauri warship commanded by
Londo's nephew Carn that Londo had somehow managed to involve in this
mess. 

"Amateurs. And peasants to boot. Great Maker, one does not poison
bravari. Besides, Refa does not drink bravari. Let that be a lesson,
Timov. Never trust a man who does not drink. It shows he has something
to hide."

"Yes, Londo," Timov replied tiredly. Londo missed many things about
Centauri Prime, but his wife was not one of them. "Would you like me
to continue, or would you rather give me life lessons?" Londo made an
angry gesture. "Yes, well. It appears that a Mister Vir Cotto foiled
the plot. He is of course, Refa's aide."

"Vir? Bah!"

"The rest of the Royal Court is somewhat subdued. They are still
supposed to be in mourning following Emperor Marrit's death. They are
of course busily plotting behind closed doors while the Centarum
debates his successor. Marrit's cousin Cartagia seems the best bet."

"I've met him," Londo snapped. "If he becomes Emperor than may the
Great Maker help us all. What about my other two dear wives? I am sure
you are having so much fun dividing my estate up between the three of
you, yes?"

"Very funny, Londo. In fact, Mariel and Daggair don't seem to be
interested in your estate. Mariel is still plotting with Lady Elrisia
and Daggair is busily embezzling as much of your money as she can
before the investigators from the Ministry of Taxation set about
dividing up matters."

"Nothing new there, then. Keep me informed, Timov. And... thank you."

For the first time he could remember, Londo saw Timov completely
speechless. She was about to say something, but then she shrugged, and
the screen went blank. 

Londo sat back. Things were not good on Centauri Prime, and they were
almost as bad here. He turned to look at his companion. "And where do
you fit into all of this?" he asked.

"Me?" replied the human called Morden. "I told you. I'm just a simple
trader."

"You will forgive me if I do not entirely believe you. The information
you obtained for me... matches Timov's almost exactly. You must have a
very fast means of gaining information."

"Just... lucky, is all."

"Ah. And then there was that whole business with Lady Morella."

"I didn't kill her."

"No, I'm sure you didn't, but if you did not, then who did? And I
would very much like to know how you escaped from that cell back in
the palace."

"Yes. I'm sure you would, Minister. And as for the first, I'm afraid I
don't know. It wasn't me, though."

"You know what is strange about all this, Mister Morden. I actually
believe you. But that does not mean I trust you. And I suppose you
aren't going to tell me how you got onto Sanctuary? Does Mister Bester
know you are here?"

Morden smiled. "No."

"`No' to which question?"

"Just a general no. I'm afraid I'm going to have to be going now,
Minister. Things to attend to. You know how it is.  I just wanted to
come to you to establish that I can be of help. If you need me again,
then I'll come to you." Morden turned and walked to the door, and then
he suddenly stopped and turned. "Oh, by the way, Minister. This
recently fell into my possession. I thought you might appreciate it. I
understand you were going to see Lady Morella on the night of her
murder."

"Yes."

"It appeared she had a vision that night, concerning you, that she
wanted to relay to you. Fortunately, she took time to record it
first." Morden tossed Londo a data crystal. "You might find that
interesting. Good day, Minister."

"Mister Morden... just one thing. Nobody ever does anything for free.
What do you want?"

Morden's carefully crafted composure slipped a little. "That's a very
dangerous question to ask, Minister. Very dangerous indeed. But... for
the moment, I just want to help. We can talk about payment later." He
bowed, and left.

"Yes," Londo hissed at the closing door. "I'll bet we will." He would
also bet that no one aboard the Valerius noticed Morden as he left.
Mister Morden had a talent for not being noticed. Londo slid his gaze
down to the data crystal he held. Lady Morella's final prophecy. Some
distrusted prophecy, but Londo found them to be an intriguing, if
unpredictible source of knowledge. Had he not had his dream of dying
on the steps of the Imperial Throne, strangled by G'Kar, he doubted he
would have joined the Narn's little crusade so willingly. Londo was
certain he had prevented that death by working with G'Kar, providing
no reason for the two to kill each other.

At least, that was what Londo hoped.

His communications screen suddenly beeped and Londo started, looking
up. Carn's face appeared on screen.

"Uncle Londo, I just got a meeting from Mister Bester. He wants to see
you. He said it was something about what G'Kar had mentioned earlier.
Uncle, what are you getting us into now?"

Londo groaned. If it wasn't one thing, it was another.

* * * * *

Delenn did not know what to make of most of the humans she knew. Many
hated her - and with good reason, she admitted - and even those who
knew about her new status her ignored her as much as possible. She had
only found any hint of friendship with John and Lyta Alexander, who
had risked a great deal to help free Delenn. Bester however was
something very different.

There was a fundamental darkness within him - a submerged pride and an
overt arrogance. Among Minbari, telepaths were expected to use their
power for the good of all their race. Among humans - or at least,
among the new society of humanity she had helped create - the
situation was very different.

Still, for the moment, Bester was opposing the same enemy as she was.

She was uncomfortable in his presence, and the other two people in the
room did not make her feel much better. Michael Garibaldi was another
human, an official of Bester's. He was unfailingly polite to her and
had helped her on her way here, but there was still a vast gulf
between the two of them. He was doing his duty in looking after her,
but Delenn knew that if his duty ever meant he would have to kill her,
then he would do so.

As for G'Kar - here in holographic form, only - he exuded a spiritual
serenity that indicated everything that she had had and lost. He was
patient, but still bore the inner light which had made him almost a
messiah to his people.

The door opened and in walked a Centauri. Delenn did not really know
Londo Mollari, but she did know that he was one of the first members
of G'Kar's Circle of Light, and a man who had also recently been lost
to his people. If nothing else, Sanctuary was becoming a gathering
house for exiles.

"Apologies for my lateness," Londo said. "I was... attending to
business with Carn. You know how it is. So, Mister Bester... G'Kar,
what can I do for you?"

"You had better sit, Minister," Bester said, indicating a chair with
his right hand. Bester, G'Kar and Garibaldi were all standing, but
Delenn's condition would not permit her to do the same. Was Bester
only being polite to her? Londo sat down beside her, and shot her a
curious look. Then he shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"I called you here because you are one of the few people in this
galaxy with any experience of the matter at hand, Mollari," G'Kar
said. Bester did not look happy that G'Kar was speaking. "And I
requested your presence, Delenn, because what will happen here will
have a direct influence upon your life. Mollari, you know of the
beings known as technomages?"

"Great Maker, yes! I met one once, a long time ago now. They were more
common then than now. I doubt any have been seen for decades."

"No longer," Bester said. "We have recorded sightings of them, many of
them, moving in League space. They have been moving slowly, gathering
more of their number during their travels. They have recently stopped,
and are congregating on a Drazi colony world called Kazomi 7. We..."
and here he looked at G'Kar. "We have been trying to initiate contact
with them, but have always been rebuffed."

"I see your mind is hard at work, Mollari," G'Kar said, with a hint of
irony. Delenn saw that Londo was indeed thinking.

"The technomages have long been associated with my world," Londo
breathed. "Three of them blessed our first Emperor. Their word... even
their presence... at my side... That would be a powerful endorsement.
Maybe even enough to end the strife on my homeworld. Maybe enough to
decide a new Emperor."

"We had hoped that would be the case," G'kar said. "They are well
known in the galaxy and if they were to join the Circle of Light, than
that would be a powerful symbol. There is also the matter of their
power, and knowledge. What they can teach us... about the Enemy, the
War, our best means of survival, perhaps even the future. We have been
trying to arrange an audience for some time, but we have always been
rebuffed. Perhaps your experience with them can manage another
reaction?"

"Perhaps," Londo muttered, still deep in thought. "Great Maker, it
might be possible."

"And where do I fit into this?" Delenn said softly. She could feel
G'Kar's gaze on her, tinged with pity despite all the light years it
had travelled.

"There is no way to reverse your condition, Delenn," he said softly.
"Nothing we know of can halt your genetic degradation. Nothing we know
of. The technomages might be able to do something. We cannot save your
life, but they may."

"And if my life is not worth saving? I am little use to you now."

"You do not know that, and it is surprising where worth may be found.
Ask yourself this, Delenn. Do you have anything worth living for?"

A pause, almost tragic, and one soft, almost silent, reply. "Yes. I
think so."

"Then you must go with Minister Mollari. You have knowledge that may
be of use to him, and... you may not survive any wait it would take
for them to come here."

"That little time?" she whispered.

"Perhaps. Nothing is certain."

"Then I will go," Delenn said. "Not for what I have done, but for wh=
at
I may yet do in recompense."

"We cannot send a fleet, or a full emissary," G'Kar said. "The
technomages will not accept us if we did, and besides, our ships are
needed elsewhere. This is a critical time for the galaxy. We are all
holding our breath."

"We can however send one other along with you," Bester said. "He
has... certain skills, but more than that, he has sworn to protect the
both of you."

"When should we leave?" Londo asked.

"As soon as you can. Time is not a commodity we have much of."

"I will need to deal with a few things first," Londo said. "But I can
be ready within a few hours." G'Kar nodded. "And you, my companion?"

"The same," Delenn said haltingly. "There is something... someone I
must... A few hours."

"Good," Bester said. "I have arranged for a shuttle to take you to the
jump gate at Sector 203. From there, you should be able to obtain
passage to the Kazomi system. Once there, the technomages should not
be difficult to find. I will alert the other."

"Good hunting to you," G'Kar said. "We need their help, but so do both
of you, if you are to fulfil your dreams. May G'Quan favour you."

"I hope somebody does," Delenn heard Londo mutter as they left. Her 
every step felt like a mile, but she kept walking. 

She would not fall.

* * * * *

General Notes: Well, there we are - hope you enjoyed it. A reminder 
that feedback - comments, questions, criticisms etc. are all very 
welcome and should be sent to: LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk. I try to 
respond to everything, so apologies if I take a little time to do so.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and 
copyright of Warner Bros. I am making no money out of writing this 
and have no intention of any form of copyright infringement, legal 
violation or defamation. Any similarity to persons living or dead is 
entirely coincidental.

Personal Disclaimer: I n ever said I was going to give everyone a 
happy ending. Don't say you weren't warned.



From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 1B
Date: Fri, 3 Oct 1997 19:18:07 +0100

Notes at the bottom people. No Spoilers to worry about.

* * * * *

The Cost of Alliances, Part 1B of 4
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

"And you will do this... You will... accept this!"

If she ever needed proof that the Song and the Land were irrevocably 
dead, all noViel Roon had to do was listen to the venom in the voice 
of noMir Ru. Neither of them were warriors. None of the Tuchanq were. 
Not even when the Narns had destroyed their Land, destroying the Song 
with it. Not even then.

It had taken a war to free them - a war between Narn and Centauri. 
The Narn had bigger concerns, although it was still a mystery as to 
whether their departure from the Land was due to the need for 
economy or for some, belated, gesture of acceptance.

noViel Roon did not care. All that mattered to her was that the Land 
was free. She tried to raise the Song again, but everywhere she 
looked she found only bitterness and anger, as she was seeing now.

"What choice do we have? He has offered to help us."

"As he offered to 'help' us before! Have you forgotten so much?"

"I have forgotten nothing! What matters is the Land, and the Song. 
The ships we took from the Narns have taken us into space. We are 
beginning to forge new relationships with our partners. They have a 
different Land to us, a different Song perhaps, but it is through 
them that we can return the Song to our people."

"Do not treat me like a songless one! All this I know."

"Then why do you not know what I am telling you? These invaders... 
whoever they are... they threaten what few ships we have. They 
threaten the bonds we are slowly forging with our neighbours. I do 
not know who these... Streibs are, or what they want. But I will not 
see the Land enslaved again."

"Then why do you return it to the ones who enslaved us before?!"

"Because he will help, and no other will."

"Your Song is twisted... Perhaps you need a new one. I am sure the... 
monster there will help provide you with one. He has 'helped' us 
before."

noViel Roon made no sign of sorrow as her friend left, shifting her 
body so that she walked on four legs, loping away through the 
shattered ruins of what had been their Land. She did, however, watch 
as her friend disappeared from view.

"I am sorry that you had to hear that," she said at last.

"Every word of it was true," said the shimmering figure who had been 
watching in silence. "But my offer is sincere, and my words genuine."

"I did not doubt it, G'Kar. Your Song has changed greatly. Perhaps 
there is hope for our people yet."

"We can but hope," whispered the holographic image. Countless 
light-years away, his body was trapped in the Great Machine, unable 
to move from it, unable to leave it. He wished that he could stay 
there forever and never again have to gaze upon the legacies of his 
past.

But G'Quan did not reward the still, or the silent.

* * * * *

Never a day passed when Lyta Alexander did not remember the sight of
his eyes, that one last time as he died. 

She had loved Marcus Cole, a fact she had not realised until it had
been too late. He had loved her too, and now he was dead.

During her early years in the Psi Corps, she had been assigned a
companion to help her adjust. Her companion had been a kindly man
named Xavier. She had never forgotten perhaps the greatest piece of
advice he had given her. "The curse of the telepath is loneliness. We
are forever isolated, not just from normal humans, but from each
other. None of us will ever know true companionship in this life,
Lyta. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be."

She thought she had.

Lyta rose from her bed and rubbed at her eyes irritatingly. She was
not sleeping well lately. Her injuries substained at the hands of
Susan Ivanova still niggled at her, but they were not the reason. She
dreamt. Of Marcus, of Delenn - Lyta could feel Delenn's pain, almost
like a phantom injury - of the Vorlon who spoke to her, and who
refused to help when she was on the verge of death.

Lyta Alexander had tried to accept her solitude, but some days it was
hard. So hard. Whenever she was alone, she saw Marcus' eyes.

And reflected in them, she saw the dark heart of the Enemy. The Enemy
incarnate in Susan Ivanova. The Enemy who had killed the only person
Lyta had loved. The Enemy whom Lyta knew she was being forged to be a
weapon against.

Lyta's mind could see across the galaxy, even to the dark, dead planet
from whence the Enemy came. Lyta's mind could see that far, but her
thoughts were always on Marcus, and the sight of his dying eyes...

* * * * *

Delenn thought she was used to harsh glances by now. She thought she 
was used to whispers of accusation and to bitter glares. She had, 
after all, been among humans for almost a cycle. After enduring Mr. 
Welles' coldly sadistic torture, and after enduring the horrific 
destruction of her chrysalis, and the pain of being made Zha'valen - 
outcast... After enduring all of that, she had dared to believe that 
nothing could ever hurt her again. 

She had been wrong.

She was not crying. She did not know why she was not crying. She 
certainly felt like crying. 

It was a few hours since she had returned from seeing Captain 
Sheridan. She had made the long, difficult journey onto the 
Parmenion, wincing with every breath and trembling with every 
footstep. The shuttle ride from Sanctuary to the Parmenion had given 
her a chance to rest, but once on board the ship, her pain commenced 
anew. 

She had no idea where John would be found, and she found no one 
willing to talk to her. The security guard who had admitted her at 
the ship's docking bays alerted the head of Security - the fiery Narn 
Ko'Dath - to Delenn's presence, and she had curtly been given 
permission to be on the ship. Ko'Dath claimed not to know where 
Captain Sheridan was.

Delenn's first target had been the bridge, for obvious reasons. After 
a torturous journey there, she found it in the command of Major 
Krantz. He told her that Captain Sheridan and Commander Corwin were 
performing a tour of the ship, running more drills. Perhaps she 
should check the weapons bays? There was nothing unfriendly in his 
voice, but there was no hint of compassion there either. It was just 
a simple matter-of-fact brusqueness.

Could he try and contact Captain Sheridan through his Link? she had 
asked. Oh no, he couldn't do that. It might disrupt the drills. 

And so she had travelled to the weapons bays, and from there to the 
mess hall, and from there to the StarFury drop points. There she met 
Commander Corwin, who told her that Captain Sheridan was out flying 
one of the new type of StarFuries they had inherited with the 
Parmenion. At least Delenn had been given a chance to rest, although 
Corwin was, in many ways, worse than Major Krantz. Corwin's gaze was 
openly distrustful. It was probably just concern for John, she 
thought. After all, Corwin had come to her for help once before.

When John returned, Delenn started and rose shakily to her feet. He 
noticed her and momentarily came to a halt. Then he resumed walking, 
past her as if she did not exist. Corwin looked at her, less warily 
than before, but he said nothing either.

Slowly, Delenn managed to speak John's name.

"Not now, Satai," came the reply. "I'm afraid I'm very busy."

And then he had walked on, leaving her perhaps more alone than ever.

* * * * *

"You didn't have to be so brusque with her," Corwin said finally, 
after several moments of uncomfortable silence broken only by terse 
questions about the ship and her crew.

"She shouldn't even be on this ship. It's a security risk. What was 
Ko'Dath thinking of?"

"Sir... I'd like to think that you wouldn't let personal matters get 
in the way of your responsibilities. I understand that a lot has 
happened for you lately... for all of us, but..."

"Why is it you only call me 'sir' when you're telling me off? I am 
fine, David. I have no problem with Delenn. I have no problem with 
was has been... 'happening for me lately.' The only problems I have 
at this moment involve getting this ship sorted out just the way I 
like it."

Sheridan's Link suddenly chimed and he started, as if suddenly very 
surprised. He then made a rueful expression. "Untrue," he whispered 
to himself. "Whoever invented these things should be dragged out into 
the street and shot." He activated it. "Captain Sheridan here."

"Ah, Captain." Both Sheridan and Corwin subconsciously straightened. 
Ari Ben Zayn - the captain of Bester's other destroyer class ship, 
the Ozymandias. A veteran of all kinds of warfare, it was rumoured 
that he only lived for fighting. What ties he had to Bester were 
uncertain, but he was definitely loyal to the Psi Cop. "Having any 
problems with the ship?"

"None whatsoever, Captain. A fine ship. A fine crew."

"It's been my experience that a ship and a crew are only as fine as 
the ones who lead them."

Sheridan's eyes darkened. "Yes, mine too," he replied.

"Anyway, we'll soon be given a chance to find out just how fine that 
ship of yours is. Mister Bester has a mission for you and the 
Parmenion. I requested to be assigned it, but he evidently feels you 
need a little time to grow into the ship. Report to his office as 
soon as you can. Then report to the bridge of the Ozymandias, where 
I'll brief you on the current situation."

"What situation?"

"Tell me, Captain. Have you ever heard of the Streibs?"

* * * * *

"Ah, Satai Delenn. All ready, I see?"

"I... am as really as I will ever be, Minister Mollari." Delenn had 
not needed to pack, she had little worth packing. Minister Mollari 
evidently did. Delenn was certain she detected the faintest whiff of 
alcohol about him.

"Well, this is where we are supposed tyo meet the third member of our 
little party, is it not? You Minbari do believe in doing things in 
threes, do you not? I suppose this must feel very... appropriate?"

"Perhaps."

"Ah, well. This is going to be a fun journey, I see." Delenn started 
as a figure suddenly moved out of the darkness around them. Londo 
started too, but then he smiled, and let out a loud laugh.

"Mister Lennier! Well, I'll be a triple-damned son of a Xon! When did 
you arrive here at our little gathering house for exiles and 
refugees?"

Lennier bowed. Now that he was nearer Delenn could recognise him. A 
keela poet of some great skill. Although she had never met him 
before, she had heard of his work. She had not known that he was 
another agent of this Circle of Light.

"I arrived here yesterday morning, in secret. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar felt 
that my presence here should remain that way. It would not... do for 
me to be seen to be linked here."

"Oh?" Delenn said softly. "And why not?"

Lennier did not look at her. It seemed doubtful that he was even 
going to reply. "If we are questioned, then I am myself, travelling 
on a tour to some of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds. Kazomi 7 is a 
Drazi colony and Drazi have little fondness for my people, or our 
poetry, but I understand it is a growing... fashion among some of the 
Llort and Brakiri worlds. You, Minister Mollari, are to be my patron, 
although in reality, of course, I am your bodyguard."

"And I?" Delenn said softly. "What am I to be?"

Lennier again did not look at her, although this time there was less 
hesitation before answering. "You are to be kept hooded at all 
times. If questioned, you are Minister Mollari's servant. To me, you 
are Zha'valen, and therefore of no interest at all."

Delenn actually looked up and met his eyes boldly. His gaze was firm, 
but then he looked away, and turned back to Londo.

"Ah, an adventure!" the Centauri was saying. "Just like in my youth! 
Ah... I feel almost young again. This... ah, Mister Lennier, this is 
going to be such fun!"

To Be Continued...

Notes: Feedback is all very welcome and should be sent to 
LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk. I try to respond to everything, but 
apologies if I take some time to do so.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and 
copyright of Warner Bros. and / or JMS. I am making no money out of 
writing this and do so purely for pleasure. Any similarity to persons 
living or dead is purely coincidental. The Tuchanq were created by 
Jim Mortimore.

Personal Disclaimer: I never said everyone was going to get a happy 
ending.

General Note: The e-mail system at Sheffield is a bit different to 
the one I was using at Warwick. While better in a lot of ways, it can 
only send out messages of a certain size. This is therefore going to 
result in me sending out my stories as Part 1a, Part 1B, Part 2A, 
etc. in order so that each part ends where I want it to. I'll try to 
send out each of the 'bits' of one part together. Apologies in 
advance for any confusion.

From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 2 of 4 [AT] [AC]
Date: Wed, 22 Oct 1997 20:05:45 +0100

Sorry about the delay in getting this out, people, but I've been a 
little deluged with work lately and Real Life has been getting in the 
way. A special thank you to Morag Kerr for help, criticism and 
sorting out my appalling grammar.

For those who don't know, this is the latest part in my parallel 
universe saga, begun several months ago with A Dark, Distorted 
Mirror. All the earlier stories should either be in the archive or 
are available from me. I also have a synopsis available upon request. 
Feedback is very welcome, by the way, and should be sent to 
LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

This story does contain Spoilers for the B5 book Clark's Law and a 
very small Spoiler for Moments of Transition. Whether you'll even 
recognise it when you see it, I don't know, but it's there anyway and 
I thought I'd better warn you.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic who never promised 
everyone (or in some cases anyone) a happy ending. So, don't say 
you weren't warned.

A clarification, by the way (last bit, I promise): Most of the future 
parts of my stories will be sent out in two bits, owing to problems 
with e-mail systems and very large messages. I'll try to send them 
out together (Part 2B is definitely going out with this) and they are 
meant to be read together. There is no cliffhanger as such.

And that's the lot...

* * * * *

The Cost of Alliances, Part 2 of 4
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

Her voice is still and her ears closed, but that does not mean that she
hears only silence.  For, far greater than each tremor of agony which
tears through her body, greater than each breath of acid flame that burns
her throat, greater than every beat to send boiling blood through tiny
veins, greater than each ache, each pain or each fevered imagining,
greater than all is the sound that only she hears.

The sound of a world - and a people - screaming their last.

Although she has company - of an unusual sort, admittedly: a Minbari poet
and a presumed-dead Centauri noble - she finds herself still and always
alone.

Her least favourite place to be.

For it is when she is alone that she hears and sees most.  She sees the
darkness in her soul and the blood on her own hands.  She sees once again
- as she has countless times in the last year or so - just what she has
done.

There are many who would say that it is no less than Delenn of Mir
deserves.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

John Sheridan by contrast couldn't be happier.  He too is alone - in one
sense of the word - but he is not hiding in a cargo bay, as are Delenn and
her companions.  He is where he has always felt he belongs.  Admittedly
this ship - the Parmenion - is not his, and neither is most of the crew. 
This is not his trusted Babylon, but it is nonetheless where he belongs. 
On the bridge, first into the breach, a place where he is a captain, a
soldier, a warrior.

A place where he does not have to remember what he has done.

Currently the Parmenion is approaching the border of Tuchanq space, set to
meet a member of that little-known race.  Slaves to the Narn Regime for
twenty-five years, they recently regained their freedom only to be
threatened with losing it again.

Sheridan wondered if they appreciated the irony that their one hope of
salvation now came from the same source that had imprisoned them
twenty-five years earlier.

"Ten minutes from the rendezvous point, sir," spoke up the technician at
helm, a confident, capable man named Guerra.

Sheridan flicked his gaze to the figure at his right.  She was not a
member of the bridge crew, nor of the Narn Security forces - dubbed the
Narn bat squad'.  Nor did she look comfortable in her current position. 
She looked out of place, dressed not in the Earthforce uniform Sheridan
and his second, Commander Corwin, still clung to, nor in the Psi
Corps-reminiscent uniforms worn by the rest of the bridge crew.  No, Lyta
Alexander wore plain, unadorned black, without the gloves Psi Corps
telepaths always wore.  Sheridan recognised garb of mourning when he saw
it.

And she had reason to mourn.  Scarcely a month since the death of her
lover, Marcus Cole, and Lyta had spent most of that time recovering from
horrible injuries sustained during the incident that had killed Marcus.

Sheridan knew what it was like to lose someone you loved.  He also knew
one of the best ways to deal with that grief.  Well, in the short term at
least.

"You detecting anything?"

She shook her head, and spoke a few moments later.  "Nothing.  No sign of
them."

That did not mean much.  Sheridan knew just how fast those Shadow ship
things could appear and disappear.  He wasn't expecting to run into any of
them here - this was just a routine mission after all - but it never hurt
to be prepared for anything.  Besides, Bester insisted that the Parmenion
have at least one powerful telepath aboard, and Sheridan took satisfaction
in having chosen the one telepath on Sanctuary who held no personal
loyalty to Bester.  The fact that Lyta hated Sheridan and blamed him for
Marcus' death was neither here nor there.

"Tuchanq ship coming into range, sir," said Guerra.  "They're broadcasting
all the correct signals."

Actually it would be a Narn ship.  The Tuchanq had no spaceflight
technology of their own.  All that they had now, they had taken from the
Narns.

Sheridan - every human - knew how they must feel.

"Hail them."

"They're responding, sir.  Audio only."

"Put them on."

"Greetings from the Tuchanq," came a crackling voice over the
communications system.  The Tuchanq had evidently learned Interlac from
the Narns, as the Parmenion's translator system was managing well enough. 
"This is nuViel Roon, nominal leader of the Tuchanq people."

"I am Captain John Sheridan, of the Parmenion.  I'm representing Mist...
that is, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar here.  I believe you are having some
problems?"

"Yes, Captain.  May I say that I am grateful to you and to... Ha'Cormar'ah
G'Kar for your assistance.  Would you care to come to our world where we
can brief you on the situation?"

"I would be honoured."

"We are transmitting the relevant details now.  I am... signing off."

The message ended and Sheridan looked around at his bridge crew,
especially at Lyta.  "Anything?"

She shook her head.  "No.  Those... Shadows aren't within a hundred light
years of here.  Believe me, Captain.  I'd know if they were."

*Yes, he thought.  *I don't doubt you would.*  But he did not say this
aloud.  Discretion was ever the better part of valour.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

There was a time when Londo Mollari had had as little as possible to do
with Minbari, but then there was also a time when Londo Mollari's
favourite activities had involved getting drunk, going to seedy strip
bars, gambling very badly and getting into fights.  He liked to think that
he had matured since then.

No amount of maturity could have prepared him for the situation he found
himself confronted with several hours away from his destination of Kazomi
7.  Hiding in the cargo bay of an Ipsha shuttle was bad enough, but he
could at least pass that off as part of the grand adventure which was
going to return him - for a while at least - to the glorious days of his
youth.  Finding the legendary technomages, enlisting their assistance in
G'Kar's struggle against the Enemy... all of that was part of the great
adventure.

Death, pain and suffering were not supposed to be involved.

Delenn let out another low moan, whispering a few haunted words in 
Minbari and Londo sat back, trying to avoid her thrashings.  He had 
considered using some Ipsha cord to tie her down, but the only types of 
cord available were either too flimsy or too tight.  He doubted he'd do 
Delenn much good by placing her in a situation in which she might 
unwittingly slice her arms off.  And so he'd resolved simply to
hold her down as much as he could, and try to stop her injuring herself.

Delenn had been quiet and withdrawn throughout their journey, which had
lasted several days and involved much changing of shuttles to disguise
their point of origin effectively.  Londo's initial attempts at
conversation had been rebuffed, but he hadn't truly minded, letting
Lennier bear the brunt of his anecdotes, life lessons and little jewels of
wisdom.  Admittedly he hadn't been paying Delenn much attention, but she
hadn't looked very ill.  Then, about two hours ago, she had simply
collapsed all of a sudden, shaking and trembling.  Upon reaching her, he
discovered that her skin was hot and dry.  Very hot, in fact.  With no
medical care available Londo had done what little he could to keep her
safe, but he was a politician after all, not a doctor.

Fortunately G'Kar had briefed him thoroughly on everything he had
uncovered about Delenn's... unique genetic condition.  According to G'Kar
- who actually seemed to know what he was talking about - her
transformation in some chrysalis device thingy had been interrupted
prematurely, leaving her human and Minbari systems fatally unstable.  A
few weeks before, she had collapsed into a coma, and G'Kar had said that
fevers, near-epileptic fits and so on might result from that earlier
incident.  With that in mind, Londo was hoping that she would emerge
fairly soon, unharmed, but that reassurance made matters no easier.

Especially when he was receiving no help.

"Were you planning on helping her, ever?" he had earlier snapped to
Lennier, who had been standing by silently during the beginning of
Delenn's collapse.

"I cannot," had come the soft, almost formalised reply.  Londo could not
remember if he had heard regret in the Minbari's voice or not.  "She is
Zha'valen - a shadow upon Valen.  I may not touch her, look at her, or
speak her name."

"Great Maker," Londo had snapped.  "Surely you know that name is
unwarranted!"

"Yes.  I have been told - and I do believe this - that her casting out was
a ploy orchestrated by Sinoval to further his own power.  I am certain
that she did not perform the deeds for which she is blamed."

"Then why can you not help her, man?"

"Because she is still Zha'valen, named so by the Grey Council.  It does
not matter that she should not be.  It does not matter that she is
innocent.  My own... opinions do not matter either.  What is... is, and as
of this moment, what is... is that she is Zha'valen."

"And yet you were willing to come on this quest to help her?"  Londo had
been incredulous at the time, and still was.

"Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar asked me to.  He said that you would need protection,
and that I am to protect you.  He has asked, and so I will do.  That
changes nothing."

"Bah!  Minbari!"  And so Londo had returned to trying to help Delenn, his
conversation with Lennier leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.  Several
hours later, the taste was still there.

It was Lennier who spoke first.  "I am... sorry if I have offended you,
Minister Mollari.  Your opinion of me matters greatly to me.  I...
apologise..."

"Hah - no need.  I do not think I will ever understand you people, but
still... she seems to be recovering.  I..."

"Minister Mollari?"

"No, never mind... it does not matter."  Londo turned back to Delenn, 
alarmed to hear that she was speaking. He tried to follow her words, 
but they were in her native tongue and he spoke little Minbari. "What 
is she saying?" he thought. "What could she possibly be saying when 
she can barely move?"

"She is begging," Lennier said softly, and Londo started. He had not 
realised he had been speaking aloud. 

"Begging? For what?"

Lennier looked directly into Londo's eyes, and then he bowed his 
head, saying just one word. "Forgiveness."

A dark mood settled across Londo at that moment.  This had seemed 
fun before... an adventure, little more. But when he was faced with 
the prospect of death and suffering - when he heard Delenn's 
anguished moans - he realised that real life is not an adventure, and 
there are not always happy endings.

But that mood did not last long.  When the Ipsha freighter docked at
Kazomi 7, by which time Delenn was at least capable of walking again,
Londo had returned to his old self.

For a little while at least.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Minbari do not, by and large, have places of worship.  Given that they do
not have Gods as many other races do, and venerate all life, they deem it
futile to pick out certain places as being more or less holy than others. 
To them, all life is sacred and to be treated with reverence and respect.

At least, that is what they say.  And asking a Minbari how these beliefs
square with the destruction of Earth is not a wise idea.

At least, that is what the religious caste say.

The warrior caste believe more or less the same.  They simply feel less of
a need to talk about it.  They have always prided themselves on being
concerned with actions, not words.  And if by one's actions shalt thou
know him, then the sight of workers being massacred all over Minbar
certainly revealed a great deal about the warrior caste at present.

There was one particular warrior far from Minbar and that destruction.  He
was both wholly responsible and yet at the same time completely innocent
of the massacres taking place on Minbar.  They were being carried out in
his name, and with one word he could have stopped them, but he did not.

Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan was seeking his own form of redemption. 
He knew many things - too much to remain perhaps entirely a warrior any
more.  He knew the truth of the destruction of the Grey Council that had
started the series of bloody massacres - of how Hedronn the worker was not
guilty of the murder of his fellows, but of how the Dilgar Jha'dur had
forced him unwillingly to do it.  Sinoval also knew of what Jha'dur had
done to Sheridan the Starkiller - infecting him with a deadly, and
ultimately terminal virus.  Whether Sinoval knew that Sheridan - or in
fact anyone else - did not know about this virus was a moot point, as he
certainly would not have told him.

Sinoval knew far too much, and so he had left Minbar - had left the Grey
Council which he, in theory, still led, had left his people to whatever
doom he had unwittingly led them at the Battle of the Second Line.

Sinoval had a personal purging to perform.

Minbari do not believe in holy places.  At least, the religious and worker
castes do not.  The warriors sometimes knew different.

This planet was unnamed, somewhere in the space claimed by the League of
Non-Aligned Worlds, somewhere between Ipsha and Hyach territories.  The
planet was also uninhabited.  Its atmosphere was barely breathable but
Sinoval could handle it easily enough.  Minbari were not as weak as some
other races, although to be fair, most of the standard oxygen-breathing
peoples could have survived here with a little effort and ingenuity.  Why
they would want to is another matter.  The planet contained no valuable
minerals, little plant or animal life, was not strategically important,
straddled no trade routes... was little more than a rock floating in
space.

To everyone except the highest-ranking members of the Minbari warrior
caste, who knew something about this rock that no one else did.

A thousand years before, Valen had strode across this world, fighting
here.  An engagement with the Enemy.  A simple skirmish, no more.

Sinoval remembered the legends he had heard about this place.  Valen's
ship had apparently crashed here, leaving the One alone and abandoned. 
His lieutenants, Marrain, Parlonn and Derannimer had searched for him, but
the Enemy presence here had been strong and their search had been delayed,
and ultimately postponed.  Valen had survived here alone, pursued, hunted,
for months until Marrain had managed to elude the Shadow patrols and
rescue him.

The highest warriors - the Alyts, the Shai Alyts, the Satai - they knew
this story and they remembered it.  They claimed proudly in their hearts
that this place was proof that a Minbari spirit could never die, that even
when faced by the greatest darkness, some light would always shine.

Sinoval had come here to bring some light to his greatest darkness, and
perhaps to commune with the spirit of Valen himself, so that he could ask
but one question:

*Why?*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lyta Alexander was alone, in the company of others.  To be precise, she
was in a shuttle heading for the Tuchanq city of Ellaenn, accompanied by
Captain Sheridan, Major Krantz and two of the human security team. 
Sheridan and Ko'Dath had agreed that taking Narns on to the surface of
Tuchanq would not be a good idea.

But she was still alone.  Always alone.

At present she was thinking, remembering an uncomfortable meeting several
hours earlier, during the journey here...

Lyta had started as her door chimed.  She hadn't been thinking.  She
hadn't been sleeping either, although she might as well have been.  She
had started 'zoning out' during her recovery from the injuries she
received on Proxima.  These instances had been increasing recently, and it
took great concentration for her to keep rooted in the real world when
they happened.  Sometimes she did not bother.

The door chimed again and she rose to her feet, rearranging her hair
slightly.  Once she realised what she was doing, she stopped.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Commander Corwin.  Can I have a word?"  His voice did not sound overly
friendly, but Lyta did not pick up any hostile intentions.  How she'd
managed to read him through the door was not something she cared to worry
about.

"Come in."  The door opened and Corwin stepped in.  He looked poised and
calm, but he could not hide the almost instinctive shying away he always
displayed in Lyta's company - the way any 'normal' acted in the company of
telepaths.

"Commander, if you wanted to see me, you could have just used my link."

"I wanted to speak to you in private," he replied.  "About the Captain,
and about Bester."

"I don't want to hear this," she breathed.

"That doesn't matter.  We both know how you feel about the Captain, and so
does he.  He doesn't mind, because he seems to think that you'll do the
best you can.  He also seems to think that your loyalties aren't with Mr.
Bester.  Now the Captain's a good man, but he has been wrong before.  It
happens.  He's not perfect - no one is, but it's my job to make sure he
isn't wrong this time.  Whose side are you on, Miss Alexander?"

"Since when did sides matter?"

"They always did.  You're not one of Bester's people, but you have had
dealings with him, right?"

"I... yes.  I interned with the Psi Cops for a while during my training. 
Just before the war."

"I knew that.  I looked it up in your record.  What I meant was that
you've had some dealings with Bester personally, haven't you?"

"Yes... A few."

"Did you know about Sanctuary?  About Ben Zayn?  About G'Kar?"

"No!  I knew no more than the rest of you did.  He'd survived the war and
had a base somewhere.  I was only a P five, for God's sake!  Why would
Bester tell me anything?"

"That's what I was asking you.  One more question, then.  What about the
Captain?"

"What about him?"

"I need to know you're loyal.  He seems to think you will be.  Are you?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"That's not an answer.  Would you die for him if necessary?"

"Would you?" she snapped back.  A petty question, because she already knew
the answer.

"Of course."  And he would, too.  No hesitation, no doubt.  Nothing.  She
did not need to be a telepath to know that he was telling the truth.  "And
so would Marcus have."

"Marcus did die for him!"

"No," Corwin replied, shaking his head.  "Marcus died for you."  He turned
his back and made for the door, but he stopped before he reached it. 
"You'll have to choose sides sooner or later.  Please make it sooner."

And then he had left.

It was only now, several hours later, that Lyta remembered something
unusual in what she had said.  It had seemed so natural at the time, but
now...  She had said, "I *was* only a P five..."

So what was she now?

*You are the future.  You are our future.*  That was the voice she only
heard in her mind.  It was the first time she had heard it speak to her
since Marcus had died.

It did not bring her any reassurance at all.

"Miss Alexander?"  It was Major Krantz.

"Yes?"  She suddenly realised that they had landed.  The others had risen
and were disembarking from the shuttle.

"Are you coming?"

She swallowed harshly and then nodded, unbuckling her flight restraints
and rising to her feet.

*You are the future...*  She wished she could be sure that she would have
one.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

G'Dan ducked back, pressing back against the wall so that his two
assailants could not sneak up behind him.  He doubted that they would, but
it never hurt to be safe.

The leading Drazi swung his heavy staff-like weapon at G'Dan's head and
the Narn managed to duck.  There was little subtlety in Drazi fighting
techniques, but then the same could be said about the Narns'.

At least G'Dan was armed with a katok, a weapon with which he was very
familiar.  Waiting for the Drazi to make his second attack, he lightly
side-stepped and thrust forward with the long sword.  It pierced the Drazi
just below the neck - precisely at the area where a large number of blood
vessels joined, merging into the centre of his circulatory system.  The
Drazi stiffened, brackish, foul-smelling dark blood spewing up into his
mouth.  He fell, and brought his heavy arm crashing down on to the katok
as he did so.

The blade broke, snapping into two pieces.

G'Dan's second opponent - a Tuchanq - took advantage and leaped forward,
her long, curved knife seeming to grow as she did so.  The Tuchanq were
far faster and more agile than any heavy- boned Narn could be, and they
had the advantage of years of hatred.

Fortunately he managed to throw himself aside to avoid the blade piercing
his eye, but it did scratch along his neck.

Weaponless, he tried to scramble back to his feet, only for his slender
opponent to leap up on his back.  The Tuchanq were not, by and large,
skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but G'Dan was tired and hurt.

Ignoring his opponent's almost negligible weight, he threw himself
backwards against the wall of their cell.  He heard her ululating
song-like scream as he fell forward again.

Her knife pierced his shoulder - whether by design or simply in spasm, he
did not know.  Or care.  G'Dan threw himself backwards again and this time
he heard the sickening squelch of the Tuchanq's sensory spines mashing
against the wall.

He fell forward, breathing harshly.  He could feel countless wounds
decorating his body, and yet he struggled to remain conscious.  This was
the third time he had been tested in battle against those of different
races.  He was not afraid of them, but he was determined not to let those
behind this escape freely.

He would destroy the Streibs if it took every breath remaining in his
body.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

He was aware of the stranger's arrival before his companions needed to
tell him.  He had in fact been expecting it for some time.  He liked to
remain abreast of matters going on in the galaxy beyond this little
floating rock in space, especially matters concerning his own people. 
Some of those whom he had gathered here were opposed to this idea - they
had come here to escape, after all.  But most of the others recognised the
wisdom in his wanting to remain knowledgeable.

After all, what were the Vindrizi but a storehouse of knowledge?

He supposed he had always known that Sinoval would come here eventually. 
Even when he was training the Minbari, many cycles ago, he had recognised
the spark of greatness within his young student.  He had also recognised
the fatal spark of ambition - the awesome sense of destiny that would lead
Sinoval either to that greatness or to a horrible doom.

It seemed that Sinoval had reached the latter.

There had been three of them, he remembered.  Sinoval, Neroon and Tryfan. 
He had trained them all within cycles of each other.  They had been great
friends, and great students.  He had heard a saying that there was no
greater thrill for a teacher than to be surpassed by his pupils.  He had
only experienced that feeling three times - those three.

It had worried him, and so he had gone to the prophecies of Valen.  Given
that he was not Satai, he was not strictly-speaking permitted to look at
them, but he had trained all three members of the warrior caste then on
the Grey Council and Shakiri had arranged matters.

The prophecies were, not surprisingly, oracular and ambiguous.  He
understood little of them, but he had managed to find one brief element
that almost shone out at him.

*One shall fall, and one shall die, and one shall save them all.*

Apparently members of the religious caste had been trying to fathom that
one for centuries, and yet he had uncovered the answer straight away.  He
had told no one, however, preferring to keep his suspicions to himself. 
Now, he believed he was certain.

He had always known that Sinoval would come here.  That was probably why
he himself had come here in the first place.  That fact that he had made
contact with the Vindrizi along the way was either the inscrutable
workings of the universe or pure blind chance, but either way it did not
matter.

Sech Derhan was happy.  His student was returning to him after all these
cycles.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"And this place is where you expect to find... the ones we are looking
for?"  Lennier sounded incredulous and Delenn could see why.

"Of course, Mr. Lennier.  Do you not know anything?  Where is the first
place everyone goes when they arrive on a new planet?  The nearest bar, of
course!"

"We do not have bars in the Minbari Federation," Lennier replied
patiently.  "Exposure to alcohol makes us... psychotic.  At best."

"Oh, do not worry.  This is a trade route.  And trade routes require
traders.  And there was never a trader yet - Minbari excepted - who did
not drink.  And when they are drunk, they do four things - play cards,
look for the nearest available member of the opposite sex, get into a
fight, and gossip.  If... the ones we are looking for are not within, then
there will be someone who has heard something about someone who knows 
something that will enable us to find them.  Now if we can stop hanging 
around outside and drawing attention to ourselves..."

Delenn could understand Lennier's apprehensions.  She shared them herself. 
This... bar did not look a reasonable place.  It smelled, it was dirty,
and judging from the sounds coming from within, it would not be a pleasant
experience.

But then her recent fever had not been a pleasant experience either, and
Delenn was not about to suffer that again.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, making sure that her grey
cloak hid her head and face.

They had been on Kazomi 7 a total of almost two hours by this time. 
Officially a Drazi colony, it actually straddled a number of important
trade routes among the League of Non-Aligned Worlds, and so was also home
to Ipsha, Centauri, Hyach, Brakiri, Pak'ma'ra (although a long way away
from everyone else), the odd Narn, a few Gaim, a Tokati or two (even
further from the Pak'ma'ra than anyone else) and even one or two humans. 
The planet was barren, rain-swept and very, very cold.  It was also -
unsurprisingly given the vast differences of its population - prone to
outbursts of extreme violence, especially during the current Drazi green /
purple leadership contest.

Londo, of course, was loving it.

He strode in shortly after Delenn and marched straight to the bar,
ordering a drink Delenn could only assume was alcoholic.  She felt very
thirsty, but doubted her stomach could hold down even water.

Instead she cast her eyes around the rest of the bar.  She spotted more
than a few Drazi, all wearing green sashes.  Delenn wondered if this was a
Greens-only bar.  Looking at the size of the Bulloxian barkeeper, she
supposed so.

There was a game of so

Vejar the technomage was intrigued.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

(Not a proper To Be Continued - Part 2B will be coming in a few days.)


From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 2B of 4 [AT] [AC]
Date: Wed, 22 Oct 1997 20:07:42 +0100

All the same Disclaimers, Spoiler notices etc. as Part 2A.

The Cost of Alliances, Part 2B of 4 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

There are places in this universe steeped in greatness, places which seem
to attract great deeds and greater people.  Then there are places which
are of no importance whatsoever, places which will never be any more than
they are now.

And there are places where something once happened, and which carry the
legacy of that one important event throughout eternity, for as long as
memory and sorrow and song exist.

Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan was kneeling at such a place.  A place of
the past - a thousand years in the past.  A place where Valen had stood
against the tides of darkness and had willed the very earth itself to his
command, bringing light to his Darkness and alerting his lieutenant Marrain
to his position, allowing him to return to his fleet.

Some, although not the Minbari by and large, believe that a person's soul
can be absorbed by places that were of great importance to them, so that
the spirit of that person remains there after death.  Minbari know better. 
On death, a Minbari soul is drawn back into the web of souls which forms
the entire Minbari nation, until it is born again.

Except that recently this belief was being challenged.  Sinoval remembered
the pitiful cries of Zha'valen Delenn as she faced the Council she had
been exiled from - rantings that humans now bore Minbari souls.  All had
laughed and refused to believe, but Sinoval... the one who had
orchestrated Delenn's exile in the first place...

He doubted.

He already had doubts about many things - doubts that had begun before he
had been made Holy One and led his people to the brink of disaster, before
he had been Shai Alyt during the jihad against the Earthers, before he had
been trained by Derhan... doubts that had begun at his first foray into
the Dreaming, where he had seen a vision of Valen.

Valen, it was said, was not dead.  He had simply 'gone beyond' - perhaps
waiting for the day of his return.  The warriors, who venerated Valen as
much as any other Minbari, chose to believe differently.  Valen's body
might be dead, but his soul lived on - in places where he had fought in
life - for was Valen not the greatest of warriors?

Sinoval had sought Valen's soul in the Dreaming - where he had first seen
the One Who Was.  He had received only silence, and so he had left his
world, left his people to collapse into the chaos that resulted from his
actions, left his duties and his responsibilities and his friends.

And he had gone out into the galaxy to find Valen, starting with here.

He could feel Valen's essence imbued into the barren rock around him. 
Here, the great warrior had fought alone against overwhelming odds,
triumphing by virtue of his courage and his determination.

"Valen, are you here?" Sinoval whispered.  He was kneeling.  Minbari did
not usually kneel to pray, but it was a gesture which felt appropriate.

"Valen, do you hear me?"  Sinoval's tone was humbler now, but the arrogant
pride and fierce ambition which had carried him to the pinnacle of
greatness were never far removed from the surface.  Although Sinoval had
led his people to crushing defeat at the Battle of the Second Line in the
skies above Proxima, he still believed that he was the right person to
lead them.

Some might call that madness.

"Valen!  Answer me!"

"Enlightenment does not come to him of the loudest voice," came a soft
reply.  Sinoval started and looked up, decades of warrior instinct still
serving him well.  "Nor is it found simply for the asking."

Sinoval made to extend his fighting pike - another instinctive reaction -
only to remember that he had it no longer.  In a furious rage he had
hurled the weapon - one of Derhan's fabled nine blades - into the mists of
the Dreaming.  His pride had not let him return to reclaim it.

But Sinoval was by no means helpless.  Trained by the greatest tactician
and warrior alive during his childhood, Sinoval was a warrior without
better.  Only two had ever been his equal - and Tryfan was dead, while
Neroon was missing, embarked long ago on his own personal quest for
redemption.  Sinoval's hand reached for his other weapon - hidden from
view, more from shame at carrying it than from a desire for secrecy.

"'One shall fall, and one shall die, and one shall save them all'," quoted
the figure silhouetted against the reddening sun of this nameless planet. 
Sinoval did not fear the sight of his opponent, any more than he was
dazzled by the brilliance of the sun shining in his eyes.  But he did fear
the words, proof that the mightiest weapon does not need to kill.

"Valen's prophecy," he whispered.  Sinoval's mind was fast at work,
displaying every aspect of the instinct and intelligence which had taken
him to where he was.  Only four that he was aware of knew the truth of
that prophecy.  One was dead.  Sinoval himself was another.

"Which are you?"

"I am not dead," Sinoval replied.

"Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Are you fallen?  Are you failed?  No?  Then you
must be the saviour."

"I am who I am."

"A dangerous statement to make.  What else do you know?  Do you know who I
am?  Name me, pilgrim."

The voice suddenly registered in Sinoval's mind and he could only stare. 
There had been very few with whom Sinoval had ever been even remotely at
ease.  Tryfan and Neroon, his greatest friends.  Deeron, to whom he had
been betrothed, but who had rejected him at the sleep-watching.  And one
other...

"Sech Derhan," he whispered.

Sinoval found that he was not surprised.  Few could muster the air of
authority inherent within the aged warrior.  Few could master the stern
voice of command.  Few could stand so proudly.  Only one could do all
three.

"Sech Derhan."

Gone to the sea of stars years ago - gone out on the last great pilgrimage
of every Minbari's life, Derhan was believed to be dead.  Sinoval had
never believed that, and, while he had not thought of this, now he
realised - where better for the greatest warrior of his generation to go
to seek death than at the site of one of Valen's greatest triumphs?

"I told you that I would see you again before the end, Sinoval," spoke
Derhan as he came into view.  "I think that I always knew you would come
here.  That is why I did.  I think I foresaw this, a long, long time ago.

"Come with me, Sinoval.  I have a great deal to show you."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

John Sheridan knew what it was like to lose his home.  As did every human
in the aftermath of the fall of Earth.  He had thought that would enable
him to form a bond with the people of Tuchanq - to empathise with their
loss, to accept the horror that had engulfed them and work towards making
it right again.

He had been wrong.

Ellaenn was the Tuchanq's second city.  nuViel Roon had informed Sheridan
that their first city - Lothaliar - had been all but destroyed during the
initial Narn attack on their planet.  Efforts had been made to repair it,
but the damage and subsequent pollution were just too great and the city
had been abandoned.

If it was possible for a city to be in worse condition than Ellaenn, John
Sheridan did not want to know about it.

The whole air around them seemed thick and heavy.  The basic atmosphere of
Tuchanq was close enough to his own to render breathing masks unnecessary,
but just different enough to provoke a general awkwardness.

The atmosphere at Ellaenn was worse.  Thick black smog hung everywhere. 
Visibility was reduced sharply.  Everything smelt of rotting flesh.

"The Narns sought to exploit the resources of this world," nuViel Roon had
explained, during their 'tour' of the city.  "They did not care what they
did to it - or to us."

And yet Sheridan and his ship - the Parmenion - were here at the behest of
a Narn, to save the fragile Tuchanq merchant fleet from the mysterious
race known as the Streibs.  Admittedly the order to come here had come
from Mr. Bester, leader of the secret Psi Corps space station Sanctuary,
and admittedly Bester's other captain - Ari Ben Zayn - had fought the
Streibs before on numerous occasions, but Sheridan still detected G'Kar's
hand a
a simple hit and run exercise.  Find the Streibs and preferably destroy
them, but if not, drive them away.

So why G'Kar's orders to come directly down to the planet?  Long-term
plans for diplomatic contact?  Some form of espionage?  A quest for
redemption?  All the logistical details could surely have been settled on
board the Parmenion - with all the Narns kept under lock and key of
course.

Or was it simply to force Sheridan himself to face up to the sight of
another ruined planet?  And to give him a chance to say goodbye to his
own?

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lennier was watching Londo's excesses with the sense of polite reservation
and awe commonly displayed by some of the less refined races towards
horrific accidents - the whole sight was horrible, but strangely
fascinating.

Londo was currently beginning his eleventh cup of some strange blue liquid
that Lennier could only assume was alcoholic.  Lennier himself was
drinking some kind of fruit juice - based on the Markab drink orcha. 
Delenn, Lennier noticed - observing her from the corner of his eye - was
drinking nothing.  She was merely sitting by herself, staring into
darkness.  She seemed to be shivering.

Somewhere after beginning his fifth cup of the blue alcoholic stuff, Londo
had turned to a table where people were throwing small oddly-shaped
objects around, and then either cheering or moaning depending upon the way
these objects landed.  Lennier found it hard to understand why these
'dice' could command such almost mythic awe, but he was more than willing
to observe the practices of others.  He had learned in his travels - very
few of which had led him other than to Minbari colony-worlds or Centauri
major cities - that the diversity of life was indeed a wonderful thing.

"Pah!" Londo snapped, coming away from the table.  "Ilarus is having fun
with me tonight..."

"Ilarus?"

"Goddess of Luck, and patron of gamblers.  She and I have a long and very
dubious relationship."

Lennier looked around and lowered his voice.  "Minister Mollari, we are
only wasting time here.  I have heard nothing about... those we seek, and
it is doubtful if you will be able to hear any gossip from over there."

"Patience, Mr. Lennier.  I know what I am doing."

"Yes.  With respect, Minister, you are losing a lot of money.  If you need
some assistance, then may I provide some?"

"With your respect, Mr. Lennier, this is not a place for poetry.  Unless
it be a particularly eloquent form of swearing."

Lennier took a deep breath.  Sometimes these other races were so...
limited.  "I studied for many years at the Temple," he said.  "I spent
some time studying the laws you call mathematics.  I can calculate
probability structures and..."

Londo's face seemed to light up.  "Ah, Mr. Lennier.  I have misjudged you,
yes.  I think what we need is a different tack, yes.  Tell me, have you
ever played poker?"

Lennier shrugged.  Poker?  He'd never even heard of it.  "Is it some kind
of musical instrument?" he asked  The only music he heard here was what
people were dancing to in the corner.

"No, Mr. Lennier.  The game over there is losing a few players."  Lennier
looked across to the table he had noticed earlier.  The Gaim was leaving,
accompanied by two Vree, leaving a Brakiri and a Llort.  The Brakiri
gestured over to Londo.  "You see, there is always hope.  Now, I will
explain the rules, and you will explain the probabilities, and together we
will clean up."

"As you wish, but I do not see how..."

"Trust me.  What about Delenn?  Will she be all right?"

Lennier flicked her a glance.  She was still sitting in silence, staring
into nothingness.

"She will be fine," he said.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Blood...

His own, red and sweet.  The Tuchanq's, spilling to the ground.

A ritual - what had nuViel Roon called it?  A Song of Welcoming.  Blending
Sheridan's... Song of Being in with the Song of the Land, to welcome him
to Tuchanq.

The ritual had been unusual, but not unpleasant, and so Sheridan was loth
to explain his current sense of depression.  The ritual could not have had
that profound an effect on him - although he did remember catching a brief
image of Delenn in the back of his mind during it.  He wondered if that
was normal for the Song of Welcoming, or simply a sign that he had been
thinking about her too much recently.

He didn't want to.  He supposed that everything that had happened between
the two of them recently... her betrayal that led to their joint capture
during the Battle of the Second Line, their friendly conversation in their
cell, and after the battle... they had so nearly kissed...

Sheridan was trying to rationalise his anger towards her by remembering
her betrayal at the Second Line.  She had managed to break his
communications silence, alerting the Minbari to her presence on the
Parmenion, and enabling them to board the ship.  Later she had knocked
Sheridan himself down, resulting in both of them being captured.

He could understand why she had done this - hoping to end the battle by
making the Grey Council aware of the link she felt she had discovered
between human and Minbari.  It was a noble aim, and one which he
understood, even sympathised with.  The fact that she had failed was
neither here nor there.

It had been easy to forgive her at the time, but perhaps now he had had
time to contemplate just how much her actions could have cost them, and
just how much of a personal betrayal they were...

Or perhaps he was wrongly directing at her the anger he felt towards
himself.

He had nearly kissed her, not even two months after Anna's death.  After
he had personally shot his wife dead on the bridge of the Babylon.  He was
angry with himself, angry with Delenn for placing him in that position,
angry with Anna for being in the wrong place at the wrong time...

Sheridan intended later on to redirect that anger towards the Streibs, but
for now, there was no other target but himself.

After the logistical and tactical meeting had ended, he had requested a
chance to wander around the city for a while.  nuViel had agreed, but only
if he went with a Tuchanq guard, a condition he accepted without really
thinking about it.

It was when he saw his guard draw a long sharp dagger that he began to
think about it very hard.

Another ritual?  No... he recognised the look in her eyes easily enough.

"Narn-friend," spat the Tuchanq.  "Narn-friend, die!"

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"You mangy abomination son of a Purple!  Your mother was a small rodent
and your father smells of orcha fruit!"

Lennier blinked slightly and sat back.  Minister Mollari definitely did
not look happy.  He did not sound happy either.  The fact that he was
still losing vast amounts of money probably had something to do with it.

Lennier wondered why Minister Mollari was reacting so badly.  Lennier
himself was putting up a respectable performance, and had a fairly
adequate pile of chips in front of him.  This... poker did not seem
difficult.  It was just a matter of calculating probabilities, looking at
your cards and evaluating whether it was worth continuing.  It looked simple
enough.  Perhaps Lennier was doing it wrong?

The Drazi was still translating Londo's insult, so Lennier leaned over to
speak to his companion, shifting to a Centauri dialect.  For obvious ease,
everyone here tended to speak the rough and simplistic Trader language.

"Minister Mollari," Lennier whispered.  "Drazi are all asexual, so he does
not really have a mother, or a father.  Insulting him, however, would not
be a very wise idea.  This is still not getting us anywhere near to
finding..."

The Drazi suddenly leapt to his feet.  "Green!" he cried out.  "Not
Purple!  Green!"

"Oh, is that the colour of your scarf?" Londo replied.  "I swear it looks
purple to me."

If Lennier had been human, he would have winced.  If he had been in a
bar-room brawl before, he would have ducked.  If he had been here on any
other matter than the personal quest at hand, he would have grabbed his
chips and run away very quickly.

As it was, he waited for the Drazi to flip the table up and reach for
Londo's throat, before pushing his Centauri companion aside, and standing
in the Drazi's way.

"My comrade wishes to... apologise for his rudeness," Lennier said.  "We
hope that the gift of my... winnings thus far in this game will help to
ameliorate any hurt feelings in this matter and prevent bloodshed."

The Drazi's response was in his own language rather than the Trader
dialect, but that was probably for the best.  He moved forward...

... and Lennier promptly felled him with a swift blow to the midsection. 
The Drazi fell back, evidently surprised by such force from a mere
Minbari.  Unfortunately he fell back into the ranks of several more
Drazi...

Lennier was beginning to experience his first ever bar-room brawl.

Several punches, kicks and scattered bodies later, he managed to pull
Minister Mollari from the clutches of the large number of people wanting
to kill him, and find a nice quiet corner of the bar to watch everyone
else indulge themselves in mindless violence.

"Minister Mollari, I do not see the point of this!  You are endangering
not only our lives, but the reason we are here..."

"Shush, Lennier."  Londo was smiling, despite a number of cuts and bruises
decorating his face.  "Look!  Over there!  I knew it!"

Lennier cast his gaze through the thronging melee to a far corner of the
room.  There was someone there - he could not pick out anything about the
figure; it seemed... shrouded somehow.  He hadn't even noticed it before.

Not far away from the figure, a Drazi picked up a struggling Brakiri and
threw him towards the wall where the figure stood - either hiding or
waiting, Lennier was not sure.

Suddenly, the Brakiri fell to the ground, as if he had struck an invisible
wall.  The Drazi started and moved forwards towards the figure, whom he
had just begun to notice.  The figure took a step forward, revealing
himself as a human male, wearing deep black robes.  The Drazi's eyes
widened as he charged at the figure, only to suddenly slump and fall. 
Lennier just picked out the shape of an illuminated symbol hanging in
mid-air for a moment - cast from pure light.

The figure stepped over the two unconscious bodies with an air of disdain
and walked away.  None of the other brawlers seemed to notice his
presence.

"You see, Mr. Lennier," Londo said, looking especially smug.  "There is
method to my madness, after all.  There is our technomage.  Now hurry!  We
must follow him before he gets..."  Londo suddenly looked around.  "Where
is Delenn?"

Lennier started.  She was not in the place where she had been sitting. 
She did not appear to be anywhere in the bar either.  "We must find her,"
he said quickly.

"You try," came the reply.  "I'll go after that technomage.  We cannot
lose him."

However, as it turned out, others had plans for them.  No sooner had they
stepped out of their hiding place than they found themselves surrounded by
three very big Bulloxians - wearing some semblance of a uniform.

"Am I to assume that this is another part of your plan?" Lennier asked.

Londo shook his head.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn felt as if she was about to collapse at any moment.  She could
barely breathe, her legs seemed to have doubled in weight and her vision
was, at best, limited.  All she knew was that she had to continue.

She had not done much since their arrival at the bar, simply sitting,
trying to remain conscious, and trying not to think about her fate.  She
had little faith that anything could cure her - little faith in fact that
she even deserved a cure.  G'Kar needed the aid of the technomages, yes,
and he seemed to feel that she could help gain that aid, but she doubted
that they could do anything for her personally.

Her fate - this body - the collapse of all her dreams - they were all
punishment for her actions.  Punishment for the destruction of Earth, for
not doing enough to save her people, punishment for pride, for arrogance,
for failure...

She was alone now.  Everyone had abandoned her.  Her people thought her
outcast, Lyta - one of the few humans she could call friend - was engulfed
by her own concerns which Delenn could do nothing to ameliorate, and
John... John had left her.  He had not spoken to her since her collapse.

Delenn had been remembering the warmth of John's breath on her cheek when
the brawl began.  She had managed to duck out of sight - fortunately
providing little target for anyone - and had tried to find Londo and
Lennier in the chaos that the room had become.

It was while looking for them that she had seen the technomage.

After felling the Drazi he had simply walked from the room, with only
Delenn appearing to notice him.  He certainly did not seem to notice
anyone else, although his walk did slow as he passed her hiding place.

Delenn recognised him for what he was, and with no Londo or Lennier in
sight, and with Cauralline guards coming in - obviously to quell the brawl
- she had elected to pursue the technomage on her own.

It was harder than she had thought.

The air outside was stinging her lungs, and every movement was difficult. 
Everywhere was dark - the sky managing only the dusky grey that signified
the 'first' dawn here on Kazomi 7.

But still Delenn managed to keep the technomage in sight.  Had she been
fitter and more alert she might have wondered why he was not aware of her
pursuit, but she could not think much beyond her next footstep.

Soon, she didn't have to wonder any more.

The technomage turned into an alley and Delenn stumbled after him.  As
soon as she raised her head, she realised that he was gone.  Falling back
against the alley wall to rest, she looked back...

... and there he was.  The one she had been following.

She could not see him clearly in the dim light, but she could see that he
was human and quite young.

"Here she is, Elric," the technomage said.  "You were right."

"Of course, Vejar," spoke a stern voice from the other end of the alley. 
Delenn turned to see another technomage walk out of nowhere into view. 
Behind him were others - three, no four, no five... more and more. 
Humans, Vree, Centauri... others she could not recognise.

"The tangled twists of fate brought her here, Vejar," continued the one
who had spoken before - presumably their leader.  "The question is...
why?"

"You know who she is?" asked Vejar.

"Of course.  This is Delenn of Mir.  She has a destiny written large in
the skies."  Elric paused and looked at Delenn.  She saw the sheer power
burning in his eyes.

"The question is, will she will live long enough to accomplish it?"

To Be Continued...

From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 3A
Date: Mon, 10 Nov 1997 20:56:00 +0000

Hello people. Sorry for the delay in getting in this out, but I've 
been very busy with work and stuff lately and I've had less time for 
writing than I used to. Anyway, here's the latest part in my parallel 
universe saga. Owing to the length, I've had to publish it in three 
parts, but don't worry, A, B and C comprise the entirety of Part 3. 
Part 4 will be coming soon. Promise.

There are no major Spoilers as such here, but I m drawing upon 
elements from the episode Lines of Communication and the book Clark's 
Law, as well as a very tiny reference to Moments of Transition so you 
have been warned

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. Any similiarity to 
characters or institutions living or dead is purely coincidental.

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic who never promised a 
happy ending for everyone. (or anyone in fact.) Don't say you haven't 
been warned.

The Cost of Alliances, Part 3A [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

"So, I believe you were saying that this is all a part of your plan,
Minister Mollari?"

"Not as such, no..."

Londo Mollari was not exactly a stranger to his current situation,
although even his most recent experience had been quite some years ago,
back when he was much younger and much less mature.

"And... do you have a plan for us to get out of this... place?"

"Not as such, no..."

There had been a group of them in the Cora Predo - the Proud Knives, the
duelling society Londo had belonged to in his dim and distant youth - who
had made a habit of the time-honoured pleasures of drinking, gambling,
whoring and brawling.  It was a sort of phase...  And of course, with all
these activities - especially brawling - came the inevitable risk of
arrest.  Londo had been quicker and sharper than most of his companions
and so had not been arrested as often as others, but even so, he had ended
up in a cell for the night on numerous occasions.

Admittedly, Centauri cells were considerably lighter, cleaner and more
pleasant than Drazi ones, and it was highly unlikely his father was going
to arrive to bail him out of this one, so perhaps it was not exactly like
his youth after all.

"Minister Mollari?"

"Hmm?"  Londo turned to his companion, Shaal Lennier.  A brilliant poet -
if you liked that sort of thing - and not bad with gambling and fighting,
but he lacked a certain something when it came to just letting go and
having fun.

"I asked if we could fight our way out."

"Against those mammoth Bulloxians?  Doubtful, Mr. Lennier.  I suppose I
could get in contact with the head of the Centauri Trading Guild here,
but..."

"But you are supposed to be dead, and that would ruin your masquerade,"
Lennier finished.  "While it is unlikely any of my people will be here."

"Doubtful."  Minbari did not tend to go in for the sort of pleasures
associated with most of the traders who used Kazomi 7 as a crossroads.

"So... what will happen?"

"I am not sure.  We may be arraigned on charges and possibly bailed, or we
may just be left to rot.  We are not traders, after all, and we have no
identification that will get us far.  Perhaps G'Kar has agents in the
area.  Or maybe Delenn can find help... if..."

If she was still alive.  Delenn's health was not good at present.  As
G'Kar had put it once - she was 'living on borrowed time'.  And she had
disappeared from the bar during their brawl.  It was not hard for Londo to
imagine his companion dying on the bar-room floor.

Lennier said nothing.  By Minbari law he was not permitted to name Delenn,
or in fact speak to her, touch her, or look at her.  Recently he had been
bending these rules slightly, but Londo could see that he did not like it.

Londo started thinking about the Bulloxians.  Perhaps they could be
bribed, although he doubted it.  Maybe the Drazi would recover before
long.  Kazomi 7 was officially a Drazi-run colony, although they did tend
to delegate at awkward times - such as during their current leadership
contest.  The Bulloxians would doubtless be very well paid by the Drazi
for keeping matters at their major trading centre under control.

"Have faith, Mr. Lennier.  I am sure that we will not remain here
forever."

"Who are you trying to convince, Minister Mollari?  Me - or yourself?"

Triple-damned Minbari!  Always too smart for their own good.  Always... 
Londo started, feeling an eerie sensation creep across his forehead. 
Looking around the cell, he found little of note.  It was dark, and all he
could see were the twin bunks and Mr. Lennier... but he felt something... 
Something.

Then he laughed.  "Please stop that!" he said out loud.  "I am afraid I am
not as awed by your power as some."

The room was suddenly filled with light and Londo blinked irritatedly.  He
could see Lennier cock his head in relief.  Minbari had very poor vision
in darkness.

Standing at the other side of the room was a figure dressed in a long
black robe.  A Hyach, looking as self-important and sanctimonious as Hyach
always did.  Londo wondered if being so genetically close to the now-dead
Markab had resulted in the Hyach inheriting some of their cousins'
annoying moral purity as well.

This was not just any Hyach however.  This was a technomage.

"Greetings," the technomage said, her voice heavily accented.  Londo did
not know enough about the Hyach to be certain, but he believed the figure
before him came from their ruling theocracy.  "I am called Zicree, and I
have orders to take the two of you before my companions.  How did you know
of my presence here, Centauri?"

"I have met your kind before, mage.  A long while ago, yes, but some
things are unforgettable.  Technomages project a... kind of aura that is
difficult to miss once you have seen it."

"Ah."  Zicree said.  She did not smile.  "We are... glad to know that. 
Follow me."

Londo looked at the wall beyond Zicree and blinked.  There was a door
there.  "Surely that was not there before," he said.

"Minister Mollari, do you have faith?" asked the technomage.

A reply ran through Londo's mind.  *Yes, in about fifty Gods whose names I
can curse in, firmly in the belief that each and every one of them is out
to make my life miserable.*  What he said was, "Yes."

"And what do you have faith in?"

"That... door?"

"Good.  Follow me.  You also, Shaal Lennier.  We will want to talk with
you both."

"Wait," Lennier said.  "We had a companion.  She is..."

"Known to us.  Come."

Londo looked at Lennier and shrugged.  He didn't remember technomages
being this rude or abrupt, but still... this was a long way from Centauri
Prime.  What else could you expect among barbarians and aliens?

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*Bleeding...  I'm bleeding...  Blood...*

Captain John Sheridan tried to shake off the fog descending over his mind. 
He was an Earthforce captain, damn it!  And he should at least act like
one.

The sound of his blood hitting the soft dirt of Ellaenn was almost
hypnotising him, each droplet which fell sounding like an asteroid hitting
the planet from space.

*Bleeding...*

He had bled earlier today - during one of the complicated Tuchanq Rituals
of Welcoming.  Elder Stateswoman nuViel Roon had said it had something to
do with joining his Song to the Land.  Looking at the ruins of Tuchanq,
Sheridan had not been sure that he wanted his 'song' joined to it, but he
was still enough of a diplomat to acquiesce.

This was no ritual.

The Tuchanq - his guide - his supposed guide - lunged forward again and
Sheridan managed to back up, stumbling away, silently disgusted with
himself that all his instincts seemed to be failing him.  Less than a
month ago he'd defeated a trained Minbari warrior while armed with a
Minbari weapon, and today he couldn't beat a Tuchanq who had only a knife?

He could hardly feel his left arm now, but he thought the wound was not
severe.  With his right hand he scrambled around for his PPG and awkwardly
wrenched it from the holster.

The Tuchanq's next strike knocked it from his hand.

*Think!*  What was it?  He had faced worse than this - so why was he so
sluggish?  Why...?

This planet... it was ruined, destroyed from above: billions had died,
cities had been reduced to heaps of glass and bodies, the skies had rained
fire...

That must have been what the fall of Earth had been like.

And this destruction had been orchestrated by the one who had sent
Sheridan here.  Was that why G'Kar had done this?  Hoping to grant him
some form of closure - some final sense of forgiveness?

The Tuchanq glided in closer, her knife raised again.  She looked so
graceful.  Grace meant little.  Minbari ships were graceful.  Those
shimmering, jet-black ships that had slaughtered the Minbari at Proxima...
they were graceful... Delenn... she was graceful.

*Delenn!*  He wanted that thought out of his head.  He didn't want to think
about her.  He didn't...

Sheridan brought his right arm up, deflecting the path of the Tuchanq's
knife.  Sweeping his leg around he knocked his adversary off her feet. 
Old instincts afire, he dived for his PPG and scooped it up.  After an
almost subliminal check that it was set for stun, he spun and fired as the
Tuchanq leapt at him.

She fell, and was still when she hit the ground.

He winced as he fingered his arm.  Ko'Dath was going to have him butchered
when she heard about this.  She had understood the wisdom in not bringing
members of her Narn security force (the 'Narn Bat Squad') down to the
surface, but she evidently felt that humans were incapable of looking
after themselves.

She'd nearly been proved right.

Sheridan activated his link to call for aid.  His last thought before
doing so was simple, but only half-serious.

*I'm going to get you for this, G'Kar.*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Why did you come here?"

Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan, Shai Alyt during the jihad against the
Earthers, Satai of the Grey Council following the Battle of Mars,
Entil'zha of the Rangers, Holy One and therefore still nominally the
leader of all Minbari and one of the most powerful people in the galaxy...
felt like a child again.

Minbari society was flawlessly and meticulously ordered.  Each knew his or
her caste, clan, status, duties and who was ranked above or below.  Duty
to the people came first.  Always.

In theory, only Sinoval's parents could outrank him, and both were dead. 
In practice, there was one other who had always been able to, and he was
not dead.

In fact, Sinoval found himself thinking, Sech Derhan looked more alive
than he had for a very long time.

"Why did you come here?"

"To find Valen, Sech Derhan."  This could easily have been a scene from
Sinoval's training under Derhan, many years before.  It was not.  They
were not on Minbar, but at a shrine on a nameless planet where Valen had
once won a skirmish against the Enemy a thousand years ago.  They were not
master and student now, but something far deeper.

"You have responsibilities, Holy One..."  Sinoval looked up, a hint of
anger flashing in his dark eyes.  Derhan had gone to the sea of stars a
few years after the end of the jihad.  Sinoval had not asked where he had
been planning to go and Derhan had not told him.  Still... he was
surprised at how much Derhan knew.  He had intimated that he had known
Sinoval would come here.

"Yes, Sinoval... I have kept... as knowledgeable of doings at home as I
can.  I came here for a reason, after all.  Because I knew you would come
here.  What I wish to know... is why."

"To find Valen.  He fought here.  He bled in these rocks.  He raised light
here to destroy the Darkness.  His soul is imbued in this place.  If he is
anywhere other than in the Dreaming, it will be here."

"He is not.  I know, Sinoval..."  Derhan's voice became suddenly soft,
almost as it had been when he had told Sinoval, Tryfan and Neroon of his
decision to go to the sea.  "I know because I have called to him during
the years I have been here.  I have received only silence.  He is not
here."

Sinoval rose to his feet.  "Then I will look elsewhere.  I will find him,
Sech Derhan."

"Why have you abandoned your responsibilities, Holy One?" Derhan shouted. 
"You were chosen to lead the Grey Council and follow in the footsteps of
Valen... so why are you not at the place set aside for you?  Why come you
here?  Do Valen's people not need you?"

Sinoval took an instinctive step back before the fury in Derhan's voice. 
Then he straightened.  "Valen came to me years before, in the Dreaming, at
the death of Varmain."  Sinoval remembered the scene clearly - it had been
the most significant moment of his life.  He remembered the great
warrior-diplomat slowly closing her eyes, and the voice of Valen calling
to him.

"Valen told me that I would have a destiny, that I would save Minbar, that
I would lead our people in the fulfilment of their destiny."

"I know of this," Derhan said.  "I have known for years."

"And so I worked," Sinoval continued, as if Derhan had not spoken.  "I
studied and I trained and I rose.  Alyt... Shai Alyt... Satai...  None of
it was sufficient.  I knew that I was blessed to lead our people.  I
sacrificed so much to make my way there...  You of all people know what I
lost in my journey to the Grey Council..."

"Deeron...  Your parents...  Your sister...  Yes, I know."

"And then came the assault on Proxima."  Sinoval closed his eyes and saw
again the sight of his mighty fleet being cut to shreds, torn apart on the
Earthers' madness.  "The Grey Council was shattered, betrayed by one whom
I failed to deal with adequately.  It was my pride that left the Dilgar
among us...  The blame was mine...

"And so I went in search of Valen.  I need to know, Sech Derhan.  Was I
truly the one he meant to lead his people?  I have left Minbar, and our
people, behind, for this I must do alone.  If I am the one destined to
save us all... if it was Valen who spoke to me... then it matters not what
is happening in my absence, for I will be able to solve anything, with
just the knowledge that I am right.

"And if I am wrong... then better by far for me to be away from there and
leave another to clear up my mistake."

Derhan was silent, his stern features unreadable.  "'One shall fall, and
one shall die, and one shall save them all'," he quoted softly.  "Tryfan
and Neroon had the same vision as you, you know.  The first time they
entered the Dreaming.  They told no one, not even each other."

Sinoval could only stare.  "Then it may not have been me...  Then I..."

"Perhaps.  You have not yet found Valen to ask him, have you?  Where are
Tryfan and Neroon now?"

"Tryfan... died fighting the Enemy... at Proxima.  Neroon... I do not
know.  He left.  We did not speak much after the war."

"No.  Well, maybe you are the one spoken of, Sinoval."

"And maybe I am not!"

"No, maybe you are not."  Derhan fell silent.  "Prophecy is at best a poor
guide to the future, Sinoval.  You should have stayed on Minbar, but what
is done is done and cannot be undone.  Come with me.  I have some
knowledge that might be of service."

Sinoval did not hear his mentor.  He turned and looked around at the
barren rocks and wasteland that made up this planet.  Valen's blood had
stained his land... his spirit was here.  Sinoval knew it.

And yet...

"VALEN!  ANSWER ME!"

There were not even echoes in reply.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn was cold.

She didn't know why.  Certainly this planet was colder than many of the
places she had stayed in recently - colder than the planet she had called
home up until she had learned of her exile from there.  But that was not
it.

Delenn was used to power.  She had not liked wielding power and she had
not asked to wield power, but for over sixteen cycles it had been a fact
of her life.  Even after her capture by John, she had held power.  Even
after her exile from Minbari society, she had held power.  She knew
things, knowledge that no one else in G'Kar's Army of Light had.  That
knowledge gave her power.  She did not like it, and she did not ask for
it, but it had been there all the same.

Now, she was truly discovering for the first time just how it felt to be
completely powerless - an insect in the company of giants.  It scared her,
and she was cold.

The technomages had said little to her since they had suddenly come upon
her.  Their leader - Elric - had made some strange, oracular pronouncement
about her destiny.  Delenn - who had made similar pronouncements herself
in the past - had not liked to hear it.  Since then, she had been taken to
a building - a place that was always and never, one and the same; darkness
and light, strength and weakness, beauty and squalor.

They had said little to her and her attempts at conversation - always
difficult recently due to the pain when she breathed - had been ignored. 
They did not speak even to each other.  Delenn had the feeling that they
were waiting for something.

Aside for the cold, she found she was feeling slightly better.  Her
eyesight was more focussed and her limbs did not seem quite so leaden. 
She still could not speak, however.  Her breath still felt like fire in
her chest.

She closed her eyes and thought of home.

"Ah."  Delenn opened her eyes.  It was Elric who had spoken.  He seemed...
happy.  As if whatever he had been waiting for had arrived.

A moment later, Delenn discovered what it was.

A door appeared where there had not been a door.  It was that simple.  One
moment there had not been a door there.  The next heartbeat, there was. 
Another technomage stepped through it - a Hyach - and behind her came a
stumbling and ashen-faced Londo and a curious, silent Lennier.

"We are never, ever travelling anywhere like that again," Londo was
saying.  "I would sooner rot first.  I would sooner get married again
first, yes.  I would..."

"Mercifully for you, none of those things will be necessary, Minister
Mollari," spoke up Elric.  "Welcome to our home.  Eat, drink and leave
behind some of the happiness you bring.  To you also, Shaal Lennier. 
Strange has been the road that has brought the three of you here to us,
and I fear it will grow stranger still."

"You have been... expecting us?" Lennier asked.  Then he abruptly realised
something.  "Three?"  He suddenly noticed Delenn.  His eyes lingered on
her for a moment and then he looked away sharply.

"Ah, there you are!" bellowed Londo, his fears forgotten.  "Just as I
said.  I knew you would be all right, did I not say as much, Mr. Lennier?"

"I am... pleased you have such faith in me," Delenn whispered.  No one
else she knew did.

"Then, if you have been expecting us," Lennier said, turning his attention
back to Elric, "you will know why we are here."

"We do," Elric said solemnly.  "We will not lend our aid to your struggle. 
We are gathering here as a stage on our journey.  We are leaving behind
the concerns of this place.  The struggle that is coming is not for us to
take part in... on any side.  I explained as much to G'Kar when his
emissaries contacted me earlier.  It seems he did not listen."

"You cannot just abandon us!" Londo cried.  "What about Delenn?  You can
cure her, can you not?"

Elric flicked Delenn a brief, contemptuous glance.  She could practically
see the power and anger surging behind his eyes.  "We can.  Whether we
should is another matter entirely, but I am afraid to say that you were
not listening either, Minister Mollari.  I said, we would not lend aid to
your struggle.  I did not say we would not lend aid to you.

"We have been studying you - all three of you - from the moment we learned
of your quest here.  For each of you we have prepared a gift and a
warning.

"There is... however... a question over your place here.  Minbari always
do things in threes, is that not so, Shaal Lennier?  To you and Minister
Mollari, I would present what we have discovered easily.  To... her...
there are other concerns."

Delenn could hardly believe what she was hearing.  "What concerns?" she
whispered, barely able to breathe.

"They involve your warning.  I will confess however that this matter is
not yet decided.  Wait here.  Food and drink will be brought to you. 
Rest, talk, ask us whatever questions you desire.  When we have decided,
then I shall return."

Londo's hair had metaphorically pricked up.  "Did you say we can ask you
questions?" he said eagerly.

"I said you could ask.  I said nothing about them being answered."

"Ah."

Delenn raised her head with a great effort and looked up at Elric.  He
turned and met her gaze.

Then, slowly and exactly, he said; "Do not try the patience of wizards,
Delenn of Mir, for we are subtle and quick to anger."

Then he fell silent again.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Ko'Dath was not happy.  Not happy at all.

Finally having had enough of her tirade against Tuchanq safety, human
security and idiotic captains going wandering off on their own with no
guards, Sheridan had bluntly ordered her to shut up and leave him alone. 
She had looked startled, but had still done so.

Sheridan flexed his arm experimentally, and winced.  The doctor had said
that it would heal soon enough.  The wound hadn't been Sheridan's first
concern, nor had the Tuchanq who had attacked him.  nuViel Roon had been
most apologetic about that, he remembered.  He didn't know what had been
done with his assailant, and he didn't want to know.

All he had wanted to do was get away from that planet and back on board
the Parmenion, and back to the mission at hand.

Sheridan was not all that bad a diplomat, but G'Kar had people much
more skilled than he.  No, he was here as a warrior and so a warrior
he was going to be.

The probes he had ordered sent out had detected a Streib ship
attacking a trading convoy making for this system.  The Tuchanq had no
colonies and precious little space travel, but they had managed to
make arrangements with a few in the League of Non-Aligned Worlds for
trade.  That trade was the only thing keeping the Tuchanq alive, and
he was not going to let any raiders strip them of it.

They had arrived too late, however, and the convoy had been destroyed.
Tracking the Streibs had not been too difficult though, and he had
sent out patrols of Starfuries.  According to Ben Zayn, one patrol
expecting an altercation could take on a Streib warship, and at least
survive long enough for reinforcements to appear.

Sheridan hoped that was the case.

Because among others out on patrol was Commander Corwin.

And somewhere, out in the infinity of space, a Streib ship glided,
shark-like and predatory, waiting patiently...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 3B
Date: Mon, 10 Nov 1997 20:59:12 +0000



The Cost of Alliances, Part 3B of 4 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDw@Sheffield.ac.uk

With great age, it was said, there came great wisdom.  With great wisdom
there was great power.  And with great power there came great
responsibility.

*Ah,* Elric thought as he walked in silent trepidation to the one before
whom even he was in awe, *responsibility to whom?*

Elric and all his fellow technomages knew of the struggle that was coming. 
They knew of the Shadow Rising and the Light Returning, of the One and the
Three Who Are One, of the Candle and the Star.

They did not know enough, however.  Not nearly enough.  An old saying came
to his mind: 'If knowledge is power, then where is the one who has so much
as to be eternally out of danger?'

Elric knew that one: no such person existed.  The more powerful you were,
the weaker you were.

There had not been a gateway here before, but now there was.  The room
Elric was about to enter had been little more than an office - a place to
sort the goods passing through the warehouses that they had taken over. 
Without thinking about it, the technomages had given the office over to
another, and by simple virtue of his presence, this ordinary door had
become a gateway, and the unadorned office, a chamber.

Elric bowed as he entered.  The One Above All was expecting him, but that
did not make symbolism less important.

"Come," rasped out the voice from within.  Elric was impressed.  The One
Above All was greeting him in his own voice.  It would be simplicity
itself for him to issue out booming commands, or hissing orders, but he
did not.  Elric had used such parlour tricks himself when he deemed it
necessary, and he was gratified that the the one being he recognised as
his superior  needed none with him.

"Lord."  Elric stepped inside.  He was not afraid - it would take a great
deal to frighten him - but he was awed.  With age came wisdom, and the One
Above All was very old indeed.  Some said that he was the first of the
technomages, some said that he had created them, written their laws and
codified their power.  Elric knew that none of those was true, but he had
no idea of just who the One Above All was, or of who he had been.

But then, knowledge had never been the forte of the technomages.  They had
wielded power, the others had commanded knowledge, and by working together
they could create miracles.  Take one away, and both will suffer.  What
little the technomages knew now was as nothing compared to the vast
knowledge the others possessed.

"Lord."  He was seated in shadows, in a chair that to anyone else would
always be just a chair but with him was a throne.  Elric bowed his head. 
"Lord," he repeated.

"They are here."  A statement, not a question.  "The three Questors."

"Yes, lord."

"We cannot aid their struggle, Elric.  You know this.  We cannot take
sides."

"I know, Lord."  If Elric had ever harboured thoughts about choosing a
side, neither of them mentioned it.  "I have told them as much.  But we
can help them, as individuals."

"You know what she will do.  You know as well as I."

"Yes, Lord.  But I also know what she is capable of doing.  The other two
are as they appear.  They serve the Light by circumstance only.  Their
true loyalties lie to their people.  They are neither good nor evil.  They
simply are.  I am inclined to give them what ask."

"And the other?  Will you give her what she asks?"

"I do not know, Lord.  Her destiny places her irrevocably with the Light,
yet she is touched by the Darkness, both in ways she knows and in ways she
does not."

The voice of the One Above All grew faint and hollow.  "I see her hand
stretching out across the galaxy.  I see countless billions crying her
name.  I see her face rising above the horizons of planets."  He fell
silent.  "It may be simpler to let her die."

"It may be, Lord, but she is Minbari and they always work as three.  If we
do not help her, then we cannot help the others."

"We may be able to help her.  Elric, there are two roads stretched out
before her.  Both will lead to the same ending, but the journey there will
be different.  She stands at the turning now, and coming events will
decide her path.  There is something she must see to determine her
destiny.

"I know where the Vindrizi are."

Elric started.  Ever since they had lost contact with the Vindrizi, they
had all wondered if the One Above All had known.  Surely not, they had
reasoned, or he would have ordered someone to find them.  Then why...?

"We were not the ones, Elric.  The three Questors must find the Vindrizi. 
They must learn things for themselves.  Tell her that they are to go to
the world where light was brought to the darkness.  She will know what it
means.  They will find the Vindrizi there, and they are to bring one of
them back to us here.  Once that is done, they will be given what they
ask.  Each of the three will receive their gift and their warning."

"But why can we not send one of our own?"

"We are not meant to go ourselves, Elric.  Our task is to rest here,
gathering in more of our number.  Our place of sanctuary will be ready for
us soon, and when the storm has gone, we may be able to return.

"The former Satai will discover what she needs to upon her journey.  The
others will ensure that she makes it there and returns alive.

"Tell them to go only to the place I have indicated, Elric.  Tell them to
find the Vindrizi and to return here."

"Yes, Lord."  The One Above All fell silent and Elric bowed again,
solemnly.  He left the chamber, and one stray thought came to mind.  The
One Above All was so far beyond technomage as technomage was above mortal,
but it was said that he had once possessed a mortal name.  Elric was
unsure even of what race he had been - Elric certainly no longer regarded
even himself as human.

Still, he wondered what the mortal named Jamis had been like before.


From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 3C
Date: Mon, 10 Nov 1997 21:01:13 +0000


The Cost of Alliances, Part 3C [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

"They call themselves the Vindrizi.  I am not one of them, but I suppose
you could say that I am their leader.  They have come here to wait, and
rest, and remember.

"They are knowledge incarnate, and if you remember my teachings, then I am
sure you will know that knowledge and power are but two sides of the same
coin, Sinoval.  They are here to prevent that knowledge from being
abused."

Sinoval looked around at the gathering before him.  He saw aliens, no more
and no less.  A Vree, two Centauri, a small handful of Brakiri, a Narn or
two...  The only other of his own people here was the one who was talking
to him.

"What are Vindrizi, Sech Derhan?" Sinoval asked, lapsing back easily into
the familiar pattern of student and teacher.  "And what is your
involvement here?"

The towering Minbari smiled slightly, a warm expression.  It was strange
how tall Derhan still seemed to Sinoval.  The height was a measure not of
his physique, but of his inner being.

"I am their leader, their guardian if you will.  I chanced upon them by
accident shortly after I left Minbar to travel out to the sea.  I have no
doubt that the religious caste would call our meeting the work of Valen. 
Whether that is true or not, I do not know, but I would be more inclined
to name a warrior's luck.

"The Vindrizi are a race of ancient aliens, far older than anything we can
imagine, Sinoval.  They survive through dwelling in the bodies of others. 
They are vast storehouses of knowledge, created to preserve that which
would otherwise be lost in the Great War that Valen foretold.  That war is
here and they needed a place of sanctuary.  I... heard their story and I
offered to create that place for them.  I had my own reasons for coming
here, and so here I brought them, crafting my defences, using every skill
that made me what I was.  We knew of your ship long before you landed,
Sinoval."

"You knew I would come here.  You knew I would seek Valen.  In his name,
was I always destined to fail so badly?"

"Perhaps."  Derhan shrugged.  "Who is to say what is failure?  I knew that
you, or Neroon or Tryfan would come here.  I knew of the prophecy that
referred to the three of you.  And so I came here, and I waited, and I
learned from this remarkable race.  They have much to teach you, Sinoval."

Sinoval turned away and looked out across the barren, rocky landscape all
around him.  A thousand years ago Valen had survived here, fighting a war
against a darkness which would have overwhelmed him were it not for his
courage.  There was little to mark his presence here, nothing that Sinoval
could fathom.  There was little to mark that anyone had been here since
Valen and Marrain a thousand years ago.

"I did not come here to learn, Sech Derhan," he spat.

"No, you came here to find Valen, to ascertain your own destiny.  What is
that, if not learning?  Valen is not here, Sinoval.  I know, because I
have called out to him every day of every cycle since I have been here,
and I have heard nothing.  He is not here, or if he is, he will not reveal
himself to either of us.

"The Vindrizi are here, sheltering from the storm, but that does not mean
they will not help those who must brave it.  Learn from them, Sinoval. 
Let them teach you."

Sinoval turned back to his master.  And he bowed.

"As you say, Sech Derhan."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Commander David Corwin woke from a nightmare to discover that reality was
worse than any nightmare.

He was trapped, sealed beneath a mass of bonds that writhed and probed,
scanning him.  He was bleeding, and his blood seeped into the material
that held him.  He remained lucid long enough to realise that he was being
studied.

The ship had been so fast.  It had appeared from nowhere, tearing into his
patrol.  Ben Zayn had forgotten to tell him how fast the Streibs were. 
Had he forgotten, or had he been ordered not to?

Corwin had sent off the signal, so at least the Captain knew where they
had encountered the Streibs.  How many times they had jumped since then,
where they were now, whether they were still on board the ship or on the
Streib homeworld or elsewhere... he didn't know.

He wondered where the others were.  Connally might have escaped - he
didn't know that either.  The rest were probably dead.  He wondered if the
Streibs recognised rank bars.

He opened his mouth to call out his name and rank, but passed out before
he could do it.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"The Vindrizi?  What in the name of the Great Maker are they?"

Elric looked at Londo with a gaze that would have melted stone.  "They are
knowledge given form, Minister Mollari.  They are... linked with us in a
way you cannot comprehend.  What they are is irrelevant.  You will go and
find them for us."

"I see... and how are we to do this?  Should we just look in the
Encyclopaedia Xenobiologica under 'weird aliens'?  Perhaps they left a
forwarding address?"  Londo caught Elric's stare and fell silent, several
minutes after he should have done, but still, he thought, *better late
than never.*

"We know where they are."

"Then why can you not go and find them yourselves?" asked Lennier,
standing beside Elric.  He seemed as puzzled by all this as Londo was. 
Only Delenn did not seem surprised, but she was so quiet and still that
she might well not have heard a word the technomage was saying.

"We must stay here.  We are gathering in those of us who have yet to reach
this place.  We may not walk abroad unless we must."

"Typical technomage gibberish," Londo pointed out to Lennier.  "They might
as well be Minbari."

"There are no Minbari among our number," Elric said.  "Their view of the
universe... differs from ours."

"It is a matter of faith," Lennier said, gently but firmly.

"Faith is irrelevant.  Power is."

"Power is nothing, without faith that you can use it properly."

"Yes yes," Londo muttered.  "Personally I have faith in myself and hold
that power is where you find it, but if we can return to the point ever so
slightly, has it occurred to you that perhaps Delenn might not survive
another journey?  She is not exactly very fit.  Unless you were planning
to look after her while we find these... Vindrizi?"

"She must go with you.  You began this as three and you must end it as
three."

"Ah, Minbari and their wonderful grasp of numerology.  Why could we not
have begun this with... say, three thousand?  Or perhaps an entire warship
or two?  But no... it had to be just the three of us.  And what if she
dies?  What happens to your numerology then?"

"Ensure she does not die, Minister Mollari."

"My life... is in no one's... hands..." Delenn coughed, hobbling forward,
"but... my own...  I will not die... yet."

"We shall see," Elric said.  "You will find the Vindrizi at the place
where light was brought to the darkness."  Londo blinked and muttered a
few choice words under his breath about mystical mumbo-jumbo.  "You need
only bring one of them back to us here.  What one knows, all know, but...
it must return voluntarily.  That is important."

"And that is it?  That is all you will tell us?"

"That is all you need to know.  We will provide you with provisions for
your journey, and I am sure that procuring a vessel will be no problem for
one of your... abilities.

"Good fortune.  If you return, then you will be rewarded."  Elric inclined
his head ever so slightly - not so much a bow as a parody of one.  He then
turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Londo looked around and discovered that there were no other technomages in
sight.  "How strange to think that I actually missed the halcyon days of
my youth," he muttered.  "I could be back home getting very drunk right
about now, but no... I had to try and come on an adventure..."

"We all serve in the ways we can, Minister Mollari."

"Why thank you, Mr. Lennier.  That was so uplifting."  Londo thought for a
moment.  "I wonder if he meant the Vinzini.  Them I know about.  We
conquered their homeworld a century or two ago.  I have known a few. 
Magnificently awful at cards, they were.  Should we check out their
homeworld?"

"No," spoke Delenn softly.  "I know where to go.  It is a small place, a
long way from the major shipping lines."

"Could we hire someone to take us there?" asked Lennier, speaking directly
to Londo.

"With what exactly?  All our funds were lost when that Drazi made violent
objection to my card techniques.  I suppose we could contact G'Kar. 
Perhaps he can arrange further transport for us?"

"No," Lennier said.  "Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar warned us not to try and contact
him until we could be sure it would be safe to do so.  We cannot risk
any... unfriendly parties overhearing us."

"Typical... I suppose it is too much to hope that he will appear out of
nowhere and magically transport us there."  Londo stood back and made an
exaggerated posture of staring at the wall before them.  "No, not a thing. 
Well, My Lady Butterfly.  Any ideas?"

Delenn weakly shook her head.

Londo shrugged and then looked up at the skies, muttering choice epithets
in the names of all the Gods he knew.  When he reached one particular God
he stopped.  "Leiber!  Of course.  God of Daring, patron of thieves.  We
sneak aboard a shuttle."

"That would not be..."

"Oh shut up, Mr. Lennier.  This will be easy.  This is a space port, after
all, and security is not... overly restrictive."

"Other than for common brawlers who cheat at cards and insult Drazi,"
Lennier pointed out.  "And may I remind you that the Bulloxian security
will probably by now be aware that we are not in those cells any longer."

"No one likes a spoilsport, Mr. Lennier.  Come on.  I think I know just
how to do this..."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Well, Minister Mollari.  I will have to learn not to underestimate you
again."

Londo wheezed heavily.

"That trick with the Drazi official was most impressive."

Londo leaned his head back against the seat and began to burble.

"Not to mention how you managed to avoid those Bulloxians who were chasing
you."

"My hearts will never be the same again."

"And to think that you could devise such a creative use for... um... that
certain part of your anatomy."

"Mr. Lennier, never, ever, tell anyone about that again, either!"

"Of course.  I shall take a vow of silence on the matter."

"Good."

Londo's plan to sneak aboard a shuttle had gone very well, all things
considered.  After learning that their originally-planned means of
departure from Kazomi 7 had been shut down by Drazi officials during a
colour riot, they had been forced to use somewhat more unorthodox methods. 
After several minutes of thinking very quickly, Londo had managed to get
all three of them hidden in the cargo hold of a small Bremmaer shuttle. 
After passing through the jump gate and tying up the pilot - a human of
all things - they had managed to reprogramme the co-ordinates to the
location Delenn had provided.  It would be a journey of over a day at
least.

"Are you sure she will be able to last that long?" Londo asked, looking at
Delenn.  She was resting in the corner of the hold.

"If Valen wills it," Lennier replied.

Then there was silence.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"I am sorry to hear of the loss of your crew members, Captain Sheridan,"
nuViel Roon said sincerely.  "You came here to help us, after all."

"Yeah, well... I suppose I shouldn't have trusted my own intelligence
reports so much."  nuViel Roon could see that Sheridan's neutral
expression was nothing more than a mask hiding much more violent emotions. 
"But I'll deal with that later.  We have the location where the Streib
ship attacked my people, and we'll use there as a starting point.  Perhaps
we can follow ion trails or something.  My technicians are looking at the
Starfuries' flight recorders anyway.  Maybe they'll pick up something."

"How... many did you lose?"

"Four confirmed dead.  Two missing.  Commander Corwin and
Flight-lieutenant Connally.  All of our reports have said that the Streibs
have been known to take prisoners, so it's not impossible that they're
still alive.  If they are, I'll get them back, and shut the Streibs down. 
Trust me."

"Of course, Captain Sheridan.  You have my thanks for your efforts, and my
apologies for your loss.  And again... I wish to..."

"Forget about it," he replied, although nuViel Roon noticed a slight wince
in his arm.  "Is the Tuchanq who attacked me okay?"

"Yes," came the reply.  "She is in our custody now.  You did not seriously
injure her."

Captain Sheridan nodded.  "Good.  I am glad to hear that.  I must go now,
but I will return when this mission is concluded."

"Thank you, Captain."  The commscreen went black and nuViel Roon stepped
back, turning to the attendants behind her.  "Have we found her?"

"No," one of them replied.

"I see."  nuViel Roon felt a despair greater than she had known since the
Narns had left her world.  She had told a necessary lie to Captain
Sheridan to conceal their problem.  He was not to know the effect that
unconsciousness would have on a Tuchanq.  He probably thought that he was
being kind in only stunning nuMir Ru.  He was not to know that in doing
so, he had rendered her insane.

Better perhaps to have killed her.

Somewhere out on the streets of Ellaenn was a potential murderer, and
perhaps capable of more than murder.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*Come on, come on.*  Londo Mollari was recovering from his earlier
exhaustion and was taking advantage of a momentary opportunity to set up a
communication.  Having waited until both Delenn and Lennier were asleep,
he had foreseen a trouble-free conversation, but he had not anticipated
the message taking so long to get through.

He had a feeling that this was something he did not want either of his
companions finding out about.

"At last," he muttered, as Mr. Morden's face came up on the viewscreen. 
"Mr. Morden.  You are rather difficult to get hold of sometimes.  I
thought you said that I could get through to your personal communicator at
any time with a minimum of effort."

"I apologise, Minister, but I'm afraid I've been a little busy over here,
and my time is short, but I'm always happy to hear from you."  Morden
smiled.  "What can I do for you?"

"What do you know about a race called the Vindrizi?"

Morden blinked, one of the first cracks in his facade Londo had ever seen. 
"The Vindrizi?  I don't think...  Ah yes.  One of my associates had an
encounter with a race of that name quite some years ago.  I had thought
they were all dead by now."

"Well, they are not.  I have been sent out to try to find them.  Most
strange, since the people who sent me to find them know exactly where they
are, which leads me to believe that this may not be entirely what it
appears.  I do not like walking into any situation blind, Mr. Morden.  So,
what do you know about these... Vindrizi?"

"Not a great deal, I'm afraid.  They are very old, and they were created
by some race or other for the purpose of storing information.  Some sort
of living recorder, I believe.  They know a great deal.  Beyond that..."

"I see.  Thank you, Mr. Morden.  One more thing, do you know of any place
where light was once brought to the darkness?"

Morden was thinking for a moment.  "A Minbari legend, I think.  They claim
that one of their greatest leaders once fought an enemy on some nameless
planet and created light to defeat his adversary."

"Legends again.  I am convinced that my life consists entirely of legends. 
Why can we not remain in the present at all?  No, it is always millennia
in the past!"  Londo paused.  "Great Maker, I have just described my
entire people."

Morden smiled.  "Let's hope that you are the exception, Minister. 
Speaking of your people, have you had a chance to look at that data
crystal I gave you yet?"

"Data...  Oh, Great Maker!  Lady Morella's prophecy.  I had completely
forgotten.  It... ah, blast!  I left it behind on the Valerius."

"Clumsy of you, Minister."

"Ah well.  Carn will not let anyone into my quarters, so I am sure it is
quite safe there.  I will study it when I return."

"I wouldn't leave it too long, Minister.  These are dangerous times, and
it pays to have advance knowledge of events, no matter how obscure."

"Ah, perhaps you are right.  Thank you, Mr. Morden."

"Always a pleasure, Minister.  By the way, how is Delenn now?  I
understand she was not well."

"No, she is still very ill.  In fact, I think she will lucky to last
another day or two.  Still, the Great Maker may yet surprise us all, no?"

"All things are possible.  I will have to go now.  Good luck, Minister."

"And to you, Mr. Morden."  The viewscreen went blank and Londo sat back,
feeling in an even worse mood than before.

Elsewhere, Morden folded up his personal communicator - made with
technology beyond the comprehension of most of his people - and turned
back to the person he had been talking to.

"I apologise for the delay, Ambassador, but that was one of my...
associates here and there.  I've just uncovered a piece of information
that I'm sure you'd like.

"Satai Delenn of the Grey Council is dying.  She is heading for a planet
whose co-ordinates I know, and she will in all likelihood die there.  Her
soul will be yours in exchange for a certain... favour for this
information.  What do you say?"

The Soul Hunter nodded.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Commander Corwin staggered to his feet, head pounding.  He felt weak,
almost too weak to stand, but he was trying to remember the first rule of
the soldier.  Information is never the enemy.

His cell was small, with no discernible door.  No discernible anything, in
fact.  There had to be something of value...

*Think!*

Whatever the Streibs had done to him, he was finding it increasingly
difficult to remain awake.

*Think!  Evaluate!  Where are we?*

He slumped to his knees, ears pounding.  He rubbed at his eyes and looked
up just in time to see a Narn plunge a long sword directly at his head.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elsewhere, Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally was having a similarly rude
awakening.  Her conditions were marginally better, but she was not to know
that at the time.

A harsh hissing cut into her ear and she winced.  Looking around, she saw
two humanoid figures nearby.  One looked like a cross between a Hyach and
a Brakiri, while the other...

The other was somehow both stocky and skeletal.  Connally's efforts to get
a clear look at it kept failing because it was shimmering eerily, almost
as if she was watching it over a television where the reception wasn't
clear and kept crackling.  For a moment she half wondered if it was a
hologram of some kind, but then it moved and she was overcome by a stench
of rotting decay.  She retched, recoiling at the foulness of the odour. 
That was no hologram, she decided.  The only thing about it that she was
able to focus on was a small blue ball it held up.  The ball flashed and
hissed, and she supposed that it was some sort of translation device.

Whatever these things were, they definitely weren't part of the same race,
so what did that make this?  Some sort of allied council?  A diplomatic
meeting?  A declaration of war?  She pictured it as a mating ritual and
almost giggled.

So why was she here?  A number of unpleasant suggestions flashed through
her mind, but she managed to repel them.  No point worrying about what she
couldn't change.  Find out who these guys were and what they wanted with
her.  Then worry about escape.

Two minutes later, she found out.

A device made some horrible buzzing sound and the more solid of the aliens
moved towards it, activating something.  A light came on and a
communications screen lit up.

"Ah, Ambassadors," came a voice that Connally heard very clearly.  "A
pleasure to talk with you."  The voice was flat and lacking in emotion,
but still urbanely polite.  A veteran diplomat, obviously.

None of that mattered, however, as Connally missed most of it at the time. 
What mattered was that the voice was speaking in System English.

It was a human.

To Be Continued...

Note: I forgot to add a special thank you to Morag Kerr for 
proof-reading this for me - and putting up with my appalling grammar. 
Diolch yn fawr.



From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 4A,
Date: Sun, 16 Nov 1997 01:00:14 +0000


Hello people. Here's the next part of my parallel universe saga, 
begun with A Dark, Distorted Mirror a long time ago. This marks the 
end of the first story in the secons phase. Trust me, things are only 
going to get better...

This story contains slight Spoilers for Lines of Communication.

Feedback is always very welcome and should be sent to: 
LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk. I try to respond to every message I get. 

A special thank you to Morag Kerr for proof-reading and editing.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters, terms etc. 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 never promised everyone a happy ending. (Or in 
fact, anyone.) You have been warned.

* * * * *

The Cost of Alliances, Part 4A of 4 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

There are few things as horrible as discovering something familiar while
trapped in an unfamiliar place.  It is a reminder of things lost, perhaps
never to be regained; it brings back the memory of the familiar which has
been superseded by the present; and it is a harsh burst of reality.

Neeoma Connally, Flight-lieutenant of Starfury Squadron Alpha of the
destroyer class starship Parmenion, had just encountered an element of the
familiar while in a most unfamiliar place.  Out on patrol while trying to
find the Streib ship responsible for numerous attacks on merchant ships
from the devastated world of Tuchanq, her group was attacked by a ship
their reports indicated to be the Streibs they were searching for. 
Overpowered with ease, and with only just enough time to launch a distress
signal, Connally had been captured.  What had become of the rest of her
patrol, she did not know.

Now, somehow, she was held on what was presumably the Streib ship,
witnessing a meeting between two aliens, one of which was presumably a
Streib and another which definitely wasn't, when the meeting was
interrupted by a communication.

>From a human.

So much for the familiar.

"Ah, Ambassadors, a pleasure to talk with you."

Polite, civilised, urbane.  The voice belonged to someone very much like
the English teacher Connally had always hated in college until she
realised she'd learned the secrets of the world from him.  This voice
possessed a creepiness that the English teacher had lacked.  An intense
aura of superiority only just disguised by the fact that this person,
whoever he was, had a job to do, and was going to get it done.

She tried to lift herself up to see the communications screen and thereby
the face of the human who was speaking.  Alas, her legs had other ideas. 
She had no idea what was holding her down and she didn't want to
speculate.  Some sort of gravitation, magnetic thing, she supposed.  The
Streibs certainly seemed advanced enough to have such technology.

"Ambassador Sarbacher," the human pronounced the complicated Streib name
effortlessly, with all the hissing, clicking and flawless enunciation
Connally recognised in high-ranking diplomats.  She had a feeling she
ought to know this person.  "And you, emissary.  It is an honour."

"Drakh..." hissed the other alien, the one who looked as if he were
trapped behind rows of crystal, each one glinting off a facet of him.  "I
am Drakh."

"How are the negotiations going?"

"Well," answered Sarbacher, his - or her? - alien mouth not delivering
System English as well as the human's voice coped with the Streib name. 
"Your... name?"

Something arose in Connally's mind - something from Captain Ben Zayn's
reports.  The Streibs held names to be very valuable things, a part of the
essence that made someone what they were.  Asking for your name was a sign
of great respect.  Apparently.  Ben Zayn had actually been on the Streib
homeworld, so she supposed he knew what he was talking about.

"Sir Gaheris," came the reply.  "I am authorised to act for my Government
in this matter.  Both of your authorities have all the relevant
information, and so I am here for just one question.  Do we have your
support?"

"Yesss..." hissed Drakh.  "When you need us... call our name...  We will
come."

"Thank you.  Your support is welcome.  And you, Ambassador Sarbacher?"

"Need more, first..."  The Streib seemed to be making a great effort with
the language.  Something suddenly struck Connally.  The Streib was not
using a translator.  Whether Drakh's weird blue ball thing was working as
a translating device she didn't know, but the Streib was actually speaking
English.

Where had they learned English?  From Ben Zayn?  Or somewhere else?

"Spoils..." the Streib said, awkwardly.  "What do we get?"

"You get the entirety of the Non-Aligned Worlds for your personal, private
playground," replied Sir Gaheris.  Typical, Connally thought, not even a
proper name.  Just a codename.  "We have no interest in that area, but we
know you do.  The question is this... can you get what you want with the
Minbari around?"

"No."

"Then help us and we both get what we want.  The Drakh here are willing to
help us remove the Minbari as a force in this galaxy.  Alone, they might
be enough.  If you provide your aid, then I know we will be able to beat
them."

"Need... more."

"I see.  How much more, exactly?"

"Minbari...  Need promise that we... have Minbari prisoners...  Have their
technology...  You take their world.  We take their people."

"We have no interest in their world, and less in their people.  You can
take whatever prisoners you deem necessary.  And as for their
technology... we will be happy to share whatever we discover with you. 
Concrete treaties can be worked out later.  What matters now is that we
come to some form of agreement."

"We are wary...  We remember the Minbari."

"Ambassador Sarbacher, the Minbari destroyed our homeworld, just as they
nearly did to yours.  They attacked our new world when all we wanted was
to survive, and they were stopped.  Soon, we will be taking the war to
them, and when we do we plan on leaving not one Minbari alive for a
million light years in any direction.  We have allies, we have the Drakh. 
We would like you.  All we desire is the eradication of the Minbari.  Help
us achieve that, and you can have whatever you like.  Well?"

A momentary hesitation, and then, "Yes."

"Good.  Thank you, Ambassadors.  My aides will be in contact to clarify
further details.  It has been good doing business with you."

The light faded from the panel and the voice stopped.  Connally fell back
on to the floor, wrestling with what she had just heard.  The two aliens
turned back to each other and began to speak in a language she did not
know at all.

Leaving aside the fact that the Proxima Resistance Government was making a
deal with these races to go against the Minbari, Connally was left with
the question of why she had been left here to hear it.  Surely the Streib
had seen that she had recovered consciousness?  Then why let a prisoner
overhear such valuable information?

And why did she feel she was going to regret finding out?

She lay still for a few minutes, listening to the two aliens share
whatever conversation it was they were having.  Not having met any members
of these races before, she was at a loss to understand any of what they
were saying.  She did know enough to be sure that she didn't like either
of them.  The Drakh in particular.  Something about the way it smelled of
rotting meat made her nauseous, and its skeletal features brought up long-
buried memories within her, of stories her grandfather had told her about
demons and ghosts.  She hadn't believed them then, but the old man could
easily have been talking about the Drakh without realising it.

Several minutes later she discovered first-hand, as the Drakh turned to
her.  "Human..." it hissed.  Its voice sounded... it sounded like the
whisper of her worst nightmares.  The ball it was holding was flashing,
and she could see little sparks of lightning beneath its surface.  She
began to wonder if it had more uses than as a translation device.

"You heard?" asked the Streib, also stepping forward.  Connally was
silent, looking up at the two aliens before her.  "You heard?"

Making a twitching gesture she couldn't quite identify, the Streib reached
out towards her, tapping gently at the wall just above her head.  She
screamed as a sudden burst of agony shot through her entire body. 
Something like an electric shock, but not quite.  Much more painful.

"You heard?"

"Yes," she replied, breathing in deeply.  "Yes, I heard."

"Was he... sincere?  Was there falsehood in him?"

"How should I know?"

The two aliens were silent, evidently trying to digest her particular
torture resistance gambit.  For a moment she thought that Sarbacher was
about to activate the shock again, but it did not.

"You are human," hissed the Drakh.  It bent down, its body almost folding
in half as it did so, and it took her hand.  She recoiled.  Its... hand -
if that's what it was - was dry and scaly.  She could feel something
rippling beneath the surface of its fingers.  Almost like little black
worms.

"You are human.  You will know.  Do they cheat us?"

One of the Drakh's fingers squeezed the bridge between her thumb and
forefinger and she spasmed violently.  This was not the electric shock of
a moment ago.  This was... a primal fear, ancient terrors rising to the
fore past thousands of years of civilisation.  She could see its skull-
face looming at the forefront of her thoughts.  She could feel millennia
flowing through her mind, the passing of time, the sheer ancient, dark
power surging through its body.  It was a violation of the most intimate
kind.

She let out an involuntary scream and her arm flew up over her head,
trying to push the face away.  Her fingers brushed the blue ball the Drakh
carried in its other hand.

Power poured through her fingertips as she touched it, and there was a
blinding flash of light.  She could feel the Drakh fall back, and the dim
silhouette of the Streib covering its eyes as it staggered away.

When sight returned to Neeoma Connally she discovered that whatever force
had held her was gone, and that the blue ball was on the floor.  The Drakh
was floundering, almost - and absurdly - like a turtle placed on its back.=
 
The Streib, however, was recovering its feet, and making for the ball.

Connally got there first, scooping it up and leaping to her feet.  The
sight of the Drakh trying helplessly to rise had wiped away her primal
fear.  It was not shimmering as much now, and it looked like nothing more
than an especially ugly alien.

Sarbacher was moving in on her, and Connally reacted.  She wasn't sure how
to use the ball, she simply held it and thrust her hand outwards.  For a
brief moment her entire frame of vision expanded so that she could see
everything around her.  For that short instant, she could see the entire
ship, inside and out; she could see them hanging in the infinity of space;
she could see the stars, and the skies, and the luminous gases that lit up
around her like fireworks.

Then the moment ended and all she saw was the smoking body of the Streib
ambassador lying on the floor.

The Drakh had managed to scramble over to her side.  Connally had a
feeling that it was calling for help, but something instinctively held her
back from using the ball against it.  Perhaps an idea that the weapon
would not work against one who had once wielded it?

Either way, she now knew where they were, and where Commander Corwin was
being held, and how to get there.

Finding the door she needed, Neeoma Connally ran out into the dark innards
of the Streib ship, bearing with her the seeds of her eventual damnation.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"If I may make a small suggestion, yer 'onner?"

"No," snapped Londo Mollari.  "You may not."  He was already regretting
his decision.  Of all the ships at Kazomi 7 he could have sneaked aboard
and stolen, it had to be this one.  Admittedly, actually stealing it had
been a stroke of genius - he thought to himself, very pleased with having
come up with the idea - but the human who owned it was annoying beyond
words.  Fortunately, they had arrived at their target destination.  All
they had to do now was negotiate their way across this worthless, barren
rock, find these Vindrizi things and get one of them back to Kazomi 7 and
the technomages.

Simple.

Londo could swear his life was getting worse day by day, but at least
there were mitigating factors.  He wasn't in the company of any of his
wives for a start.

"We are ready," spoke up the first of his companions.  Shaal Lennier -
poet, card sharp and not all that bad a person to have at your back in a
bar fight either.  Londo had discovered that one earlier.

"Will you be all right?" he asked his second companion.  She did not look
anywhere near all right.  Her every movement seemed an effort and each
breath she took could be heard from the other side of the hold.  He had
known fusion explosions make less noise.

"I will be fine," rasped Delenn.  Not for the first time, he questioned
the wisdom of bringing her along, but if the technomages said she had to
come here, then she had to come here.  Insanity of the worst order, but
who was he to argue with a technomage?

"And I'm fine too, yer 'onner."

"Shut up," Londo said to the human captain.  "Now listen, we are going to
lock you up in one of your cargo containers while we go off and find...
whatever it is we're looking for.  There's plenty of food in there, so you
shouldn't have any problems.  We don't know how long we will be away for,
but take heart from the fact that if we don't return, you'll undoubtedly
starve to death.

"If we do return, take us back to Kazomi 7, and you can be on your way
again.  Clear?"

"Of course, yer 'onner.  Clear as crystal, sir.  Name's Captain Jack, by
the way."

"Oh, is it?"  Londo paused, then added as an afterthought, "good for you."

*Ah, madness!  Fools to the left of me and Minbari to the right.*

He didn't know which group was worse.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

And not far away, another ship had made its way on to the planet where
Valen had once stood and fought and brought light to the darkness.  Unlike
Londo and his companions, this ship had not been noticed.  The Soul
Hunters were clever enough to avoid even Sech Derhan's capable defences
and shielding.

Drawn by the smell of death, they came on, sensing with every footfall the
aura of a noble and brilliant soul dying.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elsewhere, an equally noble soul was on the verge of death, although the
Soul Hunters were nowhere in sight.

Commander David Corwin's muscles suddenly decided to start working and he
ducked under the sweep of the Narn's blade, rolling over and staggering to
his feet.  He still felt groggy, but his instincts were able to override
such problems for the moment.  Time enough to rest later.

The Narn spun around, displaying a speed quite rare for one of his kind,
and leapt at Corwin, who was looking around frantically for a weapon...
something.  Anything!

Corwin flung himself forward, throwing his entire bodyweight at the Narn. 
He felt a brief flash of pain as the sword sliced across his outstretched
arm, but he did experience the satisfaction of knocking the Narn off his
feet.

Both fell tumbling to the floor and rolled around.  Corwin was all too
aware of his opponent's superior strength, but he had spent enough time
practising hand-to-hand combat with Ko'Dath and members of her Narn Bat
Squad aboard the Parmenion not to know a few of the little vulnerabilities
of the species.

Squirming out from the Narn's bear-hug grip, he swivelled along the floor
and kicked out at his leg, hitting him just on the sensitive area above
the knee.  His opponent howled in pain and tried to scramble to his feet. 
Corwin launched another kick and saw him tumble back to the floor.

Carefully skirting around the floundering Narn, he scooped up the long
sword and stood over its owner.

"Who are you?" he asked.  "Do you work for the Streibs?"

"Work for them!" spat the Narn.  "I'm just as much a prisoner here as you,
human."

"Then why did you attack me?"

The Narn slumped to the floor and rolled on to his back.  "Everything else
I've met here has tried to kill me so far.  Why not you?"

"You don't think it would be easier to get out of here alive if we both
worked together?" Corwin asked.

The Narn laughed.  "Human, during our last war with the Centauri, I was
trapped on a colony world a long way behind Centauri lines.  For over two
months I fought my way back to our base.  At one point I was surrounded by
over forty Centauri patrolling the area looking for me.

"I have never in my life felt more powerless than I do now.

"There is no escape from here, human."

"All things are possible," Corwin replied.  "David Corwin, Commander, of
the Parmenion."

"G'Dan, scout attached to the fifth Kar'an of Warleader G'Sten."

"Well, G'Dan, I wouldn't give up hope just yet.  We'll get out of here."

"And how, may I ask?"

Corwin smiled and half-leant, half-fell back against the wall.  "Before I
came out here I had a subcutaneous tracer implanted.  My companions will
know where I am and will be able to find us."

G'Dan let out a typically Narn-esque snort.  "The Streibs will have
thought of things like that.  They would detect transmissions across any
standard frequency."

"Who said anything about standard frequencies?"

G'Dan shook his head.  "Good luck to you, human.  You are just insane
enough to believe that you can do it as well."

"Optimism and insanity," Corwin mused.  "Yes... I think I see the
connection."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval's eyes were closed, his limbs still, only the merest hint of
breath showing in his body.  To anyone watching he looked at peace with
the world.

He was not.  Sinoval hated meditation and had done since he was a child. 
He was not a priestling, needing so much time simply to organise his
thoughts.  He was a warrior and a leader of warriors, capable of
evaluating a situation and determining a course of action instantly.

Or at least... he should be.

All Sinoval could see was the sight of his ships being torn apart in the
skies above Proxima.

The fact remained that his judgement had let him down.  He had believed
Deathwalker would be easy to depose.  He felt no guilt for her presence
amongst the highest =E9chelons of Minbari warrior society - that had
occurred before his ascension.  But not removing her given the opportunity
- there he had failed.

Sinoval twitched, and muttered angrily to himself as he resumed the
meditation position.  More foolishness.  Derhan had said that he needed to
learn here.  Then fine, let him learn.  Further training with the pike,
strategy sessions, physical exercise.  Meditation was the resort of the
priestling.

And yet sometimes it produces unexpected results.

Sinoval's eyes shot open and he rose gradually, unsure of what he had
sensed.  He looked around slowly.  The room in which he had been
meditating was unadorned save for a slanted bed next to the far wall and a
small collection of machinery next to it.  These were Derhan's quarters in
the small complex he had built here.  It stood to reason that Derhan would
bring with him the means of forging the weapons that had made him
legendary.

"Meditation has never been your greatest skill, has it, Sinoval?" remarked
Derhan dryly.  He was standing next to Sinoval, observing his meditations.=
 
"Perhaps that is where I failed.  Had I paid more attention to your
spiritual development and less to the art of war..."

"Had you done so, I would never have risen as far as I did, Sech Derhan. 
But that is for another day.  There are intruders here."

Derhan made a gesture of wry surprise.  "Yes, I know.  My defences located
a small ship landing here not an hour ago.  I do not know what they want,
but they cannot pose much of a threat.  One of the Vindrizi has been sent
to meet them."

"Them?  Sech Derhan, there are Shagh Toth here."

"Soul Hunters?  Are you sure?"

"I can taste them in the air.  I am sure."

Derhan made a steepling gesture with his fingers.  "Shagh Toth only come
when there is death.  Which of us will die?  Which of us possesses a soul
strong enough to tempt them to come here?"

"You?  I?  These Vindrizi?  It does not matter why they are here.  What
matters is that they are.  Can your defences locate them?"

"I am sure, but the Vindrizi are not warriors, Sinoval.  That is why they
are here.  You are.  Perhaps this is a test.  Find these Shagh Toth,
Sinoval.  Find them and destroy them."

Sinoval quashed down an ancient, deep-rooted fear of becoming a
Shagh'Rath'een - a Soulless One.  He was a warrior, after all, and he was
not afraid.

"Do you need a weapon?" asked Derhan.

"No," he replied.  Sinoval had discarded his pike - given him by Derhan
himself many cycles earlier.  Until he was worthy of it, he would not
claim another one.  His weapons would have to be his own courage and
convictions.

As he left, he wondered if this was a part of his penance - to face the
greatest fear of his people.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Well?"

"I can pick him up all right.  He's still alive.  He's been under quite a
bit of stress lately, but everything seems fine."

"Good."

Captain Sheridan was still not entirely sold on this idea, proposed by
Corwin and Lyta, but he had to admit that it was working.  He supposed
part of his resistance to the plan was that he didn't like the thought of
using David or any of the other Starfury pilots as sacrificial lambs to
find the Streibs.  Corwin had accepted it, though.  In fact he'd been the
one to suggest it.  From Ben Zayn, both of them knew that the Streibs took
prisoners for testing and experiments.  Why not use that habit against
them?

They had found the debris of the destroyed Starfuries easily enough -
using the distress signal Corwin had sent out.  The path of the Streib
ship had gone roughly along expected lines.

But just in case...

The idea of using a tracer of some kind was not new.  Indeed, Sheridan
remembered Susan using one to keep track of his movements.  This was
slightly different however.

This was emitting signals on a telepathic wavelength.

He had no idea how it worked, and he didn't want to know.  What mattered
was that Lyta could now calculate where Corwin - and therefore the Streibs
- were.  Questions as to whether any telepath could really do something
like this had gone unanswered, and his silent concerns about the changes
in Lyta Alexander had gained more substance.

Lyta was still no more welcome in Sheridan's company than he was in hers,
but she was at least getting the job done.  Good.  He did not trust her,
but he did admire her skills.

He would have admired her skills even more if he'd known who else would be
waiting for them apart from the Streibs when they left hyperspace.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "G.D.Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Cost of Alliances, Part 4B,
Date: Sun, 16 Nov 1997 01:01:15 +0000

The Cost of Alliances, Part 4B of 4 [AC] [AT]
by Gareth Williams, LWA97GDW@Sheffield.ac.uk

*Ah, chaos,* Londo would later think, once he had calmed down enough to be
able to afford the luxury of thought, *such a wonderful thing.  One moment
you are ambling about your business as happy as a Pak'ma'ra in a morgue
and then the next, everything has gone so wrong that you can't even think,
and when you can think again, it's far too late to do anything about it.*

The last thing he could remember seeing was Delenn slumping and falling
over the edge of the ravine, disappearing from view.  Lennier had been
more concerned with the sight in front them - the strange alien he had
called Shagh Toth who had appeared from nowhere.  The alien had lashed out
with a strange weapon that had sent Lennier completely flying, leaving
Londo staring at the business end of what looked like a combination of a
Kutari sword, a Minbari fighting pike and a very large ion cannon.

Working on the principle that he who fights and runs away lives to run
away another day, Londo had begun a cautious attempt at flight, only to
fall victim to the same unstable terrain that had just claimed Delenn -
admittedly with some help from this Shagh Toth thing.

He was certain that his slide downwards had been the longest and most
unpleasant two years of his life.  Miraculously, he was still conscious
when he hit the bottom, and he immediately began scrambling to look for
Delenn, the sinking feeling in his stomach testifying to the unmentionable
thought that she had not survived her fall.

He looked up to see, of all things, another Minbari - appeared as if out
of nowhere.  He was dressed in the black garb of a warrior, but his
clothes were badly askew.  If Londo had been in any condition to notice
that sort of thing, he might have realised that this was no normal
warrior.

"Get away from here," the Minbari had said.  Go back that way - "  He
pointed down the length of the ravine.  "You will be safe there."

Londo had not had much experience with members of the Minbari warrior
caste, and the way this one had simply taken complete control and was
treating him as less than an infant was somewhat annoying.  Still, it was
definitely a case of 'rather him than me...'

"I have friends," he gasped.  "They..."

"I will take care of them.  Now go."

One look at the Minbari's stern expression and Londo backed away, heading
in the direction indicated.  He glanced back to see the other moving
further up the ravine to where Delenn must undoubtedly have fallen.  He
wondered if this warrior and Delenn knew each other.  He doubted it was a
coincidence that both of them were here at the same time.

He had just been on the verge of regaining his powers of reason - and a
hint of shame at having left the battle so early - when he ran into
another Minbari, wearing a sort of grey version of the warrior's garb.

"Greetings, Londo Mollari," this Minbari said.  "Welcome to our home."

For Londo, any hope for rationality in the universe pretty much ended
there.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"What the hell are they?"

"No idea, sir," replied Guerra.  "Never seen ships like that before."

Captain Sheridan sat back in his chair, studying the tactical displays
before him.  The Streibs were not alone here.  Alongside the big ship
positively identified as a Streib mother ship, were two smaller vessels.

"Any chance they're Streib ships as well?"

"Anything's possible."

Sheridan turned to Lyta.  Her eyes were closed and she looked tense, as if
trying to shut out a sound she didn't want to hear.  "Commander Corwin is
on that ship, sir," she said, her voice hoarse.  "So is one of the other
Starfury pilots.  Their tracers are still working fine..."

"What else?"

"I don't know.  There's... something else.  Something that's...  Those
other ships... they...  I don't know what they are, but they... hurt!" 
Lyta threw her hands up over her ears.  "I'm sorry...  I... can't."

"Captain," shouted Guerra.  "They're coming towards us."

"Ah, hell.  Launch Starfuries.  Target the Streib ship with left and right
broadsides, but hit engine systems only.  Commander Corwin is still on
that ship."

"And the others?"

Captain Sheridan looked at the tactical displays again, studying the
readouts from these strange ships.  He wasn't sure what they were, but he
knew that they were nothing he had ever seen before.  Judging from the
power readings, though, they were an easy match for the Parmenion.

His target here was the Streib ship.  That was clear.  And yet... and
yet... looking at Lyta's reaction, looking at the readouts from the ships
and the uncomfortable... feeling that something was wrong, that those
ships were not... right, in some way...

"Broadcast a message in Interlac.  Tell them that we have no quarrel with
them, and that we will not attack them unless they take hostile action
against us."

Sheridan took a deep breath.  He didn't know what those things were.  He
did know that he didn't like them.

"They're coming in on attack vector.  They're opening fire!"

"Hostile enough," he muttered.  "Shoot them down."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*I will not allow harm to come to my little ones, not here, in my great
house.*

How long had it been since Delenn had heard those words?  Since those
words had set her on the path of what she believed to be her destiny? 
That event in her life had been the point at which she genuinely began to
believe, not just in Valen, but in her purpose in following his path.

And where had that path led her?  To a lonely death on a barren planet.

She had sensed the arrival of the Soul Hunter mere moments before it
actually appeared to her.  She was not sure what Londo or Lennier had
seen, but she had suddenly felt a sharp, burning pain in her chest,
agonisingly similar to that which she had felt before, when she had
collapsed in John's arms.

She had fallen, her legs giving way under her, and then she had plunged
out into space.  She had scarcely felt the bumping and grinding as she
rolled down the ravine, and she was already unconscious by the time she
hit the bottom.

Except that she wasn't unconscious.  Exactly.

*I will not allow harm to come to my little ones.*

She was not floating, not lying, not... anything.  She just was.  And she
could see before her the very same image of Valen she had seen in the
temple as a child.

"Valen," she whispered.  "Father, help me..."

*I lay where you are now, he said, his words every bit as beautiful as his
appearance.  *I was bleeding, and dying, and I lay there for days until
Marrain came to me.  But my life was saved before he arrived.

*There is something in this place, Delenn.  Something here which saves us. 
Here, I brought light to the darkness.  I will not allow a greater
darkness to be accomplished by the extinguishing of your light.

*Help is coming for you, Delenn.  You will not die here.*

She tried to rasp out his name again, but she couldn't find her voice. 
Before her eyes, the vision of Valen was fading.  She tried to reach out
to him, but her muscles were as lead.

Before her eyes, the beautiful image of her saviour was being replaced by
the hateful sight of the Soul Hunter.  The third eye staring at her from
his forehead glowed the bright golden that signified that, despite
anything Valen said, her life would soon be at an end.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The floor beneath them shook and G'Dan winced as he fell, stumbling
against the wall.

"I told you," Corwin said.  "That'll be the Captain easily enough."

"The Starkiller," G'Dan muttered to himself.  "Yes, the noise would seem
to say so."

"Oh, ye of little faith."

"I have faith, human.  I have faith that our deaths will not be swift." 
Corwin could see G'Dan looking around.  Why, he did not know, as there was
precious little in this cell worth looking at.  Not even a door or...

Not even a door?

Corwin blinked.  Materialising in the wall opposite them was something
which certainly looked like a door.  G'Dan snarled.  "They're here!" as he
leapt forward.  Corwin started as well, darting in G'Dan's wake.

What happened next was not quite clear.  There was a flash of light and
G'Dan cried out, falling to the ground.  There was a door-shaped hole
where a part of the wall had been and standing in it... standing in it was
a shape from Corwin's worst nightmares.  The form of death.

"Human..." it hissed, the voice rasping like steel across marble.  "You
know... Sheridan."

Corwin blinked.  What did this thing know about the Captain?  He swallowed
harshly and tried to stagger back.  The form - indistinct and shimmering
in the doorway - raised what might have been an arm.  Something blue
flashed...

G'Dan roared and rolled forward, crashing into the alien.  Both of them
fell through the doorway and out of sight.  Corwin managed to reassemble
his wits and charged forward, through the door, to see G'Dan grappling
with the creature.  It was still terrifyingly alien, but it seemed more...
solid now.

Corwin kicked out at what he presumed was the alien's leg.  It staggered
and G'Dan threw it to the ground.  A blue ball rolled from its hand...

Corwin turned away as G'Dan brought his foot down on the alien's head. 
There was a sickening crunch as the head was crushed open.

"What is that thing?" he muttered, trying to see it more clearly.  Even in
death it seemed only half in tune with this world.

"Demon," G'Dan spat.  "They came to our world a thousand years ago.  They
cried in the night and walked with the Darkness that engulfed our people. 
G'Quan drove them away in the end.  These... things... serve a greater
evil than any of us can imagine."

"Shadows," Corwin whispered.  He was still staring at the dead demon when
the sound of footsteps alerted him and he looked up.

"Commander," panted Lieutenant Connally.  "You would not believe what I've
just seen..."

"Ditto," he muttered.  "Is there a way out of here?"

"I think there are life pods nearby."  She seemed to be concentrating very
hard.  "This... way.  This way."  Corwin noticed something in her left
hand, something she was trying to keep concealed.

"You've met these things before."

"Yes.  They're called Drakh, and they've made some sort of alliance with
the Streibs."  The entire ship rocked again and Corwin nearly fell. 
Keeping his balance was difficult, especially so near to the dead Drakh. 
He found he wanted to be as far away from it as he could.

"Come on, sir.  And...?"

"His name's G'Dan," Corwin pointed out.  "He's with us."

Corwin looked at the Narn.  He was praying, rasping harsh words in his
bitter tongue.  Corwin spoke a little Narn, just enough to recognise the
sheer terror in G'Dan's voice.

He wondered just what these Drakh were, to inspire such hatred and terror
in one living being.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Soul Hunter could feel Delenn's life slipping away from her.  He could
practically taste the ebbing of her being - a beautiful sensation.  He
could see the path of her life, reliving it through her eyes.

Yes, she was more than worthy of salvation, to be preserved for
immortality in his collection.

He had no need to wonder about the human's motives in sending him here. 
He knew that Morden represented the ones who had helped his people for so
long.  Morden's information had guided him here - to this magnificent
sight of Delenn's dying moments.  In exchange, Morden had asked for very
little.  A simple enough price.

The Soul Hunter looked up, and snarled.  Not now.  Not when he was so
close.

Minbari...  Weak, bloodless, lost...  There were a few worthy of
salvation, but only a few.  Delenn was one.  This one...  The Soul Hunter
could know who the newcomer was, looking at him through Delenn's eyes. 
Delenn knew this one.

A warrior.  Proud, and noble.  A second worthy here.  Sinoval of the Wind
Swords clan.

Yes, he remembered this one.  He had been present when Dukhat had died. 
It had been Sinoval who had prevented the rescuing of Dukhat's soul.  And
then later... at the Battle of the Line...

The Soul Hunter glanced down at Delenn.  She was clinging to life by the
merest thread.  He would have time.  Those of his order did not kill to
obtain their souls - they waited for death to come in its proper time -
but they were permitted to kill in defence of their purpose.

He drew his weapon - his holy weapon, the means that would guarantee the
salvation of two souls.

And rose to meet Sinoval's onslaught.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

If Sheridan was surprised by how fast the Streib ship was, he made no
comment about it.  The Parmenion was fast enough to catch their enemy, and
it would do so.  Two members of his crew were aboard for one thing.

The other ships were worse - smaller, faster and stronger.  For the
moment, his Starfuries were keeping them at bay, but he couldn't see that
lasting long.  They weren't easy to target, as if they weren't quite
solid.

"Are we getting anywhere yet?" he barked.

"They keep slipping away from us," replied Guerra.  "Wait...  Got one!"

The Parmenion's left broadside opened fire and the strange ship was blown
apart.  Starfuries soared out of the way of the wreckage.  Sheridan could
swear he heard a brief scream as it died - was destroyed, he mentally
corrected himself.

"Keep up with the Streibs.  Don't let them get away."

"They aren't trying," replied Guerra.  "They just seem to be... sitting
there."

"Have we taken out their main engines?"

"Yes, but...  oh my God.  The... the other ship.  They're turning on the
Streibs."

"What?"

Outside, the remaining Drakh ship turned on its recent allies, raining
fire upon the powerless Streib.

"Send out life pods!" Sheridan ordered, but even he could see that it was
too late.  He helplessly watched the displays as the Streib ship exploded,
torn apart by the force of the attack.

"Destroy them," he whispered, but he doubted anyone who had seen this
needed any urging.

The Drakh ship turned from the ruins of the Streib and came to face the
Parmenion.  It soared forward, directly at the destroyer.  Sheridan could
hear whispering in his mind.

One blast from the forward batteries and it was all over.

"Any hint of survivors?" he whispered as he fell back into his command
seat.  He was shaken.  He'd never seen such a desperate rush towards
suicide before.

Why?  To hide evidence, to kill off the Streibs, or the prisoners, or...?

"None so far.  There's too much wreckage there for us to be certain."

Who were these new aliens?  Allies of the Streibs... or enemies... or...? 
Too many questions.  Always too many questions.

He turned to look at Lyta.  Her face was pale, her eyes closed.  A tear of
exhaustion trickled down her face.  "He's alive," she whispered.  Lyta had
hardly been able to do anything during the battle.  Whatever had touched
her at its beginning had rendered her next to catatonic throughout its
progress.  "Both of them are alive."

"We're picking up a life pod," Guerra breathed.  "Three life signs.  It's
a bit shot up, but otherwise..."

"Bring them in."

"Captain?" Lyta asked, her voice so quiet as to be barely audible.  "What
now?"

"We return to Tuchanq to let them know we've opened the shipping lanes
again, and then we get back to Sanctuary."

"What about those other aliens?"  Sheridan turned, seeing the sheer terror
in her eyes, but terror mixed with something else.  Not anger, but... a
sense of recognition awarded to an old enemy.  One who had been thought
defeated for good.

"They're not our concern," he replied.  "Not yet anyway.  I'd be very,
very surprised if this was the last we've heard of them though.

"Whatever they are."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval was used to pain of the flesh.  Even when he was much younger it
had scarcely bothered him.  During the battle with the Shadow vessel over
Ganymede he had broken his headbone open when his flyer had crashed into
an asteroid.  He had been told later that he had come within moments of
dying, from having the sensitive layer of membrane that protected his
brain torn open.  The pain had been indescribable, but he had remained
conscious long enough to pilot what remained of the flyer out of the
asteroid's gravity and escape from the influence of the Shadow vessel. 
Even today, his headbone still bore the long scar where it had been
broken.

Compared with that, therefore, the pain of the wounds in his side, arm and
leg were as nothing.

The Soul Hunter had backed off a little now, unnerved by the resilience of
his adversary.  Sinoval stepped over Delenn's body, guarding her.  She was
still alive - her breathing, shallow as it was, told him that much.

"*Isil'zha veni,*" he rasped, advancing on his opponent.  Valen had stood
here, in these rocks, and not fallen.  Neither would he.

"Valen," whispered the Soul Hunter.  "Ah yes, the One, leader of your
people, who passed beyond nine centuries ago.  What do you know, Minbari,
of your saviour?  What do you know?"

There was no reply.  There was no need for one.

"Minbari not born of Minbari.  Thus runs your ancient saying, does it not? 
Thus runs the word of Valen.  Minbari not born of Minbari.  Minbari born
of human."

*Listen to me!  Valen was human!*

Sinoval tried to speak, but he could not.  Words did not matter.  He
lunged forward.  The Soul Hunter raised his weapon.  It did not matter. 
There was nothing it could do against this righteous fury.

A minute later, Sinoval was standing above the dying body of his opponent
and he at last found the power to speak.

"How do you know?" he asked.  "How do you know?!"

The Soul Hunter began a last chuckle.  "Do you not know, Minbari?  We have
Valen's soul..."  Then he died.

Sinoval staggered away from the body, feeling at once sick and elated.  He
now knew where Valen was.  He could free Valen, bring him back to his
people.  He could...

His soul, trapped for so long with these... things.

His attention came swiftly back to Delenn.  Kneeling beside her, he could
see that she was dying.  Her eyes were open, but rolled back into her
head.  Blood was dripping from a corner of one eye, marking out a trail
down her face to the ground beneath her, her blood staining these rocks as
Valen's had.

He looked with disgust at her human features, but he still reached out
gently to touch her head.  Her... hair... was dirty, and matted with blood
and dirt.  Little better than an animal.  Her headbone had cracked open,
and was dangerously fragile.  Her body was trembling slightly.  Her hands
were curled into fists, her nails cutting into the soft skin of her palms.

*Better to let her die here than to live on as this... freak.  Better to
give her a quick death here.  Without her, perhaps Minbar can achieve its
destiny... maybe even at my guidance.

*Better by far to let her die.  Her soul is hers.  That at least is
something.*

Suddenly, Sinoval became aware of a blue nimbus surrounding her body.  He
stepped back, alarmed at what he was seeing, knowing what it was the
instant he saw it, yet hoping - praying - that he was wrong.

"Valen," he whispered, watching in horror as Valen's form rose up,
becoming one with the sky.  In seconds, it was lost to view.

*No.*

"NO!"

Valen was here.  Had been here.  And had not appeared to him.  Valen had
appeared to her.  Why her?  Had his vision in the Dreaming been nothing
more than a joke?

"WHY?"

There was no reply, save for the renewed regularity of Delenn's breathing. 
Her eyes were now closed, and her hands had relaxed.  She was asleep.

Sinoval looked at her, a bloody and dangerous anger burning within him. 
Her, and not him.  *Why not me?  Am I not worthy?  Am I not worthy?!*
Was she the chosen of Valen and not he? Why had he appeared to her in 
a vision?

WHY?

He gently picked her up and held her close to his chest.  It was
surprising how light she was. 

"You will not die here," he whispered to her.  He doubted that she heard
him.  "You will... not die here."

And no harm would come to her either.  Not here in his great house.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"So, you will just... let one of these... Vindrizi come with us?"

Derhan made an exasperated sound.  "If that is your negotiating technique,
Minister Mollari, it is a wonder you rose as high as you did in your
Government.  I said I would not object to you asking one of them.  They
are all here.  Ask."

Londo looked around.  This had been a very weird day.  The Minbari he had
encountered in the ravine had returned, carrying Delenn with him.  He had
laid her down on what passed for a bed in this Gods-forsaken complex and
then vanished.  Lennier had already returned, his wounds shallower than
they had looked.  The mysterious alien who had attacked them was now dead. 
And these Vindrizi were actually willing to go with him.

"Ask," repeated Derhan.

"Er... do... any of you... want to come with me?"

"I will," said one of them, stepping forward.  "We were one with the
technomages before.  It is only fitting that we become one with them once
again."

"Ah," said Londo.  "Good."  That was what he said.  What he was thinking
was more along the lines of, * A Narn with some sort of alien bug thing in
him is going to come back with us to the technomages, and that is it! 
Good Gods, has the entire universe gone mad, or was it always this way and
I just hadn't noticed before?*

What he said after that was, "And... what are you called?"

"Vindrizi."

"Don't you have another name?"

The Narn smiled - as scary as sight as any Londo had ever seen.  "Not any
more."

"Ah.  Well, sorry to hear that."

*Great Maker, the universe hates me!*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Morden smiled.  "Well done.  I'm very impressed."

The body before him had been, until recently, a Brakiri.  Now it was a
dead Brakiri.  The shock of having the alien parasite removed from it had
been fatal.  A pity really, but still.  These things had to be done.

The Vindrizi was now sealed in a very secure box for transport, all its
magnificent storehouse of knowledge intact.

"We did not save her soul."

Morden looked at the Soul Hunter before him, one of the two he had sent
after the Vindrizi.  This one had been charged with the payment for
Morden's information, the other with obtaining Delenn's soul - the
information for which the Vindrizi was the price.

"Yes, I gather she's still alive.  Minbari tend to do that.  Very
annoying, I grant you.  But still, this wasn't a total loss.  We are now
in your debt.

"By the way, have you given any consideration to my offer?"

"We are still considering it."

"Ah, well.  Take your time.  Feel free.  There's no need to rush."

*Ah yes,* Morden thought later, after receiving official notification of
the acceptance of his proposal.  *It's been a good few days.*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"I saw him.  I saw Valen here."

"Then you are luckier than I, Sinoval."

"He did not speak to me.  He did not even acknowledge my presence. 
Perhaps I am not...  Perhaps I never was, his chosen."

"Or perhaps you are simply not the one he would choose today.  There is
always tomorrow."

"So you say, Sech Derhan.  But what if I am wrong?"

"We shall have to see.  I fear that we have other concerns.  For good or
ill, our sanctuary here is now public.  One of us is missing, simply
disappeared."

"Attackers?"

"Possibly.  My defences here are strong, but not flawless.  We have
neither the time nor the resources for that.  He would not have gone off
alone.  I am worried, Sinoval."

"This is only the beginning."

"So it is.  So it is."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Elsewhere, a similar conversation was taking place, between master and
servant.

"They succeeded then, Elric.  They are returning here."

Elric nodded.  "So it would seem, Lord."

"What of her?  Did she see that which she was meant to?"

"I do not know, Lord.  It... is impossible to be sure.  Nothing is clear
regarding her any more."

"We will have to cure her.  We have promised."

"But if we are wrong, Lord?  What then?"

"For good or for ill, if they have succeeded in returning to us the
knowledge that we lost, then she will have to be cured.  We will be
leaving this place soon.  Then, we will not care."

"But what of the world we are leaving behind, Lord?"

"This world, as all others, will have to cope without us.  For the moment,
at least."

Elric paused abruptly and looked up.  An ordinary person would merely have
seen the darkness that formed the ceiling of this chamber.  Elric saw a
good deal more.

"They are coming," rasped Jamis, the One Above All.

"Why?  For us?"

"Or perhaps for her?"

Above them, the skies of Kazomi 7 were filled with the arrival of Drakh
ships.  No more than an hour later, the killing began.

Next: A Moment of Joy In A Lifetime of Sorrow (1 Part).
Sheridan cannot run from his past any longer.  With Anna's death, his 
exile and his feelings for Delenn all unresolved, he will have to 
reach some sort of closure, or it may end up costing him his life.  Or 
his soul.  And while he is descending into the depths of despair, 
others are finding that there is joy to be found, although that does 
depend on where you look for it...