From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Fiery Trial Through Which We Pass, 2A Date: Wed, 7 Jul 1999 17:46:53 +0100 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase Four - A Future, Born in Pain Chapter One - The Fiery Trial Through Which we Pass Part 2 of 4 by Gareth Williams (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk) (http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk) Her delirium, if that was what it was, had passed, and Delenn, recently anointed the Blessed, awoke from her slumber with a clear head. She did not know how much time had passed. It was all... difficult to judge here. Looking around, she noticed that a bowl of water and some cloths had been placed on the table. She rose awkwardly, and stretched. Then she remem- bered the globe. Vejar's globe. A pile of dust on the table. Hard to believe it had once been her hope for the future. She closed her eyes in silent despair. They had her now. What they would do to her, she did not know. She was not sure if she truly cared. Vejar had spoken of some sort of future for her, which was why she could not die. A choice. Another friend betrayed, if Vejar could still be called that. He had betrayed her, although on orders from another, and... there had been no malice in his voice. No dark intentions... just shepherding her towards a destiny. Angrily she shoved the bowl from the table, and water splashed across the floor. She was not a puppet or a toy, to be pushed this way and that! The Vorlons, and now the technomages, they all seemed to want something from her. But what? It was times like this she wished she were Sinoval. To be always so sure... He had denied his destiny and dared to forge his own path. She wished she possessed the ruthlessness for something like that, but she did not feel she could have walked as alone as he did. She had friends, people she cared for dearly... and that thought had sheltered her greatly. She had John... She had Lyta. Delenn closed her eyes and tried to reach out to her friend. A... a sort of bond existed between them. A legacy from their both having been host to Kosh. She had used that bond once before to get word to John, to call for his aid. Could it work now? She concentrated long and hard, but eventually she gave up. She could feel nothing. She was not a telepath, after all. Perhaps Lyta was just too far away. Perhaps Z'ha'dum was blocked from such signals. Perhaps the Vorlons did not want Lyta to receive any such message. That thought struck Delenn with a chill to her spine. The Vorlons had sent her here after all. Sent her here to die. They would not want her friends coming to her rescue, would they? She shook her head sadly, and prayed that Lyta had received her message. She had tried to explain just how much of a friend the red-haired telepath had been. She was one of the few humans who had accepted her without reservation. Delenn stepped over the discarded bowl and walked to the door, pushing at it gently. It was still locked. Evidently they were still deciding what to do with her. She did not want to speculate on what their options were. She returned to her bed, and tried to meditate. * * * * * * * It had been a while since Londo had last seen Lethke, and he had to admit the last few years had seen the Brakiri well. He looked considerably cleaner and smarter than the last time, although not noticeably happier. "We would have brought out the full presentation band for you, Emperor Mollari," he said dryly. "However, as you can see... we have been a little... occupied here." "I did see indeed. Was that really Cathedral out there?" "No," said Lethke smoothly. "It was an entirely different millennia-old flying fortress packed full of demons and ghosts and monsters." He smiled. "Or am I not allowed to jest with you now that you have risen so far?" "Jest all you like, old friend," Londo said, smiling slightly. He had missed Lethke's dry wit. "I am glad someone can see me and not this costume. Whoever thought white was an appropriate colour for the Emperor, hmm? Purple... now that I could... Ah." He waved his hand in disgust. "Babbling again. Ignore me. So, is... he here?" "Primarch Sinoval? Yes, he is here. I have met him once before, of course. An... unsettling man, to be sure, but an interesting one. He has asked to meet you." "Really? I suppose I should be honoured. Is G'Kar here?" Londo was relieved when Lethke nodded. "He arrived yesterday. He has not yet made any report to the Council as to his activities, but he has been in seclusion with his... Ranger associ- ates. He is also aware that you are here." "Good. Yes... I am glad he got here safely. I wish I knew how he managed to sneak into the Imperial Palace, but I am sure he has his... ways. So, Lethke... where is Delenn? It has been a while." The Brakiri's face fell. "You have not heard?" he whispered. "Heard what? We've had next to no news from here recently... and I've been travelling the last few days. Has something happened to her? Her... her transformation, it has not relapsed?" "No. It is worse than that. The Shadows have her. One of their... agents. She is... in their hands now." "Great Maker," Londo breathed. "Is she... alive?" "We do not know. Sheridan has gone to their world to find her, but... I do not see how he can return. Nothing has been right since she was taken, but we do what we can. An alliance with the Centauri Republic would serve us well." "I did not come here to bind my people up in your wars, Lethke," Londo replied, a little more firmly than he had intended. His thoughts were on Delenn. A prisoner of the Shadows... Great Maker! "I came here to speak of peace. The Narns have a representative here?" "Yes. An Ambassador, by the name of G'Kael. A quiet fellow, for a Narn." "Which would put him just a little louder than the entire Centarum put together," Londo observed. "I would like a meeting arranged with him, and with G'Kar. We need peace... and badly." "I agree. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar has been informed that you are here. Allow me to escort you to your quarters, and the chambers we have set aside for you and your entourage. You may if you wish make a presentation before the Council at any time today. We have..." He smiled ruefully. "We have much to talk about these days, but little actually to do." "Good. I would like to talk with G'Kar, and with this... G'Kael. Then... discussions regarding an Ambassador to be posted here. I have... a few candidates. Mostly people I want to be rid of and burden onto you, but we need not tell the others that, need we? Trade pacts, treaties of neutral- ity... all those things I will be happy to discuss. "But we will not join your war, Lethke. The Centauri have suffered enough already." Lethke bowed. "I accept your wishes, Londo. But if G'Kar and Delenn and the Vorlons are right... then there can be no staying out of this war. It will come to you, if you do not go to it." "He speaks right," said a new voice, one Londo had not heard before. A voice filled with the timbre of authority, a voice used to leading, a voice that could rattle buildings, and stir souls, and instil the fear of all things dark into a craven heart. A Minbari was standing at the entrance to this small audience chamber. The area should of course have been cordoned off and well-protected by the security forces, but Londo would not have been surprised if they had just stepped aside and let him past. He was tall and standing proud, in black warrior garb with a strange badge on his chest. A compacted pike hung from his belt, and traces of silver shone from the black tops of his boots. It was his eyes that caught Londo most of all - dark and piercing, they seemed to be studying him intently, seeing through the flesh to his very soul. Which, given who this man was, did not seem impossible. "Londo Mollari," Londo said, introducing himself and stepping forward. He held his hands out, palms raised upwards in the traditional greeting of Centauri nobles. "Emperor of the Centauri Republic, Guardian of Centauri Prime, Light of the Fourth Something and various other pointless titles." The Minbari stepped forward and clasped Londo's wrists. He knew the greeting, then. Londo was impressed. "I am Sinoval." That was it. That was all he needed, really. Londo stepped back and glanced at Lethke. "This is an impressive gather- ing you have here, Lethke. Several of the most powerful people in the galaxy." He looked back to Sinoval. "Why have you come here? Treaties and pacts and all the other rigmarole of diplomacy?" "No," came a simple response. "There are things I need to say to the Council... to others. Warnings, prophecies even." A chill gripped Londo's chest at the mention of the word 'prophecy'. "Ah. How well were your warnings received?" "I have not spoken to them yet. I was waiting." "Waiting? What for?" Londo had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew the answer. "You." Londo cursed inwardly. Perhaps Timov was right. He was turning into a prophet. He hadn't thought he had the figure to be a Seeress. "Well. Now, I am here." Sinoval smiled, a strange gesture that looked unnatural on him. "You and Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar are invited to visit Cathedral at your convenience. There is someone there you must meet, and something you must see. Then I think you will understand more." Sinoval inclined his head in a slight bow, then turned and left. "There," Londo said after a short pause, "is a very scary person." "He has changed since last I saw him," Lethke observed. "I cannot explain it, but... No, it is nothing. These times... cast a gloom over me. Come, Londo. I will show you and your staff and your bodyguards and our bodyguards to your chambers, and you can regale me with all the goings-on at the Royal Court these days." "You may regret that offer," Londo replied in jest, but his hearts were not really up for jokes. Neither was Lethke's. * * * * * * * "Lemme guess," drawled Sector 301's Security Chief Zack Allan in his I- really-could-be-doing-something-so-much-more-interesting-than-this tone of voice. "Cause of death: knife wound to the neck." "Well, the forensic guys are going to take a while to get back to us," replied Jack, his second. "But it looks like it." "Yeah. I could tell that, you see... thanks to all the various subtle hints and clues and intuitions you get when you've been doing this job long enough. You see, I spot things that some other people might miss. For example, the stiff had a big, sharp knife stuck in his neck, and he was dead. Therefore, cause of death." "Dunno how you do it, Chief," replied Jack. "Puts the rest of us to shame." "Well, gotta be good at something." Zack looked up and made a cursory visual inspection of the bar. He was bored. Very bored. Time was when a murder would at least have piqued his interest for a while, but there was no real detective work to do here. There rarely was, at least not in the Pit. Maybe in some of the upper sectors you could get those interesting locked room mysteries with a million suspects and some brilliant amateur sleuth who'd step in and lend a hand, but down here in 301, there usually wasn't a lot of doubt. When one drunk person sliced open another drunk person in broad daylight in front of like six zillion witness, there was only so much you could do to drag the case out until teatime. Which looked like the case here. Well, there were two witnesses, rather than a zillion, and Zack had a feeling neither suspect nor stiff had been especially drunk, but it was pretty damned obvious who was guilty. If he didn't know better, he'd assume Mr. Trace had either set this up, or sent his man to kill Smith and it had simply gone wrong, but Zack did know better. As a result he was buying the 'unprovoked attack' theory put across by the barman. "He just... he just went mad," the barman was saying, for the umpteenth time. What was his name? Zack had forgotten. Oh, it couldn't have been important. The Ombuds down here didn't worry so much about evidence or due process or reliable testimony or whatever. They just did what Mr. Trace said and then went home early to watch the vids. Zack could relate. "He just started punching him, punching and punching. He broke a chair on Mr. Drake's back. And then... oh, my God... he got out a knife, and..." Zack stopped listening. Yeah, yeah. They got the picture already. Sheesh. Someone just take a statement and get on with it. The body had been removed by the forensics guys, who had then proceeded to check for... whatever stuff it was they checked for. They had spent the whole time arguing about who was sexier: some blonde woman on some soap opera, or some other blonde woman on some other soap opera. Finally, the guys had amicably agreed to differ. Real co-operation. Understanding each other's differences. Maybe there was hope for the Pit yet. Yeah, right. "What do you think, Allan?" Zack turned and saw Mr. Trace standing next to him. His hands were in his trouser pockets, and he was looking around with an expression that might have been sadness, or might have been disgust. Probably both. "Well, the story is, the suspect... this Dexter Smith guy... just snapped, and attacked Drake. Beat him up, slapped him a couple of times, at least once with a chair, and then drove a knife into his neck." Trace nodded, knowing as well as Zack did that that was all rubbish. Sure, Smith looked a fairly hard guy, but Drake was big, and very mean. No way would he have gone down that easily. Besides, judging from the position the body had been in... "What do you think set him off?" "Hard to tell," Zack replied, scratching at his ear. "The suspect had been drinking. Not too much according to the barman, but you know how it is with some people. One glass and they're ready to take on the whole world. Maybe drugs or something. Could have been some psychiatric thing. That... what is it... Minbari War Syndrome." "I heard Smith quit Earthforce because of some combat stress problem." "Yeah, that could be it." "Could be." Trace shook his head. "A sad day. Drake was a good man. A damned good man." "Have you told his missus yet?" "Just on my way round now. I wanted to see what you'd found out first. You are going to find this guy, aren't you, Allan?" "No problem. We'll get him." "Good. You're a good man, Allan. I know I can rely on you." Trace slapped him gently on the back, then turned and left. Zack looked around for a while and then left to get something to eat. * * * * * * * In one sense it was all completely irrational. Ambassador David Sheridan had spent all his life meeting and mixing with aliens. He had done busi- ness adjudicating the fates of empires with people he wouldn't trust to clean his shoes. He had made speeches of undying friendship to people he knew were just waiting to stab him in the back. Throughout his entire career he had never let personal dislike get in the way of the necessity of his work. The needs of his people were more important than personal feelings. Until now. It was Delenn. He just couldn't seem to think straight concerning her. Of course he had plenty of rational reasons for disliking her - leaving aside the issue of what she had done to Earth, there was the way she had seduced John, caused him to betray his Government and led him to a deathbed on some alien world. On the other hand, he had always been able to concentrate on the greater good before. The Shadows themselves had discussed her presence here, and they had left the matter entirely up to him. They were sure that she carried nothing, either on her person or in her ship, that could pose a threat. There were no explosive devices, no long-range tracking signals, or spy cameras or whatever other interesting technology the Vorlons could have come up with. They had no fears about anyone mounting any sort of rescue attempt. Z'ha'dum was well protected, they would have ample warning of any oncoming fleet, nothing less than the entire complement of the Vorlon fleet would pose a threat in any case, and for some reason the Shadows seemed convin- ced that would not happen. So, the Shadows had given him three options: kill her here and now, give her a Keeper and send her home, or take her to Proxima for trial. The second, Ambassador Sheridan had dismissed out of hand. It was a fine idea, but the Alliance had that damned technomage, and he would definitely be looking for a Keeper. As Delenn's only real power base was Kazomi 7 it would be pointless sending her anywhere else. She had no influence in the Minbari Federation any more, and besides... Sinoval was being kept well in hand. Sheridan had contemplated trying to turn her without the aid of a Keeper. It had worked with Parlonn a thousand years ago, and with Neroon recently. They were both warrior caste however, and something within them appealed more to the whole ethos of 'survival of the fittest' and 'growth through chaos'. Delenn had had too much indoctrination from the Vorlons for that to work without some major genetic modification, and the technomage would spot that as well. So: kill her now, or take her home for trial. >From a purely personal viewpoint, he just wanted her dead. He was sick of her and her whole infernal race. John would be gone by now, his last days spent trapped in wires and tubes and machinery in the company of aliens. Delenn had done that to him. Just kill her and be done with it. But... the greater good. At Proxima she could be put on trial, public trial for her war crimes. Clark would receive an even greater boost in popularity. It would show the public yet again the benefits of their alliance with the Shadows. A boost in public confidence, another victory in a propaganda war. It would also be a vital stepping stone for the next stage in the rebirth of humanity: war with the Alliance. He rubbed at his eyes wearily. He was tired, and he couldn't think. He had been putting the good of humanity above his own desires all his life. Surely he was entitled to one act of selfishness now? She had killed his son. She had killed his daughter, and his grandchild- ren, and she had been responsible for the death of his wife. Everyone he had ever loved had been lost to her. He sipped at his tea, and realised it had long since gone cold. He sighed. A man was not meant to outlive his children, least of all his grandchildren. That was... not the way of things. But the good of humanity. Surely that was worth more? Humanity could benefit from this far more than just his desire to put her down here and now. Why had she come? What benefit had she hoped to gain from this little stratagem? He looked up, hoping to ask Neroon. He knew her better than most after all. There was no sign of him. The Minbari was gone. Sighing, Ambassador Sheridan prepared another cup of tea. He was thinking about Proxima. * * * * * * * Londo's quarters were... adequate. Surprisingly so, given the state the whole of Kazomi 7 had been in the last time he had been here. The room was comfortable, large enough for his purposes, possessed all the amenities a visiting dignitary might need, near enough to the main Council chambers, and with a quite stunning view of the city, which seemed so much more alive since he had last been here. Which meant, of course, that all his retainers hated the place. "Quite inadequate," blustered one. "Too small," said another. "Security provisions are worthless." "Barbarian little cultures... they have no idea how to treat a civilised ruler." Londo listened to all this with a smile. Things felt almost normal. He considered letting all the courtiers know that the rooms were fine, but then they would only find something else to complain about. He was looking out at the city. The suns were shining. He could see children running and playing. There was a shrine he could just make out. It seemed wonderfully... peaceful. He made a mental note to ask Lethke what it was. Everything was so different. He had last seen this place over a year and a half ago, and then it had been a bombed-out wreck, haunted by monsters and ghosts and demons. He had fled through those streets in mortal peril of his life. Lennier had left some vital part of his soul behind. Delenn had nearly died here. Delenn... Londo wondered what had happened to her. More than anything else, more so even than G'Kar, she had a talent for making the most convoluted problem seem so wonderfully simple. She possessed a good heart, and a shining soul. He could see that as he looked around him. Everything in the city bore her touch. And now she was gone. Perhaps never to return. "I trust the rooms are to your satisfaction?" said a familiar voice. Londo turned around with a start, and then he noticed who it was. "Gah! G'Kar, do not do that to me! I am an old man. My hearts are not in the best of shape, least of all after the rigours of the last few... well, years. Great Maker!" He began to breathe harder. "A wonderful sight, isn't it?" "A miracle," came the reply. "A triumph of hope over despair." "We have Delenn to thank for it." G'Kar nodded, stepping out on to the balcony. "Indeed we do." "You have heard, then? Ah... are there any plans for a rescue?" "I have as many of my Rangers as can be spared out gathering information, but they are stretched very thin. Of course, Captain Sheridan has gone to try to rescue her. I fear he may simply be throwing his life away in a foolish quest for revenge." "How does it look out there? The galaxy, I mean. I have not been seeing as much since I took on that damned uncomfortable chair. We have been... considerably out of touch for a long time." "Tense. The Shadows have been moving at last, attacking Drazi and Brakiri territories. They have not moved against the Alliance directly... yet. The Minbari... well, they are completely falling apart . There are rumours of a civil war, even. One of their major colonies was attacked a few months ago, at the same time as... the Battle at Epsilon Three. We have had no word from any of the prominent Minbari leaders except Delenn." "Sinoval is here. Have you seen him?" "No, but I knew he was here. He has requested a private appointment with me later." G'Kar shook his head sadly. "He is a very different person from the one I met at Babylon Four. Something has claimed him. He was interested in peace and unity then, but now... I cannot be sure. "And of course, our two races are at each other's throats... again." "That will end, G'Kar. And soon. I promise you. I have made approaches to your representative here... G'Kael. He will contact his Government, and we will begin peace negotiations. The Alliance should support me in this. Both of us have lost too many to this war." "Do you think you can get past all those who desire war? Those who cannot see beyond the cycle of hatred?" Londo sighed, and leant on the balcony wall, looking out across the city again. "Can you, G'Kar?" There was a long silence. "It is not easy. It never will be. For... years we have hated your race for what you did to us, and that hatred corrupted us. I fear we now fight simply because we do not know how to stop... but... yes. For the good of my people, and in memory of the few good Centauri I have ever met... I can see beyond hatred, to the needs of peace." "I sometimes wonder if you are not right in your opinion of us. I am Centauri. I am proud of my people, and of my Republic... but Great Maker! How much of it was built on blood? My ascension saw me swimming in it... and I reached the throne only thanks to the machinations of a madman who would rather see everything destroyed than reach out his hand in a plea for help. "Still... I have seen too many of my people die not to want to end this now. There will be peace, no matter what must be given away to secure it." A faint smile touched his face. "We won't give up the homeworld, though." "We won't give up ours," replied G'Kar, with solemnity. Londo laughed. "We don't want it. I have never been there, but I have heard things from those who have. Hot, dry, dusty... the air so thick you cannot breathe it..." "Yes, Majesty. We do apologise. We should have designed our world so that you would find it m ore amenable." "Hah! Humour from a Narn. Will true wonders never cease?" "Probably not." "Well... I do not know about your lot, but I think I can get my army to see reason. Marrago is the Lord-General again. He is a good man, a good friend, and his soldiers almost worship him. As long as our worlds are protected he will agree to an accord, and if he does, so will his men. Of course, after the recent battle at the homeworld... it may be harder to convince some people that we need peace. There have been cries in the Court that we should... hah, listen to this... sweep you all before us, and take over your homeworld. As if we were not ready to fall entirely not two months ago." "Your victory, Mollari. It was a little... easy, was it not?" "Easy? I suppose. What are you getting at?" "There were rumours in your Court... Rumours I heard while I was there. Some of your soldiers seemed to think the battle was not won by them alone. Some seemed to say the battle was not even a victory... but a massacre. Did events fit with your generals' assessments of how the battle would turn out?" "No," Londo admitted. "They were predicting a bloody stand-off... but so what if things were a little easier than that? Perhaps Marrago was merely being pessimistic. And rumours... in the Royal Court! Bah! I would bet you a ducat to a duck that not one hundredth of them are true." "Warleader G'Sten testified before the Kha'Ri upon his return. I managed to gain access to the report yesterday. He claimed that an alien fleet came out of nowhere and wiped out his ships. He claimed your ships did not even fire once." "The lies of a defeated general trying to pass the blame elsewhere!" "G'Sten is my uncle. If he says there was alien assistance... then I believe him." "Him over me? Who were these aliens he claimed to see? Great big flying cows? How about a herd of spoo descending from the heavens?" "He did not see." The Narn was maintaining his calm equanimity before Londo's aggression. That only made Londo all the angrier. "His sensors could not track them clearly." "Hah! So there are no records. He is lying, G'Kar. I know nothing about any... mysterious alien allies come to our aid. I wish I could say I did. We need all the help we can get. But no... I am convinced that our fleet acted alone, and yours was simply overconfident." "I fear you blind yourself to the truth, Mollari... but I hope you are right. I must go now. I am expecting a report from an agent in the Kha'Ri soon. I had never realised how much I would miss the Great Machine. There were times when being unable to touch, to eat, to drink... times when I missed them all. But without it, we are all but blind and deaf in the galaxy. "I will talk to you tomorrow, Mollari." "Goodbye, G'Kar." Londo was still looking out across the city. He did not turn round as his friend left. * * * * * * * From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Fiery Trial Through Which We Pass, 2B Date: Wed, 7 Jul 1999 17:48:26 +0100 "Something's wrong." "Well, of course something's wrong." Commander David Corwin watched as Lyta Alexander absently brushed back a lock of her hair. "The Shadows got an agent on to Kazomi Seven, kidnapped Delenn, and got her to their homeworld without anyone noticing. I think that's a fairly accurate description of something being wrong." "That's not what I meant," he said, sighing, wondering just why he was here. He and Lyta had never really got along very well. There had been flashes of empathy over the years since she had come aboard to serve as the ship's telepath, but for the most part the two had had as little to do with each other as possible. Still, who else was there? There had been a time when he could have confided in the Captain about everything. They had served together ever since the Battle of Mars, half a lifetime ago. But that had been before his injuries. Corwin had not been able to take his problems or his suspicions to the Captain during his time in hospital, and... there was just something about him now. He had obviously gone through a great deal, near-death only to be miraculously cured and have the woman he loved captured by his sworn enemies all on the same night... It was no wonder he was distracted. So, who else was there for him to talk to? Mary was gone. Michael was gone. He had never really had many other friends, always content with the few he had. Now most of them had gone, and he was alone. "It's just..." he said again, struggling to find the right words. "Something just feels wrong." "So you said." "You know what I mean," he snapped, then immediately regretted it. "Why are we going to Z'ha'dum alone? We won't be able to fight our way through a Shadow fleet if there is one there. What does the Captain hope to do?" "He loves Delenn, and she's a prisoner there. I think he's more than willing to fight his way through." "And sacrifice this whole ship? I... like Delenn as well. Oh, did I really just say that? Okay, she's Minbari, yes, and she's done a lot I can never forgive her for, but I can see that she and the Captain are in love, and he used to be happy when he was with her, and it's hardly for me to judge. But I can't think the Captain means to throw away this ship and everyone on it for a futile chance to rescue her. "In fact," he continued after a pause. "I know he isn't. I've seen him angry before, and this isn't it. He doesn't want to rampage through every Shadow ship between here and Delenn. If he did, he'd at least give us a briefing on tactics, have some sort of strategy prepared. As it is... I don't know what he's going to do when he gets to Z'ha'dum, other than pray for a miracle. Let me tell you, I've seen enough miracles happen around him, but spending every engagement praying for one isn't exactly my idea of a stress-free lifestyle." Lyta raised an eyebrow. "You want a stress-free lifestyle? You, whom I happen to know hasn't spent a night off this ship ever since Epsilon?" "I've had nowhere to go to but here." She sighed. "I don't know Captain Sheridan as well as you do, but he has been through a great deal. He was in a coma for a long time, and paralysed for months. Things like that... change someone. And then with Delenn..." She closed her eyes. "I wish I could sense her." "You think something's wrong as well." She shook her head. "Nothing, just headaches, bad dreams. Delenn and I have... well, I don't think there is a word for it. An empathic connect- ion of some kind. I can usually... sense what she's feeling, maybe even where she is. She can do the same for me. It hasn't always been fun, let me tell you. For someone so strait-laced and innocent, you wouldn't believe some of the dreams she's been..." Corwin looked at her, and Lyta coughed. "Well," she continued, somewhat embarrassed. "I haven't been able to sense anything. It's as if our link was just... cut off. I'm worried." *And that's not all,* she thought, casting her mind to suspicions carried but not shared, to words she could not voice. To a meeting with Ulkesh. He had ordered her to come here. The last time she had come on a mission with Corwin, Ulkesh had been furious on her return. This time he had not refused her request to go. He had actually ordered her to go. But she could not tell Corwin that. She just couldn't. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," she said lamely. "I wish I could believe you." *Yes. So do I.* * * * * * * * "You've come down in the world a bit, haven't you?" Talia said, sitting down. "Look who's talking." Smith sat down opposite her. She had obviously been here for a few days. There was a makeshift sleeping area, and a small portable comm unit. She shrugged. The shadows cast by the dim torchlight made her seem harsher than she actually was. "I'm been in worse. I've been in better, too. But... this is the sort of place my job takes me." "Your job. Yes... professional saboteur?" "You know that's not fair," she snapped. "Certain... very powerful people wanted the war with the Minbari... delayed, if not stopped. I was placed on the Babylon to try to accomplish that. I wasn't going to hurt anyone." "Oh. You had a conscience?" "Not really. It just wasn't part of my job." "So, what job brought you here?" "I can't tell you that." "Don't then." He sat back, and sighed. "You know you won't get out of Sector Three-o-one without my help, don't you?" "There are ways." "They obviously haven't worked, or you wouldn't still be here. I managed to overhear a warning announcement that you were wanted for... what was it? Treason against the Government, I remember, and that you were armed and dangerous." He smiled. "That last is certainly the truth." "Thanks," she replied dryly. "So what are you here for?" "I got a little too close to someone who really doesn't like to be crossed. One of his men attacked me in a bar, we fought... I ended up killing him." "Ah... That someone... it wouldn't be a Mr. Trace, would it?" "Now, I know you weren't reading my mind. I'd have felt it. Lucky guess?" "More or less. I had a run-in with him as well. He's got my partner. He's... involved with something very serious, very high-ranking." "He's got high-ranking friends in Main Dome, I know that." "I'd place a bet on IPX. We were investigating them when he jumped us." "So what are IPX up to?" She frowned. "I don't know exactly, but our people are involved." "Our people?" "Telepaths. You're one, too. Don't try to deny it." "My mother was a telepath. I'm not. I can't read minds. I just... get certain hunches from time to time. And I can tell when someone's trying to read my mind. A bit of other stuff. I'm no telepath." "That's enough to make you one of us. We can help you." "Yeah?" he snapped. "I saw how you tried to help my mother. I'll pass, thanks." She shrugged. "Time was, you wouldn't have had an option. Oh well. Why are you here?" "It's a good place to hide and lie low, until I figure whether Security really are going to be after me." "Not what I meant, sorry. Why are you taking on Trace? I was sent here, and he's hurting people like us. I have to protect them. But why you? For that matter, why are you even in Sector Three-o-one? Was there nowhere else you could have gone?" "No, there were plenty of places I could have gone after I left Earth- force. Job offers left, right and centre. I couldn't take them, though. I couldn't be their fabled hero. Because it was all a lie. I saw too much, did too much. I've been a soldier almost all my life, and... it was the wrong choice, I think. I spent all the war trying to live up to another man, and I couldn't. "So I came back here. It was my home once... of a sort. Not much has changed, to be honest. But Trace is abusing these people here. Most of them don't have a choice about living here. No one cares. No one looks after them. Security's corrupt, Trace owns all the local politicians and councillors. "Someone has to do something." "A regular philanthropist." "Not really. I've spent over a year and a half trying to save the world and protect the galaxy. I'm not the right person to do that. Ah, but here... small victories are every bit as important as big ones. I might not be able to save Proxima, but perhaps I can save the Pit." She leant forward, her eyes shining. "I've been toying with a couple of ideas recently," she said. "I could use some help, though." "What did you have in mind?" "Trace. I find out what he's up to with IPX. You find some way to expose the corruption and help the people here." "So, you're willing to work with me, instead of beating me up?" She shrugged. "One of the first lessons I learned from the Corps was knowing when to ask for help." "Fine. I'll admit I could use some. So, what did you have in mind?" She told him. * * * * * * * No matter how fast she ran, they seemed to be gaining on her. Her breath was searing her throat, her lungs were burning, her legs weakening. Only sheer terror kept her going. "You promised me I'd be safe," she gasped, hoarse. She looked up and saw him there. He had promised her, all those years ago. "What do you want?" he had asked her. "To be safe," she had replied. They were just behind her now. They had a syringe. She knew what was in it. It was the sleepers. They would inject her with it, and her soul would die and she would become nothing more than a zombie. She had seen it happen to her mother. She tripped and fell. As she tried to scramble to her feet, she saw him standing there. "You promised I'd be safe!" she cried. "We don't need to keep our promises to such as you," replied Ambassador David Sheridan. "You failed us. They can take you now." He turned and walked away. "No!" she cried. "You promised..." They were there. Huge figures, massively taller than her. Their faces were twisted and monstrous, leering at her. They all held the syringes in their gloved hands. The badges on their chests seemed to glow at her. "Let me," said another voice, and she cried out. It was her. Lyta Alexander. She had... burned her mind. She had been there when Marcus had died. Marcus had loved her. "Help me!" she cried, tears in her eyes. "You promised I'd be safe! Marcus, help me!" "Marcus can't help you," said Lyta. "He's with me now. You killed him, remember." "No! I didn't mean to." "But you did. He doesn't love you any more. He's with me." "Help me!" she cried again. "Someone help me!" There was a brilliant flash of light, bright and dazzling. All the Psi Cops screamed and turned away. Lyta hissed, and fell. An instant later, they were all gone. "Who are you?" said a voice she did not recognise. "What do you want?" She stiffened as she heard that question. "Why are you here? Why did you seek me out?" "Who are you?" she asked softly. "A friend," said the voice. It sounded... old, and full of wisdom. It reminded her of her great-grandfather, who had died when she was a little girl. He had known everything, in her childish eyes. This voice sounded so much like him. "I heard your pain. You have been here before, haven't you? I... remember." "I'm Susan," she said softly. "Yes," the voice said with satisfaction. "Of course you are. You are not of them, are you?" "Them?" "The Shadows." "No. I don't think so. I used to be, but..." "Ah. I see. Come and find me, Susan. Bring your friends. There are others here who have bad dreams. Dreams are the wishes our souls make when we are dead to the world. They are... images of things long lost, and things never to be, and things we fear. I have seen all their dreams. "Bring them to me. It will be good to have someone to speak to, after so long." "Where are you?" "I am here. You will know where to go." "But..." The dream ended, and Susan woke up. After shaking away the cold dust of her slumber, she suddenly realised she knew two things. First, that Lyta Alexander was coming to Z'ha'dum, and second, that she should go and talk to Delenn. * * * * * * * Mr. Trace was, generally speaking, a contented man. Life was good for him at the moment. He had a thriving business, very powerful friends, women throwing themselves at him, a file of all sorts of information that could prove valuable, and more money than most people could even dream of. His earliest memory was a realisation, one day when he had been about five or so. He had looked around at the adults around him, the children who were his friends, the rundown buildings, the sheer lack of hope in every- one's eyes, and had completely understood just how stupid they all were. They lived in Sector 301, and it destroyed them. It had sucked away all their dreams, all their hopes, all their futile aspirations to be *someone*. They had come here, and they would never leave. Trace had made himself two promises: first, that he would leave Sector 301, and second, that he would return, when he was powerful enough to own it. He had been told it was possible to escape the Pit legitimately, but then he had been told it was possible to win the New Vegas lottery as well. He didn't know anyone who'd done either, and the odds of both were about the same. He had therefore set about escaping illegitimately. Proxima was a long way from Earth, but some of the old creeds still lived here. The old gangs, the old cultures, the old ways. Mafia, Triad, Yakuza... and others. The Thieves' Guild had a few representatives here, but Trace disliked all aliens intensely. No, better to stick with those he knew. He had joined a small Mafia family at the age of thirteen, running errands, performing minor tasks, and proving surprisingly adept at mixing drinks. Under their tutelage he managed to get away from the Pit and up- sector. By the time the headman's only son was killed in a skirmish with some Yakuza, Trace had managed to get close to him, close enough to be named his heir. The fall of Earth, the collapse of Orion and a bloody and brutal gang war that wiped out almost all the Yakuza and the Mafia, left him with almost everything he needed. He looked at Sector 301, he saw all the vulnerable, tired and scared people flocking there, and he smiled. They were so stupid. None of them would ever escape, not one. He could capitalise on their lost dreams and broken hopes. The first step of course was the legitimate return. So, he opened up a club. It was just close enough to the border with Sector 303 to be considered vaguely 'respectable'. All the money that had come into his hands with the collapse of the Mafia went on buying certain people. The entire Government was in chaos for years after Orion, and the security force in the Pit had been corrupt anyway. A few people had taken exception to Trace moving in on their territory, but examples had soon been made of them. They were all small fry anyway. Pathetically small. It could all have come to nothing, however, without a very fortunate and surprising call that had come to him in his club one day. His association with his mystery backer was based on a number of deals. The backer would provide him with enough money, influence and respecta- bility to get whatever he wanted. He would provide the backer with as many telepaths as he could find, or at least news of their whereabouts. Trace would be protected from just about anyone who could threaten him, and he would make no effort to discover what happened to the telepaths once they left 301. The arrangement had been working nicely for almost five years now. Trace had from time to time wondered just what his backer wanted with all those telepaths. He had some theories, but nothing he was sure of. To be honest, he did not really care. He knew who his backer was, and he was capable of throwing around enough money and power to buy out half of Proxima. Trace was so close to getting what he had always wanted: respectability. He had been sounding people out about running for the Senate at the next election. There were rumours from Main Dome that the Wartime Emergency Provisions were to be relaxed, enough to start holding elections again. The local sector councils would be first. Within six months, he was betting. He could get a fair few people on there, he was sure. After that, the Senate election would follow. A year at most, he was certain. And after that, well... with his backer's assistance, would President Trace be too much to wish for? A fine dream. All it took to rise in the world was perseverance, and a recognition of the sheer stupidity of others. Well, and luck, but someone or other - had it been Napoleon? - had said that everyone gets luck, both good and bad. It's the great people who know how to use it. Trace liked the sound of that. He reviewed the expected guests for tonight. An aide to Senator MacAfee was rumoured to be bringing his new girlfriend, a couple of middle-placed execs at ISN and the first team of the Proxima Swashbucklers were meant to be along. Trace smiled, and made a mental note to let the bar staff know their drinks were on the house. He actually owned twelve percent of the Swashbucklers, and he was fairly certain of getting another ten percent or so within a few months. He'd have a majority shareholding before the end of the year. Owner of a successful baseball team, huh? He chuckled, wondering what all his childhood friends would say if they could see him now. They'd prob- ably curse at his luck, and say they could have made it out as well, but they'd been unlucky. Some people never learned. Trace headed out of his office and set off for the bar. You never knew when someone would pop in a little early, and he always liked mingling with the guests. There were going to be two guests coming that night he had certainly not been expecting. But then, Dexter Smith and Talia Winters hadn't put their names down on the guest list. * * * * * * * Delenn had lost track of time. It did not seem to work quite the same way here. Of course, she remembered from her previous experiences as a prisoner that keeping track of time was difficult. It was easier to keep prisoners disoriented and uncertain. They obviously still had not decided what to do with her. She did not really blame them. She wondered what was happening in the Alliance. They would not try to rescue her; she had made that completely clear in her message to Lethke. That had been when she thought she was going to die. How was she to know that Vejar would betray her like that? Of course in his eyes it was not a betrayal. It was an important decision taking precedence over personal feelings. Delenn had done the opposite, putting her personal feelings before the good of the many. No! The Alliance needed John more than it needed her. He was a warrior, a soldier, a leader of men. This was a time for warriors, not healers. Sinoval knew that. John knew that. The Alliance could hold without her. She had made sure of that. Her message to Lethke had explained everything, all her plans for the further- ance of the Alliance, for the political and diplomatic aims she had been pursuing. She trusted him. Her mind kept returning to the question she was afraid to ask. What would they do to her? She was thinking about Proxima, if the Shadows let Ambas- sador Sheridan have that much influence in the decision. A trial there for war crimes, a return to the prison from which John had freed her... The door opened and she looked up, expecting Ambassador Sheridan, or her next meal. She was wrong on both counts. "Delenn," said a familiar voice, one she had not heard for years. She rose to her feet, trembling slightly. "We have a great deal to discuss," said Neroon. * * * * * * * At that same moment, above both their heads, the space around Z'ha'dum opened and the Babylon came into view. "So that's Z'ha'dum," muttered Corwin to himself. "It doesn't look like much. There don't seem to be any Shadow vessels here." "They're here," said the Captain. "They're here." "So, what do we do now?" The Captain was silent. To be continued... From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Fiery Trial Through Which We Pass, Part 3A Date: Tue, 17 Aug 1999 16:30:21 +0100 Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror Phase Four - A Future, Born in Pain Chapter One - The Fiery Trial Through Which we Pass Part 3 of 4 by Gareth Williams (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk) (http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk) Delenn of Mir, now the leader of the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, had been blessed with the love of five men during her life. The first had been her father, who had passed from this world a few years after the fall of Earth and the Battle of Mars. He had been unable to reconcile his beliefs with the terrible consequences of the war to which his daughter had committed their people. The second had been Dukhat, her teacher and mentor. It was he who had recognised the flame of destiny in her, and had nourished and nurtured it, raising her to the position she had been born to hold. If he could have realised the horror that would result from that choice, would he still have made it? Delenn did not know. The third had been Draal, her father's dearest friend. He had died three years ago, killed by a stray shot on the verge of achieving a greater destiny than anyone could imagine. The fifth had been Captain John Sheridan, for whom she had walked into darkness, sacrificed her future, and her people, and her heart. But the fourth... She had thought him lost for years now, and it had been years before that when they had last spoken. Neroon had chosen his own destiny, turning his back on the Rangers, on his leader Branmer, on his people, and on his one true love. He had gone to join Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. He had recognised the growing darkness within his people, and had known then that this war against the Shadows would have to be fought by others. Now it seemed he had changed his destiny a second time and had sought a new path, one which had brought him here... to a dead world at the end of the galaxy, and back into the life of his former love. "Delenn," he said, looking at her with his dark eyes. "We have a great deal to discuss." * * * * * * * "I would just like to say this is the craziest plan I have ever gone along with." "I heard you the first time. For that matter, I heard you thinking it the first time. For one of us, you really don't hide your thoughts very well." "The product of an unsophisticated upbringing, I'm sure. What do you hope to find in here?" "Information. Just what Trace is doing with our people once he gets them, where he sends them to, who takes receipt... why all this. And you may be interested in hard evidence of criminal activities, enough to take to Main Dome and help your poor, oppressed friends in Sector Three-o-one." "Right. Thanks for the reminder." "Oh, don't worry. I've done this hundreds of times before." "That's supposed to make me not worry?" "You're too tense. I thought you said you'd spent all your time breaking into things as a child." "That was as a child. I've had all those years of Earthforce training and mindsets to turn me around since then." "Pity. If only we'd known, we could have done a great deal with you." "I was happy where I was." "Happy, really? I don't think so. I was watching you while I was on the Babylon. You always looked as if you were... filling someone else's shoes, standing in until the star came back. You didn't belong there." "Ah, a regular psychiatrist. That just made it easier for you to trick me, right?" "Well... yes, but I didn't enjoy doing it. I actually liked you, believe it or not. I've seen many a worse officer than you." "Oo, praise. I'm flattered." "But you still didn't belong there. You belong here. Somebody has to fight the small battles after all." "So which are you fighting? The small battles, or the big ones?" "I'm a... small part in a big battle. The future of humanity could depend on finding out what's happening here." "Oh, great. The future of humanity resting on my shoulders. Again." "I knew I could depend on you. Besides, we're the future of humanity." "You telepaths?" "We telepaths. You're one of us, remember." "Oh, how silly of me to forget." "Now, shush. You remember what we're looking for?" "Yes." "And how to get in?" "Yes." "Good. Let's go." * * * * * * * It was Lyta who first noticed the emergence of the Shadow ships from hyperspace. It began with a dull buzzing at the back of her mind, as she heard the far distant echoes of their screams. Reaching up to rub her eyes, she blinked, and caught a flash of them surrounding the Babylon. The ship seemed to move beneath her, crying out in yearning. Of course, part of it was Shadow technology. The Shadow ships were alive after all, in a sense. It was only reasonable that the living tech within the Babylon should call out to its elder siblings nearby. The ship had come home. *Wait,* hissed the voice in her mind. *All is as was planned.* "They're coming," she said, unsure whether she had spoken the words or merely thought them. "They're here." *There will not be a fight. The war is not destined to be fought here... yet.* The Vorlon's voice paused, and she could detect a sensation of immense smugness. *And if it is, then you will be ready for it.* The buzzing grew louder, and she collapsed to her knees in pain just as the first Shadow ship came into view. "Battle stations!" cried Commander Corwin. "Lyta, are you ready...?" He turned. "Lyta!" "There won't be..." She coughed, harshly. "There won't be a fight. I don't think." "She's right," said Sheridan. He was still staring forward. "They want to intimidate us, that's all. They're not ready for a fight." Corwin's confusion was plain on his face, but he nodded. "Okay... We all know this how?" "Trust me, David." He shrugged. "How many of them are there, anyway?" The technician looked up from his control panel. He looked terrified, as well he might. "Seventeen... eighteen... more coming through... twenty- two." "Well," muttered Corwin to himself. "We'd better let them get up to fifty before we attack. We want them to have a fair chance after all." Sheridan suddenly rose to his feet, a mere moment before a signal came through on open channel. --- This is Z'ha'dum to invading vessel. This is our airspace. Why have you come here? --- A human voice, speaking in English. That creeped out a lot of people even more than they were already. "This is Captain John Sheridan," said the Captain. "We are the former EAS Babylon. We have come on a mission of rescue. May I know who I am speaking to?" --- John... --- Even over the commsignal the voice sounded horrified. --- I was told you were... Hah! This is David Sheridan, representative of the... um... the Shadows, and the Resistance Government of Proxima Three. I guess you don't remember our last conversation, hmm? --- The Captain said nothing. Corwin closed his eyes. Delenn had told him that the Ambassador Sheridan who had come to Kazomi 7 on the peace initi- ative last year had been John's father, but that John was not to be told of this. --- I think we need to discuss this in private. Do I have leave to come aboard your vessel? --- "Yes," said the Captain in a hollow voice. "Come alone, and instruct your Shadow allies not to make any aggressive moves towards us. We do not want to start a fight." --- Of course not. I taught you never to do that. We will speak on board. Z'ha'dum out. --- "Well," Corwin said, partly to himself. "We're still alive. That's good. Lyta, are you...?" Lyta didn't hear him. She looked up at the Captain, and for just one, brief moment, she saw his eyes shine a bright gold. But it was only for a moment, and then the light was gone. * * * * * * * Vejar had been expecting him for some time. He had sensed the impending arrival of Cathedral before any of Kazomi 7's sensors picked it up. He had heard the whispers of the Well of Souls in his dreams for days now. He had been on Kazomi 7 for almost two years, and he had rarely regretted his decision to relinquish his order and work here. He had been blessed to know some truly wonderful people, especially Delenn. His betrayal of her hurt him badly, but it was necessary. Elric and the One Above All had wondered at the end... would this be the Blessed Delenn for whom they had all waited, or would she merely repeat the mistakes of the past? He wished he knew. He could see the darkness growing in Kazomi 7. The omens and portents had been building ever since Captain Sheridan had been injured. The false peace talks with the Shadows, the arrival of the new Vorlon Ambassador, and now Cathedral... and Sinoval the Cursed. "Open," he said. The door did so, and in he walked. Vejar turned to look at Sinoval. He looked not only with his eyes, but with his soul. He saw genuine goodness in the man, but buried deep beneath darkness and hatred and anger. He instantly saw Sinoval's greatest weakness, which was identical to his greatest virtue. He could never regret any action he took, and hence he could not learn from his mistakes. He was incapable of love, and that would curse him. In time. "Welcome to my abode, Primarch Sinoval the Cursed. I have been expecting you for some time." "I apologise if I kept you waiting, technomage." To Vejar's silent thanks, the Primarch's Honour Guard was kept outside. "I thought it wise to know more about you first. I have been in discussion with the Vindrizi." "Yes. I had heard they were now under your protection. There are ancient ties of blood and song between our order and their race. It is good that they are kept safe." "They told me something similar. They are a strange group, their visions and memories focussed on sights and wonders and nature, and not the banalities of politics or warfare. This makes their use... limited, in the current situation, but they were very helpful in discussing the technomages. "Tell me, magus, you have been conspicuous by your absence whenever the new Vorlon Ambassador makes a public appearance. As you were when his predecessor was here." "I could say the same about you, Primarch. You have been avoiding the Vorlons for a while." "I am waiting for the time to be right. I will not hide from the Vorlons forever. You know why Delenn has gone to Z'ha'dum, don't you?" Vejar nodded, unable to say anything. "As do I. She sent me a message, in which she spoke of other messages that would be sent... to people here. It seems however that you and I are the only persons on this world who know the truth. The common belief seems to be that she was abducted by agents of the Shadow." Vejar shrugged. "If that is what they wish to believe..." "They can believe what they choose! It is not the truth and there are some here who should at least know the truth. Why, then, do they not? Have the Vorlons gained so much influence here already?" "It would appear so." "And you have done nothing to stop it?" "I think you misunderstand the nature of our order, Primarch. We do not act. We shape events so that others may act. I am one man, and one of the weakest in power in our order. I am not here to save the galaxy." "Oh? That is curious, because I am. Will you lend your power to assist me? I come here seeking allies." "A fine and noble aim, but I must decline." "Why?" "There is a globe, affixed to a wall in Cathedral. Within that globe lies the soul of one of the greatest of our order, trapped there forever, beyond the reach of our power to restore or amend. Her wisdom and power and knowledge are all now lost to us. There is a standing instruction within our order... the Soul Hunters and those who do business with them are our enemy." "I make a very bad enemy." "As do we." Sinoval pondered this for a moment and then nodded, resigned. "Very well. I thank you for your candour, magus. I ask you only to beware of the Vorlons. They are waiting... for their turn." "That I know. I do... have something which may be able to assist you, Primarch, a piece of advice you will no doubt refuse to heed. You see... the gift of prophecy is not unknown to us. You have a destiny." "There is no destiny save that which I make myself." "I know. You have denied your destiny more than once in your life. Do so if you wish... but accept your doom. If you deny that, then we are all lost. Speak to the Well of Souls. There you will be able to learn all you wish to know, although I do not think you will like what you hear there." "Have you ever seen the Well of Souls?" "No... and nor do I ever wish to. I do not know what the Well is entirely... but I know enough to fear it greatly." "Knowledge is power, so it is said. Within the Well of Souls lies the answer to every question ever asked... save one. What is that last question?" "I do not know, although I wish I did." Sinoval digested this for a moment, and then nodded. "Well... be at peace, magus. Remember what I have said." "I would advise you to do the same, Primarch," Vejar replied. He waited until Sinoval had gone and then closed his eyes, remembering the rest of the prophecy he had not told Sinoval. The Starfire Wheel would open... there would be blood and darkness, and two souls would be lost forever- more. And innocent blood would be shed. * * * * * * * "Hello, son." Ambassador David Sheridan had been on the Babylon once or twice before, diplomatic affairs during the final stages of the war with the Minbari, and on its return to Proxima at the end of the war. He didn't like the ship, for the same reasons that Dexter Smith had not. The entire ship was touched by his son. John was everywhere here. Despite the year and a half or so Smith had been in charge, and the extensive Shadowtech overhaul, the ship was still John's. David Sheridan felt a chill in his spine as he walked into the ready room to see his son. John was standing. He looked well. How had this been done? What had it cost him? Still, he covered up his shock as well as he was able. He was a career diplomat after all, and despite his one blind spot concerning his son, he had plenty of experience at hiding his emotions. "Hello, son." "Dad," John said. He sounded cold. "So... you are still alive, then. You... came to see me at Kazomi Seven, didn't you?" David nodded. "I thought it was just a dream. Delenn told me it was just a dream." "Delenn must have told you a great many things." Ambassador Sheridan looked around at the others in the room. Commander Corwin he recognised of course. There were two Narn security guards - remnants of the infamous Narn Bat Squad from the Parmenion no doubt. And there was her... the telepath. She stank of Vorlon. "I think we should talk alone." He had come up to the ship alone. "We stay," said one of the Narns firmly. It was the female. "No," said John. "Ko'Dath, G'Dan... I think you should go. David, Lyta... you too. I'm not in any danger." "If you say so," muttered Commander Corwin as he left. The two Narns made angry faces. The telepath said nothing. "It's good to see you again," Ambassador Sheridan said, sitting down. "I'll admit to being surprised... what happened?" "I could ask you the same thing. Are you really my dad?" "Yes, of course I am." He sighed. "Do you remember the time you were studying for your exams... and you couldn't sleep because it wasn't raining? I went outside, and took up the hose..." "And made it rain on the roof," John finished. "I remember." "And every Sunday... we used to go for a drive." John nodded. "It is you. I... don't know if that's a good thing or not. How could you work for them, Dad? Where's Mom? And Liz? Why didn't you let me know...?" "I would have... if I could. When I got to Proxima... you'd gone... up and left. I wasn't sure what to think, and there wasn't any way of getting in touch with you. As for your mum... and Elizabeth... they're both dead. I was the lucky one." "What happened?" He sighed. "Some of us tried to get away from Earth before the end. We weren't getting much news in from the Line... just what we could see above us. But... there was a moment... a hesitation in the battle. Some of us tried to get away. We didn't get anywhere of course. The Minbari picked us up easily. They weren't sure what to do with us, for a while... "Then one of their leaders came in. He gave us to one of his allies... Warmaster Jha'dur." "Deathwalker," John whispered in horror. "She was more than happy with the gift. She hated humans... all of us. It was her who brought us word that Earth had been destroyed. She was so pleased about that." He shook his head sadly. "Your mother and Liz died there... in her lab. I don't know what of, exactly. I think your mother was infected with some sort of cancer cells, but I'm not sure. I didn't even see Liz for most of the time, only her body. "Someone came to see us a bit later on. I don't know how long I was there... months, probably. Maybe years even. I'd... been left alone. I don't know why. It doesn't matter. This person came up to see me, a human, which surprised me. He gave his name as Shryne, and he asked me a simple question... 'What do you want?'" John sighed, and placed his hand over his eyes. "An easy question to answer, isn't it, son? I heard the reply you gave to Ivanova. I don't blame you. My answer wasn't too different. I wanted... I wanted to be free of that place. I wanted peace. I wanted my family revenged, my people revenged. I wanted my people to be safe. "That seemed to satisfy him. I was set free and brought here, to Z'ha'dum. That's where I learned the truth about the Shadows, about the Vorlons, about this whole conflict of theirs. It's been going on for longer than anyone can say. "Well, that's me... What happened to you?" "I was healed. It doesn't matter. Dad... come back to Kazomi Seven. You don't owe the Shadows anything. It was their agent that killed Mom and Liz, remember." "Deathwalker wasn't working for the Shadows. She was... an independent operator. She had her own goals entirely." "She infected me with a terminal virus... She was going to use me to wipe out humanity!" "That was not our decision, John. She did that all by herself. We just got wind of it later and managed to get hold of a cure. The virus was only intended for the Minbari, not us. The Shadows are very fond of humanity, you know. They want to help us. We can be... right on top of things this time. They're going to make sure we're never threatened by anyone like the Minbari ever again." "Where's Delenn?" Ambassador Sheridan stopped as if physically struck. "What?" "Where is she?" "On the surface. John... she's one of them. She's a Minbari. She's the enemy." "I love her." "John, listen to me! You're the only surviving member of my family now. You're my son, and I can forgive you a lot. You... fell apart a bit. I can understand that, fighting them all for so long. Long-term combat stress. A nervous breakdown of some sort was inevitable, even without her influencing you. I can understand why you betrayed your people, why you fought against our allies... what you did to Anna. "But she played a part in all of that. She's a Minbari. It was her people who destroyed Earth, her people who hid Deathwalker for so long and let her inflict her tortures on both of us. Remember where your loyalties are... to your people. Not to her!" "Where is she?!" Ambassador Sheridan sighed. "She's on the surface. We haven't decided what to do with her yet. I was thinking of sending her to Proxima for a war crime trial. She'd get a fair hearing, I promise you that. It's even possible she'll be acquitted." "I want to see her." "John, listen..." "I need to make sure she's all right." Ambassador Sheridan sighed. "Fine. You can come down to the surface to see her, if you like. It will also give us a chance to explain just what it is the Shadows are doing... just what their plans for all of us are. Give them a chance, and you'll find they're nothing like what you've been told. G'Kar, her... all of them, they've been leading you astray from the beginning." "I want to see her. Then... then we'll see." "Good. You can even bring some of your men if you like. Not the telepath woman, but as many of the others as you wish." "Just David will be fine. Come on. Let's go." * * * * * * * Delenn looked into the eyes of the man she had once believed she loved. Her experience with John had now convinced her that what she had felt for Neroon had not been true love, but an exceptionally deep and abiding friendship; a love that had not been romantic or passionate, but a real, lasting affection. To see him like this... "I am sorry, Neroon," she said softly. "I do not think we have anything to talk about." "I did not betray you, Delenn. I would never do that, and I did not betray our people. I simply... chose another path. Parlonn took this path, the same one as I do now... a thousand years ago." "Parlonn was a traitor, was he not?" "No. He was a visionary, who chose a different destiny for his people. They have told me, Delenn... all of them. I have seen the Shadows. They are not our enemy! We've been manipulated all along, by the Vorlons, by our own prophecies... since before Valen... we've been pushed this way and that." "I have seen these Shadows, Neroon. I have seen them at war. They attacked our ships, our worlds, our people. Not just Minbari, but all of us. Drazi, Brakiri, Narn... they exist only to make war." "No! That's just it, Delenn. You don't understand." "I don't want to." He took a step forward and knelt down at her feet. "Delenn," he whis- pered. "I can free you from this place. I can see you safe. The humans want to kill you... they want to torture you and execute you. I... I cannot let that happen." "The Shadows will..." She swallowed. "They will not be pleased about that." "I serve them in my own way. I think they recognise that. Agree to serve us, Delenn. Work alongside us. They admire your skills, your strength, your courage. Agree to do that... and I will protect you." He gently reached up to her face, her human face, and touched her long hair with a quiet wonder. "You have changed," he whispered. "I like it." "You have also changed," she said, tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. "You now seem... so certain of your place. You were so divided before, in the Anla'Shok." "I was," he said, his hands still in her hair. "Branmer was a good man... a fine man, but he did not see. He could not see the darkness that was going to engulf us all. In a way, I am glad he passed beyond before it could do so. He would not have wanted to see Minbar as it now is." "No," Delenn breathed, leaning in close to him. "He would not." "Now I know, Delenn... in a way I did not, even with G'Kar. I know where our path is." "What did they...? Do you... have a Keeper?" Her voice was so quiet now, it was barely even a whisper. "No, Delenn. I am myself." Her heart reached out to his heart. "Please, Delenn... let me protect you. Let me..." She said nothing. There was nothing to say. * * * * * * * From: "Gareth Williams" Subject: The Fiery Trial Through Which We Pass, Part 3B Date: Tue, 17 Aug 1999 16:31:57 +0100 Talia had done this sort of thing countless times before. It had become a skill, a thing she had learned through training and experience, just as she had learned the arts of disguise, infiltration, sabotage... murder. It was strange, the knowledge that all these things could be done by a mundane. They were all things that could be learned, with enough time and effort and will, and with a good teacher. Her talents helped her of course, that went without saying, but how much difference would it have made if she did not possess them? Would she merely rely on instinct, or hunches, as Captain Smith did? Of course, he was one of her people as well, no matter how he tried to deny it. Fortunately, although he had not been trained in infiltration and stealth, his eventful childhood in Sector 301 had taught him a fair few useful tricks. Trace's nightclub had a back entrance, as both of them had known it would. It had been guarded, but not very well. The security guard - evidently one of Trace's own thugs and not a proper Security agent - had been half asleep, and a slight telepathic pinprick had sent him the rest of the way. The door had been locked, but Al had long ago provided Talia with a very handy electronic skeleton key which opened it in a few seconds. The noise from the front of the club had not been as loud as she had expected, which was not good. A lot of noise would serve to cover any bumps and bangs they made in the back. As it was, they would have to be more careful. Finding Trace's office was simply a matter of trial and error. It was the third room they tried, after stumbling upon an old cupboard and a cloak- room. The lock on the office was considerably better than the one out- side, and it took Talia's device over a minute to open it. All the while Smith hopped about nervously, keeping out a watchful eye. Talia wondered if she would have time to teach him how to use his telepathy to keep a more efficient watch, but then she realised he probably would not be strong enough. Just how powerful was he anyway? Not a P5, certainly. A P3, maybe. P2? Less? She angrily clicked away these irrelevant musings and returned to the task of unlocking the door. It was soon managed, and she pushed it open. The office was empty, with the lights off. Talia waited until Smith entered, then pushed the door shut. Only when it was closed did she activate the lights. "What now?" asked Smith, looking around the office. He was probably disappointed to find it so... normal-looking. Talia was inclined to agree. Weren't the inner sanctums of notorious gangland bosses meant to be more... opulent than this? Fancy pictures on the walls, various ornamentations hiding fiendishly cunning spy cameras and poisoned blowpipes? As it was, the only things on the wall were a half-filled-in year planner for the year just finished, and a calendar featuring women in various degrees of undress. A quick scan of the room with another handy gadget soon revealed that there were no recording devices or security cameras of any sort. "Now," she said, "we find the evidence we need. I find out how he's involved with the telepaths and IPX, and you find solid evidence of criminal activities you can take to Main Dome to stop Trace oppressing the poor, innocent people of Sector Three-o-one." "Joke all you like," he said bitterly, looking at the calendar, and twisting his head slightly to grasp the angle. "These people need help just as much as anyone else. Hardly anyone lives here by choice. Do you think anyone can actually get into that position? I mean, without being a contortionist or whatever." "It's one of life's mysteries I'm perfectly happy to leave unanswered. Come on, we might not have much time." She turned to the desk and began rummaging through the flimsies. "I had a quick glance out front. There's a fair few celebrities out there. From what I know of him, Trace will be spending as much time with them as possible. Maybe getting in a picture or two thanks to the paparazzi." "Quite likely. Anyone from IPX out there?" "The only person from IPX who could even remotely be called a celebrity is the CEO, Orin Zento, and I don't think this is his sort of thing. Even if it were, why advertise the relationship?" "Good point. What about security guards? Off-duty ones, I mean." "Possible. I don't know too many. Just Allan, mainly. I didn't see him, which I guess is just as well." "I think I remember him. He might have been on the Babylon for a short time while I was there. You got rid of him, didn't you?" "Hmm. I had... some doubts about his ability to do his job." He began flipping through the pages of the calendar. He gave a soft whistle at one picture. "Any chance of you doing some work here?" Talia asked, acidly. He jumped away from the calendar as if electrocuted. "Found anything?" he asked, turning. "Possibly." She was reading a piece of paper with a grim look on her face. "Have a look at this." "It's a receipt," he replied, taking it. "Compass Deliveries. Never heard of them." "Nor me, but they've been doing a lot of work for Trace. Look where everything's been delivered to." "Sector one-one-one. Warehouse district." "The last-dated delivery is the day after Byron was taken. Here's another business document. From a cryogenics company. Mr. Trace has bought a great deal of freezer units and storage equipment. All human-sized." "What? You think your friend was put in cryogenic stasis?" "Here. Before transportation." "Why do that? I mean, if he was only being sent to IPX Headquarters, that's... a couple of hours at most. If the cryo was just for the journey, wouldn't it be easier just to fill him full of tranks, or those... sleepers?" "Maybe they're planning to send him quite a bit further than IPX Head- quarters. And speaking of sleepers..." She pulled a box out of a drawer. "This would be over two months worth of dosage for a P five rated tele- path. There's another six boxes here." "Evidence, yes. But too many questions. What do IPX want with telepaths? I mean, they have a few medical research subsidiaries... they took over SynTech and Edgars Industries, but..." He suddenly straightened, as did Talia. There was the sound of footsteps outside the door. Talia ducked down behind the desk, while Smith darted to the corner. He was too slow, however. The door opened, revealing Mr. Trace and five other men behind him. "Well," he said, smiling. "Gatecrashers. I'm sorry, sir, madam, but we operate under a very strict dress code here, and the management reserves the right to refuse admission to anyone at all. Especially people who come in through the back way and try to rummage through all my private documents. "How's this meant to go again? You have the right to... well, not a lawyer of any kind. And remaining silent's fine by me. Oh, here we are. You have the right to remain... well, dead." * * * * * * * Susan Ivanova could feel it... the throbbing at the back of her mind. When she closed her eyes she could see again the Vorlon slowly opening his encounter suit... and the brilliant, shining light that had burrowed deep into her soul. Before it had died, the Vorlon had said something to her. She had not understood the significance of the message before, and she was not sure she did now. She had been hearing his voice in her sleep for some months now, although she always forgot on awakening. A few days ago however that voice had faded completely, to be replaced by another one, a much older one, filled with sadness and age and a terrible, tragic wisdom. "Come to me," said this new voice. "Bring them both to me." It was only now, with the light filling her mind again, with the whispers of Lyta and Marcus in her mind, that Susan Ivanova knew what she had to do. "They will not find you," said the ancient voice. "They will be able to find the others. Be careful." She had known where to go. She also supposed she knew what to do. Could she do this? The last time she had seen Delenn... well, the last time had been two and a half years in the past, but the last time Delenn had seen her... had been just after the chrysalis. She had broken her free of it, trying to kill her. She reached the door to Delenn's cell, and hesitated. There was someone else in there. She paused, thinking for one dreadful moment that Lyta had come here already, and was waiting to trap her. Then a moment of sanity reasserted itself. She would feel Lyta's thoughts if she were here. She was not. It was... someone else. It was... Of course. It was Neroon. The door was unlocked, at least from this side. She pushed it open. It was Neroon there. Susan had not had much to do with him recently. He had not come here until long after she had left for Proxima, and since her return... she had been distracted. He was often away, performing similar duties to those he had for G'Kar and the Rangers. This was the longest he had been here for as long as she could remember. Neroon was kneeling next to Delenn. They were very close, almost kissing. Delenn started as she heard Susan come in, jumping back. Neroon rose slowly to his feet, and fixed his dark gaze on her. "We've got to get out of here," Susan said quickly. "Escape?" whispered Delenn. "How?" "There's... someone here. A friend, I think. He can help us." "Who?" Susan considered this question for a while. "I don't know," she admitted. "It doesn't matter. He... talks to me... in my dreams. Oh, stop that! I'm not crazy. I've been crazy... for a very, very long time. Probably ever since my mother died. But I'm not crazy now. I've never been more sane." Neroon slowly walked over to her and pulled the door shut. "What are you talking about?" he said harshly. "You swore to serve them, as I did." "Yeah? They promised I'd be safe, but they didn't do a very good job of it. I've lost two people who... meant a great deal to me... I've had my mind turned inside and out. I've been hopping back and forward through time like a... a... jack-in-the-box... and they've done nothing to stop it. I think they betrayed me first." "I swore to follow them. I will not permit this." Delenn spoke his name softly, and Susan could see the spark of love in his eyes as she did so. She cursed them both. What gave them the right to be happy, when she was without Marcus, without Laurel, without... everyone? Then she silently regretted the thought. "Neroon..." Delenn said quietly. "I know you are here because you believe in them, because you believe they are right. They are not. Whatever they claim, the Shadows exist only to kill, and to destroy, and to cause chaos. Maybe... maybe the Vorlons are not the right path either, but they are better than this. Come to Kazomi Seven, let me show you what the Shadows have wrought. They do not believe in helping anyone. "They believe only in death." "No! They... they want us all to grow, to become stronger... to evolve." "Neroon. You made me a promise once... Do you remember it?" He closed his eyes. "Delenn... please... do not..." "Do you remember it?" The words were striking at him now, for all the softness with which they were spoken. "I remember." "What was the promise?" "That I would stand before you, and never let a shadow touch you. I would be the light in your darkness." "You have been," she replied, stepping up to him and gently touching his face. "In memory, when you were unable to be so in flesh. I never forgot you, and nor did those you fought beside with G'Kar. Return to them... they need you..." "Parlonn..." "Is dead. He died here, killed by someone who had once been his friend. They lied to him, just as they lied to you. Do not become another Parlonn, Neroon." She cast her eyes downward. "I could not bear that." "I swore to keep you safe, Delenn. You were always... in my thoughts... always." He nodded once. "Very well... I have betrayed and abandoned my masters not once, not twice, but three times. My doom is complete, I believe. But as long as I am by your side, it cannot claim me." "Your doom will never claim you." Delenn turned back to Susan. "Where can we go?" "I... don't know. I think we go down. Underground. He's down there. He can help us." "Why are you doing this?" Delenn asked suddenly. "Why are you...?" Helping me? Susan didn't know. She could give a million reasons, and none of them would make any sense at all. She remembered seeing Delenn torn half-formed from the chrysalis, looking at her with a child's eyes. She remembered seeing Marcus die, his heart stopped by the force of her pike. She remembered her last talk with Laurel. She remembered a great many things. She could not, however, give any reason that was anything resembling the truth. "I must have been dropped on my head when I was a baby," she said, with a half smile. "I don't need a reason." "I will not forget this," Delenn said, as she hurried towards the door. Neroon pushed it open and stepped through. Delenn and Susan followed. The corridor seemed empty. "I doubt you'll live long enough to." There was a sudden buzzing in her ears, and she started. Suddenly she realised she was holding a weapon, a PPG. She didn't remember picking it up. A darkness suddenly fell over Delenn and herself, and a glint of understanding shone in Delenn's eyes. "It's one of them," Neroon hissed. A Shadow was there. Its eyes opened in brilliant flares, and then they closed, and there was darkness again. It moved forward, and the buzzing grew louder. * * * * * * * "Not a very pleasant-looking place," observed the Captain as he looked at the surface of the planet over which the shuttle was flying. Corwin concurred. "I'm told it was a beautiful garden before the Vorlons came here, a thousand years ago," replied his father. He was still looking at his son. Corwin didn't think he'd taken his eyes off him at all on their journey down. "They did something to the ground, poisoned it, so nothing could grow on the surface any more." "Sounds like what happened to Minbar," said the Captain absently. Ambassador Sheridan said nothing, probably recognising there was very little to say. Corwin remembered Minbar. He still dreamed about the poisoned rain, the barren earth, the muddied and deadly waters. It was not hard for him to imagine the Vorlons doing something similar to Z'ha'dum. He did not like this. Not at all. The whole thing just screamed 'trap' to him. Surely the Captain could see that? But as he looked at him, he began to wonder. He had said hardly anything during their journey down, and certainly nothing about Delenn. It must have been a shock, discover- ing his father was alive, and working for... well, them. Corwin wondered how he would react to seeing his own father there, or his brother Adam. He just couldn't imagine it. But there was still something very wrong with this. The Captain just wasn't himself. Of course, given everything that he had been through in the last few days, that was hardly a surprise. To be miraculously cured of his paralysis and a terminal illness, to find his love had been captured by the Enemy and his father was still alive... Corwin trusted the Captain. If he seemed to think this was all right, then he accepted that. He still didn't have to like any of it. The shuttle was coming in to land, and he could see the structures of a city just in view. It seemed very small. The buildings couldn't be more than a single storey. There were hints of something larger, a dome he could only just make out, but he could not see very much to identify this as a major city. Then it suddenly struck him. Underground, of course. The Shadows would live underground. "Here," said Ambassador Sheridan, as the shuttle came to a halt. He passed over two breathing masks. "You'll need these. The atmosphere on the surface is difficult for us to breathe. The... uh, the Shadows of course have no problems. It's only a short way to the entrance, so we won't have to wear them long." Corwin fixed on his mask and followed the Captain out. He had been to a great many alien worlds before - Narn, Kazomi 7, Minbar - but nothing like this. It seemed as though a great hand had reached down from the skies and scoured away the uppermost earth from the surface. There was no life here. No trees, no plants, no animals. Nothing but howling winds, and a bitter, thick red dust that billowed up around them. Ambassador Sheridan led the two of them to a door. He pushed it open, and Corwin stepped inside. As he did so, he saw the Captain's head turn to look back outside. For just the briefest of moments an expression of satisfaction crossed his face, and his eyes seemed to glow with a brilliant light. But it was only for a moment, and Corwin put it down to an optical illusion of the strange climate. In light of what happened later, he forgot about it entirely. * * * * * * * Sinoval tapped his denn'bok against his side thoughtfully, feeling it almost throb against him. It was a strange weapon, one he had made with his heart and soul in one choking night at Durhan's forge. He had called it Stormbringer, without thinking why. The name had just seemed to fit. It was a name of ill-omen, but then Sinoval's future seemed marked by ill omens. The blade at least was a fine one, and deadly. It had wounded a Vorlon once, and saved his life in the Starfire Wheel. But lately, when he was aboard Cathedral, he could feel something more within it, something deep and ancient. There were voices whispering in his dreamless slumbers, and one of them, he was sure, was Stormbringer's. Cathedral was not an easy place to sleep of course, not even at the best of times, but since his meeting with the Well of Souls... He had faced down a great deal in his life, and he had rarely known fear, but at the sound of that voice, filled with wisdom and power and mingled with the memories of billions of different souls... he had been awed by the sheer majesty of the place, and by the secrets that lay within it. He was sure he knew only the merest fraction of them, but that was enough, for now at least. He would soon know all, or almost all. Besides, he reminded himself, there was one question to which not even the Well of Souls knew the answer. He was not afraid now, however. He had put off this meeting until he was sure he was ready. There had been others to see first, to talk to priv- ately, to ascertain the scope of knowledge possessed here. None of them knew the truth about Delenn's disappearance, which was strange, but easily explained. Mollari, and Vejar, and Lethke, and Taan Churok... he had talked to them individually and privately, and he would soon be ready to address the Council as a whole. But there was one being he still needed to talk to before that could happen. His mind and soul ready, and with Stormbringer still in his hand, he set off down the corridor. Finding out the location had been simplicity itself. Vorlons were good at keeping secrets, but the place where their representative resided was not one of them. He had prepared himself thoroughly, even meditating, which was unusual for him. He had replayed Delenn's message, he had thought of Kats, and of Kozorr, and of Deeron, lost to them all. His mind had hardened, and his anger deepened. He had then gone to see Delenn's shrine. The Shrine of the Unknown Warrior. He had admired the concept, but had been unable to step inside the construct. The touch of the ground, consecrated by Vejar, had pained him. It was a holy place, crafted with a faith that eluded him, and so would not permit him entry. He knew that in years to come this would be one of the most holy places in the galaxy. Still, he had stood there for some minutes, staring at the arch and at the inscriptions, and thinking. Finally, ready at last, he had gone to seek the Vorlon. He came to the door at the end of the corridor, and noticed the breathing masks next to it. Of course, the Vorlon atmosphere was very different, and very poisonous, which was why they remained in their encounter suits all the time they were outside. Sinoval knew that for the lie it was. They did not leave their suits so as to maintain their disguise, and they kept their quarters poisoned like this so as to discourage visitors. He did not pick up a breathing mask, nor did he knock at the door. He simply stood there, waiting. A few minutes later the door slid open, and out came the Vorlon. The eye stalk of its encounter suit swivelled, half in curiosity, half in anger. Sinoval raised Stormbringer. "You have been expecting me, no? It is time we spoke." * * * * * * * Delenn could not remember ever having seen one of the Shadows before. At least, not directly, as she was now. She had seen their ships, and their servants; she had heard their screams, and their whispers. And now she could see one. Neroon stepped forward slowly, spreading his arms wide. "Set her free," he implored. "Let her go free." There was a buzzing, a furious cry of betrayal. And, deep in the heart of the angry scream, there came the soft whisper Delenn understood. "I have sworn my life to you... but I swore it to her first. How many oaths would you have me break?" "She does not understand. Her ways are... different from yours, from ours... She is useless to you." There was a sudden motion at Delenn's side, and she turned to see Ivanova dart forward, pushing Neroon aside. The warrior was clearly caught off balance, and he stumbled. "Remember me?" cried Ivanova. "You promised I'd be safe!" As she spoke she raised her gun, pointed it directly at the Shadow, and fired; once, twice, three times... Its roar filled Delenn's mind, and she nearly fell. Struggling to main- tain her balance, she looked up and saw the Shadow move forward. It was clearly wounded, but it still moved with a grace and speed that surprised her, that seemed so effortless, almost beautiful. It bore down on Ivanova, who was on her knees, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes closed. Without thinking, without bothering to remember all that had happened between the two of them, Delenn ran to Ivanova's side, throwing herself in the way. The Shadow hesitated, its head twitching slightly as it surveyed her. "No," said a firm voice. It was Neroon. He was standing tall, holding a fighting pike. There was something strange about it. The design was unusual. It looked so old, and yet it shone with a dark power. "The third betrayal of my oath," he whispered, his voice solemn. "Now my doom can take me." He moved forward, plunging the pike into the Shadow's side. This time there was no howl, no scream, no attack. The First One simply fell. "Come," Neroon said to Delenn and Ivanova. "It is not dead. We must get to your friend." "He's... here... somewhere," Ivanova muttered. "I... this way!" Delenn looked at Neroon tenderly. "A third betrayal," she whispered. Warriors had spoken of the significance of the third betrayal for as long as she could remember, but she had never known what it meant. It was a secret thing, whispered only amongst themselves, in tones of horror and despair and terrible, terrible sadness. "It does not matter," he said, lying. "I have made my choices, each and every step of the way. I believed in you, I believed in Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, and I believed in them. Come... we must leave here." "It's this way," Ivanova repeated, heading off along a darkened corridor. It was leading downwards. Neroon at her side, Delenn followed. The caverns of Z'ha'dum closed in after her, and the very planet itself seemed to tremble. To be continued...