From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 5A
Date: Mon, 15 Feb 1999 19:40:10 +0000

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

Hi people. Here we go again.

Special Announcement: The entirety of the A Dark, Distorted Mirror 
saga written thus far can now be found at 
http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk. 
Apologies that I haven't been able to write personally to everyone 
enquiring about missing episodes but I hope you all like the site. 
Any comments or criticisms should be directed either to me, or to the 
site's editor. Enjoy...

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

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

* * * * *                    

Chapter Four - A Line in the Sand Part 5 of 8
by Gareth Williams  (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)

His spirit was everywhere, even now.  It permeated this room, all rooms,
this entire ship.  The EAS Babylon, his ship, Sheridan's ship, always. 
Dexter Smith, Sheridan's replacement on the Babylon, was always aware of
that.  He had lived in Sheridan's shadow for the year he had been on
board, and now at last he was within sight of ending that curse.  They had
clashed once before, an inconclusive fight at best.  This would be differ-
ent.  There would be no retreat here.

Matters hung suspended, in the balance.  On their side, four Earthforce
capital ships, the Babylon, Morningstar, Corinthian and Marten.  Plus,
hopefully, the resources of the Great Machine.  The signal indicated that
the Machine had been taken, but there had been no word since.  This had
not been unexpected, but Smith was still troubled.  He had been readying a
crew to visit the planet and ascertain its status when he had received
word of Sheridan's arrival.

On their side, one human capital ship, one Drazi Sunhawk, and one Brakiri
vessel.  Plus the greatest human captain of recent times.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," came the voice over open comm
channels.  His voice.  Smith straightened when he heard it.  He was still
breathing heavily from his mad dash back to his ship, but his exhaustion
did not bother him at all.  "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three are under my
protection.  You are to leave, now."

"Captain Sheridan," came a reply.  A voice Smith recognised.  General
Ryan.  He had command of this mission, but it was very clear that he was
in some disfavour with the Resistance Government.  "You are wanted for war
crimes against the Resistance Government.  Stand down your ship now, and
we promise to spare those of your crew who are innocent of any wrongs
against humanity."

"That is not an option, General."

There was a silence.  Smith waited, visualising his opponent.  He had
never met Sheridan personally, but he knew everything about the infamous
Starkiller.  He was reckoned as the greatest human strategist alive.  He
had saved the day at the Battle of Mars, many observers held that it was
his intervention that had saved the Narns during their first war with the
Centauri, and while reports of his more recent activities were highly
confidential, Smith had heard rumours of skirmishes with the Streibs and
Drakh.

"Launch all remaining Starfury squadrons," came Ryan's order over a coded
channel.  Two of the Babylon's four squadrons had been launched already,
upon arrival at the station, and the other two were held in strict readi-
ness.  Something similar would have been done on board the other ships. 
Smith gave the order.

"Do not engage unless we are attacked first," Ryan ordered.  "Repeat... do
not engage unless engaged.  If conflict does begin, targets are: the
destruction of Sheridan's ship, no survivors taken or mercy offered; the
disabling or destruction of the Alliance ships, with survivors taken on
board and treated well; and attacks on the station are to be directed at
weaponry and Starfuries only.  The destruction of the station should come
as a very last resort.

"Smith, how is our presence on the station?"

"Enough to hold the command deck, hopefully.  I ordered my men to secure
and control it, but whether it can be held is uncertain, sir."

"And Satai Delenn?"

"In custody, but on the station, sir.  I... thought it imprudent to bring
her on board the Babylon.  She has been here before after all... and there
may be sympathisers among my crew."

"Can your men guarantee that she will be kept safe on board the station?"

"Not for certain, sir."

"Damn!  You may have to answer for that, Smith, but there's nothing we can
do now.  It was your task to secure the station and placate the
ambassadors there, remember?

"Philby, what signs of activity from the planet?"

Smith closed his eyes and leant back heavily in his chair.  What Ryan had
said was true... he should have remained on the station, he should have
taken more security on board, and he should have brought Delenn to the
Babylon when he came.  But how could he tell Ryan just how much he had
been haunted by Sheridan ever since taking over this post?  How could he
explain how much humanity he had seen in Delenn's deep green eyes?  How
could he...?

He started a mere instant before Franklin looked up, speaking.  "Captain,
something's coming up from the planet.  It's..."

The ship rocked, shaking in a blast that seemed almost to tear it apart. 
Smith fell forward, his head smashing against his forward commpanel.  His
ears started ringing.  Desperately he scrambled to his feet, wiping away
the blood from his forehead and glancing at Franklin.

"What was that?"

"A missile of some sort... from the planet, somewhere below the surface."

"Something powerful enough to come from below the planet's surface... and
reach this high into orbit?  What sort of...?"  He grimaced, wincing as
his head pounded.  "What's our status?"

"Hull integrity pretty much intact, engines intact, jump engines at eighty
percent capacity... ship-to-ship communications are down entirely.  The
missile didn't impact on us, but it did send out some sort of pulse which
shut down the comm."

Smith sat back, trying to take it in.  "Are the sensors working?"  What
was happening?  The Machine was supposed to be under control.

"Yes... it looks like it anyway...  Captain, the Drazi ship has started
attacking the Corinthian!"

Smith closed his eyes and whispered a swift prayer.  "You heard the
General's orders, Lieutenant... we attack."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

This was not what Michael Garibaldi had been expecting when he arrived on
Babylon 4.  He remembered Bester's orders, as well as the manner in which
they had been delivered: cursory, peremptory, and to-the-point.

As he looked mutely at the scene before him, he began to feel very sick at
the thought that Bester might have been involved in this.  Garibaldi
recognised Donne, one of the Boss's favourite telepaths, given the plum
job of head of the embassy at Proxima.  She had been recalled from there
amidst much speculation.  Garibaldi now knew the reason for that move.

Everything fitted together too neatly.  All of it.  Sheridan's recall to
Sanctuary... the Boss's supposed 'illness' preventing him from being at
G'Kar's summit.

How long had the Boss been planning this?

Garibaldi tried to think, tried to recall the moment where things had
changed.  Bester had been kind and... his old self when Frank had been
born.  He had seemed almost... touched by the child.  He had also been
happy ever since his return from Proxima.  Few people knew the details,
but Garibaldi did know that he had brought someone back with him.

So when had he changed?  Perhaps it had always been like this, and he just
hadn't noticed before.

But still, it was hard to reconcile the Boss who had cried when holding a
newborn baby with the man who could so callously have ordered this great
betrayal.  Garibaldi looked on in stunned horror, unable to think or do
anything, while two Narns were tortured right in front of his eyes.

How am I going to tell Lianna what I saw here?  And Mary, she looks... I
don't know, but she can't have anything left in her stomach to throw up.

There was a sudden movement, and a loud scream that brought his mind back
to the scene at the Heart of the Machine.  The scream did not come from
either of the Narns, however, but from the other man there.

He was hovering in mid-air directly before Donne.  His arms and legs were
spreadeagled and his mouth was wide open in a silent scream.

"This Machine has so many attributes," Donne said, smiling.  "I'm so happy
it's finally sharing some of them with me.  Tell me, Number Two... did you
know that one of those attributes is enhanced telepathy?  I could read
your thoughts as if you were screaming them across the room at me.  Do you
think I'm a fool?"

"I...  I..."  He was trying to speak, but each time a word left his mouth
his body jerked and his next words were lost in choking fits.

"Telekinesis as well.  I was never able to master that art... it's a pity. 
I always felt I disappointed Al by not being a teek as well as a teep. 
But look at this, and without even trying...  This is a truly wonderful
device you have here, G'Kar.  You can't have been using the half of it."

"You... can... not..." the Narn rasped, but then his head fell forward.

"And you... thinking about killing me.  What's your name?  I can't just
put a number on your grave... assuming I give you one.  It will mess up my
records something chronic.  I do like to maintain a good inventory of my
victims."

"Put him down," cried the woman.  "This wasn't what we came here for!"

"What *you* came here for?  That hardly matters.  And if you want me to
put him down... I'll be happy to..."

Garibaldi saw what was coming next and closed his eyes in a hurry.  Mary
didn't, and he heard her scream as well as the damp sound of a falling
body.  When he opened his eyes again the mass on the floor did not look
like anything that had once been human.

"Murderer!" cried the woman, charging forward.  Donne smiled, and she fell
as if she had run directly into a brick wall.

"Why, yes, I am."

"You want me to kill her?" asked the Narn torturer.  He was covered in
blood, and was playing with a small ball in his right hand.  Garibaldi did
not want to think about what it was.

"No.  We'll save her for later."

The Narn nodded, and then looked up.  "One question.  You said you were
working out how to use that thing."  Donne signalled affirmation.  "Then
why am I torturing these two?"

"You looked to be having so much fun I didn't want to stop you.  Besides,
I'm enjoying watching you."

"Oh... well, that's good to know, at least.  How's the battle going up
there?"

"Ah... lots of people dying.  I think it's time they became aware of my
presence once more, don't you think?"

Garibaldi looked at her, and wanted to throw up.  He had never before seen
such evil in one form.  But there was something about her he couldn't
quite fathom.  Her eyes...

They were bleeding.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Great men, men such as history will revere forever, will remember with
words of hushed awe, will speak of with reverence, will even worship.

Am I such a man?  Is Sinoval?  Was Kalain?  Did greatness leave us forever
with Dukhat's death, or is this the emergence of a new age?  Just as Valen
heralded a thousand years ago, is the dawning of a new Minbar within
sight?

Sonovar straightened and turned as a figure arrived behind him.  Half-
expecting it to be Forell, he was ready with a sharp retort.  The priest-
ling had been... unnerving him recently.  Something about him felt wrong,
but his advice was sound, his presence a moral victory and his soul
possessed of a very warrior-like practicality.

It was not Forell, but someone he found much easier to tolerate.  Ironic,
wasn't it?  That the leader of one third of the Minbari Federation found
more kinship with an alien whose race was banished by Valen long ago than
with one of his own people.

"Ramde Haxtur," he said, making the ritual gesture of greeting.  An
archaic motion, now practised only by some of the more traditional priest-
lings.  There was much about the Tak'cha that was archaic, though, and
Sonovar saw fit to acknowledge the beliefs of his allies.  "How goes the
attack?"

"We report that all is as you wished, Zaron'darr."  Sonovar noted the
title.  He had never heard it before, and had no idea what it meant.  The
Ramde's tone, however, indicated that it was one deserving of respect. 
"The rebel leaders have been defeated and punished for their sins."

"Already?  Faster than I had anticipated."

Haxtur looked pleased.  "Thank you, Zaron'darr.  We act with the strength
the Z'ondarr once praised in our people.  They have not followed your
crusade, and therefore they have rejected the will of the Z'ondarr.  As
such they deserved punishment."

"Indeed, Ramde.  I thank you for informing me."

"Then you will go there now?"

"Yes.  They have to see, and know who it was who did this to them.  They
also have to see that I can be merciful.  Your men did only attack
military and Government targets?"

"Of course.  They obey my orders, which are your orders, and thus, the
Z'ondarr's will."

"Of course they do.  They are to be commended for their skill.  Now,
Ramde, it is time to show them to whom their loyalties must now belong. 
They have erred once in agreeing to serve a weak and traitorous Govern-
ment, and that is only mortal.  I will give them a chance to change their
allegiances.  To reject me again, however, would be treason itself, and
for that..."

"Death.  Never let it be said that we are not merciful, Zaron'darr."

"Indeed not."  Sonovar imagined the planet nearby, and his soul felt the
presence of the two he sought.  "And also... they are there.  Sinoval's
servants.  I will find them, and..."  He left it hanging.

Haxtur bowed, and left.  He understood completely.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Parmenion swept forward, making for the nearest enemy ship, the
Marten.  Left broadsides fired, striking the newest of the human ships
across its dark and glistening hull.  The Marten turned, looking predat-
ory, almost alive, as it did so.  Its eerily organic surface seemed to
gleam.

"Looks a bit familiar, doesn't it?" asked Commander Corwin, looking at his
Captain.  Sheridan's eyes were dark, his expression hard.  Both of them
had seen such augmented ships at Minbar, but the Marten was more advanced
than either the Morningstar or the Corinthian.  It appeared that the
engineers were perfecting the process.

"What are they doing to our ships?" Sheridan asked.  "People like us are
having to work and live inside that thing."  He remembered all too well
the mental screams of the true Shadow ships as they flew overhead.  He
wondered if these ships screamed as well.

The Marten fired, and the Parmenion rocked with the blast.

Sheridan staggered to his feet.  "That thing offends me.  Destroy it."

The Parmenion's Starfuries blazed forward, swarming over the mockery of a
human ship, raining their blasts upon it.  It seemed to have no Starfuries
of its own, but those from the Morningstar and the Babylon were rushing
forward to help out.

"Lyta," cried the Captain, "is there enough in that thing for you to block
out?"

"I... I don't know.  I'm trying."  The telepath appeared to be in agony. 
She was shaking and her face was very pale, especially compared to her
dark eyes.  These suddenly turned bright gold, a brilliant light that
engulfed the room, almost blinding the bridge crew.

"I can see it now," she said, in a voice not her own.  "I can see it..."

The Marten suddenly came to a halt.  The ship was screaming.

The Morningstar moved forward.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

They talked for hours, their words filling the air.  They walked through
the city together, he showing her the myriad wonders of this place of
hope.  It was a far cry from the blood and terror at Epsilon 3.

For him, for the Minbari prophet known as Valen, it was a chance to remem-
ber who he had been.  Jeffrey Sinclair was known to him only in a garbled
haze of memories, a brief flash here, a snatch of conversation there.  No
one had known Sinclair better than the woman he had loved, and walking
with her, talking with her, he came more to life within Valen than he had
ever been.

Perhaps that was the intention, a more paranoid and suspicious person than
he might have thought.

For her, it was a similar connection to something long lost.  Since the
fall of Earth she had been wandering, drifting aimlessly.  She had been
alive, but she had not been living.  Now she was.  She gave him comfort,
and was comforted by the very fact that she did so.

And something watching in the back of her mind welcomed the relationship.

They stopped just as dawn was breaking, finding themselves at a small site
set aside from the general flurry of construction and repair that marked
the city.  Valen gently stepped forward, and paused.

"What's this place?" Catherine asked, smiling.  "Where they're going to
put your statue?"

"No," he said softly.  "A shrine.  To all those who died here during the
invasion.  I wanted to show you this last of all.  This... all this...
everything I've shown you tonight, it was paid for with blood... so much
blood.  I don't think they told you that back on Proxima."

She shook her head.  "No.  No, the media was still heavily controlled by
the Wartime Emergency Provisions.  At IPX we heard a little more than
most, but... none of the true details.  Nothing..."  She bowed her head.

"Innocents.  Everything, no matter how great or how small, is paid for
with the blood of innocents.  We must make sure that their sacrifices are
never forgotten.  This place is a start, but only a start.  Tell me,
Catherine, what has the blood of all those who died at Earth bought for
our people?"

"I don't know," she said, shocked.

"Neither do I.  I would like very much to walk amongst my people once
more... one last time."

"Maybe you will be able to."

He shook his head.  "Footsteps in the sand, remember.  They are coming to
an end now.  Soon.  I can feel it.  I'm going to have to go back soon. 
And then I'll never see another human face.  I will be Minbari, once and
for always."

"Go away?  But Holy One, you..."  Both of them turned to see a young
Minbari slowly emerge from a side alley and walk towards them.  "I...
forgive me, Holy One.  I did not mean to alarm you.  I...  I just came
here to...  Forgive me.  I will leave."

"No," he said quickly.  "What is your name?"

"Findell, Holy One.  My... wife was killed on Minbar, and I brought our
daughter here... to be near to you, Holy One.  I could not follow the
Primarch, and I wanted to be with Delenn... and you..."

"Ah.  I see.  I am sorry, Findell, that I have not met you until now."

"Oh no, Holy One.  There is no need to be sorry.  It is... an honour..."

"The honour is mine.  How do you find this place, Findell?"

"It is... strange to my eyes, Holy One.  But there is much that is good
here.  I grieve only because it is not Minbar.  But our old way of life is
gone now, that I know.  And we will never be able to recover it."

"Never is a strong word, Findell, and you may yet see your home again.  As
will I.  You heard me correctly before.  I must leave here, travelling
beyond as I did before.  My... destiny compels me.  But just because I am
absent in body does not mean that I am absent in spirit.  I will always be
with my people, Findell.  Always."

"Then you will return again, Holy One?  When you are most needed?"

"I..."  Valen looked at the glowing, reverential eyes of his young compan-
ion and nodded.  "I will return when I am most needed.  But if my words
are never forgotten, then I will never truly have left."

"Of course, Holy One.  I understand.  I... thank you, Holy One."  Findell
bowed, stepped back and bowed again.  He then scurried away, back into the
streets.  Valen sighed.

"You really creep me out when you do that," Catherine noted.  "You sounded
almost Minbari for a minute."

"I am Minbari.  But I am human as well.  Two souls... in one body.  The
Vorlons did that to me."

"The... Vorlons.  Yes."

"But I have realised something.  Simply because they have manipulated me
for their own ends, that does not mean there is no good in what they have
done.  I may be their puppet, yes... but I can still help.  I can still
heal, I can still build, and pray, and fight.  Not everything they do is
wrong, Catherine, whatever some may say."  He paused, and looked at her
intently.  "I am not yet sure if what they did to you was wrong or not."

"I... what?  What do you...?  What do you mean?"

"I can see their mark on you.  It is so... bright.  At first I feared that
the Catherine I knew... once... was gone, but I do not fear that any more. 
You have returned to my life, Catherine, and for that I am grateful to
them."

"Ah...  I...  I don't..."  She trembled, and then straightened slightly. 
"What are you going to do now?"

"Whatever their plans for you, and for me... it does not matter. 
Events... elsewhere are running away from them.  From all of them.  I will
be here for a few more days at most.  Then... I will have to pass beyond
again.  And this time, I know I will not be able to return."

"How do you know this?"

He smiled, and pointed up towards the sky.  "They're coming for me.  I can
feel them."

And for the second time in this world's history, a Vorlon ship arrived at
Kazomi 7.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She could see it all now... weaponry, defences, knowledge... the histories
of centuries come and gone, of decades yet to be...  All of it was hers,
save for that one little part blocked off from her eyes and mind.  She did
not know what it was that could be hidden from her like this, but she did
know that it was the greatest power of the Machine, and she was determined
to find it.

"Tell me!" she screamed.  "Tell me!"

G'Kar could not hear her.  He was still, perhaps dead, she did not know. 
She supposed she could ask, but a part of her did not want to make the
effort.  G'Kar's servant, Ta'Lon... he was still awake, whispering some-
thing in his own language.  The Machine did contain translation devices -
she could sense them, literally within sight - but they did not interest
her.

"What is he saying?" she asked.  Her voice sounded strange to her.

Tu'Pari looked up.  She could see him there, his every thought laid out
before her.  He was steeped in blood even as much as she, but he did not
possess her strength.  He was only a mundane.  His whole race were only
mundanes.

"He is praying," came a calm, matter of fact reply.  "He is calling upon
G'Quan to grant him strength in protection of his lord."

"Is that likely to happen?"

Tu'Pari chuckled.  "I very much doubt it."

One of the mundanes at the far end of the room stepped forward.  The man. 
She had known his name once, she was sure, but could she still remember
it?  She trawled through his thoughts, ripping into memories and ideas as
casually as she would flick through an address book.  Lianna...? 
Frank...?  Garibaldi!  Of course.  She knew him now.  She had no idea who
those other names belonged to, but they hardly mattered.

"Look, Donne... this is taking things a bit far.  I can't believe the Boss
authorised this.  Why don't you... just... give him a call at Sanctuary? 
I'm sure that machine can do that."

The Boss?  Al!  Alfred Bester!  Yes.  She was... meant to... do some-
thing... tell him something...  It couldn't have been important.

"I will do as I please.  You live by my sufferance, mundane.  Don't forget
that.  You..."  Her attention was diverted by the sound of G'Kar coughing. 
"Tu'Pari, wake him up!"

The assassin nodded and pulled out a small vial from a pocket of his
tunic.  Applying its contents to a cloth, he held it to G'Kar's face and
pressed it against the fresh, deep wound across his cheek.

The prophet screamed as his body spasmed, forcing him back into conscious-
ness.

"What is the secret, Narn?" she asked.  "Tell me!"

"You... are doing... more harm... than you know...  Give... up... the...
Machine..."

She laughed.  "Give up all this?  Tu'Pari, you've obviously damaged his
mind somehow with those knives of yours.  G'Kar... tell me or..."  She
smiled.  "They're fighting above our heads, you know... fighting for
control of this planet, this Machine... and your precious station...  So
many people... so many to kill.  I must confess, my experiences of killing
are usually one on one.  I've never done anything like this before.

"Tell me, Narn."

"No..."

"Then I'll kill them all!"  Oblivious to the blood pouring from her eyes,
her nose, her mouth, Donne threw back her head and sent instantaneous
thought-messages to the Machine that engulfed her.

Missiles shot forth from the belly of the planet, seeking the warring
factions above.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

What have they done to my city?

Londo Mollari loved Centauri Prime.  He loved the capital.  He loved the
Court, the temples, the offices, the libraries, the barracks buildings. 
He loved every street, every corner, every alley.  He had spent the best
part of his life there and there was nowhere he would rather be.

Words did not exist to describe his sadness as the transport flew over the
city.

He had been in touch with his agents in the capital for some time and they
had reported that matters there were bad, but he would never in a million
years have believed it was this bad.

Buildings burned, the Guard - the Royal Guard - were fighting each other
in the streets.  Shops were being looted, people cut down, children
murdered, women raped...  The whole city seemed to have gone insane.

Great Maker, what have we done?  Malachi, what have you done?  Can any
power be worth this?

His nephew was there somewhere.  Carn.  Londo had sent him to manipulate
the factions, to make things easier for when they needed to push north and
take the capital.  All those machinations seemed so hollow now.  Where was
Carn?  A victim of this insanity?  Or a part of it?

The flyer docked at the heliport and Londo disembarked with Lennier.  This
was where Malachi had said he would meet them.

"Stay here as long as you can," Londo instructed the pilot.  Clearly
afraid, the pilot nodded.

"What have they done to my city?" he asked, looking about him.  The
heliport was largely untouched, but the glow from the fires was bright and
the screams of the victims could be heard even here.  They were on the
outskirts of the city.  Perhaps the rioters had simply not yet reached
this far.

"There is a madness here.  Something... someone perhaps, is affecting
their minds."  Lennier was looking around distastefully.  Those were the
first words Londo could recall him saying since they had left Remarin.

"Then why are we not affected?"

"Perhaps we are too strong for it?  Perhaps you are anyway.  I... can feel
it there.  It is close, but... my meditations will protect me."

"That is reassuring," came the sarcastic reply, but his heart was not
really in it.  His Minbari friend was hiding something, but he did not
press him on it.  Lennier had earned his privacy.  "What will protect me? 
Large amounts of bravari, perhaps?"

"Your faith," came the simple reply.

"Faith and I parted ways a long time ago."

Lennier only nodded in reply.  He looked distracted.

A few minutes later a squad of guardsmen appeared, walking towards them. 
Londo stiffened, and Lennier stepped in front of him, adopting a fighting
stance.  The guards stopped a fair distance away.

"Governor Mollari," said the leading guard, "we are to escort you to your
meeting with First Minister Malachi.  Please hurry.  The streets are not
safe."

"I noticed.  But would I be any safer with you?"

The guard seemed insulted.  "My orders are to escort you to the First
Minister, and that is what I will do.  He intended to meet you here, but
conditions have worsened since he last spoke with you and he fears to
travel the streets.  We will provide a safe escort for you and your
companion."  Londo hesitated, and the guard continued.  "He also said, if
you proved suspicious, to remind you of your shoes.  He hopes they are not
too tight any more."

Londo relaxed.  "Well, that means at least that you came from Malachi
himself.  Stand down, Lennier.  We will go with these men."  He went back
to the flyer and turned to the pilot.

"Take up a safe position some distance from here.  Come back and check
this place every hour, on the hour.  If we are not here in six hours, then
leave and tell the Government at Selini that we are lost."

"Yes, Governor."

Londo turned back to his escort.  "Merely a precaution.  Well, then,
Captain... let us go."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *



From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 5B
Date: Mon, 15 Feb 1999 19:43:49 +0000



She has seen death, too much death.  She has known war, far too much of
it.  She has stood, high and imperious, as others bled and fought and died
in her name.  She has tried to renounce these old ways and embrace a new
path, but conflict seems to follow the fallen Satai Delenn wherever she
goes.

She remembers the title she gave to Captain Smith.  Zha'valen.  Outcast. 
A shadow upon Valen.  She has not thought of that title in months, not
since she took on a new position of power, one which she swore not to
abuse in the way she had the last.

And yet she has brought her people, her followers, her friends, and the
man she loves above all else, to this place... and the war seems to have
followed them.

Her incarceration in the brig had been short-lived, as some of G'Kar's
Narn Rangers had managed to free her within hours.  The fighting for the
station had been brief, but bloody.  Captain Smith had left many of his
Security officers here, and Delenn had no doubt they were trained to the
pinnacle of human efficiency.  But this was not their home, they did not
believe as the Narns did, they had not been trained to give their lives
for the greater good, as the Narns had...

They were not Rangers.

Looking at them, talking to them, being with them, Delenn felt a brief
surge of pride.  These were truly as the Rangers of old, of Valen's day. 
She and those like her might have failed in their duties, but the gauntlet
had been picked up, and was being wielded with the iron glove of a warrior
and the open palm of the peacemaker.

But for all the pride she felt, there was an equal amount of guilt.  The
gauntlet should never have been thrown down in the first place, to be
picked up by G'Kar.  How different would things have been if the sin of
pride had never overtaken her people?

She walked on to the command deck of the station, to find Lethke already
there.  He turned to greet her, and managed a faint smile.  "Delenn... it
is good to see you are safe."

"Are any of us truly safe?  How is it going?"

"Ah, I chose to study economics rather than warfare, and so I can't really
say.  The odds, however, look to be against us.  Taan Churok has taken his
personal flyer and is joining our ships, but... there seems to be rather a
lot of them."

"Anything from the planet?"

"No.  Not a word.  I fear it has been compromised."

Delenn closed her eyes, and thought of G'Kar... warrior and peacemaker in
one.  If he had fallen, then...  No.  Time for doubts later.  She knew
full well the importance of this place, and just how much it had to be
protected.

She turned to the leader of the Rangers who had rescued her.  "Ja'Doc, how
much control do we have over the weapons?"

"All we need."

"Good... we have to try to take out the weapons systems of the enemy
ships.  Drive them away if possible.  Is... is the weaponry here capable
of doing that?"

"Babylon Four was built as a place of war just as much as a place of
peace.  We can do that."

Delenn nodded and smiled, noting that some of the Rangers were already on
post.  She did not involve herself, but she did walk to the front of the
control room, the better to see the state of the battle, and those who
were dying.

Ja'Doc barked out something in his own language.  He was evidently
concerned.  Delenn was about to ask him what he had discovered, when she
suddenly realised she did not need to.

There was a blur of light, streaking towards the Brakiri ship.  Before her
eyes it exploded in a brilliant burst of flame, the hull torn apart, the
engines bursting into flames, the entire ship consumed in the space of a
few seconds.

Lethke cried out and turned away, reeling.

"What was that?" Delenn asked, unable to comprehend what she had just
seen.

"From the planet," said Ja'Doc.  "From the... Machine."

Delenn trembled and fell back against the wall.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

>From Selini, the soldiers moved.  North, across the sea, on a mission of
mercy and salvation, to the aid of their people on the mainland.

Sphodria, a port city.  A vibrant place of trade, a cosmopolitan town
where few looked out of place.  Records had once put the alien population
of Sphodria at thirty-nine percent, more than twice that of any other city
save the capital.  None of them was here now, everyone who could having
left before things got this bad.

The soldiers arrived from Selini by airship, flyer and boat, moving
through the city, establishing order and peace wherever they went.  Had
they been a few hours earlier they might have had more effect, but they
were still the only hand reaching out to the city in this dark hour.

They found the Shadow Criers, lunatics crying of the coming Darkness. 
Those they found, they killed.  Some surrendered after the first shot,
pitifully begging for mercy on bended knees.  Others stood staring at the
soldiers, began to laugh, and lit the torch to burn their physical shells. 
Those who could be taken alive were imprisoned swiftly.  Trials could
wait.

The hospitals were secured and the surviving staff rescued.  Medical staff
from Selini were rushed in quickly and tried to deal with the wounded and
dying as best they could.  The numbers needing help were overwhelming.

Two hours after entering the city Lord-General Marrago stood in the
Governor's house, looking at the mess of flesh and bone that had once been
the Governor's wife, children and servants.  The body of the Governor
himself had been outside the house.

*The Darkness is coming.*

The words had been written countless times on the walls, on the floor, the
furniture.  Marrago felt those words, and shivered.

Then, the city in reasonable peace and order, Marrago handed it over to
the captain of the Selini Governor's Guard, and took half of the occupying
soldiers north-west, making for the heartland, and Gallia.  That city
needed their help as well.

The entire planet needed their help.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lyta Alexander screamed as the golden light engulfed her.  The cries of
the Brakiri and human and Drazi and Narn dying echoed in her mind, but
rising above them all were the sonorous tones of the Vorlon, reminding her
of the necessity of her role, and the need to protect this place.

Her will stopped the Marten head on, paralysing the vessel.  Captain
Walker Smith shouted furiously at his technicians and engineers, but they
could do nothing.  The only beings on the ship with the knowledge to
correct the block were paralysed themselves, the instructions of their
Keepers shut out by Lyta's telepathic pulse.

The Parmenion swept down on the Marten and with swift, measured shots,
blasted away both broadside cannon, front and aft weaponry and as much of
the jump engines as they could.  Then, leaving the beautiful, terrifying
ship dead in space, they moved on.

On a smaller scale the Starfuries clashed, human against human, perhaps
friend against friend.  Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally guided the
Starfury squadrons from the Parmenion against those of the Corinthian and
Morningstar.  Thankfully those from the Babylon were largely engaged in
skirmishing with those from the station.  She did not think she could have
borne fighting them.  The face of her father ever before her, she pressed
onwards.

On board the Babylon, Captain Dexter Smith could feel the ghost in his
chair very close to him, as he tried to manouevre his ship into a position
to meet the Parmenion.  Elsewhere on the bridge, Lieutenant Stephen
Franklin was not displeased that they were not able to do so yet.

Taan Churok and his Drazi companions rained devastating blows on the
Corinthian, only to be met with equal and more savage response.

>From the surface of Epsilon 3, terrifying weapons of mass destruction
soared into space.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She slept without dreams, for the first time she could remember since
Kalain and the Council.  No dreams of pain, of him mocking her and her
caste.  No dreams of Sinoval, or Kozorr, the two truest friends she had
ever had in her life.

No dreams at all.

Until she was awoken.

Sonovar strode past the cringing wounded as if they were not there.  To
him they truly were not.  Workers, mostly, priestlings, some... a warrior
here and there.  Not a true warrior, but an aspirant to that title.  He
was somehow disappointed, but then he remembered that Tarolin 2 had sur-
vived the war more or less intact, a survival brought about by cowardice,
deception and weakness.  They had joined Sinoval for the same reason.

Unfortunately that meant that most of those here were guilty only of
cowardice, not treason.  Still, when fate took him to Owari and the other
worlds Sinoval claimed, the situation would be very different.  True
warriors at last.

Someone stepped forward to meet him, a man wearing the brown smock of a
worker.  He actually dared to meet Sonovar's eyes, and although he was
obviously afraid, he stood and spoke anyway.  Sonovar found himself liking
this man.

"We are a hospital here.  We care for the wounded only.  We mean you no
harm.  We mean harm to no one."

"You build, yes?  We fight, and they pray, and you build.  Tell me,
worker, which path is strongest, do you think?"

The worker cringed, but Sonovar had to admit he would look frightening to
such a man.  As well as two of Kalain's former Grey Council beside him,
there were three Tak'cha, glaring around angrily at those they saw as
having denied Valen's will.  They probably *had* denied Valen's will, but
they had also denied Sonovar's will, and that was more serious.

"We mean you no harm, lord," the worker said hesitantly.  "There is no
reason for you to... harm us in return."

"The way of the river, hmm?  You flow through life, passively accepting
what is thrown at you, what lands on you, accepting it all into your soul. 
You bring life to the land, and harm no one and nothing."  Sonovar smiled. 
"Does it surprise you that I know worker philosophy?  I have read the
works of your poets, your dreamers...  I know your caste as well as any. 
You see, I am a student of all aspects of our race... which makes me fit
to lead you.

"Now, where is Kats, of your caste, a traitor to our race?  I...
discovered that she was brought here.  Where is she?"

She awoke at the sound of her name, uttered in a voice she took to be
Kalain's.  Disorientation and surprise took her and she stirred, looking
around at her surroundings.

"We... we have no one of that name here, lord.  Perhaps... perhaps...
somewhere... else?"

Sonovar's eyes darkened.  "I like you, little man, but never forget that
you are a little man.  I, on the other hand, dare to consider myself a
great man, and do you know one of the symptoms of a great man?"  The
worker shook his head.  "Neither do I.  No one can.  But... to refer to a
mark of a great leader, then I refer to you the words of Valen himself."

A quick gesture and his warriors picked out a wounded patient at random. 
Sonovar turned to look at the figure as she was brought forward.  A
priestling, her leg broken.  Her eyes were glazed, the evidence of some
drug in her.  Sonovar supposed it was better that she was drugged.  It
added to the power of what he was about to do.

"A great general..."  He raised his fighting pike and extended it,
enjoying the worker's dawning horror.  "A great general will never give an
order to his men that he will not carry out himself."

A blur of movement, and the priestling woman fell, her skull crushed. 
There were cries of shock from those conscious enough to witness the act. 
He felt no satisfaction in them.

"We mean you no harm," the worker cried.  "Please, lord... there is no
need..."

"Kats.  Where is she?  Tell me, or another will die, and then another. 
The dying stops when I find her.  I mean you no harm, little man, but I
will not be stopped in this.  Another mark of a great general... doing
whatever is necessary to finish the task."

Kats heard the cries of shock, and tried to rise.  She heard her name
spoken again, and Sonovar's threat.

"Very well, then.  Another, if you please."  Another was brought forward,
a warrior this time.  She glared at him with a fierce anger that made him
smile with pride.  "If the Lady Kats does not appear for me now, then this
one will die."

He waited, and Kats began to scramble forward.  She tried to speak, but
the words would not emerge.  She could sense Kalain before her, laughing
again.  Visions of Sonovar mocking her at his side plagued her, but she
kept moving.

Sonovar raised his pike.

Her wounds were burning, and blood still stained her robe.  She felt so
heavy, her body so cumbersome.

Sonovar paused to look into the eyes of the warrior he was about to kill.

"Stop!" Kats cried at last.  She stood before him.  "I am here."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

A brilliant burst of light, and thousands of tiny, unheard screams marked
the end of the Corinthian, blown apart in one shining moment of madness,
and an arrogant, oh-so-terrible power.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Michael Garibaldi knew that something was very very wrong, and he knew
that the Boss was involved in it.  What he did not know was how he would
explain this to Lianna, how he would tell his son, how he could look at
his friends knowing that he had been a part of this.

Donne now looked awful.  Her black Psi Corps uniform was soaked in her
blood.  Scarlet tears were dripping down her face, blood was spilling from
her mouth.

"What is it doing?" she cried out, crimson spittle flying from her lips. 
"What is it...?"

"It is rejecting you," whispered G'Kar hoarsely.  "It is..."

"I'm going to burn everything you ever cared for, you smug Narn bastard! 
Tu'Pari, kill the other one.  Cut his throat out.  Soak the bastards in
his blood.  Do..."  She coughed, and her body trembled.  "What is it
doing?"

Tu'Pari raised his knife, and turned the prone Ta'Lon over.  The Ranger's
face was a mass of bleeding tissue, especially his left eye.  Now that
Garibaldi could see what had been done to it, he felt like retching.  He
didn't.  He had to remain clear-headed.  What was being done here was
wrong.  Very wrong, and it was coming to an end.  If he didn't do
something now...

Tu'Pari placed his knife on Ta'Lon's throat.

Garibaldi started forward, charging at the two Narns.  He had no weapon,
but he had to do what he could.

A solid wall of nothingness appeared before him.  He ran into it and fell
sprawling, only partly conscious.  "Naughty, naughty," whispered Donne. 
"I can read your mind, remember.  You're working for Al, so I suppose I
shouldn't kill you... but maybe I will..."  She coughed again, her body
shaking.

The ground beneath them shook, and everything happened at once.

Tu'Pari plunged his dagger downwards.  Ta'Lon's hand shot upwards and
wrenched the blade from his hands.

Susan Ivanova staggered to her feet, voices crying out in her mind.

Something burst at the back of Donne's brain.  The Machine rejected her
physical body as it had long ago rejected her soul, and she fell from it,
dead before she hit the ground.

The planet rumbled.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It had turned.  Captain Dexter Smith could see that.  The Marten was
disabled, the Corinthian gone, the Morningstar sorely pressed, the station
lost, and the Machine...

He sat back in his chair, the chair that had marked out his ghost for the
past year.  That spectre had now finished any hope for success in this
mission.

"God forgive me," he whispered.

"Babylon... this is Ryan.  Do you read me?"  The voice over the comm
channel was filled with desperation.  He knew it as well.  The battle was
lost.

"Babylon here," Smith replied.  "Get out of here, General.  It's over. 
Try to free up the Marten and leave."

"Negative, Babylon... we have to fight on."

"It's over, General.  We've lost.  Don't let this defeat become a disas-
ter.  We've recovered from worse than this.  We'll be back."

Smith could imagine Ryan's expression, a terrified resignation, a slow
nod, an acceptance that the words he was hearing were true.  "Confirmed,
Babylon.  The Marten has managed to fix up engines, but not yet weaponry. 
It can leave.  A full retreat.  Repeat, we..."

"I'll stay here, General.  I'll cover your escape."

"But Captain..."

"You know what will happen to me if I go back, General.  I'll hold them
off long enough for the two of you to get out of here.  Go!"

"Understood, Babylon.  Good luck."

Duty.  Duty and leadership.  Smith knew he owed a duty to those under his
command, to those he had betrayed with his pride and tunnel vision.  Too
obsessed with Sheridan to safeguard properly the station or the planet.

He had to redeem himself, first to his fellow captains, and then to those
under his command.  They would be safe, he would ensure it.  He would buy
their safety with his own life.

He looked at Franklin, and bowed his head sadly.

"Take us forward.  Cover them."

He shook as he heard the reply.  "Yes, sir."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"The Darkness is coming!  The Darkness is coming!  You can feel it, you
can hear it, you will embrace it so that it may claim you...  The Darkness
is coming!"

Londo grimaced and put his hands against his ears.  "Will that person shut
up?"

He had no idea who it was who was talking.  The person in the next cell
presumably.  Or the one down.  Or across the corridor perhaps.

He had no idea where Lennier was.  He had no idea where Malachi was
either.  He had not managed to see his old friend, and he was still no
nearer the answers to his questions.  He was however much nearer his
execution.

"Londo," had exclaimed the smiling countenance of Lady Elrisia.  "Such a
pleasure."  Cartagia was next to her.  "Imagine our surprise at hearing
you were coming here.  Imagine our... pleasure."

"I need to see Malachi."

"He is ill," Elrisia had said with considerable satisfaction.  "Very sad
of course, but then he is an old man.  The... rigours of recent months are
bound to have taken their toll on him."

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing.  Yet.  We don't need to.  You see, Londo, I've learned a great
deal about politics recently.  You, and that dear, dead husband of mine
taught me a lot, and the main thing you taught me was that power comes
from the top.  Everyone else is scrambling around trying to get hold of
bits and pieces at the side, working from the bottom up... but we... we
just went straight for the heart.  We control the Court now - the Court,
the guards, most of the Centarum, and now you."

"Then why have you not been doing anything?  For the Emperor's sake,
Elrisia... look outside!  The city is burning...  The Empire is burning! 
Why are you not doing anything?"

"Far better to let it burn, and then pick up the ashes... don't you
think?"

Londo stood alone in his dark cell, remembering that conversation;
remembering the eyes of his old friend, so very old; remembering the light
touch of his wife; remembering the glee in Elrisia's expression; and
remembering above all the sight of his beloved city in flames.

"The Darkness is coming!"

No, Londo decided.  The Darkness is here.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

With a strength born from suffering, Ta'Lon knocked Tu'Pari aside.  The
assassin fell sprawling and tried to roll over and up to his feet.  The
Ranger was too fast for him, however, darting forward and charging into
him.  Blows rained down on Tu'Pari's face.

Tu'Pari had served with the Thenta Ma'Kur for many years, and it had
taught him a great deal about the art of killing, but that was killing by
stealth, through secrecy, the thin blade in the night, the poison in the
wine cup.

Ta'Lon had been forged in the fires of war and occupation.  He had wan-
dered, rootless and without direction, until he had met G'Kar, and then he
had gained a purpose.  He had been trained in war and fighting as well as
in many of the same skills as Tu'Pari, but there was one crucial
difference.

Ta'Lon believed, and that belief gave him the force to survive, to
prevail, and to triumph.

He rose above the assassin, lifted Tu'Pari's head, and dashed it to the
ground.

There was a crack as his neck broke.

"Ta'Lon," breathed G'Kar's hoarse voice.  "Help... me... up...  The...
Machine..."

"You cannot, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Ta'Lon replied as he tried to limp
forward.  The ground beneath them was shaking and trembling.  The planet
itself seemed to be in revolt.

"You are too weak, Ha'Cormar'ah.  You... need to..."  Ta'Lon swayed and
almost fell.  "You... must..."

"The Machine needs me!  It... needs..."

Garibaldi stood up.  He seemed strangely centred, all his problems falling
away.  "You need someone in that thing?  I'll do it."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Somewhere... in a place unvisited by any human, unknown to all of the
younger races, two Vorlons were speaking, in a conversation that was not
carried out in words...

*The bargain?*

*I remember.  I will comply.*

*We were not ready.*

*You were ready.  Who else could have done this?*

*We knew nothing.  We do not control all the mortals.*

*You control enough.*

*The bargain?*

*I remember.  I am going.  All will be done as it was done.  He will
accomplish his destiny.  The past will be served, and all hope for the
future will be lost.*

*The future is ours.*

*And the past is ours.  A fair trade.*

*And your fate?*

*I remember.  I accept.*

*Good.*

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"The Shadows are coming.  The Shadows are coming.  The Shadows are coming. 
The Shadows are coming."

Susan Ivanova began to stir from her torpor, the instructions in her mind
becoming clear again.

"The Shadows are coming.  The Shadows are coming."

A part of her that had been lost for so long began to return.  She knew
what must be done, and what part she would play in it.

"The Shadows are coming."


To be continued...

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 6A
Date: Mon, 22 Feb 1999 19:45:13 +0000



                   Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand
                    
Hi people, and here we go again.

All stories thus far written in the A Dark, Distorted Mirror saga are 
fully available on the website at:
http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk
Stories will be put up there in complete chunks, once each story is 
finished, so A Line in the Sand itself isn't up there yet, but will 
be soon. Also, the stories on the website have, in some cases been 
lightly rewritten after publication on the Creative List. Nothing 
major or significant in any case, just a little minor tweaking, 
clarification, and an attempt to avoid confusion over the names of 
several very minor Centauri characters.

Anyway, feel free to get back to either me or the editor with 
comments about the site, and I hope you all like it.

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

Personal Disclaimer: Hopeless romantic, not nice hopeless romantic, 
who said anything about a happy ending yadda yadda yadda.

This story does contain Spoilers for the episodes War Without End and 
the comic book mini-series In Valen's Name.

And on with the show...

* * * * *

Chapter Four - A Line in the Sand, Part 6A of 8
by Gareth Williams (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


There were times, he knew, when every soldier thought about death.  How it
would come, where, when, what would he have done just before?  Would he
have remembered to say goodbye, or would the thought simply have slipped
his mind?

Captain Dexter Smith found himself wondering who there was he could have
said goodbye to.  Other than his crew there was no one, and his crew was
here with him.  They knew the situation as well as he did.  They knew how
his haste and foolishness had betrayed them all and brought them to this. 
Brought them to their deaths.

He had managed to save the other ships though.  That was something.  The
Morningstar and the Marten had gone, the energy from their jump points
just fading.  Smith stood alone, staring out at the ranks of his enemies -
the Parmenion and the Starkiller, the Drazi ships, the station itself, and
whoever now ruled supreme on the planet below.

He wanted to say that he was sorry, but the words would not come, and he
was not sure if anyone would listen.  He found himself thinking, almost
absurdly, of Lieutenant Stoner.  He had always believed he would see her
again one day.  An absurd notion.  She had betrayed him after all, him and
every one on board this ship.  Still, he had wanted to see her.

"What's their status?" he asked Franklin.  Franklin had been on this ship
longer than Smith himself had.  He had been here in the days of Sheridan,
whose ghost hovered even nearer than it had before.

"They're not attacking.  The Parmenion is approaching slowly with gun
ports open, but they do not seem to be powering up.  The other ships are
holding back.  There's no sign of any further activity from the planet."

Smith nodded, sitting back.  Sheridan then.  Fitting enough that he'd want
to end this.

"A message is coming through, Captain," said Franklin.  "It's... it's from
Captain Sheridan."

Smith's mouth felt very dry.  "Put... put him on."  He closed his eyes,
and pressed his hands together as if in prayer.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the EAS Parmenion, to the Babylon and its
captain.  You are alone and outnumbered.  Surrender now, and we will spare
you."

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the Babylon.  I demand an amnesty for my
crew."  It seemed so easy to say it now.  It was simply what had to be
done.  He had got his crew into this, and now he would have to get them
out.  "A complete amnesty and the right to return to Proxima Three
unharmed."

"You're in no position to make any demands at all, Captain."

"Nevertheless, those are my conditions.  Such an amnesty would not extend
to myself of course.  I... I will agree to stand trial and submit to
whatever fate you see fit so long as my crew are permitted to leave."

"Captain!" breathed Franklin, but Smith silenced him.  There really was no
other option.

"I see," said Sheridan.  "Well then, Captain, I cannot promise to accept
your offer, but I will speak on your behalf to others.  You have my word
on that."

"Well then.  It seems that is all I can ask for.  The Babylon stands
down."

"Prepare to be boarded, and we will escort you to Babylon Four."

Smith nodded and began to give the necessary orders.  His bridge crew
carried them out in stunned silence.  He did not look at them as they did
so.  He could not bear to see their faces, knowing his fate to come.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Some words, once spoken, can never be taken back.  Some offers, once made,
can never be withdrawn.  Michael Garibaldi, staring at the scenes of
carnage before him, knew that he had made just such an offer.

"You want someone to go in that thing?  I'll do it."

There was silence as he looked at the few people still alive and conscious
in the room.  G'Kar, the Narn who had previously occupied the Heart of the
Great Machine, was leaning heavily against his servant Ta'Lon, who was
himself covered with blood.  The mass of torn tissue around Ta'Lon's eye
seemed a mark of his inner strength.  Dr. Kirkish, her face pale, was
swallowing harshly, trying to speak perhaps, but unable to do so.

The first to speak was in fact none of those, but a strange, clicking
voice just out of sight.  "Yes.  Good good.  Enter.  Hurry.  We be having
very little of time.  Well, what Zathras mean to say is that time is,
infinite of course.  Hah yes, infinite.  Everyone knows that.  Zathras
knows that.  But... ah... Zathras forget what he be saying.  Ah, cannot
have been important."

"Zathras," G'Kar breathed.  "I thought that she...  We... thought..."  He
coughed.

"You be thinking Zathras being dead.  Ah no.  Zathras not as easy to kill
as some think.  Zathras is hiding.  Zathras be hiding himself when nasty
telepath woman was distracted, yes.  Zathras very smart.  Yes.  Well, no. 
Ah, does not matter.  Zathras know just what to do."

"Where are you?" G'Kar asked.

There was a motion from within the cryogenic storage box that had brought
Susan Ivanova down to the planet.  The box was shaking a little, and there
was a sound of banging from within.  Finally the lid slid back and a
small, rodent-like alien scurried free.  Garibaldi had met Zathras before,
several times, always assuming this was the same Zathras of course.

"See.  Zathras know when hide.  Is why Zathras still alive."  He looked up
at the empty Heart, and then at the body on the floor next to it.  "Yes. 
Is not good to leave Machine empty for too long.  Bad things happen then. 
Very bad things.  Much badness.  Great deal of badness will happen."

"Yeah, yeah," Garibaldi said.  "We get the idea.  Look, G'Kar, you can't
get in there at the moment, right."

The Narn tried to rise, but was quite unable to get to his feet.  "No, he
cannot," said Ta'Lon.  "The Machine requires... great strength, which
unfortunately neither the Ha'Cormar'ah nor I can manage at the moment."

"So let me do it.  Look, someone's got to take over that thing, and we've
no idea what things are like up on the station."

"But... Michael," Mary said at last.  "What about Lianna?  What would she
say if she were here?"

"Oh, look, it's not going to be forever.  I'll... do what I have to for
the moment, wait for G'Kar to get better, and then I'll hand it back to
him.  No problem.  Besides... sometimes, I've just... got to do what's
right.  I hope my son understands that one day.  You've got to do what's
right.

"Anyway, there's nothing to worry about.  I won't need to be in there
forever.  You'll be able to take it back later, won't you, G'Kar?"

The Narn bowed his head.  "Yes," he said softly.

"Good.  Is decided.  Hurry hurry."

Garibaldi nodded and stepped forward, looking down at Donne's body
uncomfortably.  "Uh... it won't do to me what it did to her, will it?"

"No no," Zathras said.  "She... very bad person.  Use Machine wrongly. 
Machine not like that.  You use Machine well, Machine like you."

"Okay... what do I do?"

"Step... inside," G'Kar coughed.  "Open your mind to it... let it...
instruct you."

"Uh... all right."  He stepped inside and felt a great warmth embrace him. 
He reached up with his arms and tried to open his mind, as G'Kar had
instructed.  As he did so, he caught Mary's eyes.  They were angry and
accusing, but above all, resigned.

"Are you sure it's working?  Nothing seems to be..."  His mind filled with
light.

"Whoa!"

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo Mollari took little satisfaction in his current situation, but the
one small ray of hope he could find was the knowledge that his campaign
would not fall with him.  Between them Marrago, Durano, Virini and dear
Timov could continue, and somehow bring this planet and their race back
from the brink of disaster.

That was one small gleam of optimism.  It was not much, but in a situation
like this a man took whatever he could get.

He wondered how long he had been imprisoned.  There was no light in his
cell, and no way to measure the passage of time accurately.  That was part
of the point of course.  He tried to remember the hour it had been when he
had left Selini, but working from there left him with only an approximate
guess.

The only objective sign of the passage of time was the ranting from the
next cell down, or wherever it was coming from.  A Shadow Crier no doubt,
or a plain simple madman.  Durano's agents had reported that some of them
had tried to attack the Court and that a couple had been arrested.  They
had not gone easily, many preferring death to capture.  Londo could
entirely understand the feeling.

"The Darkness is coming!"

He had little idea of who the Shadow Criers were, or what purpose they
claimed to serve.  The best Durano's agents and Dugari had been able to
discover was that they were a group of madmen, probably all either seers
or psi-sensitives.  Other than that, and their disturbing propensity for
burning themselves alive in public, nothing was known about them.  Not a
thing.

At some point during the night - if it was still night - the madman
stopped shouting.  Londo could not remember if that was before or after he
had gone to sleep, or even if he had gone to sleep at all.  It was hard to
tell.

He remembered dreaming about Timov, or... thinking about her?  He did not
know.  Probably both.  Maybe.  He missed her, very much.  Strange really,
considering all the years they had spent apart.  He also found himself
wondering where Mariel and Daggair were.  The last reports had them trying
to wrap themselves around Lord Jarno, with varying degrees of success.

The door opened and a dull, muted light filled the room.  Londo moaned
softly as he shielded his eyes, mumbling curses to himself.  Two silhou-
ettes stood framed before him, and two rough arms seized him and hauled
him to his feet, propelling him forward.

The corridor was lit, although not well.  Still, it caused Londo's eyes
some pain before he managed to adjust enough to see the two guards beside
him, pushing and prodding him in one direction.  Deeper into the prison,
he noticed, not away from it.  Any hopes of Malachi putting in a word for
him evaporated.

But then why would Malachi want to?  It was he who had got Londo into this
mess in the first place, by framing him for Refa's murder.  And it was
because he had trusted his old friend that Londo had returned to the
capital, and wound up imprisoned instead.  He supposed it was his own
fault, but he would far rather be guilty of trusting someone too much than
of trusting no one at all.  Trust was a commodity he had only recently
rediscovered, and he found himself rather enjoying it.

He was taken down some winding steps which were even less well lit than
the upper corridor.  He stumbled and would have fallen, had the guard not
roughly grabbed his shoulder, keeping him upright.  He was not bound or
restrained in any way, but escape was clearly impossible.  Even should he
somehow manage to get past two guards half his age, he would have to face
countless more before getting outside.  He should know, he was one of the
few nobles ever to have taken an interest in the prison and how it worked.

There was one room at the bottom of these stairs, and he knew full well
what it was.  He tried to breathe, but the air seemed so thick here.  This
had always been a possibility, but he had tried not to believe in it.

At the bottom of the stairs there was the door, a massive, dark, imposing
gateway to what could very well be another world.  There was a faint light
just above it, and the flickering shadows only seemed to heighten his
sense of despair.

*I am not a hero.  I just tried to do what was right, what I knew to be
right.  I'm not a hero.  Damn you, Malachi, what have you done?*

The guards stopped and one of them opened the door.  There was no creak as
it swung open, no sound at all in fact.  Londo was pushed inside and the
guards followed him, closing the door behind them.

Just over the threshold, Londo took in the scene.  He had never been in
here before, but he could surmise what would happen.  He had tried to have
this place closed down, but to no avail.  It had been used only rarely in
recent years, and had generally been reserved for the truly special cases. 
The False Prophet had allegedly died in considerable agony in this room.

In the middle of the room, suspended from the ceiling by chains and hooks
and rope, was a man Londo did not recognise.  But then, looking at the
state of his mutilation, he doubted the man's own sweetheart would have
recognised him now.  From the rags of clothing he wore he seemed to be a
commoner, but there was really not enough evidence remaining to be
certain.

Just behind the hanging man was another man.  An innocuous figure, dressed
plainly, looking so average and normal he would not be out of place on any
street... the high torturer of the Court.  By tradition a younger member
of the Imperial Family was appointed to the position, more often than not
against their will.  All who served the Emperor had to be willing to do
anything for him, the saying went, and that applied to the infliction of
pain just as much it did to the killing of enemies.

And in the shadows at the far corner of the room was a small figure. 
Petite and not unattractive, she moved forward, lifting her long dress
carefully to avoid the noxious mess of fluid and dirt on the floor.

"Londo, dear," she said.  "A pleasure to see you again.  We didn't really
get much of a chance last time.  I thought you might need a little... time
to think."

"I've had enough time to think these last few months, Elrisia," he said,
feeling his hearts sink.

"Yes.  We've been hearing all about your... activities down south.  Most
impressive.  Oh, by the way, thank you for murdering my husband for me. 
I'd been planning to do it myself, but I was just waiting for the right
time."

He snorted, and bowed his head.  "How was Refa's funeral anyway?  I'm
sorry to have missed it."

"Oh, the usual.  Lying platitudes about what a great man he was, how we
shall not see his like again, blah blah blah.  A bunch of lying hypocrites
who were glad to see him go.  And I was one of them, I'll freely admit.  I
didn't speak, you know.  I was just too... grief-stricken to find the
words.  You'd have been very proud of me, Londo.  I used those acting
lessons very well."

"I didn't kill him, you know," he said, ignoring the reminder of their
past.  "Refa, I mean."

"I'm not surprised.  You're far too... honourable to have done anything
like that.  I don't really care who did, to be honest.  The list of
suspects, my dear Londo, is as long as your hair."

Londo shook his head.  He knew who had killed Refa, but Elrisia evidently
did not.  He would not tell her.  Not yet anyway.  He knew that in this
place anyone would reveal their deepest, darkest secrets with merely the
right amount of persuasion.

"Have you brought me here to torture me, Elrisia?"

"In a manner of speaking.  Actually, there are two things I want to do to
you."  She walked up close to him, very close.  She released her hold on
her dress and let the folds fall to the floor.  Reaching out, she touched
his face with surprising gentleness and bent down to him.

He knew better than to try to shy away from her, but he tried to respond
to her kiss as little as possible.  It was hard.  She was an incredibly
beautiful woman, and memories of certain events in their past kept
returning to him.  He tried to think of Timov.

Elrisia bit his lip savagely and pulled away.  He swore, spitting blood. 
She backed away from him carefully, smoothing out her dress.  "I know you
too well, Londo," she said, a trifle breathlessly.  "I am the only woman
you are ever going to see down here, and before long I will be the only
woman you'll remember even in your mind.  With every thought, I want you
to think of me, and the chance you could have had if only you'd been
strong enough to take it."

"If I'd been strong enough to take it," he shouted, "I'd be dead in Refa's
grave by now!  I knew what you were then, Elrisia, and I still know what
you are now."

She laughed, and made a casual gesture with her hand.  One of the guards
struck Londo in the small of the back, and he collapsed with a cry.  At
Elrisia's signal, they pulled him to his feet.  "And I know you, Londo. 
Always the romantic, the idealist, the dreamer.  Well... dear Londo, let
me show you what a dream has done to our world."

The guards pulled him forward towards the centre of the room, and held his
head so that he was staring directly into the face of the suspended
prisoner.  The man's eyes were closed, and he looked unconscious.

"This man calls himself a Shadow Crier.  The guards picked him up after he
gave a speech in the Old Quarter several days ago.  He was calling for the
downthrow of the Court, but he was speaking with an intense madness.  He's
made a number of startling accusations, most of which he's recanted now. 
Isn't it amazing what can be done with a little effort?  But there is one
thing he cannot recant, which he will be willing to show you.

"This man, Londo, was your companion in your cell corridor.  I'm sure
you'll have heard him.  He's quite, quite mad, and it wasn't our...
attentions that turned him that way.  He's seen something, and now so will
you.

"Wake him up."

The torturer gave a silent sign of acknowledgement, and raised a hideous-
looking device.  Moments later the Shadow Crier awoke with an anguished
cry.  "The Darkness is coming..."  he breathed.  "The... Darkness..."

"Show him," Elrisia ordered.

The Shadow Crier's eyes seemed to dilate and twitch, changing colour and
shape and form, drawing Londo into them.  Londo's head was held tightly by
the guards, but he would not have been able to tear his gaze away even had
he been free.  The sight was mesmerising.

And then he was inside them...

The Darkness is coming!

The Darkness!

He was standing staring up at the sky, a sky filled with smoke and fog and
shimmering, moving Darkness.  He could hear the sky screaming, a scream
that cut to his soul, to old memories and older dreams.

Lights began to blaze in the heavens, moving against the Darkness. 
Another noise arose, harsh, invasive music, a chord that pierced his soul
and left him in agony.

The Darkness was the scream, and the Light was the music.  He knew that
much.  They were warring, fighting for this world, for these souls.  The
Darkness had arrived first, would come here soon, and the Light was trying
to drive it away.

He was suddenly aflame, as the Light retreated and the Darkness claimed
him.  His mind opened to them, and he could hear their whispers.  Fire was
the tool, he knew that.  Fire, and chaos.

Let the lords of chaos rule.  Let the fire claim all it touched.

He laughed as he set himself alight, burning, and watching the heavens. 
It was not far off now, this battle for his planet and his soul, and the
Darkness would be here soon.  Very soon.

"The Darkness...

"... is coming!" he screamed, realising that the vision had faded.  He was
breathing fast, too fast.  He was shaking.

"You saw it, Londo," Elrisia said.  "You saw his madness, and now you've
taken a part of it into yourself.  You'll be one of them before long, and
if you aren't, I'll make sure you succumb.  Won't that be nice, hmm?  To
sit alone in your cell, crying out to the Darkness, weeping constantly,
thinking of me always.  A fitting reward, Londo."

"Have you... seen... it?"

"No, but I know what it is, and I'll stop it.  When the time is right,
Londo.  I'll claim this planet for my own, but only when I feel like doing
so.  I have the power to save this world, Londo, with something as simple
as order and peace... but I won't use it.  Not yet.  Not for a while.  Let
it burn first, and pick up the ashes."

"What do you mean?  Elrisia, you can't..."

"Oh, I can.  I can do anything I want.  You taught me that.  You, and
Refa.  Goodbye, Londo... for the moment at least."

Hours later, when only the Shadow Crier remained in the room, trapped both
by his chains and by his madness, the door opened again and a lone figure
entered.

"Hello again," he said.  "I understand you had visitors recently.  Did you
show them what you showed me?"

Blood filled the Shadow Crier's mouth and he let it dribble from between
his lips, not saying anything.  He had probably not enough sanity left to
be able to utter anything but that one refrain, and the new arrival had
heard that often enough in recent days.

"I suppose you did.  It doesn't matter."  He walked to the centre of the
room, heedless of what he was stepping into, or over.  Lesser worries were
for lesser people.

"Show me.  Again."

The prisoner continued to drool blood, but in his eyes, and in his mind,
something stirred, again.  Prince Cartagia felt his hearts quicken in
anticipation, as he was once again projected into a world that not even
his demented mind could have envisaged unaided.  He stood there for many
minutes, basking in the glory of the visions, whispering the words of the
Shadow Crier's prophecy to himself.

Then, the vision over and the prisoner slumping back into unconsciousness,
Cartagia left.  There was no sign of his presence there, no trace of his
parting...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

John Sheridan broke into a run the instant he left the shuttle, racing for
Babylon 4's Command and Control.  Corwin followed at a brisk walk.  They
had been met in the docking bay by a group of Narn Rangers, many sporting
fresh wounds or hasty bandages.

The first person Sheridan saw on the command deck was Delenn.  Without
slowing his pace he ran to her and hugged her, lifting her up into the
air.  She smiled and kissed him intensely, holding on to him even as he
let her down.

"What's the status here?" he asked, not taking his eyes from hers.

"The men Captain Smith left on board are secure," she replied.  "We have
had no word from the planet.  We were just on the point of sending another
party down there to investigate."

"A good idea," he said, and she smiled.  "Do you know anything about
whether Bester was involved there or not?"

"No.  Not for sure."

"Well, whether he was or not, I think we've pretty much cut all our ties
to Sanctuary now."  He broke his gaze away from her to look at Corwin,
just arriving.  He was talking with the leader of the group of Rangers, a
Narn named G'Dok.

"You have a place at Kazomi Seven," she said.  "All of you, and Mr. Bester
can..."  She paused, and blushed.  "G'Dok, what word from the Babylon?"

"Captain Smith has surrendered and will be brought back on board as soon
as possible.  The shuttle to the surface is also being prepared."

She nodded.  "We have to..."  She started, and there were gasps and the
gentle sound of drawn swords from the Rangers.

A holographic Michael Garibaldi appeared before them.  "Uh... hi," he
said, somewhat awkwardly.  "This thing ain't easy, you know."

"Where is the Ha'Cormar'ah?" snapped G'Dok.

"He's alive.  Ta'Lon as well, although they're both in bad shape.  A
medical shuttle would be a nice idea, as soon as possible.  Don't worry
about me.  I'm only a fill-in.  He can have this thing back as soon as he
wants it.  But... we've got a problem here.  A big one."

"You don't say," Corwin replied.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Vorlon ships were hardly commonplace anywhere in the galaxy, at least not
in the areas occupied by the younger races.  Other than their unexpected
and largely unexplained arrival at the Battle of the Second Line at
Proxima 3 a year and a half ago, sightings had been extremely rare and
often disputed.

What was not disputed was that, a little less than a year ago, one such
Vorlon ship had arrived at Kazomi 7, at a time when the United Alliance
had barely flown from its nest.  Someone had disembarked, a human by all
accounts, however absurd such accounts were.  He had spent some time on
the planet and had then left.  No one on the planet had seen the Vorlon
itself.

Another Vorlon ship had now arrived.  It was in fact the same one,
although no one was aware of this.  But for two people on the planet,
touched more intimately by the Vorlons than almost any other, this arrival
was not a surprise.

The Alliance council was hastily summoned, with much debate about who was
to chair it in the absence of both Delenn and Lethke.  Vizhak, Drazi
Minister of the Interior, was eventually elected.  Valen was formally
requested to attend the meeting, although he had no official capacity on
the Council.  He insisted on Catherine attending also, and no one dared to
contradict him.  Vejar the technomage declined to attend.  He was in fact,
as later testimonies would reveal, conspicuous only by his absence
throughout the Vorlon's stay on the planet.

When the Vorlon swept majestically into the Council chamber, there was a
single united gasp of sheer awe.  Valen rose to his feet, recognising
something familiar in some way he could not identify.  Catherine remained
seated.

"We bid you welcome to our world," said Vizhak, in a moment of uncharact-
eristic politeness.  "It is good to know our... messages... were...
received..."  The Vorlon seemed to be ignoring him, staring - if that was
the right word - at Valen and Catherine.

Then, after a moment of agonising silence, the Vorlon's headpiece nodded
once as if in satisfaction.  He surveyed the others in attendance. 
Vizhak, the representatives from the Abbai, Llort and Mutai, even the new
Narn Ambassador, who was seemingly on the verge of apoplexy.

<Kosh,> the Vorlon said.  <I am Kosh.>

"Welcome, Ambas... er... Ambassador Kosh," Vizhak said.

<Are you ready?> he asked, and Valen felt a chill.

"We're ready," he said softly, painfully.  He could see his own footsteps
before him.

"No!" Catherine cried, leaping up.  "What do you want here?  What do
you...?"  She fell silent as the Vorlon's gaze rested on her.

<There is no more time.  Destiny awaits.  The past calls you.>  A brief
hesitation.  <Both.>

"What do you want of us?" asked Vizhak tentatively.  He was ashamed of
himself for wishing Delenn or Lethke were here.  Or even Taan Churok, may
all his Gods blight his soul for thinking so.

The Vorlon spoke only one word, and it was filled with emotions none but
Valen could detect, for he felt them too.  Anger, yes, but more than that,
a sadness so intense it swamped almost everything.  A deep and regretful
sense of longing, of sorrow, of knowledge of what would soon be lost.

<War.>

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *





From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 6B
Date: Mon, 22 Feb 1999 19:48:59 +0000



Ambassador David Sheridan had been a career diplomat in his former life,
and he still retained skills from that time which were beneficial to those
he served in this new life.  The foremost of those skills - particularly
useful now - was knowing when the local leader was in a bad mood, and just
how to soothe that bad mood.

Never forget where your loyalties lie... that was the essential rule of
the diplomatic official.  Loyalty, the greatest virtue anyone could ever
have.

"The President will see you now," said the secretary.  Sheridan looked at
her with a cold and forbidding gaze.  Never before had the President
failed to admit him immediately and directly.  The man was changing,
becoming... less amenable.  Damn Ivanova!  If she had done her job
properly then there would be no need for this battle of wits with Clark. 
A Keeper-controlled President should be their greatest tool, but
somehow... somewhere... something had gone wrong.

Not even the Zener could identify what it was, but admittedly they were
working from old medical records.  The President resolutely refused to be
examined directly.

Sheridan stormed into the room, trying desperately to calm his furious
anger.  Whatever was wrong with the President it was not something he
could solve today, and there would be enough trouble just getting this
piece of news past him.

Clark was there, seated at his desk, his face expressionless.

"Mr. President," Sheridan said.  "I've... received some disturbing news
from Epsilon Eridani."

"I know," Clark said, not looking up.  "General Ryan contacted me a few
minutes ago...  You see, Ambassador, there are some people who think that
the President of the Resistance Government of Humanity should know
something this important before a foreign Ambassador."

"The battle was a setback, yes, Mr. President, but we..."

"A setback!  We had everything within our grasp... the station, the
planet, that blasted Delenn, and we lost it all!"

"We were betrayed, Mr. President.  Bester was playing his own game."

"And that surprises you?  Ambassador, you're not half the observer you
think you are if that was a shock to you."

Sheridan took the rebuke and mentally stored it away.  There would be a
time for repayment later.  "Mr. President, our allies are ready to take
the matter into their own hands.  A large force of their capital ships
will be in a position to assault Epsilon Three within a few days."

"You once said that you did not want to bring your allies deeper into this
affair, for fear of what the Vorlons might do in retaliation.  This is so
important to them, to risk doing that?"

"It is.  I regret that their objectives will be destruction rather than
capture, but even that will be a boon to us.  We will never be in a
position to take over the Great Machine again.  Better it should be
destroyed than serve the enemy, don't you think, Mr. President?"

"I do not think.  This attack is not to go ahead.  And nor is there to be
any form of reprisal against Bester.  Not yet.  Both of these problems
will be dealt with in time, when it is right to do so."

Sheridan gave no visible sign of shock.  He wished right now he could
strangle Ivanova for her incompetence.  He should have been given charge
of this project from the very beginning.  "Then what do you plan for the
next engagement?  We have too many enemies to leave them all unattended
for another day."

"Indeed we do, and we haven't yet finished off one of our old ones. 
Sinoval, and the Minbari.  I want him captured or killed, and his body
brought before me.  I took the risk of a direct assault on Epsilon Three
because it seemed a likely chance, but it failed, and it was a costly
failure at that.  Two of our capital ships lost...

"Sinoval is our next concern, Ambassador.  Direct your... allies to him if
they have so many ships lying around doing nothing.  No action is to be
taken against either the Great Machine or Bester for the time being.  Do
you understand me?"

"Perfectly, Mr. President.  I will relay your... instructions to my
allies.  Good day."  He bowed his head slightly and left, his face
completely empty of his anger.  Disputing the issue would be pointless. 
Clark was obviously working to a different agenda.  But why protect
Bester... or the Machine?  There was something... something here he just
could not work out.

But that could be dealt with later.  This scare might very well prompt
G'Kar to open the temporal rift as soon as possible and send Babylon 4 and
Valen back in time now.  For the salvation of the present... and the
past... he must ensure this did not happen.

Sheridan began to formulate plans to speed up his timetable.  A call to
Kazomi 7, a report to Z'ha'dum... and a very important set of orders to
Ivanova.

This was not over yet.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

He looks at his face in the mirror, and the image that stares back at him
is that of a stranger.  He no longer knows himself.  He no longer under-
stands himself.  He sees only the ghosts of the past, and the nightmare he
has made of his future... of all their futures.

The future is lost now, all his grand plans, all his dreams... all the
dreams he had once shared with his best friend.  They are now as dead as
Turhan.

Last night had shown him that, in all its bloody glory.  The blood, the
flames, the screams... not all of it had been his doing, but how would the
Shadow Criers have fared without his discreet support?  How much of the
carnage could have been prevented if the nobles and Guards had not been so
paranoid as to regard the slaughter as a personal assault on them?

And how much could have been prevented if Londo had been permitted to
carry out his own plans?

Londo was lost to him now.  Everything was lost.

"First Minister," said a voice at his door.  His personal servant.  A
young man named Kiron Maray.  Malachi was saddened that he knew nothing of
the young man beyond his name.  "First Minister, there is a runner from
the Court here.  Your attendance is requested."

"I am ill," he croaked, trying to make himself sound unwell.  It did not
take a great deal of effort.

"Yes, First Minister.  I will tell him so."

Malachi raised his head once more to look in the mirror.  Where had it all
gone so wrong?  Where had one man's noble dream turned into a nightmare
which consumed the entire planet?

Where?

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She was not afraid, no matter how alone she was, how trapped by darkness,
how expectant of their arrival, no matter how she could see her fate, she
was not afraid.

"My lord," she whispered softly.  "I am sorry.  Forgive me."  That was
what hurt her most of all - the knowledge of how Sinoval would react. 
Without her around, without her to bear the burden of his anger and his
pain... without her, what would he become?

She was his conscience, his confessor, everything that would help him
become the leader he should be, the leader he wanted to be.

It was too dark in here, and she did not like the dark these days.  But
then she did not like the light either, preferring a muted half-light.

She remembered Sonovar standing over here, watching in silence as she was
broken at Kalain's hands.  He had done nothing, said nothing, just
watched.

Meditation was rapidly becoming impossible.  She rose to her feet,
wondering how long she had been here.  She had never been good at gauging
time, and after her imprisonment in the Hall of the Grey Council that
handicap had got worse.  She guessed a day or two, but she just could not
tell.

The door opened, and someone entered.  At least, she thought someone
entered.  There was a brief silhouette in the doorway, and then it
vanished.  "Is anyone there?" she asked, trying to calm her breathing.

There was no answer.  No sound even.  Not even breathing.

Sighing softly, she closed her eyes.  "Lights," she ordered, opening them
again.

Someone was standing opposite her, at the other side of the bed.

He smiled, and she let out a strangled cry.  She did not recognise him,
but there was something about him that was familiar.  "Who are you?" she
asked.

"Death," he said, in an almost lyrical tone.  "Death, death, darkness and
death.  You know these things, don't you?  I can see it.  How much did you
beg to die?  It tells me you did, you know.  It tells me."

She breathed out slowly and began to back away.  The same madness she had
heard in Ashan's voice.  A similar tone, although more certain, less
divided.  "Who are you?" she said, trying to remain calm.  "How is...
it... speaking to you?"

"It is there.  Always there.  Would you like it to speak to you too?  That
can be... ah.  No.  It says that cannot be done.  You're too... too strong
now.  Perhaps earlier.  You were not so strong then, were you?"  He began
to circle around the bed, moving towards her.  "On your knees, begging for
mercy, crying, weeping... screaming...  Perhaps then you might have been
worthy, but... there was no opportunity, and now it's too late.  Now
you've got to die."

He smiled, a hideous sight, and cocked his head.  "You're beautiful, you
know.  I think so.  Very beautiful.  It would be a shame to mar that
beauty, but... it tells me I must.  It tells me that... it tells me that
this should be very messy.  Very ugly.  Very...  Oh.  That isn't nice. 
Not nice at all."

She found herself backed up against the wall, and looked around
frantically.  There had to be somewhere she could go, something she could
use as a weapon.  No, of course there wouldn't be.  Sonovar would have
made sure of that.  Had Sonovar sent him here to kill her?  No, that was
stupid.  If Sonovar wanted to kill her, he could have done so before.  He
could have killed her at the shelter.  He could...

She started, and her throat suddenly went very dry.  The door was still
open!

It was at the far side of the room, and she would have to get past him to
get to it, but... that was not impossible.

"This won't hurt," he said.  "I'll not make it hurt.  You've been hurt
enough already.  Kalain saw to that, and Sonovar, and all the others. 
Don't worry.  Just close your eyes, and it will..."  He closed his eyes,
still moving forward.  His gait was swaying and uncertain, as if he were
hypnotised.

Now!  She sprang forward, charging directly towards him.  He started and
raised his hand, something bright gleaming in it.  He swung at her, but
she reached him first, throwing her whole weight at him.  His foot slipped
and twisted, and he fell.  Recovering her balance and stepping around his
frenzied efforts to grasp at her, she made for the door as fast as she
could.

Two steps outside the door, she literally ran into Sonovar.  Reeling from
the impact, she stumbled and would have fallen had he not caught her. 
Swaying in his not particularly gentle grip, she saw that he was accompan-
ied by two warriors.  All three of them were armed.

"Trying to reject my hospitality, my lady?" he said harshly.  "I am afraid
I cannot accept that."

"He was trying to kill me," she whispered.  "What sort of 'hospitality' is
that?"

"He?  Who?"  He gestured to his guards, and they entered the room.  A few
moments later they emerged, with Kats' mysterious assailant walking
between them.  There was no visible sign of a weapon.

"Ah," Sonovar said.  "Forell.  Yes, I understand your... mistake that he
may have intended some harm to you.  He is not an easy man to like."

"He tried to kill me," she protested.  "He... he is corrupted somehow.  I
don't know how, but something is influencing him, something..."

"Silence!" Sonovar barked.  "I trust him more than I do you, my lady.  He
has not betrayed our people, but you will pay for that crime shortly.  In
any event, Forell, you are not to go near her again, do you understand?"

"Of course, lord," he said, bowing his head.  His voice was much more
polite and refined now.  Almost as if he were an entirely different person
from the one who had attacked her.

"And now, my lady," Sonovar said.  "I wish to discuss certain matters with
you, in your quarters, if you have no objection?"  She shook her head,
still looking at Forell, and returned to her cell.  He followed her.

"I apologise for your treatment, Lady," he said smoothly. "My aides mis-
heard my instructions as to your welfare.  They have been corrected.  I
also apologise if Forell startled you.  I sent him ahead to see you were
ready to receive me.  I understand how he may have... startled you."

She said no more about just how much he had startled her.  He was
corrupted in some way, the same taint that had consumed Ashan.  Did
Sonovar know about it?  Was he corrupted as well?  She turned to look at
him.  He stood tall above her, strong and powerful, an arrogant strength
shining in his dark eyes.

She said his name softly, trying to infuse as much respect as she could
into it.

"Yes, Lady.  I suppose I still bear the title Satai, as do you, but such
distinctions mean little these days.  My name is title enough."  He
paused, studying her.  She did not shift her posture, but she did avert
her eyes from his piercing gaze.

"Are you comfortable here?  Have you been brought enough food?  Drink?"

"Neither," she replied.  "But I wish only to be freed."

"Don't we all?" he replied enigmatically.  "In any event, that is
impossible at the moment.  Sinoval will be here soon.  It is a long
journey from Epsilon Eridani, and that has bought me enough time, but I
regret I will not be able to talk with you as much as I would like."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Oh?  Nothing?  Nothing at all?"

"What have you done to our people... your people?  What possible reason
could you have for this?"

"I have many, but here is one.  Sinoval will destroy us.  Oh, under him we
may be able to defeat the Enemy, and the Earthers, perhaps even win every
battle we face, but where will that victory bring us?  Our people are dead
anyway.  Sinoval has torn down everything that made us Minbari, and he
will not be able to rebuild us.  Not in the way he wants.  A victory under
him will be every bit as dark and terrible as if we had been enslaved by
the Earthers.

"I will provide an alternative.  Sinoval has committed too many wrongs for
him to be allowed to remain."

"Minbari do not kill Minbari.  And yet you did.  Is that not a wrong?"

He shrugged.  "Of course.  I know what I have done here, and I accept it,
but I punished only those who swore fealty to Sinoval... only the weak and
the cowardly.  My actions may have been wrong, but my motives were pure. 
Can he say the same?"

"I don't need to bother arguing that.  Were those in that hospital you
killed guilty?  Did they deserve to die?"

"They were sheltering you... and you, Lady, are guilty."

She shook her head and tried to restrain a sob.  "And there it is.  A high
and mighty worker aspiring to a position above her station.  Only the
warriors should rule, yes?.  Only they are fit to rule, and let the rest
of us stay down in the gutter where we belong.  You have no idea how many
times I have heard that."

"You wrong me, Lady.  Sinoval raised you to whatever position you hold
because he thought you were deserving of it.  I do not dispute that, but
surely you more than anyone are intelligent enough to see the evil in what
he has done.  You have seen that, and yet you continue to serve him.  That
is why you are guilty."

"Yes, Sinoval has done a great deal that was wrong, but I believe in him. 
I chose to serve him not out of weakness, but because I know he is right,
and..."  She fell silent, and shied away.  "I believe in him, and I always
will."

"Truly?  Or are you merely grateful to him for saving you?  I saw you,
remember... begging on your knees, screaming... tears running down your
face..."

"Stop it!"  She was crying again.  "Yes, you saw me... and you did
nothing!  You stood there and watched.  How can you justify that?"

"I followed Kalain.  He was my superior then, and I believed in him. 
Whatever madness afflicted him, it is gone now.  It died with him.  In a
way, Lady, you are responsible for my actions now."

"Me?"

"Your... ordeal showed me that the ones who rule can be as wrong and as
flawed as any of us.  After Kalain died I chose to embark on my own path
instead of following Sinoval's.  Had I not witnessed your torture, I would
probably still be as those sheep on the planet, following Sinoval simply
because he has claimed the right to rule.  You and Kalain showed me that I
did not have to follow blindly."

"You're... you..."

"I'm sorry, Lady.  I've obviously overwhelmed you.  Rest here.  Sleep if
you wish.  I will have food and drink brought to you, and I would like to
talk with you again when you are feeling better.  I... I can see why
Sinoval thinks so highly of you."  He turned, and began to walk away.

A few moments later, he stopped.  "Tell me, Lady, what is your definition
of a great man?  One theory could be that a great man is someone who takes
his own path rather than meekly following others.  What do you think of
that?"

She said nothing.  There was nothing to say.  He left.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

There had been no time for explanations, little time for questions, or
answers.  The next few hours passed hurriedly aboard Babylon 4.

Captain Dexter Smith was brought on board the station under heavy armed
guard.  He was met at the docking bay by Taan Churok.

"I was right," he said in harsh English.  "I should have killed you."

"Yes," came the muted reply.  "You should have."

The rest of the crew of the Babylon remained on board, although the ship
was now operated by a large number of Narn Rangers.  Captain Sheridan did
not go near the ship, nor ask about anyone on it.

The survivors of the chaos on Epsilon 3 were brought up to the station. 
G'Kar was immediately rushed to the medical bay for extensive emergency
work.  Later reports said that he was stable, albeit with extensive
internal and external injuries.  Healing would take months at least.

Attempts were made to keep Ta'Lon in the medical bay as well, but he
politely refused.  He did consent to having his eye bandaged and
disinfected, but then he insisted on meeting G'Dok and the other Ranger
lieutenants.  His second act was to tell them about those who had died on
the planet.  His first act was to rebuff all allegations that he was too
weak to lead.

"I trust that scratch hasn't made you unfit to fight?" asked G'Dok.

"Hardly," came the reply.  "It's just an eye, after all.  I have a spare."

Ko'Dath and G'Dan came over from the Parmenion to liaise with the Narns on
the station.  Neither made any remark about Ta'Lon's injuries.

Dr. Mary Kirkish was also taken to the medical bay, and was diagnosed as
suffering from extreme stress and trauma.  She was sedated and left to
rest.  Commander David Corwin went to see her while she was sleeping.  He
whispered three words to her, words she did not hear, and then resumed his
duties on the Parmenion.

Zathras remained on the planet for a while, advising and coaching Michael
Garibaldi as much as he could.  He frequently clicked and muttered in his
own language, but it was clear that something was definitely not good.

Susan Ivanova was brought to the station.  She was now semi-conscious, and
seemed aware of her surroundings.  Lyta Alexander, remaining on the
Parmenion to scan for the presence of Shadow ships, gave a slight shudder
at this time, although she would not explain why.  Ivanova was taken to a
cell and left there to await the attentions of those in authority.

No one dared touch the bodies at the Heart of the Machine.

A few hours after the ending of what would later be called the first stage
of the Battle of the Third Line, a council was called.  It was not
attended by quite the number of dignitaries who had been present at
G'Kar's doomed summit, but there was still enough power wielded in the
room to influence a considerable portion of the galaxy.

It was Ta'Lon who spoke first.  "Our current situation here is one of
great danger," he explained.  "The threat to this place has not ended with
the surrender of the human forces.  This station has a greater purpose
than as a mere command centre for the war in the present.  It has...
another destiny."

"This station was built to go backwards in time a thousand years, and
serve a vital role in the last war against the Darkness."

Some of those present knew that already, but a great many did not.  Lethke
and Taan Churok in particular looked astonished.  "You will... forgive
us..."  Lethke said, "But that sounds a little... uh... hard to believe."

"It is true," Delenn said.  "This station... this very station was used by
Valen a thousand years ago.  It was in the archives of the Grey Council,
information known only to us.  No one knew where the station had come from
or how it had got there... until now."

"Two years ago, we saw this station going back in time," spoke up
Sheridan.  "It's true."

"Then if that was this place's intended purpose, why not send it back
immediately on construction?" asked Taan Churok.  "Why build a command
station if it's going to have to be... hah, sent back in time?"

"It was hoped that we would be able to take advantage of the station for
the duration of this war," Ta'Lon explained.  "We did not have the resour-
ces to build two stations, and so we... risked a great deal.  But at the
time we planned this there was no sign of Valen, who would take the
station back.  How were we to know that he would appear on Minbar?"

"So what is the problem?" asked Lethke.  "The station is secure.  I will
admit we could use some extra defences, but a quick message to Kazomi
Seven will solve that."

"Problem?" barked Zathras.  Lethke looked at the strange creature with a
hint of surprise and a lot of condescension.  "Problem.  Zathras tell you
where problem is.  Problem is that great Darkness will be coming here. 
Soon.  Now.  If Enemy destroys station now, it will never go back, if
station never goes back, goodness loses the war then, and... big temporal
paradoxes.  All reality be rearranged.  Very bad."

"Weakness!" snapped Taan Churok.  "If these Shadows come, then we will
fight them."

"Drazi, yes," noted Zathras.  "Skulls block out brains.  Very sad.  Poor
design.  Listen, Machine is damaged.  Bad woman did bad things to it. 
Opening temporal rift needs... much energy.  Very difficult.  Some align-
ments need correcting, much machinery needs to be repaired.  Machine may
not be powerful enough after bad things done.  Very unstable.  What will
happen later... Zathras cannot say, but Zathras not like to think.  Could
be very bad."

"What he means," said Ta'Lon, noting bafflement on the faces of the Drazi
and the Brakiri, "is that the Machine is growing very unstable at the
moment.  The forced rejection of Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar... the weapons raised
against us here... the death of its previous host...  We cannot be sure if
the Machine will be able to maintain its integrity for much longer.  If we
are to send Babylon Four back into the past it will have to be done now,
or we risk losing the chance for a long time to come."

"When can we... manage this feat?" asked Lethke.  He looked at Zathras.

"Ah, G'Kar being very clever, yes.  Temporal rift already open.  A little. 
Important machinery already attached to station.  Very clever indeed. 
But... temporal rift now a little... out of synch.  Need to be realigned. 
Mr. Garibaldi doing that, yes.  Zathras will soon attend to finishing off
work there.  Zathras be good at doing that.

"Zathras think... couple of days.  Besides, be not forgetting one thing...
we need Valen as well.  Is being no point sending station back without
sending Minbari back with it.  That be very foolish."

Lethke suddenly seemed to realise something.  "This... temporal rift is
already open?"

"In part, yes.  Very clever of G'Kar, as Zathras said."

"Then is that what has caused all the... unexplained events here?  Dreams,
strange voices from nowhere, visions of things in the past, in the
future?"

"Ah.  Yes, is possibility."  Zathras paused, deep in thought.  "That is
not so clever."  None of them noticed the frantic look Sheridan gave
Delenn, a brief remembrance of a dream long past.

"Perhaps we should discuss this with the rest of the Council," Lethke
said.  "This sounds... um..."

"No," Delenn said firmly.  "We will do as Zathras has said.  We must.  We
will send a message to Kazomi Seven, asking for every ship that can be
spared to help defend this place while the damage is repaired.  We... will
also need Valen.  It is vitally important that our defence is secure until
both the station and Valen have gone back in time."

"As you say," Lethke said, nodding.  "How much time are we likely to have
until the... Shadows arrive?"

"Maybe none at all," replied Delenn, and they all fell silent.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The fires had at last stopped burning in the capital city of Centauri
Prime.  The night of madness had receded, leaving the survivors to count
the cost, to try to rebuild, to mourn loved ones lost, to take stock of
what had happened.

"A hasty Court session has been called," reported the agent.  "First
Minister Malachi has apparently been invited, but is too ill to attend. 
Rumours have it Lord Jarno is to be arrested on charges of treason.  It is
said that he personally attacked and murdered Lord Kiro last night."

"Lord Kiro?" barked Lord Valo.  "Well, who'd have thought that coward
Jarno had it in him?  Won't do him any good of course.  What else?"

"Something is happening in the southern territories.  Reports are unclear
at best, but from the sound of it Sphodria and Gallia have been
overwhelmed by an outside force.  Some say Narn sympathisers.  My best
guess is soldiers loyal to Governor Mollari."

"Governor?  Another weakling, far too many of them.  Still...  I heard he
had Marrago on his side.  Anything on that?"

The agent shrugged.  "Rumour does suggest that, but then rumour has placed
him almost everywhere in the galaxy since Quadrant Thirty-seven was lost. 
Some say he's living on the Narn homeworld right now.  We haven't been
able to get accurate information out of Selini for months.  One thing I do
know is that Minister Durano was there, which... might explain that."

"The military?"

"The frontier regiments are still patrolling the border, although skirmi-
shes with the Narns have been rare lately.  They will follow whoever sits
on the throne, although a few of the captains have expressed... concerns
about the current leadership, and would not be averse to a change. 
Several ships have disappeared and there has been a big increase in the
number in orbit around Centauri Prime itself, although no one has admitted
to ordering this.  There has still been no official appointment of a new
Lord-General."

One question left, the important one, the one which would decide the
future of the Republic.  "Do we have enough guards on our side to mount an
assault on the Court?"

"Yes.  We do."

"Thank you.  Go."  The spy nodded, bowed and left.  An invaluable find,
one of Durano's proteges, he had recognised the need for strength and
order in the Court, and had chosen to throw his hand in with Valo.  A wise
choice.  Valo was one of the few nobles in the Court who had seen real
combat, who knew how to lead, how to fight, how to be strong.

A military coup.  That was what was needed.  Jarno had had the right idea,
unusually for him, and so had Kiro, but they were all feinting around the
sidelines, striking at each other.  If any of them had had half the
military mind Valo had, they would have known that the way to win any
battle was to go for the head, and where was the head?  The Court itself.

"You heard all that?" Valo asked.  His companion stepped out from hiding
and nodded.

"What do you think?  What is your uncle up to?"

"I have no idea," replied Carn Mollari.  "I haven't spoken to him in
years."

"Well, we'll soon find out.  A few days at most, and then we'll make a
stab at the Court.  Once we control it, the rest of the military and the
Guards will fall in with us.  It'll all be over, Carn."

Carn smiled, and nodded.  "Indeed it will... Majesty."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, part 6C
Date: Mon, 22 Feb 1999 19:51:25 +0000



Delenn hesitated as she looked at the quiet form seated before her.  She
was not entirely sure why she had come here, but she did know that words
needed to be said, and that she was the person to say them.

"It is strange how things can change in a handful of hours," she said, and
noticed Captain Smith start, raising his head to look at her.

"Yeah.  'Let no man be called happy or great until he be dead,' hmm?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Something someone said a long time ago.  It doesn't matter.  So, have you
decided what to do with me?  Sheridan promised an amnesty for my crew,
remember."

"Yes, he told me... and that amnesty has been accepted.  Some of the
alliance were... unappreciative, but we convinced them.  Your crew will be
permitted to return home as soon as the current crisis is over."

"Well, that's something.  Thank you.  I... wait... what current crisis?"

"A... topic for another day, I believe.  Tell me, Captain, why did you
offer yourself as compensation for your crew?"

"There's no reason why they should pay for my mistakes.  Besides, I could
hardly return home.  Do your people have a word for scapegoat?"

"I... am familiar with the term, yes.  I have been used in that position
myself.  Your people would do the same to me if they could.  No matter
what either of us may feel, Captain... my death would not undo what has
been done."

"Nor will mine, but I'm willing to give it a try anyway.  Tell me, what
are you going to do with me?"

"Some people wanted you dead, yes... but I have had another idea.  I am
going to make you an offer, Captain.  A chance to buy your freedom.  And
your life.

"How would you like to fight alongside us?"

He laughed.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lord-General Marrago knew all about responsibility.  He had been born to
it, trained almost from birth to the duties that were his heritage as a
member of a noble line.  He had learned the hard way about the responsi-
bilities he owed to the soldiers who served alongside him and under him. 
He knew about his duties to his family, and to his family name.  He knew
about the bonds of loyalty to old friends - one had compelled him to marry
a woman he did not love, and another had forced him to raise arms against
his own Government.

But as he sat alone in a room stinking of blood, he pondered on his
responsibilities to his people, his planet, his friends...  They had never
seemed heavier.

He had just received word that Londo was missing somewhere in the capital. 
None of Durano's agents could find him, or indeed find any trace that he
had even arrived.

This had always been a possibility.  In a war fought primarily by poison
in the wine cup or knife in the dark, Londo had always been aware that he
might be lost before the capital and the Court could be taken, and he had
planned accordingly.  Marrago knew enough of his plans to continue and
conclude this campaign.  He might even be capable of becoming Emperor
himself, although he had no wish to be so.

He looked around the room that had once been the study of the Governor of
Gallia, a room where several of his servants and family had been butchered
by a blood-crazed mob who had carried the terrified Governor away... 
Marrago had had the bodies removed, but he could do nothing about the
smell.  He was a soldier.  Death was a constant companion.

He was thinking about death as well as responsibility.  Londo's death and
his responsibility to him.  Marrago had had to tell a great many people
that those they loved would never be coming home, but it would be so much
harder this time.  How to tell Timov?

A beeping sound came from his coat, and he started.  With a soft sigh he
realised what it was: Londo's personal communicator.  Londo had given it
to him before leaving for the capital, knowing that it could conceivably
be used to trace important conversations.

Marrago pulled it out and activated it.  A face he knew showed up on the
screen.  Carn Mollari, Londo's nephew and one of their most trusted agents
in the capital.

"Lord-General," he said.  "Where... where is our leader?"  No names. 
Names could be very dangerous if anyone were to overhear.

"He is... unavailable at present.  What do you have to report?"

"Events here are moving faster than I'd expected.  The city has calmed
down, but the tensions in the Court are on the verge of exploding again. 
My... friend is going to attack the Court openly within a few days.  You
have to get here soon, or there won't be anyone left to rule over."

"We don't have the time, or the resources.  We're spread thinly as it is,
just trying to secure our hold on the territory we control now.  You have
to delay things."

"I can't!  He's moving too fast.  I never thought he'd be this ready for
it.  He really believes he can make himself Emperor."

"There is nothing we can do.  Our original plans didn't envisage a march
on the capital for months.  Even allowing for the acceleration, we won't
be able to reach you for weeks at least.  Do whatever you can... whatever
you must, but save the Court."

"I'll do what I can, but get here quickly, or there'll be nothing left to
save.  Out."

The viewscreen went blank and Marrago sat back.  Responsibilities...
duties... loyalty.  All the hallmarks of a good soldier, and he was a good
soldier.  He knew he was, and he would save his people.

He rose to his feet and began a number of very important communications.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She had sat alone since he had left, thinking.  At first she had believed
this was a simple power struggle between a dissatisfied warrior and the
leader of the Minbari, but now she was beginning to suspect something
more.  Forell's corruption, his words to her, Sonovar's evident madness...

Kats was not afraid to die, but she was afraid of being so helpless again
before she did.  She was afraid of being trapped in a column of light and
suffering humiliation, degradation and pain while warriors watched and did
nothing.

Without ceremony, without warning, the door opened and Sonovar walked in
again, his bearing proud and arrogant.  His two guards waited just
outside.

"You are to come with me now, my lady.  My last reason for remaining here
has just been accomplished.  There are two little details I must attend
to, and then I will leave.  Your 'Primarch' Sinoval will be here soon.  I
would rather not still be here when he arrives.  Follow!"  He left the
cell and began to walk down the corridor.

In trepidation, Kats followed Sonovar along the twisted corridors of his
warship, the guards by her side.  She found herself thinking of Sinoval,
and wishing he were here.  Forell had said she was stronger now than she
had been, but she did not feel stronger.  She felt... useless.  Unable to
fight, not born a warrior.  She had never regretted her allotted role in
life, until now.

They passed into a darkened room, with just one column of light in the
centre.  Trembling slightly, she stepped inside it, but only after seeing
that Sonovar stood within it as well.

"You swore fealty to Sinoval," he said, his voice harsh.  "You chose
willingly to ally yourself with one who has violated some of the most
sacred laws of our people, who deliberately rejected the return of the
True Valen, who betrayed those who wished only to serve him, and who has
thrown down the rightful Government of our people, choosing instead to
claim all power for himself."

"He's not like tha..." she began, but he stopped her.

"Silence!  These facts are undeniable, and your guilt is plain.  Your
punishment will be decided here, but I will not be the one to decide it. 
Rather... another will."

He made a gesture, and another column of light became visible.  There was
someone within it.  Someone she knew.  Someone she had hoped to see here,
but not like this, not forced on his knees, arms and legs bound, head
bowed.

"Kozorr!" she cried, and he looked up.  His face was heavily marked with
wounds and scars.  He closed his eyes when he saw her, and whispered her
name softly.

"He was captured by the Tak'cha recently.  Apparently he had learned that
you were in my custody and was seeking a way to free you.  He sent many of
them to their ancestors before he was subdued."  In a puzzled tone, he
continued.  "They regard him with great respect actually, for his prowess
in battle and evident strength."

"Free her, Sonovar!" Kozorr cried.  "Let her go, now."

"That is not my decision to make.  Both of you have committed crimes
against our people and against our religion, and both of you must be
punished.  This is the judgment of your fate."

He paused, and looked intently at them both.  His expression when he
looked at Kozorr was one of almost anguished despair.  There was only pity
in his eyes as he looked at Kats.

"One of you will be permitted to return to Sinoval, to tell him what has
happened here, and to deliver my message.  The other will die here, now. 
The choice is yours."

Kats tried to speak, but the words would not come.  She knew with a
terrible sense of horror that Kozorr would speak first, and she knew what
he would say.  She would forever after curse herself for not speaking
sooner, although she never knew what she should have said.

"Kill me!" Kozorr cried.  "Let her go."

"Very well," Sonovar proclaimed.  "So shall it be."  He shook his head. 
"I am not surprised, although I wish I were."

"No!" Kats cried.  "You can't do this!  You..."

"Please," Kozorr said, addressing Sonovar.  "Let her come over here.  I
want...  I want to speak to her."  Sonovar nodded once, and, not ungently,
pushed her down before Kozorr.

She touched his heart lightly, feeling his breath on her face.  "You can't
do this," she whispered to him.  "There's another way.  There must be
another way.  Please..."  She was beginning to cry.

"No, there isn't.  Go, my lady.  Never look back, and take your future. 
Tell the Primarch that... tell him my soul waits to serve him in the next
life."  Then he reached forward ever so slightly, and gently touched his
lips to her own.

"I love you."  He bowed his head.  "Take her away, Sonovar.  I don't want
her to see this."

"Neither do I," he replied, as one of his guards pulled her away.  "You
have my word, by the way.  I will do as I said."

"I never doubted it.  Farewell, my lady."

"No!  Kozorr, you..."  She was dragged away by the guard.  As soon as
Kozorr was out of sight she went limp.  She was still crying.

Sonovar then gestured to his other guard, who freed Kozorr from his bonds. 
Puzzled, the warrior rose to his feet, rubbing at his wrists.  Sonovar
pulled an object from his belt and showed it to Kozorr, whose eyes
widened.  It was his fighting pike.

Sonovar extended it, and then threw it to the floor at Kozorr's feet.  He
smiled.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Time passed in a flurry of activity.  Ships came from Kazomi 7 within
hours of Delenn sending the message.  Warships from the Drazi, the Llort,
the Vree, others...  They had been convinced of the importance of this, of
protecting the place that was so vital to all their futures.  Few of them
understood the details, but with a Vorlon and their Blessed Delenn on
their side, victory could only be certain.

Messages were also sent surreptitiously to Councillor Na'Toth on the Narn
homeworld.  Despite a waning of her power in recent months she was able to
contact a few captains loyal to G'Kar, and two Narn heavy cruisers arrived
at Epsilon 3 eight hours after the Alliance fleet.

Messages were sent to Sinoval, but there was no reply.  Reports were
coming in of fighting on one of the colonies, but there was nothing
definite.

Many non-essential personnel were evacuated back to Kazomi 7.  Lethke was
one of these, as he knew he would be able to do more there.  The dream of
unity at Babylon 4 might have been lost, but it could still be recreated
at Kazomi 7.  G'Kar went there as well, to recover from his wounds. 
Before he left he spent more than an hour in discussion with both Ta'Lon
and Garibaldi - considerably against doctors' advice.

Between them Captain Sheridan, Delenn, Ta'Lon and Taan Churok managed to
co-ordinate the defence of the station and the Machine.  Wherever possible
telepaths were placed on the capital ships.  Lyta Alexander instructed
them thoroughly on how to spot and paralyse the Shadow ships.  Few of the
others had any experience in such matters.

A great deal happened in those two days.  Some of which is known to
history...

<Are you ready?>

Lyta looked up at the Vorlon before her, and nodded.  She knew his name,
Kosh, even without being told.  He was a part of her, after all.

"Yes," she said.  "I'm... I'm ready..."

<I will not be returning.>  There was a great and terrible sadness in his
voice.

"Why?" she asked, walking up close to him, touching his armour.  It seemed
so warm, almost alive.

<A bargain was made.  It is time for me to pay.  Another will come for you
soon.>

"I don't understand.  What do you mean?"

<You will.>

Light blazed up around her and she screamed, her mouth wide open.  Her
eyes glowed pure golden, slowly returning to normal as the light passed
through her and into him.  When it was over she slumped to her knees,
looking up at him.  "I... I can't feel you any more," she whispered,
horrified.

<I need to be whole.  You will not be alone for long.>

"You're...  Oh my God.  You're going to die."

He turned to leave, and as he reached the door he stopped and looked back. 
<Remember me.>  She could not be sure from the tone, but it sounded more
like a plaintive request than an order.  He then left.

She never saw him again.

Elsewhere, work on the Babylon proceeded apace.  The damage to the ship
was repaired.  Losses were replaced as far as possible.

Captain Smith sat in his ready room, Captain Sheridan and Commander Corwin
with him.  "It's a fine ship," Smith said.

"It should be," acknowledged Sheridan.  "But it was a fine ship before. 
What have you people done to it?"

"I didn't do anything.  It was... repairs, upgrading.  I only supervised
the final stages.  The rest of it was all done before I was appointed."

"Why are you doing this?" Corwin asked suspiciously.

Smith studied him.  "Why do you trust me enough to make the offer?"

"I don't," said Sheridan.  "Delenn does, and I trust her.  Still... you
made a brave offer... yourself for your crew.  I don't think many people
would have done that."

"It was the right thing to do.  You'd have done the same."

Sheridan nodded.  "Maybe I would."

"Even so, there aren't many people who would trust me to fight alongside
you."

"Delenn explained the significance of this?"

"Oh yes, she did.  But I can't help but feel she left something out. 
That's if I even believe her.  Time travel?  Am I really expected to
understand that this... Babylon Four must go back in time or the whole
fabric of whatever will be torn apart?"

"That's as much as I know," Sheridan lied.  "It's not our place to
question such things.  We're soldiers.  We obey orders, and that's it."

"True enough.  But I'm helping you here for the good of my crew.  Don't
forget that."

"I won't."

And on the station maintenance workers and Rangers hurried around under
the seemingly omnipresent direction of a strange little alien everyone
deferred to, making repairs and alterations to technology they did not
really understand.

"Yes yes.  Do that.  That is good.  No no, not that tool, never use that
tool, use this tool... ah, no this not right tool.  Ah yes, this right
tool."

"That's the one I was using before!"

"Yes.  Zathras know that.  Do as Zathras says.  Ah, everyone listen to
Zathras.  Zathras knows what Zathras is saying.  Trust Zathras."

Sometime during this frantic charging around Zathras managed to meet with
Valen, who had been mainly talking either to Catherine or Kosh, or both
together.

"Zathras be going back with you.  Yes.  You need Zathras to help you, you
see.  Zathras has... great destiny in past, yes.  Not as great as Valen's
destiny, but almost.  Zathras must make sure Valen does not trip over own
feet, yes."

Valen smiled.  "I would be honoured to have you with me, Zathras."

"I'll be going too," announced Catherine.

Of all those gathered there, only Valen seemed surprised.  "What? 
Catherine, you..."

"Don't you dare try to say I can't.  I will not be separated from you
again.  I'm going, and that's the end of it."

"But..."

"Don't, Jeffrey.  There's nothing left for me here.  I'm going with you."

Zathras looked at Kosh, with a knowing sense of sadness in his eyes.

There was an equal fluster of activity on the planet, in the heart of the
Great Machine, where Michael Garibaldi's physical body was enshrined
surrounded by technology immeasurably old and powerful.

"Isn't that... weird?" asked Commander Corwin, looking at both his
friend's real body and the holographic form Garibaldi had created.

"No.  Well, yeah, but...  It's hard to explain.  I'll be glad to see the
back of it, though."

"This is only temporary?"

"You bet.  G'Kar said he can take this thing back once he's recovered. 
I'd prefer it if I didn't have to do this temporal rift thingy, but its
mostly done anyway.  I'm just following the instruction manual."

"Er... yeah.  Michael, what about... Bester?"

"What about him?"

"He betrayed us all.  You as well as the rest of us.  And... well, with
Lianna on Sanctuary and everything.  You've known Bester a lot longer than
the rest of us, but..."

"I don't know why he did what he did, but he had his reasons.  He's still
a good man, and he must have had his reasons, whatever they were.  I'll...
take it up with him later."

"Later, yes.  What about Lianna?  What should we tell her?"

"Tell her?  Nothing.  I told you, I'll only be in this thing a couple of
weeks at most.  Nothing can go wrong, so... what's to worry?"

"What happened to the person who was in here before you... that's a pretty
major thing to worry about."

"Won't happen to me.  Trust me, David.  Nothing's going to go wrong."

Alone and almost forgotten in her cell, Susan Ivanova was sitting bolt
upright, long-forgotten memories returning to her, a part of her soul that
had been taken away coming back.  She remembered Marcus, she remembered
Laurel, she remembered her mother.

And she heard the voice of the Shadows in her mind, telling her that they
would be coming soon, and telling her what she would have to do when they
arrived...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Two days later, all was done.  The temporal rift was open, the machinery
on Babylon 4 was complete.  Valen stood alone in the command centre and
breathed out slowly.  Footsteps in the sand.

And then he could hear the gentle music of the Vorlons in his mind, and he
went to join Catherine, Zathras, Kosh and the Rangers who would be
protecting him until he was at his destiny.  They all seemed to accept
that they might not be able to return to this time... their own time...
and yet they seemed not to mind.

A few hours before everything was finished the hyperspace probes picked up
some activity moving in the direction of Epsilon 3.  All the probes were
destroyed quickly and efficiently, but that only served to confirm what
they all already knew.

The Shadows were coming.

The temporal rift burst into life.

Space shimmered.

And then the Shadows were there.


To be continued...