From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, 7A of 8
Date: Mon, 1 Mar 1999 19:00:21 +0000

Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand
                   
Hi, almost done here now people.

This story contains Spoilers for War Without End and the comic book 
mini-series In Valen's Name. This part (and the  next one) also 
contain references to the Phase 1 story The Shadow of Her Past, The 
Illusion of His Future, which is available on the A Dark,  Distorted 
Mirror website, as are all the other stories written thus far. Turn 
to:
http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk
for details.

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: That  last line, right all the way at the 
bottom. Don't say I didn 't warn you now.

* * * * *

 Chapter Four - A Line in the Sand  Part 7 of 8
 by Gareth Williams (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


Countless souls lay suspended in the balance.  The destiny of the
galaxy hung by the slenderest of threads.  The fate of the future, and
the past, rested on a few painfully mortal beings.

Consider: Jeffrey Sinclair, transformed into the Minbari prophet
Valen. Facing the path of his own footsteps leading backwards in time
to his destiny, and to his death.  He stands on the control deck of
the space station Babylon 4, readying himself for a time a thousand
years gone, and committing those he knows now to memory, certain that
he will never see most of them again.

Consider: John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller himself.  Seated at
the bridge of the EAS Parmenion, he looks out at the fleet of Shadow
vessels advancing on him, a fleet so huge and powerful that it will
black out the sky in every direction.  He thinks about mortality, and
about the terminal virus even now developing within his body.  He
thinks about his love, about the last words he said to her, and the
first lie he has ever told her.

Consider: Delenn, former Satai, leader of hope in the galaxy.  Head of
the United Alliance of Kazomi 7, she stands at the bridge of the Drazi
ship from which she will observe the battle.  She is no warrior, but
she knows war, all too well and all too bitterly.  She thinks about
the man she loves, and she knows that he has lied to her.  She thinks
about the ruination of Minbar, about the countless dead, about the
carnage at Kazomi 7.  She thinks about the race that has done this,
and her heart fills with anger, and a black, remorseless fury.

Consider: Michael Garibaldi, a human, one who never wished for
anything but a home, a family, happiness and to do the right thing. 
That last wish has torn him away from the other three.  His heart is
beating fast, his head is pounding, and he looks out at a million
things at once.  His is the will that holds open the rift that will
carry Babylon 4 to its destiny.  But his will is weak, sapped by years
of failure and alcohol and loss and self-doubt, and he wonders if he
has the strength to carry this through.

And many others: Catherine Sakai, Zathras and Kosh, standing beside
Valen; Ta'Lon, leading the Narn Rangers on Babylon 4; Dexter Smith,
facing an enemy he was told was his friend, alongside allies he knows
to be his enemies...

The Shadows swoop forward, and, seemingly acting as one, they open
fire.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Shadows were coming.

He listened as they died, and as they killed.  His friends were dying
in his name, were fighting a last stand so that he could complete his
destiny.  He wanted to be there with them, this one last time, but he
knew that they were dying for his sake.  He could not render their
sacrifice worthless.

*Are you ready?* said the voice in his mind.

He turned to look at Kosh.  The Vorlon was still, almost a statue.  He
wanted to hate Kosh.  They were the ones who had done this to him, who
had placed him here.  He could not.

He did not know what to say, but the voice knew.  *Good.  You are the
closed circle returning to the beginning.  I cannot be with you then.*

He gasped as he felt its pain.  It was light and beauty and agony all
in one.  The Vorlon was going to die, and both of them knew it.  The
sacrifice would be made willingly.  Could he do any less?

"Are you ready?" said the voice from the commscreen.  "Are you...?"

He turned to look at Delenn's face in the screen.  She was...
beautiful. Her eyes, her bearing, everything... was marked by a
vibrant beauty and a passionate anger.  She had taught him a lot since
his... return.  He wanted to remain here, to talk with her, to share
in her wisdom and to learn from her.  It would not be possible.

"I... think so," he said hesitantly.  "I... thank you.  For
everything."

"It was no more than my duty, and no less than my pleasure.  Be well,
and walk with...  Oh.  Of course."

He chuckled.  "It is all right.  For you, it will always be all
right."

"Remember me?"  More of a question than a request.  He smiled, sweetly
and sadly.  As if there were any other answer.

"Always," he whispered, and touched the image on the commscreen
gently. It faded and he straightened, now aware, wondering how he
could never have noticed before.  She was his descendant, a part of
him that had lived on. He felt so much better.

It was time now.  After so long, he at last knew his destiny.  He was
the arrow that springs from the bow.  No doubts, no fears.  Just
certainty.

"Are you ready?" said the voice by his side.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Good, good.  Yes, is being very good to being ready.  Now is right
time to being ready, yes.  Zathras is being ready for long time, yes. 
Zathras has grown tired of waiting sometimes, but Zathras is used to
it.  Zathras is patient.  And now you are ready, yes.  Good."

"What about the Enemy?"

"<Click, click>  Is being not good.  Enemy is being very strong.  May
get on board before we leave.  That is being very not good, but have
idea, yes.  We get help.  That is idea.  We get help."

"Help?  From where?"

"Past, of course.  Two years ago, just as Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar entered
Great Machine.  There is ship there.  Special ship."

"Which ship?"  He was told, and then he smiled.  "Ah, of course."

"Besides," Zathras added.  "We have to stop them.  It already
happened, and if we do not, then... time not go well.  Paradox.  Not
good."

"No.  I guess not."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Well well.  Greetings, my Minbari friend."

Shaal Lennier, Minbari poet, Ranger and long-suffering companion to
Governor Londo Mollari, looked up from his meditation.  He was not in
a good mood.  Peace had been hard to find.  Of course, ever since
Kazomi 7 it had been hard for him to achieve the necessary spiritual
equilibrium, but in a darkened cell, filled with the soft cries of the
dying, it was harder still.

And the voices were louder than usual.  Something was happening. 
Some- thing that the... others regarded as being very important.  It
was possible that that related to Centauri Prime in some way, but he
did not think so.

The instructions being relayed to him were becoming harder to ignore,
but Zicree had been true to her word.  He could control it, with
enough effort and enough meditation.  He was beginning to wonder if
the price of that control was truly worth it.

And then the door had opened.  A dull lantern shone in the room,
hurting his eyes.  A figure stood there, just beside the now-closed
door.  He did not know who this figure was, save that he was
definitely Centauri, and his hair was very short.  Lennier thought
that indicated he was not a noble, but he seemed just too
self-confident to be otherwise.

"Well," he continued.  "Nothing to say?  I know you've been alone in
this cell for a bit too long, while all the attention has been on dear
Londo, but I didn't think we should neglect you altogether."  A pause.
 "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Firmly: "No."

"Not at all?"

"I have nothing to say."

"Oh, I doubt that.  I doubt that very much.  I think you have a great
deal to say.  Do your friends know about your... ah...?"  He stepped
forward and gently tapped Lennier's shoulder.  There was a brief surge
of pain, and a hissing sound only he heard.

Lennier made no move to attack this person.  There was really no
point.

"I don't think they do, somehow.  Although I am puzzled by just how
you've managed to keep it under control this long.  Some sort of
Minbari medit- ation, perhaps.  Hmm... you'll have to teach me that."

"Are you...?"  He swallowed.  "Are you working for them?"

"I'm working for me, I think you'll find.  Not the... ah... what's
your name for them?  The Shadows, that's it.  Such a wonderful name. 
I've always liked the way Minbari describe things.  Anyway, I'm...
fulfilling my own destiny, but it happens to be on a similar path to
theirs at the moment.  They do have someone here, you know.  So do
their opposition for that matter.  I don't know who, and I really
don't care.  I'm just trying to clean up the mess."

He paused, and seemed to be replaying that last line.

"Oh, sorry.  I meant to say that I'm just trying to clean up from the
mess."

"What do you want?" Lennier asked.

"Ah.  I think I'll leave that one for another day."

"Who are you?"

"Both questions at once.  And neither of them holds any power over me.
 I know exactly who I am, and what I want, and I'm in a very good
position to get it at last.  And you're going to help me, my bald
friend."

"I very much doubt that."

"Ah... but Shaal Lennier, you do not know what I want."

There was a knock at the door, and the Centauri muttered various
unpleasant-sounding things under his breath.  Lennier was very glad he
couldn't translate them.  "Yes?"

"Your Highness, you are called to the Court.  Immediately."  The voice
that came through the thick door was filled with respect, and a not-
inconsiderable dose of fear.

"Who dares?"

"The Lady Elrisia, your Highness."

"Elrisia?  Oh well, that's different then.  I'd better go.  Open the
door."  The door was pushed open and the Centauri stepped into the
rectangle of light.  He turned and looked at Lennier.  "I'm sorry this
talk was cut short, but I have a feeling we'll see each other again.

"Guard?"

"Yes, your Highness?"

"You will tell no one that I was in this cell.  In fact, I was not in
this cell, and I was not talking to this prisoner."

"I won't breathe a word, your Highness."

"No.  You won't."  There was a brief glint of metal, a swift motion,
and a bloodied gurgling, followed by the sound of a body falling. 
"The Minbari had a weapon, so he did.  And the guards didn't search
him properly.  You really can't get the staff these days, can you?"

He tossed the bloodied knife into the cell and closed the door, not
fully, but so that it was slightly ajar.  "I'll hide the body. 
Wait... ooh, half an hour or so, and then make your way out.  You can
go and free Londo if you like.  He's two floors down, in cell thirteen
I believe.  The guards will be on duty there, but a resourceful person
like you will be able to think of something, I'm sure.

"Oh," he said as an afterthought, over the sound of a body being
dragged away.  "If you do see Londo, tell him his old friend Cartagia
would like a word.  Whenever he has a free moment, of course."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

They did not know where she was.  That was good.  She did not know
where she was.  That was bad.  But then Susan Ivanova had known very
little in the months since she had been changed for a purpose that had
been denied her.  Now that she was awake for the first time since
Laurel had died, she could sense things she had never before known
existed.

Whatever they had done to her, augmenting her telepathic powers had
been included.  She could sense their thoughts now.  Everyone on the
station, although that was not very many people at the moment.  The
Narns, the valiant defence force.  She felt like laughing.  Just what
were they fighting for?  What did they know?  What *could* they know? 
She could sense their loyalty and their devotion, and it made her ill.
 Such emotions simply did not exist in her any more.

And she could feel him.  The Minbari.  Valen.  They said she had to
kill him.  She knew why, as well.  Not in words, exactly, but she
could see Earth again, and she could see her brother.  *Do as we say,*
spoke the voice of her masters, *and that will never have happened.*

The station shook, and she almost fell.  What was happening out there?

The nauseous feeling was stronger.  Reeling against the wall, she
began to swallow harshly.  How long had it been since she had last
eaten?  Did she even need to eat any more?

*There is no time for such things.  We are here now.  Trust in us and
there will be nothing to fear.*

"You!  Halt!" cried an unfamiliar voice.  She was sure she did not
know the language, but somehow she understood the words.

Turning, she saw a Narn before her.  He was dressed in a uniform she
had seen a lot these last few days, but had only barely noticed.  A
golden sunburst badge indicated very clearly just whom he served, but
there was something else, a strange metallic disc she did not
recognise.

The Narn moved forward slowly, drawing a long sword.  It was afraid of
her.  This... this big, strong alien was afraid of her.

*It is afraid of us.  Do not worry.  We are here now.  Can you see
us?*

She could, and for one brief moment she saw her master shimmer into
view just as it raised a limb and tore through the Narn's chest.  A
spray of dark blood came from his mouth and he fell.  The sword made a
very loud noise as it hit the floor.

*The disc.  Take it and attach it to your clothing.*

For the first time she took notice of the clothes she was wearing.  A
casual mix of civilian and military.  Wondering idly just who had
chosen this for her, she bent down beside the dead Narn and removed
the metal disc.  She held it up and looked at it curiously.  It was
not an insignia, not a designation of rank.  There seemed to be some
machinery attached to it, but she could not work out what it was.

*Attach it to your clothing.*

Her master was angry this time, and she hastily did as she was
ordered. The disc clipped easily on to her jacket.

*Now.  This is what you must do.*

She listened attentively, and then made her way as she had been
directed. She had not much time, and the fate of the entire human race
depended on her.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"How do I look?" Lady Elrisia asked, pondering her reflection in the
mirror.  She knew perfectly well how she looked, but a little extra
flattery made all the difference.  Not that Cartagia would notice, but
a lot of the other nobles would.  Not all of them were like her
husband, thank the Gods.

Elrisia was a creature of the Court, and she always had been.  Trapped
first by her father and then by her scheming, single-minded husband,
she had learned a great deal about power and how to gain it.  Oh, of
course women could have no official power within the Court or the
Centarum, but unofficially, that was another matter...

Now if only Cartagia would do as he was bid.  He was enough to try the
patience of a saint!  She thought Refa had been bad enough, but
Cartagia was almost exactly the opposite.  Where Refa had been
concerned only with power and glory and nothing else, Cartagia
seemed... hardly bothered about anything.  He wrote poetry he would
not let her see.  He kept a diary no one else could read.  And he
talked to himself.  Frequently.  Loudly.  In gibberish.

But insanity had never stopped anyone else becoming Emperor, had it? 
The thirteenth Emperor had made a small fruit tree his Minister of
Defence after all, and hardly anyone had complained.  But then,
compared to most of the other Ministers at the time, the fruit tree
was probably the most efficient of the lot.  It was the only one never
to try to seize power for itself.

"You look beautiful, Mistress," said her maid, bowing her head. 
Elrisia's mood lifted a little.  Of course she looked beautiful.  She
knew that.  As long as the Court knew it too.  Appearances were
important, after all.  If only Cartagia would see that.

She looked at the maid, trying to remember her name.  Adira
something... Oh well, it didn't matter.  Truthfully, Elrisia didn't
like this maid. She preferred ugly servants wherever possible, so that
her beauty would shine the better, but Adira had been foisted on her. 
Besides, she was one of the few servants left in the Court who hadn't
run away or been burned alive.

Elrisia snorted and turned back to the mirror, contemplating her
reflec- tion again.  The door suddenly opened, and she sighed.  A
guard stepped in.

"Master Vir Cotto, from the Court, my lady," the guard said, and in
came a bumbling little man Elrisia had hated for years.

"The... um... the... uh... the Court is... uh... ready for you... um,
my lady."  Elrisia sighed.  What a pathetic person.  Still, he had put
up with Refa for quite a while, and amongst Minbari as well.  That
would be enough to drive anyone insane.  Elrisia more than half
suspected that this... Vir's appointment with Refa to Minbar was an
offhanded insult from Mollari.

"About time," she muttered.  "Has word been sent to Prince Cartagia?"

"Yes.  Oh yes, Lady.  He is... um... he is... ah... on his way, yes. 
He's on his way to the Court."

"Well.  That is a pleasant surprise.  I was half expecting him to be
at the other side of the city or something."  She suddenly noticed
Adira was still beside her.  "What are you still doing here?  Go
away."  The maid curtsied and left.  She flashed a nervous smile at
Vir as she did so, and he made a pathetic sort of wave in response.

Elrisia paused next to the mirror for a moment, and then smiled. 
Perfect. "Is my escort ready?" she asked.

"Oh, y... y...  Yes, Lady.  Just as you requested."

She sighed.  "Tell me, just who exactly made you a Runner for the
Court?"

"The Emperor Refa, Lady.  Just before he d... just before he, um,
died, Lady."

Ah.  That explained a lot.  Refa obviously had understood the insult,
and was seeking to pass it around.  "Well, then.  Let us go."  She
paused and looked at him carefully.  "That is a delightful brooch
you're wearing. Where did you get it?"

He fingered the circle-of-light badge pinned to his jacket.  "Ah yes,
Lady.  I... um...  I... er... bought it in the marketplace... Lady. 
A... er, Minbari fashion, I believe."

"Ah.  A pity.  I can't see many people wearing those lately."  Elrisia
then swept past him, and went on her way to meet her destiny.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Kats was alone, surrounded by a great and terrible darkness.  Not a
physical darkness, but an emotional one.  He would be dead by now. 
Dead, because he had spoken up, and she had remained mute, silent.

*He is dead.*

She had given up trying to meditate.  The necessary peace of mind just
would not come.  All she could think of were Kozorr's last words.  He
had said he loved her.  Somehow she had always known that, but she had
never dared to speak.  He had already risked so much for her: his
hand, his health, his position... and now his life.

The sound of footsteps outside her room roused her, but she did not
turn. It would be either Sonovar or Forell, and she wished to see
neither.  She had tried to warn Sonovar about Forell's corruption, but
he had not listened.  Was he corrupted as well?  Obviously.  He
acted... he seemed insane.  Or was that nothing more than ranting
warrior caste honour?  She could easily see Sinoval behaving the way
Sonovar had if he felt he needed to, and that scared her more than
anything else she could think of.

"He died well."  It was Sonovar, with an almost... accusing tone to
his voice.  "A noble death.  He did not flinch, or cry out, or beg for
mercy. He did try to say something as he died.  I believe it was your
name.  I couldn't be sure, though."  He was inside her room now, his
footsteps approaching directly behind her.

"Yes, a fine and noble death, indeed.  A warrior's death."  There was
a flurry of movement, and his pike thudded into the ground less than
an inch from her side.  She cried out in shock, and recoiled, noticing
that it was stained with blood.

He grabbed the collars of her robe and hauled her roughly to her feet.
Some of the fabric tore, but she did not notice as she looked into his
eyes.  They were blazing with a powerful fury.

"A true warrior's death.  A better one than you deserve, you worker
coward!"

In desperation, and a considerable portion of terror, she reached out
and slapped him across the face.  Another blow was aimed at his gut,
but he blocked that one and tossed her back.

"You said you would let me go!" she snapped.

He smiled, a surprisingly warm and friendly smile.  "Indeed I did, and
I will keep my word.  I am a warrior, and my word is my life. 
Warriors... do not lie.  A shuttle will take you to the surface now. 
A few Tak'cha will accompany you.  We have... a message to leave for
Primarch Sinoval when he arrives."

"No more killing!" she cried.  "Haven't you...?"

He slapped her across the face and she reeled, falling back.  "I am
not a murderer!  I killed only those who had knowingly, and
willingly... betrayed their people by allying with Sinoval.  The
common people of Tarolin Two were innocent of that particular crime. 
They will live."

"And the people at the shelter?  What were they guilty of?  You're not
making any sense... not to anyone."  A sudden realisation struck her.
"What has happened to you?  Is it... is it...  Oh, Valen."

"That sounds very much as if you are accusing me of something, worker
whore.  What?"  His voice was icy cold, and he advanced on her. 
"There was a time when any worker who spoke as you did to a warrior
would have been executed.  Kalain sought to bring that time back
again, and it was only through the treachery of those he trusted that
he failed to do so. I... will not fail.  What did you say to me?"

"Nothing...  Nothing."

"Answer me!"  He raised his pike high above his head.

"Kalain was a monster and a madman, and you have become just like him!
 I saw your face while Kalain was... hurting me.  You knew it was
wrong, and yet you stayed there.  You watched and watched, and you
knew...  You... knew!"

"Kalain was a great man, a true visionary.  He... fell into
over-excess, perhaps, but I will not condemn a great man because of
one... minor... flaw."  He lowered his pike and compressed it, fixing
it back to his belt. "Come, my lady.  Your shuttle back to freedom
awaits."

Without saying another word, he turned and stalked from the room.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Impressive, isn't it?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Valo looked out at the assembled soldiers.  Impressive wasn't quite
the word for it.  Magnificent would be more appropriate.  He had been
told there were not enough resources for the war.  He had been told
the army did not have enough men.  He had been told a great many
things.

But here he was, having assembled a force like this in mere weeks. 
Former soldiers, disaffected Guards, mercenaries...  What could be
accomplished if the Republic was led by someone with the will and the
strength to do what was necessary?  The Court was populated by the
weak, the foolish, the selfish, the mad, and combinations of all four.
 There was no Emperor, and there never would be if matters continued
like this.  And the only man all of them could look up to...  Malachi
was a traitor who would sell his entire race out to the Narns.

Better by far that a strong Emperor took over.  Take the throne by
force, hold it by strength and will.  And then he could work on the
Narns.  Drive them back to their homeworld and blast it into oblivion.
 And then perhaps the humans...  Or... well.  Time for that later.

A good soldier always knew how to prioritise.

"Are we ready, Mollari?"

"Yes, my Lord.  Our agents indicate that Lady Elrisia has called
together a meeting of the full Court, near enough.  Lord Jarno is not
likely to be in attendance, nor First Minister Malachi, but everyone
else should be there."

"Good," Valo grunted.  Jarno, eh?  Who'd have thought a runt like that
would have demonstrated such backbone?  He might have to give the
weakling a place on his staff if he was capable of repeating what he'd
done to Lord Kiro.

"Good.  Catch them all at once, eh Mollari?"

"Indeed, my Lord.  Do we have your orders?"

Valo smiled, imagining himself as Emperor.  Strength, willpower,
courage. That was what an Emperor needed.

"Yes."

By the end of the day he would be Emperor.  He had a feeling for these
things.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Like a black cloud they come, blotting out the stars.  They shimmer,
and scream, and kill.

And they are met by a pitiful handful of ships, an alliance of races
working together in harmony, once sworn enemies now fighting side by
side.

On the bridge of the Parmenion, Lyta Alexander screams in agony as she
hears their whispers to her.  She fights them as best she can, holding
them off, paralysing their ships with her power, but it is hard now. 
So very hard.  Kosh is gone.  He is going to die.  She knows it, and
yet, somehow, from somewhere, she hears his soft words of
encouragement, and s he perseveres.  Despite the sweat pouring from
her brow, despite the ache in her muscles and bones, despite the
churning in her belly... she holds them off.

Beside her Captain Sheridan directs the ship forward, targeting the
paralysed Shadow vessels and damaging them, forcing them to retreat or
pull back.  Some are caught in a massive co-ordinated attack with
other ships and are blown apart.  But taking the entire battle into
account, it is plain that the Alliance ships are losing and cannot
hold out much longer.  But all they have to do is to allow the station
to reach its ultimate destination.

John Sheridan is not thinking about Babylon 4.  He is thinking about
his love, and that he will never see her again.  He knows what he must
do, what all of them have to do.  He thinks about his crew, and he
hopes there will be a way for them to escape.

Captain Dexter Smith, on the bridge of the Babylon, holds his ship
back. He made a bargain for the safety of his crew, and he is not
willing to render that bargain useless by a meaningless death.  He
does not know the truth about Babylon 4, or Valen, or their destiny in
the past.  He only knows that he is fighting those who should be his
allies, alongside those who should be his enemies.

But he remembers the man who occupied this chair before him, and he
knows just how far a foolish ambition can take him.  He will survive
this battle, both he and his crew.  He will protect the planet that
houses the Great Machine, because he knows it is right.

And to his surprise, his ship is quite capable of taking on the
horrific creatures that swoop and scream and destroy.

And in the Heart of the Great Machine, Michael Garibaldi is
screaming...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*Concentrate!*

His heart is pounding, his head spinning.  He can see many things, but
none of them with his eyes.  He watches as Babylon 4 passes into the
temporal rift.  He can see the brilliance of the colours, the sheer
force of the energy that can tear a tunnel back a thousand years.

And the only thing keeping that tunnel open is his willpower.

*Come on, Garibaldi.  Don't foul up here.  Everyone's depending on
you. Everything's down to you.*

But it is hard.  So hard.  He remembers what this Machine did to
Donne.

Somehow, through many distant layers of senses, he feels something wet
trickle down his cheek.  He can taste a coppery warmth in his mouth.

He does not want to think what either of those things are.

"I...  I... can't..."

And the rift slowly, ever so slowly, begins to slip away from him.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lyta Alexander screams and falls to the floor.  Her strength is gone. 
Her will is gone.  She can hear Kosh imploring her to continue, but
she cannot move.

The Shadow ships come forward now...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, Part 7B
Date: Mon, 1 Mar 1999 19:03:23 +0000

They came to the Court, called by one they hated, or feared, or wanted
to be close to.  There had been a great deal of speculation on who
would be the next Emperor, but the matter was by now resolved, at
least in most minds.  All the other viable candidates had been removed
from contention.

Malachi was rumoured to be very ill, and in any case he had refused
the honour when it was offered.  He had done a magnificent job of
holding everything together through such difficult times, and he would
no doubt have a place in the new Government, but he was old and ill. 
Younger blood was called for.  Jarno, a former First Minister, had
overplayed his hand. In attacking the estate of a fellow noble he had
become too dangerous for the Court.  He was currently in hiding,
evading charges of treason.  Kiro, a popular choice among such of the
old guard as had supported Refa, was dead.  Marrago and Valo were both
dead, or disgraced, or missing, or combinations of the three.  Londo
Mollari was a traitor and a regicide.

That left only one, and of course he had been the natural choice,
everyone muttered to themselves.  I've always said so.  The blood of
the old Emperor in him.  Young blood.  Enthusiastic.  Just the type we
need.  Oh, those rumours are clearly false, base accusations.  A
young, vibrant leader, yes, just what we need to lead us into the next
century (some eight years away, by the Centauri calender).

Cartagia listened to all this, and smiled knowingly.  He knew
perfectly well that they believed him to be a madman, and they were
all secretly planning how to advance their own ambitions around him. 
Elrisia was receiving all manner of gifts, promises and favours.

Cartagia watched this little dance, and smiled to himself.  Let
Elrisia do as she wished, he did not care any more.  There might have
been a time he would have liked her at his side, but his plans had...
changed recently. Knowledge is power, as the Centauri say, and so
Cartagia was the most powerful man in the Republic.

He even had a faint idea of what the old man Malachi had been up to. 
It hadn't taken too much working out, either.  Everyone knew the one
little detail they needed to work it out, they just... pretended not
to know. People did not apply themselves properly, that was the
problem.

He considered calling a meeting with Malachi before this was all over.
Tell the old man what he knew.  No, let him suspect.  Malachi had
practically written the book on Courtly life after all.  Better by far
to let him suspect and wonder, than know.

Cartagia nodded and smiled at the nobles fawning at his feet.  He
spoke to each one briefly in turn.  He accepted numerous offers from
not entirely unattractive ladies, offers that he had no intention of
following up.  He made promises of promotion and recognition, and gave
thanks for support.

And he waited patiently.

Elrisia was looking particularly beautiful.  It must have taken her a
great deal of effort.  Not to mention time.  And such a pity, it would
all be wasted.

How was that Minbari doing?  Cartagia hoped his timing had been
accurate. It would be very embarrassing to have Lennier running around
free before the festivities started.

Covered in blood, a guard half-ran, half-hobbled into view.  "We are
under attack," he gasped.  "The Palace is... is under attack!"

There was pandemonium.  Cartagia smiled.  Ah.  About time.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"People of Tarolin Two!  Hear my words, and thank me for your lives!"

Sonovar stood in his column of light, a deliberate replication of the
Hall of the Grey Council, now long since despoiled and desecrated.  He
knew this would be broadcast all over the planet.  His words would be
heard. Whether they were understood or not, heeded or not... well...
not even Valen had been perfect.

"You chose to side with one who has abandoned everything from our
past. You have turned your backs on the Grey Council, on Valen's
wisdom and laws, on centuries of tradition, and duty, and honour. 
Some of you did so through weakness, others through cowardice, others
through fear.  And some of you... those who are now dead... they did
so because they shared in the sacrilege and the wrongs of Sinoval."

How long until Sinoval arrived?  Not long, according to the probes. 
He had made the journey at a considerable pace.  It was after all a
very long way from Epsilon Eridani to the Tarolin system.  The very
outlying nature of the colony was what had saved it from the Earthers
in the first place.

"I am a kind and benevolent leader.  I have punished only those who
acted deliberately in their wrongdoing.  Those of you who were weak,
or afraid, or cowardly...  You, I have let live, to reflect on your
flaws.  Remember me, and remember what brought me here.  I am Sonovar,
of the Night Walkers clan, and I will redeem my people in Valen's
eyes... before we can be ready to embrace him once more."

The signal stopped, and Sonovar stepped from the column of light.  He
felt the faintest tinge of a headache developing.  The stress of the
last few days, obviously.

Kats was on the surface now.  What she was doing, he had no idea.  As
long as she lived to present her message to Sinoval, it hardly
mattered.  In many ways, he reflected, she herself was the message.

"You are finished here, my lord?"

Sonovar started and turned, an angry curse on his lips.  Forell.  He
breathed out harshly.  "Yes, I am finished.  Put me through to the
Ramde, and then we will be ready to leave.  All the Tak'cha have been
recalled from the planet?"

"Yes, lord.  Are you well?  You look..."

"You are not my nursemaid, Forell!  Do not forget your place here!"

"Yes, lord.  As you say, lord.  It... it has been a productive trip
here, has it not, lord?"

"Yes," Sonovar said, reflecting.  "A very productive trip."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lord-General Marrago stood amidst the ruins of a dream, and pondered
the future.  Debts of loyalty had bound him his entire life: to
friends, to those who served under him, to the young woman he had
taken as his daughter.  He did not even know if Lyndisty was still
alive.  Given the news coming in from the capital, it seemed doubtful.

He was listening silently as Durano relayed his information.  The man
had agents everywhere, a great many of them in the capital.

Durano, Virini and Timov had come to Gallia almost immediately after
the city had been secured.  Marrago would have much preferred it had
they stayed in Selini.  For all their respective eminence they were
all civil- ians, and they could not understand the ways of warfare. 
He did, all too well.

Durano finished, and Marrago looked around at his companions.  He had
been able to work out much of what Durano had just told him.  Marrago
himself had only one real agent in the capital, but given Carn's
current placing in affairs there, that was enough.  In any case, all
that was truly needed was a good mind, and Marrago had that. 
Unfortunately, so did Durano.  And Timov and Virini for that matter...

"We have to do something," said Timov quickly.  "Londo could still be
alive in the capital."

"That is doubtful," Marrago said softly.

"You don't know that."

"No, but I promise you, Timov, I pray that Londo is still alive, but I
am a soldier, and a soldier's hearts have no room for futile hopes."

"Ah, but Lord-General," said Durano, "Lord Valo is also a solider, is
he not?  His attack on the Court would seem to indicate that he is
convinced he can win."

"Maybe not.  Valo was always a little over-confident.  Still, in this
case his ambitions do not far outreach his capabilities.  If our
information is right about the size of his forces, he should be able
to take the Court."

"And if he has the Court, then he has the Republic," spoke up Virini.
Marrago looked at him, and could see just what it was Londo liked
about the little man.

"Which brings me back to my point," snapped Timov.  "We have to do
something.  Not just for Londo, but for the Republic itself.  Bad
enough we had to abandon Camulodo, but if we cannot act now then we
will lose the capital... or there will be nothing left to save."

Marrago sighed.  "My lady... our forces are stretched too far as it
is. We are barely able to hold the territory we have at the moment. 
Should any sort of counterstrike be mounted we would be hard pressed
to defend ourselves.  We simply do not have the military strength
necessary to take the capital.  I had... hoped that we could
destabilise Valo from within and bring him over to our side, but it
seems that is a futile hope now."

"Then I will go alone," Timov announced.  "You were a good friend of
Londo's, Marrago, but you have lost sight of what we are trying to
achieve.  We are going to save this planet, not let it burn and pick
up the pieces."

"She is right, Lord-General," spoke up Durano, his piercing gaze
locked with Marrago's.  "If we do not act now, there will be little
left to save."

"Londo gave me full authority on military matters, if you remember? 
If we go for the capital now, we will literally be throwing everything
on one roll of the dice.  Londo may have been a gambling man in his
younger days, but I am not.  No true soldier is."

"Sometimes we have to gamble to win," said Timov.

Marrago looked slowly into the eyes of each one of them: Timov quietly
determined, blithely convinced; Virini afraid, but certain; and Durano
silently mocking.  *One day, he and I will clash.*

"Very well," Marrago said finally.  "I will gather all the resources I
can and we will launch an assault on the capital.  I only pray that we
manage to emerge from this safely."

"So do we all," added Durano.

*Yes, one day... but not today.*  A good soldier always knew when to
wait.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Help is coming.  There is nothing to fear, Ta'Lon."

Valen knew the value of all the weapons at his disposal, as did any
good leader.  He knew how to use a fighting pike, how to wield a
sword, a shanmari and any one of countless other alien weapons, some
of which had not been used by any living being for centuries.  Of
course he had not yet been taught how to use such weapons, but that
hardly mattered.

His greatest weapon, however, was his voice.  This one he had used
before, and he had witnessed its power even in this time.  Seldom
before, though, had his weapon of choice had so little effect.

"Help will be coming, yes... but the Enemy will be here sooner.  We
must regroup."

It was almost refreshing not to know what would happen next.  Or it
would be refreshing if the situation were not so serious.

"Where is the Vorlon, anyway?" Ta'Lon asked.  "We could need him."

"He has... gone somewhere," Valen acknowledged.  He did not really
know, in truth, but he trusted Kosh.  "He will return when we need
him."

Babylon 4 had entered the temporal rift with little problem, save for
those Shadows which had already got on board.  Somehow they were
unaffec- ted by the temporal instabilities of the rift.  Also aboard
was their agent, Susan Ivanova, who had managed to escape during the
frantic preparations for the trip.  Ta'Lon and his Rangers had been
fighting a desperate holding action against them, but it was clear
that they were losing.

And then the station had emerged from the rift, two years in the past,
above an Epsilon 3 and a Great Machine that had yet to witness the
sheer bloodshed being delivered in its skies.  A ship was there, a
human ship. And there were two very special people on board.

"Oh, dear," said Zathras.  "<Click, click>  This not good."

"What?" asked Valen.  "What is it?"

The little alien looked up from the consoles.  "Temporal machinery is
damaged.  Stray blast from battle, Zathras thinks.  We must repair,
and quickly."

"Where is this piece of machinery?"

"Outside.  Near ion engines.  Very delicate area.  Yes.  Must repair."

"Outside the station?  Can you manage to repair it?"

"We have parts, yes.  We have tools, also.  But... ah... we not have
space suit to fit Zathras.  Zathras cannot breathe in space, and there
not be space suits to fit Zathras.  Therefore, Zathras cannot go
outside. Zathras needs to breathe.  Most unfortunate, yes.  <Click,
click>  Great inefficiency, yes.  Zathras should have been designed
better."

"What space suits do we have?  We have to fix that machinery somehow."

"Mostly Narn, or human," replied Ta'Lon.  "We took some of the human
space suits from the Parmenion and the other ships.  Most of the
technicians who worked on the final components of the temporal
machinery were human."

"We have Narn space suits as well.  Do you know how to fix it?"

"I do not, no... and I am needed here.  If I or any of my men leave to
try to repair this, then we will be unable to hold off the Shadows."

"I can do it," spoke up a new voice suddenly.

"Catherine!  No, I am sorry."

"Yes, I can, Jeffrey.  I've done space repairs before, back when I was
working for IPX.  I used to do a lot of emergency repairs to my
shuttle. This can't be that much different, if Zathras will explain to
me what's involved."

"Ah, yes.  Zathras happy to explain.  Problem is that central magnetic
lock needs to be replaced.  Now you..."

"You can't do this," interrupted Valen.  "I'm sorry, Catherine. 
You..."

"Don't, Jeff.  I said I was coming along on this, and I've got to pull
my weight.  You need this fixed, and I'm the only person you can spare
to do it."

"I...  I..."

"Let her go," said Zathras, his face very serious.  "She will be
fine."

"Damn," he whispered.  "Fine, go on, Catherine.  But come back."

"Of course I will."

"Ta'Lon, can you spare any men to escort Catherine and Zathras to the
docking bays?  We need to get them there as soon as possible."

"I will see what..."  The door to the command centre suddenly opened
and two Narns ran in.  Both were bleeding heavily.  "They're coming. 
We can't hold them any longer."

"I will have to escort all of you," Ta'Lon said seriously.  "We must
hurry."

A few minutes later Susan Ivanova walked into the empty room and
looked around.  They'd gone.  Oh well, it didn't matter.  They
couldn't hide forever.  "What do I do now?" she asked.

They told her.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo knew that something was wrong.  He knew the palace compound as
well as any place he had ever been.  Most of his life had been spent
here: as a young idealist, as a cynical hardened politician, as one of
the most prominent figures in the Government, and now as a prisoner.

But in all that time, he had never known the Court like this.

>From his cell he could not hear the screams of panic or the terrified
pleas or the cries of the wounded, but he could feel the death hanging
in the air.

"Great Maker," he whispered to himself.  "What has happened out
there?"

He was tired of pacing up and down the cell.  He was tired of staring
at the walls, or the door, or the window.  He was tired of reliving
that terrible vision of the war in the heavens.  He was tired of being
a prisoner here!

"How is it going, I wonder?"  He preferred talking to himself.  The
sound of his voice eased the anger he felt, although not by much. 
"Marrago, and Durano, and Timov... ah... I have faith in you all. 
Yes.  You will do well, I am..."

He paused and turned, just as the door to his cell opened.  A bright
light filled the room, and he winced.  "If this is my lunch, you are
very late," he snapped, trying to suppress a surge of fear.  What if
he was to be taken to see that... vision again?  What if...?

"Minister Mollari," said a familiar voice.  "Come quick.  We do not
have much time."

"Lennier!  Ah, Great Maker, I could kiss you!"  He rushed to the
doorway of light and crossed the threshold into the corridor.

"That will... not be necessary.  But I thank you for the offer all the
same.  We should hurry now.  I... believe something unpleasant is
happening at the Court."

"Yes, I can feel it.  How did you escape, anyway?"

"I was... freed.  By Prince Cartagia."

"What?  I do not like the sound of that.  No, I do not like the sound
of that at all.  Why would he do such a thing?"

"I... do not know."  Londo looked at his friend.  The Minbari was
lying. Oh, it was well known that Minbari did not lie, but Londo was a
career politician, and he knew a falsehood when he heard one.  Still,
he decided to keep quiet.  Lennier had his reasons, and it was
unthinkable that he was working for... them.

"Well then, we had better get out of here, and quickly, as you said.
We..."  He looked around.  "Where are all the guards?  This is a high-
security prison.  They should be all over the place."

"I have not seen any since I was freed.  Perhaps they have been called
away?"

"Cartagia again?  Or something else?  Well, we shall have to see. 
Anyway, we have a brief opportunity here, and we should not waste it. 
Come on, my friend.  I know where to go."

"To the spaceport, hopefully.  Or perhaps to some allies or agents you
may have in the city?"

"No.  To see Malachi.  He will be at the Court, and I have to see him.
 I have to know...  I just have to know."

"And... it will undoubtedly do no good to point out that it was this
need to know that put us both here in the first place?"

"He is my friend, Lennier.  And he is a good man.  A very good man. 
He would not do something like this unless he had a very good reason. 
I need to know."

"Ah, well then.  You will lead, and I will follow."

"Good."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

A flash of light, a scream of agony in the mind.

The Parmenion shook with the impact, redirecting its broadsides to the
monsters before it.  The Shadow ship recoiled, spinning backwards, but
recovered effortlessly.

"We're losing hull integrity, Captain," said Commander Corwin.  He was
thinking about Mary.  He wanted to see her again.  He wanted to ask
her...

"And the jump engines are down, possibly permanently.  Normal engines
at little better than forty percent capacity, and we're going to lose
rotation any minute now."

Captain John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller, was thinking about
dying...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"I can't hold it any more!"

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"I can't explain it... but they don't seem to be targeting us. 
They're going for the other ships, but they've been going straight
past us."

Captain Dexter Smith frowned.  "There could be any number of
explanations, Lieutenant Franklin.  We don't have time to consider
this now."

"Captain, what are we doing here?" asked a new voice.  "These...
aliens are our allies.  Why are we fighting them, alongside our
enemies?"

"I made a promise, Mr. Ericsson."  Smith looked at his Chief of
Security, and couldn't disagree with the truth of his words.  What was
he supposed to say?  That he had been told a lot of gibberish about
the future, and the past, and a legendary Minbari God?  He was not
sure he believed it himself.  He just knew that fighting here was
something he had to do.

"I assure you, Mr. Ericsson, that this is for the best.  I promise you
that you and all the crew will be permitted to return to Proxima once
this battle is over, and I further assure you that I personally will
take all responsibility for this action."

"If you say so, sir."  Ericsson did not look convinced.

"Captain," spoke up Franklin, "the Parmenion is in big trouble.  They
may be going down."

Sheridan's ship.  Smith thought for a fraction of a second, and then
gave his order.  "Bring us around to support them.  At their flank."

"But, Captain..."

"Do it!"

"Yes, sir."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Machine was in pain.  It did not want to hate its bearer.  It
wanted to love all who possessed it.  It had a function, a duty, a
sentience almost, and it wanted to guide its bearers to fulfill that
duty.

And yet it had been abused and violated.  It had been used to kill,
and its magnificent beauty had been tainted by the mind of a madwoman,
a murderer, a monster.

And now its current bearer, its third in as many days.  It can feel
his doubts, it can see his self-hatred, his self-destruction.  What
remains of Donne within it is happy.

He will not be able to control it.  His doubts are killing him.  He
came here to escape them.

Michael Garibaldi screamed, his heart almost wrenched from his chest.
Blood vessels burst in his eyes, and his head slumped.  He hung limp
in the Heart of the Machine.

The Narn bodyguards set to watch over him ran forward, knowing they
had a duty, a duty greater than their lives, a duty to see that the
rift remained open, and that Babylon 4 returned to its destined past.

The floor became a carpet of electricity, and in the space of a few
seconds they all died.

The cavern became to crumble, the planet began to shake, and the
Machine began to seek solace in oblivion.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The temporal rift shook.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Cartagia drifted through the Court like a ghost on glass.  No one
seemed to notice his presence there, and he did nothing to alert them.
 He watched as guards fought and killed each other.  He smiled slyly
as he looked at the bodies of nobles he had known since birth.  A true
house- cleaning, all very necessary.  It should have been done a long
time ago, and perhaps if it had the Republic would not be in this
state.  That was the Court for you... never could do anything right.

He could not see Elrisia, but he was not particularly looking for her.
 If she survived this it would suit his plans perfectly.  If she
didn't, he did not care.  Malachi was the important one, but then Valo
would see that as well.  Should he trust Valo to do the right thing,
and kill Malachi? Rely on Valo's intelligence?  Hmm... better not.

He began making for Malachi's quarters, casually stepping over the
bodies as he did so.  From the sound of it the fighting had drifted
over to the far end of the palace.  He wondered who was winning, but
then realised he really didn't care.  It would all be the same in a
few years.

He turned the corner and came face to face with none other than Valo
himself.  Malachi was lying on the floor, covered with blood.  He
reached feebly out to Cartagia, who glanced away.

"You," Valo snapped.  "Well well well."

"Lord Valo.  A great pleasure.  So nice to see you again, but I had
heard you'd been killed."

"Aristocratic bastard.  I should have..."

"Should have what?  You're a fool, Valo, and you'll be dead before the
century is out.  So will all of us.  One giant conflagration of
fire... and you've only brought it all the closer."

Valo lunged forward with his bloodstained kutari, but to Cartagia he
might as well have been swimming through treacle.  In one swift motion
the Prince had drawn his sword, knocked aside Valo's thrust, and
delicately sliced open his side.

The general fell.

"Get that wound seen to, my Lord," Cartagia advised.  "It shouldn't be
fatal.  Malachi's... on the other hand... should be."  He stepped
aside Valo's body, careful not to spill any blood on his clothing, and
approached the stricken First Minister.

"What a clumsy attempt at killing you, Malachi," he said, in an almost
friendly tone of voice.  "Ah well... you can never rely on anyone to
do anything important.  A simple truth, but one so many people forget.
 You knew it, didn't you?

"Oh... I know exactly what you've been doing... and I can hazard a
good guess as to why."  Malachi's eyes widened and he tried to whisper
some- thing, but Cartagia cut him off.  "All it took was a lot of
information, and a little use of intelligence.  I helped you.  To a
certain extent our plans lay in the same direction.  The only
difference was... you were planning for a future, and I am working
towards the absence of one.

"Smile, Malachi.  The Court is in chaos.  Just as you wanted...  It's
such a shame there won't be anyone to rise up from the ashes, isn't
it?"

"No..." the fallen noble rasped.  "Cartagia... no..."  The prince
raised his sword.

"Malachi!" cried a new voice, and Cartagia gave a silent curse to Gods
he didn't believe in.  "Cartagia."

"Londo."  Mollari and his Minbari companion were coming from the other
side of the corridor.  "Your timing is... as ever... impeccable."

"It's over, Cartagia.  You can't win."

"I know.  I've never wanted to."  Without taking his eyes from
Mollari's, Cartagia took a few careful steps back.  He knelt down
beside Valo's body and picked up the general's fallen sword.  Valo
swore at him with appreci- able malice.  Good, the wound hadn't been
that deep after all then.  He had been starti ng to worry.

Cartagia hefted the sword.  A good balance, finely made, not one of
these darning needles the courtiers carried.  Say what you like about
him, Valo knew a good sword when he bought one.  It was just a pity he
couldn't use the damned thing.

Cartagia tossed the sword at Londo's feet, and raised his own in a
mock salute.  "You want me, Mollari.  Come and get me."

He turned and darted around the corner.

Londo paused only to scoop up the sword, and then went straight to
Malachi's side.  The wound was deep, and it looked serious.

"Lon...do..." gasped Malachi.  "I...  I... tried to do... what I...
thought was... right.  I..."

"Shush.  Don't speak."

"I... must.  Must... explain..."

"You'll be able to explain later.  Lennier, try and stop the bleeding.
Keep his head up, and... and..."  There must be something else he
could remember about first aid techniques.  Timov would skin him alive
if he'd forgotten.  "Ah yes... and make sure his pulse is as steady as
possible. Both hearts need to be working."

"Lon...do..."

"I'm going after Cartagia, Malachi.  I'll be back soon."

"Londo," said Lennier, suddenly, looking up from his position next to
Malachi.  "He is a very dangerous man.  He wants you to follow him."

"I know."

Londo turned and ran after Cartagia.  He knew where the Prince would
be going, but that didn't matter, as Cartagia had conveniently left
marks... streaks of blood on the walls and doors.  *Lennier was right,
he does want me to follow him.*

Sure enough Cartagia was standing in the throne room, surrounded by
the bodies of guards, nobles and courtiers.

"You took your time, Mollari."

"I had things to do.  What have you done here, Cartagia?"

"Me?  I did nothing.  Malachi did a lot... and these poor foolish
morons did something as well... but me?  All I've done is prepare for
death."

"What do you mean?"

Cartagia smiled and lunged forward, his sword clipping the edge of
Londo's hair.  The Prince stepped back, smiling.  "Come on, Mollari. 
Death is a truly wonderful thing, and she's waiting for us."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"There.  Done it."  Catherine looked at the piece of machinery in
front her and double checked it against the description Zathras had
given. "Catherine to Zathras, are you there?"

She hoped this would be enough.  Her space suit was very
uncomfortable, and she did not even like the colour.  She had always
hated blue.  On top of that she was developing a nagging headache and
a very uncomfortable sensation that someone, or something, was
watching her.

"Yes, yes, Zathras here.  Zathras not be going anywhere."  There was a
pause, and then the signal came back.  "That is fine.  Machinery is
all fixed now.  Return to inside.  Help will be reaching us very
soon."

"I hope so."  She risked a look over her shoulder, and dimly, beyond
the cloud-like wall that surrounded the station, she could see the
faint traces of a spaceship.  A shuttle was approaching.  "I...  Wait
a minute. Zathras... when did you call for them?"

"Zathras did not call for help."

"Then... Jeff didn't.  Who did?"

"Ah... not good to be thinking about that.  This is... history. 
Everything will come out fine."

"Oh no."  A sense of pure terror came over her.  "They know help is
coming aboard.  The... the Shadows.  They know!"

"Zathras not worry.  Zathras..."

The signal cut dead, and a brilliant light filled her mind.  She
almost screamed.  <Your task is done,> said the voice.

"No," she whispered.  "You can't... you...  Jeffrey!"

<You must leave him.  His destiny will be reached alone.  He does not
need you.>

"Jeffrey!"

The temporal rift shuddered, and the entire station trembled. 
Catherine screamed as the Vorlon's light filled her mind.  She felt
the magnetic clamps giving way from the side of the station.  Knowing
what was going to happen, and powerless to stop it, she could see once
again the awesome majesty of the Vorlon that filled her soul.  It was
finished with her. Events had conspired to make her intended role
worthless.

It needed her no longer.

She was thrown away from the station, consumed by the mist of time
that engulfed her.  The passage of the ages took her, and she was lost
to everything.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, Part 7C
Date: Mon, 1 Mar 1999 19:04:13 +0000

"It's over, Captain!  Hull integrity is practically nothing."

Sheridan sighed, and rubbed at his eyes.  He could see Delenn.  She
knew he had lied to her.  She knew he would not be returning.

What other option was there?  He was a dying man anyway, a man cursed
to doom all he knew and loved before he went.  A twisted, hateful
legacy.  He would not let Deathwalker have her last, black laugh at
humanity's expense.

Everyone has to die sometime.  Better to do it as a hero, saving
everything.

But his crew?  His friends?  What about them?  David... he had a right
to live.  He had so much to live for.  So did all the others.

"Parmenion, this is the Babylon.  You cannot survive many more hits. 
Get to the life pods, and we will bring you aboard.  This is the..."

"Parmenion hears you," replied Sheridan.  "We will be evacuating now."
 He looked up at David.  "You heard him.  Get as many of the crew as
you can to the life pods, the shuttles, any remaining Starfuries...
anything."

"What about you, Captain?"

"I've...  I'll just stay here.  I'll leave after the rest of the
crew."

Corwin's eyes narrowed.  "You've never lied to me before, Captain. 
This would be a really bad time to start."

"I'm not.  I'll see you at Kazomi Seven.  I promise.  Now go!"

"You heard the Captain," he snapped to the rest of the bridge crew.
"Guerra, issue a ship-wide evacuation order.  Ensure the life pods and
shuttles are prepared.  Go!"

John Sheridan visualised the scene outside.  He thought about dying...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn had gone so far beyond anger that she did not know what she was
feeling.  Beyond fear, beyond fury, beyond revenge... she was in a
white calm, in a place where she could be completely at peace.  She
observed the battle with a clinical detachment, directing things as
much as possible from far in the rear.  She needed to survive, Taan
Churok had told her. She was important, Lethke had said.

She knew all these things, and yet it still felt so wrong... being
here when people were fighting and dying.  She could see the reports
about the Parmenion.

"Delenn!" barked Taan Churok.  "The planet..."

She looked at the instruments, and gasped.

Epsilon 3 was shaking, trembling, tearing itself apart.

"The Machine...  Valen's Name.  Can we get word to anyone there?"

"Tried.  Signal couldn't get through."

"What about the rift?  Is it still functional?"

"Do not know."

She closed her eyes, and thought about death.  She thought about life.
She thought about Minbar, about Earth, about the untold millions who
had died in the time since she had made her fatal mistake.

She would not let more die here.  The Machine was dying.  When it was
finally gone, the explosion would destroy everything in the area. 
There was nothing more they could do to protect the past.  The Shadow
ships kept coming, and coming... endless waves of black, screaming
nightmares.

"Issue the order to withdraw.  We have done all we can.  Whichever
ships are not too badly damaged should form a protective screen.  I do
not know if they will simply let us leave."

"We've done all we can."

"But was it enough?" she whispered, looking at him intently.  "Was it
enough?"

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Whatever Delenn might have thought, the Shadow ships did not try to
stop the fleet leaving.  Those ships that were still firing on the
Shadow ships were destroyed, mercilessly and efficiently, but those
that fled were unharmed.  The Babylon managed to enter hyperspace with
no problems, all the crew from the Parmenion taken aboard.

The Shadow ships bore down on the dying world, obviously intending to
hasten its demise.  No one seemed to know just how long the temporal
rift would last after the death of the Great Machine.  Better to be
sure, for them.

John Sheridan stood alone on the deck of his burning, battered ship. 
He had given one last order, and it had been obeyed just before the
remains of the engine crew had left the ship.

The doomed and dying Parmenion soared forward, heading directly for
the mass of screaming, inky darkness before it.  The ships turned
towards its inexorable advance.  They turned, and fired.

The Machine died.  Epsilon 3 died, and become a billion pieces of
shattered rock, and machinery, and weapons.

John Sheridan stood quietly as the Parmenion tore into the Shadow
vessels, just as the explosion of the planet tore into his ship.

His world exploded.


To be continued...
From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, Part 8A
Date: Wed, 10 Mar 1999 17:21:02 +0000

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

Hi people. Just the usual stuff really.

This story contains Spoilers for the episode War Without End, the 
comic book mini-series In Valen's Name, and contains references to, 
and scenes from the Phase 1 story, The Shadow of Her Past, the 
Illusion of His Future. Isn't it convenient you can find it on the 
website, hmm? That's at:
http://www.b5-dark-mirror.demon.co.uk

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

Personal Disclaimer: Heh heh.

Chapter Eight - A Line in the Sand, Part 8 of 8 [AT] [AC]
Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

It was over.

The Shadow ships had departed now, at least those that had survived
the colossal explosion th.  Some of them had been consumed by it, but
most had survived. They had done what they had come for, and so they
left.

Most of the other ships had managed to escape also, although a
terrible toll had been exacted on those who at had claimed the Great
Machine and the entirety of Epsilon 3 had failed.  A huge mass of
metal, rock, the cries of the dead...  They all hung together, a
testament to the futility of their deaths.

Alone in the middle of the desolation, the temporal rift was still
shining.  It was shaking and trembling, but it was still open.  A
lifeline to the past, a prayer for the future.

Somewhere within that rift lay the reason for all the bloodshed.  No
one knew how long it would remain open, or whether there would be
enough time for those inside it to reach their destination.

And somewhere, out amidst the devastation of the battlefield, there
lay the body of one Captain John Sheridan.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It was two years in the past, and he was younger then.  He was still
alive as well, uninfected by the terminal virus implanted by
Deathwalker, his wife still alive, still a champion of his people, a
hero.

John Sheridan knew nothing of his destiny as he walked slowly across
the docking bays of the station he knew had never been built.  He was
troubled and concerned, and still only gradually warming to the
presence of the woman at his side: Delenn, still Satai of the Minbari,
still fully Minbari, she had not yet gone through her ordeal caught
between races, or the horrors of the Drakh occupation of Kazomi 7, or
the sight of her beloved Minbar in ruins.

They were expected, and both parties were secretly waiting and
watching. Susan Ivanova, accompanied by invisible mentors who
whispered to her in her mind.  She knew what she had to do, but she
also knew who was to blame.  Sheridan had... betrayed her.  He had
killed Anna, and she had liked Anna, really truly liked her.  And yet
her masters were telling her that Sheridan was to be kept alive. 
Another was the true threat.

It was all very confusing.

And the others, Valen and Zathras and the remainder of their Narn
bodyguard - they were making for the docking bays, waiting for the
help they knew would arrive.  Valen wanted something more than help,
however. He wanted to see one person who had shown him a great deal,
and helped him, ever so slightly, to accept his destiny.

John Sheridan suddenly cried out and reeled back against the wall. 
Delenn caught him, but he seemed to be muttering something to himself.
 Valen sighed, and stepped back.  He knew what it was.  A time flash,
a temporal jump, to relive events from the past or to experience brief
glimpses of the future.  They had all been witnessing such phenomena
when the station had been orbiting Epsilon 3.  Now they had their
temporal stability discs, which should protect them from such things.

Sheridan blinked and started, resting against the wall.  "What
happened?" Delenn asked him.

"I... I don't know.  I was reliving my wedding.  It's like I was
there, but it was nine years ago.  I don't understand."

Valen breathed out slowly, and went forward to his destiny.  Zathras
walked beside him, but Ta'Lon and the other Narns remained in the
shadows. There was no telling what might be waiting.  "It's been
happening to all of us," Valen said, walking towards them.  "Flashes,
forwards or back." Sheridan's eyes were narrowing, but he did not
reach for a weapon.  He looked... so very different.  But then, Valen
had seen him only seldom two years in the future.

"Greetings, both of you.  I welcome you to this place."  Delenn gasped
softly.  Ah, she knew now.  "I am called Valen."

Sheridan shook his head, and as he did so he caught a glimpse of the
figure by Valen's side.  "Zathras!  But... what are you doing here? 
You stayed on the planet with G'Kar!"

"Ah, no, Captain.  Zathras is being very sorry, but Zathras last seen
you many years ago, yes.  Time has passed, yes.  Much time.  In your
years..."

"Zathras!" snapped Valen.  Sheridan and Delenn were not to know.  They
deserved some hope for the future at least.

"Ah yes, Zathras know, Zathras not supposed to talk about time. 
Zathras not supposed to talk about anything.  Zathras supposed to shut
up. Zathras is being shutting up.  There.  Zathras is shut up."

"I thank you both for coming," Valen repeated, ignoring his
companion's tantrum.  "We need your help, but first you have to
understand.  You have to..."

Sheridan blinked, and cried out.

There was a blur of movement, and a hissing, screaming noise.  Valen
started and turned.  Ta'Lon burst from the shadows, his sword
flashing. There was a burst of PPG fire.  Valen staggered back. 
"They're here," he whispered.  He could see Delenn directly in front
of him.  She was trying to grab Sheridan, who was shaking in the grip
of another time flash.

"Shadows here," Zathras snapped.  "We be going now.  Very quickly."

Something shimmered into view just in front of them.  Reaching out,
Valen seized hold of Delenn's sleeve and began to run in the direction
of the corridor.  Zathras followed, sniping around their heels. 
Ta'Lon moved to help Sheridan, but the shimmering form of the emerging
Shadows cut him off.  There was a hint of a human moving as well.

The four of them managed to reach the corridor, Ta'Lon and his Narns
trying to hold off the Shadow attack as the others gained ground.  "We
cannot just leave him," Delenn was saying.

"They won't kill him," he reassured her.  "It's me they want - me and
you. You have to understand, Delenn.  There's a lot I have to show
you, and not much time.  You told me about this, and now I have to do
what you said I did.  I have to..."

She blinked, and was lost to him.  She stiffened, and would have
fallen if he had not caught her.  Holding her as best he could, he
continued to run. "Time flash," Zathras said.  "This is... not good. 
Very strange also. Should not be happening this often.  Perhaps...
temporal rift is not working as well as it should.  Zathras is not
being liking the sound of that, no."

"You are not alone," Valen replied.  "But we can do nothing about that
now."

They stopped running at last, and waited to catch their breath. 
Delenn remained under the spell of the time flash, and he began to
worry.  This was too long.  "What is happening to her?" he asked
Zathras.

"Is... difficult to tell, with truth.  Rift is not acting as it
should. Not that Zathras can tell for sure, though, since Zathras has
never been back in time before, but... this should not be happening."

"Maybe the battle is going badly."

"Is one possibility, yes.  Is not very pleasant possibility.  Is..."

Delenn stirred.  "Valen's Name," she whispered.  Her eyes opened and
she looked around, confused.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" he asked.  "I've never seen anyone down for
that long."

She raised her hands to her forehead, and felt carefully around the
edges of her bone crest.  "Was... was that an image of what will
happen, or of what might happen?"

"We don't know," he replied.  "We've all had images of the past,
images that were surprisingly accurate."  He remembered uncomfortably
the sound of Marrain's last words to him, witnessed in a time flash
just before the station entered the rift.  Another failure brought
home to him.  "Of the future... none of us can be certain."

"I saw...  I saw..."

"Don't tell me, Delenn," he said swiftly.  "I must not know.  It is
not for me to know."  One more hint of a future he would never see. 
One more unanswered question.

"You know my name," she suddenly breathed in wonder.  "You... know my
name."

"Of course," he replied smiling.  "And you know mine.  Or you will. 
We brought this station from your future, to take it a thousand years
into the past.  I wrote myself a letter then, telling myself of what
will happen."  He had, a letter brought to him by Kosh when he arrived
at the station.  How Kosh had obtained it, he had no idea.  He had
read it, and was disheartened.  It told him things he already knew,
but it did some- thing to assuage his doubts, even if only a little.

"I wrote you a letter as well, although I don't know whether you ever
received it.  I came here for your help, Delenn - yours and
Sheridan's. Now I think I may have come here to help you.  Do you know
what you have to do?"

"Yes," she breathed.  "Yes.  I saw it... but... will my actions bring
about what I have seen?"

"I don't know, Delenn.  As I told you once, my place lies with the
future no longer, but with the past.  That is, of course, if we ever
make it there."

"What has happened?"

"We were ready to launch this station when the Enemy attacked.  It was
a hard battle, but we managed to get away.  I... don't know what
happened to my friends who were defending us.  Some of the enemy made
it aboard and have been trying to kill me.  If they do, then the past
will be doomed, and so will all of us.  I came here hoping to gain
your help, but the enemy have proven to be too strong for us."

"Then it was you who sent the message?"

He blinked, and prepared to tell just another lie, one of the few he
hoped he would ever have to tell her.  He was beginning to realise why
he had been brought to this time.  He was practically becoming a
Vorlon, and he hated it.  "What message?  No, we were unable to get
into the main control centre."

They had to see, both of them.  Sheridan and Delenn had to see what
lay before them, where their destinies led.  Delenn had to be prepared
for her exile, hence the use of her title Zha'valen.  Both of them had
a hard road ahead, and they had to be prepared for it.

"We received a message asking for myself and Captain Sheridan to come
over here, and to come alone.  It must have been a trap...  They have
him!"

"Delenn, Sheridan is a... clever man.  I am sure he..."

"No.  I know it.  They have him.  The Enemy has him!"

And they did.  Valen knew that for a fact.  He wished he did not have
to lie to them, he wished he could share something of what he knew to
be coming for them, he wished... he wished so much...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

There was the clash of metal against metal, the strain of muscles, the
beating of hearts...  Londo staggered back, wiping  at his eyes in
desper- ation.  Who would have thought he had become so old?  The time
had been when he could fight all day and carouse all night.

Cartagia smiled.  "Growing old, Mollari?  And you thought to rule. 
How can you rule our Republic when you cannot even stand for a few
minutes?"

He was right.  May all the Gods damn him, but he was right.  Cartagia
was a far younger man, whose days of wine, women and song had yet to
catch up with him.  He was fitter, stronger, and possessed of a
remarkable inner fortitude.  He also had been eating well these last
few days, and had not spent them chained to a dank cell well.

Cartagia drifted forward, his kutari flickering in his hand like a
living thing.  It sliced through the already-torn sleeve of Londo's
jacket and drew a red line across his forearm.  Spinning on his heel,
the Prince delivered an elbow jab to Londo's jaw, and he fell.  Again.

"Get up, Mollari.  I'm not finished with you yet.  Or has Elrisia been
sapping too much of your strength?"

"I've only seen her once since I got back to the capital," he panted,
staggering up.  Keep him talking, find some way to gather time, to
breathe.

"Ah yes.  When she took you to see our madman chained in the cellar. 
Did you enjoy the vision he showed you, hmm?  The death of our world. 
The death of all worlds, perhaps.  Who can say?"

"What?  You've... seen it, too.  Then... why have you..."  Londo was
trying to breathe, but it was becoming more and more difficult. 
"Why...?"

"Because, my dear Mollari.  The ultimate answer to everything. 
Because." He stepped forward.  "Are you ready to resume yet?  I can
wait a bit longer if you'd prefer."

"There he is!" cried a new voice, and Londo struggled to lift his
head. Two soldiers had burst into the room.  He could not be sure
whether they were loyalist guardsmen or part of Valo's attack force. 
The fighting had apparently drifted away from this area of the palace
building.

"Return to your posts," Cartagia said, bored.

"Not likely," one of them snarled.  He raised a small hand-held energy
pistol, a weapon usually carried by bodyguards to the nobles in
addition to their fanciful rapiers.

Cartagia smiled and raised his arm.  There was a blur of movement as
he threw his sword at the guard.  Crimson blood seemed to rain from
the soldier's throat as the sword pinned him against the wall.  His
companion was slow to react, and by the time he managed to do anything
Cartagia had drawn his own energy pistol and shot him squarely in the
head.

"How tiresome," he muttered, drifting over to the body of the first
soldier and pulling his kutari free.  "You'd think Valo would have
sent more than two, wouldn't you?  Oh, but then again, maybe not. 
I've culti- vated somewhat of an air of... ah... weakness, these last
few months. What better way to hide your true intentions, hmm,
Mollari?"

His back was still to Londo.  There was a chance now.  One brief
chance. Londo started forward, running as fast as he could, raising
his own sword in front of him.

Cartagia spun, kicking out in one fluid motion, striking Londo in the
belly.  Crying out, Londo fell back helpless as Cartagia delivered a
roundhouse kick to the side of his head that sent him sprawling.

"That was hardly sportsmanlike, Mollari.  Maybe you have learned
something on your travels after all.  Good.  You might make a fine
Emperor yet, albeit not for very long."

"What... do... you... mean?" he whispered, trying to stay conscious. 
His hearts were pounding.

"Oh, look around you, Mollari.  You're going to win this.  Everyone
knows that, because all the morons out there have been too busy
scrambling around trying to deal with each other.  Their ambitions are
not high enough, you see.  Only you, I and Elrisia actually realised
the true prize... and once I'm gone, Elrisia will never get anywhere. 
She's the most hated woman in the Republic."

Londo felt sick, but he tried to stagger to his feet.  His sword was
so heavy.

"No... you were always going to win.  It was just a matter of time.  I
saw that a long while ago.  I was the only one who could have beaten
you to the throne, and there was a time when I thought I'd want to do
that, but... no...  Not any more."

"Why... not?"

"Ah.  You know your problem, Mollari?  You're an optimist, an
idealist, a romantic even.  I, on the other hand... I see the truth. 
We're a dying people, a doomed people.  We can't keep control of our
outer colonies, the Narns are banging at our door, we've lost almost
all our allies, our leaders are too busy fighting amongst themselves,
there will be a rebel- lion from the peasants any time now... and now
these Shadow Criers and their future of holocaust.

"The Republic will be finished before the century's over, Mollari.  I
know that, and so do you.  Who wants to be known as the Emperor who
guided us into oblivion?  Not me.  No... far better to be known
another way, don't you think?  I'll be the man who fought you for the
throne, and damned near won... and every day from now until the end,
people will wonder... what if I'd won?  How different would things
have been if I'd been made Emperor instead of you?  We'd both know
there would be nothing I could have done to prevent this end, no more
than you... but they won't know that, and each and every one of those
sheep we rule will wonder... what if?

"And that, my dear Mollari... is the greatest form of immortality any
man can ask for."

"Won't... be like... that..."

"That idealism again.  You're blind, Mollari!  And a fool.  I suppose
it's just as well for me that you are.  If you weren't, then you'd be
in my place now.  And that would be very unpleasant for me.  Come on,
Mollari... pick up your sword."

"Damn... you... Cartagia."

"Damned?  Oh no.  I'll be canonised.  You, my friend, will be the one
to be damned."

Londo took a halting step forward.  He could hardly keep his grip on
the hilt.

"I'm most disappointed in you, Mollari.  Your good friend Dugari was
on his feet after more than this.  But then, Elrisia was never as
refined at pain as I."

"Du...gari..."

"Keep your blade up, Mollari."

There was a flurry of movement, and Cartagia charged.  He made no
effort to strike Londo.  He did not need to.  Instinctively Londo's
sword rose up, and Cartagia literally ran on to it.  He fell
backwards, his own sword falling.

"Proud... of you... Emperor... Mollari," he whispered, blood trickling
from between his lips.  "My... congrat...ulations."

With a sigh and a smile, he closed his eyes.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Memories were slowly awakening within her.  Thoughts and emotions
trapped for months, even years.  Ever since her confrontation with
Marcus and Lyta at the Battle of the Second Line she had been locked
within her own mind, a prisoner of forces beyond her control.

But then, hadn't that always been the case?  Psi Corps, her mother's
memory, her brother's useless death, her father's futile act of
rebellion, choosing to stay on Earth even though he knew the danger. 
Susan Ivanova had always been trapped and bound by forces outwith her
control.

For a moment she thought of Laurel.  She had... died, hadn't she? 
Yes... she was dead.  She'd been a prisoner as well, although she had
never realised it until her death.

The Shadows hissed at her angrily.  She was their prisoner now, but at
least they... seemed to... care.  What they wanted here... they wanted
it for their own ends, but she would benefit as well.  All of humanity
would. They had explained it to her.  She had to know, they reasoned. 
And now she did, and he had to know too.

A new humanity, a new destiny.  So much would not have happened.  Anna
would still be alive, and Laurel, and her brother, and... and Marcus.

And it all came down to one man.  Kill him, kill the traitor to
humanity... and it would all be over.  So simple.

But for one tiny detail.

"I know," she whispered to her eternal guardians.  "There's a Vorlon.
It's coming here."

Sheridan stirred.  He seemed to be stabilising in time.  He had been
under a lot of strain recently.  Too much.  Her guardians seemed to be
content. Maybe they were winning the battle, and none of this was
necessary?

"Wake up, John," she said, trying to put some warmth into her voice. 
She failed, but then the thought of Satai Delenn angered her.  She...
remembered what Delenn had become.  A mockery of everything her
brother had died for.  "Your Minbari whore's coming for you, and him
as well. He's coming too."

"Who... who are you talking about?"  He tried to rise again, and
managed to hook his arm over a handrail and haul himself up.  Susan
watched him, thinking about Anna.  She had loved this man, and he had
betrayed her.

"I don't suppose she told you, did she?  No, truthfulness and honesty
are not particularly big Minbari virtues, whatever they like to tell
anyone. Minbari do not lie, they say.  Maybe not, but they never tell
anyone the whole truth either.

"What do you know about Valen?"

Before today she had hardly known anything herself, but they had told
her all she needed to know.

"Minbari... not born of Minbari," Sheridan muttered.

"So, maybe she does tell you something after all?  Pillow talk,
perhaps. Yes, Valen was Minbari not born of Minbari.  He was human in
fact.  A human from this time who used some machine to change himself
into a Minbari, and took this station backwards in time to the last
war against my people, where he led the Vorlons and the Minbari and
all the other perfect little races to victory.

"And imagine our surprise when we discovered all of this.  Imagine our
surprise when we realised that all we had to do was kill one man and
we'd win the war then.  The Minbari would be finished and..."  She
paused, her tone of voice changing, becoming more... soft, more human.

 "Think about it, John!  If we kill Valen now, then the Minbari will
 be
destroyed.  A thousand years ago!  No Minbari, no Battle of the Line,
no destruction of Earth.  None of this will have happened.  You'll
still have your Anna.  I'll still have my mother.  Everything can be
so much better."

And then a coldness swept across her mind, and she stiffened.  What
was the point?  He wouldn't listen.  They knew that.  They had told
her as much.  "But no.  Don't bother answering.  I know you.  You're
worse now than you will be in the future.  I know you won't help me,
at least not willingly.

"They're coming for you.  Your little Minbari whore and the one who
betrayed us all, the entire human race, by becoming one of them. 
They're going to come for you, and we're going to kill them."

"Delenn..."  he rasped.  "No..."  He stumbled forward and fell,
blinking, his body swallowed in the mist.

Susan sighed.  Another time flash.  How many was that?  What was he
seeing?  Past, future... what?  She briefly wished she could share his
visions.  Oh, to know the future, to know if she would be successful
here, that would be...

She turned, warned by her guardians.  They began to shimmer into view,
just as Valen appeared at the far side of the hall.

He stopped, and stood stock still.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Mollari!  Mollari!"

Valo was furious.  He was also bleeding profusely.  Cartagia.  That
complete madman Cartagia.  What was he up to?  What...?

"Aaagh!"  Valo continued limping forward.  Two of his soldiers were at
his side, helping him.  He knew both of them well, had done since the
Immolan campaign.  Good men, both of them.  They deserved better than
to be led by that feeble-minded Cartagia, or the rest of the weak
Court.

And Malachi was still alive.  That was the worst bit, but... ah well. 
He was an old man, and would probably die from his injuries.  And
Valo's forces still controlled the majority of the palace compound as
well.  They would track down Cartagia soon enough.  And then... he
didn't know.  What would that bastard do if he had Valo in his power?

He dreaded to think.

"Mollari!  Where are you?"

This was absurd.  Carn had been given an express task.  He was to stay
at the back, co-ordinating things from the central base.  He would
receive reports on which nobles had been killed, which areas of the
palace had been taken and so forth.  Carn was a loyal man, so where in
the Gods' Names was he?

"Mollari!"

"Here I am, Lord."  Carn came into view from a nearby doorway.  Valo
recognised it as leading into a large barracks.  Carn must have moved
the base there.  Perhaps there had been more wounded than they had
expected.

"I need a medic, and quickly.  Cartagia... got to me."

"Yes, in here, Lord.  Hurry."

Limping forward as fast as he could, supported by his two companions,
Valo made for the door and entered the room.  It was a typical
barracks, a place where the Palace Guards slept, rested and did...
whatever it was they did when they were not on duty.  This one was
just like every other barracks room Valo had seen, except for one
small detail.

Most of the other barracks did not contain Lord-General Marrago,
accompan- ied by twelve soldiers bearing the seal of the island of
Selini.

"Valo.  I wish we could have met under different circumstances, but we
take what we are given, hmm?"

"Marrago!  What are you doing here?  Mollari, what is the meaning
of...?"

"I arrived here a few moments ago, accompanied by as many of the
Selini Guard and militia from Gallia and Sphodria as we could muster. 
I will give them credit.  There were more than I had anticipated. 
They must be grateful that we saved their cities.  And now we will
save the capital. You will stand down your weapons, and your men."

"Joking, of course, Marrago.  Join me.  The Republic needs strength,
you can see that.  We're both soldiers, and we were both betrayed by
this Court.  You know what the Republic needs."

"Yes, I do."  Marrago stepped forward slowly.  "And the Republic does
not need you.  You will issue an order to your men to stand down,
now."

"No!  The Court is ours now.  I will rule here.  I..."  Marrag
o reached
out and struck him hard across the face.  Valo fell sprawling, crying
out as his wound tore open again.  His two guards went for their
weapons, but Marrago's Selini Guard trained theirs on them.  They
paused.

"You will issue that order, Valo."

"Mollari... help me.  What... what are you...?"

"I'm... sorry, my Lord, but I was with the Lord-General from the
begin- ning.  I had hoped matters would not go this far, but..."  Carn
bowed his head.  "I am sorry, my Lord."

"Damn you, Mollari!  Damn... you!"

"You will recall your men now.  You will give them all an order to
stand down their arms and report to me personally.  I assure you,
Valo, that only the commanders will be held responsible for what has
happened here today.  Those soldiers who were merely following
orders... they will be permitted to rejoin their regiments.  The
divisions within this Court, and this Republic... they all end today.

"We should not be fighting each other, Valo."

"We... needed... strength."

"And we shall have it.  But not under you.  You brought only chaos and
anarchy.  Issue that order."

"You will... protect... my men...?"

"Yes, Valo.  You have my word as a soldier, and as a General.  Only
the commanders and those who refuse to stand down will be punished."

"Damn you, Marrago... and... damn you... Mollari...  I will... give...
your order..."

Marrago nodded, smiling.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *



From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, Part 8B
Date: Wed, 10 Mar 1999 17:24:01 +0000

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The heavens opened, blazing with a myriad of colours.  For some the
sight might be a thing of beauty, an image to inspire words and verse
and more things of beauty.

Not for Sonovar.  Like the man who had trained him, one of the few
things they had in common... like Sinoval, Sonovar was no poet.

He could see them all.  Minbari warships, led by those who had sworn
fealty to Sinoval, some of those ships that had been assigned to guard
and protect the other worlds.  There were the Soul Hunter ships, for
so long instruments of fear to the Minbari.  It was ironic that they
would now be bringing salvation.

And there was Cathedral, the massive vessel that housed the Soul
Hunters and their souls... and their Primarch.

"There are many of them, my lord," spoke Forell, at his side.  "More
than us, perhaps?"

"Numerically, yes," Sonovar acknowledged.  "But then I knew that when
I started this.  The relative firepower of the Tak'cha and the Shagh
Toth has yet to be determined, however, and I would rather not test it
out here.  We have done what we came for, after all.  No, there will
be no battle here today."

"Then, with respect, lord... why are we still here?"

Sonovar threw back his head and laughed.  "Ah, Forell, you are no
warrior. You have no courage, and that is why your caste could never
truly rule. There is something to show... Primarch Sinoval.  I will
show him the lengths great men will go to... for victory."

He fell silent as two Tak'cha ships blazed forward.  They were smaller
than a Minbari capital ship, but larger than one of the Shagh Toth
carriers.  These vessels were designed for transport more than battle,
after all.

The nearest Minbari warship fired.  Sonovar could not identify it,
which was a pity.  He would have liked to be able to say a prayer for
the soul of its captain.

The Tak'cha ships swivelled in space, dodging the blasts.  Moving with
startling speed, they shot forward.  And with an explosion Sonovar
could see but not hear, they crashed directly into the warship.

"Hear me, Sinoval!" he roared, knowing that his message would be sent
to his enemy.  "Everyone and everything who follows you, I will
destroy!  All you love, I will destroy!  Your ships will be torn
apart, and your worlds sown with salt!

"And your Shagh Toth demons... them I will annihilate utterly.  You
are a dead man walking, Sinoval, as are all those you love, and all
those you lead."

He stood back, ending the signal.  Jump points opened, and his entire
fleet fled into hyperspace.  Sinoval would not try to follow.  He was
too experienced a warrior for that.  A battle commenced in anger was a
battle lost from the instant it started.

"A victory, my lord," observed Forell drily.

"Yes," he admitted, smiling.  "A victory, but a beginning only.  It is
very far from over."

And on the pinnacle of his castle of the winds on Cathedral, standing
above the space from which Sonovar and his ships had just fled,
Primarch Sinoval was silent, looking at the devastated wreckage of the
Hosigeru.

"I heard your words," he said softly, his eyes dark.  "You will kill
all I love, hmm?  Ah, but Sonovar... there is no one I love."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo looked at the throne before him, draped in the Imperial purple. 
How many had died for that strip of cloth and that
uncomfortable-looking chair?  He hobbled forward to it and ran his
hands across the fabric.

Then he snorted and turned, trying to remember the way to Malachi's
quarters.  He had lived in the Court for most of his life, but it had
never felt so alien to him as it did now.

There was the sound of movement off in a corner.  "Who is there?"
Londo barked, hoping his voice was sterner than he felt.

"Minister Mollari?" said a frightened voice, and a stumbling figure
came out from behind the purple drapes.  "It's me...  You remember me,
don't you?  Vir Cotto.  I was Ambas... I mean, Emperor Refa's attache
on Minbar."

"Vir!  Yes, I remember you.  I hadn't heard anything about you for
months. I'd supposed you were dead.  It is... good to know that you
are not.  Have you heard anything from... our other friend recently?"

"No.  No, not a word.  Interstellar communications have been down for
a long time, apart from some special ministerial business.  Emperor
Refa made me a Runner for the Court and, well..."

"Yes, yes.  We will have time to talk later.  Which... which way is it
to...?"

There was the sound of more movement from behind him and Londo spun,
as easily as he was able to, anyway.  A lot of movement this time.

"Greetings, Londo," said a familiar voice, one he had never expected
to hear here.  "We have taken the capital.  It is... pacified and
united."

"Marrago!  What are you doing here?  You were to stay behind in Gallia
and Sphodria.  You..."  Behind him there were a great many soldiers,
some Londo recognised from the Selini Guard, others from the palace
itself.

"Your wife persuaded me otherwise.  A most forceful woman."

"Oh, I know," he said, with a hint of pride.  "What is the... what is
the state of things here, then?"

"Lord Valo is under arrest, and his men have been recalled.  Valo's
commanders are to answer for their actions, but his men will not be
punished.  There will be considerable leeway, I think, to explain
today's events.  A task that will fall to you, Majesty."

"Good.  Is there any fighting still... what did you call me?"

"Yes, Majesty.  Some of Valo's men have refused to accept the recall
order, but they will soon be caught.  I would propose the institution
of martial law in the capital and surrounding areas, as well as a
curfew for the foreseeable future until order is restored.  I will
also send as many of our forces as can be spared to Selini, Gallia and
Sphodria, to maintain peace there."

"Yes... yes, that is fine, but... about that 'Majesty' part..."

"There is no other viable candidate, Londo.  None at all.  The
Republic must be made strong, and we cannot be made strong until we
have a strong leader, and a strong military.  I will deal with the
military, but I fear the rest is up to you."

"I merely wanted to expose Cartagia and Elrisia... reform the
Centarum... bring some order, and then let them choose a new Emperor. 
I never wanted..."

"I fear there is no choice in this matter, Majesty.  Go... claim your
throne."

"But..."

"The army will follow me, and I will follow you.  The Centarum can
wait until later.  It will take a long time to recover from the
ramifications of these events, and a stern hand will be needed in the
interim."

Londo nodded, his face ashen.  "Damn her.  She was right.  Damn him
too."

"Majesty?"

Londo waved in the direction of Cartagia's body.  "Take... take him
away. He... I will not let him win.  You hear that, Marrago?  I will
not let him win."

"No, Majesty.  He will not win."

Londo looked back at the throne, cursing softly.  He had grown to hate
that chair.  It caused nothing but hatred, fear, and death.  And now
he was to sit in it.  Oh well, someone had to.  There was something
Lennier had once said to him: Who better to claim power than the one
who does not want it?

Lennier...  "Malachi!" Londo cried out.  "He is wounded.  Find him. 
Get him to a doctor.  Now!"

"Your will, Majesty."  Marrago turned and began barking orders to his
soldiers.  Londo made to go with him, but Marrago stopped him.  "You
will need a doctor yourself, Londo.  Cartagia cannot have died
easily."

"He wanted to die, Marrago.  He foresaw... all of this.  I will be the
Last Emperor, and I will guide us all to the brink of oblivion.  He
knew that.  That was why he didn't want the task.  He wasn't strong
enough for it."  The words were delivered quietly, in a near whisper. 
Only one other person heard them.

Marrago's reply was equally hushed.  "Then prove him wrong.  Be the
Emperor you always wanted to be.  Make us strong again.  Take our
people back to the stars...  Deliver our destiny."

"Yes.  You are right... although I wish you weren't."  Londo stepped
back and looked at the throne for a third time.  It was raised on a
dais, just a short step, but an important symbolic one.  It looked a
thousand feet high to him now.  He could not make the ascent alone.

"Help me to my throne, old friend."

"It will be my pleasure... my Emperor."

Slowly and gently, Marrago guided Londo to the throne.  He sat down.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

There were things that went well beyond anger, past fury, and into an
infinitely more dangerous sense of calm and peace.  Sinoval felt at
peace as he walked through the ruined streets of Tarolin 2, mentally
assessing the damage.  It was as if he were in a void, his warrior's
instincts having taken over.  Everything had become a matter of
tactics and logistics, paper numbers of gain and loss.

The damage was concentrated on the Government buildings and
thereabouts. There had been no general orbital bombardment, but a
precise and targeted destruction of a specific area of the city.

Not far away there lay a body.  By what he could tell from her
clothing she was a worker, an administrator in the Ministry of
Agriculture.  The body was comparatively fresh.  She had survived the
initial attack, but had been taken down by a precise blow to the back
of the neck, which had severed vital nerve tissue and caused immediate
death.

Sinoval paused, musing on this.  It was not an uncommon mode of
killing, used primarily on those in flight, but there was something
different about the wound.  Almost as if it had been done by a very
clumsy warrior, which hardly seemed to fit, or by someone working a
little differently. Sonovar's alien allies, in all likelihood.  Their
weapons were similar to the denn'bok, but with subtle differences.

These aliens must have done the majority of the ground-based killing,
mopping up those who had escaped the immediate attack.  Did Sonovar
trust the aliens more than his own warriors, or had the warriors
refused to kill their own people?  Possibilities for weakness on the
rebel's part, there.

A child was sitting next to the body, trying to make the woman wake
up. The child - he could not tell if it was male or female - looked up
at Sinoval with pleading eyes.  He ignored it, and walked on.  He had
always hated children.

As he walked through the city, accompanied as always by his guard of
two Soul Hunters, and by a larger group of Minbari warriors who called
themselves the Primarch's Blades, he collated information, studying
and storing it.

A precise attack, concentrated at one point.  Sonovar did not want to
harm civilians.  He was hitting only those in the Government.  Why? 
To take out the power base, and destabilise?  Or as a punishment for
allying with Sinoval?

But if the latter were the case, then where were Kats and Kozorr? 
They had been the first, after all, to swear fealty.

His heart began to quicken, but he calmed himself.  He could do no
good to either of them by panicking.

Not long afterwards one of the Primarch's Blades stepped up to him. 
There were a great many of them now, more than he had expected.  All
of them were warriors, having renounced their former clans and taken
on a new one. They all wore black, with Sinoval's personal crest
affixed to the front of their tunics.  Each of them also bore a tattoo
on their face.  It resemb- led a blindfold, a black line from either
side of the crest, across the eyes.

Sinoval smiled to himself, recognising an old custom from a very old
time.

"We have found her, Primarch," the Blade said, bowing formally.  "The
Lady Kats.  She claims to be busy in a place of respite nearby.  I
will guide you there, by your will, Primarch."

Sinoval nodded and stepped up after the Blade, his honour guard of
Soul Hunters following him, easily matching his pace.  Kats was alive,
then. That was good.  He was... happy to hear that.

What had he said to himself after receiving Sonovar's message?  "There
is no one I love."  It was true.  He had never really been capable of
that emotion, for no reason he understood.  He had simply never been
able to share his life or soul with another, never been able to open
himself up, to place himself at risk in that way.  He had looked at
those who were in love: Delenn with her Starkiller, Kozorr's slow and
hesitant feelings around Kats, and he had never envied any of them. 
He had come close with Deeron, but that was more a matter of mutual
respect between warriors. She had not loved him, of that he was sure,
and for his part, he had respected her, admired her.  In his youth he
had thought that might be love, but the moment she had fled from his
side during the first night of their sleep-watching ceremony he had
known the truth, and had always been content.

But Kats... about her, he was not sure, and that troubled him.

The building was damaged, but not badly.  It did not seem to have been
a target for the initial phase of the attack.  Subtle signs indicated
that Sonovar's aliens had been here however, and they had not been
alone. Sonovar himself had been here with them.

What could be here that was so important as to attract Sonovar
himself? The Primarch had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew the
answer.

He stepped inside and saw countless bodies, some dead, some dying. 
People tried desperately or futilely to heal or comfort them.  He
looked around intently, studying each face, and committing them to
memory.  They had served and died in his name, and they would be
remembered.

Then he saw Kats, and his composure shattered.

He strode through the room, stepping over or around the bodies on the
floor.  As she heard his approach she turned and sighed softly, bowing
her head.

For his part, Sinoval was shocked.  She was covered in scratches and
marks and bruises, and her simple smock was heavily stained with
blood.  He had known veteran warriors who would have collapsed with
fewer injuries, and yet she was still on her feet, working.

"My lord," she said, softly.

"My lady," he replied, numbly.  "Why have your wounds not been tended
to?"

"There are others here with more serious injuries than mine.  I tend
to them first."

"You will be no use to them if you pass out here.  Rest, my lady. 
That is an order."

She lifted her head, eyes blazing.  "You are a warrior, my lord.  You
kill!  I am a worker, and so I build!  Allow me to build here."

For a moment he was taken aback.  "My lady..."  he said softly. 
"Speak to me..."

"Kozorr is dead," she whispered, and he closed his eyes.  He had known
it. He had known somehow, back when the warrior had first given his
vow of fealty.  "He died, in my stead."

Sinoval nodded, unable to think of words to say.  Kats turned from him
to resume her work.  He spun on his heel and stalked from the room.

There would be a reckoning.  Some day soon, there would be a
reckoning.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"I... I am... dying now..."

Londo looked down at the ashen face of one of his oldest friends, and
tried to think of the words.  He was feeling very light-headed, almost
giddy with the day's events.  He had not yet had time to eat, and
Timov would be furious if she were here.

"Hush, Malachi.  You will make a fine recovery."

"Bad... liar, Londo.  Never a good trait in a politician... but a...
welcome one in... you..."  Malachi winced, and tried to sit up.  "Much
to tell you...  Doctors... have... given me... drugs to... dull the
pain. But they... make me... sleepy."

"Then you should rest.  You will need to recover your strength."

"Why?  For my execution?  No... Londo.  Better... I die here.  You...
more than anyone... you were right for this task.  I tried... to spare
you... this..."  He coughed, and reached out with a trembling hand for
the beaker at his side.  Londo helped steady the dying man's hand and
guided it to his mouth.  Malachi drank deeply, and spluttered.

"Foul stuff," he rasped, his voice a little stronger now.  "Why...
must all medicine taste so awful, Londo?"

"One of life's great mysteries," came the reply.

"Ah... well.  I will have to wonder.  Londo... it was a custom, a long
time ago, for leaders to record their thoughts and advice on their
death. A chance... for their wisdom never to die.  It has not been
used much... recently.  Too many would not want this... advice... or
would try to exploit it for their own purposes.  We have fallen far,
Londo.  Very far."

"We will return, Malachi.  You will be there at my side all the way."

"Deluded... Londo.  No, let me explain.  This is... my deathbed
confes- sion, I suppose.  I've done a lot that I have not been proud
of.  I only wish history could remember the good... as well as the
bad."

"History will.  I... I will see to that."

"Thank you...  My... confession.  I ordered the murder of Emperor
Refa, and arranged for you to be framed.  I sent guards to kill you,
although I... hoped they would not succeed.  I only wanted to frighten
you, Londo. I wanted you... gone.  Somewhere safe.  With G'Kar...
perhaps.  Fighting a greater war than ours."

"You... know about G'Kar?"

"I know a great deal.  After Turhan died, I left here.  I... I wanted
to retire somewhere, live out my remaining days in peace.  It... was
not to be.  I was sent a message by Lady Morella the night after my
retirement. She... gave me a... vision.  One I had to heed.  I... I
would change our people, fulfill the destiny I always wanted.  So... I
faked my suicide, and disappeared.  I travelled throughout our
Republic in disguise... learning and... seeing all the things I had
missed for so many years."  He began to cough again, and wiped his
mouth awkwardly with a cloth.

"Londo... do you know who my father was?"

"I..."  He hesitated.  "Yes... I... give me a moment... Lord Revil...
Yes... that was it...  Oh... no, I remember...  You..."

"I... was adopted... yes.  My true father was a carpenter in a village
on Immolan Five.  I was... adopted by Lord Revil after his death, at
Turhan's request."

Londo was stunned.  He had known none of this.  "I... why?  How did
this happen?"

"Ah... I'm jumping around.  Forgive me, Londo.  The dying ramblings of
an old man.  Turhan and his father visited Immolan Five when he was a
child, as was I.  The procession passed through our village, and...
assassins tried to kill Turhan that night.  My father shouted a
warning... and saved his life.  The Emperor offered my father any
reward... and he asked... he asked for a better life for his son.  The
Emperor promised to have me adopted by a noble of the Court.

"He then carried on his way, and forgot all about it.  My father was
beaten to death by some of the Royal Guard a few weeks afterwards.
Turhan... he reminded his father of his promise, and I was... adopted
by Lord Revil, and placed close to the Court.  My prior identity was
destroyed, wiped from existence.  I was a new noble of the Court, not
a carpenter's son.

"Do you know what life is like for the lower classes, Londo?  Of
course not... how could you?  You were born to the purple.  That was
why I...

"Oh... sorry.  Jumping around again.  Turhan promised social reform,
but... he tried...  He was truly a good man.  He tried to reform,
lower taxes, erase local corruption... but he failed.  The entire
nobility, a fraction of our people, survive by the hard work and
slavery of so many... and no one cares.  Turhan failed... but he
tried.  It was more than his son would do...  More than the rest of
you would do.  You were all born to the purple.

"That was all I wanted.  The lower classes... the farmers and artisans
and leather workers and... all of them... they can rule themselves. 
They're not... puppets for our courtly games.  They're not slaves or
servants for our pleasure.  They're us, Londo.  We could not see that.
 The Court... could not see that.

"You've lived in the Court all your life.  You know what our nobility
has become.  Weak and indecisive, like Jarno.  Paranoid and nostalgic,
like Kiro...  Monsters, like Cartagia.  We are not fit to rule any
longer. I... all I wished to do was show the Court that.  I would turn
all their games upon themselves... bind them into corners... and all
the while... the rest of the Republic would work on... alone, and
content.  They would have peace... and eventually... even freedom.

"I tried... Londo.  I... I caused a lot of pain, and a great... many
deaths.  I set Valo off on his course, I'm sorry - but I had nothing
to do with Cartagia... or with Marrago's betrayal.  I had no idea the
Narns would attack so fast.  I... I thought they would be more
cautious.  I... I'm sorry... Londo.  I...

"I... I can't... keep... awake."

Londo stood back, silent in horror.  "No one will know," he said at
last. "No one will know, my friend.  I... I'll finish your work.  I'll
reform our Republic.  I'll make it mean something.  I'll make it all
mean something.  For all of us.  Malachi... Malachi!"

There was a gentle pressure on his arm and he turned, blinking past
his tears, to see Marrago standing there.  "He will not wake up again,
Majesty.  He took a fatal dose.  He... he knew what he was doing."

"He was my friend, Marrago!  Whatever he did, he was my friend!"

"I... I did not hear his last words, Majesty," Marrago said, lying
smoothly.  "I am sure he will be remembered with all the honour and
glory he deserves."

"He... was my friend."

"He was a great man."

"So... is that it, Marrago?  Is it all over now?  Did... did all this
bloodshed have some sort of meaning?"

"It is never over.  Elrisia is still free, and there is the matter of
what to do with Jarno.  Lord Kiro is threatening a dire revenge...
once he recovers sufficiently.  The Shadow Criers are still a threat,
of course. And... there are always the Narns."

"So... did we accomplish anything by this?"

"Of course we did.  The Court is united and pacified.  We have saved
the Republic from Hell, Majesty... now we will help her to Heaven. 
The restoration will begin here... it has to begin somewhere, after
all."

"So... what now?"

"Now...  Now there are a great many people who wish to speak to their
Emperor."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

<She is gone.>

Valen stiffened.  He began to say something, but then he realised he
did not know what to say.  He had felt it, somehow.  He had known.  He
had tried to warn her... but...

He had known.  Somehow he had always known.

In all his memories of the past yet to come, Catherine had been in
none of them.

<She is gone.>

"No," he whispered.  "She is not gone.  I will remember her...  I...
will... find her again."

The Vorlon gave a look that might have been quizzical.  <We were...
wrong. We have been wrong in so much... but never more so than here.>

"I... don't understand."

<Footsteps in the sand.>

Now, he did understand.

The Shadows were gathering.  They had Sheridan.  Delenn was wavering.
Ta'Lon was fighting a desperate holding action.  Outside, the rift was
collapsing.  People were dying.

"I am ready," he said simply.  "I am Valen now, aren't I?  Completely
and utterly."

"<Click, click>."

Zathras moved up beside him.  "You are wrong.  Valen is wrong. 
Sinclair is wrong.  You are not Valen.  No.  <Click, click>  You are
not Sinclair. You are... both.  Yes.  Joining of two.  Combination of
two.  Greatest leader Minbari will ever know.  But... human as well as
Minbari.  That is important detail.  Zathras know these things. 
See... people should listen to Zathras more."

"So... what now?"

"Problems outside.  Problems inside also, but bigger ones outside. 
Rift is... collapsing.  Will not hold much longer.  Zathras is afraid
something has happened to Great Machine, but nothing Zathras can do
about that now. We must free Captain Sheridan... send him and Delenn
back to their ship, and... must do one other thing.  Then... we get
back in time quickly."

"Do we have time?"

"There is always time... but Zathras understand you, yes.  We have
time... if the rift can be kept open long enough.  Zathras... cannot
do that, but Zathras knows Vorlon who can."

"Kosh."  The Vorlon turned.  "You can keep the rift open?"

<Yes.>

But Valen understood just how.

"Life energy," said Zathras sadly.  "Powerful thing... if used
properly. If used by one who knows how."

<A bargain was made... long ago.  I go to do my part.>

The Vorlon moved to the docking bays.  Helplessly, still burdened by
the weights of destiny and duty, Valen followed.  Delenn and Zathras
were just behind.  Kosh turned to Delenn, and spoke just one word.

All around them, the Shadows began to appear.  Ivanova was in the
middle of them, as was Sheridan.

Kosh was still, and then... his encounter suit began to open.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The others there would no doubt see it in different ways.  Delenn
would witness a confirmation of futures past and present, and a
reaffirmation of the path she was to take.  Susan Ivanova would see
the sorrows of her life, and all those waiting for her at her death,
and she would be drawn closer to her redemption.  Zathras saw... who
could tell?

But as Kosh purged his essence, channelling his life energy,
sacrificing his life for the good of the past and the future, it was
the man called Jeffrey Sinclair, the Minbari called Valen, who saw
most, and understood most.

I am Valen.

I am Valen!

I AM VALEN!

I am Jeffrey Sinclair.

I am Jeffrey Sinclair!

I AM JEFFREY SINCLAIR!

Catherine... I will find you.  Wherever you are, whatever you become,
I will find you.

The mistakes of the past opened up to him.  Marrain's hubris, the
Tak'cha's misinterpretations, Parlonn's tragedy.  But he knew them now
for what they were.  He would build a future, a great destiny.  He
would save a people from destruction.  Those mistakes... they were not
fatal, they were stepping stones on the way to that future.

Marrain's fate would lead to his redemption a thousand years later.
Parlonn would learn a terrible truth and save his soul.  The Tak'cha
would gain a focus and a duty through his words.

Good and evil.  Right and wrong.  Both were a part of him.  There had
to be a balance.  Always a balance.

Human and Minbari.  A balance.

The light faded.  The Shadows were gone.

He was standing still, tears streaming down his face.

*The arrow that springs from the bow.*  At long last, he was ready.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She ran, terrified, everything awake in her mind.  Her mother, her
brother, her father, her first love...  She could see them all.  All
dead. Each and every one of them dead.  She had to do something.  She
had to do something.

The Vorlon... his light... it was taking her to pieces...

She stumbled and almost fell, but managed to right herself.  She had
lost her weapon.  She felt she had lost her mind.  There was...
pain... in some part of her, a part she could not quite identify.

*I have to get away from here!*

The Vorlon was everywhere.  It was this station, it surrounded this
station.  It was... everywhere.

She had to get away.

And Susan Ivanova ran, making for the docking bays.  Perhaps she could
reach a shuttle, or even go for a space walk.  She had to get away
from here.  She had to get away from the Vorlon.

"Where is she?" Delenn asked, looking up from Sheridan.  He was
groaning and wincing.  "Where... has she gone?"

"She will not be allowed to escape," Valen said.  "No, Delenn...
she... she has something else to learn first.  This was a journey of
discovery for all of us.  For her most of all."

"So... you're just going to let her get away?" protested Sheridan.  "I
don't... aaagh!  I don't... understand."

"She has to learn something.  One day... you will all need her, and
when that day comes, what she learns today will save both her, and
you."  Valen looked at both of them.  Sheridan and Delenn.  He could
see what lay ahead of them now, one last gift from Ko sh.  Prophecy,
or foresight, or foot- steps...  He could see the chains that bound
them all together.

Sheridan to Delenn to Neroon to Ta'Lon to G'Kar to Zathras to Valen to
Delenn to Sheridan to Corwin to Ivanova...  A thin, fragile series of
connections that would preserve and guide the future.

"What about the rift?" Delenn asked.  "It was... degrading.  Do we
have time?"

"Yes," said Zathras sadly.  "Yes... we have time.  All the time we
need. Time... is infinite."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: A Line in the Sand, Part 8C
Date: Wed, 10 Mar 1999 17:26:10 +0000

The streets were dark as Elrisia claimed her hiding place.  It took
her a moment to catch her breath, but at least she was warm in here. 
It was too cold outside, and her courtly clothes provided little
protection.

The humiliation of it!  A Lady of her rank forced to hide in a hovel
like some worthless peasant!  Damn Cartagia, and damn Mollari.  She
had heard the cries of his acclamation as she fled, and that must mean
Cartagia had been killed.  The only satisfaction she had was the news
of Valo's capture.  At least that was one pretender removed from
contention.

This was not over yet, not by a long way.  She had allies still, most
of them away from the Court now it was true, but it would not be hard
to regain a position of power.  The military perhaps.  Valo must have
had some admirers from whom she could elicit support.  Truth was
variable after all.  Spreading dissension against the new Emperor
Mollari would not be difficult.

Yes, she would have her time.

And when she was ruling once more, she would punish everyone who had
brought her here... to this wet, cold, stinking hovel of a warehouse. 
It was one of the few places she could hide, admittedly.  Oh well,
tomorrow she would be able to leave the capital and get to her estates
out in the country.  From there...

There was the sound of movement behind her, and she sat up.  "Who is
there?" she asked.  There was silence.  "Answer me!  I am a Lady of
the Court!"  There was no risk in announcing her identity.  Hardly any
of the nobles or courtiers would be here, and she assuredly had
nothing to fear from any grubby peasant or petty merchant.

"Answer me!  I order you."

A torch was lit, and a figure came dimly into view.  There were more
behind him.  He was walking slowly towards her, holding his torch
aloft. Others were lit.

"Who are you?" she whispered, scrabbling back against the far wall. 
"I am a Lady of the Court.  You will all be whipped for this.  I order
you to..."

The leading man spoke, his voice disgustingly low class.  "The
Darkness is coming," he whispered, and raised his torch high enough so
that she could see his eyes.  They were gleaming with a powerful
madness.

He then threw the torch at her feet.  Screaming, she tried to roll
away from it, but by the time she had reached a standing position, her
dress was already on fire.

"I'm a Lady of the Court," she cried.  "I'm a..."  She screamed as the
flames began to lick at her hair.

"The Darkness is coming," said the leading Shadow Crier.

"The Darkness is coming," echoed the others obediently.

Elrisia was still screaming.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She knew where she had to go, where there was one person who could
help her.  She had passed up on his love once before, but it was
different now. It was the past now.  He was different.

She could still change things.  Not for humanity perhaps, but for her.
She could... be... happy...

The rift was tearing her apart, but the space suit would protect her.
They had been modified slightly to provide protection against the
rift. She knew that.  The voice that had once spoken to her had said
that machinery had been added for protection when last-minute work had
been needed on the station before entering the rift.  It would protect
her as well.

And as the winds of time buffeted her this way and that way, as she
screamed in pain both physical and remembered, Susan Ivanova made her
way slowly to the Babylon.

"I don't like this mission," David was saying.  "It sounds...
dangerous."

"Don't try to protect me," she replied, a little more harshly than she
had intended.  "I know what I'm doing.  I... I have to get away from
Proxima for a while, that's all, and besides... this is important. 
You know that. We need all the advantages we can get in this war, and
there might just be some out on the Rim."

"That's not it, Susan."  God, he looked so young.  He was, really, but
still...  So many years ago.  Before she had left for the Rim.  In a
very real sense she had never returned from it.  "You're running from
something.  What is it?  Why won't you tell me?"

"You're imagining things."  A lie.  It had been a lie then, and he had
known it.  She had accidentally run into a Psi Cop a few days before
volunteering for the mission.  The teep - Donne, her name had been -
had looked at her slowly and curiously, before walking on.  Had she
suspected anything?  They were getting closer to her now.  Soon, they
would find out.

"It's an important mission, and I have to do this.  David, I don't try
to dissuade you from risking your life next to Captain Sheridan all
the time, do I?"

"Susan, that's... that's different, and you know it."

"No, it isn't.  I've got to go.  I'll see you... when I get back,
David. It'll only be a couple of months."

And then she had left, and never returned.

Until now.

Her eyes opened, and she could see him again.  She was feeling... so
weak, but... ready.  There he was.  David.  A good few years older
than in her vision from the past, but... still young, still innocent. 
She almost sobbed.

There were others beside him, and one of them barked something.  She
couldn't understand the words, and she tried to move forward.  They
were all drawing weapons.  She recognised one of them.  Not his name,
but he had... done something...  He had helped her, helped them,
once...  He had let her try to kill Delenn.

No.  Prevent that betrayal, do something to change the present,
perhaps save them all.

She moved, and tried to touch them.  There was a brilliant flare of
light before her eyes, and she screamed.  The other man had fallen,
but everything inside her was churning.  She felt sick.  She tried to
reach David.  He was so close to her now... almost... there...

With a soft wrench, she was pulled back into the timestream.

"Why are you doing this?" someone was asking her.  "Why are you...?"

"I must have been dropped on my head when I was a baby," she replied,
with trademark cynicism.  "I don't need a reason."

"I will not forget this."

"I doubt you'll live long enough to."

With a shock, she realised she was holding a weapon.  She raised it
up.  A darkness fell over them both, and something in the other
person's eyes glinted, and Susan realised at last who it was.

The timestream threw her out again, her head reeling.  She was in the
same place she had been in before, the docking bay of the Babylon. 
David was there again, but alone.  It was the same time as before.

He began to speak, and unlike the last time, she could understand his
words.  "It's you, isn't it?" he said.  "I thought it was before, but
now... it is you."

She tried to move forward, to reach him, to touch him, but she could
not, and she fell.  He rushed to her side, but then stopped suddenly. 
"You need my help," he said, not a question, but a statement.  He knew
her better than she knew herself these days.

She nodded weakly.

"So then, what can I do for you?"  Slowly, desperately, knowing that
it might be a mistake but willing to chance it anyway, she removed her
helmet, so much wanting to see him directly instead of through a
visor.

"I..."  She tried to think of what to say, but the words would not
come out.  So much had not happened yet, there was so much she had not
yet done that she would regret.  Marcus was... still alive.

"I'm sorry, David," she whispered, tears running down her face.  "When
I... left you, we argued.  I'm sorry for what I said."

"Ah... that's all right," he said, bemused.  "Susan, you look...
different.  This has to do with Babylon Four, doesn't it?  What's
happening?"

"It's...  I can't explain.  Think of me as... as..."  A brief memory
of Marcus came to her mind, a book he had been reading while he was
assigned to look after her - or to spy on her, depending on your point
of view. But David was hardly a greedy miser, and she was no spirit,
benevolent or otherwise, and she could not change him.  What had
been... was, and she could not alter it.

"I'm a ghost," she said, trying to beat back tears.  "I'm just a ghost
passing through.  Forget I was ever here."

"I'll never forget you, Susan," he said, and he was so sincere, so
genuine...

She blinked away her tears, and knew what she had to do.  He had shown
her the way, although he would probably never know how.  To be
truthful, she probably never would either.  "I need to get back to
Babylon Four," she said.  "There's... something I have to do."

"Can I help?"

She shook her head sadly.  "You already have.  More than you can
know."

He nodded.  "I'll... always be around to help you, no matter what's
been going on lately.  I have hope for the future, Susan.  Everything
will turn out for the best, I'm sure of that."

"Keep believing that... and maybe... may...be..."

She fell silent, and did not speak again until she arrived back on
Babylon 4, almost exactly at the spot where she had ambushed and
captured Sheridan.  The Narn was waiting there for her, as were Valen
and Zathras.

"I surrender," she said quietly.  "I'm turning myself over to you."

"Told you," said Zathras happily.  "Zathras knows best.  Oh yes. 
People should listen to Zathras more.  Zathras knows what Zathras is
saying."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

A ruined ship was floating aimlessly, just one pile of debris among so
many, just one more mark of the lost and the damned in this battle. 
In the remains of what had once been the bridge of the EAS Parmenion
there was a body, the body of one who had once been the greatest hope
of his people.

Captain John Sheridan was trapped between life and death.  He was not
breathing.

There was a sudden and brilliant flare of light, the very last act of
a dying angel.

And then there was silence once more.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"He is not dead," she said softly.  "I can feel it.  I know.  He is
not dead."

Commander David Corwin nodded once, briefly.  He wanted to believe
her, even if he was not sure he could.  No one could have survived
that, could they?  If anyone could, it would be the Captain.

"He... is not dead."

Delenn was not crying.

"We will find him."

Corwin nodded again.  "Yes," he said.  "Yes, we'll find him."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

He stood alone, as he always would from now on.  Everything that had
once been a part of him was gone.  Jeffrey Sinclair was gone.  His
future was gone.  From now until his death, he would always be Valen.

They had arrived in the past safely, and had found two Vorlon cruisers
waiting for them.  The Vorlons had come aboard, and formally
introduced themselves to him.  He knew one of them.  It was Kosh,
whose life essence was now finally fading with the temporal rift.  But
that was a thousand years in the future.

*I will not be your puppet,* he thought to himself as he looked at his
new companions.  *But I will do what is ordained.  I will end this
war, and build peace here.*  It might not last forever, but a thousand
years might just about be enough.

What had happened at Epsilon 3?  Who had survived?  What would become
of Kazomi 7 with its ray of hope, and of Delenn, and Sheridan, and
poor, doomed Primarch Sinoval?

He would never know.

After their arrival Zathras had spent a lot of time messing around
with the ion engines.  The first meeting with the Minbari was a fair
distance away in normal space.  It had taken the station some hours to
get to the required area, and Zathras spent the whole journey tutting,
clicking and muttering to himself.

And now he was waiting.  The first Minbari ships had chanced upon the
station, and their representatives were coming aboard.  Warrior caste
of course, the leaders of the two flagships of the fleet.  Members of
different clans, warring clans that he would eventually unite.  Two
of the greatest, proudest, strongest warriors of this age.

And he would destroy them both.

Both of them came into view, looking bemused, and more than a touch
angry. Each was only barely tolerating the other's presence.  He could
see them clearly now, just as he could see them later.  Their fight
back to back on the blood-stained sands of Iwojim, ending with the two
mortal enemies clasping hands astride an ocean of the dead.

Enemies now, soon to be friends, and later, to be traitors.

But their deaths would not be in vain, neither of them.  He could see
that now.  It was all part of a vast tapestry, a multitude of threads
that led back to the present, and the future, and beyond...

Parlonn's betrayal to the Shadows, brought about by rational reasoning
and an acceptance of their cause, was necessary to convince Marrain to
ally with them, an alliance wrought out of jealousy and envy.  And
that was necessary for one man who would arise a thousand years in the
future, and begin a destiny that would affect the next thousand years.

Threads within webs, creating an infinite tapestry, of which he was
only the smallest of parts.

"I welcome you," he said, and they started.  Marrain raised his hand
to his weapon.  "And present this place to you as a gift."

They stood still, looking at the Gods of beauty at his side, each
realising that something very special had just happened.  They could
feel the course of history turning beneath their feet.  Neither had
any idea of where it would take them, or that the salvation of their
people would mean the damnation of their souls.

"I am called Valen," he said, "and we have much work ahead of us."


Next: From the Ashes (3 parts)

The Minbari have an old saying: ‘There can be no peace with the
Shadow'. But what if there could be?  How much would peace be worth,
and what would it cost?  And who would pay?