From: Mr G D Williams <csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk>
Subject: The Other Half of My Soul Part 1 of 7 [AT]
Date: Sun, 15 Jun 1997 13:48:51 +0100 (BST)

Well here we are. Oh God what have I got myself in for? For those of you
who don't know, this is the latest in my parallel universe saga which
began a million years ago with A Dark, Distorted Mirror. To those of you
who've been with me all along, my thanks and congratulations on your
patience. For those of you who haven't, I would recommend hunting around
in the archive and beginning with a Dark, Distorted Mirror and working
your way through them all.

This will be either the last or the penultimate in the first phase of my
stories. Assuming I have e-mail access when I begin university in the
Autumn, I will be continuing then. I will only have access to this address
for another two weeks or so - until the 27th June - but comments until
that time are more than welcome. If anyone wants to write a message over
the summer, I would recommend sending it to:

csudi@csv.warwick.ac.uk

and they will be forwarded on to me by September.

There are no Spoilers as such here but I am drawing upon all elements of
the B5 universe and people who are not up to date may be inadvertently
Spoiled.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic. I am however not a very
nice hopeless romantic. You have been warned.

The time is early 2259, not long after the end of Transformations.

			----------

The Other Half of My Soul [AT]
by Gareth Williams, csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk

Holy One. 

Holy One. It sounded fitting to him. Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan had
always known that he would be destined for great things and now he had
achieved the greatness he had always believed would be his. 

WarLeader and Shai Alyt of the Wind Swords clan during their holy jyhad
against the Earthers. Satai of the Grey Council following the death of
Shakiri in Sheridan StarKiller's attack over Mars. Entil'zha of the
Rangers following the disappearance of Satai Delenn. And now Holy One.

Sometimes the price he had paid to get this power grated at him. Satai
Delenn in particular. Although Sinoval had often opposed her during
Council, he had always admired and respected her. He did not envy her her
fate.

What Sinoval believed in private about her fate and what he said in public
were two very different things. In public it suited him to maintain the
common story that Delenn was a traitor to her people - that she had gone
with the StarKiller willingly, and even that she conspired with him and
the Enemy that had returned. In private, Sinoval believed none of this,
but there was an old Minbari saying that applied in circumstances like
this:

Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved.

To save Minbar, Sinoval had sacrificed Delenn.

He stood alone in the Hall of the Grey Council, staring at the empty
columns of light all around him. His fellow Satai had gone to spread the
word of his ascencion and to complete the preparations for his final
attack. The last bastion of Earther power, and the secret base of the
Enemy - Proxima 3 - would fall.

Sinoval shifted the image around him to that of the Minbari fleet that was
rising. Capital ships, flyers, and the new breed of ships, built with
Vorlon technology. They were called the White Stars by the majority of
those who flew in them. It was supposed to be reminiscent of the Black
Star. Sinoval thought it a bad omen, but he had to admit that the ships
were impressive. For their size, they were more powerful, faster and
better equipped than any other ship around. The Rangers, newly reformed
under his leadership, would pilot them against the Enemy.

*We are ready* he thought. *Let the Enemy and the Earthers and the
StarKiller come. We are ready for them. In Valen's Name, I will be ready.*

First, however there was one problem, one old debt to be repaid. Sinoval
ended the image around them and walked from the Hall. It was tradition
that the Holy One always stayed within the Hall of the Council. Like many
other traditions, it was one that Sinoval intended to break.

She was waiting for him, as he knew she would be. Jha'Dur - WarMarshal of
the Dilgar, the being called DeathWalker.

Sinoval remembered the day she had come to his clan. The clan leaders had
taken her apart for private consultations, and they had announced that she
would stay with the clan, and that this would be kept secret. As the clan
leaders had died - to age, to grief, to StarKiller - Sinoval inherited the
secret, and her knowledge. He was now the only one to know of her presence
here.

She was a weight around his neck, perpetually dragging him down. Now that
he had his destiny, it would soon be time to get rid of her.

"So," she said. "Congratulations, Holy One. I always knew you would go
far, Sinoval."

"By Valen's will and by my strength, yes," he said.

"And a little help," she reminded. "Don't forget who took Satai Delenn out
of the picture for you."

"I have not," he said. "And that is why I am here. I tolerated your
presence before, Jha'Dur. You were valuable to me, and I thought...
foolishly... that you would help me take us back to our rightful place in
the galaxy.

"I was wrong. You are evil, Jha'Dur, as evil a thing as ever drew breath.
The weapons you supplied us with are terrible artefacts of mass
destruction. The price you took from us were sapping our souls, a little
bit at a time. It is over, Jha'Dur.

"You will leave Minbar today. You will take your... instruments of terror
and all trace that you were ever here, and you will go. And you will never
return. Isil'zha veni. In Valen's Name, I promise you that you will not be
harmed if you do so, but stay here after today, and you will be killed.

"Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," she said.

"Do not think of revenge, Jha'Dur. I am Holy One now, leader of the entire
Minmbari Federation. I am beyond anything that you can do to me. Be
satisfied that you are keeping your life."

"Behold the gratitude of princes," she spat. "I will be gone, Sinoval. Do
not worry about that."

"That is all I ask," he said, as he left. 

Sinoval, Holy One, now with no burdens, no ties, nothing to stop him
completing his destiny.

And his destiny would be reached in fire over the skies of Proxima 3.

			----------

Commander David Corwin possessed many worthwhile skills, all of which
rendered him inestimably valuable to Captain Sheridan. The skill which was
probably the most valuable was the ability to survive and to adapt. He
adapted to the destruction of Earth and to the loss of his family on Mars.
He adapted to life on the Babylon - very quickly, even taking over the
position of Helm when the person manning it was killed. 

He had adapted to constant, and largely futile warfare. He had adapted to
the loss of the woman he loved when Susan Ivanova had gone missing on the
Babylon 2 mission, and he had adapted when the woman he loved returned...
changed, not wanting to know him. He adapted when he learned that Susan
was part of an ancient evil and he had even adapted when fighting that
evil compelled him to abandon his own people.

Where nothing he had never known remained constant, David Corwin had
learned to adapt in order to learn how to survive, but even he had to
admit that this was unusual.

It had only been a few days ago that he and Captain Sheridan had been
arrested by the Resistance Government, ostensibly on charges of either
negligence or treason, which one depending on who you talked to. Corwin
still found it hard to believe that Susan had been behind those charges,
or at least guilty of the murders and the attempted murder that had caused
them to come about. With help from a very unlikely source, Corwin and
Sheridan had escaped Proxima 3 on board the Babylon, only to be pursued by
a vessel which in all probability belonged to the Shadows - humanity's
newest allies and the Minbari's oldest enemies. The Shadow ship had
mysteriously fled when confronted by another EarthForce heavy destroyer
class ship - of which there weren't supposed to be any - and the Babylon
had been led here. Wherever here was. Colonel - or perhaps Captain - Ben
Zayn, of the Ozymandias, had arranged for the Babylon to come here without
actually saying where this was.

And it wasn't as if Corwin could ask Captain Sheridan for help. A few days
before, the Captain had shot and killed his wife Anna, and he was now in
seclusion. Corwin supposed the Captain was getting very very drunk, but as
long as he knew for certain that Sheridan hadn't killed himself, then
Corwin hoped that he would work his way through this.

Crisis left little time for grief.

So, with Captain Sheridan hiding away from the world, half of the
Babylon's crew left behind on Proxima - including Security Chief Zack
Allen - and Satai Delenn locked up in the Babylon's brig on Sheridan's
orders, it was Corwin who was left with the task of handling the Babylon's
integration into this new society they found themselves at.

It was a moon, hidden somewhere. The moon had been hollowed out and a
massive city had been built there. Corwin had some inkling of who had been
behind their rescue - Captain Ben Zayn had been accompanied by a P10 level
telepath, and they didn't just grow on trees. This was Psi Corps, and if
this was Psi Corps, then that meant Alfred Bester.

Bester had visited Proxima 3 a few months ago, for the purpose of finding
out about humanity's allies and for mind-scanning Satai Delenn. Corwin had
been peripherally involved in a plan to stop this. Captain Sheridan had
not provided details, but evidently it had worked. Corwin wondered if
Bester was the type to hold a grudge. Judging by their rescue it didn't
seem like it, although there were still far too many questions to be
answered.

How had Bester known where they would be?
Why had the Shadow ship veered away?
What did Bester want with them?
Where the hell were they?

The fourth question at least, could be answered by Michael Garibaldi,
Bester's Liaison and Strategics Officer, or something. He clearly wasn't a
telepath - no gloves and no Psi Corps badge - and he seemed friendly 
enough, but there was a select list of people Corwin trusted, and that
list consisted of Captain Sheridan and no one else.

"So where exactly are we?" he had asked as soon as Mister Garibaldi had
begun a brief tour of the place.

"A secret Psi Corps base not far from Narn space," came the reply. "The
Boss did a deal with some of the Narns. You knows that the Narns don't
have telepaths? Well, at a healthy price, the Boss arranges for them to
get some telepath's DNA, and so we get to stay here. We get food shipped
in, even a few ships. The Narns want telepaths pretty badly, you see. I
don't think any of their experiments are working yet, but well..."

"Doesn't that sound sort of... unethical to you?"

"It's what we have to do to survive. And hey, the Narns are better than
the Minbari. Besides, I'm not a telepath, and I doubt any of the Narns
will be wanting my DNA, so it doesn't bother me."

Corwin had absorbed this information and shrugged mentally. Assuming it
was done with the consent of the telepaths in question, then all was fine.
Besides, what was the price of survival?

"I don't suppose the Boss told you how he knew where we were?" Corwin
asked.

"I can't tell you that. I'm not authorised for that sort of information,
you see. The Boss trusts me to run this place, and the best way to run
this place is to make sure everyone knows what they're supposed to know,
and that they all know they're supposed to know it, and that they don't
know what they're not supposed to know. So, if I'm not supposed to know
something, I make sure I don't know it. Does that make sense?"

"Ah, yes..." Corwin said, thinking it over for a while. "Sort of. So, what
am I supposed to know?"

"I don't know."

Corwin blinked, and Garibaldi laughed. It was an infectious laugh, and
Corwin found himself joining in. He still didn't trust this Michael
Garibaldi, but he couldn't help but like him.

"Seriously," Garibaldi said. "The Boss will want a meeting with you and
the Cap later on, and he'll tell you what it is he wants you to know."

"And what he wants us to do?"

"Sure. This is a dangerous galaxy out there. He didn't save you just for
the fun of it. He obviously thinks you're going to be an asset. Or he
wants revenge or something. He doesn't give me all the details, and I
don't ask." There was a pause, as Corwin looked around. They had ended up 
in Garibaldi's office. The office was clearly meant to be functional and
efficient, but was in fact a mess. There were papers and flimsies 
scattered everywhere, some of them obviously starmaps of some kind. There
were a number of similar charts on the wall, most of which were crooked.
Computer screens also shone out at him in every direction. Corwin also saw
a picture on Garibaldi's desk. It had clearly been given pride of place
and was of a pretty, dark-haied woman.

"Kinda old-fashioned, I know," he said, noticing Corwin's interest in the
picture. "It's my wife, Liana. She's seven months pregnant at the moment."

"Oh," Corwin said. "Congratulations. Is it your first child?" Polite small
talk, but Corwin was genuinely interested. It looked as though he would
end up doing a lot of work with Mister Garibaldi, and it would be
beneficial to get to know the man.

"Yeah. I mean, we haven't been married very long - just two years. We
thought, do we really want to bring up a child into a world like this?
But, well... we all need something to hope for, something to fight for, I
suppose. You married?"

"Me? No."

"But there is someone special?"

"There... was. She... died." Not a lie. In a very real sense, the Susan
Ivanova he had known was dead.

"Ah, yes. We've all lost a lot in this war. The Boss thinks we can make a
difference, maybe even end everything, but... I dunno. Life kicks you in
the teeth so often, you begin to wonder whether it's ever worth getting up
again, and then you find a reason and everything makes some sort of sense.
All the pain, and the dying and the loss. It all works out in the end."

"You think so?" Corwin asked, remembering the Captain repeating Anna's
name over and over again as he knelt beside her body, remembering his
grief when Susan was gone, remembering... "Yeah," he said. "I suppose so."

"So, what's he like to work with? Captain Sheridan? The StarKiller?"

"He's... I don't know how to describe it. He believes we can make a
difference. Well, he used to... I don't know any more."

Garibaldi shrugged. "We can make a difference. That's why we're here."

"So why are we here? No one does things without a reason. What's
Bester's?"

"Well, I guess you'll have to ask him, won't you? He'll want to see you
and Captain Sheridan later on. If you have a look around the place, and
report back to Captain Sheridan, then come and find me whenever you're
ready."

Garibaldi rose from his seat and offered his hand to Corwin. Corwin looked
at Garibaldi for a moment, and then back at the picture of his wife.
Slowly, Corwin extended his hand to Garibaldi's.

The first link had been forged.

			----------

Politicking was second nature to most Centauri. The nobles played games of
power and influence and authority, gambling with lives anf fortunes. Many
of them, blinkered to everything but their own petty - and not so petty -
interests, thought that they were the ones who had invented the Great Game
- as some Centauri called it. To them it was all a game, albeit one with
high stakes.

They were of course wrong. Nothing where lives hung in the balance could
ever be called a game, at least not accurately. They were also not the
ones to invent such a game. Billions of years ago a game had begun which
was still going on, both players by now tired and far removed from the
game's original aim, but continuing anyway, as if by rote, each one
responding automatically to the other's moves. The Centauri were but pawns
in this game, batted from side to side, and at this stage, largely
ignored. There were more important and valuable pieces to be manoeuvred.

But even the pawns could make a difference, especially when they became
queens. The Centauri would not remain pawns for long. Maybe their current
war with the Narns would enable them to rise up and make a difference.

Or maybe it wouldn't. Nothing is certain.

But while the Centauri nobility played a game of power within the circle
of the Greater Game of power, there was a smaller game being played by the
Centauri lesser classes. Ignored, scorned, and occasionally sacrificed,
they could upon occasion make a difference.

As one was now.

Timov, daughter of Alghul, first - and most scathing - wife of Minister
Londo Mollari, sat back in her chair, digesting the information she had
just received.

"I see," she said primly. "Thank you. You have been most helpful."

Her informant muttered something in reply and the comm link went down.
Timov stred at it for a moment and sighed. None of this suited her.
Politics belonged to Mariel and Daggair - the one using seduction, the
other money. Timov really had no patience for this sort of thing.

But still, Centauri Prime was on the verge of exploding into chaos at any
time, and she had to admit that her husband - drunken, overambitious and
low-minded idiot that he was - represented some form of order. Timov liked
order. It made sense, and it let her get on with her favourite pursuits,
namely making her husband's life hell.

It had begun when Timov had grown suspicious of her two companions to
Londo's matrimonial hand. Daggair was spending a lot of time lately with
Lady Elrisia. Now, if Londo had been paying more attention to what his
wives were doing and less attention to drinking, gamblng and utterly awful
Minbari poetry, he might have been a little annoyed at his wife spending
such time with the only wife of his old enemy, Lord - sorry, she corrected
herself - Ambassador Refa. But no, Londo noticed nothing. Presumably he
was only too glad that Daggair was nohere in sight - and who could blame
him? Timov thought - but that was no excuse. Mariel, meanwhile, was
always up to something, and so Timov had begun to track their movements.

She had very few contacts, but they were all valuable because none of them
were nobility. Nobles, in their infinite wisdom neglected the lower
classes to such an extent that they could discover almost anything they
wanted, and get away with it.

The latest report had come from a little thing named Adira, a maid in
Elrisia's household. Timov had taken enough time by now to digest it, and
there were nothing else to do but tell Londo.

Timov really hated politicking. It was all such a waste of energy.

She found her husband in his study, as usual. Surprisingly he was not
drunk - at least, he didn't look drunk. He was working on various papers,
and muttering angrily beneath his breath. Timov slowly crept up behind
him, making as little movement as she could. Londo really should learn to
watch his ba...

Londo spun around, holding a marrago sword. He stopped himself in time,
but it was still held closely at her throat. She looked at him carefully.

"You can put that away, Londo," she said, manufacturing a tone of
weariness, but secretly enjoying this. Annoying Londo was so much more fun
than politics.

"Bah! Timov, never do that again," he spat.

"Getting a little paranoid, are we? A little... nervous?"

"No. Why should I be?"

Timov thought about bringing up the matter a few weeks ago of the poisoned
gas in his carriage, but she decided against it. That was not something
she was supposed to know.

"Oh, no reason. A real assassin would have struck from a distance, though,
Londo. That... paperknife of yours would have been little defence."

"It is a marrago, wielded by one of the Cora Predo - the Proud Knives. It
was given to me by my good friend - my good, dead friend, Urza Jaddo when
he became First Minister, Timov. Treat it with respect, the same respect
you consistently fail to display to me."

Timov sighed. It was a large knife, that was all. Why did men set such
store by lumps of metal? All that talk about honour and duty and duelling
societies... all foolishness.

"Did you come by for a reason, Timov? Or were you just planning on
annoying me again?"

"Well actually I did have some information that Emperor Marrit is going to
announce his engagement to Lady Elrisia within a few days, but if you'd
prefer that I kept it to myself... Why, Londo - are you all right? You
look quite... upset."

"Upset!" He roared. "What is that idiot up to now?"

"He is the Emperor you know. He deserves some respect, at least."

"Then what is His Idiotic Majesty up to now?! He cannot marry her. She is
already married, for one thing."

"The Emperor can dissolve a marriage at any time, Londo. You should know
that. You've threatened me with it often enough."

"It's insane, is what it is."

"The Emperor is always right, Londo. Is that not so?"

"That... is our tradition, yes. Ah, Great Maker! What have I done to
deserve this?"

"I wouldn't know," Timov replied. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to
call a doctor...?"

"Quite sure, Timov. Now go away and leave me to contemplate this...
insanity."

"Of course, Londo dear. It would be my pleasure." Timov glided towards the
door, slyly watching as Londo rose from his seat and made an immediate
line for the drinks cabinet. Picking out a bottle of bravari, he poured
himself a glass.

"Oh, by the way, Londo," Timov said. "I also received a message from the
Royal Court. They would have told you, but I knew you were far too busy.
Lady Morella will be coming here tomorrow. She wishes an audience with
you. Londo? Are you sure you're all right?"

Londo dropped his drink.

			----------

Almost as long as he could remember, Boggs had wanted to serve Earth. It
was the one thing he had to believe in. He certainly couldn't believe in
his mother - an enigma from birth. Not even a name to remmber her by. Not
that he ever wanted to. He couldn't believe in his father, either. A
failure, never achieving the dreams he wanted, and wallowing in his own
self-pity for not trying. Boggs had lived a quiet childhood and, as soon
as he was old enough, he joined EarthForce.

He had joined as a Gropos - a Marine, a Ground Pounder. He had obeyed
their rules, followed their advice, made all the right choices. He had
something to believe in. He believed in Earth. He believed he was doing
the right thing. He believed he could make a difference.

And then had come the Minbari.

Boggs had fought them on a number of engagements in the early stages of
the war, but none were very serious. Mostly it was a space war, with
little ground combat. And mostly, Earth was getting its butt kicked, and
hard.

Boggs had been stationed on Io when Earth had been destroyed. He couldn't
leave, as all available ships were being thrown up in a ring around Earth,
and so he was left kicking his heels around the spaceport while every
living thing on Earth was torn from existance. 

Boggs had similarly missed the Battle of Mars. Humanity's first colony had
also been destroyed, but the Minbari had taken some damage, thanks mainly
to the heroic - some said suicidal - actions of Captain John Sheridan.
Boggs had idolised Sheridan. He was a hero. He fought and killed for
Earth. He gave hope to humanity.

Not enough hope, as it turned out.

Io had fallen in a matter of hours, only the colony and spaceport had not
been destroyed, but occupied. Why, he didn't know. Who could fathom the
Minbari out? He certainly didn't know about the discovery of a Shadow
vessel under the ground of Mars, or about a similar discovery on Ganymede,
and he wouldn't have cared if he had.

Boggs had fought a holding action in the occupied colony for months,
giving ground where he had to, holding it where he could. There were a few
of them, all the others Gropos like him. They had all died, only Boggs had
managed to escape.

He had made his way, in pain, in grief and in anger, to Orion, and from
there to Proxima 3. His knowledge about the Minbari mae him valuable to
the Resistance Government, but his experiences on Io had made it
impossible for him to fight again. He remembered their black robes, and
their long metal sticks and their contemptuous, superior gazes... He
remembered them all when he woke screaming in the middle of the night.

No, Boggs couldn't fight again, but there were other jobs, things he could
do. None of them felt right. None of them were as important to him as
being a Gropos, but at least in the Security Forces, he could do
something. Mister Welles seemed to trust him, occasionally giving him
important tasks.

One such important task had been the breaking of Satai Delenn. Her
resistance to Welles' questioning and Miss Alexander's telepathic scans ad
been too strong, and so Welles had wanted her... hurt a little. Not much,
and certainly not fatally, but a little.

Boggs had enjoyed that, but he was always careful not to take it too far.
Cutter had done little, and said little, but Boggs remembered every punch
and every kick and every voice in his mind that screamed at him to kill
her.

And then Satai Delenn had escaped, mysteriously changed - twisted into
some perverse semblance of humanity. And even worse... Captain Sheridan
had helped her. Boggs had felt his dreams turn to ashes. No one was
perfect. Not even a hero like Sheridan. Underneath, everyone was scum.

He had a task to do now. It wasn't important, and it wasn't especially 
enjoyable. Cutter would have enjoyed this. Cutter would really have
enjoyed this.

But Cutter was dead, and so Boggs was doing this for him.

He raised his fist and drove it hard into the woman's stomach. She gasped
and fell back against the wall. She was bruised and marked, and scratched,
and she lay there, huddled, trying not to cry, trying simply to breathe.

Sheridan had betrayed Boggs and countless more like him. Sheridan was not
here, but Lyta Alexander was. In a similar way, Lyta Alexander had
betrayed him as well.

She had been given sleeper drugs to restrain her telepathic powers. It
surprised Boggs. He had always seen telepaths in a strange light - half
freaks of nature, half mystical Gods. It was strange. All it took was a
simple injection and they were just normal people. Just scum like everyone
else.

She tried to rise, but Boggs kicked her feet out from under her. She fell
hard.

"Where....?" She breathed. "Where's... Marcus?"

Boggs knew about Marcus Cole. Another traitor. Just anoher traitor on top
of so many others, selling out humanity.

"I'll tell you this," Boggs rasped. "He's probably wishing he was where
you are right now, than he is."

Lyta's eyes widened. Boggs was lying - he did not know where Marcus was,
but without her powers, she could not sense as much. Just a normal person.
Without her power, she was just a normal person.

His next kick broke two ribs.

			----------

Marcus bowed his head. "Where is she?" he asked again. "Where is she?!"

Susan Ivanova; Shadow agent; Ambassador; humanity's last, best hope; and
Marcus' captor; she simply smiled.

And kissed him again.

			----------

Corwin walked back into the docking bays of the Babylon in a pensive mood.
Very pensive.

After his meeting with Garibaldi, he had wandered around the complex for a
while. He had found himself surprised by the number of people there. Most
were human, but many were Narns. Since somewhere like this could not
remain secret for long with regular visitors coming in and out, they had
to live here, which meant they worked for Bester. Scientists, perhaps,
working to create Narn telepaths?

Corwin had been hoping for a meeting with Captain Ben Zayn, but he learned
from Garibaldi that Ben Zayn and Harriman Gray had gone out on the
Ozymandias. Garibaldi would not say why, and Corwin had decided not to ask
why a valuable P10 telepath was being sent out on a heavy destroyer class
cruiser.

And then Corwin had been Linked by Garibaldi. Bester wanted to see him and
the Captain in three hours. Corwin had cursed silently and then said they
would be there. He just wished he could have more time to talk to the
Captain. Corwin hadn't seen him in almost a day, but he doubted the
Captain would be in any mood or company. When the euphoria of battle
ended, he was usually withdrawn and sullen. Combining hat with the fact
that he had recently killed his wife, and Sheridan would not be in the
mood for conversation.

Anna had been given a simple funeral. Sheridan hadn't attended, and hadn't
even mentioned her to Corwin, save for a curt, "Do what you think is
best," when Corwin had mentioned it.

Lieutenant Stephen Franklin was waiting for him in the docking bays, as
Corwin had requested. He greeted the lieutenant with a nod, and then went
straight to business. "Did you see him?"

"I tried, sir."

"And?"

"He asked who I was, and when I told him he said nothing."

"He is still in his room, then?"

"Yes, sir."

Corwin had anticipated this happening. He wasn't sure if the Captain was
drunk or not - after seeing Anna's alcoholism first hand for so long,
Cowin would have thought the Captain would have stayed away from drink,
but this was hardly an everyday occasion. 

"Commander, I'd like a word with you... in private, if possible."

Corwin looked around at the largely empty docking bays. The only person in
sight was Neeoma Connally, the StarFury pilot who had been docking her
'Fury after a routine patrol when Sheridan and Corwin had taken it away
from Proxima.

"This looks pretty private to me," Corwin said, walking hurriedly to the
exit of the docking bays. "What is it?"

"A few of the people came up to me. They want to know what's going on."

Corwin came to a halt, and turned. "Go on," he said carefully.

"We've abandoned Proxima, none of us know why, or what's been hppening. We
hear you and the Captain are up for treason, and then there's... well..."

Corwin knew what he was getting at. "Go on," he said darkly.

"There's her... Why is she still with us? This is about her, isn't it?
She's one of them, Commander, one of the enemy."

Corwin raised an eyebrow. This was strange talk coming from someone who
had trained as a doctor, someone who had, technically, committed treason
by refusing to turn over his medical notes on Minbari biology. But then
the Minbari had killed his father, and things changed. War changed many
things.

"We've all left behind our friends, and what family we have on Proxima,
sir. We've left them defenceless there. We can't do that, whatever's going
on between you, the Captain and the Resistance Government."

"Proxima is hardly alone," Corwin reminded Franklin. Indeed not. They had
the Shadows, didn't they? They had the... things that had corrupted the
Resistance Government.

"It doesn't feel right, sir. We can't talk to the Captain about it, so I'm
asking you. Please. Talk to the Captain. You can work this out with the
Resistance Government, but we can't abandon Proxima like this. We'll all
be outlaws now unless we go back."

"I see, lieutenant. Since when did it become your place to say what the
Captain should or should not do? Since when did you become an expert on
what the Resistance Government will or will not do? And if I could talk to
the Captain, then do you think I would have asked you to try and do so? I
don't know much more than you do, but I trust the Captain, and you should
too. Are we understood, lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Satai Delenn has not been moved?"

"No, she's still in Cell 3, but..." There was a spark of comprehension in
his eyes. "You're going to her, aren't you? You're going to her for help."

"I said I can't talk to the Captain. For some reason, she can."

"But, sir!"

"This conversation is over, lieutenant. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Corwin sighed, hoping Franklin had not noticed. He also hoped that
Franklin had not guessed that he agreed with every single word Franklin
said.

			----------

Delenn hovered outside Captain Sheridan's door, hesitant to enter. She
remembered the rage in his eyes the last time they had been together. She
remembered his angry words.

"Throw her in the brig! Throw her out of an airlock! Just get her out of
my sight!"

Delenn paused and winced at a sharp pain in her head. She had been
experiencing such twinges ever since her premature exit from the
chrysalis, but they were getting worse. 

She saw Corwin move forward slightly, but then she raised a hand, and he
stopped. He had come to her, he had trusted her, Captain Sheridan needed
her.

In times of great grief, Minbari often fasted for weeks at a time. Their
bodies could handle such starvation. Human bodies could not. But there was
another, greater problem, a cancer of the soul. She had to excise it, or
it would consume and destroy him.

She nodded briefly. Corwin placed his card in the door and activated the
override code. The door opened.

Delenn breathed in harshly and stepped inside.

The door closed after her.

She had been in John's quarters aboard the Babylon a few times before,
although they had never looked so small. Or so dark. Sheridan was sitting
on his bed, staring at a glass that was resting on his bedside table. The
glass was half full with a dark brown drink. She recognised the smell of
alcohol.

"I knew you would come," Sheridan said suddenly. His voice was not angry,
or bitter, or hollow, but... resigned. He looked haunted, as if he were
reliving that moment over and over again.

"I know the way David thinks, you see. I can't stay in here forever, and I
certainly can't come out myself. He can't talk to me. He can't shout at
me, and swear at me and tell me all the things I need to be told to shake
myself out of this. Why? Because I'm the Captain. I outrank him, I'm his
superior officer, his... I've been with him for over ten years, ever since
the Battle of Mars. Normal EarthForce promotions and transfers pretty much
stopped with the fall of Earth, you see. 

"No, David couldn't come himself, and nor could anyone else. Except for
you.

"So, go on. Tell me what you came to say. Try and convince me that it
wasn't my fault. Try and convince me it was an accident. Try and convince
me whatever you like."

Delenn swallowed slowly. Her head was aching again. She slowly knelt down
opposite Sheridan, but not too far away. She stared at his face. Her
vision swam for a moment, but she blinked, and it righted itself.

She absurdly wished she was wearing something else. Her only clothing was
the torn medical gown she had been given after emerging from the
chrysalis. It did not feel right to her, to wear so little.

"I cannot do that," she whispered. "Only you can."

"Of course, that's right. I'm the one who got myself into this mess. I'm
the one who has to get myself out of it. Well, what if I don't want to?
What if I'm just tired of always being the hero, always being the Captain?
What if...? Aw Hell, what's the point? What would you know?"

"I learned... the hard way, that power brings with it responsibility. I
was given power and I misused it when I began the war with your people. I
wish I could take back what I said, and what I did, but I cannot, and so I
work towards the future.

"You have a similar responsibility, Jo... Captain." Calling him by name
did not feel right any more. "You cannot abandon them."

"And what about my responsibility to Anna? I abandoned that easily enough.
To love, cherish and honour... for better or worse, for richer or
poorer... I abandoned all of them easily enough. What does a little more
matter?"

"And you were wrong with Anna, weren't you?"

"Don't speak her name again," he whispered. He had not shouted, not
yelled, not even moved, but those five words chilled her to the very bone.

"You..." She hesitated. "You were wrong, though. If we do not learn from
our mistakes, then surely we will make them again. Captain, please... your
crew needs you... Commander Corwin needs you... I need you."

"You're a bad liar, Delenn. Only one person has ever needed me, and she's
long dead. My daughter. Elizabeth. The only item of beauty I ever created
in my whole life, and she's gone."

"Why all this self-pity? You have a destiny, and you have friends. You
have... a purpose, a reason for living... If you do not see that, it is
because you have taught yourself to believe it." Delenn paused, and then
smiled slowly.

"Who else could my people call StarKiller?"

He said nothing. He did not move. He simply stared at his drink.

"Cap... John." Delenn slowly rose and moved forward. "Your crew need you.
They are afraid, they are disorientated, they are lost. Commander Corwin
needs you. I need you."

He looked up. "You?"

"Yes. I... I have followed prophecy all my life, and it has led me here,
to you. I told you once that we believe that groups of souls travel
together, reliving the good relationships, and correcting the bad ones. We
are linked, John. We are all a part of this universe."

"How do your people cope with grief?" he said. He didn't seem to have
heard what she had told him, but she knew he had. "How would you cope in a
situation like this?"

She knelt down beside him. "We fast, we pray, we meditate, we remember.
Often for a period of many weeks. Sometimes, we go insane, as we did when
this war began. When I lost Neroon, I immersed myself in the study of
prophecy. When I lost Draal, I spent days in meditation, remembering
everything about him that I loved. There are no rules to grief, John."

"I can't pray, because I don't have anyone to pray to. I can't remember,
because that would mean simply reliving every mistake I made. I can't go
insane. I did that when Elizabeth died, and when Earth fell. There's no
good down that road.

"And there's one path left."

"It may not be the right road."

"I've made plenty of wrong decisions in my life, Delenn. What's one more?"
Hesitantly, slowly, he reached out, and he touched her cheek. She took his
hand and looked into his eyes. They were... scarred, by grief, by loss, by
anger, by shame... but by determination as well.

The StarKiller was never far from the surface.

She kissed his hand slowly, unsure of what she was feeling. Her body felt
so... strange recently, but surely there could be nothing wrong with this
happiness? She moved closer to his bed.

He smiled sadly, and rose to his feet. He helped her up, and if she swayed
and lost balance for a moment, and he had to catch her, he made no sign.
He helped her balance and then let go of her hand.

"Is David outside?" he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak.

"I suppose he has something important to tell me. I think it's time to
find out what just what we're doing here, and just what Mister Bester
wants with us."

Delenn started, recognising the name. Bester had come to Proxima a few
months ago, intending to scan her. She had been preparing for her
chrysalis at the time, and could not let anyone discover her intentions.
And so, she had taught Sheridan a number of Minbari meditation techniques
which blocked light telepathic scans, enabling Sheridan to threaten Bester
into leaving her alone. As a short-term measure, it had worked, but she
had not envisaged being at Bester's mercy again, and certainly not in this
condition.

"John," she said softly. "Be careful."

"I don't trust Bester one inch, Delenn, but you've told me of the
responsibilities I have. I know what I'm doing."

She smiled, and started to reach out to him again. She hesitated and then
stopped. As she had expected Corwin was waiting outside the door. He gave
her a cautious smile, and then nodded at the Captain. Delenn followed John
from the room, hoping neither of her companions would notice her
discomfort. Her head was aching and all her muscles seemed sore.

Her discomfort increased when Commander Corwin revealed he had been Linked
a message saying that Bester wanted to see her as well.

			----------

"She is the other half of my soul. Tell her... no, she already knows. If
there is any justice, Ta'lon, then I will meet her again, in a place where
no shadows fall."

Narns did not cry. No one who had survived the Centauri occupation could
ever cry again, and Ta'lon had ceased to show any semblance of grief after
his mother had starved to death. He remembered the Centauri, but he could
not hate them. He had a greater purpose in mind.

Proxima 3 was still on a war alert. The Minbari could attack at any
moment, and their early warning systems gave the humans a bare twelve
hours notice. Ta'lon would have a little more of a warning than that, but
G'Kar's agents on Minbar had reported that he had a few days at most,
perhaps a week.

It would of course take  him several days to get to Proxima 3. This would
be close. Assuming he could escape the Shadow agents there, he would have
to leave the place before the Minbari arrived. They would not
discriminate, and the fact that he fought the same Enemy that they did
would not matter to them.

Nor would the fact that he was bringing the last words of a Minbari
warrior to his beloved. 

Ta'lon had heard nothing from G'Kar since before he and Neroon had gone
out towards the Rim. He had also heard little from G'Kar's agent on
Proxima in a few days, but that was not surprising. With the whole planet
on a war footing, no outside transmissions could be made. Ta'lon could
also not make any communications to G'Kar's agents elsewhere, as his ship
had been damaged in the Shadow attack a few days ago.

Ta'lon was isolated, and alone, but he had a purpose. Somewhere on
Proxima, was held Satai Delenn and he had to rescue her before her people
arrived. 

He had sworn as much to Neroon, before the Minbari had died...

			----------

"We have him here, Excellency."

Londo looked at the guard escorting him into the cells of the palace, and
wondered whose side he was on. Londo had bribed the guard enough, but
still, was someone else paying him more? Londo's funds were not
bottomless.

He had received the message this morning, as he was preparing for Lady
Morella's arival. The message had been from one of his sources in the
Royal Court. It was short and to the point.

Lady Morella has been murdered. A prisoner is being held.

Londo did not know Emperor Turhan's third widow very well, but he did know
that she was a prophetess, a very well kept secret among the Royal Court.
She had been in seclusion since Turhan's death during the previous war
with the Narn, emerging only very rarely. The fact that she had wanted to
see Londo had come as a great surprise. 

The thought had occurred to him that the whole meeting was a joke arranged
by Timov to annoy him, but he had checked with Lady Morella's valet, and
had learned that Timov had been telling the truth. The reason why Lady
Morella wanted to see him and not been revealed, and now it probably
never would be.

The Royal Court, in their traditional manner, was keeping Morella's death
a secret for the moment, but as Londo was acting First Minister in the
wake of Urza's assassination - sorry, accident - he could hardly be kept
in the dark about this, especially when he stormed into the Court and
demanded to know what was happening. Emperor Marrit and that
quadruple-damned Lady Elrisia had tried to play down the affair, but Londo
had put on his best loyalty personna and had uncovered the truth.

Lady Morella had been murdered in her bed last night, quite unpleasantly.
There had been a lot of blood, and quite some mess. Apparently the serving
maid who found the body had fainted with shock, and had then conveniently
killed herself with grief.

A human had been discovered sneaking around the palace shortly after the
discovery and he had promptly been arrested and detained. Londo had
thought it preferrable he meet this human before an accident or suicide
befell him also. Murder investigations were always so much simpler when
all the suspects were still alive and able to answer questions. It did
help quite a bit.

As he walked towards the dungeons, Londo pondered a few things. Morella
had been a seeress, and by all rumour a powerful one. All Centauri had
some degrees of prophetic ability - notably the ability to see their own
deaths. Londo still remembered the vision of his death, being strangled by
G'Kar on the steps of the Imperial Throne. Had Morella experienced a
similar vision? And if she had, she must have made preparations, perhaps
left a message?

Or perhaps not. She was a seeress after all, and they tended to be
confusing, oracular and amibguous to a fault. If she had left a message it
would probably be something along the lines of: The rose blooms best at
night, or similar gibberish. She might as well have been a Vorlon.

Londo reached the cell which held the human prisoner, and stopped. The
guard opened the door, and Londo handed him a purse of ducats. The guard
nodded, and stepped aside, as Londo entered the cell.

The human did not look in particularly fine form. He had been beaten quite
a bit - resisting arrest, as the popular excuse went - and there was
fatigue in his bearing. Nevertheless, he stepped up as Londo entered.

"Ah," he said. "You must be Minister Mollari. A pleasure to meet you."

"And who are you then?" Londo asked.

"Funny. That's just what I was going to ask you, Minister."

Londo paused. Perhaps the guards had beaten him a little too badly. He
didn't sound very mentally stable. A pity. These humans could be so
fragile at times.

"Oh no," he said. "I'm quite sane, believe me."

"Sane enough to murder a noble lady. Now if it had been Elrisia, that
might be understandable, but Lady Morella..."

"I didn't do it."

"No, I suppose you were wandering around the Royal Palace for the good of
your health, yes? Taking in the water and the sights."

"Actually I'm here on business. I'm a... trader of sorts."

"Are you? And what might your name be, Mister Trader?"

He smiled. "Morden."

To be Continued...





From: Mr G D Williams <csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk>
Subject: The Other Half of My Soul - part 2 of 7 [AT]
Date: Mon, 16 Jun 1997 20:30:03 +0100 (BST)

And on it goes. Spoilers and Disclaimers as at Part 1. Feedback up to the
27th is very welcome. Anything after that should be sent to:

csudi@csv.warwick.ac.uk

from where it will be forwarded on to me in late September. I will not be
able to reply to anything received after the 27th before then.

It is recommended that you first read the earlier stories in my parallel
universe saga, beginning with A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Most of the
stories have either been archived already, or should be up before too
long.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic. I am however not a very
nice hopeless romantic. You have been warned.

			----------

The Other Half of My Soul, Part 2 of 7 [AT]
by Gareth Williams, csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk

Alfred Bester subscribed to a great many sayings. He believed in ancient
wisdom, and the classic methods of doing things. Efficiency, clear
thinking, forward planning and extensive preparations were never old
fashioned.

The first rule he held dear was the simplest of all: Know Thine Enemy.

No one could ever accuse Bester of having small dreams. He wanted
everything. Cursed from birth with a useless hand, cursed in adolescence
by his lack of height, cursed with an ability that no one understood and
everyone feared, Bester had had only his ambition to maintain him. His
ambition and his superiority.

Others looked down on telepaths, scorned them, hated them, pushed them
aside into a big, black box called Psi Corps and left them to rot there.
Bester was not the first to realise the truth about telepaths, but he was
one of the first to take advantage of another old saying:

One man's curse is another man's blessing.

Telepathy was a gift, not a curse. It was a valuable resource, to be
harvested and cropped and protected. Telepaths were the strong, the
gifted, the blessed, the inheritors of the future. And he would be their
harvester.

Bester's own powers of telepathy had been strong, very strong. Rated at
P12, he was quickly inducted into the Psi Cops, the best of the best. He
soon grasped at the power - both personal and political - such a position
gave him. So what if he was still not free, and so what if he had to marry
who the Corps told him to, and follow the Corps' rules? Bester was
patient. he could wait.

And with the Corps gone, Bester was now the sole inheritor of all their
knowledge and power, all of it invested here, in the place simply called
Sanctuary.

He alone knew the secrets that were supposed to have died with the Corps.
He knew of the Lazarus Project, and the Control Program. He knew the
secrets of Bureau 13, and the Star Chamber, and Interplanetary
Expeditions. 

There was another saying: Knowledge is Power.

Bester was not much of a military man. He preferred to operate behind the
scenes and let other people's hands get dirty. Events would force him to
change that stance soon enough, but he would be ready when they did.
Meanwhile, he was content to sit back, and wait and learn, and amass
knowledge. Although military matters were not his forte, he had read the
words of Sun Tzu, acknowledged greatest strategist of all time. There was
one very valid piece of advice in those words.

He who knows neither his enemy nor himself will not win in a hundred
battles. He who knows himself but not his enemy will only win fifty of
those battles. He who knows both his enemy and himself will not lose in a
hundred battles.

Bester intended to never lose even once, but he also knew that sometimes a
loss was merely victory in other clothes.

He looked up, feeling the emotions of the four people outside his door,
and he smiled. Most telepaths needed line of sight to make a scan, and so
did Bester, but he could still pick up the background hum of stray
thoughts even through a door, or a wall.

There was Michael Garibali, as loyal and as fearless as ever. Bester
wondered how his wife Liana was doing. There should only be a few months
of her pregnancy left by now. 

There was Commander David Corwin, loyal and... Bester sighed. That was
annoying. He was practicing those strange techniques to block telepathic
scans. They seemed Minbari in nature, and that was not very surprising,
really. Another telepath might be confused, but to Bester it was as
effective as a paper wall would be against a battering ram. Still, it was
annoying.

Then there was Satai Delenn. Her own mental walls were much weaker, which
was surprising. Bester could sense a residual undercurrent of pain. Yes,
he'd been expecting that. The sooner he had details of the exact nature of
her change, the better.

And then there was Captain John Sheridan, the StarKiller.

"Door," Bester said, and it opened. Garibaldi was the first in, of course,
but behind him was...

"Captain Sheridan," Bester said. "It is good to see you again. I've
been... looking forward to another meeting for quite some time now."

			----------

"Where... is... she?"

Susan Ivanova sighed, and sat back. Marcus had grown very repetitive
lately. It as annoying.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it wasn't polite to talk about another
woman when you're with someone?"

He was angry, but he couldn't do anything about it. Oh, he could have
attacked her, but that wouldn't have done either of them any good. It
wouldn't have got him any nearer to finding his beloved telepath, and she
would have hated to have damaged him at all.

Besides, he wouldn't attack her. He couldn't bring himself to hurt a
woman. In some ways Marcus was like a knight of old - pure, noble, kind,
virtuous...

Susan poured herself a drink of some revolting Narn liquor and drained it
in one. She knew better than to offer Marcus any. She could tell from the
look in his eyes of the way he had fallen to depend on alcohol. It had
taken a great deal to shake him free. 

Susan hated Narn drinks, but they were the only things around and she
needed something. She'd never told this to anyone before. She'd tried to
avoid admitting it to herself, but she had to try... Marcus represented
everything she'd ever let herself hope for, and she wasn't going to lose
him to Psi Corps the way she had everything else.

"Did you ever see many telepaths on your home colony?" she asked. "Any Psi
Corps representatives? Anything like that?"

"Where is Lyta? Where is Captain Sheridan? Where...?"

"Marcus. Trust me. Please? I'll tell you everything you need to know, but
first just... please listen to me." This was going to get harder and
harder. She swallowed harshly and turned away, anything rather than look
at him while she was saying this. She didn't want him to see her this
scared.

The Shadows were not happy at her wasting time like this. She had had
quite an argument convincing them of the point of this. It could be
possible to bring him over to their side voluntarily. Without having to
use a Keeper, without mind control, or being placed in a ship. And if they
could manage this with him, then surely they could manage it with anyone.

They didn't quite believe her, and they certainly knew about her ulterior
motives, but they didn't seem to mind. she wondered what they thought
about, what they would die for, if they even knew the meaning of the word
love. She wondered what they wanted.

"Marcus?"

"I... yes. A few commercial telepaths, that's all. We had a Psi Cop visit
once, when I was little. We never paid them much mind. Why?"

"We had the Psi Corps everywhere. I was born in the Russian consortium,
out in the country a bit, but not exactly the wilderness. We saw telepaths
wandering through from time to time. Business deals, that sort of thing."

She closed her eyes tightly, welcoming the darkness she saw.

"My mother was a telpath. Potentially, she was of average atrength, I
suppose, but she was never trained. She couldn't do much. She wasn't a
threat to anyone. The only person she could ever read was me. I suppose
she could read my father and my brother Ganya as well, but it was mostly
just me.

"Psi Corps came for her one day, on her thirty-fifth birthday. She didn't
have much choice. Go to prison, join the Corps or take certain drugs. She
had a young family. she didn't want to leave us, so she took the drugs,
and they killed her. One bit at a time. Eventually she killed herself, but
that wasn't when she died. she'd been dead for a long time before then,
dead where it counted.

"She told me something, just before she died. Three words. Tell no one.
And I haven't. I've kept this a secret for so long, always moving around,
hiding, changing schools. Always new faces, new surroundings, a new name.
That's why I don't have an accent, in case you were wondering. I never
spent enough time in one place to develop one.

"My father knew what I was, but he didn't seem to believe it. He certainly
never mentioned it, and he died a little, after Mama died. He never had
much love for me, and he had even less afetrwards. He died on Earth.
Ganya... I don't think he knew, although if he had, he wouldn't have said
anything. He died a few months before the Line.

"No one human knows this, Marcus. No one. But I have to tell you,
because... because you have to see what I am, what I want...

"I'm a telepath. Not very powerful, and I've never been trained. The only
person I could ever touch was my mother, but that's enough for Psi Corps.
That's why I always moved, in case Psi Corps caught up with me. They'd
catch me, and they'd do to me what they did to my mother.

"Psi Corps was pretty much destroyed with Earth, but there's still a few
of them left. You remember Bester, don't you? He's still around, and of
course there's your Lyta. There's enough of them to pose a threat, and if
anyone had ever found out what I was, then they'd have taken me. They'd
have had to. Lyta is one of the only telepaths of any power here. The
Resistance Government is always looking for more resources, more weapons,
more anything of value. More telepaths.

"They'd have given me to what was left of the Corps, and there'd be
nothing I could do about it.

"Until I met the Shadows. They asked me what I wanted, the same question I
asked Captain Sheridan. My answer... I wanted to be safe. I wanted to be
able to stop running. I didn't want to be afraid any more!

"And now I'm not. I'm not afraid, or ashamed, of what I am. The Shadows...
never mind what anyone's told you, they aren't our enemies. What have they
done for you to oppose them so much? All they want to do is help us. They
want us to take back our place in the galaxy. All of us, the whole human
race has been living in fear for fifteen years! Thanks to the Shadows, we
don't have to be afraid any more.

"They want to help us, Marcus, and everything I've done since I came here,
has been to help humanity. You... the Shadows didn't understand you.
They'd have killed you, but I couldn't let that happen.

"Marcus, I can help you. All you have to do is believe me. I don't want to
hurt you.

"Marcus, what do you want?"

She could see the lights gleaming in his eyes. She could feel the memories
burning in the back of his mind. She could practically... touch him.

No, she drew back, terrified. She'd only ever ben able to touch her
mother. The Shadows had tried to augment her powers, but they'd only
succeeded peripherally. She still couldn't do much. Her children might be
more powerful, but for the moment, no.

But, she had found herself able to reach out and touch Marcus' mind. But
she had pulled back. To invade his thoughts without his permission... that
would be a violation, that would be as terrible as anything Psi Corps had
done to her.

"Why did they destroy my home?" Marcus asked. "If all they want to do is
help, then why did they kill everyone I ever cared for?" She could feel
his bitterness, his anger. It had been festering within him for almost a
year now.

*Damn you, John!* she thought. *Why did you have to make him part of your
little war?*

"That was... an accident. The Shadows seeded one of their ships there a
long time ago, before it was ever colonised. They didn't... mean to kill
anyone, but they had to retrieve their ship. They're... sorry."

"An accident?" he said hollowly. "Just... an accident. Delenn said that
the war began because of an accident. Does that excuse what the Minbari
have done?"

"No, but... we're trying to help Marcus. My friends... they helped me, and
they can help you. All you have to do is let them. Please! You don't have
to fight them. What do you want, Marcus? Just tell me and you can have
it."

"I want to know where Lyta is."

Susan started, as if she had been struck. She almost fell, but she managed
to catch herself in time. She could only stare at him, wondering what
might have been if only things had been different.

Psi Corps had taken everything from her. Had they taken this as well?

Her Link activated, and she raised it slowly, still looking at Marcus.

"Yes?" she said.

"Ambassador Ivanova." It was General Hague. "I would like to see you as
soon as possible. We're picking up some disturbing reports about Minbari
activity."

"I... yes. I'll be there now." She turned off her Link and looked at
Marcus.

"Please. Think about what I said." She went for the door. "And don't do
anything stupid. The Shadows here have eyes."

She left.

			----------

"So then, Mister Morden, is there any chance you can explain just what you
are doing here?"

Londo studied the human before him carefully. Morden - if that was his
real name - looked... normal. A little too normal. Londo's experiences
with humans had not been great, but he had spent some time in the last
year sparring with the Resistance Government at Proxima 3 - setting up a
peace accord that his dear friend Lord Refa had just blown completely out
of the sky - and Londo had learned to read humans. Their politics were not
as subtle or as sophisticated as the Centauri's, but they still posed
their own problems to one unaware of human customs.

Morden was simply dressed, all in black. His clothes were torn - the guard
had mentioned something about him being roughed up a little - and he was
marked with bruises and scratches. There was fatigue in his bearing, but
he bore his injuries as if they were irrelevant. Just a minor annoyance.

"I... had a meeting," he said, smiling slightly. It was a very personal
smile, one that indicated that whatever he was smiling about had nothing
whatsoever to do with anyone else.

"With whom exactly?"

"Oh, no one special. You know how it is, Minister."

"Mister Morden, what I do know is that you are in very serious trouble.
You have been accused of murdering a lady of this court - our Emperor's
mother, no less. If you cannot be considerably more straightforward with
me than you are now, I fear your remaining life with be uncomfortable,
unpleasant and short."

"Did you happen to hear of any evidence against me?"

Londo was tired. He had been tired for the best part of three or four
years, ever since he had met G'Kar and been inducted into the little
conspiracy the Narn was forming. It had been on G'Kar's advice that Londo
had directed foreign policy and the attempted peace accord with the
humans. Londo had helped G'Kar and jeopardised his future and his career
in doing so. He was also embroiled in a power struggle that looked set to
explode into civil war at any moment. He was married to three of the
most... annoying ladies millennia of Centauri breeding had managed to
produce. And on top of that, he had been called for a meeting with Lady
Morella, Emperor Turhan's third wife nd prophetess only to find that she
had been murdered. 

He was not having a good life.

"Mister Morden! You are accused of murdering a Centauri lady, a prominent
member of the Royal Court. You are an alien here. Evidence has got nothing
to do with it."

"I didn't do it."

"And I am sure that will make a lot of difference to your corpse, Mister
Morden. Maybe you are guilty, and maybe you are not, but the point is that
I cannot find out which one is true unless you deign to provide me with
some answers. Why are you on Centauri Prime?"

"I'm a trader. I had some archeological goods to sell."

"And where did you sell them?"

"Oh. Here and there."

"Mister Morden! Do you comprehend the severity of your situation here?"

"My apologies, Minister." Morden smiled again and bowed mockingly. "It
won't happen again. To answer your question, I sold a number of ancient
Centauri artefacts to a Lady Drusella, and a handful more at a select
auction."

"Lady Drusella?" Londo knew of her. She was married to Lord Marrago, a
high ranking military governor during the war with the Narn. He had ruled
several colonies taken in the early stages of the last war. He had a
daughter, did he not? Ah, what was her name? A pretty little thing, vacant
and mindless? Read too much poetry?

"Bah!" he snapped. It had escaped him. He must be getting old. He was
losing his memory. Lord Marrago had never shown much of an indication for
power games on Centauri Prime. He was always far more content ruling his
captured colonies. Lady Drusella was not particularly important, either,
but an appearance of unimportance was the perfect disguise... Had she
arranged Lady Morella's murder?

Or was Londo just becoming very paranoid?

"And where exactly did you uncover these artefacts? I doubt they came from
Proxima 3." The human's last colony was quite a way from Centauri space.

"No, actually. I've been... out of circulaton there for a while. I've been
doing some exploration out on the Rim."

"Oh? Did you discover anything intersting? Apart from these artefacts?"

He hesitated, as if evaluating an answer. Then he smiled. "Yes."

Londo groaned. "And why were you here in the Royal Palace last night?"

Why was he bothering? Why couldn't he be in bed right now? Or better yet,
in a gambling hall, with a pretty lady in one arm, and a pair of charmed
dice in the other?

Why? Because Londo had fought hard for the good of his people, because he
believed in the good old days of Centauri power, and he believed that they
could come about again. Because he believed that his people deserved
better and more. Because he believed full stop.

And because he was not going to let anyone return the Centauri to what
they had been before the war - decadent, pitied, insular, shallow and
pathetic. Neither Narn, nor human, nor Centauri, nor Minbari, nor Vorlon.
No one.

"I had a meeting. With Lady Morella. She was... interested in the
artefacts I was selling and she wanted to arrange for first refusal when I
returned."

"That is a lie, Mister Morden. That last part certainly."

"Ah," he said. "Yes, you're right." He paused, and Londo could feel the
human's eyes concentrating on him. "Were you making a point?"

"Double bah! This is pathetic. I do not care whether you are guilty or
innocent, Mister Morden. I do not care if you are executed and your head
stuck on a pike. I only care that, if you are innocent, the real murderer
remains at large, and threatens what I have built here. That I will not
let happen, Mister Morden. I will give you a while to... consider your
situation here. I will return later. For your sake, be a little more
co-operative than you are at present."

Londo banged on the door, and stormed away. He was developping a headache,
uncomfortably like a hangover, except without all the fun that would 
precede it. He was tired, and he was irritable and he wanted a drink.

He did not want to run in with that multi-damned harridan Lady Elrisia and
that drooling imbecile Cartagia. But still, what he wanted rarely mattered
in the great scheme of things.

And Morden, what did he want? Perhaps if anyone had been able to listen in
to him in his cell, they would have uncovered something interesting...

"So, now that I'm in this mess, did you have any plans for getting me out
of it? Oh, thank you very much, but it's easy enough for you to say that.
I'm quite attatched to my head, you know. I like it on my neck, and not on
a Centauri pike.

"Ah. Yes. I hadn't thought of that. You might just have a point."

But as no one was listening, the one-sided conversation went unheeded. A
pity, really.

			----------

"My commiserations on your recent loss, Captain. I know what it is like to
lose someone you love. You have my sincere sympathy."

Sheridan looked at Bester, narrowing his eyes. He couldn't tell if the Psi
Cop was being serious or not. Either way, he wondered how Bester had heard
about Anna's death - or were Delenn's telepathic safeguards not working?

"No," Bester provided. "They are not, but do not worry. They were not
before either. Against another telepath, perhaps... But not me." Sheridan
started, and shot a glare at Garibaldi, who shrugged.

"There, Captain, now that both our secrets are laid bare, perhaps we can
talk business. Oh, one more truth first of all. My visit to Proxima 3 was
not all I might have made it out to be. I had been hearing a great deal
about humanity's new allies, and I was... intrigued. I had also been
hearing a great deal about you. My main intention in visiting Proxima was
to scan you, and confirm if what I had heard was correct."

Sheridan didn't like being made a fool of. "Who did you hear these things
from?"

Bester smiled. "Please, Captain, allow me some little secrets. I have no
wish to jeopardise certain... individuals who are better off remaining
nameless at the moment."

"Then you were not interested in me," Delenn said. Sheridan could see
Bester's careful gaze on her. He wondered if he was scanning her.

"Oh yes, but as an... interesting aside, that is all. The fact that I
could not get close enough to scan you was an... annoyance, but that is
all. Sooner or later, everything comes to me."

"All things come to he who waits," Sheridan quoted.

"Exactly, Captain Sheridan. You are exactly correct. I had also better
point out that I feel no animosity towards you for your... treatment of
me. I admire someone who feels such loyalty towards his companions. It
bodes well for your future.

"And now to the conditions under which you are here, Captain. You will
work for me. I have one very capable and adept captain in Ben Zayn, but a
gift such as yours cannot be wasted. There will be certain... activities
that will need doing... from time to time, and if Ben Zayn is not
available, or if I feel you are better suited to them, then I will ask you
to perform them for me.

"In exchange I will give you and whichever members of your crew you feel
most capable a place here in Sanctuary. I will protect you from the
considerable ire of the Resistance Government at Proxima 3, and I will
give you a chance to better serve humanity.

"We both know that those in power in Proxima are drifting away from the
lofty ideals of the Earth Alliance, Captain. The urge to survive is all
well and good, but there are always limits and some in Proxima have 
crossed over those limits by quite a way. Perhaps we here can help
humanity return to the ideals of the Earth Alliance, and perhaps not, but
we can at least try."

"There are innocents at Proxima," Sheridan said coolly. "People who
haven't been touched by... People who still believe in the ideals.
You can't abandon them."

"I have no intention of abandoning anyone, Captain. The Babylon will be
returned to Proxima, with a few members of my staff to pilot it. As a last
line of defence, it is not up to much, but it is better than nothing. We
have a much better ship in store for you, Captain. She is called the
Parmenion. She is newer, faster and stronger than anything we have at the
moment. Captain Ben Zayn was offered first choice, but he is somewhat
attatched to his Ozymandias, and so we give the Parmenion to you and
Commander Corwin. Mister Garibaldi will be able to escort you to the ship
and put you in contact with its current third in command, Major Krantz."

"And what about Delenn?" Sheridan asked. He could feel her looking at him,
and he gently reached out his hand, brushing his fingers against her palm.
She gripped his hand tightly.

"She is a valuable resource, Captain, but I have no intention of treating
her as badly as did the Resistance Government. She may stay with you on
the Parmenion if she wishes, or she may stay here. If I can assemble some
kind of communications with the Minbari, then she may be able to function
as Ambassador. 

"I would however request that my Chief Medical Officer has a look at her,
so that we can determine the effects of the change."

"Doctor Kyle on the Babylon has already done as much."

"And he is free to share his findings with our Doctor Hobbs. Satai Delenn,
I hope you will consent to this?"

*And what if she doesn't?* Sheridan thought blackly, but there was no need
for him to worry.

"I will be... happy to help in any way I can," she said. She gripped his
hand tighter.

"Good. Very well, Captain, Commander. That will be all. Oh, except for one
thing. I gather you had a reputation on Proxima as somewhat of a... what
is the phrase... 'loose cannon'. I accept that you are very skilled at
strategy and leadership, Captain, and I will give you the freedom to obey
my orders in whicever way you see fit, but let me make this very clear.

"You will follow my instructions, Captain. You will not deviate, you will
not abandon. The future of the whole galaxy may rest on the events of the
next few years, and I will not allow anyone to threaten that future. Any
transgressions, and I assure you you will regret them. Never forget who I
am or what I can do.

"Good day, Captain. Commander. Satai."

			----------

Mister Welles had known Lyta Alexander for several years now. He hd ound
her to be a valuable asset, if a little irresponsible with the use of her
powers at times. He knew her to be competent, professional and adept at
the use of her abilities.

Bruised, scarred, battered and scared were new descriptions, although he
couldn't say she hadn't deserved it. Boggs had been a little extreme, but
the man had just lost one of his best friends, so a little license was in
order. Besides, as far as Welles was concerned, she had done nothing to
cause sympathy.

"I am very disappointed," he said, as he sat down. She looked at him. One
of her eyes was puffy and bloodshot. "Very disappointed. Just one
question. Why?"

She swallowed and winced. "Where... is... Marcus?"

"The sleepers should be in full effect by now," Welles said idly. "I'm not
a telepath myself, but I have studied the use and results of these drugs.
A telepath's abilities are integral to his or her existance. They make you
special, make you different, make you important. Take those gifts away,
and you're just like everyone else. The psychological damage must be quite
severe. Like an artist who loses the use of her hands, or a musician who
becomes deaf, or a soldier who becomes crippled. It takes away not just
what you do, but who you are, what makes you unique and special.

"You have a rare gift, Miss Alexander. One in every ten thousand people
are telepaths, is it not? Take away those whose abilities are almost
useless, and you are in a very select group of people. And yet you misuse
your talents. First for your own personal pleasure, as if the minds of
others are your own private playground, and now, you use your power to
betray your people.

"At least you have not tried to deny it. Mister Allen has provided us with
all the details. He has also been a source of knowledge about what
happened on board the Babylon. He is holding some things back of course.
People always do. But what he has told us so far is true. I hear so many
lies that I recognise the truth when I hear it.

"And so, Miss Alexander, I have just one question. I know what you have
done. I know how you have done it. I think I know why, but I just want to
hear it from your lips.

"Why?"

"Where... is... Marcus?"

Welles steepled his fingers together and looked at he over the top of
them. She did look a pitiful figure, and he would rather not have been
here at all. No, he was certain that the true knowledge he sought could be
found within the mind of the very Marcus Miss Alexander was asking about,
but he... was off limits. Someone else had an interest in him, and so
Welles was here.

Perhaps Boggs had been too hard, after all. Welles would liked to have
supervised the affair, but he had been afraid. When he had discovered
Cutter's body he had lost control. He had come within an inch of killing
her. He had learned something very unpleasant about himself then, and he
was afraid of losing control again.

There were always other ways to deal with problems than simple violence.

"I studied as a psychologist once, you know," he said conversationally. "I
learned what makes people tick. Their pasts, their present, their
childhood, their wishes, dreams, aspirations. Then came the war however,
and I felt another calling. I have certain unique abilities, every bit as
unique and precious as yours, and I have put them to use serving my
people.

"I think I know why you helped her escape. I think it is because you have
no identity of your own. I may have been reckless in allowing you to form
such a bond with Satai Delenn during my interrogation of her. You latched
onto whatever connection you formed with her. You... welcomed it, you even
came to need it.

"I can understand the allure. Exotic, strange, alien, fascinating,
beautiful... Yes, some regard the Minbari as beautiful. But as I told you,
I am a psychologist. I dig beneath the surface, and what I have seen
beneath the surface of the Minbari is a race filled with pride and
arrogance and delusions of their own superiority. Yes, they are powerful,
but they have no idea of what to do with that power. They waste it, they
abuse it... They are content to wait, passing away their days convinced in
their own power, and if anyone dares challenge them - like us - then they
respond with bloody, terrible force.

"That is the race you idolise, Miss Alexander! And that is the race you
have helped! Never forget what they did to Earth! And don't try and tell
me that you have not lost someone you loved to them, because that would be
a lie, and we both know so. 

"You are of no value here. The only thing that makes you special is your
gifts, and those you have misused. 

"But perhaps, there is a use for you. The people, the ones you doubtless
never see with your gloves and your badge and your insignia and your
pride... The people are angry and scared and worried. They want a
scapegoat, an offering if you will. Something to appease the Gods before
the Minbari arrive.

"Satai Delenn was to be that offering, but she is gone, and so there will
have to be a replacement. The Resistance Government will offer you.

"We will not meet again, Miss Alexander. Rest well, and have pleasant
dreams."

Welles rose to his feet and left for the door. He had nearly lost control
for a moment, but he had managed to rein himself in. He was breathing
swiftly now, anxious to be out of here. He needed to rest, needed to
think, needed to control himself.

"I... I..." Miss Alexander was trying to say. Welles turned, and listened.
"I... was right... I know... I was... right."

"Then you know nothing at all. Good day, Miss Alexander."

Welles left, and closed the door.

			----------

"Ah, Lady Elrisia. A pleasure as always." Londo inclined his head in a
gesture of greeting - several inches short of what would be considered
polite. Lady Elrisia might have a great deal of power - she was the
caretaker of the entirety of Lord Refa's estates, in his, hopefully very
long, absence - but that did not mean Londo had to respect her.

In a society where marriage for love was considered radical, dangerous and
foolish, few marriages ended up happily, unless the participants were
lucky. Londo had been anything but. Timov loathed him, Daggair was only
using him for her social climbing and Mariel... the less said about her
the better. Londo was however lucky in one respect. It had been Refa, not
him, who had married the fair Lady Elrisia.

Physically, she was very beautiful, Londo had to admit. Even it it was the
sort of beauty that came from jars and took several hours in the morning
to arrange. And Elrisia was very shrewd, very intelligent and very
ambitious. Good qualities in a man, very very bad qualities in a woman,
especially one whose only real purpose was to continue the noble line, and
look pretty, or upon occasion join two Houses. Intelligence did not enter
into it.

Elrisia had satisfied the succession side of things - she and Refa had a
son, who was currently parading around in the military, hoping to impress
the Narns with his dress sense, no doubt. Elrisia had provided an
impressive alliance between two Houses, so that part was done. And she had
attended plenty of affairs and parties looking pretty. That should be
enough or any woman, but noooo. She had to want more.

"Minister Mollari," she said. "We were not expecting you in the Royal
Court this morning. What brings you this far from your estates?"

"A... little business is all. Nothing important."

"Is it connected to Lady Morella's murder? A horrible business that. I
hear the murderer is in custody?"

"A... suspect is in custody, Lady. His guilt has not yet been determined."

"Oh really? Well, we have ways of determing guilt, don't we, my dear?" She
smiled at her companion.

Londo had met Cartagia a few times. Nephew of the late Emperor Turhan,
Cartagia was peripherally connected to the royal line, and therefore bore
watching. He was not an impressive addition to the royal line, it had to
be said. Londo half wondered whether he was still drooling - a habit from
his childhood.

"Absolutely," Cartagia said. "We can rustle up a few of the palace
torturers... sorry... pain technicians. Pain technicians? I mean what sort
of a stupid name is that? Really! You wouldn't have thought the name would
matter, would you, but nooooo, they're all organised, and insist they're
called pain technicians. I don't know. Anyway, we can soon sort this out."

"Torture would be... ill-advised at present, lord."

"Are you denying me my fun, Mollari? That's not very pleasant of you, is
it?"

"Shut up, dear," Elrisia said calmly. Londo had never seen a member of
Centauri royalty sulk before. It was quite an entertaining experience.

"My congraulations on your recent engagement," Londo said. "Where is our
Emperor anyway?"

"Resting. He had quite an... energetic night. He will be up in time for
his audience with the Centarum. There is the matter of choosing a
replacement for poor Urza, for one thing."

"Yes," Londo said, trying not to grit his teeth together. 'Poor Urza' had
been a friend. A good friend, and if his death had been an accident, then
Londo was a Jovian treeworm.

"The Emperor and I have felt that you are overburdened in your current
duties, Londo," Elrisia said. "You have performed such sterling work that
it didn't seem right burdening you with more responsibilities when you
should be resting. You are not as young as you once were."

"My... duties to my people keep me young, my lady. Who... who will you
recommend to the Centarum?"

"Oh, Lord Jarno has done wonderful work lately. He deserves some
recognition, don't you think?"

"Of course, my lady. You are quite right." Lord Jarno? The man was an
idiot! Londo remembered a speech he had given to the Centarum once.
Afterwards, everyone had unanimously voted that he be sterilised in the
best interests of the species. Of course, he was married to Lady Jarno,
which amounted to the same thing really.

Lord Jarno was also known to gamble a little. No, he was known to gamble a
lot. So did Londo, of course, but at least he knew when to quit. Lord
Jarno didn't, and as a result owed quite a sum to, of all people, Lord
Refa. Under Centauri law, Refa - or the holder of his estates, Lady
Elrisia - would be perfectly able to seize Jarno's holdings as part
payment of the debt. That would make him easily malleable, no?

"A fine choice," Londo agreed. He had his own suspicions about recent
'accidental' deaths on Centauri Prime, and his own suspicions about who
was behind them. He was also far too old to be dodging assassination
attempts all the time.

"We're very glad you approve, Londo. I am sorry, but I think it is time I
went and woke the Emperor up. Good day, Londo."

"My lady. Prince Cartagia." They left, and Londo was left to mutter
angrily to himself. Women in politics! Bah! Next thing she would want to
be Emperor!

He badly needed a rest. And a drink. And a game of cards. And...

			----------

Traffic in to Proxima 3 was very rare these days. The whole colony was
under tight control. With the arrival of the Minbari anticipated at any
moment, few wanted to go there anyway. Especially not the Narns.

The kHa'Ri had officially refused any help to Proxima 3 - ostensibly for
reasons to do with their current, and rather uneventful, war with the
Centauri. In fact, the kHa'Ri recognised a losing cause when they saw one,
and were more than capable of thinking up ways to destroy their own ships
without throwing them in front of a very angry Minbari armada. And for
those members of the kHa'Ri - such as Councillor Na'toth - who were aware
of certain... deeper matters at work, helping a colony they may wll end up
having to fight at a future date did not make a great deal of sense.
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar's opinions on the matter were not recorded, but Ta'lon
knew that G'Kar would help if he could.

Who he helped was anyone's guess.

Ta'lon would doubtless find it difficult to get into Proxima 3, especially
as, if his estimates and information were correct, he would be arriving
only a few hours before the Minbari. While the Resistance Government may
be quite happy at the arrival of another ship, Ta'lon would have little
time to do what he needed to do.

He had been out of contact with most of G'Kar's agents for some time.
Epsilon 3 had been silent, the Centauri aide with access to the Grey
Council provided what little he could, and the agents among the
Non-Aligned Worlds knew little of importance outside their own little
areas. 

As such Ta'lon knew nothing about recent events on Proxima. He did not
know about Satai Delenn's transformation and escape. He did not know of
Captain Sheridan's defection. He did not know just how deeply the
Resistance Government had given itself over to the Darkness.

What he did know was that he had a duty to his friend, to pass on one last
message to his beloved. Neroon had met a warrior's end, a fitting death,
and so Ta'lon was left with his legacy.

And so he came to Proxima... a world of darkness and deep night.

			----------

Corwin was impressed by the Parmenion. As he and the Captain were shown
around by Major Krantz, he took special notice of the ship's unique
features.

It was a heavy class destroyer ship, a similar type to the Babylon. The
Babylon, however, had undergone so many upgrades, conversions and last
minute botch job repairs over the years that it was, quite literally, in a
class of its own. The Parmenion was newer, cleaner, fitter and far
readier.

"The crew have been trained and drilled extensively," Krantz was saying.
"They're looking forward to meeting you. They're the best Mister Bester
can find. Some of them are... soldiers of fortune of a sort..."

"You mean mercenaries," Corwin provided darkly.

"They fight for us. They fight for Mister Bester. What does it matter how
much they're being paid. Most of the crew is human, but there are a few
aliens - Narns mainly. Some secret elements in the Narn military have been
working quite closely with Mister Bester. Some of the kHa'Ri are quite
interested in his work here in Sanctuary and have been funding our
activities."

"How come Proxima's never heard about any of this?" Corwin asked.

"They have. A little, anyway. Mister Bester has lent them support from
time to time. They just don't know the specifics, that's all. We'll
operate more in the open when the right time comes. A few members of the
Non-Aligned Worlds know about us. We've been having a few skirmishes
lately with a race called the Streibs. Not very nice people at all.

"You'll have a chance to meet the bridge crew soon enough, but there's
someone special you ought to meet first."

Krantz stopped at a door, and activated the bell. A few moments later it
opened, and a fairly young woman stepped out. Corwin blinked and then
looked at her. She was wearing typical Psi Corps clothing - dark and
utilitarian, with black gloves and the Psi Corps insignia. She couldn't
have been much more than sixteen.

"Alisa Beldon," she said, introducing herself. "Telepath rating P8. So
far. Primary telepath aboard the Parmenion."

Corwin shook her hand and introduced himself. The Captain did likewise.

"I'm glad to have met you, Captain Sheridan," she said. "I remember
hearing the news about the Black Star. I was only seven at the time, but I
remember the partying and..."

"You're making me feel old," Sheridan grumbled. Corwin couldn't help but
smile. He'd been fifteen during the Black Star victory.

"Will you be at the bridge later?" the Captain asked. "I have a speech I'd
like to give."

"Of course, Captain." She smiled again, and bowed, both at the Captain and
Corwin. Corwin caught a hint of a dazzling smile, and then the door closed
and he looked back at Major Krantz.

"What's a telepath doing on a ship like this?"

"All of the ships here at Sanctuary have at least one telepath on board.
You never know where they come in useful."

"I wouldn't have thought Bester would place his telpaths in danger like
that. And isn't she a little young for a P8?"

"There were certain... experiments carried out on a lot of early
adolescents. It heightened and accelerated their abilities. Telepaths are
a valuable resource after all, and the art of leadership is appropriate
use of your resources. Wouldn't you say, Captain?"

"Hmmm? Oh yes. Quite right."

"Sir?" Corwin asked. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Just... going over my good luck speech."

"Your what?"

"My good luck speech. It's a... personal tradition. I give a good luck
speech within twenty four hours of taking on a new assignment. With
everything that's been happening lately I think I deserve the luxury of at
least one old habit."

"I never heard about a good luck speech."

"Well I've been on the Babylon for so long that I've never needed to do
one since then. I just... I don't know. I just need some sort of link to
the past."

"Oh. Well. I'm looking forward to hearing it."

"I wouldn't look so smug, Commander," Krantz said. "The crew will probably
want a few words from you as well."

"Me? But that's... that's... I'm no orator. I just... ah..."

"Don't worry, David," the Captain chuckled. "It's not as hard as it looks.
Assuming I get remember this bit. Damn! I've gotten out of practice in
giving it."

"Don't worry, sir," Krantz said. "You've got at least an hour or two to
remember."

			----------

If anyone had walked into the Royal Court at that moment, they would
doubtless have been outraged to see Lady Elrisia reclining on the Imperial
Throne itself. The Throne was for the Emperor only. Oh, sometimes his
First Minister sat there while receiving audience when the Emperor was
away, or busy, but still... There were matters of protocol to consider.
None of Emperor Turhan's wives had ever so much as contemplated sitting on
the Imperial Throne. (Well except for his first wife in that unfortunate
incident with the Drazi Ambassador and the 'live' banquet - apparently
caused by the overuse of the colour purple in the decorations.) 

Lady Elrisia clearly had no such compunctions. As far as she was
concerned, she could sit wherever she liked. The future Empress could do
whatever she liked.

Officially speaking, there was no title of Empress. The Emperor's wives
were always called the simple title of Lady - albeit with more respect
than was given to a noble's wife. Elrisia was planning on changing that.
She was planning on changing a lot of things.

"Did you hear the way he spoke to me?" It was an outrage, I am telling
you! An outrage. I have a mind to have him flogged!"

"Cartagia dear. Shut up." Elrisia was getting very tired of his infantile
prattlings. If if wasn't for the fact that Marrit was even more tedious
and boring, she would probably be with him. She was after all, going to be
his future wife, and Empress.

Empress Elrisia. She liked the sound of it.

But as always, there was a problem. Said problem being Londo Mollari.

He was an anachronism. An old guard. You only had to look at his hair and
hear his accent to understand that. He still believed in the "good old
days" of Centauri power. The good old days were gone. Elrisia planned on
creating the good new days.

And if it weren't for people like Londo and her dear husband always
standing in the way, she'd have a far far easier time of it.

And Elrisia had been trying. A number of assassination attempts had had to
be aborted, but she was certain her gas booby trap of his carriage a few
weeks ago would have worked. It had certainly cost her enough. But no,
Londo had escaped that one as well.

"How does he do it?" she asked herself. "He must have all the Gods in the
pantheon on his side? How can anyone who gambles so badly be so lucky?"

"Everyone's luck runs out sooner or later," Cartagia said.

Elrisia thought about this, and smiled. "Do you know, that's the first
intelligent thing you've said all day. Congratulations."

Suddenly, her personal communicator activated. A fascinating little
device, used by Ministers and high ranking military officers to keep in
touch. She had managed to appropriate one for her own use. She listened to
the message, and then smiled widely.

"How prophetic of you, Cartagia," she said. "It appears that Minister
Mollari has just met with an... unfortunate accident. His personal
carriage - a replacement for the last one, I suppose - exploded on his way
back to his estates. A problem with the engine, I suppose. The
manufacturers really should get these things looked at better, don't you
think?"

Cartagia smiled. He actually looked half way intelligent when he did.

			----------

"When I was twenty one, I went on a journey to Tibet to see the new Dalai
Lama. It made sense at the time. A lot of things do when you're twenty
one. We had a simple meal... I forget what it was. And afterwards, he
looked at me and he said:

"'Do you understand?'

"And I said, 'No.' He simply smiled and said. 'Good. You will be even
wiser when you know what it is that you do not understand.'

"The Dalai Lama might be gone. Tibet, the Himalayas, Earth... they might
all be gone, but they live on in our minds and hearts and souls, and in
our memories. Someone... very dear to me once told me something. 'Love
holds no borders.' If love does hold no borders, then neither should
memories, neither should hopes or dreams or aspirations. We have all lost
a great deal, and we have all suffered. 

"It is likely that we will suffer more and lose more. It is likely that we
may not return one day. It is likely that our enemies are stronger than we
are.

"I don't really know any of you, and none of you know me, but this I can
promise you. I have spent the whole of my life serving Earth. Just because
Earth is gone, that does not mean that we have to stop believing in what
it means for us as a people. Earth survives in each and every one of us,
and I will serve Earth - and of all you - in the same way I always have.

"I can make no guarentees that I will be able to keep you alive, and
anyone who says they can is lying. This galaxy doesn't allow for
guarentees. I can promise you however, that I will do all that is in my
power in the name of Earth, and of humanity.

"It was an early Earth president who said... who said... Damn! What did he
say?"

Sheridan floundered, and was greeted with chuckles of laughter from the
bridge. "All right," he said, holding up his hands. "So I've forgotten
what he said. It just goes to show how much I will be relying on all of
you, and how much we will all be relying on each other. Myself and
Commander Corwin are new to this ship and to you, but we are ready and
willing to do our best by you, by Earth and by humanity."

Sheridan finished and was met with enthusiastic, if reserved applause. He
looked around at the bridge and smiled, one of the first, warmest smiles
Corwin had seen on him in a long while. Corwin smiled too.

"I wouldn't be too happy," the Captain whispered to him. "It's your turn
now."

			----------

Sinoval was in the strange mood that always gripped him in the build-up to
a major campaign. Impatient, energetic and excited. Almost like a child on
his way to temple for the first time. He was aware that he was now
spiritual, political and emotional centre of the Minbari people and that
such emotions were... unbecoming to one of his rank, and so he spent much
of his time in the Hall of the Council, staring at the sight of the fleet
he was gathering all around him.

The fleet numbered in the hundreds. Capital ships, the new White Star
class ships, flyers... There were some who spoke out - in places where
they didn't think Sinoval could hear them, of course - against committing
such a fleet to this battle. After all, there were only humans to deal
with. What defences did Proxima 3 have? One heavy class starship, a number
of medium and smaller class ships, and possibly a few Narn allies. Oh,
yes. And the StarKiller.

But there were a few people on Minbar who knew the truth. Sinoval, the
Grey Council, Ambassador Refa and his aide, and a handful of Sinoval's
most trusted Rangers.

Proxima 3 had a handful more defences than just that. They had the enemy
as well.

Ambassador Refa had provided evidence that the humans had made a deal with
the Enemy. The exact details of this deal were unknown, but that did not
matter. For the past eight cycles, ever since the sight of that first
Shadow ship under the sands of the red planet, the Grey Council had known
that this day would come. The enemy was returning, and the Great War
spoken of by Valen was about to start.

The Minbari were ready. Where they might have fallen into apathy and
endless waiting for signs that never came, Sinoval had brought them
around. Action would be taken. The warrior caste would lead the Great War,
the Holy War, as was right, and Sinoval... Sinoval would be at their
forefront. His name would sound out with the greatest Minbari of history.
He would stand alongside Valen, and Varmain and Dukhat in history...

Sinoval slowly left the Hall of the Council. It was traditional that the
Holy One never leave the Hall. It was just one tradition that Sinoval
intended to break.

He found the person he was looking for in a private meeting with Kalain,
the warrior raised to Satai after Delenn's disappearance and disgrace.
Kalain greeted him with a bow, as did the other.

"Shai Alyt Tryfan," Sinoval said. 

"Holy One. This is an honour..."

Kalain bowed again, and then left. He knew that two of the oldest of
friends would want to be alone.

Tryfan hesitated for a moment, but then Sinoval made the gesture of
affection and greeting, an extension of the arm, a bowing of the head.
Tryfan smiled and responded.

"Everything is ready, Tryfan?" Sinoval asked. "No, what am I saying? Of
course it is."

"My ship is in perfect order, Holy One. We are more than ready."

"What is your opinion of these new White Stars? There has been little time
for testing."

"They are fine ships, Holy One. Fast, and yet powerful. With just three of
these, I could cleave a path through the Earther's last base."

"But it will not just be the Earthers we must deal with, old friend."

Tryfan bowed his head. "No."

Sinoval regarded his old friend. Tryfan had been one of the greatest
warriors of his generation. As a young, promising warrior, he had served
upon the Trigati as Sinoval had captained it during the assault on Earth.
Sinoval had seen the warrior's conviction and dedication and had
recommended his name to Branmer when the Rangers were formed. Tryfan had
joined, and had soon advance to the heights of the Rangers. Derhan had
trained him well, but had made a disturbing recommendation. Tryfan's
skills with pike and sword were exemplary, but he was touched by a pride
and a darkness that an deep to his core. Sinoval had seen this as well,
but still believed that Tryfan's darkness could be excised. Derhan's words
had effectively removed Tryfan from the running when it came to choosing a
replacement for Branmer as Entil'zha - the position now held by Sinoval
himself. Sinoval had never ceased to believe in his friend, though, and
had named Tryfan Shai Alyt, iving him a unit of White Stars to command.

"Which ship is yours?" Sinoval asked.

"White Star Nine. The Valen."

"Nine? A good omen."

"Perhaps. Will you be with us, Holy One?"

"Of course, Tryfan. I have always lead from the front."

"Forgive me, but... is that wise? You cannot risk jeopardising yourself.
We cannot lose you as we did Dukhat."

"I have no intention of being lost, Tryfan. Valen's hand is upon me. I
have nothing to fear.

"None of us have anything to fear."

To Be Continued...









From: Mr G D Williams <csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk>
Subject: The Other Half of My Soul Part 3 of 7 [AT]
Date: Tue, 17 Jun 1997 19:21:08 +0100 (BST)

For those of you who are new to the list, this is the latest part in my
parallel universe saga, which began with A Dark, Distorted Mirror. It is
recommended that you first read pretty much everything from the start up
to here. Most stories can be found in the archive, but if anyone has any
problems, then e-mail me and I'll forward on some copies.

Feedback is very welcome, but you should be aware that I will only have
Net access until the 27th June. Messages sent after that date should be
sent to:

csudi@csv.warwick.ac.uk

from where they will sent on to me when I (hopefully) come back on line
with a new address in late September.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic. I am however not a very
nice hopeless romantic. You have been warned.

And on with the show...

			----------

The Other Half of My Soul Part 3 of 7 [AT]
by Gareth Williams, csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk

For a thousand years it had been a dead world, watched by cautious,
waiting eyes, remembered by those with long memories, anticipating the
time spoke of when the inhabitants of the dead world would rise again.

That time, as spoken of by Valen in his prophecies, had come. Z'Ha'Dum was
teeming with life once more. Huge ships, as black as night, flew thoughout
the galaxy once more. Minions stalked the corridors of power. Forces
moved... gathering strength. Agents on countless different sides readied
themselves for the first encounter of this new Great War, a war which
promised to be every bit as terrible and costly as the previous one.

And were was the Valen this time? Where were the First Ones who left their
footprints in the sand? Where were the likes of Varmain and Valen and
Kin Stolving and A'Iago Mar-Khan?

Upon whose backs rested the destiny of the entire galaxy? The Vorlons were
insular, always looking inward. The Minbari and the humans were at war,
the humans corrupted by the Darkness, as were the Minbari, although they
did not know as much. The Narns and the Centauri were at war. The
Non-Aligned Worlds were fragmented and solitary.

There were a few shining beacons of light. Epsilon 3 was one such, but
could any light hope to withstand the Darkness that had arrived at last.

The first test, the first encounter, would be held at a place called
Proxima 3. A place where the force of human, Minbari, Narn, Centauri,
Shadow and Vorlon would crash together.

A Line in the sand.

For a people who had already seen their entire hopes, dreams and home
planet torn from them, a Line would have to be drawn here. Humanity had
nowhere else to flee to, nowhere else to go, nothing else to believe in.

A Line had been drawn at Proxima, a Line that would shortly be decorated
with blood...

And fire...

And darkness...

General Hague took a deep breath, and moved a silent prayer to the God he
no longer believed in. He sat back on his chair, knowing that he should
inform the Resistance Government of the information he had just received.
Knowing that he should, but unable to actually do so. He couldn't. He
just...

How could he tell them that what they had all been fearing for the last
eleven years had just happened?

The Minbari were on their way to Proxima.

They had been expecting this for a while. No, fearing was the right word.
In fact, the Minbari were quite a bit overdue. Based upon the evidence
gained from Satai Delenn, the period of mourning for their dead leader
should have ended months ago. They should have elected a new leader months
ago. That leader should have been Sinoval, a warrior of the Wind Swords
clan. Without Delenn to oppose him, it seemed inevitable.

But the time had passed and the Minbari had not come. Like everyone else
on Proxima, General Hague had allowed himself to hope. Maybe Delenn had
been wrong. Maybe they had elected another priest, or a worker, someone
with no desire to wage war. Maybe the universe had blinked. Maybe God had
changed his mind. Maybe humanity had been given another chance. With each
day that passed, humanity allowed itself to think they were safe.

They were wrong.

The early warning probes had detected the coming of a Minbari fleet. A big
Minbari fleet, far bigger than the Resistance Government's own worst
fears. They would draw a Line here, try to defend, but the Line had failed
at Earth. Why should it hold here?

Hague had not been at the First Line, but he had heard reports from the
few who had and survived. A wall of paper would have stood about as equal
chance.

And now where were they? Sheridan was gone. The StarKiller was gone. A
traitor by all accounts. Hague had never liked him, but he had at least
respected the man. How could he betray his people like this?

Oh -  the Babylon had been returned, with no explanations from those who
brought it back. No clues as to where Sheridan was now. Hague had given
command of it to General Takashima, who was doing her best to ready it for
the Minbari's arrival. By all rights, Hague should have taken it itself,
but he couldn't. He just couldn't...

The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming. 

Hague just could not rid himself of those four words. They kept running
around inside his mind.

The Minbari are coming.

He still had not told Vice Pre... President Clark. He still had not told
General Takashima. He had not told Mister Welles. He had only so much as
hinted to one person, and she was, hopefully, on her way now.

The door opened, and in she walked.

Ambassador Susan Ivanova. Emissary of the mysterious race called the
Shadows who promised assistance to humanity against the Minbari. Except
that there was neither sight nor sound nor trace of them. And now the
Minbari were coming, and humanity needed them. Humanity needed anything.

The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming.

"General. How are you?" She flashed a smile and sat down opposite him.
"Well, I trust?"

"I... Yes. Fine. I..." Hague stopped an swallowed hard. The Minbari are
coming. The Minbari are coming! He hadn't realised he'd spoken that last
thought aloud until he heard Ivanova's reply.

"Finally got things moving, did they? Well, they certainly took their
time."

Hague closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He felt as though he were
suffocating. This was absurd! He was a soldier, a trained soldier. He'd
fought the Dilgar, he'd taken part in the siege of New Jerusalem, he'd
fought with General Franklin on the Janos 7 campaign. He was no stranger
to death, but this...

The Minbari are coming.

"Will..." He choked and paused. "Will your allies be here?"

She smiled. "Of course, General. I promised you they would be. They'll be
here."

Hague nodded and swallowed again. His throat felt very dry. He poured
himself a glass of whiskey and drank it in one gulp. He'd always kept a
bottle of Scottish whiskey in his quarters aboard his ship. Afterwards, he
had brought the bottle here, saving it for a special occasion. Dying
seemed special enough.

Ivanova rose and bowed a trifle mockingly. She went towards the door, and
as she reached it, she suddenly stopped and turned, smiling.

"There will be a price of course."

			----------

The Minbari are coming!

			----------

Elsewhere, others were preparing. Others knew. They had sources, they had
agents, they had ears and eyes and minds.

In a place called Sanctuary, a place few had ever heard of, and fewer
could find, a man called Bester was having a conversation.

"We knew this was going to happen sooner or later," he said. "The question
is are we ready to take part, or do we just... let events take their
course?"

"We cannot stay hidden forever. Did you make the necessary preparations?"

"Oh yes." Bester smiled, a little smugly. "A few people in the right
places. It's all ready. If we are."

"Do you think we are?"

"I don't know. I've never met these... allies of humanity, but their
ambassador on Proxima was certainly keen enough to avoid me. That could
mean something. It could mean we're right."

"Perhaps. What about Captain Sheridan?"

"What about him?"

"What does he know?"

"What you've told him, what he's managed to piece together. I certainly
haven't told him anything. He's an intelligent man, and a dangerous one. I
think he's taking to the Parmenion quite well."

"And Satai Delenn? What about her?"

"Now that... is a fascinating subject. I've had her checked over by my
doctors here. She is... a mix, one foot in two worlds, so to speak.
Unfortunately, she is also genetically very unstable. She wasn't willing
to talk about her change, but I wouldn't hold out much hope for a long
life. Unless she can somehow complete what was interrupted... That's your 
area, I believe."

"I'll find out what I can, but we don't have time. The Minbari will be at
Proxima in twelve hours. How long would it take the Parmenion and the
Ozymandias to get there?"

"Eight hours or so. Perhaps. They're quite a bit faster than my Black
Omega StarFuries. I take it this means we are going to get involved?"

"I doubt we could keep Captain Sheridan out of it. And Satai Delenn may be
our one chance of ending this without bloodshed."

"If you think so. You certainly know the Minbari better than I do. So, do
you want to tell Sheridan the truth? Or shall I?"

"No. He must make his own choice. For too long he has been misguided,
directionless, uncertain. He has set aside his past, but now he must
decide his future. He must decide where he will stand on his own."

"And if he chooses wrongly?"

"Then we will remove him. I do not like to do this either, but there is a
saying I learned recently. Some must be sacrificed if all are to be
saved."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," Bester countered.
"Practicalities are more important than principles. You had better watch
yourself. You're starting to think just like me."

"What was it you once told me? Desperate times breed desperate people."

Bester smiled. "Absolutely correct."

			----------

Hague reeled. A price? She had never mentioned a price before. What...
price?

The Minbari are coming.

			----------

Timov hated intrigue. She despised politics. She loathed social climbing.
And she found assassinations very impolite and annoying. All she wanted
was a quiet life, where she could live in peace, bullying the servants and
making her husband's life hell. Was that so much to ask for?

Evidently, it was. Ever since she had realised that in order to keep up
with Mariel and Daggair she would actually have to involve herself in
whatever game they were playing, she had not had a moment's peace. If it
wasn't one thing it was another, and most of the problems seemed centred
around Lady Elrisia, of whom Londo spoke frequently and derisorily.

"There, there Londo," she had said, patting his forehead in a way that she
knew was bound to drive him insane. "Everything will be all right soon,
just you wait and see."

"Where is Drigo?" Londo had spat. "I am not staying here one moment
longer!"

"Oh, you should not exert yourself, Londo my love. Drigo will be back
before long, and he told me to keep you from getting too stressed. If
you'd prefer I could always ask Mariel or Daggair to come and keep an eye
on you..."

"Timov! You are a witch! A harridan! A... a... Bah! We do not have the
word to describe what you are."

Timov smiled in memory of that conversation, but her smile faded as she
thought of the circumstances behind it.

Another assassination attempt, one that had come very close to succeeding.
Londo's personal carriage had exploded on his journey from the capital to
his estates. Fortunately Londo had sensed something strange and had
managed to escape, but the explosion had resulted in him being quite badly
burned. He had contacted his primary source of information - a
weaselly, worthless sort of man named Drigo - who had managed to get him
to a safehouse to recuperate. Drigo was however also working for Timov,
whom he called and alerted about the unfortunate events. Timov had made
her way there quickly and had proceeded to annoy Londo almost to death
while making discreet enquiries.

Saying that this was Elrisia's work would be a little like stating the
obvious, but the fact that she was willing to go to such lengths indicated
just how far her ambition had taken her. Timov had done some thinking
about this, and she had devised a plan, which she had broached to a less
than receptive Londo.

"What?" he had said. "Pretend to be dead! Never!"

"It will, I admit, cause a few problems. Namely your having to muster a
little bit more energy to be truly accepted in the role."

"Such subterfuge is beneath my dignity!"

"Londo! Shut up and think for a moment. Sooner or later one of these
attempts is going to succeed. Someone wants you dead very badly. I can
sympathise with them, of course, but I think it would be better if you
stopped presenting yourself as such an open target to them."

"Be careful, Timov," he had warned. "I might start to think you care."

"Don't overestimate yourself, Londo. All I'm saying is that if you went
out of the picture for a while, then the people who have been behind all
this may make a mistake or two, and you will still be alive to capitalise
on it."

Londo had sat back, thinking. Timov groaned melodramatically. Londo seemed
to be thinking far too much these days.

"I could head out to one of our outer colonies. Gorash, perhaps. Or maybe
Frallus 12. Elrisia has fewer supporters there, and then there is..." He
suddenly stopped and looke at Elrisia. "Something very strange is going
on, Timov. You have had a good idea. Is there something in the water?"

"Somebody in this house has to think intelligently for a while, Londo. It
might as well be me."

"How will I be able to get off Centauri Prime?"

"I am sure Drigo will be able to attend to that, won't you, Drigo?"

"Yes, ma'am," Drigo had said. He certainly knew where his loyalties lay.

"Good. There you see, Londo. Problem solved."

"If only."

And the problem was pretty much solved. Londo had needed a few more days
rest, and Timov had to spend some time back at the estates so as not to
cause suspicion and to put on a false display of mourning. Mariel and
Daggair put on false displays of mourning as well, but their's were not
even covertly false. There was quite a bit of mourning and ceremony in the
city, and considerable regret that Londo's body could not be found.

Timov took quite a bit of pleasure in relating to Londo the exact details
of his funeral, something he later said no one should ever have to hear.

There was however, one other bit of news that she brought Londo that he
was equally unhappy to hear.

"What do you mean he is gone?"

"I mean gone. As in - vanished, or not there any more. Are you sure that
explosion did not damage your hearing, Londo?"

"It is a secure cell at the bottom of the Royal Palace! How can anyone
just vanish from there?"

"Never having been there, I wouldn't know, Londo. He is gone, however, and
nobody knows how. Lady Elrisia was quite... vexed."

Timov didn't know why Londo was so interested in the whereabouts of this
strange Mister Morden, and she doubted that he did. Mysteries were very
commonplace these days, but that did not make them any easier to deal
with.

And then he was gone. A private shuttle to the city and a secretive
boarding onto the Valerius, whose captain owed Londo a number of favours.
The Valerius was heading out to the war zone, and Londo hoped to be
dropped off at an insignificant place called Epsilon 3. Timov pretended
not to know anything about a Great Machine or a Narn inhabiting it, and so
she feigned ignorance.

She did remember their final parting however. An awkward silence, an
almost tender exchange of barbs and a never actually spoken thank you. It
had been quite emotional.

Timov shrugged and woke herself out of her reverie. In a minute she might
actually start thinking she loved her husband. Hah!

			----------

Minbari...
		
			----------

Ta'lon had never been to Proxima 3 before, despite his extensive travels
in G'Kar's service. G'Kar had uncovered the Shadow influence on the planet
and he had decided not to interfere there for fear of revealing his
existance to the Enemy. G'Kar still kept an eye on Captain Sheridan
through his Great Machine, but all of his agents had been ordered to stay
away from Proxima.

Until now.

Ta'lon had received a recent message from the Centauri aide who was close
to the Grey Council. The Minbari had finally launched their offensive.
Ta'lon had arrived at Proxima only twelve hours or so before the Minbari
would arrive.

Getting in was not all that difficult. He did after all have experience as
a fighter pilot during the last Narn / Centauri War, and he had fake
documents from Councillor Na'toth that gave him the official approval of
the kHa'Ri to do whatever he wanted. If they were ever investigated,
Na'toth could always claim they were forgeries.

Under pretence of getting his ship repaired, Ta'lon managed to make it
down to the surface. He had arranged a quick meeting with General
Takashima, who was supposed to be organising the defence line. She quickly
authorised Ta'lon's presence, gratful at even one more ship that could
help defend Proxima.

Ta'lon's real reason for coming to the planet had little to do with
defence. It had to do with a last promise to a friend.

Delenn was not on Proxima, as Ta'lon had been told by Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar,
but there were two others who needed Ta'lon's help. Lyta Alexander and
Marcus Cole. Lyta Alexander was a telepath, and as such a valuable ally to
have. Marcus Cole had been monitoring the Shadow activity here, and would
have important information.

Ta'lon had come to Proxima to find Satai Delenn, only to discover that she
was no longer there. That did not invalidate his mission. Ta'lon lived to
serve, and so, in G'Kar's name, he would serve.

Or die. 

			----------

John Sheridan was many things, a leader, a commander, an orator. He was
first and foremost a warrior, however. Delenn had known many warriors in
her life, and she had seen many different sides to them.

There was her father, who had fought a war against succumbing to grief and
loss after the departure of her mother. There was Draal and Dukhat, who
fought wars to keep Minbari together, to keep the castes focussed. There
was Neroon, who fought a war against the Darkness in the name of her love.
There was Sinoval, who fought for pride and honour and duty.

Delenn would never forget the first time she had seen Sheridan. It had
been in the Hall of the Grey Council, when he had been brought forward,
bloodied, battered and chained. From the first image, he had dominated her
vision. She saw his pride, his strength, his power, and she saw him
confronting Sinoval, burning with a rage that could have torn the ship
apart.

Two sides to the same coin, as the human saying went. A mirror image in
the water, as was the Minbari's. Two halves of the same soul.

Delenn had seen Sinoval at war. She had seen him launch the final attack
on Earth, brimming with a thirst for vengeance that had almost matched her
own. She had seen Sheridan at war, confronting what should never be met.
She remembered the sight of the Babylon's near apocalyptic attack over
Mars.

Sheridan and Sinoval. Two sides of the same coin.

And then what about her and Sheridan? Delenn had studied the prophecies of
Valen in detail, reading them over and over again, but never had they come
into such clarity as they had when she had first seen Sheridan. Everything
had made sense then. At first she had denied it to herself, thinking that
her answers were impossible, even blasphemous.

Then she had been captured by him, brought to Proxima, questioned... It
had been an ordeal to simply keep her sanity, to keep the dreadful
actuality of what she had done from exploding in her face. 

And then he had saved her. A simple act of mercy - food, water and rest -
was followed by her freedom. She had been given a chance to think, to
understand, to suppose. She found she could talk to him about her
theories and he would listen. she wasn't sure he believed her, but he
would at least listen.

And then she had met Valen. So many questions answered, but so many new
questions arising. She had seen the future - or what might become the
future. She had seen herself standing over Sheridan's grave on a
devastated Minbar, and she had sworn never to let that happen. Her change
had been out of an effort to prevent that future from happening.

And then had come her chrysalis, and her almost fatal premature emergence
from it. She remembered little of the immediate few days after the
chrysalis had been broken, but she had this image of a part of herself
being held prisoner within her own mind, of being hemmed in by steel bars
while Shadows crept at her. She had been freed at last, but now she was
just as worried as before. She had her place in destiny marked out - the
prophecies said as much, but it wasn't supposed to happen this way? Surely
it wasn't?

She winced as another sharp burst of pain tore up to her eyes from the
back of her skull. They were getting more frequent now.

"Delenn?" Sheridan asked. He knelt down beside her. "Are you...?"

All right? She didn't know. She didn't understand what was happening to
her. She had expected some pain, some... difficulty in her transition, but
not this. 

But how could she tell him of her pains, when he had so many of his own?
Delenn doubted she would ever forget the image of his face after Anna had
died. The sight of all innocence and hope fading. She doubted they would
ever regain their earlier air of... familiarity. The two of them had grown
close - as close as any human and Minbari could get. Now... he still came
to talk, he still listened, but there were more uncomfortable gaps in
their conversations, as they both wondered what to say that could possibly
forestall further pain.

"I am fine," she whispered. She was not fine. She remembered what Doctor
Hobbs and Doctor Kyla had told her.

"I don't pretend to know anything about the technology that caused this
change," Doctor Hobbs had begun. She was a warm, friendly woman who had
actually talked to Delenn. Delenn was still nervous about most humans, and
the sight of somone who did not look upon her as a Minbari murderer had
give her a brief ray of happiness.

"All I can say is what I've discovered, and I'm afraid it is not good.

"Your biology is... very unstable. You've said that the process was not
complete and that would concur with my data. Your vital systems are very
unstable, and heart problems in particular seem likely, as well as more...
minor complaints like severe headaches, dizziness, nausea, possibly even
loss of memory."

"I have... been suffering from all of those," she admitted.

"I guessed as much, and I'm afraid things are only going to get worse. I
can prescribe some medicines to treat some of the symptoms, but I'm going
to have to be very careful to make sure that whatever I give you won't
cause problems for either part of your shared biology. I also won't be
able to do anything to get at the root of the problem, unless you have
some of the technology that caused this, so I can have a look at it..."

"It was confiscated by Mister Welles," Delenn replied. "It is on Proxima 3
at the moment."

"Then I'm afraid there isn't much I can do. My best guess if that you only
have a few months before one of your major systems fails completely, and I
won't be able to do much to help."

"A few months will be all I need. Thank you, Doctor."

Delenn had tried to hide how scared she was by this, but she was failing,
both in hiding it from herself and in hiding it from John. He had not
mentioned anything about it to her, however. At least not yet.

"How... much longer until we arrive there?" Delenn asked, trying not to
notice how near John was to her. She could look directly into his eyes and
notice every item of loss and pain and suffering there, and how much of
all that suffering was down to her?

"A few hours, not much more," he replied. "I... I..." He fell back,
sitting on the back of his heels. "I wish I knew what Bester was up to."

"You do not trust him?"

"I don't trust anyone, Delenn. No one at all." *Not even me* she thought
sadly. *And why not? What have I ever done to make him trust me?*

"What did he tell you? What were your... orders?"

"That's the funniest part of all..."

---- Bester had not looked happy when Sheridan had gone to see him, as
requested. He had smiled however as Sheridan had walked in. Sheridan had
seen Captain Ben Zayn walked out, and had received a grim, steady
expression of patience in return for his careful greeting.

"Ah, Captain Sheridan." He did not like the sight of Bester smiling. It
reminded him of a shark's smile - that what Bester found happy was not
something anyone else would find something to smile about. "How are you
taking to the Parmenion?"

"Very well," Sheridan replied. "It's a... good ship with a very capable
crew."

"Good. I am glad. It is a pity that you will not have more time to adapt.

"Captain, the Minbari have launched an offensive on Proxima 3."

Sheridan breathed out harshly. Well, he knew it was bound to happen
eventually. And it wasn't as if it could have hit him as much of a
surprise, but still...

"Will we be taking action?" Sheridan asked cautiously. He still wasn't
sure exactly where Bester's loyalties lay in the conflict. He wouldn't
have been surprised if Bester had simply sat the matter out and moved in
to pick up the pieces.

"Of course, Captain. This is too important for us to not be involved. I
have already given Captain Ben Zayn his orders. He will be taking the
Ozymandias to Proxima 3 itself. I want you to go to Proxima 7. That is
doubtless where the Minbari will emerge from hyperspace, giving them
plenty of time to evaluate the area before striking out for the colony
itself."

Bester paused, and Sheridan looked at him. "And then?"

"I am sorry, Captain?"
 
"What are my instructions regarding the Minbari? If I'm stuck out in
Proxima 7 against an entire Minbari fleet then not even I can do much..."

"Who said anything about fighting the Minbari? Your mission is to... be
there."

"But..."

"You are an intelligent man, Captain. At least I always took you to be
one. I am sure your... instincts will guide you in the right direction.
You have your instructions, Captain." -----

"It didn't make any sense. It still doesn't. One minute he was giving me
strict instructions to follow his orders, the next he's telling me to do
what I think best. I sometimes wonder if he knows what he's doing."

"And what will you be doing?" she asked softly. Delenn hated herself for
questioning him like this, but she had to do so. "If the Enemy are waiting
there for my people, then who will you fight?"

"I... don't know. I won't hurt my people, Delenn. I won't do that! But...
would I hurt them more by letting me them be? Letting them... keeping
walking into the Darkness or not?"

Delenn reached out and touched his arm gently. "You will make the right
decision." But her thoughts were of something else. Of the Council of
Nine... of the covenant with Valen, of the prophecies...

If she could convince them of the truth of the prophecies then this could
be ended without bloodshed. If she could make the Grey Council see what
Valen had meant... who Valen was... then there may be hope. The Grey
Council would be there. Sinoval would not pass up this opportunity to
lead. He always prided himself on leading from the front. Like a true
warrior.

She could see his eyes staring directly into her own - like a pathway into
the heart of his soul. *The other half of my soul* she realised. 

He looked away sharply, possibly having realised the same thing. "I've...
put all the guards on security patrol along the inside of the outer hull.
The Minbari might try to board us. Just because they haven't before, it
doesn't mean Sinoval won't start. Or maybe the people from Proxima might
try, I don't know. I won't be able to spare anyone to guard you. You can
up to the bridge, if you like, but..."

"No," she said softly, smiling sadly. "I do not... think I could bear
that."

"I understand," he said. "Please, take care. I wouldn't..."

She smiled again. "Trust me." She bit back the anger of betrayal welling
up from deep within her. What was the human saying? Minbari never tell
anyone the whole truth? "How... competent are these Narns?"

"They're very good. Their leader - Ko'dath - assures me that they're good
at what they do." Sheridan smiled. "The humans call them the Narn bat
squad."

Delenn smiled too. "Be careful," she whispered.

"You too."

The Parmenion came closer and closer to Proxima and the Second Line.

			----------

"What... price?" Hague asked. "You never..."

"Sorry?" Ivanova said. "I can't quite hear you."

"What price?! You never said..."

"Didn't I? Sorry. Must have slipped my mind. You know how memories are.
Tricky things at best."

Hague slumped back in his chair. He didn't... He couldn't... The Minbari
are coming. "What... what is the price?"

"Just a little thing. More of a... middle man's commission sort of thing.
It's not very much really."

"What price?!" Hague leapt to his feet, scattering readouts and documents
everywhere. "This isn't a game! They're... they're coming, and if your
friends don't help then we're ALL GOING TO DIE! WHAT PRICE?!"

"Lyta Alexander. What are you doing with her at the moment?"

Hague blinked. "Miss Alexander? What does she...?" He gasped and closed
his eyes hard. The whiskey was disagreeing with him, and why shouldn't it?
He hadn't eaten anything in days. "She's being held in the Detention
Block. Mister Welles will have the details... Why are you intersted in
her?"

"She's the price. I want her."

"What? I... I don't..." The Minbari are coming.

"What would you do with her? As punishment for what she did?"

Hague couldn't think. This was so... unreal. The Minbari were coming, and
in just over twelve hours, this, none of this would survive. He didn't...
he couldn't...

"Treason still carries the death penalty," he muttered, largely to
himself. "She'd be given a trial and if she was found guilty, she'd be
executed. Some of the... some of the others... they were debating what... 
to do... with... her. Why do you care, for God's sake?"

"That's my business. I want her. I want to kill her. No trial. No fair
hearing. I want to kill her myself."

Hague didn't believe he was hearing this. He couldn't believe he was
hearing this, and yet... The Minbari are coming. THE MINBARI ARE COMING,
FOR GOD'S SAKE!

But still he was hesitating. This was wrong. She deserved a fair trial at
least, but it was more than that. William Hague had always held such a
high image of himself. He wore the uniform of the Earth Alliance proudly,
without regret or fear or shame, because he knew he was worthy of it. He'd
fallen a long way since he'd first put on the uniform, but this... 

If he agreed to this, he would be damned, finally, irrevocably damned.

And yet what was one life - two lives even - compared with all of
humanity? Lyta Alexander would die anyway if the Minbari did to Proxima 3
what they had done to Earth? Did one life really matter so much? 

Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved. The needs of the many
outweigh the needs of the one.

But this... This was wrong. This was immoral. This was illegal. This
was...

Ivanova shrugged and went to the door. It opened...

"Wait!" Hague cried. "Yes! Yes, you can do whatever you like, just make
sure they'll be here."

Ivanova smiled. "Thank you, General. I always knew you'd see sense."

"I told you. I don't know which cell she's in, but you can ask Mister
Welles. I'll... let... him know of my decision. I... I..."

"Don't worry, General. Sooner or later everyone falls to the bottom.
You'll have plenty of company."

Ivanova smiled and left.

			----------

There had not been much time for the testing of the new White Star class
ships, but even so Tryfan had felt comfortable in one. Their speed and
power surprised him, especially in relation to their size, but he had
little idea of how much damage they could take, or of how effective they
would be in full combat. The Vorlon technology they had incorporated
seemed to be invincible, and perhaps it would be. It was certainly one of
the few occasions on which the Vorlons had actually helped their erstwhile
allies since the discovery of the Shadow vessel under the sands of Mars. 

He would have liked a little longer to test them, but Sinoval had said
that was impossible. The Enemy was at Proxima. The StarKiller was at
Proxima. The Earthers were at Proxima.

Their destinies lay at Proxima.

Tryfan had not played a great part in the last war. He had served most of
the time as aide to Shakiri, the great warrior who had died in flames in
Sheridan's onslaught over Mars. Tryfan had served a similar role to that
which his friend Neroon had played serving Branmer, but whereas Neroon and
Branmer had risen to high positions within the Rangers - until Branmer's
death and Neroon's mysterious disappearance - Tryfan had languished in the
Rangers for many years, unnoticed and unremarked.

Until Sinoval had risen to power. Sinoval had known Tryfan well and had
trusted him with a position of authority - Shai Alyt, and Captain of a
White Star fleet, taking the place vacated by Kalain with his recent
ascencion to Satai.

Tryfan would not betray the trust Sinoval had placed in him. At Proxima,
he would repay the trust with deeds performed a thousandfold.

Slowly, Tryfan's White Star Nine - named The Valen - leading the way, the
great Minbari fleet emerged from hyperspace into the skies of Proxima.

The Second Line had been drawn, and the Minbari were there.

As were the Shadows...

To Be Continued...





From: Mr G D Williams <csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk>
Subject: The Other Half of My Soul - Part 4 of 7 [AT] [EV]
Date: Fri, 20 Jun 1997 15:07:41 +0100 (BST)

Hi people. Apologies for the brief delay in getting this out, but I'm
still on schedule for getting this finished before I leave. (Very early on
the morning of the 28th.)

For those who don't know, this is the latest in my parallel universe saga
where the Minbari did not surrender at the Battle of the Line and went on
to conquer and destroy Earth. It is recommended that you read the earlier
stories, starting with A Dark, Distorted Mirror, and working your way
along. Most should be accessible in the archive, but if you can't find
them, just ask me for details. (While I'm here.)

Feedback is very welcome, and anyone with comments, criticisms, questions
or death threats should send them to csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk for the next
week. Anything after that should be sent to: csudi@csv.warwick.ac.uk, from
where it will be forwarded onto me when I (hopefully) regain Net access
with a new address in the Autumn. Please note that after the 28th, I will
not be able to reply to anyone until the Autumn.

There are no Spoilers as such, but I am drawing upon all elements of the
B5 universe in writing this, and people who are not up to date may be
Spoiled.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic. I am however also a
downright evil hopeless romantic. Remember that you were warned.

			----------

The Other Half of My Soul Part 4 of 7 [AT] [EV]
by Gareth Williams, csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk

"And we must reunite with the other half of our soul in a war against the
Enemy which is to come... Together we will walk into fire and darkness and
bring the light..."

So ran the prophecies of Valen, immortalised over a thousand years ago, at
the end of the last Great War. To the Minbari, who did not believe in
Gods, Valen was the closest thing to a God. 

"Minbari not born of Minbari, he came from nowhere during the dying days
of the last Great War, he defeated the Shadows, formed the Grey Council,
wrote the prophecies..."

And the prophecies he had written were coming true, but in a way he could
surely never have expected. Only Delenn, who had studied his words in such
detail that she knew every line and marking, only she knew the true,
bitter irony of what was happening.

The two halves of the soul were coming together, and they were walking
into fire and darkness, but they were coming together in war, and they
were bringing the fire and darkness with them.

Over ten years after the Battle of the Line and the subsequent destruction
of Earth, Minbari and human were meeting in battle once again, with the
Ancient Enemy involved, aiding the humans, who had sold everything they
were just to stay alive. The humans could, perhaps, be forgiven to being
so easily corrupted by the Shadows. The question - "What do you want?" -
was easily answered when all you wanted was safety and peace, and not to
have to look up into the skies every night, dreading the arrival of an
alien armada.

But the Minbari, what excuse did they have? None, save the accidental
death of one man. None, save the pride and arrogance of their leader,
Sinoval. None, save the determination to crush a people who had already
lost everything they had ever had.

There would only be one victor at the Battle of the Second Line, and that
was the Shadows.

But... there was always hope...

Delenn was a Satai of the Grey Council, the chosen of Dukhat. Had it not
been for the twist of fate that had thrown her into Sheridan's path as he
escaped his confinement on Minbar it would be she who now stood in the
Hall of the Grey Council. For all that she had been gone for almost an
entire cycle, she still had respect and power and the ears of the Grey
Council. If they could listen to her, then this tragedy might be averted,
as she had failed to avert a greater tragedy at Earth.

She had changed during her captivity among the humans - both physically
and spiritually. Her chrysalis transformation may have been interrupted,
and its results may be close to killing her, but she was still proof of
what Valen had said - humans and Minbari were of the same soul. If she
could show this to the Grey Council, then the tragedy might be averted.

She did not want to betray John. She sensed a destiny for the two of them
- a feeling she had never known before, not even with Neroon. He was on
the bridge of this new ship - the Parmenion - trying to hold back a
Minbari onslaught and a Shadow involvement from destroying his own people.
He was here as the tool of a Psi Cop who was playing his own game with
billions of lives at stake.

Only minutes ago, John had told her that he did not trust anyone. How
could he? He had been betrayed by the Government he had served for so
long. He was forced to obey the orders of someone whose orders made no
sense. He had been forced to kill his own wife, who had - possibly - been
involved in his betrayal.

John had lied, but whether he knew he had lied or not, Delenn was not
sure. He trusted her, even if he could not admit as much, not even to
himself. But he did trust her, and she was about to forsake that trust.

He had left her with access to communications systems. They had been
deactivated, but reactivating them was easy enough. Neroon and Draal had
taught her many things, including communications. Human technology was,
compared to Minbari's, primitive. She had reactivated them easily, and it
would be simple to send out a message that the bridge would not intercept.

She took a deep breath, and winced at the pain in her chest. Breathing was
becoming harder for her, and walking was difficult. Her whole body ached.

Her spirit ached too.

"Forgive me, John," she whispered, knowing that he had no reason to do so.
What had she done except betray him time and again?

But what were two lives compared with all the millions who would die if
this did not end here and now?

She activated her message.

"This is Satai Delenn of the family of Mir, of the Grey Council. I am 
being held prisoner on this ship - the Parmenion. The StarKiller is
captaining it. I must see the Grey Council now. Do you understand? I must
see the Grey Council now."

There. She stepped back. Some of the ships would free her from here, and
she would be taken before the Grey Council. Then, she would be able to
convince them  of what she knew.

This would have to end.

"Forgive me, John," she whispered.

"Forgive me."

			----------

And Londo had thought being gassed, bombed, threatened and mystified was
bad...

It seemed that ever since he had gotten involved in G'Kar's conspiracy,
people had been trying to kill him, gas him, blow him up, stab him, or
shoot large holes in the spaceship he happened to be travelling in.

Fair enough, he admitted, most of the gassings, shootings, and attempted
blowings up were the result of perfectly natural Centauri politics -
promotion in the Royal Court largely tending in the direction of dead
man's purple boots, with very few questions made about the nature of their
emptying - and had nothing whatsoever to do with G'Kar. But then again,
if it wasn't for that blasted Narn and his blasted Ancient Enemy, then
Londo would never have involved himself in politics in the first place,
and he would spend his days quite happily living a pious and religious
life. (Insofar as Centauri religion tended towards the drinking, eating,
gambling, womanising and being very sick school of religion - probably on
the theory that if you were going to be a deeply spiritual person, you
might as well enjoy it.)

*Ah, who am I kidding?* Londo thought. *I would have done this anyway.*

But then, blaming G'Kar was much more fun than blaming himself. 

After he had left Centauri Prime - supposedly dead - he had been helped
aboard the warship Valerius, captained by his nephew Carn. Londo was not
particularly happy at his nephew having chosen a life in the militay, but
he had been able to use his influence to get Carn posted to a ceremonial,
showy type of ship, and therefore one not very likely to see much action.

Unfortunately, they'd neglected to inform the Narns of this.

Technically the Narns and the Centauri were at war. Well, technically and
actually, but Londo had still found it irritating to be attacked by a Narn
warship so far from the war zone. He had been on his way to Frallus 12, to
rendezvous with a number of his sources and agents there, when they'd run
into a Narn cruiser.

*This is so absurd!* Londo thought. *I wonder if that Captain has any idea
of who I am. If G'kar knew about this, he would... If G'Kar knew about
this... If G'Kar...*

All right, so maybe G'Kar was a little hard to reach these days. His chief
lackey in the kHa'Ri wasn't.

Londo had managed to bully his way to a communications centre and he had
patched a very hurried message through to the Narn homworld, using a
special frequency and code G'Kar had made available to all in his little
Circle of Light. Londo's hopes for a reply had been slim, but he had
definitely not been expecting the Narn captain himself to appear on the
screen.

"Minister Mollari," had said the Captain. "I am WarLeader Na'Kal, of the
J'tok. It has come to my attention that we walk in similar circles."

That was news to Londo. Did G'Kar have agents everywhere? "I suppose that
we do," he said carefully. "In gesture of our... similarities, how would
you feel about stopping your attack?"

"Already done. I am loyal to G'Kar, and my crew are loyal to me. We have
received word that the Enemy is active at last, and are engaging the
Minbari in battle over Proxima. G'Kar has ordered us to try and assist the
Minbari. He asks that you do the same."

"Oh, great!" Londo muttered. His warrior days were long gone - had gone at
Frallus 12, in fact, but still... A chance to rekindle old glories?
Perhaps even a chance to put him back to his rightful position in the
Royal Court. "I will see what I can do."

"Do you have telepaths aboard?"

"I believe there may be one or two. Do you?"

"Yes, although he is not very strong."

"Well, then. It looks as though G'Kar has done the impossible, and we'll
actually be fighting together, no?"

"Some things are more important than revenge, Minister. You have the
co-ordinates for Proxima, I trust?"

"Of course."

"Then I will see you there." Na'kal suddenly paused. "Are you a gambling
man, Minister?"

Londo contemplated lying, but knew that would be pointless. "Yes."

"Then what would you gamble that we destroy more of their ships than you
do?"

Londo smiled. A Narn with something intelligent to say. That was rare. A
Narn with a sense of humour...

That was far rarer.

			----------

Marcus was... just waiting, trying to look at anything other than the
woman before him. She was waiting as well. Waiting for what, he didn't
know. She'd returned from her meeting with General Hague in a dark mood.
She'd paced up and down angrily, drank a little more of that Narn liquor,
and simply waited, arguing with herself, although she said nothing. Marcus
was no stranger to self conflict, and he recognised the signs in her. He
wasn't sure what she was debating, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
All he wanted to know was where Lyta was.

Marcus Cole had done many things in his life that he was ashamed of. His
drunken submissions after Earth had fallen and his home colony - Vega 7 -
had been taken over by the Narns. His survival when almost everyone else
had been killed. His insistance on serving as Sheridan's bodyguard - just
a means to escape his own problems. The way he had betrayed Lyta - and
Sheridan - by succumbing to Ivanova's advances. 

Of nothing he had done was he more ashamed than this. He had been
entrusted with a task - an important task - and he had failed. Ivanova had
tricked him so easily, she had locked him up and been free to go about her
own business. Marcus wasn't sure exactly what she had done, but he could
see the distance in her eyes as she had returned, and he knew that it was
something dreadful.

He still didn't know what had happened to Captain Sheridan, or Satai
Delenn, or Commander Corwin... or Lyta. He had been here for almost two
weeks. Ivanova had been in and out during that time, but he knew he could
not escape when she was gone. He just beat at the walls and screamed out
for Lyta, but there was nothing. Nothing and no one. And when she was
here...

Ivanova suddenly raised her head and looked up. "And so it begins," she
whispered. She took a deep breath and activated her Link. Marcus did not
hear her message, but he did pick up the name "Welles."

And then Ivanova had sat back, still looking at the ceiling. "It's
beginning," she told him. "The Minbari are here, and my friends are here
to fight them. We'll win, of course. They can't hold us off. We're too
strong." Ivanova laughed, but it sounded false. "We'll win, and after
this, we'll take the war to them for a change.

"We're aren't going to have to be afraid any more, Marcus. And neither
will you."

Marcus was about to ask what she meant, when the door opened. In walked a
Security guard - it was Boggs - and he was dragging someone...

"Lyta!" Marcus explained. He leapt up and moved forward, but, moving with
a speed he found surprising, Ivanova extended her Minbari pike and formed
a barrier with it. Boggs bowed to Ivanova and left.

Marcus looked down at the woman he had grown to care for. Lyta had done
most of the chasing in their relationship, and he had been overcautious,
certainly, but it was only recently that he was beginning to realise how
much she meant to him.

She was bruised and battered. Her clothing was partially torn, and her
face was covered with bruises and scratches. Her breathing was harsh and
ragged, and her right eye was badly swollen. The left looked vague and
unfocused.

"Look at her," Ivanova was saying. "The uniform, the gloves, the badge...
All designed to make her stand out, to make her different, to make her
special. But without her powers, she's not special at all. She's just like
each of us, except that she isn't, because she doesn't have anything else.
No family, no lover, no... no reason to get up in the morning. 

"Psi Corps won't let any of their members have those things. They won't
let their members be happy. They won't let any telepath be happy, because
it reminds them of everything they've taken away from themselves."

Marcus was still looking at Lyta. She had raised her head to look at him.
Her expression shot to his very heart.

"How you feel now," Ivanova said to Lyta. "That's how my mother felt every
day of her life since they found her. That's... that's how I'd feel if you
found me. I've been afraid of you... of this badge, since I was a child."
She bent down over Lyta, relaxing the hold of the pike across Marcus'
chest. He tried to step forward, but she pushed him back. Ivanova roughly
pulled the badge from Lyta's dress and held it up.

"But it's just a bit of plastic. I've been afraid of this... afraid of you
all this time for nothing. This is just plastic, and you... you're just as
weak as the rest of us, without your powers, without what makes you
special.

"I needn't have been afraid, and now I'm not.

"Look at her, Marcus. She's been lying to you all along. She's been using
her power on you all along. She's been raping you every time you're
together and it's all the worse because you never knew about it, and she
keeps on pretending that she loves you.

"Psi Corps doesn't know the meaning of the word love, Marcus. She's just
using you. Using you to try and gain a part of her life that she can never
have."

Marcus started as something shimmered beside him. He turned, and gasped...

(A black scream in his mind the earth broke as it rose it screamed in
his mind it was big and black and came from Hell it screamed in his mind
screamed in his mind...)

Marcus knew he was looking at a Shadow. Two Shadows. He stumbled and
staggered backwards. He fell.

"She can't love you, Marcus," Ivanova said. "Only I can."

She gripped her pike tighter and looked down at Lyta. Lyta was trying to
say something, but she couldn't get the words out.

Marcus tried to move forward, but the Shadow was there, blocking his way.

Ivanova raised her pike...

			----------

"Shai Alyt, we're intercepting a message." Tryfan looked across at the
Ranger who had said this. The very title of Shai Alyt addressed to him
gave him a moment's pride and exultation, but he soon focussed his
attention back to the matter at hand. Holy One Sinoval and Satai Kalain
had entrusted him with this position. He would not prove them wrong.

"It's from... it's from her. Zha'valen."

Tryfan started. Delenn, formerly of the family of Mir, formerly of the
Grey Council, formerly chosen of Dukhat, formerly a Minbari. Now, she was
Zha'valen, traitress to her race and her people, and willing agent of the
Enemy. The Grey Council had pronounced her Zha'valen - literally, a Shadow
on Valen - a few weeks before. Now, no Minbari could speak to her, look at
her, or even speak her name. She was outcast.

By the laws of his people, Tryfan should ignore the message, deny it as he
should deny her very existance, but... This was war, and practicalities
were more important than principles. If this was genuine...

But even Tryfan could only go so far. 

"Send the message to the Grey Council, to Satai Kalain if you can. Let
them decide what to do about it."

"Should we not listen to it first? It might be important, Shai Alyt."

"She is Zha'valen," Tryfan countered. "Her words are as dust, her heart is
as stone. Nothing she says matters to us." Ritualistic words that could
not fail to hide Tryfan's deep anger and disappointment. He had known
Delenn - known her well. To see her as traitress and outcast... it hurt.

But duty came first. Duty and honour.

Tryfan was unsure of whether it was instinct or pure luck that caused him
to look up at that moment, but he did look up, and he was the first to
see, on the display before him, the sight of the big, black ships
shimmering into existance. Tryfan breathed in harshly (hearing the screams
in his mind) and he whispered a silent prayer to Valen to guide him.

The Shadows were here.

			----------

General Laurel Takashima was certainly no stranger to battle. No one
promoted in EarthForce in the aftermath of the fall of Earth could be. She
had seen Minbari ships flying through the heavens above Mars, and he had
seen Captain Sheridan's bloody charge into their armada on this very ship.
Takashima did not like Captain Sheridan, but she had to acknowledge his
skill. The Babylon was his ship, not hers.

And then there was the crew...

Most of the Babylon's crew had been off ship - either being questioned by
Welles and his Security guards or just being out of the way - when
Sheridan had defected. A handful of the crew had gone with him, and stayed
with him. Another handful had come back, along with a few of Mister
Bester's people.

Bester had, unsurprisingly, provided no explanation for what had happened
to the Babylon, or what had happened to Captain Sheridan. The newly
promoted President Clark had muttered darkly about a few things, but had
then let the matter lie. General Hague was becoming seriously unstuck.
Mister Welles was, of course, interested, but then he always was.
Takashima...

This felt uncomfortable, and it was more than just the concern about
facing the Minbari again. The Babylon was the mainstay of Proxima's
defence force - with or without Captain Sheridan - and it had to be there
when the Minbari arrived, but...

Why had she feel that something strange was going on? There had been that
unusual meeting earlier on, with on of the new bridge crew. One of
Bester's people, she supposed, but... why did she looked oddly familiar?

Takashima had stopped and looked at the woman. She was blond, pretty, very
elegant looking. Takashima had never seen her before, but... "And you
are?" she had asked.

"Lieutenant Stoner," had come the reply. "Second grade lieutenant."

Takashima had blinked. She had never heard of this Lieutenant Stoner. In
theory a quick look at the records should enable her to verify Stoner's
id, but the Minbari were coming, and there wasn't time, and... and... and
she didn't want to.

The instruments were picking up two other heavy class EarthForce 
destroyers nearby, but Takashima was not surprised, almost as if she'd
been... expecting them.

The message came through. The image on the commscreen was of a harsh,
severe looking military man with a scar.

"Colonel Ari Ben Zayn, Captain of the Ozymandias," the man said. "A
pleasure to meet you, General." He didn't sound as if he meant it.

"Likewise, Colonel." Takashima had met him before, once, when she was
still a cadet and he was the hero of New Jerusalem. He was supposed to be
dead. Another of Bester's little surprises.

"They're here. Ben Zayn out." The image faded and Takashima heard the
voice of Lieutenant Franklin, one of the old bridge crew. She didn't need
to hear his exact words. She knew.

The Minbari were here.

			----------

"Uncle Londo, what exactly have you gotten us into?"

A difficult question to answer, Londo thought. Stopping an attack by a
Narn warship was one thing, but getting involved in a pitched battle, that
was quite another. 

Minbari on one side, humans and Shadows on the other, and the J'Tok and
the Valerius in the middle, trying to drive back the Shadows and avoid
getting shot by the humans or the Minbari.

It was times like this that Londo wished he'd gone into farming inside.
Land, animals, crops, there. No big black insect type ships, no insane
wagers with Narns, no... no advnture, no glory, no respect, no chance to
help his people.

"A wager, Carn," Londo replied. "One of the greatest wagers of all."

"Uncle Londo, you haven't been drinking, have you?"

"Why, Carn! I am shocked at your attitude! Of course I have! But that is
not the point. You won't let some Narn claim superiority over us just
because he did better in this battle than we did, do you? We are Centauri,
Carn! We can best any Narn or human any day!"

"Of course we can!"

"Good, then you know what to do?"

"Yes, use our telepaths to jam their ships and then... well, hit them."

"Good, Carn. Good. You are learning. Now, you are the military man, so you
do what you think best. If you want me, then I will be hiding under the
bed in my quarters. Good luck."

For the first time in the history of their races, Narn and Centauri were
fighting together, against a common enemy. It was a pity that the humans
and the Minbari had not learned a similar lesson.

			----------

The battle over Proxima - the Second Line as it would later be called -
was a mass of action, shifting, swirling, changing, with little rhyme or
reason or strategy. To the pitifully small human defenders, it was simply
a matter of holding the Line and protecting Proxima at any cost. To the
Minbari, it was facing down the Enemy, crushing an opponent who should
have stayed crushed after the last time, it was making a stand for Light
against the Darkness.

To the J'Tok, it was service to a respected and an admired leader, and a
matter of Narn-ish pride. To Captain Carn Mollari, it was the wishes of
his - slightly crazy - uncle, but also a matter of Centauri pride. Later,
both captains would get in trouble for this from their governments, but
that was if they survived. And if they did, then they would have formed a
crucial bond together.

To Captain Ben Zayn and Mister Harriman Gray, it was about following
orders, about taking a path and not deviating, about fighting and
continuing and not surrendering. To Laurel Takashima, it was what should
be a simple task - holding the Line - turning into a mass of voices
screaming at her, amongst crew who had their own agendas and of another
set of thoughts originating in her mind.

To Shai Alyt Tryfan, it was a chance for glory, and to justify the faith
others had placed in him. To Satai Kalain, it was a military action,
something that had to be done. To Holy One Sinoval, it was the
continuation of his destiny, a chance to achieve the future he knew
belonged to him and his people. To Satais Hedronn, Lennann and Rathenn, it
was a day when the Minbari became not butchers, but doctors, cutting the
evil away from the galaxy.

To Ambassador Susan Ivanova, it was the end to fear. To WarMaster Jha'dur,
DeathWalker, it was the beginning of her monument to her people.

To General Hague, it was the day that self-esteem and self-respect died.
To President Clark, it was a glorious day. To Mister Welles it was a time
when all his calculations and theories would be borne out and proved or
disproved once and for all. To Bester, it was a time for testing and
forging. To G'Kar, it was the beginning of the strike back. To Marcus, it
was a time for choice. To Lyta, a time of sorrow. To Ta'lon, a day when he
wished he could get there on time.

To Delenn, Zha'valen, it was a forlorn hope for peace. To StarFury pilot
Neeoma Conally, it was a nightmare she would not wake up from. To Captain
Sheridan and Commander Corwin it was...

			----------

To Captain Sheridan and Commander Corwin it was a time for choices.

Sheridan had faced down Minbari fleets before. Standing at his side, so
had Corwin. Neither was afraid. Sheridan was filled with the supreme
confidence he always felt in battle. It was a chance to forget everything
else, to forget Bester and Anna and Clark and Delenn and focus on the one
thing that made him special. Corwin was less confident, but just as
focussed.

Sheridan's normal strategy in a situation like this would be to mine the
entrance to the system, fight a slow holding action and pull the Minbari
ships into the mines. It had worked with the Black Star, and it
compensated for their inability to target the Minbari ships. There were
just two problems, however...

One was that he had arrived here at about the same time as the Minbari
fleet, meaning that the area had not been mined. Whatever the Resistance
Government's reasons for not doing so, it meant that Sheridan had to act
quickly, throwing his StarFury squadrons forward as a sacrificial screen,
allowing him enough time to back off slowly and begin laying the
minefields, hoping that enough of his StarFuries would get back in time
before the mines became active.

The second problem was more serious. The Shadows.

Sheridan had nearly completed the first layer of his minefield, fighting
a slow holding and repelling action against the Minbari as he did so, when
the first Shadow ship blazed by over the Parmenion. Sheridan had felt a
high pitched agonising scream burn into his mind and he had stumbled for a
moment. Glancing over at the viewscreen, he was astonished at what he
saw. He had never seen a Shadow vessel before, but he knew that the large,
black, almost living spider like thing could only be a Shadow ship.

The others on the bridge had been affected as well. Corwin was wincing,
and the rest of the bridge crew were shaking their heads or holding their
hands over their ears.

All except one.

Alisa Beldon did not belong on the bridge. In fact, Sheridan did not
really understand why Bester had placed a telepath on the ship at all. 

He was about to find out.

Alisa was concentrating. Her eyes were closed and her hands clenched into
fists. Blood was dripping from one palm. Sheridan looked at the tactical
display in front of him. The... the thing... the Shadow ship... it wasn't
moving. It seemed... paralysed.

Sheridan looked up at Corwin. His second had clearly noticed the same
thing.

"I think we've been set up," Corwin said.

"Me too. Remind me to kill Bester when we get back."

Do what you think is best, Bester had said. Sheridan had assumed he had
meant with regards to the Minbari. Bester hadn't. The pieces were finally
clicking together. Bester had sent his ships here to fight the Shadows.
Telepaths provided some sort of weapon against them. Bester had been
forcing him into making this decision.

Sheridan remembered Delenn's earnest words about the Great War and the
Ancient Enemy. He wasn't sure he'd believed her before, not even after the
Babylon 4 incident. Now, he did.

He whispered her name softly. Anna's death had been caused by these
people, whether directly or indirectly it did not matter. They had
corrupted the Resistance Government, killed his wife, caused him to become
an exile and traitor.

Sheridan looked at Corwin, who shrugged.

"Left broadsides, multiple strikes against that thing," Sheridan ordered.
"Tear it apart."

The bridge crew smiled, as if they'd been expecting nothing else.

In the words of a great leader of millennia before:

Alea jacta est.

The die is cast.

			----------

*There is a darkness here* thought Ta'lon. *A grave and terrible
darkness.*

He could feel it, in the air, in the ground, in the people he met and saw.
They had given themselves over to the Enemy willingly, either not knowing
or not caring about the consequences. They had done so out of fear, it was
true, but they had still surrendered to the Darkness.

Alarms had been given, warning the people to enter shelters - shelters
that would do no good if the Minbari did to Proxima what they had done to
Earth. The people had largely ignored them. Instead they were waiting
beneath the Main Dome, staring up into the skies and dreading the arrival
of the blinding light that would herald the end of their existance.

Ta'lon was alone here, but he had his mission. To find Marcus Cole. To
find Lyta Alexander. To free them from the Darkness that ruled this place.

Security guards were no more disciplined than were the common people. Many
were standing outside panicking. Many had abandoned their posts, perhaps
seeking a last moment with lovers or children or friends, perhaps seeking
to avoid the knowledge of their coming death in a fog of drink, perhaps
doing many things...

Entering the main government complex of the Main Dome was easy. G'Kar
had, a long time ago, obtained plans of most of the major cities and
complexes of most of the major power bases in the galaxy. Always in case
of emergencies...

The first place Ta'lon tried was the Detention Block. There was a guard on
duty there, one in whom Ta'lon recognised a calm professionalism driven to
near despair. He had refused Ta'lon entry, had stuck to his determination
as if it were the last breath of air in his body. 

And so Ta'lon had tried elsewhere. Fortune was on his side.

The human was pacing up and down the corridors, despair and tragedy in his
eyes. He looked haunted. He looked anguished. He looked... He looked lost.

Ta'lon had false papers authorising him as a Narn security advisor. The
Security guard at the Detention Block had insisted on having them verified
and Ta'lon had not had the time for that. The papers had managed to get
him in this far.

The human was talking to himself, speaking the same four words over and
over again.

"The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming."

The human stopped when he saw Ta'lon. The Narn saw a general's insignia on
his uniform. "You...?" the general whispered. "I remember you. It was...
it was..."

And Ta'lon remembered him now, although he would have been astonished to
recognise this haunted figure as the calm, confident General Hague he had
known in the last war with the Centauri. The humans had assisted in the
war - well, Sheridan had, which amounted to the same thing - and General
Hague had come to the city of G'Khorazhar for meetings with the kHa'Ri.
Ta'lon had been in the Narn military then, and he had been responsible for
the escort that brought General Hague in.

Of course, that was before G'Kar. That was before Neroon. That was a
million years ago.

"General Hague," Ta'lon said slowly.

"You're dead," Hague said. "You're... dead. I'm certain you were dead.
We're all... dead. All dead... The Minbari are coming."

"Do you know where Marcus Cole and Lyta Alexander are?" Ta'lon asked. He
was not expecting rationality, but maybe, maybe there was hope... The
Darkness had not claimed him just yet, but madness had instead.

"No!" he cried out. "No! I... Oh God, what I become? Plenty of company at
the bottom... she said. At the... bottom..." Hague blinked. "Room 6,
Ground Floor, Grey Area. Go. Save them! Please... the price... some prices
are too great."

Ta'lon nodded and silently thanked Hague. He made to go, and then he
patted the general nervously on the arm. Hague was lost. The best he could
hope for was to die without realising what had happened to his people.

Ta'lon had made it to the right area, when he came to an abrupt halt.
Standing at the entrance to the hall was a human, flanked by two Security
guards.

"Even in the midst of anarchy, there must be some order," the leader said.
"Even in chaos, there is purpose. May I know yours, please?"

			----------

The White Stars moved forward, over and under Sheridan's hastily
constructed minefield. They could see their enemies. The human ships they
had come to destroy, and the Shadows defending them. A long way further
towards the centre of the system, near Proxima 3 itself, there was a
frantic battle between a Narn ship, a Centauri ship, two human ships and
the Shadows, but that was there. Here, out on the edge of the Proxima
system, it was Minbari versus Shadows, as it had been before, with no
Vorlons, no First Ones, no Valen to aid them. On the other hand, they did
have the StarKiller.

The first Shadow ships, screaming and black and dark against the night,
came into view of the first White Stars. The White Stars were faster than
the greater Minbari ships, and had entered the breach first.

They were not faster than the Shadows.

One Shadow ship was struck by the focussed bursts of two White Stars at
once. The Minbari had clashed with their Ancient Enemy before this battle,
in small skirmishes. The one at Mars had been destroyed, so had the ships
at Ganymede. But never at this number, never at this scale.

Another Shadow soared above the White Stars and tore them apart with its
energy burst. The wounded ship fell back and two more rose forward. More
White Stars came, and combined their forces. One Shadow ship screamed as
its outer spines were burned away. Minbari on both ships felt the scream.
Shortly after their own screams were added to it as the Shadows struck
back.

The Shadows pressed forward, pushing the White Stars back. One tried a
counterattack, rushing forward, and briefly drove the Shadow back. 

But there were too many Shadows... far too many...

			----------

Sinoval stood at the centre of the Hall of the Grey Council, the One
amongst the Nine. He was watching the battle taking place with calm,
patient eyes.

Unlike many in the Council, Sinoval was a consummate strategist, a planner
and a tactician. He could read the ebb and flow of the battle
effortlessly. He could evaluate weak spots and vulnerabilities, strengths
and fortified positions.

At the moment the battle was too early to be accurately read. There were
more Shadows than he had been expecting, but the Minbari fleet still
outnumbered them. The presence of three EarthForce heavy destroyers - one
the Babylon he remembered so well from the attack on Mars - had surprised
him, but what surprised him more was that two of them were focussing on
the Shadows just as much as on the Minbari. Sinoval had not been expecting
that turn of events, but he put it down to deep rooted terror, as the
humans finally witnessed just what they had allied thmselves to. The
presence of a Narn warship and a Centauri cruiser had surprised him as
well - more so as they were fighting back to back, working aginst the
Enemy.

There were games within games taking place, and Sinoval did not like the
thought that others were manipulating events.

"Holy One!" It was Kalain. Sinoval turned to face him, irked that his
contemplation of the battle had been interrupted. "We have received a
message. It is from... it is from her. Zha'valen."

Sinoval could see the shock on the faces of Rathenn and Lennann, the two
members of the religious caste still on the Grey Council. The two of them
had objected the strongest when Delenn had been named Zha'valen - outcast.
Sinoval himself had not believed the story he had put out - that Delenn
had gone with StarKiller willingly, had helped him escape Minbar, and was
working with the Enemy of her own will. It had, however, suited him to
pretend that he did. With Delenn gone, his was the only voice the Grey
Council could hear.

And yet...

Sinoval listened as the Acolyte who had brought Kalain the message
replayed it. Afterwards, for a moment, there was silence. Sinoval could
tell what each member of the Council was thinking. His own thoughts could
be summed up in one word.

StarKiller.

Sheridan had escaped Minbar, had killed two members of this assemblage and
crippled - physically and emotionally - three more. He was responsible for
countless Minbari deaths. He had dared to face down Sinoval in this very
Hall. The fact that Sheridan was also - indirectly - responsible for
Sinoval holding the position he did today was not lost on the Holy One. On
the contrary, that counted as one more weight against Sheridan.

"Bring them to me," Sinoval snapped. "The StarKiller and De... and the
Zha'valen. Bring them before me in chains and let them face my judgement."
This war would end here, in the skies of Proxima, but it could not end
until Sheridan was dead, and Del... and the Zha'valen was punished for her
treason.

Sinoval understood that humans had a saying. Great empires are always
built on blood. 

He would build a Minbari empire on the blood of two people.

			----------

Captain Ben Zayn could practically feel the evil directed towards him, the
focussed evil of millennia. He welcomed it. He was a soldier, a warrior.
He had fought on countless battlefields and survived them all. He would
survive this one.

Beside him, Gray's head snapped backwards with the force of the telepathic
encounter. Ben Zayn took advantage, driving forward with both broadsides
and the fore firing team. He had fought the Shadows before as well. No
enemy was invincible.

He wasn't surprised to learn that the Babylon was fighting alongside him.
He knew most, if not all, of Bester's little secrets. He was surprised at
the arrival of a Narn and a Centauri ship, fighting together of all
things.

Ben Zayn felt the rush of battle, felt at once the furious passion of the
warrior and the calm serenity of one who has accepted his inevitable
death.

For the duration of this battle he knew that he was immortal.

			----------

"Minbari coming forward!"

Sheridan swore.

His StarFury screen had been cut down to almost nothing, but it had bought
enough time to lay his mine screen, allowing him to concentrate on the
Shadows, the enemy he was still slightly surprised to be fighting. The
Minbari had finally managed to breach his minefield. He wasn't surprised -
it was inevitable, but he did wonder how much it had cost them to do so.

"Forward interceptors and mass dispersion fire!" he ordered, glancing at
Corwin, who was obsrving the tactical displays and plotting strategies.
For the moment, the Shadows were concentrating on the Minbari. Sheridan
knew enough to leave two enemies to fight each other, but he doubted he'd
be ignored for long.

He also shot a glance at Alisa Beldon. She was leaning heavily against a
display, breathing hard. Her aid had helped him take down two of the big
Shadow ships, and a handful of the smaller ones, but it had taken a lot
out of her. She was exhausted. She looked up and smiled wearily.

*Damn you, Bester!* Sheridan thought. *Why did you have to involve
children in this?*

The ship rocked beneath the barrage of Minbari fire. The interceptors were
overheating.

"A boarding pod!" Corwin said. "But that's..."

Sheridan shared his incredulity. The Minbari didn't board ships. It wasn't
their way. They must want something really bad here to try and...

His eyes widened. "Delenn! David, can we shoot it down?"

"Nope. It's too small for our dispersion fire and it's got that stealth
stuff so we can't target it."

"Ah Hell! Get the... the Narn bat squad patrolling the area where they're
likely to arrive. Patch a message through to..." He thought of Delenn.
"No. I'll go and warn her. Mister Corwin, you have the bridge. I won't be
long." Corwin watched as Sheridan ran from the bridge. He was more than a
little surprised at this. Just how closely did the Captain feel for Delenn
to do this?

He looked up at the Minbari fleet and swallowed. He was no StarKiller, but
he'd studied the great man long enough.

He knew what to do.

			----------

Delenn straightened, hearing the warning alarm. She closed her eyes and
thought of John. She wondered if he would hate her for this, but then she
knew that if he did, then she would accept it. There was no other option. 
She could feel her people dying. The Shadows were too strong, and the
Minbari were too weak. Driven by pride and arrogance they had destroyed
themselves just as much as the Shadows were.

She opened her door and left the room. Her people would come for her. They
would take her before the Grey Council, and she would end this.

She stumbled as the ship rocked, but then she could hear the sound of
fighting. Hitching her dress up slightly, she ran forward. She had to end
this.

Rounding a corner, she entered one of the shuttle docking bays, to find it
engulfed by Narns and Minbari, fighting, with both gun and sword and pike.
She heard the ringing of pike meeting katok, she heard the cries of the
dying and the gasps of the wounded.

She closed her eyes and mouthed a silent prayer of forgiveness.

She had to find the leader of the Minbari. It was likely she would
recognise him or her. The leader would certainly spot her. Slowly, she
began working her way around the wall of the docking bay, avoiding the
Narns, hoping she would pass unnoticed.

A Narn was dying at her feet, blood pouring from a neck wound. He reached
out pleadingly to her, but she silently stepped aside, inwardly weeping.
She had not seen his desperate, pain maddened thrashings, and stumbled
over his arm, tumbling to the ground. She tried to crawl forward, but he
had a grip on her ankle, his last wish not to die alone.

Above her were a Narn and a Minbari, sword and pike flashing, fighting
with their ancient weapons of pride. They came close to her, and the
Minbari fell. Delenn tried to crawl out of the way, but he fell across her
back. She felt a blinding pain and a moment of blackness.

When she came to, the fight was almost over. The Narns were pulling back,
but had fortified the main corridor out of the docking bay. The Minbari
were slowly moving forward. Delenn gasped, closing her eyes against the
pain as she crawled out from under the body which lay on top of her.
Slowly she turned, and gently closed his eyes.

"Delenn!"

Oh, no.

She could see John rushing forward, PPG fire picking off the Minbari who
were moving towards her. The Narns, inspired by his example had begun a
counter charge. The Minbari rushed forward, driven by fury and by pride.

The whole ship shuddered again, and Delenn fell forward. John caught her
quickly and held her tight. *Oh, John, no. I didn't... I never meant...*

He suddenly let go and spun around, firing instinctively. The Minbari
warrior fell, two shots striking her chest and head at point blank range.
Sheridan was not happy with something, however. He backed up against the
wall and began fumbling with his weapon. The energy cap was exhausted.

Blood. So much blood. So much death. All her fault. Too much death...

"Forgive me, John," she muttered. She did not have a weapon, but she did
not need one. Neroon and Draal had trained her in hand to hand combat well
enough. She struck out at John's belly. His instincts warned him about the
blow, but too late to block it. He stumbled, and she hit his neck. He
fell, poleaxed. Delenn noticed something at his belt. It was her pike, the
one Susan Ivanova had taken from her on Minbar, the one she had taken back
from the future Susan Ivanova aboard Babylon 4, the one she had given to
John in trust after they had left Babylon 4.

The trust she had just betrayed.

She took the weapon from his belt, and saw a warrior standing above her.
The warrior said just one word.

"StarKiller."

"He is to be left here," Delenn said. "Do you hear me? He is to be left
here. I am Satai Delenn of the Grey Council, and I demand to be taken
before the Council. This must end. Please, listen. This must end."

The warrior said just one word.

"Zha'valen."

			----------

Susan looked down at the defeated eyes of Lyta Alexander. The telepath had
already accepted her death. Susan could see it. She was broken. She was
finished.

Susan raised the pike. No more need to be afraid. No more waking in the
middle of the night. No more hiding.

She looked at Marcus. He looked sick, desperate to do something, but
unable to. The two Shadows formed a wall between him and Susan. She gave
him what she hoped was a reassuring smile...

Her head seemed to explode. She did not know if she actually screamed or
if it was just in her mind, but she could feel the fear and the pain and
the anguish all over again. It was a violation, an intimate sundering of a
place she had only ever let her mother enter. 

Susan screamed again, this time audibly. Lyta. But how...? The sleepers...
Welles had assured her that... that... The Vorlon. The Vorlon!

She felt the pike drop from her nerveless fingers. She kept screaming,
over and over again. She fell to her knees, screaming until the scream was
the only thing in her existance.

She could feel the Shadows backing away. They were no more immune to
telepathically induced pain than was she. Less so, if anything. 

The pain ended - or she thought it did. Her scream certainly didn't. She
felt... numb, lifeless, unable to move or breathe or speak or do anything
except scream...

And scream...

			----------

Nowhere is the Darkness greater than in the fortress of Light...

DeathWalker waited alone in the quarters she had prepared for this
eventuality. She could feel the Shadows moving outside this ship. They
would win. Of course they would.

She understood the Shadows. She was not their servant, but their ally. If
they had been active thirty or forty years ago, her people might still be
alive, might still be masters of the galaxy.

The Dilgar would dead, and would never rise again, but they would be
remembered... She would build their monument, and how ironic it would be
that the very race that had destroyed hers would create that monument on
the ruins of the very race that had sheltered her.

Not for nothing was she called DeathWalker. She had made preparations...
Her monument of blood was only just beginning.

			----------

Lyta crawled out from behind Susan. The Shadow agent had slumped down
almost on top of her. She was still screaming.

Lyta was not sure exactly what she had done. She remembered the beating,
she remembered the questions and Welles' harshly ironic and scathing
verbal assault on her. She remembered the sleepers. She remembered
reaching out to touch Marcus' mind and not being able to. She remembered a
threat...

And she remembered one word. A word spoken in her mind by a voice she
still did not understand.

"NO!"

And she had lashed out. Subconsciously, not understanding what or why or
how, she lashed out with her powers, creating agony with a thought. 

All she could see was Marcus. When he held her, for a moment she could
forget where she was. For a moment she could take pleasure in the warmth
of his presence.

But just for a moment...

The Shadows were moving. She saw them a mere instant before Marcus did,
and she pushed him aside. She could hear the voice speaking to her, slowly
and cautiously, directing her. She closed her eyes and reached deep
inside, working past the sleepers, working past the pain and the numbness
and the fear...

She lashed out again. The Shadows stopped and faltered. One of them bowed
down, lowering its... she thought it was its head. The other one
hesitated, as if recognising the taint of its ancient enemy within her.

Marcus acted. Scooping up Ivanova's discarded pike, he struck at the
nearest creature. He was not skilled with such a weapon, but that hardly
mattered. Wielding it almost like a baseball bat, he gripped its end in
both hands and swung it...

The first Shadow crumpled, its forelegs twitching. Marcus bashed its neck,
once, twice, three times... It stopped twitching.

"Marcus!"

Lyta lost concentration for a moment, and the second Shadow rushed
forward. Its foreleg raised and tore across Marcus' chest. He fell back,
and Lyta struck out mentally again. The Shadow seemed unaffected. It
certainly continued its charge over the fallen Marcus.

Acting on instinct with a weapon he had never before used, Marcus pushed
up one end of the pike. The Shadow ran onto it with a sickening crunch and
fell back. Marcus staggered to his feet and swung out with th pike as he
had last time...

Lyta did not need telepathy to register the feelings of nausea and
tiredness within him. She felt them as well, but she didn't care. He
dropped the weapon and winced at the pain of his injuries. Lyta rushed
forward and embraced him tightly, not caring about both of their pain,
just caring that they were together.

She kissed him, for the first time without touching his mind with hers. It
felt... better this time. Not as invasive. Ivanova had called her a mental
rapist, and that felt true. Lyta had never felt more ashamed of the abuses
to which she had put her powers.

She did not sense Ivanova's attack. She had not even noticed that Ivanova 
had stopped screaming. Marcus had.

He threw Lyta aside and moved forward to confront Susan. She had picked up
the pike, stained with blood and ichor and chitin. There was a madness in
her eyes, a look of intense grief and anguish and a blood dimmed, raging
red fury...

She had already started her strike when Marcus had pushed Lyta out of the
way. It had been aimed at Lyta, but Ivanova seemed helpless to redirect
it, and Marcus seemed just as helpless to stop it.

Ivanova wielded the weapon consummately. She had held it for over a year
after all. It was almost a part of her.

Lyta later supposed that Ivanova had tried to pull the blow back at the
last minute, as if she realised who she was attacking, but too late.  At
the time Lyta could not notice this. 

She only saw the pike tear into Marcus' chest, ripping apart the skin,
crushing bone and muscle as it did so.

His heart broke.

To Be Continued...




From: Mr G D Williams <csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk>
Subject: The Other Half of My Soul - Part 5 of 7 [AT] [EV]
Date: Tue, 24 Jun 1997 01:15:08 +0100 (BST)

Here we are. Nearly finished now. For those of you who don't know, this is
the latest in my parallel universe saga that began millennia ago with A
Dark, Distorted Mirror. It is recommended that you read the earlier
installments first. You should be able to ind some of them in the archive
at least. If anyone contacts me before this Saturday, I'll be happy to
forward on any parts they're missing.

Feedback, questions, comments and death threats are very welcome, but bear
in mind that I will only be able to reply to them before Saturday.
Anything after that should be sent to:

csudi@csv.warwick.ac.uk

but note that no one will be able to reply to them before September at the
earliest.

There are no Spoilers as such, but I am drawing upon all elements of the
B5 universe in writing this, and people without a basic familiarity may be
inadvertently Spoiled.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic. I am however also a
downright evil hopeless romantic at times. Don't say you weren't warned.

			-----------
The Other Half of My Soul, Part 5 of 7 [AT] [EV]
by Gareth Williams, csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk

It was an old story, a very old story, one he had listened to as a child.
Listened to, and remembered and dreamed about.

The gallant knight, the fair maiden, the foul monsters, the wicked
enchantress. A noble quest, infiltrating the fortress of evil, vanquishing
the monsters and winning the hand of the fair lady.

Real life doesn't always end like that.

Marcus Cole had read epic fantasy as a child, read and memorised, but most
of all, he had read the Arthurian legends, he had read about Camelot, the
Grail Quest, the Battle of Camlann... He had read of King Arthur and his
fair Guinevere, of Lancelot the Brave, Galahad the Pure, Gawain and the
Green Knight, Perceval Knight of the Grail, mysterious and wise Merlin,
Gareth Knight of the Kitchen, the sorceress Morgana... Marcus Cole had
dreamed about knights, about the Round Table, he had dreamed of becoming a
knight, of living his life to a code, a purpose, a duty to something
greater than he was.

He never found it. 

Oh, he found a place, of sorts, but only after his home colony had been
destroyed, only after his brother had been killed, only after he had lost
everything. 

Marcus Cole knew about the Shadows, he knew about what they could do,
perhaps more than anyone else, for he alone of the people on Proxima - up
until the fateful Battle of the Second Line - had seen them rising in
their full, black, terrible fury. He still saw them in his dreams. He
still heard their screams.

No one else understood. No one could. Captain Sheridan only saw them as an
enemy to be fought, as did Commander Corwin. To Satai Delenn they were
prophecy and destiny and fate. Not even Lyta understood properly,
although she must have seen them in his mind as she touched him there.

No, one other person understood. Susan Ivanova. Ambassador of the Shadows.
Marcus Cole had been set to watch her, to observe and record and report.
She had known about his intentions of course, and the two had indulged in
a battle of wits for months. And then something unexpected happened.

She understood him, better than anyone else. She also knew the sheer loss,
the pain of losing everything, the pain of trying to rediscover dreams
when the world had stolen them from you. She knew the need for
companionship, for understanding, for peace...

In many ways, she was his kindred spirit, far more than Lyta could ever
be, but Susan had given herself to the Shadows. Whether from force or from
weakness or because she genuinely believed, she had given herself to the
Darkness, and that was something Marcus Cole would never do, not even at
the end.

It was the end.

In the skies above them, Minbari were fighting and dying. Drawn to Proxima
3 half out of necessity, half out of blood thirst, they had come, and the
Shadows had been waiting for them. The Minbari were falling. Sheridan was
there, as were an unlikely assortment of allies, brought together by the
one other person who understood the Shadows as Marcus did, a person whom
Marcus had met only very briefly, a meeting which could never forge the
links they should have shared.

On the ground of Proxima 3 an equally deadly battle was taking place. 

The gallant knight had rescued the fair maiden, but there was one small,
tiny deviation from the classic.

The gallant knight was dead.

His blood slowly pooled on the floor...

			----------

In Valen's Name...

The Minbari cruiser - it was the Varmain - turned about, directing all of
its forward batteries at the huge, black form hovering above it. The
Shadow ship seemed paralysed, unable to move as the focussed force of the
cruiser's weapons tore into it. It was struggling, writhing against hidden
and unseen chains.

The chains snapped.

The Varmain tried to keep up its burst, but the Shadow vessel managed to
pull away. It was clearly badly damaged. Sensing blood, the Varmain pushed
forward.

Two more Shadow ships fell into its path, and their weapons tore the
cruiser apart...

"In Valen's Name..." breathed Hedronn, and Lennann and Rathenn. Sinoval
even thought he had heard Kalain utter the name of their messiah. 

Sinoval could not blame them. The Grey Council had always known that the
day would come, as spoken in prophecies, when the Minbari went to war with
the Ancient Enemy once again. They had always known, and they had tried to
prepare, but nothing could prepare any of them for this... this carnage.

Except for Sinoval. He had seen this day in his dreams ever since he had
been a child, and first brought to temple. He had seen this day, and many
others, and he knew his destiny had been set.

"We are destroying some of them," spoke up Satai Matokh. Another warrior,
but one far more moderate in scope than Sinoval himself. Far weaker, as
well. He had been wounded in Sheridan's attack over Mars. He had never
been quite the same since.

It was true. Sinoval had seen several of the Shadow ships paralysed,
pinned in place by an unknown force, enabling the cruisers and the White
Stars to tear them apart, but it took long, focussed bursts to do so. The
Minbari didn't have the time, and the Shadows were too fast.

"Not enough," replied Hedronn. "We are losing. I think our path is set."

Sinoval ignored him. Hedronn was old, and set in his ways, and a worker.
What did he know? Sinoval was analysing the battle. Victory was still
possible. Somehow, the Shadows were being attacked by other ships,
including a Narn heavy cruiser, a Centauri warship and three human
destroyers - the very people the Shadows were meant to be allied with.
Sinoval did not like mysteries, but he had to admit that these five ships
were holding back the Enemy.

Victory was always possible while there was breath to be drawn.

"Listen to him, Sinoval," spoke a new voice, one absent from the Council
for almost a whole cycle. One absent, and newly returned, with little
change for its absence.

The two white robed Acolytes who had ushered Delenn into the Hall bowed
and left, leaving her alone in the centre of the circle. Sinoval could see
the other Satais looking at her, some with caution, some with disgust, and
why should they not? Delenn's appearance would disgust anybody.

Sinoval ignored her as well. His eyes were on the heavens, revealed in the
images all around him. 

"Sinoval! Listen to us, in Valen's Name!"

Delenn had been captured recently, taken from the Earther destroyer on
which she had been - whether as prisoner or guest was up for
interpretation. The Minbari boarding crew had ultimately been driven off,
but not without two very useful trophies. Delenn was the first. The
other...

was John Sheridan. StarKiller.

He could wait. He was even now rotting in his cell, and there would be no
miracle escape this time. Yes, Sinoval thought, he could wait, but
Delenn... Let the Council see. Let the Council see what she had become.

Sinoval saw another White Star ship destroyed. He mouthed a prayer to
Valen in memory of the crew.

"Sinoval!"

He finally turned, to look at the one who had until so recently been a
member of this assemblage. Then had come the StarKiller. Sinoval did not
believe that she had aided his escape. Sinoval did not believe that she
had willingly betrayed her people to the Enemy. Sinoval did not believe
that she was acting out of anything other than what she felt was best for
Minbar.

Sinoval did believe that politics left no room for the truth, and that
some had to be sacrificed if all were to be saved.

He said just one word to her. One, simple word. "Zha'valen."

He could hear the gasp of shock and pain that came from her as he said
that word. He would have heard it were he standing in the middle of an
asteroid storm. He would never forget that sound.

One word. "Zha'valen."

Outcast. A Shadow upon Valen. No Minbari could look at her, speak to her,
even speak her name. It was as if she had never been born, had never
existed, and that what stood before them was a mere shadow.

"Zha'valen." That was Kalain. The word came stronger from his mouth than
it had from Sinoval's. Kalain believed the stories of Delenn's treachery.
He believed because Sinoval had told him that they were true. Kalain had
taken her place upon the Council.

"Zha'valen." That was Hedronn. Sinoval was not sure if Hedronn believed or
not, but the exact details did not matter. Delenn's very appearance -
wearing that sickening half human face - that was enough to damn her in
Hedronn's eyes.

The word spread. "Zha'valen." Even Rathenn and Lennann said it, although
the latter had to look down as he did so.

Sinoval raised his head and looked directly into her eyes. He could see
the light dying in them. He was not supposed to look at her, but he was
Holy One, and he would break enough traditions sooner or later.

"Zha'valen," he pronounced.

"No!" she cried, a word that was more scream than normal utterance. "No!
Listen to me! Valen was a human! They are our kin out there. They are the
other halves of our souls. They..."

The Acolytes returned at Sinoval's gesture, and roughly lead her away.
Sinoval heard a noise that sounded very much like sobs.

Delenn now knew what had happened to her, as had the Council. The Nine
were more Sinoval's than ever now.

The Battle was not.

Sinoval was a warrior, and a leader. He had fought many foes, many times,
and he had never been afraid. Not for himself. But for those he led... He
remembered the name of every person who had died during his leadership. It
was hard to remember, but it would be harder still to forget.

The Battle was lost. Sinoval could see as much. There could still be
victory, but it would not be gained here. His mouth tasted of ashes.

He walked forward to the centre of the circle and raised his arms out
wide. He closed his eyes.

"Pull back!" came the order. "This place is lost to us. Pull back!"

He could not bring himself to say, "retreat."

Kalain and Matohk began delivering precise instructions to the leaders of
the fleet, detailing who would pull back, and who would hold. Sinoval
could not bear to listen.

Victory was still possible. It was always possible while there was breath.
But never had it seemed farther away.

			-----------

Her breaths were coming harder and harder. She was leaning on the side of
the instrument panel. Her legs were sagging, her head drooped.

"Shadow vessel destroyed, sir," said Major Krantz. Corwin did not shift
his gaze from Alisa. "For the moment, things are clear here."

"Good," Corwin said. "Try and contact as many of our surviving StarFuries
as you can. Reel them in to form a small screen around us. How are the
hull repairs coming?"

"Temporary sealant over the damaged sector in place. Level 9 is still
entirely closed off however."

Corwin nodded and then rushed forward. Alisa's legs completely gave way
and he arrived just in time to catch her. Slowly, he lowered her to the
ground. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. She looked as if
she'd just run from Earth to Mars.

"Sir, about Captain Sheridan..."

Corwin looked up. "We can barely save ourselves, Major Krantz. If we can,
then we will get the Captain back, but the last thing he would want us to
do would be to risk this ship and its crew in a foolish rescue attempt."

She was so young, he thought. What was Bester doing, drafting people this
young into his war? Corwin had been older than this when he had first
stepped onto the Babylon, and he was still considered largely a child.

What was Bester up to?

The Battle of the Second Line was a battle where nothing seemed to make
sense. It had started out so simple. There's the Minbari. There's Proxima
3. Stop the one getting to the other. And then had come the Shadows, and
Bester with his hidden agendas and his telepaths everywhere. And then had
come the Minbari boarding party which had come in and left with both Satai
Delenn and Captain Sheridan. And then Corwin had been in charge...

"What about the time when you disobeyed the orders of the Resistance
Government in a foolish attempt to strike into Minbari space and rescue
Captain Sheridan?" Krantz persisted.

*Damn!* Corwin thought. *How did he find out about that?*

The two people in this whole battle who actually seemed to know just what
their commanding officer - Alfred Bester, Esq. - was up to - Captain Ari
Ben Zayn and his constant companion Mister Harriman Gray (P10) - were out
of radio contact. Now that may be due to normal background radiation
interference or whatever. But it could be that they'd come too close to
one Shadow too many.

And that would leave a lot of unanswered questions.

"Have you got through to the Ozymandias yet?" he asked.

"No, sir," said one of the technicians. Ah, what was his name? Guerra?
Something like that. "Not a sound."

"What about the Babylon?"

Now that was strange, if anything about this whole battle could not be
considered strange. The Babylon had been Captain Sheridan's ship. After
his... somewhat forced defection from Proxima, Bester had returned it to
the Resistance Government. The next time he saw it, Corwin had been
expecting to be staring down its forward cannons. After all, the
Resistance Government did consider him and the Captain to be Minbari
loving traitors.

And here they were, the Babylon actually fighting against the Shadows, who
were supposed to be allies of the Resistance Government.

Corwin had long ago given up any hopes of understanding the universe. He'd
be happy just understanding his own corner of it. 

Alisa's eyes fluttered and she looked up. "Commander," she muttered. Her
voice was that of a ninety year old, not the enthusiastic young woman he
and the captain had met earlier. "Com..."

"They've gone for the moment," he said. "Rest."

She tried to nod, but clearly didn't have the energy even for that.

"Commander!" spoke up Guerra - if that was indeed his name. "The Minbari
seem to be pulling back."

"Think they're retreating?"

"It's possible."

Corwin tapped his forefinger against his jaw slowly. Were the Minbari any
match for the Shadows? Were they actually retreating?

Or was this all a ruse?

"Follow up on the Minbari," he said. "But keep our distance, and if any of
those bloody big Shadow ships show up, leg it quick."

"I... can..." Alisa whispered.

"No," Corwin snapped. "You can't."

He looked up.

And out there... somewhere... was the Captain. Corwin wondered if he'd
managed to escape yet. It was only a matter of time...

			----------

His cell was dark, but then he had been expecting that. Captain Sheridan
had been walking in darkness for years.

Where had it all begun? When had his first footstep onto the path of
darkness been made? In his cell with Ivanova? On the bridge of the Babylon
where he had shot and killed his wife? On his furious, maddened assault on
the Minbari over Mars?

Or had this all been preordained? Had he been destined to walk in darkness
from the moment of his birth?

Sheridan didn't believe in Fate, but that did not mean that Fate did not
believe in him.

Delenn. Everything came back to Delenn. What was it about her? She was
Minbari, a Satai, orchestrator of the war against his people. How many
would have been saved if she had said just a few words differently? How
many deaths could be placed at her door?

And yet... and yet... He felt... comfortable with her. She had once told
him that their souls were joined together, perennially continuing
relationships from the past. Sheridan wasn't sure if he believed that,
either, but he sensed a comfort and an ease around Delenn that he never
felt around anyone else, not even Corwin. Not even Anna.

Sometimes he even managed to forget that she was Minbari.

And now this. One part of his mind - the part that had launched the
assault over Mars, was fuming with anger and betrayal. She had betrayed
him. It was because of her that he was here. He had trusted her, helped
her, risked his career, his life, all for her, and she had betrayed him.
That part of his mind was brimming with anger. That was the part of his
mind that had burned its way to the front during the Battle of Mars.
Military tactics, strategies, supply lines, allies... all the things he
had been taught, all the details that had served him well in the past...
they had all gone straight out of the window, and he had become, for that
battle, a machine. A pure machine who only existed to kill.

But there were other parts of his mind. One of them remembered the look of
betrayal and lost innocence in his eyes when he had hit her on Vega 7. It
remembered the way she had come to help him on Babylon 4. It remembered
the image of her, battered, bruised, nearly broken, on his return to
Proxima after his trip to the Narn homeworld. It remembered her speech
about sharing souls.

The door opened and there she was, as if drawn by his thoughts. She stood
there for a moment, illuminated in the doorway, and then she stepped
inside. Sheridan caught an image of two figures in the door, and then they
faded and everything was dark again.

"Delenn?" he said cautiously. She did not reply in words, but he could
hear the sound of her breathing, and the light whispers of noise made by
her movements. It was her.

"Delenn." Firmer this time. Why was she not saying anything? Was she too
ashamed by what she had done? Had she come here just to gloat?

"John," she whispered. "John... I'm..."

He could feel her next to him, hesitating to touch him. He could hear her
breath, coming harsh and ragged. Almost as if she were weeping.

"John..."

The parts of his mind warred with themselves, and then one retreated. He
reached out and held her. She dropped her head on his shoulder and began
to cry. John did not think he had ever seen her cry before. She had been
close on a number of occasions, and he had heard that she had broken down
during Mister Welles' brutal interrogation of her, but he had not truly
believed it until now.

Her sobs were those of someone who has just lost everything she has ever
had.

John was content to hold her. Accusations of treachery and moments of rage
would have to wait.

He had time. Time enough to hold her now.

			----------

There are some beings in the galaxy whose deeds are so reknowned that
their names are recognised almost everywhere, many with appellations
marking the nature of those deeds. Captain Sheridan himself was one,
marked with the name StarKiller. The Minbari were not the only ones to
fear him. His involvement in the last Narn / Centauri War had made a
substantial difference, and had been one of the major reasons why the
arrogant Narns hadn't fallen before the revitalised power of a Centauri
rennaissance. There were many in the League of Non-Aligned Worlds who knew
full well Sheridan's power and strength, and who also called him
StarKiller.

There are others, aside from Sheridan to gain that sort of reknown.
Sinoval's name was fast becoming recognised, ever since his actions during
the beginning of the Earth / Minbari War and his almost meteoric rise from
Shai Alyt, to Satai, to Entil'zha and now to Holy One. G'Kar's name was
likewise famed. Greatest Narn hero of the Narn / Centauri War, turned
prophet and greatest hope against the Darkness, his teachings had affected
many of his people and were, slowly but surely, turning the Narns' destiny
around.

Then there was another, one who had earned her notoriety, not through
deeds of courage or wisdom or skill, but through deeds of murder and of
evil. WarMarshal Jha'Dur of the Dilgar, whose bloody swathe across the
Non-Aligned Worlds had left billions dead, countless mutilated, wounded or
dying, and her with the name DeathWalker. She was assumed to be dead,
killed by the once powerful Earth Alliance when it had liberated the
Non-Aligned Worlds, or killed when the Dilgar's sun went supernova, or
died of old age in some forgotten hideaway.

Assumptions are dangerous.

A long ago deal with various elements within the Minbari Wind Swords clan
had resulted in her being given sanctuary with them, in exchange for the
results of her brilliance and research into biogenetics, weaponry and so
forth. Some such weapons had been employed to terrifying effect in the
early stages of the war against the Earthers.

But time passed, and many of those who made the deal with DeathWalker
died, to war, to age, to StarKiller. All of those who knew about her died,
while she lived on, perfecting her immortality serum, until it came that
only one knew of her existance.

Sinoval had inherited her legacy when he had inherited the leadership of
the Wind Swords clan after his predecessor had died on the Black Star.
Sinoval had not been happy. He saw DeathWalker as a foul thing, a
malignant blight in the very heart of Minbar, but he was trapped by his
obligations, and he was forced to allow her to maintain her research, and
commit her atrocities. Sinoval was never sure of the details, but he would
not have been surprised to learn that she had been involved in the
mysterious and sudden outbreak of the disease Drafa which had wiped out
the Markabs.

Sinoval had thought that he was rid of DeathWalker forever. After his
assumption of the title of Holy One, when he finally had the power to
resist her, he had cast her out from Minbar. His sense of obligation had
forbade him from killing her, much as he would have liked to, but he
had been confident that his position kept him safe from her.

He had been wrong.

DeathWalker was still very much alive, and she had her allies, individuals
who disagreed profoundly with what Sinoval was attempting to do with
Minbar, individuals who were willing to damn themselves for the sake of
power.

DeathWalker had been expecting this to happen for a long while, but she
had not been unprepared.

Far from it.

			----------

Lyta Alexander would never forget the sight of Marcus' slumped body as 
long as she lived.

Neither would Susan Ivanova.

Both of their lives had become intrinsically aligned with that of the
tall, dark haired last survivor of his colony. Lyta as companion, friend,
would-be lover. Susan as enemy, lover and ultimately, murderer.

Susan was still, staring down at the body on the floor at her feet. She
had been affected somehow by the deaths of her Shadow guardians. She was
motionless. Her hand opened and her steel pike - still stained with
Marcus' blood - dropped to the floor. It was as if she were paralysed.

Lyta was not.

Opening her mind, listening to the voice of the Vorlon inside her, the
same voice that had given her the strength to override the sleepers and
lash out mentally at Ivanova, Lyta did so again. She was not thinking. She
was not caring. She was just doing.

Susan screamed as Lyta tore into her mind, shredding thoughts and memories
and feeling, ripping apart everything that made Susan Ivanova what she
was. After a while, Susan Ivanova stopped screaming. Lyta didn't stop her
assault, until she realised that she was on her knees, the effort of her
assault driving her almost to collapse. Ivanova had stopped screaming, she 
was simply staring up at the ceiling, shaking uncontrollably, uttering
tiny whimpers.

Lyta drew in one deep, gasping breath, and she crawled forward. She could
smell Marcus' blood, she could smell the ichor of the dead Shadows. She
could smell death.

*Perhaps he's still alive* she dared herself to think, not that she had
started to think again. *Perhaps I can touch him... touch his mind one
last time... Perhaps...*

But no, there was no hope. Marcus was dead. His chest had been torn open,
and his heart and lungs reduced to pulp by the force of Ivanova's blow.
Lyta touched his forehead gently. His eyes were open. Even in death, they
looked haunted and scarred. Not even at the end had he found the happiness
he had so yearned for.

She gently closed his eyes, not wanting to look at them any longer. She
said his name softly, and then again. She could not... it was... It wasn't
fair. It wasn't fair! Why did he have to die? Why...?

The Vorlon didn't scream a warning at her this time.

Ivanova grabbed Lyta's leg and wrenched her backwards. Lyta fell back and
rolled over, but Ivanova was on top of her, her hands closed around Lyta's
throat. "What... did you do... to... me?" Ivanova cried out. "What... did
you...?"

Lyta couldn't believe this. She had... she had destroyed Ivanova's mind.
She had to have! This was... this was impossible. What had the Shadows
done to her so that she could survive that?

Or maybe she hadn't totally survived. Lyta was staring directly up into
Ivanova's eyes, and she could see a raging fury there, a dark, intense,
savage madness. Ivanova tightened her grip and Lyta gasped.

*Help me!* she cried out inside her mind. She was not strong enough to
override the sleepers. Not without his help. *Help me!*

But her only help was one word. *Wrong.*

Ivanova picked Lyta up by her throat and then smashed her head against the
floor. Lyta's whole body shook. *Help me!*

*Wrong. Pride. Anger. Abuse of your power. Wrong.*

*Help... me...*

Lyta gasped again. This was impossible... Ivanova's savagery... her sheer
strength... What had the Shadows done to her?

Lyta's head was thrust against the floor again. She felt a warmth running
through her hair. She was bleeding.

*Help...

*... me...*

			----------

Tryfan looked up and saw he wall of Darkness moving towards his White Star
- the Valen. The rest of the Minbari fleet was pulling back, slowly giving
ground to the Enemy. Tryfan had been expecting a difficult fight - unlike
his fellow Minbari he underestimated no one - and things were in accord
with his gloomiest predictions. The Enemy had taken some losses. The
Minbari had just taken more.

The White Star had no flyers, but the capital ships did, and they were
out there now, forming a screen between the fleet and the advancing
Shadows. Tryfan could see them dying before his eyes.

"In Valen's Name," he whispered. He was tired of seeing his fellows fall
and die. He was tired of seeing brave Minbari sacrifice themselves. Tryfan
did not try to analyse Sinoval's reasoning in ordering the gradual
retreat, but he did not he had to do something.

Victory is never impossible.

At his order, the Valen soared forwards, into the heart of Darkness.

			----------

President Clark knew a great deal about darkness. He had seen it on Earth,
before the war, he had seen it in the way he saw humanity's future. A long
time ago, when he was just a Senator, he had presented a speech before the
Senate about his vision of humanity's future. Ground up, enslaved,
subjected before the will of alien masters, lost beneath a tide of aliens
and nonhumans and foreign customs.

The War had proved him right, and its aftermath had also. Humanity was
reduced to little better than slaves, meekly accepting a life of servitude
on Narn-held worlds simply because it was preferrable to being blasted
into atoms by the Minbari.

For ten years he had been slowly rising in power, watching and listening
to the completion of his terrible vision. It would not happen. Morgan
Clark had dedicated his life to preventing it happening.

And the beginning was here. The Battle of the Second Line it was already
being called. The day when humanity took back the galaxy.

He knew that this was for the best, for the good of humanity, for
humanity's future. (And if an alien voice spoke in his mind, then that did
not matter. This was all for the good of humanity.)

"First reports are coming in, Mister President," said one of the
technicians. Clark could not remember his name. He was sitting alone in
the Resistance Government's Hall. Clark did not like being alone. It meant
the voice he heard was louder. Where were the others? Takashima was on
board the Babylon, and Welles would doubtless be keeping security in order
in the Main Dome, in case alien saboteurs tried to land, but where the
Hell was Hague? He had been becoming seriously unstable lately. Clark
might have to have him removed.

And where was Ivanova?

"Our probes indicate that the Minbari are beating a slow retreat, Mister
President. At least five of their larger ships and seven of their new
medium class ships have been destroyed, as well as a substantial number of
their flyers and shuttles. Our allies do seem to be taking some 
casualties, but they still easily outnumber the Minbari. There are also a
number of anomalous ships which seem to be present..."

Clark started. What? "Describe these ships," he ordered.

"Two appear to be EarthForce heavy destroyers, Mister President," the aide
began. "Anoth..."

"Alien trickery," Clark snapped. "The Babylon is the only heavy destroyer
remaining after the war. The Minbari must be employing tricks to confuse
our allies. The other ships?"

"One Narn heavy cruiser and one Centauri warship..."

"The Narns? What are they...? Oh, I see. They've betrayed us as well. You
can't trust aliens. None of them. Or the Centauri. Oh well. Our allies
will take them down soon enough. Is that it?"

"Yes, Mister President."

"Good." Clark smiled, but then his smile faded. "Do you know the
whereabouts of Ambassador Ivanova?" He might have expected her to be here.
She had spoken of some personal business, but still...

"No, Mister President."

"Find her." Clark had tried contacting her quarters, only to receive no
answer. "Ask her to come here."

"Yes, Mister President."

The technician bowed and left, rather hurriedly. There had been
suggestions for the Resistance Government and other important officials to
be moved from the Main Dome to somewhere safer, but Clark had refused to
be moved. He knew humanity's allies would not fail them.

He knew because the Keeper told him as much, every time he closed his
eyes...

			----------

*Pride. Anger. Abuse. Not ready. Perhaps I was wrong. Show me otherwise.*

Lyta could not breathe. Her vision was swimming. All of it except for
Ivanova's eyes. Them - dark and furious and brimming with madness - they
were focussed directly at the back of Lyta's mind.

*Help... me...*

Lyta hands were reaching out, clawing desperately for something to hold,
anything. Her fingers brushed against something cold and sticky.

They jerked back in revlusion when she realised what it was she had
touched. Ivanova's pike, still stained with Marcus' blood.

Lyta's head smashed against the floor one more time.

Lyta stretched out again, desperately, frantically. She touched the pike
again and tried to pull it towards her. She could feel Marcus' blood on
it, his blood sticking to her hand, but she didn't care.

She began to pull the pike back...

Ivanova's grip on her throat loosened and Lyta was at last able to
breathe, but only for a second. Ivanova grabbed her head and yanked Lyta
up, smashing her against the ground again. What little breath there was
fled from her body in one huge gasp as Lyta's whole body shook.

The pike rolled from her grasp.

*Wrong.*

			----------

"Zha'valen."

John stiffened. Delenn clearly noticed his reaction and pulled back away
from him a little. 

"Zha'valen," she repeated. "A Shadow upon Valen. I am outcast now. I have
no title, no position, not even a name. all I have is the word Zha'valen."

The word clicked in his mind. Sheridan had heard it before, and now he
knew where. The person who had sent the mysterious message to the Babylon
from the even more mysterious space station Babylon 4 had addressed Delenn
as Zha'valen. It was on board that same space station that Sheridan had
seen himself killing Anna - exactly as he had done.

"What..." He swallowed hard. His head was pounding. "What will happen
now?"

"You, they will probably kill. Me... my punishment is done. I am not dead,
but I might as well be. John... I am... I..."

All of Sheridan's anger evaporated. The mistrust and the suspicion
remained, but the anger did not - could not. Never had he felt more linked
to her than at that moment.

"We will see," he said. Now that he was no longer angry at her, his mind
began to plot possibilities for escape. The first obligation of any
prisoner was to escape. "We will see." 

Sinoval - he was the weak link. He was proud and arrogant, and probably
remembered his last meeting with Sheridan. He might want to come to gloat,
possibly leaving a weakness. Delenn might still have allies among the Grey
Council - Sheridan had seen first hand how divided they had been the last
time. He had little reason to believe that that had changed. And then
there was Corwin and Bester. Perhaps they might be able to help...

"I am sorry, John," Delenn whispered. "I have gotten you killed. I have
betrayed you and... and..."

"I'm not dead yet," he reminded her gently. "And there'll be plenty of
time to talk about betrayal afterwards." He looked around slowly.
Everything was in darkness. He had managed to pace out the dimensions of
the cell, and his fumbled explorations had revealed nothing else of value,
not even a cot. Delenn was the only other thing in the cell.

The darkness did not seem all that oppressive to him. Sheridan had been
walking in darkness for nearly all of his life, and he had been in worse
situations like this before. He was confident that this was not over.

He had to instill Delenn with that same confidence. She had just lost
everything she had ever believed in, and as one who had experienced the
same thing, he wanted to try and help her out of it.

He sat down in the corner of the cell and gently pulled Delenn down to
him. She was not speaking but her breathing was loud, and harsh. She
sounded almost asthmatic. She rested in his arms nturally, leaning against
him as if it felt like the simplest thing in the world to her.

"Tell me something," he said.

"What?" she said softly. "John... I..."

"Tell me something. About yourself, about your childhood, about anything.
Just tell me something."

"I..."

"All right then. I'll start. There was a crewman on the Babylon a few
years ago, and he had this pet cat. Now it was against all regulations,
but he managed to keep it hidden from most of us and everyone who knew
were just as soft about cats as he was, but one day General Franklin came
on board to do a surprise inspection and..."

John carried on with the old story, the only other sound in the room that
of Delenn's breathing. He wondered if she could guess that the story of
Crewman Johnson and his cat was nothing more than an Earthforce myth,
repeated every year to new recruits and told and retold repeatedly over
drinks in Earthforce bars across Earth space. Sheridan had actually heard
Corwin telling the story to Alisa Beldon on board the Parmenion a few days
ago. She had listened, enraptured, while the other crew members listened
and snickered behind open hands. Afterwards she had laughed, and then
recognised that Corwin was making it all up. Damn telepaths - they spoiled
all the fun.

"So after we cleaned up the damage, I said, 'You bring that cat near me
again, and I'll have you both up on charges.'" Sheridan began to chuckle,
remembering the first time he had heard the story, over fifteen years ago.

Delenn was laughing as well, although her laughter was interrupted by
frequent bouts of wheezing. "A cat?" she said. "I do not think I have ever
seen a cat. We have some animals on Minbar, though, which seem similar.
We call them goks."

"Goks?"

"Yes." Sheridan was certain she was smiling. He could practically see her
face lighten as she did so. "I think they are an effort made by the
universe to ensure we never take ourselves too seriously."

"You might be right," he agreed. "Well, it's your turn."

"My turn?"

"Yes. I told a story, so now you have to."

"I... oh. I do not know anything like that..."

"It doesn't matter. Anything. Your childhood, your family, your friends.
Anything."

"I... oh... Very well then. When I was a child, my father was often away,
and I was taught by Draal. One day he was teaching me about the history of
Varmain, one of our greatest warrior diplomats. I didn't care for history
then, and to avoid listening to him, I was..."

Sheridan listened and laughed, and then he told another story - the one
about the time he and Captain Maynard had taken shore leave and met this
dancer - and then she told another story, and on and on.

And for a brief while at last, there was a light in the darkness. It
wasn't to last. It never did, but for a while at least, there was the
sound of laughter.

"So how did you find the statue again?" she asked. "Or did you leave it
there?"

"Oh no," he said. "But first I had to track down the Drazi Ambassador.
This was however, in the midst of their ceremonial battle for leadership,
where they all divide up into greens and purples and..."

The door opened, and a Minbari figure stood framed in it. They both rose,
holding onto each other. "Delenn?" asked a voice.

"Lennann!" she replied. "But...?"

"There is no time for words, Delenn. Hurry. There are some of us who did
not believe Sinoval's accusations against you. I have gathered them
together, and they will listen to what you have to say. But we must hurry,
or Sinoval will find out what I am doing."

"John must come too," she insisted.

"We cannot do that, Delenn. Hurry, please!"

"Not without him."

"Go on, Delenn," Sheridan insisted. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

"John, I..."

He touched her face gently, almost unsure as to what he was doing. "Go,"
he said. He then looked up at the silhouette in the doorway. "If she is
hurt because of this, then so will you be. I promise."

"There is no need to threaten me, StarKiller," Lennann snapped back.
"Delenn..."

"I am coming. I... John..."

"Just go," he told her. I can look after myself."

She touched him gently and then left. Sheridan looked at the now closed
door for a moment, and then he sat down again. It was strange how the cell
seemed to smell so much of her now that she was gone.

And his mind was awash with plans of escape, and of stories of cats and
goks, and visits to temple...

			----------

Ta'lon had never been to Proxima 3 before, and so he had never met Mister
Welles, the man whose official designation was Head of Security and whose
unoffical designation was SpyMaster General. Upon his arrival here a few
hours before, Ta'lon had confirmed had arranged matters with a General
Hague, who had looked very distracted, and hadn't bothered checking
Ta'lon's fake ID - provided by G'Kar.

Welles was considerably more efficient. After verifying Ta'lon's ID with
the central computer at the Main Dome, he had turned to his Security
guards. "Go on," he ordered. "He's fine."

The guards - led by a big man with a deep scar running down one eye -
left. After they were gone, Welles turned to Ta'lon.

"So," he said. "Tell me about Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar."

			----------

Minbari... so proud... so noble... so perfect...

Minbari could project that image of percection as much as they liked, and
some might even believe them, but to Jha'Dur, Minbari were no better than 
her own people. They still had their petty angers, their petty rivalries,
their politicking.

Look at this one. A member of the Grey Council, devoted to Delenn,
inheritor of a proud heritage. And he was content to abandon it all just
for the sake of political power. No, not even that. A return to order, to
a balance that could never hold...

The Minbari were falling. They were a dying race.

"He is in the cell, then?" Jha'Dur asked.

Rathenn nodded. "Delenn was placed there as well. Sinoval ordered as
much."

"What?" That did not make sense. Why put two of your enemies in the same
place when there was no need to? It gave them a chance to plot an escape,
it gave each access to information from the other. It... it was stupid.
"Why?"

"Sinoval clearly believes in some form of redemption, perhaps?" Rathenn
suggested. "It does not matter. Delenn is gone now. Satai Lennann has
assembled a small group of people who will listen to her claims. Sheridan
is alone in his cell, and the guards have been taken care of. I have
ordered them away."

"Good," Jha'Dur said. "Very good. Sinoval is blind, Rathenn, but you...
You see clearly."

"I have no feelings towards the StarKiller either way, and Delenn has
clearly fallen. Whether what Sinoval claims is true or not is irrelevant.
She will never regain her power. Perhaps this way, the religious caste can
get power back from the warriors before they destroy us."

"Perhaps," Jha'dur said, smiling.

"Regardless... I have done as you asked. The StarKiller is yours, although
what you want with him, I do not care to know. You are now in my debt, and
I will demand repayment."

"Of course," Jha'dur replied. "And I will pay you back."

"Yes," he said. "You will." He rose. "Sinoval has sent the Council to
their respective meditations. Foolishness, if you ask me. He is...
unstable, but still... Lennann expects me to be with him, and so I must
go. Remember what I have done for you."

"Oh, I will." He turned to leave, and Jha'Dur acted. Lunging forward with
a speed that not even a Minbari could match she slid a thin needle from
the fingers of her glove, and drove it into Rathenn's neck. He stiffened
and slumped, gasping as he looked at her, unable to breathe, unable to
talk, or to move.

Jha'Dur had been left alone for so much of her time amongst the Minbari.
Time aplenty to develop several interesting strains of poison. This one,
that could kill a Minbari with a mere drop. Others - a paralysing agent, a
poison comprised of pure alcohol, a plague that would be 100% terminal,
modelled after that delightful Markab disease Drafa. Jha'Dur was more than
prepared for any eventuality.

And sooner or late, she would be able to use them all.

"I am repaying your kindness, Satai Rathenn," she said. "You will die
here, rather than later. A quicker death than your companions."

She left before the life fled from his eyes. She had bigger concerns now.

Jha'Dur did not consider herself a Shadow agent. She did not work for them
as did the humans, or some Centauri, or the Drakh, or others... She worked
with the Shadows. An equal partnership. She agreed with their plans for
humanity. She agreed very much.

And now for Sheridan, with whom everything had begun.

			----------

Londo had managed to surface into sobriety just long enough to hear Carn's
report.

"The enemy ships seem to have abandoned this area. They are heading
further towards the head of this system. We are alone for the moment."

Londo swallowed. He really shouldn't have had so much bravari. Had Frallus
12 really been that long ago? "What is the condition of the telepath?"
Somehow, using means that Londo didn't even want to think about, G'Kar had
discovered that telepaths could deter and even stop the Shadow ships. As a
result he had telepaths installed on each of the ships whose captains were
loyal to him. On a Centauri ship, it made little difference, as telepaths
were routinely kept near by by the Captains anyway. One never knew when an
overheard thought might prove handy.

"Weak, but still alive. He's resting at the moment."

"We do not want him burning out on us." Good telepaths were always very
hard to replace.

"No, Uncle Londo. I had worked that out. You're so patronising when you're
drunk, did you know that?"

"Bah! And what would you know about being drunk? I was drowning myself in
bravari before you were even born!"

"My father said that you used to pass out after a few sniffs of the
bravari. You didn't even have to drink any, he said."

"The next time I see your father, remind me to have him lynched, Carn.
What word from our Narn friends?"

"Na'far's telepaths are pretty much out of things. Narn telepaths are much
more... unstable than ours. They've been operating on blind faith for
quite some time."

That was another thing G'Kar had been doing. Somehow - the Great Maker
alone knew the exact details - G'Kar had found a way to create Narn
telepaths. Weak and unstable, true, but telepaths were telepaths. now if
only any of them survived long enough to have children it might have been
worthwhile...

"Well, Uncle? What's the plan?"

"Plan? why am I the one who has to come up with a plan? You're the
Captain!"

"Yes, but you are the one who got me and my ship into this mess in the
first place."

"Carn, may I remind you that I am your uncle and... as... such...
worthy... of... all right what is it?"

Carn's face had grown white. "There are two of the enemy ships. Coming
directly for us."

			---------

Ta'lon started. He would have to learn not to underestimate humans again.
He should have learned that lesson with Sheridan. Humans possessed a
subtlety and a way of thinking that were totally unknown to Narns - whose
politics tended to consist of the Thenta'Makur and a lot of lying.

Some humans were nearly as bad as the Centauri.

"I do not know him," Ta'lon said. "I know of him, certainly..."

"Don't lie to me," Welles snapped angrily. "I'm not an idiot. I know about
a new force being formed, and I have heard G'kar's name far too often to
believe that he is anything but the leader of this force. I wouldn't be
surprised if a Mister Bester was involved as well. Now, as of yet, I
haven't shared this information with the Resistance Government. Let
us say I have a few... doubts about President Clark's motives. To say
nothing about Ambassador Ivanova. Now, can you give me a reason why I
shouldn't tell the President?"

"Ah," Ta'lon said. "How did you know of my involvement?" Ta'lon had never
been much of a politician.

"Your papers were authorised by someone who my agents in the Narn court
have been investigating. And after that, of course, I guessed, and struck
lucky. Well, what can you tell me?"

Ta'lon blinked. He could try to kill Mister Welles, but he doubted that
would be a good idea.  "You are correct. Ha'Cormar'ah G'kar has formed a
small network of agents, designed to maintain order in the galaxy. He
believes that this constant warfare will weaken us all, to no good
purpose."

"I see. Really? A humanitarian, then? Or should it be Narn-itarian? And
what were you doing here?"

"Two of his agents are here. I was sent in to free them, and to watch the
events of the battle."

"Oh? When you next see Ha'Cormar'ah G'kar, tell him that he now owes me a
favour, and unless he wants me to reveal everything I've found, he'd
better pay up. Do you know where to find Miss Alexander and Mister Cole?"

"I... do."

"Then go and do so. And... there is a message for Miss Alexander as well.
If she ever comes back here, I will personally have her executed.
Understood?"

"Perfectly."

"Glad to hear it. Your G'Kar isn't the only one worried about these
Shadows, you know. Good day."

Ta'lon watched as he left. Welles was nothing if not dangerous. Ta'lon
wondered what G'kar would say to this. But any problem with Welles would
have to wait. Ta'lon had a mission to perform for G'Kar, and then a second
mission to perform for Neroon...

The first would be far less painful than the second...

			---------

Sinoval stood alone in his personal chambers, watching the ebb and flow of
the battle from there. The fleet was pulling back slowly, but he had not
as yet ordered a full retreat into hyperspace. Such would be largely
ineffectual against the Shadows and he had not yet raised the courage to
give such an order. He knew he would have to, but to stand in front of the
Grey Council and order his ships to retreat - to make all their deaths 
mean nothing... He was not yet ready.

He sighed and bowed his head, turning to leave.

Jha'Dur was fast, yes, but Sinoval had been a warrior all his life. He was
faster.

He spun around and extended his pike, kept always at his belt. One of
Derhan's fabled nine weapons, it possessed one of the proudest histories
of any weapon, almost as great as that borne by Valen himself.

Jha'Dur fell onto his block and stumled backwards. She scrambled to her
feet.

"How stupid did you take me for?" Sinoval spat. "You were trained well,
yes, by Shakiri and Matokh and even Derhan, but none of them, not even
Derhan, was ever my equal."

Jha'dur extended her own pike, the one Shakiri had given her when the Wind
Swords had given her secrets to the Star Riders. It was a fine weapon, and
thoroughly wasted in the hands  of such a creature. Of course, it had been
wasted in the hands of Shakiri as well.

Jha'Dur sprang forward, but Sinoval blocked and parried her strikes. She
was quite skilled, but he was better. He sent her falling backwards again.

"What a pitiful thing you are," he spat. "A foul, malignant creature.
Almost a tumour. Your race is gone, Jha'Dur. Your time in this galaxy is
at an end. I would have been content to let you live, but now... Now you
will die, and for what? Well, Jha'Dur? For what?"

She smiled, and lunged forward again. Sinoval parried her whirlwind of
blows and waited for the one chink in her defences. Finding it, he lashed
out at her arm and knocked the pike from her grip. It fell, and then he
kicked her, sending her falling backwards, prone at his feet.

Sinoval placed the end of the pike at her throat and knelt down over her.
"Was it worth it? All those dreams of immortality - only to end here?"

She smiled.

It was just a small prick, hardly noticeable, except for her smile.

Sinoval felt his limbs grow leaden. He fell back, tumbling to the ground.
His pike fell, none of his muscles strong enough to let him hold it. His
head struck the floor and jarred. He could not move, not even a little.

"Yes, Sinoval," she said, rising to her feet and retrieving her weapon.
"It was. You've just been touched by one of my very special concoctions. A
paralysing agent. Not fatal, unlike the one I used on poor Rathenn. This
one will only keep you here for a while, out of the way and quiet while I
proceed to destroy everything you hold dear."

Sinoval found he could still talk, but only with great effort. "You...
are... cursed!"

She made a gesture of surprise. "My commendations on your strength,
Sinoval. I would bet your Grey Council isn't as strong. Don't worry. I've
something entirely different in mind for them."

"Why?"

"The humans," she replied. "This is all for their benefit. I'm sure you
remember Sheridan's capture last year? All that effort I went to arranging
it. You always thought I was up to something. Well, I was. I was setting
him up with the Enemy who is even now tearing your fleet apart. I was
setting up all of humanity.

"They destroyed my people. And why? Not for territory or money or power,
but because we were evil. They could never act like we did. We appalled
their sense of morality... Guess what, Sinoval? They will become us. With
the Shadows at their side, humanity will spread chaos and death across the
galaxy, bringing death on a scale that we could only even hope for. And
they will begin with you."

"Wrong," Sinoval said, twitching his lips in a parody of a smile. "Some...
humans... have... honour. You... won't win..."

"Yes. Some humans do have honour. Not unlike Sheridan, I suppose? Even
after all the blandishments of the Shadows, he still wouldn't join them.
I'm prepared for that as well.

"What afflicted you is just a mild poison. A paralysing agent, that's all.
I have far deadlier devices in my arsenal. There's one I have in mind.
It's very slow-acting. A variable incubation period - no more than two or
three years. After which it turns terminal in less than a week. There's
only one cure, and the Shadows have it. I'll infect all those humans who
are too noble, too pure, too enlightened to join my crusade willingly, and
I'll give them the choice. Voluntary slavery to the Shadows - knowing full
well what they've done. Or death."

"They'd... rather... die."

"Oh, Sinoval. Do grow up. Death and I are old friends. They don't call me
DeathWalker for nothing. I've spent all my life avoiding her, and so does
everyone else. Every day every living being fights to stay alive, whatever
the cost, whatever the shame, whatever it takes... It's the strongest urge
of every living being - the urge to survive. They'll accept the cure, no
matter the cost. And so will Sheridan. He will be the first."

"What? When... will you...?"

"When will I start? Sinoval, I told you to grow up. Do you really think
I'd tell you all this if I hadn't started already?

"I infected Sheridan over an hour ago."

To Be Continued....


From: Mr G D Williams <csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk>
Subject: The Other Half of My Soul - Part 6 of 7 [AT] [EV]
Date: Wed, 25 Jun 1997 13:52:34 +0100 (BST)


Nearly there now, people. Just one more part to go until the first phase
of my parallel universe saga is finished. For those who don't know, this
is he latest in my epic parallel universe saga where the Minbari did not
surrender at the Battle of the Line and went on to conquer and destroy
Earth. I would recommend you read the earlier stories, beginning with A
Dark, Distorted Mirror and working your way alone. Most should be
available in the archive.

I will be losing e-mail access this Saturday, and will hopefully be
returning with a new address in the autumn - late September-ish. Anyone
who has any comments to send before Saturday is welcome to do so. Anything
after that should be sent to:

csudi@csv.warwick.ac.uk

from where it will be forwarded onto mein the Autumn.

There are no Spoilers here as such, but I am drawing upon all elements of
the B5 Universe in writing this and people who are not knowledgeable may
be inadvertently Spoiled.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic. I am however not a nice
hopeless romantic, and if you don't believe me by now, then you never
will.

			----------

The Other Half of My Soul - Part 6 of 7 [AT] [EV]
by Gareth Williams, csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk

In Valen's Name....

In Valen's Name, what have I done?

Alone in his quarters, paralysed, trapped with his thoughts and his
memories and his anger, Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan, Shai Alyt of the
holy jyhad, Satai of the Grey Council, Entil'zha, Holy One, waited.

DeathWalker they called her, out in the Non-Aligned Worlds where her name
was still feared and hated and remembered. WarMarshal Jha'Dur of the
Dilgar. DeathWalker. For decades she had been gone, vanished, believed
dead. Sinoval had known otherwise. He, and his predecessors in the Wind
Swords clan had sheltered her, given her free rein to perform her 
sickening experiments and research, benefitting from her insane genius.
And now Sinoval and all of Minbar would fall prey to that very same
genius.

Outside this room and his spaceship, Minbari were fighting and dying
against the Ancient Enemy spoken of in Valen's prophecies. Fighting and
dying. Sinoval had decided to order a retreat. The Enemy were too strong
for them. Only he had been deceived by the enemy within his very
stronghold.

DeathWalker had spoken of her monument, of her legacy. Humanity would
spread terror and death across the galaxy and become the very embodiment
of the race they had destroyed. What a fitting irony. The first stage of
this would be the destruction of the Minbari, the same race who had become
the Dilgar in nearly destroying humanity.

And Sinoval had enabled it all to happen.

His mind was burning with a revelation so intense that it left no room for
sanity, no place for calm or reserve. No emotion could ever convey the
feelings burning within his mind.

In Valen's Name....

*You told me!* he cried out inside his mind. *You told me I had a destiny!
You came to me in a vision and said that I would unite all of Minbar
behind me, take my people to the fullest destiny! Was this the destiny you
spoke of? To destroy them? Is this to be our fate?*

Sinoval cast his mind back many years, to the first time he had stepped
within the Dreaming. He had been at Varmain's side. The legendary warrior
diplomat was dying and she wished one last confirmation that what she had
done had been right. Sinoval had been a hesitant child then, anxious and
concerned, afraid to look up at one so touched by Valen.

"I cannot have a guide who will not look up," Varmain had told him, in
that gently forceful tone of hers, the voice that had humbled amassbadors,
prophets and emperors. "You will be forever bumping into things."

And he had looked up, and what had he seen? An old woman, who limped and
hobbled, whose eyes were dimmed and whose movements were slow. Once
warriors and prophets and rulers had trembled at the sound of her
footsteps. Now she was simply old and frail, and needed his help to walk.

That had been an important realisation. Everyone, no matter how great,
fell in time. No one could be victorious forever. Sinoval had later
learned a saying, from the decadent Centauri. "Let no man be called happy
or great until he be dead." It had fit Varmain perfectly.

They had entered the Dreaming and Varmain had sat down, ushering Sinoval
to sit beside her. She had talked slowly of her past and of her great
deeds, all immortalised in legend. They had relived her childhood and her
love through he images of the Dreaming. At one point she had stopped
breathing and Sinoval turned to her. Her eyes opened and she had smiled.

"So much," she had said. "Valen has blessed me indeed."

And then she died.

Sinoval had not been sure of how to react. Should he leave, call out to
the people who waited in the Whisper Gallery, wait for them to come to
him?

And then he saw Valen. Who else could it be - a glowing figure who looked
at him, sheathed all in light, reaching out an arm. "Minbar's destiny lies
in your hands, Sinoval of the Wind Swords clan," he said. "You will
reunite Minbar, give my people their destiny. Through you, will the
Minbari rule the galaxy."

Sinoval had passed out then, and when he had awoken, days later, he
remembered the vision, and Valen's words, convinced of the rightness of
his destiny. He had thrown himself into his work, training alongside
Derhan, still in the prime of life then, working hide to rise in the ranks
of his clan. When came the war, he was an Alyt. By its end he was Shai
Alyt, one of Branmer's most trusted advisors. After that, he had risen and
risen. Made Satai after Sheridan's assault on the Grey Council over Mars,
he soon became the dominant warrior caste voice after Shakat resigned,
never having recovered from his injuries sustained in the attack over
Mars. Then, with DeathWalker's help, his power grew. People loyal to him,
such as Tryfan and Kalain gained power in the great fleet being massed
against the Enemy, and in the Rangers. After Branmer's death and Neroon's
disappearance, Sinoval was the obvious choice to become the next
Entil'zha. All it took was Delenn's disappearance. After that, the title
of Holy One was easy. Sinoval now walked where no one save Valen had in a
thousand years.

And all it had cost him was his soul.

DeathWalker had damned him, and doomed Minbar.

No. He had damned himself, and doomed Minbar himself.

*In Valen's Name! Was this the destiny I was promised? Is this it?*

*No* said a voice.

Sinoval looked around, as much as DeathWalker's poison would let him.
There was no one in sight.

"Who?" he asked. It took impossible effort to even speak.

*You have a destiny. but your pride has subverted you from it. Learn from
this. Your destiny is not yet confirmed.*

"Valen," Sinoval whispered. "Forgive... me... Valen. I..."

*You must forgive yourself. Learn of your destiny, Sinoval of the Wind
Swords. You must learn.*

Sinoval's body was suddenly bathed in light. Sinoval closed his eyes
tightly and screamed as pain tore through him. His arms jerked outwards,
so that they were thrust out. Hidden nails of light pinned his hands and
feet to the ground.

"Valen..." he cried. "Valen!"

The light faded and Sinoval opened his eyes. He could feel himself again.
Slowly, hesitantly, he staggered to his feet, almost falling as he did so.
"Valen, are you...?" There was no one.

"Isil'zha veni," he whispered.

DeathWalker. Sinoval had to save his people. He had to stop DeathWalker.
he had to order the retreat, before his people were destroyed. He had
to...

Suddenly, he stopped. He still had his pike - one of Derhan's nine blades
- but that did not seem enough. He went to the small table, one of the few
items of furniture in the room, and he picked a small item up from it. It
was a weapon, a human weapon. Sinoval had taken it from Sheridan over a
year ago, the last time Sheridan had been held prisoner on Minbar. Sinoval
thought he knew how to use it.

He picked it up and stuffed it into a pocket in his robe.

"I will not fail you, Valen," he whispered.

"Isil'zha veni."

In Valen's Name...

			----------
 
WarLeader Na'kal of the J'Tok, looked up at the two ships soaring slowly
towards him and the Centauri warship and he closed his eyes. Na'kal was
not a particularly pious man - his mother had been a haphazard follower of
G'Lan, his father had died before Na'kal had emerged from his mother's
pouch. Na'kal did however believe in G'Kar, not as a prophet, or as a holy
figure, but as a man, as one man with a vision. Na'kal did not necessarily
believe in that vision, but he knew the chaos his home planet was in. He
knew, like G'Kar, that the Narns were a dying people unless action could
be taken. Their current war with the Centauri proved that. Na'kal had
fought in the previous war, and he knew just how closely the Narns had
come to being annhiliated and occupied again. But no, no one else believed
that. And now they were making the same mistakes as they had always made.

There was something G'Kar had said during his last speech before the
kHa'Ri, something he had later repeated in private to Na'kal. Freedom
brings responsibility, which is why so many fear it.

For those raised during the occupation, such as G'Kar and Na'kal, freedom
had come at a very high cost. For those who had not, freedom was all they
had ever known.

The Narns were a dying race, and they would stay that way unless G'Kar did
something about it. No one else could.

But perhaps Na'kal could make a difference.

"Captain Mollari," he said over the commlink. "How is your telepath?"

"Only barely conscious," came the reply. "Certainly not able to hold them
off. What about yours?"

"One dead, one near to burn out." Narn telepaths had been created recently
in a private deal between G'Kar and a human telepath. As of yet they were
unstable and low powered.

"Well," Carn Mollari said. "How many of their ships have you taken out?
Just for the bet?"

Na'kal smiled. "Two of their big ships. Five of the smaller ones. You?"

Carn made a gesture of surprise. "The same. Uncle Londo will be
disappointed. If we can't best a Narn, who can we beat?"

"It is not over yet. Remember to toast our memory when you celebrate."

"What? Na'kal, don't..."

Na'kal deactivated the commlink. He looked up at the ships approaching
him. Huge, black, vast against the night in space. Ancient, timeless,
powerful. The symbol of past legends, past nightmares, past fears...

Na'kal closed his eyes, and ordered a full forward charge, activating a
full focussed, forward blast as he did so. The J'Tok could not maintain
such firepower or such speed long, but it would not need to.

The first Shadow ship's energy blast tore into the front of the J'Tok,
destroying everything and everyone on the brige in a blinding flash of
light, but that did not matter.

The J'Tok smashed into the vessel, and exploded. The Shadow ship emitted a
scream that tore throughout the minds of everyone on board the Valerius,
as it died.

Na'kal had won his bet after all.

			-----------

"Valen said that we would reunite with the other half of our soul in a war
against the common enemy. We all know who the Enemy is, and they have
returned. As for the other half of our soul..."

Delenn drew a deep breath and hoped that her wince at the pain in her
chest was not noticeable. She could see that many of those looking at her
were doing so with hatred and suspicion. She was Zha'valen - outcast. By
all rights they should not even be listening to her.

"The other half of our soul are the humans. They share our souls. They
have Minbari souls. Minbari and humans are closely linked. My very
presence here proves as much. I am now partially human. I made this change
to become a bridge between our peoples, a focus point to unite us against
the Enemy.

"We have lost our way. We have all abandoned our covenant with Valen! This
war... it is wrong. We are destroying our own souls, and we are forsaking
Valen's memory and wishes. If we have abandoned him, if we have abandoned
everything that makes us who we are, then what do we have left?"

There was a moment's silence. Delenn could see the bitter, angry gazes
focussed on her. Beside her Lennann shuffled his feet nervously. She knew
that this was dangerous. By Minbari law, no one should speak to her, or
even look at her. But she had to try. She had to make then listen. She had
to make them understand.

"You tell us, Delenn," said a voice she knew and recognised. Callenn, head
of her clan. He had always been so convinced of Minbari purity. She
remembered his reaction when Dukhat had been killed - a fury that rivalled
that of any warrior.

"You tell us what our future holds. Looking like you - becoming like you.
Letting the humans kill us all as they killed Dukhat, and Shakiri, letting
them cripple us as they crippled Shakat and Branmer. I would have thought
that you more than anyone would not be advocating this course. Remember
that it was your whose casting vote began this war."

Delenn remembered. How could she ever forget?

"I remember," she said softly. "And I freely admit it as a mistake. I was
wrong! We were wrong! How far must we go before we admit our mistake? How
many must we kill before we realise we are fighting the wrong enemy? In
how much blood must we all wade before we realise this is wrong?"

"You have been among humans too long, Delenn," Callenn noted. "You have
even begun to speak like them."

"The humans have their own perspective on things. Who is to say that
theirs is any less accurate than our own?"

"Certainly not a traitor. The Grey Council has named you Zha'valen,
Delenn. The Grey Council calls you traitor, anathema. The Grey Council
says that you helped Sheridan StarKiller escape from his imprisonment
before. The Grey Council says that you work with the Enemy, of your own
will. Now perhaps the Grey Council is wrong, but your very appearance
before us, looking like that, speaking those words... that confirms that
it is you who has lost your way, Delenn. It is you who has abandoned our
covenant with Valen. It is you who has betrayed us all.

"I do not hate you, Delenn. You have been corrupted by humans, but the
StarKiller. I simply pity you. You have lost your way. And so, in memory
of what you once were, I do not wish to punish you any more than has
already been done.

"In sorrow, and memory, Delenn."

Callenn inclined his head gently, not making the full Minbari gesture of
departure, and then he left. Slowly, the others began to file out after
him. "No!" Delenn cried. "You must listen! Please, you must listen to me!"

But they did not listen, and they did not care. Only one other person
stopped to look at her before leaving. Delenn recognised him. It was
Ashan, a member of the Third Fane of Chud'mo, and an Acolyte in service to
the Grey Council.

He said one word: "Zha'valen."

And then he left.

Lennann touched Delenn's shoulder gently. "I am sorry, Delenn," he said.
"We tried."

"But we did not try hard enough," she said, her eyes blazing. "We will try
harder."

"Delenn, if your own clan will not listen to you, then who...?"

"The Grey Council. They will listen, if I have to make them listen. This
is wrong, Lennann! This is wrong and I must show them that it is so. I was
the chosen of Dukhat, and I held him when he died. His spirit is in my
eyes. If he could see what his people have become, then he would curse at
us from where he now rests with Valen! I must fulfill his last legacy,
Lennann.

"The Grey Council will listen to me. There is no other alternative."

			----------

David Corwin had seen many things in his life thus far. He had seen life,
he had seen death. He had seen the terrifying sight of Minbari cruisers
bearing down upon the Babylon. He had seen the joy in Susan's eyes
reflected in his own. He had seen the death in her eyes when she had
betrayed them all. He had seen Delenn's first, faltering steps as
partially human. He had seen the Captain's eyes in the second when he had
killed his wife.

David Corwin had seen many things, but nothing had affected him as badly
as the sight of Alisa Beldon  dying on the bridge of the Parmenion,
shaking, trembling, whimpering, exhausted by her ordeals.

Corwin was not a telepath, and he had always looked upon the trait with
mixed feelings when he imagined what it would be like. The wonder of
touching someone's mind compared to the terror of the utterly alien. Alisa
had been experiencing the latter for hours now, jamming and delaying the
vast Shadow vessels, making contact with something so utterly terrifyingly
alien that they nearly paralysed Corwin.

The battle had not gone entirely as planned - the Captain's capture for
one thing - but at least they were still alive, and it looked like Proxima
3 had been saved. From the Minbari at least. Whether they could be saved
from the Shadows was another matter.

Alisa's eyes fluttered and Corwin knelt down beside her. Medical staff had
been called, but Corwin knelt that it was futile. She was dying. She had
drained herself. All for him and the Captain. She was dying because she
trusted him to do the right thing with her life.

*Damn you, Bester!* Corwin thought. *Damn you for making me do this! And
damn the Captain for leaving me and making me the one who had to be here.
Damn all of them!*

"Did I... do... well?" she asked. Corwin nodded, and closed his eyes,
unable to think of anything to say.

One of the techs looked up. "Another Shadow vessel closing, sir."

"Bring us around," Corwin ordered. He rose, but was still looking at
Alisa. She tried to stagger to her feet as well. "Stay and rest," he
ordered.

"Sorry, sir," she whispered, looking up at the viewscreen and the
approaching ship. "I... can't... do... that..."

Corwin saw the ship hesitate. She wasn't strong enough to paralyse it
completely, but it was delayed.

"Hit it!" Corwin shouted. "Break that bloody thing apart!"

Broadsides, forward cannon, all poured at the ship. It shook slightly as
more and more energy rained at it. Before Corwin's eyes, it withered and
died.

It wasn't the only one. As Corwin turned, Alisa collapsed again. This time
she would not get up. Corwin knew as much. He went to her side, and waited
patiently as her last breaths faded. He did not wait long.

Gently, he closed her eyes and looked back up at the viewscreen. Now he
understood what he had never understood before. The Captain's attack on
the Minbari over Mars. Theoretically his attack should never have had the
effect that it did. But he had torn apart a Minbari fleet and crippled the
Grey Council. How? Pure anger. He had been working on a fury so intense,
so strong, that it had been almost tangible.

Corwin felt that strong now. He felt that anger. He felt that fury.

Every instinct was telling him to pull back, to reorganise the ship, to
draw in the StarFuries. It was the logical response, but he didn't care
about logic now.

"Take us forward!" he ordered. "Into the fire."

			-----------

Captain Sheridan was also dwelling on life and death. When he was alone
and in a seemingly difficult situation, he tended to fall into morbidity.
While Delenn had been here, hs mind had been arace with ploys for escape,
or a means to cheer her up. The two had ended up swopping stories to each
other. Sheridan was sure, but he did think that some of her stories put
paid to the old idea that Minbari did not lie.

But now he was alone, surrounded by darkness. His plans for escape were
still germinating, but for the moment had not reached fruition. His
thoughts had moved back to that peculiar incident not long ago.

The door had opened, and Sheridan had half started forward, expecting to
see Delenn there. Instead it had been a figure he had not recognised. The
figure stepped forward an the door closed.

Anticipating an attck, Shridan had tried to prepare himself, but there had
been a sudden and almost impossibly fast thrust to his abdomen and he had
fallen. There had been a light pin prick and a feeling of numbness in his
neck and then he had blacked out. That was it. No words, no gloating,
no... nothing.

Perhaps it had been some sort of drug. Regardless, Sheridan was not
worrying about it now. If he ever got out of this, then he would have to
get it checked out by the doctors on Sanctuary. If he didn't, then it
didn't matter, did it?

He started. the door was opening again. For a small cell, this place was
certainly busy. Sheridan waited for someone to enter, but no one did. "You
may come out, Captain," said a voice. The owner of the voice was speaking
System English, but with a heavy Minbari accent. Sheridan slowly stepped
forward and left the cell.

The transition from the dark cell to the lit corridor had been a little
difficult and he was forced to blink rapidly to order his vision.  He kept
himself close to the doorway in case this was a trick of some kind.

It was not.

The Minbari was wearing a white robe and he bowed slightly when he looked
at Sheridan. "You are free, Captain," the Minbari said. "Holy One Sinoval
has ordered me to free you. If you will follow me, then I will escort you
to a shuttle from where you may go back to your ship."

"What? Why would Sinoval do that?"

"The Holy One does not share his reasonings with me."

"Where is Delenn?"

The Acolyte winced a little. "Where the Zha'valen is, is not my concern,
Captain. You are. If you will..."

"I'm not leaving without Delenn."

The Acolyte made a gesture that, in a human would be taken as a sigh.
"Holy One Sinoval did say that you may take this attitude. I was expecting
her to be here, but as she is not, I do not know where she is. I may
however, know one who does. If you will care to follow me."

"If this is some trap..."

"Are all humans so paranoid? Surely if this were a trap, I could have left
you in there. Oh, Holy One Sinoval told me to give this to you as well."

The Acolyte handed over a small cylinder of metal. Sheridan recognised the
pike Delenn had given him - the one she had taken from the future Susan
aboard Babylon 4, the one that Susan had originally taken from Delenn
during her capture on Minbar. Time paradoxes made his head hurt.

Yes, this was definitely that pike. He extended it. The old blood stains
there were in exactly the same position he remembered. Evidently Susan had
not cleaned them between whenever they were caused and the time Delenn had
taken the weapon back.

"This is a bit dangerous, isn't it?" Sheridan said. "What if I attacked
you with this now?"

"That would not be advisable. Now. If you would follow me. We will see if
we can find the Zha'valen."

			----------

Choking I'm choking pain can't think can't think Marcus choking I'm
choking pain Marcus Marcus... help me choking Marcus help me help me help
me

Lyta Alexander was hovering on the thin border between consciousness and
unconsciousness and the equally thin border between sanity and madness.
All she could see was the dark core of pain burning in the eyes of Susan
Ivanova as she tried to choke Lyta's life from her.

Again Lyta tried to reach her telepathic powers and again she failed. The
sleepers she had been given were too strong. The Vorlon who had helped her
override their control before was gone now. Either gone or not willing to
help her. There was no weapon near enough, Ivanova's Minbari fighting pike
- the very one which had killed Marcus - having rolled out of Lyta's grip.

She was alone, more so than she had ever been before.

Marcus...

Lyta's body shook as she tried, desperately to draw in some breath. A
last, frantic urge to survive, to endure this brutal, pain maddened
assault on her. She had no time to think, no energy to rationalise. She
could only see the woman who had killed the one she loved and who was now
trying to kill her.

Lyta clawed out with her fingers, desperately trying to reach the pike,
hoping beyond hope that it was still within reach.

It wasn't.

Choking I'm choking Marcus help me Marcus you can't be dead Marcus help me

Lyta closed her eyes, willing at last to surrender. She would not be alone
when she died. At least, she hoped she wouldn't be. She hoped that she
would meet up with Marcus again. She hoped that.

Her fingers touched the pike's cold surface and she instinctively wrapped
them around it. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating, but then
she felt it stick to her skin, the tackiness of Marcus' freshly spilled
blood.

Acting almost on instinct, she extended the weapon. She had never wielded
one before. She had never even seen one before, but that hardly mattered.
There were many subtle fighting styles and techniques involved with the
fighting pike, some of which took decades to master. Not even the
legendary Derhan had learned them all.

Lyta didn't care. She wasn't planning on fighting anyone with it.

Lyta manouevred the pike around and brought it up into Ivanova's side. The
Shadow agent started, and loosened her grip on Lyta's neck, allowing the
telepath to breathe at last. Gasping, almost gagging for breath, Lyta
brought the pike up again. The blow was harder this time and Ivanova fell
back. She too seemed breathless and in agony.

Lyta pulled herself up to a kneeling position and looked at Ivanova,
breathing harshly, but her eyes still as dark. Slowly, almost without
realising what she was doing, holding the pike in two hands, Lyta swung it
in a deadly arc.

There was a slow, damp crunch as the weapon struck the side of Ivanova's
head. The Shadow agent slumped to the ground, her body engulfed by spasms
and twitches. Low moans and gasps came from Ivanova's mouth.

Lyta dropped the weapon and slumped to the ground herself. It took her
every effort to remain conscious and to simply breathe. Her side ached,
bruises from her beating by Security Officer Boggs seemed more sore and
painful than before. Her head pounded, both from Ivanova's attack and from
her ordeal in breaking past the sleepers. Lyta was certain that she was
partially concussed. Her vision was swimming.

After a while, she was dimly aware of gentle hands shaking her. *Marcus!*
was her first thought, but then she relived his death, remembering it in
agonisingly slow motion. Then she thought about the Security guards, and
she was gripped by sheer panic. But then... but then...

Her eyes opened almost dreamingly and she found herself staring at the
concerned face of a Narn. His red eyes seemed to peer into her very soul.
Gently, he helped her up to a sitting position. Lyta rested against him
for a moment, allowing herself the hopeless illusion that he was Marcus,
come back to life to be with her. Then reality intruded, as it always did.

"Miss Alexander, my name is Ta'lon," the Narn said. "I have been sent here
to help you and Marcus Cole..."

"He's dead," she whispered. "He's... dead."

"I know. I am sorry I arrived too late. We... we have to go. I have a
shuttle that can take us away from her. Sooner or later people will
discover what you have done here, and then you will be in trouble."

"Why... why come and help me?"

"The one I work for believes you may be a great assistance to him. He has
ben told about your... silent companion."

He meant the Vorlon. She knew he meant the Vorlon. "I don't care," she
whispered. "He couldn't..." Kosh couldn't save Marcus and he wouldn't help
her. She hoped to never hear his voice again. "I..."

"Can you walk?  I can carry you, but..."

"No. I can walk. I just want to..."

Lyta staggered to her feet and moved forward, haltingly and unsteadily,
towards Marcus. She knelt down beside him. He was dead and his face was
marked by the same grief and anger and confusion that had marked his whole
life. Not even in death had he found peace.

"You left me alone," she said, almost accusingly. "You... left... me...
alone... Oh, Marcus!" She began to cry, slow, halting tears. She simply
remained over his body, crying. She couldn't think of anything else to
say, she couldn't think of all the things she should have told him, all
the things they should have done...

It didn't make sense, but then life didn't. All she knew was that she was
alone again.

"I'm ready," Lyta said, as she hobbled from Marcus, throwing the bloodied
pike aside. She never wanted to look at it again. Lyta shot at glance at
Ivanova. Impossibly, the Shadow agent was still alive, but much of her
face was caved in, covered with blood. Her eyes were rolled up into her
skull and she was whimpering softly, trembling and shaking. Lyta walked
away. She didn't... she couldn't... She just wanted to be away from here.

Ta'lon did not need to carry her. She could carry herself. She always had
before and she would have to again.

Outside the door they both ran into General Hague.

			----------

For a thousand years the Grey Council had been leaders of Minbar, the nine
greatest of the Minbari, who led with wisdom and courage and grace. Formed
by Valen at the end of the last Great War, the gathering of nine had ended
centuries of bloody civil warring on Minbar. From them on, no Minbari
would ever kill another. All of Minbar trusted and followed their nine 
leaders who inherited the legacy of Valen.

So where did the Nine fall? The death of Dukhat? The bloody, genocidal war
against the humans? The ascencion of one as proud and as arrogant as
Sinoval to Holy One? The moment when Delenn - perhaps their last hope -
was declared Zha'valen? Or had the Council always been corrupted by
darkness and that darkness had never been evident before?

Regardless of where it began, it ended at the Battle of the Second Line.

It is easy to speak of if only... If only Delenn had gone straight to the
Hall of the Council and not wasted time talking with her clan... if only
Sinoval had killed DeathWalker instead of exiling her... if only Sheridan
had escaped the trap on Vega 7... if only wise Hedronn had spoken up 
against Sinoval's ambition... if only Sinoval had had Sheridan freed a few
moments earlier... if only Dukhat had reacted quicker.... if only Delenn's
casting vote had been different...

Dwelling on the past is largely futile, for it cannot be changed, but
still, that does not stop anyone trying...

When Delenn and Lennann arrived at the Hall of the Council it was to find
the columns of light dead. They slowed and hesitated. There had been no
Acolytes on duty outside the Hall - an event unprecedented. Even when the
Council was absent, the Acolytes were always there. And the Council should
not be absent. Yes, Sinoval had sent them away to meditate, but they had
also been recalled. This was wrong. This was very, very...

Delenn stumbled in the darkness and had to sway to regain her balance. Her
equilibrium was not ideal at the best of times since her change, but this
was no accident. She had tripped over something.

"Lights," she called out. The nine columns of light appeared and Delenn
saw what she had tripped over.

"In Valen's Name," Lennann rasped. Delenn was silent. She could not think
of any words to say to greet the sight of Satai Dulann's body. Her throat
had been crushed. Not far from Satai Dulann was Satai Matokh, a warrior...
And another behind him and another...

Four of the Nine lay in the circle, their bodies twisted and broken.
Almost half of the Grey Council killed. In the centre of the circle was
another, but he was not dead...

Hedronn was kneeling, rasping angry prayers to Valen, prayers that went
unheeded. Beside him was the staff of the Grey Council, the one Sinoval
carried in his position as Holy One, the one he allowed Hedronn to carry
in his absence. The staff was covered in blood.

"Hedronn," Delenn whispered, horrified. She had know him for many cycles.
She had trusted in his wisdom and his clarity of thought. He had been
stubborn, yes, but always wise. To see... this...

"Hedronn." He heard her and turned, and Delenn started. In his eyes...
madness... a pure, intense psychopathic madness. He scooped up the staff
and charged forward, holding it over his head, issuing a roar of anger and
hatred that Delenn could not have thought possible.

Delenn remained transfixed and would doubtless have been killed had not
Lennann acted, pulling her out of the way. Hedronn's charge continued and
he stumbled over Dulann's body, crashing to the floor. He was weeping,
harsh, angry, tragic tears.

"Valen... forgive me... Valen... forgive..."

"Alcohol," said a quietly observant, half mocking voice. "Alcohol. Such a
wonderful substance. Humans turn to it for comfort and as a rite of
passage. Narns pride themselves on their alcoholic drinks, making them
with a precision and love that not even decades of occupation could erase.
The Centauri drink it almost as much as they breathe their air. The
Minbari alone in the entire galaxy react to alcohol in this way. Homicidal
paranoia. Murderous anger. It is refreshing to know that deep down, you
are no better than the humans. Worse even."

"Who?" Lennann asked. "You... you did this. You..."

The figure stepped forward and bowed deeply. "WarMarshal Jha'Dur of the
Dilgar. Some call me DeathWalker."

"Why?" Lennann asked. "Why have you...?"

"The name. They call me DeathWalker. Besides, I am merely fulfilling the
prophecies. Valen said that the Council would be broken, did he not? And
lo, it is broken. Four dead... sorry. Five, if you include poor, dear
Rathenn. Hedronn will doubtless kill himself when the alcohol I gave
him wears off and he realises just what he has done. Sinoval... can wait,
and Kalain will probably be more useful to me alive. Especially when word
reaches him that the Grey Council was killed by a worker."

"Minbari do not kill Minbari," Lennann whispered, horrified.

"That is the saying, is it not? Unfortunately it appears that someone let
a certain Centauri Ambassador know of events here, and word of this will
reach Minbar soon. There is no Valen to help save you this time."

Lennann let out a long, wordless scream and he charged forward.
DeathWalker smiled, and drew her fighting pike. Sinoval was better at the
pike than Deathwalker was, but Sinoval was better than everyone. Lennann
had no weapon. He did not stand a chance.

His body slumped to the floor, sightless eyes staring up into the light.

Delenn backed away slowly and paused beside Matokh's body. He would have a
pike. He always carried his weapon, despite rulings to the contrary. Sure
enough, it was hidden under his robes.

Delenn had been trained well with the pike. Draal had been known to wield
it from time to time, but it was Neroon, the only Minbari alive who could
pose a match to Sinoval, who had taught her the art of wielding such a
weapon. He had even given her his weapon, which had been given to him by
Derhan - one of the fabled nine blades. That weapon was lost now. Sinoval
probably had it. It was tainted anyway, having been wielded in murder by
Susan Ivanova. Matokh's might serve to avenge him.

Deathwalker smiled.

If only....

			----------

General William Hague had also had a high image of himself. A lofty, noble
image. He served Earth and humanity. He had risen high. His record was
impressive. His actions were noble.

He was never certain of where it began. Jealousy of Captain Sheridan, for
doing what Hague could not? Perhaps. Hatred of the Minbari for destroying
Earth, for killing his wife and family? Almost certainly. Fear of what the
Minbari would do when they came to Proxima 3? Yes. God, yes.

He tried rationalising it to himself. What Ivanova had said had been
correct. Lyta Alexander would die anyway without Shadow assistance. She
would probably be executed for treason even if the Minbari didn't destroy
Proxima? What harm was there in letting Ivanova take her? What harm?

Hague could justify it to himself as many times as he liked, but the fact
remained that he knew in his heart that what he had one was wrong. Very,
very wrong. He had betrayed everything he stood for, everything he set
himself up to be. He had come here, down to Ivanova's quarters, not to
stop what was happening, but simply to be here. Simply to... to what?
Perform penance? To listen as Ivanova killed Lyta?

Instead he was staring at the one he had sent to her death. Slowly, Hague
bowed his head, unable to think. He could see Lyta staring at him. She was
still alive then. Maybe... maybe what he had done hadn't mattered then.
Maybe...

"Where... where is Ambassador... Ivanova?" he asked, slowly.

"Inside," Lyta replied. She was bruised, and limping, but she was still
alive. That was good. That was... good.

"Go!" Hague snapped. "I... Go.. Leave here. We're damned. We're all
damned."

He brushed past them and entered Ivanova's quarters. He had a feeling that
they would be leaving. He hoped... he just hoped that... that they would
be... safe. That... they would...

He looked around slowly. Ivanova was curled up into a foetal position,
whimpering and crying out and covered with blood. A man's body lay just
opposite her. It was Marcus Cole, Sheridan's - and later Ivanova's -
bodyguard. And elsewhere there were... two... things...

Hague ropped to his knees. He wanted to cry, but there was no room for
tears, no place for remorse, no time for anguish. There was only one thing
he could do. Only one thing he could do.

He took out his PPG and placed it inside his mouth.

What was one more body in the foundations of Golgotha?

			----------

And elsewhere there was death too. Death stalked the corridors of the Grey
Council's ship. Of the fabled Grey Council, only two lived. Each knew a
little piece of what had happened. Sinoval knew of what Deathwalker was
planning to do, but not how she was planning to do it. And Kalain had seen
the results of what she had done, but not who had done it.

He had seen Hedronn, lying alone in the darkness, surrounded by bodies. He
could see his people outside, dying at the hands of the enemy, needing an
order to retreat that would never come. He could see the Grey Council
reduced to nothing, and his sole thought was one word:

StarKiller.

Kalain had seen the StarKiller's furious assault over Mars and he had been
afraid. His fear had let two members of the Grey Council die before the
guns and bombs of the Babylon. Kalain had seen the StarKiller on Epsilon
3, where they had fought hand to hand. Kalain had nearly won - would have
won if it were not for the interference of that damned Narn. He had
learned the truth about Sheridan StarKiller - that he was just a man. A
man who bled and hurt and died. Kalain's anger turned inwards, focussed on
himself rather than the StarKiller. He made a silent promise to Sinoval,
to Valen and to himself that he would kill the StarKiller.

But now he was too late. The Grey Council was broken and only one man
could be responsible. The StarKiller. In his haste, in his anger, Kalain
missed every clue, and DeathWalker let him, not knowing that if he
succeeded, then her plans would be at threat as well. But she let him be.
Anger was always a useful servant.

And, lo and behold, the StarKiller was not in his cell. Neither was the
Zha'valen whore who had let him escape last time. Kalain forget everything
else that he was and became a simple force of nature, a being who existed
only to kill the StarKiller.

And, soon enough, he did.

Sheridan was with an Acolyte - another traitor to Minbar. Yet another
traitor. Did no one believe in Valen, in the Nine, in the One any more?

Kalain killed the Acolyte first. a blow to the base of the spine and then
a killing strike to the neck.

Sheridan had staggered back, obviously trying to flee. He reached
instinctively for his dishonourable human weapon, which was of course not
there.

Another weapon was. He extended the pike and Kalain's eyes widened. He
reconised the markings. One of Derhan's nine. An Earther... the StarKiller
wielded one of Derhan's nine blades! Sacrilege left no word for it.

Kalain gave a roar of anger and pain and grief and charged forward...
There could be no mercy, and no Narns this time.

			----------

"Report?" Corwin ordered. He was uncovering a hard lesson. Even the
greatest of furies only lasted so long.

"Hull integrity just over 30%. Jump engines down. Left broadsides
exhausted. Right broadsides not far off. Forward and aft batteries off
line."

"Any word from Ben Zayn, from the Narn ship, from Proxima, from anyone?"

"Negative, sir."

Corwin sat back. "Well, I don't suppose anyone gets to live forever, do
you?"

"I wouldn't mind giving it a try," muttered the lieutenant.

Corwin couldn't help but look at Alisa. Medical staff were too busy to
remove her body, and so he left it where it was. Death was no respecter of
dignity. "We all would," he said softly.

"Hold on," barked the lieutenant. "There's a jump gate opening. A lot of
jump gates opening."

Corwin leapt to his feet. "More Minbari?" Even they were preferrable to
those Shadows.

"No. They're... Oh, my God."

"On screen."

Corwin looked at the sight before him. "What do those ships look like to
you, lieutenant?"

"I'm not sure, sir, but if I had to... I'd say they were Vorlon ships."

"I'd say you were right."

To Be Concluded...


From: Mr G D Williams <csrcb@csv.warwick.ac.uk>
Subject: The Other Half of My Soul - part 7 of 7 [AT] [MV]
Date: Fri, 27 Jun 1997 15:53:24 +0100 (BST)


Well, here we are. And so it ends. This is the last installment in the
first phase of my parallel universe saga. This is not the end, however. If
everything goes well, I will be back with more in the Autumn. 

I'd like to say many thanks to everyone who's written it with feedback of
any sort. I've really enjoyed hearing from you all. Anyone with any
comments over the summer should send them to:

csudi@csv.warwick.ac.uk

from where they will be forwarded on in the Autumn.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic. I am however a downright
evil hopeless romantic. And if you don't believe me by now, well... You
never will.

Goodbye all. Have a good summer and enjoy...

			----------

The Other Half of My Soul Part 7 of 7 [AT][MV]
by Gareth Williams

Captain John Sheridan knew all about hatred. He had been immersed too
deeply in that particular emotion for his own comfort. He remembered the
pure hatred he felt after his return, all too late, to Earth after the
Minbari were finished. He remembered transferring that hatred to
rage as he attacked the Minbari over Mars. He remembered the hatred he
felt after his daughter Elizabeth - one of the most shining elements in
his life - had been killed during the bombing of Orion.  He remembered
transferring that hatred to grief and anger, both so profound that he shut
out his wife and left her to collapse into her own private abyss.

Captain John Sheridan had lived with hatred for so long. Recognising the
hatred within the eyes of Satai Kalain was not difficult.

Sheridan and Kalain had met before, on the dying world of Epsilon 3. They
had fought and eventually been pulled apart by the Narn prophet and
visionary G'Kar, who had taken control of the ancient mysteries that lay
within the planet. G'Kar was not here now, and Sheridan did not have his
PPG, just a Minbari fighting pike. A weapon he had little idea how to use.

Sheridan understood little about Minbari culture and myths and the name
Derhan was largely unfamiliar to him. He only knew that the weapon had
once belonged to Satai Delenn, who had been given it in love by the
warrior Neroon. It had been taken from Delenn by the Shadow agent Susan
Ivanova who had wielded it for countless years until two different time
streams had crossed on board the space station Babylon 4. Delenn had taken
it back and given it to Sheridan, exactly as she had been given it by
Neroon.

Kalain did understand Minbari culture and myths, and he recognised a blade
like that when he saw one. Fabled across the whole of the Minbari
Federation, Derhan's last great work before embarking on his solitary
mission to the sea of stars, the nine blades had been given to those
he deemed most suitable. Sinoval, current Holy One, had received one, as
had the great Shai Alyt Branmer and his aide - and Derhan's pupil -
Neroon. Some had been lost since Derhan had made them, but enough remained
of his legacy.

It said a lot that such a weapon was wielded by a human, one who had done
more to threaten the Minbari race than any other, one the Minbari gave the
name StarKiller.

Kalain struck forward, aiming fast blows at Sheridan's midriff and legs.
Sheridan parried them awkwardly and stepped back. He still did not know
exactly what he was doing, but how much could there be to it, he thought.
Long heavy object. Your opponent. Hit the one with the other. There.
Sounded simple enough.

Except that your opponent tended to try and stop you hitting him with the
long, heavy object. After that it was a bit of a mystery. Hopefully,
Sheridan would get another go.

Kalain rushed in for another attack. Sheridan managed to parry the first
few blows and step out of the reach of the others. He even managed to
attempt a vague and weak counter attack, easily parried by Kalain.

Pike crashed against pike, Kalain not letting up, driven by his hatred and
his fury and his shame. Once before, over Mars, he had cowered before the
StarKiller's approach and the Grey Council, who he had been set to guard,
they had paid the price. He would not let himself be so dishonoured again,
even if he had to commit a greater dishonour to do so.

Pike against pike. Charge against careful retreat. Blood against blood.

Blood calls out for blood.

For the Black Star, for Shakiri and Shakat and Nur. For the Emphili and
the Dogato. For Draal and for all of those who had fallen beneath
Sheridan's hand...

Blood calls out for blood. Kalain's called out for Sheridan's.

Valen had prophecied that the Minbari would unite with the other half of
their soul in a war against the common enemy. No one could have suspected
that the other half of their souls would be the humans who were even now
locked in combat with the Minbari, or that the two were uniting in blood,
destroying each other in hatred and death.

Kalain did not care. Neither did Sheridan.

Neither cared about anything except for victory.... and death.

			----------

There was death aplenty in the ship of the Grey Council at the Battle of
the Second Line. The Grey Council, which had stood for a millennium as
keepers of Valen's prophecies, wisdom and legacy... the Grey Council was
dead. Six of the Nine lay dead. Rathenn and Lennann of the religious caste
killed by the being known as DeathWalker. Four others were slain by one of
their own - Hedronn of the workers - driven insane by alcohol given him by
DeathWalker. Hedronn himself was bordering between sanity and madness,
unable to comprehend what he had done, unable to understand the enormity
of what he had been driven to do. Their leader, Sinoval was missing, and
Kalain was in battle with the StarKiller.

The Hall of the Grey Council was now occupied only by the dead, and by two
who should be dead. There was WarMarshal Jha'dur of the Dilgar,
DeathWalker, who lived only by virtue of her immortality serum, her life
bought at the deaths of countless others. And there was Delenn, formerly
of the Grey Council, now named Zha'valen by that very Council. Considered
dead to her people, none of whom could speak to her, speak her name, look
at her...

Minbar had fallen, its leaders dead, its fleet destroyed, its confidence
broken. Outside the Minbari fleet and the Rangers were fighting and dying,
not having been given the order to retreat because there were none to give
that order. Under Deathwalker's influence, the fleet would be destroyed.
Delenn could not give that order.

The two were fighting then, not for any concrete benefit, but because they
had stepped too far for them not to fight. Delenn was maddened by the
death all around her, gripped by a terrible, terrible sadness, maddened by
the changes in her body that she neither comprehended nor recognised. She
was acting from pure willpower, pure determination not to let the deaths
of Lennann and Rathenn and all the Council go unnoted and unremarked.

Jha'Dur... she was fighting because it was all she knew. From birth she
had been taught that the Dilgar were the superior people. Blessed with
greater intelligence, greater strength, greater genius than all the other
races, it was only natural to exploit them, to use them for the good of
her people. Last of her race, Jha'dur was determined not to let them go
unnoted and unremarked. Humanity would be her monument to the Dilgar. She
had set them on the right path and the countless deaths of Minbari here at
the Second Line, they would be the foundation that would take humanity to
depths of terror and death that not even the Dilgar had reached.

Jha'dur and Delenn were nowhere near as unevenly matched as Sheridan and
Kalain. Both had been trained well. Delenn by her love Neroon, Jha'Dur by
the greatest warriors in the Wind Swords clan. Both knew how to wield the
weapon, but Jha'Dur revelled in death. She was fit and competent and
unafraid. Delenn was still a stranger in her own body, uncertain and
hesitant. She had just seen friends die at the hands of one of their
number.

Delenn stumbled over Matohk's body and it took her a moment to right
herself. While she did, DeathWalker simply waited and smiled.

"Why do you do this?" Jha'dur asked. "Why fight? What are you fighting
for? Your people are doomed, dying... your precious Grey Council broken.
You are outcast, Zha'valen... You have nothing to fight for."

"I do," she replied slowly. "I do." Her breathing was harsh. Her ribs hurt
and her muscles ached, and the pain behind her eyes was almost blinding.

"What? Tell me."

"I fight... because it is right... Because... we must never yield, never
give in to the Darkness. When we meekly accept our fall, that is when we
are truly lost. There must always be hope. Without it we are nothing."

"I once heard something. An old saying. A man without hope is a man
without fear. You cling to your little hopes, aspirations and dreams. They
will never come to pass. You will die here, alone, forgotten and
unremembered. No one will care. No one will..."

She suddenly started and looked up. "What?" She looked around her, a look
of... almost terror on her face. "No," she breathed. "Display!" Around
them the whole display of the battle appeared. delenn could only assume
that DeathWalker had arranged to have it turned off while she killed the
Grey Council. She had gone to great efforts to blame the worker caste for
the tragedy. Such could not be achieved if anyone else knew the truth. 
Delenn did not matter. She would never be believed...

Delenn also looked around. The great Minbari fleet now seemed such a small
thing, hemmed in and surrounded by advancing Shadow ships. She could see a
human ship - the Babylon - attacking the enemy, but even with their help,
the Minbari seemed threatened, outnumbered... lost...

Except that they were not alone any longer.

All around them, jump gates were opening and out were pouring huge mottled
ships, green and red and golden. The Shadows were hesitating, doubtful
about this new enemy. Delenn smiled.

"Vorlons!" Jha'Dur spat. "This isn't right! This isn't by the rules!
This..."

"They are come to help us," Delenn said. "We are not as alone as you might
think."

"And what do you know? You're just a little puppet for them. You had one
once, didn't you? Inside your head. It told you all the right things, set
you on this path..." Jha'dur shook her head. "You know nothing. You really
know nothing at all. I almost pity you."

"You are afraid," Delenn pointed out. "You have seen that your time is
over. We are not as doomed as you say. There is always hope."

"You're deluded! A dreamer, playing with lives as if they're your own
private little toys. You have no idea of what you do."

"And you do?"

"I know life and I know death..."

"And how to twist the one to the other? You know how to destroy happiness
and bring chaos. I pity you. You are insane and you are alone, and what
you have done today proves as much."

"You pity me?" Jha'Dur's smile lengthened. "You? You are just a puppet.
You don't even understand the game. You don't even care. You will continue
to serve them blindly until they decide to have you killed. What is your
saying, the one you prate out so nobly whenever you have to get your hands
stained with blood?

"Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved. You were sacrificed. How
does that make you feel? When you are the victim?"

"I will gladly give my life for the good of my people."

"Of course you would. And why? Because you want the fame, the glory, the
honour of being the noble hero! A martyr! A messiah, even!" Jha'Dur darted
forward and lashed out at Delenn, who parried her blows awkwardly,
stepping back slowly, always watching her feet. "What glory is there now?
What fame? You are Zha'valen - outcast. This is your great sacrifice."

"This is wrong."

"Says you." Jha'Dur delivered a lightning fast blow to Delenn's head.
Although Delenn managed to parry it, the force jarred her whole body. She
swayed back.

"Who are you to say what is right and what is wrong?" Jha'Dur spat. "The
strong live, the weak die. What more is there to life?"

"Then your people must have been weak," Delenn noted. "Since they are all
dead. Or maybe... you are wrong."

Jha'Dur delivered a noise which was almost a snarl. She lunged forward.
Pike clashed against pike...

Blood calls out for blood....

			----------

Sheridan parried a blow aimed at his head as Delenn deflected a strike
from her body. Sheridan took a step forward and forced Kalain to backtrack
just as Delenn caught Jha'Dur off balance and punished her with a blow to
the leg.

Kalain spun one foot and thrust his pike at Sheridan's neck. The
StarKiller dodged and came close, inside Kalain's reach. Sheridan broke
his pike up to strike Kalain's chest. The Minbari ducked back, half 
stumbling, half falling, and he brought his own pike back, holding it
against Sheridan's, their bodies and minds pressing hard against each
other's.

Delenn, her mind lost in training with Neroon, struck forward, knocking
Jha'Dur back. The Dilgar broke her pike up and struck Delenn across the
head. Ears ringing and eyes streaming, Delenn lashed out. She heard the
sound of her pike striking Jha'Dur's and the Dilgar's brief cry of pain.

Sheridan and Kalain pressed hard against each other, locked in a corps a
corps. Kalain was stronger, and fuelled by his angry madness. Sheridan was
fuelled by something altogether different. He brought his knee up hard
into Kalain's stomach. And again. And again. The Minbari jerked and fell.
A well timed kick knocked the pike from his hand, and in a moment, 
Sheridan was kneeling over him, a pike held at his throat.

Delenn had regained the momentum. Her eyes were still bleary, but she
found she could sense where Jha'Dur was better than she had before. She
remembered her last lesson with Neroon, where he had blindfolded her and
told her to fight with her feelings. She had done so, and lost, but only
barely. A blow struck Jha'Dur's side, a second merely pushed her back. It
was the third that knocked her to the ground. Her pike fell from her grip.

"Well?" Kalain said, spitting venom from every syllable. "Kill me. Unarmed
and alone. That is the human way, is it not?"

"Kill me," Jha'Dur said. "I can see that you want to. I can see it burning
at the back of your mind. After what I've done today... I don't deserve to
live, do I? So... kill me!"

Sheridan hesitated, staring deep into Kalain's maddened eyes. Hatred... it
always ran so deep. Sheridan's own hatred had killed his wife. Would
giving in to it here again him any better result in the future?

Delenn hesitated, looking at the being before her. What she said was true.
Jha'Dur did deserve death, and yet she could not grant it. Delenn had
never taken a life with her own hands before, and she could not now.

"You are a coward, StarKiller! Your victory was dishonourable... all your
victories have been dishonourable. But what more could I expect from a
human?"

"You are weak, Zha'valen.. Like all of your people. Weak and petty and
foolish. And dying. You are all doomed now. And whether I live or die...
whether you live or die... none of it will matter."

"No," Sheridan said softly. "No. I won't kill you. It might be the human
way, but it isn't my way. Not any more. Where is Delenn?"

"No," Delenn said softly. "No. I will not kill you. You deserve death,
yes, but you must be made to atone for what you have done... as I have."

"I do not believe you, StarKiller, and I do not know that name."

"I do not think you can kill me, Zha'valen. Prove me wrong."

Sheridan grabbed the collar of Kalain's robe and picked him up. "You will
take me to Delenn! You will take me to the Grey Council! This has gone too
far, and I swear by God, it will stop! Do you hear me? This will stop!"

Kalain blinked and spat back, "It has gone too far to stop, StarKiller.
Far too far."

"We'll see," he replied. "Now, take me to Delenn, or to the Grey Council.
Now!"

Delenn gripped her pike tighter. Jha'Dur was right. Delenn could not kill
her. But, another could...

DeathWalker tried to rise, still smiling. She was still smiling when a
burst of energy tore into her back and threw her forward, leaving her
slumped over the bodies of those she had killed. Sinoval stepped into
view, holding a human weapon. He looked at Delenn and met her gaze, and
then he looked around at the bodies.

"Valen's Name," he whispered. "What... have I...?"

"You should not have killed her," Delenn said softly.

"And what do you know? If I had killed her earlier, this... this would
never have happened." Sinoval raised his eyes and looked around at the
display surrounding them. He could see the pitiful remains of the Minbari
fleet, the Enemy that had destroyed them, and the Vorlons who had come to
their rescue.

"Retreat!" Sinoval ordered. "All Minbari ships, retreat! White Star ships
9, 15 and 27 form a screen. All other ships, retreat! In Valen's Name,
retreat!"

But it was far too little, far too late.

			----------

Tryfan closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer to Valen. In the last
few hours, he had witnessed the mightiest Minbari fleet ever assembled cut
to ruins by the force of the encroaching Shdow vessels. At last the order
to retreat had been given, but it would not be enough. Help had come in
the form of the Vorlons, but it would take them time to get to the front
of the line. Tryfan had to buy his people that time.

Behind him, the Minbari ships were vanishing into hyperspace. What was
left of the Minbari fleet was departing. All they needed was a few minutes
longer to get them away. Then the Vorlons would be here and the Shadows
would flee - unwilling to face their ancient foes just yet.

Tryfan would buy his people that time.

The White Star Nine - named the Valen - flew forward, directly into the
heart of the Shadow forces. Raining fire upon the Enemy, Tryfan of the
Star Riders clan brought the Valen and his crew to their destiny.

The ship was shot down eventually, but not before Tryfan had done enough.
His last sight was of the Vorlons coming into view and of the Shadows
leaving. His last thought was that he had bought his people enough time
after all.

			----------

And thus the Battle of the Second Line ended... the Shadows, having done
what they came for, fled before the arrival of the Vorlon armada. What
compelled the Vorlons to meet their enemies like this, no one was quite
sure, but it had been enough to save the remnants of the Minbari fleet.

The Vorlons left a few moments after the Shadows did. They said nothing,
gave no reason, cast no footprints.

Sinoval, Holy One of the Minbari stood alone in his Hall of the Grey
Council. Delenn and the StarKiller were gone, having taken a flyer back to
their ship. Sinoval had barely noticed their presence. Kalain had arrived
with StarKiller, but then he left, horrified at the dead mounted around
him.

Sinoval was alone, as he always would be, surrounded only by the dead and
the memories of the living.

He closed his eyes.

			---------

Ex-Minister Londo Mollari considered himself luckly to be alive. If it
hadn't been for Na'kal's sacrifice and the arrival of the Vorlons, he
might not be. As it was, he made his way to the bridge of the Valerius,
where his nephew Carn was in command.

"Uncle Londo," Carn said. "You are well?"

"Hungover," Londo complained. "But I have been coping with that for years.
Put me through to Captain Ben Zayn." Carn onliged and Ben Zayn's harsh,
scarred face appeared on the viewscreen.

"Minister Mollari. Come with us to Sanctuary. I'll transmit the relevant
co-ordinates. Well done."

The conversation, such as it was, ended there.

"Well, short and to the point," Londo noted.

"Uncle, would you mind telling me why we are doing this?"

"I told you, Carn. A bet!"

"No, uncle. Really why."

Londo bowed his head. "To win back our people. We are a dying people,
Carn, consumed by our own petty interests. If we are to save the
Centauri, then we must work with G'Kar and his associates. We must risk
our lives... or give our lives, as Na'kal did... for the sake of the 
Centauri."

Carn looked at him for a moment, pensive. "Do you really believe that,
uncle?"

"Of course not!" Londo joked. Carn smiled.

"Well, Sanctuary is as good a place as any, I suppose. Wherever it is."

			----------

Sheidan and Delenn walked onto the Parmenion arm in arm. It seemed as if
they had never been apart since their reunion in the Hall of the Grey
Council. Sheridan had been startled by the number of bodies in the Hall,
but he had focussed his gaze on the two living people there - Delenn and
Sinoval. The Holy One could not meet his gaze, but Delenn could not lose
it. Not a word spoken, the two had left, returning to the Parmenion,
leaving Sinoval alone to the death he had lived with all his life.

"Captain!" Corwin said as the two of them arrived. "I... It's good to see
you, sir. Just in time too. Ko'dath was on the verge of killing half her
squad as punishment for letting the two of you get captured."

Delenn shot Sheridan a nervous gaze, which hs reciprocated. "Well, we'd...
better not let that happen, I suppose. I trust you've been keeping good
care of my ship, Commander."

"Of course! It's still in fine order. Well... almost."

"Have you heard from Ben Zayn?"

"Yes. He's on his way back to Sanctuary. The Minbari got away, the Shadows
are gone, and we thought it was a good idea to follow suit before the
Resistance Government starts wondering just who we are and what we're
doing."

Sheridan nodded. "That might be wise. What about the Babylon?"

"Staying here."

"What? Clark's bound to find out they were fighting against the Shadows
and when he does..."

"I said the same, but Ben Zayn said something like it wasn't my concern
and who am I to question Bester's decisions and so on. I don't know why 
and I'm not up to arguing with Bester. I do not like Psi Cops."

"They're not meant to be liked," Sheridan murmured. "But yes, I definitely
want a word with Mister Bester when we get back."

"I wonder if I did something dreadful as a child," Corwin muttered. "My
mother warned me never to get involved with telepaths. Oh... speaking of
telepaths, we've got someone in MedLab you'll ant to visit. Lyta
Alexander."

"What's she doing here? I thought she was on Proxima trying to find
Mar..." Sheridan paled. "Is Marcus here too?"

Corwin solemnly and sadly shook his head. "There's a Narn here as well...
Ta'lon. He has something he says he has to tell you, Satai."

"Satai no longer," Delenn said softly, still looking at Sheridan. "I am
Zha'valen now. Outcast."

Corwin looked at Sheridan and met his gaze. He noticed Sheridan hold
Delenn just a little bit harder, and he wondered what had happened to the
two of them on that Minbari ship...

			----------

Commander's Personal Log. March 1st, 2259:

"The battle's over, but I feel like it's still going on. And it is. The
Minbari are practically broken now. It'll take them a long time to recover
from this, and the Resistance Government won't give them a long time. I
predict a few months at most before we start taking the war to them...
with the Shadows to help. I don't know... I'm not sure I believe in what
Delenn's been telling us, but then I really don't like where humanity is
going.

"I hear there are celebrations down on Proxima at the moment. Under
different circumstances, I might be down there celebrating as well, but I
can't... All I can think is how much this cost us. Alisa... what it's done
to the Captain... and then there's Marcus, of course. It's funny... I
don't like telepaths, never have, and I've barely said three words to Miss
Alexander before this started, but it's her I feel most sorry for.

"I can't help but have the feeling that she's been affected by this more
than anyone else..."

			----------

"Lyta Alexander," she rasped. "Telepath rating P5, complete with Vorlon
accessories, reporting for duty... Captain."

She was resting back on one of the beds in the small MedLab facility on
the Parmenion. Sheridan was surprised at the amount of bruising that
covered her, particularly her neck. Her eyes almost seemed...
unfocussed... almost vacant.

"You'll have to excuse her," said the doctor on duty. "We've given her a
few drugs to relieve her pain. They make her a little light-headed. She's
been through a lot. Broken ribs, near strangulation, head trauma,
concussion... and I don't know what she did with her telepathic powers but
her brain readings are like nothing I've seen before. I'll have to get a
better reading when we get back to Sanctuary."

"Marcus?" Sheridan asked. He had a feeling he knew the answer.

"Dead," Lyta whispered. "He's... he's..."

"I'm sorry, Captain," the doctor said. "You'll have to come back later.
She needs to rest."

Sheridan nodded slowly and left. As he left he thought he heard a musical
voice in his mind.

"It begins."

			----------

Commander's Personal Log (Continued)

Speaking of telepaths, there's Bester as well. Now him, I really don't
trust. He and Ben Zayn set us up, and the thing is... I still don't know
what he's doing or why he's doing it. Most people are content to have one
private agenda. He has a lot more than one...

I'm not sure about the people he's got working for him either. I mean, I
like Michael Garibaldi... he seems like a good person. I wish I knew why
he's working for Bester. As for Ben Zayn... now there's a face I'd quite
happily never see again. I don't know. Whenever I see him I just think of
the Captain... and how he might turn out like that. Not a pleasant
thought...

Although if the Captain wants to work out a little personal anger on
Bester, who am I to argue with a superior officer?

			----------

"What the Hell game are you playing?"

"Captain Sheridan," Bester said, walking around his desk slowly. "I really
think you're..."

"Just answer the question. You've known about the Shadows all along,
haven't you? This... all of this... It's all to use against them, isn't
it?"

"Who else can fight them, Captain? Oh, the Minbari have their Rangers, but
they haven't been organised for a long time, and after the battle, they
won't be again. No, someone has to hold the line, so to speak."

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth? Why send me into the middle of a
war zone with no idea of who I was meant to be fighting?"

"You had to choose your own path, Captain. I cannot hold your hand all the
way. We needed to be sure that your loyalties were in the right place. I
must admit I was wrong about you. That does not happen very often,
Captain. Enjoy it while you can."

"We? Oh, of course. Who else can order Narns around? Who else has
Centauri... Narns... everyone working for him?"

"Well done, Captain." Sheridan stared angrily at the corner of the room
where G'Kar appeared. He inclined his head and walked forward, through
Bester's table.

"So, you're working for G'Kar?"

"With G'Kar," Bester corrected him. "I don't work for anybody."

Sheridan shot G'Kar a gaze. "And you trust him?"

"Bester has been most useful to me, Captain. It was through him that I
gained the telepathic DNA I needed to begin creating Narn telepaths again.
It was through him that I gained a second base of operations for my Circle
of Light. Here and Epsilon 3. He has been a great help."

"Yes, and he'll want to be paid back as well."

"Worry about that later," Bester said smugly. "To all things there is a
time, Captain Sheridan. You've done well. We've proved that we can defeat
the Shadows. The Minbari will no longer pose a threat to humanity again,
not with their fleet destroyed and the Grey Council dead. Give us enough
time and we can win this."

"Since when were you a tactician?" Sheridan spat. "You're going to regret
allying yourself with him, G'Kar. Believe me, you will." He stalked
towards the door and then turned. "And next time, come out and tell me
what needs doing. I'm not a child, so don't treat me like one." He left.

Bester looked at the holographic image of G'Kar. "Better the devil you
know?" he asked.

G'Kar shrugged.

			----------

Commander's Personal Log (Continued):

And I suppose I'll have to get to her eventually. Delenn. Sometimes I
think this is all her fault. Before she got here, things were... well, not
normal... but certainly not this bad. I don't know. I'm probably just
blaming her for nothing, but I still don't like her, and I definitely
don't trust her. I've seen the way she looks at the Captain, and the way
he looks at her. I could just be jumping at shadows here... and God knows,
the Captain still hasn't got over Anna yet, but... What if she is using
him?

Susan would laugh and say I'm being paranoid. Well, the old Susan would.
It's funny. But I never was paranoid when she was around. I always felt
safe then. Times change, all right.

I don't know... maybe I am being too hard on Delenn. She did come back
after all, although if what she said is true, then it was probably because
she didn't have any choice. Besides, judging from her expression today,
she got some very bad news earlier. Some very bad news...

			----------

"We were on a mission to a Drazi colony at Zagros 7. G'Kar has a small
base there, using it to funnel information from the Non-Aligned Worlds to
here, and to Epsilon 3. Somehow, Shadow agents had infiltrated the base,
and the Shadows launched a full scale attack.

"Neroon... insisted on helping the people escape. We were almost ready to
leave, when we discovered one life form left inside the complex. Neroon
told me to get those we had helped so far from the colony. I had just
broken orbit when the Shadow craft arrived. The entire complex was
destroyed. Completely. Not even ashes left. I... I never saw his body, but
he must have died. No one could have survived that.

"I... He knew that this might happen someday, and he asked me that if he
ever did die, I would tell you certain things. I know that Ha'Cormar'ah
G'Kar gave you a message from him last year and... he said so many things.
All Neroon wished you to know was that he loved you. That you were the
other - and better - half of his soul. He was a good friend, and his death
was... as you would say... an honourable one. He will be missed.

"I am sorry, Satai Delenn."

Ta'lon rose and pressed his fists against his chest. He could not look at
Delenn's tear stained face as he left.

			----------

Commander's Personal Log: (Continued)

Delenn, I don't know about... but the one person who's surprised me more
than any other is Minister Mollari. Now very little can surprise me about
this any more, but a Centauri here! Working alongside Narns! It's a wonder
they haven't come to blows yet. I haven't seen much of Londo, but I have
met his nephew Carn. An intriguing person, if a little bewildered. From
what I gather he joined the military back when it was still ceremonial,
and didn't actually involve fighting anyone. Well, if he wasn't surprised
by having to fight the Narns, I'll bet he was at the Shadows. They'd
frighten anyone.

As for Londo himself. Well, according to Carn, Londo is a very spiritual
and religious person. This might have worried me, until I remembered what
the Centauri religion consisted of.

I think he'll be fine...

			----------

Londo was drunk, and not just slightly drunk. He was bitter, angry and
depressed drunk. He was also drunk on Narn liquor - which he loathed - the
Valerius having run out of bravari! (And Sanctuary didn't actually have
any civilised drinks.) On the other hand, Londo knew that he would have to
do some major thinking sooner or later, and it would be better to get all
this tedious drinking, passing out and throwing up stuff out of the way
first. Although not necessarily in that order.

G'Kar may have just lost his chief agent on Centauri Prime, but he had 
others. Londo had just received one very disturbing piece of news from
G'Kar, via Vir Cotto. Ambassador Refa had left Minbar and was returning to
Centauri Prime. It appeared that Emperor Marrit had rescinded the various
secret and hush hush charges against Refa, dealing with minor matters
such as treason, murder and having ambition that extended beyond his
patriotism. Londo couldn't imagine Lady Elrisia having anything to with
that. She hated her husband. It must have been Marrit's own idea. Who knew
he actually had a brain, even if it did tend to work in the wrong
direction?

Unfortunately it was the last thing Marrit ever did. It appeared the jhala
he had drunk before going to bed a few nights ago had done horrible things
to his stomach. A tragedy, of course, and the Royal Court was in deep and
very insincere mourning. Lady Elrisia was reportedly quite furious, 
especially that the next heir to the throne - albeit through a
circuititous family tree was none other than Cartagia, who was also
growing delusions of independance. And with her husband returning...
things were not going well for her.

There was someone at the door. Londo roused a little from his stupour.
Surely he would not have to start thinking just yet! "Open!" he barked. "I
am afraid I am a little..." He stopped.

"Hello, Minister. A pleasure to see you again."

"Mister Morden." Londo started sobering up very quickly. "How did you get
here?"

"I have... friends in some very high places."

"Does Mister Bester know that you are here?"

"No. I thought it best to avoid drawing any undue attention to myself."

"And what do you want with me?"

"That's a very dangerous question to ask, Minister, and an even more
dangerous one to answer, but to try... I'm here to help you, Minister.

"I just want to help..."

			----------

Commander's Personal Log: (Continued)

I still haven't quite come to terms with what we've done here. The Captain
and I have been defending Proxima 3 for so long, that I still can't accept
the fact that we'll be working against them. I know that the Shadows are
evil, and I know that President Clark has become corrupt, and the whole
Resistance Government with him, but... there are a lot of innocent people
there.

I think, between them, Clark and Susan and going to turn humanity into
something I don't want to be a part of any longer. I just wish it didn't
have to work out this way.

			----------

"She's alive, and should recover," the doctor said. "Her injuries are not
fatal, although they will keep her incapacitated for a long time and there
may be some mental damage that we can't cure. She'll need to be on life
support for a while, but I expect we'll be able to take her off it in a
week or so."

President Morgan Clark looked at the slumbering body in the adjacent room.
Susan Ivanova was alive. She had done a wonderful thing, freeing humanity
from the shadow under which they had lived for so long. Across Proxima 3,
there were celebrations and partying.

Clark's mind was already at work on plans for the future. His Keeper was
content to let him make them. A little time to rest and recover, maybe
start cannibalising some of the destroyed Minbari ships. They might be
able to find out some details about Minbari technology. After that... it
would be time to take the war to the enemy.

But there were a few problems closer to home to deal with first.

"General Hague is dead, but then his performance of his duties had been
slipping over recent months, anyway," Mister Welles had reported earlier.
"I think we could promote his aide, Major Ryan, and shift any other duties
among myself and General Takashima, but I have heard some reports about
the Babylon's actions during the battle..."

"I know," Clark replied. Welles had known that Clark knew, which was why
he had brought the matter up. "It was a simple misunderstanding, that is
all."

"A simple misunderstanding, Mister President? I hardly think..."

"What you think does not matter, Mister Welles. There will be no
repercussions from General Takashima's... lapse in judgement."

"As you say, Mister President.

"About Ambassador Ivanova..."

"She will be unable to perform her duties for several months at least. Her
associates will be sending a replacement. The new Ambassador will be here
in less than a week. We have nothing to worry about."

Clark knew full well about Takashima's actions during the battle. He also
knew that she was not alone. Where had those two EarthForce ships come
from? And what about the Narn and the Centauri ships? Takashima was a
small piece of a much larger puzzle, and sooner or later, Clark would
trace things back to their source.

For the moment, he was content to wait. He had time.

All the time in the galaxy.

			----------

Commander's Personal Log: (Conclusion)

All in all... I don't know. What we did... It needed to be done, but I
can't shake the feeling that we're a long way from being finished yet.
It's going to be a long war. Too many people have died already, so why
can't I stop thinking that they're going to have a lot of company in the
graveyard before it's over?

And it won't be over for a long time.

			----------

"Delenn?"

"I am sorry, John. I just... I was just... I am sorry."

"That's all right." Sheridan looked at her. It was strange how much she
had become a part of his life recently. He wasn't sure how much she had
come to mean to him, but he did know that some of her actions hurt him.
Before he had been too immersed in the moment - the current actuality of
the problem - to bother, but now... He was winding down. He was lapsing
back into an almost catatonic depression. Now he had time to think...
about Anna... about what he had done and seen... about what she had done.

He paused and looked at her. There was a terrible sadness in her eyes. A
dark and terrible sadness. "I'm sorry, Delenn."

"What for?"

"I'm letting you go. You don't have to stay here any more." She looked at
him. "I... What you did on the Parmenion. I understand it... I understand
why... but... Everyone I care about gets killed. Sooner or late, and most
of the time it's my fault. I'm... setting you free. You can go wherever
you like... Maybe even return home, if there's a place for you any more.
I'll mention this to G'Kar. I'm certain he has agents among the Minbari...
maybe one of them can manage something. I... don't..."

"John? Don't. Please. Don't."

"I'm sorry, Delenn. I.... I just..."

Slowly she rose to her feet and glided towards him, placing her hands on
his chest. "My place... my rightful place is here... with you. I told you
that we were old souls... and I told you that we belong together. I... I
have lost everything I ever thought I had, John. I know how you feel. I
will not leave you. Through fire and darkness, I will not leave you
again."

"Delenn, I..." She was so close, so near to him now. He could feel her
breath on his cheek, see into the beautiful green infinity of her eyes,
see her pain and her loss. She was right. He was the only thing she had
left. What to do when he left her too - to fire or darkness, as surely he
must?

Slowly he inclined his head. She put her arms up around his neck. He had
lost Anna because he hadn't trusted her. She had lost Neroon because their
destinies lay in different directions.

Slowly, hesitantly, their lips met...

Delenn suddenly shook and almost slid from his arms. Sheridan caught her
as she fell. She was shaking, trembling, moaning softly.

He activated his Link. "Sheridan to MedLab! Emergency! Get here now!"

He remembered the diagnosis after her transformation. She had left the
chrysalis prematurely. Her human and Minbari DNA were not properly joined.
Her body chemistry was too unstable. Sooner or later it would kill her.
Sooner or later.

Sheridan held her hand. "Delenn! Delenn!"

She did not answer him...

			----------

"Look at me! Valen, look at me!"

There was no reply. The white mists of the Dreaming swirled all around
Sinoval. This was the first time he had returned here since his vision of
Valen.

"Look at me!"

The Whisper Gallery was silent. There was no guide, no protector. There
was no one.

"Valen!"

All of Minbar was in mourning. The Grey Council dead, only three 
remaining. Hedronn had gone, vanished completely. Sinoval supposed that he
was dead, but that hardly mattered now. The Council had been broken, as
Valen had prophecied long ago.

"Answer me!"

Some of the more extreme members of the warrior caste had taken it upon
themselves to avenge the murder of their representatives on the Council.
Warrior had slain worker. For the first time in a thousand years, Minbari
were killing Minbari. Kalain had returned to his clan's stronghold,
gathering support for his faction. That damned Centauri Ambassador was
gone, returned to his homeworld. Sinoval still owed him a favour, one he
had no intention of repaying.

"Valen! Is this my destiny? Is this what I would do? Break us apart! Be
the leader who led us into the abyss! Answer me!

"VALEN ANSWER ME!"

Sinoval's rage knew no bounds, but all his rage, all his anger and all his
words... they could not get him a reply.

The Dreaming remained silent.

Sinoval stormed from the room and paused outside it, looking around at the
empty Whisper Gallery, and then at the pike he held - one of Derhan's
nine. Slowly he extended it, and then he hurled it contemptuously to the
floor.

Sinoval walked on alone, into the darkness.

---Finis---

Thus ends Phase One of the Story - A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Phase Two -
The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, will hopefully be beginning in
the Autumn with The Cost of Alliances. (Formerly Repaying The Debt) I hope
to see you there.