Chapter 5

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 has 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 was 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.
He 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 Satai 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 held - 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.
He 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 more strongly 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 on 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 half of our soul. They...."
The acolytes returned at his gesture, and roughly led her away. Sinoval heard a noise that sounded very much like a sob.
Delenn now knew what had happened to her, as did 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. He could see it. 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 Matokh 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 further away

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Her breath was 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 nine is still entirely closed off however."
Corwin nodded and then rushed forward. Alisa's legs gave way completely 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 first stepped on to the Babylon, and he had still been 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 Mr. Harriman Gray (P10) - were out of radio contact. Now that might 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 on to 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? At 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. He 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 existed only to kill.
But there were other parts of his mind. One of them remembered the look of betrayal and lost innocence in her 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 at 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 Mr. 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 renowned 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 renaissance. 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 were others aside from Sheridan to gain that sort of renown. 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. Warmaster 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 existence.
Sinoval had inherited her legacy when he had inherited the leadership of the Wind Swords clan after his predecessor had died on the Dralaphi. He 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. He 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 Markab.
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 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, and she was not 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 stopped screaming. Lyta didn't stop her assault, until she realised that she was on her knees, the effort 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 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, now 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, hands closed around her 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 the 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. He 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. He did not try to analyse Sinoval's reasoning in ordering the gradual retreat, but he did know 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 preferable 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, Mr. 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, Mr. 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, Mr. 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, Mr. 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, Mr. President."
"Find her." Clark had tried contacting her quarters, only to receive no answer. "Ask her to come here."
"Yes, Mr. 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 so, 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. These - dark and furious and brimming with madness - they were focussed directly on the back of her 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 revulsion when she realised what it was she had touched. Ivanova's pike, still stained with Marcus' blood.
Her 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 it up, smashing it against the ground again. What little breath Lyta had fled from her body in one huge gasp as her whole body shook.
The pike rolled from her grasp.
Wrong.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Zha'valen."
John stiffened. Delenn clearly noticed his reaction and pulled back 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 Sheridan's mind. He 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 he 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 with 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 were 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 than 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 naturally, 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 was 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. He 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." He 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 least, 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 on to 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 of what he was doing. "Go," he said. Then he 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 for 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 Mr. Welles, the man whose official designation was Head of Security and whose unofficial designation was Spymaster General. Upon his arrival here a few hours before he had arranged matters with a General Hague, who had looked very distracted, and hadn't bothered checking his fake ID - provided by G'Kar.
Welles was considerably more efficient. After verifying the ID with the central computer at the Main Dome, he 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 perfection 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 it."
"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 regain power 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 later, 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 heart of the system. We are alone for the moment."
He swallowed. He really shouldn't have had so much brivare. 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 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 brivare before you were even born!"
"My father said that you used to pass out after a few sniffs of the brivare. 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'Kal'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 Ma'Kur 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 Mr. Bester were 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 whom 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 Mr. 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 Mr. 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. This 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 these 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 Durhan'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 on to his block and stumbled 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 Durhan, but none of them, not even Durhan, 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 scarcely 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."