A Shadow Cast
By White Star 2

	Hyperspace was smooth sailing, more than could be expected for a 
Vorlon ship on its way to Z'ha'dum. The White Star flew, secretly 
battling the toils of hyperspace. Susan Ivanova grabbed the armrests of 
the command chair and adjusted its angle to be face to face with the 
half-Minbari walking toward her. "They say we are ready to enter normal 
space," Delenn said.
	Susan spun the chair again for a view of the back of a leather suit 
and red hair. "You set?"
	"I'll start jamming them as soon as we come out of hyperspace," was 
the reply. "I don't know how long I can hold them off, but I'll do the 
best I can." The best she could do had to be good enough. Lyta had to be 
strong enough, or she wouldn't have volunteered. She couldn't have a 
strong enough deathwish to want to die on Z'ha'dum. She did seem 
different since Kosh died and the new ambassador arrived, but not 
different enough.
	"All right," she said, waving off her last chance to turn back. She 
turned to Lennier behind her. "Take us in."
	"Zin. Di'evu," Lennier said to the crew. Even from her brief study 
of the Minbari language, Susan couldn't understand. She made a note to 
herself to learn some Minbari when they returned. At least knowing 
commands and a few useful lines would help with the White Star's crew. 
She held on as everything was stretched into infinity for a fraction of 
a second. Then they were in normal space, not too far from a red-yellow 
sphere that, for lack of a better description, looked like hell. 
"Scanning all frequencies," Lennier said, waving his hands  over the 
instruments.
	Susan got up and walked toward the Minbari. "Anything?"
	"Nothing I can," an almost unnoticeable pause, "recognize."
	On the other side of the bridge, Delenn approached Lyta from 
behind. "Lyta, are they aware of us yet?" No response. "Lyta? Are they 
aware of us?" Lyta stood, motionless. Her eyelids opened slowly, not 
fluttering. What was behind them was black, shining. Delenn gasped. "Are 
you all right?" she asked, almost silently.
	Lyta didn't respond. She stood, tense. "Hurry!" she said finally. 
Her voice was hollow. "I can feel them."
	"Open the frequency for the captain's link," Susan commanded.
	"They might pick it up," Lennier warned.
	"We'll take that chance." He worked the controls and gave her a 
slight nod. "Ivanova to Sheridan. This is Ivanova to Sheridan. Can you 
receive?" she placed her last bit of hope in those words. Her last bit 
of hope for the Captain, and for herself. "Ivanova to Sheridan. If you 
can receive this, please send us a signal." She paused, turned to 
Lennier. "Keep sending it." She looked toward Lyta and Delenn. Lyta 
stood and stared out the window. Delenn stood next to her, looking more 
worried about the telepath than about the man they came here to look 
for. "Are you getting anything?" she asked, "Can you feel him?"
	Lyta replied immediately, in the same hollow voice. "No."
	Delenn grabbed Lyta's hand. In response, the telepath gasped and 
shuddered. "John," Delenn looked out the window, searching, praying, 
"We're here. Can you hear us? John. Can you hear us? We've come to take 
you home. Send us a word, and we'll hear it. Think of me and we will 
feel it. We will find you." Susan looked at Lennier. He shook his head. 
"Are you there? Can you hear me?"
	Lyta gasped again, grabbing everyone's attention. "They heard us! 
They know we're here." She shuddered. So did Delenn. "The Eye is 
searching for us."
	Susan walked, almost dazed. Something familiar called her name. She 
joined Lyta and Delenn, stared out the window, searching for the Eye.
	"Suzechka," a voice only she could hear said. "Suzechka!"
	*Papa? Is that you?* It couldn't have been. Her father was dead. 
Something touched her mind. Or perhaps her mind touched it. "I've felt 
this before. I've been here before." It called them. All of them. "Did 
you hear that? It knows our names." It spoke to her. It told her things 
she could not put into words. It did then, and it did now. Then, it 
frightened her. She ran. Now, it fascinated her. "Take us down," she 
ordered. "Take us down there."
	The White Star descended, graceful, silent. A hundred feet from the 
ground, she called, "Stop! Hold position here." It spoke to her again, 
spoke in the voice of infinite sadness and infinite pain. It begged her 
to follow, in a voice so lonely one immediately feels compassion toward 
it. She followed. She walked, in the head of a mob of Minbari. The 
docking bay doors opened in front of them, and she reached for an oxygen 
mask. The twenty Minbari of the crew squeezed into the small shuttle, 
and they descended.
	The surface of the planet was filled with pillars and ruins. She 
didn't know where to turn. It spoke again, led her. She stopped for a 
moment to look at a pillar. The writing on it was more alien than 
anything she had ever seen. She wondered what it meant. Lyta and Delenn 
passed her, and several Minbari bumped into her, not even noticing she 
was there. She resumed walking, picking up the pace, and soon was at the 
head of the group again.
	She was led to a door that slid upward, letting the group in. When 
they were all inside, it closed and pressurized. She took off her oxygen 
mask when it told her to, and set it down on a shelf. The rest did the 
same.
	The door in front of them opened, revealing a group of humans, 
waiting just for them. One of them grabbed Susan by the arm. She wanted 
to fight, but it told her it was all right. It told her that, and 
disappeared. She and the human were off. He opened a door and let her 
into a minimally furnished room. He closed the door behind him and 
turned the key.

	Delenn was lead into a room, the door locked behind her. She pulled 
away from her restrainer, putting distance between them. He smiled. "Who 
are you?!" she cried, hoping she was not where she thought she was.
	"That really doesn't matter, now does it?" Her captor responded. 
"We know who you are. But we don't know what you want. And you don't 
know what we want."
	"I do know," she said. "You want chaos, disobedience. You want to 
be rid of the Vorlons." His smile turned into a grin and he chuckled 
slightly. She stopped and glared at him.
	"Their lies are more convincing than we thought. No," he said. "All 
we want is evolution." He paused. "And now we want your help."
	"No!" she screamed. "In Valen's name!"
	He put a hand on her arm. She jerked back. "You are important to 
this struggle. We want you to hear the truth. The truth of what it's all 
about."
	He told her of a time long ago, when forces more powerful than 
anything anyone has ever seen lived here. He told her of how they grew 
tired and bored, and left this little corner of the galaxy. He told her 
that two were ordered to stay behind. He told her of the disagreement 
over how the younger races should evolve. Then he told her about how the 
Vorlons started to cheat.
	"You're lying!" she accused.
	He shrugged. "I'm just giving you the chance to join up with the 
winning side. We're right in this, and you can't stop us. So you can 
join us, or we can make sure you don't get in our way."
	"No!" she cried. "Never! Never!" Tears were rolling down her face, 
and all she could think of was John. "Never."
	He shrugged. "If that's how you'd like it."

	It was as if every thought that had been passing through her mind 
before was dumped on her. She could think clearly again, could think for 
herself. For a moment she thought about attacking the man in front of 
her, but something inside told her it would be a bad idea.
	"Sit down, Commander," he told her. "We need to have a little 
chat." She stood, frozen. "Very well," he said. He looked at her for a 
long moment. Finally, he spoke. "You do know they've all been lying to 
you." A bit of curiosity was creeping into her terror. "Kosh, Delenn, 
even Sheridan. They've all been lying to you."
	The mention of the captain helped anger overcome her terror and 
prompted her to speak. "Sheridan," she said. "Where is he?"
	"He's dead," the man said. It hit Susan like a fist in the stomach, 
just like it had when Vir had told her. She felt her way to the couch 
and took a seat.
	He was dead. Plain and simple. Simple and painful. If he was dead, 
why was she being held here? "What do you want?" she asked.
	He grinned. "That's a much better question. We want you. Your 
help." He looked at her unconvinced face. "Tell me, Commander, do you 
want to know what it's all about? What you're fighting for, what 
Sheridan died for?" She didn't answer. He told her.
	"Suppose," she said when he was done, "Suppose I don't want to work 
for you? What then?"
	He opened his mouth to reply. A high pitched drilling sound cut him 
off. It was accompanied by a scream, a wail. Delenn's voice. It stopped 
a few moments later, leaving Susan staring in horror at the man in front 
of her.
	"What do you want?" he asked. She thought about it. She looked over 
her life, and all she saw was the loss. Her parents, her brother, 
colleagues, friends. She had seen so much death. She wasn't sure she 
could stand to see more.
	"I want the pain to go away," she said, knowing as she said it she 
was giving them one problem that could never be solved.
	"That could be arranged," he replied.
	Susan's mind raced. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know if 
doing this would be betraying the Captain. Or maybe... maybe this was 
what he would have wanted. She doubted it, but in this place, almost 
anything seemed possible.
	Her head jerked, searching for the source of something she thought 
she heard. A few chirps, almost too quiet to be heard over her 
breathing. "Let go," he told her. "Let go of Sheridan. Let go of all of 
them."
	She felt a darkness cloud her mind. It was cold and strange. It 
spoke to her in the voice of infinite loneliness. And it sang her to 
sleep.

	Lyta fought the pain. She could feel them. Shadow creatures. There 
were three of them in the room, one in the corner and two circling her. 
She fought the urge to grab her head and curl up into a ball on the 
floor. She knew what was coming, and cowering would solve nothing. Her 
fate was all over the mind of the grinning man in front of her.
	"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
	"Because you are Vorlon," he replied. "Because you cannot be 
allowed to live after you've seen Z'ha'dum."
	"The Vorlons have seen Z'ha'dum before."
	"They saw what we wanted them to see. Nothing more. But this place 
holds secrets nothing remotely Vorlon should be allowed to know of, and 
to live to tell about."
	"Is that why you killed Sheridan?"
	He paused, unsure of how to reply. "We didn't kill Sheridan," he 
said, finally. "He took his own life, and the life of many of ours, some 
of our best. We just offered him to be a part of the solution instead of 
the problem itself."
	"And now I'm the problem."
	He nodded.
	"Then why am I still here?"
	"You were close to the Vorlons. You have information." The pain 
struck her, three minds trying to probe hers. She fought them, resisted 
with all her strength. "Why are you fighting this?"
	She didn't respond. Her concentration was all on keeping Kosh's 
secrets. The Vorlon homeworld's beauty. The wonders of their ships. The 
feeling of carrying a Vorlon. Things that she would never experience 
again. She didn't care much for the things she now knew about the 
Vorlons, especially what she learned since the new ambassador arrived, 
but she owed it to Kosh's memory.
	"Don't resist us," he said, taking a PPG out of the inside pocket 
of his jacket.
	"You cannot touch me," she said, with the last of her strength. 
"You cannot stop someone who's been touched by Vorlons." She 
concentrated on the creature in the corner, used every Vorlon gift she 
hadn't had time to explore.
	"Watch me," he said. At that moment, the shadow creature fell to 
the ground and her shields broke down. He pulled the trigger.

	"Personal log, Zack Allen. January 15, 2261.
	"We've lost everyone. It's been almost three weeks since the 
Captain fell at Z'ha'dum, Mr. Garibaldi disappeared, and Londo went back 
to Centauri Prime. Thirteen days since Delenn, Lennier, Lyta, and 
Commander Ivanova went after the Captain and disappeared, along with the 
crew of the White Star, and since Vir left to join Londo. Twelve days 
since G'Kar left in search of Mr. Garibaldi, and was not heard from 
since.
	"Franklin is the only member of the command staff left. He's doing 
his best to run both Medlab and the station. He isn't dooing too well. 
He doesn't have enough experience with running the station, or enough 
hands in Medlab. Sometimes I'm afraid he'll go back to the stims.
	"Marcus is staying low. He hasn't been in contact with any of the 
station personnel since the news of Ivanova and Delenn's disappearance 
came out. One of the security officers said he heard that Marcus was 
grieving for the two of them in a Minbari fashion. I'm not sure what 
that means, but I'd rather not tell the Doc. He has enough to worry 
about as it is.
	"The station is a mess. The League is divided. Those who believed 
in Sheridan want to go after him, but they are very few. Most think they 
should learn from Delenn's mistake and stay away from that planet. 
Frankly, I agree with them. We can't afford to lose anyone else.
 	"The Vorlon hasn't shown himself in two weeks. Sometimes I think 
he's afraid of what we'd say, but then again, it's not like he ever 
really cared.
	"Franklin put me in charge of security. He said I earned it, 
working my way up to be Garibaldi's second. I still can't accept the 
chief is gone. He has to be somewhere. We got a new lead on it today, 
and the Doc gave me permission to go investigate. I'm surprised, 
actually. I wouldn't take the chance of losing another officer. But if 
we find the Chief, maybe things will get a little better around here.
	"I'm leaving soon. The convoy is ready to go. With the luck we've 
been having lately, this may be my last entry.
	"Well, that's about all. Cease recording and lock log."

	It felt good to see familiar surroundings again, to walk familiar 
halls. Sheridan glanced back at Lorien, the reason for him being alive. 
He was tall, his face long. He was confident, slow, old and wise. 
Sheridan strolled, nodding to someone once in a while, or noticing a 
pointing finger. He didn't blame them. It wasn't every day that a war 
leader came back from the dead.
	He rounded the corner, wishing he could sprint all the way to his 
destination, not wanting to leave Lorien behind. He was alive again. He 
knew death now. To his surprise, it wasn't as bad as he always thought 
it would be. 
	Zack seemed very happy to see him. Garibaldi was too busy being 
dragged back to medlab. He couldn't wait to see Franklin, Ivanova, 
Marcus, even G'Kar and Londo. But most of all, he wanted to see Delenn. 
He had something very important to ask her, something that would affect 
the rest of both their lives.
	He looked into his office, finding Franklin managing a long term 
relationship with a pile of paperwork. He thought for a moment, then 
chuckled. "Enjoying yourself, Doc?"
	Franklin looked up and laughed. "It's this place. It's definitely 
this place."
	Sheridan walked in. Franklin stood, laughing. "What are you doing 
here?" Sheridan questioned. He'd expect Susan to be here, hip deep in 
bureaucracy.
	"I'm sorry. I was just trying to keep your station from falling 
apart." Sheridan smiled, and they were both silent for a while. "That 
must have been quite a show you put up in the Zocalo."
	"You heard?"
	"By now, who hasn't? It's good to have you back, sir."
	"You know," Sheridan said, glancing at Lorien in the doorway, "If 
everyone knows, I'm surprised Susan and Delenn aren't here."
	Franklin seemed very uneasy all of a sudden. All the happiness that 
came with seeing his commanding officer again disappeared in a flash. 
Sheridan looked at him, questioning. Franklin seemed unsure of what to 
say.
	"What?" Sheridan was becoming impatient.
	"You mean nobody told you?"
	"Told me what?"
	Franklin was silent again. Sheridan's gaze turned almost 
threatening. "Susan, Delenn, Lennier and Lyta took a White Star and went 
to Z'ha'dum after you." He paused. "They didn't come back."
	Sheridan wanted to say something, but didn't know what. He didn't 
even know what happened. Were they shot down, or was it just a freak 
accident in hyperspace? More likely the first. He'd lost too many to the 
Shadows. A wife, a love, and a good, long-time friend. They will pay.
	"We're going to end this war," Sheridan said, addressing no one in 
particular.
	"Yes, we are," Lorien replied. "In good time. And when we do, it 
must not be out of anger, frustration, or revenge. It must be out of 
understanding."
	Franklin didn't seem to understand. Sheridan didn't, either. He 
looked around the office, everything reminding him of Susan and Delenn. 
Not being able to stand it any longer, he stormed out.

	Delenn.
	She was his reason for dying, and his reason for living. He'd died 
for her, she'd died for nothing. He was back. She wasn't. Was it his 
fault? He didn't know, didn't understand. He didn't understand why the 
God he never really believed in, or the universe Delenn had so much 
faith in would do this. Faith manages, she'd always said. But this time, 
it failed him, failed the both of them. He didn't understand.
	Lorien said the war had to be won by understanding, and he knew it 
had to be won quickly before more lives were lost. Perhaps he cared too 
much. Why care about a universe that cared nothing about him? Why 
believe in a supreme being that did nothing for him?
	He didn't want to go on, didn't want to fight. There was enough 
death around him already. If the war had to be won through 
understanding, it could not be won. He felt so lost, so helpless. He 
didn't know why he was fighting. Maybe all those people were meant to 
die. Maybe the war couldn't be won without Delenn. Sebastian had said 
she was the chosen one. Maybe she was irreplaceable to the cause. She 
was certainly irreplaceable to him.
	When he lost Anna, he had thought it could never be worse. He was 
wrong. Maybe it was the length of time it took him to let go of Anna and 
let himself love Delenn. Maybe it was because Delenn was more than "the 
girl his sister set him up with." She was the other half of his soul.
	And maybe it was because this time, she wasn't the only one he 
lost. He hadn't known anyone on the Icarus, but he knew Lennier, and he 
knew Susan. 
	He had known Susan for ten years, on and off. She was a friend, a 
fellow officer, an XO. He'd trusted her enough to promote her, to let 
her in on their secret involvements. She had trusted him enough to tell 
him about her mother and about being a latent telepath. She'd cared 
enough to go to Z'ha'dum after him. She'd cared enough to die. And now 
he, Sheridan the war hero, didn't care enough to do anything about it.
	"You can't turn away from death simply because you're afraid of 
what might happen without you. That's not enough," Lorien had said to 
him on Z'ha'dum. "You're not embracing life. You're fleeing death," Now, 
he didn't want to flee death anymore. He didn't have what to live for, 
only what to die for. The war and the cause didn't matter. Life didn't 
matter. 
	Not anymore.
	The door chime interrupted his thoughts. "Go away," he wanted to 
scream. He didn't. He ordered it to open.
	"Captain," Lorien said, his voice slow and confident. "I have been 
told you have not left this room in two days."
	"That's right," Sheridan forced out.
	Lorien let himself in. "Captain, nothing will be solved by running. 
This war has to be won by understanding, but understanding will not come 
from sulking. Understanding will come from doing."
	"I can't," Sheridan whispered hoarsely. "Not now."
	Lorien paused to think. Or perhaps he just stopped to make his 
words appear important. "Captain," he started. Sheridan could have sworn 
he caught a hint of annoyance in Lorien's words. Could a being so old, 
so wise still be capable of something as petty as annoyance? Sheridan's 
link interrupted him.
	"Captain," a voice came through as he hit the button. "You should 
come down here. We have an arrival. An earth atmospheric shuttle. Came 
out of the jumpgate."
	"I'll be down there in a second," Sheridan replied, almost absent 
mindedly.
	He made his way to C and C, Lorien keeping close step. He walked 
in, not wanting to have to handle an every day problem such as this. A 
commotion stirred up among the officers. He ignored the smiles, the 
adoring glances, and made his way to the console. From behind him came, 
unexpectedly, softly, "You give them hope."
	"False hope," he replied. He looked at the shuttle stats. It was in 
mild condition. Not bad enough to be in danger, but not good enough to 
stay out there. Oxygen was at a minimum. The pilot would begin 
suffocating soon. He opened the com link. "Earth shuttle, you are 
cleared to dock in bay," he glanced at the chart, "bay 13."
	"Thank you, Captain," a voice said. The tone was so strange he 
almost didn't recognize it.
	"Susan?" he said as soon as he realized, a second later, but the 
channel was already terminated.

	It had to be bay 13. Bay 13 and the Vorlon ship. They weren't 
happy. They stirred behind her, two of them. They insisted upon keeping 
in touch with her mind. She couldn't refuse. She had to endure the pain. 
It wasn't as bad as the one they had cured. She silently thanked her 
mother for the curse of telepathy.
	One of them gave her a mental push. She rubbed her temples. "I 
can't," she said. They chirped in disapproval and question. "I can't go 
out there like this. The pain is too great." They retreated slowly, 
reluctantly. "Thank you," she said, and they walked. She could still 
sense them. She could sense them because she had no choice, and because 
they wanted her to, which made it worse.
	She felt an almost paralyzing pain when they walked on. The 
Vorlons. They were sensitive to the Vorlons. And she was sensitive to 
them. They pushed her forward, inch by inch. One went back into her 
mind, effortlessly, painlessly. He reminded her of the cause. He 
reminded her that the Vorlons had to be defeated. He reminded her of the 
pain that could come back, gave her a taste of it, then took it away, 
all of it.
	When they were a fair distance from the ship she stopped again, 
rubbing her temples. She felt better, lighthearted again. She looked 
down at herself before clearing the docking area and entering customs. 
Sheridan recognized her voice, she knew. She couldn't get away now. She 
had to put on the right act. She made sure everything was perfect. One 
slip and she'd be caught.
	She knew how Sheridan's mind worked. Everything had to be too 
realistic or he'd never believe it, not after seeing Z'ha'dum for 
himself. Which raised the question of how he survived. They'd told her 
he was dead. They told her he would not interfere. She wanted to be glad 
he was alive, but couldn't.
	"Remember the cause," she was told, both on Z'ha'dum and here.
	"Always," she answered, to herself and to them. She looked down 
once more, to make sure her appearance was convincing, then stepped out 
of the docking bay, into the chaos of the customs area.

	Sheridan wanted to sprint all the way to the docking bay. Out of 
instinct and after some thought, he chose to wait for Lorien. Lorien was 
his usual self, taking slow, confident steps. Sheridan restrained 
himself from yelling at him to hurry up.
	"Captain," Lorien said, sensing Sheridan's impatience, "There is no 
use in hurrying. We will arrive when we arrive and what will occur will 
occur. There is no use in rushing it."
	Sheridan nodded, still impatient. "Relax, Captain. Nothing will 
disappear while you are on your way."
	"How do you know?"
	"How do you know you will live another day? How do you know your 
heart will not stop beating from one instant to the next? Or that your 
breath will not flee from your lungs, your synapses cease to fire? How 
do you know the planets will not cease to turn, stars will not halt in 
their courses, the universe cease to pulse with energy?"
	Sheridan didn't know how to answer. "I... I don't."
	"But you have faith. Faith that everything will turn out for the 
better. And faith manages."
	Delenn. He was so excited to have Susan back he had almost 
forgotten about Delenn. He didn't know how it was possible or why, but 
there it was. He had forgotten about the biggest loss he ever suffered. 
*No! Not again!* He wanted to forget Anna. Her memory was in his way. 
But not Delenn. He couldn't forget Delenn. He wouldn't be able to live 
with himself if he did.
	He shuddered and bit his lip, holding in the cry he knew was 
coming. Lorien stopped a few paces in front of him and combined long 
fingers, waiting patiently. Maybe he knew. Sheridan doubted it. Doubted 
that he could know, that anyone could know. No one could have felt this 
kind of pain, or this badly. No one could know. No one could understand.
	He remembered Susan, waiting down at the docking bay. If she was 
there, alive, maybe Delenn was too. She had to be. She had a destiny. 
*They* had a destiny. He hoped Susan could tell him Delenn was still 
alive. He did his best to have faith.
	His mind relaxed, his breathing slowed. It had to turn out for the 
better. Otherwise, there will be nothing left. Delenn was alive, 
probably in the shuttle with Susan. He could see her, could see himself 
picking her up and spinning her around, ignoring any glares from the 
crowd. He could see her watching as he went to sleep, spending the third 
night, the last of that silly ritual. He could almost see a ring on her 
finger...
	It was all wishful thinking, he told himself. They were walking 
again. Lorien had nothing more to say. Sheridan was half glad. Deep down 
inside him, a familiar voice he couldn't exactly place rang, mystical, 
musical. *She lives.* He stopped dead in his tracks, looked around. 
Nothing. No one but him and Lorien. He continued walking. The voice 
spoke again. *But not for you.*

	Out of the cold and dark, it spoke to her. It explained secret life 
of circuits, the joy of circulation and cleansing, the elegance of 
neurons firing in perfect harmony. It showed her the sublime beauty of 
itself, a machine, vast, elegant, the upsweep of its bones towering dark 
in the vault of the universe, the subtle shifting patterns on its skin, 
the perfection of its internal pathways, form and function integrated 
into the circuitry of an unbroken loop. It taught her the dizzying 
delight of movement, the grace of flexion, the tight, precise focus of 
the beam, the joy of the war shriek.
	All the systems of the machine would pass through her; she would be 
its heart. She would be the machine. She would keep the systems 
coordinated, keep the complex, multileveled machine operating in synch, 
the beat of the song of its life a march that must never miss a note. 
The skin of the machine would be her skin; its bones and blood her bones 
and blood.
	And yet here, still, she could feel her body, a limp useless thing, 
crude and primitive. Still, it was cold, and longing for touch, longing 
to be enveloped in his touch--John, the one who held her in the dark and 
made her warm. The one she would never see again. He would love the 
machine.
	She loved the machine. It was ageless, mighty, never tiring, never 
slowing. Unified in purpose, efficient in function, it was the perfect 
mechanism. A closed universe. An integrated loop whose life beat out 
again and again. A repeated pattern that would never end. It explained 
the secret life of circuits, the joys of circulation and cleansing, the 
elegance of neurons firing in perfect harmony. It towered dark in the 
vaults of the sky. It was the machine, and the machine was the universe.

	He almost missed her at first glance. He didn't know what he'd 
expected, but certainly not this. Torn uniform, her face dirty, black. 
It looked a little bloody, but through everything else, it was hard to 
be sure. He quickened his pace. She was standing there, looking lost. 
"Susan," he called after her.
	She turned around and smiled at the sound of his voice. She 
maneuvered through the light crowd, pushing her way toward him. She 
looked at Lorien for a moment, then glanced behind her into emptiness. 
"Welcome back, John," she said, smiling. In what was probably the 
largest show of emotion he ever saw from her, she hugged him. He took it 
as a sign. A sign that she was really alive. A sign that something could 
go right.
	He looked at her again. Her uniform was a mess, to say the least. 
The seam was torn at one shoulder, and a large piece of fabric was 
missing from the other arm. The gray triangle on her chest had blots of 
dark red--blood--on it. There was probably not a hair on her head in 
place, and there was a scratch, a small one, right next to her left eye. 
"What happened to you?"
	"We went to Z'ha'dum after you," she said, wiping off the smile.
	"So I've heard. What happened?" She hesitated after that.
	"We were attacked," she said softly. The glances she shot around 
the room told Sheridan this wasn't the best place she had in mind for 
this conversation. He took the hint and they headed out.
	"What happened then?" he asked when they were clear out of customs 
and alone in the corridor.
	She glanced nervously at Lorien, then, "We lost propulsion, 
engines, weapons. We got caught in the planet's gravitational field and 
went down hard."
	He hoped. He let himself be optimistic. "What about Delenn?"
	Susan looked straight ahead, then to the side, away from him. He 
didn't need another hint. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. She 
couldn't be gone.
	"John, I'm sorry, I..." she stopped, as if something invisible and 
inaudible had silenced her. She sighed, rubbing her temples, and 
continued walking.

	As soon as the door slid shut behind him, Sheridan collapsed on the 
couch. He insisted Lorien stay out, and for good reason. He couldn't 
stand to hear one more word out of Lorien's mouth. He may be old and 
wise, but he was not making anything better. A single tear rolled down 
his face. Then another. And another. Before he knew it, they were 
falling like rain, clinging to his lashes, leaving wet trails across his 
cheeks. At first he tried to make them stop, then surrendered to the 
blindness, the helplessness.
	There was nothing left. Nothing for him. He needed her, needed 
Delenn, more than he ever needed anyone before. He knew he had to get 
through this, finish this war, but he couldn't. Not without her. Not 
withou--
	*beepbeep*
	Not now. Not when he couldn't think, couldn't function. He tapped 
his link. "Captain, the ranger you sent out with White Star 6 came back. 
He says he needs to talk to you."
	"Tell him I'll meet him in my office in twenty minutes."
	"Yes sir."
	He washed his face with cold water and waited until the redness in 
his eyes faded a bit. Then he headed out, pondering checking on Susan 
first and letting the ranger wait. She'd survived Z'ha'dum, seen death. 
He didn't know how she was handling it. After telling him about Delenn, 
she'd left as if something was pushing her to go.
	He shrugged and headed for his office. Something in the back of his 
mind told him what the ranger had to say was important.
	When Sheridan arrived, the Ranger was waiting. "Sir," he bowed in a 
Minbari fashion.
	"What is it?" Sheridan asked.
	"This is something you should look at." He fed a data crystal into 
the machine. The screen on the wall flashed to a starmap. "This," he 
pointed, "is sector 70 by 10 by 53." The display moved inward. "This is 
Arkata 7. There used to be a Shadow base there." He paused. "It's not 
there anymore."
	"You mean the base?"
	"No. The planet."
	Sheridan stumbled over his question. "H-How?"
	"We encountered a Vorlon fleet in hyperspace. Some ships were four 
or five miles long. They were in a sort of hidden pocket in hyperspace."
	Sheridan nodded. "Thank you," he said to the ranger. "Can you make 
sure this information gets to Franklin, Ivanova, and Garibaldi?"
	The ranger bowed and left.

	Susan looked around, then looked behind her. The officers in the 
War Room couldn't see them. She couldn't see them, but she could feel 
them. They still insisted on tracking every move she made. Trust was 
something they definitely didn't have.
	Sheridan was at the top level, staring at a starchart as if 
something interesting was set up on it. There was nothing on it but the 
position of solar systems. "Captain, can I talk to you," she said, 
playing with the paper in her hand. A paper they had forced her to 
write. They had probed her mind for any hidden messages, for any hints 
that would help anyone uncover the lies. They didn't trust her, couldn't 
see she had no reason to turn against them.
	"Is it important," he said, eyes fixed on the chart.
	"Yes, but it's a little personal." She eyed the paper again.
	"Can it wait," he said, short tempered, glancing to see Garibaldi 
Franklin and Zack Allen at the table downstairs.
	"I guess, but I'd really rather-"
	"Good," he said, walking down toward the table in the center of the 
lower level. He took a seat. They urged her to go on. Perhaps they 
wanted information more than they wanted to put her out of risk.
	She took her seat between Franklin and Zack. They chirped in 
disapproval. It seemed to her they disapproved of everything she did. 
She tried to ignore their presence, drumming her fingers on the table.
	"You've all seen what I have seen," everyone around the table 
nodded, "So I'll be short and to the point. Michael, we have a security 
problem."
	"Just one?" Garibaldi questioned, mocking. He ignored the glares 
shot at him from the people in the room.
	Sheridan continued, ignoring him. "The new Vorlon ambassador. As 
long as he's here, watching, we can't do what's needed to stop these 
attacks."
	"Which is?"
	"I can't tell you." Susan raised a brow. She hadn't been at the 
strategy meeting. Sheridan had sent her to medlab instead.
	"So you're saying you can't trust me?"
	"No, that is not what I'm saying. We don't know how telepathic the 
Vorlons are. We know they can project thoughts, but how well they can 
read is an open question. Now, if I tell you and he can pick up on your 
thoughts, we've had it. That's why I kept you out of the strategy 
sessions."
	"Okay, what do you want me to do?"
	Sheridan was quick to respond, his voice commanding. "I want the 
Vorlon gone."
	"Fine," Garibaldi's voice was overflowing with sarcasm. "I'll just 
go up to him and ask him to leave. That'll work!"
	"Michael," Susan said, tired. She didn't want to have to listen to 
all of it. She wanted the meeting to be over so that she could talk to 
Sheridan and give him the damn note.
	"It's all right," Sheridan raised his hand off the table. "That's 
exactly what I want you to do." Garibaldi looked at him in shock. "Look, 
he has got to know by now that we are planning to move against him. 
Let's just give him what he expects. Then we can do what we have to do."
	"Which is the part you can't tell me about."
	"Yes."
	"You want me to take a full tactical team?"
	"No. Just a few people you can trust."
	"That's not enough," Garibaldi replied with--fear? Susan was 
surprised. "He'll wipe the floor with us."
	"I know."
	"Okay," Garibaldi's tone was downright disrespectful. He got up. 
"If you want me to go out and die, that's what I'm here for. I'll tell 
you how it goes," he took the eight metal steps to the top level two at 
a time, "assuming he doesn't frag me just for kicks." And he was gone.
	Susan sat back in her chair. "Is it my imagination, or is he 
crankier than usual?"
	"Well, he's been through a lot lately. He just needs a little time 
to settle, that's all." Zack said and followed in the chief's footsteps.
	Sheridan stared at the starchart again. Franklin sat back in his 
chair. Susan waited, curious.
	"Susan, do you remember the weapons crate we confiscated a few 
weeks ago?" She nodded. "Does security still have it?" Another nod. 
"Good. I want you to pull out all the explosives and--"
	"You're going to bomb his quarters?" Susan asked, her voice full of 
surprise and shock. She did her best not to laugh, not to break 
character. Fools.
	The door to the lower level slid open. A tall, bald, gray bearded 
figure walked in. Susan recognized him as the one who had been shadowing 
Sheridan since they both got back. They recognized him, too. They didn't 
like him. They stirred behind her, in the back of her mind. Sheridan 
stood up.
	The figure came closer. His head was elongated, his skin pale. His 
features were elegant, alien. He lowered his head to the Captain, 
slowly, closing his eyes, as if he had all the time in the universe. 
	"They told you?" Sheridan asked.
	"They told me," he replied. His voice was deep and as slow as his 
motion. "Remember, Sheridan," he said, "The Shadows were able to kill 
Kosh because they were alike--both first ones. For you, this will be 
much more difficult. You've never seen a Vorlon enraged. They're more 
powerful then you can imagine."
	"Uh, Captain," Franklin sounded unsure, "What exactly are we 
talking about here?"
	"There are a lot of lives at stake," Sheridan said, his voice 
strong, his words directed to everyone in the War Room. "Millions were 
already lost. If the Vorlon stays, billions more will die. So in case 
this doesn't work, we'll have to take the Vorlon out. Any way we can." 
She didn't understand, probably didn't want to. Franklin was too stunned 
to say anything. Lorien nodded slowly.
	After Franklin and Lorien left, Sheridan turned his attention to 
Susan. "What was it you wanted to say?"
	She picked up the paper. Without hesitation, she handed it to 
Sheridan. He took it. "What is it?" he asked, not even looking down to 
read.
	"I'm resigning," she replied. "Effective immediately."
	He skimmed through the paper, then looked back up at her. "What? 
Why?"
	"It's-" she hesitated, "It's personal." Inside, she wanted to 
laugh, but outside, she managed to keep the look of a confused, hurt 
human.
	"Is it Z'ha'dum?" he asked. "Because if it is, maybe I can--"
	"No," she cut him off. "I'm fine. Really. I just--I don't think I 
can fight anymore. Not after all I've been through." She knew it was 
what he expected her to say. She tried to act as if she was really 
hurting inside. She barely could. She remembered what that much pain 
felt like, but thankfully not well enough.
	Now that she thought about it, she really did want out. She 
couldn't handle the pressure with them there.  Being an industrial spy 
wasn't what she'd signed up for.
	He nodded in understanding, then extended his hand. "It's been an 
honor, Susan." She took it silently, nodded, and said nothing.

	Zack put on the oxygen mask, taking a breath of the canned air to 
test it. Garibaldi opened the pressure door to the alien sector. The 
rest of the team of five followed closely behind them. When they got to 
the door, Garibaldi stopped. He looked around at the team, and his eyes 
stopped on Zack. Zack nodded, then stepped forward and rang the 
doorbell.
	"Ambassador, this is security," Garibaldi said into the speaker. 
"We need to talk to you."
	No reply. Zack looked at the chief. Garibaldi nodded. Zack inserted 
his card into the lock mechanism and the door slid open. Zack went in 
first, the rest of the team following. They lined up, Garibaldi and Zack 
next to the open door. "I got a message from the Captain," Garibaldi 
continued. "Because of your government's recent attacks on the League of 
Non Aligned Worlds, we're asking you to leave at once."
	The Vorlon glared at them. Even through the encounter suit, it 
almost seemed mocking, heedless.
	"Okay. That request just became an order." he loaded his PPG. The 
rest of the team followed his lead. "Come with us. We'll escort you to 
your ship."
	It moved its head, shifted its balance, not in nervousness, but 
almost in boredom. "No."
	Garibaldi looked around. One of the officers, the one standing next 
to Zack, raised his PPG. The iris in the Vorlon's head began to glow. It 
looked at the security officer in blazing orange. The man was thrown 
against the wall. For a second, Garibaldi hesitated, as if, until that 
moment, he had no idea of what they were up against. Then, raising his 
own gun, he yelled, "Fire!"
	A wave of energy bursts shot toward the Vorlon. None of them did 
any good. They seemed to be absorbed in something outside the encounter 
suit. A current buzzed between the two curved spikes on the encounter 
suit. Then another. One shot straight at Zack, sending him to the 
ground. Another hit Garibaldi, his mask breaking.
	"Go!" He motioned to the door. "Go! Go! Go! Get out!" They ran, 
helping each other. Three broken masks came off as soon as the pressure 
door sealed. Three pairs of lungs coughed and gasped for air. Another 
took off his mask and rubbed a shoulder injury.
	"Well," Garibaldi said as soon as his breathing was mostly regular, 
"If they want him to think we're not a threat, that did it." He looked 
at the faces around him. "Hey! Where's Zack?!"

	The door slid shut. He was alone, abandoned. He tried to get up but 
couldn't. His mask was broken, and the stench of methane confirmed the 
suspicion that he was going to run out of oxygen very soon.
	The Vorlon was in the opposite corner of the room. It glided over, 
slowly, patiently. He followed every move it made with his aching eyes. 
It stopped in the center of the room. The head of the encounter suit 
rose, pushed up by an invisible hand. From inside came a creature of 
light. An angel. As more of it came out of the suit it grew and spread 
its wings across the room. 
	Then it began to change.
	Through the broken oxygen mask, Zack managed to find breath to 
scream.

	"Look at him, walking around like that, like nothing happened." The 
Vorlon was standing, looking as cryptic as usual, in a far corner of the 
garden. By the entrance, Sheridan, Garibaldi, and a full tactical team 
were deciding what to do about it.
	Sheridan looked at the team. They were in full tactical gear, while 
he was wearing no protection.
	"Hey, Captain, you sure you want to do that?" Garibaldi asked when 
Sheridan was about to walk across the garden toward the Vorlon.
	"I have to," Sheridan replied. "If he knows anything about what 
happened to Delenn..." he didn't finish. He couldn't.
	"I understand," Garibaldi nodded. "Just be careful. Damn Vorlons 
killed enough people lately."
	"Now, Michael, we have no proof."
	"What proof do you need? Zack went in there with us. Zack didn't 
come out."
	"We don't know what happened to him, and I don't want any rumors 
circulating until the Vorlon is gone."
	"Understood."
	Sheridan crossed the garden in a brisk walk, glancing back once. 
"Ambassador. A word with you?" The Vorlon turned, silently. "I'd like to 
apologize for what happened, and extend an invitation to stay for as 
long as you'd like. However, I would like to ask," the Vorlon's head 
tilted and Sheridan paused. "One of the security officers from the team 
didn't come back. Do you know what happened to him?"
	It shifted its balance. "No."
	Sheridan hesitated for a long while, not knowing how to bring up 
the subject. "About the rescue ship that was sent to Z'ha'dum after me," 
the Vorlon tilted its head. "I need to know if there were any more 
survivors."
	The lights on the translator board flickered. "No."
	He would have wanted a riddle, an incoherent sentence, a metaphor. 
Anything but a straightforward no. "That was quick," he frowned. 
"Shouldn't you check, or make sure? Just because you're a Vorlon doesn't 
mean I'll believe everything you say without proof. Not anymore."
	The lights on the translator board flickered again, but no sound 
came out. "Someone else had to survive. If Susan did--"
	"She is not what she seems," it said and glided out. Sheridan 
frowned again. He chuckled to himself, despite everything. *Well, I 
wanted a riddle.*

	He was going to blow her cover, and she couldn't afford it. They 
said the Vorlons played dirty. How could it know? She could've ignored 
those unreliable sources. The Vorlon couldn't have known, shouldn't have 
known. She didn't want to know how unhappy they would be if it was a 
Vorlon to destroy it all. She couldn't afford to be caught, not yet. Not 
until everything was in place.
	The lock was a problem, one that was solved in about twenty 
seconds. The door slid open. It turned around and looked at her. It 
shifted its balance. It looked at her, as if it knew what was about to 
happen. Knew, and didn't care.
	They appeared, two of them. It was the first time she'd seen them 
since they'd left the ship. They walked in while she stayed at the door.
	They advanced. It didn't bother to retreat. It looked straight at 
her in an odd way. Almost reminded her of Kosh. Almost.
	Cloth burned. The encounter suit broke open. Something came out, 
something so unlike the last time she'd seen a Vorlon that it frightened 
her. It was mad, enraged, horrible. Lorien was right. They were all 
right.
	All she wanted at that moment was to turn around and run. But she 
stayed. She stayed because she had to, and she stayed because a part of 
her wanted to.
	They were superior. The Vorlon never had a chance. They were 
stronger. Just like they had said. They were much stronger. Strong 
enough to win. Strong enough to kill it.
	It was about to end. She could tell, somehow. She couldn't, didn't 
want to watch it end. Maybe because the struggle was beautiful, 
representing the Cause in every way; maybe it was because she didn't 
want to see it die. It couldn't be. It was a Vorlon. It was the enemy. 
She still couldn't watch it die.
	She shut her eyes.

	Just like Kosh. It had died just like Kosh. But, unlike Kosh, it'd 
died at a convenient time.
	"There you go, Captain," was all Garibaldi said. "You wanted it 
dead. I just wish we could've waited a while. Maybe then Zack would 
still be alive." Sheridan, wishing to avoid an argument, and half 
agreeing, nodded. Jut a few minutes ago they had found Zack's body. He 
should've learned by now that Garibaldi's gut instincts were to be 
trusted.
	"I know. I'm sorry." He sighed. "At least now we can move against 
the Vorlons. Lorien said-"
	"Why do you listen to him? Who the hell is he?"
	"What's that supposed to mean?"
	"I don't trust him, captain. He waltzes in here and starts running 
this war, not like we were doing too good before. And without 
questioning, you follow everything he says. Maybe it's just me, but 
something here isn't right."
	"Well, then, it's just you. He saved my life on Z'ha'dum. He's one 
of the First Ones. I trust him."
	"How do you know he's telling the truth?"
	"I just do." Sheridan paused and examined Garibaldi's expression. 
The chief showed nothing but distrust--of Lorien, and of him.
	Garibaldi muttered something and left, leaving Sheridan to wonder.

	Sheridan hadn't expected to find Ivanova in the observation deck. 
He hadn't seen her in a while. Not since she'd resigned. Not since 
everything went straight to hell.
	She was looking out; looking at the same thing he came to look at. 
The fleet surrounding the station, the force for their last stand 
against the Shadows, was all that could be seen through the large window 
of the circular room. Hundreds of ships, all there for one cause. 
Looking at them that way, it almost seemed like they could win.
	"That's a lot of ships," he said, almost to himself. She spun 
around.
	She glanced around her nervously, then nodded. "And to think that 
six months ago half of them were fighting each other," there was 
something in the tone she said it in, something he couldn't quite place.
	"Yeah. It was quite a trip to get all of them to work together." He 
smiled. "And now we're ready to go out there."
	"Go out there and do what?" she questioned. Her voice was more 
demanding than he'd ever heard from her.
	He hesitated. It was a classified military operation. She wasn't 
cleared to hear the details. But she was still Susan Ivanova. There 
wouldn't be any harm in her knowing. "We figured out where the Vorlons 
are going to strike next. We're going to make our stand there."
	"You're going to go up against the Vorlons? Alone?"
	"Not alone, well, not exactly. We'll have as many first ones as we 
can find by then. Lorien said we need to find all of them, but I'm not 
sure we'll be able to." She seemed uncomfortable when he mentioned 
Lorien. Maybe it was just his imagination, his reaction to not being 
comfortable near Lorien himself. He knew he should be. He was, at first, 
but not anymore. "And we want the Shadows there as well."
	She raised a brow. "How do you propose doing that?"
	He could trust her. He could tell her. "Right now, a White Star is 
on its way toward their space. It's carrying a document with information 
about a Vorlon base that will open in the Coriana system. They'll 
probably want to destroy it before it goes online. Somehow, I have the 
feeling they'll show up."
	Susan looked around into emptiness again. Right then, Sheridan 
figured out what was wrong. It all added up. 
	It was Z'ha'dum. Listening to anything about the war effort made 
her uneasy. She denied it, but he had, too. He knew some things were 
different since he came back from Z'ha'dum. They were different for him, 
and they were different for her, whether she admitted it to herself or 
not.
	"Susan, are you sure you're okay?" She nodded. "I know Z'ha'dum did 
horrible things to both of us, but--"
	"Really," she cut him off, "I'm fine." She grinned. Not the sad 
smile he was used to seeing from her, the one that, no matter how happy 
she was, still reflected three decades of pain. This was almost a show 
of smug superiority.
	He stood there, almost stunned. Something *was* wrong, and he 
didn't know what it was, or how to fix it. In his line of work, that was 
somewhere between unacceptable and impossible. He said nothing as she 
turned and left. He just stood there, looking at the huge fleet.

	Sheridan leaned his head on his palm and listened, even though he 
didn't want to hear. The voices were interrupted by static, but still 
came through. "Tactical squadron, Shadow vessals still coming after us." 
He sent them out to die. "Engines damaged. Weapon systems at thirty 
percent." They were good men, they didn't deserve to die. Not like this. 
"Get away while you can! We'll cover you!" 
	There was a pause. Nothing but static. Was it over, he wondered. 
But a voice broke through.
	"Ericcson! This is the White Star Fleet. Can you recieve? We need 
help! Is anyone there?" He shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have 
sent them out there. He didn't have the right. "We can't let them take 
us alive!" And they won't. "En'til'zah veni! In Valen's name!" And there 
was nothing but static.
	Valen--Sinclair--was gone. Delenn, their En'til'zah, was dead. Who 
did they die for? Him? No. They died because of him, not for him.
	He knew he shouldn't ask what their scrifice was for. If they were 
to win at Coriana, billions of lives will be saved. But sending others 
out to die was never easy. And there was never any guarentee that they'd 
win at Coriana.
	He looked up. For only a moment, he was sure he saw Delenn standing 
there, in the doorway. Then she was gone. He blinked as hard as he 
could. She wasn't there.
	Lorien was waiting. Now it was time to go out, into the fire. To 
put himself where he had put others. To win this war himself.

	They were there behind her, like they always were. In the busy 
corridor, they were still there. Hovering in the back of her mind, never 
trusting. And they were at the end of the corridor. The constant 
commotion of customs ahead. Lorien and Sheridan were walking through. 
Slow, confidant. Fools. She was there just in time, they said.
	Just in time for what? What were they thinking? What did they want? 
She had to trust them, even if they didn't trust her. They knew what to 
do, knew what was coming. They were the future. Them and chaos.
	She bent down to tie the nonexisting shoelace, just as they 
instructed. On the way up, she pulled it from its holster, right above 
the ankle. She played with it in her hands for a moment, examined it 
closely. Shiny, cold, destructive. Her Earthforce PPG.
	And before she knew, she was aiming it at Sheridan, as descreetly 
as a weapon could be aimed. She didn't understand why they'd want him 
dead. They said that if he died, another would just rise and take his 
place. But she didn't question them. She didn't dare.
	She did her best to aim with nothing but a narrow margin and with a 
moving target. She almost had Sheridan, but Lorien's tall form kept 
getting in the way. The two guards were occupied. Coincidence? Couldn't 
be. Not with them.
	Sheridan and Lorien were almost to the docking bay. They hurried 
her. She didn't fire. She didn't quite have the ideal aim. Or perhaps it 
was that she couldn't bring herself to shoot the man who's been her 
friend for so long. She feared that all the pain would come back. But 
nontheless she kept her aim.
	Sheridan was almost gone. They were getting impatient. They pushed 
and she yielded. She pulled the trigger. She looked just long enough to 
watch Lorien fall. She wanted to run, from the crime scene and from 
them. She shouldn't sprint out. It would raise suspicion. She blended in 
with the panicking crowd, the dumb animal moving away from the incident, 
providing perfect cover. She moved, not to quick, not to slow. After a 
while she allowed a grin to break.
	She was almost out. Almost away. She broke away from the group, 
slowed down. A strong hand grabbed her wrist. She turned around, just as 
surprised but not half as shocked to see Garibaldi as he was to see her.
	"Susan?"

	Someone screamed and Lorien's tall form crashed to the ground. 
Sheridan was down to his knees at Lorien's side as soon as his brain 
registered what had happened. He examined Lorien's back wound. The flesh 
was torn, but there was no blood. Sheridan wondered if the First One 
even had any.
	Lorien was on his stomach,  face down on the ground. He lifted his 
head slightly and tried to say something. Sheridan took a deep breath, 
then turned Lorien over as gently as he could. The deep hazel eyes 
looked at him sorrowfully. Nothing needed to be said at that moment. 
Both knew what the outcome would be. Sheridan was praying that it was 
not true. "You can't go!" he cried, then bit his lip.
	The First One smiled sadly. For just a moment, he looked just as 
old as he claimed to be. "I must," he said weakly. "It is over." He 
paused as Sheridan looked at him with the frightfulness and helplessness 
of a child. "It is over for me. For you there is still hope."
	"You can't go! You can't leave me here alone, not now! There's 
still so much I don't know--"
	"As it should have been. You were not meant to know. But now you 
must."
	There was a moment of silence. Customs was almost empty. The crowd 
had scattered and only two guards remained. Sheridan's throat was choked 
with tears. "You said I have to understand my way out of this. I can't 
do it alone. I need your help."
	"You must win this war, Sheridan," Lorien's voice was getting 
weaker, barely above a whisper now.  "You are their only hope."
	"I can't. Not alone. Not-" His face bore no expression, but his 
voice begged.
	"You must understand, Sheridan. You must end this war."
	"But I-"
	"Sheridan," Lorien whisprerd. "Understand." For a moment, his eyes 
were deeper. Then, in just a few seconds, billions of years of knowledge 
made their way into Sheridan's brain. Sheridan gasped. Suddenly, he felt 
that he already knew, already understood. Lorien was just there to make 
sure he did not go wrong.
	Then Lorien's eyes were empty.
	Suddenly there was a flash of blue light so bright Sheridan had to 
burry his face in his elbow to aviod being blinded. When he could see 
again, Lorien's body was gone. And he wan't sure he understood anymore.
	He just stayed there for a while, looking at air.

	He looked to his left, then to his right. He grinned and wiggled 
four fatty fingers at the face he loathed. He wanted to jump, cry, 
scream, laugh, dance, pray, and cry, "I won! I won and you lost!" into 
the hated, dead face. He wanted to, but it wasn't appropriate for a 
person of his position.
	A laughter echoed through the halls and rang out in the garden. It 
grew louder, and after a few moments, "Vir! Vir, I have just sent a 
message to the Vorlons, told them what we had done; that there is no 
longer anything here that has been touched by these Shadows." 
	Vir felt the grin slipping from his face. Londo was wrong. No, Vir 
decided. It was wrong to think that way. It couldn't be. They would 
never--"Sent them all the proof they will need. I imagine they will turn 
back now." Vir faught to keep his expression neutral. "Oh, Vir, we have 
done it! We have saved Centauri Prime, as I knew we could." 
	He was wrong. It all made sense, and Londo was wrong. "And now we 
only have to--" Londo stopped and looked at Vir. He took a moment to 
study the expression on Vir's face, and came to the conclusion, as he 
often had, that Vir had a different opinion. "What?"
	Vir hesitated. But it wasn't worth risking the homeworld over 
something like this. "You're wrong," he said, something that most would 
not get away saying to the new Prime Minister. "There's still one thing 
left, something that's been touched by the Shadows, influenced by them."
	"What?" Londo asked. Vir looked down. But this was more important 
than Londo's vision of himself. Homeworld's fate might be riding on 
this. He lifted a finger and pointed at the shocked Prime Minister.
	Just then, the sky darkened. Not at once, but gradualy. Something 
was moving in to cover the sun. Vir and Londo raised their hands to 
shade their eyes as they looked up. A ship. A Vorlon one, no doubt. 
"No!" Londo cried, "Not for me! They would not--they would not do it 
just to get me! They wouldn't know."
	Vir managed to maintain his cool. Everything was at stake, and he 
knew it, but somehow, he didn't have anything to lose. He was a 
murderer, and if he died, he died. As for the others... he wasn't sure 
about the others. He cared about his race, but as much as he knew he 
should, he didn't--couldn't--panic. "You sent them a message. You told 
them that you were here."
	"No," Londo sounded lost, helpless. Then, after a moment, he 
grabbed Vir's shoulders. "You must kill me, Vir, quickly. And then tell 
them, show them that you have done it."
	"Londo, I can't!"
	"No, you must! It's the only way to save Homeworld!"
	"I don't care if it is! Londo, you're asking me to be a murderer a 
second time. I won't do it."
	Londo staggered back a few feet, eyed fixed on where the sun used 
to be and where now was a shadow of their doom. Then, when he looked 
down, his eyes fell on the four armed guards standing, motionless. 
"You," he pointed at one.
	"Prime Minister?" the guard stepped forward.
	"That gun of yours is armed?"
	"Yes, Prime Minister." 
	No, Vir thought, he couldn't do that! "Londo, don't!"
	"I must, Vir. It's the only way." Then he adressed the guard again. 
"I want you to shoot me."
	"Prime Minister, I--"
	"That's an order!"
	The guard took his aim. "May the gods forgive me," he muttered. Vir 
shut his eyes. When he opened them again, the first thing he did was 
instinctive--he rushed to Londo's side. But he was dead. If by no other 
way, that could be determined by the huge wound that must have included 
both hearts.
	"Great Maker," Vir muttered. He pulled himself together as quickly 
as he could, and did as he was told. A line to the Vorlons was not easy 
to get. It took ten minutes that, to him, seemed like eternity.
	He took a deep breath. "Vorlon fleet, my name is Vir Cotto. I am 
speaking for the inhabitants of Centauri Prime. Londo Mollari, the last 
of the Shadow influence on our planet, has been removed. We can provide 
you with evidence. We have nothing left that has been touched by the 
Shadows. Will you withdraw your ships?"
	There was another long silence. Too long. Then a voice that was 
clearly Vorlon came through. "No."

	What did Lorien expect him to do with all this information? 
Billions of years, billions of images, scenes, and thoughts. Just 
sorting it out would take days, even weeks. And in just a few days, 
billions could die. Just as many might have already died.
	But it was fading fast. Soon it would be gone. Soon there would be 
nothing left of Lorien.
	But there was still hope for the people on Coriana. The Vorlons 
weren't the only ones heading there with big guns and hostile intents. 
The shadows were there, too. They should've kept each other busy. Who 
knows. Maybe the people on Coriana were still seeing fireworks and 
shooting stars.
	Maybe, had he died on Z'ha'dum, Lorien would be alive, waiting for 
the true chosen ones. He couldn't have been the one. Perhaps Delenn was. 
Yes, she definitely was. He never doubted it. But she was dead, thanks 
to him.
	Maybe, with Lorien's help, they could've won even now. But Lorien 
took the easy way out. And he left Sheridan with all the work.
 	But it wasn't only having to finish the war on his own. He had come 
to like the old guy. Lorien was more unique than anyone could imagine. 
He was the first. And he was the last. There were no more of his kind 
anywhere in this galaxy. No one to contact. No one to help him mourn.
	A normal funeral wasn't even possible. Every last trace of him was 
gone. No material evidence that he even existed. Death in the highest 
degree.
	The future he saw--Centauri Prime was in flames, and he and Delenn 
were prisoners. But he and Delenn were there. Together. Maybe that's 
what would've happened if he had listened and not gone to Z'ha'dum. But 
he hadn't. He wasn't the type to listen to warnings, and he finally 
payed for it.
	"Go away," he said to whoever it was behind the door, leaning on 
the buzzer. They didn't go away.
	"Captain, it's me," Garibaldi's voice came through. "I need to talk 
to you."
	"Now is not a good time."
	"I don't think this can wait."
	Now what? *Another* something was not right. Only bad news refused 
to go away. "Open," he ordered, and the door slid open.
	Garibaldi looked uneasy. He carried nothing with him. "Lennier sent 
news," he said, standing by the door. He hesitated, which did nothing 
but make Sheridan more nervous. "The Shadows weren't at Coriana when the 
Vorlons arived." Oh, God. "The communication jam cleared an hour ago. 
The planet's gone."
	It couldn't be. What reason would the Shadows have not to show up? 
It seemed as though they took the bait. They had no way of knowing the 
document was a fake. "Is that all?" he asked dryly. Garibaldi's 
expression told him he shouldn't have asked. What *else* could have 
happened? And who's fault was it this time? The Shadows?
	Then he remembered. "Centauri Prime?"
	Garibaldi shook his head. "Gone." Sheridan swallowed. "But that's 
not the important part." Not the important part?! What could be more 
important than the death of nine billion people?! "We--" he paused, "We 
caught the shooter."
	Sheridan sighed. The last thing he needed was to have Lorien's 
death braught up in the conversation. Especially after hearing all this.
	"Michael, this isn't a good time. I know you're perfectly capable 
of taking care of a criminal, whoever they happen to be."
	"Not in this case."
	This did nothing good for Sheridan's temper. Until this moment, he 
was just waiting to explode at someone, but no one gave him the chance. 
"Who's the lucky one to kill an immortal, and then succeed in keeping 
you from doing your job as we both know you are capable of?"
	Garibaldi seemed unaffected by this. He took a deep breath, then 
slowly but clearly enunciated, "Ivanova."
	Sheridan's jaw dropped. She wouldn't. She had no motive.
	"Captain, since this is a special situation, I wasn't sure about 
what to do." Sheridan nodded, mouth still open. "I got her locked up in 
a cell in Blue 3."
	Sheridan closed him mouth. "I want to talk to her." Garibaldi 
nodded. "Now."

	"Captain, are you sure you want to go in there?"
	"As sure as I'll ever be."
	The image on the screen was, at the moment, just as disconcerning 
as the thought of Susan being the one to destroy their only hope. The 
camera inside the holding cell was centered so that it had command over 
the entire cell. Centered on the screen sat Susan. What could he say to 
her? There was nothing he could think of doing, short of strangling 
answers out of her.
	"Just be careful, Captain."
	"Don't worry. I'm just going to--"
	Something chirped. Then another. Sheridan paused in mid sentance, 
his eyes searching the room in panic. "What was that?!"
	"Nothing. The mic in the cell is probably broken. We've been 
getting it every once in a while since we braught her in."
	Sheridan's lips moved, making no sound. Finally, he managed a 
single word: "Shit." Then he sprang for the door.
	"Where are you going?"
	"To finish this war," the captain replied, determined, and left.

	For three hours the captain had paced back and forth at a safe 
distance. For three hours, he'd yelled so much it seemed his throat 
would give out at any moment. For three hours, he had disproved lie 
after lie, but never had enough. 
	For three hours, Garibaldi had sat back and watched. Something was 
going on. There was something Sheridan wasn't telling him, and he didn't 
like it. Not one bit.
	None of this was to his liking. Especially this questioning. 
Sheridan was going nowhere, fast, and purposely. The cold, nonsensical 
answers Ivanova shot back seemed to make him angrier--Not because he 
didn't understand, but because he did. Then, just when it seemed like he 
was about to burst and strike her, he got close, put a hand on the round 
metal table next to which she was sitting, and slid something accross. 
Then, he said something in a voice low enough that through the mics it 
was nothing but a faint murmur.
	He straigntened up and eyed her. "And remember that," he said right 
before leaving.
	Sheridan stormed into the security office. "Cut her loose," he said 
to his security chief.
	"But Captain," Garibaldi protested, "She shot Lorien. She commited 
murder. Regulations state--"
	"Mr. Garibaldi, I know the regulations. And right now, I could tell 
you exactly what to do with them. Now cut her loose or I'll have to do 
it myself, and I assure you, that will not be pleasant for either of us. 
Do I make myself clear?"
	Garibaldi nodded. He didn't like it at all, but he had no choice. 
Right now was not the place or the time. "All right. I just hope you 
know what you're doing."
	"So do I," Sheridan muttered.

	They'd left. She could feel it. The information Sheridan gave them 
hit a nerve. They pulled out of her mind and left. As far as she could 
tell, they weren't even on the station.
	Something was not right. They weren't there. Nothing happened to 
them. They just weren't there. They decided to leave her alone.
	But why? She knew they didn't trust her. Less than a month ago she 
was working for the other side. They probably had no reason to. She 
understood that. But why leave her alone? Something was wrong.
	Something was going on, something they weren't telling her about. 
It was beginning to scare her. She knew they withheld a lot from her all 
the time. She'd learned to live with it. But she never thought they 
would keep anything important from her.
	Maybe they wouldn't stay in her mind so that she wouldn't find out 
something they didn't want her to know. They still had access to her 
mind. She suspected she was being monitored from afar. Somehow the 
thought was almost comforting.
	Something was about to happen, she knew. And when it did, someone 
was going to get hurt.

	Sheridan gazed outside. The light side of Calimna VII was 
magnificent. The only thing more breathtaking than the planet below was 
the fleet. It was the most biggest fleet he has ever seen, and probably 
the last time in his lifetime that so many races will come together and 
send so many ships to be commanded by one person. And now he had the 
honor of being that person.
	He counted races, destroyer types, anything to keep his mind 
occupied. "Not, bad. We still can't win, but it's not bad at all."
	"We can't win?" Marcus asked from behind. He was just coming in 
with a woman in black. Sheridan hoped she was who he thought she was.
	"Against the Vorlons *and* the Shadows? No."
	"So what are we doing here?"
	"Hoping the truth will set us free. Before it kills us." Sheridan 
crossed the bridge in a few large steps and settled in the captain's 
chair. He eyed the newcommer again. She was small and skinny, light 
brown hair in a bun. The look in her eyes was that of determination.
	"Captain, this is Shannon Brown. She's the strongest telepath we 
have signed on. Estimated to be a P12 or above."
	"Estimated?" Sheridan frowned. A human telepath with abilities that 
high would surely be in Psi Corps who would have every detail recorded.
	"I was born and raised on a private explorer ship. Never bothered 
to go register with the Corps. Not exactly my idea of home, sweet home." 
She spoke with a voice that could've easily been that of a night club 
singer.
	Sheridan paused for a moment. "You've had a chance to confront the 
Shadows, correct?"
	"Yep."
	"We'll need you to watch for them. And the Vorlons. Have you ever 
seen one of them?"
	"The big ugly walking curtains? Yeah. Seen one around the station. 
Watch for them, too? No problemo."
	He didn't like her. She was too informal, even for a civillian. And 
she had an attitude problem. But then again, around here, that wasn't 
unusual. She positioned herself just a few feet from the window, looking 
out.
	"Just curious, Captain," Marcus said softly. "How did you get both 
sides to come along?"
	"The Shadows," he paused, trying to find a correct phrasing. "We 
apprehended one of their agents. And set her loose with a message for 
them."
	"Must've been a convincing message."
	"We won't know that until they show up."
	"And the Vorlons?"
	Sheridan smiled. "Let's just say that if we live through this, 
Sheridan Starkiller will owe his life to more than one Minbari." Marcus 
chuckled and moved to man the weapons console. Everything was in place. 
They were as ready to go as they would ever be.
	"Captain?" He looked up. "I think they're coming."
	Sheridan sat and watched as the floodgates of hell opened on both 
sides of them. On one side, the Shadows, on the other, the Vorlons. It 
seemed like ships were never going to stop coming out of hyperspace.
	"They're heading straight for each other," Marcus informed him. 
"It's as if they don't even see us. Or just don't care."
	Sheridan straightened his back and drew a deep breath. "Then let's 
get their attention. Which of our nukes are in that area?"
	"Five, seven, and twelve," Marcus replied after a quick look at his 
console.
	"Transfer piloting control to my station."
	After a moment, "Done."
	He stared out at the two fleets heading toward each other. This had 
to end like Lorien predicted. It was certainly starting like it. 
"Gentlemen, this is your wake up call." He pressed the button. Three 
nukes detonated with the force of 600 megatons in the middle of either 
fleet. It wasn't too long--about 30 seconds--before the ships turned 
their way.
	"Captain?" It was Shannon, still staring out the window.
	"Hmm?" he voiced half mindedly, still watching the ships.
	"They're pissed."

	Something was happening. Susan was sure of it. They were back 
again. They were nervous. And silent. She didn't even feel them. It was 
almost as if they were not there. But once in a while, she reached out 
her mind out to check. They were there.
	She wanted to talk to them, but couldn't. The garden wasn't empty 
enough. She could be heard.
	What could be happening? They had reported what Sheridan said back 
to Z'ha'dum. They'd gotten a reply. Then, for a fraction of a second, 
they had panicked.
	She smiled and nodded to a passerby. The smile was gone as soon as 
he was past. She couldn't take it anymore. She took a deep breath and 
put to use every bit of practice she ever put into telepathy. Not much 
of it--maybe they wouldn't even feel it. Probably. But she had to try. 
*What's going on?!*
	Nothing.
	*You do not wish to know.*
	"Yes, I--" she stopped as a Minbari passed by. *Yes, I do.* She 
felt a cold sweat break out. The effort was almost too much for her. She 
wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer.
	*Very well. If you wish.* They showed her images of their fleet. 
The largest fleet she'd ever seen, and still assembling. And of a Vorlon 
fleet there, also. They were both heading toward Sheridan's fleet. 
Whatever it was they were trying to prevent by killing him was about to 
take place anyhow.
	She wiped the sweat off her forhead, leaving a dark, moist spot on 
her sleeve. *We must join them.*
	She frowned. *Me as well?*
	Silence. *No.*
	Then came the feeling of her brain being pulled out. Softly, at 
first. As soon as it started, she found she knew what was happening. 
They were leaving. And she was disposable, so they were going to leave 
her behind. Then the pain started.
	She grabbed her head and screamed.

	He could try and speak to them, open a frequency, but what use was 
there? They may not even be listening. Anything was better than nothing. 
"Open a comm channel to both fleets."
	He waited until Marcus nodded in affirmation, then spoke. "This is 
Captain John Sheridan to the Shadow and Vorlon fleets. We have invited 
both of your fleets here to deliver a message. Call off your ships and 
we will give it to you."
	He looked at Marcus questioningly. "Nothing."
	"Damn!" He walked over to Ms. Brown. She was their best chance. 
"Could you try and contact them? Tell them we need to talk to them?"
	"By myself? You have got to be kidding!" His eyes found a spot on 
the floor and didn't leave it. "How many others are on this ship?"
	"Huh?"
	"Telepaths. How many others?"
	He thought for a moment. "Fifteen."
	"Then I can try."

	The feel of space thrilled her. She menuvered, dodging shots. She 
targeted and fired. There were only two goals to be achieved now, in 
battle: to defeat the enemy and to preserve the machine.
	The machine has been her whole world for as long as she remembered. 
And she didn't want to remember anything before. The machine protected 
her and preserved her. It was all she needed.
	Another orange flame put itself out in front of her. Their side was 
going to win. She was sure of it. She would not let it be otherwise. 
Neither would the machine.
	The machine whispered in her mind. A transmission was intercepted. 
She let it come through.
	"This is Captain John Sheridan to the Shadow and Vorlon fleets. We 
have invited both of your fleets here to deliver a message. Call off 
your ships and we will give it to you."
	John. John headed the fleet she was trying so hard to destroy.
	For a moment, her love for John battled her love for the machine. 
It was a battle of the heart versus the mind. And it was cut short as 
her mind was grabbed.
	A telepath. All it took was a few seconds off her guard to fall 
into the trap.
	She and the machine shrieked at the piercing pain as three shots 
removed two legs and scarred the hull. She could no longer function. She 
was adrift. She would die here. She would never again feel the machine. 
And she would never again see John.

	Sheridan sprang out of his seat. "Anything yet?"
	"No, nothing."
	"We don't have a chance if we can't speak to them." Shannon nodded. 
It couldn't be going wrong. "It can't end like this. I won't allow it."
	"Captain," Marcus looked up from the weapons station. "Two hundred 
Shadow ships have just joined the fight. Captain, we can't win this 
alone." Sheridan nodded morosely. "Shall I call in the First Ones?"
	They were going to keep the First Ones in reserve, as something to 
fall back on. If they call on them now, they'd lose the element of 
surprise. But he couldn't let it end like this. "Send the signal."
	And the fighting raged on. It became more and more violent with 
each First One ship to appear. They were winning now, the First Ones 
being centuries more advanced than the Vorlons and the Shadows. He 
watched as one ship, and then another went up in flame, the fire being 
soon put out by the vacuum of space.
	Every once in a while, he glanced at Brown's rigid back, expecting 
anything but silence, and not getting it.

	"Captain," the Narn Leiutennant adressed his superior. A reply 
didn't come immediately. The captain was moving from station to station, 
checking damage and casualty reports.
	They were leaving the battlefield. Not a shred of honor to bring 
the crew. They did nothing. And the captain was a coward.
	"Captain," he repeated.
	"Yes, Leiutennant," the response finally came.
	"We are on a collision course with a Shadow ship, sir. It appears 
to be adrift." The Leiutennant waited for the order to change course. It 
would require manual adjustment of figures and expanding a great deal of 
energy.
	"Can we grab it?" asked the Captain.
	"We might, if we make the preparations in time. But it would expend 
far more energy than--"
	"Do so."
	He was insane.

	"Come on, you bastards! Talk to us!" he muttered. He looked at 
Brown's back, and spoke up. "Can you get through?"
	She turned toward him. Her eyes glowed white. She got through to 
the Vorlons. He took a step back. She spoke, her voice hollow. "You 
thought we could not touch you. You were wrong." There was white light 
around him, and there was pain. He looked at Brown again. Her eyeballs 
were black now, and she spoke in the same hollow voice. "You must hear 
us as well."
	Next thing he knew, it was dark. He wasn't on the White Star. The 
air was cold, almost freezing. As far as his senses could precieve, he 
was in a room somewhere, but he knew it was nothing but his mind. No one 
will see. But the others must--
	*They will hear.*
	"Where are you?" he yelled. "Show yourselves!"
	*Step, step, click.* He knew that sound. *Step, step, click.* Why 
was he here? *Step, step, click.* A light with no origin followed the 
tall body in a top hat. Jack. Sebastian.
	"We don't understand you. We've wished only the best for you. We 
only want to help you." The cynic finally speaking for a cause. 
	"By destrying whole worlds?" Sheridan responded. His calm had 
returned a bit.
	"The others are a disease. You gave us an opprotunity to destroy 
it. We are greatful. Why do you oppose us?"
	"Because I don't like being used. Or lied to!"
	"We haven't lied," Sebastian stood before the roaring captain. "Our 
goal is the same as yours--to destroy the darkness."
	"Then why haven't you struck at it directly?" Sheridan paused as he 
watched the expression on Sebastian's face change ever so slightly. "You 
don't want to answer that one, do you? See, I understood the rules of 
this war when I saw your Planet Killers in action. You've had the 
technology to destroy Z'ha'dum all along. So why haven't you?"
	"Because they're afraid," said a voice behind him. A voice he knew 
too well. A voice, that, right now, he didn't want to hear. When she 
walked around to face him, it grew worse. Susan Ivanova, in full 
uniform. He wondered what Sebastian's expression was like. And what the 
Vorlons were thinking. He could almost feel it, like he was connected to 
them.
	"They stand for order above anything else. No passion, no dreams, 
just dicipline. They're frozen in place, an evolutionary dead end. And 
it scares the hell out of them to know that they're perfectly capable of 
doing something to change all that.
	"Why side with the old? Embrace the new! Growth through pain and 
struggle, conflict and war. You of all people, Starkiller Sheridan, 
should know this."
	He eyed her almost hatefully as she disappeared into the shadows. 
It wasn't the real Susan. This was in his mind. But they'd used the 
image of her. And they'd called him Starkiller. But Starkiller was a 
painful memory, not him. Not anymore.
	In the one second it took his mind to think this, he was caught off 
guard by a figure coming out of the shadows. Perhaps they had more of a 
sense of humor than he gave them credit for. Dr. Franklin was the last 
person he expected to hear speaking for chaos and destruction.
	"You and your people came out of the Minbari war stronger than 
ever. How much stronger will you be after this one? You will rise from 
the ashes with a strength and power beyond your imagination!" He turned 
and was engulfed by darkness as he walked away.
	"And then you will do it to us again!" He cried out to them. They 
were still there, he knew. He could almost feel the Vorlons' 
satisfaction at his opposition.
	"It is the cycle. It is the force of history itself. You cannot win 
against that." He expected someone else he knew, but not Lennier. 
Lennier was almost neutral in the conflict. He followed, but never 
completely chose. In his own way, he'd won long ago, while they were 
still planning the war. "We have embraced it. Helped it along by 
creating conflict. Weak races die. Strong races are made even stronger. 
Evolution must be served. There is no other way."
	"That's what you want us to believe," he said to the Minbari figure 
that was no longer there, and to the top-hatted human that still was. 
"That's why you're doing this." He pointed an accusing finger at 
Sebastian. "That's why you've been targeting planets supporting the 
Shadows instead of destroying Z'ha'dum itself, and why," he spoke to the 
air behind him, knowing they will hear, "You've never even come close to 
the Vorlon homeworld.
	"You don't want to kill the messanger, you just want to kill the 
message. Make it harder for them to get at us. Guarentee we do things 
your way. If you destroy them, they'll never know you've won. They'll 
never see that you were right and they were wong. It's about ideology."
	This one didn't surprise him. Marcus had to come out sooner or 
later. He was the one on the ship, helping him. A predictable move.
	"Of course. What isn't? Order versus chaos. Choose one."
	"Yes, choose. But only from the choices you give us. Don't you see? 
When the other First Ones passed beyond the rim, you remained as 
sheppards. But you've lost your way. This isn't about teaching us. This 
is about you being right. 
	"You're trying to force us into deciding which one of you is right. 
You're like a couple of parents arguing in front of their kids, 
manipulating them, trying to get them to take sides, not for their 
benefit, but yours! But what if the right choice was not to choose at 
all? What if we just," he paused, realizing Lorien had not helped him. 
He realized he knew. He understood. "Walk away?"
	"You cannot do that!" Knowing, and expecting, it was still a blow 
in the gut. He still loved her, and she was still dead. This made him 
even more angry at them.
	"The war will never end."
	"That is correct."
	He sighed. "Then there is no hope."
	"There is only chaos and evolution," Delenn replied.
	"There is only order and obedience," Sebastian countered. "You will 
do as you are told."
	"You will fight because we tell you to fight," said one side.
	"You will die for us when we tell you do die for us," said the 
other, "because the others know no other way."
	"That's where you're wrong," he said simply.
	"You let them see!" Delenn screamed. "You let them know."
	Then the universe around him shattered into pieces. Dark and light 
were mixed all around him. Then he was back on the bridge of the White 
Star. It was almost the same as he left it. A few of the Minbari were 
clutching their heads, or just standing there, looking stunned. Two were 
busy picking up and carrying Shannon Brown's limp form from the floor 
where she stood when he last saw her, and out the door. Was she 
unconscious or dead?
	"Did you see it? Did the rest hear it?" he turned to Marcus as soon 
as his eyes adjusted.
	"We did," the Ranger replied.
	And then, for a long moment, nothing happened.
	"Is that it? We figure it out and nothing changes?"
	*They will give you one last chance to choose, to change your 
mind.*
	And so they did. Two of them apeared right there on the bridge, a 
creature from each race. *I cannot help you.*
	He thought for a moment, then addressed them.
	"The Vorlons ask one question over and over again: 'Who are you?' 
And you. For you the question is 'What do you want?' I have never heard 
you answer that question. Either one of you. What do you want? Who are 
you?"
	He paused, feeling the sweat bead on his forhead. The fate of an 
entire galaxy rode on this. It all rode on his next words.
	"You don't know, do you? You've been fighting each other for so 
long you've forgotten. You've lost your way. How can you guide us? How 
can you teach us who we are and what we want when you don't know 
yourselves?
	"But we've learned to stand on our own. Make our own decisions. We 
don't need you anymore.
	"Your secret is out. All the other races know you for who you are. 
The others have rejected you. How can you have a war when no one will 
fight for either of you? We don't need you anymore. The other First Ones 
have accepted it. Why can't you? You failed as guardians. It's over 
because we've decided it's over.
	"Now, get the hell out of our galaxy, both of you!"
	They stayed there in silence. The Vorlon's eye irised and the 
Shadow critter shifted its weight. They seemed indecisive.
	Before he knew what was happening, an intense pain made Sheridan 
clutch his head. His knees wanted to buckle from under him. Suddenly, he 
had no control over his own body.
	His eyes opened for him but his vision was blurred by a blue-white 
glow. "As I have taught you and stepped aside, now you must do the 
same," a voice sounded. Was it from him? His mouth hadn't moved. At 
least, he didn't feel it move. But the voice was one he knew. And if 
he'd had control of his muscles, he'd have been smiling.
	"Our age is past," it continued. "This belongs to the younger races 
now. They have learned to stand on their own. They have learned to 
understand.
	"Time to let them go."
	"What will become of us?" It wasn't the Vorlon speaking. Didn't 
sound like one.
	"You will go beyond the rim. And you will see again all those who 
went before you. Those you have missed for so long."
	"Then," it was the Vorlon now, "We will not be alone?"
	"No. Never alone."
	There was a moment of silence. It was no more than a few seconds, 
but to Sheridan it was an eternity. His eyes closed.
	Then his legs failed him.
	He stayed there, on his hands and knees, and did his best to 
breathe. He could feel the Vorlons leave. Were the Shadows leaving as 
well? Then Lorien spoke to him.
	*I've waited a long time for someone to find me. I began to grow 
tired of life. But now, I find I hate to leave. But none of us can stay 
behind this time. That was why it was necessary to find all the 
remaining first ones.*
	*This is yours now. And you have an obligation to do as we have 
done--to teach the races that will follow you. And when your time comes, 
as ours has, to step aside and allow them to grow into their own 
destiny.*
	*Your races survive, if you do not kill yourselves, and then, you 
too will leave. They will wait for you beyond the rim,* the voice faded. 
	Sheridan passed out.

	Sheridan blinked hard to rid himself of the pain that came with a 
flood of light. It didn't work. He looked around. The White Star's 
infirmary. He didn't seem to be hooked up to anything, so he sat up, 
facing the door.
	So that was it. They'd won. And they should be heading back to 
Babylon 5 now. 
	A Minbari doctor came in. "Excuse me?" Sheridan said softly. The 
doctor jerked as if suddenly remembering Sheridan was in the room. He 
walked over and bowed. "Could you dim the lights a little?" Sheridan 
asked.
	"Apologies, Captain, but full illumination is required."
	"Why?" With the Minbari, one is only told what they need to know, 
Sheridan knew, but he didn't care at the moment. He wanted to know why 
his head was to keep throbbing.
	The doctor looked uncomfortable, but Sheridan persisted. "It is 
required for the examination of a patient. I am about to conduct that 
examination."
	"What patient?" Sheridan questioned.
	"A Narn cruiser picked up a damaged Shadow fighter. Their doctors 
stabilized the centeral processing unit and delivered her here. She is 
over there."
	Sheridan turned his head casually to take a peek.
	That was when he saw her.
	Of all the horrors he'd seen in his years in the military, nothing 
was as shocking as this. For a moment, he found that he couldn't breath. 
Fortunately, the doctor was gone, saving him from tests and other such 
merriments.
	He waited there on the bed, looking over his shoulder, and examined 
the slender body as the doctor did.
	Small metal wires emerged from the skin at the jaw, temples, and 
the forhead. They were more repulsive than any other of their kind he'd 
seen.
	But underneath, she was as beautiful as the day he met her. She 
slept as peacefully as if she were dead.
	He waited, his patience wearing thin as the doctor slowly finished. 
The Minbari bowed to him on the way out. Sheridan's glare, which 
followed him out, made him quicken his pace.
	Sheridan pushed himelf off the bed and walked toward her. With each 
step, a feeling he couldn't quite term grew. One thing he knew for sure, 
it wasn't good.
	He stopped by her head, not close enough to touch her. It felt like 
losing her all over again.
	There still might be hope. Franklin was making some progress with 
the telepaths they'd found the year before. She could live. He could 
have her back.
	True, she wouldn't be the same as she was. No one is after being in 
one of those ships, they'd said. But she'd be there.
	He pushed a group of stray hairs behind her ear. "I love you," he 
whispered.
	The voice he had heard before sand to him again, from the depths of 
his mind. *She is not for you.* But for the first time, he recognized 
the speaker.
	"Kosh?"
	But just then, Delenn opened her eyes. She looked up at him, 
smiling. He couldn't help but smile back. Very slowly but surely her 
hand rose, held up, palm open, waiting. His hand went out to meet it. 
And stopped. Sheridan tried as hard as he could, but he couldn't move it 
another millimeter. *No,* the Vorlon said.
	Sheridan tried harder. And finally managed. He took Delenn's hand 
in his.
	The shock was unbelievable. Electricity flowed between them. 
Sheridan never thought such pain was possible. But nontheless, he did 
not let go. All he had to do is get through this barrier, and then he 
could hold her for as long as he wanted. Nothing would keep them apart.
	Then the pain got worse and he let go. He was pushed back. When he 
straightened, he found himself looking at Delenn through a thin white 
glow. She looked back with eyes completely black.
	He didn't know what was going on anymore. He was afraid. He 
stumbled back a few more steps, then turned and left.

	John was gone. And so was the machine. She couldn't hear the 
machine. She needed the machine, its strength, its protection. She 
needed to hear it, its soft humming, its gentle, complex language.
	But now there was only silence and cold. She felt so alone, and the 
machine wasn't there to comfort her. And neither was John. Something was 
wrong with John. Something happened to him. Or perhaps it was always 
there, and she couldn't tell. But now she could, and something in the 
back of her mind kept telling her to stay away, to forget about him. 
	She needed the machine. She needed John, but if she couldn't have 
him, she needed the machine, at least. She was on a ship, in a medical 
bay. Machines were there. She just had to find one. She would rather 
have a ship, a complex structure, a purpose. There was a stationary 
console right next to her, a perfect joining point. 
	She wanted the merge, needed it. Her mind prepared, opened up. In a 
few seconds, she would have her machine. She slapped her hand on the 
console. The resulting sound wasn't the joyful war shriek. It told her 
something had gone very, very wrong.

	There was nothing to do but wait and hope.
	For six hours Dr. Franklin has been in there. Six hours of surgery. 
And for six hours Sheridan had been there. He stood some, paced some, 
sat some. But the thought of sleep never crossed his mind.
	They've been here ever since the White Star arrived, an event 
delayed by power loss to all of the ship's Vorlon systems, or, in other 
words, everything.
	He watched as Franklin lifted an instrument, then set it down. Then 
another.
	Sheridan started pacing again. From the isolab glass to the door, 
then back to the glass. On his fourth time around he turned just in time 
to see Franklin walk out of the isolab and take off the gloves.
	Hope sparkled in Sheridan's eyes; failure muddied Franklin's. "I'm 
sorry, John," was all Franklin said.
	Sheridan said nothing. His reason for living had been taken from 
him a second time. No one could even begin to comprehend the pain 
involved. No one but him.
	The war was over. Their side had won. All he had hoped for was some 
peace, a chance to try and put his life back together. Then, out of the 
sky, she returns. And what did he ever do to whoever sits up there and 
makes decisions to deserve this? 
	"I'll leave you alone for a while," Franklin said. "But there's 
something you should know. There's a problem with Susan."

	"We might as well get started," Sheridan said to Franklin.
	Just then what had kept them waiting walked right through the door. 
"Mr. Garibaldi. Good of you to join us," Sheridan said, mild annoyance 
in his voice. "Now that we're all here--"
	"No," Garibaldi cut him short. "Before you do that, I have 
something I want to say. This isn't easy for me, and I imagine it's 
gonna be a pain in the but for everybody else, too. But," he paused, 
unsure. "Well, there's no easy way to get to it, so I'll just say it. 
I've decided to resign as head of security. Effective immidiately."
	Sheridan tried to keep his jaw from dropping. Franklin frowned. 
"Michael, you're just feeling a little stressed out. Maybe a few days 
away..." Always the doctor.
	"I don't want a few days away," Garibaldi snapped back. "I don't 
want a vacation, a leave of absence, or a five day pass to Disneyplanet. 
I just.. want out!"
	Sheridan let the anger mix in with the confusion. "Why?" he asked 
in a harsh voice.
	"Why? Because I want to get out of the game while I'm still ahead, 
that's why. Where does it say that I have to fight someone else's 
battles every day for the rest of my life? I'm tired. I'm tired of 
fighting wars I can't even begin to understand. Okay, We won. We can't 
go home. President Clark would have us up for treason in a hot second." 
Franklin's eyes wandered everywhere around the room but the direction of 
the speaker. "So we go up against our ships again? Just stay out here 
and live like outlaws for the rest of our lives? What kind of a life is 
that?"
	"I agree, we've got a lot of work to do back home. But there are 
ways to do it."
	"But what if you're not doing it the right way?"
	"Hey, if you've got a better idea, just put it on the table," 
Franklin took the risk of intervention.
	"No, I don't have a better idea. I can't find a way out of this. 
All I see here is a chance to get out while I still have my skin. Make a 
life. Maybe find a little happiness."
	"Doing what?" Franklin questioned further.
	"I figure, go independant. You know, during the war, a whole lot of 
people lost a whole lot of things. And a whole lot of people. They're 
going to need somone to help them find those things. A man can make a 
decent living doing that. Maybe even do some good."
	Franklin shook his head. "Michael..."
	"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you. I wanted to tell you 
because you've got a right to know. We all went through hell together, 
and whether you realize it or not, we're all damn lucky to be alive. 
	"I did my part, and now it's time for me to try and find a life for 
myself. The war was about finding our own way and making our own 
choices. If you won't let me do that, if I can't carve out just a litte 
happiness for myslef, then I have to ask, What the hell were we fighting 
for?" Sheridan and Franklin were rendered speechless. Garibaldi took the 
opprotunity to leave. 
	"There's still the matter of Ivanova," Franklin said before 
leaving.
	"Have you found anything?"
	"No. She's not responding to any stimuli that go beyond reflexes. 
It's... I've never seen anything like it."
	Sheridan looked away in disappointment.
	"I was going to suggest bringing in a telepath. I need to know if 
she's okay."
	Sheridan stopped and considered for a moment. He gave a quick nod. 
"Do so."

	Karren bowed to Doctor Franklin and the other human. They both 
lowered their heads. "This is Captain Sheridan," Dr. Franklin introduced 
the other human. She examined him, not telepathically--Humans are touchy 
about these things. He had a look of loss, sadness, and pain in his 
eyes. His back slouched ever so slightly, his gaze was focused on the 
floor most of the time, and she could pick up without scanning him that 
seeing a Minbari female brought back sad, painful memories. While 
curiosity made her go further, something about him, in his eyes, pushed 
her away.
	"She agreed to scan Susan?" Sheridan asked.
	"Yes, sir," Dr. Franklin replied. He paused for a moment, then 
added, "Captain, are you sure you want to stay?"
	Sheridan nodded. Not controlling herself, not meaning to, she went 
in deeper, into a screen of concern, concern for this Susan. It was what 
occupied most of his surface thoughts. The rest were of Delenn--Delenn 
of Mir, the late ambassador?--and mostly of his work.
	Franklin led her and Sheridan through beds of injured. Karren 
looked at the war victims, most of which were telepaths, and was for a 
moment reminded of why she didn't sign up. It would've been the right 
thing to do, and she would've done it if it wasn't for fear. Fear that, 
as she could see now, was perfectly justified.
	They stopped by a woman on one of the beds. Physically, she looked 
fine, except for a grimace. "What happened to her?" she asked. Whatever 
it was, it was not pleasant at all.
	"That's what we want to know," Franklin replied.
	Karren looked at the woman for a moment, at the pain on her face. 
Then she reached in for the mind, waiting for the pain that was a result 
of sharing the mind of someone in pain. She was bracing for it, wincing. 
She was-
	She realized that she was there. And there was nothing. No 
thoughts, no emotions, no pain. Nothing. Nothing but emptiness. And 
darkness.
	"Anything?" a voice from the outside asked. She was confused for a 
moment, then recognized the voice as Dr. Franklin. "There's--there's 
nothing," she replied.
	"Can you go in any further?" The same voice asked.
	"Yes," she said simply. She reached in further...
	...And she was falling. Falling too fast to see the sides and too 
far to ever hit bottom. She tried to scream but didn't have the breath. 
She tried to stop it, but couldn't. She shut it out all at once when 
backing away slowly failed her.
	She stood there, near the bed, and took a few seconds to adjust to 
the room having color and mass. Her knees were wobbly underneath her. 
She took a deep breath and exhaled softly. Franklin was waiting. 
Sheridan was, too, not quite as patient. "It," she searched for words in 
their language to describe the horrible feeling. "It felt like falling. 
And not being able to stop. And never quite reaching the bottom."
	Franklin frowned. "That's what Talia said about Mr. Morden."
	Sheridan nodded. "That wasn't too unexpected." Karren didn't know 
who or what they were talking about, but, as curious as she was, she 
didn't ask. She would be told anything she needed to know. Nothing more.
	Sheridan turned his attention back to her. "What about feelings, 
emotions, memories?"
	"Nothing." She paused and rethought. "Nothing I could get to."
	"Are you saying there might be something somewhere?"
	She nodded.
	And she was back inside the cold, strange, dark mind. She searched 
around until she found something. Old memories. Blocked. She reached in 
carefully. She'd have to find out what happened. Find the most recent 
one. She tapped the memories.
	It was a like opening a too-messy closet. Memories poured down on 
her. They were awful: memories of mistakes, death, war. Nothing happy. 
Only pain. Karren checked every one, reliving a few, and found nothing. 
Nothing about what had happened to her.
	She couldn't take it anymore. These were all too overwhelming. Then 
another one came, vivid. Suddenly, she was on Z'ha'dum and the Shadows 
were trying to make a deal with her. A few tears rolled down her face. 
They gained their advantage, those awful, disgusting creatures, made 
their arguments, and won.
	She pulled out of the strange, cold mind, fell to her knees, and 
began sobbing. When she let her mind loose from the clenched fist it 
was, she sensed disappointment radiating from the minds of the two 
standing above her. She stayed there, sobbing, for a while longer. Then 
she rose, bowed silently, and rushed out.

	"Personal Log, Stephen Franklin. Frbruary 16, 2261.
	"I never thought it would get this bad. With luck, it won't get any 
worse. The war is over. We won. But good fortune doesn't last long 
around here, it would seem.
	"Yesterday afternoon, Garibaldi resigned. It was the last thing 
anyone expected. It hasn't been too peaceful around here lately. We've 
had a lot of security problems, and we need someone like him around.
	"Or at least we need a head of security. Sargent Ramirez is 
refusing the job. He said he's just not right for it and he thinks of 
resigning himself. We're going to have trouble soon. We're going to have 
to find someone. Fast.
	"There have been sixteen attacks on Centauri by Narn on the station 
since what happened to Centauri Prime. Six centauri colonies were taken 
by the Narn in the past few days. The Centauri on the station are 
starting to leave. They were one of the major governments on the 
council. Both them and the Vorlons gone makes two down.
	"The Narn are rejoycing at the fall of the Centauri Prime. Now that 
the head had been cut off, they say, 'The Mighty Centauri Empire' will 
fall. Narns all over the station, everywhere, for that matter, are 
celebrating. Except one. G'Kar has been mourning for the Centauri, for 
Delenn, and for Ivanova.
	"We put Susan in cryo. But I don't think there'll be anything we 
can do. She was a good friend.
	"Earth has struck another blow against us. Somehow, I'm surprised 
they didn't do it sooner. They forbade all traffic to the station. They 
just cut our last lifeline.
	"The captain's been working almost nonstop for the past few days. 
I've tried, but I can't get him to loosen up. He needs the time to 
mourn. But he's afraid, I think. I just hope he doesn't get to a point 
where he's a danger to himself..."

	Sheridan pulled the energy cap out. Then pushed it back in. He 
stared down the barrel of the gun.
	Was there an afterlife? Would he be together with Delenn? Would he 
be alone forever? Or was there just a great nothing?
	Nothing was all he asked for. Some peace.
	But what would happen to the station? To his family back on Earth? 
ISN would broadcast as soon as they got the news.
	He pulled the energy cap out.
	He had nothing to live for. All his reasons were for other people. 
If he lived for them, he was dead already. That much he learned from 
Lorien. 
	He pushed the cap in.
	Suddenly he found himself wondering if there was a way to play 
Russian Roulette with a PPG. He could flip a coin. Heads he lives, tails 
he shoots. But he didn't have any coins, not there on the station.
	Delenn would have told him to have faith. A lot of good all that 
faith did her and Lennier. And look what happened to Zack. And to all 
those people on Centauri Prime. They all had faith, in a way. And now 
they were all dead, every last one.
	He'd lost faith before. It wasn't the disaster people believed it 
was. But the loss of hope was something one had to live with. And he'd 
lost all hope.
	He lifted the gun up to his head and closed his eyes.
	"Do you have something worth living for?" asked Lorien's voice. But 
Lorien, too, was dead.
	There was nothing left for him. Nothing but pain and humiliation. 
Even in death he probably wouldn't escape it. Clark would celebrate, 
start broadcasting the fact. Clark's forces would retake the station. 
Everything he'd worked for would be gone.
	He lowered the gun slowly. They needed somone to organize the 
campaign against Earth. Anyone who could've done it was caught on the 
other side. Someone had to carry the torch. Hell, that was as suicidal 
as holding a gun to his head.
	No matter how it was going to end, something had to be done. And 
someone had to be the one to do it.
	He pulled out the energy cap and placed the gun in the drawer of 
his desk. He'd get back to it when Earth was taken care of.