In that instant he was transported back an entire lifetime. He was a child staring up at the sky, watching as a fleet of Centauri warships passed overhead. Darkness swamped him, and he felt so very, very cold. He had never seen a live Centauri, not in the flesh, and he had imagined them as monsters, lurking hidden in the corners of rooms, or just on the edge of his vision.
That sight had changed his mind, and imprinted itself in his childish memory. The Centauri were powerful and massive and colossal. They moved in the heavens and they did not care about the insects who withered and died in their shadow.
That belief had changed as he fought the Centauri, came to understand them, and even befriended one. But that one, single impression, that had remained with him.
He felt it again now.
<There is a price for treason.>
Taan and Kulomani had reacted first of course, being trained warriors. Taan had reached for his PPG, Kulomani for his commlink. The Vorlon watched impassively as Taan fired the first bolt. The armour, that now seemed not so much the white of long — dead bones, but the brilliant, infinite, bottomless white of a new — born star, absorbed the impact with chilling ease.
<By your own actions are you condemned.>
The encounter suit began to open.
G'Kar did not bother to look round, in part because he knew he would not be able to tear himself away from that image, but also because there was nowhere to go. This room had only one exit, and the Vorlon was standing directly in it. Kulomani's commlink was not working, as G'Kar had suspected.
If he had thought he could say something, or do something, take any action, he would have done it, but he understood the futility of his position. This had to happen. By all rights he should be dead anyway.
His own words came back to haunt him.
We are all stronger together than we are apart.
Perhaps, if a better world can come of this for everyone, then those who died need not have died in vain. If we can all turn this loss to a greater good, as we did at Kazomi Seven, then we can create something greater than what was destroyed.
I hope for that with all I have, and it is all that sustains me.
But I doubt, truly, in my heart, that it will ever happen.
They were stronger together than they were apart, but that was still not enough.
Lethke moved forward, deliberately placing himself between the Vorlon and Taan Churok. The Drazi swore at him, but Lethke did not seem to notice. G'Kar doubted that his friend could hear anything, standing bathed in that light.
"Please," Lethke said. "Please…." The word was pitiful, a sob, an admission of utter powerlessness. Lethke, a diplomat, a nobleman, a Merchant — Prince of Brakir, was discovering what G'Kar had first learned that one day so many decades ago.
Just what it meant to be helpless.
"Let us try for peace," Lethke sobbed. "It's what I've always worked for…."
The Vorlon's terrible voice spoke, chill and final, although there was now not even the flashing of the eye stalk to give it some semblance of emotion.
<There is no mercy for traitors.>
The light filled the room, and Lethke's body was thrown backwards. G'Kar knew he was dead even before he left the floor. What struck the far wall was a charred, smoking corpse, a twitching heap of ash and blasted bones.
One of Lethke's dead eyes was looking directly at him, but G'Kar could not tell if it expressed pity or blame.
Kulomani reacted next, grabbing his PPG to join Taan. Both of them fired, neither afraid. Their blasts were merely absorbed by the flashing mass of light that the Vorlon had become. It was massive, truly huge, too big by far for the room. One tentacle struck a wall, which shattered with a crack and the smell of burning metal.
G'Kar shifted his gaze to G'Kael, who had also reacted quickly, dropping down under the table and rolling behind a makeshift barrier of chairs. He looked up at G'Kar and then at the hole in the wall. Above them lights danced and whirled as the Vorlon swam sinuously in the air.
G'Kar could see the muscles tense in G'Kael's body, and then, with careful timing, he sprang for the hole, scrabbling through it in one smooth motion schooled by years of careful preparation. G'Kar knew about life amongst the Kha'Ri, especially what it took to be their spymaster. G'Kael had always taken pains to be ready for just such a situation. He was as physically fit as it was possible to be.
A tentacle curled around his waist in mid — air and jerked him backwards. His head struck the ceiling with impossible speed and with the sick sound of bones crunching and veins exploding, his body dropped to the floor at G'Kar's feet, limp and all but decapitated.
Taan Churok had tried to run for the door as this was happening, continuing to fire as he ran. One part of the Vorlon's vast, serpentine bulk lowered itself on to him, and as it touched him bolts of lightning crackled through it, and through him. His PPG exploded, there was a burst of light and energy, and he fell to the floor, a blackened, smoking hole in his chest.
The table flew backwards into Kulomani, smashing him into the far wall. G'Kar heard the sound of fifty bones breaking in unison, and Kulomani slumped, his mouth filled with blood.
Durano remained, standing quietly a few paces back from where he had been sitting, his hands folded behind his back. With a complete absence of terror G'Kar did not know whether to admire or fear, he said calmly:
"May I remind you, sir, that I am a lawfully appointed Ambassador of my Government and am as such subject to all the rules regarding fair trial and due process."
The Vorlon's body continued to swirl and swim. The voice that came from it was almost screaming.
<Your laws are nothing. Our laws are all that matter.>
Two tentacles curled around Durano.
The Centauri blinked once, and then died.
G'Kar could feel the Vorlon looking at him.
<We have many laws, but the first is the simplest.>
One tentacle waved menacingly in front of his face. G'Kar could feel the heat of the energy radiating from it, the sparks of electricity shooting through the room.
<We are your Masters, and you shall have none other before us.
<You will obey us.>
* * *
obey
* * *
That is the nature of power…. to wield it necessitates abominable actions. You cannot think of the one, or even of the few. You have to think of the many, and if that means sending good people to die, then so be it. If that means letting bad people live, then so be it.
I am a leader, and that means I do what must be done.
I can see you there. Babylon Five, shining beacon in space. The hopes and dreams of so many billions of people….
A dream built on futility, on weakness, on death.
A dream built of paper and glue and hope.
And I am the torch.
And these are the tools I am to use.
Marrain. A warrior who betrayed his lord and his love. A warrior who let his enemies live for his own revenge and killed his greatest friend. A man driven by madness and a lust for war.
Marrago. A leader who betrayed his people for the sake of his people. A patriot who sold his world into slavery with the best of intentions. A man driven by the need to die.
Moreil. A monster and a murderer who venerates me as the saviour of his Dark Masters. He will obey me without thought and he will send millions to their deaths in my name.
I do not think we are so different after all, Valen. I know your mistakes just as surely as I know mine, and like you, I am forced to walk a dark road for the good of the many.
But you had Derannimer…. Even she betrayed you in the end, although I doubt if you ever knew it. Or maybe you did.
She was your muse, your inspiration, your greatest fear…. and your successor.
Susan, you are going to kill me for this. If we all survive, then you are welcome to try.
I am a leader, yes, but I am a leader such as existed of old. As the Wind Swords knew in the days when they were mighty, as Emperor Shingen knew, a leader must be cold and merciless. He must be seen to be invincible, mighty and indomitable and unstoppable, leading from the front, fearless and immortal.
This is a war for the hearts and minds as well as for the bodies. Our enemies are strong and powerful, seeming to us like Gods. I must be shown to be their equal, even their better.
Sinoval spread his arms wide and looked down at Babylon 5 beneath him. Around him, tucked into a fold of hyperspace, his armies gathered. The call had gone out and they were assembling. Not everyone was here yet, and he could wait.
It would hardly be a war until the other army appeared, after all.
* * *
us
* * *
It was the smell and the taste, thick and heavy and musty and dusty and so very, very wrong. There was no other word to describe it. The thing he had seen, the thing he still saw rising from the open gateway of the Box, was wrong.
It did not belong here.
"There is danger," he moaned.
There was danger, a greater and more terrible shadow than he could have imagined. He had watched the Shadow ships soar over Proxima, he had stood on the bridge of an untested vessel to face down an invincible enemy, he had held a hot gun in his hands and contemplated the murder of a beautiful woman.
And he saw that thing rising from the Box, the monstrous birth of something evil, and utterly, terribly, inhuman.
"Remember," he whispered.
Voices came to him sometimes, real voices, not the fake ones he had heard from that other place. Voices he knew.
"He shouldn't be sleeping this long."
"He experienced something his mind wasn't fit to comprehend. You had help, not to mention years of training. All he had was some rudimentary empathy, which did him more harm than good."
"Tell me he will wake up."
"He will. There's a strong soul in this one. Most people would be irrevocably insane by now."
"You withstood it fine."
"I have…. certain gifts. The human mind isn't intended to remember hundreds of thousands of years worth of history. I was…. modified slightly."
He wanted to reach out, to find the owner of the female voice. He could see her sometimes, beyond the foulness and the fog and the mist. She seemed to shine, but however strong her light was, the darkness was stronger.
And the smell….
Always the smell.
"We are Death," he whispered to himself. "We are the Gods of All Creation. We were created first and all life that came after us was flawed and imperfect. Thus, all life that is not ours has to be destroyed."
The female voice sounded a little scared. "He's sounding like that…. thing."
The other voice sounded terrified. "Yes, he is."
He slipped back, the fog growing just too thick for him to cross.
"There is danger," he whispered. "Remember."
* * *
you
* * *
"Is it so wrong to believe…. to hope?"
Kats sat cross — legged on the floor, staring at the simple necklace she held in her hands. An unfinished, not particularly beautiful creation of a mediocre craftsman.
"Is it so wrong to want a better world? I know you, and I know people like Takier and Tirivail….
"And Sinoval.
"I do not hate any of you. I have come to understand you, at least a little, but I wish there was another way."
She was cold. Everything around and outside her was cold. She was no psychic, no prophet, but anyone could sense that something was very wrong here. Since her meeting with Delenn she had tried to contact the Grey Council to try again to reason with them, only to learn that all external communications were shut down. She could not even contact her ship, and no shuttles were permitted to leave Babylon 5.
None of the Ambassadors she had tried to contact were in. Not one. G'Kar had arrived, but no one seemed to know where he was. Lethke, Durano, G'Kael and Taan Churok were all unavailable. Commander Kulomani was indisposed.
Even Delenn had disappeared.
The Security forces seemed much more prevalent outside. The merchants had closed their stalls. There were more Dark Stars than usual.
Kats was not afraid. She did not think she was capable of feeling fear any longer. She had an uncomfortable feeling of helplessness, but it would pass. She had faith.
"I will be with you soon," she whispered. "Just keep waiting for me…. just a little longer."
There was a ritual some of the warriors had used in the days before Valen. Every day they awoke they prepared to die, and so when they prayed to their ancestors at dawn, they promised to join them soon.
There was just one person waiting for Kats, but she knew he would wait as long as necessary.
Kats….
She started, and looked around. The voice had been very faint. Nothing more than a whisper….
…. or an echo….
…. or a heartbeat.
Kats.
A voice from so far away.
Stay safe. Hide and stay safe…. Can you hear me?
"There is nothing for me to fear," she said. "But thank you, beloved."
Kats…. No…. my…. lady….
The voice faded, the sound of her name dying away into oblivion.
She kissed the necklace, surprised to find her tears wet on her face. "Thank you, beloved," she said. "Just wait for me a little longer."
"Talking to yourself?" barked a sudden, angry voice.
"Just to the dead, Tirivail," Kats said, rising slowly, re — fastening the necklace around her neck. Her friend was arming herself, taking her denn'bok from the case where Kats had insisted she keep it. It was not a good time for those not in the Rangers or Security to be wandering around the station armed. "Did you find anything?"
"A great deal," came the reply. "Everyone you asked me to find seems to be at some private meeting. No one's seen Delenn in hours. The Starkiller neither."
"What is it?" There was an urgency in Tirivail's actions, anger in her voice. "Tirivail?"
"Nothing." The warrior extended the denn'bok, testing the balance, stretching her muscles.
"Tirivail!"
Her friend turned to look at her, and Kats saw fury in her dark eyes.
"I heard that someone else is here. A human."
A cold chill settled on Kats' body.
