From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, 1A
Date: Sun, 15 Mar 1998 16:55:13 +0000


Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams

Hi people, here's the latest in my parallel universe B5 saga where 
the Minbari did not surrender at the Battle of the Line and went on 
to conquer and destroy Earth. The story began with A Dark, Distorted 
Mirror, and most of the previous installments should be available in 
the archive. Feedback - comments, criticisms, questions and death 
threats - are all very welcome and should be sent to the address 
below.

This story contains Spoilers of a sort for the fourth season story 
Lines of Communication.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic, but that doesn't 
necessarily make me a nice hopeless romantic. Read the title and bear 
that in mind. You have been warned...

Chapter Seven - 
The Death of Flesh, the Death of Dreams, part 1A.
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

"Valen swore that this day would come.  A thousand years since he
arrived among us, over nine hundred since he passed beyond... we have
borne his legacy.  Never forgetting, never betraying, always in
service.  Some have forgotten - the workers, who betrayed his most
sacred law.  Minbari do not kill Minbari.  Their leader shed blood in
this most scared place, and now they have paid the price.  Let those
who live remember their lesson.  Let them kneel in the shadow cast by
Valen's light and beg for his forgive- ness.

"The priestlings... they have forgotten too.  I doubt they ever remem-
bered.  But they are weak, they are pathetic, they are foolish.  Let
them have whatever little power they ask for.  It is little enough. 
They will have no place.

"The Darkness is moving, spreading out across the galaxy.  I can feel
it. I am waiting for it, and when it comes to me, I shall prove myself
worthy of the trust placed in me.  As Sinoval and Valen stand by my
side, I shall destroy the Darkness.

"For the future... for Valen... for Sinoval.  In Valen's Name and in
the name of Sinoval, his prophet.  Earther, Enemy or our own...  Any
who stand against us will be destroyed.

"In Valen's Name."

Rantings attributed to Satai Kalain, remembered and recorded by Satai
Kats
     aboard the Minbari warship Valentha, in the Hall of the Grey
     Council.
			  Dated, by the human calendar, December 1st
			  2259.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

In Valen's Name...

The Alyt captaining the Minbari warship Hantei looked out at the three
ships descending on him and his companion vessel - the Otosan - and he
smiled contemptuously.  A small handful of Earther vessels - there
were but three of their capital ships and a number of their one-man
flyers - they could pose little threat to a single Minbari war
cruiser, let alone two.

The human ships were of no consequence.  One of them rounded and came
towards the Hantei.  The Alyt made a scornful gesture, and ordered the
firing of forward batteries.  One blow would tear the human ship
apart. Oh, maybe it was a little more advanced than the others, but
even the Earthers had to develop their technology sometimes...

Besides, they could not target the Hantei, and even if they managed a
lucky hit, it would do next to no dam... something was wrong.

The forward batteries were not working.  Some sort of jamming device. 
How was that possible?  To think that...

The Alyt stumbled and fell as his ship was rocked by a massive energy
blast.  The Earthers had fired their left broadsides, and... hit the
Hantei!  How in Valen's name was that possible...?  Not even Sheridan
the Starkiller had been able to circumvent the difference in
technology.  Not even...  Valen must be turning against him.  Valen
must...

The right broadsides lashed the Hantei, tearing open the engines.  The
Alyt died in the resulting explosion, still wondering what was
happening. 


			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Captain Dexter Smith listened to the reports from the battle and also
smiled sardonically.  Few casualties and both Minbari cruisers
destroyed. His Babylon was by some way the weakest ship of humanity's
three capital ships - the Morningstar and the newly constructed
Corinthian - but it was a potent symbol for the people.  For so long
the only defence of humanity and Proxima 3, it was now a symbol of the
re-emergence of humanity as a major power.

Minimal casualties.  Minimal damage.  All systems operational.

Smith looked around the bridge, blinking once when his eyes fell on
Lieu- tenant Stoner - oh yes, there were some interesting stories
there, once he figured them out - and activated the ship-to-ship
commlines, issuing his reports to General Ryan aboard the Morningstar.

"Excellent, Captain," Ryan replied.  "Captain Philby aboard the
Corinthian reported negligible losses and damage as well.  Are your
jump engines ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good.  We've cleared out all trace of Minbari activity in this
sector. There's a path laid out all the way to Minbar.  Set
co-ordinates.  It's time to hit their homeworld."

"But sir, there are a few of their medium strength colonies left in
Quadrant Twenty-seven..."

"We'll come back to them later.  Direct orders from the President.  He
wants their homeworld destroyed before the end of the month.  It'll be
a nice Christmas present for the folks back home."

"As you say, sir.  Setting co-ordinates now."

To Minbar... to finish the cycle that had resulted in the fall of
Earth, of Mars, of Orion, nearly of Proxima... to finish the greatest
threat to the human race... to provide hope once again.

Hope for the future...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The future...

John Sheridan had no idea where his future lay any more.  It had
seemed so simple for so long.  Before the war, he had been solely
concerned with moving up the ranks, building a reputation, becoming a
somebody.  During the war, the future had been winning, finding a way
past the Minbari cracks, finding hope for humanity.  After the fall of
Earth, it had been staying alive, building a home for himself and Anna
and Elizabeth, and finding something to keep him going.

Now... now he was beginning to think that his future lay with the
beaut- iful, delicate, powerful woman before him, and he was scared. 
Not of commitment, not of her, but of loving her.  Afraid that he
would lose her the way he had lost Anna and Elizabeth.

He didn't want to lose her.  He didn't want to be afraid of her, but
there it was.  He wanted to be with her, to build a home, a family, a
little haven of light in a galaxy of darkness.  What was being built
here on Kazomi 7 was that haven of light.  Out from chaos and death,
to unity and life.  If only it could stay that way.

She had done that.  Through force of will and of personality, through
luck - both good and bad - but most of all through sheer determination
not to let the darkness win.

He was afraid that he loved her, and even more afraid that one day he
would have to tell her.

"John?" Delenn asked softly.  "You have been quiet for a long time. 
Is... something wrong?"

He shook his head.  "No.  I was just... thinking.  About the future."

"Ah."  She smiled and it was as though a ray of light illuminated the
room.  "*Isil'zha*.  The future.  I usually think about the past these
days, although perhaps the present might be more appropriate."

Sheridan could hear the pain in her voice.  For months she had been
working in the makeshift hospitals here, working with the wounded and
the dying - both from the initial Drakh invasion and from the usual
hurly- burly involved in the formation of a new alliance.  A number of
refugees had come here, fleeing the chaos elsewhere in the League of
Non-Aligned Worlds, and a fair number of them were wounded.

To them all, Delenn was as an angel of mercy, helping where she could,
simply being where she could not help.  Her work had been hard, but
she had loved it.  Bringing life after so much death.  A sort of
karmic redemption.

Recently she had taken up a new role, pushed into it by an Inquisitor
who had been sent to put her back on the 'right path'.  His attempts
to tear her life apart had failed, but he had managed to get her back
into a position of power.  Delenn was now the leader of the Allied
Council of Kazomi 7.

Not the position she should be in, perhaps, but she would not return
to her homeworld.  John understood why.  Responsible for the
near-destruction of his entire species, exiled from her position as a
pawn in deadly power games, forbidden ever to return to the world of
her birth...  She could have gone back, challenged her exile, but she
did not.  He could under- stand why.

She was still performing an important function, and she still visited
the hospitals here, but she smiled rarely these days, and her eyes
were often downcast.  She was seldom happy.

"Have you had any more dreams recently?"

She shook her head.  "None since the one the night after the
inquisition. Have you?"

"Another one last night, and the night before that.  My father again. 
He was trying to warn me about something, but I don't remember what. 
I wish the Vorlons would leave me alone."

"Have you spoken to Lyta about it?"  Lyta was connected to the Vorlons
in some way John did not comprehend.  He had a feeling that Delenn
knew some of the details, but he did not press her.  Lyta and Delenn
were connected as well.

"No...  It's just bad dreams... but... I don't like it.  The Vorlons
sit there ignoring the galaxy for what seems like forever.  Then they
pile out at Proxima Three during the Second Line, and now they're
moving again.  If they're moving against the Shadows, why can't they
do it openly, and if they aren't, then what are they doing?"

"The Second Line was an aberration, I think," she said softly.  "For
both Vorlon and Enemy.  Each side is moving more slowly now.  Neither
is ready. When they are..."  She shrugged.  "I do not know.  I wish I
did.  I have had more dealings with the Vorlons than most, and even I
do not understand them.  I wish that I did."

"Yeah well, if wishes were fishes there'd be no room in the sea for
water."

Delenn giggled softly.  "I am sorry?"

"Oh... just an expression.  It has to do with the number of people who
wish for things and how few of them ever get them."

"Oh... and I quite liked it.  Yours is a depressing people.  If wishes
were fishes... I do like that."

"Yeah, rhymes.  If you think that's impressive, I'll have to teach you
limericks one day."

"What is a... limerick?"

"It's form of poetry, with a very set structure.  Five lines, of which
the first, second and last line all rhyme with each other, and the
third and fourth lines rhyme."

"Ah, poetry.  You should have said.  Yes, I have studied poetry in
quite some detail.  I had a friend who was a very talented poet.  What
is the purpose of this... limerick style?"

"The purpose?"

"Yes... you know... what... emotions is it meant to convey?  For
example, we have a school of poetry called keela which is meant to
evoke rememb- rance of the past and provoke new ideas for the future. 
It rarely rhymes though."

"Ah... well, we do have poems that do things like that, but limericks
are just meant to be... nonsense rhymes.  Things to make you laugh."

"You use poetry for laughter?"  She sounded sceptical.  "Do not
misunder- stand my people... we spend a great deal of time studying
laughter, trying to understand it.  We believe that no race can be
truly intelligent with- out laughter.  Our poetry however is never
used for that purpose."

"Well... I suppose... no, some of our poetry is serious, but some of
it is just silly."

"Oh... I would like to hear one of these... limericks.  If it is not
too long, or too formal."

"No, no.  Not formal at all.  Or long.  Oh dear..."  A sudden, mad
idea was forming in John's mind.  It was completely crazy, but it had
been too long since Delenn had laughed properly.  Now, if he got this
right...  Oh, what the hell rhymed with Delenn?  Ah, got it.

"Okay...

	There once was a lady called Delenn,
	Who'd lived in a temple since ten.
	Then she met someone called John,
	With whom she got on,
	Because she had good taste in men."

John was part-expecting her to die of embarrassment halfway through,
but Delenn was listening intently, eyes wide, and when he finished she
broke out into applause.

"Ah, so that is a limerick," she said, smiling widely.  "There once
was a lady called Delenn..."  She giggled.  "I like it.  May I
remember it?"

"Of course.  Just please don't tell anyone I thought of it, or... 
Well, the consequences for me would not be pretty."

"Yes, actually, I think I may have heard one of these limericks.  What
was it again...?  There once was a man from Nantucket..."

"Whoa, whoa..." John interjected very quickly.  "Where... where did
you hear that one?"

"From Minister Mollari.  It was while I was ill, and he was trying to
cheer me up.  Do you know that poem?"

"Uh... yes."

"Oh."  She looked put out, but then smiled.  "Thank you for the poem,
John.  It was beautiful.  It has been... good to just talk like this. 
It is so dark outside... sometimes I'm afraid the darkness will come
in here one day."

"We have a saying.  'It is better to light a single candle than to
curse the darkness.'  You've lit one hell of a big candle here,
Delenn.  I don't think it's going to go out any time soon."

"We have whole libraries of literature on the power of hope and
optimism over despair, but I don't think any text has said it as
succinctly as those thirteen words.  Thank you again, John."

He bowed exaggeratedly.  "My pleasure, my lady."

"John..."  She looked awkward.  "Do you think hope and optimism will
win out over despair?  Do you think there is anything to be hopeful
for?"

"Of course I do," he said, his lie flawlessly smooth.  "Do you?"

"I do not know.  I wish I did.  It is getting darker outside.  Soon it
will be night.  And I am afraid that none of us will see morning again
in our lifetimes.  Very afraid."

There was only silence in reply.  Sheridan could not think of any
words to say.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The fighting was over, had been over for some weeks, but for Lord
Marrago, Lord-General in charge of the Centauri Fleet, the fighting
was never over. It never would be either, not until every last Narn
and every last Centauri were plunged into a deep, dark ravine and
locked away from the sunlight.  Only then would warfare between them
be truly finished.

Blasphemous thoughts, certainly, and should certain members of the
Centarum hear them... no matter.  He was in little enough favour back
home as it was.  He had never cared for politics.  All he wanted, all
he truly wanted was to rule his colonies, to administer justice, to
promote order and to enforce peace.  And then a debt to an old friend
had forced him to marry a rich widow and adopt a beautiful daughter,
and Marrago had been thrust into politics again.  He could not be sure
whether the second Narn / Centauri War was a good thing or a bad thing
for him.  True, he was now a long way from vain Drusella and giddy
Lyndisty, but he was also embroiled in a war he detested.

The Narn military base in Quadrant 37 had fallen only after three
weeks of protracted and bloody siege, skirmish after skirmish,
counterattack after counterattack.  Over one hundred and fifty
thousand Narns had perished in total, and thousands of Centauri.  It
was being hailed as a great victory back on Centauri Prime, where, no
doubt, lordlings and ladies were slap- ping themselves on the back and
awarding each other medals.  Lord Marrago had been invited back to the
homeworld for festivals in his honour.  He had politely refused.  The
thought turned his stomach.

Besides, there was much to be done here.  Repairing the damaged ships
and base.  Caring for the wounded.  Establishing a new, Centauri order
here. Much to be done, and Lord Marrago was almost happy doing it.

He was ruminating on his current progress as he walked back to his
quar- ters.  He had been out meeting with his soldiers.  It was always
good for a leader to meet the people whom he might have to order to
die at any moment.  It threw his job into sharp perspective.  He had
been talking to a few of them, settling his mind after the latest
idiotic order from the Centarum.

A fly-by parade of all things!  Two of the four warships patrolling
the base were to be recalled to Centauri Prime for a parade in their
honour! An opportunity for the nobles to play at being captains for a
while.  Also a perfect opportunity in case the Narns wanted to strike
back.  Did those idiots not realise just how close to the front line
they were here?

Marrago mentally calmed himself down.  There was no reason the Narns
should know about the loss of the two warships.  Admittedly the Narns
had never been cautious in war, but the loss of this base had shaken
them badly.  Without the help from the humans they had come to rely
on, their mighty military machine was developing some serious cracks. 
Marrago knew he could win this, given enough time.  But did he want
to?  That was the question.

He paused as he reached his office.  He had arranged matters so that
his personal chamber was next to his office.  It made matters of
government far easier.  But... something was wrong.  His secretary
Kiron Maray should have been there.  He had been working on personnel
reports.  The lights from the office were off.

Slowly, Marrago slid his small Kutari knife from his sleeve.  There
was somebody in the room - two of them at least.  Marrago had been a
fine duellist in his day, and was still expert in single combat. 
During the taking of this base, he had personally killed three Narns
who had attacked him.  Should this be an...

"Come in, Lord Marrago," said a familiar voice.  "Or should I say
Coutoura?"  Marrago stiffened, and did not sheathe his knife.  He did
walk into the room, however.  That voice could not be mimicked - at
least not that accurately, but...

There was a dim light at the far end of the room.  A figure was seated
next to it.  Marrago had near-perfect night vision, but for a moment
even he doubted his senses.

"Londo?" he whispered.  "I had heard you were dead."

"I was," came a drawl.  "I got better."

"Where is my secretary?  I do hope you have not harmed him.  A good
secretary is very hard to find."  Marrago kept his tone carefully
neutral, all the while weighing up the situation.  "Oh, and you can
tell your Minbari friend behind me that I'm not going to attack him -
unless he attacks me first, of course - so he can come out."

There was a laugh, and that erased all Marrago's doubts.  No one could
laugh like Londo Mollari.  But that did not explain what he was doing
here, or how he had got here.

"Lights," Marrago ordered, and he looked around the room.  Kiron was
noticeable by his absence, but now that he could see his two
companions, Marrago could easily recognise the friend of his youth.

"What are you doing here, Londo?  And where is Kiron?  If he is..."

"Oh come on, Marrago.  I have not killed him.  People do not change
that much.  No, he is elsewhere.  I... regret to inform you that a
certain member of your staff has been in my employ for some time. 
Well, when I say mine, I mean my wife's of course.  He was quite
invaluable when it came to getting myself and Mr. Lennier here into
this place unnoticed, and in arranging this private meeting."

Marrago snorted.  "You mean Kiron's been working for you?  How many
other traitors are there in my army?"

"Not a traitor, no.  Just a... provider of information and services
now and then.  I did a favour to a relative of his once, and Kiron was
wondering if there was anything he could do to repay matters."

"I see.  Londo, what are you doing here?  The last I had heard you
were dead in a hovercarriage accident what... almost a year ago now."

"No accident.  It was an attempted assassination."

"Well, I do not think that was a surprise to anyone."

"No... no, it was not, but... matters on Centauri Prime are coming to
a head.  Sooner or later we are going to fall back into the bad old
days, and it will probably be sooner rather than later.  There is
someone who can help us, but we are going to have to find him, and
that will be difficult.  More to the point, however, if I am to
restore some sanity to our people, I will need allies.  Who else
should I turn to first, Coutoura?"

There was no doubt, no hesitation.  "You needed to ask?  Fill me in on
the details."

Londo smiled.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Proxima 3 - for so long a world gripped by despair and anguish - was
finally filled with light, but it was now being visited by a small
speck of darkness.  Or maybe it was the other way round.  It was all a
matter of how you looked at it.

The visiting dignitaries looked far from comfortable as they waited
for the new arrival.  President Clark bore the gleaming smile of one
who stands within a few weeks at most of achieving his fondest desire.
 Chief of Security Welles, while putting on the neutral expression he
had mast- ered, was clearly not happy with the current state of
affairs.  Ambassador David Sheridan, while apparently displaying the
practised ease that came from a long diplomatic career, appeared a
little... on-edge.  And Donne, the local head of the pitiful residue
of Psi Corps, looked like a child who has had the run of the house
while its parents have been on holiday and has now learned that the
parents have come back early.

Welles stiffened as a figure came into view.  This man had flown here
alone from his secret base in a one-man flyer. A near-suicidal act
with the galaxy as it was, and yet he had made the journey countless
times, radiating the inner security which said that while the galaxy
might be full of dangerous things, there could be nothing in it as
dangerous as he was.

"Mr. Bester," said Clark, stepping forward.  "A pleasure to see you
again."  Every word a lie of course, and the trouble with lying to a
telepath was that the lie had a life expectancy of a few seconds at
best. Still... force of habit and all that...

"And a pleasure to be back, Mr. President," Bester said, lying with
each word as well.  "It is good to hear about your recent stirring
successes. A victory is just over the horizon, I hope."

"Humanity hopes so."  Clark stiffened.  He had not told Bester of any
recent successes.  The fact that Bester was privately monitoring the
war was not all that surprising, but by rubbing Clark's nose in the
fact, he was being especially irritating.

"You already know Mr. Welles, our Chief of Security."  False and
entirely meaningless platitudes were exchanged.  "And this is
Ambassador David Sheridan, our representative from our allies - the
Shadows."

Bester raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise.  He already knew of
Sheridan of course, he must have done.  "Oh, I do hope we shall have
the chance for some conversation later, Ambassador.  Unfortunately my
business schedule prevented me from talking with Ambassador Ivanova
the last time I was here.  Where is she, by the way?"

"Ambassador Ivanova was wounded in a terrorist attack," Clark said
quickly.  "She is currently recuperating alone."

"Ah.  I'm sorry to hear that.  Still, it's a pleasure to be back here,
Mr. President.  I anticipate a most entertaining visit."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Former Shadow Ambassador Susan Ivanova shivered through the depths of
her agony.  Some thing... someone had arrived.  Someone powerful
enough to penetrate the fog around her savage headache and cause her
to tremble uncontrollably.

Someone called Bester.

She remembered when Laurel had told her of Bester's visit here.  Susan
had immediately thrown up everything in her stomach and had been
unable to eat anything for days after.  She had tried to see
Ambassador Sheridan - YOU PROMISED I'D BE SAFE - but he had always
been 'too busy' to meet her.

The stress and the fear had brought on one of her savage migraines. 
She had been experiencing them frequently ever since the attack that
had left her scarred, sightless in one eye and screaming whenever she
was alone in the middle of the night.

And now he was here... Bester... the face of the thing she hated most.
Psi Corps.  They had killed her mother, would kill her too if they
knew. Oh, it wouldn't be their finger on the trigger, but they would
kill her all the same.

She had thought it was all over.  Psi Corps had been destroyed with
Earth, and with Mars.  But no.  Like weeds, they hid their roots
underneath the surface, waited, and grew out again.  Donne.  Bester. 
Lyta Alexander... curse her!

Susan fought back the urge to scream and rose shakily to her feet. 
Vodka helped... sometimes... but she had run out of all her Russian
vodka months ago, and even the revolting Narn stuff had not lasted her
through this bout.  She'd been drunk and in agony for over four days
now.

She staggered across to the commscreen, and sent through the signal.
*Please let her be there please let her be there please let her be
there.* She was.

Laurel Takashima's face appeared on the viewscreen.  She looked a
little disoriented.  "Susan?  Are you...?"  No, she wasn't.  Evidently
one look at Susan's face was enough.  "I'll be right over.  You should
have called me before."  The viewscreen went blank and Susan collapsed
to the floor, weeping and retching, waiting... each second waiting for
the door to open seeming like an eternity.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, 1B
Date: Sun, 15 Mar 1998 16:57:14 +0000


The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 1B of 6
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

On the world where light was once brought to the Darkness, a world
which had become a place of sanctuary for an ancient race, a world
which had become the province of wisdom and know ledge and
revelation... one man who was not chosen by destiny was taking steps
to ensure that destiny would be chosen by him.

Above him, orbiting high above a planet currently racked by ion
storms, was Cathedral, the massive floating castle that was home to
the Soul Hunters.  Capable of interstellar travel, the gigantic
spaceship housed the legacies of millennia, a storehouse of knowledge
matched only by those who had come to this world seeking sanctuary.

If knowledge is power, so the old saying ran, then where is the one
who has so much as to be out of danger?

He was here.

The heat of Derhan's forge poured into him, but his body absorbed it
easily.  His masked eyes studied the process of his forging closely,
but he had no intention of making any mistake.  For Sinoval, this
night was a special one.

Above him, the sky was filled with storms, lightning crashing down
around him, acrid gas rising up from beneath him, stinging his
nostrils, hurting his eyes.  All who could be were sealed away -
Derhan and his Vindrizi, the Soul Hunters - all save the two who stood
impassively at the door of the forge.  Tradition said that they were
not to enter, and that much Minbari tradition even they were willing
to bear.

*Flash.*  Sinoval had arrived here, returning as he had said he would.
 He had reached Derhan, and there had been an uneasy moment as Derhan
had stared at the two Soul Hunters who were always with Sinoval.

"So," he had said.  "You did it, then."

"Yes."

"And now?"

"I must use your forge.  After that... we will talk."

*Flash.*  "We will not be well received."  The Primarch Majestus et
Conclavus had been hard pressed to conceal his conflicting emotions.
Exultation at leading his people into the heart of their greatest
enemy's stronghold.  Fear at what would come of such an event.

"Neither will I," had been the reply.  The Primarch had nodded.

*Flash.*  "You should not have meddled here."  The human had
maintained an aura of calm rationality, but the anger beneath his mask
was scarcely hidden.  "You are involving yourself with things you
cannot oppose."

"I will oppose whom I wish.  Tell your Masters what I will say.  To
the last word.  The Minbari are mine.  If I ever see one of them among
my people again, I will kill it."

"But the war... the..."

"We will fight the war without them.  The Minbari are mine."

*Flash.*  A return to the present.  Sinoval held the pike in his
hands. It was flawless, as perfectly made as anything of Derhan's, and
yet it was incomplete.  Cutting across the palm of his hand and
letting his blood stain its surface helped, but there was still
something missing.

Sinoval walked outside the forge, the Soul Hunters parting as he
reached them.  His bare chest was stained with the blood of his
forging and with the exertion of his endeavours, but he felt no pain. 
It was as though he were an automaton, moving in the grip of destiny.

Outside, the air was clogged with electricity, with fire, and acid,
and lightning.  Sinoval looked around, barely able to breathe but not
caring, his eyes stung by the air, his lungs burning, his skin
tingling.  He did not care.

Raising his pike into the air, he cried out the name of the one for
whom he was acting.

"Valen!"

A bolt of lightning struck the end of the pike and tore through
Sinoval. His body shook and spasmed, but the shock soon passed and he
staggered back inside, looking at his weapon.  Nothing was missing
now.

He went to Derhan's chambers.  Derhan was awake.  He looked at the
pike, and then at Sinoval, and then back at the pike.  Sinoval held it
out for him to take, but he shrank away.

"I wish that weapon had never been made," he said.  "And woe that it
should have been my forge which created it.  It is an evil thing,
Sinoval. I would ask you to destroy it, but I fear such a blade cannot
be destroyed easily."

"It is called *Mashi'mar'ein*," Sinoval said softly.

"Stormbringer.  An odd custom.  We do not name our weapons, Sinoval,
but in this case... it may be appropriate.  That weapon will destroy
Minbar."

"Sometimes metal is just metal."

"But not in this case."

"No, not in this case.  Are you ready, Sech Derhan?"

He sighed, feeling every second of his years, half wishing he were
dead decades since and had never seen this.  "I am ready, may Valen
make it not so.  I fear that the rest of my life will scarcely serve
as penance for what I will do in the next few days."

"What are two lives compared to an entire people?  It is time to
return home, Sech Derhan.  Time to return home."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Bester rubbed at his deformed hand and looked around at his environs. 
A strange place, to be sure.  An abandoned warehouse.  A most strange
place for such an honoured guest as himself, but whatever drivel he
relayed to Welles and Clark, the real business of the trip would be
conducted here.

He and G'Kar were all too aware of the Resistance Government's assault
on the Minbari, but with the chaos engulfing the League of Non-Aligned
Worlds and G'Kar's little construction project, neither had had the
time or the resources to devote to the matter.  Now events were
forcing their hand. The human and Drakh fleets would be at Minbar
itself within a week, and something had to be done.  G'Kar was
handling the military side of things, while to Bester fell the more...
unorthodox duties.  As they usually did.

A figure came into view, much of it remaining hidden by the shadows.
Bester smiled.  It was just as he'd always said.  Good preparation
always paid off in the end.

"Well, you took your time.  I trust I didn't interrupt anything impor-
tant?"

"No," said an oddly metallic and hollow voice.  A woman's voice. 
"Nothing important."

"Good.  Well, Control, it's time for your debriefing.  I have a little
mission for you."

Laurel Takashima stepped forward into the light, her eyes empty and
her stance rigid.  "Of course."

"Now then, my little Control.  What's been going on here I haven't
been told about?"

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lord Marrago sat back, mentally absorbing everything he had just been
told.  From any other source he would describe it as madness.  From
Londo... ordinarily he would put it down to drunkenness, but Londo did
not normally travel around with Minbari - least of all one as rigid
and professional as this... Lennier.  Marrago was actually
contemplating the possibility that what Londo was saying might be the
truth.

"What you are saying could be described as treason," he said
carefully. "Not just the plotting against our Government, but to say
that you have been allied with a... a Narn for years now!  That is
treason."

"Treason is such a narrow term.  There are concerns far greater than
anything we see on our homeworld.  We meddle with politics and
fashions and idle games and delude ourselves that we are the centre of
the universe.  G'Kar's Enemy is real, Coutoura.  I have seen them, in
all their majesty and terror.  If they should turn to Centauri
Prime...  No, that is a thought too horrible to contemplate.  We must
join forces with others to defeat them.  Human with Minbari.  League
world with League world.  Centauri with Narn.  I cannot do that until
this war is over, and I cannot do that until the homeworld is in sane
hands once more."

"And you think Malachi is the key to this?"

"I know he is.  My... associates have traced him to an isolated
village quite some way from the capital.  Why he faked his suicide, I
do not know, but I have extended an invitation to him.  He is an old
friend.  I think he will accept."

"You know you are guaranteed any help I can give you, Londo, but I
have responsibilities to my people here.  If I can not lead my armies,
then who will?  But, anything that is in my power to give you, I will.
 Would you like quarters here?  I..."  There was a signal coming from
the commscreen, using an emergency frequency.  Marrago bounded to his
feet and ran to the screen.  This frequency was only ever used in an
absolute emergency. Londo and Lennier pressed themselves hard against
the walls, ensuring they could not be seen by the person on the other
end of the message.

As it turned out, the person on the other end of the message had other
concerns.  "Lord-General," barked the Captain.  "We are under attack.
Narn ships.  Hundreds of them!  Our probes failed to detect their
presence.  We..."  The screen crackled.  "Hundreds of..."  The screen
faded completely.

Marrago immediately activated the red alert warning system.  Sirens
blared throughout the station.  He turned to look at Londo.  "I am
afraid matters have become much more serious.  If I can get the two of
you out of here, I will."

"Do not worry about us," Londo replied quickly.  "We will find out own
way out.  Concentrate on saving this place."

"I fear this place is long past saving, Londo.  If you get to Centauri
Prime, speak to Minister Durano.  He should know... we have been
betrayed by someone.  Two of our ships were ordered away, and now our
probes are not working..."

"I will do what I can."

"Good.  So will I."  But as Marrago ran towards the bridge of the
station, he knew in his heart that the defence was doomed.  His only
hope was to get Londo away from here.  If such a thing were now
possible.  If it were not... then the Great Maker help the Centauri,
because no one else would.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"It is coming.  His return, as was prophesied.  Valen will return! 
Soon!

"Let them come!  Let them bring their ships and their weapons!  They
will crash against the walls of our faith.  All we need is faith, is
that not so, Satai Kats?

"Faith manages.

"Soon.  Everything will be over soon!"


To be continued...


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 2A
Date: Mon, 23 Mar 1998 18:56:24 +0000

Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams

Hey people - here's the latest installment in my parallel universe 
saga, based upon the premise that the Minbari did not surrender at 
the Battle of the Line and went on to conquer and destroy 
Earth. It began a long time ago with A Dark, Distorted Mirror, and 
all the previous installments should be in the archives. Feedback - 
comments, criticisms, questions and death threats are all very 
welcome and should be sent to the address below.

This story does contain some very mild Spoilers for the episode Lines 
of Communication.

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

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

* * * * *

The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 2 of 6 [AT] [AC][EV]
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

Peace... there will never be peace between Narn and Centauri.  Not
unless both peoples are ground into dust and remade anew, and even
then both races would still hate each other.

Those words, spoken less than two years ago by Lady Morella, widow,
Empress and prophetess, were being borne out by the sights in the
skies of Quadrant 37.  The location of a Narn colony and military base
for so long, it has recently been taken by the Centauri.  Now, the
Narn have come to reclaim it.

The skies rain fire, the Centauri scatter, their leaders desperately
seeking order, seeking something to reclaim from this disaster.

See... Lord-General Marrago, trying to organise a counter-attack,
knowing that he has lost one capital ship already, and the one that
remains is sore-pressed.

See... Warleader G'Sten, leading on the advance, seeking revenge and
retribution and an end to the dreams which keep him awake in the
night.

See... Londo Mollari, running through the corridors of the colony,
desperately seeking a way out of this place, knowing that the last
hope of salvation for his people may be at an end if he dies here.

See... Shaal Lennier, fleeing alongside Londo, motivated by personal
demons both real and imagined, fighting because he does not know how
to surrender.

Mix them up, and let chaos reign.

It is coming to the galaxy sooner than anyone thinks...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Let chaos reign...

One person in particular disagreement with that philosophy was
standing in a darkened warehouse, listening to reports on highly
classified information; listening, smiling and waiting.

Bester was set in firm opposition to chaos.  He wanted order,
discipline, stability... with himself and his people on the top.  A
simple, logical set of desires, and one which was being put in
jeopardy by the actions of various powers around the galaxy.  Not
being able to deal with them all at once, he was settling for dealing
with the problem at hand, so to speak: the Resistance Government of
Proxima 3, their alliance with the mysterious race known as the
Shadows, and their current furious onslaught on the Minbari.

Not that Bester had any sympathy for the Minbari, of course.  Quite
the opposite, but chaos was chaos whomever it was directed against,
and there was nothing more chaotic than a war.

Former General Laurel Takashima finished her report and stood silently
to attention, as rigid as any statue, her secondary Control
personality taking over temporarily.  A legacy of an older time, that,
but one Bester was finding incredibly useful.

She had done well, although her 'sleeper' personality would not let
her do anything other than what she was ordered to do.  Programmed for
obedience, duty and complete loyalty to Psi Corps, Takashima's
secondary personality was the perfect agent for Bester's interests.

And she had done exceptionally well.  Her desperate activities during
the Second Line notwithstanding - now that had been a chaotic affair!
- she had accomplished most of her orders.  The careful seeding of
agents throughout the new fleet - including one on the bridge of the
Babylon itself; the hiding of these agents from any official
investigations; gaining the trust and companionship of former
Ambassador Ivanova, and some very useful information along with it... 
Oh yes, General Takashima had done very well.

"I have another mission for you," Bester said.  This was risky, coming
here in person, but necessary.  He and G'Kar had worked out what
needed to be done to end this war, and Bester's part of it involved
Takashima directly.  To ensure success, he needed to be here in person
- to liaise with other agents, to draw off suspicion, to gather
information...  This would be a complicated undertaking, but if it
worked...

She was silent and still, perfectly rigid, waiting for his next order.
The perfect agent, one who did not even know in her conscious mind
whom she worked for, or even that she was working for anyone.

"I am projecting the details of this operation directly into your
mind. You will not even know the specifics yourself, but you will act
as directed.  When the time is right and all the pieces are in place,
then you will move.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," she replied.  No more and no less.  No more words were needed.

And Bester began downloading the information into her mind, of the
single act which would end this war, and of the one man who would have
to die to accomplish it.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"He is insane.  Valen forgive me, but he is completely and totally
insane."

Heresy.  Heresy, blasphemy and treason all in one breath.  In another
life, Satai Kozorr would never have thought of committing so many sins
in so short a space of time, but this was not another life.  This was
the beginning of the final days of Minbar.

"Of course he is insane," replied his companion.  Her tone was
consider- ably more matter-of-fact, but then Satai Deeron had always
been like that. Rational almost to a fault.  And evidently more at
home with heresy than Kozorr was.

"You can hear him laughing, and her screaming.  It is wrong, and it is
unjust!  Yes, she should be punished for her crime, but... not like
this! It is wrong!"

"Raise your voice a little, Kozorr," Deeron said dryly.  "Perhaps
Kalain or Sonovar will hear you, and then we will both learn
first-hand just how insane he truly is."

"Why do the acolytes not do anything?  Surely they can hear his
laughter, her screams?  Surely they can..."

"They are afraid, Kozorr.  As they should be.  Kalain could have been
one of the greatest of us all.  Perhaps he is.  They are afraid of
him."

Kozorr raised his eyes, hearing the faintest trace of Kalain's
laughter. Even here, at the far end of the warship Valentha... even
here he could hear it.  He believed he could hear the laughter were he
on the other side of the galaxy.  And... buried beneath the laughter,
were her screams. Kats, of the worker caste, of the First Fane, raised
to Satai of the Grey Council.  Kats, of the worker caste, of the First
Fane, raised to Satai of the Grey Council...  Kozorr kept saying her
name and rank, determined not to forget her.  If she was forgotten,
then she was truly lost.

"Why did the Holy One go?" he asked.  "Why did he leave us in the
hands of that... that madman?"

Deeron stiffened.  She did not like talk of Sinoval.  Perhaps the
rumours were true.  Some of them at least.  There were countless
rumours about her and Sinoval, each one more outlandish and absurd
than the last.  Perhaps some of them at least were true.

"Sinoval left..." she said, speaking his name awkwardly, "because it
was what he felt he had to do.  He always felt touched by destiny. 
That was why I could not be with him.  Perhaps he has finally
discovered that his destiny is not leading him anywhere he would like
to be."

"And where does our destiny lead us?  You know the situation as well
as I do.  The Earther ships are advancing on us here, and we have next
to no defences with which to meet them.  And why do we have no
defences? Because he who is supposed to lead us orders them all away,
on useless patrols, or... or...  He refuses to recommission the White
Star fleet.  He refuses to acknowledge the threat the Earthers pose. 
He refuses to do anything, except remain in his Hall, and laugh and
torture her!"

"So much for keeping quiet," she observed wryly.  "We have done
everything we can, Kozorr.  We are not to blame..."

"Oh... and what have we done?  Sent one ship... or two to try to
intercept the Earther fleet.  Sending them to their deaths!  Delaying
tactics, and not even that!  What have we bought ourselves but
countless deaths and a few weeks of time?"

"A lot may happen in a few weeks.  Sinoval may return.  Kalain may
awake from his madness.  The Earthers may relent and pull back from
their attack.  Valen himself might return from the heavens."

"Or the Earthers may advance on our home and blow it apart rock by
rock. We have done little, Satai.  Nothing save send people to their
deaths."

"I doubt that Kalain is the only person on this ship who is mad,"
Deeron said slowly.  "Kozorr, this is..."

"The only way.  Should Kalain die, then the Council can be diverted
from its current path.  You could do that.  You could recall our
ships, reform the White Star fleet, set us back on the road where we
belong.  You would have to."

"Should Kalain die, that would undoubtedly be the case."

She was choosing her words carefully, as was he; neither of them
willing to say exactly what they were planning.  Sound tactics, but
the time for subterfuge was over.

"I must kill Kalain in public.  There must be no doubt, no ambiguity
about who is responsible.  Do not allow Sonovar or the others to blame
the workers or the priestlings...  Do not allow them to blame her.  I
will trust in you to protect her... when I am gone.  She will be
vulnerable for a time, but only for a time.  I think she may be your
greatest ally before long."

Deeron could see Kozorr's eyes.  There was no need to ask who 'she'
was. Both of them knew, and neither could say her name.

"We seldom marry outside our own caste, Kozorr," Deeron said
carefully. "Very seldom."

"I will not live long enough to marry her."

"Why?"

"She asked me for help once, and I was unable to grant it.  I do not
want to fail her again, and... and her screams hurt my ears, and haunt
my dreams."

"I wish there were another way to do this."

"As do I, but there is not."

She looked at him.  "You seem remarkably peaceful for one who knows he
is about to die.  When will you attempt this?"

"The next meeting of the Grey Council.  As I said, there must be no
ambiguity, no doubt.  She must not be blamed.  Sonovar will try to
blame her, I know, but you must not let him."  Kozorr sighed and bowed
his head. "Ah, Valen forgive me for what I am about to do.  Valen
grant me peace and salvation and a swift return so that I may serve
you once more."

He looked up.  Deeron was next to him, her hand lightly touching his
chest.  "He will," she whispered softly.  "Valen will forgive you."

"I hope so, but whether he does or not, my path is set."

There was a silence.  Both of them knew that they would not meet like
this again in these lives.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo Mollari's hearts were pounding in his chest.  He was old and
unfit, and could see his life flashing before his eyes.

The Narns were here.  The Narns were here... Refa's revenge.  It had
been he who had been instrumental in starting this foolish war.  His
hand in this, Londo was sure.  Refa must be laughing fit to burst
wherever he was now, the Great Maker burn him!

There were several uncomfortable questions in Londo's mind, and the
answers all led back to the Centauri Royal Court.  Someone there
wanted the Centauri to lose this war, it was the only explanation, but
Marrago, the steadfast leader that he was, was not obliging, so he had
to be removed.  Londo could not put this chain of events down to mere
coincidence, or stupidity.

Someone back home wanted this war lost.

Londo could do far more for good back on Centauri Prime than he could
here, but first he would have to get away.  He had tried contacting
G'Kar or his agents in the Kha'Ri, but the Narns had jammed all
interstellar communications.  He had tried finding a ship to escape
on, but the Narns had taken the docking bays, boarding the base that
had recently been theirs with brutal efficiency.

They had learned well from their masters.

He had no idea where Marrago was, or Kiron Maray - his contact in
Marrago's staff - or Lennier.  The two of them had become separated
during their desperate flight through the base, seeking any means of
escape. Now, Londo was forced into hiding, hoping to find one
high-ranking Narn to whom he could talk... using G'Kar's connections.

He stopped and looked around, realising with sinking horror that he
had no idea of where he was.  This base was bigger than he had thought
and he had become lost.  He was also alone.

Breathing heavily, he rounded a corner and ran straight into four
Narns. Their uniform marked them as elite search-and-destroy agents. 
G'Kar had spent some time teaching him the details of the Narn
military, figuring such information might come in useful one day.  If
only he knew...

The first Narn, who bore no insignia but whose bearing marked him out
as the leader, darted forward, drawing and firing his weapon in one
simul- taneous motion.  Londo tried to throw himself aside, but he
could not move fast enough.  A dart pierced his thigh, and almost
instantly all the strength left his body.  He fell crashing to the
ground, unable to move so much as a muscle, watching helplessly as the
lead Narn stepped forward and drove his booted foot into his belly.

Unconsciousness came as a blessed relief, for the moment at least.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Susan Ivanova awoke from sleep to find herself covered by cool sheets,
wearing fresh clothes, her head clear, and with possibly the only
friend she had in this world sitting by her bedside.

"Hi," said Laurel.  "Glad to see you've woken up at last, sleepyhead."

Susan smiled weakly, and then remembered something.  "How long have
you been here?" she rasped.

"You were out when I got here.  I've been here about twelve hours
now."

"All that time?" Susan said, wondering.  But she remembered... waking
up screaming and... and she had been alone...  A dream, it must have
been a dream.

"I..."  Susan shook, the after-effects of her headache still
remaining. "You washed me, changed my clothes..."

"You weren't that coherent," Laurel said, smiling.  "But still... I've
done worse."

"Thank you."  The two words came out almost like a plaintive cry. 
*YOU PROMISED I'D BE SAFE.*  "Thank..."  To her surprise, she found
that she was crying.  "Th... th..."

Laurel sat down on the bed beside her, and gently enfolded her in a
hug. She said nothing, simply letting Susan weep on her shoulder. 
Susan remained there for a few minutes, and then pulled back, wiping
her good eye and trying to put on a happy expression.

"Thanks...  I don't know what's come over me recently.  Must be the
diet, I suppose," she said, smiling weakly.  Laurel put on a stern
expression.

"Susan... you aren't alone.  Get that through your stubborn Russian
head. You're not alone.  There's at least one person here who cares
about you, and if you want to cry, shout, drink, play chess...
whatever... then I'm here.  Just... never forget that, right."

"I won't."  Susan gently touched her friend's arm.  "I... I don't know
what to say..."

"Well, there's a first.  Listen, you should rest a bit longer.  I've
got... a few things I have to do.  I'll be back soon, okay?  I just...
wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine...  Well, no... but I'm better than I was.  Laurel... thank
you for being there.  I can't tell you how much I've... needed you
here..."

Laurel smiled and rose to her feet, making for the door.  As she got
there, she stopped and turned.  "I'll always be here for you, Susan.
Always."  Then she left.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sheridan stopped at the door to her quarters, breathing in harshly. 
He did not want to have this conversation.  He did not want to have to
come here like this.  He wanted to be able to... tell her... what?  He
didn't even know, but he didn't want to tell her this.

Slowly, he activated the chime, and her voice, easily as musical,
said, "Come in."

The door opened and he stepped inside to see Delenn seated at her
desk. She was studying reports of some kind.  She looked up, and her
smile lit the room.  "John.  It is good to see you.  How has your day
been?"

"Uh... fine, fine.  Um... what about yours?"

"Stressful," she said, with a wry smile.  "Lethke has been presenting
me with the reports on our economy here.  I had a little involvement
with our economy when I was with the Grey Council, but it is nothing
compared to the Brakiri...  I swear that Lethke can do things with
money that make it glad it is not alive.  Still, he is the best choice
to run things here."

"Yes...  I'm sure he is..."

"John, what is...  What is wrong?"

He didn't want to tell her this.  For a while she'd been secure here,
building her new haven of light against a galaxy of darkness.  He'd
been here too, with his head stuck down under the sand, popping up
occasionally to take pot-shots at the darkness.

No longer.

"I got my orders this morning."

It had been disconcerting to see a Narn hologram walk through the wall
of his quarters, and it had taken him a moment to adjust.  "Geez,
G'Kar, please don't do that again without some warning."

"Oh... did I startle you?"

"Well... just a little."

"I am sorry, but this is information that must be relayed in person. 
I cannot trust these orders to an open channel, and even a closed one
may be intercepted, if one has the will.  I have been a little...
occupied elsewhere recently, but I cannot ignore the problems any
longer."

"The Minbari War?"

"Yes.  The Resistance Government fleet will be arriving at Minbar
within a week, at most.  For some reason there is little or no defence
ready to meet them.  I have been unable to discover the nature of the
problems within the Grey Council, but there is a substantial power
struggle going on there.  Until matters come to a head, we must assume
that the Grey Council will take no action to defend their homeworld. 
Indeed, most of their homeworld is unaware even that there is any
threat."

"Threat of invasion and occupation?" Sheridan said, words of false
hope in his mouth.

"Threat of destruction," G'Kar had replied, shaking his head sadly. 
All three of the human fleets have been equipped with mass drivers,
apparently augmented by Drakh bioplague technology."

Sheridan bowed his head.  "We're going to do it then.  Any sign of the
Shadows themselves?"

"No.  They have remained quiet since the Battle of the Second Line. 
I... believe they are afraid of further Vorlon interference, and are
remaining quiet until they feel ready to oppose the Vorlons
themselves."

Sheridan spent a moment contemplating what was happening, and then he
snapped to attention.  "My orders, sir?"

"You are to go to sector twenty-seven by thirty-five by nine.  There
you will liaise with Captain Ben Zayn and the Ozymandias.  The two of
you will take any action necessary to delay the advance of the
attacking fleet. They will be within normal space for quite a lot of
the time, launching scouting parties to check for Minbari activity. 
You and Captain Ben Zayn are to launch hit-and-run attacks.  Jump in,
hit these scouting parties, and then jump out.  You are not to engage
the whole fleet, unless you feel it is the only solution."

"And that's it...  Just delaying tactics?  We can't delay them
forever."

"You will not have to.  There are... other plans in hand.  Plans which
will stop the war for good.  It is your task to give these plans time
enough to come to completion.

"G'Quan be with you, Captain."

"I hope somebody is."

John fell silent as he finished relating his orders.  "Delenn, I
promise you I'll do everything I can to help your people.  If I can
save your homeworld, then I will."

"John..." she said softly, gliding away from him, her long skirts
trailing the floor.  "John... sometimes I think we deserve no less
than what your people are going to do to us.  It is the circle
returning to the begin- ning.  We truly deserve no less..."

"I don't believe that, Delenn.  Everyone can be forgiven for what
they've done...  Everyone.  I will not let any of my people harm your
homeworld. I will not.  If our only response to being bullied is to
wait until we're strong enough to bully back, then we're nothing but
bullies ourselves. Trust me, Delenn, I will not let your people be
harmed."

"Why, John?  What reason do you have to save us?  What reason at all?"

"You.  And me.  I couldn't live with myself if I let this happen, and
I couldn't come back to you if I failed there."

Delenn looked directly up into his face, and then came towards him,
moving slowly, as if a part of her was afraid of coming too close to
him.  He knew how she felt - he felt it too - and yet he would rather
have stopped the sun than not let her come those last few steps.

She threw her arms around him and kissed him, passionately, lovingly,
fearfully.  His arms slid around her, holding her close to him,
unwilling ever to let her go.

Finally, however, she stepped back and looked deep into his eyes. 
"I... I...  Go, John.  Please.  But come back."

"I will...  Promise."

He left without looking back at her eyes.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 2B
Date: Mon, 23 Mar 1998 19:00:29 +0000

The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 2B.
Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

Warleader G'Sten sat down in the office that had until recently
belonged to one of his people, and resisted the urge to wreck the
place completely. It was just a room, yes, but it was still a symbol
of everything he hated and feared.  Once Narn, it had been inhabited
by the Centauri for a few weeks, and now any trace that it had ever
been Narn was gone, wiped away by the touch of the enemy.

G'Sten remembered the Occupation, and he remembered the Resistance. 
Once, he had been captured by the Centauri and had spent five weeks in
one of their cells, poked and prodded and tortured by those who
thought themselves better than he was.  One of the Centauri ladies
had issued a prophecy that he would die, and he had laughed in her
face.  G'Sten had always known that he would die, but it would not be
for some time yet. Not for quite a while yet.

"Bring him here," he said to his personal aide, and leader of the
elite force.  G'Lorn nodded and left.  G'Sten watched him leave, and
sighed.  A good warrior, but one who knew only war.  During the days
of the Resistance, G'Sten and his friends had talked frequently
about what they would do when the Centauri were gone.  Most of them
would be cursing their children from beyond the pyre if they knew that
what they were doing was fighting the Centauri.

G'Lorn led him in.  Lord Marrago, head of the House Marrago,
Lord-General of the Centauri Fleets, Lord of the colony worlds of
Edrius, Frallus and Gorash... and a pile of other titles of the sort
the Centauri liked to accumulate.

He had not been taken easily.  Trying to co-ordinate a defence from
the control centre, he had continued fighting even after the boarding
parties had taken the bridge.  G'Sten actually admired Marrago.  He
had just slipped from G'Sten's grip at Dros, had nearly smashed his
defensive wall at Ragesh 3, and had actually defeated his armada at
Quadrant 44.

And now he was defeated.

G'Sten looked at his opponent, seeing again those huddled
conversations from his Resistance days.  He had often wondered what
would happen once he had finally defeated Marrago.  Now he found that
he did not really care.

G'Sten gestured to G'Lorn, who took away the prisoner.  Neither of
them had said a word.  No words needed to be said.

Marrago would die of course.  A great shame.  G'Sten betted that few
Centauri were as he was.  But still, were G'Sten in their hands, could
he expect any mercy?

No.  Not a bit.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Kozorr could feel his breath solidifying in his chest.  He could not
remember ever having been so afraid, but as he looked around the
Circle of Nine, he realised that what he was planning was not only
heretical and blasphemous, it was right.

Kalain had called a meeting of the full Grey Council, inspired no
doubt by the feeble efforts of Gysiner and Chardhay to bring to his
attention the fact that a large number of ships and colonies had been
destroyed in the recent war.  Kozorr wondered who had pushed them into
it - unless they had actually decided by themselves to do something
worthwhile.

He touched his pike, folded and hidden in the sleeve of his robes.  It
was not permitted to bring weapons into the Hall of the Grey Council,
but a number of the warriors, most especially Matokh, had been
secretly carrying their weapons ever since the Battle of Mars.  Kozorr
would not have been surprised if Kalain, Sonovar and the others were
carrying theirs also.

He flicked his eyes across the Hall.  Deeron was by his side, looking
serene and peaceful.  Kozorr wished he had paid more attention to
medit- ation.  Maybe then he would feel as calm as she looked.

And then his gaze shifted to Kats, and his heart turned over.  She was
still, like a puppet held only by a single string.  Her head was down,
her body slumped.  She looked broken.

"Greetings, Satai," rasped a hideous voice, and Kozorr almost jumped. 
Out of the darkness hobbled Kalain, leaning heavily on the staff of
the Grey Council.  Kozorr had doubted he would see that staff again -
it was the weapon Hedronn had used to massacre the previous Council -
but this was the same one.

The staff held Kozorr's eyes for only a few moments however.  It was
Kalain himself who drew his full gaze.

Kalain was dressed not in the traditional grey robes, but in his old
warrior caste uniform.  It hung loosely around his frame, now skeletal
where once he had been strong.  His face was hollow, his skin
stretched tightly around his bones.  His bone crest was decaying,
crumbling away. The skin on the top of his head was flaking away. 
Kozorr thought he could see traces of the tender membrane below the
bone crest.

Kalain hobbled, where once he strode.  He leaned heavily on the staff
where once he would have stood upright.  He spoke in a hushed, hissing
whisper where once his voice would have commanded emperors.  He acted
like an insane butcher where once he had been one of the strongest of
the warriors.

Kozorr would like to think that by killing Kalain he would help the
former warrior, freeing him from whatever it was that cursed him.

(Outside the Hall, booted feet walked slowly, but surely, as one
returning to his destiny.)

"Some of you have expressed concerns," Kalain said, looking in
particular at the two priestlings.  "Some of you have wondered about
our safety, have asked whether there is something we should be doing. 
Some of you have asked about the Earthers and their fleets."

There was a pause, the entire Council falling silent.

"Faithless!" Kalain suddenly shouted, shaking the entire Hall. 
Gysiner visibly jumped.  Kalain pointed one outstretched arm at the
two priestlings.  His arm was trembling.  "Faithless and lost!  You
have a saying, among the religious caste.  'Faith manages.'  Have
faith in Valen, and in Sinoval, Valen's voice in this world.

"Faith will save us!  Valen will return soon, and he will break the
old orders.  He will save our people, redeem us from the sins of one
among us. He will destroy the Earthers, destroy the heretics and the
faithless, destroy all those who do not bow down before him!

"Have faith, Satai.  All of you, have faith!"

Kalain turned towards Kats, and Kozorr's heart caught in his chest. 
He could feel the cold metal of his pike against his hand.

"You have faith, do you not, Satai Kats?"

"Yes, Satai Kalain," she breathed.

Kalain struck the end of the staff against the floor.  "Do you have
faith, Satai Kats?"

The light of her column was darkening, flashing with what Kozorr could
only call lightning.  Kats' body shook and trembled.  "Yes!" she
screamed. "Yes..."

"In what do you have faith, Satai Kats?" Kalain breathed, hobbling
towards her.  He remained some way from her column of light, but
Kozorr could see him staring at her, watching her scream.  "Where does
your faith lie?"

"With... with Valen, and with... with Sinoval, and with..."

"She has faith," Kalain said, stepping back.  He turned to look at
Gysiner and Chardhay.  Kats was still screaming.  "Do you?"

(Outside, the acolytes at the entrance to the Hall stiffened as a
stranger walked into view.)

Kalain looked once at Kats, and once at Deeron, and then he lunged
forward, extending his pike.  Kalain caught his motion and turned,
but too late.  Kozorr's pike lashed across his face, sending him
sprawling backwards.

Sonovar moved, as did the other warriors loyal to Kalain, but it was
Kalain himself who moved fastest.  As Kozorr was about to bring his
pike down, crushing Kalain's skull, the crippled and downed warrior
rolled out of the way and brought up the staff.  It tore into Kozorr's
leg, shattering the bone.  Kozorr fell.

Kalain leapt to his feet, ignoring his injury.  Kozorr scurried out of
the path of Kalain's staff, swinging his pike upwards.  Kalain easily
blocked the swing, but it did delay him.

Kats was still screaming.

Kozorr awkwardly pulled himself to his feet.  His leg was broken, but
he willed himself to stand.  He could do no less.  Kalain's eyes
stared directly at him, and they were surging with an awesome fury.

Kats was still screaming.

Kozorr turned and darted towards her, unable to bear her screams any
longer.  She looked up once into his eyes as he approached her, and
then with a sharp shove he pushed her out of the column of light.  She
fell back into the darkness and her screaming, and her pain, stopped.

Kozorr's did not.  As his hand briefly penetrated the light, he
screamed. The light burned away his glove and seared his skin.  He
pulled his arm back swiftly, but not swiftly enough.  The skin was
practically burned away, leaving white bone exposed.

Kalain's staff crashed into his back and Kozorr fell tumbling to the
floor.  He tried to right himself, but Kalain's booted foot came
stamping down on his back.

"Faithless!" Kalain cried.  "Heretic, blasphemer!"  Kozorr tried to
lift his head, but Kalain's staff drove into the back of his crest,
smashing his head against the floor.

"You have been raised to the light of Valen's favour, and you rejected
it. You rejected him!  Heretic!"  The staff smashed down on the back
of Kozorr's head again.  "Faithless heretic.  Faith..."

"STOP!"

A word spoken with all the force of a meteor, and the entire Grey
Council fell silent.  Kalain turned to the entrance of the Hall.  Even
Kozorr managed to lift his head slightly, staring through glazed eyes
as a figure walked into view.

It was not Minbari.

"Shagh Toth!" barked Sonovar, darting forward, his own pike raised. 
Even Deeron started.  Gysiner and Chardhay backed away from it,
visibly terrified, leaving their own columns of light for the safety
of the darkness.

A second Soul Hunter came into view, each one carrying its own weapon.
Weapons uncannily like the Minbari fighting pikes.

"Abominations!" snapped Kalain.  "Kill them.  Kill them!"

"And have I been gone so long?" asked a voice familiar to all.  A
voice which would have caused even the Gods to snap to attention, had
They the courage to approach him.

"Have I truly been gone so long, that a friend of mine is not welcome
here, in my Great Hall?"

Sinoval walked into view.

"Well, Kalain?"

The entire Grey Council fell silent.

To be continued...



From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 3A
Date: Mon, 30 Mar 1998 19:30:07 +0100

Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
Phase 2 - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams

Hi people - here's the latest in my parallel universe saga, based on 
the premise that the Minbari did not surrender at the Battle of the 
Line and went on to conquer and destroy Earth. It began a long time 
ago with A Dark, Distorted Mirror, and all the previous stories 
should be available in the archive. Feedback is always welcome and 
should be sent to the address below.

This story contains Spoilers of a sort for the fourth season episode 
Lines of Communication.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic, but I'm not 
necessarily a nice hopeless romantic. You have been warned.


Chapter Seven:
The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 3A of 6 [AT]
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

There were moments, Satai Kozorr believed, when the fate of everything
that was hung in the balance, tipping precariously on the edge of a
precipice, where one choice, one action, one word, could forever
change the future of the galaxy.  One had been the first contact with
the Earthers and the subsequent declaration of war.

Kozorr believed he was present at another such moment now.

The entire Grey Council was silent, Sinoval's last words echoing
through- out the Hall.  Beside him stood two Shagh Toth - Soul
Hunters.  They were still, almost like statues, but their weapons were
drawn.  Sinoval's was not, but his pike hung at his side.  He did not
need to draw it.  He himself was a weapon, the mad fire of destiny
burning in his eyes, the fire of one who has finally realised his
place in the galaxy, and is determined to take it.

Kalain was silent, staring in mute horror at the return of the one in
whose name he had committed genocide, torture, murder...  His
grotesque appearance made him seem less than Minbari, but Kozorr could
attest to his strength easily enough.  The fire in Kalain's eyes
seemed to have died down, although the madness was still there.

Deeron was silent, staring at Sinoval with a hint of regret, of
sorrow, of familiarity.  Rumours named her and Sinoval as close, very
close at one point.  She had remained silent throughout the recent
confrontation, according to Kozorr's request.  Whether he triumphed or
failed, she must be seen to be uninvolved.

Sonovar was silent, staring at Sinoval with blatant disapproval.  His
gaze shifted to the Soul Hunters with rank hatred.  He was Kalain's
most loyal supporter on the Council.  He could not be expected to
react well to the return of the one who had, up until half a cycle
ago, led this Council.

Kats was silent, fallen in the darkness.  Kozorr could not see or hear
her.  Even her breathing was inaudible.  He prayed to Valen that she
still lived, but if she were dead, then it would be a quick release
perhaps. Still, alive or dead, her days of torture at Kalain's hands
were over.

Kozorr himself was silent, staring at Sinoval with awe, and anger, and
joy.  The pain from his shattered leg, bruised spine, cracked skull
and burned hand all faded away, replaced by a sense of destiny, of the
galaxy revolving around this scene.

Sinoval was not silent.  "Well, Kalain?  Have I been gone so long that
a friend of mine is no longer welcome here, in my Great Hall?"

Kalain's mad, dark eyes flicked to the Soul Hunters.  Then a light of
revelatory understanding swept across his features.  "Of course," he
said. "Even our oldest enemies now serve you, Holy One.  Even the Soul
Hunters bow down on bended knee to you.  Surely nothing is beyond your
reach.  Now that you have returned, Holy One, we will scour our people
of the heretics and the blasphemers and the faithless ones who doubted
you.  Where is Valen?  Have you seen him, spoken with him?  We are
ready, Holy One.  We are ready..."

Sinoval stepped forward and took the staff from Kalain's unresisting
grip. He held it loosely in both hands, turning it over and over,
looking at it intently.  "Forged by Valen himself," he whispered. 
"Used by him to create this Council, given by him to Derranimer, and
by her to Nemain and so on and so on, until it came to Dukhat, and
then things went wrong." Sinoval sighed.  "A thousand years of history
is screaming at me here, and I think of what our ancestors would say
should they see us now."  The blasphemous words had little impact on
the rest of the Council, although Gysiner flinched a little.

Sinoval raised his eyes, and looked around at each member of the
Council he could see.  Kats was still hidden in the darkness and
Kozorr was unable to stand, but the other seven received the full fury
of his stare.  He then raised the staff of the Grey Council...

... and snapped it neatly in two, casting the pieces aside.

"This is not history," he said firmly.  "This is not the past, and I
will not be bound by it.  This Council is broken.  All of you are
dismissed." He looked at Kalain.  "I know what you have done in my
absence, Kalain. We will speak of it later."

"Of course, Holy One.  Everything I did was done in your name, in the
holiest of holy wisdom.  The heretics, the faithless... everything was
in your name."

"In my name," Sinoval said slowly.  Kozorr could see a flurry of
emotions surging behind his eyes.  "In... my... name.  As I said,
Kalain, I know everything you did.  I am not pleased.  I left Minbar
to you, in your hands...  You have not done well.  You are dismissed. 
All of you."

"But, Holy One..."

"I said you are dismissed!  I will summon each of you later, to learn
what part each one played in this... shambles.  This Council is
broken."

"You cannot do that," said Sonovar, stepping forward.  "This Council
was formed by Valen.  We have done nothing to break our pact with him.
 It was the workers who first shed blood here.  We only..."

Sinoval turned to the young Satai.  "Are there now fools in the
warrior caste which I was once proud to call my own?  I would expect
this from the priestlings, but from you, Sonovar?  You - whom I taught
and trained, and led?  There will be many words with you later.

"But now... you are all dismissed!  This Council is broken!"

With blur of motion, Sinoval drew and extended his pike.  It shone
with a malevolence Kozorr would never have believed possible.  Sinoval
held it for a moment, and then brought it crashing down on the floor. 
It stuck there, rising at the centre of the central column of light,
at the heart of the Grey Council.

"You are all dismissed."

Slowly, beginning with Gysiner and Chardhay, the Satai began to file
from the Hall.  The other warriors left.  Deeron left, sparing a look
at Sinoval that could have meant any one of a number of things. 
Kozorr tried to hobble to his feet, but his shattered leg would not
bear him.  Sinoval himself stepped forward and helped to bear Kozorr's
weight, pulling him up.  From out of the darkness came Kats.  She
looked haggard and she was limping heavily herself, but she too
shouldered the burden of Kozorr's weight.  Sinoval stepped back.

Kozorr and Kats looked at Sinoval, studying his gaze.  Kozorr knew at
once that here was the man he would follow all the rest of his life.

"In Valen's Name, Holy One," he said.

"In Valen's Name," came the reply.  Kats said nothing, but helped
Kozorr as he hobbled away.  He said nothing to her, resting on her
support.  He did not think he knew any words to say.  As they reached
the doorway, however, he turned and looked back.  Kalain and Sonovar
were gone, as if they had never been.  Sinoval was standing in the
central column, looking around the Hall, the two Soul Hunters at his
side.  He seemed to be the most lonely person in the galaxy.

Sinoval turned, noticing Kozorr's gaze.  "Go to a physician," he said.
"Both of you.  And on your way out, send in one of the acolytes.  I
will need the records of every meeting held here, of every military
campaign, of every foreign and domestic decision.  Everything done
since I left."

Kozorr nodded.  "In Valen's Name, Holy One," he said.  They were the
only words he could find to say.

"In Valen's Name," came the reply.

"And if not in his name, then in whose?" came the solemn question
afterwards.  Sinoval obviously did not intend anyone to hear him, but
Kozorr had.  He was correct.

Sinoval was the loneliest person in the galaxy.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*The hands closed around his neck, the malevolence burned into his
eyes, the words tore into his ears...

*"Die, Mollari!  Die!"

*His arms jerked upwards, acting on reflex.  His hands closed around
G'Kar's neck.

*We know the day we will die.  We see it in our dreams.  Sometimes it
is true, sometimes it is not.  Some of us try to deny it, or ignore
it, or pretend we have not seen it.  It is not always true.  Some try
to flee it, hoping that by doing so they will live forever.  Pah! 
Foolishness!  None of us lives forever.  No one.

*And if I die... then I will die as and when I choose.  And if I
choose to die on the steps of the Imperial Throne, then so be it. 
Should I choose to throw myself off this mountain, then so be that.*

Old words, words spoken years ago.  Words spoken by the first soldier
in the Army of Light.

And the reply, spoken by the leader of the Army of Light.

*But you will not, will you?*

No, he hadn't, and no, he wouldn't.  He still would not.  Londo
Mollari had seen the day of his death, and whether he had escaped it
or not, he did not know.  Small comfort if he had escaped death at
G'Kar's hands, only to die here.

Surrounded by darkness, Londo Mollari lay silent in a holding cell,
his body bruised and battered, a prisoner of the Narns.

He knew the day of his death.  Sometimes death visions were wrong, but
he did not think that one was.

Londo had learned two things over the course of his life; two very
impor- tant things, from two very strange sources.  From G'Kar he had
learnt humility, serving something bigger than he was, and from that
he had found friendship.  From Delenn, he had learned hope.  Even in
the depths of despair, there is still hope.  There is always hope.

Trapped in the darkness, Londo Mollari clung to that hope.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval stood alone in the centre of the Hall of the Grey Council,
staring at the pike he had thrust deep into the floor there. 
Illuminated by the light, it stood out as a force of darkness.  He had
placed a part of his soul in that weapon, and it reflected his spirit
clearly enough.  He had called it Stormbringer, a name which boded
ill, but which seemed fitting.

 He straightened at the sound of footsteps behind him, but said
 nothing. 

He was in no danger.  His Soul Hunters were here, watching him. 
Cathedral was hidden in a fold in hyperspace, just out of view.  He
had thought it best to come here alone.

He turned as Deeron walked up to him.  Her expression unreadable, she
lowered her head.  A gesture so contemptuous as to be almost treason.

"Well," she said.  "You returned, then."

"Yes."

"I just never thought...  Not even you would do this."

"I do what is necessary."

"Yes.  I suppose you do."  A pause.  "Why have you called me here?"

"The Grey Council is broken.  It will stay that way.  I am making my
own destiny here, Deeron.  I have studied the records of the Grey
Council during the time I was gone.  You have done little, said
little, voted perfectly along with Kalain as he began the process
which would destroy our people.  And yet... I know you.  I trained
you.  In many ways you think in the same way that I do.

"What is there I was not being told?"

"I do not know what you mean..."

"Don't lie to me."  No anger.  No furious outburst.  Just a simple
statement of fact.  "You were involved with Kozorr's... actions,
weren't you? The dispatching of the Otosan, the Hantei, the Kisada...
and so on.  Your actions.  Why?"

"Kalain was insane.  I had to buy time for... something to happen.  I
saw the Earthers as a threat, even if he didn't."

"And Kozorr?"

"An idealist.  A love-struck fool, but his heart was right."

"I see..."  Sinoval paused, and looked down at Stormbringer.  "Will
you swear fealty to me?"

"What?"

"As a man, an individual.  Will you swear fealty to me, as your
leader? As Holy One?"

"No."

Sinoval looked at her.  Nothing was visible beneath her facade,
beneath her exterior.  Nothing visible, but there was something there.
 He knew it.

"Then go.  Leave this place."

She lowered her head, and left the Hall.  Not a word was spoken as she
went.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Alfred Bester was quietly walking down a corridor one day when he ran
into Ambassador David Sheridan.

Polite nods were exchanged, urbane murmurs of conversation between two
men who were on diametrically opposed sides of a conflict - and knew
it, even if they were not supposed to know it - and they passed each
other by.  A simple meeting, that was all.

Except:

"It is strange," Ambassador Sheridan noted, "to see a man of your
talents serving a Narn rabble- rouser.  But then perhaps the common
view of telepaths is correct.  You are only fit to serve."

Bester spun on his heel, focussing his attention on the man before
him. Sheridan in his turn remained still and peaceful.  The
redoubtable Mr. Welles had files and information on everyone and
everything in existence. Cracking those files had proved...
problematic, at best.  Welles was an ingenious little devil when he
wanted to be.  As it was, Sheridan had uncovered only a little of
Welles' hidden knowledge, but a part of that knowledge was concerning
a certain Mr. Bester and his certain relationship with a certain
Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar.

"I serve no one," Bester replied smoothly.  "Certainly not a... what
was it?  A Narn rabble-rouser?"

"I see.  Then Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar is not ensconced in the heart of the
mysterious machine hidden on Epsilon Three?  Then you and he are not
working in alliance against us?  Then you did not send ships to battle
our allies at the Second Line?  I am mistaken in all these things, I
suppose?"

"Quite, quite mistaken, Ambassador.  And should such scandalous
rumours ever reach the ear of the President..."

"Which they will not.  You have no fear of your little secrets being
exposed, Mr. Bester."

"I have no secrets to be exposed, Ambassador Sheridan."  Bester
paused, a thin, very self-satisfied smile twitching across his
features.  "But should it be that I do have secrets, there is a
certain man who may be involved with some of them.  A name very
similar to yours, I believe. What was it again?"

"I have no son."

"Really?  That's not what he thinks."

"I have no son."

"Oh well.  I must be on my way.  Should I see Captain Sheridan, I will
be sure to give him your regards."

A normal, simple corridor meeting, which laid the seeds for something
far deeper...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It was the smell he noticed first, the rancid, stinking odour of a
walking corpse.  Sinoval saw the Soul Hunters twitch uncomfortably,
their faces filled with disgust.  After the smell, there was the sound
of soft, garg- ling breath, and after that, the footsteps of someone
shuffling, unable to lift one foot after the other.

And then he came into view, avoiding the light wherever possible. 
Still, Sinoval could see the silhouette and pick out his former friend
clearly enough.

Kalain was hardly the warrior he had been.

"I am here, Great One," he said, his voice hoarse and rasping.  He
remained in the darkness.

"Come into the light."  An order that none dared disobey.

"Great One..."

"Come into the light."  On appearances, there was no difference in
tone between the two commands, but in actuality, only a fool or a
madman would have disobeyed that last intonation.  Which was Kalain?

Regardless, he hobbled into the centre of one of the columns of light.
With a thought, Sinoval shut down the other eight, leaving only
himself in the centre and Kalain facing him.  He looked at the warrior
Satai with a critical eye, seeing not his friend, but the man who had
tried to destroy Minbar.

Kalain was shrinking from the light, shielding his eyes, holding one
crooked arm above his head.  He looked pitiful.

"Why?"  One word.  All that was needed.

"In your name, Great One."

"Why, Kalain?  Why?"

"They... they needed to be purged.  All who would not believe.  We are
entering the beginning of the next cycle, Great One.  The return of
Valen, the breaking of the Grey Council, the destruction of our home,
the forging of something new from the ashes, something greater by far.
 With you at Valen's side, and I at yours, Great One.  All who would
not believe, who would not swear themselves to you... the weak, the
foolish, the heretics...  All had to be purged."

There was silence.

"Great One?"  Kalain could not bring himself to open his eyes, to look
at his Master.

"Kalain...  I trained you, a long time ago, when I was little more
than an acolyte myself.  You fought alongside me, rose alongside me,
displayed courage and skill enough to blind one hundred warriors.  In
all that time, you made only one mistake, just one act of fear.  There
is no shame in fear, Kalain.  That is what lets us know we are alive. 
I witnessed the Starkiller's assault on our forces at Mars.  It was as
if one of the Gods of old had descended from the heavens into our
ranks, bringing fire and death wherever it moved.  I doubt any of us
shall see its like again. Your actions then did not shame you.  I was
afraid then.

"And yet... and yet I fear for you, Kalain.  I fear you have let that
one moment consume you.  It is eating you alive.  You have always been
a proud man, but pride is a virtue.  You have always been a strong
man, but strength is a gift.  You have always been a passionate man,
and passion has been your undoing.

"Before I left here, Kalain... I came to see you.  Do you remember
what I asked of you?"

"Yes, Great One.  You told me you were going to seek Valen, to find
your destiny... to bring salvation back to our people.  I was to be
the shepherd in your absence.  The burnings... the killings... they
were to be used.  The fallen were to be excised, the murderers to be
punished.  I was to lead in your absence."

Sinoval sighed.  So much gone wrong, and if only he had been here... 
No, enough of the past.  It was gone.  The future was what mattered.

"You are the fallen, Kalain.  You are the murderer.  It will be my
task to help you rise once more.  I have heard about what you did. 
Hedronn at Tuzanor... the massacres all over the Federation... the
Earther ships you ignored... the torture of one of our own in our
sacred Hall..."

Sinoval did not raise his voice.  He did not need to.  Each word left
his mouth like a dagger flying from his hands.  He only wished he did
not have to speak so.

"You have fallen, Kalain.  Go.  Leave this place.  Go out into the
universe, and seek your own destiny.  It will take time to undo what
you have done here, but it can be done.  Perhaps when you return, you
will be ready to aid me."

"In your name, Great One..."  Kalain looked as though he were crying.
"In... your... name!"  Crying, or laughing.  "We are changing, the
next cycle beginning.  Our world will be shattered, our people cast
into the flames, our holiest of holy places cast down.  Only the
strong will endure, only the powerful will survive...  Let the weak
fall, let the fallen perish..."

His body suddenly shook, as if he were jolted by lightning.  He threw
back his head and screamed.  Sinoval simply watched.  Kalain's body
sank into itself.  He remained there, not moving, until his eyes
opened.  Sinoval looked at them dispassionately.  They were
colourless, empty of pupil and iris, nothing more than deep, pale
holes into Kalain's body.  Essentially he was now a husk - soulless,
devoid of life and strength.  Perhaps, with time, new strength could
be breathed into him, but Sinoval did not think so.

"By... your... will, Great One..."  Kalain lowered his head, and
scurried away, fleeing the light as if it were his greatest enemy.

"I sense your hand, Jha'dur," Sinoval muttered.  "Even when you are
dead, I am not free of you, it seems."  Ah, well.  Kalain was a
problem for another day.  The problem for this day was the mess he had
left behind.

One of the Soul Hunters spoke, for the first time that Sinoval could
remember.  His guards had always been silent, motionless, often little
more than statues.  He heard the Shagh Toth's comment, and his face
hardened.

"He is mad.  A madman's soul is a worthy prize."

"It is the prerogative of the madman to speak truths that no one else
will hear," Sinoval said sharply, and the Soul Hunters returned to
their silent immobility.

Truths that no one else will hear... or *can* hear?

Sinoval did not know.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Hyperspace... a swirling, colourful mass of... what?  Captain Smith
did not understand the science of hyperspace, but then he did not
understand how his muscles worked either.  That did not prevent him
from using them.

He supposed he should be sleeping, but he found he always slept badly
in this ship, tormented by the ghosts of those who had slept here
before, tormented by the ghost of one man: Captain Sheridan.

For the seventh time in the last hour, he looked at the read-outs on
his desk.  Destination: Minbar.  ETA: sixteen hours, forty-three
minutes - a whole four minutes since the last time he had looked.

Smith was career military, had joined up before the war.  His whole
life there had been dominated by just one thought... advancement. 
Making his way up.  His initial advances had been considerable, but
then had come the Minbari... and he had been stranded, forever trapped
on-planet, with no chance to see space again.

This was the chance of a lifetime for him, something he would have
thought unlikely even before the fall of Earth.  The President himself
had appointed Smith to this position, a rank very few could ever have
dreamed of.  If the climax of the war went well - and there was no
reason why it shouldn't, given earlier successes - then Smith would be
one of the heroes of the new humanity.

So why did he not feel very heroic, and why were his thoughts
occupied... elsewhere?

For the ninth time in the last hour, he went to his console.  This was
his ready room, after all.  Sheridan's ready room.  No one else was
here, no one to see the anxieties of their Captain, or to wonder at
his obsession with a particular member of his crew.

For the ninth time in the last hour, he called up the records on
Stoner, Lieutenant T., and for the ninth time in the last hour, he
uncovered a series of entries which meant nothing.  Father: unknown. 
Mother: unknown. Siblings: none known.  Place of birth: unknown.  Date
of birth: unknown.

Nothing about her personal life was known.  About her military career
there was a little more.  She had joined Earthforce during the
planetary draft mid-way through the war.  Her training had not been
complete at the fall of Earth, but she had been one of those who had
escaped from Mars, making her way to Orion, where she had been further
trained.  Her prior experience had been... negligible.  A period on
board Takashima's Janus. She had been one of the few to escape from
that ship following its destruction a few months before the fall of
Orion.  After that... a long period aboard the Babylon, during which
she had done nothing, said nothing and generally not existed.

What was it about her?  Smith returned to his seat, began drumming his
fingers on the desk, and then stopped when he realised what he was
doing.

She was a telepath, of that he was certain.  He had grown up around
them, and something in the bearing, the mannerisms... they all
confirmed it.

So what was a telepath doing on board a former Earthforce spaceship?

Smith was still pondering that question when a massive explosion took
out half the weapons array and parts of the transport tube system.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 3B
Date: Mon, 30 Mar 1998 19:34:10 +0100

The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 3B

Kozorr was flickering in and out of consciousness, only faintly aware
of the woman by his side, when the sound of booted footsteps woke him
a little, and he struggled to move in his bed.  He could not of
course, being restrained, but he could at least move his head
slightly, sufficiently to see the Holy One walk into view.

"In... Valen's Name," he rasped.  "Holy One."

"In Valen's Name, Kozorr."  His heart almost stopped.  Kozorr, not
*Satai* Kozorr.  Still, what had the Holy One said - the Grey Council
was broken. Of course, what else should he expect?  "How are your
injuries?"

"Still serious," replied a soft, lilting voice from his side.  Kozorr
blinked, and then remembered that Kats had been here the whole time. 
Had he spoken to her?  He must have done, but he could not remember
what he had said.  "He should be resting, Holy One."  A trace of
accusation in her voice?  The merest hint of dislike?

"I will recover, Holy One.  The physicians said that I will be able to
walk and fight within a few days at most."

"They said no such thing," Kats hissed.  "Rest and recover, you idiot,
or you will..."

"Perhaps I should leave the two of you alone?" the Holy One remarked
wryly.

"No, Lord," Kozorr replied quickly.  "I may be able to walk within a
few days.  My injuries are not as severe as they appeared."

"Your... hand?"

Kozorr tried to shift his gaze to look at his left hand.  He could not
move his neck sufficiently - such was the damage to his headbone and
spine - but he knew what he would see.  The skin on his hand had been
burned away, as had the flesh and muscle.  In some places the bone
could clearly be seen.  The physicians had said nothing, but Kozorr
knew he would never use it again.  It would probably have to be
removed.  He felt it with the loss a warrior feels for the destruction
of a close and trusted weapon, but he remembered what the loss had
bought, and he was content.

"I will never use it again," he said simply.  He thought he saw
Sinoval bow his head gently.

"I am sorry for that, Kozorr, and for you as well, Lady Kats.  Had I
been here..."

"There is little point in worrying about the past, Holy One.  I am
alive, he is alive.  We must thank Valen for that, and move on towards
the future."

"Valen, yes...  And the future.  It is about the future that I have
come. The Grey Council is broken, and it will stay that way.  I am
building a future for the Minbari, a future which is not tied to the
past.  To do that, I must needs know whom I can trust.  Kozorr, why
did you risk your life against Kalain?  No other dared act.  You
assaulted the one I placed at the head of our people.  Why?"

"Because it was right, Holy One."  No doubt, no hesitation.

"Are you sure of that?  It was right?"

"Yes, Holy One."

"Why so sure?"

"Because... what Satai Kalain was doing was wrong...  Not just the
massacre of the worker caste, or his negligence regarding the
Earthers, or even the..."  Kozorr's eyes flicked to Kats, who said
nothing.  "Even his treatment of Satai Kats...  Satai Kalain's actions
were wrong because he denied us the right to be Minbari.  He would
have thrown us all to our deaths without a thought, for no reason.  He
violated our precepts, broke his word, betrayed us all.  My challenge
to him was my attempt to stop him.  No more."

"Have I not violated our precepts?  I have broken the Grey Council
forged by Valen a thousand years ago.  I have brought our ancient
enemies into our ranks, made alliances and bargains with them.  Am I
not as guilty as he?"

"Yes, Lord.  You are."

"So brave, to tell me that.  If I were to tell you that I had raised
Kalain even further... that I had given your life to him... what would
you say then?"

"Then... Holy One... I would say that you lied."

There was a pause, and then Sinoval suddenly began to laugh, a deep,
brilliant, strong laugh.  Kozorr looked across at Kats, and tried to
move his right hand to touch hers.  She shied away from him a little,
and would not look at him.

"You are a good man, Kozorr.  A very good man.  You alone had the
courage to do what had to be done.  You alone stood up against him...
and you alone would have risked your life for another.  I told you the
truth - the Grey Council is broken and will remain so as long as I
live, but I will still need those who will fight alongside me. 
Congratulations, Shai Alyt Kozorr."

Kozorr's heart leapt.  Shai Alyt!  A title given him by one he
respected so much.  At last, a chance truly to serve.  And yet... and
yet... there was one thing...

"What of Satai Kats?" he asked.  Beside him, she started.  "She... she
has been wronged by Satai Kalain, Holy One, and therefore by you... 
What will you do for her?"

She tried signalling him to silence, but failed.  She was looking at
him with a horrified expression.

"You are right, Shai Alyt.  I have done wrong by her, and by her
caste. For that, Lady Kats, I can only ask forgiveness, not in my
name, but in the name of my caste.  We have wronged you, and that is
something which can never be undone, but you also fought Kalain, in
your own way.  Will you serve me, and permit both of us the chance to
try to make right that wrong?"

"You are also right, Holy One," she said, with not a hint of pride or
shame or pain in her voice.  "The warrior caste has done me wrong, but
one of them risked a great deal to spare me pain."  Her fingers closed
around Kozorr's hand, and squeezed it.  "Because Kozorr wishes it, I
will serve you, through fire and darkness, past death and despair,
until my soul is reborn, when I hope to serve yours once more."

Kozorr was stunned.  The highest form of oath anyone could make, and
she had made it because he had spoken up for her?

"That will be difficult," Sinoval whispered,  "as my soul will never
be reborn, but that is a problem for another day.  And you, Shai Alyt
Kozorr? Will you serve me as Lady Kats has sworn to do?"

Kozorr looked up into the eyes of the man he knew he would serve
forever and into the eyes of the woman he knew he would love forever,
and he began to speak the same oath as Kats had done.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Warleader G'Sten sat the office that was not his, and never would be
his, and he looked at the paperwork, counting up the dead and the
living, and noting that the first column was depressingly long.  Not
just Narn dead, but Centauri as well.

Overall, this had been a fairly simple operation.  For whatever reason
the Centauri had weakened their protection of their greatest victory
so far, and had enabled the Narn to swoop in easily.  The space war
had been straightforward enough, but the guerrilla war inside the
military base had taken almost a full day before the Centauri forces
were defeated.  They had fought well, obviously having learned from
the Narns.

And best of all, Lord-General Marrago had been captured.  He had
displayed a remarkable knack for slipping out of even the tightest of
traps, but this time he had fallen.  He would be sent back to Narn for
execution, along with the other noble who had been taken.  What he had
been doing here G'Sten had no idea, but his hair and manner of speech
identified him as a noble, even if his clothes did not.

G'Sten supposed there would be great feasting on Narn tonight.  He
wished that were not so.  He had been a soldier all his life, and he
knew that there was never any such thing as a 'glorious victory'. 
Many dead, many more injured or maimed, and the battle was usually for
nothing anyway. The complex here had been a Narn military base, taken
over by the Centauri only recently.  Now that it was taken back the
Narns were no better off than they had been a few months ago. 
Madness... all of it.

A noise outside his door startled him, and G'Sten stood up.  His
personal bodyguard - Ja'Doc - had been out there.  He was reckoned to
be the best unarmed fighter in all Narn territory.  Surely no one
could...

Evidently someone had.  A figure drifted into the office.  He did not
seem to wield any sort of weapon - but he must have had one in order
to fell Ja'Doc.  G'Sten reached for the long dagger secured to his
leg.  He was moving slowly but sinuously, determined not to alert this
would-be assassin.

The figure threw back his hood, and G'Sten stared in surprise.  A
Minbari! Here!  Well, he had nothing to worry about.  The Kha'Ri had
no wish to ignite any form of conflict with the Minbari, so he would
probably be permitted to leave...

... but why was he...?

"Warleader G'Sten," the Minbari said, speaking the Narn language
fluently. "My name is Lennier, of the Third Fane of Chudomo.  We have
to talk.  It concerns your nephew..."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Stormbringer... the Bringer of Storms...

"Am I the storm?" Sinoval asked softly, looking at the weapon he had
forged.  "Or am I the harbinger of it?  The storm is coming, and it
will be here soon.  I can feel it.

"Ah, Valen... if you have chosen me, I fear your choice was not
wise... but that does not matter.  Our destiny is what we make for
ourselves. There is no prophecy, no destiny, nothing...

"We are what we make of ourselves."

He had returned to the Hall of the Grey Council, some five hours after
he had arrived here.  A great deal had happened in that time, but
compared to the frenzied action which would follow, it was nothing. 
The fate of Minbar was resting on him...

Slowly, the members of the former Grey Council walked in.  Sonovar
came first, walking proudly, arrogantly.  Sinoval did not like him. 
There was a darkness running through his soul, a darkness that spoke
only of self, not of others.

Of course, Deeron had said something similar about him, and she might
have turned out to be correct.

Behind Sonovar, following as the vultures followed the battlefield,
came the other two warriors.  Sinoval knew neither, but that did not
matter. He knew what they were, which was enough.

Then came Gysiner and Chardhay, their noses wrinkling at the sight of
the Soul Hunters at the entrance to the Hall.  Then they saw Sinoval,
and their manner changed instantly, becoming fawning and sycophantic. 
These were the two who had watched a member of this assembly being
brutally tortured over a period of months and had done nothing, not
because they believed the torture to be right - as had Sonovar and his
companions - but because they were afraid of what would happen should
they act.

Kats herself then followed, walking slowly, hesitantly.  She looked at
the column of light with open fear.  Then her bearing straightened,
her eyes lifted, and she walked into her place as if she were an
acolyte freshly raised to the Council.

Sinoval had studied the device Kalain had used, and was appalled by
its brutal simplicity.  Kalain had manipulated the source of the light
so that it emitted a dangerous and agonising form of radiation.  It
was not lingering, but while Kats stood there she had been bathed by a
force which caused her bones to grind against one another, her nerve
endings to shoot out messages of agony throughout her body, even her
blood nearly to boil in her veins.  Kozorr had caught a concentrated
dose - the device having been set to increase in intensity should
anyone else enter the column - but Kats had been enduring the pain for
months.

No longer.

All were here now.  Kalain had gone, hopefully following Sinoval's
advice and seeking his own sense of destiny.  Kozorr was sleeping,
letting his wounds heal.  Deeron was... simply absent.

Sinoval took a deep breath, thought of Marrain in his ageless prison
of fire and hatred and madness, and began to speak.

"I have been studying the records of actions taken while I was gone,"
he began.  "I know of the torture which was carried out by the Grey
Council against one of its members.  I know those who sat back
watching while this torture was carried out.  I know of the massacre
perpetrated on one third of our people, and I know who authorised that
massacre, and who carried it out.  Those who are guilty will be
punished, I assure you.

"And I know of the threat posed to us.  For months now, the Earthers
have been assaulting our borders, attacking and capturing our
colonies, engaging and destroying our ships.  And only two of this
assembly dared take any action.  Only..."

He was interrupted.  Sonovar was laughing.  "The Earthers?  You have
grown weak in your absence, Sinoval.  What threat can they pose? 
Their homeworld is gone, their fleet in ruins... they are no threat
to anyone."

"They have taken our colonies," Sinoval repeated, speaking slowly. 
"They have destroyed our ships.  They plan to destroy or occupy our
homeworld. Their fleets are advancing now, and they will be here soon.
 We have not the resources to defeat them."

"You are soft, and pathetic.  To think you were once a warrior,
Sinoval."

"I am still a warrior, and not one to be mocked by you!  Where are our
ships, Sonovar?  Where are our resources, our weapons, our fleets? 
Away from here.  They are on patrol... away from here, out in deep
space, or guarding minor stations, protecting borders that were never
under any threat.  You know that of course, Sonovar, for you were the
one who sent them out there."

"I was obeying the orders of the one who stood where you stand now..."

"And he has been punished for giving those orders, as you should be
for obeying them.  I will not argue with you, Sonovar.  Our time here
is short, and will grow shorter.  I have issued a general recall order
for all our ships..."

Sinoval paused.  He hoped he would never again have to speak any words
which filled him with as much dread as these did.

"... but not to here.  Minbar is lost to us.  An evacuation will be
ordered, and Valen have mercy on all our souls."

To be continued...


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 4A
Date: Wed, 1 Apr 1998 14:29:53 +0100

Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
Phase Two - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams

Hi people - here we go again. 

This installment contains vague Spoilers of a sort for Lines of 
Communication.

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

Personal Disclaimer: I am a hopeless romantic, but that doesn't mean 
I'm going to be nice to any of these characters, okay. Got that?

The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 4A of 6 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

"This is General Ryan to Babylon.  Repeat, this is General Ryan to
Babylon.  Are you there, Babylon?"

Captain Dexter Smith sighed heavily and went to the commscreen.  He
did not want to be having this conversation.  He did not want to be in
this situation.  He did not want to be going to Minbar.  He wanted to
be home, this whole damned war over.

But no one in this world ever got exactly what he wanted.

"Yes, General.  Captain Smith here."

"Smith, good."  Ryan sounded relieved.  He was actually a half-decent
human being, if all things were to be believed.  Probably why he was
out here, getting landed with all the messy work rather than back on
Proxima, handing out the messy work.  "What happened?"

Smith instinctively straightened, even though this transmission was
audio- only and Ryan could not see him.  "A massive explosion,
General.  It took out most of our weapons array, part of the transport
tube system, and badly damaged bits of Engineering.  We were lucky we
were able to jump out of hyperspace in time, otherwise we might have
got ourselves lost there."

He still remembered the explosion.  He had been sitting in his office,
pondering certain possibilities... when the whole ship had been racked
by the massive burst.  The sheer shock had thrown the Babylon off
course, but fortunately the jump engines were capable of opening a
gate and getting out into normal space.  Judging from the star
readings they were out in very deep space, quite some distance in
normal space from anywhere inhabited.

A few minutes after they had jumped out a much bigger jump gate had
formed, and the Morningstar and several Drakh ships emerged.

"Was it natural, do you think?"  Smith could hear the unspoken
question in Ryan's words.  The other option to it being natural...  It
would be easy for Smith to agree with Ryan.  The Babylon was an old
ship after all.  She had taken quite a battering in her time, and the
new modifications and updates... well, they were risky at best.  A
major systems failure was... well, not a certainty, but a possibility.
 Had been so for some time.  It would be easy to say that.  Very easy.
 But...

... but it would not be the truth.

"No, General.  It was sabotage.  A bomb, we think, although carefully
planted.  We... think it was designed to cripple the ship rather than
destroy it outright."

A pause.  A long pause.

"Are you crippled, Captain?"

"All engines are operational, sir.  Both jump and normal.  Navigation
is working fine.  Outside communication is audio only, although inside
communication is working fine.  Starfuries are... badly damaged.  We
estimate over fifty percent destroyed, the others... probably need
substantial repairs."  It was Smith's turn to pause.

"Weapons systems?"

"All weapons bays are completely destroyed.  All weapons are non-
operational."

"I see...  Do you know who did this?"

"Yes, sir.  We have her in custody now."

"Do you know why?"

"No, sir.  She has not yet been questioned."

"Well..."  Smith could practically see the anguish on Ryan's face. 
This was supposed to be a human mission - a chance to exorcise the
ghost of the fall of Earth once and for all.  And yet, it was
abundantly clear to everyone that this mission was being carried out
by aliens.  The Drakh, who provided military help; the Streibs, with
their economic benefits and distraction of other powers; the Shadows,
with their technology.  There were only three human capital ships
here, and the Babylon was the only one of them which had been fighting
this war since the beginning.  With it gone, a powerful symbol of
human resistance was gone as well, and there were yet more signals
that humanity was being helped out by the aliens.

But if the Babylon could not fight...

"We hear you, Babylon," said Ryan.  "We will leave some smaller ships
here to help safeguard you while essential autorepairs are carried
out.  You are then to return to Proxima Three and hand over the
saboteur to the appropriate authorities."

Smith was not sure which emotion he was feeling most.  Despair, at not
being present at the final battle over Minbar, and elation, for the
same reason.  In fact, what he was feeling most was an odd sense of...
disap- pointment, as he remembered the name of the saboteur, the one
who had planted the bomb.

Stoner, Lieutenant T.

It was at exactly that point that another jump gate opened, a very big
one, and this one did not carry allies.  Not at all.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo Mollari shifted his gaze uneasily as the door to his cell
opened. He had been here for what must have been several hours,
drifting uncom- fortably between sleep, dreams and waking delirium,
without food or water.

The figure of a Narn stood silhouetted in the doorway.  A big Narn. 
Londo twitched nervously.  He was not afraid to die... actually, that
was a lie. He was afraid to die, but he wouldn't have minded so much
if his death had had any purpose.  This whole thing seemed so...
unnecessary.

"I..."  Londo coughed violently, and began again.  "I need to speak
with you.  It is about... about one of your people...  G'Kar."

"Indeed?" the Narn said.  He stepped forward and came into view at
last. Londo recognised the uniform of a Warleader.  "And what do you
know of G'Kar?"

"I... I work with him.  He knows me."

"Do you mean to tell me that my nephew, the war hero, the prophet...
would form an alliance with a Centauri?  Why?"

"For the greater good!  Because... because..."  Londo struggled to
think of something to say.  "'Because we are fighting on the ramparts
of our greatest castle, struggling to hold the walls together. 
Because we cannot let ourselves be blinded by our fears and by our
hatreds and by the past. Because... if we cannot live together, we
shall surely die apart.'"  He paused and took a deep breath.

"His, word for word," the Warleader said.  "You do know him...  Either
that, or you have some very clever spies.  Am I to take it that you
are one of his 'Soldiers of Light'?"

"A grand title," Londo remarked.  "But yes, I am."

"A thing easy to say, but hard to prove."

"What do you need to know?  By the Great Maker, what more do you need?
 Go ahead then... kill me if you wish... and doom yourself.  G'Kar is
a better man than you could ever..."  Something clicked in Londo's
memory.  "Your nephew...  G'Sten!"

"You know my name.  I am not surprised.  Many of your people know it."

"Ah, but how many of my people would know this?  When you were
younger, a prophetess of my people said that you would die at a
certain place... in the mountains somewhere.  Some years later, you
found yourself there, surrounded by soldiers of my people.  You
resigned yourself to death, hearing again her prophecy... but then,
you fought back, and you managed to escape.  Since then, you have
known that there is no such thing as destiny.  You are your own
master... or so it is said.  I wonder what G'Kar would say if he saw
you now."

G'Sten sighed, an oddly gentle gesture from such a huge Narn.  "Then
he was right.  You are a free man.  Go from here.  I am not a part of
my nephew's war.  I am a soldier.  I serve the needs of my people,
but... as you said... if we cannot live together, we will surely die
apart.  I was there at G'Khamazad when he made that speech, and I wept
bitter tears for what I have done, and what I still must do.

"Ah... my brother produced a fine son.  He would be proud."

Londo paused.  "What sort of man was G'Kar's father?" he asked softly.

"A good man, a proud man, who never let the burdens of this world bow
him. One day, he spilled a hot drink on the Centauri mistress he
served.  She had him hanged from a tree for three days.  I am not the
man my nephew is, and I never will be.

"Go to the docking bays.  A ship is leaving here in less than an hour.
 It is ferrying the wounded to our nearest hospital facility, but it
will make a minor stop, at one of the travel stations in Quadrant
Thirty-eight.  You and your two companions will get off there, and if
I ever see you again, then you will die."

Londo blinked as G'Sten left, and he tried to rise.  Another figure
stepped in, and Londo started.

"Mr. Lennier!"

"It is... good to see you are safe, Minister Mollari.  The
Warleader... took some persuading."

"He did at that..."  Londo stretched.  "Ah, Great Maker... I ache all
over.  I will never feel comfortable again, I swear I will not. 
Wait... he said two companions... who is the other?"

"Lord-General Marrago, of course.  He is waiting for us at the docking
bays.  He is hiding.  I...  knew how important he was to your mission,
so I arranged for his freedom as well."

"Ah, you are a good man, Mr. Lennier.  I do not know what I would do
without you.  Yes... you are a very good man."

"Am I?  Sometimes I... wonder... if that is the case...  Hurry.  We
must not be detected.  Our departure from here is supposed to be
secret, after all."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

For the second time in only a few hours the Hall of the Grey Council
was completely silent, the last few words ringing in the air.  For the
second time in only a few hours, it was Sinoval of the Wind Swords,
Holy One of the Minbari, who had spoken those words.  And, for the
second time in only a few hours, the silence was broken by Sinoval
himself.

"Our homeworld is lost to us.  Fighting for it will only cause more
loss. I have given orders for the evacuation of as many as we can hope
to save. I..."

"Madness!"  That was Sonovar, also of the warrior caste, but of the
usually more liberal Star Riders clan.  Usually.  "You have become
weak in your absence, Sinoval.  You are weak and pathetic and
frightened of your own shadow.  You..."

"Shadow... is a dangerous word to speak in this place, Sonovar.  A
very dangerous word."

There was another long silence, as Sinoval and Sonovar stared at each
other across the Hall.  Sinoval's gaze was one of peace, of wisdom
which came only with suffering, of revelation which came only with
pain. Sonovar's was one of arrogance, and vigour, and the belief that
youth is all-powerful.

"What are you suggesting?" barked Sonovar.

"I am suggesting nothing.  I am urging you to listen, Sonovar.  The
Earth- ers have become more powerful than you remember.  They are
motivated by hatred, and by revenge, and by fear... compelling
emotions.  And behind them always... is the Enemy.  We have fallen as
far as the humans have. We should try to drag ourselves back.  And to
begin...

"The worker caste will have priority in the evacuation."

The Hall exploded.  "Outrageous!" cried Sonovar.  "You would give
those... those murderers preferential treatment... over us!  We who
have fought and died against the Earthers and the Enemy..."

"That is indeed... most, um... unfair," said Gysiner.  Sinoval's gaze
landed on him, and he quickly fell silent.

"So the worker caste are murderers, are they, Sonovar?  You have proof
of that, I suppose?"

"Hedronn murdered the previous Grey Council in this very room. 
Records were shown... his confession was made in full, and in public!"

"I see..."  Sinoval gently ran his hands across the hilt of
Stormbringer, and he equally gently pulled it free of the floor. 
Holding it loosely, he crossed the Hall towards Sonovar.  The Council
shifted uneasily.  Sinoval paused before Sonovar, looking deep into
the younger warrior's eyes...

Then he lashed out with Stormbringer, smashing the pike into the
warrior's skull, sending him crashing to the floor.  The other two
warriors darted forward, but Sinoval thrust the pike at Sonovar's
throat, holding it there.

"And if this pike crushes your throat, Sonovar... then who is the
murderer?  I - or the weapon itself?"  He stepped back.  "Hedronn was
the weapon, Sonovar, not the murderer.  The worker caste bears no
guilt, and carries no shame.  That shame and that guilt are ours... of
the warriors for enacting such genocide, and of the religious caste
for standing by as it was carried out.  As minor payment for that, the
worker caste will be given preferential treatment in leaving Minbar.

"Do not mistake me in this, Sonovar.  The Council is no more, and this
is no longer a democracy.  I rule here, and I alone."

"Holy One?"  The Council stirred.  It was Kats speaking.  She looked
hesitant, and a little nervous.  "Holy One... you were right.  My
caste has been done a great wrong, but you were not the one who
perpetrated it, nor many of those on Minbar.  We will not flee while
others are left to die.  If we must evacuate Minbar, then we shall do
so evenly, or not at all."

A slow smile crept across Sinoval's face.  "I see...  Thank you, Lady
Kats.  You are obviously wiser than many of this assembly.  And more
forgiving than we deserve."  He began to walk back to the centre of
the circle, fully aware of the rush of motion behind him.

Satai were not meant to carry weapons into the Hall of the Grey
Council, but as Sinoval had pointed out, they were no longer Satai and
this was no longer the Grey Council.  Sonovar and his two companions
all drew their pikes and rushed towards Sinoval.  He did not respond,
simply waiting...

>From the darkness surged the two Soul Hunters, wielding their own
weapons - uncannily similar to the Minbari pikes.  They knocked down
the two warriors and Sinoval spun, facing Sonovar.  A simple parry and
a simpler thrust and Sonovar was down.

"This is not a democracy, Sonovar.  Challenge me again, and I shall be
more than happy to give the Soul Hunters the order for your death."

"Minbari do not kill Minbari!" he spat.

"And I will not kill you.  I will not have to."  He stepped back and
began addressing the Council as a whole, turning around as he did so.

"I have brought you here to warn you.  All the ships we have available
are to rendezvous at one of our few remaining colonies.  We will begin
a fight back, but when we are ready, and no sooner.  This war is not
yet lost, and it may never be, but our homeworld is lost.

"Each of you will have to supervise the evacuation.  Everything we
have must be used to ferry away as many of our people as we can. 
Civilian ships, flyers, even this ship here.  Save as many as you can,
all of you.

"And to those we cannot save... then may Valen have mercy on their
souls, because humanity will not."

"Where will we go?" asked Sonovar.  "Would you have us become
wanderers? Refugees, tossed this way and that - flotsam of the
galaxy!"

"If necessary, then yes!  We have a few colonies remaining, and we
will take back those which were stolen from us.  This war is not over,
Sonovar, but for you it may be."

Sinoval looked around the Council.  "You all have your purposes... now
go!"

Kats bowed reverently as she left.  Gysiner and Chardhay did so too,
with some doubt and reluctance.  Sonovar rose to his feet, eyes
spitting fury at Sinoval.

"Do not challenge me, Sonovar.  Trust me on that."

Sonovar snarled as he left.  Sinoval was alone among the light and the
darkness, reflecting on the twilight of the Minbari Federation, and
wondering if he was the one who had caused the sun to set.

But then he suddenly laughed.  "Fool, the sun always rises again.
Always."

And then he left the Hall.  He had other duties to perform.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Captain John J. Sheridan could feel the Babylon pulling at him as he
led the Parmenion against it.  He did not want to think about the
circum- stances of this ambush.  This area was deep space, far from
the usual shipping lanes, a long way from anywhere inhabited.  There
was no reason for any ships to be here...

... and yet here they were, almost exactly at the location G'Kar had
provided.

*Hit and run, hit and run, hit and run...* a simple, straightforward
mission.  Jump in, wreak some havoc, jump out.

Sheridan was still uncomfortable about his last mission involving
human ships - the misinformed attack on Beta Durani and the Babylon. 
This attack was better prepared than that, but still... those were his
people out there...

Fortunately the Drakh were there also, providing a much more welcome
target than either of the human ships.

*Hit and run, hit and run, hit and run.*

Simple, straightforward... no launching of Starfuries, just
devastating cannon and broadside fire, with a few... little extras.

"How long until the jump engines cool down enough?"

"Ten more minutes," replied Lieutenant Guerra.  Sheridan nodded.  That
should be enough time...  Hopefully.

The Ozymandias and Ben Zayn obviously had no such qualms about hitting
human ships.  Sheridan could follow the tactical displays and saw the
Ozymandias attacking the second human ship - the Morningstar.

The Drakh ships swooped through space, descending on the Parmenion. 
For- ward cannons tore through the leading ship, while right
broadsides forced the others to retreat.  This would be easier with
Starfury support, but Sheridan could not risk any being caught behind.

Where the rush of battle should have flowed through him, he found
himself feeling strangely... subdued.  This did not feel right, firing
on his own ships, facing down his own people.  This was not right.

He turned to look at Lyta Alexander.  She looked... strained.

"Any sign of the Shadows?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "Just those... Drakh... things.  They have
something similar, but their... their ships buzz at the inside of my
head.  It's like there's an insect rattling around in my skull. 
They're... I can't describe it."

"As long as there's no Shadows around."  Sheridan looked at Guerra,
who checked his instruments.

"A few more seconds... that's it!  Jump engines down to optimal
temper- ature."

"Right, get us out of here."  Sheridan activated the ship-to-ship
comm- line.  "Ben Zayn, this is Sheridan... we're heading out."

"Understand.  Launch the fusion bomb and we'll follow."

Sheridan found himself nodding as the jump point opened.  As the
Parmenion swept into hyperspace, the fusion bomb it had launched
detonated, sending the Drakh ships plummeting back and stunning the
Morningstar.  Ben Zayn took advantage of the confusion to escape back
into hyperspace himself.

Well, one skirmish satisfactorily concluded...  Sheridan just wished
the rest of the war could go as well...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She had not been flying today, had not felt herself hanging in space,
suspended above infinity by the tiny speck that was her Starfury, but
Neeoma Connally could feel herself flying...

The orb... it was speaking to her... whispering at the inside of her
mind...  Drakh words forming Drakh thoughts inside her...

They had been close... recently... they had been close, she could feel
them...

She could hear them whispering to her, repeating the same words over
and over again...

*You will be ours...  You will be ours...  You will be ours...*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Alfred Bester looked squarely into the eyes of President Morgan Clark
and put on a false smile.  Beside Clark were Ambassador David Sheridan
and Security Chief Welles.  Clark was largely a walkover, but Welles
and Sheridan... both were dangerous people.  Sheridan in particular
knew of Bester's alliance with G'Kar, and Welles... he always knew
more than the telepath did.

Still, both were also largely intelligent people.  Their power stemmed
from Clark.  Get rid of Clark, add a little political manoeuvring
and... a lot of problems would be over.  The Resistance Government
here was already indebted to Bester.  Once Clark was gone, it might be
time to call in a few of those debts.

"It's always a pleasure to have you here on Proxima, Mr. Bester,"
Clark said smoothly, lying of course.  "We all remember the help you
gave us after the... Orion incident a few years ago."

"It was a pleasure, Mr. President.  We are all human, after all."

"So, I trust your business here has gone well?"

"Very well, thank you.  I have checked in with some of my
representatives here.  They have found a few telepaths in the
up-and-coming generation, so I will be taking them back to my base as
soon as I can.  I am sure we all recognise the importance of telepaths
for the future of humanity."

"Of course," Clark replied.  Of course he did...  He had after all
been responsible for repealing several items of anti-telepath
legislation, the... secret price of Bester's aid during the Orion
crisis.  For the first time since the formation of Psi Corps,
telepaths finally had similar rights to those of normal humans. 
Bester still controlled them all of course, but they were holding more
power within the Government.  Why, his little protegee Miss Donne now
held quite a valuable post in the Military Intelligence.

"But," Bester continued.  "My visit here was more than mere daily
business.  I wished to congratulate you personally on the success so
far of the engagement against the Minbari.  We've lived in fear of
them for too long."

"Exactly," Clark said.  "We have Ambassador Sheridan to thank for it,
of course, although our captains and soldiers have all performed
superbly of course.  Our estimates put our fleet and that of our
allies at Minbar itself within a day."

Bester raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise.  "So soon?  That is not
public knowledge, is it?"

"No... it will be announced after we have decisively taken their home-
world.  I trust you will be present when we receive the reports of the
battle there?"

Bester smiled.  "I would not miss it for anything, Mr. President."

There was a sudden chime at Clark's computer console.  "If you will
excuse me?"  He rose to his feet and went to the commscreen.  Bester
looked up at Sheridan, and smiled.  The Ambassador's gaze could have
shattered rock. Still smiling, Bester tried sliding into the folds of
Sheridan's mind.  He had to be subtle here...  Sheridan was a
strong-willed and observant person, and would probably be able to
detect anything too deep, even if only from Bester's expression.

Bester slid inwards...

*Images... the Minbari... descending on Earth, ship after ship,
frantic attempts to flee... the knowledge that a world was going to
die...  Some ships were trying to escape, but too late... they had
left it all too late...

*A Machine...  The Machine was the world... figures... aliens...
hideous aliens... they were...  Pain!  Glowing eyes in the dark...  A
voice, kindly and old, yet filled with despair... the voice tried to
reach out to him...  He...

*Glowing eyes in the dark... eyes that knew he was there...*

Bester leapt back quickly, gasping.  He had rarely encountered such a
jumble of thoughts before.  There was no rationality to them, no sense
of order, no semblance of coherence.  Bester had never experienced
anything so chaotic before.

"Are you all right, Mr. Bester?" Sheridan asked.  *He knows, damn him!
 He knows!*

"Just a... sudden migraine," was the carefully worded reply.  "An
unfort- unate side effect of my... abilities."

"Ah... well, you must not over-exert yourself.  Perhaps a quiet
lie-down might be in order?"

Bester was on the verge of coming up with a reply when Clark returned,
his eyes in a fury.  "Treason!" he snapped.  "And sabotage..."  He
looked around at the three men before him.  Bester would have tried to
scan Clark, but other efforts recently had all been fruitless.  There
was some... barrier in the way.

"Our fleet was ambushed on their way to Minbar.  The Babylon was
sabotaged from within, and will have to head back for repairs.  It
will come here..."

"But surely Beta Durani is nearer," spoke up Welles, "or even the
captured colonies in Beiridian or Rokugan."

"It will come here," snapped Clark.  "Captain Smith has arrested the
saboteur, and I mean to see her punished."

Bester pretended surprise, but inwardly he felt the warm glow of
contentment at a job well done.  *So, little Miss Winters actually did
her job right.  G'Kar will be pleased...*

"And... the rest of the fleet?" he asked cautiously.

"Some of the Drakh ships were destroyed, but the Corinthian and the
Morningstar needed only minor repairs.  The fleet is delayed, but not
stopped.  They will still be making for Minbar.  Nothing will stop us.
Nothing!"

"As you say, Mr. President," said Sheridan flawlessly.  Welles and
Bester added similar sentiments.

Clark looked around at those nearest to him.  "Mr. Bester, Mr.
Welles... I am sorry to cut this meeting short, but these new...
developments mean I must talk with Ambassador Sheridan.  I am sure you
understand?"

Bester rose to his feet and nodded.  "Mr. President," he said respect-
fully, as he left.

No sooner had he gone two steps outside the door, than Mr. Welles came
up behind him.  "My office," said Welles.  "Now."

"I am afraid I have pressing business..."

"My office, now... or I will have your delightful attache here
arrested on numerous counts of murder, I will indict you on various
charges, beginning with treason, and... oh yes.  One other thing.

"I will reveal to the President everything I know about G'Kar, and
your dealings with him, in particular the presence of certain
anomalous ships at the Battle of the Second Line.

"Well, Mr. Bester?"

Bester spread his arms wide.  "It appears you have me where you want
me, Mr. Welles."

"Quite right.  You know the way of course.  Come."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"It... it is highly irregular.  Wrong, even.  Um... yes, it is wrong."
Gysiner hesitated, unwilling to look up from his kneeling position. 
He and Chardhay had discussed matters after leaving the Hall, and had
decided that Chardhay would make the arrangements for the 'evacuation'
while he, Gysiner, would deal with this... other matter.

Silence.

"Surely you can see that.  They are only Earthers, after all, with
some rabble of Shadow allies.  I mean... they cannot pose a threat to
us, especially with your help..."

Silence.

"Will you at least... um... consider it?"

Silence.

"Sinoval... he is... well, unbalanced, maybe.  All of the warriors
are... but him especially.  I mean..."  Gysiner's voice dropped to a
near- whisper.  "He even brought Soul Hunters here...  He cannot be
the right person to lead us.  Don't you agree?"

The Vorlon spoke at last.

"Perhaps."

Gysiner stopped, realising that that was as much as he would get. 
Perhaps it would be enough... but then, perhaps not.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 4B
Date: Wed, 1 Apr 1998 14:32:34 +0100


The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 4B of 6 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

"So, how are you feeling now?"

Susan Ivanova contemplated the question for a while, and then smiled
and nodded briefly.  "Better... much... I... oh, hell.  I suppose I
should thank you...  I mean, the last few days have been...
difficult... and well... oh, why is this so difficult?"

Laurel Takashima smiled.  "Because you're an innately stubborn human
being, who finds thanking anyone incredibly difficult and an insult to
your stubborn, taciturn Russian psyche?"

Susan laughed.  "Ah... something like that, yes.  Oh... you're an evil
person sometimes."

"Me?  I don't know who you're thinking of, but the only evil person in
this room is you, my dear Miss Ivanova."

Susan snorted.  "I will have you know I am a fundamentally good and
kind person.  Now I don't know who has been spreading these rumours
about me, but..."

"Rumours?  Facts, you mean."

"Hah!  I am sweet and innocent and..."

*Flash.*  He said nothing as her pike smashed through his ribs and
pulped his heart and lungs together.  He had died almost instantly,
without even realising what had happened to him.  She had stood there
for a moment, wondering just what she had done, and then she did not
know whether the scream that sounded came from Lyta, or from herself.

Susan started, and began to tremble.  Almost instantly, she felt
Laurel's arms around her, holding her.  She wanted to cry, but she
could not.  She could not even speak.  All she could do was see over
and over again the image of Marcus Cole as he died.

"I...  I..."  She tried to breathe, but her breath caught in her
throat. She was shaking.  Not even the feel of Laurel's hands in her
hair or Laurel's breath on her cheek could free her.

"Oh, God!" she cried, finally able to speak.  "I'm sorry...  That...
that was..."

"That was one of the worst fits I've ever seen you in," Laurel said. 
"You should go to the doctor."

"And what could a doctor do?  The last I heard they couldn't erase the
past, you know.  They can't...  Laurel, I did love him.  Really I did.
And Anna... she was... she was a friend.  How was I to know?  How was
I to...  All I wanted was for them to be happy... but..."

"I know, Susan.  I know."  Laurel pulled back, and Susan could see her
staring deeply into her eyes.  The bad eye, the one that wept pus, and
ached, and itched, and could hardly see at the best of times... it was
that eye which saw better than the other, and that eye which told
Susan Ivanova exactly what she did not wish to hear.  Laurel Takashima
loved her, and Susan was too scared to return that feeling.

Laurel reached forward and kissed Susan gently on the lips.  "Believe
it or not, Susan Ivanova, there are people in this world who care
about you, okay?  There are some of us...  Never forget that."

"I... I... I know.  I'm sorry.  I'm a mess at the moment, aren't I?"

"Not much more so than usual."

Susan laughed.  "Ah... thank you.  I...  I needed this."

"I'll always be here for you.  Always..."

"Don't say that."  Susan's face had gone deathly white.  "Please...
don't ever say that.  D...  d...  Don't...  Don't..."

And in her mind again was the cry which would never leave, which would
always ring in her ears.

*YOU PROMISED I'D BE SAFE!*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The massive space-ark its inhabitants called Cathedral was not a
pleasant place at the best of times, even to those inhabitants.  To a
human, it was considerably less so.  But then, Sinoval mused as he
entered the room which had become a cell, if humans played games with
politics, they deserved to learn the price of failure.

The human called Morden stood up as Sinoval entered.  "Ah, Primarch...
so good to see you again."  He did not sound the least bit sincere.

"You're a free man," Sinoval said.  "Take your shuttle and go."

Morden raised an eyebrow.  "Well, that's awfully kind of you... but I
don't see why you're being so magnanimous now.  After all, I've only
been here a month or so."

"You said there were factions among the Vorlons... different
ideologies competing for power.  Which faction you represent, I'm
still not sure.  As it is, I am sure where the loyalty of your
ambassador to Minbar lies.  He can wait until later.  You cannot.

"Go back to the Vorlons and give them this message.  The Minbari are
mine. If I ever see a Vorlon near any of my people ever again, I will
smash his armour open and tear him apart."

"Quite the comedian...  Angering the Vorlons is rarely a good idea."

"We shall see, and I find little which is amusing in this situation. 
I have learned all I can from you... so you may go.  Do not even think
about coming back."

"So kind of you..."  Morden left, and Sinoval doubted he would ever
see the human again.  As it was, he did not care.  He had other
concerns.

The first of these led him to the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus.  He
was found, not surprisingly, at the Great Pillar, standing on top of
an impossibly tall spire of rock, a holographic display of space all
around him.

"Minbar," he said reflectively.  "I've never been there.  Over twelve
hundred years old, and Minbar is the one place I've wanted to go most
often.  It is strange the way the Fates bring us around, isn't it?"

Sinoval stepped up beside him, silently, looking at the representation
of his homeworld.  He had not been born on Minbar, but still... it was
a place of beauty, of age, of custom.  To see it like this almost
broke his heart.

"How goes the evacuation?"

"Not quickly enough.  Not nearly quickly enough.  We will not be able
to save everyone, but we will do what we can.  We will have to buy
some time..."

"Ah..."  The Primarch smiled.

"The weapons here on Cathedral.  How strong are they?"

"Strong enough to hold their own against... say... a Minbari war
cruiser. One, maybe two.  Against a full fleet... I do not know.  And
the Drakh have clashed with us before, and they have very long
memories.  I would say that we can hold them off... for a little while
perhaps."

"That's all we'll need."

The Primarch looked at Sinoval, and then suddenly began to laugh. 
"That is what I like about you...  You make an old man's life very
interesting."

"We are cursed to live in interesting times.  I would have it no other
way."

"No," the Primarch admitted.  "Me neither."

To be continued...

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 5A
Date: Wed, 8 Apr 1998 15:25:45 +0100

Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
Phase Two - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams

Hi people - here we go. Slight Spoilers for Lines of Communication. 
Feedback sent to address below, blah blah.

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

Personal Disclaimer: Oh well, this one will have been proved true by 
the end of this part anyway. Don't say you weren't warned.

* * * * *

Chapter Seven
The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams Part 5 of 6
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

The world had been nameless, silent, forgotten save for the whispers
of legend...

It was forgotten no more.  The world where Valen once brought light to
the darkness had been the home of three groups of exiles and refugees
in recent years.  First were the Vindrizi, who had fled here hoping to
keep their repositories of memories, images of millennia gone and
times lost, hoping to keep them safe and untainted, fleeing the hints
of a vast storm on the horizon.

Second had come Derhan, once the greatest warrior of his age.  He had
come here to wait for the fulfilment of a prophecy, secure in the
knowledge that it would come to him in time, and where better place to
wait?  He had lent his skills and tactics to the Vindrizi, helping
secure their place of refuge, content to reside here until the one
warrior more tactically gifted than he arrived.

And now... fleeing to this nameless world came the Minbari.  Evacuated
from their own homeworld, seeking a place of rest and respite from a
war of their own making, a war that threatened to consume them
entirely, and probably would.

They came... primarily worker caste, who had been given priority, a
minor, pathetic repayment for the near-genocide of their caste.  But
not just workers.  Along came warriors - largely the wounded, the
cowardly or the old - and the religious caste - mostly the afraid, the
healers or the leaders.

Sech Derhan, once the greatest warrior of his age, looked out at the
ship that arrived, disgorging the frightened, the arrogant, the
grieving, the injured, the lost...

"Ah, Sinoval," he whispered, thinking once more of the man he had
pledged to serve.  Sinoval, Holy One, Primarch Nominus et Corpus,
Entil'zha... a man to shake the suns and the moons and the stars with
his fury.  A man determined to change the universe through force of
will.

A man bowing to the inevitable...

That the Minbari were doomed.

Derhan knew the situation as well as any.  Sinoval had kept in
constant contact, and both of them had access to almost all knowledge
since the dawn of time - Sinoval through the Soul Hunters, Derhan
through the Vindrizi.  Both of them knew the situation.

Minbar was doomed.  Even now the ships of the Earthers and their
ancient allies were moving in on the homeworld, intent on a savage
retribution. They had lost their own homeworld, and had every
intention of dealing payment in kind.

Derhan knew he was looking at the twilight days of the Minbari
Federation. He was a warrior, he had lived a long and fulfilled
life...

Sometimes he just wished he could have died before seeing this.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"May you live in interesting times."

"Pardon?"

Captain Sheridan turned.  "Oh, I'm sorry."  He looked at his second,
Commander David Corwin, and was struck by how... old Corwin looked. 
He was a good ten to fifteen years younger than Sheridan - he
shouldn't look so old.  But then, how old must Sheridan himself look?

"It's a... it's a curse of sorts.  May you live in interesting times."

"I'd say these times are interesting enough, wouldn't you?"  Sheridan
nodded.  "Still," Corwin continued, "this is the time to be alive...
to see it all... to... to be aware of the events around us, the
changing of states and stars.  It makes the blood race."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Sometimes.  Not always.  There are times when I think how great it
would be to talk to my grandchildren, telling them of the time I
fought at the Second Line, of how I did this and did that... and
they'll look up at me in awe, and my wife would tell me not to bore
them all with old war stories again, but...  Well, then I wonder if
I'll ever get that far, or how many others will make it with me."

"People die," Sheridan replied.  "All the time... people die."

Their mission had been simple, and straightforward.  Delay the human
advance on Minbar.  Not take on the fleet as a whole, just delay it.
Enough for the Minbari to get some sort of order established. 
According to G'Kar there was some kind of revolution taking place on
Minbar, appar- ently resulting in the 'right' people coming to power. 
All Sheridan and his Parmenion and Ben Zayn in his Ozymandias had to
do was delay things enough to give this faction time to get matters in
order.

Oh, it had gone well enough at the start.  The first hit and run
attack had been perfect.  It appeared that Bester or G'Kar had agents
on board some of the human ships, and one of them had done something
to incapaci- tate the Babylon.  Witnessing the temporary stop,
Sheridan and Ben Zayn had jumped in, shot down a few Drakh, damaged a
few human ships, and then jumped out.  Perfect.

The second such attempt had not gone as well, and the Parmenion had
suffered potentially serious losses against a horde of Drakh ships. 
The third attack had been disastrous, with the Ozymandias almost
destroyed and only just managing to escape.  Ben Zayn refused to
return to Sanctuary for repairs, however.  He and his crew had done
what little they could, and were heading off with the Parmenion for
the next rendezvous point.

It was quiet, the lull between the storms.  Sheridan was on edge,
uneasy, awkward.  He did not like the thought of having to fight his
own ships, least of all to save the Minbari.  He didn't know why...
no, that was a lie.  He did know why.

Delenn.  Damn!  Who would have thought he would have found himself
this close to falling in love with a Minbari?

"Do you ever think about the future?" Corwin asked.

"No, not really."  That was a lie.  Sheridan thought about the future
constantly, the future as it might have been... with Anna, and
Elizabeth, and Mum and Dad and Lizzy.  He thought about a future in an
Earthforce whose uniform he was proud to wear, working for a
Government he was proud to serve...

Dreams of the past, or dreams of the future...  He did not know.

"You never know," Corwin said, "if we do this right, we could be
heroes. I suppose...  Captain John Sheridan, the Starkiller... hero of
the galaxy. Commander Corwin, saviour of races... defeater of evil... 
Um..."

"Man of steel?" Sheridan suggested wryly.  "Honestly, where do you
come up with these things?"

"Just... thinking.  A hero, eh?  That would be something to tell the
grandchildren."

"You don't have grandchildren!"

"I might do.  Sooner or later."

Sheridan raised an eyebrow.  "Ohhh.  Things with Dr. Kirkish going
that well, eh?  So, you popped the question yet?"

"What?  That's a bit of an invasion of privacy, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'm your Captain...  I can ask you whatever I like."

"I don't have to tell you."

"You do if I order you to."

Corwin suddenly laughed.  "Oh, all right...  No, I haven't asked her. 
I haven't even seen her in person for months.  I was just... imagining
what it would be like, you know...  Just...  I don't know.  I told her
I'd have to save the galaxy before I could make anything secure for
her."

"And what did she say?"

"She laughed and said she'd have the doughnuts ready for half-time."

Sheridan shook his head sadly.  "Listen to me, David...  If you think
you've got something good there... then take it.  Never mind how
messed up the world is, or how the galaxy's falling apart...  If you
love her, and she loves you... then take it.  You never know just how
long you might have."

"Oh?  Then is there something you aren't telling me about Lady
Delenn?"

"Lady Delenn?"

Corwin shrugged.  "She seemed to deserve some sort of title, and that
was the only one I could think of.  Well?"

"Well what?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"I...  Oh... this is...  I... well."  There was a beep from Sheridan's
commscreen.  "Saved by the bell."

"We aren't through with this."

Sheridan got up and went to the commpanel.  "Oh yes we are."

"Oh no, we're not."

"Oh yes we..."  He activated the panel, "... are."  G'Kar's face
appeared. He looked serious.

"Captain...  I am afraid there will need to be a change in your
orders. You will not like this..."

"May we live in interesting times," Sheridan muttered.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


"Why?"

Silence.

"Why?"

Still silence.  Captain Dexter Smith, EAS Babylon, looked at the face
of the woman in front of him and wanted to scream, to shout, to rage. 
He did not, of course, but he did not know why.

God knew he had enough reason to.  Lieutenant Stoner - he still did
not know her first name, except that it began with a T - had been a
member of his bridge crew here since the beginning, since the first
'new' engagement with the Minbari.  She had been recommended by the
Generals and had performed admirably and ably in the course of duty.

So why had she sabotaged the Babylon, taking it out of the battle
which would mark humanity's greatest victory?  Smith and his ship were
now on their way back to Proxima 3, in need of extensive repairs, and
not advancing on Minbar with the rest of the fleet.  And it was her
fault.

"Why?"

Oh yes, and one other thing.  She was a telepath.  Of that he was
sure. It did not show up on her records, in her family history, her
prior service... nothing.  But she was.

He looked at her.  She was sitting on her bunk here in the brig.  She
was tall, refined, attractive in an elegant, distinguished sort of
way.  There were hints of inner vulnerabilities in her expression, but
it would take someone more observant that Smith to be able to identify
them fully. There were also hints of other things... little motions,
minor give- aways... all betraying her as a telepath.

"Why?" Smith asked for the last time.  She still did not reply, did
not in fact say a word.

Snarling, he left.  Time enough for her to answer questions later.  He
just hoped she realised that Welles and his guards would not be
anywhere near so easy on her.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"An ancient place, dating from the days before Valen, before the Grey
Council, from the times when Minbari still warred with Minbari.  It
was a sort of solution, so that only one or two need die, and not
hundreds of thousands, but as ever... the solution did not quite work
as its designers had envisaged.  Remember after all, the disaster that
was Tuzanor..."

Sinoval remembered the words spoken, long ago, by his teacher in
history and politics.  Sech Varan had been taught by the best of all -
his mother Varmain.  Sech Varan had - apparently at the behest of his
mother - taught Sinoval everything about the history, the politics,
the culture... every- thing that was Minbar.

His teachings had never prepared Sinoval for this.

He wondered absently where Varan was now.  He should still be alive,
unless he had gone to the sea while Sinoval had been... away.  Would
he soon end his life, wondering at the bright flash in the sky, or had
he escaped to another world, becoming a piece of flotsam in space?

Sinoval found, much to his disgust, that he did not really care.  All
of Varan's teachings had not prepared him for this.  No teachings
could have done that.  He was about to tread unknown ground.

His surroundings were silent, completely still.  The Starfire Wheel
where leaders had died and lived, where Marrain had challenged Valen
and failed, where Valen had survived the Wheel... it was all silent. 
The product of an ancient and forgotten time.

A time to which Sinoval would shortly be returning his people.

He wondered about the state of the evacuation.  Between them Kozorr,
Kats and Derhan should be able to oversee most matters, but there were
too many things that could go wrong - premature arrival of the
Earthers, action by Kalain or Sonovar, friction between the Minbari
and the Shagh Toth... any number of things.

But this was important.  Sinoval would not be here were it not so.

The merest hint of a noise behind him alerted him, and he turned.  His
two ever-vigilant Soul Hunter guards rustled in the shadows.  They
were little more comfortable with this than was Sinoval himself.

Ulkesh Naranek, Vorlon Ambassador to Minbar, shuffled into view.

Sinoval studied the figure approaching him carefully, fighting down
the urge to retch and vomit.  He detested Vorlons, and had done so for
as long as he could remember.  Something about them... smelled wrong. 
They hid from others within their encounter suits, remaining in the
shadows, emer- ging only when it suited them, helping only when it
suited them, speaking in riddles and allusions and cryptic paradoxes.

Nevertheless, they were a power in the galaxy.  A substantial power. 
Now that Sinoval was a power himself, he intended to alert the Vorlons
very closely to their... new relationship.

The Vorlon stopped next to Sinoval and regarded him, its headpiece
twitching, almost like a puppet whose string was shaken.

The Vorlon was silent, of course.  They rarely spoke.  "I rule here
now," Sinoval said flatly.  Stormbringer was fully extended, and he
was holding it casually.  The Vorlon could not fail to notice it.

"You will leave Minbar.  The planet will shortly be devastated in any
case, but you will leave because I order you to leave, and you will
not return.  None of your race will ever come near my people again. 
We will fight the war against the Enemy ourselves... without you." 
Sinoval paused.  He was expecting... some sort of reaction. 
Something, anyway. He breathed out, and straightened, looking the
Vorlon directly in the eye.

"We need you no longer.  Do you understand?"

The Vorlon made a strange noise.  If Sinoval did not know better, he
might have called it a chuckle.  The Vorlon turned away.  "Impudent,"
it said, in what was very probably meant to be an amused tone. 
"Child."

A faint smile crept across Sinoval's face.  This he had been
expecting. He waited for the Vorlon to turn its back and begin to
shuffle away.  He raised Stormbringer...

The pike tore into the Vorlon's back, piercing the encounter suit. 
Rays of light began to stream from the opening.  Stormbringer seemed
to hum as it made contact.  The Vorlon turned.

"Disobedient," it rasped.  Sinoval drew back his pike, and thrust it
forward.  The headpiece shattered, the eyehole caving inwards.  Storm-
bringer's hum grew louder.  Ulkesh actually seemed shaken.  More and
more light poured through the damaged armour.

"Go away," Sinoval said calmly.  "Our destiny is ours now.  You are
not a part of it any longer.  Go away!"

The Vorlon seemed shaken, almost trembling.  Stormbringer's hum was
growing so loud the noise almost blocked Sinoval's ears.  He faced
down the Vorlon, every atom of his power, of his confidence, of his
Valen- granted certainty... everything concentrated into that one
gaze.

The Vorlon shook and shuffled off into the distance.

Sinoval let out a huge laugh.  "I knew it!" he cried, looking down at
his pike.  It was still now, just a bit of metal, just a weapon, but
for a moment there...

No, just a weapon.

The two Soul Hunters came into view.  "Come on," ordered Sinoval.  "We
aren't done yet, not by a long way."

And in the shadows nearby, holding himself and shaking, a trembling
Kalain watched the confrontation.  "Chosen of Valen," he whispered. 
"Show me your light, show me the way.  Chosen of Valen, show me your
light, show me the way.  Chosen of Valen..."

The worst part was, he did not know whether he was addressing
Sinoval... or the Vorlon.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Most Centauri nobles were inherently paranoid as a matter of course.
After all, in a society where one of the preferred methods of gaining
promotion was dead men's purple boots - with not all that many
questions being asked about the manner of their emptying - anyone who
wasn't instantly suspicious about things such as, for example, mortal
enemies offering one a drink of something a funny colour, wasn't
really likely to live long enough to pass on the naivete, innocence
and vulnerable genes. Although things had evened up over the last
fifty years or so, the recent... troubles had brought everything back
to the way it had been.

Worse, if anything.

Timov, daughter of Alghul, first (and always harassed) wife of Londo
Mollari, was paranoid even by the standards of most Centauri nobles.
Living with two other 'sister-wives' who would like nothing better
than to rip her apart, growing up with a father who was a worthless
dreamer and a mother who was a scathing harridan, and inheriting her
mother's infamous scathing wit, had all conspired to produce a person
who had all the kindness, compassion and sentimentality of a Jovian
slime-strangler.

Still, there were times...

Much to her surprise, she had been discovering over recent months that
she actually missed her idiotic husband, and not just because it meant
his estate was now being divided up by Mariel and Daggair.  She missed
the verbal sparring, the casual insults, even the odd bout of drunken
idiocy from him.

No matter how often she reminded herself that it had been her idea to
have him pretend to be dead, she still found herself cursing him for
devising such a foolish plan.

Still, she had to continue with his work, even with all the annoyances
from Daggair and Mariel.

No sooner had she finished the communique with one of her agents in
the Royal Court - a sweet little maid of Elrisia's named Adira - than
the commline flashed again.  Recognising the identifying signal - and
letting fly a series of choice epithets she had learned from Londo -
she answered it.

"Why, Timov dear," said Daggair, looking as pristine at the dead of
night as she did at midday.  Timov idly wondered how long it had taken
Daggair to put her face on this morning.  "I've been trying to contact
you all day, but you've always been out or talking to someone else.  I
do hope you haven't taken a lover... not so soon after dear Londo's
death.  Why, the scandal!"

Timov put on her best false expression.  Daggair was one to talk!  She
had been entwining herself around Minister Jarno for months (and his
wife was not best pleased) and Mariel's antics with half the soldiery
were common gossip.

"No dear," Timov replied, as condescendingly as she could.  "I've just
been... working, that is all."

"Oh, working.  Sometimes I think that's all you ever do.  I never had
the head for any of it myself.  That's why I spend so much time here,
where the action is.  Still, I suppose I can't expect you to know much
about what's hot at the moment.  You just stick to what you do best,
dear."

Timov sighed.  "Did you have a reason for calling, or was it just to
crow about the stimulating social life in the capital?"  Londo's
personal estate was quite some way from the capital - a fact which
suited Timov perfectly, Mariel and Daggair not at all.

"Now, there's no need to be petulant, dear.  I just wanted to tell you
that First Minister Jarno thinks we've been holding out on our
contributions to the war effort.  That new... Emergency... Taxation...
thing.  It's all for the war of course.  Anyway, I told him that
couldn't possibly be correct, but he insists.  So, he said he'd send a
representative over tomorrow to investigate things.  Please have all
the accounts in order for him, won't you?"

Timov put on a pleasant face.  The new tax dreamed up by the Centarum
for 'the war effort'.  Daggair had no head for numbers, but Timov did
and she recognised opportunities for embezzlement when she saw them 
The wording of the regulations had enough holes to pilot a warship
through and she doubted that even a tenth of what was raised went to
the war effort. First Minister Jarno was probably having some very
entertaining parties in the capital.

"I'll do what I can, Daggair," she said in reply.  "Are you sure
you're getting enough sleep?  You're really looking very... peaky."

Daggair started.  "I feel fine!" she snapped.  "Why... why should I
not be feeling fine?"

"Oh, nothing really.  Good night, Daggair."

Timov switched off the commscreen and felt like screaming.  Ever since
Londo had 'died' she had been charged with the management of his
estate until his nephew Carn returned, or until Carn's brother Varn
came of age. Running the estate was hard enough without Daggair and
Mariel pinching bits of it right and left, and First Minister Jarno
and his damned 'emergency taxes' everywhere.  Timov had already had to
lay off most of her servants.

And where was Londo?  She had not heard from him in over six months.

"It will serve him right if the stupid fool has got himself killed,"
she muttered, as she made her way to her bedroom.  It was late, and
the accounts would have to wait.  Besides, they were already suitably
fudged to avoid drawing attention to Mariel and Daggair's little...
'unauthor ised expenditures'.

It was strange how empty the house felt now.  Hardly any servants, no
Mariel or Daggair - thank the Great Maker! - and no Londo.  It
seemed...

She paused, experiencing a tingling feeling at the back of her neck.
Someone was...  She paused, looking at the door to her right.  It was
Londo's personal sanctum.  Not his study, but the place he went to...
well, to generally be Londo without the world around to get in the
way. It was full of his worthless trinkets, memorials, medals, several
bottles of that revolting bravari stuff.  Generally Londo's place
of... Londo. Timov, Mariel and Daggair had all been refused
admittance, and even the servants went in only for very brief periods
for essential cleaning.

Someone was there.  The door was slightly open and there was a hint of
light visible.  Slowly, Timov tiptoed forward and pressed her ear
against the door.  She did not feel afraid.  For some reason... it
felt right.

She could hear the muffled sound of muttering, although not exactly
what was being said.  She shuffled closer to the door to try to hear
better...

The door opened sharply and she fell inwards, stumbling and only just
managing to maintain her balance.  Turning round to frame a brave
retort, she found all the air leaving her lungs.

Literally.

"Ah!  Timov!" cried Londo.  *Londo!  Here!*  "It is good to see you! 
Ah, you do not know how good it is..."

For a moment she felt as though her wits were leaving her, but she
soon recovered.  "Put me... down, you barbarian," she gasped, still
being swung around in Londo's arms in a massive bearhug.  "Put...
me..."  He did, and she found herself gasping for breath and
precariously balanced.  So precariously in fact that she had to cling
to him in order to save herself from falling over.

"You big... brute," she breathed.  "I swear you broke some of my
ribs."

"You missed me," Londo said in tones of wonder.  "You did.  You
honestly missed me... Hah!"

"I most certainly did not!" Timov replied emphatically, stepping back
and patting down her clothing.  She was feeling flustered.  Very
flustered. "I... that is..."  He was laughing.  Curse him, he was
actually laughing! "I did not!"

"I missed you too," he said softly, and he smiled... actually smiled
at her!  "Who would have thought it, hmm?  Just do not tell anyone.  I
have a reputation to protect, after all."

"Trust me, I won't.  So why are you back?  I thought you were going to
stay away until..."

"Something came up.  Several somethings in fact.  It's a very long
story. Very long.  Let's see... there were the technomages... strange
people, them... and the Drakh - a very nasty people... no, they're not
legends. All too real, trust me.  Oh, wait.  I'm getting ahead of
myself.  After I left here, Carn and I headed for... well, somewhere I
shouldn't be telling you about, but on the way, we..."

"Londo!"  He stopped, looking hurt.  "Fill me in on the details later.
Why are you back?  Have you discovered something?"

"Yes... well, several somethings, as I said.  First, is that it's time
to stop running.  Second, there's always hope, no matter how dark
things look.  Third, you acquire friends in the most unexpected
places...  Hmm, yes, and First Minister Malachi is still alive.  I've
been trying to get my agents to look for him, but I've been out of
touch with most of them for a while, and...  All right, Timov.  You
have that look.  What is it?"

"I know First Minister Malachi is alive," she said, in deadly
seriousness. "He presented himself before the Centarum this morning."

"What?!  How... why... but..."

"Oh close your mouth, Londo.  Unless you are actually hoping to catch
a fish in it.  I know...  I was quite surprised as well.  To say
nothing of the Centarum."

"But he was... he...  I mean... the technomages said..."

"Oh, I'll fill in the questions for you, Londo.  Mind if I take a
seat? Good."  She pulled out Londo's favourite chair and sat down.  He
was still wearing that shocked expression  She found it quite amusing,
or she would have done were the subject not so serious.

"He just arrived in the capital this morning and went straight to the
Centarum.  They've been deadlocked on choosing a new Emperor for some
time now, not helped by the fact that many of the major candidates
seem to develop nasty - and usually terminal - afflictions.  Our dear
Minister of Transportation, for example, developed a sudden attack of
walking off a very high balcony.

"Anyway, Malachi arrived and said he'd help sort things out.  He said
he'd been away for a while... he needed to 'renew himself' after
Emperor Turhan's death.  No, he didn't know why someone had seen fit
to fake his death, and he was somewhat aggrieved at pointed
suggestions that he'd done it himself, and Londo, please close your
mouth.  That really is a most unbecoming posture."

Londo's incredulous gaping turned into a sharp smile.  "Well well!" he
cried.  "Well, that was easier than I'd thought.  It explains why I
hadn't heard of it though.  My companions and I have been... well,
let's just say we weren't in the habit of meeting anyone."  Timov
flashed him a question- ing look.  "They're in the city, staying with
some agents of mine.  I came back here to... well, to do a few things,
but mainly to see you."

"Oh?"  Timov found she was actually blushing.

"But still, now that Malachi's back, all the troubles are over.  He'll
sort the Centarum out in no time.  Hah!  May the Great Maker himself
spit on me if Malachi isn't the next Emperor.  Good... all we need to
do is go to the Royal Court, talk with Malachi and get down to serious
matters. Let's see... Kazomi Seven first, I think.  We really should
get a repres- entative of some sort there.  It really is kind of
important.  And then G'Kar.  I'd better contact him.  And..."

"Londo!" Timov suddenly shouted.  He blinked.  "You've been away for
almost a year.  You deserve to rest a little before trying to change
the Republic.  And, well... perhaps we could..."

"Timov... you did miss me?"

"Of course I did, you stupid oaf!  And I have every reason to want to
skin you alive for leaving me here... with Mariel and Daggair up to
all sorts, and bleeding this estate dry, and Minister Jarno and his
cack-handed taxes and all the officials coming over here, inspecting
your affairs and... no, Londo, they didn't find anything.  I'm not
totally stupid, you know."

"I never said you were, dear."

"And don't call me that.  You need a bath, and a chance to relax." 
Timov sniffed the air.  "Definitely a bath.  Come on.  I'll draw it
myself."

"Will you wash my back for me?"

"Don't get your hopes up, dear."

"Oh, Timov... not even to wish me a happy return?"

"No, Londo.  Londo... don't... no...  I mean it... Londo!"

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 5B
Date: Wed, 8 Apr 1998 15:32:10 +0100

The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 5B
Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

*I am the very model of a modern Major General...*

Bester blinked and rubbed at his forehead.  Welles was sitting
opposite him, expression neutral, fingers steepled before his face,
simply waiting.

*From Marathon to Waterloo in order categorical...*

"Have you quite finished?" asked Welles dryly.  Bester shook his head,
trying to maintain a neutral expression himself.

*And many cheerful facts about the...*

Bester started, and pulled out of Welles' mind.  He dropped his head
for a minute, shaking, but then he looked up directly at the Security
Chief. *He knew!  He knew I was scanning him!*

"You would be surprised at the amount of useless detail I can clog my
thoughts up with," Welles remarked.  "Gilbert and Sullivan, Wagner,
the plots of old soap operas... even advertising jingles.  I am not
stupid, Mr. Bester.  When I talk with a telepath, there is always the
possibility I will be scanned.  So, I... developed this little
technique.  Is it working?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Bester lied.

"Hmm.  Very well, to begin at the beginning.  You are allied with
alien forces plotting the defeat of humanity.  The 'anomalous ships'
present at the Second Line came from you somewhere along the chain. 
You are aware of Captain Sheridan's current whereabouts... I am not,
I'm afraid, but I will find out.  Somehow, former General Takashima is
working for you, and I would imagine that is why she turned against
our allies at the Second Line, not from any 'stress-related illness'. 
I would also guess that there are a fair few others here working for
you, directly or indirectly, although not many have any real power.

"And... your representative here, Miss Donne... is a serial killer
with at least fifteen murders in the last year and a half, most
recently Ronald Quantrell, a secretary in the Ministry of Information.

"Have I left anything out?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."  Bester tried slipping
into Welles' mind again.

*Hey Reebo!  Hey Zooty!  Zooty!  Zoot-zoot.*

"I never really liked Reebo and Zooty," Welles said dryly.  "But my
wife thought they were hilarious.  We actually saw them live once.  I
guess the experience was useful after all."

"What do you want?" Bester snapped.  "Nothing you say can be proven."

"On the contrary.  Your Donne has overstepped herself this time. 
Quantrell was a figure of... middling importance in the Ministry. 
Clark is wondering if his death was part of a conspiracy against him. 
Now... there is already enough evidence linking Donne to his murder,
and to a handful of others.  If I arrested her, it would take less
than five minutes to get a Presidential Decree permitting me to study
her files and records.  I wonder what they would turn up..."

"You're lying, Mr. Welles.  You wouldn't let someone you have proof of
being a murderer go free."

"Practicalities are more important than principles, Mr. Bester.  I did
not make the world.  I only live in it.  I am the voice of order in a
galaxy collapsing into chaos.  I will not let humanity be harmed.  Not
by anyone. Not the Minbari, or the Narns, or the Vorlons, or that
little monkey on our throne, or that damned shadow behind him.  And I
most especially will not let any Narn preacher or would-be telepathic
dictator add to the chaos.

"I have the power to bring you down, completely and utterly.  G'Kar as
well.  I don't have everything, but I have enough."

"Very well, then.  Returning to my original question.  What do you
want?"

"A great many things.  For the moment, I want to know what you are
doing here."

"Routine inspection of my people here, as well as wishing to
congratulate the Resistance Government on their successes against the
Minbari and be present when President Clark issues the order to bomb
their homeworld with mass drivers."

Welles smiled, and lowered his hands.  "And the real reason?"

"Oh, to kill President Clark of course."  Welles raised an eyebrow,
but he did not look especially pleased.  "Well, not me personally, of
course."

"Takashima, right?  I knew it.  So what did you offer her?  She's
always seemed to me to be completely incorruptible."

"Of course she is.  That's how I made her.  The human mind, Mr.
Welles, is a wonderful thing.  It is as strong as a mountain, and as
vulnerable as glass.  By one who knows, it can be broken, shattered
and rebuilt in any shape you desire.  General Takashima is the perfect
agent, because her conscious mind does not even know she is an agent."

"I see."

"Well, Mr. Welles.  You are now privy to my secrets.  What will you do
with them?"

"Do?  I'm going to help you of course.  What did you think?  I think
you're overestimating Clark's importance though.  Sheridan's the true
threat."

"Oh, once Clark's dead, he'll have no power here."

"Well... I suppose I can deal with him well enough if I have to.  It
should not be difficult.  Especially when I have evidence that Clark
is responsible for poisoning his predecessor."

"Oh?  I wasn't aware she was dead."

"She isn't.  She's in hospital somewhere attached to a life support
machine, with mere minutes of rationality a day.  Clark managed that,
and if that information should come out, it would discredit the
current administration completely, and provide me with the means of
getting rid of Ambassador Sheridan."

"Ah...  You're a more interesting man than I thought, Mr. Welles.  One
last question... what exactly do you want?"

"A free, safe and ordered humanity.  What about you?"

"Oh... the same.  More or less."

"I'm so glad we understand each other, Mr. Bester."

"Yes, me too..."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*Well, we've had longer than I would have thought possible.  We are
each given our own gifts, and it falls to us to make use of them.*

Sinoval had been expecting the arrival of the Earther ships for some
time now.  What had delayed them he did not know, and he did not waste
time thanking Valen or trying to find out.  As he stood on top of his
pillar in Cathedral, all of space laid out before him, he mentally
surveyed the positioning of the ships.

There were two main objectives to protect - Minbar itself, and the
jump gate through which refugees were still being ferried.  The
Vindrizi's sanctuary world would not be able to hold them all, but
then neither would Minbar shortly.  The more ships that escaped, the
more Minbari would survive.

Sinoval idly wondered if this was how the Earthers had felt at the
destruction of their home.  In their case they had not had the chance
to escape, as their jump gate had been neutralised by the Minbari
before their assault on Earth.  He did not think back and wonder what
if...  He was a warrior, doing what was right, what was ordered and
what was necessary.  Nor did he hate the Earthers.  They were only
doing what they felt to be right also.  Ah, but allying with the
Enemy, that... that was understandable, but unforgivable.

"This will not end here," he whispered.  "I doubt if this will ever
end."

Defending the jump gate was Cathedral, as well as the two medium-class
cruisers they had been able to salvage.  There were also five of the
early White Star prototypes.  They were nowhere near as reliable as
the fleet they had spawned, but that fleet had been cut to ribbons
above Proxima.

Defending Minbar was... nothing.  Oh, there were the satellite defence
systems, but they were weak and unready.  Essential repairs had been
neglected, and half of them would probably burn themselves out before
they could even engage the enemy, but still... there was always hope.

No, there was not.  Minbar was lost.  Sinoval might not have been born
there, but it was still his home, the centre of Minbari history and
dreams.  The Starfire Wheel, the Dreaming, the Place Where Valen
Waits... all lost.

But it would go on.  The Valentha had gone, packed full of as many as
would fit.  Kozorr and Kats were overseeing that.  Kozorr had
protested at not being allowed to fight, but Sinoval needed him where
he was.  Kats as well.  Perhaps those two would provide hope for the
future of the Minbari...  If anyone could, it would be them...

The Earther fleet was advancing, their small fighters launched.  Two
capital ships - both heavily modified with Enemy technology.  Four
medium ships.  A lot of one-man fighters.  And the Drakh...  They
swarmed around the Earthers, immeasurable.  They were fast, powerful,
deadly.  Insects which had grown strong.

Sinoval brought Cathedral forward.

The space-castle was not really built for combat.  As the Primarch had
said, it could take on one or perhaps two Minbari war cruisers. 
Adequate, but not overly powerful.  Sinoval had plans to change that,
but for the moment...

For the moment it would have to do.

Battle was joined, as the Drakh surged forward, a black mass of
clouds, blotting out the stars behind.  Their weapons firing, their
souls infused with the lust for killing.  Blood and fury... the
greatest desires of the warmongering races.

The first war cruiser came forward, lashing out with forward cannons,
tearing into the mass of the Drakh advance.  It had little effect, the
Drakh ships soaring out of the way and then clumping together again,
combining blasts for devastating effect.  The war cruiser took blow
after blow, one of the White Stars coming to defend it.

Sinoval could see that the battle was lost, but it had to be fought
long enough for the refugee ships to escape.  That in mind, he ordered
Cathedral brought forward, past the Drakh, towards the nearest
Earther ship, the one with dark spikes jutting out, that gleamed in
the black skies, that seemed to ooze like oily skin...

The entire ship could have been one of the space monsters he had heard
of during his childhood, beasts which devoured the sun, and dwelt in
the dark places where Minbari dared not go.  It was a ship, a
construct of metal and sweat and toil.  It was crewed by people...
people with the same thoughts and dreams and desires as he.  No
monsters.  In the greater scheme of things, perhaps such monsters did
not exist.

Cathedral fired both broadsides.  The first tore into the side of the
Earther ship.  The second was taken out by its interceptor fire.

This was the first chance he had had to witness Cathedral's firepower
in close combat.  Judging from the damage to the Earther ship,
Cathedral's weapons were not insignificant.  They were not powerful
enough... yet. But for this battle, they would probably do.

All around them the battle raged.  Drakh ships were taken out by the
White Star prototypes, only for others to swarm over the war cruiser,
engulfing it and cracking apart its armour piece by piece.  The other
Earther ship sustained damage from a White Star, only to lash out and
destroy its attacker with two blows.

The battle was lost, and Sinoval knew it.  Cathedral itself had been
hit twice, and was being forced to retreat slowly, back towards the
jump gate. Its broadsides were holding off the Earther ship, but the
damage it was inflicting was becoming less and less.

It was when the second war cruiser exploded in flame and debris that
Sinoval saw his delaying tactics had not worked.  How many had those
few minutes of combat saved?  More than they killed?  Everyone manning
the defending ships knew the risks, and accepted them.  Still...
warriors had died.  How many had they saved?  He wished he knew.

"It is over," he whispered.  "We leave.  Now.  We have done what we
can, may Valen have mercy on our souls."

The jump point opened with pinpoint accuracy, and Cathedral sailed
through, untroubled by any sort of fire as it left.  The Earthers did
not care.  They had what they wanted now.

As his view changed to the swirling colours and mind-bending illusions
of hyperspace, Sinoval shot one last look back at Minbar.  The planet
seemed to know its fate, and it accepted it.

Or so he thought anyway...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn looked at the scene before her, and did not know whether she
wanted to laugh or cry.

"The decision has been made, then?" said Lethke, Chief Treasurer,
general conciliator and voice of the Allied Council of Kazomi 7. 
There was a general chorus of nods, 'ayes' and other signals of
affirmation, some more enthusiastic than others.  Vizhak and Taan
Churok were probably most enthused; the angry fury in Vizhak's eyes
was mirrored by the simmering urge for revenge in Taan Churok's.  Even
Vejar had a glint in his eye.

"I plead with you..." Delenn said, finally able to speak.  "Do not do
this.  I..."

"I am sorry, Delenn," said Lethke firmly.  "But your objections have
been heard and overruled.  You lead here, yes, but when the rest of
the Council is unanimous, as, thank the Maker, we are... then there is
little you can do to sway us."

"It is the right action," added Vejar.  "Surely you can see that?"

"With my heart... maybe.  But my head...  We have built so much here. 
Why jeopardise it by committing ourselves to a war?"

"Because it is right," replied Lethke.  "Because our presence must be
seen and known.  In a galaxy of chaos, we must be order.  We have done
a great deal here, and we must now be seen to spread our works
abroad."

"Military reasons also," grunted Taan Churok.  "The Drakh invaded us.
Then they left.  We are not finished with them."

"But... surely you can see that we are not ready..."

"We are ready, Delenn," replied Vejar.  "You must want to see your
home- world protected.  Surely?"

"Yes... but not at the cost of everything we have built.  Not..."

"Objections heard," said Vizhak, in an incredibly bored tone of voice.
"Objections overruled."

"He's right," said Lethke.  "We will help defend Minbar, Delenn.  It
is right, and it is expedient that we do so."

Delenn looked across the table at them all, and she thought maybe she
would cry after all.  "I thank you all," she breathed.  "I wish I
could say that I believed you were right in this, but... I thank you
all."

"Good," grunted Vizhak.  "Speeches over.  Let's go."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"Londo... this is not a good idea."

"Trust me, dear.  I know what I am doing."

"Well, there's a change."

"Pardon, dear?"

"Nothing, Londo."

The capital seemed to glow in the night as Londo and Timov neared it.
Londo could feel the comforting presence of his home envelop him as he
neared the city.  He had been born here, had lived here, had loved
it... each street, each building, each tower, tenement and palace.

It felt good to be returning, especially now.  He genuinely believed
that it was all over.

"Let me see..."  he was muttering to himself.  "We will have to try to
end the war with the Narns as soon as we can.  I think G'Kar has
agents in the Kha'Ri and this war is sapping both our strengths. 
Hmm...  And then to Kazomi Seven..."

After an... entertaining diversion at his estate, Londo and Timov had
set off for the capital, sending a quick message to Marrago and
Lennier.  They were remaining hidden for the moment, as Marrago was
calling in a few old debts and Lennier was... not feeling well,
apparently.  Typical Minbari, they just could not handle a decent
climate.

"And then to..."

"Oh, shush, Londo, and listen to me for a minute.  You still have a
lot of enemies in the Royal Court.  Do you think presenting yourself
to them publicly like this is really a good idea?"

"Of course it is.  You said it yourself, the Centarum are still
debating who is to be the next Emperor.  There are no true heirs as
such, and a great many nephews, cousins, and various other nobles with
links to the throne.  It could be anyone, and so the Centarum will
take their time. All I need is a chance to speak with Malachi and we
can sort all of this mess out."

"But Lord Refa is still in the Royal Court, and Lady Elrisia, not to
mention Mariel and Daggair."

"Well, I am sure my last two beloved wives would be overjoyed at
seeing me returned safe and sound.  I wonder if they will greet me
with the same enthusiasm you did...  Timov, you're blushing again."

"I am not, and I still think this is a stupid idea."

"You are..."

"Pah."

The carriage came to a halt and the footman - or these days a more
general servant type - opened the door.  Londo stepped down, and lent
a very extravagant arm to Timov.  Tutting under her breath, she took
it.

Londo paused as he looked up at the palace complex that housed the
Court, the Centarum and the Emperor.  It truly took his breath away,
the wealth of history washing over him.  Thousands of years, countless
Emperors, Gods, heroic deeds.  Let the other races have their
barbarian customs. The Centauri were truly the mightiest race in the
galaxy.

Timov on his arm, still tutting, Londo walked in.

He was expecting a few people to be around - the Royal Court was
always filled with aspiring nobles, sycophants and general hangers-on.
 The outer atriums were quite empty aside from the guards however. 
Londo strolled through the opening rooms, a faint feeling of anxiety
creeping over him.

And then he found everyone.

The throne room itself was literally thronged.  He could just about
see some familiar faces within - Lord Jarno, Lady Drusella, his dear
wife Daggair, draping herself all over Lord Valo.  Londo began to
smile, an idea manifesting itself.

"Oh, dear," Timov muttered.  "I do not like that look."

And so it was that, ten seconds later, the entire population of the
throne room was thoroughly shocked to hear the guard at the door
announce, in a very loud voice, "Lords and Ladies of the Court, we bid
arrival to Lord Londo Mollari and his wife, the Lady Timov."

Several jaws dropped.

Londo wandered into the room, putting on his best smile and waving at
a number of people who would have been very happy never to see him
again. "Lord Jarno... First Minister now, is it?  I always knew you'd
go far." "Ah, Lady Drusella, as ravishing as ever."  "Daggair. 
Well... missing me already.  Tut tut."  "Dead, Lord Valo?  Ah well, I
was, but I got better, you see."

And then one very self-satisfied voice spoke up, "Londo...  A
pleasure.  I always doubted, you know."

The crowd parted and Londo found himself face to face with Refa. 
Londo smiled broadly, completing missing all Timov's carefully placed
warnings. She had seen what he had not.  "Yes, well, Refa.  I always
was too stylish to kill.  You're back, I see.  How was Minbar?"

"Oh... interesting, but duty called.  I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, I do."

"And now I have the highest duty of them all."  Refa stepped back,
revealing Malachi standing beside the throne.  He looked at Londo as
if he had been expecting this all along.  "A... once in a lifetime
opportunity you could say."

The Court fell silent.  "Malachi," Londo whispered.  He was sensing
something wrong.  "It is good to see you again, my friend."  Malachi
nodded briefly.

"In fact," Refa said, sitting down on the throne and lounging back
very comfortably.  "You could say I have the highest duty next to
Godhood... which should be mine after I die anyway."

Londo gasped, and looked across at Malachi.  The old politician said
nothing in reply.

"This has been a day for two very surprising returns," Refa said,
contin- uing.  "First, our esteemed and former First Minister returns
from the dead and makes a wonderful and stirring speech recommending
me to the Centarum as the next Emperor, and next you... my dear, old
friend... return just in time for the end of my first day holding
court.

 "Well, Londo.  Aren't you going to swear fealty to your new Emperor?"

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval arrived at the Vindrizi's sanctuary world with a heavy heart. 
He knew that he had done as well as he could have expected, but he
could not escape the fact that he had abandoned his homeworld and
millions of people there to destruction.

"The battle is not over," he whispered to himself, as he walked
through the corridors of the Valentha.  Kozorr had Kats would be here,
and he needed to speak with them concerning the details of the
evacuation. Derhan would be on the surface.

*These three... with these three I will build a new Minbar.  As Valen
did before, so shall I do now.*

As he arrived in the Hall of the Grey Council he was greeted by
Kozorr, who lowered his head and spread his arms wide, indicating that
he was carrying no weapons.  Sinoval was momentarily surprised - that
was the ancient method by which warriors greeted their leader,
stemming from the times before Valen.  However, he ignored the
significance of the gesture. Time to worry about that later.

"Minbar is lost to us," he said.  "We will build a new world here, and
wherever we can.  We will endure."

"Yes, Lord.  The evacuation went well, but our supplies of food here
are limited.  Sech Derhan and the Vindrizi managed to grow food for
themselves, but their population was small."

"We will trade for what we need.  I know it is not our way, but we are
a part of the universe now, Kozorr, not above it as we always thought.
 We must seek out allies, develop our own industries here, build a
power base of sorts.  The Soul Hunters will help where they can,
because I order it, but..."

Sinoval paused.  A message was coming through.  Here... to the Hall of
the Grey Council itself.  He looked at Kozorr, but the other warrior
was just as puzzled.  No Minbari would dare send a message directly
here... the place still held too many of its old associations.

"Display," he ordered.  The message was audio-only, but that was
enough for him.

"Captain John Sheridan of Parmenion to Minbari.  We need to arrange a
meeting.  Repeat, we need to arrange a meeting."

Sinoval said just one word.

"Starkiller."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

President Clark had never been so pleased to receive any one message
as he was to receive this one.

"Confirmed... their defences are destroyed, the jump gate has also
been destroyed, all defence satellites destroyed...  A few vessels did
manage to escape, but the system is now empty of enemy ships.  The
mass drivers are affixed and readied.  Your orders, Mr. President."

Clark smiled.  Typical of Ryan.  Too honest for his own good.  He was
barely able to restrain the anger from his voice.  He did not want to
do this.  Mass drivers had, after all, been banned by almost all
civilised peoples in the Post-Dilgar Accord of 2241.  Of course, the
Minbari had not signed...

And besides, these were no ordinary mass drivers.  The Drakh had made
some interesting modifications.

"I hear, General.  You have done well.  Continue with your orders. 
Begin orbital bombardment."

"Yes, sir."  Ryan definitely did not sound happy.  "Morningstar out."

Clark sat back, and smiled.

To be continued...




From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 6A
Date: Mon, 27 Apr 1998 19:17:31 +0100

Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
Phase Two - The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams

Hi people - sorry for the delay in getting this out, but I went home 
for Easter and the computer rooms here were closed for longer than 
they were meant to be. Anyway, here's the near-conclusion of this 
Phase. There's a two-part epilogue coming afterwards, but this is 
largely it for a while. Enjoy, and feel free to send feedback to the 
address below.

This story contains slight Spoilers for Lines of Communication.

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

Personal Disclaimer: Ah, Hell, you'll have got t6he hang of this bit 
by now.

* * * * *

The Death of Flesh, the Death of Dreams, part 6A of 6 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

The Minbari were an old race, and that age had given them wisdom, it
had given them experience, and it had given them memories.  The three
together were joined as one in the city of Tuzanor, called the City of
Sorrows. Built on a battlefield where a million Minbari had died in
one day of war, it was forever to be a legacy of peace, of
understanding, of wisdom...

Times change.

It was Tuzanor, a little less than a cycle ago, which saw the
beginning of a bloody genocide that would tear apart Minbar.  It was
there that Hedronn, last Satai of the worker caste and one of only two
alive who remembered the Grey Council of Dukhat's day, had fled.  Why,
few knew, but the records had become public - of Hedronn attacking and
killing the Grey Council, four of the Satai falling before him.  The
madness in his eyes was plain.

Hedronn had come to Tuzanor and waited there before the great statue
of Valen, tears pouring down his face, rasping out bitter, angry
prayers to Valen, crying for redemption.  He was still there when the
warriors came for him.  Led by Satai Kalain, Hedronn was taken from
the holy ground of Tuzanor, killed, and his body left in the mountains
surrounding the city. Not even Kalain would dare shed Minbari blood in
Tuzanor - as he would anywhere and everywhere else - but that was
enough for him.

It was an old saying that to dream in the City of Sorrows was to dream
of a better future, a saying as old as the city itself.  Many had fled
there in recent months, hoping to dream of a better future and make
that dream a reality.

The dream ended.

Their long history had earned the Minbari wisdom, experience and
memory, yes, but it had also earned them enemies, and some of these
enemies had returned, bearing weapons of death, fired in anger and
hatred and fear.

The bombardment began when an asteroid, fired from space, struck the
mountains close to Tuzanor.  They shook with the force of the impact
and collapsed around the city.  The ground tore apart, the buildings
crumbled, and the sky was filled with dust and the screams of the
wounded and the dying.

The City of Sorrows was consumed in fire and death and destruction,
the very earth swallowing it, tearing it apart and crushing it.

Tuzanor was just the beginning...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Captain John J. Sheridan, of the EAS Parmenion, the Starkiller
himself, husband (widowed, although that was not something he liked to
think about these days) of Anna, and father (when she was alive) of
Elizabeth, felt the weight of all his many titles as he walked alone
through the corridors of the Valentha, the ship which had housed the
Grey Council.

He had been here twice before... well, three times if you counted the
dream that wasn't a dream...  The first time he had been a prisoner. 
The second time he had been a prisoner.  Sort of.  Times change,
things happen, bad things happen to good people, good things happen to
bad people, life stinks.

*Good one, John.  What rubbish are you thinking now?*

He was alone.  Ko'Dath and David and Major Krantz and even Lyta had
objec- ted, but the message had said to come alone, and so he did.  He
knew why he was here.  There were, as always, a number of reasons. 
For himself, not to sit back and do nothing as he had when Earth was
destroyed; for his people, to save them from becoming the monsters in
the abyss; for Delenn, to save her world and her guilt.

Had he been less preoccupied, he would undoubtedly have noticed that
the corridors of the ship were more crowded than they had been.  He
had noticed the unusual vessel which was also in orbit around this
planet, the one which looked almost like a flying castle.  He had
noticed the Soul Hunters who were somewhere in attendance throughout
the ship, but as he had never seen one before, he did not know the
significance of their presence.

He knew what he was doing.  Well, he sort of knew what he was doing. 
He would not let Minbar go the same way as Earth, simple as that.  For
some reason Sinoval was not defending his homeworld.  Perhaps he had
certain... additional information.

The small box he was carrying suddenly felt very heavy.

Darkness enveloped him as he stepped into the Hall of the Grey
Council. He drew in a sharp breath as the memories suddenly flooded
back.  This... this was where it could all be said to have started, he
supposed.  He'd come a long way since then.  Everyone had.

A column of light shone in the centre of the Hall and he walked
towards it, more than just a little uneasily.  A Minbari was standing
there, resting against a long fighting pike.  Sheridan had wielded one
on a few occasions and he hadn't liked the weapon.  He had however
seen some Minbari hold the things as though they were part of their
arms.

He recognised Sinoval easily enough.  They'd met twice before, neither
meeting pleasant.

Three columns suddenly flared into light behind Sinoval, revealing two
more Minbari and another being who... wasn't.  Tall, cadaverous and
skeletal-looking, he seemed... out of place here.

"Starkiller," Sinoval said slowly.  There was a pause.  Sheridan
stopped walking, about five steps from Sinoval.  "I bid you welcome to
our Hall."

Sheridan nodded briefly.  Not exactly diplomatic protocol, but,
well...

"Your message said you can help us," Sinoval continued.  "I find that
difficult to credit, first that you have the capability to do so, and
second that you have the desire to do so.  You owe us nothing, and we
in turn owe you a great many things... beginning with but not limited
to your death.

"Why are you here?"

Sheridan took a deep breath.  He had been composing this speech for a
while, but most of it was now eluding him.  "You destroyed my people
and my home.  Delenn's tried to explain the reasons behind it... a
little, anyway.  You were selfish, childish and grief-stricken... and
you made a mistake.  That's what I'm regarding it as, although every
human living or dead would hate me for saying it.  You made a mistake.
 I won't let us make the same mistake."

"Wise words," Sinoval noted.  "And if I don't believe them?"

"Then you can sit here and let your planet get blown apart atom by
atom. Or you can come with me, and help me stop it."

"Do you expect me to trust anything you say, Starkiller?"  Sinoval's
voice was perfectly level, not a word raised in anger, but the anger
was there easily enough, bubbling just beneath the surface.  The power
he wielded, the influence he commanded... they were what shaped him,
moulded him, but the true person was there, always near to the top. 
Sheridan wondered if even Sinoval knew who the true person was.

"I came on to this ship alone.  If that wasn't a gesture of trust,
then maybe this is..."

Sheridan opened the box.

Flight-lieutenant Neeoma Connally's Drakh orb glowed in the light. 
Its colour seemed to change with the circumstances, but now it was
perfectly clear, radiating a light entirely different from that of the
columns. Sinoval seemed to shrink away from it, as if it were
polluting him.  The other two Minbari reacted similarly, but the
fourth figure, the non- Minbari...

"Body and blood," he whispered, in a tone which could have been
anything from pure horror to overwhelming exultation.  "Where did you
get this?"

"One of my soldiers took it from a Drakh."

The alien began to laugh.  "For centuries I would have sold half my
collection to acquire what is now before me...  I can see that the
universe has been jesting with her son all this while.  Here one is...
right before my eyes..."

"What is it?" Sinoval asked.  Sheridan noticed that the other two
Minbari seemed very uncomfortable around this new alien.

"Oh...  I don't think it has a name as such.  Call it a Drakh orb if
you like.  Every Drakh has an orb of some kind... how they make them I
don't know.  Perhaps they took the technology from the technomages. 
Anyway, different orbs have different powers.  Some function merely as
translating devices, others as weapons... some as symbols of rank. 
All have one very unique purpose.

"The Drakh are immortal.  Not immortal in the way you might imagine,
they die as easily as any other being, but they record their souls
within orbs like that.  When new Drakh are born - from pods, I believe
- they inherit an orb, and take on the souls of all who have held that
orb before. That... is the greatest treasure any of my kind could
seek.  Your bargain has proven quite beneficial for us, Primarch."

Sheridan was listening to this in silent incredulity.  He knew the orb
was connected to the Drakh in some way - he'd seen it work, and he'd
read Connally's testimony of how she recovered it - but all that! 
"Which... which type of orb is this, then?" he asked.  "You said they
served different purposes."

"That one... that one is very special indeed.  I cannot say for
certain which purpose it serves, but I think I have a soul in my
collection which would know.  Perhaps if I could talk to this...
soldier of yours?  There may be hope yet..."

Sheridan closed the box and looked up at Sinoval.  "Well, do you
believe me now?"

"I wish I could...  Debts of blood are older than any, Starkiller, and
those of my people who have been slain will never stop crying to me
for vengeance.  But I have learned recently that nothing is
preordained, nothing is determined, or fated, or destined.  We are
what we make ourselves.  I believed I was preordained to kill you. 
Perhaps I was wrong.  Perhaps I will kill you later, at a time and
place of my own choosing...

"Perhaps...

"However, my world and my people are threatened.  I saved those I
could, but there are many I could not.  If you are genuine, then I
will return and fight to save my people.  If you are not, and if more
of my warriors are killed through your duplicity, then the
consequences will not be pleasant."

"I'm genuine," came the reply.

"I hope so, for many sakes.  Now, bring your soldier over here.  We
have a great deal to discuss.  How much military strength can you
muster?"

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"So, this is the ship that led the assault against our enemies, hmm? 
This is the ship that led the reclaiming of Beta Durani, the capture
of Rokugan and would have led the attack on Minbar."

"Yes, Mr. President, sir."  Captain Dexter Smith was profoundly
ill-at-ease.  Yes, the Babylon had done all these things - and many
more - but there was something about the President's tone...

Of course, his general unease could be put down to the current
situation. One of his crew - his bridge crew no less - had sabotaged
the ship, preventing it from being present at the final attack on
Minbar.  The Babylon had limped back to Proxima, where, rather than
being able to give his crew the leave they so deserved, Captain Smith
was forced to endure a visit by the President himself.

And not just the President.  His entire entourage.

Obviously there were a number of security guards - seven just around
the President, and at least another twenty-five on the ship, not
counting Smith's own men.  And the presence of the very unpleasant Mr.
Welles was probably inevitable when it came to co-ordinating the
security.  The reason for former General Takashima's presence was a
little less obvious, but then she had commanded the Babylon for a
brief time after Sheridan's 'departure'.  Maybe she wanted to see what
her successor had done with the ship.

But the other two...  Ambassador Sheridan, outwardly genial-looking,
fatherly, the epitome of the skilled diplomat he had once been, but
there were... hints... of something darker.  He walked around the ship
as though it smelled bad.  Of course, there were... rumours about
Sheridan, and the... other Sheridan, he whose name must not be
spoken...

And then, creepier and even more unpleasant than the other two, there
was Bester.  Short, patronising, dressed all in black and with a glint
in his eyes which said quite clearly, *You are scum, all of you - less
than insects, less than amoebae.*  He talked incessantly, asking
questions about this and that.  Smith was not sure how to relate to
him, but he had rank, and so, erring on the better part of common
sense, he answered the questions.

"You and your crew deserve the utmost thanks," Clark continued.  "You
have all done splendidly.  Yes...  Well, except for one particular
member of course."  He gave an odd little laugh, and Smith's posture
tensed.

"Yes," spoke up Ambassador Sheridan, for almost the first time since
he had arrived.  "Where is Lieutenant Stoner?"

"I have turned her over to Mr. Welles, sir," Smith said, hoping that
Sheridan would not look directly at him.

"She's back on Proxima," Welles said.  He did not look very
comfortable either, but then, according to what Smith had heard, he
rarely did.

"Splendid," Clark said.  "I'm sure I can trust you, Mr. Welles, to
discover the reasons for her actions, hmm?  I assume you do not know
anything, Captain Smith?"

Smith stiffened to ramrod straight, looking directly ahead, resolutely
keeping his gaze from meeting the eyes of Welles, Clark, Sheridan or
Bester.  As it happened, there was one thing...  Stoner was a
telepath, Smith was sure of it.  And if she was a telepath, then
Bester would have known about it.  Telepaths were not permitted to
join the military, and the testing of the young for potential
telepathic skills was even more rigorous now than it had been before
the fall of Earth.  Records could be falsified, of course, and Stoner
might have slipped through the net but... but Smith did not believe
it.

"No, Mr. President," he said carefully.  "Nothing at all."

"Oh well.  You have done well.  There will be a special victory
ceremony in two days.  You will be receiving the Silver Star for
Valour then."

Smith only just managed to maintain his composure.  "Th... thank you,
Mr. President."

"You and your whole crew are on leave until then.  Enjoy yourself,
Captain Smith."

"Yes, sir."

Clark nodded and made to leave, his security guards shadowing him
closely. Sheridan and Bester followed, pointedly not looking at each
other.  Ambassador Sheridan looked squarely at Smith, seemingly
measuring him - perhaps against his son...  After a few seconds he
snorted audibly.  "See that you command this ship better than your
predecessor," he said shortly, before leaving.

As soon as he was out of earshot Smith exhaled loudly, almost falling
back against the nearest wall.  He was a soldier, just a soldier,
nothing more. He was not involved in politics and did not want to be.

And now what to do?  The President had given him two days leave...
what to do with it?  Smith had never been one for relaxing.  He
supposed that supervising the repairs to the ship would be relaxing
enough.  The last thing he needed at the moment was more stress.

If he had known what was happening on the shuttle taking the President
back to the Main Dome, his stress level would have shot through the
roof.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Neeoma Connally drew in a deep breath and looked around at the others
nearby.  Her stomach fluttered for a moment.

*Well, Dad, you always said I'd see strange things, but I don't think
even you imagined this.*

The room was dark, lit only by a mass of tiny points of light, each
coming from a small globe, each globe forming a part of the wall. 
Souls.  That was what this place was built of.  Souls.

"This particular soul was that of a technomage.  Quite a find."  That
was the tall alien, the one dressed in flowing robes of red and black
and gold and other colours her eyes could not quite make out, as if
she was not meant to see them clearly.  He was speaking English quite
well, although with a very strange accent.  He was also rabbiting on
at about fifteen words a second.  In a way he reminded her of her
grandfather, a man who had served in the military for a while and had
been present at the beginning of the French Revolt.  She had spent a
lot of time with her grandfather after her father had died,
listening to his stories, and she saw him in this alien here:
outwardly genial and full of tales from the past, but with an inner
edge which showed he was not quite finished with the present yet.

"And I just... sort of... go inside there and talk to him?"

"Well... more or less," admitted the alien.  "There should be no
problem as such.  This soul's body died peacefully and quite content
with himself. As I said, a rare find."  A strained expression crossed
the face of the Minbari leader, but only for a moment.  "Are you
ready?"

Connally looked at Captain Sheridan.  He looked equally ill-at-ease
here. There was no way she could want to do this, but still... there
was a reason.  She hated the way the orb pulsed at her mind, probing
her.  She hated the way it spoke to her, whispered to her, called to
her.

She drew a deep breath.  She had sworn after her father died that she
would change the world so that no one need ever be exploited and used
as he had been.  Events had transpired to cast her vow into
insignificance, but she had never forgotten.  Perhaps she would not be
able to remake the world as she had envisaged, but small changes were
often more important than large ones.

Perhaps.

Her mind entered the soul globe.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Minbari who had remained on their homeworld were not sure what to
expect.  They had received little more than an order to evacuate - to
leave the planet by any means they could.  Some had ignored this
message, others scoffed at it, some had not even heard it, many had
chosen to stay behind - not afraid to die, but afraid to leave the
world of their birth.

All the while, the sky rained death.

After the first few asteroids struck the surface, most of the ground
was shaking and the air was filled with dust.  There were few screams
but many wounded.

As the bombing entered its third hour, many Minbari looked to the
skies with fear and loathing.  Warriors raged, crying out to the
heavens to send their evil, they did not care.  They were the chosen
of Valen, they would triumph and prosper and survive.  Oh yes, always
survive.

The religious caste retired to their temples, convinced that such holy
ground would be protected from the wrath of the heavens.  They
questioned the virtue of their neighbours, and tried to explain the
bombings as Valen's punishment on his people, the ones who had doubted
him.  Their temples were destroyed as easily as any other building,
but still they remained there, praying.

The workers... they endured.  They had suffered much recently,
surviving the massacre and the destruction of Tuzanor.  They helped as
many as they could, they repaired what little they could, they did
what little they could.

To the warrior and the religious castes, the workers were the reason
for Valen's wrath.  It had been their sin, it was claimed, so this was
their fault.  Once more workers were killed.  Mercifully there were
few left, most having been evacuated.

The beautiful lakes of Yedor were running red with blood.  The Place
Where Valen Waits - *Turon'val'na lenn-veni* - was witness to three
workers hanged from the trees which grew on top of the hill.

The temple which housed the Starfire Wheel remained untouched.  The
Vorlon within the temple remained undisturbed.

Four hours after the bombing started, the secondary effects became
apparent.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo was trying to sleep, without a great deal of success.

It was not just the unfamiliar bed.  Given some of the places he had
had to sleep in the last six months or so, the bed was perfect - the
sort of thing he had dreamed about while spending yet another night
next to a pile of debris on an occupied Kazomi 7.

It was not just the exertions of the day.  Compared to out-running
Drakh, out-talking technomages and out-anything Drazi, even the most
exciting day in the Royal Court somehow lost its impact.  Admittedly,
the sight of Refa on the throne and the discovery that Malachi was the
person who had put him there had been a surprise - to put it mildly -
but he had managed to adjust very quickly.  If he hadn't, he would
never have got out of the throne room alive.  And while his... other
exertions with Timov were... tiring to say the least, he had lost none
of his fabled endurance in that area.

It was not even his virtual imprisonment here.  Refa and Malachi had
insisted that he remain in the Palace, Refa 'fearing for his safety'
if he returned to his estate.  He had grown tired of waiting for the
inevitable assassination attempt and had gone to bed, after ensuring
that Timov had left the capital.  Not that she had wanted to go, of
course, but for the first time in forever she had actually heeded the
part of her marriage vows which said something about obeying her
husband.  Good thing too.

It was everything.  Londo's nerves were stretched tighter than a viol
string.  He hadn't even been able to contact Lennier and Marrago. 
They would be all right - Timov should be able to get to them.  Better
they both lie low for a while.  Marrago had suspicions that certain
members of the Centarum had arranged for him to 'lose' the colony in
Quadrant 37. Londo would not be at all surprised if Refa had been
behind that in some way.

And then there was Vir...  Now maybe his true allegiances were not the
universe's best-kept secret, but Londo would hazard a guess that Refa
for one did not know that his loyal and trusted aide was a member of
G'Kar's Army of Light, and had in fact been placed in his position for
precisely that reason.  Vir had been conspicuous by his absence in the
Royal Court, and Londo found himself wondering what had happened to
him.

He sat up in bed and sighed.  "You can come out now," he said, in a
very tired tone of voice.  This was not an assassin, he knew that
because an assassin would not be so clumsy as to step on the bits of
glass he had left by both door and window before going to sleep.

The lights came on and he was startled to see Malachi standing there. 
He looked... almost contrite.  "I would have come earlier," he said. 
"But I had to be with the Emperor until he... fell asleep.  He was
entertaining himself with a number of unmarried ladies of the Court." 
His tone was clearly disapproving.

"Such is the Emperor's prerogative," Londo said slowly.  "The Emperor
may do as the Emperor wishes.  The Emperor is always right.  The
Emperor has as much power as anyone who ever lived.  And the Emperor
is an evil-minded monster who would as soon sell us all to the Narns
if it suited him."

Malachi sighed.  "Londo, I can understand you would be angry, but..."

"Why would I be angry?  Just because one of my oldest friends turned
our entire people over to a monster?"

"That was not my intention at all.  Damn you, Londo!  What gives you
the right to judge me?  You fled from here, remember.  You went out
and hid for over a year, leaving us all to fend for ourselves.  We
were in chaos, anarchy.  The rest of the galaxy is falling apart, and
we needed order. That is why I came back..."  Malachi stopped,
realising he had gone too far, said too much.

"Yes.  You accuse me of running away, but what about you?  Marrit was
counting on your advice and assistance.  Without you, he would not
have fallen apart nearly as badly as he did.  You abandoned us first."

"I was... tired.  Turhan was a good man, the greatest Emperor we have
had for a long time.  When he died, I... lost faith in our people.  It
was a time for younger men, for you and Refa and Jaddo.  Was it my
fault you all failed so badly?"

"You pretended to be dead!  You faked a suicide!"

"I wanted peace!  I wanted to be alone!  My role in the Court ended
when Turhan died.  Or so I thought...  We were in anarchy.  We needed
a strong leader, someone to guide us.  Oh, I will admit that Refa was
not the ideal choice, but who else would have been better?  Cartagia? 
Have you seen what a monster he has become?  And if he was elected
Emperor then Elrisia would effectively be ruling the Republic.  Jarno
is a nonentity, Valo a dried up soldier, you were supposed to be dead.
 Who was left?  Refa has his faults, but he is strong, clever and full
of conviction."

"He is a monster and a murderer, and he should have remained on
Minbar. Still, you have made your decision, Malachi.  I hope you can
live with it."

"Forgive me, Londo.  You were not meant to be involved in this.  You
were not part of my...  D'ah!  It is pointless.  Take my advice... if
you are wise, you will leave Centauri Prime.  Tonight."

"I cannot do that."

"Well... you were warned.  I can do no more than that.  Good night,
Londo."  Malachi left, switching off the lights as he did so.  Londo
stared out into the darkness for a while and then went back to trying
to get to sleep.

A few hours later, the assassination attempt he had been expecting
happened.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 6B
Date: Mon, 27 Apr 1998 19:25:43 +0100

The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 6B of 6
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

The fleets of the United Alliance had looked fairly impressive at
Kazomi 7.  Approaching Minbar they seemed distinctly less so.  A
mix-match patchwork collection of ships from the Non-Aligned Worlds;
Drazi Sunhawks, a Hyach capital ship, a handful of Brakiri vessels, an
Ipsha Battleglobe and even a Vree Saucer.  The most visible sign of
various races coming together in harmony and survival, and working
together to help others.

Delenn, standing on the bridge of the Drazi Sunhawk Stra'Kath,
pondered the situation.  This expedition - risky and uncertain as it
was - was undertaken in her name.  Oh, there was a variety of
political reasons - allowing the Alliance to establish itself as a
force in the galaxy, showing the humans that the other races were not
to be threatened in the same way as the Minbari had been, pursuing
revenge against the Drakh... but the fact remained that the Alliance
fleet was only here, now, in this place, at this time, because of her.

She had not wanted to be here.  Minbar was not her home any more. 
Sinoval had taken it and the Minbari from her.  Let him accrue the
benefits of his actions.  She had her own Alliance now and could not
jeopardise it.

And yet... and yet she had insisted on being here.  She was returning
to her homeworld, the image of it as a devastated ruin fresh in her
mind. She had seen the future - Yedor destroyed, the sky thick with
fog and dust, herself... changed - during her time on the doomed space
station Babylon 4.  And now it was all coming true.  Had her change
been predestined by this glimpse of the future, or had it simply
hastened this future?

The jump points opened and the Alliance fleet swept out into the skies
above Minbar.

The humans and Drakh - who had torn their way through the might of the
Minbari fleet - were there.

Battle began in the skies of Minbar, for the second time in ten hours.
And, just as on the first occasion, the outcome was never in doubt.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"There is a way, then?"

"Yes, sir.  I... think so, anyway."

"Are you ready for this?"

"I... I don't know, sir.  I will do what I can."

"I can't ask any more of you, Lieutenant.  I think it's time,
gentlemen."

"Indeed it is.  I will owe you for this, Starkiller."

"Change your people enough and that will be sufficient payment."

"Ah.  Of course.  I make no promises, Starkiller."

"I wasn't expecting any."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

President Clark staggered free from the shuttle's office, choking and
spluttering.  The voice in his mind - the one he usually heard only at
night - was screaming at him.  His life was in danger.  He was the
President of the Resistance Government of Humanity, and if his life
was in danger, then humanity was in danger as well.

He pressed the button that sealed the door shut.  The gas inside was
quite obviously poisonous, and probably lethal.  There were still
three security guards in the room, but death was their reward for
failing to protect their President.

It was supposed to have been a simple journey from the Babylon to the
Main Dome - little more than an hour.  The Presidential shuttle was
far from opulent, but it was more than adequately equipped for him to
work from during this time.  Events were at a crucial juncture for
humanity and their leader must not be away from his work for even so
long as an hour.

The tour aboard the Babylon had gone well.  Smith was a competent, if
uninspiring officer.  There was certainly no danger of rebellion from
him. The crew had seemed pleased to see their President on board, and
their leave would undoubtedly cheer them up.

Clark had not really wanted to make the tour - having the Babylon at
Proxima was risky; it had already been sabotaged once, and who could
say what Minbari operatives or sympathisers there might be on some of
the less secure, newly-liberated worlds.  Welles and Sheridan had
recommended it however, speaking of the morale boost for the soldiers,
and of the powerful symbol the Babylon was.  Besides, General Ryan
could conceivably continue bombarding Minbar for twelve or thirteen
hours before any of the... interesting side-effects became apparent. 
The planet might not surrender for days and a counterattack was
unlikely at this time. Still... Clark did not like being so far from
the reports.

He had been checking in with Ryan when the voice in his mind screamed
at him.  An instant after that happened, he detected a strange odour
and looked up.  A light blue gas was filling the room, almost
transparent. None of the security guards seemed to have noticed
anything, and Clark doubted he would have either, were it not for
certain... enhancements he'd been given.

The gas might have been natural - an accident even - but Clark had not
survived this long by being naive.  He had headed casually for the
door. The first security guard made to join him, but had suddenly
collapsed. Clark, feeling his eyes begin to water, darted out of the
room and sealed it shut.  Without the Presidential security code, the
guards could not open the door.  It was also airtight.

But that did not eliminate his concerns.  There were supposed to be
two guards on duty outside the door as well as the three inside. 
Neither was there.  In fact, the entire corridor was empty.

Clark looked down at the link fixed to his hand.  A terribly awkward
device - it kept tearing all the hair from his skin.  He was about to
press it and call Security when Takashima came round the corner.

"Mr. President," she said, coming closer.  "What's happened?"

"I'm... not sure," he replied.  "There was a... gas leak.  I don't
know what caused it, but..."  He took a deep breath.  "The... the
Security... they're..."

Takashima was right next to him.  "Mr. President, we..."

Clark lunged forward and drove his knife in underneath her ribs.  She
started, and sagged against him.  Looking into her eyes, he drove the
knife in harder, and she gasped sharply.  Blood filled her mouth.

She was pressed against him, her body sagging, her knees giving way. 
He pulled the knife free and she slid down to the ground.  Her eyes
were wide, staring at him.  Blood stained her mouth and her uniform. 
It also covered his knife.  She was clearly trying to speak, but could
not.  She was only gurgling, her own blood filling her throat, choking
her.

"Everyone thinks I'm an idiot," Clark said conversationally.  "Who was
it this time?  Welles?  Bester?  Sheridan?  Those morons who dress up
in black and call themselves after the Round Table?  Do you have any
idea how many assassination attempts I've faced in the last six months
alone?  Of course you don't.  No one does.  Oh, Welles probably has an
inkling about a few of them, but otherwise...

"Everyone thinks I'm a nonentity, a figurehead.  Let them think that. 
I don't care.  Let Bester and Welles and the MegaCorps and Sheridan
and the Knights play their little games of power.  I'm in control
here.  Me. Everyone else only thinks they are."

She was still gurgling.  Clark sighed.  "How am I going to pass this
off? Most of the others I could cover up without trace.  Some of them
were pretty inept.  I think the Knights only sent them to give
themselves something to do.  I let Welles find out about a few of
them.  After all, I can't let him think no one's trying, and he might
even have sent some of them himself.  You, on the other hand, are an
important and still fairly public figure.  Of course, there was that
incident at the Second Line earlier this year...  Who was behind that?
I'm inclined to say Bester, but I couldn't be certain.

"Stress, which led to madness.  You planted that gas in my office, led
me here and tried to kill me.  An act of insanity, brought on by the
stress of your experiences in the war.  This knife here was your
intended weapon."  Clark bent down and prised open Takashima's hand,
revealing a slender hypodermic needle.  "This little device isn't
going to be coming to light any time soon."  He looked at it, holding
the tube up to the light.  "I wonder what's in here.  Something to
kill me fairly quickly, I suppose.  Undetectable of course.  Easy to
pass it off as a heart attack, perhaps brought on by whatever that gas
was."  He slid the syringe very carefully into a pocket.

"You obviously fell on your own knife, or maybe I killed you
accidentally. After all, the fat old man in the Presidency isn't
supposed to be able to defend himself, is he?"

Takashima was still choking, unable to scream or even breathe.  Just
twitching on the floor.  Clark sighed.  Welles, Bester... everyone...
they were all so transparent!

"Everyone thinks I'm a failure.  Let them.  I'm the President, they're
not.  They can think whatever they like.  Besides, my greatest failure
is still to come.  Everyone will see it, and think I've been removed
from the board.  And then... then I'll pull off my greatest move of
all."

Clark looked down at Takashima.  "Dead at last, eh?"  He activated his
link, and called Security.

Time to start lying.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Drakh ships were graceful, fast, and deadly...  They soared
through space, tearing into the heart of the Alliance fleet.  The
human ships did not even bother responding to the attack.  They simply
kept up their bombardment of Minbar, tearing it apart rock by rock,
the world and its millennia of history.  Statues, temples,
battlefields, monuments, libraries... all fell.

And slowly the land began to sicken, as the air became filled with
clouds which choked and poisoned everything that breathed.  Trees
died, animals died... the land died.

And still the bombardment continued.  Above, in the heavens, people
fought to stop it.

Fought and failed.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

This group of uninvited guests was clever enough to avoid the traps
Londo had set at the door and the window, but then these were far from
the only warning devices he'd laid.  Given that he was not sleeping
anyway, he was not going to be surprised.

He was not exactly an expert in hand-to-hand combat, but this was
hardly the first assassination attempt he'd faced, and, well... after
avoiding pots and jars thrown at him by Timov for over twenty years,
he'd developed some agility.  Rolling out of the bed, grabbing a
typically ostentatious candelabra and hitting the first assailant in
the stomach with it was hardly an easy task, but he managed it
adequately enough.

The second came in wielding some sort of long knife.  It looked
vaguely Narn in design.  His swing was clumsy and Londo ducked under
it, bringing up the candelabra.  It shattered his attacker's jaw and
sent him falling back.  He turned round...

... and that was it.  No one else, just these two lying on the floor,
the one unconscious, the other gasping and trying desperately to draw
breath. Inept was not even the word to describe it.  So why...

Maybe Refa knew that Londo would be expecting an assassination attempt
and had sent a deliberately incompetent one to lull him into a false
sense of security, expecting him to be over-paranoid on his first
night here.  So perhaps another attempt was being planned for later
tonight.

Or maybe this was a deliberate attempt organised by someone else,
someone who couldn't afford to hire anyone competent.  Londo could
just see Lord Jarno behind something like this.

Or maybe...

Or maybe he should stop worrying about maybes.  Someone had just tried
to kill him - a distressingly common event these days, it seemed.  It
was time to see the Chief Guardsman here and get this reported. 
Perhaps he could actually do something.

Londo began to dress hurriedly, his mind still buzzing over with
maybes and what ifs and the realisation that maybe Centauri politics
had become a little too byzantine for their own good.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Chardhay looked up towards the skies, whispering prayers to Valen.  He
could still see the black clouds which were blotting out the heavens. 
So far Yedor had not been struck directly, but surely that couldn't
last.  As it was the city was falling down, the ground beneath their
feet shaking, the grass turning black and dying, crumbling away within
seconds, the water becoming dead and stagnant.

The Temple of Valeria still stood, intact and proud.  Ulkesh stood
there, in the heart of the temple, where Valen had once proclaimed the
destiny of Minbar.

Chardhay had refused to flee.  This was his home, his world, and if
the warriors would not defend it, then he would at least do what he
could. Kalain had once contemptuously told him to 'go and pray
somewhere while we change the world'.  Well, the warriors had changed
Minbar, but not for the better.

"Valen said that in our darkest hour would come our greatest triumph. 
We must be strong.  We must endure."

Some had come here to watch, to listen, simply to be in company.  All
religious caste of course.  Chardhay spoke to them, of hope for the
future, of Valen's words, of anything that would assuage their fear.

And his own.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval came home only eleven hours after leaving.

Cathedral swept into the skies above Minbar, the strangest of
saviours.  A dragon, dark and terrifying, breathing flame.  A legend
from centuries before Valen, of Valeria and the dragon of fire.

This time the dragon had allies.

The Starkiller was there also, riding in a unique dragon of his own.
Sinoval had hated Sheridan for years, and still did, but the human was
going up against his own people, just as Sinoval had gone against his.
Sheridan obviously had his reasons, but could even this outweigh the
debt of blood on his soul?

Time to worry about that later.

There were already ships at Minbar, ships from the lesser races - the
Non- Aligned Worlds.  Why they should be here Sinoval did not know. 
What interest they could have in Minbar he could not guess.  Perhaps
they were little more than scavengers, come to loot a dying world.

He would not retreat this time, but he would not die here either.  He
stood on top of the pillar, with all the beauty of space surrounding
him. He could feel the battle bursting around him, but there was no
exultation, no joy.  He was fighting because he had to.  Nothing more.

Cathedral swept towards the human ships, the Parmenion beside it.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn looked up, feeling the Stra'Kath shake under her.  The battle
had not been going well.  The Drakh were strong, and the humans were
still destroying her world, blowing it apart, choking it, killing it. 
Now it seemed as though they would destroy the military might of her
Alliance as well.

And then the new arrivals appeared.  She could see them on the
displays of the Stra'Kath.  She knew who was there, who had come to
help her.

"John," she whispered.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*You... are... ours...*

*Go away.*

*You... are... ours...*

*No!*

*You... are... ours...*

The orb was singing to her.  Singing, whispering, calling, haunting
her. If it wasn't for the fact that Neeoma Connally was planning to
use it to destroy the Drakh fleets, then she might have been a little
stressed out.

Yeah, right.

Her memory flipped back to the conversation she had had a few hours
ago, inside that weird globe thing with the soul of someone who'd been
dead for several hundred years.  Not a common event, even in this
crazy time.

He'd been a strange sort of person, in a number of ways... well, apart
from being dead.  He wasn't even human, but a member of some race she
knew to be long extinct.  She'd never seen a Dilgar before, and hadn't
been all that sure what to expect...

Certainly not a genial old man sitting in a study of some sort.  He
seemed quite pleased to see her - well, if she were imprisoned in a
small ball for all of eternity then she'd be glad of some company as
well.  They spoke for a while, about not very much, and then she
broached the subject of the orb.

There followed a lot she did not understand, about Drakh and magic
which was science but wasn't, about central nervous systems and some
sort of energy linkage and mystic abilities.  What it came down to was
that Connally had got her hands on the orb of one of the Drakh
leaders.  Drakh sort of... plugged themselves into their ships, more
or less, so gaining greater control over them.  The ships worked using
partially-organic technology and Drakh leaders often functioned as
the brain, using an orb exactly like hers as a sort of interface. 
So...

So Neeoma Connally found herself in a boarding pod with quite a number
of Narns making for the Drakh mothership.  The Narns called themselves
the Bat Squad and they seemed to be quite looking forward to
hand-to-hand combat with the Drakh.  Connally wasn't.  Not at all. 
They still haunted her dreams, plagued her waking moments.

*You... are... ours...

*Go to hell!*

*You... are... ours...*

*No, I'm not!*

*You... are... ours...*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The ships whirled and soared, spewing fire at each other.  What would
they look like to anyone on the planet below, who might just be able
to see the lights which marked the battle to save or destroy their
world?

Cathedral, an immense castle, crafted by technology unknown and home
to their greatest foes, fighting for the one who claimed lordship and
dominion over all Minbari.

The Parmenion, led by the fabled Starkiller, fighting against his own
people to save those of an enemy.

The fleets of the United Alliance, including the Stra'Kath, bringing
home one who had been away for far too long and who had seen her world
and her people decay in her absence.

The Drakh, filled with the lust for death, ordered by their masters to
kill and destroy, and only too happy to oblige.

The Morningstar, representing both hope for the rising of the dawn,
and despair, in that Minbar would never see another.

The Corinthian, raining blow after blow upon an already weakened,
battered and almost broken world.

And one little, almost insignificant boarding pod... locking on to the
hull of the Drakh mothership, disgorging its crew...

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Kalain staggered out into the open, at last able to bear being outside
in the day, because there was no sunlight.  The sky was little more
than water filled with black oil, spreading and polluting all it
touched.  The clouds were dark and full.

He threw his arms up towards the sky and cried out for Valen to send
some signal.

It began to rain.

Kalain laughed as the rain burned away his clothing, boiling away the
skin of his hands and face and head.  For the first time in months,
the itching stopped.  Each raindrop on his dry, parched skin burned. 
Nearby he could see a young child, screaming and screaming.  The rain
was burning away his skin, revealing bone and membrane.  He was
staring at the heavens with unseeing eyes.

Kalain began to laugh once more.

He had his signal.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Delenn brought the Stra'Kath back around, ready to help defend Taan
Churok and his ship.  She could see the vessels attacking Minbar - her
home - but she could not reach them.  The Drakh were in front of her,
a screen.  She could also see John.  He had no reason to be here, save
for her.

"Thank you, John," she whispered.  The Drakh came forward, and Delenn
readied herself to meet them.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Drakh came forward and Connally readied herself to meet them. 
Just in front of her she could see Ko'Dath and G'Dan, wielding swords.
 Screaming out something that probably made sense in the Narn
language, they charged. The Drakh raised their orbs.

Connally raised hers, and focussed her mind through it.  She could
feel the Drakh taint in her mind, hear their voice...

*You... are... ours...*

The Drakh approaching her stopped, befuddled, confused, almost
hypnotised. Ko'Dath drove her katok blade through the chest of the
first one, while G'Dan decapitated the second.  The other members of
the Bat Squad charged forward, deeper into the heart of the
mothership.  Connally followed, but slowly.  She could hear it, inside
her brain, like an insect buzzing against her skull.

*You... are... ours...*

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Ulkesh stood at the heart of the temple where he had stood nine
centuries before, watching silently in the shadows as Valen had struck
down the threat to his leadership.  Mysterious thoughts swirled
through his ancient, alien mind.

Above him, the skies were raining death.  Beneath him, the ground was
shaking.  Around him, people were screaming and weeping and dying.

Ulkesh stood in the heart of death and he thought of the future.  And
of the past.  And of both together.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval perched on the edge of the pinnacle, almost suspended in
space. He guided Cathedral forward, feeling it respond to his unspoken
mental orders.  The smaller Soul Hunter ships clustered around him.

The Drakh line had not been broken, but it had been dented.  Minbar
was at last within reach.  The two Earther ships stopped their
bombardment and turned, the skin of each rippling in the darkness.

Sinoval did not hate them, but neither did he fear them.

He was a warrior, and a leader.  Minbar was his world and the Minbari
were his people.  Dictator, leader, prophet... he did not care what he
was.  He had done what he could and he would bring salvation to his
people.  He would change them forever, bringing in a new order just as
Valen had done.

And if his people would not change, and would not bend, then they
would shatter, and he would forge them anew from the pieces.

Cathedral soared forward.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The buzzing in her skull had become louder and higher, tearing apart
her mind, ripping her memories and thoughts and feelings to shreds, so
that it was all she could hear and all she could feel.

This... this was the heart of the Drakh fleet.  She held up the orb
and willed her power through it, shocking and stunning the Drakh who
guarded the nerve centre.  They hesitated, torn between obeying the
one who held the orb which would command them, and defending the heart
of their fleet. It was only a brief hesitation, but it was enough for
G'Dan and Ko'Dath to cut them down.

There was only one Drakh remaining now, one much taller than the
others. He... she... it... was seated on what looked like a throne,
arms spread out and head tilted back.  It was naked and Connally could
see the warped and twisted bones rising from its skin, swirling
around, moving, breaking, tearing.

She stepped forward, holding the orb, looking into its depths.  Its
colour kept changing, but now it was a brilliant, burnished gold.  The
voice in her mind stopped and then rose again, as one complete
cadence, an entire cacophony of cries melded into one.

*Surrender unto us, become what you know you are, become what you know
you must be, surrender unto us and know our secrets, our wisdom, let
the weak die and rot and let the strong prosper, we are the strong, we
are the mighty, you owe no allegiance to the weak, no loyalty to the
dying, surrender unto us, become one of us and live.*

The Drakh on the throne began to move, rising up to face her.  It
twitched and seemed to... blink.  Then its eyes fell on hers.  They
were the same gold as the orb.

The air seemed to turn to glass around her.  She could not move, could
not breathe.

Ko'Dath darted forward, her katok swinging.  The Drakh turned, but too
late.  The blade sliced through its neck and it fell, its body
decomposing in seconds.

The voice in Connally's mind stopped, and the air became air again.

"What now?" asked G'Dan.

"The... the soul said..."  Connally blinked.  *Think, for God's sake!*
"He said, I had to... sit on this chair, and... put the orb in the
headpiece... or something.  Then, I'd have control of... of the
fleet."

G'Dan looked at the throne, and grimaced.  "Rather you than me."

Connally stepped forward, not wanting to move, not even wanting to
live here.  *Oh, Dad.  I miss you.*  She sat down and looked up.  The
orb began to float upwards, so that it was hovering over her chest.

It was now jet black.

*You... are... ours...*

Connally's eyes turned black.  "Yes," she whispered, not seeing, not
understanding, not doing, just... knowing.  "Yes...  I am yours."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Drakh ships froze for a moment, becoming statues motionless in
space.

But only for a moment.

When they moved again, and fought again, they did so more furiously
than they had before.  Far more furiously.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *


"Oh, dear," Corwin muttered.  "This is not good.  Very not good."

"We keep trying, Mr. Corwin," replied the Captain.

"So... doesn't look like Lieutenant Connally managed it then?"

"Worry about that later."

"Yeah, right.  Yeesh... someone needs some perspective around here."

"Were you saying something, Commander?"

"Me?  No... not at all.  Mmmm, no.  Definitely not."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*You are ours ours body flesh and soul ours to rule ours to command
ours to be surrender yourself unto us and reveal unto us your heart
and soul and innermost secrets reveal yourself unto us you are ours
ours*

Neeoma Connally was torn between worlds, trapped between the memory of
herself as a human and the image of herself as a Drakh.  Visions
swarmed through her mind: of a young girl sitting on her father's knee
listening to his stories, of walking into a dark tunnel to receive the
boon of her Dark Masters, of refusing to cry at her father's death and
swearing that there must be a better way, of touching an orb with long
cadaverous fingers that were and yet were not her own.

*I am... yours...  I... am...*

*Secrets still you hold secrets what do you want what do you want
surrender to us surrender to the Machine what do you want?*

*I...  I want...*

*Yes.*

*I... want...*

Her father my father I want my father I want...

No, not like this.  My father's dead.  Let him be dead.

*I want nothing.  Nothing from you.*

*You... are... ours...  You... are...*

Her world exploded.  With an agonised cry, she shot back through the
layers of her mind, past thoughts and memories she did not even know
she had, her very essence tearing through years of her life, finally
to surface, in one instant of absolute and perfect clarity, in the
upper reaches of her consciousness.

She moved at last, twitching her fingers, turning her head, blinking
her eyes.  Slowly, she began to rise from the throne.

"What...?" she whispered.

"Told you," G'Dan said, in a somewhat smug tone.  Ko'Dath did not look
happy.

"Told... told her what?"

"You weren't coming out.  You looked paralysed, and that orb thing was
keeping you there.  So..."

"So... you smashed it?"

"Worked, didn't it?"

Connally pondered that for a moment.  "Yes...  I think it did.  The
fleet..."  She exhaled sharply and smiled.  "The fleet's paralysed,
broken.  I don't know how it worked but... it did.  Somehow."

"Good," grunted Ko'Dath.  "We leave.  Now."

Connally did not feel like arguing.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

General Ryan looked up from his tactical displays, trying to think
about everything dispassionately - as figures and numbers and tactics
and strategies and not as people who were being bombed into oblivion. 
The signal was from Captain Philby on the Corinthian, who had pulled
back from the bombardment to help meet the attacking ships which had
outflanked the Drakh.

"General," he said.  "We have a problem."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"They're leaving."  As Corwin told Sheridan, as Taan Churok told
Delenn, as Sinoval saw for himself, as Connally and Ko'Dath and G'Dan
observed... the humans were leaving.

"It's over."  The Morningstar and the Corinthian fled, their ultimate
mission unfulfilled.  The Drakh fleet was paralysed, their deadly
ships trapped motionless in space.  In time they began destroying
themselves, consumed from within by a force that no one could fully
comprehend.

"It's finished."

For those still on Minbar it would never be finished, never be over.

Never.

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 6C
Date: Mon, 27 Apr 1998 19:29:28 +0100


The Death of Flesh, The Death of Dreams, Part 6C [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams, lwa97gdw@sheffield.ac.uk

The palace was empty.  Not just slightly empty, but completely and
utterly uninhabited.  There were no guards in sight, no servants, no
nobles, nothing.

Londo was beginning to feel that maybe there was something deeper
behind his attempted assassination after all.

Well, the palace was empty until he arrived at the throne room itself.
There was someone there.

Refa was still and motionless, pinned to the throne by a long Kutari
sword through his chest.  His mouth was open, as if his last emotion
had been surprise that anyone had dared to kill him.  The three guards
who were always in attendance here were not.  Londo could not see
their bodies anywhere.  The Emperor's personal guards were supposed to
be incorruptible, but Londo more than anyone knew that there was no
such thing.  Everyone had a price.

"You should not have come back, Londo."

Everyone.

Malachi walked out of the shadows.  There were traces of blood on his
hands.  "You should not have come back."

"On the contrary," Londo replied.  "I should have come back earlier. 
Why, Malachi?  Why?  Regicide was something I would never have
expected from you."

"Plans within plans, everything leading around to everything else. 
Look at me, Londo.  I'm as much a noble now as any who were born to
the purple. Go away, Londo.  Leave Centauri Prime.  Take Timov with
you and go somewhere far, far away.  I promise not to pursue you,
but only if you leave now and never return."

"I can't do that, Malachi.  You should know that."

He sighed, and looked down.  "Ah.  I loved Turhan, did you know?  He
was the greatest of us all.  In his hands... we could have done so
much.  But no, he died a lonely old man, his life given away to that
throne, nine tenths of his potential unfulfilled.

"In a few minutes the Chief Guardsman will arrive.  He will find the
Emperor murdered, and the Prime Minister sorely wounded trying to
protect his Emperor.  He will also find Londo Mollari, a noted enemy
of the Emperor, fled, with the bodies of two guardsmen in his room.

"Go away, Londo.  Go away and do not come back."

"Why?  Great Maker, Malachi, why?!"

"Go away."

Londo took one look at his former friend and then at the body on the
throne.  For one day at least Refa had achieved what he had always
wanted. And for that one day he was the happiest man who had ever
lived.

"This isn't over," Londo said, as he turned to leave.  Within moments
he was gone from the room.

"No," Malachi sighed behind him.  "No, it never is."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Bester was ready to leave Proxima 3 when Ambassador Sheridan came to
pay him a visit.  "Ah, Ambassador, what a pleasant surprise.  We
haven't talked as much as I would have liked."

"Be silent for a minute.  Someone tried to kill the President earlier,
did you know that?"

"Yes, I had heard.  General Takashima, was it not?  Such a shame,
really. A promising soldier... fallen into madness.  A tragedy."

"Madness?  Perhaps.  Or perhaps something else.  Why did you wait so
long, Bester?  If you'd had Clark killed earlier you might have saved
Minbar. That was G'Kar's plan, wasn't it?"

Bester turned to look at Sheridan.  The ambassador was completely
unreadable, a closed book.

To any ordinary person, that is.

"G'Kar has his own plans.  What is Minbar to me?  Let it be blown up,
I don't care."  Bester was careful to keep his tone conversational,
maintaining an air of calm while attempting to scan the ambassador.

"Then what do you care about?"

"My people.  The future.  We will not be slaves any more, Ambassador."
The shields around Sheridan's mind were... formidable.  Bester could
sense a faint buzzing noise playing at the edges of his consciousness.

"Humanity will not be slaves any more.  On the contrary, we will be
the masters.  Not just of Proxima, and Beta Durani, and Minbar, but of
everything.  G'Kar is standing in our way, and soon enough we will
be coming for him.  In force.  Now, you can stand beside a Narn
idealist you owe nothing to, or you can help us, and be a victor.  You
owe G'Kar nothing. Surely your true loyalties lie with your own race?"

"Should they?"  The buzzing sound was growing louder and louder. 
Bester strained past Sheridan's shields and for a moment the man
became a silhouette, a black hole pulling all light into himself. 
The buzzing grew louder and louder, bombarding Bester's mind.  The air
behind Sheridan shimmered...

... and Bester saw a Shadow for the first time.

The images faded and he stepped back, shaking.  He raised his hand to
his head.

"Yes, they should," Sheridan said.  "Think about my proposal.  If you
should change your mind at all, contact me, but do it soon.  As I
said, we will be coming for G'Kar before long."

He left.

Bester drew in a deep breath.  "Well... that was... interesting.  I
will have to think about that for a while.  What do you think, dear?"

At the far end of the room, hidden in the shadows, there was a
movement. "You took a risk assuming this thing would work."

"Of course it works.  It's a black light cloak.  A scientist here was
working on the development and I got the late, lamented General
Takashima to acquire a few for me before her... untimely demise.  It
won't work while you're moving, of course, but that's what the
Changeling Net is for. I told you I wouldn't leave you behind.  We've
been apart for too long."

She smiled.  "Are you actually saying you missed me?"

He sighed.  "Every minute of every day.  You did well.  I'm proud of
you. Very proud."  He paused for a moment, and then shook his head. 
"You had no problems getting away?"

"No.  It's strange.  There was hardly any security around a dangerous
saboteur and traitor like myself."

"Ah, that will be Mr. Welles.  A good man... in his own way.  A useful
ally as well.  I think Sheridan suspects...  This place is becoming
just like the Centauri court.  Everyone suspects everyone else."

Talia Stoner crossed the room, and stopped beside her lover.  She
kissed him gently.  "Come on, Alfred," she said.  "Let's go home."

			    *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sinoval was the first to set foot back on Minbar itself.  He had not
expected ever to return here, and as he took his first steps into
Yedor he wished he had not.

The city was in ruins, with only the Temple of Valeria still standing
proudly above a desolate horizon.  The crystal lake was filled with
mud and silt and something worse.  The bridges were destroyed, the
libraries mere piles of rock, the temples now monuments only of death.

And the sky... the sky was black.  There was no rain now, but the
clouds that hovered overhead promised it soon.  They were clouds of
dust and debris and... something worse.

Sinoval walked forward a few paces and stopped at what had once been a
library.  He knelt down and picked up a small piece of crystal which
had once formed part of the building's wall.  It was now black where
once it had been clear and sparkling.  It crumbled to dust in his
hand.

He rose to his feet, hardly aware of the Soul Hunters behind him.  "I
will build a new Minbar," he said softly.  "A new people, a new world,
a proud and noble world to live in, a strong and loving world to die
in.  We will spread to the skies and turn to the universe for
succour."

He paused and looked around the ruined cityscape.  He could hear the
cries of the wounded and the trapped, the weeping of the grieving, the
rantings of the lost.

"We will rise again," he said firmly, nodding his head for emphasis.

He then set about his work.


Next: Between the Candle and the Star (2 parts)

Minbar is in ruins, devastated by forces it thought it could defeat. 
As Sinoval tries to forge a new world and a new people from the ashes,
his dream is assaulted from all sides.  Delenn has returned to her
home for the first time in two years and she must come to terms with
her feelings for Minbar's new destiny.  Still lurking in the shadows
is Ulkesh, with his own plans for the future.  Plus: the answers to
two of the galaxy's greatest mysteries are revealed.