"What are you doing here?"
"I live in three-o-one. I grew up here, and trust me, I know this place better than most people. Better than you, it seems. You looked to be in a spot of trouble."
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
He moved forward. "Are you going to give me any straight answers, Lieutenant Talia Stoner? You can read my mind if you like, to satisfy yourself I'm not working for Trace. Yes, I know you're a telepath, and I know who Trace is. What I don't know is why he's chasing you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me any more! You did enough of that all the time you were on my ship. How long was it? A year? I want to know the truth."
"No," she replied softly, a little sorrowfully. "You don't." He might have been expecting a psychic attack. He might even have been expecting a physical attack. He certainly wasn't expecting both together.
Very few people stayed conscious through a combination of a psi blast and a kick to the chest, and he wasn't one of them.
"I'm sorry," she said to no one in particular, and then she continued in search of her place of sanctuary.
* * *
Sinoval had always held it one of his greatest gifts that he never regretted any single decision he had ever made. He did not spend time in pointless recriminations and self-doubts. He merely accepted that he had made a mistake, and resolved never to repeat it.
Leaving Minbar had led to disastrous consequences, but he had needed answers, answers that could not have been found on Minbar. To be certain of his destiny he had needed to seek wisdom and enlightenment elsewhere, and that had brought him here.
Trusting Kalain had been a mistake also, although one that could not have been foreseen. Sinoval had known Kalain as he had known and trusted none other. He had not known of his insanity, or of his infection.
He had made many other errors, but all had been committed with full regard to all the information he had had available. He accepted that, and moved on. The words 'if only' had never held any power over him.
Until now.
The realisation of Kozorr's betrayal was a bitter one, and for the first time in his life Sinoval gave thought to the past, and wondered what he could have done to prevent it.
He had been foolish not to recognise another Marrain. The First Ranger had betrayed Valen out of the pettiest of motives, jealousy, and the greatest of tragedies, love. In conversation with that haunted, tortured soul, Sinoval had learned the depth of Marrain's feelings for Derannimer, who had married Valen and borne his heirs. Marrain had been tortured by his inadequacy beside Valen. In every way he was a little bit less than the one he followed. Without Valen he would have been pre-eminent. With him, Marrain was nothing but a shadow.
And so it was for Kozorr. He was not the leader of his caste, or the greatest warrior alive, because of Sinoval himself. Kozorr loved Kats with a true and powerful passion that he had tried to restrain, only to have it burst forth.
The gentle worker had been much in Sinoval's thoughts of late. Her bleak depression after Kozorr's 'death' had inflicted deep wounds in the Primarch he had not been able to reconcile. He did not love her, for he did not know how to love. Her malady was beyond his power to fight, for it was beyond his experience.
But he could not deny just what she brought to his life. She was everything of beauty he had ever known, and a constant reminder of why he fought as he did. There was someone to whom life was more than a struggle, more than an eternal war against forces that could not be seen, more than a never-ending challenge that could never be met.
He had never in his life wanted to avoid something as much as he wanted to avoid that meeting with her, but he could not do so. He was a warrior, and a leader of warriors. He had his duties, and his responsibilities, and he would face up to the things he feared.
Slowly, tentatively, he explained to her what had happened. Kozorr was gone now, having taken his shuttle and returned to his corrupt master. He had not tried to make contact with Kats, which was the one thing Sinoval had feared.
She said nothing throughout his explanation, and her expression was still.
When he finished, she bowed her head.
"I knew it somehow," she whispered. "I saw it in his eyes when he came to see me. There was a darkness that had not been there before."
Sinoval said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"He saw me when I was in pain, when I was crying, screaming to the heavens. He saw my weakness, and called it strength. He held me when I cried, and loved me…. I could not…. I could not tell him. I was afraid of losing him, of him losing me. He had already given so much for me. How could I ask for more?"
She was silent, but then she looked up. Her eyes were cold and dead. Sinoval had always thought them the most beautiful thing about her.
"I have shed too many tears," she whispered. "I will shed no more." Then she turned and left. He wanted to follow her, but he could not. There was nothing he could do to comfort her. He knew nothing of love, or loss.
But he knew a great deal about war, and revenge, and he planned to utilise all his knowledge, every last piece of it.
* * *
John was sleeping now. He looked so peaceful. So happy.
Delenn wanted to remain there watching him all night. It was an old Minbari ritual, in which she would hope to discover his true face. Not that she had any need to, now. She had renounced a great deal of what had made her Minbari, and their courtship had passed beyond the sleep-watching stage a long time ago. A year now, it must have been. A year since Minbar, since they had discovered he was dying.
She was suddenly aware of a presence behind her, and she turned. He was there. The Vorlon, Ulkesh.
The Vorlon was silent, simply watching. Delenn could hear the faint traces of music in the air invoked by his presence.
"I'm ready," she said softly.
The Vorlon's eyepiece shifted, as if nodding. <Good.>
Delenn looked back at John. He was still sleeping. She would never forget him; his face, his voice, his hands, everything would remain in her memory for the rest of her life. However long that might be.
She slowly moved away from the bed, out into the main room. Ulkesh followed her. "What will happen now?"
<You will go to Z'ha'dum. You will die. He will live.>
"Why?" she whispered. "I still don't understand. Why?"
<Understanding is a three-edged sword. That is not required of you. Obedience is.>
She looked directly at him, her face hard. She knew what he required of her. She just did not know why. It didn't matter. Others would, and they would carry on. She had made all the preparations she could. There was nothing more to do now but go.
She left the rooms that had been her quarters ever since she had taken on the role as leader of the Alliance, well over a year ago. It had been after the arrival of the Inquisitor, something she only now understood. It hadn't been a test, as she and John had believed at the time. The Inquisitor had been sent by Kosh, whom she knew cared about her, about all the younger races. Kosh would never have demanded this of her, but he had given his life for them all.
He had known that might happen, and so he had sent the Inquisitor, as a warning. She had not listened, and now she had to pay the price.
She did not turn back to see if the Vorlon was following her as she walked through the streets of Kazomi 7. Either he was, or he wasn't, and she did not care either way. The streets were quiet. It was early in the morning, and even the nocturnal Brakiri were not about. The few patrol guards she saw ignored her, as if she were not there.
With each step she took, she remembered the images of these streets after the Drakh invasion. It was a true wonder that they had managed to create this hope from the chaos and despair of those dark days. It was a great triumph, and one that must surely be placed against the wrongs she had done.
Kazomi 7 and the Alliance spoke of hope, of order, of peace. They would carry on doing so after she was gone.
She reached the spaceport to find that no one there seemed to notice her either. As she walked down the docking bays towards her shuttle, past unseeing officials, she turned round and saw Ulkesh almost at her shoulder. "This is your doing, isn't it? You're why they can't see us."
<Yes.>
"And you need to make sure that I'm gone, of course. For all you know I could have let you cure John, and then stayed here and told him everything."
<No.>
"No? Why not?"
<No.>
She shook her head sadly, and walked away from him towards her shuttle. She had seldom needed a flyer, but when she had, one had been provided. Normally it was heavily guarded of course, but the guards could not see her. She hoped they had been equally blind to certain…. preparations made earlier.
She boarded the shuttle, and took a quick glance back. Ulkesh was there, watching. Angrily, she turned her back on him.
And then she left Kazomi 7, knowing she would never see her new home again this side of death.
And on to Z'ha'dum.
* * *
Mr. Trace received word of his men's failure to catch the female telepath with a calm demeanour. He thanked them for their efforts and dismissed them for the night. No doubt they were in a terrified rush to flee the sector — or possibly the planet — to escape his wrath. He didn't care if they did or not. There were very few people he trusted absolutely.
He had set them a task. They had failed. Miss Winters was simply smarter than they were, that was all. Where was the point in punishing someone for coming up against someone better?
Still, this did have to be reported to the Boss, and Trace was not sure how he would react. There were times when he thought he was afraid of the Boss, and other times when they could talk together like two old friends.
He did not really need the old man any longer. He could make a perfect living just from 301 alone. The protection, the drugs, the holobrothels and all his other little deals were enough to keep most men happy and rich for life, but he was not in this merely for the money. Trace wanted respect. He wanted status. He had power here, but he wanted to be a power.
Only the old man could help him with those things, and he would. Sooner or later he would move up from this worthless rat-infested dump and become a power in himself in Main Dome, or maybe off-world.
His signal was received, and the old man's voice came over the comm channel. Audio conversations only. It had always been that way, as far back as Trace could remember. He didn't even have any idea what the old man looked like. He had looked out of simple curiosity, but there were no pictures available at all.
He did know the old man's name, but it was a good idea not to let on that he knew it. The old man valued his privacy.
"Ah, Mr. Trace," came the voice. "What do you have for me?"
"We got another one. A pretty powerful one, too. I'd reckon P ten, P twelve maybe. There might be a problem, though."
"Yes?"
"He's been trained. He knows how to use what's he got. The psi-jamming tech you provided us with kept us safe though, and he only got mildly damaged when we took him down. He had a companion as well, another telepath, and she managed to escape. I'd put her at P five or so, but she's good. Very good. She knows much more than just how to read minds. Infiltration techniques, and pretty good at self-defence as well."
