“The Minbari cruiser’s closing, Captain.” The commander’s voice was tense. He looked up into the face of his captain, hoping to see the sort of miracle he had witnessed before. Instead, the captain’s eyes were blank and distant. Almost dead. “Captain?”

Captain John Sheridan suddenly came to life. “Lay out dispersion fire. Make them back off. A little.” They couldn’t target the Minbari ship directly of course, but there were other ways. There were always other ways.

“Yes, Sir.” The commander began manipulating the controls with easy skill. He had always been a talented gunner and, despite his youth, he was one of the most experienced artillerymen the EAS Babylon had. After the captain, of course.

The dispersion fire had only limited effectiveness of course. Not being able to target the Minbari made their task that much more difficult, but none of them was willing to give up simply because their enemy was better equipped, better armed and in better condition than they were. As the captain had put it, ‘They fall down too. It just hurts them more.’

“Any sign we’ve hit them yet, David?” Sheridan asked. He was in his chair. He hardly ever left it these days.

“Not quite,” the commander replied. “They’re still messing with our sensors too much for us to tell. Lieutenant?”

“They are slowing down, and their weapons seem no more effective than ours are.”

“Well I’ll be…” muttered Sheridan. “Maybe that countering system the Narns sold us does actually work after all. How are the jump engines looking, Stephen?”

“Another ten minutes or so.”

“Damn! Fine. Keep laying out that dispersion fire, David.” Sometimes the commander had a great deal of trouble reading Captain Sheridan, but now was not one of those times. The captain seemed to live for combat, only becoming truly alive in battle. The commander had heard that the Minbari still called Sheridan ‘Starkiller’, after the Black Star victory. That had been a memorable occasion.

“Captain!” spoke up the lieutenant. “We’re losing hull integrity on aft decks. Down almost thirty per cent. The Minbari cruiser has taken damage at last. Forward thrusters, I think.”

Captain Sheridan nodded. “Good. Order all Starfuries to open fire on Minbari forward thrusters. Make the damage as large as they can, but get out of there after a minute. David, prepare that fusion bomb.”

He looked so competent and collected, the commander thought. Always ready for everything. No panic. No fear. The commander supposed he understood. The captain had lost too much in this war to have any fears for his life.

“Starfuries pulling back,” the lieutenant snapped. “The cruiser’s powering up her forward batteries!”

“Launch fusion bomb and initiate evasive manoeuvres. Get that bomb out there!”

There was a moment, the commander knew, in the heat of every battle, when time seemed to slow down, when the threat of impending death or the promise of renewed life stretched out over what was little more than a few seconds. How long for the cruiser to fire its forward batteries? How long for the fusion bomb to reach the target at last made visible by damage?

“Bomb launched, Captain,” said the lieutenant. He knew about the long second as well. The commander clenched his hand into a fist. This was a very long second.

Then the floor seemed to shake and shudder beneath his feet. At first the commander thought the Minbari ship had managed to fire, but then the long second passed and he realised that the bomb had worked.

“So,” he whispered under his breath. “Maybe Narn technology does work after all.” He looked around. There was no joy in their victory. This time they had won, yes, but what was one victory when set beside the mass of defeat? They had all lost so much in this war. Far too much.

“Get those Starfuries back in stat!” barked the captain. “Are our jump engines back on line? Good. Open a jump point as soon as the ’Furies are back in. The nearest safe haven we can dock is Vega Seven, so set a course for there and get whatever Mechbots we’ve got working to repair that damage.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“So much for this year being better than the last one,” Sheridan said angrily.

“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“If you can call this alive. And it’s only mid-January. I have a feeling about this year, Mr. Corwin. I think twenty-two fifty-eight is going to be the year when everything changes. Status, Lieutenant Franklin?”

“All ’Furies aboard, Captain.”

“Good.” Captain ‘Starkiller’ Sheridan nodded to himself. This had been a very long war. Ten years too long. “Good.”

“The other half of our soul,” the Minbari woman muttered to herself. “The other half of our soul.” She sat back and sighed softly. She had been here for how long now? A few days, and the prophecies of Valen made as little sense as they had when she had begun. Less sense than usual in fact. But she knew why she was down here on Minbar, reading prophecies until she was likely to go blind. This was preferable to being with the Grey Council.

“You need rest,” said a stern and commanding voice. She looked up and smiled wanly. Draal had always had that effect on her. Her father’s best friend, the only part of him she still had left. “You have been here too long, Delenn.”

“When I was a child, you berated me for not studying long enough,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.

“That was then, and the great prerogative of age is the ability to change one’s mind at will. Then, you were always daydreaming, staring out of that window like a statue cast in crystal. And now you are always studying. The prophecies have been with us for a thousand years, Delenn. You cannot solve them all overnight.”

“I can try, and fourteen cycles is hardly overnight, old friend.”

“I thought you might have learned by now.” He sat down beside her and began brushing his fingers through the small beard he had taken to wearing. A strange habit, almost Centauri in fashion. “You cannot solve the universe all by yourself, Delenn. Neroon tried to teach you that, remember?”

She started and rose suddenly. “Neroon is no longer here, Draal. He made his own choice.”

“As did you, but the fact that your choices were in agreement does not make them right.”

Draal was infuriating when he was like this, but Delenn knew that her decision had been the right one. Neroon had his own path to tread, and she had hers. Wherever Neroon was now, she hoped he was well. “Perhaps you are right,” she said. “Perhaps I do need rest.” She slowly slid her hand over her heart and bowed her head. A ritual gesture, but one which contained so many layers of ceremony and anger and loss that it was almost painful for her to make.

She knew that Draal was watching her as she left the library, but she was not troubled by it. It was almost… comforting. At times he did remind her of her father.

The sight of the sun of Minbar reflecting off the crystalline rocks never failed to take her breath away, and it did so now. But while the rocks stunned her with their beauty, they brought little comfort. She saw a white-robed acolyte standing not far away, and sighed.

“It appears the call of duty reaches you,” Draal said, emerging from the library to stand beside her. “Remember the third principle of sentient life, Delenn.”

“I know,” she replied, smiling softly. “The ability to sacrifice oneself for a friend, a loved one, or a cause.”

“And little sacrifices mean just as much as the big ones.”

“I know. I know.”

Ashan, the acolyte, walked forward, keeping his head bowed as was traditional when approaching a member of the Grey Council. “Satai Delenn, the Grey Council requests your presence.”