“G’Quan bless you, Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar.”

“Walk with Valen,” said the third, removing the hood of his black, warrior caste robe. The sight of a Minbari on Narn was rare, but this was a rare Minbari. “The Rangers on Minbar were meant to be our greatest line of defence against the Enemy, and under Branmer they were, but Branmer is gone, and the Rangers are gone with him. The Rangers we have created here must not fail. Valen walk with you, G’Kar, and Valeria’s blessings fall on you.”

“And with you, Neroon.”

The two of them went, leaving G’Kar alone. No, not alone. He was never alone. He had his book, and his dreams, and the souls of a billion Narns to guide him.

And he had something else.

“Are you there?” he asked softly. The Vorlon moved forward, coming into view. As G’Kar raised his eyes, the Vorlon’s encounter suit opened. G’Kar smiled softly. “G’Lan,” he breathed.

“Who are you?”

“I am Delenn.”

“Of the Grey Council?”

“Yes.”

“Which clan?”

“Mir.”

General Hague sat watching the interrogation silently, resting against the wall opposite their Minbari prisoner. He had never ceased to be amazed by Sheridan’s luck, never since the defence of Orion 7 where Sheridan had rescued him and others in the Resistance Government, but this… this surprised even him. Perhaps Sheridan had at last delivered the means for humanity to leave this barren rock at Proxima 3 and take back their rightful place in the galaxy. Perhaps this frail Minbari woman with the eyes of fire could spell the way to humanity’s restoration.

And they would have Sheridan to thank for it.

Again.

And then there was Sheridan’s other guest, and the promise of allies. Hague was still unsure about that, but he was in a definite minority there.

He shifted his attention back to the interrogation. Delenn was staring directly into the eyes of her questioner – a Security official named Welles. Hague was surprised that Welles had not averted his gaze by now. The fire in Delenn’s eyes would have caused anyone to back away, but Welles met it equally. There was something strange in the way that Delenn reacted to Welles. Almost as if he reminded her of someone.

“Name the other members of the Grey Council.”

Silence.

“Name the other members of the Grey Council. I believe there are nine of you in total?”

“We are Nine, formed by Valen a thousand years ago, to bring peace and order to Minbar. We stand between the candle and the star, between the darkness and the light.”

“Very pretty,” Welles intoned. “But you didn’t answer my question. Name the other members of the Council. Eight names. Surely that is a simple enough thing?”

Silence.

“That’s enough,” Hague said. “She’s stubborn.”

“She’ll break. Trust me.” Hague knew that Delenn spoke English, and so he and Welles had shifted to another Earth language – German – in an attempt to confuse her. Hague spoke passable German and Welles… he did everything perfectly. “All we need is time, and a little persuasion.”

Hague flicked a glance at Delenn, as immobile as a statue. A statue with eyes that burned. There was a bruise underneath her left eye. “No torture. We can’t risk killing her. There is another way.”

“Her?”

He nodded. “You don’t like her?”

“I don’t trust her. There is a difference. I don’t trust any of them. While Psi Corps was still around, at least they were controlled. Now they’re all free agents.”

“None of us is free. Not while the Minbari live.”

The door opened and Hague turned. In walked three people. One was a security guard who admitted the other two, and then stepped back outside. One was Sheridan, the man the Minbari called Starkiller, greatest hero of this generation. And the third…

“Lyta Alexander, telepath rating P five,” Welles said formally. “Welcome.”

She looked at Delenn, and Hague nodded. Welles grudgingly gave up his seat and Lyta took it. “Give me a moment to prepare myself.”

Hague nodded again and turned to Sheridan. The Starkiller was staring at Delenn with a fire in his eyes that matched even hers. “Good to see you, Captain,” Hague said, in English. “Have you been checked out by our doctors?”

“I was examined by Dr. Kyle aboard the Babylon. I’m fine, General. How is the interrogation going?”

“Slowly. Minbari are stubborn at the best of times. Miss Alexander should hopefully be able to pry something out.”

“We’ll see.” Sheridan fell silent and turned to Delenn. Hague could feel something emanating from Sheridan, something that hadn’t been there before, or not in such quantities. Hatred. Directed at Hague himself? He had ordered Corwin not to attempt to rescue Sheridan from Minbar. The Babylon was the last heavy class warship the Resistance Government had to call upon, and it could not be risked on a suicide mission, but still… did Sheridan blame him for giving that order? Did Sheridan hate him for it?

“What am I looking for?” Lyta asked. She had removed her black gloves and was staring at Delenn, an expression of polite interest on her face. For Lyta Alexander, this was a job just like any other. She felt no hatred, no concern, no pain. Simply… a desire to serve, ingrained in her by Psi Corps while it still existed, before the Minbari had destroyed it as they had destroyed everything else.

“Anything connected to the Grey Council,” Hague said. “Nothing specific. We just want a place to start. She has a great deal of information we need, and in time, we’ll get it all.” A slight break in Delenn’s icy composure? If so, it was almost unnoticeable. “Begin whenever you are ready.”

Lyta drew in a slow breath and closed her eyes. Reaching out, she laid one hand on Delenn’s forehead, an action the Minbari did not seem to notice. Her eyes were closed now as well. Lyta’s breathing remained slow and steady.

“She’s resisting,” Lyta said. “She has a lot of… strength. Minbari often do.”

“Keep trying,” Hague said softly.

He could not resist turning his gaze from that still tableau to look at Sheridan. The Starkiller was simply watching, as immobile as marble.

“I’m getting something,” Lyta whispered. “Nine columns of light.”

“That’s them,” Sheridan said. “I was held before the Grey Council.”

“They are arguing. There is… a triangle. She is… thinking about it. She’s resisting. Strongly. I… think… Branmer dead… Entil’zha… the Rangers. She… oh my God. Oh my God! The Enemy! They’re coming! Black and terrible and… touched!” The last word came out like a wail and Lyta’s head snapped back. She snatched her hand from Delenn’s forehead as if burned, and looked at it in horror.

“What did you find?” Hague asked.

“I’m not sure. It was too… unclear. There’s some kind of power struggle going on amongst the Grey Council. She represents one faction, and they’re arguing over something called the Rangers. She’s afraid that her opponent will become their leader now.”

“Who are these Rangers?” Hague asked. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“Some kind of élite army,” Sheridan replied. “Part warrior, part priest, part secret agent.”

“Being formed against us?”

“Possibly,” Sheridan replied. He seemed distracted.

“Mind telling me why I wasn’t informed about these Rangers?” Sheridan simply looked at him, and Hague turned away. “Anything else, Lyta?”

“I don’t know. Pieces. I’ll have to think about this, and I will need to rest before I can do it again.”

“That’s all right. We have time. Mr. Welles, the prisoner is all yours.”

Lyta rose from her seat and picked up her black gloves. Putting them on slowly, she followed Hague as he left the room. Acting on some impulse, Hague turned again to look at Sheridan. He was still staring at Delenn. And she had turned to look up at him. There was… pleading in her eyes. For a moment, he looked as though he was about to do something, but then he turned and walked away.