Sheridan was not planning to escape, however. That would be what they expected him to do, and he hadn’t earned the title of Starkiller by doing what people expected of him. Besides, he had to admit that he was intrigued. Intrigued enough to try to restrain himself from slaughtering that Minbari warrior where he stood. He owed the Minbari too much pain to let this pass, but let it pass he did.

After being beaten senseless in Councillor Na’Toth’s chambers, he had awoken in a small shuttle heading away from the city of G’Khamazad. Neroon, Ta’Lon and Marcus were the only other beings in the shuttle, and none of them was particularly talkative. Only Ta’Lon had spoken to him all day, when they had landed at a small military base at the foot of the G’Khorazhar Mountains.

“Councillor Na’Toth knows who ordered your betrayal,” he had said. “Come with us and see Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar and listen to what he says. Maybe then Councillor Na’Toth will tell you.”

And so he was doing just that, although more from a desire to see G’Kar than anything else. There were precious few people whose deeds were so great that their very names resounded throughout the galaxy.

Sheridan himself was one; Satai Delenn of the Grey Council; Satai Sinoval, also of the Grey Council and Warleader of the Wind Swords clan; Warmaster Jha’dur of the Dilgar, called Deathwalker, missing, presumed dead; General Richard ‘Firestorm’ Franklin, dead these past few years; and G’Kar, greatest Narn hero in their war with the Centauri, general and leader beyond peer, who had mysteriously resigned from the Kha’Ri as the war neared its bloody stalemate, and who had not been seen since. Despite fighting in that same war – on the side of the Narns – Sheridan had not met G’Kar, although he would very much have liked to.

As he finally reached the top of the pass that led down into the small valley, he realised he might never get the chance.

Narn bodies were scattered all around him, torn, dismembered and ravaged, destroyed by… something that could not be human, or Narn, or Minbari.

Ta’Lon said something in Narn to Neroon, who nodded.

Sheridan spoke Narn, and he silently agreed with Ta’Lon. This was definitely not good.

Welles felt a faint surge of satisfaction as he looked at his prisoner. She was ill, ragged and torn, the fire that had raged so brilliantly in her eyes reduced to a mere ember. Seven days of interrogation, starvation and telepathic scans had managed to do this. She was the toughest, the most stubborn target he had ever been given, but he was winning at last, and in doing so he was helping the human race. The same race she had nearly destroyed.

He looked down at the notes before him. All other eight members of the Grey Council. Sinoval, Hedronn, Lennann – names, castes, details. Who would be a threat, who would not, who was likely to rise to power, who was likely to lead in a war against humanity. All detailed reports. A start, certainly. There were other matters to consider, troop deployments, numbers, army organisation, details about their technology, but these could wait. He had learned that the Grey Council had been violently in disagreement over the leadership of a secret army – the Rangers. What had Sheridan called them? ’Part warrior, part priest, part secret agent.’ Their leadership was in doubt, and it would take a while for them to sort matters out. Hopefully long enough for him to uncover everything he – and humanity – needed.

There was a polite knock at the door, and it opened, without Welles saying anything. In stepped an attractive red-haired woman, wearing black gloves and a badge that spoke more of tradition and ritual than any real significance. Any meaning in Psi Corps had ended with Earth.

“Good morning, Miss Alexander,” he said. “You are well, I trust?”

“Very well, thank you,” she said, taking the seat Welles vacated and offered to her. The prisoner looked at her with eyes of pity… and despair.

“Her shields should be considerably weaker this time. You may get quite a bit more information out of her,” Welles was saying. “Don’t worry about making sense of it – that’s my job. Just get out as much as you can.”

“Of course.” Lyta Alexander removed her gloves and took – gently and without force – the hands of Satai Delenn. Welles watched as Lyta closed her eyes slowly, in concentration, and Delenn closed hers in despair.

“She’s thinking about someone. A Minbari. One of these Rangers. He saved her life once and she… she had feelings for him. It’s funny, but you remind her of him. His name… his name was Neroon. He left her, or she left him, or something. A bit of both, I think. They don’t seem to regard relationships in the same way that we do.”

Welles nodded, his flawless memory recording everything that Lyta said. He noticed the slumped anguish in Delenn’s bearing.

“I can see the nine columns of light again,” Lyta whispered. “The Grey Council, but… it’s a little different. It’s the war, I think. Whoa! There’s some kind of tactical display, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I can… see it all around them. They’re watching a battle. There’re Starfuries everywhere. I… I think it might be the Line, but I’m not sure. There don’t seem to be any heavy ships at all.

“I… Oh no… it’s Earth. They’re destroying Earth. They’re watching it die. Oh God, no! Everyone’s dying… everyone’s dying… I… I can’t watch.”

“Please,” Welles said. “Keep trying.”

“There’s… Oh my God… There’s a Vorlon. She’s seen one – a Vorlon! What they really look like. It’s… oh… it’s so beautiful… and so bright and so… oh!”

“A Vorlon? What are they doing there?”

“A… it’s a bargain of some kind. The Vorlons know about the Rangers… even help them a little. Not much, but a little. They… they wanted something in return. A man… a human… a name… Valen. And… oh… it’s so beautiful. Kosh… that’s its name. Kosh. The Vorlon’s called Kosh. He… that’s impossible. I’m not alone here. Kosh… Kosh knows I’m here. But how? How? Oh… so… beautiful!”

Lyta’s head snapped back and her eyes opened. They were rolled back into her head. She swayed and fell from her chair. Welles rushed forward to catch her. She was still, and for a moment he was afraid that whatever she had seen had killed her. She moved, however, and managed to haul herself back into the chair.

“That was… that was… incredible,” Lyta whispered. “The Vorlon… it was so… so…”

“You saw the Battle of the Line?” he asked. Lyta nodded. “She was there? She was definitely there?”

“Yes. She was guiding things. Not quite a leader, but something similar.”

“Right. Thank you, Miss Alexander. You can try to work out exactly what it was you saw, and then deliver a full report to me whenever you’re ready. Mr. Cutter, please escort Miss Alexander back to her quarters.” Cutter nodded, and there was a gleam in his eye that said he wouldn’t mind escorting Miss Alexander into her quarters as well.

Welles sat back in his chair and looked at Delenn. He yawned and stretched. He hadn’t slept for over a day. Delenn hadn’t slept for very much longer.

“Sleep deprivation,” he said. “It’s one of our oldest interrogation devices. You become… disorientated, disturbed, possibly even hallucinate. Of course, it’s difficult to guarantee that you never fall asleep, so that chair you are sitting in is especially treated. With a flick of this button,” – he made an exaggerated motion of flicking a switch next to him on the wall – “we start a programme of random electric shocks through that chair. None large enough to be fatal, or even much more than an irritant.” Delenn started and gasped. “They come at random intervals, between one and five minutes in length. They will of course, prevent you from sleeping, or concentrating long enough to meditate properly. Unfortunately, I am afraid that I need to sleep, and so I will have to go and rest. Mr. Boggs? I trust you. Keep her safe, and keep her in that chair. Don’t hurt her unless it is absolutely necessary, and call me if there is a problem.”