“You are, and if you do not recognise that, then it is your problem. But you answered the wrong question, Captain. Why are you here, now, in this place, in this time, in that uniform?”

“I…” Sheridan hesitated. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“The universe puts us in places where we may do the most good. G’Kar told me that, echoing Minbari beliefs as he did so. I am here because I believe it is the right place for me to be. I can do more good here than I could on Minbar. Ta’Lon also feels he can do more here than as a bodyguard or a servant in G’Khamazad. We are in the places where we can do the most good. Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you are not. I suggest you find your right place, Captain, and do so swiftly. Battle lines are being drawn. Oh, not between human and Minbari, or against Narn and Centauri, but between Light and Darkness. There can be no middle road.”

“And you’re on the side of Light, I suppose?”

“I would like to think so.”

“So then,” Sheridan said, half jokingly, “where am I? The Darkness, I suppose? Your enemy?”

“You have a foot in two worlds, Captain. You are split down the middle, evenly. You will have to decide where your loyalties lie.”

“The same place they always have. With my people.”

“But who represents your people? Who among your people has the right to tell you what to do, where to stand, what to say? If your people are split, then where do you stand? To the Darkness, or the Light, or off to the side, feigning an impossible neutrality? You may soon have to make a choice, Captain, and if you are not ready for it, that choice will destroy you.”

“What do you know about choices?”

Neroon seemed to smile. “Let me tell you a story, Captain. It begins many thousands of years ago…”

The Minbari woman who, a million years ago, had been Satai Delenn of the Grey Council, blinked and tried to swallow. Her throat was dry and sore. She had lost track of time in this cell, but she knew she had not slept or eaten since she had been brought here. She was afraid, and alone, and doubted her purpose. She even doubted her own identity, and were it not for Mr. Welles’ often sarcastic use of her name, she would doubt that as well.

“So, Satai Delenn, did you have a pleasant rest?” Welles sat down and casually flicked the switch that ended the electric shocks designed to stop her sleeping. He rested his elbows on the table and joined his fingers into a steeple, looking at her over the top of it.

“Today, I need to talk to you about the organisation of your army. I understand that…”

“I will tell you nothing more,” she spat. Welles raised an eyebrow, in a gesture that she knew to mean sardonic surprise, even amusement. “You will have to take it from me by force.”

“I see. And what has brought on this sudden gesture of defiance, hmm? To what do I owe this pleasure of your renewed resistance?”

What could she tell him? That she had realised that Valen was human? Could she tell him that? Or would the simple uttering of that belief to any other sentient being just result in the final confirmation of her insanity? Or of her damnation? Of the end of her great destiny and holy cause?

She had always known that if she died, another would stand up in her place. But who was that other to be? Sinoval? He was touched by the Darkness in a way that he could not see or understand, but the taint was there all the same. Lennann? He lacked the courage, and the belief in himself. Hedronn? He lacked the belief that he mattered. Branmer? He was dead. Draal? He doubted his ability. Neroon? He was… gone.

There was no one to replace her, and with her loss the Grey Council would fall as the Rangers had fallen, and the only hope for Light would be a Narn.

“I could simply force the information from you, of course. Incidentally, I understand that Miss Alexander is not well at the moment. Some sort of seizure last night, apparently. She is recovering in Medlab, but it will be a few more days before she can return here. No doubt that fills you with joy?”

“How can the pain of another living being fill anyone with joy?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Did you feel joy at the conquest of Earth? Did you feel joy at the near-annihilation of a species? Did you?”

“No!”

“Oh, Satai Delenn. Lie to me all you like, but do not lie to yourself. You did, didn’t you? But it was all right. You were mad at the time. Insane. You are therefore excused your actions, aren’t you? They can be justified, explained away as no more than a fluke of circumstance.

“Explain that away to the relatives of all who died there! How can you? How can you look at all those widows and orphans and childless parents and lie to them?”

“I cannot,” she whispered.

“How can you tell them that you felt no joy in the actions you took?”

“I cannot.”

“Then how can you say that to yourself?”

“I… cannot.”

“There, you see. One more question. How can you live with yourself with all that blood on your hands?”

“I… can… No. I have to continue. You do not understand. You cannot understand. I was wrong, yes. We were wrong. We were ruled by anger and hatred and fear, and we lashed out at those we felt were to blame. We felt you were to blame and so we lashed out, without reason, without sense or logic.

“And now you are what we created from that madness. You are alone, Mr. Welles, just as we were. You are alone with your fear and your anger and your hatred. I have nothing to say to the widows and the orphans and the childless parents, but this alone.

“Do not follow our path! We were wrong. If you follow in our footsteps… if you make a pact with Darkness to satisfy your own need for revenge, then you will be just as bad as we were, and your mistakes will be just as severe as ours.”

“This… Darkness? Who is to say that it is not our Light? Our hope for the future. And who is to say, Satai Delenn, that we are fighting your people out of a desire for revenge? We are simply obeying the greatest desire of any sentient being – the urge to survive! Your people will destroy us. Oh, maybe you don’t want to, but those you left behind will. We will take whatever steps we deem necessary to save our people! What gives you the right to deny us that one, simple thing – to survive?”

“And how many must die for you to survive?”

“As many as it takes.”

“You are a child, Mr. Welles. A frightened child lashing out at those you see as being responsible for your fear.”

“At those who are responsible for our fear. And that is you, Satai Delenn. Never forget that. Never ever forget those you killed, and never let their screams dull in your ears, for they will never dull in mine.”

“I will never forget that, Mr. Welles, but I will know how to use the memory of the fallen to create a better future.”

Welles gave a harsh laugh. “Look around you, Satai Delenn. This, this is your future. This one room. That single chair. Miss Alexander. And me. That is all your future consists of. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“There are beings in this universe billions of years older than either of our races. Once, long ago, they walked among the stars like giants, vast and timeless. They taught the younger races, explored beyond the Rim, created great empires. But to all things, there is an end. Slowly, over a million years, the First Ones went away. Some passed beyond the stars never to return. Some simply disappeared.

“Not all the First Ones have gone away. A few remained, hidden or asleep, waiting for the day when the Shadows come again. The oldest of the ancients are the Shadows. We have no other name for them. We need no other name for them.

“A thousand years ago, the Shadows were defeated, driven from their homeworld of Z’ha’dum, out on the Rim, by a coalition of races. It was the last time the First Ones walked openly among us. Awaiting the fulfilment of prophecy, we have been preparing ourselves for the day when the Shadows returned to Z’ha’dum.