Sheridan looked at Welles’ chair, and then sat down on the table. He flicked back the switch that Welles had activated. He knew what it did. It gave short, irritating electrical shocks through Delenn’s chair at various intervals. A means to prevent her sleeping. Sleep deprivation was the oldest form of human torture.

“Why did you do that?” Delenn asked.

“I don’t like torture,” was his sharp reply. “I don’t… I didn’t like what I just saw.”

“Fortunes of war,” she rasped. “Would Sinoval or Kalain have treated you any better? Probably not.”

“But I’m not them. At least, I hope I’m not.”

“You will get into trouble,” she said. “They must know you had food brought to me.”

“I don’t care. What can they do to me? I’m their only hope and they know it.” She smiled slightly. “What?” he laughed. “What?”

“You remind me of Neroon sometimes. He does too, but he merely looks and sounds like Neroon. You act like him.”

“Really?” Sheridan tried to digest that piece of information. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing. Definitely a good thing.”

“Oh, thank you.” He paused again and looked at her. Sometimes he nearly managed to forget what she was, and what she had done. Nearly. “There’s… there’s something I need to ask you. I don’t know if this makes any sense, but I just… have a feeling that I’ve known you before. I don’t know how to put it into words. When I look at you, I… don’t see a Minbari… I see you. If that makes any sense.”

She smiled again. “We believe that souls travel together over many lifetimes, reliving the good relationships, and putting right the wrong ones.”

“What? You think this crazy feeling is because our souls have some kind of… cosmic sewing circle going?”

“I do not recognise the term, but it is possible.” She suddenly looked up, at the guard who stood silently at the door. Sheridan caught her expression, and gave the guard a sharp gesture. He looked unhappy, but left. “Captain, I feel… that… ah, there is something I should tell you… something that they have not been able to take from me. We… ah, this is difficult. We believe that the souls of each generation are reborn in the next, that when one of us dies, his or her soul is placed in someone who comes afterwards. Do you have any such beliefs, Captain?”

“I… once… I suppose. I stopped believing in anything when I saw Earth for the last time.” His words were not meant to wound, but they still did so. She bowed her head, and it took a few moments before she was able to speak again.

“But for the past thousand years, each generation has seemed… less that its predecessors. There are fewer of us being born, and those who are do not seem up to those who came before. Almost as if their souls were disappearing. And… our great religious leader Valen left certain prophecies for the future, prophecies about an Ancient Enemy returning, about fire and darkness and about the need to unite with the other half of our soul, or we would be destroyed. I could never work out what he meant by that, but when I saw you and Sinoval confronting each other, I think I did.

“These words are near to blasphemy, Captain, but I cannot ignore them any longer. I… I think our souls have been going to you.”

“What? That’s… that’s absurd. Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I… I would have thought so, but… there is something else. When I was a child, I saw a vision of Valen. I was separated from my parents, and lost and hiding in an abandoned temple. I saw a vision of Valen there, who said that he would not allow harm to come to me. Our prophecies always wrote of Valen as being Minbari not born of Minbari. While I was questioned not long ago, I experienced another vision. I think Valen was human.”

Sheridan opened his mouth, but couldn’t find anything to say. This all sounded so absurd. Finally, he spoke up. “We’ve only had space travel on any scale for a hundred years or so. From what I’ve heard, Valen’s a lot further back than that.” She nodded. “How can that be possible?”

“I do not know, but it is all I can think of. I… was on my way to test out this theory when I came across you and… the other.”

“Test it?” His eyes narrowed. “How?”

“There is… an artifact, called the Triluminary. There are three, in fact. I borrowed one. They can be used as a telepathic scan, or to… study a soul. I was going to study your soul, Captain, and discover if what I believed was true.”

“A Triluminary? You mean one of these?” Sheridan fished in his pocket and pulled out a triangular object, made of a metal he couldn’t identify. She nodded, her mouth open in surprise. “I took it from you then. You honestly think that I have a Minbari soul.”

“I do not know. I… I am scared, Captain. If that is true, then the war with the Enemy is coming, sooner than any of us can guess. I am afraid of what will happen if I am not there to lead against them.”

“Ah. So that’s it. I suppose you’d just like me to let you out of here, would you? Send you back to Minbar? Even let go of our new allies?”

“Captain, please! You must have had… doubts… about them?”

He paused, and then nodded slowly. “Yes, but for the moment, I don’t care. I honestly think that you believe what you’re saying, but you don’t have any power over the Minbari at the moment. Sooner or later your people will be coming for us, and we will have to be ready. If that entails making a Faustian bargain, then so be it. There will be plenty of time to worry about our new friends when we are safe.”

“Then it will be too late.”

“It’s never too late.” He pocketed the Triluminary and stepped back. “I have to go and check on my ship. We’re heading out on border patrol in a few days, and I have to make sure everything is all right.”

“I… Yes… I understand. Thank you, Captain.”

He said nothing as he left.

Lyta looked at her carefully arranged table and nodded silently. Perfect! She was wearing her favourite green and brown dress. The meal was cooked and ready – although the food was considerably lacking given the poor plantations and hydroponics here – but it would be edible. Besides, it was the company that would make the evening bearable. Assuming the company ever arrived.

At twenty five minutes past eight – or 2025, she supposed she should call it – he did. He stepped inside slowly, as if he were entering a room full of Minbari rather than the home of one – very beautiful, she thought in her completely unbiassed opinion – woman. He looked around slowly and gave her a bottle. She read the label and smiled.

“Orange juice. Thank you.”

“There, um, aren’t many places I could find something to drink. And I had to wait until Captain Sheridan returned to the Babylon before I could start looking.”

“It’s wonderful. It’s practically impossible to find real fruit juice out here.”

“It isn’t… exactly…”

“You were thinking of not coming, weren’t you?”

“Are you scanning me?”

“No,” she lied. “Just observation. I’m not that imposing, am I?”

“No… it’s just… why did you ask me here? You hardly know me.”

“You intrigue me, and I’m not easily intrigued. I’m… interested in you.” He looked as though he were about to bolt any second. “Come on, sit down. The meal will be getting cold. And I have a fairly nice bottle of Centauri brandy. Much nicer than the Narn stuff.”

“I… don’t… drink alcohol,” he said carefully. She looked at him and silently cursed herself. She could sense it, hovering just below the surface, the rushing red rage, fired by alcohol and fuelled by hatred. He was… had been an alcoholic.

“That’s fine,” she said. “We’ll try your orange juice.”

He had eaten silently throughout the meal, ignoring her attempts at conversation, or giving quick, monosyllabic answers. She had avoided questioning him about his family – she could sense the loss in his mind – but she knew about the Vega 7 massacre. At least, she knew what had been reported. She also knew that what had been reported was – to put it bluntly – either a deliberate lie, or a serious error with regard to the truth.