“And the reports made by Captain Sheridan,” Ivanova said quickly.

“Yes, well, young lady,” spoke up Vice President Clark. “Captain Sheridan has a… reputation for being somewhat economical with the truth in his reports.”

“To be blunt,” snapped General Takashima. “He often downright lies to us, and that’s when he can be bothered to say anything at all.”

“Really?” Ivanova said. “I thought he was… better regarded than that.”

“Oh, we have the utmost respect for his talents,” Clark said obsequiously. There were still a few members of the Resistance Government who respected Sheridan and trusted him to use his abilities and resources to the best needs of humanity. But only a few. “He is a soldier, however, not a diplomat or an intelligence agent. He is merely… being forced by circumstance to enact rôles which are unfamiliar to him.”

“Aren’t we all?” replied Ivanova. Clark spluttered and looked at Crane, who was trying very hard to stifle a smile. In these times, you took your pleasures where you could find them, and seeing Clark humiliated was pleasure enough for the moment. “And with regards to the other matters, I am afraid that my friends cannot send an ambassador. The atmosphere here would be poisonous to them, and they are very reluctant to leave their homeworld. It is a very holy place for them.”

“Can you at least put us in contact with them?” Crane asked. “Some form of… long distance communication or something?”

“Their technology doesn’t work that way. They prefer sort of… telepathy, I’d imagine. A link with an agent who can leave Z’ha’dum. Like me. Anything you need to know can be relayed to them directly through me.”

“Telepathy,” Clark said. “Perhaps we should ask Miss Alexander to take a look at you. Maybe she can uncover something helpful about this link. I understand Miss Alexander has been quite free lately, since our Minbari guest just walked away…”

“No!” Ivanova cried out suddenly. “No telepaths! Not near me!” Crane looked at her, surprised by the vehemence of her reaction. “They would… damage the link. It is a sensitive affair. Anything you need to know can be relayed to me, as I have said.”

“I do have one question,” said Takashima. “What are we going to call these allies of yours? They do have a name, I trust?”

“Yes,” Ivanova said slowly. “But it’s ten thousand letters long.”

“Ouch,” said Clark.

“Exactly. I can speak Russian, and even I can’t pronounce it. If you want to call them something… I understand the Minbari name for them would roughly translate as… Shadows.”

“Shadows?” Crane said softly. An ominous name, which may have been the point. The connection between the Minbari and these Shadows certainly seemed to be an appropriate reason for them allying themselves with the Resistance Government. “Shadows,” she repeated. The name chilled her, and she was certain she caught a gleam in Ivanova’s eye every time she said the word.

“I like it,” Clark announced. “So what do these Shadows of yours look like?”

“Fairly ordinary,” Ivanova said. “Fairly… ordinary.”

“There is a war coming,” Varn said. “A dark and terrible war which will tear the heavens and rip worlds asunder. Billions will die and whole empires fall, but there is hope for peace, great hope. There must always be hope. All of you gathered here,” he said, indicating G’Kar, Sheridan, Draal and Kalain, “know, in parts great or small, of this war.

“Some of you,” he said, looking at G’Kar, “believe you are ready for what is to come. Others,” indicating Kalain, “doubt your own worth, and are afraid of where you will stand at the end. Another,” indicating Draal, “refuses to admit his place and would be surprised to learn that he has any place at all, while you,” indicating Sheridan, “refuse to believe with your head what your heart is telling you, and will not accept with your heart what your head screams out.

“No matter the cost, the war must be fought, and it must be won, or every free-thinking race in the galaxy will fall to tyranny and despair. There must always be hope, and justice, and light. This Machine will be a part of that hope, and will bring some of that justice, and will shine part of that light.

“I have been here for over five hundred years, and now I am dying. During my time, I have gathered knowledge, travelled to far and distant worlds and seen things both terrible and majestic. All these memories, and all those thoughts, are stored within the heart of the Great Machine, and it is for the Great Machine itself to know who will inherit them.”

Kalain was only half interested in Varn, and only slightly more interested in the sights around him. His attention was focussed on the Starkiller. Kalain was surprised. He had not expected Sheridan to be so… fragile-looking. Kalain estimated that a single blow with his pike would be enough to rip the human apart. Surely this could not be the creature responsible for the Dralaphi, for the attack over Mars, for bringing terror to Kalain, Alyt of the Wind Swords himself?

And yet… there was something in his bearing… Sheridan was not the Starkiller here. Here he was just a man, a warrior divested of his armour and his robes and his blade. He might as well have been naked. His ship was what made him the Starkiller; it was as much a part of him as his arms and legs and clothing.

And then the impact of Varn’s words struck him, and he stepped forward. “You say this place is to be used as a fortress of light? Then who better to take it than the ones who will be leading the Army of Light against the Darkness? The Rangers did so a thousand years ago and they will do so now. Satai Sinoval, my leader, has been appointed Entil’zha, walking in the footsteps of Valen, and it will be in his name that I claim this place.”

“No,” Varn rasped. “You cannot claim the planet… the planet… claims… you…”

But his words were not heard, except perhaps by G’Kar and Draal, who alone understood them. Kalain’s gaze was focussed on Sheridan, and on the future, and on the glory he would receive when he returned to Sinoval with news of this place… glory enough to remove his shame.

And Sheridan… he too was not listening to Varn. “Like hell you will!” he snapped. “We laid claim to this planet while on a scouting mission two years ago.”

“Oh? And what were you scouting for exactly?”

“None of your business!”

G’Kar reached out for Sheridan, but then lowered his arm. Kalain looked at the Narn and snorted. This one fashioned himself as a warrior, but he was merely a talker. Narns had no stomach for doing what needed to be done. Only the Minbari did, only the warriors did, only Sinoval did. Draal made to perform a similar action, but Kalain brushed him aside. The fire of revenge was burning within him now.

Varn’s image was shaking, coughing and spluttering. “Too long,” he whispered. “Too… much… Help me.”

Zathras had abandoned the confrontation growing in the middle of the chamber – unheeded by everyone except Mathras, who went with him – and was rushing around the socket where Varn’s body rested. As he worked, the image faded and vanished, and Varn’s body, previously motionless, began to move. The old alien was dying.

Kalain felt the whole ground lurch beneath him. “A trick!” he spat. “You, Starkiller, are without honour!” Here at last, was his chance for redemption. Great would be the cheers when he returned to the Trigati, holding Sheridan in chains, and then returned him before the Grey Council. He would earn his redemption, and his forgiveness, both in Sinoval’s eyes and his own. And after that… there was a position on the Grey Council vacant. So what if Delenn’s replacement should be from the religious caste? They had dominated the Council for too long. Satai Kalain. It had a nice sound to it.

Sheridan was also moving. Towards the dying alien. G’Kar was beside him, but neither was moving very fast. The whole planet was shaking.