“G’Kar!” he cried out. “Give me a hand here, for God’s sake!”

He wasn’t certain if the Narn heard him or not. If G’Kar did hear, he made no sign, and left Sheridan to the fight alone.

Lyta Alexander had not slept well in months. Of course, a full, dreamless night’s sleep was the prerogative of someone who hadn’t lost everything they’d ever had with Earth, but this was different. These weren’t nightmares about Earth burning, or people dying, or the Minbari. These were… these were strange dreams. Very strange dreams.

It was just a voice. A singing symphony that was many voices rolled into one. A voice that asked just one question over and over again.

Who are you?

It sang in her dreams, it sounded in her thoughts. Sometimes she heard it when she was awake, or working. She had had to work less with commercial Narn traders because she kept hearing the voice whenever she scanned anyone’s mind. There had been little official work to keep her busy ever since Captain Sheridan had taken away Satai Delenn – and Lyta was glad. Scanning Delenn had been the most brutal and traumatic experience she had ever suffered.

All of this left her alone, alone with the voice that sang and asked a question she couldn’t answer. And it was when she was alone that she heard it louder.

Was that why she had taken to pursuing Marcus? She wasn’t sure if he was interested in her the way she was interested in him. (God, those eyes! They thought to bring her comfort in her dream.) But she chased him anyway, because she couldn’t bear to be alone. She pressed herself to him, moving their relationship at a pace she knew he wasn’t comfortable with, but that she continued anyway. When he was here, she spent every moment she could with him, hoping to drown out the voice with his nearness. She knew that he had duties as Captain Sheridan’s bodyguard, but she needed to be with him anyway.

When he was not here, she drank, hoping to push herself so far that she did not hear the voice. Narn liquor was probably the easiest thing to find on Proxima. There were many who sought to lose themselves and their memories in drink. Lyta had few friends to be concerned about her, but Marcus didn’t like her drinking. He had drunk himself once, and he was clearly afraid of her becoming what he had been. She was afraid too, but she never drank around him. It hurt him, and besides, his presence was enough to drown out the voice.

But now Marcus was gone, left Proxima with Captain Sheridan on some mission a few days ago. He was in danger now. She could feel it. She didn’t know exactly what, but she could feel his danger. She had been inside his mind so often – usually without his knowledge or permission – that her thoughts had become aligned to his. She could feel his heart beating faster, and thoughts of terror rising. She wanted to be with him… she wanted…

But not where Sheridan was. She had scanned him once, out of curiosity, and she had been terrified by the sheer anger within him. Sheridan was, inside, already dead. His body just hadn’t noticed yet. She was afraid that Sheridan’s death wish would lead him into a situation from which he would not return, and that Marcus would go, willingly, with him.

Who are you?

I don’t know! she screamed in reply. Leave me alone! Who are you? What do you want?

Pain again. She should have remembered. Never ask that question. Never.

I’m sorry, she breathed. I’m sorry… I don’t understand.

Understanding is a three edged sword. Wake!

What?

They are here. Wake!

Screaming, she came awake, although that gave her no succour from the voice. She could feel something, something outside, not far away. It was moving and watching her. Her heart began to beat faster. She heard a buzzing, crackling sound.

The owner of the voice in her mind was angry.

Lyta felt her mouth open, but the words that came forth were not from her voice. Go! They are not for you! Leave this place! No!

The crackling faded and she slumped back on the bed, too tired, too exhausted, too afraid even to think. Her whole body was covered with sweat, and every muscle ached.

Lyta Alexander got no more sleep that night, but that did not mean she did not dream.

“Lyta?”

Marcus Cole spoke her name slowly, reverently. He didn’t understand why. Lyta was back on Proxima, surely. She was safe. She couldn’t be in a Starfury staring at a huge Minbari cruiser.

“Are you all right, Marcus?” came a voice over the comm system. It was Lieutenant Neeoma Connally, leader of Starfury Squadron Alpha. “Never been in battle before, eh?”

“Er… no. Not like this.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. That ship’s a lot bigger than we are. Easier to hit, you see.”

“What about their flyers? There’s more of them.”

“Exactly, makes them easier to hit too.”

“Somewhat optimistic, aren’t you? Just like… Katherine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing. Not important.”

Marcus was supposed to be Captain Sheridan’s bodyguard. He should be where the Captain was. He was not a Starfury pilot. But no, the Captain had gone down to the planet without him, and now Marcus was flying a Starfury he had only had thirty or so hours practice in, up against the pride of the Minbari fleet.

Katherine would have told him he was being too pessimistic, but Katherine was gone, had died in the inferno that had engulfed Vega 7. She was dead, and he had never told her how much he cared. How could he? She had been his brother’s wife. And his brother was dead too.

And now Marcus was staring at the beings he held responsible. In the pit of his mind, he knew that it wasn’t the Minbari who had destroyed the Vega 7 colony. He remembered the black ship rising from beneath the ground, and he remembered the other ship that had come to collect it. But those ships weren’t here, and the Minbari were.

“Fire at will,” came Neeoma’s voice again. “Oh, and stay alive, won’t you?”

It was advice Marcus intended to take, but he doubted anyone would care if he didn’t.

G’Kar raised his head and met the eyes of the Minbari who knelt opposite him over Varn’s dying body. The Minbari – Draal – met his eyes and nodded slowly. Whichever one the Machine deemed fit would inherit it. There was no room for matters of race here. Narn. Minbari. Warrior. Teacher. None of it mattered.

The Machine was all.

“The… Machine… will tell you everything… you need,” Varn rasped. “Much of it… instinctive… but it will take… time… to learn. You must be… strong… be… ready… be… ah.”

“Hurry!” Zathras said. “Machine is failing and Varn is dying. Yes, not good.”

“No no,” said Mathras. “Varn is dying and Machine is failing. You always get wrong. One of you must replace Varn, yes. Stabilise the Machine, and…”

There was a PPG blast and Mathras started. He raised his head, and G’Kar knew he could see Sheridan and Kalain still fighting.

“No no!” Mathras was saying. “Must not fight! Not here! Not now! This not place for fightings, no!”

“Not work,” Zathras replied. “Many years of hate not washed out by your words. Enter the Machine, stabilise the planet, and then stop them fighting.”

G’Kar looked at Draal. The old Minbari understood. He felt a calling towards the Machine. He felt in his heart that he was right. G’Kar nodded and then bowed his head. Draal rose to his feet, and staggered forward. His movements were slow, and the ground was shaking more and more all the time. Zathras headed off after Draal, pointing out bits of the Machine to him, while G’Kar and Mathras remained beside the dying Varn.

G’Kar held no regrets. This was to be a fortress of light. There were few enough places like that. Besides, he was needed back in G’Khorazhar, with his agents, his Rangers. The Enemy had to be fought.