“No problem,” came the slightly puzzled voice through the link. John looked up at his wife – his wife – and smiled, slowly and sadly.

“I’d love to,” he said. Remembering an old, old joke, he smiled again. “I could cook us something.”

Anna gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” She hesitated. “Besides, doesn’t your cooking contravene several defence laws here?”

He gave a bark of laughter.

“But they seem to cope with your snoring,” she added. “And if that doesn’t breach defence regulations, then I don’t know what will.”

“I do not snore.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No I don’t.”

Anna smiled, and John found himself smiling too. She extended her arm and he took it, slowly, unable to believe that this was real, that the woman he’d been in love with for so long had finally returned, and only too willing to hope that the man she’d been in love with was returning as well.

The Minbari would be coming soon, Delenn would be emerging from her cocoon in a few days, the Resistance Government had made a deal with the devil, and Lord Refa was sneaking around pursuing some unknown agenda.

But none of that mattered. For the first time in years, Captain John J. Sheridan, Starkiller, was in the company of the one person he loved with all his heart, body and soul, and for the first time in years, Captain John J. Sheridan, Starkiller, dared to hope that he might be happy at last.

Even if only for a little while.

For Susan, the rest had been laughably easy. Shuttles were travelling to and from the Babylon all the time, carrying replacements for weapons components, technical engineers, people going on and coming off leave, seeing the last glimpse of a home they might never see again…

All she had to do was hop aboard one such shuttle and hide. Arriving on the Babylon, she’d been met by the one who’d been expecting her, the one whose handy information on Sheridan’s whereabouts had made this possible. He had provided her with a completely clear path to the relevant room.

And with her always, there were the Shadows.

Then there were the two guards outside the door. One of them seemed to recognise her and was clearly unsure as to what to do with her. On the one hand, she was a respected and powerful ally of the Resistance Government, and they had given her the run of Proxima. On the other hand, their orders were that no one but the Captain and Commander Corwin were to enter the cell, and that meant no one.

Susan soon solved his dilemma. She killed him.

She’d been secretly practising with the Minbari pike she’d taken from Delenn all those months ago, and she’d managed to master the art of extending it and striking in one movement. The first guard was dead with his chest crushed before he even knew what was happening.

The second guard had started, almost unable to believe it, but she had reacted quickly. Not as quickly as a Shadow, who shimmered into view behind her and literally disembowelled her with one swipe of its foreleg.

Two deaths would not go unnoticed, but it was not as if Susan was planning on taking the blame for them, not when there was a so much more convenient scapegoat to hand.

The door was of course locked and security coded. Fortunately, her informant had provided her with the codes. The door opened and Susan and the two Shadows stepped inside. The first thing she saw, bathed in candlelight in an otherwise dark room, was the chrysalis itself.

It was fixed to the far wall of the room, and came up to the middle of her chest in height. She thought she could dimly pick out a humanoid form within it. Her other senses could definitely pick out a form within it.

Her first thought upon seeing it was, how beautiful.

But then she remembered that Minbari ships could be considered beautiful, Vorlons could be considered beautiful, while her friends, the saviours of humanity, they were feared and reviled.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

She walked up to the chrysalis and held out her pike, still stained with the blood of the guard she had killed. Drawing it back, she swung out with it. A part of the chrysalis tore away. She struck again, and again, and…

…and a humanoid figure fell free. Susan looked at Delenn, who was stretched out naked on the floor. Whatever the chrysalis had been doing to her, it had not finished, and she was a curious amalgamation of human and Minbari. She was breathing hard, sucking in great gasps of air. Susan guessed that she had been conscious throughout the whole ordeal.

“Lights,” she said, and the room was bathed in light. Delenn started, still emitting small, piteous moans, trying to hide her eyes.

But then the Shadows hissed and buzzed, sending their anger to their representative.

“Welcome back to the world, Satai Delenn,” Susan said slowly. Delenn knew her. Delenn recognised her. “Out of the darkness…

“And into the light.”

The chains we wear are of our own making.

Marcus was not sure who’d said that first of all. It had a very Dickensian feel to it. As he paced up and down the small room that had been made his impromptu cell, he had a vision of himself being loaded down with chains, just like a ghostly Marley, come back to warn Scrooge about his selfish ways.

If only Marcus had had a Marley, he might not have ended up here. He was not wearing any physical chains, but he had enough spiritual ones to load down an entire army. And most of them were of his own making.

Hatred of his brother Joseph, who had always been everything that Marcus wasn’t. Hatred of Joseph’s wife Katherine, the first and greatest love of Marcus’ life. Hatred of himself for never telling Katherine how he felt. Hatred of himself for surviving the attack that left them both dead. Hatred of the drink which had nearly destroyed him, and hatred of himself for letting it do so. Hatred of the Shadows for attacking his colony. Hatred of the Narns for not stopping them. Hatred of the Minbari for causing his home to be run by Narns in the first place.

Hatred of Captain Sheridan, who had saved him. Hatred of Satai Delenn, who hadn’t. Hatred of Councillor Na’Toth and Ha’Cormar’ah G’Kar, who knew about the Shadows and did nothing, and hatred of them both for telling him about the Shadows and making him a part of their game.

Hatred of Lyta, for daring to care for him. Hatred of himself for letting himself care for her. Hatred of Susan, who had changed the situation so that she was the hunter and he was the hunted. Hatred of himself for letting her do so. Hatred of Captain Sheridan, who had sent him here. Hatred of himself for failing Captain Sheridan’s trust in him.

So much hatred, each object another chain weighing him down. Each chain causing his greater hatred of himself.

Marcus did not know what Susan had planned that would necessitate locking him up in here. He certainly knew enough to be sure that he wasn’t the primary focus of her plans. He was just in the way.

Fortunately he had not been unprepared for this eventuality. Susan had ripped the link from his hand before throwing him in here, but he had another, hidden in the folds of his jacket. He had drawn it out and tried to contact Captain Sheridan, but there had been no reply – no indication that the message had even reached him at all. He wondered if Sheridan had been the focus of Susan’s plans. A similar attempt to contact Commander Corwin had failed. In fact, he could not reach anyone on the Babylon. There were a few possible explanations – the link was broken, there was no way to send linked messages from this room, communications on the Babylon were down… or everybody on board the Babylon was dead.

None of them was exactly a pleasant option. He was not sure if he could contact anyone on the surface of Proxima, but then there was only one person on the surface that he trusted and to her… to her he dared not speak, out of shame, and out of hatred.