She looked at him, and this time there was innocence in her eyes, not the innocence of a child, but the innocence of one who was gone beyond dreams, but still dares to believe, the innocence of one who hopes for the future, the innocence of one who has dared to wonder, and has not experienced disappointment.

The innocence of one who is facing death in the knowledge that her life had meaning.

The innocence of one who knows that another will pick up where she has left off.

Welles looked into her eyes and saw none of this. For the first time in his life, his chosen skills had abandoned him. He was effectively blind.

At first Refa thought it was Vir who had come into his quarters. He had been dozing, trying to regain some of the sleep he’d been unable to get last night. He stirred at the sound of a door opening – one of the reasons he was still alive was that he was a light sleeper – but he doubted he had anything to worry about here.

He was wrong, as he discovered when he felt the cold touch of metal at his throat.

“It’s a Minbari fighting pike, Ambassador,” said a female voice. “One twitch and it can crush your throat.”

“I fear you have me mistaken for someone else,” Refa said calmly. “I am no Ambassador, merely a humble diplomat.”

“You’re taking this very calmly, Ambassador.”

“My lady, I have survived more assassination attempts than you have men. The difference is, I can tell mine apart in the dark.” A deliberate insult. It would either make her angry – and sloppy – or it would rile her into a debate, prolonging this so that he could gain an advantage. At least, that was how it usually worked.

It didn’t. She only laughed. “The figure isn’t that high, Ambassador. What say we cut to the point?”

“I am, as you humans say, all ears.”

“Your name is Antono Refa, head of your house. After a little… power struggle in recent years, you were banished to a derogatory post of little importance on Minbar, where you were seen as little more than a joke. You are here at the behest – probably, anyway – of Satai Sinoval of the Grey Council. If I leave anything out, you’ll be sure to tell me.”

Refa was pondering the staple response in such a situation – outright denial – but he sensed that was not going to work. This lady was too well informed. He wondered if it was time to play a trump card.

“You are very well informed, Ambassador Ivanova,” he said. “I wonder then, why you have not shared this information with your Government.”

“That’s Ivanova,” she said, correcting his pronunciation. “And who’s to say I haven’t? Who’s to say this isn’t with their permission? This is a warning, Lord Refa. Tell the Grey Council whatever you like, but if their fleets come here, then they’re all dead. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, my lady.” Refa was slightly disappointed. This was nothing more than a straightforward threat-cum-blackmail, then.

“Good.” She lifted the weight from his neck, and vanished. He waited a few moments before rising and activating the lights. He then leapt from the bed and looked around. She was definitely gone, and Vir was nowhere in sight. He doubted she’d have killed him – not that he would have minded if she had, but if she had killed Vir, then she would have had to have killed him as well.

Fortunately, he had another – what had been Londo’s phrase? – another trump card to play? Typical Londo. All he ever did was play cards and drink and eye up women. He had never had any ambition.

Refa then looked at his trump card. His recording device, deliberately left on, would have picked up every bit of their conversation. It could work in any degree of lighting and it recorded sound as easily as images. It had cost him a fortune, but it had been worth every ducat.

He wondered idly where Vir was, as he activated the device and played back the image.

He swore. “Great Maker!”

Lyta Alexander was worried. Very worried. About Marcus.

She hadn’t seen him in days. Mr. Welles didn’t know where he was – and it was Welles’ job to know everything about everything – and Ivanova had been appearing in public without him. She was afraid for him.

She had never been able to rationalise her feelings towards Marcus. She was hesitant to mention the L word – she had always resigned herself to the fact that love would never play a factor in her life. After all, Psi Corps would arrange her marriage based on genetic conformity. Emotional attachments did not come into it.

When Psi Corps was effectively ended with Earth, she felt oddly free. She wasn’t bound by their rules, their codes of conduct any more. She had tried to turn her power – which she had always seen as a curse – into a blessing. She had tried to live life. Except for her involvement with Bester, she was now as free as she had ever been…

It had taken her a long time to realise that even freedom must have restrictions. She had lost more than one lover because of her incautious use of her powers and her new, fresher approach to life. She doubted that she had ever felt strong feelings for anyone before.

And now there was Marcus. It wasn’t just physical attraction – although there was certainly that – and she wasn’t sure it was true love. The trouble was she didn’t know what it was, except that she wanted it to continue.

She knew that Marcus was wrapped into something serious, something that had Captain Sheridan’s mark all over it. He wouldn’t talk about it, and someone had been teaching him to shield his thoughts, so she couldn’t find the information herself, at least not without hurting him. She wished he would stay away from Sheridan. Lyta did not know the Captain very well, but she did know he was the sort of person who would send a man to his death if it suited his purposes. Oh, he could reason it, and explain it and maybe even justify it, but the dead would stay dead, and no amount of justifications could bring them back.

She would not let that happen to Marcus. Not if she could do anything at all about it.

There was a knocking on the door. She started and rose from her bed. Knocking? As if the person didn’t know how to use the bell properly. “Open,” she said slowly.

In walked a Centauri. He was looking around nervously. Lyta tried a quick scan – reading aliens had always been something she had been good at – but all she picked up was a haze of concern and panic. He had learned techniques to block casual scans as well. Was no one fighting fair any more?

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

“Um, well, I think. It’s more that you can help other people, you see, but, well, we think we can trust you… and I’ve had some, um, information about you and…”

Lyta blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I really shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t have the… authority, you see. But I can’t get in touch with the others, and if I don’t act fast, there’s going to be, well… whoo… trouble, to say the least.”

“You aren’t making any sense.”

“No, I suppose I’m not. That’s the kind of life I’m having at the moment. My name’s Vir. Vir Cotto. I’m… a sort of diplomatic attaché, but I’m also something else… I… oh, I really shouldn’t be doing this, but he thinks we can trust you. He thinks you can help us. We… talked before I left to come here and well, I didn’t listen. I never listen to much really, but he mentioned your name and…”

“Who?” she asked. She didn’t know any Centauri.

“Ah, that’s going to have to remain a… ah, secret for the moment. I really can’t… tell you that, but there is… something else. I’d better begin at the beginning, so to speak. That would make some sort of sense.”

“I hope something does.” She tried a second, deeper scan, but all she picked up was the image that he was telling the truth in whatever it was he was trying to say.