Satai Sinoval, Shai Alyt of the holy jihad, Warleader of the Wind Swords clan, member of the Grey Council and soon to be Entil’zha, entered his personal quarters and looked sharply at the person already there.

“The Starkiller has escaped,” he snapped. “He walked out from this very building where you assured me he would be safe. He simply walked out and no one thought to try to stop him. It was as if my guards had been… ordered not to interfere, not even to notice he was there. But that could only have happened if I had ordered it, and I definitely did not do so.”

“I took a few… liberties, Sinoval. Apologies if I caused offence.”

“I suppose you had a good reason.”

“Just call it cashing in one of the many favours you owe me. Actually, I have it on very good authority that Sheridan was seen by someone. A certain… friend of yours. I doubt it is common knowledge yet, but I don’t think Satai Delenn will be bothering you in Council much any more.”

“You’re certain of this? Sheridan killed her?”

“Killed or captured. It really doesn’t matter. If you’re smart, you can blame his escape on her. I knew you’d like it. So tell me, is your gain worth his disappearance?”

“I will not rest until Sheridan and all with him are dead. Blood calls out for blood! For the Dralaphi, for the Emphili and the Dogato, for…”

“Yes, yes. I know. You’ll have your chance with him sooner or later. Be patient, as I have. Besides, now you’ll be able to take the war to the Earthers with little interference from Delenn. I’d like to be there when you do it, of course. Personally, I owe the Earthers too much to stand by while you wipe them out with all those lovely weapons I provided you with. Well, what do you say to that, Entil’zha? Or should that be, Holy One?”

“I say that you have more than earned your sobriquet this day.”

As she smiled, Sinoval thought that Warmaster Jha’dur, last of the Dilgar, had indeed more than earned the name that had caused her to be hated and reviled throughout the galaxy.

Deathwalker.

“Fellow Satai.” Sinoval bowed his head slowly, wanting to pull down his hood, to hide his face from the empty circle of light which stood across the chamber from him. For so long he had desired this, but now that it was here, that his greatest opponent in the Grey Council was gone, he felt strangely… ashamed.

“Satai Delenn is lost to us.”

“What do you mean, lost?” barked Satai Lennann. Religious caste, and just as new to the Council as Sinoval himself. But Lennann had no clan leadership, no warship of loyal warriors, no great record in the jihad against the Earthers, nothing to support him. He was simply a simpering nonentity fawning after Delenn. “What’s happened to her?”

“The Starkiller has escaped. He had… assistance from somewhere. During his… escape, he encountered Satai Delenn and took her with him. As a hostage, I presume. I shudder to imagine that she went with him willingly.”

“What are you saying?” shouted Lennann. “Are you accusing…?”

“I am accusing no one and I am saying nothing,” Sinoval replied through gritted teeth. He hated doing this, hated casting doubt – however indirect – upon a fellow member of this Council, but it had to be done. Sheridan had had help in his escape, but that help had not come from Delenn. And yet if Delenn were not blamed, then investigation might alight upon Sinoval himself, and upon the creature he protected.

Still, as he looked at Lennann, he felt a surge of anger. Delenn was at least worthy of respect. Lennann was not. Did Delenn really have no better supporters than this? Sheridan’s attack upon this very ship shortly after the destruction of Earth had killed two of her greatest supporters, but was Lennann really the only one to speak up for her?

No, he was not. “She will have to be found and rescued,” Hedronn said, as brusque and to the point as ever. Sinoval admired the man. “She is one of the Nine. She will be found.”

“Sheridan has left the planet. Our sensor probes detected a human shuttle leaving the atmosphere. For some reason, they did not alert us to this fact until many hours later. He has undoubtedly met up with his ship.”

“Then… they are lost to us?” breathed Lennann, his voice filled with an anguish Sinoval himself shared. To have Sheridan – the Starkiller – in his grasp… only to lose him again. And to have one of the Nine fall before him. Sinoval did not like Delenn, but she was of the Nine, as was he.

And all of this thanks to the machinations of a creature he should have killed the moment he laid eyes on her. Instead he had become intrigued, and listened and learned…

And fallen. Not for nothing did they call her Deathwalker.

“No,” Sinoval said. Blood calls out for blood. The blood of those slain on the Dralaphi, on the Emphili, the blood of two Satai, even the blood of Delenn. It all called out for blood – Sheridan’s blood. “Sheridan is an Earther and Earthers are a predictable people. He will return to the site of his earlier capture, to find his missing crewmen, and to discover why he was betrayed there. He will be returning to Vega Seven.”

“Then I doubt he will return from there,” Hedronn said, and Sinoval started. He had not expected such a reaction from the staid, determined worker. “Vega Seven is touched by a force far greater than our own. Our probes have detected something… moving there. Something ancient and dark. Something that seeks to fly again.”

Sinoval’s face went white.

“How is she?” Sheridan asked Dr. Kyle. A simple enough question, really, innocuous and casual, the sort of thing he might use when asking about the health of a friend, or a relative, his wife Anna, or even… perhaps… in a past year, his daughter Elizabeth.

Except that this was not Anna, and Elizabeth was two years dead. Nor was this a relative, and definitely not a friend.

Satai Delenn’s breathing was harsh and ragged, but the movements of her chest seemed to be returning to a steady rhythm. He still did not know what had brought the Minbari down. He had caught only the faintest glimpse of movement and a soft scream. Ivanova had tried to pass it off, but he knew better.

“She’s fine. Minbari have a remarkable constitution. She will be on her feet in a few hours, I suppose. A stomach wound is painful, but if caught early enough, it can be fixed.”

“Good, she has one hell of a lot of questions to answer.” And she isn’t the only one. “Keep me informed.”

Sheridan left the small Medlab facilities aboard the Babylon in a conflict of emotions. What was going on? He could have attacked Delenn, maybe killed her, so why hadn’t he? He’d told her it was because he didn’t like doing the expected, but was that the whole truth? Why did she smell so tantalisingly of orange blossom, and who was the woman who’d rescued him?

Start at the end and work your way backwards. Not exactly Sherlock Holmes, but at least he had a place to start.

He found Commander David Corwin precisely where he’d expected to find him, in his ready room, just off the bridge, poring over star maps and technical data.

“What news on repairs?” Sheridan asked. “Did you get them all done before…?”

“Mostly, sir. Hull integrity is back up to over eighty per cent. Communications, navigation and rotation are all back on line, as are our jump engines, although they’re still a bit unstable. They’ll need a thorough overhaul when we get into Proxima. We can’t repair the hull around the observation dome, and external cameras, aft batteries and Starfury drop port C are all still inoperable, sir.”

“Not good, but it could be worse.”

“Um, sir… it probably is. General Hague told me in no uncertain terms to… um… leave you and the others behind, sir.”