Ivanova smiled and left.

There had not been much time for the testing of the new White Star class ships, but even so Tryfan felt comfortable in one. Their speed and power surprised him, especially in relation to their size, but he had little idea of how much damage they could take, or of how effective they would be in full combat. The Vorlon technology they had incorporated seemed to be invincible, and perhaps it would be. It was certainly one of the few occasions on which the Vorlons had actually helped their erstwhile allies since the discovery of the Shadow vessel under the sands of Mars.

He would have liked a little longer to test them, but Sinoval had said that was impossible. The Enemy was at Proxima. The Starkiller was at Proxima. The Earthers were at Proxima.

Their destinies lay at Proxima.

Tryfan had not played a great part in the last war. He had served most of the time as aide to Shakiri, the great warrior who had died in flames in Sheridan’s onslaught over Mars. Tryfan had served a similar rôle to that which his friend Neroon had played serving Branmer, but whereas Neroon and Branmer had risen to high positions within the Rangers – until Branmer’s death and Neroon’s mysterious disappearance – Tryfan had languished in the Rangers for many years, unnoticed and unremarked.

Until Sinoval had risen to power. Sinoval had known Tryfan well and had trusted him with a position of authority – Shai Alyt, and Captain of a White Star fleet, taking the place vacated by Kalain with his recent ascension to Satai.

He would not betray the trust Sinoval had placed in him. At Proxima, he would repay the trust with deeds performed a thousandfold.

Slowly, Tryfan’s White Star Nine – named the Valen – leading the way, the great Minbari fleet emerged from hyperspace into the skies of Proxima.

The Second Line had been drawn, and the Minbari were there.

As were the Shadows…

“And we must reunite with the other half of our soul in a war against the Enemy which is to come… Together we will walk into fire and darkness and bring the light…”

So ran the prophecies of Valen, immortalised over a thousand years ago, at the end of the last Great War. To the Minbari, who did not believe in gods, Valen was the closest thing to a God they had.

“Minbari not born of Minbari, he came from nowhere during the dying days of the last Great War, he defeated the Shadows, formed the Grey Council, wrote the prophecies…”

And the prophecies he had written were coming true, but in a way he could surely never have expected. Only Delenn, who had studied his words in such detail that she knew every line and marking, only she knew the true, bitter irony of what was happening.

The two halves of the soul were coming together, and they were walking into fire and darkness, but they were coming together in war, and they were bringing the fire and darkness with them.

Over ten years after the Battle of the Line and the subsequent destruction of Earth, Minbari and human were meeting in battle once again, with the Ancient Enemy involved, aiding the humans, who had sold everything they were just to stay alive. The humans could, perhaps, be forgiven for being so easily corrupted by the Shadows. Their question – ‘What do you want?’ – was easily answered when all you wanted was safety and peace, and not to have to look up into the skies every night, dreading the arrival of an alien armada.

But the Minbari, what excuse did they have? None, save the accidental death of one man. None, save the pride and arrogance of their leader, Sinoval. None, save the determination to crush a people who had already lost everything they had ever had.

There would only be one victor at the Battle of the Second Line, and that would be the Shadows.

But… there was always hope…

Delenn was a Satai of the Grey Council, the chosen of Dukhat. Had it not been for the twist of fate that had thrown her into Sheridan’s path as he escaped his confinement on Minbar it would be she who now stood in the Hall of the Grey Council. For all that she had been gone for almost an entire cycle, she still had respect and power and the ears of the Grey Council. If they would listen to her, then this tragedy might be averted, as she had failed to avert a greater tragedy at Earth.

She had changed during her captivity among the humans – both physically and spiritually. Her chrysalis transformation might have been interrupted, and its results might be close to killing her, but she was still proof of what Valen had said – humans and Minbari were of the same soul. If she could show this to the Grey Council, then the tragedy might be averted.

She did not want to betray John. She sensed a destiny for the two of them – a feeling she had never known before, not even with Neroon. He was on the bridge of this new ship – the Parmenion – trying to hold back a Minbari onslaught and a Shadow involvement from destroying his own people. He was here as the tool of a Psi Cop who was playing his own game with billions of lives at stake.

Only minutes ago, John had told her that he did not trust anyone. How could he? He had been betrayed by the Government he had served for so long. He was forced to obey the orders of someone whose orders made no sense. He had been forced to kill his own wife, who had – possibly – been involved in his betrayal.

John had lied, but whether he knew he had lied or not, Delenn was not sure. He trusted her, even if he could not admit it, not even to himself. But he did trust her, and she was about to forsake that trust.

He had left her with access to the communications systems. They had been deactivated, but reactivating them was simple enough. Neroon and Draal had taught her many things, including communications. Human technology was, compared to the Minbari’s, primitive. She had reactivated them easily, and it would be simple to send out a message that the bridge would not intercept.

She took a deep breath, and winced at the pain in her chest. Breathing was becoming harder for her, and walking was difficult. Her whole body ached.

Her spirit ached too.

“Forgive me, John,” she whispered, knowing that he had no reason to do so. What had she done except betray him time and again?

But what were two lives compared with all the millions who would die if this did not end here and now?

She activated her message.

“This is Satai Delenn of the family of Mir, of the Grey Council. I am being held prisoner on this ship – the Parmenion. The Starkiller is captaining it. I must see the Grey Council now. Do you understand? I must see the Grey Council now.”

There. She stepped back. Some of the ships would free her from here, and she would be taken before the Grey Council. Then, she would be able to convince them of what she knew.

This would have to end.

“Forgive me, John,” she whispered.

“Forgive me.”

And Londo had thought being gassed, bombed, threatened and mystified was bad…

It seemed that ever since he had got involved in G’Kar’s conspiracy, people had been trying to kill him, gas him, blow him up, stab him, or shoot large holes in any spaceship he happened to be travelling in.

Fair enough, he admitted, most of the gassings, shootings, and attempted blowings up were the result of perfectly natural Centauri politics – promotion in the Royal Court largely tending in the direction of dead men’s purple boots, with very few questions asked about the nature of their emptying – and had nothing whatsoever to do with G’Kar. But then again, if it wasn’t for that blasted Narn and his blasted Ancient Enemy, then Londo would never have involved himself in politics in the first place, and he would spend his days quite happily living a pious and religious life. (Insofar as Centauri religion tended towards the drinking, eating, gambling, womanising and being very sick school of religion – probably on the theory that if you were going to be a deeply spiritual person, you might as well enjoy it.)