And the beginning was here. The Battle of the Second Line it was already being called. The day when humanity took back the galaxy.

He knew that this was for the best, for the good of humanity, for humanity’s future. (And if an alien voice spoke in his mind, then that did not matter. This was all for the good of humanity.)

“First reports are coming in, Mr. President,” said one of the technicians. Clark could not remember his name. He was sitting alone in the Resistance Government’s Hall. Clark did not like being alone. It meant the voice he heard was louder. Where were the others? Takashima was on board the Babylon, and Welles would doubtless be keeping Security in order in the Main Dome, in case alien saboteurs tried to land, but where the hell was Hague? He had been becoming seriously unstable lately. Clark might have to have him removed.

And where was Ivanova?

“Our probes indicate that the Minbari are beating a slow retreat, Mr. President. At least five of their larger ships and seven of their new medium class ships have been destroyed, as well as a substantial number of their flyers and shuttles. Our allies do seem to be taking some casualties, but they still easily outnumber the Minbari. There are also a number of anomalous ships which seem to be present…”

Clark started. What? “Describe these ships,” he ordered.

“Two appear to be Earthforce heavy destroyers, Mr. President,” the aide began. “Anoth…”

“Alien trickery,” Clark snapped. “The Babylon is the only heavy destroyer remaining after the war. The Minbari must be employing tricks to confuse our allies. The other ships?”

“One Narn heavy cruiser and one Centauri warship…”

“The Narns? What are they…? Oh, I see. They’ve betrayed us as well. You can’t trust aliens. None of them. Or the Centauri. Oh well. Our allies will take them down soon enough. Is that it?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Good.” Clark smiled, but then his smile faded. “Do you know the whereabouts of Ambassador Ivanova?” He might have expected her to be here. She had spoken of some personal business, but still…

“No, Mr. President.”

“Find her.” Clark had tried contacting her quarters, only to receive no answer. “Ask her to come here.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The technician bowed and left, rather hurriedly. There had been suggestions for the Resistance Government and other important officials to be moved from the Main Dome to somewhere safer, but Clark had refused to be moved. He knew humanity’s allies would not fail them.

He knew because the Keeper told him so, every time he closed his eyes…

Pride. Anger. Abuse. Not ready. Perhaps I was wrong. Show me otherwise.

Lyta could not breathe. Her vision was swimming. All of it except for Ivanova’s eyes. These – dark and furious and brimming with madness – they were focussed directly on the back of her mind.

Help… me…

Lyta hands were reaching out, clawing desperately for something to hold, anything. Her fingers brushed against something cold and sticky.

They jerked back in revulsion when she realised what it was she had touched. Ivanova’s pike, still stained with Marcus’ blood.

Her head smashed against the floor one more time.

Lyta stretched out again, desperately, frantically. She touched the pike again and tried to pull it towards her. She could feel Marcus’ blood on it, his blood sticking to her hand, but she didn’t care.

She began to pull the pike back…

Ivanova’s grip on her throat loosened and Lyta was at last able to breathe, but only for a second. Ivanova grabbed her head and yanked it up, smashing it against the ground again. What little breath Lyta had fled from her body in one huge gasp as her whole body shook.

The pike rolled from her grasp.

Wrong.

“Zha’valen.”

John stiffened. Delenn clearly noticed his reaction and pulled back from him a little.

“Zha’valen,” she repeated. “A Shadow upon Valen. I am outcast now. I have no title, no position, not even a name. All I have is the word, ‘Zha’valen’.”

The word clicked in Sheridan’s mind. He had heard it before, and now he knew where. The person who had sent the mysterious message to the Babylon from the even more mysterious space station Babylon 4 had addressed Delenn as Zha’valen. It was on board that same space station that he had seen himself killing Anna – exactly as he had done.

“What…” He swallowed hard. His head was pounding. “What will happen now?”

“You, they will probably kill. Me… my punishment is done. I am not dead, but I might as well be. John… I am… I…”

All of Sheridan’s anger evaporated. The mistrust and the suspicion remained, but the anger did not – could not. Never had he felt more linked to her than at that moment.

“We will see,” he said. Now that he was no longer angry with her, his mind began to plot possibilities for escape. The first obligation of any prisoner was to escape. “We will see.”

Sinoval – he was the weak link. He was proud and arrogant, and probably remembered his last meeting with Sheridan. He might want to come to gloat, possibly leaving a weakness. Delenn might still have allies among the Grey Council – Sheridan had seen first-hand how divided they had been the last time. He had little reason to believe that that had changed. And then there were Corwin and Bester. Perhaps they might be able to help…

“I am sorry, John,” Delenn whispered. “I have gotten you killed. I have betrayed you, and… and…”

“I’m not dead yet,” he reminded her gently. “And there’ll be plenty of time to talk about betrayal afterwards.” He looked around slowly. Everything was in darkness. He had managed to pace out the dimensions of the cell, and his fumbled explorations had revealed nothing else of value, not even a cot. Delenn was the only other thing in the cell.

The darkness did not seem all that oppressive to him. Sheridan had been walking in darkness for nearly all of his life, and he had been in worse situations than this before. He was confident that this was not over.

He had to instill Delenn with that same confidence. She had just lost everything she had ever believed in, and as one who had experienced the same thing, he wanted to try and help her out of it.

He sat down in the corner of the cell and gently pulled Delenn down to him. She was not speaking, but her breathing was loud and harsh. She sounded almost asthmatic. She rested in his arms naturally, leaning against him as if it felt like the simplest thing in the world to her.

“Tell me something,” he said.

“What?” she said softly. “John… I…”

“Tell me something. About yourself, about your childhood, about anything. Just tell me something.”

“I…”

“All right then. I’ll start. There was a crewman on the Babylon a few years ago, and he had this pet cat. Now it was against all regulations, but he managed to keep it hidden from most of us, and everyone who knew was just as soft about cats as he was, but one day General Franklin came on board to do a surprise inspection and…”

John carried on with the old story, the only other sound in the room that of Delenn’s breathing. He wondered if she could guess that the story of Crewman Johnson and his cat was nothing more than an Earthforce myth, repeated every year to new recruits and told and retold repeatedly over drinks in Earthforce bars across Earth space. He had actually heard Corwin telling the story to Alisa Beldon on board the Parmenion a few days ago. She had listened, enraptured, while the other crew members listened and snickered behind open hands. Afterwards she had laughed, and then recognised that Corwin was making it all up. Damn telepaths – they spoiled all the fun.

“So after we cleaned up the damage, I said, ’You bring that cat near me again, and I’ll have you both up on charges.’” Sheridan began to chuckle, remembering the first time he had heard the story, over fifteen years ago.