kidnapping occurred, or I might have been able to prevent it. However, my Rangers have been turning up some.... disquieting details. There was no sign of force, no trace of where she was taken from.... I am sure that something will have been discovered by now. Perhaps we will know more when Captain Sheridan returns from Z'ha'dum.'
'If he returns. Your suspicions are entirely accurate, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. And there is a very good reason for them. Delenn was not abducted. She went to Z'ha'dum willingly, to fulfill a bargain and save the life of another.'
'What? How do you know this?'
'She sent me a message before she left. Here, listen to this....'
G'Kar listened to the message with mounting horror. He flicked a glance at Londo, whose eyes were wide. When it was finished, he sat back.
'You are sure this message is genuine?'
'I would stake my soul on it.... if someone else did not have a prior claim.'
'She spoke of other messages. Do you have any idea to whom they might have been sent?'
'I could guess, but I could not say with certainty. I assume no one else you know has received any such message?'
'I would have heard if anyone had. This.... is disturbing. The Vorlons are our friends.... our allies. They have stood beside me for.... ever since I began this. Why.... why would they do this?'
'I have my suspicions, but nothing definite. I am sure Sheridan is the key. I had hoped to catch him here and show him this message. He and I have never been.... friends, but I do respect him. Once he learns the cost of his cure, then he might be more inclined to trust me on this one.' Sinoval turned his head and focussed his dark, infinite eyes on Londo. 'And you, Emperor Mollari, what do you think of this?'
'I.... I do not know what to say. Delenn is very dear to me, and if this is true.... And yet, how much can I trust you, Primarch Sinoval? I would wager.... well, the entire contents of my treasury, that you have a personal stake in this, and I am not sure just how objective that makes you.
'However, I have been approached by an emissary of the Vorlons. He has been.... in and out of my life these past few years. He offered the Republic an alliance with his associates, but at considerable cost. He disappeared while I was debating the issue.
'The Vorlons have given me precious little reason to hate them, but equally little reason to trust them.
'But then I could say the same of you, Primarch Sinoval.'
Sinoval smiled and nodded. 'The Centauri reputation for paranoia is not overstated, I see. Very well, I asked you here to show you two things. You have seen the first; it is time you saw the second, I believe.
'Has either of you heard of the Well of Souls?'
One of the finer arts of the street fight is knowing when to fight, and when to stand back. In the section on when definitely not to fight was marked a diagram of exactly the situation Dexter Smith now found himself in. To wit: being surrounded by six heavily-armed men much bigger and stronger than he was. Especially when they were dressed in suits.
With dark glasses.
The only thing missing was the inane chatter about music or films or the relative merits of Choc-A-Mint over Choc-A-Mocha.
Trace and Talia were nowhere in sight. Smith had been literally pulled from the room, and was now being pushed down the corridors to the door they had entered by. They eventually set foot outside to find the doorman he and Talia had slipped past before. He had woken up now and was looking around, confused.
'Mr. Trace is not happy,' said one of the men surrounding Smith. 'He is very not happy.'
'Hey, Roberts,' said the sleeping doorman. 'What's.... what's the matter? Is there some sort of problem?'
'When Mr. Trace pays people to watch his club, he expects them to watch it, not to fall asleep and let any old passerby wander in.'
'Hey! I never fall asleep. I was right here....'
'Look, go and tell it to Mr. Trace.' Roberts smiled. 'You never know. He might believe you. He might be in a good mood and let you keep a few fingers.'
'What?' The doorman looked visibly shaken. 'I wasn't asleep.'
'You were,' observed Smith dryly.
'What?!'
'You were so asleep. And snoring.'
'I don't snore! I mean.... not that you'd know, because I wasn't asleep!'
'All we needed was a blanket and a little hot-water-bottle and you'd have been home away from home.'
'Less of it,' said Roberts, but the doorman evidently hadn't heard him.
'Shut up, you...!'
He moved forward.
Several things happened at once. The doorman made to punch Smith. Smith got out of the way by ducking down, grabbing at the nearest pair of ankles and pushing hard. The doorman hit the guy who had been standing directly behind Smith. Smith rolled across the ground and leapt to his feet. The other 'businessmen' moved into action, but the doorman stumbled into their way.
At that point, normal time reasserted itself.
Normally, Smith's solution would have been that discretion is the better part of valour, and he would have run. Anywhere. Very fast. On the other hand, Talia was around here somewhere and in a lot of trouble, and if there was anything guaranteed to make him stay around and get into a fight, it was the hope of impressing a pretty lady.
He backed off slowly, edging himself into a small alcove, so that only two of them could come at him at once. The first one to try it was the recipient of a very painful kick to the kneecap, and then a punch to the face which took him down. The second one had taken time to draw a knife, and he slashed it across Smith's arm.
There was a burst of pain and he fell back, wincing. A punch crashed into his jaw, and he fell. Rough hands seized his collar and he was thrown forward, away from the alcove, to land painfully at the feet of the 'businessmen' still standing.
A hard foot came down on his back.
'Get him up,' snarled Roberts. 'And you!' To the doorman. 'Get in there and see Mr. Trace, and say goodbye to all your fingers on the way. Idiot!'
Smith was dragged roughly to his feet, and hauled directly before Roberts. A punch landed solidly in his belly. 'You're only making it worse.'
'Worse?' he spat. 'What? You mean I'm going to get dumped in the foundations of a Kwik-E-Mart rather than a block of luxury flats?'
Something seemed to rise in the back of his mind, a signal he could only faintly hear, almost a sound far away on the horizon. He slumped in his captor's hold and closed his eyes.
There was a flurry of motion from behind him, and he burst into as much action as he could. An elbow in the ribs of the person holding him, and another kick out at Roberts. Tearing himself free, he lurched forward, breathing hard.
'Come on!' cried Talia from beside him. Her hand on his arm steadied him, and all he remembered was running frantically, her presence always at his side. It was some minutes before either of them spoke, and when she did, all she said was, 'Lost them.'
He considered this for a moment. 'Oh,' he said, wheezing. 'Good.'
'They're here,' whispered Lyta. She could see them all in her mind, hovering outside the
