them.
But it slipped away, and her eyes closed.
He could not remember when he had last slept. His last meal was a far–distant memory. His last drink was.... an illusion. Simple luxuries now escaped him. A conversation about nothing. A moment with a friend. The touch of one he loved.
Captain John Sheridan remembered all these things, but had put them all aside, not without some regret. It was necessary. The fate of humanity was at stake.
There were times when he dreamed, and he recalled each and every dream with crystal clarity in the morning. He dreamed he had awakened from a deep sleep, and been unable to move. Arms, legs, fingers, neck.... all were sealed shut. He could not breathe, could not move, could not scream for help.
He had lain like that for hours, maybe years, until someone came. It was Delenn, and the smile his mouth could not give expression to showed in his eyes. She was dressed in white and gold, and she had never looked more beautiful. She gently laid her finger on his forehead, and he could move again. He could reach up and touch her.
And then he always awoke, unshed tears in his eyes.
He remembered very little of what had happened after that last, terrible moment on the bridge of the
The months after that had been a blur. Delenn had been there, and David, but he could not remember much of what they had said or done. He seemed to recall meeting his father, although whether that had been true or just a dream he did not know. Delenn had told him it was a dream.
Then he had been awakened and been able to move, and he had known what to do. Some things became.... unimportant, while others filled his vision entirely. Delenn had been at the forefront of his mind always, but she had died on a distant, dead world, callously murdered, and he had been left with nothing but revenge.
He had to free his people from the taint of the Shadows, and he had to avenge Delenn's death. He had to end this whole war, and destroy the Shadows altogether. Over three years since the Second Line. That was long enough.
But other things seemed so.... unimportant now.
'Captain,' said one of his techs. He could not remember her name, if he had ever known it. 'There's a message for you. It's on a top secret, coded channel, and audio–only.'
'Oh? Put it through to my private channel.' On an Earthforce ship he would have used an earphone and perhaps a sub–vocal microphone to keep this conversation secret. On a
--- This is Sheridan. ---
--- Good morning, or afternoon, or whatever it is where you are. --- Sheridan had a feeling this was the true voice of whoever was talking to him. Theoretically he could hear a conversation in any voice the other person chose, from a Yorkshire accent to American Deep South, but there was something natural about the formal, polite tone that made him think this was genuine.
--- Do I know you? ---
--- You probably know of me. Suffice it to say, I am a friend. ---
--- Oh? And I'm expected to believe that? --- There was a distant crackling noise, one he couldn't quite identify.
--- It is a wise man who is suspicious in times of trouble. It is a fool who disbelieves everything he is told. I am your friend. We share similar.... associates, you and I. ---
--- Where are you contacting me from? ---
--- I am on Proxima. I.... represent a group of people dissatisfied with the present administration there. We will be ready to act when your ships arrive. We may be of some assistance to you in your present campaign. ---
--- And my.... associates will support this? ---
--- Indeed they will. We have been preparing for some time. --- There was another voice speaking, trying to get his attention. He couldn't hear exact words. --- However, events here are running away with us, and we may not have much time. It may be advisable for you to conduct your assault on Proxima a little earlier than you had originally planned. ---
--- And I'm expected to trust you? For all I know this could be a trap. I don't even know your name. ---
<Help us!> Sheridan started. The voice had broken their conversation, burning with sheer terror. He could feel the desperation there, and something.... reached deep inside him.
--- What was that? ---
--- Nothing. Mere.... background interference. Allow me to.... adjust certain settings. There, that should fix it. --- It did. The whispers, the crackling, the voice.... all were gone. --- Now.... what was I saying? ---
--- You were about to give me your name. ---
--- I was? Ah, very well. I am William Edgars. Tell me, Captain, are you ready to listen to me now? ---
Sheridan sat bolt upright in his chair. --- You have my undivided attention, Mr. Edgars. ---
The conversation lasted another few minutes, with the Captain listening far more than he spoke. When it was done, he sat back in his chair, thinking for a few minutes. Then he turned to the tech. 'Contact Captain Corwin. Tell him I need to see him at once.'
'I have a bad feeling about this.'
Having said this, and not for the first time, Kozorr fell into a deep silence. The holographic image of their destination loomed above them, an ancient warrior, retired, strength brought low by age but still carrying the power of experience and the memories of lost battles.
Babylon 4, as some called it. Anla'Verenn–veni. Lost for over nine centuries and now found again, by Sinoval. Kozorr remembered briefly the Well of Souls and the Vindrizi, and was in little doubt as to how Sinoval had located this last resting place.
But what was he planning? That was the question. There were no ships waiting for them as they bore down on Babylon 4. Of course it would take a sizeable fleet to oppose all the Tak'cha ships, and all of them had come here.
What had he once told Tirivail? Their military might consisted almost entirely of the Storm Dancers clan and the Tak'cha. Over two–thirds of Sonovar's military capability was here, wide open for a trap, and leaving their base of operations fatally vulnerable. Of course Sonovar and Takier had remained behind, but somehow that only added to Kozorr's worries. He smelled Forell's touch behind this.
Where was Sinoval? Just what was he planning? This was a perfect place for a trap.
'We should not be here,' he said. 'This is.... madness.'
'Hardly madness,' drawled a soft voice from his side.
'Look at us, Tirivail. Do you think Sinoval told the Tak'cha about this place out of the goodness of his heart? No, he has lured us all here. And why? This is a trap.'
'Then it is a trap,' she replied, unconcerned. 'We will die as warriors, fighting to preserve this holy place. Besides, the Tak'cha will fight almost as hard. If this is a trap, then Sinoval may well find he has bitten off more than he can handle.'
'He'd know that, though. That's why I have such a bad feeling.... Any pitched battle here would leave too many dead....'
'We are warriors. We are expected to die for our people.'
'Yes, but for Sinoval.... I don't think this is the real war. He wouldn't throw away so many of our lives for this. He will have plans far beyond us. I think he may be going to attack Sonovar, but.... again.... I don't know.'
Now doubt marked her face. 'Lord Sonovar is not as protected as he should be.... But still, he has my father and our clan. We will defend him.'
Kozorr sighed. 'It is like trying to find a path through a maze in the midst of a hurricane. The answer is there
