"No one listens."
"What do you expect me to say? I am dead, remember. I understood only at the very end. I betrayed you and everything you stood for. Before that I betrayed my people and my lord. And after that, I betrayed my new masters. Three betrayals, and only after the third did I truly understand.
"That did not help anyone else of course, but it helped me."
"Is that it? Will they only understand when they are dead?"
"I do not know. I truly do not."
"There must be more. There must be something."
"Why did you come here? I do not believe for an instant that you were simply passing through."
"Ah.... no. I had heard the rumours. I was afraid, and sceptical, but if there was the slightest chance...."
"Was I the one you wanted to talk to?"
"Truthfully?"
"Of course. You cannot hurt my feelings. I am dead, after all."
"I do not know. I do not know who I wanted to talk to. My father. My mother. Any one of a hundred friends from my days in the resistance, or the Kha'Ri, or the Rangers. There are so very many of them."
"That is it, isn't it? You came to feed your guilt. You live when so many others are dead, and you came here to remind yourself of them all. You came here to feel guilty and to flagellate yourself. I know you too well."
"...."
"Well, if you will not talk, then I will. This is not an opportunity I will have again for a very long time, and by then I doubt that anyone will care. How is she?"
"Well."
"Is she happy?"
"I believe so."
"Does she love him?"
"Yes. There is no doubt."
"Ah. I am.... glad she is happy. Do they.... have children?"
"No."
"Ah. A pity. She would make a fine mother."
"In a sense, she is mother to all of us."
"In a sense, you are father to all of us. You brought the Rangers together. You gave us purpose. You cannot understand that, but that does not make it false. Believe it or not as you will, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar. Ta'Lon, what of him?"
"He is the same. He speaks little, and does much."
"Tell him it falls to him to look after you now."
"He already knows."
"I do not doubt that."
"The sun is rising."
"I know."
"Do you.... do you have a message for Delenn?"
"No. Please do not tell her that you met me. If she is happy with him, then so much the better for her. That is enough for me."
"I am glad I could speak with you again."
"As am I. I am honoured. Did my words provide any comfort? Ah, probably not. I was never good with words."
"You are better than you think."
"You do not see yourself as the inspiration you are. That is your greatest weakness, G'Kar. Look past that and see yourself as we do. There, my last piece of advice. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Neroon."
And then the room was silent.
Sheridan looked at the image the screen was showing him, and found it hard to believe. Even in a life such as the one he had led, some things were almost incomprehensible.
"It looks like a space station," he said.
It did look like a space station, albeit one designed by no race he had ever seen. The bulk of it seemed to be an asteroid, and if he looked at it only briefly, he might have remained convinced that that was all it was.
But on closer inspection what might have been mere rifts and folds in the rock were clearly buildings and constructs. As he studied it further, Sheridan was sure there was a docking bay, or an observation post. It was as if the very fabric of the asteroid itself had been carved to the form its creators had desired.
"Any life signs?" he asked.
"No. I don't think so," the tech replied. "There's some very strange shielding around it."
"What about power? Does it even have any?"
"Yes. Although it uses some sort of energy we can't pick up on. There have been traces of energy usage recently though. Someone's been there in the last couple of days minimum.
"Can you tell what race?"
"No idea. Sorry, sir."
"Hmm." He stood back, still looking at the image. Without that particular piece of information he would just have chalked this up as a strange piece of hyperspace debris. There was enough of it, especially this far from the main beacon routes.
However, the unusual radiation trail had led them directly here, and there were signs that someone else had been here recently. No one lived in hyperspace. At least, there were no confirmed reports. Sheridan found it hard to accept that anyone could live here.
So what, then? A completely new alien race? A group of very powerful and very lucky smugglers using this as a base? Perhaps the renegade group who had attacked Gorash 7?
Or perhaps someone else entirely. That was where his instinct was going. Whoever these powerful alien ships belonged to, they had to have a base somewhere. Why not in hyperspace? The asteroid seemed big enough for either an impressive force or very big aliens.
"Someone's in there," he whispered to himself, not caring how he knew that, or remarking on the strange warmth of the armrest of his chair.
"All right," he said at last. "Prepare space suits. Muster a few security men. I'm going in there. I need a look around."
The techs did not rush to disagree with him. Perhaps because they were curious, too. Or perhaps they did not wish to contradict the fearsome Shadowkiller himself.
Sheridan did not care either way.
There was something about him that chilled the blood, even to one as inured to fear as Morden. He had faced death, faced fear. He had seen Gods and fought Gods. He had been imprisoned — more than once — and he had seen a million rays of light rise in the face of a trapped man.
But he had never seen anything like this. Never.
It had been three days since the Emperor had collapsed and the rioting had been dispersed. Londo was still comatose. Hopes for his recovery were.... slim. Morden hoped he would recover. Partially this was due to an affection of sorts for Londo as a person, but there was also a pragmatic concern. He had not had enough time to build an effective power base of his own here yet. If Londo died there would be chaos, and no one wanted that.
Durla snapped to attention. He was doing well, Morden had to admit that. He had chosen well in appointing Durla Captain of the Guard. He had spent over a hundred days chained up in a cell and yet he had been ready to perform his new duties within hours of being released.
He was also the only person unaffected by the human at his side.
Morden had heard the name of course, but he had never seen him before. Very few had, not even the old man. He walked in the shadows, moving as the Vorlons dictated. He was their personal agent, assigned their most delicate tasks.
It was no wonder that he had been given this task.
Unlike the other Inquisitors Morden had met, this one did not wear the insignia. In fact he did not even wear the traditional robes. Instead he wore a very fine quality suit, of a style centuries old. The top hat had come back into fashion briefly when Morden was a child, and his father had owned a few, but no one he had known wore one as naturally as this individual. A small cane was held casually in his left hand, where immaculate gloves also rested.