<You dare!?>
Vejar reeled before the voice in his mind. Blood filled his eyes and mouth and he had to steady himself against the wall, pouring all his concentration into controlling and animating the construction he had summoned. It was not a true Shadow of course, just a manifestation of his will, but it would be enough for a short time.
The animated Shadow moved forward, spiked limbs flailing at the Vorlon's encounter suit. The Shadow seemed not to feel the heat as it rained blow after blow on the Vorlon's chest. Vejar reached out his arm, guiding his creation, his other arm supporting him against the wall.
<You dare!> the Vorlon cried again, and Vejar slumped. The Shadow faded for a moment, but Vejar closed his eyes and concentrated harder and it reformed.
A crack appeared in the encounter suit, and then another. A brilliant light began to pour through, so bright Vejar could see it even with his eyes closed. He reeled before the psychic onslaught, and fell, feeling his Shadow collapse.
Opening his eyes, he saw the Vorlon before him. It had abandoned illusions and appeared as it truly was, light and energy and malevolence, crackling with power and fury. Vejar felt its presence in his mind, and screamed.
<Behold the price of challenging us!>
"I'm not afraid of you," Vejar spat. He looked up in defiance. "I'm not afraid of you."
Once, over two years ago, Delenn had come to him, seeking an explosive device, something powerful enough to tear open the guts of a planet. Vejar had told her that such a thing was within his power to create, and so it was. What he had given her was something very different, but that did not mean he could not create such a weapon.
Or something similar, but less powerful.
"Damn you, Galen," he whispered.
He looked up at Lyta, past the swirling mass of the Vorlon. He wondered if she was worth all this.
Then he created the explosion that tore apart the top half of the building.
Chapter 3
Whose face do you see in the mirror, Sheridan?
Whose face do you see in your mind's eye?
Who are you? They ask that question, over and over again. Who are you? Can you answer that question, Sheridan? Can you?
John J. Sheridan. Son of David Sheridan. Brother of Elizabeth. Husband of Anna. Lover of Delenn. General of the Alliance fleet.
Strip away the layers. Your father is gone. Your sister is gone. Your wife is gone. Your daughter is gone. All you have are Delenn and the Dark Stars.
Delenn went away once. When she came back, she was.... changed. Is she truly the same person you once knew? Do you love her as much as you once did? Do you even love her at all any more?
Strip away the Dark Stars and the Alliance. What are they anyway? The threat they were created to combat is gone, never to return. The little the Shadows left behind cannot trouble such as you. Why does the Alliance exist but to keep power in the hands of those who now possess it?
Does the Alliance mean anything to you? Does Delenn mean anything to you?
Do the Vorlons mean anything to you?
Can you answer a single one of these questions, Sheridan? Pick one. Any one. Answer me just one of these questions. Answer yourself just one of these questions.
Can you?
General John Sheridan awoke, panting, hot, wild-eyed.
"I don't know!" he cried.
Beside him, Delenn still slept. The night was quiet, and the questioning voice was gone.
The sound had died, the fury had subsided, the air was still. Dust and debris settled slowly on the rubble.
No one was sure what had caused the explosion. An accident was a possibility of course, but terrorist action more probable. The Neuadd still meant something as a symbol, even if its practical purpose was gone. A strike here, at the heart of Kazomi 7, was a message that would penetrate to all corners of the Alliance that even now, they were not safe. The war continued.
Yes, it would later be agreed, once the dead were sorted and the shock had faded, this was surely the work of one who hated the Alliance and all it stood for.
No one knew any better.
No one?
Ulkesh moved through the rubble with a cold, purposeful air. As his shadow fell over those searching for survivors, they trembled, as if something dark and cold had passed over their graves. Not an unusual reaction in the face of such devastation perhaps, but perhaps there was something else. Perhaps the Vorlon was....
.... angry.
No one asked how he had survived the explosion, which had surely happened near his quarters. No one believed he would answer them, anyway.
He moved with his usual purpose, meticulous and cold, searching for two things in particular, searching not only with his eyes, such as the mortals might understand the term, but with his mind's vision.
He found the body of the fabulist after a few hours of searching. He was dead, there was no doubt about that, and in such a way that his body would never be identified. To all who might wonder, Vejar had died in the explosion, just one more innocent victim.
Ulkesh was angry, very angry. The fabulist's soul was long gone. All that remained was a shell.
It took him much longer to find the node of the network that had been situated in his quarters. The biotechnological symbiotic node had been destroyed, but the vessel itself had survived. She looked still and peaceful, completely undamaged. The tendrils of the symbiont were still entwined around her body, but she was no longer screaming, no longer making any noise at all.
Ulkesh could not bear to look at her for long. There was.... pain there. The network was shaken and unstable. It would take a great deal of work to repair the damage, and the nearby nodes would be affected as well.
But he resisted the pain, he resisted the ghost-like images he could see, the souls of those absorbed into the network, and he forced himself to study the situation more closely. The fabulist had risked a great deal for the vessel. Why?
She had tried to escape him. Had she been going to join the Enemy? She had saved the Dark Star captain from killing himself just as Ulkesh had wanted. She had mated with him.
The fabulist had come here for her.
Why?
Ulkesh looked at her and understanding came. She was not dead. Her body still lived, but her soul was not here.
A great rage burned inside him and he let out a furious shout of anger. It was no sound any of the mortals could recognise, for their mortal ears could not hear it, but their mortal souls did, and they trembled.
The Lights Cardinal would have to be informed of this.
The vessel's soul had been freed. She was loose inside the network.
The room was dark and dingy, as it was no doubt meant to be. It was a place for secret meetings, for clandestine appointments. One of many, provided by enterprising entrepreneurs. It saddened G'Kar that there was a market for such a place on Narn.
"They took a great deal from us," he said, speaking to the shadowed walls. "They took our lives, they took our freedom, they took our dignity, but most of all, they took from us the one thing we can never regain.
"They took our innocence."
Had it always been this way? G'Kar could not remember. The Centauri had always been on Narn. His father might have known a different time, or have been told of one, but he was long dead. The Narns had no history any more. Oh, they knew the names and the deeds, but they did not know the life, and that was the greatest loss of all.