He should have listened to G'Kar, but he had not, and now his men had paid the price.
The Kha'Ri would be furious of course. At the least, they would demand his head. Perhaps they would even ask for the heads of his captains.
He would resign. He would accept responsibility. It was all over; the galaxy was doomed now, and everything would be washed away in darkness and fire. He had seen those Shadows, and they were all but invincible. The entire might of the Narn fleet had been unable so much as to scratch them. It was over.
They could not win. No one could win.
He would resign before the Kha'Ri, and go to the estate his family had once owned before the Centauri had come. He would tend the tree his brother had died on, he would sit and look at the sunsets, and he would wait for the end.
It was over now. The war was over. Life was over.
He would simply wait for the end.
There were a number of skills any good secret agent needed, but foremost of all was the ability to know when to run, and when to stop running. Sooner or later everything fell apart, and when that happened the best thing to hope for was a good head start, and a better hiding place.
Talia was still running, although only in a metaphorical sense. She was sure she had managed to shake off the initial pursuit, but they would still be tracking her. She needed an immediate place of sanctuary, and after that a new base of operations. At least now she knew what was happening here, and she could take appropriate action. Maybe move out of 301 and up into Main Dome. She didn't have much more to do here after all.
She pressed herself as hard into the alcove as she could. It was heavily shadowed and there was enough rubbish and debris strewn around the street that she should remain inconspicuous. She could hear her pursuers coming this way. Normally it would be possible to alter their perceptions slightly so they would not notice her, but they had very advanced tech that seemed able to resist telepathic influences, so she simply remained very still.
There were three of them, all people she had seen with Trace.
"I'm telling you, she came this way," snarled one of them.
"Well, I'm telling you there's no one in sight. I mean, who'd come through a dump street like this, least of all a classy bit like her. She'd get that nice skirt of hers all messy."
There was a reply Talia really hadn't wanted to hear, and guttural chuckling.
"Yeah," said the first voice. "Well, maybe, with a mouth your size. Look, we go back without her, and Mr. Trace is going to have us nailed to the wall and used for target practice. She came this way."
"There's no one here. Listen, and think about this for a moment." The voices were coming closer. "Anyone who pisses off Mr. Trace ain't going to want to stick around in his den, is she? Now you saw what she was wearing. She ain't from the Pit, so she'll be running off to the tube stations and get out-sector. I'll bet she's halfway to Main Dome by now."
"She came this way," persisted the first voice.
"Hang on," said the third. "What if you're right, Roberts?" said the third thoughtfully.
"What of it?"
"Well, what's the quickest route from here to the tube station?"
"Left down that alley, across and then left at the Security building. If she's going there, she won't have come up this street."
"But," said the third. "What about that narrow walk we just passed? With a bit of effort you could get through that hole in the wire fencing, right? And then from there it's a couple of minutes to the tube, taking all the back roads where no one could spot her."
"Well, what do you know?" said the first in wonder. "It's looks like we're both right, Roberts. She did come this way. Come on, I think we're going to owe you a drink, Petrov."
"Once we've found her," grunted the second, Roberts. "Let's go."
Talia waited for a few minutes as their footsteps receded, then breathed out slowly and emerged from her alcove. So, they'd be watching the tube station. That meant she'd have to stay in 301 for a few days and try to sneak out later. She....
She felt a presence behind her, but just as she made to turn an arm caught her around the neck and a hand clasped firmly down over her mouth. Something was wrong. She hadn't sensed him coming.
She let her assailant half-drag her away from the street towards a door in the nearest wall. He nudged it open, and then pulled her inside.
Then, once the door was closed and she was satisfied that her attacker was alone, she acted. Her telepathic abilities might or might not be useless against this person, but a good elbow in the stomach dealt with anyone.
She lunged out and he staggered back, gasping. She pulled a long, slender blade from her other sleeve and waited for him to move. The door she had been pulled through did not lead to a house, but into a small tunnel. There was light at the far end of it, enough for her to see her attacker clearly. She did not recognise him as one of Trace's men, he was not a security guard, and he was a little too well-dressed for an average denizen of Sector 301. She was almost intrigued, realising he was faintly familiar.
"Why did you attack me?" she asked, willing to trust her intuition and not take further action. Besides, she was armed and he wasn't, and she wasn't winded.
"I didn't," he gasped. "I'm a friend. At least.... I think I am."
She knew that voice. She closed her eyes, breathing out silently and sheathing her knife. "Captain Smith," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"That's funny," he replied, looking up. "I was just about to ask you the same question. The last I heard you'd somehow escaped from your holding cell and just disappeared. That was after sabotaging my ship, of course. I didn't expect to find you in The Pit, but it makes sense, I guess. Oh, and it's private citizen Mr. Smith now. Or Dexter, to all the friends I don't have."
"Talia," she replied.
"Is that what the T stood for? Ah, I never knew. I had you guessed as more of a Tabitha, personally."
"What are you doing here?"
"I live in three-o-one. I grew up here, and trust me, I know this place better than most people. Better than you, it seems. You looked to be in a spot of trouble."
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
He moved forward. "Are you going to give me any straight answers, Lieutenant Talia Stoner? You can read my mind if you like, to satisfy yourself I'm not working for Trace. Yes, I know you're a telepath, and I know who Trace is. What I don't know is why he's chasing you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me any more! You did enough of that all the time you were on my ship. How long was it? A year? I want to know the truth."
"No," she replied softly, a little sorrowfully. "You don't." He might have been expecting a psychic attack. He might even have been expecting a physical attack. He certainly wasn't expecting both together.
Very few people stayed conscious through a combination of a psi blast and a kick to the chest, and he wasn't one of them.
"I'm sorry," she said to no one in particular, and then she continued in search of her place of sanctuary.
Sinoval had always held it one of his greatest gifts that he never regretted any single decision he had ever made. He did not spend time in pointless recriminations and self-doubts. He merely accepted that he had made a mistake, and resolved never to repeat it.
Leaving Minbar had led to disastrous consequences, but he had needed answers, answers that could not have been found on Minbar. To be certain of his destiny he had needed to seek wisdom and enlightenment elsewhere, and that had brought him here.
Trusting Kalain had been a mistake also, although one that could not have been foreseen. Sinoval had known Kalain as he had known and trusted none other. He had not known of his insanity, or of his infection.