"I wrote you a letter as well, although I don't know whether you ever received it. I came here for your help, Delenn — yours and Sheridan's. Now I think I may have come here to help you. Do you know what you have to do?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes. I saw it…. but…. will my actions bring about what I have seen?"

"I don't know, Delenn. As I told you once, my place lies with the future no longer, but with the past. That is, of course, if we ever make it there."

"What has happened?"

"We were ready to launch this station when the Enemy attacked. It was a hard battle, but we managed to get away. I…. don't know what happened to my friends who were defending us. Some of the enemy made it aboard and have been trying to kill me. If they do, then the past will be doomed, and so will all of us. I came here hoping to gain your help, but the enemy have proven to be too strong for us."

"Then it was you who sent the message?"

He blinked, and prepared to tell just another lie, one of the few he hoped he would ever have to tell her. He was beginning to realise why he had been brought to this time. He was practically becoming a Vorlon, and he hated it. "What message? No, we were unable to get into the main control centre."

They had to see, both of them. Sheridan and Delenn had to see what lay before them, where their destinies led. Delenn had to be prepared for her exile, hence the use of her title Zha'valen. Both of them had a hard road ahead, and they had to be prepared for it.

"We received a message asking for myself and Captain Sheridan to come over here, and to come alone. It must have been a trap…. They have him!"

"Delenn, Sheridan is a…. clever man. I am sure he…."

"No. I know it. They have him. The Enemy has him!"

And they did. Valen knew that for a fact. He wished he did not have to lie to them, he wished he could share something of what he knew to be coming for them, he wished…. he wished so much….

There was the clash of metal against metal, the strain of muscles, the beating of hearts…. Londo staggered back, wiping at his eyes in desperation. Who would have thought he had become so old? The time had been when he could fight all day and carouse all night.

Cartagia smiled. "Growing old, Mollari? And you thought to rule. How can you rule our Republic when you cannot even stand for a few minutes?"

He was right. May all the Gods damn him, but he was right. Cartagia was a far younger man, whose days of wine, women and song had yet to catch up with him. He was fitter, stronger, and possessed of a remarkable inner fortitude. He also had been eating well these last few days, and had not spent them chained to a dank cell well.

Cartagia drifted forward, his kutari flickering in his hand like a living thing. It sliced through the already-torn sleeve of Londo's jacket and drew a red line across his forearm. Spinning on his heel, the Prince delivered an elbow jab to Londo's jaw, and he fell. Again.

"Get up, Mollari. I'm not finished with you yet. Or has Elrisia been sapping too much of your strength?"

"I've only seen her once since I got back to the capital," he panted, staggering up. Keep him talking, find some way to gather time, to breathe.

"Ah yes. When she took you to see our madman chained in the cellar. Did you enjoy the vision he showed you, hmm? The death of our world. The death of all worlds, perhaps. Who can say?"

"What? You've…. seen it, too. Then…. why have you…." Londo was trying to breathe, but it was becoming more and more difficult. "Why…?"

"Because, my dear Mollari. The ultimate answer to everything. Because." He stepped forward. "Are you ready to resume yet? I can wait a bit longer if you'd prefer."

"There he is!" cried a new voice, and Londo struggled to lift his head. Two soldiers had burst into the room. He could not be sure whether they were loyalist guardsmen or part of Valo's attack force. The fighting had apparently drifted away from this area of the palace building.

"Return to your posts," Cartagia said, bored.

"Not likely," one of them snarled. He raised a small hand-held energy pistol, a weapon usually carried by bodyguards to the nobles in addition to their fanciful rapiers.

Cartagia smiled and raised his arm. There was a blur of movement as he threw his sword at the guard. Crimson blood seemed to rain from the soldier's throat as the sword pinned him against the wall. His companion was slow to react, and by the time he managed to do anything Cartagia had drawn his own energy pistol and shot him squarely in the head.

"How tiresome," he muttered, drifting over to the body of the first soldier and pulling his kutari free. "You'd think Valo would have sent more than two, wouldn't you? Oh, but then again, maybe not. I've cultivated somewhat of an air of…. ah…. weakness, these last few months. What better way to hide your true intentions, hmm, Mollari?"

His back was still to Londo. There was a chance now. One brief chance. Londo started forward, running as fast as he could, raising his own sword in front of him.

Cartagia spun, kicking out in one fluid motion, striking Londo in the belly. Crying out, Londo fell back helpless as Cartagia delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of his head that sent him sprawling.

"That was hardly sportsmanlike, Mollari. Maybe you have learned something on your travels after all. Good. You might make a fine Emperor yet, albeit not for very long."

"What…. do…. you…. mean?" he whispered, trying to stay conscious. His hearts were pounding.

"Oh, look around you, Mollari. You're going to win this. Everyone knows that, because all the morons out there have been too busy scrambling around trying to deal with each other. Their ambitions are not high enough, you see. Only you, I and Elrisia actually realised the true prize…. and once I'm gone, Elrisia will never get anywhere. She's the most hated woman in the Republic."

Londo felt sick, but he tried to stagger to his feet. His sword was so heavy.

"No…. you were always going to win. It was just a matter of time. I saw that a long while ago. I was the only one who could have beaten you to the throne, and there was a time when I thought I'd want to do that, but…. no…. Not any more."

"Why…. not?"

"Ah. You know your problem, Mollari? You're an optimist, an idealist, a romantic even. I, on the other hand…. I see the truth. We're a dying people, a doomed people. We can't keep control of our outer colonies, the Narns are banging at our door, we've lost almost all our allies, our leaders are too busy fighting amongst themselves, there will be a rebellion from the peasants any time now…. and now these Shadow Criers and their future of holocaust.

"The Republic will be finished before the century's over, Mollari. I know that, and so do you. Who wants to be known as the Emperor who guided us into oblivion? Not me. No…. far better to be known another way, don't you think? I'll be the man who fought you for the throne, and damned near won…. and every day from now until the end, people will wonder…. what if I'd won? How different would things have been if I'd been made Emperor instead of you? We'd both know there would be nothing I could have done to prevent this end, no more than you…. but they won't know that, and each and every one of those sheep we rule will wonder…. what if?

"And that, my dear Mollari…. is the greatest form of immortality any man can ask for."

"Won't…. be like…. that…."

"That idealism again. You're blind, Mollari! And a fool. I suppose it's just as well for me that you are. If you weren't, then you'd be in my place now. And that would be very unpleasant for me. Come on, Mollari…. pick up your sword."