John was sleeping now. He looked so peaceful. So happy.

Delenn wanted to remain there watching him all night. It was an old Minbari ritual, in which she would hope to discover his true face. Not that she had any need to, now. She had renounced a great deal of what had made her Minbari, and their courtship had passed beyond the sleep-watching stage a long time ago. A year now, it must have been. A year since Minbar, since they had discovered he was dying.

She was suddenly aware of a presence behind her, and she turned. He was there. The Vorlon, Ulkesh.

The Vorlon was silent, simply watching. Delenn could hear the faint traces of music in the air invoked by his presence.

"I'm ready," she said softly.

The Vorlon's eyepiece shifted, as if nodding. <Good.>

Delenn looked back at John. He was still sleeping. She would never forget him; his face, his voice, his hands, everything would remain in her memory for the rest of her life. However long that might be.

She slowly moved away from the bed, out into the main room. Ulkesh followed her. "What will happen now?"

<You will go to Z'ha'dum. You will die. He will live.>

"Why?" she whispered. "I still don't understand. Why?"

<Understanding is a three-edged sword. That is not required of you. Obedience is.>

She looked directly at him, her face hard. She knew what he required of her. She just did not know why. It didn't matter. Others would, and they would carry on. She had made all the preparations she could. There was nothing more to do now but go.

She left the rooms that had been her quarters ever since she had taken on the role as leader of the Alliance, well over a year ago. It had been after the arrival of the Inquisitor, something she only now understood. It hadn't been a test, as she and John had believed at the time. The Inquisitor had been sent by Kosh, whom she knew cared about her, about all the younger races. Kosh would never have demanded this of her, but he had given his life for them all.

He had known that might happen, and so he had sent the Inquisitor, as a warning. She had not listened, and now she had to pay the price.

She did not turn back to see if the Vorlon was following her as she walked through the streets of Kazomi 7. Either he was, or he wasn't, and she did not care either way. The streets were quiet. It was early in the morning, and even the nocturnal Brakiri were not about. The few patrol guards she saw ignored her, as if she were not there.

With each step she took, she remembered the images of these streets after the Drakh invasion. It was a true wonder that they had managed to create this hope from the chaos and despair of those dark days. It was a great triumph, and one that must surely be placed against the wrongs she had done.

Kazomi 7 and the Alliance spoke of hope, of order, of peace. They would carry on doing so after she was gone.

She reached the spaceport to find that no one there seemed to notice her either. As she walked down the docking bays towards her shuttle, past unseeing officials, she turned round and saw Ulkesh almost at her shoulder. "This is your doing, isn't it? You're why they can't see us."

<Yes.>

"And you need to make sure that I'm gone, of course. For all you know I could have let you cure John, and then stayed here and told him everything."

<No.>

"No? Why not?"

<No.>

She shook her head sadly, and walked away from him towards her shuttle. She had seldom needed a flyer, but when she had, one had been provided. Normally it was heavily guarded of course, but the guards could not see her. She hoped they had been equally blind to certain…. preparations made earlier.

She boarded the shuttle, and took a quick glance back. Ulkesh was there, watching. Angrily, she turned her back on him.

And then she left Kazomi 7, knowing she would never see her new home again this side of death.

And on to Z'ha'dum.

Mr. Trace received word of his men's failure to catch the female telepath with a calm demeanour. He thanked them for their efforts and dismissed them for the night. No doubt they were in a terrified rush to flee the sector — or possibly the planet — to escape his wrath. He didn't care if they did or not. There were very few people he trusted absolutely.

He had set them a task. They had failed. Miss Winters was simply smarter than they were, that was all. Where was the point in punishing someone for coming up against someone better?

Still, this did have to be reported to the Boss, and Trace was not sure how he would react. There were times when he thought he was afraid of the Boss, and other times when they could talk together like two old friends.

He did not really need the old man any longer. He could make a perfect living just from 301 alone. The protection, the drugs, the holobrothels and all his other little deals were enough to keep most men happy and rich for life, but he was not in this merely for the money. Trace wanted respect. He wanted status. He had power here, but he wanted to be a power.

Only the old man could help him with those things, and he would. Sooner or later he would move up from this worthless rat-infested dump and become a power in himself in Main Dome, or maybe off-world.

His signal was received, and the old man's voice came over the comm channel. Audio conversations only. It had always been that way, as far back as Trace could remember. He didn't even have any idea what the old man looked like. He had looked out of simple curiosity, but there were no pictures available at all.

He did know the old man's name, but it was a good idea not to let on that he knew it. The old man valued his privacy.

"Ah, Mr. Trace," came the voice. "What do you have for me?"

"We got another one. A pretty powerful one, too. I'd reckon P ten, P twelve maybe. There might be a problem, though."

"Yes?"

"He's been trained. He knows how to use what's he got. The psi-jamming tech you provided us with kept us safe though, and he only got mildly damaged when we took him down. He had a companion as well, another telepath, and she managed to escape. I'd put her at P five or so, but she's good. Very good. She knows much more than just how to read minds. Infiltration techniques, and pretty good at self-defence as well."

"A woman? Describe her for me."

"Ah, let's see. Blonde, fairly tall I'd guess. Pretty, in a…. posh sort of way. I'm uploading a picture with this. Her name's Winters. T. Winters"

"Ah, yes. I know of her. Well well. It appears we have someone out to investigate our little activities here, Mr. Trace."

"Yeah, I'd say so. They were talking with Chase when I found them. He was telling them what he knew."

"And where is Chase now?"

"Dead. Very dead."

"Good. I think, Mr. Trace, it is imperative you find Miss Winters as soon as possible. She might just pose a significant threat to us."

"We're on it. She won't get out of three-o-one, trust me on that one, Boss.

"There is one other thing, might be just a coincidence, but maybe not. There's someone poking his nose into my business. Had a run-in with one of my men in a bar, and went to see the Security Chief to talk about me."

"Mr. Allan. Is he…?"

"Oh, still bribed. He told me as soon as the guy left. You might know him, Boss. His name's Smith. Dexter Smith. Used to be captain of the Babylon."

"Smith. Ah. Yes, I had heard he'd returned to Proxima, but not that he'd made for your area, Mr. Trace. As you said, it might just be a coincidence, but I don't believe in coincidence. Find him as well as Miss Winters. If you can get Miss Winters in the normal course of things, so much the better. If you can't, then kill her. Definitely kill Mr. Smith. It really won't do to have them running around Sector Three-o-one finding out things they really shouldn't be finding out. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Trace?"