A face she had only seen once, but one she could never forget. The face of a woman dying before her eyes, shot down by the man both of them loved.

Your…. pain, she thought. Oh, John…. how could you endure…?

Another face, one she did know very well, mouthing lies and half-truths and rumours disguised as the truth. The face of the woman who had brought her to a place where she could be tortured, who had broken open her cocoon, the woman who…. who had inadvertently brought her and John together.

I cannot hate you. Whatever you have done, I cannot hate you.

Before her there was a column of light, but it was not strong. What should have been a brilliant beam rising up into the sky was a thin pencil, battered on all sides by the darkness.

Oh, John.

And then a voice, a booming, mocking voice, one she knew all too well.

I am lost in darkness for you.

She started. Her voice. Words she had never spoken to him, but her voice.

Knowing what she had to do, she ran towards the light that was the soul of the man she loved.

"The Vorlons…. But…."

"'God moves in a mysterious way'," quoted Edgars, an ironic smile on his face. "But He's a cheap con man compared to the Vorlons."

"I don't understand," Catherine whispered. "You've been…. allied with the Vorlons? For all this time?"

"Yes," Edgars said. "Oh, this of course is Mr. Morden, and our good friend here goes by the name Okesh Naranell. The latter word is a sort of title, I believe."

"Charmed, Miss Sakai," Morden said politely. "It's good to see you again. Our last meeting was…. all too brief."

"Last…." Catherine looked down. "You killed Julie."

"An overzealous guard. You have my apologies."

"Apologies." Catherine was speaking slowly, flatly, with no emotion in her voice. It was hard to realise she was feeling any emotion at all. "Apol…. apologies…. I can't take in any of this. It's all…. rubbish, isn't it? Isn't it? Why should I believe any of this? I'm some sort of…. link to a great leader who hasn't arrived yet? Do you have any idea how…?"

She stopped, not from running out of words, but because the air moved. There was the faint hint of an orchestra just out of earshot. The winds rustled through countless unseen chimes which jangled as they were shaken. There was one instant of perfect beauty and clarity.

The Vorlon, in short, was getting ready to say something.

<Jeffrey Sinclair.>

"Wh…. what?"

"Jeffrey Sinclair," repeated Morden. "You…. are familiar with him, I trust?"

"He's dead. Dead long ago. What does he have to…?" Her eyes widened as everything became clear, with a thought that exploded into her mind. "He's this leader of yours? He's…. not…. dead?"

"He was badly wounded at the Battle of the Line," supplied Morden. "He was taken in as a prisoner by the Minbari and, because my associates here have as much clout with them as with everyone else, they took Mr. Sinclair off their hands. He is now quite safe and in the process of becoming a serious cultural icon."

"Where is he? Oh my God…. I thought…. twelve years…. Twelve years!"

"Kazomi Seven," said Morden. "A…. um, what's the phrase…. 'a wretched hive of scum and villainy' for years, now the base of an interstellar United Alliance of Races. A place of hope and…. well, promise for the future."

"I…. hadn't heard anything about an alliance. I…."

"Of course you hadn't," Edgars said. "The Resistance Government controls the vertical, the horizontal and the diagonal. There are a great many things happening out in the galaxy which are not being made public. The events on Kazomi Seven being only one example."

"Jeffrey's there…. and you want me to…." Something else became clear. "Oh, my God. That's why you killed Dan, isn't it? You wanted me…. unencumbered!" She looked at Edgars. "That's why you asked me if I was seeing anyone. You want me to…. start things up again with Jeff…. provide some sort of link to him."

There was silence.

"You bastards," she whispered. "You cold…. I don't care. I'm having nothing to do with this. I'm not going to be controlled by you, or anyone, or…." A rage so intense, so strong, so powerful as to blot out everything else engulfed her. She turned and began half-striding, half-running into the darkness, towards what she presumed was a door.

"We cannot allow that, I'm afraid," Morden said, almost sadly.

The air began to change, and Catherine turned, instinctively.

<Watch, and learn.>

The Vorlon's encounter suit began to open….

Their silence had been both comfortable and comforting for a long time, as the two of them watched the city complex at night. But finally, as lights dimmed, and as the darkness grew deeper, Valen began to feel oppressed by the silence.

It was strange, he thought. There had been many times when he had sat alone, not talking, only thinking. Some of his lieutenants had been worried about him, especially Marrain and Parlonn and Rashok. Derannimer had understood, though. She alone had understood him completely.

He spoke at last, a point of insight, a matter of simple observation, and also a hint of an intimate, Vorlon connection, all compelling him to say:

"You are tired."

Lyta started and looked at him. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"You are tired. Of living. You grieve. You go on. You try to endure. But…. you are tired."

Her throat dry, she could only nod. "Yes. Y…. yes."

Softly: "What was his name?"

"Marcus."

"He must have been a good man."

"He was. A very good man."

A pause, a hush in the conversation. He waited for her to speak, knowing she would eventually do so, now that he had shown her he was not afraid to listen.

"He…. died." Another pause. A longer one. "He died saving me." She shook her head. "So…. so pointless. So unnecessary! I'd been walking in…. in shadows all my life and for one moment I knew what it was like to be in the light. Then it went out and I was back in the shadows again."

"Shadows only exist when there is light to form them." He remembered saying that to someone else once, long ago. Someone else in grief and in pain. He wondered if his words could mean as much now.

"If it wasn't for Delenn…. She…. needed me, at one point. She's all right now though. She's…. found her own light. I should be happy for her, why can't I be? All I feel is…. is this nothing. I can't even feel hatred any more. Not for Captain Sheridan — he was the one who…. who put Marcus in a situation where he could get killed. Not even for…. the person who killed him. Nothing."

"Hatred would not erase your grief."

"But at least it would be something! Something to keep me going beyond the voices in my head when I sleep, beyond the dreams, beyond…."

"Voices? The Vorlons."

She nodded. "That's me. Vorlon carrying case."

"I also. But then you know that. You are no more a Vorlon puppet than I, Lyta Alexander. Grief can…. be devastating, but it does not last forever. Remember your Marcus, remember his smile, his voice…. whatever you have. Remember him, and move on. Find a purpose, a place where you belong, and then…. Well, all will not be well, but it will be better."

"Be careful. I might start believing your press releases and think maybe you are Valen."