"You have five minutes to comply."

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon. This station, this planet, this area of space and all peoples and objects and technologies herein are as of this moment placed under the control of the Resistance Government of Humanity. Stand down all weapons and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance will be met with deadly force.

"You have five minutes to comply."

The four ships moved around the space station known as Babylon 4. Very few of them knew of the appropriateness of that name. Once, over seven years ago, Babylon 4 had been hailed as the greatest hope of the human race, a chance to fight back against the alien oppressors, an opportunity to regain power.

For various reasons the Babylon Project had fallen by the wayside and been forgotten. Official secrecy had been maintained, but to those who had been involved in its operation it was the greatest lost chance of the last decade.

But fortune favoured the bold, or so it was said. Humanity was now free and powerful again, a young colossus bestriding the galaxy once more. Babylon 4, the station that had been intended to redeem them, had been built by another for purposes unknown.

And humanity was now on the verge of another victory.

The Earth Alliance starships Babylon, Morningstar, Corinthian and Marten moved into position, their respective captains trying not to reveal their anxieties. This mission had been planned meticulously, and thus far everything seemed to be going as planned. The two human ships working for the enemy — the Parmenion and the Ozymandias — had gone, lured away through false means by an ally. None of the four captains had relished the thought of opposing their own people, least of all the legendary Starkiller, Captain Sheridan.

Also gone was the strange vessel Cathedral, believed to be commanded by the Minbari war criminal Sinoval. No one knew the exact circumstances behind that disappearance, but the timing was put down to fortuitous coincidence.

The only defences now remaining were the three ships from the United Alliance of Worlds — two Drazi Sunhawks and a Brakiri heavy cruiser — all of which could easily be dealt with should that be necessary; the integral defences of the station itself; and the awesome power of the Great Machine on the planet below, which should already have been neutralised.

On board the Babylon, more grateful than anyone else that its former captain had gone, Dexter Smith leaned forward and re-opened channels.

"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the EAS Babylon. I repeat, you are to stand down and surrender the station and all persons and objects on board. Failure to do so will provoke an attack."

There was a crackle as a reply came over the channel. Obviously the inhabitants of the station were taking precautions to prevent any surreptitious tracking or decoding.

"This is Lethke, Minister for the Economy of the United Alliance of Worlds. This station has our full support and any attack on our ships or persons will be considered an act of war against the Alliance."

Smith resisted a sigh of relief. He had been briefed about this possibility. He had also been ordered to supervise all the communications while his fellows got themselves into position to prevent any escapes and set up jamming mechanisms.

"I assure you, minister, we have no quarrel with the Alliance at all. We do however, have rights over the station and the planet, rights of discovery and occupation under the Interstellar Territory Pacts of twenty-two thirty-five, twenty-two thirty-nine and twenty-two forty-two. All items and persons sworn to the Alliance will be permitted to leave, saving only those who are wanted for crimes against our Government."

There was a long silence, and Smith knew what would be going through the alien's mind. Those wanted for crimes against the Resistance Government…. that could only refer to Delenn, former Satai of the Minbari and current President of the Alliance (although she apparently disliked that term). She had been in humanity's hands once, but had managed to slip away. That would not happen again.

Finally, Lethke responded: "Are you suggesting therefore that we are to negotiate on this matter?"

"We will not initiate any acts of violence unless violence is offered to us. We merely wish to enforce our rights. Unfortunately however, any sign of opposition will have to be met with deadly force. Once they are sure there is no danger from this area, my Government will send in legal teams and diplomatic arbiters to resolve this matter. I assure you again, Minister, we intend no hostilities against the Alliance, unless we are acted against."

With a sense of inevitable resignation, the Brakiri stabilised the signal. "You are welcome to board, Captain. We stand down our arms."

A wave of Darkness swept over Centauri Prime that night. Seeresses and sensitives all over the planet awoke screaming, paralysed by the terrors of great evil touching them. Screams echoed through the streets and blood ran from the walls.

The number of suicides in that one night was more than double than of the last two months together. In the city of Sphodria, a major trading port and the site of an ancient military victory over the Xon, the Governor of the city spent three hours writing the words, "The Darkness is coming" all over the walls of his house. The words were written in the blood of his wife, his children and his servants. He then threw himself from the roof of the house.

In the powerful mountain city of Camulodo, renowned as a seat of great learning, the curator of the Great Imperial Museum burned the building to the ground. He remained inside it as it burned. He had already clawed out his eyes and was in the process of eating his fingers as he burned to death.

Gallia, a prominent market town, saw its Governor dragged from his bed in the middle of the night by a crazed mob led by three preaching Shadow Criers. Claiming to be heralding in the coming Darkness they threw the Governor into an ancient well and began to pile it full of stones. His feeble cries ended as the last stone was thrown on top of him.

There was no word, no communication, no sign of any kind from the capital.

And on the island of Selini, in the hill farms, in the coastal inlets and coves, and in the capital city of Remarin, home of a new rebellion, there was….

…. peace.

Everyone slept well, except for those suffering from indigestion, or who tended to sleepwalk. There were few bad dreams, no cries for mercy or vengeance, no blood shed in the streets.

In fact the whole island slept, save only for the guards, some of the military, and the inhabitants of the Governor's personal dwelling.

"The fires in Camulodo are rumoured to be getting out of control," reported the dry voice of Lord Durano, formerly of the Ministry of Intelligence. He had always been dispassionate and dedicated, but now it seemed more as if he were reciting the results of this week's moren-ball contests. "Apparently some of the fire service have tried dealing with the situation, but they are being hampered by the mob, and some of the firemen themselves have fallen prey to…. whatever is happening."

"So many dying," muttered Governor Londo Mollari. He could not remember the last time he had slept well, and he certainly wouldn't tonight. He had been on the verge of going to bed when Durano had arrived with Virini and Marrago. Their reports from agents and allies in the three nearest mainland cities had made for grim reading.

"Has the whole planet gone mad?" he asked. "What in the Emperor's Name is happening?"