"It was Malachi. He…. he has invited me to attend him in the capital."

Timov had snorted. "Mad, of course?"

Londo had looked at her, realising just how much he had grown to love her recently. "I will be leaving within the hour."

He did not know why he had to go. Well, he did know, but he could not put it into words. Vague concepts of friendship and sacrifice and understanding all flitted through his mind, but he knew as well as Timov did that none of that really mattered. What did matter was…. he did not know. But something had to matter. He knew only that if he did not go, he would lose any opportunity to end this without more bloodshed.

Without the sacrifice of another Camulodo.

"Malachi is my friend," he had tried to explain.

"What sort of friend can he be? Look at what he has done!"

"Malachi has not done everything."

"He's done enough!"

No, that was it. Londo needed to see Malachi again, to look into his eyes and see, once and for all, if his friend was still there. Malachi had taken in a young and idealistic noble's son and trained him in the ways of politics and the Court. He had told Londo something, once:

"We possess power far greater than that of any others, on any other world in the galaxy. And yet how do we use it? Power is nothing if it is not used, but it is even less if used wrongly. Remember that, Londo."

What could have happened to him?

Beside him Lennier sat, apparently asleep, but probably just meditating. He had not insisted on coming. There had just been no doubt that he not would be left behind. The two of them had begun this whole quest together after all. They would have to finish it together.

It seemed so long ago, that journey to Kazomi 7 with Delenn. Where was she now? Safe and at peace, he hoped.

Well, safer and more at peace than he was.

The capital, and the Court, drew him onwards.

Captain Smith had not been sure what to expect from the notorious war criminal Satai Delenn. He had never seen her before in person, although he had been given access to records…. from both before and after her emergence from her cocoon.

Neither of them matched the picture of peace and serenity before him now. She was seated on a narrow bench in the holding cell, hands folded in her lap, head raised, looking him squarely in the eye. She looked very different from either of the images he had seen. Apparently she had gone through a second transformation. Human and Minbari were now blended perfectly in her.

She made him…. uncomfortable.

"It is my place to inform you that you will be taken from here to Proxima Three, there to stand trial for war crimes against the human race. You will be afforded every right to defence and justice according to our laws. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"I understand," she said. Her voice was strangely accented, soft, but with layers of steel beneath. "And we both know, Captain Smith, that my trial will be anything but fair."

"My Government has assured me that it will be. In any case your trial is not my concern. I am just a soldier. It is my duty to escort you there and hand you over to the appropriate authorities. That is all."

"Nobody is 'just' anything, Captain."

"As you say, Satai."

"I no longer go by that title. It was taken from me a long time ago."

"Then how should I address you?"

"My name is Delenn, and it is as good a name as any other. If you are uncomfortable with that, however, then my people gave me another title to replace the one they took from me. Zha'valen."

"And that means?"

"Outcast."

He opened his mouth to speak, but then realised he had nothing worth saying. Simply being around her troubled him in a way he could not identify. Maybe because she looked so human, or so vulnerable. It was hard to envisage her as the monstrous butcher he had always believed the Minbari to be.

His link suddenly beeped and he activated it. "Yes. Smith here."

It was Lieutenant Franklin, from the bridge of the Babylon. "Captain, our sensors have detected something approaching from hyperspace. One of our ships. A capital ship."

"All our capital ships are here. What…?" He suddenly paled, and looked at Delenn. There was a knowing look in her eyes, and he suddenly felt the burden of his ghosts rising up before him.

And a chance to exorcise himself of it forever. "It's Sheridan. I'm on my way back to the ship. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But Captain, your orders are to…."

"The station is secure, and the capture of the station and the Machine were our top priorities. To safeguard our acquisitions here we need to defeat these reinforcements, and for that, I need to be on the bridge of my ship. I will be there immediately."

He turned and left the holding cell, barking quick instructions to the two security officers on guard there. As he left he heard Delenn saying something, and he turned back to her. "Walk with Valen, Captain," she repeated softly.

Troubled, he ignored her, and began to run towards the shuttle bays.

Sheridan. The Starkiller. At last, another chance to prove fully to everyone that he was worthy of sitting in the captain's chair where the Starkiller himself had once sat. They had clashed before, but inconclusively. This time it would be more decisive.

Smith would later wonder how his future would have turned if he had remained on the station, co-ordinating its defence from there. He would never know, but he would always feel that the decision to make for his ship had been the one greatest moment of his life.

The Parmenion emerged from hyperspace to find the four ships of the Resistance Government waiting for it. Sheridan looked at them, and felt a tightening in his chest. Here it was: the conflict he had been dreading and hoping to avoid ever since he had broken away from Proxima.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," he said, the comm channels carrying the message to his four opponents, and also, he hoped, to the captains of the Drazi and Brakiri ships. "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three are under my protection. You are to leave now."

"Captain Sheridan," came a reply. A voice he recognised. General Ryan. "You are wanted for war crimes against the Resistance Government. Stand down your ship now, and we promise to spare those of your crew who are innocent of any wrongs against humanity."

"That is not an option, General."

On board the Stra'Kath, the Drazi captain had been sitting impatiently for hours, wondering why he was not being ordered to fight. Still, he placed trust in Taan Churok, and would wait.

Finally, the order he had been waiting for arrived.

"The control room is ours once more. The station is ours." Taan Churok's face on the screen. "Allies are here. Fight."

The captain grinned. He did not bother checking in with his Brakiri counterpart. If he was willing to fight, then he would join in.

He set target for the human ships, and ordered the Stra'Kath forward.

Donne smiled. "You were warned."

The Machine rumbled, and a missile soared from the bowels of the planet, shooting up into space.

His spirit was everywhere, even now. It permeated this room, all the rooms, the entire ship. The EAS Babylon, his ship, Sheridan's ship, always. Dexter Smith, Sheridan's replacement on the Babylon, was always aware of that. He had lived in Sheridan's shadow for the year he had been on board, and now at last he was within sight of ending that curse. They had clashed once before, an inconclusive fight at best. This would be different. There would be no retreat here.