"A great general…." He raised his fighting pike and extended it, enjoying the worker's dawning horror. "A great general will never give an order to his men that he will not carry out himself."

A blur of movement, and the priestling woman fell, her skull crushed. There were cries of shock from those conscious enough to witness the act. He felt no satisfaction in them.

"We mean you no harm," the worker cried. "Please, lord…. there is no need…."

"Kats. Where is she? Tell me, or another will die, and then another. The dying stops when I find her. I mean you no harm, little man, but I will not be stopped in this. Another mark of a great general…. doing whatever is necessary to finish the task."

Kats heard the cries of shock, and tried to rise. She heard her name spoken again, and Sonovar's threat.

"Very well, then. Another, if you please." Another was brought forward, a warrior this time. She glared at him with a fierce anger that made him smile with pride. "If the Lady Kats does not appear for me now, then this one will die."

He waited, and Kats began to scramble forward. She tried to speak, but the words would not emerge. She could sense Kalain before her, laughing again. Visions of Sonovar mocking her at his side plagued her, but she kept moving.

Sonovar raised his pike.

Her wounds were burning, and blood still stained her robe. She felt so heavy, her body so cumbersome.

Sonovar paused to look into the eyes of the warrior he was about to kill.

"Stop!" Kats cried at last. She stood before him. "I am here."

A brilliant burst of light, and thousands of tiny, unheard screams marked the end of the Corinthian, blown apart in one shining moment of madness, and an arrogant, oh-so-terrible power.

Michael Garibaldi knew that something was very very wrong, and he knew that the Boss was involved in it. What he did not know was how he would explain this to Lianna, how he would tell his son, how he could look at his friends knowing that he had been a part of this.

Donne now looked awful. Her black Psi Corps uniform was soaked in her blood. Scarlet tears were dripping down her face, blood was spilling from her mouth.

"What is it doing?" she cried out, crimson spittle flying from her lips. "What is it…?"

"It is rejecting you," whispered G'Kar hoarsely. "It is…."

"I'm going to burn everything you ever cared for, you smug Narn bastard! Tu'Pari, kill the other one. Cut his throat out. Soak the bastards in his blood. Do…." She coughed, and her body trembled. "What is it doing?"

Tu'Pari raised his knife, and turned the prone Ta'Lon over. The Ranger's face was a mass of bleeding tissue, especially his left eye. Now that Garibaldi could see what had been done to it, he felt like retching. He didn't. He had to remain clear-headed. What was being done here was wrong. Very wrong, and it was coming to an end. If he didn't do something now….

Tu'Pari placed his knife on Ta'Lon's throat.

Garibaldi started forward, charging at the two Narns. He had no weapon, but he had to do what he could.

A solid wall of nothingness appeared before him. He ran into it and fell sprawling, only partly conscious. "Naughty, naughty," whispered Donne. "I can read your mind, remember. You're working for Al, so I suppose I shouldn't kill you…. but maybe I will…." She coughed again, her body shaking.

The ground beneath them shook, and everything happened at once.

Tu'Pari plunged his dagger downwards. Ta'Lon's hand shot upwards and wrenched the blade from his hands.

Susan Ivanova staggered to her feet, voices crying out in her mind.

Something burst at the back of Donne's brain. The Machine rejected her physical body as it had long ago rejected her soul, and she fell from it, dead before she hit the ground.

The planet rumbled.

It had turned. Captain Dexter Smith could see that. The Marten was disabled, the Corinthian gone, the Morningstar sorely pressed, the station lost, and the Machine….

He sat back in his chair, the chair that had marked out his ghost for the past year. That spectre had now finished any hope for success in this mission.

"God forgive me," he whispered.

"Babylon…. this is Ryan. Do you read me?" The voice over the comm channel was filled with desperation. He knew it as well. The battle was lost.

"Babylon here," Smith replied. "Get out of here, General. It's over. Try to free up the Marten and leave."

"Negative, Babylon…. we have to fight on."

"It's over, General. We've lost. Don't let this defeat become a disaster. We've recovered from worse than this. We'll be back."

Smith could imagine Ryan's expression, a terrified resignation, a slow nod, an acceptance that the words he was hearing were true. "Confirmed, Babylon. The Marten has managed to fix up engines, but not yet weaponry. It can leave. A full retreat. Repeat, we…."

"I'll stay here, General. I'll cover your escape."

"But Captain…."

"You know what will happen to me if I go back, General. I'll hold them off long enough for the two of you to get out of here. Go!"

"Understood, Babylon. Good luck."

Duty. Duty and leadership. Smith knew he owed a duty to those under his command, to those he had betrayed with his pride and tunnel vision. Too obsessed with Sheridan to safeguard properly the station or the planet.

He had to redeem himself, first to his fellow captains, and then to those under his command. They would be safe, he would ensure it. He would buy their safety with his own life.

He looked at Franklin, and bowed his head sadly.

"Take us forward. Cover them."

He shook as he heard the reply. "Yes, sir."

"The Darkness is coming! The Darkness is coming! You can feel it, you can hear it, you will embrace it so that it may claim you…. The Darkness is coming!"

Londo grimaced and put his hands against his ears. "Will that person shut up?"

He had no idea who it was who was talking. The person in the next cell presumably. Or the one down. Or across the corridor perhaps.

He had no idea where Lennier was. He had no idea where Malachi was either. He had not managed to see his old friend, and he was still no nearer the answers to his questions. He was however much nearer his execution.

"Londo," had exclaimed the smiling countenance of Lady Elrisia. "Such a pleasure." Cartagia was next to her. "Imagine our surprise at hearing you were coming here. Imagine our…. pleasure."

"I need to see Malachi."

"He is ill," Elrisia had said with considerable satisfaction. "Very sad of course, but then he is an old man. The…. rigours of recent months are bound to have taken their toll on him."

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing. Yet. We don't need to. You see, Londo, I've learned a great deal about politics recently. You, and that dear, dead husband of mine taught me a lot, and the main thing you taught me was that power comes from the top. Everyone else is scrambling around trying to get hold of bits and pieces at the side, working from the bottom up…. but we…. we just went straight for the heart. We control the Court now — the Court, the guards, most of the Centarum, and now you."

"Then why have you not been doing anything? For the Emperor's sake, Elrisia…. look outside! The city is burning…. The Empire is burning! Why are you not doing anything?"