"Then, Satai, you will have to wait and see. It is said that the poor hunter chases his prey. The wise hunter waits where he knows his prey will arrive. I have spent almost two years gathering information, learning his weaknesses and his vulnerabilities. He will come here, he will walk up to me, and I shall destroy him."
"He's defeated better than you."
"There are none better than me. Primarch Sinoval is coming here. I can feel the ship of the dead growing closer all the time. We know what he intends, and we will destroy him. I told you that I know all his weaknesses, Satai. All of them. It is a commendably short list."
Power crackled through his staff, and through him.
And through her.
She cried out and slumped to the floor, shaking. He tapped his cane against the floor and a wave of energy shot through the room. It poured into Tirivail before she could even move, and slammed her into the wall. She fell to the floor, unconscious and still.
Kats was still conscious, but shaking. He gently tapped his cane against the floor again and she cried out again.
"It was very convenient of you to come and find me, but I would have sent for you in any event. It will be.... oddly fitting that I destroy him here, beneath the gaze of my lords."
Kats looked up at him, and the fear in her eyes was more pronounced now.
"Weakness such as yours always leads to downfall in the end.
"Watch shortly, and I shall demonstrate."
* * *
YOU
* * *
Here we are, all of us.
There could be a worse group from which to assemble an army, but few spring to mind.
The Brotherhood Without Banners, raiders and ravagers and monsters. They sought profit and war, mercenaries and soldiers in a galaxy which, briefly, seemed to need neither. They look to me for inspiration and purpose.
The Tak'cha, over–zealous, dangerously fanatic. They are butchers who will scour the galaxy in their holy war if left unchecked, and the only leader I have given them is a man who has already betrayed more lords than I care to count.
My Soul Hunters. Not warriors, but scholars and custodians. Once they went to war and filled the whole galaxy with blood, spreading terror where they walked. Not even death was a safe haven from us. Is that the fate to which I am dooming the galaxy?
All that keeps these people together is me.
They call me a monster, they call me a heretic, a blasphemer, an abomination.
They can call me whatever they like. I do not care. Their words cannot hurt me, their anger cannot harm me, their hatred is not a weapon I fear.
Am I not still their saviour?
They call me Accursed, and they are right, but not in the way they believe.
I think they will find that every curse has a way to undo it. Nothing is written in stone, and even if it were, stones can be shattered.
I know no fear.
I feel no pain.
And I have business with you, Sebastian.
I could have hoped for more of us, but I will use what we have.
Sinoval stepped to the very edge of the precipice, staring into space. He closed his eyes.
"Susan," he said.
"Yes," came her reply. She was not here, not on the precipice, but she was inside Cathedral, and thus as near as if she stood in his own shadow.
"We are ready. Wait to a count of five hundred, and take the fleet in.
"I have faith in you."
"What...?"
It was too late.
Sinoval jumped.
* * *
WILL
* * *
Looking back at my life, it seems that until this point it was merely long, quiet years of boredom followed by a few quick and terrifying weeks in which people seemed to want to kill me.
That is not quite right, of course. My childhood years were neither long, nor, truly, boring. I had friends. I had the usual childish activities and concerns. I had family. And those few terrifying weeks were not filled with people trying to kill me. I was incidental, little more than a bystander. Of all the great players on that stage, only G'Kar knew I even existed, and his thoughts were doubtless far from me. To the rest of them - General Sheridan, Primarch Sinoval, Delenn - I was just another in a series of numbers.
Some of these great people I would meet later. Some I would not, but that does not change my point at all. Every one of those numbers is a real person, with their own lives and their own dreams. Every sentient life destroyed is a dream never to be known again. Primarch Sinoval once said that the greatest leaders are those who can look at the numbers and see just numbers and not people, or so I was told.
I cannot do that, because I remember when I was just a number. Afraid, alone, missing my home and my family so very badly, encountering death for the first time.
It is a frightening thing, to be a number.
L'Neer of Narn, Learning at the Prophet's Feet.
G'Kar ran as fast as he could from that dark and bloody charnel room, trying to force the sight of all those bodies out of his mind. He had things to do, and quickly. He could feel all his achievements and dreams running through his fingers like sand. He could see all those who had died in his quest watching him, disappointed in his failure.
There was no one out in the corridors of Babylon 5, only the security guards who stood back as he ran, looking as lost and confused as he was. There were no leaders here, and without them the station had become a drifting, rudderless thing, each person retreating into their own concerns.
Precisely as he was.
That was a frightening thought. Could something as large and noble as the Alliance really collapse from the loss of a mere handful of people? Could others really not think and act for themselves? What would happen when he and those like him died?
Had they really built utopia for a single generation?
He reached Na'Toth's office and stopped by the door, pressing the chime frantically. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could smell again those charred bodies. He could see Narn erupting in flames, and the image merged into G'Kael's head caving in with the impact of the ceiling, then to Durano being torn apart.
The door opened, and Na'Toth admitted him. "Welcome, Ha'Cormar'ah," she said bitterly. He entered and the door closed.
The room seemed very dark, at least compared to the brightness of the corridors outside. He actually had to take a few moments to let his eyes adjust.
"I suppose that you have not heard the announcement," Na'Toth said calmly. "We are all to remain in our quarters. No ships are to enter or leave. The jump gate has been closed. The entire station, in fact the entire Alliance, is under martial law."
"The Vorlons?" he breathed.
"The Vorlons." She nodded. "Apparently there are spies of Sinoval's here, as well as numerous other traitors, and they are to be rooted out."
"Lies," he whispered, despairing. "All lies. We said things they did not like, we thought things they did not like, and...."
"That may well be true, but it is not all lies. Primarch Sinoval does have agents here."
G'Kar looked up. "You?"
She nodded.
That revelation hurt him more than he could have thought possible, more in some ways than the deaths he had just witnessed. He had trusted her.
