"I make it a point to know everything you do."

She said it with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. He laughed awkwardly, like someone who doesn't understand the joke but responds out of false politeness. "And you do it very well, too." He paused again. "How long until we have to get up?"

"Perhaps an hour?" She touched his shoulder. "Hardly worth going back to sleep now, is it?"

"No," he said, sighing. Rubbing at his head, he got out of bed, casually discarding the covers. Delenn looked at him, and with a sigh of her own, gathered them around her. If she had hoped they would warm her, she was disappointed.

She rested her head back, looking at anywhere that was not him.

"That's it," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"The other thing in my dream. All those mirrors, a room full of them.

"And I didn't have a reflection. Not in any of them."

Asleep, hovering, trapped between life and death.

As he has been for weeks unending, Emperor Londo Mollari II is at rest, as still as the grave.

He has had few visitors. Few speak his name. Few even think of him. He is as forgotten as if he were dead. Power makes one few friends, few true friends, and he has made fewer still, for he had the illusion of power without the reality.

His personal physician, the finest in the Republic, attends his bedside often, monitoring his condition and his equipment and administering more and more expensive medicines.

His wife and Lady Consort and even — although do not say it to her face — Empress, the Lady Timov, visits every night, bringing a meal and a drink that is always removed in the morning untouched, and given to the servants.

And there is another. A human, the most hated man in the entire Republic.

He goes by the name of Mr. Morden, disdaining titles, because he knows he has power, and a title and rank mean nothing to one with that knowledge.

He says nothing. He never does. He simply watches this man he has known for many years, before ever he was Emperor.

And then he leaves, as silently as he entered. He returns to his room and sits and reads reports, or thinks, or does any one of a number of things.

Today is different.

Morden stepped back hurriedly, only just avoiding walking into the man standing directly outside the door. He was tall and pale, dressed elegantly and punctiliously in a style popular on Earth several hundred years ago. He never smiled. He never blinked. He never fidgeted, or tapped his feet, or checked his pockets.

He was the least human person Morden knew.

But power had to be respected, and Sebastian wielded more of it than he did.

"My apologies, Inquisitor," he said, bowing. "I take it your business in the Byzantine Mountains is concluded."

"It is," Sebastian acknowledged. "The technicians and labour I requested have been removed. Arrange appropriate compensation for their families."

"Of course. As you say. Is there anything else you require?"

"No. I am done here. I will consult with my fellow Inquisitors and we will leave in the morning. But first, one thing."

"Yes, Inquisitor?"

"Did you really think you could talk to my captive without my knowledge?"

Morden paused. He had seen a great many things in his life, more than any mortal human had a right to, and yet nothing he had ever seen scared him half as much as Sebastian did.

Still, he was a diplomat, and he knew better than to answer such a question in a hurry, or to show any sign of fear.

"I apologise, Inquisitor. There was something I had to ask him."

"My instructions were that no one was to see him."

"Yes, Inquisitor. I.... await your punishment."

"You are a loyal servant of the Vorlons. It is for Them to punish you for your transgressions, not I. Of what did you speak to my captive?"

"I asked him one thing. His.... kind can sense death. I needed to know if Emperor Mollari was going to die."

"Very well. My business here is concluded." He reached one hand to the brim of his hat and began to walk away.

"Do you not wish to know the answer, Inquisitor?"

"No. This insignificant world and its insignificant people do not interest me any longer. As I have said, my business here is done. Good day, Mr. Morden." He left, but Morden could still hear the tapping of his cane on the floor.

It was over an hour before he stopped shaking.

Since the dawn of empires and rulers, there has been only one currency worth trading in. It is not gold, or latinum, or carborundum, or paper notes, or any other mineral or money. It is information.

Most leaders merely manage to know what has happened in the past. A few manage to be aware of what is happening now. G'Kar liked to think that both types lacked imagination.

He had lost a lot of his resources since the destruction of the Great Machine, and in his subsequent depression and ill health he had let himself grow lax and uncaring. A conversation with Kulomani of all people had changed things. The new Commanding Officer of Babylon 5 had managed to convince him to return to his duty: the Rangers. As he sat alone in his meeting room, he cursed himself for being asleep for so long. If he had been able to act a little sooner, maybe.... maybe this whole mess could have been avoided, or at least ameliorated.

He turned the data crystal in his thick fingers, wishing he could avoid the urge to crush it to powder. Things had been so much easier when he had been willingly insensate, when he had simply not cared. Now it was time for him to start caring, and to start doing.

There was a knock at his door, polite and restrained but authoritative enough to confirm that here was a person of some power. G'Kar sighed. He knew G'Kael did not do it on purpose, but some things were simply too ingrained to erase. There was a chime of course, but G'Kael probably never even contemplated using it. It was just too.... impersonal.

"Enter," he said.

The door opened and the Narn Regime's ambassador to the United Alliance entered. He clasped his hands together into fists and nodded his head briefly.

"You wanted to see me, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar."

"Yes." G'Kar waved at a seat opposite him. "Please be seated." G'Kael did so. "Food? Drink? I have had some teree prepared, and there is a human drink here that Delenn has grown quite fond of and is trying to interest me in. It is called 'tea'."

"No thank you, Ha'Cormar'ah. I have only recently eaten."

"Ah. You are very.... careful about what you imbibe, are you not, G'Kael?"

The Ambassador smiled slightly. "People who are not do not survive very long in the circles in which we both move, Ha'Cormar'ah."

"Circles. Of course. We both move in very.... interesting circles, do we not?"

"I would suppose so."

G'Kar flicked the data crystal across the table, and G'Kael caught it easily. "We learned a great deal from the Centauri," G'Kar continued. "We learned about space. We learned about war. We learned about the galaxy, we learned how to fight, and we learned how to hate. All of those things are still with us to a greater or lesser degree, but most of all.... We learned how to play their games.

"We learned about intrigue and deception. The 'Great Game', they call it, and they have been playing it for all their recorded history. A game of intrigue and diplomacy and unseen alliances. We have taken it on board very well, as I remember from my time among the Kha'Ri. Assassins, backstabbing, lies.... I remember it well."