"All I think of is the future."
G'Kar looked at her, feeling his mouth twist into a semblance of a smile. "You could never lie to me," he whispered.
"I am not. I think of the future all the time. But the future is shaped by the past. You told me that once, me and a thousand others."
"G'Khorazhar."
"I was just one of many. A pilgrim, a traveller, come to hear the words of the prophet, the preacher of the future of our people." She shook her head. "I suppose that even after all that had passed between us, I wanted to be near to you."
"You always were," he said, although the words were so soft he could not be sure he had actually spoken them aloud.
She carried on without reacting, as if they had been nothing more than thoughts. "Your words touched me. It was as if you were speaking only to me. I remembered our long conversations at night, beneath the stars, and the voice was the same as the one I knew.
"I later found out that every other person there felt the same way.
"You have a remarkable gift, G'Kar. You always did. I went away and I thought about your words. I thought about what you had said, looking for something there, for some wisdom and insight."
She paused, shaking. When she looked up again, her eyes were filled with anger. They looked demonic by the light of the globe. "I found it. I saw your words of forgiveness and unity and understanding and I shook with rage. I had hoped before that your message was misrepresented, or that it was an imposter pretending to be you, or that the Centauri had brainwashed you, or any one of a number of things.
"I had never wanted to think that you were actually advocating an alliance with the Centauri."
"I told you of my feelings when we parted," he whispered. "When I returned your armlet."
"I remember. I had hoped they were.... fleeting. You were a warrior, G'Kar! A leader. You could be leading the Kha'Ri by now! You could be ruling half the galaxy! Our people would follow you into fire and darkness without a second thought. With just a few words you managed to derail the entire course of the war with the Centauri. Think about what you could have done.
"And you spend all that power on peace.
"Have you forgotten what they did to me? Have you forgotten what they did to your father, to my sister, to G'Quan knows how many friends and allies?"
"No," he whispered.
"Have you forgotten what they did to my father? Do you remember what was left of Ha'Fili when we found him? I swear I will never forget that.... mass of flesh, sightless and limbless, screaming over and over again for mercy. Do you remember?"
"I remember," G'Kar whispered, seeing again the knife in his hand that had plunged into Ha'Fili's heart.
"Do you remember your uncle, carrying back his only daughter's body?"
"I remember."
"Do you remember...?
"Do you remember...?
"Do you remember...?
"Have you forgotten...?
"Have you forgotten...?
"Do you remember...?"
It continued, an endless litany of friends dead and mutilated, of family tortured and butchered, of villages destroyed and burned, of memories lost and eradicated. His reply to each was the same.
"I remember."
"I remember."
"I remember."
"You hated them once. I remember that hatred. Do you remember what you told me the night we buried my sister? You said that you wished you could kill every one of them, and then bring them back to life so you could kill them again."
"I remember."
Gently she unhooked the top of her tunic, pulling it open. G'Kar could not look away from the sight of the deep scar running from her neck almost to her waist. A Centauri torturer had done that with a garden fork, forcing him to watch.
"I remember."
"Do you still hate them?" she asked. "The people who did this to me, who did all those things to you?"
"No," he replied. "I pity them."
She looked at him. "I never stopped hating them. I pity them as well, but I still hate them.
"Now I hate you, too. But I pity you as well.
"What do you say to that?"
"I pity you, Da'Kal.
"And I am sorry."
Sinoval looked out across the dying city, his eyes dark and angry. Elsewhere he knew that a battle was beginning, just one move in a long strategy, just one tactic towards an ultimate goal.
And he was here.
Not trapped, not now that he had time to think and reason. He could see the avenues and warrens of hyperspace opening up around him. He could find a way back. This exercise was not aimed at trapping him forever. It was a warning.
A warning of what the Vorlons would do to the galaxy if he did not surrender to them.
And somewhere down there was Sheridan, as lost and trapped in this soulscape as he was. His body still lay asleep on Babylon 5, vulnerable to whatever the Vorlons wanted to do to him. If his soul was to be saved, it would have to be now, before anything more could be done to his body.
He sighed. The greatest battle plan in history did not survive first contact with the enemy.
There. A spark of life running through a labyrinth of mirrors. The creatures of this place loved mirrors, knowing the portals that could be crafted through them.
Sinoval stepped forward and floated down into the city. He had to be quick. There was very little time to waste.
"My congratulations on your composure, my lady. You are remarkably brave."
Timov shifted slightly in her seat. This throne was incredibly uncomfortable. How exactly had Londo managed it for so long? "Once you have survived a lifetime with Londo," she told Durla, "you will find little to unnerve you. Certainly not an alien invasion."
"Regardless, I have seen trained soldiers less brave, my lady."
"And do you assume that it is only men who are capable of being brave, Durla?"
"Not any more."
Reports were sketchy, but what little they had been able to discover had not been welcome. The defence grid was down, the raiders inside the atmosphere. Soldiers had landed on the outskirts of the city. There was no Alliance help anywhere, and Mr. Morden and his Inquisitors had vanished completely. The Palace Guard was dangerously overstretched, and Timov had only Durla to protect her.
There was little to do but wait, little to hope for but a miracle.
Still, Timov kept her dignity. She always had throughout her long years married to Londo. She had promised him a hundred times that she would deliver his Republic to him safe and secure, and she would not let him wake up to find she had not kept her promise.
The door opened with a burst of force and energy, to admit a tall, naked alien with what looked to Timov like far too many joints. Two more followed her.
"Greetings," Timov said. The aliens walked like rulers. They were clearly arrogant and convinced of their own power, but madness gleamed in their eyes. "I am Timov, Lady Consort of Emperor Londo Mollari II. I take it you have come here to surrender?"
The alien inclined her head slightly. "This one is noMir Ru, Songless One. We have come here in revenge for wrongs committed and songs taken. We have come to destroy, not to surrender."
"Yes, yes. Most.... impressive," Timov said. "Tuchanq, yes. I recognise you now. Although what grudge you have against us, I do not know, but then.... I do not truly believe that matters, does it?"
"Songs taken from us, the Land raped and burned and rendered dead. The air turned to smog and dust. No songs sung, no melodies crafted."
"Ah," she said. "And this will undo all that?"