She had something he would never have. She was superior to him, and she knew it.
He ran.
He just wished he could remember her name.
He just wished he had been able to apologise.
"Ah, well," he breathed, or perhaps he only thought the words.
The PPG fell from William Edgars' dead hand. His eyes were closed before it hit the floor.
We are your masters and your saviours.
The words hit them at the same time as they hit everyone else on the station, but for Sinoval and Sebastian they had a far deeper meaning. Sebastian stiffened the instant he heard them, snapping to attention with the instinct of centuries.
They were his masters, and his saviours. The words were simply accepted.
For Sinoval, lying stunned and near–comatose, the words came from a long way away, from far beyond the tidal wave of pain and shock that had swept over him. Stormbringer, his blade, the weapon into which he had poured his soul, was broken.
He had fallen on the field of battle. His weapon broken, his confidence shattered, blind and deaf and mute, he was unaware that Kats had fallen too. To him, the words that sounded in his mind were the confirmation of his defeat.
He was lost.
The words continued, Sebastian still standing stiff and to attention, Sinoval still dazed and paralysed, each man accepting them for what they were, the voice of the Vorlons triumphant and powerful.
And then came the human voice - an angry voice, furious, twisted by grief and rage. It sounded so very different from the calm precision of the Vorlon. It sounded irrational, discordant, off....
It sounded individual.
It sounded real.
It sounded free.
It sounded human.
Sebastian's face contorted into a mask of rage as he heard Sheridan shouting at his master and his saviour, daring to criticise the lord of Light, daring to oppose the reasoned logic, daring even to say that the vanquished Enemy had been triumphant....
.... had been wiser!
"What is this?" Sebastian asked. The voices continued, and he grew more and more enraged. "What is this?!"
Sinoval heard his words, but they were screamed from far away, no more real, or just as real as the others.
"This is your doing!" Sebastian roared. "This is your doing!"
Sinoval did not reply.
Nor did Kats, slumped against the wall, coughing blood and bad dreams while breathing though iron mesh.
All of them heard it. All of them saw it.
<You will obey us, or you will die!>
"Then I guess I'll die."
<You do not fear death?>
"I fear a lot of things. I'm afraid I'll never get to tell Delenn how sorry I am, or how angry I am. I'm afraid you'll carry on walking blind, destroying us all without realising it.
"And I'm afraid no one will actually learn any lessons from all this. That's the greatest weakness we 'ephemeral' beings have, you see. We don't learn from the past.
"But I'm not afraid of dying, and if the choice is death or kneeling before you and kissing your shiny encounter–suited boots, then I'd rather die."
The encounter suit opened, and the blazing light poured out.
The Vorlon spoke in a chill, precise, judicial tone.
<Then die.>
They all saw it, and every one of them felt it.
Every single one of them died with him, for just a moment.
And then, as the pain receded, the anger began.
"Son of a bitch!" Susan roared. "You son of a bitch!"
The image stopped with that awful rush of pain through her body. The words faded, along with the powerful surge of emotion that had accompanied them. The anger remained of course. That was hers, not his.
"You worthless son of a bitch!"
That is the price of receiving what you asked for, spoke the eternally level voice of Lorien in her mind.
"They killed him! Just like that! Just because he wouldn't do what they said!"
Yes, they did. That, as was once said, is the problem with mortals. They tend to die.
"How can you be so bloody smug?"
Would anger help?
"Anger always helps."
You have not been close to him for many years. Both of you are very different people from when last you met. What was he to you that you grieve so?
"Listen. This isn't grief. This is anger."
I always believed the two to be one and the same.
"Not on your life. And it doesn't matter what I thought of him. God, I knew Anna. She was my friend, and she's dead as well. And he and I.... we once.... that's not the sort of thing you.... Dammit, I want to kill every last damned one of them!"
Yes, that is anger.
"Can't you help, or were you just going to stand there mouthing platitudes?"
I have done all I can, and I think you will find it was enough for now. As you will soon see. It was a pleasure to know you, Susan Ivanova. I go now with reason to feel proud. You have exceeded my highest expectations.
"What the...? Lorien, what...?"
Time returned, and with it a pause of a single second, and then the furious, shocked voice of the outmanoeuvred white Vorlon.
<You let them see!
<You let them all see!>
She did not cry.
She had thought she would cry. This was a moment she had thought about for many years.
This was war. It was a fact of war, a necessity of war, that people died.
He had been ill, some years ago. Terminally ill. She had been prepared for his death.
She could have cried then.
But not now.
As the Blessed Delenn of Mir watched General John Sheridan die, she found she could not cry at all.
She looked around at her companions, searching for their reactions. Na'Toth still stood guard at the door, weapon ready. Kulomani was continuing to work at his console. Perhaps neither of them had seen.
G'Kar's single eye was closed, and he was muttering a prayer in his own language. L'Neer clung tightly to him, and Delenn felt an intense pang of sympathy for the child. After all she had been through recently, this must all be so bewildering for her.
"It's a lie," hissed David's voice. She turned to look at him. Angry tears were pouring down his face. "It's a lie. It's all some trick...."
"A trick to demonstrate how lost they are?" Delenn asked coldly. "A trick to reveal to us their weaknesses, their foolish pride? No, this is no trick. It is real."
"I don't believe it."
"That is your prerogative. I know it is true. It has the feel of a real thing."
She stared at him, and she could see the betrayal in his eyes, the anger and the grief at the loss of a friend and a mentor. Why could she feel none of these things? Why could she feel....
.... nothing?
"It is done," Kulomani said. He had continued working throughout the conversation, throughout the blaze of light and the burst of pain, and throughout the dull, dead silence that had followed. Perhaps he had not heard.
"It is done," he said again. "I heard, and I saw, but I had a task, and it is done." His words were stronger than she had expected, but perhaps the visions had given him strength.
"You can talk to everyone on the station, to the fleets, to anyone you wish," he said. Then he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. The sounds coming from his chest were chilling, but Delenn said nothing. She walked slowly over to one of the terminals and activated the newly–freed commpanel.