"Hang on," said the third. "What if you're right, Roberts?" said the third thoughtfully.
"What of it?"
"Well, what's the quickest route from here to the tube station?"
"Left down that alley, across and then left at the Security building. If she's going there, she won't have come up this street."
"But," said the third. "What about that narrow walk we just passed? With a bit of effort you could get through that hole in the wire fencing, right? And then from there it's a couple of minutes to the tube, taking all the back roads where no one could spot her."
"Well, what do you know?" said the first in wonder. "It's looks like we're both right, Roberts. She did come this way. Come on, I think we're going to owe you a drink, Petrov."
"Once we've found her," grunted the second, Roberts. "Let's go."
Talia waited for a few minutes as their footsteps receded, then breathed out slowly and emerged from her alcove. So, they'd be watching the tube station. That meant she'd have to stay in 301 for a few days and try to sneak out later. She….
She felt a presence behind her, but just as she made to turn an arm caught her around the neck and a hand clasped firmly down over her mouth. Something was wrong. She hadn't sensed him coming.
She let her assailant half-drag her away from the street towards a door in the nearest wall. He nudged it open, and then pulled her inside.
Then, once the door was closed and she was satisfied that her attacker was alone, she acted. Her telepathic abilities might or might not be useless against this person, but a good elbow in the stomach dealt with anyone.
She lunged out and he staggered back, gasping. She pulled a long, slender blade from her other sleeve and waited for him to move. The door she had been pulled through did not lead to a house, but into a small tunnel. There was light at the far end of it, enough for her to see her attacker clearly. She did not recognise him as one of Trace's men, he was not a security guard, and he was a little too well-dressed for an average denizen of Sector 301. She was almost intrigued, realising he was faintly familiar.
"Why did you attack me?" she asked, willing to trust her intuition and not take further action. Besides, she was armed and he wasn't, and she wasn't winded.
"I didn't," he gasped. "I'm a friend. At least…. I think I am."
She knew that voice. She closed her eyes, breathing out silently and sheathing her knife. "Captain Smith," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"That's funny," he replied, looking up. "I was just about to ask you the same question. The last I heard you'd somehow escaped from your holding cell and just disappeared. That was after sabotaging my ship, of course. I didn't expect to find you in The Pit, but it makes sense, I guess. Oh, and it's private citizen Mr. Smith now. Or Dexter, to all the friends I don't have."
"Talia," she replied.
"Is that what the T stood for? Ah, I never knew. I had you guessed as more of a Tabitha, personally."
"What are you doing here?"
"I live in three-o-one. I grew up here, and trust me, I know this place better than most people. Better than you, it seems. You looked to be in a spot of trouble."
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
He moved forward. "Are you going to give me any straight answers, Lieutenant Talia Stoner? You can read my mind if you like, to satisfy yourself I'm not working for Trace. Yes, I know you're a telepath, and I know who Trace is. What I don't know is why he's chasing you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me any more! You did enough of that all the time you were on my ship. How long was it? A year? I want to know the truth."
"No," she replied softly, a little sorrowfully. "You don't." He might have been expecting a psychic attack. He might even have been expecting a physical attack. He certainly wasn't expecting both together.
Very few people stayed conscious through a combination of a psi blast and a kick to the chest, and he wasn't one of them.
"I'm sorry," she said to no one in particular, and then she continued in search of her place of sanctuary.
Sinoval had always held it one of his greatest gifts that he never regretted any single decision he had ever made. He did not spend time in pointless recriminations and self-doubts. He merely accepted that he had made a mistake, and resolved never to repeat it.
Leaving Minbar had led to disastrous consequences, but he had needed answers, answers that could not have been found on Minbar. To be certain of his destiny he had needed to seek wisdom and enlightenment elsewhere, and that had brought him here.
Trusting Kalain had been a mistake also, although one that could not have been foreseen. Sinoval had known Kalain as he had known and trusted none other. He had not known of his insanity, or of his infection.
He had made many other errors, but all had been committed with full regard to all the information he had had available. He accepted that, and moved on. The words 'if only' had never held any power over him.
Until now.
The realisation of Kozorr's betrayal was a bitter one, and for the first time in his life Sinoval gave thought to the past, and wondered what he could have done to prevent it.
He had been foolish not to recognise another Marrain. The First Ranger had betrayed Valen out of the pettiest of motives, jealousy, and the greatest of tragedies, love. In conversation with that haunted, tortured soul, Sinoval had learned the depth of Marrain's feelings for Derannimer, who had married Valen and borne his heirs. Marrain had been tortured by his inadequacy beside Valen. In every way he was a little bit less than the one he followed. Without Valen he would have been pre-eminent. With him, Marrain was nothing but a shadow.
And so it was for Kozorr. He was not the leader of his caste, or the greatest warrior alive, because of Sinoval himself. Kozorr loved Kats with a true and powerful passion that he had tried to restrain, only to have it burst forth.
The gentle worker had been much in Sinoval's thoughts of late. Her bleak depression after Kozorr's 'death' had inflicted deep wounds in the Primarch he had not been able to reconcile. He did not love her, for he did not know how to love. Her malady was beyond his power to fight, for it was beyond his experience.
But he could not deny just what she brought to his life. She was everything of beauty he had ever known, and a constant reminder of why he fought as he did. There was someone to whom life was more than a struggle, more than an eternal war against forces that could not be seen, more than a never-ending challenge that could never be met.
He had never in his life wanted to avoid something as much as he wanted to avoid that meeting with her, but he could not do so. He was a warrior, and a leader of warriors. He had his duties, and his responsibilities, and he would face up to the things he feared.
Slowly, tentatively, he explained to her what had happened. Kozorr was gone now, having taken his shuttle and returned to his corrupt master. He had not tried to make contact with Kats, which was the one thing Sinoval had feared.
She said nothing throughout his explanation, and her expression was still.
When he finished, she bowed her head.
"I knew it somehow," she whispered. "I saw it in his eyes when he came to see me. There was a darkness that had not been there before."
Sinoval said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"He saw me when I was in pain, when I was crying, screaming to the heavens. He saw my weakness, and called it strength. He held me when I cried, and loved me…. I could not…. I could not tell him. I was afraid of losing him, of him losing me. He had already given so much for me. How could I ask for more?"
She was silent, but then she looked up. Her eyes were cold and dead. Sinoval had always thought them the most beautiful thing about her.
"I have shed too many tears," she whispered. "I will shed no more." Then she turned and left. He wanted to follow her, but he could not. There was nothing he could do to comfort her. He knew nothing of love, or loss.
But he knew a great deal about war, and revenge, and he planned to utilise all his knowledge, every last piece of it.
John was sleeping now. He looked so peaceful. So happy.
Delenn wanted to remain there watching him all night. It was an old Minbari ritual, in which she would hope to discover his true face. Not that she had any need to, now. She had renounced a great deal of what had made her Minbari, and their courtship had passed beyond the sleep-watching stage a long time ago. A year now, it must have been. A year since Minbar, since they had discovered he was dying.
She was suddenly aware of a presence behind her, and she turned. He was there. The Vorlon, Ulkesh.
The Vorlon was silent, simply watching. Delenn could hear the faint traces of music in the air invoked by his presence.
"I'm ready," she said softly.
The Vorlon's eyepiece shifted, as if nodding. <Good.>
Delenn looked back at John. He was still sleeping. She would never forget him; his face, his voice, his hands, everything would remain in her memory for the rest of her life. However long that might be.
She slowly moved away from the bed, out into the main room. Ulkesh followed her. "What will happen now?"
<You will go to Z'ha'dum. You will die. He will live.>
"Why?" she whispered. "I still don't understand. Why?"
<Understanding is a three-edged sword. That is not required of you. Obedience is.>
She looked directly at him, her face hard. She knew what he required of her. She just did not know why. It didn't matter. Others would, and they would carry on. She had made all the preparations she could. There was nothing more to do now but go.