"Captain...."
"No, General. We're going. Court martial me when we get back. If Kazomi Seven is still there, and Delenn's still alive, it'll be worth it.
"Of course, you could come along and help us yourself."
"Captain.... David, I...."
"Think about it. Think about the person you want to be. If you like I could find you and hit you again. Agamemnon out."
Corwin let out the deep breath. "Come on, come on," he whispered.
The races in service to the Shadows called it a 'Fist of Darkness'. To the fleets of Kazomi 7 it was a death cloud, a vast thing that shimmered into view in the skies above their home, the centre of the United Alliance, a place where Valen had once stood and taught, a place that was home to the Blessed Delenn, a place where lived the only technomage in the worlds of the younger races.
Delenn stood on the bridge of the Drazi warship that had been given the honour of carrying her, and looked at it silently. Many had said she should not be here, but she had remained firm. There was too little time to launch a full evacuation of the planet, and she would not leave while others stayed.
Shadow ships swarmed around it, their cries piercing in the night. The cloud blocked out the stars, leaving an empty void in space.
One of the Drazi said something, and another chuckled, an unusual sound to come from a Drazi.
Delenn mentally translated it.
"At least we are fighting in the shade."
The fleet swept forward.
G'Kael had learned patience, he had learned endurance, and he had learned composure. He had learned many things, from many teachers. The two most important teachers had been Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar and the Centauri.
Sometimes their lessons were hard to remember.
"How long can it take?" he cried. "We cannot rely on communications staying open much longer."
Na'Toth let out a wry chuckle. "There is nothing that takes as long as waiting for a politician to reach a decision."
G'Kael muttered something angrily, and then tried to re–establish his composure. Na'Toth should know. She had been a member of the Kha'Ri until recently. "We don't have time," he snapped again.
"You did not have to stay here," Na'Toth pointed out. "You could have left."
"No, I couldn't. There's.... something about this world. It's special somehow. I'm not going to run and hide while it gets destroyed. I've done too much running and hiding. Besides.... I want to spit on that Vorlon's encounter suit and prove to it that we were right." He paused, and then looked at her. "Why did you stay?"
"Did I have anywhere else to go?
He shrugged. "Well said." The communications screen lit up, and he turned to it. The picture was crackling. "About time," he said. "We need military aid out here, and quick. As much as we can spare." There was no reply. "Can you hear me? We need...."
".... can't.... sound.... blocking.... Kha'Ri in.... closed session.... cannot talk to.... can you hear...?"
"No!" he shouted. "Listen to me. Send help now!"
".... must.... repeat.... signal...."
The screen went blank.
"Too late," G'Kael sighed. He looked up, through the stone that made this building, past roof and clouds and sky, into the heavens. He imagined all the stars there. He imagined them all going out as a cloud swept over the planet. "I think we're on our own now."
"No," Na'Toth said. "We always were."
Darkness washed over Delenn, a great and terrible darkness, as the cloud engulfed her ship.
The Stra'Kath had tried to fight it, but there was little to fight. The Shadow ships that had shimmered into the heavens with the black cloud had merely taken up position by the jump gate, preventing any flight. The Alliance ships had surged at the cloud, only to be torn apart by missiles that burst from inside it. The vast spears tore ships apart, destroying them utterly.
And then the cloud had engulfed the Stra'Kath, and there was only darkness.
And cold. It was so very cold.
"Can we get through to the other ships?" she asked, knowing the answer before she even asked the question.
"No. All communications are down."
"What can we sense?"
"Nothing."
"We will not die here," she whispered. Lyta, can you hear me? We need help. Kazomi Seven needs help.
There was nothing.
John, Lorien. Sinoval. Anyone. We cannot fight this thing. Without the Dark Stars we don't stand a chance. It can destroy us in a heartbeat.
She stopped, the sound of a beating heart echoing in her ears. This thing could destroy them all. It was a weapon capable of destroying whole planets. There were no Dark Stars to oppose it.
Why were they still alive?
Delenn was trying to ponder this when a curtain fell across her mind, and she slumped senseless to the floor.
Vejar closed his eyes and reached out to the darkness amidst the stars. He could feel it, the malevolent sentience that burned within the Fist of Darkness. The Shadows were every bit as adept as the Vorlons at using organic technology, at corrupting sentient life for their own ends.
And speaking of corruption of sentient life....
Something was coming this way. Souls screaming in prisons of light. With them came the residue of pain and terror and wrongness.
Dark Stars. Aptly named. There were few stars in any galaxy darker than they were.
He paused, and probed a little further. Something was strange. One of them was.... different. The bonds were looser. The bonds had been intentionally loosened. The telepath had more freedom. Not enough, but more. She even had a name. She even had someone to talk to.
Strange. Very strange. Galen would be able to exploit that. Galen would involve himself in this, and do what he could to save Kazomi 7. Galen would generally make a point of interfering.
"Damn you, Galen," Vejar whispered. "Look at what you've done to me."
He reached out, and made contact.
There was darkness. She was alone, standing in nothing, with ever nothing and only nothing.
"Welcome," said a familiar voice, and she started. Lyta walked out of the darkness to meet her. The voice was Lyta's, but something.... was wrong.
"Who are you?" Delenn asked, forgetting herself for a moment.
"I'd have thought you would have learned how dangerous that question was by now," Lyta said jovially. "I'm no one. I'm.... an idea. A concept. I represent one thought amidst many.
"I'm certainly not Lyta Alexander.
"Nor am I Arthur Welles." The voice changed, as did Lyta, and suddenly Mr. Welles was there. He was sitting down, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers steepled up before his face.
"Nor am I Marcus Cole." Again the voice changed, and this time Marcus was before her. There was a terrible wound in his chest, ribs caved in, blood staining the front of his tunic. He did not seem to notice the messy and bloody pulp that was his heart.
"No, I'm.... an idea." The voice changed again, and Delenn straightened. She was looking at herself. An exact, flawless, mirror image of herself.
"What do you want?" she asked of herself. That was a question she was not afraid of. That was a question she knew the answer to.
"Ah," the identical Delenn smiled at her, a smile that she would never display, half–mocking and filled with the implication that she knew something no one else did. "That's better. I want to talk to you. To be precise, I want to warn you. Some of us have sent a message to someone else, but he hasn't received it yet.... and that wasn't really the message we wanted sent, if you understand me."