"I did not betray you, Delenn. I would never do that, and I did not betray our people. I simply.... chose another path. Parlonn took this path, the same one as I do now.... a thousand years ago."
"Parlonn was a traitor, was he not?"
"No. He was a visionary, who chose a different destiny for his people. They have told me, Delenn.... all of them. I have seen the Shadows. They are not our enemy! We've been manipulated all along, by the Vorlons, by our own prophecies.... since before Valen.... we've been pushed this way and that."
"I have seen these Shadows, Neroon. I have seen them at war. They attacked our ships, our worlds, our people. Not just Minbari, but all of us. Drazi, Brakiri, Narn.... they exist only to make war."
"No! That's just it, Delenn. You don't understand."
"I don't want to."
He took a step forward and knelt down at her feet. "Delenn," he whispered. "I can free you from this place. I can see you safe. The humans want to kill you.... they want to torture you and execute you. I.... I cannot let that happen."
"The Shadows will...." She swallowed. "They will not be pleased about that."
"I serve them in my own way. I think they recognise that. Agree to serve us, Delenn. Work alongside us. They admire your skills, your strength, your courage. Agree to do that.... and I will protect you." He gently reached up to her face, her human face, and touched her long hair with a quiet wonder.
"You have changed," he whispered. "I like it."
"You have also changed," she said, tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. "You now seem.... so certain of your place. You were so divided before, in the Anla'Shok."
"I was," he said, his hands still in her hair. "Branmer was a good man.... a fine man, but he did not see. He could not see the darkness that was going to engulf us all. In a way, I am glad he passed beyond before it could do so. He would not have wanted to see Minbar as it now is."
"No," Delenn breathed, leaning in close to him. "He would not."
"Now I know, Delenn.... in a way I did not, even with G'Kar. I know where our path is."
"What did they...? Do you.... have a Keeper?" Her voice was so quiet now, it was barely even a whisper.
"No, Delenn. I am myself." Her heart reached out to his heart. "Please, Delenn.... let me protect you. Let me...."
She said nothing. There was nothing to say.
Talia had done this sort of thing countless times before. It had become a skill, a thing she had learned through training and experience, just as she had learned the arts of disguise, infiltration, sabotage.... murder.
It was strange, the knowledge that all these things could be done by a mundane. They were all things that could be learned, with enough time and effort and will, and with a good teacher. Her talents helped her of course, that went without saying, but how much difference would it have made if she did not possess them? Would she merely rely on instinct, or hunches, as Captain Smith did? Of course, he was one of her people as well, no matter how he tried to deny it.
Fortunately, although he had not been trained in infiltration and stealth, his eventful childhood in Sector 301 had taught him a fair few useful tricks.
Trace's nightclub had a back entrance, as both of them had known it would. It had been guarded, but not very well. The security guard — evidently one of Trace's own thugs and not a proper Security agent — had been half asleep, and a slight telepathic pinprick had sent him the rest of the way. The door had been locked, but Al had long ago provided Talia with a very handy electronic skeleton key which opened it in a few seconds.
The noise from the front of the club had not been as loud as she had expected, which was not good. A lot of noise would serve to cover any bumps and bangs they made in the back. As it was, they would have to be more careful.
Finding Trace's office was simply a matter of trial and error. It was the third room they tried, after stumbling upon an old cupboard and a cloakroom. The lock on the office was considerably better than the one outside, and it took Talia's device over a minute to open it. All the while Smith hopped about nervously, keeping out a watchful eye. Talia wondered if she would have time to teach him how to use his telepathy to keep a more efficient watch, but then she realised he probably would not be strong enough.
Just how powerful was he anyway? Not a P5, certainly. A P3, maybe. P2? Less?
She angrily clicked away these irrelevant musings and returned to the task of unlocking the door. It was soon managed, and she pushed it open.
The office was empty, with the lights off. Talia waited until Smith entered, then pushed the door shut. Only when it was closed did she activate the lights.
"What now?" asked Smith, looking around the office. He was probably disappointed to find it so.... normal-looking. Talia was inclined to agree. Weren't the inner sanctums of notorious gangland bosses meant to be more.... opulent than this? Fancy pictures on the walls, various ornamentations hiding fiendishly cunning spy cameras and poisoned blowpipes?
As it was, the only things on the wall were a half-filled-in year planner for the year just finished, and a calendar featuring women in various degrees of undress. A quick scan of the room with another handy gadget soon revealed that there were no recording devices or security cameras of any sort.
"Now," she said, "we find the evidence we need. I find out how he's involved with the telepaths and IPX, and you find solid evidence of criminal activities you can take to Main Dome to stop Trace oppressing the poor, innocent people of Sector Three-o-one."
"Joke all you like," he said bitterly, looking at the calendar, and twisting his head slightly to grasp the angle. "These people need help just as much as anyone else. Hardly anyone lives here by choice. Do you think anyone can actually get into that position? I mean, without being a contortionist or whatever."
"It's one of life's mysteries I'm perfectly happy to leave unanswered. Come on, we might not have much time." She turned to the desk and began rummaging through the flimsies.
"I had a quick glance out front. There's a fair few celebrities out there. From what I know of him, Trace will be spending as much time with them as possible. Maybe getting in a picture or two thanks to the paparazzi."
"Quite likely. Anyone from IPX out there?"
"The only person from IPX who could even remotely be called a celebrity is the CEO, Orin Zento, and I don't think this is his sort of thing. Even if it were, why advertise the relationship?"
"Good point. What about security guards? Off-duty ones, I mean."
"Possible. I don't know too many. Just Allan, mainly. I didn't see him, which I guess is just as well."
"I think I remember him. He might have been on the Babylon for a short time while I was there. You got rid of him, didn't you?"
"Hmm. I had.... some doubts about his ability to do his job." He began flipping through the pages of the calendar. He gave a soft whistle at one picture.
"Any chance of you doing some work here?" Talia asked, acidly. He jumped away from the calendar as if electrocuted.
"Found anything?" he asked, turning.
"Possibly." She was reading a piece of paper with a grim look on her face. "Have a look at this."
"It's a receipt," he replied, taking it. "Compass Deliveries. Never heard of them."
"Nor me, but they've been doing a lot of work for Trace. Look where everything's been delivered to."
"Sector one-one-one. Warehouse district."
"The last-dated delivery is the day after Byron was taken. Here's another business document. From a cryogenics company. Mr. Trace has bought a great deal of freezer units and storage equipment. All human-sized."
"What? You think your friend was put in cryogenic stasis?"