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The second problem was more serious. The Shadows.

He had nearly completed the first layer of his minefield, fighting a slow holding and repelling action against the Minbari as he did so, when the first Shadow ship blazed by over the Parmenion. He felt a high pitched agonising scream burn into his mind and he stumbled for a moment. Glancing over at the viewscreen, he was astonished by what he saw. He had never seen a Shadow vessel before, but he knew that the large, black, almost living, spider-like thing could only be a Shadow ship.

The others on the bridge had been affected as well. Corwin was wincing, and the rest of the bridge crew were shaking their heads or holding their hands over their ears.

All except one.

Alisa Beldon did not belong on the bridge. In fact, Sheridan did not really understand why Bester had placed a telepath on the ship at all.

He was about to find out.

Alisa was concentrating. Her eyes were closed and her hands clenched into fists. Blood was dripping from one palm. Sheridan looked at the tactical display in front of him. The… the thing… the Shadow ship… it wasn’t moving. It seemed… paralysed.

He looked up at Corwin. His second had clearly noticed the same thing.

“I think we’ve been set up,” Corwin said.

“Me too. Remind me to kill Bester when we get back.”

‘Do what you think is best,’ Bester had said. Sheridan had assumed he had meant with regard to the Minbari. Bester hadn’t. The pieces were finally clicking together. Bester had sent his ships here to fight the Shadows. Telepaths provided some sort of weapon against them. Bester had been forcing him into making this decision.

He remembered Delenn’s earnest words about the Great War and the Ancient Enemy. He wasn’t sure he’d believed her before, not even after the Babylon 4 incident. Now, he did.

He whispered his wife’s name softly. Anna’s death had been caused by these people, whether directly or indirectly it did not matter. They had corrupted the Resistance Government, killed his wife, caused him to become an exile and traitor.

He looked at Corwin, who shrugged.

“Left broadsides, multiple strikes against that thing,” he ordered.

“Tear it apart.”

The bridge crew smiled, as if they’d been expecting nothing else.

In the words of a great leader of millennia before:

Alea jacta est.

The die is cast.

* * * * * * *

There is a darkness here, thought Ta’Lon. A grave and terrible darkness.

He could feel it, in the air, in the ground, in the people he met and saw. They had given themselves over to the Enemy willingly, either not knowing or not caring about the consequences. They had done so out of fear, it was true, but they had still surrendered to the Darkness.

Alarms had been given, warning the people to enter shelters – shelters that would do no good if the Minbari did to Proxima what they had done to Earth. The people had largely ignored them. Instead they were waiting beneath the Main Dome, staring up into the skies and dreading the arrival of the blinding light that would herald the end of their existence.

Ta’Lon was alone here, but he had his mission. To find Marcus Cole. To find Lyta Alexander. To free them from the Darkness that ruled this place.

Security guards were no more disciplined than were the common people. Many were standing outside panicking. Many had abandoned their posts, perhaps seeking a last moment with lovers or children or friends, perhaps seeking to avoid the knowledge of their coming death in a fog of drink, perhaps doing many things…

Entering the main government complex of the Main Dome was easy. G’Kar had, a long time ago, obtained plans of most of the major cities and complexes of most of the major power bases in the galaxy. Always in case of emergencies…

The first place Ta’Lon tried was the Detention Block. There was a guard on duty there, one in whom Ta’Lon recognised a calm professionalism driven to near despair. He had refused Ta’Lon entry, had stuck to his determination as if it were the last breath of air in his body.

And so Ta’Lon had tried elsewhere. Fortune was on his side.

The human was pacing up and down the corridors, despair and tragedy in his eyes. He looked haunted. He looked anguished. He looked… he looked lost.

Ta’Lon had false papers authorising him as a Narn security advisor. The security guard at the Detention Block had insisted on having them verified and Ta’Lon had not had the time for that. The papers had managed to get him in this far.

The human was talking to himself, speaking the same four words over and over again.

“The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming. The Minbari are coming.”

The human stopped when he saw Ta’Lon. The Narn saw a general’s insignia on his uniform. “You…?” the general whispered. “I remember you. It was… it was…”

And Ta’Lon remembered him now, although he was astonished to recognise this haunted figure as the calm, confident General Hague he had known in the last war with the Centauri. The humans had assisted in the war – well, Sheridan had, which amounted to the same thing – and General Hague had come to the city of G’Khamazad for meetings with the Kha’Ri. Ta’Lon had been in the Narn military then, and he had been responsible for the escort that brought General Hague in.

Of course, that was before G’Kar. That was before Neroon. That was a million years ago.

“General Hague,” Ta’Lon said slowly.

“You’re dead,” Hague said. “You’re… dead. I’m certain you were dead. We’re all… dead. All dead… The Minbari are coming.”

“Do you know where Marcus Cole and Lyta Alexander are?” Ta’Lon asked. He was not expecting rationality, but maybe, maybe there was hope… The Darkness had not claimed him just yet, but madness had instead.

“No!” he cried out. “No! I… Oh God, what have I become? Plenty of company at the bottom… she said. At the… bottom…” Hague blinked. “Room six, ground floor, Grey area. Go. Save them! Please… the price… some prices are too great.”

Ta’Lon nodded and silently thanked Hague. He made to go, and then he patted the general nervously on the arm. Hague was lost. The best he could hope for was to die without realising what had happened to his people.

Ta’Lon had made it to the right area, when he came to an abrupt halt. Standing at the entrance to the hall was a human, flanked by two security guards.

“Even in the midst of anarchy, there must be some order,” the leader said. “Even in chaos, there is purpose. May I know yours, please?”

* * * * * * *

The White Stars moved forward, over and under Sheridan’s hastily constructed minefield. They could see their enemies. The human ships they had come to destroy, and the Shadows defending them. A long way further towards the centre of the system, near Proxima 3 itself, there was a frantic battle between a Narn ship, a Centauri ship, two human ships and the Shadows, but that was there. Here, out on the edge of the Proxima system, it was Minbari versus Shadows, as it had been before, with no Vorlons, no First Ones, no Valen to aid them. On the other hand, they did have the Starkiller.

The first Shadow ships, screaming and black and dark against the night, came into view of the first White Stars. The White Stars were faster than the greater Minbari ships, and had entered the breach first.

They were not faster than the Shadows.

One Shadow ship was struck by the focussed bursts from two White Stars at once. The Minbari had clashed with their Ancient Enemy before this battle, in small skirmishes. The one at Mars had been destroyed, so had the ships at Ganymede. But never in this number, never on this scale.

Another Shadow soared above the White Stars and tore them apart with its energy burst. The wounded ship fell back and two more rose forward. More White Stars came, and combined their forces. One Shadow ship screamed as its outer spines were burned away. Minbari on both ships felt the scream. Shortly after their own screams were added to it as the Shadows struck back.