One minute, President John Sheridan was ducking a crowd of reporters desperate for a statement. The next -

He was alone in the corridors of Babylon 5.

Reflexively, he hit the back of his hand, but he was only back as a visitor. And he had a feeling that even if he'd had a link, it wouldn't work.

He was on his own.

But not, he realized, alone. Two cloaked, hooded figures walked down the passageway toward him. "Hello?" he called.

As one, they pushed their hoods back. One was a stranger; a hard-eyed blonde woman. The other -

"Galen?"

"Yes," he said. "And no."

Sheridan supposed that was what he deserved for trying to get a straight answer from a Technomage.

Galen stood before him; the woman circled around to stand at his back. Sheridan felt suddenly, irrationally trapped. But before he could do anything, the woman locked her hands around his wrists. He tried to twist away, but her grip was inhumanly strong.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President," Galen said cheerfully; "this is likely to hurt."

Then he locked his gaze to Sheridan's.

It was like having his mind ripped apart, molecule by molecule - beyond any pain he could have possibly imagined.

A heartbeat or a lifetime later, Galen closed his eyes. Sheridan's knees bucked, and the woman let him drop to the floor.

From far away, he heard the Galen who was not Galen, because the Galen he knew might be cold, might be distant, but would never flay a man's mind open while he tried to scream, say "And I thought the Vorlons did things differently."

"It's in there? Like Morden said?"

"Yes." Not-Galen's voice was as cool and depthless as if he'd been discussing the weather. "Pity - by the time we get it out, there won't be anything left of his mind."