Disclaimer: They belong to JMS and WB. I never really wanted them anyway. No, really. You take them. I won't stop you. They're yours. Go ahead!
"So..."
Michael Garibaldi had met a lot of aliens in his life. This one was just a little more disconcerting than most, especially with that stone in the middle of his forehead, like someone had glued on a third eye. And the whole 'sensing death' routine. That was pretty creepy, too. At least this one was off the station, as soon as Sinclair showed up.
The alien, who still hadn't given any name other than 'Hunter, Soul,' turned to regard Michael with a slightly curious expression. "So, Mr. Garibaldi?"
Well, nothing to do but plunge onward. "So, Doctor Franklin tells me there are a lot of rumors going around about your people. Care to confirm or deny some of them?"
"Not really," the Soul Hunter replied. "But I will answer your questions if I can."
"Uh... okay." Nervousmaking! Michael cleared his throat and said, "Are you guys really immortal?"
"No, Mr. Garibaldi." The Soul Hunter sounded like someone had asked him this before. Several someones. "We are not immortal. All things must die."
Well, there was one rumor that he could mark off. He was about to ask another question when the Soul Hunter spoke again, sounding oddly distracted. "It's strange, though. We have our own legends, about immortals... well, about an immortal. A distant relative. A great-great-uncle, if you will. Some of my brothers believe that our task as preservers of the souls of the great was given to us by him, and that one day he will return with the message telling us to cease."
Now that was all kinds of interesting. "But you don't believe it?"
"Of course not." The Soul Hunter gave him a condescending smile. "These stories are... I believe your word is millenia. Terribly, terribly long millenia old. If this Lorien was to return with a message, surely he would have done so by now?"