Author's Note: This chapter finishes off "And the Rock Cried Out…" and goes partway into "Shadow Dancing" (there's just too much action to squeeze in one episode per story part anymore…). Some dialogue is quoted from those episodes; as always, additions and gapfillers are my own.

Part 38—Before the Storm

I let him sleep for nearly two hours. A cup of strong coffee, a bowl of soup and a sandwich at a diner recommended by Garibaldi completed John's "rest cure"; by the time we made our way to Brother Theo's chapel for the service, he looked almost like his old, unburdened self. I had not seen such a lift to his step, nor such brightness in his eyes, for far too long. Reverend Dexter saw us as we entered, and his welcoming smile widened. "You're looking better, Captain, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I had some sense knocked into me," John answered with a wry grin, and led me to our seats.

The gospel service was thoroughly enjoyable, if far more exuberant than any Minbari religious rite. The singing was joyfully contagious, prompting ecstatic responses from even the most staid of those in attendance. What stayed with me most, though, was not the music, beautiful as it was. Nor Reverend Dexter's sermon, despite the truth in every word. It was the effect of the service on John. As he sang, and prayed, and simply stood and listened, he drew new strength from the simple fact of being there. Of being surrounded by people, sharing sacred time and space, mindful of things of the soul. I knew he believed in a God—we had talked of such things more than once, over cups of tea or in the Zen garden. I knew also that he espoused no formal religious tradition, though he had been raised in Brother Theo's Catholic one and respected many others besides. "I don't really know what God is," he'd said once, half-laughing at himself. "I don't think any one person does. I just… have this feeling that Something out there gives a damn. Somehow, some way, for some reason I can't fathom."

Here, now, amid the joyous singing in Brother Theo's chapel, I saw him remembering that Something. Whatever his God was—the conscious Universe, a caring Creator spirit—it was there for him. As we all were for each other, in service to the love that binds the very stars together. He could lean on that when he could lean on nothing else. It was so easy to forget this truth, but in the chapel he remembered. I saw the renewal it brought him, and felt grateful beyond words.

I walked him home afterward, just to be certain he took no detour to the War Room. "I'm sorry," he told me with a sheepish look. "I've been shutting you out, and I shouldn't have. I know it was stupid, but—well, you just took on a whole new responsibility with the Rangers, and then that guy Neroon showed up and would have tried to kill you if Marcus hadn't gotten to him first, and then you were worried to death over Marcus, and I know you blame yourself for that whole thing, because you do that even when you shouldn't, and… well, it just seemed like you had a lot to deal with. I guess I was trying to spare you a little."

"But I do not want to be spared." I squeezed his hand. "It does not spare me anything to watch you struggle all alone and not be allowed to help. No matter what other responsibilities I have. It helps me to help you. Don't forget that."

"Reverend Dexter told me the same thing." He chuckled. "Whapped me over the head about it pretty good, in fact." I must have looked startled; he laughed outright, a carefree sound that delighted me. "Verbally, not literally."

We had reached his door. He made no move to punch in the entry code. Instead, he turned to face me. "I'm so glad you're here," he said, cradling my hands in his. "I don't say that enough. But… it's everything, to know you're here for me. To shake me out of myself when I need it, to back me up when I falter. To share with no matter what. To be there, always." His voice dropped lower. "There are no words for what that means to me."

We were standing so close, I could feel his breath on my lips. Time seemed frozen; neither of us moved. Then he blinked and stepped slightly away. I became very interested in the blue stripe on the wall. Not yet, I thought, and did my best to discipline the wild longings of my heart.

He raised my fingers to his lips, then let me go and keyed in his door code. "See you tomorrow," he murmured as the door swung upward, and ducked inside.

I wandered away, feeling wistful. I wished he had kissed me, yet I was also happy at our renewed bond of soul. The depth of his trust was a gift beyond price. I would honor it always, I told myself. Always and forever, until the end of time in the place where no shadows fall.

I did not know, then, how soon I would break that promise.

ooOoo

Two days later, I finally received the word I had been waiting for. The White Star fleet was ready, and gathered at the rendezvous point. My first impulse was to run to the War Room, the courier's report in hand. Then I thought better of it. This was a watershed moment, a turning point in our fortunes. I should present it properly—and it offered a good excuse to take John out of the War Room, before he got in the habit of burying himself there again.

John was grouchy, and difficult to pry loose. News of the latest battles was dismal, and once again he was struggling with despair. "I feel like a fraud," he told me, crumpling the offending dispatch in his hand. "No matter what we do, we can't beat them back. Not with the Vorlons on the sidelines again. Knowing the Shadows' goal doesn't help worth a damn without the firepower to take them on." He stopped, and seemed to truly notice me for the first time. "Why are you in battle dress? Are you going somewhere?"

I smiled at him. "We are going somewhere. Right now."

His frown cleared, and he dropped the dispatch on the table as if glad to be rid of it. "Where? What for?"

"All in good time." I took his hand and led him toward the exit.

"I hate it when you do that," he groused, though mostly for appearance's sake. I had become quite proficient by now at discerning mock annoyance from the real thing; he enjoyed this sort of playacting, and often used it as a pretext for banter.

I was happy to play along. "Patience is a virtue," I told him as we stepped into the lift. And he got no more out of me on the subject until we were aboard the White Star, arrowing through hyperspace.

"I wish you would tell me what this is about, Delenn," he said finally as we walked onto the bridge. He had demonstrated exemplary patience over the past hour, and I was tempted to reward him with the information he sought… but the thought of his face at the moment of revelation was too tempting to pass up. For that, he could wait a few minutes longer.

"It's a surprise," I said. Ignoring the eye-roll he favored me with, I led him past the empty command chair toward the forward viewports. "Now that we know what the Shadows have in mind, we have an advantage for the first time. We can rally all the other races and prepare to launch a major counterattack." We were nearly there; try as I would, I could not keep the brimming excitement out of my voice. "I thought you might like to know what resources you have."

I gave the order and we dropped out of hyperspace. I knew what we would see, spread out all around, and kept my eyes on John.

He looked stunned as he took in the sight: hundreds of White Stars hanging in space, gleaming and beautiful. Each with a crew of Anla'shok, ready and willing to go into battle. As the deeper implications sank in, he seemed to stand taller. The weight that had lain on his shoulders for more months than I cared to recall receded like frost at dawn.

I gazed out at the fleet, reveling in the moment myself. I had seen them so arrayed at the shipyards, but it was different seeing them here. "The White Star was never intended to be one of a kind. It was only the first. We have been working around the clock to construct them. I said we needed time to prepare; this is why. The first wave of ships is finished at last. The Rangers will pilot them under our shared command." Saying it gave it reality that mere knowledge of it could not. Fierce joy shot through me, sudden and bright as a shaft of light through storm clouds. "We are as ready for them as we will ever be. We finally have, as you say, a fighting chance."

He turned to me, eyes shining as if I had offered him a miracle. The giddy thought came that perhaps I had. "I don't know what to say."

His happiness was transcendent. It drew me in; I needed to be closer to it, to him. I touched his cheek, let my fingers wander near his mouth. A lover's touch, unmistakable. This was the moment; I could feel it, strong and deep as music. The music of our hearts… "Then say nothing."

His face spoke his heart more clearly than words. He kissed me then, lingering and sweet… and for the next little while, there was nothing in my universe but the taste of his lips and the warmth of his body against mine.

ooOoo

We stayed together for the rest of that day and well into the evening. Piles of work awaited us both, but neither of us cared. We were lost in the wonder of each other and would not be parted.

We rambled awhile through the station gardens, halting every few minutes in secluded spots to hold each other and kiss. Then a timeless hour on the observation deck, gazing at the starscape in the circle of each other's arms. At some point hunger made itself felt and we found a place to dine. I remember nothing of what we ate, only the way the light fell on John's hair and the warmth of our clasped hands across the table. We laughed at everything, whether funny or not. War or no war, my joy in him that night was unleavened by sorrow. Had I known how brief that idyll would be, I would have cherished it all the more.

We finally parted at my door, with a slow kiss that left me breathless. My meditations, when I finally settled to them, were full of John: his scent, his touch, the softness of his lips on mine. We had truly become shanmai, on the road to being lovers. I imagined us taking the next step—me in his quarters, watching him sleep—and actually blew out my candle and started to get up before I caught myself. We were in the midst of war, with a devastating Shadow assault on innocents to forestall. And, just possibly, a victory to win. To put my own desires ahead of that was selfishness of the highest order. What we had of each other in this moment was enough; the Universe would show me the right time to seek more. If we are given time, came the treacherous thought. I fought down a stab of fear. Trust in the Universe, Delenn. If it is meant, it will be…

Slowly, calm returned. I gazed at the snuffed-out candle with a twinge of regret, then rose and made my way to bed. The memory of that kiss aboard the White Star was enough to send me to sleep with a smile on my face and a pleasant ache deep inside. Despite that, my dreams were strangely unsettled. I recalled little of them when I woke, save for a woman's voice and the sound of shattering glass.

ooOoo

The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur of frantic activity. We knew the Shadows' objective now, and we had—just possibly—the firepower to counter them. What we had little of was time. There was no way to know precisely when the Shadows would launch their assault on the refugees who had fled to Sector 83—the area of space our enemy had so carefully left alone. We had to come up with an attack plan quickly; one that had the best chance of working without our knowing precisely how many enemy ships we would face, and that we could execute rapidly without alerting the Shadows to our intentions.

We confined the planning to the core of the War Council—myself and John, Lennier, Garibaldi, Susan, Marcus and G'Kar, with what input we could get from Lyta on the most efficient use of telepaths to slow the Shadows' capital ships. Including her was difficult; the Vorlon kept her close, apparently regarding his own need of her services as infinitely more important than anything we younger races might be doing. The one time she came to the War Room, she looked exhausted and ill. "I'm fine," she said, waving me off when I inquired. "Let's just get this done. I need to get back." Back to the Vorlon, she meant, before she was missed. I felt keenly for her, and anger at the Vorlon burned high in me. Lyta deserved better. She was loyal and brave and generous; if the Vorlon could not see that and value it, then he was no fit representative of his people aboard this station. Not that I could do anything about that. I couldn't even help Lyta unless she let me.

Before she left that first day, I stopped her with a touch on her arm. "I do not know what I can do for you," I told her, "but if there is anything… you have only to ask. Please don't hesitate. We are here, and I want you to know that."

Her hand covered mine briefly, light as a breath. "I know. It's just… complicated right now."

"Still." She looked ragged, as if nervous tension and fatigue were consuming her from within. Part of me wanted to bundle her onto a White Star then and there, with orders to take her to Minbar and hide her away in Tuzanor until she recovered herself. "Call on me if you need to. Or on any of us. You are not alone."

She let out an unsteady breath. "I'll try to remember that," she murmured, and turned away.

By the time we finished our battle plan on the second day, it was well past midnight. John and I were the only ones left in the War Room, the others all having sensibly gone to their quarters to sleep some while ago. My eyes felt coated in fine sand, my every muscle heavy as a black hole. John was reading the plan we'd drawn up for what must have been the fiftieth time, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. "This is as good as it gets," he said, over a cruiser-sized yawn. He shook himself and turned toward me with a tired smile. "Lucky you. You get to go out and sell this thing to our non-aligned allies tomorrow."

I smiled back. "As you say, lucky me." I pulled out a chair and sank into it, too tired to stand any longer. The idea of laying my head down on the conference table was tempting, even though the metal surface would be cold and hard. "I wish we could tell them more. A most un-Minbari thought, I know—but it would save some trouble."

He chuckled softly, then sobered. "We can't take the risk. We have to assume the Shadows have spies around. They get wind of this, it'll all be for nothing. Safest to say as little as possible."

I sighed. "We will have trouble with some of them anyway. I can even tell you which ones."

"Trkider," he said, meaning the Drazi ambassador. "He'd be first on my list. I still haven't figured out if all Drazi are like that, or just him. He likes throwing monkey wrenches into things, apparently for the fun of it. Or maybe just stubbornness. I don't get it."

"Monkey wrenches?" I had a sudden, bewildering vision of small Earth primates wielding miniature hand tools.

John laughed and described what they were, then explained the origins of the expression. We fell into a comfortable silence. Then he spoke again. "We'll need a scout ship. Somebody to keep an eye on Sector 83. We need to know the second the Shadows show up."

"You have someone in mind?" Though I could guess even before he replied.

He nodded. "Susan and Marcus. Susan's the best I know at keeping a level head in a tough spot, and Marcus is no slouch either. Plus, I agree with you about using Lennier as liaison to the Dogato. With Marcus along on the scout mission, Susan won't need Lennier to play translator."

I concurred with his judgment. The Dogato was a Minbari cruiser, a clan ship of the Chudomo. As a member of that clan, Lennier was uniquely placed to take on the vital liaison's role, thereby serving as a living symbol of just how much the Chudomo contribution to the war effort was honored. Subtleties like that were ingrained in the way Minbari dealt with each other, even when we were wholeheartedly on the same side; they came to me as naturally as breathing. John, I think, was somewhat bemused by them; he understood personal politics to an extent, but my people had raised it to an art beyond his need or desire to grasp.

He was looking troubled, staring again at the flimsy that contained our battle plan. I laid a hand on his wrist. "What is it?"

"I just…" He sighed. "I hate the odds. That scout's going to be a big, fat target, and they'll have an armada after them. Whether they make it to the main fleet to join the fight is a fifty-fifty shot at best."

"You wish you did not have to send them," I said quietly, stroking his arm.

The smile he gave me held no gladness. "The curse of the CO. You never want to send anybody into harm's way. Especially when you have to."

I leaned against him in wordless sympathy. He slipped an arm around my shoulders. Neither of us said anything for a time. I knew whereof he spoke; I had been Entil'zha for perhaps two weeks, and already I had learned to dread sending my Anla'shok into danger zones. There was nothing for it, though. Nothing but to bear the same hazards as they, and risk others' lives as sparingly as the realities of war allowed.

It slowly dawned on me that I was falling asleep where I sat. I forced myself upright and eased the flimsy from John's grasp. "I should go. And so should you. There is a great deal to do tomorrow, and we will both need clear heads."

"Isn't that the truth." He stretched, then rose from his chair. Instead of turning toward the door, he lingered by the table, his eyes on the star map that covered the far wall. "There's just one more thing," he said. "And you're not going to like it."

I felt a twinge of anxiety. "What?"

He drew in a breath, then faced me. "I think you should stay here."

Surprise as well as instinct spurred me to protest, but he held up a hand. "No, Delenn, hear me out. Susan and Marcus will be gone on the scouting mission. I'll need Lennier with me on the Dogato. G'Kar's likely to insist on being aboard the G'Tok, and even if he isn't, he'll have his hands full just managing the Narns on-station. Stephen's still on walkabout, God knows when he'll be back, and the Vorlon practically has Lyta in a cage. That leaves Garibaldi holding the baby, and he's up to his ears already. Somebody else who's in charge of this damned war really needs to be here to hold the fort. There's no sense risking both of us out there."

Brief silence descended as I sorted through possible responses. "You are still doing it," I said finally, gently.

"Doing what?"

"Trying to spare me."

He frowned. "Oh, come on, now—"

"No. You are. There is no shame in acknowledging it." I moved closer to him, close enough to read the anxiety in his eyes. "You have done a very good job of coming up with valid reasons for keeping me out of the battle zone. But that does not change your desire. So now let me give you some equally valid reasons why you need me out there." I raised a hand and ticked them off on my fingers. "One—you will need to direct the battle from the Dogato. You have never done that from a Minbari cruiser; you will need someone to help you who is familiar with the procedure. Two—you cannot direct the entire battle alone. We know how large it is likely to be; too large for one person to track. So you will need help, and you will need split-second communication with whoever aids you. That person must be someone you know and trust well enough, and who knows and trusts you well enough, for that kind of communication to occur. Anything else will put the lives of those fighting at greater risk. Three—suppose things do go badly, and we lose. What do you think the Shadows will do next… and how safe will I be here then?"

He stared at me for a long moment. I saw in his face that he wanted to challenge what I had said, but couldn't. Finally, he let out a sigh. "Damn it. I hate it when you're right."

"No," I said softly. "You hate it when I am right about needing to risk myself at your side. Because you wish I did not have to. But I do."

He took my hand. "I just…" He pulled me close then, in a hard embrace. "I get scared sometimes," he whispered, his voice muffled against my hair. "Scared something will happen, and I'll lose you just when I've found you…"

My throat felt tight; I could have wept for us both. I knew that fear so well. It crept up on me unbidden, in the depths of night when the mind and heart are unquiet… My voice shook a little as I spoke. "We are here together for a reason, you and I. We have to trust that."

He didn't answer, just held me. After a moment, he kissed me gently on the lips. I leaned into the kiss, taking and giving comfort from it at the same time. All I want is to love you, I thought, but didn't say it. I had the sense he knew it anyway.

We broke apart, and he touched my cheek. "Back to work," he said, attempting lightness. "I'll brief Susan and Marcus while you whack diplomatic heads together. Knock 'em dead, huh?"

At my shocked expression, he laughed and shook his head. "You have the damnedest—"

"—Gaps in my vocabulary." I picked up the flimsy and then stood for a moment, just looking at him. So strong, so brave, so vulnerable. I wanted to wrap him in my arms, spirit us away someplace where there was no war, no Shadows, no fear of loss. Just the two of us, and love, and all the time in the Universe.

There was no such place, of course. We must make do with what we had. He came up beside me, and we left the War Room hand in hand.

ooOoo

The meeting with the non-aligned ambassadors in the Council chamber was even stormier than I had expected. To say they did not like being given so little detail on so significant a mission was an understatement. Many of them were furious, Ambassador Trkider of the Drazi leading them in full-throated outcry. I had to shout them down just to finish what little I could say. They wanted more and were determined to get it, if only as proof that our word was to be trusted. I had my own answer to that, and let them have it with blunt honesty. By the time Lennier and I left them to deliberate, the best thing I could say for any of it was that at least they were all still there. None had taken me up on my challenge to go if we had not yet earned their trust through all the promises we had kept.

"An hour at the most," I told Lennier as we left the Council chamber behind. I could still hear my fellow dignitaries, bickering and shouting, though the sounds mercifully receded the farther away we got. "They should not need any more to decide what to say to their governments. And to us." Anger and anxiety had twin hold of me, the one fueled by the other. This engagement was our best hope of finally, as John said, taking the war to the enemy. Yet, given the degree of opposition we had met with, I was more than half-convinced they would give us nothing—or so few ships that it would not matter. And then what? Could the White Star fleet and all available Minbari cruisers take on the Shadow assault force ourselves with any realistic chance of victory?

I could not even answer that without knowing how large a force we would face. And we had no way to determine that until battle was engaged.

"I am somewhat thirsty," Lennier said. "A cup of tea and something to go with it would be most welcome. Perhaps some chirnoi? There is a shop in the Zocalo that sells them, not far from here."

His tone was a shade too carefully casual. Clearly he had noticed how tense I was, and was doing his best to help. A small, warm glow of affection for him dispelled some of my unease. "So there is. Very well. It will pass the time."

I knew the place he spoke of—a cozily appointed tea-and-coffee shop co-owned and run by a worker-caste Minbari and her human business partner. They were an unlikely pair, Naleya ys Hadaan and Elijah Scott; she well into middle age, a bundle of motherly energy in a scarcely five-foot frame, he lanky and taciturn, most at home in a hot kitchen with copious amounts of flour and sugar and butter and other ingredients with which he concocted his creations. I had met them in my first year aboard Babylon Five, when Naleya petitioned me to intercede with her clan for permission to open the business. The Hadaani, like most worker caste clans, treated business partnerships like family ties, and were concerned to work through every possible repercussion of allowing a human the equivalent of kinship rights. In the end, all had worked out to everyone's satisfaction. My reward was an ongoing gift of tea and chirnoi, free of charge, whenever I cared to claim it.

Five minutes' walk brought us there. Naleya stood behind the service counter, chatting with a Narn customer as he paid his bill. He left, and she glanced our way. That one look brought her out from behind the counter, concern written on her face. "Another difficult day, is it? Clearly, you need sustenance." She gestured us toward an empty table in a quiet corner. "Please go and sit, Entil'zha, Lennier. I will bring you something directly."

We sat, and shortly thereafter Naleya appeared with two large mugs of steaming spice tea and a plate of four chirnoi. "'On the house,' as Elijah says," she told us, then bowed and bustled off. In typical Minbari fashion, she had not asked what the trouble was. Nor would she; her job, as she had put it once, was to ease people's days with a little space of quiet and something that tasted good. The rest, she said, was up to the Universe.

There was root sugar from Minbar to put in the tea, as well as honey and cane sugar from Earth. I added a small spoonful of honey, stirred my tea and then stared at it without drinking. I could not speak of my worries, even to Lennier. I felt taut, like an over-stretched string on a doubleharp. Desperate for some sort of distraction, I found myself watching Lennier's hands as he stirred root sugar into his tea and picked up a chirnoi. The little pastries were thick with chopped nuts under their burnt-sugar crust. I didn't need to see his face to know his eyes were on me. Wondering why I was not eating, most likely… or all too aware of the depth of unease that could make me ignore my favorite treat from home.

"If you will not have at least one," he said gently, "then it is unmannerly of me to eat them. Naleya meant them to be shared."

I attempted a smile and picked up a chirnoi, tore off a small piece for Valen from habit, and set it aside. The second piece I broke off was meant to go in my mouth, but instead I began to shred the dough, layer by delicate later. "What will we do if they give us nothing?" I asked finally. "We cannot do this on our own. Not even with the White Star fleet. And the Vorlons are back to being no help at all. It is as if Kosh never sacrificed himself to teach them anything." Unexpected sadness made my throat hurt. "Did he do it for nothing, then? Nothing but to buy us some time that will prove to have been wasted?"

"Delenn." Lennier set down his pastry and leaned toward me across the table. "We must have faith, in our allies and in ourselves. Faith manages. Have you not told me this more than once?"

I had—though I did not care to remember the last time I used those words to him. Faith had managed then, enabling us to reunite a lost little Markab girl with her mother… just in time for them to die of the plague together. A shadow crossed Lennier's face, and he glanced down at his plate. "Forgive me," he said, sounding abashed. "A poor choice of memories to bring to mind. But still."

I touched the back of his hand. "Of course. You are right. It is only… difficult to remember faith sometimes."

The look he gave me was full of affection. "You do very well with difficult. If it were otherwise, you would not be here, looking as you do and wearing that robe."

My smile this time was warmer. "I am well schooled by my student."

He blushed faintly as he broke off part of his chirnoi. "Only when necessary."

We ate and drank mostly in companionable silence after that, and I found myself reflecting on what he had said. Faith manages… a saying so old among Minbari that most of us had long since stopped thinking about what it really meant. Yet here, aboard this station, I saw examples of it every day. Lennier himself was one; he had faith, in our cause and in me. So much faith that he had followed me into fire and darkness, with no thought to his own future and no guarantee that any of us would live to see the outcome of the war we fought.

John had faith, that he and I and others could somehow forge a victory from an unlikely collection of ad-hoc allies against a far more powerful and better organized enemy. And that it would be worth whatever price we might pay. And Susan… she had faith, that in fighting this war, she fought for the freedom of the Earth Alliance as well, even though many on Earth believed her a traitor and a renegade for it. Marcus had faith, that the work of the Anla'shok could show him a way out of despair over the losses he had suffered. Garibaldi had faith, that there was meaning in doing right even when surrounded by cynicism and doubt. G'Kar, and Lyta, and Stephen… all of them had faith, too. G'Kar, that throwing his people's lot in with ours made them part of something greater. Lyta, that whatever suffering she endured now was worth it for the sake of lives to be saved. Stephen, that if only he walked far enough he would find himself and begin to heal whatever had broken inside him. All of them, keeping faith even when it seemed a fool's game to do so. With such friends to show me the way, how could I fail to follow their example?

A soft chime came from a commlink on Lennier's belt. He glanced down at it. "The Dogato has taken up station," he said. "And I believe the hour is nearly up."

I had managed half a chirnoi and most of the tea, and felt marginally better than when we walked in. "Go, then," I told him as we stood. "I will return to the Council room."

ooOoo

To my shock, the sole occupant of the Council chamber was Ambassador Trkider, who sat with his bowed head resting in his hands. He looked up at the sound of my entry, and for a moment I feared the worst.

"The others have gone to speak to their governments," he said. "They have authorized me to speak in their place." His voice held its customary edge of disdain, but something else lay beneath it. Bravado, and fear. He paused, and the scales at the crest of his skull took on the deep blue of strong emotion among Drazi. "You will have all the ships we can spare, Delenn. I only hope you are right, because it will cost us greatly if you are wrong."

I knew what he was afraid of. He was frightened for his people, his homeworld, and I could not blame him. He and I had our difficulties, and I could not like Trkider—but in that moment I saw a proud man forced to show himself vulnerable, and felt compassion for him. It had cost him greatly to agree with the rest, and would cost him still more if he persuaded his government to weaken the Drazi homeworld's defenses only to see our assault on the Shadows fail. He was a patriot risking his planet, on little more than my and John's word.

"I know what we are asking," I replied, and let him see a little of the fear I myself carried. "Captain Sheridan knows it, too. But we must be allies, and help each other, if there is to be any hope."

"Hope." He spoke the word as if its meaning were alien to him. "There seems precious little of that these days." With a curt Drazi gesture of farewell, he stalked out of the room.

I watched him go, unsettled by his words. There has to be hope, I thought. Because sometimes, in the darkest hours, hope is all we have.