It was something of a fitful sleep. When I woke, I found Michael in the garden, meditating. From the look of him, he hadn't slept well either. I joined him and we sat in silence for a time. When he spoke, it was without greeting or preface.

"Does the timing of Bester's arrival seem strange to you?"

Everything that concerned Bester seemed strange to me, but I considered the question. "We heard about him coming aboard from Byron, in the President's office." I was thinking out loud, and the way that Michael murmured his agreement told me he was waiting for me to reason my way to what he had already seen. "That was right after you got back from chasing the raiders." Michael nodded, said nothing, did not look toward me. "And that was shortly after Lochley told the President that she was going to call in PsiCorps."

I turned to look at Michael. "Which means that he was on his way here before Lochley spoke to Sheridan, before the incident with Lyta on C&C that was Lochley's excuse for calling him in." Garibaldi shrugged but his smile grew as I drew my conclusion. "She had to have called him before any of it happened."

"Either that," Michael said at last, "or he came on his own, and Lochley wanting him here was just a convenient coincidence. Either way, whatever the President may say and however deeply he may mean it, I don't think those telepaths are going to be safe here." He stood up and turned toward me. "So let's get moving."

The safety of the telepath colony was a key subject at that morning's briefing for the President. He had read my memo, and agreed on the choice of the planet, but the whole notion still troubled him although he could not articulate the reason. Michael spoke it for him, a small smile playing around his face.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. President, but you wanted to be the ruler of the universe. Now you're afraid to use the power that comes with it." Sheridan responded with an expletive, but Garibaldi pushed on. "You don't want to play world maker. You want this to solve itself, or disappear, or get handled by diplomats or by some council or committee. Not going to happen. You wanted to play in the big leagues, Mr. President. Well, now they're throwing fast balls right at your head. You gonna swing or duck?"

I expected an explosion but it didn't come. Sheridan was silent for a time, glaring at Garibaldi, and then he spoke. "This will go to the Council, Michael, but I'll take it to them today, and we'll try to move on it as quickly as possible." He turned to me. "If and when this plan is approved, they will need safe passage. See what you can do about making those arrangements." He huffed defiantly. "Is there anything else?"

I briefed him on security arrangements for the visit to Minbar Delenn had scheduled. She would leave the station aboard a WhiteStar that afternoon and return five days later. A team of Rangers would act as her bodyguards throughout the trip. When the President voiced his concerns about the raiders, I tried to reassure him, although given that he shared Michael's memories of these Dark Soldiers, I'm not sure I was convincing.

Afterward, I asked Garibaldi if we would need to be present for the Council meeting. His response - "Only if we're still atoning for past sins." - did not speak of great confidence is the process. Shortly after he left to meet with Londo, I took a message from one of our WhiteStars, a message I thought it important to share. I put in a call to Zack Allan and then went in search of Michael.

I found Garibaldi and Mollari in the Zocalo, and even from a distance, I could see Londo's distress. I didn't approach them, but maneuvered through the crowd until I had line of sight on Michael. His expression was somber but relaxed. His body, angled toward the Centauri, seemed to curl in on itself, and his gestures were small and gentle. Whatever Londo was saying, Michael was meeting it with compassion.

I waited for Garibaldi to see me and to acknowledge that he did, then moved a little closer, just within earshot.

"You do not understand what you are asking, Mr. Garibaldi," Londo was saying. "You cannot know the consequences of this action."

"But I can guess, Londo. I know you; I know the Centauri. Hell, I don't always agree with you, but I know your pride and your honor. The Centauri are not going to kowtow to a bunch of pirates. I know they have to have some hold, some leverage over you."

"Do you understand vengeance, Mr. Garibaldi?" Londo asked sadly. "Do you know that the fear of what may come to be is as great a punishment as the retribution itself? No, it is greater still, because you live with it every day. Rebellion may bring pain, but obedience is no relief from fear."

"Londo, if you tell me what it is they have to hold over you, what threat they make, we can try to help. The Alliance, the Rangers -- we will fight for the Centauri Republic."

"Once our Republic was a dream worth fighting for, Mr. Garibaldi. Now, she turns her back on her friends and embraces her enemies. It is far too late to hope for salvation."

Finally, Michael motioned me to join them. "Londo, I understand the risks in this, on all levels," he was saying. "You know that we'll do everything we can to protect you and to protect your people."

"I fear it may be too late for that, my friend. Do what you must." Mollari nodded sadly and raised his drink to me. "It is too bad this one has fallen under your influence. He had potential."

I made a bit of small talk with the Ambassador while Michael gathered his papers, and then we took our leave. At the first cross-corridor, I pulled Michael out of the mainstream of traffic and gave him the WhiteStar's message.

"They were on their way here in response to our call, and spotted strange activity in hyperspace. They found a raider fleet massing and were able to lurk just out of range and observe. They gave us numbers and direction. They're heading this way."

I gestured with the scribbled notes I had made during the communication, and Michael yanked the sheet from my hand to examine it himself. It was clear his mind was racing and a lot of the territory it was passing through did not look good. Abruptly, he started to move, long strides carrying him so quickly that I had to jog to stay close enough to hear what he was telling me.

"Get Delenn off the station. Now. She'll be safer on Minbar. See if you can convince Sheridan to go with her. If you can, go with them. If you can't, stay on him. And if things get hot, evacuate him. I don't care if you have to knock him out and carry him bodily to a ship, you keep him safe."

I broke out to a run toward the Entil'zha's quarters, but as I moved away I could hear Michael link to Zack Allan. "Yeah, Zack, I'm on my way to you. We have a threat."

President Sheridan would not entertain the idea of leaving the station, especially since I couldn't present him with a threat more credible than our hunches. I did manage to get Delenn's party away far earlier than planned, with strict instructions to the Rangers on her detail to check in on arrival at Minbar.

Zack Allan was trying to talk to Captain Lochley when I arrived at the station house, but getting in only about one word for her ten. Michael sat back, out of range of the viewer, a smile of amused resignation on his face, until an irritated Allan ended the call. "I told you so," Michael chided.

Allan looked from Michael to me and back several times, obviously fuming, but said nothing. Then he tapped his link and, one by one, contacted several trusted officers and asked each to report to his office. Michael rose, thanked him, and together we left.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Officially, nothing," Michael replied. "Unofficially, Zack will put people on alert. They'll be ready when they're needed. And they'll know who they're taking orders from. I'm going to suit up. Stay on the President, and remember what I said."

I wanted to argue. I would have felt far more useful, I knew, on Garibaldi's wing than chasing around after Sheridan, who was no more likely to be careful than Michael was. But I knew the argument would get me nowhere, so I let it go.

The claxons that told us the station was under attack almost seemed a relief after the anticipation. Fighters, on alert and ready to drop, thanks to Zack Allan, were in space before Lochley could finish the order. Two squadrons were waiting for the raiders when they arrived, with Garibaldi's Starfury, I noted, right in the middle of them.

The squadrons peeled off, one to attack, the other to close in defense of the station, as the defense grid sprang to life. The raiders made their runs, formed up, and came at us again. At first, Michael flew as part of beta squadron, but as the battle became ragged, I could see him venture out on his own. Whatever move he made, raiders were on him, often in pairs. An experienced fighter pilot, he was holding his own, and I told myself that it was only my concern for him that made me feel he was getting a disproportionate amount of attention from the pirates. But when I spotted him triple-teamed, I had seen enough. "Mr. President," I bellowed to Sheridan, "I'm going to the bays."

The crackling roar of a jump point opening stopped me in my tracks. A WhiteStar jumped in, a guardian angel, positioned happily between the raiders attacking the station and those giving chase to Garibaldi. I didn't know who was on the bridge of this serendipitous ship, but whoever it was assessed the situation quickly and well. Executing an aerobatic turn, they quickly evened up Mr. Garibaldi's odds, then followed Michael's lead back toward the station and the now retreating raiders.



The President's insistence on meeting with Captain Lochley after the raid seemed almost routine now, but the cast of characters was growing. Delenn was on her way to Minbar, or I suspect she would have been included. Michael let Beta Squadron chase the last of the raiders and he joined the meeting. I volunteered to step out, but both Sheridan and Garibaldi declined my offer. Lochley arrived, uncharacteristically quiet, which was probably just as well for Zack Allan, who accompanied her and was no doubt going to pay for putting more faith in Garibaldi than in his commanding officer. It was a surprise to most of us, however, to see Alfred Bester walk in.

Captain Lochley insisted on his presence. According to her, he was now as intimately involved in the security of this station as Allan or Garibaldi. I considered taking umbrage but decided I'd rather be omitted from any group that included Bester. I could see Sheridan struggle between his desire to be diplomatic and his distaste for the PsiCop. He pointed out to the Captain that this meeting was called to discuss the threat from the raiders, not any matters concerning the telepaths, but Lochley would not budge. Bester, for his part, said nothing - eerily so - not even offering or acknowledging greetings.

No one else in the room was so silent. Lochley wasted no time in reminding everyone that she wasn't pleased about having Garibaldi involved in the firefight. Zack attempted to bring the subject back to the firefight itself and our lack of information about this enemy.

"Isn't it clear?" Lochley asked. "They're drones."

"I find that hard to believe," Sheridan replied.

"Why, Mr. President?" she demanded. "We have evidence throughout the record of our contact with other races of ships that were preprogrammed for their tasks or controlled remotely."

"But not in these numbers, and hitting so many different targets," he objected.

"I recognize that it's frightening to imagine a civilization capable of this kind of technological sophistication, Mr. President. But what other conclusion can we come to? We've destroyed some of their ships, yet we've never recovered a body. Those ships are empty."

"They're not empty." The voice came from the corner of the office.

"Oh? And what's the source of your wisdom on this matter, Mr. Garibaldi?" Lochley inquired.

I watched Michael compose himself, taking a beat to clear the snappishness from his voice. "Lyta Alexander identified them as..."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Garibaldi! Don't stand there and tell me you're going to base decisions that affect the security of this station and the security of the Alliance on hallucinations."

I looked to Bester, fully expecting a defense, if not of Lyta, at least of telepaths in general, but he said nothing. Irritation washed over Michael's face and he did not begin to speak again until it had ebbed.

"Lyta Alexander identified them as Dark Soldiers," he said, refusing to take the bait of Lochley's outburst. "If you recall, Mr. President," he said, turning to Sheridan, "that's the phrase that Amis used to describe the creature that came aboard from the Copernicus."

It took a moment, but recognition showed in Sheridan's face. "I remember. A former GROPO, a war hero, that everyone thought was hallucinating." He looked at Lochley to make clear that the choice of word was deliberate. "But it turned out he was right."

"Right," Michael continued. "And if you recall, we couldn't see that creature, at least not 'til we hit it with some pretty heavy weapons fire."

"Wait!" Lochley interjected. "Let me make sure I understand this. This woman storms into C&C like some kind of zombie, then tells you you're fighting some invisible enemy, but you believe her because of a schizophrenic lurker." She plopped down in a chair. "That's much more sensible than believing they're drones."

"Begging your pardon, Captain..." I had come to realize that when Michael started with that phrase, he wasn't. "... but I was out there today."

"Against my wishes," Lochley interrupted, rising from her chair.

Garibaldi ignored it. "Those ships were not pre-programmed. They responded to changes in our tactics. They followed me away from the station."

"Then they're being operated remotely."

"By whom? And from where? We've mapped the attacks, Captain, and we'd be happy to show you the result. There's no way you're going to tell me that any civilization has the technology to control that many ships, that spontaneously, in that many different locations. The base station would have to be huge. There's no way you could hide it."

"If the control were technological, perhaps."

The room went silent at that. Only Lochley's smug smile and Bester's bored disinterest broke the uniformity of confusion.

"With all due respect, Captain," Zack said after a moment, "ships...remotes...technology. I don't get what you're trying to say."

Lochley laughed, and I sensed in that laugh a derision of Allan that angered me far more than I would have expected. She never looked at Zack, but instead stared a moment at Michael, and finally turned and spoke to the President.

"It's entirely possible those ships are being controlled telepathically," she said, "and I don't think any of us would have difficulty figuring out by whom."

"That's ridiculous, Captain." Sheridan scowled.

"Is it, Mr. President? Then how do you explain the little incident with Ms. Alexander barging into C&C?"

Sheridan's diplomat veneer was showing significant cracks. He rolled his eyes with no attempt to hide the reaction, and paced a bit before attempting to speak. "Captain," he said with a forced evenness, "why don't we sit down and start again? I think perhaps we're losing focus here." He took a seat at the conference table between Zack and me, stalling, I thought, for time to compose himself. I watched, with a bit of surprise, as Michael stepped out from his favorite corner and joined us at the table.

Lochley stepped to the chair opposite Sheridan, but did not sit. "I'm still waiting for your explanation, Mr. President."

He chose to ignore that and pressed on toward rationality. "Captain, no one is more sympathetic than I am to the complexities of running this station. I understand your concerns about station security. The fact that these raiders have started to turn their attacks on Babylon 5 directly is a profound concern to all of us. But I think we need to recognize the bigger picture here."

"Don't patronize me!"

Sheridan winced. "Captain, the raiders have attacked targets all through this sector. How do you reconcile those attacks with your theory? What motivation would they have? And let's be realistic." Sheridan glanced at Bester, still standing near the door. "I'm sure Mr. Bester will correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that even the strongest telepaths do have limitations of distance."

Bester said nothing, gave no reaction.

"But let's consider your suggestion," the President continued. "Why would the telepaths want to bring fire on the very place where they've sought safety? I'm afraid you're going to have to work a bit harder to convince me, Captain."

"And may I ask what solution your intelligence team has come up with?"

"We're analyzing all the available information about all of the attacks," Garibaldi said. Everyone at the table leaned in to hear the soft-voiced reply. "We're hoping to develop a strategy to intercept the bandits outside of an attack situation or to prevent their flight after an attack."

Nothing Michael said was a lie, but I was astonished that he did not to amplify or specify our plans. I could see shock and disappointment in Sheridan's eyes as Lochley seized on his lack of specificity.

"Hoping to develop a strategy?" she challenged. "So, you have nothing."

I tried to catch Michael's eye, tried to figure out if he wanted me to talk about the Centauri connection, but he avoided my glance.

"We are eager to bring this matter to a close, Captain, and I can assure you that we will share all relevant information with Mr. Allan as we uncover it."

"Given your history, Mr. Garibaldi, I'm not about to rely on your assurances in matters that concern the safety of this station or its personnel."

"Now, Captain..." Sheridan tried to interrupt but Michael laid a hand gently on his forearm.

Garibaldi drew a breath and spoke with a sleepy huskiness. "There is no reason for you to rely on me in any matters at all, Captain. I am the Director of Covert Intelligence for the InterStellar Alliance, and in that capacity, I report to the President, and only to him. For the moment, the Alliance is headquartered here on Babylon 5, and as a result, I function in and around this station."

"A situation not of my choosing, and one I would greatly prefer to change."

"Noted, Captain, and you will have your wish before too much longer. But let's get a few jurisdictional matters clear. The attacks by the raiders affect all members of the Alliance. Therefore it is an Alliance problem and the Alliance will deal with it. You are, of course, free to defend Babylon 5 from any and all attacks, something Mr. Allan and his people are well equipped to do if you'd listen to him now and then. I think I can speak for the President and say that the Alliance will be happy to help in the defense of the station in any way we can."

"And I think I've made it clear that I don't want you getting in the way of my fighters, trying to play hero."

"Secondly," Michael continued, a bit more loudly, "President Sheridan has granted asylum to the telepath colony in Brown Sector, and placed them under the protection of the Alliance. That is not a pledge the President makes lightly and it's not one I take lightly. The Alliance will protect those telepaths, Captain."

"While they destroy us all."

"Begging your pardon, Captain, but you've just come in here and proposed two extraordinary, and I might add, contradictory theories about the raider attacks. You have no evidence to support either theory. Now call me old-fashioned, but where I come from, you don't accuse somebody until you've got something that looks like proof. You want to go find some proof, Captain, I'll be happy to listen. But until then, this is my investigation."

Lochley stared at him a moment, then straightened and addressed the President. "Mr. President, I have a station to run, and I'm going to stop wasting my time here and get back to work. You've made some grave errors, Mr. President, some very poor choices, and clearly, I can't change that. But understand clearly, sir, that I will not allow your faulty judgment to bring harm to my station. And where the defense of this station is concerned, Mr. President, I will not be limited by your misguided promises."

Sheridan planted his fists on the tabletop and pushed himself up. "Excuse me, Captain, but that sounds like..." The last of the sentence was cut off by the door closing behind Lochley and Bester. The President dropped back into his chair, and the four of us sat in silence for a few moments.

"What the hell just happened here?" Sheridan asked at last. No one was eager to respond.

Michael spoke after a time. "Well, we found out that the Alliance and Babylon 5 command are not one big happy team, which means..." He looked at Zack, who still seemed dazed. "... that you should probably get the hell out of here. You're in enough trouble already." Zack nodded, but didn't move.

"Michael, is there any possibility..." Sheridan began.

Garibaldi shook his head. "I seriously doubt it, Mr. President. I've engaged with those ships twice now and there's no way I'll believe they're drones. But then I wasn't the one who dropped a WhiteStar on Zha'dum. And as for the other business..." He shook his head. "We've got to get those telepaths out of here, John." It was barely a whisper and the first time I'd heard him call the President by name.

Sheridan nodded. "I have it before the council, Michael. As soon as they approve..."

"And if they don't?" Michael asked, frowning at him. He answered the surprise in Sheridan's eyes. "I know you think it'll pass, but..." He hesitated and I wasn't sure if he was choosing his words or weighing their consequences. "Let's just say I'm not convinced everyone around here is in his or her right mind."

"So what else is new?" Zack asked. "And what the hell was that with Bester being in on this meeting?"

Michael and I exchanged a glance and I took the opportunity to ask my question. "Was there a reason you were so vague about the investigation? You never even mentioned Centauri Prime."

He nodded but waited a moment before he spoke. "There's no way we can know what was just pulled out of our heads without our permission. I'm not giving up anything for free." He sighed. "Look, all our evidence says these raiders are based on Centauri Prime, but I don't think the Centauri want them there."

"Is this another one of your hunches, Michael?"

Garibaldi waggled his head as he considered the question. "Yes and no," he said finally. "Let's just say I'm working on backing up my hunch. But for the moment, I think the fewer people that have the information about Centauri Prime, the better."

Zack's link chirped and a voice alerted him to a disturbance. "Where?" he asked, and I sensed a collective hope that it would not be Brown Sector. When the reply of DownBelow came through, Zack excused himself and all of us relaxed just a little.

"What about our telepaths, Mr. President?" Michael asked.

Sheridan considered a moment. "Do whatever preparation you can," he said at last, then added emphatically, "as quietly as you can. I'll get it through the Council."

"As quickly as you can," Michael added.

"As quickly as I can."

Afterward Michael was full of orders. While we were still en route to our office, I was charged with organizing a scouting mission for the leaders of the telepath colony, to choose a site for the settlement. Once the door was closed, Michael shared another plan.

"I'm going to run the intercept operation personally," he said. "and I want you along for it. What's on the President's schedule?"

"You want him along too?"

He laughed. "No," he replied, extending the syllable. "I want to know he's safe while you're with me."

"When does this go down?" I asked and checked my calendar. Michael was eager to move, but recognized that we'd have to allow time for the scouting mission. I checked the President's itinerary for the next few days. "He's due to visit Mars the end of the week," I explained. "I've assigned a beefed up security detail as it is. I don't have to be along."

The fact that Sheridan would be off station seemed to appeal to Michael. "Schedule a briefing for the Rangers on the detail, and get your scouting mission taken care of as soon as possible. Hopefully, the President will get Council approval and we can move quickly." He sat down at his desk and started scanning files. "And let me know when Delenn's escort checks in. I need to talk with Entil'zha."

I found Byron and Lyta, persuaded them that this had to be done now, and took them aboard a waiting WhiteStar. Her holographic viewers let us do the initial scouting on a flyover, and when they had chosen a likely site, we went down to the surface to have a look. The area had been a town, deserted now, damaged, but not destroyed. It would take work to bring it to full functioning, but it was viable.

With that decision made, we turned back to Babylon 5, and I was just starting to think we might get through the process without Byron accusing us of some great malice toward telepaths, when company arrived. The WhiteStar held her own against the handful of raider ships, fighting for a chance to flee, while just on the edge of the viewer's range, a single Starfury held station. Turning to shepherd our passengers to safety below decks, I found Lyta staring at the viewer, her body rigid, her eyes luminous onyx.

The WhiteStar handled with a grace that could only be called beautiful, responding like a living being to the requests of her pilot. In a few moments, our attackers were routed, but not before we destroyed a raider ship. Its destruction came with a violence that shook us all, but for Lyta, it was worse. With an agonizing scream, she fell to the deck.

By the time we arrived back at Babylon 5, Lyta had regained consciousness, although she was still weak and deeply shaken. From Michael I knew that the changes in her eyes signaled contact with the older races, the black a mark of Shadow influence. She had reached out to the mind of our attacker, and her trauma was caused by being trapped there when his spin pulled him to his doom. It seemed Byron was less familiar with this aspect of Lyta's power, or perhaps he truly was overwhelmed by concern for her. Whatever the reason, although his attitude was icy, he said nothing.

Lyta trembled whenever she spoke of it, or even thought of it, and yet something in her needed to examine the experience. She continued to talk about it even as we escorted her from the ship. She leaned heavily on Byron's right arm, and I walked beside her, still trying to convince her to let Doctor Franklin examine her.

"When you scan someone who is dying," she whispered to no one in particular, "when the life leaves the body, you see it, usually, like the person was walking through a door or into a tunnel. But this..." Another shudder went through her. "...the most horrible endless void."

Byron moved to comfort her but she stiffened and spun. "Haven't you seen enough?" Her words were hurled at a figure in black emerging from the shadows of the docking bay.

My denn'bok snapped open before I was conscious of the impulse to grab it. From the echo behind me, I guessed several members of the WhiteStar crew shared my instinct. Bester strode past, making no acknowledgment of Lyta's words nor of our presence.

She stared after him, shaking her head. "It's never enough for him," she said. "He's drawn to death. He feeds on it."

Byron wrapped an arm around her and coaxed her forward. "And it on him," he murmured.