I arrived to find Garibaldi's office filled with Rangers, and Michael briefing them on the Centauri operation. He acknowledged my arrival with a nod, not missing a beat in his orders. When the others dismissed, Michael asked me to stay, ostensibly to fill me in on what I had missed, but it was time as well for debriefing on the mission I had just completed, and for Michael's special instructions about my role in the Centauri mission. I found some of it bizarre and confusing, but my requests for clarification were denied.

When the call came from Minbar, I had it patched to Michael's office. Together we took the report from the team leader that the trip had been without incident. Michael encouraged him to share what we knew about the raiders with authorities on Minbar and to be alert at all times. The fact that Minbar had not yet been attacked did not guarantee they would not fall victim. I reminded him of my earlier admonition to call for back-up at the slightest hint of trouble. Our fussing was acknowledged with restraint and respect, and then Michael asked to speak with Entil'zha. I rose to leave as the ranger excused himself to summon Delenn, but Michael motioned for me to stay.

"Entil'zha veni." That formal greeting shocked me, since I could not remember hearing Michael use it since we left Tuzanor. Delenn returned the salute, and her smile glowed with genuine affection.

"Thank you for taking my call, Entil'zha. I'm sorry I couldn't come to speak with you in person, but there are matters that hold me here."

Curiosity and concern tightened Delenn's face. "Is something wrong, Mr. Garibaldi?"

"I need your wisdom, Entil'zha, and your permission."

I would have laughed aloud and accused him of laying it on thick, if I hadn't recognized how serious he was. Delenn just nodded and continued to listen.

"Years ago, Entil'zha, at the time of the Centauri Emperor's visit to Babylon 5, you and I both received messages from Ambassador Sinclair about his work with the Rangers and about the movement of the Shadows."

"Yes." Her tone was quizzical and cautious.

"And the following year, we both received messages, although of a different sort. You accompanied Sinclair to Babylon 4." Again, Delenn agreed, and Michael continued. "I know that you understand, first hand, some of the technology Sinclair employed on that trip, and I wondered if you understood the technology that made his trip possible."

I sensed that Michael was being somewhat cryptic, and it was working, because I was deeply confused. Again I rose to leave, to give him space to speak freely, and again, he waved me down.

"I have some understanding of such things, Mr. Garibaldi. Why do you ask?"

"We believe that the recent raids were accomplished by a race loyal to the Shadows. Our analysis suggests that they may be trying to arrange a transport similar to Sinclair's. If we understood what they need to accomplish that, it might be easier to prevent it."

Delenn's silence was prolonged, as memory and speculation swept over her face. "If they succeed..." she began.

"It could change the whole balance of power, at that moment, and for all that follows." Michael said.

"Because he brought Babylon 4, the war turned toward the light," she whispered. Terror moved into her eyes. "If the Shadows acquired a similar advantage..."

"Exactly, Entil'zha," Michael said. I was happy that someone understood this conversation. They spoke for several more minutes about some machine on Epsilon 3 and about the defense of the station.

"There is one more thing, Entil'zha," Michael said, and then he talked about our suspicions of Centauri support for the raiders, summarized the problem with the telepath colony, and mentioned Lochley's stance and the presence of Bester on station. I didn't see how those constituted 'one more thing,' what they had to do with one another, or why he was bringing this to Delenn, until he closed with his request. Entil'zha gave her permission, awfully damn quickly, I thought, but they ended the transmission before I could say so.

"You're out of your mind." If I couldn't argue with Delenn, Michael would do.

He smiled, and motioned me back down into my chair for a third time. "Trust me on this one," he said, "and just do what I've asked you to do." He must have seen my resistance. "Please?"

"This is one of your hunch things, isn't it?" I asked.

"It's more than a hunch," he replied, his voice fading. He sat back in his chair and his gaze moved away, far away. He pressed his hand to the Isil'zha.

"Michael?" He snapped back to attention at my voice. "Can you explain any of this to me? I'm lost here."

"I can try," he said with a smile. For the next several minutes, Michael related to me what, coming from any one else, I would have dismissed as a bedtime story. It would take me a while to assimilate all I heard. "Meanwhile," he said finally, "we've got work to do. Chime promised to sneak my 'fury to the head of the line for repairs, and I want to get down there and talk to him about a couple of adjustments I want. If there's anything to my hunch..." He leaned on the word to tease me. "... the raids on the station will keep coming, so we need to be ready."

He took a breath and studied me. "You've got Delenn taken care of. You've got to get Sheridan on the Mars trip."

"I'll ramp up his security team," I offered and he nodded.

"We need to do this Centauri thing, and then if there is any benevolence anywhere in the universe, Sheridan will get the telepath homeworld through the council and we can get them off this station."

As if to prove Michael's hunches, the raiders attacks against the station intensified, with no diminution of their sorties elsewhere around the region. The more I mapped the skirmishes, the more I looked for patterns, the more convinced I became of Michael's claim of chaos. The assaults sapped the station. Our fighters were damaged and their pilots tired. Tension suffused the station as everyone came to anticipate the alerts. Outgoing transports were booked to capacity.

No one was more thoroughly worn down by it all than Zack Allan. Station security always stood with one foot in and one foot out of the station. In a perfect world, they were cops whose beat was a five-mile long tin can. But in a crisis, like cops anywhere, they were first responders, doing whatever was needed, helping any way they could. For Allan and those of his officers who were checked out on fighters, the current crises pulled them in both directions. Outside, we needed every pilot we could get. Inside, Zack put all his resources into keeping the peace in and around Brown Sector.

And Bester didn't help. Lurking around the edges of Brown Sector, showing up in places he didn't belong, smiling condescendingly at no one in particular, and making eye contact and, we assumed, mind contact with every telepath he saw, he chafed everyone's nerves. Tempers, already shredded by the tension the raiders had caused, were made brittle by Bester and his stony, silent stares. And poor Zack had to keep it calm.

It was a relief to see Sheridan off to Mars and away from all that. At least someone would get some peace. Delenn extended her stay on Minbar, a decision Michael and I both heartily endorsed. When we finally boarded the WhiteStars for the Centauri mission, I realized I welcomed the idea of being anywhere but Babylon 5.

What we had taken to calling the Centauri mission was a bit more elaborate than we made it seem. Perhaps it was better that way, at least when we talked with the Centauri government. Whatever favors Londo had called in to get us permission to 'patrol' Centauri space in the hope of intercepting the raiders, the folks back home on Centauri Prime were not thrilled by the idea.

We set out on five fully manned, fully armed WhiteStars and took position just on the hyperspace side of the Centauri jumpgate, where any ship hoping to pass through would have to face us. As Michael had requested, I took command of the lead ship. His Starfury, repaired and adjusted as promised, fretted nervously in front of us. We were playing a waiting game, but the raids had escalated to more than twice daily frequency, so we didn't expect to have to wait long. A few legitimate ships passed through the gate: three freighters, leaving hyperspace with cargo for Centauri Prime, and a couple of small Centauri scout ships, coming through the gate from the planetside. All of them checked out, but few were amenable to our interference.

We waited, and the lights aboard our ship flashed yellow. Yellow for caution, I thought, or for cowardice -- a sick, sad yellow, the color of cheap mustard. My hands, caught between the jaundiced strobe and the lighted instrument panel, had an unreal fluorescence, like a prop in a carnival fright ride. They moved over the controls without my conscious intervention. I shook them gently to reclaim them as my own.

We picked them up on instruments first, the computers protesting when they could not match the silhouette to known ships in the database. When they were within visual range, they stopped, twelve ships, in some sloppy version of a formation. The Starfury moved toward them, and opened a channel.

"This is Michael Garibaldi, Chief of Covert Intelligence for the Interstellar Alliance, and yes, we are in your way. Now, I've seen a fire fight in hyperspace, and it's not a pretty thing. So why don't you just stand down before we have to do something you'll regret."

The young Minbari on my weapons control nudged a panel and our guns trained on the raiders. In the tense silence that ensued, I strained to listen for the whine of those guns charging to fire, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear it or wanted to be certain I didn't. What I heard instead was the barrage of pings burping from the raiders' guns.

Michael was very right. A firefight in hyperspace was not pretty. All sorts of gases that might or might not ignite, easy disorientation when you tried to maneuver, and the hellish red light that suffused the place gave the experience a nightmarish quality. But since the raiders' numerical edge was not enough to overcome the WhiteStars' superior firepower, it looked like it would be a mercifully short battle.

And then the rest appeared. I had no time to count them and no will to do so. It would have only been more frightening. The Starfury and two WhiteStars maneuvered through the throng, firing and being fired upon, while three of us held station, blocking the gate, and taking out as many as we could. I felt the explosion before I consciously heard or saw it, but when I looked, Michael's Starfury was gone, and two WhiteStars were giving chase to fleeing ships.

Battle does strange things to you. I remember watching, thoughtless, breathless, until every spark that had been his ship flared out, seeing it absolutely silent in the forest of sound that was combat. And then, suddenly awakened, I was giving orders, and yet feeling nothing, numb. Like a dream of dreaming, reality fragmented and layered, each stratum isolated, insulated from the others, and I couldn't be sure which one to call real.

And then we were alone, three WhiteStars in silent space. Around us, the debris of battle floated aimlessly, chaotically. Chaos, Michael had said, was what they wanted. I wondered if we had gotten what we wanted too.

We held our station, blocking the jumpgate, until our two sister ships returned. I gave the order to return to Babylon 5, and tried to prepare myself for what would come next. It was my command, at least for now, and however inadequate I felt, I vowed to uphold Michael's standards. This interception had not obliterated the raider threat. I knew that. We couldn't even be certain if we had reduced their force in any significant way. They would hit us again, at the station and away, and we had to be ready. We had no time to mourn.

It's never easy to tell a man his friend is dead, especially when his friend is also yours. Zack Allan was waiting for me when I got back to the station.

"Man, am I glad to see you. The Council is arguing about the telepath homeworld deal and everybody and their uncle can find a reason for yelling at me. Look, as soon as Michael gets here, can we get whatever plan you guys have in motion, please? I've got to get these people off my back."

There was little I could do except to blurt it out. "Michael isn't coming back, Zack."

"What do you mean? Where the hell is he going now?"

"His 'fury was hit during the battle."

Open mouthed, Zack startled. "Hit? Geez! How bad is it? Is he going to be OK? The doc..."

I had to force myself to pronounce the words. "His ship was destroyed, Zack." I knew the pain I was causing him, and I grieved for that. Allan said nothing, just stared at me, and as I watched, he started to cry. He seemed not to know the tears were falling, but I took his arm and led him to a more private spot. I felt a little guilty that I could not weep, but so much of this evaded understanding. I couldn't worry about that now. There were things to be done.

"Zack, I'm sorry to have to give you news like that and then talk about other things, but I think Michael would want us to tend to business." He nodded and pushed the heels of his hands to his eyes, wiping away the tears, pushing back the new ones.

"We'll move the telepaths, as soon as possible, I promise you. But the station may still be in danger from the raiders. We took out quite a few of them today, but we don't know if that even makes a dent."

"We'll be ready," he said, rocking his head.

"I ..." Even from the first syllable these words stuck in my throat. "I need to inform Sheridan and Delenn." I couldn't make myself add the words "of Michael's death." I thought for a moment about how I was going to accomplish that. "I'll get a message to Sheridan on the StellarCom, but I'd like to call on Delenn in person."

Zack signed his understanding. "I don't think Michael had any family. Nobody he talked about anyways." He thought for a second. "What about Lise?"

"I can call... unless the President wants to do it. He's met her." This conversation was becoming more painful than either of us could handle. "As soon I get back from Minbar, we'll start the move," I promised. "Until then, Zack, keep this place safe."

Sheridan was stunned by the news of Michael's loss, falling back into his chair speechless. I had no words to fill the silence. Circumstances hadn't given me time to examine my own feelings, and it didn't look like they would any time soon. I managed to say something, some expression of condolences on behalf of the Rangers, but when words sound empty, it's hard to find their meaning.

"I can cancel the rest of this trip," Sheridan said at last. "I can be back there in..."

"With all due respect, Mr. President," I interrupted, "there's really nothing you can do here." In his face, I saw the helplessness I felt when I spoke the words. "Michael felt you were safer away from the station right now, and I believe he was right. We don't know enough about this enemy to know if the losses we've inflicted are significant. They may come right back at us. Stay where you are." I made a mental note to call the lead Ranger on his security detail and read him the riot act later.

In the soundless movements of the President's mouth, I could see he was searching for a way to argue with me. "A memorial service?" he said at last, and I nodded.

"I'm sure Michael would be pleased, sir, but I'm just as sure that if he could, he'd tell you that it can wait until this crisis is over." In my mind, I heard Michael's voice quip "Hell, I'm not going anywhere."

Maybe it was unfair of me to be shocked by the way Captain Lochley behaved when she heard the news. After all, I was forcing myself to attend to business.

"Does this mean you're responsible for these telepaths now?" she demanded.

I assured her that I would assume Garibaldi's responsibilities until the President appointed a new Director. She ranted at me for several minutes about things I'm sure were important to her, and might be to me some other time, but I heard little of it. I may have interrupted her when I took my leave, but I left just the same.