The Machine was powerful and it loved power in return. And Delenn's mind was powerful. It responded to her. Even when he was separated from it, Draal could feel its pleasure. A mind and a soul such as hers – it would delight in them. And it would offer her bliss in return. She would know the possibilities of infinite knowledge, of impossible beauty, of terrible darkness. Those things were already part of her, even if she was unaware of them.

The Machine would bring that awareness. Its power was seductive.

Her arms were spread wide in its embrace and her face glowed. She valued knowledge.

But nothing that she could have seen, nothing that it could offer to her mattered as much as the being she sought. Sheridan, too, was powerful. Also a being of wisdom and beauty and darkness. And light. They both burned and the Machine loved them for it.

'John, can you hear me? Can you see me?'

'You must concentrate, Delenn.' Draal's voice filled the chamber. 'You must focus on who he is, not on your memories of him.'

Her breathing was rapid, eyes turned almost black.

'Oh, Valen, please don't take him from me now – I won't be able to bear it, I will go mad this time. Let me reach him, let my mind reach out and touch his. John, come back to me…'

'Computer. Reference: Babylon Project. Search parameters: Earth Alliance, Minbar.'

'Reference is unknown.'

'Reference: White Star Fleet.'

'Reference is unknown.'

Trying to digest the truth of what was happening was about the most difficult thing that John Sheridan had ever had to do. When he was a child he had loved the old vids his grandfather had sometimes played for him. Old, twentieth century TV shows where some unsuspecting individual was forever being pulled into a parallel dimension. As a child he had always thought how much fun that would be. There was a reason why childish dreams were supposed to be set aside. The comp. panel was displaying records from the historical database. At least, the historical database of the dimension he now found himself in. So far, he'd discovered that there had never been an Earth-Minbari War – in this universe the Minbari had been the ones to initiate First Contact - consequently no Babylon project and very definitely no Babylon stations...

The permutations were starting to make his head hurt all over again. He looked up, again, at the footage from the battle that he had, apparently, just been in.

Even before the first viewing he had already known what he would see, but had hoped that his worst suspicions might be wrong. The appearance of the spiky, spider-like forms had made his heart sink to new-found depths. He didn't think that he could deal with this again, not so soon. Not ever. Unlike in his universe, the Shadows, as far as he could tell, were far more numerous here and had been launching sporadic attacks against emerging space-faring species for centuries. They would lie dormant just long enough that their existence could be dismissed as myth and then it would all start up again. But they had apparently decided that now was the time to launch their ultimate offensive. There had been attacks in numerous sectors. No-one was spared, every known race was being targeted in turn. Almost all had joined the resistance - the Narn, Humans, Minbari...

The Minbari. He could give the computer her name. It would be easy. A simple request and he would know. If Delenn were as well-known here as she was in his dimension, there might be a reference somewhere.

But this universe was a violent place and the Minbari were no safer from attacks than any other race. If anything, they seemed to live under a double threat of the Shadows and themselves. Their Federation was in the throes of a power struggle that was rapidly escalating into a civil war. Delenn had never been one to shy away from confrontation. If she lived among them there was no reason why that should be any different here.

But if it wasn't the news he wanted to hear he wasn't certain he could take it.

'Coward.'

He paced the room. It was tiny, cluttered. For every object that he recognised, there were two he didn't. His own life and a stranger's colliding and this was the result.

Too many questions. He had to think; his mind wouldn't keep still long enough.

'Computer. Reference: Valen. Search parameters: Minbari.'

A moment then that quiet, toneless voice.

'Reference is unknown.'

He stopped. 'Run the search again.'

'Search complete. There are no records of reference "Valen." '

Delenn had told him she was a descendant of Valen. Sheridan's eyes were fixed but he saw nothing. That was it. He had his answer.

'Captain, the Minbari delegation has arrived. Captain Sinclair asks if you will join him in the reception area.' The voice came over the comm. system. He stood for a moment, still, then moved slowly, pulling his jacket on again. He fumbled at the fastening, his fingers thick and clumsy. Despair was pointless, he told himself. This was not his world. But it was still hard to exist in one that didn't have her in it. Sheridan took a steadying breath, finally pulling his jacket into place. Each breath he took was one more than he should have had. He picked up the plan of the underground cave system. Degeba 3, one of the headquarters of the Shadow resistance force. Deep space, a good three-day's travel from anywhere even remotely hospitable and the middle of a battle-zone. He followed the route to the designated area.

'You look better,' Sinclair noted.

He certainly didn't feel any better. 'Mm.'

Sinclair was quietly joined by Franklin, Garibaldi and a couple of other people he vaguely knew from EarthForce but couldn't name. The new arrivals made a half-hearted attempt at small talk but Sheridan was evidently in no mood for chat. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed ahead. Steely. They looked uncharacteristically dark and Sinclair again had the feeling of estrangement.

Seeing that Sheridan was going to remain silent, Sinclair shifted to the business at hand. 'From the information sent down from the Minbari cruiser it seems that at least one of the group is a government representative.'

'Which government?' Garibaldi asked sardonically. 'They seem to toss them out and reform them on a whim. Sometimes it amazes me that they're as advanced as they are. Hell, never mind; I guess it doesn't matter. At least they're here. Let's just hope they brought an arsenal with them.'

Sinclair blew out a breath. 'From your lips to God's ear.' He moved away, exchanged a few words with a young Centauri.

Garibaldi's attention turned to his silent comrade. 'How's the head?'

He was being tag-teamed, Sheridan was sure of it. It was a little touching and extremely maddening.

'Still on my shoulders, which seems to be the best I can hope for at the moment.'

The other man grinned unrepentantly. But his eyes were wary and watchful.

There was no ceremony before the doors at the far end opened. It was a small group. Rangers, both Human and Minbari. A few Warrior Caste, the heavy studs on their battle dress glinting in the glare of harsh lighting, their faces grim. Their leader looked tiny by comparison and for a moment everything just stopped. Sheridan felt as if all of his insides were being squeezed.

'Delenn.' It was involuntary, her name on his lips. Valen didn't exist. She shouldn't be here. She couldn't be here…

'Huh?' Garibaldi muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

No reply. He was too busy looking at her. She was Minbari. Full Minbari. He didn't know why that surprised him; it was no more illogical than her existing here in the first place and it was something he should have thought of. All of the things that weren't right in this universe, this was just another. Sheridan had seen pictures of Delenn from before her transformation; he knew what she had looked like. The reality of it was still a shock. The bridge of her nose was wider, flatter, her brow-ridge still delicate but more pronounced. Ears small and well-formed, low beneath the ornate bone-crest wrapped around her skull. The intricate cerulean pattern across her scalp stood in contrast to the translucent peach of her skin. And she was still beautiful: the same sensitive lines of her face, characterised by strength, the same intense, exquisite grey eyes. She was also far paler than he had ever seen her. Thinner. She held herself erect but he knew her well enough to see the signs of exhaustion in the heaviness of her limbs.

'I wonder if you would have fallen in love with me the way I was before the chrysalis?'

He'd laughed when she had asked that. He had told her she was beautiful. Not for the first time – he always told her she was beautiful. She'd been lying in his arms and she had laughed in return - a surprisingly melodious, childlike sound coming from one normally so serious. He'd dodged her question with the same one right back at her. Could she, would she, have loved him the way she had been? They'd both been laughing and then… He remembered how her hair had spread across the pillow as she pulled him down beside her. They had been entwined in sheets and each other and the whispers of lovers. He'd lost the questions and himself in her as the night claimed them and he couldn't remember whether either of them ever answered.

He should have answered. He should have told her that one simple truth. The woman making her way down the line of officers was a stranger … but she wasn't. She was his Delenn. Even in another universe; even when a whole universe stood between- He stifled the thoughts; he would drive himself mad this way.

She was introducing herself to Sinclair.

'I am Satai Delenn of the clan Mir.' Their hands met, no hesitation on her part – she was used to this ritual. At the sound of her name Garibaldi started slightly and shot Sheridan a quizzical look. Sheridan had been taking note of every aspect of her appearance, had noticed that she was wearing the Isil'zha and the cloak of Ranger One. When she was finally in front of him, he looked deeply into her eyes and bowed slightly towards her, imitating the movement he had seen her use so many times before.

Most of the phrases in Adronato he knew he had learnt from her. They were words spoken by lovers, not new acquaintances meeting for the first time. But he had studied, on the rare occasions when he had the time. A way of bringing himself closer to her. His greeting ritual was faltering at best, his accent no doubt atrocious but the intended effect was achieved: at the sound of her language and the use of her title, Anla'Shok Na, her eyes widened and she stared at him. She was the one stumbling as she returned his welcome, her gaze never quite leaving his; in the end they stood before each other, wordless.

Oblivious to the look passing between them, Sinclair intervened. 'Would you like to be shown to your quarters, Satai, before we begin the briefing?'

Delenn started slightly. It took another moment before she turned but she recovered quickly. 'Thank-you, Captain, but I think that we should "get down to business" as soon as possible. We were able to refresh ourselves on board.'

'It's just as well we get started,' Sinclair sighed. 'I'm afraid that what rooms we have are very basic and the catering is not much to speak of; but I hope that you will be as comfortable as possible.' They flanked her, Sinclair one side and Sheridan the other. Her retinue and the base's ranking military personnel fell into line behind them.

Her hands moved in a graceful gesture of dismissal. 'We have brought some supplies including medical equipment that you may be able to use. I know how difficult the situation has become here. Even though we have our own troubles at home the Rangers have kept me informed.'

They had reached the War Room, seated themselves around the large table.

'Right,' Sinclair folded his hands, resting them lightly on the table top, 'let's begin.'

The news was as bad as any Sheridan had ever heard and all too familiar. It was a war he could have done without fighting once, let alone twice. The resistance was scattered all over the outer sectors in a desperate attempt to stop the Shadows from breaking into the centre. Theoretically, it was a good strategy: stretching the enemy's lines of communication and support while at the same time concentrating one's own. In reality it had been disastrous. The Shadows were simply too powerful for superior tactics to make much difference - and the losses among the Younger Races were horrifying. The emotional toll was visible in the expressions of everyone he saw. Exhaustion, desperation. Clinging to a strategy that they knew was slowly stripping their superior numbers away but hanging on anyway because they didn't know what else to do. But what was obvious to all was that their days were numbered. They were staring into the face of an overwhelming defeat. And there was nowhere else to go; behind them, their core systems were all that remained.

The newcomers had brought supplies - arms, food, some much-needed medicines - but little hope. Their commander, Vadiri, was powerfully built: one side of his face disfigured by scarring, the other heavily tattooed; the metal studs of his ceremonial battle dress were augmented with tiny serrated edges. Any Minbari warrior would fight to the death and beyond. A soldier such as this could, through sheer force of will, perform feats otherwise thought of as impossible.

Yet even he looked hunted, wore the look of someone who has nothing more to offer. Death soon becomes a welcome surrender of your burdens at that stage; Sheridan had seen that look too many times before.

'We were intercepted by one of their vessels.' The old warrior's words were slow, strongly accented and carefully pronounced. The Human tongue was still something he was unaccustomed to using but dependency on a translator was beneath his dignity. 'They did not fire on us. We took up battle formation; we were prepared. It came within range and then pulled away. It was sudden. I would have given the order to fire but it disappeared.' His hands moved, imitating the motion of the ship. 'To me, this makes no tactical sense. We were vulnerable; they could have destroyed us easily. Too easily,' he added.

'For that we should be grateful, Alyt,' Delenn commented quietly.

Vadiri inclined his head slightly; he seemed almost offended, as though the enemy's lack of interest was a slight on his honour.

'But I agree, it did not make sense,' she continued for the benefit of the others assembled. 'They appeared on an attack vector, began to close on us and then- Then it was as though they encountered an invisible barrier. But we had nothing; other than our fighter screen there were no other ships around, no one who could have come to our aid if they had attacked.'

'Did you have telepaths on board?' All eyes turned to Sheridan's corner of the table.

Garibaldi started. 'Captain, no offence, but what the hell has that got to do with-'

'Telepaths affect the ships.'

Garibaldi would have continued but there was something in the finality of Sheridan's words that silenced him. 'To be exact, telepaths affect the pilots of the ships,' he continued. 'Shadow vessels use organic technology, living beings merged into their central cores; we know that much, right?'

'It is so.' Vadiri assented.

One pair of grey eyes was not moving from his face. Sheridan strove to ignore the gaze. 'If they get too close to a telepath,' he continued, 'it causes them pain. They can't stand it. And if the telepath is strong enough they can disrupt the connection between the core and the ship. It weakens them enough to let us hit them. Of course, our own capabilities don't have much effect, we need stronger weapons to maximise that advantage.'

She was still looking at him. Now, he made himself look at her. 'You do have telepaths in your crew, don't you, Satai?'

'Yes.' Bewilderment, suspicion. 'But how do you know all of this?'

'That's what I'd like to know.' There was suspicion in Sinclair's face, too. He was frowning, long fingers beating rhythmically against the tabletop. In the silence it seemed deafening.

'Things fall apart…' The words echoed around Sheridan's head mockingly. He should have kept his mouth shut but he'd chimed in automatically and now it was too late. 'It would take too long to explain.' He always hated it when people used that same excuse to him. 'What matters is that we're losing ships every day and nothing else we've tried so far has worked. What do we have to lose? We need to organise telepaths to be on every cruiser that goes out of here.'

Sinclair nodded, still suspicious but at least willing to listen. It was good enough. It would have to be. 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' Sheridan grimaced inwardly: his thoughts seemed unable to move beyond the trite. Swallowing his misgivings, he stumbled on. 'We're killing ourselves fighting the fight the Shadows want. We have to make them fight under conditions that we choose, bring them to where we want them to be – at the moment we've got all our ships stretched out on every front. If they ever decided it was time to end it all, they'd punch through and blow us all to kingdom come. Our only strategic advantage is superior numbers and it is time for us to exploit it. We need to concentrate all of our strength and above all we need leaders who can rely on the respect and obedience of all of our troops.' He looked around the table. He certainly had everyone's attention; they all looked a little stunned.

Sinclair had the disconcerting feeling that Sheridan's last comment had been directed at him. 'John, where did all of this come from – how do you suddenly know so much about the way a Shadow ship works?' He looked as though he was trying to see straight into Sheridan's head.

Sheridan returned his gaze calmly. 'Let's just say that I have it on very good authority. We have to try to get their ships to a point where we can take out as many of them as possible with the minimum losses to ourselves.'

'And you know how to do this, do you?' asked Garibaldi.

'I might. I need to give it some thought.' The same pattern of attack was showing on the displays arrayed around them; he had seen that immediately. Easy to notice when you know what you're looking for. The most vulnerable area was sitting untouched right in the middle of the crumbling defences. An area filled with refugees. 'Delenn, are there any White Stars available yet?'

An exclamation from Vadiri, silenced by a gesture from Delenn. All of the Minbari had stiffened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the Ranger's hands move, automatically, for her denn'bok.

Delenn looked genuinely startled. 'How do you know about the White Star fleet? We haven't…' Her words trailed off. She looked around the table, let out a long breath. 'The White Star is a hybrid of Vorlon and Minbari technology-'

'Whoa.' Garibaldi held up a hand. 'Let's just back up here a moment, Satai. Vorlon technology? Vorlon? As in the race that no one has seen for, oh, about a thousand years and we wouldn't know one even if we did see 'em? Those Vorlons?'

Beneath the table, Delenn's hands flexed, clenched. 'Yes, Commander. Those Vorlons.'

Garibaldi seemed to have forgotten from whom the disclosure about these new ships had actually come, his attention now wholly on the diminutive Minbari across from him. 'And just how long have your people been sitting on this juicy revelation?'

'The technology has been with us for many hundreds of years.' Her voice was level but Sheridan could hear the strain beneath the control. 'It is only recently that we have been able to understand how it works, how it could be put to use. The result is the White Star. It has weapons and manoeuvring capabilities that far exceed anything that either of our governments possess. We have been working to complete the first wave of the fleet and now that we have I had intended to present them to the forces here.' There was now more curiosity than suspicion in her gaze, also an undoubted coolness as she turned their attention away from herself and back to the originator of the news. 'Your intelligence seems to be excellent, Captain Sheridan.'

It was, as always, a move well played, he thought. But he had gone too far. Sinclair, Garibaldi, all of the assembly were staring at him. Perhaps bringing up the White Stars had been premature but this situation was far more desperate than the war he had just come through and the only effective weapons that he had known were simply not in place. The sense of unease spreading in the room was tangible. It always came down to time and time was the thing that they never had enough of. He simply didn't have time to ease them into discovering for themselves the things he already knew. And there was certainly no time for complicated explanations. Not that anyone would believe him. Except, maybe… Sheridan looked at Delenn. She was still uncertain, still confused. Not exactly resentful but doubtless unnerved that her secret had been forced out so publicly. But despite all of that there was something in her gaze that said she wanted to believe. Just like the woman he had left behind.

Garibaldi broke the ensuing silence. 'Maybe we should break here, everyone seems pretty beat.' He pushed his chair back. It grated against the floor. He stood, placing both hands flat on the table, almost daring one of them to contradict him. He was spoiling for a fight.

'I think that's a good idea, Michael.' Sinclair's voice was level. He turned to Delenn, his smile a little forced. 'Satai, tomorrow might be a good time for you to introduce us to this new fleet.'

Delenn bowed slightly in acknowledgement, but her eyes never left Sinclair's now-silent companion.

When she prowled the deck, her great mane of tawny hair tumbling down her back, Ivanova had always put him in mind of a lioness. Today, more then ever. A lioness whose cub had gone missing - although, Corwin was certain that neither Ivanova nor the captain would thank him for the comparison.

A cub? No. The captain was something else altogether.

A blip, a something on his screen. He stiffened. 'Commander!'

She spun, eyes ferocious. 'Well?'

'I-' He frowned. 'I thought that I picked something up on the sensors, but it looks like it was just an echo.'

'I'm not interested in echoes, Lieutenant, I want to hear when we have something concrete. Has Ambassador Delenn been in contact yet?'

'Not yet.'

Ivanova's lips tightened. 'Let's just hope that she has more luck down there than we're having up here.'

'John behaving eccentrically really isn't anything new, Jeff.' Catherine Sinclair looked at her husband. Her smile was tolerant, indulgent; he wondered if it were meant for him or the absent Sheridan.

'I'm not talking about eccentric, Cathy, I'm talking about weird. It could have been a stranger in there. And he spoke to the Minbari representative as though he's known her for years.'

'Well, maybe they do know each other.' She joined him on the sofa, easing off her shoes, curling her legs beneath her.

Sinclair shook his head. The glass she had placed on the table in front of him went untouched. 'How could they? We've never heard of her before. John's never been to Minbar before.'

'Okay, so has she been off her homeworld before?'

'I-' Sinclair held up his hands helplessly. 'I don't know. If they've somehow met, she's doing a damn good job of pretending she hasn't. She seems just as bewildered as we are.'

Garibaldi, leaning back, hands behind his head, observed them through half-closed eyes. 'John knows her all right. He said her name as soon as he saw her. If you ask me, he's been doing a lot of, how should I say this - investigating without us.'

Sinclair didn't comment. He had known John Sheridan for over ten years: they had always been firm friends. Sheridan had been with him the night he had first met Catherine. He'd introduced them. John had always been more exuberant than him – he wasn't afflicted by the crippling doubts that periodically assailed Sinclair. When he did have periods of introspection he tended to keep them to himself and his flashes of mad genius always pulled them all through any dilemma. His self-confidence could be called arrogance, except for the fact of his unfailing modesty. Sheridan had always been charismatic, but Sinclair had felt as though he were in the presence of a force of nature in the War Room. But more than that, it was the way that Sheridan had looked at him. As though expecting something from him that Sinclair didn't understand. Wisdom? Insight?

There had been something different about Sheridan, not something that Sinclair could easily place. The good-humour a little more suppressed than usual, the thoughtfulness more noticeable. Admittedly, it was a situation that called for sobriety, but even so- It wasn't just that. It was as though, somehow, the fundamentals of his character had been subtly rearranged, leaving a man at once the same and yet different.

At his side, Catherine eased the band from her hair, dark waves cascading to her shoulders. She raked her fingers through it, caught him watching her and reached for his hand. Hers was warm, steady; he squeezed it gently.

Garibaldi, his gaze now fixed somewhere above their heads, continued at the puzzle. 'I'd really like to know how he knew all that stuff about the telepaths – it sounded crazy. But I want to believe him and I don't know why. Maybe that last crack on the head has unleashed a latent second sight; maybe we'll have to start hiding him from Psi-Corps.' Garibaldi grinned at the mental image of Sheridan as a Psi-Cop. But the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. As with Sinclair, he had found something unsettling in his old friend; and it worried him.

Sinclair was not smiling. 'I just wonder what the Minbari made of him.'

TBC