And at that moment at least one Minbari was wondering as well. Satai Delenn studied her guest with some trepidation while she poured out the tea. It gave her something to focus on, something to do with her hands. They shook only slightly, a few drops of hot liquid splashing against the table's stained surface. She wiped them away with her fingers. Captain Sheridan had knocked on her door over an hour ago and she now felt as though her brain had been assaulted. The story he had told her had sounded more than fantastical – he had said that himself before he even began. A war between her own people and his; the construction of a space station where he had first met her, another version of her; a place where she had become part Human and he was her friend. And then some sort of rift – temporal, spatial - that had brought him into this universe. The most pragmatic, logical part of her told her that she should humour him until she could safely coax him into leaving and then inform the other EarthForce officers that their colleague was, sadly, insane.

On her homeworld, lunatics were cared for by the elders of the temple. They were holy fools, their fractured minds bringing them in closer contact with the universe itself.

This man did not have the look of a lunatic or a fool. Something about him, something in his eyes... That, perhaps, was the only reason she was still listening. He had the look of someone who had seen beyond the reality of this life, as though he walked among the stars like a giant. Even at the first moment of their meeting, when he had looked into her face, it had been as if he knew all of the secrets of her soul; she had never known before that it was possible to feel a thrill at something so simple as hearing another person say her name. But when he looked at her, there was pain. It was almost tangible. He looked at her, and the very act of looking hurt him.

Delenn replaced the pot, pushed the cup towards him. He cradled it between his hands.

'Why have you told me all of this, Captain? Why not explain to your own people, your own friends?'

'Because I couldn't make them understand. Because you are the only person I could tell. Dammit, Delenn.' He stood up and paced the room. 'I know how all of this sounds. I know what you must be thinking.' His eyes met hers and a faint, wry smile pulled at his lips. 'Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea what you're thinking. Believe me, if I could produce one shred of evidence to back-up any of this, I'd go to Sinclair and try to work something out. But I can't. I-' He broke off, a hand running through his hair. 'I'm not supposed to be here.' Another memory, another smile. Different this time. Tender, almost wistful. 'You know, I've lost count of how many times I've said that. And I always seem to be saying it to you.'

His pacing brought him back to the sofa. Sheridan sat, took a mouthful of the tea and sat back against the cushions. There was a fragrance on the air: herbs from the tea and behind that, faint but recognisable, the scent that she always carried with her. The same scent, deep and woody, like tropical flowers after the rains.

'I know that nothing I have said makes any sense and there is no reason why you should believe me. But in some other universe, we have already fought the Shadows. And we won. And I don't know how I got from there to here.' He picked his words with care. 'If I was back home, you – she – would probably be telling me that the universe knows what it's doing. That somehow all of this is necessary. I'd like to believe that. So maybe my being here, now, just when you have arrived here for the first time- Well, maybe it isn't just a coincidence.'

'You seem to attach great importance to my presence, Captain.'

It was there again, the hurt.

'Yes, well... Like I said, I trust you.' A slight spasm, fleeting. 'Her. I trust her. We've been through a lot together, enough for three lifetimes. Back home, back where I should be, we're-' He tried to remember the word she had used. The formal term in her own language to which Delenn, his Delenn, had attached so much significance. At the last second he changed his mind, though the words he chose were still Adronato. 'We're friends. We're very good friends.' Another pause, then he added, 'Partners.'

At some of his previous revelations she been noticeably shocked but for the first time she looked genuinely surprised. Her head tilted. 'Friends? Partners?' Delenn repeated the words as though they were something strange. It must be a very great friendship, she thought, if the sight of her brought him pain. Partners. An intentionally imprecise term, perhaps. She wondered if he was aware of the numerous interpretations his words afforded. He had chosen his words with care although his limited vocabulary in her language might account for any misunderstandings. Or give him something to hide behind. Partners on Minbar could be anything from simple friends and associates to companions during shared adversity to… Her eyes dropped from his, studying a patch on the floor and then looked up again. She studied his face and found him watching her with equal intensity. There was something guarded in his eyes.

So. In some other place and time he was her … friend ... her partner … then. And he had given her a mystery to solve.

He was the first to break their gaze. 'I'm telling you this because I refuse to believe that you are so different from the person I know. And because I want to trust you; or maybe I just need to trust you, I don't know. But I do know that I can't bear to see you not knowing who we are to each other, even if you aren't my Delenn.'

The possession in his voice spoke more than just his words. His. His Delenn. He spoke as though she were someone who belonged to him, whom he belonged to in return. Or did all Human males speak of their friends in such a manner? Perhaps she had interpreted his meaning wrongly; Humans could be strangely imprecise in their speech. But it had been his tone that had disturbed her more than his words. It was too much. She edged away from him, stood and walked across the room, trying to take in all that he had said and what he might be withholding. She was more than prepared to accept that there were forces and phenomena at work in the universe beyond her comprehension, but never before had one demanded her faith and understanding so insistently. If what he said was true, if she placed her belief in him, it could save them all. And if it was not, it could destroy them.

Sheridan could see the battle raging and hated himself for what he was doing. He told himself it was out of necessity; he needed help and she was the logical choice. It was out of mercy, he told himself, that he withheld the one piece of information that to him was the most important. To her it was meaningless. It would do neither of them any good and the knowledge might actually destroy any fragile threads of understanding he had been able to establish with her. And yet there was still selfishness: a need to see in her the same trust he had become so accustomed to seeing in those grey eyes; to model this woman on the one he knew; to demand of her the words and actions he relied on so completely from her counterpart.

Delenn's next words seemed to echo his thoughts. 'This-' Her head shook. 'This is impossible.'

He forced a smile. 'Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'

'I do not understand.'

'Neither do I…' He closed his eyes. 'Nothing. A joke - a bad one. I'm sorry.'

She would know, almost as well as he did, that the ships she brought were the last hope of stopping the Shadows. And he was asking her to commit everything she had on one throw of the dice, with nothing but his word to go on. And she had to decide now. The pattern he'd seen in the War Room was almost complete. They would be coming soon whether the White Stars were there or not.

Her shoulders were so slight, he thought. The wide cut of her robes always gave the illusion of her being bigger than she really was. But beneath all of that, and when her shoulders sagged as they did now, she seemed achingly fragile. Breakable. And this was what he was doing to her.

'You have not told me everything.'

'I've told you everything that matters.' A pause. 'You don't believe me.'

'I have not said that.' She didn't turn to him. On the other side of the room she could have been light years away.

'There's no reason why you should.' Sheridan tried to sound reasonable and despised the hardness he heard in his own voice. To expect a Minbari to accept everything without question was nothing more than their way but this was Delenn - to expect her to do so was more than arrogance. And yet her refusal to do just that brought a stab of resentment, immediately followed by one of guilt. He stood. 'This was a mistake. I apologise for bothering you, Satai.' When she turned to him, finally, it was with a look he didn't recognise.

He crossed the room to the door, hand hovering over the panel to open. 'If I thought it would do any good, if it would convince you, I'd tell you more. But then, I don't know if any of it would be true for you. I could tell you that your mother is in a religious order and you still miss her, but would it be true here? I could mention that your closest friend is a master Teela writer but Mayan might not have even been born. I might say that your father used to carry on your shoulders to temple so you could see what was going on. And the first time he didn't was when you realised he was getting older and that one day-' He stopped himself. Her eyes had widened, she was breathing harder.

'I could tell you a lot of things about you and me in my far-off life.' His voice was softer. 'You knowing about it... It might make no difference to you at all. But knowing it made no difference to you … well, that would make a world of difference to me.' Sheridan keyed the door, walked out. He didn't look back.

Delenn paced the narrow space of her quarters, longing for clear air and the unbroken sky above. She was accustomed to being enclosed but tonight the walls were suffocating her. When the door chimed she expected it to be him. She would not answer; she would deny him entry. The chime sounded again, insistent. Delenn moved reluctantly; her shoulders were squared as the door opened. Vadiri this time and the sight of him brought both thankfulness and a tinge of disappointment.

The doorway was barely wide enough to allow him access. He squeezed through, his bulk filling her confined room. Sheridan had also filled it, but in a different way. The captain was a large man, tall, but it was his personality that had filled the space more than his physical presence.

Vadiri sat awkwardly on the sofa, looking in grave peril of sliding off its meagre surface. He was silent, studying Delenn closely. She was troubled, had been even before they had arrived at the base. That had increased over the hours since. There were many of the Warrior Caste – some in his own clan – who disapproved of a Religious assuming command of the Anla'Shok. On that matter specifically, Vadiri had little interest; all that concerned him was that whoever held that post fulfilled their duties. In that, he approved of Delenn.

The Satai had seemed an unlikely candidate. The assassination of her predecessor, Lenonn, had been a bloody affair. Just like so many other atrocities that were becoming all too frequent on their homeworld. A group of renegade Warrior Caste isolationists had fallen on him as a pack, like wild animals, armed with blades. It was never known which of them had actually struck the fatal blow. There had been too little left of his body to be certain. Not that it mattered - they had murdered him as one and as one they were guilty. The Rangers, with their mix of both Minbari and Human fighters, were an affront to their notions of racial superiority and purity. If racial purity resulted in creatures such as they, it was a notion best forgotten altogether. The assassins' hope had been that, with their leader gone, the Rangers would eventually disband - anyone who attempted to take Lenonn's place would meet the same fate, that much had been made clear. There were few who had attempted it; although, those attempts had amounted to little more than words and they had all faltered in the end. It was easy to speak of leadership but it took more than mere bravado and empty posturing to be Anla'shok Na and the Rangers could tell the true from the false.

There had been some words of condemnation from the temples following the murder. Too few. Those who had spoken out had been easily identified and targeted. The Chu'domo had been the most vocal until they and their allies had been forced to barricade themselves into their cloisters. But even then they had made their rage heard, calling out across the city from the spires that usually sounded the calls to prayer. The fighting had been taken into the temples themselves, monks in their blood-stained robes lying broken on the desecrated floors. Some of the Warrior Caste had stood with them, fighting alongside the monks and priests. Vadiri remembered those days all too clearly; he had stood with Branmer, Lenonn's clan-nephew, at the gates of the great temple in Tuzanor and the high priest had fought with a courage worthy of any warrior. But in the end he too had been cut down. And out of the horror of the Chu'domo massacre Delenn had taken up the challenge, abandoning the safe anonymity of the Council. She was not of the Chu'domo but she stood as the Anla'Shok Na in honour of the memory of Lenonn and Branmer and to defy any separatist who would dare strike down a Satai. She would not be cowed. It had won her the support of the Star Riders and, for a time, an uneasy peace had settled. Under her direction the Rangers were growing in strength. She had fire. She could be ferocious. She was what they needed.

Vadiri shifted again, the studded leather sitting heavily on his frame. He was getting too old and too tired. He knew that his best battles were behind him but fighting was the only thing he knew to do. It had been his calling all of his life.

He watched Delenn's progress from one side of the room to the other and back and was reminded of the only time he had visited Earth and had been taken to see somewhere they kept animals in cages for the amusement of Humans. A zoo, they called it. A terrible place.

'You are restless, Anla'Shok Na.'

'Yes.' Her hand moved to the back of her neck. 'Yes. The people here. They- They are not what I expected.'

One could often divine more from what Delenn did not say than from her words. 'You mean the one they call Sheridan.'

She smiled slightly at the formality of his phrasing. 'Yes, Vadiri, I mean Sheridan. What did you think of him?'

Vadiri considered her question a moment. 'He is a soldier.'

That answer was to be expected. To call someone a 'soldier' was the highest compliment a Warrior could pay to one who was not one of their own.

'His name is known to many of my caste – I believe that he has friends amongst the Star Riders.' Her head tilted slightly – a sign of interest. Vadiri continued, 'Some of his statements may have sounded peculiar, but I would caution against discounting them entirely; he is experienced and has acquitted himself bravely in battle many times. He has a reputation for turning tactical disadvantages into victories - a skill those stationed here have no doubt found essential to their survival.' He considered his own words and found them lacking. 'He is not like the others. For a Human, he is ... advanced.'

Delenn's smile widened with genuine amusement. 'Vadiri, you are a snob. I had not realised.'

'I am Minbari. I know my place.' He attempted to settle himself on the infernal piece of furniture installed in the room. It was a device the Humans used for torture, he decided. Nothing else could justify its existence.

'I wonder,' Delenn continued softly, 'if he is the one. The one of whom Sigalad spoke.'

She saw the flash of irritation across his face.

Vadiri had a healthy respect for prophecy, but he refused to define his life by it. It was things like this that made dealing with a Religious very difficult. He shifted again, finally conceded defeat, and stood. 'Perhaps. And perhaps prophesies only seem to come true because we want them to; have you considered that, Delenn?'

She looked tired. 'I have considered many things.'

A slight movement rippled across his shoulders. 'I have heard it said that you consider too many things. You may wish to consider that.' Another ripple across his shoulders. Laughter, this time: Warrior Caste humour.

Delenn smiled again. 'Perhaps. You have the files?'

Vadiri passed her the data crystal. 'The news from home is not good. We are fighting two wars but too few of us realise they are one and the same.' He studied her again. 'If we lose either we will lose both. You know this and I know it.'

Her face was unreadable. Acknowledging something to yourself was one thing; hearing it from the lips of another was something else again. It made its reality less easy to ignore.

'You know it,' he repeated. 'Should the Shadows defeat us here the problems of our homeworld will be meaningless because they will appear there next. And none of us will be left to fight them. No-one. We are in need of allies, from wherever we can get them.' A long silence followed until their ears rang with it. 'I will leave you. You should rest; the news of the White Stars was not handled as we had wished and tomorrow those Humans will want to interrogate us. We have only been here a day and already they do not trust us. It will not be pleasant.'

'I'm sure it will not.'

He left her, marking his exit with the formal partings their ranks demanded.

The Humans would have many questions. But Delenn had far more of her own.

He had taken a wrong turn somewhere in search for his own quarters, one stony corridor looking much like another. Sheridan found himself back at the War Room. It was quiet, manned only by the skeleton night-duty staff and he automatically greeted the officer at the surveillance station. The young man looked astonished at being greeted by name.

It had been a horrible thing to do. He had asked for her trust and had abused hers in return. Things she had told him in moments of tenderness he had turned into a punishment for her counterpart. The revelations had stung her, he had seen that. And for a moment he had been angry. And for what? For not accepting his story without question? Would he have believed her, had their positions been reversed? As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the answer and silently he begged her forgiveness. Both their forgiveness.

Would the man who had not been to Z'ha'dum have done such a thing?

Sheridan would have liked to think not, but he remembered an outraged Talia Winters striking him in the face. But Talia was not Delenn.

But this Delenn was not someone he knew. Nor was she someone who knew him.

Circular logic, which he despised.

Sheridan left the crew to their task and commenced wandering the halls once more. It reminded him of Downbelow – that same atmosphere of desperation and the same stale smell of too many bodies squeezed together into too little space. The air was thin, musty. He wondered how many times it had been recycled. When Sheridan finally found his way back to his quarters he paced the floor, trying to think, futilely, of a way out. His thoughts turned to Lorien and for a wild moment he wondered if the First One would be willing to help him. If he could even find him. It was a hope that Sheridan dismissed. The one place that he knew in which to begin such a search was not somewhere he wished to return. Though it may come to that, in the end. He wanted to go home, to get away from these people he didn't quite know and this place where nothing was quite what he remembered. If he had been a drinking man, he would have crawled into a bottle and never come back out.

The door chimed.

When he opened it she was facing him, her back straight, eyes calm.

'I believe what you have told me. You said earlier that you had a plan to move against the Shadows. What do you wish me to do?'

Relief swept through him. Even now, even here, she still had the power to astound him. 'Right,' he said, 'this is the idea.'

It would be nice, Sinclair thought, if just one morning he could wake up feeling as though he had had a decent night's sleep. Just once. Just for the novelty value, to see what it was like. He rubbed his hands over his face, willed himself to liven up. John Sheridan. One more thing to add the ever-growing list of things that troubled him. And Satai Delenn. Trouble there too, he was sure of it.

'Jeff. You look like hell.'

'Morning to you too, Michael.'

They walked through the corridors.

'Have you heard the buzz?'

Sinclair tilted his head. 'What buzz?'

'Something's afoot. Ever wondered why it's 'afoot'? How about 'ayard', or 'amile'?'

'Michael...'

Garibaldi grinned, thrust his hands into his pockets. 'Okay, okay. You know me - never happy unless I know what's going on, where it's going on, who's doing it.'

A wry smile. 'I had noticed.'

'I hate to admit the fact I don't know exactly what is going on, but from the ten different messages that have flashed across my screen this morning, I know that something is definitely up. Ships have been in and out of the area around Melior-'

Sinclair stopped. 'Melior? The refugee colony? Garibaldi, if there was an attack, why the hell wasn't I-'

'Will you get over yourself? There wasn't an attack. I don't know what there has been, but that isn't it. As I said, ships in and out all night. And you've got one guess as to whose name kept cropping up.'

Moving again, negotiating the stream of beings making their way through the corridors. Sinclair groaned. 'Oh God, what has he done now?'

'I don't know. But do you want to know another name that kept cropping up?'

'Don't tell me. I can guess.'

Garibaldi nodded. 'Satai Delenn ra'Mir, if you want to be formal about the thing. Me, I'm not that bothered; but you know what the Minbari are like. What is it with those two, anyway?'

'I don't know.' Sinclair scrubbed at his face again. 'At the moment I don't think I know anything.' A pause. 'Michael, where are we going?'

'Where are we going? I was following you. Where were you going?'

'I was following you.' He would have laughed, Sinclair thought, if he had the energy. 'How about we both go to the War Room and pretend that this never happened.'

'Good plan.'

As they retraced some of their steps, Jeffrey Sinclair braced himself for what the meeting would bring. A data crystal giving details of the White Stars had been delivered to his quarters shortly after he got up. What he had seen had been incredibly impressive, just enough to engender some much-needed optimism. The fleet would bolster their defences, that much was obvious. But it would be enough to give them an opportunity to transition to the offence? Could they sustain any sort of advantage? That was more difficult to believe.

And there was another issue: one not so obvious as combat power but every bit as important. John Sheridan. He seemed to have his own agenda and this was supposed to be a joint command. They were supposed to be able to trust one another. They were supposed to show loyalty.

Sinclair's jaw tightened.

The furious activity that always defined the area around the War Room was in greater evidence than usual. When Sinclair and Garibaldi entered their eyes were drawn to the two figures at the centre of the storm. Delenn: inscrutable, head high; Sheridan: impassive, determined. For no reason that he could understand, Sinclair found his irritation lifting. He examined the pair and felt an odd reassurance.

'Good-morning. What's all the excitement about?' he asked.

'Delenn and I had a long talk last night. Pooling resources, you could call it. We came up with an idea and we've put it into action.'

'You've put something into action? Without letting me know? John, this is…'

The Sinclair Sheridan remembered had definitely been slow to anger, but this man had been pushed to his limit and rightfully so. 'Jeff,' Sheridan cut him off. 'I wanted to explain about yesterday. What I was talking about at the meeting. I ... befriended ... one of the Anla'Shok and she was, well, not quite as discreet about some things as she might have been.'

That easy, charming smile. Sometimes Sinclair agreed with Garibaldi's assertion that Sheridan used it as an offensive weapon. And it was working, even if only because Sinclair wanted it to work. If nothing else, his friend and their mysterious new comrade had lightened the atmosphere of the War Room. He sensed hope and prayed it wasn't false. Sinclair nodded. 'One of the Anla'Shok. I thought that they were meant to be one of our more secretive allies.'

'So did I.' The comment was offhand: there was no inflection in Delenn's voice, nothing revealed in her face.

Their discussion had lasted through most of the night. Strategy, command, logistics, tactical capabilities and what countermeasures they could expect from the enemy. And what they could present as a plausible explanation for his new-found knowledge. Sheridan had insisted that he be the one to do the talking. It would avoid her having to commit herself to a falsehood. And it was, as he pointed out, almost entirely the truth. Just not necessarily the truth in this particular universe.

'I should've told you before. She mentioned the White Stars, but I wasn't sure - I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up by shooting my mouth off. But when Delenn arrived I guess I just got a bit carried away. I'm sorry.'

Yes, still the same smile, Sinclair noted. But his old friend's eyes were unnaturally bright and hard.

Delenn stayed at Sheridan's side and their intent to present a united front was obvious. Smoke and mirrors, Sinclair thought. It sounded plausible, if he chose to believe it. If. And he wanted to believe it. He wanted a simple explanation that would let him ignore all the things that there screaming, insistently, that they were lying to him. Correction: that Sheridan was lying to him. Delenn had said little and that near-silence was open to numerous interpretations.

'I'd like to meet this Ranger of yours sometime, John.'

His head tilted slightly and for a second Sinclair would have sworn that the look that crossed Sheridan's face was amusement. 'I'm sure you will.'

More bodies crowded into the room and the expectancy was almost palpable as the full War Council arranged itself around the table. Delenn and Sheridan took up positions on either side of a viewing screen. The image that appeared was all-too familiar. Garibaldi caught Sinclair's eye and grimaced. The rendering of the pattern of Shadow attacks. Sheridan had been driving himself crazy with it - had been driving all of them crazy with it.

As the pattern repeated, Sheridan spoke. 'At first glance - hell, even at the fiftieth examination - there doesn't seem to be a logical sequence or pattern behind where the Shadows choose their strike points. But there is a logic to it: the Shadows are like chess masters who think thirty, even fifty moves ahead. All their attacks, almost since the time we confirmed that our Minbari friends weren't crazy paranoids after all, have been planned to culminate in one huge offensive. Out of all the sectors that have been attacked, there is only one that hasn't.'

On the screen, the graphic zoomed in and contact reports began to thin out, until only emptiness was left in the centre.

'The sector where the refugee colony is,' Sinclair responded. It was like school again. He squirmed uneasily.

'Exactly. More and more ships have been going there because it's seen as somewhere safe.'

Garibaldi spoke up. 'Any chance you can get to the bit where you tell us something we don't know?'

Sheridan glanced over, his eyes flashing grimly. 'By all means. Run the programme.'

Flash-points, lines criss-crossing each other as contact reports going back over the last few years were re-added at high speed.

'Did you see it?'

'See what? Captain, it's the same thing you've been staring at everyday for a month.'

'Just keep watching, Michael.'

It ran in reverse this time, slower, peeling away until three points formed a triangle around Melior, the only habitable planet.

'See it now?'

Sinclair leant forward. 'They've formed a ring around the sector.'

Sheridan nodded. 'Exactly. We've got refugees, military personnel, weapons dumps, all in one place. A perfect target, just sitting there.'

'Captain Sheridan's belief, and one that I share, is that the Shadows are planning to launch an attack on the refugee colony.' Delenn paused. 'The losses for all of our worlds will be terrible in that event.'

The image on the screen changed. 'Last night we began to move the war refugees off the base on Melior,' she continued. 'Over the last few hours the White Stars, and any other ship that we could draft into the convoy have moved the majority of refugees into Minbari space. Melior is an arid planet, there are no indigenous life forms on it. We have planted beacons on the surface that will indicate there is still a colony down there under a standard sensor scan.'

Hands clasped behind his back, Sheridan paced around the table. Necks strained following his progress. 'We have purposely weakened our defence perimeter in the adjacent sectors; we are going to allow the Shadows to penetrate into the Melior system. Now, Melior has a moon. It's fairly small, unstable, and at the moment it is being wired up with enough nuclear warheads to destroy … well, to destroy a small moon.'

Over the quiet, nervous laughter around the war room Delenn picked up the thread. 'The White Stars have been returning here all night from Minbar, bringing as many telepaths as possible with them. They will be standing by in Hyperspace just outside detection range until the Shadows arrive. When they drop in, the telepathic interference should be enough to disorient them.'

'And that's when we detonate the moon.' Sheridan's path had led him back to her. 'We're also filling the area with burnt-out ship hulls, any kind of debris that we can use to carry nukes. We're gonna start a chain reaction out there that will hopefully take out most of the enemy vessels. Any enemy ships that remain should be sufficiently weakened to allow the White Stars and the destroyers to finish them.'

There was a long silence. Sheridan started laying odds with himself about who would be the first to break it – and his suspicions were proved correct when Garibaldi said 'That's … that is really…' He paused, then softly, 'Wow.'

'We're hoping for something a little more … permanent … from the Shadows.'

TBC