Chapter 2 - Crossing the Line

Mars - September, 2248

General Lefcourt was meeting with his command staff via video conference. The last month had been hectic, exhausting really, but things were actually starting to come together. He allowed himself to feel a little bit hopeful. Perhaps this Hail Mary might actually work.

On the screen, Gideon lifted his head and said, "Sir, we are getting a priority transmission from Earth. It's…a general audio broadcast, addressed to all ears, military and civilian. Should I…?"

"No. Patch it through to us only."

"Aye, sir….coming through now…"

A disembodied but recognizable voice floated out of the speakers. "Are we on? This is...this is the president. I've just been informed that our mid-range military bases at Beta Durani and Proxima III...have fallen to the Minbari advance. We've lost contact with Io and must conclude that they too have fallen to an advanced force. Our military intelligence believes that the Minbari intend to bypass Mars and hit Earth directly, and the attack may come at any time.

"We have continued to broadcast our surrender, and a plea for mercy...and they have not responded. We therefore can only conclude...that we stand at the twilight of the human race. In order to buy more time for our evacuation transports to leave Earth, we ask for the support of every ship capable of fighting, to take part in a last defense of our homeworld. We will not lie to you. We do not believe that survival is a possibility. We believe that anyone who joins this battle...will never come home. But for every ten minutes we can delay the military advance, several thousand more civilians may have a chance to escape to neutral territory. Though Earth may fall, the human race must have a chance to continue elsewhere. No greater sacrifice has ever been asked of a people, but I ask you now, to step forward one last time...one last battle, to hold the line against the night. May God...go with you all."

The transmission ended, and Lochley leapt to her feat. "We need to go!"

"Belay that, Commander!" Lefcourt snapped. "You know we can't!"

"Sir, the President just asked for all ships capable of fighting to join the line! We have four Capital level ships! We should be there!"

"To hold the line so that more civilians can escape! Where do you think those civilians are going? Who do you think will be tasked with protecting them? You know the answers to those questions, Commander. You may not like them, but you know your orders. It's time for Operation Pied Piper. Begin immediately."

The faces of the command staff blanched at these orders. None of them were happy. Garibaldi looked positively ill, but Lefcourt supposed that may have been the detox. The man had stopped drinking three weeks ago, and willpower alone had kept him working throughout the emergency preparations. One by one they signed off and went about their tasks.

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"Operation Pied Piper is a go," Garibaldi told the crowd. Sinclair and Garibaldi were addressing a group of officers and selected noncoms, both Fleet and GroPos, who had been assigned directly under them.

"Well then, I think it's time you told us exactly what the hell that is! We've been prepping for it for nearly a month, with no idea what exactly it is that we're supposed to do!" Zack Allan was a GroPos Sergeant, and one of Michael's oldest friends. He had been the one to speak, but general mutterings of agreement made it clear that he spoke for the group.

"It's simple, really Zack. This fleet can pack in over four million people, but we couldn't find that many people who both fit the criteria and were willing and able to leave their lives behind to come and sit on Mars for God only knew how long. Aside from that, packing the fleet to the brim would have meant a lot of wear and tear on the systems and people involved that we couldn't afford. But neither are we going to be taking off with open seats. The official plan is to intake the final flood of refugees that is taking off from Earth even as we speak. But, by necessity, they will be coming on interplanetary capable ships. Ships that can just come with the fleet anyway, increasing our overall carrying capacity."

Sinclair began passing out envelopes to the assembled officers, and Garibaldi continued as the officers began to open the envelopes. "Thus, Operation Pied Piper. We are going to fill the remainder of our space with as much of the populace of Mars as we can cram in."

Sergeant Allen, who had yet to receive an envelope, interjected, "Why the hell would you keep this a secret?! There is absolutely no way that we have time to go looking for and selecting volunteers before the Minbari get here!"

"Then it's a good thing we aren't asking for volunteers, Zackie 'ol boy. These envelopes contain your targets and instructions. Schools mostly. We want the kiddies. But also hospitals, engineering and technology companies, that sort of thing. We don't have the room to take everyone. We have to take the folks with traits that will benefit the survival of the species. You are to take your assigned forces and transports and go collect them."

"Jesus Christ!" an officer in the back shouted. A large dark skinned man with an Australian accent, he was obviously furious. "You're sending me to a fraggin' PRE-SCHOOL?! Frag you, I ain't kidnapping fraggin toddlers!"

"You aren't kidnapping anyone, Johnson," Sinclair barked. "Stow that garbage! You are saving their lives! Chances are high that anyone who is left behind will be killed by the Minbari within a few days at the most. So you can swallow your bile and save those kids, or you can leave them to die, only the choice is NOT yours. You are an Earth Force officer, and you will, by God, follow your orders, or I will figure out a way to have you keel hauled, without a pressure suit."

Johnson was mollified, but continued to argue, "The parents and teachers are going to fight this. What the hell do I tell them?"

Garibaldi took over speaking to the officer. "If you had bothered to read your orders, you would have seen that you are also to take the children's teachers and care takers. Somebody needs to care for them on the trip, and it ain't gonna be you, Johnson. You'd give those poor kiddies nightmares. You simply tell anyone who asks or argues that martial law has been declared and you are taking them to safety. Don't go into detail, they don't need to know. Any parents show up, you bring them too. Use force if you have to, but try to keep that to a minimum. We don't need a general riot on our hands, we've got enough to deal with. Look, you've got it easy. Kids that age, they listen to authority, and that's you. Who I really feel sorry for are the poor saps who have to empty out Mars U. Half the student and professors on that campus are anti-establishment and pro-independence."

"Looks like that would be me sir," Ensign Laurel Takashima called out. "Any advice?"

"Be friendly. Play up that you are there to help them. That they are important and must survive. That ought to play to their egos; especially the professors, and once they go with you the students are likely to follow. You'll need more than one trip for an institution that size. Take the amenable students and staff first. No force. After you've taken everyone who is willing to go, come back and gas the rest into unconsciousness. Then pack 'em up and haul them on board. Remember that we are on a timeline. The Minbari will almost certainly hit Earth first, but after that we have no idea how much time we'll have. Keep it fast and stay safe."

"Sir," another female officer, a Lieutenant with fiery red hair and a strong Mars accent, called out. "You are sending me to a hospital. You want me to take the medical staff but not the patients? This says to take the staff by force if necessary. It will be necessary! Those doctors and nurses aren't going to agree to leave their patients behind!"

"We don't have the resources to support the infirm and dying. The medical staff can make a huge contribution towards our continued survival. You can't say the same about their patients."

"What gives you the right to make that choice? This is an illegal order! You don't have the right to choose for people whether they go or stay!"

Sinclair broke in, "This is about saving lives. We can't save them all. Maybe, in the end, we won't be able to save any, but we have to try, and we have to maximize our odds. Those are our orders, like it or not!"

"Mars has declared neutrality. These people may be perfectly safe here!"

"And what if they aren't? Nothing the Minbari have done so far would lead us to believe they will spare Mars!"

"And what if they do? What if you kidnap all of these people, cram them onto your ships, and the Minbari wipe out this fleet like they have every other? You'd be condemning them to death, when Mars might be their chance at survival. For that matter, what gives you the right to determine for them where they will die? From my viewpoint, Martian neutrality is at least as likely to work as this harebrained evacuation!"

Sinclair walked up and stood right in front of her. "Lieutenant Martinson. You have your orders."

"Sir, it is my duty to inform you that in good conscience I must refuse to…"

Her words were cut off as Garibaldi clubbed her over the back of her head with the butt of his PPG. "Corporal Lawson. Place Lieutenant Martinson in restraints and get her to her ship." Picking her folder off of the floor, he held them out. "Good news, Johnson! You just pulled double duty."

"You all have your orders!" Sinclair cut in. "And we are running out of time. MOVE!"
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Lunar Orbit - September, 2248

A voice crackled over Jankowski's radio. "Alpha 7 to Base. I'm picking up energy emissions on the horizon."

The Watch Officer at Base replied, "Alpha 7, scout ahead, see what's out there."

"Affirmative. Any bogey's on screen?"

"Negative, Alpha 7. All other squadrons maintain radio silence until Alpha 7 checks this out."

A few moments later, Alpha 7 commed again. "Closing in on trace emissions. So far nothing. It might be just an echo or….ooohhhh hell! We got a scouting party. Repeat! We've got a scouting party! Hostiles on approach! Locking on! Alpha 7 to Bonehead, I'm hit!"

Jankowski keyed his radio, "Pull out...pull out! Alpha 7!"

Mitchell's voice interrupted his broadcast. "He's gone. Picking up enemy transmissions."

"Stay in formation," Jankowski replied. "Hold the line! No one gets through, no matter what!"

"Understood. Bonehead, you have a Minbari on your tail." Upon hearing those words, Jankowski began to jink and weave wildly, and not a moment too soon, as the Minbari's green energy beams streaked past his canopy. However, Mitchell's next words made his blood run cold. "I'm on him. Targeting fighter."

"No! Mitchell. Stay in formation. It might be a…." He cut off as countless hyperspace vortices burst open disgorging Minbari cruisers and fighters in their hundreds and thousands. "Oh my God!" Frantic, chaotic chatter erupted over the comms, as the entire fleet was engulfed in combat. He heard cries from those frantically trying to evade an enemy weapons lock, the screams of the dying, and even one clear voice stating that the enemy was everywhere. Jankowski could only agree, but he had a job to do. "It's a trap. Mitchell!"

"I've got a clear shot. I can take him. I can take him!"

"Mitchell!"

"I'm hit! Ejecting!" But Mitchell never got the chance as a Minbari beam sliced his Starfury cleanly in two. Most of the man's helmet floated almost serenely past Jankowski's cockpit. He could not quite bring himself to examine too closely if there was anything left of Mitchell inside it. He heard cries from more of his pilots, engaged in combat or dying. He had no more time to think about Mitchell. He had to lead the squadron, and try to get them all through this fight. The furball was the most vicious thing he had ever experienced. One by one, despite everything he could do, his squadron mates began to die.
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On board the nearby Command Cruiser, the Grey Council's own Sharlin, Delenn experienced several emotions; awe, fear, but most of all despair. It was all her fault. She had only just been raised to the Grey when her mentor Dukhat had been killed. And in her pain and inexperience, she had condemned the guilty species to extermination. Since then she had many second thoughts, and had searched for ways to end the killing. But the one hope they had for a cease fire had failed, and had taken another old friend to his death.

And now she stood within the Council Chamber, watching the holographic representation of the battle, likely the final stand of humanity, playing out all around her. And she knew that it was her own failings that had brought them all to this place. She spoke to the other members of the Grey. "They fight bravely. They cannot harm our ships. But they continue to try."

It was Coplann of the Warrior Caste who responded to her. "Whether they fight or not, they know they will die anyway. So really, is this bravery, or simple desperation?"

Delenn swallowed her reply, and returned to viewing the battle. But a few moments later she turned back to Coplann. "We should bring one of them aboard for questioning. If our next step is to be the final assault upon their world, we must know their defenses."

"Very well, Delenn," he replied. "Choose. But quickly. We are fast running out of candidates."

Delenn turned to study the battle. And then she had the strangest sensation, and a voice spoke clearly in her head. The truth points to itself. Her eyes locked onto one particular human fighter. "That one," she said.
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One by one, Jankowski's squadron mates were killed. He had managed to take out only a single enemy fighter, and thought that it might actually have been the only one taken down by the entire squadron. How many of his pilots were left? And then a stray beam smacked into one of his engines. Warning lights lit up his cockpit like a Christmas tree, and the voice of the computer system recited a litany of woe. "After stabilizers hit, weapon systems at zero, defensive grid at zero, power plant near critical mass, Minbari weapon systems locking on."

Jankowski growled back, "Not like this. Not like this. If I'm going out I'm taking you bastards with me." Looking around he saw a major Minbari ship, and made a fateful decision. "Target main cruiser. Set for full velocity ram. After burners on my mark….mark!" The cruiser grew rapidly in his forward view port. Good Lord, the thing was immense. A crimson collision alert began to flash on his lower HUD. He felt a wave of sadness, as he knew his final sacrifice would really accomplish little, if not nothing at all. But it was all he had, and he would go out spitting his defiance in the face of the enemy. There were only seconds left, and in a sudden rush of fear and instinct, he screamed and threw up his arms, a hardwired response, an evolutionary strategy bred into the species to protect the all important brain and cluster of sensors that made up the human head. And then a bright light washed through the cockpit, blinding him even through his arms and eyelids. And then, mercifully, he knew no more.
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Mars

The best laid plans, of mice and men, often go awry thought Commander Jeffrey Sinclair to himself, as he fired his PPG wildly down the street. It had all started to so well. The evacuation was going perfectly, and faster than he could have expected. The registered fleet passengers who were stationed on Mars were on shuttles and headed towards their berths on the ships of the fleet. Even the initial collection of schools and businesses had seemed to go well. With the news coming in from Earth, safety was all anyone could think of, and when it was offered people generally grabbed on with both hands. In fact, the biggest challenge had been holding off random strangers on the street who overheard promises of safety and wanted in right damned now. His men and women had had to make promises of orderly evacuations and that they would be back.

Perhaps people had seen through those lies. Or, perhaps it had been the steady stream of ground transports heading for the port rather than any known bunkers. Perhaps the Mars civilian authorities had simply decided to look into what all of those Earth Force sailors and marines were doing, running about all over the place. Whatever it was, despite all of their best efforts, the truth had quickly gotten out. Getting to their pickup points had become a challenge, and then an outright fight, as empty streets had suddenly filled with protesters, who shortly transformed into rioters.

People wanted to get onto the transports. They wanted to get someone else off of the transports. They didn't want the transports going anywhere at all. And no matter what their desire or objection, it was clearly Earth Force which must be to blame for their not getting it. The evacuation had been slowed to a crawl as his forces sat buttoned up in their transports, while mobs of civilians hurled rocks and sticks and the occasional PPG fire at his transports. They had been forced to spend hours driving around mobs, trying to find open paths to their pickup zones. Eventually, General Lefcourt had given the order to push through, and the heavy transports had slowly shoved their way through the crowds. Sinclair would be eternally grateful that the transports were heavy enough that he would not feel a bump from any luckless civilian unable to get out of the way in the press of the crowds. He was quite certain that more than one had greased the wheels and axles of the transports.

It only got harder after that. The mobs and the civilian authority both started erecting barricades. His transports were starting to take heavier and heavier weapons fire, and he knew at least a couple of transport had been destroyed. He knew that Lefcourt had been on comms numerous time with the Governor of Mars as well as civilian law enforcement. It had been hoped that the Mars LEOs could be scooped up with the evacuation, as their skills would be quite useful. That was looking to be impossible now, but Sinclair had heard that Lefcourt had their comms units hacked, and a general offer of free passage to all Law Enforcement personnel and their families transmitted openly. Which meant that the cat was well and truly out of the bag.

Sinclair was already supposed to be up with the fleet. He was boarding a packed shuttle when he had noticed one weeping little girl, she couldn't have been more than six or seven, fighting the Marine at the door to get out. He had a hold of her, but she was reaching out of the open hatch, screaming for her mother. He wasn't quite certain how he could tell, but she seemed to be reaching out to a particular woman on the edge of the launch pad, past the ring of armed Marines struggling to hold the crowd back. He had tapped the Marine on the shoulder and ordered him to wait, then had taken the little girl from him and carried her down the ramp to where she was pointing.

He stopped a few feet short of the Marines when he heard the little girl switch her mantra from just mommy to mommy, daddy. He ordered the Marines to let the two civilians through. There was nearly a breach as others tried to exploit the brief opening, but shortly Sinclair was able to hand the hysterical little girl over to her nearly as emotional parents. He then hustled them all aboard the shuttle. The father seemed reluctant, but he was now surrounded by armed troops, and wisely elected not to make a fuss. Sinclair lead them back to the shuttle, and crammed them both on board. That put the shuttle over the maximum weight load, so he got off himself and waited for the next shuttle.

It was shortly after that the call came in. A group of transports carrying medical staff had been cut off and were taking heavy fire. Sinclair gathered a group of Marines and began to organize a relief force. He was unsurprised to see Garibaldi bringing in a group of GroPos to aide him. They pulled out in a group of three mostly empty transports, with Garibaldi and Sinclair riding together in the lead vehicle.

Garibaldi had cursed as they approached the scene of the ambush. Large trucks had been used to block every road approaching the intersection where the transports had been stopped. But they could see past the trucks that all three of the transports they had come to rescue were heavily engulfed in flames. The troops and civilians which had been on board had baled out and sought cover anywhere they could find it...in buildings, down alleys, or even behind the occasional potted tree. The trap seemed to have been laid by local law enforcement, but a civilian mob had pushed into the area, and now everyone was embroiled in a three way free for all.

Sinclair left the Marines to guard the transports, while he, Garibaldi, and the GroPos charged the barricades in an effort to relieve the pinned down Fleet forces and the civilians they were protecting. The firefight which ensued was brutal and chaotic. Sinclair was pretty sure that more than once he was fired on by the panicked Fleet crew. This was confirmed when Garibaldi shouted, "Not us morons! We're the one's trying to rescue your smelly hides. Try NOT to frag us!"

The fighting grew more intense, and a mob seemed to be pressing in from every side. Sinclair began to worry about running out of charge for their PPGs. They were forced to sweep the intersection clear building by building, searching for the hiding civilians and Fleet crew. As they were found, they were shunted back to the waiting transports, which were now coming under fire themselves.

Sinclair was firing his PPG wildly down the street, at a knot of LEOs who were trying to flank them, when Garibaldi crept up to him, careful to stay under cover, and tapped his shoulder. "Time to go, Commander. Looks like we got just about everybody, but we're gonna be overwhelmed before too much longer."

He nodded in agreement, and the two men headed towards a gap between the nearest barricade and the building it abutted. They had just passed the barricade when they heard a scuffle and shouting coming from a nearby alleyway. Taking a few moments to investigate, they noticed an Earth Force officer, trying to go hand to hand with eight rioters who had him surrounded, and getting the worse of it.

His PPG was on the ground nearby, so either he had run out of juice, or he was an idiot and had decided that he could only fight unarmed civilians the "honorable" way. Sinclair hoped it was the former. He didn't want to lay out the effort he was about to go through for a fool liable to get himself killed later on anyway. The man was pretty good at fighting, and moving around quite a bit. Between that and the fact that he was literally in the middle of his foes, Sinclair decided that he could not risk using his PPG for fear of striking the officer.

He glanced at Garibaldi, and a look of understanding passed between them. They shared a brief smile, and then waded into the fight, swinging for all they were worth. The men were no cowards, and still outnumbered them eight to three, but the Earth Force officers were very good at hand to hand. A month of strenuous exercise had nearly returned Sinclair to peak form, though his bones and joints ached every day, and he made sure that every blow counted. They were all tired from the seemingly unending evacuation, and needed to keep the fight brief. He took a blow to the head that tunneled his vision, and another to the arm that nearly refractured it, causing it to drop numb to his side. But a second later he was looking at the backs of six retreating thugs, two more lying unconscious on the ground, while Garibaldi tugged him and the other officer towards the transports.

The transports were now under heavy fire, and were already turned about and prepared to depart expeditiously. Only one hatch remained open and they headed straight for it. Someone had apparently given the Marines the Free Fire command, because they were laying down a heavy barrage of PPG fire. The rioters and LEOs apparently had no taste for that level of combat, because pursuit abruptly ceased.

Sinclair staggered onboard the waiting transport, and fell onto the nearest spot of open floor, the seats all being filled by civilians and the injured. Garibaldi and the other officer fell in next to him. The hatch clanged shut. It was only then that Sinclair realized the man lying next to him was Captain John Sheridan. Had he known that, he wasn't entirely certain he would have gone in to rescue the man. Oh well, better this way.

A marine standing near the driver's compartment shouted back to them. "Welcome back! You just made it! We'll get back to the port just in time to catch one of the last couple of shuttles to leave from this dome. Good thing you didn't wait any longer. You wouldn't want to still be on the surface when the Minbari get here!"

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High Earth Orbit

Delenn's thoughts and emotions swirled in turmoil, while the Grey Council argued incessantly but quietly around her. The reason for her turmoil, and both the Council's argument as well as it's hushed tones, stood just a handful of meters away. The Earth Force officer was restrained, strapped to a triangular frame designed to hold Minbari immobile. It would have no difficulty restraining a human. He seemed to be stuck on the boundary between consciousness and unconsciousness, and moaned in his delirium. The sound sent a fresh wave of confusion through Delenn.

It was the Jankowski. The killer of Dukhat. How could he be here? How, out of all of the humans in the battle, could she have selected him? What did it mean? What was the universe trying to say? She had prayed for this man's death, screamed for his blood, and now she was in the position of saving him. It wasn't fair.

When Dukhat had been killed the Grey Council had been split on how to proceed...immediate war, or investigation and an attempt at peace. Despite her having just been raised to the Grey, despite her mentor having just died in her arms, it had fallen to her to choose, to cast the deciding vote. She had been too young, too inexperienced, and too devastated by Dukhat's death. She had bayed for blood, demanding no mercy, and had Driven the Minbari mad. It was she who had driven them down the road of vengeance and genocide. Over the last two years, despite the fact that she had come to deeply regret that impulsive decision, both she and the Minbari had been trapped by it. There had been one hope for peace, and it had been lost, taking another of her old friends with it.

And now, with the Jankowski here, it might again fall to her to decide. The Council was again split, deeply divided over what had been discovered. For nearly a day the Jankowski had been interrogated, tortured, experimented upon, and brain scanned. The Minbari handling the interrogation had been told to get everything they could from him; to pluck all of Earth's and his own secrets from his mind, to give them every advantage for the final assault upon Earth. During that time the fleet had occupied itself wiping out any remaining ships or orbital defenses and infrastructure around Earth, and in slamming down a blockade to prevent any more humans from fleeing the planet.

What the interrogators found had astonished them, and it had been a very nervous Alyt Raalenn who had come to deliver the final report. "Satais," he had said, bowing in the traditional Minbari fashion. "We have been successful in pulling forth the human's military secrets. We have also discovered a great deal about the human and his species."

Coplann had interrupted. "We have no use for information about a man and species who will shortly cease to exist. The military information will be sufficient."

Satai Jenimer, of the Religious Caste, had countered, "Is it not said that in order to defeat something you must understand it? All knowledge is valuable, and the Alyt put much effort into this report. We should hear him out."

"Then we must understand the humans very well already, for we have surely defeated them," Coplann argued. "But if you insist, then let us hear the Alyt's report. Try to make it brief, though."

Alyt Raalenn bowed again. "We found many things in his mind, but the most important was this….it was a mistake. He realizes that opening fire at our first contact was a mistake, and one that he deeply regrets. He did not intend to kill Dukhat. In his fear and his ignorance, he opened fire in the desire to get us to back away so that he could get his ships and his people away.

"This is not the beast we believed we were fighting. He is deeply flawed. He is full of fear and suspicion, ambition and pride. But there is also hope, courage, fortitude, and even nobility. He did not want this war, and is tortured by it."

"Of course he is," Coplann broke in, no longer able to restrain himself. "He is about to see the death of his species, and knows that he brought it down upon them. It would be foolish to think even a human wouldn't regret that. But the rest of what you ascribe to him? A foolish flight of fancy. The man hates us. Did you see the name on his helmet? He has made mocking us part of his very existence. I expected better, Alyt."

"It is more than that," Raalenn argued, uncowed. "Our finest telepaths have delved into his mind. He did not understand the significance of our open gunports and our scans were disabling his systems. He feared attack and fired out of fear and ignorance. But when the Centauri Ambassador Mollari later explained the honor we were paying them, he accepted the truth, despite what it meant. And he genuinely regretted the harm he caused."

There had been more to the report, but that had been the part which had split the Council. Several had been uneasy about the war for months already. They immediately moved for a cease fire. Those who supported the war were furious. They insisted that for the Minbari there was only victory or defeat; that once war had been declared, it must be followed through to the end, no matter how bitter.

And once again, Delenn was the deciding vote. She thought furiously while the Council argued quietly around her. She had been hoping, praying for this moment. A chance to stop the carnage. But now the opportunity tasted bitter in her mouth. Because of him. Because of Jankowski, the killer of Dukhat. To spare the humans would mean to spare him, and how could she do that? And what if the Warriors refused the order to surrender? It would divide the Minbari, and almost certainly lead to civil war, while still meaning the death of the humans. She didn't know what to do. She needed time to think. She took refuge in tradition.

"The interrogation is not yet done," she advised the Council. "Tradition and law require us to end with Vallen's test."

"Vallen's test?!" Coplann hissed, incredulous. "The Triluminary?! Do you actually expect to find a Minbari soul in this thing?! As well to test the floor, or my Den'bok."

"Be that as it may, it is our tradition, and our law," Delenn told him firmly.

"Have done with it then, Delenn," he insisted. Delenn turned to approach the man who was the cause of all of her nightmares.

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Jankowski slowly came back to consciousness. He hurt everywhere, and tasted blood in his mouth. His mind was foggy and slow, and the last several hours, or was it days, were all a blur. But, he was certain he had been tortured, interrogated, and probably scanned telepathically. What else could they possibly want from him?

He heard a strange murmuring sound, and rolled his head to the side to behold a strange sight. A group of people stood huddled in a knot just a few meters away, having a low voiced conversation. It almost sounded like a hushed argument. He guessed they had to be Minbari, but it was impossible to tell, given all nine of them were covered head to toe in strange grey robes.

That thought tugged at something in the recesses of his fuzzy subconscious. He worried at it, since he had nothing else to do. Nine...grey robes...nine of them… It eventually came back to him, just as one of the shorter figures turned towards him, holding something. He had read reports on the interviews with the Centauri Ambassador. He had said that they knew almost nothing about the Minbari, but that it was believed that they were ruled by a group of nine called the Grey Council. Could this be them?!

If so, then perhaps all of his guilt and torment, all of the failed suicide attempts, and even the torture and interrogation, perhaps it might all have been worth it. Perhaps he could put right the crime he had committed.

If he could….if he could just make them understand that it was all his fault. His responsibility. His crime. He had killed their leader, not the human race. Perhaps there was a chance. He would offer himself up for his crimes, and maybe they would spare humanity. It was his only hope.

He tried to make eye contact with the figure who had turned towards him, and called out with all of his strength and desperation, "It was me! I am the one who killed your leader! Do you hear me!? I killed Dukhat! I offer my…"

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Delenn turned to approach the man who was the cause of all of her nightmares, the Triluminary in her hand. However, she took but a single step before the man began to shout at her. She froze at his words.

"It was me! I am the one who killed your leader!"

Delenn's mind whirled. It couldn't be! The beast, the filthy animal, was bragging about killing Dukhat!

"Do you hear me!? I killed Dukhat!"

It was too much. He started to say something else, but Delenn wasn't listening, wasn't thinking. The Triluminary slipped from her hand and clattered onto the floor. With a scream of primal rage and anguish, she hurled herself forward. One of her hands found his jaw, the other the back of his head. She saw an instant of fear in his eyes, before she heaved with all of her strength. His human neck was no match for her Minbari physique, and with crack that echoed around the room, she suddenly found herself looking at the back of his head. Their bodies went limp at the same time, but while Delenn found herself sitting numbly on the floor, Jankowski's corpse continued to hang from the frame to which it had been strapped.

Coplann approached, picked the Triluminary off of the floor, and placed it in Delenn's lap. Then, standing with a look of amusement and perhaps approval on his face, he addressed the rest of the Council. "I believe we have Delenn's vote." Before Delenn could bring herself to respond, the Grey Council had dispersed.
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Mars

The final shuttle to leave Mars blasted into the sky. On board was the last batch of Marines and GroPos, who had been holding the port against rioters and looters. Riding along were John Sheridan, Jeffrey Sinclair, and Michael Garibaldi.

The evacuation had devolved to the point where it was impossible to go out and choose who they wanted. In the end Lefcourt had ordered that they just shuttle up whoever was willing to go, so long as they had room. The Mars civilian government hadn't liked that idea, though, and had broadcast orders for all citizens to stay home. Law enforcement had done their best to enforce the edict, and Lefcourt had been unwilling to go to war with the Mars government any more than absolutely necessary.

The supply of civilians making their way to the port had rapidly dried up. The open invitation to all Law Enforcement personnel had actually netted quite a few individuals, though they reported having to slip past, and occasionally being fired upon by, their former peers. There would be empty seats in the fleet, though thankfully not too many. No doubt the civies would still feel like they were being crammed in like sardines.

Sinclair tried not to listen in as Sheridan made a personal communication. "Anna, it's me. Where are you? Please tell me you caught a shuttle to the fleet. I'm worried. Comm me back when you get this." Afterwards he sat down again next to Sinclair and Garibaldi.

"Wife?" Michael asked curiously.

Sheridan shook his head. "Girl friend. Pretty serious though. I wanted her up with the fleet weeks ago, but she refused to stop working. She's a Xeno-archeologist, and has been working a dig. With as overloaded as the civilian comms have been, I'm not sure where she's at. How about you guys?"

Garibaldi shook his head, but Sinclair said "I've got a girlfriend named Catherine, but she's an officer on the Eratosthenes, so I know exactly where she's at. I'm sorry to hear about your girl. Hopefully it will all work out, but let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

Sheridan looked at him for a moment, then said, "There is actually." Turning his head, he called over his shoulder, "Hey Markenson, break out the nukes." A large Master Chief of African descent, seated by the far bulkhead, sprang to his feet and hustled to the front of the cabin. He unstrapped and then dragged over two large metal containers, each marked "Nuclear Ordnance." Sheridan punched a seven digit code into the keypad on the locking mechanism, and then opened the container. Inside, Sinclair was surprised to see, the thing had been packed with ice and bottled beer. Sheridan pulled out a bottle and offered it to Sinclair. "You can accept my apology. I've been thinking about finding a way to offer it ever since I recognized you at the initial command meeting. You guys saved my hide today, and it's well past time I owned up to being such a jerk. The amount of hazing I put you through at the academy was well beyond appropriate. I'm not that guy anymore, and I hope we can be friends moving forward. So, I'm sorry, for being a major pain in the ass."

"As I recall," Sinclair responded after taking a pull on the beer, "you were a Cadet Captain pain in the ass. And some amount of hazing is called for when a freshman spills a plate of spaghetti on an upper classman. Apology accepted."

"Thank you." He nodded to the Master Chief, who began passing out the beers to the Marines and GroPos. "I intended these as a reward for the troops who pulled the garbage detail of holding the port until the last shuttle. I never imagined that the three of us would be on that last shuttle."

He punched another code into the second container, opening it to reveal a pile of steaming cheeseburgers. Taking one, he slapped it in Michael's hand, saying, "Mr. Garibaldi, you're too damned thin. Eat up." Both Sinclair and Garibaldi noticed and appreciated that he did not offer a beer to the recovering alcoholic. Sheridan got a cheeseburger for himself and Sinclair before motioning for the Master Chief to pass the burgers around as well. Then he sat down to eat. "Well, gentlemen, that's one job done. Enjoy the meal. It's only going to get harder from here.