Archive of Our Own

***

Elizabeth Sheridan had not meant to eavesdrop. But she was awake, as the time differential between Proxima Three and the Minbari capital had her brain as confused as it had ever been. To her, it seemed like dinnertime, even as the residents of the palatial president’s residence only barely began to stir to greet the dawn.

Her parents, her husband, and her two young children remained asleep, exhausted from the days-long journey. They had been unable to resist an invitation to be among the first humans to visit the new facilities in Tuzanor; they had been unable to pass up the opportunity to spend time with John and his wife.

They had talked when he was on Earth, of course, but there had been so much going on and so little time and so much had changed. She saw darkness in her brother’s eyes where before there had been only light, saw tired lines around his eyes and gray in his hair, and wondered at the stresses he had faced as the leader of what even ISN had taken to calling an Army of Light that drew a line against the darkness.

She had to see him, wanted to see him, and so here she was curled up on something resembling a couch in his sitting room, huddled in a ball in the dark. Her brother and his wife–and that phrase was so odd when applied to someone who wasn’t Anna, but there it was—entered the room together, arguing lightly.

“You need the training, John,” Delenn said as she fastened her robe about her. “We have an hour before your day begins, and it is a beautiful morning.”

He looked down his nose at her, at least pretending to scowl. “I can think of far better ways to spend an hour on a beautiful morning,” he noted, reaching for her. She dodged, but smiled at this comment as she set her jaw.

“If you are to be Entil’zha, you should learn to fight as Anla’shok,” she said firmly. “We cannot have a leader unwise in the ways of the denn’bok.” Liz didn’t understand most of the phrases Delenn spoke, but her voice was soft and firm, and Liz concluded that it must be of something of import to put off—well. Something important.

She turned in time to see John nod, if reluctantly. “Should you be teaching me?” he asked, and it was clearly a small capitulation. “After all, if something were to happen—.”

Delenn produced what looked like a small, square box from a pocket of her robe and held it out to him. “I am pregnant, John, not ill. I have trained with the denn’bok since childhood, and as Anla’shok and Entil’zha you may rest assured I am quite competent with it.” She stopped to consider him, smiling lightly, “I would not fear for my safety.”

He rolled his eyes, but reached out to take the compact pike from her hand. “Whatever Entil’zha wishes,” he said, and Liz could hear that he was playing at petulant. “But if anything--.”

“John!” Delenn admonished, reaching for her outer robe. “I will tell you if anything is wrong. I will tell you if anything does not feel right. I will promise to be alert and careful and not do anything to compromise my safety or that of our child.” Her voice was strong, but her eyes were light. “Does that satisfy you, Mister President?”

He grinned. “Right now, I believe I am just Anla’shok Sheridan, Entil’zha.” Delenn approached him and smoothed his tunic over his chest before kissing him lightly.

She pulled away as he tried to bring her closer, and Liz could see the laughter in her eyes. “Then, Anla’shok Sheridan, we have work to do!”

**

Delenn stood ten paces before John, holding her own denn’bok in her hand. He had clasped his hands before him over his chest, head bowed in what Liz had quickly learned was a traditional gesture of respect in Minbari culture. It was strange to think of him as anything but completely Human, but he wore Minbari garb, held a Minbari weapon, and, it soon became apparent, understood at least some of the Minbari language. Or was it the language of the religious caste?

Liz’s eyes snapped to the pair before her as Delenn barked out an order. It wasn’t in English, and the only word Liz recognized was “Anla’shok.” But her brother twisted his hand and the denn’bok transformed into a six-foot pike, and he stepped back into what might have been a martial arts stance. Once he had done so, Delenn followed suit, continuing with a steady stream of Minbari speech.

It was odd, the realization that your brother was married to an alien. Oh, Liz loved Delenn—how could she not, when John looked at her with that deep affection and respect in his eyes?—and it was easy, on those occasions, to forget where she came from.

Or, apparently, who and what she was.

Delenn guided John through the routine with a fluidity and ease that surprised even Liz. At five months pregnant, Delenn should have been feeling some kind of change to her center of balance, or so Liz’s own childbearing experience had told her. And yet Delenn manipulated her own pike with a grace that spoke of a great familiarity with the weapon and absolutely no problems with vertigo. Liz couldn’t decide if she was jealous or nervous.

Delenn called another command, and John’s eye snapped up, pausing for a second. “That’s new,” he commented.

A smile appeared on Delenn’s face for just an instant, and Liz wondered if she had imagined the sight when Delenn next spoke, “You would question Entil’zha, Anla’shok Sheridan?” Her eyes were fire and her voice was steel, and in an instant Liz understood how this woman she knew as unassuming and gentle could command men and fleets.

John’s answer was both frightening and reassuring, but he looked directly into Delenn’s eyes as he responded, “I live for the One,” he said. “I die for the One.”

She smiled gently, and brought her own denn’bok up in salute. “Then we will try something new, Anla’shok.” At John’s nod, Delenn stepped back into a fighting stance and called out in Minbari.

It was nothing like she had ever seen. Liz had watched a fair share of human martial arts in her time, drawn as her sons were to the fighting. She had seen the hand-to-hand fights of black-belts, and yet nothing prepared her for the simple, focused combat of the denn’bok.

As John and Delenn stepped around each other, swinging their pikes in synchrony, their cloaks swirled around them, kicking up a light dust. Their steps were perfectly matched, and though Delenn was over a head shorter than John, she was clearly just as strong, and better prepared, and she guided the fight with quick instructions and subtle movements of her head.

The sun glinted on the crystal city behind them, and Liz had to share Delenn’s interpretation that this was a perfectly good use of an early morning; watching the way John responded to Delenn’s instructions, the way he followed her feet, only a split second behind her, Liz had to think that Delenn’s admonition that he needed more practice was faulty. His skill with the pike was developing—how rapidly, Liz had no way to know, but Delenn was obviously an able teacher and a better combatant.

“You have been practicing,” Delenn said quietly.

John grunted as he swung his pike to the side, sweeping his opponent away for a moment. “In all my spare time,” he responded. That garnered a smile from Delenn, and she called another instruction. Her voice was challenging, and Liz watched as John’s eyes flashed in response. They struck and parried, and Liz wondered what they would look like fighting at full strength; Delenn clearly moderated her hits in deference to her student’s lesser ability, and John was not putting a great deal of force behind his blows because he refused to endanger his wife. Liz hesitated to think that she would like to see a real fight; it would get downright bloody.

Another strike, another parry, another instruction, and John faltered. His split-second response became a second, and Liz watched in near-horror as Delenn’s denn’bok came hurtling toward John’s ribs at almost fighting speed.

It was over in a blink. Delenn rested near John’s feet, her pike retracted into her fist. He tottered unsteadily, staring down at his wife with something akin to awe.

“You missed the second step in the thirteenth form,” Delenn informed him, rising to her feet and considering the look on John’s face. “Most partners would have let you take that hit,” she continued.

He smiled, grasping her hand. “Then I am lucky my partner is so considerate,” he said, and Liz swallowed a smile at the affection in his voice.

“You are not nearly as useful to me with broken ribs,” Delenn retorted, allowing John to draw her toward him. “I prefer to keep you in, what is the phrase?” The gentle smile Liz had learned Delenn shared with almost no one appeared on her face. “Ah. In fighting form.”

He grinned. “But, Delenn,” he said, looking down so he held her gaze. “How did you stop so quickly?”

“As I said earlier,” she said. “I am Entil’zha and I am Anla’shok. You, too, will learn these things.” She paused, and her smile deepened. “In good time.”

“I have a lot to learn, don’t I?” John responded, glancing heavenward.

“Mm,” Delenn responded, leaning fully into his embrace. “We all have much to learn, John. This talent will come.”

“I have other talents,” he said, and Liz couldn’t decide if she wanted to smile or roll her eyes.

“In good time,” Delenn said, laughing against the fabric of John’s tunic. “Now you have to serve breakfast to your family and conduct a meeting about altering the trade routes through Drazi space.”

John scowled slightly, bringing his hand up to play with the ends of Delenn’s hair, which she had left free for the fight. “Always later,” he muttered, and Liz smiled.

It looked as if Delenn was going to respond in kind, and then Liz was going to have to leave before she got a much better picture of her brother’s sex life, but something on her sister-in-law’s face made her pause. “Oh,” Delenn said, emitting a soft sound that encompassed surprise, wonder, and fear.

“What is it?” John asked, pushing Delenn away from him so he could look her in the eyes.

“Your son,” Delenn said. “He is . . .” She trained off, and Liz didn’t know if she was unable to find the word in English or simply unwilling to voice the concept.

“Kicking?” John asked, and a look of delight passed over his face. Delenn nodded, and undid the clasp on her outer robe, drawing his hand to her belly.

“In Valen’s name,” Delenn said, and Liz saw a full, unabashed grin form on her features. “This is normal with human fetuses?” she asked, reassured by the wonder in John’s eyes.

“Completely,” he said, leaving his hand in place over her stomach. “Human children are very active in utero.” He smiled gently, bringing his other hand up to cup her chin. “It is how they let us know they are alive.”

Delenn nodded and brought her own hand down to cover his. “John,” she whispered, and Liz could see tears in her eyes. In his eyes, too, if she cared to look. She was intruding on a private, personal moment, but to move would be to attract attention, and to see this—he had been so unhappy after Anna’s death, and to see the utter joy in his eyes at his new wife and their new child brought delight to her own heart. It was something, being the sister of the fabled John Sheridan, and it was easy to believe the myths and rumors. It was, if nothing else, useful to be reminded of his humanity.

John did not respond in words, but leaned to kiss his wife gently, softly, passionately. “Our son,” he said.

After a long moment, Delenn pulled back. “Your day awaits, Mister President,” she said softly, and took his hand to lead him back to the residence.

**

John could not avoid his meetings, complaining about them even as he hustled off with a grin, leaving Liz and her family alone with Delenn in the president’s residence. “You do not have anything to attend to?” Liz asked, more curious than concerned as her parents, husband, and little sons milled around them. She turned to attend to Delenn’s response.

Delenn smiled. “No. The advisory council is not in session today, though I am—what is the word? Yes, on call, should anything arise.”

David Sheridan’s lips quirked as he heard his daughter-in-law speak, and he turned to face the women. “Never a dull moment, is there?” he said.

The lines around Delenn’s eyes creased in amusement. “Not yet,” she responded. She looked around her new home and the human faces that surrounded her. “I am beginning to believe that we would not know what to do with free time if we had it.” Liz thought she saw the beginning of a smile touch Delenn’s face, but it was quickly quashed. “But, for today at least,” Delenn continued, “I will put the business of governing aside. What would you like to do?”

They had discussed it, the six of them, on the three-day jump through hyperspace: what to do on Minbar? It would be impossible to see a whole planet in a week, and they would only have Delenn or John’s attention for brief moments; better to take advantage of their presence to show them the more interesting parts of the Interstellar Alliance’s new structures and wander the markets when left to their own devices. “I wanna see the White Stars!” Liz’s youngest put in, while her older son clamored for the Rangers. Liz smiled a little ironically, but remembering Delenn and John’s performance earlier in the morning, could not fault her sons’ choices.

David shrugged and glanced back at his wife. Nancy seemed impassive, quiet in the face of everything new, apparently content to follow the crowd for now. Liz knew her mother wanted time to talk to John alone, to get to know Delenn without all the hubbub, but whether such things would be possible was impossible to know.

Delenn leaned down to look at the boys—Brian and Dylan, seven and five—still wearing an inscrutable smile. “Why are you so excited by the White Stars and the Rangers?” she asked them.

“’Cause they’re cool,” Dylan said, unable to articulate his interest. The little boy looked down at the floor, suddenly shy.

“Because you and Uncle Johnny and the Rangers and the White Stars saved the galaxy,” Brian said seriously. “It’s history!”

The other adults laughed, a little uncomfortably, as Brian’s telling was fundamentally identical to the story that appeared on ISN—and because they had not spoken at length to the saviors themselves and had no idea how to discuss events they could barely fathom. Delenn ignored the questions swirling around her and looked Brian in the eye. “It is history,” she said seriously. “And today, I will take you to see where we train new Ranger recruits.” The boy’s eyes went wide. “You can meet my teachers, if you like.”

The grin that appeared on her son’s face told Liz that Delenn’s response had been the correct one. “Really?” Brian asked.

Delenn nodded firmly. “Really,” she said, before turning to the littler boy, still staring down at his shoes. “And you want to see White Stars,” she said to Dylan.

He nodded, refusing to look at the stranger with an almost-alien face. Old enough to know he shouldn’t be scared, but confused by the differences nonetheless; Liz sympathized. “Most of the White Stars are out on patrol,” Delenn explained gently. “But we have one in port here, undergoing repairs. So, we will go explore it—on one condition.”

Dylan still did not look up. “Wassat?” he mumbled.

“If you are curious about something,” Delenn said, “you will ask me about it.” He raised his eyes, keeping his chin down, peering at Delenn from under long lashes. “I cannot have a student who will not ask me questions or will not look up at me.” Liz saw that private smile flash across Delenn’s features, this time tinged with sadness and again quickly stifled. “As your uncle might say, do we have a deal?”

Dylan nodded, slowly moving his head to look up at Delenn. She smiled. “Good,” she said, straightening to look at the adults, all a little amused at the scene. “It appears we are going to begin our day at the training facility,” she said matter-of-factly. Nods of approval from Liz and her husband, a look of almost boyish curiosity from David.

A hesitant voice from below them. “I have a question,” Dylan said softly. Before Delenn could respond, he barreled on. “What’s that on your head?” He extended an arm to point, but quickly brought it to his side as Liz looked on, horrified at the gesture and the question. But she was beginning to believe Delenn could not be fazed by anything.

“Do you remember at breakfast,” Delenn said gently, again bending down to speak to the child on his own level, “how some of the people helping us were Minbari?” She looked at Brian, too, encompassing both children and, Liz thought, the adults, in her response. The boys nodded. “Once, I was Minbari just like they are.” Brian’s eyes went wide, but Dylan merely nodded. “But a few years ago, I changed so I am now part Human and part Minbari. My crest is a remnant from when I was entirely Minbari.”

“I think it’s pretty,” Brian said, and that was to be the end of the conversation as all the adults laughed.

“I think,” David Sheridan put in with what little authority he could muster, “that if we are to travel to the Ranger training facility, that everyone should find their shoes.” With the promise of adventure, the boys sped off to their shared guest room, leaving an amused Delenn in their wake.

She rose gracefully from the floor. “I must apologize; tomorrow I am sure we will find a destination that suits everyone,” she said.

The look on Liz’s husband Dan’s face told her that the training facility and the White Star more than suited him, and Liz had to laugh at her boys—all three of them. “I think this is more than fine,” she said, hearing small footsteps rapidly approaching.

“Good,” Delenn said, and Liz had to think that if Delenn’s careful conversation with the boys was any indicator—well, she and John wouldn’t have much to worry about when their own little terror joined the household.

**

The brief trip in the flyer attached to the presidential palace proved exciting in its own right, as it dipped and curved to give its occupants stunning views of the crystal city over which it flew. Nancy put her hand to her head and leaned to speak to Liz. “Can you imagine living here?” she asked in a whisper. Not that there was any danger that their hostess would hear them; Delenn sat beside their Minbari pilot away from the ruckus that the four men, David, Dan, Brian, and Dylan, were causing by pointing at sights they could but marvel at.

Liz shook her head. “It’s—no,” she responded. “So different.” In appearance and culture and clothing and language, and Liz could not imagine picking up her life on Proxima to start over on an alien world, regardless of the cause.

“I wonder how Johnny does it,” Nancy said, frowning slightly. “To be so far from home—.” She trailed off, unwilling or unable to complete the thought. What was left unspoken needed not be said. So far from home, so far from family, so far from me. David understood the itinerant life John had chosen, understood that priorities changed for members of the military or the diplomatic corps, but Nancy had never learned to accept the work that took her husband and, now, her son so far away.

“He seems happy here,” Liz said, reflecting on the training session she had watched.

Nancy’s eyes flashed. “We have barely seen him,” she said. “Meetings.” Liz’s mother spat the last word as if she was discussing spiders.

“Mom!” Liz said, and hurried to lower her voice when Dan turned at the word.

“I am just saying,” Nancy continued in low tones. “How can you judge his happiness here? You haven’t seen him here. You haven’t seen him in nearly five years!” And I haven’t seen him in more, rang unspoken in Nancy’s voice. Liz had to admit she could understand, a little, what drove her mother’s discomfort. John had been away, had changed, had gone from a brilliant tactician to a leader of armies and a man spoken of with equal reverence and hate.

But she wanted to defend her brother against her mother’s criticism. “Have you seen them together?” Liz hissed, nodding at the back of Delenn’s head. Nancy did not respond, and so Liz continued on. “He’s happy with her. They make each other happy.”

“You have only known her for twelve hours,” Nancy returned. “How can you judge?”

Because, Liz thought. Because there is a light in their eyes when they are with each other that isn’t present when they are apart. Because they learn from each other and love each other and have been through hell together. Instead of voicing this, instead of bringing emotional issues—Anna—into the conversation, Liz shrugged as the flyer descended over a broad patch of green land. “You watch for yourself, Mom,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Nancy huffed as the flyer flew lower and lower, but even she had to gape at the scenery that sped past them and leaned over Liz to peer out the window as the flyer came into land. “Beautiful,” she said, almost in spite of herself, leaning back to unbuckle the harness restraint she had worn.

“Yes,” Liz said as the flyer door swung open and they clambered onto immaculate grass. The boys crowded around her legs as they stared at what had to be the grounds of the training facility.

“Here we are,” Delenn said as an older Minbari man hurried toward the group with a spring in his step.

“Entil’zha!” he thundered before bowing at the waist, and Delenn smiled broadly.

“Sech Turhan,” she responded, bowing lightly in response. “There is no need for such ceremony.”

“You wait, Delenn,” the Minbari responded, and Liz thought she detected a twinkle in his eye. “These recruits require firm discipline or they will be running rampant in the streets of Tuzanor.” He shrugged. “But I am being impolite.” He turned to the gathered crowd, his robe billowing out from behind him.

“I am Sech Turhan of the Anla’shok,” he said. “You must be—.” He appeared to struggle for the word in English before continuing to say, “Delenn’s family.” He took a breath. “In the name of the Anla’shok, I welcome you to our home.” He bowed to the group.

David bowed in return. “We are honored, Sech Turhan,” he responded.

Sech Turhan turned toward the little boys. “You know, Delenn,” he said over his shoulder as he contemplated the children, “they are too young to begin training with us just yet.” Turhan let his hand rest atop Brian’s sandy head. “But never too early to learn the basics!” he said, turning abruptly and marching toward a building several hundred meters away.

Delenn shrugged and followed, beckoning her guests to do the same. Brian’s eyes widened at every step, and he hurried to keep up. “Did you teach Delenn?” he asked upon reaching Sech Turhan, and Liz held her breath. She had not had much opportunity to interact with Minbari other than Delenn, but their reputation for insisting on formality, for disliking such questions, preceded them. She felt Dan’s steadying hand on her arm, and she waited.

“Yes,” Sech Turhan responded brusquely as they strode through a wide, triangular doorway. “But she was much too concerned with the order of the universe too be a terribly able student.” His tone belied the seriousness of his words, and Delenn did not respond, apparently content to follow along beside her in-laws and former instructor.

“Can I learn, too?” Brian asked.

Turhan paused in his march to look at the humans directly. “You raise impertinent children,” he said as if passing judgment. There was a longer silence as no one attempted to fill the void created by his comment. Turhan glanced over to Delenn, who held her peace with a smile on her face. “It is one of the best qualities in a student,” he said, sharing a glance with his former student that Liz knew reflected on Delenn’s own impertinence. Turhan turned to the little boy who waited patiently by his side. “What do you wish to learn?” he asked.

“I want to learn to fight!” Brian answered immediately.

“Ah,” Turhan said and resumed his walk. “That is one of the last things we teach our recruits.”

“But why?” Brian asked, and Liz felt equally curious. Delenn had advertised the Rangers as a fighting force, designed to both keep and maintain the peace. They would helm the beautiful, dangerous White Stars, would step in where no one else would dare to tread, all in the name of keeping the Interstellar Alliance safe. Why, indeed?

Again, Turhan stopped his brisk walk and turned to the group. “Because Anla’shok must know if their reasons for fighting are honest and just,” he said. “Because they must know how to respond in any situation, and fighting is not always the answer. We fight last because we consider fighting only a last recourse,” he said. Turhan turned slightly to Delenn, sharing a memory with his leader that he would not voice. “We also learn that there are ways to fight that do not involve weapons and starships.”

This answer suited Liz and her cohort—she could see the admiration written on her parents’ faces, and wondered if this would help her mother understand Johnny’s devotion to the cause he created and served. But her sons, not yet concerned with the morality of wars, were much more concerned with the fighting. Was it cool enough for them? Brian looked a little disappointed, as if the trip to visit the Rangers, now only half an hour old, could not possibly turn out as well as he had hoped.

“But,” Sech Turhan continued. “There would be no harm in showing you how we train those who do fight.” He turned away. “If you will follow me.”

He resumed his brisk pace, and led them to what Liz soon discovered was the main sparring grounds. Upon their arrival, Sech Turhan barked out a comment in Minbari, and the fighting between recruits ceased automatically. Their pikes closed almost in one motion, and they rose to greet the guests, bowing their heads.

“Entil’zha,” Sech Turhan said, motioning to Delenn. She inclined her head forward ever so slightly before breaking into fluid Minbari speech. She spoke rapidly, and Liz did not recognize any word other than Anla’shok. Nancy’s eyes narrowed at the reminder that her new daughter-in-law was fundamentally alien to her.

Delenn stopped speaking and the recruits responded as one, chanting what had to be a slogan of some kind. The open admiration that shone in their eyes could not be denied, even as they dropped back into their training stances under the direction of another older Minbari.

David moved forward to stand by Delenn as they watched the recruits spar. Liz thought she recognized some of the movements from her earlier observations of John and Delenn, but she couldn’t be sure. The recruits’ movements were less fluid but stronger and harder, and Liz could not tell if that indicated lesser skill or simply greater strength. She held Dylan and Brian close to her as she watched.

Liz heard her father ask quietly, “What is it you said to them?”

She smiled. “It is a great honor for them to have me here,” she said, no irony present in her voice. “I thanked them for their hard work and praised their continuing effort in the war against the darkness.” As if this was standard military fare, Liz thought. It was sometimes hard to take seriously the commitment to fighting darkness, as silly and impossible as it sounded. But Johnny’s ragtag group had formed an Army of Light fighting against the darkness—he had said it with conviction, and it had been repeated on ISN, and so she could not disbelieve that Delenn’s words rang true.

“And what did they say to you?” David pressed, backing aside as an errant young Ranger lost his footing and stumbled close to where they stood.

“It is our—motto,” Delenn said. “That is not the word I mean, but it will do.” She took a breath. “It means ‘I live for the One, I die for the One.’” She turned away as if this answer would be sufficient, and David pressed on.

“Who, or what is the One?” he asked.

“I am,” Delenn responded curtly. David raised an eyebrow, not content with the answer but apparently unwilling to press the matter. Minbari did not lie, it was said, but Delenn’s answer seemed to be incomplete, at the very least. Yet Liz thought to John saying those very words this morning to his wife, and his voice had been tinged with love and affection and humor—but the implications of the phrase were hammered home as young Rangers, willing to die for Delenn and their cause, swung their own pikes. She took a step back from the arena.

“That’s a frightening role,” David said. “Being the focus of the loyalty and devotion of so many.”

Delenn shrugged lightly, as if it was nothing she was unaccustomed to—which, Liz considered briefly and with some horror, might be the case. “When John and I agreed to fight the darkness,” Delenn said, “we accepted personal responsibility for the outcome.”

David pressed her. “You are a revered figure,” he said, gently. “Is that difficult?”

Delenn turned to face him, her face inscrutable. “Dukhat was a revered figure,” she said. “We will never again be so single-minded in our devotion.” But it was not an answer to the question, and Delenn clearly knew this because she held up a small, delicate hand to forestall the impending follow-up. She took a deep breath and said, “The universe places us in positions where we can be of use and do good. My position is no more difficult than that of many others, in different contexts, where the universe has made different decisions for them.”

“That is no answer,” David said lightly, turning away from Delenn to watch the matches before him. He would not push her, Liz knew, as she watched her sister-in-law’s face. Delenn’s visage, which so often wore a carefree look, now revealed nothing at all, as if she had been chiseled from some particularly pale marble. It was no answer and Delenn knew it, but would not, or could not discuss the difficulties of commanding men to their deaths, of taking personal responsibility for their success and failure.

Liz wondered if this was another aspect of her relationship with John. Delenn was revered here, she knew, but she had a suspicion that if John walked into the room, the reaction, the devotion, the sincere willingness to follow would be identical. Could someone who had not lived through that truly understand?

Liz looked back at her husband, who held Dylan in his arms, and they both watched the sparring with studious admiration and open curiosity. Brian had snuck forward to stand by Sech Turhan, who rested a wrinkled hand on the boy’s shoulder, both keeping him from moving into the ring and providing a steadying influence. Liz could see Delenn watching the boy with her mentor, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Delenn considered membership in this fighting force an adequate vocation for her unborn son, couldn’t help but consider what it would be to have this as a daily backdrop while growing up. Brian’s eyes were alight with interest, and Liz smiled.

The Anla’shok mentor guiding the recruits called out an instruction, and the sparring stopped instantly. Some recruits ceased fighting with more grace than others, and Liz recalled John tottering unsurely at the end of his fight this morning. A gentle smile began to crease Delenn’s face, and Liz imagined she had a similar image in her head.

On command, the recruits folded their pikes and turned as one to again face Delenn. They bowed deeply, repeating their earlier phrase. Delenn folded her hands at her breast and inclined her head toward them. The recruits then filed out a door that Liz had not before seen, leaving the Sheridan clan alone with their host and her mentor.

Turhan leaned over to look at Brian. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?” he asked the boy. There would be no answer from Brian, Liz knew, as he took in the new images and ideas the morning had presented him with. He nodded rapidly, eyes big as saucers.

“And what of our other guests,” Turhan asked, turning away from the boy—but, Liz noted, allowing his hand to remain on Brian’s shoulder. “I trust the demonstration was suitably awe-inspiring?”

At this, Delenn laughed, even as Dan, Nancy, and Dylan nodded. “What is funny?” Turhan asked, glancing at Delenn.

She waved a hand. “These recruits,” she said, smiling. “They are of your newest class, I imagine?”

“Hardly,” Turhan said. “They have been practicing with the denn’bok for months.” But it was bluster, and they could hear it, and Liz considered the level of skill Delenn and Turhan must expect from their fully-trained Rangers, if these clearly able young men and women were but novices. Turhan turned to Delenn. “And you? Your training continues?”

Delenn nodded. “When there is time.”

Her mentor furrowed his brow, and Liz thought it something of a pity he did not have eyebrows. “You must make time,” he informed Delenn. “You must keep your skills up! You will not be any use to that Alliance of yours if you do nothing but sign papers all day.”

“True,” Delenn said. “But sometimes, there is no other option. We go where the universe commands us—sometimes, at the expense of our denn’bok training.”

“Well,” Turhan said. “I will leave you to your conversations with the universe. The rest of you, where are you going next?”

Dylan, suspended in his father’s arms, said, “Gonna see a White Star!”

Turhan stepped away from Brian and Delenn, crossing to look at his youngest guest. “A very great honor,” he said. “Only the best of the Rangers will ever serve on a White Star.” He glanced back at their hostess. “You will make sure to tell Entil’zha Delenn you appreciate the trip!”

“Yessir,” Dylan mumbled into his father’s chest, and the adults laughed.

“But,” Turhan said. “I must go tend to another round of these youngsters, always bashing in their own skulls. I trust you may find your way back to your flyer?”

Delenn nodded and bowed, and in a moment Sech Turhan was gone. Again, Delenn turned toward the group, eyes resting gently on each of them. “I will walk you through the grounds before we continue on,” she said, holding out a hand and gesturing for the family to precede her.

**

On the flyer trip back to the residence—the children needed food, and Liz couldn’t help but think lunch would be a good idea before the next adventure—Liz considered the Ranger grounds over which they had wandered after the fighting display. The location Valen had chosen to train his army was secluded from the city by natural rock formations that framed grassy knolls that the students clearly enjoyed for their peace. As the group had wandered, they had passed many young Rangers meditating, or practicing with their pikes, or reading. Each that had looked up to see Delenn had leapt to his feet only to bow deeply. She had acknowledged each of them in turn, with a slight nod and a smile, before waving her hand to return them to their previous work.

Liz would admit to not precisely understanding Delenn’s place in the hierarchies of the Minbari and Interstellar Alliance governments. She was on the Advisory Council, but what that truly meant would be established over time. But she was also clearly important to the Minbari—Rangers and otherwise.

She leaned forward to speak to Delenn, who was again strapped in beside their pilot. She sat calmly with her hands folded over her abdomen, eyes closed. “Delenn,” Liz asked, loathe to disrupt her hostess but curious nonetheless. Delenn’s eyes opened and she turned to look over her shoulder.

“Yes?” she inquired.

Liz spread her hands, leaning forward against her own harness. Delenn had insisted they wear them for these brief trips, though there was little danger. Atmospheric flying could be rough, Liz knew, and felt it would be easier to accede to the request. Neither trip had experienced anything like turbulence. “Hmm,” Liz started. “I guess I’m trying to figure out where you fit into all—“ she waved a hand around, as if to encompass all of Minbar. “This.”

Delenn sat back slightly as David and Nancy turned to hear the response. “I am not formally a member of the Minbari government except as a representative on the Advisory Council,” Delenn said.

“But.” This time it was Nancy who interjected.

Delenn smiled tightly. “Yes, but,” she agreed, slowly, looking away from her interlocutors and out the window as they approached the crystal city. “You are aware that Minbari society is divided into three castes,” she said, and they each nodded. “One might say I am the leader of the religious caste.”

Nancy’s eyebrows quirked. “But,” she said again, this time struggling to articulate what she wanted to ask. “You have a great deal of influence outside your caste.” The cadence of her voice left Nancy’s statement sounding like a question, but Delenn nodded slightly to concur.

“And how does that work?” Nancy pressed.

Delenn looked briefly at her folded hands, and Liz sensed that she did not want to lie to her husband’s family but could or would not explain the full story. She took a breath and smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “In any war,” Delenn said, “society finds individuals to revere for what it perceives as their greatness.” Whether this reverence was deserved or the greatness actual, Delenn would not say, Liz knew. Perhaps history would judge her and John harshly, or perhaps they would continue to be as widely-recognized as they were today.

The strange thing about getting to know Delenn during this morning, Liz thought as a slightly uncomfortable silence descended on the occupants of the flyer, which dipped toward the residence, was how little she had learned. Delenn was conversational, pleasant, the most gracious of hosts, and yet entirely unwilling to reveal anything about her past or her role in the shaping of the war or the Alliance, which Liz knew to be great. She was a sphinx, this woman John loved so completely, and Liz felt she owed it to herself and her brother to understand the experiences they had lived, that had brought them to this uncommonly beautiful planet.

The flyer landed and the door opened, and they were ushered into the main house by one of the residence’s quiet but ubiquitous Minbari guards. The boys ran ahead, kicking up dust on the path lined with carefully manicured flowers. It was a castle, really, this spot, and Liz again shook her head at the oddness of the circumstances: her brother—now considered the savior of several races, rumored to have returned from the dead—lived in a palace with his alien wife who, by all rights, looked just a little like a princess from one of the books she read to Dylan. Off putting, to say the least.

They entered the residence, clamoring into the kitchen area for snacks or lunch, only to be met by a somewhat startled John. “Oh!” he said, as the children gathered around him and his parents smiled broadly. “What are you doing here?”

“Gotta eat,” David said. “All this adventuring!” John rolled his eyes at his father’s ribbing but smiled nonetheless. “And what are you doing home?” their father continued. “Thought you’d have meetings through til tomorrow morning.”

John chuckled, ruffling Brian’s hair as the boy planted himself at his hero uncle’s feet. “The Drazi decided that they could absolutely not continue without contacting their government, and who am I to interfere with the democratic process?” His voice was tinged with irony and fatigue, and he met Delenn’s eyes as he spoke. Liz saw sympathy and wry humor there before John looked back at the crowd. “But what have you been up to?” he asked.

“We saw the Rangers!” Brian said, voice still tinged with awe. It would be all he would talk about for days, Liz knew, but she could hardly fault her son for his admiration.

“The Rangers,” John said. “Out at the training facility?”

Nancy nodded. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and in her voice Liz heard a slight concession that John might not have known needed to be made. That the planet he had settled on was at least pleasant, even if it was not her home.

John smiled. “It is at that. What did you see?” He directed this question at the eager boys, as Delenn slipped back into the kitchen area. Liz watched sidelong as she conferred with a servant that had materialized out of thin air to, apparently, take the family’s lunch order.

“We saw the fighting,” Brian said, bringing Liz’s attention back to the gathering.

“Sparring,” Dan put in, gently correcting his son.

“Whatever,” Brian said. “It was cool.”

Dylan nodded seriously. “Very,” he said from near his father’s leg.

John grinned. “Maybe some day when you’re older, you will be able to learn,” he said.

Brian nodded vigorously. “I wanna be a Ranger!” he said.

“It’s hard work,” John said. Hard work. Liz wondered at the words, at how her big brother could send these young men and women to their deaths every day, or had, and describe it as nothing but hard work. She frowned. John seemed to catch the look because he turned his gaze away from the children. “Lunch, then?” he said, reaching up to straighten the lapels of his fitted jacket.

Delenn reappeared from the kitchen. “I am told we may expect it in fifteen minutes,” she said.

“You don’t cook?” Nancy asked, looking around at the pristine living area. John burst out laughing, and Delenn’s lips quirked up at that.

“No,” Delenn responded. “I admit, I never learned.” She paused, sending a sidelong glance at her husband. “And John is not permitted to cook.”

He smiled. “It wasn’t that bad,” he protested. If Delenn had had eyebrows, Liz expected she would have quirked them as she turned to face John, with a pointed look. He stared back for a second before raising his hands. “Okay, okay. It was that bad.”

“What happened?” Liz asked. “He didn’t set anything on fire, did he?”

Delenn laughed as John scowled at the smiling family. “Hardly,” she said.

“I tried to make flarn,” John said. “But I think I skipped the third meditation after the fifth ingredient and the whole thing went to hell.”

It was clearly funny to Delenn and John, who shared a grin, but Liz did not understand the joke. The confusion must’ve been apparent on her face, or her parents’, because John interjected, explaining the humor. “Flarn is a Minbari ceremonial dish served at special occasions. I was attempting to—.“ He trailed off.

“Be a gracious host?” Delenn asked with the slightest lilt in her voice. John leveled a gaze at her that no one had trouble reading about what his true intentions in attempting to prepare a difficult Minbari dish had been. Delenn blushed and smiled.

It could have ended there, but Dan said, “I still don’t follow about the meditations.”

Delenn’s color continued to rise, and John raised his eyebrows at her. “If one is to prepare and serve flarn properly,” Delenn said primly, “each step must be considered with great deliberation and considerable meditation.” She paused before continuing. “It ensures that no part of the process goes awry.”

“Only if you do it right,” John responded, clearly enjoying the teasing atmosphere. Delenn acceded the point with a very slight incline of her head, much like the one she gave to the Ranger recruits on the training grounds. John raised an eyebrow and changed the subject. “So, what are you up to after lunch?”

“Dylan wanted to see the White Star,” David put in, having watched the exchange with amusement Liz could see reflected in his eyes. “And so we are being given a tour.” There was excitement in his voice even the children could hear, and they arched their heads back to look up at their grandfather. David smiled down at them. “As you said, Brian,” he said. “It’s history.”

“Not nearly as glamorous as it sounds,” John said, and Liz thought she heard in his voice an unwillingness to engage in the questions his family seemed so eager to have him answer—that she wanted to have him answer. They bubbled beneath the surface of the jocular gathering, and it would not be long before someone burst forth with You came back from the dead? Or Tell me about the Vorlons! Or How much of this is true? How many ways have you really changed, Johnny? John could see it, too, Liz knew. Only a matter of time. Not much time, from the look in their mother’s eyes.

John continued, “Meetings are meetings no matter where you hold them.”

“Still,” Dan said. “Those are some beautiful, powerful ships.”

John smiled, and waved a hand in Delenn’s direction. “All her doing,” he said.

“Johnny,” Nancy said, a warning note in her voice. Funny how parents fell back into old habits, even with their grown children, Liz thought. So many arguments with her mother that reminded her of teenaged fights, so many emotions that stemmed from small favors granted decades ago. Funny how her mother seemed to think this John was the one she had known five or ten years ago.

John looked up at his mother, shrugging a little. “It’s true. I just run the joint,” he said.

“The White Stars were constructed in secret by members of the religious caste,” Delenn said, stepping in to concur with John’s words. “Once completed, they operated under our shared authority.”

Dan narrowed his eyes as he processed this and turned toward Delenn. “You had a fleet commissioned,” he said.

“Yes,” Delenn said with a slight shrug. The magnitude of her statement settled in, and they sat in silence for a moment.

John broke the tension with a smile. “One of the best days of my life,” he said, eyes resting on his wife, who blushed lightly, but whose gaze remained serious. John nodded ever so slightly at her, and it seemed to Liz that an entire conversation had taken place in the space of mere seconds.

But not everyone was as focused on her brother as Liz, and she could see Dan turning over the words in his mind: Delenn had a fleet commissioned. His expression shifted subtly as he considered the magnitude, the ramifications of such a statement. The sheer authority that must be present for such a thing to be possible. Liz knew that later, when they were alone, they would discuss the incongruity of this slight woman having the power to create a fleet of warships from dust. But now, they both held their peace; John had made clear with his comment that the conversation would not be pursued.

She shifted her glance to her father, who did not seem to need to contribute. He understood, if Liz could not, that there were things about the political life that seemed outrageous to outsiders, things that could be made to happen if you knew the right people or said the right words. He had been a diplomat, probably understood John’s position now better than John did. Liz smiled at the thought—her brother, a politician! Johnny, who had spent his teenaged years working toward the Academy so he could be an Earthforce officer. Johnny, who had reveled in his commission, in his postings on Io and Mars for the opportunity they gave him to serve.

Perhaps this was not so different. More meetings.

The silence was broken as a Minbari entered the room, bowing gracefully to Delenn and John. “The meal is ready,” he said.

“Thank you,” Delenn said, and gestured for them to precede her into the dining area. The boys scampered on ahead, watched carefully by their father and grandparents. Liz turned to follow, waiting for her brother to join them, but he held back. Delenn turned toward him, nothing but understanding written on her face.

John looked up, noticing Liz still standing there. “This must all seem so strange to you,” he said.

Liz nodded. “Well, yeah,” she said, turning to gesture around the room in which they stood. “This isn’t exactly where I imagined you ending up.”

John leveled his gaze at her. “That isn’t what’s bothering you,” he said.

“Oh, come on, Johnny,” Liz said, flashing an apologetic smile in Delenn’s direction but holding her brother’s gaze. “Last time I saw you—.”

“A lot has changed since then,” John said tightly.

Liz nodded brusquely. She could feel the last three years of minimal contact, of hasty letters and then nothing, rising to the surface. “Care to tell me about it?” she asked, more harshly than she’d intended. She didn’t want to fight with him, not here with their parents a room away, with their spouses present, with nowhere to run to if it didn’t go well. But she pushed him nonetheless, pausing to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

He spread his hands. “Everything you want to know is on ISN,” he said. “Has been for months.”

“Oh, that’s crap, Johnny,” Liz said. “They make you out to be some kind of god. John Sheridan, savior of the galaxy. John Sheridan, who came back from the dead to free the world from tyranny and strife. John Sheridan, touched by light. Is that right? Is that who you are? This—.” Liz struggled for the word she wanted, couldn’t find it. She settled for waving a hand between them.

John didn’t rise to her anger. Their whole lives, he would have yelled right back at her, fought her until one capitulated, and now he didn’t. He let her shout, and her anger expired in the face of his calm. “If that’s what they need to believe,” John said. “Let them believe it.”

“Right,” Liz said. “The universe needs its heroes.” She folded her arms over her chest, glanced over to where Delenn still stood silently by the door, watching and listening. “But I would like to get to know my brother.”

John’s shoulders fell, any fight gone out of him. “Ah, Lizzie,” he said. “I know. But—.” He trailed off, looking over to his wife, who gazed back without any discernible expression on her face. John saw something there, had to, because he turned back to Liz. “Sometimes, I don’t believe half of it myself,” he said, confidence sneaking back into his voice. “But here I am. Here we are.”

“The problem,” Liz said, softly now, “is that we don’t know which parts to believe.” She took a breath. “I mean, really. Came back from the dead?”

It was supposed to draw a laugh, a shrug about how that part was just media fabrication. But John said, “Not exactly,” and it wasn’t precisely a denial. Liz raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.

“So you didn’t exactly come back from the dead. The ISN story’s clearer.”

“I don’t even know how they got that,” John said. “Reporters.”

Liz raised her eyebrows. “We saw that ISN interview,” she said, neutral about events of two years previous. “Pretty clear that they’d changed the context.” John nodded. “But don’t avoid the question,” Liz said.

“Can we table this until after lunch?” John asked, a little furtively.

“And then until after dinner and after dessert and after we leave next week?” Liz challenged. “I don’t think so.”

Idly, Liz wondered why her parents or husband hadn’t returned to check on them. Perhaps they were all eavesdropping from the dining room. “Fine,” John said, and then barreled into an explanation that, had it come from anyone else, Liz would have dismissed as fantasy. As it was, she could hardly believe her ears. “I fell at Z’ha’dum. I spent some time somewhere between life and death, and I was given a choice of whether I wanted to survive.”

Liz did not take her eyes off her brother, but heard Delenn’s skirts swish lightly against the floor as she approached.

“You know what that’s like, Lizzie?” John asked. “Being told that it isn’t enough to have a cause to die for. You have to have reasons to live.”

“Told?” Liz parroted. “By whom?” She couldn’t answer his question, because she didn’t know what it was like to be told to choose, told that her convictions would determine whether she lived or died. Couldn’t answer because this was a story her literal-minded brother could not have imagined.

But, John wouldn’t or couldn’t explain the answer to the question she had asked. “A friend,” he said, reaching out to take Delenn’s hand as she neared his side. She glanced up at him, her concern written plainly on her face.

Liz pressed her lips together. “That’s—hard to believe,” she said finally, even if she had to believe it for the tone in his voice and the look on his face.

John nodded. “I like ‘came back from the dead to save the world from tyranny and strife’ better myself,” he said. His voice was brittle, as if the brief telling of this fantastical story had drained his energy. His hand tightened visibly on Delenn’s.

“Does make better media,” Liz agreed. She paused. “But you came back.”

John nodded. “Of course I did,” he said. He did not share and she did not ask what he had decided was worth living for; it was too much to process from her agnostic brother, this sudden ability to accept the supernatural and its impact on his life. Liz had an inkling of what John’s reasons for returning had been, but would not ask, could not ask, even as John pulled Delenn toward him like a lifeline.

Liz took a breath, then another, steadying herself. “Look,” she said finally. “I get that this stuff is hard for you to talk about. That we don’t understand, and probably can’t understand what you went through these last few years.” John nodded tightly. “But,” Liz continued, “everything you tell us makes it a little easier to make sense of how you got here.”

John ran a hand through his hair, mussing it a little and creating a look so far from the presidential persona he wore. “I know, Lizzie,” he said. “I—we—we will try,” he said.

“Okay,” Liz said. “Okay,” she repeated, smiling as much as she could while trying to process what John had—and had not—told her. “I’m gonna get some lunch.” John nodded as she excused herself, turning away as her brother held his wife in his arms. She was not listening, did not want to listen, but as she departed, she heard the muffled sound of tears. Liz wasn’t sure she wanted to know which of them was crying, and she knew she didn’t want to know why.

**

John reappeared after several minutes, sitting down and helping himself to lunch, but Delenn was not behind him. “She went to change,” he said by way of explanation through a bite of food. He chewed, then elaborated. “Makes sense that if you’re here to see me, you get to see me, so Delenn’s going to take a few of the afternoon meetings.”

“John!” Liz’s mother said, about to protest that her son would not hand work off to his pregnant wife, no matter what her stature in the government might be.

“It was her idea,” John said, shrugging lightly. “Not that I’d wish the Drazi on anyone.”

“They are an argumentative bunch,” David put in. “Unless they’ve changed in the last twenty years.”

John shook his head. “Not a bit, I’d bet,” he said, shoveling another forkful of—what was it they were eating, anyway?—into his mouth. “Always have to make sure they get their way, that the solution was their idea to begin with.” He rolled his eyes. “There are only so many ways to talk around the facts!”

“What’s the trouble today?” David asked.

John shrugged. “Their current shipping lanes have been coming under attack from raiders. They want greater protection from the White Stars but are unwilling to—.” He stopped as Delenn stepped through the door, now dressed in formal robes of layered rose and white.

“To concede rights to their lanes to other members of the Interstellar Alliance, which is a condition of support,” Delenn finished. She carried a flimsy, on which Liz assumed the details of the conflict were written.

“You’ve got it handled, I take it,” John said as Delenn slid into a chair at the table, placing the paper beside her place.

“It is straightforward, yes,” Delenn responded. “I hope you have not spent your whole lunch discussing politics, however.”

“It never goes away,” David said. “Just when you think you’ve gotten rid of the last problem, another one arises.”

“You’re telling me,” John said. He turned toward Delenn, asking, “Are you also looking into the Centauri request?”

She nodded. “Yes. I don’t see how we can accommodate them, but I will try.”

“I never thought the day would come that I would miss Londo!” John said with a small laugh, reaching for a bowl to help himself to a second serving.

“The new ambassador is troublesome,” Delenn said. “But no more than Londo was when he first came aboard Babylon 5.”

“Wine, women, and debauchery!” John said, aping what had to be Londo’s voice. John’s face broke into a wide grin. “But, you know,” he said, “their wedding parties apparently feature recrimination and fighting. So they know it can’t possibly get worse.” He shook his head in amusement. “I never could put my finger on that one.”

Dan spoke, looking up from where he had been minding the boys. “Makes a certain amount of sense,” he said. Liz shot him a look that she hoped spoke volumes about the prospect of his ever enjoying her company again if he continued. “From a certain perspective,” he said, swallowing the last syllable. “I guess. Maybe not.”

It was nonetheless an appropriate way to break the tension that had hovered over the gathering since Liz had entered without their hosts, and they finished their lunches in relative peace. The children were clearly excited to see the White Star and, Liz had to admit, she shared their enthusiasm. As yet another—or maybe it was the same one, who could tell?—Minbari server came in to clear their plates, Delenn rose to depart.

“You will excuse me,” she said. “But the Drazi await.” She bowed lightly at the waist, her hands clasped at her breast in what Liz was growing to understand was her standard greeting or parting gesture with anyone who wasn’t John.

John looked up as she passed him. “Home for dinner?” he asked.

“Unless the Centauri offer something more appetizing,” Delenn said. John made a face and laughed, and Delenn favored him with a broad smile before departing the room, her skirts swirling around her.

With a smile, John turned back to his family. “The White Star is next, then!” he said. “Since everybody seems to be finished.”

“White Star!” Dylan piped up, agreeing and excited.

“That settles that, then!” John said, rising from the table. “We can take the flyer to the spaceport. It should be about a ten minute ride.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “How far is it from here?”

“The Rangers’ repair port?” John responded. “It’s kept out of the main city of Tuzanor for safety reasons, so maybe a hundred and fifty miles.”

“Fast ship,” Dan muttered.

John shrugged as the group exited the house and approached the waiting flyer. “Minbari engineering,” he said by way of explanation. “That was the most impressive thing about the White Stars,” he continued. “Minbari engineering and Vorlon technology combined to make these ships, and they are probably the most advanced of their class. You know, despite their size they have jump engines?”

Nancy put her hand on her son’s arm. “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

John smiled down at his mother, nearly two heads shorter than he. “It requires a great deal of energy to open a jump point,” he said. “And most small ships don’t have the energy resources to create and sustain jump points, which is why they have to use jump gates.” He paused while they climbed into the flyer, and he slid into the pilot’s seat. As he switched on the flyer and closed the doors behind them, he continued. “But the White Star has—well, it’s complicated. But the White Stars have the ability to generate jump points despite their size. And they have artificial gravity so they don’t have to use rotating sections.” John’s enthusiasm for the topic was infectious, even if Liz couldn’t particularly care less about ships and gravity generators and jump points.

“Do you miss it?” Nancy asked quietly as they lifted off under John’s able guidance.

“Getting shot at all the time?” John asked. “No.” He looked out the viewport at the ground rushing past them. “But I do miss seeing the stars. Babylon 5’s observation deck had the most amazing view.” He paused. “You know, sometimes I would go there and just stand and stare, watching the ships coming and going. That’s the thing I miss. It kind of got to be home.”

“And now?” David asked.

John smiled. “I like it here,” he said with a smile. “I don’t think that even if they wanted me, I’d go back to Earth. Not after everything. And it was time to move on from the station—the Alliance needed headquarters, and the Minbari had the space.”

“It is a beautiful planet,” Liz said, not sure if she wanted to push him on whether he would ever come to Earth to visit, or if he had simply had enough of the place. She knew the official details, and a few unofficial ones, about his captivity and subsequent torture by Clark’s men. Knew and understood why he had declared independence from a planet he loved dearly, even before. Could understand why, after all that, he might not want to go back.

John nodded. “I wouldn’t want to raise a child on a space station, either,” he said, almost philosophically. “Delenn’s certainly happy the baby will be born here—and so am I.”

“It’s a lot to give up, though,” Nancy said. “Your home, your career.”

John turned to look askance at his mother. “You don’t think this was a good career move?” he asked, and Liz could hear that note of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

“Johnny,” Nancy said with a warning tone.

“I couldn’t stay in EarthForce,” he said, gazing out the viewscreen. “Hell, by many rights, I wasn’t even in EarthForce anymore.”

“It was the right thing to do, son,” David said.

Liz could see John purse his lips. “I know that, Dad. There was never a question of whether it was the right thing to do.” He paused. “But you’re right. Those first few weeks wearing a different uniform, that was almost worse than getting up and not wearing a uniform at all.”

“I do like the suits,” Liz said, trying to lighten the mood.

John grinned. “The lapel pins were custom-made with the Alliance insignia,” he said with faked smugness. “And I won’t tell you any more about them, because I don’t know a damn thing about fashion.” Everyone laughed. “But, no,” he said after a brief pause. “It’s still hard not to put on the uniform, and it’s been more than a year. But it was still the right thing to do. The Alliance is the only way to ensure the cooperation we built during the Shadow War continues, and the only way to make them see that working together is so much more efficient than working against each other.”

There was a conviction in her brother’s voice Liz could not deny, even if he did sound a little like an advertising brochure. “You’ve been giving too many speeches,” she said, and she could tell he rolled his eyes.

“What’s that saying?” he asked. “It’s not a cliché if it’s true?”

The flyer began a gentle descent, and Liz figured they had been in the air for less than five minutes. “I can tell this means a great deal to you,” Nancy said, and it was another concession, stilted and unsure though it was. This time, Liz thought, John might have understood the importance of their mother’s words, because he smiled tightly.

“Who would have imagined, right?” he asked as the flyer skimmed over a natural rock formation that jutted crystal into the air. “John Sheridan, president of anything!”

“You do what you have to do,” David said, and John nodded slightly, as if remembering a conversation that would go unmentioned.

John brought the flyer in to land with a barely-noticeable thump on the landing platform. “Have they started interviewing my kindergarten teachers yet?” he asked. “Talking about how I was destined for greatness from an early age?”

“Might be better than a lot of the crap they had on the news for a while,” Dan put in as the flyer door swung open. “Before the Voice of the Resistance.”

John scoffed. “Minbari War Syndrome,” he said. “What a crock. I can’t believe people bought into that.”

“They didn’t know you,” Nancy said. “And no one else was talking, for a while.”

“Lies are easier to believe if they’re repeated often enough,” John said darkly, gesturing for the family to exit the flyer as his fingers danced over the controls to shut down the little ship. “But that’s the last interview I give for a long time. Probably the last one Delenn ever gives.”

It was not only his reputation that was tarnished with Clark’s lies, Liz considered. He had only been painted as a poor, manipulated clod. Delenn had been placed in the role of vicious puppeteer, of warmongering alien. By all rights, she had gotten the worse side of the deal.

“They’re going to be curious about you,” David said. “It’ll be a fine line to walk if you’re not willing to speak to the press.”

John shrugged again, stepping out of the flyer and resting a hand on its mottled metal skin, almost caressing the ship. “Press conferences with the Advisory Council present to announce big initiatives or discuss our plans as often as they possibly want. I’ll tell them about more mining treaties than they could ever be interested in.” A thought seemed to come to him, and he smiled. “Maybe they’ll get sick of me.”

“You will have to give interviews from time to time,” David said, almost chastising.

John waved a hand, and then started walking away from the ship toward what appeared to be a larger docking platform. “Oh, I will,” he said. And there was that grin on his face like he had something up his sleeve, and Liz remembered that look from when he was playing a prank on her as kids, or when he was pulling something past their parents as a teenager. He would give the interviews he wanted to give, Liz knew, and he would be fine. Whether the reporters would survive unscathed was another story.

They walked for a minute and then the White Star rose above them on the platform. Liz gasped; she had seen the clips of the ships on ISN, had something of an idea of their beauty and power from those shows and John’s comments. Heck, her father had even been in Geneva for their now-storied flyby, and the awe in his voice was not often heard. But nothing had quite prepared her for the mottled blue ship, an organic dagger, resting before her. “My god, John,” Liz said.

He smiled. “You should’ve seen me,” he said. “That first moment I saw these ships. The first moment I found out that there was more than one, that there was a fleet of them.” His smile grew deeper and reflective at the fond memory. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more at a loss for words in my life.”

There had been good moments, then. So many of the heroic stories were outlandish—however true they may have been, Liz thought. But Liz knew from John’s reluctance to discuss most of his time during the war that many of the less-publicized moments had been—difficult didn’t even begin to cover it. But John’s smile was a testament to the fact that not all those less-public moments had been impossible. Some of them turned out well.

“Can’t blame you,” Dan said, staring at the ship with a look of awe matched by his two sons, whom he held by the hands. Her three boys, with identical wide eyes, and Liz had to smile. She glanced back at the ship, simply sitting, imposing. It was a hell of a thing, this ship, the fleet it was a part of. Maybe she didn’t have to understand to feel proud.

“Want me to show you around?” John asked, clearly enjoying his family’s delight. He nodded at the Ranger who stood at the entrance of the ship, speaking a word or two that Liz couldn’t make out.

“I wanna see,” Dylan said.

“Me, too,” Brian put in.

“Me, three,” David said.

John laughed and turned away from the Ranger. “Right this way, then.” He held out his arm in a sweeping gesture, pointing them toward the ship’s docking ramp. Brian and Dylan let go of their father’s hands and scampered toward the vessel, in a hurry to see. Dan followed, with David and Nancy close behind.

John held back, just a moment, to look at the ship. “You know,” he said as he walked beside Liz at a slower pace. “One day, these will be relics. In ten or twenty years, the White Stars will fall out of service, having been destroyed or decommissioned.” He put a hand on the pylon that supported the docking ramp. “But I hope they keep a few. So everyone can see what you can do with faith and determination.”

He didn’t stop to hear her reaction, but bounded up the ramp on long legs, joining his nephews and brother-in-law in staring around the entrance. Liz followed more sedately. It was a pleasure to be with her whole family for once; she didn’t see her parents often, as their age kept them confined to Earth more and more, and even if John had gone all existential on them, simply being around him brought some comfort. She wondered if it would be the last time the whole Sheridan clan got together.

And what an environment to do it in. The halls of the White Star reminded her of the halls of the presidential residence: all walls sloping gently inward—something to do with triangles, she was sure. John walked them slowly through, pointing at rooms with different functions, the reactor core there, the waste recycling system there. They paused at the weapons controls, but continued on. John ducked into one room, waving a hand around. “Crew quarters,” he said.

Liz gaped at—were they beds? Tilted at such an angle. “They sleep on these things?” she asked, and almost had to laugh at how aghast she sounded.

John laughed at that. “It takes some practice,” he said, resting a hand on the triangular cushion that served as a pillow. The children skipped ahead and began climbing on the furniture.

“You can sleep on that?” Nancy said, pointing to the tilted pallet.

John nodded. “And I do,” he said, smiling. “The Minbari believe that sleeping in the horizontal tempts fate.” He shrugged. “So, no flat beds.”

“Seriously?” Dan asked, glancing at the contraption and giving Liz a long look. How do you do anything on that thing? Dan was thinking. Liz stifled a giggle, but it escaped her as something of a snort.

John heard her and looked up. At what had to be an incredulous, or at least very curious, look on her face, he gave her what was supposed to be a tough stare. It didn’t do a thing, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but she hoped at least that her parents hadn’t heard. “Don’t you fall off? You know?”

If John had rolled his eyes any harder, they might have fallen out of his head, but he had the barest of satisfied smiles on his face. “We are not talking about this,” he said amiably.

“Come on, Johnny,” she said, and it was like she was twelve and he was sixteen and she was teasing him for bringing a girl home to dinner.

He gave her a dirty look, especially as they heard Dan’s laughter. “We actually have a deal,” John said at last. “After the baby’s born, we’re getting a real, flat bed from Earth, because frankly, I hate those things.” He waved a hand at the sleeping contraptions on which his nephews were climbing before putting his hands in his pants pockets. “But no, I’ve never fallen off.” The look on his face spoke perhaps of a few close calls, but she didn’t want to know and he wasn’t going to share.

“Hell of a culture clash,” Dan said, clearly trying to steer the conversation back toward something more comfortable while still demonstrating his curiosity.

“You have no idea,” John said with a twinkle in his eye. He broke into a grin, rocking back on his heels. “Worth every second, though.”

Liz shared another look with Dan. Yup, he’s smitten. And she laughed as John blushed slightly. He pulled his hands from his pockets and gestured at the boys and his parents. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the bridge.”

“Where you fight?” Dylan asked.

“Long periods of great boredom followed by short moments of intense exhilaration,” John said, then caught himself. “Yes,” he said. “Where we fight.”

“You’re going to have to adjust, you know,” Liz said as they left the crew quarters behind, children at their heels and parents trailing behind, seemingly content. “It’s completely different, having them around.”

“They’re a joy,” he said, gesturing at her kids.

Liz smiled. “When they’re not screaming and throwing things, or breaking into locked cabinets or railing on each other.” The three day trip in hyperspace had been trying, to say the least, as the little boys got frustrated very quickly at being confined to the ship. The time difference, the pre-packaged food—it had made for two very cranky children, with subsequently cranky parents and grandparents. Different didn’t even begin to cover it.

“They do grow up, you know,” David put in from where he had fallen in beside her. “Enjoy them when they’re little like this, because pretty soon they’ll have their own half-cocked ideas about saving the galaxy and you won’t even see them at Christmas!”

Liz and Dan laughed at the teasing—mostly for John, but for them as well. John’s laugh caught ever so slightly in his throat, as if halfway through the gesture he had stopped finding the joke funny. Liz narrowed her eyes at him, but his face was blank and the smile remained. Perhaps it was nothing.

“We might be able to come visit in a few years,” John said when the laughter had subsided. “When the Alliance can handle our absence for a few seconds, and when the baby’s old enough to travel.”

David nodded. “I think you’d like it. We rebuilt the farm, and the neighbors seem to like it.”

“Yeah,” John said.

“You should see it, Johnny,” Nancy put in, either unaware of or choosing to ignore John’s comments.

“I will,” John said. “Some day.”

“I know you will,” David said, his gentle tone steadying his wife and his son at once. “But now, show us this ship of yours.”

“The bridge is just up ahead,” John said. This time, he did not gesture for his family to precede him, but straightened his shoulders and marched through the door.

A voice called out in Minbari and the few workers jumped to attention and bowed at the waist. John responded in Minbari—how much of the language did he know? Liz wondered—and bowed lightly in response. He stepped to let his family pass, but instead of beginning to show them around, he stepped over to a Human man in Ranger gear. “How are the repairs going?” John asked.

“It’s just routine maintenance, sir,” the Ranger responded. “She wasn’t serviced after the Shadow War, and then the Centauri crisis rolled around. Just needed a little R and R.” The Ranger seemed surprised at his own casual language, and abruptly stopped, saying, “Sir.”

John smiled. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m just glad we’re keeping her in fighting form.”

“Yes, sir,” the Ranger said, and bowed lightly again.

John turned back to his family, rubbing his hands together. “Well,” he said. “Here we are.”

Dan had stopped dead center in the door, gaping at the technology on display. The children stood beside him, the energy they had exhibited climbing over furniture dulled for a moment as they took in both the scene around them and their father’s awe. David and Nancy stood close by, unwilling to disrupt the scene, reveling in their grandsons’ enjoyment. David had been on a White Star before, in those early days of John’s presidency. But only for a moment, and she imagined John hadn’t exactly had time for the full tour; her father’s eyes sparkled, and Liz knew she was right.

“You commanded a fleet of these things?” Dan asked.

“Still do,” John said. “Technically.”

“Christ,” Dan said.

“In Delenn’s words, we inherited them after the war,” John explained. “They had been property of the Minbari government, under Delenn’s direct control, and with the conflicts on Minbar, they sort of fell into our hands. Pretty good luck, huh?”

“No kidding,” Dan said. He was not the most verbose man Liz had ever known, her husband, but to see him reduced to short, declarative sentences by mere technology—something about men, she figured. Even great ships were toys in their eyes. Just bigger and faster.

John grinned. “Trust me,” he said. “I know exactly how you feel.” And he walked around the bridge, pointing at consoles and naming them: primary weapons control here, jump engines here, internal systems here, navigational systems. He knew the ship’s systems inside and out, it seemed, even though he so regularly had others to execute his orders. It made him a good captain, Liz imagined. She knew.

Brian clamored up to see the weapons console, but Dylan stopped short at the center chair. “Go ahead,” John said, as the little boy moved to sit in it. “You’re captain for today.” John picked Dylan up under his arms and placed him in the chair, which dwarfed his small frame.

“Wow,” Dylan said, and then was silent, staring out the ship’s front viewport. There was nothing to see but the docking bay and the maintenance bots that swarmed around it, making minute repairs to the White Star and other ships, but Dylan seemed not to notice. Liz wondered if her son was envisioning stars or space battles.

“Pretty cool, huh?” John said.

Dylan nodded, and Liz wished for a camera to capture the moment. She expected that in thirty years, when Dylan had his own children, he would tell them of a wonderful day when he was a very small child, that he had commanded a White Star. If only for a few minutes, if only from the ground. She felt Dan take her hand, felt his smile more than saw it. “Pretty cool,” she said, squeezing her husband’s hand.

They stood in silence, there, watching as Dylan sat in the command chair and Brian jammed his fingers into as many buttons as he could. The ship didn’t respond, of course, locked out or on standby or whatever she was, but he, too, would have stories to tell.

“Mister President?” The Ranger at the back, carefully overseeing repairs and the family visit, spoke up hesitantly. John turned to look at him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“There is a call coming through for you. From, I believe, the Advisory Council?”

John’s brow furrowed, even as he whirled to look at the forward viewscreen. “Can you put it up?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the Ranger said, and the forward view shimmered and was replaced by Delenn’s face, holographic and fifteen feet high.

“John,” she said, and the worry in her voice was apparent. “We are receiving reports of an Earthforce cruiser in distress in hyperspace near Minbari space,” she said. John nodded, and Delenn continued. “I have sent the Tikari and the Valen’tha to rendezvous with the cruiser, and their captains indicate they should reach her within half an hour.”

“Good,” John said. “Any word on what happened?”

Delenn shook her head. “The distress signal was fairly difficult to understand,” she said. “But one thing was clear.” Delenn paused, taking a breath. “John, it’s the Castor.”

John closed his eyes. “You’re saying—.” He stopped, opening his eyes and running a hand through his hair. “That’s Susan’s ship.” He pursed his lips. “Are you sure?”

On the screen, Delenn turned away for a moment, pressing a series of buttons. From behind her, a speaker blared. “—repeat, this is the EAS Castor requesting immediate assistance—anyone in the area—This is the EAS Castor—.“ John and Delenn’s faces bore nearly identical looks of concern.

John looked up at the screen, and Delenn nodded. “I will coordinate the rescue efforts from here,” she said. “If you want to return to—.”

But John cut her off. “No,” he said. “You said the Tikari and the Valen’tha would reach her in less than an hour. They’re going to, what? Tow her?”

“That is my understanding, yes,” Delenn said. “There is some discussion about the requirements for a ship of that class, but Alyt Lervell believes there will not be a problem.”

“Do we even know what the problem is? That ship is supposed to be two hundred light years away!”

Delenn held up a hand. “I will let you know as soon as I can,” she said. “If you want to come to the War Room—.”

Again, he cut her off. “No,” he said, shaking his head fiercely. He turned to look at the Ranger who still stood at the back of the room. “Is this thing flight worthy?”

Delenn’s admonishment of “John!” came even as the Ranger said, “Yes, Mister President. She is operating without a full crew, but she can fly. It was only routine maintenance.”

“Then we’re going,” John determined. He nodded at the Ranger to begin preflight preparations and turned to Delenn. “I know,” he said solemnly, reading her face. “But if there’s anything I can do for her, if there’s anything—.”

“I know,” Delenn said simply. “I will monitor your progress from here.”

John turned as the screen flickered off and was replaced by the view of the docking bay. He started toward the captain’s chair, then leaned over to pick up Dylan. “We’re going to go for a ride,” he said, hoisting the boy in his arms and handing him over to his father. “You guys are gonna go sit in the observation deck,” he said, gesturing for a Minbari tech to guide them somewhere safer.

Dan and Nancy picked up the boys, following the Minbari off the bridge.

David and Liz remained. John turned over his shoulder and said, “Well, if you’re staying, hang on to something.” He gestured to the Ranger, asking, “Are we up yet?”

“Thirty seconds, sir.”

Liz watched John count down in his head, then turn back to the viewscreen. “Punch it!” he said, and the ship rose gracefully off the ground and shot toward space.

**

The flight was like nothing Liz had ever experienced. She had been on her share of Earth and Earthforce transports over the years, traveling to visit Johnny, or to move between planets, or, on one memorable occasion, to a disastrous vacation on Mars. Those flights had their moments of awe—nothing had prepared her for that very first jump into hyperspace; she had been ten years old and scared and could do nothing but stare out the window as the stars turned to blue and then red. But those flights had also reminded her why she had chosen to lead out her life planetside; for the most part, her travels in space had been bumpy and boring, and staring at the vast expanses of the stars did nothing but remind her of her mortality. So many Earthforce officers she had known found this refreshing. Liz simply found it depressing.

But if John had told her she could have a White Star to fly, she felt she would never leave space. The ship rose gently through Minbar’s clouds without a hint of the turbulence so typical of atmospheric flight. As the ship broke through the ozone, it was as if she breached the heavens and the stars were arrayed before her. Perhaps this was what those Earthforce boys had been talking about, this moment when the concerns of planets could be put aside and you worried only of the celestial.

At least, that is how she felt as the Rangers and John guided the ship into the sky. A glance at her brother showed that any appreciation he might have had for the ship’s flight was suffocated under his worry for his friend. Liz knew of Susan Ivanova, if only from the Voice of the Resistance. Once John’s steadfast second-in-command, she had vanished to the rim with a captain’s commission shortly after the war’s end. And now, here she was, in hyperspace near Minbar.

She was supposed to worry, Liz knew. John and Delenn were obviously concerned, and John had all but ordered the family off the bridge. But for now, as the ship glided effortlessly through space—and Liz laughed at herself for thinking in such clichés—she couldn’t help but enjoy the ride. She snuck a look at her father, and was reassured that David seemed at least as awed as she.

“Wow,” she whispered, glancing sidelong at the older man.

Her father nodded, responding sotto voice, “You know, Lizzie, I’ve been around a long time. But this is really something.”

David gripped the console next to which he stood, obeying John’s edict to hold on, but Liz let her hands rest at her sides. “I guess,” Liz started to say, sliding her eyes toward John but keeping her voice low. “I don’t know. I never understood why he wanted to be a pilot until now.”

“I think he always found something freeing about being in space,” David said.

“And now?” Liz asked. “Politics?”

David shrugged lightly, running his hands over the metal bars that framed the ship’s console. “I think this is his way of finishing the fight,” he said. Liz opened her mouth to interject, but David cut her off. “It isn’t so different from what he was doing on Babylon 5,” he said. “And I think it’s more important.”

“I’m not saying it’s unimportant, Dad,” Liz said, struggling to keep her voice down. “But—.” She waved her hand around the bridge of the White Star. “This is what he does. He commands starships.”

“And quite well, too,” David said. “But there comes a point where we must change how we think of ourselves, and we hope that when we do, those who love us can at least understand.”

“It’s just—oh, I don’t know, Dad,” Liz said, and she could hear the petulant note in her own voice. “I feel like giving this up, he’s lost so much.”

David smiled, just slightly. “I don’t think it is as clear as that, Lizzie,” he said. He reached out, putting his hand on her arm and turning her slightly toward him. “I think this outcome is not so unexpected or out of character as you might believe.” He looked her in the eyes, kind and dear and she wondered when this man who was the tallest man in her world began to look so old. “You see, Lizzie,” he said, “John commanded starships, but in doing that, he commanded people. It was his job to make hard choices, life or death choices. He sent people to die in the name of Earth and of justice because he believed it was the right thing to do. And he did it well.”

“But—.”

“But what?” David asked, so gently.

Liz smiled, moving her hand to cover her father’s on her arm. “I guess I always think of him as working among the stars,” she said. And she didn’t say, He’s my big brother and he’s changed, because David could hear it, even if she was in her forties and had children of her own.

“Do you think he has lost so much?” David asked, and Liz was forced to think of the look of pure joy on John’s face as he felt his unborn son move against his palm, remembered that sensation from before her boys were born, could not truly say her brother had not gained. But she did not answer her father, and so he was pressed to ask, “And do you think he’s not aware that the choices he has made have consequences?”

She had to turn up her lips at that, as she watched John study a readout on the arm of his chair. He was certainly not the carefree boy she had known as a child, but that had died with Anna on the Icarus, so many years ago. If nothing, his furrowed brow spoke of a seriousness she would never have thought to ascribe to him. “No, Dad,” Liz said finally. “I guess it’s just hard to reconcile.”

David nodded. “Of course. You should hear some of the discussions I’ve had with your mother.”

“It’s pretty clear she’s not really sure about all this,” Liz said. “I mean, I get that.”

“There’s more to it than that,” David said, squeezing Liz’s arm before placing his hand back on the console. “There hasn’t been any time for them to catch up, and I think she’s afraid she’ll never have the chance.”

“Dad! She’s only—.” How old was her mother, now? Liz was forty-three, John forty-eight. That meant Nancy was a solid seventy-six; hardly old by modern standards, though certainly not as vibrant as David in their elder age.

“I know,” David responded, shrugging a little. “But we probably won’t be able to make the trip again, and he just said they won’t be heading to Earth any time soon. If it’s five years?” His tone seemed to indicate that his wife’s concerns were, perhaps, not so far-fetched.

“But you guys are doing great!” Liz said. But the question hung between them, and she struggled to maintain the whispered tone of their conversation. “Right?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” David said. But she didn’t, and couldn’t imagine her parents anything less than full of life; wouldn’t imagine her father unready for the next adventure. Liz held his gaze, and David looked down. “Losing the farm was real tough,” he said.

“I thought EarthGov was going to pay for the repairs,” Liz said, and she heard a small voice in her head scold her: That isn’t the point, it said.

“They are, they are,” David reassured her. “But there’s a lot of work involved, and it’s not easy to build up a home from scratch.”

“But you have so much—.”

David held up a hand, stopping her. “It’s difficult,” he said. “But it’s what your mother wants—that farm meant everything to her, and so we will rebuild. But with you on Proxima and Johnny on Minbar, I wonder what will become of it in five years.”

John’s voice broke through, startling them both. “Surely, there’ll be a market,” he said, not looking away from the readouts he was studying so intently.

Liz shared a look with her father. How much of their quiet conversation had he heard? And if he had, was that so bad?

“Probably,” David said. “Not many people are that interested in amateur agriculture these days, though.”

“You’ll figure something out,” Liz said, with a confidence she wasn’t sure she felt.

John swung away from the console, glancing first at the stars on the viewscreen before turning toward his father. “Whatever you guys want to do,” he said, “I’m pretty sure there won’t be a problem.” He flashed a brief smile before again looking away. The implication of his statement was clear: the President of the Interstellar Alliance, lately one of the most influential people in the galaxy, would see to it that his parents would have no trouble in their old age. The quieter, less obvious statement was there, too: John would not have his parents worrying when it was in his capacity to dispel their fear; he might not be present, but he would be available.

David smiled tightly. “No,” he said. “I’m sure there won’t—.” He was cut off as the ship suddenly banked right, forcing him to grab for the nearest railing.

“Hang on,” John repeated, leaning forward in his chair. Liz clutched at the console, which flashed incomprehensively at her. The White Star approached two Minbari cruisers, the likes of which Liz hadn’t seen since the Earth-Minbari War, so many years ago. She bit her lip; they didn’t look less intimidating. “This is White Star Thirty-Six to Tikari and Valen’tha,” John said.

“This is the Tikari, White Star,” a voice responded, shortly replaced by the image of a Minbari of the warrior caste on the viewscreen. He wore dark robes of black and green, and his crest had been sharpened into craggy points. Liz had to admit she far preferred the gentler look of the religious caste.

“Alyt Lervell,” John responded, bowing slightly from his seat. The Minbari returned the gesture, following it by putting his right fist against his open left palm—a gesture of respect? Liz didn’t know. So many things she didn’t know.

“President Sheridan,” Lervell said. “I understand you are familiar with this cruiser and its capabilities.”

“Yes,” John said. “What is her status?”

“The distress signal indicates they were attacked in hyperspace.”

John sat back. “They what?” he asked. “What kind of idiots would attack a ship in hyperspace? The potential for damage to the attacking ship would be far too great.”

“That was our assessment as well,” Lervell said. “However, it appears that whomever attacked the Castor was not motivated by self-preservation.”

“Apparently not,” John said. “What’s the plan?”

“As we understand it,” Leverll continued, “the Castor remains on the beacon but is unable to return to normal space under her own power.”

“She can’t use the jumpgate?” John asked, furrowing his brow in concentration.

Lervell shook his head. “We have not been in direct contact,” he said, “but considering she is holding her position on the beacon but has not jumped into normal space, we must presume that she is unable to jump.”

John nodded, clenching a fist against the arm of his chair. “Under your combined power, can you tow her through the jump point?” he asked.

“We believe so,” Lervell said. “However, the energy required to maintain the tow on a ship of such size will drain our resources considerably. There is some concern that our navigational or life support systems may fail.”

John stood from the chair, moving to pace in front of the screen. “Can you link your systems to the White Star?” he asked. “So that we control the flight path from here, and you and the Valen’tha only have to worry about supplying the force for the tow?”

Lervell nodded to someone Liz couldn’t see. “We are attempting it now,” he said. “Please stand by.” The Minbari’s face was replaced on the screen with an image of the two cruisers, blue and terrifying against the black of space.

John turned away from the viewscreen, looking back at the Rangers on the bridge. “Let me know as soon as they’re linked in,” he directed.

“Sir,” the human Ranger responded.

Silence descended on the bridge as Alyt Lervell worked with his crew and the Valen’tha to synchronize the ships’ navigational systems. Liz watched as the Minbari ships floated serenely before them, and tried to understand their true size. The White Star had a standard crew of twenty or thirty, she figured, but was a relatively small ship. The cruisers were clearly so much larger—were they crewed by one hundred or one thousand? She couldn’t tell, but turned to her father to comment, “That thing is gigantic,” she said.

“More efficient than an Earthforce cruiser,” John said over his shoulder, apparently still determined to play guide even as he monitored the Tikari’s progress. “If you don’t have to have sections that rotate, you can increase your size without increasing your energy output. Though the Castor is probably four times her size,” he added.

“Are we going to be upgrading our fleet?” Liz asked.

“We gave Earthdome the blueprints for the technology,” John responded, and Liz heard the subtle distinction he made between the government he ran and that of Earth. “But it’s much more advanced than what they’re accustomed to, so it may be a while before we see fleets of Earthforce ships with artificial gravity.” He smiled a little. “The Minbari have been in space for several thousand years,” he elaborated. “It’ll take Earth some time to catch up.”

Before Liz could respond, Lervell’s face reappeared on the viewscreen and the Ranger at the back of the bridge spoke up. “They have integrated the systems,” he said.

John turned toward Lervell. “This should give you enough power to generate enough inertia on the Castor without damaging your own systems.”

Lervell nodded. “We will follow you through the gate,” he said. The screen flickered, and Liz watched through the viewport as the White Star banked gently and picked up speed toward the jumpgate. She could barely feel the ship’s acceleration, such a change from the atmospheric flying they had enjoyed earlier in the day. She watched as they entered the gate, the blue whirlpool replacing the stars for only a second as the ship transitioned to hyperspace.

The were barely through the gate when John again contacted the Tikari. “You guys make it through?” he asked.

“There appears to be no problem with the linked systems,” Lervell responded, and though John couldn’t see him, the Ranger at the back of the bridge confirmed with a sharp nod.

“Good,” John responded. He leaned back over his shoulder. “Open a channel to the Castor,” he instructed the Ranger.

Something beeped, then the Ranger responded. “Channel open, audio only.”

Though his face barely moved, something shifted around John’s eyes. His voice held the faintest hint of a smile as he spoke, “This is White Star Thirty-Six to Earth Alliance Cruiser Castor. Castor, do you copy? I repeat, this is White Star Thirty-Six to—.”

A garbled transmission, but they could hear it: “White Star, this is the Castor. I repeat, this is the Castor.” And from the smile that broke out fully on John’s face, it was not only the Castor but her captain.

“Good to hear your voice, Castor,” John said, grinning fully. He paused, waiting for her to catch up, figure it out.

He didn’t have to wait long. “John?” Susan responded, incredulous. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t come rescue an old friend?” he asked over the link.

“Shouldn’t you be off negotiating treaties or something?” Susan’s voice was dry with irony.

“I can leave you here, you know,” he said. “Floating alone in hyperspace for all eternity.”

“Fine, fine,” Susan responded. “You guys gonna get us out of here?”

John nodded. “The Tikari and the Valen’tha will tow you by tractor beam through the jump gate,” he said. “Shouldn’t take very long to set up.”

“Thanks,” Susan responded.

“What happened?” John asked, and Liz watched through the viewscreen as one of the Minbari cruisers approached the Earthforce ship. The rotating behemoth dwarfed the Minbari vessels, and Liz’s eyes widened.

“We were returning from a survey mission in Sector Forty-Eight,” Susan said. “We were going to stop at Beta Durani for supplies and shore leave. About halfway back, we were attacked in hyperspace. Blew out the jump engines, propulsion. We were lucky to be on the beacon and had navigational control.”

“Do you know who attacked you?”

There was a pause. “Unidentified silhouette,” Susan responded.

John looked as if he was about to respond with another question, but a flash on his console drew his attention. “Stand by tractor,” he said.

“Understood,” Susan responded. “Powering down engines and preparing for tow.”

“Acknowledged,” John said.

“Tractor established,” Lervell’s voice sounded.

“Confirmed, Tikari,” John said. “Prepare to come about.”

“Confirmed, White Star,” Lervell responded.

“Coming about,” John said. The White Star banked left, treating its occupants to a panoramic view of the Minbari cruisers securing the disabled Earthforce vessel against a mottled red sky. Beside Liz, David gasped.

John turned to look at them, smiling easily. “Not bad, huh?” he said.

“Not bad,” David responded.

“Tow is holding,” Lervell’s voice reassured them. “White Star navigational control maintained.

“Preparing to jump to normal space,” John said. He pointed a finger at the Ranger, as if to signal him to activate the jump gate, but he never had the opportunity to complete the task. The White Star rattled and shook, lights blinking violently, and Liz found herself tossed to the floor.

“What the hell?” John said, holding on to his seat. “Status report!”

“Direct hit to our stern,” the Ranger responded.

“Direct hit by what?” John asked as the ship shuddered again. He spared Liz and their father a glance to reassure himself that they were, if not unharmed, at least not badly injured.

“I—am not sure,” the Ranger said, pausing.

“Be sure,” John said, swinging back to look at the viewscreen. Before him, one of the Minbari vessels showed evidence of hostile fire. “Valen’tha, status report.”

An unfamiliar Minbari voice responded, “We have suffered moderate damage. Repair crews and automated systems moving in now.”

“Tikari,” John said.

“We are unharmed,” Lervell said.

The White Star rattled again. “Release navigational control to the Tikari and Valen’tha,” John ordered the Ranger, whose fingers danced on the console. “Evasive maneuvers. Try to get a lock on whatever it is.”

Under the Ranger’s deft control, the White Star swung in what Liz imagined was a two-hundred seventy degree turn, banking sharply as the Ranger avoided any hits and calibrated the sensors to pick up the source of the hostile fire.

“Castor, status,” John barked.

“We’re dead in the water over here,” Susan responded.

John nodded. “Just sit tight,” he said, and the White Star banked again, this time apparently avoiding a shot. “What kind of fools engage in hyperspace?” he asked, rhetorically. He clenched a fist against his jaw, narrowing his eyes. He turned back to the Ranger. “Can you at least determine a silhouette?” he asked.

The Ranger nodded tightly. “I don’t recognize it,” he said, “and they seem to be employing some kind of intermittent cloaking device, because I can’t lock on.”

John shook his head. “Doesn’t matter if we can’t lock on,” he said. “Not yet.” He leaned forward, nodding slightly. “Sheridan to Delenn, are you watching this?”

Delenn’s voice rang clearly through the bridge. “Yes.”

“I’m transmitting our data on the enemy vessel—see if you can’t identify it?”

“Of course,” Delenn responded. “It will be a few—no.” She stopped for a moment, as if to catch her breath or steady herself against a truth she did not wish to face. Or, at least, that’s how it seemed to Liz. Delenn’s voice sounded again, “John, those are Drakh ships.”

“What?” John and Susan’s voices sounded in stereo.

“I would know them anywhere,” Delenn responded.

“Then why aren’t they in our database?” John asked, angry now.

“The design is not identical to the ships I confronted,” Delenn said. “But the similarities are obvious to one who knows what they are seeing.”

John nodded, and a tight smile graced his features. “Damn,” he said. “Damn, damn, damn.”

“If experience is any teacher,” Delenn said, tone probably intentionally soothing, “they should not be particularly maneuverable or fast, but will make up for these deficits with superior firepower.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not particularly fast or lithe right now, either,” John said. “And I don’t know about superior firepower, since we haven’t been able to scan their ships!” He brought his fist down on the arm of his chair. “I’m open to suggestions, people,” he said as the White Star banked sharply. John turned his head. “Return fire!” he said to the Ranger, who nodded.

Liz stayed on the floor with her father, watching.

Susan’s voice crackled over the link. “Our starfuries weren’t damaged in the attack,” she said. “They’re certainly more maneuverable than the Minbari cruisers.”

John frowned. “But if you’re disabled and something happens to the furies—.”

Delenn’s voice cracked with static. “Use the furies to distract the Drakh while you tow the Castor,” she said. “They can follow you through the gate.”

“And,” John said, nodding. “With any luck, the Drakh will follow us through.”

“It could work,” Susan said.

“I am uplinking the file from my previous encounter with the Drakh,” Delenn said. “It includes tactical details about the maneuvers used. Stand by.”

John turned to look at Liz and David, climbing to their feet in the brief absence of hostile fire. The White Star continued to maneuver defensively, but John smiled. “Receiving,” he said, still holding his father’s eyes. There was something like pride in his gaze, something that said, See? His console beeped. “Transmission complete. Susan, did you get that?”

“Affirmative,” Susan responded. Liz wrapped one hand around the console and another around her father’s arm; she wasn’t sure who was steadying who as his hand landed on her shoulder and he hugged her to him.

“Then let’s do this.” John’s words were punctuated by another shot from the enemy vessel, and the White Star banked sharply to avoid a hit.

Susan announced she was launching her starfuries, and John signaled to the Minbari cruisers to resume the tractor beam. He waited—slowly, slowly, as the White Star dove again—then, receiving confirmation from the other vessels, announced, “Prepare to jump. On my mark. Three, two, jump.”

And the White Star sped toward the jump gate, the reds of hyperspace dissolving into the black of night. This trip through the gate was bumpy, and Liz tightened her grip on the console. There was surely some physical reason for the difficulty of the trip, Liz knew, but she couldn’t help but blame it on the—what had Delenn called them? Drakh? It wasn’t a species she knew of, but John and Delenn were clearly aware of the threat they posed.

They arrived in normal space, and John instructed the Minbari cruisers to tow the Castor to a safe distance. “Tikari, can you tow the Castor without further navigational assistance?” John asked. There was an affirmative response from Alyt Lervell, and John nodded. “Get her out of this area, and then head back to finish this up.”

Lervell did not respond, but Liz could see the two Minbari cruisers power away from the White Star with the gargantuan Earthforce vessel in tow. “Okay,” John said, and Liz wasn’t sure who he was addressing. “Let’s see if you’re willing to fight in the open,” he said.

Delenn spoke up. “I have alerted the planetary defense force that we are experiencing combat in the region,” she said. “The Hel’Fi and White Stars Twelve and Forty-Seven will be arriving shortly.”

“Good,” John said. “That’ll give the furies enough cover.” As he spoke, the Castor’s starfuries began pouring through the jumpgate, ten at a time. “Squadron leader,” John called. “Status report.”

An unfamiliar voice filled the bridge, and Liz tensed. “This is Lieutenant Thomas,” the pilot said. “We sustained minor losses—three ships destroyed, twelve damaged.”

“Do you think they will follow you through?” John asked.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas responded. “I believe they think we are outgunned.”

There was a ripple of laughter across the link. “Never stopped us before,” Susan said drily. “Even when it was true.”

“Something is coming through the gate,” Lieutenant Thomas noted, interrupting the laughter.

“Come about and stand by weapons,” John ordered, and the White Star swung to face the jump gate, starfuries following her every move. “Tikari, what’s your status?

“We are approaching the orbital shipyard,” Lervell said. “We will return shortly.”

“And those capital ships, Delenn?”

“Twelve minutes,” Delenn responded.

John nodded, eyes widening as he watched the enemy vessels appear through the jumpgate. Long, angular, and, to Liz’s eye, utterly terrifying, their pronged weapons or whatever they were, and Liz didn’t know, but they looked like weapons—looked as if they would simply spear through the ship’s skin and kill them all.

“Better make it quick,” John said drily, and whether his comment was to Delenn or Lervell was, Liz thought, irrelevant. “Weapons ready.”

“Sir,” the Ranger said.

“Starfuries, take point. Standby.” John said. The enemy ship glowed green.

“Locking on,” the Ranger said. Liz flinched, and clutched at her father’s hand. John’s face was an image of concentration, eyes narrowed as he stared ahead.

“Fire!”

The White Star’s weapons discharged, and Liz watched as a volley of green light shot out from the ship. The starfuries swarmed in, and then there was chaos. She couldn’t follow the battle, couldn’t tell who was winning or losing. Could see John’s face, set tightly against the stress, watched as Minbari cruisers returned to the area.

Explosions. That was what she would remember, later, comforting her children. Just explosions and light and John, sitting calmly through it all. Delenn’s voice in the background, still gentle as she directed the Minbari capital ships and the White Stars. Through the noise, Liz understood that John and Delenn worked well together, here, directing the battle.

If it was a battle. She couldn’t tell, didn’t know how many attacking ships there were, how the sides stacked up. She watched as John turned to give commands to the starfuries and cruisers, saw him rise from his chair as the ship shook. He stumbled, slightly, then was tossed back into the seat. He shook himself, rubbing at his elbow before he leaned to give another order.

There was a brilliant flash of light, and Liz shut her eyes against the glow.

And then, Liz assumed, it was over, because John’s voice echoed, “Stand down,” and she didn’t know if it had been five minutes or five hours and imagined it was somewhere in between. John looked over to Liz and her father, still standing shakily together by the console. “You two all right?” he asked.

Liz nodded slowly, loathe to let go of anything. “I—.” She started talking, tried to say something.

John rose from his chair, nodding at the Ranger behind him. “Hey,” he said, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “Lizzie, it’s okay.” But it wasn’t okay, not really, because of the many things they had planned for this trip, space battles hadn’t been among them, and she didn’t know what she would say to her boys, to anyone, about what had happened. John looked as if this hadn’t rattled him, as if it was normal to have a day off from work devolve into a shooting match. She remembered Delenn’s confidence on the link, what seemed to be a blind faith in their success—even if it couldn’t be, coming from someone of her expertise. Liz didn’t know what she could say, so she said nothing more.

Her brother sighed, and Liz didn’t know what he could read on her face. “Go check on the kids,” he said, finally, giving her arm a squeeze. “We’ll be back home in no time.” She turned away from the bridge, a Minbari Ranger stepping beside her to guide her to her family. Her father didn’t follow, but she didn’t care, not right now. He wasn’t who she needed, or wanted.

The door opened to identical scared shouts of “Mommy!” and she knelt down to hold her boys against her, so tightly.

With a confidence she didn’t feel, Liz pulled back from the two children to look them in the eyes. “So,” she said. “That was scary, huh?”

Dylan nodded a little, but Brian shook his head vigorously. “That was cool!” he said with conviction, and as Liz raised her eyes to meet her husband’s gaze, she smiled for the first time since they had lifted off the planet.

*

The boys were napping, with Dan watching over them. Liz had offered to stand by, but he had shook his head, giving her tacit permission to wander the house. He had no interest in whatever family conflicts might motivate the conversations she would have, and seemed content to sit quietly with his littlest sons, present if they should need him. So Liz leaned down and kissed them each, smoothing the sandy hair back from their faces before turning from the room.

She had no idea what she would do. One of the house guards had informed them that dinner would be in two standard hours and that they should take this opportunity to rest. Liz’s parents had taken them up on the offer, but Liz herself couldn’t shake the same restless feeling that had propelled her out of bed before dawn. She stepped into the hallway, trailing her fingers along the wall.

Most of the home was tastefully but impersonally decorated; Liz knew that Delenn had overseen the construction of not only the residence but all of the Interstellar Alliance facilities, but it seemed as if the residence was crafted as yet another public structure. The hallways and the guestrooms bore comfortable furniture and stock images of Minbar and Earth—all beautiful, each irrelevant. It had to have been intentional, this creation of space suited for state guests and not family, and Liz wondered what the baby’s room would look like, what John and Delenn had chosen to hang on the few truly private walls of their state-owned mansion.

Liz paced idly, one foot in front of the other, turning when she reached a corner but without an idea of where she was going. She would have to turn around at some point, or would have to be found when dinner started, but she enjoyed the light texture of the paint under her fingers and the ability to get lost for a while. Their trip was only one day old, and it had already proved more than she could have imagined—yet it was nothing like what she had wanted. But she could no longer evaluate what she wanted here, wouldn’t know what it would take to go home happy. And so she wandered away from the guest quarters and into an atrium-style room she hadn’t seen before.

She was surrounded on all sides by glass; the ceilings arched fifty feet overhead, and when she looked up she could see the setting Minbari sun. The room seemed to go on forever, and Liz figured it was the residence’s formal entranceway—it could certainly double as a reception hall, she thought. Liz removed her fingers from the walls; no need to create smudges for others to clean. Not this time.

Liz took several steps into the room, and her footsteps did not echo as she would have expected. Minbari engineering again, muffling sounds, conserving energy. Perhaps in a million years, humans would catch up. She had no idea how far she had wandered from the residential section of the house, and no idea if she would find he way back. But she turned to look up, up, up toward the stars among which she had flown earlier that day.

It was always hard not to recognize the constellations. Living on Proxima Three had proven frustrating, if only because she could not look out on a cool fall night and point to Orion’s belt or Cassiopeia. There were other stars that made other shapes, but the night sky was foreign to her there and there was no longer comfort in looking skyward. And here, with no sense of direction other than up, she observed the stars, twinkling in what seemed so great a distance. She wondered if the Minbari named their constellations after their revered figures, as humans did, or if the fast march of technology had removed the wonder from stargazing.

Liz sat down on the echoless floor, pushing her back up against a glass wall. There were no chairs in sight, and she did not need to explore further. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply and wishing she didn’t think of it as alien air.

As Liz breathed, trying to slow her still racing heartbeat, she became aware of soft voices approaching. She didn’t move, probably wouldn’t be seen, huddled as she was in the dark. She kept her eyes closed, and listened. The owners of the voices entered the room and stopped.

“—take unnecessary risks, John.”

“First, I had no way to know the situation would deteriorate like that,” John responded to Delenn, voice tight but soft. “And even if I had, I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“If the cruisers dispatched had required further assistance, there were two White Stars and another capital ship in the area,” Delenn said. “There was no reason—.”

“There was every reason,” he said. “It is my responsibility to render aid when an ally is in distress.”

Liz opened her eyes, and saw Delenn nod and put her hand on John’s chest. “Yes,” she said. “But not in this fashion.” Delenn’s hand fluttered, and John caught it and held it against him as she continued. “You are no longer a military leader, John, and you must consider the broader implications of your actions.”

There was a long pause. John did not respond, so Delenn continued. “It has always been your place to render aid, and it still is,” she said. “But now you must do it strategically, intelligently.”

“Are you saying this was an idiot move?” John asked.

Delenn smiled slightly. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “But it is not appropriate for the President of the Interstellar Alliance to go flying in with guns blazing—especially in a situation where the dangers are unknown. It does not look good.”

John scowled. “I don’t care how it looks,” he said.

Delenn brought her other hand up to his cheek. “Of course you do,” she said. “You know as well as I that how we are perceived impacts what we are able to accomplish.”

“Damned reporters,” John said. “Did ISN get this?” The tone of his voice changed, mocking slightly. “We have received news from ISA headquarters on Minbar that the President of the Alliance, John Sheridan, decided to play cowboy. We go to the experts in our studio about the pitfalls of transitioning between military and political authority.”

“John,” Delenn admonished, smiling. “You did what you thought was right.”

“That’s no excuse,” he said, putting his free arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer to him. “What was it you were saying about unnecessary risks?”

“It would be unfortunate for the Alliance if you were killed accidentally in a border skirmish because you couldn’t leave the job to the Rangers,” Delenn said, and though her tone was light, John must’ve seen something in her eyes, because his gaze narrowed as he looked down at her.

“You aren’t upset because the Alliance would have to stage new elections,” John said softly.

Delenn looked away, focusing her gaze on the buttons of his shirt. “The Alliance would fall apart without you,” she said.

“It might,” he said, conceding the point. “But that’s still not what’s bothering you.”

Delenn took a deep breath. “If you had been hurt,” she said, but did not continue the phrase, trailing off.

“I’m fine,” John said, lightly, smoothing her hair. “I’m fine, see?” Delenn didn’t respond, as her fingers traced the pattern of his shirt. “I don’t know what I should say,” John said, rubbing Delenn’s back slowly, and placing a kiss on her downcast head. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not now.”

At this, Delenn’s head snapped up, her eyes afire and her voice strong and angry. “Not today,” she said. “But next time the opportunity presents itself for you to play hero, what about then?”

John sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said. “You know—.” He released his grip on Delenn and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Delenn repeated, so quietly, and turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He came up behind her, resting his hands on his shoulders, pulling her toward him. “That’s no excuse,” he said, mirroring their words of only seconds before. “It’s not. And you’re right. I need to think about these things more.” He paused, kissing the side of her head before sighing. “But I can’t stand by and watch things happen around me. That’s not what I do, and it’s not who I am.”

“I know,” Delenn said. “Nor do I expect you to.” But her tone was defensive, and they had clearly hit on the issue—whatever it was, it was the only thing Liz had seen in their brief acquaintance that could upset Delenn in any meaningful way.

“It goes both ways, you know,” John said, almost reproaching. “Do you know how much I worried about you during your civil war? Here I am, planning an assault on my own government, and the thought that kept me up at night was that I didn’t know how you were doing, if you were alive. And when the broadcast from the Starfire Wheel made it out—.” He stopped, and Delenn turned in his arms.

There was a stark clarity in Delenn’s gaze as she looked up at him. “I had hoped we had put our adventuring days behind us,” she said, bringing her palm again to his cheek. John grasped it and nodded. “I cannot—.” Delenn’s voice broke slightly, and she took a breath before continuing. “I will not spend another night unsure if you are alive or dead,” she said. “Because—.”

“Shh,” John said, refusing to let her finish the thought. “I know.” He hugged her tightly then, rocking her gently in his arms. He took an unsteady breath, then forged on ahead. “You know, I don’t know if I ever told you. When Clark was holding me, they were torturing me, trying to get names and information—it was like Z’ha’dum. The only thing that kept me alive, kept me from breaking, was the thought that you were waiting for me, that you loved me.”

Something to live for, Liz remembered. She wanted to cry, but no tears would come, and so she listened quietly.

“You mentioned it,” Delenn said. “Though I do not object to the reminder.” Her voice was light, though it sounded forced to Liz, as if the topic they were dancing around still weighed heavily on Delenn. John smiled tightly, holding her close, apparently aware that the subject had not been closed.

Indeed, Delenn fell silent and stayed that way for a long moment. She took another steadying breath before speaking again, and her voice was shaky as she spoke. “We haven’t talked about it,” Delenn said, so quietly Liz had to strain to hear. “You haven’t wanted to talk about it.”

John shifted slightly, drawing back so he could look at his wife. He reached up to touch her face, tracing the lines by her eyes with the backs of his fingers. “All the time in the universe would never be enough,” he said, moving his fingers to the crown of bone that circled her head like a diadem. When he reached the back of her head, he pulled her gently toward him, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “You know if I had any choice—.” He trailed off, closing his eyes and ducking his chin.

Delenn nodded against his chest. “I know,” she said. “I will never doubt that.” Though Delenn’s voice was soft, it was clear, and Liz could tell Delenn was not crying, then, just distressed about something Liz couldn’t understand.

Liz saw the edges of her brother’s mouth quirk up in a sad smile, even as his eyes stayed closed against the world.

They were quiet for a long moment, standing together under the stars, and it looked like if they had the option, neither would ever let go. Finally, John drew back, reaching out to tilt Delenn’s face toward his. “You’re right about unnecessary risks, though,” he said, bringing the conversation back to its beginning. “Just as I am right that sometimes danger is unavoidable.” When Delenn moved to contradict him, he shook his head. “Sometimes, we will both be in situations we cannot control. Sometimes, things will go wrong.”

“But—.” John raised a hand, and Delenn stopped.

“But,” he said, “we will both make sure that when we can control the situation, we will both consider the ramifications.” Delenn nodded slightly, and John smiled. “So that means no more gallivanting off to single-handedly save society,” he said, teasing gently about another story Liz didn’t know.

“I will do what I can,” Delenn said, and Liz could hear her customary confidence returning to her voice. “And so will you.”

John smiled at the authority in her tone. “It’s a deal, then,” he said. When Delenn didn’t move at all, apparently content to be held, John continued. “We’ll deal with this in pieces,” he said softly. “And I will remind you every day if I have to that every moment I have is yours. Okay?”

Delenn leaned back to look up at her husband with a smile that seemed to indicate she considered the matter closed for the moment. “Yes,” she said simply. She reached a hand for John’s face and he met her halfway, kissing her soundly.

At this, Liz closed her eyes again, neither wanting nor needing to watch.

There was something, something important, that he hadn’t told them, probably wouldn’t tell them, that made them both preternaturally aware of the precarious nature of life. Perhaps she would ask, dropping it in before she left: So, Johnny, what’s this about dying? But they had discussed Z’ha’dum once already, and to bring it up again seemed like belaboring the point. Perhaps she would wonder for the rest of her life what it was that hung in the air, what it was that made Delenn so fiercely protective.

She would not wonder, however, about the strength of the love between her brother and his wife. She had thought she understood the extent of his ability to love another with Anna—his distress at her death had been heart wrenching, and then he had left on the Agamemnon, turning his back on the problem. But, Liz thought, there was a distinction between wanting to die in someone’s absence and finding the will to live for their presence. It wasn’t comforting to have seen both sides of that coin.

There was a soft footstep beside her, and when Liz opened her eyes, she was met with Earthforce regulation boots. She drew her gaze up, and it landed on the tired face of Susan Ivanova, whose expressive eyebrows furrowed at the scene in front of her. “Married a year and a half and still making out like teenagers,” she said idly.

Liz giggled slightly, and Susan looked down at her. Liz waved, not moving from her spot against the glass. Susan drew her gaze back toward John and Delenn, who had clearly not noticed her arrival—and clearly wouldn’t notice until something was said or done. Susan cleared her throat softly, with no response. She tried again, slightly louder, to the same effect. Liz grinned as Susan rolled her eyes.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Susan said, sotto voice, something like mischief passing across her face. She tapped her link, which beeped loudly. “Ivanova to Sheridan,” she called out, her voice carrying through the room.

John jerked away from Delenn, beginning to bring his right hand up to his mouth so he could respond—into a link he wasn’t wearing. He closed his eyes and very deliberately lowered his hand, resting it lightly on Delenn’s waist. Delenn bit her lip to keep from laughing, though her face was flushed and she turned slightly to angle away from where Susan stood.

“Ivanova,” John said, a little hoarsely. He coughed and then continued, “Remind me to have a discussion with General Lefcourt about just how much you’d love to drive a desk at the waste reclamation plant on Centauri Prime.”

“Yes, sir,” Susan responded. “Sorry, sir.”

John released Delenn gently, wiping his mouth before shifting to face his former executive officer. “No, you’re not,” he said.

“Too good an opportunity to pass up,” Susan said, shrugging deliberately. “Besides, nothing else worked.”

John narrowed his eyes, but strode toward her. “Hell of a way to greet an old friend,” he said, and at Susan’s second shrug, he broke out into a grin. “But it’s good to see you.” He reached out to hug her, and she returned the embrace, briefly but fiercely. He let her go, smiling.

Delenn approached, and Susan looked away from John toward his wife. She started to greet her as she had John, but stopped short, staring. “Oh my God, Delenn,” Susan said, looking between Delenn and John as if she had seen a ghost—albeit one bearing good news. She reached out to hug Delenn quickly, then pushed her back to stare at her at arm’s length, eyes focused on her obvious pregnancy. “You didn’t tell me—what—how?”

“Ivanova,” John said, his voice warning but amused as the color rose in Delenn’s cheeks. “If you need an explanation at this stage of the game—.”

“And after that display,” Liz piped up from where she sat, but the three old comrades didn’t seem to hear her.

Susan rolled her eyes at John, snorting slightly. “No, no,” she said, holding up a hand to forestall whatever he might say. “But I thought Stephen said you two couldn’t—that it wasn’t—I mean. Biological compatibility?” she finally finished desperately, dropping her arms to her sides.

Delenn reached out to John, slipping her arm under his in a half-embrace. She took pity on her stuttering friend. “I think he was more surprised than we were,” she said, voice light.

Susan shook her head, hands fluttering at her sides. “When?” she asked.

Delenn shared a brief look with John. “We are not exactly sure,” she said. “But my physician says it should be in about four months.” She gave a slightly rueful smile. “Because of my unique biology, it is hard to say.”

“Always making trouble,” John said, but his arm tightened around his wife and his voice was full of wonder and pride. He turned to Susan again. “I can’t believe you didn’t know,” he said.

“We don’t get ISN in deep space,” she said lightly. “And I’d rather find out in person!” Her face broke into a full—and probably rare—smile. “This is great, you guys!” she said.

John looked down at Delenn. “We think so,” he said. Delenn blushed, but smiled, nodding. John continued, guiding Delenn out and gesturing for Susan to fall into step. “So, how long can you stay?”

“Just tonight,” Susan said. “Tomorrow, we have to conduct repairs and then finish the trip to the Earthforce shipyards.”

John nodded, and the trio walked past, still mostly oblivious to Liz’s presence. “Not to mention, we need to touch base with Tessa on B5, and figure out what the hell is going on out there,” he said, waving a hand to encompass the greatness of space and the day’s events.

“Politics, politics,” Susan said drily. “Never ends, does it?”

“Not for us,” John said, but there was a lightness in his voice that bespoke of a fondness for the job he held. More curiosities, more mysteries. Perhaps she would have to content herself with not knowing.

The sound of footsteps faded away. “It is good to have you here, Susan” Liz heard Delenn say, and then the voices faded out and Liz again closed her eyes, listening to the silence.

*

When Liz straggled in to the sitting room, she found Dan on the couch, watching as the boys played. They were flying around, arms spread, and she wondered who was the good guy this time. Dan caught her eye. “Better?” he asked.

She sat down next to him, and the couch was softer than it looked. “I guess so,” she said, dropping her head on his shoulder. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to think about all this, and I can’t make up my mind.” She closed her eyes. “Where is everybody?”

Dan slipped his arm around her. “Your parents are just getting up, I think,” he said. “And our trio of heroes is off discussing something about the strategy for a debriefing with the Advisory Board. I think.” She felt him wave a hand about. “It was all very serious. Whether the Drakh were staging a resurgence, a great deal of babble about the dangers of engaging in hyperspace, and something about the Centauri and the Shadows? I admit, I stopped listening.”

Liz smiled against her husband’s chest. “I’m sure if it’s important, we’ll hear about it on ISN tomorrow,” she said. Heck, John would probably give a press conference with the Advisory Council standing by. She wondered if she could go to one of the open meetings, see some of the ambassadors. Might be fun; she’d never really met a Pak’ma’ra.

“Probably will,” Dan said, bringing her back from her wandering thoughts. The tone of his voice changed, now contemplative. “It’s a little strange to have been part of a space battle.”

“Not bad to have done once,” Liz quipped. “But I’m not going to make a habit of it.”

Dan shook his head, rubbing her arm. “Freaked out by the aliens shooting at us?” he asked. She didn’t open her eyes, but knew he was concerned, trying to draw her out.

“Who, me?” she mumbled. Liz rubbed her eyes, sitting up a little and resting her head on Dan’s shoulder. She took a breath. “There wasn’t any time to be scared,” she said finally. “But they all handled it like it was utterly normal.”

“Hey now,” Dan said, jostling her shoulder. “But how many things do you do every day that they would find truly bizarre?” He poked her lightly. “Off the top of my head, I can think of at least ten.” He smiled and held up a finger. “Making breakfast.” A second finger. “Parenting.” A third, and an even bigger smile. “You think any of them has ever balanced an account in their lives?”

Liz sighed, and shook her head lightly, staring up at the ceiling.

***