**For almost three years, both sides had made preparations that would lead up to this point. The Vorlons had succeeded, behind the scenes, in manipulating many of the younger races into believing that the Shadows were the greatest evil the galaxy had ever faced; if they had their way, then this time, Ultimate Order would result; im their eyes, the final defeat of the Shadows could now be considered a certainty.
The Shadows, of course, had, at the same time, retrieved many if not all of the seeded ships they had scattered around the galaxy at the end of the previous war (ref: Book of G'Quan, II, 7:07) and through the actions of their human agents, had set off dozens of brushfire wars across a hundred sectors...the personifaction of their belief in Chaos creating stronger survivors.
Now, the conflict that would later be called the Shadow War intensified to a new level. This intensification may, in part, have been caused by Captain Sheridan, along with the now infamous Psi Cop Alfred Bester, choosing to intercept a Rimwards-bound special cargo bound for the Shadow homeworld of Z'ha'dum near the end of July, 2260. A short time afterwards, in any case, the Shadows came out of their hidden places, and, for the very first time, arrayed whole squadrons of their Fleet against the Younger worlds..."**
- From "Holding the Line: a History of the Army of Light"
* * *
Earth Alliance Mining Colony Nighthawk, July 3rd, 2260.
Report of Colony Chief Administrator Brandon DeMeulaneure.
The last two months, we believed we had seen Hell, lived through Hell, and beyond. The shattering of ties with Earthgov due to the civil war was bad enough, as the market for our ores rapidly shrank towards zero; income entering into the colony became marginal, at best. The declaration of martial law in the Inner worlds cut us off...no one cared even enough to even send warships our way, to enforce the President's declaration.
Time passed; we hoped we would be able to survive on our own, but after Proxima III, Orion VII and Babylon 5 seceded from the Alliance, the past month has shown us just how wrong that assumption was, as the food shipments we have come to depend upon have ceased to arrive. Not only are our hydroponics not up to feeding the entire colony population, but we are also starting to feel the lack of protein in our diets. Nighthawk's surface cannot support food animals, and even with the extensive agricultural work planned for the future, will not for at least another century.
And if all that were not enough, there are the raids, as the continually deteriorating galactic situation sends ships our way both domestic and foreign. The Loki station, of course, suffered an attack from a large rebel force of Earthforce warships some time ago, but now..now we are REALLY in trouble. A group of raiders, mixed harriers from the League of Non-Aligned Worlds, has arrived in orbit, and while their offensive weapons are not strong, they were more then sufficient to destroy our orbiting platforms, and their forces sufficient to take control of the near-abandoned Earthforce orbital station.
Now, they demand of us reparations for the release of their prisoners, reparations we cannot possibly pay, if we hope to survive ourselves. Nighthawk is on a downward spiral to destruction, and if Homeworld will not save us, who will??
* * *
With calculated menace, unseen, as always, a single Shadow warship phased into being beyond the orbit of Falcon moon, and silently moved inwards. Technology so advanced as to almost be magic silently, malevolently passed across the motley collection of raider ships in orbit, and decisions were made.
Inside the warship, Walther detached himself from communion with the warship, and laughed. "Unbelievable, Amilia!!...I could not have planned it better, myself. Nighthawk stands beseiged, cut off from Earth, and at the mercy of this Raider party."
"They will believe.." Amilia noted, her eyes showing her harsh amusement at the situation, as well, "That we will have saved them from themselves, and, to a certain extent, they are right..but in the bigger picture, they will have lost all deciding power, once we act."
"Of course; our associates require bases besides Z'ha'dum, in order that they may be ready for when the Vorlons finally respond, as they always have. It will be necessary to erect somewhat of a...barrier between here and Z'ha'dum, and if Nighthawk must face the might of the Vorlon fleet..."
"...then so be it." Amilia ruthlessly concluded. "Z'ha'dum is sacred ground, and must be protected."
"Then let us begin." Walther turned his mind towards the waiting telepathic contact of the warship's 'pilot', and with his companions looking on, gave the order.
* * *
No one of the raider vessels in orbit around Nighthawk that dreadful day stood a micron of a chance, as with a single, long, mind-spearing scream, the Shadow warship spat out a cloud of fighters, and then attacked, itself. The citizens of the colony below could only look on in shock and amazement as those threatening them dissolved into balls of shattered flame and death, seemingly destroyed by the Night itself. And shortly thereafter, a Shadow landing craft detached from the warship, and descended towards the colony below.
Below, a short time later, Brandon DeMeulaneure waited, face grim, as the landing craft, a dark dappled sphere against the morning sky, sank downwards at frightening velocity.
The technology represented in that sphere both shocked and frightened him; something was stalking the worlds of Earth, and now they were indebted to that force. However, not one of the Earthforce prisoners in orbit had survived; the station above was now, apparently, a broken, empty shell. What that meant, he was unwilling to inquire on...for now, that was.
This force, however, appeared to be ruthless, and QUITE alien in aspect. With barely a sound, the sphere touched ground, and then, with a liquid 'pop', the side shimmered, and then morphed open. A moment later, two figures appeared in the opening, and stepped onto the ground, and a mutter of amazement passed among the three assistants waiting behind him. These two were HUMAN!.. a man and a woman, both showing guarded smiles of purpose; what did this mean? The opening immediately closed behind them...the masters of that ship were not, apparently, interested in revealing their secrets in the slightest..
"Good morning, Mr. DeMeulaneure.." the tall, darkly dressed man said, his smile pleasant..but sinister at the same time. "You may call me Mr. Gideon, and this is Ms. Croyt. The force we represent, if you have not already noticed, has just saved your world from certain domination by other parties. Please note, sir, before you speak, that my associates waiting above are not interested in conquering you; if we were, we could have simply helped the raiders, instead."
"If you will forgive me for asking then, Mr. Gideon, what was the point of your rescue, then??"
"Let us sit in the chairs you have provided, and talk on that." After they had done so, Mr. Gideon steepled his fingers, and began. "A war is coming, a war that has, for all intents and purposes, already begun, with the brushfire raids and minor engagements of the last three months being only the extension of what was begun in the Narn-Centauri conflict, last year. Your world, sir, is cut off and vulnerable, and now that Earth has turned in on itself, there is no one to help you, save for my associates. They propose the following...
We will, for a small favour, provide protection for your world. Vessels intent on attacking you will be intercepted and destroyed; while any cargoes intended on helping your population will be let through...in fact, the captains of such hypothetical ships may not even realize we are here."
"Precisely; your word 'hypothetical' seems to be the truth of things, Mr. Gideon!"
"Indeed." The smile intensified. "Is there anything else you 'want', Mr. DeMeulaneure?...or is protection from above sufficient?"
"Damnit, no!..if we do not get more food, my colonists will starve, Mr. Gideon!! Our supplies diminish, and if this does not change, soon you will be protecting a world full of the dead!"
"We will do what we can to help, both in technology and shipments, but there are no promises. NOW, we must come to the matter of what we require of you...a simple matter. If we are to protect you, we will need, persay, to construct a base for my associates' vessels, and given that your colony covers barely a few square kilometers of this world, we can set up our base thousands of kilometers from here; once again, you will never see us, unless we want you to."
"That's...it?? It seems to be an uneven bargain."
"I assure you, it is not." Mr. Gideon inclined one eyebrow. "Do we have an agreement, or not?? We can, if you wish, depart, and leave you vulnerable to attack, once again?"
"Have patience...please; we need to decide." DeMeulaneure conferred briefly with his fellow administrators, and the debate, while productive, was very short. These 'associates' of Gideon were VERY powerful, and if all they wanted was a small piece of Nighthawk's other hemisphere in return for protection from outside attack, it seemed an easy decision to make...after all, if these aliens had wanted Nighthawk for themselves, they could have quite easily levelled the colony down to its foundations. They had not, and therefore...
The fear that any alternative could be worse only served to advance the decision...DeMeulaneure had to keep up the appearance of at least having a little bit of free will left to him!
A short time later, DeMeulanaere rejoined his 'guests'. "Very well, then, Mr. Gideon..we accept your proposal."
That it was a deal with the devil he was making, he only find out later on. A deal that would bring death in return, on a scale as to seem like Armageddon.
* * *
The Third Context of the Follower, the Bringers of Doom...
Nighthawk; the world that gave birth to two destinies, doomed itself in that fateful decision; and in the second half of that year of pain, would be far from the only outworld to do so. Stations, outposts, colonies, and, eventually, even Centauri Prime itself, would fall victim to the fear of domination, to the will of a race that cared nothing for the worlds it placed its nightmare ships on, to the fate of the Vorlon ruthlessness of six months afterwards.
Millions would die at the climax, and if not for the efforts of William, Jennifer and thousands of other ship captains, and the near sacrifice of John Sheridan and Delenn, I don't believe I would be sitting here, writing as I do.
Rather, I believe the Vorlons and Shadows would have, for a brief period, presided over a galaxy of dead and shattered worlds...and then, they would have either started the cycle all over again...or, finally, turned on each other, for the last time.
Luckily for us all, that did not happen.
And this is why...
* * *
Chronicles Log, Interlude, July 11th, 2260.
Once again, my life has gone through a phase change. Babylon 5, now so familiar, stands behind me, while Tuzanor, that place that made us what we are, is, for now, my home. This can be said for so few of us; humans come here, their eyes either full of wonder or distrust, and after the short three or four months of intensive training we receive, depart once again, most of them never to return.
Turval said, once, that it takes a great deal of courage to admit that the place we live in is not always the place we are most familiar with. I like to think that I belong here, now, if only a little..but the City of Sorrows still has its mysteries for me to discover.
The Minbari, of course, have bent a thousand years of tradition in making accomadations for the human residents of the ever-growing Ranger compound; while we are still expected to sleep mostly as they do, a modicum of comfort has been allowed for. We are also expected to speak the Three Tongues while in conversation, but that is not to say that most Minbari do not understand Human Standard. All that we are is changing, and there is still much to come, and much to do.
My visits to the Valeria-on-High orbital continue apace, now as much as three times a week, with the growing cadre of senior Anla'shok who will end up commanding the Fleet under Vikotal and I; and very soon now, the Religious and Worker Caste members in charge of constructing the Fleet are expected to give leave for the first squadrons to depart on training duties. As such, a concession to operating structure has loosely emerged, as determined between Vikotal, I, and the initial commanders.
White Star One, the original, for now, remains under the command of John Sheridan and the executive staff on Babylon 5. White Star Two, my one-time command, will be set aside in reserve for Sheridan and Delenn to use, in the hopefully unlikely but measurable chance that the first White Star is destroyed in action. White Star's Three through Six have been chosen as temporary command vessels, nominally to be captained, we hope, by either a Sha'vei or a senior Val’na, and thereafter, as the Fleet grows, the operating structure will follow the traditional Minbari Three, one command ship, and two to follow, with expansions of the command group, as required. This is how we will train, this is how the Fleet unity will be maintained.
Theoretically.
None of us have yet to face the true horror of an all-out space battle against the Shadows, but the doom of their long arm stands ever ready to fall. If the Fall starts soon, we won't be ready, and souls would cry out in the darkness and curse our names, if they knew them...but if we hurry into battle, all the work will have been for nought.
I pray the Shadows stay their hand, for at least a little while longer, so I will not have to endure those thoughts.
But as I wait for the final checkouts to conclude on my new command, White Star Four, the pessimist in me knows that they will not.
* * *
Babylon 5, July 14th, 2260.
"Within the next two days..." Jennie told the assembled Council, "I, and a few select others, will be leaving this place to make the trip to Tuzanor. The time has finally arrived when Sha'vei Westcastle, in concert with Sha'vei Vikotal, must draw on the resources of all the Rangers to crew the myriad White Stars now on their way to completion. The task is enormous, but in less then four months, we will FINALLY stand ready for the Fight that awaits us."
"It was a given..." Shival dryly noted, "That you would follow the other side of your soul in this task, and in your calling to stand as his right hand, will no doubt serve on his White Star, as well. The Entil'zha, has, however, in his infinite wisdom, decided to spare me this fate; instead, I face the perhaps more onerous task of continuing what William and yourself began here, as the next Sha'vei of Babylon 5's Anla'shok population.
My concern, however, is this; how many of this Council go with the Observer, to stalk the coming War, and to ride amidst the White Star Fleet?"
"Not as many as you might believe.." Tashann smoothly interjected. "The majority of those who sit here have become loyal, not only to the principles of the Anla'shok, but to the hope represented in this place, as well. Those, however, who have been loyal to Sha'vei Westcastle almost from the beginning will depart with Val'na Clifford; myself, Anla'shok Dreann, and a few select others."
"And I." A by-now familiar voice spoke up, as Julia strode into the chamber. The Rangers around the table, for the most part, displayed or, alternately, tried to hide their amusement, while Jennifer sighed.
"You do realize, my Acolyte, that we, for all intents and purposes, stand ready to go into the heart of the Fire, do you not?"
"I do; but where better can I learn to be what I am, but at your side? Where can I learn more but at the heart of our discipline, in the City of Sorrows? And, most importantly, you and William stand ready to make history beneath Sheridan and Delenn; when that time comes, I will be there, to Observe history being made."
"Your arguments have merit; of course, I had intended to take you, all along...so be it!"
The amusement broke out into laughter, while Julia bowed, a sarcastic light in her eyes. "As you wish, Val'na; by your command, Val'na."
"Watch that one carefully, Jennifer.." Shival murmured, as the Council began to break up, the meeting over. "A greater handful in human form, I have yet to see."
"Valen willing, I may survive the time until she reaches the age to begin full training."
Shival nodded. "May we all; now, you must go, the Rimstalker awaits your coming..."
* * *
Minbar low orbit, July 18th, 2260.
All the bugs had been worked out, now; the faint background thrum of the gravimetric drive almost below hearing. William strode up the main corridor of White Star Four, his pace steady, his barely hidden smile threatening to break out entirely. With level expression, Talion strode behind him; the younger Ranger had followed him to Minbar after the debacle of Alkanion Verah had officially concluded, and for now, had volunteered to serve as first officer aboard his command, until Jennifer arrived, in about a day's time. There was much to do, and today...today was the day it all started.
The doors to the bridge slid aside with barely a sound...all the improvements that had waitd for so long, the improvements that were, even now, being built into the re-drydocked White Star Two, were made real in this ship...the command that the *Two* had not been, to begin with.
Sevlieu, his Third, rose and turned, and then bowed as they entered the bridge. "Sha'vei...I welcome you, in Valen's Name, to the command that is yours. I trust your flight up from Tuzanor was uneventful?"
He nodded briskly, as behind, Talion moved to Operations, and began to check himself against the new improvements and changes to the warship ops board. "There is a purpose to our movements this day, Sevlieu; the time has come, for those few of us with space combat training to spread our knowledge amongst those who did not travel such a path."
Sevlieu took his seat. "Indeed, Sha'vei, that is so. Now that the first twenty-seven operational White Stars stand complete, we must begin to train as much as possible, in all circumstances, and all fighting disciplines. Outside the simulators, there are, unfortunately, few of us that have faced real conflict..."
"The Shadows will not hesitate to engage us the first time we clash with them; I only hope they will give us the time we need...the time we ALL need, to prepare."
"We shall see..."
"We shall, *indeed*."
"William.." Talion interjected, his eyes radiating duty, "..Sir. White Star Three sends."
He raised a finger. "Accept!"...and nodded, when Vikotal's by now familiar visage appeared in the image curtain. "Vikotal!...it would seem we have a fighting force to hone, here!"
"Quite; In accordance with our plans, the initial exercises for this training period will deal with, firstly, precision jumping from hyperspace to realspace and back, then, formation exercises in low orbit environments, and in conclusion, preliminary weapons training in the orbital range. Do you concur with this assessment?"
"I do; routine as planned, warnings only in crisis, instruction mode Alpha. White Star Four OUT." Now, it was time for business. "Signal the Fleet, Mr. Quintara; forward on my mark, stand by forward Jump engines."
"Fleet standing by, Sha'vei."
"Jump!"
* * *
July 19th, 2260.
The Minbar primary gate facility was one of the oldest in the Younger Worlds, and the most venerated, as a result. It was from here that some of the strikes against the Enemy, a thousand years ago, now, had been launched. But in this day and age, an arrival awaited eagerly by one man finally came to pass, as with the familiar flash and dimensional twist, the gate came online, and spat out a triad of shuttles. From all over they had come, and had been for well over a week now; that these craft were the last to arrive was of little concern to most, and a great concern to a very few...
"I do not see them, Jennifer..." Dreann insisted, as the Minbari finished her conversation with the gate control facility. "They could be anywhere in the system; it is, after all, after the time chosen for them to begin training."
"Perhaps you are..." At that point, naturally, the chime of nearby jumpout sounded, and she smiled. But of course...
Around the shuttles, and behind, nine jump points formed, and out of each, sprang three White Stars, most of which quickly passed them by. She smiled; it nearly brought a tear to her eye to see this sight; it was a sight of hope, a sign that maybe, just maybe, the Shadows *could* be defeated in their aims...
"White Star Four to Val'na Clifford.." a familiar voice announced, and her smile widened, as William appeared on the small panel screen inside the shuttle, his bridge crew busy around him. "Signal your presence, we stand ready to rendezvous with you."
"This is she...how long..." Behind her, Julia barely restrained a gasp, as one of the White Stars that had been holding back flashed overhead, and matched velocities; the shuttle bay opened up, invitation plain, and Dreann was not slow to take the opportunity. Soon thereafter, the bay had pressurized, and as they disembarked, the entry door slid aside, and a familiar, grinning, bearded figure in black appeared.
"Did you miss me?"
Some time later, Talion met up with Julia, and after initial pleasantries were dealt with, the Ranger and the Acolyte Observer were heard to say the following...
"Miss him, did she?"
"He just about went blue in the face, Talion; does that answer your question?"
* * *
Tuzanor. Early morning, July 21st, 2260.
The Minbari in the City of Sorrows had come to accept many things about the humans among them, their unusual customs, their strangeness...but *this* human, a rarity among them in his extreme darkness of skin, had appeared on the road from the Ranger Compound that morning...and had, or so it seemed, spent a great deal of time looking confused at his surroundings. Finally, one of the bolder acolytes from the Religious Caste decided to approach, and determine what the problem was..
"Greetings to you, human. Forgive me if I intrude on your thoughts, but you appear...confused. Is there something I can do to help??"
"Yes...no. I don't know."
"How did you come to this place?"
"I don't...remember."
The acolyte paused to gather her thoughts..this was *not* going well. "Very well, then...perhaps, Valen willing, if you tell me your name, we can summon someone who will help you; what *is* your name?"
"Ah...Verah. Alkanion Verah." The human frowned. "I *think*."
* * *
In the dim recesses of hyperspace, forms moved, forms intent on their purpose, intent on their destination. More of them moved together then had been seen by the Younger Races up to that point, but the time for subtlties was now long past; the Circles at Z'ha'dum had decided the time to begin, had finally come. And so, they moved, and, in due course, would emerge, and lay waste to all they encountered.
The Shadow Fleet was on the march. And nothing...absolutely NOTHING, would ever be the same again.
* * *
To be continued...
Next: While White Star fleet training continues, William must deal with several problems, chief among them the continuing Cha'hal'zhamon crisis, the mysterious return of Alkanion Verah, and, *of course*, the emerging agression of the Shadows. Meanwhile, Julia encounters Brianna, and finds the telepath changed by her now continous service to Ulkesh. Coming soon...