(Babylon 5 and its characters were created by J. Michael Straczynski, and belong to Joe and Warner Bros., and are used without permission. The rest belongs to Cathy Faye Rudolph.)

Lyta started and somewhat guiltily eased herself up from the slouching position she'd drifted into. Her eyes felt gritty, and the muscles in her neck ached from the strain of inconvenient catnap postures. It was quiet in the anteroom. Too quiet. Too easy to fall asleep.

Another Minbari aide glided through, bowed briefly in Lyta's direction, then continued on his way, passing through a doorway at the end of the room. She peered after him, wondering if he was the.... No, he couldn't be. The Minbari officials had been quite clear about the necessity of patience. And if there was one thing she'd learned from working with Kosh, it was patience. Lyta breathed a rather impatient sigh, and shifted her hips to relieve the discomfort that comes from sitting too long.

A tall figure in a dark cloak strode in, a purposeful manner in his bearing. As if in response, the Minbari aide entered from the far doorway, whispering in deferential tones, gesturing toward Lyta. The tall visitor nodded once, then approached Lyta, who stood as he drew near. He pushed back the hood of his traveling cloak, then extended his hand in greeting.

"Ms. Alexander, this is an unexpected pleasure." His handshake was enthusiastic, his smile sincere.

Lyta stared at him in disbelief. "...Commander Sinclair?" Lyta reddened with embarrassment. "Of course, you're now the Ambassador to Minbar. Is it too late to offer congratulations?"

His eyes showed his amusement. "Not at all. Thank you, Lyta. And it's been a good assignment, I've learned a lot about the Minbari...and about ourselves." He gestured at the open doorway, in an invitation for Lyta to walk with him.

"Commander...sorry, Ambassador, I wonder if you might be able to help." Lyta noticed the dusky scent of moss-borne starflowers in the enclosed garden. "I'm now working for Ambassador Kosh--"

Sinclair still knew how to whistle. The long, low sound carried his surprise. "An aide to a Vorlon? There must be a fascinating story behind that development." His gentle humor put her at ease.

"Yes, but...the fact is, sir, that I'm here at Kosh's express order. I have a data crystal to deliver, and Kosh was adamant that I deliver the crystal directly. However, in the five days I've been here I haven't been able to locate the intended recipient."

Sinclair was puzzled. "That should be a simple matter, surely. Who are you looking for?"

"I'm probably making a hash of the name, but Kosh told me to find someone called 'Entil'zha.'"

...

"They might have told me!"

Sinclair was trying hard not to laugh. Lyta was caught between righteous indignation and an attempt at diplomatic decorum, with exceedingly comic results. It was just Lyta's luck to walk into the middle of a situation involving such a sensitive and secret issue. There were still those on Minbar who believed that the leadership of the Rangers should never have been vested in a human, and he was sure her open search for someone named "Entil'zha" had met with less than complete cooperation from the Minbari officialdom. Fortunately Rathenn had heard of her arrival and taken the matter in hand, recalling Sinclair from the remote training base.

"I'm sorry, Lyta. The Minbari are, well, a private people, and some of them haven't completely come to terms with the closer relationship of Earth and Minbar. The title of Entil'zha has deep meaning for the Minbari...in a way, I'm intruding on a thousand years of history, a thousand years of something completely and wholly Minbari." He seemed lost in regret for a moment, then with his hand on her arm, he added softly, "I must ask that you treat this all as privileged information."

Without further words Lyta reached into her bag and handed Sinclair a small metal cube, burnished with an insignificant shine. In his hands, the surface of the cube seemed to ripple for a moment, like waves in heavy oil, then the metal's luster deepened and the finish became lacquer-like. Sinclair glanced at Lyta, whose shrug and expression seemed to say, "Well, that's Vorlon technology for you."

...

The scent of the starflowers clung to Lyta's fingers. Sinclair watched as she breathed the fragrance gracing her fingertips and then posed a thousand questions about starflowers to Rathenn. The Minbari assistant always seemed to know when Sinclair was in need of him, and now he patiently accompanied Lyta while Sinclair hung back to examine the metal cube. There was no catch or recess on the surface of the Vorlon artifact, no seams, no obvious way to open the object to examine the contents.

And there was no need. There was a momentary glow in the air above the cube, then an image coalesced into view and hovered in the same place. It was sharp and clear, without distortion. Sinclair's eyebrows arched in surprise.

His own image smiled back at him, while some Vorlon script shimmered into existence at the periphery. Sinclair grinned wryly. Apparently Kosh wanted to be quite sure that Sinclair himself received the message and so crafted this unorthodox manner of addressing.

The image wavered and then Vorlon characters filled the space. Sinclair frowned. As if in response to his unspoken question, the characters flowed and dripped, arranging themselves by letter and word into English.

Into English words, perhaps, but still pregnant with Vorlon meaning.

"The circle must close to have a beginning."

Staring at the words did not bring enlightenment. The words remained as inscrutable as the Vorlon itself. Sinclair knew better than to try to find a literal interpretation of Kosh's message, yet...he was sure if he closed his eyes, all he would see would be the tracery of circles dancing in his head. Sinclair laughed to himself. It was his experience that Vorlon sayings did nothing to focus the mind.

The words faded away, to be replaced by something unexpected and, coming from a Vorlon, completely terrifying.

Clarity.

In the form of instructions.

Sinclair read the clipped and detailed sentences. They were stark and brutal in their specifics, unyielding in timing or delivery, and devoid of explanation. Most startling of all was the target of the instructions.

Lyta.

Sinclair finished the passage, each letter utterly readable in the display above the message cube. He read it again, more slowly, fixing every nuance in his mind. And, at last, when his gaze dropped away in consideration of the information, the words and the image field thinned and then faded completely.

It was many minutes before Sinclair focused again beyond the message cube, now silent, in his hand. He tucked the cube into an interior pocket of his cloak, and, catching Rathenn's eye for the briefest of moments, he stepped out of Lyta's line of sight.

If Rathenn found Sinclair's directions unusual, there was no indication of his surprise or measure of question on his face. Rathenn nodded his understanding of Sinclair's instructions, and hurried with dispatch to the shuttle landing area. Sinclair watched him leave, then turned to find Lyta.

...

They were halfway to the shuttle area, yet she could still smell the starflowers. She spent precious moments memorizing the scent, to savor it as a treat, a comfort in the future, while Ambassador Sinclair made small talk as they passed through corridor after corridor. She caught herself missing what he had said, and in embarrassment she half-stumbled on perfectly smooth floor.

"Narn? I'm going to Narn? You're sending me to _Narn_?" she stammered.

Sinclair shook his head. "No, Lyta. Kosh's request was that I provide an escort for you. You are to go to Narn, to investigate some ancient ruins on the Southern Continent. There are some historical details that the Vorlons seem to find intriguing--"

Lyta blurted out, "So why didn't he have me carry him--" Sinclair waited for her to continue, but she did not finish the thought. She began again. "Why didn't he...come along? If this is so important..."

Sinclair gave her a sympathetic shrug. "I honestly don't know, Lyta. But I'm sure he has every confidence in your ability, and it's not often that a Vorlon requests assistance." His pointed gaze and the humor in his eyes drew a smile to her lips, and a reluctant acquiescing nod.

They arrived at the shuttle area, and Sinclair steered Lyta to a small courier ship. A young man, dressed in a dark, flowing cape, stood attentively at the shuttle's hatch. Lyta paused for a moment to shake Sinclair's hand in appreciation and then, on impulse, she stood on tiptoe and gave Sinclair a hug. The gesture had caught Sinclair off-guard, but his hug of her in return was warm and sincere. The young man bowed courteously to her, the light playing across the jeweled brooch on his cape. With a last look at Sinclair, Lyta boarded the shuttle.

Sinclair took the young Ranger aside. "You are to act as Ms. Alexander's escort and her bodyguard," Sinclair told him in low tones. "I do not have any reason to believe she is in particular danger, other than the difficulties of going to Narn itself. You are to protect her in the event of Centauri and Narn hostilities and conflicts. And--" Sinclair stressed, "you are to be sure that Ms. Alexander does not leave Narn for at least two Earth months. The most challenging part of this duty may be making sure Ms. Alexander does not leave."

The Ranger's shoulders sank a bit, but the disappointment did not show on his face. Sinclair knew that the earnest young man had volunteered for every patrol duty and every covert mission, yet all Ranger One wanted him to do was to look after one woman...and on a research mission to Narn, no less. Sinclair put his hand gently on the Ranger's shoulder.

"I wish I could say how important this is, but, to be honest, I don't know yet myself. But I do know that the Universe can turn on a word, a gesture, a thought. The terms of service of being a Ranger do not always require that you lay down your life. Sometimes they require that you live your life, in defiance of all odds. Another day may come, a day in which you will need to spend your life for the good of the cause, for the Light."

The Ranger stared into Sinclair's eyes for a moment, then nodded his head in deference to Sinclair's wishes. He started to enter the shuttle door, but turned in the entranceway at Sinclair's call.

"Good luck, Ericsson."

The Ranger smiled and replied "Entil'zha veni!" and was then obscured from view as the shuttle door closed.

Rathenn thought a silent apology to the two, as he barged past the Human and Minbari Rangers in his haste. He could see his quarry through the doorway through which the two Rangers had just come. He called out to the figure now halfway along the corridor.

"Entil'zha! Entil'zha!" It took unMinbari-like haste, and Rathenn planting himself squarely in his way to get Sinclair to stop. Rathenn's voice trembled ever so slightly with excitement.

"I was sent to find you. The ancient books told us that on this day -- no sooner, no later -- we were to enter the sanctuary and open this." Rathenn lifted the silver-toned casket up in presentation. What Rathenn could see of Jeffrey David Sinclair's face, shrouded as it was by the draped hood of his cloak, bore no expression. Rathenn continued.

"We did not know what was inside. It has waited, locked and sealed, for over 900 years. We do not understand how or why...we know only that it _is_."

Sinclair's fingers guided the lid of the casket upward and back on smooth hinges, revealing a single envelope bearing his name written in scratched block lettering. The astonishment on his face matched that in Rathenn's questions.

"How did he know that you would be here? How did he know your name?"

...

"Your ship is ready, Entil'zha." Rathenn had regarded him for several moments, yet Sinclair had not acknowledged him. Rathenn knew it to be presumptuous, but his respect for the Entil'zha forced the words to his lips. "The letter seems to have disturbed you. Perhaps, if you told me what it says--"

Sinclair shook his head. "No, this was meant for me alone." He thanked Rathenn for his help, for his faith when no one else on Minbar had believed in him, and Sinclair charged Rathenn to tell the others to continue the work of the Rangers in his absence. His words of farewell to Rathenn began to close the door on the life of Jeffrey David Sinclair, but all he could hear in the echo of his own footsteps were the words of the dead Vorlon:

"The circle must close to have a beginning."

The headpiece swiveled slowly, as if surveying the panorama before him and fixing it in memory. The Vorlon took no notice of the voices of the dying or the echoes of the thoughts of the dead. Kosh measured the scene instead in terms of efforts wasted, of time lost.

The Others had not detected his work. The carefully nurtured talents of the ones who called this world "Home" and "Narn" had seemed to shield his patient work from the senses of the Others and those of their agents.

Until this day.

The ships of the Others had come, and had screamed their outrage and defiance to him. Their scream traveled through his mind, and out, out to those linked to him in training, those whose promise had qualified them for a link with the Vorlon's mind, to act as a carrier for a piece of the Vorlon.

They died instantly. Asleep or awake, they died in a single heartbeat.

Those not directly linked to him, or who had lesser abilities, took longer to die. Some retained only the ability to scream, and did so repeatedly until their throats were slashed as an act of mercy by the survivors.

The scream of death had passed from mind to mind, from telepath to telepath. Only extreme distance saved a precious few, those who were off-planet or alone in desolate and remote locations on Narn. The Vorlon noted the presence of the one called G'Quon, moving among the fallen. He had come from a Minbari craft that had landed at the edge of the plaza. Among those Narn who had traveled to plan strategy with the Minbari had been a few mindwalkers. They had returned, having heard the echoes of the devastation. The Vorlon tallied the number of the spared.

Too few.

The Minbari from the vessel had hung back, a cluster of shock and sympathy. Save one. The lone figure had traversed the plaza, carefully stepping over the bodies. Kosh noted a look of remembered regret on the Minbari's face as he took in the scene. Finally the Minbari turned and picked a path across the stone slabs to address the Vorlon.

"I am called Valen," said the sable-eyed Minbari.

...

The headpiece dipped slightly in acknowledgment. Valen took a step closer to the Vorlon.

"You are called Kosh."

Musical tones fluted through the air. "We are all Kosh."

"Perhaps," answered Valen. The iris of the Vorlon's eyepiece dilated for a moment, then contracted again.

Valen looked out over the dead, and then turned back to the Vorlon. "They heard the Shadow scream through you, and it spread through their telepathic link to each other?"

The sigh of the wind's breath on stone was pushed aside only for a moment by the Vorlon's reply.

"Yes."

"So," persisted Valen, "in a Shadow attack, a Vorlon-enhanced telepath would survive only by taking shelter in a sea of non-telepaths."

The Vorlon's headpiece tilted up, sharply. Valen stared at the eyepiece, calmly, in full expectation of an answer. It came in one word.

"Perhaps."

...

Valen took from a pocket of his cloak the small metal cube. He held it out, balanced on his palm, before the Vorlon. Kosh neither moved nor spoke.

Valen was already aware that the cube's function had subtly changed. The instructions for Lyta's assignment to Narn were gone, as was the cryptic circle admonition. Only the Vorlon's addressing of the cube, the image of his former self, Jeffrey David Sinclair, was still displayed, the image of him smiling, hand outstretched--

His blood sang in his ears.

"The circle must close to have a beginning."

He was here, and a thousand years in the future. He was looking at Kosh here, now, and a thousand years in the future he was speaking to Ivanova and wondering how the disguised Minbari assassin had administered the poison to Kosh through the encounter suit.

"The circle must close to have a beginning."

The Vorlon regarded the image of Jeffrey David Sinclair, smiling, hand outstretched.

A small voice from long ago spoke in Valen's mind. "The Universe can turn on a word, a gesture, a thought." This was a turning point, here and now. This would complete the circle. Ahead were darkness and pain, death and light.

He forced the words out.

"The Vorlons know this race. In a thousand years you will meet the one of that race pictured here. His name will be Jeffrey David Sinclair. In the service of the cause against the Shadows, the Vorlons will form an alliance with the younger races."

His mouth was dry, and his heart was heavy. But he continued to look directly at the Vorlon.

"It is traditional for this race to perform the ritual of touching hands. It carries great significance in the dealings with this race. You will extend yourself beyond your encounter suit when you meet this human, to perform this ritual."

The image above the message cube faded. The Vorlon's headpiece remained motionless. Then the eyepiece dilated its full extent, so much so that a weak luminescence strayed forth from inside. The voices in the music were strangely absent.

"It is...necessary?"

Valen gave Kosh the only answer he could, the answer Kosh himself had given to Sinclair.

"The circle must close to have a beginning."

Little by little the eyepiece closed. The front of the encounter suit parted, far enough for a slender tendril of crystalline light to snake forward and encompass the cube. Valen felt the brush of light and wind on his palm, then the message cube was carried into the Vorlon's suit.

The Vorlon turned away. Valen didn't know whether Kosh could see beyond the words to sense the import of what he had said. The future depended on betrayal...and faith. A thousand years in the future, an attack on Kosh would start the alliance on the road to confront the Shadows, would start a young telepath on her path to dealing with Vorlon-enhanced abilities, and would change the life of Jeffrey David Sinclair forever.

...

The words "And so it begins" carried on the wind as the Minbari and the Vorlon parted. But those who heard could not tell which of the two said them.

Terms of Service © 1997 Cathy Faye Rudolph