"No, no, you're too busy interrupting, and insulting my political skills. I'm not finishing it now."
"I'm sorry. I won't interrupt again, I promise."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely."
"I'll go on if you kiss me again."
She did. He finished the story. They both laughed.
He had named it that, in the days when the building had still meant something. When Kazomi 7 had still meant something. When the Alliance had existed to protect and shelter and unify.
He had given up his companions and his friends and all those who would understand him to remain here, to help and guide and protect, and now he was forgotten and abandoned.
Kazomi 7 was quiet these days. All the administration of the Alliance had been moved to Babylon 5. The Ambassadors and their staff had left. Most of the Governments kept a skeleton office here, with third- or fourth-rate diplomats who did little more than eat large dinners and try to stay out of trouble. The Shrine to the Unknown Warrior that Delenn had created to honour those who had died was now untended and unguarded.
And there, as always, at the summit of the tower that was the Neuadd, was the globe of light that formed the Vorlon's quarters. Ambassador Ulkesh was in. Alone of the ambassadors he had remained behind, a new Vorlon ambassador having been appointed to Babylon 5. Vejar did not know why he was here, and he did not want to know. He had tried, once, penetrating the globe that surrounded Ulkesh's quarters, and had been repelled in agony. Never again. Not for people who no longer cared if he even existed.
It was galling. He had been so much in demand before. Checking people for Keepers, providing wards and shields and holo-demons. With the war over and the Vorlons secure in their power base once again, there was no more need for him.
None whatsoever.
"Such is the gratitude of princes," said a voice.
Vejar returned slowly to his body, and stared deeply into the mirror. There was nothing behind him, exactly as he had expected. He raised one hand, and a ball of light formed inside his fist. Opening his fingers one at a time, he released the ball and it rose into the air.
The light shattered and became a mass of butterflies, a million different colours. Vejar caught one easily and lowered his hand.
In his fist was a feather.
"Hello, Galen," he sighed.
"Hello, Vejar," came the cheery reply. "I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here."
"That is a question I find my heart is too heavy to answer, but answer it I must. What I do, I do alone. As mine was the omission, so is mine the responsibility to make restitution. But I know that I may fall, and someone else will have to take up
for my life. You know how it goes."
"Lucky you. Sometimes I think I'd trade everything to travel around the galaxy like that."
"You might still get your chance."
There was another long pause. Dexter was looking up at the ceiling, seeing the patterns formed by the cracks in the plaster. Little things he had never noticed before took on much greater significance now.
"Did you find him?" he asked eventually.
"Find who?"
"The man you were looking for. Your husband."
"Oh. No, I didn't. Well, sort of." She sighed. "It's complicated. I did find my daughter, though."
"How is she?"
"Older. A lot older. I've missed a lot."
"So why are you here?"
"I want to be with you."
"Flattered as I am, there's more to it, isn't there? You need my help with something."
"Yes."
"Good. I want to help you with it, whatever it is."
"Don't say that until you know what it is."
"It doesn't matter."
"No. I want you to be sure."
"So.... what is it?"
She snuggled up closer to him. "It can wait until the morning. Everything's spinning now."
"That's the alcohol."
"No. It's more than that."
"You could hold on tighter."
"I'm holding on as tight as I can."
"So I see."
That was when they started kissing.
Mi'Ra was not here. That was it. Marrago found himself looking at the only other real player here: Moreil. The Z'shailyl met his gaze calmly and dispassionately. Neither was quite sure of the other yet: friend or ally or tool or enemy. There was too much to be determined, too much still to be answered.
Marrago took his seat, not remotely worried about being alone. Some of the other captains had brought aides or assistants or bodyguards, but he had nothing to fear. He knew that should his true agenda ever be discovered then one or two bodyguards would do nothing but provide a half-second delay for Moreil's monsters. Plus, he wanted the other captains to recognise his confidence. They had to know he did not fear them, not even Moreil.
Not even Moreil's monsters.
The heat haze behind the Z'shailyl told him that the two Wykhheran were there, as ever. Since their last encounter, Marrago had studied the monsters as much as he could. He could now recognise the shimmering that revealed their presence. It was not easy, and his eyes were not as sharp as they had been.
Apart from Mi'Ra, the others did not matter. The Narn was playing some deeper game, and she would have to be watched. As for Rem Lanas and the Sniper and the Drazi, they were all easily led. When a power struggle for leadership finally emerged, it would be between him, Mi'Ra probably working through G'Lorn and Moreil.