"The K'sha Na'Vas,"said G'Kar thoughtfully, "and my old friend, Vin'Tok. That is tempting, but I prefer to pilot myself. I need some time alone—to think. I will be leaving in four hours, and I will do my own packing. Cancel my appointments, make my apologies, and do whatever is necessary. If anybody asks, this is personal business."

"Yes, Ambassador," said Na'Toth, not letting her sur­prise affect her efficiency.

"G'Kar out." He tapped the link and sat back in his chair. He wished he could tell Na'Toth his plans, but he knew her feelings regarded the Shon'Kar. Perhaps he could tell her when it was all over, if he was victorious.

Commander Ivanova shifted on the balls of her feet as she surveyed her domain: Command and Control, an air-filled bubble on the tip of the station. The com­mander's hair was pulled back from her attractive face in a severe on-duty hairstyle, and she felt tense, although she didn't know why. The 50,000 kilometers of space surrounding the station were peaceful, even though departing traffic had fallen somewhat behind schedule. The only one complaining was Ambassador G'Kar, which figured.

"Ten seconds to jump for the Borelian,"said one of the techs behind her.

Ivanova gazed at her monitor in time to see the jump gate blossom into pulsating rays of golden light. Like a tunnel into infinity, the lights stretched along the length of the latticework and swallowed the Centauri transport like a whale swallowing a minnow. Then the tube of light faded into blackness, leaving nothing but the skeleton of the gleaming latticework.

"Captain in C-and-C," announced a voice.

"As you were," replied the cheerful voice of Captain John Sheridan. Ivanova turned around to see the captain as he strode along the crosswalk, nodding to sub­ordinates. His hands were clasped behind his back, which she had come to recognize as his nonintrusive approach. There was no emergency or urgent business to discuss, but Sheridan still looked concerned about some­thing.