of his face. It was even, controlled. "I will help you," Galen said. "Though I wonder who will help everyone else."
In his residence on Babylon 5, Kosh watched and waited. By the Earth calendar, it was the close of one year and the beginning of the next. The Humans celebrated the new year while events cascaded toward war.
As the Vorlon buoys sang their perceptions to him, Kosh swam in the currents of history-in-making. Within their song, he slipped from planet to planet, observing, absorbing. On the rim, the forces of chaos gathered at the site of their ancient home, rapidly building their resources. They had spread now to the surrounding systems, a growing maelstrom that hungered to overrun all.
On Centauri Prime, the Centauri celebrated the destruction of the Narn outpost in Quadrant 37, not realizing who had struck down their enemy. The Narn defeat gave new energy to old dreams of conquest and glory, and they spoke of regaining Narn territory, of reconquering their old foe. The dream of the maelstrom infected them.
On Narn, horror at the deaths of ten thousand of their kind was turning to fury. They had suffered enough, and would suffer no more. They determined to exact revenge.
On Earth, a murdered president was mourned, his death believed an accident, and a new president was sworn in, one beholden to the darkness.
Even here on Babylon 5, the one named Morden moved freely, forming alliances and spreading chaos like a pestilence.
Yet order, too, had its strength. Sinclair was even now receiving the directive to step down as commander of Babylon 5 and accept the post as ambassador to Minbar. There, his development could continue under more controlled circumstances, and he could take charge of the Rangers, a