there was no choice. This was their best chance to learn the Shadows' plans.
Galen closed his eyes, visualized the one-term equation.
Words bubbled up through him as if they swam through the currents of his blood, as if they permeated every cell in his body, as if they whispered up the twisting strands of his DNA. He was possessed by them; he was the embodiment of them. They were Drakh words, yet somehow, without even translating, he knew what they meant.
The magic workers have rejected us for the last time. They prefer to cripple themselves with rules and stagnate in isolation rather than live free and use their great powers to their full extent. Now they must die. Find out all she knows so that none will escape us.
The flow of words stopped, yet those that had been uttered continued to circulate through him, repeating, breaking apart, recombining. The magic workers have rejected us. Rejected us for the last time. They prefer to stagnate. Rejected their great powers. Rejected us to cripple themselves. None will escape. Galen had little sense of his body, beyond the words that whispered through it. Yet he didn't think he was yelling, didn't think he was speaking. There seemed no need. The words seemed to be everywhere, in everything.
Gradually the broken echoes began to fade, and Galen became aware of the Drakh's dark silhouette in his mind's eye, of the voices that spoke. Rabelna and the Drakh settled on a price.
"They are gathering," Rabelna said, "all five hundred of them, in order to retreat to some hiding place. They've purchased an Earth transport, the Tidewell, which will arrive at Babylon 5 shortly."
"We know this," the Drakh said. "We have already destroyed that ship."
"But do you also know," Rabelna said, "that they have made arrangements