structures remained within his grasp. As the one-term equations burned in column after column, covering the screen in his mind's eye, he cut a swath of destruction through the city. Far below, the structures vanished with a strange silence, leaving only emptiness behind. He must destroy them all, destroy the Shadows for what they had done, for all the hurt they had caused.
Then the ship was too high, and he could destroy no more. He forced the flow of energy to stop. It took him a few moments before he could speak. "Take me to Z'ha'dum," he said, trembling. "Take me now. I will destroy it all."
"No," Blaylock said. "You are surrendering to chaos. You must stop."
Then the sensors revealed another ship ahead. It was still distant, outside the atmosphere, but it was coming straight toward them.
He would destroy it too.
* * *
They would say Kosh spent too much time among the younger races. They would say that he allowed sentimentality to weaken discipline. They would say that the rules of engagement must not be broken, that the Vorlons must keep themselves above the conflict. They would say it was not fitting that he should endanger himself for any of the younger races, particularly this small group infected with darkness. And perhaps they were right.
Yet long had he watched the younger races, long had he guided them, though they did not know it. Wars had come and gone, aeons had passed, races had lived and died. There had been progress, surely. Where he had been able to instill canon, discipline, the younger races gained wisdom, matured. Yet for each of the seeds he sowed, chaos sowed its opposite. Violence, lawlessness abounded. A race made a hard-earned step forward only to slide back toward anarchy, or to be destroyed by its neighbor. The Xon