were so great, their deceptions had never required such complexity. They were more like metaphors, as the Vorlons thought of them.
But there was nothing of metaphor in the deceptions of the fabulists. They were woven finely into the fabric of the here and now, evanescent possibilities that would work only in this time, in this place. Their way of thought did not come naturally to a Vorlon.
The buoy at Lanep had found them, each with his own ship, a great silent migration of those who had found the one narrow path through the conflagration that would soon consume all who remained. Of their number, some thirty were unaccounted for. Perhaps they had been lost at Babylon 5. Perhaps they refused to leave with the others. Kosh would watch for them.
The one among them he had confronted, the one who wielded great power, radiated a higher level of energy. The buoy had detected him in one of the ships. That fabulist had separated briefly from the others, had rescued the sole survivor of the abhorrent experiments that had occurred in the Lanep system. And then he had gone with the rest. His name, Kosh had learned from their communications, was Galen.
Galen had not succumbed to the dream of the maelstrom. Instead, in saving another at the risk of his own life, he had brought a flicker of light to that place where darkness had consumed nearly everything. It was more than Kosh had done. He had known of the experiments undertaken there; he had known what their conclusion would be. And he had done nothing.
Quickly, the fabulists had slipped into hyperspace. Kosh believed they had retreated to their hiding place. Without the support of their creators, they would be unable to replenish their kind, and they would gradually age and die. They had found, at last, that the principles