Now the enemy would demand recompense for the Vorlons' transgression.
Sheridan had not understood what he had asked. Kosh had told him: There is a price to pay. I will not be there to help you when you go to Z'ha'dum.
Still Sheridan had not understood. The Human believed he himself must pay the price. He believed that, if ever he went to the enemy's home, Kosh would withhold help out of anger. Yet Kosh would not be unwilling to help; he would be unable.
The enemy was close now, the stench of chaos saturating his senses.
Kosh poured himself into the sleek brown and green shell of his encounter suit. No disguise was necessary, but the hard casement would provide a few moments' defense.
Death was harder to accept than he had thought. Vorlons rarely died; in the last millennium, only one had perished. He feared how the others would proceed in this war without his counsel. He had placed them upon a narrow path. They must participate in the war only when absolutely necessary; they must not dominate it. Yet he did not believe the Vorlons had the will to follow that path. Some hoped that Kosh's death would bring the conflict back into equilibrium, allow them to return to the ancient rules of engagement, to resume their manipulations from on high. But a growing number believed Kosh's action the first step toward a total, final war with the enemy, one that would end with the complete annihilation of the forces of chaos and everything they had touched. In such a total war, Kosh knew, the Vorlons would exterminate as many of the younger races as the maelstrom.
He wished he could remain among them, guide them. If his aide were nearby, he could pour the core of his essence into her, as he sometimes did. She had been modified and trained to carry him,