concealed inside her, when he required it. No other on the station had the strength to carry even a small portion of his core. If she were here, though, the enemy would have first sought her out and killed her, to prevent any such transfer. Kosh was glad he had sent her away.
The ancient enemy stood now outside his door. Three of them, and their servant, the pestilence Morden. Morden tampered with the lock.
It was time.
From the core of his essence, Kosh reached out. First, he slipped into the song of his ship. It lay docked in a special bay on the station. It was resting, humming softly to itself of the beauty of order, the satisfaction of service, the harmony of the spheres. He directed it to take no action in the coming moments, when it might sense he was threatened.
A dissonance entered the ship's song, and its tempo quickened. It did not understand. It was frightened.
Kosh repeated his order, and its tempo slightly slowed. It remained anxious, but it would obey; obedience was its greatest joy.
Without him to serve, Kosh knew, the ship would have no purpose. It would follow its long-standing directives and kill itself by flying into the nearest sun. For many millennia, it had attended him well. He took a moment to convey a simple, calming harmonic.
The ship adopted it eagerly, the dissonance fading away. It sang of perfect symmetry and ultimate peace. Kosh slipped from its song.
The door to his residence slid open and the enemy entered. They too were creatures of light, yet they preferred a more material form, encasing themselves in jagged carapaces of blackness, adopting outer shapes that reflected the inner truth of their beings. Their six-legged bodies scissored forward, the fourteen pinpoints of their eyes burning with brilliant hatred. They