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to them. He would kill any who came within reach. As he had killed so many on Thenothk.

So instead, he watched. In truth, he did not want to see. He did not want to hear. But to those he had left behind, he owed that. He owed much more.

He watched as wars broke out one after another- the Centauri blasting the Narn homeworld to a barren land of dust and wind, the Earth Alliance falling into bloody civil war, the Brakiri ruthlessly massacring their neighbors-while the Shadows worked behind the scenes, inciting conflict and destruction. He watched as the Shadows began attacking directly, crippling civilizations, killing billions. He catalogued each new loss, each new tragedy, as chaos spread to envelop the galaxy.

Galen finished his examination of the large area the Shadows had been raiding. Some planets lay in ruins; others had fallen into anarchy, the inhabitants desperate to flee to some safer place. He saw no new signs of aggression, and turned his attention to other probes.

A familiar figure flashed through his mind's eye, and Galen stopped the flow of images. On Babylon 5, it was evening, and as was his habit, Morden sat alone in the open-air caf© for an after-dinner coffee. The security camera was over twenty feet away and encompassed most of the caf©, yet Morden seemed set apart from the other patrons. With his dark hair styled cleanly back, hands folded neatly on the table, a mild smile on his face, he studied the surrounding activity: a predator in wait, evaluating potential prey.

He was persona non grata aboard the station, but with well-placed bribes he came and went as he pleased. When he was there, rather than detain or eject him, John Sheridan, the station's captain, preferred to observe the enemy.

Morden was more important to the Shadows than

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