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strengthen Clark's hold-

-destruction of the fighting spirit-

The raids of the Drazi-

The bubbles ran in strings, each string a different message shooting up through chest and neck and brain and skull, sending a sharp prickling blush over his scalp as it lanced through him and raced toward its destination.

Somehow he had diverted the messages, so they passed through his body on their way. He struggled to sort through them.

Some were in the language of the Shadows, some in other languages, yet somehow he understood them all.

-workers to give us the power for ultimate-

Garibaldi is a nuisance. But we will use his weakness against him. Soon his time-

-alliance knows nothing of our strategy. They will break apart, demoralized, after our next strike.

He tried to follow that string of words, hoping for more information about the attack. But he kept drifting between transmissions, catching only bits and pieces.

When he came upon talk of the attack again, he focused on the string, imagined himself grabbing on to it. With a jerk it yanked him along, whisking him up through snaking blood vessels, up through brain and skull and out into the caf©, through the ceiling, the outer layers of the station blurring past him before the sudden blackness of space. Then the blackness wrapped tightly around him, and the string accelerated down the narrow, constricting channel, pulling him with it. Beneath his hands, the words bubbled, revealing their message.

If they knew of our plans, Sheridan would already be gone from the station to meet us in battle. Yet he remains. Soon we will have him. The alliance will fall, and he will fall. The Vorlons tell him nothing. Their rules lead to their downfall. Chaos shall reign supreme.

The string sped ahead, and he felt
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