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there's new rumors that key supplies won't be coming in!"

"We know what you want of us, Sheridan," said another. "You want us to put on positive faces when we report back to our people! But we're tired of trying to sell goodwill on your say-so alone!"

Next to Sheridan stood Delenn, the ambassador from Min-bar, wearing the loose-flowing dress customary to her people. Sheridan had no closer, or more intimate, ally than she. The more fanciful of B5's residents tended to view all that they had been through in recent months as some sort of grand romantic saga, with Sheridan and Delenn-and the obvious love which bound them-as key ingredients in that story. Today, though, Sheridan was beginning to bristle at the tone of the representatives' words, and ever so slightly Delenn placed a gently restraining hand on his forearm. She knew precisely what was going through his mind, as she so often did.

It had been Sheridan who had organized the battle against hopeless odds in the conflict that had been known as the Shadow War. Sheridan who had literally come back from the dead, Sheridan who had organized a determined, albeit hopelessly overmatched, alliance, and ultimately Sheridan-with Delenn's help-who had faced down not only the Shadows, but the Vor-lons as well, and had put an end to a war that could have racked up death tolls in the billions.

But now he was faced with the oldest and most pointed question in the galaxy: What have you done for me lately?

He allowed his annoyance to pass, soothed by Delenn's touch and taking a mental step back from the challenging tones.

"People," he said slowly, his voice gravelly. Lately he felt as if he'd been talking nonstop, to anyone and everyone who would listen to him, and he wondered if his vocal cords would ever reach a point
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