"Destiny cannot be mocked. What must be, will be...

Our pebbles cannot turn the tide."

-- from Annals of the Fire: the Journal of Jeffrey Sinclair

On the White Star, Marcus watched the readouts carefully, and when Sheridan's voice came over the comm to ask how it looked, he answered, "Readings are still unstable."

He kept back his opinion that at this rate it would take a day for them to stabilize the homing device. It had taken an hour just for Sheridan to replace the damaged cone, and the tedious power flow adjustment and tuning was going to drive them all mad with waiting.

Lennier spoke up suddenly, "Captain Sheridan, I'm picking up something on our external scanners. Reading six... no, seven ships, coming this way."

"Any idea who they are?" Sheridan asked.

"Actually yes," Lennier answered. "I believe they are the ships that Commander Sinclair brought in response to Babylon 4's distress signal."

"I read about that," Sheridan replied. "Make sure they don't see us."

"Of course," Lennier answered.

Marcus glanced at the external view as one shuttlecraft headed into the distortion field ahead of the rest and approached the station. Strange, to think that Entil'Zha, before he became Entil'Zha, was out there, with no idea yet of what happened to him today.

Please, Valen, he tossed the prayer out into the ether. Bring him back and give me some way to stop him from going back in time.

There was no answer, of course.

Not long after, Susan contacted the White Star to report another problem.

"They got Zathras. How are the repairs going?"

He couldn't answer right away. If B4 security had Zathras, that meant he couldn't finish Entil'Zha's stabilizer. Finally Marcus roused to reply, "Slowly. We may have it in another couple hours." That was, unfortunately, a rather optimistic assessment.

"That's too long," Ivanova said. "What if I could adjust the power from C&C?"

"Great. If you can get there." It would help immensely, since it would allow Sheridan to concentrate on tuning. The repairs would go much faster if the captain didn't need to worry about the power flow.

"I can do it. I just gotta be careful." Then, in a lower voice she added quickly, "Got company." The channel closed.

Delenn, sitting in the command chair, let the conversation wash over and through her. The only thing she knew was that it was taking too long. Draal couldn't keep the rift open forever. If it closed while Entil'Zha were still timelost, everything from Valen's time to the present would be changed. The present would be destroyed, and billions of lives would be lost in a galaxy in which the Shadows were stronger.

She fingered her time stabilizer thoughtfully.

What was one life balanced against billions? Jeffrey had said it himself, one life was of little account.

She slipped from the chair and left the command deck. Though everyone noticed, no one said anything.

A little while later, in the corridor of Babylon 4, near the White Star, a blue suited figure shimmered into view and collapsed onto the crate in the corner at the end of the corridor. He didn't move.

Delenn moved forward on swift, light feet. She held out her hand and tapped his shoulder. He didn't stir.

That was good. She knew Jeffrey would protest what she planned to do.

Fingers moving deftly, she released the helmet and pulled it off. The hiss of escaping air covered her gasp. He had aged. In the hours he had been unstuck in time, he seemed to have aged five years, with grey at his temples and lines at the corners of his eyes which had not been there before. It gave even more importance to her task, since she suspected that the aging affect would grow stronger the longer he was lost.

Her touch feather-light, she brushed two fingers down his scarred cheek. Why was he always the one to pay the price?

His eyelids fluttered and she drew back her hand, waiting. He didn't wake.

She unfastened the throat latch of the suit and tugged apart the seals down the front. Focused on her task, she didn't see his eyes open.

"Delenn, what are you doing?"

"Jeffrey!" she pulled back her hands quickly and her gaze flew up to his. "You startled me."

His eyes narrowed as he took in what she was doing. "Why are you taking off my suit?"

It was amazing, she thought in the back of her mind -- he made her feel exactly like an acolyte at Dukhat's feet again. She was older than Sinclair, she had been Satai, yet she felt like a child caught at mischief.

"I thought to --" she started to answer then stopped. She couldn't lie, but she was not going to speak the truth either.

"You were planning to trade places," he continued for her. "And you wanted to do it while I was out, because you knew I'd never let you while I was awake. Well, you were right." He tried to stand, but fell back against the wall, and his face tightened against pain.

"Jeffrey, this is damaging you," she tried her most persuasive tone. "Zathras is attempting to fix your stabilizer, but he may not have time. You may be lost permanently."

"That won't happen," he told her with annoying calm.

"You cannot know that."

"I have seen --"

"The future is not definite," she interrupted forcefully. "Whatever you've seen may not happen." The future could not be immutable, or her own vision would come true, and she had to avoid that at all costs.

"I know you're worried, but --"

"No!" she exclaimed. He was deliberately refusing to understand the seriousness of the situation. "I am not "worried", I am frightened. You may be forever lost in time. What then happens to the rest of us?" He drew back, in unconscious avoidance of the fate she mentioned. She pulled herself together and gentled her tone. He was not so accepting as he seemed. "You know how vital you are. We have not discussed it, but you know the truth. You cannot risk yourself."

His gaze snapped back to hers and his eyes seemed to glint amber. "Do you know how I hate that phrase?" he demanded. "Almost from the moment I stepped on Minbar I have heard people tell me that, that I can't risk myself. But some risks are necessary." With a hand pressed against the wall, he levered himself to his feet.

"This is not one of them," she said firmly. Why was he being so difficult? He knew what was at stake. On the chance that he was worried for her -- and she knew Jeffrey would risk himself instead of someone he cared about every time -- she added, "What I propose is not so dangerous to me. Zathras will fix the stabilizer. But if he can not, then that is a small price to pay for your safety."

She gave an inward wince, right after the words left her mouth. That had been the wrong tactic. He straightened and looked at her, irritation swept away in favor of somber affection. "Not to me," he answered softly. "You are not less important or less worthy, Delenn. You have a destiny too. I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me." He picked up his helmet from the crate.

She watched in silence, knowing she had run out of words. Only action remained. He watched her for a long moment, then nodded, as if to thank her for not trying to prevent him anymore.

Her hand moved slowly, subtly, to the stabilizer at her waist, while he resealed the front of his suit. She had the stabilizer in the palm of her hand when he closed the throat latch, and the instant he had both hands on his helmet, ready to put it on, she acted.

She darted forward, hand outstretched to clip the stabilizer on his belt. But in one smooth motion, as if he held a pike, he brought the helmet down, deflecting her hand, and stepped backward out of her immediate reach.

From about two paces apart, they eyed each other, equally determined on their course. Inwardly she permitted herself a curse -- it was easy to look at him and forget that Entil'Zha studied both religious and warrior disciplines. She had forgotten that this outwardly calm and spiritual man could fight Neroon to a standstill.

He gave a little shake and asked abruptly, "It's 2258, isn't it? The station moved forward when I was gone."

"Yes," she answered, puzzled. "How did you know?"

But he didn't directly answer. There was an odd, distracted cast to his expression as if he were listening hard to a whispered conversation. "I'm here, aren't I?" he murmured. "Garibaldi and I are here, on the station. I can feel it." He shuddered visibly, and his expression cleared and focused on her. "You see, Delenn, that's why I can't let you be unstuck. You have nothing to draw you back here. But I'm already here -- even now I feel a sort of pulling..." The glazed expression passed across his face again and he murmured. "Michael's here... I remember..."

She took one step toward him, and his gaze instantly flashed on her and he stepped back equal distance. "No, Delenn. I know what I have to do. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"How can I not worry?" she retorted. But she knew there was no way now to prevent him. "You are doing something unwise."

"Humans are good at that," he answered lightly, accepting her capitulation. Then more seriously, he added, "Have faith, old friend." In a single motion he popped the helmet over his head and sealed it.

There were no external speakers on the suit, and she did not have a comlink, but he gave her a "thumbs up" sign with his gloved hands. Though her insides seemed hollow with dread, she managed a tiny smile.

In the space of a blink, he was gone.

Momentarily alone, she squeezed her hands together trying to disperse her anxiety. He was right. She had to have faith. The universe had plans for Jeffrey Sinclair, so the universe would make sure he had the opportunity to follow hem.

But the vision of him entering her quarters wouldn't leave her mind. She still had the chill feeling of impending disaster.

* * * *

Sinclair took the sight of Delenn's face with him as the eddies of time sucked him in. It was definitely worse this time, as a feeling of a thousand shards of ice pierced his body. He gritted his teeth, holding on to relief that Delenn was not experiencing this. Delenn had suffered enough for the cause that he would spare her this, which hurt no less for being unreal.

The sensation passed and his vision cleared. He saw open space outside a cockpit. The scene was so familiar he needed no time to identify it, as horror swept away pain. No, not again... Almost fifteen years later, he still had nightmares about the Battle of the Line.

He shut his eyes, denying what he saw, but he still saw it as crisply in memory as reality. The canopy of his Starfury, facing a huge Minbari war cruiser, exploding ships all around...

This time he welcomed the wrench of the transition, as Mitchell's final cries rang in his ears....

He caught just a glimpse of Babylon 4 and two startled technicians before time caught him again.

Ranger training hall, Minbar. Light streamed through the narrow windows at the top of the walls, and he saw Durhan across their pikes. As Durhan started into the li'fan'tafa attack, he automatically countered with zighral. Only after Durhan was on the ground with a look of dumbfounded shock on his face, did Sinclair realize that the moment was from his early training, before he was supposed to know zighral.

He was shoved out of the moment, and into another.

Babylon 4 again, this time some kind of equipment lab. The worker there dropped the tool in her hand and slapped her link, "Asmaran to Security. We have an intruder in lab delta. Blue e-suit--"

He left before he got to hear the rest of the description.

Dizzy and nauseous, with a pounding in his head, he opened his eyes with welcome relief. He sat on a bench in the midst of peaceful gardens and bright sunshine, with the scent of flowers in the air -- it was the herb garden of the monastery in France where he had spent two months of leave before being recalled for his Babylon 5 assignment. He had been so frustrated, he remembered. His career had hit a wall, but he couldn't imagine leaving Earth Force. He wanted something more, but he didn't know what it was.

Sinclair wished there was some way to tell his earlier self that he would find a purpose to his life, a purpose that encompassed the galaxy.

But even if there had been a way to leave a message, he didn't have time to think of it before the unfeeling river of time spun him away.

His eyes were open, but everything was still spinning. He crashed to his knees and looked at the grey smear under them until it solidified and came into focus as a metal deckplate. Then it blurred again. His head throbbed, making it hard to think, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

He lifted his head to look around. He was definitely back on B4, in a main corridor not far from the shuttle bay. He also had six PPG rifles pointed in his direction from the security guards standing in a loose semicircle around him. He still wasn't sure what exactly was happening until Major Krantz, Zathras, himself, and Garibaldi came into view around the corner.

He found his gaze glued to the younger version of himself. Was that really him? Who was that person, so neat, so correct and overcontrolled in his Earth Force uniform? It was like looking at a vid of someone else, since he wasn't that person anymore. But it was unnerving to look at his own face and know the thoughts behind those eyes. So determined to do everything right.

Behind him, Garibaldi. His friend. Michael had never really understood why Sinclair valued him so much. This was Garibaldi before Jack had shot him, nearly killed him--

Here was the moment he could never have given to Delenn. He struggled to one knee and tried to shout, "Michael!" But he couldn't find the breath to do more than whisper. He panted, while bright flashes darted across his eyes.

His suit had no external speakers. Michael would never hear him from so far away. He held out an imploring hand for Michael to come closer -- but his earlier self came closer instead, walking as if drawn.

Shudders wracked him as the commander approached. The pulling force strengthened to unbearable. He fought it, knowing what was going to happen. He could see his own face, vacant as if tranced, then the other Sinclair held out his hand to touch him.

The reaction was immediate, as the universe decided two identical objects could not take up the same place in time. Forces ruptured, and Commander Sinclair flew backwards into a stack of cartons. The Earth Force officers rushed after him, leaving Sinclair momentarily unobserved. Zathras dashed forward, helped him to stand, and pressed the stabilizer into his hands. "Zathras fixed. Take. Hurry."

He nodded his thanks, but his gaze went past him to Garibaldi -- if only Michael could hear his warning... He walked one step toward him, but never completed the motion.

The grip of time seemed gentler this time as it gathered him close and he floated into a new awareness.

This place was nowhere he had ever been. It was dim, lit only by candles and pale, directionless light, though he was standing in the focus of several spotlights. At first he thought he was outside, since the dark space around him was vast and the light had a soft, moonlight quality, but then his eyes adjusted and he saw it truly.

He stood alone in the middle of a silent crowd in an immense round theater or hall. There were three tiers stretching back into darkness which his eyes couldn't penetrate and climbing to a cathedral ceiling. He saw mostly Minbari, with some Narns and Centauri, in numbers so large as to be nearly meaningless, around him. They were all looking at him, in eerie, frightening silence. Some of them were kneeling or bowing.

He realized where he was. He had never been inside, but this could be no place other than the Temple of Veranni on Minbar.

He didn't want to see this, didn't want to know about the thousands of people watching him in devotion, didn't want this future. But he knew it was inevitable; without devotion, Valen would never have been able to accomplish everything he had and make it last a thousand years.

But this -- God, this was making him sick.

He turned slowly and his gaze swept the crowd again, finding the significant fraction of non-Minbari in the audience a bit odd. He knew Valen and G'Quan had met, that much was written in the Book of G'Quan, so a few Narns were not unexpected, but Abbai? There were definitely two Abbai kneeling near the front of the first balcony. The Abbai had not been involved in the last Great War at all, so far as he knew.

And were those Humans?

Oblivion drew itself across his eyes before he could be certain. As the gentle cobwebs of time settled into place, he decided he must have been wrong, mistaking Centauri for Humans.

He recognized the shuttle bay airlock on B4. He felt clearer headed, and not about to float away at any moment, so he presumed the stabilizer was working and he was on the station to stay.

It occurred to him that his other self probably just departed through this airlock, which was what had drawn him here. That meant Garibaldi was gone, too.

The airlock door opened, and Delenn entered, looking relieved.

He lifted arms that felt like lead bricks up to his head and pulled off his helmet. Looking at the outer door through which Garibaldi had passed, not long ago, he said heavily, "I tried. I tried to warn them, but it all happened just as I remembered."

"I know," she touched his shoulder comfortingly. "It's time. We have to go. They're waiting for us."