Rating: PG not `politically correct,' some dicey terms and an untouched concept, and deals with a harsh death.

Classification: N (near V)
Type: Crossover with my _Babylon 5_ prequel
Part: 1/1
Author: Rae ELAINE Hatfield (hatfield@wenval.com)
Sequel: None yet
Prequel: _Ellayn O'Kosh_ (see http://www.vhw-corp.com )

Summary:
_Ellayn O'Kosh_ is a prequel to Michael Straczynski's _Babylon 5_. Ellayn is a product of genetic engineering with an initial purpose as an intelligent weapon; to balance the power between the forces of light and the forces of darkness. Ellayn and Ellayn's Ship is a symbiant being, and the only weapon that has a chance against a Shadow death cloud. The `bonehead manoeuver' does not go as well as planned, but the objective is accomplished.

Ellayn is injured and Ellayn's Ship is badly damaged in action. It takes weeks to get back to Earth, but they crash land, causing damage so great that the Ship's auto-destruct is invoked. Ellayn, exits, watches the symbiant part disintegrate, and then continues to suffer, unable to move much more; awaiting any possible rescue. Before death, Ellayn is visited by the angel who was ordained from the beginning to minister to this one soul. The angel had a `shortstop' to deliver a message to the cast and crew of _Touched By An Angel_.

Idiots would say; `send your ship! It has the firepower. You do not.' Myship's firepower is not enough against the Shadow death cloud on its way toward Earth. The Shadows know that the Humans will be pivotal in the next of the wars in the war without end. Somehow, the Shadows have learned that Valen, the Minbari not born of Minbar, was Human out of our future. Did they learn it as fact? Or assemble a reasonable assumption from their intelligence network of allies and allies of their allies? Most likely, they learned that from Hammad, or one of his treasonous associates, because they had access to the history.

The Shadows can conclude that if Valen, the one who provided the critical staging area turning the tide within the last war, was Human, they could alter that past by destroying Earth in the here and now. That would annihilate the Humans. That would break the paradoxical `it has happened; it will happen' cycle.

The foolish Humans! Their useless religions and their stupid fears kept them from being a space faring race for more than fifteen hundred years. If they had not been retarded, they could have travelled to the stars by now. A diaspora on an interstellar scale could have made genocide logistically so much more problematic.

Now that the Humans are still trapped on their precious little globe, it is a simple matter of engineering on a planetary scale to construct a planet killer. This is a mere extension of Shadow technology and engineering. Shadow allies, greedy to learn of such powerful things, delight in supplying the labor and material for this gruesome enterprise.

They did build their murderous doomsday device. Of all the `doomsday weapons' of history, theirs is the full manifestation of that promise. True enough, the historical weapons were increasingly destructive on their local scales. Now, this Shadow engineered planet killer assures that the scale is planetary for medium sized orbital bodies. It is a fearsome engineering and logistical accomplishment.

The planet killer is built enroute to its first mission. It will be tested at its target. It will work, or it will not. If it works, it can be refitted as needed on its way to destroy the next victim. Otherwise, the forces of darkness will accept the partial success.

The many worlds allied with chaos have contributed technicians, engineering, materials, and logistics to the Shadows' deadly campaign. From many worlds habitually allied against order and light come workers with their goods for bad. They come with their prefabricated nodes and links, with their bombs and missiles, all according to the designs and specifications supplied by their dark masters.

From many conquered worlds come slave labor and material, looted by the invaders to a purpose the victims can not know. They can be certain that it is to no good. The Drakh and the Streib are cruel task masters, and many workers welcome death as a relief. However, death does not come quickly or mercifully to those discovered sabotaging the dark force's evil plan.

The Shadow death cloud is nearly complete as it approaches Sol's solar disk, inside their Ort Cloud. The nodes and links have made a hollow sphere nearly 20,000 kilometers in diameter. The trailing hemisphere has solid links, hinged between the nodes, to hold the shape and provide reference for the other hemisphere's nodes to reform.

Now I see it: There it is in all of its horror! It is cycling its forward nodes open and closed in a chewing fashion, as if to swallow a planet like a snake sucks an egg.

Each of its nodes contain attack and defensive weaponry. For defense of the planet killer, there are particle beams, pulse cannons, and mass drivers. There are missiles in racks within each node that can be aimed external at attackers, as well as internal at doomed planets and populations. The weaponry is equally effective for defense and offense, which is quite formidable. These weapons all have the Shadow targeting systems which rarely miss.

The primary attack weaponry is bombs to destroy a planet's surface civilization and culture, augmented with deep, rock penetrating missiles. After the death cloud has wrapped around a planet, the missiles are fired and the bombs are then dropped. The missiles upset civilizations as they enter and penetrate deep, past the planet's surface crust. Then the bombs are released to explode in the middle of the victims' chaos. All of the nodes, simultaneously releasing their missiles and then their bombs, virtually guarantee that there will be few, if any, survivors. If so, any means of planetary escape will have been destroyed. Any space vessels on the surface will have been targeted and obliterated by the death cloud' barrage. Any passages to bunkers and underground hangars will not escape sensing and target lock.

The destruction of any solid orbiting body is imminent. Shortly after the bombs are released, and the destruction begins, the planet killer opens. It then backs away and retreats to let the armaments do their eradication, escaping the flying planetary debris.

If any survive the missile bombardment, and the bombing, they do not survive their planet's explosion. When all of the missiles penetrate deep into the planetary core, which they can by their evil engineering, they detonate simultaneously. After that, nothing lives. No planetary fragment stays hot for long in the cold vacuum of space.

Battles are won or lost by the heart of the combatants as much as by the merits of weaponry and tactics, even though those factors do contribute. I, and the inhabitants of Earth, can not afford to lose. Once more, the mora'dum lessons I learned during my training rerun through my mind. Fear must not be allowed to take control over me. It is not an irrational fear to anticipate obliteration in the face of such a weapon wielded by the forces of darkness. The reality nearly fills my forward view port, and I am still a long way away. Not far enough for one part of me.

We spin off three probes as we begin a spiral approach. Then we detect some within this area of influence that has Kosh's brand. Apparently, he set them during one of his ventures, so ours should be the diversionary bread crumbs to protect his. It is not likely that monitoring and recording probes will be of interest to our enemies, but it is important to learn more of their intentions. The probes we leave will send a message to the Earthers, interrupting their programming, to let them know if I fail.

No race should die without some advice. No planet should be obliterated without warning. Let them make peace with their god, however they see fit. Perhaps some good will come from the Vree's abductions of Humans if it saves the species. Regrettably now, they broke off that practice shortly after I arrived on Earth. Planetary destruction must not be within God's plan for Earth, but that is His affair. Ours is to do what must be done, that which We are the Earth's best hope. Perhaps We are this part of God's plan for this race. That may be why He allowed Us to be brought forth from Kosh's lab, for this day.

If this be a part of God's plan, a major part, then how can We fear? That is an aspect We do not recall from that lesson Myself nearly failed. We make a note to send to the Anla-Shok for their training. If it is helpful, then they will incorporate that into the program.

"Vorlon bastard. ... If you value your life, you will be somewhere else." Shadow speech pattern came suddenly from a Drakh channel. They know too much of who I am. I nearly let loose the dogs of war the last time I was taunted with disparagements regarding my genealogy. They are baying now, howling mad in heat. Their destructive function is clear, so it is meaningless to be concerned about alternate eventualities.

We value our life, but our purpose more. We choose not to fall into their psychological trap by answering that insulting hail. We get angry for their impudence, even though with such a weapon it may be warranted. We now perceive no hint of residual fear. "Myship."

"Yes."

"Let Us add `anger and fear can not co-reside' and send Our message to the Anla-Shok for the mora'dum." Myship then sends the memorandum.

"Let Us answer their insult with fire. It was ... invigorating the last time. This is Our purpose." Myship puts words to Myself's thoughts. We will shoot first, because we know there will not be a chance if We think We can shoot second. We knew that to be true for Our power even against a Shadow vessel, so how much more proof is needed against all the armament of their planet killer?

How to destroy that death cloud? There are so many nodes! It may be simple to pick the first and destroy it with my first shot, but the subsequent nodes will not be easy targets. We could not destroy enough nodes even with Our multiple gun array. It would be folly to think that We are not now within their gun sights, so We will have only one shot. We must have a plan before Our element of surprise is eliminated.

Our only and best shot is known as the `bonehead maneuver.' It is opening a second jump point to hyperspace well inside an already open gateway. It is very destructive because of all that bound energy gets unleashed. There is one major drawback to this plan: It is known as such because the blast usually destroys the initiator as its price of success. Therefore, to do so is sure suicide.

We must be inside the sphere for the blast to destroy all of the nodes and links. Regrettably, it has ceased its alternating opening and closing upon Our arrival so We can not slip inside straightaway. What do they know, not to invite Us inside? Perhaps they do not want to waste so much of their resources against one little Vorlon type Ship.

It is self evident that We must not make a frontal assault on the movable nodes. That would be a waste of our surprise shot. They can move to plug a hole We punch before We could dive inside. We back away, as if to signal that We are seriously contemplating a retreat. The death cloud continues its approach to Earth, and our stationary position allows its solid linked hemisphere to pass into my direct viewing angle.

We begin an accelerated spiral approach toward the trailing tangent of the solid linked hemisphere. If they guess Our tactic, We need them to require too much time to roll the other, more fluid hemisphere to face us. Our approach is at optimum angle, distance, and velocity, so Myself spin a singularity which Myship amplifies and aims with Myship's collimator arms.

It was not very large, but it takes out seven nodes. Our singularity bomb makes a clean hole large enough to dive through even though the planet killer has reacted. It is trying to rotate the hole away from our flight path, and is firing its particle beams and missiles at where We were. We have enough energy absorption and heat dissipation ability within Myship's skin to counter lighter duty beam weapons, but the missiles' explosions so near thoroughly pound Us. Myself feels the pain Myship feels within Myship's living systems. We can avoid the enemy's direct hits for now because their tracking lock has been temporarily broken by Our attack.

The indirect hits have done enough damage. We have been hit hard enough by a blast off our port side that Myship's frame is hogged. Another explosion off Our starboard bow bends one of Our collimators, which blunts Our ability to spin singularity bombs and generate our particle beam attacks. Our side guns and forward pulse cannons are not enough weaponry to continue this assault, but We can pick off some missiles before they get too close to do more damage to Us.

The break in the target lock upon Us will not last long. It does last long enough that Our evasive maneuvers within Our assault get Us inside the shell. It should take them a few moments to switch over to their inboard targeting scanners and then lock on to Us, if We stay put.

We use that inertia and Our acceleration to aim for the center of the Shadow planet killer. We put forth the maximum effort forward and initiate the first jump point. As We nearly enter the yellow swirling madness, We begin forming the second jump point inside the first. It is all in the timing, but at Our speed, starting the second immediately follows the first, and is inside Our first jump point.

As We enter hyperspace, it is difficult to hold to a true, on-center course with Our bent keels. We have no immediate way of knowing if Our effort has been successful. Still, We accelerate as if Our life depends upon putting as much distance between Us and the resulting explosion when the two jump points' energies clash. No matter how `bone headed' this manoeuver is to contemplate, the blast must still obey the inverse square law of decreasing energy with distance. Putting a lot of distance very fast between Us and Our jump point before detonation is Our immediate goal.

We did not get enough. We get a push from the stern by the outward compression wave through the jump point, this deep into hyperspace. If We would have drifted off course and lost attitude control, the torsion would have flipped Us into a bad flight form and led to Our disintegration. As it were, it was a rough ride. The impact from the stern tore the aft coupling clamp from the zero-point energy pile. Myself felt it like a myocardial infarction from Myship. We still have essential power, but We will need more of the full strength to jump back to normal space.

"Myself. Our last maintbot can not reconnect the engine's pile." Myship advises Myself with Our integrated telepathy shortly after the turbulence begins to settle back to normal for hyperspace. Myself hums a quick acknowledgement, then go astern, through the cargo bay, and into the engine compartment. The bot is trying to hold the coupling in line, but the aft end of the core is out of the receiver.

Myself gets into the tight side and push up against the organic housing. It gently settles into position and then the bot begins to suture the coupling back onto the contact surface as I hold things into place. We are nearly completed with this temporary repair when the expansion wave of the explosion catches up to Us in spite of Our breakneck speed through hyperspace.

The jarring shudder from the last effect of the explosion shifts the engine core off the stern cradle again. This time, since I was bent over the end assisting the bot make a repair, the connection held. We nearly realigned the zero-point energy coupling to main collimators buss. However, the impact pushed the mass of the engine against me as I braced to the wall, and crushed my pelvis. At least the shaking moved the engine back into line in the cradle.

We survived. We hope We destroyed the Shadow planet killer with the bonehead maneuver, but We will not know until we can contact the probes. If We succeeded, We did not get away unscathed. We are severely damaged, hurtling off any beacon through hyperspace, and now Myself nearly pass out from the pain and trauma of the lower torso injury. Myself's pain nearly overrides the sympathetic pain with Myship. With great effort, Myself does an internal medical remote view to see the damage. A jagged edge of bone perforated a line on Myself's colon, so We know that peritonitis will set in soon. That is more of a concern than the compound fracture at my right front trousers pocket.

How far are We away from an allied hospital? Probably too far from Minbar. We are not welcome on the world of Our birth since I killed the traitor Hammad straightaway within the Council Chamber. Governors rarely appreciate summary justice executed within their front offices.

We will need to jump out of hyperspace to get bearings for any option. Our attitude control has not failed yet, but We decide to exit hyperspace at first chance because could not lock onto a beacon. We use all of our available power to open a jump point and slip into the blue spiraling exit vortex.

When We emerge from hyperspace, Myself begins a remote view to see what awaits Us. Fortunately, only open space greets Us. We do not get a precise fix from Our celestial navigation systems, but We know at space normal speeds, We are years away from Our home world, months away from Minbar, and several weeks away from Earth. Myself connects to a nearby probe to learn that there are no Anla-Shok or other Minbari vessels near enough to call for aid.

We do not have enough power to re-enter hyperspace. It requires more energy to enter than to exit because the jump point itself that direction can draw some power from the eddy currents of hyperspace at the point of initiation. We have enough power for the small side guns, and a few shots with the pulse cannons, but a long fire fight against almost any vessel is not something We anticipate. We have enough power for manoeuvering, but not enough for sub-orbital gravimetrics. In our condition, We can not silently fly around terrestrial planets.

We plan to slingshot by the nearby star to increase Our velocity, to bank some energy, and reduce the flight time to Earth. First, Myship decreases the internal gravity to save energy. That has a side effect of making Myself lighter. We reduce to 5% of normal gravity, which makes it easier to gently psionically lift Myself from the engine chamber floor.

If I could not put myself into a form of stasis, I would suffer immensely on the long voyage back toward Earth. As it was, some of my blood seeped to the right front trouser pocket where my pelvis had compound fractured along the anterior of the crest of the ilium. The movement, both from my telekinetic lift and boost from my physical effort insulted the torn flesh still more. My blood soaked that area to nearly dripping wet before the flow stops. I make the assumption that the medibots could make repair surgery as they had with my previous battle injuries, but I have not yet seen my stateroom since we engaged the Shadow planet killer.

I rise and try to mentally wrap myself so that my lower extremities do not extend to do more damage. Slowly I rise as I psionically shift the fractures back into alignment. I succeed and manage to get the sharp edge of my left ilium away from my colon. Now, I have used the forces of my telekinesis to set my fractured pelvis. All I need now is to get to my bed in surgery position so the medibots can perform the repair procedure.

Reducing the gravity within Myship made movement possible while in my weakened condition. I float from the engine compartment, through the cargo bay, and into my stateroom. The bed at normal angle is good for surgery, so I do not try to reset it as I reposition myself. I shift up and then lay on my back. I spread my arms so the medibots can have unobstructed access to my lower torso.

Nothing is happening. There is no movement from either compartment. I remote view and see the reason. The explosion at our port side that hogged our keels, collapsed the lavatory nearly into the stateroom. The walls compressed and crushed the left nacelle over my bed and its medibot. That same damage broke the power buss to the right nacelle, thus taking its medibot out of service until the last auto repair system bot can fix the damage and reboot the medibot.

The last maintenance and repair robot has more critical priorities than a medibot when I can manage some of my medical needs. I have already reset my pelvis' bones. It will require all of that bot's energies and efforts to keep Myship together until we can land. We will not make it to a proper Vorlon ship repair depot, but we can get bootstrap an overhaul plan when we get back home.

Curious how I now consider Earth `home.' I have a base of operations. I have two good employees. There, I am known as an ambassador. I may even be missed at the next soiree. The final binding tie is that I have someone to love.

How we will get back to the hanger is unknown because it was never anticipated that any arrival would be under such dire emergency conditions. We must simply begin repairs where we land. Landing soft enough to minimize more collateral damage is a problem that we have weeks to effect a plan.

I concentrate to induce renal suspension in order to minimize the expected peritonitis. My organelles have not yet built back up to normal strength from the assassination attempt against me and all the stress I put upon myself when I did not recuperate enough before resuming my duties. I direct the few available to the area of the torn colon and the open wound to begin cellular level repairs. I can sense the relief from their response, so I relax and allow the bed to suspend me.

If We are unmolested during Our voyage back to Earth, Myself may knit sufficiently to get on to recovery. Myself am settling into Our hibernation for the weeks to come, but have advised Myship to awaken if needed, as if Myself could do much. Myself can keep Myship company, but Myship has set the remaining autonomous systems to their purposes, and will be in its quasi hibernation state most of the voyage.

We do not make the familiar south polar approach. Myship and Myself do not have the flight control to do proper navigation. We are doing orbital mechanics calculations necessary to soften Our crash landing. The orbital navigation computer has been knocked out, so that We are planning the dead reckoning for a best landing to an area where We can get help. Hopefully, Our approach and impact will do the least damage to the Earthers, their things, and Ourselves. Our sole surviving maintbot is doing its best to make the necessary repairs and preparation for a heroic attempt to land soft enough to minimize subsequent damage.

The probability is not very favorable, but the alternative is unacceptably gruesome. We will try. To not try is cowardly resignation. If We succeed, We can concentrate on restoring the other bots and repair Myship's superstructure and systems. On Earth, it may be possible because we are too damaged to make these repairs within the harsh vacuum of open space. The Earther's primitive hospitals and doctors may be able to supply some things to prolong my existence long enough for Myship's medibots to come back to ready.

Two hours to crash or splashdown, the alarm awakens Myself. Myship's telepathy informs Myself that the speed brakes have been deployed for the last three Earth days. They have caught enough solar wind to slow us to orbital velocity. Our forward view has been out since the death cloud's last good shot at Us, so Myself use enfeebled remote viewing to see Our approach to Earth. The descending, decaying orbital arc appears to put us now immediately over the Bahamas on course to land somewhere in the Salt Lake area. If we had not slowed, we would be on course for a near immediate high impact crash in Eastern Kentucky. Our slow speed will allow the Earth to rotate until the Salt Lake area is Our destination.

The heat generated by our approach within the atmosphere is stifling. We do not have the normal heat dissipation ability since our ventral surface caught the final blast of a missile from the planet killer. Myself nearly faints for the effort to psionically rotate Myship so that our fairly intact dorsal surface takes the heat. We are upside down, supersonic, and in very little directional control. Myship's speed brakes are getting very hot from the drag, but they still work. Their surfaces now deployed were somewhat protected during the battle, but their framework was battered by a nearby blast of one of the surface bombardment bombs. We need all that is left of them for as long as possible for aerodynamic braking because the coupling to our gravimetric propulsion engine got damaged in the battle, and we do not have enough power to fly slow.

Over the north west corner of Colorado, We slow to subsonic. We feel pain as the sonic ripple throughout Myship. In our condition, that routine `delta-Vee's' vibration added agony on top of weeks of pain from our battle wounds. We nearly pass out because of the pain, but We know that We need our cognizance to rotate Myship to the flare attitude.

The searing heat from our long approach has bound the lateral and dorsal speed brake petals at the hinges. Only the relatively protected dorsal petal hinge works to retraction. The air deeper within the atmosphere slows Us very quickly. We will soon sink as fast as We travel. It takes all of Myself's telekinesis during this roll to prevent Our asymmetrical speed brake deployment from aerodynamically flipping Us. Myself used a little bit of the pitch-up torque to flare Us for the short final to Earth contact.

Myself remote views to coordinate my psionic dead stick flight control. We seem to still be doing about 300 kilometers per hour about 350 meters above the ground, even though We almost did not clear the Wasatch mountains. We cleared the city, but We should not have been unobserved. We are fast, as large as a passenger aircraft, and probably glowing with friction heat and trailing smoke from smoldering structure and skin.

We leave the city behind. That should be Salt Lake City. Now, we are over the lake and dropping fast. Our velocity is still dropping. If we contact the water, that will cushion the impact to more likely survivable. If that lake is as its namesake, We should have reason to believe that We will feel the briny sting through Myship's remaining external sensory systems. At least We expect to feel something. The good news is if We feel something, We are not dead.

Salty water stings. Myship used all the energy we were able to `bank' during Our approach to amplify my psionic buffering. We still hit the lake at near 100kph at a 30° approach. NASA's space shuttle would crash with those parameters, but they are still in control of all of their flight control systems to get a final flare for smooth landings. We hit the water with Our ventral petal's external surface.

Without flight controls to hold the flare or to try a slow speed pitch up, the drag pulls us to a pitch down. We are buoyant in the water, so our descent is nearly over. Quickly, We slow to about 10 kph as Our forward parts sink under water. Our velocity and energy is sufficient to thrust Our port collimator deep into the mud. We start a very upsetting ground loop with Our aft end swinging up and starboard. Our velocity has slowed to where the inertia is inadequate to flip us over, but the impalement in the mud is insufficient to prevent Us from falling back into the water.

We hit the water hard enough and at an attitude that could not be any worse. Our zero-point engine finishes breaking loose from the temporary fix, severing from all the power coupling wrappings. All systems without some ballast power supply now fail. The core rolls about within the compartment while We fall and settle, thus damaging most of what previously escaped unscathed. The remaining auto repair robot is crushed after the pile bounces off the chamber's roof. After all the robots and systems that have been shot out during the battle, there was not that many remaining, but there were enough that we were able to navigate here.

Here? Home?

Myship's life support has the largest reserve, but it is not sufficient to keep alive for very long. Certainly not long enough until the soonest, most minimal patch to energy from any source. "Myself."

"Yes." Myself answers after the few moments needed to gather Myself after the impact of Our crash landing.

"Myship will not survive long. Myself must evacuate."

"Is Myship that certain?" Myself know what will come because of that meaning.

"Yes. Myship will use the last energy to open the dorsal port and lift Myself out. Myself must get away." Myship sent Myself telepathically while opening the port. Myself perceives the decreasing weight of Myself's body as Myself psionically lift Myself to the port, and then up through it. We know that water is seeping in from the increased hull damage, but will require a long time to float Myself to either portal. Myself is weakening, but the support from Myship gets Myself to where Myself's physical effort can hook Myself's elbows outside Myship's dorsal opening.

With great effort, Myself lifts up through the port hole and outside of Myship as Myship's effort is weakening. Myself nearly passes out as Myself slip on the dead, wet organic skin of Myship. Myself slides off Myship sideways with crippled legs leading, to splash into the salt water. The pain of the salt stings on the infected, scabbed over compound fractures of my pelvis revives me enough to get my head out of the water. "Myself, get away while Myself has a chance."

"Myself hates to leave Myship." Myself sends and begin to swim away toward the west, where the lake shore can be seen. Continued contact with the briny water sends shivers of pain where it touches open nerves, but its buoyancy helps Myself float enough so that a modified breast stroke covers distance without the aid of kicking.

"Farewell, Myself. Today ... is a good day ... to die. ... To die well. Did We do The Lord's will?" Myship sends as Myship's last. There was the overtone of finality.

"NOOOOO!" Myself wails while rolling, onto Myself's back, does a couple feeble backstrokes, and then look back toward Myship. Now, Myself realizes that this is the moment of death for the symbiont part of Myself. There is no more background music of Myship within Myself's mind. It is now silent. There is no more `We,' `Us,' or any other plural personal pronoun. Myself do not think that Myship died well.

Now there is only `me' or `I,' but I do not know how long I will live. I twist to prone so I can continue to swim away toward shore as fast as I can, as if I am swimming for dear life. I must. The hardwired countdown within the structure of Myship has began. Myship gave of Myship's self so that I could have a chance. Once again, it will be morally wrong to not try for life.

The shore is now close enough that the mud bottom drags on my useless legs. I am exhausted from the exertion of swimming and I have been too weak to use my psionics to help minimize any effort. How much longer have I survived because of my Minbari physiology? Certainly a Human would be dead by now with this much trauma. How far away from joining Myship am I?

Now I mud-crawl toward the edge of the water. It takes a lot of effort to get up to the recent dry high water mark, but I manage. I twist to where I can see the remains of Myship. Very soon, the destruct package will begin its gruesome singular, one time only task. It is only fair that I witness, so I helplessly begin my final vigil over Myship. Still, it is not so strange to refer to my ship as Myship.

No longer am I part of a Vorlon symbiotic being. The Myship part of We has been dead for several minutes now. The self destruct timer should have its sands nearly run out. Myship will not be taking my corporeal remains into a nearby star, as last happened when a real Vorlon died eons ago. No ship will take my remains into a star, unless other arrangements can be made, but it will not be Myship. It will not be my Vorlon custom, but I am enough other races that I am not so concerned about my death ritual. After I am gone, it will not be important. I may not have that much to say about what happens to what remains of me.

A few moments later, the remnant of Myship above the water begin to disintegrate. The decoupled zero-point energy source pile begins the expected matter decomposition within Myship's superstructure. The heat of the sub-nuclear reactions boils and agitates the surrounding water as its salt concentration buffers its ebullient response. Inside of a minute of activity, nothing remains of Myship, my quarters, or of anything within. No trace of Myship exists as all of the matter has been converted into heat and simple elemental molecules. The last illusion of what I am and was to be is gone.

I do not know whether I cry more from the physical pain that is surging through my body, or that Myship died and since I am severely injured, I can soon die. `The land is sliding ... it is too late for the pebbles to vote' is contributed by my fading Vorlon component. What can happen to alter the reasonable projection of what is to come?

I choose to waste no more of my remaining strength, but instead put it forth to preserve myself for as long as possible. Perchance someone saw this disaster and now rushes here to render aid. It is something to keep hope alive for my life even though I pray for God's Will. Perchance an enemy come to finish me off? I have made many in my short career. There is not much I can do about their assault except to put forth my best fight without the aid of my pike or my Wind Sword.

My pike and my Wind Sword: Egad! I did not think I could be so naked, so helpless. Still, I must face the truth. I do not have enough strength to wield the pike, and no agility to get much good out of my Wind Sword. I left these special weapons with my emblem and my best Anla-Shok uniform entrusted for my love's care. I left them so that my beloved could have something to remember me and to hold, in case such an event as I now endure.

Myship was correct to the end. `Today is a good day to die.' Realistically, I know that I do not have much of a chance at continued life. If I can not get aid within the next few hours, or couple days at the longest, I will join Myship.

I rest and pray for a few moments before connecting with one of the probes I left in the area some time ago. Most do not get this opportunity to accomplish this task. It is only fitting to prop myself up as best I can so I can dictate my last Will and Testament:

"To my Lord, Savior, and God: My soul and spirit I commend back to You. It is right to give the Lord God His dues first. If I did not inherit my soul from my Human DNA, I got the Sin nature from that. If not, then certainly I got a Human soul when I first breathed air.

"To my beloved, I leave my love, as best I have known. If there was no Lord God, she would be first. I wish I had more to leave to her and her little girl. They are my joy in this life. I pray they will be with me in my next life.

"To the next living weapon Kosh engineers, I leave this bit of advice. This is my dying wish that they learn and know. Custom will be done at all possible because I am still half Vorlon. Listen to the advice of my bitter lesson:

"Who am I? I do not have time for the long version, so the short must suffice. I am one. I am who became of the living weapon Kosh engineered within his laboratory. My name is Ellayn O'Kosh. I know that names have power, so I grant you the power to learn from my mistakes.

"My fatal mistake was forgetting who and what I am. I am a genetic mixture of Human, Minbari, and Vorlon. It did not mix well in Kosh's lab. How it would mix in the crucible of inter-species matings is probably not known. I never became more than the sum of my parts. ... There was no synergy. As such, I am not a hybrid. The Earthers use words like `kludge,' `bodge,' `swoose,' and other terms very disparaging, but most accurate. I became Wind Sword and Anla-Shok, but that is not enough for genetically engineered fabrications such as I ... and other heirs of doomsday dreams.

"I can not guess the races that will be in your mixture. If you have Vorlon, draw upon that more than I. Specifically, my mistake was not using more of my Vorlon capabilities against a mighty enemy force. My training had been very well done of one of my corporeal forms, and I accepted a methodology lock. I became so traditionally Minbari, that stifled the purpose of an intelligent weapon. I think and fought like Minbari. I did not use my Human ingenuity and unpredictability enough, which is why I believe Kosh used their DNA as part of my formula...

"...Alternatively, I did. Perhaps it was my Human component that tried a desperate plan against such an enemy weapon." I rest a few moments as another point formulates within my pain wracked mind.

I continue dictating my will: "Love IS what it is cracked up to be. I do not regret falling in love. As long as we are alive, that is something we all may need to deal with. Love is not over rated. Without it, we are machines with a pulse." I see in my mind's eye, my love's beautiful face; her long brown hair, her brown eyes drawing me deep within herself. I hear her daughter's cheery laughter. The recording of my Last Will and Testament is still running, but I weep anyway for a few moments. This is MY testament, so I transfer a copy of my mental images as a video.

Finally, I continue dictation, but I may have changed the direction I was leading. "Love makes being alive worth the bother. Yes, I am not keen on dying, but that happens to living beings. ... The mora'dum prepared me well. It usually happens sooner to life forms, such as myself, who are tightly coupled to corporeal bodies, than to those of energy or exotic matter.

"As tragic as my impeding death is, at my youthful form, it could be worse. It could have been without purpose.

"I have a purpose. My dearest and her daughter will live. She may even love again, but she has that option. Their friends' and associates' lives will continue because of what I and Myship accomplished. Humans will live to work out answers to the questions that perplex them. The future of Earth, that which was under my protectorate, is still free to be self determinant. If my mission would have been a failure, it would have been over. ... Still, how long?

"Know these things, my successor: You may be my successor. Kosh, or which Vorlon crafted you from their resources, may make the same mistakes. If not, they may make some original mistakes. They may improve over the design used to make me. You may be my successor, but you will not replace me! Certainly not without a heart.

"It is my Human heart that made me special. From there, I have the ability to love. If you have had that engineered out of you, then you are the pitiful one. Not me, as I lay here, with limited movement ... dying." I rest again for a few moments while I try to think of who or what I am forgetting.

"I should not forget! Kosh: `And so it begins.' ... That ought to be cryptic enough for any Vorlon. ... I do not know whether to bless you, or curse you for setting me upon this path. Yes, I did go this path and it has been a good walk. I have come back to the beginning.

"Kosh: Were you proud of your infant son that you brewed from the DNA of three kinds?

"Did you become ashamed of me, Kosh, as my form grew and came to not meet your design specifications? ... Ha! I did not meet many Human specifications. Did I. Still, in life, we play the hand we are dealt. It was bad enough that I was motherless. ... At least I have The Father to the fatherless if you choose not to acknowledge ME.

"Ellayn O'Kosh; Wind Sword, Anla-Shok, ambassador, ... one who loved..." I collapse from exhaustion without uttering her name. The love of my life was not identified by name, but she will have delivery of what I bequest. The recording stops due to the protracted silence from me.

Unexpectedly and suddenly, Yade appears in her blinding light of glory to those assembled. She takes a few steps, walking closer onto the site of a television series' outdoor shoot. The light of God's angels is warmer and brighter than the incandescence or fluorescence of Vorlons or other energy based species. Yade does reflect the Glory of Our Lord. By reflexes imparted by portrayals of God's people, all cast and crew kneel before her. They know that she is an angel because they know the difference between reality and the products of dream factories such as theirs.

"Please, get up. I am not to be worshipped. I, am a servant of The Most High God." Yade announces as she allows her glory to dim, now that she has their attention, for the benefit of those who are to receive God's Word. She has her focus upon one special actress.

Yade's beauty impresses the cast and crew. She is exquisite with her jet black hair put up, her large grey eyes that seem to peer into their souls, her small mouth with full lips; which on a woman of flesh and blood would beg to be kissed, and her sweet, innocent, child-like face. Her gold robe hides her form, but by her poise, God's messenger must be perfect.

"In obedience, I dwelled among those of another planet, watching for the one whom He requires. He needed to encourage ... even me ... through the eons, that I was not forsaken, that I had a purpose, and I was within His Will. In the meanwhile, I did what any Vorlon would do to assure a just civilization. There was work to do until the day the one came; the one with Human DNA, the seed of Humanity, and then my purpose began to be fulfilled.

"I asked the Vorlon known as Kosh Naranek if he knew what he was doing. He did assure me that indeed he did. Certainly he knew the technical, but after watching many younger races brought forth by the universe, he should have known that there is much more to such purpose than making a better variety of corn. I asked another to talk to him, to talk him out of that `project.' Such efforts failed to discourage that plan, and drastic measures failed. I knew God knew what and why He directed, but such things must be tested.

"I was there when the one with a Human quarter was extracted from the artificial womb, be born, and then placed into the maturation tank.

"I watched as the one's little Human soul was subdued by the much stronger Minbari's genetic sense of duty and honor, and the Vorlon's discipline and order. The little person learned all the lessons well, but never learned know how to play. The infant grew as fabricated and what was meant to become: The One. The One Human soul for whom I was dispatched from God's Glory to watch and care. It is the long life of one of the first ones which made this a long journey, but it has been worth it for this day."

Yade, the angel, tells the cast and crew many things. She knows that they portray angels on a Human television series, and as such, they have missed the mark. She allows the cameras to keep running to record what she has been sent to say to them, that she knows that it is a lot for a mind to grasp, and too much to retain all with only one hearing. She must deliver more than the simple three word `God loves you' message. Still, she endorses that as true, but they need more; so much more.

"First: Have you ever ... through the program, honor The Messiah? You have never used Y'shua's name, and rarely in any form. He is more than the `reason for Christmas.' ``This is how you will be able to know whether it is God's Spirit: Anyone who acknowledges that Jesus Christ came as a human being has the Spirit who comes from God.'' [1 John 4:2]

"Second; know then that there is no `angel of death' taking people when they die straightaway into heaven through a bright portal. [Ps.146:4, Eccl.9:5, 6, 10, Isa.38:18, 19, Ps.6:5, 115:17, Acts2:29, 34]. The dead sleep so deep that it is alike the oblivion from whence their souls come, to be raised upon Judgement Day.

"Third: You have confused God's care for His creation with His redeeming love for Humans. Not all Humans are God's children, but they are His creation. Salvation takes a creation and make them His child.

"Fourth: Only His children can pray that His Holiness allow Him to hear. The only prayer that can be heard from His creation is the sinner's prayer for redemption. Everything from everyone else bounces off the inside of the tops of their heads.

"Fifth point He wants to impress upon you: The Jews are still His people. They are the people of whom God says that `I will bless them who bless Israel, and I will curse any who curse them.' They were chosen to receive and know the Law, and to bring forth The Redeemer. They have God's Land Grant to the nation of Israel. When any of them come to His Lamb for the cleansing to be Saved, they will also become His children and Bride of His Son. And in the fullness of His time, only 144,000 Jews will have a second chance, as it were, to be saved.

"Sixth, there is a day of judgement [Acts17:3, Rev.20:12]. His servants will get their reward and His enemies will be cast out and away from love and light.

"And...
"Seventh: There is no other way to be His child. No `mumbo jumbo.' No sprinkling as an infant to be registered as a `christian' in some denomination, no canonization, no amount of praying out of purgatory, no praying to `saints,' will save a soul. God has been provoked many times by the apostate church.

"Your `angels' have told only tiny parts of the truth. The omission of the complete gospel misses the mark. The entire company, those responsible, must repent of their inequity; not limited to that manifestation, and come to God through Y'shua, the Only Way.

"God does love you. You must know, accept His Grace, ask for His forgiveness, accept and believe in and through Faith. Then and only then can you be reborn. Then and only then can a Human have the Spirit that enables their souls to dwell with Him in heaven. Know then that once saved, always saved. They can drift from God's ways, but their salvation is not forfeit. They can lose God's favor, but not their eternal abode.

"Now, I must leave you with those thoughts." Yade tries to close.

"Why?" Someone, who is enraptured by the visitor direct from God's heaven, recovers enough of their wits to ask.

"I must tend to the dying of the one who I watched begin." Yade answers with tears forming in her eyes.

"Will ... I see my love again?" The One loved by Ellayn O'Kosh begs.

"Only if you come to Y'shua, The Messiah, for His forgiveness, and accept His Grace through Faith that He did so. ... Ellayn loves you. If you do not, the half hour of weeping in heaven will not be enough." Yade explains with the painful truth. After the time of a pregnant pause, she flashes the sweetest smile this side of heaven, and then her form begins the typical appearance of departure dissolution. Those assembled may suppose that is as much by-your-leave as an angel may when their message is delivered, or their task accomplished. A few heartbeats later, she is on her way.

Aid came too late, if it came at all. My short final approach was seen, but the crashing splashdown was not. Every resource was too far away to cover the distance and obstacles within time. The shore where I lay dying is too far away from the nearest road for me to be found quickly enough. I am too long after `the critical hour' that improves recovery for those suffering trauma. Could the Human's medical system save my life? Still, I prefer to die as a result of mistakes made in kindness, than alone and suffering for a long time; like the forsaken.

There is karst terrain between here where I lay and the nearest road, and there is nothing for a helipad near enough. Now I weep that my flower went unpicked as I lay dying. Why did I not give myself to my beloved? She has been through the marital go-round, so it was not as if I was saving myself for another virgin, or even another one of my kind. It would be incest if I was so inclined to another pathetic creature created without love from within Kosh's, or any Vorlon's, genetic workshop.

I have thought of these things and many more. "What are the three principles of sapient life?" I hear a teacher from my childhood grill me within my mind's ear. Compulsively, I recite; "Self awareness, self direction, and self sacrifice for a cause, loved one, or a friend."

The dry air dehydrates me faster than I thought. Also, I have cried enough these last few hours in wretched pain and moral sorrow that there are no more tears to shed. I am finally dry.

"Mother?" Even a bastard cries before impending death. Mine was a question of existence more than such a plea for final comfort. Now, the pain of cracking lips and talking through a dry mouth is excruciating. At least it proves that I am still alive.

I hear my name spoken with a familiar tender voice from the past, and then Yade appears before me. She is in her resplendent angelic glory, and it is much brighter than the last time I saw her. She is so bright that I can not look upon her, and it is with great effort I shield my eyes because my lids are too dry to close. She allows the light of her glory to fade when she saw how much pain it added on top of my trauma and depression.

"You are right. I was needed long ago. ... I was not allowed. It is appointed of old that everyone, every Human, or part thereof, have their moment of death." Yade did not need telepathy. Human empathy empowers that statement without the wording of the predicate question; `why did you not come earlier?'

"I know." I utter through cracked lips encrusted with salt and dried saliva.

"It will be soon. Your pain will be over, and then you will sleep like you have never slept before. Until then, I am to tell you ... God does love you, Ellayn O'Kosh. You know a bit of what it was for Y'shua to come as a Human, live among them, suffer and die so that He could pay the price. You both know what it is to die; in pain; alone. Your soul will sleep and your Spirit recalled to join the Saints who have gone before." Yade tells, her mind to my mind, alike telepathy, but yet different.

I remote view what little bit I can. I can only rise above my body a little bit to see the effects of the peculiar necrosis as it begins. The view of inside my boots is most disquieting as I see that the flesh is already breaking down. `My shoes are too tight, but it does not matter. I have forgot how to dance.'

Actually, I never learned, but still I think of that quote from some philosopher of whose name I have forgotten. I no longer have access to the vast amount of usable data and information at my fingertips that was filed within Myship.

Dancing! That is something that requires an intact pelvis. I am losing my feet and my life.

Shortly as my flesh at my feet liquifies, some of the bones become exposed, settling toward the inferior interior surfaces of my boots. Soon after that, my tibias and fibulas protrude from gelatinous masses roughly the shape of my legs as the shape of my dying Vorlon influence shrinks. Now, I am sucked back into my body only to feel the final twinge, a release, the end of my renal suspension in a most disagreeable, infantile manner. [If you do not understand, the coarse statement will be more titillating than informative.]

My physical strength gave out as I slump face into the desert lake beach head. A few brief moments later, my voice cracks out; "Lord, you have my Spirit?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." Came out as the faintest of whispers. I directed it at The universe creating God; my God, in my prayer.

"Farewell. It will not be long for you before you see all of glory and you will be in it. ... Farewell, Ellayn O'Kosh." Was one of the last thoughts from Yade within my cognitive mind. It was the last within my body. Even my Vorlon component came to an end at the same moment.

I can not breathe! Once more I look down upon my body and know it is for the last time. There is no silver thread back. Yade is holding me.

"Are you my Mother?" I ask Yade without my telepathy or voice. It was more in nonverbal hope than expecting a definite answer.

"No."

"Yours was the first pleasant countenance I saw."

"I know."

And the last one I saw. I gaze at what is left of the corporeal remains of myself. It is giddy to watch as the cell walls of the last of my former body rupture as the tightly wound quad helix DNA comes unraveled. Life as I knew it ... is no more. Skin, fascia, muscle, neurons, blood vessels, and ligatures turn to gooey messes that can not support the bones in a death posture. My former frame elements collapse into the heap of a de-fleshed body and the skull sets down on a clump of my dirty hair.

Goodbye. Ellayn O'Kosh is dead to escape the second death. I know that my soul has gone to sleep as He says in His Word, awaiting my Lord's wake up call. It is only my spirit, awake, with my memories, that observes and thinks, so therefore, I am.

Now I know why I came back to Earth. It is like a homing instinct in any part Human that could not be suppressed by my Minbari and Vorlon components. First and foremost, I am Human. A Human must die on Earth, so that their soul can be asleep here, somewhere on this planet. This is until and for that great day when with a shout, the dead in Christ will rise and join Him; as foretold.

Ellayn O'Kosh died there, laying in blood soaked mud above the water line of the shore. 8:39P.m. local time her heart gave out from the protracted stress of untreated trauma, and to set her spirit free and let her soul sleep. The long weakening of her Vorlon component was finished at the same moment which released the last tension of her tightly wound quad helix of the DNA within her brain. The expended energy immediately ruptures every cell remaining of her body which brings on an accelerated decay, even in the dry salt air of the vicinity.

"Did you see that?" A little girl asks her mother. The child saw in the distance, beyond the sky, something of interest to her.

"I think so." The mother could not confirm or deny because she was trying to concentrate, to learn the next lines to her part, in spite of the scathing message she and her cast mates and crew heard a few minutes ago.

"Do you think Ellayn'll be back?" A long time friend of the mother tests from her seat aside her.

"I still hope." The mother of the young girl tells her long time friend and co-star of the television series that is frequently under threat of cancellation. It is curious that she has phrased her answer like this.

Later and yet on cue, she begins to weep because the script calls for `the waterworks.' However, the camera gets more than the writers expected of the plot and this actress's ability. Suddenly, her weeping becomes different and uncontrollable. She can not stop crying when the director calls for the cut. It was a night shot.

The time? 8:39P.m local. She knows, but she knows not how she knows. She knows what happened to the one who loves her the most of Human ability, and she knows why it came to pass, but the mechanism of how she came to this knowledge escapes her.

A balm moves wisps of hair away from the actress's sweet face. Ellayn's spirit kisses her cheek tenderly before it is time to leave the Earth. `Remember, my love. ... Remember our moment of perfect beauty.' This dear lady smiles and knows without hearing a word. She knows that she must carry on, and her weeping subsides as she perceives an unexplainable comfort.

No one other than the angel Yade, tended to the dying time of Ellayn O'Kosh. Even the vultures and other carrion eaters are not interested in the passing. Inside of a day, the decomposing residue of the extraterrestrial flesh dries and blows away with the next desert winds. The breezes and the winds blow away the dry, desiccated powder from the substance of the body and the hair that was not weighed down.

In a few days, beach combers find the remains of Ellayn O'Kosh. They found dirty and ragged curious clothing with grey bones of indeterminate sex. The structure of the bones will be odd to an anatomist, or a forensic pathologist called by the County. Even with the shattered pelvis, they will marvel at the thorax's ten rib pairs instead of the Human dozen.

There will be the usual `J.Doe' death bulletin. It will be circulated throughout government distribution. In one obscure office, it will attract attention of a nameless bureaucrat because it mentioned the oddities of the skeleton. An agent of an unaccountable subdivision of a department will be dispatched with certain paperwork to claim the remains. The Salt Lake County officials are happy to oblige the request because they can escape the cost of disposing an indigent's corpse. These bones and rags will join the catalogued residue of other extraterrestrial unfortunates who have died exploring or sojourning on Sol 3. If any are curious about these remains, they will conduct their tests, only again to get inconclusive results.

The End

Author: Rae ELAINE Hatfield (hatfield@wenval.com)