Out of the Darkness

chapter 9

The catacombs beneath the capital city were considered by many to be little more than a myth. Ostensibly, the great Emperor Olion had constructed them, centuries earlier. Olion, so legend had it, was absolutely paranoid over the notion of his people turning against him. So he had the catacombs constructed as a means of escaping any pursuit. Supposedly he was the only person aside from the actual creator of the catacombs—whom he subsequently hadassassinated—to know the layout of the maze. The catacombs led from the city to the outlying regions and provided a handy means of getting in and out unseen, if one were so inclined, not to mention eluding pursuit.

But it was all the stuff of legend. The entrances certainly no longer existed. And even if they did exist, the tunnels would be so overrun with vermin that they would be virtually unpassable. Years ago, however, when he was a young man looking for fossil remains of primitive Centauri cultures, Renegar—a heavyset lad even at that tender age—had literally fallen into myth. Renegar had embarked on a one—man excavation on the outskirts of the hinterlands. The ground had given way, and he had fallen through into the catacombs of lore. Whenhe had picked himself up, dusted himself off, and managed to push aside the mounting feelings of panic, he actually found himself rather taken with the place. True, the vermin population wasn’t particularly appreciated, but the prospects of exploration proved too enticing for him to pass up.

Having almost no friends, and parents who displayed tittle interest in his comings and goings, Renegar wasn’t about to share with anyone his new and exciting discovery.

He brought sounding equipment and other locator devices that hadn’t existed centuries ago when the catacombs were first built. Over the course of many years, he managed to map the place rather thoroughly… aided and abetted by the occasional explosive device. Rock falls and other natural “disasters” had blocked some of the paths, and Renegar quickly discovered that the judicious use of explosives could be tremendously helpful. The key word was “judicious,” of course. The first time he tried, he nearly blew himself to kingdom come. Necessity became the mother of invention, and his familiarity with explosives and excavation came to serve him well in later life.

The catacombs, as well, found new purpose.

Renegar made his way to the meeting area with sure, steady steps, his knowledge of the catacombs by now so ingrained that he no longer needed the maps he had taken such pains to create in his youth. A rodent ran across his foot, and he kicked it out of the way. It was fortunate that such creatures didn’t bother him, else he never would have been able to last in his exploration of the caves.

“Renegar!” The whisper came from up ahead, and he recognized the voice instantly. “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” he asked grimly. He climbed over one more rise and came around a corner to discover the others whom he had decidedinsanely, he sometimes thought—to trust not only with his life, but the future of his world. Vir, naturally, was among them. So was Dunseny. There were far more people Vir had managed to enlist over the years, but no one, with the exception of Vir, knew everyone who was a part of the rebellion. That was probably wise, Renegar mused, but he couldn’t help but feel that it put a massive amount of strain on Vir himself.

The strain was beginning to show. Vir was looking more tired, even a bit more despondent, than he usually did. But there was still an air of grim determination about him, as if—having decided upon the course he must follow—he had resolved that he would see it through to the end, no matter what.

“You saw?” Vir said without preamble, and Renegar knew precisely what he was talking about.

“How could I not see? That damnable Durla was everywhere. Is it true, though? That someone tried to kill them both? The emperor and Durla?”

“Durla, for the most part. The emperor was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Dunseny said. “That might well summarize his life,” Vir commented ruefully. Then, in a more businesslike tone, he added, “But it’s not going to end there. Durla will never let it end there. If one House head endeavored to dispose of him, he’s going to fear that all of them may form an alliance against him.”

“You’re saying he’s going to declare war on the Houses?” asked one surly—looking but forceful fighter named Adi. “Without a doubt. And that can only benefit us.”

“How?” The question was echoed around the group, but it was Dunseny who answered. “The House heads have resources. The military may back Durla, making his power unassailable, but the Houses have their own resources, ranging from personnel to weapons. Not only that, but there are key military personnel who owe ancient allegiances to the Houses, which supersede any way they may be beholden to Durla. In battling the Houses, in challenging the House heads directly, Durla may be sowingdissent within his own support system.““He won’t realize the danger if he thinks he’s above them… which he does,” Vir said. “It’s the oldest danger in the world: arrogance becomes the enemy’s undoing.”

“Yes… including yours.”

They turned to see who had spoken, and there was a collective and startled gasp from all of them.

A grey—skinned creature stood in the shadows.

Renegar immediately went for his weapon, and the voice boomed again from the monster. “It’s too late. Whatever you do to me is of no consequence. Since I have seen you, I will commune with my brethren, and they will in turn seek you out. I’ve seen all your faces. You’re finished. But first…” The creature paused dramatically. “I’m going to sing a few show tunes.”

The others looked at each other.

“Juuuust me… and my shaaadow…” the creature from the darkness began.

“Tell me I’m dreaming,” Adi said.

Vir was watching the entire scene with a severe lack of amusement. “Finian,” he said sternly. “What sort of foolishness is this? I recognize your voice; I know it’s you.”

At that, the creature slumped to the ground in front of the incredulous group. It was at that point that they were able to see the wound that gaped in the back of its head, thick liquid coagulating around it. Clearly the thing, whatever it was, was dead. Then all eyes shifted as Finian, the technomage, stepped into view. “Did I scare you?”

“Yes,” Vir said flatly.

“Good.” This time it wasn’t Finian who spoke, but rather Gwynn, another technomage who seemed to have taken an interest in the events that occurred on Centauri Prime. Finian, as always, maintained something of an open manner, with his round face and blue eyes that seemed incapable of any sort of deceit. Of course, that alone provided reason enough not to trust him.

As for Gwynn, her attitude was as imperious as ever. She looked at them as if she were observing them from a great height that made their concerns seem childish and irrelevant. Renegar didn’t trust either of them. As a general rule of thumb, trusting technomages wasn’t an especially advisable pastime.

“You have every reason to be scared,” Gwynn continued. “We found him wandering the catacombs. He had a bit of an… accident. Rocks, even boulders, can come loose around here at the most unexpected times. If they strike unexpectedly enough, and with sufficient force…” She shrugged. “The results can be tragic, as you see.”

“What is it?” Adi said, looking at it wonderingly.

“That,” Vir told him, “is a Drakh. One of the creatures I told you about. Told all of you about,” he said, raising his voice. Not that anyone was having trouble hearing him, his voice echoing there in the tunnels. “The creatures who brought a plague to humanity. The ones who are operating behind the scenes here on Centauri Prime. And, I believe, the ones who are truly responsible for the ‘visions’ that our beloved prime minister is always talking about.”

“What’s it doing down here?” Renegar demanded.

“We are not sure,” Gwynn said evenly, “but he may or may not have followed you, Renegar.”

Renegar turned deathly pale. “Impossible,” he spat out. “He couldn’t have known to follow me…”

“Perhaps not,” Finian agreed. “He may have simply stumbled upon the catacombs on his own, and heard people talking. But I don’t think so. I think the Drakh observe everyone, all the time… and something about Renegar’s actions caught this one’s attention.”

The others looked accusingly at Renegar. He stepped back defensively. “I didn’t know!”

Voices began to be raised in anger, but Vir shouted them down. “No one is blaming you, Renegar,” he assured his fellow rebel.

“Then maybe someone should be,” Gwynn responded. “This is not a game, Vir.”

“Don’t you think I know that!” Vir shot back at her. “I had one of these damned things in my head, Gwynn! I know what they’re capable of!”

“Then know that you were most fortunate that we intercepted this one,” Finian said. “We believe that although they have the ability to communicate telepathically with one another, it doesn’t happeninstantaneously. There is a procedure involved in which they sort of ‘agree’ to commune en masse. It takes some effort and preparation, and I doubt this one had the time to engage in it. As far as the Drakh are concerned, this fellow will simply have dropped off the face of the planet. They will keep an eye out for him, put their feelers out, and try to locate him. We will make certain that they do not succeed.”

“We cannot keep covering for you, however,” Gwynn said.

“We haven’t been asking you to,” Vir pointed out. “It’s not as if we’ve been needing you to hold our hands. We’ve been doing fairly well on our own. We’ve managed to impede Durla’s war machine…”

“Not enough.” Again, it was Dunseny who spoke up. In quick, broad strokes he described all that he had heard at the briefing in the Tower of Power.

Vir was pacing by the time Dunseny was finished. “It’s obvious that nothing short of total domination is going to satisfy Durla.”

“Durla and the Drakh who support him,” Finian said.

There were nods from all around. “It’s clear what we have to do,” Renegar said. “What we’ve been doing up to now is fine, as far as it goes. But we have to go further. We have to take on the Drakh, head—to—head. We have to drive these creatures off the face of Centauri Prime!”

There were shouts of agreement, but then Vir’s voice carried over theirs once more. “If we take on the Drakh head—to—head, we’ll be wiped out.”

“You took them on,” Renegar said. “You told me yourself. You blew up that death station that the Shadows left behind.”

“Yes. I did,” Vir confirmed. “And I got lucky. The majority of the Drakh weren’t around when it happened; if they had been, the station would have been left intact. The problem is, the Drakh are always around on Centauri Prime. They’re watching Londo, they’re watching Durla, and they’re watching me. Their agents and influence are everywhere.

“Plus, we still don’t completely know what theirinfluence over Londo is. There are too many pieces we don’t have, too many things that aren’t ready.”

“We’re ready for freedom!” Renegar asserted.

“But we’re not ready for suicide,” Adi said.

“Coward!”

“I’m no coward.” Adi wasn’t so easily riled as to react to insults. “I’m just not an idiot, either.”

“He’s right,” Finian said, “as is Vir. You still don’t have enough raw power backing you up, and you dare not confront the Drakh directly without it. You will have only one chance to do so, and if you are not fully prepared, they will annihilate you.”

“So what do we do?” Renegar demanded.

“We do,” Vir told him, “exactly what we’ve been doing. We prepare things slowly, methodically.”

“And get killed?” Renegar replied. “The way Rem did?”

There was dead silence at that. The loss of Rem Lanas was still a gaping wound.

“Maybe,” Vir finally said. “Or maybe we’re ready when the time is right.”

“The more time passes, the more ships Durla gets into place, the more the odds skew in his favor,” Renegar said.

“Not necessarily,” Finian said. “Your attacks on the construction efforts slow them… while you continue to convert individuals or groups over to your cause. At the very least, you sow seeds of suspicion, so that when the full Drakh influence is revealed, the people will come flocking to your cause.”

“Also, the Drakh will become overconfident,” Gwynn said. “The closer the fleet comes to completion, the more sure they will be in their conduct. You see… they have no glory of their own. They bask purely in the evil of the Shadows. The Shadows were far greater than their servants, but if the Drakh believe they are attaining the Shadows’ purpose, they will assume an air of invincibility.”

“And that will be a mistake,” Vir said. “Besides… we need their resources.”

“What resources?” Adi asked.

“Don’t you see?” Vir smiled in grim amusement. “The Drakh on this world… they aren’t the—only ones. The entire foul race has contaminated everything good and noble there ever was about Centauri Prime. We don’t just want to stop them. We want to obliterate them. We want them to pay for Rem Lanas… for corrupting every office and every official of importance in our world, up to and including the emperor.

“They, through puppets such as Durla, are constructing engines of destruction. We impede the creation of those engines because we need time to build up our own assets. But ultimately, the fleet will be completed. It’s inevitable… but it’s also desirable…”

“Of course,” Adi said, understanding. “Because once it’s completed, we can use it against the Drakh themselves.”

“Yes,” said Dunseny. “They think that the fleet will go up against the Alliance… when in fact they’re aiding in the creation of the very fleet that’s going to be used to assault the Drakh.”

“Exactly.” There wasn’t much light in the cavern, but what there was danced with almost hellish glee in Vir’s eyes. “If we are patient… and thorough… and build up our forces… we will be triumphant. It is possible to take the long view. Once I met a servant of the Shadows. I told him that I longed to see his head on a pole and that, if it happened, I would wave to him like this.” And he demonstrated, waggling his fingers in a manner that almost seemed comical. “It took several years… but that was exactly what happened.”

“But how long can we sustain this?” Renegar asked. “Because if we are not careful, it’ll be our heads up on poles, just as happened with poor Lanas.”

“We will sustain it as long as is necessary,” Vir told him firmly. “Remember, there are more, many more in our little movement. And we will get the job done. We have our connections. We will continue to get information, and use it well. But if we rush into anything, we’ll be carried along in the tidalwave of events… and get swamped. We have to ride the crest of it and, in that way, stay above it.”

“But we have technomages on our side,” Renegar pointed out. “The two of you have stayed mostly in the background. Your disposing of this,” and he nudged a toe into the body of the Drakh, “is something of a departure. Either you stay away or, when you do show up, you utter a few cryptic comments. But otherwise, for the most part, you keep to yourselves.”

“That is because you are not our pawns,” Finian told them. “You do as you wish, when and where you wish. We are, however, not averse to watching your backs every now and again.” He indicated the fallen Drakh. “Case in point.”

“Do not presume that we always will, though,” Gwynn warned. “Your boundless enthusiasm is a disincentive. Plus, we have our own affairs to consider. So I suggest you do not try our patience…”

“For you are subtle and quick to anger?” Vir asked. When Gwynn nodded, looking a bit surprised, Vir explained, “Londo once told me that a technomage said that to him, many years ago.”

“It has not changed,” Finian said.

Clearly deciding that the conversation needed to head off in another direction, Vir said firmly, “All right… here’s what we’ll do, then. All of you know people at different levels in the Houses. Talk to them. Feel them out. Get eyes and ears into any of the Houses where we don’t have contacts. Durla is going to come down on them even more harshly than he has before. He’s going to feel the need to either beat them down or eliminate them completely. We have to let them know that there is an alternative. That they do not simply have to roll over.

“In addition, our strikes at key construction points will continue. Siphoning the materials through deliveries at Babylon 5 has been an exercise in caution, but I’ve been using the station as a clearinghouse for the individual components of the explosives, so no one has beenassociating it with the completed devices.”

The conversation went on for some time, Vir laying out the groundwork for how their resistance movement was going to continue to survive. The technomages stopped talking, simply listening and—remarkably—even nodding on occasion. Finally Vir said, “All right… are there any questions?”

“Yes. I have a question,” Renegar said.

Vir looked at him expectantly.

“Are we going to win?” he asked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Vir replied, “Yes. And not only are we going to win… but the Drakh are going to lose. You’ve seen the face of the enemy,” and he pointed at the fallen creature. “It’s nothing unbeatable. They can be hurt. They can die. And if that’s the case, then we can injure them and we can kill them. And we will. However many it takes in order to rid Centauri Prime of this… this cancer that’s eating away our soul. That’s what we’ll do with our underground movement.”

“Considering where we’re meeting,” Adi said, looking around, “I’d say ‘underground’ is definitely the right word for it.”

This resulted in something very unusual for one of their clandestine meetings: a roar of laughter. For just one moment, they had a feeling of what it would be like to meet, not as coconspirators or desperate freedom fighters, but simply as men enjoying each other’s company. Renegar wondered whether they ever would have that opportunity, to live relatively normal and unassuming lives. And he said as much.

Vir looked at Renegar skeptically and responded. “Renegar… if you had a normal and unassuming life… you wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Renegar thought about that, then nodded. “You are very likely correct. But…” he added, “would it not be nice… to have the opportunity to find out?”

To that notion, Vir had no response.

Note to historians: Although naturally the Centauri year is different from an Earth year, we have taken the liberty of adjusting the date and having it reflect a parallel passing of time, vis—a—vis Earth time, due to Londo’s passing reference to his anniversary with G’Kar, so as to avoid confusion for our Earth readers. We at the Centauri Historical Society are aware of the late emperor’s fondness for inhabitants of Earth, and feel that he would approve of our efforts to minimize anything that might leave those readers in a quandary. For chronological purists among you, we thank you for your indulgence.

G’Kar stood at the door, in the same way that he always did. Straight, tall” looking directly ahead. And I, seated on the other side of the table, gestured for him to enter just as I always did. “One would think,” I told him as he walked across the room, “that after all this time, you would see no need to stand on ceremony.”

“Ceremony, Highness, is all we have. Without it, you are merely an oddly dressed Centauri in clothing that picks up dirt all too easily.”

“You know what I like about you, G’Kar? You make me laugh.”

“You did not laugh just now.”

“So I didn’t like you as much. Sit, sit.” He never sits until I tell him to. I think he considers it a sort of odd game. “So… how was your day today, G’Kar?”

“The same as it was yesterday, Londo, and very much—I suspect—the way it will be tomorrow. Unless, of course, you decide to have me executed today.”

“Why today?” I asked. I signaled for the wine steward to bring me a new bottle, and he went off to fetch it.

“Why not today?” he countered. “Sooner or later, my amusement value will reach its end, and then…” He shrugged and made a throat-cutting gesture.

“Is that how you think I see you, G’Kar? As only having ‘amusement value’?” I shook my head, discouraged. “How very tragic.”

“Of all the tragedies in your life, Londo, I truly think that my opinion in this instance rates fairly low on the scale.”

“True. True.” There was a silence then, the comfortable silence of two old acquaintances. I do not know if, even now, I dare use the word “friend.” The new bottle was brought, glasses were placed in front of us, and the wine was poured. G’Kar raised his glass and sniffed its contents with a delicacy that provided an amusing contrast to his rough—hewn exterior. “This,” he announced, “is actually a good vintage.”

“Is not all my wine of good vintage?”

“Not of this caliber,” he said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“If has been a year,” I told him. “A year since you saved my life and came under rotection. A year since we began our weekly dinners together. I am surprised. I would have thought the date would be seared into your memory.”

“There is a great deal occupying my mind at the moment, Londo,” he said. “My apologies. This significant date must have been squeezed out of its proper place of importance. So if we are to celebrate this anniversary, does that mean you will be “letting me go?”

“Why would I want to do that?” I asked. “Allow my most excellent friend, G’Kar, to simply depart? No, no… I am afraid I cannot, if for no other reason than that it would reflect poorly in the eyes of those who watch me most carefully.”

“Because I am a potential tool that might be used in the event that the current situation deteriorates.”

I hated to admit that he was right but, of course, he was.

True enough,” I said slowly. “My prime minister and his associates have made it clear to me that you will be allowed to live only if you do so here, under my protection. If I permit you to leave, it will seem as if I am granting you permission to violate the laws of Centauri Prime. Laws that ban visitors, that ban changeling devices. I cannot be seen as being lenient on criminals.”

G’Kar had finished his wine. The steward moved toward him to refill the glass, but G’Kar as usual, placed a hand over it to indicate that he wanted no more. “Why can you not?” he asked. “Be lenient, I mean. Certainly a quality such as mercy would be highly valued. Particularly when one considers the brutal actions taken by some of your predecessors. The people of Centauri Prime would likely regard it as a pleasant change of pace.”

I laughed curtly at that. “It is a nice theory, G’Kar. But people do not want a change of pace, pleasant or otherwise. They want no more and no less than what they are accustomed to. Believe it or not, there are still those who believe Cartagia was the best emperor we ever had. That he barkened to a day when billions feared the Centauri because we were unpredictable. There are many who believe that I will indeed let you go, and they will eagerly use such a decision to undermine my authority… to undermine me. As fond as I am of you, G’Kar, I consider your freedomtoo high a price to pay for a crisis of confidence that could cost me my throne… and of greater significance, my life. “But you know, G’Kar… all of this is very much beside the point. We should ponder other matters. A new topic!” I announced, and I tapped my spoon repeatedly on my goblet as if I were addressing a crowded room of reverlers. While we had talked, food had been laid out foor us, and it smelled excellent I started to eat hungrily, having had very little over the course of the day. G’Kar, as always, ate little to nothing. It was completely beyond me how he managed to maintain the energy to function, considering the small quantities he consumed.

“What new topic would that be, Londo?” he inquired.

I allowed a moment to finish chewing my food. It would hardly have been dignified to send vegetables spewing out of my mouth like a multicolored fountain “I think you should choose this time, G’Kar. I have done so the last few times, they have been stimulating chats, to be sure, but I think it time that you seize bull by the reins.”

“The what?”

I waved dismissively. “An Earth saying. It is of no importance.”

“No, that might be an interesting topic,” G’Kar said. “Your fascination with all things pertaining to Earth. I have never quite understood it. You research them, you quote from them. Their achievements pale compared to thoselaudable or otherwise—of the Centauri Republic. They are a relatively minor species. At least they started out that way.

“Yet the Centauri saw something in them. Some spark, some potential must have. If not for the Centauri, after all, the Humans would not have acquired the jumpgate technology. Or at the very least, they would have lagged far behind in acquiring it. It might have taken them decades, even centuries more, to become a true power in the galaxy.” Interest glittered in his one normal eye. “What was it about them, Londo? I have to admit, I didn’t see it, nor did any of my people. What was the fascination?”

I chuckled. “It was a little before my time… a hundred years or so, you understand. So I cannot exactly tell you firsthand. But… I have been doing reading. Comments, letters, correspondence from the emperor and the ministers the time, that sort of thing.”

“And what have you discovered?”

I leaned forward and gestured to G’Kar that he should do likewise, as if I was concerned that someone would overhear. He leaned closer.

“They thought,” I said, “that the Humans would annihilate themselves.”

“Really” I nodded. “They saw the humans as a opportunity for quick profit. And they thought that the Humans, once they had acquired the advanced technology, would move to quickly for their own good. My predecessors anticipated that there would be struggles and wars within the then—primitive Earth Alliance. Centauri Prime would secretly fund both sides, benefit from all concerned and—once the humans had more or less obliterated themselves—the Great Centauri Republic would step in and pick the pieces. It was a simple way to expand our control with no risk to ourselves, and nothing but profit to be had. It seemed the perfect arrangement.”

“But it did not work out that way.”

“Not exactly. They didn’t wind up destroying themselves. Instead they managed to hang on long enough to offend the Minbari, and wound up almost being wiped off the face of existence. We predicted a war, yes… but the wrong war. They tripped themselves up, as we thought they would, but what a foe to do it with!” I laughed softly at the thought. “They wanted our help, you know. Wanted us to help them against the Minbari. If we had, the Minbari would have turned on us just as quickly. We knew we would not have had a chance against them. What would have been gained?” Did you not feel you owed it to them, as a race? If not for your giving them the technology, they would not have encountered the Minbari and gotten themselves embroiled in a war.”

“Nonsense,” I said firmly. “Responsibility only goes so far.”

“Does it?” He was watching me. I hated it when he watched me like that. “What is that supposed to mean?” you do something to set events into motion, you owe something to those whom you have affected. You gave them the flame. They then burned themselves. You had a responsibility to try to tend to the wound…” But I shook my head. “No. We gave them the match. It was they who chose to light the flame. It was purely their responsibility, wasn’t it.”

“Was it?”

“Bah!” I said in disgust. “We always get to this at some point or other. ‘Yes, it is, no, It isn’t.’ No debate or discussion. Just rephrasing my question as another question. And then we go no further.”

“So one who is given the match and chooses to light it… is owed no aid from anyone? No succor? Whatever the consequence or outcome, it is his responsibility his alone to deal with?” ‘That is correct, yes.”

“And what of you, Londo?” His voice suddenly turned sharp, his manner alert. “You were given a match by the Shadows, were you not? By their agents? And you used that match to light a flame that wound up bringing a torch not only to my world, but also ultimately to your own. Yet now you want my aid to overcome that which you have thrust yourself into.”

“Your aid? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do not know entirely myself, Londo.” There was something about him, something that seemed to say that I could hide nothing from him. He exuded confidence. I almost envied him. “But there is something. Something you want of me. Something you are… saving me for. That is why I have been here for a year—that and no other reason. You could have me executed with impunity. You could find a way to allow me to depart, if you really wanted to. Instead you keep me here for your own purposes. I think you know what they are.”

“Oh, really. And what do you think they are?”

And that cold confidence seeped over from him. It seemed to drain something from me as he said, “I think… you want me to help you escape. Not out that door. Not off this world. I think you want me to help you escape through the only way that will allow the pain to stop. To the only place where no one can ever touch you or hurt you again. I do not think, though, that you are ready for that. Or perhaps you feel that it is not a judicious moment. And so you wait. And we chat. And we have dinner. And we play at having polite discussions about matters both consequential and inconsequential, when the only thing you really wonder about is: Is now the time? Is there more that I can do? Should do? Or should I ask my old friend G’Kar to do… what I myself cannot or will not do?”

Suddenly it was very, very cold. I felt it down to my bones, my blood… my very being. Whatever warming attributes came from the wine were gone.

“I think you should leave now,” I said.

G’Kar inclined his head slightly, in deference, and rose. The guards were immediately at his side. What nonsense. As if they could have stopped him if he endeavored to attack me. He looked at one in curiosity, and said, “You are new. You are new to the guard… but I have seen you before. Where?”

The guard looked at me, seeking my permission to reply. I nodded absently, and he looked back to G’Kar. “My name is Caso. I was a member of the Prime Candidates.”

“Of course. You were there that day, a year ago. You saw me stop the shooter You are no longer a Prime Candidate?” He shook his head. “Why?”

He said nothing, but it was I who answered. “Because it was felt,” I told him, “that he was wrong to reveal that you had saved Durla and me. The others pressured him to state that you yourself were involved, or even masterminded it. that way there would have been no reason not to dispose of you. And Durla is not pleased with the idea of being beholden to a Narn—any Narn—much less you.”

“But you stuck to your principles,” G’Kar said approvingly to Caso. “I simply held to the truth,” Caso told him. “it was not a difficult decision.” _ “Oh,” G’Kar said, glancing at me, “you would be amazed how difficult a decision it can be sometimes.”

Caso escorted him out then, leaving me with a bottle of wine that was not sufficiently full, and a soul that was not sufficiently empty, for what I needed to do.