Out of the Darkness

chapter 14

Durla had been caught completely flat—footed. He had to admit that he had come to underestimate just what the emperor was capable of, and being knocked flat by Londo Mollari was a decisive reminder.

His head struck the floor when he went down, and just for a moment the world spun around him. He saw Londo standing over him, raging, and his hands seemed even larger as they descended, clearly ready to throttle him. Just for a moment, the normally confident Durla wondered whether he could actually withstand a concerted attack from the infuriated emperor.

And then, just like that, the threat passed. Because the emperor pitched back, clutching at his head. If someone had driven a spike through his skull, the reaction could not have been more pronounced. From the floor, Durla watched, utterly stupefied, as Londo staggered back. Hiseyes were tightly closed, and he seemed for all the world as if he wanted to do anything rather than scream. But then the scream came, and it was very loud and laced with agony.

It was more than enough to alert the guards outside that something was up. By the time they pushed through the door, Durla was on his feet, looking down at the writhing form of the emperor.

For a moment he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. It wouldn’t do for word to get out that the emperor had been so angry with Durla that he had assaulted him. It was hard to determine just how much popularity the emperor still possessed. Durla did not for a moment doubt that the people had come to love their prime minister, but the affection for the office of emperor was historical, tried and true. They certainly seemed to adore their figureheads, and the attendant pomp and circumstance.

“The emperor is having some sort of an attack,” Durla said quickly. “Have him brought to his quarters at once. Call a physician…”

“No!”

The word exploded from Londo as if torn from the depths of his dismay. And now Dunseny was at his side, propping him up. Londo’s eyes were open wide as if there was agony still erupting behind them. “Highness, it’s necessary,” Dunseny said immediately. “I know your antipathy for physicians; you’ve not had more than the most cursory of examinations for over a decade. But in this instance…”

“In this instance,” Londo managed to say, his voice still shaking, “I am still the emperor… and you are still… not.” Whatever fit had taken hold of Londo seemed to be subsiding. “Help me up,” he said in a vaguely commanding voice, and instantly several guards were at Londo’s side, helping him to his feet.

One of them was Caso. Durla recognized him instantly. They exchanged a long look, then Caso helped the emperor to lean on his shoulders.

Durla had never been particularly impressed by Caso. He had struck Durla as faint of heart during the questioning of the traitor, Rem Lanas, and positively disconcerted upon the imprisonment of Milifa. When it had come time for Milifa to quietly die in prison, Caso had managed to absent himself to avoid taking part in that particular Prime Candidates function. His eagerness to clear the Narn, G’Kar, that day of the shooting, had not sat especially well with Durla, either.

Thinking of G’Kar and the prisons sent Durla’s mind spinning in a particular direction, and he smiled faintly to himself. Without missing a beat, he turned to Londo, and said, “Highness… I hope you recover from your distress quite soon. And I shall remember our discussion for quite some time to come.”

Londo was barely managing to lend any support to himself, but he still was able to summon enough strength to say, “I would strongly advise that you do so, Prime Minister… for all our sakes. Your treatment of young Sheridan, and of… others… shall not go unnoticed.”

“No treatment shall,” Durla replied, bowing slightly at the waist. His jaw was throbbing from where Londo had struck it, but he was not about to give Mollari the satisfaction of seeing him acknowledge it. “No treatment shall.”

He waited until the room was empty, and then he turned and went into the adjoining chamber. Mariel was sitting there, looking very concerned, and when Durla entered she immediately stood. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly.

“The emperor,” Durla said evenly, “tried to attack me. In this instance, I did not have to hurt him. He was most fortunate. And it was your appearance, I think, that set him off. That was not appreciated, Mariel.”

“I did not know he was there, my lord Durla.” She bowed slightly. “My… hearing is not what it once was. I sustained an injury… in my clumsiness… that has reduced my hearing acuity. It is being treated, however, and a full recovery is expected.” The words were very carefully chosen and he knew it. He did not smile, merely nodded slightly. “For the duration, you will have to listen more closely,” he told her.

“Yes, my lord husband.” When she saw that he was heading out, she said, “Where are you going, my lord… if I may ask.” she added quickly.

“I am going to visit an old friend with whom I have had some disagreements,” Durla told her. He smiled. “I’m going to see if there’s not some way we can’t see eye to eye.”

“That’s very considerate, my lord.”

“Yes. It is,” he agreed. And just as the door closed behind him, Mariel let fly a spit of contempt. It landed on the door and ran noiselessly to the floor.

“Leave me,” Londo managed to say.

Dunseny looked at him uncertainly. They had brought him back to his inner sanctum and helped settle him into a leaning couch. The manservant had been fussing over him for some time now trying to make him comfortable and all the time wheedling him about having a physician brought in. Londo would not hear of it.

“Are you certain, Highness?” Dunseny asked solicitously. “Might it not be wiser to—”

“It might be wiser to do as I say,” Londo told them. “Now go.”

Seeing no other real options, Dunseny and the guards departed as they were instructed to do. Caso, the last one out, cast a glance over his shoulder in obvious worry. Then the door closed behind him.

“Well?” Londo asked, once everyone was gone. “What are you waiting for?”

The shadows moved, as he knew they would. In a moment, an all—too—familiar form was standing several feet away from him.

“How dare you,” Shiv’kala said.

“How dare I?” Londo seemed amused. “How dare I know you would be there? I am so sorry. Did I ruin your surprise? Your flair for the dramatic?”

“You know what Durla is to us. You know what we have invested in him. He is our future, Londo.” After his initial anger, Shiv’kala seemed relatively calm. “Not just ours… but yours as well.”

“Is that so?” Londo was about to say something more, but suddenly he was seized by a racking cough. Shiv’kala waited | patiently for the hacking to subside. I. “Yes, that is so. I must admit to you, Londo… I am some — what disappointed in you.”

“I shall try to hide my extreme dismay over letting you down.”

“I have spent many years with you now, Londo. I have explained to you the Drakh philosophies, the Drakh teaching. Tried to make you understand why we do what we do. Yet at every turn, you seem unwilling to embrace all we can do for you, bring to you…”

“You mean in the way Durla has.”

“We have approached Durla differently than we did you. But yes, he shares our vision.”

“He has the vision you implanted within him.”

“No,” Shiv’kala said, sounding almost sad. “Londo, how little you understand your own people. We have simply worked with that which already existed. We have unleashed the greatness that was within him, just as we have tried to do with you. Not just you, but your people as well. The Centauri Republic will be great, Londo—with you or without you.”

“I had been hoping it would be both.” Londo seemed rather amused by the comment.

Shiv’kala circled him. “Believe it or not, Londo, throughout the years, I have been your greatest ally. When others felt you simply were not worth the effort, I stood up for you. I spoke on your behalf. I argued that you could be brought around. That the time and effort being spent on you was not in vain. Then an incident such as this one occurs, and it leads me to wonder if the other Drakh were not correct.”

“Meaning that I have let you down, and so you will kill me for it?” He seemed to consider this. “I do not see the threat. Death holds fewer and fewer terrors for me with each passing day.”

“You say that now, when your life is not threatened,” Shiv’kala commented. “It is always simple to laugh in the face of death when it is not facing you. In time, you may change your mind. This much, however, is certain, Londo. You will never lay hands upon Durla again. You will not threaten him, nor assault him. Nor will you attempt to dispatch any agents or cat’s—paws to do likewise, because we will find out. And the pain that was inflicted upon you via the keeper today… will seem as nothing. If you do not trust my word in any other matter, I suggest you trust it in this: You will not survive.”

“No one ever survives,” Londo observed. “One just gets progressively worse opportunities to die.”

There was a respectful knock at the door. Londo glanced at Shiv’kala, but the Drakh had already blended in with the shadows of the room. “Come,” he called.

The door opened, and two members of the Prime Candidates entered. They carried between them a silver tray, covered with a cloth, which they placed on the table next to Londo. He looked at it with bleary curiosity. “Yes? What is it?”

“Compliments of Ministers Lione and Durla,” one of the boys said. Then they turned and departed while Londo leaned forward and looked with curiosity at the covered tray.

A bomb, possibly. Or some sort of trap. At that moment, however, Londo didn’t particularly care. He pulled off the cloth and gasped.

An eye was sitting on it, looking up at him.

Except it was no normal eye. It appeared to be solid, with a red tint to it…

“G’Kar,” Londo whispered. There was a note on the tray next to it. With hands trembling, he picked it up and read it.

“The noble Citizen G’Kar is being forced to send his regrets. He is feeling somewhat put out at the moment, and will not be able to join you for dinner in the foreseeable future. Instead he will be undergoing an intensive, rigorous ‘training program’ to make certain he remains in good shape. We trust our meaning has been made clear, and will not be forgotten.”

Londo started to stand, as if to go charging to G’Kar’s aid. “Where do you think you are going?” Shiv’kala asked calmly. That was not unusual. He was calm most of the time. Icy, like a frozen planet, and with about as much chance of displaying pity or mercy. “Certainly you are not considering helping your pet Narn, are you?” Londo pointed in fury at the eye. “This was your idea, I take it?”

“No, actually. We probably would have thought of it… but the truth is that Durla conceived of it all on his own. It will not go well for the Narn, I fear. But he will not die. Durla would not want that to happen, for if he dies, then he cannot be a source of ongoing torment for you.”

“Bastards!” Londo spat out, and he started for the door. Then the pain came again. Londo got only a few steps before it overwhelmed him, like an ocean wave batters a sand castle to bits. Londo staggered back and sank into the cushions.

“Some quiet time for you now, Londo, I think,” Shiv’kala told him, as if addressing an angry child. “A day or so to contemplate your actions, and why it would be most unwise to repeat those actions.”

“Must… stop him…”

“You cannot,” Shiv’kala said. “You cannot stop any of this. It has gone too far. Within days now, the fleet will be launched. Durla will see to it. He has prepared for it extremely well. And you cannot—will not—do anything to stop it, Londo. Otherwise I will make certain that Durla does indeed go too far in his… what was the phrase… ‘training program’ for G’Kar. And that will be the least of the recriminations that await you… all in retaliation for anything you might try to do, none of which could hope to succeed.

“The only thing you will succeed in doing is injuring yourself… and others. G’Kar, Senna, even that absurd Vir Cotto, for whom you continue to have foolish affection. All of them will know the punishments attendant in your failed attempts to stop the unstoppable. “Have we made ourselves clear, Londo?”

“Painfully so, yes.” He managed to nod his head.

“As I told you, Londo… believe it or not, we have been merciful until now. Do not, at any time, mistake mercy for weakness We are not weak. We are Drakh. We are of the Shadows. Is that also clear, Londo?”

This time he didn’t even bother to speak. He just nodded.

“I am pleased we had this opportunity to chat, Londo.”

And then, rather unexpectedly, Londo managed to get out “The boy… the Sheridan boy…”

“What about him?” If the Drakh had had an eyebrow, he would have cocked it in curiosity.

“Bringing him here… is insanity. Crossing his father, crossing Delenn… the Earth fleet, the Minbari fleet will be brought down upon us. Even you cannot possibly think that we can withstand such an assault. The Minbari fleet alone coukl level this world.”

“Very likely. But such an action would only result in the boy’s death, and Sheridan and Delenn will not risk that. They will come here, alone and unattended. We know this for a certainty. And when they come here, you, Londo, will oversee their execution.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that they are responsible for sending tin Shadows away. They will pay for that with their lives.”

“And the boy?”

“We have plans for the boy. With his parents gone, he will ‘escape,’ and live to serve our interests.”

“Your interests?” Then he laughed bitterly. “Oh. Of course. The keeper.”

“In the vase that you left, yes. Had you forgotten about that?”

“I tried to. Unfortunately, I seem to remember all the things I would rather forget, and forget that which I really should remember. When I brought the keeper in the urn… I hoped… ii was for the purpose of spying. That was all. Influencing his father and mother on Minbar, perhaps. I never thought that this…”

The Drakh leaned in close to him. “Never forget,” he said, “who is in charge. It will go badly for you if you do.” And with that, he left Londo sitting alone in his room—in a pain—filled silence enforced by the keeper—trying to determine just how things could possibly go more badly than they already were.

I had to call her.

I sat here, stewing for days, thinking about what I had seen… thinking about what that bastard Durla had done to Mariel, even knowing my protection extended to her after her return to the Palace. And I kept thinking to myself, At least your hands are clean. For all your crimes, for all that can be laid at your feet… at least you have never treated a woman in such a manner.

And then I thought about that some more, really thought.

I thought of Adira… my beautiful Adira. The dancer who elevated my past, haunted my present, and would never be a part of my future. When she died, I took certain… steps… which drove me down the dark road I currently tread.

I thought of Mariel, an appendage to that man, that monstrosity of a man. If I had never divorced her, she would not be in this position. I know, I know… to ensure tier own future, she tried to kill me. But in a way… should I be entirely surprised? She observed the men in the society in which she was raised. My gender taught her the lessons to which she subscribed. If she was raised to be devious, to hold little regard for life… who am I now to condemn her? One who has led a stainless life myself? If I were not subject to coughing fits, I would laugh heartily at that.

I thought of Daggair, another wife of mine… eh. Well… I did not think of her too much. There is only so much guilt even I will feel.

And then there is Timov. Timov, whom I shunted away, for her own good. Making her believe that I do not, did not ever, truly love her. The thing is, she was a woman of boundless integrity and sharp wit. Had we ever truly been a team—Great Maker, the things we could have accomplished.

I felt the need to say this to her. To make her realize that I did truly value her. And—I have to admit it—to cleanse my own guilt, for in my own way I had abused her just as thoroughly as Durla had done Mariel. Abused her trust, abused her affection. I owed it to her, somehow, to make reparations for this.

Foolish. Foolish old man.

When my—small associate—freed me after a time of enforced “meditation,” I resolved that I had delayed long enough. Too long, in fact. Years too long. I knew that she no longer resided on Centauri Prime but instead had relocated to one of the outlying worlds. It was not difficult for me to establish a real—time link with her. A woman whom I recognized as a longtime retainer to Timov answered my communique and looked most surprised indeed to see that she was being contacted by the emperor himself. She told me that her mistress would be right there.

Long minutes passed. I surmised that Timov was making me wait out of spite.

I was wrong.

When a wan and drawn woman appeared on the screen, for a moment I did not recognize her. There was none of the fiery robustness I had come to associate with the razor-sharp spitfire called Timov, but then I realized that yes, indeed, it was she.

She sat there, staring at me. Not saying a word. The only part of her that seemed to be truly alive was her eyes, and those blazed with the fire of inner vision.

“Timov,” I said, surprised at the huskiness of my voice. I started to say, “You are looking well,” but nothing could have been further from the truth, and we both knew it. So instead I cleared my throat and started to say her name again.

She cut me off curtly. “It’s true. Are you satisfied? Obviously you’re calling to see for yourself if whatever you’ve heard is correct. So… you’re seeing. Good enough?”

“I have heard nothing,” I said quite honestly. It may have been the most honest thing I’d said to her in years… if not ever.

“You haven’t heard that I’m dying,” she said with such contempt in her tone that it was clear she didn’t believe it for a moment.

I have never taken quite as long to say a single, onesyllable word as I did at that moment. “No,” I finally managed to get out.

“Mm-hmm.” Still she did not believe. I could not blame her. “All right, then. Why, after all this time, have you called?”

“I…”

Everything I wanted to say to her flooded through my mind.

But nothing came out.

She scowled in that way she had. “Londo… you chased me off Centauri Prime. You have treated me with disrespect that you would not show to your greatest enemy. You have exhibited contempt for me, you have—”

“I know, I know. I have done all these things. I know.”

“I am the empress and have been dealt with as if I were the lowliest of slaves. And now, after all this time, what could you possibly have to say?”

“Why are you dying?” I managed to say.

“To annoy you. Anything else?” She seemed anxious to end the transmission, to do anything except talk to me, be anywhere except on a line with me. A hundred responses went through my mind, and only one emerged.

“I want you to know… I am sorry,” I said.

She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. The seconds passed like an infinity.

Then her eyes softened ever so slightly. “You should be. But not for what you imagine you’re calling to apologize for.”

“I’m afraid I—”

“You don’t understand. But then you rarely took the time to understand, or even to consider your actions. You were impulsive the night you banished me from Centauri Prime.” The effort of speaking took a great deal from her. She stopped to breathe, and I said nothing.

“I have been less impulsive and have had more time to speculate, given my current condition. Londo, I know about your dilemma.”

“How could you possibly know?”

“Do you not remember Lady Morella? You asked her to tell you about your future.”

“That was a private transaction.”

“Mmm, everything important to a Centauri is a private transaction, hence everything important to a Centauri is open to public scrutiny. I’m your wife, Londo. Even in exile, I know almost everything you do.

“It comes with the territory.” She did not say these words flippantly. In fact, her eyes burned brighter.

Ah, yes, Timov knew just as all empresses knew of their husband’s good fortune and ill omens. I saw what she was saying now. She was implying that Lady Morella, previously a telepath somewhat stronger in psionic capability than the average empress, was granted special vision as the wife of Emperor Turhan.

Timov knew. As Lady Morella knew. I had to warn her. “It is very dangerous for you to speculate on these things. That is why you are kept in exile.”

“I know that. You are surrounded in darkness, and it is a darkness I know better than to penetrate.”

“I should go, Timov. I just wanted to call to say… many things. None of them expressible now.”

“Good-bye, Londo,” she said briskly.

I reached to cut off the transmission, and Timov abruptly said, “Londo…”

My hand paused over the cutoff switch. “Yes?”

“If you need me, call.”

“I won’t be needing you.”

“I know,” she said tartly. “That’s why I made the offer.”

The screen blinked off. And I knew at that moment that I would never see her again. But at least I had tried. Tried… and failed.

If I cannot achieve greatness, at least I can aspire to consistency.