Out of the Darkness

chapter 20

Durla stood next to Vallko, amazed and impressed that the minister of spirituality was able to work up the crowd to this degree of ardor. Vallko, Durla, and other ministers were standing on the steps that led into the temple. The courtyard and the streets nearby were absolutely packed. It might very well have been that every Centauri in the capital city was there, for word had spread that this was not going to be just another spiritual rally. Oh, those were exciting and uplifting enough, of course, but the rumors flying throughout the city implied that some special announcement would be made, one that was to be a culmination of years of effort. Probably the only Centauri who were not present were the permanent guards stationed around the Tower of Power, some of the palace staff… and, of course, the emperor himself. Durla had informed him of the plans for the day, and incredibly, the emperor had elected not to come. “It is your performance, Durla,” he had said. “Iwould rather not be seen as simply your assistant.” That was fine with Durla. The more the focus was on him, the more he liked it.

Durla could not have asked for a better day. The sky was pure blue, not a cloud disturbing the vista. In the near distance, the Tower of Power stretched toward the sky, proud and unbending, as if pointing the way to greatness.

He knew that in hyperspace, even as Vallko spoke of the proud destiny that awaited Centauri Prime, the ships were waiting. By this time, they were at their stations, awaiting only the go—ahead from Durla to start their assault. But Durla had time. Standing on the edge of history, he wanted to savor the moment a while longer, as one studies a particularly succulent meal and appreciates it before carving into it. A worldwide communications web was, even now, transmitting this rally on a narrow—cast beam into hyperspace. There, in front of all of Centauri Prime, Durla would give the codes that would signal the attack. Once and for all, the people would indisputably link with him the coming greatness that was the destiny of Centauri Prime.

“For many years now, we have taken back what was ours, bit by bit,” Vallko proclaimed. “We have done so through the sweat and endeavors of true Centauri.” Again, for about the thirtieth time since he had begun his speech an hour ago, cheers and chants interrupted him. He allowed them to build and die down before continuing, “We have worked together… we have fulfilled the desires of the Great Maker, and we have shaped the destiny that is, by rights, ours!” More cheers, more waiting. “Because our work is pure… because the Centauri way is the right way… because we have resisted the impurities that otter races would bring to us… we have been lifted up, elevated to position that is unrivaled in our history!”

Durla nodded, smiling, but feeling a bit impatient. As if sensing his thoughts, Vallko said, “I leave it now to your beloved prime minister, Durla, to bring you to the next step in our history. For remember that it is his visions of what we should be that have guided us to where we are… and what we will become.” This was the loudest cheer of all, the welcoming cheer for Durla. At least, that was how he perceived it. He stood at the top of the great steps, his arms outstretched the way they had been when he had witnessed the ships departing for their glorious quest. The cheering washed over him like a physical wave. “My friends…” he began. He got no further.

The massive explosion ripped through the air, startling and terrifying the entire crowd. Then another explosion, and a third, and everyone looked to the skies, screaming, convinced that death was being rained down upon them once again.

It was Lione who saw it first. “The Tower!” he shrieked, and pointed.

Sure enough, the Tower of Power was crumbling. Charges blasted up from beneath, enveloping it, the lack of windows causing the force of the explosion to be contained. Smoke blew out of newly formed cracks, rubble flew, and then the entire upper section began to tilt even as the lower half collapsed.

“Impossible! Impossible!” Lione clearly couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “There are guards… no one could get close enough… no one—”

Another explosion ripped straight up the middle, and the entire upper section was blown apart. Debris hurtled everywhere. People screamed, trying to run, unable to move because they were so packed in. Vallko’s and Durla’s cries for calm did nothing to stem the tide.

Then the first of the bodies fell to the ground, having been hurled a great distance by the force of the blast. Impressively, it was mostly intact, but that lasted only until it landed on the temple stairs with a disgusting noise. At that point the body smashed apart like an overripe melon. But even in that condition, everyone could see that it was not a Centauri body.

And more started to plummet from overhead, and they weren’t even close to intact. Heads, arms, legs, torsos, all grey and scaly, cloaked in shreds of black cloth, spewing down from the skies as if a gigantic pustule had been popped.

A hole gaped in the ceiling of the catacombs, exposing them to sunlight for the first time in their history. The area directly above had once been the foundation for the Tower of Power; now there was nothing but the tattered remains of the ground where Renegar’s explosives had blasted apart the Tower from underneath.

Renegar clambered down from the surface and turned to Vir as the others held their collective breath. “Well?” Vir demanded. “What’s happening?”

“It’s raining Drakh,” Renegar said.

“Good.” Vir turned to Adi. “All right, Adi. Time for phase two. Tap into the broadcast web. Now.”

What had seconds before been pure pandemonium had incredibly, eerily, fallen into silence, a silence that was even more deafening than the shouting had been. The Centauri were looking in wonder at the alien creatures who were suddenly in their midst, albeit in pieces.

“Wha—what is…” Kuto, the minister of information, couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

Lione turned to Durla, kicking aside the remains of the body that had landed nearby. All the blood was draining from his face. “You… you said the upper portions of the tower were to be kept empty… for expansion… no one was to go up there, not even me… Were these… these…”

“Quiet!” Durla said urgently. “I have to think… I…”

That was when a gigantic hologram appeared before them, much like the one of Londo some fifteen years earlier, and Durla far more recently. But this was someone whom Durla had not remotely expected. Whom no one had expected.

“Cotto,” Durla snarled.

“My fellow Centauri,” the gigantic image of Vir boomed throughout the world. “I am Vir Cotto. I am the leader of a resistance movement called the Legions of Fire. We have known for some time that it is not the leadersspecifically, the prime minister—of Centauri Prime who have been shaping your destinies. It is these beings… the Drakh. Servants of the Shadows. Monstrous beings.”

“This is broadcasting everywhere!” Durla practically howled at Kuto. “Shut it down! Find a way!”

“The people of Centauri Prime have been used. Duped. The Drakh played upon our nationalistic feelings in order to use you—to use us—as cat’s—paws to strike against the Alliance. An Alliance that goes against everything they want to see happen in known space. They are a disease that has been slowly rotting us… and we did not even know that we were sick. But now you know. It has not been Centauri Prime for Centauri. It has not been the clear vision of a people, or even of the ‘visionary’ prime minister. He has been duped. You have all been duped.

“And to all the member worlds of the Alliance, know that the aggression you have seen from Centauri Prime has been nothing but the cold, manipulating tactics of an evil race. We are as much victims as you. We are—”

At that moment, the image of Vir Cotto blinked out. And then something monstrous came through the sky, something black and frightening, and—in the heads of everyone belowthere seemed to be something akin to a scream as it flashed past.

The ship drove straight toward the vast hole that had been created by the explosion. Then, from the vessel, a small army of Drakh descended, heading right for the now—exposed tunnels.

The Drakh poured into the catacombs, weapons at the ready. And when they arrived, they found no one there. At least, no one at the point of entry.

“Spread out!” the order came down, and the Drakh moved every which way through the catacombs, searching for Vir Cotto and the others, certain they were facing a small force of people who could quickly be obliterated.

They were wrong.

For suddenly, from every discernible direction, Centauri came charging forward. They were servants and soldiers attached to the Houses. They were scholars. They were poets. They were subversives, philosophers, writers. But under the direction, planning, and supervision of Vir Cotto, they were warriors all. Moreover, they were warriors who had thoroughly familiarized themselves with every twist and turn of the catacombs.

The split troops of the Drakh were cut off from one another. In what could only be considered the height of irony, they were lost in the dark.

And then there was much screaming. Amazingly, little of it involved Centauri voices.