Out of the Darkness

chapter 21

Mariel watched in amazement from the balcony. She had heard the explosions, the same as everyone else. She gaped in astonishment, watched the Tower of Power disintegrate. She saw distant, non—Centauri bodies falling through the air in assorted bits and pieces. Something smacked against the wall just to her left. It was a single small piece of grey flesh. She stared at it in wonderment as it hung there.

And then she heard the voice—that magnificent voice, that powerful voice—and the image, like a vision from the Great Maker himself. Vir—her Vir—speaking to the people of Centauri Prime, telling them what was happening, stepping forward into the position of leadership that she had always known he rightly deserved.

Then she saw the dark ship descending, and terror descended upon her, as well. Instinctively she knew who and what they were, and what they intended for Vir. She saw them stream down into the blast point.

There was no way to help Vir. Nothing she could do.

Then she realized that there was. She ran quickly into her bedroom, closed the door behind her, dropped to her knees.

“Please, Great Maker,” she whispered, “I will give anything, do anything, sacrifice anything, but please let Vir be all right. Save him. And save Londo. I tried to do him ill and, in so doing, upset Vir, and I repent of that. I repent of it all, please…”

That, and similar sentiments were all she voiced for some minutes, until she heard shouting from the main room. First and foremost came Durla’s voice, and then she heard others, as well. She heard the voices of Castig Lione, and Kuto, and there was Vallko, and Munphis, the minister of education. They were all talking at once, and it was difficult to make them out, until Durla shouted them down.

“This cannot be!” he bellowed. “It is a trick! A hideous trick!”

“You saw!” Lione shouted back. “We all saw! The Drakh. Great Maker, Durla, the Drakh!”

“You will address me as prime minister!”

“How can it be a trick?” It was Vallko, and he sounded like a broken man, someone whose faith had been shattered. “We saw… that ship, the Drakh, here in the heart of the city…”

“A trick, I tell you, put together by Cotto!”

“Prime Minister, it makes no sense!“That was Kuto speaking. “We saw them! We saw the Drakh attack! Drakh bodies falling from the Tower, Drakh warriors from the skies… it’s…”

“Face it, Prime Minister… you’ve been used. We all have,” Lione said.

Durla’s voice was trembling with fury. “You will not stand there and tell me that my vision for Centauri Prime was something manufactured by an alien race!”

“Great Maker take your visions!” Lione snapped. “I’m telling you, we’ve been used!” There were mutters of agreement.

“I have trouble believing that you are my cabinet. My ministers, those I trusted.” Durla’s voice sounded like a mixture of disgust and sorrow. “That you would turn on me now, at our moment of greatest triumph…”

“Triumph! A war on the entire Alliance that was planned by a race who were servants of the Shadows!” That was the normally reticent Munphis speaking up. “Who knows what their long—term plans are! It could very well be that they’re looking to us to smash the Alliance for them… and they, in turn, will conquer us!”

“We are Centauri Prime! We will never be conquered again! And I will not allow the trickery of the ‘Legions of Fire,’ and Cotto, and these imaginary Drakh to dissuade me from my course! I have planned this for far too long, done too much, to let it end here and now!”

She heard footsteps then, quick movements. “Durla, what are you doing?” It was Vallko’s voice. He sounded as if he was starting to come out of his shock.

“This is my backup transmitter. We had to shut down the world web to take Cotto’s rants off—line, but this will still get me directly to the ships. The attack will go on as planned.”

“You’re insane! We can’t! We have to wait, to get this sorted out—”

“That’s what they want us to do, Lione! Wait! Because time is on the side of the Alliance! Cotto has convinced them, just as he has you, that we are the tools of a malevolent race! They will erect defenses against us! Be ready for us!” There was a tone of mounting desperation. “Besides, if the gocodes are not given within the next seventy—two hours, the fleet will stand down! They will think that something is wrong—”

“Something is wrong!” Vallko was getting more strident. “It may well be that nothing is what it has seemed! I have spent years, Durla, telling the people that the future of the Centauri people is in our own hands. We have seen evidence today that that may not be the case!”

“And how much of that did you know, eh?” Lione demanded. Their voices were moving around, making it clear that they were circling each other. “Why did you instruct that the upper floors of the Tower remain off limits? ‘Reserved for future expansion.’ You knew, didn’t you. You knew that our symbol of destiny was… infested with those creatures!”

“I knew no such thing! It was part of my vision, I tell you—”

“A vision given you by the Drakh! Open your eyes and see the truth, Durla!” Lione shouted. “You’ve been used! Your power stems, not from any divine vision, but from notions planted in your skull by the Drakh! It’s the only answer!”

And suddenly there was a deathly quiet. When Durla spoke again, it was with a soft and frightening conviction. “There is,” he said, “another answer.”

“Durla, put that down,” Kuto said warningly, although Mariel had no idea what he was referring to.

“And that answer is that you’re all in league with Cotto. I should have seen it earlier. All of you, trying to tear me down Jealous of me. Planting those fake bodies, getting in league with those… ‘Drakh’… to discredit me. Yes… jealous of me. And traitors, all of you.”

As one, the ministers shouted out, and then Mariel heard the blasts. She clapped her hands to her ears, crying out, as the death screams and the sounds of weapon fire filled the air. It seemed to go on forever, although, in truth, it lasted only a few seconds. And then there was silence once more.

Very tentatively, afraid of what she would see, Mariel opened the door.

Durla was standing there, and contrary to what she had expected, he looked exceedingly calm. His hand was at his side, holding a plasma charge blaster. The floor was light red, thick with blood, and the bodies of the ministers were strewn about. Several of them had their eyes open, and they all seemed quite surprised, yet for all their astonishment they were no less dead.

Slowly Durla turned and saw Mariel standing there. Without a word he raised his weapon and aimed it at her. “Do you,” he said steadily, “stand against me, too?”

She shook her head.

He smiled. “That’s good. That’s very good, my love. I would have hated if you had.” He looked around at the carnage with a sort of distant sadness. “I was afraid this would happen. That’s why I sent the guards away. I had hoped it would turn out differently but… not everything can. They didn’t understand. None of them did.”

She saw the transmitting equipment nearby. She stepped delicately over the fallen body of Lione, and said softly, “I understand. I didn’t used to but… now I do.” She was within six feet of him… five… walking slowly, almost slinking…

“That’s good. That’s very good. Would you like to watch, Mariel?”

“Watch?” She froze at four feet.

“Watch me transmit the codes that will launch the attack.”

“Of course, my love.”

He turned back to the transmitter and began to manipulate the controls.

Three feet… two…

Suddenly he turned and aimed his weapon at her. “I don’t believe you,” he said, and fired.

At point—blank range, he should not have missed. But Mariel twisted out of the way, the bolt barely grazing her hip, and then she was upon him. She grabbed at the gun with both hands, shoving it away from her, trying to shake it out of his hands, as Durla struggled against her. He shoved her away, tried to aim quickly, but slipped on the blood. Mariel leaped desperately, landed full on top of him, momentarily knocking the wind out of him, and they rolled across the floor. The gun fired wide, ricocheting harmlessly off the wall.

Durla managed to get to his feet, and Mariel clung on, like a spider holding on to a wind—tossed web. They were away from the blood, moving toward the balcony, and Mariel had a better grip on his gun hand this time. But Durla grabbed her trailing length of hair, twisting it around his free hand. She let out a howl of pain but did not let go.

“Stupid cow!” he howled as they staggered about. “I remade the world for you!”

“But I won’t let you end it for me!” she cried out.

Her strength, her resolve, momentarily lessened, and then she thought of every time he’d struck her, every time she’d submitted to his abuse, and a fire of fury boiled through her veins. Mariel pushed back, as hard as she could, one desperate shove.

Durla’s back hit the balcony railing, and he overbalanced, flipping over. An eight—story drop yawned beneath him. He let out a shriek of alarm, his fingers still firmly entangled in her hair. He dropped the gun and clawed at the air, and then he tumbled over the edge of the balcony. And Mariel, entangled in his grasp like some sort of perverse lovers’ embrace, went with him.

As she fell, she felt some small degree of pleasure that he was screaming and she was not.

Londo… Vir… look! I’m flying at last was the final thought across her mind before the ground rushed up to meet them.

“Shiv’kala. Not dead, I see? Pity.”

I have no idea what prompted me to sound quite as jovial as I did. It was probably the sight of the Tower of Power lying in ruin and rubble out in the town.

Shiv’kala, for his part, seemed positively disconcerted. How long I had waited to see him that way. He was covering it as best as he could, to preserve what he fancied as his dignity and mysterious reserve. But we had been “together” too long. I could tell that he was trying not to panic, and only barely succeeding.

He had appeared, as always, out of the shadows in my inner sanctum. I still did not know how he had gotten there and, frankly, had stopped caring.” No, Londo… still not dead,” he whispered. “And not for want of trying by your… associates.”

“Are you implying that I had something to do with this?” I demanded. “How would you suggest I did that? Your little friend watches me at all times. If I were helping to run an underground rebellion, I think you would have known.”

He advanced on me, his red eyes burning into me. “You always keep certain thoughts buried just below the surface, Londo. The keeper senses it, even if he can do nothing about it. I suspect they may have to do with your ‘associates’…”

“Again that word. I am emperor. I work with any number of people. I remind you that your precious Durla is as much my associate as Vir.”

“Not anymore. Durla is dead.”

That brought me up short. “Dead?” I whispered. “When?”

“Moments ago. After he annihilated his ministry. He fell to his death off a balcony, locked in combat with his wife.”

I had been standing, but suddenly the strength went from me. I sagged into a chair and for just a moment I had a mental picture of Mariel when I first saw her. Young and beautiful, and even though it was an arranged marriage and I wanted to hate her out—of—hand, I was transfixed by her comeliness. I could not have known the future, of course. Could not have known what she would become… or what I would become. And now… now…

“Mariel,” I whispered.

“She stopped Durla before he could issue the gocodes to launch the strike against the Alliance,” Shiv’kala said, sounding rather bitter. “You must attend to it.”

It took me a moment to focus on what he was saying. “I must attend to… what?”

“You must order trie ships to launch against the Alliance worlds. The invasion can still go forward…”

“Are you mad? Yes, I think you must be. Shiv’kala… it is over.” I managed to stand, because for this I wanted to be on my feet. I wanted to be eye to eye with him, not backing down. “Your involvement with our affairs, your manipulation… it is all out in the open now. The people of Centauri Prime will never support—”

“They will support what you tell them to support, Londo. With Durla gone, with the ministry gone, it is you to whom the people will turn. Rudderless, they will be looking for a captain to take control of the ship of state. You are the emperor. You are still sealed in their minds as the one who freed them from Cartagia, the one who subjugated the Narn, at least for a time. The people will follow you. The ships will attend to you. Even though you do not know the specific passwords and codes, the military will still respect your authority. You can order them to move and they will obey…”

“And what of the revelation of the Drakh involvement?” I said bitterly. “How do I explain that, on a world of Centauri Prime for Centauri?”

“We were your secret allies.”

“You controlled us! Controlled me!”

“Lie, Mollari. It’s what you’re good at. Duplicity is the single most prevalent product that Centauri Prime exports. Say that you sought us out. Say that we offered our services. Say whatever you wish, but say something—”

“You want me to say something? Very well. I will say something,” and I advanced on him. “Leave my world. You have done enough damage.”

“Have we?” His eyes narrowed. “Have you forgotten the further damage we can do?”

It was at that point that my instincts as a card player kicked in. Because I knew precisely what he was referring to. I knew he was speaking of the bombs that he and his people had claimed to have planted throughout Centauri Prime. Bombs that they had been holding over my head to keep me in line all these years.

But I was certain at that point that Vir and his people had found them, defused them. He had been so thorough in so many other matters. Either that… or they had never existed in the first place. It was the latter that I was becoming more and more convinced of—for, as I said, my card—playing instincts told me Shiv’kala was bluffing.

“You must realize,” I said carefully, “that it is indeed over. That this cannot continue. You can flood me with pain until I cannot stand, you can isolate me so that I cannot speak. You can use me as your public face and puppet ruler, but really… what is to be accomplished by this? It will not even work on the surface, for if you subsume my mind, turn me into nothing more than a shell who is your mouth piece… the people will know.

“They know how I speak, how I carry myself. They will be alert to further Drakh manipulation. If I am not myself… either they will know, or at the very least they will be sufficiently suspicious that they will not heed me.

“And then there is your own presence. Knowing that you are here, at the very least the Humans will come for you all. Even as we speak, they may well be assembling a fleet for an assault. After all, you did introduce a plague into their Homeworld. The surviving Humans are not gently disposed toward you. And if you think that they will be worried about the prospect of some Centauri dying during an assault on a Drakh—held world, then you’d be well—advised to think again.”

He actually looked away. He was unable to hold my gaze. I sounded conciliatory—an impressive feat—as I said, “You have always struck me as a race who does what needs to be done, but no more. You are not bloodthirsty. You are not barbarians. You have a purpose to serve, and you serve it. Annihilating my people simply out of a fit of pique, in the face of a hopeless cause… it makes no sense. It goes against the grain of the Drakh.”

And he looked back at me with grim amusement in his eyes. “After all this time,” he sighed, “how little you know us.”

It was at that horrific moment, a moment that will always be frozen in time for me, that I knew I had badly miscalculated.

I was not even aware of the explosion when it actually occurred. All I knew was that one moment I was standing, and the next, I was on the floor. There was a ringing in my ears, and even though my eyes were wide open, all I saw was whiteness. I was flash—blinded.

Then a wave of heat swept over me, blasting in through my balcony, and wind so furious that it knocked everything off my walls and pushed me halfway across the floor.

I staggered to my feet, reaching out, trying to find something to hold on to so that I could get my bearings. A hand grasped mine. It was gray and scaly and cold to the touch, and I yanked it away quickly. I heard a low laugh, and I knew it was Shiv’kala’s.

“You… you bastards…” I whispered.

My vision was starting to clear, and what I saw was beyond horrific. Fully half of the capital city was in flaming ruins. It was as bad as, if not worse than, when we had been attacked years earlier. A charnel smell wafted on the wind to me. The sky was already black with smoke, flames licking up toward the obscured clouds.

I reached out, as if somehow I could scoop up my people in my hand, preserve them, save them, turn back the hands of time and make it not have happened. And I heard voices crying out to me, Londo, Londo, why have you forsaken us? I could not tell if they were real or if they were imagined, but beyond question, they were my fault, my responsibility, on my head.

I had gambled with their lives, and I had lost.

“That,” Shiv’kala said in a voice from beyond the grave, “was one third of the bombs we have planted. What you see here before you is merely representative of what has occurred throughout your world. Here is what you will do. Are you listening, Londo?”

“Yes,”— whispered.

“You will bring Sheridan up here. You will show him the damage that was done, and you will make clear to him that these are crimes for which he and he alone bears responsibility… because he has been working in concert with the Legions of Fire.”

“You intend… for me to blame this destruction on Vir?”

“Of course,” said Shiv’kala. “He has already taken credit for destroying one monument. It is obvious that he will go to any lengths to satisfy his hatred of us, regardless of the cost. Next… are you listening, Londo?”

I nodded. I tried to hold my breath against the smell of burning flesh, and when I was unable to, I dry—heaved. Shiv’kala did not appear to notice, or care.

“After that, you will have Sheridan executed. Then you will have Delenn executed. I want the executions done separately, since I’ve no desire for people to see them drawing strength from each other in their last moments. Then you will find Vir Cotto, if he still lives, and execute him. And then you will inform the fleet that the assault against the Alliance is to be carried out.

“You are right about one thing, however: If we remain, there will doubtless be a strike launched against Centauri Prime. So we will make a show of departing, to put the Alliance off its guard. But once the Alliance is in disarray, we will return, to make Centauri Prime the cornerstone of the new Drakh Entire.”

“Not Vir, I whispered.

He looked at me most oddly. “What?”

“I will not execute Vir. Nor will you. I will not stand in the way of what the people do, but he will not die by my hand, nor at the hands of the Drakh.”

“Now you are the insane one, Londo.” His voice rose. “Look at your city! Look at your world! It lies in ruins because you misjudged us, and you would still dictate terms?”

“You will grant me this,” I said tightly, “or Marie! and Durla wiil not be the only ones who die off a balcony this day.”

He seemed ready to argue it, but suddenly became impatient. “Very well,” he said. “Do as you have been ordered, and Cotto will be spared. The odds are that he is dead anyway. And if he is not, well… the people will attend to him soon enough.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You see, Londo? Even under such extreme circumstances… you cannot say that the Drakh are totally without compassion.”

He said a few things more, but I was paying no attention. Instead my thoughts were elsewhere, nearly twenty years gone, to the words of the technomage, Elric. “I see a great hand reaching out of the stars. The hand is your hand. And I hear sounds… the sounds of billions of people calling your name.”

“My followers,” I had whispered in awe.

And in a voice like ice, he had replied, “Your victims.”

I had always thought—always assumed—that he had been referring to the Narn. I now realized that he had not. That it was my own people, here and now, crying out for aid from an emperor whose misjudgment had resulted in widespread slaughter. I did not plant the bombs… I did not trigger the bombs… but, Great Maker, I did not stop them, and my people have paid for it.

I wanted to fly away. To be able to step to the balcony, change into a winged creature, and fly off to someplace where there was no death, no destruction. No voices calling my name, and no Drakh. I had waited sixteen years to feel fear and desperation from Shiv’kala, and I had managed it. But my people had paid a terrible, terrible price.

I had never wanted to be with Mariel at any given time as much as I did at that moment.