Out of the Darkness

chapter 22

Vir gazed in horror at the smoking ruins of the city. A number of his followers stood at his side, likewise stunned by what they were seeing.

They had emerged from the far end of the catacombs, using as an exit the place where Renegar had first discovered the tunnels so many years ago, several hundred members of the Legions of Fire, looking ragged, exhausted, but also grimly triumphant. They had left a sizable number of dead Drakh below them, and with any luck those few that remained would wander hopelessly, lost in the maze.

But any satisfaction the rebels might have taken from their triumphs paled next to the aftermath they were seeing now.

“The Drakh,” he whispered. “They must have done this. It could only have been them…”

“It certainly redefines the concept of ‘sore losers,’” Renegar said.

“There may be more bombs,” Finian said grimly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find them.”

“Now? Now you’re going to find them?” an incredulous Vir asked. “Why didn’t you find them earlier, before this damage was done?”

“We’d always been seeking out Shadow technology. As near as I can tell, these explosives were of a more mundane nature. Even I cannot locate that which I do not know exists,” Finian told him. “Leave it to me now.”

“But—”

“I said leave it to me,” he repeated firmly. And with that, he walked away.

“There may be bombs planted all over Centauri Prime,” Renegar said. “How can he get to all of them…”

“He’s a technomage,” Gwynn said airily. “He may be a supremely annoying one, but he is a mage nonetheless. Don’t underestimate us.”

Vir stared off into the distance, and said, “Gwynn… I’m heading into the palace. You’ve got to get me in there.”

A chorus of “What? ” came from all around him.

“I have to see Londo. Have to speak to him. Make sure he’s all right.”

“Your concern for his safety is laudable,” Gwynn said, “but ill-timed.”

“No, it’s the perfect time. Renegar, you’ll be with me, too. You’ll coordinate with Dunseny and help get David Sheridan the hell out of there. The rest of you,” and he turned to his followers, “get to the city. Help where you can. Mount rescue operations, tend to the wounded, bury the dead. Gwynn… you’re going to help us get inside.”

“How?”

“You’re a technomage. I don’t underestimate you.”

She smiled, but it looked more like a pained grimace.

The door to the cell opened, and the guards came in for Sheridan. He quickly got to his feet, and demanded, “What’s going on out there? It sounds like a damned war zone!”

His only response was a quick club to the head, which caused him to sag in their grip. G’Kar took a step toward them threateningly, but half a dozen shock prods suddenly formed a barrier between him and the guards.

“Try it, Narn. Just try it,” one of them said.

G’Kar didn’t take him up on it, as Sheridan was dragged out of the cell. But while the door was open, just before it slammed, G’Kar could smell something wafting down the corridor, very faintly.

It was the distant aroma of burning flesh. It was a smell he knew all too well. It had hung in the air around Narn for months after the Centauri had attacked them with mass drivers.

“Do unto others,” he said softly.

I had such dreams. Such dreams.

I dreamt of power and glory and followers. I dreamt of protecting my Homeworld from dark invaders. I dreamt of restoring my great republic to its former glory. I dreamt of a noble death in battle, with my hands at the throat of my greatest enemy. I dreamt of love and I dreamt of redemption.

Such dreams. Such dreams.

Sheridan looked as if he were in a dream when they brought him before me some hours ago. I have known John Sheridan for longer than I would have thought possible… and never have I seen him with such an air of confusion.

The guards held him in front of me, bracing him firmly. He was shaking his head, as if he was uncertain of where he was. I looked to one of the guards and, my face a question, mimed a blow to the head to ask them if they had somehow beaten him severely, possibly concussing him. The Human skull is such a fragile thing. But the guard shook his head that he had not, and I had no reason to doubt him. I am, after all, such an infinitely trusting soul.

He looked up at me then and seemed quite surprised. I do not suppose that I can blame him. I have, of course, seen better days. Still, such a look of shock on his face. One would think he had not seen me for twenty years. The room was fairly dark, the only lighting provided mostly by the flames of my city dancing like ghouls outside.

“…Londo? What… am I doing here… where…”

I smiled at him grimly. “Welcome back from the abyss, Sheridan. Just in time to die. Your timing, as always, is quite exceptional.”

I did not think any single being could be as perplexed as that man. Then again, the Human capacity for bewilderment seems a virtually bottomless fountain.

“Londo… what am I doing here…” he said again. “What’re you…”

It was necessary to be as forceful as possible. I needed everyone… and everything… to know of the certainty of my forthcoming actions. “What I’m doing is what someone should have done a long time ago,” I told him. “Putting you out of my misery.” I coughed slightly, mildly amused at my equally mild attempt at humor, and then growled, “Fitting punishment for your crimes.”

Wide-eyed, he said, “What crimes? I don’t—”

The man was beginning to annoy me. Naturally I understood his desire to avoid any sort of blame. Why not? I, who have been blamed throughout my life, whether justified or not, could easily comprehend a desire to avoid once, just once, recriminations being heaped upon me unjustly.

Nevertheless, I could not let such disingenuousness pass. I nodded to my men, and one of the guards punched Sheridan hard in the solar plexus. Sheridan went down on one knee, gasping. I stooped and looked into his eyes. I spoke as if I were playing to an audience, and in a way, I was… but it was none of the people in this room.

“The crime of neglect,” I told him. “The crime of convenience. During your little war, you drove the Shadows away, oh yes, but you did not think to clean up your mess. If a few of their minions, their dark servants, came to Centauri Prime, well, where is the harm in that, yes? Hmm?”

He stared at me blankly. He seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. I began to comprehend just how this man, in becoming president of the Alliance, had formed himself into the most successful politician in the history of his race. Apparently his capability for self-denial knew no bounds. If I did not know better, I would think he had never heard of the Drakh, was unaware of the outcome of the Shadow War… that, indeed, everything I was saying was news to him.

And here I thought I was the foremost practitioner of self-delusion of our age.

“You want to see the harm? Do you?” I asked. Not waiting for an answer, I indicated to the guards that they should bring him to one of the widows. It used to be that I never had the curtains drawn. That I could not get enough of the view of the city that my station had afforded me. Now, of course, heavy drapes blocked the view. Drapes that the guards pushed aside so that Sheridan could see for himself the damage that had been wrought.

He stared in astonishment at the remains of Centauri Prime that flickered through the long, dark night. Ruined spires half thrown down, smoke rising from distant fires. Overhead a vehicle passed, dark and sinister, bristling with needle-like points. A Drakh escape ship; the last of their kind, one could only hope, making their way off the world that they had secretly run for so many years.

“There is the legacy of your war, the price we paid when you abandoned us to the enemies you managed to escape,” I told him. “Forgive me if I do not share the view… I have seen it enough.”

Sheridan was pulled back in front of me.

And he began to babble.

“But this couldn’t happen, not in this amount of time… the time stabilizer… it was hit… what year is this?”

I stared at him incredulously. If he was trying to pretend that he had some sort of amnesia, then he was failing miserably.” It is the last year and the last day and the last hour of your life. Seventeen years since you began your great crusade… seventeen years since…”

And I faded.

My mind goes in and out. The moments of confusion, of depression, of total loss of where I am and what I am doing, become more and more frequent.

“I’m tired,” I said. “Take him back to his cell.” I fixed Sheridan with a glare, and said, “Make your peace with whatever gods you worship; you will meet them the next time I send for you. I cannot change what is… cannot recall my world from what it has become… but I can thank you… properly… for your role in it.”

The guards pulled Sheridan out, half—dragging him as they went. For me, his presence was already a part of a distant past that I was anxious to forget, and would likely do so all too quickly. I walked back to my throne, touched it… not with pride, or possessiveness… but disdain. For this thing, this thing to which I would never have thought I could aspire, was something that had been tied around my neck, long ago, and was now crushing the life out of me.

I walked over to the window, glanced out in spite of myself. Then I drew the drapes closed. I hear laughter as I write this… laughter from nearby. Who could laugh at such destruction?

Children. Yes, of course, children. At least two. I hear their rapid footsteps, their gleeful chortling, as they are running through the halls of the palace.

And then I hear an adult voice, a woman. She is calling with extreme urgency, “Luc? Lyssa! Where are you?” The voice—musical, softly accented—is unfamiliar to me…

No… wait…

I know… yes. Senta, was it? No… Senna, I think her name is. She is… a nurse or child attendant around here, I think. Or perhaps… yes… a retainer to one of our Houses…

I drink in the sound of their laughter, a man parched of emotion, with a soul as dry and shriveled as my skin. I hear them clattering about in the very next room.

Perhaps they will come in here. If they do, I will talk to them. I will tell them of how Centauri Prime used to be, of the greatness to which we aspired… in the beginning…

And then… then I will say my good-byes. To Sheridan and Delenn, to Vir and Londo…

Shiv’kala. He is the one to whom I would most want to say farewell. To be rid of him, quit of his influence, has been my fantasy for nearly fifteen years now. I suspect, however, it is not going to happen. Not only that, but his ego is so great that I fear—no matter what—that Centauri Prime will never rid itself of him or his influence. He fancies himself something more than a simple minion, a creature of darkness serving masters long-gone. He thinks himself a philosopher, a student of behavior. He thinks he is so much more than he is. Here, at the last… I pity him in a way. For he will never truly understand or know himself for the pathetic monstrosity that he is. Because of that, he is very predictable.

Whereas I know myself as that all too well. There is something to be said for self-awareness. It strips away your illusions and makes you unpredictable. That is the one great weakness that the Drakh have, and I am going to exploit it for all that I can…