Out of the Darkness

chapter 28

Far, far away from it all…

The female Centauri focused, for the first time in a long time, on those who were tending her. And in a voice surprisingly strong and firm, she said, “Oho. Now he needs me. Typical…”

…and then her eyes closed in repose, and Timov, daughter of Algul, empress-in-exile of Centauri Prime, passed away…

Renegar and Gwynn were standing at Vir’s shuttle, gesturing frantically for him to come aboard. Gwynn seemed to be assessing Senna, casting a critical eye up and down. Senna didn’t seem to meet with her approval. Then again, very little did. So instead she turned her attention to the skies, obviously anticipating the possibility that one of the Drakh might detect them somehow and take their revenge. But as Vir approached, he suddenly slowed, then stopped.

“What the hell are you doing?” Renegar demanded.

Senna turned to look back at him in confusion. “Vir?”

Vir was holding a large satchel clutched in his arms, like a child. Suddenly he shoved it into Senna’s arms, kissed her quickly on the cheek, turned, and headed back for the palace.

“I’m going back to help Londo.”

“You can’t help him,” Gwynn said flatly. “You can only destroy yourself.”

“Destroy myself?” There was a flat, disbelieving tone in Vir’s voice. “You still don’t get it, do you, Gwynn. Everything that was good about me is long gone. Everything that I used to despise about myself, I now realize was the best of me. I can’t destroy myself; Vir Cotto was destroyed long ago. I can only end myself, and believe me, at this point, I don’t much care about that.”

He turned and bolted for the castle. Behind him, Renegar shouted, “You’re being a fool!”

“Long practice,” Vir shouted back.

Renegar watched him go in disbelief, and then shaking his head, he turned to the technomages. “Do we wait for him to come back?”

“Only if we are as great fools as he is,” Gwynn shot back.

“Come.” She headed for the shuttle, then stopped at the door… knowing without even needing to look that Renegar hadn’t budged from the spot. Neither had Senna.

“Leave without me if you want. I’m waiting here,” Renegar informed her.

“As am I,” Senna echoed.

Gwynn let out a long, frustrated sigh, and then said, “No. We’re not. We’re taking off, right now.”

Renegar turned away from her and then felt her hand on his arm. The other hand touched Senna’s arm. They tried to pull away, and Gwynn muttered some words, and they each felt atingling sensation that quickly moved up into their heads. Then just like that, Gwynn was pulling them along and they were unable to prevent her from guiding them into the shuttle.

There was deathly silence in the throne room when Vir entered. Somehow, before he even walked in, he knew what he would find. They were lying there, G’Kar and Londo, hands wrapped around each other’s throats. There was, to the scene, a sense of completion, of closure, as if this was somehow always meant to be.

The great seal of the emperor lay nearby. Slowly Vir crouched and picked it up. He turned it over and over, felt the weight of it, shaking his head as he did so. He felt as if he held the entire weight of all the expectations of Centauri Prime, all the dashed hopes, all the shattered promises of the future.

His eyes were dry. He had no more tears to shed.

He looked down at Londo, the life gone from him. His final expression, incredibly, was a smile.

He looked over to G’Kar, into his eye…

The burning red eye… which moved. Twitched ever so infinitesimally.

“Great Maker,” Vir breathed, scarcely able to believe it. “G’Kar…”

G’Kar’s eye focused momentarily on Vir, then glanced away… glanced… at something… toward Vir’s feet.

Vir reflexively looked to see what G’Kar was looking at… and took a step back, gasping in horror.

The creature appeared to be in extreme pain. Its tendrils were whipping about noiselessly, its single, hideous eye crusting over.

There was a gaping hole in its side, like a hornet having torn its stinger away to pull itself free. But it was inches away from Vir, and it was not done yet, hanging on with determination that bordered on the supernatural.

The keeper looked up at Vir, although it might not have seen him so much as sensed him.

And Vir screamed, but it wasn’t a sound of terror. Instead it was blind fury, such as he had never known. And gripping the seal of the emperor, he smashed it down upon the keeper. It made a vomitous squishing sound, and he was certain that somehow he heard a screech in his head… impossible, certainly, since the thing had no mouth, but he heard it just the same. He was positive it wasn’t his imagination. Even as he raised the great seal up, he saw the mass on the floor still twitching. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been moving or not, for he was so seized in a fit of fury that he would have brought the seal crashing down again even if the creature hadn’t been moving so much as a centimeter.

And then a third time, and a fourth and a fifth. He lost count. He lost track of time and lost all reason. He was astounded to realize that he was sobbing, the tears that he hadn’t thought he possessed opening up. He hurled every invective he could think of at the creature and all that it represented, every profanity in his vocabulary, words that he had never uttered and never thought he would. The empty throne room rang with the clanging of the great seal of the emperor, which became more dented and twisted with every impact.

Finally, his fury expended, he backed up and assessed the damage he had done. The keeper was nothing but an indistinguishable pile of goo on the floor. He tossed aside the seal, not caring about its tradition or sacred meaning. It lay on the floor like some worthless piece of scrap metal, which—as far as Vir was concerned—was all it was.

He looked over at G’Kar, and he knew instantly that the life was gone from the great Narn. Indeed, he wondered whether he had even been alive at the last. Whether that twitch of his scarlet orb was deliberate, a mute warning… or just some after—death spasm simulating a last act of heroism. He couldn’t know, nor would he ever.

“Tell your masters,” Vir snarled at the smear on the floor that had once been alive, “that their time is over. Centauri Prime for Centauri.”

“Tell us yourself.”

The words were a hoarse whisper that came from behind. He whirled and saw half a dozen Drakh directly behind him. One of them he recognized instantly.

“Shiv’kala,” he said.

“Vir Cotto,” Shiv’kala replied. “Finally… we are face-to-face… true enemies revealed at last.”

“You won’t control me,” Vir shot back.

“You know so little,” the Drakh snarled. “But you will learn.”

They advanced on him, and Vir backed up as fast as he could. They were coming in from all sides, circling him, and the only avenue left was the window, facing out onto a drop that would kill a hundred Virs.

Vir did not hesitate. He clambered up onto the window, poised in the sill. The night air, heated from the flames in the distance, swept around him.

“I’ve nothing to learn from you,” he said defiantly, “except the lengths that someone should be willing to go to, just to live free in mind and spirit.”

He took a look down, getting ready to make his fatal plunge. And then his eyes widened as he saw… a shuttle. No, not just any shuttle: his shuttle. It was approaching rapidly from below, coming straight toward him with a roar of engines.

The Drakh came at him, and he was out of time and options. Vir leaped through the air, feeling anything except graceful, and he landed atop the shuttle. He cried out, having landed badly, pain shooting through his right knee. He thought he might have torn a ligament, and then he started to slide off the top. It was smooth, giving his desperate fingers no purchase upon which to grab. But then the doors irised open, and Renegar was there, catching Vir as he slid by. “Hang on, I’ve got you!” he shouted, and hauled the flailing Cotto into the shuttle as if he weighed absolutely nothing.

Vir heard a screech of rage from the Drakh even as he tumbled into the shuttle.

Then he heard the sound of weapons fire.

He scrambled to his feet and what he saw through the window was enough to make his hearts sing. Guards, led by Caso, had come pouring into the room, heavily armed. The Drakh had turned to face them, a dark and fearsome last stand against the rather unexpected forces of light. The guards were opening fire on the Drakh. The gray servants of the Shadows were putting up a struggle, but it didn’t seem likely they were going to survive for long. In a city reduced to smoking ruins thanks to their evil, at least one group of Drakh was undergoing what could only be described as a desperate last stand. He envisioned a throne room littered with Drakh bodies…

…and then couldn’t help but remember that one of the bodies littering that throne room was that of he who should, by all rights, be sitting in that throne.

“Are you all right, Vir?” Senna asked. She was by his side, and he realized she was checking him over to ascertain whether he had sustained any sort of damage. “Are you unhurt?”

“That’s… two different questions, really,” Vir said ruefully. “I’m unhurt, yes. As for my being all right, though… I don’t think I’ll be all right ever again.”

“Londo… were you able to help him?” Renegar asked… and then he saw the expression on Vir’s face.

Senna did as well. “You mean… he’s…”

“He died at G’Kar’s hands, as did G’Kar at his.”

“But why?” Senna asked desperately. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it. Why would they kill each other?”

“I have some guesses on the matter,” Vir said thoughtfully. “I don’t know that we’ll ever know for sure.”

Senna began to sob. She seemed unable to find words to express the grief she was feeling. Vir reached for her and held her close to him.

“He tried. He tried so hard to be the best emperor he could,” Senna managed to say.

“He did the most that anyone could—”

“Excuse me,” Gwynn cut in, sounding a bit annoyed. “Can we save the maudlin eulogizing for a more appropriate time? There are other matters to be attended to.”

“Shut up, Gwynn,” Vir shot back. “You’re a technomage, and I know perfectly well that there’s a huge amount of things that you know about that I couldn’t even begin to understand. But there are some things that you know absolutely nothing about, and this is one of them, so I’m telling you again, especially when it comes to Londo: Shut the hell up. Got that?”

Dripping with sarcasm, Gwynn bowed slightly, and said, “Of course, Vir Cotto. After all, I’m only the one who brought this vessel around, using my skills to find you, and saved your life. It’s not as if you owe me the slightest bit of gratitude.”

Vir allowed the remark to pass, partly from disdain and partly from the fact that he knew, deep down, that she was right. But she was so damned annoying that he couldn’t quite bring himself to show his appreciation. So instead he changed the subject. “The remaining bombs… are we sure we’ve got them all?”

Renegar nodded. “Once we knew they existed—although it would have been great if we could have discovered it through some other method than having them be set off Finian was able to tap into their energy signatures and locate them quickly enough. They were cloaked, but you can’t cloak something from a technomage if they know what to look for.”

“He never told anyone,” Vir said in amazement. “Never trusted anyone… trusted me… enough to tell me…”

“Can you blame him?” Senna asked. “He must have thought that you would find them on your own. And he must have been afraid that, if he did say something, the Drakh would detonate the bombs as punishment. Afraid.” She said the word again as if she could not quite digest its full meaning. “How many years must he have spent living in fear.”

“I don’t know that you can exactly call that living,” Vir said. “Where are the bombs now?”

“Finian has them,” Gwynn said immediately. “He was anxious to get them off-world, away from possible Drakh influence. He’s defused them, but he felt it best that the Drakh be given no opportunity to use them for further mischief.”

“Where is he now?”

“In another vessel.”

“Can you communicate with him somehow?”

Gwynn nodded. “Absolutely. Where do you want them brought? Truth to tell, he’d be more than happy to be rid of them, sooner rather than later.”

Vir didn’t even hesitate. “To Minbar. I’m going to turn them over to Sheridan. A little gift in advance… for the help he’s going to give us.”

“What help are you talking about?”

“I suspect,” Vir said, patting the satchel that was lying on the floor—the satchel that held Londo’s memoirs—“that these words of Londo’s are going to be very instrumental in letting the Alliance know just how involved the Drakh were in much of what has been blamed on Centauri Prime. The Alliance isn’t going to appreciate being played for fools, and as for Sheridan…” He shook his head. “Let’s just say that he has the most finely tuned sense of moral outrage I’ve ever seen in a Human. Now that the Drakh are in disarray, it shouldn’t be too difficult to convince the Alliance to join forces with the Centauri fleet. Right now our ships are all sitting on station, waiting for someone to gather them in…”

“And that’s going to be you?”

Vir nodded.

“How do you figure that?” Gwynn asked.

“For starters,” Vir said slowly, “the fleet commanders have now been made to understand that what was supposed to be an initiative of Centauri origin was actually a massive manipulation at the hands of the Drakh… including the manipulation of the much—beloved, much—attended—to Prime Minister Durla. Durla’s vision was actually Drakh vision, and that’s not going to sit too well for men whose mission once seemed so clear—cut.

“I can guess that, even as we speak, there are counsels going on among the military leaders, trying to figure out what will happen next. Some will struggle for dominance. The ships may even be fighting each other. As soon as a new leader is announced and affirmed, the chances are that the fleet will fall into line eagerly, just so it can have a genuine purpose, for the first time in its existence.”

“And you still think that leader will be you?” Renegar asked. “How do you figure that?”

“For starters, my connection with unveiling the Drakh is well known. And second, Londo once moved heaven and earth to try to get an endorsement from a technomage, because he felt that such an action would be a tremendous boost for his own chances at the throne. I know, because he enlisted my aid in trying to make things happen. Me… I’m going to have the endorsements of two technomages. That can be arranged, can’t it, Gwynn?”

Gwynn was at the controls of the shuttle, guiding the vessel with speed and certainty away from the burning world below. She grunted in response. “Don’t bet on it.” Without hesitation, he continued, “I’m also going to have the influence of the extremely influential General Rhys. I contacted him shortly before the revelation of the Drakh, informing him of what was going to happen. That was a gamble on my part, but the interaction I’d had with Rhys told me that he, of all people, would be the most outraged over the pervasive Drakh influence. He was loyal to Durla; when Durla proved less than trustworthy, Rhys needed someone to whom he could switch allegiance. I suspect that I will be that individual, and when that occurs, he’ll bring the rest of the key military personnel along.”

“Unless Rhys chooses to grab power for himself.”

Vir shook his head. “Not Rhys. Believe it or not, he’s not the type. He’s old school, and believes that his allegiance is, and always must be, to the emperor. But the title of emperor is one that has traditionally always passed to those of higher birth. Rhys is lowborn, and proud of it. He’s not going to want to reorder all of Centauri society just to accommodate some sort of power play.

“Now I… I’m of higher birth… no matter how much my parents would have liked to deny it,” he added as a witheringly accurate self—portrayal. “Also, I believe thatJohn Sheridan, president of the Alliance, will support my claim as well, as will most of the remaining Centauri nobility.”

“You’ve been giving this a great deal of thought,” Renegar observed.

“I learned from the best,” Vir replied.

“But why?” Senna asked.

He looked to her, not quite understanding. “Why what?”

“Why would you want to be emperor? The responsibility, the danger, the—”

“The need,” Vir said. “I see… a need. I’ve been doing that for years now, Senna. I see a need that has to be filled, and I… well… I just do it. Ever since I first came to Babylon 5, really. Londo needed an aide, I was his aide. He needed a conscience, and I was that, too… although I don’t know that I did such a good job of it. The Narns needed someone to help them get to safety, and I was there for them. Centauri Prime needed someone to—”

“I need you to be quiet,” Gwynn said tartly. “Am I going to get my wish?”

“Am I going to get the endorsement I need?”

“Anything for you, Your Highness.”

Vir nodded in exaggerated gratitude. But despite the moment of levity, he still couldn’t erase the image of the fallen Londo from his mind.

And on some level, he didn’t want to.

I should be trying to figure out some sort of memorable opening words to this, but nothing’s really coming.

Londo had such a way with words. Him and G’Kar. When I think of the two of them lying there, hands around each other’s throats, I’m kind of struck by the irony of it. Two people who had the greatest gifts for words of anyone I’ve ever met, aside from John Sheridan. And the source of that strength, their words… cut off. What were their last thoughts, their last feelings? G’Kar… well, in many ways, I never really understood him, even at the end.

As for Londo, I can only think that it was probably something like relief.

I should introduce myself, I suppose. I am Vir Cotto, once the embarrassment of my family. I was considered to be such a joke that I was basically “exiled” to a station called Babylon 5.

It’s a funny thing about that space station. In order to generate artificial gravity, it turned, like the center spoke of a great wheel. Sometimes I think that Babylon 5 was the hub of our universe, turning in the center of it while the rest of events circled around it.

That’s good. I like that. Deep thoughts, descriptive phrasing… yes. Yes, that’s definitely the type of thing that these journals should be filled with. I don’t know if that’s really me… but it’s what people have come to expect. And every so often, you just have to knuckle down and give the people what they want.

In any event, I was packed off to Babylon 5, to serve as the aide to a lower—level politician named Londo Mollari. No one could possibly have known that the association would wind up leaving me in the highest position of power in all of Centauri Prime. Selfishly, I wish my family had survived the bombs to see it. Then again—and I know this will sound cold, but it’s also true—if my family had lived to see me attain this height, they would have been perfectly capable of planting their own bombs outside the palace, to blow the whole thing into orbit. Anything would have been preferable to allowing such a humiliating joke of a person as myself to assume power.

What can I say? That’s just the kind of loyalty I inspired in my family.

Following the escape from Centauri Prime, my arrival on Minbar was greeted with some suspicion by the local residents. I can’t entirely say I blame them. After all, the Centauri had been painted as mad—dog killers for so long, the Minbari probably couldn’t help but think that I had some sort of sinister motive planned. Sheridan and Delenn, who arrived at roughly the same time, however, intervened in this potentially sticky situation. They paved the way for my setting up a temporary “exile headquarters” on Minbar.

From that point on, the rest was simply a matter of organization. Word was sent out to the remaining heads of the Centauri Houses. Some came to Minbar curious, others came in anger, still others came seeking answers, while still others desired power. The point was… those who survived, came.

I managed to keep the debate under control. There was some initial resistance, but I was backed up by the technomages, the Alliance in the person of John Sheridan, and the awareness on the part of the House heads that the fleet was still floating around out there, looking for a target. If matters continued in a disorganized fashion for too long, someone in the military might have taken it into their head that Centauri Prime itself was ripe for military rule. Either that, or we might have had various leaders go rogue and decide to start attacking the Alliance on their own initiative. That, of course, would have been suicidal. What little of Centauri Prime was still standing wouldn’t have remained standing for long, once the Alliance started fighting back.

Thanks to the agreement that has come to be known as the Minbar Accord, the following was worked out:

The House heads have recognized my claim as emperor.

The military is being recalled to Centauri Prime, with new instructions and directions being given them. They will have the target they so desperately need to validate their fleet’s existence. That target is the Drakh. Many of the escape vessels were tracked and targeted. A number of Drakh were also captured and were… shall we say, forthcoming… about certain Drakh interests and strongholds. The Centauri fleet, in tandem with the resources of the Alliance, is going after the Drakh with a vengeance.

Sheridan has been good enough to put telepaths at the disposal of the Centauri and Alliance fleets. Telepaths capable of detecting both the Drakh and their keepers, should any more of those vile little creatures try to spread their influence.

What has been most impressive during all of this, I must admit, is Senna. As if she has been watching, waiting, and preparing for this her entire life, she has been dealing with the House heads, the remaining ministers… all of them. They are surprisingly—even to themselves, I think—comfortable discussing such things as military, financial, and governmental matters with her. It’s unusual, consideringthat women are held, if not in low esteem, at least in lessthan—impressive regard in our society. Perhaps it is because she has been around for so long that many of them know her and feel at ease.

Perhaps, as the daughter of Lord Refa, the ward of Londo Mollari, and the beloved—yes, I’m afraid it’s that evidentof the next emperor, they see her as a connection to the far and near past and to the future. It would be premature, maybe even absurd, to think that she could one day hold a position of authority in our government. Then again, this is a time of possibilities, and why shouldn’t something such as that be possible? Such things do not happen overnight.

Sheridan and Delerm have been remarkably supportive. At one point, Delenn looked me straight in the eye, and said, “Vir… you’re a living symbol of everything that is positive about Centauri culture.” Hard not to be flattered over something like that. Sheridan has likewise been forthcoming with his help, support, and insight. I very much doubt whether I could have held matters together in the initial stages if his presence had not sent a very distinct message.

Their son, David, on the other hand… well… that is another matter…