Out of the Darkness

chapter 5

Vir Cotto felt the world spinning around him, and he sagged to the ground, staring up in disbelief.

He was just outside the palace. The sun was hanging low in the sky, the rays filtering through the haze as the twilight approached. As a consequence, there wasn’t much light with which Vir could make out the head on the pike in the garden. But there was just enough light to see, and the head was just familiar enough to recognize.

Rem Lanas stared down at him lifelessly. And yet, even in that lifelessness, there was accusation. Why weren’t you here for me, he seemed to say. Why didn’t you help me? Why didn’t you save me? I trusted you, became a part of your cause. ,. and this is what happened to me… because of you… you…

He hadn’t expected such a sight. He had been told to wait in the garden, that someone would be along to escort him in for his meeting with the emperor. But he’d been caught completely off guard.

He wasn’t sure how long Rem’s head had been up there. The weather had not been kind to it.

Then a bird landed on it. To Vir’s horror, it pulled experimentally at Rem’s cheek, trying to dig out what it apparently thought was a particularly appetizing bit of flesh.

“Get away!” yelled Vir, and he clambered up on a stone bench. “Get away! Get away!!!”

The bird ignored him, and Vir, who was gesticulating wildly, suddenly lost his balance. He stumbled backward, struck his head, and lay there, unmoving.

He had no idea how long he lay there, but when he finally did open his eyes, he found that night had fallen. He wondered how…

She could possibly have just been left in the one place, unseen by anyone, for such a period of time.

Then he felt heaviness in his chest, and a distant buzzing of alarm in the back of his skull. Suddenly he began to feel as if someone had clubbed him from behind. Probably, he reasoned, some sort of residual pain left over from falling and hurting himself.

With effort, he looked up at Rem Lanas’ head atop the pike.

It was gone.

His own head was there instead.

It looked rather comical in its way, and he would havelaughed had he actually been able to get the noise out. Instead, though, there was simply an overwhelming desire to scream at the hideous sight. However, he couldn’t get that to emerge either. There was just a repeated, strangulated coughing.

He turned and tried to run, tried to shout for help…

…and there was someone there in the shadows.

The darkness actually seemed to come alive around him as he stared, transfixed, at the being—no, the creature—thatwas moving slowly out of the shadows toward him. It fixed him with a malevolent glare, as if it had already destroyed him somehow and he simply wasn’t aware of it yet. Vir knew it instantly as a Drakh, a servant of the Shadows. But he reminded himself that the average Centauri had never seen a Drakh, and the last thing he should do was blurt out what was on his mind.

“Shiv’kala,” the Drakh said.

The word brought back awful memories. Years earlier, at the behest of the now—dead technomage, Kane, he had spoken that name to Londo. The mere mention of it had gotten Vir thrown into a cell. Later on, working in conjunction with another technomage, Galen, he had come to realize that the name belonged to one of the Drakh. Immediately he understood.

“You… are Shiv’kala,” he said.

Shiv’kala inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Names,” he said, “have power. Power, however, cuts both ways.” When he spoke, his voice was a gravelly whisper. “You mentioned my name once. Do you remember?”

Vir managed to nod.

“When you did so, it drew my attention to you. Why did you?”

“Wh—why did I… what?”

“Why. Did you. Mention. My name?”

Once upon a time, Vir would have panicked at a moment such as this. Confronted by a dark, frightening creature of evil, he would have been reduced to a trembling mass of disintegrating nerves.

That Vir, however, was gone.

Gone, but not forgotten.

Outwardly he was all terror and wide eyes, hands trembling violently and legs buckling at the knees, causing him to sink to the ground in stark—staring terror.

Inwardly, his mind was racing. For he was seeing this entity before him not as some overpowering, terrifying monster, but rather simply as a member of another race. Granted, an incredibly formidable race. But he had been responsible for the destruction of a long—lost Shadow vessel that the Drakh had craved. He had seen Drakh warriors killed before his very eyes. He knew they were not invincible.

They had limits.

And the question posed him by Shiv’kala revealed some of those limits.

In a way it was remarkable. A bare half—dozen years ago, the mere mention of Shiv’kala’s name had struck a chillwithin him. Now he was facing down the owner of the name, and he was analyzing him with methodical precision.

The sight of his own head on the pole had been a nice bit of theatrics, but that had been sufficient to tell him that he was no longer in reality. He was in some sort of dream state, into which the Drakh had inserted himself.

But the Drakh was asking him questions.

Which meant the Drakh didn’t know the answers. After all, if he knew the answers, then why bother to ask at all? Totry to “trick” him for some reason? What would be the point of that?

So even though the Drakh clearly had some sort of advanced mental abilities, they were hardly limitless. They were apparently able to broadcast into someone’s dream state, and were probably capable of receiving transmissions. But they were not readily capable of reading minds. Or, at the very least, they couldn’t read a mind that wasn’t cooperating.

Furthermore, Shiv’kala had waited quite a few years to come to Vir and start asking why his name had been bandied about. That indicated to Vir that their range might be limited, as well. Again, at the very least, it was limited where other species were concerned. Shiv’kala had had to wait until Vir was within reasonable proximity of the palace.

Why?

Because, as much as Vir’s stomach churned just contemplating the notion, the fact was that the royal palace of Centauri Prime had become little more than a Drakh stronghold, a cover for the Drakh power base. Although Vir had strong suspicions that their true center of power was somewhere else on Centauri Prime.

But he had no desire to let the Drakh know that he had discerned so much, so quickly. Beings of finite power they might be, but there was no underestimating the ability of the Drakh to destroy him at their slightest whim. The only reason they had not done so by this point, he decided, was that they did not perceive him as a direct threat. If they did decide he posed a threat, however, he didn’t stand a chance.

All of this went through his mind in less than a second, and by that point he was already back on the ground, “crumbling” at the mere sight of the formidable Drakh. He could tell from the Drakh’s expression that Shiv’kala was by turns taken aback, appalled, and amused at the sight of this great, groveling oaf.

The thing was, he had to give some sort of answer that would throw the Drakh off track. He couldn’t take the chance that Shiv’kala might figure out his connection to the underground. The only way to make sure of that was to present himself as a simple tool, a harmless foil who was about as capable of causing damage on his own as a wafting feather might be.

And the best thing of all was that he could tell reasonable amounts of the truth, which would be all the easier to sell to the Drakh. If there was one thing that Vir excelled at, it was sincerity. He wore sincerity as comfortably as other Centauri wore high hair.

“I… I was told to,” he stammered out.

“By whom?”

“By… by…” He licked his lips. “By a technomage.”

“Anhhh…” Obviously it hadn’t been the answer the Drakh was expecting, but neither did it seem to surprise him. “Atechno—mage. And where have you encountered a technomage?”

“Back on Babylon 5. I first met them when I was serving Londo.” The words were tumbling over each other. It wasn’t really that long ago—a minor part of a lifetime, reallythat Vir Cotto had been a bumbling, tongue—twisted, and perpetually anxious young man. Vir remembered that Vir—thatwas almost nostalgically. At the time, life had seemed hideously complex.

He remembered quite clearly the man he had been, and had no trouble at all summoning the Vir from years gone by. He took that much younger Vir, slipped him on like a comfortable overcoat, and impersonated him with tremendous facility. “Londo, he… he wanted the technomages’ blessing and… and… and… and…”

Shiv’kala nodded, and moved his hand in a slight clockwise motion as if to indicate to Vir that he should get on with it.

“…and he sent me to them to tell them he wanted to suhsuh—see them!” Vir continued. “I thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t. No. No, it wasn’t. Because they came to me, and told me to walk into the palace and say your… that name. Why? Why would they do that? Please, tell me…” And he started to sob. It was amazing to him how easily the tears came. Then again, considering everything he had been through, all the horrors he had witnessed, perhaps the impressive thing was that he was ever able to prevent himself from crying.

He reasoned that the best thing to do was allow the Drakh, all unknowingly, to fill in the gaps himself. Shiv’kala, as it so happened, promptly did so. “We have our suspicions” was all the Drakh would offer, although he did add, “You would be wise, Vir Cotto, not to meddle further with magic workers. You are merely a game piece to such as they, to be discarded at will. Do you know us?” Vir shook his head fiercely. Shiv’kala glanced upward in the direction of the head. “Do you know him?” Vir looked back up, and he saw that the head of Rem Lanas was back in lieu of his own. As appalling a sight as Rem’s head had been up there, he had to admit that it was better than his.

“His… his name is Rem Lanas,” Vir managed to say, making the response seem far more of an effort than it was. “I… met him on Babylon 5. We had drinks.”

“You have met a great many people on Babylon 5, it seems.”

“I… I…” He tried to find something to say, and finally settled on, “I have a lot of free time on my hands.”

The Drakh either didn’t register the response, or didn’t care that it had been made. Vir couldn’t help but feel that Shiv’kala was assessing him right then and there, trying to determine whether Vir was indeed going to be a problem.

“You do know,” Shiv’kala said softly, “that this is all a dream. It is not happening.”

“I had been kind of hoping for that to be the case,” Vir told him.

“Be aware of one thing… we know of the predictions of the Lady Morella.”

This caused Vir to freeze where he stood. Even though he was dreaming, even though he felt no normal sensations, he was still certain he could sense his blood running cold. “Morella?”

“Londo mentioned ‘predictions’ once,” the Drakh said.” ‘Both of us, protected by visions, protected by prophecy,’ was what he said.”

Vir remembered the exchange all too well. It had been in the cell that Vir had occupied for the high crime of mentioning Shiv—‘kala’s name—at the urging of a technomage, that much at least had been the truth.

“I sought clarification from him as to what he meant. He was… less than forthcoming. At first. But we can be most persuasive. He told us of how the Lady Morella made predictions, stating that one of you would succeed the other to the throne of Centauri Prime. Since he is still with us… that leads us to believe that you will be the next ruler.”

“It’s just a prediction. It means nothing.”

“Perhaps. But be aware, Vir Cotto… should it come to pass…” And the Drakh’s mouth twisted into something approximating a smile, the single most horrific thing that Vir had seen in the entire encounter. “Should it come to pass… there is much that we can offer you.”

“I…” He gulped. “I appreciate the thought.”

“Our power is great. You can benefit by it… or be destroyed. The choice, for the moment, is yours. In the end, it may or may not remain so.”

And then he stepped back into the shadows, which seemed to reach out to claim him.

Vir stood there a moment, steadying the pounding of his hearts… and then he noticed that the shadows were continuing to stretch… toward him. Even though he knew it was a dream, even though he was certain he was not in any real danger… nevertheless, he did not like in the least what the shadows portended, and he was loath to let them touch him. He backed up, and he bumped up against the pole on which he had seen his own head. He looked up involuntarily and let out a yelp of alarm.

Senna’s head was there instead of his. It stared down at him, eyes glassy. And then the impact of Vir’s thumping against it caused her head to topple off. The head fell, spiraling, and tumbled into Vir’s arms even as he tried to do everything he could to avoid it.

And then, despite everything he’d been through, despite his being fairly inured to terrifying hardships, Vir found himself frozen, utterly paralyzed, unable to cope with what he was seeing.

He started to cry, tears running down his face, but without any heat. As grotesque and grisly a sight as it was, he clutched the head to him and the sobs crew louder.

And the head spoke to him. “Vir… Vir,” came Senna’s voice, impossibly, from the severed head. Then Vir was being shaken, and suddenly he opened his eyes, and the tears were very real and hot against his cheek.

Senna was looking down at him, her head securely back on her shoulders.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, more than a decade before, when Londo had taken her under his wing. There was no longer anything childlike about her. This was an adult woman, polished and intelligent, who looked as if she was already anticipating how she was going to respond to something you had not yet thought of saying.

She was dressed in a blue—and—white gown that was both simple and elegant. She had been wearing it the last time that Vir had seen her, about six months earlier, during a dinner with Londo that had quickly evolved into a rather pleasant evening.

She had, in fact, salvaged the evening, because Londo had spent much of it getting quietly drunk—which was something Vir had not often seen Londo do. Drunk, yes, but quiet? Never.

She had been witty, charming, entertaining, and utterly captivating.

He had also heard from her from time to time during the in terim, although usually it was about more… businessoriented matters.

“Vir… Londo sent me to fetch you… and you were here, and…”

“I’m all right, I’m… I’m all right,” he said quickly, clambering to his feet. He glanced around automatically. Even though he knew that there would be no sign of the Drakh—that, indeed, the Drakh had most likely never physically been there—he found that he was peering into the shadows to see if any of them moved. “I saw…” Then he caught himself. He certainly didn’t want to tell this young woman what he had experienced. There was no need to risk alarming her.

“You saw what?” she asked.

Slowly he pointed to the head of Rem Lanas, perched atop the pole.

“He was… one of yours?”

His head snapped around at those words. He saw it then, in her face, in her eyes… she knew.

“Not here,” he said firmly, and tugged her arm. He started to pull her out of the garden, and she offered no resistance, but then he stopped, and said, “Wait… Londo will be waiting…”

“If he waits a few minutes more, nothing will happen,” Senna said, and with that they departed. The unseeing eyes of Rem Lanas watched them go.

They wanted me to do something. How gloriously ironic is that?

The House heads were clamoring to see me. They were up in arms because Durla has jailed one of their own. They wanted to know what I am going to do about it, not only as emperor, but also as the head of a House myself.

They all clustered outside my chambers, a flock of clucking birds, and at first Dunseny brought them in one at a time. But finally, at my instruction, he led in the entire group of them. Initially they comported themselves nobly, speaking in the sort of stately and pompous manner that I’ve come to expect. But soon one complaint tumbled into another, until they were all bleating about their situation. They tell me that, if this is allowed to continue, it is going to mean the end of the entire social and class structure of Centauri Prime. It will terminate life as we know it, everything that Centauri Prime is supposed to stand for and respect.

It is truly amazing.

Shadow ships darkened our sky… the Shadows themselves were given aid and comfort here on Centauri Prime… creatures who were the purest incarnation of evil ever known to this galaxy. That was not enough to be an end to life as we know it on Centauri Prime.

Nor was life as we know it threatened by Cartagia’s mad reign, during which time the supposedly brave House leaders trembled in hiding, lest they truly lose their heads.

And now…

Well… truth be told… the life that we have come to know and cherish on Centauri Prime, the goals for which we have fought so diligently… these actually are in jeopardy. Not for the reason that the House heads claim, though. The heads of the Houses live in the uppermost branches of the tree that is Centauri Prime. When one is that high up, it is difficult to perceive that the true problem is root rot.

It took me a little time to discern exactly what has them so up in arms. Most interesting: Milifa, the father of the late and unlamented—except by him—Throk, spoke challengingly to our prime minister. One does not do so if one expects to live to a ripe old age. Milifa apparently forgot that, and is now imprisoned.

A rather foolish move, that.

Tikane came before me, of the House of Tikane. And there is Arlineas, and Yson, and a host of others. Persons who, after hiding in fear from the rampage of Cartagia, feel a greater sense of safety under my more “benevolent” rule. They have also been supporters of Durla, helping to smooth the way to his assuming the office and power of prime minister. I believe they are regretting that decision, and are hoping that I will rectify it for them.

“The Houses, Emperor,” Tikane told me with a vast degree of pomposity, “are the underpinnings, the backbone, of your strength.” The others nodded in accord.

My strength.

My strength.

What know they of my strength?

It is Durla who runs things, and I… I have been fighting political battles and games for as long as I can remember. For a time I thought that I was truly winning… except in This sort of game, to win is to lose. Durla feeds on this sort of business, the way a fire feeds on oxygen. The only thing I take comfort in is knowing that even Durla is deceived. He deludes himself into believing that he knows what is occurring… but he does not. He has no idea that he himself is a tool, of… others. Were I to tell him, of course, he would not believe me. He is far too taken with his own sense of self—importance.

Then it was Arlineas who spoke, and he looked a bit concerned. I have no idea how long I must have simply sat there, staring off into space, lost in my thoughts. Next to Arlineas was Yson—small in stature, but looming in charismawho, as was his custom, said nothing. Very rarely did he speak. As a result, on the few occasions when he did, his words carried with them far greater importance.

But it was Arlineas who spoke. “Highness, are you—” he said tentatively.

“I hear you,” I answered him softly. “I hear everything.”

“Then certainly,” Arlineas said, “you have heard the stories of the massive fleet buildup. Individual workforces, operating independently of each other, each assembling different parts of the whole, but no one person truly knowing its capacity—”

“Or purpose,” Tikane said. “No one person except Durla… who now has virtually declared war on the Houses.” The others crowded together, all bobbing their heads in agreement. “What does this say to you, Highness?”

“What does it say to me?” I replied. For the first time in a long time, I felt something other than lethargy running through my veins. “It says to me that you and your ilk were more than content to allow matters to progress to this state, when it suited your needs and egos. Durla has made no secret of his intentions. How many of you nodded dutifully and applauded his grand vision. And Vallko… Vallko, standing in the Great Square, preaching of Centauri Prime’s great destiny, which any fool can see means nothing less than the annihilation or subjugation of every other world. How many of you shared his prayers to the GreatMaker and sought the Great Maker’s blessing for the very endeavors you now decry.”

“We are simply concerned for the general wellbeing of our world, Highness,” Tikane protested.

“Your own wellbeing, you mean. You reap what you sow.” They looked at each other in puzzlement. “We are not farmers, Highness,” Arlineas pointed out.

I shook my head. “Never mind. I did not expect you to understand. But,” I continued with renewed strength, “if you do not comprehend that, then this might serve instead. Something a Vorlon once said…”

“A Vorlon?” There were immediate looks, one to the other. Most of them had never had the opportunity to see a Vorlon, even one inside an encounter suit. I, of course, had notonly extensively been in the presence of a suited one… but I was present that amazing day when Kosh Naranek, the Vorlon ambassador, emerged from his suit. Others reported visions of a great winged being, and I…

I saw nothing.

Actually, that is not entirely accurate. I saw… light. An overwhelming brilliance. But it was shapeless, amorphous, and indistinct. For a moment, it seemed as though I perceived a hint of something, but that was all.

Sometimes I have wondered whether what others saw was some sort of mass delusion… or whether I was simply not deserving of the experience.

“Yes. A Vorlon,” I said. “Understand, he did not say this to me directly, but to another. However, things have a habit of being passed around. And what he said was, The blizzard has already begun. It is too late for the snowflakes to vote.’ Do you comprehend that, gentlemen?”

There were slow nods from all around. They understood all too well. They were not, however, happy about it.

“So… you will do nothing?” Tikane said. “You will simply allow Durla to do as he wishes?”

“Have you heard nothing I said?” I demanded. “He operates now using the power that your support provided him. He has grown beyond you. To him, you are all simple grounddwellers. He no longer looks to the ground. He looks to the stars that he desires to conquer, and he has the backing of the military. And the people adore him… him and his ministers of religion and education and information. You, who have so much, cannot begin to comprehend how much those who have nothing appreciate such things as jobs and building toward a future of conquest. Since they have nothing, they consider it quite appealing, the prospect of taking that which others possess.

“You cannot stand against that, and I do not suggest you try.”

“Then what do you suggest we do, Highness?” Arlineas demanded.

I sighed deeply and put a hand to my head. “I suggest you leave. My head hurts rather profoundly, and I would be alone.”

They were not the least bit happy to hear that, but my personal guards did not particularly care about the feelings of the noble lords. They were escorted out. The last one to go was Yson, and I felt his rather malevolent gaze upon me even after he was out of the room.

“Leave me,” I told my guards. They bowed and obeyed, closing the great doors behind them. The doors of my prison.

I rose from my throne and walked slowly across the room. Every movement these days feels labored and painful. In the past, at least my aches had been courteous enough to confine themselves to what is left of my soul; now they have actually intruded into my joints. Most inconsiderate.

I stood upon the balcony, holding tightly to the railing. I looked into the distance… and saw something that was most unexpected. There, walking across a field, were Vir and Senna. I had been wondering where Vir was; I had sent Senna to bring him to me, and yet there they were, walking away, speaking with each other like two old friends. Or… more than that?

Then something else caught my eye, on another balcony, to the right and one level up. I knew it well ; it was the residence and offices of Durla. The fact that he had acquired accommodations higher than my own was, I had always felt, a not—so—subtle message from him to me.

What I saw now, though, was not Durla. It was Mariel, andshe looked simply awful. She was bandaged, as if she had taken a great fall. I did not have a chance to get a good look, however, because she spotted me looking up at her… and immediately darted back inside.

It was never like her to be clumsy. Then again, age begins to tell on all of us, I suppose.

“What make you of that?”

It was Shiv’kala. As always, I had not heard his entrance at all. Even after all these years of our…“association”… I still had no clear idea of how he achieved his comings and goings. I used to think upon it for extensive periods of time, scrutinizing the walls from which he emerged to see if there were hidden passages and such. If so, I never managed to detect them.

“Of them?” I pointed to Vir and Senna, mere specks in the distance. “How kind of you to care about my opinion.”

“I have always cared, Londo.”

I turned and looked into the face of the creature I hated above all others. If nothing else, his unchanging nature was aggravating. My face, my frame, reflected every minute of every day of my life, and not in an especially flattering manner. Shiv’kala, for his part, looked exactly the same now as he had then. “You say I rather than ‘we’? I had always thought you spoke on behalf of the Drakh entire.”

“You have never truly understood me, Londo,” Shiv’kala said. “Believe it or not, you have had no greater protector or friend than me.”

“I will opt for ‘not,’ if it is all the same to you.” Shiv’kala looked at me with what seemed to be a perverse sort of paternal disapproval. “You have not been the best of servants, Londo.”

“I grieve for my lapses.”

“You do no such thing. Your little rebellions have been numerous, and usually ill timed. That you have survived them has been largely due to my sufferance. Fortunately enough, in recent years they have been fairly nonexistent.”

Something about the way he said that caught my interest.

“Why ‘fortunately enough’?”

“Because,” he said evenly, “matters will be coming to a head. And now would be a most unfortunate time to be… problematic.”

I chuckled softly. “Are you not concerned that saying such things may provide a temptation for me to do exactly what you fear?”

“Fear?” The notion appeared to amuse him. “We fear nothing, Londo, least of all you. However, I have invested a good deal of time in you. The notion that the time was wasted would be displeasing to me.”

“Of course…” I said, understanding. “You are concerned that I will be motivated by the complaints. That I will attempt to interfere in the plans of Durla, your chosen one.”

“Any ‘attempts’ you make will be just that. You cannot stop this, Londo, any more than…”

“Than that vessel, Excalibur, was able to stop your plan to eradicate humanity?”

We both knew precisely what I meant.

“You grow old, Londo,” he said after a time of silence. “You grow old… and tired. I can help you, you know.”

“Oh, can you.”

He stepped in close to me. Once I would have trembled inwardly. Now I was simply bored. “We have our methods,” he said. “You need not be a slave to your body. Options can be offered you… if your actions suit our desires. You can be young and strong again.”

“I was never young,” I told him, “and if I had ever been strong, I would not have allowed myself to get into this situation in the first place. I am not interested, Shiv’kala, in anything you might have to offer.”

“When you are on your deathbed, you might have something else to say.”

“You are likely right. And it will probably be something like this…” and I put my hand to my throat and produced a loud “Aaaackkkkkk!”

He looked at me very oddly, did the Drakh. “You have a curiously odd—timed sense of humor, Emperor Mollari.”

“I have learned that life is short, Shiv’kala, and one must find one’s amusements where one can.”

He looked out toward Vir and Senna. I could not help but feel that he was studying them in the same manner that I might examine an insect before I step on it. “You have not answered my question, Londo. What make you of that?”

“What do I make of two people walking?” I shrugged. “It means nothing.”

“Sometimes that which means nothing means everything.”

“You speak like a Vorlon.”

It was a passing, offhand remark. I thought nothing of it. But the moment the words passed from my lips, a massive jolt of pain surged through my skull. I dropped to one knee, refusing to cry out… a resolve that lasted for perhaps three seconds before a scream was torn from my throat.

Shiv’kala stood above me, looking down at me with that same crushed—bug expression. “Never,” he said coldly, “say that again.”

“Never… never…” I managed to get out. Then the pain ebbed, just like that, and I sagged to the floor, on my hands and knees, trying to prop myself up and stop the room from spinning wildly around me.

“And never forget who I am… what you are…”

“Never,” I said again.

As if he had forgotten that I was there, he looked back out in the direction of Vir and Senna. “Cotto has been made a tool of the technomages. Are you aware of that?”

I shook my head, which was a mistake, because it made the room spin utterly out of control. My left elbow gave way and I crashed to the floor. Shiv’kala did not appear to notice.

“At least he has been in the past. Perhaps they were utilizing him again that day he was wandering the palace and almost came upon me. Well, Londo… what one group can turn to their advantage… another can, as well. And this we shall do… when the time is right.”

“Don’t hurt him,” I gasped out from the floor. “He… is harmless.”

“Hurt the next emperor?” He seemed astonished at the thought. “Unthinkable. He is our insurance, Londo. In case you become too troublesome, or decline to remain malleable… you can be disposed of, and Vir instituted in your place. And I strongly suspect that he will be far more compliant than you have ever been.”

“I have… complied…”

“On most things, yes. On some, you have not. There should be no exceptions. It is not for you to pick and choose. It is for you to obey.”

“Obey… yes… I will…”

“See that you do,” he said, and I could feel the temperature dropping significantly. “Otherwise Vir will step in where you leave off. If you do not desire such a happenstance… then do nothing to bring it about.”

“I shall do nothing.” The pain was beginning to subside, but the lack of control, the sense of humiliation… these were wounds that stabbed far more deeply, and would never depart.

I waited for the response—some retort, some threat, some… thing. But there was nothing. I looked up. He was gone.

I rose on unsteady legs and, as I leaned against the wall, I realized somewhat belatedly that I should have asked him if he knew the circumstances of how Mariel had come to be injured. For a moment, a demented moment, I thought that maybe Durla had done that to her. But then I realized that such a thing could not possibly be. He adored her. He doted on her. Amusingly, there were many who believed that she was the true strength behind the prime minister. I, of course, knew that it was the Drakh. But that was information that I had no choice but to keep to myself.

I have read back on what I have just written. My eyes are tired, and I feel myself growing fatigued. Vir and Senna came back later in the evening, and there seemed to be something in their eyes when they looked to each other… but they also appeared distracted, as if they had seen something that was bothersome to them.

…but I am an old man, and prone to imagining things.

What I have not imagined, however, is the concern expressed by the heads of the Houses. I do not care especially about their personal worries. Whatever ill for tunes befall them, they have more than brought upon themselves.

My memory of late continues to fade in and out, but occasionally I have times of starkly lucid clarity. And the extensive discussion of great vessels, fleets… these things, however, have caught my attention. Perhaps, despite whatever my “master” may desire, I shall see precisely what is going on, in detail. I likely cannot stop it; I am a mere snowflake, dressed appropriately for that status. However, I can at least provide a bit of slush, and see if Durla slips on it.