Out of the Darkness

chapter 7

For the first time in a long time, I had fun today. I totally disrupted Durla’s meeting… gave him a reminder of just who was in charge, for all the good that will do… and then had some excitement that resulted in a most unexpected reunion.

I am worn out from it and won’t go into detail. Tomorrow, maybe. Hopefully even my occasionally faulty memory will suffice to hold on to the recollection until the morrow.

In case it is not… I shall jot down the phrase that will most stick in my mind, simply because Durla’s expression was so priceless. The look on his face, as he spat words from his mouth that did not match the expression. “Emmmperor,” he said, dragging out the first syllable as if it would go on forever. “How… pleasingly unexpected to see you…”

‘Emmmperor… how… pleasingly unexpected to see you…” Even as he spoke, Durla felt all the blood draining out of his face. He composed himself quickly, however, and rose. Seated around the table were Minister of Development Castig Lione, Minister of Information Kuto, and Minister of Spirituality Vallko. In addition, there was also General Rhys, next to whom Kuto—in his loud and amusingly selfdeprecating manner—insisted that he sit. “Far easier than dieting,” Kuto had chortled, slapping his more than amplebelly. Not that Rhys was fat. But he was large enough and broad enough that he made Kuto look small in comparison, which naturally pleased Kuto no end.

“I believe this is your first visit to the Tower of Power, if I’m not mistaken,” Durla continued. “Welcome, welcome. Minister Lione has been kind enough to arrange for these particular facilities to be used for ministry meetings. Hopefully you will find them up to your standards.” Rhys was at the far head of the table, and he was already standing and offering his chair to the emperor. Londo, with the omnipresent Dunseny at his side, nodded in acknowledgment of the gesture and took the preferred seat. He glanced around the table, bobbed his head in greeting once more, and then sat there with a slightly vacant smile. “Highness?” Durla said. Londo still didn’t respond until Dunseny nudged him slightly, then he seemed to come to himself. “Yes. Good to see me. And it is good to be seen. I felt that I had not been doing that sufficiently of late.” He leaned forward, and said in a conspiratorial voice, “I raised quite a fuss on my way over, you know. People in the street pointed, whispered among themselves. ‘Is that he?’ they asked. ‘is that the emperor? I thought he was dead!’” Londo laughed at that rather heartily, until the laughter suddenly turned to a violent, racking cough. It took a full thirty seconds for it to subside, and during that time the ministers looked uncomfortably around the table at one another.

Finally Londo managed to compose himself. Dunseny solicitously dabbed at the edges of the emperor’s mouth with a cloth.

Durla found it difficult to believe that the old retainer was still at Londo’s side. Dunseny had managed to outlive every member of the House Mollari who had been there when he started with the family. He seemed thinner, greyer, but otherwise no less efficient in his duties and attentions. For a time Throk had replaced Dunseny, as a means of keeping a perpetual closer eye on Londo, but Throk had come to a bad end. At that point, Londo had firmly reinstated Dunseny, and Durla had decided to let the matter go rather than press it. Somehow it didn’t seem worth the aggravation.

“My apologies, Ministers. Old age is not exactly a blessing.”

“Then again, it’s preferable to the alternative, Highness, Kuto said in his booming voice.

Londo shot a glance at him. “Is it?” he asked. There didn’t seem to be any ready response for this, and Kuto didn’t try to make one.

Londo’s gaze focused on Lione. “Minister… where did you acquire that scar on your throat?”

Lione automatically reached up to touch it, but caught self. Without looking at Durla, he said, “A mishap, Emperor Nothing more.”

“Yes. Most unfortunate. I hear tell from Dunseny that there seems to be a virtual epidemic of clumsiness going on in the palace these days. Your wife, I hear tell, suffered such a seizure,” Londo said, swiveling his gaze to Durla. “Odd. When I was married to her, she was the most graceful and coordinated of all the women whom I called wife. Curious that she would become so accident—prone. Perhaps the process of aging has been no kinder to her than to me, eh?”

There was something in his look that Durla definitely did not like. So he cleared his throat a bit more loudly than was needed, and said, “Highness… you still have not graced us with the purpose for your visit…”

“The purpose. Ah, yes. It is my understanding, Durla, that this meeting was being held to discuss the current state of readiness for the Centaurum’s reclamation of our great and illustrious heritage—presumably, over the dead bodies of those who would stand in our way.”

“May I ask who told you that, Highness?”

“Certainly. General Rhys did.” Duria, stunned, looked to the general. Rhys returned the look blandly. “His Highness asked,” he said by way of explanation. “He is my emperor, the supreme ruler and commander of this world. If he asks me a question about the status of military readiness, naturally it is my obligation to respond truthfully.”

“Ah. Pardon my surprise, General… you had not informed me that the emperor had asked.”

“You did not ask, Minister.” Durla cursed to himself. That was typical of Rhys. He was a brilliant tactician and an utterly fearless fleet commander. But had a streak of individuality that he flashed every so often, apparently for Durla’s benefit. Technically, he had done nothing wrong. He was indeed obligated, through oath and historical tradition of his rank, to answer first and foremost to the emperor, with no obligation whatsoever to report those discussions to others, even the prime minister. If Durla made too much of an issue of his actions, it would reflect poorly on him. “Highness,” Durla said carefully, “these are matters of an extremely delicate and sensitive nature. In the future, I would appreciate if any inquiries you might wish to make on these subjects come through my office.”

“Are you endeavoring to dictate terms to me, Durla?” Londo asked.

There was an undercurrent of danger in the tone that brought Durla up short. Suddenly he was beginning to regret that he had not taken steps to dispose of Londo ages ago. Granted, the military supported Durla. There was no question about that, and there was intense loyalty from those who remembered Durla from when he himself was part of the rank and file. They perceived him as one of their own. However, ranking and highly regarded officers—such as Rhyscontinued to show respect for the position of emperor. Not even aberrations such as Cartagia had diminished the military compulsion to stand behind whoever held the highest rank in all of Centauri Prime. Durla had no desire to make Rhys and other higher—ranking officers, for whom Durla spoke, choose their allegiances. Because he had no real way of controlling how those choices would fall.

So he put forward his most ready smile, and said reassuringly, “Of course not, Highness. You are Centauri Prime. I would no sooner dictate terms to you than tell the sun which way to rise.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Prime Minister. I have little doubt that—if you thought you might succeed—you might easily decide that the sun should rise in the west so that you can sleep in.”

This drew mild laughter from the others. Durla nodded amiably at the small joke made at his expense.

“We have quite a military industrial complex under way, Prime Minister,” Londo continued. “Many papers are brought before me for my signature and seal. I have continued to sign off on them, as an indication of my support. For I believe, as do you—as do all of you—that Centauri Prime has a great destiny to pursue. Although I doubt I could put forth the matter so eloquently or enthusiastically as Minister Vallko.”

“I am honored and flattered that you would think so, Highness,” Vallko said. “I have always felt that our positions complemented each other. That you attended to the wellbeing of the bodies of our people… and I to their spirits.”

“Well said, Minister, well said,” Londo said, thumping the table with unexpected vigor. “And since the bodies of my people are involved in the work that you are doing, I wish to know” where we stand.”

“It is somewhat… involved, Highness.”

“Then involve me.”

Durla started to offer another protest, but he saw the firm, un—yielding look on the emperor’s face and abruptly realized that—most unexpectedly—things had become uncertain. He had to remind himself that there was really no need to keep Londo Mollari out of the loop. It wasn’t as if he could do anything to thwart their efforts. The people’s taste for conquest had only been whetted by strikes Centauri Prime had made against worlds at the outer fringes of the damnable Alliance’s influence. There was already momentum involved, and there was no way that anyone, even the emperor, could stem the tide.

And, of course, he had no intention of doing so. Durla was quite certain of that. This was merely an exercise in facesaving, that was all. When Centauri Prime achieved its destiny of conquest, Mollari wanted to be able to bask in the reflected glory. Understandable. Who wouldn’t want to? But the people would know the truth, and the militarydespite Rhys’ knee—jerk compulsion—likewise would know it was Durla’s vision that fired the Centauri movement. In the long run, Mollari’s endeavors to attach himself to Durla’s greatness would backfire. Durla was sure of that. He would be revealed for the posturing poseur that he was.

In the meantime, why risk alienating allies such as Rhys and those he represented just because he—Durla—was able to see through the emperor’s pathetic maneuvering? “Very well,” Durla said simply.

And so he proceeded to lay out, in detail, all the up—todate particulars of Centauri Prime’s military buildup. All the outposts, operating under varying degrees of secrecy, that were assembling the Centauri fleet that would sweep out among the Alliance worlds and spread the ultimate dominance of the Centaurum.

“So we are not rushing into this,” Londo said slowly, once Durla was finished providing the specifics. “Absolutely not, Emperor. The initial strikes that we have made served a twofold purpose. First, we were testing the will of the Alliance members, and frankly, we are less than impressed, They have grown complacent in their prosperity and their sense of peace. To them, our attack on Narn was an aberration, a distant memory at best. We have managed, through a carefully orchestrated campaign of publicity and information, planned by Minister Lione and well executed by Minister Kuto…” and he gestured toward the pair, who nodded gratefully, “to associate those days—in the minds of the Alliance—with the reign of the mad emperor Cartagia. You, Highness, are seen as a very different animal.”

“Certainly a less rabid one, I would hope,” Londo said with a hint of irony. “So I am perceived as a comparatively benign, harmless ruler. An interesting epitaph, I suppose. ‘Here lies Londo Mollari: a harmless enough fellow.’”

This drew a laugh from Kuto, who promptly silenced himself when he noticed that no one else was joining in.

Picking up after the momentary quiet, Durla continued, “We have further managed to pave the way, through backroom dealings, for key representatives of key governments to be… accommodating… to our attacks on assorted worlds. Furthermore, in launching the assaults, we have been testing the versatility and effectiveness of the vessels that we have assembled thus far. We are pleased to report that the tests of these prototypes have met with overwhelming success.”

“Excellent.” Londo nodded. Dunseny’s head was likewise bobbing in agreement.

“There were a few places where ship performance could be improved.” General Rhys spoke up. “Questions of maneuver ability, and proper distribution of energy resources in weaponry. Problems that made no difference against small worlds that are relatively helpless… but could loom large when it comes to battles against the more powerful members of the Interstellar Alliance.”

“We are attending to that, Highness,” Lione quickly assured him. “I have scientists, technicians, going over all the specifics cited by the general and his board of advisers. Nothing is being left to chance.”

“I have found, Minister, that ‘chance’ usually has its own feelings as to just what is being left to it, and has a habit of inserting itself into matters at its whim.” Londo scratched his chin thoughtfully. “And it will come to a direct challenge to the Alliance, yes? I understand the reasons for concentrating on smaller worlds… but I cannot say I embrace it enthusiastically. It seems… beneath us, no? Considering what it is we wish to accomplish.”

“The hard fact, Highness, is that the Alliance’s attacks and strictures reduced us, militarily and technically, to a state of infancy,” Durla said. Rhys looked as if he was bristling slightly, but he said nothing. Durla continued, “To that end, we must re—learn how to walk before we canrun. There is really no choice in the matter.”

“But it is merely a temporary condition, Highness.” Vallko spoke up. “Nothing is more firmly written in the book of fate than that the great Centauri Republic will hold the stars in its JF palm.”

The words, to Durla’s surprise, seemed to jolt Londo slightly. “Is there a problem, Highness?”

“No. No problem,” Londo assured him quickly. “Just… a reminder… of an image I saw a long time ago. A vision… of just that. I think perhaps, Vallko, you are indeed correct.”

“Of course he is correct, Highness,” Durla said flatly. “Our timetable calls for, at most, another two years before a full fleet has been assembled. A fleet that will more than satisfy all the requirements put forward by General Rhys and his advisers. A fleet that will cover the known galaxy as comprehensively as grains of sand cover a beach.” His voice began to rise as he became more and more taken with the impending realization of his vision. “When the time is right, we will launch a multistage assault on the Homeworlds of many of the Alliance governments, taking the war to them directly.” He saw heads bobbing around the table, and Londo’s gaze was fixed upon him in fascination.“If we strike hard enough, we can immobilize them, and pave the way for full—scale assaults on their holdings that will leave them powerless against further Centauri aggression.”

“The only problem,” Vallko said with a touch of caution, “remains Sheridan. This is a man who faced both Shadows and Vorlons, and caused them to back down. There are some who say he is more than Human.”

“With all respect, Vallko, we are definitely more than Human,” Durla reminded him. “That makes us more than a match.” But Vallko’s worries were not so easily dissuaded. “It is said he cannot die. Or that he is already dead.”

And from the end of the table came a whisper from Londo. “‘You must not kill the one who is already dead.’”

Confused looks were exchanged around the table. “Highness?” Dunseny prompted.

Londo looked up at Dunseny and forced a smile. “Just… remembering old voices, Dunseny. At my age, I am pleased I can remember anything. Then again, you are older than I amby far, and you never forget anything. Why is that?”

“Because, Highness, at my age, there are fewer things worth remembering.”

The exchange drew an appreciative chuckle from the ministers.

“Sheridan is just one man,” Durla reminded them, bringing the conversation back on track. “Let us not forget that he was involved with three great campaigns in his life: the EarthMinbari War, the Shadow War, and his assault on his own Homeworld Let us also not forget how each of those disputes was ultimately settled,” and he ticked them off on his fingers. “The Minbari surrendered; the Vorlons and Shadows voluntarily stood down and departed from known space; and his prime nemesis on Earth, the president, was considerate enough to commit suicide. Sheridan has never been in a position where he faced an enemy who would not back down. That is not the case here. Who here would back down from him? Which of you would tell me that—if faced with John Sheridan demanding your surrender—you would willingly do so?”

It was Rhys who spoke immediately. “Death first.”

There were agreeing nods from around the table.

“He will be facing a very different creature when the fullmight of the Centauri Republic is unleashed upon him,” Durla said.

“The people do not feel that way,” Kuto said.

Durla turned and gaped at him. “The people? The people do not?”

“I am not saying they do not support you, Prime Minister,” Kuto said quickly as the gazes of the others fell upon him. “But Minister Vallko is correct. The people rejoice in our achievements and call out their support publicly… but privately, my research says, they still fear Sheridan.”

“We cannot have that!” Durla replied. “This is an alarming comment on the state of the Centauri mind… and it must be addressed at once. At once! Kuto—arrange for a public speaking display. Immediately, do you hear me! Lione, Vallko, assist him!”

The other ministers were caught off guard by the sudden change of mood in the room, the abrupt way that Durla’s attitude had shifted. But they hastened to obey his orders. Londo said nothing, and merely watched silently.

Within moments, Durla and Londo were standing at a balcony on one of the lower floors of the Tower of Power. There were no windows in the Tower, which added to the mystique of the place. There was, however, the one balcony, which Durla had insisted upon for just such an occasion. The Tower had been well placed, for there was always a crowd of people around the base, just going about their business.

When Durla spoke, his voice boomed throughout the entire city, thanks to a multitude of hidden speakers. Not only that, but his oversize holographic image appeared throughout Centauri Prime, carrying his word far and wide. People on the other side of the world were jolted from their sleep by the unexpected intrusion of Prime Minister Durla. Londo, although at his side, was mysteriously absent from the projection. Only Durla’s image loomed large, which he felt was as it should be.

“It has been brought to my attention,” Durla’s voice echoed throughout the assemblage, all eyes below turning up toward him, “that as Centauri Prime returns to glory, there are many of you who fear reprisals from John Sheridan. Many who think that this man, who formed the Alliance, presents a threat to our world! That our recent, successful endeavors to expand our holdings will be met with resistance, and that we—as many others have—will surrender to President Sheridan, simply because he will ask us to! And why not? The Minbari surrendered. The Vorlons surrendered. The Shadows surrendered. Why not we?”

And he received exactly the answer he was hoping for. Someone below shouted, “Because we are Centauri!” Immediately others took up the shout.

“Yes! We are Centauri!” Durla announced, receiving a resounding cheer in return. “And in those instances when we choose to exercise our might, we will achieve nothing less than victory! Victory at all costs! Victory in spite of all terror! Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival!”

“Victory!” the people in the street shouted.

“We shall not flag or fail!” Durla continued. “We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in the void; we shall fight on planets; we shall fight in hyperspace; we shall fight on the Rim. We shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in space; we shall defend our Homeworld, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight in the asteroid fields; we shall fight in the nebulae; we shall fight among the starswe shall never surrender!”

The roar that went up was deafening, and seemed to go on forever. Durla drank it in, a virtual sponge for the adulation he was receiving. He stepped back in off the balcony to receivethe congratulations from the other ministers.

“Well done! Very well done!” burbled Kuto, and the others echoed the sentiments.

Only Londo seemed to have any pause. “And tell me, Durla… what do you think the reaction of Sheridan will be when he hears this speech of yours? How do you think he will react? Are you not concerned that he may be moved to strike first?”

“No, Highness, I am not,” Durla answered firmly. “If he and his precious Alliance have not attacked because of our deeds, they will certainly not attack because of words. They will perceive it as saber rattling, nothing more. But our people—our people will know it for what it is. They will know and remember, and when the time comes…”

“They will know that we will never surrender,” Londo said.

“That is exactly right, Highness.”

“Let us hope—for your sake, if nothing else—that President Sheridan sees it the same way,” said Londo.

The shouting continued, and Durla was only slightly soured to note that although many bellowed for him, the name of “Mollari” was being shouted with equal enthusiasm. But then he contented himself by recalling that the people in the square were truly only a fraction of the populace. Everywhere else it was Durla, and only Durla. And that was as it should be. Let the people call out for Mollari along with Durla, if it pleased them. Eventually they would come to realize who truly ran things.

Once upon a time, Durla felt as if no one would ever recognize him for his own achievements and his intrinsic greatness. Those days, however, were long past. He could afford to be generous, to share the wealth of the people’s adulation. For the moment. Mollari looked weaker with every passing day. Certainly he had his robust periods, but his cough was becoming more and more pronounced. It was indicative of something deeper, more damaging to the emperor’s health. But for some reason, Mollari seemed disinclined to seek out medical attention. And Durla certainly was not going to push the matter.

The shouting grew louder and louder. “Highness, they call for us,” Durla said, bowing low in a gesture that was slightly mocking. “Shall we go back out and satisfy their worship?”

“I have never had any desire to be worshipped, Prime Minister,” Londo said with a touch of amusement. “But if it will please you…” and he gestured that they should go back out onto the balcony. They stepped out and waved once more to the crowd. The people cried out almost as one, shouting their names, praising them to the skies so that the Great Maker himself would take note.

And that was when the shot rang out.

I did not hear it at first, because the shouts of the crowd were so deafening. Instead what I felt, rather than saw, was a sharp sensation across my forehead. I put my hand up to it to see what it could be, and when my hand came away it was tinged pink with blood. Then there was a sound, that of a ricochet, or of so striking nearby, and then a second.

I’ve been shot, I thought, and for a moment I felt—not concern or fear—but instead an almost giddy sense of accomplishment. So long had I been haunted by the image of G’Kar with his hands at my throat, I was almost resigned to it. If I was to die at the hand of an unknown assassin, then I had managed to thwart destiny. It was cold comfort to be sure, but given the comfort I had received of late, “cold” was almost a warming trend.

Before I could think or feel anything else, I was being hauled backward by my personal guards. Durla was likewise being hurried away from the balcony, General Rhys himself ducking Durla’s head for him to make certain he was not hit. Below, the people were still cheering; they had notyet figured out what was happening.

“The emperor’s been shot!” one of the guards cried out.

And then Dunseny was standing directly in front of me. He was saying loudly and firmly, in that no—nonsense tone that only the very old can successfully carry off, “Step aside. Let me see him.” Amazingly, the guards halted in their ushering me away, and Dunseny inspected my forehead with clinical expertise. “He hasn’t been shot,” he announced sourly, and it was hard to tell whether his tone of voice; was from annoyance at those who had pronounced me injured, or because he was aggrieved to discover it wasn’t the case. He had a cloth out and was dabbing at the bleeding, which was already trickling off. “No burn marks,” he said expertly. “It’s a… A blast must have hit above or nearby him, chipped off a small piece of the building, and the flying debris cut across his head. See? It’s stopping already.”

“I am not surprised,” I growled. “Blood circulates up there for the brain, and I have not been making many demands upon it lately.” General Rhys was already barking orders both to my guards and to his own security people. Although his authority extended only to the latter, everyone was attending to every word he uttered. “Get down there! Find the shooter or shooters!

The emperor and the prime minister will stay here until the area is secured!”

“The crowd is huge, General, how will we—” one of his security staff began.

Rhys gave him a look that could have sliced him in half.

“Move!” he bellowed with such force that his voice alone almost knocked the man off his feet.

The next hour was very confused, with mixed and conflicting reports being fed to us every few minutes. Durla, the other ministers, and I returned to the room where the briefing had been held, and there was great speculation among all of them as to who or what was responsible for this atrocious assault upon my sacro—sanct person. The consensus seemed to be that the Alliance was behind it — Sheridan in particular. I did not believe it for a moment, and said so. “Sheridan may many things,” I told them flatly, “but an assassin is not one of them.” They accepted my opinion with polite attention, but I suspectedthat they believed they knew far better than I about such matters, Dunseny, meantime, expertly bandaged the wound on my head, although it was such a pathetic thing, really, that he needn’t have bothered. I can only assume that he founded that activity preferable to simply standing there and letting me bleed. General Rhys disappeared, presumably to oversee the searchand—destroy mission personally. When he returned, he did not simply enter the room. Instead he virtually exploded into it, pushing the sliding doors aside since, apparently, they did not move quickly enough to suit him. “We have him,” Rhys said without any preamble, and then added, “A more bizarre set of circumstances we have never seen.” He turned, and shouted,” Bring them in!”

When I saw who was being led into the room, I was stunned.

Brought in side by side were Yson of House Yson, and another individual. Yson, burly and taciturn as always, was glaring. But no one was noticing; it was the Yson beside him who garnered all the attention. “G’Kar?” I barely recognized my own voice. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “G’Kar?” I said again.

“The emperor remembers my name. I am flattered,” he said.

Kuto was immediately on his feet. “Immediately,” though, may be too generous a term. It took him long moments to thrust himself to standing as his bulk fought gravity and won, but just barely. “What a magnificent day!” Kuto called out, apparently creating the release for the press even as he spoke. “Yson, one of our own nobles, fought to stop a vicious, bloodthirsty Narn from shooting and killing our beloved emperor!”

“No.”

It was a young voice that had spoken, and then I saw that a number of the Prime Candidates had crowded in at the door. Clearly they had been in the midst of a struggle. Their hair was disheveled, and some of them had torn clothing. In the forefront was one I thought I recognized. But I could not remember his name if someone had put a gun to my head. I knew because, after all, someone practically had just done so, and his name still was not forthcoming.

“What do you mean, Caso?” asked Lione, graciously supplying the missing piece of information for me.

Caso pointed at Yson. “He was the one who was shooting. The Narn was trying to stop him.”

“What?” Durla sounded horrified. “A Narn saved our emperor? And… this Narn?” The notion that a Narn might have had a hand in preserving my life must have seemed for him to go against the natural order. Imagine, then, his even great astonishment when Yson himself spoke up.

“Not him,” Yson said with great annoyance. “I wasn’t shooting at the emperor. I was shooting at you, Durla.”

One of the guards stepped forward. He was carrying a phased plasma. “Yson used this, Highness,” he said, proffering it to me, as a hunter would a trophy.

“I… I don’t understand,” Durla said. To my delight, he was stammering. It was a joy seeing him coming so close to losing his composure completely. “Caso… you claim that you saw it all?”

“Not all, Prime Minister,” said Caso. For some reason, the others seemed tossing him unkind looks, but Caso did not let it perturb him. Or if it did f him, he did not let it show. “We were close enough to hear the first shot, despite tingling of the crowd around us. We fought our way through, and there discovered? Yson was struggling with his weapon, a red—haired Centauri in the proo trying to yank it from his hands.”

“A red—haired Centauri? But then how did the Narn—”

“He has a name, Durla,” I interjected, sounding far calmer than I actually was “Considering you apparently owe him your life, you could at least do him the courtesy of using it.”

Durla looked ready to argue the point, but apparently decided it was not worth it. “How did… Citizen G’Kar… become involved? And where did he come from?”

“He… was the Centauri. It was apparently a holographic disguise of some sort. Whatever device was generating it was broken during the struggle, disguise dissipated.” Durla’s eyes went wide. “A changeling net,” he whispered. “They are illegal!”

“Arrest me,” said G’Kar.

Slowly Durla rose from his seat. He was trembling with barely contained rage. Oh, I will do more than arrest you! I will have you executed for… for…”

“Saving your life?” G’Kar was merely amused. I was not surprised. After all that G’Kar had endured in his life, it took far more than the ire of a Centauri politician—even a highly placed one—to give him pause. “Execution might not be such a terrible fate,” he continued, sounding philosophical. “The fact that it took me as long as it did to dispatch this… person,” and he indicated Yson with a nod, “is a bit embarrassing. I can only attribute it to the deleterious effects caused by extended use of a changeling net. Don’t worry. Given time to recover, I’m certain that I will be sufficiently strong to take on anyone in this room if so inclined.”

“I will have you executed,” Durla said, reining himself in, “for trespassing on Centauri Prime. Alien races are forbidden… or had you forgotten?”

“I forgot completely,” G’Kar replied.” I wore the disguise only because I wanted to have hair. Tall hair.” Great Maker, I’d missed him. “You wore the disguise to spy on us! You are a trespasser and a spy! For that alone, your life is forfeit.”

“But it is not that alone, Durla,” I said. I rose from my chair. My legs felt slightly unsteady, and I took a moment until I was certain that I could endure the simple act of standing. “That must be factored in with the debt that is owed him by you… and by me. Perhaps Yson’s intent was to dispense with you, but I could just as easily have fallen within his target. Correct, Yson?”

Yson looked at me with utter scorn. “Durla is power mad. He has nothing but contempt for the Houses. For the traditions of Centauri Prime. But you… you are worse. For there is nothing worse than a weak emperor.”

Slowly I nodded. Then, in one motion, I turned and pulled on the ceremonial sword that General Rhys had in his scabbard. I admired the hissing noise it made as it slid out. Yson’s expression of disdain was still on his face as I turned and swung my arm as fast as I could. The blade was as sharp as it sounded, and I was pleased to see that my arm still had some strength in it. Yson’s sneer was frozen even as his head slid from his shoulders and thudded to the floor.

No one said a word.

I pointed the sword at G’Kar. His one eye glittered at me.

“Are you free for dinner?” I asked.