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| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part III: The Parliaments of Conquerors |
IT is to the second Emperor that we perhaps owe the dubious pleasure of our system of favours and influence amongst the nobility. While everyone knows it was the first Emperor who instituted the Royal Court and the custom of nobles' estates being in or near the capital - obviously as part of a 'put them where I can keep my eye on them' strategy - it was his heir who refined and extended the whole idea.
Possibly due to the precariousness of his position during the early years of his reign, the second Emperor was more fearful than his father of the amount of power wielded by the nobility. People tend to forget that the empire-building and all-conquering hero began his reign as little more than an adolescent, prodded and pushed in directions he found morally repugnant.
It was his advisor, the universally feared and reviled High Priest Richele, who shaped and stabilised those early years. It is also believed to have been he who devised the system of the nobility answering directly to the Emperor himself. The Centarum by far predated the Imperium of course, but the first Emperor had managed to tame its power considerably. His son, 'assisted' by Richele and motivated by his own fears, made the Centarum more of an extension of the Court and brought the body under his own direct control.
It soon came to be that any noble known to be openly opposed to the Emperor would fail to achieve any position of power within the Government and would frequently be passed over in his efforts to speak during Centarum meetings. As a result all the nobles had to spend more time establishing their loyalty to the Emperor than they could spend plotting against him, and when they did plot in secret, more often that not they were plotting against their fellows, each trying to convince the Emperor that they were more loyal to him than any of the others. This brought about the classic balance of terror, where all the nobles were too busy manoeuvring against each other to realise the extent to which the Emperor and Richele were manipulating them.
Unfortunately such a situation was only tolerable so long as there was a strong Emperor in control, and after Richele's execution and the beginning of the first of the Wars of Expansion, the Emperor was seldom in attendance in the Royal Court. During his reign various factions had formed among the nobles, and with the Emperor gone these factions began to dominate the Court, and thenceforth the Empire.
This situation still endures today. Certain later Emperors have tried to revive the 'balance of terror' technique, but this has had only limited success since the end of the first Imperial Dynasty with the seventh Emperor. Ever since then we have been ruled by the heads of various noble Houses, all of whom rose to their positions from the mire of the Court, and none of whom has ever forgotten it. To be sure, some of them have had more success than others. Most notable was Emperor Mollari, who was seemingly in control for years until his unfortunate and horrific death.
The situation today is awkward to say the least. Factions have been switching and changing for years and not one of the noble Houses has sufficient power to stand above the rest. Emperor Turhan clings to the throne by a thread and I predict that there will be anarchy within a few years of his death. Perhaps we would all be better off had the second Emperor not been the legendary conqueror after all....
Excerpts from The Balance of Terror: A Study of the Centauri Royal Court,
its Rulers and its Nobles, by noted political commentator Lord Jarno XVth,
(2188-2236, died while under house arrest for treason)
published posthumously in the Earth Year 2244.
A banned text in the Centauri Republic, but very popular elsewhere.
* * * * * * *
There is a place where evil breeds. That place is not a faraway world inhabited by a distant Enemy. That place is not a tower surrounded by mountains that spew fire. That place is not a dungeon where people are tortured and scream as they die.
The place can be found on any world, in any time. It is a simple room, where powerful people gather and, in plain, matter-of-fact tones, discuss plans of atrocity.
Welcome to such a place.
David Sheridan, Ambassador to Humanity from the alien race known as the Shadows, looked around at his companions and began slowly drumming his fingers on the table.
Had he the particular skills of Mr. Welles, Head of Security, or of Mr. Bester, he might have been studying each individual, recording details and mannerisms and information for later use. Sheridan had little need of such tricks, however. He knew who they were, and he knew where their destinies lay, and that, as it was said, was that.
The whole idea was faintly ludicrous, really. There have always been secret groups and alliances within any Government, but not even the Centauri would go so far as to resurrect an ancient legend and pervert it to this extent.
The Round Table, indeed. A secret conspiratorial organisation with each member given a codename after one of the knights of the legendary King Arthur. A fairly futile attempt to maintain secrecy, even amongst themselves.
Sheer, sheer foolishness. Although, Sheridan had to admit, there was one piece of common sense here. No one was allowed the codename Sir Mordred. That would have been just too appropriate. Not that these people were to be underestimated. Sheridan reckoned that almost all the secret power movers of Proxima were here, apart from a few in the Resistance Government. Clark was apparently unaware of this group's existence and as for Welles.... who could really tell? He wasn't here though, which was what mattered.
"Speak of matters of importance and thou shalt be heard." The meeting was brought to order by the unknown head of the Round Table - who else but King Arthur? The words were formal and official and a part of the essence of this gathering - tradition.
One by one, the 'Knights' rose and spoke. Sir Gaheris - really a minor official in the Diplomatic Office - spoke of extending the secret alliance with the Streibs. They were growing ambitious for more military aid, and since the defeat of the Drakh during the assault on Minbar they had become somewhat more belligerent towards Humanity. Sir Gaheris had gone to great lengths to set up the original treaty and was less than pleased to see it jeopardised.
Sir Percival - the Head of Security for Dome No. 4 - described problems with an anarchist underground newspaper printing 'lies' - i.e. the truth - about certain recent Government activities. He then detailed his plans for the 'accidental' deaths of the families of those involved.
Lady Ygraine - a media controller - reported on various half-truths and 'exposés' she'd instructed her employees to disseminate, particularly concerning the whereabouts of a certain Captain John Sheridan, but also involving the Narn/Centauri War and the - completely fabricated - activities of the Minbari leaders during the bombardment of their homeworld.
Sir Galahad - a leading psychiatrist - offered assistance to Lady Ygraine by providing details of the so-called 'Alien Contact' Syndrome, which she accepted gratefully.
Ambassador Sheridan listened to all of this with cool detachment, saying nothing. Only the single mention of his son aroused any emotional reaction, and that was completely hidden from the others. Despite his contempt for the rigmarole and absurdity of this meeting, he had to admit that these people were very good at their job. Even after the Fall of Earth the Round Table had endured, subtly shaping policy, manipulating the people, helping rebuild, and above all ensuring that the power remained solidly in their hands.
And if you were to ask any single one of them why they were doing this, they would look baffled and be unable to answer, save for one word:
Tradition.
Almost laughable really, but the power these people wielded was not laughable. Susan Ivanova had uncovered their presence during her time as official Ambassador here, and she had reported it back to Z'ha'dum. Sheridan had made it one of his first priorities on arrival.
(Ivanova. Damn. That reminded him of something he had to attend to. Oh well, later.)
And he was almost there. Power such as these people wielded needed directing, shaping, forming. And he had taken it upon himself to do so.
With each 'knight' having reported, Ambassador David Sheridan, a.k.a. King Arthur, rose to his feet to close the meeting.
* * * * * * *
Timov, daughter of Alghul and first wife to Londo Mollari, awoke from a troubled sleep to find her husband gone from her side. Looking at the window and seeing only darkness outside, she muttered to herself and rose from the bed. Picking up a light globe, she wrapped a thick robe round her shoulders and walked through to the room where she knew her husband would be.
And sure enough, there he was.
She did not say anything, but merely looked at him for a moment. He must have known she was there, but he made no reaction. He was merely sitting, illuminated by the dim light of a globe and staring at the far wall in silence.
Timov shivered, and not from the cold. There was such.... darkness in his appearance, and from more than the deep shadows cast around his form. He had changed in recent weeks, growing more and more morose and hard. His sarcastic gibes had less warmth to them than before, and he issued them almost robotically, as though they were expected of him, and no more.
She knew that his change was a consequence of what he had to do but.... still....
Love had been a rare feeling for Timov in her life. She had known precious little in her childhood, having been moulded from birth into the classic Centauri lady - i.e. bitchy, conniving, vicious and ambitious; the perfect counterpart to her husband in his own ambitions. She had been married off as part of a political deal to a man she had met only twice, and was forced to watch as he married two other women in the space of a decade.
Timov had always been more perceptive than either of her sister-wives and she had seen the bitterness and anger within her husband, buried deeply beneath a surface of sarcasm and pointless revelry. Anger at the universe, at society, at himself.... and bitterness that he had not been born in a time when he might have been able to make a difference. Timov had noticed all of these things and had been afraid to point them out to him, and so she had instead chosen to become a dark reflection of her society, a mirror illuminating all that was wrong within it.
She was about to step forward to him when she noticed a figure in the next doorway - a doorway that led to an anteroom. The distinctive silhouette beckoned to her and she nodded, then walked slowly around the corners of the room to the doorway and the person who was watching there.
After all, how many other Minbari were on Centauri Prime these days?
Lennier ushered her in and set his own light globe on a desk. It was set at a brighter pitch than either hers or Londo's. She had heard that Minbari had poor night vision, but Lennier's seemed.... on a par with her own, at least.
"He comes here.... every night," Lennier said softly. It did not look as if the Minbari had been to bed. He was still fully clothed in pale, utilitarian garb, the circle-of-light which marked his allegiance the only item of jewellery about him. He wore it openly now.
"He sits there, staring at the walls, and thinking. Every night."
"I guessed as much," Timov replied softly. She had never been sure how to react to Lennier. She had known very few Minbari and had cordially detested the influx of faux-Minbari fashions and designs in the years following their destruction of Earth. As a result she was unsure how to treat this one - especially given the news from Minbar.
Timov still remembered hearing of the planet's bombardment and destruction. She had heard the rumours during their frantic flight from the capital to some place of refuge, and she had been stunned for hours. The centre of a major, powerful alien race - a race whom even the Centauri at the height of their power would not have threatened - and it had been destroyed utterly in a matter of hours.
The effects on Centauri Prime in the months since had been obvious. All things Minbari suddenly became unfashionable and human styles were 'in' again. Timov's disgust with her fellows had never been more pronounced.
Her own reaction had been tearful prayer and numbed horror. Londo had shaken his head and drunk solidly for three hours. Lord-General Marrago had whispered a brief prayer and looked nervously at the heavens. Lennier, the only member of their little fellowship who had even seen Minbar, he.... did nothing. He said nothing and did nothing.
"He is nervous," Timov said quickly, flicking a glance back at Londo. "You know what is to happen tomorrow, after all."
"Yes. Yes, I do. And it is more than just.... nerves. He is going up against his own Government and his own people. I.... know what that can be like, and what it can lead to. I cannot blame him for reacting like this."
"Perhaps." But Timov knew there was more. She was adept at secrets after all, and she knew her husband well enough to be able to recognise when he was keeping something from her. This was one of those times. Something had happened that night in the Royal Palace - the night Emperor Refa had been assassinated and Londo had been blamed - that he was not telling her.
"I should go and talk to him," she said softly.
"No," Lennier said. "That is.... not what he needs, now."
"I am his wife. I will go and talk to him."
He shook his head sadly. "That will not help."
"Then what will?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Timov looked at him and knew that he was right. There was nothing she could do for the man she was surprisingly coming to love.
Nothing except remain where she was and watch him for the remainder of the night. Only when the sun began to rise did he move at last, and set about the business of the day.
* * * * * * *
She does not scream. She cannot of course, but if she knew what was happening to her, if she had some inkling of the rôle she is to play in the future months.... then she would. Beyond doubt, she would scream.
Her place in this mission had been established for months, ever since the unexplained interference at the Battle of Minbar had been explained. G'Kar and his Army of Light had been a threat for a while, and now it was time for the Shadows to shut them down and to do it in a way that was most.... final for all parties concerned.
That was where Susan Ivanova came in.
As Ambassador Sheridan looked at her comatose form, he couldn't help but remember the first time he had met her. He could recall the sheer shock and awe on her face as she looked around and realised that her mission might have had a greater success than she could ever have imagined.
And he remembered asking her the question he had himself once been asked. "What do you want?"
Her face had twisted, but she answered instantly, and simply, one of the truest answers he had ever heard, and probably would ever hear.
"To be safe."
It was a pity, really, he realised. There had been so much potential there, but her human side - the same part of her which had so excited his associates - had betrayed her. First there had been her love for that spy Marcus Cole and her hatred in equal measure for Miss Lyta Alexander. And then her friendship and perhaps more for that dupe Laurel Takashima, and finally.... an inability to comprehend her own place in the galaxy. She had attacked Sheridan himself.
But all these things could have been forgiven, had she not failed so badly.
Oh, she had performed adequately in her assigned mission - to bring about an alliance between human and Shadow - but in everything else.... Delenn still lived, despite Ivanova's many attempts to finish her off. Captain Sheridan had evaded her web of lies and escaped to become a sizeable threat.
And worst of all, President Clark, whom she was meant to bind to her control completely. She had failed there also. She claimed to have implanted him with a Keeper, but that was either a lie or an error, for Morgan Clark was very far from being under Shadow control.
And now she was to be given another task, one at which she assuredly would not fail, for this time she would have no choice.
"How goes it, Ambassador?" said a voice from behind him, and he very nearly jumped. Clark. Right behind him. He had snuck up without Sheridan noticing.
But Sheridan had been a diplomat for a lifetime and he recovered his composure in an instant. Clark knew he had lost it for a brief moment however, and that annoyed the ambassador more than words could say. One day, Sheridan thought, when I have worked out where she failed with you.... One day.... I will deal with you myself.
He did not voice these thoughts aloud, of course. What he did say was, "It goes well, Mr. President. There are no complications thus far, no.... problems of any sort at all."
"Good. Good. She will be ready for.... what we intend?"
"Of course, Mr. President."
"And if there are any complications?"
"Then they will be dealt with, Mr. President. I assure you, the Zener are a thousand times more knowledgeable in this field than we are. They will have no problem reconfiguring her genetic structure to our specifications. She will fulfill her rôle perfectly."
"Good. Good." President Clark smiled, a soft and secretive smile that excluded everyone else, even Ambassador Sheridan.
"And the.... other parties involved?"
"Mr. Welles is handling them. Let us hope he proceeds with as much efficiency as you have shown here, Ambassador."
"Yes," he muttered abstractly, but his attention was elsewhere. His eyes saw the woman lying on the other side of the glass, being recreated body and soul. And his mind saw the same woman years before.
"What do you want?"
"To be safe."
To.... be.... safe.
* * * * * * *
Lord Dugari, forty-fifth to bear that name, had a lineage and a heritage stretching back to the very earliest days of the Centauri Empire. Legend said that a Dugari had stood alongside the first Emperor himself when the foundation stone had been laid for what would later become the Royal Palace. The same legend said that this first Dugari had later been executed by order of that self-same Emperor.
A proverb about the gratitude of rulers, he had always thought.
Lord Dugari walked through life with a simple philosophy: find your place and live as best you can in it.
He had always believed he had found his place, until a year or so ago.
There had been no specific event that had caused him to begin doubting himself. It had not been the deaths of First Minister Jaddo, or Lady Morella, or the Emperor. It had not been the stalemate war with the Narns. It was not even the childhood illness that had caused his now almost permanent coughing.
No, it had been all of them. There had been one day when he had awoken at his characteristically early hour, looked around and realised he had no idea what he would be doing that day. He had stayed in his bed, in a mute panic for hours.
None of that explained why he was helping a wanted criminal, though. A few days after the murder of Emperor Refa, Londo had sought him out. Dugari had been surprised, but not alarmed. He had never truly believed the rumour that Londo had killed Refa. Oh yes, the two hated each other, but Londo had had ample opportunity to kill Refa for years, why do it now?
Londo had explained, in quick, garbled sentences, that he was being framed for Refa's assassination, and that he knew who was behind every item of wrongdoing on Centauri Prime these days. Dugari did not ask who and Londo did not volunteer the information. Both of them knew how dangerous such knowledge could be.
And so Dugari had helped his friend. A place to hide in his seldom-used private estate on Selini. Dugari was hardly ever there and he only kept the place for show. Every other Lord had a private estate in the country somewhere, and therefore so did Dugari.
The aid had been easy, but information was harder, and much more valuable, and much more dangerous.
He was stifling his cough while he waited for the signal to go through, pacing up and down nervously. It was early in the morning, the message was triple-encoded, and he had made at least five searches for listening devices in the past half hour. And still he was nervous.
This was treason, and these days that could earn a fate far worse than death.
There was a beep as the signal reached its target. Dugari started and looked around. Surely the beep could not have woken anyone, but.... caution was a virtue, it was said.... at least anywhere but among the Centauri.
"Greetings, Gemellus," said Londo. "What news do you have?"
A short message, but necessarily so. The longer the conversation, the more chance there was for someone to overhear. And as for the codename.... well, Dugari had to admit that was sensible, but he wished he knew where Londo had come up with the name.
"Three Lords have died here in the past week. One from poison, one from the knife and one from a fire in his dwelling. Many of the other nobles are bringing armed guards into the Palace, mercenaries, adding to the atmosphere of hostility. The Centarum has not met for a week and the issue of the new Emperor remains unresolved."
"What of the proposed legislation changes?" Londo asked. "The.... Emergency Measures rulings...."
"That is why the Centarum no longer meets. Each faction in the Court.... and there are more every day.... wants different measures on the statute. No one can follow the shifting alliances here, or what each individual wants. The.... the heir apparent has apparently lost all interest in the throne, or so it is said. The military is in strife and chaos. There are rumours that Lord-General Marrago is working for the Narns, others that he is dead, or a Narn prisoner. Lord Valo has left the capital and gone out to the supply bases to quell a strike there. Rumours are flying around that the Narns have taken three of our outer colonies."
"They have not," Londo said. He seemed to be thinking hard. "As for the rest.... What of.... what of the voice of the throne?"
Dugari knew who he meant. "He is the only one willing to continue his work. He is seen daily, walking about the Court, talking with the guards, building peace and trust between factions. There has been not one attempt on his life, although he keeps no bodyguards, not even a guard on his door. Wherever he goes, he speaks of hope, and patience, and faith.... as if he cannot see the chaos we are in. He is.... he is a hero."
Londo snorted. "We shall see. I thank you for this. Now, what I want you to do.... Begin spreading a rumour that the Narns have offered a peace treaty, but that certain factions in the Court have refused to discuss it. Change those responsible according to whom you speak to. The Narns are open to peace.... I know you can.... do this without making it seem that you are the source."
"Of course." Dugari could also see the point of such a rumour. With the possibility of peace, it would bring attention more to what was happening at home and draw it away from space.
"Very well, then. Thank you, Gemellus." The conversation ended there, and the viewscreen went blank.
Dugari stepped back from the screen and let out the coughs he had been holding in for the past few minutes. After he had finished spluttering and wiping his lips, he made for the door. He had work to do, and it was amazing how much could be accomplished in a single day, if one was prepared to walk swiftly and make a little effort.
* * * * * * *
I am saying goodbye to a world which has been my home for many years. I have fulfilled a function there, an important one, but now it is over and I am needed elsewhere, for another purpose.
I am surrounded by mundanes. Listening to their chatter, to their mindless babble, hearing the petty insecurities they scream aloud and hope no one will notice. They disgust me, all of them. Children whispering in the dark. Can they not see how insignificant they are? Do they honestly think they are any better than insects?
She was bumped by two people walking behind her. Turning angrily, she saw a man and a woman, engaged in a simple conversation. A slight smile on her face, she turned to the woman.
"Did you know your husband had a two-year affair with a woman with blonde hair? He turned to her because you were incapable of providing what he wanted from you. He also stole all the money from your account and gambled it away, without your realising. Currently he is thinking about your mother, and imagining that you will come to look like her."
Smiling, she began to move away. A lesser person.... a mundane.... might have stayed to listen in on the aftermath of those revelations, but she did not. Everything she had said was the truth, but it would hardly have mattered if it had not been. The wife was too eaten up by her own insecurities not to believe.
Insects. All of them. Worthless insects. What would you say if you were capable, even if just for a second, of what I can do? What would you do, hmm?
"Miss Donne." She turned to look at the mundane in front of her. Donne took no notice of the man's appearance beyond that. He was a mundane, nothing else mattered.
"Miss Donne, your personal flyer is ready for you now."
She nodded and stalked past him towards the special hanger. Actually it was not her flyer, but one belonging to the Psi Corps. Still, she had been the Psi Corps representative on Proxima 3 for so long it might as well be hers.
And now she was leaving Proxima 3 behind, forever. Her place lay elsewhere, out among the stars....
Away from these children.
Except for the ones in her mind.
The ones she had killed.
Yes, except for them. They would always be with her. In a very real sense, they were a part of her now.
And always would be.
* * * * * * *
A famous Centauri poet had once said that there were two Centauri Primes, just as there were two Centauri peoples.... There was the Centauri Prime of the palaces, of the temples and statues, of the history; just as there were the nobles, the priests, the Royal Guard and the historians.
And then there were the others. Farmers, peasants and.... criminals.... And their habitations. Villages run-down with little thought for repair. Inns and taverns where a look could mean death and where there was little grace or refinement in the conversation.
Carn Mollari, nephew of the fabled Londo Mollari, squeezed his way into such a tavern with an expression that was what came of trying to avoid displaying his disgust with the whole neighbourhood.
He had never even heard of the village of Romul, and had been quite surprised to learn it was in fact a major supplier of grain to the capital. Less than thirty leagues from the city as well.
Two peoples.... two worlds, and the tragedy was that both of them were the same.
He walked up to the bar, trying to look suitably disinterested, and ordered a brivare. He knew better than to expect a fine vintage, but in any case he had never been the connoisseur his uncle was. He slowly took a sip and began looking around. He wondered if he could look remotely as if he belonged here. Why oh why had the meeting been arranged for somewhere like this?
"This is a dangerous place for a courtly boy," a voice said from beside him. Carn turned, and found himself looking into the fiercest green eyes he could possibly imagine. "Sit down," hissed Lord-General Marrago. "There's a place in the corner over there."
Carn nodded and followed him. They sat down, and Carn surreptitiously pulled the hood of his cloak higher over his head.
"Where's the Valerius?" Marrago asked.
"Safe. Hidden on the dark side of the eighth planet. No one can see it until we choose to let them."
Marrago nodded. "Good. It may just be a ceremonial ship, but we'll need all we can get."
"The Valerius has seen a lot of combat this past year," Carn hissed. "It might just surprise you."
"You're right. I apologise. Now, what word from the colonies?"
"Gorash Seven has gone up in revolt. Some of the military there have mutinied and blockaded off the supply centres. I heard Lord Valo was sent in to deal with it, but that might just be rumour."
"What caused the revolt?"
"Some of the peasants rose up in opposition to the new tax increases laid down by the Governor. He ordered the military to intervene, and most of them refused."
"Good for them," Marrago said, smiling. "What ships have gone in with Valo?"
"The Hadrian, the Constantine and the Claudius."
Marrago raised an eyebrow. "Three capital ships? No more?"
Carn shook his head. "Apparently Valo had to fight really hard just for those."
"Well, it doesn't matter. I know the captains of all three, and I know Valo. I'll be able to sort this out. I have instructions from your uncle." Carn nodded. "You are to return to the capital. Watch, and learn. Attach yourself to one of the factions there, a minor one if possible. Do.... whatever you have to do, but above all remain close to the head of the faction. When the time is right, we'll send more instructions. Now go."
Carn nodded again, rose and left. He had never been so glad to leave any place behind, even if he was less than happy about the place he was going to.
After he was gone, Marrago finished his brivare and then departed himself.
* * * * * * *
For what I am about to do.... may whatever God happens to exist forgive me.
If knowledge is power, then where stands the one who has so much as to be free from danger entirely? One man who could perhaps answer that question was standing quite still next to an iron door, having disdained the chair he had been offered. The security guards around him were waiting too, a little less patiently than he was, although even his fabled patience had begun to crack over the past months.
There were many thoughts running around in his mind, but foremost among them was a very simple question, with a far-from-simple answer:
What is he doing?
Some months before, Mr. Welles, Head of Security for the Resistance Government and unofficial Spymaster General, had made an offer to Mr. Bester. It had been a simple offer - in exchange for Bester arranging contact with the enigmatic alien leader known as G'Kar, Welles would 'ignore' certain crimes committed by Bester's subordinate, Donne.
The offer had been hard for Welles to make. Donne had committed numerous murders in the last few years - thirty-one that Welles could reasonably pin on her, possibly hundreds more that he couldn't be sure about. She was without a doubt one of the most evil people he had ever met, and he had let her go free as a matter of political expediency.
Welles had not been the only one to make Bester an offer. Ambassador Sheridan had apparently done the same, and Bester had accepted that second offer. What exactly it involved was not clear to Welles.... yet, but he knew what Bester was giving up on his part.
Welles knew.... and that was his greatest punishment for his actions.
That was why he was so ill-at-ease here now. This was one of the most secure buildings on Proxima, a prison so secure, so essential, that hardly anyone even knew of its existence. Here were held all those too dangerous to be held in a normal prison, those too psychopathic, too irredeemable, or who simply knew just that little bit too much and had to be hidden out of the way....
Welles sighed softly. He could, if required, recite the names of each and every person held here, as well as why they were here, both the official and unofficial reasons.
The door opened and in walked two more security guards. Their uniforms were an unrelieved black and their faces were expressionless. Work - and life - here changed those who came, moulding and shaping them. You cannot walk in mud all day and expect to have clean clothing by nightfall.
Behind them came a young woman, and it was she who caught Welles' attention. Tall, striking, with a short crop of bright blonde hair. Her eyes were stern and unbending. She raised her head to look at him, and her gaze fixed on his.
She did not look down.
Yes, exactly as he had informed the others. For the purposes they had in mind, she was perfect.
Two further security guards in identical black uniforms followed. With swift, practised motions, they pushed the woman into the chair across from the one Welles was supposed to occupy. Her wrists and ankles were secured tightly and the guards stepped back.
"Leave us," Welles instructed. The guards looked at him strangely. "I will be safe." They shrugged, and did as he ordered.
Welles at last took the seat that had been set aside for him, and looked at his sole companion. He knew everything that she had done, but more importantly he knew why she had done it. That was why he was here.
"Miss Therese O'Halloran," he said solemnly. "Alias.... Number One. How would you like to serve your people?"
* * * * * * *
I am ready.
But no matter how many times Londo told himself that, he knew he was not. He could stop now. All he had to do was end this now and everything else could be withdrawn. Nothing was irreversible yet. Not quite. After today....
He took a deep breath, and knew that he had to continue.
His companions had said nothing this morning, knowing that the argument had been thrashed out countless times before. Timov had simply kissed him lightly on the cheek, touched his arm and then walked away. He supposed some God had been smiling on him. The old Timov would have torn him apart.
Lennier meanwhile had looked at him with accusing eyes, but he had accepted that this must happen. His part in this was essential. The plan.... made sense.... of a sort.... and only he could carry it through.
It had been quite a long walk from Dugari's mansion to the Parliament Building of Selini. Remarin was a large city, and it was the only major settlement on the island. Selini had always been an isolated and eccentric place, and Londo hoped to use those characteristics to his advantage.
And if he failed.... well.... the cause would go on. There would be order and unity on Centauri Prime, before or after his death.
The Parliament Building was less than impressive, at least in comparison to the Centarum in the capital. It was small as well, with less than fifty members, most of them landowners and farming patrons on Selini, with a few from the coastline cities on the continent. Fiercely independent and proud people.
Londo breathed in deeply and looked up at the skies. About mid-morning. Good. The Parliament would have been debating for an hour or two. Timov and Lennier had reported that the building was full at the moment, with every Lord in the area discussing how to react to the chaos in the Court.... and the longer that chaos lasted, the more time he had. It was when Malachi began to reassert his power that his time would run out.
He walked up the steps casually, wishing he had brought his best coat with him. Dugari was the right size, but he had no fashion sense. The right impression was important at a time like this.
Still, what could not be helped....
The two guards there crossed their pikes at the entrance. Londo smiled. They did not recognise him. Good.
"Would you tell the current Sitter that Minister Londo Mollari is here to address the Parliament?" he asked them.
For a moment they said nothing. Finally, someone spoke. "We know of you, Minister Mollari. You are wanted for the murder of the Emperor."
"I am innocent."
"So you say." The voice was flat, but would take no nonsense. Proper guards these. Londo thought they had all died out, just like the incorruptible politician.
"I ask leave to address the Parliament. I ask for this as a right, as one who has lived on Selini these past ninety days without committing a crime on these shores, without causing unrest and without shedding blood on this isle."
"An old custom. Very old."
"But still law."
"No one has attempted to use that right for centuries."
"But I do so now. I ask leave to address the Parliament."
The guards nodded, and moved their pikes aside. "Step within and say your piece to the Parliament, Minister Mollari, but if they decide against you, then we will not let you out again."
"Oh, I know. Good day to you." Londo mounted the last few steps and walked towards the massive doors. They were partly open, again by ancient custom, and he could hear the arguments going on within. He paused there, hesitating. Beyond the door were fifty of his people, some of whom would doubtless have close ties to the Court - would in fact have been placed here as spies. Beyond that door were people who could end his life here and now.
Chuckling to himself, Londo pushed open the doors and entered....
* * * * * * *
"What do you want me to do?"
Welles smiled. Straight, precise and to the point. A little simplicity was a refreshing change from machiavellian politics.
"Miss Therese O'Halloran, alias Number One. Arrested two years ago and charged with numerous terrorist offences in breach of sections twenty-one, thirty-three, thirty-eight and forty-two of the Prevention of Terrorism Act, twenty-two forty-three. The mastermind behind the bombing of the Narn Embassy on Orion in twenty-two fifty-two. Involved in the assassination of Senator Smits. Responsible for the attack on the visiting Narn dignitaries in twenty-two fifty-eight, and caught and arrested some three days later thanks to a tip-off from one of your former associates, a man known only as Philippe."
Welles fell silent and looked at her, waiting for a reaction.
She shrugged. "I was too slow. A bit quicker and I'd have got out of that alley."
Welles smiled again. "Possibly. You were given twelve life sentences under sections of the Wartime Emergency Provisions. You know you will never leave this building alive?"
She snorted. "I know that, and I'd still do it all again."
"Why?" Welles already knew, or he thought he did. He wanted to be sure.
"The Government sold us out. It sold us all out. I was on Vega Seven when you let the Narns take over. They worked us to death in their mines. Better people than you died there. I was lucky. I got out. And I swore I would make them pay."
"Well, you managed that, certainly. You are aware that all the Narn-occupied human colonies are now ours again?"
"That doesn't make it right.... what you and they did to us."
"Perhaps not. You hate the Narns, don't you? No, never mind. I know you do. What would you say if I were to offer you an.... unofficial route out of this prison, and give you a chance to work out some of that hatred?"
"Sounds like you're setting me up for something."
Welles steepled his fingers and looked at her over the top of them. Her eyes were focussed directly on his. "There is something we wish you to do. How you do it is up to you, and you will have considerable leeway in whom you chose to help you. There is a Narn called G'Kar...."
"You want him dead, is that it?"
"No. Not dead.... Worse than that." He fell silent, still looking at her. She did not blink.
"Well?" she said finally. "I'm listening. Tell me."
And he did....
* * * * * * *
There was no sound save for the scratching of his old-fashioned quill pen as he wrote. Malachi, former Prime Minister and now unofficial head of the Centauri Republic, was alone.
The pen was an anachronism, a legacy of a bygone age. Malachi was in many ways also an anachronism, but then so was Londo. There was no place for people like them in the modern Centauri Republic. If Malachi had his way, that would change.
Ah Londo, he wrote, why did you ever return? This would have been so much easier without you. I know what I am doing, and I know why, but still.... I hoped you would understand. You of all people.
Ah Londo, one day you will understand. One day you will know why I am doing this. I merely pray that both of us are still alive by then....
One day.... everyone will understand....