Next chapter | Top of this page | Contents page | Home page | Synopsis | Dramatis personae
| Volume 3: A Line in the Sand | Part III: The Parliaments of Conquerors |
SUSAN Ivanova has always been a slave to silence, to the absence of noise, of sound, of feeling. She has always been alone, ever since the death of her mother.
Separated, in many ways divorced from human feeling, she has wandered through life seeking one cause after another, something to live for, to serve.... anything. She did not find it with her family, with her lovers, with Earthforce.
She thought she'd found it with an alien race, powerful and ancient. They promised her purpose, they promised her safety, they promised her life. All she had to do was serve them. But in the course of serving them she found, unexpectedly, two things she had known only rarely: love, and friendship.
Feelings had always hurt her. If she ever cared for anyone, they left her. Therefore, caring led only to pain. To her surprise, she had found three people to care for. All three were now dead, and she was alone, trapped in silence once more, a silence so deafening it paralysed her.
No, surely the paralysis was something else...? As she stirred back into consciousness, her thoughts flowing lost and directionless, she sought some memory of the past.
And then she realised that she could hear something.... something deep in her mind, where no one but her mother had ever gone. A voice.... that was not her own.
She knew. In one awesome moment of agony, she knew what had been done to her. Not everything that had been done, and not why it had been done, but she knew enough.
She could hear the whispers of the Keeper even over the sound of her own screams.
* * * * * * *
Londo Mollari had always held a less than favourable opinion of his fellow people. He had spent too much time in the Royal Court to bear any respect or admiration for the vast majority of courtiers or politicians. Oh, there were a few, Lord-General Marrago, Minister Dugari, Lord Jano.... some others.... but by and large all courtiers were the same. Ruthless, naked ambition beneath a silken visage.
Still, however experienced the politician, however skilled the courtier, there was always the possibility of surprising them, catching them off-guard, and when those moments arose you could see the true person beneath. For a brief period only, it was true, but for someone as skilled as Londo, that was long enough.
He savoured the stunned expressions on the faces of the members of the Selini Parliament as he walked into the room, looking around and nodding to those he recognised. Some gasped in horror, some smiled wryly, some simply stared.
It took a moment or two for the shouting to begin.
"Mollari!" cried Lord Vole. Londo knew him, and did not like him. An overambitious fool from the Court, his plans had little subtlety about them, and even a child could have read his ambitions for the throne. Londo had heard from his sources in the Court that Vole's plans had become a little too embarrassingly obvious and he had been 'promoted' to the post of Sitter for the local Parliament in Selini, a career death sentence. Vole was probably too arrogant to realise that, though.
"Yes, Lord Vole?" he said. "A pleasure to see you again. May I say that those robes look particularly fine on you. Green always was your colour."
"But.... but...." he spluttered. "You're an outlaw, wanted for the murder of the Emperor. Guards! Arrest him!"
"We can't do that, my Lord," said a figure seated beneath Lord Vole. This official was wearing pale green robes with a thin purple sash, denoting his station as a servant of the Royal Court. The Speaker for the Sitter, another archaic position that was rarely seen in any of the mainland Parliaments. The Speaker was by tradition a clerk of law brought in to 'advise' the Parliament on points of law and suchlike. Few nobles appreciated being corrected by a humble clerk, hence the scarcity of Speakers. "He petitioned to address the Parliament under the ancient law of ninety days habitation on this island. We can do nothing until he has finished his petition."
"That is a relic!" Vole protested. "A custom left over from the days before the first Emperor.... before the first Centarum even! It hasn't been used in centuries."
"Nevertheless, Lord Sitter, the law has never been repealed. He has the right to petition." Londo smiled. He liked this man. "After his petition has been heard and voted on, of course, then you may order him arrested."
There was a slight chuckle from the back benches. Londo looked up to see Lord Virini, and smiled. For years he had been the Minister for the Court, a position with a lot of prestige but little real power. Apparently he had tried to establish some semblance of order in the chaotic days between Londo's 'death' and Malachi's reappearance. Those efforts had led to his effective banishment to his country estates on the mainland coast. Londo had been hoping Virini would be here. He was thus assured of at least one ally.
"Oh yes," Virini said, giggling. "An old law, true, but still perfectly valid. Oh, well done, Londo."
"But he's a wanted criminal!" Vole protested.
"He has committed no crime on this island," reported the Speaker. "The right of petition stems from the days when Selini was an independent and autonomous colony, and this right did not recognise crimes committed elsewhere. It still does not."
"Very well," Vole snapped testily. "Make your petition, Mollari. And when we have thrown it out, then you will be sent back to the capital in chains. I only hope whatever.... satisfaction you got out of this little joke of yours was worth it."
Londo breathed out sharply. Well, the first part of this insane plan of his had gone off successfully. Now all he had to do was rely on his oratorical skills.
He walked forward, coughed once, and then began to speak....
* * * * * * *
True comfort had been a rare feeling for Donne recently. A telepath, not only by genetics but also by nature, she held very strict views on the order of the species.... namely that she and hers were far superior to 'mundanes'. Living among them and surrounded by them as she had been for so long had been almost.... unendurable. Only recalling the names of all the mundanes she had murdered provided surcease.
She knew the reason for her posting to Proxima, but that had made it no less hard. But now, at last, she was free.... back on Sanctuary, among her own people.
Or so she had thought. Five minutes after docking at the Psi Corps' secret space station base, she had a very sobering shock.
Mundanes.... normals.... everywhere....
There had always been those on Sanctuary who did not share her.... skills.... but they were either failed or weak telepaths or the occasional mundane children of telepathic parents. It happened. Genetic engineering was never a precise art. In Donne's estimation such.... individuals were a mere step above normal mundanes, and only a very short one at that. Still, she was used to such people.
But here.... everywhere she looked there were mundanes.... people she did not recognise, people who did not recognise her. Running around everywhere, thinking their pathetic little thoughts, screaming their 'secret' desires at the tops of their minds, constant chatter in the background. A vein began thumping in her forehead and she could feel a dark rage seeping over her.
Names and faces and identifying marks began to flow from her subconscious and she calmed down.... slightly. There would be a reckoning later with one of these....
She stepped forward and started as a figure bumped into her, papers and files flying up into the air. Donne staggered back, her eyes flashing. The woman.... the mundane.... was scrabbling around picking up the items she had dropped. Donne did not help her.
Donne never noticed physical appearances. Why bother, when she could read minds instead? With practised ease and nonchalance she slipped into this mundane's mind, tracing thoughts and thought patterns, more unique than any fingerprint or retinal scan or any of the pathetic mundane devices.
A name came eventually, amidst a barrage of thoughts - archaeological digs and findings; dinner for tonight; a man in an old Earthforce uniform.... A name, which Donne resolved to remember. Dr. Mary Kirkish.
"I'm so sorry," she said, finally rising to her feet. "My fault. I wasn't...." She caught Donne's gaze and fell silent.
"Miss Donne," said a voice, both verbally and mentally. Her snarl fading, Donne turned, and found herself face to face with the first proper human she had seen since arriving. She did not try to read his mind - a simple matter of courtesy. Unfortunately she did not recognise him - an inevitable side-effect of so many years away from Sanctuary.
"I am Jason Ironheart. I apologise for not being here to greet you when you arrived. As you can see, a lot has changed in Sanctuary since you were last here."
"And not for the better." She smiled though, with a warmth few who knew her would have thought possible. "Still.... it is good to be home."
Don't get too used to it, he said mentally. The Boss has a mission for you.
She laughed. "Back for five minutes and already I'm in demand. It's good to be wanted, isn't it? Where is Al? His office hasn't moved as well, has it?"
"Oh no. Let me escort you there."
"Oh.... if you insist. I knew he wouldn't have moved.... he loved that office. So, what's been happening here recently?"
"The usual. Protecting the civilised universe, saving mundanes from themselves.... working hard.... playing harder."
Donne nodded. Now that the two of them were deeper inside Sanctuary she was feeling better and happier. There were fewer mundanes around here, and the whole place had an aura of.... of peace and power. It was home, the only one she had ever really known.
And the only one she would ever need.
* * * * * * *
"We all know what has been happening back in the capital.... We all know just how our society is being destroyed. We all know, and yet we do nothing. We sit here and we argue and we debate, and meanwhile.... none of it matters. No sooner do we decide on a course of action than events or plots or people conspire to make it irrelevant.
"We are staring into the abyss, and we have all forgotten one crucial detail. If we stare into the abyss, then the abyss is also staring back at us. How long before it consumes us completely?"
Londo paused, and looked about him. Everyone was at least listening, which was always a plus point. The number of times he had been present at meetings of the Centarum where the majority of those assembled were sleeping through a speech counted for more than half of his total attendance there. He was off to a good start, at least.
"All this we know," protested Lord Vole. "You are merely using poetry to tell us about a problem we have been discussing for months."
"Exactly my point," Londo replied. "You have been discussing it for months, and where has all your discussion got you? Here.... to an isolated island at the edge of world that no one cares about! Ask yourselves, gentlemen.... why are you here? Why not at the Court? Why not in a place where your skills and talents might be recognised.... might be used for the good of our people?
"Why? Because for too many of us.... the good of the one has become superior to the good of the many! Petty glories, petty ambitions, petty dreams of power.... We are a people.... not a group of individuals. We once held the stars.... civilisations moved and existed at our will.... We were an empire, and we were proud and glorious.
"And now? We are a tourist attraction. We adopt the fashions and allegiances of aliens, desperately seeking anything to alleviate our boredom. We have become the children we conquered.
"And our past is returning to destroy us. We are losing ground to the Narns. We are losing our colonies to insurrection, to rebellion, to conquest. These, gentlemen, are the dying days of the great and glorious Centauri Republic."
Londo fell silent, overcome by the power of his own words, and by what they meant. Seldom before had the dangers of these days hit him so hard, or so powerfully. So much depended on the outcome of this.
And yet.... and yet.... his plan might just be working. The Lords were sitting further forward, hanging on his words. They were more than listening, they were understanding. It was not enough, not yet, but he was almost there.
"Rumours and scaremongering," snapped Lord Vole. "We are pushing back the Narns at every opportunity, and there have been no off-world rebellions. There...."
"And who has told you these facts?" asked Londo, trying not to smile. Vole was performing exactly as expected. Some things could always be counted on. "The Court! The same Court that placed most of you here!
"Well, my Lords.... there is a solution, and there is hope. Always so. And I am here to present you with my solution, in the form of my petition. You have listened to my speech, and I hope you have understood, and agreed. So.... here is my petition to you....
"I hereby announce my nomination for the post of Governor of Selini."
Dead silence.
* * * * * * *
"And she agreed to this, then?"
"Of course she did, Mr. President," replied Ambassador Sheridan, keeping a careful eye on Mr. Welles. He smiled. "Give her the option of freedom and she will take it. I said as much earlier."
"She accepted, Mr. President," said Welles, firmly and without emphasis, "because it is a mission she supports morally. She has her own code of conduct and this mission agrees with that code. Had the task been otherwise, she might well have refused."
"A terrorist and murderer with a conscience?" muttered President Clark, observing both men for their reactions. "A strange creature, to be sure. But still, so long as she agreed, then do her motives really matter? It is not as if we intend to honour our side of the bargain in any case."
"It does matter," contradicted Welles. "She is not fighting for her freedom, but because, from what I have told her, this mission is.... morally 'right'. Suppose she discovers it isn't? Suppose G'Kar.... convinces her otherwise? This is a bad idea, dependent on too much outwith our control.... as I said before."
"You worry too much," sighed Sheridan. "It is not as if we won't have agents of our own there."
"True," acknowledged Clark. "But the fact of the matter is.... G'Kar has involved himself in our business too often. He has.... ambitions which threaten our goals. Besides, if he is weak enough to fall before us, then he is hardly a worthy tool for his masters. The plan goes ahead, Mr. Welles, as we have discussed."
Welles nodded. "As you say, Mr. President. I was merely voicing my concerns."
"And they are duly noted." Clark smiled, an altogether unpleasant sight. "We appreciate your concern and doubts, Mr. Welles. Never lose either. They are what make you so valuable to us. Is that not so, Ambassador?"
"Absolutely." But Sheridan's eyes were dark and distrusting.
"So, what news on Ambas.... sorry, Lieutenant.... ah, Miss Ivanova?" asked Clark. "Does she even have a title any more?"
"Whatever you wish to call her. The attachment was a success. She retains enough of her former personality to function adequately but her.... more destructive tendencies will be over-ridden. To all intents and purposes she is fully under our control."
"That is good. Very well, then. Proceed to the next stage of her.... operation. It is as well that we waited. It would hardly do for your Keeper to lose control over her after you have given her the power she needs for our purposes.... would it, Ambassador?"
Sheridan, with all the instincts and attitudes of a career diplomat, nodded and smiled. Clark's words were biting, but accurate. Someday he would have to discover just how Ivanova had failed with him. "Indeed not, Mr. President."
"Well then, gentlemen. It appears all is on track. That is good to hear.
"Very.... very good, indeed."
* * * * * * *
The faces changed, the names changed, but the words, and the meaning behind them.... they were always the same.
Malachi raised his tired eyes to the sky and visualised the face of his old friend, the former Emperor Turhan. "I suppose," he whispered in a hoarse voice, "it is good that you cannot see this. What has been done to your people. Perhaps earlier we could have done more, but.... there was not enough time, my friend. Never enough time.
"Do you know what they call you now? Some of them hail you as a saviour, others as...." Malachi's face darkened. "As a weak-minded fool. What would they know? But.... no, only the nobles think that, and then only some of them. To think that a people as numerous as ours are ruled by so few, with the worst always rising to the top.
"But the people.... ah, the people. They know differently. They think differently. They will be our salvation."
He closed his eyes, the words he had been uttering so many times for so long returning to haunt him.
"Of course you have my support, my Lord...." Lord Jarno, Minister Vitari, Lord Kiro ".... my Lady...." Lady Elrisia ".... your Highness...." Prince Cartagia.
"I am speaking on your behalf to the other factions. It is.... difficult, but we will prevail, I am sure of it. It is clear that you are the only possible candidate. Alas, some still do not see it that way.
"Do not worry. All will be well.
"We need stability first. The Court must be at peace, and united behind one figure. We must end the divisions which have racked our people.
"Minister Mollari? Yes.... we are making the search for him our utmost priority. He will be apprehended. Of that you may be sure.
"There is no need to worry. You can count on me.
"You can count on me.
"Trust me.
"Trust me. You can count on me.
"Trust me."
He sighed. "One day perhaps.... one day you will understand. One day."
* * * * * * *
Donne hesitated at the door to Bester's office, looking at her companion hesitantly. He bowed once. "Mr. Bester is within," Ironheart said formally. "He is expecting you."
"I'll bet," she whispered softly. "How is he lately?" A strange and nervous paralysis seemed to have overtaken her. She did not want to open that door. She did not want to see one of the most important men in her life again. Not now. He might.... no, he would know about what she had.... been doing on Proxima. There had been nothing wrong in her actions, nothing at all. But.... but what if that was why he had recalled her? What if she had failed him in some subtle way she could not understand? What if...?
"He is well," Ironheart said, accepting her strange question without remark. "I am sure he will be able to fill you in on everything else. Good day, Miss Donne." He then bowed again, and left.
Donne began breathing harshly, looking at the door. She fidgeted with her uniform. Anything to delay for a moment, to put off the time when she would walk through the door and face up to the consequences of whatever actions she might have taken.
Come in, Donne, spoke a familiar voice in her mind. She sighed softly. Bester's voice was warm and inviting. She opened the door, and entered.
It was her first sighting of Bester in over five months, since the last time he had visited Proxima, and they had had little time together then. Her first impression of him, sitting at his desk, looking at documents and reports, was that there seemed to be two people there, and neither was the Alfred Bester she thought she knew.
Two images juxtaposed over his appearance. One, evidenced by a certain tilt to the shoulders, by a hint of joy in his eyes, even by such details as the arrangements on his desk, spoke of a renewed happiness, as if he had been alone for years and had finally found companionship.
But the other.... a heaviness in his bearing, an urgency as he read a report, his eyes falling over the same line time after time.... She knew her boss well enough to know that he was planning something, some action he did not wish to carry out, but knew he must.
He looked up, smiling, set the report down, and rose to greet her. Circling around his table, he walked up to her and took her hand gently in his. He kissed the soft fabric of her glove and looked up at her, his smile lighting the room.
"Welcome home," he said softly. "Come, sit. I wish.... this could be a little easier, but.... times are hard." She nodded, her mouth dry, and moved to the spare chair. Sitting there, she found herself looking directly into his eyes
I am going to do something dangerous, he said, directly into her mind. Something.... wrong, even. And to do it, I will need the help of everyone I have ever been able to trust. Ben Zayn, Harriman Gray, Talia.... and you. Especially you.
I am yours, she replied mentally, without a moment's pause. Tell me what you wish to be done, and I will do it.
In time, he said in her mind, but then he switched to verbal communication. "First.... the matter of certain.... activities you were performing on Proxima. You may not have been as discreet as you should have been."
A cold tightness gripped her stomach. "I...." she began, trying to frame the words. "I...."
I know, he said calmly, mentally. I know what you did, and why, and it is all an irrelevance. Nothing you have done could make me not trust you, but there are certain matters of.... protocol to concern ourselves with. Matters involving.... others. Verbally: "I've recalled you here to get you out of harm's way, so to speak. There will be a replacement appointed eventually. Perhaps Mr. Ironheart."
"Of course," she whispered. "I.... understand. What is to be my new position?"
"For the meantime, just resume your former training and observation rôles here on Sanctuary." Mentally: That is the official explanation. Unofficially, there is a very special task for you. Very special indeed.
She nodded. "Of course. I understand." Mentally: Is someone listening in? Threat of spies?
Mentally: Worse then spies, and far more efficient. An ally who may be coming to mistrust me. Several of our recent joint operations have not gone well, and I fear he may now.... suspect more than he should. I very much doubt that he has agents or spies on Sanctuary, but with some of the resources he has available, he will not need them.
This ally? He is the one you are working against?
Yes. His name is G'Kar, and you, my dear Donne.... You will be my instrument against him.
* * * * * * *
There was a question Londo had once been asked many years ago, surrounded by his companions from his old duelling society - the Cora Predo. He hesitated to remember them as friends, for they probably weren't. Toadies, and hangers-on, and debtors. Only Urza had been a friend, truly.
The question, posed by someone too drunk to contain his thoughts, had asked.... "If you could be at any event, any time in our past.... where would you be?" The individual in question then commented that he would, less than imaginatively, be present when the first Emperor killed the pretender Minister on the steps of the throne room - an event which everyone and his mother knew to be entirely apocryphal. (The pretender Minister had in fact committed suicide by poison when his effort to reclaim the Centarum had failed miserably.)
Still, various others had spoken up, loudly and vocally, with their own opinions. One had wanted to be beside the first Emperor Marrago as he broke open the doors of the Centarum. Another had wanted to be one of the two thousand to make the first footfall on Narn. Still another had mentioned the first contact with the humans. The death of the last Xon (and the year-long celebrations afterwards) had been a popular choice. Several, unsurprisingly, brought up the infamous (and entirely un-apocryphal) 'Long Ride' of the Empress Godiva - a ride made while the lady was entirely naked (and drunk; a detail that somehow escaped the official, Imperial histories, which put the whole event down to a subtle political distraction).
And then the question had been put to Londo, who had not been quite as drunk as he had seemed.
"I would want to be alive.... during the reign of the twelfth Emperor," he had said, nodding sagely at this point of wisdom, which caused much consternation and head-scratching among his fellows.
"But.... but nothing happened then," protested one. "No wars. No.... great moments of history. No.... naked Empresses...." (Various crude and raucous shouts of encouragement.) "Nothing at all. Why then?"
Only Urza had smiled, for he knew.
"A quiet life is the greatest gift the Gods can give us. A life without responsibility, without care, without threat from beyond. A life where all we have to do is eat, drink, be merry and make love." (Cue more raucous remarks about naked Empresses.)
Thinking about it back in the present, Londo realised that, yes, he had been perfectly right then. A quiet and peaceful life was all he could ask from the Gods.
The Gods, judging by their lack of regard in this matter, obviously hated him.
"Insanity!" "Foolishness!" "A mockery!" "The man's drunk!" Mocking laughter, dry laughter, high-pitched laughter. Londo stood in the middle of it all, smiling.
"Oh, Londo," sighed Virini. "You must be.... well.... it does sound a little.... uh...."
"It sounds like our dear friend is adding stupidity to murder and treason," piped up a voice from the back.
"Ah," came a reply, "but stupidity is not yet a crime punishable by death. Just as well in your case, my Lord." There were quite a few laughs, including one from Londo. Some things never changed.
"The fact is," Vole snapped, "that Mollari is obviously wasting our time in a feeble effort to expiate his obvious guilt. Guards, arrest him!"
"I am afraid, my Lord," said the Speaker, "that they cannot do that until his petition has been voted on."
"So, arrest him afterwards then. What difference does it make?"
Londo smiled. "You should read your own laws, Lord Vole. The post of Governor of Selini, while it has admittedly not been used in recent years, is an ancient one, expressly mentioned in the Act of Union that made Selini subservient to the capital. The Governor would be elected by the local Parliament - which predates both the Act of Union and the establishment of the Royal Court - and he would also be answerable to no one but the Emperor or the current recognised Sitter in the Centarum. And.... alas, both posts are currently empty."
"Minister Mollari speaks correctly," said the Speaker.
"But such a law has not been used for centuries!" protested Lord Vole.
"That.... isn't really the point," spoke up Virini. "As time passed the power of Selini dwindled, and there has not been a Governor in centuries, as you said, the post being more or less filled by the Sitter of the local Parliament. However, the law was never repealed, and.... Minister Mollari is quite correct in his interpretation."
Vole sighed. "This is foolishness in the extreme, Mollari. You do realise that. Very well, let us get this travesty over with. What is the required majority needed for Mollari to win this.... vote? Not that he will get more than.... two votes, in any case." Vole was looking around the room, glaring intently at everyone he saw.
"The figure is a simple majority," spoke up the Speaker. "In cases where the Governorship is contested, then the figure must be higher than the nearest rival by at least ten percent, but as that is not the case here...."
"Wait!" snapped Vole. "Contested, you say? Then I announce my nomination for the post of Governor. What will work for you, Mollari, works also for me."
"Except that you are not eligible to petition this Parliament, my Lord. You have not lived on this island for the required period. Your accommodation is on the mainland."
Vole shook his head. "And how long did it take you to uncover all these archaic laws, Mollari?"
"Oh, about ninety days," he admitted, smiling. "Now, my Lords. You have heard my speech, and you have heard what I stand for, and what I desire. I assure you all I had no part in the murder of the last Emperor and that the only crime of which I am guilty is that of patriotism and a love of my people. I swear to you all.... that I will serve Selini, the people of Selini, and through them.... the Centauri Republic. I desire only to serve."
"Complete foolishness," muttered Vole. "Is this meant to be a closed or open vote?"
"Closed, I believe...." muttered Virini hastily.
"I am afraid not, my Lord," spoke up the Speaker again. "The elections we speak of predate the adoption of closed voting. Everything is done openly."
Vole smiled. "Ah, well. Let us see those who support this foolish proposal to raise a wanted regicide to a dead position. All who support Mollari.... please stand." He remained resolutely seated.
Londo breathed out slowly and closed his eyes. He had done all he could. All he had to do now was trust the Lords before him. He knew the Selini-folk well - proud, arrogant, determined, contrary, many even still speaking their own, largely obsolete language. But.... there would be many here exiled from the Royal Court, many who saw Londo's return as a threat to their own ambitions in the wider sphere. There might even be some who believed the accusations from the Court.
If he failed here, then he would be arrested and taken away for execution. He hoped he had set enough in motion that the plan would proceed without him. Marrago, Carn, Lennier.... they all knew what they were doing, and how they had to do it.
And Timov.... ah, may the Gods bless Timov. It was strange indeed, Londo realised, to fall in love with his wife at last after thirty years of marriage.
An angry shout awoke him from his reverie and he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Lord Vole, almost apoplectic with rage. Eyes wide, Londo turned around in a circle, looking at those seated around him.
Almost everyone present was standing. Oh, a few remained seated, but they were mostly people like Vole - exiles from the Court. Virini was standing, and he looked at Londo with a smile and a giddy laugh. Nobles acclaimed Londo from all sides, and he understood why. For the most part, they were like him - relics of a forgotten age, a former time they all wanted back.
The Speaker rose to his feet and bowed, deeply and formally. Such was his wonder that Londo hardly heard the man's next words.
"Hail, Governor Mollari."
* * * * * * *
Welles was uncharacteristically impatient. As he looked up at the clock on the wall of his office he could only surmise as to Clark's timetable. Soon. Within the month, maybe. The month after, certainly. Then there would be more blood shed than had ever been seen in one battle.
But it wasn't to be a battle, not at first anyway. It was....
Welles shook his head. The plan was tactically sound, and in this situation, inevitable. G'Kar and his Army of Light had intervened in the last two major battles fought by the Resistance Government. At the Second Line it had been hard to say what might have happened - the Battle had been a confusing mess in any case.
At Minbar, however.... there, G'Kar's involvement had made a difference. Without his ships, Minbar would have been annihilated rather than just devastated. The other colonies could have been eliminated, and the Minbari would not just have been broken, but destroyed. And now look at them - factionalised, yes; fatally split, true.... but alive, and active, and more warlike than ever.
G'Kar had interfered too much and Clark had decided that it was past time to deal with him.
But why in God's name was Bester helping them do it?
Welles looked at the clock again, and found himself thinking about his wife. It had been a present from her on their wedding anniversary, years before she had died at Orion. He hadn't thought of her in a long time. He didn't want to know what she would be thinking of him if she could see what he was doing, and what he had done.
The door opened, at the very second Welles had requested the pleasure of Captain Dexter Smith's company. A typical military man, always precise and flawlessly accurate, as ordered. Still, of late Smith had been more.... distracted too. He had not been at Minbar, but he had played a crucial rôle in the war up to that point. Perhaps he had simply seen too much?
"You asked to see me, sir?" Smith said. Welles noted the phrasing and smiled inwardly. Although not possessing an official rank in the military he was a prominent figure in the Resistance Government, and therefore had some power over the military in matters under his jurisdiction, namely Security and Intelligence.
Expressly not treason, the committing of, or the inciting of others to do the same.
Still, these were dangerous times and a little.... leeway was always possible.
"Take a seat, Captain."
"I'd rather stand, thank you, sir."
Welles smiled again. "Tell me, Captain Smith," he said intently, noting minute details of Smith's bearing, posture and tone of voice in his impeccable memory. If this went well, then Welles might have found himself a true ally he could count on.
And if it didn't....
"Tell me Captain Smith, just what do you think of our Government?"
* * * * * * *
Lord Valo, former Lord-Admiral Valo, was not in a good mood. He looked out at the planet below him, practically seething with anger. His bridge crew knew better than to interfere with him at such times, and so he was left alone in his fury.
Lord Valo was, like Londo, a member of the old guard of Centauri nobility. He remembered the days when the Court meant something, when the Republic meant something, when the military meant something. As a child, his father had taken him to the Narn homeworld on a business matter. Valo had looked around at the frightened, scurrying, servile Narns and he had realised just what it meant to be a Centauri, and not just any Centauri, but a noble as well.
Superior to all but the Emperor and his Cabinet. Superior to his own people, to aliens - Valo had never felt such pride.
And now.... now where were they? Beaten off the Narn homeworld, the mighty Centauri Republic sent reeling back across the galaxy, countless light years from the places they had once ruled with an iron fist. The military had become soft, the Court had become decadent. Oh, for a brief few years it had looked as if things might be back on track, but that had not lasted. Valo had always known that the triple alliance of Jaddo, Mollari and Refa would not endure.
Worms in the brain. The plague of any Government. They needed strong leadership. Hard leadership. A military mind to guide and command them.
But even the military could not be trusted. Marrago had disappeared several months ago. The reports were that he had sold his regiments out to the Narns and was currently living on the Narn homeworld. Valo wasn't sure if he believed that or not, but it hardly mattered. Marrago was gone. Another once-great man faded away.
Worms in the brain.
"Damn him," Valo spat, still looking at the planet. "He promised he'd have this sorted out by now. He knew. He knew what to do. What we need. So why has this taken so long? And why am I here?"
A peasant revolt. Unheard of in centuries, and this time coupled with a military mutiny as well. And on Gorash 7, the heart of the Republic's supply lines.
Well, the policy was simple enough. Valo subscribed to the old ways in this matter, as in so much else. Find the ringleaders, both peasant and military, and eliminate them. Public and messy executions if possible. Silent assassinations if not. After that, brutal punishment for everyone else involved, depending on level of involvement and degree of foreknowledge. Then a martial law decree for however long it took to restore order.
Simple enough, and Valo would ordinarily have relished being in charge of such a mission. Establishing order, the iron hand.... just the thing to show those weaklings back home.
But he should have been back home. He needed to be at the Court. Too much could be happening there while he was gone. Malachi had promised Valo his ascension to the throne was secure, and this was just a temporary problem. Certain issues had to be resolved. Nothing major. Nothing permanent. He would be back before he knew it.
Valo was angry. Very angry, and the people of Gorash 7 would pay the price.
"My lord," spoke up one of the bridge aides hurriedly. He turned, startled. His crew knew enough not to disturb him when he was in this sort of mood, but there was an urgency in the young man's voice. A distinct sense of panic.
Just a panic attack over nothing, Valo thought. Too soft, these new military. No spine. "What?" he asked, with as much sternness as he could manage.
"Jump points opening. A lot of them."
"What? There's nothing scheduled. Who are they?"
Pale, almost terrified: "Narns, my lord. A lot of them."
Valo spluttered and leapt to his feet. Narns? Here? "That's impossible! How did they get past the...?" He stopped, a moment of precise and stunning revelation sweeping over him. "He.... he promised me.... He.... Damn him!"
"Orders, my lord?" asked the ashen-faced aide. "The captains of the Constantine and the Hadrian are requesting permission to open fire. More jump points are opening. The instruments.... they say twenty Narn heavy cruisers at least."
"Twenty," Valo whispered, his mind in turmoil. Damn him! Damn them all!
Worms in the brain.
* * * * * * *
"You do understand what this involves?"
The woman nodded. She did not look pleased about this interrogation.
"You do understand the significance of this mission? You also understand the consequences of failure?"
"Yes," she said irritably. "You know that I do."
President Clark smiled. "Excellent, Miss O'Halloran. Or do you prefer Number One?" She shrugged, evidently indicating that she would quite happily answer to either. "How many in your crew?"
"Just the four, including me," she said. "My former second. He was promised the same immunities and rewards as I was."
"Ah yes. Number Two. I assure you, he and you will be treated exactly the same."
"One of Mr. Welles' Security officers. I believe he specialised in terrorist-type activities during the war. Infiltration, assassination and so forth. Boggs, by name. Now you tell me, President Clark," she said, her lip twisting into a sneer, "I'm a terrorist, and he's a hero. Explain that."
"Simple," Clark said, smiling. "He's on the side of the angels. Continue."
"A Narn assassin, name of Tu'Pari. He and I go way back. He used to work for their Guild of Assassins, the Thenta Ma'Kur, but fell out with their Government or something."
"I thought you hated Narns?" Clark asked, quizzically.
"Just the ones who steal our land, enslave our people and work them to death," she spat. "As for Tu'Pari, I don't like him at all, but he does know what he's doing, and at least he's fair-minded. He doesn't mind killing his own people. All he wants is a stack of money. Much easier for you than granting amnesties to dangerous criminals like myself."
"Probably," Clark admitted. "Those are your four?" She nodded. "We don't expect much, and we are willing to leave the rest of the matter in your hands. All we do insist on is that you take along Susan Ivanova, former Ambassador. She has been.... uniquely tailored for a specific part of the operation. Get her to the location specified, remove any opposition, and she'll do the rest."
"Whatever you say. You're the boss. Well, then, where do we go from here?"
"A shuttle will be arranged for you. A secret one naturally. At a certain point in hyperspace you will be taken aboard another shuttle, one belonging to our ally. This shuttle will be heading for Epsilon Three, where you will disembark, and you will meet your contact there, one provided by our ally. He or she will know the second half of your code-phrase."
"Very cloak-and-dagger," she muttered. "And then...?"
"Then, you do what you have to do. If you are caught and interrogated, we will of course deny everything."
"Just what I'd expect. And you won't tell me who this ally of yours is, either? No, figures."
"Tell me, Miss O'Halloran," Clark said, leaning back and smiling slightly. "You seem less than enamoured of this mission, so why did you agree to it?"
"To get out of prison, to kill some Narns, to see the sky again.... take your pick. Just remember your side of the bargain." Without waiting for a dismissal, she turned and left.
Clark smiled, and stretched. Ah, what an interesting young woman. He found himself almost regretting the fact that he would never see her again.
* * * * * * *
The day was over, and Dugari had accomplished all that he had set out to do. Spreading rumours had always been one of the lesser weapons used in the machinations of the Royal Court. Compared with poison, murder, slander or seduction, it had always seemed mild. But still, the required effect had been achieved, and it had been done with all the skill of a born Centauri noble.
A letter, forged with the seal of Lord Valo, had been 'discovered' partially burned in a landfill site outside the capital. The few surviving lines had startled the site foreman, who had passed it on to his supervisor, who had in turn passed it on to his. Within an hour the Royal Court knew of it, and each faction began casting aspersions on Valo's sudden posting to the front. A great many theories soon arose. Allies of Valo began to grow increasingly paranoid - he had not told them about any treaty with the Narns - and so some denied knowing anything, while others pretended to know and behaved as if everything were under control.
A few hours later a drunken and off-duty member of the Royal Guard was overheard bragging in his cups to his fellows at the Gilded Lady tea house that he had witnessed the arrival of the Narn delegation and had overseen the disposal of their bodies. He later disappeared.
The day was accomplished by an account of an enigmatic meeting with Malachi, the garbled report of which was subsequently relayed around the Court. The substance of it seemed to be that Malachi knew nothing of any peace initiative, but that he would not be hostile to such an offer, should it be made.
Dugari had had nothing to do with that last bit, but it was still surprising him just how much could be done in a single day.
Unfortunately, while the day was over, the night was only just beginning, and far more can be done in any night than can be achieved by the clear light of day.
He returned to his quarters and admitted himself, smiling slightly. A good day, by any standards. He wasn't sure if helping Londo would win back his sense of motivation, but at least now he was doing something. Whether he was aiding order or spreading chaos he wasn't sure, but at least now he had a reason to get up in the morning.
One day at a time, and his sense of purpose might yet be restored.
He activated his light globes, wandering around his room in a happy daze, idly wondering why his personal servant wasn't here yet. She was always here when he got back from business at Court. Oh well.
There was a saying Londo had told him once.... oh, some years ago now. A human saying. Dugari had little interest in the affairs of humans, but this one had stuck in his mind. What had it been again?
Oh yes. 'It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.'
He entered his bedroom.
"Out with the light," said the voice of Lady Elrisia.
Dugari coughed.
"You've been a naughty boy," she said, in that seductive, insinuating tone she could manage so well. "You've been doing things you shouldn't have been doing. We wouldn't have thought it of the Coughing Lord, but life has a way of surprising us all, wouldn't you say?"
He turned, staggering towards the door, only to find someone standing in his way. Prince Cartagia. The look in his eyes....
"It is funny how life works out, isn't it?" Elrisia continued. "The Coughing Lord, for so long the butt of all our jokes.... is soon to become the Coffin Lord." She smiled, and raised her right hand, licking at her fingers slowly. They were covered in blood.
"Now, what is dear Londo up to now?"
The light globe fell to the floor and shattered.