2-Armies of Light & Dark

by Peter David

  He nodded. His throat was seized up; he couldn’t get a word out.

  “Well, you don’t have to wait any longer,” she said, and she kissed him slowly, languorously.

  Their lips parted, and he whispered, “You knew … somehow you knew, all this time, didn’t you.”

  “Of course I knew.”

  “About the dreams … how you’ve been in them…”

  Her gaze flickered for just the briefest of moments, and he took it to be confirmation of all his beliefs. Then he was entirely caught up in the moment, as she said quickly, “Yes, all about the dreams. All about all of it. And this is where we are meant to be now, Durla … our time and our place.”

  She was undoing something at her shoulders, and the gown slid from her. And then he was upon her, like a ravening creature, unleashing something that had been pent up all this time …

  And as they came together, she took herself out of her mind. Vir’s image filled her mind, filled her body, and she thought of how it had all come to this.

  I have been bad, she thought, and led a bad life, and have done terrible things and used people, and this is my punishment . Because Vir told me Durla is the key to it all. That Durla will have information that we need. That I must be by Durla's side, always, for that is the only way I can get information to Vir as he needs it. Being with Durla is what will make Vir happy, and I must make Vir happy. If I do not make him happy, I will die.

  So I must leave him to be with Durla, to be where my beloved Vir most needs me. But whenever Durla's arms are around me, whenever he loves me, it will be my Vir that I am feeling and thinking of. And someday, someday, my Vir will come for me, and we will be together forever and ever, through death and beyond. And this… this means nothing in the meantime. Nothing at all. I will smile and gasp and whisper small names and say all the things that are meaningless unless I say them to Vir, but they will keep Durla, and I will be able to learn from him what I need.

  I will be the spy that Castig Lione calls me, and I will cooperate , and be everything Durla wants me to be so that I can be what Vir needs me to be. Vir, I love you, I love you so much, come for me soon, Vir, I will wait… wait forever and ever… And when Durla saw the tears running down her face, she told him that they were merely tears of joy, and he believed her because it felt so good to believe …

  Vir stood on the balcony that overlooked the wonders of Centauri Prime. He thought about what was going to be needed to keep the people safe, and the sacrifices that had to be made.

  He thought of how Durla adored him now, for he had given Durla that which the minister most desired while, at the same time, maintaining both their dignities. For that, Durla would be eternally grateful.

  He knew Durla’s type all too well. Creatures who operated with a sense of manifest destiny, and a certainty that fate was going to play things their way and ultimately give them everything that they wanted, if they simply persevered. He might have some initial trepidation, but Vir knew that Durla would not question Mariel’s willing defection too much, for the last thing he would want to do under the circumstance is look too closely at what had been handed him.

  It all had to be handled internally. All the darkness, all the lies, all of the frightening presence lurking just out of sight it was up to Vir to have to deal with it. Vir and whomever else he could gain as an ally, willing or otherwise. Because if the Alliance or Sheridan or any of them caught wind of anything that was going on, then Centauri Prime would end in flames. Vir was certain of that much. He could not see that again, could not go through that horror one more time. He would do whatever was necessary to stave off such a horrible happenstance.

  Because it was going to get worse.

  He had made some initial inquiries. He had gone to men such as Rem Lanas and Renegar, men who had barely survived the horror of K0643. They knew that Vir had tried to warn them, and had come to realize that when Vir Cotto spoke of warnings, then those warnings were ignored at one’s extreme peril. And they were hearing things, distant things, stories from friends of friends of friends. Stories of parts of Centauri Prime being harnessed for very, very secretive work, but they weren’t bringing in just any Centauri worker, oh no. No, apparently the ministry wasn’t happy with the outcome of K0643, and because scapegoats were needed, the workers were targeted. It must have been that the workers, in their ham-handed way, had mismanaged and mishandled that dig.

  So now there was new work being done, work of a secret nature, and it appeared that the workforce was being culled entirely from the Prime Candidates. The youth of Centauri Prime, the hope of the future, being employed for some sort of dark and fearsome business that Vir could not even begin to guess at.

  He needed to know more, but Lanas and Renegar were nervous, at least to start out. He knew that they would come around, that they could and would provide him with more. They, and others like them who were becoming aware that something was terribly wrong on their beloved Homeworld- although just how wrong, Vir was not prepared to tell them. Not yet. Vir needed someone inside, and quickly.

  There had been only one likely person.

  He had told himself it was the only thing to do. And when the morality of it got to him, he thought of wicked women and of how the punishments they received were certainly due to their wickedness. And of how those who administered those punishments were pure of motive, without any stain upon their souls.

  He thought of all that, and then felt a cold wind cut through him, unseasonably chilly. He drew his robe tight and gazed up into the cloudless night sky, and he clung to that rationalization until he could sustain it no longer. Finally, he spoke the truth that he and only he knew.

  “I am damned,” he said to the emptiness around him, and there was no one within earshot to tell him otherwise.

  EXCERPTED FROM

  THE CHRONICLES OF LONDO MOLLARI.

  Excerpt dated (approximate Earth date)

  May 5, 2270.

  The idiots. The blind idiots.

  Did they truly think that they could continue along this path without someone noticing? Did they believe that Sheridan and his associates would continue to be blissfully unaware of what is happening here?

  I knew perfectly well that there were scans being done from orbit, every so often. We have had no privacy here on Centauri Prime. They watch over us as if we are children, making certain we do not scamper about in a woodpile with a lit flame. They worry that we will hurt ourselves … hurt ourselves by developing weaponry or militarization that will be used against them, thereby forcing them to try and annihilate us.

  Apparently Durla and his brilliant associates had the beginnings of a war machine being created on the continent of Xonos, the former stronghold of the Xon -the other race on Centauri Prime, which we wiped out many years ago. There was machinery being created there, which Durla claimed was to be used for agriculture. Agriculture! As if Sheridan was going to believe that. And the next thing I knew, I was left attempting to smooth over the ruffled feathers of the Alliance, assuring them that no, no, we Centauri are a peaceful people who harbor no hostility toward anyone.

  Sheridan did not buy it for an Earth second, I’m sure. He said he wanted the Xonosian buildup dismantled. That there was concern the devices being developed there could be used for war. Durla is having fits. Vallko is getting the people stirred up and angry over this new Alliance oppression. Kuto is endeavoring to put a positive face on all of it, but is not coming close to succeeding-and I suspect that lack of success is by design.

  And today …

  Today I almost killed Throk.

  He has shown increased designs upon Sienna, and although she has been polite and receptive-even teasingly flirtatious-she has tended to keep him at arm’s length. I have noticed that for some months now, and if I had noticed it, then certainly Throk did as well. He was becoming increasingly frustrated that their relationship was going just so far, and no further.

  Last week, he approached me about arranging a marriage with
her. When he walked into my throne room, I assumed that he was approaching me simply in his capacity as my aide. Imagine my surprise when he said, “Highness … I wish to discuss the prospect of marriage.”

  I stared at him in confusion for a moment, and then said, “Throk, I admit that I have gotten used to you as my valet, but I hardly see the need to formalize our association in that way.”

  Ah, Throk. No sense of humor. “No, Highness. Between myself and your ward, Senna.”

  Now I admit my inclination was to think of Senna as little more than a child, and about Throk the same way. I realized, though, upon his inquiry, that not only is she of marriageable age, but that Throk would very likely be only the first of many … presuming that I did not agree to the match.

  Throk spoke very properly, very formally. “I desire to arrange a match with Sienna. I come from the respectable house of Milifa, my father is-“

  “I know who your house is, Throk,” I said impatiently. “I know your lineage. You wish to be husband to Senna? You are aware of what that entails? You are prepared for the responsibility?”

  “Yes, Highness. I think she will make a superb first wife.”

  “Indeed.” Why did I not consider that a ringing endorsement? “And how does Senna feel about the concept?”

  He looked extremely puzzled. “Does that matter?”

  “Not always,” I admitted. “But it does to me, in this case.” I turned to one of the guards and requested that he bring Senna to me. Within minutes she entered , quite the grown woman. I felt bad for her; she had spent most of her time in recent months socializing with the Prime Candidates who were inhabiting virtually every corner of the palace these days. There were almost no women in the palace aside from serving women. I could have done better on her behalf, in finding her females to associate with. But I suppose it was a bit late to start worrying about such considerations.

  “Senna,” I said, “Throk here has asked that I arrange a marriage.”

  Her eyes sparking with slightly evil amusement, Senna said, “I hope you two will be very happy together, Highness.”

  I turned to Throk and said, “She has learned her lessons well.”

  Throk did not seem amused. Then again, he never did, so it wasn’t as if that was anything new.

  “Senna,” I said, feeling that dragging things out would not help matters. “Do you wish to marry Throk?”

  Her gaze flickered from him to me, and then, not unkindly but firmly nevertheless , she said, for Throk. “I do not wish to marry him, no. There is no insult intended. I do not wish to marry anyone.”

  “Well, there it is then, Throk,” I said, turning to him.

  He looked as if he had been utterly blindsided. “That … is it? There is to be no discussion?”

  “She has said no. There does not seem to be a good deal of latitude in that decision. No is no, and I suspect-since it is Senna we are discussing here-that no amount of chat will convert no to yes. Senna, however, clearly hopes that you will be able to remain friends. l naturally hope that you will be willing to honor her request.”

  “But a woman does not have a say in the matter!” Throk insisted, somewhat stridently.

  “Under many circumstances, yes,” I agreed. “But these are not many circumstances . These are circumstances that I am controlling, and I will value Senna’s wishes over yours. That is all.”

  As it turned out, it was not all. Later that day, when I was passing Senna’s room, I heard arguing. I recognized both raised voices; Senna and her frustrated suitor were obviously having a bit of a difference of opinion. My first inclination was to allow Senna to handle the matter. She was, after all, an independent young woman who knew her own mind and was more than capable of handling someone like Throk.

  But then there was the angry retort of skin striking skin. Senna's voice cried out, and I heard a body hit the floor. I stepped toward the door, but it did not open. Angrily, I turned to my guards and pointed mutely to the door. Without a moment’s hesitation, they stepped forward and forced the door open. I strode in ahead of them, a breech of protocol but I doubt that they could have stopped me.

  Senna was on the floor, as I suspected she would be. Throk stood over her, his hands balled into fists, and he was shouting, “You have shamed me in front of the emperor! You have-” That was when he noticed me. Immediately he straightened up and started to say, “Highness, this is not what—”

  I did not feel like hearing his explanations, or even the sound of his voice. I did not care how much influence certain “others” had over Throk’s service to me. With two quick steps, I was right in front of him It might not have been fair, but at that moment I saw all the frustration, all the arrogance, all the difficulties and scrabbling for power from all those around me, all personified and condensed into this one individual.

  I drew back a fist and swung. It was, I am pleased to say, an impressive blow, particularly considering how out-of-practice I was. Throk’s head snapped around and he went down without a sound. It was, I confess, a bit disconcerting , that silence. He glowered up at me, and he did not even put his hand to his chin to rub the area where I had struck him. Apparently he did not want to give me the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

  “I believe,” I said tersely, “that your time in my service is ended, Throk.”

  “Minister Durla assigned me to-"

  “Minister Durla works for me,” I thundered. “I decide what will be! Not him! Not you! Me! Minister Durla will find something else to assign you to, and I can only suggest, for your continued health, that it be something that will not bring you into contact with Senna. Now get out of my sight!”

  He got to his feet, not slowly, but not with any overt hurry either. He looked at me for a time, and I notched up my glower. He looked down at that point, which I took some small measure of pride in noting. And then, without another word, he walked out.

  “Are you all right, young lady?” I asked.

  “I … did not need to be rescued, Highness,” she replied. “I could have handled him myself.” Then she smiled ruefully and put a hand to the part of her face that was still flared red from the impact “But I appreciate not having had to.”

  “Do not think upon it any longer. He is out of your life, for good. I shall see to that.”

  Tomorrow I will be speaking with Lord Durla, making sure that Throk is given an assignment that will keep him far away from her. I hope she does not end up losing her association with the other Prime Candidates. I could wish for a better set of friends for her, but at least it’s people roughly her own age with whom she’s having social intercourse. There is something to be said for that.

  If only I could handle this business with the Alliance as easily as I dispatched Throk. A quick punch to the face and that was all that was required. The realm of politics is, unfortunately, slightly more complicated.

  At least, I think it is.

  Perhaps I should try punching Sheridan in the nose someday and see if anything positive comes from it.

  - CHAPTER 11 -

  “Mr. Garibaldi will see you now.”

  The secretary was so remarkably gorgeous that Lou Welch had a hard time removing his gaze from her. “Breathtaking,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “This office,” Lou said quickly, gesturing around them. “It’s really impressive.” He rose from his seat and continued, “Me and Michael, we go way back. God, his living quarters were smaller than this outer office. He’s come a long way.”

  “Yes. He has.” The face remained lovely, but the smile was thinning in a slightly unattractive fashion. “And if you go on in, I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you just how far.”

  “Hmm? Oh! Yes, right,” Lou said, and he headed into the inner office.

  Garibaldi rose from behind his desk, hand extended, a broad smile on his face. Welch couldn’t help but admire the trim shape Garibaldi had kept himself in. He’d been concerned that the years spent running the major conglomerate of Edg
ars/Garibaldi Enterprises might have softened Garibaldi up, but he knew at once that his concerns had been misplaced . Garibaldi looked as whipcord sharp as ever when he stepped forward, and said, “Lou! Lou, it’s great to-”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong,” Lou said, puzzled.

  “You have hair,” Garibaldi said.

  “Oh. That.” Slightly self-conscious, but simultaneously preening, Welch ran his fingers through his thick shock of black hair. “I had a thing done.”

  “A thing. Uh-huh,” said Garibaldi.

  “Kind of went in the opposite direction from you, huh, Chief? Put the `baldy’ in Garibaldi, did ja?”

  “My secret weapon,” Garibaldi deadpanned, in reference to his own hairless pate. “I bounce light off it into the eyes of my enemy, blinding them. Plus, if I’m marooned on a desert island, I can reflect the sun off it to summon passing airships. You get stuck on a desert island, Lou, all you get to do is pick sand mites out of your follicles. Sit down, sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Club soda or something?”

  “No, no, I’m fine, thanks,” Welch said.

  Garibaldi walked back around his desk and dropped down into his seat. “So,” he said, steepling his fingers, “why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  “Well, now, Chief … you’re the one who tracked me down, invited me to come here to Mars for a chat,” Welch said slowly. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve been up to?”

  “First off, you don’t have to call me Chief,” Garibaldi said. “We’re not on B5 anymore. `Michael’ will be fine. Even `Mike.’ “