by Peter David
She looked to the floor. “So … is the offer still open? Or have I wasted your time and mine, and made a fool of myself for no reason?”
He considered her a moment, and then called, “Guard!”
The guard who had escorted her in made his return with all due alacrity. He skidded slightly when he entered, his foot hitting the trail of water that she had left behind, but he quickly righted himself, maintaining as much of his self-possession as possible given the circumstances. “Yes, Majesty?” he said. Clearly he was wondering if he was going to be given another opportunity to throw the interloper out.
“Prepare a chamber for young lady Senna,” Londo instructed . “See to it that she is given dry clothes and warm food. She will remain in residence within the palace. Make certain, however, that hers is not a chamber near to mine. We certainly would not want the wrong impression to be given. Proximity to the imperial bedchamber might be misinterpreted by those of a more coarse bent. Is that not right, young lady?”
“It is … as you say, Majesty.” Then she sneezed once more, and looked almost apologetic for it.
“Yes. Yes, it is. It is always as the emperor says. Why else be emperor? Go to, then. Get some rest. In the morning, we will attend to the family who took you in … and, as happenstance would have it, threw you out in their anger.”
“They were angry. Very.”
“I’m certain they were. But perhaps the more one is faced with anger, the more one should respond with forgiveness.”
“That is a … a very interesting thought, Majesty.”
“I have my moments, young lady. In the morning, then. We will talk, yes? Over breakfast?”
“I… ” There was clear surprise on her face as she realized what he was saying. “Yes, I … think I would like that, Majesty. I will look forward to seeing you in the morning.”
“And I you, young lady. As it happens, you see, it appears I will indeed be here in the morning. It would be rude to deprive you of a breakfast companion. And my advisors have informed me that, by morning, this storm will have passed. A new day will be dawning on Centauri Prime. No doubt we will be a part of it.”
She bowed once more and then, as the guard began to escort her out, Londo called, “Guard … one other small matter.”
“Yes, Majesty?” He turned smartly on his heel.
“Do you see that sword hanging on the wall over there?”
“Yes, Majesty. It is quite impressive.”
“Yes, it is. I would like you to take it and put it into storage. I do not think I will be needing it anytime soon.”
The guard didn’t quite understand, but fortunately his understanding was not required. “Very well, Majesty.” He bowed, removed the sword from the wall, and escorted Senna out. She paused at the door ever so briefly and glanced over her shoulder at him. Londo kept his face impassive, although he did nod to her slightly in response. Then they departed, leaving the emperor alone with his thoughts.
He sat there for some time more, listening to the rain. He took in no more drink that night, and as the time passed, he could feel the keeper slowly stirring. Lost in his own thoughts and considerations, he paid it no mind. Finally he rose to his feet and left the throne room. He made his way down the hallway, guards acknowledging his presence and majesty as he did so.
For the first time in a long time, he did not feel that he was a sham. He wondered if it was because of the girl.
He entered his private quarters and pulled off the white coat of office, removed the great seal and hung it on a nearby peg.
He’d had a work area set up at the far end of his quarters, and he turned toward it … and his heart skipped a beat.
The Drakh was there. How long he had stood in the shadowy section of the room, Londo had no idea. “What are you doing here?” Londo demanded.
“Studying,” the Drakh said softly, his hand resting on the computer terminal. “Humans … interest you, I see. You have much research.”
“I will thank you not to pry into my personal files,” Londo said in annoyance. It was, of course, an empty expression of frustration. After all, even if he didn’t like it, what was he going to do about it?
“One of our kind … studied Humans. Centuries ago,” said the Drakh.
That stopped Londo. He made no effort to hide his surprise. “Are you saying you were on Earth?”
The Drakh nodded. “A Drakh … took up residence there. Few saw him. But word of him spread. Word of the dark one, the monstrous one who kept to the shadows. Who drained victims’ souls and ruled them thereafter,” and he inclined his head toward the keeper. “They called him Drak’hul. His legend lives on … or so I am told.”
It was the single longest speech Londo had ever heard the Drakh make. As if the effort of doing so had drained him, he remained silent for some time. They simply stood there in the darkness, like two warriors, each waiting for the other to make his move.
Feeling bold, Londo said, “And what do they call you, eh? What should I call you-since we seemed to be bound in this living hell together.”
The Drakh seemed to consider the question a moment. “Shiv’kala,” he said at last. Then he paused a time further, and said, “The girl.”
“What of her?”
“She is not needed.”
“Perhaps. But that is not your concern.”
“If we say it is … it is.”
“I desire her to stay. She poses no threat to you, or to your plans.”
“Not yet. She may.”
“That is ridiculous,” Londo said skeptically. “She is a young girl who will become a young woman and take her rightful place in Centauri society. If I left her out on the street, where her resentment could grow and fester, who knows what she might do then, eh? I am doing us a favor.”
“Are you?” The Drakh did not appear convinced. Then again, with his constant but chilling smile, it was difficult for Londo to read any change at all in the Drakh’s attitude. “We do not like her. We do like Durla.”
“Durla? What of him?”
“He has … potential.”
“What sort of potential?”
The Drakh did not answer directly. Instead he moved halfway across the room, seemingly gliding across the distance. “We are not … monsters, Mollari. No matter what you may think,” he said. “We are, in many ways, no different than you.”
“You are nothing like me, nor I like you,” Londo replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
Shiv’kala shrugged almost imperceptibly. “We will offer a bargain. We do not have to. But we offer it. The girl may stay … but Durla will become your minister of Internal Security.”
“Never!” Londo said immediately. “I know Durla. I know his type. He is power hungry. And once someone who is power hungry is given power, it whets the appetite for more. The only way to deal with someone like that is to leave him famished before he develops a taste for it.”
“He will be your minister of Internal Security … or the girl will leave.”
There was a popular Human phrase that suited such occasions . Londo employed it now: “Over my dead body.”
“No,” the Drakh said coolly. “Over hers.”
Londo’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
The comment was so preposterous that the Drakh didn’t even bother to reply.
“She is innocent of any wrongdoing. She deserves no harm,” Londo said.
“Then see that none comes to her,” said the Drakh. “For that matter see that none comes to yourself … for her death would quickly follow.”
Londo felt a chill run down his spine.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Good,” said the Drakh. “Then all will be well. Tomorrow you will inform Durla of his promotion.”
Londo said nothing. There was no need. They both knew that the Drakh had him … had him in every way possible.
Shiv’kala glanced out the window of Londo’s quarters. The rain was already
beginning to taper off. “Tomorrow promises to be a fine day. Enjoy it, Mollari. It is, after all, the first of the rest of your life.”
Londo went to the light switch and illuminated the interior of the room, then turned to the Drakh to offer a further protest over the promotion of Durla.
But the Drakh was gone, as if the light were anathema to him. Londo was alone.
Then he glanced at the keeper on his shoulder. It was watching him with a steady eye.
No. Never alone.
From his place of communion, hidden within the darkest shadows of the darkest area of the palace, Shiv’kala reached out and touched the darkness around him. He drew it about himself tightly, enjoying the coolness of it, the peace it brought him.
And within the darkness, the Drakh Entire was waiting for him, attending to his communication so that he could impart to them the progress on Centauri Prime. To his surprise, there appeared to be a bit of annoyance on the part of the Entire. They did not scold him or reprimand him, of course. Shiv’kala’s reputation was too great, his status too elevated, for him to be treated in an offhand or condescending manner. Nevertheless, there was … concern … and a desire to find out why certain actions had been taken, actions the Drakh Entire could not quite comprehend.
At what game do you play, Shiv’kala? You told him your name.
“He asked. It makes no difference.”
Why do you bargain with Mollari? Why do you not simply tell him what must be done?
“For what purpose? To show him that we are the stronger?”
Yes. He must know who is the master.
“He knows. He knows. He is, however, unwilling to accept . He resists our hold upon him. He contemplated taking his own life.”
Are you certain?
“Yes. I am certain. He thought to hide it from me, but he can hide nothing. He merely thinks he can. And if he cannot live under the stewardship of the keeper, we will lose him.”
If we lose him, then we lose him. He is simply another tool. A pawn. Nothing more.
“No,” said Shiv’kala sharply. The sternness of his tone drew the Entire up short. “He is more. He is much more. He is not interchangeable, and although he is of course expendable , he is not to be so lightly tossed aside as the others. He is a visionary. We can help that which he envisions to come true. But our task becomes that much easier when our vision becomes his, as well.”
What do you propose?
“Nothing except that caution be displayed, as much as possible . That we allow events to play out, rather than force hands. That Mollari be guided in our path rather than be forced. Particularly because if he believes certain things to be inevitable, or that certain ideas are his own, it facilitates our making use of him. It will bring matters to fruition that much more quickly and efficiently.”
It does not matter how subtly you wish to influence him. He will never willingly accommodate certain aspects of our plan. His spirit must be broken, not treated gently.
“What will he refuse to accommodate?” asked Shiv’kala skeptically. “This is an individual who aided in the massacre of entire races. From what will he shrink?”
Sheridan. He will never assent to the death of Sheridan. Nor will he willingly stand by while the entire Human race is obliterated. Not unless he is made to realize that he has no choice.
“Do not underestimate the lack of love he feels for the Alliance, and for Sheridan in particular. As for the Humans … he had no difficulty in allowing the entire race to stand, by itself, at the edge of oblivion during the Earth-Minbari War. Now, when the personal stakes are so much higher, he will be even less likely to intervene. “
“No, my brothers … trust me in this. Londo Mollari is at his most effective when he feels that he has some measure of control … even though that control is merely an illusion that we permit. One such as he will not be broken immediately . His spirit must be winnowed down. It must be carefully shaped. We must understand his weaknesses and his strengths, and work with both to our best advantage.”
Shiv’kala … there are moments when it seems as if you actually like this creature.
“I feel he has great potential … and I would not see that potential wasted through mishandling. That, my brothers, is all.”
Very well, Shiv’kala. You have earned our trust and our respect . We leave it to you to attend to Centauri Prime, and to Londo Mollari, in whatever manner you see fit.
“Thank you, my brothers.”
But in the end, of’course … it must turn out the only way that it can.
“With Londo’s humiliation and death, and the final destruction of Centauri Prime?” Shiv’kala smiled mirthlessly. “I assure you, my brothers … I would not have it any other way.”
With that, he felt the presence of the Drakh Entire slip away from him, like a shadow dissolving in light. And Shiv’kala was left alone, with his own thoughts and own agenda.
No. Never alone.
In the bowels of Babylon 5, the sleeper slept.
He did not know what he was, or who he was. He thought of himself merely as a vagabond, one who had found-if not a home-at least a place that was less hostile than other places in the universe. Down Below had a stench, but it was a familiar stench. The doctors were there every now and then, to deal with the most scabrous. Work could be had, if one wasn’t looking to question the legality of it too closely.
Not much of a life … but it was a life, and he was content.
He did not know that all his memories were false.
He did not know that his recollections of how he came to reside on B5 were erroneous.
He thought he had a fairly good eye on his world, and understood the ins and outs. He didn’t realize that he understood nothing.
But he would. He would. The only problem was, at the point where he understood… that was when it would be far, far too late.
- chapter 4 -
Senna lay back on the greensward, gazing toward the skies and the clouds.
“What do you see?” came the question from nearby. Telis Elaris lay there.
It was how they always tended to conclude their study sessions , Senna and Telis. Telis explained that it gave him an idea of just how much he had managed to expand her mind in that particular day’s lessons. Senna, however, had come to look at it as simply an excuse for creative woolgathering.
As opposed to Senna, who always lay flat upon the grass, Telis had a decorative mat upon which he always reclined. “I am not as young as you,” Telis would say to her, which always struck her as something of an odd excuse, because in truth Telis was only a little more than twice as old as she. He was, however, fond of claiming that he was far older than she in experience.
Senna had been assigned a number of teachers since she had first come to live in the palace, eight months ago. She remembered that night as if it were a distant dream. Indeed, she had trouble associating the girl she was then with the young woman that she was now.
The emperor had extended a hand of friendship to a girl who had ricocheted a rock off his skull, and she had had the temerity to slap that hand away. When she had come crawling back to him that night, she had been convinced he was going to throw her out, chortling with amusement over the pathetic young woman who had thought that she was somehow entitled to anything more than contempt.
Instead she had been given everything she could have wanted.
“Why?” she had asked him the next day over breakfast. She had not felt the need to go any further into the question than that. The one word spoke volumes.
And Londo had understood. “Because,” he replied, “if I cannot attend to the body and soul of one woman … what hope have I in doing the same for Centauri Prime?”
“So I am to be a living symbol?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
She considered it a moment, and then said, “No, Majesty.” And that had seemed to settle it.
What had become more hotly debated was her choice of teachers. Londo had
not hesitated to assemble a list of all the very best tutors, scholars, and lecturers to address Senna’s education. This, however, had not gone over particularly well with Durla, the captain of the guards whom Londo -for reasons that remained inexplicable to Senna-had appointed to the key position of minister of Internal Security. The main reason Senna wasn’t able to understand it was that she was certain-absolutely, one hundred percent certain-that Londo did not trust the man. And if one did not trust the minister of Internal Security, what could possibly be the point in having him in that position?
She remembered one day when she had heard particularly loud discussions coming from within the throne room. Londo and Durla had been disagreeing about something at extremely high volume. Once upon a time, Durla would have backed down immediately, but such was no longer the case. Durla no longer hesitated to tell the emperor precisely what was on his mind, and precisely why the emperor would be a fool not to attend to it.
On that particular day, she had heard several names being bandied about, and she recognized all of them as having been on Senna’s own list of desired teachers. One name had been mentioned at particularly high volume, and that was the name of Telis Elaris.
That hadn’t been surprising … all things considered.
Senna rolled over, and Telis looked at her quizzically. “Well?” he said in that no-nonsense air he had. Telis was another one of those who openly flouted convention; his black hair was long, but instead of wearing it upswept, he allowed it to run down over his shoulders. The style was abhorred by most older men and adored by most younger women, with the latter phenomenon leading to even greater ire among those members of the former faction.
“Well, what?” she replied.
“Well, what do you see in the clouds?”
“Great Maker take the clouds,” she answered in annoyance . Telis had been her historical philosophy tutor for some months now, ever since Londo had first sent for him and hired him at Senna’s request. She had been reading treatises of Telis’ opinions ever since she was a child, and once had watched as her angered father had tossed one into the trash. She had recovered it from the rubbish, and Elaris had been her guilty, secret pleasure ever since. Historical philosophy specifically covered the various schools of thought that had served to shape much of the Republic’s early years, examining how those philosophies interacted with politics. The topic was of particular interest to Senna. “Why must we stare at the useless clouds, when so much of great importance is occurring, right here under our noses?”
