A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 5 : Among the Stars, like Giants. Part 1 : Learning How to Live addm-5

by Gareth D. Williams

  For over a year David Corwin had been a pilgrim, seeking some sort of peace with the galaxy. He had not found it, not on Proxima, not during the Brakiri Day of the Dead, not in the vastness of space.

  He had not found it here on Minbar either, but he felt he was getting close.

  * * *

  He took the same path he had before, several times over the past year. It was not the most direct, nor the safest, certainly not the quickest, but there was one reason and one reason alone that Senator Dexter Smith took this route from his office to the Pit Trap.

  It brought him past a certain nondescript alley, one just like countless others here in Sector 301, aptly dubbed 'the Pit' until something had happened here that had changed everything.

  This was where the Blessed Delenn had died and risen again.

  The shrine had grown quite a bit since he had last been here. His duties in the Senate had kept him busy, and this was the first night he had had off in months. His first chance to come back here.

  The shrine took up almost the whole alley now. There were pictures and drawings and poems and scribblings. There were quite a few other people here. There always were. The homeless — and Sector 301 still had plenty of them, although fewer than previously — slept here, claiming her presence gave them protection. Perhaps it did.

  He paused, as he always did, and remembered this place the way it had been. He remembered the feel of the PPG in his hands, and the look in her eyes.

  Then he remembered her beautiful green eyes filling with blood as her body fell.

  I killed her. She had told him to. The crowd — many of whom now worshipped here — would have torn them both apart if he had not. But he had still killed her, and nothing could undo that.

  He sighed, and turned to leave. As he did so, he caught sight of a picture of himself pinned to the wall. He vaguely recalled that picture being taken. It had been for an interview with Humanity magazine.

  Someone had scrawled the word 'Murderer' over it.

  He left.

  It was not a long walk from the shrine to the Pit Trap, and he made it in about ten minutes. It was busier than he remembered, and he wondered how much of that was due to the very public knowledge that he drank there. Celebrity was not something he liked. He had not liked it when he had been captain of the Babylon and he did not like it now, but he could not blame Bo for taking advantage, he supposed.

  "Senator," said Jinxo, the barman. It was a sign of how much things had changed that Bo could actually afford to hire more staff. "They're waiting for you."

  "I know, I know, I'm late." There was a bottle of Pit Bull on the bar almost instantly. As he always did, Smith offered to pay, and as always, Jinxo wouldn't take the money. Smiling as he swigged from the bottle, Smith walked past the bar into the back room, the one marked 'Private'.

  "Hey, here you are at last," said a familiar voice. "Don't they have clocks in that posh part of town?"

  "You and the horse you rode in on, Allan," Smith replied genially. He took the seat that had been set aside for him and leaned back in the chair, looking around the table.

  Security Chief Zack Allan, his assistant Jack, and Bo himself. A pack of playing cards was placed beside Bo, as was a pile of counters. Everyone had a drink of some kind in front of them. "Prepare to lose all that you own," Zack said. "For tonight is poker night at the Pit Trap."

  "I dunno," Jack said. "I think I've already lost all I own."

  "The way you play I'm not surprised." Zack looked up at Dexter. "So?"

  "So what? Bo's the dealer for the first hand. You know that."

  Zack rolled his eyes. "Not that. The other thing."

  "Uh.... what other thing?"

  "Oh, for the love of.... Here, give a minute." Zack bent down and picked up a newspaper from the floor at his feet. It was the Proxima Yesterday. Dexter caught the front page headline, and immediately wished he hadn't.

  "Here we are," Zack said. "'War hero Senator Dexter Smith was spotted leaving the Dome One-o-five apartment of Captain Bethany Tikopai late last Wednesday night, fuelling rumours of a romance between the two. We've been unable to get in touch with either to comment, but friends of Senator Smith, who wished to remain anonymous, stated that he was 'head over heels' with the Earthforce Captain. There have been rumours linking Smith, who was voted the seventh sexiest man alive in a survey by For Her magazine four years ago and is expected to rank even higher in this year's survey, with a number of women over the last year, but nothing has developed into anything permanent. Could this be love at last for the high-profile Senator? We'll have to see his reaction when Captain Tikopai returns from her tour of duty at Kazomi Seven next month. And if he's feeling lonely in the meantime, we know several woman who will only be too happy to keep him company.'"

  "Give me that!" Dexter snapped, snatching the paper from Zack. It was open at the gossip page, unsurprisingly. "Oh, for the love of Gandhi. Mental note: Get that Media Bill passed as soon as possible."

  "So?" Bo asked.

  "So what?"

  "Is it true?"

  "No, it's not true. We're just friends, that's all. We had dinner together."

  "Oh," Zack said. "I see. Just dinner. Right." He started nodding, knowingly.

  "She's not bad looking," Jack said. "I hear Ladded asked her for a photo-shoot and she turned them down."

  "Did you see that picture of her in Humanity when the new uniforms came out last year?" Bo asked.

  "Oh, did I ever?" Jack added. "Mamma mia! I wonder if I can get the missus a uniform like that?"

  "Uh, did we come here to play cards, or to talk about my non-existent love life?" Dexter asked. "'Cause I can hear all the gossip I like in the Senate."

  "No, we want the juicy details," Zack said. "Come in, indulge all us poor working-class plebs here. We don't get to move in the celebrity circuits like you do."

  "Zack, we start playing now, or I tell everyone about you and that doctor from the underground clinic. What was her name again? Something Rosen?"

  Zack coughed. "Ahem. Come on, Bo. Get dealing."

  The chips were soon piled up and counted, while Bo began to shuffle. "So," Jack said. "Explain that dealer chip again?"

  Everyone groaned. "Jack, that joke stopped being funny two hundred and sixty-four years ago," Zack said.

  "No, it was funny then."

  "No, it really wasn't."

  Half an hour later everyone had gone through several bottles of beer, Jack had gone through half his chips, Bo three-quarters of his, and Dexter three full houses and a straight flush. He had always been good at poker, but he largely played it because it was a break from everything else in his life. No squabbling Senators. No watching Alliance advisors. No gossip columns. No kiss-and-tell revelations from women he had dated fifteen years ago.

  Slowly he fanned his cards out, and listened to Jack raving about how wonderful his hand was, which meant it was the biggest pile of rubbish since Sector 301 after the refuse collectors strike of 2251. Jack had never managed a good poker face.

  Zack raised, Jack matched it, Bo folded, and Dexter looked at his cards again. He matched, and raised again.

  "You haven't got the cards," Zack said.

  "Yes, I have. They're right here, in my hand. See. Five of them."

  "Ah, you've got rubbish. Here, I'll match you, and raise another.... fifty."

  Jack matched, and Dexter. "Off you go, Zack. Let's see them."

  "Read 'em and weep, boys. Straight flush. Seven, eight, nine, ten and.... hey, where did the bloody ten go?"

  "That looks like a three to me," Dexter observed. "A three of hearts as well."

  "There was a ten here. The bloody ten of clubs."

  "What, the one that was a part of your drivel last hand?"

  Zack took a moment's realisation and then started swearing.

  "'Read 'em and weep,'" Dexter said, chuckling.

  "And then, he did," Bo pronounced.

  "Yeah, yeah, a mistake that could have happened to a
nyone."

  "Anyone who can't tell the difference between a three and a ten. Bo, never let this guy behind your bar."

  "Fine, fine. Let's all have a laugh. Jack, try and knock the smile off his face. Tell me you've got something."

  "Two pairs," Jack announced, laying them down. "Aces and twos."

  Dexter nodded. "Not bad. Not half bad. I've got two pairs myself. Kings." He laid down the Kings of Hearts and Spades. "And.... er, Kings." Followed by the Kings of Clubs and Diamonds.

  Zack groaned. "Can I owe you?"

  "Zack, you already owe me.... let's see. Seventeen jillion zillion credits, otherwise known as the Gross Planetary Product of Proxima for the next seven years."

  "Only Proxima. Get back to me when it's the GPP of somewhere important."

  "Where's important?" asked a new voice, and everyone stopped. Someone was interrupting their poker session. They'd all left standing orders never to be interrupted during a poker session. Dexter had told his assistants to contact him only if the Minbari invaded, and nothing else.

  "Have the Minbari invaded?" he asked the newcomer. He supposed it would have to be something pretty important for Julia to come here. She knew the significance of Poker Night, even if she didn't claim to understand it. Even if she wasn't legally old enough to enter the bar, not yet. It would be her eighteenth birthday in a couple of months. Dexter had already picked out what he hoped was a good present. Bethany had confessed to having no idea what to get her daughter.

  Legally, of course, she wasn't old enough to be in the Proxima Security Force either, but there were always exceptions in Sector 301.

  "Not that I know of," she replied dubiously. "Who's winning?"

  "Funny story," Dexter began. Zack looked at him and held up the newspaper, glaring dire threats. "But not that funny. What's up?"

  "Something you're going to want to see. You too, Boss. It's.... strange. Very strange."

  "Well, who am I to pass up the call of serious strangeness?" Zack replied. "Lucky for you, Smith. I was going to clean you out next round."

  "I'm not worried. I'd see you counting on your fingers to work out which number is ten."

  "Remind me why I don't play this again?" Julia said.

  "Guy thing," Dexter replied.

  "Oh, definitely," Zack added. "Guy thing."

  "Yeah."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  * * *

  It seemed that everywhere he turned, Londo saw a place where someone had died. That corner, where Malachi had breathed his last. That room, where Dugari had been murdered. That doorway, where the guardsman had fought off the Shadow Criers.

  It was worst of all in the throne room. He could still see the patch of blood on the floor where Lyndisty's body had lain. He could still see the scuffs in the carpet where he and Cartagia had fought.

  And he could still hear Cartagia's mocking words.

  'The Republic will be finished before the century's over, Mollari. I know that, and so do you. Who wants to be known as the Emperor who guided us into oblivion? Not me.'

  Not for the first time, Londo swore to prevent Cartagia's final prophecy. Each time he repeated that oath, however, the words came harder and harder to his lips.

  The last year had been hard, so very hard. Famine had struck savagely, the uncultivated farmlands unable to provide anywhere near enough food for the Republic. Thousands had died. The breadbasket of Gorash 7 had supplied as much food as it could, but its resources were strained to breaking-point just recovering from the Narn occupation, and the number of ships available to transport food was pitifully small.

  Immolan was troubled by pirates again, not an uncommon occurrence. The new Lord-General Carn Mollari was unable to muster enough ships to protect the major shipping lanes, let alone hunt down the raiders.

  Time and again, Londo had swallowed his pride and asked Durano to appeal to the Alliance for help. Aid had come eventually, but only when Delenn had personally intervened. There were too many races prominent in the Alliance Council with no cause to love the Centauri, no cause at all, and who were only too willing to see the Republic starve. Oh, aid shipments were promised, but aid was needed everywhere and it was easy for promises not to be fulfilled.

  And all the while, more and more people died.

  And now this.

  "The initial task force will only be five. They will of course be working alone, without any need for staff or suchlike. They have already marked out specific territories to investigate, and there is a list of people they will wish to interview. It would be much easier were these people to be available for interrogation in a place difficult for them to escape from. They would be caught eventually of course, but that would only take up more time and add to the overall unpleasantness, and neither of us wants that, do we?

  "Their needs are modest, a room or so each at specified places. Two will be operating out of the palace. The homeworld is obviously the most important place to begin. Of the other three, one is to be based on Gorash, one on Immolan and the other on Frallus. Other worlds will be dealt with subsequently. The immediate priority is to find anyone who may have been working with the Enemy and is still in a position of authority, or of course those in lower positions working in espionage or informant roles. A list of all escaped fugitives will be drawn up and handed over to the proper authorities at Babylon Five and Kazomi Seven.

  "Do you have any questions, Majesty?"

  "Yes," Londo said, looking closely at Mr. Morden. "What did you call these.... investigators again?"

  "Their names are really not important. If they wish to introduce themselves to you, that will be up to them, but if you meant their title, they are usually known as Inquisitors."

  "Inquisitors, hmm? Well, a very fine-sounding title. We had some by that name once. Quite a long time ago it was, during one of our darker periods. They.... hunted down people who were felt to be enemies of the State, or of the Church. When they found such people, or fabricated evidence to incriminate innocent people, they burned them alive, as a warning to all other enemies of the State."

  "I was aware of this, Majesty. Several cultures have had similar groups of people."

  "I was not finished, Mr. Morden. Do you know the strange thing about these Inquisitors? They were very good at their job. Reports state sometimes hundreds, if not thousands, of these 'enemies of the State' were executed daily at some stages. But no matter how many they burned, there were always so many more. It seemed as though there were more enemies of the State when they finished than there had been when they started."

  "Ours are a little more efficient."

  "So I see," Londo said, holding up the list of names of potential 'interviewees'. "Lord-General Carn Mollari, hmm. Oh, I know these names. Several captains of my, and I use the word carefully these days, 'fleet'. Almost all of them in fact. Kiron Maray, yes. Lady Drusilla Marrago. Oh look, half of my Government, I am so pleased you have not forgotten them.

  "Ah, regional bureaucrats and directors, yes. Oh, a lot of the Parliament at Selini, the ones who voted me in as Governor, the ones that are still alive at any rate. Tax inspectors and collectors. Prominent churchmen. Well, if anyone needs an inquisition, it would be them I suppose. Half, no, wait, three-quarters of my Palace Guard.

  "Lennier, of the third Fane of Chudomo. Why, Mr. Morden, whatever can a Minbari name be doing down here? I thought it was just us Centauri who bargained with dark forces during the war. Well, well. It seems as though aliens are just as guilty as we are. I'll be damned. I never knew that.

  "Ah, and my dear lady wife, Timov. I would rather you be the one to tell her that than I. She has a very fearsome temper you know, and I have had enough crockery thrown at me in this lifetime already, thank you."

  Londo handed the paper back to Morden, who maintained his carefully neutral expression. "A most comprehensive list, Mr. Morden. I can see that a great deal of work must have gone into it. Alas, I fear there is at least one name you are missing."

  "Oh,
Majesty?"

  "Londo Mollari. A particularly shifty sort, by all accounts. Just the sort of person your Inquisitors would want to talk to. He had a position of some power within the Republic, although not as much as you do of course. He also knows almost everyone on this list.

  "Come now, Mr. Morden, did you think you could question almost everyone I know, accuse them with these lies, and not expect to have to question me as well?"

  Londo leapt up from his throne, and knocked the papers from Morden's hand. "Did you really think you would get away with this? With slandering and insinuating these things about these people? Not one of your Inquisitors will set one foot on any world in the Republic, or I will remove that foot!

  "I am Emperor here. Not you."

  Morden remained impassive. "I hadn't forgotten that, Majesty, but evidently you've forgotten something. Everything the Inquisitors wish to do, including their presence here, is authorised by the treaty that you signed when you joined the Alliance. I have seen that treaty. It bears the signature of your authorised representative on Kazomi Seven, Ambassador Durano — or are you trying to tell me it is a forgery?

  "Ambassador Durano will also be questioned, but that will take place on Babylon Five. I understand the bureaucratic centre of the Alliance is slowly being transferred there. Council meetings will be held there soon, I am given to understand."

  "Not one Inquisitor, Mr. Morden. Not one."

  "What makes you think you have a choice in this, Your Majesty? A breach of your treaty obligations would have grave repercussions. It might lead certain parties to think you have something to hide, things you don't want the Alliance to find out about.

  "I might also lead to trade sanctions, jump gate blockades.

  "A cessation of aid shipments."

  "You bastard!"

  "That treaty was signed by your representative, Majesty. We are only enforcing the rights you gave us."

  "Not Timov. You will not touch her."

  Morden smiled, a slight smile of triumph, and not the only one Londo had seen. "I might be able to persuade them that it is not necessary to question her."

  "Good." Londo sat back down on the throne. "You will not touch her." He thought everyone else was gone. He had sent them away, or so he thought, but Morden had just given him an object lesson. Wherever they went, he could touch them.