Babylon 5 13 - Legions Of Fire 01 - Long Night Of Centauri Prime (David, Peter)

by Long Night Of Centauri Prime (David, Peter)

  Chapter 8 Zack Allan, the security head of Babylon 5, was staring at Vir, one brow arched, his piercing eyes filled with open curiosity. "Rem Lanas? You want to find out about a Rem Lanas?" Vir, sitting in Zack's office, kept his hands neatly folded in his lap. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble." "Is he one of yours? I mean a Centauri?" "That's right. Normally, we could find one of our own people, of course, but thanks to the bombings, our records are a mess. We think he's here, but we're not sure." "Important in some way?" Vir shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Is there any reason you're asking me so many questions, Mr. Allan? Not that," he added quickly, "I mind answering them. I don't. I wouldn't mind answering your questions all day. I really didn't have anything else blocked out on my schedule. So if you want to keep-" Zack put up a hand to still the torrent of words spilling from Vir. "I just wanted to know," Zack said slowly, "if he presents any sort of a security risk and if I should be worried." "A security risk! Oh ... oh, no. That's funny." Vir quickly laughed, a sort of high-pitched blurt. "That's really funny. A Centauri, presenting a security risk. No," he said, suddenly serious. "No, none of our people present any sort of a risk, security or otherwise. We, that is, I, wouldn't want anyone to think that the Centauri in any way are threatening. Because, 100 you know, as soon as that happens come the ships, and the booming, and the shooting, and, well ... it's a mess. We don't want that. No one wants that. I know I don't, you don't. . ." "Rem Lanas." "I'm sure he doesn't, either." "I mean," Zack said patiently, "who is he? Why do you need to find him?" "Well . . ." Vir harrumphed to buy himself a few seconds, and then said, "Money." "Money? What about it?" "Rem Lanas has come into a sizeable amount of it. His inheritance, so his parents want to get in touch with him, let him know. . ." " `Parents.' You just said his father was dead:' "Yes, that's ... right. That is, his adoptive parents. His father gave him up for adoption when he was quite young, and when his father was dying, he felt so guilty that he left everything to his son. It's a tragic story. Very unexpected death. His father was an opera singer, you see, and he was performing an outdoor concert, and his mouth was wide open as he was trying to jump an octave, and suddenly this low-flying bird-" "Okay, okay, okay," said Zack quickly, clearly not wanting to hear the climax of the story. "Let me see if we've got any record of a Rem Lanas coming through here." As Zack checked through the computers, Vir's mind was racing. Lying simply was not his strong suit. He felt tremendously uncomfortable and very exposed whenever he was trying to do it. One would have thought that, working with Londo for as long as he had, he would have acquired a knack for it. The one thing he had going for him was that he tended to babble to the point where people would accept whatever he was saying, just to shut him up. With one lie, he was ineffective . With an avalanche of lies, he could squeak by. The thing was, he wasn't sure who Rem Lanas was, or what significance he held. But out of nowhere, Londo had made mention of him. Vir remembered that day on Centauri Prime, that day when Londo had made his address to the Centauri people, an address that had reeked of anger and had seemed more an urging for revenge than reconciliation. When Sheridan, Delenn , and G'Kar had expressed their reservations about such a curious direction for his speech, Vir had loyally assured them that Londo must have had his reasons. He had believed it at the time, and he believed it still. Londo always had reasons for what he did. Some of them were truly horrific, but they were reasons nonetheless. So when Londo had spoken of this Rem Lanas fellow, Vir-after fighting through his initial confusion-had resolved that somehow, for some reason, Londo was trying to tell him something. For that reason, he had gone straight to Zack's office as soon as he had returned to the station. He wasn't sure why he was there, or what he was trying to find out, or what he would do with the knowledge once he did find it, but he couldn't think that far down the line. He had to operate one step at a time. "Got him," Zack said. Zack's declaration brought Vir out of his reverie. "You do? Where?" "I don't mean that we actually have him in custody ... why? Should we?" Vir laughed nervously. "Of course not. Why would you?" "According to this," continued Zack, looking over the records, "he arrived on the station about six months ago." He paused, studied the computer screen for a few more moments , and then said, "This could be a problem." "What? What's a problem?" "Well," said Zack, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "there's no record of him leasing any rooms here. No job employment record. If I had to guess, he's probably in Down Below." "Down Below? Are you sure?" "No, I'm not sure. For instance, if he'd somehow managed to sneak off the station without our knowing it, he'd be gone. Or he might have gotten a room or job using faked ID." "But that doesn't make a lot of sense. If he had fake ID, why would he use it for one thing, but not the other?" Vir said. Zack grinned. "Very good Mr. Cotto. You might have a future in the exciting field of security." "Really? You think so? Or you are kidding?" "I'm kidding." "Oh." Vir felt slightly crestfallen. "But you're right. There's no reason for him to come in under his real name and then fake his presence elsewhere. Which brings me back to my original guess: he's Down Below. Residences down there are pretty much catch-as- catch-can; set up a tent and you're a resident. Run money for one of the shady types down there, and you're employed. Do you want me to send some people down to find him?" "No," Vir said quickly. "I'll handle it. I'm, well ... I'm a friend of the family. I promised I'd do it. It's kind of ... an honor thing." "Oh. An honor thing." "That's right. Well, thank you for all your help. If you could forward a copy of his photograph and records to my quarters, I'd be most appreciative." Vir stood, pumped Zack's hand with such ferocity that he threatened to snap it off at the wrist, and then left Zack's office as fast as he could. When he got to his door, he stood there, slightly out of breath, composing his thoughts. His hearts were racing and he didn't even fully grasp why that would be the case. All he knew was that he was beginning to sense that something was happening ... something that Londo actually had the answers to. But Londo would not tell him more than he already had, would not give him anything more than dribs and drabs ... Would not? Or ... could not? Was it possible that Londo had simply told him as much as he could, somehow? Even that made no sense, though. There had been no one except Londo and himself there in the portrait gallery. Was Londo that concerned that he was being watched, listened to wherever he went in the palace? But they could have gone outside, then, or found a place-some place, any place-that could be shielded from prying eyes and ears. Londo would certainly have been clever enough to come up with somewhere that was secure. But ... what if there was no place left that was secure? The notion was utterly horrifying to Vir. Could that be possible ? Could it be that someone was capable of monitoring Londo, no matter where he went? Perhaps they had managed to implant some sort of tracking or listening device upon him. But ... why would he stand still for something like that? Why would he submit to it? He was the emperor. The emperor of the Centauri Republic! Much of the Republic might be in ruins, but it still was what it was. One had to respect the office , if not the man holding it. Then again, I assassinated Londo's predecessor, so who am I to talk... If that were the case ... if Londo was somehow wearing some sort of bugging device, or if-at the very least-there was someone whose presence was so pervasive that even Londo was wary of it, then that was a situation that had to be addressed. But who could be responsible for such a state of affairs? Durla. That had to be the answer. Perhaps, Vir reasoned, Durla was blackmailing him somehow . Perhaps he had gotten his hands on some sort of dire truth about Londo, and was trading upon silence in exchange for power. And while he was at it, he was keeping Londo on a tight leash ... It made Vir wonder-what could Durla possibly know that would cause Londo to submit to that ... that slimy little man's will, rather than allow it to be made public? After all, Londo's greatest and most awful actions weren't secrets, they were part of the résumé that had obtained him the rank of emperor in the first place. What could Londo possibly have done that would be considered so repellant? No matter what it was, the whole business made Vir extremely edgy. It made him wonder just how paranoid he himself was b
ecoming, and how paranoid he should be. Durla definitely knew Vir's background, and Vir had the uneasy feeling that he, too, might be targeted somehow. It depended, of course, on just how seriously Durla perceived him as a threat, and whether Vir stood in the way-intentionally or not-of whatever it was that Durla saw as his goal. Vir's mind was spinning, and as he finally opened the door to enter his quarters, he jumped nearly a foot in the air when a voice said, "Hi there." Vir sagged against the wall, clutching his major heart. "Mr. Garibaldi" he managed to gasp. "What are you doing here? How did you get in here?" "When you've had a job like security chief," Michael Garibaldi said, rising from the chair in which he had apparently made himself quite comfortable, "you pick up a few things. And you hang on to them, even when you move upstairs to become the head of security for the president of the Alliance. Speaking of which ... he'd like to see you." "He would?" "Yes. What? Does that make you nervous?" "Nervous?" laughed Vir. "Why would you say that?" "Well, when you're nervous about something, you tend to flap your hands about a bit ... kind of like you're doing right now." "What? Oh, this. No, no ... I'm just having some minor circulation problems, so I'm trying to get the blood flowing." He flailed his hands for a moment, then said, "Well, that seems to have done it," and folded his arms tightly across his chest. "What does he want to see me about?" "Beats me. You know how it goes. . . `ours is not to question why, ours is but to'. . . well, you know." "Yes, of course I do. I do? I mean ... actually, I don't. Ours is but to ... what?" "Do or die." "Ah. What a wonderful saying," Vir said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "It's from a poem, actually. `The Charge of the Light Brigade.' " "Oh. It's about a brigade that charges at faster than light speeds?" Garibaldi let out a sigh, then smiled gamely and gestured toward the door. "I'll explain on the way," he said. They stepped out and headed down the hallway. Vir's mind was in even more turmoil. Garibaldi, as always, wasn't giving any indication as to what was on his mind. What did he know? How much did he know? For that matter, how much did Vir himself know? He felt as if he had no grounding at all, as if he were about to float away. Garibaldi was chatting away about something of absolutely no consequence. Vir continued to smile and nod and give every indication he was listening, which he really wasn't. He rubbed the corner of his eye ... and saw ... something. It was just there, just for a moment, but when Vir turned his gaze to look head on, it was gone. He blinked, rubbed his eye again, and tried to spot whatever it was, without truly knowing what it was he was endeavoring to see. "Vir, are you all right?" asked Garibaldi, actually sounding a touch concerned. Vir tried to recreate for himself the mental impression that had been left upon him. He thought he had spotted someone, someone cloaked, watching him with what appeared to be a wry smile. But now he was gone, and Vir was wondering whether or not he was completely losing it from the stress. Yes, that was it-stress. More stress than he had ever really known. And the killing aspect of it was that he still had no clear idea of just what it was he was stressed over. With more honesty than was probably wise for him at that particular point in time, Vir answered, "No, Mr. Garibaldi . No, I'm not all right. And you know what? You know what the absolute worst part of it is?" Garibaldi shook his head. "The worst part," continued Vir, "is that if 1 were all right ... the feeling would be so unfamiliar to me, that I'd probably be totally terrified of it and wouldn't know what to do. Do you know what I'm saying?" "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. Basically, you're afraid to let your guard down." But Vir shook his head. "No. That's not quite it at all. It's not that I'm afraid to do so. It's that I've forgotten how." "Vir," Garibaldi said slowly, "considering the things that have gone on here ... and the things that continue to go on back on Centauri Prime ... maybe that's a blessing in disguise." "Then it's a very cunning disguise," said Vir. John Sheridan rose from behind his desk when Vir entered. Dressed in his customary dark suit, he stroked his neatly trimmed, slightly greying beard and looked at Vir pensively. Vir tried to get a read off Sheridan's face that might indicate exactly what the problem was, but Sheridan was far too old a hand to let the slightest hint slip through. Sheridan had been president for nearly a year, and in the four years that Vir had known him, he had never seen the man tip his hand until he was ready. "Vir, it's good to see you," he said, extending his hand. "Your trip to and from Centauri Prime went without incident , I trust?" "Oh yes. The best kind of space travel. The uneventful kind." He shook Sheridan's hand firmly. It was just one of the many Human traditions to which he'd had to become accustomed . He recalled very clearly when he'd first arrived on Babylon 5-he had been so nervous that his hands had been incredibly clammy. Vir had never forgotten the expression on then-Captain Sinclair's face, or the way he had fought to maintain a polite demeanor while subtly trying to wipe his drenched hand on his trouser leg. As for Londo, well, Londo had just been too stunned to say or do anything other than to get Vir the hell out of there. He'd come a long way in the succeeding years. Yet, in many ways, he felt just as disconcerted as ever. "That's good. That's good." Sheridan rapped his knuckles briskly on the desk. "Well ... I'm sure you're quite busy. . ." "Actually, no. I just got back, so my schedule is wide open." Vir was just trying to be helpful, but he could tell from Sheridan's expression that that wasn't what he had wanted to hear. He realized belatedly that it was simply a conversational gambit, a means of jumping briskly to the point. "But if anyone's busy, it's you, Mr. President," Vir added quickly, "and I appreciate your taking the time to discuss ... well, whatever it is we have to discuss. So ... why don't we get right to it, then." "Yes, I ... suppose we should." He paused for a moment. "This is in regard to the tour of Down Below that's scheduled for tomorrow." "The tour," Vir echoed, his face a perfect blank. "Yes. There's a movement among various members ... of the Alliance to attend to the conditions in Down Below. They feel it represents, well ... something they're not comfortable with. Some of the races don't like to be reminded that their cultures have any `have-nots,' and Down Below is most definitely a haven for the unfortunate." "So they want to get rid of a haven?" "Not exactly. There's a sort of reclamation project in the works. Various races are pooling their resources, trying to convince many of the expatriots who have fled to Down Below to return to their Homeworlds. Plus, there are corporate sponsors who are interested in becoming involved in Down Below. Cleaning it up." "It's hard to believe that would be possible." "I know. Taking the dark underbelly of Babylon 5 and making it over into something approachable-I swear, some sponsors actually believe they can transform Down Below into a place so friendly that people would take their families down there, on holiday. It's a pipe dream, I think, but. . ." He shrugged. Vir mirrored the gesture. "In any event, representatives from the various sponsors and member races are gathering for this tour. It's been fairly well publicized, actually. If you ask me, it's more an exercise in politics than anything else. A chance to stage a media event in order for the representatives to look good to the folks back home. Oldest political maneuvering in the book. And, as you know, an invitation went out to you, asking you to be a part of the tour. Since you are the Centauri representative to Babylon 5, it only seemed right." "Yes, of course. And don't think I didn't appreciate it," said Vir. In point of fact, he didn't remember receiving the invitation . Vir's appointment as ambassador was still relatively recent . He didn't even have an assistant-one had not been assigned him. His personal finances were extremely tight, particularly after the bombings had left his family's holdings in disarray, and he still hadn't had any sort of concrete budget established by the home office. He had hoped to discuss that problem with Londo, but somehow the opportunity had never presented itself. As a result, Vir often felt a bit overwhelmed. Fortunately he had a great many organizational skills of his own, what with having been Londo's aide for all those years. But while it was one thing simply to be the aide to the ambassador, to juggle both positions was proving something of a strain. Still, he saw absolutely no reason to admit as much to Sheridan. So instead he nodded and smiled and maintained the fiction that he was perfectly clear on just what it was that
Sheridan was getting at. "The problem is ... I find myself in a bit of an uncomfortable situation," Sheridan admitted. "The simple fact is that several members of the Alliance looked over the list of invited attendees, saw that your name was on it, and became rather ... incensed." "Incensed?" "Understand, Vir, it's nothing personal," Sheridan said quickly. "I know you to be a fine, upstanding, and highly moral individual. But the others, they don't know you, and just assume you to be a. . ." "Typical Centauri?" He saw Sheridan's discomfiture and sighed sadly. "It's all right, you can say it. I know my people's conduct hasn't won us a large number of allies. We've raped what we've sown; isn't that how you Humans would put it?" "Actually, wed say `reaped,' but considering what was done to some worlds by the Centauri . . ." Then he shook it off. "No. No reason for rehashing the past. The bottom line, Vir, is that several key members' races have stated that they don't want you-that is to say, any representative of Centauri Prime-along on the tour. There's still a good deal of anger and bruised feelings, not only over the Republic's past actions , but in response to the current attitude that's being displayed on Centauri Prime-toward the Alliance. Everything from Londo's speech to the publication of Verity, the new Centauri official newspaper." "Oh yes. Verity." Now that was indeed something with which Vir was quite familiar. Since the restoration had begun, the various independent publications available on Centauri Prime had dwindled very nearly to nonexistence. But then, out of nowhere, Verity had appeared, billing itself as the "Voice of the Centauri People." It purported to be an utterly independent publication, but the rumor was that it was simply the mouthpiece of certain government factions. Now that Vir had been back to Centauri Prime, he would have bet that Minister Durla's hand was somewhere deep into Verity's p ockets, controlling everything that went on with the publication. There was no way to prove it, though, and there was certainly no reason to raise the issue with Sheridan. It wasn't as if he could do anything, or should even if he could. Verity took every opportunity to besmirch the name, honor, and intentions of the Interstellar Alliance. The publication advocated a return to Centauri greatness ... although Vir couldn't help but notice that precisely how they might return to greatness was always left rather vague. It was as if the publication was content to stir nationalistic fires among the readership without actually giving them a tangible goal. Or at least, not just yet. "So you're saying that you don't want me to attend," Vir said. "No. No, I'm not saying that at all. The Alliance has to understand that the best way to work toward a future is to do so with as many allies as possible. And that includes the Centauri . I'm letting you know about the hostility, though, because it's very likely that there will be some who will do everything they can to make you feel uncomfortable. Rest assured , though, that I will do everything within my power. . ." "That ... won't be necessary," said Vir quietly. "I have no desire to put you in a difficult position." "Vir-" Sheridan had to laugh. "-I'm president of the Interstellar Alliance. Being in difficult positions comes with the job description." "Yes, 1 know that. Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that I have to make the job any more difficult than it already is, right? The simple truth, Mr. President, is that I don't want to be somewhere that I'm not especially wanted. Trust me on this: I've had a lot of experience with not being wanted in various places. So I've got a fairly thick skin when it comes to this kind of thing." "Vir-" Vir got to his feet. "I very much appreciate the opportunity to have this talk, Mr. President. I'm glad we did. I'm glad 1 know where I ... where we, that is to say, the Centauri Republic ... stand." "Vir, didn't you hear what I said?" Sheridan said, in obvious exasperation. "I'm not about to let the Alliance push me around. I was just giving you a sort of `heads up' over a potentially difficult situation, but that doesn't mean. . ." "Actually, Mr. President ... it does. It does mean ... precisely what you think it does. I have to go now." Vir headed for the door. Sheridan came around his desk, looking rather concerned. "Vir. . ." he started to say. Vir turned to face him, squared his shoulders and said, "I think ... I think it'd be better if you called me `Ambassador Cotto' for the time being." And with that, he walked out of Sheridan's office.