Babylon5: The Short Stories

by J. Michael Straczynski

  He stirred, realizing that he had sat silent for too long. He cleared his throat. “And what else do you see?”

  Her face darkened again, and her gaze drifted to his shoulder. Londo felt for a moment that she could see what was there, what no one else could see. Impossible, he thought. But the Keeper felt it too, and Londo sensed it go quiet … watching, waiting.

  "I see … shadows," she said. "It is hard for me to see what sort of shadows, or what throws them, but I see pieces of shadows all over the palace, and beneath it, gradually spreading across our world. They are the ones who will bring the fire. They are the ones who will bring the pain.”

  "I do not know who they are," she said, "I know only that that they are. And that they are here."

  Londo said nothing, knowing with cold certainty how close her words were to the truth, that the Drakh had once served an advanced race known only as the Shadows, gone now, but who left behind their weapons and their servants and their allies.

  Pieces of shadows indeed. Slowly he realized that this was not just a hit-and-miss prophetess, guarding her words or disguising them in metaphor and imagery. She was, as the humans said, the Real Deal. And she knew things that the Drakh would not want her or anyone else to know.

  An instant later, from the Keeper on his shoulder came a whisper that slipped into the back of his thoughts, instructions relayed from the Drakh in the capital city who monitored the Keeper as it monitored Londo.

  The girl must die, the Keeper whispered, and Londo’s blood ran cold in his veins.

  Do it yourself if you have to, the whisper continued, but it must be done before she can take up her position.

  Before she can speak with authority, and betray our presence.

  She must die.

  The rest of the day’s ride was conducted in an uneasy silence punctuated only by occasional polite comments. Where Shiri had ben the one to avoid his gaze, now Londo did the same, knowing what he knew. His thoughts raced back and forth between two poles:

  If he had to do as the Drakh instructed, how could he ensure her death without compromising himself or revealing their intentions?

  And, deeper in his thoughts, where he hoped the Drakh could not find it, how could he avoid having to kill her?

  He was grateful for the interlude when they reached the final rest stop. The next day’s journey would see them in Tuwain. While his entourage set up his tent and prepared dinner, he moved apart from them and opened the portable viewer that would put him in touch with the royal palace.

  Minister Vole’s face appeared on the viewer within a second of it’s being activated. He’s probably been sitting by the screen all day again, waiting for the call, Londo concluded, Vole’s eagerness could make even a dead man nervous. “Yes, Excellency?”

  "Any news?" Londo asked.

  "I’m told that repairs to the spaceport are nearly complete; we should be able to reopen the rest of it by week’s end."

  "Good. Contact the ministry for urban repairs and tell them to take at least an hour off to celebrate."

  "I will, Excellency."

  "Anything else?"

  "Nothing significant. The usual requests for your attention, debates in the Centarum that need to be resolved—"

  "They can wait. I need you find out everything you can concerning a woman, Delasi of House Miro."

  "Of course, Excellency. Is it important?"

  Londo stared at the screen. “I’m sorry. For a moment there I imagined myself to be the emperor. You see, when the emperor points to something—anything—it automatically becomes important. I am pointing to this, Vole. If you are suggesting it might be something other than important, then I must no longer be the emperor. Of course, that would imply sedition on your part, which last I heard was punishable by death, so—”

  "I will get on it immediately, Excellency."

  "Thank you, Minister."

  The screen blipped off. Londo allowed a smile; playing with Vole was almost too easy. He found he actually missed sparring with G’Kar and Sheridan, even Vir … at least there he had some competition.

  He closed the viewer and decided to take a walk before retiring. He signaled to the Imperial Guard, who would maintain their distance out of respect, while staying near enough to intervene should he run into trouble.

  The woods near the campsite were thick with trees, their silver and gray leaves already turning black and gold in anticipation of winter. A narrow path ran through the place where they grew together the thickest. Londo walked the well-worn path with confidence, knowing he need only make a sound to attract the guards, when he heard another sound nearby.

  Someone was crying.

  He slowed, edging toward a clearing in the woods. There in the double moonlight he saw Shiri in the arms of a young man. He was holding her so tightly that Londo thought she might be pulled through him to the other side.

  "You shouldn’t have come, Corlo," she was saying. "It’s dangerous."

  "I don’t care. I had to see you. I spoke with your father. He doesn’t want you doing this any more than I do. It’s that woman, Delasi … she pressured him into making her your guardian. She uses people. She doesn’t care about you, Shiri. All she cares about is power."

  "I know that, Corlo. I know what she is, and what price I will pay. But this is the only way to keep our family’s honor. House Dei is without power and without money. Soon all we have will be sold or taken away. My father could even be sold into bond slavery to pay off our debts. I have a gift that guarantees that no matter what happens to me, my family will be taken care of forever. My father needs this, even if he can’t see it himself I can’t turn my back on him."

  Corlo pulled her from his chest and looked at her. "Can you turn your back on me?"

  "I’m not—"

  "Once you’re enshrined at Tuwain, you are not allowed to marry, not allowed the company of any man. That’s the law. We’ll never be together again. Can you do that to us? Can you do that to yourself?"

  "Yes." she said, and looked away. "I can. Because I have to. I have obligations. It’s my responsibility, my duty—"

  "Shiri, I love you."

  "I know," she said, and the grief in her voice tore through Londo like a blade. "And I love you. And I love my father, and I love my family. Now I have to choose between them and you. It’s not right, and it’s not fair, and more than life itself I want to run away with you, right now, where no one could ever find us. But I can’t, Corlo. I can’t … "

  Then suddenly she turned and ran into the woods, heading back toward the campground. The young man called after her, but she didn’t answer. He stood there for several minutes, hoping she would return, hoping for a word, a sign that somehow she might change her mind.

  But she did not return, and after a while, he turned and walked slowly away, disappearing into the woods.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Londo saw the Imperial Guard edging forward, to see what had caused him to stop. He waved them back, letting the silence linger in the clearing. In such a short time, how could he have come to care so much for some one he knew he would have to kill?

  Londo looked up at the twin moons overhead. What am I to do now? he wondered. There were forty-seven gods in the Centauri pantheon; surely one of them had a solution to his problem.

  The night, however, gave no reply to his question.

  The dream was the same. It was always the same.

  The creature lay on the hard, dry ground, its eyes staring up into his own.

  You cannot fight duty.

  The flash of the sword.

  The tears.

  Great Maker, Londo thought as he sat up, his face wet. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  It was still dark, well before dawn. As his eyes cleared, he saw the viewer blinking with a message-waiting signal. He rose, shook off the dream, and went to it.

  Predictably, it was Vole. “I found the information you requested, Majesty. It took no small doing, and I went to great lengths
to—“

  Londo fast-forwarded for thirty seconds. That was how long it usually took Vole to explain in excruciating detail how hard it had been to find the requested information before he could finally get to the point.

  "—the lady Delasi and House Miro are of old blood, but little money. They sold their position in the royal court years ago to House Davo. Delasi herself is said to be very intelligent, though I get the impression we could substitute the word ‘ruthless’ and very few would argue the point. She is political, and a manipulator. Word is she has found some way to regain power and influence for herself and her House.

  And her name is Shiri, Londo thought.

  The rest was little more than gossip, of no real use.

  Londo switched off the viewer and sat quietly in the dark for a moment. He could feel the Keeper stirring, reminding him of the guards who stood outside, who could remove Shiri without question or hesitation.

  If I have Shiri killed, as you ask, it will greatly complicate matters in the royal court. There will be in investigation. Even I can’t arbitrarily have someone killed; there are rules since Cartagia’s day. A woman like Delasi could find ways to exploit that; your position could be compromised.

  Shiri must be eliminated, the Keeper relayed back.

  Then let me do it in my own way.

  After a long pause, the Keeper whispered back. Very well! But we will be watching.

  Londo stepped out of the tent into the chill, predawn air and made his way to Shiri’s tent. The guard glanced up at his approach but made no effort to stop him from entering her bedchamber.

  Times had changed, but emperors still had certain…privileges.

  Londo guessed that the same thought that had occurred to the guard also came to Shiri when she opened her eyes and saw him standing over her bed. He put a hand on her shoulder. She trembled under his touch.

  "Majesty—" she began.

  "Shhh …" Londo said.

  "But I haven’t … I have never …"

  "I have, many times, and as the humans say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be." He smiled down at her. "Don’t worry. Now, put on your clothes, quickly. We have much to do, and little time in which to do it."

  He led Shiri into the tented area that protected the royal carriage from the elements and dismissed the guard, who glanced back at them with obvious suspicion about what the two of them might want to do alone in the carriage.

  Do I look that much the lecher? Londo thought, and decided he probably did. No matter.

  Time to get to work.

  Londo approached the carriage. “You start at the back,” he said, “and I will begin at the front. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle.”

  "Majesty, what am I supposed to do?"

  "Have you ever plucked a bird for dinner, child?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Then you can help me pluck this one," he said, and twisted free a small gem from the side of the carriage. He placed it in her hand, and her eyes went wide.

  "Take them carefully, one at a time, from places where there are so many that they will not be missed. By the time we meet in the middle, you will have enough to restore your family’s fortune for the next five generations."

  She met his gaze, and he saw suspicion there. “What will it cost me?” she asked.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “A little of your honor. It is a terrible price but the sting passes with time. I would do it for you, but I have so little honor left that it would hardly buy you a small cottage in the outer provinces.

  "Now, enough talk," he said. "Start plucking."

  The sky was starting to lighten as Londo hurried back to his tent. He glanced back briefly to see the lone Imperial guard he has assigned to the task riding off on dromeback, Shiri clinging to his back. If she looked back at him, he could not tell.

  He was out of breath, but smiling broadly.

  These were the moments he enjoyed most.

  It took him only a few moments to rouse his entourage. He raised such a clatter and an alarm that the guards and functionaries and plenipotentiaries and escorts and chaperones and dromesman piled into the clearing half dressed. He hid his amusement at the sight, especially when Delasi appeared in their midst, her dress hanging in ways never intended by her designer, her body, or the Great Maker.

  "We have been tricked," he said, his voice carrying through the clearing. "And it is on your behalf, Delasi, that we have endured this charade."

  "Majesty, I—"

  "You have not been invited to speak," he snapped, and she averted her eyes. Londo turned his attention to the rest of them. "The young girl Shiri, of House Dei, is no more a prophetess than I am. She came to see me last night, in tears—tears, I tell you—over her deception. She believed she was acting in a good cause, but the weight of her pretense and the terrible secret behind it were simply too much for the poor creature to bear."

  The crowd was silent, waiting for the rest. Londo let the moment grow, enjoying himself beneath his carefully outraged exterior.

  "The secret … is that it is Delasi who is the true prophetess," he said, noting with satisfaction the look of stunned disbelief on her face. "Shiri only repeated what she was told to say by Delasi, who did not want the title of prophetess supreme because of the great burden involved. A life of solitude and responsibility, without marriage or love. Shiri was willing to sacrifice all this for the sake of our people, and allow Delasi to work through her. But here, on the night before her enshrinement, knowing the responsibility and the importance of the ceremony, she found she could no longer carry through with the deception."

  "Though Shiri believed she was acting in the best interests of all involved, a lie is still a lie. So by Imperial Decree, she is banned from any contact with the royal court. Her family is declared free of any penalties because they were innocent in this, but no one in the palace will attempt to contact her for any reason. To be shunned from our presence is surely the worst punishment that can be devise to fit the crime."

  The crowd nodded. Good, Londo thought. Now no one will try to contact her, which would yield information that might contradict what I’ve just said.

  Now for the fun part.

  He started into his tent. “Lady Delasi,” he shot back. “Attend.”

  She followed him inside. He sat and regarded her silently for a moment. She had regained some of her composure, and was studying him just as he was studying her.

  "You may speak," he said.

  Delasi straightened. “Majesty, I am not a prophetess.”

  "This is true."

  "Then you knowingly lied."

  He shrugged. "It is impossible to lie otherwise."

  "And you expect me to go along with this?"

  "I do."

  "Why?"

  "Sit, and I will tell you," Londo said. He stretched out on the high seat as she took her place opposite him. “Let us speak plainly, Delasi. You and I, we are political creatures. We come from the same amoral gene pool. You attached yourself to Shiri because you hoped to use her to your own advantage, to exert influence over the nobles and others who would come to Tuwain seeking guidance.”

  "Majesty, I would never—"

  "Yes, you would. With you as Shiri’s guardian, they would have to go through you in order to speak with her. You could choose who was and was not allowed to see her, indulge favors, accept bribes, use your access to her, and to them, to improve the condition of House Miro.

  "But now you have a unique opportunity, Delasi. You and I both know that sooner or later, Shiri would back out of the deal once she began to truly understand how you were using her. She has an annoying nobility of spirit that almost guarantees conflict over issues of morality. That problem has now been eliminated, the pebble removed from your shoe. Try as you might, Shiri would never have altered her prophecies to suit your needs. As prophetess yourself, you can say anything you want."

  From her expression, Londo knew she was intrigued, but still cautious. "There is still
a problem, Majesty. As I said before, I am not a prophetess. I cannot see the future."

  Londo smiled. “Neither can I. What difference does it make? Our job is to tell people what they want to hear. We are much alike in that way. No one really wants to hear the truth, good lady … they don’t really want to know how they will die, that they have sadness and pain in their future, that their name will decline with their power and their appearance; that in the end, all is swallowed by death and silence.

  "But those are the sorts of things that Shiri could not help but tell them, because they are true. Sadly, I suppose, they are always true. But truth has nothing to do with what people like you and I want from the world. Position. Influence. Money. As prophetess, you can say what you want, couch your intentions any way you wish, without having to include any unfortunate or untimely truths."