She was transported to a world consisting entirely of pain. It was not in one place, it was everywhere. She saw nightmares come to life. She heard the voice of the man talking to her, telling her to call him 'my lord', telling her to do things.
She said nothing. She did nothing. She merely resisted as best as she could, and screamed when she could not. But he had not yet forced her to surrender, not yet forced her to beg. That was the only power she had now, the only power she could ever have now.
She knew all about power. She had grown up at its nexus, a daughter of the Centauri Royal Court. Her father had wielded power, so had her mother, but it had done neither of them any good. Her father had been murdered, regardless of the power he had commanded, and her mother had died somewhere, alone, anonymous. She must have hated that.
No, she had thought she understood power, but it was only now that she truly did. Power was to seize upon something and declare that that was something she would or would not do, for no other reason than because it suited her. She would not scream, she would not beg, and she would not call him 'lord'. He would have to kill her before she did any of these things.
That was the only power she wielded now.
There were others she saw, although whether they were real or nightmare she did not know. A Narn woman came and watched her often. There was a human as well, who carried a large knife, constantly sharpening it. These she was fairly sure were real and not hallucinations.
But there was something else, an alien. It had a sharply angular head, and large eyes. It never stayed long, and it always looked at her closely, as if peering through her. Behind it something moved and shimmered, but she could never be sure if that was real or merely lights dancing in front of her eyes.
She was forgetting too much. She was beginning to forget what Gorash had been like before they had come. She had even forgotten why she was there. She only remembered one thing.
She would not give him what he wanted.
Senna of House Refa, daughter of Emperor Refa, had that much power at least.
Chen had never experienced anything like this before. Not ever.
It was as if he had been thrown into a raging river, one composed of light and thoughts and memories. And on the instant he broke the surface, he realised he had forgotten how to swim.
There were thousands of them, screaming voices. Some he was sure he recognised. Some he was sure he had known once. But when he had known them, they had not been in so much pain.
That was what this place was. A river of pain.
Don't lose contact with us! One voice came rushing through the myriad others. It was Talia. You'll never find your way back if you do. You'll be lost forever.
What is this place?
The network. This is what they will do to us. All of us. Remember! Catch hold of something, anything that will remind you of who you are. Remember your name. And follow us. Don't get lost.
Chen could see them now, Talia and the others. They were a school of fish, heading upstream, moving deeper into the maelstrom. He had entered the river with them, but had become separated. He moved towards them and was swept up in the force of their motion.
Don't worry, came another voice, a female one. Stay close to me. I'll do what I can.
The woman who had smiled at him. I don't even know your name, he said.
Lauren. Lauren Ashley.
I'm Chen Hikaru.
Good. Keep thinking that. That's one of the first things they do to us in here. Take away our names.
Where are we going?
As far up as we can.
Chen found it easier to just let himself be swept upwards with the others. He could not navigate himself. There was too much that was strange and twisted. As they moved, he heard voices, he heard cries, he heard pleas for mercy.
Shaking, he concentrated his mind on his fellow-travellers. They were repeating phrases over and over again, reliving memories. Some listed names, some recited poems. Lauren seemed to be replaying a day with a lover, a discovery that gave Chen an unsettling feeling of jealousy.
There was little for him to concentrate on. He had no family. He had few friends. He read little, knew no poems or books or plays.
Ah, there was one thing.
The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father. I trust the Corps. The Corps will nurture me, will protect me. Maternis, Paternis. The Corps is Mother....
Some of the others seemed displeased by his choice, but some smiled.
Something's there! Talia said. Something's out there.
Chen looked at her, and realised something. She was the only one who was not repeating that constant litany of memory.
Then he realised something else. They were no longer within a river of light and gold. They were somewhere else.
Hyperspace! Oh, my God, we're in hyperspace.
Calm down, Lauren said. The network somehow crosses hyperspace. We don't know how. There are little.... folds and tunnels. We're in one of them now.
But how...?
Careful! Talia snapped. Something's here!
It rose out of nowhere, forming around them from nothing. It towered above all of them. Size meant nothing here, but fear did.
When Chen was a child, he had had recurring nightmares of spiders. He had been unable to sleep for fear of a blanket of them on top of him, crawling over him, suffocating him, moving slowly over his eyes and into his mouth so that he was unable to scream. During his first year with the Corps those dreams had been locked away, unable to hurt him any more. He had even identified the source of them — when he was a baby, a spider had crawled into his crib, a tiny, harmless thing, but to his child's eyes so much more.
The thing before him was the biggest spider he had ever seen. Just one of its hairs was bigger than he was, just one of the hairs he had dreamed was brushing against his skin.
And in its eyes, in its impossibly large eyes, as it looked at him, Chen sensed a human intelligence. No, an intelligence far greater than human.
He screamed. He did not know what the others were seeing, did not know whether they could be seeing the same thing, but all he knew was that this thing was real and dangerous and terrifying.
Remember! cried Talia's voice through his own screams.
Something dripped from one massive fang. It dropped just past him, searing hot as it passed close to his skin.
Remember who you are!
I am Chen Hikaru, he thought to himself. The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father. Maternis, Paternis.
No, the spider was too big, the fear too ingrained.
There was light. It was strange, the spider seemed so dark, but now it was covered with light. Chen looked and saw Talia. She was not afraid. She was looking at him, concentrating, and light was pouring from her mouth and eyes. Chen knew that she was not looking at a spider. She was not looking at anything at all.
He sensed another presence behind him, and he turned, hardly daring to imagine what he would see there, so afraid that he would witness another nightmare from his past.
It was a man, shorter than he was, dressed in a spotlessly clean black uniform with gloves, cradling one hand against his chest. A Psi Cop badge glinted and reflected the light.
He smiled, and in an instant the spider was gone, as if it had never been. The man, who had a name Chen dared not say even in his mind, moved towards Talia, ignoring the rest.
Chen did not want to intrude on a reunion he knew would be personal, and so he turned to Lauren. She was not shaking any more, but the residue of her fear was still there.
It was a doorway, a big, black doorway, and I knew there was something waiting on the other side, but I dared not open it. I just could not open it.
What was it? An illusion?
If I understand it correctly, the network is made up of the minds of thousands of telepaths, all trapped, their powers channelled in specific directions, to send messages, to block them, to heal, to destroy. This is the cumulative subconscious of all these minds. Why should their nightmares not be here as well?
We have to destroy this.
I knew you would understand. Just as soon as you came in. Everyone does once they've seen this.
Chen looked up, and the man was gone. Talia was looking back at the others. I've found what I needed. We're leaving now, quickly.
We have to destroy this, Chen thought again.
We will, Lauren replied. Did you see who that was?
Yes, I did. I didn't want to hope, but....
Now, I think we're in with a chance. We might just be able to do it.
"This had better be good."
"Trust me," Julia replied. "I know better than to interrupt your testosterone, beer and cigar night if it's not serious, don't I?"
"Were there any cigars?" Dexter asked. "I don't smoke."
"There should be cigars," Zack muttered. "What's a poker night without cigars? It's like.... um.... well, like something without something that should go with it."
"Well, there aren't any cigars, so what does it matter?"
Julia rolled her eyes. "And you wonder why you can't get any women to come to your poker nights?"
"Tradition," Dexter replied, smiling. Julia had a tendency to act a lot older than she really was, sometimes.
She had taken them to the Sector 301 guardhouse, refusing to elaborate on what it was they were meant to be seeing, saying only that they would undoubtedly not believe her unless they saw it with their own eyes.
"We arrested it about an hour ago," she was saying as they went towards the cells. "There was a report of an assault and a suspicious person sighted down-sector. We caught the suspect almost immediately. Like it didn't care if it was spotted or not."
"You keep saying 'it'," Dexter observed. "An alien, or something?"
"I certainly hope so."
Cells were meant to be secured by an electronic force field over the more conventional locked doors, but this was the Pit, where the budget was a little skimpy. As a result, the cells here were little more than locked doors. At least there were more security guards than there had been, and all of them were honest these days.
"Have a look," Julia said, gesturing at the screen in the office just off the cell block. Each cell had a camera, naturally.
"There's nothing there," Dexter said. "You've got the wrong cell."
"No, that's the right cell."
"Then the camera's faulty," Zack said. "That's not exactly unusual around here."
"No fault detected. Besides, it's showing the interior of the cell well enough. Just not the occupant. And yes, we know it's still there. We couldn't take any photos or electronic records either. Not even fingerprints."
"Okay," said Dexter. "Now I'm interested. Can we see this.... individual?"
"I'm not the boss here," Julia shrugged. "I would recommend a lot of people standing by ready though. This thing is.... dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" Zack asked.
Julia shook her head. "I don't think I could explain, and I don't think you'd believe me if I could."
Dexter looked at the empty cell in the picture again. Something caught his gaze, something just off-centre of his perception. He looked again, harder.
There was a brief flicker of light, and in his mind, a voice. Come to us. Come and see the light.
He frowned.
She knows why she has come here. It is not for diplomacy, not for strategy, or tactics, or alliances. It is not for the good of her people. It is for herself, one selfish action in a lifetime of service to the Minbari.
It is warm this night in the capital on Brakir. There are many people moving and dancing in the streets, processions and carnivals. The Day of the Dead is a holy event to these people, and even more so now, a time of celebration. There are so many dead to speak to. Yesterday there was mourning, tomorrow there will be morning. Tonight, there is a chance to meet again with old friends, old enemies.
Old loves.
Tomorrow, Satai Kats will return to Minbar to continue the slow rebuilding. Tomorrow, the faint semblance of diplomacy that brought her here will be concluded.
Tirivail understood. She alone would understand, Kats knew that. "Go," the warrior had said. "And if you see him, tell him.... tell him...."
"Tell him what?"
"I was wrong. He was not a coward. He was never a coward."
"I will."
Kats had not dared to hope. No one in living memory had experienced a Day of the Dead. The last had been over two hundred years ago. The very concept of the dead returning went against everything she had ever been taught. The warrior caste believed in ghosts and ancestor-spirits, but the religious caste taught that souls returned to the ether, to be endlessly reborn.
And even if the legends were true, who could say she would meet again with Kozorr? Why not her father, or Hedronn, or anyone?
But she had to hope.
She stood on the balcony, looking down at the people passing by in the street below. A tall, dignified-looking Centauri man moved with steady conviction, but he had the same air of desperate hope she had herself. In the alleyway beneath her room, a human sat moaning and whispering to himself. A Narn in a simple robe made for a nearby temple, and a Brakiri in the uniform of a Dark Star captain looked up at the sky, staring in wonder at the comet overhead.
"There you are," said a voice, and Kats stiffened, unable to believe that she had truly heard the words. Scars both old and new throbbed with remembered pain as she turned to see Kalain move from the shadows into her room.
He looked as he once had, before the illness had ravaged and torn his body. He looked proud and haughty and arrogant, a prince of all he surveyed. He had always belonged to a different time, the earlier days, where he could have walked beside Marrain and Parlonn and shaken the world with the sound of his footsteps.
But he had been born into the wrong time, and he had dedicated his life to changing that.
"You thought you were free of me," he said, his voice commanding and proud, not the hoarse rasp it had later become. "You thought you could escape from your sins."
Kats looked at him. "Why?" she said softly.
"Is this one of your worker tricks?" he asked. "To ask questions which make no sense?"
"Why did you do all the things you did to me? You enjoyed it, Kalain. Don't say you did not. Was that all there was to it?" She remembered his voice growing louder and louder, exhorting her to beg for forgiveness. She remembered his laughter at her screams and her pleas for mercy. Sebastian had been brutally cold and efficient. He had taken no pleasure in his work. But Kalain had.
"I did it to purify you, to make you repent your sins, to make you...."
"You are not of the religious caste. Why should you care for my sins? You are a warrior. Was I truly the most fitting opponent for you? Was I the only person you could fight?"
"Stop this! You lie! Have you forgotten who it was who massacred the Grey Council? Have you forgotten...?"
"No! I have not forgotten, and I never will forget. It was not I who did that, and you knew that. You always knew that. So, I ask you again, Kalain. Why?"
"Because.... because you deserved it! There was a day you would have knelt in the mud at my feet as I walked past, and you would have thanked the ancestors that I even deigned to look upon you! There was a day when you would have addressed me with downcast eyes and spoken only when given permission. There was a day when we were warriors, and that was understood by all, when we did not have to make people aware of anything, when we had but to speak to be obeyed, when...."
"When you had true power. When you had true respect?"
"Yes!"
Kats sighed. "Then that was what you wanted. You wanted respect and power, even if it was only from one person, only over one person. The rest of the Grey Council followed you only at Sinoval's orders. You had lost all respect from them when you faltered at Mars.
"But I was there. I was a worker who thought herself worthy to stand at your side. I thought myself able to command warriors. I thought myself worthy to stand in the Grey Council, where Valen himself once stood.
"So you brought me to the Grey Council, and you showed me just how little power I had, and you made for yourself someone whom you could command, someone you could hurt as much as you liked.
"I apologise, Kalain. I thought you tortured me for your own pleasure. I was wrong."
"I had to.... I was a warrior. I was...."
"Wrong?"
"I was wrong."
"I forgive you, Kalain. You hurt me, and you weakened me, and you almost broke me, but you did not. I am stronger now than I ever was, and for that I thank you, and I forgive you."
"I never apologised, and I never sought your forgiveness."
"I know, but I offer it all the same. Be at peace, Kalain."
"And you. There is.... someone else who wants to talk to you. I think you want to talk to him as well. I will see you again in another life, worker."
"May your Gods welcome you home," she said, the words sounding hollow to her, but she knew they were important to him.
Perhaps the Day of the Dead did not show you those you wished to speak to, but rather those you needed to speak to.
She touched her necklace gently, and then all the air seemed to be sucked from the room.
"My lady," said his voice. "I swear you are more lovely than ever."
She whispered his name, just once, and there were tears in her eyes.
The room was larger than she was used to, larger than she found comfortable, even. This was the place she had spent more time in than any other on Babylon 5, more even than her sleeping quarters, and yet she had never liked it.
Perhaps it was because this room seemed to breed so much strife, so much conflict.
Sometimes Delenn longed for the old days. There had been just a handful of them at the beginning. Herself, Londo, Lethke, Taan Churok, Vizhak. There were so many now, people she did not know, people who had not seen the things she had, people who did not seem to understand why there had to be an Alliance.
The races needed to be one. They needed to protect and help and shelter each other.
And yet so many did not understand.
Durano was still speaking. Delenn did not know him well. Londo had sent him personally, and Londo usually had good judgment. There was just something in him that made her uncomfortable. He was so.... rigid and formal. It was as if all his life was a mask and no one knew what lay beneath it, not even Durano himself.
"The death toll is still being calculated, but has run to over eleven thousand so far. While most of that clearly occurred in the early bombing raids, a significant number have succumbed to illness, injury and disease. Most of the hospitals in the capital were intentionally destroyed during the attack.
"We have received messages from one of the raiders demanding ransom for those captured. These include the Governor, his wife, several Government officials and assorted other nobles. The raider was a Centauri, who styled himself Lord Rem Lanas. There is no record of such a person, and there is certainly no such noble house.
"My Government is asking for financial aid, as well as food shipments and medical equipment. We also request military assistance to protect Gorash and to restore order. We also request to be released from certain of our obligations under the Kazomi Treaty. Far too many of our worlds are too sparsely defended, and we may be attacked elsewhere."
"That is not possible, I am afraid, Minister," John said, standing up after Durano had finished. "The Kazomi Treaty expressly forbids that, you realise. However, the rest of your Government's requests are not unreasonable."
G'Kael rose, and all eyes turned to him. The Narn was usually quiet, and rarely spoke. When he did, however, he commanded the attention of everyone listening. He had the rare gift of being either the centre of attention or completely ignored as the situation demanded.
"I communicated with the Kha'Ri before this meeting," he said slowly. "We had heard about the attack, and were anticipating these requests. My Government is of the view that this is an internal Centauri matter, and is not within the purview of the Alliance."
"What makes them say that?" John asked.
"A Centauri world was attacked by raiders, who are apparently led by a Centauri lord. Centauri dignitaries were captured, and the raiders sent ransom demands to the Centauri Government. The Kha'Ri believes this is a problem of internal security, in which the Alliance is forbidden to intervene, save for the pursuit of Shadow agents or vassals."
"That is incorrect, and you are fully aware of that," Durano replied. "Other races were seen taking part in the attack, including Narns and Drazi and humans. There were also sightings of one creature that may well have been a Z'shailyl. On top of that, at least two Alliance dignitaries were killed in the attack, and it is possible others were injured or captured. These raiders may well choose to attack another world, one not belonging to us. Clearly this is a problem for the whole Alliance."
"My Government's position remains," G'Kael said, sitting down.
Ambassador Kalika stood up. The Abbai had joined the Alliance late in the war, afraid of possible retribution from the Shadows. Some, particularly the Drazi, regarded that as cowardice, but to many in the former League of Non-Aligned Worlds it denoted courage, and she was the unofficial mouthpiece of many of those races.
"If the Centauri are too weak to defend their own worlds, why should the rest of us help them?" she asked. "Planetary defence is a matter for individual Governments and not for the Alliance."
"And why are we too weak to defend our worlds?" Durano asked. "Where are our ships? Where are our armies? They are here. They are chasing ghost stories across the galaxy! They pursue the faintest rumour of Shadow ships, they follow legends of ancient vessels to distant corners of the galaxy. As well have them chasing the Sanctuary of Aeons, or the Well of Souls, or humanity's Holy Grail! You have bled us dry, all of you! Will you see us all die?"
"That is the price of allying with the Enemy," Kalika replied coolly, unaffected by the uncharacteristic loss of equilibrium from the Centauri. "Why should we defend you? Why should we help those who fought beside those who would destroy us all?"
"Why?" Delenn said, rising. "Because we are an Alliance. Because the weaknesses of one must be borne by the strength of another. Because we can stand stronger together than we ever could apart.
"Because we are all of one blood, all of one soul, and if we cannot stand together, then we shall surely die apart. I count Emperor Mollari as one of my closest friends. He was here at the very beginning, when this Alliance was born. He suffered as we all did in the ruins of Kazomi Seven. He bled, as we all did, to give rise to this. Shall we abandon him now? Shall we say his sacrifice was for nothing?
"This matter will be voted on. Does this body wish to grant Minister Durano's request for assistance?"
She had been genuinely uncertain how it would turn. The war had been over for more than a year, and many of those here had become used to peace. The Centauri were not liked or trusted. They had after all allied with the Shadows. Humanity had as well, but they had an entirely new Government, and their representative here, an Ambassador Luchenko, was genuinely liked by most. Besides, they had John to support them, and his words carried a lot of weight.
But the Centauri.... they had too many enemies, particularly the Drazi and the Narns. They were still ruled by the same people as during the war. Durano was cold and arrogant and had few personal friends.
Lethke voted in agreement, as she was sure he would. He and Londo had been friends for a very long time. G'Kael voted against, although Delenn could not tell whether or not he was comfortable with that course of action. She and John voted for. Kalika against. Taan Churok abstained, as he always did, a silent protest against what had been done to his people.
Some for, some against. Finally, all was done. No.
Durano's face was expressionless, betraying no sign of his inner feelings. Delenn bowed her head. Sorry, Londo. I tried.
She was the first to become aware of the whistling sound, of the faint rustle of fallen leaves, of the clack of bones. She looked up. No, not the first. The second. John was already staring at the new arrival.
The Alliance had had a Vorlon representative since just after the Battle of the Third Line, but he had stayed behind on Kazomi 7. A new representative had been appointed to Babylon 5. He had given no name, but none was needed. He was instantly recognisable. His encounter suit was pure white, although the shade sometimes varied. Today it was almost blinding, seeming to reflect every light in the room.
He looked at Delenn, and then around at the Council. <This vote shall pass,> he said.
And that was that. Delenn just wished she could have felt better about it.
The stone was simple and small and plain. It was, Tirivail thought, and not for the first time, entirely inadequate. There should have been statues. There should have been monuments and epic tales. There should have been many things.
But all that remained to commemorate Kozorr of the Star Riders clan was a small black stone in the middle of a garden, and the words, 'Here lies a worker, who spent his life destroying and his death creating.'
Completely inadequate, and all the work of Kats. Satai Kats as it was now. Tirivail tried to dislike the woman, but it was hard to dislike one who loved one you loved. Even if she was a worker.
"In the Name of the Betrayer, so do we serve," she said, continuing the ancient oath spoken in Marrain's memory. Of course, he was no memory these days. Not to her.
"I am a warrior. I dance amidst the height of the storm. I ride among the stars. My sword clashes in the winds. The moon is my shield. My wings are of fire.
"I am a warrior. I shall not fall. I shall not let an enemy pass from my sight. I will walk in the dark places, and I shall know no fear.
"On death, my soul shall ascend to be judged by my ancestors and those who have come before. If found worthy, I shall be reborn, with no memories of my past life, but with the knowledge that I am a warrior in more lives than this."
She stopped, and looked at the stone. "Remember that, Kozorr. Remember that."
"Why do you do this?"
Tirivail turned, and saw Kats approaching. Her eyes grew even darker. Kats was shorter than she was. Kats had never been trained to wield a weapon, never stood on the bridge, never faced enemies in the certain knowledge that death was coming.
But Kozorr had loved her.
And, Tirivail grudgingly had to admit, she was brave.
"To remind him," she replied. "He was a warrior. His spirit should not be allowed to forget that."
"His spirit is gone. It has gone to the heavens, to rejoin the pool and wait to be reborn."
"Not to us. His spirit is everywhere. And he will return to us a warrior, if we but remind him often enough of what he is."
"He wanted to create. He was tired of destruction."
"And you think that is all we do? This city is ancient. You are rebuilding it now, but you are just building on top of what was already there. The bones of this city are our bones. The mortar that holds it together is our blood. There are so many ghosts here. I live with them every day."
"Yes, so do I."
"I merely honour his memory. That is all."
"So do I. But more than that. I come to talk to him. He cannot hear me, but I talk all the same. I tell him of my fears, of my nightmares, of my friends. I tell him all that has happened, and I tell him I wish he was here with me."
"I envy you," Tirivail sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could hate you. You had his touch, his caress, his heart. You had his love, and all I had was his respect. I wish I could hate you."
"Why do you not?"
"Because he loved you."
"There is one who loves you, Tirivail. Another you can love. I am sure of it."
"Oh? I wish I were. My father is planning a marriage for me. A way to bind our clan to one of the others, to gain political advantage. I am one of the few resources he has remaining if he wishes to rebuild our fortunes."
"Do you wish marry?"
"He is my lord. I swore to obey him, to die at his command, to die at his single word. I disobeyed my lord once before. I will not do so again."
"What order did you disobey?"
"I did not kill my sister. I leave you to your conversation, Satai. I must go and train."
She walked away, and did not look back.
There was a dark thought Emperor Londo Mollari II entertained in the middle of the night as he looked out over the domain he claimed to rule, a dark irony that was surely evidence of some malign force seeking to destroy him utterly.
It had not been three years ago that he had been a wanderer, travelling across the galaxy in exile, seeking allies, seeking friends. To his surprise he had found them. In those days he had had no power, but so many choices. Now that he had power, he had no choice at all.
Timov was sleeping. She slept like a child, far better than he did these days. He had spent far too many nights beside her, listening to his hearts beating and staring up at the ceiling.
Sighing, he turned away from his window and walked out into the corridor. The two members of his Palace Guard, not unused to such an occurrence, snapped to attention and followed him. Another two remained outside the room, guarding the Lady Consort. Londo supposed his midnight walks were no secret. They were not exactly uncommon these days.
He never had anywhere planned. He just went where his hearts took him, sometimes to the Royal Gardens, or to the throne room or the kitchens or out into the city or any number of places. He did not know where he was going to go tonight either. He just wanted to walk, to let his mind shut down and let his hearts guide him.
He could not do that tonight, though. There was too much to think about. The massacre at Gorash still preyed on his mind. So many dead, several taken. A parcel had arrived at the palace two days before. It contained the head of the Governor.
Things were little better here. The crops were failing again, disastrously this time. His advisors tried to conceal the truth from him, but he still knew. People were starving by the thousand. Was this what he had meant when he had promised Malachi he would look after the peasants?
He stopped suddenly as a shadowy figure emerged from the corridor in front of him, and he looked up. The Brakiri's dark eyes studied his own beneath the dark hood. Londo stiffened, recognising the lantern symbol on the breast of his robe.
It stood for light, of course. What did they say? 'We have power wherever there is light, and where the light is not, we bring it.'
Inquisitors. There were far too many of them. How many had they taken away? How many tried and executed? How many forced to suffer? He had saved Timov at least. That was a victory of sorts, however small, and he had to take his victories where he could find them.
The Inquisitor stepped aside and let Londo past. Not surprisingly, Mr. Morden was not far behind.
"Ah, Majesty," Morden said. He was as immaculately dressed as ever, not a hair out of place. Great Maker, Londo thought, does this man never sleep?
No, probably not.
"Are you sure you should be up at this time of night, Majesty? With all the burdens of your position, surely you need rest?"
"I do not let Timov treat me like a child, Mr. Morden, and she is far closer to me than you are. Kindly credit me with the wisdom to determine for myself how much sleep I need."
"Of course, of course." Morden took the rebuke without any sign of anger, as he always did. And why not? He could afford to allow Londo a stinging remark or two.
"I see your Inquisitors are out in force again. Whom have they arrested this time, I wonder?"
"The glorious work they do demands a lot of effort, Majesty, but as for your question, one of the maids in your kitchens was acting as an intelligence agent for the Enemy, leaving information of palace comings and goings under a rock in the garden. She is being.... questioned to determine her employer. We shall discover it soon enough."
Londo sighed. What Morden had just described had being going on for centuries. It was all a part of the Great Game of Houses, and quite frequently had nothing to do with the Shadows at all. Every noble House had agents in the palace, and in all the other Houses come to that. But if the Inquisitors found even the slightest trace of wrongdoing they would seize on it, and the Great Maker help those they focussed on.
"I commend your diligence," Londo spat.
"I will pass that on to them. Oh, by the way, Majesty, I received some interesting news about an hour ago. I was going to tell you when you woke up. A peacekeeping force has been assembled by the Alliance to protect Gorash and a few of the other vulnerable worlds. They will also help restore order and oversee the presence of humanitarian aid."
"I believe you humans have a saying about stable doors and horses," Londo said dryly. "Still, that is good news. I merely wish it were not necessary." I wish all those who were killed could be brought back. I wish we didn't have to go begging on hands and knees to aliens for the right to defend our own worlds. I wish Mr. Morden and his Inquisitors would all go back to the rock from which they came.
"Indeed it is. Commander N'Rothak will be taking overall charge. He's a very experienced captain and administrator. He will soon...."
"A Narn? Great Maker, they could not be so foolish, surely. The Alliance have sent a Narn to lead the peacekeeping force?"
"Why would they not? Eighty percent of the overall force are Narns. There are obvious advantages. You share a border, they are near enough to Gorash for there to be little time wasted. They know the system and the world...."
"And why is that? Because they occupied it for a year, because they spent decades attacking it! I do not believe this. How long were we and the Narns at war? Too long to let them take over one of our worlds in this way!"
"The war between you and the Narn is over now, Majesty. You are all part of the Alliance now. The Kha'Ri specifically requested this role, as a symbol that the past is done, and an example of renewed co-operation. Of course, if you would rather the people of Gorash starve, then you have but to say so."
"You know full well I cannot do that. Good night, Mr. Morden. I am suddenly feeling.... very tired."
And he was indeed feeling very tired, but there was little to be done about that. He needed more than one night to make himself feel better.
He lay still and silent beside Timov until dawn, listening to the sound of his own hearts beating. They seemed so much louder than they had before.
Councils were rare among the Brotherhood Without Banners. Usually there was little to discuss, little to agree upon. The captains came and went as they saw fit, banding together only for a common purpose.
They had, however, agreed upon a few situations that would necessitate a meeting of all the captains. A proposition to launch a new attack. A potential threat to their base, in particular from the Alliance. The expulsion of one of their number. Or the acceptance of a new member.
Moreil knew it was the latter, and that was why he actually deigned to attend this meeting. Usually he did not. Petty politics did not suit him. He did not care which of them led, which futile ploy of revenge they followed first. All he cared about was the service of chaos.
But something stirred within him as he walked the darkened corridors of their home. Something told him this would be important.
Behind him, the Wykhheran complained angrily. There had been little for them to eat recently, at least little worth the effort. Some of the prisoners taken at Gorash had died here, either from injuries or torture or suicide, and Moreil had let their carcasses serve as food, but that was cold meat. The Wykhheran wanted warm fare.
Why, they complained, could they not devour the Sin-tahri female? She was young and healthy and warm. What interest could Moreil have in her? Or, for that matter, in the elder Sin-tahri male who owned her? Surely neither of them mattered?
Moreil did not answer them. He did not have to, and they all knew it, but this time he did not reply because he did not have a valid answer. Rem Lanas meant nothing to him, but the girl.... He seemed to recognise something within her, and a hunch, an instinct, a revelation from the Dark Masters even, told him she would be needed alive at some point.
Patience, he told them. There will be plenty to eat soon.
It was time enough for another raid. If the whole of the Brotherhood did not agree to such an action, then Moreil would take out his own ship and go hunting. The service of the Dark Masters did not allow for a rest.
He entered the room that had been set aside as the meeting place, and immediately he noticed the other captains wince slightly. They feared him. That was good. All of them knew about his honour guard, and those who were wise feared the Wykhheran.
There was only one who did not, and that was the human. He was balancing his knife on the table, point first, and spinning it. Moreil had not asked his name, he had not cared to know, but some respect was called for to one so fearless.
Besides, it had been he who had helped them find this base. Apparently it had been attacked and almost destroyed during the war between his people and the Minbari, and since abandoned. Moreil had not cared for more details. He spent as little time here as possible.
He took his place, not sitting as the others were, and looked around at them all. The captains and leaders of the Brotherhood Without Banners. The human, the knife wielder. The Narn captain who had coined the name that had finally stuck. Beside him was a Narn female, who wore a long sword on her back. There were two Drazi, who looked enough alike to be twins. Rem Lanas was there, again pretending to be more important than he was. There were a few others, newcomers mostly. None mattered. None dared to look at him.
"We have a request to join our order," the Narn captain said. He was the one who most clearly saw the need to bond the disparate group together. There was something he quoted a lot, repeating the phrase over and over. 'If we cannot live together, we shall surely die apart.' It had been said by a great holy man of his people. It was not a concept Moreil liked. It spoke too much of order for his liking.
"We all know the rules we have agreed. When one wishes to join, he must explain to us why he wishes to do so, and why we should accept him. Then we vote. If there is even one vote against, he is denied, and killed."
Moreil listened as the Narn continued. Rules were irrelevant, creations of order. The only rule that mattered was the spreading of chaos, the only order necessary was service to the Dark Masters.
"Let him enter," the Narn said.
Moreil turned as the door opened and a man walked in. Looking at him, Moreil knew he had been right in his instinct to come here. Once again, the Dark Masters had steered him correctly.
It was a Centauri male, older than Rem Lanas. His hair was long and puffed up above his head. His once-fine clothes were now scuffed and torn. A sword hung at his belt, worn in the fashion of a man who treats his weapon as part of his body.
But it was his eyes that most convinced Moreil. They were eyes that spoke of a wealth of experience, of oceans of blood, of the wails of defeated enemies. This man was a leader, a lord, a general. He was the first here Moreil felt would be worthy to stand before the Priests of the Fallen Midnight and proclaim service to the Dark Masters. All the others were worthless, save for the human, and he was motivated by insanity.
"State your name to the Council," the Narn said. By the angry words of the Drazi to each other, they already knew it.
"Marrago," he said. "My name is Marrago."
There was always something to do. Usually more than one thing. Leadership was all a matter of prioritisation and delegation. This was something Delenn had been taught very early, but unfortunately it required enough people that a leader trusted in order to delegate to.
That was a list that was in woefully short supply.
And the most important position of all. That still had to be decided.
"Babylon Five needs a Commanding Officer," she said. It was true. The station was receiving an increasing amount of traffic in recent weeks. People were flocking here, not just diplomats and their staff, but traders, questors, anyone seeking a new home. There were even many who had come here to see her, a fact Delenn contemplated with no pleasure. G'Kar was working on establishing a Ranger base here, although he still insisted on maintaining the main base on Kazomi 7.
And as Alliance business grew, so did the number of people required to attend to it all. Nearly everyone from Kazomi 7 had moved here. Of all of the people she knew and trusted on Kazomi 7, only Vejar had never set foot here.
A succession of people had performed acting CO duties for the station during its construction. Major Krantz, Captain Tikopai, Captain Kulomani, Commander Ta'Lon, John himself, but no one permanent had been appointed yet. John was currently Acting Commanding Officer, but there was too much work for him, coupled with leading the Dark Star fleet.
"I know," he said, not looking up from the report he was reading. "I was hoping.... David could...."
"I know," she said. He had been hoping that for a while, back when he had first broached the idea to her. But David was not here, and neither of them knew where he was. It was more than a year since he had left, giving no explanation other than that he needed 'some space'. "But we do not know if he is ever coming back."
"He will be."
"But until he does...." Delenn was not sure if he would, but she did not try to puncture John's illusions. She had watched David's gradual slide into despair, seen all the wounds of body and mind he had suffered. Some such wounds never healed, and she doubted there was anywhere he could go where he could be truly made well.
"We'll appoint someone else until he does," John agreed. "Have you read this?"
"Probably." Delenn sighed. She doubted there was a single piece of paper anywhere on the station she had not read. "What is it?"
"Ranger reports. Some of the Dark Stars have been looking into these rumours we've been hearing all year. You know, the ones about those ships. Unidentifiable ships."
"I think I remember," she murmured. "What about it?"
"They haven't found anything. One of them hasn't come back, but there are still sightings. A Brakiri merchant ship almost ran into something in hyperspace just a couple of weeks ago. The description is.... like nothing I've ever seen before."
"There have always been stories, rumours."
"And if these are more? Dammit, what if it's the Shadows hiding out somewhere? Letting us think they've all gone, biding their time."
"We could send out another ship to investigate."
"No. They won't find anything. There's an old saying. 'If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.' Besides, I've been getting cabin fever. It'll be good to get back out into space again."
Delenn looked up, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "You will go yourself?"
"This could be important. It shouldn't have been left this long."
"We have been busy. The Drazi. These raiders. Securing trade routes...."
"There is nothing more important than making sure the Shadows don't come back, Delenn. Nothing. If this is them.... we have to know about it."
"I know that," she snapped. "But does this really need you? You are the General of the Alliance. What if...?"
She stopped. He was smiling, in that graceless, almost boyish way he had sometimes, rarely. "Is that just a Minbari way of saying you are going to miss me?"
She frowned, but could not help turning it into a smile. "I will miss you," she said softly. "When will you be going?" There was no point in trying in dissuade him, no point at all.
"The sooner the better. My crew is always ready, so we can leave tomorrow. We shouldn't be out that long. Perhaps.... a month or two."
"Tomorrow?"
"Early tomorrow." He looked at her, his head cocked slightly. "Are you doing anything important?"
"Well...."
"Anything that can't wait until tomorrow?"
"No," she said smiling. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."
He moved forward quickly and took her hand, helping her to her feet. His lips met hers.
"Carpe diem," he whispered to her.
"I couldn't agree more," she whispered back.
He had died in peace, his eyes open unblinking to the light of the sun, the same eyes that now look at her with such wonder, with such love. His wounds are gone, the limp, the shattered spine, the mangled hand, the injuries he had sustained defending her and had struggled with all the remainder of his life, they are now gone. His soul is as perfect as she remembered.
"It is you, then," she whispers. "I had hoped. I had dared to dream that.... Why did you never tell me?"
"What could I tell you, my lady? I think I knew, but only a little. I had only the slightest idea. Whatever Sinoval did to me when he brought me back.... it could not keep me alive forever. Not even for long.
"But what time I had, I spent with you."
"You died alone."
"No, my lady. You were with me. You were always with me. Even when we were apart, even when.... You were always with me."
"I love you."
"And I have always loved you. You know that."
She nods. "I know that."
He walks forward, a slow smile playing across his face. With a hand once mangled and ruined he lifts up her chin, and a flicker of lightning passes through her at his touch. She looks up into his eyes, and is lost in them. Gone is the Satai, the leader, the orator, the woman who has weathered torture and loss and heartbreak. All that remains is the woman in love.
"You wear my necklace," he says, touching it gently. "I never finished it. I wish I had."
"I will always wear it."
He kisses her gently, and holds her against him. She cries into his shoulder.
"Why have you not gone beyond?" she asks him, after a while. "Why...?"
"The warrior I used to be would tell you I remained behind to guide those who would come after me, that I had delusions of becoming a spirit like all those great ones who fell. The worker I became would simply say that I waited for you.
"I will wait for you, and then.... we will pass beyond together, to be reborn into new lives, to experience new loves, to live the long life of happiness we were denied in this existence."
"Do you truly believe that?"
"I do."
"It is just.... so hard.... sometimes. I wake up in the middle of the night and reach for you beside me. I sometimes imagine you walking beside me. I go to ask your opinion and I realise you are not there. I need you."
"I have faith in you, my lady. I always did. I know just how strong you truly are. Our people are lucky to have you. They need you more than they realise."
"But what if I fail? What if I trip and fall? Who will pick me up when you are not there?"
"You will pick yourself up. You will learn from your mistakes and grow stronger from what does not kill you. You are not alone. You have allies and friends. You have me."
"You are gone. After tonight, the comet will pass and whatever door has opened to allow you here will be closed."
"You have my memory, and we both have tonight. We always knew we would never have eternity, but we loved in the little time we had, and before the end I found peace and acceptance and love. What more can any of us ask?"
"Tirivail.... Tirivail told me to tell you something."
"Yes?"
"She says you are not a coward."
She feels him smile. "I think she always knew that, but tell her that neither is she. It would please me if the two of you could become friends. She has a brave soul, and she will never betray you."
"I know. I know."
She feels him gently stroking the back of her neck. "What are you thinking, my lady?" he asks softly.
"That I wish time could slow, and stop, and that we could be here forever."
"And the world outside?"
"Let it burn. If I have you, then it does not matter."
"You do not mean that."
"No," she whispers. "No, I don't."
"You will leave this place, and you will return to the world outside, and you will continue with your duties and your burdens and your sorrows. But you will have tonight. You will always have tonight. What more can any of us want?"
"I don't know."
"And nor do I."
And the night drifts away slowly, one heartbeat at a time.
There is a moment, one single moment when it is possible to win people over to your will, to make them allies, or friends, or servants. Fail, and they will become detractors, foes, enemies. Moreil understood this. He had experienced that moment when he had bound the Wykhheran to his cause, and with the Zarqheba.
This Marrago understood it as well. Moreil could see it in his eyes.
"We know of you," the first Drazi said, rising angrily. "Centauri Lord-General. You lead Centauri fleets. You lead Centauri armies. This a trap!"
"I was Lord-General," Marrago replied smoothly. "Now I am nothing. I am an exile. I am like you."
"No," the Drazi said. "Not like us. Not like us at all."
Moreil looked at the Narn female. She was whispering something to her companion. Something in her eyes sparkled at Marrago's presence here. She was the true power of that pairing.
"Why do you wish to join us?" the Narn male asked. "Why do you entreat entry to the Brotherhood Without Banners?"
Marrago paused, and Moreil watched as he breathed out slowly. Everything in the room seemed to slow down. Even the Wykhheran were quiet for once. Yes, Moreil thought. This is a man who knows how to command the moment.
Do you have orders for us, lord?
Not yet. Wait, but be ready.
"My family is an ancient one, going back to the dawn of the Republic. My ancestor was ennobled by the first Emperor himself. For centuries we have stood in the shadow of the throne, protecting him who sat upon it. We have been the shield of the Republic, the sword of the Emperor. We have led the Republic's fleets and armies and soldiers into battle in the Emperor's name.
"I grew up with Emperor Mollari. He and I were friends. Together we hoped to plot a new future, a greater and finer world than we had grown up in. The high-flown dreams of youth! I guided him through the times of trouble. I placed him on that throne. I could have taken it for myself, but all those ancient vows hung over me, and I gave the throne to him.
"And where am I now? While he sits on that throne, surrounded by wealth and riches and glory, where am I? My loyalty to the Republic has cost me my daughter, my friends, and now my home.
"To hell with all of it. I will find my own way and claim my own glory. If you do not want me here, then I will find it elsewhere."
The human chuckled. "The shin bone's connected to the knee bone," he sang, as he often did. "If we don't want you here, then you won't be going anywhere else."
"You are welcome to try to stop me," Marrago said again.
"What can you offer us?" the Narn asked. "What resources do you bring?"
"I have a ship. Not as good as I'm used to perhaps, but it will do. I have a crew for it. Mercenaries, ex-soldiers, outlaws, all just like you. Also, I have a lifetime's experience of war, something that looks as though it is lacking here."
"Sounds like you want to be our leader," said the human.
"We have no leaders," said the Drazi. "No leaders."
"I don't want to lead," Marrago said. "I've had enough of shepherding people around, or holding their hair for them. All I want is somewhere to shelter, and an occasional helping hand. And I'm sure you can do with another ship and an experienced captain."
"No," the Drazi said. "Get back to your Emperor."
"It is a vote," the Narn said to him. "You know that. I think he will make a most useful addition to our.... brotherhood."
"No!" the Drazi said again. His companion nodded enthusiastically. "Never!"
"Oh, the knee bone's connected to the thigh bone," sang the human.
Warrior, you see the Drazi?
Yes, lord.
Kill him.
The Wykhheran were big, very big, over twice the size of Moreil himself, but their size was created by engineering and design, not random nature, and the Dark Masters had crafted them for speed as well as strength. The Shadow Warrior moved before anyone noticed. Certainly not the Drazi. His first realisation of his death came when the shadow fell over him.
One grasp of the Wykhheran's hand, and it was done. Where the Drazi outlaw had once been alive, now he was merely a mass of flesh and blood and bone.
Feast, Moreil said, granting permission. He looked at the faces of his fellow captains. The human was laughing, playing with his knife as always, oblivious to the trickle of blood running down his finger. The other Drazi was on his feet, his long, poisoned knife in his hand. The Narn locked his glance with Moreil's, and held it for a long time.
Finally, the Narn turned to Marrago.
"Welcome to our order," he said simply.
Marrago only nodded, not once taking his eyes off the bloodstained mess in the Shadow Warrior's fist. He did not even wince. Moreil liked that.
Courage was a rare commodity.
"It can be done. What one has done, another can do, and another. Don't you see?"
Ben Zayn folded his arms high on his chest. "He's still trapped in there, isn't he? Fine, he can move around as much as he likes, but he's still in there, not out here."
"It's a start," Talia said. "He's proved it can be done, and he isn't trapped. He's moving around, trying to contact all the other minds, trying to wake them up. It'll take time, but what doesn't? He'll have them all free soon enough."
"Alfred's an unusual man, and you know it. Perhaps unique. There aren't enough like him in there to pose a threat to the network. If it's going to be taken down, it'll have to happen out here."
"I know, but.... it's still good news. I was wondering if I would ever see him again."
"I never said it wasn't good news. So, what now? What did he tell you?"
"A little. He's still trying to navigate his way around the network. It took him a while to remember who he was. Most of them.... just forget. That's a way to try to shake them all out of it. Remind them who they are.
"There are nodes spread out all over the place. Each Dark Star has one, so do all the major planets. Kazomi Seven has a couple. They've set some up on Minbar, Centauri Prime, all over the place. And the Vorlon worlds of course. It is possible to break telepaths free from it. We need their physical bodies, and we need to convince them of who they are, that everything they're experiencing in there isn't real."
Ben Zayn nodded. "Fine, that makes sense. So, what next? Do we just carry on recruiting?"
"No, well.... if we get a chance to help someone, then yes, but we can't keep doing this forever. We have to go on the offensive. I think we should try to break someone free."
"We can't capture a Dark Star. I've seen the specs, remember. The Shadow ships tore Sanctuary apart, and the Dark Stars were built to take those things on one by one."
"No, I know we can't. Not yet, anyway — but we have to start somewhere."
"It sounds as if you have a plan. Should I be worried?"
"Possibly," Talia smiled. "It appears I have a.... friend, who has been moving up in the world since I last saw him. Plus, I have some unfinished business with IPX. I think Proxima is the place to start.
"After all, that's where I got involved in all this to begin with."
It looked human. It had the basic shape of a human, but it was a shape put together by someone who understood the basics, not the specifics. It had a cold smile, a hollowness in the face, and a perfection to the hair.
It did not move as a human would. It did not fidget or breathe or blink as a human would.
Dexter could see why Julia had called it 'it'. It looked like a human male, perhaps a little older than he was, but whatever it was, it was not human.
"Creepy, ain't it?" Zack said. Dexter did not reply. He was not listening.
It was looking at him, staring. Just staring. There was no colour in its eyes, just a deadening light.
Greetings, brother, came the voice in his mind. You came to see me, then.
"What are you?" he asked.
I can hear you like this. Better this way, don't you think? We don't want the mundanes hearing everything, do we?
You're a telepath.
I was. Now I'm something better. You can be as well. You'll enjoy it once you're here.
What are you? You aren't human.
I was human once. A human telepath. I had a name once, but that doesn't matter now. Some of us, most of us, are put inside the network, just one mind among thousands. I am one of the lucky ones. They did this to me instead. They made me special.
Why are you here?
The Corps used to have special units they called Bloodhounds. Their job was to find 'blips', telepaths who had escaped from the Corps, who refused to wear the badge and the gloves and to live by the rules.
I know what the Bloodhound units were. They took my mother.
Of course. I'm one of the new type of Bloodhounds. But I don't work for the Corps any more. I work for something far greater. We are called the Hand of the Light. Think of us as a search-and-capture unit.
What are you searching for?
Is it not obvious? Telepaths, of course. Those like us. They need more recruits. They always need more recruits. Human, Centauri, Minbari, others.... it doesn't matter. They always need more recruits. More people like us.
I'm not like you.
You are. You just won't accept it. You aren't as powerful as most of us, but power means nothing. What matters is how you use it, and that is something you know how to do. You're special. They have special plans for you.
Who are 'they'?
Names have power. Even here. The mundanes can't hear us, but you'd be surprised who could. Sinoval, for instance. If he happens to be passing by....
What does he have to do with this?
You will see, brother. You will see. You realise this cell cannot hold me forever.
It's doing a good job so far.
You think I couldn't escape if I wanted to? I wanted to speak with you, brother.
Dexter pulled back, shaking. Zack and Julia were looking at him. "Jeez, man," Zack said. "What was up with you?"
"I'm out of here," Dexter said, breathing harshly, still looking at the thing. "Double the guard on him. No, triple it. Don't let anyone in to see him, no one at all. We're leaving now."
"I'll take your word for it," Zack replied.
As he left the cell, Dexter looked back at the thing again. It was still smiling at him, a movement of the facial muscles without any of the emotional connections.
"I've got to go," Dexter said, as soon as the cell was locked.
"Where?" Julia asked.
"To talk to someone. Someone who knows an awful lot about weird things."
The day when so much changed on Centauri Prime was dark and heavy, with clouds hanging low in the sky.
It began innocuously enough. A group of farmers had arrived at the capital, assembling to appeal to the Royal Court against the increasingly heavy taxes being levied on them. Normally they would not have dared, but one of them had met Emperor Mollari during his exile on Selini. He claimed that the Emperor had promised him that he would always listen to his people.
"The Emperor will listen to us," he had told his more sceptical companions. "He doesn't understand now, but that's because he lives in a palace and not out in the country like we do. We'll talk to him, and he'll understand, and then everything will be better. You'll see."
They had been dubious, but had ultimately agreed.
None of them had been to the capital before, and its wonder had dazzled them for a moment, causing them almost to forget why they had come. A sudden rainstorm led them to seek shelter in a bar, not wanting their only fine clothes to be drenched and ruined. Several cups of cheap liquor were drunk with the aim of 'Immolan courage'.
Unfortunately it continued raining and the farmers had a little too much to drink, moving from simple courage to fearlessness. So much so that one of them started telling 'Centauri, Drazi and Narn' jokes. At the punch line to one of them, a Drazi entered.
One dressed all in black with the symbol of a lantern on his chest.
He immediately moved to the table, drew a short stick that was his only weapon, and smashed it into the centre of the table, scattering drinks, breaking glasses and destroying the table.
"Names now," he demanded.
The reply of the drunken jokester was obscene, and the Drazi looked at him, lifting the stick. Lightning seemed to crackle along it. "Sedition, unauthorised assembly, refusal to recognise authority of an Inquisitor."
The Inquisitors had not yet reached the more outlying parts of the countryside, and so the farmers had heard of them only in rumours. They were not to know that over three thousand people in the capital had disappeared at their hands, very few of them ever to be seen again.
The farmers were beaten savagely, their feeble attempts to fight back easily disposed of. Some members of the City Guard dragged them away and they joined the ranks of the disappeared.
Word spread quickly. More than one customer had overheard the drunken boasts of the farmers that they would make the Emperor see sense on taxes and levies. Before long, almost everyone in the city outside the palace had heard that the Emperor had personally sent in one of his Inquisitors — and an alien at that! — to have them murdered.
The Centauri people had suffered greatly under their fair share of Emperors. Emperor Turhan had been reasonable, but aloof, and in the final years of his reign, weak. Emperor Marrit had been ineffectual, but protected by strong advisors. The troubles had seen much chaos and suffering.
But never before in living memory had an Emperor had to resort to alien assistance to maintain order among the people.
A crowd gathered soon enough. It had stopped raining, although the sky still seemed ominously dark, filled with thick clouds that appeared to be made of smoke.
The crowd moved towards the palace.
"The solution is clear," Morden said calmly.
"Yes, Mr. Morden," Londo said dryly. Sarcasm was his only weapon against the human. At least, the only weapon he dared to employ. "Perfectly clear. They are motivated by hunger and anger and a desire for reform. There are two options available to us. If, of course, you will permit me to outline how such a humble individual as myself might deal with this.... what is the word? Uprising? Revolution? Anarchy?"
"'Riot' will do just fine, Majesty, and of course I will listen to you."
"We can grant the reforms they seek. We can lower taxes, get more aid sent here, send away all those Inquisitors you are so fond of, and generally ensure that we still have a peasant class alive by this time next year."
"An interesting approach, Majesty. A touch.... radical, perhaps. What is your other idea?"
"Wait for it to start raining again. Then they will all go home."
"Neither really solves the underlying problem, though, Majesty. If we wait for them to go home, who is to say they will not be back tomorrow? And if we give them what they want, everyone will think you are weak, and that it is that easy to change official policy."
"Oh, then what do you suggest?"
"The oldest weapon of all. Fear. We send in the soldiers. Have them disperse the crowd. Kill a few, arrest the rest. Make it abundantly clear that we will not tolerate this sort of chaotic behaviour."
Londo stood up, his hearts beating loudly in his ears. "Great Maker, you are not serious."
"Very serious."
"All they want is food and safety."
"They are an anarchic and chaotic rabble. Their very presence is offensive. You do not protest against the decisions of your leaders. You accept that their decisions are made in your best interests, and you follow their orders as best as you are able."
"No. You will not do this."
"If we let them get away with this, it will set a bad precedent."
"To the Maker with bad precedent! I will not order the massacre of who knows how many of my people!"
"You will, Majesty. Or I will do it for you."
"No! They are my people!"
"Then make them realise that!"
Londo could hear Morden clearly, despite the roaring of his own blood in his ears. He could hear Malachi's last words, and see Timov's smile, and hear the Parliament at Selini accept him as their Governor, and hear Marrago call him Emperor and hear his own words exiling Marrago and his hearts seemed to be beating so fast, so very fast.
"No! I will not do.... I will not do this...."
"You will do this."
"No!" His knees were shaking, as if they could not bear his weight. He stumbled backwards and sat back down on his throne.
"You will." Morden's voice was so calm. How could it be so calm, when Londo himself felt like screaming?
"No!"
Everything seemed to go red. Was Kiro here again? Burning down his palace?
"You will."
"No...."
There was a shimmering behind Morden, and Cartagia was there, smiling. There was nothing else within sight. There was no floor, no walls, no windows, no guards, just himself and Morden and Cartagia and the taste of blood in his mouth and then he realised it was his own blood and he had bitten his tongue.
"No," he whispered again, unsure of whether he had actually said the words, or if he merely thought he had said them.
"A dream," he whispered, clutching his chest. His hearts were beating so fast. He hadn't imagined his own blood could taste so bitter. Surely it should taste of brivare after all these years? "You're dead, Cartagia."
Cartagia's smiled widened. "I've been waiting for you to join me, Mollari. I was right, wasn't I? And with a good few years to spare as well."
His hearts seemed to stop beating, the throne seemed to stop bearing his weight, Cartagia seemed to stop smiling and all of a sudden he couldn't hear anything any more.