1-The Long Night of Centauri Prime Page 11

  “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 I 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, we'd 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 pockets, 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, I 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 I 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.

  - chapter 9 -

  Everything seemed so clear to Durla, although rarely more so than when he was sleeping.

  When he was awake, he knew what it was that he wanted for Centauri Prime. But there was so much to deal with, so many details to attend to. People clamoring for his attention, this chancellor wanting something, that minister requiring five minutes of his time. It was always five minutes, at least in theory. Naturally, once he was in any given meeting, five minutes became fifteen, or twenty, or half an hour, and the next thing he knew his entire schedule was simply shot. It was just so easy to get distracted by everything.

  But when he was asleep, why, there was when he saw the future-his future-with glorious clarity.

  He saw himself standing hundreds of feet tall in the air, a giant holographic projection that could be seen for miles. That, indeed, could be seen all over the world. He saw himself addressing the people, leading them, rallying them, and they were shouting his name over and over, praising him, begging him to let them share in his glorious and great vision.

  He spoke to them of the magnificence that was Centaurs Prime’s destiny, of all that the great republic was going to accomplish under his leadership. Once more they shouted his name, and over and over again. It was quite exhilarating, really.

  He had always aspired to greatness, ever since he had been told that it was something he would never be able to accomplish.

  His father was a military man, and very demanding. He had produced two sons, within a year of each other, and it had taken very little time in their development to realize who was the favored son. It wasn’t Durla. No, it was his older brother, Solla.

  It had been difficult for Durla to hate Solla. In addition to being a great scholar and a brilliant soldier, Solla had also possessed a kind heart. As fearsome as he could be in times of combat, he was equally compassionate when dealing with his younger brother. Only a year separated them, true, but it might as well have been a chasm. Durla had had to work for everything that he achieved, whereas for Solla it seemed to come easily. He made it all appear effortless. He rarely seemed to study, and yet he scored higher grades than Durla. Durla never saw him practicing, and yet Solla’s blade was easily the deadliest in the city.

  Everyone knew that Solla was going far.

  That was why Durla had to kill him.

  The final straw had been Solla’s woman. She had been incredibly beautiful, amazingly exotic, the daughter of a highborn noble. And young Durla, just turning his twentieth year, had seen her during one of their infrequent trips to the emperor’s court. Unfortunately for Durla, the woman had seen Solla, and become instantly smitten with him. Solla was likewise taken with her, and who could blame him? Luminous eyes, a long, red, plaited braid that hung alluringly off the side of her head, a body so firm and sculpted that when she walked the sinew of her muscle played gloriously just beneath her bronzed skin. Every time Durla saw her, his body ached for her.

  As it turned out, he wasn’t alone. There was another Centauri as well, who served in the imperial troops alongside Durla and Solla. His name was Riva, and his passion for the woman -Mariel-was so great that he and Solla came to blows over her. A vicious battle it had been, and Solla had won because, well, Solla always won. Riva, however, had loudly vowed vengeance, declaring that his conflict with Solla was not over by a longshot.

  This was al
l the opening that Durla had needed. Smitten with the woman, resentful over his brother’s greatness and the way that his parents had always treated Solla with the respect and idolization Durla had felt he was entitled to, Durla had required no further incentive. He had poisoned Solla … and himself.

  That had been the trickiest aspect of it. He had ingested the same poison that he had placed in Sollas food. It was the most effective means of avoiding suspicion. What he’d had to do was be certain to eat enough to show genuine signs of illness, but too little to prove fatal to him. He had succeeded , and no sooner had Solla breathed his last, the venomous poison having consumed his body, than Riva had been accused of perpetrating the deed. Riva’s fellow squad mates had gone to arrest him. Unfortunately-or fortunately, depending upon one’s point of view -Riva hadn’t surrendered quietly. Ultimately, he didn’t surrender at all, but instead resisted arrest, which was always a foolish notion when those who are trying to arrest you, a, outnumber you and, b, are already incensed with you because they believe-however mistakenly-that you are responsible for the death of their friend

  As a result, by the end of the arrest, pieces of Riva wound up littering the immediate area.

  This had all been tremendously beneficial for Durla, as was to be expected. His grief-stricken parents had lavished their attention on him, partly out of guilt, but mostly because he was their only remaining son and they knew that he was their only chance for vicarious success.

  As for the girl …

  Durla had gone to her with his medals on his breast and his heart on his sleeve. He had gone to her and, while acting the tragedy-struck younger brother, also made it clear to her that he adored her, and hopefully no longer from afar.

  She had looked at him with a mixture of amusement and pity. “Pathetic boy,” she had said archly, although it was a curious choice of words since she was, in fact, several years younger than he. “My house has greater plans for me than being tied to you. Your brother was going places: Places of strength. Places of power. But you … you will only see such places from a distance. At least, that is what my father says, and he is usually quite intuitive when it comes to such things. He thought highly of Solla as husband potential … Riva slightly less so, but viable. You, though? You will always be the younger brother of the noble Solla, who was cut down in his prime. You, I am afraid, don’t matter very much at all.”