1-The Long Night of Centauri Prime Page 3

  “Madness,” he said to no one. “I am driving myself to madness.” He gave the matter a moment’s blackly humorous thought. “Maybe that is their ultimate goal. An interesting thought. Reducing Centauri Prime to rubble just for the dubious purpose of sending me into insanity. Such overkill. If that was what they desired, they could just have locked me in a room with my ex-wives for a week. That would cause anyone to snap.”

  To his surprise, a voice responded. “Pardon, Majesty?”

  He half turned in his chair and saw a man standing just inside the doorway, regarding Londo with polite curiosity. He was quite thin, with carefully cultivated hair that wasn’t particularly high. That was a direct flouting of Centauri standard fashion, for usually the height of hair was meant to be indicative of the rank in society that one had achieved. There was, however, a fringe fashion element that had taken its cue from Emperor Turhan, who had publicly disdained tradition by wearing his hair shorter than the lowest of the lowborn. Some believed that Emperor Cartagia had done so as a way of showing that he wished to maintain a connection to the common man. Others felt he had just done it to annoy people. Either way, the precedent had been set, and some chose to follow it.

  Though in the case of this particular Centauri, the one who had interrupted Londo’s musings, it wasn’t his hair that caught Londo’s attention. Nor was it the starched and pressed military uniform he wore so smartly. No, it was his general attitude . He had an eagerness about him … but it wasn’t a healthy sort of eagerness. Vir, for example, had been cloaked in eagerness from the moment he had set foot on Babylon 5. That had been an eagerness to please, one of Vir’s more charming features . But this individual … he had the attitude of a carrion-eating bird perched on a branch, watching a dying man and mentally urging him to hurry up and get on with it.

  “Durla … isn’t it?” Londo asked after a moment.

  “Yes, Majesty. Your captain of the guards, as appointed by the late regent-” He bowed slightly. “-and continuing to serve at your good humor, Majesty.”

  “My humor is less than good at the moment, Captain Durla. I do not appreciate interruptions into my privacy.”

  “With all respect, Majesty, I did not realize you were alone. I heard you speaking and thought you were deep in conversation with someone. Since your schedule does not call for you to have anyone in this room with you at this time of night … I thought I would make sure that you were not being subjected to any threat. I apologize most profusely if I, in some way, have intruded or made you uncomfortable.”

  He had all the right words and expressed them perfectly, and yet Londo, still reacting on a gut level, didn’t like him. Perhaps … perhaps it was because, in addition to having the right words, it seemed to Londo as if Durla knew they were the right words. He wasn’t expressing his sentiments, whatever those might be. Instead he was saying precisely what he thought Londo wanted to hear.

  Another possibility Londo had to admit, was that he was becoming so suspicious jumping at shadows; seeing plots, plans, and duplicity everywhere-that even the most casual meeting brought sinister overtones with it. He was beginning to view the world entirely in subtext, searching out that which was not said, forsaking that which was spoken. It was no way to live.

  Then again … that wasn’t really a serious consideration for him these days, was it? Not on this, the last day of his life.

  Durla hadn’t moved. Apparently he was waiting for Londo to dismiss him. Londo promptly obliged him. “I won’t be needing you this evening, Durla. As for your continuing to serve, well … we shall see how my humor transforms with the passage of time.”

  “Very well, Majesty. I will make certain that guards remain at all exits.”

  Londo was not enthused at that particular prospect. If he did decide to do himself in-as was looking more likely by the moment-the last thing he needed was for a couple of guards to hear his body thud to the floor. If they came running in to save him and somehow, against all hope, succeeded … the embarrassment and humiliation would be overwhelming. And what if he decided to depart the palace grounds, to commit the deed somewhere more remote?

  Then again, he was the emperor.

  “That will not be necessary,” he said firmly. “I believe the manpower may be better deployed elsewhere.”

  “Better?” Durla cocked an eyebrow. “Better than maintaining the safety of our emperor? Will all respect, Majesty, I do not think so.”

  “I do not recall asking your opinion on the matter,” Londo informed him. “They will leave, as will you.”

  “Majesty, with all respect -“

  “Stop telling me how much you respect me!” Londo said with obvious irritation. “If I were a young virgin girl and you were endeavoring to seduce me, you might understandably offer repeated protests of how much you respect me. I feel safe in assuming that this is not your intent though, yes?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, you would be quite safe with that assumption .” A hint of a smile briefly tugged at the edges of Durla’s mouth. Then he grew serious again. “However, not only is your safety my primary concern, it is part of my job description. Of course, you could always release me from my job, but it would be unfortunate if I were to be fired simply because I was doing my duty. It has been my understanding that you, Emperor Mollari, are the fairest-minded individual to come into a position of power on Centauri Prime in quite a while. Is that not the case?”

  Oh yes, very facile. Very good with words. Londo wasn’t fooled for even a moment by his comments. Still …

  It didn’t matter. Not really. All Londo had to do was wait until he retired for the night. Then, lying in his bed, he could quietly put an end to himself. Since he would be lying flat, he wouldn’t need to worry about “thumps” alerting guards.

  That was it. That was all he had to do. Bid Durla good night, retire for the evening … and then retire permanently. That was it. Dismiss Durla and be done with it.

  Durla waited expectantly. Londo didn’t like him. He had no idea why he was operating on such a visceral level. Part of him actually rejoiced in the notion that, soon, Durla would be someone else’s problem. But another part of him wondered just what Durla was up to. He was … a loose end. Londo hated loose ends. He particularly hated the knowledge that this loose end might unravel after he was gone.

  “Would you care to take a walk?” he asked abruptly. He was surprised at the sound of his own voice.

  “A walk, Majesty? Of course. Where on the grounds would-“

  “No. Not on the grounds. I wish to walk into the city.”

  “The … city, sir?” Durla looked as if he hadn’t quite heard Londo properly.

  “Yes, Captain of the Guards. I have a desire to see it closely…” One last time.

  “I do not think that would be wise, Majesty.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes, Majesty” he said firmly. “At this time, the people are …” His voice trailed off. He seemed reluctant to finish the sentence.

  So Londo finished it for him. “The people are my people, Durla. Am I to hide in here from them?”

  “That might be prudent, at least for the time being, Majesty.”

  “Your opinion is duly noted.” He slapped the armrests of the throne and rose. “I shall walk about the city, and I shall do it alone.”

  “Majesty, no!”

  “No?” Londo stared at him, his thick eyebrows knitting in a carefully controlled display of imperial anger. “I do not recall asking for your approval, Durla. That is one of the benefits of being emperor: you are entitled to take actions without consulting underlings.” He gave particular stress to that last word.

  Durla didn’t appear to take the hint, however, although he did ratchet up his obsequiousness level by several degrees. “Majesty … there are ways that certain things are done … certain protocols …”

  “That will be the exciting aspect of my tenure in this position , Durla. I do not follow protocol. I follow the moment. Now … I am going for a w
alk. I am the emperor. I think I am entitled to make that decision, no?”

  ” At least” -Durla seemed most urgent in his concerns- “At least, Majesty, and I pray I am not overstepping my bounds here, let an escort follow you at a respectful distance. You will be alone … but you will not be alone. I hope that sounds clear…”

  Something about the irony of the suggestion struck Londo as amusing. Yes. Yes, it is quite clear. And let me guess: you will accompany these `phantom’ guards, yes?”

  “I would supervise the honor guard myself, Majesty, if you wish.”

  “You would be amazed, Durla, how little my wishes have to do with anything,” Londo said. “Suit yourself. Exercise your free will. At least someone around here should be able to.”

  And so Londo walked out into the great capital city of Centauri Prime for what he anticipated would be the last time. His path from the palace to the temple of inauguration had been a fairly straightforward one, earlier that day. In this case, however, he deliberately strayed from any known path. He crisscrossed the city, making arbitrary decisions and occasionally backtracking. The entire time, a small platoon of men-at-arms trailed him, with Durla keeping a close-up and somewhat wary eye upon them all.

  As Londo walked, he tried to drink in every aspect of the city, every curve of every building. Even the smell of burning structures and rubble were sensations that he wanted to savor.

  He had never found himself in quite this sort of mindset before; looking upon things with the attitude that he would never look upon them again. True, as he had prepared to accept the post of emperor, his life had flashed before his eyes. Each moment that had been a fond memory then was now tinged with pain. Times past and even times future … particularly that much-dreamed-of moment when a one-eyed G’Kar would spell his doom. Well, he was certainly going to wind up putting an end to that particular prediction. He took some small measure of comfort in that.

  For so long, he had felt as if he were nothing more than the tool of fate, possessing no control over his own destiny. No matter what his intentions, he had been propelled down a dark road that he had never intended to travel. Well, at least he would confound the fates in the end. It wouldn’t be G’Kar’s hand that ended his wretched existence … it would be his own. No one could harm him at this point in his life except, of course, for he himsel-

  That was when the rock bounced off his skull.

  - chapter 2 -

  Londo staggered from the impact. It took him a moment to understand fully what had occurred. His first, momentarily panicked impression was that he had been shot with a PPG blast. Odd that he would have been disturbed at such a notion. He was, after all, planning to do himself in before the evening was out, so it would have been almost ungrateful to be angry at someone who might have saved him the effort.

  Then the very fact that he still was able to construct a coherent thought was enough to tip him to the realization that what had hit him was some sort of simple projectile. It had ricocheted off his forehead and tumbled to the ground. A rock, and easy enough to spot; it was the only one tinged with red.

  Immediately the guards sprang into action. Half of them formed an impenetrable wall of bodies-a barrier against any possible encroachers. The rest bolted off in the direction from which the rock had come. Londo had the briefest glimpse of a small form darting into shadows of nearby buildings.

  “Come, Majesty,” said Durla, pulling at Londo’s arm. “We must go … back to the palace. . :’

  “No.”

  “But we-“

  “No! ” Londo thundered with such vehemence that the guards around him were literally caught flatfooted. That provided Londo the opportunity he needed to push impulsively through the guards and run after the group who were, in turn, pursuing his assailant.

  “Majesty!” called a horrified Durla, but Londo had already obtained a decent lead.

  Nevertheless, moments after the guards set out in pursuit of the emperor, they managed to draw alongside him … not a difficult accomplishment since they were by and large younger and in better shape. As for Londo, he found he was already starting to feel winded, and felt a grim annoyance that he had let himself get into such poor shape.

  Perhaps, he thought bleakly, he should have taken a cue from Vir. Lately Vir had whipped himself into impressively good shape. “How did you do it?” he once had asked.

  “Ate less, drank no alcohol, and exercised.”

  “Radical,” Londo had responded, sniffing in disgust.

  Now, as his hearts pounded and his breath rasped, he felt as if it hadn’t been such a radical notion after all.

  Durla, only a few steps behind, called, “Majesty! This really is most improper! There could be an ambush! It’s insanity!”

  “Why would it … be an ambush?” huffed Londo. “You said it … yourself … this is insanity … So who would … create an ambush … and have it hinge … on the target doing something … insane?”

  The chase was slowing considerably. There was fallen rubble from shattered buildings, blocking the path. This hadn’t deterred the guards, though, as they had scrambled over debris with as much alacrity as they could manage. They had dedicated themselves to corralling whoever had made such a vile attempt against their emperor.

  Then they slowed and fanned out, creating a semicircle around one burned-out area. It was quite evident, even from a distance, that they had brought the assailant to heel.

  Londo slowed, then stopped, and straightened his coat and vest in order to restore some measure of dignity. Durla, who drew up next to him, looked disgustingly fit and not the slightest out of breath. “Your Majesty, I really must insist,” he began.

  “Oh, must you,” said Londo, turning on him. “On what would you insist, precisely?”

  “Let me bring you back to the palace, where you’ll be safe-“

  That was when they heard a female voice cry out, “Let me go! Let me go, you great buffoons! And don’t touch them! They had nothing to do with it!”

  “That is a child’s voice,” Londo said, looking at Durla with open skepticism. “Are you telling me that I must be escorted by armed guards back to the palace in order that I might avoid the wrath of a little girl?”

  Durla seemed about to try a response, but apparently he realized there was nothing he could say at that particular moment that was was going to make him look especially good. “No, Your Majesty, of course not.”

  “Good. Because I certainly would not want to think you were questioning my bravery.”

  Quite quickly Durla responded, “I would never dream of doing such a thing, Majesty.”

  “Good. Then we understand each other.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Now then … I want to know what it is we’re dealing with,” he said, and he gestured toward the cluster of figures that had gathered ahead of them.

  Durla nodded and moved off to get a summary of the events from the guards who had caught up with the “assailant .” He listened as he was filled in on the situation, and when he returned to Londo, he clearly looked rather uncomfortable about it all. “It appears … you were correct, Majesty. It is a young girl, not more than fifteen.”

  “There are other people with her?”

  “Yes, Majesty. A family … or at least what’s left of one. They’ve constructed a rather crude shelter from material at hand. They claim to have taken the girl in because she was wandering the streets and they felt sorry for her.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, and they appear somewhat … irate … that she has put them at risk by drawing the wrath of the emperor down upon them.”

  “Really. Let them know that my wrath is not exactly out in full bloom today, despite any untimely provocations,” he said, as he gingerly fingered the cut on his head. It was already starting to become swollen. “Better yet … I shall tell them myself.”

  “It could still be a trick, Your Majesty” Durla warned. “A trap of some sort.”

  “Should that be t
he case, Durla, and they draw a PPG or some similar weapon that they plan to utilize,” Londo said, clapping him on the shoulder, “I am fully confident that you will throw yourself into the path of the blast, intercept it with your own body, then die with praises for your beloved emperor upon your lips. Yes?”

  Durla looked less than thrilled at the notion. “It … would be my honor, Majesty, to serve you in that manner.”

  “Let us both hope you have the opportunity,” Londo told him.

  Squaring his shoulders, Londo walked over to where the guards had surrounded his attacker. They hesitated to let Londo through, though, only moving when Durla gave them a silent nod. For some reason this irked Londo to no end. He was the emperor. If he couldn’t even get a handful of guards to attend to his wishes without someone else validating his desires, what in the world was the point of ruling?

  But move aside they did, giving Londo a clear view into the face of a wounded and hurting Centauri Prime.

  There, in a makeshift lean-to, stood a Centauri family. A father, hair cut low, and a young mother. As was the style with many young women, she had a long tail of hair, which most women kept meticulously braided. In her case, however, it simply hung loosely around her shoulders, looking unkempt and in disarray, the entirety of it rooted squarely in the middle of her otherwise-shaved head, so its askew nature made it look like a follicle fountain. They also had two boys and a girl with them, between the ages of twelve and fifteen. Even had Londo not known which of the youngsters had decided to use him for target practice, he would have been able to tell just by looking at them. The boys, like their parents, were staring toward the ground, afraid even to gaze into the face of their emperor. The father-the father, of all people-was visibly trembling. A fine testament to Centauri manhood, that.

  But the girl, well … she was a different story, wasn’t she. She didn’t avert her eyes or shrink in fear of Londo’s approach . Instead she stood tall and proud, with a level and unflinching gaze. There was some redness to her scalp, which Londo knew all too well: she had only recently taken up the female tradition of shaving her head, indicating her ascension into maturity. She looked quite gaunt, with high cheekbones and a swollen lip that marred her features. The blood on her lip was fresh. “Did someone strike you?” Londo demanded, and then without waiting for reply, turned to his guards and said, “Who did this?”