by Peter David
“I?” He snorted. “I can barely distinguish between my various imperial vestments. How fortunate I am … to have Tbrok here to make certain I do not commit some sort of social faux pas.”
“Yes. You have Throk,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“He is an available young man, Senna, with interesting prospects. You could do worse, you know.”
She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Throk? You cannot be serious, Highness.”
“Have you given thought to it, Senna? It is through a husband , after all, that women gain power in our society … attaching themselves to a powerful mate. It would be expected of you by this age. It would not be thought of as at all odd, were you to begin walking the corridors of power while appearing eager and interested in all that goes on around you.”
“I’m not interested in gaining power, Your Highness.”
“How intriguing,” he said slowly, with a smile. “Aside from the kitchen staff, you may be the only person in this entire palace who is not interested in that.” He gave it a moment ‘s more consideration. “And I would not wager against the kitchen staff, now that I think about it.”
“I wish Timov was still here,” Senna said.
“As do I”
She looked at him askance. “They say that she was plotting against you. Was it true?”
“I do not know,” he said, although she suspected from the quick flicker of regret in his eyes that he was not being entirely candid. “It is something of a shame, I suppose. To not be able to know who around you can be trusted.”
“You can trust me, Highness.”
“Yes,” he said, but he sounded noncommittal. “There are many others, though. Throk, Durla, the other ministers. All with their own agendas, whispering among themselves, planning , discussing. Conversations to which I am not privy. It would be of great use … to know what they were saying. A pity such things are not possible. Well, good evening to you then, young lady.”
“Good evening to you, Highness.”
She watched him enter his private chambers, the door sliding noiselessly shut behind him … and she couldn’t help but think that, somehow, he seemed a bit … smaller … somehow.
It was not until later that evening, when Senna had gone to bed, that Londo’s words came back to her and the true meaning became clear. She sat up abruptly and was about to run directly to the emperor, despite the lateness of the hour, to see whether she had properly understood his meaning. Then she realized that to do so would be to undercut what it was he was asking, presuming she fully understood what it was he was asking. So instead she contented herself to lie back down, knowing that it would be a sleepless night as her hearts pounded anxiously in her chest.
Londo lay upon his bed, staring up at the ceiling into the darkness. As always, the darkness looked back at him. “You are there,” he said abruptly.
There was a stirring from the wall nearby, and one of the shadows separated from the rest. The Drakh called Shiv’kala slowly approached, and then stopped several feet away. “We are always here,” he said.
“I suspected as much. So … how much influence did you have in this, eh?”
“Influence?”
Londo propped himself on one elbow. “If Dunseny had not gone quietly, would you have seen to it that he met with an accident ? Is that it?”
Shiv’kala laughed. It was the single most chilling sound that he was capable of making. When Londo heard it, part of him wanted to crawl all the way back to infancy and hide in his mother’s womb, and even there he would likely find no shelter.
“The Drakh,” Shiv’kala said, when his mirth had sufficiently passed, “care nothing about your hired help, Londo.”
“You did not position Throk to be your spy, then.”
“Do not be foolish. A keeper resides upon you. What further need have we for a spy?”
“I do not know,” Londo admitted. “I do not know why you do much of what you do. And if I try to shine light upon you, in my search for answers, your very nature absorbs it”
“Your paranoia is flattering, but unnecessary …”
“In this instance,” Londo added.
Shiv’kala paused only a moment, and then said, “Yes. In this instance. Minister Durla does not need our urging to keep an ever-closer eye on you.”
“Durla. Your favorite. Your cat’s-paw. If he knew…”
“If he knew … it would be no different.”
“Then why not tell him?” asked Londo, with a hint of challenge in his voice.
“If you wish.”
Londo was startled at that. “You will tell him? Tell him of the darkness that covers this world? Tell him that he is minister only because you put him into place? That he does not truly serve Centauri Prime, but rather the whims of the Drakh-servants for the most dangerous and evil beings the galaxy had ever known? That you even invade his dreams, sending him your bidding and allowing him to think that they are his notions?”
“Absolutely,” Shiv’kala confirmed. Then his voice dropped from its normal, gravelly tone to just above a whisper. “And then … I will tell him of you. Of all that you have done … and will do. Of how he, Durla, has at least some semblance of free will … whereas you, monitored by the keeper, have none. That you are both the most powerful and the most impotent man on all of Centauri Prime. All this will I tell him. And every time he looks at you, you will know … that he knows. He will know you for the wretched thing that you are. Is that… what you desire?”
Londo said nothing. Indeed, what was there to say?
“Do you see,” Shiv’kala told him, “how I protect you from yourself, Londo? Someday … you will thank me.”
“Someday… I will kill you,” replied Londo.
“It is good to want things,” Shiv’kala said.
The door hissed open and Londo sat up, blinking in the light that was flooding in from the hallway. Throk was standing there, silhouetted in the brightness. “I thought I heard you talking, Highness. Is there an intruder?”
Londo half twisted to look behind himself. The area where Shiv’kala had been standing was completely illuminated by the corridor lighting, and there was no sign that the Drakh had ever been there at all.
“I am … simply talking to myself,” said Londo.
“It sounded as if you were having an argument, Highness.”
“I was. I suppose”-he sighed-“that is because I do not like myself all that much.” He hesitated, and then said, “Were you standing outside that door this entire time, Throk?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“And you did that … why?”
“In case I was needed, Highness.”
And after he dismissed the Prime Candidate for the remainder of the night, he tried to determine who filled him with a greater sense of foreboding. Shiv’kala … or Throk.
EXCERPTED FROM
THE CHRONICLES OF LONDO MOLLARI.
Excerpt dated (approximate Earth date)
June 17, 2268.
Would that I could keep this journal on a regular basis. But I only feet safe making notations such as this one when my “associate” has lapsed into an alcoholic haze. Since I must consume the alcohol needed to accomplish this, it becomes that much more difficult for me to focus on what I am writing. I hope that future generations will be able to translate my handwriting. And I hope the reader will understand, sometimes I have to cover several months at a sitting, to the best that my occasionally strained memory will allow.
Senna.
I am so proud of her. It did not take her long at all to understand that which I could only hint at. Nor did she ever come back to me, after that veiled conversation , and outright say “You want me to spy on them! You want me to garner information where I can, through whatever means are necessary, and convey it to you! After all, I am ‘only’ a young girl, presumably looking for a man to whom I could attach myself. And men tend to speak liberally to those females whom they would lik
e to impress.”
No, she never questioned, but I knew. The way she looked at me at breakfast the next morning, there actually was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. An excitement that bespoke an almost conspiratorial air, as it there was some great secret the two of us shared that neither of us dared speak. I could not guide her, of course. Clever girl, though … she figured it out all by herself.
Even more clever, she waited—took no immediate action. After all, it would have seemed curious if, after treating Throk so coldly, she had abruptly changed her attitude toward him. Throk may have been many things, but foolish he most definitely was not.
Instead she began slowly. It wasn’t difficult; Senna and I habitually dined together several times in the course of any week, and naturally Throk was always there. One evening, when Throk deftly refilled a glass of wine for me, Senna said as if Throk was not there- “He’s very attentive, isn’t he.”
The remark came out of nowhere. I had a spoonful of food lifted to my lips, but did not consume it. “‘He?’ ” I said. Then I saw her gaze flicker significantly to Throk, and naturally I understood. “Ah. You mean Throk.”
Throk visibly perked up at that. He quickly covered it-I will credit him that. He was really somewhat masterful at internalizing anything that might betray his thoughts to an observer.
“Yet you would think,” Senna continued smoothly, “that he would notice I, myself, have no wine at all.”
“You do not customarily ask for it, Lady Senna,” Throk said.
“A lady need not ask,” she told him primly. “A lady is asked by others.”
He nodded in acknowledgment of the point and held up the bottle. “Lady, would you care for-“
“I thought you would never ask,” she said, and laughed very liltingly.
And I thought to myself, Great Maker, she was born for this. Then I remembered who her father was-the late Lord Refa-and I realized that, yes indeed, she truly was born for it. Considering her family tree, it was impressive that I had not yet wound up with a dagger between my ribs.
Then again, the day was young.
Having received her wine, wise girl, brilliant girl … she paid Throk no more mind. This no doubt convinced the young man that her comment had merely been a passing observation, a slight jest at his expense.
The next time we ate together, she actually engaged him in conversation. I was surprised-or perhaps not all that surprised, I suppose-that Throk was a bit more outspoken with Senna than he was with me. After all, any inquiry I made as to his background simply got me a respectfully terse reply. But for Senna, he proceeded to put forward what seemed to be his entire lineage. He boasted of his parents, both of them names that I instantly recognized.
Throk was of the House Milifa. Milifa was a member of Durla's circle of acquaintances , a group who had come to refer to themselves as the New Guard. I knew them, and their type, all too well. They had opposed Emperor Cartagia… but always from hiding. Whenever anyone had spoken of actually overthrowing Cartagia, or trying to do something about his insane rule that was destroying all of Centauri Prime, the House Milifa-along with any number of others-were the first to be the last. They were eager for a change, but even more eager to allow someone else to do what was needed to implement it.
Yes, I knew the type all too well. They only acted when they felt there was no risk of harm to themselves. Which meant that if Throk of the House Milifa was being put into position, and others of his ilk were coming in, then they considered the path to be a fairly obstacle-free one.
Since I was on that path, I was obviously not considered much of an obstacle.
Great Maker help me, they may very well be right.
I could, of course, endeavor to change their thinking, make them work harder to achieve their goals. But for the moment, I am content to let matters unfold as I watch. Let them bluster about, those who speak of how Centauri Prime must return to its destiny of greatness. In their hearts, they are bullies, who will only strike against their enemies once they are convinced that they can crush them completely, without any fear of retaliation.
Now that I think of it, this might be considered a fairly accurate description of me. Perhaps there is less difference between the new guard and the old guard than any of us would care to admit.
So Senna began paying more attention to Throk, and Throk was clearly rather pleased. Not only was Senna an attractive and vivacious individual, but Throk attained a bit more status with his fellow Prime Candidates when he appeared with the “young lady” on his arm. Senna was masterful, managing to keep him at army length while all the time making him think that he was worming his way into her affections.
And then periodically she would find ways to convey to me whatever it was she had learned. She would do it in the most casual of ways, saying, “Oh, you will never guess the latest gossip,” and tell me in a lighthearted manner all sorts of information that was of varying degrees of use to me. Most of it was of little utility of course. Senna, being young and inexperienced, wasn’t really capable of distinguishing what might be truly important. She could not cull the most pertinent information; it simply spilled out, and was left to me to sort it out.
This kept up for several months, and I took it all in. I began to feel like a spider in the middle of a web, watching insects flutter about and trying to determine what might be the tastiest morsel.
Recently, for example, she told me something that may be of tremendous use. Something that might very well enable me to manipulate Durla without his realizing it, and might actually enable me to bring Vir back herewith a degree of impunity.
I have come to realize just how important Vir is to all of this. I remain surrounded , watched from all sides. With the addition of Throk to my retinue, and Shiv’kala hovering in the shadows, and the keeper attached to me at all times, I am the single most watched individual on all Centauri Prime … possibly in all the universe. Even for dear Senna, there is only so much that she can do. I need someone from outside, someone who can move about, someone who can provide a lifeline to the outside world.
A lifeline.
Interesting choice of words, since oftentimes I feel as if I am drowning in silence.
No matter. Vir shall come back, be free to come and go as need be … with Durla’s blessing, more’s the irony, if I manage this correctly.
In a way … a very small way … I regret pulling Senna into this morass of subtle espionage. For all her lineage and her teaching, she is still young and naive. But these are fearsome times in which we live, and perhaps I am doing her a favor after all. The sooner she learns to manipulate and deceive, the better chance she’ll have of surviving. In fact, if she becomes truly skilled at such things, I might marry her myself. Marry her and then, of course, divorce her. That way she will fit in nicely with my other ex-wives.
- CHAPTER 6 -
Vir customarily came to the Zen garden on Babylon 5 for thoughtful contemplation. He did not normally stop by for the purpose of having a coronary. Yet, as it so happened, that was nearly what occurred.
It used to be that various individuals gave him a wide berth whenever they saw him. He was, after all, Centauri, and that was not a race that had a particularly positive profile with most others. It was, Vir supposed, understandable. After all, when one bombards another race’s world into rubble, there’s bound to be some fallout.
But Galen had been right; Centauri Prime had not replaced him as ambassador. Whether they were throwing him a bone or further punishing him, he could not say. The thing was, Vir had almost become accustomed to his status as an outcast. He had grown used to the fact that, although he was supposed to be the Centauri ambassador, he was in fact unwelcome at almost any diplomatic gathering. But then Mariel had entered his life, and things had turned around. Charming, vivacious, Mariel had gathered men to her with greater ease than a sun draws space debris into its orbit. And for a time, Vir had basked in her reflected light. Suddenly it had seemed to him that people looked at him different
ly, with a new sort of respect . When he passed people in the hall, they smiled, waved, clapped him on the back, and chuckled. Yes, they always chuckled, or laughed, and Vir took this as a sign of pleasure and happiness to see him.
They still chuckled and laughed. But now it galled him, for now he knew the truth. Now he knew that Mariel had been making a laughingstock of him, behind his back. When people looked at him, they saw only a fool.
Mariel had been around a good deal less lately, which suited Vir just fine. He knew that simply throwing her out, severing the relationship, would attract not only her attention but the attention of whomever it was she was reporting to … an unknown “chancellor,” he had learned, although he didn’t know which one.
The thing was, he had been so besotted with her that if he suddenly dispensed with the relationship, she would know something was up. He didn’t want to take any chances, so he had settled for arranging to be elsewhere whenever she was around. Naturally, since she simply regarded him as a means to an end, she didn’t really care that they kept missing each other. She did keep leaving video messages, clucking about how much she hated that lately they were little more than two ships passing in the night. She’s quite the little actress, thought Vir.
Still, after months of playing the dodging game, Vir had tired of it. On this particular day, she was scheduled to return from wherever it was she had gone off to, and Vir had no desire to depart Babylon 5, to find somewhere where he could kill time. He was sick of killing time.
It was more than that, though. A cold, burning anger was being fueled within him every time another person on Babylon 5 smiled at him and asked how Mariel was. Even people back on Centauri Prime were interested in her. Senna, of all people, had sent him a message just the other day. It had been a chatty, gossipy message, which was odd considering that he couldn’t remember the last time she had contacted him. It hadn’t even been sent from within the palace; he could tell by the return frequency. It was from some independent, public communications outfit that anyone could walk in and use.