by Peter David
“Yes. I would. Tell me, milady … how long do you think you would survive then, eh? You and your beloved Vir Cotto. I would not care to take those odds.”
She was silent for a long moment. “What do you want?” she finally asked.
“What you do in your own time is of little interest to me, milady. But I want more of your time devoted to me. I want it to be as it was. If it is not,” and he smiled, “then it will not be anything. And neither will you. Is that clear … Lady Mariel?”
“Perfectly.” Her grimness of expression was a marked contrast to Lione’s.
“Good. Enjoy the rest of the party, then. And I shall look forward to hearing from you… on other matters.”
It was the laughter that followed her out that most angered Mariel, and she resolved to make certain that Lione paid for his arrogance at the earliest opportunity.
- CHAPTER 9 -
It was early the following morning, and few were stirring within the palace, when Vir quietly made his way out. The one thing that had made the evening slightly bearable was the fact that, when Vir had gotten to the quarters assigned to Mariel and him, Mariel was already asleep.
There was something different about her, he noticed. Usually she appeared utterly relaxed, sleeping the slumber of those who are content with their lives and all the decisions therein. But there was something about her this night that seemed … taut. Something was on her mind, and Vir wished that there were a way of climbing into her head and seeing what was in there.
Perhaps Galen could-
No. He pushed that notion straight out of his head, even as he worked his way down to Ghehana.
Despite the ungodliness of the hour, the streets and sidewalks of the seamier side of Centauri Prime were bustling with a variety of individuals with whom Vir would be very happy to have no association whatsoever. Some of them glanced his way, but Vir took care not to make eye contact with anyone. It was a childish notion, he knew, the thought that as long as he didn’t actually look at someone, they couldn’t harm him. The very idea was enough to make him laugh over the absurdity of it. Except he didn’t feel like laughing.
He knew exactly where he was supposed to go, the address having been whispered in his ear. Shortly after Londo had walked with him back to another section of the palace, Galen’s whispering had started up within his ear once more. He thought it might be his imagination, but Galen sounded ever so slightly rattled, and even a bit relieved. This actually wasn’t a pleasant impression to have. If something had occurred that was enough to disconcert a techno-mage, Vir was rather daunted to think that he might very well have been in the middle of it.
He tried to ignore the steady smell of the area around him. There had been rain earlier, and there were still thick globs of dirt and mud on the streets, which Vir had to do his best to step around. He realized that, if he was going to make any sort of habit of coming down to Ghehana, he was going to need special shoes … or, at the very least, shoes he didn’t particularly care about.
Someone broke off from the darkness as Vir approached his goal, and for a moment he assumed it to be one of the techno-mages. But instead, it was a surly individual, who eyed Vir balefully. He said in a low, wine-soaked voice, “Give me money.”
Vir stopped in his path. “I … don’t have any money,” he said cautiously.
The next thing he knew, there was an object in the man’s hand, and he was advancing on Vir. “Find some,” he rasped.
Vir’s instinct was to run. And then, for no reason that he could readily discern, he suddenly realized that he wasn’t afraid. All he felt at that moment was annoyed. The thought of everything that he had been through, all the emotional turmoil that he’d sustained, steeled him. He stopped backing up and instead stood his ground. “Get out of here,” he said sharply.
The somewhat drunk and belligerent Centauri who had been advancing on Vir paused, looking confused. Vir realized that he must have looked like fairly easy pickings, and the would-be assailant couldn’t understand the abrupt change in Vir’s attitude. “What?” he said, sounding rather stupid.
“I said get out of here. I have better things to do than waste time with you.”
There was the unmistakable sound of metal sliding from a container, and a sharp blade emerged from the handle in the man’s hand. He said nothing more, but came straight at Vir.
Vir backpedaled, but not from fear. Instead, he crouched and scooped up a large handful of dirt and mud He threw it with a strong sidearm toss, and the thick sludge landed in his attacker’s face. The man coughed, blinded, and waved his hands around as if he were capable of gripping handholds floating in the air. Vir, meantime, did not hesitate. He stepped quickly forward and swung his right fist as hard as he could. His knuckles collided with the man’s chin and Vir immediately realized that bone striking bone was an extraordinarily stupid idea. His fist seized up and convulsed in pain, and he let out an agonized yelp. His attacker, however, wasn’t in a position to hear it, for he went down, apparently unconscious before he even hit the ground. The knife that he had been wielding clattered to the cracked pavement.
A full thirty seconds passed, Vir rooted to the spot. Then he began to tremble as he just stared at the man lying senseless a few feet away. The anxiety of the moment caught up with him, and it was frightening, but it was also exhilarating.
“Nothing like fighting for your life to make you appreciative of it, eh?”
He turned and found Finian standing nearby. The knife was in Finian’s hand. He was looking at it, apparently studying his reflection in the blade, which was long and straight. “Nice weapon. Do you want it?”
Vir automatically started to say no except he heard the word “Yes” come out of his mouth.
“Ah. Vir Cotto, hero. Play the role … to the hilt,” he said dramatically, and he handed the weapon over to Vir, handle first. Vir moaned softly at the pun, but nevertheless retracted the blade and slipped the knife into the inside pocket of his coat. “Come,” Finian continued “This way.” With a small smile, he added, “I am pleased that you are here. I feel so much safer now”
Vir let the remark pass. Instead, he followed Finian toward a building, briefly affording a glance at his erstwhile attacker. Odd. His assailant had seemed so big before, somehow Now he appeared pathetic. And Vir … Vir felt tall.
He followed Finian into the nearby structure, and up the narrow steps to a landing where Galen was waiting for him. Galen was simply standing there, holding securely onto his staff and watching Vir with glittering eyes. Gwynn was nearby, her gaze flickering from Vir to Galen and back again.
“You are alive,” Galen said. He seemed mildly surprised. For obvious reasons, this did not elevate Vir’s spirits. He turned and entered a room.
“Shouldn’t I be?” asked Vir, following. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the answer.
“It was a near thing,” Galen told him. “Look.”
The holographic image that had been generated via Vir’s recording device hung in the air in front of them. His eyes went wide when he saw the creature skulking on the other side of the door that he had been about to open, and another shadowy shape beyond. He could feel all of the resolve and confidence that he had accrued from his encounter outside, and all of it was leaking away from him as he stared, transfixed , at that … that …
“Shiv’kala.” The name suddenly came to him. He looked to Galen for confirmation.
But it was Gwynn who answered. “Quite possible,” she said, “although we cannot know for sure. That, however, is not the most disturbing image you will see.”
“That isn’t?” The notion that there could be worse than that was almost too much for Vir to take. When he thought of how close he had been to mindlessly wandering into the middle of that … that Drakh nest …
He felt anger bubbling within him, but he wasn’t entirely sure where to aim that anger. At first he wanted to direct it at the techno-mages for thrusting him into the midst of the danger. Then he wanted to unleash it instead at
Londo, who had helped to foster an atmosphere in which these … these creatures could skulk about. “What could be more disturbing than that?” Vir demanded.
“Do not ask questions, Vir … to which you do not really want the answer,” Galen replied, but his hand was already moving. It passed through the holographic image, which now was replaced by another, more familiar image than the creature lurking behind the door. There was Londo, bright, smiling , or at least forcing himself to smile. Coming toward him with arms outstretched and cheer etched on his face and …
And something else.
Vir leaned forward, not quite sure what it was that he was looking at. “What… is that?” he whispered.
There was some sort of fleshlike curve on Londo’s shoulder. The view of it, however, wasn’t as clear as the rest of Londo’s image in the picture. Londo drew closer, and now it came into clearer relief. It was like some sort of… tumor or something . Vir shook his head in confusion.
“That … lump? Is it … is it some sort of illness? Why didn’t I notice that before?”
“It is a kind of illness, yes. A sickness of the soul, implanted by the Drakh,” said Gwynn, speaking with an intense grimness.
“It is called a keeper,” Galen told him.
“A keeper? It’s … called something? What do you mean? That thing’s not alive, is-“
And then the keeper was looking at him. Its fleshy exterior stirred, as if from a sleep, and its single, malevolent eye opened and looked straight at him.
Vir let out a shriek of terror. To his own ear it was a pathetic sound, weak and womanish, but he couldn’t help it. It was reflex . He backpedaled, his legs going weak, and Finian caught him before he fell. A few minutes earlier, he had brazenly faced off against an armed opponent, and patted himself on the back for his stalwart action. Yet now he was screeching and running from something that wasn’t even there.
Except it wasn’t simply the image of what he was seeing. It was seeing it perched on the shoulder of someone whom he had once trusted.
And two words went through his head: Poor Londo.
“Wh-what does it do? Does it control his actions? Read his mind?”
“In a manner of speaking. It does not superimpose its will upon him … but punishes him in a way that can make refusal to cooperate very … uncomfortable,” Gwynn told him. Her voice seemed to be dripping with disgust; the creature clearly appalled her no less than it did Vir, though she was handling it with a bit more equanimity. But only a bit, which Vir derived some cold comfort from. “Nor does it read his mind … but it reports his actions to the Drakh. It is merged with Londo, bonded. It will be with him until he dies.”
It happened so quickly that it took Vir completely without warning. Staring into the single eye of that monstrosity, thinking about what it must be like for Londo to have that thing permanently attached to his body-never being alone, never a moment’s peace-a wave of nausea swept over him that would not be denied. He felt his gorge rising and stumbled over to a corner of the room. There he heaved until no contents remained within his stomach … including, he suspected , a few pieces of the lining. He gasped, revolted at the smell on the floor near his shoes, and then he stepped back. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly into the eyes of the techno-mages, so ashamed did he feel. When he did glance up, Gwynn was looking away; Finian appeared sympathetic, and Galen’s face was a mask of unreadability.
It was as if clearing the food from his stomach helped him to focus his thoughts, oddly-and disgustingly-enough. He took a slow, shaky breath and didn’t even bother to apologize for his loss of control. After all, what was there to say about that? Instead he said, “That … thing … the keeper … can it be affected by alcohol?”
“Affected?” said Gwynn, looking slightly confused. Vir had a feeling she hadn’t expected anything approaching a coherent sentence out of him at that moment, much less a fully formed thought.
“Affected. Impeded. If Londo drinks enough…”
“Yesss…” It was Galen who spoke. “Yes. The keeper would be susceptible to it. The emperor would be able to operate with a relative amount of privacy.”
“And it would probably take less to get the creature drunk than it would Londo,” Vir mused thoughtfully.
It was all becoming clear to Vir. With the mental picture of that frightening, single eye seared into his brain, it was as if he was suddenly seeing the past with true clarity. Things Londo had said, attitudes, passing comments they all made sense now. And …
And Timov … well, that was obvious, too, now, wasn’t it. She had to be gotten rid of, forced to leave. Vir’s belief that they were becoming closer hadn’t been his imagination after all. That had been what prompted her precipitous departure. Londo must have engineered it, doing so not because he truly wanted her to depart, but because he was concerned over her getting too close. What sort of true intimacy could anyone develop with a sentient pustule seated upon one’s shoulder, observing every moment of intimacy?
All of Londo’s actions were comprehensible … and pitiable … and …
Great Maker, what had Londo gotten himself into?
“Could they have implanted the creature against his will?” Vir asked hollowly.
Galen shook his head. “No. He may have had trepidation about it … but ultimately, the bonding can only occur when the recipient is willing to allow it to happen.”
What hold could they possibly have had upon him? How could they have forced him to endure such an invasion of his body, of his mind? Could it be that he actually welcomed it? Vir found that inconceivable. Londo had too much pride. To permit a creature whose perpetual presence would remind him that he was nothing but a puppet of shadow-dwelling monsters—there was no way that Londo would have welcomed such a thing.
And if they did force it upon him in some way, how horrific must that have been for him? To stand there, helplessly, while that… that thing was bonded to him, for life …
Vir had no idea what to feel. Suspicion, fear, horror, pity, all warred for dominance in him.
“I have to talk to him,” Vir said. “I have to let him know that I know. I have to-“
“Are you that eager to be a dead man?” Galen asked bluntly.
“No, of course not, but–’
“Acknowledge the keeper, you doom yourself. It is your choice.”
“Galen is correct,” Finian said. He did not look unsympathetic to Vir’s plight, but it was clear that he was firmly in Galen’s court on this. “Look what happened to you with the passing mention of Shiv’kala, one of the Drakh. If you let Londo know that you are aware of the keeper’s presence, the Drakh will likely not let you draw your next breath.”
“It was one of your kind who told me to mention Shiv’kala in the first place. And you almost sent me wandering straight into a death trap in the palace,” Vir said hotly. “How nice to know that you’ve suddenly started worrying about my welfare . Why? Because you think you’re going to need me for something else, as well?”
“We did not intend for you to wander into a death trap,” Galen said. “We lost contact with you. Undoubtedly due to interference by the Shadow tech. I regret the inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience! If I’d walked into that room, I would have been dead!”
“And we would have been inconvenienced,” Galen replied levelly.
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Vir said, making no effort to hide his lack of amusement at Galen’s retort. Then he turned back to the holograph which had shifted angle. Londo had draped an arm around Vir’s shoulder as they walked. And there, from this new perspective, Vir saw the keeper even closer than before. There it had been, mere inches from his face, peering at him with that unblinking, unnatural eye, and he had not known. He could feel it now, boring into his brain …
“Shut it off,” Vir said.
“It will be instructive to observe the-“
“Shut it off!”
Galen stared mildly at Vir for a moment, then waved his hand slightly
and the image disappeared.
No one said anything for quite some time. Finally, it was Gwynn who stepped forward, and said to Vir, “You begin to understand what we are up against.”
“What we’ve seen here,” Finian pointed out, “is only that which a cursory examination of the palace was able to uncover . There is likely much, much more. The Drakh infestation goes straight to the heart and soul of Centauri Prime.”
“A heart that is clotted. A soul that is blackened,” said Vir. He was shaking his head, scarcely able to accept what his own eyes had seen and what he knew now to be absolutely true. “Do I tell Londo? Go on a drinking binge, put the keeper out, find a way to tell him I know?”
“Absolutely not,” Gwynn said forcefully, and there was shaking of heads from the other two techno-mages, indicating their agreement. “The situation is not only as bad as we feared, but worse. We had been holding out hope that, with you serving as a positive influence upon him, Londo could be won over to our cause and help to eradicate the Drakh. We know now that cannot possibly be the case.”
“Absolutely correct,” Finian confirmed. “Londo cannot be trusted It’s that simple.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Vir shot back. “Despite everything that’s gone on-m fact, now that I know the truth, it’s more like, because of everything that’s gone on -Londo is my friend. He-“
“He cannot be trusted,” Galen said, indicating that the subject did not warrant discussing.
“It’s not just a matter of trust. We need to help him.”
“You wish to help him? Kill him.” The cold-bloodedness of Galen’s suggestion was horrifying to Wir. “Kill him. Just like that,” he echoed with incredulity.
“Just like that, yes”
“I, personally, don’t expect you to do that, Vir,” Gwynn said with a glance to Galen, “but, in many ways, you would be doing him a great favor.”
“Forget it. He’s my friend.”
“He’s their ally. That is all that matters.”
“Not to me, Galen. Not to me,” he said with fiery strength in his voice and growing contempt for the techno-mages. “You know what? You know what? In a lot of ways, you’re no different than the Drakh. Hell, no different than the Shadows. You use people for your own ends, and you don’t give a damn who gets hurt as long as your goals are accomplished.”