2-Armies of Light & Dark

by Peter David

  Then the door slid open. Two of the Prime Candidates emerged, deep in conversation about something called Morbis. The name meant nothing to Welch, but he tucked it away into his brain, for subsequent reference. The moment they were clear, the door started to shut again, but Lou bolted for it. The door paused a moment automatically, its detection device registering Lou’s presence even though he was invisible. But there wasn’t an alarm setup for the door; it simply had a detector to inform it when to open and close. The brief stutter-stop-and-start of the door didn’t attract much notice from the Prime Candidates because it was so brief. One of them obviously thought he had noticed something out of the corner of his eye, for he hesitated and glanced back at the door. But it slid closed without any problem, so he chalked it up to a momentary glitch before heading off on his own business.

  The place didn’t seem particularly imposing or impressive to Lou. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to dismiss it. The furnishings were very stark and utilitarian, but what there was, was meticulously maintained. Everything was scrubbed down and shining. He heard small groups of the Prime Candidates speaking in different rooms, but their conduct within those rooms was no different than outside. It was all very businesslike . Obviously the Prime Candidates never felt the need to let down their hair… no pun intended.

  Welch moved very carefully. He didn’t want to bump into any of them within the narrow confines of the halls. That would be extremely bad. Even so, moving with caution, he was able to get a feel for the downstairs section of the place. Mostly it was a series of small meeting rooms. Several of them were empty, and the rest of them had small groups of Candidates, talking in a way that indicated they were being debriefed, or something else official. He saw their reflections gleaming in the polished surfaces and wondered how many man-hours it had taken them to hone everything to that kind of shine.

  There was a flight of stairs to his right. Welch placed a tentative foot on the first step, wanting to make sure it didn’t make any noise. It seemed to be sturdy enough, and he put more pressure on it until he was standing on it with his full weight. The step didn’t emit so much as a squeak. Slowly he made his way up the stairs, moving with increasing confidence , to say nothing of a sense of urgency. After all, if someone came trotting down the steps, they might bang right into him.

  He got to the upper floor, and this one seemed a bit different from the downstairs. Here there appeared to be genuine offices, rather than chat rooms. He could only assume that it was where the “upper management” of the Prime Candidates came to work. That, however, might provide him with more information.

  A Prime Candidate walked out of one of the offices. He had a look of concentration on his face, and he seemed to exude authority. As he walked past Welch, another of the Prime Candidates came trotting up the stairs, and called to him, “Throk! A moment of your time, please. We need to discuss the troop dispatches to Morbis. Also, construction seems to be slowing down on Nefua.”

  The one called Throk made an impatient noise and followed the other Prime Candidate downstairs. This left the office open and unoccupied, and Welch wasn’t about to squander the opportunity. He sidled in to see whatever there was to discover.

  At first glance, there didn’t appear to be much. The office was as spartan in its contents as any of the others had been. Just a desk with a computer terminal, and a couple of chairs. Not so much as a picture on the walls or on the desk. But then Welch noticed that the computer had been left on, and he placed himself in front of the screen so he could study what was on it.

  What he saw caused him to go completely slack jawed. It was a good thing no one was able to see him, because if they were, they would think that he looked like an imbecile.

  Throk had been in the middle of juggling Prime Candidate assignments, but it was the location of the assignments that startled Welch. Lou was horrified to see, from manpower estimates , that there were in excess of two thousand members of the Prime Candidates, and it appeared from what he was seeing that a sizable number of them were not on Centauri Prime at the moment. These names that he’d heard since arriving -Morbis, Nefua -they were outlying colony worlds. Border worlds, worlds that wouldn’t automatically be associated with the Centauri or, indeed, with any major power. And those weren’t the only worlds involved, either; there were at least half a dozen more listed.

  They were being used as mobilization sites.

  Welch realized that he and Garibaldi had gotten it exactly right. Xonos has been a red herring. The real action was happening at planets that were light-years from Centauri Prime. They were developing weaponry. They were assembling troops, undergoing training, all in the darkest secret. It was easy enough to keep the secret, though, because the initial talent pool at least was being drawn from the ranks of the Prime Candidates. Young recruits who didn’t attract much attention , and who could be relied upon for complete, unswerving discretion and dedication.

  Essentially, the Centauri were moving from one colony world to the next, leapfrogging as they managed to organize forced labor on each one. There were no cries of conquest to the Alliance, because the Centauri were basically conquering themselves. Those colonists who had thought they had managed to build a new life for themselves by staking claims on outlying worlds were discovering that they had been deluding themselves. The Prime Candidates, along with handpicked individuals from the ministry, were coming in and strong-arming them into aiding in a military buildup. Faced with the prospect of having support for their colonies yanked altogether , the colonists had no choice whatsoever but to comply. Thus was the Centauri government managing to build up its military muscle, all while flying below the radar of the Alliance.

  It was possible that Londo knew nothing about this. Ministers Durla and Lione seemed to be running the Prime Candidates almost singlehandedly. And Welch had the feeling that Londo had very little to do with day-to-day affairs of state. Still, it didn’t matter how much Londo knew or didn’t know. Something had to be done about this, because Centauri Prime had had limits placed upon its militarization by the Alliance , and this was simply an attempt by the Centauri to engage in a buildup without detection. It appeared everything that had been whispered about the Centauri was absolutely true. They couldn’t be trusted, even to the smallest degree.

  Fortunately, as near as Welch could tell, the buildup still was in its preliminary stages. They had managed to catch it early enough that something could still be done about it. Once the Alliance was informed, they could shut it down before …

  The shadows in the room … seemed longer than they had before.

  Lou was certain he had to be imagining it. But there was something else; he felt a chill running down his spine, seizing it. He tried to turn his attention to the computer; however, he was unable to.

  Something was happening, something was wrong, definitely wrong, but he had no idea what it could possibly be.

  The chill seemed as if it were permeating his entire body, as if frost were developing on him and seeping right into his pores. He looked down at himself, but there was no change. Everything was fine.

  Still, it was enough to convince him that it was time to get the hell out of there. He had a data crystal in his pocket, not by happenstance. He had hoped that he might stumble onto something useful, and he had come prepared. He shoved the crystal into the proper receptacle and downloaded as much information as possible. Then he pulled out the crystal, pocketed it, and turned to head for the door.

  Throk was standing there, occupying the entirety of the door. He was going to have to wait until Throk got out of the way, because obviously he couldn’t push him aside while he was invisible …

  Except…

  Except Throk was looking at him. Right at him.

  Very cautiously, Lou moved to the left of the desk. Throk’s eyes followed him. Lou looked down at the polished surface of the desk and saw his reflection staring back at him.

  “You,” Throk said, “should not have come here.”

 
; He had no idea what had happened, no clue how the mechanics of the cloak had failed him. But obviously they had. Still, Lou felt no real alarm. He was too old a hand at this, and wasn’t one to panic easily. The thing to remember was, these were kids, playing at being officials. Whereas he was an adult and, as a representative of the Interstellar Alliance, he had just caught them at a breech of the agreement that restricted their military buildup. They were busted, and that was all there was to it.

  From a psychological point of view, Lou Welch had the upper hand.

  “All right, son,” he said, dropping any endeavor to hide himself, since it obviously wasn’t working. “Why not stand away from that door right now. We don’t want any sort of trouble-“

  “You,” Throk said again, his voice sounding dull and empty, and even a bit resigned, “should not have come here.” Even as he spoke, he reached into his belt and pulled on a pair of thin, flexible black gloves.

  Then he came toward Welch. He approached with an economy of movement, as if he were in no hurry. Welch started to move right, but the room wasn’t that big, and Throk easily continued to block his exit by sidestepping slightly.

  “I’m warning you, kid. I’ll break you in half. So don’t try anything stupid.” The one thing Lou had going for him was that Throk had made no attempt to call for help. Obviously he felt that he could handle this on his own. That, Welch knew, would prove to be his undoing.

  Throk was within range now, and Welch went for him. Although he had received plenty of training as a member of EarthForce, Lou Welch was a barroom brawler from way back. He had the instincts and moves of a slug-out artist, and he used them now. He feinted with his left, then swung a quick right. It was a good swing, a fast snap from the hip.

  Throk brushed it aside as if it were a punch thrown by a child. It barely grazed Throk’s upper chest, and did no damage.

  Lou swung again. Throk stepped slightly back so that the punch missed entirely, throwing Lou off balance, and before Welch could recover, Throk came in fast. The move didn’t seem like anything, but it was so quick that it was like lightning , and Throk’s punch shot in hard.

  Lou tried to put up a defense, but Throk punched through it as if it were tissue paper. One punch doubled Lou over, and the second smashed in his face. Lou went down, blood fountaining from his shattered nose, and he felt an immediate swelling.

  He tried to say something, tried to speak with bravado and say “Nice shot, kid,” but he couldn’t talk. He had the hideous feeling that the kid had just broken his jaw, but that the pain hadn’t fully registered on him.

  And then Throk grabbed him by his new hair, pulling him to his feet as if he weighed nothing, and Welch couldn’t believe the kid’s upper torso strength. The true significance hadn’t fully dawned on him; he was still too busy being surprised by the power in his opponent. Throk got a firm grip on him, one hand holding him by the scruff of his neck, the other on the back of his belt, and he slammed Lou Welch into the wall, causing a crack in it. The impact was so violent that Lou literally saw stars.

  For a moment he thought he saw Babylon 5 float across those stars in orbit, and then he felt nauseated, and decided that he was going to have to have that checked out later. Then he remembered that he was in the middle of a fight, except it didn’t seem like much of a fight, but more of a slaughter.

  Fight back! Do something! Let this little punk know who’s in charge! Lou twisted free with an unexpected burst of strength, then turned and hit Throk as hard as he could in the gut. His fist connected with a stomach that felt as solid as rock. He thought that he might have broken a knuckle. Then the room started to swirl. The exit suddenly seemed closer, and Lou tried to will himself over to it. At first his body didn’t respond and then he was moving, a step toward it and then to …

  … and then he was in the air. For one delirious moment he thought he was flying, and then he realized that Throk had lifted him clear of the floor and was holding him over his head. Then the floor was coming up to meet him with horrifying speed, and he crashed into it and lay there, the breath knocked out of him, unable to move. Everything hurt.

  Throk’s knee was jammed into the back of his spine and he felt hands on either side of his head.

  Guess you showed him who was in charge was the last thought that flittered through Lou Welch’s mind before Throk ruthlessly, but efficiently, snapped his head around and broke his neck.

  Throk didn’t move his hands until he felt Lou Welch’s pulse cease. He found it interesting, from a clinical point of view, how the pulse kept going for some seconds after Welch had effectively died. He wondered if Welch was, in fact, already dead before the cessation of the pulse, or whether that was just some last, lingering reflex. In the end, it didn’t make that much difference, he decided, as long as the result was the same.

  He released his grip and stood, shaking out his hands. Then he turned and saw the grey figure in the corner of the room. The figure that seemed to be part of the shadows, and then separate from them.

  Throk stood paralyzed. While he was killing Lou Welch, his heart had barely sped up. He had simply acted in the defense of Centauri Prime, and had done so in as brisk and efficient a manner as he could. He had been so detached from it that he might well have been watching someone else perform the action.

  What he was seeing now, though, struck at him. He felt an odd combination of fear … and …

  … honor.

  “Who are you?” Throk demanded in a loud voice, except that when he spoke it actually came out as barely above a whisper.

  “Shiv’kala,” said the grey creature. He reached down and lifted some sort of odd shroud from Welch’s corpse. Speaking as much to himself as to Throk, he murmured, “This belonged to us. He should not have come by it. I do not know how he did. In the end, though, it could not protect him from me. I negated its effect so that you could see him, and you did the rest … very well. Our confidence was not misplaced.” He looked at Throk with obsidian eyes. “You will probably want to remove the data crystal in his pocket “

  “What are you?” said Throk. There was now no bravado in his tone at all.

  Shiv’kala stepped forward and touched one hand to Throk’s temple. Throk tried to move, but was unable to do so. “I,” Shiv’kala said softly, “am simply a figment of your imagination.”

  Throk blinked, trembled slightly for no reason that he could recall, and looked at the empty office in front of him. Then he heard footsteps pounding up the steps behind him and he turned to face several other members of the Prime Candidates. They gaped in open astonishment at the corpse on the floor and then stared mutely at Throk.

  Throk offered no explanation whatsoever. None seemed necessary. Instead he simply said, “Get rid of him.” As an afterthought, he added, “And remove the data crystal from his pocket.”

  They did as they were told, removing the data crystal, tossing it on the floor, and grinding it underfoot. Within moments , Lou Welch’s body had been shoved into a bag and dragged unceremoniously down the stairs, his head thumping rhythmically on each step as he was hauled along like a sack of vegetables. The Prime Candidates who had taken on the task made sure to haul the body to a site reasonably distant from their safe house, then tossed it into an alleyway. And there they left it.

  Lou lay there for a time, passersby paying the lifeless heap no mind. And then a robed figure approached him. No one cared about the robed figure because somehow their eyes seem to glide right off him if they happened to look in his direction . He knelt next to the body, undoing the top of the sack and yanking it down so that he could have a clear look at that which he already knew he was going to find. The head was swollen black-and-blue where it had struck the wall, and dried blood had coalesced all over its face.

  “Poor bastard,” muttered Finian. “Vir’s not going to be happy about this at all.”

  - CHAPTER 14 -

  “I want him dead. Whoever did this, I want him dead.”

  Garibaldi was trembling wit
h barely suppressed rage. He was standing in a Centauri morgue, where he had been summoned to come and identify the body of one Lou Welch, Human. Welch’s body lay unmoving on the slab, surrounded by Garibaldi, G’Kar, and Durla, their faces grim. A coroner stood nearby, impassive.

  “The emperor regrets that this has come to pass,” Durla began.

  “The emperor regrets. He couldn’t be bothered to come here, is what you’re saying.”

  “He had other things to which he needed to attend . . :’

  “So did this guy!” snapped Garibaldi, stabbing a finger at Welch. “And he’s not going to get to attend to them, because one of you bastards did this to him!”

  “Mr. Garibaldi, I resent that phrasing-“

  Garibaldi silenced him with a gesture. “Ask me if I care,’ he said tersely. “Let me make this absolutely clear, Minister. Whoever did this, I want his head on a platter with some nice garnish and a few lemon wedges, and I want it now!”

  “Michael, this isn’t accomplishing anything,” G’Kar said softly.

  “You know what, G’Kar? I don’t care! If I keep silent, I still won’t be accomplishing anything, so I might as well accomplish nothing at the top of my lungs!”

  “Mr. Garibaldi, this is regrettable,” Durla said, “but the simple truth is that Centauri Prime is no more immune from crime and random acts of violence than any other world …”

  Garibaldi circled the slab and came right up to the minister. “This wasn’t anything random. He found out something, and one of your people did this.”

  “Found out something. What would that be?”

  “About what you people are really up to.”

  Durla’s eyes narrowed. “If you have some specific charge,” he said in a measured, deliberate tone, “then I suggest you take it back to President Sheridan. If you do not, then I will thank you not to throw around unsupported allegations, since they will do nothing to alleviate the tensions between our races. To the best of my knowledge, however, we have been quite forthcoming in answering all your questions, and proving to you that your accusations of military buildup have been groundless. As unfortunate as this situation is, what it most definitely does not need is to be complicated with unrelated accusations.”