by Peter David
Garibaldi threw up his hands in exasperation, and turned to G’Kar. “You talk to him,” he said to G’Kar, indicating Vir.
“Vir,” G’Kar said carefully, “you have to understand: before we move on this information, we need to know-“
But Vir didn’t let him finish the thought. “You can’t move on it.”
Both G’Kar and Garibaldi, who had spun back around, said, “What?”
“You can’t move on it,” Vir repeated. “I’ve told you about this as a show of good faith. You cannot-must not—do anything about it. The only one you can tell is Sheridan, and only if he likewise promises to make no move.”
“You’re insane,” Garibaldi said flatly. “G’Kar, tell him he’s insane.”
“Well,” began G’Kar, “I think if you study the…”
“G Kar! “
“You’re insane,” G’Kar told him.
“No, I’m not,” Vir shot back. “But I’ll tell you what would be insane: letting the entire Alliance know what’s going on, so that they can go after Centauri Prime.”
“I don’t give a damn about Centauri Prime,” said Garibaldi.
“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear. But I don’t have that sort of choice in the matter.”
“And we’re supposed to just let this go. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying that I won’t let it go. I’m saying that I’m going to do something about it.”
“You are,” Garibaldi said skeptically. “You. Vir Cotto. You're going to do something about it.”
Vir stepped in close, and there was such cold fury in his eyes that Garibaldi reflexively stepped back. “I hear the condescension in your voice, Mr. Garibaldi. I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m incapable of doing anything. That I’m inept. You think you know me.
“You don’t know me, Garibaldi. These days, I don’t even think I know me. But I know this: this is a Centauri matter, and it shall be handled in the Centauri way.”
“And what way is that?”
“My way,” Vir said “Believe me, Garibaldi, you want me as an ally, not as an enemy. And I’m giving you the opportunity , right now, to decide which it’s going to be. Choose.”
Garibaldi bristled, clearly not pleased with having ultimatums shoved in his face. But before he could say anything, G’Kar put a hand on his arm and tugged slightly, indicating with a gesture of his head that Garibaldi should follow him. Working hard to contain himself, Garibaldi did so. They put a respectable distance between themselves and Vir before speaking in low tones.
“You’re expecting me to go along with this? Just go along with it?” Garibaldi said, before G’Kar could even open his mouth. “Sheridan sent us here on a fact-finding mission. You expect me to go back and tell him `Sorry, Mr. President. We lost a man and, yeah, we found out some stuff … none of which we can do anything about, because I didn’t want to upset Vir Cotto.’ For all we know, Vir’s full of crap! For all we know, he’s behind the whole thing!”
“Calm yourself, Mr. Garibaldi,” G’Kar said. “You don’t believe that for a moment.”
Garibaldi took a deep breath. “All right … all right, maybe I don’t. But still-“
“Lou Welch’s passing was a terrible thing. I wasn’t as close to the man as you, and I know you feel it your responsibility since you brought him in on this. But the truth is that, yes, we were sent here to find facts, and we have found them. Now we have to determine what to do about them.”
“We tell Sheridan…”
“And what he, in turn, does with them will depend heavily on your recommendation. Before you give that recommendation , Mr. Garibaldi, I suggest you consider the following: The Alliance, and Earth, do not need another war at this time. Morale is at an all-time low, since no cure for the Drakh plague has yet been discovered.”
“The Excalibur is working on it. Gideon says he’s close,” said Garibaldi.
“And he said the same last year. Perhaps he is. Or perhaps he is trapped in what your people call Zeno’s paradox, where he perpetually draws half the distance closer to his goal, but never reaches it.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that more bad news, of this significance, is not necessarily needed.”
“You’re suggesting we cover it up?”
“I’m suggesting that we accede to Vir’s request that he be allowed to handle it. If we provide that, then you and Sheridan will have a valuable ally within the royal court. He will be a useful source of information. Plus, you have to consider the long term.”
“The long term.” Garibaldi shook his head. “I’m not following.”
Lowering his voice even more, G’Kar said softly, “That man is going to be emperor one day. So it would behoove you to lay the groundwork now for a solid relationship. Vir Cotto is the future of Centauri Prime.”
It took a few moments for Garibaldi to fully process what G’Kar was saying. “The future of Centauri Prime.” He chucked a thumb at Vir, standing a short distance away, idly pulling on his fingers. “Him. That guy.”
G’Kar nodded.
“And would you care to tell me, great mystic, how you happen to know that?”
Unflappable, ignoring Garibaldi’s tone of voice, G’Kar said, “One evening, when Vir was rather in his cups, he told Lyta Alexander of a prophecy made by one Lady Morelia … a Centauri seer whose veracity is well known, even on my Homeworld. Lyta and I have spent a good deal of time together in recent days, and she told me.”
“So let me get this straight,” Garibaldi said. Despite the flip nature of his words, he did not sound remotely amused by the notion. “You’re telling me that you heard thirdhand that some Centauri fortune-teller predicted Vir would someday become emperor, and I’m supposed to let Lou Welch’s killer, plus an entire secret war movement, slide, based on that. Her `veracity is well known.’ I never heard of her. How am I supposed to know if she’s so wonderful.”
“Lady Morelia also predicted that Londo would become emperor, years before it happened.”
Garibaldi didn’t reply immediately to that. Instead he scratched the back of his neck, then looked around at Vir, who hadn’t budged from the spot. “Lucky guess,” he said finally.
G’Kar’s gaze fixed upon Garibaldi, and when he spoke next, Garibaldi understood how this man had forged himself a place of leadership on his Homeworld. His words were quiet, direct, and filled with utter conviction.
“Michael,” he said, dropping the formal surname for the first time that Garibaldi could recall, “there is something you must understand … and perhaps you already do, on some level. You and I, Vir, Londo, Sheridan … we are not like other men.”
“We’re not.” He wasn’t quite sure how to react to that.
“No. We are not. We are creatures of destiny, you and I. What we say, do, think, feel … shapes the destinies of billions of other beings. It is not necessarily that we are that special . But we were born at a certain time, thrust into certain circumstances … we were created to act, and accomplish certain things, so that others could live their own lives. It was … the luck of the draw. And as creatures of destiny, when that destiny is previewed in whatever small amounts it chooses to reveal itself to us … it would be the height of folly for us to turn our backs on it, disregard it. Indeed, we do so at our extreme peril.
“There is enough peril in the galaxy right now, Mr. Garibaldi , that I do not think it necessary to add yet more.”
Garibaldi stood there for a moment, taking it in. Then, without looking at Vir, he gestured that the Centauri should join them. Vir quickly walked over to them, a look of quiet concern showing clearly on his face.
“So you want to keep this matter in-house, as it were,” Garibaldi said. “Keep it quiet. Hush it up, so that the Alliance doesn’t come down on you with all guns blazing, and pound you flat into nonexistence … just as you tried to do with the Narns.”
“I could have done without that last part, but yes, that is essential
ly correct,” Vir said dryly.
“All right,” Garibaldi said. “We play it your way … on one condition.”
“And that would be?”
“You’re asking for a hell of a leap of faith here, Vir. I’m not a leap-of-faith kind of guy. I tend to look before I leap. You want me to have faith? You give me something to look at. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I … think so…” He nodded his head, but then shook it. “Actually, I’m not entirely sure, no…”
“Someone killed Lou Welch. That someone has to pay for it, to my satisfaction. You know who it is, don’t you.”
“Yes,” said Vir.
“Then I want him delivered up. I don’t care what you have to do, what paths you have to clear. I want it done.”
“What you’re asking is impossible,” Vir told him.
“So is what you’re asking. Me, I try to do at least one impossible thing a day. I suggest you practice the same goal, and start today. Understood?”
Vir was silent for a very long time, and then he said, “If I manage justice for Lou Welch … you will keep the Alliance away from Centauri Prime.”
“For as long as humanly possible. You’ll have the opportunity to ride herd on it. But you’ve got to show me you’re capable of doing so. I don’t care how you get it done. Just do it. Do we have a deal?”
He extended a hand. Vir, however, did not shake it. Instead he looked down a moment, and then said very softly, “Yes. I will keep you apprised.”
And then he turned and walked away, leaving G’Kar and Garibaldi looking at each other in silence.
“He’ll never get it done,” said Garibaldi. “He’ll cover for the guy. Or he’ll give us more excuses why he can’t be brought to us.”
“I think you’re wrong,” G’Kar told him.
“In a way, I hope so. I’d like to see Vir succeed. I think, at heart, he’s the best damned man on this planet. And in a way, I hope not … because I’d like the chance to find the guy who killed Lou … and do to him what he did to Lou Welch. Sounds like a win-win proposition to me.”
He smiled, but there was nothing except pain in the smile.
- CHAPTER 15 -
The evening hours were stretching toward the late night as Throk approached the entrance to the Prime Candidates’ safe house. There was another, main headquarters that was used for recruitment and to hold up as a symbol of all that was great and wonderful in the Prime Candidates organization, but the safe house was their true home. Indeed, he spent more time there than he did at his own residence.
Two others of the Candidates, Muaad Jib and Klezko Suprah, strode along briskly next to Throk. They were newer inductees to the organization, people whom Throk himself had brought aboard. He regarded them somewhat as proteges, and looked forward to guiding their training as members of the most glorious and farseeing group in all of Centauri Prime.
Muaad and Klezko had been a bit shaky the previous night when they’d been asked to dispose of the Human’s body. But since then, Throk had had a long talk with them, and they seemed much calmer now. That was certainly a relief. They were Prime Candidates, after all. The Candidates watched out for each other, and covered each other’s backs. They were working hard to adopt the same stoicism and determination that Throk so ably displayed, and he was quite sure that they were going to come along very nicely.
And then something separated itself from the shadows ahead.
Throk slowed, his eyes narrowing, and Muaad and Klezko likewise reduced their pace. For a moment, Throk had an odd feeling of deja vu. A figure stepping forth from darkness … why did that seem familiar to him?
Then he saw who it was.
“Ambassador Cotto?” he said. “Is there a problem?”
Vir smiled widely and spread his hands in a manner that was both subtle and overt. The gesture looked cool, routine, and friendly; by the same token, it went to show that there was nothing of any danger in his hands. “Just wanted to talk to you for a moment, Throk. Can you spare the time?”
“Of course,” said Throk. He wasn’t particularly concerned about Ambassador Cotto the man was a bumbling idiot, an amateur pretending to be a diplomat. His appointment to Babylon 5 was a waste of time, for Babylon 5 was inhabited solely by enemies of the Centauri Republic. Since the Alliance already hated the Centauri, Vir could hardly do any further damage. And he had lost his woman to Minister Durla in a card game. How utterly pathetic was that? The ministers seemed to have some regard for him since, for some reason, Durla did. But Throk knew him for what he was: an oaf. Still, even fools should be humored every now and then.
He nodded to Muaad and Klezko, who proceeded into the building. Throk then approached Vir slowly, and said, “How may I be of assistance?”
“I know you killed Lou Welch.”
Throk prided himself on his unflappability. He had worked long and hard to maintain an air of such detachment, and no one, and nothing, could ever throw him off guard or off balance . But Vir’s words, coming as they did from that pasty, insipid face, were the equivalent of a club to Throk’s skull. And one word, one unfortunate word, slipped unbidden from between his lips.
“How …”
The moment the word was out of his mouth, Throk wanted to kick himself. That was the absolute last thing he wanted to say. But it wasn’t for nothing that Throk was one of the foremost leaders of the Prime Candidates. Barely half a second had passed before he recovered his wits. “… could you think such a thing,” he continued, the pause almost imperceptible.
Almost.
“Oh, come now, Throk,” Vir said, as if they were long-lost friends. “How could you think I wouldn’t know? Centauri Prime has no greater protector of its interests than the Prime Candidates, and there is no greater Prime Candidate than you. The coroner said that someone killed the Human with his bare hands. That being a figure of speech, of course. The killer wore gloves. Those uniforms of yours come with gloves, by the way … don’t they, Throk?”
“Many people wear gloves,” Throk said. “The night air is quite cool.”
“Yes, yes. That’s so true,” Vir commiserated. “Plus, it makes it next-to-impossible to get good DNA traces off the victim.”
“Ambassador, I don’t know what-“
“Of course you don’t, of course you don’t,” Vir said. He draped an arm around Throk, and Throk stiffened. “Look, Throk … despite appearances, I’m not an idiot. I see which way the wind is blowing. I know what the future of Centauri Prime is, and I can tell you this: it’s not having the Humans hovering over us and watching our every move. It’s the people like you, the Prime Candidates. You are the movers and shakers; you are the next generation of greatness. Some day,” and he laughed and patted Throk on the back, “you’re going to be running things. You’re probably going to wind up being my boss. So I figure the best possible thing I can do is get on your good side now, right? Right?”
“Right,” Throk agreed slowly, still a bit confused but trying not to show it.
“So you see what I’m saying, then.”
“You are saying,” Throk guessed, analyzing each word thoroughly before he released it, “that if I did have something to do with the demise of… what was his name?”
“Welch. Lou Welch.”
“That if I was involved with Mr. Welch’s demise … you would not care.”
“It’s us against them, Throk,” Vir said, leaning in even closer. It was at that point that the Prime Candidate caught the whiff of liquor hanging on Vir’s breath. The man was drunk. It was likely that, come morning, he wouldn’t even remember the conversation. “Us against them. And me … I want to be us. Let them be them … and we’re us. United we stand, divided we fall. Right? Right?”
“Right,” Throk said again.
Vir nodded, staring at him a time longer, staring into his eyes so intently that Throk felt as if Vir were trying to locate some treasure inside his skull. Finally Vir released him, and said, “You, Throk … are going places.” T
hen he turned and, with a slight stagger, wobbled away into the evening.
Throk watched him go, the pitiful shell of a Centauri with aspirations toward … something. Throk couldn’t be sure what. If he truly believed that he had some place in the future of Centauri Prime, then he, Vir, was woefully kidding himself.
Shaking his head, Throk entered the safe house and strode into one of the meeting rooms. Klezko and Muaad were waiting for him, as were several others.
“What did he want?” asked Klezko.
“To make a fool of himself,” Throk replied, smirking. “In that, he was quite successful.” Then he frowned. “But he knew that I killed Welch. We have to find out how he knew … and once we have … we will probably have to dispose of him, as well.”
Vir sighed heavily as he looked at the small cylinder in his palm. It looked like nothing. It seemed so insignificant. Yet he was holding his future, right there in his hand.
He had looked squarely into Throk’s eyes when he had stated that Throk had killed Lou Welch. Vir had become quite adept at being able to see what people were thinking, spotting any hint of duplicity, just by looking in their eyes. Perhaps he had simply gotten a lot of practice by being with Londo for so long.
So when he mentioned Welch’s name, he had watched Throk’s eyes, his face, for some sign of innocence. Some sort of confusion as to why Vir would be saying such a thing.
Instead he had seen it plainly. Throk had been momentarily confused, but it was the confusion of guilt. He had started to say “How,” and then he had paused, obviously reconstructing the sentence that would have continued “did you know?”
But Vir had known. Vir was sure. Terribly, horribly sure. He was sure that Finian had not lied to him. The techno-mages had been many things, but deceivers they most certainly were not. They seemed to have a greater love of truth than any beings he had ever encountered.
Still … he had to be positive, beyond even the slightest shred of doubt. Because Vir knew himself all too well, and if one fragment of uncertainty remained with him, it would haunt him forever.