by Peter David
chapter 11 Vir looked up. And he saw the individual that he had only thought he'd seen earlier. The man was dressed in grey robes, and although Vir couldn't see his hooded face completely, what he did see looked quite young. He couldn't have been more than thirty. Rem lay on the ground, staring upward. The cloaked man stepped forward, crouched down over him and seemed to study him for a moment. Then he passed a hand over Rem's face, and Rem closed his eyes. His chest began to rise and fall in a natural sleeping rhythm. "He'll be all right," said the cloaked man. When he spoke, it was in a very soft voice, so soft that Vir had to strain to listen. "He'll sleep it off for a time, and when he comes to, he'll have no idea why he's here. He'll be of no harm to anyone." "What happened?" asked Vir, hauling himself to his feet. "Who are you?" Then he noticed the man was holding a staff The ends of the staff appeared to be glowing softly. In barely contained astonishment, Vir said, "Are you a . . . a techno- mage?" The notion was both fascinating and frightening. Vir had had dealings with the science-based sorcerers nearly four years earlier, and he had found it one of the most daunting experiences of his life. When the techno-mages had finally left on their journey beyond the Rim, purportedly never to be seen again, Vir had breathed a sigh of relief. Yet now, apparently , he owed his life to one. 140 "Yes ... but a cloistered one. My kind don't get out much. My name is Kane." "It is? Really?" "No. Not really," admitted the initiate. "It's a chosen name. I'm not about to tell you my real name, of course. Names have power, and I'm not going to give you power over me of any sort. Rather a foolish notion, really." "That's a good philosophy," said Vir. "Thank you for squishing that ... that. . ." "Sleeper. Leftover biotech from the Shadows. Resided in your friend here," and he tapped Rem's body with the toe of his boot, "wiped his memory, and waited until it was ready to fulfill its mission." "To assassinate Sheridan." Kane nodded. "Yes. All Lanas had to do was get close enough, and the creature would have done the rest. It has quite a good jumping range. And once it landed on Sheridan, it would have stung him, and he would have been dead before they could get him to Medlab." "Just like Kran." "What?" "Nothing. But why now? And why Lanas?" "It wasn't just now. There were times before. There will probably be other times, although death may take different forms. As for why Lanas," and beneath his robes, Kane shrugged. "Luck of the draw. Purely random chance. They had to pick someone. They picked him." "They who?" "That," smiled Kane, "would be telling. You don't need to know ... yet" "But-" "Tell me," Kane drew closer to him, studying him thoughtfully , "why you chose to handle this matter on your own, why you did not summon security." "I ... I didn't have enough to go on. Not for sure. I had guesses, hunches, that was all. Besides, the most upsetting thing was the thought of letting it get around that the Centauri were involved in an assassination attempt. Even if it turned out to be false, there would be inquiries, and interrogations, and word would leak to the other members of the Alliance. I didn't want that. Centauri doesn't need it. Things are bad enough as it is." "So you risked your own life, limb, and neck in order to try and head it off and protect the Centauri reputation." "I ... guess so, yes," Vir agreed. Then, worried, he added, "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" "Why would I do that?" "I ... I don't know. I don't know a lot of things," Vir admitted . "Starting with-" But Kane held up a hand to quiet him. "No. Do not start. Because if you do, there will be many answers that I cannot give you. Not yet. But I will tell you this much, Vir ... your actions have been quite impressive. I was observing you to see what you would do, and you do not disappoint. It very much seems as if the darkness has not reached you." "That's good to know, that--2' Vir paused, and then said, "The, uh ... the darkness?" Kane took a step toward him, and there was hardness in his eyes. "It stretches its coils from Centauri Prime to here. It lurks hereabouts, but it thrives on your Homeworld. Knowledge is power, Vir. I seek knowledge on behalf of the techno- mages, and they in turn seek knowledge from your world, for it is there that the dark power will continue to grow. You will have to make some rather severe choices soon. Very, very soon." "I ... have no idea what you're talking about." "Good," said Kane, apparently satisfied. "I was going for cryptic." "You succeeded." "That's a relief. I am somewhat new at this, after all. Now I have to work on mysterious. Ah ... your associate is stirring sooner than expected." Vir turned and glanced at Rem Lanas. Sure enough, he was sitting up, holding a hand against his head as if he had a seriously splitting headache. "What ... happened?" he inquired. "I'll tell you in a moment," Vir said, and looked back to Kane. He was gone. There was no sign that he had ever been there, other than a crushed, red and pulped creature on the floor. "He's got the mysterious part down pretty well, too," said Vir.
Chapter 12 Londo had known it was a test. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind at all. "Sheridan is to die, you know," the Drakh had said. The comment had snapped Londo from his reverie. There, in his throne room-the place that was the symbol of his power and, for him, the further symbol of the sham that he was-he was startled as the now-familiar voice spoke from the shadows. What was truly chilling was that Londo had realized he was, in fact, aware that Shiv'kala was watching him. At least, he'd been aware on some sort of subconscious level. And it hadn't even disturbed him. The notion that he could actually get used to this half life he was living-even take it for granted-terrified Londo more than anything that had come before. It had taken a few moments for the comment to sink in. "What?" Londo had said. The Drakh had laid it all out for him. Told him the plan, told him about Rem Lanas. Told him about the creature that lived within Lanas. He had been picked at random, taken off the streets. It was the randomness that they had felt would be the greatest strength. Someone with no established grudge toward Sheridan, no particular hostility toward the Interstellar Alliance. Lanas was just a nobody. A nobody who wasn't particularly strong willed, not particularly intelligent. All he was, in the final analysis, was useful. When the Drakh had finally stopped speaking, Londo 144 squinted in the darkness at him. Shiv'kala just stood there, unmoving, unblinking, that same, frightening little smile in place. "And you have told me this ... why?" "He was your friend. I wished to let you know of his impending fate ... so that if you desired to say your goodbyes ... you would have the opportunity." A test. No ... not just a test. A trap. Londo had known it, had been positive of it. The Drakh could just as easily have said, "Sheridan is to die soon. Drop him a nice note," and been done with it. No, he had told Londo everything there was to know because he wanted Londo to have that knowledge ... in order to see what he would do with it. Londo had not slept. For two days, he did not sleep. He had gone back and forth in his head, envisioning Sheridan as his great enemy, as the leader of an Alliance that had mercilessly assaulted his beloved Centauri Prime. Someone who had turned his back on them. And Delenn, his wife ... she had a way of looking at Londo in the most insultingly pitying way. But try as he might, he had not been able to erase from his memory all the times when Sheridan had been of service to him. Those years on Babylon 5 had been the best years of his life. He had not realized it at the time; it had merely seemed a period of slow, steady descent into darkness. But the fact was, Sheridan and Delenn had indeed been there for him on a number of occasions. Not o nly that, but he was positive that in their own way, they had been pulling for him, hoping that everything would turn out all right for him. The fact that everything had developed so abysmally-that he had become the single most powerful, and weakest, man in the Centauri Republic-was certainly not their doing, not at all. He had brought his fate solidly upon himself. He had tried to sleep, but had managed only moments of rest, at most, before he would drift back to consciousness . During that time, he had felt the keeper shifting in mild confusion. Obviously the creature itself needed to rest as well, and had synchronized itself with Londo's own sleep period . So when Londo became mentally distressed, the keeper likewise experienced discomfort. The thought gave Londo some degree of satisfaction. Finally he had not been able to take it anymore. But he had known that he would have to be crafty. He could not simply mount an
obvious rescue mission, or inform Sheridan. Such an effort would probably be prevented by the keeper. In the event that the keeper could not stop him, certainly it would inform the Drakh, who might in turn change their plan ... and let their displeasure with Londo be known in a most direct and unpleasant manner. Londo desired to save Sheridan, but not at the price of his own skin. Londo was not that generous. So he had summoned Vir. The timing had been perfect, for the celebration in the palace had actually been Durla's idea. Durla had sponsored it, naturally, as a means of gathering all his allies and supporters and showing them his elevated position in the court. Since the idea had originated with DurlaDurla , the puppet of the Drakh who probably didn't even know who truly pulled the strings-the Drakh in turn would not question it or suspect some sort of duplicity on Londo's part. An invitation to Vir would be the most natural thing in the world. So he had brought his old associate, his old friend- possibly his only friend in the galaxy, really-to visit. The invitation had attracted no attention whatsoever, as Londo had hoped. Then had come the next step: Londo had started drinking almost as soon as the festivities had begun. The problem was, he had needed to walk a fine line. The challenge was to consume enough alcohol to render the keeper insensate, as he had found he was capable of doing. By accomplishing that, he would be able to speak to Vir more or less freely, without the keeper-and by extension, the Drakh-becoming aware of what he was doing. The problem was, if he imbibed too much, he would become so incoherently drunk that he wouldn't be of any use to Vir, to Sheridan, or even to himself. So Vir had come, as invited, and Londo had taken him aside, fighting to remain on his feet while the liquor swirled around his brain, leaving a pleasant fog hanging over him. But Londo had proceeded with caution nevertheless, and it had been most fortunate that he had. For as he had begun to bring Vir current with the situation, as he had begun to unfold the plan in small bits ... he had felt the keeper stirring to wakefulness. He had sent the creature into inebriated insensibility , but it had fought itself back to moderate sobriety with a speed that was both alarming and annoying. Apparently it was starting to build up some degree of tolerance to alcohol. Londo would have to reassess the amount of liquor it was going to require from now on to render the keeper unawares. Londo dealt with the setback as best he could. He had tried to cue Vir to the danger presented to Sheridan by seeking historical precedent. Londo could sense that the keeper was suspicious of the conversation. It sensed that something was going on, but it wasn't entirely certain just what that might be. No pain was inflicted, no forcible commands were relayed into Londo's skull. But the creature had been most wary indeed , and so Londo had needed to be wary as well. It had been tremendously frustrating for him. Part of him had simply wanted to drop the carefully chosen phrases, the historical allusions, and simply tell Vir what was going on. But he knew there would be immediate action of some sort taken by the keeper. Who knew the full powers of the monstrosity perched upon his shoulders? He knew it inflicted pain, and that it monitored his actions, but he had no reason to believe he had seen the outer limit of its capabilities. Perhaps it could blow out his brain stem with but the merest mental effort . Maybe it could send him into seizures, or stop his hearts, or ... anything. He wanted to do something to prevent Sheridan meeting a gruesome death at the scaly hands of the Drakh, but the simple fact was that he wasn't especially inclined to sacrifice himself to that endeavor. He still valued his own skin above Sheridan's. After Vir had left, Londo had monitored the news broadcasts carefully. The keeper had thought nothing of Londo's watching the news. He was, after all, the emperor. It was only appropriate that he should be keeping himself abreast of current events. And when the news had carried the item about Sheridan's leading a highly publicized tour of officials into Down Below at Babylon 5, Londo's spirit had soared. It had been everything he could do to prevent himself from shouting out with joy. Then his enthusiasm had dissipated. He could almost feel a dark cloud radiating from the keeper, and it was at that moment-even as he saw news footage of the obviously unharmed Sheridan leading the tour-that he had it confirmed for him that, yes indeed, this had been a test. A test that he had failed, because he knew that they knew. He wasn't quite sure how he was aware of it. Maybe the telepathic bond was becoming two-way. But he did, in fact, know, and now all that remained was waiting for the retaliation to descend upon him. "Was it worth it?" Londo was sitting in the private library that had traditionally been the province of the emperor. The Centauri set great store by it. The emperor was considered to be something akin to a living repository of Centauri history, and it was intended that he carry within his head all the great deeds of his predecessors , and the many magnificent accomplishments of the Republic. Because that duty was so respected and sacred, the highest priority was given to providing the emperor with a secluded and well-guarded place where he could indulge his historical interests to his hearts' content. Indeed, there might not have been a more secure room in the entire palace. There were many books there, and many assorted relics from the illustrious past. So it was that when Shiv'kala's voice emerged from the darkness and asked "Was it worth it?" Londo jumped, so violently startled that he nearly knocked over the reading table. He got to his feet, trying to maintain some degree of dignity in the face of such a clumsy response. The light was quite dim in the library; he couldn't see Shiv'kala at all. "Are you here?" he asked, wondering for a moment if perhaps Shiv'kala was only speaking in his mind but was, in fact, elsewhere entirely. "Yes. I am here." Upon hearing the voice again, Londo could indeed tell that Shiv'kala was physically in the room. But his voice seemed to be floating from everywhere. "And you are here. How nice." "Nice," Londo said tersely, "is not the word I would have used. What do used," countered Shiv'kala. "I do not `want' to do what I must. What we must." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Do you not?" Londo started to feel something, and braced himself. It was the beginning of ... the pain. Except it was different somehow. They'd hit him with pain in the past, but he sensed that this was not going to be like the other times. Rather than hitting him suddenly and violently, this time around the pain was starting from a much lower baseline. It gave him cause to think that perhaps he was developing a tolerance for the psychic and physical torment they were inflicting upon him. For that matter ... perhaps it was totally unrelated to the Drakh at all. "Are you doing that?" demanded Londo, putting a hand to his temple. "You have done it, Londo," replied Shiv'kala. There was that familiar resignation in his tone. "You ... and you alone." "I do not know-" The ache was increasing now, reaching the previous levels and growing greater. Londo was finding it hard to breathe, and it seemed as if his hearts were pumping only with effort. "Oh, you know," and any trace of sympathy or sadness was suddenly gone from the Drakh's voice. There was only hardness , and cruelty. "You have made a fool of me, Londo." "I? I . . ." And suddenly Londo staggered. He tripped over the chair in which he'd been sitting and crashed to the floor, because he had been wrong. What he was feeling this time was far worse than anything he had ever endured before at the hands of the Drakh. Perhaps it was worse than anything he had felt in his entire life. He realized belatedly that the agony had started off slowly to put him off guard, to make him think that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He had been wrong. His body began to spasm as the pain rolled over him in waves. He tried to distance himself mentally, tried to shut down his mind, but there was no possibility because the pain was everywhere, in every crevice and fold of his brain, in every sensory neuron of his body. He opened his mouth to try and scream, but he couldn't even do that because his throat was paralyzed. All he was able to muster was inarticulate gurgling noises. "I told the Drakh Entire," continued Shiv'kala, as if Londo were not writhing like a skewered beast, "that you could be trusted. That you knew your place. They requested a test. I provided it. You failed it. That, Londo, is unacceptable." Londo completely lost control. Every bit of waste fluid in his body evacuated, something that hadn't happened since he was two years of age. The sensation was humiliating, the stench was repugnant,
and then both of those spiraled away as the agony continued to build. His soul, blackened and battered as it already was, cried out for release. He remembered how he had wanted to die all those months ago, how he had been ready to end it, but he realized that he had been a fool, because he had never wanted to die the way that he did now. At that moment, he would have given anything for the release of death. He would kill his friends and loved ones, he would annihilate a hundred, a thousand innocent Centauri. He would do anything at all just for a cessation of the agony that was hammering through him. And then it got worse. He felt himself being torn apart, he felt every single organ in his body liquefying, and he knew, he just knew, that his brain was dissolving and flooding out his ears, he could practically feel it, and the pain was frying his eyes and his teeth were spiking through his gums, his tongue had swollen and was blocking his windpipe, there was burning in every joint that made the slightest movement pure agony, and so he tried to stay still, but the pain prodded him to move and then there was more anguish and it just kept building until it reached the point where he forgot what it was like not to hurt. And then it stopped. Just like that, all at once, and he couldn't move because he was lying there numb and foul-smelling, and he felt as if he would never be able to present himself with dignity ever again, he would never feel safe again, he never wanted another soul to look upon him because he was hideous and disgusting and had been reduced to a quivering, gibbering wreck of a man. The very thought was revolting to him, and yet he couldn't help it; he was so relieved that the pain had abated, for however short a time, that he cried copious tears, his body shuddering convulsively. "Do you know how long you endured that?" Shiv'kala asked quietly. Londo tried to shake his head, but if he had been able to answer, he would have said it had been hours. Perhaps days. "Nine seconds," Shiv'kala continued, apparently knowing that Londo was not going to be in any sort of shape to reply. "You felt that way for precisely nine seconds. Would you like to endure that for twenty or thirty seconds? Or even better . . . twenty or thirty minutes? Or hours, or days?" "No ... no. . ." Londo's voice was barely recognizable as his own. It sounded more like the guttural grunt of a dying creature. "I did not think so. I doubt that you would survive it. Even if you did, I likewise doubt you'd like what you became as a consequence." Londo didn't reply. None seemed necessary, and he doubted he could have strung a coherent sentence together anyway. Apparently not caring about Londo's newly discovered reticence , Shiv'kala said, "That was your punishment, Londo. Punishment, however, will not be enough. You must do penance. Do you understand? Do you hear what I am saying?" He managed to nod. "Good." Shiv'kala had moved from the shadows and was now standing directly in front of Londo. He tilted his head and regarded the emperor with curiosity. "Tell me, Londo ... would you kill Sheridan yourself ... if the alternative was more punishment?" For all the world, Londo wanted to shake his head. He wanted to spit at the Drakh, he wanted to cry out defiance. He wanted to stumble to his feet and fasten his hands around the scaly throat of that grey-skinned monstrosity. At that point, he didn't care anymore if hidden bombs blew his people to bits. He didn't care if he died in attempting to strangle Shiv'kala. All he desired at that moment was the opportunity to try and, even more, the will. Instead he simply nodded. For he knew it to be true; at that moment, he would do anything. Kill Sheridan, kill Delenn, kill Vir, kill Timov ... anything, anyone, whatever it took, if it meant not getting another taste of that agonizing "punishment ." Even though his body wasn't presently being subjected to pain, the memory was still fresh within him. He needed no reminder of what he had just been through; if nothing else, the stench floating from him made it very difficult to forget. "Well ... you do not have to kill Sheridan," Shiv'kala told him. "For the moment, we shall let him live. You see ... there is a relatively recent development that has come to our attention . Sheridan is going to become a father, you see." Londo was slowly managing to draw breath into his chest, steadying his racing hearts. So it took a few moments for Shiv'kala's comment to fully register on him. He was still lying on the floor, but he managed to raise his head ever so slightly. "Fa ... father?" he asked. "That is correct," said Shiv'kala. "Your penance, actually, will be quite simple." Shiv'kala was moving then, and Londo could not take his gaze from him. He was heading toward the relics ... toward a shelf with several urns of varying purposes. He studied them thoughtfully, and then reached up and took one from the shelf. It was silver, with a burnished gold inlay. Londo knew the one he was taking. It had a very specific purpose m Centauri tradition, and he had no idea why Shiv'kala could possibly be interested in it. And then a slow, horrible thought began to dawn on him. He brushed it aside just as quickly, though, convinced that he could not possibly be correct. It was unthinkable, beyond the pale, even for the Drakh. They could not, they would not ... and certainly they could not think to make him a party to ... Then the Drakh opened the folds of his garment. "No," whispered Londo. "No ... please . . ." From the floor, he still could not move, but he began to beg, all thought of dignity long gone. "No. . . " Shiv'kala did not even acknowledge that he had spoken. His chest was undulating in a most hideous fashion, as if it were alive with sentient cancer sores. He placed the vase on a nearby table and then unscrewed the base. He set it aside ... and then put his hand to his chest. "You wouldn't. . ." Londo pleaded. Even though he knew that it was hopeless, he continued to implore Shiv'kala to reconsider. Once again, the Drakh made no response. Instead, ever so delicately, he pulled a creature from within a fold in his body. The creature was similar to the keeper, but smaller. Its eye was closed. As alien a being as it was, Londo could nevertheless tell that it was sleeping, perhaps even hibernating. Shiv'kala held the thing proudly in his palm for a moment. He ran a finger along the ridges of its body in a manner that appeared almost paternal. It was all Londo could do not to vomit. Then he placed the creature on the base and screwed it back onto the urn. Londo, at that point, couldn't even get a word out. He just shook his head helplessly. "When Sheridan and Delenn go to Minbar ... you will go there as well. You will deliver," and he touched the vase with a long finger, "this gift. You will order the bottom sealed to discourage inspection by Sheridan. The keeper within will be able to escape when the time is right." "A ... child?" Londo couldn't believe it. "A helpless child?" "The son of Sheridan and Delenn ... yes, it will be a son ... but it will not always be a helpless child. When he is grown ... he will be of use to us. The keeper will see to his destiny. And you ... will see to the keeper." "No." Londo, to his own astonishment, was managing to shake his head. "No ... an innocent child. . ." "If you shirk your penance, Londo," Shiv'kala said calmly, as if he had been expecting Londo to protest, "you should consider the consequences for all the innocent children on Centauri Prime. But before any of them ... Senna will bear the brunt of our. . ." His lips twisted in that foul semblance of a smile. ". . . displeasure." "Not. . . her. . ." Londo said. "Emperor, you do not seem to realize how little say you have in the matter. Now ... will you cooperate?" Hating himself, hating life, hating a universe that would do this to him, Londo could only nod. Then his vision began to lose focus as one more wave of pain washed over him. He shut his eyes tightly, letting it pass, shuddering at the sensation. When he opened his eyes again, Shiv'kala was gone. Gone, having left Londo alone with his humiliation and pain and weakness. Londo, who would forever know that not only did he have a breaking point, but it had been reachable through means that seemed almost effortless . It made him wonder just how much more the Drakh could do to him. As horrifying a notion as the thought suggested , was it possible that-until now-the Drakh had actually been going easy on him? He wondered how much worse they could make it for him. He wondered why threats to Senna struck so closely to him. He wondered if he would ever know a time when he was actually, genuinely happy to be alive ... even if the feeling lasted for only a few moments. And then, as the brutalizing that his body had endured finally caught up with him, he wondered no more as he lapsed into merciful unconsciousness.