Peter David - Out of the Darkness

And then, despite everything he’d been through, despite his being fairly inured to terrifying hardships, Vir found himself frozen, utterly paralyzed, unable to cope with what he was seeing.

He started to cry, tears running down his face, but without any heat. As grotesque and grisly a sight as it was, he clutched the head to him and the sobs crew louder.

And the head spoke to him. “Vir… Vir,” came Senna’s voice, impossibly, from the severed head. Then Vir was being shaken, and suddenly he opened his eyes, and the tears were very real and hot against his cheek.

Senna was looking down at him, her head securely back on her shoulders.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, more than a decade before, when Londo had taken her under his wing. There was no longer anything childlike about her. This was an adult woman, polished and intelligent, who looked as if she was already anticipating how she was going to respond to something you had not yet thought of saying.

She was dressed in a blue—and—white gown that was both simple and elegant. She had been wearing it the last time that Vir had seen her, about six months earlier, during a dinner with Londo that had quickly evolved into a rather pleasant evening.

She had, in fact, salvaged the evening, because Londo had spent much of it getting quietly drunk—which was something Vir had not often seen Londo do. Drunk, yes, but quiet? Never.

She had been witty, charming, entertaining, and utterly captivating.

He had also heard from her from time to time during the in terim, although usually it was about more… businessoriented matters.

“Vir… Londo sent me to fetch you… and you were here, and…”

“I’m all right, I’m… I’m all right,” he said quickly, clambering to his feet. He glanced around automatically. Even though he knew that there would be no sign of the Drakh—that, indeed, the Drakh had most likely never physically been there—he found that he was peering into the shadows to see if any of them moved. “I saw…” Then he caught himself. He certainly didn’t want to tell this young woman what he had experienced. There was no need to risk alarming her.

“You saw what?” she asked.

Slowly he pointed to the head of Rem Lanas, perched atop the pole.

“He was… one of yours?”

His head snapped around at those words. He saw it then, in her face, in her eyes… she knew.

“Not here,” he said firmly, and tugged her arm. He started to pull her out of the garden, and she offered no resistance, but then he stopped, and said, “Wait… Londo will be waiting…”

“If he waits a few minutes more, nothing will happen,” Senna said, and with that they departed. The unseeing eyes of Rem Lanas watched them go.

They wanted me to do something. How gloriously ironic is that?

The House heads were clamoring to see me. They were up in arms because Durla has jailed one of their own. They wanted to know what I am going to do about it, not only as emperor, but also as the head of a House myself.

They all clustered outside my chambers, a flock of clucking birds, and at first Dunseny brought them in one at a time. But finally, at my instruction, he led in the entire group of them. Initially they comported themselves nobly, speaking in the sort of stately and pompous manner that I’ve come to expect. But soon one complaint tumbled into another, until they were all bleating about their situation. They tell me that, if this is allowed to continue, it is going to mean the end of the entire social and class structure of Centauri Prime. It will terminate life as we know it, everything that Centauri Prime is supposed to stand for and respect.

It is truly amazing.

Shadow ships darkened our sky… the Shadows themselves were given aid and comfort here on Centauri Prime… creatures who were the purest incarnation of evil ever known to this galaxy. That was not enough to be an end to life as we know it on Centauri Prime.

Nor was life as we know it threatened by Cartagia’s mad reign, during which time the supposedly brave House leaders trembled in hiding, lest they truly lose their heads.

And now…

Well… truth be told… the life that we have come to know and cherish on Centauri Prime, the goals for which we have fought so diligently… these actually are in jeopardy. Not for the reason that the House heads claim, though. The heads of the Houses live in the uppermost branches of the tree that is Centauri Prime. When one is that high up, it is difficult to perceive that the true problem is root rot.

It took me a little time to discern exactly what has them so up in arms. Most interesting: Milifa, the father of the late and unlamented—except by him—Throk, spoke challengingly to our prime minister. One does not do so if one expects to live to a ripe old age. Milifa apparently forgot that, and is now imprisoned.

A rather foolish move, that.

Tikane came before me, of the House of Tikane. And there is Arlineas, and Yson, and a host of others. Persons who, after hiding in fear from the rampage of Cartagia, feel a greater sense of safety under my more “benevolent” rule. They have also been supporters of Durla, helping to smooth the way to his assuming the office and power of prime minister. I believe they are regretting that decision, and are hoping that I will rectify it for them.

“The Houses, Emperor,” Tikane told me with a vast degree of pomposity, “are the underpinnings, the backbone, of your strength.” The others nodded in accord.

My strength.

My strength.

What know they of my strength?

It is Durla who runs things, and I… I have been fighting political battles and games for as long as I can remember. For a time I thought that I was truly winning… except in This sort of game, to win is to lose. Durla feeds on this sort of business, the way a fire feeds on oxygen. The only thing I take comfort in is knowing that even Durla is deceived. He deludes himself into believing that he knows what is occurring… but he does not. He has no idea that he himself is a tool, of… others. Were I to tell him, of course, he would not believe me. He is far too taken with his own sense of self—importance.

Then it was Arlineas who spoke, and he looked a bit concerned. I have no idea how long I must have simply sat there, staring off into space, lost in my thoughts. Next to Arlineas was Yson—small in stature, but looming in charismawho, as was his custom, said nothing. Very rarely did he speak. As a result, on the few occasions when he did, his words carried with them far greater importance.

But it was Arlineas who spoke. “Highness, are you—” he said tentatively.

“I hear you,” I answered him softly. “I hear everything.”

“Then certainly,” Arlineas said, “you have heard the stories of the massive fleet buildup. Individual workforces, operating independently of each other, each assembling different parts of the whole, but no one person truly knowing its capacity—”

“Or purpose,” Tikane said. “No one person except Durla… who now has virtually declared war on the Houses.” The others crowded together, all bobbing their heads in agreement. “What does this say to you, Highness?”

“What does it say to me?” I replied. For the first time in a long time, I felt something other than lethargy running through my veins. “It says to me that you and your ilk were more than content to allow matters to progress to this state, when it suited your needs and egos. Durla has made no secret of his intentions. How many of you nodded dutifully and applauded his grand vision. And Vallko… Vallko, standing in the Great Square, preaching of Centauri Prime’s great destiny, which any fool can see means nothing less than the annihilation or subjugation of every other world. How many of you shared his prayers to the GreatMaker and sought the Great Maker’s blessing for the very endeavors you now decry.”