Peter David - Out of the Darkness

“With all respect, Vallko, we are definitely more than Human,” Durla reminded him. “That makes us more than a match.” But Vallko’s worries were not so easily dissuaded. “It is said he cannot die. Or that he is already dead.”

And from the end of the table came a whisper from Londo. “‘You must not kill the one who is already dead.’”

Confused looks were exchanged around the table. “Highness?” Dunseny prompted.

Londo looked up at Dunseny and forced a smile. “Just… remembering old voices, Dunseny. At my age, I am pleased I can remember anything. Then again, you are older than I amby far, and you never forget anything. Why is that?”

“Because, Highness, at my age, there are fewer things worth remembering.”

The exchange drew an appreciative chuckle from the ministers.

“Sheridan is just one man,” Durla reminded them, bringing the conversation back on track. “Let us not forget that he was involved with three great campaigns in his life: the EarthMinbari War, the Shadow War, and his assault on his own Homeworld Let us also not forget how each of those disputes was ultimately settled,” and he ticked them off on his fingers. “The Minbari surrendered; the Vorlons and Shadows voluntarily stood down and departed from known space; and his prime nemesis on Earth, the president, was considerate enough to commit suicide. Sheridan has never been in a position where he faced an enemy who would not back down. That is not the case here. Who here would back down from him? Which of you would tell me that—if faced with John Sheridan demanding your surrender—you would willingly do so?”

It was Rhys who spoke immediately. “Death first.”

There were agreeing nods from around the table.

“He will be facing a very different creature when the fullmight of the Centauri Republic is unleashed upon him,” Durla said.

“The people do not feel that way,” Kuto said.

Durla turned and gaped at him. “The people? The people do not?”

“I am not saying they do not support you, Prime Minister,” Kuto said quickly as the gazes of the others fell upon him. “But Minister Vallko is correct. The people rejoice in our achievements and call out their support publicly… but privately, my research says, they still fear Sheridan.”

“We cannot have that!” Durla replied. “This is an alarming comment on the state of the Centauri mind… and it must be addressed at once. At once! Kuto—arrange for a public speaking display. Immediately, do you hear me! Lione, Vallko, assist him!”

The other ministers were caught off guard by the sudden change of mood in the room, the abrupt way that Durla’s attitude had shifted. But they hastened to obey his orders. Londo said nothing, and merely watched silently.

Within moments, Durla and Londo were standing at a balcony on one of the lower floors of the Tower of Power. There were no windows in the Tower, which added to the mystique of the place. There was, however, the one balcony, which Durla had insisted upon for just such an occasion. The Tower had been well placed, for there was always a crowd of people around the base, just going about their business.

When Durla spoke, his voice boomed throughout the entire city, thanks to a multitude of hidden speakers. Not only that, but his oversize holographic image appeared throughout Centauri Prime, carrying his word far and wide. People on the other side of the world were jolted from their sleep by the unexpected intrusion of Prime Minister Durla. Londo, although at his side, was mysteriously absent from the projection. Only Durla’s image loomed large, which he felt was as it should be.

“It has been brought to my attention,” Durla’s voice echoed throughout the assemblage, all eyes below turning up toward him, “that as Centauri Prime returns to glory, there are many of you who fear reprisals from John Sheridan. Many who think that this man, who formed the Alliance, presents a threat to our world! That our recent, successful endeavors to expand our holdings will be met with resistance, and that we—as many others have—will surrender to President Sheridan, simply because he will ask us to! And why not? The Minbari surrendered. The Vorlons surrendered. The Shadows surrendered. Why not we?”

And he received exactly the answer he was hoping for. Someone below shouted, “Because we are Centauri!” Immediately others took up the shout.

“Yes! We are Centauri!” Durla announced, receiving a resounding cheer in return. “And in those instances when we choose to exercise our might, we will achieve nothing less than victory! Victory at all costs! Victory in spite of all terror! Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival!”

“Victory!” the people in the street shouted.

“We shall not flag or fail!” Durla continued. “We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in the void; we shall fight on planets; we shall fight in hyperspace; we shall fight on the Rim. We shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in space; we shall defend our Homeworld, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight in the asteroid fields; we shall fight in the nebulae; we shall fight among the starswe shall never surrender!”

The roar that went up was deafening, and seemed to go on forever. Durla drank it in, a virtual sponge for the adulation he was receiving. He stepped back in off the balcony to receivethe congratulations from the other ministers.

“Well done! Very well done!” burbled Kuto, and the others echoed the sentiments.

Only Londo seemed to have any pause. “And tell me, Durla… what do you think the reaction of Sheridan will be when he hears this speech of yours? How do you think he will react? Are you not concerned that he may be moved to strike first?”

“No, Highness, I am not,” Durla answered firmly. “If he and his precious Alliance have not attacked because of our deeds, they will certainly not attack because of words. They will perceive it as saber rattling, nothing more. But our people—our people will know it for what it is. They will know and remember, and when the time comes…”

“They will know that we will never surrender,” Londo said.

“That is exactly right, Highness.”

“Let us hope—for your sake, if nothing else—that President Sheridan sees it the same way,” said Londo.

The shouting continued, and Durla was only slightly soured to note that although many bellowed for him, the name of “Mollari” was being shouted with equal enthusiasm. But then he contented himself by recalling that the people in the square were truly only a fraction of the populace. Everywhere else it was Durla, and only Durla. And that was as it should be. Let the people call out for Mollari along with Durla, if it pleased them. Eventually they would come to realize who truly ran things.

Once upon a time, Durla felt as if no one would ever recognize him for his own achievements and his intrinsic greatness. Those days, however, were long past. He could afford to be generous, to share the wealth of the people’s adulation. For the moment. Mollari looked weaker with every passing day. Certainly he had his robust periods, but his cough was becoming more and more pronounced. It was indicative of something deeper, more damaging to the emperor’s health. But for some reason, Mollari seemed disinclined to seek out medical attention. And Durla certainly was not going to push the matter.

The shouting grew louder and louder. “Highness, they call for us,” Durla said, bowing low in a gesture that was slightly mocking. “Shall we go back out and satisfy their worship?”

“I have never had any desire to be worshipped, Prime Minister,” Londo said with a touch of amusement. “But if it will please you…” and he gestured that they should go back out onto the balcony. They stepped out and waved once more to the crowd. The people cried out almost as one, shouting their names, praising them to the skies so that the Great Maker himself would take note.