Peter David - Out of the Darkness

“I shall never forget it, Father,” David replied seriously.

Vultan rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. “That child,” he informed them, “doesn’t need a teacher, or parents. He needs a keeper.”

The moment he said that, something cold clutched at the base of David’s neck. He trembled, and the look on his face caught his mother’s attention. “David… what’s wrong?”

Sheridan saw it, too. “What’s the matter, son?”

“I don’t know,” David confessed. “Just the oddest feeling, that’s all. It’s like… like…”

“Like someone just stepped on your grave?” Sheridan suggested. “That’s what my dad used to say when he’d get that look on his face.”

“Yeah. Something like that,” David agreed.

“I do not like that phrase,” Delenn said curtly. “Please don’t use it again.”

“All right,” Sheridan said, clearly not quite understanding his wife’s reaction, but not wanting to argue. He turned his attention to David’s teacher, and said, “Master Vultan… I think that David might be a bit starved for attention. I confess I’ve been somewhat preoccupied lately, and the boy has had to resort to tactics such as this just to get a crumb of attention. It’s not right. If it’s all the same to you, I think his mother and I would like to spend the day with him.”

“As you desire,” Vultan said, looking not the least bit upset over the prospect. He turned on his heel and departed, his long robes swishing softly on the polished floor.

“Go get washed and dressed, David,” his father said.

“Perhaps we’ll take a shot at climbing the Mulkeen Heights today. Best view on Minbar, so I’m told.”

“Okay, Father,” David said. Then, recalling how disconcerted he’d felt just a short time ago, he quickly embraced his parents before running off down the hallway.

“He’s your son,” Delenn said, shaking her head as she watched him go.

“So you keep telling me,” Sheridan remarked. “Part of me thinks you keep on saying so because you’re hoping to establish some sort of alibi.” Then he turned serious once more. “Do you really think G’Kar will be okay?”

“Vir is certain. The situation under which G’Kar was taken was quite unique. It’s Vir’s opinion that Londo is watching out for him.”

“And Vir’s opinion can be trusted?”

“I think so, yes. Don’t you?” He gave it a moment’s thought, and remembered Garibaldi’s description of the events surrounding that last visit to Centauri Prime… the one that had resulted in the death of Lou Welch. Michael had been uncharacteristically taciturn about the affair, but had managed to conveythrough fewer words rather than more—that Vir Cotto had a handle on things. Sheridan even suspected, although he couldn’t prove it, that Vir was somehow involved with the occasional acts of “terrorism” that the Centauri

tried to ascribe to the Alliance.

So Sheridan said finally, “Yes, I think it probably can. It’s hard to believe, considering how Vir used to be, that he is now one of the most dependable of all the Centauri.”

“We’ve all changed, John, from what we used to be. Look at you… and me…” and she playfully pulled at his beard while running her fingers through her long black hair. There were a few tinges of gray in it.

“You’re saying that we all have more hair?” he said. “Well, there’s worse fates.” Then, once again, he turned solemn. “We have more hair… but G’Kar has one less eye. And he lost it on that world where he is right now. If things turn ugly there, he could lose the other… and far more.”

“That is the downside,” she admitted. “On the other hand, there is always the bright side. Do you remember that urn?”

“Urn?” he asked, not certain what she was referring to.

“The vase,” she prompted. “The one Londo gave us…”

“Oh! Yes. The last time we saw him. The one we’re supposed to give David on his sixteenth birthday…”

She nodded. “With the waters from the palace river locked in its base. I found it in storage recently. It reminded me of how Londo was that day… the last day we saw him. He seemed so desperate just to have even the slightest hint of friendship… from us… from anyone…”

“And you think G’Kar will provide him that.”

“We can only hope. Do you think that we should give the vase to David early? Before his sixteenth birthday?”

“Nah,” Sheridan decided. “Let’s honor Londo’s request. Theman who dropped that vase off was the closest thing to the Londo of old that I could recall. I miss him. There’s no telling how this entire Centauri situation is going to play out. But on David’s sixteenth birthday, whatever the outcome, he’ll at least get a sense of the Londo Mollari that we once all knew.”

The catacombs beneath the capital city were considered by many to be little more than a myth. Ostensibly, the great Emperor Olion had constructed them, centuries earlier. Olion, so legend had it, was absolutely paranoid over the notion of his people turning against him. So he had the catacombs constructed as a means of escaping any pursuit. Supposedly he was the only person aside from the actual creator of the catacombs—whom he subsequently hadassassinated—to know the layout of the maze. The catacombs led from the city to the outlying regions and provided a handy means of getting in and out unseen, if one were so inclined, not to mention eluding pursuit.

But it was all the stuff of legend. The entrances certainly no longer existed. And even if they did exist, the tunnels would be so overrun with vermin that they would be virtually unpassable. Years ago, however, when he was a young man looking for fossil remains of primitive Centauri cultures, Renegar—a heavyset lad even at that tender age—had literally fallen into myth. Renegar had embarked on a one—man excavation on the outskirts of the hinterlands. The ground had given way, and he had fallen through into the catacombs of lore. Whenhe had picked himself up, dusted himself off, and managed to push aside the mounting feelings of panic, he actually found himself rather taken with the place. True, the vermin population wasn’t particularly appreciated, but the prospects of exploration proved too enticing for him to pass up.

Having almost no friends, and parents who displayed tittle interest in his comings and goings, Renegar wasn’t about to share with anyone his new and exciting discovery.

He brought sounding equipment and other locator devices that hadn’t existed centuries ago when the catacombs were first built. Over the course of many years, he managed to map the place rather thoroughly… aided and abetted by the occasional explosive device. Rock falls and other natural “disasters” had blocked some of the paths, and Renegar quickly discovered that the judicious use of explosives could be tremendously helpful. The key word was “judicious,” of course. The first time he tried, he nearly blew himself to kingdom come. Necessity became the mother of invention, and his familiarity with explosives and excavation came to serve him well in later life.

The catacombs, as well, found new purpose.

Renegar made his way to the meeting area with sure, steady steps, his knowledge of the catacombs by now so ingrained that he no longer needed the maps he had taken such pains to create in his youth. A rodent ran across his foot, and he kicked it out of the way. It was fortunate that such creatures didn’t bother him, else he never would have been able to last in his exploration of the caves.

“Renegar!” The whisper came from up ahead, and he recognized the voice instantly. “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” he asked grimly. He climbed over one more rise and came around a corner to discover the others whom he had decidedinsanely, he sometimes thought—to trust not only with his life, but the future of his world. Vir, naturally, was among them. So was Dunseny. There were far more people Vir had managed to enlist over the years, but no one, with the exception of Vir, knew everyone who was a part of the rebellion. That was probably wise, Renegar mused, but he couldn’t help but feel that it put a massive amount of strain on Vir himself.