Peter David - Out of the Darkness

“But it did not work out that way.”

“Not exactly. They didn’t wind up destroying themselves. Instead they managed to hang on long enough to offend the Minbari, and wound up almost being wiped off the face of existence. We predicted a war, yes… but the wrong war. They tripped themselves up, as we thought they would, but what a foe to do it with!” I laughed softly at the thought. “They wanted our help, you know. Wanted us to help them against the Minbari. If we had, the Minbari would have turned on us just as quickly. We knew we would not have had a chance against them. What would have been gained?” Did you not feel you owed it to them, as a race? If not for your giving them the technology, they would not have encountered the Minbari and gotten themselves embroiled in a war.”

“Nonsense,” I said firmly. “Responsibility only goes so far.”

“Does it?” He was watching me. I hated it when he watched me like that. “What is that supposed to mean?” you do something to set events into motion, you owe something to those whom you have affected. You gave them the flame. They then burned themselves. You had a responsibility to try to tend to the wound…” But I shook my head. “No. We gave them the match. It was they who chose to light the flame. It was purely their responsibility, wasn’t it.”

“Was it?”

“Bah!” I said in disgust. “We always get to this at some point or other. ‘Yes, it is, no, It isn’t.’ No debate or discussion. Just rephrasing my question as another question. And then we go no further.”

“So one who is given the match and chooses to light it… is owed no aid from anyone? No succor? Whatever the consequence or outcome, it is his responsibility his alone to deal with?” ‘That is correct, yes.”

“And what of you, Londo?” His voice suddenly turned sharp, his manner alert. “You were given a match by the Shadows, were you not? By their agents? And you used that match to light a flame that wound up bringing a torch not only to my world, but also ultimately to your own. Yet now you want my aid to overcome that which you have thrust yourself into.”

“Your aid? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do not know entirely myself, Londo.” There was something about him, something that seemed to say that I could hide nothing from him. He exuded confidence. I almost envied him. “But there is something. Something you want of me. Something you are… saving me for. That is why I have been here for a year—that and no other reason. You could have me executed with impunity. You could find a way to allow me to depart, if you really wanted to. Instead you keep me here for your own purposes. I think you know what they are.”

“Oh, really. And what do you think they are?”

And that cold confidence seeped over from him. It seemed to drain something from me as he said, “I think… you want me to help you escape. Not out that door. Not off this world. I think you want me to help you escape through the only way that will allow the pain to stop. To the only place where no one can ever touch you or hurt you again. I do not think, though, that you are ready for that. Or perhaps you feel that it is not a judicious moment. And so you wait. And we chat. And we have dinner. And we play at having polite discussions about matters both consequential and inconsequential, when the only thing you really wonder about is: Is now the time? Is there more that I can do? Should do? Or should I ask my old friend G’Kar to do… what I myself cannot or will not do?”

Suddenly it was very, very cold. I felt it down to my bones, my blood… my very being. Whatever warming attributes came from the wine were gone.

“I think you should leave now,” I said.

G’Kar inclined his head slightly, in deference, and rose. The guards were immediately at his side. What nonsense. As if they could have stopped him if he endeavored to attack me. He looked at one in curiosity, and said, “You are new. You are new to the guard… but I have seen you before. Where?”

The guard looked at me, seeking my permission to reply. I nodded absently, and he looked back to G’Kar. “My name is Caso. I was a member of the Prime Candidates.”

“Of course. You were there that day, a year ago. You saw me stop the shooter You are no longer a Prime Candidate?” He shook his head. “Why?”

He said nothing, but it was I who answered. “Because it was felt,” I told him, “that he was wrong to reveal that you had saved Durla and me. The others pressured him to state that you yourself were involved, or even masterminded it. that way there would have been no reason not to dispose of you. And Durla is not pleased with the idea of being beholden to a Narn—any Narn—much less you.”

“But you stuck to your principles,” G’Kar said approvingly to Caso. “I simply held to the truth,” Caso told him. “it was not a difficult decision.” _ “Oh,” G’Kar said, glancing at me, “you would be amazed how difficult a decision it can be sometimes.”

Caso escorted him out then, leaving me with a bottle of wine that was not sufficiently full, and a soul that was not sufficiently empty, for what I needed to do.

Reality and fantasy were blurring for Durla. He was standing on a high cliff on Mipas, overlooking the ships that prepared to plunge into battle, and he could not recall for sure whether what he was seeing was really happening, or merely another of his visions.

“Magnificent,” he said, and the wind carried his words away so that no one heard, save himself. Even so, the fact that he himself had heard it was enough.

Mipas was only one of the worlds where Centauri war vessels were being gathered, but it was a pivotal one, since it was within close proximity to the Drazi Homeworld. Fortunately, Minister Castig Lione had done a more-than-admirable job of greasing the right palms and making certain that the right people in the Drazi government asked all the wrong questions, thereby making sure that none of the Drazi would look too closely at what was going on. They knew Mipas was a hub of industry, but the Centauri insisted with most convincing vigor—that the facility was simply being used as a construction project for the Centauri government to keep its populace gainfully employed.

And it was true that, at this site and at others like it, the Centauri had labored long and hard. And now the fruits of those years and years of labor were coming close to paying off. The ships looked so ready for battle—so powerful, that even sitting on the ground as they were, relatively helpless, they still appeared formidable.

It was, without question, the largest fleet that any one race had in its possession. Its creation had not come without cost, and it had required long years of experimentation and dedication.

“Magnificent,” he said again. He wondered abstractly whether he had forgotten every other word in his vocabulary.

But it was magnificent, there was no denying. The ships Were stretched all the way to the horizon, ready to leap into the air at his command. Not only that, but many already were up and dying. The sky was alive with activity, hundreds of ships, passing in perfect formation. He stood there, arms stretched wide, and he could practically feel power from the ships themselves flooding into him. He felt as if he could, with a mere wave of his hand, send other worlds spiraling into oblivion. With his mighty fleet backing him up, he could shatter planets at his merest whim. “Soon… very soon, sir,” General Rhys said at his side. “Another two, three weeks… and we will be ready. At your hand, and your hand alone, will we strike.”

It sounded good. Indeed, it sounded superb. “My hand,” Durla said, sounding enchanted with the notion. “My hand will reach out. My hand will crush the Alliance worlds. They will not be able to stop us. Nothing can stop us.”