Peter David - Out of the Darkness

And suddenly Mariel was at his side. She was smiling and perfect and glowing with that glorious inner light which, for some reason, he never saw when she was with him under other circumstances. “Sheridan can,” Mariel said firmly. “He can stop you.”

“Never!” Durla shouted.

“He stopped the Shadows. He stopped the Vorlons. He can stop you.”

“I will eliminate him! Obliterate him! I—”

“I love you, Durla, you above all others,” Mariel said. “And Sheridan shall be delivered into your hands. Sheridan and also Delenn.”

“How?” Durla’s eyes were wide in wonder. “How will you do this?”

“The son. The son is the key. Once you have the son, the father and mother will fall into line. He was born for one reason and one reason only: to become Sheridan and Delenn’s greatest weakness. They will sacrifice themselves in order to save him. They will think, in so doing, that it is only themselves who are to be sacrificed, but in fact they will be sacrificing Sheridan’s Alliance, as well. He has tried to create something greater than himself. He has not quite yet succeeded. He does not realize that once he is gone, his Alliance falls apart.

When the Alliance worlds are assaulted by this mighty fleet you have created, they will turn to Sheridan for guidance, and they will find him gone They will turn to each other and find only races that have let each other down. It will be glorious. It will be chaos. And it will be the end of the Interstellar Alliance.”

“And I need do nothing?”

“Nothing.” Mariel smiled. “Durla… do you know what you are?”

“Tell me.”

“You are the greatest leader, the greatest thinker, the greatest Centauri who has ever lived. In the future, all will sing songs and say prayers to you. The actions you take in the coming weeks will grant you immortality. None will ever forget the name of Durla. You will be like unto a god.”

“A god,” he whispered.

“Even the Great Maker himself will pale in envy at the praise that will be sung to you. For the Great Maker possesses the abilities of a deity, which aid him in all that he would create. You Durla, are a mere mortal… yet look at what you have managed to bring into being, through the sheer power of your will.”

The sky was now so thick with ships that the stars were not even visible. Every so often they managed to peek through, ever so slightly, but for the most part it was a solid blanket of fighter vessels.

“All this, you have done. And for all this, you will be rewarded.”

She reached for him then, her lips against his…

…and he awoke with a start.

In the darkness of the room, Durla felt flushed, breathing hard. It was that disconcerting sort of sensation that one always experienced when waking up in an unusual place.

The facility in which he was housed wasn’t especially plush or fancy, but it was the best Mipas had to offer. It was only one night, though; the next day he would journey to another of the worlds that the great Centauri Republic had taken, and witness the final stages of the construction there.

It was a glorious tour, a validation of all his work.

His work.

The more he pondered, the more his suspicious mind began to work. And then he heard a soft moan. He glanced over and saw Mariel lying next to him, tossing and looking less than comfortable. Perhaps she had likewise been dreaming. But her vision wasn’t remotely as broad as his, which caused him no little aggravation. After all, she had always been present in his dreams—an avatar of greatness. Certainly it wasn’t her fault that He Mariel of the real world could never match up to that of the imaginary. Nevertheless, it was a keen source of disappointment. He shook her awake, and she sat up with a start, blinking furiously. The blanket fell away, revealing the sheerest of night—gowns. Once upon a time, that sight alone would have been enough to inflame his blood. Now he barely gave it a glance. “Mariel… tell me what you think of me,” he said. She looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Your opinion. Of me. I desire to know what it is.”

“You are…” She licked her lips, still clearly befuddled, but game enough to try to reply. “You are my sun and moons, my stars, my everything. You are—”

“Stop it,” and he grasped her firmly by the arms. “I need to know, because we stand on the brink of something great. On the brink of recapturing the lost glory of Centauri Prime. But it is important to me that you tell me what you think of this venture, and of me.”

“Why… is it important?” He took a deep breath. “It simply is. Now tell me. Am I a great leader? Will songs be sung about me?” When she didn’t reply immediately, he shook her roughly and repeated, “Tell me!” And suddenly her face twisted in fury, anger so palpable that he felt as if daggers were being driven into him through the ferocity of her gaze alone. “You desire to know what I think? Very well. I think you are mad. Insane. I think you are drunk with power. I think you tell yourself that all that you do, you do for Centauri Prime, when in fact you do it for yourself. I think you will bring death and destruction to our people. I think these ‘great visions’ you profess to have are nothing more than the delusions of a rotting soul making lengthy preparations for its own damnation. I think that if you have a shred of decency, you will halt this insane project before it goes any further. That you will refrain from bringing the wrath of the Interstellar Alliance down around our ears and instead work to create something good and prosperous and decent. Something that can stand as a symbol for a thousand years and say, See here! We of the Great Centauri Republic accomplished this, and it benefited every sentient being everywhere. And, Durla, if you persist in this course, then you will only lead others to destruction, and the only songs that you will inspire will be dirges. You wanted to know what I think? That is what I think.”

It had all come bursting out of her in a rush, words spilling over themselves. She wasn’t thinking rationally, or wisely. As had been the case with abused and downtrodden wives throughout the ages, she had been thinking at that moment about one thing and one thing only: to wound him. To get back at him in any way she could.

But always a woman of craft, intelligence, and deviousness, Mariel had suffered his wrath long enough. Before he could swing at her, she whipped the covers off her body and leapt from the bed with the force of a recovered predator. Something had at last awakened inside her, a sense of dignity, of self—worth, a growing ember of the respect she once held as a devastating lady of Centauri Prime. Tonight she would get it all back. Before Durla could untangle himself from the bed sheets Mariel ripped open the bedroom door so hard that it slammed into the wall. She fled down the hallway, feeling him coming up fast behind her. Only a few more steps to go; she could just reach the other room in time. She grasped the handle of the door at the end of the hallway, pushed, whirled, and closed it, throwing herself against the door and locking Durla out. Forever.

As Durla pounded furiously against the door, Mariel leaned against it and felt the blessed wood at her back, taking the brunt of his anger for once. Across the room, there was a dark terminal. She stared at it, realizing that she was trapped here only as long as she allowed herself to be.

Mariel crossed the room, touched her fingers to the side of the terminal, and activated a call to Emperor Londo Mollari of Centauri Prime. She was taking him up on his offer of help. She was going home. And in a few moments, there would be nothing Durla could do to harm her.

“Happy birthday, David!”