Peter David - Out of the Darkness

“Highness,” and he began to circle the room, and speak as if he were addressing a child. “His presence here is simply part of my grand vision.”

“Not again.” I had heard about his “vision” for Centauri Prime, and plans for the great Republic, all too many times.

“All this,” and he gestured to the window that overlooked his balcony, “is because I envisioned it, Highness. When the great wave of Centauri vessels crashed upon the shores of the Alliance worlds, it will be the ultimate realization of my vision. I have willed it into existence. Because I have believed in it… it has come to pass.

“This is simply another example of the power of my belief. I believed that David Sheridan would come here… and he has. I must admit,” and he leaned back against his desk, looking insufferably smug, “when Minister Lione informed me of young Sheridan’s arrival, I was not the least bit surprised. Even Lione remarked upon how calm I was. Naturally. I could see it as clearly as I see you.”

“And now that he is here, you will send him back, yes?”

“I will send him back, no,” he told me. “You cannot be serious, Highness, is the ideal opportunity to bend our greatest enemy to our will.”

“You are insane! You would bring the might of the entire Alliance down upon us!”

“No. With his son’s life at stake, Sheridan will bow to our will. It is inevitable, he cannot help himself. He is Human and, because of that, weak. In a way,” and he laughed, “I almost feel sorry for him.”

“Sorry for him? The Alliance fleet will bomb Centauri Prime back into the primordial ooze from which we crawled, and you feel sorry for him?”

“Yes, because he lacks the strength of dedication and commitment that even the lowliest of Centauri possess.”

A door opened at the far end of the room before I could reply… and I gaped. I admit it. My jaw nearly hit the floor. Mariel was there, emerging on unsteady legs. She was leaning against the door frame for support. There were faint discolorations on her face. Clearly she had been struck some short time ago. I knew that Mariel had not been seen as of late, but this… this… I knew he had done it before. But now he had done it again, and what had seemed like an isolated incident became a pattern. She had not heard me. I wondered if he had done internal damage to her. But she saw me and gasped, her hands automatically flying to cover her battered face. She ducked back into the other room, closing the door behind her.

Durla looked at me expectantly. He seemed to be wondering what other trivial matter I might bore him with at that moment. Forcing myself to speak clearly, levelly, I said, “You say… you have foreseen all this?”

“Much of it, yes.”

“And have you foreseen… this?” And I drew back my fist and smashed him in the face as hard as I could.

It was likely a foolish move on my part, for Durla was an old soldier and still in battle—ready condition. I, on the other hand, had a flair for swords, but was older and much diminished. In a brief struggle, I might have been able to hold my own. in a prolonged fight, he could likely have done me great damage. Still, I was emperor, and there might still have been sufficient respect for the office to inhibit him from lashing out that aggressively.

None of that mattered. I struck him with no forethought, no care as to what might happen or how good an idea it was. All I knew, at that moment, was that desperately needed to have my fist in direct contact with his face. It was nice to see that I had not lost my punch, or at least was capable of recapturing it when the need arose.

Durla went straight down, having been caught utterly unprepared. At that moment, I truly believe that I could have killed him with my bare hands.

And then the pain struck me.

Durla had been caught completely flat—footed. He had to admit that he had come to underestimate just what the emperor was capable of, and being knocked flat by Londo Mollari was a decisive reminder.

His head struck the floor when he went down, and just for a moment the world spun around him. He saw Londo standing over him, raging, and his hands seemed even larger as they descended, clearly ready to throttle him. Just for a moment, the normally confident Durla wondered whether he could actually withstand a concerted attack from the infuriated emperor.

And then, just like that, the threat passed. Because the emperor pitched back, clutching at his head. If someone had driven a spike through his skull, the reaction could not have been more pronounced. From the floor, Durla watched, utterly stupefied, as Londo staggered back. Hiseyes were tightly closed, and he seemed for all the world as if he wanted to do anything rather than scream. But then the scream came, and it was very loud and laced with agony.

It was more than enough to alert the guards outside that something was up. By the time they pushed through the door, Durla was on his feet, looking down at the writhing form of the emperor.

For a moment he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. It wouldn’t do for word to get out that the emperor had been so angry with Durla that he had assaulted him. It was hard to determine just how much popularity the emperor still possessed. Durla did not for a moment doubt that the people had come to love their prime minister, but the affection for the office of emperor was historical, tried and true. They certainly seemed to adore their figureheads, and the attendant pomp and circumstance.

“The emperor is having some sort of an attack,” Durla said quickly. “Have him brought to his quarters at once. Call a physician…”

“No!”

The word exploded from Londo as if torn from the depths of his dismay. And now Dunseny was at his side, propping him up. Londo’s eyes were open wide as if there was agony still erupting behind them. “Highness, it’s necessary,” Dunseny said immediately. “I know your antipathy for physicians; you’ve not had more than the most cursory of examinations for over a decade. But in this instance…”

“In this instance,” Londo managed to say, his voice still shaking, “I am still the emperor… and you are still… not.” Whatever fit had taken hold of Londo seemed to be subsiding. “Help me up,” he said in a vaguely commanding voice, and instantly several guards were at Londo’s side, helping him to his feet.

One of them was Caso. Durla recognized him instantly. They exchanged a long look, then Caso helped the emperor to lean on his shoulders.

Durla had never been particularly impressed by Caso. He had struck Durla as faint of heart during the questioning of the traitor, Rem Lanas, and positively disconcerted upon the imprisonment of Milifa. When it had come time for Milifa to quietly die in prison, Caso had managed to absent himself to avoid taking part in that particular Prime Candidates function. His eagerness to clear the Narn, G’Kar, that day of the shooting, had not sat especially well with Durla, either.

Thinking of G’Kar and the prisons sent Durla’s mind spinning in a particular direction, and he smiled faintly to himself. Without missing a beat, he turned to Londo, and said, “Highness… I hope you recover from your distress quite soon. And I shall remember our discussion for quite some time to come.”

Londo was barely managing to lend any support to himself, but he still was able to summon enough strength to say, “I would strongly advise that you do so, Prime Minister… for all our sakes. Your treatment of young Sheridan, and of… others… shall not go unnoticed.”

“No treatment shall,” Durla replied, bowing slightly at the waist. His jaw was throbbing from where Londo had struck it, but he was not about to give Mollari the satisfaction of seeing him acknowledge it. “No treatment shall.”