Peter David - Out of the Darkness

“And what would that hobby be, Londo?”

“He fights evil.” I leaned forward. “He fights evil wherever he sees it. He even fights evil when no others see it. Even though he believes the odds to be hopelessly against him, he charges into battle against the forces of darkness. Many people in the book think him insane.”

“Do they.” There was no inflection in his voice.

“Yes. They do. But there is a handful of others… who do not.”

“And who would these be?”

“One of them is his faithful squire—that is to say, assistant—Sancho. Sancho helps the intrepid Quixote on his missions, no matter how far-fetched, because he wants to help Quixote recognize his dreams. To validate them. To fight… against the forces of darkness.”

“Yes… you mentioned those,” Vir said slowly. “I… think I understand.”

“And that reminded me of you… and even us. I think that once upon a time, Vir… I was Quixote. I had dreams of greatness, of what the Centauri Republic should be. And you… you were my Sancho,” and I laughed and shook a fist. “At my side, supporting me in my efforts while at the same time trying to get me to see the reality of what I was doing.”

“And when Sancho tried to explain reality to Quixote… did he understand?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Interesting the parallels that can be drawn, eh? And now, you know… I think that the roles have turned. I think, in many ways, you are the new Quixote, yes? You see a world that you want to be better than it is, and you fight the good fight to make it that way. And that would make me Sancho… trying to assist you… to tell you what is what. To tell you when dark forces are encroaching, and when time is running out.” ‘ “I think… in that respect… you would be an excellent Sancho.”

“Good, good.” I paused and took a deep breath. “Would you like to know… one of the ways in which the good Quixote fought evil?”

“Very much, yes.”

I quaffed more of my drink, and said, “Windmills.”

He looked at me oddly. “Windmills? What are windmills?”

“They were tall structures… very tall structures, and things were made inside them. Very tall structures… that seemed ordinary… but Quixote saw them as something else. He saw them as giants, and he attacked them. Charged at them with a long stick. It was called ‘tilting.’ He tilted at windmills.”

“So he was insane, is what you are saying.”

“Ahhh, but that is the test, Vir, you see. To look at tall buildings and say they are giants is, of course, insanity. But to look at towering structures and say they might be giants, why… that proves you a man of vision. A man who can see things when others do not, and act accordingly. Thatway… that way you can be prepared to do what must be done.” I emptied my glass, poured myself another. “You might want to read the book, Vir. Reading is one of your hobbies, yes?”

“Yes. One of them.”

“You should read it, then, definitely. Because it might have a very dramatic impact on your other hobbies… very soon.”

Their voices were echoing throughout the catacombs, and it took all Vir’s lung power to shout them down.

They had gathered quickly at Vir’s summons; indeed, they’d been prepared for it ever since Renegar had filtered the word out that Vir was coming to Centauri Prime. Even the technomages had managed to show up, although how they knew to come—and why they weren’t spotted when they moved about on the surface of Centauri Prime—was pretty much anyone’s guess. “I don’t understand any of it!” Renegar said in frustration. “Windmills and Coyote—”

“Quixote.”

“Whatever it is! How does this relate to—”

“He was speaking to me in a code,” Vir told them. “I’m positive.”

“What sort of code?” Adi asked suspiciously. “The kind of code that only two people who’ve known each other for years could get away with. He was being watched and couldn’t say anything overt… but he was subtle enough that I got it.”

“Or you were misreading it,” Finian suggested. “You could have been hearing what you wanted to hear.”

“No,” Vir said fiercely. “I heard what he wanted me to hear, and he was doing it to help.” He started ticking off points on his fingers. “He knows I’m involved with the Legions of Fire…”

“The what?” they chorused.

“You guys. Never mind that now. He knows that I’m tied in with the saboteurs. He was trying to tell me that Durla is on the verge of making his move. That the Drakh are present in large numbers on Centauri Prime. That if we’re going to do something about it, we’re going to have to do it now.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” one of the others said. “Perhaps the thing to do is wait, to—”

“No,” Vir said, stunning the others into silence. “You didn’t see what I saw. You didn’t see the look in his eyes, the desperation. He wants this stopped as much as we do. He knows that this insane plan of Durla’s, this scheming by the Drakh, is only going to end in tragedy for all. We have to strike openly, publicly, and with finality. We have to turn over the rock that the Drakh are hiding under. It’s the only way!”

“Londo might have been setting us up…” Renegar ventured. “If he’s a tool of the Drakh, as you say…”

“Then why play games, huh? If he suspects that I’m involved with the underground, why not just tell the Drakh? Watch me disappear,” and he snapped his fingers, “like that. You think the Drakh care whether I actually am a rebel or not? If Londo voices his suspicion to them, they’d obliterate me without giving it a second thought, just to play it safe. The fact that he hasn’t… the fact that I’m still here, and not off in a dungeon being tortured or just being executed as a warning to others… that means some thing, I’m telling you! And the coded message he was sending me meant something, too! We have to stop them!”

“How?” That was, of course, the big question. It was Gwynn who had posed it.

Surprisingly, Vir had an answer.

“Now is the time,” he said slowly, “to let everyone and everything know about the Drakh infestation on this world. Which means we reveal their headquarters. Londo has figured out where it is. I should have, too, to be honest. He kept talking about a tall structure that wasn’t what it seemed…”

“The Tower of Power,” Renegar said suddenly.

“Of course,” Finian said, looking at Gwynn. “The structure with no windows. It makes sense.”

“We’ve scanned it before, though, for signs of Shadow tech,” Gwynn reminded him. “We came up with nothing.”

“Probably because there was none when you first scanned it,” Vir suggested. “Or so little that it was undetectable. No one could get inside, for a close scan, because the place is so closely guarded by the Prime Candidates.”

“And it remains heavily guarded,” Renegar pointed out. “If there are Drakh there… and we are going to expose them… how do you suggest we do it?”

“Simple,” Vir said, with a surprisingly malicious smile. “We tilt.”

In his cell deep beneath the palace, his body aching with a world of pain, G’Kar heard something faintly that sounded a great deal like cheering. As near as he could tell, it was some type of a massive rally. He had heard sounds like that before, and assumed it to be some sort of religious meeting. They liked their religious meetings, the Centauri did. It was a way to bolster the spirit of a people whose main occupation seemed to be endeavoring to dash the spirits of others.

Still, every so often, whenever he heard such things, he wondered whether he was eventually going to be made the subject of one. He could see himself being pulled out on a cart or some—such, to their great temple, bound from head to toe, being pelted by overripe fruit along the way. Once at the temple he would doubtless be subjected to assorted torture devices, hoping to wring a scream from him, as Cartagia had, before he died a hideous death. Curiously, he was certain at this point that he wouldn’t mind such a fate. At least he would know where he stood. As it was now, the daily beatings and torments were wearing quite thin on him. The novelty was wearing off on his captors, as well; despite everything they had done, they had not been able to elicit the slightest sound out of him.