Peter David - Out of the Darkness

There was so much to be said between us… but it was necessary to concentrate purely on matters of historical record. “You will drink with me, Vir?” I asked.

“No, if it’s all the same to you,” he said. I think of the old days, when his voice always seemed to have a slight tremor to it. No more. Now he speaks with confidence… and just a hint of perpetual sadness.

“I have decided to work on a history, Vir. And I have decided that you will write it with me.”

“I will?” He seemed most surprised. Of all the things he probably thought we would discuss, I doubt this was listed among them. “Oh, yes. It will be quite comprehensive. Unfortunately, I do not think I will have overmuch time to complete it. I would like your help in achieving that. You were there for most of it. I think you are fit to do the job. If youwish, you may put your name first in the credits. For I strongly suspect, you see, that it will be published posthumously.”

“I see,” he said. “I shall spend the next hour,” I told him, as I proceeded to pour a drink, “giving you some details… some highlights… for I have been discussing it at length recently, and it is all fresh in my mind. You may record it however you wish. Expand upon it, put it into chronological order at your convenience. Then you will leave me, for I will meet with Sheridan and Delenn.”

“Are you… are you…” He could not even frame the words. I shook my head. “I… do not wish to discuss it, Vir, for reasons I cannot explain at the moment. For I am watched, you see, all the time… even here. So let us instead discuss matters ofscholarship… and let the rest sort itself out.

“And Vir… you will let the people know. Let them know there was to be more than a world in flames. That there was supposed to be… should have been… greatness. With all the sacrifices, with all the people who have died, you would think we were entitled to that.

“You will carry on for me, Vir. It will be among the last orders I give. You will carry on and tell the story to others. It will be uplifting… or a warning… or simply a rather Byzantine adventure, depending upon how it’s told and who is listening, I would imagine. And in this way, the story will never end. You will do this thing for me, Vir?” With true tragedy in his voice, he replied, “Of course I will.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, my old friend.” I patted him on the hand and leaned back, feeling the warmth of the liquor already beginning to fill me. I shall drink myself into oblivion… and shortly thereafter, my soul will follow. Vir waited for me to speak. He had found a recording device, and held it in his hand. “Where… where do you wish to start?” he asked. Where to start? Where else, of course? In the beginning… I looked out upon the burning remains of Centauri Prime, steadied my hand so that I could permit the liquid to cascade down my throat…

…and I began to speak.” I was there, at the dawn of the Third Age of Mankind. It began in the Earth year 2257 with the founding of the last of the Babylon stations, located deep in neutral space. It was a port of call for refugees, smugglers, businessmen, diplomats, and travelers from a hundred worlds. It could be a dangerous place, but we accepted the risk because Babylon 5 was our last, best hope for peace… It became a dream given form… a dream of a galaxy without war, where species from different worlds could live side by side in mutual respect… a dream that was endangered as never before by the arrival of one man on a mission of destruction. Babylon 5 was the last of the Babylon stations. This is its story…” I had such dreams. Such dreams…

His clothes were tattered… one eye was missing, replaced by a black cloth… and he had been beaten so thoroughly in recent days that almost every step was agony. And yet G’Kar carried himself so tall, so proudly, that one might have thought at first glance that the guards surrounding him were at his service, rather than acting as his captors.

But G’Kar was nothing short of astounded when the guards led him to the throne room… then stopped at the door. Under normal circumstances they would be flanking him, front and back, to make sure there was no way that he could spring at the emperor in some improbable fit of fury. But this time, it was not the case. They were allowing him to go in unescorted.

One of the guards saw the puzzled look in G’Kar’s good eye. “Emperor’s orders,” he said, matter-of-factly.

G’Kar nodded and stepped through the door. He had no idea what to expect. For some reason he thought that perhaps there was going to be a firing squad on the other side. The shooters would yell, “Surprise!” and then open fire, and that would be that.

He was, however, quite wrong. Instead there was the throne room, utterly devoid of retainers, guards, and such… except for two people. One of them he had expected to see. The other he had not.

There was a small table set up, and seated at it were Londo Mollari and Vir Cotto. There were several empty bottles and glasses on it. It seemed a phenomenal amount of alcohol to have ingested, even by Londo’s standards. There was still a partially filled bottle. There was also a bowl of fruit, half consumed. Londo had just finished saying something about Delenn, and suddenly he was seized with a racking cough. Vir, for his part, didn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he looked up at G’Kar and nodded slightly in greeting.

G’Kar hadn’t quite recognized Vir at first. He looked so much older and so careworn. G’Kar made the traditional Narn gesture of greeting.

“That,” Londo said, coughing, “is what we need.”

Vir looked at him in confusion. “What is, Londo?”

“A way of saying hello. The Narn, they have that businesswith fist and chest… the Minbari, with their fingers as triangles… what do we do?” He waggled his fingers. Then he shook his head. “Pathetic. Truly. Perhaps we deserved our fate on that basis alone. Sit, G’Kar. Sit. Vir… I need you to do two final things for me.”

“Whatever you need, Londo.” G’Kar saw such sadness in Vir, he could barely conceive what it must have been like for him.

“I want you to go to my private chambers. There is a hidden place, behind my writing desk. In the wall. Volumes are stored there. Chronicles of my life as emperor. I think you will find them… illuminating. Combine them with what I have told you and…” He stopped and coughed for a full thirty seconds before he managed to pull himself together. His voice was hoarse and scratchy; he sounded as if he had been speaking for hours. Every word sounded as if it was taking effort. “… combine them… and tell others of me. Because otherwise I will be forgotten… and I donot think that I would like that.”

“Because your heroic efforts deserve to be immortalized?” G’Kar could not resist asking.

But Londo looked up at him with a baleful stare that carried with it not a hint of irony. “No. Because stupidity as monumental as mine should be enshrined so that others may learn. Vir… the second thing…”

“Yes?”

“Once you have them… leave. Leave and do not look back. Do not return until it is safe… if ever. And watch the shadows… sometimes, when you’re not watching… they move. I have struck a bargain of sorts to preserve your life. If I had not, you would have been dead moments after you set foot in my presence. But I do not expect that it will be honored beyond my death… which, I suspect, will come soon.”

Vir nodded, and G’Kar wondered if he understood what Londo was talking about. Vir started to head out, and G’Kar wanted to say something, because he had the oddest feeling that he was never going to see Vir again. “Cotto,” he called out.