Peter David - Out of the Darkness

“We were just there,” Delenn told him. “John… we can’t stop here and discuss this. Later. Later we can—”

Suddenly his hand clutched her arm so hard that pain shot up to her shoulder. Then he realized what he was doing, and eased up. “Babylon 4,” he whispered. “The time flux… this was it…”

“Yes,” she said, relieved that she wasn’t going to have to explain.

“I thought I was suddenly having deja vu,” he said, looking around.

Urgently she suddenly inquired, “Z’ha’dum… did you—”

“Go?” He nodded. “Yes.” He sounded almost apologetic, because obviously he remembered her breathless advice… and had felt constrained to disobey it anyway.

She felt an awful mixture of relief and pain, all at the same time. Relief because she had allowed a moment of weakness to jeopardize everything that was, or might ever be… and nothing had come from it. And pain because it meant that, in three years at the most, John would be lost to her. The time given him as a reprieve against death would be running out. If he had not gone to Z’ha’dum…

“Ifs,” Sheridan had said to her, years before. With an amused grin he had explained, “My father used to say ‘If ifs and ands were pots and pans, the world would be a kitchen.’” She hadn’t been entirely certain she understood it, but the message was clear.

“Mr. President,” Dunseny said with extremely forced politeness, and he indicated that the hallway awaited them.

Without any further discussion, Sheridan and Delenn bolted down the corridor. A series of quick turns and they emerged through a door of the palace. On a pad nearby, there was a shuttle waiting for them.

“It’s the emperor’s personal landing pad,” Dunseny informed them. His attitude seemed to carry the message that for the emperor to provide such a service for them was a singular honor. They were, to Dunseny’s mind, probably not acting with sufficient awe or gratitude. “He wished me to convey to you his hope that the shuttle will sufficiently accommodate you.”

“What about David,” Sheridan said urgently. He turned to Delenn. “Where is he?”

She rested a hand on his arm, and said firmly, “Londo assured me that David would be safe. That he would be gotten off-world. Londo said he himself would attend to it personally. Come.” And she was pulling him toward the shuttle.

Had he not been so groggy and confused, Sheridan would have put up a greater struggle. As it was, he was arguing nevertheless, dragging his heels, not petulantly, but with determination. And each word or phrase was matched by a small stomp of a foot. “We aren’t… leaving… without… David…”

“It has been attended to, sir,” Caso offered. He led them over to the shuttle. “Now you have to leave…”

Clearly Sheridan was getting his usual fire and composure back, because standing just outside the shuttle, he rounded on the guard, and said, “Listen, sonny. We don’t ‘have’ to do anything that gets in the way of what’s important: namely, getting our son back.” His hand was trembling, and he was shaking a finger at Caso. “If he doesn’t turn up—”

“John!” Delenn’s voice was a cry of alarm, flooded with relief. “Look!”

Sprawled in the center of the shuttle, like a large bag of produce, was David. Delenn ran to him, checked him over. She was relieved to see that his chest was rising and falling in a wonderfully normal manner. “David… David, wake up…”

“That would not be wise. Nor feasible,” Dunseny said. “He’s asleep because we drugged him.”

“Drugged him!” Delenn said in alarm.

“Well… drugged his food, technically.”

“What have you done to my son?” Sheridan demanded angrily.

If Sheridan’s anger was intended to intimidate Dunseny, it didn’t work. The faithful retainer looked at him with only the mildest of concern. “Nothing that wasn’t necessary.”

Suddenly Delenn understood. She pulled back the edge of his shirt, around the throat. The small mass of protoplasmthe thing called the keeper—was still attached, its single, fearsome eye closed. It slept as soundly as David.

“In Valen’s name…” she whispered.

“As you see,” Dunseny said mildly. “We did to him what the emperor did to himself, but on a far more extreme level. As I said, necessary. If his—associate—were to see the two of you, it would put an end to your escape.” His face twisted in disgust. “The Drakh may be in the process of abandoning this world, thank the Great Maker. But if the keeper were in working order, you can rest assured that one of their vessels would still find the time to blow you out of the sky.”

“He should be out for some time yet,” Caso told them. “Perhaps not quite long enough for you to get to Minbar… but far enough, at least, to be safe in deep space, several jump points away.”

“At that point, if he awakens, don’t tell him your position. We’re hoping even the keeper can’t send information to the Drakh that his host doesn’t possess.” Dunseny looked around apprehensively once more. “Standing here talking is counterproductive. Leave. Now.”

Sheridan quickly moved forward to the cockpit of the shuttle, Delenn staying by David’s side, caressing his hair gently. Some part of her couldn’t quite believe that he was with them again. She looked to Dunseny, standing outside the shuttle, looking in unflappably as the door irised shut. The skyline of the burning city was visible behind him, in the distance. Just before the closing door cut off her view of his face, he said—without the slightest trace of irony—“Thank you for visiting beautiful Centauri Prime. We do hope you’ve enjoyed your trip. Please come again.“And then the door closed.

Far, far away from it all…

The female Centauri lay on her deathbed.

The women who tended her were moving around like moths, flitting about, dabbing her head that was burning with fever, trying to keep liquids in her, and taking care of her needs. She did not pay attention to any of them, did not seem to know that any of them were there. She stared at the ceiling, although since her eyes were glassy, it was difficult to know just how much she actually saw.

In a way, it seemed that she was not looking at the ceiling… but through it. Through it to a place lightyears away, to events that she could not see, could not possibly know about… and yet, somehow, she did…

The moment G’Kar felt the fingers tighten on his throat, he knew there was no backing out. He knew that he was in the fight of his life… a fighter his life. But he wasn’t looking at Londo as he redoubled his efforts to crush the emperor’s throat. His focus was entirely on the eye that was peering back at him… the single, unblinking eye.

He saw terror in it, and from that terror, he drew strength.

Harder, Londo! Save us! Save us! We do not want to die!

Londo saw the fearsome red eye of G’Kar, and it was looking to his side. He realized that, at the last, G’Kar’s battle was not with him, but with the thing on his shoulder. Londo’s mind was almost detached from what was happening. In a way, it was symbolic. The keeper was the incarnation of all the dark, background forces that had made Londo their puppet for so many years.

And even as he thought that, his efforts increased, his death grip on G’Kar’s throat redoubled. Strength flowed from the panic that the keeper fed into him, and he wanted to scream Faster, G ‘Kar! Faster! End it before it ‘s too late! But he could say nothing, for his windpipe was already crushed. He had no chance, and still he fought on.

Londo! You can stop him! You can kill the Narn and we can live on, and it will be much better, you will have more time for yourself, we can do this thing for you, we will treat you better, and the Drakh will make things better, love us, Londo, stop him!