Peter David - Out of the Darkness

The great seal of the emperor lay nearby. Slowly Vir crouched and picked it up. He turned it over and over, felt the weight of it, shaking his head as he did so. He felt as if he held the entire weight of all the expectations of Centauri Prime, all the dashed hopes, all the shattered promises of the future.

His eyes were dry. He had no more tears to shed.

He looked down at Londo, the life gone from him. His final expression, incredibly, was a smile.

He looked over to G’Kar, into his eye…

The burning red eye… which moved. Twitched ever so infinitesimally.

“Great Maker,” Vir breathed, scarcely able to believe it. “G’Kar…”

G’Kar’s eye focused momentarily on Vir, then glanced away… glanced… at something… toward Vir’s feet.

Vir reflexively looked to see what G’Kar was looking at… and took a step back, gasping in horror.

The creature appeared to be in extreme pain. Its tendrils were whipping about noiselessly, its single, hideous eye crusting over.

There was a gaping hole in its side, like a hornet having torn its stinger away to pull itself free. But it was inches away from Vir, and it was not done yet, hanging on with determination that bordered on the supernatural.

The keeper looked up at Vir, although it might not have seen him so much as sensed him.

And Vir screamed, but it wasn’t a sound of terror. Instead it was blind fury, such as he had never known. And gripping the seal of the emperor, he smashed it down upon the keeper. It made a vomitous squishing sound, and he was certain that somehow he heard a screech in his head… impossible, certainly, since the thing had no mouth, but he heard it just the same. He was positive it wasn’t his imagination. Even as he raised the great seal up, he saw the mass on the floor still twitching. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been moving or not, for he was so seized in a fit of fury that he would have brought the seal crashing down again even if the creature hadn’t been moving so much as a centimeter.

And then a third time, and a fourth and a fifth. He lost count. He lost track of time and lost all reason. He was astounded to realize that he was sobbing, the tears that he hadn’t thought he possessed opening up. He hurled every invective he could think of at the creature and all that it represented, every profanity in his vocabulary, words that he had never uttered and never thought he would. The empty throne room rang with the clanging of the great seal of the emperor, which became more dented and twisted with every impact.

Finally, his fury expended, he backed up and assessed the damage he had done. The keeper was nothing but an indistinguishable pile of goo on the floor. He tossed aside the seal, not caring about its tradition or sacred meaning. It lay on the floor like some worthless piece of scrap metal, which—as far as Vir was concerned—was all it was.

He looked over at G’Kar, and he knew instantly that the life was gone from the great Narn. Indeed, he wondered whether he had even been alive at the last. Whether that twitch of his scarlet orb was deliberate, a mute warning… or just some after—death spasm simulating a last act of heroism. He couldn’t know, nor would he ever.

“Tell your masters,” Vir snarled at the smear on the floor that had once been alive, “that their time is over. Centauri Prime for Centauri.”

“Tell us yourself.”

The words were a hoarse whisper that came from behind. He whirled and saw half a dozen Drakh directly behind him. One of them he recognized instantly.

“Shiv’kala,” he said.

“Vir Cotto,” Shiv’kala replied. “Finally… we are face-to-face… true enemies revealed at last.”

“You won’t control me,” Vir shot back.

“You know so little,” the Drakh snarled. “But you will learn.”

They advanced on him, and Vir backed up as fast as he could. They were coming in from all sides, circling him, and the only avenue left was the window, facing out onto a drop that would kill a hundred Virs.

Vir did not hesitate. He clambered up onto the window, poised in the sill. The night air, heated from the flames in the distance, swept around him.

“I’ve nothing to learn from you,” he said defiantly, “except the lengths that someone should be willing to go to, just to live free in mind and spirit.”

He took a look down, getting ready to make his fatal plunge. And then his eyes widened as he saw… a shuttle. No, not just any shuttle: his shuttle. It was approaching rapidly from below, coming straight toward him with a roar of engines.

The Drakh came at him, and he was out of time and options. Vir leaped through the air, feeling anything except graceful, and he landed atop the shuttle. He cried out, having landed badly, pain shooting through his right knee. He thought he might have torn a ligament, and then he started to slide off the top. It was smooth, giving his desperate fingers no purchase upon which to grab. But then the doors irised open, and Renegar was there, catching Vir as he slid by. “Hang on, I’ve got you!” he shouted, and hauled the flailing Cotto into the shuttle as if he weighed absolutely nothing.

Vir heard a screech of rage from the Drakh even as he tumbled into the shuttle.

Then he heard the sound of weapons fire.

He scrambled to his feet and what he saw through the window was enough to make his hearts sing. Guards, led by Caso, had come pouring into the room, heavily armed. The Drakh had turned to face them, a dark and fearsome last stand against the rather unexpected forces of light. The guards were opening fire on the Drakh. The gray servants of the Shadows were putting up a struggle, but it didn’t seem likely they were going to survive for long. In a city reduced to smoking ruins thanks to their evil, at least one group of Drakh was undergoing what could only be described as a desperate last stand. He envisioned a throne room littered with Drakh bodies…

…and then couldn’t help but remember that one of the bodies littering that throne room was that of he who should, by all rights, be sitting in that throne.

“Are you all right, Vir?” Senna asked. She was by his side, and he realized she was checking him over to ascertain whether he had sustained any sort of damage. “Are you unhurt?”

“That’s… two different questions, really,” Vir said ruefully. “I’m unhurt, yes. As for my being all right, though… I don’t think I’ll be all right ever again.”

“Londo… were you able to help him?” Renegar asked… and then he saw the expression on Vir’s face.

Senna did as well. “You mean… he’s…”

“He died at G’Kar’s hands, as did G’Kar at his.”

“But why?” Senna asked desperately. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it. Why would they kill each other?”

“I have some guesses on the matter,” Vir said thoughtfully. “I don’t know that we’ll ever know for sure.”

Senna began to sob. She seemed unable to find words to express the grief she was feeling. Vir reached for her and held her close to him.

“He tried. He tried so hard to be the best emperor he could,” Senna managed to say.

“He did the most that anyone could—”

“Excuse me,” Gwynn cut in, sounding a bit annoyed. “Can we save the maudlin eulogizing for a more appropriate time? There are other matters to be attended to.”

“Shut up, Gwynn,” Vir shot back. “You’re a technomage, and I know perfectly well that there’s a huge amount of things that you know about that I couldn’t even begin to understand. But there are some things that you know absolutely nothing about, and this is one of them, so I’m telling you again, especially when it comes to Londo: Shut the hell up. Got that?”