Peter David - Out of the Darkness

Dripping with sarcasm, Gwynn bowed slightly, and said, “Of course, Vir Cotto. After all, I’m only the one who brought this vessel around, using my skills to find you, and saved your life. It’s not as if you owe me the slightest bit of gratitude.”

Vir allowed the remark to pass, partly from disdain and partly from the fact that he knew, deep down, that she was right. But she was so damned annoying that he couldn’t quite bring himself to show his appreciation. So instead he changed the subject. “The remaining bombs… are we sure we’ve got them all?”

Renegar nodded. “Once we knew they existed—although it would have been great if we could have discovered it through some other method than having them be set off Finian was able to tap into their energy signatures and locate them quickly enough. They were cloaked, but you can’t cloak something from a technomage if they know what to look for.”

“He never told anyone,” Vir said in amazement. “Never trusted anyone… trusted me… enough to tell me…”

“Can you blame him?” Senna asked. “He must have thought that you would find them on your own. And he must have been afraid that, if he did say something, the Drakh would detonate the bombs as punishment. Afraid.” She said the word again as if she could not quite digest its full meaning. “How many years must he have spent living in fear.”

“I don’t know that you can exactly call that living,” Vir said. “Where are the bombs now?”

“Finian has them,” Gwynn said immediately. “He was anxious to get them off-world, away from possible Drakh influence. He’s defused them, but he felt it best that the Drakh be given no opportunity to use them for further mischief.”

“Where is he now?”

“In another vessel.”

“Can you communicate with him somehow?”

Gwynn nodded. “Absolutely. Where do you want them brought? Truth to tell, he’d be more than happy to be rid of them, sooner rather than later.”

Vir didn’t even hesitate. “To Minbar. I’m going to turn them over to Sheridan. A little gift in advance… for the help he’s going to give us.”

“What help are you talking about?”

“I suspect,” Vir said, patting the satchel that was lying on the floor—the satchel that held Londo’s memoirs—“that these words of Londo’s are going to be very instrumental in letting the Alliance know just how involved the Drakh were in much of what has been blamed on Centauri Prime. The Alliance isn’t going to appreciate being played for fools, and as for Sheridan…” He shook his head. “Let’s just say that he has the most finely tuned sense of moral outrage I’ve ever seen in a Human. Now that the Drakh are in disarray, it shouldn’t be too difficult to convince the Alliance to join forces with the Centauri fleet. Right now our ships are all sitting on station, waiting for someone to gather them in…”

“And that’s going to be you?”

Vir nodded.

“How do you figure that?” Gwynn asked.

“For starters,” Vir said slowly, “the fleet commanders have now been made to understand that what was supposed to be an initiative of Centauri origin was actually a massive manipulation at the hands of the Drakh… including the manipulation of the much—beloved, much—attended—to Prime Minister Durla. Durla’s vision was actually Drakh vision, and that’s not going to sit too well for men whose mission once seemed so clear—cut.

“I can guess that, even as we speak, there are counsels going on among the military leaders, trying to figure out what will happen next. Some will struggle for dominance. The ships may even be fighting each other. As soon as a new leader is announced and affirmed, the chances are that the fleet will fall into line eagerly, just so it can have a genuine purpose, for the first time in its existence.”

“And you still think that leader will be you?” Renegar asked. “How do you figure that?”

“For starters, my connection with unveiling the Drakh is well known. And second, Londo once moved heaven and earth to try to get an endorsement from a technomage, because he felt that such an action would be a tremendous boost for his own chances at the throne. I know, because he enlisted my aid in trying to make things happen. Me… I’m going to have the endorsements of two technomages. That can be arranged, can’t it, Gwynn?”

Gwynn was at the controls of the shuttle, guiding the vessel with speed and certainty away from the burning world below. She grunted in response. “Don’t bet on it.” Without hesitation, he continued, “I’m also going to have the influence of the extremely influential General Rhys. I contacted him shortly before the revelation of the Drakh, informing him of what was going to happen. That was a gamble on my part, but the interaction I’d had with Rhys told me that he, of all people, would be the most outraged over the pervasive Drakh influence. He was loyal to Durla; when Durla proved less than trustworthy, Rhys needed someone to whom he could switch allegiance. I suspect that I will be that individual, and when that occurs, he’ll bring the rest of the key military personnel along.”

“Unless Rhys chooses to grab power for himself.”

Vir shook his head. “Not Rhys. Believe it or not, he’s not the type. He’s old school, and believes that his allegiance is, and always must be, to the emperor. But the title of emperor is one that has traditionally always passed to those of higher birth. Rhys is lowborn, and proud of it. He’s not going to want to reorder all of Centauri society just to accommodate some sort of power play.

“Now I… I’m of higher birth… no matter how much my parents would have liked to deny it,” he added as a witheringly accurate self—portrayal. “Also, I believe thatJohn Sheridan, president of the Alliance, will support my claim as well, as will most of the remaining Centauri nobility.”

“You’ve been giving this a great deal of thought,” Renegar observed.

“I learned from the best,” Vir replied.

“But why?” Senna asked.

He looked to her, not quite understanding. “Why what?”

“Why would you want to be emperor? The responsibility, the danger, the—”

“The need,” Vir said. “I see… a need. I’ve been doing that for years now, Senna. I see a need that has to be filled, and I… well… I just do it. Ever since I first came to Babylon 5 , really. Londo needed an aide, I was his aide. He needed a conscience, and I was that, too… although I don’t know that I did such a good job of it. The Narns needed someone to help them get to safety, and I was there for them. Centauri Prime needed someone to—”

“I need you to be quiet,” Gwynn said tartly. “Am I going to get my wish?”

“Am I going to get the endorsement I need?”

“Anything for you, Your Highness.”

Vir nodded in exaggerated gratitude. But despite the moment of levity, he still couldn’t erase the image of the fallen Londo from his mind.

And on some level, he didn’t want to.

I should be trying to figure out some sort of memorable opening words to this, but nothing’s really coming.

Londo had such a way with words. Him and G’Kar. When I think of the two of them lying there, hands around each other’s throats, I’m kind of struck by the irony of it. Two people who had the greatest gifts for words of anyone I’ve ever met, aside from John Sheridan. And the source of that strength, their words… cut off. What were their last thoughts, their last feelings? G’Kar… well, in many ways, I never really understood him, even at the end.