So it would be up to Vir to realize that this was his means of returning to Centauri Prime. Durla would show up with a mission to find the means of bringing Mariel back, and Vir would have to find a means of not only causing that to happen, but of making certain he was part of the equation.
In a way, I suppose it was something of a test. Truthfully, I had no idea if he was up to it or not. But I had begun to believe, to some degree, in fate. If he were destined to return to Centauri Prime, then he would find a way. If it was not meant to be, why then, he would not.
So Durla went to Babylon 5, and Durla returned …
And today, Vir is returning to Centauri Prime, with Mariel on his elbow. They have already arrived at the palace and, by all accounts, she is utterly devoted to him. I have to admit: I am impressed. It appears Vir has outdone himself . It could be, of course, that Mariel is simply pretending, although why she would engage in such shenanigans is a matter of curiosity.
I could, I suppose, take some pride in his actions. Oddly, I am not sure whether I should or not. Any man who can wind up with Mariel professing undying devotion is a man that, perhaps, should be feared. I hope I have not done myself a disservice. It would be somewhat ironic if I wound up going to extra effort, just to bring a nemesis into my very backyard. After all, I had always thought that nemesis to be G’Kar. I wouldn’t be expecting my greatest enemy to be wearing the face of a friend.
Then again, fate has a habit of making its own choices.
- CHAPTER 8 -
At first Gwynn couldn’t be quite sure that she had come to the right place.
She made her way through the streets of Ghehana, one of the seamiest sections in all of Centauri Prime, and certainly the worst part of the capital city. She did so adroitly, masking her presence with practiced ease. It wasn’t that she was invisible , but anyone who happened to glance in her direction simply didn’t notice her; their gaze would have slid off her without registering any sort of actual presence.
It would not, however, serve in all circumstances. As confident as she was in her ability, the shadows stretched all around her in this particular section of town, and she found herself checking to see whether the shadows moved. This was not paranoia on her part. The Drakh seemed to move in and out of darkness with as much facility as their departed masters . She had the very disturbing feeling that the Drakh would have no problems discerning her being there at all.
She paused outside one building that had the correct address-she was supposed to find Galen here. She placed her hands against the front door and closed her eyes, reaching out. Yes. Yes, Galen was definitely within. She sensed mage energy that could only be originating with him.
The door, however, was locked. This provided an impediment for her for as long as it took her to say, “Open.” The door immediately attended to her and opened. What was interesting to note was that the door was not an automatic one, and only three people present on Centauri Prime would have been capable of getting it open simply by telling it to do so. Gwynn was one, the other was inside, and for all she knew, the third might be, as well.
As it turned out, he was. Finian was standing right there when the door opened up, and he bowed to her with a sweep of his cloak. As annoying as his attitude could be sometimes, she had to admit that she was pleased to see him. The months after the passing of Kane had been hard on Finian, for they had been friends for many years, and Finian had not taken Kane’s death well at all. He had been so despondent over it, in fact, that there had been some talk about his place within their society . Finally, it had been Galen who had spoken on his behalf, which struck Gwynn as curious. Galen had spent almost no time with Finian, had barely said ten words to him, as far as Gwynn knew. Yet he had spoken so passionately on Finian’s behalf that the others had given the young mage adequate time to come around.
Apparently he had, although Gwynn thought she could still see traces of mourning in his eyes.
“Where is he?”
“No patience for niceties, Gwynn?”
“Good evening, Finian. Where is he?”
“Upstairs.”
Gwynn followed Finian up a narrow flight of stairs, which creaked under her feet. A smell of moisture wafted through the air; something was leaking somewhere. She could also hear vermin scuttling around within the walls. This wasn’t exactly where she would want to establish her summer home.
At the top of the stairs, she had to duck slightly under a low overhang and step over a puddle, and then they emerged into a small room where Galen was seated. Hovering in front of him was a holographic display that was constantly shifting, and it only took Gwynn a moment to realize that it was some sort of point-of-view device. In Galen’s hand there was a small, black object, which was glowing softly in the dimness. She recognized it immediately as a recorder. It was taking in all the images from the display.
“Is he in?” she asked.
Galen nodded. “Nothing untoward so far, however. Still, the evening is young.”
“Unless he’s caught. Then the day is over,” Finian pointed out.
“He knew the risks,” Gwynn said.
Finian’s eyes narrowed. “And if he does, what of that? Are we then not to be concerned? Tell me, Gwynn, just how cold are you, anyway?”
Gwynn’s temper flared and she did her best to pull it under control. “Now listen to me, Finian …”
“A better idea,” Galen’s sharp voice cut in, “is if you both be quiet.” He was studying the holograph. “Vir … nothing so far. Keep as you are, though. If I see something that requires further investigation, I will instruct you. Do you understand?”
The holographic image moved up and down once. Vir must have nodded.
There was silence for a moment, and then Gwynn said softly, “He’s quite brave, actually.”
“He does what needs to be done,” said Galen. “No more, no less.”
“As do we all. Which reminds me, Galen how transpire things with the Excalibur? Does the captain there … what is his name again?”
“Gideon.”
“Does he know that you are here when you are not there?”
“No. Nor, I should think, would he care. Given the situation on Earth, he has more pressing matters to concern himself over than my whereabouts.”
There was silence for a time, as the holographic view continued to change. Then it stopped. Vir had come to a halt. Galen leaned forward and said intently, “Vir Cotto. Can you hear me? Is everything all right?”
No response.
“Vir,” Galen prompted again, this time with just a touch more urgency. “Vir, are you…”
Suddenly the image moved again, swiftly side to side. It was as if Vir had jerked his entire body. Then the image started moving again, indicating that Vir was once more underway.
It was the first time that Galen had allowed any of the tension he must have been feeling to show. He sat back and let out an unsteady sigh, then pulled himself together and went back to watching the holographic representation with all the emotion of a statue.
Then, so softly that she could barely hear herself, Gwynn said, “Do you think anyone suspects what Vir is doing? What he is up to?”
“If they do,” Galen replied slowly, “then he is very likely dead.”
“Does he know that?” asked Finian.
Galen looked at him levelly. “Let us hope not.”
And suddenly, Galen sat upright, as if galvanized into action.
“Vir!” he said sharply. “Don’t go in that room! There’s something there … some terrible danger!”
But the holographic image started to shift again. Vir wasn’t doing as Galen instructed; instead he was heading into the very room Galen had just told him not to enter.
“He can’t hear me,” Galen said.
“They know. They must know,” said Finian. “And there’s nothing we can do to save him.”
Even before Gwynn arrived at her destination, Vir found himself back at court. It was bustling and active,
exactly as he remembered it. There was a gathering being held in the Great Hall, and it seemed to Vir that Durla and his associates certainly enjoyed partying.
It was somewhat disconcerting for Vir to realize that virtually every familiar face was missing. Lords Teela and Surkel, Minister Dachow, High Minister Sulassa … even old Morkel was gone, and Morkel had been there forever. Morkel had managed to survive even Cartagia, and that was a formidable challenge in and of itself. Now they were gone, every one of them, replaced by individuals who obviously knew one another , and all of whom were quite friendly with Durla.
Durla, for his part, seemed extremely interested in determining that Vir and Mariel were having a good time. He brought person after person, minister, chancellor, assorted Prime Candidates, all before Vir and Mariel in a steady parade of faces and names so dizzying that Vir knew he’d never be able to keep them all straight.
Mariel, for her part, remained her charming self. Whatever stigma had been attached to her being a cast-off of the emperor seemed to have dissolved, mostly because it was clear that Durla was making every effort to make certain that Mariel and Vir were part of the in crowd. It seemed to Vir that Durla was determined to let Mariel see just how respected and powerful he, Durla, was.
Vir was finding it hard to quibble with the treatment they had received thus far. When they had received the summons from Centauri Prime, stating that the emperor was willing to set aside his “differences” and welcome Vir back with open arms, Vir had been of two minds. He had been pleased, since it meant being able to return to the planet that had given him birth, and there was certainly that sentimental attraction for him. It also meant that he would be able to accomplish that which he had promised Galen he would accomplish. He would be able to see for himself just how pervasive, if at all, the Shadow influence was on Centauri Prime. He knew there was something present, certainly. After all, Londo’s disagreement with him had come from his mention of a name, a single name -Shiv’kala. Obviously that was a name associated with something dark and fearsome that Londo did not wish to have spread about. That alone was enough to support the notion that something frightening stalked Centauri Prime.
Londo had still not made an appearance, and Vir was beginning to wonder if he was going to do so at all. After all, despite Vir’s suspicion that Londo was the guiding hand orchestrating his return, he had no real proof. If there was one thing Vir had learned, it was that he could not possibly know Londo’s mind for sure. In many ways, Londo had long ago become a stranger to him. Every so often Vir saw flashes of the man he had once known, but only flashes. It was as if that man was a beacon of light, enveloped by darkness and only able to peer out for the briefest of moments before being enveloped by the shroud once again.
“You are Vir Cotto?”
He turned and saw an individual whom he had witnessed in action on vid, but not seen in person. “Minister Vallko. Yes, I’m… that is to say, right. I’m Vir Cotto.”
The minister of spirituality looked him up and down for a long moment. He was a head shorter than Vir, and yet Vir couldn’t help but feel as if the minister towered over him. “A pleasure,” he said at last.
“To meet you, too. I’ve seen some of your meetings. Your prayer meetings, I mean. You’re very persuasive. Very powerful speaker.”
Vallko bowed slightly, but he did so without breaking gaze with Vir. “I am but the instrument of the Great Maker. What humble gifts I possess come from him.”
Something that Galen had said to him months before returned to him. He had liked Vir better when Vir stammered. Since that time, Vir had come to a realization: others would very probably like him better that way, as well. In recent years, Vir had found that his thought patterns had become clearer, more laser-sharp. If he so desired, he could put forward a very polished and confident face. But that might very well put people on their guard, and it was probably going to be better for Vir if people thought that he was a bit of a humbler. Better to be underestimated than overestimated.
So when he addressed Vallko, he played up the hesitancy in his speech. “That’s very, uh humble,” Vir said. “Self-effacing and, well … everything else.”
“Thank you,” Vallko said again, and Vir could see assessment filtering through Vallko’s eyes, which were cold and appraising. “It helps that we are all of one mind. We all care about what is best for Centauri Prime.”
“Absolutely,” Vir said, his head bobbing furiously.
“What do you think is best?”
Vir’s head stopped bobbing. He noticed that one or two other ministers appeared to have slowed in their glide around the party and were giving an ear toward the conversation. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
Vir sensed the trap being laid for him. He laughed, and then smiled wanly. “What I think is best is whatever the Great Maker thinks is, you know, best. And me, I don’t … you know, I think that there are others much more, you know… that is to say, qualified … to decide such things. So I’m more than happy to listen to their advice. Like you. People like you. What is in the interests of the Great Maker, do you think? Does he, you know … talk to you directly, by the way? Like, a huge voice from all over … or does he, I don’t know … write to you. Drop you a line. How does that work, I’d really like to know.” He stared at Vallko with open curiosity, obviously anticipating some deeply intriguing response.
Vallko laughed softly as if he’d just been told something quite amusing. “I am not blessed enough to converse directly with the Great Maker. I divine my knowledge from those to whom he has spoken. The greatest, wisest of us. And there are … feelings ,” he admitted, apparently grudgingly. “I have feelings of what the Great Maker would like for his people, feelings that I convey to the followers.”
“And you have a lot of followers,” Vir said admiringly.
“They are the followers of the Great Maker. I am merely his vessel”
“Well, that’s … that’s nice,” said Vir, apparently at a loss for words. He just stood there, seeming to have nothing more to offer to the conversation.
Vallko looked him up and down once more, and then made a small hmmf noise that certainly sounded to Vir as if he was being dismissed. Then Vallko inclined his head slightly and walked off, the other assorted courtiers following suit, leaving Vir to his own devices.
He saw Senna over in a corner, surrounded by assorted Prime Candidates. He remembered Throk from one of his previous trips to Centauri Prime. The lad had grown by at least half a foot, and he seemed even more forbidding than when Vir had first met him. He also seemed to be paying a good deal of attention to Senna, who was playing and being charming to several of the Candidates. She cast a very quick glance in Vir’s direction, and he had a feeling that she would have given anything to break away, but that didn’t seem possible . She gave an almost imperceptible shrug and then looked back to Throk, who was babbling on about something that Vir couldn’t begin to discern. Throk’s attention was taken from Senna at only one point: when Mariel walked by. She didn’t appear to notice him, but he reacted to her passing with a sort of goggle-eyed stare before pulling himself back into the moment and returning his attentions to Senna.
“You will never have a better time.”
The voice was in his head and Vir jumped slightly. He had forgotten that he had inserted the listening device into his ear, but there came Galen’s voice, loud and clear. Galen, of course, was correct. No sign of the emperor, none of the guests was paying him any particular mind. If he felt like strolling around the palace, now was when he should do so.
“Okay,” murmured Vir, before remembering that it wasn’t a two-way audio link. He checked to make sure that the small triangular recording device was still in place, just under his coat, and then-trying to look as casual as possible-strolled out of the great hall.
He strode up and down the palace corridors in a rather aimless fashion, trying his best to look as casual as possible. He hummed a tune to the best of his recollection, although he
suspected that he was botching most of the notes. He walked into this room and that room, as if he were giving himself an extended guided tour. He heard Galen’s voice in his head from time to time.
“Vir … nothing so far. Keep as you are, though. If I see something that requires further investigation, I will instruct you. Do you understand?”
Vir, to indicate compliance, bowed at the hip, to mimic the shaking of a head. Then he kept moving.
He had gotten to sections of the palace that he had never before been in. At one point he heard footsteps, moving with swift, sure strides. Guards. No one had specifically told him that he wasn’t supposed to be there … but then again, no one had specifically told him it would be okay.
He glanced around nervously, then saw a large statue to his right. It was Cartagia, of all people. The sight of the emperor whom he had assassinated caused his hearts to skip a beat. The statue was a remarkably powerful, lifelike rendition, superbly carved. The demented smirk was so perfectly rendered that he was certain it had been carved in life. But it had been defaced, someone having scribbled words across the chest. At least, Vir thought it was words, but he didn’t recognize them. It said “Sic Semper Tyrannis.”
The footsteps were drawing closer. Vir backpedaled and took refuge behind the statue, trying to will himself to be even thinner than he already was. His mind was already racing, trying to determine a cover story. If he was found, he could always say that he had been inspecting the back of the statue for any further damage.
Around the corner they came: two members of the Prime Candidates. Vir could see them clearly from where he was positioned.
Their faces were remarkably slack. The look on them was almost supernatural, as if their minds were elsewhere. Then, right as Vir watched … a change passed over their expressions . Their tread slowed, and they looked at one another as if seeing each other for the first time. They glanced around, apparently a little puzzled as to why they were where they were. One shrugged, as did the other, and they continued on their way. They were so caught in their personal moment of befuddlement that neither of them afforded the slightest glance in Vir’s direction. He had no idea what to make of what he had just seen.