3-Out of the Darkness

  Despite the seriousness of the moment, Sheridan laughed shortly. "Cookie jar."

  "Who cares?" she retorted. "John, G'Kar knew the risks, as did you. You accepted those, as did he. And now he is dealing with the consequences, as you must."

  "And I'm going to deal with them by getting him out. Fine, I won't go to the Alliance. I'll get him out myself."

  "You'll be killed."

  "It won't be the first time."

  "How dare you."

  Crouching, David peeked around the edge of the door frame. His father had stopped in his tracks and was staring at his mother. She was much smaller than he was, yet at that moment her anger was so great that it seemed to fill the room.

  "How dare you" she repeated.

  "How dare I? How dare I what?"

  "How dare you recklessly and fool-hardily throw away your life on a hopeless mission just to satisfy your ego."

  "This has nothing to do with ego," he protested.

  Before he could continue, she cut him off. "Yes, just as when you went to Z'ha'dum," she said, and clearly the very recollection of it was difficult for her. David had heard mention made of that dead world several times, and he knew that his father had journeyed to it. There were even tales that he had died there, but that was nonsense, of course. After all, there he was, clearly alive. "And at the time you went," she continued, "you were 'only' the commander of Babylon 5. We were not married. You had no son. You had no Alliance of which you were the president. You were young and cloaked with the banner of righteousness, and no doubt you thought you would live forever. None of those have been, or are any longer, the case. You have responsibilities to me, to David, to the other races in the Alliance."

  "And my responsibility to G'Kar?"

  "He is where he needs to be. They are not going to hurt him Vir already passed that information along to us. He has been given humane, if Spartan, accommodations in the palace itself."

  "And he's not being allowed to leave!"

  "John ... perhaps he is not supposed to," Delenn suggested reasonably. "Perhaps circumstances have conspired to put G'Kar right where he is supposed to be. Londo is cut off there, surrounded by many destructive forces. My guess is that, on that entire planet, he had not one ally on whom he could utterly depend. G'Kar is now that ally. Who knows what poisons have been whispered into Londo's ear. Who knows what dark forces may be shaping his thinking?"

  "And you're saying G'Kar can undo that." He sounded skeptical.

  "I'm saying he might be able to. He certainly has a far greater chance of doing so by being there. Those two ... G'Kar and Londo ... they are bound by fate, John. They circle each other like binary stars."

  "Binary stars," Sheridan reminded her, "allow no life between them. Their gravity wells crush whatever planets might start to form."

  "Yes," she said. "I know. And that may well be the case with G'Kar and Londo, as well. They may well be destined to crush all life between them with the intensity of their will, until nothing is left. Perhaps not even them."

  "Is that supposed to make me feel better somehow?"

  "No. It is simply supposed to be a statement of what I believe. Unless my beliefs are no longer of importance to you."

  He sighed heavily. "Of course they're of importance to me He embraced her, holding her so tight that David thought he was going to break her. "It's just... when I think of G'Kar in that place, surrounded by enemies ..."

  "This is G'Kar we're talking about. He thrives on that sort of situation. Sometimes I think he's not happy unless he's surrounded by enemies. And he may be able to make a difference, John. He might very well be of far more service there than anywhere else."

  And then David jumped-as a loud voice came from behind him. "And what have we here?" In an instant he was on his feet, turning at the same time. As a result he tripped himself up and landed hard on his own backside. Master Vultan, his occasional teacher and frequent source of frustration, was standing right behind him, arms folded, "Spying, are we?" he asked in a stern voice, his bearded chin bristling with indignation. It was difficult for David to tell just how genuinely annoyed Vultan really was. Determining the annoyance level of his parents, however, was no problem at all. When Delenn and Sheridan emerged from his office to investigate what the noise was about, they both stared down at their son and frowned.

  "How long were you hiding there, David?" his father demanded.

  "Since you woke me up with your shouting," David replied.

  This got Sheridan a dirty look from Delenn, which he did his best to ignore. "You shouldn't be hiding there, listening in on other people's conversations," Sheridan told him.

  "You're right. Next time I'll find a better place to hide," he agreed, standing and dusting himself off.

  His mother was not the least bit amused. "David .. . your actions were inappropriate."

  He sighed heavily, and said, "I'm sorry, Mother." He was far slower to employ his sharp and ready wit on his mother. He just couldn't help but feel that he was far less likely to get away with it than he was with his father. He had a feeling that, secretly, his father was amused by his son's rebellious streak. That certainly made sense; after all, John Sheridan had practically written the book on rebellion. "I'm sorry, Father," he continued. "But when I heard you mention G'Kar.. .well, I've always liked him, and I hate to think about him being in trouble."

  Sheridan sighed and seemed less irate than he had moments before. Now he just looked sad. "So do 1, David. Your mom, too. She's right: at this point, it's G'Kar's play. We have it on reliable authority that he is in no danger. On that basis, he may very well be able to do a lot of good, working from the inside, as it were."

  Vultan looked from Sheridan to Delenn and back. "Are neither of you going to punish the boy? He eavesdropped. Certainly that behavior cannot be tolerated."

  "You're absolutely right," Sheridan said firmly. "David: extend your left hand."

  David immediately did as his father dictated. John Sheridan stepped forward sternly, looked down at the outstretched hand, and then slapped it once lightly on the knuckles.

  "Let that be a lesson to you," he said gravely.

  "I shall never forget it, Father," David replied seriously.

  Vultan rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. "That child," he informed them, "doesn't need a teacher, or parents. He needs a keeper."

  The moment he said that, something cold clutched at the base of David's neck. He trembled, and the look on his face caught his mother's attention. "David... what's wrong?"

  Sheridan saw it, too. "What's the matter, son?"

  "I don't know," David confessed. "Just the oddest feeling, that's all. It's like... like..."

  "Like someone just stepped on your grave?" Sheridan suggested. "That's what my dad used to say when he'd get that look on his face."

  "Yeah. Something like that," David agreed.

  "I do not like that phrase," Delenn said curtly. "Please don't use it again."

  "All right," Sheridan said, clearly not quite understanding his wife's reaction, but not wanting to argue. He turned his attention to David's teacher, and said, "Master Vultan ... I think that David might be a bit starved for attention. I confess I've been somewhat preoccupied lately, and the boy has had to resort to tactics such as this just to get a crumb of attention. It's not right. If it's all the same to you, I think his mother and I would like to spend the day with him."

  "As you desire," Vultan said, looking not the least bit upset over the prospect. He turned on his heel and departed, his long robes swishing softly on the polished floor.

  "Go get washed and dressed, David," his father said. "Perhaps we'll take a shot at climbing the Mulkeen Heights today. Best view on Minbar, so I'm told."

  "Okay, Father," David said. Then, recalling how disconcerted he'd felt just a short time ago, he quickly embraced his parents before running off down the hallway.

  "He's your son," Delenn said, shaking her head as she watched him go.

  "So
you keep telling me," Sheridan remarked. "Part of me thinks you keep on saying so because you're hoping to establish some sort of alibi." Then he turned serious once more. "Do you really think G'Kar will be okay?"

  "Vir is certain. The situation under which G'Kar was taken was quite unique. It's Vir's opinion that Londo is watching out for him."

  "And Vir's opinion can be trusted?"

  "I think so, yes. Don't you?"

  He gave it a moment's thought, and remembered Garibaldi's description of the events surrounding that last visit to Centauri Prime ... the one that had resulted in the death of Lou Welch. Michael had been uncharacteristically taciturn about the affair, but had managed to convey-through fewer words rather than more-that Vir Cotto had a handle on things. Sheridan even suspected, although he couldn't prove it, that Vir was somehow involved with the occasional acts of "terrorism" that the Centauri tried to ascribe to the Alliance.

  So Sheridan said finally, "Yes, I think it probably can. It's hard to believe, considering how Vir used to be, that he is now one of the most dependable of all the Centauri."

  "We've all changed, John, from what we used to be. Look at you... and me ..." and she playfully pulled at his beard while running her fingers through her long black hair. There were a few tinges of grey in it.

  "You're saying that we all have more hair?" he said. "Well, there's worse fates." Then, once again, he turned solemn. "We have more hair. .. but G'Kar has one less eye. And he lost it on that world where he is right now. If things turn ugly there, he could lose the other... and far more."

  "That is the downside," she admitted. "On the other hand, there is always the bright side. Do you remember that urn?"

  "Urn?" he asked, not certain what she was referring to.

  "The vase," she prompted. "The one Londo gave us..."

  "Oh! Yes. The last time we saw him. The one we're supposed to give David on his sixteenth birthday. .."

  She nodded. "With the waters from the palace river locked in its base. I found it in storage recently. It reminded me of how Londo was that day ... the last day we saw him. He seemed so desperate just to have even the slightest hint of friendship ... from us ... from anyone . . ."

  "And you think G'Kar will provide him that."

  "We can only hope. Do you think that we should give the vase to David early? Before his sixteenth birthday?"

  "Nah," Sheridan decided. "Let's honor Londo's request. The man who dropped that vase off was the closest thing to the Londo of old that I could recall. I miss him. There's no telling how this entire Centauri situation is going to play out. But on David's sixteenth birthday, whatever the outcome, he'll at least get a sense of the Londo Mollari that we once all knew."

  - chapter 9 -

  The catacombs beneath the capital city were considered by many to be little more than a myth. Ostensibly, the great Emperor Olion had constructed them, centuries earlier. Olion, so legend had it, was absolutely paranoid over the notion of his people turning against him. So he had the catacombs constructed as a means of escaping any pursuit. Supposedly he was the only person aside from the actual creator of the catacombs- whom he subsequently had assassinated-to know the layout of the maze. The catacombs led from the city to the outlying regions and provided a handy means of getting in and out unseen, if one were so inclined, not to mention eluding pursuit.

  But it was all the stuff of legend. The entrances certainly no longer existed. And even if they did exist, the tunnels would be so overrun with vermin that they would be virtually unpassable.

  Years ago, however, when he was a young man looking for fossil remains of primitive Centauri cultures, Renegar -a heavy-set lad even at that tender age-had literally fallen into myth. Renegar had embarked on a one-man excavation on the outskirts of the hinterlands. The ground had given way, and he had fallen through into the catacombs of lore. When he had picked himself up, dusted himself off, and managed to push aside the mounting feelings of panic, he actually found himself rather taken with the place. True, the vermin population wasn't particularly appreciated, but the prospects of exploration proved too enticing for him to pass up.

  Having almost no friends, and parents who displayed tittle interest in his comings and goings, Renegar wasn't about to share with anyone his new and exciting discovery.

  He brought sounding equipment and other locator devices that hadn't existed centuries ago when the catacombs were first built. Over the course of many years, he managed to map the place rather thoroughly. . . aided and abetted by the occasional explosive device. Rock falls and other natural "disasters" had blocked some of the paths, and Renegar quickly discovered that the judicious use of explosives could be tremendously helpful. The key word was "judicious," of course. The first time he tried, he nearly blew himself to kingdom come. Necessity became the mother of invention, and his familiarity with explosives and excavation came to serve him well in later life.

  The catacombs, as well, found new purpose.

  Renegar made his way to the meeting area with sure, steady steps, his knowledge of the catacombs by now so ingrained that he no longer needed the maps he had taken such pains to create in his youth. A rodent ran across his foot, and he kicked it out of the way. It was fortunate that such creatures didn't bother him, else he never would have been able to last in his exploration of the caves.

  "Renegar!" The whisper came from up ahead, and he recognized the voice instantly. "Is that you?"

  "Of course it's me. Who else would it be?" he asked grimly. He climbed over one more rise and came around a corner to discover the others whom he had decided-insanely, he sometimes thought-to trust not only with his life, but the future of his world.

  Vir, naturally, was among them. So was Dunseny. There were far more people Vir had managed to enlist over the years, but no one, with the exception of Vir, knew everyone who was a part of the rebellion. That was probably wise, Renegar mused, but he couldn't help but feel that it put a massive amount of strain on Vir himself.

  The strain was beginning to show. Vir was looking more tired, even a bit more despondent, than he usually did. But there was still an air of grim determination about him, as if-having decided upon the course he must follow-he had resolved that he would see it through to the end, no matter what.

  "You saw?" Vir said without preamble, and Renegar knew precisely what he was talking about.

  "How could I not see? That damnable Durla was everywhere. Is it true, though? That someone tried to kill them both? The emperor and Durla?"

  "Durla, for the most part. The emperor was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time," Dunseny said.

  "That might well summarize his life," Vir commented ruefully. Then, in a more businesslike tone, he added, "But it's not going to end there. Durla will never let it end there. If one House head endeavored to dispose of him, he's going to fear that all of them may form an alliance against him."

  "You're saying he's going to declare war on the Houses?" asked one surly-looking but forceful fighter named Adi.

  "Without a doubt. And that can only benefit us."

  "How?" The question was echoed around the group, but it was Dunseny who answered.

  "The House heads have resources. The military may back Durla, making his power unassailable, but the Houses have their own resources, ranging from personnel to weapons. Not only that, but there are key military personnel who owe ancient allegiances to the Houses, which supersede any way they may be beholden to Durla. In battling the Houses, in challenging the House heads directly, Durla may be sowing dissent within his own support system."

  "He won't realize the danger if he thinks he's above them . .. which he does," Vir said. "It's the oldest danger in the world: arrogance becomes the enemy's undoing."

  "Yes. . . including yours."

  They turned to see who had spoken, and there was a collective and startled gasp from all of them.

  A grey-skinned creature stood in the shadows.

  Renegar immediately went for his weapon, and the voice boomed a
gain from the monster. "It's too late. Whatever you do to me is of no consequence. Since I have seen you, I will commune with my brethren, and they will in turn seek you out. I've seen all your faces. You're finished. But first..." The creature paused dramatically. "I'm going to sing a few show tunes."

  The others looked at each other.

  "Juuuust me ... and my shaaadow . . ." the creature from the darkness began.

  "Tell me I'm dreaming," Adi said.

  Vir was watching the entire scene with a severe lack of amusement. "Finian," he said sternly. "What sort of foolishness is this? I recognize your voice; I know it's you."

  At that, the creature slumped to the ground in front of the incredulous group. It was at that point that they were able to see the wound that gaped in the back of its head, thick liquid coagulating around it. Clearly the thing, whatever it was, was dead. Then all eyes shifted as Finian, the techno-mage, stepped into view. "Did I scare you?"

  "Yes," Vir said flatly.

  "Good." This time it wasn't Finian who spoke, but rather Gwynn, another techno-mage who seemed to have taken an interest in the events that occurred on Centauri Prime. Finian, as always, maintained something of an open manner, with his round face and blue eyes that seemed incapable of any sort of deceit. Of course, that alone provided reason enough not to trust him.

  As for Gwynn, her attitude was as imperious as ever. She looked at them as if she were observing them from a great height that made their concerns seem childish and irrelevant. Renegar didn't trust either of them. As a general rule of thumb, trusting techno-mages wasn't an especially advisable pastime.

  "You have every reason to be scared," Gwynn continued. "We found him wandering the catacombs. He had a bit of an... accident. Rocks, even boulders, can come loose around here at the most unexpected times. If they strike unexpectedly enough, and with sufficient force ..." She shrugged. "The results can be tragic, as you see."