Out Of The Darkness

  "I had already achieved greatness before she ever became my wife," Durla reminded him. He was barely managing to keep himself from leaping across the room, grabbing the sword, and dispatching Lione himself. "You achieved it in the hopes of impressing her. How patheti a life is that?" For a long moment, Durla said nothing. He fought mightily with himself not to betray a shred of the emotion roiling within him. Then, in a hoarse, choked voice, he said, "General Rhys..." Lione braced himself for the killing stroke. "Thank you for your assistance. Wait in the outer office please." If Rhys was at all disappointed that he was not going to have the opportunity to lop off Lione's head and thereby provide some excitement to what was otherwise a fairly dull day, he did no! show it. Instead he simply sheathed his sword, bowed slightly, and walked out. Minister Lione sat there, clearly not quite knowing what had hit him. When Durla slowly came around to him, he automati­cally flinched as he saw a hand move toward him. But all Durla did was pat Lione on the shoulder, and say, "I appreciate your candor." He touched the pale, reddish liquid on Lione's throat. "You'll probably want to have that looked at." Then he walked out, leaving a dumbfounded Lione to wonder what had just transpired. The Lady Mariel was most surprised to see her husband. He strode into their sumptuous quarters unannounced and unex­pected. He had not been around much lately during the day; in­deed, he had not been around that much at night, either. It was a situation that offered both pluses and minuses. Not having him around was, of course, rather nice, due to the fact that she did not love him. Oh, she feigned it masterfully. Then again, it wasn't hard to fake something when someone else desperately wanted to believe in it. But if she wasn't a party to his goings-on, it made it that much more difficult for her to get information for her beloved Vir. Vir, who was back on Babylon 5, putting the information she fed him to good use. She didn't know for sure, but she would not

  have been surprised if her wonderful Vir was somehow involved with the rebels who were causing so much trouble for Durla and his plans. This, of course, was something she would never let on to Durla. First, it would mean betraying the incomparable Vir, and second, her own duplicity would become known. It would mean death. Her death would be unfortunate enough, but Vir's death-that she simply could not risk. He was too glorious, too magnificent. Not for the first time, she wondered why she felt that way about him. Some part of her understood that she had not always em­braced such depth of feeling for Vir. On some level, she knew the change had simply come over her, and she could not compre­hend what had prompted it. Ultimately, though, it made no dif­ference . Her Vir was her Vir, and that was all. However she came by her feelings, she knew they were honest and true, and every time she was with Durla, only her thoughts of Vir sustained her. At those times, things didn't seem as bad as they were. "My husband," she said quickly. She had been carefully braid­ing the long lock of hair that was the fashion with her genera­tion. She did not rise from the chair where she sat, in front of the makeup table. Instead she stayed where she was and watched herself in the mirror as she meticulously continued creating the braid. "Would you forgive me if I did not get up?" "I will try not to allow it to put a strain on our marriage," he said, in an oddly stiff tone. "You look lovely today." "And you, strikingly handsome, milord husband," she re­sponded. She knew he liked it when she addressed him in the formal manner, and used it whenever she thought he might be in an expansive mood. It was usually enough to get him talking and spilling choice nuggets of information. "To what do I owe the honor of this appearance?" He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "Do you love Vir Cotto?" She allowed the question to appear to catch her off guard. In truth, she had anticipated his asking that at some point. Indeed, the Lady Mariel made it a point to try to anticipate as much as possible, so that-should the eventuality transpire-she would be able to react with a carefully crafted reaction and response.

  At least, that was the theory. "Vir Cotto," she said. "The ambassador? From Babylon 5?" "Your previous lover," Durla said. There was a slight edgy sharpness to his tone. "I'm sure you have some familiarity with him." "Yes, of course. But do I love him?" She knew full well that Durla fancied himself a true student of psychology. Often had he boasted to her of his ability to simply gaze into someone's eyes and, by that method, determine the veracity of what they were about to say. So she had long known that the only way she could glide past a potentially awkward situation such as this would be to look him right in the eyes and lie with confidence. The thing was, the best way to get through the lie was to use as much of the truth as possible. "To be perfectly candid, my love, Vir was simply a means to an end. I used him as a means of es­tablishing diplomatic contacts in order to supply information to Minister Lione. Certainly you must have known that. You were aware that I was in Lione's employ." "Yes. I was aware of that," he replied slowly. She continued to braid her hair. "You have not directly answered the question, though." "I thought I had," she said carelessly. Once more she met his gaze, and this time she said flatly and with no lack of con­viction, "No. I do not love Vir Cotto. I love only you, my great visionary." It was the hardest thing she had ever said. Because the truth was that she did love Vir Cotto. The passing of years, the mar­riage to Durla... none of that had altered her thinking. Vir con­tinued to be her sun, moon, and stars. She had agreed to the sham of Vir's "losing" her to Durla, had pretended that she had always secretly harbored a fascination for the prime minister, all because Vir desired it. She wanted to help Vir, to serve him in any way she could. She hadn't lied about her original purpose for associating with Vir. Things, however, had changed. She had come to realize the full wonderfulness that was Vir Cotto. One treasured day, with a sudden burst of clarity, as if her previous life had been merely a dream, she abruptly had understood that Vir was the only man for her in all the universe. She never doubted for a moment that, sooner or later, some- thing would happen to Durla. Something nasty. Something final. Until that time, she would play the dutiful wife and think of Vir and provide him with whatever information she could garner. Because that was what Vir wanted. Durla nodded and smiled at her affirmation of her love for him, as she had suspected he would. "You know of my dreams ... my great visions," he said. "Of course I do. Everyone on Centauri Prime does." "Believe it or not, my love ... in my dreams ... it is you who comes to me." "Me?" She laughed. "I am most flattered." "As well you should be. It is not every woman who can serve as inspiration to the prime minister of Centauri Prime." He was walking slowly around her, his hands draped behind his back. "However.. . there are some who mistake this 'inspiration' that you provide me." "Mistake? How?" "They think that you control me. That I have some sort of..." He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "... some sort of obses­sion that unmans me in your presence." "Ridiculous," she said vehemently, even as she finished braid­ing her hair. "You are Durla, prime minister of Centauri Prime. You answer to no woman." "You know that. I know that. But they," and he pointed in the nebulous direction of the all-present "they," "they believe differ­ently. And I fear that I must do something about it." "I will support whatever actions you decide to take, beloved." She turned in her seat and smiled her most glowing smile. He hit her so hard that he knocked her clear out of her chair. Mariel fell back, striking her head on the floor. She lay there, stunned, feeling the blood welling up from between her teeth and trickling down from her nose. Her lower lip was already swelling, and her upper lip had gone numb. She tried to stammer out something, anything, and then Durla hauled her to her feet. She tried to push him away but he was far too strong, and then he swung his hand around and struck her again. Her face reddened where he slapped her, and then he backhanded her and she went down again. Her lungs seized up with a coughing fit, and she spat out blood.

  "There," Durla said. "There? " She couldn't believe it. "Wha-what did I do? How did I displease you..." "You haven't. Unfortunately we live in a world that is shaped by perception," he said sadly. "If the others think that I am un­manned by you ... that I let you manipulate me in any way ... then it can h
ave a very negative impact on me and my fortunes. Even though it is not true. Therefore we need to make clear to any and all who are interested that 1 am my own man." He kicked her in the stomach while she lay on the floor. She doubled up, curling almost into a fetal position, and then, with the side of his boot, he struck her in the face. Mariel, sobbing, rolled onto her back, her legs still curled up. She f elt something small and hard in her mouth. She rolled it around on her tongue. It was a tooth. She spit it out and it made a faint tik tik noise as it bounced across the floor. "Yes," he said with satisfaction. "Now any who see you will know that Durla is no woman's servant. No woman's slave. You may be my inspiration . .. but I have no compunction about treating you in the same way that I would treat the lowliest of the low. I do not play favorites. For you see, nothing, and no one, is more important than Centauri Prime. And only if I am strong can I help our beloved world attain its true destiny." "Vir," she whispered, very softly, very hoarsely. He hadn't quite heard her, because she said it just under her breath, and while he was still talking. "What did you say?" he inquired. "Dear ... I said ... dear ... please ... don't hurt me ... any more ..." She didn't even recognize her own voice because it was so choked with pain. "I need the full backing of all the ministers for the full mili­tary program that we have planned," he continued. He crouched next to her, and he spoke as if from light-years away. "Picture it, Mariel. Picture powerful warships, poised, ready. Needing only the final go-ahead from me to sweep across the galaxy like a black cloud of strength, reordering all the known worlds and uniting them under our rule. But it can only happen if the Cen-taurum is fully committed. To me. No hesitation, no reservaln no signs of weakness. I can take no chances that anyone think me soft. You understand, don't you?"

  "Yes ... I... I do ... I..." "Good." Then he really began to hurt her. And the thing that kept going through her mind was, Vir. .. Vir will help me. . . he will save me. ..Vir... I love you. chapter 5 Vir Cotto felt the world spinning around him, and he sagged to the ground, staring up in disbelief. He was just outside the palace. The sun was hanging low in the sky, the rays filtering through the haze as the twilight ap­proached. As a consequence, there wasn't much light with which Vir could make out the head on the pike in the garden. But there was just enough light to see, and the head was just familiar enough to recognize. Rem Lanas stared down at him lifelessly. And yet, even in that lifelessness, there was accusation. Why weren 'tyou here for me, he seemed to say. Why didn 'tyou help me? Why didn 'tyou save me? I trusted you, became a part of your cause . , . and this is what happened tome. . . because of you . . . you. . . He hadn't expected such a sight. He had been told to wait in the garden, that someone would be along to escort him in for his meeting with the emperor. But he'd been caught completely off guard. He wasn't sure how long Rem's head had been up there. The weather had not been kind to it. Then a bird landed on it. To Vir's horror, it pulled experimen­tally at Rem's cheek, trying to dig out what it apparently thought was a particularly appetizing bit of flesh. "Get away!" yelled Vir, and he clambered up on a stone bench. "Get away! Get away!!!" The bird ignored him, and Vir, who was gesticulating wildly, suddenly lost his balance. He stumbled backward, struck his head, and lay there, unmoving. He had no idea how long he lay there, but when he finally did open his eyes, he found that night had fallen. He wondered how

  She could possibly have just been left in the one place, unseen by anyone, for such a period of time. Then he felt heaviness in his chest, and a distant buzzing of alarm in the back of his skull. Suddenly he began to feel as if someone had clubbed him from behind. Probably, he reasoned, some sort of residual pain left over from falling and hurting himself. With effort, he looked up at Rem Lanas' head atop the pike. It was gone. His own head was there instead. It looked rather comical in its way, and he would have laughed had he actually been able to get the noise out. Instead, though, there was simply an overwhelming desire to scream at the hid­eous sight. However, he couldn't get that to emerge either. There was just a repeated, strangulated coughing. He turned and tried to run, tried to shout for help... ... and there was someone there in the shadows. The darkness actually seemed to come alive around him as he stared, transfixed, at the being-no, the creature-that was moving slowly out of the shadows toward him. It fixed him with a malevolent glare, as if it had already destroyed him somehow and he simply wasn't aware of it yet. Vir knew it instantly as a Drakh, a servant of the Shadows. But he reminded himself that the average Centauri had never seen a Drakh, and the last thing he should do was blurt out what was on his mind. "Shiv'kala," the Drakh said. The word brought back awful memories. Years earlier, at the behest of the now-dead techno-mage, Kane, he had spoken that name to Londo. The mere mention of it had gotten Vir thrown into a cell. Later on, working in conjunction with another techno-mage, Galen, he had come to realize that the name be­longed to one of the Drakh. Immediately he understood. "You... are Shiv'kala," he said. Shiv'kala inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Names," he said, "have power. Power, however, cuts both ways." When he spoke, his voice was a gravelly whisper. "You mentioned my name once. Do you remember?" Vir managed to nod. "When you did so, it drew my attention to you. Why did you?"

  "Wh-why did I... what?" "Why. Did you. Mention. My name?" Once upon a time, Vir would have panicked at a moment such as this. Confronted by a dark, frightening creature of evil, he would have been reduced to a trembling mass of disintegrating nerves. That Vir, however, was gone. Gone, but not forgotten. Outwardly he was all terror and wide eyes, hands trembling violently and legs buckling at the knees, causing him to sink to the ground in stark-staring terror. Inwardly, his mind was racing. For he was seeing this entity before him not as some overpowering, terrifying monster, but rather simply as a member of another race. Granted, an in­credibly formidable race. But he had been responsible for the destruction of a long-lost Shadow vessel that the Drakh had craved. He had seen Drakh warriors killed before his very eyes. He knew they were not invincible. They had limits. And the question posed him by Shiv'kala revealed some of those limits. In a way it was remarkable. A bare half-dozen years ago, the mere mention of Shiv'kala's name had struck a chill within him. Now he was facing down the owner of the name, and he was an­alyzing him with methodical precision. The sight of his own head on the pole had been a nice bit of theatrics, but that had been sufficient to tell him that he was no longer in reality. He was in some sort of dream state, into which the Drakh had inserted himself. But the Drakh was asking him questions. Which meant the Drakh didn't know the answers. After all, if he knew the answers, then why bother to ask at all? To try to "trick" him for some reason? What would be the point of that? So even though the Drakh clearly had some sort of advanced mental abilities, they were hardly limitless. They were appar­ently able to broadcast into someone's dream state, and were probably capable of receiving transmissions. But they were not readily capable of reading minds. Or, at the very least, they couldn't read a mind that wasn't cooperating. Furthermore, Shiv'kala had waited quite a few years to come to Vir and start asking why his name had been bandied about. That indicated to Vir that their range might be limited, as well. Again, at the very least, it was limited where other species were concerned. Shiv'kala had had to wait until Vir was within rea­sonable proximity of the palace. Why? Because, as much as Vir's stomach churned just contem­plating the notion, the fact was that the royal palace of Centauri Prime had become little more than a Drakh stronghold, a cover for the Drakh power base. Although Vir had strong suspicions that their true center of power was somewhere else on Centauri Prime. But he had no desire to let the Drakh know that he had dis­cerned so much, so quickly. Beings of finite power they might be, but there was no underestimating the ability of the Drakh to destroy him at their slightest whim. The only reason they had not done so by this point, he decided, was that they did not perceive him as a direct threat. If they did decide he posed a threat, how­ever, he didn't stand a chance. All of this went through his mind in less than a second, and by that point he w
as already back on the ground, "crumbling" at the mere sight of the formidable Drakh. He could tell from the Drakh's expression that Shiv'kala was by turns taken aback, ap­palled, and amused at the sight of this great, groveling oaf. The thing was, he had to give some sort of answer that would throw the Drakh off track. He couldn't take the chance that Shiv­'kala might figure out his connection to the underground. The only way to make sure of that was to present himself as a simple tool, a harmless foil who was about as capable of causing damage on his own as a wafting feather might be. And the best thing of all was that he could tell reasonable amounts of the truth, which would be all the easier to sell to the Drakh. If there was one thing that Vir excelled at, it was sin­cerity. He wore sincerity as comfortably as other Centauri wore high hair. "I... I was told to," he stammered out. "By whom?" "By... by ..." He licked his lips. "By a techno-mage." "Anhhh ..." Obviously it hadn't been the answer the Drakh