Armies Of Light And Dark

  chapter 15 The evening hours were stretching toward the late night as Throk approached the entrance to the Prime Candidates' safe house. There was another, main headquarters that was used for recruitment and to hold up as a symbol of all that was great and wonderful in the Prime Candidates organization, but the safe house was their true home. Indeed, he spent more time there than he did at his own residence. Tivo others of the Candidates, Muaad Jib and Klezko Suprah, strode along briskly next to Throk. They were newer inductees to the organization, people whom Throk himself had brought aboard. He regarded them somewhat as prot eges, and looked forward to guiding their training as members of the most glorious and farseeing group in all of Centauri Prime. Muaad and Klezko had been a bit shaky the previous night when they'd been asked to dispose of the Human's body. But since then, Throk had had a long talk with them, and they seemed much calmer now. That was certainly a relief. They were Prime Candidates, after all. The Candidates watched out for each other, and covered each other's backs. They were working hard to adopt the same stoicism and determination that Throk so ably displayed, and he was quite sure that they were going to come along very nicely. And then something separated itself from the shadows ahead. Throk slowed, his eyes narrowing, and Muaad and Klezko likewise reduced their pace. For a moment, Throk had an odd 229 feeling of déjà vu. A figure stepping forth from darkness . . . why did that seem familiar to him? Then he saw who it was. "Ambassador Cotto?" he said. "Is there a problem?" Vir smiled widely and spread his hands in a manner that was both subtle and overt. The gesture looked cool, routine, and friendly; by the same token, it went to show that there was nothing of any danger in his hands. "Just wanted to talk to you for a moment, Throk. Can you spare the time?" "Of course," said Throk. He wasn't particularly concerned about Ambassador Cotto the man was a bumbling idiot, an amateur pretending to be a diplomat. His appointment to Babylon 5 was a waste of time, for Babylon 5 was inhabited solely by enemies of the Centauri Republic. Since the Alliance already hated the Centauri, Vir could hardly do any further damage. And he had lost his woman to Minister Durla in a card game. How utterly pathetic was that? The ministers seemed to have some regard for him since, for some reason, Durla did. But Throk knew him for what he was: an oaf. Still, even fools should be humored every now and then. He nodded to Muaad and Klezko, who proceeded into the building. Throk then approached Vir slowly, and said, "How may I be of assistance?" "I know you killed Lou Welch." Throk prided himself on his unflappability. He had worked long and hard to maintain an air of such detachment, and no one, and nothing, could ever throw him off guard or off balance . But Vir's words, coming as they did from that pasty, insipid face, were the equivalent of a club to Throk's skull. And one word, one unfortunate word, slipped unbidden from between his lips. "How ... ,» The moment the word was out of his mouth, Throk wanted to kick himself. That was the absolute last thing he wanted to say. But it wasn't for nothing that Throk was one of the foremost leaders of the Prime Candidates. Barely half a second had passed before he recovered his wits. ". . . could you think such a thing," he continued, the pause almost imperceptible. Almost. "Oh, come now, Throk," Vir said, as if they were long-lost friends. "How could you think I wouldn't know? Centauri Prime has no greater protector of its interests than the Prime Candidates, and there is no greater Prime Candidate than you. The coroner said that someone killed the Human with his bare hands. That being a figure of speech, of course. The killer wore gloves. Those uniforms of yours come with gloves, by the way ... don't they, Throk?" "Many people wear gloves," Throk said. "The night air is quite cool." "Yes, yes. That's so true," Vir commiserated. "Plus, it makes it next-to-impossible to get good DNA traces off the victim." "Ambassador, I don't know what-" "Of course you don't, of course you don't," Vir said. He draped an arm around Throk, and Throk stiffened. "Look, Throk ... despite appearances, I'm not an idiot. I see which way the wind is blowing. I know what the future of Centauri Prime is, and I can tell you this: it's not having the Humans hovering over us and watching our every move. It's the people like you, the Prime Candidates. You are the movers and shakers; you are the next generation of greatness. Some day," and he laughed and patted Throk on the back, "you're going to be running things. You're probably going to wind up being my boss. So I figure the best possible thing I can do is get on your good side now, right? Right?" "Right," Throk agreed slowly, still a bit confused but trying not to show it. "So you see what I'm saying, then." "You are saying," Throk guessed, analyzing each word thoroughly before he released it, "that if I did have something to do with the demise of... what was his name?" "Welch. Lou Welch." "That if I was involved with Mr. Welch's demise ... you would not care." "It's us against them, Throk," Vir said, leaning in even closer. It was at that point that the Prime Candidate caught the whiff of liquor hanging on Vir's breath. The man was drunk. It was likely that, come morning, he wouldn't even remember the conversation. "Us against them. And me ... I want to be us. Let them be them ... and we're us. United we stand, divided we fall. Right? Right?" "Right," Throk said again. Vir nodded, staring at him a time longer, staring into his eyes so intently that Throk felt as if Vir were trying to locate some treasure inside his skull. Finally Vir released him, and said, "You, Throk ... are going places." Then he turned and, with a slight stagger, wobbled away into the evening. Throk watched him go, the pitiful shell of a Centauri with aspirations toward ... something. Throk couldn't be sure what. If he truly believed that he had some place in the future of Centauri Prime, then he, Vir, was woefully kidding himself. Shaking his head, Throk entered the safe house and strode into one of the meeting rooms. Klezko and Muaad were waiting for him, as were several others. "What did he want?" asked Klezko. "To make a fool of himself," Throk replied, smirking. "In that, he was quite successful." Then he frowned. "But he knew that I killed Welch. We have to find out how he knew ... and once we have ... we will probably have to dispose of him, as well." Vir sighed heavily as he looked at the small cylinder in his palm. It looked like nothing. It seemed so insignificant. Yet he was holding his future, right there in his hand. He had looked squarely into Throk's eyes when he had stated that Throk had killed Lou Welch. Vir had become quite adept at being able to see what people were thinking, spotting any hint of duplicity, just by looking in their eyes. Perhaps he had simply gotten a lot of practice by being with Londo for so long. So when he mentioned Welch's name, he had watched Throk's eyes, his face, for some sign of innocence. Some sort of confusion as to why Vir would be saying such a thing. Instead he had seen it plainly. Throk had been momentarily confused, but it was the confusion of guilt. He had started to say "How," and then he had paused, obviously reconstructing the sentence that would have continued "did you know?" But Vir had known. Vir was sure. Terribly, horribly sure. He was sure that Finian had not lied to him. The techno- mages had been many things, but deceivers they most certainly were not. They seemed to have a greater love of truth than any beings he had ever encountered. Still ... he had to be positive, beyond even the slightest shred of doubt. Because Vir knew himself all too well, and if one fragment of uncertainty remained with him, it would haunt him forever. And so he listened, via the device that was now in his ear. Listened carefully, and Throk-in his arrogance-wasted no time in telling him what he needed to know. "But he knew that I killed Welch." There it was ... the evidence right there. All Vir needed to publicly ... To publicly what? Throk came from too solid, too powerful a family. The house of Milifa was tightly allied with that of Durla's ... Mariel had confirmed that for him, even though he had already been reasonably certain of it. Plus Throk was one of the first of the Prime Candidates, and was destined for greatness. The death of one nosy Human wasn't going to stop him from fulfilling that for which he was intended. Of course, Vir could press the matter. He could go straight to the emperor. But he had every reason to believe that Londo would never stick his neck out, not at this point in time, because there were too many people out there who were interested in severing that same neck. Particularly if he were perceived as ac
ting in a manner that was contrary to the best interests of Centauri Prime. Furthermore, if Vir did desire to press the matter . . . . . . he was a dead man. That was beyond question. If the emperor couldn't cross the powers that be, certainly Vir's prospects were nil. He would be accused of operating in opposition to the grand and glorious destiny of Centauri Prime, as personified by Throk and his associates. So if he did seek punishment for Throk through proper channels, he would most assuredly fail, and his life would be forfeit. He would have to lock himself into his quarters on Babylon 5, and never set foot out again. The alternative was to turn the matter over to Sheridan. But then the entire matter would become known to all. The entire Centauri Homeworld would be at risk. Who knew how many thousands, hundreds of thousands, might die in the resultant chaos? Vir turned it over and over in his mind. He had sought out help. He had gone to Rem Lamas, who had proven to be something of an electronics expert. He had gone to Renegar, who had been pegged to oversee the dig on K0643 because he had familiarity with demolitions. He had been in touch with them somewhat regularly since the debacle on K0643, and they had learned from that disaster: They had learned whom to trust. They had learned that some of the underpinnings upon which the movements of Centauri Prime were based were, in fact, built upon sand. Vir had brought them along slowly, building his own foundations , brick by brick. And Lanas and Renegar had begun speaking to others. Others who had survived K0643 and were disenchanted by the Centauri brain trust that had organized what had amounted to little more than a paid death camp. And others still, freethinkers who had been driven underground or exiled. Now, though, matters had come to a head, a bit more quickly than Vir would have liked. He was a careful, methodical thinker, and he did not desire to act precipitously. He had to act at this point, though. He had to do something. Centauri Prime was simply not ready for a war, and he was not ready to roll over and let his world be assaulted again. Garibaldi would not be satisfied with anything less than justice. "No choice," whispered Vir. "You should have seen him," said Throk with amusement. "Draping his arm around me. Acting as if I were his son. He-" Muaad's eyes suddenly narrowed. "Wait a minute," he said. "Turn around." Throk looked puzzled. "Why?" "Just do it ." Throk did so, and Muaad's fingers ran questingly over the back of Throk's uniform shirt. "There's something here," he said. "A small lump ... some sort of a device." "He put something on me?" Throk's fury was mounting immediately. "How dare he! What is it?" "Some sort of transmitting device," said Muaad. "He was eavesdropping on us." Vir had known that eventually deaths would be necessary. He had wanted to minimize it. "I am a good man," he said. His finger quivered. "I am a decent man." He thought about Cartagia, crumbling, with an astounded look on his face and a heartful of poison injected by Vir. "I am a moral man." He thought about the Drakh he had killed when he had blown up the Shadow base. "I am an ethical man." His voice was becoming increasingly soft as his hand shook. Throk had killed Welch. The others had helped remove the body, and had stayed silent. They were guilty, all guilty, of a crime that had brought Centauri Prime to the brink of war and possibly total annihilation. "I have no choice," he said. "I'll kill him!" said Throk. "Enough is enough! How dare he plant a voice transmitter on me! He-" Then he remembered something else. Vir had patted Throk on the head as well. His hand flew up. He felt the hard round disk, hidden by his high crest ofhair. He pulled at it. It was attached via adhesive. Vir flipped open the end of the cylinder. There was a small button on it. There was water dripping onto it, and he realized belatedly that it was his own tears. He had found and read that book. The one about how all boys grow up, except one. He, Vir, had to grow up, his childhood ending with one stroke of a button. "To die ... would be an awfully big adventure," he whispered . "I'm ... I'm sorry" He closed his eyes and pushed the button. "Senna! "Throk cried out. And then his head erupted in flame. The windows of the safe house blew out, shattered glass flying everywhere. Passersby, completely unprepared, screamed and ran, momentarily convinced they were under assault yet again by the Alliance. Seconds later, the entire front wall collapsed , and the small structure tumbled down, while flames licked hungrily at it. There was more screaming, more running , and everyone was looking skyward, trying to see from where the next shot would originate. Because all attention was directed to the heavens, no one would even have noticed if Vir had been nearby. He wasn't, however. He was several blocks away, leaning against a wall, while sobs racked his body so violently that he felt as if he would never be able to stand up again on his own. By the time rescue teams arrived to pull bits and pieces of the Prime Candidates out of the rubble, Vir was long gone. Garibaldi stood on the balcony at the palace, watching the activity in the city some distance away. The entire area had been brightly illuminated, lights rigged to allow the rescue teams to do their job. There was a chime at his door. "Come in," Garibaldi called, and G'Kar entered with that brisk stride of his. He went straight to the balcony and stood next to Garibaldi, who hadn't taken his eyes off the emergency scene. "Manage to find out what's going on?" "Nothing definite," said G'Kar. Sardonically, he pointed to himself, and added, "It's not as if this is a face that is going to set Centauri tongues to wagging. You?" "It's not as if anyone's big on Humans either," he admitted ruefully. "The only thing I've managed to pull together is that no one seems to think it's an accident. I'm not sure if anyone is dead.. ." "Yes. Some are dead." G'Kar and Garibaldi turned to see that Vir was standing in the doorway. He had not bothered to ring the chime. He looked haunted. "Who? Who died?" asked Garibaldi. "Several of the Prime Candidates." He paused a moment, and then added almost as an afterthought, "And me." "What?" Garibaldi shook his head, uncomprehending. "I don't underst " Then he realized. It all hit him with the intensity of a burst of white light. And Vir could obviously see in Garibaldi's eyes that he understood. He nodded in silent affirmation. "G'Kar," Garibaldi said. "I think that we'll be leaving tomorrow." "We will?" "Yes. We will." Then G'Kar comprehended, too. "Oh," he said. "Yes. Of course we will." Vir nodded once and started out the door. He stopped only when Garibaldi said, "Vir ... thank you." He turned and faced Garibaldi, and said, "Both of you can go to hell. And me, too." Then he walked out without so much as a backward glance.

  chapter 16 "You should have let me do it. It was my explosive charge." "But it was my responsibility," Vir replied. They were the first words he had spoken in an hour. It had been days since Vir had returned to Babylon 5. And one by one, the various individuals he had summoned were assembling. Soon they would be in this one room, which was not Vir's customary quarters. He had rented a separate facility on Babylon 5, under a fake name, paid for with funds pulled from a blind account. He was taking every possible step to be cautious. He was all too aware that that was how it was going to have to be for him for, quite probably, the rest of his life. "Vir . . . look ... you tried to warn me of things that I wasn't willing to pay attention to before," Renegar said. "I owe you for opening my eyes. I would have-" "Renegar," Vir said slowly, "we are going to do everything we can ... to spare lives. We are going to be as careful as possible . But I'm not an idiot. I'm not naive. I know that, sooner or later, people are going to die. Perhaps innocent people. I will do all that I can to avoid it ... but it may very well happen." 239 "What are you saying?" "I'm saying that I'm no longer going to be able to keep my hands clean." "So you figured you'd get them dirty all at once." Vir nodded. "All right," Renegar said with a heavy sigh. "But if you're going to get this worked up and distraught over people dying ... you may very well be in the wrong line of work." "Don't think that hasn't occurred to me," said Vir. Finally, the last of them arrived. Vir looked around at the people gathered in the room. A dozen had been able to make the trip; that had been all that seemed judicious at the time. He had chosen them so carefully because one wrong move meant the end for all of them. If he missed a bet, if he brought a spy into their midst, he was signing their collective death warrant. There was only one person missing. . . and, moments later, the door hissed open and he entered. Vir actually smiled when he saw him. He w
as the oldest individual in the room, certainly, and yet he moved with a spring in his step that evoked an old warhorse being pressed into service. "Hello, Dunseny," he said. The former valet of Londo Mollari bowed his head slightly. "Hello, good sir." There were nervous, suspicious glances from several of the others in the room. Rem Lanas voiced the worries that were going through all their heads. "This man worked for House Mollari for his entire life. Is it wise to have him here?" "I still work for House Mollari," Dunseny promptly replied. "And the interests of House Mollari are not served by the bastards who are presently in power." He bowed slightly to Vir. "What small skills I can provide are yours, Ambassador, as you may need them." "Gratefully accepted," Vir said. He studied the men gathered around him. They waited for him to speak. He couldn't recall the last time people had sat in such anticipation, waiting for him to open his mouth. He wondered if G'Kar felt the same way when the Nam gathered around him and waited for him to bestow new pearls of wisdom upon them. "All right," Vir said slowly. "There is much that needs to be done, and much we have to do. Centauri Prime is proceeding down a road that it must not be allowed to follow. And we have to do everything we can to forestall it. Even as we speak, there are installations, buildups underway on colony worlds whose very purpose has been corrupted. They have been forced into the service of an escalating war machine. We have to stop it." "You're speaking of sabotage," one of the Centauri said. Vir nodded. "That is exactly right, yes. All of you have had cause to suffer under the current regime. All of you are freethinkers , or have had your eyes opened by various circumstances that you could not have anticipated ... but now that they have happened, you cannot turn away. The Centaurum is propelling our beloved Homeworld toward certain destruction , and we have to do whatever we can to head it off" "But isn't it a delaying action?" asked Rem Lanas. "By engaging in sabotage, we're not putting a halt to anything. We're just slowing things down. Isn't it possible that, sooner or later, Centauri Prime will still be pulled into the center of a "W?* "Yes. It's possible," Vir admitted. Then, his voice strong, he continued, "It is also possible that, if we provide sufficient resistance, we will be able to get people-both those in charge and those who are disdainfully thought of as the commoners- to reconsider what they're doing. It doesn't matter how small the insect is; repeated stings will bring a body down. "I cannot emphasize enough the danger that's involved. You are not all of the individuals involved in this effort. I did not feel it wise for any one person, outside of myself, to know everyone who is involved in our little endeavor." "That way if any one of us is captured, he cannot turn in the entire underground at one time," Dunseny said. Vir nodded. "Ideally, of course, if any of us is captured- Great Maker forbid-he will not turn in any of us. Death before dishonor." There were affirming murmurs from throughout the room. It was so easy to say, of course. So easy to believe that death would be embraced before the names of any coconspirators would be turned over. But he had no choice now. He had gone too far. It had gone too far. He had no choice but to see it through. Despite Londo's assurances to the contrary, Vir Cotto had never felt less invincible in his entire life. "All right," Vir said. "Here's what we're going to do. . : '