The Long Night of Centauri Prime (23 page)

I began to make my excuses to Sheridan, talking about how I was needed back on Centauri Prime. How they could not function without me. I tried to make it sound like a great trial and task. I laughed about it, shared with him how daunting such awesome responsibility could be. And all during that time, I wanted to do nothing more than flee the room. But I tend to think that, had I done so, such an action might well have piqued his curiosity and sent him off in directions that it would be best not to go. Mercifully, Delenn returned before too long. She seemed distracted, saddened. Her smile was a forced thing, her luminous spirit momentarily diminished, but she did her best to try and bring herself back up to her normal levels of cheerful and thoughtful social interaction. Then I was in the midst of saying my good-byes as we walked down the corridor toward the exit.

"Are you sure you can't stay a little longer?" asked Sheridan. I was not entirely certain how serious he was. I think, in a perversely ironic way, he actually meant it because he was moved by my magnanimous "gift."

"No, the affairs of state weigh on me just as they do on you," I said. "Besides, I'm sure you would like to settle in and get down to creating the greatest empire in history, yes?"

It was a good exit line. Nice, noncommittal, even a tacit acknowledgement of the inevitable greatness of the Interstellar Alliance. I could depart their lives with a smile and the knowledge that, at the last, I was the same charming and amusing Londo as in the earliest days of Babylon 5, rather than this dark and forbidding presence that I have become. I wanted to turn away, to say nothing more ... but I could not help myself. There was so much more that needed to be said, that should have been said and never would be.

I felt a gentle stirring, a mild warning, a rebuke m advance that seemed to say, "Keep your distance. You have done your duty, your penance, now leave. Simply ... leave."

That, more than anything, spurred my next words as I said to them with terrible earnestness, "One thing I want you to know, to understand and to hold in your thoughts in the years to come ... I want you to know that you are my friends, and you will always be my friends, no matter what may happen. And I want you to know that this day ... this day in your company means more to me than you will ever know."

Then I sensed their presence. Durla's guards, two of his closer and more dedicated followers, hovering there. Obviously Durla had a sense of how long I should be spending with Sheridan and Delenn, a mental approximation that I can only assume was provided for him by means he does not truly understand himself. He had imparted those time limits to the guards, and they were coming in search of me, their presence a gentle but firm reminder of just who was watching whom. The word
Go
filtered through my brain, and I did not even have to bother to look in the direction of my watchers to know that they were there. "It appears I must go now."

"I know," said Sheridan. Of course, the fact was that he did not know. He thought he did, thought he comprehended, but he understood nothing. Not really. The odds are that he never would. And his lack of comprehension was underscored by the last words he would ever speak to me on the surface of Minbar. Because if we were to face each other again, I knew it was likely going to be across the interstellar plain of battle, perhaps snarling at one another via view screens. Or else we might, just might, meet as keeper and prisoner, should Sheridan's fates turn against him and he wind up a prisoner on Centauri Prime.

Of course, in my own situation, the concepts of prisoner and keeper are extremely fluid, and I constantly find myself occupying both positions at the same time. I am he who holds the fate of millions, and I am he whose fate is held by other keepers. And I know that the situation will never be reversed. I will never face Sheridan with myself as a prisoner, for were it to come to that, I will be dead before such an encounter took place. They will certainly attend to that. So Sheridan spoke his last, unknowingly sardonic words to me then as we stood for the last time as peaceful equals: "You're always welcome to come back, Londo."

"More than welcome," echoed Delenn. They were good people, I knew that. They deserved better than what was coming to them, better than what I had done to them. Then again ... so did I. Except my living hell was of my own making, whereas their future living hell ... was also of my making. Is there any more blackened and stained soul in existence than mine? I could hardly get out any words. I managed to say, "Thank you ... good-bye..." And then I was gone, my guards walking on either side of me, escorting me back to my ship. I thought I overheard Sheridan and Delenn discussing Lennier just before I was out of earshot, and I wished I could have heard more. He was a good lad, Lennier. I spent some time with him. In retrospect, he may be the only individual who ever spent extended time in my presence without becoming tainted in some manner. A good and pure soul is his. I envy him that.

Through the glass of my cruiser, I watched Minbar receding, and then, naturally, I heard an all-too-expected voice. The voice that said..."

"You! Youl What are you doing?"

Senna jumped back, completely startled, her hand jumping and knocking the book off the table. Londo had awoken, and he was looking up at her with pain-filled and bloodshot eyes that were seething with anger.

"What are you doing! How much did you read? What did you read?"

Senna's mouth opened, but no words emerged. Londo was on his feet, and he had risen with such fury that he knocked aside the writing table, sending it crashing to the floor. He sounded more than just angry. He sounded terrified.

"I ... I ..." Senna finally managed to get out.

Londo grabbed up the book, slammed it shut.

"This was private! You had no right ... no right!"

"I ... I thought–"

"You didn't think! Not for a minute! What did you read here! Tell me! I will know if you are lying, tell me!"

She remembered how just a short time before, she had been thinking how she had never been afraid of Londo. That sentiment was gone. She had never been more terrified, not just of Londo, but of anyone, as she was at that moment.

"About ... you and Sheridan and Delenn. You gave them the urn.

"And then?" He grabbed her by either shoulder, shook her, and there was such tumult in his eyes ... she remembered being a very small child, looking to the skies as her father, Refa, held her tightly, and there were storm fronts rolling in. And those darksome clouds had been the single most frightening thing she had ever seen ... until this moment, when she looked into the eyes of Londo Mollari.

"And then?!"

"And then you left, never to come back, and I'm leaving too, all right, all right?! " Senna cried.

And she tore away from him, sobbing and choking so hard that she couldn't even catch her breath. She thought she was going to be ill.

She ran then, ran as fast and as hard as she could, ran from the room and almost crashed into Durla. His eyes widened as he took in Senna's agitated state, and the condition of both the furniture and the emperor.

"It's your fault, it's all your fault!" she howled in his face. ...

"Young lady..." Durla began, but he got no further as her hand flew, almost on its own accord, to smack against his face and leave a huge flaming red area the size of her palm on his cheek. Durla staggered from the pain of the impact, but Senna didn't stay around to see the results of her action. Instead she ran down the hallway, her arms pumping, her breasts heaving.

In her room, she tore away the fine dress she was wearing. The cloth, the beautiful, gilt-edged, shimmering cloth made a most satisfying ripping sound as she shredded it. Naked, she yanked together some assorted articles of clothing, tossed them on in a hodge-podge manner, and threw a cloak around her shoulders. She heard a crack of thunder from outside. The skies were opening up and rain was starting to hammer down. She didn't care. She couldn't stay in the palace a second longer, not when she knew what she knew. And as she ran out into the rain, she realized that the most frustrating thing was that she knew what she knew ... was nothing. And it was the nothing that she feared more than anything.

1
5.

When Senna had not returned after a week, Londo summoned Lione. To Londo's utter lack of surprise, Durla showed up with him.

"I had some matters to discuss with you, Majesty" Durla said, "and since Chancellor Lione stated that you desired to–"

Londo was gazing out the window at the city. Without even bothering to turn around, he said to Lione, "I have a little task for your Prime Candidates, Chancellor."

"They, and I, are at your service, Majesty," Lione said, bowing slightly.

"Senna is out there somewhere. I want her found, and I want you to alert me as to where she is. I will handle matters from there."

Lione and Durla exchanged glances, and then Durla cleared his throat and took a step forward.

"Majesty" he said politely, "are you sure that would be for the best?"

"She is one young woman, Durla. If I cannot save one young woman," and he gestured out at the city, "how can I save all of them?"

"That's not quite what is at issue, Majesty. I was simply thinking that perhaps this is a matter that should not be pursued."

"Indeed." Londo's voice was carefully neutral, his back still to them.

"Obviously, Majesty, the young woman is ... how shall I put this? ... an ingrate, Majesty. After all you have done for her, after all the time she has resided here ... and this is how she treats your hospitality?"

Londo was silent for a time.

"Majesty?" Durla said carefully.

At that point, Londo turned to face them. His eyebrows were knitted in apparent surprise.

"Chancellor... you are still here?"

"You have not dismissed me, Majesty" Lione said in confusion.

"I did not think it necessary. I have given you your orders ... or," and his voice took on a cutting edge, "were you operating under the assumption that I was coming to you as supplicant, putting in a request that you could attend to or disregard, at your discretion?"

"No, Majesty, it's just that..."

"I have told you what to do. Your only response should be to bow, say, `Immediately, Majesty' turn and leave. Apparently you did not comprehend that. So ... we shall try it again. I will give the order. You will respond as expected. And if you do not do so ... I will have you executed within the hour." He smiled and spread his hands as if greeting an old friend. "That sounds fair, yes?" Lione paled, and he visibly gulped. Durla looked in confusion from Londo back to Lione.

"I have a little task for your Prime Candidates, Chancellor," said Londo, without waiting for Lione to reply. "Senna is out there somewhere. I want her found, and I want you to alert me as to where she is. I will handle matters from there."

"Y yes, Majesty."

Londo fixed him with a deathly glare.

"You were supposed to say, `Immediately, Majesty.'"

Lione's back stiffened so abruptly that there was an audible crack.

Then Londo smiled wanly and said, "Close enough. Go to, eh?"

Chancellor Lione almost sprinted from the room, and Londo turned his gaze upon Durla. Londo's eyes seemed almost hooded, as if a veil had been drawn over them.

"Now ... what business have you, Durla?"

"Majesty, perhaps the Senna matter should be examined in more de–"

"What. Business. Have. You."

It was quite evident to Londo that Durla was wrestling with the notion of continuing the discussion ... but then he very wisely reconsidered. Instead, he said, "You have inquired about the archaeological dig on K0643."

"Yes. I have." Londo felt a slight stirring on his shoulder. And he knew why. Several months previously, he had been examining various budget items, and he had come across Durla's fringe world project. The reasons behind it completely eluded him. At that point, he had dictated a computer memo to himself to speak with Durla about it. Before he could follow through, however, the shadows had moved ever so slightly and Shiv'kala had emerged from them. Londo had not known he was there, and by that point had given up trying to figure out whether the Drakh was simply omnipresent, or whether the keeper summoned him and somehow he managed to materialize on an as-needed basis. "That is a worthy project," Shiv'kala had told him. "I do not suggest you challenge it."

"May I ask why?"

"Yes."

There was a pause, and then Londo had said, "Very well: why?"

And Shiv'kala, naturally, had made no response, unless one counted melting back into the shadows as a response. Londo, feeling haggard and weary by that point, had simply signed off on the item, reasoning that any project that got the people of Centauri Prime interested and involved was worthwhile.

But now ... now things felt different. It wasn't that they necessarily were different. However, they felt that way. For ever since he had left that urn with Sheridan and Delenn, forever damning not only their unborn child, but himself, it was as if he had hit rock bottom. After the explosive conflict with Senna, though, something within him had simply ... snapped. It was like a mental bone had broken, and now it was beginning to reform, tougher and harder than ever. It was most unexpected to Londo, who had been so accustomed to despair that he had almost forgotten what a glimmer of hope could look like. He still knew better than to go head-to-head with Shiv'kala, for that was certainly a lost cause. But he was beginning to reacquire a bit of his fighting spirit. Major acts of defiance, particularly face-to-face, might well be beyond his capabilities. But smaller such actions or inconveniences ... what was the phrase? Nibbling to death by cats? Yes ... that was it. What a marvelous turn of phrase those Humans had.

"Majesty," Durla was saying, "what do you wish to know about the project?"

"I do not understand the reason for it," Londo said. He felt the tingle of alertness on the part of the keeper, but he ignored it. "I wish you to explain it to me."