Summoning Light (31 page)

The first Shadow he had encased was now nearly invisible in the darkness. Only the faint lights of its eyes remained, floating in strange, independent movement, like fireflies in the night. Gradually their light died, trapped within, and the black sphere began its rapid collapse. As it shrank, the sphere paled to grey, then, like a mirage, it simply faded away, a blast of air rushing in to fill the void with a great rolling crack.

Galen turned away, started between the spheres toward Blaylock. He was burning, incandescent, both seized with energy and surging with it. Around him, the fledgling universes began imploding with deafening claps, shaking the wavering tunnel. Some contained within them sections of the rocky ceiling, or the floor, and as they vanished they left smooth, scooped formations.

As the Drakh came into view, he visualized equation after equation in a simple column, imploding one or two or three at a time as his attention fell upon them. Energy sang along the meridians of the tech. The conjury was effortless, the spells not some complex, halting, deliberate labor, but somehow natural, flowing with simple ease from intent to action. As he stepped in and out of the scoop-shaped depressions where once his enemies had stood, he realized he felt no pain in his stiff leg.

Encased within a darkening sphere, a Drakh reached for him, arms stretching and snaking in a hypnotic dance. As the sphere snapped into rapid collapse, the Drakh's body crumpled like a piece of paper. In another sphere, a Drakh's face twisted in and in on itself, like a grey, white, and red pin-wheel, before contracting into nothingness. In another, as the shrinking universe clouded over, three Drakh collapsed into a single pulpy mass as if crushed by an invisible fist. His fist.

Then he had run out of Drakh. The thunderclaps ceased, space and time settled into their familiar shapes. Galen stood before the room where Blaylock was kept. Except for G'Leel approaching with Anna, the tunnel was empty. Perhaps they were afraid to send more. Perhaps they were satisfied that he'd gone where they wanted him to go. The stone walls seemed strangely solid, inflexible. G'Leel stopped a few feet away. Her golden face carried an expression Galen had never seen on her before. She was terrified.

"Don't worry," he said, barely able to hear himself after the fusillade of sound. "The other mages don't know that spell."

She sucked in a short breath, gave a quick nod.

He was ablaze with energy. He would take Blaylock, and the rest would pay for what they'd done. They would die. Elizar would die. If Galen could kill him more than once, he would.

He reached for the keypad beside the door. Before he could touch it, the door slid open.

Elric sat in John Sheridan's office, holding his weary body erect. He must know whether John would try to detain them, whether the plan to test the captain with the truth had been wise or foolhardy. But John had been delayed. He had gone to the customs area, where the station's Purple Drazi had launched an attack on the Zekhite's Green Drazi.

The conflict had begun on the freighter itself when the Purple Drazi had stormed it, but quickly spread to the customs area and into other ships docked nearby. The Green Drazi, though much fewer in number, were holding their own. Ing-Radi had warned the captain of the Zekhite, Vayda, that such an attack might come.

Station security had been thrown into disarray, but Elric expected that within a few minutes, they would begin arresting the Drazi, including the crew of the Zekhite. This time Susan Ivanova could not simply take the scarf of the Green leader and order the Greens to dye their scarves purple, for there was no Green leader aboard the Zekhite. She would have to think of another solution, and until then the Zekhite would be unavailable. The second shell in Elric's shell game would be taken out of play, as he had planned. If the Shadows had read Galen's message, and knew that the mages had been warned of sabotage aboard the Zekhite, all the better. The Shadows would believe them desperate, vulnerable.

Across the station, Londo entered the casino. Elric released a silent breath. Here was the rest of the plan Morden had hatched within the hedge maze, and it was exactly as Elric had anticipated. He'd known that Morden sometimes manipulated the outcome of Londo's gambling, and he'd tried to encourage Morden's choice of that particular methodology by arranging Londo's encounter with Carvin. Londo, at his secret meeting with Morden, would have recited the mages' many offenses against him, including their attempt to cheat him at poker. Morden would have concluded that the mages, known never to lose at games of chance, were gathering funds to hire another ship, a replacement for the Tidewell that could be used to deceive the Shadows.

Now, Morden would believe, the mages' need for a ship was even greater.

He would want to control the mages. If they were to acquire another ship, he would want to know which it was. Elric had hoped that Morden would fashion these circumstances into a plan, a plan to use Londo to ensure the mages' destruction.

A lock of hair at one end of Londo's great crest drooped at an odd angle. Looking self-consciously around the dimly lit casino, he tried to press it back in place. When he removed his hand, it fell again immediately. With a frown, he brushed at a brown splotch on the front of his jacket. He'd had some trouble dealing with Fed's demons.

He saw Carvin at the high-stakes poker table and stopped his brushing. A strange expression came over his face, part eagerness, part hesitance. He must suspect that Morden's help with the techno-mage problem would not end well for the mages, just as Morden's help with the Narn problem in Quadrant 37 had not ended well for the Narns. Perhaps Londo had not lost his conscience entirely. Yet that merely damned him further. A man who performed atrocities in the absence of a conscience did not understand the depth of his evil, while a man who performed them in spite of his conscience believed his own petty desires justified any evil. He was a true malignancy.

Londo composed his face, straightened his jacket with a tug, and wound his way toward the poker table. Elric switched to the camera over the dealer's shoulder.

As Carvin raked in a large pot of chips, Londo came up behind her. "Hello, dear lady."

Carvin turned and extended her hand with a smile. "I told you, I'm no lady."

He kissed her hand, noticing the ring. He was wary, though trying not to show it. He must pretend he didn't know she was a techno-mage, must play the lovesick fool, with Carvin acting the seductress. Only that way could he "trick" her into gambling with him.

The player to her right – Muirne in disguise – gathered up her few remaining chips and left. Londo took her seat. "I am glad to find you here. I've thought of nothing but you since our last meeting."

"I've thought of many things, but none so intriguing as you, Ambassador."

Londo gave an uncertain smile, charmed in spite of himself. "You're unlike any woman I've ever met."

"More than you know."

"I would like to get to know you better. I've given great thought to what you said, that you like your gamblers fearless."

"And are you fearless, Ambassador?"

"For you," he said, again taking her hand, "I believe I could be. But the question is this, dear lady. Are you fearless?"

"You have a proposition."

"One I hope you will find intriguing. Perhaps we could discuss it over a drink."

"Delighted." She slid her chips into her purse, and they found a corner table in the bar where they could have privacy. As Londo brought drinks over, Elric noticed one of Morden's paid agents sitting several tables away.

Elric accessed different cameras until he found one that gave him a good view of both Londo and Carvin.

"Tell me," Londo said, "what brings you to Babylon 5?"

"Must we resort to small talk? Let's be more daring. If you could ask me one thing" – she fixed him with her eyes – "what would it be?"

Londo seemed to actually give the question some thought. "What was it like, to be brought up apart from your own people?"

She laughed, startling him. "But I wasn't. Those who raised me are my people. The Centauri perhaps share more of my DNA than others, but your history is not my history, your desires are not my desires, your identity is not my identity." With a graceful turn of her wrist she extended her hand. "And now I have a question for you. If you had not been raised by the Centauri, who would you be, what would you want?"

Londo smiled uneasily, then shook his head, expelling a short breath. "It is impossible to imagine. My entire life has been steeped in the tradition, the history, the honor of the Centauri. It is who I am. Without that–" He waved off the question. "Perhaps I would be a professional gambler. Or a gigolo."

"I have a feeling you would excel at either profession."

Londo took a drink. "You flatter me."

"You're a delightful companion, Ambassador."

"Please, you must call me Londo." He seemed to be falling for her seduction, even though he knew it was an act. It fed his ego to believe she was sincere.

"Londo, there is only one desire I have failed to satisfy in living apart from the Centauri." She slid her hand across the table, brushed her fingers over his. "It is a desire, I must admit, I am eager to gratify, with the right man."

Londo recovered from her frankness more quickly this time. "I am sorry to hear of your loss. It is a true tragedy. I would like to do everything within my power to correct it."

"You said you had a proposition."

For just a moment, his face froze with its mixture of playful solicitude and lust. Then he spoke. "Indeed I do." He pulled back his hand. "I have been thinking about what you said, about gambling fearlessly. Many times I have bet more than I should. But those bets were never fearless, merely foolish. We could gamble for high stakes, but as long as one knows the stakes, one can judge whether the risk is acceptable, no? The true risk comes in accepting the stakes when one does not know them. Which leads me to my proposition." He reached into his pocket, removed a simple black eight-sided die, and set it on the table. Half of the sides were marked with a circle, half with a cross. So this was Morden's plan. "On one roll of the die we wager blindly. If you win, I will undertake any action you say, so long as it is in my power and violates no laws. If I win, you will do the same for me."

Londo was far from fearless; he had to be certain he would win to suggest such terms. Morden had clearly guaranteed him success. Suddenly all of Elric's assumptions were cast into doubt. He had expected any wager would be designed so that the mages won. Only then could the Shadows learn what the mages wanted – which was what the Shadows always desired to know.

But if Londo won, what might he demand?

Carvin inclined her head. "A bold proposition. You surprise me, Londo."

"You inspire me, dear lady."

Elric had arranged with Carvin that if at any point he wanted her to withdraw, he would send her a blank message. Carvin hesitated, allowing Elric time to stop her. He sent nothing. No mage had ever lost a wager. While Londo's die could not be switched, because they'd had no chance to prepare a replacement, a tiny flying platform could be used to push the octagon to the desired position, or an illusion cast to change the symbols.

Whether the Shadows could stop Carvin, Elric didn't know. But he didn't believe they would. He believed the Shadows wanted her to win, no matter what Morden had told Londo.

"The possibilities are a delight to imagine," Carvin said. "I agree."

"Will you choose the circle, then, or the cross?"

"The circle."

"And I will take the cross. Since you have chosen, I will roll, yes?"

As Carvin nodded, she sucked her lips inward, for the first time betraying any nervousness.

Londo shook the die. As his loose lock of hair trembled with anticipation, a triumphant smile broke out on his face. He dreamed, no doubt, of winning a blessing from the mages at the least. Perhaps more.

He rolled the octagon across the small table. Carvin lifted her drink, following its course. When done well, the use of the flying platform to assure victory was so subtle and quick that no one but another mage – or perhaps a Shadow – could detect it. Carvin did well. The die stopped with a circle on top.

The smile fell from Londo's face. "What? No! It's not possible!" He leaned closer. "Something has gone terribly wrong."

Now Carvin was smiling. "No, it hasn't. You've simply lost, Londo. That's what happens when you gamble with a techno-mage."

Londo continued to stare down at the die. At last he straightened. "What? You are a techno-mage?" he said with poorly feigned outrage. "I would never have gambled with you if I had known." He threw up his hands. "You can't expect me to pay you now."

Carvin seized him by the wrists and pulled him close. His drink flew off the table. "I'll tell you exactly what I expect," she said, still smiling, her voice mild. "Lord Refa owns a ship, the Ondavi, that is docked here. You will tell him you need the ship. You will use any excuse, make any promise to get it. It is well within your power. You will tell no one why you truly need it. And you will have it ready for us in two hours."

"But that's completely impossible! Lord Refa will not simply give me his ship."

Their faces were only inches apart. "You can be very convincing, Londo. I'm sure you can talk him into it."

"I may not even be able to reach him in two hours. He is a very busy man, you know."

"Surely for an important person like you, Refa will make time."

"It's simply out of the question. You have cheated me. Why should I honor the debt?"

She released one of his wrists, found the drooping lock of his hair, ran her ringers down it. "You have known the anger of one techno-mage. Would you like to know the anger of all five hundred?"

Londo pulled away, stumbling to his feet. "This is an outrage! I've done nothing to you people! Nothing but try to form a friendly relationship!"

"You have formed a relationship with us. At your own peril." Carvin stood and came around the table to him. "Have the ship ready. In two hours."