The Long Night of Centauri Prime (11 page)

"A ... riddle?"

"Yes! Yes, it is quite clever. Senna told it to me. Clever girl, our young lady."

"Yes, you've told me about her. Tragic thing, the loss of her teach–"

"Do you want to hear this riddle or not?" Londo demanded.

"Oh ... absolutely, yes." Vir bobbed his head. Londo draped an arm around Vir's shoulders, bringing his face closer. The smell of alcohol was even more pungent than usual.

"What is greater than the Great Maker more frightening than a Shadow ship ... the poor have it ... the rich need it ... and if you eat it, you die."

Vir silently mouthed the elements of the riddle, then shook his head.

"I give up."

"You give up!" Londo sounded almost outraged. "You give up? That is your problem, Vir. That has always been your problem. You give up, far too quickly. You have to give things thought, Vir. Even if you do not succeed, you have to at least try!"

"All ... all right. Let me think. Greater than the Great Ma–" His thought process was promptly interrupted when a voice from at his elbow said,

"Ambassador. What a pleasure it is to see you." Vir turned and saw Durla standing there. He had seen the man before in passing, but not since Durla had been promoted to the ministry. Durla had never really registered on Vir, back when he was captain of the guards. But now that he was seeing him, really seeing him for the first time, he sensed that this was a man to watch out for.

"And I, you, Minister," Vir replied easily.

"How nice that you were able to get away from Babylon 5 to attend this little celebration. I'm sure you've been very busy there."

Vir watched Londo's gaze flicker from Durla to Vir and back. He seemed curiously content to watch the two of them converse. It was as if Londo had something very specific he wanted to see accomplished, but Vir could not for the life of him imagine what that might be. The last thing that Vir was interested in doing was getting into some sort of verbal sparring match with with Durla just because it might suit Londo's purposes, whatever those might be. Nevertheless, there was something in Durla's tone and attitude that Vir couldn't help but consider off-putting. It wasn't in the words so much, but in the condescending voice attached to it.

"Oh, yes ... yes, I've been very busy," Vir said.

"I'm sure. Although," Durla continued, "the true future of the Centauri Republic would lay, I think, with what is developing on Centauri Prime, rather than on a hunk of metal light-years away. A place that is the base of operations for an Alliance that is dedicated to wiping the Centauri off the face of creation, eh?"

"Minister," Vir said carefully, "with all respect, if the Interstellar Alliance were `dedicated' to it, I doubt we'd be all standing here right now, in an intact palace, enjoying this quite wonderful wine. Excuse me!" he called to a passing waiter, indicating with a gesture that he could use a refill. Vir normally wasn't a drinker, but in recent years he had driven his tolerance level up, just through practice. A lengthy association with Londo Mollari tended to do that. As the waiter scurried off to fulfill Vir's request, he added, "Keep in mind, Minister, that I'm posted on Babylon 5. I've known the president of the Alliance for a great many years. I wouldn't presume to comment on what I've heard goes on here, so you might want to consider carefully your own sentiments when speaking about the Alliance."

"And what have you heard `goes on' here?" Durla asked with one eyebrow slightly raised in curiosity. Vir looked down and saw that the next drink was in his hand, as if it had materialized there by magic. He downed half of it in one gulp. He had a feeling that this evening, he was going to need it.

"Oh, crazy rumors. People disappearing. Our more moderate politicians losing face, losing power ... losing lives. And all of them being replaced by associates of yours."

"You overestimate me, Mr. Ambassador," Durla said, sounding quite sincerely modest. "Granted, I tend to recommend to the emperor people whom I know to be trustworthy. But since Internal Security is within my purview, naturally it would make sense to bring in those who I know will be loyal to the Republic."

"Don't you mean, to you?"

"I say what I mean, Ambassador," Durla replied, unperturbed. "In point of fact, it is the emperor who is the living incarnation of the spirit of the Centauri Republic. If I am to be concerned about loyalties to anyone in particular, it should be to him."

"How very gracious of you, Minister," Londo finally spoke up. "These are, after all, dangerous times. It is difficult to know whom we can trust."

"Absolutely true," Durla said. He clapped Vir on the shoulder. "I believe that I may have given you the wrong impression, Ambassador. May my tongue snap off if I say something that gives you a moment's concern."

"Now that's something I'd pay to see," Vir said.

Apparently missing the sarcasm, Durla continued, "Ultimately, we all want the same thing. A restoration of Centauri Republic to the arena of interstellar greatness we once enjoyed."

"We do?"

"Of course, Ambassador!" Durla said, as if he were stating a given. "At this point in time, to many, we are nothing but a joke. A beaten, fallen foe. Entire systems are allied against us and would keep us down. Once... once they quivered in fear at the very mention of our name. Now ... they quiver with laughter."

"Terrible," intoned Londo, as if he'd had the conversation a thousand times before. Vir couldn't help but notice that Londo was putting away liquor at somewhere around triple the rate that Vir was maintaining. Indeed, faster than anyone in the place, it seemed. "A terrible thing."

"And even now, as we rebuild, as we break our backs to settle the `reparations' while we try to restore our own pride ... they watch over us. They treat us as we once treated the Narns. Now what would you call that?"

"Poetic justice?" ventured Vir.

As if Vir had not spoken – indeed, Durla probably hadn't even heard him – Durla answered his own question.

"Insults! Insult piled upon insult! The potential for greatness still lives within Centauri Prime, still burns like a fever within the bodies of our people."

"Aren't fevers generally considered a bad thing?" Vir asked. "You know ... sometimes you die from them..."

"And sometimes they bring greater clarity of vision," said Durla.

"I usually just get headaches."

"We walked among the stars," Durla said forcefully. "When you have had the stars, how are you supposed to content yourself with the dirt beneath your feet? Do you know what I want for my people, Ambassador? Do you want to know the truth? I want my people to reclaim their rightful place in the galaxy. I want to see the Centauri stretch forth their hand again and command the stars. I want a rebirth of glory. I want us to be what we used to be. Does that seem too much to ask, Ambassador?"

It was Londo who replied, swirling a drink around in his glass and staring down at it.

"No," he said softly. "No ... it does not seem too much to ask at all."

Durla was about to continue, but someone called his name from over on the other side of the room. Apparently some sort of friendly dispute was going on, and Durla was being asked to come and settle it. He bowed quickly and graciously to Vir and Londo, and headed off. Several more officials came toward Londo, clamoring for his attention, but Londo waved them away. Instead he placed a hand on the small of Vir's back and said, "Come, walk with me, Vir. Catch me up on all the latest developments."

"Well, here's a late development: I do not like him, Londo. This Durla. Not one bit." Vir was speaking in a whisper, albeit an angry one.

"Durla? What is wrong with Durla?" Londo sounded almost shocked.

"Look, don't take this wrong, but ... in some ways, he reminds me of you. That is, the way you used to be."

"He doesn't remind me of me at all."

"Are you kidding? All those things he was saying about what he wants us to be? Doesn't that sound like something you might have said once?"

"No. I never would have said any such thing."

Vir rolled his eyes in annoyance as Londo guided him down one of the large corridors.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"On a tour. Much work has been done on the palace since you were last here." He glanced at Vir. His vision appeared a bit bleary. "So let me understand this: you say that Durla reminds you of me, and on that basis you don't like him. I suppose I should be insulted, no?"

"When I first met you, back then you ... well, you were somewhat intimidating, Londo. And you had these visions for what the Centauri should be. And you..."

"Fulfilled them," Londo said softly.

"Yes. And millions died because of it."

"Such harsh words. Do you judge me, Vir? You dare judge the emperor?" There was challenge in the words, but in the tone there was only interest.

"I know you, Londo. Sometimes I think I know you better than anyone alive ... or at least, anyone who's left alive. He shares your dream, Londo. And look what became of it. Look at all the death, destruction, and tragedy that arose from it."

"The road to one's destiny is never a smooth one, Vir. There are always bumps along the way..."

"Bumps! Londo, we slaughtered the Narns! We spread a reign of terror! And that sin came back to revisit us a hundredfold! Those actions came solely because of the kind of thinking that Durla is standing there spouting! When are we going to learn, Londo? What's it going to take! The annihilation of every Centauri in the galaxy?"

"Why are you asking me?" inquired Londo. "Do you know who you should ask? Rem Lanas."

"I'm sorry ... what?" Vir felt as if the conversation had abruptly veered off at another angle completely. "Rem Lanas? Who is–"

"He is on Babylon 5, as I recall. Has been for some time. Very wise individual. Do you know why you are here, Vir?" Vir was having trouble following the thread of whatever it was they were supposed to be talking about.

"Well, I ... well, no, Londo, to be honest. I'm pleased that this party is being held, just because it's nice to see our people celebrating something – anything – even if it's just a group pat on the back to enjoy the reconstruction plans. But I'm not sure why you asked me specifically to come."

"What are you insinuating, Vir?"

"Insinuating? I..." He sighed. "Londo perhaps, well ... you may have had a little too much to drink. Because to be honest, you're not talking very sensibl–"

"Could you possibly be implying," continued Londo, "that I couldn't speak to you via standard communications means if I desired to? That I'm worried about being unable to find a secure channel? That everything I say could be monitored by others? You're not saying that, are you, Vir?"

Mr. Garibaldi had once used an expression that Vir had found most curious: he had spoken of "the dime dropping," as a means of indicating that someone had just realized something. It wasn't a term Vir completely understood, particularly because he had no idea what a dime was, or where it might drop that would inspire in any way a moment of clarity. However, at that moment, as Vir listened – really listened – to what Londo was saying, he suddenly got a vague inkling as to what a dime dropping might mean to him personally.

"No," Vir said very carefully. "I didn't intend to imply that at all." But he said it with such a careful tone of voice that he hoped to make it clear to Londo that he had grasped the subtext. The mists of emptiness that had clouded Londo's eyes up until that moment seemed to part, ever so briefly. He nodded wordlessly. Then he opened his mouth to speak once again ... and he staggered. "Londo?"

Londo passed his face in front of his hands as if trying to brush away cobwebs, and when he lowered his hand there was an expression that seemed a combination of anger and resignation.

"Building up your tolerance to alcohol, I see," he muttered.

"Somewhat, yes," Vir said.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"But–" Londo suddenly switched his mood, sounding rather jovial again. "We have a superb gallery that is a tribute to previous emperors. We took existing statues and paintings, gathered them in one place – come, Vir! You should see it!"

"Uhm ... all right..." Chatting with what seemed excessive cheer, Londo guided Vir to the end of the corridor, hung a sharp right, then a left, and led him into a very sizeable room. Just as Londo had boasted, the walls were lined with a most impressive array of paintings and sculptures, the latter ensconced on carefully crafted shelves inset into the walls. The first painting that naturally caught Vir's eye was Cartagia.

Londo saw where Vir was looking, and echoed Vir's thoughts aloud: "Why is he here, eh?"

Vir nodded. "He was insane, Londo. An ugly part of our history. He shouldn't be here with the others."

"He has to be, Vir, because he is a part of history. If we do not recall that which we have done wrong, how can we be guided toward that which is right?"

"Apparently not everyone can agree on what is right and wrong," Vir said ruefully, glancing over his shoulder as if worried that Durla was going to be standing right behind him.

"You wouldn't be referring to Durla, would you? Calm yourself, Vir. His is not the only opinion out there."

"One wouldn't know it to look at the people in that room. They–"

"Vir ... it doesn't matter. Look at these paintings. Are they not lovely?"

Vir was beginning to lose all patience with his emperor.

"Yes, they're very lovely, but that's not the point –"

"Emperor Turhan ..." Londo indicated one painting. "A great man."

"A great man," sniffed Vir. "With his dying words, he urged us to attack the Narn. You should know, you were the one he whispered them ... to ..." Vir's voice trailed off as he saw the expression on Londo's face. Once more, a dime dropped as he realized the awful secret Londo was hinting at ... that Turhan's last words were not words of war. "Londo..."

"He died wanting peace with the Narn ... and said that we and Refa were damned. A wise man, that." He said it without any hint of anger. If anything, he sounded amused. But Vir was horrified. He took a step back, the blood draining from his face.