Armies of Light and Dark (29 page)

"You'll be fine, Ambassador. I'll just be a moment. I've already left the body out too long."

"But if you'd just ..." However, the coroner had already walked away. Vir felt his stomach lurching into his mouth. Finally, in a last ditch attempt to alert Finian that someone was coming, he called out as loudly as he could, "But do you have to go back into the exam room? Do you really have to?"

The next thing he knew, he heard an alarmed yelp from the coroner, and was certain that Finian had been spotted. He scrambled to his feet and ran into the examining room, not sure what he could possibly say or do, but determined that he had to do something. When he got there, he found the room empty save for Welch's corpse and the coroner – who was white as a sheet. He didn't seem sickened; certainly he had seen far too much in his life for that. But his attitude was one of barely contained rage.

"Who did this?" he demanded. "Who did this?"

"Did what?" said a confused Vir, and then he saw it. The top of Lou Welch's head had been neatly removed. Sections of his brain had been meticulously and precisely removed and put into a pan nearby, and – Vir was positive that it was his imagination just for a moment, they seemed to be pulsing as if with a life of their own. Then whatever movement he saw, real or imagined, ceased, and he was left with his stomach wrenching itself around in fits of uncontrollable nausea. He knew he wasn't going to be able to contain himself. The best he could do was lurch to a nearby garbage can and thrust his head into it as everything that he had eaten in the past twelve hours made its violent return engagement.

The early evening air shored up Vir as he stood outside the building, leaning against the wall, his legs quivering. He had made his excuses to the coroner, which had not been a difficult accomplishment. The coroner, considering the circumstances, seemed disinclined to go anywhere, and he promised Vir a full investigation into the outrageous circumstances surrounding Lou Welch's mutilation.

"Vir." He realized that his name had just been said several times, and it was only around ... ceased, and the fourth or fifth time that he really, truly heard it. He turned and saw Finian standing just inside an alley, gesturing that Vir should join him. Fired by a cold fury, Vir immediately headed toward the techno-mage, joining him in the relative dimness of the alley.

"How could you?" he whispered furiously, with such intensity that his voice came out gravelly. But Finian was, at that point, totally without the casual calm that techno-mages so often affected. Indeed, he looked as shaken as Vir, and when he held up his hands they were specked with blood.

"Are you remotely under the impression that was fun for me?" he demanded. "You had the luxury of becoming ill! I didn't. At least... not until I got out here." He leaned against the alley wall, looking shaken, and it was only then that Vir caught a whiff coming off Finian's breath. The techno-mage had been violently ill recently, as well. Nastily, Vir couldn't help but think that that was something he would have liked to see.

"There had to be some other way," Vir insisted.

"Oh, you know that, do you?" snapped Finian. "Your many years worth of training as a techno-mage has given you that insight, has it? I'm not a ghoul, Cotto. I don't derive any sort of sick pleasure from carving up the bodies of the dead. I did what had to be done. We've all done what we've had to do. Some of us are just less sanctimonious about it than others."

"I just ..." Vir steadied himself. "I just wish you had warned me."

"Believe me, you would not have wanted to know."

Vir knew that Finian was right about that. If, during the time that he'd been working to distract the coroner, he had been thinking about what Finian was up to in the next room over, his ghastly imaginings likely would have hampered his ability to do his part of the job. Seeing that there was no point to pursuing or discussing the matter further, Vir sighed, "All right, so ... so did you find what we needed?"

"Throk."

"Throk." Vir didn't follow at first, but then he realized.

"Throk? Of the Prime Candidates? He's the one who killed Lou Welch?"

Finian nodded.

"With his bare hands."

"Great Maker," Vir whispered. "I know him. He's ... he's just a boy ..."

"He's a young man whom I would not care to cross," Finian said.

"But why did he kill him?"

As quickly and efficiently as he could, Finian laid it out for him. Told him of the Centauri buildup, told him of the border worlds on which it was occurring, told him of the secret agenda that was being supported by the Centaurum. Throughout the recitation, Vir simply stood there, shaking his head ... not in denial, but in overwhelming disbelief that all this could be happening to the world of his birth.

"My guess," Finian added, "is that there was a Drakh involved in the murder, as well. I can't say for sure, because if there was, the creature didn't reveal itself while Welch was alive. But that would be the only reasonable explanation for Welch's technology having failed him when it did."

"So ... what do we do now? We have to tell–"

"Tell who?" Finian asked quietly. "Tell what? There is no one in authority you can truly trust, and even if you do find someone ... you have nothing you can really tell them. What would you say? `A techno-mage extracted information from Lou Welch's brain and told me that Throk was responsible.' You have no proof, and the only verification that the Prime Candidates are likely to provide is that they'll make sure your corpse winds up next to Lou Welch's."

Vir nodded slowly. Once again, there was no point in denying anything that Finian was saying. He turned and paced for a moment, then paused.

"All right, then," he said finally. "My main job is to prevent this from getting any worse than it already is. And there's only one way to do that. But here's what I need you to do..." He turned back to Finian and knew, even before he looked, that the techno-mage was gone. "If he doesn't stop doing that, I'll kill him myself," muttered Vir.

Vir made certain to have Garibaldi and G'Kar at a safe distance from the palace when he told them. As it so happened, he had chosen the spot where Senna had, once upon a time, spent days studying with one of her teachers, gazing at clouds and wondering about the future of Centauri Prime. Vir didn't know that, of course, although the future of Centauri Prime happened to be uppermost in his mind, as well. His more immediate concern, though, was that he needed to avoid having the outraged shouting of Garibaldi echoing up and down the corridors. Such an incident certainly would contribute very little to the cause of trying to make things right. He needn't have worried. When Michael Garibaldi became as angry as he was at that moment, he tended to speak in a very low, whispered voice.

"First," Garibaldi said, very slowly and very dangerously, "I want to know what you haven't told me."

Vir had to give Garibaldi credit. The fact was, Vir hadn't told him everything. He had said that the Prime Candidates had been responsible for Lou's death, but hadn't specified which one. He had told them about how Lou had died, but hadn't mentioned the possible involvement of the Drakh. And he had told them of the military buildup, but not how he had managed to find out about it.

"I've told you everything I can."

"Vir ..."

"All right, fine," Vir said in exasperation. "A techno-mage sliced open your friend's brain and extracted the information that way. Happy?"

Garibaldi threw up his hands in exasperation, and turned to G'Kar. "You talk to him," he said to G'Kar, indicating Vir.

"Vir," G'Kar said carefully, "you have to understand: before we move on this information, we need to know–"

But Vir didn't let him finish the thought.

"You can't move on it."

Both G'Kar and Garibaldi, who had spun back around, said, "What?"

"You can't move on it," Vir repeated. "I've told you about this as a show of good faith. You cannot – must not – do anything about it. The only one you can tell is Sheridan, and only if he likewise promises to make no move."

"You're insane," Garibaldi said flatly. "G'Kar, tell him he's insane."

"Well," began G'Kar, "I think if you study the..."

"G Kar!"

"You're insane," G'Kar told him.

"No, I'm not," Vir shot back. "But I'll tell you what would be insane: letting the entire Alliance know what's going on, so that they can go after Centauri Prime."

"I don't give a damn about Centauri Prime," said Garibaldi.

"Yes, you've made that quite clear. But I don't have that sort of choice in the matter."

"And we're supposed to just let this go. Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying that I won't let it go. I'm saying that I'm going to do something about it."

"You are," Garibaldi said skeptically. "You. Vir."

Vir stepped in close, and there was such cold fury in his eyes that Garibaldi reflexively stepped back.

"I hear the condescension in your voice, Mr. Garibaldi. I know what you're thinking. You think I'm incapable of doing anything. That I'm inept. You think you know me.

"You don't know me, Garibaldi. These days, I don't even think I know me. But I know this: this is a Centauri matter, and it shall be handled in the Centauri way."

"And what way is that?"

"My way," Vir said "Believe me, Garibaldi, you want me as an ally, not as an enemy. And I'm giving you the opportunity, right now, to decide which it's going to be. Choose."

Garibaldi bristled, clearly not pleased with having ultimatums shoved in his face. But before he could say anything, G'Kar put a hand on his arm and tugged slightly, indicating with a gesture of his head that Garibaldi should follow him. Working hard to contain himself, Garibaldi did so. They put a respectable distance between themselves and Vir before speaking in low tones.

"You're expecting me to go along with this? Just go along with it?" Garibaldi said, before G'Kar could even open his mouth. "Sheridan sent us here on a fact-finding mission. You expect me to go back and tell him `Sorry, Mr. President. We lost a man and, yeah, we found out some stuff ... none of which we can do anything about, because I didn't want to upset Vir Cotto.' For all we know, Vir's full of crap! For all we know, he's behind the whole thing!"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Garibaldi," G'Kar said. "You don't believe that for a moment."

Garibaldi took a deep breath. "All right ... all right, maybe I don't. But still–"

"Lou Welch's passing was a terrible thing. I wasn't as close to the man as you, and I know you feel it your responsibility since you brought him in on this. But the truth is that, yes, we were sent here to find facts, and we have found them. Now we have to determine what to do about them."

"We tell Sheridan..."

"And what he, in turn, does with them will depend heavily on your recommendation. Before you give that recommendation, Mr. Garibaldi, I suggest you consider the following: The Alliance, and Earth, do not need another war at this time. Morale is at an all-time low, since no cure for the Drakh plague has yet been discovered."

"The Excalibur is working on it. Gideon says he's close," said Garibaldi.

"And he said the same last year. Perhaps he is. Or perhaps he is trapped in what your people call Zeno's paradox, where he perpetually draws half the distance closer to his goal, but never reaches it."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that more bad news, of this significance, is not necessarily needed."

"You're suggesting we cover it up?"

"I'm suggesting that we accede to Vir's request that he be allowed to handle it. If we provide that, then you and Sheridan will have a valuable ally within the royal court. He will be a useful source of information. Plus, you have to consider the long term."

"The long term." Garibaldi shook his head. "I'm not following."

Lowering his voice even more, G'Kar said softly, "That man is going to be emperor one day. So it would behoove you to lay the groundwork now for a solid relationship. Vir Cotto is the future of Centauri Prime."

It took a few moments for Garibaldi to fully process what G'Kar was saying.

"The future of Centauri Prime." He chucked a thumb at Vir, standing a short distance away, idly pulling on his fingers. "Him. That guy." G'Kar nodded. "And would you care to tell me, great mystic, how you happen to know that?"

Unflappable, ignoring Garibaldi's tone of voice, G'Kar said, "One evening, when Vir was rather in his cups, he told Lyta Alexander of a prophecy made by one Lady Morella ... a Centauri seer whose veracity is well known, even on my Homeworld. Lyta and I have spent a good deal of time together in recent days, and she told me."

"So let me get this straight," Garibaldi said. Despite the flip nature of his words, he did not sound remotely amused by the notion. "You're telling me that you heard thirdhand that some Centauri fortune-teller predicted Vir would someday become emperor, and I'm supposed to let Lou Welch's killer, plus an entire secret war movement, slide, based on that. Her `veracity is well known.' I never heard of her. How am I supposed to know if she's so wonderful."

"Lady Morella also predicted that Londo would become emperor, years before it happened."

Garibaldi didn't reply immediately to that. Instead he scratched the back of his neck, then looked around at Vir, who hadn't budged from the spot.

"Lucky guess," he said finally. G'Kar's gaze fixed upon Garibaldi, and when he spoke next, Garibaldi understood how this man had forged himself a place of leadership on his Homeworld. His words were quiet, direct, and filled with utter conviction.

"Michael," he said, dropping the formal surname for the first time that Garibaldi could recall, "there is something you must understand ... and perhaps you already do, on some level. You and I, Vir, Londo, Sheridan ... we are not like other men."

"We're not." He wasn't quite sure how to react to that.

"No. We are not. We are creatures of destiny, you and I. What we say, do, think, feel ... shapes the destinies of billions of other beings. It is not necessarily that we are that special. But we were born at a certain time, thrust into certain circumstances ... we were created to act, and accomplish certain things, so that others could live their own lives. It was ... the luck of the draw. And as creatures of destiny, when that destiny is previewed in whatever small amounts it chooses to reveal itself to us ... it would be the height of folly for us to turn our backs on it, disregard it. Indeed, we do so at our extreme peril.