Armies of Light and Dark (30 page)

"There is enough peril in the galaxy right now, Mr. Garibaldi, that I do not think it necessary to add yet more."

Garibaldi stood there for a moment, taking it in. Then, without looking at Vir, he gestured that the Centauri should join them. Vir quickly walked over to them, a look of quiet concern showing clearly on his face.

"So you want to keep this matter in-house, as it were," Garibaldi said. "Keep it quiet. Hush it up, so that the Alliance doesn't come down on you with all guns blazing, and pound you flat into nonexistence ... just as you tried to do with the Narns."

"I could have done without that last part, but yes, that is essentially correct," Vir said dryly.

"All right," Garibaldi said. "We play it your way ... on one condition."

"And that would be?"

"You're asking for a hell of a leap of faith here, Vir. I'm not a leap-of-faith kind of guy. I tend to look before I leap. You want me to have faith? You give me something to look at. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I ... think so..." He nodded his head, but then shook it. "Actually, I'm not entirely sure, no..."

"Someone killed Lou Welch. That someone has to pay for it, to my satisfaction. You know who it is, don't you."

"Yes," said Vir.

"Then I want him delivered up. I don't care what you have to do, what paths you have to clear. I want it done."

"What you're asking is impossible," Vir told him.

"So is what you're asking. Me, I try to do at least one impossible thing a day. I suggest you practice the same goal, and start today. Understood?"

Vir was silent for a very long time, and then he said, "If I manage justice for Lou Welch ... you will keep the Alliance away from Centauri Prime."

"For as long as humanly possible. You'll have the opportunity to ride herd on it. But you've got to show me you're capable of doing so. I don't care how you get it done. Just do it. Do we have a deal?"

He extended a hand. Vir, however, did not shake it. Instead he looked down a moment, and then said very softly, "Yes. I will keep you apprised." And then he turned and walked away, leaving G'Kar and Garibaldi looking at each other in silence.

"He'll never get it done," said Garibaldi. "He'll cover for the guy. Or he'll give us more excuses why he can't be brought to us."

"I think you're wrong," G'Kar told him.

"In a way, I hope so. I'd like to see Vir succeed. I think, at heart, he's the best damned man on this planet. And in a way, I hope not ... because I'd like the chance to find the guy who killed Lou ... and do to him what he did to Lou Welch. Sounds like a win-win proposition to me." He smiled, but there was nothing except pain in the smile.

C
HAPTER 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. Two 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 proteges, 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 feeling of dejà 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 acting 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."