Out of the Darkness (12 page)

"Yes, but you have a great one. It's plain to see. The people of this world are going to need you in ways that you cannot even begin to imagine. And perhaps the Great Maker desires the actions of Durla because he has plans for you. And those plans include your being forged into the man who will guide Centauri Prime to its future. But you can only become that man by battling the plans of a truly great enemy ... and Durla has been selected for that purpose."

He stared at her. "You're saying that people are fighting, dying... that millions may be annihilated, if Durla has his way... all so that I can eventually pick up the pieces?"

"That's one way of putting it."

"It's not a good way, and I can't say I'm especially thrilled with the idea. It makes the Great Maker sound insane."

"Why should he not be?" Senna challenged. "After all, he made us in his image ... and look at the terrible things we have done, as a race. Are we not insane?"

"That," Vir said, "makes a horrifying amount of sense."

They walked through the corridors of the palace, chatting agreeably about matters of little to no consequence. It was a rather pleasant change of pace from what they had been dealing with before.

At one point, Vir made a joke that Senna found particularly amusing, so much so in fact that she was seized with laughter, then had to stop and compose herself. Vir stopped, too, grinning amiably, and Senna took his hand in hers.

"Well, well! Looking quite friendly, are we?"

Senna and Vir stopped and turned. She still held his hand.

Durla was walking toward them with his customary swagger. Next to him was a woman that Senna could only assume to be Mariel. It wasn't possible to be sure, however, because she was wearing a veil. This was extremely odd: the only women who wore such things were the legendary telepaths who had once accompanied the emperor wherever he went. That, however, was a custom that had ended with the death of Emperor Turhan. Cartagia, proclaiming that he did not want women around who could peer effortlessly into his mind, had ordered them all killed. They were the first casualties of his bloody reign, and most certainly not the last.

Despite the fact that she was veiled, Senna could sense Mariel's gaze upon her, boring right through her. She reflexively released her hold on Vir's hand, doing so almost guiltily.

"I have known the lady Senna for quite some time," Vir said calmly ... almost too calmly. "She is much like a beloved niece to me." Senna nodded in confirmation.

"Of course," Durla said with a polite smile. "Oh, and Senna, you of course remember Mariel. She is much like a beloved wife to me. Say hello, Mariel."

"Hello." Her voice was so soft as to be almost inaudible.

"Move aside your veil, dear. It is difficult for them to hear you."

"I... do not wish..."

"I did not ask you what your wish was in the matter," he reminded her in a voice so sharp that it made Senna jump. She looked to Vir, who somehow was maintaining a look of polite curiosity, but nothing more. "Move aside your veil so that you can greet our visitor properly." He looked at Vir apologetically. "She is being rude to you, perhaps out of some residual resentment over your losing her to me. But I do not tolerate rudeness. Do I, Mariel." It wasn't a question.

"No, husband. You do not," she said. And she put a hand to her veil and moved it aside so that Senna and Vir could see her face.

Senna gasped. She regretted doing so instantly, but it was an involuntary reflex, for Mariel's face was battered and bruised.

Vir gripped Senna's upper arm, also by reflex. He was holding it so tight that it hurt.

"What... happened?" Vir managed to get out.

"She is very clumsy, our Mariel," Durla said in a voice dripping with solicitousness. "She tripped over her own words." It had the sound of a remark that Durla had been rehearsing, in preparation for a question that he was longing to answer with smug arrogance.

"I must be more cautious in the future," Mariel admitted, and now she was looking to Vir. Her gaze flickered between Vir and Senna, and Senna saw in those eyes hurt that she could not even imagine.

Vir started toward Durla, and suddenly Senna knew beyond any question that if she did not do something, Vir would be upon him. There was no upside to such a confrontation. Durla had been a trained soldier. That had been some time ago, true, but the training remained. He might be a formidable foe. But if Vir, carried by burning rage, did manage to overwhelm Durla and beat him senseless, as was undoubtedly his intent, then his pretenses would be forever shredded. Senna might wind up proving uncomfortably prescient in her concerns over Vir being imprisoned and drugged up, even before the night was over.

Immediately Senna doubled over in "pain," crying out loudly enough to attract Vir's attention before he had managed to take more than a step or two. He looked at her, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Some sort of... of sharp cramp. Please. Would you... be so kind as to help me to my room?"

As this occurred, Mariel replaced the veil. Durla was looking at Senna with what seemed boundless compassion. "Attend to her, Vir. I have known her for quite a while, as well. I knew her back when we all called her Young Lady. Quite a woman she has grown into. Yes, attend to her, Vir, by all means. I have a dinner with my ministry to attend."

"Perhaps ..." Vir had barely managed to gain control of himself, and when he spoke it was in a voice that was vaguely strangled. "Perhaps ... the lady Mariel should ... should be resting... do you think?"

"Oh, no," Durla said dismissively, "no, not at all. When one acquires a trophy such as the Lady Mariel, one is always eager to display her, even when she is feeling less than her best. And she is more than willing to accommodate my desires. Are you not, my love?"

"As ... you say, my love," Mariel said, sounding like one already dead.

"There, you see? Enjoy the rest of your evening," Durla told them cheerfully. "And have a care with Senna, Ambassador... she is very precious to all of us."

Senna was holding Vir's forearm in a grip of iron. She surprised herself; she had no idea she was that strong. But desperate moments tended to prompt acts of equally desperate strength.

Durla headed off down the opulent corridor, the light seeming to dim as he passed. Mariel cast one more glance back at Vir and Senna, but the veil blocked any hint of her expression. Senna had a feeling that she could guess.

"That... bastard!" Vir spat out. "How... how could he ..."

"I'll tell you how," Senna said with confidence. "She is his one weakness."

"His what?"

"His weakness ... or at least she is seen as such. That's what I've heard from some of the chattier members of the Prime Candidates. And apparently he wishes to send a message to any and all concerned that he has no weaknesses at all."

"Naturally. Because if he'll treat someone he loves in that manner, then what mercy will he show for those he considers opponents?"

"None."

Vir was nodding in grim understanding. Clearly he wanted to say more, but he seemed to catch himself. That was probably wise. If there was one thing Senna had come to understand, it was that in many ways, the palace had ears everywhere. She didn't quite understand the how and why of it... but she definitely knew the truth of it.

"Should we tell the emperor?" she asked tentatively.

"Londo?" Vir laughed in grim recollection. "He divorced her. She tried to kill him. He's not going to give a damn about what happens to her. He'd probably have a good laugh over it... and that's something I don't think I could stand to see. Better that we don't bring it up." He looked in the direction that Mariel had gone, and there was tragedy in his face. "I never thought he would... if I'd known, I'd never have–"

"You'd never have what?" she asked with genuine curiosity. – "Nothing," he told her after a moment. "It doesn't matter."

Privately she resolved to mention Mariel's "condition" to Londo in Vir's absence. Out loud, she said, "Vir–"

"I said it doesn't matter. What's done is done, and can never be undone ... no matter how much we may wish it." He squeezed her hand gently, and said, "Let's go have dinner with Londo. It's best not to keep the emperor waiting any longer than we already have."

C
HAPTER 7

EXCERPTED FROM
THE CHRONICLES OF LONDO MOLLARI.

Excerpt dated (approximate Earth date)
September 23,2275.

For the first time in a long time, I had fun today. I totally disrupted Durla's meeting... gave him a reminder of just who was in charge, for all the good that will do... and then had some excitement that resulted in a most unexpected reunion.

I am worn out from it and won't go into detail. Tomorrow, maybe. Hopefully even my occasionally faulty memory will suffice to hold on to the recollection until the morrow.

In case it is not... I shall jot down the phrase that will most stick in my mind, simply because Durla's expression was so priceless. The look on his face, as he spat words from his mouth that did not match the expression. "Emmmperor," he said, dragging out the first syllable as if it would go on forever. "How... pleasingly unexpected to see you..."

"Emmmperor... how... pleasingly unexpected to see you..." Even as he spoke, Durla felt all the blood draining out of his face. He composed himself quickly, however, and rose. Seated around the table were Minister of Development Castig Lione, Minister of Information Kuto, and Minister of Spirituality Vallko. In addition, there was also General Rhys, next to whom Kuto – in his loud and amusingly self-deprecating manner – insisted that he sit. "Far easier than dieting," Kuto had chortled, slapping his more than ample belly. Not that Rhys was fat. But he was large enough and broad enough that he made Kuto look small in comparison, which naturally pleased Kuto no end.

"I believe this is your first visit to the Tower of Power, if I'm not mistaken," Durla continued. "Welcome, welcome. Minister Lione has been kind enough to arrange for these particular facilities to be used for ministry meetings. Hopefully you will find them up to your standards."

Rhys was at the far head of the table, and he was already standing and offering his chair to the emperor. Londo, with the omnipresent Dunseny at his side, nodded in acknowledgment of the gesture and took the preferred seat. He glanced around the table, bobbed his head in greeting once more, and then sat there with a slightly vacant smile. "Highness?" Durla said.

Londo still didn't respond until Dunseny nudged him slightly, then he seemed to come to himself. "Yes. Good to see me. And it is good to be seen. I felt that I had not been doing that sufficiently of late." He leaned forward, and said in a conspiratorial voice, "I raised quite a fuss on my way over, you know. People in the street pointed, whispered among themselves. 'Is that he?' they asked. 'is that the emperor? I thought he was dead!'" Londo laughed at that rather heartily, until the laughter suddenly turned to a violent, racking cough. It took a full thirty seconds for it to subside, and during that time the ministers looked uncomfortably around the table at one another.

Finally Londo managed to compose himself. Dunseny solicitously dabbed at the edges of the emperor's mouth with a cloth.

Durla found it difficult to believe that the old retainer was still at Londo's side. Dunseny had managed to outlive every member of the House Mollari who had been there when he started with the family. He seemed thinner, greyer, but otherwise no less efficient in his duties and attentions. For a time Throk had replaced Dunseny, as a means of keeping a perpetual closer eye on Londo, but Throk had come to a bad end. At that point, Londo had firmly reinstated Dunseny, and Durla had decided to let the matter go rather than press it. Somehow it didn't seem worth the aggravation.

"My apologies, Ministers. Old age is not exactly a blessing."

"Then again, it's preferable to the alternative, Highness," Kuto said in his booming voice.

Londo shot a glance at him. "Is it?" he asked.

There didn't seem to be any ready response for this, and Kuto didn't try to make one.

Londo's gaze focused on Lione. "Minister ... where did you acquire that scar on your throat?"

Lione automatically reached up to touch it, but caught self. Without looking at Durla, he said, "A mishap, Emperor. Nothing more."

"Yes. Most unfortunate. I hear tell from Dunseny that there seems to be a virtual epidemic of clumsiness going on in the palace these days. Your wife, I hear tell, suffered such a seizure," Londo said, swiveling his gaze to Durla. "Odd. When I was married to her, she was the most graceful and coordinated of all the women whom I called wife. Curious that she would become so accident-prone. Perhaps the process of aging has been no kinder to her than to me, eh?"

There was something in his look that Durla definitely did not like. So he cleared his throat a bit more loudly than was needed, and said, "Highness... you still have not graced us with the purpose for your visit..."

"The purpose. Ah, yes. It is my understanding, Durla, that this meeting was being held to discuss the current state of readiness for the Centaurum's reclamation of our great and illustrious heritage – presumably, over the dead bodies of those who would stand in our way."

"May I ask who told you that, Highness?" "Certainly. General Rhys did."

Durla, stunned, looked to the general. Rhys returned the look blandly. "His Highness asked," he said by way of explanation. "He is my emperor, the supreme ruler and commander of this world. If he asks me a question about the status of military readiness, naturally it is my obligation to respond truthfully."

"Ah. Pardon my surprise, General... you had not informed me that the emperor had asked."

"You did not ask, Minister."

Durla cursed to himself. That was typical of Rhys. He was a brilliant tactician and an utterly fearless fleet commander. But had a streak of individuality that he flashed every so often, apparently for Durla's benefit. Technically, he had done nothing wrong. He was indeed obligated, through oath and historical tradition of his rank, to answer first and foremost to the emperor, with no obligation whatsoever to report those discussions to others. even the prime minister. If Durla made too much of an issue of his actions, it would reflect poorly on him. "Highness," Durla said carefully, "these are matters of an extremely delicate and sensitive nature. In the future, I would appreciate if any inquiries you might wish to make on these subjects come through my office."