Ja'Tok had been in port at Dinelgth IV for less than a day, trying to wring the smell of captivity from his clothes. All the aliens he had piloted off Centauri Prime had been safely transferred to outlying homeworlds and colonies. Now, he was alone, but he had felt alone since being thrown into the alien colony on Centauri Prime.
Ja'Tok prowled the dusty principal city of Dinelgth IV in search of something to drown his sorrow. His friends – his crew – all dead. His ship had been captured and probably demolished for its parts by now, and the new one he had been given to pilot aliens off of Centauri Prime was neither his nor a very capable vessel.
Ja'Tok continued his walk, staring at the small aliens that inhabited the border world. He needed to find a new crew, a better vessel, some goods, and a prospective route to start trading runs again. It was, after all, what he was best at.
As he rounded a corner, Ja'Tok's jaw dropped as he saw a Narn disappearing into a dusty alleyway.
Ja'Tok hurried after the figure, curious at the Narn slipping into the distance. Through streets and alleys, he followed the figure, weaving between buildings until, at last, he lost his target, and he stood shielding his eyes from the dust with an arm, peering this way and that, trying to figure out where the Narn went when, all of a sudden, he was struck from behind.
Ja'Tok turned with a growl and whipped a closed fist toward his attacker, following it with pummeling blows to his attacker's torso.
The attacker smartly swung a foot behind Ja'Tok, sweeping his feet out from under him, and Ja'Tok landed in the dirt.
The attacker leaned over him, "Why were you following me?"
Ja'Tak snarled, "Re'drawg" and threw his fist directly at the other Narn's pouch. As the Narn doubled over in agony, Ja'Tok sprung from the ground, preparing to attack again.
The other Narn looked up. "You punched me in the pouch," he said incredulously. "It is no wonder the entire Narn Regime considers you personna non grata."
The Narn stepped forward, striking Ja'Tok on the chin before kneeing him in the chest and sending him sprawling again. Ja'Tok tried to shake off the nauseating head strike, and he wiped the blood from his nose. All of a sudden, he felt his whole body being lifted up, foisted into the air, and he found himself staring into the eyes – or more precisely the one good eye and the one artificial eye – of G'Kar.
"Your Holiness," Ja'Tok sputtered with shock as two visions of the famous figure of G'Kar crossed and slowly became one.
"'Citizen' will be just fine. You, on the other hand," G'Kar unceremoniously dropped the Narn onto his feet, "I'm not sure if you qualify as a citizen anymore."
"Apologies, Your Holiness," Ja'Tok pleaded weakly. "I followed you because I have not seen a Narn in many moons and I . . . I guess I just wanted to talk to one of my countrymen."
"Ja'Tok," G'Kar said thoughtfully eyeing the specimen in front of him, "Fortunately for you, the Kha'Ri thought you died some years ago. If they had known you were still alive, you would have a bounty on your head."
"I have been . . . travelling," Ja'Tok dusted himself off, wiping the blood running from his nose on his sleeve. He motioned to G'Kar's pouch, "I am sorry for the dishonorable strike. Let me buy you a drink in penance."
G'Kar's eyes travelled up and down Ja'Tok's appearance, but at last he said, "From one traveler to another, I will allow you to buy me a drink. Not in penance – that will be a bitter drink indeed. But I would hear of your travels - after all, a truly educated man is a man of the universe." He narrowed his eyes at Ja'Tok, "Although you may be an exception - I have not quite decided yet."
Over the next hour, Ja'Tok woefully explained his arrest by the Centauri after running the trade blockades, his escape from holding, the deaths of his mercenaries, the elderly Centauri who helped him, and his eventual life on the property of the Royal Adjutant.
"Is Vir Cotto not the Royal Adjutant?" G'Kar leaned forward as he questioned the Narn trader.
Ja'Tok nodded, "Yes, it was his position that shielded us from the prying eyes of the Defense Forces and the alien laws."
G'Kar sat back, thinking as he listened to Ja'Tok's story, offering little in reply.
"They have asked me to go back to extract more aliens from Centauri Prime," Ja'Tok snorted, "but it was enough to get away. I was imprisoned there – those telepaths treated me like a wild animal, and the worst was the caverns."
G'Kar slowly looked up. "Did you say caverns?" He looked at Ja'Tok with a strange expression on his face.
Ja'Tok took a swig of the Dinelgth whiskey in front of him. "The safest place for the children to play was in the caverns on the edge of the Royal Adjutant's property where they were shielded from the Defense Force satellites. But I couldn't shake the feeling whenever I would go near them. It was . . . chilling. And I know it wasn't just me – the telepaths refused to go near the caverns as well."
G'Kar leaned forward to ask another question, but their conversation was halted by an ISN newsflash on a monitor mounted near them.
The newscaster interrupted another story concerning Burkesh XII as a breaking newsflash ran across the bottom of the screen. "I'm getting a report in now . . ." the newscaster listened hard. "The Centauri government has confirmed that Emperor Mollari II is being treated in a hospital in the Capital City for a heart attack. We do not have confirmation from the medical facility itself, but the palace has issued a press release that states that the Emperor is in stable condition. The announcement comes as his principal consort, Empress Timov of Algul, takes the throne as Regent during his absence, a remarkable turn of events for the Centauri Republic. Although it is temporary, it is only the second time in history in which a woman had led the government. We will bring you more on this developing story as it happens."
Vir turned off the ISN newscast and returned to Senna's side at the hospital. They were waiting anxiously, nervously glancing at the medical staff hurrying by. The staff mumbled salutations and dipped their heads in acknowledgment of their respective positions, but the medical staff did not break their stride as they hurried on.
Senna turned to Vir, "It must be very bad since they will tell us nothing."
Vir watched the medical staff before putting a comforting arm around Senna. "They are just busy," he said, trying to reassure himself as well as he wiped the sweaty palm of his free hand on his tunic.
At last, a distinguished looking doctor flanked by the Royal Physician approached them. "Your Highness," the doctor bowed to Senna and turned to Vir, "Your Excellency." He motioned them toward a secluded interior room, and the guards stood watch outside.
The doctor smiled reassuringly before he addressed them, "I am pleased to inform you that outside of a few obstacles, the surgery has progressed relatively well. His Majesty had his large heart replaced some years ago. The trouble he experienced today stemmed from his other, smaller heart, so we have replaced it with another artificial one. It is a XKS3000, the finest artificial model on the market, and it is insured for 250 years, so I don't think he'll be experiencing further problems with it once his body has accepted it."
The doctor gestured toward another wing of the hospital, "We are going to transfer His Majesty to a private recovery suite shortly. It will be some hours before he awakens, but you may visit him there. It will be important to minimize his stress to ensure his body can adapt to the new heart. However, I must warn you," the doctor gripped his hands together tightly, "that the recovery poses some challenges, and it will not be a quick or easy road, although I am sure the Emperor is up to the task. But," he smiled reassuringly, "it is best to take this one step at a time."
"I'd like to know," Senna put a hand out to stop the doctor from leaving, "what he is facing."
The doctor looked uncomfortable before he continued. "His Majesty's body needs time to adapt to the new heart to ensure it is not rejected. In many cases, we have found that a body may reject a second replacement heart unless the patient properly recuperates."
"What does that mean, exactly?" Vir asked.
The doctor glanced at the royal physician before responding. "His Majesty will require absolute rest to ensure he successfully recovers. His stress must be minimized until his body accepts and adapts to the new heart."
Vir's eyes had widened. "I don't know if you've met Londo," he mumbled, "but rest and solitude aren't exactly his thing."
The doctor looked down at the floor. "I realize it is a difficult thing given his position, but I can assure you that it is his best chance of . . . what I mean to say is, his body is already weakened, this is his second significant heart attack, and it is critical that His Majesty's body be given every opportunity to accept the new heart without additional . . . complications."
Senna stared at the doctor silently.
"He hardly took any time off after his last heart attack," Vir said pensively. "I don't know how we will convince him now that he is emperor."
"One thing at a time," Senna laid a hand on Vir's knee, "The most important thing is that the surgery is going well. It is clear that the gods are looking after him."
The doctor smiled although it did not reach his eyes. "We will keep you informed, Your Highness, Your Excellency." The doctors bowed and departed.
"President Toscaneli!" Minister Durla threw open his arms to greet the Centaurum President. "I have many things to discuss with you," he sat down with a flourish, crossing his legs and throwing his arms wide over the back of the lavish couch decorating the Centaurum President's office.
The venerable President pursed his lips in annoyance at the unannounced intrusion. "One would think the Minister of Defense would be rather busy these days, what with the Emperor having fallen ill and the Empress needing councilors at her side to guide her through this time of trial."
"A time of trial, indeed," Durla leaned forward. "Imagine, President Toscaneli, what would happen if our dear Emperor did not survive this episode . . . ."
The elder Toscaneli narrowed his eyes at the Defense Minister. "The palace has been in communication with me directly. The Emperor is doing quite well, I understand," Toscaneli said, irked.
"Of course, that is what the palace wants you to hear. I, on the other hand," Durla peered at his fingernails, "know there is more to the story."
"What do you mean, more?"
"I have been faithfully by Emperor Mollari's side for years as one of his most loyal servants," Durla replied with a smirk. "First as one of his guards, then his Captain of the Guards, now as one of his closest ministers and advisors. And although the Emperor is notorious for putting on a good show, his health has been deteriorating these past few years. Surely you have heard the rumors?"
Seeing Toscaneli bob his head slightly, Durla continued, "It is far less likely that His Majesty will survive this episode than the palace would have you believe. And if he doesn't . . . survive I mean . . . the moment his hearts cease, as Prime Minister, Palazzo will be the likely successor since Mollari has no heirs."
"Perhaps that is so," Toscaneli growled. "What of it?"
"Well," Durla tugged his embellished coat into place, "Palazzo has never shown the Centaurum the respect it has deserved, nor you, President Toscaneli. He has always been a bit headstrong since he became Minister of Agriculture and even worse since he worked his way up to Prime Minister. I would offer an alliance . . . if the opportunity arises. A chance to ensure the direction of our country continues onward . . . and upward."
Toscaneli pondered Durla's words in silence while tapping on his desk with a finger.
"And what," Toscaneli asked, "do you have in mind?"
Senna listened to the slow and methodical sound of her adoptive father's breathing in the darkened recovery suite. He looked grey, she thought, and not at all well. She was holding onto his hand, trying to block out the sight of all the tubes, wires, and machines surrounding him. She had been praying, each hour honoring another god, that he would live. But today, she wasn't sure if the gods were feeling merciful, for she felt no cocoon of warmth when she prayed, the fingers of the wind didn't twine her hair in reassurance when she walked outside to catch a breath of fresh air, and there was no signs that the gods were listening – just emptiness, as she had felt when her biological father had been killed, slaughtered by a group of Narn.
Senna glanced around the room – here there were no titles, there was no power against the finality of death, no courtesans or slaves or servants to bear life's burdens, just the inevitability of the frailty of life. She considered that titles and power held little sway when the body could no longer sustain life, and she returned her prayers to the god of health even as she rubbed her tired eyes with one hand and stroked Londo's sleeve with another.
Vir would be returning soon as he had stepped out to converse with the doctors again, but at last sleep overwhelmed her, and she lay her head upon her arms, resting against Londo's bedside, her hand still upon his sleeve.
A nobleman took his place next to Mollari, crossing his legs and waiting for a servant to deposit a drink in his hand. When one appeared, the nobleman smiled faintly. "Did you expect to see me again?" he asked, the lilting notes of his northern accent warming his words.
Londo stood up, clasping his hands behind him as he turned to face the nobleman. "Not really," he said, a bitter inflection in his tone.
"Ironic, is it not, Mollari, that my daughter awaits at your bedside for you to awaken?"
Londo sighed heavily. "These dreams I have when I am dying – they really are quite trying." He turned back to the nobleman. "Do you disapprove, then, Antono, of my adoption of your daughter?"
"On the contrary," Lord Refa swirled his glass of brivari, "She turned my rival into a doting admirer. She is under the protection of the Crown. She convinced you to reinstate House Refa. It is a far cry from what I might have done as emperor but," he shrugged philosophically, "she has done well for herself and for her house – her true house."
"No thanks to you," Londo waved a hand. "She came to me with suicide and murder on her mind."
"A true Refa noblewoman from birth," Refa smiled. "I can only hope she will regain her senses and sabotage your remaining health before you awaken from this dream."
Londo stared at Refa with cold eyes. "You are just as depraved in death as you were in life," he growled. "I thank the Great Maker that she has some moral sense – you always lacked a moral compass."
"You are one to talk," Refa chuckled. "But Senna is getting along in years now, is she not, Mollari? Who is she to marry? You would not stand in the way of my genetic line continuing to contribute to the greatness of our people, would you?"
"I understand her choice is to be Vir Cotto," Londo finally sat down again in a comfortable chair next to Refa. "I have no objections to him – he is a fine man. You know, Lady Morella once told me that he would be Emperor."
Refa laughed, "And how many of Lady Morella's prophecies came true, eh Mollari?" He leaned ominously in his chair. "Not enough to merit the mixing of the inferior blood of the Cottos with the refined blood of the Refas. It is your duty to ensure her a good match. You will do me the favor of ensuring she does not marry that unceremonious oaf."
"I will not do you any favors," Londo replied darkly.
Refa shrugged, sipping on his drink philosophically. "I suppose it does not matter that much. A Refa's blood will always be dominant, and I have no doubt my future grandsons will return House Refa to its rightful place – perhaps as emperors, themselves."
"Senna lacks nothing," Londo shook a finger in Refa's face. "It was you who lacked a conscience. Now, would you kindly leave my dream?"
"Ohhhhhh," Refa laughed, "would you like me to return you to your other nightmare?"
Londo narrowed his eyes, something gnawing at the back of his mind. "What other nightmare?" he asked.
Refa held up a finger to his lips. "I would never tell, Mollari. That is for you to remember."
Senna dreamed of the Emperor laying in a hospital room, eerily similar to reality. She could tell everything was different – not that different – but different enough, and she watched as the Empress entered the room, oblivious to Senna's presence, as she turned her attention toward the attending doctor.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said quietly, bowing, the rest of his words disappearing as they came out of his mouth, clearly indicating the Emperor had died. "Would you like us to . . ." he gestured at the life support machine regulating the Emperor's pulse and breathing. "It would preserve his dignity . . . ."
The Empress walked forward slowly, floating through the dream as she approached the doctor, "No man dictates the hour and time of an Emperor's death," she said, the dignified weight of her words hanging in the air, "That is between him and the gods. Not you."
With a start, Senna's eyes snapped open, her hearts racing, and as she looked up, she saw the Emperor gazing at her. "Senna," he whispered, each word a struggle, "you are having a bad dream."
Senna flew out of her chair with tears in her eyes, leaning over his bed to wrap him in a hug before she realized she was entangled in the tubes and wires draping his bed. "Oh, the worst dream, but it is over now," she said, disentangling herself slowly before she felt his hand upon her sleeve.
"I, too, have been having a nightmare," Londo said, each word appearing to take all of his strength. "Is Timov dead?" his eyes begged her for an answer, but his chest rose faster and faster, and Senna heard a shrill buzz go off.
A bevy of medical personnel swarmed the room, but Londo did not let go of Senna's sleeve, nor did his eyes leave her.
"It is imperative . . ." the attending physician tried to interrupt, but Senna ignored him and covered Londo's hand with her own.
"She is fine. I talked to her a little while ago, and she asked me to tell you that she is at the palace now, awaiting your return. She said," Senna smiled softly, "that if you hadn't played your little joke leaving her in charge, she would be here in person."
Londo's head slumped back into the pillow, blinking away tears. "I thought that – that something terrible had happened to her." He relaxed for a moment before confusion crossed his face. "What do you mean – left her in charge?"
Senna leaned in, "You left her in charge if you were incapacitated. She is acting as Regent until you return."
Londo stared at Senna in disbelief, but the small effort had taken everything from him, and his eyes slowly sagged shut again.
"He's stabilized," the physician announced at the buzzing ended, turning to Senna. "Please," he said, "remember what I said about his stress levels."
"Of course," Senna mumbled, wondering when Vir would return, knowing that he would be desperately unhappy to have missed Londo's awakening.
The Empress had spent the day in meetings, checking periodically to find out if there were any updates from the hospital, but none were forthcoming.
At day's end, she found herself yearning for a moment alone, and she returned to her old bedroom which still unlocked at her touch.
The palace servants had clearly been changing her linens, tidying up the room, and replacing the flowers at her bedside, likely since the day she had left. As she gazed at the neatly tucked bed, the scent of crisp linens wafted from the bed, and she wondered if Londo had ordered the servants to continue servicing her room in her absence. "Doubtful," she thought. Emperors often gave orders that continued to be carried out unless they rescinded them, and Londo was a romantic, but he wasn't a lunatic. Clearly, he must have forgotten to rescind the order.
She sat down in an overstuffed chair near one of the windows, and she thought over the day's events. The thought of the Drakh inhabiting the palace turned her stomach, and now she wondered what it had been like for Londo these many years to live with such a dark secret, forced to comply with their whims.
She put a troubled hand to her temple as her mind turned to Durla's comments. He was overly ambitious, like the worst Centauri noblemen, clawing their way to the top – but Durla had always struck her as rational – until she had perceived that he was in collusion with the Drakh.
Timov knew that she was caught between a rock and a hard place. She would have to choose sides, and neither side - Prime Minister Palazzo's side or Durla's side - was particularly palatable. Palazzo had been the xenophobic mastermind behind the most egregious and atrocious policies of Londo's reign, but she had only one viable option, and that was to use the Palazzo to her advantage against Durla's influence. Considering Durla's comments earlier in the day, she would need to consolidate power, and quickly - for he would surely try to consolidate power against her just as fast.
Timov drummed her fingers in frustration as she realized she would have to support Palazzo to quash Durla's power. It was a terrible position, one that she loathed, and she wondered how Londo had suppressed his own feelings on the matter. But of course, he hadn't – she knew that instinctively. Londo was incapable of utterly suppressing his feelings on anything. They came out – one way or another. Perhaps, she thought, that was what happened when he disappeared into his residence for days on end, emerging wearily and ill-tempered. Yes, she thought, she could certainly guess the rest. She glanced momentarily at the door between their chambers, perceiving the true story behind Londo's night terrors.
Timov stood, intending to return to Londo's office to find out if there had been any further news on his condition, but Emanio almost ran into her as she emerged.
"Majesty," he dipped his head quickly, thrusting a note into her hands, his hands shaking, "I regret to inform you that Prime Minister Palazzo has been found with a knife in his back."