"There is a greater darkness than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way.
The war we fight is not against powers and principalities, it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams. Against this peril we can never surrender.
The future is all around us, waiting in moments of transition, to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future, or where it will take us.
We know only that it is always born in pain."
- G'Quon
2257, Babylon 5
Ambassador Londo Mollari stirred his drink slowly as he watched the strangers try their luck at the casino's table. Lately, he had little luck at that table, but maybe it would prove more fortuitous to the newest gamblers. He could still remember his father taking seven at a table on Rema IV, and when his number hit, his father had paid for everyone's drinks in the casino for three days straight. "When you have good fortune," he thumped his young son's back, "you share it."
"What if you have bad luck, father?" he had asked innocently.
His father had laughed, "Then you find someone else to share their luck."
The Ambassador smiled as he saw the gamblers strike a win with a nine, no roll.
"Last one! Last one - five with a roll," one of them exclaimed, placing his winnings on the table for the next bet.
Londo grinned at their brazenness. "I'll sponsor this roll," he announced loudly at the alien running the game as he threw his own credits on the table.
"Six, five, eleven. Roller is a winner," the table operator announced.
Londo nodded as the roller raised a glass in his direction, and the operator paid out the winnings to the roller and Londo.
Londo smiled at his winnings. "Cat," he called over the bartender, "a round on me, yes?"
As Cat filled the orders from the room, Londo stared into his drink, but despite his winnings, his smile fell slightly as his thoughts turned to memories of the past.
Many Years Earlier
Londo Mollari glanced at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his back. The plaster had cracked ages ago, and no one had the sense to fix it. Now the crack had widened, running down the length of a scene of sprites dancing across the ceiling in a fresco style of the early Republic. The crack practically cleaved several of the dancers in half. He stared at the head of one, separated from her body by the crack.
As he stared at the cleaved head, he wondered how much longer he would be kept waiting.
"Londo," at last he heard a weary and worn voice greet him from the entryway.
"Father, your communication said it was urgent," he turned to face the elderly Centauri who had finally emerged. "I returned as quickly as I could."
"Yes," the elderly Mollari's eyes drifted to the floor. "I was delayed at Court, but I wanted you to hear it from me."
Londo did not like his father's demeanor, the way his shoulders sagged, his head tilted forward at an odd angle, the corners of his mouth drawn down deeper than usual. His father had worn a coat of unhappiness for many years now, but there was something especially maudlin in his tone. "Sometimes, you must make your own joy," the elder Mollari was fond of saying, but he had made little of it in the past few years, the amicable smile he wore now seemed merely painted on.
"Hear what from you?" Londo asked, concern creeping into his voice.
The old man shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Its your brother, Endrigo. He was recalled to Court over some rather minor financial abnormalities, and-"
Londo grimaced, if the Court was recalling Endrigo, it probably was not minor. Endrigo had been the first born, and things had always come more easily to him than to Londo, considering Endrigo's status as the heir to House Mollari. When their father stepped aside, Endrigo would take his place among the nobles in the Centaurum as the head of House Mollari, and despite their House's tarnished stature, its name still opened a few doors in the expanse of the Great Plain of Centauri Prime.
Endrigo was born to his father's senior first wife, and he had been sent to the most expensive school their father could afford. After finishing his compulsory military service, Endrigo believed he could turn around the falling star of their crumbling House, but it was not an inconsiderable feat to overcome the schism created when House Mollari backed the wrong noble house to win the Crown three generations ago, the latent rumors concerning their grandfather's war crimes on Narn, and the debts incurred by their father's ill-conceived business ventures. While awaiting their father's decision on when and if he would step aside from managing the affairs of House Mollari before his health failed entirely, Endrigo had moved his family to Ragesh III, serving as a trade counselor and negotiator for the colony.
Londo interrupted his father, "His only chance at Court will be if we can find a noble of higher standing to speak on his behalf. Surely you can afford to find someone - you still have friends there-"
The elder Molari had been saying something but snapped his jaw shut, his blue eyes turning a dull gray. "He's dead, Londo."
Londo took a step back, his eyes widening in surprise, "What - what do you mean? He is being recalled, and-"
"Yes," his father cut him off, "Endrigo was piloting a flier to Proxima III. There was an explosion before he reached the port." He shook his head, his voice breaking, "he was the only one on board."
Londo shook his head in disbelief. "Surely, it cannot be. Has it been confirmed?"
Londo's father put his hand on his son's shoulder as his voice dropped to a whisper, "Yes, it has been confirmed."
Londo threw up his hands, his voice shaking with emotion, "But Endrigo would never have flown an unsafe flier. Have they found the cause?"
"Its early yet," Londo's father replied, turning away from his son. "But Lord Partoure is leading the investigation and believes the Narn might be involved, terrorists preying on a small Centauri flyer." His eyes flashed, "I'm sure he put up a good fight, Londo."
Londo shifted his weight uncomfortably, clasping his hands behind his back again. He looked down at the military medals adorning the crisp white royal pilot's uniform of the Centauri Republic, his courtari, the mark of a Centauri officer, hanging by his side. He had received his certification as a pilot only two years before, following in his elder brother's footsteps, his House emblem stitched into his uniform a source of family pride. "Strange," he said, under his breath, "for them to attack such a small target. Why would they do it?"
A guttural growl emanated from his father's throat. "Subversives, radicals, and assassins, the lot of them."
Londo nodded reluctantly, "What I mean, father, is why would the Narn attack a small flyer near Proxima III? And Endrigo? It makes no sense. He doesn't present a sufficiently important target to alter their usual patterns."
His father stood up angrily, "Narn don't make sense, Londo, that's just the kind of animals they are. We brought civilization to them, and these are the sorts of things they do to repay us. Now," he waved his hand as if to dismiss the topic, "I've already talked to your commander, and he's put you on leave until after the celebration of life for Endrigo. In the meantime, I need you to coordinate with Cousin Andilo and the rest of the House, the members of the Centaurum - of course the honorific invitation must be sent to the Emperor - and Endrigo's friends and colleagues. Can you manage to oversee the invitations?"
Londo's chest froze as the reality settled over him. His only brother, dead. Endrigo's two wives, widowed. Endrigo's son, Carn, fatherless. The empty hollow of Londo's chest left him with his sole companion, duty. "Of course, Father," he replied, quietly. "I will see to it."
"Good," his father gathered up a few papers on his desk as he slowly hobbled toward the door. The elder Mollari stopped just before he passed over the threshold and turned back to his son, his voice falling softly, "There is something else, Londo."
Londo frowned, "Yes, father?" he asked, trying to maintain his voice from breaking with emotion as he thought of his only brother, dead, in the dark vastness of space.
"I know it is unfair to spring this upon you today, but our agreement with House Vocali is of the utmost importance. If Lord Vocali changes his mind about generously cancelling out debts, we will lose even more of our holdings this year."
"Father," Londo rolled his shoulders back, shaking his head, "Lord Vocali was cancelling the debts as a dowry payment, to raise his House from the depths of obscurity by joining our Houses in marriage. But Endrigo - he is gone . . . ."
"Yes," his father frowned deeply, "I will submit your name for Lord Vocali's approval in your brother's place."
Londo blinked back confusion as he thought of the match announced only a few months before. According to Endrigo, Lady Mariel was fixated on status, encouraging her father to betroth her to a well-situated family to increase their House's position within the Empire. His brother had agreed to the match out of loyalty to his House, and likewise, House Vocali could claim it had aligned its house with the succession of emperors by marrying one of its daughters to the extended family of a previous emperor, despite House Mollari's relatively recent fall from grace over the past few centauries.
Lady Daggair had recently been widowed and as such, she had been given the option to return to her father's House, which her aged father had exercised. But as a widower and past the age of childbearing years, she was a far more appropriate match for his brother, who was close to a decade older than Londo. But such a match with a much older widow would bring whispered castigations upon Londo's name at Court, even as it brought prestige and influence to lowly House Vocali.
"But Father," Londo clenched his teeth, "I must protest-"
His father's eyes blazed, "Don't test me today, Londo," he shook a finger in his son's face, "Not today. Your duty is to this House, to my word. Your brother is dead, and now you must do your duty. I am trying to hold this House together by mere threads these days, and I won't have any more of your disobedience, like your first marriage. I barely salvaged the match with House Algul after your elopement with that commoner. What an utter headache that was - getting that affair annulled and wiped from the records." Staring at his son, the elder Mollari's face finally softened, "I know what a trial your marriage has been for you over these past few years, Londo, and I know you think this marriage will do little for your prestige at Court, but do this for me, for our House, and I will arrange for another marriage - a young, desirable thing that will dangle from your arm like a jewel at Court. I will make you that promise. For now, though, we must concentrate on preserving our agreement with House Vocali."
In part due to her hardheadedness and in part due to her objection to what she termed as "utterly useless social customs and rituals," Londo knew Timov had detested their arranged marriage from the moment it had been announced, but during the portion of the wedding ceremony where each party revealed defects about themselves, Timov's father had disclosed the biological reality of Timov's barrenness. This, of course, would have been revealed to Londo's father prior to finalizing the arrangement, but it was the first time Londo had been apprised of it. In response, Londo had made a flippant joke, and their relationship had begun on noticeably frigid grounds. He had since exorcised the word "barren" from his vocabulary, but the damage had been done. Londo snorted, "Timov isn't going to let another wife in the house - she barely lets me in the front door."
"It is not her decision." The elder Mollari patted Londo's shoulder, "It will not be easy these next few days, but we will make it through." He sighed, his eyes cast upon the floor before he crossed the threshold and left Londo, alone.
Waves of sadness settled upon Londo's shoulders as he threw himself into his father's chair, his hands trying to cover the tears that flooded his eyes as his chest heaved. His jaw shaking, he wiped away his tears and pulled open his father's drawer to withdraw paper and a pen, but a note was already half written on the pad within. Without thinking, he scanned the note in written in his father's hand.
Throwing the note back into his father's desk, he pushed the chair back and stumbled to the door, almost running into Dunsenny, a long serving attendant of their family, who was crossing the threshold into the room. "Master Londo," he put up a concerned hand.
"I need air," Londo dived past him through the doorway, his conflicted emotions overwhelming him. With a stroke of the pen, his father's words had instilled despair in his hearts.
To be continued.