IV.

Beaten/Broken

Lord Nicco Donato was in a foul mood.

As Senator and head of the Local Court of the Beata Colony, the responsibility fell upon Donato to ensure the timely export of medicinal plants grown in his dominion. War and repressive regulations, however, had delayed several critical shipments beyond the period of viability. For some time now, he had been attempting to arrange a meeting to discuss such matters with Ambassador Londo Mollari, but he had been repeatedly and vigorously denied.

It left a bad taste in Donato's mouth, groveling before that pathetic excuse for a Centauri.

Donato was well acquainted with Ambassador Mollari and knew him to be a frivolous, incompetent drunkard with a talent for offence. How, then, had Mollari been able to assemble a military force capable of utterly defeating the Narn? Donato couldn't begin to guess. It insulted his pride to accept Mollari's newfound prestige, but Donato was pragmatic enough to read the writing on the wall.

As he sat in his dining room and stewed over his predicament, a germ of an idea began to form in the back of Donato's mind. Perhaps he was taking the wrong approach communicating with Mollari's aide over subspace, this aide being the sixth to fill the position in three years. Perhaps his entreaties would carry more weight if they were delivered in person.

The entry of his personal aide, Vir Cotto, interrupted Donato's train of thought and he felt a twinge of annoyance. The clumsy boy seemed completely incapable of entering a room quietly.

For the hundredth time, Donato wondered why he had agreed to take in his ally's nephew. The elder Cotto had contacted him when an arrangement to send the young man to the Human space station fell through at the last minute. Donato supposed he should've guessed that Vir Cotto would be less than impressive based on the desperation in his friend's voice, but House Cotto and House Donato had been allied for several generations and it was difficult to deny the request. Several times in the past few years, Donato had attempted to rid himself of this particular burden, to no avail.

"I've finished the reports you asked for," said the young Centauri, holding out a small pile of printouts.

Donato took the proffered papers and nodded curtly. "Thank you" was not a phrase Donato used with his help. Such courtesies tended to foster a troubling sense of self-importance- and with self-importance came eventual disobedience.

And Cotto seemed particularly inclined to independent thought when it came to matters of Centauri tradition. It was, unfortunately, Donato's responsibility to see that Cotto was raised in the proper way and while it brought him no great joy to do so, Donato often had to resort to more corporal methods to assert his authority.

Cotto began to exit the room when Donato stopped him. "Wait one minute."

Cotto turned, anxiety flickering across his round face. His features were marred by an angry red and purple mark, the consequence of an earlier rebellion regarding the conquest of Narn. The boy harbored a sickening compassion for those creatures, something Donato was determined to drive out by any means.

Cotto stood with his chubby hands folded before him and his back hunched as if he expected another blow. To his cowardly aide, Donato said, "I require that all my meetings scheduled in the next two weeks be rescheduled."

Cotto released a small sigh of relief, something that did not escape Donato's notice. "Yes, sir. May I ask-"

Donato cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You will be accompanying me to Babylon 5. I grow weary of being rebuffed by Ambassador Mollari and I intend to confront him in person. My brother will attend to matters here. I trust him far more than I trust you."

Cotto bowed slightly and hurried off.

*****

Vir sat in absolute silence as his superior raged, stalking about their rented quarters like a caged liati. Donato's meeting with Ambassador Mollari had not gone well and Vir had learned the hard way that when Donato was in one of his tempers, it was best to approximate invisibility. Fortunately, Vir had had a lifetime of experience avoiding notice.

Eventually, Donato cooled and retired to bed, leaving Vir alone in the sitting area. He didn't have his own quarters. Donato was unwilling to spend the money on the extra room. Instead, Vir was expected to sleep on the suite's sofa. He shifted about for a time trying to find a comfortable position, but the piece of furniture was far too small. Sighing, Vir removed the sofa's cushions, preparing to sleep on the floor, then decided he just wasn't tired.

Several minutes later, Vir stepped out of a transport tube and into Babylon 5's commercial hub.

It was an amazing sight. Though it was relatively late in the evening, the Zocalo teemed with life. Thousands of people from countless different races perused the merchants' wares and filled up the bars and restaurants. Foreign smells assaulted his nose, trinkets gleamed on nearby kiosks, and his ears filled with the roar of hundreds of conversations. There was an earthiness and vibrancy here that reminded Vir of some of the more raucous corners of Homeworld.

Vir didn't know where to begin. Feeling a little lost, he sat down at a nearby bar. A blonde Human waitress hustled up to him and asked for his order.

"Well... um... I don't really know what I want," Vir said, blushing. "I've never been here before."

"Where'd that bruise come from?"

Vir touched the side of his face with his fingers. During the trip to Babylon 5, the mark from Donato's fist had begun to fade to a sickly yellow-green. "An accident."

"Ah. Well, why don't I surprise you with my own special recipe?"

With impressive efficiency, the waitress mixed a drink and poured it into a long narrow glass, then set the glass before Vir. With some trepidation, Vir raised the glass to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. The liquid burned on the way down and Vir coughed. "Wow... um, that's... pretty strong," he said to himself. He took another sip, then put the drink down. He was starting to feel uncomfortably dizzy.

Paying the bill, Vir rose and began to walk somewhat unsteadily to a neighboring kiosk. But before he could travel more than a few meters, an arm caught him in the chest, toppling him to the deck.

Vir lay there for a moment holding his forehead and attempting to clear the fuzziness in his vision before a passing Human with a receding hairline grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. Vir recognized the man's uniform as that of Earthforce Security.

Once Vir had been attended to, the security officer turned his attention to one of the bar's other patrons, an older Centauri wearing what appeared to be the trappings of high office. His clothing, however, was rather unkempt- his coat was unbuttoned at the neckline and his crimson scarf was hanging free. The Centauri was swaying slightly, his face darkened by an anger that grew even fiercer when the security officer took hold of his arm. "Unhand me, Mr. Garibaldi," the Centauri said in a pronounced northern provincial accent.

"No, I don't think so," Garibaldi said quietly but firmly. "Go home, Londo- unless you want to spend the next few days in a cell."

The Centauri Vir now recognized as Ambassador Mollari glared at the security officer. Then, with a suddenness that made Vir jump, Mollari slammed his glass down on the counter top. The glass shattered on impact and Vir watched in shock as blood began to trickle from Mollari's hand. Everyone within hearing distance stopped and stared.

A tense moment passed. Garibaldi tightened his grip on Mollari and several other security officers rushed in to back him up. But before the arrest was made, Mollari spoke in a voice so low Vir barely heard it. "That will be unnecessary. I will leave voluntarily."

Transfixed, Vir looked on as Mollari yanked himself free of Garibaldi's grasp. As the Centauri Ambassador stumbled passed, he shot Vir a glance. What Vir saw in Mollari's eyes made his blood inexplicably run cold.

Only later as he lay on the floor in Donato's suite did Vir finally understand what it was he had seen:

Emptiness.

V.

Needless Sacrifice

"Vir Cotto to Vorlon fleet... You got what you wanted. Londo Mollari has been killed. The last of the Shadows' influence has been destroyed on Centauri Prime. Please, disengage your weapons and turn back!"

That single moment, as Vir waited for a response- any response- seemed to go on for an eternity.

And then, just like that, the sunlight began to return, filtering through the curtains and illuminating Vir's face. The Vorlons had heard him and they were leaving.

Vir backed away from the window, the beats of his hearts roaring in his ears. The back of his leg bumped against something soft and the full meaning of what had just occurred exploded into his consciousness. Vir's knees buckled and he fell, dropping the dagger on the way down.

In and out. In and out. Vir struggled to take in air, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

A whisper and a touch brought Vir back to himself. "Vir..."

Vir turned. Londo's eyes had clouded over, but somehow he had still managed to summon the strength to reach out and touch Vir's arm.

Vir grabbed Londo's hand and squeezed it as hard as he could, hope flaring brightly. "Londo... Great Maker, you're still alive..." Vir saw a twitch of life on Londo's face, then felt the slight pressure of Londo squeezing back. He almost wept.

"I'll get a doctor. Please..." Vir spoke with a ferocity he had never before then expressed, not even on that day Londo started the war with the Narn. "Please, please, please just hold on a little longer."

Vir struggled to get to his feet, but was stopped by a tug on his coat. "No... too late..."

"No, it's not! Don't say that, Londo. I'll just get a doctor and you'll be all right."

Londo's eyes drifted closed and suddenly Vir was angry and grabbing Londo's face with his hands. "No! You can't do this! Do you hear me? I will never forgive you if you... I... I... will never..." Vir choked and trailed off. Then, in a voice so small that it seemed to come from a thousand miles away, he said, "I will never forgive myself."

The admission hung there in a silence punctuated by Londo's rattling breath. And then, incredibly, Londo's hand was moving again and Vir felt the contact of Londo's fingers against his cheek. "You did... what was... necessary..."

Those were the last words Londo spoke before his hand fell away and the last glimmers of his life faded and disappeared.

Londo Mollari was dead. He had asked Vir to kill him for the sake of the world that he loved so much and Vir had done it because he saw the desperation in Londo's eyes and knew instantly the depth of that love.

Vir stared at the weapon by his side in shock. The blade still glistened with blood- Londo's blood. He then looked down at his own hands, twice the hands of an executioner. For some reason, he could still feel the hilt of the dagger in his palm.

The world was small and dark and Vir and Londo were the only people in it.

Vir pressed his hands against his eyes. This couldn't be real. Although none were this frightening, he had had nightmares before. For almost two years now, bleeding Narns had clawed at him whispering recriminations in his ears. And in the past few days, Emperor Cartagia had joined them, cataloguing with relish the punishments that awaited Vir at the end of his journey. Vir even had a recurring nightmare in which Londo fell over a fiery cliff and no matter how hard Vir tried to pull Londo back up, he couldn't save him.

But Vir should've woken up yelling by now, twisted in his sweaty nightclothes. Why was this dream continuing beyond the moment of horror?

That was when Vir realized that this was all real, that he wasn't asleep, and that Londo really was dead.

Fury rushed through Vir with such force that before he knew what he was doing, he had jumped up and turned a nearby table over. The tabletop broke apart on impact.

Vir collapsed, chest heaving, angry at a universe that would do this to him, angry at the Shadows, and angry with Londo for bringing them both to this point. A small part of him worried that the noise would attract the guards, but then he realized that he didn't care.

Vir wished that there were some way the Great Maker could turn back time. He could go back to that day Londo sent the Shadows to attack Quadrant 14 and put his foot down. He could tell Londo that if he insisted upon taking advantage of the services of Mr. Morden, he would leave and never come back.

Vir looked at Londo and knew he would give up anything to have that second chance.

But that was not to be. Londo was gone and there were no such things as second chances. At least, not for the dead.

"He sacrificed himself."

Vir remembered the day Londo was forced to kill his friend, Urza Jaddo. For some weeks afterwards, Londo walked the station as if he were a ghost, as if he too had died in fulfilling the demands of the Couro Prido. At the time, Vir had felt sad and angry for Londo and had vented those feelings on Mr. Morden.

Now Vir too knew what it was like to die- not physically, but spiritually- and felt even closer to Londo than he ever had before.

Did Londo know how much he meant to Vir? Vir wondered this as he touched Londo's hand, held it in his own. It was still warm, but growing colder.

"He sacrificed himself," Vir murmured in the silence. Pulling Londo against his chest, Vir closed his eyes. Tears welled up and spilled down Vir's cheeks.

Moments later, a small crowd of ministers and courtiers rushed in to find Vir covered in Londo's blood and shaking with quiet sobs. It took two men to pry the distraught Vir away from Londo and it was a few hours before the other ministers could piece together what had happened. The palace guards who had seen Vir and Londo arguing in the garden and in the palace corridors corroborated Vir's story and Minister Durano left Vir alone, apparently satisfied that the truth of the matter had been revealed.

Night found Vir sitting on the floor in Londo's room, clutching a bottle of brivari, his clothing disheveled and his hair crest in disarray.

Vir knew the drink was an imperfect and temporary fix. He had tried it just a few days before when it was Cartagia he was trying to forget and all he got for his trouble was a new kind of nightmare and several hours spent slumped against the ship's head. Uncharacteristically, Londo had refrained from joking about Vir's "well known" inability to hold his liquor- or from regaling him with stories about his own hangovers- something for which Vir was profoundly grateful at the time.

The very recent memory brought Vir's grief once more into sharp focus and in desperation, he downed another glass. No, the brivari couldn't stop this pain, but he didn't know what else to do.

Maybe- just maybe- if he drank enough, the resulting hangover would distract him until he could find another way to survive this.

Vir's spiraling train of thought was interrupted by the bleep of the communications unit. Taking his glass with him, Vir stumbled to his feet. He grabbed onto the couch for support when a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him, then lurched over to the screen to answer the call.

Two images of Captain Sheridan danced before his eyes and he pressed his palm against the wall in an effort to hold it in place. The Sheridans did twin double takes.

"Vir? Where's Londo?"

Vir didn't blame Sheridan for his surprise. He had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He hadn't changed or washed in the past several hours. He simply didn't have the energy or the will. A few errant strands of hair hung down in his eyes, and his face was streaked with dirt.

"Londo's dead." Vir's slurred words were low and empty.

"Oh."

A long and uncomfortable silence followed as Sheridan searched for the right words. And what could Sheridan say really? Vir thought. It's not as if Londo and Sheridan were on good terms.

That thought made Vir feel utterly alone.

At last, the Human captain settled on the simple. "I'm sorry, Vir."

"So am I."

"I don't know if this will help, but you should know that the war is over. The Shadows and Vorlons are gone forever, Vir. They went beyond the rim to join the rest of the First Ones. We won."

It was small comfort and Vir never felt less like celebrating. If Londo were here, news of the end of the war would've led to the liberal consumption of alcohol and the shared feeling of accomplishment and friendship. They had worked together in the name of a common goal for the first time. And while Vir was forced to sacrifice some of his innocence for that goal, the trust Londo placed in him was something so achingly real that Vir would've done anything to fulfill it.

He never imagined those feelings would lead to this.

Sheridan continued: "I called because I wanted to be sure the Vorlons had called their remaining ships to Coriana 6 before an attack was launched on Centauri Prime. It looks as if-"

"Wait," Vir said, letting go of the wall and holding up his shaking hand. "Did you say the Vorlons called for reinforcements?"

"Yes, I did."

Vir started to back away from the screen, his world sliding out from beneath him.

Had it all been for nothing? If he had waited just a few minutes more before doing what Londo had asked of him, would the Vorlons have left of their own accord? If Londo had waited, would he still be alive?

"Vir?" Sheridan's voice was heavy with concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Vir's glass slipped from his numb fingers and shattered on the floor.

VI.

Postscript: What Truly Came to Pass

Vir stood on the balcony of the royal suite, a light breeze fluttering through his robe and nightgown.

It was a beautiful night. Vir didn't think he had ever seen the stars shine as brightly as they did at this moment. But in truth, his mind was focused more on the following day's events than on the current state of the weather.

The statues he had commissioned for the gates of the capital city were finally complete and he was to give a dedication.

Of all the duties that fell upon Vir as Emperor of the Centauri Republic, it was public speaking that stirred up the most anxiety. After all, he had a great deal to live up to. Londo Mollari had a voice and a bearing that commanded instant attention and a way with words that was rivaled by few others. Vir felt very inadequate in comparison. Though he had long ago stopped stammering, he still had a soft and high-pitched voice- not the voice of a natural orator.

"It's not the style that matters, Vir," Senna had once affectionately reminded him. "It's the substance."

On this occasion, it was the substance that was giving Vir his principle trouble. The recent dinner with Captain Sheridan had stirred up a lot of old memories and arranging all of those memories into a coherent whole was proving quite difficult.

Speaking of G'Kar was somewhat easier. There was a certain distance in Vir's relationship with G'Kar, though the respect between them was quite real. In the end, G'Kar was far closer to Londo than he was to Vir.

Londo. Thinking of Londo brought forth a jumbled mess of feeling and thought and memory. It was amazing, really, how close Vir came to embarrassing himself before Sheridan and the others. Years had passed since Londo's death, yet a sound, a word, a casual conversation could bring it all back with such force that he often had to excuse himself to preserve his dignity. How was he to explain that to the Centauri he ruled? How was he to sum up all he knew of Londo in a single speech?

Vir closed his eyes and allowed the memories to swirl through his soul.

The End.