They came for Londo in the early hours of the morning, when the palace was still quiet. They did not knock to alert him of their presence, and so found him dozing against the headboard. His body was turned towards the door as if in anticipation, and in truth he had only meant to rest his eyes for a few minutes while waiting for his next opportunity to act. He had waited hours; clutching the increasingly futile hope that Vir would return and admit the whole ordeal had been a mistake. He had tried not to dwell on the fact that even should the Drakh allow such a change of heart, Vir had little chance of surviving it.
He came awake as a hand shook him and he felt a flash of rage rise quick and instinctive at the impertinence. Beneath that lurked the old, cringing fear that the Keeper would be revealed while he was asleep and powerless. His eyes opened even as his hand came up to strike his attacker, to turn their face before they could see.
A stronger grip than his caught his wrist and he recoiled to see one of the palace guards leaning over him, helmet and breastplate glinting in the early morning light. "Your Majesty, you must come with me," the man said. Londo looked up blearily, the fog of exhaustion still confusing his thoughts. The man shook him again. "With all due respect, please hurry."
"What is the meaning of this?" Londo grumbled, his words slurring as he threw off the effects of sleep. For a split second, hope churned wildly in his chest like a flame, only to be doused as the guard drew back.
"An order has come down that you are to be moved to different quarters while awaiting your transport to Babylon 5. I am to offer our most sincere apologies for the inconvenience, and assure you that your belongings are ready and waiting at your destination. These rooms must be cleaned and made ready for the next Emperor. If you will please come with me."
Londo's mouth twisted for a retort, but his just then his eyes drifted over the guard's shoulder. Beyond him lay the door to Londo's chamber, open and tantalizing. If he could remain on Centauri Prime, he might try once more to convince the Drakh to return the Keeper and let Vir go. Or, his head spun as the thought occurred, work behind the scenes to cast them out. Without the Keeper there was nothing to prevent him from telling others of their presence. He could save his people, rescue Vir, crush the Drakh beneath his…
"Your Majesty?"
He dragged his eyes away from the door and said with unfeigned irritation, "And I suppose I am to travel as I am, hmm? The dignity of the Centauri Republic carried by an old man in nothing but his dressing gown?" he scoffed.
The guard glanced to the side in obvious discomfort. "I would not have it so, your Majesty." Londo smiled inwardly. "But I'm afraid there isn't time. I have orders to bring you to your new quarters within the next few minutes. We have the corridors cleared, you see, but we can only block them for so long before others might grow suspicious."
'Well let them! It's about time someone grew a bit suspicious around here,' he thought. But he had not reached his current position (alive and in possession of all his limbs) by speaking what was on his mind. Instead, the corner of his thoughts that deserved some credit for his continuing pulse recognized a potential ally. "What is your name, young man?"
"Darro, your Majesty. Of House Guerra," the guard, Darro, said. Quick and efficient, his mouth moving to obey a command before his brain could catch up. Traditional, well-trained, not very bright, and perhaps useful.
"And are you a patriot, Darro of House Guerra?" Londo said.
Darro blinked, taken aback by the question. When he answered his voice held such urgency that it struck an echoing pang in Londo's hearts. "Your Majesty, if you took away everything of me that loves Centauri Prime then there would be nothing left."
"Well spoken," said Londo with a nod. "And what do you think of this plan to rid yourself of an Emperor without the voice or consent of the Centaurum?"
A shadow passed over Darro's face. "The Centaurum has spoken, your Majesty, through Prime Minister Durla."
Londo hissed, "Durla? He gave the order?"
"On their behalf. You…you are not well, your Majesty. I'm sure the Prime Minister had only your best interests at heart when allowing your early retirement." Darro said, then hesitated. "It is better this way. You will be well remembered and have the chance to live out the rest of your days in peace, without causing any embarrassment to yourself or the court." Londo realized he must reevaluate his opinion. A patriot, yes, but of the special brand that owed their allegiance to his monster of a Prime Minister. It did not help that anything Londo might say would be dismissed as madness or encroaching senility. This one would not be swayed, and there would be no convincing Darro that he still held possession of his wits. After all, in his darker moments, Londo could not entirely convince himself.
He had the advantage of surprise on several fronts, not the least of which was that he was an out of shape old man in a dressing gown. Londo saw his opening and struck. Though not nearly as strong or as quick as his opponent, his muscles still remembered something of their dueling days in the Couro Prido. And even if he had no hope of knocking Darro cold, what with his helmet, no race in the universe enjoyed being punched in the face. He heard the welcome, if sickening, sound of bone crunching beneath his knuckles. Darro staggered back, clutching his nose as it spurted a fountain of blood between his fingers. Londo dove passed him.
He raced for the door when a sudden, insane thought occurred to him. 'G'Kar would have enjoyed this.' The hallway would be empty, Darro had said. If he could just slip into one of the servant's corridors, a change of clothes, a haircut, and he might disappear into the masses. He could not leave Vir alone here. He must-
He struck something with a clang and fell back, stars exploding across his vision at the impact. Not a wall, he realized as strong hands seized his arms and dragged him upright. Two guards held him now. They must have been concealed on either side of the door.
A sudden, incandescent bolt of rage struck him and he nearly snarled as he struggled to tear his arms free of their grasp. These were his guards, and Drakh be damned, he was the Emperor. He would not be carried away over some meathead's shoulder like a sack!
"Let go of me," he growled, and when the grip only tightened he dragged himself around and spat over his shoulder. "Stand down. You are handling the person of the Emperor of the Centauri Republic. Stand down, or I will have you all executed for this treachery!"
A frisson of terror ran through their bodies, tightening the muscles and freezing their expressions into a wide-eyed rictus. The satisfaction of the verbal blow was almost enough to offset the churning horror and shame in his gut at the reminder of those executions. He felt their grips weaken, and for a glorious moment prepared to tear himself free and make his escape. The halls were empty; he need only round a corner…
Darro staggered out of the Imperial quarters, head tilted back to stem the flow of blood that trickled down his chin and stained his teeth. He grimaced, creating a demonic picture with the fury in his eyes and his bloody canines, and came to stand before Londo. All the shy respect and admiration was gone, he blazed as he glared down at his former Emperor. "Get him out of here. The Prime Minister was right, the old man is mad. Get him to his quarters, and by the gods when he gets there lock him up. Ignore anything he says and see that we're rid of him when his shuttle arrives." The guards on either side of Londo nodded, straightening and firming their grips as any fear he had managed to put in them drained away.
Londo glared up at Darro from beneath black, furrowed brows. "And what makes you so certain, Darro of House Guerra, that you are not the one who has lost his wits, hmm? Laying hand on the person of the Emperor, carrying out the Prime Minister's treason? You will be damned for this."
Darro leaned forward, so close Londo could smell the blood on his breath and see the fine veins in his eye engorged from pain. "Look to your own sins, Mollari. Any fool knows that you have more to answer for than I for laying a hand on an Emperor. We should have had your head on a pike the day Cartagia died."
Londo kept his expression stony while Darro spewed his venom. Let the man hate him, he was hardly wrong in his estimates, and his glowering anger summoned an answering rage in Londo that kept the despair at bay. Darro's gaze remained fixed on him even as something moved him, drawing Londo's eye. He watched as one shadow detached from another.
Shiv'Kala was silent as he emerged; ember eyes the only visible point in the darkness of pre-dawn that shadowed the hallway. He hovered beyond Darro's shoulder, silent as a corpse.
Londo stared and waited for the grip on his arm to tighten from fear when the guards behind him saw the creature before them. Darro of course could not see the horror that waited there, poor fool, but if the guards that held Londo went for their weapons Darro might have a chance. Shiv'Kala's eyes met Londo's, and he gave a look of acknowledgement and, the thought seemed bizarre, farewell. The Drakh raised a hand, palm flat towards Londo, and closed his eyes.
"Now, do it!" Londo hissed at the guards. Once, Shiv'Kala standing at such proximity would have sent a chill of pure fear down his spine, but there was too much rage now and too much hatred. He had recovered from his shock at seeing the creature so soon after it claimed they would never speak again and, for a brief second, Londo had thought to renew his plea to switch places with Vir. Except for the first time he had an unparalleled opportunity. Never before had Shiv'Kala appeared before armed guards, and the Keeper would have prevented him from ordering an attack even if he had. Now Londo was under no such constraint. Shiv'Kala's brow crinkled as if in deep meditation and still Darro rattled on, oblivious to the danger.
"You don't even realize how lucky you are that they want you on Babylon 5 intact. Break my nose? I would cut yours off, old man!" Darro snarled.
"I should think you have a slightly bigger problem than my nose right now," Londo said, nodding his head towards Shiv'Kala. The Drakh seemed to be muttering under its breath, still holding perfectly still and with his palm open towards Mollari.
"What is he talking about?" Darro said to the two guards who held Londo. They were paralyzed in fear no doubt, and who could blame them when a creature out of nightmare stood not two feet away. The situation would hold its own perverse humor if it weren't for the fact Londo's life was in the hands of three guards too stupid or terrified to draw their weapons. The damned creature even had his eyes closed! What were they waiting for?
"There's nothing behind you, Darro," said one of the guards with a weary sigh. "The old man is just trying to make a run for it."
Londo jerked as if shot. Though the hallway was dim there was no possible way Shiv'Kala's dark form could not be visible. He glanced wildly between the guards that held him, and realized with dawning horror that there was no fear in there eyes at all. If anything they appeared bored. "Impossible," Londo breathed. "How can you not…? He's right there!"
Darro gave a growl of annoyance and turned, coming face to face with Shiv'Kala. If he moved even an inch they would collide. Yet he gazed straight through the Drakh and turned back. "Get him to the waiting bay, chain him if you have to, I don't care," Darro snapped.
The guard who had spoken nodded sympathetically. "Get yourself to a medic, Darro. We'll handle him from here."
"No…no! You must see him!" said Londo, twisting to tear his arms free. "He's behind you! Great Maker, are you all blind?"
Darro waved a hand for the guards to take Londo away, turning and passing through Shiv'Kala. Londo froze, staring as Shiv'Kala's form rippled like water and Darro emerged on the other side, striding down the hallway with one hand clutched to his nose.
"Come now, Majesty. It's a short way to the transport, and an easier one if you will walk for yourself," said one of the guards, but Londo paid no heed. Shiv'Kala's mouth had stilled and his eyes opened to red slits. Then he extended his arm, and reached for Londo's face. It did not take incredible insight to realize Shiv'Kala was in no mood to negotiate, and suddenly Vir's bargain for Londo's life seemed a flimsy shield at best.
"Run…" whispered Londo, transfixed, as the hand drew closer, swallowing his vision. His hearts thundered and he could feel the air stir as Shiv'Kala reached for him, the clawed fingertips brushing his skin. The spell broke. "Run!" He threw himself backwards against his captors, crashing into them and forcing them down the hallway.
One of the guards grunted at the impact and wrenched Londo upright, pinning Londo's arm hard against his body to immobilize him. "Darro was right, he is mad. Get him under the shoulder, we'll have to carry him there."
Shiv'Kala tilted his head to the side, and Londo could swear that he raised his brow as if in mocking sympathy of Londo's plight. It was then the horror of it fully sank in. Somehow, no one could see the Drakh save him, and if Shiv'Kala had decided to kill him then he would die without the guards even raising their weapons. Shiv'Kala took another gliding step forward, closing the distance between them, hand outstretched.
"I will walk," Londo said in a strangled gasp. "I will fly if I have to. But move, now, you imbeciles!" He pressed his back against the guard, nearly climbing them in his struggle to place another inch between himself and Shiv'Kala.
The guards finally turned, thank the gods, and Shiv'Kala fell behind them. They walked at a quick clip, Londo practically dragging them ahead. He spared one last glance over his shoulder. Shiv'Kala was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he must remain still to maintain his invisibility and had chosen to retreat. Londo let out a ragged sigh of relief and turned his gaze forward.
Shiv'Kala struck. One hand wrapped around Londo's forehead, the clawed fingertips coming to rest on his temples, piercing the flesh. Londo gave a gurgled cry, but it was all he could manage as pain flared. It was as if molten metal was being poured through his brains and down his spine. His vision went black, then white as a howl of agony built and was extinguished in his throat, every sense flared, and his muscles burned. The boiling heat pushed its way like a knife through the brain to his tongue and for a moment of pure animal terror he knew that was how they would silence him, by searing away his eyes and tongue and mouth, leaving him a living husk.
The guards saw none of this. They muttered in annoyance as Mollari froze, grinding their progress to a halt. His eyes had gone wide and staring, then his whole body seized and began to tremble violently. "He's having a fit!" one of the guards said. "Get something between his teeth, before he bites his tongue out!" Londo gave a renewed shudder, staring in horror at nothing as the guard stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth.
"What do we do?" the second guard asked.
"Get him to the transport station. They'll have someone see to him there. Hurry!" They hefted Londo between them, and as they did his eyes closed and his body went limp as he fell unconscious.
The mental block now in place, Shiv'Kala stepped aside and watched from the shadows as the guards rushed Mollari away.
A mob had gathered beyond the walls of the palace, seething and pressing against the gates like a tide. Yet from where she stood, Aela Cantori could not make out their words. The sound dissolved into a dull, crashing roar and the guards that surrounded her shifted from foot to foot, their posture stiff and brittle with anxiety.
She clutched the small pack of her belongings against her chest, but there was no comfort to be had there. It held only a few spare changes of clothing, and she reflected bitterly on the journals and data crystals she had been forced to leave behind. Decades of work, her histories, lost.
She had her life, if only barely. The word drakh hovered at the back of her mind, and a part of her still picked at it, rushing scenarios through her head as to its meaning. Yet there was nothing she could do with that knowledge. One word spoken out of turn could mean the death of billions on Centauri Prime, or so she had been assured. How or why had not been told, and she was not so stupid or suicidal as to ask. No, her suicide attempts were limited to a note dropped in Ambassador Cotto's pocket. Discover the meaning of drakh. An organization, she had thought, perhaps named for the drakh race of Centauri fairytale. Who knew? Whatever it was, she was convinced it had something to do with the Emperor's strange behavior.
She had not sought the company of the Emperor, nor would she have dared. Rather, he had found her, and quite by accident. It seemed he had difficulty sleeping, and would walk the halls of the palace in the late hours of the night. Like a mad man, the courtiers whispered, and there had certainly been some echo of madness in his eyes when he wandered into her corner of the archives, where she had been working late into the night.'For a place where one is expected to read you think they would have invested a bit more in the lights,' he had remarked, causing her to jump half out of her seat at the unexpected (but not entirely unfamiliar) voice. 'What are you doing here?" she had asked stupidly, unable to believe that the Emperor she had seen in so many news broadcasts, and in one notable instance projected across the sky, was standing not five feet away. As I am technically in charge here, I believe I have the right to go where I please within my own palace,' he had said and she in turn had flushed with embarrassment and then horror at having questioned the Emperor. But that had faded when he pulled up a seat beside her and craned his head to look over her shoulder. 'And as I am technically your employer, I also believe it is within my right to ask what you are reading at so late an hour.' That at least was familiar territory, and she had found herself explaining to him her thesis on comparative Human and Centauri xenohistory. She had left her university on Earth and taken a position as a librarian within the Imperial Archives in order to complete it. This was despite the fact she could not expect the same position, payment, or respect for her degree on her ancestral planet. It had been the start of their casual, if odd, friendship. Every month or so, the Emperor would appear in her library, and they would speak of her studies and other inconsequential things. He appeared to take genuine pleasure in her insights on Centauri history, and she in turn was surprised to find she enjoyed his company.
Would that she had not, or she might not have begun to ask questions. How? How could a man who held such respect for the ancient Republic, who often commented derisively on the bloody dictators and murderers of past regimes, also be a man who made laws to destroy those traditions and execute his own ministers on the flimsiest of charges? Could it be that he was not fully in control of his own actions or policies? She had decided to test her hypothesis with an offhand reference to the Human Emperor Nero, and his mother Agrippina who had controlled him in the early years of his reign. A shadow had passed over Emperor Mollari's features, and the subject was quickly changed. But that had been enough to confirm her worst suspicions, and she could think of no more terrifying force than one that could put fear into the eyes of the ultimate authority on Centauri Prime.
A word had surfaced in the underground currents of court gossip. Drakh. Rumor had it the guard who first mentioned the name was never seen again. When she learned that Ambassador Cotto was coming from Babylon 5, she had seized upon the word has her chance to find the cause of the Emperor's strange behavior. Surely his closest friend could be trusted to get word out to those who could help the Emperor, and save the Centauri Court.
When the guards came for her that night, they told her she had a choice between exile and death. It was then she realized how seriously she had miscalculated.
The transport that waited to take her to exile on Babylon 5 hummed to life and she glanced up. Something was moving on the edge of the launch pad, and she craned her head to catch a glimpse of what she assumed must be Emperor Mollari. Going into retirement, they said, and she was to be his only attendant. Aela could not even begin to count the number of questions the odd arrangement raised. She was no handmaiden or nurse, and certainly a retired Emperor deserved a larger retinue. That is, when Emperors retired at all. She could count on one hand the number of his predecessors that had retired rather than die in office, and those retirements that weren't mythological were almost certainly forced.
Had Mollari been forced from the throne? And if so, why, and why had he not been killed as was customary? Who would rule in his place? Fear twisted in her gut at the thought of the chaos that pressed against the walls of the palace. It did not take a historian to know that a mob at the gates was a harbinger of many things, few of them good.
Two servants in Imperial livery appeared, pushing a cart of sorts between them. Baggage? No, the shape was wrong, and as it came into view she saw lying atop it a person wrapped in a white sheet. She pressed her fist to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles to suppress her gasp.
The Emperor was strapped to a gurney, his face drawn and pale as death. Aela lowered her hand and knotted her fingers together over her pack as every instinct called on her to run to his side, or to grab the arm of the nearest guard and call for help. Yet she dared not move or speak. She was a marked woman now. The wrong word may be all the excuse needed to put a blaster to her head.
"Get in." She started as the guard's rough hand tightened around her shoulder, pushing her towards the transport ahead of the gurney. The sun vanished behind her as she stumbled into the darkened cabin, the Emperor was loaded behind her, and the gurney strapped down. The servants turned to leave.
"Wait! You can't just leave him like this. Who's going to take care of him?" Aela exclaimed.
One of the servants paused while closing the door and gave a silent shrug. Aela gaped as he continued drawing the door shut.
"No, stop! He isn't well, you can't just leave him like this!" The door shut and the cabin lights came up. "I don't know what to do!" Engines roared to life beneath them, and her stomach dropped as she felt the ground fall away. There was no door or window to the cockpit to contact the pilot, and her pack flew from her hands as the floor lurched and she toppled against one of the seats.
She scrambled for the security belt, her hands shaking so hard it took three missed attempts before the pieces snapped into place. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together to hold down a wave of nausea. Sweat gathered on her lip and she took a harsh breath through her nose as she fought the urge to vomit. A small ship like this can't make a jump into hyperspace, a corner of her mind prattled inanely, we'll have to transfer to a larger ship once we get into orbit. There would be someone there to take care of him, there had to be.
The room lurched as the cabin straightened. Outside the ship continued it's vertical ascent, but the passenger cabin rotated to maintain equilibrium. For a brief, blessed moment, the sound of the engines faded and her stomach settled as transport's motion smoothed. Aela took a second, shuddering breath and pressed a trembling hand to her face and forehead to wipe away the sweat. Once she could speak without the fear of losing what little food remained in her stomach, she unbuckled the belt and knelt at the Emperor's side.
"Majesty," Aela said. Her hands hovered in front of her as she studied his drawn features, the dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes. His chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly,but that as the only sign he lived, and after a moment's hesitation she pressed an ear to his chest. He had once made an off-hand remark about his heart problems, but he seemed to regard the issue with some amusement. It was a valiant attempt, but I'm afraid I am still on target for my appointment. Aela had nodded and said nothing more. It would be rude to inquire into another's death dream, particularly an Emperor's.
His pulse was steady, if hard to detect through the sheet and the layers of clothing. Not that she would know the sign of trouble if she heard it. She worried her canines against her lower lip. "Your Majesty," she said again, this time louder. She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him, gently at first, but then with more force. There was no response and she felt a bit foolish. If the transport rattling its way through takeoff had not awakened him then her prodding certainly wouldn't.
She settled back onto her knees and placed her hands in her lap. After a moment her shoulders fell and her body bowed in on itself, her first concession to exhaustion since the guards had shown up at her door the night before. The adrenaline was beginning to fade, and even the fear had become a dull throb, lingering at the back of her mind like the pain of an old wound.
"It seems a very long way from the library, does it not, your Majesty?" she murmured. The Emperor did not stir and Aela returned to her seat. After a moment she stretched full out and closed her eyes, hoping to grab at least a few hours sleep before the next leg of their exile began.
There was no help waiting for them at the transfer point. The gurney was unloaded without ceremony and another guard prodded Aela to follow, the gun at his hip a silent threat against further protest. Did they not know who he was? The thought seemed too preposterous to be believed. The Emperor was the Emperor, retired or not, and yet a common citizen might at least expect a medical team in attendance when unconscious and clearly in distress. Instead the pattern of their departure from Centauri Prime was repeated. A pair of men, not even servants but rather the orbital station's dockworkers, transferred the Emperor to the liner that would bring them to Babylon 5. Not a word was spoken and the glare she received when she opened her mouth for a renewed attempt at pleading for medical aid was so sharp she shut her mouth with an audible click.
For a brief, terrifying moment she considered the possibility that she and the Emperor would be left to die in the ship's baggage hold. They had been given no food, and the journey to Babylon 5 was several days long even with hyperspace travel. She would not starve to death in that time, but she would be severely dehydrated, and the Emperor may very well die from the strain while in his weakened state.
She nearly wept with relief as the guards led them up the gangplank to a row of cabins. An unremarkable blue rug lined the floors and each cabin held a pair of bunked beds and a basic set of facilities. A Human ship, she realized at the sight of the decor.
They stopped at the last cabin in the hallway. A door beyond it led to the crew quarters, and the guard that had escorted them turned to face her while the dockworkers loaded the Emperor into the lower bunk. "The crew has been alerted that you are both to be quarantined. Food and water will be brought to you, and once en route there will be an attendant to see to his needs. You are not to speak with the staff or the passengers, and an agent will remain on the ship to ensure you disembark on Babylon 5. You have been given sanctuary while on the station, but any attempt to return to Centauri space will be considered a breach of your exile and punished accordingly. Do you understand?" said the guard.
She fought to suppress the small, giddy smile of relief that tugged at the corner of her mouth. She could not find it within herself to balk at the harsh terms. The Emperor would receive the care he needed, and the fact they had made it this far meant they might survive long enough to reach the location of their exile. Death still hung above them, as there would be few questions asked if a pair of quarantined passengers were to pass away unexpectedly, but at least they had made it this far. The guard's brow lowered and she realized she had not responded, and the tiny smile had grown to a manic grin. She coughed and forced her expression to neutrality. "I understand. But..." The glare returned but she pressed on. "Don't you know who he is?"
The guard gave her a disdainful look. "Why should I? You are both dead to the Centauri Republic, and I could not care less to know the names of a pair of traitors to the Imperial Court." He turned and without a word vanished down the hallway. The dockworkers finished moving the Emperor, strapped the empty gurney into a corner and departed. There was no one in the hallway, but Aela ducked into the cabin nonetheless as the door shut behind her. Somewhere, the agent sent to monitor their passage waited and watched. The danger was not yet passed.
In addition to the stacked beds and the facilities, the room held a small desk with a lamp and a comm screen. The screen was dark, and remained so despite her attempt to turn it on. Disabled. Even the most basic entertainment and recording options had been turned off. She fell heavily into the chair, remembering to fasten herself down in preparation for zero gravity. After a moment, she buried her face in her hands.
A pair of traitors... Suddenly it all made sense. The people pressed against the gates of the palace, the unspoken threats, the silence. Somehow, in the few hours after she gave Ambassador Cotto the crumpled note, there had been a coup d'état. But how? Had drakh been a keyword, a sign to attack? What if her involvement was entirely coincidental? But no, that made little sense. She was only an archivist, inconsequential in the grander scheme of Court politics. The note must be related, perhaps it had been taken as a sign that the conspiracy had been discovered, and the guilty parties must act with speed.
But why allow her to live? Why not kill Emperor Mollari as well, as so many palace coups had ended in the past? Why smuggle them into exile on Babylon 5, why tell her that the Emperor was going into retirement and why tell her that billions would die if she ever again spoke the word drakh?
Too many questions, and she had answers to none. She looked to her companion, unchanged since he had been placed on the bed. Perhaps the Emperor would have the answers when he awoke. If he awoke.
She must have dozed again, because when she came to, she could hear the sound of people filing into their cabins, the low mutter of voices and stomping feet audible despite the thick walls of the cabin. This time there was no lurch as the ship departed, but it was an older model and once off the orbital station Aela had to brace herself against the loss of gravity. Minbari artificial gravity technology was still only to be found on the newest Human models, though Centauri had had their own capabilities based on different principles for quite some time.
An hour into the flight there was a knock at the door and an attendant wearing a ventilation mask and scrubs stepped into the room. It was a Human woman, and she did not spare Aela even a glance as she moved to the Emperor's side, took a monitoring device from the pocket of her suit and began to examine his vital signs. Aela paid little mind to the proceedings, for though she felt palpable relief at the fact the Emperor was being tended, a much more pressing issue was at hand. She had seen in the brief moment when the door opened that beside each door there was a folder bolted to the wall, and a paper copy of the latest ISN news sat in each one.
The attendant was about to leave, still without speaking to Aela. She had only a second, and she mimed furiously at the door, not daring to speak. The attendant stopped, giving her a strange look and Aela pointed again, miming opening the newspaper. There was a pause, and after a moment the attendant shrugged as if not seeing the harm, and before leaving lifted the ISN report from the door across the way and tossed it back to Aela, who caught it gratefully from where it hovered in the air. The guard had only said she must not speak, he hadn't said anything about reading, or so she hoped.
Any joy dropped away along with the bottom of her stomach when she opened the first page.
Chaos on Centauri Prime: Emperor Mollari II found dead, Centauri Court accuses Alliance President Sheridan of foul play
The Alliance has yet to issue a counter statement in the wake of the shocking accusations surrounding the death of Emperor Mollari II. Riots have been reported across Centauri Prime, and the Centauri people are calling for action against the Alliance, claiming this is the final straw. Centauri tension towards the Alliance have run high since the bombardment that came in response to the raids of 2262, when Regent Virini allegedly authorized attacks on Alliance merchants and transport ships, and the Centauri government was ordered to pay reparations to the afflicted parties. This controversial move ignited public protests in the capital of Centauri Prime, where the damage was considerable and the claim was made that the money was needed to help rebuild. Though President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn have put forth multiple bills to have the reparations reduced or canceled, the Alliance majority, led by the Narn, has consistently rejected each attempt. They have argued that the damage done by the Centauri has not yet been repaid. Now with the death of Mollari, once a member of the Alliance's Advisory Board, many Centauri are calling for a further severing ties, if not an all-out declaration of war. Centauri Prime Minister Durla stated in a press conference, "The Alliance has sought to exert pressure on us from without by draining our resources to pay their unfair and illegal reparations. Now they try to control us from within by removing the one man who stood against their tyrannical rule." When asked if this meant he would declare war on the Alliance, Durla stated, "It is not within my authority to take such a step. Only the Emperor may do so, but Emperor Mollari in his wisdom declared a successor not long before his assassination. Perhaps he sensed the Alliance's imminent treachery, even when we could not. We have failed to protect our beloved leader, but the Alliance can be assured that we will have our revenge." (Story continued on page 4B)
"Great Maker..." Aela breathed as the paper slipped from nerveless hands and floated weightlessly in front of her. Was this what she had uncovered? Was drakh somehow connected to this coup and the Emperor's banishment? As for the Emperor's heir, who else but the man who succeeded him on Babylon 5, Vir Cotto? A growl of rage grew at the back of throat and she balled her hands into fists. How had she been such a fool? Trusting Ambassador Cotto, a man she had never met?
Vir is...a good man, unlike me. I think you would like him, the Emperor had said, and there was such a depth of fondness in his eyes she had found herself instantly liking this Vir Cotto. Vir was a favorite topic of his, and she dug her fingernails into her hands as the anger built at the thought of the Emperor waking to the news that the man he considered his son had usurped his position. Perhaps it was better if he never woke, so he never had to face the depths of this betrayal.
She resisted the urge to snatch up the pages of the newspaper and tear them to pieces. Instead she moved stiffly, retrieving each section from the air and placing them in the desk drawer. There was a long flight ahead, and no doubt she would be glad of it before the end.
She found herself re-reading the article several times over. The rest of the newspaper could not hold her attention for long before the gnawing worry would return and she would reopen to the page, scanning the lines for some second layer of meaning. She realized that she could not even be certain that Vir Cotto was the new Emperor; her only link to that conclusion was her incarceration so soon after giving him the note. He may be dead, or in as dire straits as she and the Emperor if he had shown the note to the wrong person or spoken the word drakh in the wrong ear. She did not know why this point mattered to her, but the possibility that the fabled Vir Cotto was responsible for Londo's overthrow brought the simmering rage back to full power.
She knew that by over-thinking this, she was only tying herself into futile knots. But she was no Minbari to find tranquility in meditation, and with the Emperor still in his coma there was no other outlet for her fear and confusion. The arrival of the ship's medic the next day was a welcome distraction, and though Aela still did not dare speak to the Human woman, she did take care this time to pay close attention to the medic's ministrations. After the initial checkup, the medic had tended to a set of portable machines hooked up to the Emperor that restored nutrition to his blood stream and saw to other functions. After checking and prepping these, the medic removed a monitoring device from her kit and swiped it over the man, frowning down at the results.
"Strange," the Human woman muttered, and gave the device an experimental shake. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Aela and shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with him. Well, nothing that's showing up on the scanner." Aela pressed her lips together to keep herself from blurting a series of frantic questions. The medic must have seen something of Aela's distress, because she continued. "His vital signs are steady, and there's nothing wrong with his artificial heart. Yes, his nutrition levels were low, and he's not in the best physical condition, but there's nothing here that explains the coma. I'm not that familiar with Centauri laws or customs, but you might want to have the resident telepath on B5 take a look at him."
Aela nodded gratefully as the medic packed her kit. The woman's diagnostic raised as many questions as it answered, but her advice had given Aela a sense of purpose. Once on Babylon 5, she would hire the first non-Centauri telepath she could find and hope whoever it was would be willing to work pro-bono, or at least be willing to wait for payment until Aela could find some temporary employment on the station
The medic departed. Aela waited until the door closed behind her before carefully unbelting herself from the desk chair and drifting to the side of the Emperor's bed. She wasn't sure what she expected when she knelt down by his bedside. His face was still drawn and his breathing shallow. There were deep furrows around his eyes, as if he was flinching away from a threat only he could see. She took his hand and clasped it between her own. They had not been friends, only acquaintances who on rare occasion spared a few hours to relieve the other's solitude. But now, billions of light-years away from Centauri Prime, he was all she had.
She wondered if she should call his name. It was a romantic notion, and as such she immediately dismissed it. The medic had said nothing was wrong with him; whatever had happened might be entirely in his mind. Or it might be a Centauri poison far beyond the woman's basic capabilities. Who could say? Aela replaced the Emperor's hand by his side and pulled herself up to her own bed. Tomorrow they would dock at Babylon 5. There was nothing to do before then but wait.
A Centauri man she could only assume was the agent appeared in the early hours of the morning, long before the ship was set to dock. The halls were empty of life when he arrived, and the door slid open without so much as a knock. Aela started from the bed, wrapping a blanket around herself defensively, her mind clearing in the first rush of shock.
"Who... why are you here?" she said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.
The man flashed a folder at her and raised one hand from the support bar on the wall to place it in the desk drawer. Her breath caught as she saw a flash of the newspaper hidden within the desk, but the agent appeared either not to notice or care, and shut the drawer without a second glance. "These are the details for your exile from Centauri Prime. You are expected to familiarize yourself with them before disembarking. Your companion will be removed to the medlab on Babylon 5 and quarantined there until stabilized. You will find the details of your lodgings and your pension for the first three months there as well. After that you are on your own."
Aela's head spun but she carefully straightened and tried to instill some dignity into her voice when she spoke, "These are unusual conditions for an exile. Am I to learn any more of the charges pressed against me or my...companion?"
"Prime Minister Durla has ordered these arrangements made on behalf of the new Emperor. If I were you I would worry less about his reasons and just be grateful you are both still alive. Others have not been so fortunate," said the agent.
But why? Aela wanted to ask, but she could not stop herself from asking another question, no matter how foolish it might be with the threat glinting in the agent's eyes. "And might I know the name of our new Emperor?" she said.
"You will find out on your own soon enough," he said. Aela could have snarled in frustration. The man left without another word, and Aela clambered down from the top bunk of the bed and tore open the wrapped folder, returning to the bed to read it's contents.
She had been to Babylon 5 only once before. Back in 2258, before the war, she had left her university on Earth to transfer to her new job in the Centauri Imperial Archives. At the time, Babylon 5 was easiest transfer point between the races, and so she was not completely befuddled when she disembarked from the shuttle. The Emperor had been taken from the room by the resident medical staff the hour before. She glanced at the folder in her hand. A crush of bodies pressed against her, but she still managed to navigate through customs. The identicard enclosed in the agent's folder got her through without comment. A room in the Green Sector waited for them, and the papers listed her as the Emperor's niece, under a different name of course. The names they had been given were unfamiliar, but she would learn it in time. Perhaps when he recovered, if he recovered, she would return to Earth. But all possibilities for her future seemed very far away as Narn, Gaim, Humans, and a host of other races passed her in the halls.
It might have been an illusion, but she felt their eyes as she passed. Centauri traveling to Babylon 5 had become rare since the Emperor broke diplomatic ties with the Alliance. Those who must travel, be it for business or diplomacy, stayed within their tiny enclaves and spoke in hushed voices.
She would have liked nothing more than to pass through the back halls unnoticed, but there was no avoiding the Zocalo at the heart of the station. She kept her back straight and her head held high as she passed, clutching the folder and her pack. Even so, whispers followed her, and words almost out of hearing stirred her attention.
"Today we look back on the crowning of the new Centauri Emperor..."
The din of the Zocalo seemed to hush around her, as if the air had been sucked from the room. Slowly, Aela turned to see the television screen hanging over one of the bars.
"There had been much speculation surrounding the choice of heir by Emperor Mollari II. Who would the mysterious figure be, and what will the choice mean for the future of Centauri Prime and the Alliance?"
The feeling of dread welled in the pit of Aela's stomach, turning her limbs to lead. She raised her gaze, and saw for the first time the man who would rule Centauri Prime.
"Emperor Vir Cotto, the first of his family and former Ambassador to Babylon 5, caused something of a stir when his name was announced. Unlike his predecessor, the ceremony was widely attended, and the bells only tolled only once to commemorate the recently deceased Emperor Mollari."
The ISN news anchor rattled on, but Aela could make out her words. All she could hear was a sound like the tide crashing in her ears, the cries of the rioters at the gates like the roar of something collapsing.
Author Note: I know I probably spent too much time on my OC Aela Cantori in this chapter. I just want to assure any readers who were bothered by this that it was necessary to have a second narrator while Londo is unconscious. Though Aela will continue to feature as a secondary character in the rest of the story, I doubt she will get as much screen time again as she did here. Londo and Vir are, and will continue to be, the stars of the show. In the future, OCs will appear at times to add flavor and move the plot but they will not be stealing the spotlight unless it is absolutely necessary.
Of course, if you did like her I would love to hear your thoughts! I tried very hard to make a character who felt natural within the Babylon 5 universe, and who could be realistically end up in the circumstances in which we see her here. Also, I apologize for the info dump, but I realized I was writing a lot of this chapter with the assumption that readers had read my standalone fic "While Rome Burns", where Aela was first introduced. However, since I promised at the beginning that I would include within the text any information that was necessary in order to understand the story, I realized I needed to recap some of that fic for the sake of clarity. I apologize if those sections were dull.
As always, I would love to hear what you thought! I spend a great deal of time writing this, and I have since resolved that this is going to be a novel-length effort and essentially a re-write of "The Legions of Fire" trilogy (though no knowledge of the books will be required). I hope that you will stick around for the rest of the story, it's going to be quite a ride!