Proscription (Latin: proscriptio) is the public identification and official condemnation of enemies of the state.
Durla learned a lesson from each Emperor he served.
First, that blood means nothing. He learned this lesson from Emperor Turhan, that a fool can be born into even the greatest family. Durla had still been a petty officer within the guard, his lips curling in disdain as he overheard Turhan telling Malachi of his plans to apologize to the Narn.
Second, rank will not protect you. Cartagia had made no secret of this lesson. Durla watched as three of his superior officers and dozens of his fellow guards were executed without trial, some without explanation, most without reason. The lesson took on new meaning when he was elevated to second-in-command, when there was no one left who would risk the position. Let the slow, the stupid, and the lazy revel in the safety. Only the best would survive when the blood began to flow. Of course, he could always fall prey himself, he had no illusions, but rather than frighten him the thought invigorated him.
The third lesson was that there is no value in loyalty. Of this Mollari had been a master, after all he was responsible for the death of one, if not two Emperors he had sworn to serve, and yet still managed to become Emperor himself. Cartagia too had wielded treason accusations as a weapon against his uncle's closest friends, but these had been half-hearted attempts. Cartagia had never felt true loyalty to any of them. Before long, the mad Emperor ceased his attempts dress up his bloodlust with details like trials or formal accusations.
But Mollari, Mollari had made an art of chaos. At first even Durla could not grasp the pattern behind the man's seemingly random executions. He could only look on in admiration as nobles that had once stood against Mollari fell in line, leaping at shadows and consumed by fear of offending his erratic definition of loyalty.
The masterstroke was Mollari himself. Cartagia had shown his madness over time, and taken obvious delight in the executions he handed out like macabre boons. But Mollari took no obvious pleasure in the deaths he ordered. The wails of his doomed ministers' families were echoed in Mollari's own face, contorted in a masterful facsimile of grief. It was quite the show; Durla could almost believe that Mollari regretted his actions. But the purpose was clear, as the consummate performance only birthed greater fear in the courtiers. Madness they could understand, real conspiracies could be joined or turned in depending on the tides of court politics, but the Emperor pretending to suffer as he dealt death to his most loyal supporters? That struck the terror of uncertainty into their hearts.
Terror Mollari had done little to exploit. His ministers picked off like errant flies, Mollari could have instituted any policy he chose, could have made himself a god had he been so inclined! Yet he did nothing with the absolute power he had acquired, save for the occasional odd decree. A certain parcel of land set aside here, a new military base built there. Nonsense, really. Durla had braced himself for sweeping changes that never came.
The chaos brought by such reforms would have brought opportunity, but when none arises the daring must make their own. Durla found his the night Prime Minister Cholini, a man whom all had thought safe, was found guilty of treason.
It was the eve of Prime Minister Cholini's trial, and the royal court held its collective breath. Cholini's two wives stood white-lipped, each clutching a hand of the Prime Minister's only son and heir. The boy could not have been more than twenty, barely past his Ascension. Cholini himself stood straight-backed, head held high before the Emperor's throne. The lights were white and cast a stark glare across the courtiers that had gathered in the throne room, yet the source of the light behind the canopy that enshrouded the Emperor's throne and painted Emperor Mollari's features in a chiaroscuro of light and shadow. His face was visible only when he leaned forward to listen to the defense, and were swallowed again by darkness when he sat back to deliberate.
Even Durla was forced to admit the effect was terrifying. Cholini, the former Minister of Defense, broke into a sweat as the silence stretched. The evidence had been heard, but only the Emperor could pass judgment for the ultimate crime of high treason. The palace, and indeed all of Centauri Prime had been alight with gossip in the wake of the accusation. Even the common voices of dissent, those ministers who spoke in hushed tones at the corner of loud rooms, or the more foolish courtiers who expressed their shock aloud at the gaming tables and opera soirees, could not believe that Cholini of all people could come under suspicion. The man was too canny, they said, to have been caught if he was indeed a conspirator. Even more troubling, there had been not a whisper in the back channels of Court gossip that a coup was in progress, and there were always whispers of a coup in progress, regardless of what the truth might be.
I overheard Vocateur Tensus say there is no evidence against Cholini, one of Durla's guards had whispered in his ear on the eve of the final trial. No one paid attention to a guard in the room; they were invisible to the high lords and ladies, a constant presence. To not speak in front of the Imperial guard would be to not speak at all. He believes this has been a gambit aimed at reining in the Prime Minister, who had begun to question some of the Emperor's decisions. Mollari will show Cholini his place, and then dismiss the charges. It is the only outcome. The Emperor will appear magnanimous and the Prime Minister will fall in line. Durla had seen no need to correct his informant. It was not the only outcome. He dismissed the man with a salute and settled back to consider the information, pressing a gloved hand to his mouth as he thought. The Vocateur was the leader of Cholini's defense, a perilous position when the Emperor's will in the matter was unclear. Tensus may be shielded by his daughter Aria's marriage to the Maray heir, arranged as it was after a fosterage with House Mollari. Nonetheless, Durla made a mental note that should Cholini fall, House Tensus may not be far behind.
A lack of evidence would not have been a problem for Cartagia, but his treason trials had tended towards quick, casual affairs that ended in a blood splatter on the wall and the uproarious laughter of his terrified courtiers. Legality had gone unobserved and those who cried for a fair trial could continue their futile plea all the way to the headsman's block. Yet the knife cut both ways, and all those cases had been overturned as soon as soon as Cartagia's body was cold. Fortunes were restored to the disgraced family; their names dusted off and returned their places of honor in the Court roster. Without a proper trial there could be no long-term consequences. The Centauri Court had survived mad men in the past in this way; it was practically tradition.
Not so with Mollari. A formal treason trial meant the family would be disgraced and stripped of titles and property. Their head of House would be executed and the family banished from Court, if not from Centauri Prime. It would take the careful planning of decades for a former great House to remove the stain of treason, and even centuries could not remove the memory. A lesser House may fall into debt then slavery, and never recover.
This was no shadow trial, hidden in back rooms and presided over by secret juries. Cholini had every right to sweat as he awaited his verdict, and the Court stank of fear. If the Prime Minister could fall, then no force in the universe could save one of the lesser nobles should the eye of the Emperor turn to them.
"Guilty," Mollari pronounced, and leaned back into the inky darkness that engulfed the throne. He placed a hand to his forehead as if exhausted, his expression grim as the death that now awaited Cholini.
It was as if a silent explosion had been detonated in the court. Gasps rippled like a shockwave through the rows of courtiers. A woman near the back gave a muffled shriek and was immediately hushed by her husband. Even Durla rocked back on his heels.
Cholini's two wives were silent. Some shocks were simply too great to express. The younger had gone wide-eyed, her face draining of blood, while the elder wife grasped her son by the shoulders, pulling him against her chest. She whispered frantically in his ear but the boy was shaking his head violently. He wrenched himself free of her grip, and strode forward. Durla's guards stepped down from where they flanked the Emperor on the dais, aiming their weapons at the boy, who had gone white-faced and shook with fury.
"How dare you? My father is innocent!" the boy shouted.
"Lady Cholini, control your son," said Mollari. He sounded weary, resigned. Hardly the mood one would expect from a man who had just ruined the Prime Minister and his House without evidence. "There is no need to make matters worse than they already are."
"Rafel, go to your mother. The Emperor has spoken," said Cholini without turning to look at his son. His throat worked as if fighting back tears, or bile, but his façade was otherwise without flaw.
"This trial has been a farce." Rafel turned to face the throne, pointing an accusing finger at Mollari. "My father was serving Emperor Turhan with distinction when you were gambling away your wife's fortune on Babylon 5. A traitor, him? Why don't you tell us more of Turhan's last words, or Cartagia's, so that we may be the judge of what a traitor looks like?" Lady Cholini gave a low moan of fear and sank to her knees. The younger wife reached out her hand as if to draw Rafel back, but let it fall to her side, her eyes wide as if she were watching the boy tumbling down from a great height.
"The boy is young," murmured the Emperor, half to himself. His head was tilted to the side, as if talking to someone at his right shoulder, though there was no one there. "And he has suffered a terrible shock." He looked back to the crowd, his eyes wandering over them before he said in a louder voice, "Have the former Prime Minister's son and wives escorted to their quarters. We will not speak of this matter again."
The guards holstered their weapons and the first moved to grab Rafel by the arm, while the second gestured for the two ladies to follow him. But Rafel wrenched himself free and took another step towards the throne, his eyes burning as he glared up at the Emperor.
"Who wants my father dead, Mollari? What friend are you appeasing with the sacrifice of House Cholini?"
"Rafel!" the boy's mother wailed from where she had collapsed on the floor, her arms outstretched towards her son.
"There is no reason for the Emperor to persecute us in this manner. In all his years my father has not uttered a single disloyal word against the Emperor, whoever he may be, and you know it!" The boy turned to face the crowd, his posture as straight and unyielding as a blade. "Can none of you see? My father is not the enemy here. There is another force at work, one darker and more insidious than any we have faced. It crouches in the shadows, controlling our policies, turning us against one another, using our Emperor as its puppet! They will not be satisfied with the fall of House Cholini, and they will not ignore you if you sit by, cowering behind your silence. They will come for your lands next, your titles, your husbands, your fathers, your children! And why? Because like him you will begin to ask questions, you will wonder why, why has reconstruction of the capital has been halted, why we have not sent an envoy to make peace with the Alliance? No, this madness must stop here and now!" Rafel turned back to the Emperor. "Is that not true, your Majesty? Tell us, who is pulling your strings? What have they offered you in exchange for our blood? What shadows are they hiding in?"
"Enough!"
The crowd looked as one to stare at their Emperor. He had risen to his feet, a terrible change coming over his body, as if he were possessed. In all his years, Durla had never seen such implacable rage in a man's expression. His pale eyes were like chips of ice as he stared down at Rafel Cholini, and the boy shrank back despite his brave words a moment before.
"It seems I have made an error in judgment," said Emperor Mollari. "I had thought the former Prime Minister would be wise enough not to involve his family in his crimes, it seems I was wrong." He closed his eyes, his brow crinkling as he took a deep breath. His shoulders fell as he opened them again and looked at the boy, his brow creasing with terrible grief. "It is now clear that this conspiracy has spread before I could put a stop it."
"Your Majesty," said Cholini, addressing the Emperor directly for the first time since the trial began. "Whatever my crimes may be I assure you that my son is innocent. I would never involve him in such a conspiracy, never put him at risk." The man stopped, overwhelmed by emotion, and was only able to whisper the last words. "He is my only son, my heir. Please, your Majesty, I beg you. Show mercy."
Mollari stared at his former Prime Minister, his lips parted as if to do just that. Then his face twisted and he turned, resuming his seat on the throne, and leaned back into the shadows. "I can't," his voice broke on the syllables, and ever word was slow as if dragged from him. "His guilt is obvious, whatever you might say. He has slandered the name of the Emperor and shown intent to cause a mass uprising. Such behavior must not be tolerated." Mollari straightened. "House Cholini is no more. Both son and heir will be put to death. Any who speaks the name of their House will be held indefinitely on suspicion of conspiracy to overthrow the government. Those affiliated with the House are banished from Centauri territory immediately and without aid. For now there will be an amnesty for all their past associates and allies, but such amnesty is forfeit should it be discovered that they are offering aid or comfort."
Mollari looked out to the stricken faces of the crowd. Cholini's youngest wife swayed and was caught by the guard as she fainted. The elder wife's arms had dropped to her side and she looked as one whose soul had died, though the body did not yet know it. The boy did not cry out at the sentence, in that at least he showed some dignity. He did not resist as he was dragged to his father's side and handcuffed. Perhaps because he saw the crowd as he was taken, saw their wide eyes and closed lips, and knew that they had agreed with all he said. Agreed, but remained silent as one of the oldest Houses of the Republic fell. "You are all dismissed," said Mollari.
The crowd of courtiers glanced between one another, then rose as one as Emperor Mollari stood, and left the room through the back door behind the throne. They did not leave immediately. Some stared into the distance, as if caught in a web of their own fear, others talked among themselves in hushed tones. Somewhere a man gave a high, hysterical laugh. Durla ducked out before the crowd could rouse itself, making a swift line towards the Emperor's quarters.
A single guard stood at attention outside the Emperor's chamber. Durla could tell from the man's flustered expression that Mollari must have stormed past him only moments before, and that the additional guards that were usually dispatched to the room when the Emperor was within had not yet arrived. Durla returned the guard's salute when he caught sight of him.
"At ease," said Durla. "I will be taking over the protection of the Emperor this evening. You are relieved."
"Yes, sir," said the guard. "Should I request a second for you?"
"No, and call off any who are on the way. I have made special provisions for the Emperor's safety," said Durla. He gave a half-smile and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "There are difficult times ahead of us, and I cannot be sure who I can trust, even amongst my own men. Tell no one of this, and you can be assured that I will remember you favorably during my investigation into the loyalty of your fellow officers." The man gulped, unsure what to make of Durla's words or his smile. He obeyed nonetheless, taking off in the direction of the barracks at a quick clip. Durla fell into position beside the door.
He did not have to wait long before he was rewarded by a crash from within the room, which sounded like a vase had been thrown against the wall.
"…What you have created is a catastrophe!" Emperor Mollari bellowed from beyond the door. "How can you expect me to hide you when you bring one of the greatest Houses of the Republic crashing down around our ears?
Durla stilled his breathing to listen but could not make out the voice of whomever the Emperor was speaking to.
"Necessary? It was an act of supreme arrogance and stupidity! No one would have paid the boy a moment's thought, now they will all wonder if there was any truth to what he said! Had you let him live we might have discredited him, now there is no way to hold back the tide of speculation."
A telepath? Durla wondered, Or is he speaking over a private line? The other party's silence was hardly a problem though, as Mollari was loud enough for both.
"None of your…none of your concern?" The Emperor sputtered in outrage. "I cannot go about executing every minister or chambermaid that happens on your secret. Nor I cannot be expected to cover for your incompetence with accusations of treason every time one of you is seen! I told you that there were lesser charges that could have been used, a formal trial like that was the height of foolishness. Every eye on Centauri Prime will now be trained on the scandal; every House wondering what conspiracy could have reached all the way to the Prime Minister. You could have not gathered more attention to the event if you had trumpeted it through the streets!"
"It sent a message." Durla jerked back at the sound of a voice like the rustle of parchment.
"A message, yes, a message that will end with a mob at the gates! From now on you must give me the chance to handle these matters before they turn into disasters, as all of you are clearly incompetent. For your sakes, I hope you are better at hiding yourselves than you are at handling public relations. Gods know you couldn't be any worse!" There was a pause, and Durla moved away from the door at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Out. I will need to appoint a new Prime Minister, and soon. The paperwork alone will be staggering, that is if I can find anyone who will take the job. I hope you are satisfied," Mollari said scathingly. The door opened and the Emperor strode past him. Durla snapped to attention but the Emperor did not spare him a glance as he tore down the hallway.
Durla waited until Mollari was well out of sight before ducking into the Imperial chambers and closing the door behind him. The room was dark, and empty as far as he could tell. His eyes adjusted after a moment, and he could make out the faint outline of the bed at the far end of the room, what little light that came from the crack beneath the door reflecting off the brilliant white and gold of the walls.
Durla spoke to the empty air. "Mollari is right, you know. The boy's death will cause an uproar, and the people will begin to ask questions." Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he felt a stirring in the air, and the hair at the back his neck prickled with a feeling he had come to identify as eyes, ears, and possibly weapons being trained on him. "You have a secret you want to protect. I believe I can help you."
Silence. For all he knew, Mollari's mysterious visitor was long gone and he was speaking to an empty room. He waited as the minutes ticked by, and finally turned to leave.
"And why should we not simply kill you?"
Durla froze as the voice returned, a hoarse whisper that sent chills across his skin as if he had been plunged into icy water. He ran his tongue over lips gone suddenly dry. "Because you need allies. Whatever you have offered to Mollari, he is but one man and he cannot hold back the tide on his own. You need someone who can manage the public opinion, someone who is not the Emperor," he paused. "At least, not yet."
Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he detected amusement in the voice when it spoke again, "And is that what you want in exchange for your help?"
"Everyone knows that Mollari had allies in achieving the throne. The man was nothing when he was appointed to Babylon 5, and in less than a decade he became Emperor. Such a feat is impossible without powerful friends. I am guessing that you are those friends," said Durla. "But I do not expect something for nothing. Give me the tools I need, and I promise to remove whichever enemies you see fit, all without a word from the people."
"And what tools are those?"
Durla straightened and stared into the heart of the darkness. He could almost imagine he saw a figure standing there, one shadow darker than the others. "The office of Prime Minister. Give me this, and you will have your silence. If my performance is satisfactory, we will discuss future possibilities." His veins burned with adrenaline but he kept an iron grip on his voice and expression. "It is clear that Mollari tires of your partnership. Perhaps with time you will come to see the value of a new ally, one more sympathetic to your needs."
"The politics of your world means little to us," said the voice. "You will have your position."
"And how am I to contact you?" said Durla.
"You won't. We will speak again once your task is complete." Durla gave a start as something brushed passed him, and he felt the chill of prey that had felt a predator pass by its hiding place. The room went silent save for the sound of his own breathing.
Mollari summoned him to a private audience the next day. The room was devoid of guards or any other courtiers, and it seemed especially large and empty in the absence of Cholini's trial. The former Prime Minister and his son had been executed without fanfare that morning, and already Durla's informants brought him news of angry muttering in the streets. Durla had not attended. It seemed in poor taste to lurk at the execution of one's rival, especially when one had not orchestrated the event.
Mollari was standing at the window when Durla entered, looking out to the execution grounds that had been set up before the palace. The polished skull of Cartagia's advisor, the Human known as Morden, had once decorated one of the pikes, until Mollari had inexplicably removed it not long after his coronation. Now the pikes held the head of Cholini and his son. Mollari's gaze did not waver as he looked down at the gruesome display, his eyes intent, as if trying to burn the image into his mind.
At the sound of Durla's approach, Mollari glanced back and flipped the curtain closed with a sharp flick of the wrist. Though the man wore the traditional Imperial white, there was air of repressed rage that enfolded him like a cloak of shadows.
"Ah, Captain Durla," said Mollari, his face twisting in an instant to jovial mask. He stepped away from the window, turning his back to it, but kept his hands clasped behind him rather than offering them as would have been appropriate. Durla saluted but also kept his arms to his side. "I see you have finally come to grace me with your presence, yes? I hope I am not keeping you from anything important."
"The Emperor is, as ever, my first priority, your Majesty," said Durla.
"Is he?" said Mollari, raising his eyebrows and giving a smile that might have been affable if not for the flash of teeth. "Then I am to understand that it was out of the noblest of intentions that you offered yourself as a candidate for Prime Minister, hmm? That you could not bear the thought that I might be deprived of the office for even a day?"
"As you say, your Majesty," said Durla with a nod.
"How generous. And I'm sure self interest had nothing to do with it." Mollari clapped a hand on Durla's shoulder and, still smiling, leaned in to hiss, "You are playing a dangerous game, Captain. These friends of yours are nothing of the sort, and it's for your sake not mine that I advise you withdraw your offer. As you know, there are dozens of ministers more qualified for the position, something your newfound friends could never understand."
"And if I do not?" Durla said coolly.
"Then I imagine there will be one of two outcomes. Either you die and your head decorates one of those pikes," said Mollari, nodding towards the window. "Or you die and they never find the body."
"Are you quite finished, Majesty?" said Durla. He straightened and pushed the Emperor's hand away dismissively. "Or should I call you Londo? We will be working closely together, it seems appropriate that we become familiar."
"It is still Emperor Mollari, and this matter is not settled until I say it is," said Mollari. Durla had several inches of height on Mollari, but the advantage had not mattered until he realized what the Emperor was trying to hide. He drew himself taller and looked down on what was ostensibly the most powerful man on Centauri Prime.
"I think you will find it is," said Durla. "You associates have already made the matter clear, otherwise we would not be having this conversation and you would not be so transparently attempting to have me step down. The truth of the matter is that the decision lies with you associates, and is quite beyond your control. So the fact remains, Londo, that I will be your new Prime Minister." Durla's smile widened and grew sharp. "Surely you did not think you could have sole access to your allies for so long? You have not been good to them lately. They have needs they want met, and in exchange they will give me what they gave you." Mollari's lips had been curled in a sneer of anger, but at Durla's words a change came over his expression, twisting it with fear unconcealed by any politician's mask.
Mollari opened his mouth then closed it, as if a stronger will than his own had slammed it shut. "You are a fool," Londo said in a strangled whisper, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "They are not…" Mollari stopped, his lips sealing together. For a moment, Durla thought he saw something frantic in Mollari's eyes. Clearly the man thought better of what he was going to say and went silent. Perhaps Mollari's allies had listening devices planted in the room, a detail that Durla must remember once he assumed office.
"I understand your reluctance, Majesty," Durla said, resuming an air of formality. "Think of this not as a competition, but rather as gaining a new partner. Between the two of us, and with the help of your associates, we will have the power to bring Centauri Prime into a new era." Mollari watched silently as Durla extended his arms. "Let us start again. In celebration of our new partnership, I offer you the hands of friendship."
Londo's eyes flickered from Durla's face to his hands. Then without a word he stormed away. Durla's hands fell to his side and allowed himself a faint smile. He had feared he would need to operate on Mollari's good side, but it was clear now that Mollari's allies had made their choice, and they had chosen Durla regardless of Mollari's good will or consent. His position was secure, so long as he did not fail them.
And he would not fail.
Evidence of Cholini's betrayal was released to the public the next day. Images, call logs, and documents detailing clandestine meetings and communications with the Alliance proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the late Prime Minister's intentions to sell out Centauri Prime to the Alliance. In exchange, he had hoped to become Emperor himself.
"Prime Minister Durla carries my trust as well as my authority in this investigation," Mollari announced at Durla's inauguration before the Centaurum. The room was circular and lined with an ascending ring of seats, packed with the most powerful men on the planet. At the center stage was the Emperor's seat, less ornate than the throne and modeled after an ancient camp seat in memory of when the Emperor had been the Centauri people's lead general. Mollari sat upon it now, glowing like a beacon in Imperial white under the bright lights. "I can think of no more trustworthy man for this role and as such have endowed him with," Londo's lips twisted around the word, "emergency powers until the crisis is resolved."
Durla had to hand it to his new allies, for the Emperor had accepted the prepared speech without a word of protest. Only the way his fingers clamped around the heavy paper, as if he longed to crush it in his grasp, gave a hint of his view on the matter. The Emperor's gaze swept the room as he spoke, settling for only a second longer on Durla. He offered a small, ironic smile, a mere quirk of the lips and was rewarded by the furrowing of Londo's brow, quickly smoothed as he continued with the speech.
As Mollari droned on, Durla mentally surveyed the materials before him with the pleasure of a sculptor given his choice of prepared stone from the finest quarries. In particular, the terror Mollari's erratic executions had created amongst the nobility and the outrage kindled amongst the populace at the inexplicable halting of the reconstruction, would be the cornerstones upon which he built a new Republic. The capital was a tinderbox waiting for a spark, and only a master craftsman could turn that fire from an unruly explosion to a controlled detonation that propelled Centauri Prime forward along the proper path.
It was time to begin his work.
"Thank you, your Majesty," Durla said smoothly as Mollari came to the end of the speech. He rose from his seat and joined Mollari at the right hand of the throne. The Emperor regarded him with suspicion, but made no move to stop Durla, even though he could see the desire to do so in the crease between Mollari's brows and the twitch of a frown at the corner of his lips. Durla inclined his head in mock respect and was rewarded by a flicker of anger in Mollari's cold eyes. Helpless anger, Durla now knew. He turned back towards the crowd, his own speech perfectly memorized.
"I speak to you all for the first time as your Prime Minister. I do so with a heavy heart, in the wake of a tragedy that has rocked our great Republic to its core. I too felt the terrible shock and grief that one of our greatest men would be so driven by personal ambition and greed that he would sell himself and our people to our greatest enemies. I am speaking, of course, of the Alliance. They who burnt our cities, bombarded our capital, and left our people in ruin. The thought alone sickens me, as I'm sure it does all of you. The Emperor has done his utmost to root out those who would seek to harm our Republic from within, but he is only one man, even if he is a great one. And we have not served him well, doubting his wisdom and calling into question his efforts to protect us."
"It is not the Emperor's fault that we find ourselves in a position of impotence, nor is it because of the enemy that branded us with illegal reparations. Let the Alliance attempt to break us, to grind us into the dust with their ships and their blackmail. The Centauri will not be cowed!" Durla suppressed a smile as a whisper went up from the audience, followed by a roar as the Centaurum as one applauded. He allowed the cacophony to die before continuing. "For if we do fall, it will not be because of off-worlders. They cannot break our backs, or our spirits. No, it is from within that we must fear our ruin, from the best of us, the most powerful of us."
He drew a data crystal from the inner pocket of his embroidered coat and held it up to the light. The lords of the Centaurum craned forward in their seats, as if to see into the crystal's heart and draw out its secrets.
"I have on this data crystal the names of twenty lords from the greatest Houses, a list known to the Emperor, as being members of a conspiracy to undermine the government. It is the most abominable of all crimes: high treason. I will release the names one by one as we track down the full network of their connections. No doubt that list will grow, but we will leave no stone unturned in our pursuit. We will destroy, root and branch, those who have sought to expose us to the enemy. The first name will be posted tomorrow on the door of the Centaurum, and another every day until this cancer is wiped out."
It was as if lightning had struck the Centaurum as the august company turned to look at one another in shock. Clusters formed before Durla's eyes, House alliances materializing along maps of blood and trust, suspicion blooming along the cracks. Who would be targeted first, they wondered, and what Houses would drag down others with them? The allies of Cholini, already in disarray, sat in the middle of an ever-shrinking island amidst the chaos, as other Houses withdrew into their own packs. Durla allowed himself a small smile and did not mind that there had been no customary applause at the end of his speech. He did not need their recognition after all, only their fear. He turned to leave the stage only to feel a hand close around his wrist. Durla glanced at it with mild interest and raised his eyes to Emperor Mollari, gone white with rage.
"And how many more names can I expect before this over, hmm?" Londo snarled under his breath.
"All that I can remember," Durla said. "And as for those who escape my memory, there will be time for them later."
"And who gave you the right?" Mollari growled.
"You did, your Majesty, when you displeased your allies. I'm afraid I must go. There is a great deal of work ahead," a simple flex of muscle and twist of his wrist freed his hand from Mollari's grasp and as he dismounted the dais he allowed himself a surge of pleasure at the memory of the of fear that had swept Mollari's face.
He had barely left the room when the first lord approached him, the head of House Caudo. The man's cheeks were red from the effort of catching up to Durla, and his round face poured sweat. "Prime Minister Durla!" Caudo puffed as he drew alongside. The man pulled a data crystal from his inner pocket and pressed it into Durla's hand. "I believe you will find what information House Caudo can provide on that. Terrible business it is, truly terrible. If there is anything we can do to help, we are at your service."
Durla accepted the data crystal, and placed it in the inner pocket of his coat. "You have my thanks, Lord Caudo. I'm sure this information will be most valuable in our investigation, once we have verified its authenticity. One cannot be too careful in these trying times."
Caudo's face went from red to white and he made a convulsive grab for the data crystal just as Durla withdrew his hand from his pocket. Caudo pulled back and composed himself, but the man ran an empire of spoo ranches and had no courtier's mastery of his expressions. "I, yes, I'm sure it will be Prime Minister," Caudo said with a nervous smile. "I hope this gesture will be remembered, even if some information is, unfortunately, only hearsay."
"Even hearsay can provide the clues that crack the most difficult cases. Your diligence will be remembered," Durla said. He gave the man a small, courteous smile but something about it unsettled Caudo, who gulped visibly, bowed far too deep for their difference in rank, and fled.
Caudo was only the first, but others followed, with more tact and grace than the first fool. Secrets jealously horded by the Great Houses for generations were turned over to a man who not ten years ago would have not have warranted a second glance. Durla watched his empire of information grow by leaps and bounds in the space of a few hours, and the next day he placed the first name on the door of the Centaurum.
Fear is a fickle creature, but Durla found he had a natural talent for it. The key lay in keeping it to a low simmer, for like the dumb beasts of the field a frightened populace will stampede as one if that fear were to boil over. Yet with each House climbing over the other to bring him information on their enemies, and before long their friends as well, there was no center around which to build a resistance. The Houses of the ministers loyal to Mollari fell first. Turis, Vitari and even canny Durano collapsing like dominos. It was only right that their fortunes be used to reconstruct the Republic they had sought to destroy, but with so much damage it was nearly impossible to track where the money went. Durla was not so stupid as to channel it all into his own pockets, he had the throne to look forward to after all, but the favors of his informants amongst the other Great Houses were not cheap and the ever-expanding rank of the court guard, critical to national security, was a necessary if astronomic expense.
Each day he took his place at the right hand of the Emperor as Mollari saw to the legions of petitioners. Each day the Emperor's glares grew more baleful, but Mollari never uttered a word against him and accepted the provided speeches and read them without comment or complaint. Yet Durla could see Mollari shrinking with each execution, his expression growing more haggard with every pronouncement of "guilty" he was ordered to read to the court.
It was nearly the anniversary of Durla's first year in office when Mollari cornered him. The man was clearly drunk, and his gaze swam slightly when he seized Durla's wrist as he came to deposit the next day's speeches on the Emperor's desk. A bottle of brivari sat empty on the polished surface, and there was no glass in sight. Mollari must have drunk directly from the bottle and at great speed. Certainly the man did not look well, his skin was clammy and the sticky alcohol still colored his lips and stained the front of his Imperial white coat with red droplets.
"You and I are going to have a little chat, my dear minister," Mollari said, slurring over the consonants with his pompous northern accent.
Durla dropped the papers so they fluttered in disarray onto the desk. Mollari's gaze did not follow them as Durla had hoped, untrained civilians were much easier to distract and Mollari's days as a war hero were decades past. He sighed internally, and twisted to pull his wrist free, only to feel something prod his side.
"Your men really should be more careful with these," Londo said. Light glinted along the barrel of a guard's standard issue PPG, the very ones Durla had ordered that year for concealed carry.
"And what is it you wished to speak about, your Majesty?" Durla said carefully. "Shooting your Prime Minister doesn't seem your style. You usually put them on trial first."
"You'd be surprised at what sort of thing becomes 'my style' given the incentive and enough to drink," Mollari said pleasantly. Durla shifted, changing his stance under the guise of discomfort for the awkward angle, half hunched over Mollari's desk with his wrist caught in Londo's hand and a gun buried in his side. "Ah, ah, stay still. You will notice I have not killed you yet. How strange, hmm? But as you say, your death would cause unfortunate questions, and as much as it would delight me personally, I simply do not have the time to deal with those at the moment. That being said, it would be equally unfortunate if my hand were to slip. A drunken accident, I'm afraid, terribly sad, the Emperor is quite mad you know. So, for now I will talk and you will listen and perhaps both of us will walk out that door. Do we have an agreement?"
Durla nodded. There was no guarantee that he could strike Mollari before the man could pull the trigger. His best bet was to simply wait until the alcohol caused the Emperor to slip, and then disarm him. At least they seemed to be in mutual agreement that it was too early to kill one another outright.
Londo settled back into his seat, dragging Durla closer and digging the gun more painfully into his ribs. "Contrary to appearances, minister, I can understand many things. For example, I understand why a low-ranking man such as you might make a deal with allies he cannot see, yes? Powerful allies, who smooth his way to the throne? I have seen your type before, Durla. I can show you their graves if you are curious, though I must say it will be a bit hard to find one of them as the pieces are quite… scattered. I did not arrive at the throne because I am a nice man. Now, you will answer my questions quickly, and without any dramatics, are we clear? Good. What I do not understand is this: how someone like you, a nobody with no House to speak of, can have so many enemies that you require the office of Prime Minister to rid yourself of them all. A colorful past, perhaps?"
Durla did not bristle at the 'nobody' comment because it was in fact true, and he had learned long ago not to let his family's lack of rank function as a weapon against him. But he made no effort to hide the sardonic arch of his eyebrow at Mollari's question. "Your Majesty, after all these years I should think someone as wise as you would see the pattern. After all, you are a master of the craft yourself."
"Humor me then," said Mollari with a flash of canines.
"Because they are traitors, of course."
Mollari's grip tightened spasmodically, his pleasant smile took on a plastic quality but did not fade. "Do you take me for a… there was no link between any of them, not a scrap."
"Precisely."
"This is not the time to play games, minister, my patience is a bit thin on the ground these days," Mollari said, and already a bit of the slurring had gone from his voice. He was recovering from the bottle at a remarkable rate, and at the sight of his urgency Durla deliberately slowed his speech.
"You know, I once thought you a master in this, your Majesty, truly I did. I thought you were adept at covering your tracks with chaos. Killing your own closest allies like that? No one could understand why, and what they could not understand they feared. But there was a pattern, wasn't there? They came too close to your other allies, the ones you've so selfishly kept to yourself. Sooner or later, any who discovered even the smallest hint of their presence was killed, before they could share that information. Durano, you remember him, your old Minister of Intelligence, once had a lovely phrase: the key to hiding something lies in entropy, not obscurity. Hidden information can be uncovered, and the care we put into concealing it provides its own clue. But leave information out in the open, amongst many false leads, and it becomes impossible to discover where the true value lies. I only did what you could not, Mollari. I hid your pattern in plain sight."
"In chaos and slaughter," Londo said, his voice hollow. "You're destroying the Great Houses, their families, the bedrock of our Republic, just to hide their tracks?"
"That is mere speculation on one of many possible explanations, your Majesty. As you should know, the official truth is that they were guilty of treason. And I do not believe it is a lie, if their deaths can serve our return to glory."
"Glory?" Mollari spat. "That is the old offer but it's not enough, not for someone like you. What else was it, Durla? What price could possibly be worth leaving Centauri Prime in ashes?"
"You misunderstand, Majesty, the proscriptions will continue so that Centauri Prime may survive. I have no wish to burn our people; I am trying to save them. Nor would I seek to replace you prematurely. I simply assumed that my services in the upcoming years would make me a prime candidate, what with your own lack of heirs."
"I'm afraid I have other plans, and you will be heir over my dead body, " said Mollari.
"That is rather the point, Majesty."
Londo gave a snort of amusement, but it seemed rather that he was laughing at a private joke, and for a moment his face cleared with something like relief, as if he was contemplating a bit of information that had escaped Durla's grasp. Durla filed the thought away for later, when he had time to look into the identity of this heir Mollari was grooming for office.
"So there is another part of your deal. Surely you would not allow them burn the planet you intend to rule?" Mollari said.
"I'm not sure I follow your meaning," Durla said. Mollari prodded him again with the gun, looking annoyed and just a little frantic. The alcohol was burning faster, and fifteen minutes in with only one bottle, Londo's time was short. Durla kept his expression smooth.
"These allies of yours have explained to you all the terms of our agreement, yes?" said Londo.
"As you say, Majesty, power in exchange for their modest requests. The same deal as I'm sure you worked out with them all those years ago, when you began the war with the Narn."
Durla watched with some secret amusement the dawning fear on Mollari's face. A simple, deliberate misunderstanding, but the effect it wrought on Mollari was devastating.
"Them? You think they are the ones who-" Whatever Mollari was about to say was broken off by a wracking fit of coughs. The Emperor doubled over as dry hacking shook him from head to toe and the gun in his hand wavered. Durla did not miss his chance, he took a step back and twisted his body, jerking the wrist clenched in Mollari's grip forward against the desk. With his free hand he smacked the barrel of the PPG away from his ribs. Mollari's hands trembled from the fit and the gun skittered across the desk and clattered to the floor. Durla did not spare a moment for Londo, who was paralyzed by his own spasms, and in two steps had collected the PPG from the ground.
The fit passed and Londo looked up, shock passing quickly over his face before he raised his white-gloved hands in surrender. Flecks of blood joined the spots of brivari on his pure white coat. "Who is the treasonous one now, Durla, raising a weapon to the Emperor?"
"Who says I'm raising a weapon to you, your Majesty?" Durla said, and tucked the PPG into his belt at the small of his back and out of sight. "I think we can both agree this was a regrettable incident, one that will not be repeated. I'm sure I need not remind you that my men are everywhere in the palace. They too know the Emperor is quite mad, and they will know who to shoot first if such a situation arises again."
"You're not the one who will kill me, Durla," Londo with a faint chuckle. "I hope you have factored that into your plans."
"Interpreting the death dream is an imprecise art, one I leave to the seers," said Durla. "Nevertheless, I have no intentions of harming you. There is still a great deal to be done and I like to have a clean slate when I begin a new job. You know they are already calling it Mollari's Terror? Such an honor I think I will leave to my predecessor." He turned his back very deliberately and walked towards the door.
"Durla," the Emperor said from behind him. Durla did not turn but he stopped at the door. "They are called the Drakh, and they are not your friends. They are holding our people hostage with fusion bombs planted in every major city. If I help them it is because I must, for Centauri Prime. They have… other means of making me do their bidding, ways you cannot see, and they will kill anyone who exposes them, including you."
"Ah, that does indeed solve one little mystery, your Majesty," said Durla. He slowly turned. Londo was studying him intently, the signs of his inebriation faded almost completely. But relief swept Londo's face. To be free of such a great secret would be an intense experience. It was almost a pity. "Or at least it would have a year ago. At first I did wonder how they made you so obedient, at least until they told me about your Keeper, and the alcohol you drink to subdue it. The effects are a little shorter each time, yes? Once it was a half hour, now it is little more than twenty minutes unless you drink yourself into a stupor. How much longer will it last, I wonder, if you continue to use it so recklessly?"
Mollari's expression froze, and he jerked his head up, his throat working. He looked like a man who had gambled everything and lost more than he thought possible. Which, in many ways, he had. After a long moment, Mollari composed himself, blanking his expression. Then glanced down and gave a rueful, defeated sigh. "So, they have captured you as well."
"There was no need. The fusion bombs were always meant as temporary insurance, and may yet prove useful if the uprisings begin at an inopportune time. They want our people angry, not dead, Mollari, otherwise they are of no use against the Alliance. That is why you too are still of use, a bad memory easily dispatched when the tide turns in our favor." As he spoke, Mollari's expression shifted again from frozen shock, thawing into rage.
"Then why let me live? Go on then, kill me now if you are so certain of them!" Mollari shouted, pounding a hand against his chest, but Durla could see through his bravado. The man's face was paler than usual, almost green.
"Not yet, I am saving you for a special occasion. When that happens our people will welcome our new allies and will not hesitate to offer them a home in exchange for their help."
"The Drakh have no interest in allies, they will destroy our people before they will share a world!" Mollari said, slicing a hand through the air for emphasis.
"In that you are wrong," said Durla. "The Drakh are few in numbers, they could not destroy us all even if they wished to, and the cost to them is too great to make an attempt. They were once part of a vast army for the Shadows, they are not jealous of sharing a planet with their allies."
"You would destroy our people on a gamble—" Mollari began slowly, but Durla cut him off.
"Is that any different than what you planned?" Durla said. "Setting yourself against them, hoping to somehow outmaneuver them with your death? They have seen into you mind, Mollari, they know about the Narn, about your plans. Our only choice is to ally ourselves with them. And is that such a terrible thing? The Drakh are powerful, and they share our goal to strike back at the Alliance."
"Who were our allies before the Drakh provoked them!" Mollari said, leaning forward and placing both hands on the desk as he shouted. He was trembling visibly now, whether with fear or rage Durla was now too far away to tell.
"Some allies. They bombed us without a second thought, without pausing to even reconsider the evidence. What makes you think they wouldn't have done it anyway given another excuse?" Londo's fingernails scratched across the desk as his hands clenched, and Durla knew he had struck a nerve. "We Centauri are better off on our own."
"Then we will die alone," Londo said, his voice growing hoarse.
"Or we will live, and take back our place in the galaxy."
Mollari barked a laugh. "Ah, that old line! I have heard it before and it doesn't impress me as it once did." He sobered. "This is a new age, and they are of the old age. They care nothing for us, Durla. They will drag us down with them, just so they can have their revenge."
"They are not so irrational. I have spoken with their leader, and they know our value."
"Yes, as cannon fodder." Mollari shook his head and took a deep breath before Durla could respond. Whether it was anger or fear, it drained away leaving only a sort of implacable calm. "Do you want me to beg, Prime Minister? I will beg. Open your eyes. You have the power to save us all. You can contact the Alliance. Tell them the Drakh are here, that they are responsible for the Regent's attacks. Kill me if you must, but for our people, not for their destroyers." He paused, his face haggard and far older than Durla had ever seen him. "Please."
"And if I do not, you will rely on your prophecies to save us? A death dream and the vision of an addled widow?" Durla said.
"If you help me," Londo said carefully. "I will not have to."
Durla paused and considered Mollari's words. It was a gamble, true, but a straightforward one. On the one hand the Alliance, dominated these days by the Drazi and the Narn, already showed signs of internal strain as the different races bickered and Sheridan rushed with his half-breed wife around the galaxy putting out brush fires. On the other, the heirs to the Shadows, armed with technology millennia in advance of anything the Centauri possessed. True they had their personal vendetta against Mollari, but Durla had their assurances that they welcomed an ally in exchange for a home. The fusion bombs were a concern, but what were they against the armadas of a vengeful Alliance? One group only threatened the Centauri with fire; the other had already used it.
"I will not turn my back on the Centauri's only hope for power," Durla said. "Trust to your prophecies and dreams, Mollari, and I will trust to the Drakh. We'll see who makes it to the finish line." Londo's shoulders sank, as whatever fervor had carried him drained away, and in that moment the Prime Minister did not regret his choice to side against the superstitious old man.
"They will make you their puppet, and our people will suffer for it," Londo said, staring down at his hands on the desk. His voice cracked on the words.
"Only one of us wears a collar, your Majesty," Durla said, tapping two fingers against his own shoulder in the spot where he knew the parasite crouched. "We'll see in the end who is the puppet."
A tremor ran down Londo's body and his hand came up reflexively, stopping at nape of his neck. He gave a strangled groan, his face contorting, but at the sight of Durla watching Londo's eyes darkened and he put a hand over his face to hide his agony.
"There is no need for that, Shiv'kala," Durla said to the empty air. "He has not told me anything that will change my mind.
The strangled gasps halted, as Durla knew they would. Mollari's hand dropped from his face and he looked down at it, eyes wide in shock, and then up at Durla.
Durla turned without a second glance and opened the door. On the other side, hidden in the shadows of a corner, stood Shiv'kala. True the Drakh were ugly to look upon, with their red eyes and skin like dark, cragged stone, but Durla was not one to judge by appearances. Not that anyone would see Shiv'kala if they were to suddenly round the corner. The Drakh had a peculiar talent for hiding themselves in plain site, a talent Durla could appreciate.
"On second thought," Durla murmured as if talking to himself. "Perhaps he deserves a lesson in guarding his tongue. There's no knowing when he may try that sort of thing again."
Shiv'kala nodded in silent agreement. Durla pulled the door shut behind him just as the screams began.
The Drakh's choice to replace Londo Mollari with Vir Cotto had surprised Durla, but not for long. The reasoning was sound, after all. Londo Mollari, for all his reliance on predictions and superstitions, was a canny politicians and manipulator. Once roused, he could do great damage to their plans, damage that would be difficult to correct. Vir Cotto on the other hand, was a bumbling fool, and had been left to his devices as ambassador to the Alliance for that reason. His duties were few, as was the information he was given from the home world. He had been kept almost completely in the dark about the proscriptions in the capital, and once told he stumbled over himself in shock. It would be months before Cotto gathered enough wits to tie his own shoes, let alone show Durla the slightest resistant.
It would be useful, to have an Emperor who was so easily intimidated. The Keeper had its uses, but its use still required the good will of Shiv'kala, and Durla was saving that for other purposes. Simple intimidation, on the other hand, could be employed without oversight or evidence. His only doubts had been on keeping Londo alive, but Shiv'kala pointed out that deal would keep Cotto tractable, and Durla understood the value of a hostage for Cotto's good behavior. Babylon 5 was not so far, after all. And it might prove useful later to recall the old Emperor, with tales of kidnapping and torture at the hands of the Alliance, also easily provided.
All this Durla considered as he watched Cotto's coronation from a place of honor at the top of the steps. The vows were made before the temple of the Great Maker, and Durla suppressed a wince as the fool stumbled over the words, casting surreptitious looks over his shoulder all the while. Once he might have been annoyed that Cotto's turn came before his as Emperor, but that was before he had understood the full breadth of the work before him. It would take years to refashion Centauri Prime, and the road would be a bloody one. Mollari had been growing old, and his health was failing, Cotto would operate for many years as a scapegoat before he was dispatched. And from the looks of it Durla wouldn't even need a weapon, the coward looked as if he could be be simply frightened to death.
Blood means nothing. No one is safe. There is no value in loyalty. Durla mused on these as the priest lowered the Imperial Seal around Cotto's throat, brushing past the unseen Keeper. Durla could not help but wonder what lesson he would learn from Emperor Vir Cotto.
Author Notes: Special thanks to Roman Dictator Lucius Cornelius Sulla and U.S. Senator Joseph McCarthy for lending inspiration to this chapter.
Thank you for your patience, and for reading! I put unbelievable hours of work and thought into this fic, so any and all comments make that time well spent!
To follow the progress of this fic in between chapters, or just geek out about Babylon 5, check out my tumblr blog at avelera. tumblr tagged/road-from-hell (without the spaces).