It spoke to the nature of Londo's life that he did not have to open his eyes to know he was waking up in medlab. The stiff, narrow cot, the obnoxious beep and whirr of medical machinery, ah , it was like coming home. It was also testament to his too-frequent visits that he felt remarkably rested, unusually so. Perhaps he was growing used to the plank of wood that was their excuse for a bed? Now there was a depressing thought.
He grimaced and cracked an eye open cautiously. When the glare of the ceiling lights did not drive an answering stab of pain through his skull he opened the other. As a decorated veteran of many a hangover it always paid to be careful about these things. Yes, it was indeed medlab. Same blinking instruments, same wretched décor, if it could be called that. A white curtain had been drawn around his bed, but he could see the silhouettes of the medical staff as they passed. Best not to call attention to himself just yet, if Franklin was on duty he'd no doubt force Londo to down some truly horrific concoction and eat whatever form of torture they were currently serving as "food". He moved to push himself up in the bed and only then caught sight of the I.V. bandaged to the back of his hand. It was connected to a bag of fluid hanging by the side of the bed.
Londo blinked. Often as he woke up in medlab (too often. Go to Babylon 5, they said, it'll be good for your career they said. Bah.) he normally didn't do so being pumped full of fluids unless it was truly serious. He propped himself up more carefully, mindful of the long tube trailing from his hand, and looked around. A glass sat by the bedside. Water, of course, but his mouth was dry and tasted vaguely of two-week old socks so he downed half of it, though he made a face in protest as he did so. Franklin would no doubt tell him to anyway, and the sooner he could convince that tyrant he had recovered from whatever unfortunate business had taken place, the sooner he could have some real food and change out of whatever hideous hospital gown they had stuffed him into this time. With luck he could avoid a meal in medlab entirely, which was always something to celebrate. If he could he make it out unseen and with some of his dignity intact he might declare a complete victory, but that was no doubt too much to ask. If it had indeed been a truly legendary night of drinking that brought him here rather than oh, say, another of the numerous attempts on his life, then the details would already be common knowledge on the station. Vir would know, or perhaps G'Kar. He must remember to ask.
Still, something was nagging at the back of his mind, plucking at his consciousness with the irritating persistence of an itch. Something about being on Babylon 5, as if that would somehow be unusual. He replaced the glass on the bedside table, his gaze lingering on the sleeve of the hospital gown as he did so. He frowned. It was the usual cheap fabric, the same texture as the sheets and pillowcases. Bleached as it was by many washings, the cloth it was a flat, faded white, an improvement over their usual putrid green. The color was familiar on his arm nonetheless, strangely so, even if the material was wrong. He pressed two fingers to his temple, as if he could massage away the sense of unease, of something forgotten.
Vir…
"Ah, yes," he said, and fell back against the headrest, closing his eyes.
It wasn't just the material of the robe. All of this was wrong. He shouldn't be here, on Babylon 5, the Drakh would never allow him to return without their permission. It was all trickling back to him now, as if the color of the fabric had begun an avalanche.
Vir, Shiv'Kala, the Drakh, of course. He remembered those last panicked minutes when he tried to make a run for it, Darro's blood-stained teeth as he said…something, about the transport to Babylon 5.
It was no wonder he felt rested, being on Babylon 5 meant at least two days had past. He hadn't been unconscious for so long since his heart attack, under equally relaxing circumstances. Still, something was not right, even with some concocted tale about his retirement he should be swarmed with attendants. Retired, he snorted at the thought, as if Centauri Emperors retired. The only way to remove oneself from that seat was in a body bag. Always natural causes of course, considering how poison was considered a natural causes among the highest echelons of the Centauri court.
There was no question: he should not be alive, and had not expected to be from the moment Shiv'Kala's hand closed over his vision. A chill trickled down his spine at the memory. Was Vir's bargain responsible for this? Hard to believe that the Drakh would let him go. Vir always had been too naïve in such matters, but then if there was anything the Shadows and their servants were known for it was keeping their bargains.
Vir. Gods, if two days had past and he was on Babylon 5 there was no telling what state the boy was in. He would need to find a comm channel back to Centauri Prime, if he could even get through. He of all people knew how hard it was to get through to contact anyone in the palace.
Londo studied the I.V. in his arms, debating whether it looked too important to rip out, when the curtain around his hospital room opened with a swish.
"Your Majesty?" There was a clatter of plastic and silverware. Londo looked up from his contemplation of the I.V. to see a young Centauri woman standing beside his bed. Her mouth was open, and at her feet were the ruins of something that was no doubt as inoffensive to the stomach as it was tasteless, as well as a splatter of that green gloop the Humans called "jello".
Londo stared back, a spark of recognition firing at the back of his mind. He groped for a name. The tail of the woman's light brown hair was pulled back into a loose braid, with strands escaping in a frizz that only added to her bewildered expression. Her face, pale and haggard though it was, tickling a memory of a petite form hunched over a scroll, surely going blind amongst the dusty shelves of the Imperial archives, and smiling wanly over late-night jala. "Miss Cantori?"
"I just… went out to get something to eat…" Aela said, pointing vaguely over her shoulder. "I was only going to be gone for a minute. I'm sorry. I should have been here."
Londo waved a hand dismissively. "Miss Cantori, I do not even know why you are here, so let me assure you I hold no grudge at your absence. I certainly don't blame you for getting something to eat, even if I might pity your choice of cuisine."
"It's just I've been waiting for days and I leave for five minutes and of course that's when you wake up," Aela said helplessly. "Your Majesty, a lot has happened while you were unconscious."
"Yes, I'm beginning to realize that. But, if the world is still spinning after two whole days I'm sure another fifteen minutes will not matter. Get yourself more of…whatever that was," he gave the fallen tray a look of distaste and sighed, "and you might as well get me one as well. Then you can fill me in on what has happened."
Aela nodded but shifted from one foot the other, crossing her arms in front of her as said, "Of course. But, your Majesty, it's been more than two days."
Londo stilled, and the first cold drops of apprehension trickled down his spine as he asked, "How long?"
Aela bit her lip. "A week."
"A week?" A cough tore through Londo and he doubled over, hacking until he thought he would turn inside out. Aela scrambled and passed him the half-finished glass of water. He had not realized how dry his throat was but after a week (Great Maker, a week?) it was no wonder he was parched. When storm of coughing finally passed, he managed to wheeze. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know!" Aela said. "Nobody knew! The doctor on the transport said there was nothing wrong with you, and the one here said the same thing. And then the telepath…"
"A telepath?" The chill of fear became a flood. "That was… ill-advised," Londo said, his voice hoarse. He coughed to clear it, recovered his façade of good humored irritation. "There are things in my head that would best not see the light of day, child." A cold sweat prickled at his forehead. State secrets were only the beginning. The four lidari, the white-veiled telepaths that served Emperor, were forbidden from his side. Once he had thought to sneak other telepaths in, to look the other way and hope the message would fly without his guidance. That was the first death. There were many more before the last of the telepaths vanished from the capital.
Aela shook her head. "It was a Human telepath, and she were only authorized to do a diagnostic, not a deep scan. She said there was no signs of tampering in your mind. As far as she could tell you were only sleeping."
Relief, but he was no longer one to believe good news on the first telling. "There was nothing else? Nothing… strange?" Londo said cautiously.
Aela shook her head. "Only dreams."
Londo released a breath, but the fear draining away only made room for confusion. Nothing? Not even the memory of Shiv'Kala's clawed hand as it closed around his face? Then again, why interpret a creature from nightmare as anything more than the product of fever dreams? He dismissed the thought. There were more pressing matters. "Well, there's nothing for it now. You might as well dispense with the formalities, my dear, otherwise we'll lose another month to ceremony. I imagine in any case the title no longer applies, yes?" Aela shook her head and looked down. Color stained her cheeks, anger rather than embarrassment if he was any judge. "I thought as much. No, there's no use in being angry about it now. Go, and once you're back we will go through it all line by line, hmm? I've learned there's very little point worrying about anything until all the facts are on the table." Aela nodded reluctantly and ducked out of the curtain.
In a few minutes Aela had fetched them a second pair of trays and settled into a rather uncomfortable looking plastic chair beside the bed. The food, some pasty mixture of chicken and rice that was bland enough to be tolerated by a vast array of alien physiologies, was offset by jello so green it looked positively radioactive. Londo regarded the tray with some suspicion, not sure if he was more depressed by the contents or the fact he might actually be hungry enough to eat them. Aela was digging into her own with the neutral expression of many day's practice, which reminded him: "While I find the devotion admirable, you never did tell me why you remained by my side this whole time. Surely you have a room somewhere here, on the station? Dr. Franklin would have sent for you once I was awake."
Aela shook her head and swallowed. "We had quarters assigned by the government for the next three months, but considering the circumstances… Well, I may be new to all of this, but being where they expect doesn't seem conducive to a long and healthy life. And what safer place than the medlab when sprouting a knife in the back?" She said the last with a wan smile, but it faded in short order as she continued. "I don't know who Dr. Franklin is, Dr. Hobbs is the chief medical officer, and she said she'll need you out of here later today if you're well enough to go, they're always short on beds. But I'm not sure what to do if we don't take the quarters offered by the government, or what we'll do when the three months is up. I've been looking into a job, but there's not much for an archivist on a space station. I've heard there are monks…"
"Never mind that," Londo said, waving a hand to dismiss her words as if they were smoke clouding the air. Franklin, gone? Why hadn't he heard of this? Where had the man gone to? He considered the question, lost in thoughts of that annoying but at times very useful man, only to see Aela had finally lost enough deference to glare at him.
"Never mind that? Your Maj—Londo, I'm not sure you know this but Babylon 5 is extremely expensive, and we've been banned from all Centauri territory. I lost all my money, and even worse my research. How we survive here is something I do mind, very much!" Her jaw clenched and her eyes glistened with what could be unshed tears. If not for her obvious distress Londo might have laughed.
"My dear, one does not become Emperor without becoming very good at, shall we say, resource management? Politics can be a fickle mistress, there's no telling when one will need to make a quick exit." His grin sharpened as understanding dawned on Aela's feature. "Even my wives would not be able to find all the accounts I have hidden away, though they would have very much liked to. And yes, several of them tie back here. As I said before, never mind about funds, we have quite enough on our plate as it is." At the reminder, he glanced back at his plate. All that remained was the rather questionable jello, taunting him. His stomach growled.
"But are you sure there will be enough?" Aela said.
"In my day, 10,000 credits was a rather modest bribe for a few minutes of the Prime Minister's time, simply on the hope that he would hear your case, so yes I think we will manage. But just to put your fears to rest, here," Londo took a pen and pad from the table beside the bed and scrawled a number on it. No time for a proper code of any kind should it fall in the wrong hands, writing out the numbers in the Old Centauri alphabet would have to do. He could see by the way Aela's brows drew together that she recognized the script. Ah, Old Centauri, useful for showing off at cocktail parties and for quickly hiding communications from all but the most educated courtiers and aliens. "That is the account number for one of the accounts I based here. More than enough to finance several years in a pleasure dome, let alone on this rusted can. Take it, it's yours. Later I want you to find us another room and proper supplies. I'd add a bodyguard too, but I've found I end up protecting them most of the time."
Aela was staring at the folded scrap of paper in astonishment. "You trust me with this?"
"If I cannot trust you, then there's not much good the account will do me anyway, hmm?" Aela eyes widened but she folded the slip of paper into her hand nonetheless. "Now," Londo continued, "Tell me, from the beginning, what you saw."
Aela nodded and began to speak, haltingly at first, giving a garbled account of being dragged from her room with no time to pack and barely to dress, then forced at gunpoint onto a shuttle with his unconscious body and no explanation. A two day flight to Babylon 5, where she had not known if every visit by the guard brought relief or death. Once on the station she had followed him to medlab, using their new IDs to stay by his side as his granddaughter.
"Granddaughter? Fah, I can't possibly be that much older than you," Londo scoffed.
Aela shrugged, but small smile played the corner of her lips. "Just playing along, your Majesty."
Londo grumbled on behalf of injured pride, but waved for Aela to continue. She spread her hands. "That is all that happened. But the reason? That is a bit more complex, and though I have my guesses…" Aela looked down. "I'm afraid if I am correct, the news will be very painful to you."
"Then I will have to manage," Londo said. He leaned forward and pressed his fingers to his lips. "Continue."
"Before our exile, I had reason to believe there was something…very wrong in the palace, something that centered around you. When I dug further I discovered a word…one I have been told never to speak, or millions could die."
Londo knew without guessing what it might be. Drakh. It would explain how Vir had come up with the name seemingly from thin air. Yet something felt off. He felt off. Perhaps it was the jello, which he had forced down while Aela spoke, trying his best not to think about it. It was as bad as he feared, reminiscent of some of the more questionable cocktails he had tasted, in this case when they had come up the other way. In any case, he felt strangely disconnected, tired. He shook his head to clear it. "There's no need to repeat it, I believe I have as good a sense as you for what it is. So, you learned this…word. Then what?"
"There was no way to act upon it, no one I could trust except… Ambassador Cotto." The anger was back, sharpening her expression and her words. "I was fool to do so. He is Emperor now, I can only assume the word was his signal to seize the throne. I am sorry, your Majesty."
Londo did not correct her slip in using his title. He had no heart to, her face was a picture of misery, and whether vice or virtue (both seemed to get him in trouble with equal frequency) he never had many defenses against a woman in distress. "There, there, my dear." Londo patting her hand absently. "Even if that were the case, it is not your fault."
"I should have known Cotto was one of them!" Aela said. "How could I have been so stupid? I never should have trusted him, I never should have trusted anyone. If only I had come to you instead…"
"Then you would have died before you finished your sentence," Londo snapped. "Were your actions reckless? Yes. Foolish? Staggeringly so. But if you're going to do something reckless and foolish then you could not have picked a better partner."
Aela sniffled and pulled back, her brow furrowed. "He betrayed you."
"Vir?" Londo gave a startled laugh. "He does not know the meaning of the word."
"He took your throne and then exiled you!"
"And need I point out that we are still alive? How often do you think the Emperor survives a palace coup, hmm? Come now, you're the historian, tell me."
Aela's lips drew to a thin line as she thought. After a moment she shook her head. "A few, but none that were successful."
"Then trust me when I say Vir is the least of your concerns right now." And the greatest of mine.
"But that is not all he's done," Aela pressed. "He told the people you are dead. Assassinated, by the Alliance. Millions are rioting."
"Only politics," Londo said flippantly. Sometimes leadership was just appearing calm enough to keep others from panicking as well. But, dead? This did complicate matters. "Trust me, the last thing anyone wants is a deposed Emperor as a rallying point for malcontents. No, I'm sure Vir knew what he was doing."
Just as sure as he knew it was not Vir, who lacked the cunning to consider such a route. Even worse, the first day after receiving a Keeper was like a bout of the flu, Vir would have been nearly delirious, barely capable of complex thought let alone political maneuvering. No, this reeked of Durla. The man never had understood the pulse of the people. Like many who knew only the later years of Turhan and Cartagia, Durla had little respect for the throne, seeing it only as a prize to be won. He could never understand that for those who had known Turhan's father, who kept to the old ways, the Emperor was the soul of the people. A depressing thought when one considered the latest examples of the office.
"Miss Cantori," Londo continued. "I said this could wait, but we have less time than I thought. Take the account and once you have the credits go to these shops." He took back the paper and scrawled the name of several shops as well as a rudimentary map of the station. "I have a very important call, and I'm not going to make it dressed as a recent escapee from a lunatic asylum. I'm sure there's quite enough about me to complete the image as it is. Then I need you back here within the hour."
Aela took the list, eyebrows climbing her forehead as she read it. "I'm not sure I'll be able to—"
"Good, now get going. There's no time to waste!" Aela stood automatically, but was still staring at the list. Her eyebrows rose higher. "And while you're out, get something nice for yourself, yes?"
"But—"
"Go!" Londo said, making a shooing motion. Aela squeaked and ducked out the curtain.
Once she was gone, Londo settled back against the bed. The beep and whirr of the monitors were pinpricks of sound against the background hum of medlab.
His hand crept to his shoulder, fingertips hovering over the empty space there, tracing the worn collar of the hospital gown. Even to come so close sent a thrill of vertigo through him, a sense of disconnection from his own body. The Keeper had always been quick, overpowering muscles and pouring fire into nerves if it sensed any intention to touch its hiding place. As if he had needed the reminder. Ripping it off had only bought him a few hour's autonomy, the impudence paid for with blood. He winced, a reflex of remembered pain, his brow smoothing when it did not come. With a defiant grimace he closed his hand over his shoulder.
Nothing. As if the past five years had been only a nightmare. After a moment he took a deep breath, far shakier than he would ever admit, and probed beneath the collar. The skin was unbroken, with not even a scab to say the parasite had ever been. A shiver wracked him crown to toe and he released a harsh breath. Relief, sharp, sweet…hysterical… rose in his throat, choked him. He closed his eyes and held his breath against it. There was no time for it now. Vir had clasped his wrists in farewell, taking all certainty with him. No, no time for this either. He pushed the thought away. If his hand trembled as it clutched at the empty spot at his throat, it was only so he could be certain nothing lingered beneath the skin, and if moisture escaped as he opened his eyes it was only because the hospital lights were far too bright.
There was no time to mourn. If Aela believed Vir was responsible for his overthrow then there would be others as well. He freed his hand from his shoulder and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. The announcement of his death would only complicate matters, just as Durla intended. It wouldn't matter if he was seen on the station, with so many rumors already flying and the government stranglehold on information, the Centauri would not know what to believe, but whatever they did it certainly wouldn't be the Alliance's version. Sheridan and Delenn may have washed their hands of Centauri internal politics, but they would need to know some version of the truth, if only to be reminded that Vir was no assassin. Great Maker knew what story he'd need to craft to explain everything while telling nothing, but then the Drakh never had cared what excuse he made as long it kept their secret…
His hand fell from his face and he stared forward, unseeing. Then a slow, sharp smile tugged at the corner of his lips, widening to reveal sharper canines in a wide, incredulous grin. Londo Mollari gave a short, startled laugh.
Then he began to plan.
Aela found him like that just over an hour later, cursing under his breath as he tried to make some notes fit onto the paltry notepad that had been left by the bedside. He held one of the pieces up triumphantly as he approached. "Ah, Miss Cantori, and not a minute too soon. I trust you were able to find everything?"
The wild look had not left Aela's eyes from when she departed, if anything she looked more frazzled as she juggled an armload of boxes that threatened to overbalance her. "Some of the shops have since closed," she gasped. She deposited the unwieldy tower on the floor with a clatter. "The others were on opposite ends of the station from each other. I'm going to assume you didn't know that."
"I was on this station six years, of course I knew—"
"For both of our sakes," Aela finished.
Londo's eyebrows rose but after a moment facing down a very red faced, out-of-breath Aela he turned his attention to the mound of boxes. "Ah," he said, dropping the notes and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "What did you find?"
Aela glared for a moment longer then relented, picking up the top of the boxes. "I thought we'd need to keep a low profile for awhile, so I tried to keep it simple. Unfortunately, none of the measurements were quite right, but it should do for now," she said, opening the first box to reveal an array of simple browns coats, vests, and plain white tunics. Merchant colors, unlikely to draw attention. "The tailor you listed only had one item with your exact measurements. It's far too flashy, garish really, but," she shrugged, "since money wasn't an object, I took it."
Londo nodded absently as he flipped through the layers of clothing, when a thought occurred to him and he looked up, puzzled. "I never told you my measurements."
"About that…" Aela said, and had somehow managed to flush to the tips of her ears. "I realized that in the first shop. Luckily it seems the, uh, Humans have some strange interests."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Their tabloids are, umm, surprisingly well informed," Aela, turning one of the box lids over in her hand, her gaze fixed on it as if it contained the secrets of the universe. "I'm not sure why Humans are interested in which galaxy leader has the best "beach body", but—"
"Never mind, I think I already understand. Far too well."
"Entil'Zha Delenn was the winner, if it's any consolation."
"At least they have some taste. Do I dare ask where I ranked?"
"You're probably better off not knowing," Aela said, and ducked down to open one of the boxes from the bottom of the pile. "This is the one that would fit, at least until we can have the others modified. Like I said, it's terribly ugly, but you only need to wear it until we get to the room." She removed a folded coat from the tissue and presented it to him.
Perhaps the universe really was laughing at him, Londo thought as he took the coat. Purple. It would have to be purple. Even before he slipped it on he knew it would fit like a glove. There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation, if it was indeed from his old tailor it could very well have been made for him and simply left to gather dust at the back of the shop when he did not come to collect it. He was no seer to tell coincidence from omen, and omens had done him little good of late.
"One of you will be Emperor, after the other is dead," he murmured.
"What was that?" Aela said, looking up from the boxes.
"She said, 'one of you will be Emperor, after the other is dead.' I thought I knew what it meant," Londo said. The purple fabric of the coat covered the white hospital gown to the wrist. How long since he had looked down and seen anything but white?
Aela must have sensed the change in his mood. She replaced the lid on the box and settled into the chair beside the bed, leaning over with her hands in her lap. "Even when prophecy comes true it is rarely in the way we expect, and even true seers misinterpret what they see. Emperor Tuscano's seer told him if he went to war with the Xon a great empire would fall, but would it be his or the Xon? The seer could not say, and in the end he made the prophecy his own. It could just as easily have gone the other way, and the seer would still have been right." Aela shrugged. "Or, after all these years, who's to say she wasn't a fraud? Of course it is against our tradition to say so. Regardless, if Tuscano had not fought, the Xon Empire would not have fallen. Our people would have been destroyed and the Republic would never have been born. In the end, I believe history shows we make our own prophecy."
"No," Londo said, shaking his head. "No, she saw true. She knew I would be Emperor long before I became Prime Minister."
"So this woman, this seer," Aela said. "Said that you would be Emperor and that someone else would be Emperor after you died. Is that…Vir Cotto?"
Londo nodded, lost in thought. Again that sick feeling opened in his stomach, that they were hurtling off course through and unfamiliar and uncaring reality. Once he had laughed at the thought Vir would be Emperor, but some days these past years it was the thought that kept him from despair. All gone now, all wasted because the fool boy had developed a martyr complex. He must have learned it from Sheridan, Londo never should have left him alone on the station for so long. Perhaps if he had found Vir a wife, they were useful for eating up one's time and money, though perhaps not at curbing thoughts of suicide.
"So it came true."
"What?" Londo said, rousing. Aela leaned forward in her seat and was staring at him.
"The prophecy came true. Vir Cotto is now Emperor and, as far as anyone back home is concerned, you're dead."
"No, that's not what she-" Londo stopped, straightened. "Yes. Yes, you're right. She said these visions were changeable, that some actions could prevent them… So I may still be on target."
"On target?"
"For my appointment. Which means there is still hope. Now, I need you to find someone to have these sent to our quarters—not just yet!" He rummaged through the boxes and dug out a crisp white shirt, a vest, and trousers, while Aela pulled out a pair of boots from somewhere near the bottom. "Right, have what's leftover sent to our quarters and meet me back here in ten minutes, with the doctor! We have a great deal to do and not much time to do it."
"Your Maj—Londo, are you sure this is wise? We're probably being watched, we should keep a low profile."
"That, my dear, is exactly what they expect of us, and is exactly why we are going to do the opposite." Londo said, and graced her with a smile that would not look out of place on a very large, very hungry shark.
With the speed at which Hobbs had discharged him, you would think she was eager to be rid of him. Bah, she could not possibly want him out more than he wanted to be out. His feet found the path through the winding halls of the station with hardly any of his brain's participation. Just as well, as he had other matters on his mind.
Aela trotted up behind him. "You- please, you have to slow down. You just left the hospital. And—" Aela dodged the crowds that swarmed around him. She was practically jogging to keep up with his ground-devouring stride. She bent in at ear level as she caught up and hissed. "We're going to attract too much attention."
"As if anyone would be looking at an old Centauri and his granddaughter," Londo said. Aela had the grace to look bashful, at least until she began to fall behind again. It was true, while purple may be a color worn only by the old guard of the Centauri nobility, the brooches and jewels he had once worn were tucked away somewhere in House Mollari. Even the height of his crest, a clear sign to any Centauri of his rank, could easily be mistaken for delusions of grandeur. Overall he would appear quite unremarkable, and he did not like to admit the sense of disquiet he felt as gazes slid off him without a second thought. After all these years, he was unused to disinterest when not a week before every eye was on him whenever he entered a room. It seemed Imperial white had some uses after all, at least when forcing one's way through a crowd.
"You still haven't told me where we're going," said Aela.
"The Green Sector, dear lady," Londo said. "To indulge in a little breaking and entering."
Aela yelped behind him and began to say something before stopping in her tracks, inches from colliding with Londo. They had reached the end of the winding corridors, the bottleneck expanding out into the great bazaar of the station: the Zocalo. He stopped, and he not leaned over to brace himself against the wall he might have been knocked to the ground in the rush that passed them by.
Colored lights blinked and flashed, advertising news, wares and services. Shop stalls lined the avenue that ran through the center of the station, dotted with bars and gambling tables. The elevator for Green Sector lay on the other side of the hubbub but Londo was frozen. His chest tightened as if a great fist was clenched around his hearts.
When he moved again his steps were halting, and he threaded his way through the stalls and tables, his fingers sometimes lightly tracing the back of a chair, or the polished surface of a gaming table. The hum of Interlac, Minbari, Brakiri, Narn, the myriad languages of the station rose around him, and if he listened he could pick out a phrase here, an exclamation there. It flowed around him like a stream and if he stood a bit straighter, if his eyes flashed through a spectrum of delight and sorrow, the bar there where he had his drinks with Mr. Garibaldi, or saw the table he had once called "lucky", well, it had been a very long time, had it not? But not so long that he missed even a step. He could have made his way to the other side blindfolded. Strange how sharp the memory remained, for all that he had tried not to think about the place.
A touch at his elbow pulled him back from the reverie. "In a moment, Vir, can't you see I'm busy?" he murmured.
A sharp hiss of breath broke the last tendrils of the spell. He turned to see Aela looking at his with wide, haunted eyes, or perhaps that was only his reflection. "People are beginning to look at us. I think they recognize you."
They had stopped in front of the Eclipse Café, and a familiar dark head was peering out, wide-eyed, over the heads of the customers. "Ah, that would be Kat, an old friend. As you can see, she works as a bartender on the station. Surprising that she is still here, what with the flight of officers from the station. The woman is an institution."
"Londo, she looks like she's seen a ghost," Aela whispered, nodding towards Kat.
Londo made a noncommittal noise, squinting past the now white-faced bartender. There was something going on with the viewing screens above the bar. A camera sweeping across a vast crowd. For a moment he thought he recognized the domes and colonnades of Centaullus, but the scene changed to a Human woman speaking earnestly as she read off a sheet of paper. There was scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, but he felt another insistent tug at his elbow before he could make it out. "Alright, alright, we'll go."
There was at least one positive outcome to his voluntary withdrawal from the station all those years ago, when the situation with the raiders was coming to a head and the first finger leveled at Centauri Prime. Because he had withdrawn voluntarily, he had never been formally banished, and thus his diplomatic status had never been revoked. Nor had Mr. Allan taken the necessary steps to block Londo's old codes, though perhaps that had something to do with his rapid "promotion". Revoking station access to the new Centauri Emperor could be seen as something of an insult.
This did not, however, guarantee access to the rooms themselves, Londo realized as he stopped in front of their destination and pressed a finger to his lips as he contemplated the keypad. A dreadful suspicion began to dawn on him.
"What is this place?" Aela said.
"The ambassadorial quarters," Londo replied without looking at her. Nevertheless he felt her start.
"We can't go in there, it's illegal!"
Londo gave her a sidelong look. "Miss Cantori, need I point out the stunningly obvious fact that the ambassador of the station works for me? The Republic pays for these rooms making them, by extension, mine. Perhaps more so now than they ever were before." He turned back to the keypad and began typing in the first number that came to mind.
"You remember the override code?" Aela said, sounding duly impressed.
Londo sighed. "If only that were the case. No, I'm afraid that would be too much to hope for. What we lack in planning and skill we will have to make up for," he finished typing. The door hissed open. Londo hung his head. "…In misplaced trust and a bad memory. When this is all over I will have a very serious chat with Vir about changing his code more than once per century."
"He hasn't changed his code in five years?"
Londo's expression grew pained. "Worse. He hasn't changed my code." He stepped into the room, noting how much had changed since he had last occupied these quarters. His own personal touches now adorned his office back in the palace, and there would be a reckoning of an entirely different sort if the new regime tampered with anything there. The alternative was that Vir would find it and come to the entirely wrong conclusion, which in this case would be the accurate one and therefore embarrassing for everyone.
Vir's décor was unforgivably basic for a Centauri, showing very little of the homeworld's flavor. Instead of the rich colors and ornate patterns popular in the court. there were plain walls covered with a veritable gift shop of alien souvenirs, some of which looked rather cheap and all of which were unbefitting of the Centauri ambassador. Of course it was acceptable to keep a few such items on display, certain diplomatic guests would be offended if they learned the sacred statue they had given you at the last Intergalactic Religious Festival, or whatever nonsense pageantry Sheridan was promoting this week, was now being used as paperweight. That didn't mean you put every single gift on display until they crowded out the living space.
Visible through the door to the bedroom as an unmade bed and clothes scattered across the floor and trailing out of the closet, as if Vir had left packing to the last minute, which he almost certainly had, and then dashed out the door. No one appeared to have entered the quarters since they were last vacated, which of course meant that spies from nearly every single race had tramped through, removed each other's listening bugs and replaced them with their own. If they even needed to, some of those souvenirs looked rather suspiciously capable of containing electronics, and he despaired that Vir had learned anything of suspicion since the incident with the Drazi. Perhaps there was some benefit after all in the Drakh forcing him to keep Vir in the dark.
Aela entered furtively behind him, closing the door and looking about the room with some bewilderment. "It's… not what I expected," she said.
"Hardly the quarters of a political mastermind, yes? I'm afraid to someone like Vir, subterfuge is just a ten letter word starting with 's'. You'll understand my skepticism that he was behind a plot to seize the throne, when hiring a competent decorator seems quite beyond him."
Aela grimaced. "Or it may be only a clever mask. No one would suspect him, not even you."
Londo's grin faded. "No. Vir is exactly what he appears on the surface, and always has been. He is… uncomplicated, a terrible liar, and devoid of any real ambition or cunning. In short, he is a good man."
"You're saying he's harmless, after everything he did?" Aela said heatedly.
Londo gave her a sharp look. "Haven't you been listening? I said he is a good man. I cannot think of a single more dangerous force in the universe. If Vir Cotto had truly decided I was the enemy, you and I would not be having this conversation."
Aela went silent at this, chastened but still looking skeptical. "You never did say why we needed to come here," she said after a moment.
"We are here," Londo said, striding to the opposite wall, "because all ambassadorial quarters have one thing in common. A direct, gold channel link to the Alliance President. It's three in the morning on Minbar, but then he has a small child so he is either awake or will be used to the disturbance. Shall we give him a call?"
Londo didn't wait for Aela's response, as she was currently gaping like a fish at the prospect of casually phoning the man who could very well be the most powerful individual in the galaxy. Londo punched in commands for the emergency line, his own eyebrows rising as the comm system responded in a pleasant female voice, "The President is currently out of office. Please hold while you are redirected."
Static followed. Londo crossed his hands behind his back as he waited, smoothing his expression. Aela took her cue and ducked out of the visual range.
The audio came in first, as Londo heard a crackling but familiar voice say, "Of course I'll take the damn call, I've been waiting all week for an explanation from these people and by God it better be a good one."
The picture cleared, revealing a very unpleasant looking John Sheridan. A day's growth of stubble set off the red in his eyes and the scowl on his lips. Londo could almost applaud him as a statesman for finding such a quick and effective way of intimidating his underlings, even if it would not work on Londo. Really, Humans had nothing on the Narn when it came to fearsome early morning visages.
"Ah, Mr. President, so good of you to take my call at this hour," Londo said genially.
"Now you listen here, you have five seconds to explain to me what the hell is going on with your government before I…Londo?"
Perhaps the screen had taken a moment to clear on Sheridan's side, or perhaps the man had been too carried away with his prepared tirade to notice whom he was speaking to, but at the sight of Londo he broke off mid-sentence and stared. Londo stared back, allowing the edge of a grin to play on the corner of his lips.
"I take it you were expecting someone a bit less senior, hmm? Well, never let it be said the Centauri don't show proper respect to our esteemed Alliance colleagues," Londo said, spreading his hands.
"You're supposed to be dead," Sheridan said.
"So we have something new in common." When Sheridan's expression did not change, Londo continued, "As you can see, the rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated, a situation I'm sure you can appreciate."
"Did you put Vir up to this?" Sheridan said, his expression shifting from stupefied to thunderous.
"Of course not, I was as surprised as you are," Londo said. "The situation is extremely delicate, which is why I brought this matter to you personally."
"Delicate? Londo, this situation isn't delicate, it's a powder keg!"
"The assassination rumors will be a simple matter to clear," Londo said, waving dismissively. "There are far more serious issues at hand, which is what I would like to talk to you about."
"Good, because I could really use some answers from you people right now. This war of Vir's is the last thing anyone needs. The Narn and Drazi are clamoring for your collective heads, I'm on my way to Babylon 5 right now to try to calm things down."
"War?" Londo said, his mind going blank.
"You don't know? The first thing Vir did as Emperor was declare war on the Alliance for our role in assassinating you. Since you're alive, I'm real interested in knowing what this is all about," Sheridan said.
"Nonsense, that doesn't make any…" Londo stopped, belatedly realizing he'd revealed too much of his own ignorance. Sheridan had already seen it though, and even if some of his anger dissipated in the face of Londo's confusion it could hardly be counted a victory when it did nothing but weaken his position. Londo rallied. "I will look into this. There is no doubt a reasonable explanation, and we can resolve this quickly once you have arrived. What matters more is the reason behind all of this."
"You have my attention," Sheridan said dryly, relaxing somewhat. "But Londo, this had better be good."
Londo took a breath to begin…and stopped. The exhaustion washed over him again, no doubt from the enormity of it all. He knew how it must sound, to explain that his actions for the past five years ago had been a result of blackmail from creatures that had only existed in fairytale. Sheridan and the others would know nothing of the Drakh, why should they believe anything he said? Or worse, what if the transmission were to cut off, or Sheridan ended the call with only part of the story? In that case it might appear the Centauri had invited their captors. It was best not to tell Sheridan anything until they met in person, rather than risk having the situation be misunderstood. "I…" No, this was not the time. "I will tell you when you arrive. It is far too serious for this channel."
Sheridan frowned and he looked about to protest when his shoulders fell and he dragged a hand across his face before straightening. "Fine. We'll be arriving first thing tomorrow morning. We'll talk then. And Londo? I'm going to need you at the council session afterwards. This debacle has gone far enough already. If we don't stop it now, I can't guarantee your people's safety."
"I understand," Londo said, his voice strangely hoarse. That nameless fear hovered at the edge of his consciousness, but it eased as Sheridan ended the call and the screen went dark.
"What was that about?" Londo turned to find Aela hovering at his elbow. "I thought you were going to tell him what happened?"
"Later… later, my dear. These things really must be done in person," Londo said. Suddenly he felt more tired than he had in ages, even after the sleepless nights when the Keeper at his throat and the Drakh in his mind had stolen all rest. "A miscommunication at this moment would be disastrous."
"Worse than Cotto's war?" Aela said. The flint had returned to her voice. "Or is this somehow the work of a 'good man.'"
"There is more to it than that," Londo replied with a glare. "As I'm sure we'll find once we get to the bottom of this.
The room Aela had found for them was simple but serviceable. Two bedrooms adjoining a central sitting room with a kitchen. It was only temporary, a hotel room in essence, until they had the time for more permanent arrangements. With any luck such things would not be necessary after the meeting with Sheridan, but Londo had found that the goddess of luck was playing coy with him lately.
Once they had settled it was not so difficult to find the news of Vir's declaration of war. It would have been much harder to avoid it, every race and its respective approximation of Earther 24-hour news was abuzz.
"We cannot tolerate further insults to our people or our government," Vir said from the screen. He stood on the balcony of the summer palace in Centaullus, addressing a crowded square. The scrolling text at the bottom of the screen said that just over one million Centauri had participated in the riots following Emperor Mollari's assassination. It might have been flattering under different circumstances. "Which is why it is with a heavy heart that I announce that, as of today, the Centauri Republic is officially at war."
Londo leaned forward in the armchair, pressing his clasped hands to his mouth as he studied Vir's face. Durla loomed behind Vir's left shoulder, and the Imperial white gave the younger man a washed out appearance, exhausted and worn. The Keeper was invisible, but of course it would be, no machine Londo knew of had any luck capturing the creature's presence.
"He looks determined," Aela remarked, taking a seat on the couch beside him. She held a steaming cup of jala in her hand and offered him a second one, which he accepted without taking his eyes from the screen. She was right, actually. Sweat was visible on Vir's forehead, an unfortunate but familiar byproduct of the heavy Imperial regalia, but there was no other signs of distress. He spoke each word firmly, looking out to the crowd with dignity that once, long ago, Londo would not have thought him capable of. It was of course possible that it was the Keeper's doing as he puppeteered Vir through the motions of state, but that too made little sense. They could have just as easily compelled Londo to declare war had they wished to, why wait until now? He had delivered their damned vase, signed the orders for military bases and arms buildup over the next decade. Whatever they had been planning, it awaited the sixteenth birthday of Sheridan's son. Something had changed; he just needed to find out what.
"Still certain that he's not to blame?" said Aela with a sidelong glance.
"No, no there is something more to this, I can feel it," Londo muttered, rewinding the clip again to the beginning of the speech. Vir emerged onto the balcony, showing only the faintest tremor at what was no doubt the overwhelming sea of faces before him. It could be a shock to even the most experienced performer, which was all a statesman was in the end. But his stride from there was purposeful, his hands seizing the balcony in a gesture of authority that to Londo's eye served the dual purpose of keeping him upright. The speech was memorized, not prompted, and though Londo winced at Vir's occasional stutters, they were astonishingly few. Even the words themselves were clearly Vir's own. They had his disarming and at times foolish honesty, but there could be no doubt he spoke them from the heart.
But then, had not Londo's own speech on the day of his coronation had been from the heart? It had not been difficult to summon anger over the bombings, to speak insults against the Alliance he had helped to found, only to be betrayed. This may be no different, but somehow that didn't fit. There was no hesitation when Vir spoke of war and if anything… Londo paused the clip again, staring. If anything, Durla seemed uncomfortable, eyeing the crowds with a frown that in any other man would be a pale, shaking terror. He glanced to Vir as well, far too often, far more than he had ever looked at Londo except to gloat, and he was not gloating. Could it be that Vir had found some way to cow the monster? Londo settled back into the armchair, his gaze flickering over the screen.
"The President's ship will be arriving in six hours, perhaps you should get some rest," Aela murmured.
"I have already rested enough," said Londo. "One week and look what happens, the world is crashing down around our ears. How am I going to explain this to Sheridan when I don't understand what's going on?"
"Perhaps there's nothing to explain," said Aela. "We have to free our world from those who control it. Surely the president will understand that, after all he freed his world from its own dictator."
"Vir is not the dictator here," Londo replied, but for some reason could not bring himself to say the name of the Drakh. Superstition, perhaps. That Sheridan must be the first to know, or else the vague and nameless fear at the back of his mind would come true.
Aela looked down to the now empty mug of jala clasped between her hands. "I hope you are right." She stood. "I will wake you in the morning, you should at least try to sleep before then." Londo nodded absently and returned the video, playing and replaying long into the night.
Ten minutes early. Normally this would be unacceptable for him, but a week in a coma might do such things to a man. There was also the small matter of a brain parasite recently removed and the lives of billions hanging in the balance, but in his experience it did not do to dwell on such things. It would only remind him of their desperate situation, and there was no perfume strong enough to cover the stench of desperation.
The purple coat may send the wrong message, and this had occurred to him as he prepared that morning. He was legally the Emperor, after all, and white was the traditional color for all official capacities. But there was little that could be done about that on such short notice, and in a way it was fitting to remind an old friend of better times. Walking the halls of the station with the flash of purple out the corner of his eye, even without the jewelry of his house to adorn it, he could almost believe himself that those better days were still here.
A wave of…something, nausea, fear, but what was no doubt nothing more than an old man's exhaustion swept through him. He pressed a pale hand (free of rings for many years now) against the door to brace himself and inhaled sharply. He did not want to enter, and yet the very idea was foolish. Vir must have begun to rub off on him, that he would feel any trace of nerves when victory was so close. Somehow, impossibly, they had outsmarted their enemy. Sheridan had resources, and more importantly had even managed to pick up some political acumen and discretion over the years, no doubt from Delenn. The Centauri could not have a better ally. With the Alliance at their back, his planet could be free before the year was out.
(Then why had they let him go?)
Londo straightened, fixed the cuff of his sleeves, and squared in his shoulder. He forced a smiled, reminded himself how close they were (his gut churned), that there was no cause for anything but joy. His people would soon be free. He was free. He was… five minutes early. He pressed the bell at the door and it opened with a hiss.
"Ah, Sheridan!"
Londo woke on the couch, a cold sweat chilled against his skin, his hearts racing. He was still in his quarters, still dressed as he had been the night before. A dream. It had all been a dream.
"The time, Great Maker, what is the time?" He fumbled at his cuffs, at the inside pockets of his coat. He must have fallen asleep. The lights were on; perhaps he had only dozed off for a moment. He heard the clink of glass behind him and he turned to see Aela standing before the small kitchenette, still wearing the somber gray robes of the previous day. His hearts began to slow. Even if he had slept through their appointment, he had dealt with an irate Sheridan before, and after a week in the station's hospital this all might be easily be explained. An embarrassment, but hardly the first meeting he had missed.
"0800 station time, your Majesty," Aela said, turning and leaning back against the counter. She looked unperturbed and Londo breathed a sigh of relief. Still an hour before the meeting. She had promised to wake him after all.
"We have one hour, Londo, and after that we have to go in front of the Alliance members and explain why I'm not going to let them bomb the bejeesus out of your planet."
Londo blinked. Scraps of his dream were teasing his brain, but he could hear it clear as day, could see the two day growth of stubble on Sheridan's chin, his tired and bloodshot eyes. There was a grimness to him had not been there when they last met. Perhaps the effects of leaving a small child at home, and he had opened his mouth to say so…
"Why do you ask?" Aela said.
"The meeting…" Londo said vaguely, rubbing his hands over his face to wipe away the last vestiges of sleep.
Aela perked up. "So the President has finally decided to act?"
Londo stilled.
"The weather is quite fine on Centauri Prime this time of year. The fruit trees begin to flower, the land becomes green again. It is quite a sight, you must bring your family to see it sometime."
"I'm sure it is, Londo, but as I said we don't have a lot of time here. What was it that was so urgent? Why is Vir the new Centauri Emperor and why the hell are you here on the station?"
"No…no, Sheridan has not decided anything. Our meeting is in an hour, yes?" he said. Aelea's brow drew together.
"Another one?" she said. "I wouldn't really know, you never mentioned it to me."
Londo is speaking and yet watches distantly as Sheridan's mouth drops open in confusion, then closes, his jaw tightening. Londo continues on as Sheridan's face darkens. There is bewilderment in his eyes but it gives way to attentiveness, then anger. He stands, grabbing Londo by the arm.
"We have not yet had the first one," Londo said. Aela's eyes widened.
"Londo… that meeting was yesterday. You left twenty minutes early to get there on time I- I made sure of it. You came back after a couple hours and said it went very well."
"Londo, I've given you two hours, the whole council is waiting. This has been a waste of my time, of everyone's time. If you have anything to contribute... never mind. I have a war to plan, you can see yourself out."
"Oh gods," Londo whispered.
He had entered Sheridan's office and a haze had descended, as if he were walking through fog and he was talking, talking without pause about nonsense. Sheridan's child first, then the station, then the gods damned weather on Centauri Prime. Hours of talking, almost without pause and not a word, not a single damned word about the Drakh, or the Keeper, or Vir, or…
"Londo?" Aela knelt in front of him, laying her hand over his. "You've gone white as a sheet, what's wrong?"
He saw it again, the clawed tips of Shiv'Kala's fingers as the closed around his face and finally now he remembered, the burn that penetrated his skin at each of those points, burrowing its way into his skull. He knew, had known since they arrived on the station, since Vir had first made his bargain.
The Drakh would never have let him go if he could talk.
Author Note: I put an insane amount of time in effort into this story so ANY comments you have will make all that time well spent! Thank you for reading and I hope to have more up for you soon.