The Long Night of Centauri Prime (21 page)

"Yes. Yes, absolutely, I agree." Durla pursed his lips, considered it, and then said, "Designate it as the Division of Public Works."

"Public works. Very well, Minister. May I ask how you–"

"Did she say anything about me?" The question had come out all in a rush from Durla, and it caught Lione momentarily off guard.

"She, Minister? Do you mean the lady Mariel?"

"Yes, yes. You did tell her that it was upon my recommendation that she was being brought into the Division of Public Works."

"No, sir, because at the time, we were not calling it the–"

"Do not fence with me, Lione," said Durla, in a voice that seemed to suggest Castig Lione was suddenly in danger. By this point, Durla's attitude had more or less confirmed Lione's evaluation of the situation, but Lione was not about to say what was on his mind. He had a feeling that doing so could prove to have rather nasty consequences. "Did you mention me to her. I simply wish to know."

"Why do you wish to know, sir?" asked Lione.

"Because," Durla said steadily, "if I should happen to encounter her at a formal function, I wish to know if she knows that I know of her involvement so that I do not say something out of turn." Lione slowly nodded, running Durla's last sentence through his mind a couple of times to make certain that he had followed it correctly.

"I ... understand, Minister. In point of fact, yes, I did mention your name to her. Twice, I believe, although I would not swear to it."

Durla suddenly seemed rather interested in tapping the surface of his desk with his finger.

"Indeed. And ... what did she say? In regard to me, I mean. She did indicate that she knew who I was." It might have been Lione's imagination, but it seemed as if Durla was puffing out his chest slightly as he said that, as if completely absorbed in his self-image.

"Yes, sir. In fact... now that I think of it ... she did ask me to thank you for recommending her."

"She did!" Durla slapped his hand on the desk as if he'd suddenly had an off-the-cuff recollection of where he had left his wallet. "And why did you not say this earlier, Lione? If you are to be overseeing an intelligence-gathering division, it might behoove you to be more efficient in transmitting important information to me, without my having to drag it out of you. Do you not agree?"

"Wholeheartedly, Minister. I shall endeavor to do better in the future."

"Did she say anything else? You said she knew who I was. Of course she did," he answered his own question. "She must know. Everyone does."

"She definitely had an awareness, Minister. When I mentioned your name, she said ... now what was it? Ah. She said, `Oh, yes ... that minister person.'"

The temperature in the room dropped substantially.

"'That ... minister person?'Are you quite certain that is what she said?"

"Word for word, sir." Durla's face hardened, and it was at that moment that Lione knew precisely what to do. He leaned forward in his chair, his tall frame almost bending in half as he gestured in a conspiratorial way that Durla should lean forward. Clearly confused, Durla did so, and when Lione spoke, it was in the whispered tone of someone sharing a very great secret. "She is a very subtle individual, sir."

"Subtle."

"Sublimely so, yes. However, sir, she is still merely a woman ... and I have always been a fairly astute judge of the breed, sir."

"I don't quite follow you, Chancellor."

"I believe, sir, that she may have more ... consideration for you than she lets on. Oh, but... perhaps I'm speaking too boldly here–"

"No, no," Durla said quickly. "I need to know whatever might be on your mind, Chancellor. By all means, be bold."

"Well, Minister," the Chancellor said, warming to the topic, "although her words seemed dismissive, there was something about her tone of voice that indicated otherwise. Almost as if she was trying mightily to give the appearance of having only the slightest notion of who you were. But let us be realistic, Minister ... who on Centauri Prime does not know Minister Durla of Internal Security? The idea that she would not be instantly familiar with your name is simply absurd. A far more reasonable supposition is that she was being – Subtle?"

"Yes. Precisely. I could see it in her eyes, sir. It was quite evident ... if one knows what to look for."

"Well ... that is excellent. Most excellent," Durla said, looking remarkably cheered. Lione sat straight up again and Durla continued, "I have no doubt that she will be a valuable addition to the Division of Public Works. Good work, Lione. Good work all around."

They chatted for a few more minutes about assorted business matters: The current membership of the Prime Candidates, and how it could be increased. An archaeological project that Durla, for some reason, was in the process of commencing on some outlying world. But Lione wasn't listening. Instead his mind was racing in regard to the situation that had presented itself to him in such stark and clear relief. There was no doubt, as far as Lione was concerned. Clearly Durla was besotted with the woman. When it came to matters involving the lady Manel, Durla obviously could not be counted on to think straight. That was a useful piece of information to have. Lione had no idea quite yet how, or if, he would turn it to his advantage. But he had no doubt that, sooner or later, it would come into use. A useful little hole card ... and one that would be his to play when it suited his needs.

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4.

Senna was becoming increasingly worried about the emperor. Naturally she had something personal at stake. In her nearly two years at the palace, she had become rather used to the comforts. Her continued residence there was contingent upon not only Londo's good graces, but his continued health. But it was more than just that. She had a feeling about him, a sense that in some way, he was truly aspiring to greatness. He wanted so much for his people. He loved Centauri Prime with a passion that she felt was unmatched by anyone else in the palace. That, of course, was no great measure, because Senna did not particularly like anyone else in the palace.

Durla seemed to be omnipresent, watching her with those cold and deadly eyes, like a great animal waiting to spring upon unwary prey. Durla's preferred right-hand man, Castig Lione, was not much better. Then there was Kuto, Durla's newly chosen Minister of Information, although as near as Senna could tell, Kuto's major activities involved the suppression of genuine information ... or, at least, the free flow of ideas. From her vantage point in the social strata, Senna could watch clearly the slow disappearance of any persons who expressed opinions contrary to the directives the government foisted upon the people.

The people. Great Maker help the people. A number of times during the many months she had resided in the palace, Senna had made forays into the city. She had made certain to leave behind her richly stitched and elaborate dresses, and instead had favored simple, relatively unattractive garments. She had moved among places that Londo would most likely – and most unhappily – have disapproved of. And the things she heard were most disturbing to her. There was constant talk of anger toward the Alliance, indicating emotional wounds that had never been healed. She remembered the child who was hobbling about with one leg gone at the knee, his lower leg having been crushed by falling debris and amputated; his parents hadn't had the money to pay for prosthetics to replace it. She recalled the woman who said she never slept anymore, that every small sound during the night awakened her as she believed that more bombs were about to be dropped upon her. From the woman's haunted visage, Senna could tell that the woman wasn't exaggerating her plight. Senna's hearts went out to her, and she wished once more that there was something she could do.

Although their stories of horror and mental anguish were all different, their current sentiments seemed to be consistent. The resentment toward the Alliance still burned hotly, and even as Centauri Prime was being rebuilt, it appeared to Senna that it was being rebuilt for a reason. And that reason was the launching of some sort of attack against the Alliance. The specifics of it didn't seem clear to anyone. It was more a free-floating sense of anger, which permeated the social structure of Centauri Prime, from the top through to the very bottom. The truth was that Senna had no more love for the Alliance than anyone else. But some aspects of her education, including her all-too-short time with Telis Elaris – whom she continued to think of at least once a day, and always with a sense of grief and loss – had led her to conclude that the path upon which the Centauri Republic seemed determined to tread could not be the correct one. Indeed, it could very well lead to an even greater disaster.

Centauri Prime had been pounded into the ground but, ultimately, most of the Republic's citizens were at least still alive. They were being permitted to rebuild, and even the economy was showing signs – slow signs, but signs nonetheless – of beginning to recover. If the Republic, once it was rebuilt, resumed its old ways and came into conflict once more with the Interstellar Alliance, things might go far worse for them the next time. How apt, how poetically just would it be, if the illegal mass drivers – the ultimate in ground punishment, gathering in space debris and raining it down in concentrated form – were used against Centauri Prime, just as the Centauri had wrongfully used them against the Narn? By the time the Alliance got through with them, there might not be a single Centauri left alive. Rather than recapture the glory of republics past, the Centauri might find themselves extinct. Within a generation everything that the Centauri Republic had ever accomplished, for good or ill, would be dust and forgotten. Senna did not want to let that happen, but she didn't have the faintest idea how to go about preventing it. One female could not possibly prevent the Centauri Republic from committing mass suicide, which seemed the likeliest outcome if Centauri Prime continued on its present course. The only hope she could possibly discern lay with the emperor.

He, however, seemed to be slipping farther and farther away with each passing day. Oh, there were the occasional good days. On those occasions, Londo would laugh or joke with her, tweak her cheek in an affectionate manner that could not possibly be considered anything other than paternal. Sometimes he would regale her with tales of the Republic in the past, or share with her some examples of his impressively extensive collection of slightly ribald jokes. In short, there was any number of times when the emperor was someone she genuinely wanted to be with.

The rest of the time, however ... well, when he would look at her, it was as if he was staring at her from the bottom of a very deep pit. His were the eyes of a man who somehow, in some manner that she could not begin to comprehend, had seen his own future. And it was apparently not something that was going to be pretty or desirable. Now, as she approached the emperor's study, Senna hoped that perhaps she would encounter Londo during one of his more convivial moods. Because if he were in that sort of state, then she might actually be able to share with him her concerns over the future of the Republic. Certainly there was no one else in the palace with whom she could speak on any sort of open basis. Everyone else had the misfortune of being male, or the sort of political in-fighter who wouldn't hesitate to use anything that Senna said against her. She had no desire to provide any potential enemy with that sort of ammunition. But the emperor ... The emperor, for some reason, she was not afraid of. If anything, she was afraid for him. She peered in through the study, and saw him slumped at his desk. For the briefest of moments, she thought he was dead. That was until she heard the snoring, however; at which point she knew that Londo was still among the living ... although barely so, it seemed. And then she thought morbidly,
A shame he's not dead. He d stay well preserved for some time if he were.

As soon as the notion went through her head, she chided herself for it. What a horrible thing to think, particularly when it was obvious that the emperor was hurting emotionally. She studied him thoughtfully and wished that there was some way that she could reach directly into his mind. Sense his thoughts, ease the pain. Do something, anything possible to help this basically good man, or at the very least have some idea of what it was that was eating away at him. Then she noticed that he had been working on something. His hand was resting on it. She dared not touch him in order to move his hand and see better, but then – as if he were unconsciously urging her to look – he moved his arm. In his slumber, it slid off the desk and hung limply at his side. She looked more closely and saw that it was a book.

A book that he was apparently writing by hand. How very, very quaint. Most people, it seemed to her, preferred data crystals and such. She could only guess why he might want to work in what some would consider an archaic fashion. Perhaps he felt it added a sort of personal touch. Or maybe he was inspired by the numerous books of history, many of them handwritten by past emperors, which were said to line the walls of the private library. By continuing in that tradition, he was making himself a sort of living link to the past.

From a purely pragmatic point of view, by confining his writings to one book that he carried with him, it also meant that his thoughts and musings would be kept in his possession at all times. The moment anything was put onto a computer, even as a private file, there was always the danger that someone, somewhere would be able to carve their way into the system and access it. She toyed with the notion of picking up the book, examining it. Certainly there was nothing to stop her from doing so, with the sole exception of her conscience. Obviously this was a work in progress, and it was unlikely that Londo would want anyone perusing it before he felt it was ready. Even so ... Well ... if she didn't actually turn the pages, that wouldn't be so invasive, would it? After all, she was simply looking down at the open ones. Why ... who could fault her for that?

It wasn't as if she had been seeking it out. Besides, certainly Londo meant for it to be read sooner or later. What point was there in writing a history if no one was going to see it. And it was a history, she was quite sure of that. Because she had just kind of, sort of, well ... just happened to lift the title page ever so slightly and spotted the word, carefully delineated in Londo's own script. Then, ever so delicately, she laid the book flat again so that she could see just what Londo was writing about at that particular moment. The book appeared already to be half full. Apparently Londo had been quite busy.