From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Parliaments of Conquerors, part 1A,
Date: Wed, 21 Oct 1998 14:50:14 +0100


                   Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand

Hi people. Sorry for the delays here. Here is the next part of my 
Babylon 5 alternate universe where the Minbari did not surrender at 
the Battle of the Line and went on to conquer and destroy Earth. This 
has been a long saga and all the previous installments have been very 
kindly posted up at:

http://www.law.shu.edu/~tom/babylon-5.html

so anyone in the dark should have a look there. Feedback is always 
very welcome and should be sent to the address below. Apologies to 
anyone who's sent something in and I haven't replied. I've been busy 
and therre have been some problems with my e-mail, but I'll try and 
get back to you all soon.

Legal Disclaimer: B5 and all related characters are owned by and 
copyright of jms and / or warner Bros. I am making no money out of 
this and am doing so purely for pleasure.
 
* * * * *

 Chapter Three - The Parliaments of Conquerors  Part 1 of 2 [AT] [AC]
by Gareth Williams  (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


It is to the second Emperor that we perhaps owe the dubious pleasure of
our system of favours and influence amongst the nobility.  While everyone
knows it was the first Emperor who instituted the Royal Court and the
custom of nobles' estates being in or near the capital - obviously as part
of a 'put them where I can keep my eye on them' strategy - it was his heir
who refined and extended the whole idea.

Possibly due to the precariousness of his position during the early years
of his reign, the second Emperor was more fearful than his father of the
amount of power wielded by the nobility.  People tend to forget that the
empire-building and all-conquering hero began his reign as little more
than an adolescent, prodded and pushed in directions he found morally
repugnant.

It was his advisor, the universally feared and reviled High Priest Richele
who shaped and stabilised those early years.  It is also believed to have
been he who devised the system of the nobility answering directly to the
Emperor himself.  The Centarum by far predated the Imperium of course, but
the first Emperor had managed to tame its power considerably.  His son,
'assisted' by Richele and motivated by his own fears, made the Centarum
more of an extension of the Court, and brought the body under his own
direct control.

It soon came to be that any noble known to be openly opposed to the
Emperor would fail to achieve any position of power within the Government,
and would frequently be passed over in his efforts to speak during
Centarum meetings.  As a result, all the nobles had to spend more time
establishing their loyalty to the Emperor than they could spend plotting
against him, and when they did plot in secret, more often that not they
were plotting against their fellows, each trying to convince the Emperor
that they were more loyal to him than any of the others.  This brought
about the classic balance of terror, where all the nobles were too busy
manoeuvring against each other to realise the extent to which the Emperor
and Richele were manipulating them.

Unfortunately such a situation was only tolerable so long as there was a
strong Emperor in control, and after Richele's execution and the beginning
of the first of the Wars of Expansion, the Emperor was seldom in attend-
ance in the Royal Court.  During his reign various factions had formed
among the nobles, and with the Emperor gone these factions began to
dominate the Court, and thenceforth the Empire.

This situation still endures today.  Certain later Emperors have tried to
revive the 'balance of terror' technique, but this has had only limited
success since the end of the first Imperial Dynasty with the seventh
Emperor.  Ever since then we have been ruled by the heads of various noble
Houses, all of whom rose to their positions from the mire of the Court,
and none of whom has ever forgotten it.  To be sure, some of them have had
more success than others.  Most notable was Emperor Mollari, who was
seemingly in control for years until his unfortunate and horrific death.

The situation today is awkward to say the least.  Factions have been
switching and changing for years and not one of the noble Houses has
sufficient power to stand above the rest.  Emperor Turhan clings to the
throne by a thread and I predict that there will be anarchy within a few
years of his death.  Perhaps we would all be better off had the second
Emperor not been the legendary conqueror after all...

                                     Excerpts from 'The Balance of Terror:
          A Study of the Centauri Royal Court, its Rulers and its Nobles',
                           by noted political commentator Lord Jarno XVth,
                    (2188-2236, died while under house arrest for treason)
                            published posthumously in the Earth Year 2244.
       A banned text in the Centauri Republic, but very popular elsewhere.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

There is a place where evil breeds.  That place is not a faraway world
inhabited by a distant Enemy.  That place is not a tower surrounded by
mountains that spew fire.  That place is not a dungeon where people are
tortured and scream as they die.

The place can be found on any world, in any time.  It is a simple room,
where powerful people gather and, in plain, matter-of-fact tones, discuss
plans of atrocity.

Welcome to such a place.

David Sheridan, Ambassador to Humanity from the alien race known as the
Shadows, looked around at his companions and began slowly drumming his
fingers on the table.

Had he the particular skills of Mr. Welles, Head of Security, or of Mr.
Bester, he might have been studying each individual, recording details and
mannerisms and information for later use.  Sheridan had little need of
such tricks, however.  He knew who they were, and he knew where their
destinies lay, and that, as it was said, was that.

The whole idea was faintly ludicrous, really.  There have always been
secret groups and alliances within any Government, but not even the
Centauri would go so far as to resurrect an ancient legend and pervert it
to this extent.

The Round Table, indeed.  A secret conspiratorial organisation with each
member given a codename after one of the knights of the legendary King
Arthur.  A fairly futile attempt to maintain secrecy, even amongst them-
selves.

Sheer, sheer foolishness.  Although, Sheridan had to admit, there was one
piece of common sense here.  No one was allowed the codename Sir Mordred. 
That would have been just too appropriate.  Not that these people were to
be underestimated.  Sheridan reckoned that almost all the secret power
movers of Proxima were here, apart from a few in the Resistance Govern-
ment.  Clark was apparently unaware of this group's existence and as for
Welles... who could really tell?  He wasn't here though, which was what
mattered.

"Speak of matters of importance and thou shalt be heard."  The meeting was
brought to order by the unknown head of the Round Table - who else but
King Arthur?  The words were formal and official and a part of the essence
of this gathering - tradition.

One by one, the 'Knights' rose and spoke.  Sir Gaheris - really a minor
official in the Diplomatic Office - spoke of extending the secret alliance
with the Streibs.  They were growing ambitious for more military aid, and
since the defeat of the Drakh during the assault on Minbar they had become
somewhat more belligerent towards Humanity.  Sir Gaheris had gone to great
lengths to set up the original treaty and was less than pleased to see it
jeopardised.

 Sir Percival - the Head of Security for Dome No. 4 - described problems
with an anarchist underground newspaper printing 'lies' - i.e. the truth -
about certain recent Government activities.  He then detailed his plans
for the 'accidental' deaths of the families of those involved.

Lady Ygraine - a media controller - reported on various half-truths and
'exposés' she'd instructed her employees to disseminate, particularly
concerning the whereabouts of a certain Captain John Sheridan, but also
involving the Narn/Centauri War and the - completely fabricated - activi-
ties of the Minbari leaders during the bombardment of their homeworld.

Sir Galahad - a leading psychiatrist - offered assistance to Lady Ygraine
by providing details of the so-called 'Alien Contact' Syndrome, which she
accepted gratefully.

Ambassador Sheridan listened to all of this with cool detachment, saying
nothing.  Only the single mention of his son aroused any emotional
reaction, and that was completely hidden from the others.  Despite his
contempt for the rigmarole and absurdity of this meeting, he had to admit
that these people were very good at their job.  Even after the Fall of
Earth the Round Table had endured, subtly shaping policy, manipulating the
people, helping rebuild, and above all ensuring that the power remained
solidly in their hands.

And if you were to ask any single one of them why they were doing this,
they would look baffled and be unable to answer, save for one word:

Tradition.

Almost laughable really, but the power these people wielded was not
laughable.  Susan Ivanova had uncovered their presence during her time as
official Ambassador here, and she had reported it back to Z'ha'dum. 
Sheridan had made it one of his first priorities on arrival.

(Ivanova.  Damn.  That reminded him of something he had to attend to.  Oh
well, later.)

And he was almost there.  Power such as these people wielded needed
directing, shaping, forming.  And he had taken it upon himself to do so.

With each 'knight' having reported, Ambassador David Sheridan, a.k.a. King
Arthur, rose to his feet to close the meeting.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Timov, daughter of Alghul and first wife to Londo Mollari, awoke from a
troubled sleep to find her husband gone from her side.  Looking at the
window and seeing only darkness outside, she muttered to herself and rose
from the bed.  Picking up a light globe, she wrapped a thick robe round
her shoulders and walked through to the room where she knew her husband
would be.

And sure enough, there he was.

She did not say anything, but merely looked at him for a moment.  He must
have known she was there, but he made no reaction.  He was merely sitting,
illuminated by the dim light of a globe and staring at the far wall in
silence.

Timov shivered, and not from the cold.  There was such... darkness in his
appearance, and from more than the deep shadows cast around his form.  He
had changed in recent weeks, growing more and more morose and hard.  His
sarcastic gibes had less warmth to them than before, and he issued them
almost robotically, as though they were expected of him, and no more.

She knew that his change was a consequence of what he had to do but...
still...

Love had been a rare feeling for Timov in her life.  She had known
precious little in her childhood, having been moulded from birth into the
classic Centauri lady - i.e. bitchy, conniving, vicious and ambitious; the
perfect counterpart to her husband in his own ambitions.  She had been
married off as part of a political deal to a man she had met only twice,
and was forced to watch as he married two other women in the space of a
decade.

Timov had always been more perceptive than either of her sister-wives and
she had seen the bitterness and anger within her husband, buried deeply
beneath a surface of sarcasm and pointless revelry.  Anger at the
universe, at society, at himself... and bitterness that he had not been
born in a time when he might have been able to make a difference.  Timov
had noticed all of these things and had been afraid to point them out to
him, and so she had instead chosen to become a dark reflection of her
society, a mirror illuminating all that was wrong within it.

She was about to step forward to him, when she noticed a figure in the
next doorway - a doorway that led to an anteroom.  The distinctive
silhouette beckoned to her, and she nodded, then walked slowly around the
corners of the room to the doorway, and the person who was watching there.

After all, how many other Minbari were on Centauri Prime these days?

Lennier ushered her in and set his own light globe on a desk.  It was set
at a brighter pitch than either Timov's or Londo's.  She had heard that
Minbari had poor night vision, but Lennier's seemed... on a par with her
own, at least.

"He comes here... every night," Lennier said softly.  It did not look as
if the Minbari had been to bed.  He was still fully clothed in pale,
utilitarian garb, the circle-of-light which marked his allegiance the only
item of jewellery about him.  He wore it openly now.

"He sits there, staring at the walls, and thinking.  Every night."

"I guessed as much," Timov replied softly.  She had never been sure how to
react to Lennier.  She had known very few Minbari and had cordially detes-
ted the influx of faux-Minbari fashions and designs in the years following
their destruction of Earth.  As a result, she was unsure how to treat this
one - especially given the news from Minbar.

Timov still remembered hearing of the planet's bombardment and destruc-
tion.  She had heard the rumours during their frantic flight from the
capital to some place of refuge, and she had been stunned for hours.  The
centre of a major, powerful alien race - a race whom even the Centauri at
the height of their power would not have threatened - and it had been
destroyed utterly in a matter of hours.

The effects on Centauri Prime in the months since had been obvious.  All
things Minbari suddenly became unfashionable and human styles were 'in'
again.  Timov's disgust with her fellows had never been more pronounced.

Her own reaction had been tearful prayer and numbed horror.  Londo had
shaken his head and drunk solidly for three hours.  Lord-General Marrago
had whispered a brief prayer and looked nervously at the heavens. 
Lennier, the only member of their little fellowship who had even seen
Minbar, he... did nothing.  He said nothing and did nothing.

"He is nervous," Timov said quickly, flicking a glance back at Londo. 
"You know what is to happen tomorrow, after all."

"Yes.  Yes, I do.  And it is more than just... nerves.  He is going up
against his own Government and his own people.  I... know what that can be
like, and what it can lead to.  I cannot blame him for reacting like
this."

"Perhaps."  But Timov knew there was more.  She was adept at secrets after
all, and she knew her husband well enough to be able to recognise when he
was keeping something from her.  This was one of those times.  Something
had happened that night in the Royal Palace - the night Emperor Refa had
been assassinated and Londo had been blamed - that he was not telling her.

"I should go and talk to him," she said softly.

"No," Lennier said.  "That is... not what he needs, now."

"I am his wife.  I will go and talk to him."

He shook his head sadly.  "That will not help."

"Then what will?"

"Nothing.  Nothing at all."

Timov looked at him and knew that he was right.  There was nothing she
could do for the man she was surprisingly coming to love.

Nothing except remain where she was and watch him for the remainder of the
night.  Only when the sun began to rise did he move at last, and set about
the business of the day.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

She does not scream.  She cannot of course, but if she knew what was
happening to her, if she had some inkling of the role she is to play in
the future months... then she would.  Beyond doubt, she would scream.

Her place in this mission had been established for months, ever since the
unexplained interference at the Battle of Minbar had been explained. 
G'Kar and his Army of Light had been a threat for a while, and now it was
time for the Shadows to shut them down and to do it in a way that was
most... final for all parties concerned.

That was where Susan Ivanova came in.

As Ambassador Sheridan looked at her comatose form, he couldn't help but
remember the first time he had met her.  He could recall the sheer shock
and awe on her face as she looked around and realised that her mission
might have had a greater success than she could ever have imagined.

And he remembered asking her the question he had himself once been asked. 
"What do you want?"

Her face had twisted, but she answered instantly, and simply, one of the
truest answers he had ever heard, and probably would ever hear.

"To be safe."

It was a pity, really, he realised.  There had been so much potential
there, but her human side - the same part of her which had so excited his
associates - had betrayed her.  First there had been her love for that spy
Marcus Cole and her hatred in equal measure for Miss Lyta Alexander.  And
then her friendship and perhaps more for that dupe Laurel Takashima, and
finally... an inability to comprehend her own place in the galaxy.  She
had attacked Sheridan himself.

But all these things could have been forgiven, had she not failed so
badly.

Oh, she had performed adequately in her assigned mission - to bring about
an alliance between human and Shadow - but in everything else... Delenn
still lived, despite Ivanova's many attempts to finish her off.  Captain
Sheridan had evaded her web of lies and escaped to become a sizeable
threat.

And worst of all, President Clark, whom she was meant to bind to her
control completely.  She had failed there also.  She claimed to have
implanted him with a Keeper, but that was either a lie or an error, for
Morgan Clark was very far from being under Shadow control.

And now she was to be given another task, one at which she assuredly would
not fail, for this time she would have no choice.

"How goes it, Ambassador?" said a voice from behind him, and he very
nearly jumped.  Clark.  Right behind him.  He had snuck up without
Sheridan noticing.

But Sheridan had been a diplomat for a lifetime and he recovered his
composure in an instant.  Clark knew he had lost it for a brief moment
however, and that annoyed the ambassador more than words could say.  *One
day,* Sheridan thought, *when I have worked out where she failed with
you...  One day... I will deal with you myself.*

He did not voice these thoughts aloud, of course.  What he did say was,
"It goes well, Mr. President.  There are no complications thus far, no...
problems of any sort at all."

"Good.  Good.  She will be ready for... what we intend."

"Of course, Mr. President."

"And if there are any complications?"

"Then they will be dealt with, Mr. President.  I assure you, the Zener are
a thousand times more knowledgeable in this field than we are.  They will
have no problem reconfiguring her genetic structure to our specifications. 
She will fulfill her role perfectly."

"Good.  Good."  President Clark smiled, a soft and secretive smile that
excluded everyone else, even Ambassador Sheridan.

"And the... other parties involved?"

"Mr. Welles is handling them.  Let us hope he proceeds with as much
efficiency as you have shown here, Ambassador."

"Yes," he muttered abstractly, but his attention was elsewhere.  His eyes
saw the women lying on the other side of the glass, being recreated body
and soul.  And his mind saw the same woman years before.

"What do you want?"

"To be safe."

To... be... safe.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lord Dugari, forty-fifth to bear that name, had a lineage and a heritage
stretching back to the very earliest days of the Centauri Empire.  Legend
said that a Dugari had stood alongside the first Emperor himself when the
foundation stone had been laid for what would later become the Royal
Palace.  The same legend said that this first Dugari had later been
executed by order of that selfsame Emperor.

A proverb about the gratitude of rulers, he had always thought.

Lord Dugari walked through life with a simple philosophy: find your place
and live as best you can in it.

He had always believed he had found his place, until a year or so ago.

There had been no specific event that had caused him to begin doubting
himself.  It had not been the deaths of First Minister Jaddo, or Lady
Morella, or the Emperor.  It had not been the stalemate war with the
Narns.  It was not even the childhood illness that had caused his now
almost permanent coughing.

No, it had been all of them.  There had been one day when he had awoken at
his characteristically early hour, looked around and realised he had no
idea what he would be doing that day.  He had stayed in his bed, in a mute
panic for hours.

None of that explained why he was helping a wanted criminal, though.  A
few days after the murder of Emperor Refa, Londo had sought him out. 
Dugari had been surprised, but not alarmed.  He had never truly believed
the rumour that Londo had killed Refa.  Oh yes, the two hated each other,
but Londo had had ample opportunity to kill Refa for years, why do it now?

Londo had explained, in quick, garbled sentences, that he was being framed
for Refa's assassination, and that he knew who was behind every item of
wrongdoing on Centauri Prime these days.  Dugari did not ask who and Londo
did not volunteer the information.  Both of them knew how dangerous such
knowledge could be.

And so Dugari had helped his friend.  A place to hide in his seldom-used
private estate on Selini.  Dugari was hardly ever there and he only kept
the place for show.  Every other Lord had a private estate in the country
somewhere, and therefore so did Dugari.

The aid had been easy, but information was harder, and much more valuable,
and much more dangerous.

He was stifling his cough while he waited for the signal to go through,
pacing up and down nervously.  It was early in the morning, the message
was triple-encoded, and he had made at least five searches for listening
devices in the past half hour.  And still he was nervous.

This was treason, and these days that could earn a fate far worse than
death.

There was a beep as the signal reached its target.  Dugari started and
looked around.  Surely the beep could not have woken anyone, but... 
caution was a virtue, it was said... at least anywhere but among the
Centauri.

"Greetings, Gemellus," said Londo.  "What news do you have?"

A short message, but necessarily so.  The longer the conversation, the
more chance there was for someone to overhear.  And as for the codename...
well, Dugari had to admit that was sensible, but he wished he knew where
Londo had come up with the name.

"Three Lords have died here in the past week.  One from poison, one from
the knife and one from a fire in his dwelling.  Many of the other nobles
are bringing armed guards into the Palace, mercenaries, adding to the
atmosphere of hostility.  The Centarum has not met for a week and the
issue of the new Emperor remains unresolved."

"What of the proposed legislation changes?" Londo asked.  "The...
Emergency Measures rulings..."

"That is why the Centarum no longer meets.  Each faction in the Court...
and there are more every day... wants different measures on the statute. 
No one can follow the shifting alliances here, or what each individual
wants.  The... the heir apparent has apparently lost all interest in the
throne, or so it is said.  The military is in strife and chaos.  There are
rumours that Lord-General Marrago is working for the Narns, others that he
is dead, or a Narn prisoner.  Lord Valo has left the capital and gone out
to the supply bases to quell a strike there.  Rumours are flying around
that the Narns have taken three of our outer colonies."

"They have not," Londo said.  He seemed to be thinking hard.  "As for the
rest...  What of... what of the voice of the throne?"

Dugari knew who he meant.  "He is the only one willing to continue his
work.  He is seen daily, walking about the Court, talking with the guards,
building peace and trust between factions.  There has been not one attempt
on his life, although he keeps no bodyguards, not even a guard on his
door.  Wherever he goes, he speaks of hope, and patience, and faith... as
if he cannot see the chaos we are in.  He is... he is a hero."

Londo snorted.  "We shall see.  I thank you for this.  Now, what I want
you to do...  Begin spreading a rumour that the Narns have offered a peace
treaty, but that certain factions in the Court have refused to discuss it. 
Change those responsible according to whom you speak to.  The Narns are
open to peace...  I know you can... do this without making it seem that
you are the source."

"Of course."  Dugari could also see the point of such a rumour.  With the
possibility of peace, it would bring attention more to what was happening
at home and draw it away from space.

"Very well, then.  Thank you, Gemellus."  The conversation ended there,
and the viewscreen went blank.

Dugari stepped back from the screen and let out the coughs he had been
holding in for the past few minutes.  After he had finished spluttering
and wiping his lips, he made for the door.  He had work to do, and it was
amazing how much could be accomplished in a single day, if one was
prepared to walk swiftly and make a little effort.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*I am saying goodbye to a world which has been my home for many years.  I
have fulfilled a function there, an important one, but now it is over and
I am needed elsewhere
, for another purpose.

I am surrounded by mundanes.  Listening to their chatter, to their mind-
less babble, hearing the petty insecurities they scream aloud and hope no
one will notice.  They disgust me, all of them.  Children whispering in
the dark.  Can they not see how insignificant they are?  Do they honestly
think they are any better than insects?

She was bumped by two people walking behind her.  Turning angrily, she saw
a man and a woman, engaged in a simple conversation.  A slight smile on
her face, she turned to the woman.

"Did you know your husband had a two-year affair with a woman with blonde
hair?  He turned to her because you were incapable of providing what he
wanted from you.  He also stole all the money from your account and
gambled it away, without your realising.  Currently he is thinking about
your mother, and imagining that you will come to look like her."

Smiling, she began to move away.  A lesser person... a mundane... might
have stayed to listen in on the aftermath of those revelations, but she
did not.  Everything she had said was the truth, but it would hardly have
mattered if it had not been.  The wife was too eaten up by her own
insecurities not to believe.

*Insects.  All of them.  Worthless insects.  What would you say if you
were capable, even if just for a second, of what I can do?  What would you
do, hmm?*

"Miss Donne."  She turned to look at the mundane in front of her.  Donne
took no notice of the man's appearance beyond that.  He was a mundane,
nothing else mattered.

"Miss Donne, your personal flyer is ready for you now."

She nodded and stalked past him towards the special hanger.  Actually it
was not her flyer, but one belonging to the Psi Corps.  Still, she had
been the Psi Corps representative on Proxima 3 for so long it might as
well be hers.

And now she was leaving Proxima 3 behind, forever.  Her place lay else-
where, out among the stars...

Away from these children.

Except for the ones in her mind.

The ones she had killed.

Yes, except for them.  They would always be with her.  In a very real
sense, they were a part of her now.

And always would be.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Parliaments of Conquerors, part 1B
Date: Wed, 21 Oct 1998 14:51:25 +0100

A famous Centauri poet had once said that there were two Centauri Primes,
just as there were two Centauri peoples...  There was the Centauri Prime
of the palaces, of the temples and statues, of the history; just as there
were the nobles, the priests, the Royal Guard and the historians.

And then there were the others.  Farmers, peasants and... criminals... 
And their habitations.  Villages run-down with little thought for repair. 
Inns and taverns where a look could mean death and where there was little
grace or refinement in the conversation.

Carn Mollari, nephew of the fabled Londo Mollari, squeezed his way into
such a tavern with an expression that was what came of trying to avoid
displaying his disgust with the whole neighbourhood.

He had never even heard of the village of Romul, and had been quite
surprised to learn it was in fact a major supplier of grain to the
capital.  Less than thirty leagues from the city as well.

Two peoples... two worlds, and the tragedy was that both of them were the
same.

He walked up to the bar, trying to look suitably disinterested, and
ordered a bravari.  He knew better than to expect a fine vintage, but in
any case he had never been the connoisseur his uncle was.  He slowly took
a sip and began looking around.  He wondered if he could look remotely as
if he belonged here.  Why oh why had the meeting been arranged for
somewhere like this?

"This is a dangerous place for a courtly boy," a voice said from beside
him.  Carn turned, and found himself looking into the fiercest green eyes
he could possibly imagine.  "Sit down," hissed Lord-General Marrago. 
"There's a place in the corner over there."

Carn nodded and followed him.  They sat down, and Carn surreptitiously
pulled the hood of his cloak higher over his head.

"Where's the Valerius?" Marrago asked.

"Safe.  Hidden on the dark side of the eighth planet.  No one can see it
until we choose to let them."

Marrago nodded.  "Good.  It may just be a ceremonial ship, but we'll need
all we can get."

"The Valerius has seen a lot of combat this past year," Carn hissed.  "It
might just surprise you."

"You're right.  I apologise.  Now, what word from the colonies?"

"Gorash Seven has gone up in revolt.  Some of the military there have
mutinied and blockaded off the supply centres.  I heard Lord Valo was sent
in to deal with it, but that might just be rumour."

"What caused the revolt?"

"Some of the peasants rose up in opposition to the new tax increases laid
down by the Governor.  He ordered the military to intervene, and most of
them refused."

"Good for them," Marrago said, smiling.  "What ships have gone in with
Valo?"

"The Hadrian, the Constantine and the Claudius."

Marrago raised an eyebrow.  "Three capital ships?  No more?"

Carn shook his head.  "Apparently Valo had to fight really hard just for
those."

"Well, it doesn't matter.  I know the captains of all three, and I know
Valo.  I'll be able to sort this out.  I have instructions from your
uncle."  Carn nodded.  "You are to return to the capital.  Watch, and
learn.  Attach yourself to one of the factions there, a minor one if
possible.  Do... whatever you have to do, but above all remain close to
the head of the faction.  When the time is right, we'll send more
instructions.  Now go."

Carn nodded again, rose and left.  He had never been so glad to leave any
place behind, even if he was less than happy about the place he was going
to.

After he was gone, Marrago finished his bravari and then departed himself.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*For what I am about to do... may whatever God happens to exist forgive
me.*

If knowledge is power, then where stands the one who has so much as to be
free from danger entirely?  One man who could perhaps answer that question
was standing quite still next to an iron door, having disdained the chair
he had been offered.  The security guards around him were waiting too, a
little less patiently than he, although even his fabled patience had begun
to crack over the past months.

There were many thoughts running around in his mind, but foremost among
them was a very simple question, with a far-from-simple answer:

*What is he doing?*

Some months before, Mr. Welles, Head of Security for the Resistance
Government and unofficial Spymaster General, had made an offer to Mr.
Bester.  It had been a simple offer - in exchange for Bester arranging
contact with the enigmatic alien leader known as G'Kar, Welles would
'ignore' certain crimes committed by Bester's subordinate, Donne.

The offer had been hard for Welles to make.  Donne had committed numerous
murders in the last few years - thirty-one that Welles could reasonably
pin on her, possibly hundreds more that he couldn't be sure about.  She
was without a doubt one of the most evil people he had ever met, and he
had let her go free as a matter of political expediency.

Welles had not been the only one to make Bester an offer.  Ambassador
Sheridan had apparently done the same, and Bester had accepted that second
offer.  What exactly it involved was not clear to Welles... yet, but he
knew what Bester was giving up on his part.

Welles knew... and that was his greatest punishment for his actions.

That was why he was so ill-at-ease here now.  This was one of the most
secure buildings on Proxima, a prison so secure, so essential, that hardly
anyone even knew of its existence.  Here were held all those too dangerous
to be held in a normal prison, those too psychopathic, too irredeemable,
or who simply knew just that little bit too much and had to be hidden out
of the way...

Welles sighed softly.  He could, if required, recite the names of each and
every person held here, as well as why they were here, both the official
and unofficial reasons.

The door opened and in walked two more security guards.  Their uniforms
were an unrelieved black and their faces were expressionless.  Work - and
life - here changed those who came, moulding and shaping them.  You cannot
walk in mud all day and expect to have clean clothing by nightfall.

Behind them came a young woman, and it was she who caught Welles' atten-
tion.  Tall, striking, with a short crop of bright blonde hair.  Her eyes
were stern and unbending.  She raised her head to look at him, and her
gaze fixed on his.

She did not look down.

Yes, exactly as he had informed the others.  For the purposes they had in
mind, she was perfect.

Two further security guards in identical black uniforms followed.  With
swift, practised motions, they pushed the woman into the chair across from
the one Welles was supposed to occupy.  Her wrists and ankles were secured
tightly and the guards stepped back.

"Leave us," Welles instructed.  The guards looked at him strangely.  "I
will be safe."  They shrugged, and did as he ordered.

Welles at last took the seat that had been set aside for him, and looked
at his sole companion.  He knew everything that she had done, but more
importantly he knew why she had done it.  That was why he was here.

"Miss Theresa Halloran," he said solemnly.  "Alias... Number One.  How
would you like to serve your people?"

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

*I am ready.*

But no matter how many times Londo told himself that, he knew he was not. 
He could stop now.  All he had to do was end this now and everything else
could be withdrawn.  Nothing was irreversible yet.  Not quite.  After
today...

He took a deep breath, and knew that he had to continue.

His companions had said nothing this morning, knowing that the argument
had been thrashed out countless times before.  Timov had simply kissed him
lightly on the cheek, touched his arm and then walked away.  He supposed
some God had been smiling on him.  The old Timov would have torn him
apart.

Lennier meanwhile had looked at him with accusing eyes, but he had
accepted that this must happen.  Londo's part in this was essential.  The
plan... made sense... of a sort... and only Londo could carry it through.

It had been quite a long walk from Dugari's mansion to the Parliament
Building of Selini.  Remarin was a large city, and it was the only major
settlement on the island.  Selini had always been an isolated and
eccentric place, and Londo hoped to use those characteristics to his
advantage.

And if he failed... well... the cause would go on.  There would be order
and unity on Centauri Prime, before or after his death.

The Parliament Building was less than impressive, at least in comparison
to the Centarum in the capital.  It was small as well, with less than
fifty members, most of them landowners and farming patrons on Selini, with
a few from the coastline cities on the continent.  Fiercely independent
and proud people.

Londo breathed in deeply and looked up at the skies.  About mid-morning. 
Good.  The Parliament would have been debating for an hour or two.  Timov
and Lennier had reported that the building was full at the moment, with
every Lord in the area discussing how to react to the chaos in the
Court... and the longer that chaos lasted, the more time Londo had.  It
was when Malachi began to reassert his power that his time would run out.

He walked up the steps casually, wishing he had brought his best coat with
him.  Dugari was the right size, but he had no fashion sense.  The right
impression was important at a time like this.

Still, what could not be helped...

The two guards there crossed their pikes at the entrance.  Londo smiled. 
They did not recognise him.  Good.

"Would you tell the current Sitter that Minister Londo Mollari is here to
address the Parliament?" he asked them.

For a moment they said nothing.  Finally, someone spoke.  "We know of you,
Minister Mollari.  You are wanted for the murder of the Emperor."

"I am innocent."

"So you say."  The voice was flat, but would take no nonsense.  Proper
guards these.  Londo thought they had all died out, just like the
incorruptible politician.

"I ask leave to address the Parliament.  I ask for this as a right, as one
who has lived on Selini these past ninety days without committing a crime
on these shores, without causing unrest and without shedding blood on this
isle."

"An old custom.  Very old."

"But still law."

"No one has attempted to use that right for centuries."

"But I do so now.  I ask leave to address the Parliament."

The guards nodded, and moved their pikes aside.  "Step within and say your
piece to the Parliament, Minister Mollari, but if they decide against you,
then we will not let you out again."

"Oh, I know.  Good day to you."  Londo mounted the last few steps and
walked towards the massive doors.  They were partly open, again by ancient
custom, and Londo could hear the arguments going on within.  He paused
there, hesitating.  Beyond the door were fifty of his people, some of whom
would doubtless have close ties to the Court - would in fact have been
placed here as spies.  Beyond that door were people who could end his life
here and now.

Chuckling to himself, Londo pushed open the doors and entered...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"What do you want me to do?"

Welles smiled.  Straight, precise and to the point.  A little simplicity
was a refreshing change from machiavellian politics.

"Miss Theresa Halloran, alias Number One.  Arrested two years ago and
charged with numerous terrorist offences in breach of sections twenty-one,
thirty-three, thirty-eight and forty-two of the Prevention of Terrorism
Act, twenty-two forty-three.  The mastermind behind the bombing of the
Narn Embassy on Orion in twenty-two fifty-two.  Involved in the assassin-
ation of Senator Smits.  Responsible for the attack on the visiting Narn
dignitaries in twenty-two fifty-eight, and caught and arrested some three
days later thanks to a tip-off from one of your former associates, a man
known only as Philippe."

Welles fell silent and looked at her, waiting for a reaction.

She shrugged.  "I was too slow.  A bit quicker and I'd have got out of
that alley."

Welles smiled again.  "Possibly.  You were given twelve life sentences
under sections of the Wartime Emergency Provisions.  You know you will
never leave this building alive?"

She snorted.  "I know that, and I'd still do it all again."

"Why?"  Welles already knew, or he thought he did.  He wanted to be sure.

"The Government sold us out.  It sold us all out.  I was on Vega Seven
when you let the Narns take over.  They worked us to death in their mines. 
Better people than you died there.  I was lucky.  I got out.  And I swore
I would make them pay."

"Well, you managed that, certainly.  You are aware that all the Narn-
occupied human colonies are now ours again?"

"That doesn't make it right... what you and they did to us."

"Perhaps not.  You hate the Narns, don't you?  No, never mind.  I know you
do.  What would you say if I were to offer you an... unofficial route out
of this prison, and give you a chance to work out some of that hatred?"

"Sounds like you're setting me up for something."

Welles steepled his fingers and looked at her over the top of them.  Her
eyes were focussed directly on his.  "There is something we wish you to
do.  How you do it is up to you, and you will have considerable leeway in
whom you chose to help you.  There is a Narn called G'Kar..."

"You want him dead, is that it?"

"No.  Not dead...  Worse than that."  He fell silent, still looking at
her.  She did not blink.

"Well?" she said finally.  "I'm listening.  Tell me."

And he did...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

There was no sound save for the scratching of his old-fashioned quill pen
as he wrote.  Malachi, former Prime Minister and now unofficial head of
the Centauri Republic, was alone.

The pen was an anachronism, a legacy of a bygone age.  Malachi was in many
ways also an anachronism, but then so was Londo.  There was no place for
people like them in the modern Centauri Republic.  If Malachi had his way,
that would change.

*Ah Londo,* he wrote, *why did you ever return?  This would have been so
much easier without you.  I know what I am doing, and I know why, but
still... I hoped you would understand.  You of all people.

*Ah Londo, one day you will understand.  One day you will know why I am
doing this.  I merely pray that both of us are still alive by then...

*One day... everyone will understand...


To be continued...

From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Parliaments of Conquerors, part 2A
Date: Mon, 26 Oct 1998 20:04:52 +0000



                   Babylon 5: A Dark, Distorted Mirror
                    Phase Three - A Line in the Sand
              Chapter Three - The Parliaments of Conquerors
                               Part 2 of 2

                            by Gareth Williams
                        (lwa97gdw@Sheffield.ac.uk)


Susan Ivanova has always been a slave to silence, to the absence of noise,
of sound, of feeling.  She has always been alone, ever since the death of
her mother.

Separated, in many ways divorced from human feeling, she has wandered
through life, seeking one cause after another, something to live for, to
serve... anything.  She did not find it with her family, with her lovers,
with Earthforce.

She thought she'd found it with an alien race; powerful and ancient.  They
promised her purpose, they promised her safety, they promised her life. 
All she had to do was serve them.  But in the course of serving them, she
found, unexpectedly two things she had known only rarely: love, and
friendship.

Feelings had always hurt her.  If she ever cared for anyone, they left
her.  Therefore, caring led only to pain.  To her surprise, she had found
three people to care for.  All three were now dead, and she was alone,
trapped in silence once more, a silence so deafening it paralysed her.

No, surely the paralysis was something else...?  As she stirred back into
consciousness, her thoughts flowing lost and directionless, she sought
some memory of the past.

And then she realised that she could hear something... something deep in
her mind, where no one but her mother had ever gone.  A voice... that was
not her own.

She knew.  In one awesome moment of agony, she knew what had been done to
her.  Not everything that had been done, and not why it had been done, but
she knew enough.

She could hear the whispers of the Keeper even over the sound of her own
screams.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Londo Mollari had always held a less than favourable opinion of his fellow
people.  He had spent too much time in the Royal Court to bear any respect
or admiration for the vast majority of courtiers or politicians.  Oh,
there were a few, Lord-General Marrago, Minister Dugari, Lord Jana... some
others... but by and large all courtiers were the same.  Ruthless, naked
ambition beneath a silken visage.

Still, however experienced the politician, however skilled the courtier,
there was always the possibility of surprising them, catching them off-
guard, and when those moments arose you could see the true person beneath. 
For a brief period only, it was true, but for someone as skilled as Londo,
that was long enough.

He savoured the stunned expressions on the faces of the members of the
Selini Parliament as he walked into the room, looking around and nodding
to those he recognised.  Some gasped in horror, some smiled wryly, some
simply stared.

It took a moment or two for the shouting to begin.

"Mollari!" cried Lord Vole.  Londo knew him, and did not like him.  An
overambitious fool from the Court, his plans had little subtlety about
them, and even a child could have read his ambitions for the throne. 
Londo had heard from his sources in the Court that Vole's plans had become
a little too embarrassingly obvious and he had been 'promoted' to the post
of Sitter for the local Parliament in Selini, a career death sentence. 
Vole was probably too arrogant to realise that, though.

"Yes, Lord Vole?" he said.  "A pleasure to see you again.  May I say that
those robes look particularly fine on you.  Green always was your colour."

"But... but..." he spluttered.  "You're an outlaw, wanted for the murder
of the Emperor.  Guards!  Arrest him!"

"We can't do that, my Lord," said a figure seated beneath Lord Vole.  This
official was wearing pale green robes with a thin purple sash, denoting
his station as a servant of the Royal Court.  The Speaker for the Sitter,
another archaic position that was rarely seen in any of the mainland
Parliaments.  The Speaker was by tradition a clerk of law brought in to
'advise' the Parliament on points of law and suchlike.  Few nobles
appreciated being corrected by a humble clerk, hence the scarcity of
Speakers.  "He petitioned to address the Parliament under the ancient law
of ninety days habitation on this island.  We can do nothing until he has
finished his petition."

"That is a relic!" Vole protested.  "A custom left over from the days
before the first Emperor... before the first Centarum even!  It hasn't
been used in centuries."

"Nevertheless, Lord Sitter, the law has never been repealed.  He has the
right to petition."  Londo smiled.  He liked this man.  "After his
petition has been heard and voted on, of course, then you may order him
arrested."

There was a slight chuckle from the back benches.  Londo looked up to see
Lord Venturi, and smiled.  For years he had been the Minister for the
Court, a position with a lot of prestige but little real power.  Apparen-
tly he had tried to establish some semblance of order in the chaotic days
between Londo's 'death' and Malachi's reappearance.  Those efforts had led
to his effective banishment to his country estates on the mainland coast. 
Londo had been hoping Venturi would be here.  He was thus assured of at
least one ally.

"Oh yes," Venturi said, giggling.  "An old law, true, but still perfectly
valid.  Oh, well done, Londo."

"But he's a wanted criminal!" Vole protested.

"He has committed no crime on this island," reported the Speaker.  "The
right of petition stems from the days when Selini was an independent and
autonomous colony, and this right did not recognise crimes committed
elsewhere.  It still does not."

"Very well," Vole snapped testily.  "Make your petition, Mollari.  And
when we have thrown it out, then you will be sent back to the capital in
chains.  I only hope whatever... satisfaction you got out of this little
joke of yours was worth it."

Londo breathed out sharply.  Well, the first part of this insane plan of
his had gone off successfully.  Now all he had to do was rely on his
oratorical skills.

He walked forward, coughed once, and then began to speak...

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

True comfort had been a rare feeling for Donne recently.  A telepath, not
only by genetics but also by nature, she held very strict views on the
order of the species... namely that she and hers were far superior to
'mundanes'.  Living among them and surrounded by them as she had been for
so long had been almost... unendurable.  Only recalling the names of all
the mundanes she had murdered provided surcease.

She knew the reason for her posting to Proxima, but that had made it no
less hard.  But now, at last, she was free... back on Sanctuary, among her
own people.

Or so she had thought.  Five minutes after docking at the Psi Corps'
secret space station base, she had a very sobering shock.

Mundanes... normals... everywhere...

There had always been those on Sanctuary who did not share her...
skills... but they were either failed or weak telepaths or the occasional
mundane children of telepathic parents.  It happened.  Genetic engineering
was never a precise art.  In Donne's estimation such... individuals were a
mere step above normal mundanes, and only a very short one at that. 
Still, she was used to such people.

But here... everywhere she looked there were mundanes... people she did
not recognise, people who did not recognise her.  Running around every-
where, thinking their pathetic little thoughts, screaming their 'secret'
desires at the tops of their minds, constant chatter in the background.  A
vein began thumping in her forehead and she could feel a dark rage seeping
over her.

Names and faces and identifying marks began to flow from her subconscious
and she calmed down... slightly.  There would be a reckoning later with
one of these...

She stepped forward and started as a figure bumped into her, papers and
files flying up into the air.  Donne staggered back, her eyes flashing. 
The woman... the mundane... was scrabbling around picking up the items she
had dropped.  Donne did not help her.

Donne never noticed physical appearances.  Why bother, when she could read
minds instead?  With practised ease and nonchalance she slipped into this
mundane's mind, tracing thoughts and thought patterns, more unique than
any fingerprint or retinal scan or any of the pathetic mundane devices.

A name came eventually, amidst a barrage of thoughts - archaeological digs
and findings; dinner for tonight; a man in an old Earthforce uniform...  A
name, which Donne resolved to remember.  Dr. Mary Kirkish.

"I'm so sorry," she said, finally rising to her feet.  "My fault.  I
wasn't..."  She caught Donne's gaze and fell silent.

"Miss Donne," said a voice, both verbally and mentally.  Her snarl fading,
Donne turned, and found herself face to face with the first proper human
she had seen since arriving.  She did not try to read his mind - a simple
matter of courtesy.  Unfortunately she did not recognise him - an inevit-
able side-effect of so many years away from Sanctuary.

"I am Jason Ironheart.  I apologise for not being here to greet you when
you arrived.  As you can see, a lot has changed in Sanctuary since you
were last here."

"And not for the better."  She smiled though, with a warmth few who knew
her would have thought possible.  "Still... it is good to be home."

*Don't get too used to it,* he said mentally.  *The Boss has a mission for
you.*

She laughed.  "Back for five minutes and already I'm in demand.  It's good
to be wanted, isn't it?  Where is Al?  His office hasn't moved as well,
has it?"

"Oh no.  Let me escort you there."

"Oh... if you insist.  I knew he wouldn't have moved... he loved that
office.  So, what's been happening here recently?"

"The usual.  Protecting the civilised universe, saving mundanes from
themselves... working hard... playing harder."

Donne nodded.  Now that the two of them were deeper inside Sanctuary she
was feeling better and happier.  There were fewer mundanes around here,
and the whole place had an aura of... of peace and power.  It was home,
the only one she had ever really known.

And the only one she would ever need.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"We all know what has been happening back in the capital...  We all know
just how our society is being destroyed.  We all know, and yet we do
nothing.  We sit here and we argue and we debate, and meanwhile... none of
it matters.  No sooner do we decide on a course of action than events or
plots or people conspire to make it irrelevant.

"We are staring into the abyss, and we have all forgotten one crucial
detail.  If we stare into the abyss, then the abyss is also staring back
at us.  How long before it consumes us completely?"

Londo paused, and looked about him.  Everyone was at least listening,
which was always a plus point.  The number of times he had been present at
meetings of the Centarum where the majority of those assembled were sleep-
ing through a speech counted for more than half of his total attendance
there.  He was off to a good start, at least.

"All this we know," protested Lord Vole.  "You are merely using poetry to
tell us about a problem we have been discussing for months."

"Exactly my point," Londo replied.  "You have been discussing it for
months, and where has all your discussion got you?  Here... to an isolated
island at the edge of world that no one cares about!  Ask yourselves,
gentlemen... why are you here?  Why not at the Court?  Why not in a place
where your skills and talents might be recognised... might be used for the
good of our people?

"Why?  Because for too many of us... the good of the one has become
superior to the good of the many!  Petty glories, petty ambitions, petty
dreams of power...  We are a people... not a group of individuals.  We
once held the stars... civilisations moved and existed at our will...  We
were an empire, and we were proud and glorious.

"And now?  We are a tourist attraction.  We adopt the fashions and allegi-
ances of aliens, desperately seeking anything to alleviate our boredom. 
We have become the children we conquered.

"And our past is returning to destroy us.  We are losing ground to the
Narns.  We are losing our colonies to insurrection, to rebellion, to
conquest.  These, gentlemen, are the dying days of the great and glorious
Centauri Republic."

Londo fell silent, overcome by the power of his own words, and by what
they meant.  Seldom before had the dangers of these days hit him so hard,
or so powerfully.  So much depended on the outcome of this.

And yet... and yet... his plan might just be working.  The Lords were
sitting further forward, hanging on his words.  They were more than
listening, they were understanding.  It was not enough, not yet, but he
was almost there.

"Rumours and scaremongering," snapped Lord Vole.  "We are pushing back the
Narns at every opportunity, and there have been no off-world rebellions. 
There..."

"And who has told you these facts?" asked Londo, trying not to smile. 
Vole was performing exactly as expected.  Some things could always be
counted on.  "The Court!  The same Court that placed most of you here!

"Well, my Lords... there is a solution, and there is hope.  Always so. 
And I am here to present you with my solution, in the form of my petition. 
You have listened to my speech, and I hope you have understood, and
agreed.  So... here is my petition to you...

"I hereby announce my nomination for the post of Governor of Selini."

Dead silence.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"And she agreed to this, then?"

"Of course she did, Mr. President," replied Ambassador Sheridan, keeping a
careful eye on Mr. Welles.  He smiled.  "Give her the option of freedom
and she will take it.  I said as much earlier."

"She accepted, Mr. President," said Welles, firmly and without emphasis,
"because it is a mission she supports morally.  She has her own code of
conduct and this mission agrees with that code.  Had the task been
otherwise, she might well have refused."

"A terrorist and murderer with a conscience?" muttered President Clark,
observing both men for their reactions.  "A strange creature, to be sure. 
But still, so long as she agreed, then do her motives really matter?  It
is not as if we intend to honour our side of the bargain in any case."

"It does matter," contradicted Welles.  "She is not fighting for her
freedom, but because, from what I have told her, this mission is...
morally 'right'.  Suppose she discovers it isn't?  Suppose G'Kar...
convinces her otherwise?  This is a bad idea, dependent on too much
outwith our control... as I said before."

"You worry too much," sighed Sheridan.  "It is not as if we won't have
agents of our own there."

"True," acknowledged Clark.  "But the fact of the matter is... G'Kar has
involved himself in our business too often.  He has... ambitions which
threaten our goals.  Besides, if he is weak enough to fall before us, then
he is hardly a worthy tool for his masters.  The plan goes ahead, Mr.
Welles, as we have discussed."

Welles nodded.  "As you say, Mr. President.  I was merely voicing my
concerns."

"And they are duly noted."  Clark smiled, an altogether unpleasant sight. 
"We appreciate your concern and doubts, Mr. Welles.  Never lose either. 
They are what make you so valuable to us.  Is that not so, Ambassador?"

"Absolutely."  But Sheridan's eyes were dark, and distrusting.

"So, what news on Ambas... sorry, Lieutenant... ah, Miss Ivanova?" asked
Clark.  "Does she even have a title any more?"

"Whatever you wish to call her.  The attachment was a success.  She
retains enough of her former personality to function adequately but her...
more destructive tendencies will be over-ridden.  To all intents and
purposes she is fully under our control."

"That is good.  Very well, then.  Proceed to the next stage of her...
operation.  It is as well that we waited.  It would hardly do for your
Keeper to lose control over her after you have given her the power she
needs for our purposes... would it, Ambassador?"

Sheridan, with all the instincts and attitudes of a career diplomat,
nodded and smiled.  Clark's words were biting, but accurate.  Someday he
would have to discover just how Ivanova had failed with him.  "Indeed not,
Mr. President."

"Well then, gentlemen.  It appears all is on track.  That is good to hear.

"Very... very good, indeed."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The faces changed, the names changed, but the words, and the meaning
behind them... they were always the same.

Malachi raised his tired eyes to the sky and visualised the face of his
old friend, the former Emperor Turhan.  "I suppose," he whispered in a
hoarse voice, "it is good that you cannot see this.  What has been done to
your people.  Perhaps earlier we could have done more, but... there was
not enough time, my friend.  Never enough time.

"Do you know what they call you now?  Some of them hail you as a saviour,
others as..."  Malachi's face darkened.  "As a weak-minded fool.  What
would they know?  But... no, only the nobles think that, and then only
some of them.  To think that a people as numerous as ours are ruled by so
few, with the worst always rising to the top.

"But the people... ah, the people.  They know differently.  They think
differently.  They will be our salvation."

He closed his eyes, the words he had been uttering so many times for so
long returning to haunt him.

"Of course you have my support, my Lord..." Lord Jarno, Minister Virini,
Lord Kiro "... my Lady..." Lady Elrisia "... your Highness..." Prince
Cartagia.

"I am speaking on your behalf to the other factions.  It is... difficult,
but we will prevail, I am sure of it.  It is clear that you are the only
possible candidate.  Alas, some still do not see it that way.

"Do not worry.  All will be well.

"We need stability first.  The Court must be at rest, and united behind
one figure.  We must end the divisions which have racked our people.

"Minister Mollari?  Yes... we are making the search for him our utmost
priority.  He will be apprehended.  Of that you may be sure.

"There is no need to worry.  You can count on me.

"You can count on me.

"Trust me.

"Trust me.  You can count on me.

"Trust me."

He sighed.  "One day perhaps... one day you will understand.  One day."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Donne hesitated at the door to Bester's office, looking at her companion
hesitantly.  He bowed once.  "Mr. Bester is within," Ironheart said
formally.  "He is expecting you."

"I'll bet," she whispered softly.  "How is he lately?"  A strange and
nervous paralysis seemed to have overtaken her.  She did not want to open
that door.  She did not want to see one of the most important men in her
life again.  Not now.  He might... no, he *would* know about what she
had... been doing on Proxima.  There had been nothing wrong in her
actions, nothing at all.  But... but what if that was why he had recalled
her?  What if she had failed him in some subtle way she could not under-
stand?  What if...?

"He is well," Ironheart said, accepting her strange question without
remark.  "I am sure he will be able to fill you in on everything else. 
Good day, Miss Donne."  He then bowed again, and left.

Donne began breathing harshly, looking at the door.  She fidgeted with her
uniform.  Anything to delay for a moment, to put off the time when she
would walk through the door and face up to the consequences of whatever
actions she might have taken.

*Come in, Donne,* spoke a familiar voice in her mind.  She sighed softly. 
Bester's voice was warm and inviting.  She opened the door, and entered.

It was her first sighting of Bester in over five months, since the last
time he had visited Proxima, and they had had little time together then. 
Her first impression of him, sitting at his desk, looking at documents and
reports, was that there seemed to be two people there, and neither was the
Alfred Bester she thought she knew.

Two images juxtaposed over his appearance.  One, evidenced by a certain
tilt to the shoulders, by a hint of joy in his eyes, even by such details
as the arrangements on his desk, spoke of a renewed happiness, as if he
had been alone for years and had finally found companionship.

But the other... a heaviness in his bearing, an urgency as he read a
report, his eyes falling over the same line time after time...  She knew
her boss well enough to know that he was planning something, some action
he did not wish to carry out, but knew he must.

He looked up, smiling, set the report down, and rose to greet her. 
Circling around his table, he walked up to her and took her hand gently in
his.  He kissed the soft fabric of her glove and looked up at her, his
smile lighting the room.

"Welcome home," he said softly.  "Come, sit.  I wish... this could be a
little easier, but... times are hard."  She nodded, her mouth dry, and
moved to the spare chair.  Sitting there, she found herself looking
directly into his eyes

*I am going to do something dangerous,* he said, directly into her mind. 
*Something... wrong, even.  And to do it, I will need the help of everyone
I have ever been able to trust.  Ben Zayn, Harriman Gray, Talia... and
you.  Especially you.*

*I am yours,* she replied mentally, without a moment's pause.  *Tell me
what you wish to be done, and I will do it.*

*In time,* he said in her mind, but then he switched to verbal communi-
cation.  "First... the matter of certain... activities you were performing
on Proxima.  You may not have been as discreet as you should have been."

A cold tightness gripped her stomach.  "I..." she began, trying to frame
the words.  "I..."

*I know,* he said calmly, mentally.  *I know what you did, and why, and it
is all an irrelevance.  Nothing you have done could make me not trust you,
but there are certain matters of... protocol to concern ourselves with. 
Matters involving... others.*  Verbally: "I've recalled you here to get
you out of harm's way, so to speak.  There will be a replacement appointed
eventually.  Perhaps Mr. Ironheart."

"Of course," she whispered.  "I... understand.  What is to be my new
position?"

"For the meantime, just resume your former training and observation roles
here on Sanctuary."  Mentally: *That is the official explanation. 
Unofficially, there is a very special task for you.  Very special indeed.*

She nodded.  "Of course.  I understand."  Mentally: *Is someone listening
in?  Threat of spies?*

Mentally: *Worse then spies, and far more efficient.  An ally who may be
coming to mistrust me.  Several of our recent joint operations have not
gone well, and I fear he may now... suspect more than he should.  I very
much doubt that he has agents or spies on Sanctuary, but with some of the
resources he has available, he will not need him.*

*This ally?  He is the one you are working against?*

*Yes.  His name is G'Kar, and you, my dear Donne...  You will be my
instrument against him.*

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *


From: "Gareth Williams" <LWA97GDW@sheffield.ac.uk>
Subject: The Parliaments of Conquerors, part 2B
Date: Mon, 26 Oct 1998 20:05:54 +0000



There was a question Londo had once been asked many years ago, surrounded
by his companions from his old duelling society - the Cora Predo.  He
hesitated to remember them as friends, for they probably weren't. 
Toadies, and hangers-on, and debtors.  Only Urza had been a friend, truly.

The question, posed by someone too drunk to contain his thoughts, had
asked... "If you could be at any event, any time in our past... where
would you be?"  The individual in question then commented that he would,
less than imaginatively, be present when the first Emperor killed the
pretender Minister on the steps of the throne room - an event which
everyone and his mother knew to be entirely apocryphal.  (The pretender
Minister had in fact committed suicide by poison when his effort to
reclaim the Centarum had failed miserably.)

Still, various others had spoken up, loudly and vocally, with their own
opinions.  One had wanted to be beside the first Emperor Marrago as he
broke open the doors of the Centarum.  Another had wanted to be one of the
two thousand to make the first footfall on Narn.  Still another had
mentioned the first contact with the humans.  The death of the last Xon
(and the year-long celebrations afterwards) had been a popular choice. 
Several, unsurprisingly, brought up the infamous (and entirely un-
apocryphal) 'Long Ride' of the Empress Godiva - a ride made while the lady
was entirely naked (and drunk; a detail that somehow escaped the official,
Imperial histories, which put the whole event down to a subtle political
distraction.)

And then the question had been put to Londo, who had not been quite as
drunk as he had seemed.

"I would want to be alive... during the reign of the twelfth Emperor," he
had said, nodding sagely at this point of wisdom, which caused much
consternation and head-scratching among his fellows.

"But... but nothing happened then," protested one.  "No wars.  No... great
moments of history.  No... naked Empresses..."  (Various crude and raucous
shouts of encouragement.)  "Nothing at all.  Why then?"

Only Urza had smiled, for he knew.

"A quiet life is the greatest gift the Gods can give us.  A life without
responsibility, without care, without threat from beyond.  A life where
all we have to do is eat, drink, be merry and make love."  (Cue more
raucous remarks about naked Empresses.)

Thinking about it back in the present, Londo realised that, yes, he had
been perfectly right then.  A quiet and peaceful life was all he could ask
from the Gods.

The Gods, judging by their lack of regard in this matter, obviously hated
him.

"Insanity!"  "Foolishness!"  "A mockery!"  "The man's drunk!"  Mocking
laughter, dry laughter, high-pitched laughter.  Londo stood in the middle
of it all, smiling.

"Oh, Londo," sighed Venturi.  "You must be... well... it does sound a
little... uh..."

"It sounds like our dear friend is adding stupidity to murder and
treason," piped up a voice from the back.

"Ah," came a reply, "but stupidity is not yet a crime punishable by death. 
Just as well in your case, my Lord."  There were quite a few laughs,
including one from Londo.  Some things never changed.

"The fact is," Vole snapped, "that Mollari is obviously wasting our time
in a feeble effort to expiate his obvious guilt.  Guards, arrest him!"

"I am afraid, my Lord," said the Speaker, "that they cannot do that until
his petition has been voted on."

"So, arrest him afterwards then.  What difference does it make?"

Londo smiled.  "You should read your own laws, Lord Vole.  The post of
Governor of Selini, while it has admittedly not been used in recent years,
is an ancient one, expressly mentioned in the Act of Union that made
Selini subservient to the capital.  The Governor would be elected by the
local Parliament - which predates both the Act of Union and the establish-
ment of the Royal Court - and he would also be answerable to no one but
the Emperor or the current recognised Sitter in the Centarum.  And...
alas, both posts are currently empty."

"Minister Mollari speaks correctly," said the Speaker.

"But such a law has not been used for centuries!" protested Lord Vole.

"That... isn't really the point," spoke up Venturi.  "As time passed the
power of Selini dwindled, and there has not been a Governor in centuries,
as you said, the post being more or less filled by the Sitter of the local
Parliament.  However, the law was never repealed, and... Minister Mollari
is quite correct in his interpretation."

Vole sighed.  "This is foolishness in the extreme, Mollari.  You do
realise that.  Very well, let us get this travesty over with.  What is the
required majority needed for Mollari to win this... vote?  Not that he
will get more than... two votes, in any case."  Vole was looking around
the room, glaring intently at everyone he saw.

"The figure is a simple majority," spoke up the Speaker.  "In cases where
the Governorship is contested, then the figure must be higher than the
nearest rival by at least ten per cent, but as that is not the case
here..."

"Wait!" snapped Vole.  "Contested, you say?  Then I announce my nomination
for the post of Governor.  What will work for you, Mollari, works also for
me."

"Except that you are not eligible to petition this Parliament, my Lord. 
You have not lived on this island for the required period.  Your accommo-
dation is on the mainland."

Vole shook his head.  "And how long did it take you to uncover all these
archaic laws, Mollari?"

"Oh, about ninety days," he admitted, smiling.  "Now, my Lords.  You have
heard my speech, and you have heard what I stand for, and what I desire. 
I assure you all I had no part in the murder of the last Emperor and that
the only crime of which I am guilty is that of patriotism and a love of my
people.  I swear to you all... that I will serve Selini, the people of
Selini, and through them... the Centauri Republic.  I desire only to
serve."

"Complete foolishness," muttered Vole.  "Is this meant to be a closed or
open vote?"

"Closed, I believe..." muttered Venturi hastily.

"I am afraid not, my Lord," spoke up the Speaker again.  "The elections we
speak of predate the adoption of closed voting.  Everything is done
openly."

Vole smiled.  "Ah, well.  Let us see those who support this foolish
proposal to raise a wanted regicide to a dead position.  All who support
Mollari... please stand."  He remained resolutely seated.

Londo breathed out slowly and closed his eyes.  He had done all he could. 
All he had to do now was trust the Lords before him.  He knew the Selini-
folk well - proud, arrogant, determined, contrary, many even still
speaking their own, largely obsolete language.  But... there would be many
here exiled from the Royal Court, many who saw Londo's return as a threat
to their own ambitions in the wider sphere.  There might even be some who
believed the accusations from the Court.

If he failed here, then he would be arrested and taken away for execution. 
He hoped he had set enough in motion that the plan would proceed without
him.  Marrago, Carn, Lennier... they all knew what they were doing, and
how they had to do it.

And Timov... ah, may the Gods bless Timov.  It was strange indeed, Londo
realised, to fall in love with his wife at last after thirty years of
marriage.

An angry shout awoke him from his reverie and he opened his eyes.  The
first thing he saw was Lord Vole, almost apoplectic with rage.  Eyes wide,
Londo turned around, in a circle, looking at those seated around him.

Almost everyone present was standing.  Oh, a few remained seated, but they
were mostly people like Vole - exiles from the Court.  Venturi was
standing and he looked at Londo with a smile and a giddy laugh.  Nobles
acclaimed Londo from all sides, and he understood why.  For the most part,
they were like him - relics of a forgotten age, a former time they all
wanted back.

The Speaker rose to his feet and bowed, deeply and formally.  Such was his
wonder that Londo hardly heard the man's next words.

"Hail, Governor Mollari."

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Welles was uncharacteristically impatient.  As he looked up at the clock
on the wall of his office he could only surmise as to Clark's timetable. 
Soon.  within the month, maybe.  The month after, certainly.  Then there
would be more blood shed than had ever been seen in one battle.

But it wasn't to be a battle, not at first anyway.  It was...

Welles shook his head.  The plan was tactically sound, and in this
situation, inevitable.  G'Kar and his Army of Light had intervened in the
last two major battles fought by the Resistance Government.  At the Second
Line it had been hard to say what might have happened - the Battle had
been a confusing mess in any case.

At Minbar, however... there, G'Kar's involvement had made a difference. 
Without his ships, Minbar would have been annihilated rather than just
devastated.  The other colonies could have been eliminated, and the
Minbari would not just have been broken, but destroyed.  And now look at
them - factionalised, yes; fatally split, true... but alive, and active,
and more warlike than ever.

G'Kar had interfered too much and Clark had decided that it was past time
to deal with him.

But why in God's name was Bester helping them do it?

Welles looked at the clock again, and found himself thinking about his
wife.  It had been a present from her, on their wedding anniversary, years
before she had died at Orion.  He hadn't thought of her in a long time. 
He didn't want to know what she would be thinking of him if she could see
what he was doing, and what he had done.

The door opened, at the very second Welles had requested the pleasure of
Captain Dexter Smith's company.  A typical military man, always precise
and flawlessly accurate, as ordered.  Still, of late Smith had been
more... distracted too.  He had not been at Minbar, but he had played a
crucial role in the war up to that point.  Perhaps he had simply seen too
much?

"You asked to see me, sir?" Smith said.  Welles noted the phrasing and
smiled inwardly.  Although not possessing an official rank in the military
he was a prominent figure in the Resistance Government, and therefore had
some power over the military in matters under his jurisdiction, namely
Security and Intelligence.

Expressly not treason, the committing of, or enticing others to do the
same.

Still, these were dangerous times and a little... leeway was always
possible.

"Take a seat, Captain."

"I'd rather stand, thank you, sir."

Welles smiled again.  "Tell me, Captain Smith," he said intently, noting
minute details of Smith's bearing, posture and tone of voice in his impec-
cable memory.  If this went well, then Welles might have found himself a
true ally he could count on.

And if it didn't...

"Tell me Captain Smith, just what do you think of our Government?"

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Lord Valo, former Lord-Admiral Valo, was not in a good mood.  He looked
out at the planet below him, practically seething with anger.  His bridge
crew knew better than to interfere with him at such times, and so he was
left alone in his fury.

Lord Valo was, like Londo, a member of the old guard of Centauri nobility. 
He remembered the days when the Court meant something, when the Republic
meant something, when the military meant something.  As a child, his
father had taken him to the Narn homeworld on a business matter.  Valo had
looked around at the frightened, scurrying, servile Narns and he had
realised just what it meant to be a Centauri, and not just any Centauri,
but a noble as well.

Superior to all but the Emperor and his Cabinet.  Superior to his own
people, to aliens, Valo had never felt such pride.

And now... now where were they?  Beaten off the Narn homeworld, the mighty
Centauri Republic sent reeling back across the galaxy, countless light
years from the places they had once ruled with an iron fist.  The military
had become soft, the Court had become decadent.  Oh, for a brief few years
it had looked as if things might be back on track, but that had not
lasted.  Valo had always known that the triple alliance of Jaddo, Mollari
and Refa would not endure.

Worms in the brain.  The plague of any Government.  They needed strong
leadership.  Hard leadership.  A military mind to guide and command them.

But even the military could not be trusted.  Marrago had disappeared
several months ago.  The reports were that he had sold his regiments out
to the Narns and was currently living on the Narn homeworld.  Valo wasn't
sure if he believed that or not, but it hardly mattered.  Marrago was
gone.  Another once-great man faded away.

Worms in the brain.

"Damn him," Valo spat, still looking at the planet.  "He promised he'd
have this sorted out by now.  He knew.  He knew what to do.  What we need. 
So why has this taken so long?  And why am I here?"

A peasant revolt.  Unheard of in centuries, and this time coupled with a
military mutiny as well.  And on Gorash 7, the heart of the Republic's
supply lines.

Well, the policy was simple enough.  Valo subscribed to the old ways in
this matter, as in so much else.  Find the ringleaders, both peasant and
military, and eliminate them.  Public and messy executions if possible. 
Silent assassinations if not.  After that, brutal punishment for everyone
else involved, depending on level of involvement and degree of foreknow-
ledge.  Then a martial law decree for however long it took to restore
order.

Simple enough, and Valo would ordinarily have relished being in charge of
such a mission.  Establishing order, the iron hand... just the thing to
show those weaklings back home.

But *he* should have been back home.  He needed to be at the Court.  Too
much could be happening there while he was gone.  Malachi had promised
Valo his ascension to the throne was secure, and this was just a temporary
problem.  Certain issues had to be resolved.  Nothing major.  Nothing
permanent.  He would be back before he knew it.

Valo was angry.  Very angry, and the people of Gorash 7 would pay the
price.

"My lord," spoke up one of the bridge aides hurriedly.  He turned,
startled.  His crew knew enough not to disturb him when he was in this
sort of mood, but there was an urgency in the young man's voice.  A
distinct sense of panic.

Just a panic attack over nothing, Valo thought.  Too soft, these new
military.  No spine.  "What?" he asked, with as much sternness as he could
manage.

"Jump points opening.  A lot of them."

"What?  There's nothing scheduled.  Who are they?"

Pale, almost terrified: "Narns, my lord.  A lot of them."

Valo spluttered and leapt to his feet.  Narns?  Here?  "That's impossible! 
How did they get past the...?"  He stopped, a precise and stunning moment
of revelation sweeping over him.  "He... he promised me...  He...  Damn
him!"

"Orders, my lord?" asked the ashen-faced aide.  "The captains of the
Constantine and the Hadrian are requesting permission to open fire.  More
jump points are opening.  The instruments... they say twenty Narn heavy
cruisers at least."

"Twenty," Valo whispered, his mind in turmoil.  Damn him!  Damn them all!

Worms in the brain.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"You do understand what this involves?"

The woman nodded.  She did not look pleased about this interrogation.

"You do understand the significance of this mission?  You also understand
the consequences of failure?"

"Yes," she said irritably.  "You know that I do."

President Clark smiled.  "Excellent, Miss Halloran.  Or do you prefer
Number One?"  She shrugged, evidently indicating that she would quite
happily answer to either.  "How many in your crew?"

"Just the four, including me," she said.  "My former second.  He was
promised the same immunities and rewards as I was."

"Ah yes.  Number Two.  I assure you, he and you will be treated exactly
the same."

"One of Mr. Welles' Security officers.  I believe he specialised in
terrorist-type activities during the war.  Infiltration, assassination and
so forth.  Boggs, by name.  Now you tell me, President Clark," she said,
her lip twisting into a sneer, "I'm a terrorist, and he's a hero.  Explain
that."

"Simple," Clark said, smiling.  "He's on the side of the angels. 
Continue."

"A Narn assassin, name of Tu'Pari.  He and I go way back.  He used to work
for their Guild of Assassins, the Thenta Ma'Kur, but fell out with their
Government or something."

"I thought you hated Narns?" Clark asked, quizzically.

"Just the ones who steal our land, enslave our people and work them to
death," she spat.  "As for Tu'Pari, I don't like him at all, but he does
know what he's doing, and at least he's fairminded.  He doesn't mind
killing his own people.  All he wants is a stack of money.  Much easier
for you than granting amnesties to dangerous criminals like myself."

"Probably," Clark admitted.  "Those are your four?"  She nodded.  "We
don't expect much, and we are willing to leave the rest of the matter in
your hands.  All we do insist on is that you take along Susan Ivanova,
former Ambassador.  She has been... uniquely tailored for a specific part
of the operation.  Get her to the location specified, remove any
opposition, and she'll do the rest."

"Whatever you say.  You're the boss.  Well, then, where do we go from
here?"

"A shuttle will be arranged for you.  A secret one naturally.  At a
certain point in hyperspace you will be taken aboard another shuttle, one
belonging to our ally.  This shuttle will be heading for Epsilon Three,
where you will disembark, and you will meet your contact there, one
provided by our ally.  He or she will know the second half of your code-
phrase."

"Very cloak-and-dagger," she muttered.  "And then...?"

"Then, you do what you have to do.  If you are caught and interrogated, we
will of course deny everything."

"Just what I'd expect.  And you won't tell me who this ally of yours is,
either?  No, figures."

"Tell me, Miss Halloran," Clark said, leaning back and smiling slightly. 
"You seem less than enamoured of this mission, so why did you agree to
it?"

"To get out of prison, to kill some Narns, to see the sky again... take
your pick.  Just remember your side of the bargain."  Without waiting for
a dismissal, she turned and left.

Clark smiled, and stretched.  Ah, what an interesting young woman.  He
found himself almost regretting the fact that he would never see her
again.

                            *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The day was over, and Dugari had accomplished all that he had set out to
do.  Spreading rumours had always been one of the lesser weapons used in
the machinations of the Royal Court.  Compared with poison, murder,
slander or seduction, it had always seemed mild.  But still, the required
effect had been achieved, and it had been done with all the skill of a
born Centauri noble.

A letter, forged with the seal of Lord Valo, had been 'discovered'
partially burned in a landfill site outside the capital.  The few
surviving lines had startled the site foreman, who had passed it on to his
supervisor, who had in turn passed it on to his.  Within an hour the Royal
Court knew of it, and each faction began casting aspersions on Valo's
sudden posting to the front.  A great many theories soon arose.  Allies of
Valo began to grow increasingly paranoid - he had not told them about any
treaty with the Narns - and so some denied knowing anything, while others
pretended to know and behaved as if everything were under control.

A few hours later, a drunken and off-duty member of the Royal Guard was
overheard bragging in his cups to his fellows at the Gilded Lady tea house
that he had witnessed the arrival of the Narn delegation and had overseen
the disposal of their bodies.  He later disappeared.

The day was accomplished by an account of an enigmatic meeting with
Malachi, the garbled report of which was subsequently relayed around the
court.  The substance of it seemed to be that Malachi knew nothing of any
peace initiative, but that he would not be hostile to such an offer,
should it be made.

Dugari had had nothing to do with that last bit, but it was still
surprising him just how much could be done in a single day.

Unfortunately, while the day was over, the night was only just beginning,
and far more can be done in any night than can be achieved by the clear
light of day.

He returned to his quarters and admitted himself, smiling slightly.  A
good day, by any standards.  He wasn't sure if helping Londo would win
back his sense of motivation, but at least now he was doing something. 
Whether he was aiding order or spreading chaos he wasn't sure, but at
least now he had a reason to get up in the morning.

One day at a time, and his sense of purpose might yet be restored.

He activated his light globes, wandering around his room in a happy daze,
idly wondering why his personal servant wasn't here yet.  She was always
here when he got back from business at Court.  Oh well.

There was a saying Londo had told him once... oh, some years ago now.  A
human saying.  Dugari had little interest in the affairs of humans, but
this one had stuck in his mind.  What had it been again?

Oh yes.  'It is better to light a single candle than to curse the
darkness.'

He entered his bedroom.

"Out with the light," said the voice of Lady Elrisia.

Dugari coughed.

"You've been a naughty boy," she said, in that seductive, insinuating tone
she could manage so well.  "You've been doing things you shouldn't have
been doing.  We wouldn't have thought it of the Coughing Lord, but life
has a way of surprising us all, wouldn't you say?"

He turned, staggering towards the door, only to find someone standing in
his way.  Prince Cartagia.  The look in his eyes...

"It is funny how life works out, isn't it?" Elrisia continued.  "The
Coughing Lord, for so long the butt of all our jokes... is soon to become
the Coffin Lord."  She smiled, and raised her right hand, licking at her
fingers slowly.  They were covered in blood.

"Now, what is dear Londo up to now?"

The light globe fell to the floor, and shattered.


Next: A Line in the Sand (eight parts)

There is a darkness coming, a great and terrible darkness.  But there is
hope, there is a place of refuge, a place of sanctuary, a place where the
forces of light can be marshalled and readied.  A place where a Line has
been drawn.  And now the darkness comes to that place, and the Line will
be drenched in blood. 
THE ONE WHO WAS.  
THE ONE WHO IS.  
THE ONE WHO WILL BE.  
WHICH ONE SHALL FALL?