Seventy-five human light-years.
When G'Kar thought of it in those terms, as years made of pure
light, it somehow didn't seem so far. It seemed...almost
elegant.
But still depressing.
Seventy-five human light-years.
The distance from Babylon 5 to the despised planet Centauri
Prime.
And how far was Narn from Babylon 5?
G'Kar knew this intimately: a little over 10 Narn light-years,
which equaled...yes, 12.2 human light-years.
He distracted himself with other problems: the calculation of
distance in Narn light-years from Babylon 5 to Earth, from Earth to
Minbar, from Minbar to Narn...
And then there was another thought that distracted him:
How far was it in light-years from Narn to Centauri Prime?
G'Kar found himself gritting his teeth.
Not at the mathematics, which involved simple calculations and
conversions that the former Narn ambassador to Babylon 5 knew all
too well.
The problem of the distance between Narn and Centauri Prime was the
easiest of all to answer, because the answer involved no
mathematics at all.
In fact, G'Kar was able to calculate it now, as he gritted his
teeth in pain as the latest lash of the whip (a conventional one,
the "electro-whip" being reserved for "special" occasions) held by
one of Centauri Emperor Cartagia's pain technicians bit into his
back, as the evil emperor himself sat looking at G'Kar with fading
amusement from a resplendent red throne.
As the emperor let out a full-fledged yawn, not bothering to cover
his mouth, the whip cracked once again, driving hot pain into
G'Kar's raw back and making him try even harder to take his mind
from the agony by thinking of mathematics problems.
How far was it from Narn to Centauri Prime?
Answer: The distance of hatred.
* * *
In the torture room, Emperor Cartagia was bored.
Stifling yet another yawn, he waved his hand at the pain technician
and the lashing of the Narn G'Kar immediately
stopped. The proud savage tried to show no emotion,
keeping his eyes fixed on the emperor, but Cartagia noted a slight
relaxation in his frame, which momentarily lifted the emperor's
boredom. He made a slight motion with one finger, hoping
G'Kar hadn't seen, and the torturer immediately cracked his whip
once more, making the Narn nearly cry out in pain.
So he hadn't expected it!
Splendid!
But now the Narn stood proud once more, needing no pillory post,
merely shackled, refusing to collapse after a solid hour of
conventional lashing, and Emperor Cartagia felt boredom crawl into
him to stay.
Not bothering to stifle his biggest yawn yet, he waved the prisoner
away.
"Take him back to his cell--and don't feed him today," the emperor
said, thinking perhaps to drop by later to see how the Narn was
faring.
If he wasn't still bored.
As the pain technician bowed and backed away, two imperial guards
immediately flanked the former Narn ambassador to Babylon 5, and
led him away.
He wouldn't allow himself to be dragged, even with the whipping he
had sustained.
Catching sight of the blood lines on the Narn's back, the emperor
was suddenly shaken out of his boredom.
He thought of calling the guards back--perhaps even rising from his
throne to administer a lashing to the Narn himself.
He began to rise--but then another yawn rose into his throat and he
dropped back into the throne.
Bored.
Thirsty.
"More wine!" he cried, as a half-dozen retainers scrambled for
flagons to attend to him.
The latest yawn was replaced by a chuckle. He thought of
his uncle, the late Emperor Turhan, who had always seemed so stern
in the job. Why, the old fool had even, on occasion,
removed his wig and conducted business in front of others without
his hair!
Scandalous!
And stupid!
As if he didn't care about what others thought of him, or the
trappings of his exalted position!
As his glass was filled by a lackey, the emperor brushed a hand
over his own beautiful and stylishly short (he knew it was stylish
because he had come up with the idea himself) fringe of hair.
Why, this was power!
And what good was power without...amusement!
He brought the wine to his lips, tasted, then drank it down.
"Bring me...amusement!" he cried.
And waited for the next act in his daily play.
* * *
A slave is not always a slave.
Five Narns, newly arrived slaves from their mother planet, were led
with the ninety others from their slave ship through city streets
unfamiliar to them. The manifest that had accompanied them said
that all of them, the full ninety-five, were accomplished tunnel
workers, good at laying water and sewer lines, but this was only
true for ninety of them.
The special five were good at other things.
For a while, the ninety-five stayed tightly together, herded like
cattle through unknown streets under light from a strange
sun. Some were spat upon by passing Centauri and crude
jokes were directed their way. At one point, one of the
five who were not in truth tunnel workers was hit with something
thrown from a building, which hit his cheek. He did not
flinch, and the object did not cut the skin.
The slaves' overseers, looking forward to rest and relaxation
before returning to Narn for another shipment of slaves, did their
duty just before arrival at the tunnel site where the slaves were
to be turned over, but were lax in their count; they counted
ninety-six and, fed up with the exercise, decided to wait until
after lunch for a second count; after all, one of them laughed, if
it turned out there was an extra slave how could they get
into trouble?
But when the second count was made an hour later, it was found that
there were only ninety slaves, and that five were missing--five
whose names somehow turned out to be impossible to trace...
* * *
So this was Centauri Prime.
L'Kan was not impressed, and, he knew, neither were his
companions. Compared to what the Narn homeworld had been
before the Centauri had first come, the lush forested beauty of a
world that was only a memory now, this world was...decadent.
As he walked through the streets in his ragged slave's robe, his
tall, burly build making his head stand out over his fellows, he
took in the world of Centauri Prime. The overstated
architecture, the rich adornments, the flowing robes and other
overdone styles of dress, the flaunting of abundance--all
decadent.
L'Kan imagined that it had always been this way.
There was not, however, much time for sight-seeing. Five
Narns unattended by a Centauri slave master would quickly be
noticed and reported.
It was time for them to make themselves...disappear.
For they had a mission to accomplish.
* * *
Complications, complications.
Sometimes, even Londo Mollari got tired of complications.
Life, of course, was complications; Londo knew
that. There were the complications of rank, and status,
and power. And there were the complications of dress,
and presentation, and cunning. And there were social
complications, of marriage (Londo made a face, thinking of his
three wives, Timov, Daggair, and Mariel, whom he referred to as
"Famine, Pestilence, and Death"). And there were
complications that all of these complications seemed to
create.
And then there were the complications that seemed to wait on his
breakfast plate each morning: the new complications.
Like today's, for instance.
Like Vir.
"Drinking your breakfast today?" Vir said, not hiding his
disapproval. Londo's protege never failed to annoy him,
yet Londo never failed to feel a certain sense of...comfort,
almost, when the younger man was around. He had no idea
if his instincts were truly paternal--or if Vir's underlying
honesty and decency were merely useful on occasion.
Probably the latter.
With a sprinkle of the former.
More complications...
"Yes, Vir," Londo said, raising his glass in a sarcastic toast to
the younger man, "I am drinking my
breakfast. And I may drink my lunch and dinner
also--with a few snacks in between."
Vir fairly clucked. "You need all your wits about you,
Londo. You know it may cloud your judgment--"
"My judgment is fine with or without imbibing!" Londo remarked
testily. "And I do not need you to lecture me!"
Vir gave a disapproving frown. "It's just that--"
"Stop!" Londo pushed his glass aside, noting with some
satisfaction that it was nearly empty anyway. "There, I
will not drink any more of it. Does that make you
happy?"
Vir, letting his frown soften a bit, responded, "Yes."
"Good. Then now we can get down to
business. What is it that is so important?"
Rubbing his hands nervously, Vir said, "G'Kar needs to see you in
his cell. Immediately. And alone. I've taken
the liberty of checking his cell for listening or recording
devices, and made sure guards loyal to you will be placed around it
when you are there."
"And what is so important that I should deign to visit G'Kar in his
cell?" Londo asked.
"He said it was very important. That..."
"Well?"
Vir looked very worried, which was always a clue that further
complications were about to emerge. "He said your plan
might be in jeopardy."
"What!"
"He said..."
Londo felt his blood beginning to boil; he wanted very much to
drain the glass he had recently pushed away. "Tell me
exactly what he said!"
Vir took a couple of breaths and tried to calm
down. "G'Kar said that if steps were not taken
immediately, then everything you and he are working toward will
be..."
Barely able to control his apprehension now, Londo shouted, "What
word did he use, Vir?"
Looking at the floor, Vir whispered, "Kablooey."
"Kablooey?" Londo repeated, startled. "What
does "kablooey' mean?"
"Apparently it is an Earth term, one G'Kar learned from Captain
Sheridan. It means...kaput."
Totally flustered now, Londo raised his hands in the
air. "And what does "kaput' mean, Vir!"
"It means..."
Once again, Vir hesitated.
"Tell me now, or I will have you flogged!" Londo
shouted, losing all patience. "Better yet," he snarled, casting his
eyes about for something to hit the younger man with, "I will flog
you myself!" To himself, Londo thought, I'm getting
carried away; the emperor's madness must be rubbing off on
me...
Vir took a step back, but recovered. Londo noted that
the younger man was marking the position of the door, and how far
it was away from him.
"It means 'out the window,' 'finito,' or 'bye-bye.' In other words,
terminated."
"Get out!" Londo yelled, reaching for a nearby gewgaw to
throw. But Vir had already made it to the door and was
gone.
Londo was alone again.
With more complications.
Breathing normally now, he furrowed his brow and began to
ponder.
So: something was threatening his grand plan--threatening to dash
to bits everything he had been working for and, perhaps, end his
life in the bargain.
Something was threatening to make Londo Mollari "kablooey."
"I think not," Londo said, to no one in particular except himself,
as he drew the glass on his breakfast table back toward him, lifted
it to his lips, and drained it dry.
* * *
In the Observation Dome of Babylon 5, Captain John Sheridan, never
short of worries, was concentrating now on one in particular.
"Is there any possibility we could get Mollari back here now,
perhaps on some pretense? I'm sure he would be easier to
deal with face-to-face."
Commander Susan Ivanova shook her head. "No,
Captain. He's refused every 'invitation,' no matter how
it's been phrased." She smiled slightly. "I
even tried telling him that his favorite bar in the Zocalo got in a
special shipment of his favorite spirits, but would only hold it
for him for three days. That was four days ago."
Sheridan slammed his fist into the palm of his opposite
hand. "There's got to be something we can do!"
"Nothing at the moment, sir."
"The thought of G'Kar rotting away on Centauri Prime, while we do
nothing, just makes me sick."
"It makes all of us sick, Captain."
"And Garibaldi doesn't have any tricks up his long sleeve?"
"The plain fact is that once G'Kar left Babylon 5, he essentially
left our protection behind. He knew that, we knew
that."
At that moment, Sheridan's link chimed.
"Sheridan here," the captain said, lifting it toward his
mouth.
"Garibaldi here," the security chief's voice
responded. "I've got some news about G'Kar."
"Good news, I hope?" Sheridan asked.
"Could be. But I don't think I should talk about it over
a link."
"Meet me in my office in five minutes," Sheridan
said. He signed off and turned to
Ivanova. "Want to come along?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," the commander
replied.
In five minutes exactly, Chief Garibaldi sauntered into the
captain's office. His slight smile gave Sheridan hope.
Sitting behind his desk, Sheridan looked
up. "Well?"
Garibaldi cocked his head. "I've got...good news, and
bad news."
Sheridan shook his head, and Ivanova, seated in a chair turned
toward Garibaldi, groaned.
Sheridan said, "Give us the good news first."
Garibaldi still wore his slight
smile. "Sure. The good news is that the
Centauri are still transferring slaves from the Narn homeworld to
Centauri Prime."
"That's good news?" Commander Ivanova blurted, her eyes
widening.
"Sure is," Garibaldi said. "Because five of the latest
shipment of slaves are Narn soldiers sent there to find G'Kar and
free him."
Captain Sheridan gave a wry smile himself. "That
is good news," he admitted.
"But what's the bad news?" Ivanova demanded.
"Well," Garibaldi answered, "the bad news is that there's nothing
we can do to help them. My...source tells me that these
five guys are very good, but that once they're on Centauri Prime
they're on their own. If you want more good news, these
Narn have sworn to die for their mission, and there's nothing in
the world that will keep them from doing what they were sent there
todo."
"I wish there was something we could do!" Sheridan
declared earnestly.
"So do I," Garibaldi agreed. "I hate having my hands
tied like this. But for the life of me, I don't know
what we can do."
Copyright© 1997 by Al Sarrantonio