Book Description
Centauri Prime declares war on the Interstellar Alliance in Book Three of the epic trilogy that continues Babylon 5's brilliant legacy . . .

Blind to the fact that he is a pawn in the Drakh's deadly strategy, Centauri prime minister Durla launches an overwhelming blitzkrieg, sending Centauri warships to devastate other races' homeworlds and pave the way for total conquest. Yet Durla is forced to fight a war on two fronts. Even as he mobilizes the massive space fleet for its glorious attack, resistance leader Vir Cotto works feverishly to counter the Drakh's evil influence on Centauri Prime.

Emperor Londo Mollari possesses the key that can reveal the presence of the Drakh, but to do so would spell disaster, so he is forced to remain silent. But when the Drakh bring another pawn into play--David Sheridan, son of Alliance president John Sheridan--the time for silence may be past. If Vir and the Resistance are to prevail, it will be only through action, and with help from very strange allies . . .



From the Inside Flap
Centauri Prime declares war on the Interstellar Alliance in Book Three of the epic trilogy that continues Babylon 5's brilliant legacy . . .

Blind to the fact that he is a pawn in the Drakh's deadly strategy, Centauri prime minister Durla launches an overwhelming blitzkrieg, sending Centauri warships to devastate other races' homeworlds and pave the way for total conquest.  Yet Durla is forced to fight a war on two fronts.  Even as he mobilizes the massive space fleet for its glorious attack, resistance leader Vir Cotto works feverishly to counter the Drakh's evil influence on Centauri Prime.

Emperor Londo Mollari possesses the key that can reveal the presence of the Drakh, but to do so would spell disaster, so he is forced to remain silent.  But when the Drakh bring another pawn into play--David Sheridan, son of Alliance president John Sheridan--the time for silence may be past.  If Vir and the Resistance are to prevail, it will be only through action, and with help from very strange allies . . .


About the Author
Peter David is famous for writing some of the most popular of the original Star Trek: The Next Generation novels, including Imzadi and A Rock and a Hard Place. His original works include the Arthurian novel Knight Life and the quirky werewolf story Howling Mad.  He single-handedly revived the classic comic book series The Incredible Hulk and has written just about every famous comic book superhero. He collaborated with J. Michael Straczynski on the Babylon 5 comic book series, and with Bill Mumy, he created the Nickelodeon television series Space Cases. In his spare time, he writes movie screenplays, children's books, and TV scripts (including Babylon 5).


J. Michael Straczynski is one of the most prolific and highly regarded writers currently working in the television industry. In 1995, he was selected by Newsweek magazine as one of their Fifty for the Future, described as innovators who will shape our lives as we move into the twenty-first century. His work spans every conceivable genre--from historical dramas and adaptations of famous works of literature (The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) to mystery series (Murder, She Wrote), cop shows (Jake and the Fatman), anthology series (The Twilight Zone), and science fiction (Babylon 5). He writes ten hours a day, seven days a week, except for his birthday, New Year's, and Christmas.


Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

Luddig wasn't a particularly happy Drazi.

He did not like the building to which he had been sent. He did not like
the office within the building. And he most certainly
did not like that he was being kept waiting in the office within the
building.

Luddig was a first-tier ambassador in the Drazi diplomatic corps, and he
had fought long and hard to get to where he was. As he drummed his fingers
impatiently on the expansive desk he was sitting beside, he couldn't help
but wonder why it was that things never quite seemed to work out the way
that he wanted them to.

Seated next to Luddig was his immediate aide, Vidkun. They provided quite
a contrast to one another, Luddig being somewhat heavyset and jowly while
Vidkun was small and slim. Not that Vidkun was a weakling by any means. He
was whipcord thin and had a certain air of quiet strength about him.
Luddig, on the other hand, was like a perpetually seething volcano that
tended to overwhelm any who stood before him with belligerence and
bombast. As diplomats went, he wasn't particularly genteel. Then again,
he'd never had to be. His activities were confined mostly to his office
and occasional backdoor maneuvers.

It was one of those activities that had brought him here, to Centauri
Prime, to the place called the "Tower of Power." It was an impressive and
elegantly simple structure that, when viewed from the ground, seemed to
stretch forever to the sky.

Luddig had not come here on his own, of course. It had been set up
meticulously and scrupulously in advance. No one on
the Drazi Homeworld had been aware that he was coming to Centauri Prime .
. . well, not "officially" aware. He had brought Vidkun along primarily to
have someone to complain to.

"This is how they treat Luddig of the Drazi!" Luddig said in disgust. He
was one of those who chose to affect the popular Drazi habit of referring
to himself in the third person. "An hour and a half we wait," he
continued. "Waiting and waiting in this stupid room for this stupid
minister." He cuffed Vidkun abruptly on the shoulder. Vidkun barely
reacted. By this point in his career, he scarcely seemed to notice. "We
had a deal!"

"Perhaps you should remind him of that, sir," Vidkun said with exaggerated
politeness.

"Remind him! Of course Luddig will remind him! Drazi do not have to,
should not have to, tolerate such poor attention to Drazi interests!"

"Of course not, sir."

"Stop agreeing!" Luddig said in annoyance, striking Vidkun once more on
the shoulder. Since it was the exact same place, it left Vidkun a bit
sore, but stoutly he said nothing. "You keep agreeing. It shows you are
trying to mock Luddig!"

Vidkun tried to figure out if there was any conceivable way in which he
could respond to the accusation. If he said it wasn't true, then he'd be
disagreeing and thereby disproving the contention. Except he'd be calling
Luddig a liar. If he agreed that was what he was doing, Luddig would shout
at him that he was doing it again. Vidkun wisely chose to say nothing at
all, instead inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment without
actually providing any admission one way or the other.

Clearly Luddig was about to press the matter when, with miraculously good
timing, Minister Castig Lione entered.

Lione was a tall man whose build and general look bordered on the
cadaverous. He had such gravity about him that he could have used it to
maintain a satellite in orbit, Vidkun mused. Then he noticed several of
the black-clad youths known as the Prime Candidates following Lione,
dropping back and away from the minister as he walked into his office.
Vidkun came to the conclusion that Lione already did have satellites. They
were the youth of Centauri Prime, and as near as Vidkun could tell, the
best and the brightest. Their loyalty to Castig Lione was reputedly
unyielding and unwavering. If Lione had told them to break every bone in
their bodies, they would do so and do it willingly.

Vidkun did not, as a rule, like fanatics. If nothing else, they tended to
be a bit too loud for his taste.

"Ambassador Luddig," said Lione, bowing deeply in respect. For a man of
his height, bowing was no easy thing. Luddig should have appreciated the
gesture. Instead he scowled even more fiercely. Vidkun rose and returned
the bow, and got another quick physical rebuke from his superior. "To
what," continued Lione, "do I owe this honor?"

"This honor." Luddig made an incredulous noise that conveyed contempt.
"This honor. This treatment is more like."

"Treatment?" His eyebrows puckered in confusion. "Was there a problem with
your arrival? My Prime Candidates were given specific instructions to
provide you full protection in escorting you from the port. I cannot, of
course, account for the reactions your presence might engender among our
populace."

"It has nothing to do with that--"

Lione continued as if Luddig had not spoken. "In case you are unaware, all
foreigners have been banned from the surface of Centauri Prime. That is
how highly charged sentiments have been running. Fortunately, as a
minister, I have certain . . . latitude. So I was able to arrange for your
visit to our fair--"

"It has nothing to do with that!"

Lione blinked owlishly. "Then I am not quite sure what you are referring
to."

"We had an arrangement!"

"Did we?"

"About Mipas!"

"Ah." Lione did an exceptional job of acting as if he had been unaware of
what was getting Luddig so agitated. "You're speak-
ing about the unfortunate, but necessary, attack on Mipas."

"Unfortunate but necessary how! Unfortunate, yes! Necessary . . . Drazi do
not see that! Has Centauri Prime totally taken leave of senses? Or has
Centauri Prime forgotten that Mipas is under Drazi jurisdiction!"

"Jurisdiction, yes. Curious how that happened, isn't it." Lione's calm,
even lazy tone suddenly shifted. "Curious that the Drazi government paid
so little attention to Mipas . . . until valuable minerals were found on
it. Suddenly a world that was just beyond the outermost edge of the Drazi
borders became Drazi property . . . when your government reconfigured the
borders
to allow for . . ." Lione actually chuckled, and it was not the most
pleasant of sounds. ". . . to allow for the expanding universe theory. 'If
the universe is expanding, Drazi territory must
expand with it to keep up with natural law.' That was priceless,
I have to admit. No one in the Alliance gainsayed you, simply because they
were stunned by the sheer gall your people
displayed."

"If Centauri Prime has issue with expansion of--"

Lione held up a hand, stilling the new torrent of words. "The Centaurum
has no such issues. Expand territories all you wish. Reconfigure your
borders and decide that you're entitled to take possession of the Vorlon
Homeworld, for all we care. But Mipas, well . . ." and he shook his head
sadly. "The fact is that our intelligence informed us that Mipas was
acting in concert with, and providing aid to, certain insurrectionist
factions here on Centauri Prime."

"Is lie!"

"Is not," Lione responded coolly. "The information we have received is
quite definitive. Mipas was aiding those who would overthrow our beloved
emperor and drive our prime minister out of office. Naturally, out of a
sense of self-preservation, we had to take action."

Between gritted teeth, Luddig said, "We had an understanding."

"Did we?"

"Do not play games with Drazi!" Luddig warned. "Centauri Prime is as
interested in mineral deposits on Mipas as Drazi!
I know that! You know that! Everyone know that! We had arrangements!"

"And how much you must have enjoyed those arrangements, Luddig," said
Lione. "Under-the-table payments made to you by certain Mipas officials.
And you, in turn, pass those payments along to us. A token of respect; a
tithe, if you will, to purchase our goodwill. And you succeeded for quite
some time, Luddig. I commend you for your industry. And I commend you for
the deftness with which you managed to cut yourself in to those payments.
How much did you manage to keep for yourself? Ten percent? Twenty?"

"Do you think Drazi not take risks!" Luddig said hotly. "Luddig of Drazi
has his own expenses, own concerns. Certain officials turn their own blind
eye to 'under-the-table payments,' as you say. Money has to cover their
eyes, too. It was beneficial arrangement for all."

"Yes, yes, I daresay it was. Just as this little arrangement exists with
other governments, other 'officials' such as yourselves. Others who
envelop themselves in cloaks of self-righteousness, more than happy to
complain publicly about the Centauri, while you have no difficulty in
private backroom dealings. I can smell the corruption in all the
governments of your pathetic Alliance. The odor of hypocrisy permeates
even the vacuum of space, Ambassador Luddig."

Vidkun watched in fascination as Luddig became so angry that the skin
flaps under his throat stood out and turned pale red. "Luddig does not
have to sit here and listen to this!"

"Stand if you prefer, then," Lione said lazily. "It does not matter to
me." Then once again, his attitude shifted, from torpor to quiet
intensity. "Understand this, Ambassador. We stand by the results of our
investigation. And since we know that the
Mipasians were acting with the insurrectionists, we can only assume that
the Drazi were aware of this connection and approved of it. That,
Ambassador, would mean that you are--rather than our silent partners--our
enemies. We do not advise that you become enemies of the Centauri
Republic. That would be most unfortunate for all concerned."

Vidkun had the distinct feeling that Lione was assuming Luddig would wilt
under the implied threat. To Vidkun's surprise--and, if he had to guess, to
Lione's surprise as well--Luddig did not come remotely close to wilting.
Instead he was on his feet, breathing so hard that it was rasping in his
chest. "You threaten Drazi?" he demanded.

"I threaten no one," Lione said.

But Luddig wasn't buying it. "You are! You violate Drazi interests! You
renege on deal!"

"The deal, such as it was, was entirely unofficial, Luddig," Lione pointed
out. "You said so yourself. If you wish to complain about it to the
Interstellar Alliance--if you wish to try to roust your fellows from their
stupor and bring them into full war with us--then you will have to go
public with the terms of our little arrangement. That will not go over
particularly well, I assure you, because it will bring not only your own
government under scrutiny, but others as well. No one is going to want
that."

"Maybe Drazi do not care about scrutiny or deals," Luddig shot back.
"Maybe Drazi care about Centauri thinking they can do whatever they wish,
whenever they wish, to whomever they wish. Maybe Drazi believe that
Alliance is willing to overlook 'deals' or treat them as stopgap measures
to full war that can no longer be avoided because of Centauri stupidity
and arrogance!"

Lione did not answer immediately. Instead he contemplated what Luddig had
said. He leaned back in his chair, the furniture creaking under his
weight, and he interlaced his fingers while studying Luddig very, very
carefully.

Then he smiled.

Vidkun felt his spine seize up.

"It seems, Ambassador, that we may have underestimated
the . . . vehemence with which you will be pursuing your claim. Very well."

"Very well what?" Luddig's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I shall take your concerns to the prime minister and we shall see if
restitution cannot somehow be arranged."

Luddig puffed out his chest with sudden confidence. "Yes! That is attitude
Drazi want to see!"

"Excuse me a moment, won't you? No, no, don't get up. I have a small room
designed for . . . private communications. Will not take but a minute." He
did not rise from his seat so much as he seemed to uncoil.

The moment he walked out of the room, Vidkun turned to Luddig, and said,
"We are dead."

"What!" Luddig scoffed at the very idea. "You saw! He spoke of
restitution! He spoke of--"

"Ambassador, with all respect, what he spoke of doesn't matter. In these
sorts of things, what is not said is often more important than what is. I
am telling you, we are--"

"We are Drazi! And you are coward!" Luddig said angrily, stabbing a finger
at Vidkun.

"Sir, I am no coward," Vidkun said, bristling.

"Yes! Your own cowardice stops you from seeing that Centauri do not wish
to anger Drazi! You are not worthy of being aide to Luddig! A new aide
will be required upon our return!"

Vidkun was about to argue the point further, protesting the accusations of
cowardice, when the door opened and Lione entered again, stooping slightly
to avoid the top of the door frame. "The prime minister wishes to see you,
but his schedule simply will not allow it for today. Tomorrow, however,
bright and early, he would be more than happy to discuss the matter. In
the meantime, deluxe accommodations have been arranged for you at a
facility nearby. We certainly hope that will suffice."

"For now," Luddig said noncommittally. "We reserve judgment until we
actually see accommodations."

"Very prudent," Lione said agreeably.

As they headed down to street level, Vidkun's head was spinning. Every
early warning system in his makeup was screaming at him that they were in
mortal danger. But Luddig was so overwhelmingly confident, and Lione
seemed so eager to please, that he was finding it harder and harder to
believe that there was, in fact, any jeopardy. It might be, he thought
bleakly, that Luddig was correct. Perhaps he was indeed a coward, and
simply didn't have the proper mental strength to pursue a career in the
diplomatic corps.

They walked out into the street, a pleasant sun beaming down at them, and
a glorious day on Centauri Prime apparently lying ahead of them. There
were passersby, casting glances in their
direction, but there did not appear to be any problem. There were Prime
Candidates forming a protective circle around them, but Luddig--chatting
animatedly with Lione--didn't pay them any mind. He was calm, cool, and
confidently secure that he had a complete handle on the situation.

"Kill the Drazi!"

The shout came from someone in the crowd, and it was suddenly taken up by
others. What had appeared only moments before to be a benign, loose
assemblage of people suddenly firmed up into a mob.

"Kill the Drazi! Death to outworlders! Centauri Prime over all! Death to
enemies of the Great Republic!" These and other sentiments suddenly seemed
to come from everyone, everywhere.

And the enraged Centauri citizens were advancing, coming in from all sides.

The Prime Candidates melted away. Suddenly the protective wall of bodies
was gone.




EXCERPTED FROM THE CHRONICLES OF LONDO
MOLLARI- DIPLOMAT, EMPEROR, MARTYR, AND
SELF-DESCRIBED FOOL.
PUBLISHED POSTHUMOUSLY.
EDITED BY EMPEROR COTTO.
EARTH EDITION, TRANSLATION C 2280
Excerpt dated) approximate Earth date) May 14, 2274.

It is with some degree of shock and personal disappointment that I must conclude that I am losing my mind.  I know this because, for the first time in . . . well . . . ever, I must admit . . . I actually felt sorry for Mariel.
        
Mariel, for those who have trouble keeping track of all the many players in these diaries, is my former wife.  She is also the current wife of our inimitable- thank the Great Maker, for if he were capable of being imitated, I think I would have gone mad sooner- prime minister, the noble Durla.  It has never surprised me that Mariel attached herself to him.  She had that way about her.  Mariel attaches herself to individuals of power in the way that the remora affixes itself t the stork.
        
For a time she was with Vir Cotto, my former attaché and current ambassador to Babylon 5.  Fortunately enough for him, he lost her in a game of cards.  I was shocked at the time.  Now, in looking back, I can only wonder why I thought of it as anything less than Vir's good fortune.
        
More recently, I was walking past the rather elaborate quarters Durla keeps for himself in the palace these days.  Back when he was simply minister Durla, the minister of Internal Security, he maintained his own residence elsewhere.  Since being made prime minister, he has relocated to the palace itself.  This is an option open to whoever holds the rank, but most have not chosen to avail themselves of it.  Durla, however, is not like most others.  He immediately took up residence in the palace and, in doing so, sent me a very clear message, that I shall never be rid of him.  That he has, in fact, set himself a goal that is no less than that of a becoming emperor.  
        
Not that he would admit it, of coarse.  There are moments when he directly challenges me, but he always does so subtly, then backs off as rapidly as he can.  For someone with such power and dominance, he is really quite craven.  It sickens me.
        
        I wonder why it sickens me.  I should be thanking what I foolishly refer to as my lucky stars, for if he had a core of genuine mettle inspiring him, then he would be unstoppable.  Durla, however, remains a bully even to this day, and bullies are cowards.  He may have gone quite far in our society, but no matter how far one goes, one cannot avoid bringing oneself along.
So . . .
        
I was walking past Durla's quarters, and I heard what seemed like choked sobbing emanating from within.  Ironic that after all this time, I still carry within me some vague aspect of the gallant.  There were guards on either side of me, as there so often are.  My aide, Dunseny, was also walking with me.  Dunseny, the aging-and-yet-ageless retainer of the House Mollari, use d to be quite a bit taller than I was, but he had become slightly stooped with age, as if his body felt obliged to make some concession to the passing years.  He actually noticed the sound a heartsbeat before I did.  It was the slowing of his pace that drew my attention to it.

        "There seems to be a problem," I observed, hearing the sounds of lamentation.  "Do you think it requires my attention?"

        "I do not know, Highness," he said, but he did so in a way that basically carried with it the word "yes."

        "We can attend to it, highness," one of the two guards who stood at Durla's door offered.

        "You?" I said skeptically.  "You attend to things by shooting them.  That is no a criticism, but merely an observation, so please take no offense.  Far be it from me to offend someone who shoots things.  However, I believe I can handle this on my own."

        "On you own, Highness?" the other guard asked.

        "Yes.  On my own.  The way I used to do things before others did them for me."

Offering no further comment, I entered without knocking or ringing a chime.

        Passing through the entryway, I found myself in an elaborately decorated sitting room, filled with statuary.  Durla had acquired a taste for it.  I felt more as if I were walking through a museum than a place where people actually dwelt.  On the far side of the sitting room there was a high balcony that offered a spectacular view of the city.  I had a not dissimilar view from my own throne room.

        Standing on the balcony, leaning against the rail, and looking for one moment as if she intended to vault it, was Mariel.  Normally her face was made up quite exquisitely, but in this instance her mascara was running copiously.  The smeared makeup left trickling splotches of blue and red on her cheeks that gave her entire face the appearance of a stormy sky at daybreak.

        Upon seeing me, she gasped and made a vague effort to try to clean herself up.  All she did was make it worse, smearing the makeup so grotesquely that she looked like some sort of painted harridan from a stage drama.  "I'm . . . I'm sorry, highness,: she said desperately, her efforts to pull herself together failing miserably.  "Did we have . . . I wasn't expecting a visit from . . ."
        
"Calm yourself, Mariel," I said.  I pulled a cloth from the inside of my gleaming white jacket and handed it to her.  As an aside, I cannot tell you how much I despise the traditional white of the emperor's garb.  Michael Garibaldi, my erstwhile associate on Babylon 5, once referred to it as an "ice cream suit."  I do not know exactly what he meant by that, but I doubt it was flattering.  I could not blame him, though; there is little about it that I find commendable.

        "Calm yourself," I said again.  "We had no appointment.  I was simply passing by and heard someone in distress.  There are so many distressed individuals out there," and I gestured toward the cityscape.  "I cannot attend to all of them.  But at the very least, I can help those who are within these four walls, yes?"

        "That's very kind of you Highness."  

        "Leave us," I said to my guards.  Dunseny, ever the soul of proper behavior, good tact, and common sense, had waited in the corridor.

        "Leave you, Highness?" They appeared uncertain and even suspicious.
        
"Yes."

        "Our orders from Prime Minister Durla are that we are to remain by your side at all times," one of them said.  I would record here any distinguishing characteristics he exhibited, for the sake of reference, but I cannot.  My guardsmen were something of a homogenous lot.  The aforementioned Mr. Garibaldi called them the "Long Jockey Brigade," I believe.  I am no more conversant with the term "long jockey" than I am with "ice cream suit," but I will say this: Mr. Garibaldi certainly had a colorful way of expressing himself.
        
"Your adherence to orders is commendable," I said.
        
"Thank you, Highness."
        
"However, you overlook two things.  Prime Minister Durla is not here.  And I am.  Now get out, before I command you to arrest yourselves."
        
The guards glanced at each other nervously for a moment, then wisely hastened into the hallway.  I turned my attention back to Mariel.  To my surprise, she actually seemed to be smiling slightly.  Even laughing softly.  "'Arrest yourselves.' Very droll, Highness."
        
"With all that has passed between us, Mariel, I believe 'Londo' will suffice."
        
"No, Highness," she said simply.  "I believe it necessary always to remember your station and mine."
        
A remarkable attitude.  "Very well.  Whatever makes you more comfortable."  I took a few steps around the room, arms draped behind my back as if I were on an inspection tour.  "So . . . do you wish to tell me precisely why you are so upset?"
        
"I see little point, Highness.  It's nothing.  A passing mood."
        
"Has Durla been abusive to you in any way?"
        
"Durla?"  The thought seemed to amuse her even more than my passing comment had, moments earlier.  "No, no.  Durla, in point of fact, is not really here enough to be considered abusive.  He is busy these days.  Very busy."  She looked down, apparently having suddenly taken great interest in her hands.  "I do not begrudge him that.  There is a great deal for him to do."
        
"Yes, yes.  Destabilizing the region and sending our world spiraling toward certain destruction can be very time consuming, I should think."
        
She seemed surprised by my tone.  "He is your prime minister.  I would think he carries out your wishes and desires.  He serves Centauri Prime, and you are Centauri Prime."
        
"Yes, so I hear.  The emperor is the living embodiment of Centauri Prime.  A quaint notion.  A grand custom.  I think I like the sound of it more than I do the practice."  I shrugged.  "In any event, Durla does what Durla wishes.  He no longer consults with me, or even needs me." I looked at her askance.  "Or you, I should think.  Is that the reason for the tears?  That you miss him?"
        
"Miss him?"  She appeared to consider that a moment, as if the thought had never before entered her head.  If she was feigning contemplation, she was doing a super job.  "No," she said thoughtfully.  "No, I do not think I miss him . . . as much as I miss myself.'
        
"Yourself?"
        
She made to reply, but then stopped, as she appeared to reconsider her words.  Finally she said, "I think of where I intended my life to be, Highness.  I had plans, believe it or not.  There were things I wanted to do when I was a little girl . . . not especially reasonable, all of them, but I . . ."  She stopped and shook her head.  "I apologize.  I'm babbling."
        
"It's quite all right," I told her.  "In all the time that we were married, Mariel, I do not think we actually spoke in this manner."
        
"I was trained to say all the right things," she said ruefully.  "Speaking of one's disappointments and shortcomings- that wasn't deemed proper for a well-bred Centauri woman."  
        
"Very true.  Very true."  And I waited.
        
Again, I must emphasize that I bore no love for this woman.  I looked up upon this interaction with a sort of detached fascination; the way one looks with curiosity at a fresh scab, impressed that such a crusted and nauseating thing could happen to one's own body.  In speaking with Mariel, I was- in a way- picking at a scab.  Then, since she didn't seem to be volunteering any information, I prompted, "So . . . what things did you wish to do?  As a young girl, I mean?"
        
She half smiled.  "I wanted to fly," she replied.
        
I made a dismissive noise.  "That is no great feat.  A simple ride in-"
        
"No, Highness," she gently interrupted.  "I do not mean fly in a vessel.  I wanted . . . " And the half smile blossomed into a full-blown, genuine thing of beauty.  It reminded me of how it was when I first met her.  I admit.  Even I was stunned by her beauty.  I did not know then, of coarse, the darkness that the beauty hid.  But who am I to condemn others for hiding darkness?
        
"I wanted to fly on my own," she continues.  "I wanted to be able to leap high, wave my arms, and soar like a bird."  She laughed in a gentle, self-mocking way.  "Foolish of me, I know.  I'm sure that's what you're thinking . . ."
        
"Why would I consider it foolish?"
        
"Because such a thing isn't possible."
        
"Mariel, I said, "I'm the emperor.  If you had asked anyone who knew me- or, for that matter, if you had asked me directly- what the likelihood was of such a thing coming to pass, I would have thought it to be exactly as possible as your fantasy.  Who knows, Mariel?  Perhaps you will indeed learn to fly."
        
"And you, Highness?  Did you indeed dream of becoming emperor?"
        
"Me?  No."
        
"What did you dream of, then?"
        
Unbidden, the image came to my mind.  The dream that I had not had until well into my adulthood.  But it's a funny thing about certain dreams: they assume such a state of importance in your mind that you start to believe, retroactively, that they were always part of your life.
        
Those powerful hands, that face twisted in grim anger.  The face of G'Kar, with by one eye burning its gaze into the black and shredded thing I call my soul, and his hands at my throat.  This dream had shaped, defined, and haunted my life for, it seemed, as far back as I could remember.  
        
"What did I dream of?" I echoed.  "Survival."
        
"Truly?"  She shrugged those slim shoulders.  "That doesn't seem such a lofty goal."
        
"I had always thought," I said.  "That it was the only one that mattered.  I would have placed it above the needs of my loved ones, above the needs of Centauri Prime itself.  Now . . ."  "It does not seem to be such an important thing.  Survival is not all that it is reputed to be."
        
There was a long silence then.  It was very odd.  This woman had been my enemy, my nemesis, yet now it seemed as though she were another person entirely.  Considering what I had faced, considering those who desired to bring me down . . . the machinations of young Centauri female didn't seem worth the slightest bit of concern.
        
Not so young, actually.
        
I found myself looking at Mariel, really looking at her for the first time in a long time.  She was not decrepit by any means, but her age was beginning to show.  I wasn't entirely sure why.  She was older, certainly, but not that much older.  She seemed . . . careworn somehow.  She looked older than her years.

"Strange," she said slowly, "that we are talking this way.  With all that has passed between us, Lond- Highness"

"Londo," I told her firmly.

"Londo," she said after a moment's hesitation.  "With all that we have been through . . . how odd that we would be talking here, now.  Like old friends."

"'Like', perhaps, Mariel.  But now actually old friends.  For I shall never forget who I am . . . and who you are . . . and what you did to me."
I wondered if she would try to deny that she had endeavored to kill me fifteen years earlier.  If she would bleat her innocence in the matter.  Instead all she did was shrug, and without rancor in her voice say, "It was no worse than what you did to me."

"Next thing you will tell me that you miss me."

"It is impossible to miss what you never had."

"That is very true."  I looked at her with even more curiosity.  "You have not told me why you were crying.  That is, after all, the reason I came in here.  Was it indeed because you miss 'yourself'?

She looked down at her hands with great interest.  "No, someone else."

"Who?"

She shook her head.  "It does not matter . . ."

"I wish to know, nevertheless."

She seemed to consider her answer a long time.  Then she looked over at me with such melancholy, I cannot even find words for it.  "I appreciate the time you've taken here, Londo . . . more than you can know.  But it really, truly, does not matter.  What is done is done, and I have no regrets."

"Whereas I have almost nothing but regrets.  Ver well, Mariel."  I rose and walked toward the door.  "If, in the future, you decide that there are matters you wish to discuss . . . feel free to bring them to my attention."

"Londo . . ."

"Yes?"

"My dream is childhood foolishness . . . but I hope that you get yours."

I laughed, but there was no trace of mirth in my voice.  "Trust me, Mariel . . . if there is one thing in this world I am certain of, it is that, sooner or later, I will get mine.  And sooner, I think, rather than later."












































































        
        

FROM THE PUBLISHER

Centauri Prime declares war on the Interstellar Alliance in Book Three of the epic trilogy that continues Babylon 5's brilliant legacy . . .

Blind to the fact that he is a pawn in the Drakh's deadly strategy, Centauri prime minister Durla launches an overwhelming blitzkrieg, sending Centauri warships to devastate other races' homeworlds and pave the way for total conquest. Yet Durla is forced to fight a war on two fronts. Even as he mobilizes the massive space fleet for its glorious attack, resistance leader Vir Cotto works feverishly to counter the Drakh's evil influence on Centauri Prime.

Emperor Londo Mollari possesses the key that can reveal the presence of the Drakh, but to do so would spell disaster, so he is forced to remain silent. But when the Drakh bring another pawn into play—David Sheridan, son of Alliance president John Sheridan—the time for silence may be past. If Vir and the Resistance are to prevail, it will be only through action, and with help from very strange allies . . .

About the Authors:
Peter David is famous for writing some of the most popular of the original Star Trek: The Next Generation novels, including Imzadi and A Rock and a Hard Place. His original works include the Arthurian novel Knight Life and the quirky werewolf story Howling Mad. He single-handedly revived the classic comic book series The Incredible Hulk and has written just about every famous comic book superhero. He collaborated with J. Michael Straczynski on the Babylon 5 comic book series, and with Bill Mumy, he created the Nickelodeon television series Space Cases. In his spare time, he writes movie screenplays, children's books, and TV scripts (including Babylon 5).