"We cannot say," replied Durano. "Some sort of psionic backlash perhaps. It is my belief that only a fraction of those afflicted by this…. madness are actually experiencing anything abnormal. The others are in all probability merely responding to the charisma or madness of their leaders."
"But still…. all this…. and for there to be nothing here. There is no explanation of why we here are all unaffected?"
Durano spread his arms wide. "A more comprehensive study might reveal more information, but there could be any number of reasons."
"Well, then. It is time we used this immunity to our advantage. Marrago, how many soldiers do we have here on the island?"
The former Lord-General of the Centauri Republic's armies stood up, the figures instantly at his command. "The five-thousand-strong Selini Guard, which includes the five hundred of the Governor's Personal Guard." An anachronism these days, but one that had been maintained in the name of 'tradition'. Since Londo's rise to power, all those old and forgotten traditions had actually become very useful.
"We also have some seven thousand members of the regular army. These are men I have been gathering from my old regiments and commands, people who are generally unhappy with the way the war with the Narns is going. Some are victims of dispossession in the capital and the surrounding areas."
"Twelve thousand. Hmm…. it will have to be enough. Marrago, you are to gather the armies and take them to the mainland, as swiftly as possible. They are to restore calm and preserve the political order in Sphodria, Camulodo and Gallia."
"Of course, but is this not a little…. premature? And all three at once? The original plan was to take them one at a time."
"The original plan had not anticipated this…. insanity. If we do not save these cities now there will be nothing left of them to save. Durano, the regular military has made no attempt to take any action in these cities?"
"No. In fact the Sphodria barracks withdrew from the city a few hours ago. I believe they all travelled by airship to the main barracks at the capital. The bases at Camulodo and Gallia have been largely abandoned for months."
Londo looked at Marrago. His eyes felt as though they were burning. "You see, Marrago. If we do not help these people…. our people…. then no one else will. We are their only hope."
"We cannot take all three, Londo. Not tonight. There is simply not enough time, and not enough decent under-officers. I can supervise the…. preservation of one myself, and I believe there are enough decent officers to manage the protection of another, but a third…. our soldiers would only add to the problem."
"You have no one who could command the third army?" whispered Timov. She had been standing in the doorway, listening to the conversation with mounting horror. Londo turned to look at her, irrationally angry that she was being exposed to such tales of terror. She was still wearing her sleeping-gown, wrapped tightly around her. He sighed and bowed his head, not wanting even to look at her, to associate her with the decision he knew was coming.
"No, Lady Timov. I am sorry, but so few of the army's officers joined us, and of those who did, there were very few I could trust. I organised and managed our army almost entirely myself. Only the captain of the Selini Guard knows anything at all about our full plans, and not even he knows everything. Most of my under-officers do not even know how many soldiers we have in total." He shook his head with ironic sadness. "It was meant to be a security measure."
"Two," Londo said softly. "Then we will save two."
"Which two?" Timov asked, still in the doorway.
Londo looked up at his companions. Marrago looked at the ceiling and rubbed at his eyes. "We will need Sphodria if we are to mount any sort of extended campaign on the mainland. It would be a vital part of our supply centres. We always knew we would need to control Sphodria before we could even think of making for the capital."
"Gallia is an important centre for the mid-territories," spoke up Durano, looking at Marrago and nodding. "A great many of the Court nobles have estates near there, families based in the city, mansions and so forth. Unfortunately they will probably think of their mansions more than their friends when they hear the city is in danger."
"And protecting Gallia may win us their aid…. or at least quiet support?" Londo said. He felt tired, very tired. Durano nodded. "Well then. It seems our plans are set. Marrago, muster the army. Sphodria first. Take whatever steps are necessary to establish order and try to save as many of the local Parliament as you can. Then…. see to Gallia. Protect as many of the Court nobility's mansions as possible, but take no unnecessary risks. I cannot have my Lord-General cut down by an insane farmer with a scythe." Marrago managed an obligatory chuckle, but all of them knew he did not mean it.
"I was born in Camulodo," said Timov suddenly. Londo turned to look at her, and her expression nearly broke his hearts. "I was fostered there with my aunt for three years as a child. Those were the happiest times of my life."
There was silence. Londo rose to his feet and moved to his wife, saying her name softly. She turned and backed away, moving back into their bedroom. He stopped at the door and punched the wall lightly. Even that hurt his knuckles.
He started suddenly at the sound of movement. Looking up he saw Lennier enter the room, and he breathed out slowly. He must be even more tense than he had thought.
"Governor Mollari," the Minbari said, "Prime Minister Malachi is on the line and he wishes to speak with you."
"Malachi?" said Marrago, evidently surprised. "Some kind of trap, perhaps?"
"A trick to find out where we are," suggested Durano. "A tracking ploy."
"He already knows where we are, and he has known for months. No, he wants to talk, nothing more. Gentlemen…. you know what must be done. May the Gods speed you all on your way safely…. if the bastards even exist, which I am beginning to consider more seriously nowadays."
"Oh?" Durano said, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, if the Gods don't exist, someone up there is out to get me."
Londo moved to the viewscreen in the other room, aware of Lennier standing protectively at the door, pointedly not looking at the viewscreen or making any attempt to listen. He was a good man…. for a Minbari. Londo looked at the viewscreen, at the face of his old friend, of the wise old advisor who had taken in a young, idealistic politician with delusions of grandeur.
"Malachi," he said, no hint of warmth in his voice. "What an unexpected surprise."
Malachi looked so tired. So old. Londo wondered if he looked the same. "Tell me, Londo. How would you like to come to the capital?"
* * *
She began to move, heading in the direction of what she hoped was a door. She had no idea of where she was, or, more importantly perhaps, where he was.
"It says you must die. It shows me where you are. You cannot run from me."
Kats grimaced in pain and tried to keep moving. Blood was pounding in her ears. The voice — his voice — was so loud.
"It says you must….
"…. beg for my forgiveness! You have done wrong. You have sinned and you will be punished."
Kalain's voice. Her outstretched arm came up against a wall and she paused, breathing harshly. For a moment she tried to be quiet, remaining still and motionless, but then she remembered Ashan's words. Whatever it was that was telling him to kill her, it was directing him. He knew where she was.
"I can see you. It can see you. I…. I don't want…. to do this. But it says I must. It says the good of my people depends on this. You followed him, you see. You didn't have to. Nobody made you. It was a mistake, the wrong decision, and now you must be punished for it. It says that it's all your fault."
He was near her now. She could hear his footsteps. She could smell him now as well. He smelled…. wrong, almost as if he were dead and decomposing. His words were flat and toneless.
Gulping in air, touching the wall for balance, she tried to move. A sharp pain burst in her shoulder and she stumbled. Something rolled beneath her foot and she fell.
A rough hand grabbed the collar of her robe, hauling her upwards. She let herself go limp, trying to remember the lessons Sinoval had tried to teach her. He had warned her that one day she would need to know how to fight, and how to kill. She had replied with a gentle smile that she had no intention of ever killing anyone.
She wished she had listened. All she could think of was Sinoval's face when he learned that she was dead.
The point of the knife came to rest at the bottom of her ribcage. Ashan pushed it slightly.
"It…. says that…. It says…. Minbari do not kill Minbari. It says that I must…. No. I am…. Minbari do not…. It…."
The pressure on the knife began to increase. Her robe became damp and warm, and she knew the knife had drawn blood. Ashan's grip on it had become weaker, however. He seemed to be arguing with himself.
"You are Minbari," she said, trying to force the words through the pain. "Minbari do not…." She cried out as the knife was jogged slightly, cutting a deep gouge across her skin.
"Silence…. You are a worker. You…. do not…. matter…. It says that you…. It…. says…."
She twisted her body and slid aside, crying out as the knife sliced across her ribcage and her side. She could feel Ashan losing his balance and hear him falling. Scrambling to her feet, she did not head blindly in any direction, but began clawing desperately for the knife. Her right hand found it, and as she awkwardly pulled it up through bleeding fingers she felt his hand slam down on top of her own.
"Workers…. die…. You…. must…."
He forced her hand up, crushing her fingers on to the hilt. His foot lashed out against her knee and she gave way, crashing backwards to the floor, but still she maintained her hold on the knife. She could feel him rising over her, bending the knife downwards.
"Minbari do not kill Minbari," she whispered, a great dizziness sweeping over her. "Listen to me, Ashan. Please…. fight it…."
"I can't. It says…. It…. says…."
"Listen to yourself. Minbari do not kill…."
The knife slid downwards a little further. "I…. can't…. I…. I…."
He suddenly jerked his hands, forcing the knife upwards. Kats, unable to free her hand from the hilt, added unwitting momentum.
She felt the knife slide into his chest and heard a slight gurgle. His fingers fell stiff and she was able to wrench her hand from the hilt, but not before his blood poured over her fingers.
She rolled aside just in time to prevent his body falling on her.
For a moment there was a still nothingness, and then the pain from her injuries hit home in one shocking burst and she cried out under the onslaught. The full horror of what she had done engulfed her. "Ashan," she whispered. "Ashan. Are you…?" It was useless. He was dead.
"Killed another fine Minbari, worker slut!" bellowed Kalain in her mind. "Beg forgiveness!"
"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm…." She closed her eyes and rolled over, climbing to her hands and knees. "No. You're not here. I know you're not here." She crawled forward, wincing from the pain of the wounds on her arm and body.
