A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain

the danger was over. One warship was all that could be spared.

And as for bodyguards, the Imperial Guard was needed to maintain order on the homeworld. The Shadow Criers had subsided, but not entirely disappeared. Londo had his personal cadre of one hundred guardsmen, and, most important of all, he had Lennier. He would be fine.

He was standing on the observation deck of the Imperial Barge, looking out at the multi-coloured delirium of hyperspace. It was amazingly similar to the flashes at the back of his eyelids whenever he was hung over, a state he had mercifully been free of for some time now.

'Are you there, Lennier?' he called out hesitantly. There was a movement.

'I am here,' said a soft voice. Londo was constantly surprised by the Minbari's habit of concealment. He seemed to melt into the shadows even in places where they were no shadows to melt into. With this knack, and with his frequent silences, it was easy to forget he was about.

That made him the perfect bodyguard of course, but a difficult person to talk to.

It had been Kazomi 7. Something had happened there to turn the gentle keela poet into someone who.... scared most people, even Londo sometimes. He trusted Lennier as he trusted very few others, but still.... few others understood why the most powerful man in the Centauri Republic kept a Minbari around.

Lennier had recently taken to not wearing his sunburst badge, the insignia that marked him out as one of G'Kar's Rangers. He had offered no explanation for this omission.

And now they were both going back to Kazomi 7. It had been over a year and a half since either of them had been there, and it must have changed greatly from the barren, devastated world it had been then. A triumph of hope over despair, it had been called.

It was all G'Kar's fault, of course. He wanted unity. He wanted all the races united to oppose the Shadows. He had been doing a remarkably good job of it as well. If he could get the Centauri to side with the Alliance.... to go to war with a terrifying Enemy....

To throw away Centauri lives in a cause not their own, to make an enemy who would no doubt be angry and vengeful, to commit themselves to a war with no returning.

Londo had turned down Mr. Morden's offer of a permanent alliance with the Vorlons for that very reason. Morden's subsequent disappearance (little change there, with him) had not altered his opinion. The Centauri would remain neutral as far as possible.

'I was thinking about something,' he said softly. 'Tell me.... have you heard any.... rumours about our victory in the recent battle?' The Narns had assaulted Centauri Prime itself, and been beaten back. Lord-General Marrago had foreseen heavy casualties, but there had been remarkably few.

'What sort of rumours?'

'I don't know.... Either the Narns were grossly underprepared for their attack, still believing us to be weak and helpless.... or we had help from somewhere.'

'Centauri Prime had been in a state of chaos for over a year,' Lennier replied, after a thoughtful hesitation. 'Perhaps they had not heard how much things had changed.'

'Perhaps.... Perhaps they did underestimate us. Or maybe we were helped. I have heard.... rumours that another force intervened. Who, or what, or why, I do not know, and I do not even know if there is any truth in this. Was Mr. Morden trying to force his offer of alliance onto us? Were these.... Shadows playing some game of their own, hoping to push us into a deal with them?'

'I will listen,' Lennier said simply. 'If I hear anything, I will tell you.'

'Thank you,' said the Emperor softly.

He wished there was someone here he could talk to.... really talk to. Marrago was on Centauri Prime of course, plotting the move to retake the Gorash system. Timov was busily terrifying people in her guise as Minister for Resource Procurement. G'Kar had slipped away from the homeworld in the same mysterious way he had slipped in. Delenn would be at Kazomi 7. Carn was captaining the Valerius.

Ah, how he wished for someone to talk to. Someone to see Londo Mollari the man, not the second Emperor Mollari, not the man who would lead the Republic into its dying days.

Londo remembered Cartagia's final prophecy, his final, black joke. He had sworn to deny Cartagia that last laugh. He remembered the cause Malachi had died for, and his own oath to uphold it. He remembered Lord Jarno going to his death.

Then he remembered sitting in that damned uncomfortable chair, and he decided that he was happy here for the moment. Kazomi 7 was some hours away, and when he arrived there he would have to sit through all the speeches, all the waffle, all the politicking. Then he would have to leave and return to Centauri Prime for more of the same.

He spent the remaining five hours until his arrival at Kazomi 7 doing precisely nothing whatsoever.

* * *

'So why do they call him Jinxo, then?'

The principle reason for frequenting any pub, Dexter Smith had reasoned, was not the drinks they served, nor the politeness of the landlord, nor the length of the barmaids' skirts, nor the cost of the drinks, nor even the propensity for brawls on a Friday night.

No, it was the regulars. People who came in day after day, night in, night out. Not to drink as such, but just to be there, to enjoy the atmosphere, to talk all night about the things they had done all day, to swap outrageous stories and gossip and news.

It had been the regular customers that had drawn Smith into the first real pub he had visited, back when he was nowhere near old enough to be able to buy drinks.

Sadly, while Bo's tavern had a great many.... well, many.... well, some.... features to recommend it, the regulars were not among them. Smith was gloomily realising that he was Bo's regular, because he'd been coming here three or four nights a week for about a month.

Oh, there were a few others. There was Mack, an old friend of Bo's from his time in Earthforce. Eduardo Delvientos and his brother, both dockers based at the spaceport in Sector 305. A small-scale businessman called Devereaux. Then there was Jinxo. No one seemed to know his real name. No one knew where he lived or what he did. He was just always there, at least he'd been there every time Smith had been. Most of the time he wasn't even drinking anything, just sitting as close to the fire as he could.

'A funny story,' Bo said, polishing some glasses. Well, by polishing, what he was actually doing was evenly distributing the dirt, but it gave him something to do and made him look busy.

Smith said nothing, and waited for Bo to continue. 'He used to be a construction worker. Fairly big, large- scale stuff. A pretty good one, too.... by all accounts. He lived on Orion for a good few years, doing minor repair work and such. Got married there, back in.... ooh, fifty-one, fifty-two, something like that. She got pregnant.

'I gather things were looking up at one point. The Government was trying to recruit skilled construction workers for some big job. Some space station or something.'

'Babylon Four,' Smith said softly.

Bo appeared not to have heard him. 'So, Jinxo was one of the first in line for a job. He went off for some survey reports or something. I think he hung around on the Babylon for a while.... meeting pretty high-class people, you know.

'And then.... well.... the Minbari came to Orion, completely trashed the place. Jinxo was still on the Babylon when it came back to try and defend Orion, and he was one of the first guys on the ground. He got to his apartment.... and the whole building had been wrecked. His wife was dead, but the doctors managed to save the baby.... something like that, anyway. Maybe his wife lived for a few more days.... or something.

'Well, it turned out Jinxo's insurance didn't cover anything like the cost of keeping the baby in hospital, and it weren't like that were the only kid in need of treatment after Orion. His apartment weren't worth nothing any more, he wasn't going to get paid by the Government for construction work they couldn't afford, and his savings went.... pretty fast.

'So, the hospital were making threatening noises, so he took all the cash he had and went down to the Tron. He tried to borrow money off Mr. Trace, but.... well, he couldn't afford to lend him any. I'm sure he would have, if he could. He's a real fine man, as you know.'

'Yeah,' muttered Smith. 'A real humanitarian.'

'But.... I hear there are certain people at the Tron who.... go in for a bit of illegal gambling. Cards and