Minutes later, Rem Lanas was upright and spread-eagled, his arms tied to the walls on either side of the cell. Durla stood several feet away, the lash in his hand crackling with energy.
"Prime Minister." Caso sounded respectful but nervous. "The drugs in his system may impede his understanding if another element, such as extreme pain, is introduced into–"
"Then we shall give his system a chance to work the drugs out." He saw Milifa nod slightly in approval, took a step back and swung his arm around expertly. The lash slammed across Rem Lanas' back, shredding his shirt in a second. Lanas screamed, his eyes going wide, his body spasming.
"You felt that, didn't you," Durla said in a low voice. "Didn't you, Lanas."
"Y-yes," he managed to say.
"No one can endure more than forty lashes of that nature," Durla continued. "I do not suggest you be the first person to try."
"I... don't want to die..."
"At last, truth," Durla noted with satisfaction. "We don't care about you, Lanas. We want those in charge."
"In charge ... of what?"
Durla did not hesitate. He swung the lash again, and again. Ten cracks of the lash crashed across Lanas' back, and each time the prisoner howled, until it seemed to Durla he could not remember a time when screams were not ringing in his ears.
"That," he said, "is eleven."
But Lanas didn't hear him, because he had lapsed into unconsciousness.
"Bring him around," Durla said to Caso.
Caso did so with brisk efficiency. Durla could see it in Lanas' eyes: When he came to, for a moment he didn't realize where he was. Perhaps he thought that what he had experienced was some sort of tortured dream. When he looked around, however, he realized the all-too-real nature of his predicament.
"Ask him who killed my son," Milifa demanded. "Was he himself responsible? Someone else?"
"Is your mind clear enough that you can answer the question?" Durla asked. Lanas glared up at him. "You see, we've figured out that when you lose control over your ability to keep information secret, you have some sort of... what was the word, Caso? Failsafe. A fail-safe in your mind that prevents you from being forthcoming. It is my assumption that if you have possession of your faculties, then your free will holds sway once more. Employ that free will now. Save yourself."
"Tell me who killed my son," demanded Milifa.
Lanas seemed to notice him for the first time. "Who is your son?"
"Throk of the House Milifa."
"Oh. Him."
"Yes, him."
"He was the first."
"The first what?" Durla said. "The first victim of your organization?"
Rem Lanas took in a slow, deep breath. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"You are Rem Lanas."
"Beyond that, I mean." The pain in his voice appeared to be subsiding. And then, before Durla could reply, Lanas did it for him. "I am nothing beyond that. I am a nobody. A no one. I drifted... from one thing in life to the next. Used by this person, by that person. I have been a victim for as long as I can remember. No pride in myself, in my heritage, in my people. But I have been a part of something ... that has made me proud ... for the first time in my meager existence."
"So you admit you are part of an organization!" Durla said triumphantly.
"Freely," said Lanas. He looked like nothing. He looked like a weakling. But his voice was of iron. "And if you think that I am going to turn over those people who have helped to elevate me, for the first time in my life, to a creature of worth ... then you can think again. And you, Durla... you think ... you think you are in charge. You think you know everything. You know nothing. And by the time you do... it will be too late for you. It's already too late."
Durla suddenly felt a chill in the air. He brushed it off as he said, "If you know so much about me, why don't you tell me?"
"Because you would not believe. You are not ready. You likely never will be."
"Enough of this!" Milifa said, fury bubbling over. "Tell me who killed my son!"
"Your son..."
" Yes! Throk of the–"
"House of Milifa, yes. Your son ..." He grinned lopsidedly. "Your son walked into his little hideout with a bomb in his hair. My understanding is that he realized it at the last moment and died screaming 'Get it out, get it out!' Very womanish, from what I've been told..."
Milifa let out a howl of agonized fury and grabbed the lash from Durla's hand. Durla yelped in protest and tried to grab it back, but Milifa was far bigger than he and utterly uncaring, at that moment, of Durla's high rank. He stiff-armed the prime minister, shoving him back. Caso caught Durla before he could hit the ground.
Milifa's arm snapped around, and he brought the lash crashing down on Rem Lanas. Lanas made no attempt to hold back the agony as the scream was ripped from his throat.
"Milord!" Caso shouted, trying to get the whip away from him, but Milifa, blind with fury, swept it around and drove Caso back. Any attempt to snatch it from Milifa's hand would simply have met with violence.
"Tell me – who!" And the whip snaked out.
"Who's on first!" shrieked Lanas, and the words were now pouring out of him, running together, bereft of any meaning. "What's on second, I don't know, third base..."
"Tell me! Tell me!"
"Get the guards!" Durla ordered Caso, and the young Prime Candidate did as he was instructed. Milifa was paying no attention. Four years' worth of anger, of rage, poured from him all at once, focused entirely on the helpless individual before him. Over and over he struck, and each time he demanded to know who was responsible for his son's death, and each time Rem Lanas cried out nonsensical comments about third base. Except he did so with progressively less volume each time, even the screams having less force.
The door burst open and half a dozen guards poured in, Caso bringing up the rear. They converged on Milifa, and he swung the lash to try to keep them back. But they were armored, and although they proceeded with caution, proceed they still did. Within moments they had Milifa pinned to the ground, the lash torn from his grasp. His chest was heaving, his face flushed, his eyes wild. "Tell me!" he was still shouting, as if he had lost track of the fact that he was no longer beating his victim.
Lanas' head was slumped forward. Durla went to him, placed his thumb and forefinger under Rem Lanas' chin. The head fell back. And he immediately knew what Caso confirmed only a moment later: Lanas was dead.
"Idiot," he murmured, and then his voice grew along with his frustration. "Idiot!" This time he turned to Milifa, who was being held on the floor by the guards, and kicked him savagely in the side. Milifa let out a roar of indignation, but Durla spoke right over it. "Idiot! He was our first, best lead in years! Years! And because of you, he's dead!"
"Less ... than forty lashes ..." Milifa started to say.
"It didn't matter! The threshold of pain isn't an exact science! Forty was the maximum! But look at him! He wasn't particularly robust! What in the world made you think he could endure that sort of sustained punishment!
"But no, you didn't think!" and he kicked Milifa again. "You just cared about your pathetic son!"
"How dare you!" Milifa managed to get out.
"How dare you interfere with an official interrogation! How dare you think that you can withstand my anger! Get him out of here ... no! No, on second thought, shove him over there!" and he pointed to a corner of the cell. The guards obediently tossed him over into the indicated corner and stepped back. "You can stay here and rot ... along with the corpse of your new best friend!" and he indicated the still-suspended body of Rem Lanas. "I hope you two will be very happy together!"
He stormed out, allowing the guards to follow and close the door behind him. The last thing the angry prime minister heard was Milifa's enraged shout of protest, before it was cut off by the slamming of the cell door.
C
HAPTER 4
Durla was impressed to see that Castig Lione had made it to his office suite before he arrived there. "Tell me it's not true," Lione, trembling with suppressed rage, said immediately.
Durla considered it mildly amusing that the conversation echoed the one he'd had with Milifa, so very recently. "That depends," he said calmly. With Milifa locked away and his fury at Lanas passed, Durla was actually able to handle himself with a considerable amount of sangfroid. "What are you referring to, precisely?"
"Do not fence with me–"
"And do not forget your station, Lione!" Durla warned. He was still calm, but there was definite menace in his tone. "Do not forget who is the power on Centauri Prime."
"Oh, I have known that for quite some time," Lione shot back.
Durla's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"
"You have put Milifa into prison! Do you have any idea how many friends the House Milifa has? How powerful he is! You need the support of the main Houses ..."
"I have the support of the military, Minister Lione," Durla said. "The generals respect my roots. And they respect my long-term vision. They have helped to execute my inspirations, developing the technologies that will lead us to bury the Alliance. They have as little patience for effete, mincing heads of Houses as I do. They know that conquest comes from military might, and they know that only I have the strength of will to bring Centauri Prime to its true destiny."
"The Houses remain the foundation of your power, Prime Minister. If that foundation crumbles ..."
"Why should I care what is below me, when my destiny is that which is above me?"
Lione leaned on a chair without sitting, and shook his head. "Madness," he muttered.
But Durla was studying him, like a small creature of prey sizing up something larger than he, trying to decide whether or not he could bring it down. "I have not forgotten your comment. Who is the power of Centauri Prime, as far as you are concerned?"
Lione regained his composure. "Why, you are, Prime Minister."
"Now you are the one who is fencing. What did you mean?"
"You do not desire candor, Prime Minister."
There was a deadly silence in the office for a moment. And then Durla said, "Lione ... we go back quite a ways. Do not, however, assume that that lengthy relationship has weakened my resolve or ability to do what I feel needs to be done if I am being defied. Do not further assume that the fact that you head the Prime Candidates gives you a power base that is comparable with mine. If I were so inclined, I could order the military to annihilate every single one of them. The streets of Centauri Prime would flow with the blood of your precious Candidates, and parents might mourn, but otherwise life would go on."
"You would never do such a thing," Lione said.
Durla smiled thinly.
Suddenly the door opened and one of the most massive Centauri that Lione had ever seen walked in. He had to stop in the doorway for a moment, turning sideways slightly, in order to enter. Pure charismatic energy seemed to crackle around him. His neck was so thick that it seemed as if his head were jointed directly into the top of his torso. Furthermore, he had cut his teeth so that small fangs projected over his upper lip.
"Minister ... you remember General Rhys. He's been overseeing a number of our construction projects on assorted fringe worlds. He also did a superb job leading the recent strike forces on Mipas and other worlds. General, it is good to see you."
General Rhys bowed deeply. But as he did so, he never took his eyes off Castig Lione.
"General," Durla said quite conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "I'd like you to do me a service, if you don't mind."
"Whatever you wish, Prime Minister."
"That sword hanging at your side... is it merely ceremonial?"
"Intended for ceremony, but it carries a killing edge, Prime Minister."
"Good. Kindly draw it and decapitate Minister Lione if he does not answer to my satisfaction."
Lione started to bark out a laugh, then the laughter choked off in his throat as smooth metal rasped against the scabbard, and he found the blade poised right against his throat. Rhys was holding it quite steady, not wavering in the slightest.
"You ... you're insane," Lione whispered. Then he gasped as the blade edge pressed ever so slightly. That alone was enough to cause a trickle of blood to start running down. A small stain of pinkish red liquid... his blood... tinted his white collar.
"Look into my eyes, Lione," said Durla. The degree of calm in his tone was absolutely frightening. Lione found himself unable to look anywhere else. "I will be able to tell if you are lying. I have become quite sensitive to attempts at duplicity. One does not reach my station in life without acquiring that ability. Lie, and I will know. Now tell me ... who do you think is the true power of Centauri Prime?"
"You."
"Ah ah ah," Durla said scoldingly, and Rhys – without having to be told to do so – pushed the blade ever so slightly more against Lione's throat. The minister gasped and sat bolt still, as even the slightest breath would cause the blade to drive into his throat on its own. "Did you think that I was joking? I am not. I do not joke. Ever. This is your last chance, Minister: Who is the true power of Centauri Prime?"
In truth, Durla was fully prepared for Lione to answer that it was the emperor. Durla was perfectly aware that there remained a handful of holdouts who believed that Londo Mollari still mattered in some way, shape, or form to the business of Centauri Prime. It was a quaint notion, of course. Truthfully, he would be surprised if it turned out that Lione was among those benighted few, but anything was possible.
What he was not expecting was the answer that Lione gave: "The Lady Mariel."
For just a moment Durla's lips twisted in anger, and he was about to order General Rhys to dispatch Lione for good and all. If nothing else, it would prove to the other ministers that no one was immune to the ire and retribution of the prime minister.
But something in Lione's look stopped him, and he realized with a sort of bleak horror that Lione absolutely believed it.