G'Kar of the Narn

what Talia found.

Tue, 20 Jul 2004 17:41:31 GMT

*THE FOLLOWING LETTER IS BROADCAST ON ALL PUBLIC BABCOM CHANNELS, ALL FREQUENCIES.*

My dear Narn people --

I have wronged you.

It seems that I have not been entirely myself, these past many months, and I have made choices that were not within my right to make. And so I turn to you, my people, and ask that you do with me as you will.

"I'm not at all sure about this, G'Kar," said Talia, her fingertips inches from G'Kar's temple. "I'm not seeing anything in your accesible subconscious, and if I probe any further I could damage you."

G'Kar shook his head. "Perform the scan, Ms. Winters." He closed his eyes, one red, one a gruesome blue, and felt a decided shudder as sense memory recreated the feeling of Londo's fingers on his palm. "I am not afraid."

Talia resumed the scan and a thousand wild currents whirled deep in G'Kar's brain.

When I requested asylum on Babylon 5, I did so that I might continue to serve Homeworld and the future of our people. If such a time has come that I can no longer serve you, I no longer have the right to this safe haven. I should be tried as a war criminal and returned to Narn to pay for my neglect.

"G'Kar," Talia asked, strained. "Have you been scanned by any Minbari telepaths in the last year or so?"

The pain was intense and steady. "Not to my recollection. No."

"I don't get it," Talia said. "These are Minbari blocks; we study these in the Corps. A Minbari telepath isn't anywhere near as strong as a psi cop, of course, but -- G'Kar, I think I found something."

"Well, don't keep it to yourself," G'Kar growled.

"I need to break this block. It's...probably going to hurt. Quite a bit."

G'Kar breathed through his nose. "It already hurts quite a bit. I shall endure it."

Talia pushed on.

I have allowed myself to surrender to the control of our enemy and the weaknesses of my own flesh. What I was thinking when I began my sexual encounter with Ambassador Mollari I cannot begin to imagine, except to say that any actions I took following my arrival on Tu'Pari's asteroid, any decisions I made may not have been my own.

G'Kar opened his eyes to see Talia sitting back, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs.

"Did you...see...what I saw, then?" G'Kar asked. "Tu'Pari, the Rangers..."

"You were definitely tampered with," Talia said. "Crude implementation, but effective. It seems Tu'Pari wanted you to join the Rangers as their agent so that they could then extract the information from you with no one the wiser."

"But what about --" G'Kar's voice rose, fury burning in his cheeks. "Mollari! This, all this, with Mollari, that must have come as a result of this tampering, these choices --"

Talia shrugged. "It's possible, G'Kar. The embedded personality Tu'Pari programmed was designed to work with your own personality, so that no one would suspect anything was wrong. It's impossible to say which choices were part of their design and which choices you would have made anyway."

"I joined the Anla'shok!" G'Kar slammed a fist on the table. "I wanted to help the Rangers, to help Delenn and Sinclair and our own dear Captain Sheridan's army of light -- and you tell me all along I was simply serving Tu'Pari? If that's true -- if I cannot even elect to fight for what I believe in, if even THAT is corrupted somehow, there is no other answer about Mollari. I would not have -- Talia --"

"G'Kar, try to calm down. Now that we've isolated the psionic pattern of the embedded personality I can disable it, and with some meditation you'll be able to --"

"I believed I was in LOVE with Ambassador LONDO MOLLARI, Ms. Winters!" G'Kar roared. "I want this embedded personality removed RIGHT NOW."

I have enclosed with this letter a copy of the results of my most recent telepathic scan, as performed and certified by Talia Winters of the Psi Corps. There you will see that my actions of this past half year were the result of telepathic interference. The perpetrator of this vicious offense was the renegade assassin Tu'Pari, who elicited the help of Minbari telepaths to program me as a spy in their fight against the Rangers.

Though I killed Tu'Pari and destroyed his rebellion shortly after the new personality came to life, I have continued, unwittingly, to carry out their mission.

For reasons I have not yet deduced, part of their mission relied upon me entering into an intimate relationship with Londo Mollari. Perhaps because he is to be Emperor and they hoped I would have his ear. Perhaps because the Rangers have some plan for the Centauri as well. But the most likely reason is also the most upsetting -- I believe Tu'Pari wished to discredit me among the Narn people -- among you, my friends. He knew of my acquaintance with Mollari and he chose to capitalize on that as a way to drive a wedge between me and the other Narns on Babylon 5 and elsewhere who looked up to and respected me.

I shall not begrudge you if you have lost that respect for me now. I have, to a great degree, myself. I allowed Na'Toth to die in a distant war because I was not paying attention. I neglected her, as I neglected all of you, for that reprehensible creature Mollari.

And if you hear just one thing from this letter, let it be this: I shall not neglect you again, my friends. I hope very much that you do not turn your back on me and that you allow me to atone for my sins. And Na'Toth, wherever you are, I hope very much that you forgive me as well.

Yours in the name of G'Quon,
G'Kar, Citizen of the Narn

G'Kar sat for a long time at his desk after Talia left. He had been used. Manipulated. He had been weak. He had been foolish beyond belief. He opened his eyes and muttered a curse and tried to steady his breathing, but all he could hear was Mollari's voice saying "You are absolutely positively the most annoying creature on earth, and I love you too" and all he could feel was Mollari's fingers, tracing circles on his palm.

He set his jaw. "It is not real," he said, and turned to his computer to write a letter. "My dear Narn people -" he began.

The world will end tomorrow. What do you do today?

Tue, 29 Jun 2004 21:36:23 GMT

Interesting question! Because, of course, the world will end tomorrow -- if it is not today's tomorrow than it is another tomorrow not far off, and if it is not then than it is another tomorrow down the line. I thank you, great forum, for making me aware of this fact I had too long forgotten.

And so, today, I shall take swift and decisive action. I shall depart for Cardassia with Mollari at my side, and we shall track down the sinister Damar and make him pay for what he has done to Na'Toth. If the universe should be destroyed tomorrow, I want to spend today in the pursuit of justice and enlightenment, and I want to protect Mollari, as I have sworn to.

I never swore to protect Na'Toth. She is Narn; she can look after herself and she does not fear death. And so I fully understand that my desire to return her here, and safe, is purely selfish -- *I* do not wish to imagine a universe without her in it. If Damar was not lying to us, Na'Toth died a hero, in a noble and victorious fight. One cannot ask for a better death than that. If her world is to end tomorrow, she spent today as a valiant citizen of Narn and there can be no sorrow in that, and no remorse.

However, if Damar is lying to us, I will make sure he and his family live to regret his mistake. Either way, I shall spend today seeking answers, and if the world ends tomorrow I will know that at least I have tried.

Fri, 25 Jun 2004 02:10:46 GMT

600 hours: I awake on the pallet I have installed beside Mollari's bed. After one night on that heavily brocaded monstrosity (stuffed to bursting with the feathers of some indigenous human creature, if I am to believe the computer on such matters) I brought this woven mat from my own quarters and established a sleeping area on the floor, marked at all four corners with the traditional red stones of homeworld. I have thus narrowly avoided the plague of insomnia any further attempts to sleep beside Mollari would no doubt have brought.

800 hours: The students assigned to study Mollari today are citizens Ta'lob, Ta'quim, and G'ral. They are among the more stubborn of the youngest generation of my disciples, and are in some ways more willing to accept Mollari as a part of my life, despite the fact that they still insist on fighting the Centauri here on the station. The truth is, they find Mollari fascinating, and I think they view our relationship with the same sort of horrified fascination that leads them go for the throat.

They have accompanied him on his diplomatic rounds today, both absolving me of the responsibility of sitting through yet another interminable meeting with Vir's accountants and avoiding me the opportunity to keep up with my Minbari martial arts. The incense is Minbari traditional; that the smell bothers Mollari is merely a fortunate fringe benefit.

1600: My classes concluded ahead of schedule today and Mollari and I find that we are alone together for very nearly the first time since his return. The constant parade of well-wishers has only just dwindled, and my students, ever more demanding to witness just what it is about this Centauri would send their blessed leader G'Kar (I say this with the utmost irony) so blindly and dramatically in love, are around all day. They agreed to a change in curriculum including some field work with Mollari, and their presence serves as well to increase his security, as every Narn that follows us is a trained soldier with whom I would trust my life.

Meanwhile, they are driving me quite nearly out of my skin with a need to take Mollari alone, to throttle him and have my way with him as I have not had for far too long.

*

And now I shall do so, computer, as Mollari has arrived home on schedule and our time is upon us at last. I have even showered with Mollari's very own soap for the occasion.

Cease recording.

*

Babcom flashes with an incoming message but G'Kar ignores it, his attention, very decidedly, on other matters.

the upcoming auction

Tue, 15 Jun 2004 10:19:44 GMT

Up until Vir's meeting, G'Kar hadn't left Londo's quarters since all this began. Calls from Anla'shok Pierce on Minbar go unreturned. The room reeks of a Narn in mourning, and G'Kar has written over a hundred pages in his book but he hasn't said a word to anyone.

But Na'Toth knows something, something she hasn't shared or hasn't wanted to share. Somewhere beneath his subconscious, G'Kar knows Na'Toth has her own reasons for opposing his relationship with Londo, but that dark snaky part of his reptilian brain hasn't come up for air in what seems like weeks.

Out there somewhere is a world where he and Londo don't belong together, where people despise them and fear them, where G'Kar's supposed to despise Londo though he can't remember why, now. Now he just eats, and sleeps, and writes -- until today.

Today, he calls Na'Toth.

G'KAR: Na'Toth.

NA'TOTH: Hello, G'Kar.

G'KAR: I take it you have spoken with Vir --

NA'TOTH: Where are your manners, Ambassador! Aren't you even going to ask about my trip? Or acknowledge what passed between us before I left?

G'Kar is genuinely puzzled by her statement. He shakes his head.

G'KAR: Forgive me, my dear, but MOLLARI has been KIDNAPPED and I think you'll agree --

NA'TOTH: Where Mollari is concerned, my dear, you and I agree on very little.

G'KAR: I know. And we -- will speak of this, when you return home. But you will admit that the possibility of Londo -- and thereby the Centauri Republic -- falling into the wrong hands is unappealing to us all --

NA'TOTH: Prime Minister Mollari is nowhere near as important as he thinks he is, G'Kar. Nor even as important as you think he is. (A pause.) However. I have learned something today that may be of use to you. It seems the Technomages are not alone in their desire to have access to Londo Mollari. In fact, quite the bidding war has started among some of the shadier powers in the galaxy.

G'KAR: People in your universe...in Terok Nor's universe surely can't be interested --

NA'TOTH: Some from this universe, some from ours, many I don't recognize. There's talk of a live auction.

G'KAR: With Mollari on the block.

NA'TOTH: I'm afraid so. People are gathering already. I believe they are meeting on Babylon 5.

G'KAR: Oh, they can't be foolish enough to bring Mollari back here -- Delenn and the station's security forces would be on them in a minute!

NA'TOTH: Agreed. Which is why I don't think Mollari will be with them. The auction guests will be on B5, but the Technomages will have Londo sequestered safely away, ready to transfer authority to the highest bidder.

G'KAR: We must find this auction, then. If we learn where Mollari is to be taken, we can rescue him.

NA'TOTH: (Reluctantly) Yes. I tell you this because I know he is important to you, and because I agree that he will be far more dangerous in the hands of those who wish to wield the power of Centauri Prime. And because I wonder -- though I don't place much stock in it -- if perhaps, eventually, you might be able to make him see what a monster he is. And that you yourself might see it.

G'KAR: I have seen it, Na'Toth. I still see it now. It is just --

NA'TOTH: I know, G'Kar. Love makes idiots of us all.

And with that, she signs off, and G'Kar hastily scribbles off a message to Zack Allen, Delenn, and Vir, telling them about the auction.

To Mollari, upon his return

Thu, 03 Jun 2004 17:07:42 GMT

Londo's quarters are obnoxious. I hate them. His portrait stares down at me, those regal, steely eyes, no depth, no dimension, just floating and judging from his heavy gilded frame. I despise the portrait.

Mr. Garibaldi would not let me in for fear I'd disturb the crime scene, but either he and Zack have completed their investigation or he finally succumbed to my wrath, because when I arrived here last night the guards were gone from the doorway, and the security seal gone from the door. There is still a placard where Mollari's name used to be: "Quarters Sealed by Order of Babylon 5 Security," but the quarters were not, indeed, sealed. I can only assume that Mr. Garibaldi has taken pity on me, for he knew I would return here the moment he was gone. He would not say as much, but I think he is concerned for me. I would not say as much, but I am grateful for his concern.

And here I am. This room is awful -- the air is thick and heavy and perfumed, the bed too soft, the carpets too plush. Everything smells of musk and Mollari. It is making me sick.

And -- yes, here, just like this. I'm seated at Mollari's desk, just so, I've taken the position he was in when I last saw him, in his transmission to me. He sat here, yes, one hand around this glass of brivari, still untouched, the syrup thick and crawling up the sides of the crystal now. I cannot feel him when I touch the glass. I smell the brivari, and it smells of him, but not of him, at the same time. He is present in this room, and absent just the same. He is. Not here.

I lean forward, as he did, switch on his terminal. Carl Sandburg, that human poet, two words, a security code.

"Carl Sandburg," I say, and the message shimmers on screen. I've read it enough, too much, too many times, I think. I close it again.

"Computer, begin recording, private message to Londo Mollari."

The computer beeps. I am sitting too straight; I hunch, as he did, I take a drink off the old, sticky brivari; it wears a coat of dust. He had one hand on his chest; I clap my breastplate in a salute.

"Mollari," I begin.

Hello, Mollari. You wished me to return home; I have returned home. Naturally, you chose the most self-centered and melodramatic means possible of achieving that end, but achieve it you have, and here I am.

I'm going to make a rather bold confession here -- it turns out I'm not a very good detective. And in this case, my better judgement tells me to leave the sleuthery to Mr. Garibaldi and his team, because I have no idea where to begin to search for you, and I can't stand being wrong. So instead I'm sitting here, in your quarters, drinking your old dusty brivari, in the hopes that I can somehow commune with you that way, that perhaps I'll find your essence here.

Last time I lost a friend, it was when Mr. Garibaldi disappeared, and I wasted no time going off to look for him. Needless to say, I did not find him, but I found something far more significant.

I found you.

If I hadn't gone in search of Mr. Garibaldi, I would not have been in a position to make a deal for my people, and I would not have learned that it is possible, after all this time and all this blood between us, for you and I to be on the same side.

We have common goals, Mollari. There was a time when we did not, but now, I believe, what unites us is far stronger than what divides us. I did not believe you truly wanted peace, but now I am willing to believe that you do. And I yearn for the chance for you to prove it to me -- for you to return, so we can prove it, over and over, to one another.

Delenn told me of your desire to contribute to a fund for Narn war orphans. Quite a step from the man responsible for orphaning those Narns to begin with, and while I will never forgive you for that, I find I have profound respect for your willingness to admit that you were wrong.

Did you know that was all I ever wanted from you? An admission of guilt -- not in words, for you are nearly as good with words as I am and the more you twist them to suit your whims the less weight they carry. But when I looked into your eyes in that cell and I made a deal for the sake of my people, I saw such emptiness in you it was all I could do not to save you myself. Or kill you, either one, for they are much the same thing in these cases.

I saw such profound emptiness in you, and that struck me more than any hatred ever could. You killed millions of my people not because you hated us, but simply because you could. There was no passion, no righteousness, no agenda -- just a cavalier drive for more power, more influence, more territory, more blood.

You never even hated me, but that is all right, for I hated you enough for both of us.

Things have changed, since then. I no longer believe your heart is empty. You are so fraught with pain now that sometimes I think emptiness would be a blessing for you; if you weren't plagued with emotion you could fulfill your destiny and be no worse off than you were years ago when you accepted Morden's offer to slaughter my people.

If I could restore that callousness to you I would do it in a second, and I do not envy you your fate, nor the guilt that you will bear until the end of your days.

But here, in the quiet, sitting in your room, Mollari -- I admit I am glad that callousness is gone. It's only fitting that it should be replaced with misery and sorrow, but your heart is no longer empty, and you are capable of more love than you might have ever thought possible. Certainly more than I ever thought you capable, and it astonishes me, and scares me, and makes me irredeemably sympathetic.

You mean more to me than any other creature in this universe ever has, and your life has affected mine more than I can say. So listen to me, Mollari, and hear me well, wherever you are.

I forgive you. I see that you are hurting, and that is enough. You should hurt. And as you hurt, I will stand beside you, and share your pain, and forgive you as much as I can. I forgive you the mistakes of youth and ambition, I forgive you for being seduced by power. I forgive you for your lack of perspective, for you have moved so far beyond that now that it seems a lifetime ago, and we are not the men we were then. I do not forgive your people for what they have done to my people, but I forgive you.

Time to end the war between us, time to end the war for all of us. Swords into plowshares, Mr. Sinclair once said to me, a human term, and apt, I think.

There will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart
The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust.
A spider will make a silberstring nest in the darkest, warmest corner of it
The trigger and the range-finder, they too will be rusty.
And no hands will polish the gun, and it will hang on the wall
Forefingers and thumbs will point absently and casually toward it.
It will be spoken among half-forgotten,
Wished-to-be-forgotten-things.
They will tell the spider: Go on, you're doing good work.
-- AEF, Carl Sandburg

Go on, Mollari. You are doing good work. And I will continue to work by your side. Just come home, untangle yourself from whatever mess you are undoubtedly in and come home, and I will -- yes.

You asked if I would spend these last weeks and months with you, and I say now, how can I not? I love you, Mollari, so desperately that I am paralyzed. I love you with a love I did not know I was capable of, and my place is at your side until the end of both our days. And you will keep hurting, and I will keep forgiving, for as long as it takes for both of our races to learn peace. I will be with you. I will hold you. I will not let you go. You asked, will I stay? Yes. Yes, Mollari. Come home.

Stellarcom to mikegaribaldi

Wed, 26 May 2004 02:59:39 GMT

Mr. Garibaldi --

I have received a most disturbing message from Ambassador Mollari and my calls to the Centauri homeworld have gone unreceived. I am aboard White Star 8 en route to Babylon 5 and shall be there in two days time. I expect that when I arrive you will have located Mollari and will have a plan in place for his retrieval. If you do not, you will find yourself face to face with a very, very angry Narn. Do not disappoint me.

Anla'shok G'Kar, Citizen of Narn

On Good and Evil

Thu, 13 May 2004 11:05:08 GMT

On Good and Evil: Private to londo_mollari and invisible to all other muses unless Vir happens to be in the room when the message arrives.

Mollari-

I received your collection of papers some days ago, but, as they seemed to possess neither cohesive structure nor coherent thought, I was at a loss as to how to respond. Then the computer informed me that this week we are discussing the notions of good and evil, and I immediately thought of you.

The journey to Minbar was uneventful, though I did use the opportunity to get aquainted with some of my would-be protege currently serving aboard White Star 16. The crew was almost entirely Minbari, with a handful of Humans to give the impression of a multiethnic staff. While the Rangers on the whole are equal-opportunity, I believe that the White Star fleet comprises largely Minbari officers, though whether this is by accident or by design I cannot say. Either way, if we ever doubted that Minbari were dull as paint, the journey put that matter to rest quite soundly. They work, they pray, they train, and they sleep. After three days among them I was wishing I had brought along your sword, that I might impale myself and be done with it. Yaaarrgh! Infuriating people, Minbari, but very wise.

However, it is the Humans who have drawn my interest, as what they lack in wisdom they more than make up for with a fierce desire to learn, to grow stronger, to do better, to do more. They do nothing by halves, these Humans. And I have also put to rest a matter of similarly long debate, and can quite expertly inform you that the Humans possess both skill and stamina in the acts of passion, though they lack ingenuity, but perhaps that comes with experience. There is a young man here called Pierce -- I do not recall his given name just at the moment -- with whom I have been spending my nights (and not a few days!), and who has taught me much about Human physiology and athleticism.

He has also, almost, allowed me to forget about you.

So what is good? Good is unbridled passion, lust, adventure, curiosity, and drive. Good is the desire to learn, a willingness to change one's mind, a willingness to open one's mind to new ideas, a willingness to say "I was wrong!" The Rangers possess these qualities in abundance, and I am grateful. Good is the freedom to stand before the universe unencumbered and unbiased, to admit that we are all children here. The Rangers are good. Their acceptance of a universe that is far greater than they are -- and their willingness to take responsibility for it, for all of it -- from the lowest of the nonsentient beasts that crawl in the mountains outside Tuzenor to the cruelest of warfaring races that ever took to the stars -- makes me glad beyond words that I have come here to join them.

So what is evil? There is no evil, Mollari. At one point, I thought there was, and I would have sworn that the Centauri embodied it with you as their figurehead. I was wrong. There is no evil, just degrees of foolishness, of stubbornness and bias and stupidity. The very concept exhausts me, even now. I have reached a time in my life where I no longer wish to tolerate it, and I believe I have earned the right to close my ears to foolishness in its many forms.

Tonight I teach a class in comparative barter-system economics of pre-jump races. Even the curriculum bores me, but I shall do my best to make it somewhat interesting to my eager pupils. It seems I am a natural teacher, or, at the very least, people seem to consider my instruction worthwhile, so that is a small comfort. After that, Mr. Pierce -- Adam! That is his name! I shall not forget it again! -- has plans to instruct me in a form of Human martial arts, and then, I suppose, I shall attempt to school the boy in more inventive methods of pleasuring an insatiable Narn. Good luck to me on that front.

(It is interesting to note that the Minbari have a rather progressive policy on mating and recreation among the Rangers, though how they get to the entertaining parts with all those rituals and prayers remains a mystery to me. I think I shall not be taking up with any Minbari men or women, for I rather fear I do not have the patience for it.)

To the matter of your letters. I am glad to hear that Mr. Garibaldi has offered to help you bring Human workers to Centauri Prime. I think that is a wise move, and I hope that you will find, as I have, the great depths of generosity and passion that these Humans have to offer. I pray that your people will be receptive to it.

And so I leave you to your devices, to your stubbornness and your destiny. I have tried one too many times to convince myself that you are anything other than what you are, and, as I said, it exhausts me to do so. And I cannot allow myself to think of you in any other way, because too much of me still cries out for you, my heart, my body and soul, and I cannot surrender to the pain. For if I do, I cannot breathe.

Customs.

Sun, 02 May 2004 04:56:04 GMT

You never come back.
I say good-by when I see you going in the doors,
The hopeless open doors that call and wait
And take you then for—how many cents a day?
How many cents for the sleepy eyes and fingers?

I say good-by because I know they tap your wrists,
In the dark, in the silence, day by day,
And all the blood of you drop by drop,
And you are old before you are young.
You never come back.
- Carl Sandburg

Customs: the long line to the out door on the last best hope for peace. I said no lengthy farewells. I said no farewells at all. I spoke with Sinclair, and he is a good man, a great man, and I am better knowing him and better going off to serve him. I packed my belongings, weapons and speeches, though these days my weapons are speeches, and my speeches are weapons and I hope that among the Anla'shok I learn to wield both a little better. And I thought about Humans.

When I came to this place, five years ago now, but a lifetime ago, a whole G'Kar ago, really, I didn't know them. Now I read their poetry in the native tongue. I like this Carl Sandburg; I quoted him to Mollari once, another lifetime ago but the same G'Kar. When Sinclair left I asked the computer to download some more for me, for the flight. I say good-by and you never come back.

The Humans are remarkable creatures, all flesh and fragile, feasting on a tradition of rebellion. You consult their history and every great change was brought about out of discord and every great leader was a renegade or a lunatic or a poet. And yet from their divisiveness, out of their stubborn need for individuality they unite us and even the Minbari who are older than us all were wise enough to listen when the Humans spoke.

I wait on line with my bag and my identcard, nameless among a hundred aliens headed for the open doors that call and wait. Perhaps for the last time. Perhaps not, because this place has a strange power and I believe I will be forever called back here, as long as this staiton remains spinning in space. The Humans built this place and in a way the Humans built us all, taught us rebellion and solidarity, taught us youth and maturity, war and poetry. I wait on line in my travelling coat. I cannot stop myself from thinking of Mollari.

I think, I say good-by because I know they tap your wrists and they will call on you for blood. I think, your world will consume you, will eat you alive, and I can't stop it, and I can't save you, and I do not wish to. I think, you are old before you are young, but so am I.

What happened, Mollari, is for five years you and I learned from the Humans. Who are young before they are old, and are impulsive to a fault, and precious for that. And each of us so mired in our tradition could not see what they were teaching until it was too late. And so we repent, each in his own way, for what we are not good enough to do.

The crowd thins; the security officers on duty at this gate are both Human. When they take my card I thank them in their own language.

I think, everything I am I owe to this place, as well as everything good I shall ever become. I found meaning here, I found Mollari, and hate, and love. I found ambition and selflessness, I found Humanity and truth.

I shoulder my bag, start across the floor for my gate, where White Star 16 is waiting to take me away from the only home I have. You never come back quite the same. You never come back.

back to the station

Fri, 30 Apr 2004 22:57:26 GMT

A word to the wise -- if you plan on leaving the station for any amount of time -- particularly if the act comes on the heels of any sort of moderately dramatic interpersonal affair -- for G'Quon's sake, don't tell anyone. The wellwishers and condolance-givers will emerge from the very woodwork. I'm surprised that my Babcom address didn't cause the station's entire mainframe to crash under its weight.

You don't believe me?

// Computer, mailbox. //

Message. From Vir Cotto.
Message. From Ambassador Na'Toth.
Message. From Captain Sheridan.
Message. From Legate Damar.
Message. From Michael Garibaldi.
File transmission. From Narn Homeworld.
File transmission. From D'Shalk Florist, Zocalo.
Message. From Transport Authority.
Message. From Vir Cotto.
Message. From Andraste White.
Message. From Ambassador Na'Toth.
Message. From White Star 16.
Message. From Physical Plant.
File transmission. From Babylon 5 Housing Authority.
Message. From Centauri Embassy, Minbar.
Message. From Vir Cotto.
Message. From Lyta Alexander.
Message. From Vir Cotto.
Message. From-

// Enough. //

Ambassador Na'Toth, eh. Good to see the provisional Narn government wasted no time. And I trust that this means Na'Toth will be remaining on board Babylon 5, which is probably for the best, though I hope she will be able to visit Terok Nor eventually, as such a trip would be good for her.

Young Mr. Cotto also seems quite adamant about reaching me, though I can't imagine why.

I had intended to pack quickly, in order to be on my way, but I suppose I had better return at least some of these calls before I go.

Which means that I am going to take a nap.

Wed, 28 Apr 2004 23:38:33 GMT

My friends- we are due to return to Babylon 5 tomorrow. I have called ahead to the good Ambassador Delenn, who has gone above and beyond the call to expedite my entrance into the Anla'shok training program, and I will depart for Tuzenor as soon as I have gotten my affairs in order. Probably no more than one standard day after my arrival on the station, and I hope it will not take even that long.

Citizen Na'Toth will remain on board the station as my proxy. Try not to trouble her unless it is of the utmost urgency; I think it will do you good, my dear Narns, to learn to solve problems for yourself.

As to the recent question of monarchy vs. democracy, this recent trip has proved most enlightening on the matter, and I shall take the time to respond more adequately once I am settled on Minbar.

I hope that I will pass this way again, but I cannot be certain. My love to all of you.

Stellarcom Log, Revised: It seems I was too hasty in my assumption that Na'Toth will be forever available to do my bidding. I apologize to her, and to all of you, for the presumption. Na'Toth has left for the station known as Terok Nor, and with my departure to Minbar I'm afraid the Narn population of Babylon 5 will be without a leader -- however figurative a leader I may have been up until now. Trust in Captain Sheridan and Ambassador Sinclair, trust Mr. Garibaldi and Commander Ivanova. These humans are strange, indeed, but we have much to learn from them.

And trust, most of all, in Delenn, for she knows secrets we can scarcely begin to imagine.

Love is strange, perverse, twisted. It's a wonder we survive it at all, much less persist in its pursuit, generation after generation. I suspect it takes more lives than war -- and more often than not, is the cause of it.

in the devil's playground

Wed, 21 Apr 2004 20:34:25 GMT

I'll admit Centauri Prime has a certain appeal.

It lacks rustic charm of Earth, and certainly is no match for the breathtaking beauty of Minbar's cities, but the Centauri brand of urban sprawl -- the combination of classical architecture with modern conveniences -- lends the place a sort of dreamlike quality, all vivid colors and brilliant lines. One gets the impression that anything substandard, broken-down or dirty has been carefully hidden (or eradicated!) to preserve the capital city's green and gilded countenance. It is enough, almost, to make one forget the slaughter of so many other races necessary to make such luxury possible.

After this morning's tedious encouter with the stuffed shirts that make up the Centaurum, Mollari took me for a walk in a park named for some Emperor or other. Despite the notable absence of any sort of wildlife -- do they have non-sentient creatures on this world? I've read about them, but have yet to see evidence of their existence -- if you discount the half-dozen civilian Centauri who snickered to themselves unsubtly when we passed, it was truly a beautiful afternoon.

Mollari -- dear Mollari -- was so careful to show me that he was not ashamed of my presence that he made a point of standing as close to me as possible at every opportunity, once even going so far as to take my hand in full view of his Great Maker, not to mention a Centauri woman with her child, both of whom promptly burst into tears. I can scarcely be offended. I understand that this is quite foreign for him, the act of rebellion, and I am most flattered by his clumsy and well-meaning attempts to show his affection.

The ranking members of the Centaurum tolerate my presence, but just barely. It is clear they consider our entanglement evidence of some temporary insanity, and they make no effort to veil their threats regarding Mollari's fate should he continue to consort with me. As for myself, I am not fool enough to believe that Mollari would choose me, or choose a life of freedom over the throne for which he is destined, but I have not lost hope in the possible salvation of his soul.

He would claim his fate is written in the stars -- ah, those Centauri and their prophetic dreams -- but lest we forget, I am of a race without telepathic power, and I believe we are masters of our own destiny. He can bow to the whims of the old regime, or he can cast off his fate and -- with me or without me -- create something new.

He says he does not have the luxury of changing the past. As a Narn, I do not have the luxury of dwelling on it, for that way lies hate, and that way lies madness. It is a new day for my people, and a new day for me. Whether Mollari chooses to lead the Centauri into revolution, or whether he will simply spin his wheels in an attempt to outrun his past, remains to be seen.

And either way, I shall love him, for it is my lot in life to do so. And I shall hope for him, because it seems there is no one else -- young Vir aside -- who is willing. And I shall mourn for him, and I shall pray for him, and I shall forgive him.

He kissed me in the park, safely hidden behind a topiary hedge (though in that case I believe it was more out of propriety than any sense of political embarassment). When he did, I felt something stir within him -- beyond, of course, the usual stirring of hormones and brachiarte that traditionally follow such an act -- and I felt him release, for just that moment. For that moment, he was not Prime Minister Mollari, nor Ambassador Mollari, nor doomed heir to that deadly throne. He was simply Londo, simply himself, full-bore indulging in the simple act of kissing me. When he pulled away he had tears in his eyes. Pollen allergies, to be sure. But I thought, at that moment, that perhaps it was not me he is drawn to, but rather the man he is able to be when he's with me. And that man's days are numbered, indeed. I shall not waste energy on sorrow for that fact. Mollari has enough regret for the both of us.

Tonight I have the pleasure of meeting the esteemed Lady Timov. I've stashed an extra knife in my boot.

If you could live anywhere, where would you, and why?

Mon, 19 Apr 2004 02:55:24 GMT

I am a citizen of the universe! And as far as such things go, I find this universe quite to my satisfaction, and have no designs on going searching for an alternate one. What if I passed beyond the rim only to find myself in a galaxy devoid of song? Or...breen? Or sexual intercourse! Or those marvelous twisty devices the shopkeepers use to tie their packages closed? I shudder to even think it.

Yes, I'm most content here, thank you very much. But should you come across a universe where you never get the chorus of Tag'Na's "All Beings Dance With Your Arms In The Air, Now" stuck in your head, do let me know, and I'll consider it.

*

Moving on to more serious matters of state, it seems Mollari has been called back to Centauri Prime, for what promises to be an excrutiating experiment in pomp and patriotism, though I don't yet know the details. Naturally, I will accompany him, as in situations of that nature, Mollari has the annoying tendency to get into the sort of trouble that requires quick thinking and a knife. And while I trust him to a degree with the former, I believe the latter is more my department, and even before the recent developments in our relationship I had sworn to protect him.

The aforementioned developments will indeed make this an interesting trip, as I can only imagine the members of the Centaurum are as pleased with the idea of the two of us entwined as members of my own race have proved to be. Which is to say...it will be an interesting trip.

Still, I am looking forward to seeing his world from a new perspective, that is, without the benefit of chains or a pillory. He swears Centauri Prime is quite beautiful. We shall see.

Ahh, sex!

Wed, 14 Apr 2004 11:25:21 GMT

[Written last night, made public today because I find that my joy is so profound I cannot bear to keep it to myself.]

Sex! Where would we be without it, my friends? I find I am giddy with the newly rediscovered pleasure of it; I feel like a young Narn again! Mollari lies here sleeping in my quarters and I am awash with glee!

(And so I may protect myself from Londo's wrath upon awakening, I feel compelled to point out that he showed both stamina and creativity, and did not disappear into slumber until long after we had exhausted all six brachiarte and several helpings of both breen and some superb -- if I say so myself -- Vree spiced dumplings)

He collapsed fully clothed atop the covers, and I haven't had the heart to move him for fear of waking him, for I find I'm enjoying this quiet morning alone. I find, also, that I'm surprised by the fact that he doesn't snore. You'd think he would.

I'm surprised by so much, where Mollari is concerned. His unexpected grace. The fact that his hair does not grow naturally like that, but instead requires some sort of epoxy to hold it in place, and tends to fall limp about his brow at the end of the day. The fact that he is able to wax poetic in the throes of passion in no fewer than five languages, including both Narn and Human, and with not a little skill. The fact that he chooses to do so. The fact that he bruises easily, though that last one should not perhaps have been a surprise, and either way, his coat has a sufficiently high collar and his cummerbund does a marvelous job of concealing the space above his waistband from prying eyes.

Vir once implied that Mollari cried in his sleep. He is not crying now. To the contrary, the faintest trace of a smile is playing at his lips, and I can only hope that he is sleeping as soundly as he appears. One does not often get the chance to see him without the dark shadows that forever loom about him, the heavy weight of guilt and suffering for what he has done and what he is yet to do. But here, sanctified, perhaps, by what we have been through together, he seems to have found peace for one night, at least. And so have I.

I am overcome with joy. I want to shout, to dance, to grab Mollari from his slumber and have my way with him again and again and again. I am the definition of appetite, my friends, and it has been too long, years too long!

Home

Thu, 08 Apr 2004 15:15:53 GMT

[G'Kar went to the catacombs, and was rescued against his will. Now he has returned.]

Home. Such as it is, Babylon 5, the last best hope -- hah! -- for outcasts and wayfairers and people too foolish to leave when they should.

I suppose I am grateful to have such a place to call home; grateful, yes, to be alive, though I would not have suffered much consternation had it turned out the other way, despite what some people might think. Tu'Pari is dead, and that will have to be enough. For if it is not, then all this trouble, all we have gone through -- I cannot even think of it.

I find, I cannot think of much, today. I am bone-weary, melancholy, confused. It may be that Na'Toth is no longer speaking to me, though I hope that she will accept my apologies and remember that I am her friend. Crichton, Damar, brought into harm's way to save this? Me? This worthless Narn? I can only hope that they did not consider it too much of a trial, and that Crichton's wounds heal well and swiftly.

As for Mollari -- for it is always "as for Mollari" -- I think I would rather not speak of him just now.

I think, for today, I will simply sit, and read, and listen to the interminable and dreary sound of my heart yet again breaking.

G'Kar in the Catacombs

Thu, 08 Apr 2004 05:52:45 GMT

The fools who designed this base, G'Kar thinks, clearly placed more stock in their invulnerability than any sensible warrior would dare, but these Narns are not sensible warriors. Not warriors at all, in the strictest sense -- he neatly flicks a soldered lead from the bunker's lock mechanism and the door slips open on its greased track -- no morality behind these attacks, no sacrifice, nothing at all that resembles the teachings of G'Quon or G'Lan, nothing that suggests to G'Kar that these are his people at all. Which makes the idea of killing them easier, but by no means easy, and he is thankful that he will not have to live with his actions.

He is sixteen levels below ground, and it's hot even by Narn standards, the air thick and mossy in the narrow catacombs. The computer systems are anachronistic, all clean metal and plastic jutting from the stone walls like fat loose teeth. Tu'Pari's men must have installed them mere months ago, weeks maybe, fresh from the black market, underfeatured and surely overpriced -- Tu'Pari was never a savvy businessman, always preferring to trade on fad and fashion in place of time-tested more cumbersome devices. So these computers are flashy, and streamlined, and fragile as Kavarian eggs.

G'Kar squats before the main terminal and opens his pouch. Takes out a spool of primer cord and fixes one end of it to the exposed computer panel with a wad of putty. Slap. Just like that. Then he stands up again, shoulders the cord, and sets off back down the hall, letting the primer unspool itself out behind him. He's not very surprised to realize he's humming, humming and laughing and unspooling and, for the first time in very many days, certain of himself.

He flicks on his communications link. The predictably shiny, predictably cheap hand-unit he nabbed from one of the Human terrorists can barely break atmosphere when he's on the asteroid's surface -- here sixteen levels deep it has the broadcasting power of a pen and paper. But a pen and paper have always been enough for G'Kar.

"Begin recording," he says.

*

I, Citizen G'Kar of the Narn Regime, being of debatably sound mind, though soundly superior physique -- and if you doubt me on the latter point you would do well to ask Mollari for his expert opinion on the matter -- do hereby give my life for the sake of Delenn's Anla'shok. To those who consider my opinion to have merit, I ask only that you remember what it is that brought me here, and if you wish to honor my memory, I ask that you honor it by honoring the Rangers, and seeing that their legacy is protected in all parts of our galaxy.

There is no tragedy in giving one's life in pursuit of a noble cause, and a nobler one than this would be difficult to imagine. And so I find I am without fear, without grief, and without remorse for the life I will leave behind -- and in fact I take comfort in the very likely truth that those who mourn me most will get along quite well once I am gone -- perhaps better than they would when they looked to me to lead them.

I am not a leader; I am a man. I am a Narn. I am --

*

G'Kar stops unspooling a moment, sits down against the wall and lets his eyes trace the snake of primer cord down the corridor into darkness. He rolls his head on his shoulders, peers at the comm link, and continues.

*

I am weak. I am -- curse Mollari, who will undoubtedly take full credit for my present state, thus stripping my selfless act of any legitimate moral purpose, but I suppose the truth will out in its own way, and I will not be there to experience it regardless.

I have lived with the warrior's code for the better part of my life, but when I was held prisoner on Centauri Prime, when my eye was taken from me, I found I was able to see the world more clearly than I ever had before, and I laid down my warrior's sword then and have not raised it since. Oh, I have fought since, and I have killed since, but I no longer see myself as the warrior I once was. If I were born Minbari, I believe I would echo the words of Delenn's compatriot Neroon -- I was born a warrior, but I find that the calling of my soul is religious. And my soul -- quite independently of my higher functions, I assure you -- decided to fall in love.

As a warrior, I had no shortage of sexual partners, for we Narns are voracious in our appetites and we fuck with wild abandon, knowing each moment could be our last. We are drawn to beauty, to impulsiveness, to the pleasures of the flesh of a multitude of genders and races and physical forms. But love -- that is something new, and something quite different, for me...and I am not certain that I am strong enough to bear it.

That Mollari -- bah! I seize up when I even speak his name -- should be the object of this unwanted and unwarranted emotion is obviously the universe's sick attempt at humor. That my love for him is so strong it threatens to tear the heart from my chest seems to make a perverse sort of sense. There is so much pain between us, so much blood, and hatred that when I lost my eye to see his soul -- when I fell arms spread into that widening chasm people so cavalierly call "love" -- it is only logical that the knowledge should hurt, and wound, and burn.

And I do not think I can live with it, for I know Mollari does not feel the same for me, and I am unaccustomed to a battle I cannot win.

So here I am, faced with a battle I can assuredly win --

G'Kar stands up heavily, shakes the cobwebs from his brain and continues down the hall, unspooling the primer.

-- and if I lose my life in the name of the Anla'shok, at least it cannot be said that I fought without cause.

Mollari is a beaten, broken man, and I love him with every cell of my being. That, my friends, is a fight without cause, and I will continue it no longer.

Computer, please relay this message to my private files on Babylon 5, locked to Mollari's password. What he sees fit to do with it is his choice.

A klaxon blares from somewhere, and G'Kar takes off doubletime.

[Continued in responses to this post...]

Mon, 05 Apr 2004 04:27:10 GMT

Private to legate_damar: Damar. Three men -- all Narns -- left here today for Babylon 5, their sights, I am sure, on ranger_wun. Babylon 5 is at least three jump points away, so you have some time to prepare, but not very much. Work with Mr. Garibaldi; I have transmitted a coded message to him anonymously, alerting him to the threat. Since he won't know the message is from me, and since it lacks specifics, he may not take it seriously -- see that he does, Damar, without revealing my situation or whereabouts. Good luck, my friend; I am counting on you. End private message.

*

File Transfer to mikegaribaldi from Source: Anonymous: *static* Someone trying to kill Sinclair. Two days on the outside. Careful. *static* End file transfer.

*

Computer -- commence recording, and upon completion, transmit file on coded channel to Babylon 5's mainframe for storage.

How do you handle confrontations?

Not very well, I'm afraid. Lately, not very well at all. Last night -- utterly disastrously, and for that I am quite ashamed. I do hope shadow_anna forgives me for venting my Mollari-related spleen in her general direction, though I'm sure I made it clear enough -- to her, and anyone in earshot -- that Mollari was both the reason and the target for my temporary mania.

"I carry my sword in my hand," Ta'Lon once told me. "You carry yours in your heart, and in your mind. As I see it," he pointed out, "that gives you a two to one advantage in arms."

What he failed to realize, or perhaps he did, and I was the one who was foolish at the time, was that the sword in my heart and the sword in my mind do not necessarily agree, and at times find themselves locked, hilt to hilt, in a straight-up battle to the death.

When faced with confrontation, I call upon the sword of my mind, seeking wisdom, fairness, and understanding. Too often, though, I find that the better reflexes of my heart's sword have beat me to the punch -- to woefully mix my metaphors here, a slight for which Mollari will no doubt chastise me -- for it has longer been in practice, is more impulsive, and is stronger yet.

So I hide behind rhetoric, for words have power and channel control. My words, my mind's sword, have saved me on countless occasions, through torture and imprisonment, through war. My words have organized the League of Non-Aligned Worlds, have called Narns to arms and called Narns to drop their swords. My words have placated villians and convinced allies, breached chasms and mended conflicts. I am an orator, a writer, and too far gone to be humble; the sword in my mind is a formidable power.

But not as formidable -- though perhaps it took last night's events to make me admit this -- as the sword in my heart, and for that I am frustrated and ashamed. That I speak of love is one matter; that I allow myself to be driven by it, that I let my emotions override my better judgement is quite another, but yet, that is just what happened.

If I survive this mission, I pledge to learn control over the sword in my heart, to be the master of my emotions and not allow them to master me. If my love for Mollari is to be my burden to bear, then I will put it to work to make me a better Narn, not a worse one. I will train my twin swords to work in synch, not in opposition.

No doubt Mollari thinks I shall see the events of last night, both at the party and later, in his quarters, as a reason to throw myself upon my twin swords and bid this life its last hurrah, to die here upon this rock. Quite the contrary. Now, I see that I must live, and my mind, my heart, and my body have Mollari to thank for that. For reminding me that I have much to learn, and far yet upon this road to walk.

from an undisclosed location

Sat, 03 Apr 2004 10:10:08 GMT

Private to legate_damar: Damar, I know when I asked you to leave me here I told you I would no longer have you involved with my quest, but I require some assistance and you -- not being of my universe -- may be the only one who can provide it. You should feel most free to decline, though I fear you are my last hope.

I remain undercover with Tu'Pari's forces, and have learned that they are plotting an attack -- quite soon! -- on the leader of the Rangers, ranger_wun. I cannot compromise any Narn or Centauri by burdening them with this information, and I cannot extricate myself in time to warn the Ambassador myself. So I ask you to go to him, and protect him for at least the next several days. He must not know why you are there, for he will most certainly attempt to retaliate, and that will compromise my goal of exposing all the members of the anti-Ranger forces. Just protect him, and make yourself visible -- I am hoping that your presence as an unknown element from an unknown race will be enough to put off the forces who would take his life.

Soon all of the members of Tu'Pari's rebel alliance will be here at our base. I have explored the colony's power core and think it should be a simple matter to cause a cascade reaction and set this asteroid to blow once all our enemies are amassed here. If I cannot get off the base in time -- such is the will of G'Quon.

Now, my head hurts, and I must retire. Respond on this frequency as soon as you can, Damar, and let me know if you are willing to undertake this assignment. /end private message

*

The effects of the Great Machine have not yet left me, and I am positively reeling, though I blame the events that took place at Vir's party for some of that. Still, my head feels like it belongs to someone else, someone who has possibly spent the better part of a week nailing blunt steel spikes into his skull and then thought it wise to spill bubbling acid on the raw wounds. Remind me -- if I should survive both this headache and my tenure here on this miserable outpost -- not to use the device again; clearly it is incompatible with Narn physiology.

That being said, I am glad I was able to hold counsel with my friends for perhaps the last time. Glad...to see Mollari once more, to see him laugh, to see him celebrate life. Great Machine or not -- though, to quote a Centauri game, I "dare" you to ask me in the morning how I feel -- I know that I am lucky and that my friends are most precious indeed to forgive me of my past transgressions, the violent acts of my history and the one I am about to commit.

My soul, I have learned, in these past few days, is the soul of the Anla'shok. Though I am not a Ranger by profession I am one in spirit, and I believe that they alone will restore the balance of this galaxy to one of peace, and be a tribute to us poor, sullied souls who too often had to resort to violence, and hate, and fear. They will redeem us, and they must be protected at all costs, and so I am where I am, and I do what I do, for Delenn, for Sinclair, for Sheridan, and for all the Anla'shok.

Ah, my head is ringing. I do not think I shall sleep, but perhaps that is for the best; I sense strange shadows moving about in this place and need what wits I have left to remain on my guard.

Mollari, if you are reading this, do not attempt to contact me. It is not safe for you, and I would not put you in further danger. What I do, I do for peace, for redemption, for humanity, and for love. And therefore, for you.

Sat, 03 Apr 2004 04:57:58 GMT

My friends, I know you have had your worries regarding my long absence, and I regret that I cannot be more forthcoming about my whereabouts. After receiving some most unsettling news on our journey, I asked legate_damar to leave me on a remote world where I might follow up on some leads while Damar and natoth returned to Babylon 5, for I am afraid I can no longer be responsible for their safety.

At the time of this message, they should be en route to the station -- perhaps they have arrived already? -- as I know they would not like to miss vir_cotto_tm's festival this evening.

Mr. Draal of Epsilon Three has kindly offered the services of the Great Machine to allow me to attend the party as well, in some fashion, so I go now to make my appearance and to see my friends. And -- due to my current circumstances, about which I cannot yet elaborate -- perhaps make my final farewells.

OOC: legate_damar's mun, give me your e-mail? I'd like to chat with you about some of this Top Secret Business, yes?

Sat, 20 Mar 2004 10:25:14 GMT

And so our quest begins.

legate_damar and natoth and I have departed Babylon 5, though where for, I cannot yet say. Damar has kindly volunteered to put his formidable military skills to use tracking our foes, and so we embark upon the last known location of the assassin Tu'Pari -- a remote world on the border of Drazi space.

It is my hope that we will encounter other vessels who may have crossed Tu'Pari's past, and that we might catch word of other Narns who have left Homeworld to join the crusade against the Rangers.

I remain in contact with my allies -- few though they might be -- on Homeworld, with the hopes of learning the identities of other Narns who applied to join the Rangers and were rejected, believing that perhaps they have been swayed by Tu'Pari's agenda and will thus lead us to him.

I am frustrated, lost and weary of a struggle that seems interminable. But with Damar and Na'Toth at my side, there is hope that our quest may not be for naught, and that we might yet prevail.

deserted island

Thu, 18 Mar 2004 00:52:58 GMT

This week's discussion topic -- Mollari's responses aside -- seems most apt, as my ship is now docked and I am about to embark on the search for the renegades who seek to destroy the Rangers. If they are willing, I would be proud to be accompanied by legate_damar and my own dear natoth, for the sad truth is I am more conspicuous, these days, than I should be comfortable with, and that could pose unforseen dangers. However, with these brave companions at my side, I am convinced we shall find the rebels and deal with them swiftly and completely, that _delenn should never worry again for the safety or the good name of her Anla'shok.

Customs clearance, as always, is interminable, and so I have several hours to kill while waiting for the medical and security crews to deem my ship spaceworthy (and, no doubt, to ensure that I am not smuggling contraband -- why they could not use this method to seize all suspicious-looking ship's captains and passengers in the hopes of finding Vir's attacker I suppose I will never know -- these Earth notions of justice leave much to be desired) -- and while I wait for legate_damar and natoth to prepare for our departure, I will take this opportunity to respond to Mollari's desert-island registry, and provide a response of my own.

If I were stranded on a deserted island...

Mollari no doubt expects me to argue the fact that he has cast me, in his fantasy, as hunter/gatherer, but he is quite correct. The wilderness is no stranger to me, nor is self-sufficiency, nor solitude.

In point of fact, provided this hypothetical island had a decent supply of fresh water and indigenous wildlife on which to feed, I should be quite content to spend the rest of my days there and never be bothered the trouble that comes from associating with diplomats, politicians, warmongerers or disciples. That there are likely just as many who would gladly see me gone seems to make this a most pleasing arrangement all around.

I would take with me my book, of course, and a good supply of ink, and those would be enough.

However, this challenge postulates a third item, and so: I take with me the G'Quon Eth plant Mollari presented me with not long ago. It would serve as a good symbol of my spirituality, would provide familiarity and ambience when burned, and would remind me of what I have left behind: my people, my traditions, my world, and my friends. The fact that the plant was a gift from Mollari is inconsequential, of course -- but I will admit that in the long, dark nights I am destined for on this island, it will do me well to have something of his to talk to, and to argue with, with the added bonus of its inability to argue back.

Citizen G'Kar
Fandom: Babylon 5

Tue, 16 Mar 2004 05:43:09 GMT

This matter, beginning with the assassination attempt on timov_of_algul and spiraling rapidly out of hand with the attack on Vir, has exhausted the last of my patience and discretion.

As I have told Captain Sheridan, if Vir's attacker is not found by this time tomorrow, and if with his capture we do not acquire significant information about the forces aligned against us, I will be unable to sit idly by any longer.

I have procured a ship from Homeworld; already it is on its way to meet me here. I plan to investigate Tu'Pari's trail on my own, and ask that none of you take responsibility for my actions, or interfere in any way, for I cannot be responsible for your safety if you do.

I will not allow my Homeworld to once again fall to war. I will not allow innocents like Vir to be wounded or slaughtered, and I do not believe this is a struggle will be prevented on paper or in conference rooms. These enemies of the Anla'shok must be stopped, and it is my duty to stop them.

beep

Tue, 09 Mar 2004 12:39:01 GMT

BABCOM: Message to Captain _sheridan

Captain, it would appear that matters of internal politics on both Homeworld and Centauri Prime have reached the point where they can no longer be considered strictly internal. I have [attached the latest intelligence] gathered by londo_mollari and myself, and request that you review it and respond to me with the utmost urgency. I have taken the liberty of scrambling my comm channels, so please be sure to use the appropriate encryption protocols when consulting me regarding this matter.

I await your response impatiently.

Mon, 08 Mar 2004 11:29:20 GMT

Which of the senses would be the worst to lose, and why?

There was a time, not so long ago when held up against the great sprawling history of the older races, certainly recent enough for the memory to sting, when the Narns bred telepaths. Like every civilized race, we evolved beyond our limited notions of perception, and, with each generation, we grew more sensitive, more receptive, wiser, until inevitably -- like every civilized race -- the telepathic gene emerged.

Oh, there were never many telepaths, just a few thousand each generation, but there were enough, if the word "enough" is ever sufficient to explain the indominable power of life triumphing.

Our telepaths were honored, given the highest rankings in politics and the military, likened unto prophets. It occurs to me that we chide the Centauri for waxing nostalgic for the great old days of the Republic, but I plead guilty for doing the same, if you'll allow me the luxury, here.

With telepaths to interpret prophecy, to keep our enemies in check, to hold us to the standards of morality in truth, we thrived. We were a force to be reckoned with in the galaxy, neither advantaged nor handicapped over the other civilized races of our time.

When the Shadows came, a thousand years ago, after their long hibernation, we were unprepared. We did not know what kind of threat they posed, and we faced them as we had faced any previous enemy, full-bore, concealing nothing. They decided our telepaths posed a threat to them, and before we knew what we had allowed to happen, they killed them. Killed them all, or, killed enough, "enough," again, that the gene was too weak to survive through breeding, and within one generation, not a single Narn telepath was left.

You ask me which sense would hurt the most to lose? Look at our history, for the last thousand years. War and conquest, death and destruction, and all the while the other races considered us inferior, animals. We relied upon the Minbari to save us in the first great war, and only now, after the Shadows have been driven from our galaxy, only now as we rebuild can we appreciate what has truly been lost. You ask which sense hurts the most to lose, and I respond that we have, indeed, already lost it.

Mon, 08 Mar 2004 09:27:54 GMT

Information is at a premium at the moment, and there are times when I feel it is best to leave a paper trail, so that one can always take responsibility for what one means to say.

This is not one of those times. Therefore, I am taking advantage of this system's private messaging function to make sure that the enclosed sensitive data reaches only its intended recipients, the Babylon 5 and IA command staff, Mollari, my aide Na'Toth, some others.

Intelligence from Narn is not what it used to be before the wars, and even then, I must admit, my homeworld was not known for espionage. There is nothing subtle about a Narn, I have heard Centauri say, and, alas, it is true.

The rumors of a plot to assassinate Londo's wife Timov would now seem to be grounded in fact, however, though the identity of the forces at work behind the plot seems to shift when one inquires too closely.

I find myself wishing I could go home, but between the Book of G'Kar's unexpected popularity and my tentative allegiance with certain ranking Centauri, I fear the Narn provisional government does not hold me in great favor at the moment, however much they might purport to fawn over my alleged philosophies.

In which case, I must send natoth to Narn to be my eyes and ears there, and hope that she does not consider this assignment too distasteful. Narn promises to be a better home to her than it could be to me right now, and I trust her with my life. I hope she will be able to make contact with certain unnamed players in the provisional government, and that through her my lines of communication will broaden.

Still, what little I have been able to glean from my contacts on homeworld is quite troubling indeed. The rogue assassin T'Pari, whom Na'Toth and I recall too well, has found an unlikely allegiance with Londo's former wife Daggair, a Centauri woman of dubious breeding and incisive political cunning. Unfortunately for all of us, some members of the Narn provisional government seem more than aware of T'Pari's actions, and I fear they are providing him with resources that will enable him to carry out his plans more easily than he would otherwise.

He is no longer on Homeworld; that much I have deduced from reliable sources and have no reason yet to doubt. I also do not believe he is on Centauri Prime, which suggests that there are allies, perhaps neither Narn nor Centauri, with enough of an interest in provoking war between our peoples to offer amnesty -- and support -- to T'Pari and Daggair.

Our best hope lies in the fact that T'Pari is not known for his intelligence, nor his stealth, and sooner or later he will fall prey to his own desire for self-aggrandizement, thus outing his supporters both in the Narn government and off-world.

There is one more piece of evidence that I find most chilling, and which requires further investigation. T'Pari surfaced, prior to this most recent occasion, half a year ago, when he applied as a recruit to the Rangers. The Rangers -- whether on the basis of his previous affiliations or simply through instinct -- were wise enough to reject his bid, and T'Pari was so gravely insulted that he saw fit to speak out against the Rangers, most disparagingly, to anyone who would listen.

He soon disappeared into hiding again, but I fear some Narns were swayed by his agenda, believing that the Rangers operated with an anti-Narn bias and thereby represented a threat to the regime.

If T'Pari and Daggair are successful, I believe that their goal is not exclusively to foment war between the Narn and the Centauri, but to somehow use this war to discredit the Rangers both on homeworld and in the Centauri Republic. Rumors already abound of Rangers ignoring humanitarian aid requests from the Narn -- rumors which I intend to disprove but as yet have been unable. There are also rumors of at least two occasions where Human and Minbari Rangers were said to have attacked Narns, unprovoked, and I am similarly unable to find confirmation of these events to either support or deny the allegations.

Another war between the Centauri and the Narn would be catastrophic to this region of space. If we find ourselves without the Rangers, I fear, there will be no salvation for any of us.

I await continued intelligence from my sources on Narn, as well as confirmation from natoth that she will take up this burden with me in the best interests of our people.

In the meantime, I am analyzing information provided to me by londo_mollari, in an attempt to track the source of this conspiracy.

Sat, 28 Feb 2004 04:28:08 GMT

What is your favorite daydream, and why?

There is one. Speaking about it seems somewhat deleterious, especially in a forum as public as this one, but our dreams are the stuff of the universe and once a thought has crystallized I find it difficult to keep it to myself. Some may call that the Narn tendency to preach, but, as my friend Mr. Garibaldi might put it, to hell with them. So, I speak.

I dream, more frequently than frankly is quite comfortable, but that is another matter, of a universe in which Londo Mollari and I met much earlier in our lives, a universe where he and I could have been friends. In this one we are allies, yes, grudgingly, and of late have become a kind of a tragic partnership at once endorsing one another and keeping one another in check (a most ridiculous setup if you scrutinize it too carefully, which is why I make a point of never attempting such a thing) and the binds there are stronger, some might say, than those of friendship could ever be. And yet --

I cannot help but wonder how things might be different if our relationship were not tempered by the events that brought us here. I feel quite young, on the edge of renewal, myself, but -- despite the chronological proximity in our ages -- I watch Mollari grow old before my very eyes. I wonder what he could have been in his prime, had the disease of power not infected him. What I could have been, exposed to all that well-intentioned recklessness had the disease of battle not infected me. And I feel -- remorse. Or, if not remorse, something akin to nostalgia, as the humans say, "youth is wasted on the young."

Perhaps it is wrong to think I could somehow have saved him; egocentric, he would no doubt insist. But I believe I could have, just as I believe that, had I borne witness to his completely demented yet irrepresible breed of patriotism when I was fighting for Homeworld, he could, in many ways, have saved me.

But too much blood has passed between us; the universe is dark with the blood that has passed for both of our people. So this remains a dream, and at the end of the day I am but one man, just as Mollari is but one man, and the universe has plans far more vast and significant than either of us.

*

I would also note that the image of Mollari as a child never fails to amuse me, inevitably pale and wan, hair stuck up and some sort of child's court garb, perhaps short pants and little shoes with bells on the toes. I find it near impossible to imagine him as such, and always end up with the picture of a doleful, grunting tot with a glass of brivari in one hand and the key to the royal palace in the other. If I am especially in need of a laugh, I try to force this child's image to speak, which he does in a tinny imitation of Londo's pseudo-aristocratic drawl.

Today, this image seems less amusing, and my thoughts turn to Mollari (wherever he is in this great wide universe, undoubtedly getting himself into trouble, from which he will, again undoubtedly, require my assistance to extricate himself), as I see him ever aging before my eyes. I find my heart is full, for him, though whether it is love or pity I feel I would be hard-pressed to say. Not exactly friends, but yet I ache for him, in a way I cannot rightly explain. And my daydream of us meeting in our youth seems fragile, idealistic, and strangely...sad.