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For this challenge, the reply is given from Londo’s early season 3 point of view, shortly after the episode Convictions:

As a person who shall not be named once pointed out to me, proving again his talent for stating the staggeringly obvious, we are on a space station. It is always night, yes? And while I have been known to while away the hours in a variety of pleasant ways in the past, my numerous duties as Ambassadors of the Centauri Republic have of late prevented me from doing so. There, you have a reply worthy of a Minbari in dullness. Bah.


Of course I still could visit the casino. I would in all likelihood win, but that is indeed the problem. Even if I were to cheat use my creativity in gambling, no one would report me to Mr. Garibaldi; I can see the fear in their eyes where once there was either amusement or patronizing contempt. In former days, I longed for that kind of change, but now that it is there, I find I have no taste for it. And thus I do not gamble anymore. Timov, were she aware of this, would be content. For all of five minutes, after which she would deduce the reason, and tell me her opinion of it in no uncertain terms.

There are, of course, politics. There are always politics. One of the various courtiers who now finds it useful to ally himself with House Mollari where in earlier times he pretended not to know the name of the Ambassador to Babylon 5 called me and confirmed what I had suspected: Refa is indeed in contact with Mr. Morden. And proposing yet another campaign. Is there anyone, humans and Minbari excepted, we are not at war at? I shall have to do something about this. Vir, were he to read these notes, would undoubtedly get that annoying glimpse of hope in his sad eyes and ask me whether this means I have seen the error of my ways. How he still clings to that kind of naivete while spending his days at my side is beyond me; in any case, my objection to Refa’s actions has nothing to do with this. It is simply common sense, yes? Start too many wars, and you will find yourself surrounded by enemies who just might see the sense in allying themselves against you.

I visited medlab the other evening, to see whether Lennier has recovered. He had. When I thanked him for saving my life, he murmured a polite nothingness under which lurked a chillingness that would have made Delenn proud. Well. It was not unexpected, and I assured him that there would undoubtedly be other occasions when he would not have to make the mistake of saving someone whose existence he so understandably disapproved of again. In any case, that took care of my intention of inviting him to dinner.

Not for the first time, I started to write a letter to Adira. I could record a message, I suppose, or even try to reach her through all the various channels that are open to me now... but then I would know, would I not? I would know whether or not she still wishes to speak to me. And thus a letter it was. This time, I reached three pages before I tore it up. Afer all, giving her her freedom was the one decision in recent years I have never had any doubts about was and remains good. Had she stayed, even as a free woman, she would always felt herself beholden to me. If she returns, it shall be of her own free will. When she returns. Ah, I am a foolish man, who should be too old for such nonsense, and yet I cannot but hope that she will.

There is still more than half of what has been deigned as the sleeping period of most people on this station left, and I cannot sleep. There is a fine brivari at my disposal, but instead I find myself drinking water. All this longing for water is undoubtedly G’Kar’s fault. Had he not insisted on spending hours during which we were slowly roasted serenading the prospect of a shared death instead of doing something as simple and logical as joinging our forces to accomplish an escape from that transport tube, I would not feel so utterly worn out and yet unable to rest now. I most certainly would drench myself in water.

He would have died. He truly would have died, rather than – bah. He is mad, yes? I shall not think of G’Kar anymore. I shall not. At any rate, I know how the both of us are to die, and it is many years from now. I could have told him that, of course, but that would have ended the evident joy he took from gloating about our predicament. Who am I to deny that self-styled martyr what little – but I shall not think of G’Kar any longer.

Reading the reports from Centauri Prime it is, then. Again. What a conscientious man I have become in my old age. Urza would laugh and –
Urza shall do nothing, ever again. I am looking at the sword that killed him now, at the hands who did.

But the Centauri Republic is no one’s ridiculed tourist attraction any more, yes? We are great, again, and are ruling the stars. That is what counts. It makes me profoundly happy, yes? There is no reason why I should not spend the rest of the night sleeping. None at all.


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July 2010

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