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room, closed the door behind him.

A few emergency lights pierced the mist, the pretentious, cluttered furnishings casting eerie shadows. Galen accessed his sensors for greater sensitivity, and a brighter image of the room appeared in his mind's eye. Londo had filled his suite with signs of his wealth and power: rich fabrics and laces, ceremonial swords, golden statues. A portrait of a fierce Londo stared down from the wall.

"Who's there?" Londo demanded. He was well on his way to becoming the Centauri in the portrait, though he had not reached those heights of confidence and callousness yet.

"Who," whispered Galen, "do you fear it is?" He dipped his hand into his pocket, deposited a few grain-sized probes on the wall beside the door. The Shadows would expect it, and he would reinforce the perception that he was a novice, predictable.

"You don't frighten me, whoever you are. Show yourself."

Galen conjured a small flying platform beside Londo, and with an equation of motion, brushed it against his great black crest of hair.

Londo stumbled backward. "I have a weapon!"

"I am a weapon," Galen whispered.

Londo banged into a table, grabbed a decorative sculpture, the golden figure of a Centauri god. "Certainly we don't need these unnecessary dramatics. Let us sit down, in the light, and discuss matters like civilized beings."

"But I am a creature of shadow. And I am not civilized."

Londo backed himself into the wall. "What are these riddles? What is it you want? Money?"

"I want you to die, slowly. I want to crush you in my hand. I want to erase you from existence."

Londo gave an uneasy laugh. "Quite thorough." He peered into the mist. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"You killed my people."

"The bombing of Narn was Lord Refa's doing,
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