Текст книги "Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке.(ЛП)"
Автор книги: Гарэт Д. Уильямс
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Tu'Pari had served with the Thenta Ma'Kur for many years and it had taught him a great deal about the art of killing, but that was killing by stealth, through secrecy, the thin blade in the night, the poison in the wine cup.
Ta'Lon had been forged in the fires of war and occupation. He had wandered, rootless and without direction, until he had met G'Kar, and then he had gained a purpose. He had been trained in war and fighting as well as in many of the same skills as Tu'Pari, but there was one crucial difference.
Ta'Lon believed, and that belief gave him the force to survive, to prevail, and to triumph.
He rose above the assassin, lifted Tu'Pari's head, and dashed it to the ground.
There was a crack as his neck broke.
"Ta'Lon," breathed G'Kar's hoarse voice. "Help…. me…. up…. The…. Machine…."
"You cannot, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Ta'Lon replied as he tried to limp forward. The ground beneath them was shaking and trembling. The planet itself seemed to be in revolt.
"You are too weak, Ha'Cormar'ah. You…. need to…." Ta'Lon swayed and almost fell. "You…. must…."
"The Machine needs me! It…. needs…."
Garibaldi stood up. He seemed strangely centred, all his problems falling away. "You need someone in that thing? I'll do it."
* * *
Somewhere…. in a place unvisited by any human, unknown to all of the younger races, two Vorlons were speaking, in a conversation that was not carried out in words….
The bargain?
I remember. I will comply.
We were not ready.
You were ready. Who else could have done this?
We knew nothing. We do not control all the mortals.
You control enough.
The bargain?
I remember. I am going. All will be done as it was done. He will accomplish his destiny. The past will be served, and all hope for the future will be lost.
The future is ours.
And the past is ours. A fair trade.
And your fate?
I remember. I accept.
Good.
* * *
"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."
Susan Ivanova began to stir from her torpor, the instructions in her mind becoming clear again.
"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."
A part of her that had been lost for so long began to return. She knew what must be done, and what part she would play in it.
"The Shadows are coming."
Chapter 6
There were times, he knew, when every soldier thought about death. How it would come, where, when, what would he have done just before? Would he have remembered to say goodbye, or would the thought simply have slipped his mind?
Captain Dexter Smith found himself wondering who there was he could have said goodbye to. Other than his crew there was no one, and his crew was here with him. They knew the situation as well as he did. They knew how his haste and foolishness had betrayed them all and brought them to this. Brought them to their deaths.
He had managed to save the other ships though. That was something. The Morningstarand the Martenhad gone, the energy from their jump points just fading. Smith stood alone, staring out at the ranks of his enemies – the Parmenionand the Starkiller, the Drazi ships, the station itself, and whoever now ruled supreme on the planet below.
He wanted to say that he was sorry, but the words would not come, and he was not sure if anyone would listen. He found himself thinking, almost absurdly, of Lieutenant Stoner. He had always believed he would see her again one day. An absurd notion. She had betrayed him after all, him and every one on board this ship. Still, he had wanted to see her.
"What's their status?" he asked Franklin. Franklin had been on this ship longer than Smith himself had. He had been here in the days of Sheridan, whose ghost hovered even nearer than it had before.
"They're not attacking. The Parmenionis approaching slowly with gun ports open, but they do not seem to be powering up. The other ships are holding back. There's no sign of any further activity from the planet."
Smith nodded, sitting back. Sheridan then. Fitting enough that he'd want to end this.
"A message is coming through, Captain," said Franklin. "It's…. it's from Captain Sheridan."
Smith's mouth felt very dry. "Put…. put him on." He closed his eyes, and pressed his hands together as if in prayer.
"This is Captain Sheridan of the EAS Parmenion,to the Babylonand its captain. You are alone and outnumbered. Surrender now, and we will spare you."
"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the Babylon. I demand an amnesty for my crew." It seemed so easy to say it now. It was simply what had to be done. He had got his crew into this, and now he would have to get them out. "A complete amnesty and the right to return to Proxima Three unharmed."
"You're in no position to make any demands at all, Captain."
"Nevertheless, those are my conditions. Such an amnesty would not extend to myself of course. I…. I will agree to stand trial and submit to whatever fate you see fit so long as my crew are permitted to leave."
"Captain!" breathed Franklin, but Smith silenced him. There really was no other option.
"I see," said Sheridan. "Well then, Captain, I cannot promise to accept your offer, but I will speak on your behalf to others. You have my word on that."
"Well then. It seems that is all I can ask for. The Babylonstands down."
"Prepare to be boarded, and we will escort you to Babylon Four."
Smith nodded and began to give the necessary orders. His bridge crew carried them out in stunned silence. He did not look at them as they did so. He could not bear to see their faces, knowing his fate to come.
* * *
Some words, once spoken, can never be taken back. Some offers, once made, can never be withdrawn. Michael Garibaldi, staring at the scenes of carnage before him, knew that he had made just such an offer.
"You want someone to go in that thing? I'll do it."
There was silence as he looked at the few people still alive and conscious in the room. G'Kar, the Narn who had previously occupied the Heart of the Great Machine, was leaning heavily against his servant Ta'Lon, who was himself covered with blood. The mass of torn tissue around Ta'Lon's eye seemed a mark of his inner strength. Dr. Kirkish, her face pale, was swallowing harshly, trying to speak perhaps, but unable to do so.
The first to speak was in fact none of those, but a strange, clicking voice just out of sight. "Yes. Good good. Enter. Hurry. We be having very little of time. Well, what Zathras mean to say is that time is, infinite of course. Hah yes, infinite. Everyone knows that. Zathras knows that. But…. ah…. Zathras forget what he be saying. Ah, cannot have been important."
"Zathras," G'Kar breathed. "I thought that she…. We…. thought…." He coughed.
"You be thinking Zathras being dead. Ah no. Zathras not as easy to kill as some think. Zathras is hiding. Zathras be hiding himself when nasty telepath woman was distracted, yes. Zathras very smart. Yes. Well, no. Ah, does not matter. Zathras know just what to do."
"Where are you?" G'Kar asked.
There was a motion from within the cryogenic storage box that had brought Susan Ivanova down to the planet. The box was shaking a little, and there was a sound of banging from within. Finally the lid slid back and a small, rodent-like alien scurried free. Garibaldi had met Zathras before, several times, always assuming this was the same Zathras of course.
"See. Zathras know when hide. Is why Zathras still alive." He looked up at the empty Heart, and then at the body on the floor next to it. "Yes. Is not good to leave Machine empty for too long. Bad things happen then. Very bad things. Much badness. Great deal of badness will happen."
"Yeah, yeah," Garibaldi said. "We get the idea. Look, G'Kar, you can't get in there at the moment, right."
The Narn tried to rise, but was quite unable to get to his feet. "No, he cannot," said Ta'Lon. "The Machine requires…. great strength, which unfortunately neither the Ha'Cormar'ah nor I can manage at the moment."
"So let me do it. Look, someone's got to take over that thing, and we've no idea what things are like up on the station."
"But…. Michael," Mary said at last. "What about Lianna? What would she say if she were here?"
"Oh, look, it's not going to be forever. I'll…. do what I have to for the moment, wait for G'Kar to get better, and then I'll hand it back to him. No problem. Besides…. sometimes, I've just…. got to do what's right. I hope my son understands that one day. You've got to do what's right.
"Anyway, there's nothing to worry about. I won't need to be in there forever. You'll be able to take it back later, won't you, G'Kar?"
The Narn bowed his head. "Yes," he said softly.
"Good. Is decided. Hurry hurry."
Garibaldi nodded and stepped forward, looking down at Donne's body uncomfortably. "Uh…. it won't do to me what it did to her, will it?"
"No no," Zathras said. "She…. very bad person. Use Machine wrongly. Machine not like that. You use Machine well, Machine like you."
"Okay…. what do I do?"
"Step…. inside," G'Kar coughed. "Open your mind to it…. let it…. instruct you."
"Uh…. all right." He stepped inside and felt a great warmth embrace him. He reached up with his arms and tried to open his mind, as G'Kar had instructed. As he did so, he caught Mary's eyes. They were angry and accusing, but above all, resigned.
"Are you sure it's working? Nothing seems to be…." His mind filled with light.
"Whoa!"
* * *
Londo Mollari took little satisfaction in his current situation, but the one small ray of hope he could find was the knowledge that his campaign would not fall with him. Between them Marrago, Durano, Virini and dear Timov could continue, and somehow bring this planet and their race back from the brink of disaster.
That was one small gleam of optimism. It was not much, but in a situation like this a man took whatever he could get.
He wondered how long he had been imprisoned. There was no light in his cell, and no way to measure the passage of time accurately. That was part of the point of course. He tried to remember the hour it had been when he had left Selini, but working from there left him with only an approximate guess.
The only objective sign of the passage of time was the ranting from the next cell down, or wherever it was coming from. A Shadow Crier no doubt, or a plain simple madman. Durano's agents had reported that some of them had tried to attack the Court and that a couple had been arrested. They had not gone easily, many preferring death to capture. Londo could entirely understand the feeling.
"The Darkness is coming!"
He had little idea of who the Shadow Criers were, or what purpose they claimed to serve. The best Durano's agents and Dugari had been able to discover was that they were a group of madmen, probably all either seers or psi-sensitives. Other than that, and their disturbing propensity for burning themselves alive in public, nothing was known about them. Not a thing.
At some point during the night – if it was still night – the madman stopped shouting. Londo could not remember if that was before or after he had gone to sleep, or even if he had gone to sleep at all. It was hard to tell.
He remembered dreaming about Timov, or…. thinking about her? He did not know. Probably both. Maybe. He missed her, very much. Strange really, considering all the years they had spent apart. He also found himself wondering where Mariel and Daggair were. The last reports had them trying to wrap themselves around Lord Jarno, with varying degrees of success.
The door opened and a dull, muted light filled the room. Londo moaned softly as he shielded his eyes, mumbling curses to himself. Two silhouettes stood framed before him, and two rough arms seized him and hauled him to his feet, propelling him forward.
The corridor was lit, although not well. Still, it caused Londo's eyes some pain before he managed to adjust enough to see the two guards beside him, pushing and prodding him in one direction. Deeper into the prison, he noticed, not away from it. Any hopes of Malachi putting in a word for him evaporated.
But then why would Malachi want to? It was he who had got Londo into this mess in the first place, by framing him for Refa's murder. And it was because he had trusted his old friend that Londo had returned to the capital, and wound up imprisoned instead. He supposed it was his own fault, but he would far rather be guilty of trusting someone too much than of trusting no one at all. Trust was a commodity he had only recently rediscovered, and he found himself rather enjoying it.
He was taken down some winding steps which were even less well lit than the upper corridor. He stumbled and would have fallen, had the guard not roughly grabbed his shoulder, keeping him upright. He was not bound or restrained in any way, but escape was clearly impossible. Even should he somehow manage to get past two guards half his age, he would have to face countless more before getting outside. He should know, he was one of the few nobles ever to have taken an interest in the prison and how it worked.
There was one room at the bottom of these stairs, and he knew full well what it was. He tried to breathe, but the air seemed so thick here. This had always been a possibility, but he had tried not to believe in it.
At the bottom of the stairs there was the door, a massive, dark, imposing gateway to what could very well be another world. There was a faint light just above it, and the flickering shadows only seemed to heighten his sense of despair.
I am not a hero. I just tried to do what was right, what I knew to be right. I'm not a hero. Damn you, Malachi, what have you done?
The guards stopped and one of them opened the door. There was no creak as it swung open, no sound at all in fact. Londo was pushed inside and the guards followed him, closing the door behind them.
Just over the threshold, Londo took in the scene. He had never been in here before, but he could surmise what would happen. He had tried to have this place closed down, but to no avail. It had been used only rarely in recent years, and had generally been reserved for the truly special cases. The False Prophet had allegedly died in considerable agony in this room.
In the middle of the room, suspended from the ceiling by chains and hooks and rope, was a man Londo did not recognise. But then, looking at the state of his mutilation, he doubted the man's own sweetheart would have recognised him now. From the rags of clothing he wore he seemed to be a commoner, but there was really not enough evidence remaining to be certain.
Just behind the hanging man was another man. An innocuous figure, dressed plainly, looking so average and normal he would not be out of place on any street…. the high torturer of the Court. By tradition a younger member of the Imperial Family was appointed to the position, more often than not against their will. All who served the Emperor had to be willing to do anything for him, the saying went, and that applied to the infliction of pain just as much it did to the killing of enemies.
And in the shadows at the far corner of the room was a small figure. Petite and not unattractive, she moved forward, lifting her long dress carefully to avoid the noxious mess of fluid and dirt on the floor.
"Londo, dear," she said. "A pleasure to see you again. We didn't really get much of a chance last time. I thought you might need a little…. time to think."
"I've had enough time to think these last few months, Elrisia," he said, feeling his hearts sink.
"Yes. We've been hearing all about your…. activities down south. Most impressive. Oh, by the way, thank you for murdering my husband for me. I'd been planning to do it myself, but I was just waiting for the right time."
He snorted, and bowed his head. "How was Refa's funeral anyway? I'm sorry to have missed it."
"Oh, the usual. Lying platitudes about what a great man he was, how we shall not see his like again, blah blah blah. A bunch of lying hypocrites who were glad to see him go. And I was one of them, I'll freely admit. I didn't speak, you know. I was just too…. grief-stricken to find the words. You'd have been very proud of me, Londo. I used those acting lessons very well."
"I didn't kill him, you know," he said, ignoring the reminder of their past. "Refa, I mean."
"I'm not surprised. You're far too…. honourable to have done anything like that. I don't really care who did, to be honest. The list of suspects, my dear Londo, is as long as your hair."
Londo shook his head. He knew who had killed Refa, but Elrisia evidently did not. He would not tell her. Not yet anyway. He knew that in this place anyone would reveal their deepest, darkest secrets with merely the right amount of persuasion.
"Have you brought me here to torture me, Elrisia?"
"In a manner of speaking. Actually, there are two things I want to do to you." She walked up close to him, very close. She released her hold on her dress and let the folds fall to the floor. Reaching out, she touched his face with surprising gentleness and bent down to him.
He knew better than to try to shy away from her, but he tried to respond to her kiss as little as possible. It was hard. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, and memories of certain events in their past kept returning to him. He tried to think of Timov.
Elrisia bit his lip savagely and pulled away. He swore, spitting blood. She backed away from him carefully, smoothing out her dress. "I know you too well, Londo," she said, a trifle breathlessly. "I am the only woman you are ever going to see down here, and before long I will be the only woman you'll remember even in your mind. With every thought, I want you to think of me, and the chance you could have had if only you'd been strong enough to take it."
"If I'd been strong enough to take it," he shouted, "I'd be dead in Refa's grave by now! I knew what you were then, Elrisia, and I still know what you are now."
She laughed, and made a casual gesture with her hand. One of the guards struck Londo in the small of the back, and he collapsed with a cry. At Elrisia's signal, they pulled him to his feet. "And I know you, Londo. Always the romantic, the idealist, the dreamer. Well…. dear Londo, let me show you what a dream has done to our world."
The guards pulled him forward towards the centre of the room, and held his head so that he was staring directly into the face of the suspended prisoner. The man's eyes were closed, and he looked unconscious.
"This man calls himself a Shadow Crier. The guards picked him up after he gave a speech in the Old Quarter several days ago. He was calling for the downthrow of the Court, but he was speaking with an intense madness. He's made a number of startling accusations, most of which he's recanted now. Isn't it amazing what can be done with a little effort? But there is one thing he cannot recant, which he will be willing to show you.
"This man, Londo, was your companion in your cell corridor. I'm sure you'll have heard him. He's quite, quite mad, and it wasn't our…. attentions that turned him that way. He's seen something, and now so will you.
"Wake him up."
The torturer gave a silent sign of acknowledgement, and raised a hideous-looking device. Moments later the Shadow Crier awoke with an anguished cry. "The Darkness is coming…." he breathed. "The…. Darkness…."
"Show him," Elrisia ordered.
The Shadow Crier's eyes seemed to dilate and twitch, changing colour and shape and form, drawing Londo into them. Londo's head was held tightly by the guards, but he would not have been able to tear his gaze away even had he been free. The sight was mesmerising.
And then he was inside them….
The Darkness is coming!
The Darkness!
He was standing staring up at the sky, a sky filled with smoke and fog and shimmering, moving Darkness. He could hear the sky screaming, a scream that cut to his soul, to old memories and older dreams.
Lights began to blaze in the heavens, moving against the Darkness. Another noise arose, harsh, invasive music, a chord that pierced his soul and left him in agony.
The Darkness was the scream, and the Light was the music. He knew that much. They were warring, fighting for this world, for these souls. The Darkness had arrived first, would come here soon, and the Light was trying to drive it away.
He was suddenly aflame, as the Light retreated and the Darkness claimed him. His mind opened to them, and he could hear their whispers. Fire was the tool, he knew that. Fire, and chaos.
Let the lords of chaos rule. Let the fire claim all it touched.
He laughed as he set himself alight, burning, and watching the heavens. It was not far off now, this battle for his planet and his soul, and the Darkness would be here soon. Very soon.
"The Darkness….
"…. is coming!" he screamed, realising that the vision had faded. He was breathing fast, too fast. He was shaking.
"You saw it, Londo," Elrisia said. "You saw his madness, and now you've taken a part of it into yourself. You'll be one of them before long, and if you aren't, I'll make sure you succumb. Won't that be nice, hmm? To sit alone in your cell, crying out to the Darkness, weeping constantly, thinking of me always. A fitting reward, Londo."
"Have you…. seen…. it?"
"No, but I know what it is, and I'll stop it. When the time is right, Londo. I'll claim this planet for my own, but only when I feel like doing so. I have the power to save this world, Londo, with something as simple as order and peace…. but I won't use it. Not yet. Not for a while. Let it burn first, and pick up the ashes."
"What do you mean? Elrisia, you can't…."
"Oh, I can. I can do anything I want. You taught me that. You, and Refa. Goodbye, Londo…. for the moment at least."
Hours later, when only the Shadow Crier remained in the room, trapped both by his chains and by his madness, the door opened again and a lone figure entered.
"Hello again," he said. "I understand you had visitors recently. Did you show them what you showed me?"
Blood filled the Shadow Crier's mouth and he let it dribble from between his lips, not saying anything. He had probably not enough sanity left to be able to utter anything but that one refrain, and the new arrival had heard that often enough in recent days.
"I suppose you did. It doesn't matter." He walked to the centre of the room, heedless of what he was stepping into, or over. Lesser worries were for lesser people.
"Show me. Again."
The prisoner continued to drool blood, but in his eyes, and in his mind, something stirred, again. Prince Cartagia felt his hearts quicken in anticipation, as he was once again projected into a world that not even his demented mind could have envisaged unaided. He stood there for many minutes, basking in the glory of the visions, whispering the words of the Shadow Crier's prophecy to himself.
Then, the vision over and the prisoner slumping back into unconsciousness, Cartagia left. There was no sign of his presence there, no trace of his parting….
* * *
John Sheridan broke into a run the instant he left the shuttle, racing for Babylon 4's Command and Control. Corwin followed at a brisk walk. They had been met in the docking bay by a group of Narn Rangers, many sporting fresh wounds or hasty bandages.
The first person Sheridan saw on the command deck was Delenn. Without slowing his pace he ran to her and hugged her, lifting her up into the air. She smiled and kissed him intensely, holding on to him even as he let her down.
"What's the status here?" he asked, not taking his eyes from hers.
"The men Captain Smith left on board are secure," she replied. "We have had no word from the planet. We were just on the point of sending another party down there to investigate."
"A good idea," he said, and she smiled. "Do you know anything about whether Bester was involved there or not?"
"No. Not for sure."
"Well, whether he was or not, I think we've pretty much cut all our ties to Sanctuary now." He broke his gaze away from her to look at Corwin, just arriving. He was talking with the leader of the group of Rangers, a Narn named G'Dok.
"You have a place at Kazomi Seven," she said. "All of you, and Mr. Bester can…." She paused, and blushed. "G'Dok, what word from the Babylon?"
"Captain Smith has surrendered and will be brought back on board as soon as possible. The shuttle to the surface is also being prepared."
She nodded. "We have to…." She started, and there were gasps and the gentle sound of drawn swords from the Rangers.
A holographic Michael Garibaldi appeared before them. "Uh…. hi," he said, somewhat awkwardly. "This thing ain't easy, you know."
"Where is the Ha'Cormar'ah?" snapped G'Dok.
"He's alive. Ta'Lon as well, although they're both in bad shape. A medical shuttle would be a nice idea, as soon as possible. Don't worry about me. I'm only a fill-in. He can have this thing back as soon as he wants it. But…. we've got a problem here. A big one."
"You don't say," Corwin replied.
* * *
Vorlon ships were hardly commonplace anywhere in the galaxy, at least not in the areas occupied by the younger races. Other than their unexpected and largely unexplained arrival at the Battle of the Second Line at Proxima 3 a year and a half ago, sightings had been extremely rare and often disputed.
What was not disputed was that, a little less than a year ago, one such Vorlon ship had arrived at Kazomi 7, at a time when the United Alliance had barely flown from its nest. Someone had disembarked, a human by all accounts, however absurd such accounts were. He had spent some time on the planet and had then left. No one on the planet had seen the Vorlon itself.
Another Vorlon ship had now arrived. It was in fact the same one, although no one was aware of this. But for two people on the planet, touched more intimately by the Vorlons than almost any other, this arrival was not a surprise.
The Alliance council was hastily summoned, with much debate about who was to chair it in the absence of both Delenn and Lethke. Vizhak, Drazi Minister of the Interior, was eventually elected. Valen was formally requested to attend the meeting, although he had no official capacity on the Council. He insisted on Catherine attending also, and no one dared to contradict him. Vejar the technomage declined to attend. He was in fact, as later testimonies would reveal, conspicuous only by his absence throughout the Vorlon's stay on the planet.
When the Vorlon swept majestically into the Council chamber, there was a single united gasp of sheer awe. Valen rose to his feet, recognising something familiar in some way he could not identify. Catherine remained seated.
"We bid you welcome to our world," said Vizhak, in a moment of uncharacteristic politeness. "It is good to know our…. messages…. were…. received…." The Vorlon seemed to be ignoring him, staring – if that was the right word – at Valen and Catherine.
Then, after a moment of agonising silence, the Vorlon's headpiece nodded once as if in satisfaction. He surveyed the others in attendance. Vizhak, the representatives from the Abbai, Llort and Mutai, even the new Narn Ambassador, who was seemingly on the verge of apoplexy.
"Welcome, Ambas…. er…. Ambassador Kosh," Vizhak said.
"We're ready," he said softly, painfully. He could see his own footsteps before him.
"No!" Catherine cried, leaping up. "What do you want here? What do you…?" She fell silent as the Vorlon's gaze rested on her.
"What do you want of us?" asked Vizhak tentatively. He was ashamed of himself for wishing Delenn or Lethke were here. Or even Taan Churok, may all his Gods blight his soul for thinking so.
The Vorlon spoke only one word, and it was filled with emotions none but Valen could detect, for he felt them too. Anger, yes, but more than that, a sadness so intense it swamped almost everything. A deep and regretful sense of longing, of sorrow, of knowledge of what would soon be lost.
* * *
Ambassador David Sheridan had been a career diplomat in his former life, and he still retained skills from that time which were beneficial to those he served in this new life. The foremost of those skills – particularly useful now – was knowing when the local leader was in a bad mood, and just how to soothe that bad mood.
Never forget where your loyalties lie…. that was the essential rule of the diplomatic official. Loyalty, the greatest virtue anyone could ever have.
"The President will see you now," said the secretary. Sheridan looked at her with a cold and forbidding gaze. Never before had the President failed to admit him immediately and directly. The man was changing, becoming…. less amenable. Damn Ivanova! If she had done her job properly then there would be no need for this battle of wits with Clark. A Keeper-controlled President should be their greatest tool, but somehow…. somewhere…. something had gone wrong.
Not even the Zener could identify what it was, but admittedly they were working from old medical records. The President resolutely refused to be examined directly.
Sheridan stormed into the room, trying desperately to calm his furious anger. Whatever was wrong with the President it was not something he could solve today, and there would be enough trouble just getting this piece of news past him.
Clark was there, seated at his desk, his face expressionless.
"Mr. President," Sheridan said. "I've…. received some disturbing news from Epsilon Eridani."
"I know," Clark said, not looking up. "General Ryan contacted me a few minutes ago…. You see, Ambassador, there are some people who think that the President of the Resistance Government of Humanity should know something this important before a foreign Ambassador."
"The battle was a setback, yes, Mr. President, but we…."
"A setback! We had everything within our grasp…. the station, the planet, that blasted Delenn, and we lost it all!"
"We were betrayed, Mr. President. Bester was playing his own game."
"And that surprises you? Ambassador, you're not half the observer you think you are if that was a shock to you."
