Текст книги "Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке.(ЛП)"

Автор книги: Гарэт Д. Уильямс

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Текущая страница: 32 (всего у книги 38 страниц)

"You've got something for me, haven't you?" she said as she entered.

"You can read me too well, dear," he said, smiling as she sat down. "Yes, I have. I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer, but…."

"No, don't. I know where my responsibilities lie. I got to see Abby again…. for a little while anyway. And I can tell that something's up here. Something big."

"Ah, yes…." He sometimes forgot that she could pick up on little background details and mesh them into a constructive whole. It was a very useful skill while on a mission, but very inconvenient here, especially when he was trying to keep from her just how serious the situation might be.

"No, don't tell me, Al. I don't want to know." She sat forward, resting her elbows on the edge of his desk. "So," she said, her eyes gleaming. "What's this mission you've got for me, then?"

"What do you know about a human company called IPX?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Interplanetary Expeditions. An archaeological company. Before the war they used to visit dead alien civilisations and try to find useful bits of technology in the ruins. After the war they got a load of juicy Government contracts and refined their searches to anything that might be used to make weapons. They've absorbed a fair number of smaller companies in the last ten years or so. I believe they're one of the top three MegaCorps in what's left of the Alliance."

"Well done," he replied, smiling.

"Do I pass the exam then, teacher?" she said, her eyes dancing. "What about them?"

"They have…. secrets. Fairly big ones. Donne reported back on some very mysterious activities going on, particularly concerning their CEO, Mr. Orin Zento. They have a definite interest in our people, and may have highly confidential links with alien Governments. Find out what, where, why, how and when."

"No problem," she said simply. "How secret is this?"

"Very. Use whatever secret ID you want. Once you've got it worked out, I'll have fake documentation drawn up. You'll likely be based on Proxima at the start, anyway. Do not under any circumstances reveal that you're a telepath to anyone official. Matters for our people on Proxima may just…. get a little unpleasant before long."

She raised an eyebrow. "Been up to something, have you Al? It all sounds reasonable to me. When do I leave?"

"As soon as you can." He hesitated. "Ah…. one other thing. You'll have a bodyguard assigned to you."

"What? Al, I work alone. I always have. It's safer that way."

"Not here. I worry about you, and…. the way things might develop on Proxima, an assistant might be necessary. I trust him implicitly. He's been one of my personal aides for a long, long time. He's a P twelve and a Psi Cop, although he's been specialising in military and personnel protection recently.

"You do remember Byron, don't you?"

* * *

Assassination was an easy thing to arrange among the nobility of Centauri Prime. By means of poison, knotted rope, knife or gun, there were always those who would be willing to kill their fellows for money. Some of course were more professional than others.

And some worked not for money, nor for political gain or personal power, but from a fanatical sense of determination. Such people did not care if they were captured or killed in the process, so long as the target was killed. Three Emperors had died at the hands of such people in the course of the Republic's history.

Little more than two months after his ascension, Emperor Londo Mollari very nearly became the fourth such Emperor.

He was on a tour of the devastated cities of the homeworld, taking in the repair work of areas badly damaged during the rioting and bloodshed that had accompanied the near civil war. Gallia had been an important city, centrally placed, straddling several vital trade routes and containing many of the nobility's private estates. Londo's soldiers had saved the city from assault by the fanatical and insane Shadow Criers, and Gallia had been spared the fate that had engulfed Camulodo and others.

Despite the stability and safety of the city however, there were some who heard the whispers of a greater power in their mind, those who worshipped fire and darkness and who in an enlightened madness acted on the whims of lunacy.

"The Darkness is coming!" cried the ragged figure as he burst through the ranks of the crowd. Guardsmen moved forward instantly, shielding the Emperor, only to be barged aside by the insane strength of the Shadow Crier. A plasma blast seared his shoulder and leg, but still he charged forward.

"The Darkness is coming!" he cried again, as he bore down upon the unmoving Emperor. A small blade glinted in his hand.

"The Darkness is coming!" he cried, lunging at Emperor Mollari, heedless of the guards nearby.

At the last moment a blast struck his arm, tearing the weapon from it. He fell, and the swift actions of the guards succeeded in restraining him.

He continued to spit and cry out as he was led away, but the Emperor did not notice. He turned to the person who had fired the shot that had saved him, and let out a short laugh when he saw who it was.

"Mr. Morden," he said, looking at the smartly dressed human before him. "Well well. I have not seen you for some time. Very propitious timing there."

"A pleasure to see you again," the human replied. "Congratulations on your elevation, your Majesty. I come with what may be an interesting proposition from my…. associates."

* * *

Captain Dexter Smith waited patiently outside the door, ignoring the suspicious glances of the Security Forces watching him. He was more than a little perturbed by the climate here however. He knew he had been away from Proxima a long time, but things hadn't been this divided before, had they? It seemed as if factions were developing, increasing gaps between the Security Force and the military itself.

Symptoms of something larger, perhaps?

Truthfully, he had not really wanted to return to Proxima. He was fully aware of the mistakes he had made, and he had been truly willing to surrender himself for his crew. He had in fact been expecting trial on Kazomi 7, but for whatever reason that had not happened.

And then, when Ambassador Sheridan arrived, one of his purposes had been to release all those imprisoned after the battle. An exchange of prisoners had been made; Smith and a few others for a group of Drazi 'terrorists' and Brakiri merchants who had unwittingly fallen foul of some of the more stringent Wartime Emergency Provisions.

What had happened to the other humans freed from Kazomi 7 he was not sure. Most of his crew had been released voluntarily not long after the battle. Lieutenant Franklin had elected to stay behind, and as far as the Government was concerned, he was dead. There was one other transfer involved, but that was conducted in the utmost secrecy.

The door opened, and President Clark's personal secretary stepped out. "The President will see you now," she said.

Smith nodded and walked through the door, glad he had not been required to don his full dress uniform. It would have felt even less comfortable and fitting to him than the standard uniform he was wearing now.

There were three people seated at the table before him. In the middle was President Clark himself, his face carefully expressionless. Smith had met the President before, when he had been awarded the Silver Star for Valour in the final stages of the campaign for Minbar. That meeting had been awkward and unpleasant, and it would doubtless be even more so now.

To the President's right sat General Edward Ryan, former aide to the deceased General Hague and currently head of the military operations of humanity. He was also in personal command of the Morningstarand had been present at the Battle of the Third Line. He looked…. disappointed, but also uncomfortable. It was no secret that he was personally held in little esteem by the Government.

And to the President's left sat Mr. Welles, Chief of Security and holder of various unofficial and secret positions within the Government. Smith was not truly certain how he felt about Mr. Welles. He had come to him shortly before his departure for Epsilon Eridani, and had sought to determine the strength of Smith's loyalty to humanity in a confusing conversation. Smith had been under the impression that, whatever Welles had wanted from him, he had not received it.

"At ease, Captain Smith," said the President.

"Yes, sir."

Clark then fell silent, reading from the notes in front of him. It was an exercise in intimidation, obviously, but it wasn't really working. After witnessing the arrival of those massed hordes of inky black, screaming ships in the skies above Epsilon Eridani, very little could intimidate him again.

"Explain your actions at the Epsilon battle, Captain Smith," said Clark, finally.

"I made…. errors of judgment, Mr. President," Smith replied carefully. He had rehearsed this nonstop, but actually saying the words came harder and harder. "I accept full responsibility for the failure of the mission."

"I see. I have received a full report from General Ryan, who has described your behaviour as…. 'erratic' prior to the beginning of the battle, but he comments on your bravery and courage in forming a rearguard to allow General Ryan, the Morningstarand the Martento escape once it became clear that all was lost.

"I have very little doubt that you are a good soldier, Captain Smith, and you are clearly a brave man. Your decorations declare as much." The President looked directly into Smith's eyes, and sighed. "However, there has been a great deal of…. controversy surrounding you and the Babylon. Numerous minor faults and damage, the mysterious engagement at Beta Durani last year, and of course the presence of a dangerous saboteur among your bridge crew, a saboteur who subsequently escaped from confinement in this very building."

Mr. Welles looked less than pleased at this.

"However, very little blame for this can be attached to you, Captain. In retrospect, making the Babylonour flagship was a mistake on my part. I had hoped that it would have positive connotations for the public, and serve as a useful rallying point. In doing so, I overlooked the fact that it is an old ship, and too closely associated with the…. famous, or perhaps I should say infamous, Captain Sheridan. Expecting you to take over his position was too great a burden for any man.

"You are not to be court-martialled, or called to account for any of your errors of judgment, Captain Smith. Many…. strange decisions can be made in the heat of battle. You will be honourably discharged with full rights and pension. You have been a good and loyal servant of humanity in this difficult time, Captain, and all humanity owes you great gratitude.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Smith."

* * *

Faith manages.

Delenn had always believed that, and she had faith. But as she went to keep her appointment she was wondering just to what extent her faith was helping her here.

Ambassador David Sheridan had been on Kazomi 7 for over two weeks now, and some preliminary deals had been agreed. A prisoner exchange had been the most concrete evidence that he meant what he said, and the establishment of trade pacts between the Alliance and Proxima 3 seemed promising, but the larger issues were only now being dealt with.

What did the Shadows want? Could there really be peace? She wanted to believe it, but everything she had been taught, by Kosh, by Dukhat, everything she had seen with her own eyes at Proxima, at Minbar, at Epsilon 3…. all those things argued against it.

But to hope, perchance to dream…. Lethke had been right. Peace would be a truly great thing, if it were possible.

But she was still worried as she entered Ambassador Sheridan's personal quarters, the base of the delegation.

He was seated at a desk, looking over various documents. He looked up as she entered, and for one brief moment she saw in his eyes the same light that burned in John's, and she was troubled. John had rarely spoken of his family to her, and she did not even know his father's name, but there were similarities – in expression, tone of voice, posture; little things that came and went, and that she only just caught.

"Ah, Madam President. Come in. Thank you for coming. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you," she said, sitting down across from him. "My title is not President, by the way."

"Of course not," he said smiling slightly, as if at a private joke. "Forgive an old diplomat for being a little…. set in his ways. I'm not used to people in positions of authority such as yours…. not having a title. It makes those moments of formality a little easier, doesn't it? What is your proper title, then?"

"I have never needed one. My name is Delenn, Ambassador. You may use that if you wish."

"No, I don't think so," he said, and then he paused, shaking his head. "That would…. hardly be appropriate."

"Why did you request this meeting, Ambassador?" she asked, feeling ill-at-ease. The room…. seemed far darker than would normally be the case. Oh, on the surface it was little different from any of the other diplomatic quarters in the building: comfortable enough, large enough for an Ambassador and his staff. But there was something just below the surface. A hint of darkness, of corruption.

Or was it just her imagination?

"I…. ah…. wanted to present a proposal to you, and to show you something. You in particular, partly because you're the leader and the focus here, but also because…. of who you are. You're Minbari, the only Minbari on the Council here, and as yet I believe Primarch Sinoval has not deigned to provide an Ambassador here."

"Primarch Sinoval…. has his own concerns."

"Yes, I believe he does, but…. that's a matter for another day. Of all the races currently alive and active…. Of all the younger races, I meant to say, the Minbari have had the most contact with us. You are the only one of the younger races still in a position of power after fighting in the…. troubles a thousand years ago. The Ikarrans and the Markab are all dead…. the other races, such as the Tak'cha, have…. faded away somewhat.

"But the Minbari…. they are still…. not as powerful as they were, but they still have influence. You have influence, particularly here."

"I do not represent my people here in any way at all," she replied, with just a hint of anger. "I speak for the Alliance, not for the Minbari."

"Of course. And that is why I asked you here. You…. the Minbari I mean, have long had contact with the Vorlons. You have been…. indoctrinated, shall we say? Indoctrinated with their belief system.

"I invite you to come to Z'ha'dum and see things from our perspective."

Delenn rose to her feet and made for the door. "I am no fool, Ambassador. I recognise a trap when I see one."

"No trap, just a genuine offer…. such as one diplomat makes to another."

"If matters proceed well, then we might consider placing an Ambassador from the Alliance to…. Z'ha'dum, or to Proxima Three…. but I will not go there."

"Ah, but such a person would not be Minbari, you see. Whatever we say here, you will never be able to overcome a thousand years of Vorlon influence. Come to Z'ha'dum…. and we can show you."

"No."

"Even now you are succumbing to their brainwashing. The Vorlons are not your friends, Delenn! They are far more your enemy than we could ever be."

She ignored him, and continued towards the door.

"Well, then…. before you leave, there are two other concerns. One involves a certain…. Captain John Sheridan." She spun on her heel and turned back to face him. "He is in a critical condition, I understand. The Shadows, as you call them…. they have great expertise in biogenics. They can cure him. He can come with you to Z'ha'dum…. and be cured."

"And what would be the price of this cure?" she asked, her voice hollow.

"He is my son," the Shadow Ambassador said simply. "He belongs with me, and with his people. Bring him to Z'ha'dum…. and he will be cured. He will be alive. You claim to love him…."

"I do love him!"

"You claim to love him," he continued, as if she had not spoken. "If you do, surely you can see that this is an opportunity for him to live. Can you risk that simply because you have been so much influenced by the Vorlons? Can you let them kill my son?"

"I love John more than anything," she whispered. "But…. I was told that the cure you possess…. it would mean he would be enslaved to the Shadows…. forever."

"You've been listening to the Vorlons for too long. We don't want slaves."

"Then what do you want?"

"Come to Z'ha'dum and all will be explained."

Slowly blinking away her tears, she turned and left.

He waited until the door was closed, and then sighed. A figure appeared from the next room and walked over to the human still sitting at the desk. "Well," Sheridan asked, "what did you think?"

"She is…. different," came the halting reply. "She has changed a great deal."

"The entire galaxy has changed since you last met her. Will she listen if we tell her what we have told you?"

"I…. don't know. Possibly. Possibly not."

"Well…. there's nothing more I can do about it. Damn her stubbornness!"

"Being stubborn is her prerogative."

He said nothing. He was thinking about his son…. He wanted John to recover, but that could not happen unless Delenn changed her mind and came to Z'ha'dum. They had made that perfectly clear. He had tried pleading with them, but to no avail.

Either she came to Z'ha'dum…. or John would die.

His life in the hands of the Minbari who had ruined him. An altogether unpleasant thought.

* * *

The bargain had been made, and the agreement had been carried out. The past was now dead, and the future…. that began now.

Secure and safe within the bowels of its ship, a being as old as it was, the being who sometimes thought of its name as being Ulkesh pondered its situation. This moment had been planned for a long time, long even by the standards of the Vorlons. Victory at last was within reach.

And it would begin here. A place with the unpleasant name of Kazomi 7. A place where an alliance of races had been formed, haphazardly, by the merest chance, without rhyme or reason, simply rising awkwardly from the happenstance of history and the whims of the Enemy.

It was here now, and it would create order from the chaos. It would bring about the future, and the ultimate victory. A thousand years ago they had failed, due to the weaknesses of certain members of their race. They had had a chance for absolute victory, and it had slipped from them. That would not be so this time.

The Enemy were here already. That did not matter. That was irrelevant. They would fail. They would be defeated and destroyed, and all trace of them wiped from the galaxy.

The Vorlon cruiser emerged into the skies above Kazomi 7, and at that exact moment, across the planet, certain people noticed. Delenn of Mir sat up in her chair by the bed of the unconscious John Sheridan, who moaned in his delirious sleep. Ambassador David Sheridan swore loudly, but accepted that he had gained more time than might have been expected.

And Lyta Alexander started, her eyes glowing with an immortal light, as she awaited the arrival of the one she would have to follow.

* * *

"So, Mr. Morden, what have you been up to since our last meeting? A fair few months ago, was it not?"

Londo slowly poured a drink of brivare for himself, and held the container up towards Morden as an offer. With a shake of his head, the human refused. Londo nodded, and walked back to his seat.

"It's been over a year and a half by my calender, Emperor Mollari. I've been…. busy. Business here and there. You know how it is. I had a fair amount of meetings and arrangements on Proxima. I spent some months as a…. guest of Primarch Sinoval and his charming people. Exquisite hospitality there, let me assure you. Anyway, I heard of your recent…. troubles here and thought it prudent to come and offer my assistance."

"We could do with some, let me tell you. But…. to be honest, Mr. Morden?"

"Honesty is the foundation of all lasting partnerships, Emperor."

"Not among my people, it isn't." Londo smiled, and sipped at his drink. "We are gravely weakened by our recent…. how did you describe it? Troubles, yes. We cannot let word of this weakness leak out to the other races, least of all the Narns. When the time is right, we will make our presence known to the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven and to…. the other races. But for the time being….

"Well, you understand, I am sure…. we cannot go on bended knee to other races. Not even to your associates, Mr. Morden. And I am afraid I still do not know nearly enough about you…. or them."

"Ah. You weren't this…. cautious before."

"I was a landless and rootless wanderer when I accepted your offer on Sanctuary. Now I am the Emperor, and the lives and souls of every single Centauri rest on my shoulders. A little caution is understandable, is it not?"

"Oh, indeed. And I respect your candour. Very well then. What do you wish to know? Ah…. is this room…. secure?"

"It is my personal, private audience chamber. Which means of course that every noble in the Republic has tried to bug it at one time or another." He chuckled, and sipped some of his drink. "But for the moment…. there are no listening devices. There are five guards outside the door, and twelve more at various strategic points along the corridor. The only other person in this room is my personal bodyguard there…. Mr. Lennier, whom I trust with…. my life, amongst other things.

"Trust me, Mr. Morden. Everything you tell me will be in the best of hands."

"Shaal Lennier, yes." Morden looked at the Minbari, standing silent and still in the corner of the room. "Yes, of course.

"Well…. what do you wish to know?"

"Who are your associates, for a start? And what do they want with me? Nobody ever offers something for nothing."

"True enough, and they will benefit from this deal just as much as you will, Emperor Mollari.

"But…. to begin at the beginning. I was once an employee of an Earth company called Interplanetary Expeditions. Have you heard of them?" Londo shook his head. "They were an archaeological company who investigated alien ruins on dead worlds, looking for leftover technology and so forth."

"Ah yes. Sounds rather like some of the departments of our Ministry of Resource Procurement. A bunch of corrupt megalomaniacs to a man."

Morden chuckled. "Well, IPX was not quite that bad. Anyway, when the war with the Minbari came we suffered badly, but we recovered during the aftermath and absorbed certain other smaller companies. All rather boring business history stuff.

"About seven or eight years ago, I was part of a Government sponsored team, looking for alien technology on certain worlds in uninhabited areas of space. We needed anything that could help us oppose the Minbari. One of the worlds we visited was on the border of Narn space, in a fairly backward area. It was called Sigma Nine-five-seven.

"Something…. lived there. Aliens…. ancient ones. They contacted us, in a spirit of…. interest, I suppose. They explained to us what they were, and what they wanted, and we did the same. In exchange for certain…. services…. they provided clandestine help for my people, and my company.

"You do know of the Vorlons, don't you, Emperor Mollari?"

"The Vorlons? They are your…! Great Maker. Yes, I know of the Vorlons. But…. this raises a few more questions than it answers, Mr. Morden. The Vorlons are…. from what I was told, anyway…. enemies of the race called the Shadows, correct?"

He nodded.

"Then why did they do nothing when your Government made an alliance with the Shadows?"

"They didn't exactly do nothing. Unfortunately a different faction from the Vorlons who greeted me were in power for a long time. They were more…. peaceful, and did not want to risk a direct confrontation with the Shadows – except for the engagement at Proxima a few years ago."

"I was there," Londo muttered.

"Well, this…. peaceful faction recently lost power, and my associates among the Vorlon hierarchy took over. They are more inclined to direct action. In time…. they will try to remove the Shadow influence from my Government…. but they wish to help as many other races as they can first. Including yours."

"I see…. Other races? What about the Alliance?"

"A Vorlon Ambassador is being posted there as we speak. Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar has had a long and beneficial relationship with my associates, so he should welcome their assistance."

"And so would we. But…. here is the question, Mr. Morden. The sixty-four thousand ducat question. What will this help cost?"

"We wish only to benefit the younger races in the galaxy. But…. there is a small price. They would like to post a permanent Ambassador here. They may also require…. at some point in the future…. assistance from your Government, should they elect to go to war with the Shadows. They will definitely not ask anything more than you can pay. Supplies, perhaps. A garrison for their vessels here. Support ships, maybe.

"But they can offer you a great deal. Help in ending this war with the Narns…. and military assistance should it be needed. They will also be able to rid you of these…. problems…. with the Shadow Criers. They have as much interest in that as you do."

"Hmm…." Londo looked deep into his glass, swilling the remains of his brivare around. It had gone cold by now. "You make an interesting argument, Mr. Morden. I assume you have full authority to conduct a formal treaty?"

"Oh yes. Completely."

"An alliance with the Vorlons…. It is a more than tempting offer, Mr. Morden, but I must discuss matters with my Government. I assure you that only they will know of your offer. In the meantime, you may feel free to treat this palace as your home."

"I would be honoured, Emperor. I leave you to your deliberations, then. Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Morden."

Londo was deep in thought as Morden left.

* * *

There is a finite level of rage that most people can manage: a built-in limit to just how angry they can get. For some, this level is higher than for others.

Delenn very rarely rose to the upper levels of her anger, certainly not in the way that people such as Sinoval did. In fact, she could recall having been this angry only once before, and she was well aware of the terrible mistake she had made then. This time was different though.

There would be no mistake this time.

She sat in silence, looking around at the Council members. Each of them was as determined and as convinced as she herself. Taan Churok was on the verge of open violence, but then he and Vizhak had been opposed even to the idea of negotiations almost from the start. What they had learned today had only heightened their anger. 'I told you so's' would be flying around soon enough, but in Drazi fashion, which was much more dangerous. The Narn Ambassador G'Kael looked a little uncomfortable. He was after all a newcomer here. Vizhak had argued for leaving him out of this meeting, but Lethke and Delenn had overruled him. If the Narns were to be fully involved in this, they had to understand.

And as for Lethke…. he was calm, but inwardly he was just as angry as the rest. More so, even. Brakiri were a trading people, and always had been. They took great offence at being approached in anything less than good faith.

And there was one other. He was silent, still, unmoving.

The door opened and an aide appeared, a Brakiri, formerly a member of the Trading House here. "Ambassador Sheridan is here," he announced.

"Excellent. Send him in," Delenn said, keeping her tone neutral.

The Shadow Ambassador entered, looking unruffled and perfectly at home despite the abruptness and timing of his summons.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, entering. "It is an honour to meet with you again. May I infer from my summons to this meeting that you have reached a decision?"

"You may infer whatever you wish, Ambassador," Delenn said coldly, rising from her seat. "But you are right. We have reached a decision…. and that is this.

"There can be no peace with the Shadow. None at all."

If they were expecting a reaction, they did not get it. "Ah. A grave disappointment."

"Is that what you call it, Ambassador? You should consider yourself fortunate that you are merely…. disappointed…. and not receiving a much worse fate."

"I do not appreciate being threatened."

"I am not threatening you! I am making a promise. A complete…. and total promise. There will be no peace with the Shadow. Not now…. and not ever."

"May I know the reasons for…. this…. hostility?"

"Indeed you may. I believe you know Merchant-Captain Kullenbrok?"

"The name rings a bell." He sat still for a moment, seemingly lost in memory. Delenn realised that he knew full well of whom they were speaking. "Ah yes. One of the individuals we exchanged for Miss Ivanova and Captain Smith."

"Indeed. He was a prominent member of a Brakiri Merchant House on this world before the Drakh invasion…."

"As I have said…. my associates did not sanction that attack in any way, shape or form. The assault on this world…. was carried out by an independent faction of the Drakh warrior caste. My associates…. both human and Shadow, merely managed to use their contacts with the Drakh to release the prisoners."

"Yes…. you have said as much. I do not believe you, Ambassador. The Drakh attacked this world on the direct orders of your…. associates. But that is not the issue here. Merchant-Captain Kullenbrok killed himself last night in his room. As was inevitable…. we investigated his death, and our ally Vejar here…. discovered something. Do you know what?"

He shook his head, smiling.

"Vejar."

The technomage stepped out from the shadows in the corner of the room. He was carrying a small, transparent box, constructed from some sort of crystal. Inside the box was a small grey mass. It stirred, and something opened, revealing a malevolent, brightly-shining eye. It burst into a flurry of motion, extending limbs from its body and thrashing against the side of its prison.

"It seems to recognise you, Ambassador," Delenn said, as Vejar laid the box down on the Council table. Vizhak surreptitiously slid as far away from it as possible. "You know what it is?"