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

Автор книги: Гарэт Д. Уильямс

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Текущая страница: 34 (всего у книги 38 страниц)

In the few months he had been here, though, he had learned that his post was considerably more important than some back home seemed to think. First, he had met and spoken to the fabled Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar himself, who had pressed home the great importance of this place. G'Kar was gone now, on some personal errand of great urgency, but his second Ta'Lon was still here.

And now, to his considerable surprise, someone else of importance had turned up, someone he had definitely not been expecting.

"Councillor Na'Toth," he exclaimed, seeing her sitting in the room he had been using as an audience chamber. The furnishings were hardly perfect, but this had been a Drazi colony after all. "I am honoured."

"I wish I were," she said, with trademark bluntness. G'Kael had spent much of his time in the Kha'Ri's lower circles observing those in the upper ones, and so he was fully acquainted with what some might call Na'Toth's lack of tact. On the other hand, he could tell from her tone that she was less than pleased.

"I am to take it, I suppose, that the Kha'Ri has not decided to recognise the full importance of my position here?" he speculated, taking a wild guess. He knew well enough how politics in the Kha'Ri worked, after all.

"If they had, I would not be here," she replied acidly. "No, I fear there has been another round of ritual blood-letting in our Government, and I am the latest victim. I have been…. posted here. As your attach?."

"My…. attach?? But…."

"I know. A fairly severe demotion. My father would be revolving in the afterlife in disgust if he could see me now. It was my fault, really. I was a little too preoccupied with trying to avert a war to watch my back. That…. arrogant pouchling H'Klo managed to stage a very effective and surprisingly bloodless coup."

"I had heard nothing of this."

"Of course not. The Kha'Ri has not lasted this long by throwing all its little games open to the public. Councillor H'Klo and his supporters were very upset at my constant efforts to delay the war, as was Warleader G'Sten. And so they…. trumped up certain charges relating to the unfortunate death of Councillor Du'Rog some years ago."

"They falsified murder charges against you?"

"I would not say falsified…. not exactly. Well, dwelling on the past is neither here nor there. Is Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar here? I need to speak with him."

"No. He has…. departed on some personal mission. I do not know where. His lieutenant Ta'Lon is here."

"Ah, yes. Ta'Lon will have to do. G'Kar has chosen a most unsafe time to go galloping around the galaxy though. Our fleets will be at Centauri Prime in a matter of weeks, and when that happens, well…. it would not be a wise idea for one such as G'Kar to be somewhere that is not entirely safe."

"Is anywhere entirely safe these days?"

"The grave," she replied. He was not sure if she was joking or not, and all told it was probably just as well.

* * *

Shai Alyt Kozorr had been away from his people for only a few months, but it seemed far, far longer. A great deal had happened to him. The scales over his eyes had been lifted and he could now see clearly.

He knew what he had to do.

He had found Cathedral easily enough. It was still at Tarolin 2, as were several other ships in Sinoval's fleet. Kozorr pondered the situation on the planet's surface for a while, remembering the chaos and bloodshed that had occurred there. Sonovar had ordered that, but…. it had been for a good reason…. He had not been harming the innocent, only those who had betrayed their duties to the Minbari by swearing loyalty to Sinoval. That was….

He shook his head. He didn't really know. Sonovar was right, though. He must be.

And about one thing Sonovar had been very right. The instant Kozorr set eyes on Sinoval for the first time in months, he was stricken by the realisation.

Kats would never love him. Not while he remained in Sinoval's shadow. It was ironic, but Sinoval was better than him in every way. Without Sinoval…. Kozorr could very well have been the mightiest warrior of this generation. With him, he was nothing but a footnote.

"Kozorr!" cried the Primarch, moving forward slowly. His face was filled with a surprised joy, but there was something about him that did not speak of joy. He hesitated. "I was told you were…. dead."

Kozorr sighed softly, and limped forward. "It was a…. trick on Sonovar's part. Some sort of test, maybe. He…. wanted information from me. I…. ah…. I managed to escape."

Sinoval smiled. "Someone is favouring us at last, then. Come…. you need to rest, I am sure. You do not look…. well."

"I am tired, nothing more," he replied, shrinking away from Sinoval's touch. "It has not been easy."

"I do not doubt it. Still, I am very glad you have returned to us, Kozorr. Kats will be also. She…. told me what happened. She was…. feeling very guilty."

Kozorr bowed his head. "It was the only choice to make. I would do it again if I had to. You would have done the same."

"I hope so," came the soft reply. "Come, I will find a healer for you, and then you can rest. You look as though you need it."

"No!" he snapped quickly, and Sinoval looked surprised. "No. No healers. Where…. is Kats? I would like to see her."

Sinoval chuckled softly. "And she would like to see you too, my friend. Very much. She is on the surface, helping restore the records in the temporary Government building. I will guide you there…. unless you would rather see her alone."

"I would."

He nodded. "I understand. My blessings on you both."

Kozorr looked startled, but then he nodded and turned away, not really understanding. Sinoval had called him a friend, and he certainly thought so of Sinoval, but…. He had to prove himself to Kats, and he had to purify the taint on the Minbari people. Once the Soul Hunters were gone, then he, Kats and Sinoval could unite with Sonovar and the Tak'cha and take the war to the Enemy.

There was a brief movement in front of him, and a Soul Hunter came into view. Its ancient, hateful gaze fixed upon him for a moment, and then it stepped aside. Kozorr continued, thinking dark thoughts.

The Soul Hunter went to Sinoval, and they talked briefly, in hushed tones. Kozorr did not hear what they said, but Sinoval's expression was dark indeed.

* * *

They called it the Pit. Its more official designation was Sector 301 of the Main City Dome of Proxima 3, but the title of the Pit had been coined many years ago, and it had stuck.

It was appropriate as well, for the Pit was where Proxima dumped all its refuse, all its unwanted, all its discards, its trash, its rubbish. The security forces in the sector were notoriously corrupt, and all the MegaCorps avoided it like the plague.

It was a place of broken dreams and lost souls.

It was therefore hardly the sort of place one might expect to find a celebrated war hero, a man who had appeared among the Top Ten People of 2259 in Humanitymagazine, and whom a poll had voted the Seventh Sexiest Man Alive in the same year.

For former Captain Dexter Smith however, the Pit was home.

It had been a few weeks since his honourable discharge from Earthforce, and the time had passed in a sort of blur. He had declined a number of interviews with news reporters, an offer of a weekly column in Universe Today, a regular panel slot on New Newsand several proposals of marriage. His discharge from the military had been big news for a while, and he was slightly amused to discover the official reason given was 'health problems, resulting from injuries sustained in long-term combat situations'.

If only half the people now interested in him had had any clue as to what those 'long-term combat situations' had been like, the world might be a better place. A great many people claimed to want the truth about his experiences in the war, and he had only been able to shake his head and reply that, no, they didn't at all.

And so he had come to the Pit to disappear. That was easy. Things disappeared in the Pit with a depressing lack of effort. The news moved on; the big story at the moment being the launch of the new warship, the Saint-Germainunder Captain DeClerq. The Saint-Germainwas one of the new type of warship, the Warlock class, which would take Earthforce well into the new decade.

Smith listened to all this, and shrugged. He did not know DeClerq all that well, but he certainly knew of the man. It was fortunate that the media hadn't been doing their homework recently. Otherwise they would be all over the 'Coward of Vega 7' leading one of the new warships.

Still, everyone deserved a second chance, and it wasn't as if experienced soldiers were all that thick on the ground any more.

Smith switched off the news channel and absently flicked through the others. The reception here in the Pit was less than perfect and some channels were unavailable, but from those could get he was far from impressed. It had been a while since he had watched any of the vidscreens, but surely things hadn't been this bad before? He paused briefly at a remake of Macbeth, but then shuddered the instant he heard the dialogue, and switched off.

Pacing up and down his apartment didn't alleviate his boredom for long either, especially as there wasn't much of his apartment to pace up and down in. He could have afforded a better place than this – most beggars could probably have afforded a better place than this – but he was…. content with his choice.

It reminded him of home.

He had been quite upset to hear that the apartment block he had been brought up in had been demolished. Upset, but far from surprised. The place had been a hazard to life and limb even then, before the massive inrush of refugees from Orion and elsewhere had swamped Proxima. Still, it had been…. a place to live. There were a few pleasant memories. Not many, admittedly, but a few.

Sighing in exasperation, he grabbed a coat and went out for a walk.

Another thing he would never get used to was wearing civilian clothes again. He had been wearing a uniform for over half his life, since he had joined Earthforce at fifteen following some creative accountancy over trivial details such as age, address and parentage. Fashions had been very different then, and he had no idea what to wear now. A vague wander around the precincts in the Meadowhall Dome had not helped much, and he had settled for what he could find. Of course, in Sector 301, that would mean he would stick out like a Pak'Ma'Ra at a gourmet luncheon, but it would have to do.

He had no idea where he was going, what he was going to do when he got there or who he could go to see.

He also had no idea that someone was watching him.

* * *

Delenn looked up at the monument before her and breathed out slowly. It was not complete yet, and maybe it never would be, but for the moment it was there; a testament to the bloodshed and death that had resulted in a renewed hope.

How fragile that hope seemed now. But even if the Alliance ended tomorrow, they would still have accomplished a great deal of good. That was something, at least. It did not seem a terribly comforting thought, but it was better than nothing.

The original plan had been to list on the giant archway everyone who had died during the Drakh invasion, but that had rapidly proved to be impossible. There were just too many dead, and the vast majority of them could not be identified. All the records had been destroyed and the immigration and trading lists had been less than accurate anyway.

Delenn had proposed another idea however, having once heard a story from John. It had seemed hauntingly appropriate, and not for the first time she had wondered at the poetry and beauty of the race she had very nearly destroyed.

Over three hundred years ago, there had been a bloody, terrible war among humanity. An entire generation of young men had been slaughtered. It had been called, with tragic inaccuracy, 'the war to end all wars'. Afterwards, in a bid for some sort of legacy, one of the nations involved had devised a new memorial. Six coffins were taken from among the thousands of unidentified dead wearing that country's uniform, and in a moving ceremony an ordinary soldier selected one of these coffins at random. One body, representing all the dead. One brave soul, serving as a reminder of all brave souls. The body was buried under a huge archway in the centre of the capital city, and an eternal flame lit to burn forever over the 'Tomb of the Unknown Warrior'.

That tomb was gone now, but the poetry of the concept remained, and Delenn had managed to reinstate it here. A body had been found, one among many that could not be identified, and it had been buried here, representing all those who had died in the Drakh invasion.

A tiny, insignificant atonement for all she had destroyed.

There was a soft cough behind her and she turned, lost in her thoughts. She had completely forgotten that she had come here to wait for someone.

"Lyta," she said smiling, hugging her friend warmly. "It has been…. too long since we last spoke."

"Yes," Lyta said, a trifle hesitantly, returning the hug tentatively. "We've been…. busy."

Delenn pulled back, looking at her friend. "Something is wrong, isn't it? That's why you asked to meet me here."

"Yes. He…. doesn't like this place. Not at all. His…. influence isn't so strong here, for some reason."

"Vejar blessed this shrine when it was constructed," Delenn said thoughtfully. "He said it would never be destroyed, never decay, never tarnish. He said it would still be here when the planet itself crumbled into dust."

"That could be it," Lyta said thoughtfully. "Ulkesh…. doesn't seem to like Vejar much. He didn't say anything, but it's clear he doesn't…. approve of having a technomage around."

"And Vejar has been staying away from the Vorlons as much as he can. You think something is…. wrong, don't you?"

"I know something's wrong," she replied. "Oh, Delenn. You don't know what's he like. He's…. not at all like Kosh. He's very different. He's planning something. He's been waiting for this for a long time. He knows everything I'm thinking and he…. His anger is…. terrible." The last word came out as a plaintive cry, and Delenn stepped forward to embrace her friend again.

"I came to warn you," Lyta said, after a pause. "He's not helping the Alliance…. because he's doesn't want to. It's not that he can't. It's that he won't. There's something here that he doesn't like…. and I think it's you."

"Me?" Delenn was astounded. She had been with the Vorlons for so long. She had even let one of them share her soul for years. Dukhat had believed in them implicitly. "Why could he not…. like me?"

"I don't know, but he is planning something to do with you, Delenn. I don't know what, but…. you won't like it. " Lyta stepped back. "I have to go. I can't stay here too long, or he'll know. I just had to warn you. Be very, very careful of him, Delenn. He's dangerous."

Lyta slipped away from Delenn's embrace and vanished from the shrine. Delenn turned back to look at the arch, and she began to ponder. She was thinking of…. she was thinking of voicing her suspicions to the one person she knew who would share them.

If Sinoval would listen, of course.

* * *

If Londo had been told when he was young just what being Emperor would entail, he would in all likelihood have resolved not to take up the position and to remain in bed for the rest of his life. As it was, no one had filled him in exactly and so he had been lumbered with the job. Any position, he had thought to himself, mid-way through suffering yet another six-hour speech by those thieves in Resource Procurement, where so much time is spent sitting down, cannot possibly be worth it.

Fortunately the job was not without its advantages, and one of those was that at least he could be sure his friends got ahead in the world.

The downside to that, of course, was that his friends had to suffer through the same purgatory he did, but at least the misery was spread around.

Marrago, on the other hand, seemed positively to revel in his new authority. He had been Lord-General of the armies long before Londo had risen to his exalted position, but now he had an Emperor who actually listened to him, which was a truly rare thing. Some people seemed to be of the opinion that the Emperor listened to him entirely too much. Then again, those people would much rather the Emperor listened to them instead, so their opinions didn't count for a great deal.

"I'm expecting an attack by the end of the month at the latest," he said, reporting his bleak news to the Emperor in one of their very private, late-night meetings. "The Narns seem to have pressed up their campaign after several recent unexplained and unaccountable delays. A new leadership is a strong possibility. Probably one that actually recognises the concerns of the military."

"What an unusual and fascinating concept," Londo drawled, but Marrago did not smile. He had suffered a great deal from the incompetence and mismanagement of the Court. "Can we withstand an assault on Centauri Prime?"

"I wish I knew," came the reply. "I've gathered every available ship here, and the defence grid is as ready as it will ever be. Apparently the Narns have taken substantial losses in their ground assaults on our colonies, especially at Gorash, but there has not been corresponding damage to their fleets. Ship-wise, they probably outnumber us. Whether that means they can win or not…. I'd say we can defend Centauri Prime adequately with the ships we have, but…. to be honest, Londo, I'd be much happier if I could be absolutely sure we'd win. As it is, I'm expecting a fairly bloody stand-off."

"Isn't that what happened in the last war?"

"Not quite. The last war ended in a stand-off out in mid-space. Preferable by far to it ending at our very doorstep."

"Hmm…. I wonder if we should speed things up with Mr. Morden. A Vorlon ship or two would make all the difference."

"Indeed it would…. if we could be sure we could trust them. Besides, Londo, just how much do we want to owe to this…. Morden?"

"A fine point…. but I would rather be alive and in considerable debt than dead."

"There is little risk of that. No, Centauri Prime will hold, and I think we will be able to drive the Narns away…. but as matters stand the losses on each side are likely to be horrendous. The Narns have by all accounts given considerable thought to the practicalities of a war of attrition, and they're willing to take great risks to win. In this situation in the last war, we'd be able to drive them off once they suffered minimal losses. Now…. we may well have to wipe them all out.

"It's going to be a mess, Londo, no doubt about it. A lot of good people are going to die."

"I know. But they will die for Centauri Prime, and Centauri Prime will not forget that. Not at all. How…. how is Carn?"

Marrago's face broke into a smile. "A fine soldier. By the time I'm ready to retire he'll make a perfect replacement."

"Ah…. I am so glad to hear that, although I doubt you will be retiring short of us putting you on the pyre, old friend."

"Well…. Carn is a little young. I'd be quite happy to tutor him for the next ten years or so."

"Is that all? Great Maker, I had placed a bet on your still serving well past ninety. Ah, if you retire at a pathetic seventy or so, I'll lose a lot of money."

The Lord-General laughed. "Ninety, eh? Who did you place this bet with? I think there's the possibility of some money to be made here."

"That is for me to know, and for you to find out. Besides, don't we pay you enough?"

"You don't pay me at all."

"Ah…. I think you need a talk with those cheats and swindlers at the Ministry of the Economy, then."

"No, Londo. On the whole, I think I'd rather face the Narns than that."

Londo broke out into laughter, as did Marrago. Laughter had been a rare sound in the Royal Court recently, and both of them had the very depressing feeling it would not be heard very often in the future.

All the better then, to enjoy it now. While they could.

* * *

"I hate this place."

The woman lounging on the bed said nothing in reply to her companion's complaint. He was standing at the window of their apartment, looking out across the streets below. She could imagine what he was seeing, but she did not want to look at it for herself.

"I hate this place. There are mundanes everywhere, running about living their petty, worthless little lives. Almost like ants. I wonder what it would be like to reach out and squash some of them."

"Don't," she warned, fanning at her face. It was hot here. Very hot. "We're meant to be undercover, remember."

"Yes, I suppose so." He paused, and she turned to look at him, surprised at the hesitation in his tirade against everything that was his surroundings. "There was someone there…. Almost one of us, but not quite. He looks a little…. familiar. Ah, he's gone."

"You shouldn't try to scan them," she muttered irritably, swinging her long legs down from the bed. "We don't know they're all mundanes and we don't want to give ourselves away. Our kind don't go into this area unless they've got something to hide."

"Hasn't everyone here got something to hide? I can see all their worthless little secrets…."

"Stop it! You're right. Everyone comes here to hide from something. That's why they call it the Pit after all. Things tend to…. disappear here. But there are secrets, and then there are secrets. Ours definitely fall into the latter category. Trust me, Al does not want this coming out."

"Hmm. I suppose you've got used to this by now, after all." Byron turned away from the window. He looked irritated, and not without reason. This was the first time he had been without his Psi Cop uniform in years. The two of them had had to leave all the regalia back at Sanctuary: gloves, badges, uniforms. Strictly speaking that was illegal, but then the rules governing the Corps had been very…. lax in recent years.

"Sort of," Talia admitted. "It's a little worrying just how easy it gets to adopt different names and faces…. almost as if my own just…. fades beneath them. It does get better though. I've been in worse places than this."

"Yes. I heard you spent several months on board that ship of theirs…. the Babylon. What was that like?"

"Strange," she replied thoughtfully. "The whole ship felt odd…. as if it didn't like me. It had alien technology built into it, but still…. I was never really comfortable there. And the Captain…. he was…. ah…." She fell silent for a moment.

"What's our plan of action then? Do we make for the IPX headquarters?"

"No," she tutted. "At least not yet. There's a reason I had us based here, and not just because we'll be hard to track. I've arranged a meeting with someone for tomorrow afternoon, in a less than reputable neighbourhood not far away. His name's Chase, and he used to be a quartermaster at the Government dome. He was transferred to IPX after he…. discovered a little more than he should have done about certain activities of his immediate superiors."

"Do you know what these activities are?" Byron asked, evidently curious.

"Naturally," she replied. "Donne uncovered a great deal for Al. Anyway…. Chase was…."

"And what was his superior up to?"

"Various things that can't be spoken of in the presence of a lady," she snapped tartly. "Let's just say there was a very good reason he and Donne would have got on so well. It doesn't matter now anyway. He's dead.

"Anyway, Chase was, in addition to his less pleasant activities, embezzling arms and so forth for sale on the black market. A couple of months ago he graduated to selling very confidential information, and IPX found out about it. They decided to go for a quicker option than trial, and hired assassins to take him out. He's been on the run for a while, and so naturally he ended up here. My preliminary survey tracked him down, and we're going to offer him a deal. He'll know something, or he'll know someone who knows something. Either way, it's a start."

Byron nodded. "Uh-huh. And after we've found out what we want from him?"

"You want to kill him, don't you?"

"He's just a mundane, and it would be dangerous to leave him alive."

She sighed. "I've never liked gratuitous killing."

"You won't have to do it."

"Well, you're the bodyguard, I suppose. Do what you think's best. I'm just…. surprised Al felt the need to give me a bodyguard. He never has before."

"He's worried about you."

"I've been in less safe places than this. No…." She swung herself back on to the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "Something's going to happen at Sanctuary, very soon. He's been trying to keep it from me, but there's trouble there…. possibly the worst trouble he's ever been in.

"I'm worried about him. A lot."

* * *

They were ready. A decision had been made. She was not entirely sure if it was the right one, but at least it was a decision, and Vizhak and Taan Churok were right. Something had to be done. There are times when any action, even the wrong one, is preferable to no action at all.

Delenn just wished she was sure this was the right action.

She took her place in the same seat she had sat in, slept in and wept in for the last few months. John was still in the same bed. He was asleep. He looked so still. For just a moment he seemed so much at peace, almost as if everything that had happened to them had been just a dream.

"I'm going soon," she whispered, not knowing if he could hear her, but knowing she had to speak anyway. "We're going to try to take on the Shadows. It's the sort of thing you'd want to do…. if you could. Commander Corwin will be there, though. He's a good man. I can see now why you trusted him so much."

She paused, touching his face gently. "I don't know if I will be able to return. I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I do know…. that I will never forget you. I love you, John. Now…. and always. I hope you know that."

She gently leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. Then she turned and left.

* * *

He was surprised by just how much had been done since he had last been here. Kozorr had last seen the buildings and offices of Tarolin 2 in ruins, devastated by the Tak'cha's retribution on those who had betrayed the Minbari people. The streets had been filled with the wounded and dying, and as he had moved through them he had heard the cries of the lost and the moans of the forsaken.

Now it was almost as though the attack had never happened. Oh, there were traces here and there, but for the most part the damage had been repaired. The attack had been very localised of course, and after the initial assault the Tak'cha had gone on the ground to hunt and kill the survivors.

But still, he knew to whom Tarolin 2 owed this miraculous repair. He found her seated at a desk in a nondescript office in the building the new Government had taken over. She was alone, staring at a computer screen.

He stood silently in the doorway, looking at her. She was hard at work, but she looked…. drained. He knew from experience that she had a habit of working on beyond her endurance. Anger flared. Why had Sinoval not recognised this, and done something about it? He calmed himself. He would not be angry around her. He could not be angry around her.

He stood there, watching, for a long time. He did not know how long. Time did not seem to matter. It was only when she stirred and turned to look at the doorway that he returned to his senses.

Her mouth opened wide in mute shock. Her eyes looked…. tired.

"My lady," he whispered softly, his voice choked. He had seen and done many things, and he had been afraid before. He had known great fear, but never so much as in that moment when his lady Kats looked at him.

"You were…. He said you…."

"I am here," he said, walking over to her. His limp seemed not to bother him. She rose from her seat and almost fell against him. He caught her easily and held her there. He did not ever want to let her go.

"He said that you were dead," she whispered. "He told me you were dead."

"He lied. I was never dead…. just a prisoner, and every day I thought about you."

She said nothing for a long time afterwards, but he could hear the sound of her sobs. He was crying himself, but he had no need to say anything. Just to be there, with her, was enough.

For the moment.

* * *

They were there, black against the blackness of space, screaming in her mind. They would kill, brutally slaughter the innocent with no mercy, no compassion. They had to be stopped.

Delenn sat in silence on the bridge of the Babylon, looking around at her companions: Commander David Corwin, John's closest friend. He was breathing in and out slowly, his hands clenched into fists. Lyta Alexander, her eyes shrouded in darkness. She seemed to be listening to something that wasn't there.

There were other ships here as well. Drazi, Brakiri, a few Narn. They were ready to make a stand against the Darkness, to take the war to the enemy.

Corwin received a message, and sighed. "They're here," he said.

"Then let's go."

The jump points from hyperspace opened, and the fleets poured out. The Shadows were waiting for them.