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

Автор книги: Гарэт Д. Уильямс

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Текущая страница: 36 (всего у книги 38 страниц)

And so Sector 301 just slid deeper and deeper into corruption and depravity and depression. That suited its current Security Chief just fine. It fitted his mood.

Zack Allan leant back on his chair and tried flicking a small piece of chocolate up into his mouth. He had balanced it on his thumb carefully, lined it up to perfection, had his mouth open as wide as he could…. and he flicked.

The chocolate bounced off his cheek and fell on the floor. He swore angrily, and decided against rummaging around underneath his desk to look for it. There were probably entire ecosystems down there he was not aware of. Possibly even Governments.

And that had been his last piece as well. Damn!

Chocolate was expensive these days on Proxima. Very expensive. Oh, there was some Narn substitute stuff, but that tasted like wet cardboard. Only the very rich could afford proper honest-to-God milk chocolate in these times, and while Zack's official salary didn't come anywhere close, there were a number of very rich people interested in him turning a blind eye to certain activities they were up to in 301. They were also willing to double his wage for the privilege, so he wasn't going to ask any questions.

He yawned, stretched and switched on the vidscreen. The next game in the 2260/61 baseball season was on, the first new season since the war. The teams were all different of course, but it was still proper sport. The Proxima Swashbucklers had a game on against their nearest competitors, the Orion Archers (based somewhere in Beta Durani). Zack had fifty credits riding on the game.

His link beeped and he muttered something angrily. He could have sworn he'd switched the thing off. "Yeah, what is it?" he asked.

"Someone's here to see you, Chief."

That made him sit bolt upright. Nobody came to the office of the Chief of Security in 301 unless they were asking to be beaten up by all their neighbours. "Is it any of the…. uh…. usual suspects?" Careful phrasing was necessary. He was not supposed to know the names of most of the people he…. 'dealt' with, and while it was unusual for any of them to turn up in person to his office, it wasn't unheard of.

"Ah, no, Chief. Just some guy."

"Jack, don't do that to me! Sheesh! Look, the big game's starting any minute now, so tell him to go away and take it up with Central Office."

"He…. he wants to see you personally, Chief. Says his name is Dexter Smith. It rings sort of a bell. He looks a bit familiar, too. Like he should be wearing a uniform or something."

"Dexter Smith. Dexter Smith…. I've heard that name before. Um…." His eyes widened. "Captain Dexter Smith? The Babylon. The guy who got the Silver Star for Valour last year some time."

"That's the guy! Damn! I knew I'd seen him somewhere before. Hey, my daughter's got a picture of him up on her wall. Wonder if I can get his autograph for her?"

"Leave that for later, Jack. You'd better send him in. I know Captain Smith. We're old, old friends, we are."

"Right you are, Chief. Yeesh, she's going to be so excited when I tell her who I saw. She might even start respecting me a little…."

"In your dreams, Jack."

The conversation ended, and a moment later, a figure came through the door. It took a moment for Zack to recognise this person as the Captain Smith he had known two years ago. The loss of a uniform did do a lot.

"Well, Captain," he said smiling, leaning back in his chair. "How are you these days? Bit of a come-down in the world, isn't it? Rubbing shoulders with the President one minute, the next slumming it down in the Pit. Well, easy come, easy go, right?"

Smith's eyes narrowed. "Ah. Zack Allan. I didn't know you were Security Chief here."

"Well, it didn't match up to my former standard of Security Chief on humanity's flagship, but you've got to take what you can get. My CV was pretty impressive, but the new boss wasn't too impressed."

"That is an old argument, Mr. Allan. I gave you my reasons when I took over the Babylon. May I sit down?"

"Yeah, sure. Watch out though, I think there's some left-over pizza on that chair there." Smith looked at it, frowned, and then decided to remain standing. "So, Mr. Smith, what brings you to my little corner of the universe? You haven't come to get me fired from another job, have you? Oh, wait…. I forgot. You can't. You're not in Earthforce any more."

"I was honourably discharged."

"Oh, go tell that to mummy!"

Smith leant forward and slammed his hands down on the edge of the desk. It shook, and several papers precariously suspended there fell off. Zack looked at them and shrugged. They couldn't have been important. "Mr. Allan, I had you removed from your post as Chief Security Officer on the Babylonwhen I took over because I didn't think you were right for the job. Not only did you betray my predecessor, but there were gross lapses in your performance and duties. What I see now only confirms that I was right."

"Yeah, well, I'd hate to cut this fascinating conversation short, but I'm afraid the game's about to start, so…."

"What do you know about a Mr. Trace?"

Zack started, and then coughed falsely, trying to cover his tracks. Had Smith noticed his surprise? Probably. Damn the man. "He's a…. local businessman. An entrepreneur. Just the type Sector Three-o-one needs to improve the local economy."

"Ah. How much is he paying you, Mr. Allan?"

"I really hope you aren't accusing a Security Officer of this fair world of ours of taking bribes. I believe that's slander, defamation of a public figure with a view to harm planetary security…. I could have you arrested for that."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Allan. I'll be leaving now."

"Good." He flicked his gaze to the vidscreen. "Aw, great. I missed the first plays."

"Mr. Allan." Zack did not turn around. "I never liked you, or your methods, but I never wanted you to fall this far. If I were you, I'd take a look in the mirror and start to question where your choices have brought you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Smith left.

Once he was sure Smith had gone, Zack reluctantly tore himself away from the game and went to his commscreen. He sent through a signal and was pleased when it was received almost instantly. "Yeah?" said the face on the screen. "There a problem, Allan?"

"There might be, Mr. Trace. I just got a visit from someone poking his nose into your business. Thought you ought to know."

"Indeed I do. Who was it?"

"You've probably heard of him. Dexter Smith, used to be captain of the Babylon."

"Him again? Yeah, I've heard of him. Thanks for the warning, Allan. By the way, if you're watching the game, my money's on the Swashbucklers."

Zack smiled. "You know, that's exactly what I was thinking."

* * *

Sinoval had a headache. He couldn't explain it and he certainly didn't like it, but he knew somehow that something was wrong, and his headache was a symptom of that.

He had not been feeling well since Kozorr had returned. Truthfully, he had not been well since Kozorr had 'died'. Kats had hardly spoken to him in all that time. She had been working herself almost to exhaustion, her guilt driving her to the abyss, and perhaps beyond.

And now Kozorr had returned from the dead, with a story of capture and escape. It was not implausible. Sonovar had not been the type to take risks with his prisoners before, but then he had never been the type to attack his own people before either.

Kozorr had been the first to swear fealty to Sinoval, the first to accept his rule and the changes that would come with it.

So why did Sinoval feel so strongly that something was wrong?

He had left his own quarters on Cathedral; dark, gloomy, majestic surroundings that they were, and was momentarily surprised by just how much he had got used to them. When had Cathedral started to become home? None of his people could stomach being on the place longer than absolutely necessary, but he had adapted to it easily.

He had wandered through corridors and rooms abstractly for some time, until he found himself at the pinnacle, the control centre of the ship. As he climbed up the many steps to the summit, he noticed his headache getting worse. By the time he reached the top and looked out at the vast spread of space below and above and all around him, his skull felt as though it was about to crack open.

"What is happening?" he asked slowly, knowing there was no one around to answer.

"A terrible thing," came a reply. He turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus take the final step to the pinnacle. The summit of the tower seemed to widen with the arrival of the newcomer. Before it had been large enough only for Sinoval, but it could now fit both of them comfortably. Sinoval had a feeling it could accommodate an army if it had to.

"The Well of Souls has been violated," the Primarch said.

"What is this…. Well of Souls?"

"The source of Cathedral's power, the source of our power, and our purpose. We have guarded it since time immemorial."

"You seem very…. calm, if someone has infiltrated it."

"I am. The Well will not permit itself to be damaged in any way. But I am still Primarch, and the Well is a part of me, just as I am a part of it. And you are also a part of it."

"Me?"

"All who dwell in Cathedral belong to the Well."

"So what's happening to it? Someone has…. tried to damage the Well of Souls. Who would do…. oh, Valen, no."

"It is of no account. The Well will deal with the intruder in its own fashion. You will merely feel a little ill until it is done. Some have tried to harm the Well before, and none has succeeded."

"You don't understand. How do I get to the Well? Where is it?"

"At the heart of Cathedral. To a large extent Cathedral was built around it."

"I must get there. Now!" He made for the steps, but the Primarch placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There is an easier way." He pointed to the depths of space all around them. "Jump from the pinnacle. Wish yourself there…. and you will be. The pinnacle is…. everywhere, after all. And everything."

"I…. jump?"

The Primarch nodded.

Sinoval drew Stormbringer, his dark blade, and rushed forward, throwing himself into space. Darkness swallowed him, and he was lost from view.

* * *

There was no victory procession as the Babylonand the few surviving Drazi and Brakiri ships returned to Kazomi 7. There was no parade through the streets, no crowds waving banners and singing praises.

There was just the solemn acceptance that a war was under way, a terrible war that would have awful consequences for all of them. The Alliance had been born from the horrors of war, and more than any other power in the galaxy, it did not want to have to relive them.

The wounded were taken to hospital, the dead to the morgues. Delenn went to see her beloved, and Lyta Alexander…. she went to rest alone in her quarters. As soon as she arrived there however, she discovered she was not alone.

You were not permitted to go,shouted the Vorlon's voice in her mind. Ulkesh moved slowly into view.

"I had to," Lyta whispered. "They're my friends, and they asked for my help. I had to help them."

She turned on the Vorlon, her eyes flashing angrily. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "There was…. a moment in the battle when the…. the Shadow ship…. tried to talk to me. There's someone alive in there, in all of them! A human!"

"Then you did know! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm not your property, or your servant!"

Ulkesh's eye stalk flared angrily. She was thrown backwards, her body striking the wall hard.

Then he left.

* * *

Warleader G'Sten of the triumphant Narn Regime and Lord-General Marrago of the glorious Centauri Republic had known of each other for many years. They had only met in person twice; once where G'Sten had been cornered at the battle of Dros, and again when Marrago had been captured when the base in Quadrant 37 had been retaken.

Each of them had closely followed the career and fortunes of the other however, taking a great interest in where his rival was, what he was doing, how he was progressing. This was true even in the years of peacetime.

There was a sort of mutual respect between the two soldiers and leaders of soldiers, a respect that neither held for the majority of those commanding them. Sometimes, your closest companion can be your worst enemy.

As the jump points filled the skies above Centauri Prime and the Narn fleets came into view, each of them was aware that this would be the final time they would meet in battle. G'Sten aboard his Pride of the Kha'Ri, Marrago on the Valerius. Each of them looked up and smiled once, in memories of old battles fought and won and lost.

G'Sten gave the order, and the Narn fleet moved forward. Marrago sat back, sure that his defences would hold.

All around them space shimmered and twisted, and the mind of every being on every ship was filled with screams.

The Shadows had arrived.

* * *

Delenn sat alone by the shrine, looking up at it and sighing softly. Her wish, her one wish now, was that John could have seen it built and completed. He would have appreciated it.

He never would, now.

Immediately after her return from the battle – the victory, she had to keep reminding herself – she had gone to see him. She had taken the familiar walk down the hospital corridors, past all the turnings and doors she had seen countless times on this journey in the past few months.

This time was different. John's bed had been empty. All the machines had been switched off. The chair where she had slept so often had been removed.

Her heart pounding, she had run in search of a doctor, of anyone she could find. She received the answers from the physician who had been treating John all along.

"I'm sorry, Delenn," the doctor had said. "We'd been monitoring his condition closely, but his heart suddenly failed. It had nothing to do with the infection…. We think it might be a hereditary blood-related condition exacerbated by the recent…. trauma. We managed to re-start his heart, but he slipped into a coma. We had to move him into quarantine, and he's now on full life support. I'm sorry, Delenn…. but he's not going to wake up."

"There…. there must be hope," she had protested.

"We can pray for a miracle…. but short of that…. nothing. I'm so sorry."

Delenn had gone to see him anyway, against the doctor's advice. It hurt so much to look at him from behind layers and layers of glass and plastics, look at him lying still, his body kept alive only by machines, his soul trapped forever in an unmoving prison of flesh and bone.

His soul…. She thought of Sinoval and his Soul Hunters. Sinoval had told her of how the Soul Hunters had saved him from death at the Battle of the Line. Perhaps…. No. She shook her head. Better that John's soul should go on, to be reborn again, and live again, and love again. Better that than to be trapped forever.

She was suddenly aware of a shadow cast over her, and over the forecourt of the monument. She looked up, and heard the sound of music in her mind. The Vorlon was there, Ambassador Ulkesh Naranek. This was the first time she had seen him since his arrival. He had refused all invitations to attend the Council meetings.

She did not know why – nor why he was here, by the shrine he seemed to abhor.

Not a question. A simple statement. Ulkesh knew that.

"Yes," she whispered. "He has been dying for months."

"What?" She leapt to her feet. "You can help him?"

"Oh, Valen," she breathed. "Then do it, please! Heal him!"

She gasped, and staggered back. "What price?" she breathed.

"What?" She could not believe it. How could…? "Why? I have always followed you. I was Dukhat's heir. I let one of you share my soul. I…. Why? Why must I go?"

That she understood, and a cold darkness washed over her. She straightened. "You want me to go to Z'ha'dum?"

"Why? What must I do there?"

Chapter 3

They were light and beauty, and majestic power personified. She knew that she should fall to her knees and give thanks for their very presence. These beings had been worshipped by races such as hers almost since the beginning of their recorded histories.

She hated them now, hated them with a passion she had never been able to muster for any other living thing. Not even when she had made her fateful, terrible mistake to order the beginning of the war with Earth, had Satai Delenn felt such sheer loathing for any being.

And yet she stood there, still and unmoving, watching as their light filled her world, and as their power healed the broken body of the man she loved.

A single tear ran down her cheek, but she gave no voice to her pain. She had accepted this choice. They had presented her with the options, and she had accepted the offer they had made.

Her life, for his.

She cast her mind back many years, back to when she had still been Satai, had still been Minbari. It had been in the Hall of the Grey Council, when there had still been a Grey Council. Sinoval had been there, when he had still been a warrior and a leader, not a dictator who bargained with aliens.

They had been discussing the status of the new Rangers. It had been shortly after Branmer's death and Neroon's disappearance. Delenn, Rathenn and Hedronn had been arguing for caution, only to be butted aside by Sinoval's arrogant and all-powerful confidence. He had said something that had always stuck with her, and she had mentally sworn to prove his statement wrong.

She had failed.

He had been right.

"This is a time for warriors, not healers."

This time did need warriors. The healers would come later, but what was there to heal with everyone dead? You could not bring peace to an enemy concerned only with your destruction. She had once believed it might be possible, but not now. And it might never be again.

John was a warrior. Even Sinoval had acknowledged as much, in his own way. Delenn would never be a warrior. She could fight when she had to, but her heart was never in it. The terrible mistake she had once made always haunted her whenever she was at war.

John was a warrior, and she was not. At this time, in this place, a warrior was needed. There would be other healers after the war, but warriors were needed to end it.

She hoped he would understand. She would leave a message, try to explain what she felt, why this had been necessary. She had composed the message in her mind, remembering all the things she could never say to him.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there. She had preparations to make, things to do…. for the future. But she could not tear herself away from this place. She had to watch, had to be sure.

Finally there was a movement beside her, and he was there, light and power and beauty and malice and conviction all in one form. She understood now why Sinoval hated the Vorlons so, why he would risk everything to destroy them. At this moment, she felt the same.

"He is…." She swallowed. "He is healed?"

"Of the virus?"

"Of his injuries?"

"Of his pain?"

"One night. You promised us that much, remember? We will have one night together."

"Good." She breathed out, harshly. "Is he…? Will he need time to recover?"

She turned away from the being she hated more than anything else in the universe, and walked through the door to the chamber where she had last seen John. He had been trapped by wires and tubes and glass, a prisoner in his own body. She did not want to continue, afraid of what she would see now. What if the Vorlon had lied? What if they hadn't been able to cure him? What if…?

There he was. He was…. Oh, blessed Valen. He was standing.

She ran forward and he saw her there, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Delenn!" he cried. He stepped forward and spread out his arms to welcome her. He could move. He could touch her, feel her warmth and her tears and her love.

She held herself against him tightly, crying with joy and sorrow and terror.

He said her name over and over again. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

* * *

Narn and Centauri. For so long these two races had been linked by bloodshed and hatred and war. A cycle of vengeance that would never end. The Narns sought preservation and freedom for their race and their world. The Centauri wished a return to greater glories and higher victories.

The karmic wheel had spun around and around these two races many times before, and now it looked as if the war would finally be over, and one side would achieve total victory.

The Narns had taken many of the Centauri colonies, including their biggest supply worlds. The Centauri Royal Court had been torn by in-fighting, by civil war, by an insane group of fanatics and by chaos spread with the best of intentions. A desperate Centauri fleet had been assembled to try to hold off the Narns.

Each side was confident of victory, but the price in blood and lives would be high.

The Narn fleet bore down on the Centauri homeworld.

And then a third side intervened. Space shimmered, and they were there, ancient vessels built for the dissemination of chaos. They screamed as they came into sight, and without the slightest hesitation they made for the Narn fleet.

The first Narn warship died within moments, torn apart by the Shadow ships. A second soon followed. In those few moments the Narn war machine turned from disciplined order into anarchic chaos.

Aboard the flagship Pride of the Kha'Ri, Warleader G'Sten quickly managed to regain his grasp of leadership and began barking orders. He had never seen these ships before, but he knew someone who had. His nephew had once tried to warn him of their terrible evil, but he had not listened. He now wished he had.

The Centauri fleet took no action, obeying the orders of its commander, the Lord-General Marrago. He sat on the bridge of the Valeriusand watched, reassuring his stunned captains. Soon, word of their Emperor's power spread throughout the fleet. The Emperor had promised them safety, and here he was, fulfilling his promises, bringing these ancient and powerful allies to their cause.

Marrago watched, and reported, and did not smile. Not once.

More Narn vessels fell before the onslaught, and G'Sten soon realised that victory was impossible. The enemy ships were uncountable, and beyond them lay the Centauri fleet. Better now to save as many of his ships as he could. Better to save as many of his soldiers as he could.

The order to retreat was given, and acted upon desperately. The Shadows were content to let the Narns flee. They had wreaked enough damage. Once every Narn invader had left the heavens of Centauri Prime the Shadows themselves disappeared.

A wild cheer rocked the fleet. Only two people abstained. Carn Mollari, nephew of the Emperor and Captain of the Valerius. He had seen, and fought, such ships before, and he knew what they meant.

And Lord-General Marrago. After a fashion, he had seen these ships before as well.

Once the Shadows had gone he rose from his seat and left the ship, not saying a word to anyone. He was Lord-General of the Centauri Republic, and he had duties. One of those duties was to report what he had seen to the Emperor, who was also his friend.

Another duty was to find and intercept one person who would learn of these events far sooner than anyone should. This person, this human, was to be found, and dealt with.

Marrago made his way to the nearest shuttle, and from there to the capital.

* * *

Kozorr drew his pike slowly and looked around him, his expression hardening. This place, for all its wonder, was a sign of the corruption and evil that had overtaken Sinoval. It was not a temple of wonder as he had first thought. As he looked around he saw the Well of Souls for what it truly was: a prison, holding the trapped souls of the dead, denying them the chance to progress on to the next life.

Kozorr had never been a true believer. He had never been a priestling. He had believed only in the intricacy of battle, in the sure and certain knowledge of what was right and what was wrong. As he looked around at this ancient prison, however, he believed. He believed everything.

Leave us, boomed the voice of the Well. You have no place here.

He ignored it, and continued his search. There was something…. that would mark the heart of this place. The globes in the walls around him were the souls, he knew that, but which one was the central soul? Where was the key?

If you will not leave, then you will be destroyed.

Before him, the air shimmered. He stepped back in silent wonder as a being materialised in front of him, an alien he had never seen before. It was half again as tall as he was, and covered with hard scales, from some of which burst long, wickedly-serrated spikes. It had one single eye, as large as his own fist, and from within its inky blackness there gleamed a fierce, feral intelligence. It had no arms as such, but six long tentacles emerged from its side. One of these wielded a weapon Kozorr could never have imagined.

Your soul will join us here and become part of Cathedral, as did his, in the millennia gone.

In silence the monster darted forward, one long tentacle lashing out with astonishing speed. Any doubts Kozorr might have has as to its tangibility ended when the tentacle wrapped around his legs and pulled him forward, sending him crashing to the ground. He kept a tight grip on his pike with his good hand.

His head jarred as he hit the ground, and the old scarring beneath his bone crest began to break open. He fought past the pain to remain conscious as the monster raised its weapon, which shifted form before his eyes to become a long spike. It thrust the spike down.

He brought his pike up and knocked the spike aside. Striking out, he broke the creature's grip on his legs and rolled aside. Scrambling to his feet, he darted away from the creature's advance.

Another tentacle lashed out, but this time he managed to jump over it. Ignoring the pain as he landed on his weak leg, he drew back his arm and threw his pike directly forward. It struck the creature squarely in the eye, and there was a vicious, psychic howl that sent Kozorr to his knees in agony.

When the pain had gone he looked up. The creature had gone, and his pike was lying on the floor. He crawled forward to reach it, but just as his hand touched it a booted foot came down, trapping the pike. He looked up and saw Sinoval standing there in his full glory.

"Why, Kozorr?" he asked simply.

"What happened to the monster?" he asked, rising to his feet. His head was aching.

"That was no monster," replied another voice, an ancient, civilised one. Kozorr turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus walking forward. "He was the last member of a race that died over seven hundred thousand years ago. They were an intelligent, artistic race, destroyed by natural disasters and plagues. We saved the last of them, and brought him here to add his essence to the Well of Souls."

"Why, Kozorr?" asked Sinoval again. "Why betray me?"

"I did it to save you," he replied simply. "You have been bewitched by these…. creatures."

"You swore to follow me forever."

"I want to follow you! My lord, I would follow you to the gates of oblivion and back…. but not these things. Cast them from your side, my lord, and all Minbari warriors will follow you for eternity."

"I made a bargain, and it is not for me to break it. I am sorry, Kozorr. More than you can know."

"Sorry! You have destroyed our people by your foolish bargains with these monsters! Can you not see that?"

"I am sorry, because I will have to explain this to Kats." Kozorr fell silent. "What should I tell her? I saw her when she thought you were dead. Her heart lay in pieces, her soul was drowning in a terrible blackness. She is not warrior as are we. Her caste were never prepared to accept the deaths of those they love.

"I think it would have been better for her to believe you dead, than for her to learn this."

"Damn you! Damn you all! Tell her what you wish. She will never love me."

"You are a fool, Kozorr. A stupid, arrogant, blind fool! She has loved you since the beginning, and you have not seen it." Sinoval kicked Kozorr's pike across the floor to him, and he picked it up. "Go from this place. Go to your new master and tell him….

"Tell him that if one more Minbari life ends at his hands, then I will hunt him down throughout the galaxy. I will destroy him and all who follow him, and his dream will be in ashes. We should be fighting the Enemy, not each other.

"See that he learns that."

"I will tell him."

"Oh, Kozorr…. think yourself fortunate. You could not have destroyed the Well of Souls. It is eternal and immortal. You would have died here, and your soul would have become just one of the countless thousands bound into the structure of Cathedral."

"Have you taken on the power of prophecy now, Primarch?" He spat out the title as if it were an insult.

"Yes," was the simple reply.

Kozorr left, and did not look back.

"You should have killed him," sighed the Soul Hunter.

"No. That is my way no longer. But as for you, my friend…. I think there are some questions you need to answer. This place…. will it talk to me?"

We welcome you, our Primarch.

Sinoval looked at his companion, and smiled.

* * *

Strangers were not entirely unknown in Sector 301, the area less than flatteringly dubbed the Pit. There were many inhabitants of Main Dome, Business Dome or the other, up-planet domes who came to the Pit for various reasons. Secret business deals, perhaps. Dark and unmentionable services that could not be obtained elsewhere. A need to find someone willing to kill or steal or kidnap for an appropriate price.