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

Автор книги: Гарэт Д. Уильямс

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Текущая страница: 37 (всего у книги 38 страниц)

Or to find information. It was whispered that all knowledge was available in the Pit, for the right price, and if the seeker was willing to risk life and sanity looking for it.

Talia, nee Winters, formerly Stoner, and currently whichever surname suited her situation best, was certainly willing to risk life and sanity seeking the information she needed. There were a great many trails leading from IPX to the Pit, and she fully intended to follow them back out.

She was not worried by her surroundings. She had been in far worse, and she was still alive. This time she also had a bodyguard, which was unusual. Byron was less comfortable in the Pit. For one thing, he had to disguise his rank as a Psi Cop. Talia had long since got used to passing as a mundane, but then she was only a P5. Byron was a P12, and a powerful one at that. For him, badge, uniform and gloves were everything. There was simply nothing else.

"He's late," Byron snapped angrily. He was pacing up and down irritably, casting angry glances all around him. The street was quiet. This was a back alley in an area that made the rest of The Pit look normal and safe. The only place their contact would agree to meet them.

"He'll be here," she replied. She was much calmer than he was, her mind gently preparing itself. She ran through everything she knew about Mr. Chase, and she was convinced that he would show up. Her training in human psychology had been very thorough, especially mundane psychology. Chase was on the run; desperate, hunted and alone. He wouldn't pass up an offer of help.

"We shouldn't have to be waiting for mundanes. They should be waiting for us."

She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him sharply towards her with a strength he clearly found surprising. "Listen to me," she hissed, her voice low. "That attitude will get us both killed, and a mundane can pull the trigger of a PPG just as well as we can. We do not let anyone know what we are. We meet him, find out what we need to know, and that will be that. Understand?"

"This will all change once we take over and kick all these worthless morons into the gutter where they belong."

"Look around you, Byron. This is the gutter. Anyway, that day hasn't come yet, and until it does, we're going to have to play by their rules." She released him and returned to her relaxed pose. "Don't forget that." She was almost, but not quite, leaning against the wall. The muck on there would quite ruin her jacket.

There was the sound of a throat being cleared not far away, and Talia turned to look. There he was, Chase. A little more dirty and ragged than the last time they had spoken, but it was unquestionably him. "Miss…. Shaughnessy?" he asked. She nodded. Bridget Shaughnessy was an old alias of hers, one she had used the last time she'd been on Proxima, some years ago now. There was in fact a full history and background for Bridget Shaughnessy in the Hall of Records, very kindly planted there by Al. In many ways she was more real than Talia Winters.

"Yes. Come on, Mr. Chase. What do you have for us?"

He moved forward, and Byron began, very circumspectly, to move around behind him. "You can get me…. off Proxima?" he asked nervously. "Out of human space altogether?"

"Yes," she promised. "I told you. I'll be able to arrange a shuttle to get you into Narn space, and from there you can go where you like."

"Good. I've always liked the Narns. They'll protect me. I think…. I think someone's looking for me. I think…."

"Then the sooner you tell us what we need to know, the sooner you'll be able to leave Proxima and get away from them."

He nodded. "Yes. Yes. Good. Well…. um…. I used to work for IPX, as you know, and…. I accidentally stumbled across some of their…. projects they weren't telling anyone about. I mean, they own a couple of the lesser Ministers, and they've been trying to get more power over someone like Welles or Ryan for some time now, but that's…. common knowledge. At least," he giggled, "common knowledge amongst those of us in the business, anyway."

Talia could see Byron's face. His expression was hardening. He was getting impatient.

"Anyway," Chase continued, "I came across a bit more…. presumably what you're looking for. It was an accident, really. I was approached by some…. freedom fighters…. who wanted to buy some very useful items from us. IPX had a weapons contract from the Government a couple of years back, so I managed to siphon off some of the weapons and get them to these…. individuals."

"Which group?" Byron asked softly. Chase suddenly noticed that someone was behind him, and started.

"Uh…. some of the anti-Narn lot, mainly. Trying to…. ah…. kick the Narns off some of the newly liberated colonies. Acts of revenge…. stuff like that."

Byron nodded, a slight, ironic smile spreading across his face. That smile managed to unnerve Chase even more than he was already.

"Anyway, they wanted to make all the arrangements here…. in the Pit. It wasn't unusual. I mean, nobody really cares what goes on down here. The security forces are being paid off by everyone in existence, including some high-up people at IPX, and, well….

"It was through my dealings with the Security Chief here a couple of months back that I first discovered something was wrong. Allan, I think his name was. He was already getting a substantial pay-off from IPX, but he dug his nose into my business a little more than usual. He was expecting weapons to be coming through here, but for some reason the weapons I was helping supply weren't the ones he was expecting, or going to the people he was expecting them to go to.

"I did a bit of back-checking, because his attitude was starting to make me a little nervous. It turns out that for the past several years IPX has been funnelling a substantial amount of weapons and funds into the area, working through a man called Trace. Now I've heard of him, and I'm…. well…. put it this way, I'd rather stay as far away from him as I can get. I'm not certain what he's doing with the weapons and tech, but I can guess, especially since something goes back the other way, from here to IPX."

He fell silent, and mopped at his sweat-stained forehead.

"What's going back?" Talia asked softly.

"Bodies. In cryogenic suspension. Not many, but a fair number. Of course, no one can do any sort of census in the Pit, and Security don't investigate missing persons. Some of these people came from outside the Pit though; they're lured here somehow, and then disappear. Things are still chaotic up at Main Dome, and some people do vanish. But all these people had something in common, and that's what blew my little enterprise. As I said, Allan wasn't surprised that weapons were coming through here, even if they weren't going direct to Mr. Trace, but it was the type of weapons that tipped him off and caused him to report to IPX."

He shuddered, and looked at Talia carefully, as if seeking confirmation of something he suspected but didn't know to be true.

"What?" asked Byron angrily. "What tipped him off?"

"Well, the weapons I was funnelling through here were for use against the Narns, right. And Narns don't have telepaths. Almost every other weapon or piece of tech coming to Trace from IPX was for use against telepaths. I'd say that those missing people were all teeps."

"Ah," Talia said. That did explain a lot. She was about to say something when there was a sudden movement behind her, and she spun round. There was someone there. People, a lot of them, shimmering into view.

This was impossible. She should have been able to sense them. She heard Chase let out a wild cry and saw Byron start forward. She stepped back quickly, counting the new arrivals. Seven, at least.

"M…. M…. M…." Chase was spluttering.

"Shut up, Chase," snapped an angry voice. "Did you really think you'd evaded us all this time? We wanted to see who you planned to contact, and now we've found them…. Well, many thanks. Thanks to you, we're all getting extra bonuses this month."

"Mr. Trace," Chase said, finally managing a coherent sound. "Ah…. It's…. ah…. You don't want to hurt me…. You don't…."

Talia became aware that Byron was beside her, and suddenly realised what he was planning. So far this Trace and his companions hadn't tried anything aggressive, and she knew it was best to let the other person make the first move, sucker them into revealing more than they intended.

Byron didn't plan on waiting for anything at all.

She reached out to warn him, but it was too late. She could feel his telepathic invasion of Trace's mind, and his psionic suggestion to him.

You will leave this place. You will leave us alone.

Trace smiled slightly. "No," he said, in a friendly tone of voice. "I don't think so." He raised his hand, and revealed a small black box. He pressed a button.

Byron screamed and fell to the ground. He was unconscious by the time he hit it, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. There was blood welling from his nose.

"He'll have a headache for a while," muttered Trace. "Are you going to make this easy, Miss…. Winters, isn't it? Because let me tell you, between the two of us and at the risk of jeopardising my hard-man image in front of my men here…. I really don't like hurting women. We've all got to have some sort of moral code, don't we? Otherwise we're nothing better than savages, howling in the wilderness."

"This looks pretty much like a wilderness to me," she replied, edging back slowly, careful not to trip over Byron's body. He was alive, she could sense that much, but there was nothing she could do to help him now. She would be lucky if she could help herself. Chase stood stock still, as if paralysed. He was still blubbering.

"Well, yes, it is." Trace was standing still, but two of his men were moving forward. They were wearing the same black clothing as he was, and Talia recognised a Light Refraction Belt. Some of the science labs in Main Dome were working on them, and they were nearly perfected. Obviously Trace and his men had first dibs on any interesting new tech to come this way.

"This is a wilderness, but it's my wilderness. Are you going to surrender?"

"What do you think?"

The nearest of his men darted forward and she reacted instantly, whipping her slender knife from its sheath in her sleeve and lashing out. It caught him straight across the face and he fell back in a shower of blood.

The other man hesitated slightly, just long enough for her to drop the gas bomb she had been holding clenched in her other hand. The instant it hit the ground and cracked, she turned and ran as fast as she could.

Trace waited patiently for the gas to recede, and then looked around. The male teep – the powerful one – was still unconscious. He could be sent on to the Boss without any problem. The female teep – the interesting one – seemed to have got away.

"Well don't just stand there," he barked. "Go find her. What am I paying you for?" Only Nelson stayed behind. He would be needed to make arrangements for the body, and anyway, a simple search-and-locate was a bit beneath him these days.

And then there was Chase. Trace actually liked the pathetic little weasel, but still…. He'd killed people he'd liked before.

Chase was still whimpering, trying futilely to beg for mercy.

Trace raised his PPG.

* * *

There was one person on Centauri Prime who knew of the Shadow involvement in the battle before anyone else. Mr. Morden had sold his soul to a higher power than humanity, and that power had given him certain advantages. He knew that the Shadows had come, and that he had arrived here too late.

He had not hesitated. All transport off-planet had been halted by the news of the upcoming attack, and so he could not have left even if the jump gate had not been disabled. On the other hand, that would not last forever. He had to be clear of the palace, to somewhere safe. The Vorlons knew of the problem here and they could help him escape.

The Centauri Republic was not lost yet. It could still be redeemed from the errors it had made. It would be a hard road, and a difficult one, but it could be done. The Centauri would escape far easier than humanity for their lapse in judgement.

It was a shame, though. He liked Mollari. He really did.

Oh, well. The burden of power was never an easy one. Mollari would understand.

Morden turned the corner, not quite running, to find Lord-General Marrago standing there with a sizeable number of the Palace Guard.

"There he is," Marrago said flatly. "He is under arrest by order of the Emperor. He is to be detained in the special cells in this building. Do not try to resist, Mr. Morden. Their orders are to shoot to kill if you try."

"The Emperor gave no such order," Morden said smiling. "I'm one of his most trusted allies."

"That alliance, and the need for it, has just been terminated. I am a soldier, and I serve and protect my Emperor."

The guards encircled Morden. He did not plan to resist. There were more of them than of him, and they were also considerably stronger. He could have used some of his more…. esoteric talents, but there was little point. He knew now who the Shadow agent here was, and there was no cell that could hold him for long.

He went along with them quietly. Centauri Prime had been given its chance for salvation, and it had been refused. They would pay for that error. With a great fire and a terrible fury, the whole Republic would suffer because of the actions of one man.

Morden almost smiled.

* * *

"I can't believe it."

The pain was gone. The inner torment had receded. Delenn was filled with a joy all the more powerful because she knew it was limited. She had bargained with Ulkesh for one night with John before she would leave this place for Z'ha'dum. He had agreed.

That one night would be a reminder to her of why she was doing this. She loved him more than life itself, and she had once made a mistake which had cost him everything. This was one small form of recompense.

But she had seen a way to grab another triumph from this bargain. She had left four messages. One for John, explaining what she had done, and why. One for Lyta, her greatest and truest friend. She was not sure that message would get through, but she had at least to try to explain just how much Lyta's friendship had meant. One for Lethke, handing over command of the Alliance to him. She could trust him to make the right choices.

And the fourth…. That would be the most important message of them all. A warning of a sort, but so much more than that. He would know what to do with it, and he was the one person she could trust to act on what she had learned.

She had needed time to do these things, time apart from John, time she did not want to lose. But they were necessary, and now they were done.

There was one other thing she had needed to do as well. That accomplished, she could begin to make herself ready.

His face on seeing her had been all the reward she could need.

The dress was white and gold, a mixture of human and Minbari design. She was not sure if its cut was flattering or ludicrous, but John certainly seemed to like it. She had begun its commission before the beginning of G'Kar's fateful summit on Babylon 4, and she had quite forgotten it until now.

He had said nothing, as if he had been entirely struck dumb. Then he had smiled, and stepped into her quarters. "You look beautiful."

He was wearing a uniform much like his old one. He had showered and shaved, and he looked just as he had for those first months, before his virus had become dangerous and after they had finally managed to acknowledge what they felt.

"How do you feel?" she asked, not wanting to take her eyes from him, fixing everything in her memory.

"I…. strange," he admitted. "But in a good way. Everything tingles. But…. look." He reached out his hand, and took hers. "Isn't that a miracle?"

"Yes," she swallowed. "A miracle."

"I don't believe it. I really don't believe it. I never knew the Vorlons could do that. Repair all the damage…. and the virus. I…." He shook his head, smiling in wonderment. "I just don't believe it."

"What will you do now?" she whispered.

"Oh…. stay here, I suppose. David's doing fine with the Babylon…. at least, from what I can remember he is. I'm inclined to let him keep it. Maybe take a higher position. If we're going to take the war to the Shadows, after all, we'll need all the soldiers we can get."

Yes. Soldiers. Not healers.

"You would be welcome. I know Taan Churok will appreciate your assistance."

"It won't be easy," he admitted. "But I really think we can do it now. Especially with the Vorlons to help us." He smiled. "This is a turning point, Delenn. Everything's going to be all right now."

"Yes," she whispered, reaching up a hand to touch his face. "Everything will be…. all right."

There was a comfortable silence as she stared into his eyes. All the innocence and compassion and love…. everything that had been there before was there again now. All the horror he had seen was gone from his gaze. It was filled only with love for her.

"John," she said. "I love you."

His smile widened. "I love you, Delenn, you know that. I always love you…. even if I forget to say it from time to time."

"I know. I always knew."

She leaned in for a kiss, and he received her happily. She thought she might be beginning to cry. "John. Will you…. stay here tonight?"

"Are you…? I mean…."

"John, I love you. Stay with me?"

He reached forward and kissed her again in reply. She did cry at last, but her tears were of joy, not sorrow. They would have this time together, and no one – not the Vorlons, not the Shadows, not Deathwalker or Sinoval or Bester – would be able to take this night from them.

She now had something to take with her to Z'ha'dum.

* * *

Warleader G'Sten evaluated the remnants of his fleet and bit back a profanity. He did not in fact have the energy for anger anyway. He felt nothing beyond a profound depression, and a realisation that chances he should have taken in the past had now slipped away from him.

He should have listened to G'Kar, but he had not, and now his men had paid the price.

The Kha'Ri would be furious of course. At the least, they would demand his head. Perhaps they would even ask for the heads of his captains.

He would resign. He would accept responsibility. It was all over; the galaxy was doomed now, and everything would be washed away in darkness and fire. He had seen those Shadows, and they were all but invincible. The entire might of the Narn fleet had been unable so much as to scratch them. It was over.

They could not win. No one could win.

He would resign before the Kha'Ri, and go to the estate his family had once owned before the Centauri had come. He would tend the tree his brother had died on, he would sit and look at the sunsets, and he would wait for the end.

It was over now. The war was over. Life was over.

He would simply wait for the end.

* * *

There were a number of skills any good secret agent needed, but foremost of all was the ability to know when to run, and when to stop running. Sooner or later everything fell apart, and when that happened the best thing to hope for was a good head start, and a better hiding place.

Talia was still running, although only in a metaphorical sense. She was sure she had managed to shake off the initial pursuit, but they would still be tracking her. She needed an immediate place of sanctuary, and after that a new base of operations. At least now she knew what was happening here, and she could take appropriate action. Maybe move out of 301 and up into Main Dome. She didn't have much more to do here after all.

She pressed herself as hard into the alcove as she could. It was heavily shadowed and there was enough rubbish and debris strewn around the street that she should remain inconspicuous. She could hear her pursuers coming this way. Normally it would be possible to alter their perceptions slightly so they would not notice her, but they had very advanced tech that seemed able to resist telepathic influences, so she simply remained very still.

There were three of them, all people she had seen with Trace.

"I'm telling you, she came this way," snarled one of them.

"Well, I'm telling you there's no one in sight. I mean, who'd come through a dump street like this, least of all a classy bit like her. She'd get that nice skirt of hers all messy."

There was a reply Talia really hadn't wanted to hear, and guttural chuckling.

"Yeah," said the first voice. "Well, maybe, with a mouth your size. Look, we go back without her, and Mr. Trace is going to have us nailed to the wall and used for target practice. She came this way."

"There's no one here. Listen, and think about this for a moment." The voices were coming closer. "Anyone who pisses off Mr. Trace ain't going to want to stick around in his den, is she? Now you saw what she was wearing. She ain't from the Pit, so she'll be running off to the tube stations and get out-sector. I'll bet she's halfway to Main Dome by now."

"She came this way," persisted the first voice.

"Hang on," said the third. "What if you're right, Roberts?" said the third thoughtfully.

"What of it?"

"Well, what's the quickest route from here to the tube station?"

"Left down that alley, across and then left at the Security building. If she's going there, she won't have come up this street."

"But," said the third. "What about that narrow walk we just passed? With a bit of effort you could get through that hole in the wire fencing, right? And then from there it's a couple of minutes to the tube, taking all the back roads where no one could spot her."

"Well, what do you know?" said the first in wonder. "It's looks like we're both right, Roberts. She did come this way. Come on, I think we're going to owe you a drink, Petrov."

"Once we've found her," grunted the second, Roberts. "Let's go."

Talia waited for a few minutes as their footsteps receded, then breathed out slowly and emerged from her alcove. So, they'd be watching the tube station. That meant she'd have to stay in 301 for a few days and try to sneak out later. She….

She felt a presence behind her, but just as she made to turn an arm caught her around the neck and a hand clasped firmly down over her mouth. Something was wrong. She hadn't sensed him coming.

She let her assailant half-drag her away from the street towards a door in the nearest wall. He nudged it open, and then pulled her inside.

Then, once the door was closed and she was satisfied that her attacker was alone, she acted. Her telepathic abilities might or might not be useless against this person, but a good elbow in the stomach dealt with anyone.

She lunged out and he staggered back, gasping. She pulled a long, slender blade from her other sleeve and waited for him to move. The door she had been pulled through did not lead to a house, but into a small tunnel. There was light at the far end of it, enough for her to see her attacker clearly. She did not recognise him as one of Trace's men, he was not a security guard, and he was a little too well-dressed for an average denizen of Sector 301. She was almost intrigued, realising he was faintly familiar.

"Why did you attack me?" she asked, willing to trust her intuition and not take further action. Besides, she was armed and he wasn't, and she wasn't winded.

"I didn't," he gasped. "I'm a friend. At least…. I think I am."

She knew that voice. She closed her eyes, breathing out silently and sheathing her knife. "Captain Smith," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"That's funny," he replied, looking up. "I was just about to ask you the same question. The last I heard you'd somehow escaped from your holding cell and just disappeared. That was after sabotaging my ship, of course. I didn't expect to find you in The Pit, but it makes sense, I guess. Oh, and it's private citizen Mr. Smith now. Or Dexter, to all the friends I don't have."

"Talia," she replied.

"Is that what the T stood for? Ah, I never knew. I had you guessed as more of a Tabitha, personally."

"What are you doing here?"

"I live in three-o-one. I grew up here, and trust me, I know this place better than most people. Better than you, it seems. You looked to be in a spot of trouble."

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

He moved forward. "Are you going to give me any straight answers, Lieutenant Talia Stoner? You can read my mind if you like, to satisfy yourself I'm not working for Trace. Yes, I know you're a telepath, and I know who Trace is. What I don't know is why he's chasing you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me any more! You did enough of that all the time you were on my ship. How long was it? A year? I want to know the truth."

"No," she replied softly, a little sorrowfully. "You don't." He might have been expecting a psychic attack. He might even have been expecting a physical attack. He certainly wasn't expecting both together.

Very few people stayed conscious through a combination of a psi blast and a kick to the chest, and he wasn't one of them.

"I'm sorry," she said to no one in particular, and then she continued in search of her place of sanctuary.

* * *

Sinoval had always held it one of his greatest gifts that he never regretted any single decision he had ever made. He did not spend time in pointless recriminations and self-doubts. He merely accepted that he had made a mistake, and resolved never to repeat it.

Leaving Minbar had led to disastrous consequences, but he had needed answers, answers that could not have been found on Minbar. To be certain of his destiny he had needed to seek wisdom and enlightenment elsewhere, and that had brought him here.

Trusting Kalain had been a mistake also, although one that could not have been foreseen. Sinoval had known Kalain as he had known and trusted none other. He had not known of his insanity, or of his infection.

He had made many other errors, but all had been committed with full regard to all the information he had had available. He accepted that, and moved on. The words 'if only' had never held any power over him.

Until now.

The realisation of Kozorr's betrayal was a bitter one, and for the first time in his life Sinoval gave thought to the past, and wondered what he could have done to prevent it.

He had been foolish not to recognise another Marrain. The First Ranger had betrayed Valen out of the pettiest of motives, jealousy, and the greatest of tragedies, love. In conversation with that haunted, tortured soul, Sinoval had learned the depth of Marrain's feelings for Derannimer, who had married Valen and borne his heirs. Marrain had been tortured by his inadequacy beside Valen. In every way he was a little bit less than the one he followed. Without Valen he would have been pre-eminent. With him, Marrain was nothing but a shadow.

And so it was for Kozorr. He was not the leader of his caste, or the greatest warrior alive, because of Sinoval himself. Kozorr loved Kats with a true and powerful passion that he had tried to restrain, only to have it burst forth.

The gentle worker had been much in Sinoval's thoughts of late. Her bleak depression after Kozorr's 'death' had inflicted deep wounds in the Primarch he had not been able to reconcile. He did not love her, for he did not know how to love. Her malady was beyond his power to fight, for it was beyond his experience.

But he could not deny just what she brought to his life. She was everything of beauty he had ever known, and a constant reminder of why he fought as he did. There was someone to whom life was more than a struggle, more than an eternal war against forces that could not be seen, more than a never-ending challenge that could never be met.

He had never in his life wanted to avoid something as much as he wanted to avoid that meeting with her, but he could not do so. He was a warrior, and a leader of warriors. He had his duties, and his responsibilities, and he would face up to the things he feared.

Slowly, tentatively, he explained to her what had happened. Kozorr was gone now, having taken his shuttle and returned to his corrupt master. He had not tried to make contact with Kats, which was the one thing Sinoval had feared.

She said nothing throughout his explanation, and her expression was still.

When he finished, she bowed her head.

"I knew it somehow," she whispered. "I saw it in his eyes when he came to see me. There was a darkness that had not been there before."

Sinoval said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"He saw me when I was in pain, when I was crying, screaming to the heavens. He saw my weakness, and called it strength. He held me when I cried, and loved me…. I could not…. I could not tell him. I was afraid of losing him, of him losing me. He had already given so much for me. How could I ask for more?"

She was silent, but then she looked up. Her eyes were cold and dead. Sinoval had always thought them the most beautiful thing about her.

"I have shed too many tears," she whispered. "I will shed no more." Then she turned and left. He wanted to follow her, but he could not. There was nothing he could do to comfort her. He knew nothing of love, or loss.

But he knew a great deal about war, and revenge, and he planned to utilise all his knowledge, every last piece of it.

* * *

John was sleeping now. He looked so peaceful. So happy.

Delenn wanted to remain there watching him all night. It was an old Minbari ritual, in which she would hope to discover his true face. Not that she had any need to, now. She had renounced a great deal of what had made her Minbari, and their courtship had passed beyond the sleep-watching stage a long time ago. A year now, it must have been. A year since Minbar, since they had discovered he was dying.

She was suddenly aware of a presence behind her, and she turned. He was there. The Vorlon, Ulkesh.

The Vorlon was silent, simply watching. Delenn could hear the faint traces of music in the air invoked by his presence.

"I'm ready," she said softly.

The Vorlon's eyepiece shifted, as if nodding.

Delenn looked back at John. He was still sleeping. She would never forget him; his face, his voice, his hands, everything would remain in her memory for the rest of her life. However long that might be.