Текст книги "Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 5 : Средь звезд, подобно гигантам.(ЛП)"

Автор книги: Гарэт Д. Уильямс

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Текущая страница: 34 (всего у книги 78 страниц)

"Yes, I blame myself, but I blame all of you as well. You were trusted with the leadership of our people and you gave us all to the Darkness in the name of revenge. Behold the price of that revenge.

"We will evacuate this world. Everyone we can. We will save as many as we can, but not the tainted, not those complicit in this.... conspiracy. And none of us will leave. We will all stay and die with our planet. There are not enough ships for us all to depart and I will not see those of us who are guilty leave and live while the innocent remain and die.

"You have doomed our world. All of you. All of us. The least we can do is see that we do not doom our people as well."

"But we can't...." one of them said. "We...."

"We can!" G'Kar spat. "And we will."

"What shall we tell them?" asked another. "What...?"

"We will tell them the truth," G'Kar replied, more softly. "And when they are leaving, to begin their lives as the exiles that we have made them, we will tell them one word.

"Remember."

All were silent, still, motionless. The enormity of what was happening slowly permeated the room.

"We have little time," Da'Kal snapped, breaking the silence. "Let us begin!"

* * *

Moreil rested on one knee before the Chaos-Bringer. He could hardly believe he was in the presence of such a person. He could see now why his Dark Masters had chosen such a one to be the inheritor of their legacy. Truly, this one had been blessed by them from the moment of his birth.

"You are Moreil," the Chaos-Bringer said. "Of the Z'shailyl."

"Yes, lord."

"Why were you with the Brotherhood? What were you seeking?"

"You, lord."

The Chaos-Bringer said nothing. The silence was heavy and oppressive and Moreil continued speaking. "We knew.... all of us knew. When the Dark Masters departed, they offered us the chance to accompany them and serve them in the next world. The Drakh chose to follow. The Zarqheba chose to remain.

"My people, we were unsure. Many wished to leave and remain with our Masters. Some objected that if everyone went, who would pursue the cause of Sacred Chaos here? Surely this galaxy was still important. The Accursed Lords of Order remained. Could they be allowed to triumph? Our Masters must have had their reasons of course, and it is not for us to question."

"And?"

"We concluded this was both a test, and a trap. A test of us, to determine our worth. Could we endure and pursue our cause without their benevolent shadow over us? Had we learned enough to conclude their war?

"And a trap. The Lords of Order would become complacent and weak. There would be weaknesses and opportunities and advantages to be claimed. We would hide and work ourselves into the warp and weave of the galaxy and we would take our chance.

"Some of our people did pass beyond to be with the Masters. The rest of us remained. Some went amongst the Drazi and began to exert influence there. Some became assassins in the shadows of the worlds, shrouded from the eyes of mortals. Others went to Narn, to bargain with their leaders. Some went to search the galaxy for hidden allies and lost relics.

"I and those who follow me came here, to join the disaffected and the rebels. We would become visible. We would sow chaos and misery according to our creed. They would seek to use me, but I could not be used. I did not care about power or wealth or pain or any of their dreams.

"I knew that if we acted boldly enough, if we were visible and clear, you would come to find us. Some of us went to look for you, but I knew that would fail. You would find us when we were worthy of your leadership.

"Lord, you are the last legacy of what our Masters have left us. Permit me to serve you and I shall issue the call to my brethren. Those who remain will flock to your banner and we shall bring down the Lords of Order and fill the galaxy with chaos."

Moreil finished. There was another long silence from his lord, and for the first time doubt began to creep into Moreil's mind. Was he truly worthy? Had he done enough to advance the cause of chaos? Had he been too presumptuous, too arrogant? Would the Chaos-Bringer even desire his service?

Finally, he spoke.

"We are at war. All of us – not just my people, or yours, but all peoples, everywhere in the galaxy. We must all unite to fight this war.

"You will obey me. Utterly. You and all your people."

"Of course, lord," Moreil said, his heart leaping. "We are yours to command."

"Then rise. You cannot serve me on your knees."

* * *

He could feel it in the air, the thick and heavy scent of death. He could also feel the fear that coursed through the people he passed. There was a heartening amount of disbelief and optimism, but for every bravo convinced it would never happen there were two nervous and frightened people staring up into the sky.

Lennier, once of Minbar, once of the Third Fane of Chudomo, once a Ranger, knew what would happen. He felt a great deal of fear himself, but it was not coming from him. The voice in his mind, the one he had fought and struggled against for years.... it was afraid.

The light,his Keeper kept saying. T he light, the light. We are going to die.

"Yes," Lennier said simply. "We are."

I do not want to die.

"What we want rarely matters."

Ta'Lon was safe anyway, or so Lennier hoped. He hoped the big Narn had managed to get off-world. Ta'Lon had expected some sort of retaliatory strike for his Government's alliance with the Shadows – albeit nothing like this – and he would have gone to seek allies.

Lennier was glad he did not have to see Ta'Lon's face when he learned what was being done to his home.

He wandered idly, drifting here and there. He had spent a year on this world, watching and studying and hiding at G'Kar's behest, and he had come to know the place well. It was not his home, and it never would be. He did not have a home any more.

And he never would again.

His past seemed as hollow and empty as his future now would be. When he looked back, he tried to recall a single aspect of the universe that had been better for his existence. There was nothing. His life had enriched nothing and no one and there would be no one to notice he was gone. He had known few friends, and those he had would have forgotten him by now.

Ta'Lon was not a friend, just an ally. Delenn had been.... a bad memory. G'Kar a leader and a voice but not a friend. Londo....

Londo. He had been a friend. If he could go back to any part of his life, Lennier would have spent forever living those few months when he and Londo and Delenn were engaged on an impossible quest.

But Londo would have forgotten him by now. He was an Emperor without an Empire, a man trapped and bound by his own power. Lennier had heard about the heart attack. He hoped Londo would never wake up. Better death, even the living death of a coma, than to see the galaxy become like this.

No one to remember him. No one to acknowledge him. He had lived and served in the shadows and in the shadows he would die.

He walked, with no rhyme or reason or purpose, just to pass the time until the end. He saw people he recognised. An old man, obviously a former soldier, fist raised against the sky. A young girl, frantically searching for her mother. Others.

Many of them were moving about, moving quickly. He followed them, if for no other reason than to see where they were going, and found himself in the main square of the city.

Above them, a giant hologram of G'Kar appeared. Many of the Narns wept when they saw the image. Lennier only stared impassively. There were no illusions, no disguises. G'Kar looked weak and haunted. His right eye socket was a mass of raw flesh, and the bloodstains were only just drying on his tunic.

Still, he looked like a leader. Even as a hologram, his charisma and force of presence shone through.

"My people," the voice began. "My people, we have a great task ahead of us, and a great purpose as well. Our duty is no less than to ensure the survival of our race...."

* * *

At first she did not believe it. Delenn would not really accept what had happened until the first witnesses came to Babylon 5, burning with anger and grief and a terrible desire for revenge. It all seemed so.... horrible.

Except somehow she had known that something bad was happening.

She had been thinking about John, of course. He had seemed so awkward and unsure the last time he had seen her. He had left for Minbar to find David. Taking a holiday.

Without her.

Once she had loved him more than she had thought possible. At one time, he had filled her mind and her vision. She had dreamed of the two of them creating a new order, making the galaxy a better and newer and finer place.

Once she had known a love so great it seemed to burn her. Now their relationship had become cold and barren. He was like a block of ice in their bed. They never kissed, or touched.

It seemed that ever since she had gone to Z'ha'dum, everything that had been good between them had died. She had been afraid to touch him or love him, the memories of her child's dying heartbeat still echoing in her mind. He for his part had seemed to vacillate between treating her as if she were made of glass and not wanting to be near her.

She missed the man he had once been, just as she missed the woman she had once been. There had been a brief period, while Kazomi 7 was being rebuilt and before they had gone to Minbar, when everything had seemed new and perfect and joyful. Since then everything had become as ashes.

Maybe it would be better if things simply.... ended.

Her hand brushed her belly and she felt again the echo of a heartbeat. She could not hate anyone, that was the worst thing of all. She could not hate Welles, who had been a good man overall. She could not hate Clark, who had just been a vicious puppet. She could not hate the nameless, faceless scientists. She could not hate poor, dead Vejar, for lying to her and preventing her death.

She could not hate anyone, but she felt sometimes that John hated everyone.

The call of the comm channel stirred her from her reverie, and she blinked, looking up. "Yes?"

Kulomani's face appeared. Delenn sighed inwardly. She was still not sure what to say to the Brakiri about his handling of events at Centauri Prime. She could sense a shadow behind him, although whether he danced to its strings or acted entirely by his own will, she could not tell.

"Delenn," he said. "There is a matter.... of concern that you may wish to know."

"Yes?" she whispered, her heart pounding.

"We have been contacted by two merchant ships within the last three hours. The main jump gate into the Narn system appears to be inoperable. There are no communications with Narn itself, or with any of the satellites or stations within the system. Either all the satellites have been damaged in some way, or the entire system is being jammed."

"The Shadows?" she whispered.

"I have sent a Dark Starto investigate. They have not been able to open a jump point into the system. The captain reported back that it was as if there was some force shield blocking the exit from hyperspace."

"Have you heard anything from Commander Ta'Lon?"

"No. The last I was aware he was active within the Narn system, but he does move around a great deal. It is likely he is in a position where he must maintain radio silence."

"And G'Kar?"

"Likewise."

"Is there no communication with the entire system?"

"None at all."

Fear gripped her, but she sought to calm it. The beating in her ears grew louder and louder. "Send a squadron of Dark Stars to each jump gate adjacent to the Narn system. Keep trying to open a jump point into the system itself. Take at least one science vessel in each group. See if you can contact the Vorlon Ambassador. They know a great deal more about hyperspace and jump gates than we do. And put every Alliance base in the sector on full alert."

"All done," he said carefully. Delenn looked at him. He was holding something back. Kulomani was a very accomplished liar when he wanted to be, and she was only just beginning to realise. "I was wondering if we should try to contact General Sheridan."

"No," she said firmly.

"But...."

"No," she interrupted, just as firmly. "He is.... resting. I will contact him when I am convinced we need him."

"As you command. I will contact you when we learn something new."

The comm screen went blank and Delenn sat back, her mind racing. It was several moments before it occurred to her that she had not asked him what the Vorlon Ambassador had said.

* * *

Sinoval the Accursed, Chaos Bringer and Legacy of the Dark Masters, looked down at the Tuchanq kneeling before him and resisted the urge to shout at them.

Moreil's fanaticism had irritated him, but not excessively. Moreil would provide him with a mini-army of his own. Sinoval trusted the Z'shailyl. Devotion such as that could not be a deception. He remembered the last message the Shadows had left him, a plea for hatred and revenge. He disliked being used in that way, but he would take whatever resources he was given. As for some of Moreil's.... intentions for the future, they could wait.

No, he had a nagging feeling the Tuchanq would prove to be the more serious problem. Although in an entirely different way.

"Who is your leader?" he asked.

One of them rose. He thought it was female, although as thin as they were it was sometimes hard to tell. Her soul was a mass of conflicting colours and images. He could see the fading signs of long-standing madness, now replaced by a slowly-growing serenity.

He was thankful for the two Tuchanq within the Well of Souls. They had known a song that had undone the madness.

"This one was once called nuViel Roon, and once led, before the songlessness and the long dark fell upon us." Her voice had a remarkable rhythmic quality, a lilt and rise to the words. Each syllable seemed to be sung with its own unique voice, a cry of joy to the galaxy. "This one may still be the leader, saviour, until such time as another may be chosen."

Sinoval nodded. "You know who I am?"

"You are our saviour, our singer, our blessed restorer of what once was. What else do we need to know?"

"I am a warrior, and a leader of warriors. I am going to war with an ancient and powerful race. You may think of them as Gods. I need allies and I need an army."

"You have restored to us the Song. Command us, Saviour, and we shall obey."

And that would be useful, he thought acidly, if he needed a massed horde of cannon fodder. "There are things I must know first. Why were you allied with these reivers?"

"It was the long dark, Saviour," nuViel Roon said, after a long pause. "Some years ago, one of our number, noMir Ru, fell under the long dark. She was driven out into the wilderness. We tried to hunt her, but she had grown wise and stealthy during the war, and she hid, taking more of us with each passing day. The long dark claimed more and more of us until there was anarchy. Our skies, already filled with the smoke and ash of our war with the Narn, began to be filled with the d?bris of our war with each other. The Song died everywhere across our world. When the last of us fell to the long dark, the Song died."

Some of the Tuchanq, still kneeling behind her, began to croon mournfully.

"noMir Ru ruled us throughout the long dark. The Narn came to us and spoke with her at length. She was convinced that the Centauri were to blame for our situation. noMir Ru gathered our army, using ships and weapons we could cannibalise or steal, and we went to the stars to seek our revenge. We allied ourselves to the Brotherhood for that purpose."

"And where is this noMir Ru now?"

A mournful hymn ran as an undercurrent in nuViel Roon's voice, a melody taken up and supported by the others. "Dead. She fell during the battle. She died lost and insane and consumed by the long dark."

"Ah," Sinoval said. A pity. This noMir Ru might have been a useful subordinate, if her madness could have been controlled. What he had seen of her strategy for the attack on Centauri Prime demonstrated a ruthlessness he could have used. "Is this all of your people?"

"No, Saviour. Many others remain on our world. Some were too touched by the long dark to follow any commands, and they remain lost. Others could not fight, and remained to build more ships and weapons. They are still Songless, as we were before your touch. The Land is still Songless."

"Where is your world? You will take me there. I wish to see your dead world for myself."

"And then, Saviour? Do you desire that we go to war alongside you?"

"We shall see," Sinoval mused. "We shall see."

* * *

They moved quickly, as quickly as they could, carrying boxes and bundles of their valuables. Many did not want to believe, but the words of their Prophet had convinced them. The death of their world was at hand.

Every ship available had been press-ganged to this service. Cargo was emptied from merchant ships. Weapon storage was stripped from military vessels. Short-range flyers were commandeered. Everything was cannibalised.

All that mattered was that as many people as possible were removed from the dying Narn world.

Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar looked at the figures again, privately despairing. His own death he could tolerate, but the deaths of so many of his people through his own blindness was too much to bear. They could not evacuate enough. They would never be able to evacuate enough. The children and their mothers were first of course. Any women expecting children. The race must continue.

Any with essential skills. Starship maintenance engineers and pilots. Diplomats. Some of the military. Astro-navigators. Survival experts.

But there were so many people, and so few places. They had tried to break through the communications barrier the Vorlons had placed around their system, but to no avail. There would be no help from elsewhere.

With every second that passed, ticking in his mind, another failed chance for salvation passed and died unborn.

The others reacted with varying degrees of responsibility. Some, like H'Klo, refused to believe that the Vorlons would destroy the world and declared that this was all a trick. He was determined to let them descend upon Narn and then fight them with every resource he had. Others in the Kha'Ri had killed themselves.

Da'Kal, for her part, had worked as tirelessly as he had, but she had not said a single word to him since he had spoken to the Kha'Ri.

He was tired, and weary, and sick to his stomach, but he had no time to rest.

Another second passed.

* * *

Susan found him, not entirely unexpectedly, standing on the pinnacle, looking down at the array of ships massed before him. He was silent and grim-faced, and specks of blood stained the golden hem of his robe.

"You have your fleet," she said. "Things are getting somewhere at last."

"Are they?" he replied. "I have seen them all and spoken to them all. I am not sure if I am supposed to be disappointed or elated or some strange mixture of both."

"What do you mean?" He seemed very cold as she stepped up beside him. There was no heat coming from him, no warmth, nothing. Not for the first time, she felt she was looking at a dead man walking.

"I have spoken to Moreil, the Z'shailyl – the Shadowspawn. His kind revere me. To them, I am some prophesied saviour who will return them to the days of their Dark Masters and their immortal chaos. He has offered his whole race to me, and they will come and they will flock to my banner."

Susan said nothing to interrupt. She knew a monologue when she heard one.

"I have spoken to Marrago. He is broken, and I fear there is nothing left to sustain him. A man needs a purpose for which to fight, and he has lost almost all of his purpose. Nothing remains but vengeance, and that will wither and die in time, perhaps taking him with it."

Yes,she thought, everyone needs a purpose to fight. But it has to be the right purpose. Have you not learned anything?

"I have spoken to the human, the Sniper. He was a worthless, pathetic creature, a madman driven by desire for pain. A dangerous liability, and a monster which this galaxy does not deserve. I killed him. A simple act, with no thought or consequence."

Susan looked at the blood on his robe, and then at his blade. There was blood there also. He had not bothered to clean it off.

"I have spoken to the Narn, G'Lorn. He maintains that everything he has done has been for the good of his people. His associate, whom Moreil murdered, worked directly for their Government. This was all a ploy to serve their own purposes. Never mind the thousands who died. What were they but pawns and toys for the powerful?"

You are powerful, remember. A great deal more powerful than the Kha'Ri ever were.

"I have spoken to the Drazi. They at least have good news for me. They will serve and obey and fight for my cause. But they will do so out of vengeance and anger, and they will not work with the aliens they say betrayed them. I am trying to create a unified army, but all I have is disintegration."

No, you aren't,she wanted to scream at him. E verything is split apart. You have too many agents spread out all over the place, and none of them knows what the others are doing.

"I have spoken to the Tuchanq. I did something so simple and so profound for them, and they worship me for it. They worship me for saving a handful of their people when countless others remain insane and trapped on a dead world, a world rendered barren by hatred and greed. What remains for them but more war under my command?"

The monologue stopped, and Susan looked at him. "So," she said. "What are you going to do now?"

"What I must," he said darkly. "I will do what I must."

"It's going to start soon, isn't it? Whatever's going to happen, it'll start soon."

"Yes," he replied. "Very soon. Indeed, it is already starting."

* * *

The exodus of his people fleeing his home brought G'Kar nearer to despair than he had ever been. Not even during the worst moments of the Occupation, not even when the war with the Shadows was at its bleakest had he felt like this.

Because he felt something he had never felt before.

Guilt.

This was his fault. All of this. Had he been only a little more observant, had he focussed more of his attention on his world instead of on aliens, had he interfered less, always trying to change the views of his people....

Had he done or not done any one of a number of things, this fate might never have happened. The deaths of his people, of his world, were on his shoulders.

"I know that look," remarked Da'Kal dryly. He looked up to see her standing nearby, arms folded. "I know that look."

"What?"

"You are not to blame. Do not even dare to lay the blame for this on yourself. How could any of us know that the Vorlons would do this? If you had not arranged for them to find out, then they would have managed it another way."

"You do not understand. It is not that I informed them, however unwittingly. It is that I should have stopped this from ever happening. I should have...."

"G'Kar, stop it!" she cried. "How should you have seen this? What is it that gives you the blame for this?"

"Responsibility," he said simply. "I took responsibility for our people, and thus I must share the blame."

She looked at him silently for a few moments, and then, suddenly, she began to laugh. It was a sound he remembered from when they were younger; a girlish, mocking laugh that spoke of humour in the simplest of things combined with wonder at beauty in so many hidden places. It was the laugh that had made him fall in love with her.

"You have not changed," she said. "Not in a single way. You are still the same." She walked over to him and laid her hands on the side of his head. Her hands were warm and soft. "I am sorry," she whispered, kissing the empty shell where his eye had once been. "That is hard for me to say."

"Do not be sorry," he said softly. "In these last hours of my life, I have seen more clearly with one eye than I ever did with two."

"Always the philosopher," she breathed, her breath so very hot.

There was a long silence, constructed from shared memories of good and bad, of joys and grief and separated paths. The years they had spent apart evaporated as water into air and they were young again, lying naked side by side beneath the moon, joyous in victory, weeping in defeat. She had been the last thing he had seen before the white liquid that dripped into his eyes had temporarily taken his sight. She had been his talisman during those terrible months of interrogation in the village.

"I never forgot you," he said.

"Sweet liar," she replied.

It was not the first time he had lied to her. They had lied countless times during the war, lies of certain victory, that they would return, that all would be well. This was the first time he had hated himself for it.

"You made me a promise once. Do you remember?"

"I made you many promises," he replied. "Which one are you referring to?"

"After Mu'Addibar. The night after the battle, in your chambers. Do you remember?"

"Yes," he said, with a heavy heart. "I remember."

"I was so afraid that day. I could never forget the lord's hands on my body. My heart was beating so loudly that I was afraid it would burst free from my chest. I could not let them do that to me again. Never." She touched his hand and gently guided it to her breast. "Feel my heart."

It was pounding, beating against her rib cage with a fast and passionate and terrified fury.

"You know what to do."

"I do," he said sorrowfully. He pulled back from her, and looked towards the corner of the room. The sword lay there. Not his, of course, but a sword all the same. He had never approved of paying undue reverence to a weapon. He had never believed in naming them, or treating them as if they were alive.

All a weapon ever was, truthfully, was a tool to end lives.

Da'Kal had dropped to her knees, head bowed, eyes closed. "I am sorry for what I did to you, beloved. But I am not sorry for what I did to the Centauri. They deserved to feel fear. They deserved to feel pain. They deserved so much more than I could ever give them."

G'Kar's throat was full and choked. He could say nothing in reply.

"You still think I am wrong. I know you. I loved you with everything I was, but I hated you too for being so weak. How is it possible to feel such conflicting emotions for one person?"

"I don't know," he said, balancing the sword in his hands.

"I wish I did.

"I love you, G'Kar.

"Make it clean."

He swung. The blow was clean. It was over instantly.

The sword fell from his hands and he sank to his knees, despair beyond rational thought overwhelming him. Was this all his life had been for? Was this all he had ever created, all he had ever achieved? The death of his world, the death of his beloved, the death of his dreams.

He did not even look up when the door opened to admit the three soldiers. He did not know why they did not address him, or why they spared no glance for Da'Kal's headless body.

The first soldier kicked him in the chest, and he fell backwards. The second pushed the sword aside with one foot. The third drew a weapon. Electricity shot through his body and he shook violently. A second jolt stunned him.

He tried to look up, through the blurred and hazy vision of his one good eye. The men's faces were clear and emotionless, silent and dedicated and fixed on their purpose.

He was trying to think of something to say when darkness took him.

* * *

The city was dead now, abandoned even by the ghosts. Those who remained were hidden and shadowed and disguised.

Lennier had watched the evacuation all day. He had not slept or eaten or.... anything. He had simply walked and watched, imprinting in his memory as much as he could of the last day of Narn.

By his reckoning there were five or six hours to go, but the evacuation was almost complete. Those who could leave had left. A handful of ships remained, but they would leave soon, and then there would be nothing left but the dead waiting to die.

He hoped G'Kar had escaped, but somehow he doubted it. He did not want to see him again, did not want to explain what he had done, or why he had not even tried to leave. He could not explain that he was in some way part of the corruption that had destroyed this world. His departure would only lead to more death.

That would have to be the capstone of his existence. He had died to keep the death toll on Narn to only a few billion instead of a few hundred more.

He stopped, looking around. There was a sound, the only sound he had heard in at least an hour. No one was moving. No one was speaking. There were no vehicles, no machines, nothing. Just silence.

And this person crying for help.

It was a plaintive, lost, little cry, like that of a child who has lost his favourite toy. Motivated more by curiosity than anything else, he began to move in the direction of the cries. He walked past an abandoned holy building, down a dark alley, and into a main street.

A Narn girl lay there, huddled against the wall of a building, holding her leg. She looked about ten years of age, and Lennier knew in one of those perfect moments of clarity that he had seen her before. He had run into her while fleeing from the Thenta Ma'Kur assassin. He had seen her running around the city, playing childish games.

He moved forward to her.

"What is wrong, little one?" he asked in the Narn language.

"I hurt my leg," she said. "I can't find my mother. There were all these people running and I fell over and.... I don't know what's happening."

There had been chaos, people running and scattering. Several people had been trampled beneath the feet of the frightened and angry crowd. Lennier had watched from the shadows, not intervening. It had not been his place to intervene.

"Everyone is leaving, little one. They are leaving this world on giant ships."

"Why?"

Lennier hesitated, not sure what to say. "Because they are going somewhere better," he said lamely.

"You aren't one of us, are you? You're an alien."

"My name is Lennier. I am Minbari."

"I've heard of you. My father says you're evil, like the Centauri. That all aliens are evil."