Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке - Гэрет Уильямс

And she saw….

Faces, some she knew, some she did not. Images, randomly chosen, floating through the forefront of their minds, joined as one.

A face she had only seen once, but one she could never forget. The face of a woman dying before her eyes, shot down by the man both of them loved.

Your…. pain, she thought. Oh, John…. how could you endure…?

Another face, one she did know very well, mouthing lies and half-truths and rumours disguised as the truth. The face of the woman who had brought her to a place where she could be tortured, who had broken open her cocoon, the woman who…. who had inadvertently brought her and John together.

I cannot hate you. Whatever you have done, I cannot hate you.

Before her there was a column of light, but it was not strong. What should have been a brilliant beam rising up into the sky was a thin pencil, battered on all sides by the darkness.

Oh, John.

And then a voice, a booming, mocking voice, one she knew all too well.

I am lost in darkness for you.

She started. Her voice. Words she had never spoken to him, but her voice.

Knowing what she had to do, she ran towards the light that was the soul of the man she loved.

"The Vorlons…. But…."

"'God moves in a mysterious way'," quoted Edgars, an ironic smile on his face. "But He's a cheap con man compared to the Vorlons."

"I don't understand," Catherine whispered. "You've been…. allied with the Vorlons? For all this time?"

"Yes," Edgars said. "Oh, this of course is Mr. Morden, and our good friend here goes by the name Okesh Naranell. The latter word is a sort of title, I believe."

"Charmed, Miss Sakai," Morden said politely. "It's good to see you again. Our last meeting was…. all too brief."

"Last…." Catherine looked down. "You killed Julie."

"An overzealous guard. You have my apologies."

"Apologies." Catherine was speaking slowly, flatly, with no emotion in her voice. It was hard to realise she was feeling any emotion at all. "Apol…. apologies…. I can't take in any of this. It's all…. rubbish, isn't it? Isn't it? Why should I believe any of this? I'm some sort of…. link to a great leader who hasn't arrived yet? Do you have any idea how…?"

She stopped, not from running out of words, but because the air moved. There was the faint hint of an orchestra just out of earshot. The winds rustled through countless unseen chimes which jangled as they were shaken. There was one instant of perfect beauty and clarity.

The Vorlon, in short, was getting ready to say something.

<Jeffrey Sinclair.>

"Wh…. what?"

"Jeffrey Sinclair," repeated Morden. "You…. are familiar with him, I trust?"

"He's dead. Dead long ago. What does he have to…?" Her eyes widened as everything became clear, with a thought that exploded into her mind. "He's this leader of yours? He's…. not…. dead?"

"He was badly wounded at the Battle of the Line," supplied Morden. "He was taken in as a prisoner by the Minbari and, because my associates here have as much clout with them as with everyone else, they took Mr. Sinclair off their hands. He is now quite safe and in the process of becoming a serious cultural icon."

"Where is he? Oh my God…. I thought…. twelve years…. Twelve years!"

"Kazomi Seven," said Morden. "A…. um, what's the phrase…. 'a wretched hive of scum and villainy' for years, now the base of an interstellar United Alliance of Races. A place of hope and…. well, promise for the future."

"I…. hadn't heard anything about an alliance. I…."

"Of course you hadn't," Edgars said. "The Resistance Government controls the vertical, the horizontal and the diagonal. There are a great many things happening out in the galaxy which are not being made public. The events on Kazomi Seven being only one example."

"Jeffrey's there…. and you want me to…." Something else became clear. "Oh, my God. That's why you killed Dan, isn't it? You wanted me…. unencumbered!" She looked at Edgars. "That's why you asked me if I was seeing anyone. You want me to…. start things up again with Jeff…. provide some sort of link to him."

There was silence.

"You bastards," she whispered. "You cold…. I don't care. I'm having nothing to do with this. I'm not going to be controlled by you, or anyone, or…." A rage so intense, so strong, so powerful as to blot out everything else engulfed her. She turned and began half-striding, half-running into the darkness, towards what she presumed was a door.

"We cannot allow that, I'm afraid," Morden said, almost sadly.

The air began to change, and Catherine turned, instinctively.

<Watch, and learn.>

The Vorlon's encounter suit began to open….

Their silence had been both comfortable and comforting for a long time, as the two of them watched the city complex at night. But finally, as lights dimmed, and as the darkness grew deeper, Valen began to feel oppressed by the silence.

It was strange, he thought. There had been many times when he had sat alone, not talking, only thinking. Some of his lieutenants had been worried about him, especially Marrain and Parlonn and Rashok. Derannimer had understood, though. She alone had understood him completely.

He spoke at last, a point of insight, a matter of simple observation, and also a hint of an intimate, Vorlon connection, all compelling him to say:

"You are tired."

Lyta started and looked at him. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"You are tired. Of living. You grieve. You go on. You try to endure. But…. you are tired."

Her throat dry, she could only nod. "Yes. Y…. yes."

Softly: "What was his name?"

"Marcus."

"He must have been a good man."

"He was. A very good man."

A pause, a hush in the conversation. He waited for her to speak, knowing she would eventually do so, now that he had shown her he was not afraid to listen.

"He…. died." Another pause. A longer one. "He died saving me." She shook her head. "So…. so pointless. So unnecessary! I'd been walking in…. in shadows all my life and for one moment I knew what it was like to be in the light. Then it went out and I was back in the shadows again."

"Shadows only exist when there is light to form them." He remembered saying that to someone else once, long ago. Someone else in grief and in pain. He wondered if his words could mean as much now.

"If it wasn't for Delenn…. She…. needed me, at one point. She's all right now though. She's…. found her own light. I should be happy for her, why can't I be? All I feel is…. is this nothing. I can't even feel hatred any more. Not for Captain Sheridan — he was the one who…. who put Marcus in a situation where he could get killed. Not even for…. the person who killed him. Nothing."

"Hatred would not erase your grief."

"But at least it would be something! Something to keep me going beyond the voices in my head when I sleep, beyond the dreams, beyond…."

"Voices? The Vorlons."

She nodded. "That's me. Vorlon carrying case."

"I also. But then you know that. You are no more a Vorlon puppet than I, Lyta Alexander. Grief can…. be devastating, but it does not last forever. Remember your Marcus, remember his smile, his voice…. whatever you have. Remember him, and move on. Find a purpose, a place where you belong, and then…. Well, all will not be well, but it will be better."

"Be careful. I might start believing your press releases and think maybe you are Valen."

"I am, torn from the world I know, into one I do not. It has been twelve years since my last human memory. I am more Valen, more prophet than human now. I look before me, and see a row of footsteps in the sand…. my footsteps. And I see a hooded figure waiting with an axe…. and that figure is me. I am walking towards my own destruction, and I know that there is nothing I can do to avoid my fate.

"Soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a decade, I will go back in time to live out my role then. I will look at Marrain as he first greets me, and I will know of his eventual betrayal. I will meet Parlonn and see his face eaten away by despair and anger. I will bring the Tak'cha into my alliance, knowing of the follies they will absorb from my words. I will know every failure, every wrong decision that I made, and I will be powerless to change any of them, because they have already happened.

"The greatest gift of any sentient race is the capacity for hope, Lyta. A thousand years ago someone came to me for aid, although he did not know it. His son had been killed in combat and he was grieving as you are. I told him what I could to ease his mind, and I will do so again when I am returned there. And yet when I first meet him, I will know of his son's death and be unable to change it.

"But today, for the moment…. I have hope, Lyta. You have hope. I do not know your future. I do not know what effect my words will have on you. But I do know…. that you can hope for the future, and that you have the ability to make things right."

He paused, and looked at her. For a moment her eyes flashed a brilliant, luminous gold, and she smiled. Something older, deeper and…. wiser…. was smiling as well.

"Maybe that's why he wanted you here," she said. "Thank you. I…. I think I'd better get to bed now. Good night."

"Good night, Lyta."

She turned and left, not saying another word. He did not look at her as she did so, staring out instead into the night.

How is it, he thought, that my words can bring such…. comfort to others, and yet none to me?

That was the only question he could not answer.

Edgars sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, looking at his companion with a wry expression. "Well, that could have gone worse."

"Indeed," agreed Morden. "I was listening in. Many thanks, by the way, for not revealing the full details of our…. prior working relationship."

"They hardly mattered, and would only have aroused…. even more suspicion in her than there was already. No, what was a little lie really? Do you think she'll do as she's supposed to?"

"She'll have no choice. Forces stronger than my Master or theirs are compelling her."

Edgars raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She loves him."

"Ah. Yes. It's been a while since I experienced that particular emotion. I hadn't expected you to be such a romantic these days."

"Death changes a man, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't know. You're the one who's been there, after all. I was rather surprised at the speed of this, though. I had been assured that Miss Sakai wouldn't need to be used for some months yet. The whole affair was quite rushed."

"Yes. We apologise for that. Things…. got in the way."

"Oh? I thought you had everything under control?"

"Not always. Politics, you know. More precisely, our faction and…. the other one. Oh, we all want the same thing of course — order as opposed to chaos. But there are ways and means. Our faction prefers a more…. controlled form of order. You've seen for yourself how good the other races are at maintaining stability. They need a strong hand, discipline I suppose. But the other faction…. the old guard, shall we say? They're a tad…. liberal for these days."

"And it was this other faction which had control of the…. Sinclair situation?"

"Yes. Our lot brought him back to deal with problems among the Minbari. Things had escalated too far there for us to be without influence."

"The bombing?"

"Not just that, but yes. There was also a warrior named Sinoval who's proven very unco-operative and difficult. We needed a saviour to detract from his popularity. We control Valen, he controls the Minbari and there we are — back on track. Unfortunately the other faction had their own ideas. Something to do with free will, I believe."

Edgars smiled. "Always a bad idea."

"Exactly. Give any ten people a choice and nine of them will instantly pick the wrong one. But still, the old guard insisted we give Valen his free will, for this time zone at least. We agreed, and they now owe us big. Don't worry, we'll win the next one.

"Anyway, things weren't exactly turning out as we'd planned. Valen controlled by us and controlling the Minbari was a good thing. Valen running around free and not controlling anything is just too much of a risk. What if the Enemy manage to kill him, or something goes wrong? The past and the future depend on him just too much. We weren't even going to bring him out this early because of the risk, but….

"We need him controlled. Our deal with the…. other faction prevents us from doing so openly, but through Miss Sakai…."

"Ah, yes. So even the Vorlons don't agree on everything, then? That is a revelation."

Morden shrugged. "Just the minutiae. The end goal is the same. It's just…. the way to get there. Besides, our faction is in the ascendancy now. The old-fashioned attitudes won't trouble us much longer."

"Good. It's always a shame, but some rights just don't apply in desperate times. We all have to do what we'd…. rather not do, in a good cause. Don't you agree?"

Morden, more than used to such weak philosophical thinking from his former employer these days, nodded. "Of course."

"You said you would win the next one. What exactly, if I may ask…?"

"They've got the past, with Valen. We will have the future. Sheridan…. and Delenn. The old guard is an anachronism, and the future…. belongs to us."

"Good. Yes…. very good."

John Sheridan opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into the face of the woman he loved. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the candle had burned down quite a lot. He….

He remembered being inside Delenn's soul. He had seen…. everything. Had she seen the same things within him that he had seen within her?

Her eyes were closed, and a soft tear was running down her cheek. "John," she whispered.

"I'm here. I…." He hesitated. He had been going to say, "I'll always be here," but he knew that was not the case.

"Death is not the end," she whispered. "Whatever happens, the circle goes on. It continues into another life, another soul, but it does continue."

"I know. And…. and I'll be waiting for you. I won't start the next journey without you."

She smiled, and opened her beautiful green eyes. They seemed to light up through her sadness. "We shall begin the next journey together, my love."

"Always."

He entwined his fingers around hers, and they remained there as the candles burned down and finally extinguished themselves, leaving the two lovers in darkness.

There had not been much in the way of interstellar travel from Proxima 3 these last few years. Very few races welcomed humans to their worlds, at least not in any substantial numbers, and the other human colonies had been little better than slave holdings.