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

"Well?"

Alone, off to the side, still comatose, thoughts began to race through Susan Ivanova's mind — guiding her, directing her, pushing her. The Keeper's soft words touched her, and sent thoughts into Donne's mind, manipulating her to the desired end.

Ivanova's eyes opened.

Londo looked out through the window of his transport, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sea beneath him. Unfortunately it was too dark, but he could imagine it there, proud and majestic, knowing nothing of his concerns or his problems.

Timov's angry words still sounded in his memory. He had hated to leave her like that, but if the Gods were willing, then they would meet again.

"It was Malachi. He…. he has invited me to attend him in the capital."

Timov had snorted. "Mad, of course?"

Londo had looked at her, realising just how much he had grown to love her recently. "I will be leaving within the hour."

He did not know why he had to go. Well, he did know, but he could not put it into words. Vague concepts of friendship and sacrifice and understanding all flitted through his mind, but he knew as well as Timov did that none of that really mattered. What did matter was…. he did not know. But something had to matter. He knew only that if he did not go, he would lose any opportunity to end this without more bloodshed.

Without the sacrifice of another Camulodo.

"Malachi is my friend," he had tried to explain.

"What sort of friend can he be? Look at what he has done!"

"Malachi has not done everything."

"He's done enough!"

No, that was it. Londo needed to see Malachi again, to look into his eyes and see, once and for all, if his friend was still there. Malachi had taken in a young and idealistic noble's son and trained him in the ways of politics and the Court. He had told Londo something, once:

"We possess power far greater than that of any others, on any other world in the galaxy. And yet how do we use it? Power is nothing if it is not used, but it is even less if used wrongly. Remember that, Londo."

What could have happened to him?

Beside him Lennier sat, apparently asleep, but probably just meditating. He had not insisted on coming. There had just been no doubt that he not would be left behind. The two of them had begun this whole quest together after all. They would have to finish it together.

It seemed so long ago, that journey to Kazomi 7 with Delenn. Where was she now? Safe and at peace, he hoped.

Well, safer and more at peace than he was.

The capital, and the Court, drew him onwards.

Captain Smith had not been sure what to expect from the notorious war criminal Satai Delenn. He had never seen her before in person, although he had been given access to records…. from both before and after her emergence from her cocoon.

Neither of them matched the picture of peace and serenity before him now. She was seated on a narrow bench in the holding cell, hands folded in her lap, head raised, looking him squarely in the eye. She looked very different from either of the images he had seen. Apparently she had gone through a second transformation. Human and Minbari were now blended perfectly in her.

She made him…. uncomfortable.

"It is my place to inform you that you will be taken from here to Proxima Three, there to stand trial for war crimes against the human race. You will be afforded every right to defence and justice according to our laws. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"I understand," she said. Her voice was strangely accented, soft, but with layers of steel beneath. "And we both know, Captain Smith, that my trial will be anything but fair."

"My Government has assured me that it will be. In any case your trial is not my concern. I am just a soldier. It is my duty to escort you there and hand you over to the appropriate authorities. That is all."

"Nobody is 'just' anything, Captain."

"As you say, Satai."

"I no longer go by that title. It was taken from me a long time ago."

"Then how should I address you?"

"My name is Delenn, and it is as good a name as any other. If you are uncomfortable with that, however, then my people gave me another title to replace the one they took from me. Zha'valen."

"And that means?"

"Outcast."

He opened his mouth to speak, but then realised he had nothing worth saying. Simply being around her troubled him in a way he could not identify. Maybe because she looked so human, or so vulnerable. It was hard to envisage her as the monstrous butcher he had always believed the Minbari to be.

His link suddenly beeped and he activated it. "Yes. Smith here."

It was Lieutenant Franklin, from the bridge of the Babylon. "Captain, our sensors have detected something approaching from hyperspace. One of our ships. A capital ship."

"All our capital ships are here. What…?" He suddenly paled, and looked at Delenn. There was a knowing look in her eyes, and he suddenly felt the burden of his ghosts rising up before him.

And a chance to exorcise himself of it forever. "It's Sheridan. I'm on my way back to the ship. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But Captain, your orders are to…."

"The station is secure, and the capture of the station and the Machine were our top priorities. To safeguard our acquisitions here we need to defeat these reinforcements, and for that, I need to be on the bridge of my ship. I will be there immediately."

He turned and left the holding cell, barking quick instructions to the two security officers on guard there. As he left he heard Delenn saying something, and he turned back to her. "Walk with Valen, Captain," she repeated softly.

Troubled, he ignored her, and began to run towards the shuttle bays.

Sheridan. The Starkiller. At last, another chance to prove fully to everyone that he was worthy of sitting in the captain's chair where the Starkiller himself had once sat. They had clashed before, but inconclusively. This time it would be more decisive.

Smith would later wonder how his future would have turned if he had remained on the station, co-ordinating its defence from there. He would never know, but he would always feel that the decision to make for his ship had been the one greatest moment of his life.

The Parmenion emerged from hyperspace to find the four ships of the Resistance Government waiting for it. Sheridan looked at them, and felt a tightening in his chest. Here it was: the conflict he had been dreading and hoping to avoid ever since he had broken away from Proxima.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," he said, the comm channels carrying the message to his four opponents, and also, he hoped, to the captains of the Drazi and Brakiri ships. "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three are under my protection. You are to leave now."

"Captain Sheridan," came a reply. A voice he recognised. General Ryan. "You are wanted for war crimes against the Resistance Government. Stand down your ship now, and we promise to spare those of your crew who are innocent of any wrongs against humanity."

"That is not an option, General."

On board the Stra'Kath, the Drazi captain had been sitting impatiently for hours, wondering why he was not being ordered to fight. Still, he placed trust in Taan Churok, and would wait.

Finally, the order he had been waiting for arrived.

"The control room is ours once more. The station is ours." Taan Churok's face on the screen. "Allies are here. Fight."

The captain grinned. He did not bother checking in with his Brakiri counterpart. If he was willing to fight, then he would join in.

He set target for the human ships, and ordered the Stra'Kath forward.

Donne smiled. "You were warned."

The Machine rumbled, and a missile soared from the bowels of the planet, shooting up into space.

Chapter 5

His spirit was everywhere, even now. It permeated this room, all the rooms, the entire ship. The EAS Babylon, his ship, Sheridan's ship, always. Dexter Smith, Sheridan's replacement on the Babylon, was always aware of that. He had lived in Sheridan's shadow for the year he had been on board, and now at last he was within sight of ending that curse. They had clashed once before, an inconclusive fight at best. This would be different. There would be no retreat here.

Matters hung suspended, in the balance. On their side, four Earthforce capital ships, the Babylon, the Morningstar, the Corinthian and the Marten. Plus, hopefully, the resources of the Great Machine. The signal indicated that the Machine had been taken, but there had been no word since. This had not been unexpected, but Smith was still troubled. He had been readying a crew to visit the planet and ascertain its status when he had received word of Sheridan's arrival.

On their side, one human capital ship, one Drazi Sunhawk, and one Brakiri vessel. Plus the greatest human captain of recent times.

"This is Captain Sheridan of the Parmenion," came the voice over open comm channels. His voice. Smith straightened when he heard it. He was still breathing heavily from his mad dash back to his ship, but his exhaustion did not bother him at all. "Babylon Four and Epsilon Three are under my protection. You are to leave, now."

"Captain Sheridan," came a reply. A voice Smith recognised. General Ryan. He had command of this mission, but it was very clear that he was in some disfavour with the Resistance Government. "You are wanted for war crimes against the Resistance Government. Stand down your ship now, and we promise to spare those of your crew who are innocent of any wrongs against humanity."

"That is not an option, General."

There was a silence. Smith waited, visualising his opponent. He had never met Sheridan personally, but he knew everything about the infamous Starkiller. He was reckoned the greatest human strategist alive. He had saved the day at the Battle of Mars, many observers held that it was his intervention that had saved the Narns during their first war with the Centauri, and while reports of his more recent activities were highly confidential, Smith had heard rumours of skirmishes with the Streibs and Drakh.

"Launch all remaining Starfury squadrons," came Ryan's order over a coded channel. Two of the Babylon's four squadrons had been launched already, upon arrival at the station, and the other two were held in strict readiness. Something similar would have been done on board the other ships. Smith gave the order.

"Do not engage unless we are attacked first," Ryan ordered. "Repeat…. do not engage unless engaged. If conflict does begin, targets are: the destruction of Sheridan's ship, no survivors taken or mercy offered; the disabling or destruction of the Alliance ships, with survivors taken on board and treated well; and attacks on the station are to be directed at weaponry and Starfuries only. The destruction of the station should come as a very last resort.

"Smith, how is our presence on the station?"

"Enough to hold the command deck, hopefully. I ordered my men to secure and control it, but whether it can be held is uncertain, sir."

"And Satai Delenn?"

"In custody, but on the station, sir. I…. thought it imprudent to bring her on board the Babylon. She has been here before after all…. and there may be sympathisers among my crew."

"Can your men guarantee that she will be kept safe on board the station?"

"Not for certain, sir."

"Damn! You may have to answer for that, Smith, but there's nothing we can do now. It was your task to secure the station and placate the ambassadors there, remember?

"Philby, what signs of activity from the planet?"

Smith closed his eyes and leaned back heavily in his chair. What Ryan had said was true…. he should have remained on the station, he should have taken more security on board, and he should have brought Delenn to the Babylon when he came. But how could he tell Ryan just how much he had been haunted by Sheridan ever since taking over this post? How could he explain how much humanity he had seen in Delenn's deep green eyes? How could he…?

He started as Franklin looked up, speaking. "Captain, something's coming up from the planet. It's…."

The ship rocked, shaking in a blast that seemed almost to tear it apart. Smith fell forward, his head smashing against his forward commpanel. His ears started ringing. Desperately he scrambled to his feet, wiping away the blood from his forehead and glancing at Franklin.

"What was that?"

"A missile of some sort…. from the planet, somewhere below the surface."

"Something powerful enough to come from below the planet's surface…. and reach this high into orbit? What sort of…?" He grimaced, wincing as his head pounded. "What's our status?"

"Hull integrity pretty much intact, engines intact, jump engines at eighty percent capacity…. ship-to-ship communications are down entirely. The missile didn't impact on us, but it did send out some sort of pulse which shut down the comm."

Smith sat back, trying to take it in. "Are the sensors working?" What was happening? The Machine was supposed to be under control.

"Yes…. it looks like it anyway…. Captain, the Drazi ship has started attacking the Corinthian!"

Smith closed his eyes and whispered a swift prayer. "You heard the General's orders, Lieutenant…. we attack."

This was not what Michael Garibaldi had been expecting when he arrived on Babylon 4. He remembered Bester's orders, as well as the manner in which they had been delivered: cursory, peremptory, and to-the-point.

As he looked mutely at the scene before him, he began to feel very sick at the thought that Bester might have been involved in this. Garibaldi recognised Donne, one of the Boss's favourite telepaths, given the plum job of head of the embassy at Proxima. She had been recalled from there amidst much speculation. Garibaldi now knew the reason for that move.

Everything fitted together too neatly. All of it. Sheridan's recall to Sanctuary…. the Boss's supposed 'illness' preventing him from being at G'Kar's summit.

How long had the Boss been planning this?

Garibaldi tried to think, tried to recall the moment where things had changed. Bester had been kind and…. his old self when Frank had been born. He had seemed almost…. touched by the child. He had also been happy ever since his return from Proxima. Few people knew the details, but Garibaldi did know that he had brought someone back with him.

So when had he changed? Perhaps it had always been like this, and he just hadn't noticed before.

But still, it was hard to reconcile the Boss who had cried when holding a newborn baby with the man who could so callously have ordered this great betrayal. Garibaldi looked on in stunned horror, unable to think or do anything, while two Narns were tortured right in front of his eyes.