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

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.

How am I going to tell Lianna what I saw here? And Mary, she looks…. I don't know, but she can't have anything left in her stomach to throw up.

There was a sudden movement, and a loud scream that brought his mind back to the scene at the Heart of the Machine. The scream did not come from either of the Narns, however, but from the other man there.

He was hovering in mid-air directly before Donne. His arms and legs were spreadeagled and his mouth was wide open.

"This Machine has so many attributes," Donne said, smiling. "I'm so happy it's finally sharing some of them with me. Tell me, Number Two…. did you know that one of those attributes is enhanced telepathy? I could read your thoughts as if you were screaming them across the room at me. Do you think I'm a fool?"

"I…. I…." He was trying to speak, but each time a word left his mouth his body jerked and his next words were lost in choking fits.

"Telekinesis as well. I was never able to master that art…. it's a pity. I always felt I disappointed Al by not being a teek as well as a teep. But look at this, and without even trying…. This is a truly wonderful device you have here, G'Kar. You can't have been using the half of it."

"You…. can…. not…." the Narn rasped, but then his head fell forward.

"And you…. thinking about killing me. What's your name? I can't just put a number on your grave…. assuming I give you one. It will mess up my records something chronic. I do like to maintain a good inventory of my victims."

"Put him down," cried the woman. "This was not what we came here for!"

"What you came here for? That hardly matters. And if you want me to put him down…. I'll be happy to…."

Garibaldi saw what was coming next and closed his eyes in a hurry. Mary didn't, and he heard her scream as well as the damp sound of a falling body. When he opened his eyes again the mass on the floor did not look like anything that had once been human.

"Murderer!" cried the woman, charging forward. Donne smiled, and she fell as if she had run directly into a brick wall.

"Why, yes, I am."

"You want me to kill her?" asked the Narn torturer. He was covered in blood, and was playing with a small ball in his right hand. Garibaldi did not want to think about what it was.

"No. We'll save her for later."

The Narn nodded, and then looked up. "One question. You said you were working out how to use that thing." Donne signalled affirmation. "Then why am I torturing these two?"

"You looked to be having so much fun I didn't want to stop you. Besides, I'm enjoying watching you."

"Oh…. well, that's good to know, at least. How's the battle going up there?"

"Ah…. lots of people dying. I think it's time they became aware of my presence once more, don't you think?"

Garibaldi looked at her, and wanted to throw up. He had never before seen such evil in one form. But there was something about her he couldn't quite fathom. Her eyes….

They were bleeding.

Great men, men such as history will revere forever, will remember with words of hushed awe, will speak of with reverence, will even worship.

Am I such a man? Is Sinoval? Was Kalain? Did greatness leave us forever with Dukhat's death, or is this the emergence of a new age? Just as Valen heralded a thousand years ago, is the dawning of a new Minbar within sight?

Sonovar straightened and turned as a figure arrived behind him. Half-expecting it to be Forell, he was ready with a sharp retort. The priestling had been…. unnerving him recently. Something about him felt wrong, but his advice was sound, his presence a moral victory and his soul possessed of a very warrior-like practicality.

It was not Forell, but someone he found much easier to tolerate. Ironic, wasn't it? That the leader of one third of the Minbari Federation found more kinship with an alien whose race was banished by Valen long ago than with one of his own people.

"Ramde Haxtur," he said, making the ritual gesture of greeting. An archaic motion, now practised only by some of the more traditional priestlings. There was much about the Tak'cha that was archaic though, and Sonovar saw fit to acknowledge the beliefs of his allies. "How goes the attack?"

"We report that all is as you wished, Zaron'dar." Sonovar noted the title. He had never heard it before, and had no idea what it meant. The Ramde's tone, however, indicated that it was one deserving of respect. "The rebel leaders have been defeated and punished for their sins."

"Already? Faster than I had anticipated."

Haxtur looked pleased. "Thank you, Zaron'dar. We act with the strength the Z'ondar once praised in our people. They have not followed your crusade, and therefore they have rejected the will of the Z'ondar. As such they deserved punishment."

"Indeed, Ramde. I thank you for informing me."

"Then you will go there now?"

"Yes. They have to see, and know who it was who did this to them. They also have to see that I can be merciful. Your men did only attack military and Government targets?"

"Of course. They obey my orders, which are your orders, and thus, the Z'ondar's will."

"Of course they do. They are to be commended for their skill. Now, Ramde, it is time to show them to whom their loyalties must now belong. They have erred once in agreeing to serve a weak and traitorous Government, and that is only mortal. I will give them a chance to change their allegiances. To reject me again, however, would be treason itself, and for that…."

"Death. Never let it be said that we are not merciful, Zaron'dar."

"Indeed not." Sonovar imagined the planet nearby, and his soul felt the presence of the two he sought. "And also…. they are there. Sinoval's servants. I will find them, and…." He left it hanging.

Haxtur bowed, and left. He understood completely.

The Parmenion swept forward, making for the nearest enemy ship, the Marten. Left broadsides fired, striking the newest of the human ships across its dark and glistening hull. The Marten turned, looking predatory, almost alive. Its eerily organic surface seemed to gleam.

"Looks a bit familiar, doesn't it?" asked Commander Corwin, looking at his Captain. Sheridan's eyes were dark, his expression hard. Both of them had seen such augmented ships at Minbar, but the Marten was more advanced than either the Morningstar or the Corinthian. It appeared that the engineers were perfecting the process.

"What are they doing to our ships?" Sheridan asked. "People like us are having to work and live inside that thing." He remembered all too well the mental screams of the true Shadow ships as they flew overhead. He wondered if these ships screamed as well.

The Marten fired, and the Parmenion rocked with the blast.

Sheridan staggered to his feet. "That thing offends me. Destroy it."

The Parmenion's Starfuries blazed forward, swarming over the mockery of a human ship, raining their blasts upon it. It seemed to have no Starfuries of its own, but those from the Morningstar and the Babylon were rushing forward to help out.

"Lyta," cried the Captain, "is there enough in that thing for you to block out?"

"I…. I don't know. I'm trying." The telepath appeared to be in agony. She was shaking and her face was very pale, especially compared to her dark eyes. These suddenly turned bright gold, a brilliant light that engulfed the room, almost blinding the bridge crew.

"I can see it now," she said, in a voice not her own. "I can see it…."

The Marten suddenly came to a halt. The ship was screaming.

The Morningstar moved forward.

They talked for hours, their words filling the air. They walked through the city together, he showing her the myriad wonders of this place of hope. It was a far cry from the blood and terror at Epsilon 3.

For him, for the Minbari prophet known as Valen, it was a chance to remember who he had been. Jeffrey Sinclair was known to him only in a garbled haze of memories, a brief flash here, a snatch of conversation there. No one had known Sinclair better than the woman he had loved, and walking with her, talking with her, he came more to life within Valen than he had ever been.

Perhaps that was the intention, a more paranoid and suspicious person than he might have thought.

For her, it was a similar connection to something long lost. Since the fall of Earth she had been wandering, drifting aimlessly. She had been alive, but she had not been living. Now she was. She gave him comfort, and was comforted by the very fact that she did so.

And something watching in the back of her mind welcomed the relationship.

They stopped just as dawn was breaking, finding themselves at a small site set aside from the general flurry of construction and repair that marked the city. Valen gently stepped forward, and paused.

"What's this place?" Catherine asked, smiling. "Where they're going to put your statue?"

"No," he said softly. "A shrine. To all those who died here during the invasion. I wanted to show you this last of all. This…. all this…. everything I've shown you tonight, it was paid for with blood…. so much blood. I don't think they told you that back on Proxima."

She shook her head. "No. No, the media was still heavily controlled by the Wartime Emergency Provisions. At IPX we heard a little more than most, but…. none of the true details. Nothing…." She bowed her head.

"Innocents. Everything, no matter how great or how small, is paid for with the blood of innocents. We must make sure that their sacrifices are never forgotten. This place is a start, but only a start. Tell me, Catherine, what has the blood of all those who died at Earth bought for our people?"

"I don't know," she said, shocked.

"Neither do I. I would like very much to walk amongst my people once more…. one last time."

"Maybe you will be able to."

He shook his head. "Footsteps in the sand, remember. They are coming to an end now. Soon. I can feel it. I'm going to have to go back soon. And then I'll never see another human face. I will be Minbari, once and for always."

"Go away? But Holy One, you…." Both of them turned to see a young Minbari slowly emerge from a side alley and walk towards them. "I…. forgive me, Holy One. I did not mean to alarm you. I…. I just came here to…. Forgive me. I will leave."

"No," he said quickly. "What is your name?"

"Findell, Holy One. My…. wife was killed on Minbar, and I brought our daughter here…. to be near to you, Holy One. I could not follow the Primarch, and I wanted to be with Delenn…. and you…."

"Ah. I see. I am sorry, Findell, that I have not met you until now."

"Oh no, Holy One. There is no need to be sorry. It is…. an honour…."

"The honour is mine. How do you find this place, Findell?"

"It is…. strange to my eyes, Holy One. But there is much that is good here. I grieve only because it is not Minbar. But our old way of life is gone now, that I know. And we will never be able to recover it."

"Never is a strong word, Findell, and you may yet see your home again. As will I. You heard me correctly before. I must leave here, travelling beyond as I did before. My…. destiny compels me. But just because I am absent in body that does not mean I am absent in spirit. I will always be with my people, Findell. Always."

"Then you will return again, Holy One? When you are most needed?"

"I…." Valen looked at the glowing, reverential eyes of his young companion and nodded. "I will return when I am most needed. But if my words are never forgotten, then I will never truly have left."

"Of course, Holy One. I understand. I…. thank you, Holy One." Findell bowed, stepped back and bowed again. He then scurried away, back into the streets. Valen sighed.

"You really creep me out when you do that," Catherine noted. "You sounded almost Minbari for a minute."

"I am Minbari. But I am human as well. Two souls…. in one body. The Vorlons did that to me."

"The…. Vorlons. Yes."

"But I have realised something. Simply because they have manipulated me for their own ends, that does not mean there is no good in what they have done. I may be their puppet, yes…. but I can still help. I can still heal, I can still build, and pray, and fight. Not everything they do is wrong, Catherine, whatever some may say." He paused, and looked at her intently. "I am not yet sure if what they did to you was wrong or not."

"I…. what? What do you…? What do you mean?"

"I can see their mark on you. It is so…. bright. At first I feared that the Catherine I knew…. once…. was gone, but I do not fear that any more. You have returned to my life, Catherine, and for that I am grateful to them."

"Ah…. I…. I don't…." She trembled, and then straightened slightly. "What are you going to do now?"

"Whatever their plans for you, and for me…. it does not matter. Events…. elsewhere are running away from them. From all of them. I will be here for a few more days at most. Then…. I will have to pass beyond again. And this time, I know I will not be able to return."

"How do you know this?"

He smiled, and pointed up towards the sky. "They're coming for me. I can feel them."

And for the second time in this world's history, a Vorlon ship arrived at Kazomi 7.

She could see it all now…. weaponry, defences, knowledge…. the histories of centuries come and gone, of decades yet to be…. All of it was hers, save for that one little part blocked off from her eyes and mind. She did not know what it was that could be hidden from her like this, but she did know that it was the greatest power of the Machine, and she was determined to find it.

"Tell me!" she screamed. "Tell me!"

G'Kar could not hear her. He was still, perhaps dead, she did not know. She supposed she could ask, but a part of her did not want to make the effort. G'Kar's servant, Ta'Lon…. he was still awake, whispering something in his own language. The Machine did contain translation devices — she could sense them, literally within sight — but they did not interest her.

"What is he saying?" she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her.

Tu'Pari looked up. She could see him there, his every thought laid out before her. He was steeped in blood even as much as she, but he did not possess her strength. He was only a mundane. His whole race were only mundanes.

"He is praying," came a calm, matter of fact reply. "He is calling upon G'Quan to grant him strength in protection of his lord."