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

"This man, Londo, was your companion in your cell corridor. I'm sure you'll have heard him. He's quite, quite mad, and it wasn't our…. attentions that turned him that way. He's seen something, and now so will you.

"Wake him up."

The torturer gave a silent sign of acknowledgement, and raised a hideous-looking device. Moments later the Shadow Crier awoke with an anguished cry. "The Darkness is coming…." he breathed. "The…. Darkness…."

"Show him," Elrisia ordered.

The Shadow Crier's eyes seemed to dilate and twitch, changing colour and shape and form, drawing Londo into them. Londo's head was held tightly by the guards, but he would not have been able to tear his gaze away even had he been free. The sight was mesmerising.

And then he was inside them….

The Darkness is coming!

The Darkness!

He was standing staring up at the sky, a sky filled with smoke and fog and shimmering, moving Darkness. He could hear the sky screaming, a scream that cut to his soul, to old memories and older dreams.

Lights began to blaze in the heavens, moving against the Darkness. Another noise arose, harsh, invasive music, a chord that pierced his soul and left him in agony.

The Darkness was the scream, and the Light was the music. He knew that much. They were warring, fighting for this world, for these souls. The Darkness had arrived first, would come here soon, and the Light was trying to drive it away.

He was suddenly aflame, as the Light retreated and the Darkness claimed him. His mind opened to them, and he could hear their whispers. Fire was the tool, he knew that. Fire, and chaos.

Let the lords of chaos rule. Let the fire claim all it touched.

He laughed as he set himself alight, burning, and watching the heavens. It was not far off now, this battle for his planet and his soul, and the Darkness would be here soon. Very soon.

"The Darkness….

"…. is coming!" he screamed, realising that the vision had faded. He was breathing fast, too fast. He was shaking.

"You saw it, Londo," Elrisia said. "You saw his madness, and now you've taken a part of it into yourself. You'll be one of them before long, and if you aren't, I'll make sure you succumb. Won't that be nice, hmm? To sit alone in your cell, crying out to the Darkness, weeping constantly, thinking of me always. A fitting reward, Londo."

"Have you…. seen…. it?"

"No, but I know what it is, and I'll stop it. When the time is right, Londo. I'll claim this planet for my own, but only when I feel like doing so. I have the power to save this world, Londo, with something as simple as order and peace…. but I won't use it. Not yet. Not for a while. Let it burn first, and pick up the ashes."

"What do you mean? Elrisia, you can't…."

"Oh, I can. I can do anything I want. You taught me that. You, and Refa. Goodbye, Londo…. for the moment at least."

Hours later, when only the Shadow Crier remained in the room, trapped both by his chains and by his madness, the door opened again and a lone figure entered.

"Hello again," he said. "I understand you had visitors recently. Did you show them what you showed me?"

Blood filled the Shadow Crier's mouth and he let it dribble from between his lips, not saying anything. He had probably not enough sanity left to be able to utter anything but that one refrain, and the new arrival had heard that often enough in recent days.

"I suppose you did. It doesn't matter." He walked to the centre of the room, heedless of what he was stepping into, or over. Lesser worries were for lesser people.

"Show me. Again."

The prisoner continued to drool blood, but in his eyes, and in his mind, something stirred, again. Prince Cartagia felt his hearts quicken in anticipation, as he was once again projected into a world that not even his demented mind could have envisaged unaided. He stood there for many minutes, basking in the glory of the visions, whispering the words of the Shadow Crier's prophecy to himself.

Then, the vision over and the prisoner slumping back into unconsciousness, Cartagia left. There was no sign of his presence there, no trace of his parting….

John Sheridan broke into a run the instant he left the shuttle, racing for Babylon 4's Command and Control. Corwin followed at a brisk walk. They had been met in the docking bay by a group of Narn Rangers, many sporting fresh wounds or hasty bandages.

The first person Sheridan saw on the command deck was Delenn. Without slowing his pace he ran to her and hugged her, lifting her up into the air. She smiled and kissed him intensely, holding on to him even as he let her down.

"What's the status here?" he asked, not taking his eyes from hers.

"The men Captain Smith left on board are secure," she replied. "We have had no word from the planet. We were just on the point of sending another party down there to investigate."

"A good idea," he said, and she smiled. "Do you know anything about whether Bester was involved there or not?"

"No. Not for sure."

"Well, whether he was or not, I think we've pretty much cut all our ties to Sanctuary now." He broke his gaze away from her to look at Corwin, just arriving. He was talking with the leader of the group of Rangers, a Narn named G'Dok.

"You have a place at Kazomi Seven," she said. "All of you, and Mr. Bester can…." She paused, and blushed. "G'Dok, what word from the Babylon?"

"Captain Smith has surrendered and will be brought back on board as soon as possible. The shuttle to the surface is also being prepared."

She nodded. "We have to…." She started, and there were gasps and the gentle sound of drawn swords from the Rangers.

A holographic Michael Garibaldi appeared before them. "Uh…. hi," he said, somewhat awkwardly. "This thing ain't easy, you know."

"Where is the Ha'Cormar'ah?" snapped G'Dok.

"He's alive. Ta'Lon as well, although they're both in bad shape. A medical shuttle would be a nice idea, as soon as possible. Don't worry about me. I'm only a fill-in. He can have this thing back as soon as he wants it. But…. we've got a problem here. A big one."

"You don't say," Corwin replied.

Vorlon ships were hardly commonplace anywhere in the galaxy, at least not in the areas occupied by the younger races. Other than their unexpected and largely unexplained arrival at the Battle of the Second Line at Proxima 3 a year and a half ago, sightings had been extremely rare and often disputed.

What was not disputed was that, a little less than a year ago, one such Vorlon ship had arrived at Kazomi 7, at a time when the United Alliance had barely flown from its nest. Someone had disembarked, a human by all accounts, however absurd such accounts were. He had spent some time on the planet and had then left. No one on the planet had seen the Vorlon itself.

Another Vorlon ship had now arrived. It was in fact the same one, although no one was aware of this. But for two people on the planet, touched more intimately by the Vorlons than almost any other, this arrival was not a surprise.

The Alliance council was hastily summoned, with much debate about who was to chair it in the absence of both Delenn and Lethke. Vizhak, Drazi Minister of the Interior, was eventually elected. Valen was formally requested to attend the meeting, although he had no official capacity on the Council. He insisted on Catherine attending also, and no one dared to contradict him. Vejar the technomage declined to attend. He was in fact, as later testimonies would reveal, conspicuous only by his absence throughout the Vorlon's stay on the planet.

When the Vorlon swept majestically into the Council chamber, there was a single united gasp of sheer awe. Valen rose to his feet, recognising something familiar in some way he could not identify. Catherine remained seated.

"We bid you welcome to our world," said Vizhak, in a moment of uncharacteristic politeness. "It is good to know our…. messages…. were…. received…." The Vorlon seemed to be ignoring him, staring — if that was the right word — at Valen and Catherine.

Then, after a moment of agonising silence, the Vorlon's headpiece nodded once as if in satisfaction. He surveyed the others in attendance. Vizhak, the representatives from the Abbai, Llort and Mutai, even the new Narn Ambassador, who was seemingly on the verge of apoplexy.

<Kosh,> the Vorlon said. <I am Kosh.>

"Welcome, Ambas…. er…. Ambassador Kosh," Vizhak said.

<Are you ready?> he asked, and Valen felt a chill.

"We're ready," he said softly, painfully. He could see his own footsteps before him.

"No!" Catherine cried, leaping up. "What do you want here? What do you…?" She fell silent as the Vorlon's gaze rested on her.

<There is no more time. Destiny awaits. The past calls you.> A brief hesitation. <Both.>

"What do you want of us?" asked Vizhak tentatively. He was ashamed of himself for wishing Delenn or Lethke were here. Or even Taan Churok, may all his Gods blight his soul for thinking so.

The Vorlon spoke only one word, and it was filled with emotions none but Valen could detect, for he felt them too. Anger, yes, but more than that, a sadness so intense it swamped almost everything. A deep and regretful sense of longing, of sorrow, of knowledge of what would soon be lost.

<War.>

Ambassador David Sheridan had been a career diplomat in his former life, and he still retained skills from that time which were beneficial to those he served in this new life. The foremost of those skills — particularly useful now — was knowing when the local leader was in a bad mood, and just how to soothe that bad mood.

Never forget where your loyalties lie…. that was the essential rule of the diplomatic official. Loyalty, the greatest virtue anyone could ever have.

"The President will see you now," said the secretary. Sheridan looked at her with a cold and forbidding gaze. Never before had the President failed to admit him immediately and directly. The man was changing, becoming…. less amenable. Damn Ivanova! If she had done her job properly then there would be no need for this battle of wits with Clark. A Keeper-controlled President should be their greatest tool, but somehow…. somewhere…. something had gone wrong.

Not even the Zener could identify what it was, but admittedly they were working from old medical records. The President resolutely refused to be examined directly.

Sheridan stormed into the room, trying desperately to calm his furious anger. Whatever was wrong with the President it was not something he could solve today, and there would be enough trouble just getting this piece of news past him.

Clark was there, seated at his desk, his face expressionless.

"Mr. President," Sheridan said. "I've…. received some disturbing news from Epsilon Eridani."

"I know," Clark said, not looking up. "General Ryan contacted me a few minutes ago…. You see, Ambassador, there are some people who think that the President of the Resistance Government of Humanity should know something this important before a foreign Ambassador."

"The battle was a setback, yes, Mr. President, but we…."

"A setback! We had everything within our grasp…. the station, the planet, that blasted Delenn, and we lost it all!"

"We were betrayed, Mr. President. Bester was playing his own game."

"And that surprises you? Ambassador, you're not half the observer you think you are if that was a shock to you."

Sheridan took the rebuke and mentally stored it away. There would be a time for repayment later. "Mr. President, our allies are ready to take the matter into their own hands. A large force of their capital ships will be in a position to assault Epsilon Three within a few days."

"You once said that you did not want to bring your allies deeper into this affair, for fear of what the Vorlons might do in retaliation. This is so important to them, to risk doing that?"

"It is. I regret that their objectives will be destruction rather than capture, but even that will be a boon to us. We will never be in a position to take over the Great Machine again. Better it should be destroyed than serve the enemy, don't you think, Mr. President?"

"I do not think. This attack is not to go ahead. And nor is there to be any form of reprisal against Bester. Not yet. Both of these problems will be dealt with in time, when it is right to do so."

Sheridan gave no visible sign of shock. He wished right now he could strangle Ivanova for her incompetence. He should have been given charge of this project from the very beginning. "Then what do you plan for the next engagement? We have too many enemies to leave them all unattended for another day."

"Indeed we do, and we haven't yet finished off one of our old ones. Sinoval, and the Minbari. I want him captured or killed, and his body brought before me. I took the risk of a direct assault on Epsilon Three because it seemed a likely chance, but it failed, and it was a costly failure at that. Two of our capital ships lost….

"Sinoval is our next concern, Ambassador. Direct your…. allies to him if they have so many ships lying around doing nothing. No action is to be taken against either the Great Machine or Bester for the time being. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, Mr. President. I will relay your…. instructions to my allies. Good day." He bowed his head slightly and left, his face completely empty of his anger. Disputing the issue would be pointless. Clark was obviously working to a different agenda. But why protect Bester…. or the Machine? There was something…. something here he just could not work out.

But that could be dealt with later. This scare might very well prompt G'Kar to open the temporal rift as soon as possible and send Babylon 4 and Valen back in time now. For the salvation of the present…. and the past…. he must ensure this did not happen.

Sheridan began to formulate plans to speed up his timetable. A call to Kazomi 7, a report to Z'ha'dum…. and a very important set of orders to Ivanova.

This was not over yet.

He looks at his face in the mirror, and the image that stares back at him is that of a stranger. He no longer knows himself. He no longer understands himself. He sees only the ghosts of the past, and the nightmare he has made of his future…. of all their futures.

The future is lost now, all his grand plans, all his dreams…. all the dreams he had once shared with his best friend. They are now as dead as Turhan.

Last night had shown him that, in all its bloody glory. The blood, the flames, the screams…. not all of it had been his doing, but how would the Shadow Criers have fared without his discreet support? How much of the carnage could have been prevented if the nobles and Guards had not been so paranoid as to regard the slaughter as a personal assault on them?