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

Durano, Virini and Timov had come to Gallia almost immediately after the city had been secured. Marrago would have much preferred it had they stayed in Selini. For all their respective eminence they were all civilians, and they could not understand the ways of warfare. He did, all too well.

Durano finished, and Marrago looked around at his companions. He had been able to work out much of what Durano had just told him. Marrago himself had only one real agent in the capital, but given Carn's current placing in affairs there, that was enough. In any case, all that was truly needed was a good mind, and Marrago had that. Unfortunately, so did Durano. And Timov and Virini for that matter….

"We have to do something," said Timov quickly. "Londo could still be alive in the capital."

"That is doubtful," Marrago said softly.

"You don't know that."

"No, but I promise you, Timov, I pray that Londo is still alive, but I am a soldier, and a soldier's hearts have no room for futile hopes."

"Ah, but Lord-General," said Durano, "Lord Valo is also a solider, is he not? His attack on the Court would seem to indicate that he is convinced he can win."

"Maybe not. Valo was always a little over-confident. Still, in this case his ambitions do not far outreach his capabilities. If our information is right about the size of his forces, he should be able to take the Court."

"And if he has the Court, then he has the Republic," spoke up Virini. Marrago looked at him, and could see just what it was Londo liked about the little man.

"Which brings me back to my point," snapped Timov. "We have to do something. Not just for Londo, but for the Republic itself. Bad enough we had to abandon Camulodo, but if we cannot act now then we will lose the capital…. or there will be nothing left to save."

Marrago sighed. "My lady…. our forces are stretched too far as it is. We are barely able to hold the territory we have at the moment. Should any sort of counterstrike be mounted we would be hard pressed to defend ourselves. We simply do not have the military strength necessary to take the capital. I had…. hoped that we could destabilise Valo from within and bring him over to our side, but it seems that is a futile hope now."

"Then I will go alone," Timov announced. "You were a good friend of Londo's, Marrago, but you have lost sight of what we are trying to achieve. We are going to save this planet, not let it burn and pick up the pieces."

"She is right, Lord-General," spoke up Durano, his piercing gaze locked with Marrago's. "If we do not act now, there will be little left to save."

"Londo gave me full authority on military matters, if you remember? If we go for the capital now, we will literally be throwing everything on one roll of the dice. Londo may have been a gambling man in his younger days, but I am not. No true soldier is."

"Sometimes we have to gamble to win," said Timov.

Marrago looked slowly into the eyes of each one of them: Timov quietly determined, blithely convinced; Virini afraid, but certain; and Durano silently mocking. One day, he and I will clash.

"Very well," Marrago said finally. "I will gather all the resources I can and we will launch an assault on the capital. I only pray that we manage to emerge from this safely."

"So do we all," added Durano.

Yes, one day…. but not today. A good soldier always knew when to wait.

"Help is coming. There is nothing to fear, Ta'Lon."

Valen knew the value of all the weapons at his disposal, as did any good leader. He knew how to use a fighting pike, how to wield a sword, a shanmari and any one of countless other alien weapons, some of which had not been used by any living being for centuries. Of course he had not yet been taught how to use such weapons, but that hardly mattered.

His greatest weapon, however, was his voice. This one he had used before, and he had witnessed its power even in this time. Seldom before, though, had his weapon of choice had so little effect.

"Help will be coming, yes…. but the Enemy will be here sooner. We must regroup."

It was almost refreshing not to know what would happen next. Or it would be refreshing if the situation were not so serious.

"Where is the Vorlon, anyway?" Ta'Lon asked. "We could need him."

"He has…. gone somewhere," Valen acknowledged. He did not really know, in truth, but he trusted Kosh. "He will return when we need him."

Babylon 4 had entered the temporal rift with little problem, save for those Shadows which had already got on board. Somehow they were unaffected by the temporal instabilities of the rift. Also aboard was their agent, Susan Ivanova, who had managed to escape during the frantic preparations for the trip. Ta'Lon and his Rangers had been fighting a desperate holding action against them, but it was clear that they were losing.

And then the station had emerged from the rift, two years in the past, above an Epsilon 3 and a Great Machine that had yet to witness the sheer bloodshed being delivered in its skies. A ship was there, a human ship. And there were two very special people on board.

"Oh, dear," said Zathras. "<Click, click> This not good."

"What?" asked Valen. "What is it?"

The little alien looked up from the consoles. "Temporal machinery is damaged. Stray blast from battle, Zathras thinks. We must repair, and quickly."

"Where is this piece of machinery?"

"Outside. Near ion engines. Very delicate area. Yes. Must repair."

"Outside the station? Can you manage to repair it?"

"We have parts, yes. We have tools, also. But…. ah…. we not have space suit to fit Zathras. Zathras cannot breathe in space, and there not be space suits to fit Zathras. Therefore, Zathras cannot go outside. Zathras needs to breathe. Most unfortunate, yes. <Click, click> Great inefficiency, yes. Zathras should have been designed better."

"What space suits do we have? We have to fix that machinery somehow."

"Mostly Narn, or human," replied Ta'Lon. "We took some of the human space suits from the Parmenion and the other ships. Most of the technicians who worked on the final components of the temporal machinery were human."

"We have Narn space suits as well. Do you know how to fix it?"

"I do not, no…. and I am needed here. If I or any of my men leave to try to repair this, then we will be unable to hold off the Shadows."

"I can do it," spoke up a new voice suddenly.

"Catherine! No, I am sorry."

"Yes, I can, Jeffrey. I've done space repairs before, back when I was working for IPX. I used to do a lot of emergency repairs to my shuttle. This can't be that much different, if Zathras will explain to me what's involved."

"Ah, yes. Zathras happy to explain. Problem is that central magnetic lock needs to be replaced. Now you…."

"You can't do this," interrupted Valen. "I'm sorry, Catherine. You…."

"Don't, Jeff. I said I was coming along on this, and I've got to pull my weight. You need this fixed, and I'm the only person you can spare to do it."

"I…. I…."

"Let her go," said Zathras, his face very serious. "She will be fine."

"Damn," he whispered. "Fine, go on, Catherine. But come back."

"Of course I will."

"Ta'Lon, can you spare any men to escort Catherine and Zathras to the docking bays? We need to get them there as soon as possible."

"I will see what…." The door to the command centre suddenly opened and two Narns ran in. Both were bleeding heavily. "They're coming. We can't hold them any longer."

"I will have to escort all of you," Ta'Lon said seriously. "We must hurry."

A few minutes later Susan Ivanova walked into the empty room and looked around. They'd gone. Oh well, it didn't matter. They couldn't hide forever. "What do I do now?" she asked.

They told her.

Londo knew that something was wrong. He knew the palace compound as well as any place he had ever been. Most of his life had been spent here: as a young idealist, as a cynical hardened politician, as one of the most prominent figures in the Government, and now as a prisoner.

But in all that time, he had never known the Court like this.

From his cell he could not hear the screams of panic or the terrified pleas or the cries of the wounded, but he could feel the death hanging in the air.

"Great Maker," he whispered to himself. "What has happened out there?"

He was tired of pacing up and down the cell. He was tired of staring at the walls, or the door, or the window. He was tired of reliving that terrible vision of the war in the heavens. He was tired of being a prisoner here!

"How is it going, I wonder?" He preferred talking to himself. The sound of his voice eased the anger he felt, although not by much. "Marrago, and Durano, and Timov…. ah…. I have faith in you all. Yes. You will do well, I am…."

He paused and turned, just as the door to his cell opened. A bright light filled the room, and he winced. "If this is my lunch, you are very late," he snapped, trying to suppress a surge of fear. What if he was to be taken to see that…. vision again? What if…?

"Minister Mollari," said a familiar voice. "Come quick. We do not have much time."

"Lennier! Ah, Great Maker, I could kiss you!" He rushed to the doorway of light and crossed the threshold into the corridor.

"That will…. not be necessary. But I thank you for the offer all the same. We should hurry now. I…. believe something unpleasant is happening at the Court."

"Yes, I can feel it. How did you escape, anyway?"

"I was…. freed. By Prince Cartagia."

"What? I do not like the sound of that. No, I do not like the sound of that at all. Why would he do such a thing?"

"I…. do not know." Londo looked at his friend. The Minbari was lying. Oh, it was well known that Minbari did not lie, but Londo was a career politician, and he knew a falsehood when he heard one. Still, he decided to keep quiet. Lennier had his reasons, and it was unthinkable that he was working for…. them.

"Well then, we had better get out of here, and quickly, as you said. We…." He looked around. "Where are all the guards? This is a high-security prison. They should be all over the place."

"I have not seen any since I was freed. Perhaps they have been called away?"

"Cartagia again? Or something else? Well, we shall have to see. Anyway, we have a brief opportunity here, and we should not waste it. Come on, my friend. I know where to go."

"To the spaceport, hopefully. Or perhaps to some allies or agents you may have in the city?"

"No. To see Malachi. He will be at the Court, and I have to see him. I have to know…. I just have to know."

"And…. it will undoubtedly do no good to point out that it was this need to know that put us both here in the first place?"

"He is my friend, Lennier. And he is a good man. A very good man. He would not do something like this unless he had a very good reason. I need to know."

"Ah, well then. You will lead, and I will follow."

"Good."

A flash of light, a scream of agony in the mind.

The Parmenion shook with the impact, redirecting its broadsides to the monsters before it. The Shadow ship recoiled, spinning backwards, but recovered effortlessly.

"We're losing hull integrity, Captain," said Commander Corwin. He was thinking about Mary. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to ask her….

"And the jump engines are down, possibly permanently. Normal engines at little better than forty percent capacity, and we're going to lose rotation any minute now."

Captain John Sheridan, the legendary Starkiller, was thinking about dying….

"I can't hold it any more!"

"I can't explain it…. but they don't seem to be targeting us. They're going for the other ships, but they've been going straight past us."

Captain Dexter Smith frowned. "There could be any number of explanations, Lieutenant Franklin. We don't have time to consider this now."

"Captain, what are we doing here?" asked a new voice. "These…. aliens are our allies. Why are we fighting them, alongside our enemies?"

"I made a promise, Mr. Ericsson." Smith looked at his Chief of Security, and couldn't disagree with the truth of his words. What was he supposed to say? That he had been told a lot of gibberish about the future, and the past, and a legendary Minbari God? He was not sure he believed it himself. He just knew that fighting here was something he had to do.

"I assure you, Mr. Ericsson, that this is for the best. I promise you that you and all the crew will be permitted to return to Proxima once this battle is over, and I further assure you that I personally will take all responsibility for this action."

"If you say so, sir." Ericsson did not look convinced.

"Captain," spoke up Franklin, "the Parmenion is in big trouble. They may be going down."

Sheridan's ship. Smith thought for a fraction of a second, and then gave his order. "Bring us around to support them. At their flank."

"But, Captain…."

"Do it!"

"Yes, sir."

The Machine was in pain. It did not want to hate its bearer. It wanted to love all who possessed it. It had a function, a duty, a sentience almost, and it wanted to guide its bearers to fulfill that duty.

And yet it had been abused and violated. It had been used to kill, and its magnificent beauty had been tainted by the mind of a madwoman, a murderer, a monster.

And now its current bearer, its third in as many days. It can feel his doubts, it can see his self-hatred, his self-destruction. What remains of Donne within it is happy.

He will not be able to control it. His doubts are killing him. He came here to escape them.

Michael Garibaldi screamed, his heart almost wrenched from his chest. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, and his head slumped. He hung limp in the Heart of the Machine.

The Narn bodyguards set to watch over him ran forward, knowing they had a duty, a duty greater than their lives, a duty to see that the rift remained open, and that Babylon 4 returned to its destined past.

The floor became a carpet of electricity, and in the space of a few seconds they all died.

The cavern became to crumble, the planet began to shake, and the Machine began to seek solace in oblivion.

The temporal rift shook.

Cartagia drifted through the Court like a ghost on glass. No one seemed to notice his presence there, and he did nothing to alert them. He watched as guards fought and killed each other. He smiled slyly as he looked at the bodies of nobles he had known since birth. A true house-cleaning, all very necessary. It should have been done a long time ago, and perhaps if it had the Republic would not be in this state. That was the Court for you…. never could do anything right.