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

The question wasn't a hard one and bed won out again. Yawning, she had begun to make for the bedroom when her door chimed.

Unfortunately for Julie, not many people tended to ring at her door at this time of night, and the ones who did were not the people she preferred to be at her door at this time of night — i. e. the tall, dark and handsome.

"This is trouble," she muttered prophetically. "Who is it?"

"Security forces," came back a harsh voice. Julie started. Security? This must be bad.

"Open."

No sooner was the door open than five security officers rushed in. All were carrying ready PPGs and were looking less than pleased to be here. "What is this ab…?" Julie began to ask, before realising that they were ignoring her, and making a swift search of her room. "Hey!" she cried as one of them began opening her wardrobe.

"We apologise for the inconvenience, Miss Musante." She started, and saw a man walk in. He was dressed conservatively in a business suit, and had one hand in his trouser pocket. He stopped before Julie and bowed his head slightly. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Morden."

"What's this all about?" Julie asked again. "Is this a raid of some sort? And who are you?"

A slight smile graced his face. It didn't help. He looked very…. charming. Too charming by far. "No, not a raid. I am a…. freelance consultant, let us say. For the moment I am carrying out some work for Interplanetary Expeditions, who need various…. skills and contacts I possess. This matter concerns them, and someone of your acquaintance."

One of the security guards came up to this…. Morden. "The place is clean, sir," he said. "She isn't here."

"Who isn't?" but Julie was ignored.

"Ah, well done, Jack. Take position now." The guard nodded, and Morden turned back to Julie. "As I was saying, this matter concerns someone of your acquaintance…. a Miss Catherine Sakai. You do know her, I believe?"

"Yes, I do. Why? Is she is in some of trouble?"

"That is…. one very diplomatic way of putting it, yes. She is in a great deal of trouble. It appears she has been doing some things she should not have been doing. Contact with alien governments for a start."

"What? That's im…." She looked at him closely. Something in his eyes seemed to bewitch her. For a moment it seemed as though they were shining a brilliant golden. "That's…." She was trying to focus. "That can't be right. Can it?"

"Oh, we are afraid it is. We also have reason to believe she may be coming here at some point tonight. Now, we will need you to do something when she arrives. Can we count on your help?"

"…. Yes…. yes, I'll do whatever you want me to."

He raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Now there's an offer and a half. Very well…. this is what we need you to do…."

* * *

"Be well, Captain. Extend my good wishes to the Alliance."

Sheridan nodded. "We will. Good luck with the rest of this, G'Kar. If you need us, just call."

"I will."

G'Kar's holographic form disappeared. Corwin shivered.

"I will never ever in a million years get used to that," he said. "Never ever."

Sheridan chuckled. "After all we've seen so far, a mere holographic Narn freaks you out. After Vorlons, Shadows, Drakh…. Minbari!"

"It has been an interesting life, hasn't it?"

"Well, as the curse says, 'May you live in interesting times'."

"Sometimes I'd settle for the boring times for a while."

Sheridan swivelled on his chair. "What's wrong, David?"

"I…. I just hoped I'd get to see Mary while I was here. But she's still on Sanctuary. It's just…. ah, it's nothing."

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Too long."

"Don't worry. You'll see her again."

"I hope so. Well, Captain. You'll at least get to see your true love. To Kazomi Seven."

"Yes," Sheridan said hollowly. At least I'll get to see my true love.

I am lost in darkness for you.

"Yes. To Kazomi Seven."

* * *

Michael Garibaldi was sitting peacefully in the gardens of Babylon 4, looking at the flora around him and wondering idly if there was any pattern there. There probably was, but he couldn't see it. But then, as he would have to admit to himself, he was not really looking very hard.

"Ah…." said a familiar voice. "<Click click> Greetings to you from Zathras, yes. Greetings indeed."

Garibaldi nodded. "Afternoon."

Zathras looked puzzled. "Yes. Yes, is afternoon. Zathras be knowing that already. Zathras can tell time very well, thank you."

"No, it was just a…. oh, never mind. Did you see Captain Sheridan when he was here? I heard he just left."

"Ah no. Zathras has not been having that pleasure."

"Really? I thought you'd met him before?"

"No no no no. <Click click> Zathras has not been meeting Captain Sheridan. Zathras has met Captain Sheridan, yes. Zathras has not, but Zathras has. You see?"

"Yeah…. uh, no…. uh, whatever."

"No, see…. is quite simple. Zathras has not met Captain Sheridan, but Zathras has. Different pronunciation. Zathras. Zathras."

"Ah…. right. Okay. I'll take your word for it. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Zathras just travelling. Just…. enjoying the scenery. Zathras spend a lot of time here after all."

"Oh, you like it here, do you?"

"No. Zathras will spend a lot of time here. Will then. You see?"

"Oh…. forget it."

"So…. why were you being here?"

"Just…. thinking. A lot of things have been…. Everything's changing, and too damn fast if you ask me."

"Ah, change, yes. Change is good. No no…. wait, change is bad. No…. change is…. good and bad…. bad and good. Ah. Zathras have this sorted soon. Zathras…." He suddenly stopped dead in his conversation, and seemed to be listening to something else. The fact that there wasn't anything else to be listening to wasn't deterring him. Finally he spoke up again, with considerable — and surprising — force in his words.

"If Valen can listen to Zathras, you can listen to Zathras!"

"Valen?"

Zathras started, and seemed to realise that he was sitting next to Garibaldi. "Ah, is being nothing," he said, sounding distracted. "No…. no…. is being something. Is definitely being something. Something not good. Must tell G'Kar. Yes yes. <Click click> G'Kar is must being told of this. Was…. pleasure speaking with you, Michael Baldi-Gary."

"Garibaldi!" he corrected, but it hardly mattered. The strange-looking alien was leaving, muttering incomprehensibly to himself.

Garibaldi sighed. Honestly, it seemed as if everything that could happen here, did.

That wasn't a good thing.

* * *

Maybe I am just being paranoid, Catherine was thinking to herself. Maybe I should just have called Security. Maybe this is completely unrelated to G'Kar and…. Maybe….

No matter how many times she told herself that, she wasn't getting any calmer. Her heart was still beating like a snare drum, her head ached and her mouth was dry.

Maybe this is just unwanted paranoia.

Still, she had to admit that her journey to Julie's had been…. uneventful. The transport tubes had all been in operation. No one had stopped or questioned her, not even any of the beggars who usually infested the transport stations. The security guards doing routine and random ID checks had passed her by. Everything was…. normal.

So why hadn't she calmed down yet?

The door to Julie's apartment was just in front her. No one suspicious was hanging around nearby. There was nothing to indicate that this was anything other than an ordinary night.

So why hadn't she calmed down yet?

Breathing in deeply, Catherine rang the chime. She wasn't expecting an immediate reply — it was late, after all, and Julie might well be asleep. She was therefore surprised to hear, within moments, "Who is it?"

"Catherine," she answered. "Look, I know it's late, but I have to come in. This might seem strange, but…."

"No problem." The door opened and Catherine, without really thinking, stepped inside. Julie was standing there, in the centre of the room. She was still fully dressed and obviously hadn't been woken up. The room was quite dark.

Catherine made sure the door had closed behind her, then she staggered in and collapsed into a chair.

"What's wrong?" Julie asked. "Catherine, what…?"

She was crying. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried — possibly even before the fall of Earth. But she was crying now. "I'm…." she began. "I'm in trouble…. so much trouble…. Dan, he's…. he's…."

"What?" Julie's voice was strangely flat — emotionless even — but Catherine didn't notice.

"He's…. dead!"

"Oh, my God. Have you called Security?"

"I don't…. I think they might have…. they might…. be involved…. somehow. I think this is connected to…." She suddenly looked up, something playing around the edges of her mind. "Julie, has someone been here?"

"No." Too quick. Too emphatic. Too…. certain.

"No? Someone…. I can…."

Catherine leapt to her feet, darting for the door, acting on an instinct she could not explain. Someone stepped out of the shadows to intercept her.

"Hello, Catherine," said Morden.

* * *

"That is unacceptable, Minister!"

"Unacceptable? Maybe, but it is the truth, nonetheless. Our resources are limited, Delenn. Running out they are. We cannot accommodate all these refugees."

Delenn fought to restrain a burning anger, one fired by injustice and suffering and the sight of her people reduced to begging for mercy from aliens.

One also fired by Minister Vizhak, Minister for Internal Affairs, arguing against admitting the wretched exiles of her people.

"They are fleeing from the same darkness that has claimed everyone here," she continued. "The Drakh destroyed this world. We all remember what they did here. Can we possibly wish that fate on others? We…. my people…. have suffered the same fate as this planet, and if we cannot offer them sanctuary, then how can we live with ourselves?"

"They have other options," persisted Vizhak.

"Yes," Delenn acknowledged. "They have slavery, they have death, or they have here. Which would you choose, Minister?"

"They can go to Sinoval. He claims to be their leader. Let him have them."

A chill crept up Delenn's spine. "No! They have come here in rejection of Sinoval. I will not send them to him."

"We cannot accommodate them! We cannot feed them. We cannot clothe them. They cannot come here."

Delenn flicked a glance at the Brakiri Minister for the Economy, Lethke. He rose slowly to his feet. "It is true that our economic situation is…. tight, to say the least. We have just begun the extensive trading programme my team and I have devised. As yet…. our resources are limited. We can accommodate some of those who have come here for sanctuary. But not all."

"We need more revenue?" Delenn asked. Lethke nodded. "Then we will have more revenue. We will find a way, but we will take in the refugees."

"We went to help the Minbari because we thought they would be allies," said Vizhak. "Not burdens."

"We went to help them because it was right and just that we do so! We will help all we can."

"But the cost?"

"We will find it," Lethke said. "Accept all you can, Delenn. We will find the money from somewhere."

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you. Besides, Minister Vizhak, my people will not burden you. Many of those who come here are from the worker caste. They will be happy to work."

He grunted. "Then let them work."

* * *

Morden stood over the body and sighed, his eyes for one brief moment still glowing golden.

"Well," he said, "that was constructive, at least."

"Your orders, sir?" asked the security guard, Jack.

"My orders…." His eyes flashed golden again, and he smiled. "Yes, she is the right one. We had to be sure, obviously. Still, my…. associates think she's been through enough now. You…. did record the direction she ran, of course?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Then pick her up some time tonight. Whenever's most convenient. You know where to take her." He clicked his tongue lightly. "Yes, quite a productive evening."

He looked down at Julie Musante's dead body and nodded briefly.

* * *

They are my children, my people. We are special, unique, better than the others.

Alfred Bester was confused, an emotion most unfamiliar and most unwelcome. Especially now. He had always been so sure, so convinced of his place in life. As far back as he could remember, he had been clear and precise of thought. The Corps was mother, the Corps was father. He obeyed the Corps. He trusted the Corps. He believed in the Corps.

The Corps was gone now of course, but a part of it remained, in him, and in this place — Sanctuary. A legacy of numerous Corps projects, outfitted and renovated with resources secreted away long ago, allowed to endure at the behest of a strong Narn ally and a weak Resistance Government.

But things were changing. Their Narn ally was growing weaker, over-extending himself, risking everything in a futile war. G'Kar had been demanding more and more telepathic DNA from Bester and Sanctuary. His attempts at creating Narn telepaths had been successful at first, but the success was terminally short term. The quest would ultimately consume him.

And the Resistance Government…. they were growing stronger and stronger. Freed from the shackles of slavery, they now approached the Narn Government from a position of power rather than weakness. They had cannibalised Minbari ships and colonies and technology and were building a fleet at an extraordinary rate. Sooner or later, Bester knew, they would go up against G'Kar himself.

And there was little doubt who would win. The Resistance Government — if their war machine continued advancing at the projected rate — would soon be an even match for G'Kar's known resources. But with the aid of their Shadow allies….

Bester's resources — his two capital ships and his telepaths — could tip the conflict one way or the other.

Telepaths are my children. We are the future. We are the destiny.

His commscreen suddenly began flashing at him, and he started irritably. He knew who it would be, and he was right.

"Greetings, Mr. Welles," he said, smiling. Welles was not supposed to know this frequency, but he had found it out somehow. Very few secrets were safe from Proxima's Chief of Security.

"Mr. Bester. A pleasure as always. I should just let you know, your representative here, Miss Donne…. She committed another murder last night. She was quite clumsy this time, and chose inappropriately. A fairly high-ranking member of the Ministry of Trade. Pressure is mounting on me to find this murderer, both from our beloved President and from my own sense of justice. Have you reconsidered my offer?"