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

"We are a hospital here. We care for the wounded only. We mean you no harm. We mean harm to no one."

"You build, yes? We fight, and they pray, and you build. Tell me, worker, which path is strongest, do you think?"

The worker cringed, but Sonovar had to admit he would look frightening to such a man. As well as two of Kalain's former Grey Council beside him, there were three Tak'cha, glaring around angrily at those they saw as having denied Valen's will. They probably had denied Valen's will, but they had also denied Sonovar's will, and that was more serious.

"We mean you no harm, lord," the worker said hesitantly. "There is no reason for you to…. harm us in return."

"The way of the river, hmm? You flow through life, passively accepting what is thrown at you, what lands on you, accepting it all into your soul. You bring life to the land, and harm no one and nothing." Sonovar smiled. "Does it surprise you that I know worker philosophy? I have read the works of your poets, your dreamers…. I know your caste as well as any. You see, I am a student of all aspects of our race…. which makes me fit to lead you.

"Now, where is Kats, of your caste, a traitor to our race? I…. discovered that she was brought here. Where is she?"

She awoke at the sound of her name, uttered in a voice she took to be Kalain's. Disorientation and surprise took her and she stirred, looking around at her surroundings.

"We…. we have no one of that name here, lord. Perhaps…. perhaps…. somewhere…. else?"

Sonovar's eyes darkened. "I like you, little man, but never forget that you are a little man. I, on the other hand, dare to consider myself a great man, and do you know one of the symptoms of a great man?" The worker shook his head. "Neither do I. No one can. But…. to refer to a mark of a great leader, then I refer to you the words of Valen himself."

A quick gesture and his warriors picked out a wounded patient at random. Sonovar turned to look at the figure as she was brought forward. A priestling, her leg broken. Her eyes were glazed, the evidence of some drug in her. Sonovar supposed it was better that she was drugged. It added to the power of what he was about to do.

"A great general…." He raised his fighting pike and extended it, enjoying the worker's dawning horror. "A great general will never give an order to his men that he will not carry out himself."

A blur of movement, and the priestling woman fell, her skull crushed. There were cries of shock from those conscious enough to witness the act. He felt no satisfaction in them.

"We mean you no harm," the worker cried. "Please, lord…. there is no need…."

"Kats. Where is she? Tell me, or another will die, and then another. The dying stops when I find her. I mean you no harm, little man, but I will not be stopped in this. Another mark of a great general…. doing whatever is necessary to finish the task."

Kats heard the cries of shock, and tried to rise. She heard her name spoken again, and Sonovar's threat.

"Very well, then. Another, if you please." Another was brought forward, a warrior this time. She glared at him with a fierce anger that made him smile with pride. "If the Lady Kats does not appear for me now, then this one will die."

He waited, and Kats began to scramble forward. She tried to speak, but the words would not emerge. She could sense Kalain before her, laughing again. Visions of Sonovar mocking her at his side plagued her, but she kept moving.

Sonovar raised his pike.

Her wounds were burning, and blood still stained her robe. She felt so heavy, her body so cumbersome.

Sonovar paused to look into the eyes of the warrior he was about to kill.

"Stop!" Kats cried at last. She stood before him. "I am here."

* * *

A brilliant burst of light, and thousands of tiny, unheard screams marked the end of the Corinthian, blown apart in one shining moment of madness, and an arrogant, oh-so-terrible power.

* * *

Michael Garibaldi knew that something was very very wrong, and he knew that the Boss was involved in it. What he did not know was how he would explain this to Lianna, how he would tell his son, how he could look at his friends knowing that he had been a part of this.

Donne now looked awful. Her black Psi Corps uniform was soaked in her blood. Scarlet tears were dripping down her face, blood was spilling from her mouth.

"What is it doing?" she cried out, crimson spittle flying from her lips. "What is it…?"

"It is rejecting you," whispered G'Kar hoarsely. "It is…."

"I'm going to burn everything you ever cared for, you smug Narn bastard! Tu'Pari, kill the other one. Cut his throat out. Soak the bastards in his blood. Do…." She coughed, and her body trembled. "What is it doing?"

Tu'Pari raised his knife, and turned the prone Ta'Lon over. The Ranger's face was a mass of bleeding tissue, especially his left eye. Now that Garibaldi could see what had been done to it, he felt like retching. He didn't. He had to remain clear-headed. What was being done here was wrong. Very wrong, and it was coming to an end. If he didn't do something now….

Tu'Pari placed his knife on Ta'Lon's throat.

Garibaldi started forward, charging at the two Narns. He had no weapon, but he had to do what he could.

A solid wall of nothingness appeared before him. He ran into it and fell sprawling, only partly conscious. "Naughty, naughty," whispered Donne. "I can read your mind, remember. You're working for Al, so I suppose I shouldn't kill you…. but maybe I will…." She coughed again, her body shaking.

The ground beneath them shook, and everything happened at once.

Tu'Pari plunged his dagger downwards. Ta'Lon's hand shot upwards and wrenched the blade from his hands.

Susan Ivanova staggered to her feet, voices crying out in her mind.

Something burst at the back of Donne's brain. The Machine rejected her physical body as it had long ago rejected her soul, and she fell from it, dead before she hit the ground.

The planet rumbled.

* * *

It had turned. Captain Dexter Smith could see that. The Marten was disabled, the Corinthian gone, the Morningstar sorely pressed, the station lost, and the Machine….

He sat back in his chair, the chair that had marked out his ghost for the past year. That spectre had now finished any hope for success in this mission.

"God forgive me," he whispered.

"Babylon…. this is Ryan. Do you read me?" The voice over the comm channel was filled with desperation. He knew it as well. The battle was lost.

"Babylon here," Smith replied. "Get out of here, General. It's over. Try to free up the Marten and leave."

"Negative, Babylon…. we have to fight on."

"It's over, General. We've lost. Don't let this defeat become a disaster. We've recovered from worse than this. We'll be back."

Smith could imagine Ryan's expression, a terrified resignation, a slow nod, an acceptance that the words he was hearing were true. "Confirmed, Babylon. The Marten has managed to fix up engines, but not yet weaponry. It can leave. A full retreat. Repeat, we…."

"I'll stay here, General. I'll cover your escape."

"But Captain…."

"You know what will happen to me if I go back, General. I'll hold them off long enough for the two of you to get out of here. Go!"

"Understood, Babylon. Good luck."

Duty. Duty and leadership. Smith knew he owed a duty to those under his command, to those he had betrayed with his pride and tunnel vision. Too obsessed with Sheridan to safeguard properly the station or the planet.

He had to redeem himself, first to his fellow captains, and then to those under his command. They would be safe, he would ensure it. He would buy their safety with his own life.

He looked at Franklin, and bowed his head sadly.

"Take us forward. Cover them."

He shook as he heard the reply. "Yes, sir."

* * *

"The Darkness is coming! The Darkness is coming! You can feel it, you can hear it, you will embrace it so that it may claim you…. The Darkness is coming!"

Londo grimaced and put his hands against his ears. "Will that person shut up?"

He had no idea who it was who was talking. The person in the next cell presumably. Or the one down. Or across the corridor perhaps.

He had no idea where Lennier was. He had no idea where Malachi was either. He had not managed to see his old friend, and he was still no nearer the answers to his questions. He was however much nearer his execution.

"Londo," had exclaimed the smiling countenance of Lady Elrisia. "Such a pleasure." Cartagia was next to her. "Imagine our surprise at hearing you were coming here. Imagine our…. pleasure."

"I need to see Malachi."

"He is ill," Elrisia had said with considerable satisfaction. "Very sad of course, but then he is an old man. The…. rigours of recent months are bound to have taken their toll on him."

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing. Yet. We don't need to. You see, Londo, I've learned a great deal about politics recently. You, and that dear, dead husband of mine taught me a lot, and the main thing you taught me was that power comes from the top. Everyone else is scrambling around trying to get hold of bits and pieces at the side, working from the bottom up…. but we…. we just went straight for the heart. We control the Court now — the Court, the guards, most of the Centarum, and now you."

"Then why have you not been doing anything? For the Emperor's sake, Elrisia…. look outside! The city is burning…. The Empire is burning! Why are you not doing anything?"

"Far better to let it burn, and then pick up the ashes…. don't you think?"

Londo stood alone in his dark cell, remembering that conversation; remembering the eyes of his old friend, so very old; remembering the light touch of his wife; remembering the glee in Elrisia's expression; and remembering above all the sight of his beloved city in flames.

"The Darkness is coming!"

No, Londo decided. The Darkness is here.

* * *

With a strength born from suffering, Ta'Lon knocked Tu'Pari aside. The assassin fell sprawling and tried to roll over and up to his feet. The Ranger was too fast for him however, darting forward and charging into him. Blows rained down on Tu'Pari's face.

Tu'Pari had served with the Thenta Ma'Kur for many years and it had taught him a great deal about the art of killing, but that was killing by stealth, through secrecy, the thin blade in the night, the poison in the wine cup.

Ta'Lon had been forged in the fires of war and occupation. He had wandered, rootless and without direction, until he had met G'Kar, and then he had gained a purpose. He had been trained in war and fighting as well as in many of the same skills as Tu'Pari, but there was one crucial difference.

Ta'Lon believed, and that belief gave him the force to survive, to prevail, and to triumph.

He rose above the assassin, lifted Tu'Pari's head, and dashed it to the ground.

There was a crack as his neck broke.

"Ta'Lon," breathed G'Kar's hoarse voice. "Help…. me…. up…. The…. Machine…."

"You cannot, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Ta'Lon replied as he tried to limp forward. The ground beneath them was shaking and trembling. The planet itself seemed to be in revolt.

"You are too weak, Ha'Cormar'ah. You…. need to…." Ta'Lon swayed and almost fell. "You…. must…."

"The Machine needs me! It…. needs…."

Garibaldi stood up. He seemed strangely centred, all his problems falling away. "You need someone in that thing? I'll do it."

* * *

Somewhere…. in a place unvisited by any human, unknown to all of the younger races, two Vorlons were speaking, in a conversation that was not carried out in words….

The bargain?

I remember. I will comply.

We were not ready.

You were ready. Who else could have done this?

We knew nothing. We do not control all the mortals.

You control enough.

The bargain?

I remember. I am going. All will be done as it was done. He will accomplish his destiny. The past will be served, and all hope for the future will be lost.

The future is ours.

And the past is ours. A fair trade.

And your fate?

I remember. I accept.

Good.

* * *

"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."

Susan Ivanova began to stir from her torpor, the instructions in her mind becoming clear again.

"The Shadows are coming. The Shadows are coming."

A part of her that had been lost for so long began to return. She knew what must be done, and what part she would play in it.

"The Shadows are coming."

Chapter 6

There were times, he knew, when every soldier thought about death. How it would come, where, when, what would he have done just before? Would he have remembered to say goodbye, or would the thought simply have slipped his mind?

Captain Dexter Smith found himself wondering who there was he could have said goodbye to. Other than his crew there was no one, and his crew was here with him. They knew the situation as well as he did. They knew how his haste and foolishness had betrayed them all and brought them to this. Brought them to their deaths.

He had managed to save the other ships though. That was something. The Morningstar and the Marten had gone, the energy from their jump points just fading. Smith stood alone, staring out at the ranks of his enemies — the Parmenion and the Starkiller, the Drazi ships, the station itself, and whoever now ruled supreme on the planet below.

He wanted to say that he was sorry, but the words would not come, and he was not sure if anyone would listen. He found himself thinking, almost absurdly, of Lieutenant Stoner. He had always believed he would see her again one day. An absurd notion. She had betrayed him after all, him and every one on board this ship. Still, he had wanted to see her.

"What's their status?" he asked Franklin. Franklin had been on this ship longer than Smith himself had. He had been here in the days of Sheridan, whose ghost hovered even nearer than it had before.

"They're not attacking. The Parmenion is approaching slowly with gun ports open, but they do not seem to be powering up. The other ships are holding back. There's no sign of any further activity from the planet."