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

And so he had come to the Pit to disappear. That was easy. Things disappeared in the Pit with a depressing lack of effort. The news moved on; the big story at the moment being the launch of the new warship, the Saint-Germain under Captain DeClerq. The Saint-Germain was one of the new type of warship, the Warlock class, which would take Earthforce well into the new decade.

Smith listened to all this, and shrugged. He did not know DeClerq all that well, but he certainly knew of the man. It was fortunate that the media hadn't been doing their homework recently. Otherwise they would be all over the 'Coward of Vega 7' leading one of the new warships.

Still, everyone deserved a second chance, and it wasn't as if experienced soldiers were all that thick on the ground any more.

Smith switched off the news channel and absently flicked through the others. The reception here in the Pit was less than perfect and some channels were unavailable, but from those could get he was far from impressed. It had been a while since he had watched any of the vidscreens, but surely things hadn't been this bad before? He paused briefly at a remake of Macbeth, but then shuddered the instant he heard the dialogue, and switched off.

Pacing up and down his apartment didn't alleviate his boredom for long either, especially as there wasn't much of his apartment to pace up and down in. He could have afforded a better place than this — most beggars could probably have afforded a better place than this — but he was…. content with his choice.

It reminded him of home.

He had been quite upset to hear that the apartment block he had been brought up in had been demolished. Upset, but far from surprised. The place had been a hazard to life and limb even then, before the massive inrush of refugees from Orion and elsewhere had swamped Proxima. Still, it had been…. a place to live. There were a few pleasant memories. Not many, admittedly, but a few.

Sighing in exasperation, he grabbed a coat and went out for a walk.

Another thing he would never get used to was wearing civilian clothes again. He had been wearing a uniform for over half his life, since he had joined Earthforce at fifteen following some creative accountancy over trivial details such as age, address and parentage. Fashions had been very different then, and he had no idea what to wear now. A vague wander around the precincts in the Meadowhall Dome had not helped much, and he had settled for what he could find. Of course, in Sector 301, that would mean he would stick out like a Pak'Ma'Ra at a gourmet luncheon, but it would have to do.

He had no idea where he was going, what he was going to do when he got there or who he could go to see.

He also had no idea that someone was watching him.

* * *

Delenn looked up at the monument before her and breathed out slowly. It was not complete yet, and maybe it never would be, but for the moment it was there; a testament to the bloodshed and death that had resulted in a renewed hope.

How fragile that hope seemed now. But even if the Alliance ended tomorrow, they would still have accomplished a great deal of good. That was something, at least. It did not seem a terribly comforting thought, but it was better than nothing.

The original plan had been to list on the giant archway everyone who had died during the Drakh invasion, but that had rapidly proved to be impossible. There were just too many dead, and the vast majority of them could not be identified. All the records had been destroyed and the immigration and trading lists had been less than accurate anyway.

Delenn had proposed another idea however, having once heard a story from John. It had seemed hauntingly appropriate, and not for the first time she had wondered at the poetry and beauty of the race she had very nearly destroyed.

Over three hundred years ago, there had been a bloody, terrible war among humanity. An entire generation of young men had been slaughtered. It had been called, with tragic inaccuracy, 'the war to end all wars'. Afterwards, in a bid for some sort of legacy, one of the nations involved had devised a new memorial. Six coffins were taken from among the thousands of unidentified dead wearing that country's uniform, and in a moving ceremony an ordinary soldier selected one of these coffins at random. One body, representing all the dead. One brave soul, serving as a reminder of all brave souls. The body was buried under a huge archway in the centre of the capital city, and an eternal flame lit to burn forever over the 'Tomb of the Unknown Warrior'.

That tomb was gone now, but the poetry of the concept remained, and Delenn had managed to reinstate it here. A body had been found, one among many that could not be identified, and it had been buried here, representing all those who had died in the Drakh invasion.

A tiny, insignificant atonement for all she had destroyed.

There was a soft cough behind her and she turned, lost in her thoughts. She had completely forgotten that she had come here to wait for someone.

"Lyta," she said smiling, hugging her friend warmly. "It has been…. too long since we last spoke."

"Yes," Lyta said, a trifle hesitantly, returning the hug tentatively. "We've been…. busy."

Delenn pulled back, looking at her friend. "Something is wrong, isn't it? That's why you asked to meet me here."

"Yes. He…. doesn't like this place. Not at all. His…. influence isn't so strong here, for some reason."

"Vejar blessed this shrine when it was constructed," Delenn said thoughtfully. "He said it would never be destroyed, never decay, never tarnish. He said it would still be here when the planet itself crumbled into dust."

"That could be it," Lyta said thoughtfully. "Ulkesh…. doesn't seem to like Vejar much. He didn't say anything, but it's clear he doesn't…. approve of having a technomage around."

"And Vejar has been staying away from the Vorlons as much as he can. You think something is…. wrong, don't you?"

"I know something's wrong," she replied. "Oh, Delenn. You don't know what's he like. He's…. not at all like Kosh. He's very different. He's planning something. He's been waiting for this for a long time. He knows everything I'm thinking and he…. His anger is…. terrible." The last word came out as a plaintive cry, and Delenn stepped forward to embrace her friend again.

"I came to warn you," Lyta said, after a pause. "He's not helping the Alliance…. because he's doesn't want to. It's not that he can't. It's that he won't. There's something here that he doesn't like…. and I think it's you."

"Me?" Delenn was astounded. She had been with the Vorlons for so long. She had even let one of them share her soul for years. Dukhat had believed in them implicitly. "Why could he not…. like me?"

"I don't know, but he is planning something to do with you, Delenn. I don't know what, but…. you won't like it. " Lyta stepped back. "I have to go. I can't stay here too long, or he'll know. I just had to warn you. Be very, very careful of him, Delenn. He's dangerous."

Lyta slipped away from Delenn's embrace and vanished from the shrine. Delenn turned back to look at the arch, and she began to ponder. She was thinking of…. she was thinking of voicing her suspicions to the one person she knew who would share them.

If Sinoval would listen, of course.

* * *

If Londo had been told when he was young just what being Emperor would entail, he would in all likelihood have resolved not to take up the position and to remain in bed for the rest of his life. As it was, no one had filled him in exactly and so he had been lumbered with the job. Any position, he had thought to himself, mid-way through suffering yet another six-hour speech by those thieves in Resource Procurement, where so much time is spent sitting down, cannot possibly be worth it.

Fortunately the job was not without its advantages, and one of those was that at least he could be sure his friends got ahead in the world.

The downside to that, of course, was that his friends had to suffer through the same purgatory he did, but at least the misery was spread around.

Marrago, on the other hand, seemed positively to revel in his new authority. He had been Lord-General of the armies long before Londo had risen to his exalted position, but now he had an Emperor who actually listened to him, which was a truly rare thing. Some people seemed to be of the opinion that the Emperor listened to him entirely too much. Then again, those people would much rather the Emperor listened to them instead, so their opinions didn't count for a great deal.

"I'm expecting an attack by the end of the month at the latest," he said, reporting his bleak news to the Emperor in one of their very private, late-night meetings. "The Narns seem to have pressed up their campaign after several recent unexplained and unaccountable delays. A new leadership is a strong possibility. Probably one that actually recognises the concerns of the military."

"What an unusual and fascinating concept," Londo drawled, but Marrago did not smile. He had suffered a great deal from the incompetence and mismanagement of the Court. "Can we withstand an assault on Centauri Prime?"

"I wish I knew," came the reply. "I've gathered every available ship here, and the defence grid is as ready as it will ever be. Apparently the Narns have taken substantial losses in their ground assaults on our colonies, especially at Gorash, but there has not been corresponding damage to their fleets. Ship-wise, they probably outnumber us. Whether that means they can win or not…. I'd say we can defend Centauri Prime adequately with the ships we have, but…. to be honest, Londo, I'd be much happier if I could be absolutely sure we'd win. As it is, I'm expecting a fairly bloody stand-off."

"Isn't that what happened in the last war?"

"Not quite. The last war ended in a stand-off out in mid-space. Preferable by far to it ending at our very doorstep."

"Hmm…. I wonder if we should speed things up with Mr. Morden. A Vorlon ship or two would make all the difference."

"Indeed it would…. if we could be sure we could trust them. Besides, Londo, just how much do we want to owe to this…. Morden?"

"A fine point…. but I would rather be alive and in considerable debt than dead."

"There is little risk of that. No, Centauri Prime will hold, and I think we will be able to drive the Narns away…. but as matters stand the losses on each side are likely to be horrendous. The Narns have by all accounts given considerable thought to the practicalities of a war of attrition, and they're willing to take great risks to win. In this situation in the last war, we'd be able to drive them off once they suffered minimal losses. Now…. we may well have to wipe them all out.

"It's going to be a mess, Londo, no doubt about it. A lot of good people are going to die."

"I know. But they will die for Centauri Prime, and Centauri Prime will not forget that. Not at all. How…. how is Carn?"

Marrago's face broke into a smile. "A fine soldier. By the time I'm ready to retire he'll make a perfect replacement."

"Ah…. I am so glad to hear that, although I doubt you will be retiring short of us putting you on the pyre, old friend."

"Well…. Carn is a little young. I'd be quite happy to tutor him for the next ten years or so."

"Is that all? Great Maker, I had placed a bet on your still serving well past ninety. Ah, if you retire at a pathetic seventy or so, I'll lose a lot of money."

The Lord-General laughed. "Ninety, eh? Who did you place this bet with? I think there's the possibility of some money to be made here."

"That is for me to know, and for you to find out. Besides, don't we pay you enough?"

"You don't pay me at all."

"Ah…. I think you need a talk with those cheats and swindlers at the Ministry of the Economy, then."

"No, Londo. On the whole, I think I'd rather face the Narns than that."

Londo broke out into laughter, as did Marrago. Laughter had been a rare sound in the Royal Court recently, and both of them had the very depressing feeling it would not be heard very often in the future.

All the better then, to enjoy it now. While they could.

* * *

"I hate this place."

The woman lounging on the bed said nothing in reply to her companion's complaint. He was standing at the window of their apartment, looking out across the streets below. She could imagine what he was seeing, but she did not want to look at it for herself.

"I hate this place. There are mundanes everywhere, running about living their petty, worthless little lives. Almost like ants. I wonder what it would be like to reach out and squash some of them."

"Don't," she warned, fanning at her face. It was hot here. Very hot. "We're meant to be undercover, remember."

"Yes, I suppose so." He paused, and she turned to look at him, surprised at the hesitation in his tirade against everything that was his surroundings. "There was someone there…. Almost one of us, but not quite. He looks a little…. familiar. Ah, he's gone."

"You shouldn't try to scan them," she muttered irritably, swinging her long legs down from the bed. "We don't know they're all mundanes and we don't want to give ourselves away. Our kind don't go into this area unless they've got something to hide."

"Hasn't everyone here got something to hide? I can see all their worthless little secrets…."

"Stop it! You're right. Everyone comes here to hide from something. That's why they call it the Pit after all. Things tend to…. disappear here. But there are secrets, and then there are secrets. Ours definitely fall into the latter category. Trust me, Al does not want this coming out."

"Hmm. I suppose you've got used to this by now, after all." Byron turned away from the window. He looked irritated, and not without reason. This was the first time he had been without his Psi Cop uniform in years. The two of them had had to leave all the regalia back at Sanctuary: gloves, badges, uniforms. Strictly speaking that was illegal, but then the rules governing the Corps had been very…. lax in recent years.

"Sort of," Talia admitted. "It's a little worrying just how easy it gets to adopt different names and faces…. almost as if my own just…. fades beneath them. It does get better though. I've been in worse places than this."

"Yes. I heard you spent several months on board that ship of theirs…. the Babylon. What was that like?"

"Strange," she replied thoughtfully. "The whole ship felt odd…. as if it didn't like me. It had alien technology built into it, but still…. I was never really comfortable there. And the Captain…. he was…. ah…." She fell silent for a moment.

"What's our plan of action then? Do we make for the IPX headquarters?"

"No," she tutted. "At least not yet. There's a reason I had us based here, and not just because we'll be hard to track. I've arranged a meeting with someone for tomorrow afternoon, in a less than reputable neighbourhood not far away. His name's Chase, and he used to be a quartermaster at the Government dome. He was transferred to IPX after he…. discovered a little more than he should have done about certain activities of his immediate superiors."