Гэрет Уильямс - Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 5 : Средь звезд, подобно гигантам

"We chose our own paths," he said. "You did not understand mine, and I do not understand yours." Something his father had said from beyond the veil mere hours ago stayed with him.

"Why did you not want to follow me? Was a life of carving things of beauty really so terrible to you? Would you really have hated so much to follow in my footsteps?"

He had not been able to answer that. He had not been able to explain his decision to join the army all those years ago when he had left home. How could he do so now?

"We choose our own paths," he said again.

"And only now do we realise where they've taken us," said an unfamiliar voice. Kulomani turned to see an elderly Centauri in a military uniform sit down beside him. The length of his hair indicated he was of high rank. The Centauri sighed. "Only now, at the end of our lives, can we see the choices we have made."

Kulomani nodded silently.

"Whom did you wish to see?" the Centauri asked. "Parent? Child? Friend?"

"My father."

"Did you say everything you wished to say?"

"No. How could we, with only one night? I have been waiting for this day for so long, and now it has come and gone I feel so…. hollow. I have had my greatest chance for acceptance, and it has passed me by. And you? Who did you see?"

"I came to see my daughter, but…. I saw an old friend instead. I think I saw the person I most needed to see, not whom I most wanted to see."

"Some have said that is the way of it. We…. understand how this night works a little. It is not something that makes sense to aliens, but most of us are able to choose whom we speak to. Yet somehow it is the strangers, the visitors, the guests, who emerge from it with the most fulfilment and understanding, while we, who are raised with the knowledge of this night, remain lost."

Kulomani stared out into the rising daylight for a while, and then said softly. "You are Marrago, are you not? The former Lord-General of the Centauri?"

"I am."

"I understand your Government has placed a price on your head."

"They have. Are you going to try to claim it?"

"No. I am a soldier, not a bounty hunter, and one old soldier can respect the decisions of another, even if we are on different sides."

"Yes, we are on different sides, but which of us is on the right one? Are you happy with the way things are?"

"Happy? I do not think I know. The war is over. That is good."

"And how long until another one begins?"

"That is not something I want to think about."

"It's coming, though. You can't deny that."

"No. I have felt something stirring, an undercurrent of…. pain and fear and anger. Soon it will all break free on the surface, and then….

"And then…."

He paused. "I think you had better tell me everything."

Sheridan immediately took a step back, the trance that had gripped him as he had walked the dead corridors at an end. His PPG seemed to fly into his hand and he pointed it directly at Sinoval.

But the Minbari was faster still. Stormbringer flowed in his hands like water, like an extension of his self. One thrust and the gun was knocked from Sheridan's hands.

"I did not come here to fight," Sinoval said simply.

"You could have fooled me," Sheridan replied. "You look like you were expecting one."

"A wise man prepares for every eventuality, is that not so? I did not think you would welcome me kindly, Sheridan."

"You thought right. The Alliance wants you brought in for a war crimes tribunal."

"Oh? And what war crimes have I committed exactly? I made no bargains with the Shadows. At best, you could say I treated with one who was working with them, but that was outwith my knowledge, and she is long dead."

"You are plotting sedition and rebellion against the Alliance."

"How can it be rebellion? I was never sworn to the Alliance, and I never will be. The Federation joined only after I departed, remember. If you mean I am assembling forces to bring you down, then yes, I admit it. But if I am going that far, then I expect the same honesty from you, Sheridan.

"Who rules the Alliance?"

"We all do."

"And still you delude yourself. I saw the truth in you in that Council Chamber over two years ago, and I still see it now. They rule you. They rule all of you, and you just do not see it at all. Who wants me arrested, Sheridan? Who orders the Inquisitors? Ironic, isn't it? They hide in the shadows and make you all dance to their tune."

"The Vorlons aren't our enemies."

"The Vorlons are destroying you all, and you are too blind to see it! Look, Sheridan! Open your eyes and look around and think for one moment! Is this why the Alliance was created? Did any of you have the Inquisitors in mind then? Look at what is happening to the Centauri. Is that what you had in mind? Look at what happened to the Drazi.

"Did you envisage any of this at the beginning? Secret police. Martial law. Civil war, even.

"Can you truly tell me you wanted these things at the beginning?"

"It's not that simple, and you know it. We have to make sure the Shadows don't come back. We have to make sure this peace is eternal, not just for a few years, or even for a thousand."

"And your methods…. these will bring war in months. All you have done is build a paper house around foolish dreams. You remember the war, as you should, but you think anything is preferable to that. What matter if we have lost our freedom? What matter if we weaken and shatter and destroy one of our oldest allies? What matter if we are angry and hungry and lost?

"What matter any of those things? After all, we have our peace, don't we? Our precious peace!

"Tell me this, Sheridan.

"Just what kind of peace have you bought us?"

"Listen to me, you worthless hypocrite, before you start coming over all noble and concerned! A champion of the poor and downtrodden?

"How dare you? I've been at war for eighteen years solid! Eighteen years! It's cost me my friends, my wife, my parents, my sister, my daughter, my son…. It's cost all those things and more, to God alone knows how many people!

"Fine, what we have isn't perfect. Nothing ever is this side of the grave, but it's better than the alternative!

"And I think we should look at your motives here just a little. You're a warrior, remember. You're bred to kill. That's all you know. What does it matter whom you kill, hmm? As long as you have someone to fight, then good on you and get on with it, and to hell with anyone who gets in the way.

"War does no good for anyone. Talk to the people of Kazomi Seven and Proxima Three who can now look up at the skies without fear. Talk to the parents who can watch their children grow up without fear. Talk to the children who can look at a future where they don't have to be afraid."

Sinoval smiled. "Ah, Sheridan. What makes you think I haven't? And as for you, talk to the Drazi. Talk to the Centauri. Talk to those who have lost sons and daughters and wives and husbands to your Inquisitors. No fear? They are more afraid now than they ever were before."

"Don't lie to me. The Inquisitors look for Shadow agents. The innocent have nothing to fear from them."

"And who defines who is innocent, Sheridan? The Inquisitors themselves, of course. Whom do they serve? To whom do they answer?"

"The Council, of course."

"You are a blind man, Sheridan. Whom does the Alliance serve? All of your noble ideals of peace and justice and an end to war. Yes, I was a warrior, and yes, I was bred to kill. But all that means is that I look at peace with a suspicious eye. And this peace in particular is shaking at the foundations.

"Look at them, Sheridan. Just open your eyes and look. Ask yourself this question, and see if you like the answer.

"Whom do you serve?"

"I serve peace."

"You're as much of a warrior as I am. More, perhaps. You didn't have the training I did. You learned it all as you went along. There's no more place for you in a world of genuine peace than there is for me. Why do you need the Dark Stars if you have peace? Why the fleets, the defence grids? Why your new and precious Babylon Five?

"Whom do you serve, Sheridan? It is not peace."

"The people of the Alliance."

"Which people? The Drazi, perhaps? Vizhak was with you from the start, and where is he now? Go to Zhabar one day and look around. Or perhaps the Centauri? Speak to them of the wonders of peace sometime.

"Or better yet, wait a few months. Wait until the Inquisitors arrive in force on your beloved Proxima. Then go and speak to the people there and talk of peace.

"Whom do you serve, Sheridan?"

Sheridan suddenly laughed. "Is that your question, then? What did the Shadows ask — 'What do you want?' That's how they tempted me, and so many others. 'Whom do you serve?' doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"Then I'll try another question. Who are you? Do you even recognise the face in the mirror any longer?"

"Do you?" Sheridan snapped. "Enough of the questioning of me. Look at yourself. You've changed since the last time I saw you. All those Soul Hunters, all that death, they've unhinged you. Who are you these days, Sinoval? Whom do you serve?"

"Ah." Sinoval threw back his head and spread his arms wide. Behind him countless little lights began to emerge, and a chorus of voices rose as one. Tiny stars began to sparkle beneath his skin.

"That question, I think I can answer," he said, his voice sounding like many mixed into one. "You see, Sheridan. We are not so different after all."

Sheridan's eyes began to glow bright gold, and memory left him.

He walked in her footsteps, stepped into her shadow, trod where she trod, moved as she moved. He knew nothing else other than that he had to follow her, had to find out what she was doing here, if she was even real and not another illusion like those he had seen before he had come here.

The woman whom he was sure was Susan Ivanova walked slowly and stealthily through the darkened streets of Yedor. The man who now remembered himself to be David Corwin followed her, unsure of where they were going, but knowing that there was nowhere else.

He had been sure she was dead. She had been gone for years. Ambassador Sheridan had taken her from Kazomi 7 to Z'ha'dum during the failed peace talks, and that had been the last any of them had heard of her. She had been comatose then, delirious and unconscious. Corwin was sure she must have died, but he had paid her no special heed. She had merely become one of the countless ghosts haunting him.

Until now. That slight glimpse in the half-light of the Temple of Varenni had reawakened all the old memories, all the old emotions. Stolen kisses in the moonlight of Orion, long walks though the parks, saddened conversations about friends and family dead, eating breakfast in bed the day before she left on the Babylon 2 mission.

And then her return, twisted, changed. A Shadow agent. It had taken him a long time to adjust to what she had become, but time and memories and loves changed. There had been Mary, and all the concerns about John, and Delenn and the war.

Always the war.

He continued walking, paying no attention to where she was going. He had no idea whom she had been talking to, no idea why she had been talking to a warrior, no idea of anything at all.

He turned a corner and stopped, looking around. There was no sign of her. He took a step back and looked around again. Still nothing.

Where could she have gone? She had not been that far ahead of him. There was nowhere here to hide.

Maybe she had not walked down this street after all. He turned to retrace his steps, and as he did so a sharp blow struck his midriff and then another his back. He fell.

Looking up at the sky through dimmed eyes, he saw a fighting pike held several feet above his head. It looked a little smaller than those he had seen before, but maybe that was just his blurred vision.

There was a flicker of movement and a long, sharp metal blade shot out from the end of the pike. It came to a stop less than an inch from his neck. It glistened razor-sharp in the moonlight, and colours seemed to shimmer as the light touched it.

"Who are you?" said a voice in perfect Fik, the warrior caste dialect. "Why are you following me?"

He did speak Fik, although his knowledge was largely limited to phrases necessary for use in war — understanding overheard enemy communications, interrogating captured warriors and the like. In his puzzled state it took him a while to translate, and it took him a little longer to recognise who was speaking to him.

Susan.

The absurdity of this ran him through to the core. She was carrying a weapon he had never seen before, but which looked a little like a fighting pike. She was speaking fluent Fik, without any trace of an accent. And she had just attacked him.

He did not know what to say in reply, what to say that would make any sense at all.

"Answer me," she continued. "Who are…?" Her eyes widened and the pattern of scars across her face danced. "David!

"What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," he replied, and then for no reason he could explain, he started laughing.

Talia could hear all their thoughts at the back of her mind, countless emotions, countless feelings. There was fear, there was concern, there was frantic planning. The crew of this ship, smugglers and criminals all, reacted in different ways to this new arrival, and all their thoughts were laid open to her, placed there for her to read.

The captain knew enough to prepare his papers and his cover story. The second as well. Many of the crew were old hands at avoiding detection. A few newcomers were worried, some even terrified.

But all of them knew one thing, one fact that had not slipped past Talia, and that knowledge added a hint of fear to every one of them.

They were not merely being intercepted by a local ship, not stopped at a border point, not facing down corrupt officials who could be bribed or bargained with.

This was a Dark Star.

Even here, Talia could hear the voice of the telepath trapped within the Dark Star. She did not know his name, it was doubtful he knew it himself any more, but she could hear his screams. They were loud. So very loud.

The smugglers were preparing to be boarded. There was nothing else they could do, after all. Flight from a Dark Star was impossible, fight suicidal. They would prepare their cover stories and hope for the best, but Talia knew their hopes were futile. This was a Dark Star. They would find the contraband, the drugs, the stolen goods.