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

"This is Moreil," Dasouri said. "He wishes to talk with you. I did say she would be nothing but trouble."

Ambassador Durano put down the missive and looked up at the wall. For a moment he felt physically sick. Not just because the Centarum had waited so long to inform him of the situation, not even out of concern for the Emperor's health, not even because the missive was signed by a human called Morden.

No, it was the instructions that nauseated him so much.

Durano was a rational man, painstakingly so. He thought clearly before each action. He carefully weighed the consequences of his every move. He took time to think and debate and argue with himself. Those traits made him invaluable to his people, and also a very fine chess player. He had played the game a lot since he was introduced to it by the humans, and he was acknowledged a master.

He knew how to separate sentiment from practicality. There were things which, while unpleasant, were still necessary. That was a part of life, and only a fool disagreed with it.

But this?

He had argued against the sending of Narn peacekeeping troops to Gorash, knowing that such a move would both inflame public opinion among his people and, worse, send a dangerous message that the Republic was weak. The Republic was weak of course, fatally so, but it was hardly wise to let this fact be advertised. However, his cautious mind had ultimately decided that Narn aid was better than none, and so he had assented.

The reasons for appointing a Narn as leader of the peacekeeping force were many, and for the most part well thought out. Commander N'Rothak knew the Gorash system well, having led the invasion force into the system. He was by all accounts a fine leader, and a more than fair man. Ambassador G'Kael had made a powerful speech advocating N'Rothak. The Narns were closer than any other race, knew the area better than any other race, and there was a great propaganda opportunity for the Alliance as well. What better way to show that the wars were over than to have the Narns offering aid and protection to their ancient enemies? A symbol of a new and enlightened future, where old differences were forgotten and all were one brotherhood against the Darkness. G'Kael quoted the Prophet G'Kar several times. It was a powerful and moving speech. Durano did not dispute that.

But G'Kael did not believe one word of it. The Narn was every bit as intelligent and cautious as Durano himself, and both of them knew it. That speech came directly from the Kha'Ri, as did the subtle menacing undertones that giving the task to someone less…. suited, might be construed as a deliberate insult to the Narn people.

Durano found himself almost admiring the Kha'Ri. They had learned from the Republic, oh yes. They had learned a great deal. Had it not been for Marrago's alliance with the Shadows they would have won the war, working together while the Republic self-destructed. The Narns had understood the truth of the Great Game. The lessons of intrigue and diplomacy and deception were to be used against a common enemy, not against each other.

One line from a noble centuries dead echoed in Durano's mind. 'What better way to defeat your enemy than to make him think you are his friend?'

He wondered who in the Kha'Ri had read and understood that.

But there was nothing he could do. There was no way to escape this. He looked at the missive again. It was couched in flowery language, with much talk of 'aid between brothers in alliance' and 'temporary need', 'poor weather conditions', 'union to lend much-needed aid to the starving'. The points however were clear to anyone with the eyes to see.

The Emperor had had a heart attack. He was in a coma, and unlikely ever to recover.

There was no heir. Too many of the noble Houses had valid claims to the Purple Throne. No doubt some of them were already moving into position. Some people never learned. The Game had consumed and spat out better people than they. Elrisia, Jarno, Malachi, Marrago, Dugari. All of them had thought they could play the Game, only to fall.

There was social unrest on Centauri Prime, which would inevitably spread to other worlds. There was famine and disease and starvation. There had already been one riot in the streets of the capital. There would probably be more.

The Republic was unable to handle all of these problems, especially with so much of the Centauri fleet away performing babysitting duties for the Alliance.

Would the Alliance please send help? A permanent garrison of soldiers, Rangers and Dark Star s would do nicely.

The request was not for Centauri ships and soldiers to be returned to do what they should be doing, guarding Centauri worlds and cities. No, that would not be granted. That would set a dangerous precedent and provoke fears of a renewed build-up. No, the Centarum wanted Alliance ships and Alliance soldiers, and it did not take a genius to work out who these would be.

Over fifty percent of the Rangers were Narns, although that number was falling. The Narn were the most powerful of the major races in the Alliance, and the most willing to assist in this matter. The humans were still under suspicion over their dealings with the Shadows. The Minbari were occupied with repairs to their own worlds. The Brakiri were busy observing the Drazi for any signs of renewed rebellion. The other races did not have either the power or the inclination.

Oh, there would be support from the other races, Durano had no doubt of that. Maybe the overall commander would not be a Narn, but the bulk of the forces provided would be Narns, and it would be a Narn hand pulling the strings.

But what other choice was there?

Durano was left with a grudging admiration for whoever in the Kha'Ri had orchestrated all this. They were hardly responsible for the lunacies going on on Centauri Prime. They could have had no part in the Inquisitors, the rioting, the starvation, the raids, or even the Emperor's illness. These were all a combination of weakness, stupidity and a stubborn refusal by the Alliance to realise that the Shadow contact in the Republic had been just one man, not some elaborate conspiracy.

Damn you, Marrago. Wherever you are.

No, the Kha'Ri had not been responsible for this, but they had used it all well. Very well. And Durano doubted anyone else would be able to see it.

He stood up, and began rehearsing his speech. The Council would be meeting in less than an hour and he would have to plead with them for help to give complete control of his home to an alien race.

The words were ashes in his mouth, but he continued. What choice did he have?

Talia awoke to feel a cold hand grip her heart. It took a moment for her to remember where she was. This was the cargo hold of the ship she had half-smuggled and half-bribed herself aboard. She was not…. there.

In truth, she found it hard to remember where 'there' was. She only knew that it had appeared in her dreams, a vast wilderness, a cold blackness where only the dead walked. The world was an alien one, the sky not one she knew, the sun dead and cold.

She knew there had been creatures there. There had been life there once, but it had all ended. Something had descended and destroyed that world, just as they had destroyed everything else in that galaxy.

She trembled, and not just from the cold. How much longer could it take to get to Proxima? She knew this was a trading ship and so was bound to visit several different places first, but still….

She was about to settle down to sleep again when something sounded in her mind and she sat bolt upright. N o. No, not here.

The screams were always with her, apart from when she used the artefact, but they were louder now, and one louder still. They could not have arrived at Proxima yet. By her reckoning there was another day or so at least.

She reached out with her mind, then pulled back sharply. There was a presence here, nearby. That concept was relative out in space of course, but a node of the network was close. That could only mean one thing.

Gently, slowly, with exquisite care, she sent her mind out, concentrating on the ship this time, not seeking to expand beyond it yet. It was terrifying to realise how much her powers had developed, that she could approach that as a rational possibility.

The artefact. It all came down to the artefact. One day she would have to do something about it.

But that was a problem for another day.

The message was simple and straightforward and terrifying. She heard it with her mind easily enough. No efforts were being made to keep it coded or secret. She sensed the captain's fear. It had been him who had hidden her on board. There were no doubt other minor bits of contraband here as well, but she was the main concern. Her discovery would lead not just to a fine or the revocation of his shipping licence, but to something far, far worse.

This is the Dark Star Fifteen. We repeat again. You are requested to stand down and prepare to be boarded. If you refuse, deadly force will be authorised.

You have thirty seconds to comply.

Marrago had known it from the instant he had set foot inside the council room. Of all of them — Rem Lanas, the nameless human, the Narns, the Drazi — this Moreil was the true power here. It was not just the two monsters that never seemed to leave his side, visible or not. It was that Moreil had a quiet force, one that said he did not care about the dreams or ambitions of the others.

Marrago had taken time to study his fellow captains in the Brotherhood Without Banners, and all but Moreil he understood. The human was simply insane. He lived for torture and murder and commanded a crew of other humans just as insane as he was, binding them together by force of personality and lunatic whims. Revenge, that was all they wanted. Revenge on anybody and anything.

The Drazi were seeking revenge too, for the perceived betrayal of their race by the Alliance. They knew how to fight, and that was all. No doubt the survivors would be plotting some sort of comeback for Marrago or Moreil. Whatever that was, it would not be subtle. Drazi schemes rarely were.

Rem Lanas was a pathetic little man who merely wished to be someone important, and exaggerated his own significance in a bid to appear so. He had no authority, no power, no soldiers. All he had was a little knowledge, and a lot of pretensions. He would no doubt be planning some form of elaborate revenge as well, but Marrago did not fear him.

The Narns…. they were unusual. There was something about them that puzzled him. The male was G'Lorn, a Narn Marrago recognised, although it had taken him a few days to remember where from. He had been an aide to Warleader G'Sten. What he was doing here was a mystery, but the Kha'Ri were often even more unforgiving than the Royal Court. It was possible G'Lorn had been a casualty following G'Sten's failed attack on Centauri Prime and subsequent retirement.

He was not in charge, of course. The female was. Marrago did not know her, but she moved with the easy grace of one used to power, and trained in it from a young age. There was something in the way G'Lorn looked to her sometimes, as if seeking her approval. Marrago did not know if they were married, lovers, siblings or what, but she held the power. That was clear to anyone with eyes to see. What they wanted…. judging by the first major target of the Brotherhood, revenge on the Centauri was not an impossible notion. Marrago would have to be careful around those two as well.

And then there was Moreil.

The two of them were standing in an observation post, the vastness of space stretching out before them. Moreil's sentries were not visible, but Marrago knew better than to assume that meant they were not there. The alien was looking at him slowly, and Marrago met his gaze. He had nothing to fear, not any more.