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

They were the Well of Souls, and as their very essence infused Sinoval, he felt ready to confront the Vorlon essence that spoke through Sheridan.

This had been the reason for this meeting. He had always planned to talk with Sheridan, but he had not truly expected his words to be heard. No, he had wanted to speak with the Vorlons, to speak with those who now truly ruled the galaxy.

He had known the Vorlons would take an interest in the movements of the First Ones. They had been watching the elder races for millennia, a careful and wary eye on those whose power and age and wisdom matched their own. They would know when the First Ones began to move, and soon enough they would know who was calling them.

After all, why else would Sinoval choose to meet with emissaries of the First Races here? Golgotha was hidden, yes, abandoned in the depths of hyperspace where few could come, but a place that the elder races could navigate with ease.

But more than that, this place carried history, carried mythology, carried a legacy.

And it carried countless ghosts and spirits. A reminder of what it was they faced.

Sinoval wanted them all to remember.

And he wanted the Vorlons to know he was not afraid of them.

spoke the voices through Sheridan's mouth. Sinoval smiled wryly, certain he was addressing the Vorlon Lights Cardinal themselves.

Which is why it was chosen, replied Sinoval, channelling the power of the Well of Souls through himself. He was the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus after all, the focus of the power of the Well of Souls. He was their voice, their will, their personification made flesh. S ome things will no longer be forbidden. Some secrets will no longer be hidden.

We do not intend to. And you are welcome to try to find us. We will return when we are ready.

You have not won yet, not while there is opposition to you, not while it yet grows and prospers. With every day that passes, another will take up arms against you, and then another.

Then in the end you will rule a galaxy only of the dead, and the dead are ours.

We are eternal. We are what lives on beyond the prison of flesh. We are what endures. We are everything you are trying to take from them, and we will not permit that.

Some things will no longer be forbidden. We have remained silent and hidden for too long. We chose to emerge now, when our prophet arose. You could not destroy him, the Lords of Chaos could not shape him. He belongs to us, now and for eternity. He would always have been ours. Even had you succeeded, he would have been reborn in a thousand centuries and he would be ours once more.

You are nothing. You will destroy what you set out to preserve. The Lords of Chaos saw this. Why do you not see it?

We leave this place to you. Think on what you have found here, then and now. We will gather the Others in another place.

They will not follow you. Think of this place, Lords of the Cold and the Ice and the Death of Spirit. Think on this place, and remember why you are doomed to defeat.

The folds of time and space opened. The Vorlons, who could see this as well as anyone, could only howl in fury as Sinoval faded from the place of the dead. Bound by this prison of useless flesh, they could not follow, not in this form, and to bring themselves forth fully would destroy it.

For one instant they thought of doing precisely that, of tearing apart this sack of flesh and bones and manifesting completely, of opening a gateway and allowing their true forms to follow through to the Well of Souls.

But then reason prevailed. Cold and crisp. Precise and methodical. They needed this bag of bones. They needed it alive. It was, for the time being, useful. Far too useful to change and twist as the Well had evidently twisted their agent.

Besides, they were the masters of the galaxy. They owned the future. They could see its eddies, its whirls and twists and surprises. They would confront the Well of Souls again one day.

They had time, all the time in the galaxy.

When Sheridan awoke, they were all gone. Sinoval, the Vorlons, all of them. He awoke alone in an ancient place of death.

Alone, save for the ghosts.

It was over. The Day of the Dead had come and gone, and there seemed to be a vast…. emptiness over Brakir. People who had been waiting for years for this day now did not know what to do with their lives. They railed at lost chances, broken dreams.

One such walked slowly through the deadened streets. Last night Marrago had looked closely at all the people here, and he looked even more closely now, this morning. Some were happy, joyous, but most were depressed, weary, tired even. Kulomani had by no means been unusual.

But he had at least had a chance Marrago had not. There had been no Lyndisty to talk to, to tell one last time how much he loved her, how proud he was of her.

"A fascinating night," came a slow, mildly interested voice. Marrago turned and saw a familiar figure standing in the shadows of an alley. He had not been there before, Marrago knew he would have noticed, but then there was no surprise there. "I can still see the flickers of light and shadow. Old ghosts. They walk by moonlight and comet light. To some they speak, to others they are dumb."

"I can't say I'm surprised to find you here," Marrago replied. "This is the sort of place where you would fit in perfectly."

"Professional curiosity only, I assure you. There is no one dead that I wish to talk to."

"So, did you find out how it worked? Just how the spirits came back to us? Were they even real, or just some sort of illusion?"

"Oh, there were a few unusual effects I spotted, but I haven't worked out how everything happened. Leaving aside the problem of not having the time, I don't want to spoil the magic. Let the universe keep a few precious mysteries.

"And as for the reality…. did it feel real?"

"Yes…. yes, it did."

"Then it was. Did you find who you were looking for?"

"No, but perhaps I found the person I needed to see. How is that…. private project of yours going, then? The one you won't tell me about."

"It is proceeding nicely. I have found a little…. base of operations for it. Something of a rallying point, you could say. What about you? Is my army ready?"

"Not in this amount of time. I have a small nucleus, a couple of very promising under-officers. I've been making deals here and there. There's a Thrakallan crime lord who owes me a favour now."

"Any solid plans for the future, then?"

"I've been hearing, just here and there, that a group is forming. A couple of former captains, mercenaries, outlaws, that sort of thing. They always emerge after a war, and the bigger the war the more of them there are. They're going to cause a bit of havoc and chaos for a while, and then the Alliance is going to stamp on them and put them out of business."

"I assume you have other intentions."

"Exactly. With a bit of work I reckon I could take them over in a few months. There aren't many people with my standards of leadership and combat experience floating around. I'll join up, size up their strengths and weaknesses, forge them into some sort of order, and before they know it I'll be their leader."

"You think it will work?"

"I've seen groups like that before. Mercenaries just want to be paid for fighting, and in this sort of galactic peace there's no use for them. I can find a use for them. As for the others…. I will see when I get there. Some may be amenable. Some will have to be dealt with."

"Very well. I trust you. Just gather and train my army. That's all I ask."

"That's enough of a task for most people, but I'll do my best. I might have made a new ally today, actually. Do you know Captain Kulomani? Brakiri. Dark Star captain. It turns out he's not very happy with the way some of the Alliance policy is going. I gave him a few things to think about. When things start falling apart among the Alliance — and they will — he might be willing to join up with us."

"I leave it to your discretion."

"I told you. I'll get you as much of an army as I can. Just remember your part of the bargain. I want that name."

"I have not forgotten. It will take time, but I have not forgotten."

"Good."

"There is one more thing. These…. outlaws. If you do join them, what if they begin to raid Centauri shipping, even attack Centauri worlds? Would you really attack your own people?"

"I've thought about that. A lot. But…. what can I do? The raids and the attacks will happen anyway. If I join, then…. eventually I hope to be able to change that.

"But I will do what I have to. If I must kill my people, even my friends, then I will. That is a soldier's job, after all. To kill."

"And if among one of those victims you have to kill, you see your daughter's eyes, what then?"

Marrago shivered. "I don't know. Some days, my friend, I am glad I do not have to think the way you do."

"I do what must be done. I have given up a great deal to be where I am now, and I will doubtless give up a great deal more."

"Then so will I. If I must kill my daughter again then….

"So be it."

She was awake now, awake and moving. Marrago returned to his room, fresh from his encounter with Moreil and his twisted monsters, to find Senna looking through the pitifully few belongings he had with him.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly.

She turned, jumping in shock, and looked at him. For a moment she might have been about to cry, or scream, or attack him. A series of emotions chased each other across her face, but they soon settled.

"Looking for something to wear," she replied calmly, keeping her eyes on his, looking at him warily, half transfixed by his stare, half ready to run and flee at the slightest cause. She gestured down at the rags of her dress. "Unless you were planning on leaving me in this. If you were going to allow me clothes at all. Would you prefer me naked, lying on your bed, awaiting your pleasure?"

"Stop that!" he shouted, and she recoiled as if struck. He could not explain it. Staring down Moreil and those guardians of his he had been calm, perfectly at peace, ready to move into battle at the slightest motion. But here, with her, he could not think straight. Nothing made sense. It was just the thought of Lyndisty saying those things, of hearing her say them to him.

She was shaking, but still she looked at him. "Do…. do you have anything for me to wear?" she whispered. "This…. this will fall apart before long. I didn't see anything, but…."

"I didn't bring much with me."

"I noticed," she replied, still looking at him.

"Perhaps a spare jacket can be re-made into some sort of dress," he said. She was quite a bit shorter than he was, and one of his jackets might do as a dress in a pinch. "There is sewing equipment there somewhere. I will do what I can when I have time."

"I can sew."

He looked at her. "How does the daughter of a noble house know how to sew?"

"I watched the servants. A needle looked a lot like a sword and I used to…. pretend I was a soldier. That is why I learned. At…. At Gorash, I survived by doing sewing work and repairs. It was…. better than the other way."