Гэрет Уильямс - Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке
Sanctuary had been a great asset to him, but it was now in danger, and if it must be lost, then lost it must be. There were greater things to worry about.
His people, his friends, and his loved one…. not necessarily in that order.
By necessity he had trusted very few people in the course of his life. His own people, of course, he had always known and wished to trust implicitly. All telepaths and telekinetics were his siblings after all, and they would one day inherit the galaxy together. Sadly, however, he had learned through bitter experience that too many of them were more like wayward children than attentive brothers and sisters. Too many of them did not understand, and wanted to do things…. differently.
Although he wished for little else than to trust them all, he knew that as a practicality he could trust very few. It was truly sad, but they were his people and he could forgive them anything. He had even forgiven Donne, for her…. misguided actions that had caused her failure, and his current predicament.
But while his own people could be forgiven anything, mundanes were a different matter entirely. They bred like rabbits, they had no regard for themselves or others, and they killed indiscriminately. He did not hate them, but as far as he was concerned they were simply a lesser breed. He did not hate animals for failing to understand how things truly worked, so why should he hate mundanes, who were after all only animals?
Two of them however, much to his surprise, had become his friends.
One of them was by now almost certainly dead, and he was as saddened by Michael's death as he would have been had any of his own people died. A sad, unfortunate waste of life. He had gone to break the news to Michael's widow Lianna as soon as he was sure. He owed his friend that much at least.
His other mundane friend was with him now, putting into action one of the final stages of a safety plan both of them had conceived in anticipation of things going as badly wrong as they had.
Captain Ari Ben Zayn, one of the most talented and experienced soldiers in these troubled times, listened carefully to Bester's requirements, interrupting every so often with a comment or advisory of his own. He had helped devise this plan, but that did not mean he was comfortable with it.
When Bester was finished, Ben Zayn spoke up: "I still think you're taking too much responsibility for this upon yourself," he said. "Surely another of us can take on your role."
"Impossible, as I said. Our enemies know me. They do not know the rest of us. Firstly, we must conceal from them our true strength and numbers, and secondly…. if anyone else takes on my role then they might decide on an alternative strategy and our plan will be wasted."
"It's too risky."
"Life is a risk. Come now, Captain, we do not even know if the Government at Proxima will attack here. They may not know of the exact circumstances of my betrayal. All these preparations may not be necessary."
"Only a fool spends all his time hoping for everything to work out for the best," the scar-faced Captain said bluntly.
"And neither of us is a fool. No…. if they come for us we will know, and we will be ready. Sanctuary is not our only line of defence. You know what to do, Captain."
"I know." He rose from his seat, and saluted. He then turned and made for the door. Just as he reached it, Bester suddenly halted him.
"I…. I have been thinking recently. I wish to thank you for all the loyal service you've given me over the years. I appreciate it, and I do not know if I say that as often as I should."
Ben Zayn thought about this for a moment, and then nodded. "I always know, even if you don't say it. Besides, I owe you far more than this, remember?" Without saying another word, he left.
Bester chuckled wryly. True friends were rare indeed, and he supposed he was fortunate indeed to have one there. But then he sobered up. True friends might be rare, but true love was even rarer.
That was another matter to be dealt with. He had to get Talia away from here before everything fell apart, but he could not tell her. She had never wanted to know about all the darker things he had been forced to do to preserve his people, and he had never wanted to tell her. She claimed to love him for who he was, and nothing more.
"Talia," he said over the comm channel. "I need to see you." He received her acknowledgement and then sat back, thinking about her. He had never been in love before he had met her, and it had been a very frightening experience. Genetically, they were completely incompatible. She was only a P5 after all, and had this been the old days the interests of the Corps would have kept them apart.
But these were not the old days, and he was the Corps. He loved her with all that he was, and the two of them would not be apart.
That was why he hated sending her on these missions, but this was what she had been trained to do. Infiltrate and exploit. The last major mission she had been on had been last year, and had been just as much for G'Kar's benefit as for his. An infiltration mission on the bridge of the Babylon, to observe the progress of humanity's alliance with the Shadows, and later to sabotage their final attack on Minbar.
This mission was for his benefit, and hers. There was an important matter on Proxima Donne had been looking into, but with her death someone else had to fulfill the role, and more importantly it would get Talia away from here. He knew it would be dangerous for her, to be in the stronghold of his potential enemies, but where better a hiding place?
The door opened and she entered, and as always his breath was taken away by the sight of her. She looked so beautiful. He sighed softly.
"You've got something for me, haven't you?" she said as she entered.
"You can read me too well, dear," he said, smiling as she sat down. "Yes, I have. I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer, but…."
"No, don't. I know where my responsibilities lie. I got to see Abby again…. for a little while anyway. And I can tell that something's up here. Something big."
"Ah, yes…." He sometimes forgot that she could pick up on little background details and mesh them into a constructive whole. It was a very useful skill while on a mission, but very inconvenient here, especially when he was trying to keep from her just how serious the situation might be.
"No, don't tell me, Al. I don't want to know." She sat forward, resting her elbows on the edge of his desk. "So," she said, her eyes gleaming. "What's this mission you've got for me, then?"
"What do you know about a human company called IPX?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Interplanetary Expeditions. An archaeological company. Before the war they used to visit dead alien civilisations and try to find useful bits of technology in the ruins. After the war they got a load of juicy Government contracts and refined their searches to anything that might be used to make weapons. They've absorbed a fair number of smaller companies in the last ten years or so. I believe they're one of the top three MegaCorps in what's left of the Alliance."
"Well done," he replied, smiling.
"Do I pass the exam then, teacher?" she said, her eyes dancing. "What about them?"
"They have…. secrets. Fairly big ones. Donne reported back on some very mysterious activities going on, particularly concerning their CEO, Mr. Orin Zento. They have a definite interest in our people, and may have highly confidential links with alien Governments. Find out what, where, why, how and when."
"No problem," she said simply. "How secret is this?"
"Very. Use whatever secret ID you want. Once you've got it worked out, I'll have fake documentation drawn up. You'll likely be based on Proxima at the start, anyway. Do not under any circumstances reveal that you're a telepath to anyone official. Matters for our people on Proxima may just…. get a little unpleasant before long."
She raised an eyebrow. "Been up to something, have you Al? It all sounds reasonable to me. When do I leave?"
"As soon as you can." He hesitated. "Ah…. one other thing. You'll have a bodyguard assigned to you."
"What? Al, I work alone. I always have. It's safer that way."
"Not here. I worry about you, and…. the way things might develop on Proxima, an assistant might be necessary. I trust him implicitly. He's been one of my personal aides for a long, long time. He's a P twelve and a Psi Cop, although he's been specialising in military and personnel protection recently.
"You do remember Byron, don't you?"
* * *Assassination was an easy thing to arrange among the nobility of Centauri Prime. By means of poison, knotted rope, knife or gun, there were always those who would be willing to kill their fellows for money. Some of course were more professional than others.
And some worked not for money, nor for political gain or personal power, but from a fanatical sense of determination. Such people did not care if they were captured or killed in the process, so long as the target was killed. Three Emperors had died at the hands of such people in the course of the Republic's history.
Little more than two months after his ascension, Emperor Londo Mollari very nearly became the fourth such Emperor.
He was on a tour of the devastated cities of the homeworld, taking in the repair work of areas badly damaged during the rioting and bloodshed that had accompanied the near civil war. Gallia had been an important city, centrally placed, straddling several vital trade routes and containing many of the nobility's private estates. Londo's soldiers had saved the city from assault by the fanatical and insane Shadow Criers, and Gallia had been spared the fate that had engulfed Camulodo and others.
Despite the stability and safety of the city however, there were some who heard the whispers of a greater power in their mind, those who worshipped fire and darkness and who in an enlightened madness acted on the whims of lunacy.
"The Darkness is coming!" cried the ragged figure as he burst through the ranks of the crowd. Guardsmen moved forward instantly, shielding the Emperor, only to be barged aside by the insane strength of the Shadow Crier. A plasma blast seared his shoulder and leg, but still he charged forward.
"The Darkness is coming!" he cried again, as he bore down upon the unmoving Emperor. A small blade glinted in his hand.
"The Darkness is coming!" he cried, lunging at Emperor Mollari, heedless of the guards nearby.
At the last moment a blast struck his arm, tearing the weapon from it. He fell, and the swift actions of the guards succeeded in restraining him.
He continued to spit and cry out as he was led away, but the Emperor did not notice. He turned to the person who had fired the shot that had saved him, and let out a short laugh when he saw who it was.
"Mr. Morden," he said, looking at the smartly dressed human before him. "Well well. I have not seen you for some time. Very propitious timing there."
"A pleasure to see you again," the human replied. "Congratulations on your elevation, your Majesty. I come with what may be an interesting proposition from my…. associates."
* * *Captain Dexter Smith waited patiently outside the door, ignoring the suspicious glances of the Security Forces watching him. He was more than a little perturbed by the climate here however. He knew he had been away from Proxima a long time, but things hadn't been this divided before, had they? It seemed as if factions were developing, increasing gaps between the Security Force and the military itself.
Symptoms of something larger, perhaps?
Truthfully, he had not really wanted to return to Proxima. He was fully aware of the mistakes he had made, and he had been truly willing to surrender himself for his crew. He had in fact been expecting trial on Kazomi 7, but for whatever reason that had not happened.
And then, when Ambassador Sheridan arrived, one of his purposes had been to release all those imprisoned after the battle. An exchange of prisoners had been made; Smith and a few others for a group of Drazi 'terrorists' and Brakiri merchants who had unwittingly fallen foul of some of the more stringent Wartime Emergency Provisions.
What had happened to the other humans freed from Kazomi 7 he was not sure. Most of his crew had been released voluntarily not long after the battle. Lieutenant Franklin had elected to stay behind, and as far as the Government was concerned, he was dead. There was one other transfer involved, but that was conducted in the utmost secrecy.
The door opened, and President Clark's personal secretary stepped out. "The President will see you now," she said.
Smith nodded and walked through the door, glad he had not been required to don his full dress uniform. It would have felt even less comfortable and fitting to him than the standard uniform he was wearing now.
There were three people seated at the table before him. In the middle was President Clark himself, his face carefully expressionless. Smith had met the President before, when he had been awarded the Silver Star for Valour in the final stages of the campaign for Minbar. That meeting had been awkward and unpleasant, and it would doubtless be even more so now.
To the President's right sat General Edward Ryan, former aide to the deceased General Hague and currently head of the military operations of humanity. He was also in personal command of the Morningstar and had been present at the Battle of the Third Line. He looked…. disappointed, but also uncomfortable. It was no secret that he was personally held in little esteem by the Government.
And to the President's left sat Mr. Welles, Chief of Security and holder of various unofficial and secret positions within the Government. Smith was not truly certain how he felt about Mr. Welles. He had come to him shortly before his departure for Epsilon Eridani, and had sought to determine the strength of Smith's loyalty to humanity in a confusing conversation. Smith had been under the impression that, whatever Welles had wanted from him, he had not received it.
"At ease, Captain Smith," said the President.
"Yes, sir."
Clark then fell silent, reading from the notes in front of him. It was an exercise in intimidation, obviously, but it wasn't really working. After witnessing the arrival of those massed hordes of inky black, screaming ships in the skies above Epsilon Eridani, very little could intimidate him again.
"Explain your actions at the Epsilon battle, Captain Smith," said Clark, finally.
"I made…. errors of judgment, Mr. President," Smith replied carefully. He had rehearsed this nonstop, but actually saying the words came harder and harder. "I accept full responsibility for the failure of the mission."
"I see. I have received a full report from General Ryan, who has described your behaviour as…. 'erratic' prior to the beginning of the battle, but he comments on your bravery and courage in forming a rearguard to allow General Ryan, the Morningstar and the Marten to escape once it became clear that all was lost.
