Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 5 : Средь звезд, подобно гигантам.
Шрифт:
Think, see, learn. That mantra had been with her throughout her life. It had seen her abandon the path her father had set, a life in the Kha'Ri as he had chosen, and she had instead chosen to go out into the galaxy. She had seen such wonderful things, such beautiful things. She had learned from what she had seen, and most of all she had learned to think.
The Prophet had been right, of course. Blind rage and unthinking vengeance would gain them nothing. What was needed was focussed rage and structured vengeance.
Centauri Prime. Home of the enemy. Her father had used to dream of taking the war there, but he had died before he could realise that dream. Just another victim of the games the Kha'Ri played, struck down by a well-concealed poison.
And now she would be a part of the destruction of the Centauri homeworld. Any one of her people would pay everything they owned for a part in this, however small, and her part was far from small.
She entered the meeting room, her guards with her, those visible and those.... not. G'Lorn was beside her as always. Loyal and trusting. He had not thought or seen or learned anything before, but now he was growing. It was the military mindset. Serve, obey and ask no questions. She was slowly breaking him of that, but she had to admit that it was useful at times.
Marrago was waiting for her, sitting patiently at the far side of the table. He had no guards with him, but then he did not need any. This was a man who had truly taken on board the Prophet's words, whether he realised it or not.
She sat down, G'Lorn beside her. "Should we not be preparing for the battle?" she asked. "Or have you more strategies to debate with me?"
"No," he replied coolly. "I have.... discovered something recently. Part of a bargain. Like for like. Information for information. Do you know what I have learned?"
Mi'Ra had a feeling she did. She had always agreed with Moreil. Marrago was by far the most dangerous man here.
"I have learned of a Councillor in the Kha'Ri by name of Du'Rog." Mi'Ra did not let her expression slip once. "He was very much in favour of renewed attacks on my people. He died some years ago of a convenient illness. It is strange, but there are many in my Court who have died of convenient illnesses at convenient times.
"But Du'Rog had adherents and they followed his ways. There were similar types amongst my people, and so there was war. It ended, as wars tend to do, and there was peace. Narn and Centauri, all one in an Alliance, working together for peace and prosperity — but for a few renegades and outlaws like ourselves of course.
"I have no doubt there are many among my people who do not like the idea of peace with yours. I am equally sure there are some among yours who like the idea even less. My people are too.... restricted to do anything about it, but yours.... the brave and forgiving Narn.... they are trusted and liked and respected.
"Du'Rog had a daughter. She left her home very young to travel the galaxy. She returned briefly, and then disappeared again. Do you know her name?"
Mi'Ra sat back. Moreil was right. This one was more dangerous than the others. They were useful tools and instruments, but this one.... He thought. He saw. He learned.
He was strong.
Do you wish us to kill him, lady?hissed the alien voice in her mind. She could call the Faceless to her in a heartbeat.
No,she replied. She was not telepathic, of course. Apart for a few failed experiments conducted by the Prophet, none of her people were, but she wondered sometimes if this communion was what it meant to be a telepath. The ritual she had undergone had given her a world of new sensations. This was only the smallest. M oreil has his own plans for this one.
He is dangerous. The Wykhheran fear him. But speak the word and he shall die.
No,she repeated. The Faceless were the ultimate assassins, greater by far even than the Thenta Ma'Kur, but they needed to serve. They did not think beyond the kill. Their creators had not designed them that way.
"And that little girl, what did she find on her travels? What did she bring back to her homeworld with her?"
Mi'Ra smiled, and rose to her feet. "An interesting story, but your time would be better spent on other things, Captain. Remember. We go to war."
He looked at her. "I am a soldier," he said, in a voice as deep as thunder. "I am always at war."
She was never far from the screams. They were there when she closed her eyes at night, and there when she opened them in the morning. The trapped, the lost, the prisoners. The countless slaves to the Vorlon network. Some she knew, some she didn't. Many weren't even human. That didn't matter. They were telepaths, like her — one kind, like her, one people, like her.
Talia opened her eyes and they were screaming even more loudly. One of them was standing before her. One of the abominations, one of those who actually liked their new role.
The Hand of the Light. The Bloodhounds. Countless different names for the same basic function.
Hunters.
The creature hissed and moved back. Talia looked at it.
"Now, I'm annoyed," she said.
Darkness crackled from her fingertips and she pointed at the abomination. It screamed as bolts of raw shadow struck at it. Light formed around it as a shield, but anger gave her thoughts power and she shattered it with a thought.
These things hunted her people, consigning them to an eternity of pain. They did it willingly, voluntarily.
They enjoyed it.
They would take her if they could, maybe even make her one of them. They had taken Al. They would take Abby. They would take Dexter. They would take all of her people.
Join us,it hissed at her. L iving or dead, willing or not, you will join us.
She glanced at Dexter. His glance was flicking from her to the abomination. She was not sure which repelled him more.