Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 5 : Средь звезд, подобно гигантам.
Шрифт:
"Get out."
He did.
General John J. Sheridan sat down at his desk, looking at the energy readouts. He recognised what David had not, that the sheer amount of energy could only have been generated by a Vorlon. Someone very stupid had annoyed one of them.
"To hell with all of you," he whispered.
Something was rubbing at the back of his skull, an itch he could not scratch. He had a name for that, though.
Somehow he was not surprised.
"You as well," he muttered. "Well, Sinoval, come on in and join the party, everyone else has."
He looked the commpanel and sent out a quick signal. This line he knew would be working. If everything else on the station collapsed, this would still be working.
"I know you're there," he said. "I think we need to talk."
– -- We are always ready for you, --- came the Vorlon's voice.
"I'll be there in a minute. We should do this face to face, as it were. Oh, I suppose you know that Sinoval's on his way."
– -- We were aware. We are prepared. This is our stronghold. We will not allow it to be breached by such as him.
– --
"How soon we forget," he muttered. "Don't you lot always have a plan."
us
The jump gate was closed, barred and sealed against the travellers, the common wanderers, the pilgrims and the seekers. The station was protected, charmed and blessed by the Dark Stars and the Alliance vessels and the very presence of the Vorlons themselves.
But that was not always enough.
A jump point opened, and then another, and another. Ships emerged through them, ships crafted of living flesh, linked to the souls of their owners.
The Vorlon fleet was a beautiful thing, but it was the beauty of a star exploding in the night: wondrous from a distance, terrifying up close.
The voice that spoke was audible to every being on the station.
We are your masters.
We are your protectors.
This place is ours.
You will obey us.
you
Audible to every person except one....
will
What am I?
At that moment, Delenn felt an intense, powerful hatred. Of John, for abandoning her; of herself, for abandoning him; and most of all of Sinoval.
What am I?
He had always been so sure, so confident. She could have managed that, once. Before the weight of her mistakes, both real and imagined, had weighed down on her so heavily. He did not seem to care about the mistakes he made, simply forgetting them and carrying on his way.
What am I?
Not who. She had been asked that question once before, and had not answered it, not properly, not in any way that could be called an answer, because the point of the question was that there was no answer, none that could be expressed to another.
What am I?
But that was a question she could answer, if only by a list of what she was not.
I am not a mother.
Her son had died in her body, his fading heartbeat echoing in her ears.
I am not a wife.
The man she loved had left her, abandoning her to this place of dust and memory and haunting echoes.
I am not a warrior.
She hated to kill, to fight. She had seen too much of that.
I am not a leader.
She had tried, and failed, so many times. This world did not need her leadership. She had betrayed and doomed her people and now it seemed she had doomed the Alliance as well.
I am a healer.
She paused, and dared to raise her head. It seemed so heavy.
I am a healer.
Everything was wounded. Her people, the Alliance, the galaxy. Everywhere she looked, she saw symptoms of the sickness. All she had been able to do was wipe flecks of blood from the mouth of the galaxy.
I am a healer.
She was.
Breathing out harshly, Delenn slowly pulled herself to her feet. Her injured ankle throbbed at her, but she ignored it.
I am a healer.
"I am a healer," she said aloud, and the words seemed to invigorate her. The shadows trembled and fled before her newfound resolve.
"I am a healer," she said, more loudly.
The paths of the garden, that had seemed so dark and twisted, were now open and clear.
She set off, walking firmly, with no hint of any of the wounds that pained her.
obey
He woke up, cold, and with no idea of where he was.
Or even who he was.
He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had a feeling that he had been staring at a deeper darkness, one that was far more than the simple absence of light.