A Dark, Distorted Mirror. Volume 4. A Future, Born in Pain addm-4
Page 26
"That's hardly a very co-operative attitude, Mr. Smith."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not being very co-operative. You see, being beaten up and locked in a room with only a disembodied voice for company does that to me."
"Ah. I do apologise for the over-zealousness of the guards. That really did have nothing to do with me. And you are not locked in anywhere. You are free to leave at any time. I do not advise it, but I certainly do not compel you to stay."
"Where's Talia?"
"A safe place."
"Answer me! Where is she?"
"Being examined by my doctors. She is quite safe, I assure you."
"I want to see her."
"That is not possible at present. You seem.... forgive me.... rather attached to her. Are the two of you.... romantically involved?"
"What? No!"
"Ah, forgive my lack of manners. Sometimes the only way to gain pertinent information is to ask impertinent questions. A sad necessity of modern life I am afraid, and I like it no more than you do. However, it is necessary. Would you like there to be a romantic involvement with Miss Winters?"
"She's with someone. They have a kid."
"Ah, yes. Mr. Bester. A rather.... special collection of telepaths he has there. Do you think he plans on adding to it?"
"What do you mean?"
"You have telepathic DNA, do you not? Your mother was a telepath? Your young niece has recently been found to be a P four."
"I don't have...." He paused. He supposed he might have a niece. He hadn't spoken to his sister in years. He'd thought she was dead. "What of it? I'm probably not even a P one."
"Something in that region.... but your children might well be telepaths, especially if the mother was a telepath herself, such as Miss Winters for example."
"What is this? Some sort of telepath breeding programme you're running here?"
"Oh, no. Quite the opposite. I have spent my entire life working against telepaths. They have a.... natural, innate advantage over the rest of us. A quite unfair advantage, wouldn't you say? How can we hide our secrets any longer? We are all vulnerable to telepaths, each and every one of us. Maybe the Corps controlled them, although personally I do not believe that. But now the Corps as we knew it is gone, sacrificed on the altar of necessity. These are desperate times, Mr. Smith, and they breed desperate men. Can you imagine the damage that can be done by a desperate telepath?
"No, order is necessary in the midst of all this chaos. Telepaths are uniquely chaotic beings, but with appropriate order they can be.... controlled, harnessed for the greater good. My humble operation here has been aimed at doing just that."
"How do you control them?"
"Ah, that would be telling. I am afraid I am not at liberty to divulge that information. They are.... safe, I will say that, and no threat to any of us."
"So why are you telling me all this?"
"Oh, a number of reasons. Partly to try to convince you to call off your little crusade against my organisation. We are not the enemy, we are merely people trying to do what we can to benefit humanity."
"And is letting Sector Three-o-one become a sink of corruption benefiting humanity?"
"Sector Three-o-one has always been a place filled with corruption, Mr. Smith. You of all people should know that. It is a sad and lamentable fact of human nature that the weaker will always be shoved aside. Sector Three-o-one is the sort of place they are shoved to. If we cleaned up the place, the corruption there would only move elsewhere. Sad, yes, but the truth."
"What Trace and Allan are doing is wrong.... and you're letting them do it."
"Is not a little wrong permitted in the name of a greater good? Is not.... for example, the breaking of a promise, of a trust, permissible if the purpose is worthwhile?" Smith scowled. "I know your history, Mr. Smith. You have interested me for a long time. I did actually try to contact you after your return from Earthforce, but alas I was unable to do so.
"I would like to offer you a place in my organisation."
Smith laughed. "You're not serious. You've just spent half an hour telling me telepaths are evil and that I'm one of them, and now you want me to join you?"
"You are a telepath, yes, but you cannot read minds, you cannot ferret out thoughts and secrets. You are merely very intuitive, a skill that many 'normal' people are perfectly capable of learning."
"I'm also a wanted murderer, or did you forget about that?"
"Oh, you needn't join my organisation in any public capacity. I was hoping for quite the reverse, in fact. Anyway, I will speak to some people and have the charges against you dropped. And against Miss Winters, if you like. There, you see.... corruption can be a good thing, if used wisely."
"I've yet to be convinced of that. What if I say no?"
"I will be disappointed of course, but you will be free to leave. The charges against you will still be dropped, and you will be at perfect liberty to change your mind at any point."
"And if I choose to keep fighting Trace and Allan?"
"That would be.... unfortunate, for both of us."
"If.... If I agree to join you...."
"Yes."
"Will you let Talia go? And stop Trace from hurting the people of Sector Three-o-one?"
"Mr. Trace is his own man. He is not really a member of my organisation, merely a.... freelance agent. As for Miss Winters.... if it will convince you of my sincerity she may go, but.... one thing first. Are you absolutely certain she does not use her abilities.... wrongly? Give me your word that she will not misuse her telepathic powers."
"I give it."
"Ah.... well then. I will.... allow you a chance to change your mind. Miss Winters will be kept safe here. She will be treated well, I assure you, and I will detain her only for so long as is necessary to verify your claims. If I find them to be true, she will be released. Are these terms.... acceptable to you?"
"No, but it looks like they're all I have."
"They are."
"Well then, I am free to go?"
"Then you will not join me?"
"Show me that Talia is safe, and I will."
"Ah.... then you are free to go. When I release Miss Winters, if of course I do, then I will contact you so that we may discuss the terms of your.... employment. The guards outside will escort you safely and secretly out of this sector. As I said, all charges against you will be dropped, and you may return to your old apartment if you wish.
"Good day, Mr. Smith. Please do not take too long making up your mind. Events are bearing down heavily on us all, and we may not have much time."
* * *
Sherann twitched, and a soft moan escaped her as she recovered from the shock of her telekinetic flight across the chamber. She opened her eyes, and then the realisation of her situation seemed to hit her.
Sinoval looked at her, and then up at the Vorlon. The illusion of its form was beginning to fade. It had not bothered to regrow its damaged wing, and it had dissolved the other. Its legs were ill-formed, and it now seemed to be floating on a cloud of glowing light. Its sword was still held tightly at Sherann's throat.
Sinoval drew in a deep breath and clenched his grip on Stormbringer. His body was burning, the wounds in his shoulder and side eating away at him. He took a slow, faltering step forward, wincing at each breath. His grip on his pike tightened.
The Starfire Wheel was still open. He could feel the warmth of its radiation. The Vorlon was not within its radius, having fallen just outside it. There were minutes yet before it reached its full, deadly potential.
He looked at Sherann again. Her eyes were flat, expectant, unafraid.
"I can see her soul," Sinoval whispered, looking up to the Vorlon. "It is a beautiful thing, a creation of wonder and hope and love. I envy you, my lady.
"I can see her soul.... and I can see yours. I can taste your fear, Vorlon. I can feel your hatred, and I am not afraid of either. I would drown this world in blood if it
meant destroying you and all your kind. There is nothing I would not do, no one I would not kill, nothing I would not forsake or betray or abandon...."
He grasped Stormbringer tightly. It seemed to tremble.
He looked at Sherann, and saw the faintest trace of an unshed tear in her eye. "I am sorry, my lady," he said, his voice thick. "This world was never meant for one such as you."
He moved forward, a motion he had practised and performed countless times. The Vorlon made no effort to stop him, it could not have done so even had it wanted to. The pike struck Sherann, her eyes filled with blood, and her dead body crumpled.
The Vorlon dropped her to the ground and said two simple words, a reminder of a warning Sinoval had been given, but had forgotten.
At last, he realised. He had doomed himself. He had shed the blood of an innocent on sanctified ground. There could be only one fate for him now.
And the Vorlon had known this. It had known how he would react. It had planned this all along. If it could not destroy him by force of arms or by physical strength or by skill or valour in combat, it would use guile. It would force Sinoval to destroy himself. It would make him kill one of his own.
With a roar filled with fury and passion and anger and hatred, Sinoval threw himself forward. Stormbringer crashed into the face of the Vorlon, knocking it back. A second blow thudded into the midriff of the angel, but it made no effort to block it.
The Vorlon was beginning to drop its image now. It had no need of one, and the illusion was evidently becoming too onerous to support. It was becoming a mass of light and energy, flailing tentacles reaching out.
Sinoval followed the Vorlon into the confines of the Starfire Wheel, and the Soul Hunters, acting on his instructions, not fully realising what had just happened, closed the force shield behind them. Neither of them could leave the Starfire Wheel now, not until the energies of the Wheel had been dissipated. Oh, the Vorlon could have broken down the barrier with enough force and effort, but it had no need to. Sinoval had doomed himself. He would die here. He would never leave the holy ground he had desecrated with the blood of an innocent.
Still, he paid no heed to that. The air around him was crackling with the radiation of the Wheel and the thrashing of the Vorlon. There was pain, but Sinoval did not care. He had felt pain before. He kept hammering Stormbringer into the form of the Vorlon, striking out at the mass of light.
Then the Vorlon seemed to turn, whipping round. It had no face any longer, but Sinoval could tell it was looking at him. One tentacle lashed out and smashed his body against the force shield. A second took his arm and pulled Stormbringer out of his grasp, hurling it away. The force wall parted as it flew into the shadows in the corner of the chamber.
The Starfire Wheel continued to slide open. Sinoval could feel himself beginning to burn. Another blow pounded into the side of his head and he slumped to his knees, blood pouring from his eyes and ears and mouth.
The Wheel slid open another notch.
* * *
The Marten was alone in space against a sizeable Dark Star fleet for all of a few minutes. In those few minutes, Captain Smith had hastily alerted the Beta Durani defence grid, which was still fairly new, and warned the civilian authorities.
The Starfury squadrons were launched, the weapons crews prepared, and the ship set in a defensive position, waiting.
They did not have to wait long.
--- Beta Durani, this is the Dark Star fleet, from the United Alliance of Kazomi Seven. You are to surrender to the Alliance, stand down all military forces, and submit to Alliance officials regarding preparations for a war crimes tribunal. If you fail to do this we will respond with deadly force. ---
"Cocky, aren't they?" muttered Walker to himself.
"There are a lot of them, sir," said the tech. "Much more than there are of us."
"Not for long," he said, smiling. "Did the Governor get the message?"
"Yes, she's.... instructing you to hold them off for as long as possible."
"I could have thought of that."
--- Beta Durani, failure to reply within two minutes will be construed as a refusal. ---
Walker rolled his eyes. "Any chance of them getting a move on?" The ships, the Dark Stars, were coming closer. He glanced at the specs the Shadowtech computers had been able to analyse. For some reason the computer was taking great exception to them, and a large amount of stuff was coming out really weird. What he could see did not fill him with confidence, though.
--- Beta Durani, you have one minute. ---
"Come on. Are the Starfuries launched?"
"Squadron Omega is launched, Squadron Lambda launching now. Squadron Gamma preparing to launch. Should we give the order to fire?"
"Nope. For the moment, we wait.... and hope our friends weren't exaggerating when they said how fast they can get here."
--- Beta Durani, your time is up. ---
The Marten seemed to come alive, something twinkling in its instruments and surfaces. Walker smiled, as all around it Shadow battleships shimmered into view.
"A little more even, now. Give the order to fire."
"Yes, sir."
* * *
Somewhere in the shadows, an ancient being was watching the final stages of the fight play themselves out. He saw Sinoval's body strike the force shield, saw it slump and fall, saw the fire that had always burned so brightly begin to burn out.
The Primarch Majestus et Conclavus of the Order of the Soul Hunters stepped into the light. He flicked a glance at another of his order, who straightened at his gaze. "You know what to do?"
The Fhedayar Primus Adjunct Secundus nodded. He was one of the finest hunters in the Order, but even the lowest neophyte could have performed this task. First One or child, the procedure was the same. The soul was the same, a burst of life, an animation of the prison of flesh and bone, a sentience that would otherwise be lost forever to the cold grasp of death.
The Primarch walked forward, feeling the weight of his untold millennia of life. He had known this moment would come. The Well of Souls had spoken to him. He had tried to warn Sinoval, but of course the warning had not been heeded.
No one could fight his destiny. The older one was, the more inevitable it became.
He reached the boundary of the Starfire Wheel. Even through the shield he could feel the crackling heat in the air. He raised his hands, and the wall fell.
Sinoval's body, now with nothing to support it, slumped and rolled to the floor. The Vorlon, its energy form now equally unrestrained, began to thrash and ascend, rising towards the ceiling, spreading its tentacles of light and energy.
The Primarch took a moment to ensure that Sinoval's body was clear of the circumference of the Starfire Wheel. It was wider now than it had been. He could feel the air burning, tiny bolts of lightning filling the void around his body of flesh.
The Vorlon swished, and turned to face the Primarch. It said two words.
"I know the law," said the Primarch softly. "But I know other laws as well, older laws. The doom of innocent blood can be averted, if one who is also innocent accepts the death that is the price of the doom."
The Vorlon paused, its energy-body hesitating.
But too late.
The Primarch stepped forward, into the Wheel. His hands crackling with power, he turned the Well of Souls on the Vorlon. A billion voices overwhelmed it, the voices of its ancestors, the voices of the ancestors of the entire galaxy.
The Primarch dropped his shell of mortal flesh, and became what he had been ever since he had taken custody of Cathedral and the awesome burden and responsibility it bore. He became the physical focus of the sentience that was the Well of Souls.
The Starfire Wheel slid open its final notch. There was a blaze of energy, the Vorlon cried out....
And Cathedral welcomed home its
Primarch, allowing him to rest at last.
* * *
Mr. Welles was a man who understood all too well the ways and means of manipulating people. He could do this on a large scale, to a crowd, or a mob, or even the entire public; and he could do it to a small group, or individuals. He was not especially proud of these skills, but they had served humanity well enough in the past. He had served a necessary purpose in the Resistance Government, and there had been a time — he could not remember when, but surely there had been such a time — when he had been working towards some goal that could be considered 'good'.
Not any more. He had watched his Government fall apart. He had never had many friends. He had no children. The number of people who had ever understood him was limited, and most of these were gone.
He preferred to remain in his office as much as possible. He didn't like his apartment. It wasn't that it was too small, or too dingy or poorly furnished. Indeed not, he was eligible for free accommodation in some of the best areas on Proxima.
It was just that when he was at home, he was not at his job. He was a real person at home, and he could feel the eyes of his dead wife on him whenever he was there. He had burned every picture he had of her, but still he could feel her there.
But when he was at work, she could not find him. He was a different person when he was at work, and so she could not see him. As a result he made a point of spending as much time at work as possible. His staff interpreted that as workaholism, and he made no attempt to correct the assumption.
For the last few days, ever since he had received the message from Ambassador Sheridan, he had felt the eyes of another always upon him, and she could find him wherever he was. He could not burn everything he had of hers. He could not try to forget her, because she was not a part of his personal life, she was a part of his job, and he could no longer keep them separate.
He walked down the corridor, trying to steel himself for this. He habitually spent a great deal of time preparing each interview and meeting. Initial interviews were always important, and he devoted even more time to them. He never went to a meeting without all the facts and information he would need. Whether he was meeting the leader of the human race or an alien war criminal, this never changed.