Гэрет Уильямс - Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке

Main Dome had been determined to keep on trying, but then the war had come, and suddenly Sector 301 wasn't very important any more. It became much more important after the fall of Orion, when the bulk of the refugees swarming to Proxima from Orion and the rest of the devastated Belt Alliance settled there. A few months after that the area was thick with the starving, the sick and the dying, and any hope of redeeming the sector had evaporated.

The early years of the Clark regime had seen some hope for the renovation of the area, but these had faded once it became clear that the new President had his eye on wider fields than his own back yard.

And so Sector 301 just slid deeper and deeper into corruption and depravity and depression. That suited its current Security Chief just fine. It fitted his mood.

Zack Allan leant back on his chair and tried flicking a small piece of chocolate up into his mouth. He had balanced it on his thumb carefully, lined it up to perfection, had his mouth open as wide as he could…. and he flicked.

The chocolate bounced off his cheek and fell on the floor. He swore angrily, and decided against rummaging around underneath his desk to look for it. There were probably entire ecosystems down there he was not aware of. Possibly even Governments.

And that had been his last piece as well. Damn!

Chocolate was expensive these days on Proxima. Very expensive. Oh, there was some Narn substitute stuff, but that tasted like wet cardboard. Only the very rich could afford proper honest-to-God milk chocolate in these times, and while Zack's official salary didn't come anywhere close, there were a number of very rich people interested in him turning a blind eye to certain activities they were up to in 301. They were also willing to double his wage for the privilege, so he wasn't going to ask any questions.

He yawned, stretched and switched on the vidscreen. The next game in the 2260/61 baseball season was on, the first new season since the war. The teams were all different of course, but it was still proper sport. The Proxima Swashbucklers had a game on against their nearest competitors, the Orion Archers (based somewhere in Beta Durani). Zack had fifty credits riding on the game.

His link beeped and he muttered something angrily. He could have sworn he'd switched the thing off. "Yeah, what is it?" he asked.

"Someone's here to see you, Chief."

That made him sit bolt upright. Nobody came to the office of the Chief of Security in 301 unless they were asking to be beaten up by all their neighbours. "Is it any of the…. uh…. usual suspects?" Careful phrasing was necessary. He was not supposed to know the names of most of the people he…. 'dealt' with, and while it was unusual for any of them to turn up in person to his office, it wasn't unheard of.

"Ah, no, Chief. Just some guy."

"Jack, don't do that to me! Sheesh! Look, the big game's starting any minute now, so tell him to go away and take it up with Central Office."

"He…. he wants to see you personally, Chief. Says his name is Dexter Smith. It rings sort of a bell. He looks a bit familiar, too. Like he should be wearing a uniform or something."

"Dexter Smith. Dexter Smith…. I've heard that name before. Um…." His eyes widened. "Captain Dexter Smith? The Babylon. The guy who got the Silver Star for Valour last year some time."

"That's the guy! Damn! I knew I'd seen him somewhere before. Hey, my daughter's got a picture of him up on her wall. Wonder if I can get his autograph for her?"

"Leave that for later, Jack. You'd better send him in. I know Captain Smith. We're old, old friends, we are."

"Right you are, Chief. Yeesh, she's going to be so excited when I tell her who I saw. She might even start respecting me a little…."

"In your dreams, Jack."

The conversation ended, and a moment later, a figure came through the door. It took a moment for Zack to recognise this person as the Captain Smith he had known two years ago. The loss of a uniform did do a lot.

"Well, Captain," he said smiling, leaning back in his chair. "How are you these days? Bit of a come-down in the world, isn't it? Rubbing shoulders with the President one minute, the next slumming it down in the Pit. Well, easy come, easy go, right?"

Smith's eyes narrowed. "Ah. Zack Allan. I didn't know you were Security Chief here."

"Well, it didn't match up to my former standard of Security Chief on humanity's flagship, but you've got to take what you can get. My CV was pretty impressive, but the new boss wasn't too impressed."

"That is an old argument, Mr. Allan. I gave you my reasons when I took over the Babylon. May I sit down?"

"Yeah, sure. Watch out though, I think there's some left-over pizza on that chair there." Smith looked at it, frowned, and then decided to remain standing. "So, Mr. Smith, what brings you to my little corner of the universe? You haven't come to get me fired from another job, have you? Oh, wait…. I forgot. You can't. You're not in Earthforce any more."

"I was honourably discharged."

"Oh, go tell that to mummy!"

Smith leant forward and slammed his hands down on the edge of the desk. It shook, and several papers precariously suspended there fell off. Zack looked at them and shrugged. They couldn't have been important. "Mr. Allan, I had you removed from your post as Chief Security Officer on the Babylon when I took over because I didn't think you were right for the job. Not only did you betray my predecessor, but there were gross lapses in your performance and duties. What I see now only confirms that I was right."

"Yeah, well, I'd hate to cut this fascinating conversation short, but I'm afraid the game's about to start, so…."

"What do you know about a Mr. Trace?"

Zack started, and then coughed falsely, trying to cover his tracks. Had Smith noticed his surprise? Probably. Damn the man. "He's a…. local businessman. An entrepreneur. Just the type Sector Three-o-one needs to improve the local economy."

"Ah. How much is he paying you, Mr. Allan?"

"I really hope you aren't accusing a Security Officer of this fair world of ours of taking bribes. I believe that's slander, defamation of a public figure with a view to harm planetary security…. I could have you arrested for that."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Allan. I'll be leaving now."

"Good." He flicked his gaze to the vidscreen. "Aw, great. I missed the first plays."

"Mr. Allan." Zack did not turn around. "I never liked you, or your methods, but I never wanted you to fall this far. If I were you, I'd take a look in the mirror and start to question where your choices have brought you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Smith left.

Once he was sure Smith had gone, Zack reluctantly tore himself away from the game and went to his commscreen. He sent through a signal and was pleased when it was received almost instantly. "Yeah?" said the face on the screen. "There a problem, Allan?"

"There might be, Mr. Trace. I just got a visit from someone poking his nose into your business. Thought you ought to know."

"Indeed I do. Who was it?"

"You've probably heard of him. Dexter Smith, used to be captain of the Babylon."

"Him again? Yeah, I've heard of him. Thanks for the warning, Allan. By the way, if you're watching the game, my money's on the Swashbucklers."

Zack smiled. "You know, that's exactly what I was thinking."

Sinoval had a headache. He couldn't explain it and he certainly didn't like it, but he knew somehow that something was wrong, and his headache was a symptom of that.

He had not been feeling well since Kozorr had returned. Truthfully, he had not been well since Kozorr had 'died'. Kats had hardly spoken to him in all that time. She had been working herself almost to exhaustion, her guilt driving her to the abyss, and perhaps beyond.

And now Kozorr had returned from the dead, with a story of capture and escape. It was not implausible. Sonovar had not been the type to take risks with his prisoners before, but then he had never been the type to attack his own people before either.

Kozorr had been the first to swear fealty to Sinoval, the first to accept his rule and the changes that would come with it.

So why did Sinoval feel so strongly that something was wrong?

He had left his own quarters on Cathedral; dark, gloomy, majestic surroundings that they were, and was momentarily surprised by just how much he had got used to them. When had Cathedral started to become home? None of his people could stomach being on the place longer than absolutely necessary, but he had adapted to it easily.

He had wandered through corridors and rooms abstractly for some time, until he found himself at the pinnacle, the control centre of the ship. As he climbed up the many steps to the summit, he noticed his headache getting worse. By the time he reached the top and looked out at the vast spread of space below and above and all around him, his skull felt as though it was about to crack open.

"What is happening?" he asked slowly, knowing there was no one around to answer.

"A terrible thing," came a reply. He turned to see the Primarch Majestus et Conclavus take the final step to the pinnacle. The summit of the tower seemed to widen with the arrival of the newcomer. Before it had been large enough only for Sinoval, but it could now fit both of them comfortably. Sinoval had a feeling it could accommodate an army if it had to.

"The Well of Souls has been violated," the Primarch said.

"What is this…. Well of Souls?"

"The source of Cathedral's power, the source of our power, and our purpose. We have guarded it since time immemorial."

"You seem very…. calm, if someone has infiltrated it."

"I am. The Well will not permit itself to be damaged in any way. But I am still Primarch, and the Well is a part of me, just as I am a part of it. And you are also a part of it."

"Me?"

"All who dwell in Cathedral belong to the Well."

"So what's happening to it? Someone has…. tried to damage the Well of Souls. Who would do…. oh, Valen, no."

"It is of no account. The Well will deal with the intruder in its own fashion. You will merely feel a little ill until it is done. Some have tried to harm the Well before, and none has succeeded."

"You don't understand. How do I get to the Well? Where is it?"

"At the heart of Cathedral. To a large extent Cathedral was built around it."

"I must get there. Now!" He made for the steps, but the Primarch placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There is an easier way." He pointed to the depths of space all around them. "Jump from the pinnacle. Wish yourself there…. and you will be. The pinnacle is…. everywhere, after all. And everything."

"I…. jump?"

The Primarch nodded.

Sinoval drew Stormbringer, his dark blade, and rushed forward, throwing himself into space. Darkness swallowed him, and he was lost from view.

There was no victory procession as the Babylon and the few surviving Drazi and Brakiri ships returned to Kazomi 7. There was no parade through the streets, no crowds waving banners and singing praises.

There was just the solemn acceptance that a war was under way, a terrible war that would have awful consequences for all of them. The Alliance had been born from the horrors of war, and more than any other power in the galaxy, it did not want to have to relive them.