Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 5 : Средь звезд, подобно гигантам.

"I believe you," she whispered. But she had seen too many friends depart these past terrible weeks. Taan had left openly, contemptuous of any attempt to stop him. Juphar had commanded Daro to take him back to Zhabar. Unwilling to lead his ship in an assault on his own world, Daro had gone, as had almost every other Drazi officer in the Dark Star fleet. In less than a month, the Alliance had been sorely crippled.

And for what? A true resurgence of the Enemy? Or just one ambitious man who did not care where his dark allegiances took him?

She shivered. A dark wind seemed to blow through her heart.

* * *

In the end the Drazi Conflict was resolved swiftly. The Dark Star fleet, under the personal command of General Sheridan, blockaded Drazi worlds and jump gates and imposed brutal trade sanctions. Rangers moved in force among the Drazi worlds.

There were a few skirmishes as protected merchant ships tried to break through the blockades, but the Drazi warships, powerful as they were, proved no match for the Dark Stars. The Drazi consistently refused repeated entreaties to permit a full investigation of their worlds, and it took a peacekeeping force of Rangers to seize the Government buildings on Zhabar. With Rangers and foot soldiers on the surface and the Dark Stars in space, they eventually capitulated.

Dr. Literana Varda was found murdered in a secret laboratory underneath the capital. His body was discovered in a room with only one securely–locked exit. A lair of three Faceless was located by a small group of Rangers. The Faceless were acting under the direction of a Z'shailyl Warleader. All of them were killed in the subsequent fight, along with twenty–four Rangers and almost a hundred troops.

The members of the Drazi Government were all tried under the relevant clauses of the Kazomi Peacetime Accord. All were found guilty and sentenced to long terms on prison asteroids. A new Government was inaugurated and relations with the Alliance were resumed. The popular unrest that had swept the Drazi worlds earlier in the year was put down to manipulation by the Z'shailyl, aided by treacherous members of the old Government.

Taan Churok resumed his place on the Alliance Council and Daro returned to the Alliance military, although not to his familiar Dark Star. He now captained a Drazi Sunhawk, and turned down all invitations to rejoin the Dark Star fleet.

Vizhak could not be found. Although he had been publicly visible during the conflict he had vanished shortly after it ended. Speculation was rampant, some claiming that he had been murdered by the Alliance or the Faceless or the new Government. As the first Vorlon Inquisitors arrived on Zhabar, rumours began to circulate that Vizhak was gathering an army to free his people and would return when the time was right.

One final rumour was circulating around the Drazi worlds during and shortly after the conflict. Strange aliens had been seen moving by night, always hiding, apparently drawn to places of death. No one seemed to look at them directly, or at least no one admitted to doing so, but a common thread to the stories was that each of them had a glowing stone in the middle of their foreheads.

BARRINGER, S. (2293) Shadows on the Border: The Drazi Conflict. Chapter 7 of

The Rise and Fall of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and

the Beginning of the Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer,

G. Boshears, A. E. Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

The Vorlon network had existed in one form or another for millennia. Ever fearful of an attack by the Shadows, they had seeded their worlds and colonies with a defensive network, a system of carefully placed jump tunnels between two fixed points in hyperspace, the sheer energy and force of the jump point held in check by a telepath, his or her power amplified both by the jump point and by all the telepaths in the other nodes, an exponential curve with the whole very much greater than the sum of its parts.

It was only in 2261 that the network was first used offensively, as seen at the Battle of Proxima. The Dark Star fleet had been designed to create mobile nodes of the network, each ship having a telepath trapped somewhere within its core. The power of telepaths against the Shadows had long been known, and Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar, in his very early days of fighting the Shadows, had tried to create a breeding programme for Narn telepaths for this very purpose. Many telepaths however proved too weak to handle the strain of full combat and instances of death and burnout were very high. The extension of the network into a mobile force eliminated the need for this. Each Dark Star ship had an active telepath, one who had potential access to the power of every other telepath in the network, one who would not die or burn out and who had no choice but to support the will of the network.

Its effectiveness was obviously enough to override any moral concerns among the Vorlons, if any of them even had any. It is worth noting, however, that construction of the Dark Star fleet did not begin in earnest until after the Battle of the Third Line which saw the death of the Vorlon known as Kosh, widely believed to have been leader of one of the more moderate of the Vorlon factions.

Few people knew about the Vorlon network, and those who did were in no position to do anything about it. Captain David Corwin had made tentative moves towards liberating the mind of the telepath aboard his ship, the Dark Star 3 or the Agamemnon, but the destruction of the ship and the disappearance of his ally and lover Lyta Alexander halted any progress he might have made. His subsequent mental deterioration was also a negative factor.

However, there was one threat to the security of the network, and one the Vorlons could not possibly have anticipated. It took a long time to become truly effective, but the ultimate results were devastating. The network was attacked from the most unexpected direction of all.

From within.

BARRINGER, S. (2293) A Serpent in the Garden. Chapter 12 of The Rise and Fall

of the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

It had taken time to get this far, and he knew it would take much more time to get further, but the one thing he knew was that he had plenty of time. He might not have his freedom any more, but then he had had precious little of that in his life anyway.

He did have one other thing as well as time, and that was anger.

He could hear them all, his children, his brethren. There were no divisions between human and alien now, no boundaries at all. They were all his people, the special, the chosen, the unique.

The telepaths. The telekinetics. The empaths.

All of them were his people.

And they were all in pain.

He had woken from a very long and painful sleep, and all he had been able to see was the light. It had filled everything, from his mind to his vision to his perceptions to his horizons. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time, and he had wanted to immerse himself in it while being utterly repelled by it. It was everything he had ever dreamed of: pure, ultimate telepathic power, a melding of minds from across the galaxy.

But it was also wrong. The minds were in pain, and they were trapped. And so he had pulled himself free.

Sometimes, although how often he could not be sure, forces came through. Like the pull of gravity or magnetism, he was forced in one direction as a rush of mental power swept through him. It drained dry everything that he was, and focussed it, and sent it on to the next person, whose scream joined in with the others.

The first thing he had learned was not to scream.

The second thing had taken longer to learn, longer to remember.

Some of these were his people, he knew that. People he had known. People he had loved. They were all people. Human or alien, they were all people. Each scream, each spark of light, each one was a living mind.

Every one had an identity. Most of them simply could not remember theirs. The rush of memories and thoughts and power had scoured everything away. Many no longer even knew that they were individuals at all, just that they were part of a beautiful, terrifying whole.

But they weren't, or at least, not like this. A whole like this had to be voluntary. This was slavery, this was worse than slavery, worse than the gloves and the badge and the frightened looks.

When all of these realisations clicked together as one in his mind, he remembered his name.

"I am Alfred Bester," he said aloud.

That was only the beginning.

* * *

Z'ha'dum had always been a world feared and hated among those of the younger races who knew of its existence. Minbari legends spoke of Valen's assault on Z'ha'dum, causing the more reckless of the young warriors to dream of storming it themselves, but the other Minbari regarded it with rightful suspicion. A few of the learned Narn holy men and scholars were aware of the planet, and they treated it as an almost mythical Hell.

Even with the Shadow War over, Z'ha'dum continued to exert its mystical spell on the younger races. The Shadows had abandoned their homeworld, it was true, but there were many rumours about things they might have left behind. Minbari spoke of holy places there, such as where Marrain and Parlonn fought their final duel, or the place where Valen first stepped on its surface. Whispers of hidden treasure, of vast, powerful caches of technology, of long–forgotten weaponry and sinister guardians.

Any potential treasure–hunters were foiled, however. The Vorlon fleet completely blockaded the planet, refusing to allow anyone or anything to enter or leave the system. This only added to the rumours of course, and there were some reckless enough to try anything. Many people speculated about what kept the Vorlons there, about what they were guarding or looking for or hiding.

All the speculations were dead wrong.

GOLDINGAY, D. G. (2293) Stalkers on the Rim. Chapter 4 of The Rise and Fall of

the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

It was a world of mysteries, of enigmatic power and lost wonders. It was a world where the Gods of old had walked and lived and thrived, and created dark technologies. The forges of great Thrakandar were now silent, shut down forever. The grim temples where the Priests of the Fallen Midnight had raised their souls in prayer now heard nothing but the wind. The sanctum of the Drakh magi was abandoned and forgotten.

The Gods of Darkness and Terror had left Z'ha'dum. They had been defeated, cast down and exiled. It fell to the Gods of Light and Beauty to claim the dead world and see that its terrors never again threatened the galaxy.

And in the most ancient and holy site on Z'ha'dum, where the Pale and Silent King alone had stepped, the Eldest being in the galaxy stood and watched.

He watched as the Vorlons purged the world of all that the Shadows had left behind. He watched as they desecrated the Temples of Midnight, as they shattered the forges at Thrakandar, as they tunnelled deep into the bowels of the world, looking always for secrets hidden and forgotten.

The Shadows had taken much with them as they left, but not even a race as old and powerful as they could remember everything. In the countless millennia of their history, they had created innumerable abominations and terrors and monstrosities. And they had forgotten many of them.

But He remembered. Lorien remembered.

One by one, slowly, the Vorlons found these forgotten instruments of destruction and devastation. One by one, they took them away to safety.

And one by one, slowly, they spread out into the galaxy, seeking what the Shadows had left behind.

On their departure, the Shadows had offered their vassal races the chance to come with them, to experience the universe beyond the Rim. Many had accepted and gone, but a few had stayed, and it was these that the Vorlons hunted.

The Zarqheba had returned to their asteroid homes, their great wings carrying them through space as they had many millennia ago. Lorien was one of the few who remembered their cities of gold and splendour, before they had collapsed in fire and fury. The Zarqheba would never again know their former intelligence and beauty. Now they were little better than animals, but now at least they were free. The Vorlons were hunting them, but they knew how to hide. Lorien supposed they would escape.

The Zener had scattered. Some had gone with their Dark Masters, others had stayed. They the Vorlons wanted most of all, for it was they who had crafted the weapons of biotechnology and chemical warfare that the Shadows had used so effectively. Some had been caught, some had been killed, but some remained free.

The Streib had retreated. Never truly a vassal race of the Shadows, they had simply taken advantage of the chaos they brought. That was enough for them to be hunted and pursued. Their ships no longer raided, no longer hunted. They settled in their homeworld and hid.

The byakheeshaggai were all dead, the last one slain by the Vorlons on Centauri Prime. None remained, here or beyond the Rim.

There were others of course. The Z'shailyl, the Moradiin, the Faceless. Lorien watched them all, just as He watched everything else that transpired in the galaxy. He watched the building of Babylon 5. He watched the Drazi fall and be conquered. He watched peace and order come at last to the Tuchanq. He watched the others, the last survivors of races almost as old as His, move at last, returning to attend to the fate of the galaxy after so long in silence. He watched Sebastian awake and walk forth on his mission.

And when, at the end of the Earth year 2262, Ulkesh came to see Him in His hidden sanctum, as he had more than once in the last year, He asked the same question He had on every other occasion.

"Tell me. Have you found Cathedral yet?"

The answer was always the same.

* * *

It was so quiet. So new. Crafted fully formed from hopes and aspirations and dreams. Every bit of metal, every bolt, every door, every room, every piece of equipment.

It was all so new, and yet it seemed haunted.

As G'Kar walked slowly through the corridors of Babylon 5 he could not shake that feeling. He had not used to believe in ghosts. But that was before. Before he had met Londo. Before the Machine. Before the War.

Now he thought he believed in almost everything.

It was finished. Babylon 5 was finished, almost ready to go on line. Oh, there would still be improvements and modifications to be made, little bits of tweaking here and there, but for the most part it was done.

And was it worth it? Was it worth the expense? And not just in financial terms. The Drazi had rebelled partly because of this station. He had heard reports from Centauri Prime of famine and drought exacerbated by the crippling payments made to the Alliance. There were whispers of protest from Narn.

And was it worth it? What price peace?

He could not find an answer.

He walked into the room that had been designated as the conference hall, the place where the representatives would meet, where the decisions would be taken, where the fate of worlds would turn.

The Vorlon turned to look at him. Its encounter suit was pure white, unmarked by any other colour, unsullied and clean. G'Kar understood that in some cultures white meant purity and virtue.

All he could see in that gleaming whiteness were bones. Bones of the dead.

A light twinkled in the Vorlon's eye stalk and G'Kar took a slow step back. For one moment it had looked as if a skull was smiling at him.

He placed his fists together on his chest and bowed his head slightly. As far as he knew he was one of the first people on Babylon 5 apart from the construction crews, given permission to survey the new base for the Alliance. The others would come later, either being too busy to inspect it now, or not wishing to do so. G'Kar alone wanted to see the finished station as soon as possible.

He was not terribly surprised to see that the new Vorlon Ambassador had got here before him.

There was a rush of air, and a sound like dry leaves rustling across a marble tomb. <Welcome to Babylon Five,> it said.

G'Kar said nothing in reply. There was nothing to say.

* * *

The Babylon 5 station became operational at the end of 2262. The first meetings there took place early in 2263. It was always hoped and believed that Babylon 5 would be a consolidation of the peace that the Shadow War had ultimately brought to the galaxy.

Unfortunately, this was very far from being the case.

LAKER, A. (2293) A Shining Beacon in Space. Chapter 14 of The Rise and Fall of

the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 3, 2262: The Missing Year. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears, A. E.

Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

Gareth D. Williams

Part 1

Learning How to Live.

With Babylon 5 complete at last, the Alliance is ready to enter a new age, a golden time of peace and prosperity.  But in a galaxy that has known only war, the concept of peace is hard to grasp.  The new age brings many challenges, not learning how to fight, but learning how to live.  Some seek that understanding through work and labour, others through continuing to build a better world, while for some there is no understanding, only continued war.  And across the dead vastness of space, ancient ships continue to move, gathering for a purpose no one can comprehend.

Chapter 1

The Alliance had been shaken in 2262, the Drazi Conflict representing its first real test since the end of the Shadow War, but ultimately it had held. The union of the Blessed Delenn and General John Sheridan, the Shadowkiller, kept the disparate Alliance together through months that were largely marked by peace and optimism. The completion of the Babylon 5 space station at the end of the year was meant to mark a new beginning for the galaxy.

And it did, although not in the way anyone could have foreseen. Babylon 5 comes later, though. The early weeks and months of 2263 were distinguished by activity elsewhere, by a slow building of forces, by steadily burning tensions.

And by the continued absence of Primarch Sinoval.

NEY, S. E. (2295) The Birth of a New Dream. Chapter 1 of The Rise and Fall of

the United Alliance, the End of the Second Age and the Beginning of the

Third, vol. 4, The Dreaming Years. Ed: S. Barringer, G. Boshears,

A. E. Clements, D. G. Goldingay & M. G. Kerr.

* * *

And at the same instant, they all woke up.

They were spread out across the galaxy; rich people, poor people, powerful people, helpless people. They were the people who shaped the galaxy, in one form or another.

And they all woke up at the same time.

Londo Mollari awakes from a dream he can remember now, wet tears on his face. He is a young man again, standing alongside Marrago and Urza and Dugari and Malachi and so many others. He is boasting in the way that only a young man can, and the others are agreeing with him. "I am going to be Emperor one day," he says, and they laugh. And then he looks up at the throne, and Refa is there, nailed to it by his own kutari. And then he looks back and sees Dugari covered with blood, coughing up more blood with each breath and taking those awful cough tablets of his which are covered with blood. And he looks back and he sees Marrago is not here any more, and Urza is dead and Malachi is dead and they are all dead except him and only his enemies are left, and Cartagia raises a mocking toast to say 'I won' and Elrisia combs out her long beautiful hair and Kiro plays an open flame across his fingers and it does not burn him and Mariel and Daggair laugh and plot and Morden is behind them all, smiling as he always does and saying, 'You owe me a favour, Emperor or Minister or peasant or wanderer, you owe me a favour and a man must always pay what he owes.'

And Emperor Londo Mollari II wakes up, carefully, so as not to wake Timov, and he goes to a window and looks out over the many lands of his domain.

Dexter Smith awakes from a dream. He was poor once, born in a slum of lost hopes and dead dreams to a mother who barely spoke to him and a father he never knew. Now he is a Senator, a man of importance, a man who is known and respected, a war hero, a champion of the people. But in his dreams he sees green eyes fill with blood as he kills her again and again and each time he hears the voices blaming him.

And Senator Dexter Smith wakes up and lies in his bed for many hours until dawn comes and he has things to do that will make him forget.

David Corwin awakes from a dream he does not want to remember. He cannot move, or think, or even remember his name. All he can do is scream, and there are so many people walking directly in front of him, Susan and Lyta and Mary and John and Delenn and Carolyn and none of them can see him or hear him and he is left to scream alone, the sounds echoing in his mind.

And David Corwin, once a captain but no longer, wakes up to the sensation of the sun on his face, but it is so cold and the sky is full of dust and the water is full of mud and his waking brings him no joy.

Talia Winters, who has more names than friends, awakes from a dream in which she is with her family. Abby is there, and Al, and they have more children, and she isn't wearing gloves, and she has only the one name, but she cannot remember what it is, and everyone is calling her different names.

And Talia Winters, who takes several minutes to remember that that is her name, wakes up and goes to check on her daughter. They have been apart for far too long and she will not let them be parted again.

Satai Kats awakes from a dream where she is in a circle of light, but she is not screaming and she is not afraid and as she touches Kozorr's hand and says the words she is bidden to say, she can feel herself crying, but in a good way. The sun is touching Kozorr's face, and he is looking up into it, unafraid of the light.

And Satai Kats wakes up and touches the necklace around her neck, the last thing he was making for her before he died, his last effort at a life where he created rather than destroyed. It is strangely warm to her touch.

Delenn of Mir awakes from a dream like many others she has had. It is not something she wishes to recall, but she hears that heartbeat echoing from stone and metal always, whether waking or sleeping.

And Delenn of Mir, the most powerful person in the galaxy, rolls over in her oddly horizontal bed and reaches for the person who should be there, but he is not, and she feels the cold where his warmth should be and she lies still for a long time.

And they all wake up and they all remember the same thing. Some recall the dreams, some do not, but in that one instant of half-slumber, half-memory, when what is real and what is not become blurred, a moment that Susan Ivanova would call the 'Hour of the Wolf', they all have one image burned into the back of their minds.

A pair of dark eyes and a fearsome voice saying one word.

"Remember."

But most of them forget.

* * *

There are more of them than people think, out there in space. They are the ancients, the forgotten, beings who walked the stars at the dawn of time. Mortals call them 'the First Ones' but they do not understand what it is they have named. They do not understand what it means to walk among the stars like giants, to look down at the younger races, at the mortals, beings little more than ants.

They have been forgotten now, largely. The Shadows and the Vorlons chose the twin paths of helping and aiding the younger races and the others.... they have gone, hidden, pursuing their own concerns, inhabiting their own floating cities and dead tombs. For countless millennia they have stood aloof from the rest of the galaxy.

Things change.

There is a world that no outsider has been to in tens of thousands of years. It has no name that anyone can know. The people who live there are forgotten and unknown. It is a world of cities crafted of air and rivers flowing among the skies. It is a world of hazy mists and whispered memories.

No ship has left that world for a very, very long time.

Until now.

It rises from the greatest city on the world, floating upwards on wings of water. As it leaves the atmosphere, the wings fold up and engines come to life.

And the First Ones' ship makes for a secret destination, far away from the worlds of the younger races. They have been apart from the galaxy for far too long. It is now time for them to return. There is one last piece of business for them to attend to.

* * *

Fear wasn't something he was meant to know. Not him, one of the special, one of the unique, one of the few. Fear was a lesser thing, for lesser beings. For mundane beings.

But as he ran frantically, his breath burning in his mouth, his heart pounding as if to break free from his chest, his blood rushing, Chen Hikaru knew fear. The thought uppermost in his mind was that this was not meant to be happening. He could not be afraid. He was a telepath, a personal agent of the Psi Corps itself.