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

He told me once that he loved hope more than anything else, for hope was pure and perfect. You could hope for a better world despite knowing it would never come. You could hope for a victory and never have to imagine what would come afterwards, when the memory of the victory faded.

"Ha'Cormar'ah," said a voice quietly to him. He turned to see someone looking at him. He had made no attempt at disguise, but neither had he made any effort to draw attention to himself. No one had spared him a second glance. He was sure the agents and the eyes of the Kha'Ri would have noticed him, but to his people, he was no one.

"Yes?" he said.

The Narn nodded, and then seemed to shimmer.

I have spent thirty years trying to understand everything he told me, and the most important lesson I have learned in all that time is that I never will. I miss him every day. I miss his wisdom, his kindness, his understanding, his drive.

Most of all I miss the dreams of the young man he must once have been. There is no one left now who knew that young man. They are all gone. Speak his name to a few elderly men and women and their eyes will light up, their years drop away and they will remember his face and his speeches, but they will not remember him.

Still, perhaps that is magic enough. Perhaps that is legacy enough. It is more than most of us can ask for, to be remembered in that way.

As a legend.

G'Kar realised what it was almost instantly, memories left over from his sojourn in the Great Machine rising in his mind. But he was paralysed by a sheer lack of comprehension.

Not here! He had expected many things. Thenta Ma'Kur, alien mercenaries, common street thugs, but not this.

The thing that was not a Narn moved too quickly for him to react. One blow staggered him and the second felled him.

He stared up into the sun with unblinking eyes.

Not a Faceless. He had never expected a Shadowspawn here.

He told me once, bitter and angry, how much he resented being a legend. He would have been happy to have his name forgotten and erased from history. Alas, by writing this tome I fear I have removed any hope of that.

But most of all he wished to have his message remembered, his words, his meaning. That was what mattered, not his name.

I hope I have managed to do that, even a little.

No one noticed as the body of Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar was removed.

In less than a minute it was as if he had never been there at all.

L'Neer of Narn, Learning at the Prophet's Feet.

* * *

John J. Sheridan. Saviour of the galaxy. Defender of the true and the virtuous.

You can hide no secrets from me, Sheridan.

All was dark, save for the light of the tiny candle at the foot of the mirror. The mirror was vast, towering up as far as the eye could see, but all he could see in it was himself, staring back at him, speaking with a voice not his own.

"Is this a dream?" he asked himself.

That depends. Are you a man dreaming you are a ghost, or a ghost dreaming you are a man? Is anything real? Is Delenn real, or is her touch only an illusion? Am I real?

"Who are you?"

Who are you?