Morden handed over the sheet and the old man grabbed it with uncharacteristic haste. 'Lady Gwenhyfar' was of no value in herself, but she was a representative of those who held themselves to be the secret masters of humanity. For centuries there had been those who had ruled by stealth, by secrecy, by the invisible knife in the dark. Names changed constantly, they meant little in the end. Bureau 13 had been the previous appellation, only to be replaced in recent years by the designation of an ancient age of chivalry - the Round Table.
And 'Gwenhyfar' was his eyes and ears there.
"'King Arthur' has called a meeting of his knights," the old man muttered, crumpling up the page. It was written in code of course, but still, no evidence should be kept of his involvement in this, not yet. Morden did not react. Both of them knew who 'King Arthur' was.
"It is the first time he has sought to convene a full meeting since his return from Z'ha'dum. I think he is close to making a move against the President."
"You're sure?"
"He must be. He's a cautious man, and patient, but time is running out and he knows it. This war with the Alliance, their new Dark Star ships.... everything's moving fast and Clark isn't taking enough action to stop it. The 'king' is going to have to do something, and he's bound to want the Round Table to support him."
"Will they?"
"I don't know. Some will. Maybe enough."
"So what are we going to do about it? We can't wake Mr. Byron here yet, can we?"
"No. That would reveal our hand to the Enemy far too soon. The network is powerful, yes, but if an Enemy ship decided to blow this whole building apart, there's precious little we could do about it. We can't activate Byron until the fleet is here." The old man paused. "We're going to have to accelerate the timetable. The sooner the Dark Star fleet gets here, the sooner we can activate our part of the network, the sooner we can administer the.... punishment, and the sooner we can free Proxima."
"Are we going to be ready this soon? Is the fleet going to be ready?"
"It'll have to be."
"Do you want me to contact Captain Sheridan?"
The old man shook his head. "No, he may know who you are. Sinoval's met you, and he definitely knows who you are, and who you work for. He and Sheridan are not very close, but he might have told somebody something. So might Mollari, for that matter. We'd be better off not revealing just who we're working for.
"So.... I think I'll have to do this myself. Hmm.... I've always wanted to talk to Captain Sheridan. I think he's a man who will.... understand our situation here."
"Let's hope so," Morden muttered. "Let's hope so."
They thought he was a fool, all of them. For all these years they had thought him an incompetent, a blind man, able to be pushed this way and that, manipulated to fulfill their desired ends. Welles, Sheridan, the Round Table, the MegaCorps, Bester.... all of them.
Well, William Morgan Clark was no fool. He was President of Humanity, and to the masses that meant he was the most powerful person in all the human worlds. Oh, there were some conspiracy theorists who believed in all sorts of things like the Round Table, but recent years had more or less put an end to their credibility. Clark was popular and successful, as Humanity's recent poll had proved.
But to those in the inner circle so to speak, he was a nothing, a figurehead, a nonentity. He went along with all their plans, making futile attempts to direct the course of human affairs, but really all he had to do was sit and watch Welles, Sheridan and Ryan sorting things out. From time to time it amused him and others to insist on certain courses of action, such as concentrating on Sinoval. That was necessary, but also amusing.
It had been fun watching them all wonder if they had underestimated him, or whether another faction had simply got to him first. Sheridan wondering if Welles or Ryan were so concerned about Sinoval, Welles and Bester making plans for the future of the Great Machine....
He was perfectly happy to watch, and direct things according to a grand design.
Let them think he was a nonentity. Let all of them think that. He did not care. His - and humanity's - greatest defeat was coming, greater even than the loss of Earth. Everyone would see it happen, and no one would suspect that their greatest defeat was his greatest victory. Humanity's too, although they would probably never realise that.
He thought again about the new defence grid. It had been improved after the Battle of the Second Line, and tweaked and honed and perfected ever since then. It now represented the pinnacle of modern technology. It was perfect, absolutely flawless.
Save, of course, for the fact that the President had complete access to the keycards and pass codes.
"What happens if I get drunk and wander down here?" he had asked the technician, smiling. The tech had not replied, his face showing clear doubt as to whether Clark was joking with him, or joking at him.
Clark smiled at the memory as he sat back in his chair, looking at the thing in his hand. It was still now, its single eye closed. A particularly revolting creature, although it could be useful in certain circumstances. Clark wished he had time to play with it a little, but unfortunately events were moving too fast. He hadn't had time to play with his previous Keeper after it had been blasted from his body.
He shifted his gaze to the dead bodies on the floor. The Zener's face still bore the expression of the recognition it had experienced in its last, dying moment. Not enough was left of the Drakh for its face to be seen.
The Keeper's eye twitched open, and it trembled with fear. There are some beings who see beyond the mere physical.
Clark closed his fist around it, and began to whistle as he disposed of the remains and washed his hands.
Peace was a rarity in a warrior's life. In an existence dedicated to war, to the service of their lord and their people, to the constant search for perfection of body, mind and soul, there was little room for peace. Even rituals of meditation were dedicated to loyalty and service and sacrifice.
Kozorr could count on one hand the number of times he had known true peace in his life. Most of them had featured Kats in one way or another.
He dimly reflected that he would now have to be able to move the fingers of his broken hand enough to begin counting on them too.
He was not sure about his feelings for Tirivail. Her feelings for him she had made quite clear. He admired her, both for her beauty and for her skill in battle, as well as her dedicated loyalty to her father Takier, and to Sonovar. She was many things a true warrior should be, and she reminded him in some ways of Deeron.
But however much time he spent with Tirivail, however many times she hinted or implied or said flat out she would like to take matters further, however much respect he felt for her, he could always hear Kats' voice, see her smile and the gentleness in her eyes.
He sat back, resting against the wall. He did not like sitting down, it was not a position a warrior should ever adopt, but his leg had been paining him after several hours of training and exercise.
"The Osen has been found," Tirivail said. She was standing, as a warrior should, and pacing slowly up and down. "It was destroyed by those new ships the Alliance controls - the Dark Stars. All the crew were killed in the engagement."
"We should never have been raiding Alliance shipping in the first place," Kozorr muttered. "Our war is not with them. It never has been."
"It has weakened relations between the Alliance and Sinoval," she replied. "But you are right. We should not be making war upon civilians and merchants. Leave trade wars for the Narn and the Centauri."