Still the string pulled him through the rippling, oozing brilliance. In his mind's eye, he visualized the quenching spell that would dissolve this conjury. Yet the tech did not echo his command, and the original equation remained. He turned, tried to pull himself back along the string the way he'd come. Working against the string's movement, he couldn't even hold his own. The only chance of returning would be if this Shadow replied to the message of the other. If this one was sending such a response, he must find it. As his string curled past another, he grabbed on to the new message, releasing the old. He listened for a few seconds to the words it held, then threw himself at another.
With growing anxiety, he flung himself faster and faster from string to string, until he nearly missed it:
strike will be a complete surprise. They will.
He had barely enough time to hope he was right before the string pulled him up out of the Shadow's body and out through the hull of the ship. Then the blackness wrapped tightly around him once again, and he hurtled down the narrow channel. As the blackness slipped past him, Galen's anxiety faded.
He was growing tired; either the string would take him back to his body or it wouldn't. Worrying wouldn't do much good. It became harder and harder to keep his hold on the string. He found himself falling toward sleep. The blackness unfolded and he plunged down into the station, the cafe, nearly passing out of his body before he realized he must release the string.
For a moment he floated, weightless and peaceful, wanting only to sleep in this thick, bubbling warmth. But discipline reminded him of the active spell in his mind's eye. Again he tried to dissolve it. This time, the tech echoed his command.
"He's not breathing," Michael said.
"I'm calling medlab."
Galen gasped, lungs burning for air.
"There," Alwyn said.
"I told you it would be temporary. I've seen this happen to him once before. He said he has epilepsy. Too many hyperspace jumps sometimes trigger a seizure."
Galen found himself on the floor, Alwyn and Michael crouched on either side of him. G'Leel stood over them. His body began to shake.
"Are you all right?" Michael asked.
Galen couldn't catch his breath. He nodded. Alwyn was trying to pull him up. Galen stuck out an awkward arm and pushed himself off the floor. Unsteadily, he got to his feet.
"I'm fine."
He glanced around the cafe, didn't see Morden or the Shadows.
"You have some medicine back in your room, don't you?" Alwyn said.
Alwyn was holding him up, steering him out of the cafe. G'Leel followed close behind.
"Yes."
Morden was nowhere in sight.
"Maybe you should think about a career change," Michael called after him.
They headed toward their suite in silence. Galen was still shaking, but he could walk on his own. He straightened, pulling away from Alwyn. He realized with surprise that his exercises were still progressing step by orderly step through his mind. In all that had happened, he had maintained them. His hold on himself was secure.
In his mind's eye he began to reconstruct the star field he had seen, tried to match it to a specific location.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Alwyn said, "What the hell happened?"
"Did Morden see?" Galen asked.
"I don't think so. By the time you hit the floor, he was well down the promenade."
Galen nodded, relieved.
The spell had required proximity to begin, but it had continued even after Morden and the Shadows had left the cafe.
He sat, wrapping his arms around himself. In his mind's eye, he found a match to the star field. While he could not pinpoint the ship's position, he knew its general location. He had learned what he'd needed. He could track a message to its recipient through this method. He could move forward with his task.
"You said that the spell would occupy your full attention."
Alwyn paced back and forth in front of Galen.
"You didn't say you would stop breathing and have some kind of seizure. What did you do? What happened?"
"I had to see if I could follow a communication. To see where it was sent."
G'Leel laid a blanket over his shoulders.
"And did you?"
"Yes."
Alwyn stopped.
"A message from one of the Shadows to someone else? What was the message?"
"The Shadow was engaged in multiple communications. I followed one message that spoke of the Shadow attack. I didn't discover much. They expect it to be a complete surprise. I think it's going to come soon; I can't imagine it being more than two weeks away, at the very most. The Shadows are also planning to make some move against John Sheridan. I don't know what."
"Did they say which planets would be attacked?"
Galen shook his head.
"But the message went to a Shadow ship in that quiet zone. I saw the star field around it. The nearest star was Curesse, the second nearest, Regula."
That gave Alwyn pause.
"Then I need your help more than ever in defending Regula. If your task is completed, we can all go together. You can help me set up defenses. If you want to leave before the fun gets started, I won't stop you."
"What I did in the cafe was only a test. Now that I know I can follow the Shadow signals, I shall finish my task. That I must do alone."
Alwyn's mouth fell open.
"You can't cast that spell again. You stopped breathing! What if that happens next time, and there's no one around to help you?"
"It won't happen again," Galen lied. "I realized my error."
"We can wait until you've finished your task. You said it would only take a few hours, didn't you?" He rubbed his hands anxiously together.
"We won't interfere just be here in case you need us. Then you can come to Regula. One last stop before you return to the hiding place."
"No."
"You can help me save my place."
"No, Alwyn."
"You would rather let Regula burn, as Soom did?"
In his mind's eye, Galen accessed the security cameras, searched through the Zocalo for Morden.
"Apparently you think I'm fairly stupid. I know the Circle didn't send you here just to acquire information. If they wanted information, they would have sent Elric, or someone else. They chose you because the task is to kill someone, right? Morden?"
Alwyn's words came to him like the memory of an insignificant conversation held long ago.
"The one thing I can't figure is why they sent you now. Morden's been working with the Shadows for years. He's been after the mages since that last convocation, when he was asking everyone all those questions."
"Ah."
Alwyn raised his hand with a flourish.
"That's it, isn't it. Some of the mages have decided they want to join him. So now that he has become a danger to our order, now they want him killed. When he killed Carvin that didn't count; that was just part of the plan."
Alwyn's face was flushed, his jaw tight with anger.
"And this message you're going to trace. Who is it going to lead you to? Someone else to kill. Elizar, at long last?"
"These petty vendettas are pointless, when so many lives are at stake. Elizar kills Isabelle. You kill Elizar. When does it end?"
Alwyn's words ceased, and Galen realized he must respond.
"It ends," he said, "when the last murderer is murdered."
"I could have done the same. I could have gone after Londo and Morden when they killed Carvin. But I decided to turn my attention to larger issues. I didn't go after them. I didn't."
To Galen's surprise, Alwyn released a sob. He gave a small shake of his head, strode from the suite.
"Will he be all right?" Galen asked G'Leel.
"I don't know. He'll get drunk. That's what he usually does when he thinks of her."
"He needs to get back home."
"Once he's drunk, I'll get him onto the ship and we'll leave."
"Good."
Galen caught sight of Morden. He was at the stall of the man he'd spoken with earlier, a high-priced tailor. Galen didn't have a good view; the nearest security camera was some distance away, and there was no chance of overhearing the conversation.
"Is what Alwyn said true?" G'Leel asked. "Are you here to kill Morden? And Elizar?"
"The task is one I must accomplish alone."
"You're afraid we'll be killed if we try to help you."
Galen looked up at her. "I am not afraid of it. I know it."
"And you will die."
With a flourish of his hand Galen conjured the camera's image in the air between them. G'Leel came to stand beside him.
"That's the man from the cafe."
"He is a tailor," Galen said.
The tailor laid out a brown jacket, black pants, definitely cut for a woman. Morden held up a photograph. Galen couldn't see the picture, but Morden appeared to be checking the clothes against it. He wanted them to be perfect, to be an exact duplicate. Why? The tailor brought out several other outfits, and Morden compared each one against a photograph.
"If Morden has a clothes fetish, his taste is pretty tame," G'Leel said. "I've never seen him buy women's clothes before."
"Then Morden's got a new girlfriend. He wants her to dress just like – a professional businesswoman. Or maybe she's an old flame. These are the clothes she was wearing when they first met."
Morden's wife was dead, though, and Galen knew of no girlfriend. Perhaps the romantic angle was wrong entirely. But of the various agents with whom Morden worked, Galen knew of no Human female.
The tailor boxed up the suits while Morden inspected a few additional bags of material. Galen did a search for Alwyn, found him at the bar in the casino, a drink in hand. Alwyn drained it in one gulp.
Galen would have to wait until they could get Alwyn off the station before continuing with his task. In any case, he could not proceed until both Morden and Londo had returned to their rooms for the night.
He searched for Londo, found him at a formal reception for Minister Virini, standing close by the influential minister and commenting curiously on Lord Refa's absence. Meanwhile, Refa boarded his ship, falling into Londo's plan. Refa believed his actions would earn him a position superior to Londo's. When he reached his destination, however, he would be killed.
Londo's plot was clever, deceitful – worthy of a techno-mage.
Chaos is the nature of the younger races,
the Shadow had said. The Centauri, certainly, had long practiced intrigues and assassinations. Yet their politics were little different from any others.
The Earth vice president had plotted to assassinate the president and take his place. The Drazi fought their own internal conflicts. Perhaps the Shadows were right. Perhaps they were all programmed for violence and destruction, every intelligent being in the universe.
"He must really love killing people," G'Leel said.
She was watching Morden hand payment to the tailor. With his purchases loaded in two bags, that maddening smile on his face, Morden left the stall.
"He's such a cheerful bastard."
Galen automatically switched from camera to camera, following him. Morden certainly did seem to love his work. A mild smile was his most common expression. Perhaps the Shadows whispered to him of his future power and glory.
Galen remembered the strange blank signal he'd detected coming from Morden, and reviewed his recording. The transmission was a constant, un-modulated carrier wave, apparently exciting the implant in Morden's brain. What was the implant doing, if not receiving a communication?
He checked the position of the tiny implant. From its location behind Morden's eyes, it seemed to be beneath the thalamus, where the hypothalamus would be. All sensory information entering the brain had to pass through the hypothalamus, so it might be a reasonable location for the Shadow implant to convey its communications.
The hypothalamus also regulated the secretion of multiple hormones, controlling many of the body's processes and drives, such as waking and sleeping, hunger, and sexual desire. It had a strong effect on emotions, serving as the control center for pleasure, pain, aggression, and fear. In addition, the hypothalamus regulated the production of dopamine and beta-endorphins, both strong opioids that could produce a natural high.
A simple, constant signal sent to the implant could stimulate the generation of a steady stream of powerful opiates. Morden didn't behave like an addict, though; if the Shadows were doing something to affect his moods, it was very sophisticated and very subtle. He seemed simply to relish his job, and to take great satisfaction in success.
Galen couldn't imagine how emotions could be manipulated so facilely; the mechanisms that generated them were still not well understood. Such subtle control was far beyond the mages. Perhaps, though, not beyond the Shadows. With sufficient expertise, they might keep their servant happy, might keep him smiling. Or if their servant displeased them, they might take away that smile.
Galen couldn't believe it. Morden was an enthusiastic, willing agent of the Shadows. He had orchestrated the slaughter of millions of Narns, the extermination of the mages, and seemed eager for more. He enjoyed the game of manipulation and control as much as the Shadows. But what if he himself was controlled?
If Elric was correct, Morden had joined the Shadows to gain revenge against his family's killers. That might account for Morden's loyalty to his "associates;" but it failed to explain Morden's enthusiasm for the job. Galen had thought him a selfish opportunist.
His old job as an archaeologist in Earth Force's New Technologies Division required secrecy, deceit, and ruthless determination. Morden was often sent on digs with civilian archaeologists who had no knowledge of his covert agenda to secure any useful weapons or technology for Earth's military, by any means necessary. He would channel their findings to his superiors, or make private agreements with some of the team to hide discoveries from the rest, paying bonuses for technology or information funneled directly to him.
His work for the Shadows seemed very much the same. Galen believed Morden had simply exchanged one set of masters for another, most likely for a greater reward. But if that was so, why did the Shadows send their constant signal? Galen had seen what they'd done to Anna. He'd learned in his research that she had once been an archaeologist, a colleague of Morden's on the expedition to Z'ha'dum, the dig on which the entire team had supposedly been killed.