Anna Sheridan had once had a life, and a career, and a husband. John Sheridan had mourned her for the past five years. And though her death had been a lie, the person who Anna had been was dead. Of her old personality, her desires, her dreams, all that survived was a name. She wanted only to serve the machine, to follow the directives of the Eye. The Shadows had enslaved her completely. The person within the hybrid ship had similarly been overwhelmed by the Shadows' programming. And the mages, of course, had their own problems fighting the Shadows' influence. If there was one thing Galen knew about those ancient beings, it was that they liked to control things secretly, invisibly.
What if Morden also experienced their manipulation? Galen had to be insane for even considering it. Morden was no mindless slave. Morden was evil, Morden played with lives like pieces on a chessboard. Morden thrived on death and chaos. As the Shadows' agent descended into Down Below, Galen tracked his course from one probe to the next.
"Are we watching for something in particular?" G'Leel asked.
"We are thinking," Galen said.
He conjured a second image in the air beside the first, a recording from the proceedings of the Interplanetary Archaeological Society, Morden introducing his paper on the Anfran love stone, one of his earliest research projects as an archaeolinguistics. Wearing a dark suit, Morden stood behind a podium, his hands clasped together, resting on its edge.
"One of the many misconceptions surrounding the stone has been its purpose. A careful translation of the Sampini manuscript reveals that the stone was not meant, as many have thought, to bring love to the wearer. Instead, it was believed to carry within it the good wishes of loved ones. The focus of the Anfran's star god was inward, not outward. The stone was worn with his symbol against the chest, hidden. From there, the star god sent those good wishes into the wearer, so he might feel the love of his family when they were not with him.
"The other great misconception about the stone involves the accompanying Anfran love incantation, most particularly the line that has been traditionally translated as ''the love that knows no borders''. With extensive cross-referencing between the Sampini and other manuscripts, the line is more accurately translated, ''the love that abides no borders''."
Galen dissolved the image. It felt very wrong for Morden to be lecturing about love.
"He looks so young," G'Leel said.
"February 2250," Galen said.
He located the news story from ISN, conjured the image.
"May 2256."
The anchorwoman announced the terrorist bombing of the Io jump gate. At the moment of the explosion, a ship with five hundred passengers had been entering it. She spoke of the grieving relatives, and the image cut to a crowd of reporters surrounding Morden. As they yelled out questions–
"How do you feel about the death of your wife and child?"
"What would you like to say to the terrorists?"
Morden struck out at them, shoving them back, turning in a circle to clear a space. The nervous reporters stumbled back into one another, but kept throwing out their questions. In the middle of the circle he had cleared, Morden turned slowly, brought his hands to his ears, and screamed.
Galen averted his eyes. When he'd watched the clip before, he'd been infuriated by Morden's hypocrisy and falseness. How could Morden, having once felt that grief, tempt Galen as he had? G'Leel's voice startled him.
"How did Morden go from that to the stinking monster who helped destroy my planet?"
It was not a difficult transition to make. Galen dissolved the image. He had watched nothing else connected with the bombing. But now he had to. He had to understand it. He withdrew farther down his tunnel.
"June 2256."
Morden was sitting with a famous reporter for an interview.
"What do you think of the failure to catch those responsible?" the well-groomed reporter asked.
"I believe the investigators have done everything possible."
Morden's voice was emotionless, his face blank, his hands clenched in his lap.
"You don't agree with the charges of incompetence made by Vice President Clark?"
"I don't agree."
The reporter pressed his lips together in a show of vague sympathy.
"What do you miss most about your wife and child, Mr. Morden?"
Morden's eyes narrowed.
"The fact that they were alive, obviously."
The reporter, sensing an opportunity, leaned forward.
"Their deaths were quite shocking and dramatic, not only to you but to all of us. If you can go back to that time, what was it, as the details of their deaths unfolded, that bothered you the most?"
Morden pressed his clenched hand to his mouth.
"They found only part of the ship."
"The rest of the ship was believed destroyed by the explosion, and the debris sucked through the jump gate into hyperspace."
"That's what I heard."
"But you don't believe it?"
Morden's eyes were downcast.
"Some have theorized that in the instant before the explosion, the forward section of the ship might have been drawn through into hyperspace, where the unprotected passengers would have died. Self-styled cosmo-philosopher Dr. Franz Nielsen has even proposed the theory – discounted by several leading scientists – that the explosion, coupled with the jump-point vortex, might have created a condensation of the hyperspace currents, a standing wave or bubble within hyperspace, sealed off from everything else, in which time might stand still, holding the passengers at the moment of their deaths."
"That would mean your wife and child are still alive somewhere, Mr. Morden. You don't believe that, do you?"
Morden's fist came away from his mouth, burrowed its way into his pocket.
"No, of course not."
He was lying. He believed it, or at least hoped it. Had the Shadows used that hope against him when, seven months later, he'd arrived on the rim?
There was no way to know. Galen dissolved the image. He'd been certain that Morden was a willing, enthusiastic agent of the Shadows. Still he believed it. But now that he'd thought of Anna, he couldn't get the comparison out of his mind. He'd seen no hope of restoring her, but even so he'd wanted to try. If he could separate Morden from the Shadows, block the signal exciting the implant, perhaps even destroy the implant, could he free Morden? He didn't know how long it would take for the chemical influence of the Shadows to dissipate.
Even when it did, what would he find? Most likely, someone who took joy in the deaths of others, regardless of any manipulation. Could there be any other outcome?
"Oh shit," G'Leel said.
She pointed to the image in the air before them. Alwyn had appeared out of the darkness of Down Below to block Morden's path. He was swaying.
G'Leel bolted for the door. Galen ran after her, holding the probe's image in his mind's eye. The probe was stuck to the corridor wall several feet behind Morden, showing Morden's back, and beyond him, the intoxicated Alwyn.
"What do you want?"
Morden said, his voice smooth, threatening. He set down his bags.
"I'm the one you didn't get yet. The one still standing," Alwyn said.
Galen and G'Leel raced down the corridor. Alwyn was too far away. He was either going to ruin Galen's plan, or get killed, or both, before they ever reached him. The idea that Morden might be some innocent victim seemed ridiculous now.
"I believe I'm standing as well," Morden said.
"You're a goddamn stinking murderer."
"Who have I killed?"
"Millions of Narns, for a start."
Galen and G'Leel swerved down a more traveled corridor, began weaving through pedestrians.
"I've never even been to Narn," Morden said. "But I'm curious, do you intend to kill me? Because if you don't, it doesn't seem terribly smart to confront me."
"I wanted to see what a monster looks like up close."
Morden tilted his head, as if realizing something.
"You're..."
Michael Garibaldi came up behind Morden.
"Is there some trouble here?"
Galen accessed the probe on Michael, the second image appearing in his mind's eye beside the first.
"Mr. Garibaldi."
Morden's tone was hard. He folded his hands in front of him.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were following call you an evil, manipulative bastard. Lucky we both know better."
He went to Alwyn.
"Are you all right, Mr. Alecto?"
Morden answered.
"He was threatening me."
Alwyn lurched forward.
"That bastard murdered..."
Michael pulled him back.
"Had too much to drink, is that it?"
A security guard hurried up to them. Michael deposited Alwyn into his arms, motioned him away. Galen grabbed G'Leel and pulled her to a walk.
"He's safe."
Even drunk, Alwyn could easily create a distraction and slip away from the guard. They would meet him. The security chief turned to Morden.
"Down Below can be a dangerous place. I suggest you stay out if you don't want to be hurt."
"Is that a threat?"
"I find actions more effective than threats."
"Why are you following me, Mr. Garibaldi?"
"I like that guy's answer. Wanted to see what a monster looks like up close. Why? Want to file a complaint?"
Morden complaints. Michael spread his hands.
"I'm free now."
He was treading dangerously. It was Michael's way. He knew that Morden would not act against him after they'd been seen together. He didn't realize that when this enemy did decide to act, he would have no chance.
"For a weak man," Morden said, "the weak link, you seem to invite trouble."
Michael hesitated, lips pursed. When he spoke, his tone was flippant.
"You know what they say. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger."
Morden's smile widened.
"I agree completely. But when it comes time to act, I'd rather surprise you."
Michael nodded.
"My thoughts exactly."
They turned in opposite directions, parted.
C
HAPTER 11
Anna lay on the table in the white room, a grayish-skinned technician standing to one side, Justin on the other.
"Do you recognize this person?" Justin asked.
His quavering voice sounded strange to her, thin and flat. It came through the inferior sensors of this inferior body. He turned the comp-pad in his hand to face her. On its screen was the image of a Human.
"Elizar."
She found it difficult to articulate the syllables with her crude speaking apparatus, and to simultaneously release the air that gave the syllables sound. It was so limited, this horrible little body. Justin turned the screen away, made some change, his bushy white eyebrows contracting.
"What about this one?"
She had not seen the Centauri for some time, but she recognized him.
"Tilar."
As Justin again manipulated the primitive machine, the technician bent over her, poking at her skin with his thick finger. He lifted one of her extremities, flexed it. Beneath her flimsy, pale skin, weak muscles jumped erratically.
Justin had explained that they were administering various treatments to help this limited body function on its own. First they had removed the metallic interface device fastened to her head. Her senses had been even further reduced. She could no longer feel the power of the Eye running through the walls. Now this. Justin turned the screen to face her.
"Do you recognize him?"
She had never seen this person.
"No."
Justin frowned.
"Look again, Anna."
The image showed a Human male, middle-aged, with dark blond hair, not remarkable in any way.
"No."
He showed her a few more images that she did not recognize, and with each failure, the wrinkles on his sagging face deepened.
Anna grew anxious. She was obeying – answering their questions, undergoing their treatments. She had to be connected once again to the machine. He waved the screen in front of her, and his voice rose.
"This was your mother, Anna. This" – he changed the picture – "was your father."
He returned to the image of the man with dark blond hair. "And this is your husband. John Sheridan. The man whose name you share."
Anna didn't understand. She knew what a husband was, a male mate in the custom of the Humans. Why would she have a husband? Justin slammed the comp-pad down beside her head.
"Where is that Bunny person? Bring her in."
The technician left, and after only a moment he returned. Behind him came the hated Bunny, with her long blond hair and short pink dress, Bunny, who had interfered with Anna's control of the machine, who was no friend, no matter what the Eye said.
Anna didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before; if there was any reason she had been separated from the machine, it was Bunny. Anna used her upper extremities to raise herself. She was panting again, her heart thumping hard.
"Anna," Justin said.
She drew her lower limbs toward her, in preparation for attack. The technician came alongside, fluttering his thick fingers unhappily over her body.
"Anna, stop it. Bunny is going to help you remember your past. We need you to remember. Don't fight her. Just relax. Lie back and relax, and let her find the memories."
Bunny remained in the doorway, her thin face tight. A liberator came to stand behind her, with its shining black skin, its rows of brilliant pinpoint eyes. The memory came to her again – dazzling and fragmented and filled with shredding spinning brilliant agony: the liberators had taught her obedience.
Only after that had she learned the joys of the machine, and later, the First Principles, the great good of warfare, the ecstasy of victory. Now, for some reason, she had been brought back to the beginning, and she must obey in order to reach the next stage, to regain the joys of the machine. She would prove to the liberators that she had learned her lesson the first time, that she needn't undergo their instruction again.