AUTHOR’S NOTES:

And now for something different. This chapter diverges quite a bit from earlier chapters. There are many snippets set in the world of the technomages before season 1 of Babylon 5. I experimented with different writing styles. It has too many shifting perspectives, flashbacks are overused, and it is too wordy, but I had a rollicking good time writing it all originally and am currently too busy to edit it down beyond what I have done already. If you hate to read dense complicated stories or hate technomages or hate authors getting all inventy with their own characters, FLEE for those demons are about to knock at your door for the next few chapters. If you feel like grumbling please go ahead in a review. All I ask is you keep in mind what you paid to read this story. As a kindness, I have focused all the Crusadey stuff at the end of the chapter, so you can skip ahead.

SPECIAL THANKS: Seras Serenity for some proofing, suggestions, encouragement.

Spoilers for Crusade and the Technomage Trilogy novels.

A general technical note.

EOF stands for End of File marker.

CHAPTER 6 - COMMAND NOT FOUND

Excalibur Docking Bay – December 23, 2269

Pilots, mechanics, and deckhands scurry about preparing fighters for launch at a moments notice. They go about with an intensity born out of a rumor, which shockingly this time is true. There is a Drakh fleet nearby which has only one purpose, to stop them. And so the crew of the Excalibur nervously vibrate, busily, double and triple checking everything. That is except for one large bubble of perfect calm. No one dares to pierce that shadowy sphere at the end of the docking bay, where two technomage ships sit side by side. Instead, the deck crew whispers among themselves about them, much of it around one theme … technomages never move openly about unless the metaphoric shit is about to hit the proverbial fan.

But none of that is Galen’s concern. He stands inside Fed’s cluttered ship near one of its three sleeping cabins. If this were his ship he would have a short, clear path to … well anywhere. However here, his path is blocked by crates, random machinery, and objects with no discernable function beyond being in his way.

He sighs and messages the ship while taking a circuitous route to his goal, Fed’s own private cabin. The normal disquiet settles over Galen’s mind whenever he is about to enter someones private space.

//Ship access sensor log system. Uplink all scans made of and around the Vorlon homesystem bearing any timestamp.//

//Transfer commencing...//

He is hit with a copious stream of files. Carefully, Galen shunts it aside into his tech’s vast storage for later perusal, because, astonishingly, as he opens the door into a small, disorganized bedroom, on the far wall beside the bed, looming and dwarfing everything else is a Vorlon encounter suit. It is, in many ways, the opposite of the last one he saw. Years before the Vorlons and Shadows left, he had sought out a Vorlon, UlKesh, to help him get to Z'ha'dum. Now THAT suit was an intimidating tool that oozed authority and power. But this one… Galen shakes his head murmuring, “Unbelievable.” For one thing, it looks like it was dragged behind a shuttle through re-entry. It is without any of the usual fabric that typically obscures its exact shape. Galen can make out dents, gauges and dark black scorch marks. While otherwise intact, its ‘head’ is located on a small nightstand by the bed surrounded by a smattering of tools. Perhaps the Vorlon homeworld is littered with them and Fed brought one along to examine. But then why would he take one in such poor shape? Perhaps he discovered the equivalent of a Vorlon junkyard. Either way, this suit will not be intimidating anyone ever again.

Then from somewhere by his feet an alarm blares interrupting his examination.

A robotic voice continuously trumps, “Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!...”

The suit distracted him enough that he did not notice the mechanical spiderish thing that scuttled out from under the bed when he entered. Galen’s attention snaps onto it just in time to see it leap off a pile of unfolded clothes, into the air toward his head. His first instinct is to hurl a well-placed fireball at it but instead he recalls Fed’s joking warning.

"DOWN BOY!" exclaims Galen.

The spider executes a perfect somersault in mid air and lands in front of Galen's boot where it promptly sketches something with its leading right leg on the tip of his shoe. He tries to kick it away but it avoids him easily, scuttling back under the bed.

//Fed, what did your spider just do to my shoe?//

//Isn't it great? That was its guarding mode. It also has servitor, patrol and entertainment modes.//

//I'm still waiting for an answer.//

//It just sketched the rune for friend in infrared ink.//

Galen walks up to the Vorlon suit and briefly examines it. Dozens of probing wires are leading out of the hole where the head usually sits and up close it looks more deconstructed. He decides it can wait and sits down on Fed's unmade bed. Moving aside the pillow, he finds a small smooth ball.

Galen immediately recognizes it. After the mages went into hiding, Galen noticed that Fed liked carrying around a small ball that he would absentmindedly bounce rhythmically. One of the many parts of Fed’s peculiar charm that would immediately grate on his nerves. This appears to be the same ball. Galen had always assumed it was just an ordinary ball, but with careful examination, he finds a tiny access port through which he can link into it.

//PWD?//

Galen inputs the passphrase Fed had given him. It accepts it readily but nothing much happens, no system daemon presents itself, no visual interface, no text … nothing, but a single waiting prompt, like the earliest arcane computer systems. Recalling enough of the esoteric protocols that used to pass for computer commands, Galen tries to coax information out of it. However, no matter what he tries the sphere only responds with three highly annoying and useless words:

//Command not found//

Pulling himself back out of the link, he stares at the ball, rotating it in contemplation and indignantly utters, "What can you do?”

Galen let's out a frustrated grunt as he thinks, 'Just once it would be nice if something came easily.' Considering that Fed, is one of the most gifted hackers in the Order, why he would employ such a primitive, and clearly dysfunctional system is beyond Galen … for now.

He considers messaging Fed, but decides against it. That would be admitting defeat. This is a puzzle and one of the few pleasures Galen allows himself is solving obscure little thought puzzles.

Galen thinks, ‘Surely I can figure this out. … If I were Fed how would I access your files? … Something simple and obvious… Let's try this.’

//0//

(Suddenly, Galen's mind fills with a date and Fed's voice.)

-18.01.2256

Today I learned Rhea is dead. Hera told me in her usual way, long-winded and indirect. Some stupidass accident. She used the word, ‘vaporize.’ POOF, all gone. I ... asked to go with her on the investigation but she forbade it.

I told Gwynn first. She reacted with such a fixed cold stare I wondered if she heard me at all. Optima burst into tears and cut the transmission. Lastly, I told Roland. Of course he became weepy, and then all enraged. He vowed to horn in on the investigation and asked me if I wanted in, hell he even offered to come and get me. I turned him down. It won’t bring them back and Hera promised to tell me everything anyway. As for me ... I have the keys to the wine cellar so I'm thinking excessive drinking followed by a good long bout of crying myself to sleep. Dios ayudame.

EOF

---

Galen immediately moves to the next entry.

//1//

-16.02.2256

Hera has just gotten back. She asked me if Roland talked to me at all. I said no. Apparently, he’s vanished. Everyone thinks he killed himself, but they can't be sure because no one has found any trace of him or his ship. He was pretty upset and he always struck me as the half-crazy sort of technomage, so ya maybe.

Hera went down to the cellar today and noticed half the bottles are missing. So we had a long, long … long talk. She wouldn’t let it go until I spilled everything. Here's what I learned from her: life sucks, deal with it, and move on. You owe it to the dead to keep living, and enjoy life even more than before. Of course I'm paraphrasing, she said it better, with colorful asides and allegories. Oh ya, and I better moderate my drinking or we’re turning into a ‘dry’ household, whatever that means. Thus ends my foray into nightly alcoholism, which is fine I suppose since I drank all the good stuff anyway. She told me she deals with her emotions by pouring them into her personal logs. It can be cathartic, and helps with the whole moving on part. Maybe I’ll do something like that, if I can build up a head of steam.

-20.02.2256

Hera's unhappy with my … ‘attitude.’ How rich is that. Hypocrite. She locked herself in her office for the last three days and is now dragging herself around the house. So what if I don’t shower and all I do is sit around in my underwear watching Trajan do its daily network traffic analysis. If I don’t improve she has threatened to 'fix me.' I think I'll let her.

EOF

---

//2//

(Fed’s voice is overly excited and manic.)

-24.02.2256

I’ve been fixed! Those endogenous opioids really do the trick. It’s like … I have to CLUTCH my desk to keep from falling off the planet. It’s really weird suddenly going about my studies feeling NORMAL, okay not normal… SUPER HYPERLY peppy. Hera said I don’t have a melancholy disposition so I won’t be on them for long. She’s right, I

already feel myself letting it go but I hope I will always remember her as vividly as I do now.

-25.02.2256

I finally got good news, Gwynn answered one of the hundred messages I left her. I can't believe how relieved I feel. We talked for a while. She looked and sounded like … the Queen of the Ice-Queens. I asked her why she wouldn’t talk to me. She said she was busy ... had to 'clean up’ the house and that she's shacked up with that normal of hers, Peter. Anyway, I’m glad she’s got someone.

-10.03.2256

No more happy juice for me. Thank the chocolate covered Christ child. I was starting to get all these weird side effects. Surprisingly, I liked the three hour erections the least. But it helped, and I got used to working on like nine different projects at once. I'm Mr. Productive.

I was nosing around in Hera’s private files looking for ideas to steal for new projects when I stumbled on something super interesting. She worked out a way to insert nanoprobes into the visual cortex. If you arrange them in a duodecahedron pattern you can transit visual/audio imagery out of a human brain. I asked Hera about it and she got all weirdly stern. Then ordered me forget it and not to talk about it with anyone. I’m guessing it’s secret Circle stuff. She found and deleted all my copies of her files but she can’t delete my head. Three cheers for my photographic memory.

SOOOO, I’ve decided to go all out. I’m going to digitize my memories and uplink them. I mean sure, I can wait two and half years till I’m a technomage, but why, if there is another path, right? The technique looks easy enough, if you can ace the vasal micro-movements. The stroke risk is minimal, only like 6%. Since I've already mastered platform creation down to that level, I should have no problems whatsoever. I got it all planned out. I should be able to do it through my chrysalis port and I’ve swiped enough nanoprobes. I'll just need thirty minutes alone while wearing my chrysalis without Hera around. I'll figure something out.

-11.03.2256

Madre de Dios! … That hurt! I hope I didn’t do too much permanent damage. I can’t seem to remember how to do differentiation. I’m sure it will come back to me. Now that I think about it, maybe I should have waited a bit until I was more skilled with my movement control.

Oh well. Hera found me passed out on our lab’s internal imager. When I regained conciseness, she was completely freaked out and pumping full of blood thinner. I've never seen her like that. Luckily, she didn’t get angry with me, just … scared. I think she blames herself for not locking up my chrysalis and hasn’t punished me. I've gotten the rest of day to recover from my self-inflicted stupidity. She even made me chocolate chip cookies. They're still as good as ever. Let’s see if I can eat two simultaneously right now, …(chomp, chomp argh, argh mmmmhh) … I'll try to pull an early memory tonight, as soon as the throbbing has stopped.

-12.03.2256

They sound fine, looks like a dream, but more importantly IT WORKED! I feel seriously arrogant and prideful right now. But I can’t leave this sitting in my network storage. Hera will find it and the hyper-encryption will just make her curious and MORE likely to spend the time and effort to crack it open. I’m moving everything to an isolated system. I can even disguise it, ya, something innocuous no one would look twice at.

EOF

---

//3//

(Fed’s good-natured voice speaks.)

I’ve often thought of this day. It was … a day of firsts. The first time I realized someone I love will die soon and the first time I meet the woman of my dreams. It was also the worst first impression I’ve ever made, by far, an I’ve made some bad ones … (His voice trails off into laughter as images flood Galen’s mind in a swirling, vomit inducing manner.)

-21.11.2252

“Woohoo! Too much fun.” I yell.

The image is just a confused blur of rotating motion. There is a distinct impression of sweating profusely and being strapped into some sort of machine.

“Recite the Code,” asks a blurry blob with a muffled perhaps female voice.

I answer easily, “Solidarity, Secret, Mystery, Magic, Science, Knowledge, Good.”

---

Pulling himself back out of the link, Galen realizes that he is actually seeing Fed's memories as if he was Fed. As promised, the images are dreamlike with the perspectives skewed and disproportionate, but easily comprehensible. Galen sits there in shock that Fed managed to pull it off AND not get himself killed. The six percent failure was no doubt per probe. Probabilistically speaking, that virtually guarantees a stroke but clearly Fed did not understand that.

There are many memory retrieval techniques available to a technomage once they are fully teched, but this is the first technique Galen has encountered that works on a brain, well a living one anyway, without employing the services of a telepath. No matter the means, viewing such memories is always head-ache inducing and possibly disturbing because of the immediacy of the images.

Galen considers whether or not he should keep going. On the one hand he can learn what he needs without censoring or wading through Fed’s obtuse interpretations, but on the other hand it will be more time-consuming and … intimate then he was prepared for. He decides to try and split the difference.

He messages Fed.

//Your log system has a bit of a usability problem. Exactly how am I suppose to find anything?//

//You can't. I stripped the kernel to make room for the last few entries. I've meant to expand it with more capacity but I've been busy.//

That would explain the sphere’s unfriendly interface. Piqued, Galen responds.

//You should have warned me your logs are in memory stream format.//

//And ruin your fun? I think not.//

//I would rather not bumble around in your private logs Fed. At least tell me which entries I should focus on or better yet, I can bring you the sphere and you can pull the relevant entries for me, avoiding any unnecessary intrusions.//

There is a very long pause.

//No. You wanted to know ALL, to be some sort of supreme impartial judge. If you are going to violate my privacy, I would prefer you do it as completely as possible. And besides, if you want to interrogate Rhea properly, you had better learn everything you can about her, RIGHT? That sphere is a great source of information. Now leave me alone.//

Frowning, Galen reflects on how Fed seems to have gone past anger and into full-blown peevishness. Odd. Perhaps Fed is under more stress then he guessed. Unfortunately, that leaves the problem of what to do. Galen reflects on what to do, go to Fed anyway or stay and plow through the entries in the sphere?

Galen goes back to compulsively rotating the ball in his hand. This would hardly be the first private interaction he has, there are no other words for it, spied upon. Particularly, not after spending years monitoring the technomage

probe network, not to mention all the probes he’s left scattered about the galaxy. If Fed has no problem with Galen seeing anything on the sphere, should he even be hesitating?

Coming to a decision he says aloud at the sphere as if it could understand, "I am sure I will regret this, but here is hoping you are worthwhile."

Realizing this might not be a quick, Galen makes himself comfortable, taking off his shoes, and coat. He neatly makes Fed’s bed then lies down on top of the blanket. Steeling himself, Galen dives back into the point he left off.

---

The motion begins to slow and I can make out a vaguely human shape illuminated in the dull red glow of an alien sun.

The figure speaks clearly now, “Of those good is the greatest. It is what I have devoted my life to and so must you.”

“Is that why you drag me with you into the slums and charities?”

The voice clearly female, makes a mocking reply, “Oh, how very perceptive Fed. Humanity might have mastered space travel but we are still very much smothered in violence, poverty and the greed generated by it.”

“Hey, at least no one goes hungry anymore.”

“That is only partially true. For many, human or not, life is still too short, and brutal. I will cut my lecture short today. The lesson you must take away is, great power is given to a technomage, great good is expected in return. Do you understand?”

“Sure. Be good, do good.”

The figure snaps into sharp relief, and she, clearly it is Herazade, says under her breath, “As succinct as ever.”

She lifts her hand and everything comes to a complete stop. The straps suddenly loosen and I jump down landing with a grunt.

“How do you feel? Light-headedness? Nausea?”

“Nah. I feel great.”

Probingly, she asks, “Fed, I have meant to ask … what do you and Aldous do on your Sundays mornings together?”

Excitedly, I answer, “We have an awesome time!”

Her eyes burn into me, “Yes I noticed. Doing what exactly?”

“He said I don’t have to tell you.”

She steps into my space filling my field of view. As she leans closer, clearly trying

to will me into answering with just her presence, I continue, “He said if you try to force it out of me, that I should make up stuff, the more awful and outrageous the better.”

Looming over me, she answers with one curt word, “Unacceptable.”

“He said that if you keep at me, I should tell you to leave me alone and go speak with him about it. (Sighing in defeat and resignation, her body relaxes as she pulls away, a small smile on her lips.) If you don’t approve, why did you suggest it in the first place?”

She plainly answers, “Before I found you and took you on as my apprentice, your world was all negligence, and thuggery. I thought you should have a father-figure who was not a drug-dealing criminal and who better then my own father.”

At that, I laugh loudly at her.

Frowning severely at my response, she waves a dismissive hand, “It seemed like a good idea at the time. We WILL revisit this another time. … But for now you can have tonight and most of this week to yourself.”

“YES!” I say pumping my fist happily.

“Put everything away first.”

I whine, "Oh come on! It’s heavy and it will take me forever. Why don’t you just wave your hand and put it away in two seconds?"

Annoyed, she points one finger at me.

"Rudely whine again and you will spend your evening in my office studying the Italian Renaissance. Our guests will be here soon. You are NOT to spend all night in the VR pod avoiding them like you did with our last guests ."

I defensively answer, "That's because I hated being around Kell's apprentices. Whenever we were alone, the nicest thing Elizar called me was a buffoon and his sister ... don't get me started about her! ..." I draw circles near my temple.

Glaring at me she starts,

"Why didn't you tell me? (She stops herself and just stares at me fir a while.) It is too late for me to do anything now. Coeus also has two apprentices but you will find they are very different. I expect you to be a perfect host, and take excellent care of them."

I bow formally and dramatically. “I hear and obey great Queen!”

She points me toward what appears to be a large gyroscope but I remain in place and turn to see a tall, husky, old man, in an embroidered tunic swirling with clashing colors, stepping through the nearest door. His long white hair bounces freely about as he spryly strolls toward us.

Herazade mutters with a smile, “Ah speak of the devil …”

She turns to the man, bowing deeply and clearly annunciates, “Aldous.”

He asks me loudly, “Ready to meet our guests?”

I shrug. “Umm, sure.”

He points at the gyroscope and says instantly and fully irritated, “THAT makes my house look like a sodding circus. Put that thrice-damned eye-sore away already!”

Immediately, I jump and hurry to obey him. They begin to slowly walk off toward the other end of the courtyard.

Grunting with exertion, I start to drag the gyroscope slowly into an open shed but overhear their receding conversation.

Aldous begins, “You should discipline him more.”

“What spare the rod, spoil the child? No. Besides I have you.”

He interrupts her, impatiently, "Yes, yes. So you and Coeus finally kiss and make up? Ten years is a long time to hold a grudge only to suddenly give it up.”

“There was no grudge. Our disagreement was more about style then substance.”

“How very vague. How about you explain that to me?”

They pause and stare at each other for a good minute.

Aldous’ expression slowly turns surprised and pleased as he exclaims, “Ha!”

They continue walking with a silent animation as I enter a shed and lose sight of everything.

When I step back out, I look toward Herazade and see she is speaking with three new technomages. I run quickly toward them. Right by her is Aldous, now sitting on air, an invisible platform supporting him no doubt.

There is a tall middle-aged man. His black hair is receding and shoulder length with noticeable specks of gray and a few strands willfully sticking out at right angles. He is dressed in an expensive looking black suit with a festive red and green pattern flowing along one jacket arm, across the shoulders, down the other arm and back. He appears to be examining Aldous with a crystal in his hand.

Standing together nearby are two young women, who are remarkably different. The younger of the two is bald and is

dressed meticulously in the traditional apprentice robe and cloak. Her severely angry expression is locked on Herazade

and marrs an otherwise stunningly beautiful face. The elder is the shortest of the group, barely above my eye level and the thinner of the two. She carries a cylindrical container, slightly hidden by her apprentice cloak which lays carelessly draped about her shoulders like an afterthought. Underneath, she's wearing a bright red silken scarf, a vibrant green tunic and worn looking brown pants with one poorly applied patch on the right knee. Her long black hair is precisely braided, with extra pins restraining the few strands trying to escape. She seems to be ignoring the conversation around her. Instead she is intently studying me as I run up to stand by her.

Herazade says toward the bald apprentice, "Myrenda was an excellent mage and a very good friend. She is missed by many, I count myself among that number."

The beautiful bald apprentice says nothing as her expression turns from angry to distantly icy.

"Aren't you done yet?!" Aldous interjects, his irritation on full display.

"Nearly ... How's the pain?" asks the middle aged man lowering the crystal.

Aldous waves a hand looking affronted but replies, "Just give me a couple of those 'party in a box' bottles you always carry around. Well, what's the verdict?"

In response, the man puts the crystal in a pocket and pulls out two small white containers.

He hands them to Aldous without comment and says, "I would like to speak with you in private."

"No, we're all family here. Just spit it out."

The man pauses and looks at Herazade and me. He slowly speaks, "I have confirmed your suspicions. As I’m sure you know, there is still no cure. There is little I can do apart from slowing its progression."

A stunned silence settles in about our group. Confused my mouth hangs open and I look back and forth between the adults with growing unease. The seconds slowly pass as the silence deepens.

Finally, Aldous gruffly says under his breath, "Shit. I was hoping I was just being a hypochondriac. How long?"

"I can not be precisely sure unless you allow me to analyze your genome. Your tech has been compensating for some of the neuromuscular junction atrophy. It is usually slow. My guess is you still have a few years.”

He shakes his head yes and asks, "Will my mind go?"

"Typically it does not affect the mind. As you have noticed it effects your voluntary muscular control and is tolerable until it begins to effect your intercostal muscles..."

Aldous waves off the rest of his comments, "At least Kell will finally let me retire, or not. He keeps his cards clutched so closely to his chest who the hell knows."

He looks up at Herazade and they stare at each other silently. I feel my eyes begin to fill with tears. I wipe them away and force myself to stop.

"Hera, I've mentioned this … possibility to Kell. We decided you will be my replacement. I will bring you to a

few of our Circle meetings during the convocation. They want to talk to you, and by talk I mean grill really."

"That would not be proper, no election has been announced. Not to mention, I haven't even agreed to..."

Aldous interrupts her yet again, "Since when do you give a bloodied Xon about what’s proper! The election is just a formality anyway. Whoever receives Kell’s blessing will win and that’s you. But I know Kell, he’s going to drag his feet and keep everyone in suspense. We only call for an election when we’re certain who we want to win and who actually will win are the same person. (He stops speaking suddenly noticing the audience intently listening to his harangue.) We'll talk about this later. I'm off to finish preparing the convocation site."

"I will assist you," offers Herazade, adjusting her clothing as if making ready to leave.

"No. I want to be alone. (He smiles oddly as he looks around.) You kids stay and have fun. Besides this is my 5th hosting, I could set up everything with my eyes closed."

He stands, forms a platform under himself. Then he shoots off into the sky disturbingly fast and soon pops out of view.

He leaves a pained and awkward silence in his wake, as we all stare into the sky after him. Finally, Herazade clears her throat and looks at me, "I am sorry Fed. I should have introduced you before this."

I feel the blood drain out of my head and a wave of nausea washes over me.

"Federico this is Coeus, and his two apprentices, Rhea and Gwynn. They are from Earth and will be staying with us until..."

Her sentence is cut off when I vomit on the pants and shoes of the one called Rhea.

She yells, "GAH!" But catches me before I fall. I look into her eyes, which narrow in concern and exasperation at the same time. She gently lowers me to the ground.

Crouching next to me and sounding more irritated than anything, Herazade says, "I thought I told you not to eat anything today. You need to follow my instructions precisely. … What am I to do with you? You are fortunate Coeus is a healer and Rhea soon will be."

With sympathy, Coeus looks down at me then says, "Rhea, attend to him. (He then takes Herazade by the hand pulls her to a standing position.) I wish to consult with Herazade. (Then looking at us he says.) We are NOT to be disturbed."

All three of us watch as they walk hand in hand out of the courtyard.

Gwynn and Rhea exchange knowing glances.

It is Gwynn who speaks first with her hand extended, "I believe you owe me 100 credits."

After an audible sigh, Rhea responds, "This is not an auspicious start to my initiation. First I rip my lucky pants, now this … ugh," examining her clothes Rhea instructs, "Gwynn, please get my bag from the ship."

“Do you need my help carrying him?”

“No, I will be fine."

As Gwynn’s long strides carry her away, Rhea opens the container she was carrying, moves her hair out of the way and places the chrysalis carefully on her head. There is a small sucking noise as it seems to settle perfectly onto the back of her head, neck and down her back.

Her eyes cut into me as she says, "How do you feel?" They are peculiarly green.

"I'm fine. I'm very sorry. I'm really really..." I try to get up and stumble against her. She restrains me and lies me back down to the ground.

"It is all right. They were just my favorite pants and most expensive pair of boots. Don't worry, I am just happy I decided to wear boots instead of sandals. Forget about it." She places a hand on my neck, pushing into the junction with my shoulder with the tips of her fingers almost painfully. She stares past me with unfocused eyes for several seconds.

Not removing her hand, she looks at me, smiles and commands in a strange voice, “Relax. I will take care of everything.”

I feel myself float off the ground as all goes to black.

In the next instant my eyes pop open. I am tucked in bed … naked under a blanket. Rhea, no longer wearing her chrysalis or apprentice robe, is sitting reading from a terminal at my littered table, her bare feet are propped up on the table. She is not wearing any pants.

Nervously, I stare at her legs for a while and then pull the blanket up to my chin and ask softly, "How long have I been asleep?"

Her head whips about to look at me while tossing the terminal aside.

Approaching me with a smile, she speaks, "Ahh good you're awake. I was starting to worry. You've been out for 38 minutes. Longer then I intended. Oops. Here drink this, all of it.”

She hands me a glass and stands beside the bed. When I hesitate she adds, “It is just water. There is nothing wrong with you apart from the obvious emotional shock. You were slightly dehydrated and should rest some more.”

I blurt out, “I’m naked!”

She points at my blanketed form and defensively offers, “Your clothes were … unfit. I assumed you would prefer not to sleep in them. And I could not find anything resembling pajamas when I was ... putting you to bed."

"Oh … I don’t have any."

She raises both eyebrows at that.

"That does provide a certain ... convenience. (She pulls up her shirt to reveal loose fitting short shorts.) I hope you don't mind, since we are the same size, I borrowed your shorts."

I correct her, "Those are my underwear."

It is her turn to stupidly say, "Really? ... They look just like ... never mind. Rest, I'll be downstairs, looking for Gwynn."

She heads for the door, but pauses to say over her shoulder with only one eye on me, “I would not worry. It’s not a bad size.”

I can hear a small chuckle as she leaves me alone.

Throwing my blanket over my head, I scream at myself in disgust, “Arrrgh! A woman finally takes off my clothes and … Smooth Fed. You are the King of the Sexing.”

I quickly get up, dress and follow her downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs I can overhear a raised angry voice coming from the foyer. I walk toward the noise but stop well back, close enough to hear but not be noticed.

Angrily Rhea exclaims, "What do you mean you're leaving?! Where could you possibly have to go on this sweltering backwater province?! Let it go. She was testing your reaction Gwynn. Aldous probably put her up to it. And do you blame him after the way you acted?"

Silence. It seems that neither is willing to give ground until, Rhea continues in a more calm and controlled manner, "Besides, you said you would help me review the final version of my illusion. Not to mention YOU should be studying for your assessment tests."

Gwynn answers her coldly, "Didn't you say yesterday, that I'd find the assessments trivial? I NEED to get out of here, with Herazade going on about my mother and Aldous ... I feel ... Look I just need to clear my head. I plan to take a walk into the downtown of the city we passed, and you should give that damn presentation a rest already. It’s been ready for weeks and if you make me watch it again, I WILL gouge my eyes out with the nearest fork. I will now give you the advice you would give me if our situations were reversed, just relax. The Order is perpetually short on healers. I suspect you'd have to deliberately murder someone before they'd not initiate you."

"What if Coeus asks about you? I do not relish lying for you."

"I seriously doubt their 'Consultation' will end before tomorrow. Knowing your father, we won't see them for days. I'll be back most likely before he notices and definitely before he cares."

"Do you at least have Proximan credit chits?"

"You do remember who you're talking to right?"

Gwynn turns with a flourish, her black cloak billowing dramatically and walks out the front door while Rhea stares after her, with balled fists.

I walk up closer behind her and speak, "I can help you with any work you need to get done."

She whirls around in surprise. Her anger bubbles over as she yells, "I thought I told you to sleep! I did not ask for YOUR help!"

Calmly, I counter her, "True to both. But one I feel fine and teo you shouldn't take your anger at Gwynn out on me."

She looks unsettled for a second and then looks back at the open door.

She takes a deep breath and says, "Forgive me. The most infuriating thing about Gwynn is that she is right and knows it. I should just try to relax. (She let's out the breath she was holding in and sucks in another larger one.) You don't by any chance have any ice cream and early 20th century vids just sitting around? A glass of something hard would be nice to."

I open my mouth, but before I can answer Herazade's voice booms, "Federico!"

"I’m over here."

She appears only clad only in a full length white robe.

"Prepare the evening meal, the roast I think, pair it with a couple reds from Earth, any bottle covered with dust will do. Decant some of our Limoncello as well. Then have one of your servitors bring it to my quarters."

My eyes flare a bit as I say, "Um… yes madam."

I bow as Herazade leaves quickly.

We both stare at her retreating form and I uncomfortably turn to Rhea. She looks back at me with barely restrained humor in her eyes.

I finally manage to say, “Oh God. I can never un-see that.”

Sagely, she speaks, "It is best not to think about it. That way lays madness. If you can’t help yourself … just pretend they are playing chess. That always worked for me.”

I stare off silently for several beats and mutter, “Wow … you just saved my evening.”

She bows slightly toward me and inquisitively asks, “You can cook?"

"Yes. I've done all the cooking for the last year. Herazade started teaching me four years ago. She called it the only true alchemy and said it would increase my charm immeasurably. Are you hungry?"

"Always. … How old are you?"

"I will be 16 in one week exactly."

She smiles approvingly. "Well, I will be 22 in 10 months 8 days, and I'm about to become a real grown up technomage, but I doubt I could prepare a full dinner for six easily. Do you need help?"

I shrug. "No ... I love to cook. I just hate cleaning up. So if you want to help you can do that."

"Huh, I was going for the sous-chef position, but I guess I get to settle for dishwasher."

I grin as I explain, "I’m SUPPOSE to do everything. You can just sit back and keep me company. I’ll make the ice cream first, we always have plenty of cream. I believe strongly in eating dessert first. We have all sorts of hard liquor but that stuff is in Herazade's quarters and I'm umm…. sorry I'm not brave enough to go get it. As for the vids, we have a huge library of them. I've been enjoying the dark humor era stuff from the early 21st century, I’m not sure if we have the earliest works but if you don't care for what we have I will pull more from the network. We also have a 4 man VR pod, if you want to simulate it up."

She stares at me quietly for an unnerving amount of time before finally stating decisively, "I believe I'm going to like you Federico."

EOF

---

Galen pulls himself out of entry smiling. Fed wasn’t kidding when he said he made a bad first impression, and yet he obviously turned it around. His natural charm asserting itself and clearly winning Rhea over.

Not that he made a good first impression on Galen either. He can still hear Elric’s certain and grave voice commanding him…

‘That is Federico. He is Herazade’s newly adopted apprentice and a member of your cohort. You WILL introduce yourself to him. Stay with him until he is well situated. (Elric pauses then adds with gravity and a

touch of warning.) Choose your words with care for all words have lingering power and once spoken can not be unsaid.”

Elric’s strong arm points Galen’s attention to a lone boy. He can see the boy is wearing new apprentice robes. They sit askew his narrow shoulders with some of the hem dragging on the ground. As he kicks a stone around the muddy ground, occasionally he glances at a small group of young apprentices loudly and eagerly socializing nearby.

Gravely Galen answers, “Yes Sir.”

He hurries to obey running rapidly toward Federico, who at that exact moment pulls his foot back and kicks the quite dirty rock hard sending it sailing through the air and right into the middle of Galen’s chest.

“Ack!” exclaims Galen more from the small clumps of dirt strewn in his face then any pain.

When he sees he hit someone Fed yells, "I'm sorry! I didn't see you there. (He runs over as Galen brushes the dirt off his formerly pristine black apprentice robe.) Let me help you. (It does not help.) Damnit. I’m really sorry for ruining your clothes. … You can have mine.”

He begins pulling off his robe.

Galen immediately orders, “No! That is not necessary. I have others and can change later.”

A small relieved smile crosses Fed’s face as he stops undressing. He asks, “You're Galen right?"

Surprised, Galen carefully asks, “Yes, … how did you know my mage name? I have only told it to Elric.”

Fed bites his lip as if he was just caught doing something wrong.

“Um … I don’t know about that. I just memorized all the names and pictures in the ID database Herazade had sitting around. I thought I might make a better first impression if I knew peoples names. Instead all that

happened was (Fed points so quickly at the other group of apprentices that Galen misses who he meant to point out) Mr. Alphamale declaring ‘An idiot savant roams among us!’”

Understanding fills Galen, “Ah, that would Elizar. He can be …”

Fed completes Galen’s sentence,“A biting ass and a half. What’s his damage? … Never mind, I’m the new kid and he wanted to make sure I knew my place. (He holds out his hand.) … My name is Federico, but you can call me Fed.”

Shaking it quickly and dropping it out of discomfort, Galen asks, “Did you really memorize 500 names and likenesses?”

Fed shrugs and corrects Galen, “It was more like 506. But ya.”

Exhausting the one topic Galen thought to discuss, they stare at each other in awkward silence neither knowing what to say to find more common ground.

Realizing he should be obeying Elric’s intent, he offers, “Come. I will introduce you to those who bite less deeply.”

That was the last sentence Galen spoke to Fed that day. Not because there was no conversation between them, but rather, Fed managed to carry whole conversations with little more then the occasional nod from Galen. Until Galen introduced Fed to Kane and Finian then even nodding was no longer needed. The three of them became instant best friends and remained so even after the Order went into hiding. Fed always went out of his way to draw him into their activities, … never deterred by his continuous lack of success or Galen’s excuses. Growing up, Galen had found it annoying but now he can only think of it warmly.

The only other who repeatedly attempted to pry into his life like that is … Dureena, not that they speak anymore. Whenever they are around each other, she silently stares at him, a protective hand on her sword, as if he was the thief and her the technomage. He can not image what it will take to over come the power of his last lingering words to her. The answer comes back at him in Elric’s voice, ‘You can start with an apology.’

Shaking himself, perhaps it is good there are three days until they reach Earth for he can not seem to avoid falling into nostalgic reveries. Equally bad, he has learned little of real relevance that would help Fed to deal with the current situation. Refocusing, he moves onto the next entry hoping that will change.

//5

---5 - 22.11.2252

Walking down a long stone corridor, I approach a heavy wooden door covered with runes. The only sound is a clickity-clack of metal against stone. When I stop, I look down, behind me at the ground and next to my bare feet is a red robotic spider skillfully balancing a small tray on its back while walking forward.

"Po, you will stop at the door and wait for further instructions."

At the door, I place my hand over the center rune and it begins to glow under my hand.

I whisper, "There is no spoon."

I wait but no answer comes. So I open the door and walk into a dream.

Or so it seems, there's hundreds of tiny long staircases intricately interconnected at different angles. The stairs are covered with all sorts of tiny dancing figures. I begin to make out mushrooms of various sizes covered with eyes and prancing colorful daisies with enormous grinning faces when suddenly it all disappears leaving Rhea standing in the center of the room wearing her chrysalis.

Excited now, I blurt out, "Wow! That was interesting. Sorry to interrupt but you did not respond to my chime. I brought you lunch if you want it."

Radiating a limitless self-assurance, she responds, "Aren't you overly considerate or were you just trying to see what I'm up to?"

"A little of one, a lot of the other. I'll let you decide which. ...Um, I thought an apprentice wasn’t allowed to cast spells unless a full mage is present. Not that I care... It's just I'll keep it to myself if it'd get you into trouble with the old..."

My voice trails off as she begins to laugh. Confused, I can not tell if it is at me, at what I said or both.

Stopping to speak, she explains, “Yes the Order has a great many rules. That one has some latitude, … at least according to my father. Coeus hasn't bothered to be with me unless I requested his presence for the last two months.”

Pointing around her to where the illusion was, I ask, "What was that? I thought you were a healer, shouldn't your presentation be, you know, medical in nature?"

"What you mean like dissecting a liver in an unusual way or reattaching a severed head?"

"You can reattach a severed head?!"

Rhea adopts a lopsided smile.

"Literally yes, but if you actually want them alive afterwards, no. It can be whatever I want as long as I display some spell mastery and it reflects my … talents. I fancy myself, first and foremost, a connoisseur of culture. But like my father, I plan to become a dedicated healer for the Order and a true coercer. I will be the fifth generation of my family to serve the Order in this way."

"What’s a true coercer?"

She looks puzzled, "You do not know?"

I shrug and try to make an excuse, "Herazade told me not to worry about studying the spell stuff until I build my spell language and that's not till I get a chrysalis. Aren't the 14 words a coercive spell?"

She answers, "Yes, the 14 words to make someone fall in love is actually one of the simplest and best understood coercive spells. It works by flooding the brain stem with oxytocin while the subject is thinking of their future object of affection. There are others that almost any technomage can learn, sleep inducement, the command voice etc. But a true coercer, well, I'll put it this way, there are some of us with additional talent who can cast certain, advanced spells. The Centauri technomages enthusiastically call it 'spirit oppression.' It is not telepathic coercion instead it works ...actually no one knows how those spells really work but I have some guesses based on the fact that they work best with physical contact."

"So you can make anyone do anything?"

She raises an eyebrow at me. "A particularly trained mage can train fight off such spells or a strong telepath can resist it. But YOU, I could easily coerce anytime."

"Really?! What does it feel like?"

Still as a statue, she says nothing. Then abruptly she walks over to a workbench and picks out some small gears. She approaches me with the gears in her palm and deliberately grasps my wrist.

The next thing I hear is her say, "Stop."

I taste metal and suddenly realize that my mouth is full. I spit gears out and look at her wicked smile.

"How did ...? I have no memory of …”

Her erupting into a full-throated laugh halts my stuttering.

“I can’t believe how easy that was. I have only tried that on Gwynn and she fights me tooth and nail. I can barely drag her under. That was fun."

She claps for herself and I smile at her.

“Fun for YOU. Will I be able to do that?”

Looking and sounding unrepentant, “You will be taught a great many things. Your natural talents will determine what you can do well. But all technomages must learn how to manipulate perceptions of sentients in some way or another.”

"Here's hoping I don't disappoint. My line ... I feel a lot less ... noble I guess. Herazade found me working for a stim smuggler at a recycler. I still don't understand what your illusion meant. May I see it all?"

She looks uncommitted.

"Anyone can see it at the convocation if they wish, but I will tell you it is how I see the mind and its progression from a chaotic state to an ordered one. Okay that's enough. I'm beginning to bore even myself, also I'm suddenly starving, you mentioned a lunch?"

"Hold on."

I head to the door and open it.

"Po come in. Serve secondary occupant."

"Have you heard from your sister?"

She retrieves the tray from the back of the spider. After she stands up, she looks at me confused.

"Do you mean Gwynn?"

"Yes."

"No I have not, nor am I really surprised and she is not my biological sister," she adds with a distinct annoyance.

Excitedly I ask, "Is she adopted to?"

"No, well actually sort of. My father took care of her mother, Myrenda, when she was ill. Coeus volunteered to complete her apprenticeship after she died. That was a few years ago. She was … it was difficult at first but I suppose our relationship resembles that of siblings. We certainly argue like sisters. Of course, it's turning out that she excels at everything but healing, though my father suspects she will also be a true coercer. That’s part of why he was eager to help complete her apprenticeship."

She fixes me with a piercing and unblinking stare.

Getting the hint I say, "I suppose I should go now."

She says only, "Yes."

EOF

---

Galen lets out a hard, unhappy breath. A true coercer. Galen knows exactly what that means for he is one himself. Rhea was correct, coercion, really manipulation in all its forms, is THE thing technomages excel at. The Shadows were the true masters of it. So of course they made sure the technomages had such abilities.

It has been years since Galen's thought of his spell research. He has been so profoundly busy that he has had to leave all his research for when the universe is no longer conspiring to keep him miserably occupied.

He had devoted much of his time while living in the hiding place to trying to discover the seven root spells at the base of all technomage spells. He discovered and used four of them. The first that shocked so many before his initiation and is the basis of all offensive spells was Galen's spell of destruction. The second was the basis of all their communication spells. That one enabled him to listen in on the Shadows communications years ago when the Order was fleeing before the Shadow war.

The third involved the base shielding spell which offers near perfect protection and concealment. An invaluable spell, thinks Galen, when he manages to cast it in time. He ruefully touches his shoulder where Dureena impaled her knife.

The fourth was at the root of the spells of association or the merging directly with technology. That base spell enabled Galen to become one with his tech.

The next two, the ability to create illusions with substance and the mastery over movement with their platforms, Galen has had too little interest or time to pursue.

Which leaves one last base spell, the basis of the spell family that is the most Shadow like, the root of their spells of coercion. He can clearly see the base spell for coercion in his mind but he dare not cast it. He is certain it will completely enthrall whoever is unlucky enough to be its victim. It would leave their intellect intact but would strip them completely of their free will, a permanent slave for Galen to use as he wished.

The Shadows had turned many sentients, Anna Sheridan chief among them, into a sort of thrall, an eager, willing, and permanant puppet. Galen likes to think he will never use the base coercion spell but then again he never thought he'd use the 14 words to make someone fall in love forever. Regrettably, it is a spell Galen has used, once. He did at Vir’s request. It gave Vir a 'tool,' to help him wrestle control of Centauri Prime away from the Drakh. Galen did it for the ‘greatest good’ but it was the most disgusting thing he has had to do in recent memory and still wishes he could have found another way. His head drops down to stare at Fed's sphere in his hand.

What is most disturbing about Rhea, was she blithely coerced Fed with barely a second thought. Elric never allowed him to practice coercive spells as an apprentice. His explanation was they were too dangerous for a chrysalis staged mage. Nor did he allow Galen to use his chrysalis unsupervised going so far as to lock it away. Taken together Rhea’s behavior, and that of her Master, screams arrogance and willful carelessness, but those are two traits all to common among his Order.

The question is how strong of a true coercer was she. Galen makes a mental note to discuss just exactly how strong her abilities were with Gwynn, soon. He moves on to the next entry.

//6//

(Fed’s voice comes on and simply states.)

Only one word comes to mind to describe this night, AWKWARD.

- 22.11.2252

Rhea loudly declares, "Technically, it is NOT necrophilia if they are the UNdead." Her long hair hangs loose and sits rowdily on her head obscuring some of her face.

The room is dark except for a large screen displaying a frozen image of an animated corpse biting into the head of a very unhappy looking man. The eerie glow of the screen illuminates the room. The walls are completely

covered with colorful tapestries of complex geometric fractals, a few antique books and classically styled but overly colorful landscapes. The table in front of the screen is covered with half empty dishes.

I am lounging on an incredibly large comfortable red sofa with my bare feet propped up on a step stool and am adamantly shaking my head no.

I argue back, "That's a trivial technicality. The spirit of what you said I think was very clear - you prefer your men, tall, dark and dead."

"All I said was 'He's cuter as an undead.' It's not my fault your mind jumped to a perverted conclusion. And there is nothing wrong with being technically correct. It is the best sort of correct," exclaims Rhea haughtily.

Dejectedly, I sag back against the couch. "You’re stringing me along, aren’t you?"

She laughs at me until we are both carried along by it and says with a grin, "Thank you for taking the bait. I really enjoyed it … unlike this vid. I'll have to remember to avoid anything with the phrase 'of the dead' in its title."

Quickly turning serious, I stop laughing and my grin disappears. I begin to stare at her, not even breathing. Noticing she stops laughing, and stares back looking confused at first, them with slow dawning realization. Smoothly, I lean toward her face intent on her lips, but am stopped by a firm hand planted in the middle of my chest and the panicked expression on her face.

Out of the darkness a voice says with startling effect, "Well aren't you two all chummy."

Rhea vaults to her feet, and faces the darkness.

"Enjoy your walk Gwynn? Let’s see it’s been … almost 36 hours"

Gwynn steps out of the shadows and into the illumination of the screen. She appears to be wearing a police uniform while endlessly twirling some sort of badge in her right hand.

"Immensely, New Alhambra has a certain charm all its own. (She looks away dreamily for a second before her attention snaps back onto me. Her smile vanishes into an icy, judging stare.) Where are we sleeping?"

At this I stand.

"I’ll go prepare your rooms now."

As I walk away I hear Gwynn whisper, "Did he say rooms? Whose bed did you sleep in last night?!"

I stop just outside the room, out of sight and listen.

"I ... fell asleep here, watching vids. Forget this, why are you wearing a police uniform?"

"A souvenir. No, let’s not 'forget this.' Even in this light he looked flushed. Please tell me you weren’t about to commence his ‘initiation.’"

Rhea sputters, "Of course not!”

Her voice all disapproval, Gwynn lectures, “Really? You should keep in mind that the age of consent on Proxima is 16. He doesn't look near it. ”

The defensive response is immediate.

“He will be 16 in week and it doesn’t matter! I am the victim here! … Wait, why in the world would you know what the age of consent is on Proxima? … Look, he misinterpreted my kindness for … interest. Loneliness and curiosity emanate out of him so strongly that I missed the signs. And apparently he’s the assertive sort. Don't worry I know how to shut him down."

Gwynn continues to push, “If you speak to him again about anything, he’s just going to take that as encouragement. You should just cut him off.”

“Oh you are now an expert on men then? Correct me if I'm wrong but don't you have the dating history of a moderately excitable Victorian dowager. Have you even been deflowered yet?”

A long silence punctuated at the end by a distinctly wry laugh from Gwynn, who crisply answers, “I would rather keep my own council on that front. Look take my advice or not, it was offered in your benefit.”

“I know, but the one thing I remember from 15 going on 16 was that I desperately wanted to be taken seriously. Hopefully, he’s mature enough to hear the reasons for my lack of interest. … Oh don’t look at me that way! … Fine you win, IF he is unreasonable, I will cut him off.”

Disappointed, I leave and bound up a flight of stairs two at a time, at the top of the stairs sits the red robotic spider.

"Po, unlock bedrooms 3 and 4. Synch environmental settings with master. Stock them each with a complete set of linens. Hook the terminals up to the network "

The robot scurries off down the hallway.

I hurry back down and eavesdrop again to overhear Gwynn say, "Yes, before we left he wanted me to read some of his research, but he was really vague about what he wanted me to do."

"He's just feeling you out to see if you'd be interested in helping us with backwards engineering the suit. You know neither one of us is good at that sort of thing."

I walk in then. Rhea looks at me without smiling and orders, "Fed, show Gwynn to her room then come back down here, please."

A feeling of dread washes over me but I manage to mutter, "Sure."

Silently, I lead Gwynn away with stalking behind me. We enter a room.

"The terminal is unlocked and we have an always on, realtime connection to EarthNet. Rhea is in the room to your right and I am across the hallway should you need anything."

She stares at me with a withering expression.

Her voice suddenly sultry, she says, "You mean like in the middle of the night, if I get LONELY?"

She draws out the last word as if it was a song lyric. I give her a strained smile and then start to leave.

"Federico." Her voice is now cold and crisp.

I stop at the door and nervously ask, "Yes?"

"Leave her alone. You are too young for her. Do you understand?"

"What?... Why did you just say that?"

"You're about to be on the receiving end of a convoluted and numbingly clinical lecture. I thought I'd save you the trouble of trying to puzzle it through. Now I'm exhausted, go away." She waves her hand as if batting away an insect.

I close the door behind me and stand there for a minute slowly taking in what she said. Then I head back rapidly taking the stairs two at a time.

Rhea is examining a tapestry when I enter.

"Ahh, there you are. Have a seat."

I sit on the sofa and she sits opposite me but well away on the step stool.

"Fed, I think you are charming, witty and quite a cook. Your company has been a real pleasure. But sometimes as we mature out of adolescence we develop certain inappropriate feelings which stem from the rapidly ..."

"Please stop. (She looks surprised then suspicious but remains silent fixing me with a stare.) ... I ... know what you are

about to say and I understand. I won't lie, I think you're beautiful, smart, fun and ... I don't plan to make a fool of myself again. I know when to bide my time."

She let's out a sigh and frowns. We are silent for several painful seconds.

"This is not what I had in mind but I had better leave it alone."

She stands then continues, "Tomorrow, I will spend my time alone or with Gwynn. I don't need anything brought to me, I'll just... forage off the land. (I stand.) Oh NO! Stay there, I'll figure it out. Good night Fed."

She walks away. I let out a slow heavy breath as I watch her retreating form. The moment she is out of sight Aldous decloaks beside me causing me to jump in shock.

He speaks first, "I have a new respect for you Fed, at your age I would never have had the courage to try and kiss a woman like that.

It is one of evolution's cruelest little jokes that just as we reach sexual maturity, handsome women find us repulsive and pitiful, well the sane ones anyway."

I turn away feeling my face burn.

"I see I've embarrassed you. Well one advantage to learning you have a terminal disease is you don't give a crap anymore about social niceties or sparing others feelings."

"Mierde, does everyone get to see me make a fool out of myself.”

He chuckles as he answers, “I think I’m the last one. You should be careful when you easedrop like that. Those words were not meant for you. You need to be prepared to hear the worst about yourself from another."

I stare into the darkness around us as I quietly answer, "I had to know."

He pats me on the back, causing me to look in his grinning face.

“I don’t disapprove. Such behavior is how I know you will make an excellent technomage."

"Umm how much did you see?"

"Obviously, I caught the exciting conclusion. It was almost an absurdist farce. You two put on an entertaining show."

Pleading with him, I beg, "Please don't tell Hera!"

"Certainly not. I am not cruel. Hera might be a liberal master, but perhaps some advice man to man is order. Here is the sum total of my accumulated wisdom for you in this situation, give up. At least practice on something smaller than a Titan.”

I protest, “But … what if I don’t want to give up? You know women right. What do I, I mean how would you …?”

He interrupts me, “No! I will not play a sort of Cyrano."

"Please?"

"You’re clever. You’ll figure it out."

"Oh come on! At least give me a hint."

He stares at me sternly and the stand off continues for a good long time.

I give up first and blurt out, "I can't believe you're going to ... I mean I'm sorry that... I don't even know what to say... ," my voice trails off into uncertainty.

He pulls me into a tight embrace and says in my ear, "Stop. I will not have it. If you get to be my age it means you win at the game of life. My only regret is I won’t get to see how your life turns out first hand. All I ask is you honor my memory. Obey your master better. Build up the Order and guard it with your life because it is your life."

He lets me go as we are both near tears. Despite that, I half jokingly respond, "I can do that. But ... you know, maybe I could do it better if I knew how to get the girl to.”

Sighing, he says through a grin, "You win. I'll say this, in my experience if you can make them laugh that is half the battle won. But she has clearly decided against you. Respect that. But then again, that does not mean you can not lay siege to the city. It took the Greeks ten years to conquer Troy. Perhaps you'll have better luck, but you might want pace yourself."

I exclaim, "Ten years?! What do you mean lay siege? Wait, didn't the Greeks destroy Troy?"

He waves a dismissive hand, explaining, "I mean the gentle, a satellite in her orbit, friendly sort of siege. In the mean time you’ll survive, masturbation is your friend but take my advice, use a light touch and learn complete control now, you’ll thank me later."

His face is all innocent smiles while mine burns with waves of mortification.

“Now that I've no dignity left can I slink off to my room, please?" I plead.

I am so engrossed that I do not notice Herazade walk in until she addresses me.

"Exactly why would you have no dignity left?”

Thankfully, she is fully dressed. I am too shocked to speak and so just stare at her stupidly.

Aldous leans over and whispers in my ear, "Courage lad. Once more into the breach."

EOF

---

Everything abruptly ends. Good lord Galen thought. He never realized how much of a little spy Fed was. It is not entirely surprising. Fed did always seem to enjoy collecting and spreading gossip when they were apprentices, but it had never occurred to Galen that he would so actively eavesdrop on conversations. Galen makes a mental note to assume no conversation is private when Fed is anywhere close by.

Otherwise, the only interesting thing he learned is that Rhea completely rejected Fed. Of course that did not deter him, quite the opposite in fact. He moves on, oblivious to what is happening on the Excalibur.

Recreation Room 1- Aboard the Excalibur December 23, 2269 - Racing with the cure back to Earth.

Without any music the party rolls along at a dull roar. Tired of dancing, Max and Dureena have seated themselves at the last empty table right by the makeshift bar. Max gently nurses a drink in one hand and a portable terminal in the other, waiting for Dureena to answer him.

"Why?" She demands with a distrustful edge to more than just her words.

Max snorts out an arrogant laugh as he knowingly observes, "While I firmly believe, 'No good deed should go unpunished,' ... you saved THE thing I hold most dear, ... my life. It's not the sort of thing one forgets."

Dureena leans back into her chair relaxed now.

"Then this is your way of thanking me despite acting like nothing had happened. You should know I did it by instinct, had I thought about it..."

She smiles at the implication, while Max cuts in impatiently, "Are you going to accept or not?"

Slowly shaking her head yes. "As fun as stealing a shuttle would be, instead, yes, I accept."

"Good. One chartered freighter to Theta 49 coming up. I'll make sure its holds are filled with goodies for ... (Max pauses seemingly stumped.) I don't even know what your people are called?"

"The Mayurin, it means simply 'the keepers' in my language. But now you are being suspiciously generous again."

"Hardly, I won't spend a penny of my own money for any of this. I come from one of the finest and oldest families of Mars. So of course, I know all the best families. I know exactly who uses money to pretend they care enough to help those unfortunate, disadvantaged ...," he abruptly stops becoming unusually self-conscious. Dureena knowingly offers a word that completes his sentence, "Savages."

After a brief pause Max gallantly offers, “Say what you will about me, at least I know enough not to call you that. I was surprised you let Galen return to the Excalibur without a couple knives sticking out of him.”

Max seems to be about to laugh at his own joke but stops himself when he sees Dureena’s reaction, severe.

Dureena thinks about the last month. It seems to have lasted for years. It has been all confusion and turmoil, with HIM at the center.

One month before the cure was found.

Dureena boarded the tram and took her usual seat opposite Galen. He sat in his usual spot near the window staring out, expression grim, body slightly tense.

In advance, she decided to ask him a question simple enough that perhaps he would give an answer. When she felt ready, she spoke, “Why do you ride these endless circuits?”

Steely blue eyes turned to Dureena, his answering tone as imperious as ever, “Why? …Why this is the natural state of Man, of course. Running in pointless circles. Endlessly repeating.”

She digested his smooth and practiced answer and countered, “If that were true shouldn’t this train be packed? No, I think it is just your natural state.”

Surprised eyebrows animated his brow and when he answered, his tone was all amusement. Dureena wondered if it was because she challenged him.

He answered, “Perhaps … but since you are sitting here, it is more correct to say it is OUR natural state. … Are you about to ask me to take you on as an apprentice, again?”

That question took her aback. Yes she had originally started keeping him company to press her suit, but quickly it had morphed into companionship. His opening up to her, however slightly, pleased and comforted her more then she cared to admit. Truth be told it had been days since she even thought of asking. She chose to answer him honestly,

“No. I hadn't thought to ask. I think ... I will wait until there is chance you will say yes.”

Dureena looked away out the window of the moving tram, embarrassed for giving such a weak and frank answer. And truth be told to hide her reaction. As always, she was sure he could see right through her. Yes, she wanted his secrets to punish the Drakh for destroying her world. That is what she tells herself and Galen or anyone who asks, but under that her true motivation. Instantly, every sense in her body was overwhelmed by hatred and the need for revenge, against those who enjoyed murdering Jouric and poor cowardly Muri. All while she was forced to helplessly look on. Then afterwards … there was no savior, no justice and another year to endure before she escaped. She swore never to allow herself to be so powerless again.

Thrusting away the feelings, she regained some sense of control, enough anyway to look back into Galen’s eyes. Her breath caught. All thoughts of anything bad fell out of mind, because instead of the usual exasperation, all she saw was concern and sympathy. Her heart leapt toward him then as they stared at each other. She had wanted that moment to go on and on, but some awkwardness seemed to overwhelm him. He broke off, looked toward the floor, and shifted his weight crossing his legs stiffly. She continued to stare at his profile.

Whatever spell was on her broke when he spoke, “An improvement.” He turned to look back out the window, but with a frown tugging the corner of his lip.

He continued speaking at the window, “You should know I have decided never to take you on as an apprentice.”

Shocked, every part of her wanted to demand, ‘Why?!’ Was this a test? Was it his real and final decision? She could not be sure and so she stayed quiet. Showing her anger would only prove his point that she was somehow unworthy. She continued to sit there, stop after stop, with eyes digging holes into him, and a hand hovering near one of the many knives she always had on her person.

As the first wave of fury subsided, she began to study him, giving her instincts full reign. They told her two things that she had missed till that moment. One, at least part of his discomfort with her was that he was effected by her, the way she 'effected' too many of the males about her. Two, for once, this was not unwelcomed to her. Although clearly, it was unwelcomed by him. Was that the answer to her silent why? For a moment, she ruefully thought about her life in the Thieves guild. While a vast improvement over life as a slave, she had to trade too many of her nights for the knowledge she needed to join them. She compromised once. Could it be so simple that he would never compromise, and so can not accept her … tainted past? How could he even know? She had no idea, but she would not be ashamed of doing what she had to survive, and prosper in the guild. The tram halted at the docking bay stop. Galen stood and silently headed for the exit, mightily ignoring her. Dureena instantly decided, she would not give up.

“Wait,” she said.

He stopped at the door gripping the bars with his hands till his knuckles turned white as she finished speaking, "I will be here tomorrow, anyway.”

Something between a laugh and cry burst out of him, making her look up at him in surprise.

His sharp gaze and tone burned at her as he spoke, “Not giving up then?”

A flash of Jouric smiling and dancing went through Dureena’s mind as she answered, “No." silently adding, 'Not any more.'

He swept out of the tram. Part of her had wanted to follow him and MAKE him speak to her about why, but she did not. As of that moment she was confounded by the feelings he had stirred up. The next day she was there and the day after, but he never came again.

Dureena comes back to the present celebration. Absentmindedly, she strokes the small triangular sword inside its sheath on her waist. As always her fingers tingle slightly and turn cold. It is her sword, a large knife really. Two rounded blades pointed toward each other, fused at the tip, a handle completing the triangular effect, all a blue–gray metal. Sharp, cold, silent, deadly, reassuring, and dependable. For years, knives were the only things she trusted. That was until he entered her dreams … Galen, the living knife.

Whenever he sees fit to, he can cut into her more deeply then anyone she has ever known, the most recent is the most painful. It was like he held up a mirror and showed her what she really was. Not that she was afraid to see, it was just that he caught her completely unguarded. It seemed that once again, he just needed the right reaction of her. But this time it was not to make her weep, it was to … she is not sure, shock her perhaps.

Why did he have to say … no it was no use dwelling on the past. Who knows why he says anything?! That man is utterly frustrating and confusing. When it comes to Galen there is nothing but whys?! Why would he fight to destroy the Shadows technology when he’s filled with it literally? Why did he want the sword so desperately only to give it back to her, like an act of charity? Most importantly, why did he choose her in the first place? He never explained himself. Never does. The few times he does speak, it is in suitably vague, wise-seeming utterances that contain little in the way of real information.

Silently, she curses, 'Damn it!' She slams her fist against her thigh. Here she is once again obsessively thinking about HIM. She silently swears she is done trying to pry explanations out of him. At the same time she knows she would eagerly listen if he offered to explain himself. Dureena chastises herself for trying to get close to a technomage. Only fools try to enter their shadow-soaked world. She should stop thinking about him. Yes, that is it. Just forget him, focus on getting back to Theta 49 and helping what is left of her people. The small voice in the back of her mind reminds her, easier said then done.

Max brings her back into the conversation with a quiet question, “Are you going to forgive him?”

“There was nothing to forgive. He did not say anything that was not perfectly true.”

Max says with a conviction that speaks of experience, “From a woman that usually means no. Not that I’m complaining that leaves you free for the rest of us.”

Quickly annoyed that he managed to read her inclination, she says, "Max ..."

He stops her with a wave, “Don’t worry I won't breath a word of it to anyone and (he indicates between them) if I thought for a moment you’d say ‘maybe,’ I would have already invited you to see my collection of Pak’Ma’Ra mating stones.”

Genuinely amused Dureena sums up her feelings toward him, "I’m glad to see you are still an ass at heart. I'm going to get something to eat."

She walks away from the table to Max’s snide comments, "I'd avoid everything but the fruit if I were you."

Excalibur Bridge - December 23, 2269

Gideon sits hunched over a small display attached to the captain’s chair, reviewing the Drakh fleet telemetry data for the tenth time.

Walking up to him, Lt. Matheson reports, "Both EarthForce and the IA command have acknowledged your report sir. (Not looking up, Gideon grunts a vaguely affirmative response.) ... Find anything new sir?"

"There is always something new Lieutenant. For example, I just noticed their speed. They weren't exactly going all out trying to catch us. Only after they were redirected did they go to full throttle."

"Are you saying they were shadowing us?"

"Not exactly, they were closing in, but slower then I would expect."

"Why would they do that?"

"Good question."

Matheson stands expecting him to continue but Gideon says nothing more.

Finally Lt. Matheson asks, "Care to let us lesser mortals in on the secret?"

"I promise you'll be the first as soon as I figure out what the hell is going on."

A touch of worry enters Matheson's voice, "I'll feel a lot better when the White Stars show up."

Gideon grunts in agreement and inquires, “Have there been any … unexplained fogs, holo-creatures flying about, or system security breaches?”

“No sir. … Actually, there was a frozen door lock on observation room 1. I sent a repair team, but when they got there it was behaving normally.”

I dry gruff laugh comes out of Gideon. “I think we can live without one of our ob. rooms.”

“Are you expecting trouble from the other technomage?”

Gideon shrugs uncertainly. He knows Galen and, despite their clashes, he trusts him, but this Federico? He is Galen’s friend and that in of it by itself is enough to show Fed some curtsey. Then there is the fact that he did risk his life to misdirect the Drakh, for which Gideon is grateful. That fight would have been ugly. It's uncertain whether they would have survived. Gideon looks down again at the terminal displaying the Drakh fleet and watches them slowly move away tangentially from the Excalibur. Does he trust Fed? … That remains to be seen.

The real troubling issue is how surprised and concerned Galen was with Fed’s arrival. Gideon hates it when Galen seems unsettled. It’s NEVER good. His brow furls apprehensively.

Turning to Lt. Matteson, Gideon adds an order, “We need to stay on our toes. Double the marine guards on all vital areas. Let's go to battle ready stations and I want every gun issued to the crew starting with officers, NCOs and specialists down.”

"Including the senior staff?"

"Yes. I'll use one of my own."

"Should I have someone bring one to you sir?"

"No, I'll get it myself. I doubt this is the last we've heard of the Drakh. They can't be this easy to fool."

Looking now equally worried, Matheson returns to his duties. While Gideon immediately goes back to studying the

Drakh fleets movements trying to ring every last bit of information out of it.

Mars - Syria Planum - Conference Room of Top Secret Research EarthForce Facility - December 23, 2269

A large table is occupied by two men, both pushing the end of middle-age. They are facing a large tactical display on the wall. It shows the very report Captain Gideon just submitted to EarthForce. The man speaking is in uniform. A rank of General shines brightly on his lapels. His chest is unadorned now, but if he was wearing a full dress uniform it would be covered with over a dozen ribbons, most earned painfully during the Earth-Minbari war. The other is simply dressed, gray slacks, a collared tan shirt and a warm yellow, buttoned sweater. A cup of tea sits on the table in front of him. His mustache and hair are going gray and his face seems etched with a warm expression that any child would want on their grandfather, except for the eyes. They shine with an arrogant certainty few manage to acquire.

The General finishes speaking “… Hubert went over their doctor's report. It’s not as effective as what we have but it appears to deactivate the virus and make it non-contagious. It should work as a cure. And as you can see, (he points at the screen), it now looks like they will avoid the Drakh.”

The mustache of the other man moves about in annoyance as the warm expression vanishes and is replaced by instant anger, “I can not believe that damn gambler pulled it off and years early to boot. We have got to recruit him!”

An incredulous look runs across the General’s face for a moment before he answers, “You’ve got to be kidding. He killed Colonel Remil.”

The other man laughs slightly in response before speaking, “No, that was that damn technomage, Galen. Now, THAT one, we should kill at first sight.”

The General says with some apprehension, “Our contact aboard says there is another technomage. He was able to tight beam these."

Two blurry images from the Excalibur docking bay appear side by side on the large screen; one of a technomage ship clearly showing Fed's symbol and the other a fuzzy shot of three figures talking.

The old man's only response is to study the images.

The General asks nervously, "Is this a problem?"

He shrugs, "I’m not sure.”

The General looks to him for instruction. “What should we do?”

“Why contact our associates on Centauri Prime of course and let them know they are being played for fools. And move up the council meeting."

The General looks dubious as he disagrees, “The Minbari have already dispatched the Star Riders to intercept. Why not let them take care of the lizard heads? The original point of all this plague crap was to take the f’ing bone-heads out of the game, yes? At least this way a few of them will finally die. And besides it’s not like the Drakh will trust our word any more.”

The old man reassures the soldier, “Now, now general, you need to keep your eye on the big picture. We’ll show them all what humanity is capable of. The Minbari will wind up under our heels before you know it. Senator McQuate says he needs until the next election cycle to build the coalition. It is our job to give him that time. As for the Drakh, they won’t trust us but they will use the information anyway like the good little servants they’ve always been. I'll come up with a contingency in case they fail us.”

The General leans back in his chair, hesitating.

The old man does not take that hesitation well. He asks with a sudden impatience, “Am I going to need to go through Mr. Jones’s channels?”

“No. I just hate losing more of my people!”

The warm gentle expression returns as he reassures the General, “This 'cure' can not make it back to Earth, and if it will not allow itself to be captured, the Excalibur must be destroyed."

The General merely nods once, stands and strides from the room. When the door closes behind him two figures appear out of nowhere flanking the seated old man on each side. The one on the left is a very young man dressed in a black suit with an innocent face. He has a disinterested blank expression as if he is listening to another conversation that he is also disinterested in. The second is a tall lithe blonde in a blouse and a short skirt that is actively straining the bonds of societal modesty. The woman places a hand on one of the old man’s shoulders and bends over till her chin practically rests on the other shoulder.

She coyly whispers, "Please let me have Galen before you kill him. I need to thank him properly for saving my life on Z'Ha'Dum."

The man shakes his head at that for a while before announcing, "A hero never does know when to quit. No, he has proven to be … troublesome."

She withdraws her attentions to his shoulders and quickly twirls and plants her rear against the table, jutting out her chin, pouting.

"You're no fun Justin.”

Justin shrugs and sits quietly contemplating. Finally he says, “Take off your blouse and turn around.”

The blonde’s eyebrows arch with curiosity, “Oh my, I didn’t think you were the sort to sexually harass his underlings. And in front of Mr. Alpha no less,” she begins to comply as she continues, “You know you should watch out, he’s the jealous type.”

She braces herself against the table revealing her back to him. Two dark channels of what appear to be large dark bruises run along either side of her spine. They stretch down disappearing below her waist, and up to her neck, across her shoulder blades, tapering off into the backs of her arms near her elbows. He gently prods them with his fingers examining the length of her back for several minutes.

Seemingly satisfied he asks, “How do you feel?”

The woman practically purrs as she answers, “I thought being a P12 felt powerful. I feel indestructible…”

Justin interrupts her, “Show me something, both of you.”

The woman pulls her blouse back on and seems to consider how to fulfill his request as she buttons her shirt. The young man blinks and seems to come to himself. He puts out a palm and a small fiery ball forms but it quickly dies down and vanishes. The woman holds out her hand over the mug on the table. It lifts up, wobbling off the table for a few seconds before dropping suddenly back down with a crash, spilling some tea on the table.

Furious, Justin stands and spits out, “Pathetic. You haven’t been practicing, have you?!”

The other two seem unconcerned at his outburst.

Mr. Alpha says, “It’s not exactly easy. Plus, I’m finding it hard to concentrate.” He winks at the blonde, who smiles back at him as she offers her excuse, “Actually, we’ve been ‘practicing’ all morning.”

The old man loses all patience. His hands lash out and grab each one by the throat.

“I will make it very easy for you both. If you two do not improve rapidly, I will personally rip out your implants as painfully as possible.”

As he speaks, they both struggle uselessly against his deathly grip, by attempting to pierce the old man’s mind with telepathic strikes. But they are as effective as twigs striking a steel door.

Justin continues speaking, “I need to be able to rely on you two, particularly as the new agents come online in the coming months,” They both begin to turn red but Justin keeps his hold, “You will help train and lead them, but you are not irreplaceable. If you do not behave and obey me perfectly, I will find more grateful recipients.”

Just as they begin to pass out, he lets go. The man collapses on all fours panting. The woman lands against the table cradling her throat.

Incredulous, she hoarsely demands, “How the hell did you block me?”

Justin condescendingly answers, “My dear Bunny, I served the Shadows for decades. Do you honestly think they’d leave me defenseless against your Vorlonish mind tricks? Now get up, we’re moving up our plans. You’re going to move the primary seeder as soon as possible to our back-up facilities. Gather the betas and put them in charge of guarding the secondary seeder, we’re leaving that here in the primary’s place. When you are done with that, you will spend ALL your time practicing until you are SO exhausted, you collapse where you stand.”

Mr. Alpha is the first to rise to his feet. He asks Justin, “Why bother? That's A LOT of work.”

Shakily standing up the woman answers first, “The other technomage?”

“Very good my dear. A second one showing up suddenly and our plans being disrupted... I don't believe in coincidences. They might have crawled out of whatever hole they’ve been hiding in for the last dozen years. We must be prepared. I want you with me at the next council. I plan to introduce you," He points to the woman and cryptically continues, "I've been negligent. It's been too long since the last loyalty scans. You will scan everyone. Go as deep as you need to. And you (he points to the young man aggressively) will take care of any 'failures.' No negotiations. No explanations. No hesitation. I've learned my lesson after Sheridan. Just kill them."

The young man speaks, "No problem."

Bunny also agrees readily saying, "Fine but don't expect me to humor those fossils. I won’t be gentle. I don't believe in your xenophobic bullshit."

Justin relaxes as he answers, "I don't either, my dear. In many ways, the average alien is superior to the average human. But what we lack physically and intellectually, we more then make up for with clever ambition. Besides our weaknesses are not something a little bioengineering can not fix. Now run along you two and do as you are told." He dismisses them with a genteel wave of his hand and they comply quickly.

He gently sighs, shaking his head disappointedly. “Kids today."