Invoking Darkness (31 page)

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Dressed again as Guy Phillips, Galen entered the customs area, valise in hand. At the security checkpoint, Michael Garibaldi looked up from a conversation with a colleague, noticing him. Galen would have preferred to avoid Michael. The security chief must have suspicions about him, particularly after Alwyn's erratic behavior. No doubt that was why Michael was loitering around the checkpoint at this late hour.

But Galen's scheduled 2 A.M. departure was ten minutes away, and he could not delay. He was exhausted, his mind holding tightly to the reassuring rhythm of its exercises, his attention narrowed to the single necessity of boarding his ship, leaving this place.

Galen presented his identicard to Michael.

"Mr. Phillips," Michael said. "Short visit. Any luck drumming up some business?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Sorry to hear that. Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you."

Michael still had not run his identicard through the scanner.

"That Mr. Alecto, he seemed to be carrying some kind of grudge, blaming a Human for the bombing of the Narn home-world. Do you know where he would get that idea?"

It was a question to which both Galen and Michael knew the answer, but neither would admit. Galen looked out across the empty customs area with its flashing information screens.

"Thomas Alecto knows more about the Narn situation than pretty much anyone. I don't even try to understand it. That's not my business."

He turned back to Michael.

"Thank you for helping Thomas out of trouble. He's a good man, though often reckless."

Galen hesitated, decided to take a chance. He fixed Michael with his gaze.

"As I've often told him, these are dangerous times, and one should not make enemies unless one is prepared to defend oneself from their attack."

Michael pursed his lips, studying Galen. "I couldn't have said it any better."

Something across the customs area caught his attention.

"Oh look, it's Mr. Alecto's friend."

Morden was approaching, a small suitcase in each hand. He must have moved up his departure time to coincide with Galen's, and Galen had been too preoccupied to notice. Michael's smile revealed that he was not surprised in the least. He was here for the express purpose of witnessing this meeting.

Galen accessed his sensors, searched through frequencies. Two new Shadows accompanied Morden.

"Mr. Phillips, isn't it?"

Morden said in his smooth, threatening voice, setting his suitcases down to either side.

"You're leaving early," Galen said.

"Yes, something unexpected came up."

Morden folded his hands in front of him. With the Shadows' influence had returned an intensity, a certainty to his manner. Of the Human being with whom Galen had briefly made contact, there was no sign.

"I hope it won't ruin your plans with your girlfriend," Galen said. "I think she's going to enjoy your gifts."

Morden's gaze lingered on Galen.

"It's thoughtful of you to mention. Please tell your friend that I hope I see him again soon. I know he feels the same way."

"I hope to see you again too, Guy."

Morden smiled, revealing even white teeth. Yet the smile was different than before, sharper and harder and filled with malice. It was the Shadows' anger, Galen realized, channeled through Morden.

"Mr. Garibaldi."

Morden extended his identicard, and Michael regarded it for a moment.

"No matter how many times we say good-bye, you keep coming back – like a bad meal."

"A bad but expensive meal, I hope."

Michael took the card, ran it through the scanner, and returned it. Galen stepped aside, and Morden picked up his suitcases and passed through the checkpoint, the Shadows following. Michael looked after him, troubled. Finally he ran Galen's card through the scanner. When he handed it back, he maintained his hold on one end, drawing Galen's gaze to his.

"I think you're the one who needs to be careful."

"You're mistaken. It's you. And your captain. Watch over him."

Michael's lips tightened, and Galen took the card and headed down the passageway.

Now he would go to Z'ha'dum.

C
HAPTER 14

Anna sat in a small chamber within the machine, on a seat that had been extended up out of the floor for her. The machine surrounded her – its graceful curves, its life, its power – yet she was not part of it. She was only a passenger, one of those inferior irritants that used to prowl her insides, their heat and oily excretions repulsive.

Anna caressed the shifting black skin of the seat, skin like that which had once been hers. She had been ripped from the machine, taken from her joy. She longed to go to the heart of this machine, to rip out whoever lay there and sink into the precious gelatinous blackness, to connect once again with the best part of herself.

But she could not. Obedience.

Besides, if she waited just a little longer, she would be joined with a much greater machine. Consulting an image of the archaeologist woman displayed on one wall, the technicians styled the hair on her head, removed the hair from her legs. This pathetic body required far more maintenance than the machine. Justin stepped into the doorway.

"Everything going well?"

"Yes," Anna said.

He had been growing more anxious since yesterday, moving restlessly about the ship, once even raising his voice to the liberators. There had been a great battle, and John Sheridan's forces had destroyed many of her sisters.

John had used the hated telepaths against them. After the battle, the liberators had gone off on their own to huddle in bursts of overlapping, chirping speech. For the first time, Anna had wondered if their victory could be in doubt.

But that was impossible. If they were defeated, that would mean their enemies were superior. No one could be superior to the liberators and their great machines. Most certainly not a Human. Before John could do them more harm, he had to be stopped. Destroying him was the proper method. Every instinct told her that. Yet Justin had said John might be controlled, might be convinced, his potential freed.

That was what the liberators wished, and they, with their wondrous intelligence and unfathomable knowledge, were far wiser than she. They had entrusted her with a great responsibility, and she would not fail them.

"We'll have the clothes and makeup and things directly," Justin said in his quavering voice.

Anna looked at the image on the wall, the smiling woman with the wavy dark hair and brown jacket. She looked down at herself. She wore a short green dress that she knew had once belonged to Bunny. It was sufficient, but it was not something the archaeologist woman would have worn. So she could not wear it.

"We'll send for you in a few minutes," Justin said, and headed for the lower levels.

The machine was admitting a visitor in another ship. Justin had told her the archaeologist woman had known this Human, but he would not say the Human's name. He was hoping she would remember. Anna knew as soon as the technicians were finished, Anna followed after Justin. Perhaps she could study the visitor unobserved for a few minutes, try to connect the Human with the images in her mind. Outside the machine's main chamber she heard Justin's voice, along with high bursts of chirping from the liberators. She stopped.

"It was a complete disaster," Justin said.

"The strike was supposed to be an overwhelming, demoralizing slaughter, a total surprise. Instead our fleet has suffered major damage. How did John Sheridan know where we were going to attack?"

"He's a military man, and he's smart."

The visitor's voice was smooth, deep. She didn't recognize it.

"He deduced our strategy. But he doesn't have any idea what's coming next."

The liberators' anxious speech continued over the conversation of the two men.

"Our plan was to approach a demoralized John Sheridan," Justin said, "not one riding the crest of his greatest victory. I don't like the way the timing of this is going. On top of that, you said Galen was going directly to Z'ha'dum, but it's been eight days since he left Babylon 5, and we've detected no sign of him in the area."

Galen was the machine she had connected with before, she remembered. The machine who looked like a Human.

"He may be coming up with a plan of some kind."

"If he delays much longer," Justin said, "this could become a real problem for us. We can't postpone our contact with John Sheridan. We can't allow him time to follow up on his victory."

"Galen won't be a problem. They know how to handle him."

There was a pause.

Then Justin spoke again.

"How did your trip go?"

"According to plan," the smooth-voiced visitor said.

"Emperor Cartagia has sent the offer via diplomatic pouch. Londo should learn of his new position as adviser to the emperor on planetary security on the same day that John Sheridan learns his wife isn't really dead."

"At least something is going the way it's supposed to."

"How is she?" the visitor asked.

"She remembers pieces of her past, but her old emotions and personality have stayed beyond our reach. I thought at first it was hopeless, but she's been improving rapidly, learning to respond to different situations. Her husband will notice some change. He'll also see, though, that she's his wife, and what she says will matter to him. I'm hoping you can bring her further along, even in the short time we have left. Whatever it takes, this has to succeed. One way or the other."

The harsh chirp of one of the liberators broke into their conversation.

"Anna?" Justin called.

"Are you there?"

She entered.

Four liberators stood huddled on one side of the room. The head of one was raised, brilliant white eyes fixed on her. On the other side sat Justin and the visitor. The visitor quickly stood when he saw her.

"Sheridan."

He was a Human of compact build, with dark hair styled cleanly back. He wore a dark suit, and a black stone hung from a silver chain about his neck. His hands hung at his sides, and he stared at her with the unwavering intensity Justin had told her Humans did not use with other Humans. She searched her memory for his image, or his name.

"I recall you," she said.

"You were in a tunnel on Z'ha'dum. You were sitting on the ground. Your arm" – she pointed to it – "was burned."

The visitor nodded.

"I had been shot."

Justin pushed himself up with his cane.

"Do you know who this is, Anna?"

That image came from the time after she'd arrived on Z'ha'dum, but before she'd been joined with the machine.

"That's all I remember," she said.

"This is Morden, Anna. He was an archaeologist, like you. He came with you on the Icarus."

Anna came toward him, extended her hand.

"Hello. I'm Anna Sheridan. John's wife."

Morden frowned as he shook her hand. When their hands separated, he folded his together in front of him and turned to Justin.

"Sheridan would never introduce herself as John's wife."

"We did the best we could with what little we knew. Don't confuse her on the things she's already learned. Just try to teach her more. What do you think of her appearance?"

Morden barely looked at her.

"She's thin. The hair is too neat."

Justin let out a heavy breath.

"You should have seen her when we first took her out."

He glanced toward the liberators. One continued to watch them, while the others chattered.

"You two should catch up on old times. And Morden, perhaps you can help Anna finish getting ready. In the meantime, we've got our own matters to discuss. Anna, why don't you take him back to your room?"

Morden had known the archaeologist woman, and he found Anna a disappointment. He was wrong. She was more now than she had ever been. But she would learn all she could from him. Morden picked up a case on the floor beside him and looked to the liberators.

Anna did the same. To her surprise, the liberator who had been watching lowered his head, joining in the rapid conversation, leaving Anna and Morden on their own. The liberators were still concerned about the battle they'd lost.

Morden followed her from the chamber, and she spoke to him as they walked.

"Why did you call me Sheridan instead of Anna?"

"That's what I used to call you. You and the other archaeologists liked to call one another by your last names. You felt it distinguished you from the IPX executives, who used first names as if they were your friends, when they really weren't."

"And you were really her friend?"

"Whose friend?"

"Sheridan's."

He turned his head away, and Anna was reminded of Justin's instruction to turn away when she described the accident to John.

"Not a very good one," Morden said, "but yes, I was. She made me her friend."

"Then you can tell me what I need to know. So I can control John Sheridan."

Morden's head turned back, and his dark eyes again studied her, and he nodded. When they reached her chamber, Morden dismissed the technicians waiting there, saying they needed to be alone. He questioned her, at first, to discover how much she knew. Next he told her about herself.

Who she had been, what she had believed, how she had behaved. As he spoke, he rubbed his forehead periodically. Sometimes she didn't understand, and she had to question him. That made him angry, and as her questions increased, the answers drove out of him with more and more force, until his smooth voice poured out facts like an assault.

"Sheridan loved her work. She loved to learn. She loved her husband. She hated corporate politics. She refused to lie or use people just to get ahead. When she saw people in pain – she tried to help them, whether they would help her in return or not."

"What about evolution through bloodshed?"

Again, her question seemed to anger him.

"Sheridan would hurt someone only if her own life or a friend's was threatened and there was no other way. If there was a way, she would try to save even her enemies."