See Part One for Disclaimers

For the next hour he had sat in stony silence, listening to the tale the two men related.  Of the order they belonged to; 'Techno-Mages' Alwyn had named them.  A group of men and women dedicated to the acquisition of knowledge: physical, technical and spiritual.  How his father had been one of them a quarter century ago, a member of the ruling Circle.  Regarded as one of the best.  Then, he had met a beautiful Human woman, fallen in love with her and, in the end had given up his place in the Circle to start a life outside the order.  Here, on Earth.  Using his abilities to transform this barren desert to the fertile area it now was.  Then he had requested that his implants, his ship, his staff all be removed.  The knowledge he possessed, the data held in his ship's computer was worth more than Alwyn could convey.  "Such knowledge can be dangerous in the wrong hands.  Your father knew this, was protective of our order, always."

And though Galen's anger had remained, his insatiable curiosity was slowly winning out.  He wanted to know more: the secrets these men spoke of, the wonders that must exist outside of this small community.  Alwyn's words from so many years ago returned, 'You know he is born to this.'

That night, Elric had come for him.  The ship, black as the deepest well, had been set down far from the homes of his people.  On the walk back, he had been afraid to ask any questions, afraid of the man who was to be his guide, his mentor.  Over the years that they were together, some of that fear remained.  Along with unbounded respect, and an affection that neither would ever acknowledge.

Elric led an isolated life, as did most of the order.  Occasionally, meetings were held, when something of import needed to be told, but these were mainly remote viewings, rarely did the order meet face to face.  Their communications confined to the exchange of knowledge via their sophisticated technology.

For the next ten years, he studied diligently: how to read the signs and sygils, the phrases to bring someone under his control.  He read history, poetry, ancient philosophy; chemistry, physics and biology any and all subjects were his to review, learn and store away.

During that time, they had travelled most of the known, and some of the unknown Universe -- hands on experience Elric had called it, though they had interacted rarely with the denizens of many planets.  Techomages were, when recognised feared, and rightly so.  The powers Galen had been learning were awesome and dangerous in the wrong hands.

When Elric had thought him ready, he had performed the delicate surgery, inserting devices into his back.  Implants that, when connected to the electrical impulses of his brain, could mimic virtually anything any piece of technology was capable of.  The brain was the fastest and most comprehensive computer available to the denizens of the Cosmos -- though only the Technonmages had harnessed that resource successfully.

"Cease music."

He opened his eyes to the stygian gloom.  This review of his early life was doing little to excise the ghosts that haunted him now.  The pain killing drugs Dr Chambers had filled him with were beginning to wear off.  The old, familiar ache of his implants took their rightful place.  He had lived with this discomfort for nearly fifteen years, it's constant nagging at his pain centres helped him to focus -- it was a part of him now.

He removed himself from his sitting place on the floor, and went to stretch out on the sleeping couch, the pressure of the implants jolting through his shoulder, into his neck and beyond.  With a directed thought, he stopped the pain, controlling it, as he could have done the ache from Dureena's knife wound.  But that was one piece of technomancy he did not wish to become known, even to Gideon.  And certainly not to the good doctor.

He held out his hand in the darkness, directed his thoughts and brought forth Isabelle's likeness, all that he had left now that her ashes were no longer with him.  She would have chided him for this wallowing, had she been here with him now.  But, if she were still alive, maybe this would never have occurred.  He would not have left with Elric, would not have rescued Matthew, and would not have found himself interfering yet again in the concerns of Humans -- only to fail, again.

There had been a gathering of the Circle elders, a rare and worrying event.  Elric and Galen had sped to the meeting place, their route circuitous, stealth like.  Talk had revolved around a tremble in the Universal web.  No one sure what had occurred, just that something of major significance had taken place.  All mages were aware of the 'first ones,' their history, their interference in the lives of lesser creatures.  This sign seemed to promise a return to the time of war between them.

The order was commissioned to seek out what knowledge they could gather.

Years later, when the Shadows made their final move, Galen had done what he could to prevent his home planet being destroyed.  Though he should have held himself aloof from this struggle, he could not remove the thought of his home, his old companions.  He had not set foot on Earth since his father's demise, yet it held a special place in his heart that no amount of training, or travelling around the Galaxy could wholly erase.

Only one good thing had come from his searches -- Isabelle.  Each on their own path, they had met by accident at a crossroads within hyperspace.  The ships communicated automatically.  She had sent her likeness to his ship, opening a channel between them.  Her first word changed his life.  Every mage knows the fourteen words to make someone fall in love, she had only to say 'hello,' and he was lost.

The attraction had been mutual, and for the rest of their quest, they had been inseparable.  They had travelled together, rested together, delighting in one another's company.  When they returned home, he moved out of Elric's abode and set up his own with her by his side.  At night, they would sit in the study, deep in their respective research, sometimes not talking at all, but content knowing the other was there.  Some evenings she would play the Binarian harp for him, melodies so beautiful he would find it hard to breathe.  Or he would open some ancient tome and read poetry to her.  A love of the written word a bond between them.  He had rescued ancient volumes from many civilisations, finding crumbling written texts in the most unlikely of places.  Using technomancy to stabilise their fragile pages and to restore their print to legibility.  He had left all the works his father had gathered behind him.  Elric would not let him bring them on their journey, not wanting suspicion to arise over Galen's departure.

And then the rumour had reached them; an Apocalypse box had been sighted.  Like the fabled 'one ring' it would contrive to pass itself from person to person, ever seeking to be re-united with it's own kind.  Though it was doubtful this particular race of 'old ones' still existed.  They were manipulative at best, dangerous at worst.  Twisting perceptions, lying when it needed to, the knowledge possessed by these non-corporeal beings was enormous -- and the order had long wished to possess and examine one.  So far, they had eluded even the most diligent of the mages -- until now.

Galen and Isabelle had been the closest of their order to the reported sighting, and had, under orders from the Circle, sped to the designated planet.  Elric and others were to follow as soon as possible.

Tremaine 4 was in a lonely backwater of space, off the main trading routes.  A pre-technological society, it had no resources worth exploiting and had been left to vegetate in its isolated state.  All that was known about the denizens of this planet were their superstitious beliefs and primitive warlike nature.

Unknown to the order, three technomages already had the box in their possession.  Had done so for some time, and it had worked on them as easily as any mortal.  Greed, for whatever item be it gold, jewels or power was easily manipulated by this being.  Technomages were no exception.

Galen never found out what the box had offered them, had not cared to hear their excuses for what had happened on that planet.

The renegades had thought themselves hidden from the order on such a backward world, but in case they were ever found, they had put in place a trap to neutralise any enemy.  Galen and Isabelle had walked right into it.  His pride, his arrogant belief in his abilities had led to his love's death.

The locals were very secular, each community extremely territorial and aggressive in its defence.  Every village had its own gods and belief system.  But, because of these superstitions, they were only too open to the seeming divine magic displayed by the mages.  Incantations that could summon the gods, devils that answered only to them.  The populace had bowed down to them, worshipping the trio as deities in their own right.  And these mages had warned of their enemies had, through their technology, shown them the black ship.  Explaining it as a sky chariot that would bear enemies to this place, black as the entrance to hell itself.  Had described their manner of dressing and warned of their magic.  They had instructed the worshippers to let them know when these creatures would arrive.

They had been enthusiastic in their devotion.  The seekers had barely entered the first village when they were set upon, rocks and spears thrown at them, clubs smashing against fragile bone.  Only a burst of energy from Galen's hands had stopped the onslaught.  The fire he directed at them, burning five of the natives to a cinder in seconds.  The rest had fled then, fearing this 'gods' wrath, but by that time, Isabelle was hurt beyond his power to help.  As he bent to pick her up, he felt the connections with his ship sever, the pain of it so intense, and then it was gone.  His staff was thrown from his hand, landing inert in the mud; it's unique electronic life extinct.  To suddenly feel … nothing, horrified him.  The companionable ache from his implants vanished, being superseded by the pain supplied by the various blows to his body.

Finding an abandoned shelter, he settled Isabelle as best he could.  Her implants were badly damaged, and she had no way to stop the pain.  Torn between returning to salvage supplies from the ship, to communicate with the order and staying with her, he felt as though he were being torn in two.

At her insistence, he had returned to the ship; the renegades had been there before him.  Only their combined power could have gained entry to his vessel, what they had done within stunned his mind.  Every single system was shut down, and nothing he could do would revive even one electron.  Somehow, they had engineered the backwash that had cut him off from his computers and fried the components in his staff.  Thankfully, they would not have been able to access his data banks, too much knowledge already in their hands.  But Isabelle and he were now effectively cut off from the outside world.  Others were on their way, but how long before they were found? He had no recourse to his technomancy without this connection, this primitive community did not even possess electricity - how could he protect Isabelle should the natives return?

Galen shifted on his bed, the memories too real.  He could still feel the weight of her slim body clasped in his arms.

Elric had found him some hours later, her lifeless body cradled against his, his mind wandering its own path, no conscious thought directed by his will.  He had vague recollections of Elric steering him to his own ship, he not willing to put Isabelle down, arms locked around her form in an unyielding grip.  His mentor must have sedated him then, for he had no recollection of the next hours.  Waking to find himself returned to their home planet and in his old room within Elric's domicile.  Isabelle was gone.

He had been hell to be with for the next months, clinging to Isabelle's ashes within their silver confines like a talisman.  Where once he had been outgoing, willing to accept he now stood aloof from the rest of the order, cleaving only to Elric, his guide, the man who had come to take his father's place.

His staff had been damaged beyond repair, even by the master himself.  Elric had made him another, waiting until the anger had died down before presenting it to his favoured pupil.  And Galen had been ungrateful in his acceptance of the staff, his behaviour something that he would regret for a very long time.  Though in the end, Elric had forgiven him, understanding, as most of the Circle did not, the pain he was in.  It was not until Elric was near death that he confided in Galen that the replacement staff had belonged to Owen, as did the ship he now flew.  Elric had spent long hours adapting it to Galen's physiology, hoping it would be of comfort when he was gone.

Thoughts of revenge had threatened to consume him at times.  But he believed that the cowards who had arranged his love's death were long gone, their knowledge, gained through the same studies as his own, would have them hidden away, out of his reach.  So, when the exodus began, he had dutifully followed Elric to Babylon 5, adding his powers to those of his order.

Continued

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