the one-term spell of destruction. He did not know what these new one-term spells would do, and he knew that he must never conjure them, but arranging his spells in these neat columns helped to calm him. It allowed him, he supposed, to briefly fool himself into thinking there was an order to things, as neat and reassuring as the arrangement of objects on his shelves at home had been.
If he didn't stop himself from working on her spells soon enough, he found that he could not focus on his progressions or on anything else, until he had brought the fire down upon himself several times. He'd last done it four days ago. In a fury of grief, he had called down the fire five times. His skin was still red, raw. Even the organelles could not heal such injuries instantly.
After scouring himself, the cold would leave him for a time, and he would regain control. Then, as he worked with her spells, the memories, the feelings, the cold, would return.
As he sat there with Blaylock, he could feel the energy building inside him. It would be time, soon, to bring the fire down again.
"The Centauri in the red jacket," Blaylock said. "Why is he here?"
Apparently Blaylock had decided to test him. It was a welcome distraction. He and Blaylock had spent the last few hours separately circulating through the ship, planting probes, picking up what they could, accessing databases to gain further information on the passengers. Galen had seen the Centauri earlier and overheard a fair amount from him.
"He's been told about jobs that pay ten times what he was getting on Centauri Prime."
"And that Narn. What does he eat for breakfast?"
Galen had not seen the Narn before. But he wore a pleated white collar, a symbol of the Narns' former slavery adopted by members of an extreme political