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spasmed, and she grit her teeth. Her skin was turning a rich, shiny purple. Blood welled up in spots, ran in rivulets across her body.

Gowen bent lower, as if in concentration. "More organelles," he mumbled.

Galen went to her side, crouched, and seized her hands, squeezing them so tightly that he trembled. He cast the spell, sent his organelles inside her. His grip became slick with blood. "Know," he said, "that I will go to any lengths to learn the truth from you, and I will not let you die until I do. If you prefer death to come soon, then tell me now." He stood over her once again.

In the absence of an answer, the blue fire undulated down her body, and her skin split in whisper thin lines of red- across the lip, across the chest, down the arm.

She whimpered, and at last her bleeding lips began to move, her voice a rasping whisper. "Babylon 5-was our destination. Morden. He promised-at the convo-" She shook with wet, choking coughs.

Morden. He played on their weaknesses. He found his way into the deepest recesses of their hearts. He offered possibilities devastating in their mere contemplation.

Choose carefully, Galen, he had said. Many would give all they have for such an opportunity.

Morden had offered him what he most desired. And he had declined.

I wonder whether you'll be able to live with that decision.

Galen wrapped the exercises tighter about him.

If he had killed Morden then, if he had reported to the mages that Morden was dead, Circe might have given up her ambitions. Elric might still be alive.

But he had not attacked. Morden and his promises remained, a temptation festering within the ranks of the techno-mages.

"Have you spoken to him since then? Have you had any contact with the Shadows? Or Elizar and Razeel? Have you told
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