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over her palm. The injuries of the past created a hard, protective layer, on the hand or on the soul. As an archaeologist her job was to uncover the past, to remove the protective layer, to reveal the wound. She believed inherently in the value of the past, and in its presence in and influence on the present. People were in many senses controlled by the past, even though they might not know it. The wound, even through its covering, influenced them. Yet could there be no lessening of pain over time, no escape from injuries and passions, mistakes and humiliations?

Could there be no healing without a loss of sensitivity, of memory? She never wanted to forget Terrence. She never wanted to forget what she had done to him. But if she felt her guilt as intensely as she had felt it when the accident had first happened, she wouldn't be able to function. Without a callus, what was the alternative? An open wound.


Morden had come down the hall from the conference room. His hands were folded in front of him, his posture still neat, controlled, but his smile seemed more relaxed.

"That was some briefing. I can't believe what they've found."

She twisted her lips.

"You seemed to enjoy baiting Ms. Donne."

"I don't like Psi Corps. I don't know why she's here. I don't know what she's covering up. And I don't trust her to respect our privacy. While that may make the long trip a little more interesting, I think I'd prefer it if she'd blurt out everything and we'd all end up sitting around playing poker."

"She says you're the one keeping secrets."

Morden nodded.

"And now the games begin. And we haven't even left the station yet. Want to catch some dinner?"

Anna decided this would be a good time to start on her secondary project. And if she got Morden to confide
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