Babylon 5 16 - Techno-Mages 01 - Casting Shadows (Cavelos, Jeanne)

by Casting Shadows (Cavelos, Jeanne)

  BABYLON 5.

  Passing of the Techno-mages.

  Book 1

  Casting Shadows

  by Jeanne Cavelos

  To Lio F. Ferris... Who are you?

  Many folks for the first time saw itself in one's sleep. Anonym.

  NOVEMBER 2258

  Chapter 1

  Soon the war would come.

  With a cry of joy Anna swooped toward the barren moon, her sisters behind her. As her sleek body cut through the invigorating vacuum of space, she surveyed the training; site eagerly, hungry for challenge. The Eye had specified the coordinates to be attacked. This exercise was to be at close range, surgical, precise.

  Anna loved training, exploring her abilities, honing; her skills. She had learned the dizzying delight of movement, the exhilarating leap to hyperspace, the grace of flexion, the joy of the war cry. She had learned to deliver from their confinement great balls of destruction; to calculate the most efficient patterns of attack; to engage and never break off, not until the enemy was utterly destroyed.

  This would be the first time she uttered her war cry. As she wheeled toward the target, Anna held her body in perfect control. She felt tireless, invulnerable. The machine was so beautiful, so elegant. Perfect grace, perfect control, form and function integrated into the circuitry of the unbroken loop, the closed universe. All systems of the machine passed through her; she was its heart; she was its brain; she was the machine. The neurons firing in harmony. She synchronized the cleansing and circulation in sublime synergy. She beat out a flawless march with the complex, multileveled systems. The skin of the machine was her skin; its bones and blood, her bones and blood. She and the machine were one: a great engine of chaos and destruction.

  The rocky brown surface of the moon grew closer, taking on definition, detail. She located the seven targets, boulders within a wide, shallow crater. She and her six sisters were each to destroy one. She narrowed her focus to her assigned target, coordinated her speed with her course. Excitement gathered in her throat. She plunged into the crater and shrieked out her war cry. Her body rushed with an ecstasy of fire. Energy blasted from her mouth in a brilliant red torrent. The boulder was vaporized.

  Around her, her sisters fell upon the targets, their mouths screaming destruction.

  Chaos through warfare, the Eye said. Evolution through bloodshed. Perfection through victory.

  One of the targets was not completely destroyed. A fragment remained. Anna pounced on it, eager to scream again. She targeted it, screamed out chaos. The exhilaration shot through her. The fragment was obliterated, a hole scorched into the surface below.

  Excited by the activity, her sisters fell upon the vanquished target, shrieking out a cacophony of chaos. Particles of rock flew up as they blasted a great hole into the moon, firing again and again. Anna drew energy up into her mouth, screamed it out in blazing red.

  * * *

  The greatest excitement is the thrill of battle, the Eye said. The greatest joy is the ecstasy of victory. Anna's greatest desire was to feel it. And she knew she would soon. For soon the war would come.

  The ship sang of the beauty of order, of perfect symmetry and ultimate peace. It glided through the calm blackness of space, absorbing it. Energy circulated through its petals in a regular rhythm. The serenity of its silent passage, the unity of its functioning, the satisfaction of service wove through its melody.

  Ahead, a blue-and-white orb glowed in the blackness, the goal of the journey. The ship slipped through the stillness toward it, following Kosh's direction eagerly. Obedience was its greatest joy.

  Within the song, Kosh slowed the ship's speed, directing it to stop a safe distance from the planet, which was known to its inhabitants as Soom. Although most of the planet's inhabitants had little technology, two lived among them and served as guardians, two fabulists, who would detect his presence if he went too close.

  Soon more would come as the fabulists gathered for their assemblage. Long had Kosh watched them, for three hundred and thirty and three such assemblages. He had watched as different races had become dominant within the group, the most recent being Humans. He had watched as the fabulists gradually transformed from anarchy to order. They had achieved some admirable goals, had created fleeting moments of great beauty.

  But now the universe was gathering itself for a great conflagration. The forces of chaos had returned to their ancient home and had begun to build their resources for war. The Vorlons, Kosh among them, likewise prepared. The fabulists did not know the danger of their position. They carried great power. They could be the pivot on which the Great War turned.

  Many among the Vorlons thought the time for action. was now. They did not trust the fabulists. Yet Kosh felt they must watch just a while longer. The fabulists faced a difficult, decision, and they should be allowed to make it. If they chose wrongly, then they would die. But let them first choose. Heat power carried both great danger and great possibility.

  Kosh altered the ship's song, directing the ship to extrude several buoys, which would take up positions around the planet and observe it. Then he would return to Babylon 5. And he would watch this one, last assemblage.

  * * *

  Galen closed his eyes and focused on the equation. He thought of all his spells as equations, though they weren't anything like traditional scientific ones. The terms of his equations were complex and bizarre, impenetrable and irreducible. Yet to him they represented actions and properties, and if he could form an image in his mind of a particular equation, he could conjure the thing it represented.

  Like most spells, this one had many terms: several to generate a pinkish translucent sphere three inches across, another to generate energy within it, yet more to give that energy the appearance of a delicate flame. He'd done this one many times.

  Taking a deep breath, he imagined his mind as a blank screen, visualized the equation written upon it. The chrysalis, fastened to his head and spine, acknowledged the equation by echoing it back to him. Galen opened his eyes. The ball of energy floated in front of him.

  "Around the hall," Elric ordered from behind him, gripping the tail-like section of the chrysalis that ran down his spine.

  His teacher's voice, deep and rich, carried a power that had at first intimidated Galen. Later, when Elric taught him the techno-mage techniques of voice modulation, Elric's voice and the skill with which he used it amazed Galen. By extending certain sounds, pausing at specific places, and modulating his intonation to almost hypnotic effect, everything he said took on heightened power and importance.

  Holding the image of the original equation firmly in his mind's eye, Galen added another, a spell for movement. One equation took the ball of energy from the center of the modest training hall, where it hovered before him, to the hall's stone wall. Another equation sent the ball into a circular course around the hall. The ball circulated a few feet below the thatched ceiling, where several of Elric's light globes floated for illumination.

  "A second ball," Elric commanded.

  Holding the original equation and the equation for circular movement in his mind's eye, Galen conjured a second ball. The chrysalis echoed the spell, reflecting his thought.

  "Change the flames to flowers," Elric said.

  Galen concentrated on the equation for the second ball, specifically on the terms that generated the flames. Below them, he visualized the terms necessary to create an image of white kwa blossoms. Then he moved the new set of terms up, replacing the old. The flames changed to flowers.

  "Triple speed first b
all."

  With intense focus, Galen kept the two equations for the two balls firmly in his mind, and at the same time altered the equation of motion, tripling the velocity of the first ball's circular course. The effort caused his breath to come faster now.

  "Second ball up and down."

  Maintaining the images of his three spells on the imaginary screen, Galen formed an equation that sent the second ball up to the thatched ceiling, then a new equation to send it back and forth between the ceiling and the woven grass mat that covered the floor. The ball of flowers began to zip up and down.

  "Third ball with a piece of lint in it."

  Galen held his focus. Elric tried to use odd requests to throw him off, to make him lose concentration. But he would not. He formed an equation for the third ball, giving it a dark interior so that the image of a tiny fleck of white lint inside would be visible. The third ball appeared. Galen was breathing even harder; this was the farthest he'd ever gotten.

  "Circle around your head."

  Holding the three equations for the three balls and the two equations for motion in his mind, Galen began to formulate an equation of motion for the third ball. As he calculated its circular course around his head, though , his mind slipped. Like patting his head and rubbing his stomach, the multiple signals crossed in his mind. Control slipped away as the equations became entangled. Galen cursed himself.

  The lint ball popped out of existence. The first ball raced down the side of the hall and slammed into the rock wall with a burst of flame; the second bounced off the thatched ceiling at an angle and came screaming toward them.

  Galen frantically formulated the quenching spell that would dissipate the energy of the ball, unmake it. But the spell had to be matched with the position of the object, which wells now shooting past his face and heading straight for Elric. Why didn't Elric override his control of the chrysalis, as he always did when things went awry?

  Galen focused desperately on the ball's position, inserted the position into the equation. About two inches from Elric's eye, the ball's pinkish surface flashed in a glittering wave and abruptly dissolved. Galen looked away, breathing hard, exhausted from the exertion. Beneath his black robe, his skin ran with sweat.

  Elric released his hold on the chrysalis so Galen could turn to face him. Reluctantly, Galen turned. Elric's figure, as always, was severe: plain black robe with high collar, scalp scoured hairless in honor of the Code, lips in a thin straight line.

  His posture was erect, his hands at his sides. His gestures, when he made them, were as controlled and powerful as his words. His face generally showed one of two expressions: disappointment or grave disappointment. The difference was the number of frown lines between his eyebrows.

  Disappointment had two; grave disappointment, three. He had three.

  "Why didn't you - shut me down?" Galen asked, still breathless.

  The chrysalis was designed so that a full techno- mage could override its functions at any time, erase all active spells instantly and completely. A mage held onto the tail like section of the chrysalis, which ran down the apprentice's spine, the sensors in the mage's fingertips making contact with the chrysalis tech. This allowed the teacher to break the connection between apprentice and chrysalis if necessary. The apprentice himself could dissolve or end a spell - assuming he could conjure the correct quenching spell in time - but he did not have the instant override capability his teacher did.

  "In two days' time," Elric said, "no mage will be able to shut you down. You'll have to deal with your own mistakes then."

  In two days' time, Galen was to be initiated and receive the implants that would make him a techno-mage. It was what he most wanted. And yet here he was, still failing to control his conjuries, still failing Elric. He was not ready. He was not fit. His skills were nowhere near Elric's, and he didn't know if they ever would be.

  "You focus on knowledge and understanding," Elric c said.

  "These are the highest goals to which a mage can aspire. Yet underlying all that we stand for, all that we do, is one cardinal requirement: control. You must master the tech. It must do what you direct. And you must direct what it does. Under any circumstance. Despite any distraction." Galen nodded.

  He knew that Elric was constantly engaged in multiple spells, accessing data from the many probes he had planted on Soom, reinforcing spells of protection, performing various services he had promised to the inhabitants. Yet Elric never appeared distracted. Elric never slipped.

  "Tell me the other weaknesses in your work," Elric said, lingering over the word weaknesses.

  It was one of Elric's favorite topics.

  "Presentation."

  "Why?"

  Elric walked over to the rough wooden table in the corner, where Galen had placed a jug of water and two mugs. Other than a long wooden bench along one wall, this was the only furniture in the stone hall. Galen followed, the chrysalis clinging to the top of his head and his spine, pulling at his skin as he walked.

  "I concentrate on the spells rather than on the effects they have on others. My focus is inward, not outward."

  "You must control people's perceptions," Elric said, pouring two mugs of water and handing one to Galen.

  "The greatest of us - Wierden, Gali-Gali, Kell - have so perfectly controlled the perceptions of others that in many cases those others never knew technomancy had been employed. They never even knew a mage had walked among them."

  Galen noticed a tiny black bug floating on the surface of his water, its legs gesticulating.

  "A public act of technomancy is a competition of wits between the mage and all onlookers. The mage must connect with those onlookers, observe and evaluate their reactions, misdirect and manipulate them."

  "I've been studying the techniques," Galen said.

  "But I still don't understand why people's perceptions can be so easily manipulated."

  He glanced back down into his mug. He realized the tiny black object floating there wasn't really a bug, as he'd thought, but just a piece of dirt whose shape suggested a bug.

  "Most intelligent beings aren't comfortable living in a state of uncertainty. Their brains automatically revise what they see, filling in details that were never there. They make events fit into patterns they understand."

  Galen reached into the mug to pick out the piece of dirt and realized he'd been right the first time; it was a bug. He could clearly see the legs moving. He pinched at it and was startled to feel a flutter. Tiny wings opened and the bug flew away. It landed on Elric's open palm. Elric closed his hand around it.

  "Rather than accept uncertainty, people will discount the input of their own senses." He raised his eyebrows.

  "Would you like some water in that?" Galen looked down at his mug.

  It was empty. After gulping down some water, Galen prepared to face his greatest weakness.

  "Originality" Galen said, as Elric resumed his hold on the chrysalis.

  Galen had been struggling with this issue for months. Each mage cultivated his own distinctive style, specific types of spells that he cast and characteristic flourishes that appeared in those spells. Elric had taught him that a mage's conjuries should reveal, express, and complete him.

  Yet Galen had thus far failed to develop his own style, his own set of flourishes. He much preferred to reproduce the spells of others rather than create his own. He wasn't terribly good at inventing his own spells, and when he did manage to think of one, he often discovered it had been conjured before. It wasn't original. The few times that he had thought of something new, he'd discarded it, having decided the spell was unworthy and foolish compared to those of the greats. And although that was accurate, it was not the whole truth. Something else made him hesitant to develop his own spells. The idea of displaying something that had come from within him, something original to him, made Galen very uncomfortable. He found he did not want to reveal himself.

  He had searched for some solution that would satisfy Elric and help lead him toward
his own style. At last he had settled on a tribute to Wierden.

  So he closed his eyes a moment, clearing his thoughts, and again visualized a blank screen on which he might write equations. Then he opened his eyes, determined to give a better presentation. He extended an arm.

  From his five fingertips he conjured five brilliant points of light that rose upward, spreading to form a circle three feet across. In the center he created a foot- tall image of Wierden, who had formed the techno-mages into a cohesive group one thousand years ago. She was one of an ancient, extinct race called the Taratimude, with great stiff wings that hung in folds from her arms, and long, tapered fingers. In the image she wore a sleeveless black robe, her golden wings draped over it. She spoke in the ancient language of the Taratimude the words that every mage knew.

  "Our five wisest will form the Circle, which will guide and rule the techno-mages. Five is the number of balance."

  Her voice, which he had reconstructed from the ancient recordings, was high yet resonant. Galen stretched the five points of light taller and wider, until the image became a circle of seven standing stones glowing with inner light, Wierden still at their center. Each stone was imprinted with a different brilliant blue rune in the language of the Taratimude. Galen rotated the image, so Elric could see the rune on each stone.

  Wierden said, "Above all will rule the Code, the seven principles of technomancy: solidarity, secrecy, mystery, magic, science, knowledge, good."

  Galen saw with satisfaction that he had correctly coordinated the motion of the stones so that Elric saw the rune representing each principle as Wierden named it. "Seven is the number of understanding." The standing stones stretched longer, arcing inward at top and bottom to form a large sphere of light Inside appeared the face of Wierden, with her wise, lined cheeks, the dark skin around her eyes that had always struck him as sad.

  "Let this begin an age of unity for the techno-mages. And let none violate the Code."

  Galen squeezed the sphere into a narrow cylinder of brilliant light, sent the light streaming up to the thatched ceiling. He had worked painstakingly to create the visual impression that the light was flowing through the thatch and continuing upward, into the heavens, though it actually stopped there. Galen dissolved the final spell with relief. It was the most elaborate conjuring he had ever done. He swayed a bit as Elric released him.