Free Summoning Light by Babylon 5

and with the sizzle and pop of melting machinery, the smell of charred meat carried on the air. He recognized the smell from when he'd burned Elizar's arm. It was the smell of his old friend's flesh.
    If only he had killed Elizar then. If only he had burned Elizar to a handful of ash.
    Galen's hands had tightened into quivering fists. He realized with surprise that he was crying, wiped impatiently at his eyes with the back of his fist. Smoke was filling the interior. He knew he should leave. Yet the fire that raced through him would consume him if he did not release it. These small conjuries had only increased its pressure.
    He thought of letting it all come out, of making the ship into an inferno, destroying it from the inside out, with him still inside.
    But that would kill Elric.
    He had to leave. He had to leave before he lost all control. He stumbled to the air lock.
    He would get into his ship. He would retreat to a safe distance. He would fire at Elizar's ship, destroying it. And he would bury these thoughts of destruction once again. He would not feel. He would not remember.
    But he would remain vigilant. He could not allow himself to retreat completely to that place deep inside, to fade into transparency, to haunt the living like a ghost. It was too dangerous. For in the blaze of fire, he had revealed himself. He was no insubstantial ghost, but a monster, one who would kill in a moment if he did not hold tightly to the tech.
    So he would maintain his focus. He would stay in control. He would go with the techno-mages to their hiding place. And he would hide.

C HAPTER 4
    Galen entered the squat, rectangular structure through an air lock marked with the rune signifying solidarity. He had brought his valise and staff from the ship, leaving the rest of his possessions behind. As he waited for the air lock to pressurize, he dreaded facing the others, feeling the self-consciousness that inevitably arose when he was with anyone other than Elric. People, particularly mages, always gave him the uncomfortable sensation that they saw in him things he did not wish to reveal, things that, in some cases, he did not even know existed. And with all that had happened, he feared what they would now see in him, and what they would say. Whatever they said, he would keep the memories, and the emotions they carried, buried. He could not face them again.
    He composed his face. The inner door opened, and he slipped the breather off, stepped into a vast hangar filled with crates and supplies.
    Fed stood beside the air lock, a crooked smile on his face.
    "Federico," Galen said, feeling awkward. "Good to see you." His tone sounded more distant than he intended.
    "Nice work on Elizar's ship," Fed said. "I think you got it the first time."
    "I felt thoroughness was warranted," Galen replied.
    "Oh, absolutely. You don't want to leave the job half done." Though many mages scoured their scalps regularly in honor of the Code, as did Galen, it appeared that Fed had not undergone scouring since their initiation in November. His bushy beard and short, wiry hair were quickly regaining their old wild-man look. That Fed forwent the scouring of the scalp was not surprising; his former teacher, Herazade, did the same.
    Fed exuded the sharp smell of cologne, and he'd discarded the plain black robe he'd worn as an apprentice in favor of a short yellow jacket and pants covered with elaborate embroidery. For some reason, he looked like a pirate. Galen could imagine Elizar saying something very clever and cutting about Fed's appearance. But Elizar was across the galaxy, torturing and killing people.
    "I'm supposed to brief you on our luxurious accommodations," Fed said.
    Galen found he had received a message from Fed with several files attached-maps, schedules, plans.
    "They have some rules. Everyone is required to help with the preparations, and work assignments are being coordinated by Herazade. Don't complain about your assignment, or you'll be assigned to