Chains of Mist by T. C. Metivier

that his life was about to end, that he had finally run out of places to hide. He saw the space station Valkara, where he had gone after escaping the clutches of the Dark Star pirates, and the putrid stink of the sewers that he had been forced to live in for three days after they picked up his trail rose in his nostrils. He saw Denster and the mines of Nereen; Vellanite and Tertran and Vecral and many more. They jumbled together into a single, continuous montage, racing faster and faster and faster and then—
    Nothing. There was only darkness, a blank abyss where memory should be but was no more.
    The pressure on Roger’s temple ceased. Released, he reeled backwards, instinctively raising his pistol, but before he had a chance to do more he realized that the emotion he felt was not anger. Instead, he felt… empty , like a book with no words written in it. There it is—the sum and total of the life of Roger Warbanks. Five years of scurrying from place to place, never settling, never living . Always running.
    “I see now, Roger Warbanks,” said Talan. “You are a man in search of your own answers…and more than that, in search of your own past. A terrible thing has been done to you, and for that I am truly sorry.”
    Roger barely heard him. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—I haven’t learned anything here that I didn’t already know. I knew I had no memories beyond five years ago, and the rest—the running, the fear, the gangsters and criminals and filth—well, like it or not, that’s my life, the only one I’ve got. All choices I made—choices I have to live with. I may not be proud of it, but I’ve got to own up to it. “Thanks—I guess. But that’s…”
    The words died on his lips. His eyes widened as Talan’s words sunk in. “ A terrible thing has been done to you. ” Not ‘happened to you’—‘ done to you.’
    Anger exploded within Roger. How could he have been so blind? All this time, I thought that my amnesia was caused by something natural—a genetic defect, or maybe a rare disease. But what happened to me wasn’t nature, wasn’t just bad luck. Someone did this to me. Someone stole my memories. “You know what happened,” he said; although his anger was not directed at Talan, his words came out like an accusation. “You know who did this to me.”
    Talan looked momentarily alarmed at the change that had come over Roger. Emotions flitted across his face, too rapidly for Roger to identify, and then abruptly the old man’s features settled into an expressionless mask. “I do not know for sure, Roger Warbanks. But I can guess. There is only one thing that I know of that could have this effect—that could erase a person’s memory so abruptly. Your amnesia is imperfect, correct? You occasionally have flashes of almost remembering, where it is as if your past lies behind a translucent wall, dancing just out of focus?”
    Roger went cold. “Yeah, that’s right.”
    “Then it is as I feared.” Talan sighed. “I have long known that such a thing was possible…but I have never heard of it actually being done. Truly, these are dark times.”
    Roger waited a moment, but Talan seemed lost in contemplation or reminiscence. “And?” Roger prodded.
    Talan blinked, and his silver eyes focused once again on Roger. “Have you ever heard of the Blood Legion?”
    Roger ran the name through his mind, but came up empty. “No.”
    “I thought not,” said Talan. “They are quite practiced at secrecy. Even I have only heard of them in passing. I do not know their origins, but what I do know of them is this: they have existed for thousands of years, watching the galaxy advance, manipulating events in secret…to what end, I do not know, but their motives have always seemed benevolent, or at least benign.” A pained look suddenly came across his face. “ Had always seemed benevolent, at least. I do not know why they took your memories, Roger Warbanks…but the circumstances must have been