Babylon 5 - [3] - Blood Oath

by John Vornholt

  The procession moved toward the mouth of the cave, and the mourners pressed forward, carrying Garibaldi, Ivanova, Na'Toth, and Al Vernon with them. They emerged into the scorching daylight in time to see the grieving widow toss her rags over the cliff. They flut­tered downward, swirling around in the thermal updrafts. Then an acolyte handed her a small animal which looked something like a piglet. Da'Kal held the squirming crea­ture over her head and screamed something into the wind. Then she tossed the animal over the cliff, and it plummeted a kilometer or so to its death.

  Al Vernon whispered in his ear, "In the past, a Narn widow was expected to die with her husband. Today, the animal dies instead."

  An attendant came forward and wrapped a black robe around the widow's shoulders and led her away. Y'Tok beat on the discolored circle while the other priest banged on the gong, and a low moan rose from the gathered mourners. The moaning and drumming reached a crescendo at the same time, and Y'Tok ended the cere­mony by dropping to his knees and bowing to the canyon.

  While Garibaldi looked on in a daze, someone pulled urgently on his sleeve. He turned to see Ivanova, and she was pointing toward someone in the crowd of mourners. He saw a young Narn woman wrap a cloak around her slim body and dash away. He recognized her in an instant.

  It was Mi'Ra, daughter of Du'Rog.

  "Wait here," he whispered to Ivanova, stuffing his coat into her arms. Before she had a chance to answer, he shouldered his way through the crowd and set off down one of the narrow walkways. His instincts told him that he might not get another chance to talk to his aveng­ing angel, and he had two things to say: First, that he knew she didn't kill G'Kar, and second, that she had better stay away from Babylon 5. She'd find out the reason for that warning later.

  Mi'Ra slipped through the crowd like a wraith, glanc­ing over her shoulders as if she knew she were being followed. Garibaldi staggered after her like a man who knew if he lost his footing he would join the sacrificial animal at the bottom of the canyon. But he had an advan­tage in that the Narns on the ledge made way for him, realizing he was a stranger.

  At various intersections, the walkway sloped down­ward to a lower level of dwellings, while steps continued upward to the original level. Without hesitation, Mi'Ra went lower at every opportunity, and Garibaldi plunged after her. His clothes were soaking with sweat, and thirst burned in his throat—but this young Narn had threatened to kill one of the ambassadors in his charge. Had she come to the memorial service to make certain G'Kar was dead? Or had she come because she sus­pected he wasn't dead? It didn't matter—he was on an unfamiliar planet, and this was the one person he wanted to talk to the most. He wasn't going to lose this oppor­tunity.

  Suddenly, he realized that he couldn't see Mi'Ra any­more. She had escaped. He quickened his pace and found himself on a stretch of walkway where many doorways were blocked off with rocks and pedestrians were few. He tried not to look over the narrow railing at the cer­tain death that waited below. His senses were acutely on edge, and he saw the boot whip out of the doorway a microsecond before it struck him in the knee.

  Garibaldi yelped with pain and stumbled toward the, abyss. He grabbed the railing, pushed off, and fell hard on to his back; a knife flashed through the air. He caught her arm as the dagger kissed his throat. The young Narn woman fought like a commando, using every ounce of her wiry body to drive the knife home. He couldn't help it if she was pretty—he smashed her in the jaw with his fist and sent her crashing against the rock face. He heard her grunt as the air rushed out of her body, but she still had enough strength to draw a PPG and level it at him.

  "Don't!" he warned, trying to sound calm. "I just want to talk."

  Her corseted chest heaved as she struggled to regain her breath, and her red eyes drilled into him with hatred and suspicion. Garibaldi had seen enough criminals to know when he was confronting someone with nothing left to lose. Mi'Ra had been kicked around so much in the last few years that she didn't care about life anymore. She only cared about death. He could plainly see the yellowish scar on her forehead where she had drawn blood to seal her Shon'Kar.

  "I just want to talk," Garibaldi said. "I saw the data crystal, and I know about your Shon'Kar."

  "If you intend to take me back to your Earth station, I might as well kill you now." She hefted her weapon and seemed to be deciding where to put a hole in him.

  Very slowly, Garibaldi lifted himself to his elbows. "I know you didn't kill him, and I couldn't take you back even if you did. But we need to tell you and your family to stay away from Babylon 5."

  "Why?"

  "Babylon 5 is under Earth administration, and we don't recognize the Shon'Kar."

  Mi'Ra spat on the dry walkway. "Yes, I was deprived of my Shon'Kar. G'Kar deserved to be roasted to death over a slow fire, with a spit stuck through his gut, and I'm sorry he died quickly, before I could get my hands on him. Do you know what he did to my family?"

  Garibaldi swallowed. "Yes, I do. I believe he was sorry for it, in the end."

  "Ha!" scowled the attractive Narn. "He was a pathetic excuse for a Narn."

  Garibaldi decided not to argue with her and her shiny PPG. Keeping the weapon trained on him, Mi'Ra scram­bled to her knees to reclaim her knife. She stuck the knife in a shabby leather sheath and looked thoughtfully at Garibaldi, as if deciding how to dispose of him. He flinched, expecting to have his chest turned into melting goo, but the young woman tucked the PPG inside her tight-fitting waistcoat and rose to her feet.

  She looked down at him with pity. "G'Kar was the type to betray everyone, including his friends."

  Garibaldi wasn't likely to argue with that point, but there was one more thing he had to know. "Did you send assassins after him when he was on Homeworld a few months ago?"

  Mi'Ra frowned. "I thought they were professionals. I will never make that mistake again."

  "Were they also Thenta Ma'Kur?"

  The Narn woman smiled shyly. "If you have any brains at all in your hairy skull, you will stay far, far away from the Thenta Ma'Kur."

  Garibaldi picked himself up and dusted off his pants. "That's what I've heard, but G'Kar defeated them on their first try."

  The slim Narn scowled at him. "Go home now, Earther, before you get hurt. This is not your affair."

  With that Mi'Ra tossed back her cloak and sauntered away, giving him a good look at her athletic backside. Garibaldi sighed, being a fan of rear actions in motion. Two more days he had in this vertical village, and he would also like to meet Du'Rog's widow, to see if she was as headstrong as her daughter. His eyes wandered over the railing into the bottomless canyon. It must have a bottom, he told himself, but it was so far down he couldn't see it.

  He took a few steps after her and called out, "Where can I find you?"

  "The border zone," she shot back. "But you aren't brave enough to go there."

  CHAPTER 10

  "Where have you been?" growled Na'Toth when Garibaldi finally straggled back to the sanctuary, perched upon the cliffside of Hekba City.

  Ivanova studied her comrade, noting his dirty pants and the way he limped slightly. "I think he's been exploring."

  "Yeah," muttered Garibaldi, "but not too success­fully." He glanced around. "Where is Al?"

  "Where we should be," answered Ivanova, "out of this heat and getting something to drink." She used Gari­baldi's coat to dab the sweat off her face, then she shoved it into his hands.

  Garibaldi lowered his voice to report, "After you saw Mi'Ra in the crowd, I chased her down. Well, sort of. Actually she ambushed me and nearly killed me. She's quite a piece of work."

  "Unfortunately," said Na'Toth, "it is G'Kar's fault that Du'Rog's family is so bitter. I am losing much of the sympathy I had for him."

  "Mi'Ra lives in a place called the border zone," said Garibaldi. "Where is that?"

  Na'Toth said, "Do you remember how I told you about the regimentation of Narn society? The caste system applies to entire cities. For example, only those of the Eighth
Circle or above may live here in Hekba City, which is one of our oldest and most revered places. Plebeians and others may work here, but the plebeians have cities of their own. Between these cities there are areas where our poorest people live—those who are thieves, prostitutes, and outcasts. If Mi'Ra and her mother and brother live in a border zone, then they have truly fallen to the lowest stratum of our society."

  "Do you know which place she's talking about?" asked Ivanova.

  "I have an idea," said Na'Toth. "There is a large bor­der zone that is fairly close to here."

  Garibaldi's jaw tightened. "I warned Mi'Ra to stay away from B5, and I'd like to warn the entire family, if possible. Sooner or later, they're going to find out that G'Kar is alive, and I don't want to go through a bunch of memorial services all over again."

  The security chief turned to Na'Toth. "Are you sure there's no way to talk Du'Rog's family out of their Blood Oath? We talked you out of the one you had on Deathwalker."

  The Narn woman scowled. "That was very difficult for me, and I draw great contentment from knowing that Deathwalker died anyway. To correct matters between G'Kar and the Du'Rog family will take more persuasion than you and I have to offer."

  Ivanova let her attention drift from this futile conver­sation, and she heard somebody clear his throat. She turned to see a tall Narn male with unfamiliar spots on his head and bland brown eyes. He was dressed in the simple garb of a crewman from the K'sha Na'vas. He smiled at her and put his finger to his lips.

  "Do I know you?" she asked, having the distinct feel­ing that she did, if only from the ship.

  Garibaldi leaned toward the Narn and whispered, "Are you crazy?"

  Na'Toth stiffened and stared at him. "Yes, he is."

  The stranger held out his hand to Ivanova. "The name is Ha'Mok. Please address me as such."

  That voice! She blinked at the Narn in amazement. His real name sprang to her lips, but she caught herself before she said it. "You are crazy," she agreed. "What are you doing here?"

  "Enjoying shore leave," answered the man who had been G'Kar and was now Ha'Mok. He kept his head bowed as if addressing his betters. "How was the memo­rial service?"

  "Better than you deserved," hissed Na'Toth.

  "Why are you here?" Ivanova demanded again.

  "Two things. First, the K'sha Na'vas received a delayed transmission from Babylon 5. Captain Sheridan has been trying to reach you." He lowered his voice to add, "The captain is no fool. Perhaps he has found out what I did."

  "Can we contact him?" asked Garibaldi.

  "Not from here. When we return to the K'sha Na'vas."

  "You didn't come here to tell us that," said Ivanova.

  "No," admitted G'Kar. "Most importantly, I want to see Da'Kal, my wife. She lives in this city, on the other side of the canyon. I want you to come with me."

  "Why?" asked Ivanova.

  "You may have to protect me in case she tries to kill me."

  "I'm not sure we would," said Ivanova. She rubbed her lips and peered up at the blazing red sun. "Before we get deeper into this mess, we humans need to get some­thing to drink. Where did you say Al went?"

  Ivanova pointed to a doorway about twenty meters away. "He said there was a tavern down there, and he went inside as soon as the service was over. We haven't seen him since."

  "Who is this Al person?" asked G'Kar. "Can we trust him?"

  Ivanova fixed the dead man with a stare. "Can we trust you? We have to wait two full days before meeting with the Kha'Ri. You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

  G'Kar shrugged. "I am trying to make amends, but I must have time."

  "You can start by buying us some drinks," said Garibaldi, heading for the tavern.

  The party of two humans, and two Narns ambled into a doorway that looked no different from any of the others, except for three gashes carved into the wall above the door. After the intense sunlight, the darkness inside the shelter momentarily blinded Ivanova. She could see nothing, but the sounds of laughter and voices convinced her that she was indeed inside a public tavern. Na'Toth and G'Kar brushed past her, apparently having no difficulty with the change in light.

  She bumped into a customer and decided to stand still until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Once they had, she saw a low-slung bar against one wall; it seemed to be carved directly from the rock. Stepping closer she saw the bar had deep holes dug into it, from which strange aromas and curlicues of steam rose toward the ceiling. There were no barstools that she could see, but she couldn't miss Al Vernon, who was sitting on the floor, his back against the bar. He was drinking from what appeared to be a bag made out of animal skin.

  "Here you are!" he said happily, bounding to his feet. He pointed to a sickly-looking Narn who could only be the proprietor. "These are my friends. They will pay my bill."

  "Wait a minute," grumbled Garibaldi. "How much is his bill?"

  The proprietor appraised him with cool red eyes that looked like embers about to burn out. "One hundred credits."

  "A hundred credits!" snapped Garibaldi. "You should be able to rent a room for that!"

  Ivanova swallowed dryly and held out her credit chit. "Give us two more of whatever he's having."

  Garibaldi added, "Make mine a Shirley Temple."

  The proprietor blinked at him. "Pardon me?"

  "No alcohol in mine," answered the chief.

  The old Narn nodded and took the card. Then he pro­duced two flat skins and dipped them into separate holes in-the bar. When he brought the skins up, they were plump and dripping with steaming liquid. He handed the pouches to the visitors and processed Ivanova's chit. The skin was sticky, and whatever was inside was highly aro­matic. It wasn't a terrible smell but oddly redolent of mincemeat pies, truffles, and English cooking.

  "This is crazy," muttered Garibaldi. "When I'm thirsty, I want something cold."

  Ivanova replied, "It's a fallacy that something cold quenches thirst better than something hot. In fact, when­ever I'm really thirsty, I drink coffee."

  "You always drink coffee," countered Garibaldi. Wrinkling his nose, he put the skin to his lips and took a cautious sip. "Hmmm," he said with surprise. "Sort of tastes like mulled wine and beef broth."

  Ivanova took a sip, and the warm liquid did indeed taste like a combination of cloves, raisins, and the drip­pings from a roast. It warmed her inside while the condensing steam cooled her face.

  Al Vernon chuckled. "Do you want me to tell you what's in it?"

  "No!" Ivanova and Garibaldi answered in unison.

  "Listen, Al," said Ivanova, "we fulfilled our part of the bargain and got you here. If we're going to pay your bills, too, then you had better stick with us."

  "I told you where I was going," said Al. "When Mr. Garibaldi ran off after that attractive Narn woman, I assumed he would be gone for a while."

  Garibaldi lowered his drinking skin and said, "We've got two more days here. What do you know about the border zone?"

  "Oh, no," replied the portly human, looking grim. "You aren't planning to go to a border zone, are you?"

  "We have to," said Garibaldi. "We have to talk to someone there."

  "You don't need a guide, you need a bodyguard." Al took a long swig from his pouch.

  Ivanova cleared her throat. "Another Narn from the ship is going with us, so there will be five of us."

  "That's too few," said Al. "Let's get the whole crew to go with us."

  Ivanova looked at Garibaldi. "Maybe he has a point. If we really want to go traipsing around this planet, we ought to talk to Captain Vin'Tok about having an escort. It might keep us out of trouble."

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around to see the disguised Narn who was going by the name of Ha'Mok. "I want to attend to that errand we talked about," he said insistently.

  To see his wife, recalled the commander. She had no objection to telling people that G'Kar was still alive, and the sooner the better! They might as well start with his poor widow, an
d Ivanova hoped she would punch him in the stomach, the same way Na'Toth had.

  Before she could reply, Al butted in. "Hello, I don't believe we've met. I'm Al Vernon, formerly of Homeworld."

  "Ha'Mok," lied the Narn. "Your friends need to come with me. You can stay here."

  Al sighed. "I'm afraid, sir, I am currently short of funds, and this establishment won't extend me credit."

  G'Kar grabbed the human's pudgy hand and dropped some black coins into it. "That should hold you until we get back."

  "Indeed it should!" said Al. "Thank you."

  "Finish your drinks," ordered the Narn. "I'll be over there with Na'Toth." He strode into the dim recesses of the tavern.

  Al cocked his head thoughtfully. "He's rather bold for a simple crewman, isn't he?"

  "Yes," said Ivanova, gazing after him, "and I've had just about enough of it. But we may need him, just as we may need you. Wait for us here, please."

  "Have no fear," said Al pleasantly. "I have no inten­tion of letting any of you get away from me."

  A few minutes later, Ivanova and her party were hundreds of meters in the air on a swaying bridge with only a few ornamental cables supporting it in the middle. She lifted her eyes toward the red sun to avoid looking down, but her wobbly legs and staggering gait forced her to watch where she put her feet. That the bridge was constructed of metal cables and planks didn't do much to lessen her fear, and it didn't help that G'Kar and Na'Toth were striding ahead of her, making the bridge sway even more. She took some comfort in the fact that Garibaldi was even more frightened than she was. He inched along behind her.

  "The next time Captain Sheridan orders us to a weird planet," he muttered, "will you remind me to resign?"

  "No," she answered. "But I will make sure someone else goes instead of me."

  Fear paralyzed Ivanova's legs every time the bridge swayed. Adding to her discomfort was the miserable heat, the sweat drooling down her back and chest, and the fact that she was still carrying her coat. Ivanova brushed sweaty ringlets of hair from her face and her eyes wandered downward. The canyon floor looked like the primordial ooze she had always read about. It was a bubbling cauldron of murky water, and the putrid smell of sulphur rose hundreds of meters into the air. Nevertheless, she could see a few strips of farmland among the geysers and pools.