Babylon 5 - [3] - Blood Oath

by John Vornholt

  G'Kar heard voices, and he turned to see two large figures approaching him from a lower level. As they mounted the staircase to reach his level, he again pressed himself into a crevice in the cold rock and tried to look invisible. For a plebeian, it seemed to be distressingly easy to look invisible, he mused. But not this time.

  One of the men shined a light directly into his face, blinding him and forcing him to raise his hands. The other one stepped forward and knocked his hands down. G'Kar tensed for a fight, then realized that they were rangers and he was in the wrong place, dressed the wrong way.

  "We had complaints about a person loitering on this level," said the one who had knocked his hands down. "Let us see your face."

  "Yes, sir," answered G'Kar, turning his face from side to side and squinting into the light. "Anything else?"

  "Yes. What are you doing here? This isn't a place for shoreleave."

  "I am crewman Ha'Mok of the K'sha Na'vas," said G'Kar, trying to sound proud of his lowly station. "I am here, awaiting my passengers."

  "Isn't the K'sha Na'vas in the Golden Order?" asked the other officer.

  "Yes," said G'Kar hesitantly, wondering why that should be notable.

  "Then your story doesn't fit. Your fleet was called away on a mission. Do you have an identicard?"

  "Yes," G'Kar answered with a nervous gulp. He fum­bled in his waistcoat for it, thinking how much trouble he was in. If they took him to a processing center, he would be searched and his secret revealed, and he didn't know who he could trust in the Rural Division.

  Smiling pleasantly at his tormentors, he handed them his identicard. One of the rangers snatched it from him and ran it through a small hand-held device. They both stared menacingly at him while they awaited the results.

  "I am Ha'Mok of the K'sha Na'vas," he assured them.

  "This is a funny place to wait for passengers," remarked the ranger with the light. "Especially when your ship is light-years away."

  G'Kar shrugged and tried to smile, but his confidence was waning. He could remember times when he had re­ported suspicious people loitering in Hekba City, and he wondered if they had been treated as contemptuously as this. He supposed so, as the lines of Narn social behavior were tightly drawn.

  "His identicard checks out," reported the ranger, sounding disappointed. "I still say we bring him in. His conduct and story are both suspicious."

  "My story is true!" he protested. Nevertheless, the two rangers grabbed his arms and hauled him rudely to the edge of the railing. For a moment, G'Kar feared they would throw him over.

  "So there is my servant!" called another voice. The three men whirled around to see a tall Narn woman strid­ing toward them. When the ranger shined his light in her face, G'Kar was never so relieved to see another Narn in his entire life. It was Na'Toth!

  He bowed to her. "Good evening, my liege. I explained to them that I was waiting for you."

  The rangers peered suspiciously at Na'Toth, and one of them growled, "Who are you?"

  She grabbed his hand and directed the beam of light toward the insignia on her chest. "Na'Toth, diplomatic attaché to Babylon 5 and aide to Ambassador G'Kar."

  "Oh!" exclaimed the ranger, straightening to attention. "We had reports of a suspicious person..."

  "I was delayed," explained Na'Toth. "This crewman was following my orders to the letter by waiting for me."

  "But his ship has left . . ."

  "Temporarily and very suddenly," said Na'Toth. "You know that the Golden Order doesn't stay away long from Homeworld. Crewman Ha'Mok is my shuttlecraft pilot. Come along." She pushed G'Kar ahead of her, and he shuffled gratefully down the walkway.

  The rangers stood and watched for a while, but they didn't pursue. Nevertheless, G'Kar and Na'Toth put con­siderable distance between themselves and the uniformed authorities before they stopped to talk.

  "That was close!" said G'Kar. "Where have you been?"

  Na'Toth raised a hairless brow. "I could ask you the same question."

  "All right," muttered G'Kar, "now we're even. What happened to the humans? Did they make it back to the K'sha Na'vas?"

  "The K'sha Na'vas left before any of us knew about it," said Na'Toth. "We're on our own, and that includes the humans. At least they find it habitable at the bottom of the canyon."

  G'Kar shook his head miserably. "I was counting on Vin'Tok. Do you notice, as soon as anybody starts to help me, they disappear! I've almost decided to confront the Du'Rog family and tell them the truth."

  "Before we do anything really foolish," said Na'Toth, "let's get you out of sight. We supposedly have a room at the Hekbanar Inn."

  G'Kar scowled. "That pesthole?"

  At the party, Ivanova had commenced shivering again. She could tolerate the temperature, but there was a noticeable difference on the second story of the villa compared to the ground level of the canyon. The temperature wasn't the only thing that was chilly. The Narns seemed little interested in talking to them, although they cast a reptilian eye her way. To be fair, she wasn't feeling very sociable either, and she was content to watch the cultured guests float in and out of the party. She had seen R'Mon briefly but Ra'Pak not at all since coming upstairs from the netlink in the office.

  She could see Al Vernon, flitting about from one con­gregation of Narns to another, running into a few old acquaintances, most of whom were polite but noncom­mittal about meeting him again. That was okay for Al; he was content to work the room and introduce himself. Maybe he was looking for his wife or someone who knew her, mused Ivanova; he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. There came Garibaldi chasing after him, trying to get him away from the party.

  With reluctance, Al made another round of handshakes and let Garibaldi push him to the staircase. Ivanova was right behind them.

  "You're missing a great opportunity," Al lectured them. "You might never meet these kind of people any­where else."

  "I meet Narns every day," growled Garibaldi. "And I want to meet two of them back at this hotel you keep talking about. So lead on!"

  They tromped down the stairs and out into the exotic geyser pit, with its softly lit walkways trodden by cul­tured Narns. Al now acted like he was in a hurry, and it was all she and Garibaldi could do to keep up. It was evi­dent that he knew the bottom of the canyon well, and he led them past four very similar-looking inns dug from the cliff only to arrive at the fifth, the Hekbanar Inn.

  The lobby of the inn looked like a boudoir, with lounging sofas, soft music, and twinkling lights. The men seemed intent upon negotiating with the proprietor, so Ivanova let them have their fun. That way, Garibaldi would have to produce his credit chit first.

  Ivanova sat down in one of the luxuriant sofas and stretched her legs. The hypnotic blips of light in the walls and ceilings seemed to form some sort of pattern, and she lay back, to study the shifting vectors on the ceiling. She was blissfully asleep by the time the men returned.

  "There are cheaper rooms than the one we're taking," grumbled Garibaldi.

  "The best thing about the suite is it's on ground level," insisted Al. "There are natural hot springs to lie around in, to keep it warm and cozy, and you wouldn't believe the laser show!"

  "Let's take it," said Ivanova, dragging herself to her feet.

  As the dust devils frolicked on Street V'Tar, Mi'Ra care­fully shut the front door of her mother's house. She had to double-check that it was locked, because the persis­tent wind had sent the clay candle crashing to the porch. Her mother and brother were still celebrating the wind­fall of Da'Kal's money, and they were poring over

  advertisements in old newspads that Ka'Het had saved. The only ones she saved, thought Mi'Ra angrily, were the stories of her father's fall from greatness and his pathetic attempts to clear his name.

  Ka'Het had no collection of his triumphs, only his fail­ures, as if Du'Rog was totally defined by his fall. Her mother's fatalism and insipid belief in things getting better on their own drove Mi'Ra crazy. Many nights she just had to
get away from her.

  The young Narn hated to be cynical, but she was. She just couldn't believe that Da'Kals money came with no strings attached. If she had learned anything in her young life, it was that the bill for everything came due sooner or later. It had come due for her father, for her, and even for G'Kar. They would learn eventually what Da'Kal needed from the Du'Rog family in exchange for this blood money. Until then, she would reserve judgment on Da'Kal's generosity.

  Mi'Ra stepped into the street, heeding her instincts that she was not alone on this blustery night. No one was in sight, but some people in the border zone never walked in the open. She kept moving, with no real des­tination in mind, except the thought of the illegal taverns on Street Jasgon. They were holes in the clay, where one might obtain illegal drugs, stolen goods, sex, and even conversation, if one wasn't too picky. She should have been afraid to go to Street Jasgon, but she wasn't. Mi'Ra wasn't afraid of the evil she knew, but she was afraid of the rustling in the dark, the shadow that moved when she moved.

  She whirled around and dropped to a crouch, aiming her PPG at a water barrel that was cracked and dusty. "Who's there? I'll shoot!"

  "Please!" came a tiny voice. "Don't shoot, I'm only following orders!" Behind the water barrel, two scrawny arms shot into the air.

  "Is that you, Pa'Ko?" she asked.

  "Yes, yes!" cried the boy. He ran out from behind the water barrel and did a cartwheel in the middle of the street, landing perfectly on his thin, bare legs. Mi'Ra had never been able to peg Pa'Ko's age exactly—he was small for a Narn and looked no older than ten full cycles. But he often acted older, especially in the way he stayed up all night and never left the streets. She supposed that everyone who lived in the border zone aged pre­maturely.

  She holstered her weapon. "What do you mean, you were following orders?"

  "I mean, a man paid me to find you." With awe, Pa'Ko reached into a threadbare pocket and held out two black coins.

  "To find me?" Mi'Ra asked with alarm. She stopped and surveyed the windblown street, wondering who else was lurking in the shadows.

  The lad did another cartwheel and landed right beside her. He barely came up to her shoulders. "The man asked me if I knew where you lived. I said I did, but I would­n't show him your house—that could be danger­ous. I only agreed to watch for you and give you a mes­sage."

  "What is the message?" asked Mi'Ra warily.

  "At the north end of Street Jasgon, a shuttlecraft is parked. You are to go there and meet him." Pa'Ko smiled and held out his hand, cocking his head from side to side. "Now you will give me a reward, too."

  "Get out of here!" scoffed Mi'Ra. She took a mock swing at the youngster, but he deftly dodged it. "Who is this man?"

  Pa'Ko shrugged. "Do I look like I know people who fly around in fine shuttlecraft? It is parked there now. I would go see him, if I were you."

  "It wasn't a human, was it?" asked Mi'Ra.

  The boy laughed, and it was a surprisingly joyous sound. "A human from Earth? That is even more rare than a shuttlecraft!"

  "Some humans will be looking for us tomorrow," said Mi'Ra thoughtfully. "If you spot them first, you might have a chance to make some more money."

  "Critical!" yelled the young Narn. Pa'Ko stared into his hand at his newfound riches, then ran off down the street, a collection of gangly limbs. He darted between two houses and was gone.

  Mi'Ra took a deep breath and thought about going back to the house to get her brother, to back her up. But T'Kog wouldn't flex a muscle now that he had money again, however briefly. The only place he would be will­ing to go would be an expensive vacation, or house hunting. More than ever, she felt alone and shut out from everything—her family, her birthright, even her revenge. Besides, this mysterious stranger hadn't sent the boy to look for her whole family, just her.

  She stuck to the center of Street V'Tar for as long as she could, then she pulled out her knife and slipped into the alley. There were people burning debris, but they were a good hundred meters away. She skirted along the wall until she reached the archway, then she dashed through, slashing her knife. Only the dust devils took notice of her heroics, and they swirled around her admir­ingly.

  Mi'Ra decided not to walk directly down Street Jasgon, knowing she might meet people she knew. It was the hour of the night when almost anyone might be walk­ing the streets of the border zone, and the attractions of Jasgon were not unknown in the upper circles. Mi'Ra hoped this stranger wasn't some playboy having a joke at her expense, hoping to get his way with a woman who had fallen from grace. Mi'Ra had endured countless propositions since moving to this hovel, but she had entertained none of them. The daughter of Du'Rog wanted to get back into the upper circles, but she wanted to do so on her own terms. Her father's reputation had to be rehabilitated at the same time, and she tried to ignore how unlikely that was to happen.

  The young Narn kept to the walls and alleys, passing a few people but doing it too swiftly to be noticed. She could be very lizard-like when she wanted to be, darting away from danger, holding perfectly still, moving in spurts with little wasted energy. In dashes from wall to wall and building to building, she reached the end of Street Jasgon without having set foot in it. Just as Pa'Ko had foretold, there was a gray, unmarked shuttlecraft sit­ting in a windblown field, crushing a few scraggly stalks of grain.

  Mi'Ra walked slowly toward the sleek craft, her hand on her PPG. It was, indeed, a very fine shuttlecraft, better than the military or rangers had. Mi'Ra noticed move­ment in the small cockpit, and a light flashed for a second. She wondered whether an image had been taken of her. So what if it had? She wasn't a fugitive, and her likeness and history were well known, even if her exis­tence was determinedly ignored in certain circles. Let them see that she wasn't afraid or ashamed of facing them, as they were of her.

  As she drew closer, the hatch door opened upward. She froze with her hand on her weapon, waiting. A man dressed in evening finery, as if he were about to dine in the grotto, stepped off the shuttlecraft. He looked around the area, making sure she hadn't been followed or molested, then he nodded to her. When she stepped closer, he motioned inside the expensive shuttlecraft.

  "A lady would like to speak with you," he said.

  "A lady?" She stared at him warily. "Da'Kal, the widow?"

  The man smiled with amusement. "No."

  "Come in," called a steely woman's voice. It was the kind of voice that brooked no nonsense, and Mi'Ra climbed aboard the shuttlecraft without further hesita­tion. This was a royal summons, and she was still Narn enough to obey.

  Seated at the navigator's station was a woman wearing a long, black gown, with her legs crossed seductively. Mi'Ra recognized her immediately, having seen her earlier that day. It was Ra'Pak of the Inner Circle. The young Narn had the sinking feeling that she was going to get the bill for Da'Kal's gratitude before even a single coin had been spent. If this was a warning for her to keep her place and keep her mouth shut, Mi'Ra was going to give this woman an earful.

  "You are angry all the time, aren't you?" observed Ra'Pak.

  "Yes," answered the younger woman. "I'm waiting for a reason to be content."

  "I'm afraid I can't give you that." Ra'Pak suppressed a smile. "Seeing as how you're already angry, I don't feel too badly about telling you something that will make you even angrier."

  "That would be difficult."

  "I don't think so. What if I told you that G'Kar had faked his death and was still alive?"

  "What?" Mi'Ra was trembling.

  "You heard me, and it is the truth. I suspected some­thing was amiss with G'Kar's death, and the Earthers confirmed it just tonight."

  "They helped him fake his death?" asked Mi'Ra, thinking that the human she had met didn't seem the type for underhand fraud.

  "No, they only discovered what he did a short time ago themselves. I eavesdropped when they were talking with their commander on Babylon 5. It is definite—G'Kar is alive. If you don't believe me, you can wait a
few days, and the news will come out on its own."

  Still in shock, Mi'Ra ran her hands over her cranium. She could feel the scar where she had sealed her Shon'Kar. "If he lives, then I will not be denied."

  "Oh, he lives," Ra'Pak assured her. "And you won't be denied if you move swiftly. My spies believe he is on Homeworld now—he may even be traveling with the humans, wearing a disguise. This is the time to strike, while he is supposedly dead and is still within easy reach."

  Mi'Ra growled and shook her fist. "That blasted Thenta Ma'Kur—they lied to me!"

  Ra'Pak shrugged. "It isn't the first time they've taken credit for something they didn't do. They are snakes."

  "But why would G'Kar do this thing?"

  "Fear of you."

  The young Narn smiled, feeling the blood surging within her breast, flowing to her brain and muscles. Her message to G'Kar had gotten through, and not only would she kill him, she would make him suffer for his treachery. It pleased her to know that he had already suf­fered enough to fake his own death. Then she realized that Da'Kal's blood money might have come from G'Kar, with his blessing! He couldn't buy his way out of this, but she wouldn't stop him from trying. Maybe they could have his money and his blood.

  Ra'Pak nodded with satisfaction. "I see that you were the right person to inform about this chicanery."

  "And why did you tell me?"

  The noblewoman's face hardened into a ghastly mask of hatred. "You and your family are not the only ones he has hurt. He has hurt someone very dear to me, and I want to see him pay for it. Unfortunately, he has never committed a crime against the Narn Regime, so I am powerless. But no one could deny the honor of your Shon'Kar."

  "No one will," vowed Mi'Ra. "Can you help me?"

  "I have already helped you. His confederates who brought him here are gone, and he is cut off from any outside help. His aide, Na'Toth, might still be loyal to him, and she could be a problem. As for the humans, they strike me as inconsequential."