Mi'Ra drew her PPG and dug in the toes of her boots as she scaled the garbage pit. She finally found a few clear steps where dust devils had strayed down the stairs, and the ascent got easier. There was nothing easy, however, about the sight of the border zone, with its depressing narrow houses. Each was two stories tall, although some had sunken on their poor foundations and looked no more than one-story. They were built quickly then forgotten quickly, left to rot with the firm knowledge that anyone who had sunk to this level had lost his place in Narn society. For a Narn who didn't know his place, there was no hope.
Mi'Ra stepped cautiously into the wind that blew across this treeless plain ninety percent of the time, or so they said. No one could remember the ten percent when it allegedly wasn't blowing. The decrepit row houses were supposed to be offset by impressive walls and archways that mirrored preinvasion architecture. But the constant feeling of running into walls made it seem like a maze, a place where society observed its freaks. At other times, the walls seemed like a prison, which is what they really were, thought Mi'Ra.
There were murders every night, but no one saw anything over the damn walls or the fear. The border zones were conveniently unincorporated, patrolled by rangers from the Rural Division, who showed a determined lack of interest in solving most crimes. In the ones they decided to solve, they acted as police, judge, jury, and executioner. Mi'Ra had finally realized that a race that could be cruel to other races could also be cruel to itself.
She skirted a familiar wall, trying to stay out of the light. There were cheap clay candles swaying in the archways and on a few porches. The government left candles and boxes of food at certain intersections every day, and a few conscientious people tried to light the border zone. Most just ignored the cheap candles, and the sand was littered with sooty clumps of pottery that had once been candles.
The young Narn padded down a hill and paused before an archway. A lone traveler could never tell what might be waiting in one of those infernal archways; at least this one had a clay pot burning. She was young and attractive, and her greatest fear was that some street pack would capture her alive. Mi'Ra slowed cautiously and put her PPG away in favor of her knife. In close quarters, she had more faith in her knife to inflict damage without risking a war.
Mi'Ra was still annoyed that a human had managed to deflect her attack so easily today. Of course, she could have killed him, which gave her some satisfaction. The young Narn gazed up at the top of the wall, wondering if anybody could be hiding up there. She knew from experience that footing was treacherous atop the crumbling structures. No one in his right mind scampered around up there. The ground was littered with chunks that had fallen from the ornamental walks.
The smell of burning rubber, the only available fuel for some downtrodden souls, assaulted her nostrils, and she felt like turning back. But her mother and brother were waiting for a full report on the memorial service. Even though G'Kar's death brought them no immediate relief, at least it had exorcised one ghost. They no longer anguished over the fact that G'Kar enjoyed a soft life built from the hide of their father's corpse.
Mi'Ra stopped again to listen, and she thought she heard someone moving on the other side of the wall. She darted through the archway, slashing her knife, but her would-be attacker was only a dust devil, unable to find its way around the wall. It whipped and whirled in frustration.
She moved swiftly away from the light, not wanting to draw attention to herself. There was still enough daylight left that this trip home shouldn't be tortuous. She could see some young Narns at the bottom of the hill, burning the tread from a mining vehicle and cooking rodents over the flames. But they were often there and had never tried to pursue her. Still, she kept a safe distance and was poised to run if they even stood up too quickly. Mi'Ra had no delusions about the dangers of the border zone. Some people down here were mentally unhinged, not fit for Narn society or any other society; some had become addicted to drugs the Centauri had introduced. Many were just unlucky, like herself, and it was cruel to mix the misfits with the misfortunates.
Narns prided themselves on having few prisons, as if this was some indication that Narns accepted their rigid caste system. But Mi'Ra had decided that Narn culture was nothing more than a series of prisons, expanding ever outward. Even G'Kar had not managed to escape from it.
She heard a sound, and she broke out of her careless reverie to see two dark figures rise out of the shadows. As they had already seen her, she decided to let them see everything. She stepped back near the archway and let them see the light glinting off her knife, then she slowly made her way across the alley to the first row of dreary houses. Mi'Ra wanted to let them know that she intended to steer clear of them and hoped they would do likewise. The two shadowy figures watched her go, although they grunted something to each other and laughed.
When Mi'Ra was well beyond them, she sheathed her knife and dashed through an opening in the houses without alerting anyone. She jogged down the middle of the street, knowing the ground was fairly level and not too badly littered. A few residents poked their heads out of their doorways to watch her pass. Even though most of them knew who she was, no one greeted her. People in the border zone were faceless and wanted to stay that way.
Mi'Ra could see the lighted clay pot swinging on her mother's porch. At least T'Kog had done something he was supposed to do. As she approached the dreary house, she could hear the people who lived upstairs fighting; one of them was a dust addict, and the other was a pickpocket who worked the tunnels. Mi'Ra hated to have to rent out the upper floor, but that was the only steady income they had. Besides, this hovel and its hideous surroundings had never seemed like their real home. It was just the cell to which the Du'Rog family had mistakenly been condemned until the magical return of the good life. That's how Ka'Het and T'Kog looked at it, thought Mi'Ra angrily. The only V'Tar that burned in them was the minimum it took to survive, plus the useless hope that their father's name would someday be cleared.
She tried to tell them that they had been put in the border zone to be forgotten, to die. The only glory awaiting them was to achieve die Shon'Kar—to fulfill then-father's dying wish to know that G'Kar was dead. At least that goal had been attained, even if it was another's hand that held the glory. That was honest cause for celebration, so Mi'Ra tried to put on a cheerful face as she walked up the crumbling steps. But she still felt empty. The fire of revenge had gone out, and she had nothing to replace it with.
The neighbors' fighting was a common sound, but the next sound she heard was highly unusual. It was her mother laughing! That couldn't be possible, thought Mi'Ra, it had to be another woman laughing; but what woman would be in the border zone, laughing? Even through the cheap tin door, it sounded like her mother. The hand on the hilt of her knife, she inserted a keycard and pushed the door open.
It was her mother, the downtrodden martyr to G'Kar's ambition, and she was roaring with laughter—for the first time in years! T'Kog, her strapping but spineless brother, was doubled over in laughter, gripping his sides.
Mi'Ra scowled. "I know G'Kar's death was a major event, but I don't understand this much levity."
"Oh, you will!" gasped T'Kog. He waved a finger at Ka'Het, who was so dejected earlier that morning that she couldn't get out of bed. "Tell her, Mother!"
The older woman usually looked gaunt and beaten, but today she heaved with joyous gasps. "We are rich, my dear! We are back in the good life again! As you said we never would be."
"Father has been absolved?" asked Mi'Ra, beaming at the thought.
That thought sobered Ka'Het. "Ah, no," she admitted. "This has no official effect on his case, but maybe that will change, too. We have the next best thing, which is money! Transferred directly into our old account. The banker sent an armored courier to tell us!"
"How much money?"
"Four hundred thousand Old Bloodstone!" gushed T'Kog.
"Keep your voice down," Mi'Ra hissed. "And who provided this windfall?"
"Who was it?" Mi'Ra demanded of her mother.
The older woman looked away and straightened her ragged housedress. "It was G'Kar's widow, Da'Kal. I wondered when she would come through. She used to be one of my best friends, you know."
"Mother," said the young Narn woman, trying to remain calm, "that's only money. That was probably one year's housekeeping money in the old times. Nothing changes—we'll still be outcasts with no station in life, and Father will still be considered a traitor."
"But we'll get out of here!"Ka'Het snarled. "With that much money, we can get some kind of life back. What do you think it will buy?"
Mi'Ra was thinking. It would not buy her silence, she knew that. It would buy the services of several mercenaries, and it might buy more creature comforts, but it wouldn't buy them respect. And how long would it really last? If she knew her mother, not very long.
"What do you plan to do with the money?" she asked matter-of-factly.
"Buy a home on the Islands, or some resort where the circles are allowed to mix. I think we'd be accepted in a place like that, even with our past."
Our past, Mi'Ra thought bitterly. They hadn't done anything wrong, yet her mother was still suffering guilt! "A house on the Islands," she observed dryly. "There goes most of the money."
T'Kog jumped to his feet and stared at his older sister. "You never want anything good to happen, because you're too obsessed with revenge. Whether you like it or not, two good things have happened, and I say we should rejoice! I'm with Mother. Let's get back to civilization."
Mi'Ra knew when to bide her time, and she bowed her head respectfully. "Mother, of course you are right. And may I suggest that you and my brother go on a househunting excursion to the Islands. But don't be hasty and grab the first thing."
"No, never!" said her mother. "If this experience has taught me anything, it's to be practical." She pulled at her rags. "Of course we'll have to buy some new clothes. Are you saying you wouldn't come with us?"
"No, you two go. I will stay and look after what we have here."
T'Kog laughed disdainfully. "We have nothing here, Mi'Ra. You're the only one who thinks we do. But I'm glad you agree with us."
"I want to get out of here as much as anyone," Mi'Ra assured her mother. "Now I'm going to he down and take a nap."
"We splurged and bought some dry fish," said Ka'Het. "There is some in the pantry."
T'Kog moved lazily toward the door. "Mi'Ra, how was the memorial service?"
"Quite touching," she answered with all sincerity. "You would have thought he was a great man. Ra'Pak was there, and so were several Earthers from the place where he died, the Babylon 5 station. They can't arrest us, but they may want to ask questions."
"In the name of the Martyrs, why?" asked Ka'Het. "Should we try to leave before they come?"
"No. They must have found the data crystal we sent to G'Kar, and they want to meddle."
"I knew that was a bad idea," said T'Kog righteously.
Mi'Ra narrowed her red eyes. "You agreed at the time, dear brother. We have never gone anywhere near Babylon 5, so they can't implicate us. We don't know anything about G'Kar's death, except that it wasn't us and it wasn't the Thenta Ma'Kur. Are we agreed?"
"Of course, my dear," said Ka'Het, patting her daughter's spotted hand. "You worry too much. We know what to say, and we are innocent. Do you suppose we should offer them a bribe? One never knows with humans."
Mi'Ra touched her mother's hand and smiled. "No, Mother. Just be yourself. I think the Earthers are quite fascinated with us. I was told there is one among them who was married to a Narn."
T'Kog winced. "That's disgusting."
"This is the future," said Mi'Ra. "It may be our future, too. On a Terran station such as Babylon 5, we would be exotic aliens with no past and only a future. Old Bloodstone could be rare on an Earth station, and our money might last longer. We should consider this."
"We will," said Ka'Het. "But I'm not sure I want to leave all my friends."
The same friends who haven't spoken to you in three years! thought Mi'Ra angrily. She held her tongue. Her mother hadn't spent any of the money yet, and Mi'Ra had firstborn power of access. She could make withdrawals from this suddenly valuable account.
Truly, G'Kar's widow had done a noble thing, but it would be an empty gesture if the money were wasted. They could easily end up back in the border zone, more bitter and more estranged from society. Despite her mother's elation, this was not the answer to their problem. Plus, Mi'Ra was suspicious of this money. Why? And why now? What kind of silence was it supposed to buy? Whose guilt was it supposed to salve? Narns weren't known for experiencing much guilt.
When the Earthers arrived, decided Mi'Ra, she might have a few questions for them.
With hardly a whimper, the big red sun ducked behind the rim of Hekba Canyon, chased away by the blackest shadows imaginable. The shadows stretched like demons into the deepest crevices, stealing the heat as they went. Susan Ivanova must have sweated off ten kilos during the day, but now she was shivering and unable to stop, even wrapped in military-issue fleece. She was expecting the drop in temperature—she understood how thin atmosphere, low humidity, and weak air pressure could have this effect—but she still wasn't prepared for the reality of night on Homeworld. The commander could swear that her breath formed ice crystal bridges over the glaciers that used to be her cheekbones. The temperature must have plunged sixty degrees.
"Whose bright idea was it to come outside?" shuddered Garibaldi, pounding his arms against his chest in a futile attempt to keep warm. At least he wasn't complaining anymore about having to drag his coat with him.
"I told you, we can't stay on this high level," answered Al Vernon, glancing over the railing to the depths below. "We need to get lower into the canyon. In fact, all the way to the bottom."
Ivanova wanted to look over the edge of the railing, but she couldn't make her frozen muscles move. She unstuck her face long enough to ask, "Is it really that much warmer d-d-down there?"
Na'Toth scowled. "I don't see what you thin-skinned humans are complaining about. It's perfectly pleasant up here. I say, we go back into the tavern and wait for Ha'Mok as planned."
"It's been hours!" protested Ivanova. "What could he be doing?"
Al shook his head. "I don't know why we should be worrying so much about a simple crewman. Let Ha'Mok find his own way back. If he's not of the right circle, the rangers will probably catch him and send him packing, anyway. Na'Toth, if you want to stay and wait for him, that's okay with me, but we can't stay on this level. Humans are thin-skinned, and we don't have much insulation."
Al chuckled and patted his ample stomach. "When I lived here, I tried to pack on extra insulation, but it didn't help much."
Ivanova pried her frozen lips apart enough to ask, "Can we wait a little longer?"
Al squinted at his fellow humans. "You two can stay here and freeze to death—and it's going to get colder yet—but I didn't sign on for that. I'd rather take a five-minute lift ride and be sitting down there beside a nice, bubbling, hot spring, dabbing the sweat off my brow. You can call the K'sha Na'vas from down there, can't you? Why do we have to wait for Ha'Mok—he's just a crewman, isn't he?"
Na'Toth glanced back at the tavern door, as if considering going back to wait. But Ivanova didn't think the Narn wanted to wait indefinitely in the tavern by herself. Not only had the establishment gotten substantially colder with the fall of darkness, it had gotten rowdier with an infusion of privileged young Narns who thought they owned the universe. Besides, it was beginning to look suspicious that they should be so concerned over a simple crewman. More than once, Ivanova had almost called Ha'Mok by his real name. If they weren't careful, Al Vernon was going to learn their secret.
Na'Toth finally slumped her shoulders. "Yes, we can contact the K'sha Na'vas from the bottom. There is
no way to predict how long Ha'Mok will be, and I can't force him to be sensible. Therefore, lead on, Mr. Vernon, I believe you know this city better than I do."
"With pleasure," said Al. He swung his pudgy arms and headed off down the walkway. Garibaldi and Ivanova fell in step behind him, with Na'Toth bringing up a watchful rear. It felt good to be moving, thought Ivanova, with blood pumping to the outer extremities again. Growing up in Russia, she thought she knew what cold was, but Homeworld was causing her to rethink her most primal memories.
"We don't have to cross the bridge again, do we?" asked Garibaldi with a shudder.
"I don't think so," said Al. "The lifts don't begin here until half-a-dozen levels down. This is the commercial section—they want you to walk, giving you time to pass the shops and shop."
Ivanova nudged Garibaldi. "We can't forget about Captain Sheridan. To contact him, we have to return to the K'sha Na'vas sometime soon."
"Maybe not," said Al, overhearing them. "You won't find public screens with interstellar links on every corner, but this is a wealthy neighborhood, and they've got lots of interesting stuff behind closed doors. We'll ask around, after we get someplace warm."
Ivanova was not about to argue with Al's priorities, not with icicles encasing her spine. The chill would have been worse, she marveled, without all those broth drinks she had consumed in the tavern. She hadn't tasted much alcohol in the drinks; if they were all intoxicating, the freezing air must have snapped her right back into sobriety. Ivanova felt nothing but cold, creeping numbness all over her body, and she could barely remember that the same air had felt like a blast furnace a few hours ago. It felt as if Homeworld had been mired in the Ice Age for eternity.
In the dim light, Al Vernon walked down a level to check the markings on a newer section of dwellings. As if some kindly sensors realized he needed more light, green light filaments suddenly ignited all along the handrails and the swooping bridges that spanned the crevasse. Ivanova swiveled her head and stared in awe at the giant spiral of light. She felt as if she were inside a fluorescent, tubular, spider web. The effect was quite startling, until she realized that the handrail filaments gave off little actual light and no warmth. If anything, the cool, impersonal lights made Ivanova feel even colder.
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