Babylon 5 - Blood Oath

by John Vornholt

  G'Kar's transport had sat idle for months, and there was no way of knowing when it had been sabotaged. It was clear from the story about Du'Rog that G'Kar had been courting disaster. Even his most trusted subordinate had admitted that he deserved to be killed for what he had done to Du'Rog. Vengeance was a strong emotion, as Ivanova knew from first-hand experience. If she had been raised in a culture that honored revenge killing, she might have hunted down those responsible for her mother's death.

  She dragged herself out of bed and made a small pot of coffee. It was important, she decided, to win back Na'Toth's trust. In all likelihood, the Narn attaché would be on the same ship with her and Garibaldi, and they would desperately need a guide on Homeworld, some­body they could trust. She glanced at her clock and saw that she had an hour-and-a-half before the start of her shift. Much of her day would be spent scheduling senior techs to act as her replacement in C-and-C, which was work she hated to do. She didn't like to think the station could function without her, especially for an extended period of time.

  Ivanova adhered her link to the back of her hand and touched it. "I would like Attaché Na'Toth's quarters."

  To her surprise, the strong-willed Narn answered, "Na'Toth here."

  "This is Susan Ivanova," she said quickly. "We had a stressful meeting yesterday, and I would like the oppor­tunity to make it up to you. Could I buy you breakfast? I promise not to dissuade you from your Shon'Kar."

  She held her breath during the long pause that fol­lowed. "I suppose," said Na'Toth warily.

  "Shall we meet in the cafe on Red-3? Say, in twenty minutes?"

  "Very well."

  She found Na'Toth waiting for her in the busy cafe on Red-3, and the Narn attaché was drumming her fingers impatiently on the table as Ivanova approached.

  "You are two minutes late," she said.

  "Sorry." Ivanova slipped into her chair. "I didn't allow myself enough time to get dressed and check my mes­sages. Have you ordered yet?"

  Na'Toth nodded. "Yes, smoked eel. It was the most expensive item on the breakfast menu."

  "I like smoked eel," said the commander without hes­itation. "Perhaps I'll have the same." The waiter appeared, and she ordered smoked eel, a bagel, and some more coffee.

  "What did you want to see me about?" asked Na'Toth. "It wasn't really to make up for yesterday."

  "As a matter of fact, it was," said the commander. "You've got to understand that humans are a very guilt-ridden species. We feel guilty all the time, about everything. Since G'Kar died outside our station, we feel it's our responsibility. Garibaldi is turning the station upside-down looking for Mi'Ra."

  Na'Toth lifted her spotted cranium and regarded the human with piercing red eyes. "He needn't bother. G'Kar was a Narn, and his murderers were Narn. He brought the Shon'Kar on to himself through his actions. You need feel no guilt, nor do you need to do anything, except to stay out of our affairs. Our society will not punish his murderers if they were fulfilling the Shon'Kar. You must know that if you expect to come with me to Homeworld." Ivanova blinked at the Narn, marveling at how quick she had gotten to the point of the meeting. "You don't mind that Garibaldi and I are going with you?"

  "If your purpose is to honor the memory of G'Kar, how could I mind? If your purpose is to deprive me of my Shon'Kar, I mind a great deal. This will not be easy for me, because I will be accused of negligence in let­ting G'Kar die."

  "That's hardly fair."

  "Fair or not," said the Narn, "an attaché is also a body­guard. That is one reason why my vow of Shon'Kar is so important to me. I am shamed by his murder."

  "Now who's feeling guilty?" asked Ivanova. "I am," admitted Na'Toth. The waiter brought their plates of eel, and the two women ate in silence.

  In a shanty shack in the depths of Down Below, the dead man washed his face in a shallow pan of grimy water. He had never realized what Pa'Nar had to go through to live down here—he would have to give the man more money.

  He took a ragged bit of cloth and dried his prominent chin and brow. This banishment to Down Below would be over mercifully soon, he told himself, and he would be safely aboard the K'sha Na'vas, headed back to Homeworld. He would arrive in disguise and attend to his business with the Du'Rog family, ending it once and for all.

  There was another commotion outside in the grimy corridor, but he had learned to ignore the petty thievery and drunken brawls that typified life in Down Below. He had occasionally ventured down here for amusement, but he would never come here again, if he could help it. The shouts grew louder outside the shack, and he nearly threw open the flap to order them to be quiet. No, he cau­tioned himself, this was not the time to be assertive.

  Suddenly, the flap flew open, and Pa'Nar crawled in, looking distraught. "You must hide!" he hissed.

  "Hide?" growled G'Kar. He glanced around at the dis­mal shack. "I am hiding!"

  "It's Garibaldi!" warned the older man, glancing over his shoulder. "His officers are making another sweep, looking for your killers. We caused a disturbance to delay them, but they are searching everywhere!"

  G'Kar grabbed his PPG pistol and looked around. There was no rear door to the pathetic shack, and no place to run even if he got out. He climbed back on to the cot and clutched the weapon to his chest.

  "Throw the blanket over me," he ordered. "Tell them I am sick."

  They both jumped when a fist pounded on the corru­gated metal wall, nearly bringing the shack down. "Excuse me," barked a voice, "is this a Narn house­hold?"

  "I am coming!" called Pa'Nar. He threw the blanket over G'Kar, who turned his back to the door. Trembling with fear, the older Narn scurried out.

  G'Kar could hear their conversation. "Sorry to bother you," began the officer, "but we're looking for undocu­mented Narns in connection with Ambassador G'Kar's death. Are you listed on the station roster?"

  "I should be," said the Narn. "My name is Pa'Nar. I came here on the Hala 'Tar about a year ago. Lost all my money gambling, and now I'm stuck here. You couldn't help me get off the station, could you?"

  " 'Fraid not. Can I see your identicard, please?"

  G'Kar suffered a few tense moments while the secu­rity officer presumably checked Pa'Nar's identicard on his handheld terminal. "Yes, I have you listed," he agreed. "Any other Narns in your household?"

  Careful, G'Kar though in panic. The wrong answer could be disastrous. But what was the right answer?

  "Only my brother is here," said Pa'Nar loudly. "He is very sick."

  "I'll have to see him," insisted the officer. "I'll just take a look inside and check his identicard. Excuse me."

  G'Kar kept his back to the doorway, wondering if he could possibly be lucky enough to encounter a security officer who didn't know him on sight. Probably not. As one of the four alien ambassadors on the station, he wasn't exactly an unknown quantity. He could feel his heart pounding as the security officer shuffled through the flap.

  "Excuse me," he said, "we're looking for undocu­mented Narns in connection with Ambassador G'Kar's death. Are you on the station roster?"

  G'Kar coughed and wheezed and tried to sound very sick. He pulled the blanket tighter around his broad shoulders with one hand and gripped his PPG weapon with the other.

  "Did you hear what I said?" insisted the officer. "I need your name, and your identicard."

  "Ha'Mok," wheezed G'Kar. From his waistcoat he pulled out his fake identicard and tossed it on to the floor behind him.

  "Thank you," said the officer sarcastically. G'Kar could envision him bending down to retrieve the card, then running it through his machine. G'Kar had no prob­lem feigning labored breathing during the moments that followed.

  "You are listed on the roster," said the officer. "But I have to see you to make positive identification. Turn over, please."

  That, decided G'Kar, he could not do. He cursed him­self—why hadn't he donned his disguise earlier? It was too late now, and this young man had put himself squarely in the way.

  "I don
't wish to vomit all over you!" croaked G'Kar. "I have a virus ... a potent one! It is liquefying my intestines."

  The security officer rose up and banged his head on the low roof. G'Kar wheezed, "It would kill a human in a day or two!"

  Now the officer was lifting his hand to his link to call for instructions, just as Pa'Nar crept up behind him and smashed a crowbar on the back of his skull. The officer crumpled to the grimy floor in a gray heap.

  "I hope you didn't kill him," said G'Kar, rolling to his feet. He bent down and retrieved his fake identicard from under the officer's nose. Warm moisture on the card revealed that the officer was still breathing.

  "We'll have to kill him, won't we?" asked Pa'Nar.

  "No," snapped the ambassador. "This action is not his concern. His death would dishonor my actions even fur­ther. Besides, I have to come back to B5 someday, after I step forward and admit to this deception."

  G'Kar brought the heel of his boot down upon the offi­cer's handheld terminal, smashing the case and grinding the chips into silicon. Then he bent down and ripped the link off the back of the man's hand and thrust it into the trembling hands of the old Narn.

  "Take his link far away from here, so they can't trace him by it," ordered G'Kar. "While you're at it, you had better keep going, Pa'Nar. Clean yourself up and get off this station on the first public transport."

  "We're just going to leave him here?" gasped Pa'Nar.

  G'Kar scowled. "If you want to carry him out, be my guest."

  The old Narn gulped, stuck the link in his pocket, and scurried out. G'Kar turned his attention to the unfortu­nate Earthforce officer sprawled on the floor and said, "Your boss, Mr. Garibaldi, is very thorough. I must remember that."

  The Narn began to undress, replacing the disgusting rags Pa'Nar had provided with the humble robe of an acolyte. The choice of the acolyte had been his, in mem­ory of the deceit employed against him by the assassins at Ka'Pul.

  From the pocket of his robe G'Kar produced a mirror and the most important piece of his disguise—the skull cap. The thin layer of artificial skin covered his entire cranium and matched his skin color perfectly except for one thing—the spots were completely different. Where pools of dark pigment had blossomed on his head, the skull cap had seas of bronze, and vice-versa. It was sur­prising how much the appliance changed a Narn's appearance, and he supposed it was like a human exchanging ebony hair for golden hair.

  Then he applied another piece of his disguise, the con­tact lenses that turned his eyes from their usual vibrant red to a dull brown. A Narn who met him would think that his eyes were quite unusual, but tests had shown that the effect of brown eyes on humans was just the oppo­site. They perceived a face that was bland and friendly, a forgettable face, much like one of their own. The final part of his disguise was an attitude adjustment—instead of his usual arrogance and bluster there would be a sub­servient timidity that required his head be lowered most of the time.

  G'Kar jumped when a groan issued from the floor. Without a moment's hesitation, he scooped his old clothes off the floor and threw them into a cloth bag. He checked to make sure he had the proper identicard and the proper attitude as he lowered his head and ducked through the flap hanging in the doorway.

  CHAPTER 5

  "Officer does not respond," came Lou Welch's report from the Brown Sector of Down Below.

  "What?" answered Garibaldi into his link. Some crazy derelict in an access duct overhead was hollering just to hear the echo, a phenomenon that was typical when a person consumed too much dust. Everyone had shouted at the guy to be quiet, to no avail, and now two of his security officers were on their way to grab him and take him to medlab. This interruption had slowed down Garibaldi's search through the Green Sector of Down Below, putting him in an even worse mood. He was dreading all the diplomatic schmoozing he would have to be doing in a couple of hours, and he could barely hear himself worry.

  "I said, 'Leffler doesn't respond!' " shouted Welch. "He was working a corridor alone, and now he's just dis­appeared. We're trying to trace his link, but it's not where it should be. I'd like permission to give up the search for Narns to search for Leffler. We may need to do a house-to-house."

  "Permission granted," answered Garibaldi. He winced at the howling that reverberated over his head. "We're stalled here, too, so I'm coming over there. Garibaldi out!"

  He turned to his subordinates in Green Sector and yelled, "As soon as you get him quiet, keep checking Narns until you're relieved, or you hear from me. I'll be in Brown Sector."

  The chief jogged to get away from the din, but he did­n't find it any quieter in the connecting corridor. The explosion of G'Kar's ship and the rousting of the Narn derelicts had unleashed a kind of sullen resentment in the bowels of Down Below. There was some incidental ranting about heavy-handed Earthforce, and a few Drazi glared at him. No one looked like they particularly wanted to see him.

  With a start, Garibaldi realized that this might not be the best time to be wandering alone through Down Below. Leffler was missing and not responding, and he had been working alone, too. The chief didn't make a big deal about it, but he slowed down his pace long enough to give every doorway, corridor, and alien a thorough inspection before he drew close. His hand dangled near the PPG weapon on his belt.

  He was beginning to get the feeling that somebody in this collection of interstellar misfits knew something about G'Kar's death. Something was hidden down here, as it usually was. Garibaldi tried to concentrate on Mi'Ra, the Narn in the blood-soaked dress. She was the key. Could she be brazen enough to sneak on to the station and use Down Below as her base of operations? To kill an ambassador, you would need a place like this to wait, to bide your time. Hell, everybody in Down Below was biding their time, and the cost of living was low. The cost of dying was also low, and she could hire accomplices if she needed them.

  There was just one thing wrong with this theory. Mi'Ra was a rather striking-looking woman, and Narns were comparatively rare in Down Below. She wouldn't blend in easily, not like a Drazi or a human.

  Garibaldi's attention was snagged by a Narn male skirting the other side of the corridor; he was wearing a cloak that looked as if it were made out of burlap. The man's head was lowered respectfully, and he moved slowly, as with age. Garibaldi got the distinct impression that he knew the Narn, so he permitted himself a closer look and wondered whether he should take the time to identify the man and check his identicard. The Narn glanced briefly at him then lowered his head, and Garibaldi realized that he didn't know him. In fact, he seemed a harmless sort, probably some kind of monk.

  Well, Garibaldi mused, Down Below was a good place to live out a vow of poverty. He let the Narn go without hassling him.

  His link buzzed, and he lifted his hand. "Garibaldi here."

  "This is Welch," came the familiar voice. "We found Leffler's link in a really foul latrine, but he's not in there. We're breaking up to go house-to-house now. There are a lot of boiler rooms and shanties around here."

  "Buddy system," said Garibaldi, glancing around at sullen stares. "No more singles. I'll be there in five minutes."

  Garibaldi signed off and continued his wary stroll through the byways of Down Below. The security chief knew these mean corridors as well as anyone, and he kept to the best-lit routes, the ones closest to the exits and lifts. He couldn't help but feel that time was getting away from him in this investigation. His instincts told him to clamp down, but he had to dash off to the Narn Homeworld—to turn the case over to them, knowing they wouldn't do a damn thing with it. He looked around at the squalor and knew that it wasn't doing his mood any good. It was time to turn the grunge work over to his subordinates and start doing his packing.

  He veered toward an exit when his link buzzed. "This is Garibaldi."

  "We've found Leffler," said Welch with relief. "He's out cold, and he may have a cracked skull—but he's breathing. A medteam is on its way. We got lucky with a tip from some kids, and we found him knocked c
old in a shanty."

  "Question those kids," ordered Garibaldi. "What ex­actly did they see? Who went into the shack with him?"

  "We can't find them," said Welch apologetically. "They yelled down from the top of a catwalk, pointed out the shack, then ran off. We've been looking every­where for them, but they're gone. At least we have Leffler. Want us to break off and look for those kids?"

  Garibaldi stopped, thinking that he was just spinning his wheels no matter what direction he ran in. "No, just concentrate on the Narns. Ask them if they've seen an attractive female Narn."

  "With pleasure," said Welch a little too cheerfully. "But we'll keep looking for the kids, or anyone else who might've seen what happened to Leffler. Welch out."

  Garibaldi rubbed his eyes, wondering what the hell he could've been thinking. If the secret was in Down Below, they would never find it, anyway. This place was a black hole. People, information, stolen goods—they just sunk into the muck and were never seen again. Better admit it, thought Garibaldi, he was going to leave B5 for a few days and be out of the loop.

  He pushed the exit door open and headed up a ramp. As he walked, he tapped his link again. "Could I have Talia Winters' quarters?"

  Luck was with him, and he caught the telepath on the first try. "This is Talia Winters."

  "Hi, this is Garibaldi. I've got a favor to ask."

  "Ask away," she said. "With G'Kar dead, nobody's in much of a mood to conduct business. What happened to him?"

  "That's what we're trying to find out. Could I call you later to do a scan on one of my men? A fellow named Leffler. Something happened to him in Down Below, and he may need help remembering."

  "I plan to stay close to home," promised Talia. "The only place I'm going is to G'Kar's memorial service."

  "Can't forget about that," said Garibaldi, snapping his fingers. "I'll call you as soon as I get a report on Leffler. The medteam is just getting to him—he isn't even con­scious yet."