Babylon 5 - Blood Oath

CHAPTER 6

Michael Garibaldi stayed behind in the theater bal­cony, watching the mourners depart after the memorial service for G'Kar. He wasn't the sentimental type, except when it came to old friends and young ladies, but the memorial service had been oddly touch­ing. Even Londo had risen to the occasion. As Delenn had said in her address, it was easy to be angry and deny what had happened, and it was much harder to accept the fact that G'Kar was gone. It was like a whole section of the station was suddenly missing.

He leaned over the balcony again, wondering if there was a murderer in the well-behaved crowd. The security chief had no idea anybody was watching him.

"Hi, my name is Al Vernon!" crowed a loud voice directly behind him. The security chief whirled around to see a human male approaching him from the back of the balcony. He was a portly fellow dressed in a check­ered sportcoat, and sweat glistened on his florid face. He held out a pudgy hand as if it was the most important thing in the world that he shake Garibaldi's hand.

"Do I know you?" asked Garibaldi.

"No, sir, you do not," answered the man cheerfully, but that didn't prevent him from grabbing Garibaldi's hand and yanking for all he was worth. "My name is Al Vernon, but I already said that. You're Garibaldi, the security chief of this fine station, am I right?"

"That's no secret," growled the chief. "Listen, I've got to leave the station soon, and I'm busy." He glanced down and saw Talia Winters filing out of the amphithe­ater with the others, which reminded him of another matter still up in the air—Officer Leffler. "Do you think you could get to the point?" he demanded of his chubby acquaintance.

"It's quite simple, sir." He stood on his tiptoes to whis­per to the taller man. "Rumor has it that you're going to the Narn Homeworld aboard the K'sha Na'vas. I'd like to tag along, if I could. I've been trying to get there for six months, and I was hoping you would prevail upon the Narns or Captain Sheridan to get me aboard."

Garibaldi gaped at the man. "You've got a lot of nerve. If you know all of that, then you also know that we're an official delegation. The K'sha Na'vas is not a transport—you can't just buy a ticket on her."

Al Vernon laughed nervously. "That is one reason why I must appeal to you, sir. I've managed to come this far—1 only just arrived—but I find myself short of funds for the journey to Homeworld. However, I've got excel­lent lines of credit there, plus many business associates who will vouch for me."

"You've been to Homeworld?" asked Garibaldi, sounding doubtful.

"Been there, sir? Why, I lived there for ten years! Have a wife there, I do. Well, she's an ex-wife by now, I should imagine. Darling little thing, except for when she used to get mad at me." He whispered again, "Don't marry a Narn unless you can stand a woman with a temper."

Now Garibaldi was intrigued. "Do they often marry humans?"

"No, not often," admitted Al. "The number of humans living on Homeworld is very small, but a family with too many daughters might see fit to marry one off to a human who was prosperous. Children are out of the question, of course, but sexual relations are not. No, indeedy."

Garibaldi scowled at the man's sly grin, but he was still intrigued. "What kind of business did you do there?"

"Importer of alien technologies," answered Al. "The Narns are crazy for anything from outside the Regime. Toys, kitchen goods, communications..."

"Weapons," suggested Garibaldi.

The man bristled. "Nothing illegal, I can assure you. In fact, had I not been so scrupulous, I would have avoided the business reversals that have kept me away from Narn for so long."

Garibaldi rubbed his chin. "You know, it might not be a bad idea to have a guide along, somebody who knows the territory. We've been summoned to answer questions about G'Kar's death, but we don't want to be held up in a bureaucratic nightmare for days on end."

"I still have some friends in high places," Al assured him. "I could save you considerable time and help you to avoid many pitfalls."

"You would be part of the official delegation—no weapons, no funny business—and you would have to attend a memorial service for G'Kar."

Al Vernon rubbed his chubby hands together. "I would be honored to attend a service for Ambassador G'Kar, whom I met many years ago. What a tragic loss."

"Yeah." The chief tapped his link and spoke into the device. "This is Garibaldi to C-and-C."

"Lieutenant Mitchell on duty," came a sprightly female voice. "Go ahead, Chief."

"I would like the complete records on a human male who's here on the station. He goes by the name of Al Vernon. I also want to know how long he's been on B5, and what his financial status is. And I want to know if there is any record of him ever living on the Narn Homeworld."

Garibaldi smiled at his new friend, who seemed to be sweating just a little bit more. "You only have half-an-hour on this, so get back to me as soon as you can."

"Yes, sir. C-and-C out."

Al Vernon chuckled and tugged at his collar. "You're a thorough man, aren't you, Mr. Garibaldi?"

"I just want to make sure you are who you say you are. I'll talk to the captain and do the best I can. Meet me in forty-three minutes in dock six, and be ready to go."

"Yes, sir!" said Al, snapping to attention and thrust­ing his stomach out.

Garibaldi winced at the man's eagerness and strode to the steps leading down from the balcony. He didn't feel as if he had made much of a commitment, because if Al Vernon's story didn't check out, he wasn't going any­where. If by some miracle Al did check out, he could be a valuable ally, a human who knew his way around the Narn Homeworld. Garibaldi wanted to trust Na'Toth to be their guide, but he was afraid that the attaché had her own agenda.

Maybe if he was lucky, thought the chief, there would be a break in the investigation before he had to board K'sha Na'vas. Maybe they'd find Mi'Ra in Down Below, or Leffler would jump up in bed and identify both his assailant and the murderer. Get real, thought Garibaldi, knowing that he would never have a lucky streak like that.

He stopped in the corridor and watched the last of the mourners, who were breaking up into small groups and going about their business. After a moment, the chief tapped his link and said, "Garibaldi to medlab."

"Franklin here," came the response. "Are you check­ing up on your officer?"

"Yeah, Doc. Has Leffler regained consciousness?"

"I just got back from the service. Let me check." A minute later, Franklin reported back, "Leffler gained consciousness briefly, but he became agitated and we sedated him. His vital signs and EKG look good, but you can't be too careful with head trauma."

"Can we wake him up to be questioned?" asked Garibaldi.

The doctor's tone was cool. "I think he's several hours away from that. Perhaps tomorrow."

"Thanks," said Garibaldi. "I'll be off-station by then, so could you contact Captain Sheridan as soon as Leffler is well enough to be questioned about his attack?"

"I'll make sure. Anything else?"

"Nope. Garibaldi out." He tapped his link again. "Garibaldi to Welch."

"I read you, Chief."

"Any luck down there?" he asked, expecting the worst.

"Afraid not. We've checked every Narn in sight, and we've found a handful with expired identicards. But we've made positive ID on all of them, and none of them are recent arrivals to the station. No one seems to have any connection with the Du'Rog family."

"What about the attack on Leffler? Anyone see any­thing?"

"No, sir. But then nobody ever sees anything down here."

Garibaldi frowned at the back of his hand. "All right, Lou, call it off for now. I'm off the station in about forty minutes, but there is one thing I want you to follow up on."

"Sure, chief."

"When Leffler comes to, question him. If he can't remember who hit him—and people often lose their memory after a head injury—contact Talia Winters. She can do a scan on him and help us fill in the blanks. She's already agreed to do this, so all you have to do is call her."

"Gotcha. Have a good trip."

"Yeah," said Garibaldi. "Out."

After stopping at his quarters to pick up his duffel bag and rescue his heavy coat from mothballs, Garibaldi headed toward Captain Sheridan's office. He was about ten meters from the captain's door when his link buzzed.

"Garibaldi here!" he snapped at the back of his head.

"This is Lieutenant Mitchell in C-and-C, and I have that data for you on Al Vernon. Want me to upload to your link?"

Garibaldi checked the time and saw that he was run­ning out of it. "Send it to Captain Sheridan's terminal. I'm just outside his office. Garibaldi out."

Be there, Captain Sheridan, he muttered to himself as he pressed the chime. To his relief, a voice called, "Enter!"

Garibaldi ducked through the door and was relieved to see that Sheridan was alone in his office. He was peer­ing at his flat-screen terminal, a bemused expression on his face.

The captain barely looked up. "Hello, Garibaldi. Ready for your trip?"

"Not really, sir," admitted the security chief. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time, but this will only take a moment."

Sheridan frowned at his screen. "Would you believe I'm looking at Narn legal texts? Most of them are cen­turies old and predate the Centauri invasion. It seems as if they prefer debating the meaning of these old laws, most of which are irrelevant to a spacefaring society, to writing any new laws. Their beliefs are mired in the past. This Shon'Kar business reminds me of Earth a few cen­turies back, when it was legal to fight duels to the death."

Garibaldi stepped to the side of Sheridan's desk. "Sir, I was expecting a download from C-and-C, and I had them send it directly to you. Could I take a look?"

Sheridan pushed his chair back and motioned toward the screen. "Go ahead."

Garibaldi angled the screen and punched in some com­mands. As information and a photograph blossomed on the screen, he began to read aloud, "Full name is Albert Curtis Vernon, a.k.a. Al Vernon, and he hails from Mansfield, Ohio." He stopped and pointed to a window of text. "This is interesting, sir—he's done a lot of trav­eling around, but you can see that the Narn Homeworld was his legal residence for almost ten years. He was reg­istered with both the embassy and the trade commission. Yeah, he seems legit."

"Is this man a suspect in G'Kar's murder?" asked Sheridan.

"No, sir. This may sound crazy, but I would like to take Al Vernon with us to Homeworld, to be sort of a guide."

Sheridan blinked at him. "How well do you know this man?"

"I just met him. He came up to me after the service and said he wanted to get back to Homeworld. He agreed to be my guide if I arranged passage on the K'sha Na'vas."

"That's not our ship, Garibaldi. I can't order them to take a stranger on board a military vessel."

The chief cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, sir, but it's your prerogative to pick the people for the official delegation. I don't remember volunteering, yet there I am. You could put Al Vernon on the list. Since he's married to a Narn, he is sort of a pioneer in Narn-Terran relationships."

"How long has Al Vernon been on the station?" In answer to his own question, the captain glanced at his screen and said, "He just arrived here two hours ago, so he couldn't have been involved in G'Kar's death. He did­n't waste any time getting to you, did he?"

"No sir. I don't intend to trust him with my life—all I know is that he fell into my lap, and I'd feel like a fool if I didn't take him. He said he was broke—how many credits does he have?"

Sheridan gazed at his screen. "He hasn't used a credit chit on the station, so we have no record of his financial status. Look at all the places this guy has been—Centauri Prime, Mars, Antareus, Betelguese Four, not to mention ten years on the Narn Homeworld. Look here and here—there are a lot of gaps where we don't know where he's been. If you take this man with you, he'll have to be your responsibility. I'll hold you personally accountable for his actions."

"Yes, sir," Garibaldi answered gravely, wondering if he was taking leave of his senses. He had absolutely no reason to trust Al Vernon, just a hunch that providence had dealt him a trump card in a plaid sportcoat.

Captain Sheridan pressed his console, and the main viewer on the wall blinked on, showing a com­munications graph. "This is Captain Sheridan to the Narn cruiser K'sha Na'vas. I would like to speak to Captain Vin'Tok, if he is available."

The graphic was replaced by a view of the bridge of the Narn heavy cruiser, K'sha Na'vas. The lights were dimmed drowsily, as if take-off were hours away instead of ten minutes. Vin'Tok sat down in front of the screen, and his face was half-bathed in shadows.

"Hello, Captain," he said. "May I be of help?"

"Captain, I wish to include one more dignitary on the list of delegates from Earth. His name is Al Vernon, and he's a civilian."

Now Vin'Tok sat up abruptly in his chair and scowled at Sheridan. "This is highly irregular, adding a passen­ger only ten minutes before we depart."

Sheridan smiled pleasantly. "We are only trying to show our respect to Ambassador G'Kar by sending a worthy delegation. I can upload to you the records of Mr. Vernon, so you can see for yourself that he's a fitting symbol of the cooperation between our worlds."

"Very well," muttered the Narn captain. "I trust this will not delay our departure. Out." He punched a button, and the screen went blank.

On the dimly lit bridge of the warship K'sha Na'vas, G'Kar's sharp chin jutted out of the shadows. "You fool! Bringing a complete stranger on board!"

"What was I to do?" asked Vin'Tok. "A three-person delegation is still small. How was I to refuse the humans? Believe me, they have been quite genuine in their grief over your demise. The memorial service was heart­warming. When this is all over, my friend, you will have to tell me why you have taken such a desperate action."

G'Kar sat stiffly in his chair, his lips tight. Dead men have little influence, he was beginning to find out.

"Data download from Captain Sheridan is now com­plete," announced a Narn tech.

"You'd better get below," Vin'Tok told G'Kar, a note of dismissal in his voice.

G'Kar wanted to protest, but his power and prestige were evaporating before his eyes. No longer was he G'Kar of the Third Circle. He was a dead man—a nonen­tity. His lot was to be hidden away, hunted, and now ignored. When he had hastily devised this scheme, he had never realized the jeopardy in which he was placing himself. He had assumed that his associates would treat him as they always had, realizing that he was still G'Kar. But G'Kar was officially dead; he had no strings to pull and no teeth to his bite. He was dependent upon the kind­ness of friends, and they seemed more curious than helpful.

He would try to arrange being discovered floating in space, and still alive, as soon as his mission to Homeworld was over. And he would conclude that busi­ness as quickly as possible.

With armed guards at his back, G'Kar marched toward the ladder that would take him down into the hold. There his furnished cell awaited.

Garibaldi was ambushed just as he was coming off the lift on the docking level. Ivanova stopped him with a palm to the chest and peered at him with eyes that were darker and more intense than usual.

"What is this about a stranger coming with us?" she demanded.

"You mean Al Vernon," Garibaldi said sheepishly. "He's a stranger to us, but he's no stranger to Homeworld. We'll need someone who knows their way around."

"What about Na'Toth? I took her out to breakfast this morning—bought her smoked eel! She's agreed to help us."

Garibaldi scowled. "Until she catches sight of Mi'Ra and goes for her throat. I want to get in and get out with the least amount of trouble, and I think Al will be a big help."

He struggled with his duffel bag and his heavy coat while trying to check on the time. Damn it, he didn't want to go someplace where he had to wear a coat, where the temperature shot up and down the thermometer like a yo-yo. He liked it on B-5, where the temperature was regulated for optimum comfort.

Ivanova hefted her own luggage and bulky jacket. "We'd better keep moving."

"Mr. Garibaldi!" bellowed a voice. They turned to see a squat man in a loud sportcoat waddling towards them, dragging a huge suitcase in each hand.

Ivanova gave Garibaldi a raised eyebrow. "Don't tell me that's him?"

"I'm sure he'll tell you himself." Garibaldi managed a smile.

His round face beaming, Al Vernon dropped his suit­cases in front of Ivanova. "I'm Al Vernon," he said proudly, "and you must be Commander Ivanova. This is a real pleasure, yes, indeedy!"

The commander frowned darkly. "I wasn't consulted about you coming with us, and I'm not sure I agree with it. This is a delicate mission, and we may need to be tact­ful." She glanced at Garibaldi. "On the other hand, neither one of us knows how to be tactful. How about you?"

Al dabbed a handkerchief at his moist forehead. "I don't know how tactful I am, but I do know Narns. With them, you have to deal with a position of strength. If they sense weakness, they'll eat you alive. Have you got any­thing to bargain with?"

Garibaldi looked at Ivanova and shook his head. "No, all we've got is a data crystal, some vidlogs, and a desire to get home. If we're sticking to the truth, why should we have to bargain?"

"One hand washes the other. That's a human phrase, but the Narns could have invented it." Al picked up his suitcases and grinned. "I hate to be late! Shall we be going?"

With Mr. Vernon plunging ahead in the lead, the Terran delegation made their way to bay six, where the K'sha Na'vas was docked. Waiting for them was Na'Toth, who gave the three humans a disdainful look. "I hope you aren't turning this into a circus," she said. Nonplussed, Al Vernon looked at her and smiled. "The flower of Narn womanhood is the thorn."

Na'Toth blinked at him in surprise. "Where did you learn that?"

"From my lovely wife, Hannah. Well, that's what I called her; her real name is Ho'Na. She was a great stu­dent of the Vopa Cha'Kur. I have always been attracted to powerful women, Narn women." He shrugged. "It is a terrible weakness. I cannot wait to return to the land of thorny women."

Na'Toth laughed, a rich, ribald sound. "Under the thorn is the softest fruit," she added.

"How well I know," agreed Al Vernon. Garibaldi and Ivanova looked blankly at one another, neither one of them being an expert on Narn double entendres. On the plus side, Al Vernon seemed to have made his first conquest among their hosts.

He bowed formally to Na'Toth. "May I have the plea­sure of serving you dinner tonight?"

Na'Toth frowned at the invitation. "I'm sure we'll all eat together. If you'll excuse me. I'll tell the captain that the Terran delegation is here." The lanky Narn strode through the airlock.

"I'm afraid to ask," said Garibaldi, "but what is this Vopa Cha'Kur?"

Al smiled. "It's equivalent to Earth's Kama Sutra. Required reading on Narn, old boy."

With that, the portly man gripped his bags and rum­bled up the ramp. Ivanova and Garibaldi struggled along in his wake. The air-lock door whooshed open, and they walked down another ramp into the receiving compart­ment, where Captain Vin'Tok, his first officer, Yal'Tar, and Na'Toth stood waiting. A crewman bolted the hatch behind them and made ready for departure.

With importance, Captain Vin'Tok proclaimed, "On behalf of the Narn Regime, welcome aboard the cruiser K'sha Na'vas of the Second Fleet of the Golden Order."

"It is our pleasure," said Commander Ivanova. "I just wish it were under happier circumstances."

A communications panel on the wall made a chirping sound, and the first officer rushed to answer it. "This is Yal'Tar."

"Our escort has arrived," came the reply. "We have completed the checklist, and we are cleared for depar­ture."

"Escort?" muttered Garibaldi.

Vin'Tok shrugged. "Two smaller cruisers. It is nothing—just three ships with the same destination. We Narns like to travel in packs."

"Ah, yes" Al Vernon beamed—"I always feel safe on a Narn vessel. They take the extra precaution."

Vin'Tok narrowed his eyes at the colorfully dressed human. "I did some checking. You disappeared from Narn two years ago—listed as missing, presumed dead."

Al laughed nervously. "Well, as the great Mark Twain said, the reports of my death were greatly exaggerated! I will tell you of my adventure over dinner tonight, Captain. Suffice to say, I am happy to be returning to the land that cries in bloodstone."

Vin'Tok cocked his head and smiled, apparently taken off guard by another Narn homily. He issued some orders to his crew, and Garibaldi looked at Ivanova only to find that her brow was deeply furrowed in thought. "Are you trying to make sense of this?" he whispered.

"No, he mentioned Mark Twain." She frowned in thought. "That's twice I've heard the name today."

Garibaldi looked around. "I'm more worried about why we need three warships to get to Homeworld."

A hatch opened, and two crew members came in to pick up the passengers' luggage and coats. Captain Vin'Tok led his guests through the hatch and down a short walkway that was surrounded by ducts and access panels. They went through another hatch and entered a chamber that contained about sixty seats arranged in a semicircle, facing center. To Garibaldi, the room looked like a combination troop transport and briefing room. With no troops present, the chamber seemed oddly hol­low, like the inside of a tomb.

Vin'Tok motioned to the empty seats. "You will be comfortable here. Please strap yourselves in with the restraining bars, as there will be an increase in g's and weightlessness for a few minutes. After we have entered hyperspace, I will escort you to your quarters."

Na'Toth immediately took a seat, as if showing that she was a passenger who knew her place. Al Vernon hus­tled to the seat beside her and unnecessarily helped her pull down her restraining bar. With about fifty empty seats, Garibaldi had a wide range of choices. He always liked to sit at the back of a vessel, where he could keep an eye on everybody else, so he wandered in that direc­tion. Still embedded in her own thoughts, Ivanova trailed after him.

Garibaldi pulled the molded bar down over his head and lifted his eyebrows at Ivanova. The Narns kept watch on their four passengers until each one was safely strapped into his or her own seat. Only then did they leave them alone in the transport section.

A few aisles away, Na'Toth and Al were chatting like old friends, although it sounded as if they were now talk­ing about restaurants instead of sex.

"What do you know about Mark Twain?" Ivanova asked.

"Plenty," said Garibaldi. "I love Mark Twain."

Suddenly Garibaldi heard a hollow clanging sound that reverberated around the empty chamber. We're pulling away from the station, he thought. The skin on his face stretched back, his hair follicles tingled, and he could feel a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. They were on their way to the Narn Homeworld.

As the three Narn cruisers approached the jump gate, they looked like a school of stingrays with twin tails. In formation the sleek ships darted into the jump gate and were swallowed in a blaze of light.