Babylon 5 - Blood Oath

CHAPTER 11

Mi'ra waited solemnly in line with the servants and tradespeople of the lower castes who were leaving Hekba City for the day. The line wound into a tunnel on the third level, where a series of moving walkways, called outerwalks, allowed them to travel many kilome­ters in a short time. With hunched shoulders and weary expressions, the plebeians stepped upon the conveyor belts and began their long march home.

The young woman tried to hold her head high, know­ing she didn't belong with these commoners, but it was difficult. She knew that most of them were returning to better homes than the hovel she shared with her mother and her brother. They had jobs and at least some station in life, even if it was a lower one. She had nothing but her bitterness and the weapons stuck in her belt. Mi'Ra had believed that the memorial service for G'Kar would in some way cleanse her, or please her, but the finality of his death had just the opposite effect. Her father was dead, his tormentor was dead, and she felt dead, too. Without the Shon'Kar and the hatred which fueled it, her purpose in life was gone.

Perhaps, thought Mi'Ra, it was time to get away from Homeworld, time to explore the galaxy. The concerned human who had pursued her down the walkway had made her realize that there were other races out there, other places where no one cared about the Shon'Kar, the Kha'Ri, or the arcane aspects of Narn culture. She was an outcast here, but she would merely be an alien there—and that would be preferable. Mi'Ra knew she would be young and attractive for many more years. She had too much pride to stoop to prostitution, but there must be someplace in this wide galaxy where she could carve a new life.

Mi'Ra recalled how her mother's estate had been seized by the government as proof of illicit profits on those ludicrous arms-dealing charges. Like most of his peers, Du'Rog occasionally pulled a shady deal—a few of them with G'Kar as his partner—and kept less than scrupulous records. But no one could have predicted the fall he was about to take. The military had nearly tor­tured General Balashar to death, and they needed to produce him in court to name his contact for the horri­bly potent biological weapons. The weapons were especially successful on Narns, as if they had been for­mulated for them in the first place. Despite holding high rank in the Kha'Ri and the Fourth Circle, Du'Rog was embraced as the scapegoat.

The military executed Balashar post-haste, and G'Kar installed himself in a life of splendor on a distant colony—while her father died from the stress of fighting the unjust charges. Then the scavengers moved in, expecting easy pickings. Mi'Ra had to grow up fast in a short time, and she wasn't able to ward them off. The creditors and opportunists had picked her father's skeleton clean before she was strong enough to fight them. As part of the supposedly generous settlement, she and her mother and brother had gotten the deed to a house in this pit, the border zone.

The outerwalk deposited her in another pit, a so-called station where the stairs to the surface were covered with dirt and garbage. You literally had to climb out to reach the slum. There was a news-stand in the pit, but it had long been boarded up with adobe bricks and barbed wire. The only reason they kept the walkway running was that they didn't want anyone to have the excuse that they couldn't get home. If you didn't belong in Hekba City, then there had to be a way to get you out of there at the end of the day—to wherever you did belong.

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?"

T'Kog stopped laughing for a moment. "What does it matter? It's the same blackguards who stole it in the first place."

"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.

"Excellent," said Al. "We shouldn't have any diffi­culty finding the lift now."

He picked up the pace and lumbered confidently down one walkway after another. When he finally ducked inside a small cavern illuminated by blue lights, Ivanova almost kissed him, but her lips were stuck together. It was still bone-chilling even inside the cavern, and she ran to catch up with Al, mostly to keep warm. She could see his destination at the end of the corridor—a tiled alcove with an oval booth constructed from copper and black metals.

Garibaldi was right behind her, muttering to himself and flapping his arms. He tried to say something, but it just came out gibberish from his frozen lips. They hud­dled around Al, who was looking at a map—an elegant mosaic imbedded in the walls of the chamber. It was barely illuminated by reddish pilot lights glimmering on the lift booth.

"Remind me to bring a flashlight next time I come here," said Garibaldi, his teeth chattering. "This whole trip is beginning to remind me of a camp I went to as a kid. Camp Windigo, upstate New York. That's the only place colder than this."

Ivanova smiled, afraid her face would crack. She turned to see Na'Toth saunter in. Dressed in her usual attire and a lightweight cape, the Narn had yet to notice the cold. She stood behind them and studied the mosaic map.

"There's an inn at the bottom," she pointed out. "They probably cater to you thin-skinned types."

"Maybe we should just return to the ship," said Gari­baldi. "Then we'd have beds and be able to contact B5."

Al Vernon shook his head and shivered. "I'm afraid you waited too long to do that. The only place their shuttlecraft can land is up on the rim, and there's nothing there but desert. You think it's cold here, you should go up there and stand in the wind! We wouldn't last two minutes, I assure you. No, I'm afraid we can't go back to the K'sha Na'vas until daylight."

"Why didn't you tell us this?" snapped Garibaldi.

Al blinked at him. "Hey, it was you idiots who wanted to wait around for Ha'Mok to come back! I didn't know what was going on. Who is this Ha'Mok, anyway? Why is he so important?"

Ivanova, Garibaldi, and Na'Toth looked guiltily at one another, knowing that one of them would probably reveal G'Kar's secret sooner or later. But it wasn't going to be right now, Ivanova decided.

"He's a special investigator," she lied. "One of our team."

The merchant shook his head. "I don't know what he's doing, but he cost us our chance to get off this planet tonight. I can't say I mind, though. This is exactly where I want to be."

Al Vernon pushed part of the mosaic, and the entire map lit up like a stained glass window, sketching a path from their position on the sixth level to the very bottom, three hundred levels away. They heard a shuddering sound as a car rose from the bowels of the canyon to fetch them.

"You'll like it down there," Al assured them. "Although I hope your credit cards are good. Non-Narns pay extra for boarding and food."

"Great," muttered Garibaldi. "The captain still hasn't approved my expenses from the last trip I took."

Na'Toth frowned. "I still say this is pointless. We should stay where we agreed to stay."

Ivanova clutched her own shoulders and shivered. "Please, Na'Toth, none of us agreed to freeze to death."

To their considerable relief, the lift arrived at their level, and the doors whooshed open. The humans jammed in, and Na'Toth entered reluctantly. The doors shut with a jolt, and Al warned, "These lifts are fast. Watch for changes in pressure."

A second later, Ivanova was close to screaming after what seemed like a sheer drop to the bottom of the shaft. Her stomach churned, her ears ached until they popped, and she could see Na'Toth yawning. The lift finally began to slow, and it deposited them gently at the bot­tom level of the canyon.

Following Al Vernon, Ivanova staggered off the plat­form. The first thing she felt was the thick humidity, like steam pouring from a hot shower. Then she smelled the sulfur, magnesium, and other bitter minerals in the air. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Ivanova stepped around a small geyser that bubbled on the slate floor and shot gusts of steam around her ankles. It was soothingly hot and sticky in the cavern, and Ivanova loosened her collar as she followed Al Vernon through the dusky fissure.

She heard the voices and clink of glassware before she even emerged into the grotto. Plump vines stroked her hair as she ducked under a natural archway, and she found herself surrounded by sweaty vines, stretching high overhead. Plants and steam seemed to flow in equal measure from the moss-covered walls of the grotto. There were dining tables set at spacious intervals, each with a collection of elegantly dressed Narns seated at it. They regarded the humans with suspicious looks but returned swiftly to their dinners and conversation. Al Vernon plunged ahead as if the diners weren't there. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

The civilized setting and warm humidity was begin­ning to relax Ivanova, and she let down her guard as she wandered out of the grotto into a rock garden of geysers, bubbles, and sulphuric smells. She gasped as an intense current of icy air sliced along her path and clutched her spine. Her mind short-circuited, but her reflexes caused her to stumble away and find a warm pocket of air. She stood perfectly still in the gases of a hot pool, hardly minding the unctuous smells of sulphur and methane. At least the methane was a familiar smell.

As she stood in the hot mist, forcing her body tem­perature back to normal, Ivanova surveyed the primordial landscape at the bottom of Hekba Canyon. As above, the only light came from green fibers imbedded in the walk­ways. Paths wound around uneven terrain, jagged rock outcroppings, and assorted geysers, pools, and springs. The bottom of Hekba Canyon had been left in a natural state, she decided, except for a few isolated strips of crops, plus elegant restaurants and inns. Polite laughter mingled with the gurgling and spitting of the hot springs. Thank God for geothermal energy, thought Ivanova, even in its natural state.

Garibaldi and Na'Toth had paused to inspect the grotto, and Al Vernon was out of sight. She hoped that he hadn't deserted them. She finally decided that no human was likely to wander far away from this place during the middle of a Narn night.

"Watch out for cold spots," she cautioned Garibaldi as he emerged from the grotto with what looked like strands of seaweed in his hair. The security chief glanced around warily, as if he could actually see a cold spot.

"You'll know when you hit one," she assured him.

Na'Toth's eyes narrowed. "Where did Mr. Vernon go?"

"Beats me," said Ivanova. "But this is an awfully warm spot where I'm standing, and I'm reluctant to move."

Garibaldi wrinkled his nose. "Smells like my old high school locker room down here."

"I was going to say it smells like chemistry class," said Ivanova. "Listen, if Al never does anything else but lead us down here, I'm grateful for his help. But we do need a plan. Where are we going to spend the night? Everything down here does look fairly expensive."

Na'Toth held up a small communications device. "Captain Vin'Tok gave me his direct link before we left. He said we could contact the ship and send for a shuttlecraft. I don't care what Mr. Vernon says, maybe there is a way to get you off the planet tonight. I'm sure you would be more comfortable spending the night on the K'sha Na'vas."

"Yeah," agreed Garibaldi, "and we'd be able to call the captain. Let's try it. I say we ditch both Al and good old Ha'Mok."

"Go ahead," said Ivanova.

Na'Toth activated the device and waited until it beeped. "Attaché Na'Toth to the K'sha Na'vas" she said. "Come in Captain Vin'Tok." When there was no response, she repeated, "Attaché Na'Toth to the K'sha Na'vas. Come in Captain Vin'Tok. This is top priority—come in!"

She tapped the device. "It acts like it's working, and I've used these compact units before. Because they're encoded for one frequency, they are usually very reli­able."

"Maybe we're too deep inside this canyon," suggested Garibaldi.

"That shouldn't make any difference." In frustration, Na'Toth tried again, saying the same words and achiev­ing the same results, with one difference. This time, she studied the readouts on the device's tiny screen.

"Out of range," she said with confusion. "This device is telling me that the K'sha Na'vas is out of range. There's only one explanation for that. It's left orbit."

"Why should they leave orbit?" asked Garibaldi with disbelief.

Na'Toth squared her shoulders. "I don't know."