Babylon 5 - Blood Oath

CHAPTER 7

Dr. Stephen Franklin bent over his prized patient, Dan Leffler, and smiled at the man. "Just relax. Don't try to move. It's especially important to keep your head still."

"Okay," muttered Leffler, gazing around at medlab. The blinking lights and instruments blinded him, and he twisted his head from side to side. That gave him a ter­rific headache, so he stopped doing it and just screwed his eyes shut.

"Lower the lights, please," said Dr. Franklin very calmly. He placed his dark hands on Leffler's chest, and the disoriented man felt a wave of comfort. "Don't move around, please. Just try to stay calm."

"Chief Garibaldi," croaked Leffler. "I ... uh ... the Narns..."

"Chief Garibaldi has left the station, but Captain Sheridan is on his way here, and so is your friend, Lou Welch." He smiled pleasantly. "You're a popular fellow, Leffler. I hear that our resident telepath, Talia Winters, wants to see you, too. You just try to collect your thoughts, and don't move around too much. Okay?"

The doctor stood up, looking confident, calm, and authoritative all at the same time. "Be sure to tell me if you have any serious pain anywhere. We can sedate you again."

"All right," said the officer, taking a deep breath and starting to feel more like a human being than a blob of confusion. He tried to collect his thoughts, but they seemed to be rather nebulous—just a few scattered images floating weightlessly beyond his grasp.

Leffler didn't know how long he lay there, getting reacquainted with his various appendages and assuring himself he wasn't seriously hurt, except for the foamcore bandage around his head and the dull throbbing that would not go away. Somebody had sure dinged his rocker panel, but he couldn't remember who, only that it had something to do with Narns. Well, his brother, Taylor, always told him he had a hard head. He guessed that was better than the alternative.

When he heard voices speaking softly nearby, he opened his eyes and saw the good doctor conferring with Lou Welch, Captain Sheridan, and Talia Winters, who looked like an angel with a halo of blonde hair around her head. "Lou!" he croaked.

His fellow officer rushed to the bedside, his sardonic face creasing into a smile. "Yeah, Leffler, we send you to do a simple job, and you get your head busted open."

"Lou, I don't know who did it. I can't tell you any­thing."

"Relax," Dr. Franklin cautioned. "You won't remem­ber it all at once. Your memory will come back in bits and pieces—it may take days." He looked pointedly at Captain Sheridan. "Your health is the primary concern."

"Of course," said Sheridan. He smiled at Leffler with his ruggedly handsome face. "Soldier, do you think you're up to answering a few questions?"

"Yes, sir." Leffler tried to relax. "I'll do the best I can."

Sheridan glanced at Welch, who consulted a handheld device. "Let me tell you the details that we have so far, and maybe they will jar your memory. You were in Down Below, corridor 112 of Brown Sector, checking for undocumented Narns among the lurkers. This was in connection with the death of Ambassador G'Kar."

"Yes," said Leffler slowly, the assignment coming back to him. "I remember all of that. We were looking for some family ..."

"Du'Rog," answered Welch. "That's right, Zeke. You're doing good. That stretch of corridor has a lot of small shacks made out of all kinds of discarded stuff.

You were checking around, running ID on Narns. Some kids told us that you went inside one of those shacks. Do you know what happened next?"

"I went inside one of them," Leffler repeated to him­self, squinting into their faces. Then he grew frustrated. "I went inside several of them, running lots of identicards. I don't remember one in particular—I don't remember what was so special about it."

"Let me ask you this," said Captain Sheridan, "do you remember anything odd happening to you? Anything unusual?"

Leffler shut his eyes, hoping it would improve his memory. His mind did possess one odd image—an old Narn, lying in bed with his back to him. "There was a Narn who was sick," he said. "I never saw his face."

Sheridan leaned forward. "You never saw his face. So you never verified his ID?"

"I guess not," admitted Leffler. "Or I did, but I just don't remember it."

"May I try?" Talia Winters asked softly. Sheridan nodded and motioned toward the patient. The telepath, dressed elegantly in a gray suit with leather trim, stepped to the edge of the bed and smiled sympathetically at Leffler.

"I'm reluctant to scan you in your condition," she said, "but if we can find out what happened to Ambassador G'Kar..."

"I understand. It's okay," said Leffler, trying to appear brave in the presence of the beautiful telepath. "What have I got to hide?"

"I won't find that out," said the telepath. "This scan is going to be very specific, concentrating on what hap­pened to you in Down Below. But if the pain becomes too great, for either one of us, I'm going to break it off."

"Okay," agreed Leffler, taking a deep breath.

Slowly, Talia Winters pulled the black leather glove off her right hand, revealing a delicate appendage that was even whiter than her porcelain face. She explained, "I want you to concentrate on an image in your mind from earlier today, when you were in Down Below. It could be a person, like that sick Narn, or a place, or a number on a bulkhead. Just think of something that you clearly remember from earlier today."

Leffler tried to remember the sick Narn who was lying on the cot, his back toward him. He seemed important for some reason. Then he felt Ms. Winters' cool fingers on his wrist, and the image became crystal clear, popu­lated by a mob of people and impressions vying for his attention. All kinds of memories came cascading into his consciousness, including some from years ago, but Ms. Winters' cool, white hand was there to push most of them away. With her calm assistance, he suddenly knew where he was—in the corridor, outside the row of dilap­idated shacks in Down Below.

He heard words, but they were hollow, slurred, and badly amplified—as if he were hearing them over a blown speaker. Then he realized they were his own words, saying to someone in Down Below, "Sorry to bother you, but we're looking for undocumented Narns in connection with Ambassador G'Kar's death. Are you listed on the station roster?"

An old Narn looked queerly at him, his face fading in and out of memory. Suddenly Ms. Winters' hand reached forward, grabbed the Narn by his patchwork collar, and pulled him into sharp focus. "I should be," answered 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?"

In indelible slow motion, every movement magnified, Leffler saw himself checking the Narn's identicard. He saw the readouts in blazing letters on his handheld ter­minal. "Yes, I have you listed," warbled the hollow voice. "Any other Narns in your household?"

"Only my brother is here," echoed the words as loud as a scream. "He is very sick."

Leffler felt himself backing away, as if he didn't want to pursue matters further. He knew he should insist upon seeing the sick Narn, but he also knew there was lurking danger inside the dilapidated shack. The white hand pushed him in the back and urged him to do his duty.

"I have to see him," came his own hollow voice. "I'll just take a look inside and check his identicard. Excuse me."

Pushing back a dirty canvas flap, Leffler plunged into the darkness of the shack. He cringed at the certain dan­ger, and he wanted to run—but the white hand again pushed him firmly ahead.

"It's all right," said a soothing female voice. "We're only going to look."

Then the vivid image of the sick Narn lying in the cot returned to his mind, and Leffler felt as if he had arrived somewhere, at some kind of understanding. "Excuse me," he said, "we're looking for undocumented Narns in connection with Ambassador G'Kar's death. Are you on the station roster?"

The Narn coughed and wheezed and sounded very sick, as he pulled his blanket tighter.

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

"Ha'Mok," wheezed the sick Narn. Ha'Mok, Ha'Mok, Ha'Mok, echoed the voice in Leffler's mind, replayed at various speeds and pitches. What was there about that voice? he wondered.

An identicard clattered to the grimy floor, and Leffler bent down to pick it up. Every motion continued to be magnified in importance, scrutinized down to the last detail. "Thank you," moaned the voice, sounding like it came from inside a cave. He saw the identicard sliding through his terminal like a sailboat slicing across the waves. The little letters danced for a moment then spelled out the message, "ID confirmed."

One last step, Leffler knew. What was it? Oh, yes, his face. His face! But there was no record of his face, even though the white hand swirled around the dingy shack trying to find it. There were only voices.

"You are listed on the roster," a voice roared in his ears. "But I have to see you to make positive identifica­tion. Turn over, please." Turn over please. Turn over please. But the figure was as motionless as a stone.

Like a slap to the face, the Narn's words struck him: "I don't wish to vomit all over you! I have a virus... a potent one! It is liquefying my intestines. It would kill a human in a day or two!"

Leffler tried to stagger away, to escape from the face­less danger and the inhuman voice, but the white hand jerked his head around and made him listen again. It would kill a human in a day or two! It would kill a human in a day or two!

Leffler's own intestines didn't feel so good. He lifted his hand to speak into his link, but the confounded slow motion of the dreamworld betrayed him. He felt a horri­ble darkness descending, and he was unable to move quickly enough to avoid it. His head felt as if it were caught in a vice, and he screamed with terror.

Instantly, the contact on his wrist vanished, and the strange voices floated away on a gentle breeze. As his eyes fluttered open, images became indistinct and blended into the quiltwork of lights in medlab. The first thing he saw distinctly was Talia Winters; her angelic face was troubled as she hurriedly pulled her glove over her naked right hand.

"It'll be okay," he assured her. "I won't feel a thing."

She gave him a friendly smile. "You can rest now."

"Excellent idea," agreed Dr. Franklin, pushing Captain Sheridan, Ms. Winters, and Lou Welch away from the bed. Franklin motioned to a nurse, and the patient felt a sting in his shoulder where she gave him a hypo. A friendly darkness descended, and Leffler was snoring within seconds.

"First, I have some names," Talia Winters told Sheridan and Welch. "Two Narns named Pa'Nar and Ha'Mok. I'm certain they're the ones who hit him. At least, I'm sure the attack occurred in the shack where these two were living."

Welch entered the data on his handheld terminal, and the three of them waited for the results. "Hey," said Welch, "this Pa'Nar guy is listed as a passenger on a transport that's boarding right now! Headed for Earth."

"Go get him," ordered Sheridan. "I'll hold the trans­port."

As Welch rushed out the door and Sheridan contacted C-and-C, Talia Winters tried to collect her thoughts. Memory wiped clean by a trauma to the head was often the most difficult to probe. It was like trying to resurrect computer files that had been disrupted by a strong mag­netic field. There was just no way to fully trust what you found.

"Do Narns sound the same to you, Captain?" she asked.

He gave her a puzzled look. "Sound the same as what?"

"Their speaking voices. Does one Narn sound a lot like another?"

Sheridan shook his head in frustration. "I'm not a good one to ask. Why? Did you recognize one of their voices?"

"I thought so," she answered with a shrug. "That is, a voice reminded me of someone I knew, and it reminded Leffler, too. But I don't think it could be him."

"How do you know? Who are you talking about?"

Talia Winters smiled sheepishly at the captain. "Ambassador G'Kar. But he's dead, isn't he?"

Captain Sheridan stared at her, and she went on, "Officer Leffler remembers talking to a Narn, whose face he didn't see but whose voice sounded like G'Kar. But two Narn voices might sound the same, especially to a human."

"Yes," Sheridan answered thoughtfully. "That is, we saw his personal transport blow up, but we never saw a body. How certain are you of this?"

Talia laughed, shaking her blond hair. "I'm not certain at all. I'm telling you this based on a scan of memory that has been damaged by trauma to the head. I would­n't give it much credence—it's just an impression I had. But I would ask one thing, Captain—if you find these two Narns, I'd like to be there when you question them."

"Certainly," answered Sheridan. "Thank you for your help."

Talia Winters sighed. "I hope it helps."

In the transport section of the K'sha Na'vas, Michael Garibaldi stared at the hatch, expecting it to open, but the door refused to budge. It must have been ten minutes since they entered hyperspace—he could feel the return of gravity caused by the rapid acceleration yet their hosts hadn't returned. Normally he would enjoy passing the time chatting with Ivanova, but she kept babbling on about Mark Twain.

"I remember hearing about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn," said Ivanova, "but I don't remember the details. I knew I should have read more Mark Twain and less Dostoevsky."

Garibaldi frowned. "Are you trying to recall a book by Twain, a short story, or one of his essays?"

"I wasn't thinking about Mark Twain at all," admitted Ivanova, "until Londo mentioned it at the memorial service. And now this man quoted Mark Twain."

"The quote Al gave, about reports of his death being greatly exaggerated, is famous. Anybody from North America would be likely to say that, if they were mis­takenly accused of being dead. I hate to ask, but what exactly did Londo say about Mark Twain?"

"Only that I would enjoy the service more if I was up on my Mark Twain." She gave Garibaldi a quizzical frown.

"Okay," said the chief. "Let's think about that. What could he mean? The most famous scene from Twain is probably the scene where Tom Sawyer gets his friends to whitewash the picket fence. Then you've got Injun Joe chasing them around the cave, and the scenes with Polly, but I don't know how they relate to any of this. In Huck Finn, there are the scenes along the river, but that does­n't have anything to do with a funeral."

Garibaldi caught his breath. "There is a funeral scene—the one where Tom and Huck watch their own funeral."

"What did you say?" asked Ivanova.

"There's a scene where Tom and Huck watch their own funeral," repeated Garibaldi. He stared at Ivanova. "Was Londo trying to tell you that G'Kar is still alive?"

"I thought I saw him die," the commander whispered. "But the sudden way he left, piloting solo—I've been thinking about how weird that was. You know, if G'Kar was willing to risk a space-walk and had an accomplice to open an airlock for him, he could've put the ship on autopilot and gotten off before it left. But why would G'Kar stage his own death? The data crystal was real, wasn't it?"

"This is too crazy," muttered Garibaldi, rubbing his eyes. "But a man who fears for his life will do crazy things. You know, it seemed awfully easy the way I found that crystal, like he wanted me to find it."

Before Garibaldi could say more, the hatch opened and Captain Vin'Tok strode into the transport section. He was smiling like a cultured host, but the chief wondered what secrets he was hiding in that oversized, spotted cra­nium. Calm down, Garibaldi told himself; he already knew not to base suppositions on anything Londo said. Just because a couple of people quoted a famous North American author didn't mean anything—it was probably a coincidence. Al Vernon's use of that quote was reasonable considering somebody had just accused him of being dead when he was clearly alive.

That brought up even more questions, such as, could they really trust Al Vernon? What were the mysterious conditions under which he left Homeworld and was reported dead? For that matter, what the hell were they doing on this Narn ship? Garibaldi looked down at Al Vernon and Na'Toth, still chatting as if they were old friends at a cocktail party.

"We have a flight of forty-four hours until we reach Homeworld," explained Captain Vin'Tok. "With our full complement of thirty, we don't have a lot of spare cabins on the K'sha Na'vas, but we have done our best to make your stay comfortable. If you will come with me, please."

The captain tapped a panel button, and a whoosh of hydraulics sounded as their restraints lifted automati­cally. Garibaldi helped Ivanova to her feet, and the commander still looked stunned by her suspicions. "Don't say anything about it for now," he whispered.

Al Vernon waved to them. "Didn't I tell you that Narn ships were the best? How did you like that entry into hyperspace? Smooth, eh?"

"Very impressive," said Garibaldi, striding down the aisle with a big smile on his face. "In fact, I'd love to have a tour of the ship."

"Me, too!" seconded Al.

Na'Toth cast a disgusted look at the two humans. "This isn't a pleasure craft. The next thing you'll be wanting is a swimming pool."

Garibaldi glanced back at Ivanova. "On good advice, I did bring my speedo."

Vin'Tok cleared his throat. "A tour is not out of the question. We only have three decks, and we have to pass through all of them to get to the quarters. As you can see, we put a troop transport here on the top deck by the outer hatch, allowing armed troops to exit first. Outside this hatch is an access tube, and you'll have to use the lad­der. The gravity effect can be tricky on a ladder, so watch your step."

They followed the captain into the access tube, only to see him grasp the handrail of the ladder and leap down through a hatch in the deck, landing smartly on the top rung. Al Vemon rushed to take the position behind the captain, bombarding him with questions. Ivanova climbed down after them, her lithe body moving gracefully in the lighter than normal gravity. Garibaldi hung back, hoping to grab the rear position, but Na'Toth stood firm.

"You go first," the Narn insisted.

"Whatever you say," said Garibaldi, grabbing the handrail and dropping through the hole in the deck. He wondered if he dared to trust the Narn attaché with their suspicions about G'Kar. They had no proof, just a liter­ary allusion from a Centauri troublemaker. But they had no body either. No, he decided, Na'Toth wouldn't give much credence to anything Londo said, and neither should he. He had to convince himself that G'Kar was still alive before he could try to convince anyone else.

If such a thing could be true, did the Narns on the K'sha Na'vas know about it? And where was G'Kar?

They climbed down the ladder and stepped off on to a cramped and darkened bridge, illuminated only by lights from monitors and instrument panels. A reddish glow permeated everything, including the six stoic crew members at their various stations. Their reddish eyes gleamed at the passengers for a split-second, then turned back to their monitors. Garibaldi could see Ivanova peer­ing over the shoulder of the helmsman, trying to make sense of the orange figures that danced across his screen.

"The bridge," said Vin'Tok simply. He motioned to a set of interlocking, plated doors behind them. "Through those doors are weaponry and engineering. For effi­ciency, all command stations are on one deck."

"Wouldn't that make them easy to take out?" asked Ivanova.

"No," answered Vin'Tok. "We are shielded by upper and lower decks. The bridge, weaponry, and engineering are in separate modules, each with its own power and life-support. The bridge can be totally sealed off from the rest of the ship."

"Great design!" said Al Vernon. "I have always admired Narn workmanship and planning."

Vin'Tok nodded at the compliment. "We have learned much in a short time." He motioned back down the lad­der. "Right this way, please, to the crew quarters, mess-hall, and latrines."

This time, Garibaldi accepted his place in line, descending after Ivanova, with Na'Toth above him. He was beginning to feel trapped in the confines of the small craft, as if there were no place to go. In truth, there was no place to go. He realized why he preferred cities in space to tin cans in space.

The ladder came to an end on a bare deck in the inter­section of two corridors, leaving them with a choice of four directions to travel. In one direction, the smell of meaty food and the presence of large metallic doors made it clear which corridor led to the mess-hall. Another walkway was marked with the universal sym­bols for sanitary facilities, and there were Narn crew members loitering farther down. The other two corridors were lined with small hatchways, apparently leading to the cabins.

The captain explained, "Our cabins are designed for two crew members, so we hope you won't mind sharing. We have divided you according to sex, with women in one cabin and men in another, but we can change that arrangement to suit your needs."

"It is acceptable," said Na'Toth at the same time that Ivanova answered, "That's fine."

Garibaldi looked glumly at Al and said, "Hi, roomie."

"Don't worry, I'm a heavy sleeper," grinned Al. "Once my head hits the pillow, I'm out."

Garibaldi pretended to listen as the captain described the mess schedule, but he was really trying to figure out how he could avoid going directly to his cabin. He wanted to take a look around first—on his own.

"Excuse me, I have to use the facilities," said Gari­baldi, striding down the corridor that led to the latrines.

No one came after him, he noticed with relief, and he slipped inside the automatic doors. Garibaldi leaned against the bulkhead for a moment, thinking that he would simply walk out and make a wrong turn. That might buy him a few minutes of unimpeded exploration.

He got a whiff of a strong antiseptic odor that almost made him gag. He glanced at the facilities, which were encased in a gleaming, copper-like metal; salmon-colored lighting added to the rosy effect. The commodes were recessed into the wall to form a suction with the air system and allow use during weightlessness. To Garibaldi, they looked like medieval torture devices.

Thinking that he had given himself enough time, the chief walked out the door and turned left instead of right, strolling along the corridor like an absent-minded tourist. Although Captain Vin'Tok didn't come after him, he quickly realized that this would be a short walk, because the two Narns he had spotted at the end of the corridor were not loiterers but armed guards. As he walked toward them, they hefted their PPG rifles in a manner that could not be called friendly.

Beyond them there was a small hatchway. Garibaldi could only conclude they were guarding it. Why? Since there was no one on the ship but the regular crew and the four passengers, he had to assume they were guard­ing it from the passengers. Blithely, he stuck his hands in his pockets and ambled toward the guards.

"Halt!" one of them shouted, pointing the business end of his PPG at Garibaldi's chest.

"Whoa there!" said the human with a friendly smile. "I just took a wrong turn. Where is Captain Vin'Tok?"

The Narn guard used his rifle to point the other way down the short corridor.

"Gotcha." Then Garibaldi said innocently, "Where does that door go?"

"The hold. It does not concern you."

"Garibaldi!" called a disapproving voice from the other end of the corridor. The human turned to see Na'Toth glaring at him.

He waved to the door guards and rejoined his fellow passengers at the intersection of the corridors. "What were you doing?" asked Na'Toth with suspicion.

"Going to the bathroom. Then I turned the wrong way, I guess." He smiled at Captain Vin'Tok. "Keeping some­thing valuable in the hold, are you?"

The captain's eyes narrowed, and the veins on his naked cranium pulsed slightly. "We regret the need for guards, but we were on a delicate mission when we were re-routed. You understand, I'm sure."

"Oh, yeah," agreed Garibaldi. "I'm sorry, what did I miss?"

"I was explaining the mess schedule," said the captain. "I also apologized for not being able to offer you any recreational facilities."

"That's all right," said Garibaldi pleasantly. "I don't think we'll be bored."

"I can tell him the schedule," Al Vernon offered.

The captain continued, "Your cabins are the two at the end of the corridor, across from each other. Women are on the starboard side. The cabins are unlocked—just touch the panel. Your luggage has already been placed there. Now if you will excuse me, I must check our course."

Once again Na'Toth demonstrated how to be a good passenger as she set off at a brisk walk toward the women's cabin. Garibaldi fell into step alongside Ivanova but, unfortunately, so did Al Vernon.

"Dinner is in two hours," Al said cheerfully.

Garibaldi looked pointedly at Ivanova, making it clear that he had something he wanted to talk about. But how could he, without bringing Na'Toth, Al, or both of them into his confidence? Ivanova was sleeping in the same cabin as Na'Toth, and Al was sleeping in his cabin.

"After I change into my sweats, I'm going to do my isometric exercises here in the corridor," Ivanova said.

Garibaldi nodded. "See you later."

"We'll be seeing a lot of each other," said Al, making it sound like a threat.

Garibaldi glanced at his chubby companion, wonder­ing if he had been wrong to bring the stranger on this trip. But Al seemed to know how to insinuate himself into the Narns' good graces, and that was a useful thing to learn. Besides, they had a daunting task ahead of them—trying to negotiate a strange planet filled with stubborn Narns. How could they be any worse off with Al along?

The chubby human pressed the panel, and the door slid open. "After you!"