Based on the series by J. Michael Straczynski

For Nancy, who never loses her sense of humor

Historian's Note: This story takes place prior to the events in "The Coming of Shadows."

The data crystal was dark, like a smoky quartz, and Ambassador G'Kar twisted it between his fingers. He marveled at the way its subtle facets could absorb and access data at speeds that rivaled the Narn mind. The best data crystals were grown on Minbar, and this one had the look of top quality. Something caught G'Kar's eye, and he furrowed his spotted cranium and squinted at the crystal's metallic connector. That was odd. The date and microscopic identity pattern had been removed by a laser beam, making the crystal all but untraceable. Who would want to send him an untraceable data crystal in his regular mail pouch?

Intrigued, the ambassador stood up and slipped the crystal into the viewer on his wall. A female Narn appeared on the screen, and what a female Narn she was! Young and slender, she was wearing a flowing gown of blood-red material, and it was cinched with a belt and scabbard which accentuated her curves. Her red eyes gleamed with intensity and arrested G'Kar to the spot. He didn't know what the young Narn was going to say on this recorded message, but she certainly had caught his attention.

"Hello, G'Kar," said the woman imperiously. "Do you recognize me? I am Mi'Ra, daughter of Du'Rog. I speak for my mother, Ka'Het, and my brother, T'Kog. We are all that is left of the family you destroyed. Yes, G'Kar, we are beaten, and our titles and lands are gone. Our father is dead, his name disgraced, and his attempt to kill you from the grave was a failure. To our shame, every assassin has failed."

G'Kar swallowed hard and leaned closer. He dreaded what was coming next.

Mi'Ra's lovely face contorted into rage. "You think you are safe within the Third Circle and the Earth space station. You are wrong! The widow, the son, and the daughter of Du'Rog have sworn the Shon'Kar against you! No more will you face inept assassins but the very family you destroyed! The Prophets willing, by my own hands you will die. From this day forward, the purpose of our V'Tar is to kill you. Let this mark show my will."

With that, Mi'Ra pulled a short but vicious-looking sword from her scabbard and pressed the blade to her head. At once, the blood streamed from the wound and flowed down her delicate cheekbone to her neck and shoulder, where it mingled with the identical color in her gown. Involuntarily, G'Kar reached up and touched his own scaly brow.

The viewer blinked off, and he snatched the data crys­tal from the viewer. He half-expected his tormentor to leap out of the closet with her bloody knife. No, she was not here this moment, but she would be here—someday. If he didn't do something about Mi'Ra, daughter of Du'Rog, she would strike him down in the middle of din­ner or smother him while he slept. Knowing that, he would never sleep again.

G'Kar dashed to his terminal with the impulse of ordering her arrest. He stopped himself, realizing that he couldn't bring the full weight of his position down upon the family of Du'Rog. The Shon'Kar was a tradition that was central to the heart of the Narn; if he squashed them, it would only win them sympathy. Even Narn law would prevail against him. Worse yet, an action against Mi'Ra, Ka'Het, and T'Kog would bring to light the whole unsavory business of his ascendancy to the Third Circle, his treachery, and Du'Rog's disgrace. He had let this wound fester too long, and now the infection was about to spread—unless he took his knife and cut it out.

G'Kar sighed and slumped back into his chair, the stiff leather of his waistcoat squeaking against the pelt covering the cushion. He would have to do something—already the family of Du'Rog had made two serious attempts on his life, and here was the daughter threaten­ing more! He could count on some protection from Garibaldi and his security forces for as long as he remained on Babylon 5. But who wanted to live like a hunted animal? Besides, the station was a sieve, with aliens and strangers of all types filtering through by the hundreds every day. If Mi'Ra was as determined as she sounded, she would find some way on to Babylon 5 and would stalk him until her Blood Oath was fulfilled. Only death would stop her.

Therefore, thought G'Kar rationally, Mi'Ra would have to die. Ka'Het and T'Kog might listen to reason if that firebrand in the red dress was gone. Who could he ask to help him? No self-respecting Narn would take his side against such a well-deserved Shon'Kar, and he couldn't share his secret with humans, Minbari, or other races. If only he could kill Mi'Ra himself and make it appear as if somebody else had done it. G'Kar glanced around his quarters, just to make certain that his foe wasn't hiding behind the curtains. He remembered well the other attempts on his life, and how both had nearly been successful.

The order of business was first to put the daughter of Du'Rog off the scent, then make sure she was not hunt­ing him faster than he could hunt her. When she was at ease, he would strike.

The ambassador tapped the link on his desk. "Good morning, Na'Toth."

"Good morning, Ambassador," his assistant answered crisply.

G'Kar cleared his throat importantly. "A special dis­patch has just come in, and I must return to Homeworld immediately. I will pilot myself in my personal trans­port."

He could imagine her puzzled face as she said, "Ambassador, the cruiser K'sha Na'vas is arriving tomorrow for a courtesy call. They could take you home in half the time of your transport."

"The K'sha Na'Vas,"said G'Kar thoughtfully, "and my old friend, Vin'Tok. That is tempting, but I prefer to pilot myself. I need some time alone—to think. I will be leaving in four hours, and I will do my own packing. Cancel my appointments, make my apologies, and do whatever is necessary. If anybody asks, this is personal business."

"Yes, Ambassador," said Na'Toth, not letting her sur­prise affect her efficiency.

"G'Kar out." He tapped the link and sat back in his chair. He wished he could tell Na'Toth his plans, but he knew her feelings regarded the Shon'Kar. Perhaps he could tell her when it was all over, if he was victorious.

Commander Ivanova shifted on the balls of her feet as she surveyed her domain: Command and Control, an air-filled bubble on the tip of the station. The com­mander's hair was pulled back from her attractive face in a severe on-duty hairstyle, and she felt tense, although she didn't know why. The 50,000 kilometers of space surrounding the station were peaceful, even though departing traffic had fallen somewhat behind schedule. The only one complaining was Ambassador G'Kar, which figured.

"Ten seconds to jump for the Borelian,"said one of the techs behind her.

Ivanova gazed at her monitor in time to see the jump gate blossom into pulsating rays of golden light. Like a tunnel into infinity, the lights stretched along the length of the latticework and swallowed the Centauri transport like a whale swallowing a minnow. Then the tube of light faded into blackness, leaving nothing but the skeleton of the gleaming latticework.

"Captain in C-and-C," announced a voice.

"As you were," replied the cheerful voice of Captain John Sheridan. Ivanova turned around to see the captain as he strode along the crosswalk, nodding to sub­ordinates. His hands were clasped behind his back, which she had come to recognize as his nonintrusive approach. There was no emergency or urgent business to discuss, but Sheridan still looked concerned about some­thing.