Na'Toth gazed at the blank viewer as if remembering a school lesson from long ago. "There are a number of chairs in the Third Circle; the number is always constant. To be seated, a chair must be empty."

She glanced back at them. "Someone in the Third Circle died, and there was an opening. G'Kar and Du'Rog vied for it, lobbying their friends and allies. Du'Rog was the elder man, with more experience, but G'Kar was more ruthless.

"During this time, there was a famous war crimes trial against a revolutionary named General Balashar. The tri­bunal had been hammering at him to know where he had obtained certain weapons, but he knew he would be sen­tenced to death no matter what he said. Then one day, out of nowhere, the general said Du'Rog had sold him the weapons. Although there was no evidence, a hue and cry went up and Du'Rog was ruined. He was removed from the Council.

"After General Balashar was executed, G'Kar laid a substantial sum upon his family and had them relocated for this little favor. Du'Rog was banished, and G'Kar succeeded to the Third Circle and has his choice of plum positions. He chose to become ambassador to Babylon 5."

"Okay," said Sheridan, "but it didn't end there. Is this woman, Mi'Ra, capable of carrying out her threat?"

Na'Toth lowered her head and looked at the captain through hooded eyes. "Captain, the Shon'Kar is not an idle threat—it is a life's ambition, a goal for which you would gladly sacrifice your life. I do not know Mi'Ra, but I saw her draw the blood. She had determined that the most important thing in her life was to fulfill her Shon'Kar, and she would do so or die."

Sheridan cleared his throat uneasily. "There were two more terms I didn't understand. You said Du'Rog hired the Thenta Ma'Kur. What is that?"

"A league of professional assassins," answered Na'Toth. "Expensive but extremely reliable, under most circumstances. We were lucky to foil them the first time."

"And what is the V'Tar she mentioned?"

"The purpose in life." Na'Toth lifted her chin. "Mi'Ra is saying there is no higher purpose in life than to fulfill the Shon'Kar. That is as it should be."

The captain shook his head. "If you don't mind, can you explain a little more about how Narn society works? I'm trying to understand all of this."

Na'Toth said, "Narn social structure is very old, nearly as old as our race itself. When the Centauri conquered us, they made us all equal—slaves. They killed many in the Inner Circle, as you can imagine, because a con­queror always kills the leaders first. We have learned that lesson well."

Her jaw clenched tightly. "I cannot tell you what it does to a people—to have a race from the stars enslave you. It was the defining moment in our history, because it made us strong and ruthless. Children were hidden from the Centauri, papers were forged, and the blood­lines continued. When we cast off the Centauri, we returned to our old class system with a vengeance. Only those in the Inner Circle can govern, with the help of the Kha'Ri."

Softly, she added, "Before the Centauri landed, we were farmers—simple people. If they hadn't invaded, we would probably still be living in sod houses and plow­ing fields."

"Now you're the conquerors," said Garibaldi, "and the Centauri are a fading power."

Na'Toth smiled. "That is by design."

"But you don't have to continue this Blood Oath, do you?" asked Sheridan. "You're a civilized people now. Can't you let it end?"

She glared at the captain. "You haven't understood a word I have said." With that, the Narn shouldered her way past Garibaldi and strode out the door.

The chief called after her, "Let us handle it!" She ignored him and marched down the corridor.

When Na'Toth started out nobody could think of a reason to stop her.

"How soon can she leave?" asked Garibaldi. "Are there any Narn ships in dock?"

"No," said Sheridan, "but there's one docking tomor­row. I didn't get a chance to tell you yet, but I talked to members of the Narn Council. They don't like our expla­nation for G'Kar's death, or rather our lack of an explanation. They haven't exactly accused us of negli­gence, but they want to know how this could have happened. I offered to send a delegation to answer ques­tions and show them vidlogs, maintenance reports, whatever pertains to the case. That crystal should help—it makes it clear that this is probably a Narn internal matter."

"They'll let her go," said Ivanova.

Sheridan stiffened. "If this Mi'Ra person is off the station and back on Homeworld, it's out of our hands. One more thing—there's going to be a big memorial service for G'Kar on Homeworld, and there's no way for dignitaries to get there from Earth in time. So our dele­gation will also have to attend that service. Make sure you take your dress uniforms."

Garibaldi gulped. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"You mean we're going?" said Ivanova.

Captain Sheridan managed an encouraging smile. "Commander, you're the best one to answer questions about launch procedures and C-and-C. Chief, you're the | best one to answer questions about security, and you also have that data crystal. You're part of my staff—on short I notice, you're the best I could do for dignitaries."

"The murderer may not have left the station," said Garibaldi.

Sheridan glanced at his computer terminal. "The K'sha Na'vas doesn't dock for almost twenty-four hours, so you have some time. But get packed—you will be on that ship when it leaves."

"Bring your heavy coat and your speedo," said Ivanova.

"Why?" asked Garibaldi.

"The Narn Homeworld has thin atmosphere, low humidity, and very little air pressure. In one location, temperatures can vary sixty degrees in one day, between freezing cold and broiling heat. Ever see a Narn sweat?"

Garibaldi shook his head. "No."

"Me neither," said Ivanova.

Garibaldi grabbed the data crystal and headed to the door. "But I'm going to make some Narns sweat right now."

The giant red sun glowed high in the sky, making it a warm afternoon in the Homeworld city of Ka'Pul. It was in the upper forties of the Celsius scale, G'Kar estimated. Odd how he kept thinking in Terran terms—he must really try to get away from that blasted Earth station more often.

"Good afternoon, Ambassador," said an acolyte, pass­ing him on the catwalks stretching between the cliffside hotel on one side of the canyon and the university annex on the other side. It was a metal catwalk, enclosed against accidents, and it spanned a rugged depression of steaming pools and jungle growth about fifty meters below. This remote canyon was one of the few places on the planet where the vegetation hadn't been destroyed by the Centauri. Thanks to the red sun, the leaves had a copper glow to them.

G'Kar nodded curtly to the acolyte. Since he was one of the guest lecturers, it was rather impertinent of the acolyte to address him at all. He walked on, content that the young man had felt his displeasure. There were fewer people than he imagined would be out on a beauti­ful day like this, but then he remembered that it was Feastday. Many of the acolytes had returned to their homes and would not be coming back until the evening. He would give his first address that night at the faculty dinner.

Two more acolytes entered the catwalk near the annex, and they humbly lowered their heads as they walked toward him. Seeing the acolytes dressed in their crude, unadorned robes reminded him of when he had studied for the Eighth Circle. He remembered it as an austere time of life, full of discipline and study. Still, he had made valuable contacts in the university, contacts which served him well once he reached the Eighth Circle. After that, there was no formal training as one moved up the ranks, just hard work, self-discipline, and ambition. Always ambition. Perhaps a little luck was useful, but G'Kar had always felt that a person should create his own luck.